Book IV

. Author’s prologue: ‘The devil of one musty crust of a Brown George the poor boys had to scour their grinders with.’ And Dryden, _Persius_ (1693), v. 215:—

447

Cubb’d in a cabin, on a matrass laid, On a Brown George with lousy swabbers fed.

p. 165 _Spanish Pay._ Slang for fair words; compliments, and nothing more.

## Act IV: Scene ib

p. 182 _fin’d._ In a somewhat unusual sense of to fine = to pay a composition or consideration for a special privilege.

## Act V: Scene iii

p. 198 _Plymouth Cloaks._ Obsolete slang for a cudgel ‘carried by one who walked _en cuerpo_, and thus facetiously assumed to take the place of a cloak’. Fuller (1661), _Worthies_, ‘Devon’ (1662), 248, ‘A Plimouth Cloak. That is a Cane or a Staffe whereof this the occasion. Many a man of good Extraction comming home from far Voiages, may chance to land here [at Plymouth] and being out of sorts, is unable for the present time and place to recruit himself with Cloaths. Here (if not friendly provided) they make the next Wood their Draper’s shop, where a Staffe cut out, serves them for a covering’. Ray, _Prov._ (1670), 225, adds, ‘For we use when we walk _in cuerpo_ to carry a staff in our hands but none when in a cloak’. _N.E.D._, which also quotes this passage of _The Rover._ cf. Davenant:—

Whose cloak, at Plymouth spun, was crab-tree wood.

p. 199 _Album Græcum._ The excrement of dogs and some other animals which from exposure to air and weather becomes whitened like chalk. It was formerly much used in medicine.

## Act V: Scene iiib

p. 209 _Guzman Medicines._ Trashy, worthless medicines. In _The Emperor of The Moon_, Act iii, 2, ‘Guzman’ is used as a term of abuse to signify a rascal. The first English translation (by James Mabbe) of Aleman’s famous romance, _Vida del Picaro Guzman d’Alfarache_, is, indeed, entitled _The Rogue_, and it had as running title _The Spanish Rogue._ There is a novel by George Fidge entitled _The English Gusman; or, the History of that Unparallel’d Thief James Hind._ (1652, 4to.)

p. 209 _Copper Chains._ In allusion to the trick played by Estifania on the churlish Cacafogo in Fletcher’s _Rule a Wife and Have a Wife._ He lends her 1000 ducats upon trumpery which she is passing off as rich gems, and when later he scents the cozenage, he bawls out:—

Plague of her jewels, and her copper chains, How rank they smell!

— (Act v, 2.)

The phrase became proverbial for shams.

p. 211 _disimbogue._ This word is generally used of the waters of a river or the outlet of a lake pouring into the open sea.

p. 212 _by Play-Bill, summon’d here._ In Restoration times one method of announcing the next day’s performance to the public was by putting out bills on posts in the streets adjacent to the theatre. There are allusions to this in Pepys, 24 March, 1662 and 28 July, 1664. The whole subject has been exhaustively treated by Mr. W. J. Lawrence in ‘The Origin of the Theatre Programme’— _The Elizabethan Playhouse_ (Second Series).

Epilogue

p. 213. _greasing._ Flattery. Settle’s post as City Poet, it is well known, did not bring him in any great emoluments. He was, in fact, desperately poor, and even volunteered to join King James’ army at Hounslow Heath. In old age he was reduced to writing drolls performed in a 448 Bartholomew Fair booth kept by one Mrs. Minns and her daughter, Mrs. Leigh. He himself acted in these wretched farces, and on one occasion, in _St. George for England_, appeared as a dragon in a green leather case. Eventually he obtained admission to the Charterhouse, where he died 24 February, 1724.

215

THE DUTCH LOVER.

216

Scenes described in (parentheses) are unnumbered.

Argument.

Source.

Theatrical History. Epistle to the Reader Dramatis Personæ.

## Act I.

## Scene I. _A Street._

## Scene II. _Ambrosio’s House._

## Scene III. _A Grove._

## Act II.

## Scene I. _The Street._

## Scene II. _A Chamber._

## Scene III. _A Street._

## Scene IV. _A dark Hall._

## Scene V. _The Street._

## Scene VI. _Chamber of Cleonte._

## Scene VII. _The Street._

## Act III.

## Scene I. _House of Carlo._

## Scene II. _A flat Grove._

## Scene III. _A Grove._

## Scene IV. _The Garden._

(_A fine Arbour._)

## Act IV.

## Scene I. _Carlo’s House._

## Scene II. _The Street._

## Scene III. _A deep Grove._

## Act V.

## Scene I. _A Garden._

## Scene II. _Carlo’s House._

(_A Chamber._) Epilogue.

Notes to _The Dutch Lover_

217 ARGUMENT.

Roderigo—the natural son of the great Count d’ Olivarez, minister to Philip IV of Spain—was, upon his father’s disgrace, given over when very young to the care of a certain Don Ambrosio, and by him brought up as his own child. Ambrosio has one son, Marcel, and two daughters, Hippolita and Cleonte. Marcel, whilst in Flanders, promised Hippolita to his friend Alonzo. This Alonzo is the son of a lady Octavia and Don Manuel. But Manuel’s rival in Octavia’s love, Alonzo, stole their boy when an infant and brought him up to arms, giving him his own name. Pedro, an old servant, who is cognizant of this, is sworn to secrecy. Alonzo arrives in Madrid purposing to wed Hippolita as he desires to ally himself with so ancient and powerful a family as Ambrosio’s. Hippolita, however, having been betrayed by a German named Antonio, has fled, and now resides in a house of pleasure in the town, having assumed the habit of a Venetian courtezan. Alonzo meeting Euphemia, sister to his friend Lovis, becomes enamoured of her, and the lady grants him a rendezvous at a house where they will be uninterrupted—it happens this house is the bagnio where Hippolita is secreted. Marcel, on his way to visit Clarinda, whom he loves, recognizes Alonzo and follows him to his rendezvous, Olinda, Euphemia’s maid, mistakenly introduces Marcel to her mistress. Euphemia is veiled and Marcel, who has heard that his sister is living in that house, in his turn mistakes the lady for Hippolita, more especially as he meets Antonio there. The two men fight, but Alonzo entering interferes. Antonio escapes, bearing away Hippolita. Euphemia, whom Marcel in a passion of revenge would kill, is soon discovered not to be Hippolita, and the angry brother duly retires from the scene. Alonzo, however, leaving the house is accosted for Marcel by Dormida, Clarinda’s maid, who gives him the key to their house. Alonzo enters followed by Marcel who is close on his heels. They jostle and fight in the darkness of the hall within, and Alonzo departs leaving Marcel wounded. Dormida fearing trouble drags Clarinda forth and meeting Alonzo in the street they throw themselves on his honourable protection. A complete stranger, in his dilemma he escorts them to the mansion of Ambrosio, and they chance on Cleonte’s chamber. She has just had a visit from Silvio (under which name Roderigo passes), who is burning with passion for her but shrinks from his supposed sister. Cleonte offers the two ladies a refuge and Alonzo retires. With the aid of his friend Lovis he assumes the habit of Haunce van Ezel, a Dutch boor who is contracted to Euphemia, and, as Haunce, courts Lovis’ sister with the full approbation of their father Don Carlo. When Haunce himself appears he is greeted with some familiarity as having been at the house before. The Dutch Lover, who has newly arrived, chances on a strife between Antonio and Hippolita and interfering disarms Antonio, wounding him in the face. Cleonte meantime has introduced her guest Clarinda to Silvio, and Marcel seeing them together concludes that his own brother is the man who fought him on the previous night and indeed his favoured rival. At once he challenges him and they arrange to have a duel in a grove near the town. Here, however, comes Hippolita disguised in man’s attire, 218 awaiting Antonio to whom she has sent a billet signed ‘Alonzo’. She retires, whilst Silvio appears, and when he is engaged with Marcel, Alonzo rushes in and parts them. Alonzo avows that it was he who caused the confusion with Clarinda, and arranges to meet Marcel later in another spot. Antonio next arrives and Hippolita, calling herself Alonzo, draws, but Alonzo himself insists on taking up the quarrel. At the clash of steel Marcel returns and all four fight, Marcel with Hippolita, whom he wounds, Alonzo with Antonio, whom he disarms—Hippolita reveals herself, Alonzo claims her, but Antonio declaring that he is bound to her by sacred vows rescues her from Marcel’s vengeance and obtains his forgiveness. All return to Ambrosio’s house where they find Cleonte and Clarinda. Explanations ensue, and Marcel is at Clarinda’s feet. Pedro, however, who attends Alonzo, recognizes his old fellow-servant, Dormida, duenna to Clarinda, and learning Don Manuel is dead, reveals that Alonzo is Clarinda’s brother, also handing over papers left by Don Alonzo the foster-father, which bestow 12,000 crowns a year on his adopted son, Alonzo portions Clarinda and gives her to Marcel. Francisca, woman to Cleonte, informs Silvio that Cleonte will yield to him—Silvio, suddenly revolted, declares he will present himself, but secretly resolves to poinard his sister. Marcel who has overheard the conference, beside himself with rage, dashes on Silvio with dagger drawn and when checked by Ambrosio and the rest who rush in at Francisca’s cries makes known the cause of his wrath. Francisca confesses that Cleonte had sent no such message, but herself purposed to take her mistress’ place that night and receive Silvio. Ambrosio then reveals the secret of Silvio’s birth and gives Cleonte to him, in his joy even taking Hippolita to his arms since Antonio has married her. Alonzo, meanwhile, disguised as Haunce has been united to Euphemia. He is discovered by the arrival on the scene of the real Haunce accompanied by Gload, a foolish tutor. Carlo is soon reconciled to the new bridegroom, whilst Haunce and Gload joining in a masquerade find themselves unexpectedly wedded to Olinda and Dorice, two women attendant on the lady Euphemia.

SOURCE.

Mrs. Behn founded the plot of _The Dutch Lover_ upon the stories of Eufemie and Theodore, Don Jame and Frederic, in a pseudo-Spanish novel entitled ‘_The History of Don Fenise_, a new Romance written in Spanish by Francisco de Las Coveras, And now Englished by a Person of Honour, London, Printed for Humphrey Moseley,’ 8vo, 1651. There is of course no such Spanish author as ‘the ingenious Don Francisco de las Coveras’. The chief merit of the book is purely bibliographical: it is a very rare volume and difficult to meet with. The Bodleian indeed contains a copy, but it is not to be found in the British Museum library. The somewhat morbid theme of overwhelming passion barred by consanguinity eventually discovered to be false, which is here exemplified in the love of Silvio for Cleonte, occurs more than once in the later Jacobean and Carolan drama. In Beaumont and Fletcher’s tragicomedy _A King and no King_ (1611: 4to, 1619), we have Arbaces enamoured of Panthea, his reputed sister; similar motives are to be found in Arthur Wilson’s _The Swizzer_ (1631); but in 219 Middleton’s _Women beware Women_ (circa 1612: 4to, 1657), no contrivance can legitimize the incestuous loves of Hippolito and Isabella, and death is the only solution. In Massinger’s _The Unnatural Combat_ (1621: 4to, 1639), the demoniac Malefort pursues his daughter Theocrine with the same baleful fires as Francesco Cenci looked on Beatrice, but the height of horror, harrowing the soul with pity and anguish, culminates in Ford’s terrible scenes _Tis Pity She’s a Whore_ (4to, 1633), so tenderly tragic, so exquisitely beautiful for all their moral perversity, that they remain unequalled outside Shakespeare.

In the Restoration Theatre the theme of consanguinity was originally dealt with no less than three times by Dryden: comically, in _The Spanish Friar_ (1681), when Lorenzo—after all the love-brokerage of pursy Father Dominic—discovers Elvira to be his sister: tragically, in _Don Sebastian_ (1690), when Sebastian and Almeyda are separated by the disclosures of old Alvarez: sentimentally and romantically, in _Love Triumphant_ (1693-4), when Alphonso wins Victoria whom he has long loved, even whilst she was supposed to be his sister. Otway it will be remembered turns the pathetic catastrophe of _The Orphan_ (1680), upon a deceit which produces similar though unhappy circumstances. In 1679, _Oedipus_, a joint production of Dryden and Lee, was brought out with great success at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Gardens.

Unhallowed and incestuous passions again form the plot of _The Fatal Discovery; or, Love in Ruins_ (4to, 1698), produced at Drury Lane, a play seemingly derived from _Bandello, Part II_, Novel 35, which coincides with the thirtieth tale of the _Heptameron_. In various forms, however, this legend is to be found in the literature of all countries, and a cognate tradition is even attached to certain districts. _Innocence Distress’d; or, The Royal Penitents_, a tragedy by Robert Gould (ob. 1709), never performed but published by subscription (8vo, 1737), for the benefit of his daughter Hannah, is based on the same story. Gould’s work is weak and insipid.

Later in the eighteenth century we have Horace Walpole’s _The Mysterious Mother_ (8vo, 1768), an unacted drama of extraordinary power and undissipated gloom on the same terrible theme; whilst Shelley’s _The Centi_, published in 1819, which the poet most emphatically intended for the boards, remains a masterpiece of supreme genius.

Wagner in _Die Walküre_ shows the irresistible passion of Siegmund and Sieglinde, brother and sister, from whose union sprang the mighty hero Siegfried; and in _Gengangere_ (Ghosts), 1881, Ibsen threw, by the sickly craving of the fibreless Oswald Alving for Regina, a lurid light across that awesome tragedy of shadows, Nemesis, and blank despair.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

_The Dutch Lover_ was produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, in February, 1673, but owing to the manifold disadvantages under which it was put on the stage it did not meet with that success it certainly deserved. It was indeed, to quote the preface, ‘hugely injured in the

## acting.’ The performers were anything but word perfect and hopelessly

forgot or confused their business, which, more especially in a play of such a type as this romantic comedy so full of busy and complicated detail demanding close and continuous attention, was enough to mystify the 220 audience completely and foredoom the piece to failure. The worst sinner was Haunce himself, who hardly spoke one of his lines but gagged from start to finish. Not unnaturally, Mrs. Behn resented this and avows that she would have trounced him roundly in print except ‘de mortuis...’ Although the original cast is not given, this detail enables us to fix the representative of Haunce as Angel, a leading comedian, who died in the spring of 1673, his name last appearing as de Boastado in Ravenscroft’s _Careless Lovers_.

In addition to these serious detriments the costumes were very poor, especially the disguise of Alonzo as the Hollander, and Haunce’s own ‘fantastical travelling habit,’ dresses on the aptness of which the probability of the intrigue can be made so largely to depend.

Yet another mishap occurred. The epilogue, which had been promised by a friend, did not come to hand, and accordingly the present epilogue was hastily composed. Though containing nothing notably witty or pointed it does not fall below the generality of these productions. Of the prologue we have no means of judging as it was unfortunately lost before it could find its way into print.

Had _The Dutch Lover_ received fair treatment from the actors it should surely have commanded no small success in its day. Technically it is well contrived, and exhibits the skill and clever stage-craft of its authoress in a high degree, qualities which have often given a long lease of life to plays of infinitely less merit.

221 AN EPISTLE TO THE READER.

Good, Sweet, Honey, Sugar-Candied Reader,

Which I think is more than anyone has called you yet, I must have a word or two with you before you do advance into the Treatise; but ’tis not to beg your pardon for diverting you from your affairs, by such an idle Pamphlet as this is, for I presume you have not much to do and therefore are to be obliged to me for keeping you from worse employment, and if you have a better you may get you gone about your business: but if you will misspend your Time, pray lay the fault upon yourself; for I have dealt pretty fairly in the matter, told you in the Title Page what you are to expect within. Indeed, had I hung a sign of the Immortality of the Soul, of the Mystery of Godliness, or of Ecclesiastical Policie, and then had treated you with Indiscerpibility and Essential Spissitude (words, which though I am no competent Judge of, for want of Languages, yet I fancy strongly ought to mean just nothing) with a company of Apocryphal midnight Tales cull’d out of the choicest Insignificant Authors; If I had only proved in Folio that Apollonius was a naughty knave, or had presented you with two or three of the worst principles transcrib’d out of the peremptory and ill-natur’d (though prettily ingenious) Doctor of Malmsbury undigested and ill-manag’d by a silly, saucy, ignorant, impertinent, ill educated Chaplain I were then indeed sufficiently in fault; but having inscrib’d Comedy on the beginning of my Book, you may guess pretty near what penny-worths you are like to have, and ware your money and your time accordingly. I would not yet be understood to lessen the dignity of Playes, for surely they deserve a place among the middle if not the better sort of Books; for I have heard the most of that which bears the name of Learning, and which has abused such quantities of Ink and Paper, and continually employs so many ignorant, unhappy souls for ten, twelve, twenty years in the University (who yet poor wretches think they are doing something all the while) as Logick etc. and several other things (that shall be nameless lest I misspell them) are much more absolutely nothing than the errantest Play that e’er was writ. Take notice, Reader, I do not assert this purely upon my own knowledge, but I think I have known it very fully prov’d, both sides being fairly heard, and even some ingenious opposers of it most abominably baffl’d in the Argument: Some of which I have got so perfectly by rote, that if this were a proper place for it, I am apt to think myself could almost make it clear; and as I would not undervalue Poetry, so neither am I altogether of their judgement who believe no wisdom in the world beyond it. I have often heard indeed 222 (and read) how much the World was anciently oblig’d to it for most of that which they call’d Science, which my want of letters makes me less assured of than others happily may be: but I have heard some wise men say that no considerable part of useful knowledge was this way communicated, and on the other way, that it hath serv’d to propogate so many idle superstitions, as all the benefits it hath or can be guilty of, can never make sufficient amends for; which unaided by the unlucky charms of Poetry, could never have possest a thinking Creature such as man. However true this is, I am myself well able to affirm that none of all our English Poets, and least the Dramatique (so I think you call them) can be justly charg’d with too great reformation of men’s minds or manners, and for that I may appeal to general experiment, if those who are the most assiduous Disciples of the Stage, do not make the fondest and the lewdest Crew about this Town; for if you should unhappily converse them through the year, you will not find one Dram of sense amongst a Club of them, unless you will allow for such a little Link-Boy’s Ribaldry thick larded with unseasonable oaths & impudent defiance of God, and all things serious; and that at such a senseless damn’d unthinking rate, as, if ’twere well distributed, would spoil near half the Apothecaries trade, and save the sober people of the Town the charge of Vomits; And it was smartly said (how prudently I cannot tell) by a late learned Doctor, who, though himself no great asserter of a Deity, (as you’ll believe by that which follows) yet was observed to be continually persuading of this sort of men (if I for once may call them so) of the necessity and truth of our Religion; and being ask’d how he came to bestir himself so much this way, made answer that it was because their ignorance and indiscreet debauch made them a scandal to the profession of Atheism. And for their wisdom and design I never knew it reach beyond the invention of some notable expedient, for the speedier ridding them of their Estate, (a devilish clog to Wit and Parts), than other grouling Mortals know, or battering half-a-dozen fair new Windows in a Morning after their debauch, whilst the dull unjantee Rascal they belong to is fast asleep. But I’ll proceed no farther in their character, because that miracle of Wit (in spite of Academick frippery) the mighty Echard hath already done it to my satisfaction; and whoever undertakes a Supplement to anything he hath discourst, had better for their reputation be doing nothing.

Besides this Theam is worn too thread-bare by the whiffling would-be Wits of the Town, and of both the stone-blind-eyes of the Kingdom. And therefore to return to that which I before was speaking of, I will have leave to say that in my judgement the increasing number of our latter Plays have not done much more towards the amending of men’s Morals, or their Wit, than hath the frequent Preaching, which this last age hath been pester’d with, (indeed without all Controversie they have done less harm) nor can I 223 once imagine what temptation anyone can have to expect it from them; for sure I am no Play was ever writ with that design. If you consider Tragedy, you’ll find their best of Characters unlikely patterns for a wise man to pursue: For he that is the Knight of the Play, no sublunary feats must serve his Dulcinea; for if he can’t bestrid the Moon, he’ll ne’er make good his business to the end, and if he chance to be offended, he must without considering right or wrong confound all things he meets, and put you half-a-score likely tall fellows into each pocket; and truly if he come not something near this Pitch I think the Tragedy’s not worth a farthing; for Playes were certainly intended for the exercising of men’s passions not their understandings, and he is infinitely far from wise that will bestow one moment’s meditation on such things: And as for Comedie, the finest folks you meet with there are still unfitter for your imitation, for though within a leaf or two of the Prologue, you are told that they are people of Wit, good Humour, good Manners, and all that: yet if the Authors did not kindly add their proper names, you’d never know them by their Characters; for whatsoe’er’s the matter, it hath happen’d so spightfully in several Playes, which have been prettie well received of late, that even those persons that were meant to be the ingenious Censors of the Play, have either prov’d the most debauch’d, or most unwittie people in the Company: nor is this error very lamentable, since as I take it Comedie was never meant, either for a converting or a conforming Ordinance: In short, I think a Play the best divertisement that wise men have: but I do also think them nothing so who do discourse as formallie about the rules of it, as if ’twere the grand affair of humane life. This being my opinion of Plays, I studied only to make this as entertaining as I could, which whether I have been successful in, my gentle Reader, you may for your shilling judge. To tell you my thoughts of it, were to little purpose, for were they very ill, you may be sure I would not have expos’d it; nor did I so till I had first consulted most of those who have a reputation for judgement of this kind; who were at least so civil (if not kind) to it as did encourage me to venture it upon the Stage, and in the Press: Nor did I take their single word for it, but us’d their reasons as a confirmation of my own.

Indeed that day ’twas Acted first, there comes me into the Pit, a long, lither, phlegmatick, white, ill-favour’d, wretched Fop, an Officer in Masquerade newly transported with a Scarf & Feather out of France, a sorry Animal that has nought else to shield it from the uttermost contempt of all mankind, but that respect which we afford to Rats and Toads, which though we do not well allow to live, yet when considered as a part of God’s Creation, we make honourable mention of them. A thing, Reader—but no more of such a Smelt: This thing, I tell ye, opening that which serves it for a mouth, out issued such a noise as this to those that sate about it, that 224 they were to expect a woful Play, God damn him, for it was a woman’s. Now how this came about I am not sure, but I suppose he brought it piping hot from some who had with him the reputation of a villanous Wit: for Creatures of his size of sense talk without all imagination, such scraps as they pick up from other folks. I would not for a world be taken arguing with such a propertie as this; but if I thought there were a man of any tolerable parts, who could upon mature deliberation distinguish well his right hand from his left, and justly state the difference between the number of sixteen and two, yet had this prejudice upon him; I would take a little pains to make him know how much he errs. For waving the examination why women having equal education with men, were not as capable of knowledge, of whatsoever sort as well as they: I’ll only say as I have touch’d before, that Plays have no great room for that which is men’s great advantage over women, that is Learning; We all well know that the immortal Shakespeare’s Plays (who was not guilty of much more of this than often falls to women’s share) have better pleas’d the World than Johnson’s works, though by the way ’tis said that Benjamin was no such Rabbi neither, for I am inform’d that his Learning was but Grammar high; (sufficient indeed to rob poor Salust of his best orations) and it hath been observ’d that they are apt to admire him most confoundedly, who have just such a scantling of it as he had; and I have seen a man the most severe of Johnson’s Sect, sit with his Hat remov’d less than a hair’s breadth from one sullen posture for almost three hours at _The Alchymist_; who at that excellent Play of _Harry the Fourth_ (which yet I hope is far enough from Farce) hath very hardly kept his Doublet whole; but affectation hath always had a greater share both in the action and discourse of men than truth and judgement have; and for our Modern ones, except our most unimitable Laureat, I dare to say I know of none that write at such a formidable rate, but that a woman may well hope to reach their greatest heights. Then for their musty rules of Unity, and God knows what besides, if they meant anything, they are enough intelligible and as practible by a woman; but really methinks they that disturb their heads with any other rule of Playes besides the making them pleasant, and avoiding of scurrility, might much better be employed in studying how to improve men’s too imperfect knowledge of that ancient English Game which hight long Laurence: And if Comedy should be the picture of ridiculous mankind I wonder anyone should think it such a sturdy task, whilst we are furnish’d with such precious Originals as him I lately told you of; if at least that Character do not dwindle into Farce, and so become too mean an entertainment for those persons who are us’d to think. Reader, I have a complaint or two to make to you and I have done; Know then that this Play was hugely injur’d in the Acting, for ’twas done so imperfectly as never any was 225 before, which did more harm to this than it could have done to any of another sort; the Plot being busie (though I think not intricate) and so requiring a continual attention, which being interrupted by the intolerable negligence of some that acted in it, must needs much spoil the beauty on’t. My Dutch Lover spoke but little of what I intended for him, but supplied it with a great deal of idle stuff, which I was wholly unacquainted with until I had heard it first from him; so that Jack-pudding ever us’d to do: which though I knew before, I gave him yet the Part, because I knew him so acceptable to most o’th’ lighter Periwigs about the Town, and he indeed did vex me so, I could almost be angry: Yet, but Reader, you remember, I suppose, a fusty piece of Latine that has past from hand to hand this thousand years they say (and how much longer I can’t tell) in favour of the dead. I intended him a habit much more notably ridiculous, which if ever it be important was so here, for many of the Scenes in the three last Acts depended upon the mistakes of the Colonel for Haunce, which the ill-favour’d likeness of their Habits is suppos’d to cause. Lastly my Epilogue was promis’d me by a Person who had surely made it good, if any, but he failing of his word, deput’d one, who has made it as you see, and to make out your penyworth you have it here. The Prologue is by misfortune lost. Now, Reader, I have eas’d my mind of all I had to say, and so sans farther complyment, Adieu.

226

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

MEN. _Ambrosio_, A Nobleman of _Spain_. _Marcel_, His Son. _Silvio_, Supposed Bastard Son to _Ambrosio_. _Antonio_, A German that has debauch’d _Hippolyta_. _Alonzo_, A _Flanders_ Colonel contracted to _Hippolyta_ and newly arriv’d at _Madrid_. _Lovis_, His Friend. _Carlo_, Father to _Lovis_ and _Euphemia_. _Haunce van Ezel_, A Dutch Fop contracted to _Euphemia_, newly arriv’d at _Madrid_. _Gload_, His Cash-keeper. _Pedro_, An old Servant to _Alonzo_. Boy, Page to _Marcel_. Servant to _Carlo_. A Friar. WOMEN. _Euphemia_, In love with _Alonzo_. _Hippolyta_, In love with _Antonio_, Daughters to _Ambrosio_. _Cleonte_, In love with _Silvio_, _Clarinda_, Sister unknown to _Alonzo_, in love with _Marcel_. _Dormida_, Her Governess. _Francisca_, Woman to _Cleonte_. _Olinda_, Two Maids to _Euphemia_. _Dorice_, Swains, Four Shepherds, Four Nymphs, Dutch Men and Dutch Women.

The Scene, _Madrid_.

227

THE _DUTCH_ LOVER.

## ACT I.

## Scene I. A Street.

Enter _Alonzo_ and _Lovis_ in travelling Habits, attended by _Pedro_ and _Gload_.

Lo. Dear _Alonzo!_ I shall love a Church the better this Month for giving me a sight of thee, whom I so little expected in this part of the World, and less in so sanctifi’d a Place. What Affair could be powerful enough to draw thee from the kind obliging Ladies of _Brabant?_

Alon. First the sudden Orders of my Prince _Don John_, and next a fair Lady.

Lo. A Lady! Can any of this Country relish with a Man that has been us’d to the Freedom of those of _Bruxels_, from whence I suppose you are now arriv’d?

Alon. This morning I landed, from such a Storm, as set us all to making Vows of Conversion, (upon good Conditions) and that indeed brought me to Church.

Lo. In that very Storm I landed too, but with less Sense of Danger than you, being diverted with a pleasant Fellow that came along with me, and who is design’d to marry a Sister of mine against my Will—And now I think of him, _Gload_, where hast thou left this Master of thine?

Glo. At the Inn, Sir, in as lamentable a Pickle, as if he were still in the Storm; recruiting his emptyed Stomach with Brandy, and railing against all Women-kind for your Sister’s sake, who has made him undertake this Voyage.

Lo. Well, I’ll come to him, go home before. [Ex. _Gload_.

Alon. Prithee what thing is this?

228 Lo. Why, ’tis the Cashier to this Squire I spoke of, a Man of Business, and as wise as his Master, but the graver Coxcomb of the two. But this Lady, _Alonzo_, who is this Lady thou speak’st of? shall not I know her? We were wont to divide the Spoils of Beauty, as well as those of War between us.

Alon. O but this is no such Prize, thou wouldst hardly share this with the Danger, there’s Matrimony in the Case.

Lo. Nay, then keep her to thy self, only let me know who ’tis that can debauch thee to that scandalous way of Life; is she fair? will she recompense the Folly?

Alon. Faith, I know not, I never saw her yet, but ’tis the Sister of _Marcel_, whom we both knew last Summer in _Flanders_, and where he and I contracted such a Friendship, that without other Consideration he promis’d me _Hippolyta_, for that’s his Sister’s Name.

Lo. But wo’t thou really marry her?

Alon. I consider my Advantage in being allied to so considerable a Man as _Ambrosio_, her Father; I being now so unhappy as not to know my Birth or Parents.

Lo. I have often heard of some such thing, but durst not ask the Truth of it.

Alon. ’Tis so, all that I know of my self is, that a _Spanish_ Souldier, who brought me up in the Army, dying, confest I was not his Son, (which till then I believ’d) and at the Age of twelve left me to shift for my self: the Fortune he inrich’d me with, was his Horse and Arms, with a few Documents how to use them, as I had seen him do with good success: This Servant, [Points to _Pedro_] and a Crucifix of Value. And from one Degree to another, I arriv’d to what you knew me, Colonel of the Prince’s Regiment, and the Glory of his Favour.

Lo. Honour is the Child of Virtue, and finds an Owner every where.

Alon. Oh, Sir, you are a Courtier, and have much the odds of a Souldier in Parleys of this nature: but hither I am come—

229 Lo. To be undone—Faith, thou look’st ill upon’t.

Alon. I confess I am not altogether so brisk as I should have been upon another Occasion; you know, _Lovis_, I have been us’d to Christian Liberty, and hate this formal Courtship. Pox on’t, wou’d ’twere over.

Lo. Where all Parties are agreed, there’s little need of that; and the Ladies of _Spain_, whatever Gravity they assume, are as ready as any you ever met withal.

Alon. But there’s a damn’d Custom that does not at all agree with Men so frank and gay as thou and I; there’s a deal of Danger in the Atchievement, which some say heightens the Pleasure, but I am of another Opinion.

Ped. Sir, there is a Female in a Veil has follow’d us ever since we came from Church.

Alon. Some amorous Adventure: See [Enter _Olinda_.] she advances: Prithee retire, there may be danger in it. [Puts _Lovis_ back.

Lo. Oh then, I must by no means leave you. [_Lovis_ advances.

Olin. Which of these two shall I chuse? [She looks on both. Sir, you appear a Stranger. [To _Lovis_.

Alon. We are both so, Lady.

Olin. I shall spoil all, and bring [She looks again on both.] the wrong. Sir, you should be a Cavalier, that—

Alon. Would gladly obey your Orders.

Lo. Nay, I find ’tis all one to you which you chuse, so you have one of us: but would not both do better?

Olin. No, Sir, my Commission’s but to one.

Alon. Fix and proceed then, let me be the Man.

Olin. What shall I do? they are both well: [Aside. but I’ll e’en chuse, as ’twere, for my self; and hang me if I know which that shall be, [looks on both.] Sir, there is a Lady of Quality and Beauty, who guessing you to be Men of Honour, has sent me to one of you.

Alon. Me, I am sure.

Lo. Me, me, he’s engag’d already.

230 Alon. That’s foul Play, _Lovis_.

Alon. Well, I must have but one, and therefore I’ll wink and chuse.

Lo. I’ll not trust blind Fortune.

Alon. Prithee, _Lovis_, let thee and I agree upon the matter, and I find the Lady will be reasonable; cross or pile who shall go.

Lo. Go, Sir, whither?

Alon. To the Lady that—

Lo. Sent for neither of us that I can hear of yet.

Alon. You will not hear me out, but I’ll end the Difference by chusing you, Sir; and if you’ll follow me [To _Alonzo_.] at a Distance, I will conduct you where this Lady is.

Alon. Fair Guide, march on, I’ll follow thee. [Offers to go.

Lo. You are not mad, Sir, ’tis some abuse, and dangerous. [Pulls him back.

Alon. Be not envious of my Happiness: Forbear a Wench, for fear of Danger!

Lo. Have a care, ’tis some Plot. [Holds him.] Where did this Lady see us? we are both Strangers in the City.

Alon. No matter where.

Olin. At Church, Sir, just now.

Alon. Ay, ay, at Church, at Church, enough.

Lo. What’s her Name?

Alon. Away, thou art fuller of Questions than a Fortune-teller: Come, let’s be gone.

Lo. Sure you do not mean to keep your Word, Sir?

Alon. Not keep my Word, _Lovis?_ What wicked Life hast thou known me lead, should make thee suspect I should not? When I have made an Interest in her, and find her worth communicating, I will be just upon Honour—Go, go.

Lo. Well, go your ways; if Marriage do not tame you, you are past all Hopes: but pray, Sir, let me see you at my Lodgings, the _Golden Fleece_ here at the Gate.

231 Alon. I’ll attend thee here, and tell thee my Adventure: Farewel. [Exit _Lovis_.] _Pedro_, go you and inquire for the House of Don _Ambrosio_, and tell him I will wait on him in the Evening, by that time I shall get my self in Order.

[Ex. _Alonzo_ and _Olinda_; _Pedro_ the other way.

## Scene II. _Ambrosio’s_ House.

Enter _Silvio_, melancholy.

Silv. I must remove _Marcel_, for his nice Honour Will ne’er permit that I should court my Sister; My Passion will admit of no Restraint, ’Tis grown so violent; and fair _Cleonte’s_ Charms Each Day increase to such a killing Number, That I must speak or die.

Enter _Francisca_.

Franc. What, still with folded Arms and down-cast looks?

Silv. Oh _Francisca!_ My Brother’s Presence now afflicts me more Than all my Fears of Cruelty from _Cleonte_; She is the best, the sweetest, kindest Sister—

Franc. Ay, Sir, but she will never make the kindest Mistress.

Silv. At least she should permit me to adore her, Were but _Marcel_ away. Hast thou no Stratagem to get him absent? For I can think of nothing but my Sister. [Sighs.

Franc. I know of one, nor other Remedy for you than loving less.

Silv. Oh, ’tis impossible: Thou know’st I’ve tried all ways, made my Addresses To all the fairest Virgins in _Madrid_; Nay, and at last fell to the worst Debauchery, That of frequenting every common House: 232 But Souls that feed so high on Love as mine, Must nauseate coarser Diet. No, I must still love on, and tell her so, Or I must live no longer.

Franc. That methinks you might do even in the Presence of _Marcel_. A Brother is allow’d to love a Sister.

Silv. But I shall do’t in such a way, _Francisca_, Be so transported, and so passionate, I shall betray what he will ne’er indure. And since our other Sister, loose _Hippolyta_, was lost, He does so guard and watch the fair _Cleonte_—

Franc. Why, quarrel with him, Sir: you know you are so much dearer to my Lord your Father than he is, that should he perceive a Difference between ye, he would soon dismiss him the House; and ’twere but Reason, Sir, for I am sure Don _Marcel_ loves you not.

Silv. That I excuse, since he the lawful Heir to all my Father’s Fortunes, sees it every Day ready to be sacrific’d to me, who can pretend no Title to’t, but the unaccountable Love my Father bears me.

Franc. Can you dissemble, Sir?

Silv. The worst of any Man, but would endeavour it, If it could any ways advance my Love.

Franc. Which I must find some way to ruin. [Aside. Then court his Mistress.

Silv. The rich _Flavia?_

Franc. That would not incense him, for her he is to marry; But ’tis the fair _Clarinda_ has his Heart.

Silv. To act a feigned Love, and hide a real one, Is what I have already try’d in vain. Even fair _Clarinda_ I have courted too, In hope that way to banish from my Soul The hopeless Flame _Cleonte_ kindled there; But ’twas a Shame to see how ill I did dissemble.

Franc. Stay, Sir, here comes _Marcel_. I’ll leave you.

[Exit _Francisca_.

233 Enter _Marcel_, with a Letter open in his Hand, which he kisses.

Mar. Kind Messenger of Love! Thus, thus a thousand times I bid thee welcome from my fair _Clarinda_. Thus joyful Bridegrooms, after long Despairs, Possess the yielding Treasure in their Arms: Only thus much the happier Lover I, Who gather all the Sweets of this fair Maid Without the ceremonious Tie of Marriage; That tie that does but nauseate the Delight, Be far from happy Lovers; we’ll embrace And unconfin’d and free as whispering Air, That mingles wantonly with spreading Flowers.

Silv. What’s all this?

Mar. _Silvio,_ the Victory’s won. The Heart that nicely stood it out so long, Now yields upon Conditions.

Silv. What Victory? or what Heart?

Mar. I am all Rapture, cannot speak it out; My Senses have carous’d too much of Joy; And like young Drunkards, proud of their new try’d Strength, Have made my Pleasure less by the excess.

Silv. This is wondrous. Impart some of your over-charge to me, The Burden lightned will be more supportable.

Mar. Read here, and change thy Wonder, when thou knowst How happy Man can be. [Gives him a Letter. [_Silvio_ reads.

_Marcel_,

_Dormida_ will have me tell you what Effects your Vows have made, and how easily they have drawn from me a Consent to see you, as you desir’d, this Night in my Chamber: you have 234 sworn to marry me, and Love will have me credit you, and then methinks I ought not to deny you any thing, nor question your Virtue. _Dormida_ will wait to throw you down the Key, when all are in Bed, that will conduct you to Your _Clarinda_.

Silv. Damn her for a Dissembler! Is this the chaste, the excellent _Clarinda_, Who whilst I courted, was as cold and nice, As a young Nun the day she is invested?

Mar. How now, Brother! what, displeased with it? [Takes the Letter.

Silv. A little, Sir, to see another’s Happiness, Whilst I, where e’er I pay my Vows and Sighs, Get nothing but Disdain; and yet this Shape And Face I never thought unhandsom.

Mar. These be the least approaches to a Heart; ’Tis not dull looking well will do the feat, There is a Knack in Love, a critical Minute: And Women must be watcht as Witches are, E’er they confess, and then they yield apace.

Enter a _Boy_.

Boy. Sir, there’s without a Servant of Don _Alonzo’s_, who says his Master will be here to Night. [_Marcel_ is surprized.

Mar. _Alonzo!_ now I begin to wake From Love, like one from some delightful Dream, To reassume my wonted Cares and Shame. —I will not speak with him. [Exit _Boy_. Oh _Hippolyta!_ thou poor lost thing, _Hippolyta!_ How art thou fallen from Honour, and from Virtue, And liv’st in Whoredom with an impious Villain, Who in revenge to me has thus betray’d thee. Keep thy self closer than thou’st done thy Sin; For if I find thee out, by all that’s good, Thou hadst more Mercy on thy slaughter’d Honour, Than I will have for thee. And thou, _Antonio_, that hast betray’d her, 235 Who till profan’d by thee, was chaste as Shrines, And pure as are the Vows are offer’d there, That Rape which thou’st committed on her Innocence, I will revenge as shall become her Brother. [Offers to go out in rage.

Silv. Stay, _Marcel_, I can inform you where these Lovers are.

Mar. Oh tell me quickly then, That I may take them in their foul Embraces, And send their Souls to Hell.

Silv. Last Night I made a youthful Sally to One of those Houses where Love and Pleasure Are sold at dearest Rates.

Mar. A Bordello; forwards pray.

Silv. Yes, at the Corner of St. _Jerom’s_; where after seeing many Faces which pleas’d me not, I would have took my leave; but the Matron of the House, a kind obliging Lady, seeing me so nice, and of Quality, (tho disguis’d) told me she had a Beauty, such an one as had Count _d’ Olivarez_ in his height of Power seen, he would have purchas’d at any rate. I grew impatient to see this fine thing, and promis’d largely: then leading me into a Room as gay, and as perfum’d as an Altar upon a Holy-day, I saw seated upon a Couch of State—

Mar. _Hippolyta!_

Silv. _Hippolyta_ our Sister, drest like a _Venice_ Curtezan, With all the Charms of a loose Wanton, Singing and playing to her ravisht Lover, Who I perceiv’d assisted to expose her.

Mar. Well, Sir, what follow’d?

Silv. Surpriz’d at sight of this, I did withdraw, And left them laughing at my little Confidence.

Mar. How! left them? and left them living too?

Silv. If a young Wench will be gadding, Who can help it?

Mar. ’Sdeath you should, were you that half her Brother, 236 Which my Father too doatingly believes you. [Inrag’d.

Silv. How! do you question his Belief, _Marcel?_

Mar. I ne’er consider’d it; be gone and leave me.

Silv. Am I a Dog that thus you bid me vanish? What mean you by this Language? [Comes up to him. And how dare you upbraid me with my Birth, Which know, _Marcel_, is more illustrious far Than thine, being got when Love was in his reign, With all his Youth and Heat about him? I, like the Birds of bravest kind, was hatcht In the hot Sun-shine of Delight; whilst Thou, _Marcel_, wer’t poorly brooded In the cold Nest of Wedlock.

Mar. Thy Mother was some base notorious Strumpet, And by her Witchcraft reduc’d my Father’s Soul, And in return she paid him with a Bastard, Which was thou.

Silv. _Marcel_, thou ly’st. [Strikes him.

Mar. Tho ’twere no point of Valour, but of Rashness To fight thee, yet I’ll do’t.

Silv. By Heaven, I will not put this Injury up.

[They fight, _Silvio_ is wounded.

[Fight again. Enter _Ambrosio_, and _Cleonte_ between; _Silvio_ falls into the Arms of _Cleonte_.

Amb. Hold! I command you hold; Ah, Traitor to my Blood, what hast thou done?

[To _Marcel_, who kneels and lays his Sword at his Feet.

Silv. In fair _Cleonte’s_ Arms! O I could kiss the Hand that gives me Death, So I might thus expire.

Mar. Pray hear me, Sir, before you do condemn me.

Amb. I will hear nothing but thy Death pronounc’d, Since thou hast wounded him, if it be mortal. Have I not charg’d thee on thy Life, _Marcel_, Thou shouldst not hold Discourse with him of any kind?

Mar. I did foresee my Fate, but could not shun it.

[Takes his Sword and goes out.

237 Amb. What ho! _Biscay_, a Surgeon; on your Lives a Surgeon; where be the Rascals? [Goes out.

Silv. I would not have a Surgeon search my Wound With rude and heavy Hands: Yours, fair _Cleonte_, can apply the Balsam Far more successfully, For they are soft and white as Down of Swans, And every Touch is sovereign.

Cleo. But I shall die with looking on your Wounds.

Silv. And I shall die unless you cure them, Sister.

Cleo. With the expence of mine to save your Life, Is both my Wish and Duty.

Silv. I thank you, pretty Innocence. [Leads him in.

## Scene III. A Grove.

Discovers _Euphemia_ veil’d, walking alone.

Euph. _Olinda_ stays long; I hope she has overtook the Cavalier. Lord, how I am concern’d; if this should be Love now, I were in fine condition, at least if he be married, or a Lover: Oh that I fear: hang me, if it has not disorder’d me all over. But see, where she comes with him too.

Enter _Olinda_ and _Alonzo_.

Olin. Here he is, Madam, I hope ’tis the right Man.

Alon. Madam, you see what haste I make to obey your kind Commands.

Euph. ’Twas as kindly done, Sir; but I fear when you know to what end ’tis, you’ll repent your Haste.

Alon. ’Tis very likely; but if I do, you are not the first of your Sex that has put me to Repentance: But lift up your Veil, and if your Face be good— [Offers to lift up her Veil.

Euph. Stay, you’re too hasty.

Alon. Nay, let’s have fair Play on both sides, I’ll hide nothing from you. [Offers again.

Euph. I have a Question or two to ask you first.

238 Alon. I can promise nothing till I see my Reward. I am a base Barterer, here’s one for t’other; you saw your Man and lik’d him, and if I like you when I see you— [Offers again.

Euph. But if you do not, must all my liking be castaway?

Alon. As for that, trust to my good Nature; a frank Wench has hitherto taken me as much as Beauty. And one Proof you have already given of that, in this kind Invitation: come, come, do not lose my little new-gotten good Opinion of thee, by being coy and peevish. [Offers again.

Euph. You’re strangely impatient, Sir.

Alon. O you should like me the better for that, ’tis a sign of Youth and Fire.

Euph. But, Sir, before I let you see my Face—

Alon. I hope I must not promise you to like it.

Euph. No, that were too unreasonable, but I must know whether you are a Lover.

Alon. What an idle Question’s that to a brisk young Fellow? A Lover! yes, and that as often as I see a new Face.

Euph. That I’ll allow.

Alon. That’s kindly said; and now do I find I shall be in love with thine as soon as I see’t, for I am half so with thy Humour already.

Euph. Are you not married, Sir?

Alon. Married!

Euph. Now I dread his Answer. [Aside.] Yes, married.

Alon. Why, I hope you make no Scruple of Conscience, to be kind to a married Man.

Euph. Now do I find, you hope I am a Curtezan that come to bargain for a Night or two; but if I possess you, it must be for ever.

Alon. For ever let it be then. Come, let’s begin on any Terms.

Euph. I cannot blame you, Sir, for this mistake, since what I’ve rashly done, has given you cause to think I am not virtuous.

239 Alon. Faith, Madam, Man is a strange ungovern’d thing; yet I in the whole course of my Life have taken the best care I could, to make as few Mistakes as possible: and treating all Women-kind alike, we seldom err; for where we find one as you profess to be, we happily light on a hundred of the sociable and reasonable sort.

Euph. But sure you are so much a Gentleman, that you may be convinc’d?

Alon. Faith, if I be mistaken, I cannot devise what other use you can make of me.

Euph. In short this; I must leave you instantly; and will only tell you I am the sole Daughter of a rich Parent, young, and as I am told not unhandsom; I am contracted to a Man I never saw, nor I am sure shall not like when I do see, he having more Vice and Folly than his Fortune will excuse, tho a great one; and I had rather die than marry him.

Alon. I understand you, and you would have me dispatch this Man.

Euph. I am not yet so wicked. The Church is the only place I am allowed to go to, and till now could never see the Man that was perfectly agreeable to me: Thus veil’d, I’ll venture to tell you so.

Alon. What the Devil will this come to? her Mien and Shape are strangely graceful, and her Discourse is free and natural. What a damn’d Defeat is this, that she should be honest now! [Aside.

Euph. Well, Sir, what Answer? I see he is uneasy.[_Aside._

Alon. Why, as I was saying, Madam, I am a Stranger.

Euph. I like you the better for that.

Alon. But, Madam, I am a Man unknown, unown’d in the World; and much unworthy the Honour you do me—Would I were well rid of her, and yet I find a damnable Inclination to stay too. [Aside. Will nothing but Matrimony serve your turn, Madam? Pray use a young Lover as kindly as you can.

240 Euph. Nothing but that will do, and that must be done.

Alon. Must! ’slife this is the first of her Sex that ever was before-hand with me, and yet that I should be forc’d to deny her too. [Aside.

Euph. I fear his Answer, _Olinda_. [Aside.

Olin. At least ’tis but making a Discovery of your Beauty, and then you have him sure.

Alon. Madam, ’tis a matter of Moment, and requires Deliberation; besides I have made a kind of Promise—

Euph. Never to marry?

Alon. No, faith, ’tis not so well: But since now I find we are both in haste, I am to be marry’d.

Euph. This I am sure is an Excuse; but I’ll fit him for’t. [Aside. To be marry’d said you? That Word has kill’d me, Oh I feel it drill Through the deep Wound his Eyes have lately made: ’Twas much unkind to make me hope so long.

[She leans on _Olinda_, as if she swooned, who pulls off her Veil: he stands gazing at a Distance.

Olin. Sure she does but counterfeit, and now I’ll play my Part. Madam, Madam!

Alon. What wondrous thing is that! I should not look upon’t, it changes Nature in me.

Olin. Have you no pity, Sir? Come nearer pray.

Alon. Sure there’s Witchcraft in that Face, it never could have seiz’d me thus else, I have lov’d a thousand times, yet never felt such joyful Pains before.

Olin. She does it rarely. What mean you, Sir?

Alon. I never was a Captive to this Hour. If in her Death such certain Wounds she give, What Mischiefs she would do, if she should live! Yet she must live, and live that I may prove Whether this strange Disorder here be Love. [To his heart. Divine, divinest Maid. [Kneels.

241 Olin. Come nearer, Sir, you’ll do a Lady no good at that Distance. Speak to her, Sir. [He rises and comes to her, gazing still.

Alon. I know not what to say, I am unus’d to this soft kind of Language: But if there be a Charm in Words, and such As may conjure her to return again; Prithee instruct me in them, I’ll say any thing, Do any thing, and suffer all the Wounds Her Eyes can give.

Euph. Sure he is real. [Aside. Alas! I am discover’d; how came my Veil off? [She pretends to recover, and wonder that her Veil is off.

Alon. That you have let me see that lovely Face, May move your Pity, not your Anger, Madam; Pity the Wounds ’t has made, pity the Slave, Who till this Moment boasted of his Freedom.

Euph. May I believe all this? for that we easily do in things we wish.

Alon. Command me things impossible to all Sense but a Lover’s, I will do’t: to shew The Truth of this, I could even give you The last Proof of it, and take you at your Word, To marry you.

Euph. O wondrous Reformation! marry me! [Laughs.

Alon. How, do you mock my Grief?

Euph. What a strange dissembling thing is Man! To put me off too, you were to be married.

Alon. Hah, I had forgotten _Hippolyta_. [He starts.

Euph. See, _Olinda_, the Miracle increases, he can be serious too. How do you, Sir?

Alon. ’Tis you have robb’d me of my native Humour, I ne’er could think till now.

Euph. And to what purpose was it now?

Alon. Why, Love and Honour were at odds within me, And I was making Peace between them.

242 Euph. How fell that out, Sir?

Alon. About a Pair of Beauties; Women, That set the whole World at odds. She that is Honour’s Choice I never saw, And love has taught me new Obedience here.

Euph. What means he? I fear he is in earnest. [Aside.

Olin. ’Tis nothing but his Aversion to Marriage, which most young Men dread now-a-days.

Euph. I must have this Stranger, or I must die; for whatever Face I put upon’t, I am far gone in Love, but I must hide it. [Aside. Well, since I have mist my Aim, you shall never boast my Death; I’ll cast my self away upon the next handsom young Fellow I meet, tho I die for’t; and so farewel to you, loving Sir. [Offers to go.

Alon. Stay, do not marry, as you esteem the Life of him that shall possess you.

Euph. Sure you will not kill him.

Alon. By Heaven, I will.

Euph. O I’ll trust you, Sir: Farewel, farewel.

Alon. You shall not go in triumph thus, Unless you take me with you.

Euph. Well, since you are so resolv’d (and so in love) I’ll give you leave to see me once more at a House at the Corner of St. _Jerom’s_, where this Maid shall give you Entrance.

Alon. Why, that’s generously said.

Euph. As soon ’tis dark you may venture.

Alon. Till then will be an Age, farewel, fair Saint, To thee and all my quiet till we meet. [Exeunt.

## ACT II.

## Scene I. The Street.

Enter _Marcel_ in a Cloak alone.

Mar. The Night comes on, and offers me two Pleasures, The least of which would make another blest, Love and Revenge: but I, whilst I dispute 243 Which Happiness to chuse, neglect them both. The greatest Bliss that Mankind can possess, Persuades me this way, to my fair _Clarinda:_ But tyrannick Honour Presents the Credit of my House before me, And bids me first redeem its fading Glory, By sacrificing that false Woman’s Heart That has undone its Fame. But stay, Oh Conscience, when I look within, And lay my Anger by, I find that Sin Which I would punish in _Antonio’s_ Soul, Lie nourish’d up in mine without Controul. To fair _Clarinda_ such a Siege I lay, As did that Traitor to _Hippolyta_; Only _Hippolyta_ a Brother has, _Clarinda_, none to punish her Disgrace: And ’tis more Glory the defenc’d to win, Than ’tis to take unguarded Virtue in. I either must my shameful Love resign, Or my more brave and just Revenge decline.

[Enter _Alonzo_ drest, with _Lovis_. _Marcel_ stays.

Alon. But to be thus in love, is’t not a Wonder, _Lovis?_

Lov. No, Sir, it had been much a greater, if you had stay’d a Night in Town without being so; and I shall see this Wonder as often as you see a new Face of a pretty Woman.

Alon. I do not say that I shall lose all Passion for the fair Sex hereafter; but on my Conscience, this amiable Stranger has given me a deeper Wound than ever I received from any before.

Lov. Well, you remember the Bargain.

Alon. What Bargain?

Lov. To communicate; you understand.

Alon. There’s the Devil on’t, she is not such a Prize: Oh, were she not honest, Friend! [Hugs him.

244 Lov. Is it so to do? What, you pretend to be a Lover, and she honest, now only to deprive me of my Part: remember this, _Alonzo_.

Mar. Did not I hear _Alonzo_ nam’d? [Aside.

Alon. By all that’s good I am in earnest, Friend; Nay thy own Eyes shall convince thee Of the Power of hers. Her Veil fell off, and she appear’d to me, Like unexpected Day, from out a Cloud; The lost benighted Traveller Sees not th’ Approach of the next Morning’s Sun With more transported Joy, Than I this ravishing and unknown Beauty.

Lov. Hey day! What Stuff’s here? Nay, now I see thou art quite gone indeed.

Alon. I fear it. Oh, had she not been honest! What Joy, what Heaven of Joys she would distribute! With such a Face, and Shape, a Wit, and Mein— But as she is, I know not what to do.

Lov. You cannot marry her.

Alon. I would not willingly, tho I think I’m free: For _Pedro_ went to _Marcel_ to tell him I was arriv’d, and would wait on him; but was treated more like a Spy, than a Messenger of Love: They sent no Answer back, which I tell you, _Lovis_, angers me: ’twas not the Entertainment I expected from my brave Friend _Marcel_. But now I am for the fair Stranger who by this expects me.

Mar. ’Tis _Alonzo_. O how he animates my Rage, and turns me over to Revenge, upon _Hippolyta_ and her false Lover! [Aside.

Lov. Who’s this that walks before us? [They go out.

Alon. No matter who.

Mar. I am follow’d. [They enter again.

Lov. See, he stops. [_Marcel_ looks back.

Alon. Let him do what he please, we will out-go him. [They go out.

245 Lov. This Man whoe’er he be still follows us.

Alon. I care not, nothing shall hinder my Design, I’ll go tho I make my passage thro his Heart. [They enter at another Door, he follows.

Lov. See, he advances, pray stand by a little. [They stand by.

Mar. Sure there’s some Trick in this, but I’ll not fear it. This is the Street, and hereabout’s the House. [Looks about. This must be it, if I can get admittance now. [Knocks.

Enter _Olinda_ with a Light.

Olin. O, Sir, are you come? my Lady grew impatient. [They go in.

Mar. She takes me for some other: This is happy. [Aside.

Alon. Gods! is not that the Maid that first conducted me to the fair thing that rob’d me of my Heart?

Lov. I think it is.

Alon. She gives admittance to another Man. All Women-kind are false, I’ll in and tell her so. [Offers to go.

Lov. You are too rash, ’tis dangerous.

Alan. I do despise thy Counsel, let me go.

Lov. If you are resolv’d, I’ll run the Hazard with you. [They both go in.

## Scene II. The Scene changes to a Chamber.

Enter from one side _Olinda_, lighting in _Marcel_ muffled as before in his Cloke, from the other _Antonio_ leading in _Euphemia_ veil’d.

Mar. By Heaven’s, ’tis she: Vile Strumpet! [Throws off his Cloke, and snatches her from him.

Euph. Alas, this is not he whom I expected.

Anto. _Marcel!_ I had rather have encounter’d my evil Angel than thee. [Draws.

246 Mar. I do believe thee, base ungenerous Coward. [Draws.

[They fight, _Marcel_ disarms _Antonio_, by wounding his Hand. Enter _Alonzo_, goes betwixt them, and with his Sword drawn opposes _Marcel_, who is going to kill _Antonio_; _Lovis_ follows him.

Alon. Take Courage, Sir. [To _Antonio_, who goes out mad.

Mar. Prevented! whoe’er thou be’st. It was unjustly done, To save his Life who merits Death, By a more shameful way. But thank the Gods she still remains to meet That Punishment that’s due to her foul Lust. [Offers to run at her, _Alonzo_ goes between.

Alon. ’Tis this way you must make your Passage then.

Mar. What art thou, that thus a second time Dar’st interpose between Revenge and me?

Alon. ’Tis _Marcel!_ What can this mean? [Aside. Dost not thou know me, Friend? look on me well.

Mar. _Alonzo_ here! Ah I shall die with Shame. [Aside. As thou art my Friend, remove from that bad Woman, Whose Sins deserve no sanctuary.

Euph. What can he mean? I dare not shew my Face. [Aside.

Alon. I do believe this Woman is a false one, But still she is a Woman, and a fair one: I would not suffer thee to injure her, Tho I believe she has undone thy quiet, As she has lately mine.

Mar. Why, dost thou know it then? Stand by, I shall forget thou art my Friend else, And thro thy Heart reach hers.

Alon. Nothing but Love could animate him thus, He is my Rival. [Aside. _Marcel_, I will not quit one inch of Ground; Do what thou dar’st, for know I do adore her, 247 And thus am bound by Love to her Defence. [Offers to fight _Marcel_, who retires in wonder.

Euph. Hold, noble Stranger, hold.

Mar. Have you such Pity on your Lover there? [Offers to kill her, _Alonzo_ stays him.

Euph. Help, help. [Her Veil falls off.

Enter _Hippolyta_ drest like a Curtezan: Sees _Marcel._

Hip. Oh Gods, my Brother! in pity, Sir, defend me From the just Rage of that incensed Man. [Runs behind _Lovis_, whilst _Marcel_ stands gazing on both with wonder.

Lov. I know not the meaning of all this, but However I’ll help the Lady in Distress. Madam, you’re safe, whilst I am your Protector. [Leads her out.

Mar. I’ve lost the Power of striking where I ought, Since my misguided Hand so lately err’d. Oh Rage, dull senseless Rage, how blind and rude It makes us. Pardon, fair Creature, my unruly Passion, And only blame that Veil which hid that Face, Whose Innocence and Beauty had disarm’d it: I took you for the most perfidious Woman, The falsest loosest thing.

Alon. How! are you a Stranger to her?

Mar. Yes I am. Have you forgiven me, Madam?

Euph. Sir, I have. [_Marcel_ bows and offers to go out.

Alon. Stay, Friend, and let me know your Quarrel.

Mar. Not for the World, _Alonzo_.

Alon. This is unfriendly, Sir.

Mar. Thou dost delay me from the noblest Deed, On which the Honour of my House depends, A Deed which thou wilt curse thy self for hindring Farewel. [Goes out.

Alon. What can the meaning of this be?

248 Euph. Oh do not ask, but let us quickly leave this dangerous Place.

Alon. Does it not belong to you?

Euph. No, but you would like me the better if it did: for, Sir, it is a—

Alon. Upon my Life, a Baudy-house.

Euph. So they call it.

Alon. You do amaze me.

Euph. Truth is, not daring to trust my Friends or Relations with a Secret that so nearly concern’d me as the meeting you, and hearing of a new come Curtezan living in this House, I sent her word I would make her a Visit, knowing she would gladly receive it from a Maid of my Quality: When I came, I told her my Business, and very frankly she offer’d me her House and Service—Perhaps you’ll like me the worse for this bold Venture, but when you consider my promis’d Husband is every day expected, you will think it but just to secure my self any way.

Alon. You could not give me a greater Proof than this of what you say you bless me with, your Love.

Euph. I will not question but you are in earnest; at least if any doubt remain, these will resolve it. [Gives him Letters.

Alon. What are these, Madam?

Euph. Letters, Sir, intercepted from the Father of my design’d Husband out of _Flanders_ to mine.

Alon. What use can I make of them?

Euph. Only this: Put your self into an Equipage very ridiculous, and pretend you are my foolish Lover arriv’d from _Flanders_, call your self _Haunce van Ezel_, and give my Father these, as for the rest I’ll trust your Wit.

Alon. What shall I say or do now? [Aside.

Euph. Come, come, no study, Sir; this must be done, And quickly too, or you will lose me.

Alon. Two great Evils! if I had but the Grace to chuse the least now, that is, lose her. [Aside.

249 Euph. I’ll give you but to night to consider it.

Alon. Short warning this: but I am damnably in love, and cannot withstand Temptation. [Kisses her Hand.

Euph. I had forgot to tell you my Name’s _Euphemia_, my Father’s you’ll find on the Letters, and pray show your Love in your haste. Farewel.

Alon. Stay, fair _Euphemia_, and let me pay my Thanks, and tell you that I must obey you.

Euph. I give a Credit where I give a Heart. Go inquire my Birth and Fortune: as for you, I am content with what I see about you.

Alon. That’s bravely said, nor will I ask one Question about you, not only to return the Bounty, but to avoid all things that look like the Approaches to a married Life. If Fortune will put us together, let her e’en provide for us.

Euph. I must be gone: Farewel, and pray make haste. [Looks kindly on him.

Alon. There’s no resisting those Looks, _Euphemia_: One more to fortify me well; for I shall have need of every Aid in this Case. [Look at one another and go.

## Scene III. A Street.

Enter _Antonio_ in haste with _Hippolyta_; weeping as passing over the Stage.

Ant. Come, let us haste, I fear we are pursu’d.

Hip. Ah, whither shall we fly?

Ant. We are near the Gate, and must secure our selves with the Darkness of the Night in _St. Peter’s_ Grove, we dare not venture into any House. [Exeunt.

Enter _Clarinda_ and _Dormida_ above in the Balcony.

Clar. Can’st thou not see him yet?

Dorm. Good lack a-day, what an impatient thing is a young Girl in love!

Clar. Nay, good _Dormida_, let not want of Sleep make thee testy.

250 Dorm. In good time—are you my Governess, or I yours, that you are giving me Instructions? Go get you in, or I shall lay down my Office.

Clar. Nay, wait a little longer, I’m sure he will come.

Dorm. You sure! you have wondrous Skill indeed in the Humours of Men: how came you to be so well acquainted with them? you scarce ever saw any but Don _Marcel_, and him too but thro a Grate or Window, or at Church; and yet you are sure. I am a little the elder of the two, and have manag’d as many Intrigues of this kind as any Woman, and never found a constant just Man, as they say, of a thousand; and yet you are sure.

Clar. Why, is it possible _Marcel_ should be false?

Dorm. _Marcel!_ No, no, Sweet-heart, he is that Man of a thousand.

Clar. But if he should, you have undone me, by telling me so many pretty things of him.

Dorm. Still you question my Ability, which by no means I can indure; get you in I say.

Clar. Do not speak so loud, you will wake my Mother.

Dorm. At your Instructions again; do you question my Conduct and Management of this Affair? Go watch for him your self: I’ll have no more to do with you back nor edge. [Offers to go.

Clar. Will you be so barbarous to leave me to my self, after having made it your Business this three Months to sollicit a Heart which was but too ready to yield before; after having sworn to me how honourable all his Intents were; nay, made me write to him to come to night? And now when I have done this, and am all trembling with fear and shame (and yet an infinite Desire to see him too) [Sighs] thou wilt abandon me: go, when such as you oblige, ’tis but to be insolent with the more freedom.

Dorm. What, you are angry I’ll warrant. [Smiles.

Clar. I will punish my self to pay thee back, and will not see _Marcel_.

251 Dorm. What a pettish Fool is a Maid in love at fifteen! how unmanageable! But I’ll forgive all—go get you in, I’ll watch for your Lover; I would not have you disoblige a Man of his Pretensions and Quality for all the World. [_Clarinda_ goes in.

Enter _Alonzo_ below.

Alon. Now do I want _Lovis_ extremely, to consult with him about this Business: For I am afraid the Devil, or Love, or both are so great with me, that I must marry this fair Inchantress, which is very unlucky; but, since _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_ refuse to see me, I hold my self no longer ingag’d in Honour to _Hippolyta_.

Dorm. [above.] Whist, whist, Sir, Sir.

Alon. Who’s there?

Dorm. ’Tis I, your Servant, Sir; oh you are a fine Spark, are you not, to make so fair a Creature wait so long for you? there, there’s the Key, open the Door softly and come in. [Throws him down a Key in a Handkerchief.

Alon. What’s this? But I’ll ask no Questions, so fair a Creature, said she? Now if ’twere to save my Life cannot I forbear, I must go in: Shou’d _Euphemia_ know this, she would call it Levity and Inconstancy; but I plead Necessity, and will be judg’d by the amorous Men, and not the jealous Women: For certain this Lady, whoe’er she be, designs me a more speedy Favour than I can hope from _Euphemia_, and on easier Terms too. This is the Door that must conduct to the languishing _Venus_. [Opens the Door and goes in, leaving it unshut.

Enter _Marcel_ with his Sword drawn.

Mar. Thus far I have pursu’d the Fugitives, Who by the help of hasty Fear and Night, Are got beyond my Power; unlucky Accident! Had I but kill’d _Antonio_, or _Hippolyta_, Either had made my Shame supportable. But tho I have mist the Pleasure of Revenge, 252 I will not that of Love. One Look from fair _Clarinda_ will appease The Madness which this Disappointment rais’d. [Walks looking towards the Window.

None appears yet: _Dormida_ was to throw me down the Key. The Door is open, left so to give me entrance. [Goes to the Door.

## Scene IV. Changes to a dark Hall.

Discovers _Alonzo_ groping about in the Hall.

Alon. Now am I in a worse Condition than before, can neither advance nor retreat: I do not like this groping alone in the Dark thus. Whereabouts am I? I dare not call: were this fair thing she spoke of but now half so impatient as I, she would bring a Light, and conduct me.

Enter _Marcel_.

Mar. ’Tis wondrous dark.

Alon. Hah, a Man’s Voice that way; that’s not so well: it may be some Lover, Husband, or Brother; none of which are to be trusted in this Case, therefore I’ll stand upon my Guard. [Draws: _Marcel_ coming towards him jostles him.

Mar. Who’s there?

Alon. A Man.

Mar. A Man! none such inhabit here. [Draws. Thy Business?

Alon. This shall answer you, since there’s no other way.

[They fight, _Alonzo_ wounds _Marcel_, who fights him to the Door; _Alonzo_ goes out, _Marcel_ gropes to follow.

Mar. This is not just, ye Gods, to punish me, and let the Traytor ’scape unknown too: Methought ’twas _Silvio’s_ Voice, or else a sudden thought of Jealousy come into my Head would make me think so.

Enter _Clarinda_ and _Dormida_ with Light.

Clar. I tell you I did hear the noise of fighting.

253 Dorm. Why, between whom should it be? I’ll be sworn _Marcel_ came in alone.

Clar. _Marcel!_ and wounded too! oh I’m lost. [Sees him, weeps.

Mar. Keep your false Tears to bathe your Lover’s Wounds. For I perhaps have given him some—Thou old Assistant to her Lust, whose greatest Sin is wishing, tell me who ’twas thou didst procure for her. [In rage to _Dormida_.

Dorm. Alas! I cannot imagine who it should be, unless Don _Silvio_, who has sometimes made Addresses to her: But oh the House is up, Madam, we are undone; let’s fly for Heavens sake.

Clar. Oh _Marcel_, can you believe— [A Noise.

Dorm. Come, come, I’ll not be undone for your Fiddle-faddles; I’ll lay it all on you, if I be taken. [Pulls out _Clarinda_.

Mar. Sot that I was, I could not guess at this to day, by his Anger at the Letter I foolishly shew’d him; he is my Rival, and ’tis with him she’s fled; and I’ll endeavour to pursue them. [Offers to go. But oh my Strength complies with their Design, [Leaning on his Sword.] and shamefully retires to give them leave to play their amorous Game out. [Goes faintly out.

## Scene V. Changes to the Street. Discovers _Alonzo_ alone.

Alon. This Act of mine was rash and ill-natur’d, And I cannot leave the Street with a good Conscience, Till I know what mischief I have done.

Enter _Dormida_ and _Clarinda_.

Hah, Ladies from the same House! these are Birds that I have frighted from their Nests I am sure: I’ll proffer my Service to them.

Dorm. Why do not you make more haste?

254 Clar. How can she go, whose Life is left behind? Besides, I know not whither we should go. Ye Powers that guard the Innocent, protect us.

Alon. These must be some whom I have injur’d. Ladies—you seem as in distress.

Dorm. Oh, Sir, as you are a Gentleman, assist a pair of Virgins.

Alon. What’s this, a mumping Matron? I hope the other’s young, or I have offer’d my Service to little purpose.

Clar. Sir, if you will have the Charity to assist us, Do it speedily, we shall be very grateful to you.

Alon. Madam, I will, but know not where to carry ye; my Lodging is in an Inn, and is neither safe nor honourable: but Fortune dares no less than protect the Fair, and I’ll venture my Life in your Protection and Service. [Exeunt.

Enter _Marcel_ faintly.

Mar. Stay, Traytor, stay—oh they are out of sight, But may my Curse o’ertake them in their flight. [Exit.

## Scene VI. Chamber of _Cleonte_.

She is discover’d in her Night-Gown, at a Table, as undressing, _Francisca_ by her.

Cleo. _Francisca_, thou art dull to Night. [Sighs.

Fran. You will not give me leave to talk.

Cleo. Not thy way indeed, hast thou no Stories but of Love, and of my Brother _Silvio?_

Fran. None that you wish to hear: But I’ll do what you please, so you will not oblige me to sigh for you.

Cleo. Then prithee sing to me.

Fran. What Song, a merry, or a sad?

Cleo. Please thy own Humour, for then thou’lt sing best.

Fran. Well, Madam, I’ll obey you, and please my self.

255 SINGS.

_Amyntas_ led me to a Grove, Where all the Trees did shade us; The Sun it self, tho it had strove, Yet could not have betrayed us. The place secure from human Eyes, No other fear allows, But when the Winds that gently rise Do kiss the yielding Boughs.

Down there we sat upon the Moss, And did begin to play A thousand wanton Tricks, to pass The Heat of all the Day. A many Kisses he did give, And I return’d the same: Which made me willing to receive That which I dare not name.

His charming Eyes no aid requir’d, To tell their amorous Tale; On her that was already fir’d, ’Twas easy to prevail. He did but kiss, and clasp me round, Whilst they his thoughts exprest, And laid me gently on the Ground; Oh! —who can guess the rest?

After the Song, enter _Silvio_ all undrest, gazing wildly on _Cleonte_; his Arm ty’d up.

Cleo. My Brother _Silvio_, at this late hour, and in my Lodgings too! How do you, Sir? are you not well?

Silv. Oh, why did Nature give me being? Or why create me Brother to _Cleonte?_ [Aside. Or give her Charms, and me the sense to adore ’em?

Cleo. Dear Brother— [Goes to him.

Silv. Ah, _Cleonte_— [Takes her by the Hand and gazes.

256 Cleo. What would you, Sir?

Silv. I am not—well—

Cleo. Sleep, Sir, will give you ease.

Silv. I cannot sleep, my Wounds do rage and burn so, as they put me past all power of rest.

Cleo. We’ll call your Surgeon, Sir.

Silv. He can contribute nothing to my Cure, But I must owe it all to thee, _Cleonte_.

Cleo. Instruct me in the way, give me your Arm, And I will bathe it in a thousand Tears, [Goes to untie his Arm. And breathe so many Sighs into your Wound—

Silv. Let that slight hurt alone, and search this—here. [To his Heart.

Cleo. How! are you wounded there, And would not let us know it all this while?

Silv. I durst not tell you, but design’d to suffer, Rather than trouble you with my Complaints: But now my Pain is greater than my Courage.

Fran. Oh, he will tell her, that he loves her sure. [Aside.

Cleo. Sit down and let me see’t. [He sits down, she puts her Hand into his Bosom.

Fran. Oh foolish Innocence— [Aside.

Cleo. You have deceiv’d me, Brother, here’s no Wound.

Silv. Oh take away your Hand— It does increase my Pain, and wounds me deeper.

Cleo. No, surely, Sir, my Hand is very gentle.

Silv. Therefore it hurts me, Sister; the very thoughts Of Touches by so soft and fair a Hand, Playing about my Heart, are not to be indur’d with Life. [Rises in passion.

Cleo. Alas, what means my Brother?

Silv. Can you not guess, fair Sister? have my Eyes So ill exprest my Soul? or has your Innocence Not suffer’d you to understand my Sighs? Have then a thousand Tales, which I have told you, 257 Of Broken Hearts, and Lovers Languishments, Not serv’d to tell you, that I did adore you?

Cleo. Oh let me still remain in Innocence, Rather than sin so much to understand you.

Fran. I can endure no more— [Goes out.

Silv. Can you believe it Sin to love a Brother? it is not so in Nature.

Cleo. Not as a Brother, Sir; but otherwise, It is, by all the Laws of Men and Heaven.

Silv. Sister, so ’tis that we should do no Murder, And yet you daily kill, and I, among the number Of your Victims, must charge you with the sin Of killing me, a Lover, and a Brother.

Cleo. What wou’d you have me do?

Silv. Why—I would have thee—do—I know not what— Still to be with me—yet that will not satisfy; To let me look—upon thee—still that’s not enough. I dare not say to kiss thee, and imbrace thee; That were to make me wish—I dare not tell thee what—

Cleo. I must not hear this Language from a Brother. [She offers to go.

Silv. What a vile thing’s a Brother? Stay, take this Dagger, and add one Wound more [He kneels and offers her a Dagger, and holds her by the Coat. To those your Eyes have given, and after that You’ll find no trouble from my Sighs and Tears.

Enter _Francisca_.

Fran. By this she understands him, curse on her Innocence, ’Tis fuel to his flame— [Aside.] Madam, there is below a Lady, who desires to speak with the Mistress of the House.

Cleo. At this hour a Lady! who can it be?

Fran. I know not, but she seems of Quality.

Cleo. Is she alone?

Fran. Attended by a Gentleman and an old Woman.

258 Cleo. Perhaps some one that needs a kind Assistance; my Father is in Bed, and I’ll venture to know their Business; bring her up.

Fran. ’Twere good you should retire, Sir. [To _Silvio_, and Exit.

Silv. I will, but have a care of me, _Cleonte_, I fear I shall grow mad, and so undo thee: Love me—but do not let me know’t too much. [Goes out.

Enter _Francisca_ with Lights; follow’d by _Alonzo_, _Clarinda_, and _Dormida_: _Alonzo_ gazes on _Cleonte_ a while.

Cleo. Is’t me you would command?

Clar. I know not what to say, I am so disorder’d. [Aside.

Alon. What Troops of Beauties she has! sufficient to take whole Cities in—Madam, I beg— [Takes _Clarinda_ by the Hand, and approaches _Cleonte_.

Cleo. What, Sir?

Alon. That you would receive into Protection—

Cleo. What pray, Sir?

Alon. Would you would give me leave to say, a Heart That your fair Eyes have lately made unfit For its old Quarters.

Cleo. I rather think you mean this Lady, Sir. [_Alonzo_ looks with wonder on _Clarinda_.

Alon. She’s heavenly fair too, and has surpriz’d my Heart, Just as ’twas going to the other’s Bosom, And rob’d her at least of one half of it. [Aside.

Clar. Madam, I am a Virgin in distress, And by misfortune forc’d to seek a Sanctuary, And humbly beg it here.

Cleo. Intreaties were not made for that fair Mouth; Command and be obey’d. But, Sir, to whom do you belong?

Alon. I belong to a very fair Person, But do not know her Name.

Cleo. But what are you, pray, Sir?

259 Alon. Madam, a Wanderer; a poor lost thing, That none will own or pity.

Cleo. That’s sad indeed; but whoe’er you are, since you belong to this fair Maid, you’ll find a Welcome every where.

Alon. And if I do not, I am cashier’d. [Aside. Madam, if telling you I am her Brother, Can make me more acceptable, I shall be yet more proud of the Alliance.

Cleo. What must I call your Sister, Sir, when I would pay my Duty?

Alon. There I am routed again with another hard Question. [Aside.

Clar. Madam, my Name’s _Clarinda_.

Alon. Madam, I’ll take my leave, and wish the Heart I leave with you to night, may persuade you to suffer my Visits to morrow, till when I shall do nothing but languish.

Cleo. I know not what loss you have suffer’d to night; but since your fair Sister’s Presence with us allows it, you need not doubt a welcome.

Alon. I humbly thank you, Madam. [Kisses her Hand, and looks amorously on _Clarinda_.

Fran. Madam, pray retire, for Don _Marcel_ is come into the House all bloody, inrag’d against somebody.

Clar. I’m troubled at his Hurt, but cannot fear his Rage. Good night, Sir. [They go out.

Alon. They are gone; now had I as much mind to have kist the other’s Hand, but that ’twas not a Ceremony due to a Sister—What the Devil came into my Head, to say she was so? nothing but the natural itch of talking and lying: they are very fair; but what’s that to me? _Euphemia_ surpasses both: But a Pox of her terms of Marriage, I’ll set that to her Beauty, and then these get the Day, as far as natural Necessity goes: But I’ll home and sleep upon’t, and yield to what’s most powerful in the Morning.

To night these Strangers do my Heart possess, But which the greatest share, I cannot guess: 260 My Fate in Love resembles that in War, When the rich Spoil falls to the common share. [Goes out.

## Scene VII. The Street.

Enter _Alonzo_, as out of the House, gazing upon it.

Alon. Sure I shall know this House again to morrow. [To him _Lovis_.

Lov. I wonder what should be become of _Alonzo_, I do do not like these Night-works of his— Who’s there?

Alon. _Lovis!_

Lov. _Alonzo?_

Alon. The same, where hast thou been?

Lov. In search of you this two Hours.

Alon. O, I have been taken up with new Adventures, since I saw thee; but prithee what became of thine? for methought it was a likely Woman.

Lov. Faith, Sir, I thought I had got a Prize; but a Pox on’t, when I came into the Street, e’er she had recover’d Breath to tell me who she was, the Cavalier you rescu’d from _Marcel_, laid claim to her; thank’d me for her Preservation, and vanisht. I hope you had better luck with your Female, whose Face I had not the good fortune to see.

Alon. Not so good as I could have wisht, for she stands still on her honourable terms.

Lov. Of Matrimony, ha, ha, a very Jilt, I’ll warrant her; Come, come, you shall see her no more.

Alon. Faith, I fear I must.

Lov. To what purpose?

Alon. To persuade her to Reason.

Lov. That you’ll soon do, when she finds you will not bite at t’other Bait.

Alon. The worst is, if I see her again, it must be at her Father’s House; and so transform’d from Man to Beast—I must appear like a ridiculous Lover she expects out of _Flanders_.

261 Lov. A very Cheat, a trick to draw thee in: be wise in time.

Alon. No, on my Conscience she’s in earnest, she told me her Name, and his I am to represent.

Lov. What is’t, I pray?

Alon. _Haunce van Ezel._

Lov. Hah! her Name too, I beseech you? [Impatiently.

Alon. _Euphemia_: And such a Creature ’tis—

Lov. ’Sdeath, my Sister all this while: This has call’d up all that’s Spaniard in me, and makes me raging mad. [Aside.] But do you love her, Sir?

Alon. Most desperately, beyond all Sense or Reason.

Lov. And could you be content to marry her?

Alon. Any thing but that —But thou know’st my ingagement elsewhere; and I have hopes that yet she’ll be wise, and yield on more pleasant terms.

Lov. I could be angry now; but ’twere unreasonable to blame him for this. [Aside.] Sir, I believe by your Treatment from _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_, you may come off there easily.

Alon. That will not satisfy my Honour, tho ’twill my Love; that I have not _Hippolyta_, I will owe to my own Inconstancy, not theirs: besides, this may be a Cheat, as you say.

Lov. But does _Euphemia_ love you?

Alon. Faith, I think she has too much Wit to dissemble, and too much Beauty to need that Art.

Lov. Then you must marry her.

Alon. Not if I can avoid it.

Lov. I know this Lady, Sir, and know her to be worth your Love: I have it in my Power too, to serve you, if you proceed suddenly, which you must do, or lose her; for this _Flandrian_ Boor your Rival is already arriv’d, and designs to morrow to make his first Address to _Euphemia_.

Alon. Oh, he must not, shall not see her.

Lov. How will you hinder him?

Alon. With this. [To his Sword.] Where is this Rival? 262 tell me: Conduct me to him strait; I find my Love above the common rate, and cannot brook this Rival.

Lov. So, this blows the flame—His Life will be no hindrance to you in this Affair, if you design to love on.

Alon. Do’st know him?

Lov. Yes, he is a pleasant Original for you to be copy’d by: It is the same Fop, I told you was to marry my Sister, and who came along with me to _Madrid_.

Alon. How! _Euphemia_ thy Sister?

Lov. Yes, indeed is she, and whom my Father designs to cast away upon this half Man, half Fool; but I find she has Wit to make a better Choice: she yet knows nothing of my Arrival, and till you resolve what to do, shall not; and my _Dutchman_ does nothing without me.

Alon. If thou hast the management of him, he’s likely to thrive.

Lov. But not in his Amour, if you please: In short, Sir, if you do really love my Sister, I am content to be so ungracious a Child to contribute to the cheating my Father of this same hopeful Son he expects, and put you upon him; but what you do, must be speedily then.

Alon. I am oblig’d to thee for this frank Offer, and will be instructed by thee.

Lov. If you’re resolv’d, I’ll warrant you Success.

Alon. I think I am resolv’d in spite of all my Inclinations to Libertinism.

Lov. Well, Sir, I’ll get you such a Suit then, as that our Hero makes his first approach in, as ridiculously gay as his Humour, which you must assume too.

Alon. Content.

Lov. To night I must pay my Duty to my Father, and will prepare your way, and acquaint my Sister with it; ’tis but a Frolick if we succeed not.

Alon. God-a-mercy, Lad, let’s about it then e’er we sleep, lest I change my Resolution before Morning. [Exeunt.

263

## ACT III.

## Scene I. House of _Carlo_.

Enter _Alonzo_ drest ridiculously, meeting _Lovis_, they laugh at each other.

Lov. Very _Haunce_ all over, the Taylor has play’d his part, play but yours as well, and I’ll warrant you the Wench.

Alon. But prithee, why need I act the Fool thus, since _Haunce_ was never seen here?

Lov. To make good the Character I always gave of him to my Father; but here he comes, pray be very rude, and very impertinent.

Alon. Lord, Lord, how shall I look thus damnably set out, and thus in love!

Enter Don _Carlo_.

Lov. This, Sir, is Monsieur _Haunce_, your Son that must be.

Alon. _Beso los manos, signor_: Is your Name Don _Carlo?_ and are you the Gravity of this House? and the Father of Donna _Euphemia?_ and are you—

Car. Sir, I guess by all these your Demands at once, your Name to be _Myn heer Haunce van Ezel_.

Alon. Your Judgment’s good; but to my Questions.

Car. In truth I have forgot them, there were so many.

Alon. Are you he who is to be my Father?

Car. ’Tis so negotiated—and if all Circumstances concur—For, Sir, you must conceive, the Consequence of so grand a Conjunction—

Alon. Less of your Compliments, Sir, and more of your Daughter, I beseech you. ’Sheart, what a formal Coxcomb ’tis. [Aside.

Lov. Prithee give him way. [Aside.

Alon. By this Light I’ll lose thy Sister first; Why, who can indure the grave approaches to the Matter? ’Dslife, I would have it as I would my Fate, sudden and unexpected.

264 Car. Pray, how long have you been landed?

Alon. So, now shall I be plagu’d with nothing but wise Questions, to which I am able to make no Answer. [Aside.] Sir, it is your Daughter that I desire to see impatiently.

Car. Have you no Letters from my very good Friend your Father?

Alon. What if I have not? cannot I be admitted to your Daughter without a Pass?

Car. O lack, Sir—

Alon. But to let you see I come with full Power (tho I am old enough to recommend my self) here is my Commission for what I do. [Gives him Letters.

Car. I remember amongst his other Faults, my Son writ me word he had Courage: If so, I shall consider what to do. [Reads.] Sir, I find by these your Father’s Letters, you are not yet arriv’d.

Alon. I know that, Sir, but I was told I should express my Love in my haste; therefore outsailing the Pacquet, I was the welcome Messenger my self; and since I am so forward, I beseech you, Sir— [_Carlo_ coming to imbrace him. Now dare not I proceed, he has so credulous a consenting Face. [Aside.

Car. Spare your Words, I understand their meaning; a prudent Man speaks least, as the _Spaniard_ has it: and since you are so forward, as you were saying, I shall not be backward; but as your Father adviseth here, hasten the uniting of our Families, with all celerity; for delay in these Affairs is but to prolong time, as the wise Man says.

Alon. You are much in the right, Sir. But my Wife, I desire to be better acquainted with her.

Car. She shall be forth-coming, Sir. Had you a good Passage? for the Seas and Winds regard no Man’s necessity.

Alon. No, no, a very ill one; your Daughter, Sir.

Car. Pray, how long were you at Sea?

Alon. _Euphemia_, Sir, _Euphemia_, your Daughter. This Don’s fuller of Questions than of Proverbs, and that’s a Wonder. [Aside.

265 Car. They say _Flanders_ is a very fine Country, I never saw it; but—

Alon. Nor ’tis no matter, Sir, if you never do, so I saw your Daughter. He’ll catechize me home to my _Dutch_ Parents by and by, of which I can give him no more account than— [Aside.

Car. Are they as dissatisfied with their new Governour, as they were with Don _John?_ for they love change.

Alon. A Pox of their Government, I tell you I love your Daughter.

Car. I fear ’tis so, he’s valiant; and what a dangerous Quality is that in _Spain!_ ’tis well he’s rich. [Aside.

Lov. Pray, Sir, keep him not long in Discourse, the Sea has made him unfit for—

Alon. Any thing but seeing my Mistress.

Lov. I’ll have mercy upon thee, and fetch her to thee. [Ex. _Lovis_.

Car. Sir, you must know, that we suffer not our Women in Spain to converse so frequently with your Sex, and that thro a cautious—well consider’d prudent—Consideration.

Alon. But, Sir, do you consider what an impatient thing a young Lover is? Or is it so long since you were one your self, you have forgot it? ’Tis well he wanted Words. [Enter _Euphemia_ and _Lovis_.] But yonder’s _Euphemia_, whose Beauty is sufficient to excuse every Defect in the whole Family, tho each were a mortal sin; and now ’tis impossible to guard my self longer from those fair Eyes. [Aside.

Car. I must not urge him to speak much before _Euphemia_, lest she discover he wants Wit by his much Tongue: [Aside. There’s my Daughter, Sir, go and salute her.

Alon. Oh, I thank you for that, Sir. [He stands ridiculously looking on her.

Car. You must be bold, Sir.

Alon. Well, Sir, since you command me— [Goes rudely to kiss her.

266 Car. I did not mean kissing by saluting.

Alon. I cry you Mercy, Sir, so I understood you.

Car. Fie upon’t, that he should be no more a Master of Civility.

Lov. I fear, Sir, my Sister will never like this Humour in her Lover; he wants common Conversation.

Car. Conversation—ye foolish Boy, he has Money, and needs none of your Conversation. And yet if I thought he were valiant—

[This while _Alonzo_ and _Euphemia_ make signs of Love with their Eyes.

Lov. I hope, Sir, he does not boast of more of that than he really has.

Car. That Fault I my self have been guilty of, and can excuse; but the thing it self I shall never endure: you know I was forc’d to send you abroad, because I thought you addicted to that. I shall never sleep in quiet—Valiant! that’s such a thing, to be Rich, or Wise and Valiant. [Goes to _Euphemia_.

Lov. Colonel, pray to the business, for I fear you will betray your self.

Car. But look upon his Wealth, _Euphemia_, and you will find those Advantages there which are wanting in his Person; but I think the Man’s well.

Euph. I must not seem to yield too soon. [Aside. Sir, there be many Spaniards born that are as rich as he, and have Wit too.

Car. She was ever very averse to this Marriage. [Aside. This Man is half a _Spaniard_, his Mother was one, and my first Mistress, and she I can tell you, was a great Fortune—

Euph. I, Sir, but he is such a Fool—

Car. You are a worse, to find fault with that in a Husband.

Alon. Stand aside, Sir, are you to court your Daughter or I?

Car. I was inclining her—

Alon. You inclining her! an old Man wants Rhetorick; set me to her. [Goes to _Euphemia_.

267 Car. This capricious Humour was tolerable in him, Whilst I believ’d it the Effects of Folly, but now ’tis that of Valour: Oh, I tremble at the Sight of him. [Retires.

Euph. Now, I see you are a Cavalier of your Word.

Alon. Faith, _Euphemia_, you might have believ’d, and taken me upon better Terms, if you had so pleas’d: To marry you is but an ill-favour’d Proof to give you of my Passion.

Euph. Do you repent it?

Alon. Would to God ’twere come but to that, I was just upon the Point of it when you enter’d. But I know not what the Devil there is in that Face of yours, but it has debauch’d every sober Thought about me: Faith, do not let us marry yet.

Euph. If we had not proceeded too far to retreat, I should be content.

Alon. What shall I come to? all on the sudden to leave delicious whoring, drinking and fighting, and be condemn’d to a dull honest Wife. Well, if it be my ill Fortune, may this Curse light on thee that has brought me to’t: may I love thee even after we are married to that troublesome Degree, that I may grow most damnable jealous of thee, and keep thee from the Sight of all Mankind, but thy own natural Husband, that so thou may’st be depriv’d of the greatest Pleasure of this Life, the Blessing of Change.

Euph. I am sorry to find so much ill Nature in you; would you have the Conscience to tie me to harder Conditions than I would you?

Alon. Nay, I do not think I shall be so wickedly loving; but I am resolv’d to marry thee and try.

Euph. My Father, Sir, on with your Disguise. [To them _Carlo_.

Car. Well, Sir, how do you like my Daughter?

Alon. So, so, she’ll serve for a Wife.

Car. But do you find her willing to be so?

268 Alon. ’Tis not a half-penny matter for that, as long as my Father and you are agreed upon the matter,

Car. Well, _Euphemia_, setting all foolish Modesty aside, how do you like this Man?

Euph. As one, whom in Obedience to you, I am content to cast my self away upon.

Car. How seems his Humour to you?

Euph. Indifferent, Sir, he is not very courtly, something rough and hasty.

Car. I fear she has found his ill Quality of Valour too; and since ’tis certain ’tis so, why should it be said that I ruin’d a Child to satisfy my Appetite of Riches? [Aside. Come, Daughter, can you love him, or can you not? For I’ll make but short Work on’t; you are my Daughter, and have a Fortune great enough to inrich any Man; and I’m resolv’d to put no Force upon your Inclinations.

Euph. How’s this! nay, then ’tis time I left dissembling. [Aside.] Sir, this Bounty in you has strangely overcome me, and makes me asham’d to have withstood your Will so long.

Car. Do not dissemble with me, I say do not; for I am resolv’d you shall be happy.

Euph. Sir, my Obedience shall—

Car. No more of your Obedience; I say again, do not dissemble, for I’m not pleas’d with your Obedience.

Euph. This Alteration is very strange and sudden; pray Heaven he have not found the Cheat. [Aside. Love, Sir, they say will come after Marriage; pray let me try it.

Car. Few have found it so; nor shall you experience it at so dear a Rate as your Ruin.

Euph. But, Sir, methinks I am grown to love him more since he spoke to me, than before.

Car. The Effects of your Obedience again.

Euph. This is a strange Alteration, Sir; not all my Tears and Prayers before I saw him, could prevail with you. I beseech you, Sir, believe me.

269 Car. Nor should now, had I not another Reason for’t.

Euph. Oh, I fear—But, Sir—

Car. Go to, I’ll be better satisfy’d e’er I proceed farther—both of your Inclinations, and his Courage. [Aside.

Euph. Do you consider his Wealth, Sir?

Car. That shall not now befriend him.

Alon. Sir, I bar whispering; ’tis not in my Bargain, nor civil: I’ll have fair Play for my Money.

Car. I am only knowing my Daughter’s Pleasure; she is a little peevish, as Virgins use in such Cases; but wou’d that were all, and I’d endeavour to reconcile her.

Alon. I thank you, Sir; in the mean time I’ll take a Walk for an Hour or two, to get me a better Stomach both to my Dinner and Mistress.

Car. Do so, Sir. Come, _Euphemia_, I will give you a Proof of my Indulgence, thou shalt marry no valiant Fools! valiant, quoth ye. Come, come—had he been peaceable and rich—Come, come— [Ex. with _Euphemia_.

Lov. Well, now I’ll go look after my _Dutchman_, lest he surprize us here, which must not be; where shall I find you?

Alon. I’ll wait upon my Prince, and then on you here.

Lov. Do so, and carry on this Humour. Adieu.

## Scene II. A flat Grove.

Enter _Haunce_ in a fantastical travelling Habit, with a Bottle of Brandy in his Hand, as sick: _Gload_ marches after.

Hau. Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages. [Drinks. Here, _Gload_, take thee t’other Sope, and then let’s home. [_Gload_ drinks. Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages.

Gload. Sir, if I may advise, take t’other turn in the Grove, for I find by my Nose you want more airing.

Hau. How, Sirrah! by your Nose? have a care, you know ’tis ill jesting with me when I’m angry.

270 Gload. Which is as often as you are drunk; I find it has the same Effects on me too: but truly, Sir, I meant no other than that you smell a little of the Vessel, a certain sour remains of a Storm about you.

Hau. Ah, ah, do not name a Storm to me, unless thou wilt have the Effects on’t in thy Face. [Drinks.

Gload. Sha, sha, bear up, Sir, bear up.

Hau. _Salerimente_, a Sea-phrase too! Why, ye Rascal, I tell you I can indure nothing that puts me in mind of that Element. [Drinks.

Gload. The Sight of _Donna Euphemia_ will— [_Gload_ drinks between whiles too.

Hau. Hold, hold, let me consider whether I can indure to hear her nam’d or not; for I think I am so thorowly mortify’d, I shall hardly relish Woman-kind again this—two Hours. [Drinks.

Gload. You a Man of Courage, and talk thus!

Hau. Courage! Why, what dost thou call Courage?—_Hector_ himself would not have chang’d his ten Years Siege for our ten Days Storm at Sea—a Storm—a hundred thousand fighting Men are nothing to’t; Cities sackt by Fire nothing: ’tis a resistless Coward that attacks a Man at disadvantage; an unaccountable Magick, that first conjures down a Man’s Courage, and then plays the Devil over him. And in fine, it is a Storm—

Gload. Good lack that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outbrave it.

Hau. No god-a-mercy to our Courages tho, I tell you that now, _Gload_; but like an angry Wench, when it had huft and bluster’d it self weary, it lay still again. [Drinks.

Gload. Hold, hold, Sir, you know we are to make Visits to Ladies, Sir; and this replenishing of our Spirits, as you call it, Sir, may put us out of Case.

Hau. Thou art a Fool, I never made love so well as when I was drunk; it improves my Parts, and makes me witty; that is, it makes me say any thing that comes next, which 271 passes now-a-days for Wit: and when I am very drunk, I’ll home and dress me, and the Devil’s in’t if she resist me so qualify’d and so dress’d.

Gload. Truly, Sir, those are things that do not properly belong to you.

Hau. Your Reason, your Reason; we shall have thee witty too in thy Drink, hah! [Laughs.

Gload. Why, I say, Sir, none but a Cavalier ought to be soundly drunk, or wear a Sword and Feather; and a Cloke and Band were fitter for a Merchant.

Hau. _Salerimente_, I’ll beat any _Don_ in _Spain_ that does but think he has more right to any sort of Debauchery, or Gallantry than I, I tell you that now, _Gload_.

Gload. Do you remember, Sir, how you were wont to go at home? when instead of a Periwig, you wore a slink, greasy Hair of your own, thro which a pair of large thin Souses appear’d, to support a formal Hat, on end thus— [Imitates him.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, the Rogue improves upon’t. [Gives him Brandy.

Gload. A Collar instead of a Cravat twelve inches high; with a blue, stiff, starcht, lawn Band, set in print like your Whiskers; a Doublet with small Skirts hookt to a pair of wide-kneed Breeches, which dangled halfway over a Leg, all to be dash’d and dirty’d as high as the gartering.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, very well, proceed. [Drinks.

Gload. Your Hands, defil’d with counting of damn’d dirty Money, never made other use of Gloves, than continually to draw them thro—thus—till they were dwindled into the scantling of a Cats-gut.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Rascal. [Drinks.

Gload. A Cloke, half a yard shorter than the Breeches, not thorow lin’d, but fac’d as far as ’twas turn’d back, with a pair of frugal Butter-hams, which was always manag’d—thus—

Hau. Well, Sir, have you done, that I may show you this Merchant revers’d?

272 Gload. Presently, Sir; only a little touch at your Debauchery, which unless it be in damn’d Brandy, you dare not go to the Expence of. Perhaps at a Wedding, or some Treat where your Purse is not concern’d, you would most insatiably tipple; otherwise your two Stivers-Club is the highest you dare go, where you will be condemn’d for a Prodigal, (even by your own Conscience) if you add two more extraordinary to the Sum, and at home sit in the Chimney-Corner, cursing the Face of Duke _de Alva_ upon the Jugs, for laying an Imposition on Beer: And now, Sir, I have done.

Hau. And dost thou not know, when one of those thou hast described, goes but half a League out of Town, that he is so transform’d from the Merchant to the Gallant in all Points, that his own Parents, nay the Devil himself cannot know him? Not a young English Squire newly come to an Estate, above the management of his Wit, has better Horses, gayer Clothes, swears, drinks, and does every thing with a better grace than he; damns the stingy Cabal of the two Stiver-Club, and puts the young King of _Spain_ and his Mistress together in a Rummer of a Pottle; and in pure Gallantry breaks the Glasses over his Head, scorning to drink twice in the same: and a thousand things full as heroick and brave I cou’d tell you of this same Holy-day Squire. But come, t’other turn, and t’other sope, and then for _Donna Euphemia_. For I find I begin to be reconcil’d to the Sex.

Gload. But, Sir, if I might advise, let’s e’en sleep first.

Hau. Away, you Fool, I hate the sober Spanish way of making Love, that’s unattended with Wine and Musick; give me a Wench that will out-drink the Dutch, out-dance the French, and out—out—kiss the English.

Gload. Sir, that’s not the Fashion in _Spain_.

Hau. Hang the Fashion; I’ll manage her that must be my Wife, as I please, or I’ll beat her into Fashion.

Gload. What, beat a Woman, Sir?

273 Hau. Sha, all’s one for that; if I am provok’d, Anger will have its Effects on whomsoe’er it light; so said _Van Trump_, when he took his Mistress a Cuff o’th’ Ear for finding fault with an ill-fashion’d Leg he made her: I lik’d his Humour well, therefore come thy ways. [Exeunt.

## Scene III. Draws off. A Grove.

Discovers _Antonio_ sleeping on the Ground; _Hippolyta_ sitting by, who sings.

Ah false _Amyntas_, can that Hour So soon forgotten be, When first I yielded up my Power To be betray’d by thee? God knows with how much Innocence I did my Heart resign Unto thy faithless Eloquence, And gave thee what was mine.

I had not one Reserve in store, But at thy Feet I laid Those Arms which conquer’d heretofore, Tho now thy Trophies made. Thy Eyes in silence told their Tale Of Love in such a way, That ’twas as easy to prevail, As after to betray. [She comes forth, weeps.

Hip. My Grief’s too great to be diverted this way. [Pointing to _Antonio_. Why should this Villain sleep, this treacherous Man— Who has for ever robb’d me of my rest? Had I but kept my Innocence intire, I had out-brav’d my Fate, and broke my Chains, Which now I bear like a poor guilty Slave, Who sadly crys, If I were free from these, I am not from my Crimes; so still lives on, 274 And drags his loathed Fetters after him. Why should I fear to die, or murder him? It is but adding one Sin more to th’ number. This—would soon do’t—but where’s the Hand to guide it? [Draws a Dagger, sighs. For ’tis an act too horrid for a Woman. [Turns away. But yet thus sleeping I might take that Soul, [Turns to him. Which waking all the Charms of Art and Nature Had not the Power t’effect. Oh were I brave, I could remember that, And this way be the Mistress of his Heart. But mine forbids it should be that way won; No, I must still love on, in spite of me, And wake him quickly, lest one Moment’s thought Upon my Shame should urge me to undo him. _Antonio_, _Antonio_.

[He wakes, rises, and looks amazedly to see the Dagger in her Hand.

Ant. Vile Woman, why that Dagger in that Hand?

Hip. To’ve kill’d thee with, But that my Love o’ercame my juster Passion, And put it in thy Power to save thy self; Thank that, and not my Reason for thy Life.

Ant. She’s doubly arm’d, with that and Injury, And I am wounded and defenceless. [Aside. _Hippolyta_, why all this Rage to me? [Kindly smiles.

Hip. _Antonio_, thou art perjur’d, false and base. [In great Rage.

Ant. What said my fairest Mistress? [Goes to her looking softly.

Hip. I said that thou wert perjur’d, false and base. [Less in Rage.

Ant. My dear _Hippolyta_, speak it again, I do not understand thee, [Takes her by the Hand.

Hip. I said that thou wert perjur’d, my _Antonio_. [Sighs.

Ant. Thou wert to blame, but ’twas thy Jealousy. Which being a Fault of Love I will excuse. 275 Give me that Mark of Anger, prithee do, It misbecomes thy Hand.

Hip. I’ve nothing left but this I can command, And do not ravish this too.

Ant. It is unkind thus to suspect my Love; Will you make no Allowance for my Humour? I am by Nature rough, and cannot please, With Eyes and Words all soft as others can, But I can love as truly my blunt way.

Hip. You were so soft when first you conquer’d me. [Sighs. That but the Thoughts of that dear Face and Eyes, So manag’d, and so set for Conquest out, Would make me kind even to another Man; Could I but thus imbrace and hide my Eyes, And call him my _Antonio_.

[She leans on his Bosom, he the while gets her Dagger.

Ant. Stand off, false Woman, I despise thy Love, Of which to every Man I know thou deal’st An equal share.

Hip. I do not wonder that I am deceiv’d, But that I should believe thee, after all thy Treachery. But prithee tell me why thou treat’st me thus? Why didst thou with the sacred Vows of Marriage, After a long and tedious Courtship to me, Ravish me from my Parents and my Husband? For so the brave _Alonzo_ was by promise.

Ant. Why, I will tell thee; ’twas not love to thee, But hatred to thy Brother Don _Marcel_, Who made Addresses to the fair _Clarinda_, And by his Quality destroy’d my Hopes.

Hip. And durst you not revenge your self on him?

Ant. His Life alone could not appease my Anger; And after studying what I had to do—

Hip. The Devil taught thee this.

Ant. Yes, and you I chose, 276 Because you were contracted to _Alonzo_, That the disgrace might be more eminent.

Hip. I do believe thee, for when I reflect On all thy Usage since thou hast betray’d me, I find thou hast not paid me back one Sigh, Or Smile for all that I have given thee.

Ant. Hear me out.

Hip. Most calmly.

Ant. From Town to Town you know I did remove you, Under pretence to shun your Brother’s Anger: But ’twas indeed to spread your Fame abroad. But being not satisfy’d till in _Madrid_, Here in your native Town, I had proclaim’d you; The House from whence your Brother’s Fury chas’d us, Was a Bordello, where ’twas given out Thou wert a _Venice_ Curtezan to hire, Whilst you believ’d it was your nuptial Palace. [Laughs.

Hip. Dost think I did not understand the Plot? Yes, and was mad till some young Lovers came. But you had set a Price too high upon me, No brisk young Man durst venture, I had expos’d my self at cheaper Rates.

Ant. Your Price, I pray, young Sinner? [Pulls off his Hat in scorn.

Hip. Thy Life; he that durst say _Antonio_ lives no more, Should have possest me _gratis_.

Ant. I would have taken care none should have don’t; To show, and offer you to Sale, was equally as shameful.

Hip. Well, what hast thou more to do? this is no Place to inhabit in, nor shall thou force me further; And back into the Town thou dar’st not go.

Ant. Perhaps I had been kinder to you, Had you continu’d still to give me that— Might have begot a Passion in me.

Hip. I have too much Repentance for that Sin, To increase it, at the Price of being belov’d by thee.

277 Ant. Consider what you do, this Place is silent, And far from any thing that may assist you. Come lead me to the Covert of this Grove. [Takes her rudely.

Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_ drunk; _Haunce_ seeing them, offers to go out again.

Glo. Hold, hold, Sir, why do you run away?

Hau. Thou Fool, dost not see the Reason?

Glo. I see a Man and a Lady, Sir.

Hau. Why, you Coxcomb, they are Lovers; Or some that are going to do the deed of Love.

Ant. How! Men here? Your Business.

Hau. Prithee, Friend, do not trouble your self with ours, but follow your own; my Man is a little saucy in his Drink indeed, but I am sober enough to understand how things go.

Ant. Leave us then.

Hau. Leave us then—good Words, good Words, Friend; for look ye, I am in a notable Humour at present, and will be intreated.

Glo. Yes, Sir, we will be intreated.

Ant. Pray leave us then.

Hau. That’s something—but hark ye, Friend, say a Man had a mind to put in for a share with you.

Ant. Rude Slaves, leave us.

Hau. Ha, Slaves!

Glo. Slaves said you, Sir? hah—

Hip. Oh, as you’re a Gentleman, assist me. [To _Haunce_.

Hau. Assist thee? this Fellow looks as he would not have his Abilities call’d in question; otherwise I am amorous enough to do thee a kindness. [Offers still to go, she holds him.

Hip. Sir, you mistake me; this is a Ravisher—

Hau. A Ravisher! ha, ha, ha, dost like him the worse for that? No, no, I beg your Pardon, Madam.

Hip. Have you no Manhood, Sir?

278 Glo. She is in earnest; now if I durst stay, how I would domineer over my Master; I never try’d perhaps, I may be valiant thus inspir’d. Lady, I am your Champion, who dares ravish you, or me either?

Ant. Rascal, unhand her. [He comes up to them, _Gload_ puts the Lady before him.

Hau. How now, _Gload_ ingag’d! nay, I scorn to be out-done by my Man. Sirrah, march off with the Baggage, whilst I secure the Enemy.

Ant. Rash Man, what mean you?

Hau. I say, stand off, and let him go quietly away with the Wench, or look you—

Ant. Unmanner’d Fool, I will chastise thy Boldness. [Goes up to him with his Dagger.

Hau. How, how, hast thou no other Weapon?

Ant. No, if I had, thou durst not have encounter’d me.

Hau. I scorn thy Words, and therefore there lies my Sword; and since you dare me at my own Weapon, I tell you I am good at Snick-a-Sne as the best _Don_ of you all— [Draws a great Dutch Knife.

Ant. Can I endure this Affront?

Glo. The best way to make a Coward fight, is to leave him in Danger—Come, Lady— [Goes out.

Ant. Thou base unmanner’d Fool, how darst thou offer at a Gentleman, with so despis’d a thing as that?

Hau. Despis’d a thing? talk not so contemptibly of this Weapon, I say, do not, but come on if you dare.

Ant. I can endure no longer— [Flies at him, _Haunce_ cuts his Face, and takes away, after a-while, his Dagger. Injustice! can such a Dog, and such a Weapon vanquish me?

Hau. Beg your Life; for I scorn to stain my Victory in Blood—that I learnt out of _Pharamond_. [Aside.

Ant. He does not merit Life, that could not defend it against so poor and base a thing as thou: Had but _Marcel_ left me my Sword—

279 Hau. O then I perceive you are us’d to be vanquish’d, and therefore I scorn to kill thee; live, live.

Ant. How the Rascal triumphs over me!

Hau. And now, like a generous Enemy, I will conduct thee to my Tent, and have thy Wounds drest—That too I had out of _Pharamond_. [Aside.

Ant. What if I take the offer of this Sot? so I may see _Hippolyta again._ But I forget— [Aside.

Hau. Will you accept my Offer?

Ant. For some Reasons I dare not venture into the Town.

Hau. My Lodging is at St. Peter’s Gate, hard by; and on the Parole of a Man of Prowess you shall be safe and free—_Pharamond_ again. [Aside.

Ant. I’ll trust him, for worse I cannot be. [Aside. Lead on, I’ll follow, Sir—

Hau. Not so, for tho the Captive ought to follow the Victor, yet I’ll not trust my Enemy at my backside. Politicks too.— [Aside.

Ant. You must command— [Go out.

## Scene IV. The Garden.

Enter _Silvio_ and _Francisca_.

Silv. Well, dear _Francisca_, will _Cleonte_ come, And all alone into the Garden?

Fran. My Lord, she will; I have at last prevail’d, to what intent she knows not; this is an Hour wherein you’ll scarce be interrupted: The amorous Entertainment you have prepar’d for her, will advance your Design; such Objects heighten the Desire. Is all ready on your part?

Silv. It is, and I am prepared for all the Resistance she can make, and am resolv’d to satisfy my insupportable Flame, since there’s no other hope left me.

Fran. She’s coming, Sir, retire. [Exit _Silvio_ into the Garden. Oh, how he kills me! Well, at least this pleasure I have 280 whilst I am dying, that when he possesses the fair _Cleonte_, he for ever ruins his Interest in her Heart, and must find nothing but her mortal Hate and Scorn.

Enter _Cleonte_.

Cleo. _Francisca_, why art thou so earnest for my coming into the Garden so early?

Fran. Because, Madam, here without Interruption you may learn what the Lady _Clarinda_ has to tell you.

Cleo. Is that all? go wait upon her hither then.

Fran. Yes, when your more pleasant Affair is dispatch’d, I will— [Aside.

[Exit _Francisca_.

Cleo. Can this be Love I feel? This strange unusual something in my Soul, That pleads so movingly for _Silvio_ there; And makes me wish him not allied to me?

[A noise of rural Musick is heard within the Trees, as Pipes, Flutes, and Voices.

Hah! what pleasant Noise is this? sure ’tis i’ the Air— Bless me, what strange things be these!

Enter Swains playing upon Pipes, after them four Shepherds with Garlands and Flowers, and four Nymphs dancing an amorous Dance to that Musick; wherein the Shepherds make Love to the Nymphs, and put the Garlands on their Heads, and go out; the Nymphs come and lay them at _Cleonte’s_ Feet, and sing.

1 Nymph. _Here at your Feet, we tribute pay,_ _Of all the Glories of the May._

2 Nymph. _Such Trophies can be only due_ _To Victors so divine as you,_

Both. _Come, follow, follow, where Love leads the way,_ _To Pleasures that admit of no Delay._

1 Nymph. _Come follow to the amorous Shade,_ _Covered with Roses, and with Jessamine._

2 Nymph. _Where the Love-sick Boy is laid,_ _Panting for Love’s charming Queen._

281

Both. _Come follow, follow, where we lead the way,_ _To Pleasures that admit of no delay._ [Lead her out.

The Scene changes to a fine Arbour, they leave her and vanish.

Cleo. I am all Wonder.

Enter _Silvio_ in rapture, not yet seeing _Cleonte_.

Silv. I’m all on Fire, till I enjoy my Sister; Not all the Laws of Birth and Nature Can hinder me from loving—Nor is’t just: Why should the charm of fair _Cleonte’s_ Eyes, Me less than Aliens to her Blood surprize? And why (since I love Beauty every where, And that _Cleonte_ has the greatest share) Should not I be allowed to worship her? The empty Words of Nature and of Blood, Are such as Lovers never understood. Prudence in love ’twere Nonsense to approve, And he loves most that gives a Loose to Love.

Cleo. _Silvio_ here!

Silv. Hah—yonder she’s! [Sees her. And now my Passion knows no Bounds, nor Laws. _Cleonte_, come, come satisfy my Flame. [Runs to her, and takes her passionately by the hand. These private Shades are ours, no jealous Eye Can interrupt our Heaven of Joy.

Cleo. What mean you? do you know I am your Sister?

Silv. Oh that accursed Name!—why should it check me? [He pauses. Wouldst thou had rather been some mis-begotten Monster, That might have startled Nature at thy Birth: Or if the Powers above would have thee fair, Why wert thou born my Sister? Oh, if thou shouldst preserve thy Soul, and mine, Fly from this Place and me; make haste away, A strange wild Monster is broke in upon thee; 282 A thing that was a Man, but now as mad As raging Love can make him. Fly me, or thou art lost for ever.

Cleo. Remember, _Silvio_, that you are my Brother, And can you hurt your Sister? [Weeps.

Silv. Shouldst thou repeat those Ties a thousand times, ’Twill not redeem thee from the Fate that threatens thee. Be gone, whilst so much Virtue does remain about me, To wish thee out of Danger.

Cleo. Sure, _Silvio_, this is but to try my Virtue. [Weeps still.

Silv. No, look on my Eyes, _Cleonte_, and thou shalt see them flame with a strange wicked Fire. [Looks wildly on her. Yet do not look, thy Eyes increase it. —Alas! [Turns away, and hides his Eyes.

And I shall still forget I am thy Brother: Go, go, whilst I have power to take my Eyes away, For if they turn again, it will be fatal.

Cleo. Pray hear me, Sir.

Silv. Oh, do not speak; thy Voice has Charms As tempting as thy Face; but whilst thou art silent and unseen, Perhaps my Madness may be moderate; For as it is, the best Effects of it Will prompt me on to kill thee.

Cleo. To kill me!

Silv. Yes; for shouldst thou live, adorn’d with so much Beauty, So much my Passion is above my Reason, In some such fit as does possess me now I should commit a Rape, a Rape upon thee: Therefore be gone, and do not tempt Despair, That merciless rude thing, but save thy Honour, And thy Life.

Cleo. I will obey you, Sir. [Goes into the Garden.

Silv. She’s gone—and now [Walks, and talks in stopping.] my hot Fit abates—she is my Sister—that is, my Father’s 283 Daughter—but—what if his Wife deceiv’d him—or perhaps—(which is the likelier thing) my Mother play’d the false one—for ’twas her Trade to do so—and I’m not Son to _Ambrosio_—Oh, that she were in being to confess this Truth, for sure ’tis Truth; then I might love, and might enjoy _Cleonte_—enjoy _Cleonte!_ [In transport.] Oh that Thought! what Fire it kindles in my Veins, and now my cold Fit’s gone— [Offers to go, but starts and returns.

—No, let me pause a while— For in this Ague of my Love and Fear, Both the Extremes are mortal— [Goes into the Garden.

Enter _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_.

Amb. I’m reconcil’d to you, since your Brother _Silvio_ would have it so.

Mar. My Blood flows to my Face, to hear him named.

Amb. Let there be no more Differences between you: But _Silvio_ has of late been discontented, keeps home, and shuns the Conversation which Youth delights in; goes not to Court as he was wont. Prithee, _Marcel_, learn thou the cause of it.

Mar. I do believe I shall, my Lord—too soon. [Aside.

Amb. I’m now going to my _Villa_, and shall not return till Night; by the way I mean to visit your Wife, that was design’d to be, the rich _Flavia_, and see if I can again reconcile her to you; for your Neglect has been great, and her Anger is just.

Mar. I rather wish it should continue, Sir, for I have yet no Inclinations to marry.

Amb. No more, I’ll have it so, if I can.

Mar. I’m silent, Sir. [Ex. _Ambrosio_ and _Marcel_.

Enter as from out of the Garden, _Cleonte_, _Clarinda_, _Francisca_, _Dormida_, from amongst the Trees, sadly; _Silvio_ who starts at sight of them.

Cleo. I am satisfied you knew not of my Brother’s being in the Garden. [To _Franc._

284 Silv. _Clarinda_ with my Sister! and in our House! she’s very fair—and yet how dull and blasted all her Beauties seems, when they approach the fair _Cleonte’s_—I cannot shun a tedious Compliment; to see the fair _Clarinda_ [Goes to _Clarinda_.] here, is a Happiness beyond my Hope; I’m glad to see her kind to the Sister, who always treated the Brother with so much Scorn and Rigour.

Clar. _Silvio!_ sure I’m betray’d. [Aside. [He talks to her.

Enter _Marcel_, and is amaz’d.

Mar. Hah! _Silvio_ with _Clarinda_ in our House! Oh, daring Villain! to make this place a Sanctuary To all thy Lusts and Treachery! Now I’m convinc’d, ’twas he that wounded me, And he that fled last Night with that false Woman. [_Cleonte_ goes to _Marcel._

Silv. You need not fear me now, fair Maid, I’m disarm’d of all my dangerous Love.

Mar. It was by his contrivance that she came, [To _Cleonte_.] do not excuse him, but send her quickly from you, lest you become as infamous as she.—

Cleo. Oh, how I hate her now; I know my Brother _Silvio_ loves her.

Mar. How every Gesture shows his Passion, whilst she seems pleas’d to hear him. I can endure no more—

Cleo. What will you do? [She goes to them.

Mar. Nothing, dear Sister, But if I can be wise and angry too: For ’tis not safe t’attack him in the Garden. How now, _Silvio_—under the Name of Brother, I see you dare too much. [Snatches away his Sister and _Clarinda_.

Silv. What mean you by this rude Address, _Marcel?_

Mar. I’ll tell ye, Sir, anon. Go get you in. [To the Women, who go in.

285 Silv. Well, Sir, your Business now?

Mar. It is not safe to tell you here, tho I have hardly Patience to stay till thou meet me in St. _Peter’s_ Grove.

Silv. I will not fail you, Sir, an Hour hence. [Goes in after them.

Mar. I dare not in this Rage return to upbraid _Clarinda_, lest I do things that mis-become a Man. [Goes out.

## ACT IV.

## Scene I. _Carlo’s_ House.

After a Noise of Musick without, enter _Haunce_ drest as _Alonzo_ was, follow’d by _Gload_, in Masquerade.

Hau. Hold, hold, I do not like the Salutations I receive from all I meet in this House.

Glo. Why, Sir, methinks they are very familiar Scabs all.

Hau. _Salerimente_, they all salute me as they were my old Acquaintance. Your servant, _Myn heer Haunce_, crys one; your servant, Monsieur _Haunce_, crys another.

Enter _Servant_.

Serv. Your servant, Sir, you come indeed like a Bridegroom all beset with Dance and Fiddle.

Hau. Bridegroom! ha, ha, ha, dost hear, _Gload?_ ’tis true faith. But how the Devil came he to know it, man, hah?

Serv. My Master, Sir, was just asking for you, he longs to speak with you.

Hau. Ha, ha, with me, Sir? why, ha, ha, who the pox am I?

Serv. You, Sir, why, who should you be?

Hau. Who should I be? why, who should I be?

Serv. _Myn heer Haunce van Ezel_, Sir.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, well guest, i’faith now.

Glo. Why how should they guess otherwise, coming so attended with Musick, as prepar’d for a Wedding?

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, say’st thou so? faith, ’tis a good Device to save the Charges of the first Compliments, hah: but 286 hark ye, hark ye, Friend, are you sure this is the House of Don _Carlo?_

Serv. Why, Sir, have you forgot it?

Hau. Forgot it! ha, ha, ha, dost hear, _Gload?_ forgot it! why how the Devil should I remember it?

Glo. Sir, I believe this is some new-fashion’d Civility in Spain, to know every Man before he sees him.

Hau. No, no, you fool, they never change their Fashion in Spain, Man.

Glo. I mean their manner of Address, Sir.

Hau. It may be so, I’ll see farther. Friend, is Don _Carlo_ within?

Serv. He has not been out since, Sir.

Hau. Since, ha, ha, ha, since when? hah.

Serv. Since you saw him, Sir.

Hau. _Salerimente_, will you make me mad? why you damnable Rascal, when did I see him? hah.

Serv. Here comes my Master himself, Sir, [Enter _Carlo_.] let him inform you, if you grow so hot upon the Question.

Car. How now, Son, what, angry? You have e’en tir’d your self with walking, and are out of Humour.

Hau. Look there again—the old Man’s mad too; why how the pox should he know I have been walking? Indeed, Sir, I have, as you say, been walking [Playing with his Hat.] —and am—as you say, out of Humour—But under favour, Sir, who are you? Sure ’tis the old Conjurer, and those were his little Imps I met. [Surlily to him.

Car. Sure, Son, you should be a Wit, by the shortness of your Memory.

Hau. By the Goodness of yours, you should be none, ha, ha, ha. Did I not meet with him there, _Gload_, hah? But pray refresh my Memory, and let me know you; I come to seek a Father amongst you here, one Don _Carlo_.

Car. Am I not the Man, Sir?

Hau. How the Devil should I know that now, unless by instinct?

287 Glo. The old Man is mad, and must be humour’d.

Hau. Cry you Mercy, Sir, I vow I had quite forgot you. Sir, I hope Donna _Euphemia_—

Car. Oh, Sir, she’s in a much better Humour than when you saw her last, complies with our Desires more than I cou’d hope or wish.

Hau. Why look you here again—I ask’d after her Health, not her Humour.

Car. I know not what Arts you made use of, but she’s strangely taken with your Conversation and Person.

Glo. Truly, Sir, you are mightily beholden to her, that she should have all this good Will to your Person and Conversation before she sees you.

Hau. Ay, so I am; therefore, Sir, I desire to see your Daughter, for I shall hardly be so generous as she has been, and be quits with her before I see her.

Car. Why, Sir, I hop’d you lik’d her when you saw her last.

Hau. Stark mad—I saw her last! why, what the Devil do you mean? I never saw her in all my Life, man. Stark mad, as I am true Dutch— [Aside.

Car. A Lover always thinks the time tedious: But here’s my Daughter.

Enter _Euphemia_ and _Olinda_.

Hau. Ay, one of these must be she: but ’tis a Wonder I should not know which she is by instinct. [Aside.

[Stands looking very simply on both.

Euph. This is not _Alonzo_—has he betray’d me? [Aside.

Car. Go, Sir, she expects you.

Hau. Your pardon, Sir; let her come to me, if she will, I’m sure she knows me better than I do her.

Glo. How should she know you, Sir?

Hau. How? by instinct, you Fool, as all the rest of the House does: don’t you, fair Mistress?

Euph. I know you—

288 Hau. Yes, you know me; you need not be so coy mun, the old Man has told me all.

Euph. What has he told you?—I am ruin’d. [Aside.

Hau. Faith, much more than I believ’d, for he was very full of his new-fashion’d Spanish Civility, as they call it; But ha, ha, I hope, fair Mistress, you do not take after him?

Euph. What if I do, Sir?

Hau. Why then I had as lieve marry a Steeple with a perpetual Ring of Bells.

Glo. Let me advise you, Sir; methinks you might make a handsomer Speech for the first, to so pretty a Lady—Fakes, and were I to do’t—

Hau. I had a rare Speech for her thou knowest, and an Entertainment besides, that was, tho I say it, unordinary: But a pox of this new way of Civility, as thou call’st it, it has put me quite beside my part.

Glo. Tho you are out of your complimenting Part, I am not out of my dancing one, and therefore that part of your Entertainment I’ll undertake for. ’Slife, Sir, would you disappoint all our Ship’s Company?—

Hau. That’s according as I find this proud Tit in Humour.

Car. And why so coy? pray why all this Dissimulation? Come, come, I have told him your Mind, and do intend to make you both happy immediately.

Euph. How, Sir, immediately!

Car. Yes, indeed; nay, if you have deceiv’d me, and dissembled with me, when I was so kind, I’ll show you Trick for Trick i’faith— [Goes to _Haunce_.

Euph. What shall we do, _Olinda?_

Olin. Why marry Don _Alonzo_, Madam.

Euph. Do not rally, this is no time for Mirth.

Olin. Fie upon’t, Madam, that you should have so little Courage; your Father takes this Fellow to be _Alonzo_.

Car. What Counsel are you giving there, hah?

Olin. Only taking leave of our old Acquaintance, since you talk of marrying us so soon.

289 Car. What Acquaintance, pray?

Olin. Our Maiden-heads, Sir.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Wench, faith now; I believe you would be content to part with yours with less warning.

Olin. On easy Terms perhaps, but this marrying I do not like; ’tis like going a long Voyage to Sea, where after a while even the Calms are distasteful, and the Storms dangerous: one seldom sees a new Object, ’tis still a deal of Sea, Sea; Husband, Husband, every day,—till one’s quite cloy’d with it.

Car. A mad Girl this, Son.

Hau. Ay, Sir, but I wish she had left out the simile, it made my Stomach wamble.

Glo. Pray, Sir, let you the Maid alone as an Utensil belonging to my Place and Office, and meddle you with the Mistress.

Hau. Faith now, thou hast the better Bargain of the two; my Mistress looks so scurvily and civil, that I don’t know what to say to her—Lady—hang’t, that look has put me quite out again.

Car. To her, Son, to her—

Hau. Hark ye, Lady—Well, what next now? Oh pox, quite out, quite out; tell me whether the old Man ly’d or no, when he told me you lov’d me.

Euph. I love you!

Hau. Look you there now, how she looks again.

Car. She’s only bashful, Sir, before me; therefore if you please to take a small Collation, that has waited within for you this three Hours—

Hau. That’s strange now, that any thing should wait for me, who was no more expected here than _Bethlehem-Gaber_: Faith now, Lady, this Father of yours is very simple.

Euph. To take you for his Son.

Hau. I meant to have surpriz’d you I vow, before you had dreamt of me; and when I came, you all knew me as well as if you had cast a Figure for me.

290 Car. Well, Son, you’ll follow.

Euph. You will not leave me alone, Sir, with a Man?

Hau. Go your ways, go your ways—I shall know more of your Secrets before [_Gload_ makes Grimaces to _Olinda_ of Love.] night yet, you little pouting Hypocrite you.

Euph. You know my Secrets! why, who are you?

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, that’s a very good one faith now: who am I, quoth thou? why there’s not a Child thus high in all your Father’s House would have ask’d me so simple a Question.

Olin. Madam, I find by this Man, this is your expected Lover, whom you must flatter, or you are undone, ’tis _Haunce van Ezel_. [To _Euphemia_.

Euph. The Fop himself.

Hau. Oh, do you know me now?

Euph. ’Tis impossible.

Hau. This is an extreme the other way now. [Aside. Impossible, ha, ha, ha! No, no, poor thing, do not doubt thy Happiness: for look ye, to confirm you, here are my Bills of Exchange with my own natural Name to them, if you can read written Hand— [Shews her Papers.

Glo. Not love you! I’ll swear you lye now, you little Jade, I am now in Masquerade, and you cannot judge of me; but I am Book-keeper and Cashier to my Master, and my Love will turn to account, I’ll warrant you.

Olin. There may be use made of him. [Aside. I shall think of it. But pray why are you thus accouter’d?

Glo. Fakes, to entertain your Lady, we have brought the whole Ship’s Company too in Masquerade.

Olin. That indeed will be very proper at this time of the Day, and the first Visit too.

Glo. Shaw, that’s nothing, you little think what Blades we are mun—Sir, I’ll call in the Fiddles and the Company.

Hau. Well remember’d, faith, now I had e’en forgot it.

Euph. What’s the meaning of this? [Fiddles strike up.

Hau. To show you the difference between the damnable 291 dull Gravity of the _Spanish_, and brisk Gaiety of the _Dutch_. Come, come, begin all.

Enter _Dutchmen_ and Women dancing.

Nay, I’ll shew you what I can do too, come, _Gload_. [They two dance. There’s for you now, and yet you have not seen half my good Qualities; I can sing the newest Ballad that has been made, so I can. [Sings a _Dutch_ Song.

Euph. Be these your Friends, Sir? they look as if you had ransack’d a Hoy for them.

Hau. How! look on them well, they are all States or States-fellows, I tell you that now, and they can bear witness who I am too.

Euph. Now I’m convinced, and am sorry I doubted my Happiness so long: I had such a Character of you.

Hau. Of me! oh Lord, I vow now—as they say—I don’t know—ha, ha—

Euph. I heard you were the most incorrigible Fool, the most intolerable Fop.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, do you hear, _Gload_—who, I a Fop? I vow they were mistaken in me, for I am counted as pretty a Merchant as any walks the Change; can write a very plain Hand, and cast Account as well—my man _Gload_—can’t I, Sirrah?

Glo. Yes indeed, forsooth, can he.

Hau. Egad, a Fool, a Fop, quoth ye— [Walks angry.

Olin. By all means flatter him, Madam.

Euph. I’m satisfy’d, Sir.

Hau. I care not whether you are or no, for I shall have you whether you will or no, mun.

Euph. ’Tis very likely; but there is a certain troublesome Fellow in love with me, that has made me vow whenever I marry to ask him leave.

Hau. How, ask his leave? I scorn to ask any Body’s leave, I tell you that, tho ’twere my Mistress—

292 Euph. I cannot marry you then.

Hau. How, not marry me? look here now: [Ready to cry. _Gload_, can’t you marry, and let no living Soul know it?

Euph. Oh no, Sir, I love your Life better, which would be indanger’d.

Hau. Why, what a cursed Custom you have in _Spain_, a Man can neither marry, nor console his Neighbour’s Wife without having his Throat cut. Why, what if he will not give you leave?

Euph. Why, then you must fight him.

Hau. How! fight him, I fight him!

Glo. Why, yes, Sir, you know you can fight, you try’d but this very Morning—

Hau. Softly, you damn’d Rogue, not a Word of my Prowess aloud. _Salerimente_, I shall be put to fight when I am sober, shall I, for your damn’d prating, ye Rascal?

Euph. I am glad you have that good Quality.

[_Olinda_ speaking to _Gload_, pushes him to speak.

Glo. Ay, Madam—my Master—has many more: But if you please to tell him his Rival’s Name—

Hau. I’ll have your Ears for this, Sirrah, the next time I’m soundly drunk, and you know that won’t be long. [Aside. Lord, Madam, my Man knows not what he says. Ye Rascal, say I have no Courage—or I will drink my self to the Miracle of Valour, and exercise it all on thee.

Glo. I know what I do, Sir, you had Courage this Morning, is the Fit over?

Hau. Have I not slept since, you Rogue, have I not?

Glo. I have a trick to save your Honour, Sir, and therefore I will stand in’t you have Courage.

Hau. A Pox of your Trick, the Rogue knows I dare not chastise him now, for fear they should think I have Valour.

Glo. Madam, my Master’s modest, but tell him who ’tis he must fight with—

Hau. Oh, for a Tun of Rhenish—that I might abundantly beat thee—

293 Euph. Your Rival’s Name’s _Alonzo_, Sir.

Hau. Oh the Devil, a thundring Name too; but will this same—_Alonzo_ make no allowance for necessity?—I vow ’tis pure necessity in me to marry you: the old Men being agreed upon the Matter, I am but an Instrument—alas, not I, [Crys. A very Tool, as they say, so I am.

Glo. Lord, Sir, why do you cry? I meant no harm.

Hau. No harm, you Rascal—to say I am valiant.

Glo. Why, yes, Sir, and if you would say so too, at worst ’twas but getting Don _Lovis_ to have fought for you; you know that’s a small courtesy to a Friend.

Hau. Faith, now thou art in the right; he’ll do his Business for him, I’ll warrant him. [Wipes his Eyes. Nay then, Madam, I have Courage, and will to this Don—this _Alonzo_ you speak of; and if he do not resign you, and consign you too, I’ll make him; yes, make him, do ye see—If _Lovis_ should refuse me now— [Aside.

Glo. Shaw, Sir, he makes nothing to kill a Man, ten or twenty.

Euph. Well, since you are so resolv’d, my Brother will tell you where to find this _Alonzo_; and tell him, I must marry you to day, for I am resolv’d not to lie alone tonight.

Hau. What would not a Man do for so kind a Mistress?

Euph. Well, get you about it strait then, lest my Father’s coming prevent it. [Exeunt _Euphemia_ and _Olinda_.

Hau. I am gone—but if _Lovis_ should fail—

Glo. He would beat you, if he thought you doubted him.

Hau. I’ll keep my Fears then to my self. [Go out.

## Scene II. The Street.

Enter _Hippolyta_ drest like a Man, with a Paper.

Hip. Thus I dare look abroad again: Methinks I am not what I was, My Soul too is all Man; 294 Where dwells no Tenderness, no womanish Passions. I cannot sigh, nor weep, nor think of Love, But as a foolish Dream that’s gone and past. Revenge has took possession of my Soul, And drove those Shadows thence; and shows me now Love, in so poor, so despicable a Shape, So quite devested of his Artful Beauty, That I’m asham’d I ever was his Votary. Well, here’s my Challenge to _Antonio_; But how to get it to him is the Question. Base as he is, he’ll not refuse to come, And since he never saw the wrong’d _Alonzo_, Sure I may pass for him. Who’s here?—

Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_. She stands aside.

Hau. _Gload_, if it were possible I could be sober, and valiant at once, I should now be provok’d to exercise it: for I cannot find _Lovis_, and then how I shall come off, the Lord knows. And then again, for letting the Lady go, whom I rescu’d in the Grove this Morning.

Glo. Should I disobey a Lady, Sir? for she commanded me to let her go so soon as she came into the Gate. And, Sir, look, here comes Don _Lovis_.

Enter _Lovis_ and _Alonzo_.

Hau. Oh, Brother _Lovis_, where the Devil have you been all this Day? I stay’d for you to go with me to your Sister’s, as long as Flesh and Blood could forbear.

Lov. Why, have you been there without me?

Hau. Yes, marry have I, Sir.

Alon. I am undone then— [Aside.

Hau. I needed no Recommendation mun, for when I came they were all as well acquainted with me—I never saw them before; but by the way, they are all no wiser than they should be, except your Sister, who is the pretty’st loving, sweet Rogue—

295 Alon. How’s this?

Lov. But have you seen my Sister?

Hau. Seen her! yes, and will marry her too mun before Night, an she were a thousand Sisters—but harkye, _Lovis_, the business is this—you must know that before I marry her, I am to seek out a certain Fellow, they call—they call _Alonzo_, ay, ay, _Alonzo_—a Pox on him, a troublesome Rascal they say he is; and his leave, it seems, must be askt to marry your Sister.

Lov. Well, Sir, and what if he will not give you leave?

Hau. Why then, you must know I am to get him very well favour’dly beaten.

Alon. Sure this is the Coxcomb himself.

Hau. Now for your Sister’s sake, who loves me, poor thing, I will not run the danger of beating him my self, but must desire that small courtesy of thee.

Lov. How! I beat him?

Hau. You beat him, yes, you; what a Pox do you scruple such a kindness to a Friend? I know you make no more of killing a Man next your Heart in a Morning, than I do of eating a pickled Herring.

Lov. But she desir’d you to do’t.

Hau. That’s all one so it be done, mun; besides, why should I run my self into a Premunire, when I need not? Your Father is bound by Agreement to mine, to deliver me the Wares (that is, his Daughter) safe and sound; and I have no more to do, but to protest against him in case of Non-performance. ’Twill be a dear Commodity to me at this rate. [Cries.

Lov. Well, Sir, I’ll see what may be done.

Hau. Spoke like a Friend now: Well, you must about it instantly, for I must be married to day.

Alon. Must you so, Sir?—

Hau. Yes marry must I, Sir—Who the Devil’s this now? [To _Lovis_.

Alon. That same _Alonzo_ whom you inquire for.

296 Hau. Are you so, Sir?—Why, what then, Sir,—_Lovis_, _Lovis_. [Runs behind _Lovis_.

Alon. What then, Sir? then I tell you, I will not be beaten.

Hau. Look ye here now—_Lovis_.

Lov. Ha, ha, ha, canst thou be angry with him? [To _Alonzo_.

Hau. I, can you be angry with me?

Alon. I know not why an Ass should have more privilege than any other rude Beast.

Lov. Ha, ha, ha, this Humour’s so pleasant in thee, I wish thou wouldst pursue it a little—_Haunce_, bear up to him, he’s but a mere Huff, ha, ha, ha. [Claps him on the Back, he goes fearfully forward.

Glo. I, Sir, as long as Don _Lovis_ is here, you may say what you will.

Hau. May I so?—and why, Sir?—am I, Sir—an Ass, Sir? [Runs behind _Lovis_.

Alon. ’Sdeath, you Rascal, do you question me?

Hau. Oh, hold, Sir, hold, not I, God forbid I should question it, _Lovis_—is it, indeed, _Alonzo_, hah?

Lov. Yes indeed is it.

Hau. And wilt thou not do so much as to beat him for me a little?

Lov. Not I, I dare not, he’s a terrible Man.

Hau. Why look you here now, you damn’d Rogue, [To _Gload_.] Have not you serv’d me finely, hah?

Gload. Why, Sir, ’tis but crying Peccavi.

Hau. Peccavi, and be hang’d to you—Lord, Sir, [To _Alonzo_.] why are you so angry? I came but to ask you a civil Question, from my Wife that must be.

Alon. You must ask me leave, first.

Hau. Yes, yes, Sir, so she said mun; for she must marry me to night.

Alon. Yes, you shall have it with this—too. [Draws.

Hau. Why look you [_Haunce_ runs away, _Lovis_ stays 297 him.] here now, here’s damn’d doings. For my part, I declare it here upon my Death-bed, I am forc’d to what I do, and you kill me against my Will.

Alon. Do’st think we are not discover’d in our Design? I’d kill the Dog if I thought we were.

Lov. I believe not; and perceive by my Sister’s Message, that we are to come to her, and prevent this Fellow’s marrying her.

Alon. Well, Sir, I’ll spare your Life, and give your Mistress leave to marry to night.

Hau. How, Sir, to Night?—But is he in earnest, _Lovis?_

Lov. In very good earnest.

Hau. Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra—hay, Boys, what a Night we’ll have on’t, _Gload_, for Fiddles and Dancing.

Alon. Tell your Mistress I will dispatch a little Affair, and wait on her.

Gload. And pray, Sir, may I have leave to marry the Maid too?

Alon. We’ll consider on’t.

Hau. I am not such a Fool to venture tho, till I know the Coast is clear, for his very Looks are terrible; but go you, _Gload_, and tell her what he says. [_Alonzo_ talks to _Lovis_.

Enter _Hippolyta_ from aside.

Hip. These be the Men that rescu’d me this morning, And are not to be employ’d in my Affair. But yonder Stranger has a noble Look, And from him I’ll intreat this Favour—Sir— [To _Alonzo_.

Alon. With me, Sir?

Hip. Yes, please you to walk a little this way, Sir. [Takes him aside.

Hau. Well, make you sure of Fiddles, for look ye, we’ll appear to night like our selves.

Gload. It shall be done, Sir.

Hip. I am a Stranger and a Gentleman, And have an humble Suit to you.

298 Alon. You may command me any thing.

Hip. Sir, there is a Gentleman, if I may call him so, that dares do ill; has put a base Affront upon a Lady—a Lady whom all brave Men are bound to vindicate: I’ve writ him here a Challenge, and only beg you’ll give it him; I will attend you in St. _Peter’s_ Grove, where I desire the perfidious _Antonio_ (for that’s his Name, to whom this is directed) to meet me.

Alon. I’m pleas’d to see this Gallantry in a Man so young, and will serve you in this, or whatever else you shall command. But where is this _Antonio?_

Hip. That I’ll inquire of these. Sir, pray can you give any account of the Cavalier [To _Haunce_, who starts as afraid.] you fought with this Morning in St. _Peter’s_ Grove, that had a Lady with him?

Hau. So, now perhaps I shall be hang’d for that. [Aside. I fight, Sir! I never fought in my Life, nor saw no Man, not I.

Gload. ’Sha, you may confess it, Sir; there’s no Law against killing in _Spain_.

Hip. How, have you murder’d him? [Takes hold of him.

Hau. This Rogue has a mind to have me dispatch’d. [Aside. Hold, Sir, the Man’s as well and alive as you are, and is now at my Lodgings: look ye, here’s the Dagger I disarm’d him of—but that I do not love to boast. [Shews it.

Hip. It is the same.

Alon. Sir, I shall not fail to wait on you with the Answer I receive.

Hip. I humbly thank you, Sir.

Alon. So prithee, dear _Lovis_, go make my excuse to your Sister for a moment, and let her get all things ready against I come; let the Priest too wait, for I see my Destiny, which I can no longer prevent, draws on apace. [Exit _Lovis_. Come, Sir, you must conduct me to _Antonio_.

[Exeunt _Alonzo_, _Haunce_, and _Gload_.

299

Hip. So now the Work’s half done, that will redeem All the lost Credit of our Family. To kill, or to be kill’d, I care not which, [Weeps. So one or both expire; be strong, my Soul, And let no feeble Woman dwell about thee. Hence Fears and Pity, such poor things as these Cannot the Storms of my Revenge appease: Those Showers must from his treacherous Heart proceed, If I can live and see _Antonio_ bleed. [Sighs, and Exit.

## Scene III. A deep Grove.

Enter _Marcel_ alone.

Mar. The hour is almost come which I appointed, And yet no _Silvio_ appears, the time seems long to me; But he that’s circled in his Mistress’ Arms, Forgets the hasty hours, And passes them as unregarded by, As Men do Beggars who demand a Charity.

Enter _Hippolyta_.

Young Man, hast thou encounter’d none within this Grove?

Hip. Not any, Sir,—_Marcel!_ my injur’d Brother!

Mar. Why dost thou turn away, and hide thy Face?

Hip. ’Tis not my Face I hide, but Sorrow there. [Weeps.

Mar. Trust me, thou weepest; would I could do so too, That I might be less angry; And Silence best expresses Grief: But thine’s a saucy Sorrow dares approach A Face so fair and young.

Hip. If the Ingrate for whom I grieve had thought so, I might have spar’d my Tears. Farewel, Sir.

Mar. Stay, hast thou been a Lover?

Hip. A very, very passionate one.

Mar. And wert thou not belov’d?

300 Hip. At first, to draw me in, the cunning Artist Made me believe I was.

Mar. Oh! I could kiss thee now, for the alliance Between thy Grief and mine. Hadst thou a loose and wanton Sister too, Then thou wert perfect wretched, as I am. [Weeps. But prithee leave me, now I think of it: For shouldst thou stay, thou’dst rob me of my Anger; For since a Youth like thee can be unhappy, With such a Shape, and so divine a Face, Methinks I should not quarrel with my Star, But bow to all my faithless Mistress’ Scorns.

[Hollowing within.] So ho, ho, so ho, ho—

Mar. So ho, so ho, ho, ho—’Tis my false Rival. Now leave me, Sir, to reassume my Anger.

Hip. I will obey—farewel— My own Despair makes me neglect his Life. [Goes out.

Enter _Silvio_.

Mar. ’Tis _Silvio_.

Silv. You see I have obey’d you, Sir.

Mar. Come, Sir, your Sword.

Silv. You are my Brother, and ’twere an impious Action, To fight you unprovok’d: give me a cause, Nay, and a just one too, or I shall find it hard —To wound _Cleonte’s_ Brother. [Aside sighing.

Mar. Thou cam’st prepar’d to talk, and not to fight. I cannot blame thee for’t, for were I _Silvio_, Thus I would do to save a Life belov’d: [Offers to fight, _Silvio_ steps back. But ’twill not serve you now.

Silv. Your Reason, Sir, and I’m ready, if it be just.

Mar. Oh do not urge me to repeat my Wrongs, For if thou dost, I hardly shall have Man enough remain To fight thee fairly. [Offers still.

Silv. Surely he knows my Passion for _Cleonte_— [Aside. I urge the Reason still.

301

Mar. Hast thou forgot thy last Night’s Treachery? How like a Thief thou stol’st into her Lodgings?

Silv. ’Tis so—’tis true, _Marcel_, I rudely did intrude—

Mar. Oh, quickly haste—this looks like Women’s jangling. [Offers to fight again.

Silv. Oh, is it bravely done, _Marcel_, to punish A Passion which you ought to pity rather? ’Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify: And so distracted it has made me too— I will not fight in so unjust a Cause. Kill me, and I’ll embrace you whilst I die; A thousand Wounds imprinted on this Body, Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus’d. Here strike—Pity my Pain and ease me. [Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword.

Mar. I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue, And thou implor’st thy Death in such a way, I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes Thou art not yet so bless’d to be belov’d, For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate.

Silv. Oh yes, I am belov’d.

Mar. Oh do not say thou art, Nor take me from a Calmness, that may spare thee.

Silv. Not say I am belov’d! thou canst not hire me With Life or fuller Joy, to say I am not. If there be Truth and Love in Innocence, she loves me.

Mar. Yet, yet, ye Gods, I can endure—say, but thou art not, For I would yet preserve thee.

Silv. Oh, canst thou wish that I should fall so low, To save my Life with Lyes; the poorest Sin of all the number?

Mar. Then once again thou hast debauch’d my Pity. [Takes to his Sword.

Silv. Her Passion I will justify, but not my own; Her’s is as pure as Prayers of Penitence; 302 But mine—I cannot give a Name to.

[They fight: Enter _Alonzo_, and parts them.

Alon. How now, what’s here to do! _Marcel?_

Mar. _Alonzo!_ the only Man I wish to shun.

Silv. I’m glad, who e’er thou be’st thou hast prevented us.

Alon. Thou hast more Wit than he, then I find: Your Quarrel, Sir, may a Man have leave to enquire into’t?

Mar. This is that _Silvio_, that noble Youth my Brother, whom thou hast often heard me name.

Alon. An excellent Character for an Enemy, Noble, and Brother: For shame put up your Swords, and I’ll be Judge between ye.

Mar. The Case is soon decided; I will not tell you with how tedious a Courtship I won the Heart, as I thought, of a young Beauty of this Town—and yesterday receiv’d a Billet from her, to wait on her at night, to receive the recompence of all my Pains and Sufferings—In this extasy of Joy I show’d him the Paper; and he getting thither before me, rob’d me of my Prize.

Silv. I am so pleas’d at this mistake of thine, I can forgive it freely.

Mar. Not content with this, most treacherously, hid in the shades of Night, he met me in the Hall of this false Woman, and stab’d me, which did secure his flight with her; and wouldst thou have me put this Injury up?

Alon. Faith, you must, and your Sword too, Unless you mean to keep it drawn on me. ’Twas I that wounded you i’ th’ dark; and it was I That rob’d you of _Clarinda_.

Mar. Thou?

Alon. I, am I so unlikely a Man to do such a feat?

Mar. How dare you, Sir, do this?

Alon. I dare do any thing, but break my Word, as thou hast basely done with me—But I am now in haste, and should be glad to know where to meet you anon.

Mar. I’ll wait on you at the farther side of this Grove by the River.

303 Alon. I will not fail you— [Ex. _Alonzo_.

Mar. Come, Sir, till I can better prove you are my Rival, I will believe you are my Friend and Brother.

Silv. When thou shalt know my miserable Story, Thou wilt believe and pity me. [Go out.

Enter again _Hippolyta_ from out of the Wood.

Hip. I wonder this Cavalier stays so long, Pray Heaven he meet _Antonio_.

Enter _Alonzo_.

Your Servant, Sir.

Alon. The Cavalier to whom you sent me, Sir, Will wait upon you here.

Hip. I humbly thank you, Sir, and should be glad to know how I might pay my Gratitude.

Alon. My Duty ends not here; I have a Sword to serve you.

Hip. You shame me with this Generosity; but, Sir, I hope my own will be sufficient in so good a Cause.

Alon. Tho you are young, I question not your Bravery; But I must beg to stay and see fair play, And offer you my Service when you’ve done.

Hip. The Enemy appears, Sir,—and since you are so good, I beg you would retire behind those Trees; for if he see us both, since he is single, he will suspect some treachery.

Alon. You’ve reason, Sir, and I’ll obey you. [Goes aside.

Enter _Antonio_ reading a Paper.

SIR,

I do desire you to meet me in _St. Peter’s_ Grove, with your Sword in your Hand, about an Hour hence; you will guess my Business, when you know my name to be

Alonzo.

Alon. How’s that? [Aside.

Ant. I wish’t had been another Enemy, Since from the Justice of his Cause I fear 304 An ill success; would I had seen _Hippolyta_, That e’er I dy’d I might have had her pardon. This Conscience—’tis ominous, But ne’er appears in any horrid shape, Till it approaches Death—

[Goes forward, sees _Hippolyta_, who justles him in passing by; he stops and looks.

Hip. You seem, Sir, to be he whom I expect.

Ant. I’m call’d _Antonio_, Sir—

Hip. And I _Alonzo_; the rest we need not ask, For thou art well acquainted with my Injuries, And I with thy Perfidiousness. [Draws.

Ant. I know of none you have receiv’d from me, If on _Hippolyta’s_ account you fight: She lov’d me, and believ’d; and what dull Lover Would have refus’d a Maid so easily gain’d?

Hip. Ah, Traytor, by how base a way Thou wouldst evade thy Fate? Didst thou not know she was my Wife by promise? Did not _Marcel_, _Ambrosio_, all consent To make her mine as soon as I arriv’d?

Alon. Who the Devil’s that young Bully that takes my Name, and my Concerns upon him? [Aside.

Hip. But why should I expect a Truth from thee, Who after so much time, so many Vows, So many Tears, Despairs and Sighs, at last Didst gain a Credit with this easy Fool, Then left her to her shames, and her despairs?—Come, Sir— Or I shall talk my self to calmness— [Aside.

Ant. I’m ready, Sir, to justify the Deed.

[They offer to fight, _Alonzo_ steps forth.

Alon. Hold! hold! fair Thief that rob’st me of my Name, And wouldst my Honour too; [Puts her by. If thou hast wrong’d the fair _Hippolyta_, [To _Antonio_. No Man but I has right to do her justice. Or you are both my Rivals—tell me which, 305 Which of you is it I must kill—or both? I am _Alonzo_, who dares love _Hippolyta?_

Hip. Let not your friendship, Sir, proceed so far, To take my Name, to take my Quarrel on you.

Alon. In this Dispute none’s more concern’d than I, And I will keep my ground in such a cause, Tho all the Rivals that her Beauty makes me, Were arm’d to take my Life away.

Ant. Come, Sir, I care not which of you’s _Alonzo_. [They go to fight, she holds _Alonzo_.

Hip. This Gallantry’s too much, brave Stranger. _Antonio_, hurt him not; I am the wrong’d _Alonzo_, And this a perfect Stranger to the business, Who seeing me appear less Man than he, And unacquainted with my Deeds abroad, In Bounty takes my Name and Quarrel on him.

Alon. Take heed, young Man, and keep thy Virtue in, Lest thus misguided it become a Crime. But thou, he says, hast wrong’d _Hippolyta_, [To _Antonio_. And I am he must punish it.

Hip. Sure it is he indeed— For such a Miracle my Brother render’d him, [Aside. Hold, hold, thou Wonder of thy Sex— [They fight.

Alon. Stand by, I shall be angry with thee else, And that will be unsafe—

[As _Alonzo_ fights with one Hand, he keeps her off with t’other; she presses still forward on _Antonio_ with her Sword, indeavouring to keep back _Alonzo_.

Enter to them _Marcel._

Mar. Sure I heard the Noise of Swords this way! [Draws. Hah, two against one! Courage, Sir. [To _Antonio_.

[They fight all four, _Marcel_ with _Hippolyta_ whom he wounds, and _Alonzo_ with _Antonio_, who is disarmed.

Hip. Good Heaven, how just thou art!

306 Mar. What, dost thou faint already?—Hah, the pretty talking Youth I saw but now! [Runs to her, and holds her up. Alas, how dost thou?

Hip. Well, since thy Hand has wounded me—

Ant. My Life is yours, nor would I ask the Gift, But to repair my Injuries to _Hippolyta_.

Alon. I give it thee— [Gives him his Sword.

Mar. How, _Antonio!_— What unkind Hand has rob’d me of the justice Of killing thee?

Alon. His that was once thy Friend, _Marcel_.

Mar. Oh! dost thou know my Shame? [Turns away.

Alon. I know thou art false to Friendship, And therefore do demand mine back again, thou’st us’d it scurvily.

Mar. Thou knowst too much to think I’ve injur’d thee.

Alon. Not injur’d me! Who was it promis’d me _Hippolyta?_ Who his Alliance, and his Friendship too? And who has broke them all, but thou perfidious? Come, ’tis _Hippolyta_ that I demand.

Mar. By this he should not know my Sister’s Shame. [Aside. Oh, Sir, you must not have _Hippolyta_.

Alon. How! not have _Hippolyta!_ Tho every Step were guarded by a Brother, Tho she were circled round about with Rivals, Ye should not all have Power to keep her from me. Not have _Hippolyta!_— ’Sdeath, Sir, because I do not know my Birth, And cannot boast a little empty Title, I must not have _Hippolyta_.— Now I will have her; and when you know I can, You shall petition me to marry her. And yet I will not do’t. Come, Sir— [Offers to fight.

307 Hip. Hold, hold, brave Man, or turn your Sword on me. I am the unhappy Cause of all your Rage: ’Tis I, generous _Alonzo_, that can tell you What he’s asham’d to own, And thou wilt blush to hear.

Mar. _Hippolyta!_ thou wretched wicked Woman: Thus I reward thy Sins— [Offers to kill her, _Antonio_ steps between.

Ant. Hold, Sir, and touch her not without my leave, She is my Wife; by sacred Vows my Wife.

Alon. I understand no riddling; but whoever thou be’st. Man or Woman, thou’rt worth our Care— She faints—come, let us bear her hence. [She faints, _Antonio_ kneels to her.

Ant. Oh stay, _Hippolyta_, and take me with thee, For I’ve no use of Life when thou art gone. [Weeps. Here, kill me, brave _Marcel_—and yet you need not; My own Remorse, and Grief will be sufficient.

Mar. I credit thee, and leave thee to their Mercy.

Hip. That Goodness, Sir, has call’d me back to Life, To pay my humble Thanks; could you have Mercy too, To pardon me—you might redeem my Soul.

Mar. Some Pity I have yet, that may preserve thee too, Provided this Repentance be not feign’d.

Ant. My Life, Sir, is Security for both.

Mar. Doubt not, I’ll take the Forfeit, Sir—Come, _Hippolyta_. Thy Father’s House shall once again receive thee.

Ant. Lean on my Arm, my dearest.

Mar. Sir, by the way, I’ll let you know her Story, And then perhaps you will not blame my Friendship.

Alon. And in return, I’ll give you back _Clarinda_— And beg your Pardon for the Wound I gave you. [Exeunt, leading _Hippolyta_.

308

## ACT V.

## Scene I. A Garden.

Enter _Cleonte_, _Clarinda_ weeping, and _Dormida_ and _Francisca_.

Cleo. Fear not, I’ll use my Interest both with your Mother and my Father, to set your Heart at rest, Whose Pain I feel by something in my own.

Clar. The Gods reward your Bounty, fair _Cleonte_.

Dor. I, I, Madam, I beseech you make our Peace with my good Lady her Mother, whatsoever becomes of the rest, for she’ll e’en die with Grief— [Weeps.

She had but two fair Pledges of her Nuptial Bed. And both by cruel Fate are ravisht from her. _Manuel_ a Child was lost, And this; not holy Relicks were more strictly guarded, Till false _Marcel_ betray’d me to debauch her. [Weeps aloud.

Cleo. Alas, had you a Brother once? [To _Clarinda_.

Clar. Madam, I might have had: but he was lost e’er I was born.

Cleo. Ah! would my _Silvio_ had been so. [Aside. By what strange Accident, _Clarinda?_

Dor. Madam, I can inform you best. [Puts herself between.

Cleo. Do then, _Dormida_.

Dor. Madam, you must know, my Lady _Octavia_, for that’s her name, was in her Youth the very Flower of Beauty and Vertue: Oh such a Face and Shape! had you but seen her—And tho I say it, Madam, I thought my self too somebody then.

Clar. Thou art tedious: Madam, ’tis true my Mother had the Reputation of both those Attractions, which gain’d her many Lovers: amongst the rest, Don _Manuel_, and Don _Alonzo_, were most worthy her Esteem.

Dor. Ay, Madam, Don _Alonzo_, there was a Man for you, so obliging and so bountiful—Well, I’ll give you 309 Argument of both to me: for you must know I was a Beauty then, and worth obliging. [Puts herself between. And he was the Man my Lady lov’d, tho Don _Manuel_ were the richer: but to my own Story—

Cleo. Forward, _Clarinda_.

Clar. But as it most times happens, We marry where our Parents like, not we; My Mother was dispos’d of to Don _Manuel_.

Dor. Ay, Madam; but had you seen Don _Alonzo’s_ Rage, and how my Lady took this Disappointment—But I who was very young, and very pretty, as I told you before—

Clar. Forbear, Madam; ’tis true, _Alonzo_ was so far transported, That oft he did attempt to kill my Father; But bravely tho, and still he was prevented: But when at the Intreaties of my Mother, The King confin’d my Father, _Alonzo_ then study’d a new Revenge; And thinking that my Father’s Life depended Upon a Son he had, scarce a Year old, He did design to steal him; and one Evening, When with the Nurse and Maid he took the Air, This desperate Lover seiz’d the smiling Prize, Which never since was heard of.

Cleo. I guess the Grief the Parents must sustain.

Dor. It almost caus’d their Deaths; nor did kind Heaven Supply them with another till long after, Unhappy this was born: Which just her Father liv’d to see, and dy’d. [Weeps. Then she was Daughter, Son and Husband too,

To her afflicted Mother: But as I told you, Madam, I was then in my Prime—

Clar. Now, Madam, judge what her Despair must be, Who is depriv’d of all her Joys in me. [Weeps.

Cleo. _Francisca_, see who it is that knocks so hastily. [One knocks.

310 Franc. Oh, Madam, ’tis Don _Marcel_ leading a wounded Man.

Cleo. Oh my Fears, ’tis _Silvio!_

Franc. ’Tis not Don _Silvio_.

Enter _Marcel_, leading _Hippolyta_ wounded, followed by _Alonzo_ and _Pedro_.

Cleo. Alas, what Youth is this you lead all bleeding?

Mar. One that deserves your Care; where’s my Father?

Cleo. Not yet return’d.

Mar. ’Tis well; and you, Sir, I must confine till I know how to satisfy my Honour, and that of my wrong’d Sister. [To _Antonio_.

Ant. The holy Man will soon decide our Difference: Pray send for one, and reconcile us all.

Hip. I fear, _Antonio_, still thou dost dissemble.

Ant. So let me find Forgiveness when I die, If any fear of Death have wrought this change, But a pure Sense of all my Wrongs to thee, Knowing thy constant Love, and Virtue to me.

Mar. I will secure your fear—_Francisca_, send for Father _Joseph_ to me, and conduct these Gentlemen to the Lodgings next the Garden.

[Exeunt _Francisca_, _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_.

Alon. Prithee, _Marcel_, are thee and I awake, or do we dream? thou, that thou art in thy Father’s House; and I, that I see those two fair Women there? Pray, lovely Fugitive, how came you hither? [To _Clarinda_.

Mar. I thought thou wert mistaken; ’Twas _Silvio_ brought her hither, that false Man. But how came you to know her?

Alon. Know her! ’slife, I question my Sense. Pray, Lady, are you Flesh and Blood? [To _Cleonte_.

Cleo. Yes surely, Sir; for ’twere pity you should have bestow’d your Heart on a Shadow, and I well remember you gave it one of us last Night.

311 Alon. A Dream, a Dream! but are you indeed the same fair Person, and is this the same House too?

Cleo. I am afraid your Heart’s not worth the keeping, since you took no better notice where you dispos’d of it.

Alon. Faith, Madam, your wrong a poor Lover, who has languish’d in search of it all this live-long day.

Cleo. Brother, I beseech you, receive the innocent _Clarinda_, who, I fear, will have the greatest Cause of Complaint against you. [To _Marcel._ Gives him to _Clarinda_.

Alon. But pray, fair one, let you and I talk a little about that same Heart you put me in mind of just now. [To _Cleonte_, with whom he seems to talk.

Ped. Surely that’s my old Mistress, _Dormida_; twenty years has not made so great an Alteration in that ill-favour’d Face of hers, but I can find a Lover there.

[Goes to her, they seem to talk earnestly, and sometimes pleasantly, pointing to _Clarinda_.

Mar. Enough, _Clarinda_: I’m too well convinc’d, Would thou hadst still remain’d a Criminal. Now how can I reward thy Faith and Love?

Clar. I know, _Marcel_, it is not in thy Power, Thy faithless Story I’m acquainted with.

Mar. Do not reproach me with my Shame, _Clarinda_. ’Tis true, to gain thee to consent to my Desires, I made an honourable Pretence of loving. Pardon a Lover all the ways he takes To gain a Mistress so belov’d and fair. But I have since repented of that Sin, And came last Night for thy Forgiveness too.

Ped. This is News indeed; ’tis fit I keep this Secret no longer from my Master. Don _Manuel_ being dead, my Vow’s expir’d. [Aside.]

[_Pedro_ goes to _Alonzo_.

Clar. And do you mean no more to love me then?

Mar. In spite of me, above my Sense or Being.

Clar. And yet you’ll marry _Flavia_.

Mar. Against my Will I must, or lose a Father.

312 Clar. Then I must die, _Marcel_.

Mar. Do not unman my Soul, it is too weak To bear the Weight of fair _Clarinda’s_ Tears. [Weeps.

Alon. Why was this Secret kept from me so long?

Ped. I was oblig’d by Vow, Sir, to Don _Alonzo_, my dead Master, not to restore you till Don _Manuel’s_ Death; believing it a Happiness too great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother’s score.

Alon. Have I a Mother living?

Ped. Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair Maid’s your Sister. [Pointing to _Clarinda_.

Alon. I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.

Ped. To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the Writings of twelve thousand Crowns a Year, left you by your Foster-Father the brave _Alonzo_, whose Name he gave you too. [Gives him Papers, he reads.

Alon. I am convinc’d—How now, _Marcel_, what all in Tears? why, who the Devil would love in earnest? Come, come, make me Judge between you.

Mar. You’ll soon decide it then, my Heart’s _Clarinda’s_; But my forc’d Vows are given to another.

Alon. Vows! dost think the Gods regard the Vows of Lovers? they are things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punish’d when broken; if they were—Heaven have mercy on me poor Sinner.

Enter _Ambrosio_.

Mar. My Father return’d! [Bows, and goes to him, and then leads _Alonzo_ to him. Sir, this is the gallant Man that was design’d to be your Son-in-Law.

Amb. And that you were not so, Sir, was my misfortune only.

Alon. I am glad to find it no slight to my Person, Or unknown Quality that depriv’d me of that Honour.

313 Mar. To convince you of that, _Alonzo_, I know my Father will bestow this other Sister on you; more fair and young, and equally as rich. [_Ambrosio_ calls _Marcel_ aside.

Alon. How, his Sister! Fool that I was, I could not guess at this; and now have I been lying and swearing all this while how much I lov’d her. Well, take one time with another, a Man falls into more Danger by this amorous Humour, than he gets good turns by it.

Mar. Pardon me, Sir, I knew not you had design’d her elsewhere—Dear _Alonzo_, my Father—

Alon. Ay, Sir, I am much oblig’d to him. Oh Pox, would I were well with _Euphemia_.

Mar. I protest I could wish—

Alon. Ay, so could I, Sir, that you had made a better Judgment of my Humour: All must out, I have no other way to avoid this Compliment else. Why look ye, _Marcel_—Your Sister is—Pox, I am ill at Dissimulation, and therefore in plain Terms, I am to be married this very Evening to another.

Mar. This was happy, and has sav’d me an Excuse. [Aside. But are you in earnest, How is it possible, being so lately come into _Madrid?_

Alon. Destiny, Destiny, _Marcel_, which there was no avoiding, tho I mist of _Hippolyta_.

Mar. Who is it, prithee?

Alon. A Woman I hope, of which indeed I would have been better assur’d; but she was wilful. She’s call’d _Euphemia._

Mar. Our next Neighbour, the Daughter of old _Carlo_.

Alon. The same.

Mar. Thou art happy to make so good a Progress in so short a time, but I am—

Alon. Not so miserable as you believe. Come, come, you shall marry _Clarinda_.

Mar. ’Tis impossible.

314 Alon. Where’s the hindrance?

Mar. Her want of Fortune; that’s enough, Friend.

Alon. Stand by and expect the best— [Goes to _Ambrosio_. Sir, I have an humble Suit to you.

Amb. I shall be infinitely pleas’d you could ask me any thing in my Power; but, Sir, this Daughter I had dispos’d of, before I knew you would have mist of _Hippolyta_.

Alon. Luckier than I expected. [Aside. Sir, that was an Honour I could not merit, and am contented with my Fate: But my Request is, that you would receive into your Family a Sister of mine, whom I would bestow on Don _Marcel_.

Mar. Hah, what mean you, Sir? a Sister of yours?

Alon. Yes, she will not be unwelcome—This is she.

Amb. This is the Daughter to _Octavia_—Her Mother was a Lady whom once I did adore, and ’twas her fault she was not more happy with me, than with Don _Manuel_. Nor have I so wholly forgot that Flame, but I might be inclin’d to your Proposal: But, Sir, she wants a Fortune.

Alon. That I’ll supply.

Mar. You supply, Sir? On what kind Score, I pray?

Alon. That which you’ll suffer without being jealous, When you shall know she is indeed my Sister.

Clar. How! this brave Man my Brother?

Alon. So they tell me, and that my Name is _Manuel_. Had you not such a Brother?

Dor. Oh ye Gods, is this the little _Manuel?_

Ped. Yes, _Dormida_, and for a farther Proof see this. [Opens his Master’s Bosom and shews a Crucifix.

Dor. This I remember well, it is Don _Manuel_: Pray let me look upon you: Just like my Lord—Now may the Soul of Don _Alonzo_ rest in Peace, For making so hopeful a Man of you.

Alon. Amen. But, Sir, if you approve of my Sister, I’ll make her as worthy of _Marcel_, as _Flavia_.

Amb. I’ve lost the Hopes of her—She’s not to be reconcil’d. [Aside. 315 _Clarinda_ needs no more than to belong to you, To make her valuable—and I consent with Joy. [Gives her to _Marcel._

Mar. And I with Joys unutterable take her.

Alon. _Pedro_, there rests no more than that you wait on my Mother, and let her know all that has happen’d to my self and Sister, and that I’ll pay my Duty to her e’er I sleep.

Dor. The very Joy to find her Son again, will get my Pardon too: and then perhaps _Pedro_ and I may renew our old Amours.

Alon. Sir, I have another Request to make.

Amb. You must command, Sir.

Alon. That is, that you will permit this fair Company to honour me this Evening at my Father-in-law’s, Don _Carlo_.

Amb. How, has Don _Carlo_ married the Lady Octavia?

Alon. No, Sir, but a worse matter than that, I am to marry his Daughter.

Amb. Oh, Sir, _Euphemia_ has too much Beauty and Virtue to make you doubt your Happiness.

Alon. Well, Sir, I must venture that. But your Company I’ll expect, the Ladies may clap on their Vizards, and make a masquerading Night on’t: tho such Freedoms are not very usual in _Spain_, we that have seen the World, may absolve one another.

Amb. My Garden joins to that of Don _Carlo_, and that way we will wait on you, as soon as I have dispatcht a small Affair.

Alon. Your humble servant, Sir. [Goes out; _Ambrosio_ the other way.

Mar. Sister, go you and prepare my Father to receive _Hippolyta_, whilst I go see them married.

[Exeunt _Cleonte_ and _Clarinda_.

[_Marcel_ passing over the Garden, sees _Silvio_ enter in Passion, followed by _Francisca_.

Silv. Do not, _Francisca_—do not blow my Flame, The Cure thou bring’st is much the greater Hell. [Offers to go, but stops.

316 Mar. Hah, _Silvio!_ unseen I’ll hear the Business. [Goes aside.

Silv. I would fain shun thee, but this impious Weight Of Love upon my Soul hinders my flight: I’m fixt—like conscious Guilt it keeps me here, And I am now insensible of Fear. Speak on, thou Messenger of sacred Love—speak on.

Franc. The fair _Cleonte_, Sir, whose Soul’s inflam’d No less than yours; tho with a virgin Modesty She would conceal it, pitying now your Pain, Has thro my Intercession—

Silv. Oh quickly speak! What Happiness design’d me?

Franc. To admit you, Sir, this Night into her Chamber.

Mar. Death to my Soul! What’s this? [Aside.

Silv. Her Chamber? is that all? will that allay this Fever In my Blood?—No, no, _Francisca_, ’Tis grown too high for amorous Parleys only; Her Arms, her charming Bosom, and her Bed, Must now receive me; or I die, _Francisca_.

Franc. I mean no other, Sir; why, can you think A Maid in love as much as you can be, Assisted with the silence of the Night, (Which veils her Blushes too) can say—I dare not? Or if she do, she’ll speak it faintly o’er, And even whilst she so denies will yield. Go, go prepare your self for this Encounter, And do not dally as you did to day, And fright your Pleasure with the Name of Sister—

Mar. Oh cursed Witch! [Aside.

Franc. What say you, Sir?

Silv. That Name has check’d my Joy— And makes it strangely silent and imperfect. [Walks away.

Franc. Why do you go, before you answer me? [Follows him into the Garden.

Mar. I’ll follow him, and kill them. [Comes out with a Dagger. 317 Oh, who would be allied unto a Woman, Nature’s loose Handy-Work? the slight Imploys Of all her wanton Hours?—Oh, I could rave now— Abandon Sense and Nature. Hence, all considerate Thoughts, and in their Room, Supply my Soul with Vengeance, that may prove Too great to be allay’d by Nature, or by Love. [Goes into the Garden after them.

Enter again _Silvio_ melancholy, followed by _Francisca_.

Franc. But will you lose this Opportunity, Her Lodgings too being so near your own?

Silv. Hell take her for her Wickedness. Oh that ten thousand Mountains stood between us, And Seas as vast and raging as her Lust, That we might never meet—Oh perfect Woman! I find there is no Safety in thy Sex; No trusting to thy Innocence: That being counterfeit, thy Beauty’s gone, Dropt like a Rose o’er-blown; And left thee nothing but a wither’d Root, That never more can bloom.

Franc. Alas, I fear I have done ill in this. [Aside.

Silv. I now should hate her: but there yet remains Something within, so strangely kind to her, That I’m resolv’d to give her one proof more, Of what I have vow’d her often; yes, I’ll kill her—

Franc. How, kill her, Sir? Gods, what have I done! [Aside.

Silv. Yes, can I let her live, and say I lov’d her? No, she shall tempt no more vain yielding Men.

Franc. Consider, Sir, it is to save your Life she does it.

Silv. My Life! ’Twere better she and I were buried Quick in one Grave, than she should fall to this, She has out-sinn’d even me in this Consent.

318 Enter _Marcel_ from amongst the Trees softly with his Dagger behind _Silvio_.

Mar. Oh, here they are—

Franc. My Lord, defend your self, your are undone else.

Silv. Hah, _Marcel!_ [Draws.

Franc. Help, help.

Mar. Hell take thy Throat.

Enter _Ambrosio_, _Clarinda_, _Cleonte_, and the rest of the House.

Amb. Hold, Villain, hold. How dar’st thou thus rebel—ungrateful Wretch?

Mar. This cause, Sir, is so just, that when you hear it, You’ll curse me, that I let him live thus long: He loves my Sister, Sir; and that leud Woman Repays his lustful Flame, and does this Evening Invite him to her Bed—Oh, let me kill him. [Offers to go to him.

Amb. That he should love _Cleonte_ I’ll allow, And her returns too, whilst they are innocent.

Mar. But, Sir, he does not love her as a Sister.

Amb. If that be all his Crime, I still forgive him.

Silv. Yes, Sir, ’tis true, I do adore my Sister, But am so far from that foul thing he nam’d, That could I think I had a secret Thought That tended that way, I would search it—thus— [Goes to stab himself.

Cleo. What mean you by this Desperation?

Silv. Oh, take away this Woman from my sight. [Pointing to _Cleonte_. For she will finish what this has ill begun. [Holds his Dagger up.

Franc. Thus low, Sir, for you Mercy I must kneel; [Kneels. Which yet I must despair of, when you know 319 How very very wicked I have been. [Weeps. _Cleonte_, Sir, is chaste as Angels are.

Silv. My Sister innocent! how soon I do believe thee!

Franc. Yes, Sir, nor knows of that vile Message which I brought you.

Silv. What Devil set thee on to tempt me then?

Franc. The worst of Devils, hopeless, raging Love; And you, my Lord, were the unhappy Object.

Mar. Oh sinful Woman, what was thy Design?

Cleo. What means all this? [Aside.

Franc. At least to have enjoy’d him once; which done, Thinking that it had been the fair _Cleonte_, It would have made him hate her.

Silv. Should all thy other Sins be unrepented, The Piety of this Confession saves thee. Pardon, _Cleonte_, my rude Thoughts of thee, [Kneels, she takes him up. I had design’d to have kill’d thee— Had not this Knowledge of thy Innocence Arriv’d before I’d seen thee next. And, Sir, your Pardon too I humbly beg, [To _Ambrosio_. With license to depart; I cannot live Where I must only see my beauteous Sister; That Torment is too great to be supported, That still must last, and never hope a Cure.

Amb. Since you are so resolv’d, I will unfold A Secret to you, that perhaps may please you.

Silv. Low at your Feet I do implore it, Sir. [Kneels.

Amb. Your Quality forbids this Ceremony. [Takes him up.

Silv. How, Sir!

Amb. Your Father was the mighty Favourite, the Count _d’Olivarez_; your Mother, _Spain’s_ celebrated Beauty, _Donna Margarita Spiniola_, by whom your Father had two natural Sons, _Don Lovis de Harro_, and your self _Don Roderigo_. The Story of his Disgrace, you know, with all the World; 320 ’twas then he being banisht from the Court, he left you to my Care then very young. I receiv’d you as my own, and as more than such educated you, and as your Father oblig’d me to do, brought you always up about their Majesties; for he hoped, if you had Beauty and Merits, you might inherit part of that Glory he lost.

Mar. This is wondrous.

Amb. This Truth you had not known so soon, had you not made as great an Interest at Court as any Man so young ever did, and if I had not acquitted my self in all Points as became the Friend of so great and brave a Man, as Count _d’Olivarez_: the Fortune he left you was two Millions of Crowns.

Silv. Let me embrace your feet for this blest News. Is not the fair _Cleonte_ then my Sister?

Amb. No, Sir, but one whom long since I design’d your Wife, if you are pleas’d to think her worthy of it. [Offers her.

Silv. Without her, Sir, I do despise my Being; And do receive her as a Blessing sent From Heaven to make my whole Life happy.

Amb. What say you, _Cleonte?_

Cleo. Sir, I must own a Joy greater than is fit for a Virgin to express.

Mar. Generous Don _Roderigo_, receive me as your Friend, and pardon all the Fault you found in me as a Brother. [Embraces him.

Silv. Be ever dear unto my Soul, _Marcel_.

Mar. Now is the time to present _Hippolyta_ and _Antonio_ to my Father, whilst his Humour is so good. And you, dear Brother, I must beg to join with us in so just a Cause.

Silv. You need not doubt my Power, and less my Will.

Mar. Do you prepare him then, whilst I bring them in: for by this I know my Confessor has made them one. [Exit _Marcel_.

Silv. Sir, I’ve a Suit to you.

321 Amb. You cannot ask what I can deny.

Silv. _Hippolyta_, Sir, is married to _Antonio_, And humbly begs your Pardon for her past fault.

Amb. _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta!_ oh, name them not.

Enter _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_, a Fryar, and _Marcel_.

Mar. Pray, Sir, forgive them, your Honour being safe, Since Don _Antonio_ has by marrying her, Repair’d the Injury he did us all, Without which I had kill’d him.

Amb. Thou art by Nature more severe than I, And if thou think’st our Honour satisfy’d, I will endeavour to forget their Faults.

Ant. We humbly thank you, Sir, and beg your Blessing, At least bestow it on _Hippolyta_; For she was ever chaste, and innocent, And acted only what became her Duty; Since by a sacred Vow she was my Wife.

Amb. How cam’st thou then to treat her so inhumanly?

Ant. In pure revenge to Don _Marcel_ her Brother, Who forc’d my Nature to a stubbornness, Which whilst I did put on, I blush to own; And still between Thoughts so unjust, and Action, Her Virtue would rise up and check my Soul, Which still secur’d her Fame.

Hip. And I have seen in midst of all thy Anger, Thou’st turn’d away, and chang’d thy Words to Sighs; Dropt now and then a Tear, as if asham’d, Not of thy Injuries, but my little Merit.

Amb. How weak and easy Nature makes me—Rise, I must forgive you both. Come, Sir, I know you long to be secur’d Of what you say you love so much, _Cleonte_.

Franc. But, Madam, have you fully pardon’d me?

Silv. We will all join in your behalf, _Francisco_.

Cleo. I can forgive you, when you can repent. [Exeunt.

322

## Scene II. _Carlo’s_ House.

Enter _Olinda_ and _Dorice_.

Olin. But is the Bride-Chamber drest up, and the Bed made as it ought to be?

Dor. As for the making, ’tis as it use to be, only the Velvet Furniture.

Olin. As it use to be? Oh ignorance! I see these young Wenches are not arriv’d yet to bare Imagination: Well, I must order it my self, I see that.

Dor. Why, _Olinda_, I hope they will not go just to Bed upon their marrying, without some signs of a Wedding, as Fiddles, and Dancing, and so forth.

Olin. Good Lord, what Joys you have found out for the first Night of a young Bride and Bridegroom. Fiddles and Dancing, ha, ha, ha! they’ll be much merrier by themselves, than Fiddles and Dancing can make them, you Fool.

Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_.

Bless me! what is’t I see! [Stares on _Haunce_.

Hau. Why! what the Devil means she? look about me, _Gload_, and see what I have that’s so terrible.

Olin. Oh, I have no Power to stir, it is a Sprite.

Hau. What does she mean now, _Gload?_

Glo. She desires to be satisfy’d whether we be Flesh and Blood, Sir, I believe.

Hau. Do’st see nothing that’s Devil-wise about me?

Glo. No, indeed, Sir, not I.

Hau. Why then the Wench is tippled, that’s all, a small Fault.

Olin. O, in the name of Goodness, Sir, what are you?

Glo. Ay, Ay, Sir, ’tis that she desires to know.

Olin. Who are you, Sir?

Hau. Why who should I be, but he that’s to be your Master anon?

323 Glo. Yes, who should he be but _Myn heer Haunce van Ezel?_

Olin. What, did you come in at the Door?

Hau. Yes, marry did I; what, do you think I creep in like a Lapland Witch through the Key-holes?

Dor. Nay, nay, this cannot be the Bridegroom.

Olin. No, for ’tis but a moment since we left him, you know, in my Lady’s Chamber.

Hau. Very drunk, by this good Light.

Dor. And therefore it cannot be _Myn heer Haunce_.

Hau. What a Devil will you persuade me out of my Christian Name?

Olin. The Priest has yet scarce done his Office, who is marrying him above to my Lady.

Hau. _Salerimente_, here’s brave doing, to marry me, and never give me notice; or thou art damnable drunk, or very mad.

Glo. Yes, and I am married to you too, am I not? [To _Olinda_.

Olin. You? we know neither of you.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, here’s a turn for you.

Enter _Carlo_.

Car. Why, _Olinda_, _Dorice_, _Olinda_, where be these mad Girls? ’tis almost Night, and nothing in Order. Why, what now? Who’s here?

Hau. So the old Man’s possest too—Why, what a Devil ails you, Sir? [Goes roughly to him.

Car. From whence come you, Sir? and what are you?

Hau. _Gload_, let’s be gone, for we shall be transmigrated into some strange Shapes anon, for all the House is inchanted. Who am I, quoth ye? before I came you all knew me; and now you are very well acquainted with me, you have forgot me.

Car. If you be my Son _Haunce_, how came you here?

Hau. If I be your Son _Haunce_, where should I be else?

324 Car. Above with your Wife, not below amongst the Maids.

Hau. What Wife? what Wife? Ha, ha, ha, do not provoke me, lest I take you a slap in the Face, I tell you that now.

Car. Oh, I find by his Humour this is he, and I am finely cheated and abus’d. I’ll up and know the Truth. [Goes out.

Hau. And so will I. [Follows.

Glo. Why, but Mistress _Olinda_, you have not, indeed, forgot me, have you?

Olin. For my Lover I have, but perhaps I may call you to mind, as my Servant hereafter.

Glo. Since you are so proud and so fickle, you shall stand hereafter as a Cypher with me; and I’ll begin upon a new Account with this pretty Maid: what say you forsooth?

Dor. I am willing enough to get a Husband as young as I am.

Glo. Why, that’s well said, give your Hand upon the Bargain—God-ha’-Mercy, with all my Heart, i’faith. [Go in.

[Scene draws off, discovers a Chamber. Enter _Alonzo_, _Euphemia_, and _Lovis_; to them _Carlo_, _Haunce_, and the rest.

Car. Oh, I am cheated, undone, abus’d.

Lov. How, Sir, and where?

[_Haunce_ sees _Alonzo_ drest like him, goes gazing about him, and on himself, calling _Gload_ to do the same.

Car. Nay, I know not how, or where; but so I am: and when I find it, I’ll turn you all out of Doors. Who are you, Sir? quickly tell me.

Alon. If you be in such haste, take the shortest Account, I am your Son.

Car. I mean, Sir, what’s your Name, and which of you is _Haunce van Ezel?_

Hau. Ay, which of us is _Haunce van Ezel?_ tell us that, Sir; we shall handle ye i’faith now—

325 Alon. He, Sir, can best inform you. [Pointing to _Haunce_.

Hau. Who, I! I know no more than the great Turk, not I, which of us is me; my Hat, my Feather, my Suit, and my Garniture all over, faith now; and I believe this is me, for I’ll trust my Eyes before any other Sense about me. What say’st thou now, _Gload?_ guess which of us is thy own natural Master now if thou canst.

Glo. Which, Sir?—why—let me see—let me see, [Turns them both about. fakes, I cannot tell, Sir.

Car. Come, come, the Cheat is plain, and I’ll not be fobb’d off, therefore tell me who you are, Sir. [To _Alonzo_.

Alon. One that was very unwilling to have put this Trick upon you, if I could have persuaded _Euphemia_ to have been kind on any other Terms, but nothing would down with her but Matrimony.

Car. How long have you known her?

Alon. Faith, Sir, too long by at least an Hour.

Car. I say again, what are you, Sir?

Alon. A Man I am, and they call me _Alonzo_.

Car. How! I hope not the great fighting Colonel whom my Son serv’d as a Voluntier in _Flanders_.

Alon. Even he, Sir.

Car. Worse and worse, I shall grow mad, to think that in spite of all my Care, _Euphemia_ should marry with so notorious a Man of War.

Hau. How! is this _Alonzo_, and am I cozen’d? pray tell me truly, are you not me indeed?

Alon. All over, Sir, only the inside a little less Fool.

Hau. So here’s fine juggling—are not you a rare Lady, hah? [To _Euphemia_; crys.

Euph. I assure you, Sir, if this Man had not past for you, I had never had him.

Hau. Had him! Oh, you are a flattering thing, I durst ha’ sworn you could no more ha’ been without me, than a Barber’s Shop without a Fiddle, so I did: Oh, what a 326 damnable Voyage have I back again without a Wife too— [Crys again.

Lov. If that be all, we’ll get you one before you go; that shall be my care.

Hau. A Pox of your care: well, I will get my self most soundly drunk to Night, to be reveng’d of these two damnable Dons. Come, _Gload_, let us about something in order to’t. [Exit with _Gload_.

Euph. Pray, Sir, be persuaded, he’s worth your owning.

Car. Tell not me of owning; what Fortune has he?

Lov. His Horse and Arms, the Favour of his Prince, and his Pay.

Car. His Horse and Arms I wholly dislike, as Implements of War; and that same Princely Favour, as you call it, will buy no Lands; and his Pay he shall have when he can get it.

Lov. But, Sir, his coming to _Madrid_ was to take possession of a Place the Prince has promis’d him.

Car. Has promis’d him? what! I shall marry my Daughter to the Promises of e’er a Prince in _Christendom_, shall I? No, no; Promises, quoth ye?

Alon. Well, Sir, will this satisfy you? [Gives him a Parchment.

Euph. If it should not, let us consider what next to do.

Alon. No consideration, _Euphemia_; not so much as that we are married, lest it lessen our Joys.

Car. Twelve thousand Crowns a Year!—Sir, I cry you mercy, and wish you joy with my Daughter.

Lov. So his Courage will down with him now.

Alon. To satisfy you farther, Sir, read this. [Gives him another Paper. And now, _Euphemia_, prepare your self to receive some gallant Friends of mine, whom you must be acquainted with, and who design to make a merry Night on’t.

Euph. A whole Night, _Alonzo?_

Alon. By no means, _Euphemia_, for the first too, which 327 if the thoughts of its being part of my Duty do not hinder, will be a pleasant enough to me.

Car. So considerable an Office at Court too!—Let me imbrace you, Sir; and tell you how happy I am in so brave Son-in-law.

Alon. With that assurance, Sir, I’ll take a more than ordinary freedom with you, and teach _Euphemia_ a franker way of living, than what a native _Spaniard_ would have allow’d her.

Car. She shall be what sort of Wife you’ll have her.

Enter Servant, after a noise of Musick.

Alon. What Musick’s that?

Serv. It waits upon some Ladies and Gentlemen who ask for you, Sir.

Alon. Wait them in, they are those Friends of mine I told you of. [He goes and brings them in.

Enter _Marcel_ and _Clarinda_, _Silvio_ and _Cleonte_, _Antonio_ and _Hippolyta_, _Dormida_ and _Francisca_; all salute _Euphemia_.

Enter _Haunce_ and _Gload_ in Masquerade to the Company, _Olinda_ and _Dorice_ masked.

Hau. Well, the Devil’s in’t if we shall not appear ridiculous enough, hah, _Gload?_

Glo. Ay, Sir, the more ridiculous the better.

Hau. I was always of that mind.—Ha, ha, Boys, who be all these Dons and Donnas?—Harkye, _Lovis_, I hope the Wife you promis’d me is amongst these fair Ladies, for so I guess they are both, fair and Ladies.

Lov. You guess right, Sir.

Alon. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, command your Musick, and do what likes you best.

Lov. Here’s the Lady I recommend to you, take her, Sir, be thankful. [Gives him _Olinda_.

Olin. This is the Fool that I am to manage.

328 Dor. And this is my Lot. [Takes _Gload_.

[Musick plays, they all dance.

Lov. There is within a young Father ready to join your Hands: take this opportunity, and make sure of a Wife.

Hau. I warrant you, Sir.

[Exeunt _Haunce_, _Olinda_, _Gload_, and _Dorice_.

Enter _Pedro_.

Ped. Your Mother, Sir, whom I found more dead than living, for the loss of your Sister, was very near dying outright with Joy, to hear of your Arrival, and most impatiently expects you.

Dorm. And are we all forgiven, _Pedro?_

Ped. Yes, you and I are like to be Fellow-Servants together again, _Dormida_.

Dorm. And Fellow-Lovers too I hope, _Pedro_.

Ped. The Devil’s in’t if Age have not allay’d Flames of all sorts in thee; but if you contribute to my allowance—

Dorm. Thou know’st I could never keep any thing from thee, _Pedro_.

Alon. Come, Ladies, there is a small Banquet attends you in the next Room.

Silv. We’ll wait on you, Sir.

Enter _Haunce_, _Gload_, _Olinda_, and _Dorice_.

Hau. Hold, hold, and give me Joy too, for I am married, if she has not mistaken her Man again, and I my Woman.

Olin. No, you are the Man I look for, and I no Cheat, having all about me that you look for too, but Money. [Discovers her self.

Alon. How, _Olinda!_

Olin. Yes, indeed, Sir, I serv’d my Lady first, and then thought it no Offence to take the Reward due to that Service.

Hau. Here’s a _Spanish_ Trick for you now, to marry a Wife, before one sees her.

329 Euph. What, _Dorice_ married too?

Dor. After your Example, Madam.

Glo. Yes, indeed, forsooth, and I have made bold too after the Example of my Master.

Hau. Now do they all expect I should be dissatisfied; but, Gentlemen, in sign and token that I am not, I’ll have one more merry Frisk before we part, ’tis a witty Wench; faith and troth, after a Month ’tis all one who’s who; therefore come on, _Gload_. [They dance together.

Alon. Monsieur _Haunce_, I see you are a Man of Gallantry. Come let us in, I know every Man here desires to make this Night his own, and sacrifice it to Pleasure.

The Ladies too in Blushes do confess. Equal Desires; which yet they’ll not confess. Theirs, tho less fierce, more constant will abide; But ours less current grow the more they’re try’d.

EPILOGUE

HISS ’em, and cry ’em down, ’tis all in vain, Incorrigible Scriblers can’t abstain: But impudently i’th’ old Sin engage; Tho doom’d before, nay banish’d from the Stage. Whilst sad Experience our Eyes convinces, That damn’d their Plays which hang’d the _German_ Princess; And we with Ornament set off a Play, Like her drest fine for Execution-day. And faith, I think, with as small hopes to live; Unless kind Gallants the same Grace you’d give Our Comedy as Her; beg a Reprieve. Well, what the other mist, let our Scribe get, A Pardon, for she swears she’s the less Cheat. She never gull’d you Gallants of the Town Of Sum above four Shillings, or half a Crown. 330 Nor does she, as some late great Authors do, Bubble the Audience, and the Players too. Her humble Muse soars not in the High-rode Of Wit transverst, or Baudy _A-la-mode_; Yet hopes her plain and easy Style is such, As your high Censures will disdain to touch. Let her low Sense creep safe from your Bravadoes, Whilst Rotas and Cabals aim at Granadoes.

Notes on the Text.

_433_ The Dutch Lover.

Dramatis Personæ

p. 226 I have added to the Dramatis Personæ ‘Boy, Page to Marcel, Servant to Carlo, A Friar, Swains, Four Shepherds, Four Nymphs, Dutch men and Dutch women.’

## Act I: Scene i

p. 227, l. 3 The locale _A Street_ is not marked in 4to 1673 or 1724.

p. 229, l. 4 _Christian._ 1724 ‘christian’.

## Act I: Scene ii

p. 231, l. 8 _his nice Honour._ 1724, wrongly, omits ‘nice’.

p. 232, l. 3 _I must still love on._ 1724 omits ‘still’.

p. 233, l. 6 _after long Despairs._ 1724 ‘after long Despair’.

p. 233, l. 21 _too much of Joy._ 1724 ‘Joys’.

p. 233, l. 28 _change thy Wonder._ 4to 1673 ‘Wonders’.

p. 234, l. 23 _Marcel is surprized._ 1724 omits this stage direction.

p. 234, l. 36 _And thou, Antonio, that has betray’d her._ 4to 1673 ‘And thou, Antonio, thou hast betray’d her’. 1724 ‘And thou, Antonio, thou that hast betray’d her’.

p. 235, l. 17 _a kind obliging Lady._ 1724 ‘A kind of obliging Lady’.

p. 236, l. 4 _Am I a Dog._ 4to 1673 wrongly marks this line ‘aside’.

p. 236, l. 10 _I, like the Birds._ 4to 1673 omits ‘the’.

p. 237, l. 1 _Biscay, a Surgeon._ 4to 1673 omits ‘a’.

p. 237, l. 7 _Down of Swans._ 1724 ‘Swan’.

## Act I: Scene iii

p. 238, l. 3 _and lik’d him._ 1724 ‘and like him’.

p. 240, l. 2 _this is the first._ 1724 ‘this was the first’.

p. 240, l. 34 _to his heart._ 1724 omits.

p. 241, l. 8 _Prithee instruct._ 4to 1673 as prose.

p. 241, l. 20 _Command me._ 4to 1673 as prose.

p. 242, l. 13 _My Death._ 1724 ‘me death’.

## Act II: Scene i

p. 243, l. 8 _undone its Fame._ 1724 ‘undone his Fame’.

p. 244, l. 11 _the next Morning’s Sun._ 4to 1673 ‘th’ Approach of next Morning’s Sun’. 1724 ‘of the next Morning Sun’.

p. 244, l. 31 _They go out._ 4to 1673 omits ‘they’.

## Act II: Scene ii

p. 248, l. 33 _Come, come._ 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 249, l. 20 _Look at one another and go._ 1724 omits, reading ‘exeunt’.

## Act II: Scene iii

p. 251, l. 10 _very unlucky._ 4to 1673 ‘very unluckily’.

## Act II: Scene iv

p. 252, l. 21 _Marcel coming towards him jostles him._ 4to 1673 reads ‘Marcel coming towards justles him’.

p. 253, l. 7 _given him some._ 4to 1673 omits ‘him’.

## Act II: Scene vi

p. 257, l. 12 _Of your Victims._ 1724 prints this line and the next as prose.

434 p. 257, l. 24 _Offers her a Dagger._ 1724 omits ‘her’.

p. 259, l. 31 _a Pox of her terms._ 1724 ‘A Pox on her terms’.

## Act II: Scene vii

p. 261, l. 5 _Haunce van Ezel._ 1724 ‘Hance’.

## Act III: Scene i

p. 266, l. 2 _I cry you Mercy._ 1724 ‘I cry your Mercy’.

p. 266, l. 11 _he does not boast._ 4to 1673, wrongly, ‘he does but boast’.

p. 267, l. 36 _But do you find her._ 1724 ‘But do you not find her’.

p. 268, l. 11 _’tis certain ’tis so._ 1724 ’’tis certain so’.

p. 269, l. 19 _lest he surprize us._ 1724 ‘lest he surprizes us’.

## Act III: Scene ii

p. 269, l. 27 _Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages._ 1724 omits ‘all’.

p. 270, l. 28 _to our Courages._ 1724 ‘Courage’.

p. 271, l. 24 _over a Leg._ 1724 ‘over Leg’.

p. 272, l. 21 _Rummer._ 4to 1673 ‘Romer’.

p. 272, l. 33 _that’s not the Fashion._ 1724 omits ‘not’.

p. 272, l. 34 _I’ll manage her._ 1724 ‘I manage her’.

## Act III: Scene iii

p. 273, l. 6 _Scene III. Draws off. A Grove._ 1724 omits ‘Draws off.’ I have added the locale ‘A Grove.’

p. 278, l. 24 _how darst thou._ 1724 ‘how durst thou’.

p. 278, l. 34 _that could not defend._ 4to 1673 omits ‘that’.

## Act III: Scene iva

p. 283, l. 34 _you knew not of my Brother’s._ 1724 ‘you know not my Brother’s’ and omits ‘[To Franc.’

p. 284, l. 4 _to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda] here, is a Happiness._ 1724 ‘to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda.] Here is a Happiness’.

p. 285, l. 7 _Goes out._ 1724 ‘Exit’.

## Act IV: Scene i

p. 286, l. 27 _Surlily to him._ 1724 ‘Goes surlily to him’.

p. 287, l. 26 _by instinct. [Aside._ 1724 omits ‘Aside’.

p. 287, l. 27 _Stands looking very simply._ 1724 omits ‘very’.

p. 288, l. 5 _new-fashion’d Spanish Civility._ 1724 omits ‘Spanish’.

p. 289, l. 13 _it made my Stomach wamble._ 1724 ‘it had made’.

p. 289, l. 32 _Gaber._ 1724 ‘Gabor’.

p. 290, l. 28 _Fakes, to entertain._ 1724 ‘Faith’.

p. 291, l. 5 _They two dance._ 1724 ‘They too dance.’

## Act IV: Scene ii

p. 296, l. 2 _Runs behind Lovis._ 1724 omits.

p. 297, l. 1 _I declare it here upon._ 1724 ‘Here I declare it upon’.

p. 298, l. 13 _who starts as afraid._ 1724 misreads ‘as aforesaid.’

## Act IV: Scene iii

p. 301, l. 6 _Oh, is it bravely done._ 1724 ‘Oh, it is bravely done ...’ and punctuates ‘:’ instead of ‘?’

p. 301, l. 12 _on this Body._ 1724, wrongly, ‘on thy Body’.

p. 301, l. 34 _Takes to his Sword._ 1724 ‘the Sword’.

## Act V: Scene i

p. 310, l. 3 _Cleo. Oh my Fears._ 4to 1673 wrongly marks ‘aside’.

p. 312, l. 3 _Weeps._ This stage direction is not given by 4to 1673.

p. 319, l. 1 _How very very wicked._ 1724 ‘How very wicked’.

p. 319, l. 32 _Count d’ Olivarez._ 4to 1673 here and elsewhere when the name occurs ‘Conte De Olivari’s’.

p. 320, l. 17 _if you are pleas’d._ 1724 ‘if your are pleas’d’.

## Act V: Scene ii

p. 322, l. 1 _Carlo’s House._ 4to 1673 ‘House of Carlo’.

p. 322, l. 5 _Dor. As for._ 4to 1673 misreads ‘Dom. As for’.

p. 323, l. 11 _Hau. What a Devil._ 1724 ‘Hau. What the Devil’.

p. 324, l. 7 _Truth. [Goes out._ 1724 ‘Exit.’

p. 324, l. 20 _God-ha’-Mercy._ 1724 ‘God-a-Mercy’.

p. 324, l. 20 _Go in._ 1724 omits.

_448_ Notes: Critical And Explanatory.

The Dutch Lover.

Epistle

p. 221 _An Epistle to the Reader._ This amusing and witty Epistle only appears in the 4to, 1673, finding no place in the various collected editions of Mrs. Behn’s plays. The writer of comedy—‘the most severe of Johnson’s sect’—with his ‘musty rules of Unity’—at whom she glances pretty freely is Shadwell, who had obtained great success with _The Sullen Lovers_ (produced 2 May, 1668; 4to, 1668), and in spite of some mishaps and opposition, made another hit with _The Humourists_ (1671; 4to, 1671). An ardent disciple of Ben Jonson, he had in the two printed prefaces to these plays belauded his model beyond all other writers, insisting upon the Unities and the introduction of at least two or three Humours as points essential to any comedy.

p. 221 _Doctor of Malmsbury._ The famous philosopher, Thomas Hobbes (1588-1670), who was born at Westport, a suburb of Malmesbury (of which town his father was vicar).

p. 222 _unjantee._ —‘Jantee’ obsolete form of ‘jaunty’: see _N.E.D._

p. 222 _the mighty Echard._ That facetious divine, John Eachard, D.D. (1636-97), Master of Catherine Hall, Cambridge. His chief work, _The Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion enquired into. In a Letter to R. L._ (London, 1670), published anonymously, is stuffed full with Attic salt and humour. He has even been censured for a jocosity (at his brethren’s expense) beneath the decorum of the cloth.

p. 224 _English Game which hight long Laurence._ To play at Laurence = to do just nothing at all; to laze. Laurence is the personification of idleness. There are many dialect uses of the name, e.g., N.W. Devon ‘Lazy’s Laurence’, and Cornish ‘He’s as lazy as Lawrence’, vide Wright, _English Dialect Dictionary._

## Act I: Scene ii

p. 234 _Women must be watcht as Witches are._ One of the tests to which beldames suspected of sorcery were put—a mode particularly favoured by that arch-scamp, Matthew Hopkins, ‘Witch-Finder General’—was to tie down the accused in some painful or at least uneasy posture for twenty-four hours, during which time relays of watchers sat round. It was supposed that an imp would come and suck the witch’s blood; so any fly, moth, wasp or insect seen in the room was a familiar in that shape, and the poor wretch was accordingly convicted of the charge. Numerous confessions are recorded to have been extracted in this manner from ailing and doting crones by Master Hopkins, cf. _Hudribras_,