Part 27

_Cand_. The greatest slaves, in monarchies, are they, Whom birth sets nearest to imperial sway; While jealous power does sullenly o'erspy, We play, like deer, within the lion's eye. 'Would I for you some shepherdess had been, And, but each May, ne'er heard the name of queen!

_Phil_. If you were so, might I some monarch be, Then, you should gain what now you lose by me; Then, you in all my glories should have part, And rule my empire, as you rule my heart.

_Cand_. How much our golden wishes are in vain! When they are past, we are ourselves again.

_Enter Queen and_ ASTERIA _above_.

_Queen_. Look, look, Asteria, yet they are not gone. Hence we may hear what they discourse alone.

_Phil_. My love inspires me with a generous thought, Which you, unknowing in those wishes, taught. Since happiness may out of courts be found, Why stay we here on this enchanted ground; And chuse not rather with content to dwell (If love and joy can find it) in a cell?

_Cand_. Those who, like you, have once in courts been great, May think they wish, but wish not, to retreat. They seldom go, but when they cannot stay; As losing gamesters throw the dice away. Even in that cell, where you repose would find, Visions of court will haunt your restless mind; And glorious dreams stand ready to restore The pleasing shapes of all you had before.

_Phil_. He, who with your possession once is blest, On easy terms will part with all the rest. All my ambition will in you be crowned; And those white arms shall all my wishes bound. Our life shall be but one long nuptial day, And, like chafed odours, melt in sweets away; Soft as the night our minutes shall be worn, And chearful as the birds, that wake the morn.

_Cand_. Thus hope misleads itself in pleasant way, And takes more joys on trust, than love can pay: But, love with long possession once decayed, That face, which now you court, you will upbraid.

_Phil_. False lovers broach these tenets, to remove The fault from them, by placing it on love.

_Cand_. Yet grant, in youth you keep alive your fire, Old age will come, and then it must expire: Youth but a while does at love's temple stay, As some fair inn, to lodge it on the way.

_Phil_. Your doubts are kind; but, to be satisfied I can be true, I beg I may be tried.

_Cand_. Trials of love too dear the making cost; For if successless, the whole venture's lost. What you propose, brings wants and care along.

_Phil_. Love can bear both.

_Cand_. But is your love so strong?

_Phil_. They do not want, who wish not to have more; Who ever said an anchoret was poor?

_Cand_. To answer generously, as you have done, I should not by your arguments be won: I know, I urge your ruin by consent; Yet love too well, that ruin to prevent.

_Phil_. Like water given to those whom fevers fry, You kill but him, who must without it die.

_Cand_. Secure me, I may love without a crime; Then, for our flight, appoint both place and time.

_Phil_. The ensuing hour my plighted vows shall be; The time's not long; or only long to me.

_Cand_. Then, let us go where we shall ne'er be seen By my hard mother.

_Phil_. Or my cruel queen.

[_Exeunt_ PHIL. _and_ CAND.

_Queen above_. O, Philocles, unkind to call me cruel! So false Aeneas did from Dido fly; But never branded her with cruelty. How I despise myself for loving so!

_Ast_. At once you hate yourself, and love him too.

_Queen_. No, his ingratitude has cured my wound: A painful cure indeed!

_Ast_. And yet not sound. His ignorance of your true thoughts Excuses this; you did seem cruel, madam.

_Queen_. But much of kindness still mixed with it. Who could mistake so grossly, not to know A Cupid frowning, when he draws his bow?

_Ast_. He's going now to smart for his offence.

_Queen_. Should he, without my leave, depart from hence?

_Ast_. No matter; since you hate him, let him go.

_Queen_. But I my hate by my revenge will show: Besides, his head's a forfeit to the state.

_Ast_. When you take that, I will believe you hate. Let him possess, and then he'll soon repent; And so his crime will prove his punishment.

_Queen_. He may repent; but he will first possess.

_Ast_. O, madam, now your hatred you confess: If his possessing her your rage does move, 'Tis jealousy, the avarice of love.

_Queen_. No more, Asteria. Seek Lysimantes out, bid him set his guards Through all the court and city. Prevent their marriage first; then stop their flight. Some fitting punishments I will ordain, But speak not you of Philocles again: 'Tis bold to search, and dangerous to find, Too much of heaven's, or of a prince's mind. [_Queen descends, and exit_.

_As the Queen has done speaking,_ FLAVIA _is going hastily over the stage;_ ASTERIA _sees her_.

_Ast_. Flavia, Flavia, whither so fast?

_Fla_. Did you call, Asteria?

_Ast_. The queen has business with Prince Lysimantes; Speak to any gentleman in the court, to fetch him. [_Exit_ ASTERIA _from above_.

_Fla_. I suspect somewhat, but I'll watch you close; Prince Lysimantes has not chose in me The worst spy of the court-- Celadon! what makes he here?

_Enter_ CELADON, OLINDA, _and_ SABINA; _they walk over the stage together, he seeming to court them_.

_Olind_. Nay, sweet Celadon--

_Sab_. Nay, dear Celadon.

_Fla_. O ho! I see his business now; 'tis with Melissa's two daughters: Look, look, how he peeps about, to see if the coast be clear; like an hawk that will not plume, if she be looked on.

[_Exeunt_ CEL. OLIND. _and_ SAB.

So--at last he has trussed his quarry.

_Enter_ FLORIMEL.

_Flo_. Did you see Celadon this way?

_Fla_. If you had not asked the question, I should have thought you had come from watching him; he's just gone off with Melissa's daughters.

_Flo_. Melissa's daughters! he did not court 'em, I hope?

_Fla_. So busily, he lost no time: While he was teaching the one a tune, he was kissing the other's hand.

_Flo_. O fine gentleman!

_Fla_. And they so greedy of him! did you never see two fishes about a bait, tugging it this way and t'other way? for my part, I looked at least he should have lost a leg or arm i'the service.--Nay, never vex yourself, but e'en resolve to break with him.

_Flo_. No, no, 'tis not come to that yet; I'll correct him first, and then hope the best from time.

_Fla_. From time! believe me, there's little good to be expected from him. I never knew the old gentleman with the scythe and hour-glass bring any thing but grey hair, thin cheeks, and loss of teeth: You see Celadon loves others.

_Flo_. There's the more hope he may love me among the rest: Hang it, I would not marry one of these solemn fops; they are good for nothing, but to make cuckolds. Give me a servant, that is an high flier at all games, that is bounteous of himself to many women; and yet, whenever I pleased to throw out the lure of matrimony, should come down with a swing, and fly the better at his own quarry.

_Fla_. But are you sure you can take him down when you think good?

_Flo_. Nothing more certain.

_Fla_. What wager will you venture upon the trial?

_Flo_. Any thing.

_Fla_. My maidenhead to yours.

_Flo_. That's a good one; who shall take the forfeit?

_Fla_. I'll go and write a letter, as from these two sisters, to summon him immediately; it shall be delivered before you. I warrant, you see a strange combat betwixt the flesh and the spirit: If he leaves you to go to them, you'll grant he loves them better?

_Flo_. Not a jot the more: A bee may pick of many flowers, and yet like some one better than all the rest.

_Fla_. But then your bee must not leave his sting behind him.

_Flo_. Well; make the experiment however: I hear him coming, and a whole noise of fidlers at his heels. Hey-day, what a mad husband shall I have!--

_Enter CELADON_.

_Fla_. And what a mad wife will he have! Well, I must go a little way, but I'll return immediately, and write it: You'll keep him in discourse the while? [_Exit_ FLA.

_Cel_. Where are you, madam? What, do you mean to run away thus? Pray stand to't, that we may despatch this business.

_Flo_. I think you mean to watch me, as they do witches, to make me confess I love you. Lord, what a bustle have you kept this afternoon? What with eating, singing, and dancing, I am so wearied, that I shall not be in case to hear any more love this fortnight.

_Cel_. Nay, if you surfeit on't before trial, Lord have mercy upon you, when I have married you.

_Flo_. But what king's revenue, do you think, will maintain this extravagant expence?

_Cel_. I have a damnable father, a rich old rogue, if he would once die! Lord, how long does he mean to make it ere he dies!

_Flo_. As long as ever he can, I'll pass my word for him.

_Cel_. I think, then, we had best consider him as an obstinate old fellow, that is deaf to the news of a better world; and ne'er stay for him.

_Flo_. But e'en marry; and get him grandchildren in abundance, and great-grandchildren upon them, and so inch him and shove him out of the world by the very force of new generations--if that be the way, you must excuse me.

_Cel_. But dost thou know what it is to be an old maid?

_Flo_. No, nor hope I shan't these twenty years.

_Cel_. But when that time comes, in the first place, thou wilt be condemned to tell stories, how many men thou mightst have had; and none believe thee: Then thou growest forward, and impudently weariest all thy friends to solicit man for thee.

_Flo_. Away with your old common-place-wit: I am resolved to grow fat, and look young till forty, and then slip out of the world, with the first wrinkle, and the reputation of five and twenty.

_Cel_. Well, what think you now of a reckoning betwixt us?

_Flo_. How do you mean?

_Cel_. To discount for so many days of my years service, as I have paid in this morning.

_Flo_. With all my heart.

_Cel_. _Imprimis_, for a treat. _Item_, For my glass coach. _Item_, For sitting bare, and wagging your fan. And lastly, and principally, for my fidelity to you this long hour and half.

_Flo_. For this I bate you three weeks of your service; now hear your bill of faults; for your comfort 'tis a short one.

_Cel_. I know it.

_Flo_. _Imprimis_, _item_, and sum total, for keeping company with Melissa's daughters.

_Cel_. How the pox came you to know of that? Gad, I believe the devil plays booty against himself, and tells you of my sins. [_Aside_.

_Flo_. The offence being so small, the punishment shall be but proportionable; I will set you back only half a year.

_Cel_. You're most unconscionable: When then do you think we shall come together? There's none but the old patriarchs could live long enough to marry you at this rate. What, do you take me for some cousin of Methusalem's, that I must stay an hundred years, before I come to beget sons and daughters?

_Flo_. Here's an impudent lover! he complains of me without ever offering to excuse himself; _item_, a fortnight more for that.

_Cel_. So, there's another puff in my voyage, has blown me back to the north of Scotland.

_Flo_. All this is nothing to your excuse for the two sisters.

_Cel_. 'Faith, if ever I did more than kiss them, and that but once--

_Flo_. What could you have done more to me?

_Cel_. An hundred times more; as thou shalt know, dear rogue, at time convenient.

_Flo_. You talk, you talk; could you kiss them, though but once, and ne'er think of me?

_Cel_. Nay, if I had thought of thee, I had kissed them over a thousand times, with the very force of imagination.

_Flo_. The gallants are mightily beholden to you; you have found them out a new way to kiss their mistresses, upon other women's lips.

_Cel_. What would you have? You are my Sultana Queen, the rest are but in the nature of your slaves; I may make some slight excursions into the enemy's country for forage, or so, but I ever return to my head quarters.

_Enter one with a letter_.

_Cel_. To me?

_Mess_. If your name be Celadon. [_CEL. reads softly_.

_Flo_. He is swallowing the pill; presently we shall see the operation.

_Cel. to the page_.] Child, come hither, child; here's money for thee: So, begone quickly, good child, before any body examines thee: Thou art in a dangerous place, child--[_Thrusts him out_.] Very good; the sisters send me word, they will have the fiddles this afternoon, and invite me to sup there!--Now, cannot I forbear, an I should be damned, tho' I have scap'd a scouring so lately for it. Yet I love Florimel better than both of them together; there's the riddle on't: But only for the sweet sake of variety.--[_Aside_.] Well, we must all sin, and we must all repent, and there's an end on't.

_Flo_. What is it, that makes you fidge up and down so?

_Cel_. 'Faith, I am sent for by a very dear friend, and 'tis upon a business of life and death.

_Flo_. On my life, some woman?

_Cel_. On my honour, some man; do you think I would lie to you?

_Flo_. But you engaged to sup with me.

_Cel_. But I consider it may be scandalous to stay late in your lodgings. Adieu, dear miss! If ever I am false to thee again!-- [_Exit_ CELADON.

_Flo_. See what constant metal you men are made of! He begins to vex me in good earnest. Hang him, let him go and take enough of 'em: And yet, methinks, I can't endure he should neither. Lord, that such a mad-cap as I should ever live to be jealous! I must after him. Some ladies would discard him now, but I A fitter way for my revenge will find; I'll marry him, and serve him in his kind.

[_Exit_ FLO.

## ACT IV.

## SCENE I,--_The Walks_.

MELISSA, _after her_ OLINDA _and_ SABINA.

_Mel_. I must take this business up in time: This wild fellow begins to haunt my house again. Well, I'll be bold to say it, 'tis as easy to bring up a young lion without mischief, as a maidenhead of fifteen, to make it tame for an husband's bed. Not but that the young man is handsome, rich, and young, and I could be content he should marry one of them; but to seduce them both in this manner:--Well, I'll examine them apart, and if I can find out which he loves, I'll offer him his choice.--Olinda, come hither, child.

_Olin_. Your pleasure, madam?

_Met_. Nothing but for your good, Olinda; what think you of Celadon?

_Olin_. Why I think he's a very mad fellow; but yet I have some obligements to him: he teaches me new airs of the guitar, and talks wildly to me, and I to him.

_Mel_. But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you?

_Olin_. Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one another; we both love singing, dancing, treats, and music. In short, we are each other's counterpart.

_Mel_. But does he love you seriously?

_Olin_. Seriously?--I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should not love him: But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not.

_Mel_. Well, go back, and call Sabina to me.

[_OLINDA goes behind_.

This is a riddle past my finding out: Whether he loves her, or no, is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him:--O my little favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: is he in love with you?

_Sab_. I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man's word may be taken for it.

_Mel_. But what expressions has he made you?

_Sab_. Truly, the man has done his part: He has spoken civilly to me, and I was not so young but I understood him.

_Mel_. And you could be content to marry him?

_Sab_. I have sworn never to marry: besides he's a wild young man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed.

_Mel_. No, no, we would but lead you to the altar.

_Sab_. Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him not, I am resolved to die a maid, that's once, mother.

_Mel_. Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet find he loves either of them.

_Olin_. Mother, mother, yonder's Celadon in the walks.

_Mel_. Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy. Well, I'll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems to like the youngest best: I'll give him opportunity with her. Olinda, do you make haste after me.

_Olin_. This is something hard though.

[_Exit_ MEL.

_Enter_ CELADON.

_Cel_. You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to you: I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came hither after you.

_Sab_. 'Twas well you found us.

_Cel_. Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here's fair Olinda has beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a stature, so white a skin!--

_Olin_. I thought he would be particular at last. [_Aside_.

_Cel_. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little withdrawing room. A word, madam.--[_To_ SAB.

_Olin_. I like not this--[_Aside_.] Sir, if you are not too busy with my sister, I would speak with you.

_Cel_. I come, madam.

_Sab_. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse--and as you were a saying, sir,--

_Olin_. Sweet sir,--

_Sab_. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste.

_Olin_. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming.

_Sab_. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, if you please, I'll send her word you won't come.

_Olin_. Minion, minion, remember this--[_Exit OLIN_.

_Sab_. She's horribly in love with you.

_Cel_. Lord, who could love that walking steeple! She's so high, that every time she sings to me, I am looking up for the bell that tolls to church.--Ha! give me my little fifth-rate, that lies so snug. She! hang her, a Dutch-built bottom: She's so tall, there's no boarding her. But we lose time--madam, let me seal my love upon your mouth. [_Kiss_] Soft and sweet, by heaven! sure you wear rose-leaves between your lips.

_Sab_. Lord, Lord, what's the matter with me! my breath grows so short, I can scarce speak to you.

_Cel_. No matter, give me thy lips again, and I'll speak for thee.

_Sab_. You don't love me--

_Cel_. I warrant thee; sit down by me, and kiss again,--She warms faster than Pygmalion's image. [_Aside_]--[_Kiss_.]--Ay marry, sir, this was the original use of lips; talking, eating, and drinking came in by and by.

_Sab_. Nay, pray be civil; will you be at quiet?

_Cel_. What, would you have me sit still, and look upon you, like a little puppy-dog, that's taught to beg with his fore-leg up?

_Enter_ FLORIMEL.

_Flo_. Celadon the faithful! in good time, sir,--

_Cel_. In very good time, Florimel; for heaven's sake, help me quickly.

_Flo_. What's the matter?

_Cel_. Do you not see? here's a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! (Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring her to her senses.

_Flo_. Alas! how came she so?

_Cel_. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for charity.

_Flo_. Help, help! alas! poor lady--[_Exit_ FLO.

_Sab_. Is she gone?

_Cel_. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet.

_Sab_. I am afraid you love her, Celadon!

_Cel_. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again.

_Sab_. I can find a tongue as well as she.

_Cel_. Ay, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, and for you to be seen in my company--stay in the walks, by this kiss I'll be with you presently.

_Enter_ FLORIMEL _running_.

_Flo_. Help, help!--I can find nobody.

_Cel_. Tis needless now, my dear; she's recovered, and gone off; but so wan and weakly,--

_Flo_.Umph! I begin to smell a rat.--What was your business here, Celadon?

_Cel_. Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for life with her.

_Flo_. But how came you hither?--Not that I care this, but only to be satisfied. [_Sings_.

_Cel_. You are jealous, in my conscience!

_Flo_. Who, I jealous!--then I wish this sigh may be the last that ever I may draw. [_Sighs_.

_Cel_. But why do you sigh, then?

_Flo_. Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well. But what will you say, if I wrote the letter you had, to try your faith?

_Cel_. Hey day! this is just the devil and the sinner; you lay snares for me, and then punish me for being taken: Here's trying a man's faith indeed!--What, do you think I had the faith of a stock, or of a stone? Nay, an you go to tantalize a man--I love upon the square, I can endure no tricks to be used to me.

[OLINDA _and_ SABINA _at the door peeping_.

_Olin_. and _Sab_. Celadon! Celadon!

_Flo_. What voices are those?

_Cel_. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play.--Pox on them, they'll spoil all. [_Aside_.

_Flo_. Pray, let's see them.

_Cel_. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your sight.--Pray, gentlemen, begone; I'll be with you immediately.

_Sab_. No; we'll stay here for you.

_Flo_. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved to see what company you keep.

_Cel_. Nay, good my dear.

[_He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of_ OLINDA, _by whom_ SABINA _holds; so that, he pulling, they all come in_.

_Flo_. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] _'Tis Strephon calls, what would my love?_ Why do you not roar out, like a great bass-viol, _Come follow to the myrtle-grove_.--Pray, sir, which of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for it were unconscionable to leave you to them both:--What, a mans but a man, you know.

_Olin_. The gentleman may find an owner.

_Sab_. Though not of you.

_Flo_. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him.

_Cel_. 'Slife, they'll cry me anon, and tell my marks.