La Nu. Hah! stay— [Holds him, and looks on him.

Beau. She loves him, and her Eyes betray her Heart.

Will. I am not for your turn, Child— Death, I shall lose my Mistress fooling here— I must be gone. [She holds him, he shakes his Head and sings. No, no, I will not hire your Bed, Nor Tenant to your Favours be; I will not farm your White and Red, You shall not let your Love to me: I court a Mistress— not a Landlady. [bis.

Beau. He's in the right; and shall I waste my Youth and powerful Fortune on one who all this while has jilted me, seeing I was a lavish loving Fool?— No— this Soul and Body shall not be divided— [Gives her to Will.

Will. I am so much thy Friend, another time I might be drawn to take a bad Bargain off thy Hands— but I have other Business at present: wo't do a kind thing, Harry,— lend me thy Aid to carry off my Woman to night? 'tis hard by in the Piazza, perhaps we may find Resistance.

Beau. My self and Sword are yours. I have a Chair waits below too, may do you Service.

Will. I thank ye— Madam— your Servant.

La Nu. Left by both!

Beau. You see our Affairs are pressing. [Bows, and smiles carelesly. Ex. Will. singing, and Beau.

La Nu. Gone! where's all your Power, ye poor deluded Eyes? Curse on your feeble Fires, that cannot warm a Heart which every common Beauty kindles. Oh— he is gone for ever.

Enter Petronella.

Pet. Yes, he is gone, to your eternal Ruin: not all the Race of Men cou'd have produc'd so bountiful and credulous a Fool.

La Nu. No, never; fetch him back, my Petronella: Bring me my wild Inconstant, or I die— [Puts her out.

Pet. The Devil fetch him back for Petronella, is't he you mean? you've had too much of him; a Curse upon him, he'as ruin'd you.

La Nu. He has, he shall, he must compleat my ruin.

Pet. She raves, the Rogue has given her a Spanish Philtre.

La Nu. My Coach, my Veil— or let 'em all alone; undrest thus loosely to the Winds commit me to darkness, and no Guide but pitying Cupid. [Going out, Pet. holds her.

Pet. What, are you mad?

La Nu. As Winds let loose, or Storms when they rage high. [Goes out.

Pet. She's lost, and I'll shift for my self, seize all her Money and Jewels, of which I have the Keys; and if Seignior Mountebank keeps his Word, be transform'd to Youth and Beauty again, and undo this La Nuche at her own Trade— [Goes in.

SCENE II. The Street.

Enter Willmore, Beaumond, Chair following.

Will. Set down the Chair; you're now within call, I'll to the Garden-Door, and see if any Lady Bright appear— Dear Beaumond, stay here a minute, and if I find occasion, I'll give you the Word.

Beau. 'Tis hard by my Lodgings; if you want Conveniences, I have the Key of the Back-way through the Garden, whither you may carry your Mistress. Will. I thank thee— let me first secure my Woman. [Goes out.

Beau. I thought I'd lov'd this false, this jilting Fair, even above my Friendship; but I find I can forgive this Rogue, tho I am sure he has rob'd me of my Joys.

Enter Ariadne with a Casket of Jewels.

Aria. Not yet! a Devil on him, he's Dear-hearting it with some other kind Damsel— Faith,'tis most wickedly done of me to venture my Body with a mad unknown Fellow. Thus a little more Delay will put me into a serious Consideration, and I shall e'en go home again, sleep and be sober. [She walks about.

Beau. Hah, a Woman! Perhaps the same he looks for— I'll counterfeit his Voice and try my Chance— Fortune may set us even.

Aria. Hah, is not that a Man? Yes— and a Chair waiting. [She peeps.

Beau. Who's there?

Aria. A Maid.

Beau. A Miracle— Oh art thou come, Child?

Aria. 'Tis he, you are a civil Captain, are you not, to make a longing Maid expect thus? What Woman has detain'd you?

Beau. Faith, my Dear, tho Flesh and Blood be frail, yet the dear Hopes of thee has made me hold out with a Herculean Courage— Stay, where shall I carry her? not to my own Apartment; Ariadne may surprize me: I'll to the Mountebank here i'th' Piazza, he has a Cure for all things, even for longing Love, and for a Pistole or two will do Reason.— Hah, Company: Here, step into this Chair. [She goes in, they go off just as Will. enters.

Will. Hum, a Woman of Quality and jilt me— Egad, that's strange now— Well, who shall a Man trust in this wicked World?

Enter La Nuche as before.

La Nu. This should be he, he saunters about like an expecting Lover. [Will. peeping and approaching.

Will. By this Light a Woman, if she be the right— but right or wrong so she be Feminine: harkye, Child, I fancy thee some kind thing that belongs to me.

La Nu. Who are you? [In a low tone.

Will. A wandering Lover that has lost his Heart, and I have shreud Guess 'tis in thy dear Bosom, Child.

La Nu. Oh you're a pretty Lover, a Woman's like to have a sweet time on't, if you're always so tedious.

Will. By yon bright Star-light, Child, I walk'd here in short turns like a Centinel, all this live-long Evening, and was just going (Gad forgive me) to kill my self.

La Nu. I rather think some Beauty has detain'd you: Have you not seen La Nuche?

Will. La Nuche!— Why, she's a Whore— I hope you take me for a civiller Person, than to throw my self away on Whores— No, Child, I lie with none but honest Women I: but no disputing now, come— to my Lodging, my dear— here's a Chair waits hard by. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Willmore's Lodging.

Enter Harlequin with Fetherfool's Clothes on his Shoulder, leading him halting by one Hand, Blunt (drunk) by the other in the dark; Fetherfool bloody, his Coat put over his Shoulders.

Feth. Peano, Peano, Seignior, gently, good Edward— for I'll not halt before a Cripple; I have lost a great part of my agil Faculties.

Blunt. Ah, see the Inconstancy of fickle Fortune, Nicholas— A Man to day, and beaten to morrow: but take comfort, there's many a proper fellow has been robb'd and beaten on this Highway of whoring.

Feth. Ay, Ned, thou speak'st by woful Experience— but that I should miscarry after thy wholesom Documents— but we are all mortal, as thou say'st, Ned— Would I had never crost the Ferry from Croydon; a few such Nights as these wou'd learn a Man Experience enough to be a Wizard, if he have but the ill luck to escape hanging.

Blunt. 'Dsheartlikins, I wonder in what Country our kinder Stars rule: In England plunder'd, sequester'd, imprison'd and banish'd; in France, starv'd, walking like the Sign of the naked Boy, with Plymouth Cloaks in our Hands; in Italy and Spain robb'd, beaten, and thrown out at Windows.

Feth. Well, how happy am I, in having so true a Friend to condole me in Affliction— [Weeps.] I am oblig'd to Seignior Harlequin too, for bringing me hither to the Mountebank's, where I shall not only conceal this Catastrophe from those fortunate Rogues our Comrades, but procure a little Album Graecum for my Backside. Come, Seignior, my Clothes— but, Seignior— un Portavera Poco palanca. [Dresses himself.

Harl. Seignior.

Feth. Entende vos Signoria Englesa?

Harl. Em Poco, em Poco, Seignior.

Feth. Per quelq arts, did your Seigniorship escape Cudgeling?

Harl. La art de transformatio.

Feth. Transformatio— Why, wert thou not born a Man?

Harl. No, Seignior, un vieule Femme.

Feth. How, born an old Woman?

Blunt. Good Lord! born an old Woman! And so by transformation became invulnerable.

Feth. Ay— in— invulnerable— what would I give to be invulnerable? and egad, I am almost weary of being a Man, and subject to beating: wou'd I were a Woman, a Man has but an ill time on't: if he has a mind to a Wench, the making Love is so plaguy tedious— then paying is to my Soul insupportable. But to be a Woman, to be courted with Presents, and have both the Pleasure and the Profit— to be without a Beard, and sing a fine Treble— and squeak if the Men but kiss me— 'twere fine— and what's better, I am sure never to be beaten again.

Blunt. Pox on't, do not use an old Friend so scurvily; consider the Misery thou'lt indure to have the Heart and Mind of a jilting Whore possess thee: What a Fit of the Devil must he suffer who acts her Part from fourteen to fourscore! No,'tis resolv'd thou remain Nicholas Fetherfool still, shalt marry the Monster, and laugh at Fortune.

Feth. 'Tis true, should I turn Whore to the Disgrace of my Family— what would the World say? who wou'd have thought it, cries one? I cou'd never have believ'd it, cries another. No, as thou say'st, I'll remain as I am— marry and live honestly.

Blunt. Well resolv'd, I'll leave you, for I was just going to serenade my Fairy Queen, when I met thee at the Door— some Deeds of Gallantry must be perform'd, Seignior, Bonus Nochus. [Ex. Blunt.

Enter Shift with Light.

Feth. Hah, a Light, undone!

Harl. Patientia, Patientia, Seignior.

Shift. Where the Devil can this Rogue Hunt be? Just now all things are ready for marrying these two Monsters; they wait, the House is husht, and in the lucky Minute to have him out of the way: sure the Devil owes me a spite. [Runs against Harlequin, puts out his Candle.

Harl. Qui est la?

Shift. 'Tis Harlequin: Pox on't, is't you?

Harl. Peace, here's Fetherfool, I'll secure him, whilst you go about your Affair. [Ex. Shift.

Feth. Oh, I hear a Noise, dear Harlequin secure me; if I am discover'd I am undone— hold, hold— here's a Door— [They both go in.

Scene changes to a Chamber, discovers the She-Giant asleep in a great Chair.

Enter Fetherfool and Harlequin.

Feth. Hah— my Lady Monster! have I to avoid Scylla run upon Carybdis?— hah, she sleeps; now wou'd some magnanimous Lover make good Use of this Opportunity, take Fortune by the Fore-lock, put her to't, and make sure Work— but Egad, he must have a better Heart, or a better Mistress than I.

Harl. Try your Strength, I'll be civil and leave you. [In Italian he still speaks.

Feth. Excuse me, Seignior, I should crackle like a wicker Bottle in her Arms— no, Seignior, there's no venturing without a Grate between us: the Devil wou'd not give her due Benevolence— No, when I'm marry'd, I'll e'en show her a fair pair of Heels, her Portion will pay Postage —But what if the Giant should carry her? that's to be fear'd, then I have cock'd and drest, and fed, and ventur'd all this while for nothing.

Harl. Faith, Seignior, if I were you, I wou'd make sure of something, see how rich she is in Gems.

Feth. Right, as thou say'st, I ought to make sure of something, and she is rich in Gems: How amiable looks that Neck with that delicious row of Pearls about it.

Harl. She sleeps.

Feth. Ay, she sleeps as 'twere her last. What if I made bold to unrig her? So if I miss the Lady, I have at least my Charges paid: what vigorous Lover can resist her Charms?— [Looks on her. But shou'd she wake and miss it, and find it about me, I shou'd be hang'd— [Turns away. —So then, I lose my Lady too— but Flesh and Blood cannot resist— What if I left the Town? then I lose my Lady still; and who wou'd lose a Hog for the rest of the Proverb?— And yet a Bird in Hand, Friend Nicholas— Yet sweet Meat may have sour Sauce— And yet refuse when Fortune offers— Yet Honesty's a Jewel— But a Pox upon Pride, when Folks go naked—

Harl. Well said. [Incouraging him by Signs.

Feth. Ay— I'll do't— but what Remedy now against Discovery and Restitution?

Harl. Oh, Sir, take no care, you shall— swallow 'em.

Feth. How, swallow 'em! I shall ne'er be able to do't.

Harl. I'll shew you, Seignior,'tis easy.

Feth. 'Gad that may be, 'twere excellent if I cou'd do't; but first— by your leave. [Unties the Necklace, breaks the String, and Harl. swallows one to shew him.

Harl. Look ye, that's all—

Feth. Hold, hold, Seignior, an you be so nimble, I shall pay dear for my Learning— let me see— Friend Nicholas, thou hast swallow'd many a Pill for the Disease of the Body, let's see what thou canst perform for that of the Purse. [Swallows 'em. —so— a comfortable business this— three or four thousand pound in Cordial-Pearl: 'Sbud, Mark Anthony was never so treated by his Egyptian Crocodile— hah, what noise is that?

Harl. Operator, Operator, Seignior.

Feth. How, an Operator! why, what the Devil makes he here? some Plot upon my Lady's Chastity; were I given to be jealous now, Danger wou'd ensue— Oh, he's entring, I would not be seen for all the World. Oh, some place of Refuge— [Looking about.

Harl. I know of none.

Feth. Hah, what's this— a Clock Case?

Harl. Good, good— look you, Sir, do you do thus, and 'tis impossible to discover ye. [Goes into the Case, and shews him how to stand; then Fetherfool goes in, pulls off his Periwig, his Head out, turning for the Minutes o'th' top: his Hand out, and his Fingers pointing to a Figure.

Enter Shift and Hunt.

Feth. Oh Heaven, he's here.

Shift. See where she sleeps; get you about your business, see your own little Marmoset and the Priest be ready, that we may marry and consummate before Day; and in the Morning our Friends shall see us abed together, give us the good morrow, and the Work's done. [Ex. Hunt.

Feth. Oh Traytor to my Bed, what a Hellish Plot's here discover'd! [Shift wakes the Giant.

Giant. Oh, are you come, my Sweetest?

Feth. Hah, the Mistress of my Bosom false too! ah, who wou'd trust faithless Beauty— oh that I durst speak.

Shift. Come let's away, your Uncle and the rest of the House are fast asleep, let's away e'er the two Fools, Blunt and Fetherfool, arrive.

Giant. Hang 'em, Pigeon-hearted Slaves—

Shift. A Clock— let's see what hour 'tis— [Lifts up the Light to see, Feth. blows it out. —How! betray'd— I'll kill the Villain. [Draws.

Feth. Say you so, then 'tis time for me to uncase.

Shift. Have you your Lovers hid? [Gets out, all groping in the dark, Feth. gets the Giant by the Hand.

Giant. Softly, or we're undone; give me your Hand, and be undeceiv'd.

Feth. 'Tis she, now shall I be reveng'd. [Leads her out.

Shift. What, gone! Death, has this Monster got the Arts of Woman? [Harl. meets him in the dark, and plays tricks with him. [Ex. all.

Enter Willmore and La Nuche by dark.

Will. Now we are safe and free, let's in, my Soul, and gratefully first sacrifice to Love, then to the Gods of Mirth and Wine, my Dear. [Ex. passing over the Stage.

Enter Blunt with Petronella, imbracing her, his Sword in his Hand, and a Box of Jewels.

Pet. I was damnably afraid I was pursu'd. [Aside.

Blunt. Something in the Fray I've got, pray Heaven it prove a Prize, after my cursed ill luck of losing my Lady Dwarf: Why do you tremble, fair one?— you're in the Hands of an honest Gentleman, Adshartlikins.

Pet. Alas, Sir, just as I approach! Seignior Doctor's Door, to have my self surrounded with naked Weapons, then to drop with the fear my Casket of Jewels, which had not you by chance stumbled on and taken up, I had lost a hundred thousand Crowns with it.

Blunt. Ha um— a hundred thousand Crowns— a pretty trifling Sum— I'll many her out of hand. [Aside.

Pet. This is an Englishman, of a dull honest Nation, and might be manag'd to advantage, were but I transform'd now. [Aside.] I hope you are a Man of Honour; Sir, I am a Virgin, fled from the rage of an incens'd Brother; cou'd you but secure me with my Treasure, I wou'd be devoted yours.

Blunt. Secure thee! by this Light, sweet Soul, I'll marry thee;— Belvile's Lady ran just so away with him— this must be a Prize— [Aside.] But hark— prithee, my Dear, step in a little, I'll keep my good Fortune to my self.

Pet. See what trust I repose in your Hands, those Jewels, Sir.

Blunt. So— there can be no jilting here, I am secur'd from being cozen'd however. [Ex. Pet.

Enter Fetherfool.

Feth. A Pox on all Fools, I say, and a double Pox on all fighting Fools; just when I had miraculously got my Monster by a mistake in the dark, convey'd her out, and within a moment of marrying her, to have my Friend set upon me, and occasion my losing her, was a Catastrophe which none but thy termagant Courage (which never did any Man good) cou'd have procur'd.

Blunt. 'Dshartlikins, I cou'd kill my self.

Feth. To fight away a couple of such hopeful Monsters, and two Millions— 'owns, was ever Valour so improvident?

Blunt. Your fighting made me mistake: for who the Pox wou'd have look'd for Nicholas Fetherfool in the person of a Hero?

Feth. Fight, 'Sbud, a Million of Money wou'd have provok'd a Bully; besides, I took you for the damn'd Rogue my Rival.

Blunt. Just as I had finish'd my Serenade, and had put up my Pipes to be gone, out stalk'd me your two-handed Lady, with a Man at her Girdle like a bunch of Keys, whom I taking for nothing less than some one who had some foul design upon the Gentlewoman, like a true Knight-Errant, did my best to rescue her.

Feth. Yes, yes, I feel you did, a Pox of your heavy hand.

Blunt. So whilst we two were lovingly cuffing each other, comes the Rival, I suppose, and carries off the Prize.

Feth. Who must be Seignior Lucifer himself, he cou'd never have vanisht with that Celerity else with such a Carriage— But come, all we have to do is to raise the Mountebank and the Guardian, pursue the Rogues, have 'em hang'd by Law, for a Rape, and Theft, and then we stand fair again.

Blunt. Faith, you may, if you please, but Fortune has provided otherwise for me. [Aside. [Ex. Blu. and Feth.

Enter Beaumond and Ariadne.

Beau. Sure none lives here, or Thieves are broken in, the Doors are all left open.

Aria. Pray Heaven this Stranger prove but honest now. [Aside.

Beau. Now, my dear Creature, every thing conspires to make us happy, let us not defer it.

Aria. Hold, dear Captain, I yield but on Conditions, which are these— I give you up a Maid of Youth and Beauty, ten thousand Pound in ready Jewels here— three times the value in Estate to come, of which here be the Writings, you delivering me a handsom proper fellow, Heart-whole and sound, that's all— your Name I ask not till the Priest declare it, who is to seal the Bargain. I cannot deceive, for I let you know I am Daughter-in-law to the English Ambassador.

Beau. Ariadne!— How vain is all Man's Industry and Care To make himself accomplish'd; When the gay fluttering Fool, or the half-witted rough unmanner'd Brute, Who in plain terms comes right down to the business, Out-rivals him in all his Love and Fortunes. [Aside.

Aria. Methinks you cool upon't, Captain.

Beau. Yes, Ariadne.

Aria. Beaumond!

Beau. Oh what a World of Time have I mispent for want of being a Blockhead— 'Sdeath and Hell, Wou'd I had been some brawny ruffling Fool, Some forward impudent unthinking Sloven, A Woman's Tool; for all besides unmanageable. Come, swear that all this while you thought 'twas I. The Devil has taught ye Tricks to bring your Falshood off.

Aria. Know 'twas you! no, Faith, I took you for as errant a right-down Captain as ever Woman wisht for; and 'twas uncivil egad, to undeceive me, I tell you that now.

Enter Willmore and La Nuche by dark.

Will. Thou art all Charms, a Heaven of Sweets all over, plump smooth round Limbs, small rising Breasts, a Bosom soft and panting— I long to wound each Sense. Lights there— who waits?— there yet remains a Pleasure unpossest, the sight of that dear Face— Lights there— where are my Vermin? [Ex. Will.

Aria. My Captain with a Woman— and is it so—

Enter Will. with Lights, sees Aria, and goes to her.

Will. By Heaven, a glorious Beauty! now a Blessing on thee for shewing me so dear a Face— Come, Child, let's retire and begin where we left off.

La Nu. A Woman!

Aria. Where we left off! pray, where was that, good Captain?

Will. Within upon the Bed, Child— come— I'll show thee.

Beau. Hold, Sir.

Will. Beaumond! come fit to celebrate my Happiness; ah such a Woman-friend!

Beau. Do ye know her?

Will. All o'er, to be the softest sweetest Creature—

Beau. I mean, do ye know who she is?

Will. Nor care; 'tis the last Question I ever ask a fine Woman.

Beau. And you are sure you are thus well acquainted.

Will. I cannot boast of much acquaintance— but I have pluckt a Rose from her Bosom— or so— and given it her again— we've past the hour of the Berjere together, that's all—

Beau. And do you know— this Lady is my— Wife? [Draw.

Will. Hah! hum, hum, hum, hum— [Turns and sings, sees La Nuche, and returns quick with an uneasy Grimace.

Beau. Did you not hear me? Draw.

Will. Draw, Sir— what on my Friend?

Beau. On your Cuckold, Sir, for so you've doubly made me: Draw, or I'll kill thee— [Passes at him, he fences with his Hat, La Nu. holds Beau.

Will. Hold, prithee hold.

La Nu. Put up your Sword, this Lady's innocent, at least in what concerns this Evening's business; I own— with Pride I own I am the Woman that pleas'd so well to Night.

Will. La Nuche! kind Soul to bring me off with so handsom a lye: How lucky 'twas she happen'd to be here!

Beau. False as thou art, why shou'd I credit thee?

La Nu. By Heaven, 'tis true, I will not lose the glory on't.

Will. Oh the dear perjur'd Creature, how I love thee for this dear lying Virtue— Harkye, Child, hast thou nothing to say for thy self, to help us out withal?— [To Aria. aside.

Aria. I! I renounce ye— false Man.

Beau. Yes, yes, I know she's innocent of this, for which I owe no thanks to either of you, but to my self who mistook her in the dark.

La Nu. And you it seems mistook me for this Lady; I favour'd your Design to gain your Heart, for I was told, that if this Night I lost you, I shou'd never regain you: now I am yours, and o'er the habitable World will follow you, and live and starve by turns, as Fortune pleases.

Will. Nay, by this Light, Child, I knew when once thou'dst try'd me, thou'dst ne'er part with me— give me thy Hand, no Poverty shall part us.

[Kisses her. —so— now here's a Bargain made without the formal Foppery of Marriage.

La Nu. Nay, faith Captain, she that will not take thy word as soon as the Parson's of the Parish, deserves not the Blessing.

Will. Thou art reform'd, and I adore the Change.

Enter the Guardian, Blunt, and Fetherfool.

Guar. My Nieces stol'n, and by a couple of the Seignior's Men! the Seignior fled too! undone, undone!

Will. Hah, now's my Cue, I must finish this Jest. [Goes out.

Enter Shift and Giant, Hunt and Dwarf.

Guar. Oh impudence, my Nieces, and the Villains with 'em! I charge ye, Gentlemen, to lay hold on 'em.

Dwarf. For what, good Uncle, for being so courageous to marry us?

Guar. How, married to Rogues, Rascals, John Potages!

Blunt. Who the Devil wou'd have look'd for jilting in such Hobgoblins?

Feth. And hast thou deceiv'd me, thou foul filthy Synagogue?

Enter Willmore like a Mountebank as before.

Blunt. The Mountebank! oh thou cheating Quack, thou sophisticated adulterated Villain.

Feth. Thou cozening, lying, Fortune-telling, Feetaking Rascal.

Blunt. Thou jugling, conjuring, canting Rogue!

Will. What's the matter, Gentlemen?

Blunt. Hast thou the Impudence to ask, who took my Money to marry me to this ill-favour'd Baboon?

Feth. And me to this foul filthy o'ergrown Chronicle?

Blunt. And hast suffered Rogues, thy Servants, to marry 'em: Sirrah, I will beat thee past Cure of all thy hard-nam'd Drugs, thy Guzman Medicines.

Feth. Nay, I'll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have him hang'd for a Witch.

Shift. Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their Portion, what wou'd you more? [Aside to the Guar. Look ye, Sir. [Pulls off their Disguise.

Blunt. Hunt!

Feth. Shift! We are betray'd: all will out to the Captain.

Will. He shall know no more of it than he does already for me, Gentlemen. [Pulls off his Disguise.

Blunt. Willmore!

Feth. Ay, ay,'tis he.

Blunt. Draw, Sir— you know me—

Will. —For one that 'tis impossible to cozen. [All laugh.

Beau. Have a care, Sir, we are all for the Captain.

Feth. As for that, Sir, we fear ye not, d'ye see, were you Hercules and all his Myrmidons. [Draws, but gets behind.

Will. Fools, put up your Swords, Fools, and do not publish the Jest; your Money you shall have again, on condition you never pretend to be wiser than your other Men, but modestly believe you may be cozen'd as well as your Neighbours. [The Guardian talking with Hunt and Shift and Giant this while.

Feth. La you, Ned, why shou'd Friends fall out?

Blunt. Cozen'd! it may be not, Sir; for look ye, Sir, the Essex Fool, the cozen'd dull Rogue can shew Moveables or so— nay, they are right too— [Shews his Jewels. This is no Naples Adventure, Gentlemen, no Copper Chains; all substantial Diamonds, Pearls and Rubies— [Will. takes the Casket, and looks in it.

La Nu. Hah, do not I know that Casket, and those Jewels!

Feth. How the Pox came this Rogue by these?

Will. Hum, Edward, I confess you have redeem'd your Reputation, and shall hereafter pass for a Wit— by what good fortune came you by this Treasure?— what Lady—

Blunt. Lady, Sir! alas no, I'm a Fool, a Country Fop, an Ass, I; but that you may perceive your selves mistaken, Gentlemen, this is but an earnest of what's to come, a small token of remembrance, or so— and yet I have no Charms, I; the fine Captain has all the Wit and Beauty— but thou'rt my Friend, and I'll impart. [Brings out Petronella veil'd.

Enter Aurelia and Sancho.

Aur. Hither we trac'd her, and see she's yonder.

San. Sir, in the King's Name lay hold of this old Cheat, she has this Night robb'd our Patrona of a hundred thousand Crowns in Money and Jewels.

Blunt. Hah! [Gets from her.

La Nu. You are mistaken, Friend Sancho, she only seiz'd 'em for my use, and has deliver'd 'em in trust to my Friend the Captain.

Pet. Hah, La Nuche!

Blunt. How! cozen'd again!

Will. Look ye, Sir, she's so beautiful, you need no Portion, that alone's sufficient for Wit.

Feth. Much good may do you with your rich Lady, Edward.

Blunt. Death, this Fool laugh at me too— well, I am an errant right-down Loggerhead, a dull conceited cozen'd silly Fool; and he that ever takes me for any other, 'Dshartlikins, I'll beat him. I forgive you all, and will henceforth be good-natur'd; wo't borrow any Money? Pox on't, I'll lend as far as e'er 'twill go, for I am now reclaim'd.

Guar. Here is a Necklace of Pearl lost, which, Sir, I lay to your Charge. [To Fetherfool.

Feth. Hum, I was bewitcht I did not rub off with it when it was mine— who, I? if e'er I saw a Necklace of Pearl, I wish 'twere in my Belly.

Blunt. How a Necklace! unconscionable Rogue, not to let me share: well, there is no Friendship in the World; I hope they'l hang him.

Shift. He'll ne'er confess without the Rack— come, we'll toss him in a Blanket.

Feth. Hah, toss me in a Blanket, that will turn my Stomach most villainously, and I shall disimbogue and discover all.

Shift. Come, come, the Blanket. [They lay hold on him.

Feth. Hold, hold, I do confess, I do confess—

Shift. Restore, and have your Pardon.

Feth. That is not in Nature at present, for Gentlemen, I have eat 'em.

Shift. 'Sdeath, I'll dissect ye. [Goes to draw.

Will. Let me redeem him; here Boy, take him to my Chamber, and let the Doctor glyster him soundly, and I'll warrant you your Pearl again.

Feth. If this be the end of travelling, I'll e'en to old England again, take the Covenant, get a Sequestrator's Place, grow rich, and defy all Cavaliering.

Beau. 'Tis Morning, let's home, Ariadne, and try, if possible, to love so well to be content to marry; if we find that amendment in our Hearts, to say we dare believe and trust each other, then let it be a Match.

Aria. With all my Heart.

Will. You have a hankering after Marriage still, but I am for Love and Gallantry. So tho by several ways we gain our End, Love still, like Death, does to one Center tend.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. BARRY.

Poets are Kings of Wit, and you appear A Parliament, by Play-Bill, summon'd here; When e'er in want, to you for aid they fly, And a new Play's the Speech that begs supply: But now— The scanted Tribute is so slowly paid, Our Poets must find out another Trade; They've tried all ways th' insatiate Clan to please, Have parted with their old Prerogatives, Their Birth-right Satiring, and their just pretence Of judging even their own Wit and Sense; And write against their Consciences, to show How dull they can be to comply with you. They've flatter'd all the Mutineers i'th' Nation, Grosser than e'er was done in Dedication; Pleas'd your sick Palates with Fantastick Wit, Such as was ne'er a treat before to th' Pit; Giants, fat Cardinals, Pope Joans and Fryers, To entertain Right Worshipfuls and Squires: Who laugh and cry Ads Nigs, 'tis woundy good, When the fuger's all the Jest that's understood. And yet you'll come but once, unless by stealth, Except the Author be for Commonwealth; Then half Crown more you nobly throw away, And tho my Lady seldom see a Play, She, with her eldest Daughter, shall be boxt that day. Then Prologue comes, Ads-lightikins, crys Sir John, You shall hear notable Conceits anon: How neatly, Sir, he'll bob the Court and French King, And tickle away— you know who— for Wenching. All this won't do, they e'en may spare their Speeches, For all their greasing will not buy 'em Britches; To get a penny new found ways must take, As forming Popes, and Squibs and Crackers make. In Coffee-Houses some their talent vent, Rail for the Cause against the Government, And make a pretty thriving living on't, For who would let a useful Member want. Things being brought to this distressed Estate, 'Twere fit you took the matter in Debate. There was a time, when Loyally by you, True Wit and Sense received Allegiance due, Our King of Poets had his Tribute pay'd, His Peers secured beneath his Laurel's shade. What Crimes have they committed, they must be Driven to the last and worst Extremity? Oh, let it not be said of English Men, Who have to Wit so just and noble been, They should their Loyal Principles recant, And let the glorious Monarch of it want.

* * * * * * * * *

NOTES: The Rover, Part II

[Transcriber's Note:

The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers. Act-and-scene designations shown between marks have been added by the transcriber. Labels such as "Scene IIa" refer to points where the scene description changes without a new scene number.]

NOTES ON THE TEXT.

Dramatis Personae

p. 117 I have added to the Dramatis Personae 'Rag, boy to Willmore', and 'Porter at the English Ambassador's'.

Act I: Scene i

p. 118, l. 2 Scene I. I have added the locale 'A Street'.

p. 118, l. 4 Campain. 4to 1681 'campania'.

p. 120, l. 17 but cold. 1724 'and cold'.

p. 120, l. 28 embracing. 1724 omits.

p. 120, l. 32 Philies. 4to 1681 'Philoes'.

p. 122, l. 30 Brussels. 4to 1681 'Bruxels'.

p. 123, l. 21 But that. 1724 prints these two lines as prose.

p. 124, l. 3 Marcy. 1724 'Mercy'.

p. 126, l. 16 get 'em ready. 1724 'get it ready'.

p. 128, l. 33 pickl'd Pilchard. 1724. 'pickle Pilchard'.

p. 128, l. 34 like a Christmas Sweet-heart. 4to 1681 'boto Christmas Sweet-heart'.

p. 129, l. 26 have I. 1724 'I have'.

Act I: Scene ia

p. 131, l. 36 hot Shot, 1724 omits 'hot'.

p. 134, l. 9 to receive. 1724, wrongly, 'to deceive'.

Act II: Scene i

p. 135, l. 9 Scene I. I have added the locale 'The Street'.

p. 142, l. 5 Harlequin, Scaramouche. I have added these two names to the stage direction. Harlequin is obviously present from the business. Scaramouche is given in Dramatis Personae, 4to 1681 and 1724, but in neither is any entry or exit marked throughout the play. In Killigrew, whom Mrs. Behn is here following very closely, Scaramouche is the quack's servant and appears in this scene. Accordingly I have marked him an entrance.

p. 142, l. 13 Maremaids. 1724 'Mairmaids'.

p. 142, l. 26 an a Man. 4to 1681 'and a Man'.

p, 142, l. 28 and falls. 4to 1681 'who falls'.

p. 145, l. 30 on the Mountebank's Stage. 4to 1681 'on the stage of the Mountebank'.

p. 146, l. 1 This is flat Conjuration. 4to 1681 'This flat Conjuration'.

p. 146, l. 7 what's here. 4to 1681 'what here'.

p. 148, l. 11 Ex. Feth. and Blunt. 4to 1681 and 1724 '[Ex.'

Act II: Scene ii

p. 148, l. 12 Scene II. Changes. 4to 1681 and 1724 'Scene changes'.

p. 148, ll. 21, 27, 33 [bis. 1724 omits.

p. 150, l. 2 my Cousin Endymion. 1724 'Endymion's'.

p. 150, l. 16 Sommes. 4to 1681 and 1724 'somme'.

p. 152, l. 5 Snush. 1724 'snuff'.

Act III: Scene i

p. 154, l. 25 Gargantua. 4to 1681 'Garigantua', and omits 'of'.

p. 155, l. 5 and Harlequin attending. Harlequin's entrance is not marked in 4to 1681 or in 1724, but it is necessary here as he is addressed by the Dwarf.

p. 156, l. 22 Hu, how scornful. 1724 omits 'Hu'.

p. 157, l. 37 with Harlequin. Harlequin's exit unmarked in 4to 1681 and 1724.

p. 159, l. 10 Talks to Hunt. 4to 1681, wrongly, 'Talks to Will'.

p. 161, l. 4 faithless as the Winds. 1724 'Wind'.

p. 161, l. 17 fixt Resolves. 1724 'fixt Resolve'.

p. 163, l. 13 he may again rally. 1724 'railly'.

p. 163, l. 27 them that tries me. 1724 'them that tire me'.

p. 165, l. 21 set such Price on. 1724 'set a Price on'.

p. 165, l. 33 I grow weary. 4to 1681 'I grew weary'.

p. 166, l. 2 sure he knows me not. 1724 omits 'he'.

p. 166, l. 16 better than an Age of Scorn from a proud faithless Beauty? 1724 'better from Age of Scorn than a proud faithless Beauty?'

p. 167, l. 2 and all to bekiss me. 1724 'and kiss me'.

p. 167, l. 21 Laying his hand on his Sword. 4to 1681 gives stage direction as '[His Sword.'

p. 168, l. 23 ails he? 1724 'ye'.

p. 169, l. 24 who wou'st. 4to 1681 'who'st'. 1724 'wou'st'.

p. 169, l. 25 turn me out despis'd. 1724 'turn me out so despis'd'.

p. 169, l. 28 Charms shall hold. 4to 1681 'Charms can hold'.

p. 169, l. 35 she holds him. 1724 omits 'him'.

p. 171, l. 3 a Purse or hands full of Gold. 1724 'a Purse of Gold'.

Act IV: Scene i

p. 172, l. 30 Ariadne. [feels.] Tis so! 1724 omits '[feels]'.

Act IV: Scene ia

p. 173, l. 3 I ever had. 1724, wrongly, 'I ne'er had'.

p. 173, l. 27 My hope. 4to 1681 'ever hope'.

p. 174, l. 3 Orange-grove. 1724 'orange-garden'.

p. 175, l. 20 Was this done. 1724 'Was not this done'.

p. 178, l. 28 in the Piazza. 4to 1681 'Piazzo', and always this form.

p. 178, l. 35 and goes out. 4to 1681 'and ex.'

p. 181, l. 11 whistle to the Birds. 1724 'whistle to Birds'.

Act IV: Scene ib

p. 182, l. 18 Aur. Well, the Stranger. 1724 'Ant. Well, the Stranger'.

p. 183, l. 6 that was the Reason then she came. 1724 omits 'then'.

p. 183, l. 13 The Seigniora perhaps may be angry. 1724 'Seignior'.

p. 184, l. 1 Damn all dissembling. 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 184, l. 9 Love's diviner Dictates. 1724 'Love's divine Dictates'.

Act IV: Scene ic

p. 184, l. 19 false Tenents. 1724, wrongly, 'False Tenements'.

p. 187, l. 13 Oh, any whither, any whither. 1724 'any where, any where'.

Act IV: Scene id

p. 187, l. 24 I believed he had. 1724 'I believe he has'.

p. 187, l. 31 no matter whither 'tis. 1724 'no matter which 'tis'.

p. 188, l. 9 Abev. sings. 4to 1681 and 1724 'The Boy sings ...', but his name has already been given.

Act V: Scene i

p. 190, l. 11 To find out this Rest. 1724 'To find this Rest'.

p. 190, l. 32 La Nu. 'Tis he whom I expect. 1724 gives this speech as prose.

p. 191, l. 10 whence I fetcht my Gold. 1724 'whence I fetch my Gold'.

p. 191, l. 18 they are by dark. 1724 omits.

p. 192, l. 33 What is't to be adorn'd. 1724 'What 'tis to be adorn'd'.

p. 193, l. 19 Wou'd! by Heaven, thou hast. 1724 gives this as prose, 1681 metrically. I have followed the 4to, attempting a rather better division of the lines.

p. 193, l. 32 The last indeed. The first three lines of this speech metrically as 4to 1681. 1724 prints as prose.

p. 194, l. 22 his Youth and Beauty. 4to 1681 'this Youth and Beauty'.

p. 195, l. 5 not a Landlady. [bis. 1724 omits '[bis.'

p. 195, l. 18 La Nu. Left by both! 4to 1681 'Left by both?'

p. 195, l. 20 and Beau. I have added this exit. It is unmarked in 4to 1681 and in 1724.

Act V: Scene iii

p. 198, l. 9 in the dark. 4to 1681 'by dark'.

p. 199, l. 2 un Portavera Poco. 1724 misprints 'Porsavera'.

p. 200, l. 12 Harl. Qui est la? 4to 1681 'Harl. Que et la!'

p. 200, l. 17 I am discover'd. 1724 'I am discower'd'.

Act V: Scene iiia

p. 200, l. 22 Feth. Hah— my Lady Monster! 4to 1681 omits to mark at change of scene Feth. again as speech-prefix.

p. 203, l. 13 Ex. all. 1724 omits 'all'.

p. 203, l. 31 out of hand. [Aside. 4to 1681 omits 'Aside'.

p. 205, l. 27 Ariadne!— How vain is all. 1724 give this speech as prose. I have followed the metrical division of the 4to 1681 with some slight rearrangement of the lines.

p. 208, l. 23 John Potages. 1724. 'Jean Potages'.

p. 208, l. 26 thou foul filthy Synagogue. 1724. 'foul-filthy'.

p. 209, l. 23 d'ye see. 4to 1681 'de see'.

p. 209, l. 24 Myrmidons. 4to 1681 'Mermidons'.

p. 209, l. 28 wiser than your other Men. 1724 omits 'your',

p. 210, l. 21 Gets from her. 1724 omits this stage direction.

p. 211, l. 14 They lay hold on him. 4to 1681 'of him'.

Epilogue

p. 212, l. 26 nobly throw away. 1724 'throw a Way'.

p. 213, ll. 3-22 All this won't do. The concluding twenty lines of the Epilogue are only given in 4to 1681. All subsequent editions omit them.

NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

Dedication

p. 113 The Duke. James, Duke of York, for whom Mrs, Behn, a thorough Tory, entertained sentiments of deepest loyalty. The 'absence', 'voluntary Exile', 'new Exiles', mentioned in the Dedication all refer to James' withdrawal from England in 1679, at the time of the seditious agitation to pass an illegal Exclusion Bill. The Duke left on 4 March for Amsterdam, afterwards residing at the Hague. In August he came back, Charles being very ill. Upon the King's recovery he retired to Scotland 27 October. In March, 1682, he paid a brief visit to the King, finally returning home June of the same year.

p. 114. young Cesar in the Field. During the Commonwealth and his first exile James had joined Turenne's army, 24 April, 1652, and was frequently in the field. He distinguished himself by conspicuous bravery. In 1656, at the wish of Charles, he joined the Spanish army.

p. 114 Some of Oliver's Commanders at Dunkirk. During the Flanders campaign of 1657, Reynolds, the commander of the English at Dunkirk, sought and obtained an interview with James, whom he treated with the most marked respect and honour. This was reported to Cromwell, much to the Protector's chagrin and alarm.

p. 115. City Pope. An allusion to the exploits of Elkanah Settle, who was so notorious at that time for violent Whiggism that in 1680 he had presided over the senseless city ceremony of 'Pope-burning' on 17 November. This annual piece of ridiculous pageantry is smartly described by Dryden in his Prologue to Southerne's The Loyal Brother (1682); and in the Epilogue to Oedipus, (1679), after enumerating the attractions of the play, he ends—

We know not what you can desire or hope To please you more, but burning of a Pope.

There are many contemporary references to Settle and his 'fireworks'. Otway, in The Poet's Complaint (4to, 1680), speaks of Rebellion cockering the silly rabble with 'November squibs and burning pasteboard Popes', canto xi. Duke, in the Epilogue to the same author's The Atheist (1683), says that the poet never 'made one rocket on Queen Bess's night'. In Scott's Dryden, Vol. VI (1808) is given a cut representing the tom-fool procession of 1679, in which an effigy of the murdered Sir Edmund Bury Godfrey had a chief place. There were 'ingenious fireworks' and a bonfire. A scurrilous broadside of the day, with regard to the shouting, says that ''twas believed the echo ... reached Scotland [the Duke was then residing in the North], France, and even Rome itself damping them all with a dreadfull astonishment.' The stage at this juncture of fierce political strife had become a veritable battle-ground of parties, and some stir was caused by Settle's blatant, but not ineffective, melodrama on the subject of that mythical dame The Female Prelate, being the History of the Life and Death of Pope Joan, produced at the Theatre Royal, 1680. This play itself is often referred to, and there are other allusions to Pope Joan about this time, e.g., in the Epilogue to Lee's Caesar Borgia (1679), where the author says a certain clique could not have been more resolute to damn his play

Had he the Pope's Effigies meant to burn, . . . . . Nay, conjur'd up Pope Joan to please the age, And had her breeches search'd upon the stage.

cf. also Mrs. Behn in her own Epilogue when she speaks of 'fat Cardinals, Pope Joans, and Fryers'; and Lord Falkland's scoff in his Prologue to Otway's The Soldier's Fortune (1680):—

But a more pow'rful Saint enjoys ye now . . . . . The fairest Prelate of her time, and best.

Lord Falkland of course points at the play.

Prologue

p. 116 lofty Tire. The Upper Gallery, the price of admission to which was one shilling. It was the cheapest part of the theatre, and is often alluded to in Prologue and Epilogue, but generally with abuse or sarcasm. Dryden, in his Prologue to Tate's The Loyal General (1680), caustically advises:—

Remove your benches, you apostate pit, And take, above, twelve pennyworth of wit; Go back to your dear dancing on the rope, Or see what's worse, the Devil and the Pope.

Dramatis Personae

p. 117 Harlequin, Willmore's Man. Although no actor's name is printed for Harlequin, the part was undoubtedly played by Shadwell's brother-in-law, Tom Jevon, who, at the age of twenty-one, had joined the company in 1673. Originally a dancing-master (Langbaine notes his 'activity'), he became famous in low comedy and particularly for his lithe and nimble Harlequins. In Otway's Friendship in Fashion (1677) Malagene, a character written for and created by Jevon, says, 'I'm a very good mimick; I can act Punchinello, Scaramuchio, Harlequin, Prince Prettyman, or any thing.'

Harlequin does not appear in Killigrew's Thomaso. Mrs. Behn's mime plays pranks and speaks Italian and Spanish. No doubt she derived the character from the Italian comedians who had been at the Royal Theatre, Whitehall, in 1672-3, as Dryden, in an Epilogue (spoken by Hart) to The Silent Woman when acted at Oxford, after a reference to a visit of French comedians, has:—

The Italian Merry-Andrews took their place, And quite debauched the stage with lewd grimace, Instead of wit and humours, your delight Was there to see two hobby-horses fight, Stout Scaramoucha with rush lance rode in, And ran a tilt at centaur Arlequin.

They were acting again in July, 1675, and remained some months in England. cf. Evelyn, 29 September this same year, writes: 'I saw the Italian Scaramuccio act before the King at Whitehall, people giving money to come in, which was very scandalous and never so before at Court-diversions. Having seen him act before in Italy many years past, I was not averse from seeing the most excellent of that kind of folly.' Duffett in his Prologue to Ev'ry Man out of his Humour, 'spoken by Mr. Hayns', July, 1675, who refers to this second visit—

The Modish Nymphs now ev'ry heart will win With the surprizing ways of Harlequin O the fine motion and the jaunty mene While you Gallants— Who for dear Missie ne'er can do too much Make Courtships a la mode de Scarramouch.

and a little later he writes:—

Religion has its Scarramouchys too Whose hums and has get all the praise and pence.

This Italian troop evidently returned in the following year or in 1677, as we have allusions to Dominique Biancolelli and Fiurelli, 'the Fam'd Harlequin & Scaramouch', in the Prologue to Ravenscroft's Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a School-Boy, Bravo, Merchant, and Magician, a Comedy after the Italian Manner, produced at the Theatre Royal in 1677, with the migratory Joe Haines as Harlequin, and again in Friendship in Fashion, Act iii, 1, when Lady Squeamish cries: 'Dear Mr. Malagene, won't you let us see you act a little something of Harlequin? I'll swear you do it so naturally, it makes me think I am at the Louvre or Whitehall all the time.' [Malagene acts.]

p. 117. Lucia... Mrs. Norris. In the quarto the name of this actress is spelled Norice. Even if the two characters Lucia and Petronella Elenora were not so entirely different, one being a girl, the second a withered crone, it is obvious that as both appear on the stage at one and the same time Mrs. Norris could not have doubled these roles. The name Mrs. Norice, however, which is cast for Lucia is undoubtedly a misprint for Mrs. Price. This lady may possibly have been the daughter of Joseph Price, an 'Inimitable sprightly Actor', who was dead in 1673. We find Mrs. Price cast for various roles of no great consequence, similar to Lucia in this play. She sustained Camilla in Otway's Friendship in Fashion (1678), Violante in Leanerd's The Counterfeits (1679), Sylvia in The Soldier's Fortune (1683), Hippolita in D'Urfey's A Commonwealth of Women (1685), and many more, all of which belong to the 'second walking-lady'.

Mrs. Norris, who acted Petronella Elenora, was a far more important figure in the theatre. One of those useful and, indeed, indispensable performers, who, without ever attaining any prominent position, contribute more essentially than is often realized to the success of a play, she became well known for her capital personations of old women and dowagers. Wife of the actor Norris, she had been one of the earliest members of Davenant's company, and her son, known as Jubilee Dicky from his superlative performance in Farquhar's The Constant Couple (1699), was a leading comedian in the reigns of Anne and the first George. Amongst Mrs. Norris' many roles such parts as Lady Dupe, the old lady in Dryden's Sir Martin Mar-All (1667), Goody Rash in Crowne's The Country Wit (1675), Nuarcha, an amorous old maid, in Maidwell's The Loving Enemies (1680), Mother Dunwell, the bawd in Betterton's The Revenge; or, A Match in Newgate (1680), all sufficiently typify her special line, within whose limits she won considerable applause.

Act I: Scene i

p. 120 Crab-Wine. An inferior tipple brewed from sour apples.

p. 122 Tantalus better than ever Ovid described him.

Quaerit aquas in aquis, et poma fugacia captat Tantalus: hoc illi garrula lingua dedit. Amorum, ii, 11, 43-4.

Tibi, Tantale, nullae Deprenduntur aquae; quaeque imminet effugit arbos. Met, iv, 457-8.

p. 126 I ... must be this very Mountebank expected. One may remember Rochester's unpenetrated masquerade as Alexander Bendo, high above 'the bastard race of quacks and cheats,' and Grammont's account of all the courtiers and maids of honour flocking for lotions and potions of perpetual youth to the new empiric's lodgings 'in Tower-Street, next door to the sign of the Black Swan, at a Goldsmith's house.' In the Works of the Earls of Rochester, Roscommon and Dorset (2. vols. 1756), there is a rough cut of Rochester as a charlatan delivering a speech to the assembled crowd. On the platform also stands his attendant, a figure dressed in the diamonded motley of Harlequin.

p. 126. in querpo. A Spanish phrase, en cuerpo = without a cloak; in an undress or disguise.

Act I: Scene ia

p. 133 old Adam's Ale. A very ancient colloquialism for water. In Scotland 'Adam's wine' and frequently merely 'Adam'. Prynne in his Sovereign Power of Parliament (1648), speaks of prisoners 'allowed only a poor pittance of Adam's ale.' cf. Peter Pindar (John Wolcot), The Lousiad, Canto ii, ll. 453-4:—

Old Adam's beverage flows with pride From wide-mouthed pitchers in a plenteous tide.

Act II: Scene i

p. 141 a Pageant. Here used to signify a platform or low scaffold.

Act III: Scene i

p. 157 the Royal Sovereign. In a Navy List of 1684 the Royal Sovereign is classed as one of the 'Nine First Rate' vessels. 1545 tons, 100 guns at home, 90 guns abroad, 815 men at home, 710 men abroad. In 1672 her commander was Sir Joseph Jorden. An authority on nautical matters whom I have consulted informs me that less men and fewer guns were carried to relieve the top hamper of the ship in a sea-way. Most vessels then were inclined to be top heavy, and although able to carry all their guns in the narrow seas, yet when going foreign were glad to leave ten behind, well knowing they would soon lose by scurvy or disease numbers of their crew apart from losses in battle. Although these ships were pierced with ports for, say, 100 guns, it did not follow they always carried so many, as a complete broadside could be fired by running the gun carriages across from one side to another before the fight, so she would not be so heavy above and not so liable to roll and spoil the aim of the guns.

p. 159 Bezolos mano's, Seignior. Senor, beso las manos. = Sir, I kiss your hands; the usual Spanish salutation.

p. 165 brown George. Coarse black bread; hard biscuit. cf. Urquhart's Rabelais (1653), 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:—

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 Graecum. 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 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.

* * * * * * * * *

Errors and Irregularities: The Rover, Part II

the Arbitrary Tyranny text reads "Tryanny" Enter ... follow'd by Ariadne and Lucia. printed "Ariadne and Lucia" with "and" sharing emphatic type Aria. How prove ye that, good Mr. Philospher? spelling unchanged Feth. Have you heard of a Spanish Lady ... [Singing. speaker's name is in Roman type while he is singing a song printed in italics stage direction in same passage not italicized [Lucia above and Ariadne.] anomalous close bracket in original Will. Love knows no Ceremony, no respect text reads "repect" [Lucia squeaks within, crying, help, help. text unchanged

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE DUTCH LOVER.

[Transcriber's Note:

Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in italics, with proper names in roman type. The overall italic markup has been omitted for readability.]



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, 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 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 Walkuere 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 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.



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 (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 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 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 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.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

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.



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?

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—

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.

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.

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: 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.

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 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, 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.