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

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

Alon. Sure this is the Coxcomb himself.

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

Lov. How! I beat him?

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

Lov. But she desir'd you to do't.

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

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

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

Alon. Must you so, Sir?—

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

Alon. That same Alonzo whom you inquire for.

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

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

Hau. Look ye here now— Lovis.

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

Hau. I, can you be angry with me?

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

Lov. Ha, ha, ha, this Humour's so pleasant in thee, I wish thou wouldst pursue it a little— Haunce, bear up to him, he's but a mere Huff, ha, ha, ha.

[Claps him on the Back, he goes fearfully forward.

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

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

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

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

Lov. Yes indeed is it.

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

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

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

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

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

Alon. You must ask me leave, first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lov. In very good earnest.

Hau. Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra— hay, Boys, what a Night we'll have on't, Gload, for Fiddles and Dancing.

Alon. Tell your Mistress I will dispatch a little Affair, and wait on her.

Gload. And pray, Sir, may I have leave to marry the Maid too?

Alon. We'll consider on't.

Hau. I am not such a Fool to venture tho, till I know the Coast is clear, for his very Looks are terrible; but go you, Gload, and tell her what he says. [Alonzo talks to Lovis.

Enter Hippolyta from aside.

Hip. These be the Men that rescu'd me this morning, And are not to be employ'd in my Affair. But yonder Stranger has a noble Look, And from him I'll intreat this Favour— Sir— [To Alonzo.

Alon. With me, Sir?

Hip. Yes, please you to walk a little this way, Sir. [Takes him aside.

Hau. Well, make you sure of Fiddles, for look ye, we'll appear to night like our selves.

Gload. It shall be done, Sir.

Hip. I am a Stranger and a Gentleman, And have an humble Suit to you.

Alon. You may command me any thing.

Hip. Sir, there is a Gentleman, if I may call him so, that dares do ill; has put a base Affront upon a Lady— a Lady whom all brave Men are bound to vindicate: I've writ him here a Challenge, and only beg you'll give it him; I will attend you in St. Peter's Grove, where I desire the perfidious Antonio (for that's his Name, to whom this is directed) to meet me.

Alon. I'm pleas'd to see this Gallantry in a Man so young, and will serve you in this, or whatever else you shall command. But where is this Antonio?

Hip. That I'll inquire of these. Sir, pray can you give any account of the Cavalier [To Haunce, who starts as afraid.] you fought with this Morning in St. Peter's Grove, that had a Lady with him?

Hau. So, now perhaps I shall be hang'd for that. [Aside. I fight, Sir! I never fought in my Life, nor saw no Man, not I.

Gload. 'Sha, you may confess it, Sir; there's no Law against killing in Spain.

Hip. How, have you murder'd him? [Takes hold of him.

Hau. This Rogue has a mind to have me dispatch'd. [Aside. Hold, Sir, the Man's as well and alive as you are, and is now at my Lodgings: look ye, here's the Dagger I disarm'd him of— but that I do not love to boast. [Shews it.

Hip. It is the same.

Alon. Sir, I shall not fail to wait on you with the Answer I receive.

Hip. I humbly thank you, Sir.

Alon. So prithee, dear Lovis, go make my excuse to your Sister for a moment, and let her get all things ready against I come; let the Priest too wait, for I see my Destiny, which I can no longer prevent, draws on apace. [Exit Lovis. Come, Sir, you must conduct me to Antonio.

[Exeunt Alonzo, Haunce, and Gload.

Hip. So now the Work's half done, that will redeem All the lost Credit of our Family. To kill, or to be kill'd, I care not which, [Weeps. So one or both expire; be strong, my Soul, And let no feeble Woman dwell about thee. Hence Fears and Pity, such poor things as these Cannot the Storms of my Revenge appease: Those Showers must from his treacherous Heart proceed, If I can live and see Antonio bleed. [Sighs, and Exit.

SCENE III. A deep Grove.

Enter Marcel alone.

Mar. The hour is almost come which I appointed, And yet no Silvio appears, the time seems long to me; But he that's circled in his Mistress' Arms, Forgets the hasty hours, And passes them as unregarded by, As Men do Beggars who demand a Charity.

Enter Hippolyta. Young Man, hast thou encounter'd none within this Grove?

Hip. Not any, Sir,— Marcel! my injur'd Brother!

Mar. Why dost thou turn away, and hide thy Face?

Hip. 'Tis not my Face I hide, but Sorrow there. [Weeps.

Mar. Trust me, thou weepest; would I could do so too, That I might be less angry; And Silence best expresses Grief: But thine's a saucy Sorrow dares approach A Face so fair and young.

Hip. If the Ingrate for whom I grieve had thought so, I might have spar'd my Tears. Farewel, Sir.

Mar. Stay, hast thou been a Lover?

Hip. A very, very passionate one.

Mar. And wert thou not belov'd?

Hip. At first, to draw me in, the cunning Artist Made me believe I was.

Mar. Oh! I could kiss thee now, for the alliance Between thy Grief and mine. Hadst thou a loose and wanton Sister too, Then thou wert perfect wretched, as I am. [Weeps. But prithee leave me, now I think of it: For shouldst thou stay, thou'dst rob me of my Anger; For since a Youth like thee can be unhappy, With such a Shape, and so divine a Face, Methinks I should not quarrel with my Star, But bow to all my faithless Mistress' Scorns. [Hollowing within.] So ho, ho, so ho, ho—

Mar. So ho, so ho, ho, ho— 'Tis my false Rival. Now leave me, Sir, to reassume my Anger.

Hip. I will obey— farewel— My own Despair makes me neglect his Life. [Goes out.

Enter Silvio.

Mar. 'Tis Silvio.

Silv. You see I have obey'd you, Sir.

Mar. Come, Sir, your Sword.

Silv. You are my Brother, and 'twere an impious Action, To fight you unprovok'd: give me a cause, Nay, and a just one too, or I shall find it hard —To wound Cleonte's Brother. [Aside sighing.

Mar. Thou cam'st prepar'd to talk, and not to fight. I cannot blame thee for't, for were I Silvio, Thus I would do to save a Life belov'd: [Offers to fight, Silvio steps back. But 'twill not serve you now.

Silv. Your Reason, Sir, and I'm ready, if it be just.

Mar. Oh do not urge me to repeat my Wrongs, For if thou dost, I hardly shall have Man enough remain To fight thee fairly. [Offers still.

Silv. Surely he knows my Passion for Cleonte— [Aside. I urge the Reason still.

Mar. Hast thou forgot thy last Night's Treachery? How like a Thief thou stol'st into her Lodgings?

Silv. 'Tis so— 'tis true, Marcel, I rudely did intrude—

Mar. Oh, quickly haste— this looks like Women's jangling. [Offers to fight again.

Silv. Oh, is it bravely done, Marcel, to punish A Passion which you ought to pity rather? 'Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify: And so distracted it has made me too— I will not fight in so unjust a Cause. Kill me, and I'll embrace you whilst I die; A thousand Wounds imprinted on this Body, Will bring less Pain than that her Eyes have caus'd. Here strike— Pity my Pain and ease me. [Opens his Arms, and throws away his Sword.

Mar. I find thou hast a Charm about thy Tongue, And thou implor'st thy Death in such a way, I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes Thou art not yet so bless'd to be belov'd, For then thou wouldst not be thus desperate.

Silv. Oh yes, I am belov'd.

Mar. Oh do not say thou art, Nor take me from a Calmness, that may spare thee.

Silv. Not say I am belov'd! thou canst not hire me With Life or fuller Joy, to say I am not. If there be Truth and Love in Innocence, she loves me.

Mar. Yet, yet, ye Gods, I can endure— say, but thou art not, For I would yet preserve thee.

Silv. Oh, canst thou wish that I should fall so low, To save my Life with Lyes; the poorest Sin of all the number?

Mar. Then once again thou hast debauch'd my Pity. [Takes to his Sword.

Silv. Her Passion I will justify, but not my own; Her's is as pure as Prayers of Penitence; But mine— I cannot give a Name to. [They fight: Enter Alonzo, and parts them.

Alon. How now, what's here to do! Marcel?

Mar. Alonzo! the only Man I wish to shun.

Silv. I'm glad, who e'er thou be'st thou hast prevented us.

Alon. Thou hast more Wit than he, then I find: Your Quarrel, Sir, may a Man have leave to enquire into't?

Mar. This is that Silvio, that noble Youth my Brother, whom thou hast often heard me name.

Alon. An excellent Character for an Enemy, Noble, and Brother: For shame put up your Swords, and I'll be Judge between ye.

Mar. The Case is soon decided; I will not tell you with how tedious a Courtship I won the Heart, as I thought, of a young Beauty of this Town— and yesterday receiv'd a Billet from her, to wait on her at night, to receive the recompence of all my Pains and Sufferings— In this extasy of Joy I show'd him the Paper; and he getting thither before me, rob'd me of my Prize.

Silv. I am so pleas'd at this mistake of thine, I can forgive it freely.

Mar. Not content with this, most treacherously, hid in the shades of Night, he met me in the Hall of this false Woman, and stab'd me, which did secure his flight with her; and wouldst thou have me put this Injury up?

Alon. Faith, you must, and your Sword too, Unless you mean to keep it drawn on me. 'Twas I that wounded you i' th' dark; and it was I That rob'd you of Clarinda.

Mar. Thou?

Alon. I, am I so unlikely a Man to do such a feat?

Mar. How dare you, Sir, do this?

Alon. I dare do any thing, but break my Word, as thou hast basely done with me— But I am now in haste, and should be glad to know where to meet you anon.

Mar. I'll wait on you at the farther side of this Grove by the River.

Alon. I will not fail you— [Ex. Alonzo.

Mar. Come, Sir, till I can better prove you are my Rival, I will believe you are my Friend and Brother.

Silv. When thou shalt know my miserable Story, Thou wilt believe and pity me. [Go out.

Enter again Hippolyta from out of the Wood.

Hip. I wonder this Cavalier stays so long, Pray Heaven he meet Antonio. Enter Alonzo. Your Servant, Sir.

Alon. The Cavalier to whom you sent me, Sir, Will wait upon you here.

Hip. I humbly thank you, Sir, and should be glad to know how I might pay my Gratitude.

Alon. My Duty ends not here; I have a Sword to serve you.

Hip. You shame me with this Generosity; but, Sir, I hope my own will be sufficient in so good a Cause.

Alon. Tho you are young, I question not your Bravery; But I must beg to stay and see fair play, And offer you my Service when you've done.

Hip. The Enemy appears, Sir,— and since you are so good, I beg you would retire behind those Trees; for if he see us both, since he is single, he will suspect some treachery.

Alon. You've reason, Sir, and I'll obey you. [Goes aside.

Enter Antonio reading a Paper.

SIR,

_I do desire you to meet me in _St. Peter's_ Grove, with your Sword in your Hand, about an Hour hence; you will guess my Business, when you know my name to be

_Alonzo_._

Alon. How's that? [Aside.

Ant. I wish't had been another Enemy, Since from the Justice of his Cause I fear An ill success; would I had seen Hippolyta, That e'er I dy'd I might have had her pardon. This Conscience— 'tis ominous, But ne'er appears in any horrid shape, Till it approaches Death—

[Goes forward, sees Hippolyta, who justles him in passing by; he stops and looks.

Hip. You seem, Sir, to be he whom I expect.

Ant. I'm call'd Antonio, Sir—

Hip. And I Alonzo; the rest we need not ask, For thou art well acquainted with my Injuries, And I with thy Perfidiousness. [Draws.

Ant. I know of none you have receiv'd from me, If on Hippolyta's account you fight: She lov'd me, and believ'd; and what dull Lover Would have refus'd a Maid so easily gain'd?

Hip. Ah, Traytor, by how base a way Thou wouldst evade thy Fate? Didst thou not know she was my Wife by promise? Did not Marcel, Ambrosio, all consent To make her mine as soon as I arriv'd?

Alon. Who the Devil's that young Bully that takes my Name, and my Concerns upon him? [Aside.

Hip. But why should I expect a Truth from thee, Who after so much time, so many Vows, So many Tears, Despairs and Sighs, at last Didst gain a Credit with this easy Fool, Then left her to her shames, and her despairs?— Come, Sir— Or I shall talk my self to calmness— [Aside.

Ant. I'm ready, Sir, to justify the Deed.

[They offer to fight, Alonzo steps forth.

Alon. Hold! hold! fair Thief that rob'st me of my Name, And wouldst my Honour too; [Puts her by. If thou hast wrong'd the fair Hippolyta, [To Antonio. No Man but I has right to do her justice. Or you are both my Rivals— tell me which, Which of you is it I must kill— or both? I am Alonzo, who dares love Hippolyta?

Hip. Let not your friendship, Sir, proceed so far, To take my Name, to take my Quarrel on you.

Alon. In this Dispute none's more concern'd than I, And I will keep my ground in such a cause, Tho all the Rivals that her Beauty makes me, Were arm'd to take my Life away.

Ant. Come, Sir, I care not which of you's Alonzo. [They go to fight, she holds Alonzo.

Hip. This Gallantry's too much, brave Stranger. Antonio, hurt him not; I am the wrong'd Alonzo, And this a perfect Stranger to the business, Who seeing me appear less Man than he, And unacquainted with my Deeds abroad, In Bounty takes my Name and Quarrel on him.

Alon. Take heed, young Man, and keep thy Virtue in, Lest thus misguided it become a Crime. But thou, he says, hast wrong'd Hippolyta, [To Antonio. And I am he must punish it.

Hip. Sure it is he indeed— For such a Miracle my Brother render'd him, [Aside. Hold, hold, thou Wonder of thy Sex— [They fight.

Alon. Stand by, I shall be angry with thee else, And that will be unsafe—

[As Alonzo fights with one Hand, he keeps her off with t'other; she presses still forward on Antonio with her Sword, indeavouring to keep back Alonzo.

Enter to them Marcel.

Mar. Sure I heard the Noise of Swords this way! [Draws. Hah, two against one! Courage, Sir. [To Antonio. [They fight all four, Marcel with Hippolyta whom he wounds, and Alonzo with Antonio, who is disarmed.

Hip. Good Heaven, how just thou art!

Mar. What, dost thou faint already?— Hah, the pretty talking Youth I saw but now! [Runs to her, and holds her up. Alas, how dost thou?

Hip. Well, since thy Hand has wounded me—

Ant. My Life is yours, nor would I ask the Gift, But to repair my Injuries to Hippolyta.

Alon. I give it thee— [Gives him his Sword.

Mar. How, Antonio!— What unkind Hand has rob'd me of the justice Of killing thee?

Alon. His that was once thy Friend, Marcel.

Mar. Oh! dost thou know my Shame? [Turns away.

Alon. I know thou art false to Friendship, And therefore do demand mine back again, thou'st us'd it scurvily.

Mar. Thou knowst too much to think I've injur'd thee.

Alon. Not injur'd me! Who was it promis'd me Hippolyta? Who his Alliance, and his Friendship too? And who has broke them all, but thou perfidious? Come, 'tis Hippolyta that I demand.

Mar. By this he should not know my Sister's Shame. [Aside. Oh, Sir, you must not have Hippolyta.

Alon. How! not have Hippolyta! Tho every Step were guarded by a Brother, Tho she were circled round about with Rivals, Ye should not all have Power to keep her from me. Not have Hippolyta!— 'Sdeath, Sir, because I do not know my Birth, And cannot boast a little empty Title, I must not have Hippolyta.— Now I will have her; and when you know I can, You shall petition me to marry her. And yet I will not do't. Come, Sir— [Offers to fight.

Hip. Hold, hold, brave Man, or turn your Sword on me. I am the unhappy Cause of all your Rage: 'Tis I, generous Alonzo, that can tell you What he's asham'd to own, And thou wilt blush to hear.

Mar. Hippolyta! thou wretched wicked Woman: Thus I reward thy Sins— [Offers to kill her, Antonio steps between.

Ant. Hold, Sir, and touch her not without my leave, She is my Wife; by sacred Vows my Wife.

Alon. I understand no riddling; but whoever thou be'st. Man or Woman, thou'rt worth our Care— She faints— come, let us bear her hence. [She faints, Antonio kneels to her.

Ant. Oh stay, Hippolyta, and take me with thee, For I've no use of Life when thou art gone. [Weeps. Here, kill me, brave Marcel— and yet you need not; My own Remorse, and Grief will be sufficient.

Mar. I credit thee, and leave thee to their Mercy.

Hip. That Goodness, Sir, has call'd me back to Life, To pay my humble Thanks; could you have Mercy too, To pardon me— you might redeem my Soul.

Mar. Some Pity I have yet, that may preserve thee too, Provided this Repentance be not feign'd.

Ant. My Life, Sir, is Security for both.

Mar. Doubt not, I'll take the Forfeit, Sir— Come, Hippolyta. Thy Father's House shall once again receive thee.

Ant. Lean on my Arm, my dearest.

Mar. Sir, by the way, I'll let you know her Story, And then perhaps you will not blame my Friendship.

Alon. And in return, I'll give you back Clarinda— And beg your Pardon for the Wound I gave you. [Exeunt, leading Hippolyta.



ACT V.

SCENE I. A Garden.

Enter Cleonte, Clarinda weeping, and Dormida and Francisca.

Cleo. Fear not, I'll use my Interest both with your Mother and my Father, to set your Heart at rest, Whose Pain I feel by something in my own.

Clar. The Gods reward your Bounty, fair Cleonte.

Dor. I, I, Madam, I beseech you make our Peace with my good Lady her Mother, whatsoever becomes of the rest, for she'll e'en die with Grief— [Weeps. She had but two fair Pledges of her Nuptial Bed. And both by cruel Fate are ravisht from her. Manuel a Child was lost, And this; not holy Relicks were more strictly guarded, Till false Marcel betray'd me to debauch her. [Weeps aloud.

Cleo. Alas, had you a Brother once? [To Clarinda.

Clar. Madam, I might have had: but he was lost e'er I was born.

Cleo. Ah! would my Silvio had been so. [Aside. By what strange Accident, Clarinda?

Dor. Madam, I can inform you best. [Puts herself between.

Cleo. Do then, Dormida.

Dor. Madam, you must know, my Lady Octavia, for that's her name, was in her Youth the very Flower of Beauty and Vertue: Oh such a Face and Shape! had you but seen her— And tho I say it, Madam, I thought my self too somebody then.

Clar. Thou art tedious: Madam, 'tis true my Mother had the Reputation of both those Attractions, which gain'd her many Lovers: amongst the rest, Don Manuel, and Don Alonzo, were most worthy her Esteem.

Dor. Ay, Madam, Don Alonzo, there was a Man for you, so obliging and so bountiful— Well, I'll give you Argument of both to me: for you must know I was a Beauty then, and worth obliging. [Puts herself between. And he was the Man my Lady lov'd, tho Don Manuel were the richer: but to my own Story—

Cleo. Forward, Clarinda.

Clar. But as it most times happens, We marry where our Parents like, not we; My Mother was dispos'd of to Don Manuel.

Dor. Ay, Madam; but had you seen Don Alonzo's Rage, and how my Lady took this Disappointment— But I who was very young, and very pretty, as I told you before—

Clar. Forbear, Madam; 'tis true, Alonzo was so far transported, That oft he did attempt to kill my Father; But bravely tho, and still he was prevented: But when at the Intreaties of my Mother, The King confin'd my Father, Alonzo then study'd a new Revenge; And thinking that my Father's Life depended Upon a Son he had, scarce a Year old, He did design to steal him; and one Evening, When with the Nurse and Maid he took the Air, This desperate Lover seiz'd the smiling Prize, Which never since was heard of.

Cleo. I guess the Grief the Parents must sustain.

Dor. It almost caus'd their Deaths; nor did kind Heaven Supply them with another till long after, Unhappy this was born: Which just her Father liv'd to see, and dy'd. [Weeps. Then she was Daughter, Son and Husband too, To her afflicted Mother: But as I told you, Madam, I was then in my Prime—

Clar. Now, Madam, judge what her Despair must be, Who is depriv'd of all her Joys in me. [Weeps.

Cleo. Francisca, see who it is that knocks so hastily. [One knocks.

Franc. Oh, Madam, 'tis Don Marcel leading a wounded Man.

Cleo. Oh my Fears, 'tis Silvio!

Franc. 'Tis not Don Silvio.

Enter Marcel, leading Hippolyta wounded, followed by Alonzo and Pedro.

Cleo. Alas, what Youth is this you lead all bleeding?

Mar. One that deserves your Care; where's my Father?

Cleo. Not yet return'd.

Mar. 'Tis well; and you, Sir, I must confine till I know how to satisfy my Honour, and that of my wrong'd Sister. [To Antonio.

Ant. The holy Man will soon decide our Difference: Pray send for one, and reconcile us all.

Hip. I fear, Antonio, still thou dost dissemble.

Ant. So let me find Forgiveness when I die, If any fear of Death have wrought this change, But a pure Sense of all my Wrongs to thee, Knowing thy constant Love, and Virtue to me.

Mar. I will secure your fear— Francisca, send for Father Joseph to me, and conduct these Gentlemen to the Lodgings next the Garden.

[Exeunt Francisca, Antonio and Hippolyta.

Alon. Prithee, Marcel, are thee and I awake, or do we dream? thou, that thou art in thy Father's House; and I, that I see those two fair Women there? Pray, lovely Fugitive, how came you hither? [To Clarinda.

Mar. I thought thou wert mistaken; 'Twas Silvio brought her hither, that false Man. But how came you to know her?

Alon. Know her! 'slife, I question my Sense. Pray, Lady, are you Flesh and Blood? [To Cleonte.

Cleo. Yes surely, Sir; for 'twere pity you should have bestow'd your Heart on a Shadow, and I well remember you gave it one of us last Night.

Alon. A Dream, a Dream! but are you indeed the same fair Person, and is this the same House too?

Cleo. I am afraid your Heart's not worth the keeping, since you took no better notice where you dispos'd of it.

Alon. Faith, Madam, your wrong a poor Lover, who has languish'd in search of it all this live-long day.

Cleo. Brother, I beseech you, receive the innocent Clarinda, who, I fear, will have the greatest Cause of Complaint against you. [To Marcel. Gives him to Clarinda.

Alon. But pray, fair one, let you and I talk a little about that same Heart you put me in mind of just now. [To Cleonte, with whom he seems to talk.

Ped. Surely that's my old Mistress, Dormida; twenty years has not made so great an Alteration in that ill-favour'd Face of hers, but I can find a Lover there. [Goes to her, they seem to talk earnestly, and sometimes pleasantly, pointing to Clarinda.

Mar. Enough, Clarinda: I'm too well convinc'd, Would thou hadst still remain'd a Criminal. Now how can I reward thy Faith and Love?

Clar. I know, Marcel, it is not in thy Power, Thy faithless Story I'm acquainted with.

Mar. Do not reproach me with my Shame, Clarinda. 'Tis true, to gain thee to consent to my Desires, I made an honourable Pretence of loving. Pardon a Lover all the ways he takes To gain a Mistress so belov'd and fair. But I have since repented of that Sin, And came last Night for thy Forgiveness too.

Ped. This is News indeed; 'tis fit I keep this Secret no longer from my Master. Don Manuel being dead, my Vow's expir'd. [Aside.] [Pedro goes to Alonzo.

Clar. And do you mean no more to love me then?

Mar. In spite of me, above my Sense or Being.

Clar. And yet you'll marry Flavia.

Mar. Against my Will I must, or lose a Father.

Clar. Then I must die, Marcel.

Mar. Do not unman my Soul, it is too weak To bear the Weight of fair Clarinda's Tears. [Weeps.

Alon. Why was this Secret kept from me so long?

Ped. I was oblig'd by Vow, Sir, to Don Alonzo, my dead Master, not to restore you till Don Manuel's Death; believing it a Happiness too great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother's score.

Alon. Have I a Mother living?

Ped. Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair Maid's your Sister. [Pointing to Clarinda.

Alon. I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.

Ped. To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the Writings of twelve thousand Crowns a Year, left you by your Foster-Father the brave Alonzo, whose Name he gave you too. [Gives him Papers, he reads.

Alon. I am convinc'd— How now, Marcel, what all in Tears? why, who the Devil would love in earnest? Come, come, make me Judge between you.

Mar. You'll soon decide it then, my Heart's Clarinda's; But my forc'd Vows are given to another.

Alon. Vows! dost think the Gods regard the Vows of Lovers? they are things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punish'd when broken; if they were— Heaven have mercy on me poor Sinner.

Enter Ambrosio.

Mar. My Father return'd! [Bows, and goes to him, and then leads Alonzo to him. Sir, this is the gallant Man that was design'd to be your Son-in-Law.

Amb. And that you were not so, Sir, was my misfortune only.

Alon. I am glad to find it no slight to my Person, Or unknown Quality that depriv'd me of that Honour.

Mar. To convince you of that, Alonzo, I know my Father will bestow this other Sister on you; more fair and young, and equally as rich. [Ambrosio calls Marcel aside.

Alon. How, his Sister! Fool that I was, I could not guess at this; and now have I been lying and swearing all this while how much I lov'd her. Well, take one time with another, a Man falls into more Danger by this amorous Humour, than he gets good turns by it.

Mar. Pardon me, Sir, I knew not you had design'd her elsewhere— Dear Alonzo, my Father—

Alon. Ay, Sir, I am much oblig'd to him. Oh Pox, would I were well with Euphemia.

Mar. I protest I could wish—

Alon. Ay, so could I, Sir, that you had made a better Judgment of my Humour: All must out, I have no other way to avoid this Compliment else. Why look ye, Marcel— Your Sister is— Pox, I am ill at Dissimulation, and therefore in plain Terms, I am to be married this very Evening to another.

Mar. This was happy, and has sav'd me an Excuse. [Aside. But are you in earnest, How is it possible, being so lately come into Madrid?

Alon. Destiny, Destiny, Marcel, which there was no avoiding, tho I mist of Hippolyta.

Mar. Who is it, prithee?

Alon. A Woman I hope, of which indeed I would have been better assur'd; but she was wilful. She's call'd Euphemia.

Mar. Our next Neighbour, the Daughter of old Carlo.

Alon. The same.

Mar. Thou art happy to make so good a Progress in so short a time, but I am—

Alon. Not so miserable as you believe. Come, come, you shall marry Clarinda.

Mar. 'Tis impossible.

Alon. Where's the hindrance?

Mar. Her want of Fortune; that's enough, Friend.

Alon. Stand by and expect the best— [Goes to Ambrosio. Sir, I have an humble Suit to you.

Amb. I shall be infinitely pleas'd you could ask me any thing in my Power; but, Sir, this Daughter I had dispos'd of, before I knew you would have mist of Hippolyta.

Alon. Luckier than I expected. [Aside. Sir, that was an Honour I could not merit, and am contented with my Fate: But my Request is, that you would receive into your Family a Sister of mine, whom I would bestow on Don Marcel.

Mar. Hah, what mean you, Sir? a Sister of yours?

Alon. Yes, she will not be unwelcome— This is she.

Amb. This is the Daughter to Octavia— Her Mother was a Lady whom once I did adore, and 'twas her fault she was not more happy with me, than with Don Manuel. Nor have I so wholly forgot that Flame, but I might be inclin'd to your Proposal: But, Sir, she wants a Fortune.

Alon. That I'll supply.

Mar. You supply, Sir? On what kind Score, I pray?

Alon. That which you'll suffer without being jealous, When you shall know she is indeed my Sister.

Clar. How! this brave Man my Brother?

Alon. So they tell me, and that my Name is Manuel. Had you not such a Brother?

Dor. Oh ye Gods, is this the little Manuel?

Ped. Yes, Dormida, and for a farther Proof see this. [Opens his Master's Bosom and shews a Crucifix.

Dor. This I remember well, it is Don Manuel: Pray let me look upon you: Just like my Lord— Now may the Soul of Don Alonzo rest in Peace, For making so hopeful a Man of you.

Alon. Amen. But, Sir, if you approve of my Sister, I'll make her as worthy of Marcel, as Flavia.

Amb. I've lost the Hopes of her— She's not to be reconcil'd. [Aside. Clarinda needs no more than to belong to you, To make her valuable— and I consent with Joy. [Gives her to Marcel.

Mar. And I with Joys unutterable take her.

Alon. Pedro, there rests no more than that you wait on my Mother, and let her know all that has happen'd to my self and Sister, and that I'll pay my Duty to her e'er I sleep.

Dor. The very Joy to find her Son again, will get my Pardon too: and then perhaps Pedro and I may renew our old Amours.

Alon. Sir, I have another Request to make.

Amb. You must command, Sir.

Alon. That is, that you will permit this fair Company to honour me this Evening at my Father-in-law's, Don Carlo.

Amb. How, has Don Carlo married the Lady Octavia?

Alon. No, Sir, but a worse matter than that, I am to marry his Daughter.

Amb. Oh, Sir, Euphemia has too much Beauty and Virtue to make you doubt your Happiness.

Alon. Well, Sir, I must venture that. But your Company I'll expect, the Ladies may clap on their Vizards, and make a masquerading Night on't: tho such Freedoms are not very usual in Spain, we that have seen the World, may absolve one another.

Amb. My Garden joins to that of Don Carlo, and that way we will wait on you, as soon as I have dispatcht a small Affair.

Alon. Your humble servant, Sir. [Goes out; Ambrosio the other way.

Mar. Sister, go you and prepare my Father to receive Hippolyta, whilst I go see them married.

[Exeunt Cleonte and Clarinda.

[Marcel passing over the Garden, sees Silvio enter in Passion, followed by Francisca.

Silv. Do not, Francisca— do not blow my Flame, The Cure thou bring'st is much the greater Hell. [Offers to go, but stops.

Mar. Hah, Silvio! unseen I'll hear the Business. [Goes aside.

Silv. I would fain shun thee, but this impious Weight Of Love upon my Soul hinders my flight: I'm fixt— like conscious Guilt it keeps me here, And I am now insensible of Fear. Speak on, thou Messenger of sacred Love— speak on.

Franc. The fair Cleonte, Sir, whose Soul's inflam'd No less than yours; tho with a virgin Modesty She would conceal it, pitying now your Pain, Has thro my Intercession—

Silv. Oh quickly speak! What Happiness design'd me?

Franc. To admit you, Sir, this Night into her Chamber.

Mar. Death to my Soul! What's this? [Aside.

Silv. Her Chamber? is that all? will that allay this Fever In my Blood?— No, no, Francisca, 'Tis grown too high for amorous Parleys only; Her Arms, her charming Bosom, and her Bed, Must now receive me; or I die, Francisca.

Franc. I mean no other, Sir; why, can you think A Maid in love as much as you can be, Assisted with the silence of the Night, (Which veils her Blushes too) can say— I dare not? Or if she do, she'll speak it faintly o'er, And even whilst she so denies will yield. Go, go prepare your self for this Encounter, And do not dally as you did to day, And fright your Pleasure with the Name of Sister—

Mar. Oh cursed Witch! [Aside.

Franc. What say you, Sir?

Silv. That Name has check'd my Joy— And makes it strangely silent and imperfect. [Walks away.

Franc. Why do you go, before you answer me? [Follows him into the Garden.

Mar. I'll follow him, and kill them. [Comes out with a Dagger. Oh, who would be allied unto a Woman, Nature's loose Handy-Work? the slight Imploys Of all her wanton Hours?— Oh, I could rave now— Abandon Sense and Nature. Hence, all considerate Thoughts, and in their Room, Supply my Soul with Vengeance, that may prove Too great to be allay'd by Nature, or by Love. [Goes into the Garden after them.

Enter again Silvio melancholy, followed by Francisca.

Franc. But will you lose this Opportunity, Her Lodgings too being so near your own?

Silv. Hell take her for her Wickedness. Oh that ten thousand Mountains stood between us, And Seas as vast and raging as her Lust, That we might never meet— Oh perfect Woman! I find there is no Safety in thy Sex; No trusting to thy Innocence: That being counterfeit, thy Beauty's gone, Dropt like a Rose o'er-blown; And left thee nothing but a wither'd Root, That never more can bloom.

Franc. Alas, I fear I have done ill in this. [Aside.

Silv. I now should hate her: but there yet remains Something within, so strangely kind to her, That I'm resolv'd to give her one proof more, Of what I have vow'd her often; yes, I'll kill her—

Franc. How, kill her, Sir? Gods, what have I done! [Aside.

Silv. Yes, can I let her live, and say I lov'd her? No, she shall tempt no more vain yielding Men.

Franc. Consider, Sir, it is to save your Life she does it.

Silv. My Life! 'Twere better she and I were buried Quick in one Grave, than she should fall to this, She has out-sinn'd even me in this Consent.

Enter Marcel from amongst the Trees softly with his Dagger behind Silvio.

Mar. Oh, here they are—

Franc. My Lord, defend your self, your are undone else.

Silv. Hah, Marcel! [Draws.

Franc. Help, help.

Mar. Hell take thy Throat.

Enter Ambrosio, Clarinda, Cleonte, and the rest of the House.

Amb. Hold, Villain, hold. How dar'st thou thus rebel— ungrateful Wretch?

Mar. This cause, Sir, is so just, that when you hear it, You'll curse me, that I let him live thus long: He loves my Sister, Sir; and that leud Woman Repays his lustful Flame, and does this Evening Invite him to her Bed— Oh, let me kill him. [Offers to go to him.

Amb. That he should love Cleonte I'll allow, And her returns too, whilst they are innocent.

Mar. But, Sir, he does not love her as a Sister.

Amb. If that be all his Crime, I still forgive him.

Silv. Yes, Sir, 'tis true, I do adore my Sister, But am so far from that foul thing he nam'd, That could I think I had a secret Thought That tended that way, I would search it— thus— [Goes to stab himself.

Cleo. What mean you by this Desperation?

Silv. Oh, take away this Woman from my sight. [Pointing to Cleonte. For she will finish what this has ill begun. [Holds his Dagger up.

Franc. Thus low, Sir, for you Mercy I must kneel; [Kneels. Which yet I must despair of, when you know How very very wicked I have been. [Weeps. Cleonte, Sir, is chaste as Angels are.

Silv. My Sister innocent! how soon I do believe thee!

Franc. Yes, Sir, nor knows of that vile Message which I brought you.

Silv. What Devil set thee on to tempt me then?

Franc. The worst of Devils, hopeless, raging Love; And you, my Lord, were the unhappy Object.

Mar. Oh sinful Woman, what was thy Design?

Cleo. What means all this? [Aside.

Franc. At least to have enjoy'd him once; which done, Thinking that it had been the fair Cleonte, It would have made him hate her.

Silv. Should all thy other Sins be unrepented, The Piety of this Confession saves thee. Pardon, Cleonte, my rude Thoughts of thee, [Kneels, she takes him up. I had design'd to have kill'd thee— Had not this Knowledge of thy Innocence Arriv'd before I'd seen thee next. And, Sir, your Pardon too I humbly beg, [To Ambrosio. With license to depart; I cannot live Where I must only see my beauteous Sister; That Torment is too great to be supported, That still must last, and never hope a Cure.

Amb. Since you are so resolv'd, I will unfold A Secret to you, that perhaps may please you.

Silv. Low at your Feet I do implore it, Sir. [Kneels.

Amb. Your Quality forbids this Ceremony. [Takes him up.

Silv. How, Sir!

Amb. Your Father was the mighty Favourite, the Count d'Olivarez; your Mother, Spain's celebrated Beauty, Donna Margarita Spiniola, by whom your Father had two natural Sons, Don Lovis de Harro, and your self Don Roderigo. The Story of his Disgrace, you know, with all the World; 'twas then he being banisht from the Court, he left you to my Care then very young. I receiv'd you as my own, and as more than such educated you, and as your Father oblig'd me to do, brought you always up about their Majesties; for he hoped, if you had Beauty and Merits, you might inherit part of that Glory he lost.

Mar. This is wondrous.

Amb. This Truth you had not known so soon, had you not made as great an Interest at Court as any Man so young ever did, and if I had not acquitted my self in all Points as became the Friend of so great and brave a Man, as Count d'Olivarez: the Fortune he left you was two Millions of Crowns.

Silv. Let me embrace your feet for this blest News. Is not the fair Cleonte then my Sister?

Amb. No, Sir, but one whom long since I design'd your Wife, if you are pleas'd to think her worthy of it. [Offers her.

Silv. Without her, Sir, I do despise my Being; And do receive her as a Blessing sent From Heaven to make my whole Life happy.

Amb. What say you, Cleonte?

Cleo. Sir, I must own a Joy greater than is fit for a Virgin to express.

Mar. Generous Don Roderigo, receive me as your Friend, and pardon all the Fault you found in me as a Brother. [Embraces him.

Silv. Be ever dear unto my Soul, Marcel.

Mar. Now is the time to present Hippolyta and Antonio to my Father, whilst his Humour is so good. And you, dear Brother, I must beg to join with us in so just a Cause.

Silv. You need not doubt my Power, and less my Will.

Mar. Do you prepare him then, whilst I bring them in: for by this I know my Confessor has made them one. [Exit Marcel.

Silv. Sir, I've a Suit to you.

Amb. You cannot ask what I can deny.

Silv. Hippolyta, Sir, is married to Antonio, And humbly begs your Pardon for her past fault.

Amb. Antonio and Hippolyta! oh, name them not.

Enter Antonio and Hippolyta, a Fryar, and Marcel.

Mar. Pray, Sir, forgive them, your Honour being safe, Since Don Antonio has by marrying her, Repair'd the Injury he did us all, Without which I had kill'd him.

Amb. Thou art by Nature more severe than I, And if thou think'st our Honour satisfy'd, I will endeavour to forget their Faults.

Ant. We humbly thank you, Sir, and beg your Blessing, At least bestow it on Hippolyta; For she was ever chaste, and innocent, And acted only what became her Duty; Since by a sacred Vow she was my Wife.

Amb. How cam'st thou then to treat her so inhumanly?

Ant. In pure revenge to Don Marcel her Brother, Who forc'd my Nature to a stubbornness, Which whilst I did put on, I blush to own; And still between Thoughts so unjust, and Action, Her Virtue would rise up and check my Soul, Which still secur'd her Fame.

Hip. And I have seen in midst of all thy Anger, Thou'st turn'd away, and chang'd thy Words to Sighs; Dropt now and then a Tear, as if asham'd, Not of thy Injuries, but my little Merit.

Amb. How weak and easy Nature makes me— Rise, I must forgive you both. Come, Sir, I know you long to be secur'd Of what you say you love so much, Cleonte.

Franc. But, Madam, have you fully pardon'd me?

Silv. We will all join in your behalf, Francisco.

Cleo. I can forgive you, when you can repent. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. _Carlo's_ House._

Enter Olinda and Dorice.

Olin. But is the Bride-Chamber drest up, and the Bed made as it ought to be?

Dor. As for the making, 'tis as it use to be, only the Velvet Furniture.

Olin. As it use to be? Oh ignorance! I see these young Wenches are not arriv'd yet to bare Imagination: Well, I must order it my self, I see that.

Dor. Why, Olinda, I hope they will not go just to Bed upon their marrying, without some signs of a Wedding, as Fiddles, and Dancing, and so forth.

Olin. Good Lord, what Joys you have found out for the first Night of a young Bride and Bridegroom. Fiddles and Dancing, ha, ha, ha! they'll be much merrier by themselves, than Fiddles and Dancing can make them, you Fool. Enter Haunce and Gload. Bless me! what is't I see! [Stares on Haunce.

Hau. Why! what the Devil means she? look about me, Gload, and see what I have that's so terrible.

Olin. Oh, I have no Power to stir, it is a Sprite.

Hau. What does she mean now, Gload?

Glo. She desires to be satisfy'd whether we be Flesh and Blood, Sir, I believe.

Hau. Do'st see nothing that's Devil-wise about me?

Glo. No, indeed, Sir, not I.

Hau. Why then the Wench is tippled, that's all, a small Fault.

Olin. O, in the name of Goodness, Sir, what are you?

Glo. Ay, Ay, Sir, 'tis that she desires to know.

Olin. Who are you, Sir?

Hau. Why who should I be, but he that's to be your Master anon?

Glo. Yes, who should he be but Myn heer Haunce van Ezel?

Olin. What, did you come in at the Door?

Hau. Yes, marry did I; what, do you think I creep in like a Lapland Witch through the Key-holes?

Dor. Nay, nay, this cannot be the Bridegroom.

Olin. No, for 'tis but a moment since we left him, you know, in my Lady's Chamber.

Hau. Very drunk, by this good Light.

Dor. And therefore it cannot be Myn heer Haunce.

Hau. What a Devil will you persuade me out of my Christian Name?

Olin. The Priest has yet scarce done his Office, who is marrying him above to my Lady.

Hau. Salerimente, here's brave doing, to marry me, and never give me notice; or thou art damnable drunk, or very mad.

Glo. Yes, and I am married to you too, am I not? [To Olinda.

Olin. You? we know neither of you.

Hau. Ha, ha, ha, here's a turn for you.

Enter Carlo.

Car. Why, Olinda, Dorice, Olinda, where be these mad Girls? 'tis almost Night, and nothing in Order. Why, what now? Who's here?

Hau. So the old Man's possest too— Why, what a Devil ails you, Sir? [Goes roughly to him.

Car. From whence come you, Sir? and what are you?

Hau. Gload, let's be gone, for we shall be transmigrated into some strange Shapes anon, for all the House is inchanted. Who am I, quoth ye? before I came you all knew me; and now you are very well acquainted with me, you have forgot me.

Car. If you be my Son Haunce, how came you here?

Hau. If I be your Son Haunce, where should I be else?

Car. Above with your Wife, not below amongst the Maids.

Hau. What Wife? what Wife? Ha, ha, ha, do not provoke me, lest I take you a slap in the Face, I tell you that now.

Car. Oh, I find by his Humour this is he, and I am finely cheated and abus'd. I'll up and know the Truth. [Goes out.

Hau. And so will I. [Follows.

Glo. Why, but Mistress Olinda, you have not, indeed, forgot me, have you?

Olin. For my Lover I have, but perhaps I may call you to mind, as my Servant hereafter.

Glo. Since you are so proud and so fickle, you shall stand hereafter as a Cypher with me; and I'll begin upon a new Account with this pretty Maid: what say you forsooth?

Dor. I am willing enough to get a Husband as young as I am.

Glo. Why, that's well said, give your Hand upon the Bargain— God-ha'-Mercy, with all my Heart, i'faith. [Go in.

[Scene draws off, discovers a Chamber. Enter Alonzo, Euphemia, and Lovis; to them Carlo, Haunce, and the rest.

Car. Oh, I am cheated, undone, abus'd.

Lov. How, Sir, and where?

[Haunce sees Alonzo drest like him, goes gazing about him, and on himself, calling Gload to do the same.

Car. Nay, I know not how, or where; but so I am: and when I find it, I'll turn you all out of Doors. Who are you, Sir? quickly tell me.

Alon. If you be in such haste, take the shortest Account, I am your Son.

Car. I mean, Sir, what's your Name, and which of you is Haunce van Ezel?

Hau. Ay, which of us is Haunce van Ezel? tell us that, Sir; we shall handle ye i'faith now—

Alon. He, Sir, can best inform you. [Pointing to Haunce.

Hau. Who, I! I know no more than the great Turk, not I, which of us is me; my Hat, my Feather, my Suit, and my Garniture all over, faith now; and I believe this is me, for I'll trust my Eyes before any other Sense about me. What say'st thou now, Gload? guess which of us is thy own natural Master now if thou canst.

Glo. Which, Sir?— why— let me see— let me see, [Turns them both about. fakes, I cannot tell, Sir.

Car. Come, come, the Cheat is plain, and I'll not be fobb'd off, therefore tell me who you are, Sir. [To Alonzo.

Alon. One that was very unwilling to have put this Trick upon you, if I could have persuaded Euphemia to have been kind on any other Terms, but nothing would down with her but Matrimony.

Car. How long have you known her?

Alon. Faith, Sir, too long by at least an Hour.

Car. I say again, what are you, Sir?

Alon. A Man I am, and they call me Alonzo.

Car. How! I hope not the great fighting Colonel whom my Son serv'd as a Voluntier in Flanders.

Alon. Even he, Sir.

Car. Worse and worse, I shall grow mad, to think that in spite of all my Care, Euphemia should marry with so notorious a Man of War.

Hau. How! is this Alonzo, and am I cozen'd? pray tell me truly, are you not me indeed?

Alon. All over, Sir, only the inside a little less Fool.

Hau. So here's fine juggling— are not you a rare Lady, hah? [To Euphemia; crys.

Euph. I assure you, Sir, if this Man had not past for you, I had never had him.

Hau. Had him! Oh, you are a flattering thing, I durst ha' sworn you could no more ha' been without me, than a Barber's Shop without a Fiddle, so I did: Oh, what a damnable Voyage have I back again without a Wife too— [Crys again.

Lov. If that be all, we'll get you one before you go; that shall be my care.

Hau. A Pox of your care: well, I will get my self most soundly drunk to Night, to be reveng'd of these two damnable Dons. Come, Gload, let us about something in order to't. [Exit with Gload.

Euph. Pray, Sir, be persuaded, he's worth your owning.

Car. Tell not me of owning; what Fortune has he?

Lov. His Horse and Arms, the Favour of his Prince, and his Pay.

Car. His Horse and Arms I wholly dislike, as Implements of War; and that same Princely Favour, as you call it, will buy no Lands; and his Pay he shall have when he can get it.

Lov. But, Sir, his coming to Madrid was to take possession of a Place the Prince has promis'd him.

Car. Has promis'd him? what! I shall marry my Daughter to the Promises of e'er a Prince in Christendom, shall I? No, no; Promises, quoth ye?

Alon. Well, Sir, will this satisfy you? [Gives him a Parchment.

Euph. If it should not, let us consider what next to do.

Alon. No consideration, Euphemia; not so much as that we are married, lest it lessen our Joys.

Car. Twelve thousand Crowns a Year!— Sir, I cry you mercy, and wish you joy with my Daughter.

Lov. So his Courage will down with him now.

Alon. To satisfy you farther, Sir, read this. [Gives him another Paper. And now, Euphemia, prepare your self to receive some gallant Friends of mine, whom you must be acquainted with, and who design to make a merry Night on't.

Euph. A whole Night, Alonzo?

Alon. By no means, Euphemia, for the first too, which if the thoughts of its being part of my Duty do not hinder, will be a pleasant enough to me.

Car. So considerable an Office at Court too!— Let me imbrace you, Sir; and tell you how happy I am in so brave Son-in-law.

Alon. With that assurance, Sir, I'll take a more than ordinary freedom with you, and teach Euphemia a franker way of living, than what a native Spaniard would have allow'd her.

Car. She shall be what sort of Wife you'll have her.

Enter Servant, after a noise of Musick.

Alon. What Musick's that?

Serv. It waits upon some Ladies and Gentlemen who ask for you, Sir.

Alon. Wait them in, they are those Friends of mine I told you of. [He goes and brings them in.

Enter Marcel and Clarinda, Silvio and Cleonte, Antonio and Hippolyta, Dormida and Francisca; all salute Euphemia.

Enter Haunce and Gload in Masquerade to the Company, Olinda and Dorice masked.

Hau. Well, the Devil's in't if we shall not appear ridiculous enough, hah, Gload?

Glo. Ay, Sir, the more ridiculous the better.

Hau. I was always of that mind.— Ha, ha, Boys, who be all these Dons and Donnas?— Harkye, Lovis, I hope the Wife you promis'd me is amongst these fair Ladies, for so I guess they are both, fair and Ladies.

Lov. You guess right, Sir.

Alon. Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, command your Musick, and do what likes you best.

Lov. Here's the Lady I recommend to you, take her, Sir, be thankful. [Gives him Olinda.

Olin. This is the Fool that I am to manage.

Dor. And this is my Lot. [Takes Gload. [Musick plays, they all dance.

Lov. There is within a young Father ready to join your Hands: take this opportunity, and make sure of a Wife.

Hau. I warrant you, Sir. [Exeunt Haunce, Olinda, Gload, and Dorice.

Enter Pedro.

Ped. Your Mother, Sir, whom I found more dead than living, for the loss of your Sister, was very near dying outright with Joy, to hear of your Arrival, and most impatiently expects you.

Dorm. And are we all forgiven, Pedro?

Ped. Yes, you and I are like to be Fellow-Servants together again, Dormida.

Dorm. And Fellow-Lovers too I hope, Pedro.

Ped. The Devil's in't if Age have not allay'd Flames of all sorts in thee; but if you contribute to my allowance—

Dorm. Thou know'st I could never keep any thing from thee, Pedro.

Alon. Come, Ladies, there is a small Banquet attends you in the next Room.

Silv. We'll wait on you, Sir.

Enter Haunce, Gload, Olinda, and Dorice.

Hau. Hold, hold, and give me Joy too, for I am married, if she has not mistaken her Man again, and I my Woman.

Olin. No, you are the Man I look for, and I no Cheat, having all about me that you look for too, but Money. [Discovers her self.

Alon. How, Olinda!

Olin. Yes, indeed, Sir, I serv'd my Lady first, and then thought it no Offence to take the Reward due to that Service.

Hau. Here's a Spanish Trick for you now, to marry a Wife, before one sees her.

Euph. What, Dorice married too?

Dor. After your Example, Madam.

Glo. Yes, indeed, forsooth, and I have made bold too after the Example of my Master.

Hau. Now do they all expect I should be dissatisfied; but, Gentlemen, in sign and token that I am not, I'll have one more merry Frisk before we part, 'tis a witty Wench; faith and troth, after a Month 'tis all one who's who; therefore come on, Gload. [They dance together.

Alon. Monsieur Haunce, I see you are a Man of Gallantry. Come let us in, I know every Man here desires to make this Night his own, and sacrifice it to Pleasure.

The Ladies too in Blushes do confess. Equal Desires; which yet they'll not confess. Theirs, tho less fierce, more constant will abide; But ours less current grow the more they're try'd.



EPILOGUE.

Hiss 'em, and cry 'em down, 'tis all in vain, Incorrigible Scriblers can't abstain: But impudently i'th' old Sin engage; Tho doom'd before, nay banish'd from the Stage. Whilst sad Experience our Eyes convinces, That damn'd their Plays which hang'd the German Princess; And we with Ornament set off a Play, Like her drest fine for Execution-day. And faith, I think, with as small hopes to live; Unless kind Gallants the same Grace you'd give Our Comedy as Her; beg a Reprieve. Well, what the other mist, let our Scribe get, A Pardon, for she swears she's the less Cheat. She never gull'd you Gallants of the Town Of Sum above four Shillings, or half a Crown. Nor does she, as some late great Authors do, Bubble the Audience, and the Players too. Her humble Muse soars not in the High-rode Of Wit transverst, or Baudy A-la-mode; Yet hopes her plain and easy Style is such, As your high Censures will disdain to touch. Let her low Sense creep safe from your Bravadoes, Whilst Rotas and Cabals aim at Granadoes.

* * * * * * * * *

NOTES

[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. 226 I have added to the Dramatis Personae 'Boy, Page to Marcel, Servant to Carlo, A Friar, Swains, Four Shepherds, Four Nymphs, Dutch men and Dutch women.'

Act I: Scene i

p. 227, l. 3 The locale A Street is not marked in 4to 1673 or 1724.

p. 229, l. 4 Christian. 1724 'christian'.

Act I: Scene ii

p. 231, l. 8 his nice Honour. 1724, wrongly, omits 'nice'.

p. 232, l. 3 I must still love on. 1724 omits 'still'.

p. 233, l. 6 after long Despairs. 1724 'after long Despair'.

p. 233, l. 21 too much of Joy. 1724 'Joys'.

p. 233, l. 28 change thy Wonder. 4to 1673 'Wonders'.

p. 234, l. 23 Marcel is surprized. 1724 omits this stage direction.

p. 234, l. 36 And thou, Antonio, that has betray'd her. 4to 1673 'And thou, Antonio, thou hast betray'd her'. 1724 'And thou, Antonio, thou that hast betray'd her'.

p. 235, l. 17 a kind obliging Lady. 1724 'A kind of obliging Lady'.

p. 236, l. 4 Am I a Dog. 4to 1673 wrongly marks this line 'aside'.

p. 236, l. 10 I, like the Birds. 4to 1673 omits 'the'.

p. 237, l. 1 Biscay, a Surgeon. 4to 1673 omits 'a'.

p. 237, l. 7 Down of Swans. 1724 'Swan'.

Act I: Scene iii

p. 238, l. 3 and lik'd him. 1724 'and like him'.

p. 240, l. 2 this is the first. 1724 'this was the first'.

p. 240, l. 34 to his heart. 1724 omits.

p. 241, l. 8 Prithee instruct. 4to 1673 as prose.

p. 241, l. 20 Command me. 4to 1673 as prose.

p. 242, l. 13 My Death. 1724 'me death'.

Act II: Scene i

p. 243, l. 8 undone its Fame. 1724 'undone his Fame'.

p. 244, l. 11 the next Morning's Sun. 4to 1673 'th' Approach of next Morning's Sun'. 1724 'of the next Morning Sun'.

p. 244, l. 31 They go out. 4to 1673 omits 'they'. [After line "Who's this that walks before us?"]

Act II: Scene ii

p. 248, l. 33 Come, come. 1724 prints this speech as prose.

p. 249, l. 20 Look at one another and go. 1724 omits, reading 'exeunt'.

Act II: Scene iii

p. 251, l. 10 very unlucky. 4to 1673 'very unluckily'.

Act II: Scene iv

p. 252, l. 21 Marcel coming towards him jostles him. 4to 1673 reads 'Marcel coming towards justles him'.

p. 253, l. 7 given him some. 4to 1673 omits 'him'.

Act II: Scene vi

p. 257, l. 12 Of your Victims. 1724 prints this line and the next as prose.

p. 257, l. 24 Offers her a Dagger. 1724 omits 'her'.

p. 259, l. 31 a Pox of her terms. 1724 'A Pox on her terms'.

Act II: Scene vii

p. 261, l. 5 Haunce van Ezel. 1724 'Hance'.

Act III: Scene i

p. 266, l. 2 I cry you Mercy. 1724 'I cry your Mercy'.

p. 266, l. 11 he does not boast. 4to 1673, wrongly, 'he does but boast'.

p. 267, l. 36 But do you find her. 1724 'But do you not find her'.

p. 268, l. 11 'tis certain 'tis so. 1724 ''tis certain so'.

p. 269, l. 19 lest he surprize us. 1724 'lest he surprizes us'.

Act III: Scene ii

p. 269, l. 27 Ah, ah, a pox of all Sea-Voyages. 1724 omits 'all'.

p. 270, l. 28 to our Courages. 1724 'Courage'.

p. 271, l. 24 over a Leg. 1724 'over Leg'.

p. 272, l. 21 Rummer. 4to 1673 'Romer'.

p. 272, l. 33 that's not the Fashion. 1724 omits 'not'.

p. 272, l. 34 I'll manage her. 1724 'I manage her'.

Act III: Scene iii

p. 273, l. 6 Scene III. Draws off. A Grove. 1724 omits 'Draws off.' I have added the locale 'A Grove.'

p. 278, l. 24 how darst thou. 1724 'how durst thou'.

p. 278, l. 34 that could not defend. 4to 1673 omits 'that'.

Act III: Scene iva

p. 283, l. 34 you knew not of my Brother's. 1724 'you know not my Brother's' and omits '[To Franc.'

p. 284, l. 4 to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda] here, is a Happiness. 1724 'to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda.] Here is a Happiness'.

p. 285, l. 7 Goes out. 1724 'Exit'.

Act IV: Scene i

p. 286, l. 27 Surlily to him. 1724 'Goes surlily to him'.

p. 287, l. 26 by instinct. [Aside. 1724 omits 'Aside'.

p. 287, l. 27 Stands looking very simply. 1724 omits 'very'.

p. 288, l. 5 new-fashion'd Spanish Civility. 1724 omits 'Spanish'.

p. 289, l. 13 it made my Stomach wamble. 1724 'it had made'.

p. 289, l. 32 Gaber. 1724 'Gabor'.

p. 290, l. 28 Fakes, to entertain. 1724 'Faith'.

p. 291, l. 5 They two dance. 1724 'They too dance.'

Act IV: Scene ii

p. 296, l. 2 Runs behind Lovis. 1724 omits.

p. 297, l. 1 I declare it here upon. 1724 'Here I declare it upon'.

p. 298, l. 13 who starts as afraid. 1724 misreads 'as aforesaid.'

Act IV: Scene iii

p. 301, l. 6 Oh, is it bravely done. 1724 'Oh, it is bravely done ...' and punctuates ':' instead of '?'

p. 301, l. 12 on this Body. 1724, wrongly, 'on thy Body'.

p. 301, l. 34 Takes to his Sword. 1724 'the Sword'.

Act V: Scene i p. 310, l. 3 Cleo. Oh my Fears. 4to 1673 wrongly marks 'aside'.

p. 312, l. 3 Weeps. This stage direction is not given by 4to 1673.

p. 319, l. 1 How very very wicked. 1724 'How very wicked'.

p. 319, l. 32 Count d' Olivarez. 4to 1673 here and elsewhere when the name occurs 'Conte De Olivari's'.

p. 320, l. 17 if you are pleas'd. 1724 'if your are pleas'd'.

Act V: Scene ii

p. 322, l. 1 Carlo's House. 4to 1673 'House of Carlo'.

p. 322, l. 5 Dor. As for. 4to 1673 misreads 'Dom. As for'.

p. 323, l. 11 Hau. What a Devil. 1724 'Hau. What the Devil'.

p. 324, l. 7 Truth. [Goes out. 1724 'Exit.'

p. 324, l. 20 God-ha'-Mercy. 1724 'God-a-Mercy'.

p. 324, l. 20 Go in. 1724 omits.

NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

Epistle

p. 221 An Epistle to the Reader. This amusing and witty Epistle only appears in the 4to, 1673, finding no place in the various collected editions of Mrs. Behn's plays. The writer of comedy— 'the most severe of Johnson's sect'— with his 'musty rules of Unity'— at whom she glances pretty freely is Shadwell, who had obtained great success with The Sullen Lovers (produced 2 May, 1668; 4to, 1668), and in spite of some mishaps and opposition, made another hit with The Humourists (1671; 4to, 1671). An ardent disciple of Ben Jonson, he had in the two printed prefaces to these plays belauded his model beyond all other writers, insisting upon the Unities and the introduction of at least two or three Humours as points essential to any comedy.

p. 221 Doctor of Malmsbury. The famous philosopher, Thomas Hobbes (1588-1670), who was born at Westport, a suburb of Malmesbury (of which town his father was vicar).

p. 222 unjantee. —'Jantee' obsolete form of 'jaunty': see N.E.D.

p. 222 the mighty Echard. That facetious divine, John Eachard, D.D. (1636-97), Master of Catherine Hall, Cambridge. His chief work, The Grounds and Occasions of the Contempt of the Clergy and Religion enquired into. In a Letter to R. L. (London, 1670), published anonymously, is stuffed full with Attic salt and humour. He has even been censured for a jocosity (at his brethren's expense) beneath the decorum of the cloth.

p. 224 English Game which hight long Laurence. To play at Laurence = to do just nothing at all; to laze. Laurence is the personification of idleness. There are many dialect uses of the name, e.g., N.W. Devon 'Lazy's Laurence', and Cornish 'He's as lazy as Lawrence', vide Wright, English Dialect Dictionary.

Act I: Scene ii

p. 234 Women must be watcht as Witches are. One of the tests to which beldames suspected of sorcery were put— a mode particularly favoured by that arch-scamp, Matthew Hopkins, 'Witch-Finder General'— was to tie down the accused in some painful or at least uneasy posture for twenty-four hours, during which time relays of watchers sat round. It was supposed that an imp would come and suck the witch's blood; so any fly, moth, wasp or insect seen in the room was a familiar in that shape, and the poor wretch was accordingly convicted of the charge. Numerous confessions are recorded to have been extracted in this manner from ailing and doting crones by Master Hopkins, cf. Hudribras, Part II, canto iii, 146-8:—

Some for setting above ground Whole days and nights, upon their breeches, And feeling pain, were hang'd for witches.

cf. again The City Heiress, Act i:—

Watch her close, watch her like a witch, Boy, Till she confess the Devil in her,—— Love.

p. 235 Count d'Olivarez. Gaspar Guzman d'Olivarez was born at Rome, 1587. For many years all-powerful minister of Philip IV; he was dismissed 1643, and died 20 July, 1645, in banishment at Toro.

p. 235 a Venice Curtezan. Venice, the home of Aretine and Casanova, was long famous for the beauty and magnificence of her prostitutes. This circumstance is alluded to by numberless writers, and Ruskin, indeed, maintains that her decline was owing to this cause, which can hardly be, since as early as 1340, when her power was only rising, the public women were numbered at 11,654. Coryat has some curious matter on this subject, and more may be found in La Tariffa delle Puttane di Venegia, a little book often incorrectly ascribed to Lorenzo Venicro.

Act II: Scene i

p. 245 They enter at another Door. Vide note Rover I, Act II, I, p. 30.

Act III: Scene i

p. 263 Beso los manos, signor. = Beso las manos, senor.

p. 265 Don John. The famous hero of Lepanto died, not without suspicion of poison, in his camp at Namur, 1578. Otway introduces him in Don Carlos (1676).

Act III: Scene ii

p. 271 Souses. A slang term for the 'ears'. cf. The Roundheads, Act II, I, 'a pair of large sanctify'd Souses.'

p. 271 Butter-hams. Apparently from Dutch boterham = a slice of bread and butter. The two narrow strips of trimming on either side of the cloak.

p. 272 a Rummer of a Pottle. A jug or goblet holding one pottle = two quarts.

Act III: Scene iii

p. 278 Snick-a-Sne. A combat with knives amongst the Dutch. Snik: Dutch = a sharp weapon. Dryden in his Parallel betwixt Painting and Poetry (4to, June, 1695) speaks of 'the brutal sport of snick-or-sne'. Mrs. Behn has happily put several characteristically Dutch phrases in Haunce's mouth.

p. 278 Pharamond. A heroic romance in twelve volumes, the seven first of which are by the celebrated la Calprenede, the remainder being the work of Pierre de Vaumoriere. It was translated into English by J. Phillips (London, 1677, folio). Lee has taken the story of Varanes in his tragedy, Theodosius (1680), from this romance.

Act IV: Scene i

p. 289 Bethlehem-Gaber. Bethlen-Gabor (Gabriel Bethlen), 1580-1629, was a Hungarian noble who embraced the Protestant religion, and in 1613, with the help of an Ottoman army, succeeded in establishing himself as King of Transylvania. His reign, although one long period of warfare and truces, proved a most flourishing epoch for his country. Himself a musician and a man of letters, he was constant in his patronage of art and scholars, cf. Abraham Holland's Continued Inquisition of Paper Persecutors (1626):—

But to behold the walls Butter'd with weekly Newes composed in Pauls By some decaied Captaine, or those Rooks Whose hungry brains compile prodigious books Of Bethlem Gabor's preparations and How terms betwixt him and th' Emperor stand.

p. 291 a Hoy. A small vessel like a sloop, peculiarly Dutch. Pepys, 16 June, 1661, speaks of hiring 'a Margate hoy'.

Act V: Scene ii

p. 323 a Lapland Witch. cf. Paradise Lost, Book II, l. 666:—

To dance With Lapland witches, while the labouring moon Eclipses at their charms.

Act V: Scene iia

p. 329 the German Princess. Mary Morders, alias Stedman, alias Kentish Moll, a notorious imposter of the day, who pretended to be a Princess from Germany. She had been transported to Jamaica in 1671, but returning too soon and stealing a piece of plate, was hanged at Tyburn, 22 January, 1673. Her adventures formed the plot of a play by Tom Porter, A Witty Combat; or, The Female Victor (4to, 1663). Kirkman's Counterfeit Lady Unveiled (8vo, 1673), contains very ample details of her career. Pepys went to visit her 'at the Gatehouse at Westminster', 29 May, 1663. In talk he was 'high in the defence of her wit and spirit' (7 June, 1663). 15 April, 1664, the diarist further notes: 'To the Duke's house and there saw The German Princess acted by the woman herself ... the whole play ... is very simple, unless, here and there, a witty sprinkle or two.' This piece was doubtless identical with Porter's tragi-comedy.

p. 329 four Shillings, or half a Crown. Four shillings was the price of admission to the boxes on the first tier of the theatre; half a crown to the pit. These sums are very frequently alluded to in prologue and epilogue. Dryden in his second epilogue to The Duke of Guise (1682), after referring to the brawls and rioting of the pit, says:—

This makes our boxes full; for men of sense Pay their four shillings in their own defence.

The epilogue (spoken by Mrs. Bontell) to Corye's The Generous Enemies (1671), has these lines:—

Though there I see— Propitious Angels sit [points at the Boxes. Still there's a Nest of Devils in the Pit, By whom our Plays, like Children, just alive, Pinch'd by the Fairies, never after thrive: 'Tis but your Half-crown, Sirs: that won't undo.

Epilogue

p. 330 Rotas. The Rota was a political club founded in 1659 by James Harrington. It advocated a system of rotation in filling government offices.

* * * * * * * * *

Errors and Irregularities: The Dutch Lover

resolves to poinard his sister spelling unchanged Jacobean and Carolan drama text unchanged but what you do, must be speedily then. text reads "speeedily" Car. Why, Olinda, Dorice, Olinda, where be these mad Girls? text unchanged

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

THE ROUNDHEADS; OR,

THE GOOD OLD CAUSE.

[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.

The historical state of affairs 1659-60 was briefly as follows:— the Protectorate of Richard Cromwell expired 22 April, 1659. Hereupon Fleetwood and some other officers recalled the Long Parliament (Rump), which was constituted the ruling power of England, a select council of state having the executive. Lambert, however, with other dissentients was expelled from Parliament, 12 October, 1659. He and his troops marched to Newcastle; but the soldiers deserted him for General Fairfax, who had declared for a free Parliament, and were garrisoned at York. Here Monk, entering England 2 January, 1660, joined them with his forces. Lambert, deprived of his followers, was obliged to return to London. His prompt arrest by order of Parliament followed, and he, Sir Harry Vane and other members of the Committee of Safety were placed in strict confinement. On 5 March Lambert was imprisoned in the Tower, whence he escaped on 10 April, only to be recaptured a fortnight later. There are vivid pictures in Aubrey, Pepys, and other writers, of the wild enthusiasm at the fall of the Rump Parliament, with bonfires blazing, all the church bells ringing, and the populace of London carousing and pledging King Charles on their knees in the street. 'They made little gibbets and roasted rumps of mutton. Nay, I saw some very good rumps of beef,' writes Aubrey, and Pepys is even more vivid in his tale than the good antiquary.

King Charles landed at Dover, 26 May, amid universal rejoicings.

Mrs. Behn has (quite legitimately) made considerable departures from strict historical fact and the sequence of events for her dramatic purposes.

Lambert and Fleetwood are scheming for the supreme power, and both intrigue with Lord Wariston, the chairman of the Committee of Safety, for his good word and influence. Lambert meantime fools Fleetwood by flattery and a feigned indifference. Lady Lambert, who is eagerly expecting her husband to be proclaimed King, and is assuming the state and title of royalty to the anger of Cromwell's widow, falls in love with a cavalier, Loveless. Her friend, Lady Desbro', a thorough loyalist at heart, though wedded to an old parliamentarian, has long been enamoured of Freeman, the cavalier's companion. Lambert surprises Loveless and Freeman with his wife and Lady Desbro', but Lady Lambert pretending they have come to petition her, abruptly dismisses them both and so assuages all suspicion. At a meeting of the Committee the two gallants are sent to prison for a loyal outburst on the part of Loveless. Ananias Goggle, a lay elder, who having offered liberties to Lady Desbro' is in her power, is by her obliged to obtain her lover's release, and she at once holds an interview with him. They are interrupted by Desbro' himself, but Freeman is concealed and makes an undiscovered exit behind the shelter of Goggle's flowing cloak.

Loveless is brought to Lady Lambert at night. She endeavours to dazzle him by showing the regalia richly set out and adorned with lights. He puts by, however, crown and sceptre and rebukes her overweening ambition. Suddenly the Committee, who have been drinking deep, burst in upon them dancing a riotous dance. Loveless is hurriedly concealed under the coverlet of a couch, and Lady Lambert sits thereon seemingly at her devotions. Her husband takes his place by her side, but rolls off as the gallant slips to the ground. The lights fall down and are extinguished, the men fly howling and bawling 'A Plot! A Plot!' in drunken terror. Lambert is cajoled and hectored into believing himself mistaken owing to his potations. The ladies hold a council to correct and enquire into women's wrongs, but on a sudden, news is brought that Lambert's followers have turned against him and that he is imprisoned in the Tower. The city rises against the Parliament and the Rump is dissolved. Loveless and Freeman rescue Lady Lambert and Lady Desbro', whose old husband has fallen down dead with fright. The parliamentarians endeavour to escape, but Wariston, Goggle, and Hewson— a leading member of the Committee— are detected and maltreated by the mob. As they are haled away to prison the people give themselves up to general merry-making and joy.



SOURCE.

The purely political part of The Roundheads; or, The Good Old Cause was founded by Mrs. Behn on John Tatham's The Rump; or, The Mirror of the Late Times (4to, 1660, 4to, 1661, and again 1879 in his collected works,) which was produced on the eve of the Restoration, in February, 1660, at the Private House, i.e. small theatre, in Dorset Court. The company which played here had been brought together by William Beeston, but singularly little is known of its brief career and only one name has been recorded, that of George Jolly, the leading actor. Tatham was the author of the Lord Mayor's pageants 1657-64. His plays, four in number, together with a rare entertainment, London's Glory (1660), have been well edited by Maidment and Logan.

The Rump met with great success. It is certainly a brisk and lively piece, and coming at the juncture it did must have been extraordinarily effective. As a topical key-play reflecting the moment it is indeed admirable, and the crescendo of overwhelming satire, all the keener for the poet's deep earnestness, culminating in the living actors, yesterday's lords and law-givers, running to and fro the London streets, one bawling 'Ink or pens, ink or pens!', another 'Boots or shoes, boots or shoes to mend!', a third 'Fine Seville oranges, fine lemons!', whilst Mrs. Cromwell exchanges Billingsgate with a crowd of jeering boys, must have caused the house absolutely to rock with merriment.

With all its point and cleverness The Rump, however, from a technical point of view, is ill-digested and rough. The scenes were evidently thrown off hastily, and sadly lack refining and revision. Mrs. Behn has made the happiest use of rather unpromising material. The intrigues between Loveless and Lady Lambert, who in Tatham is very woodeny and awkward, between Freeman and Lady Desbro', which give The Roundheads unity and dramatic point, are entirely her own invention. In the original Rump neither cavaliers nor Lady Desbro' appear. Ananias Goggle also, the canting lay elder of Clements, with his subtle casuistry that jibs at 'the person not the office,' a dexterous character sketch, alive and acute, we owe to Mrs. Behn.

Amongst the many plays, far too numerous even to catalogue, that scarify the puritans and their zealot tribe, The Cheats (1662), by Wilson, and Sir Robert Howard's The Committee (1662), which long kept the stage, and, in a modified form, The Honest Thieves, was seen as late as the second half of the nineteenth century, are pre-eminently the best. Both possess considerable merit and are worthy of the highest comic traditions of the theatre.

As might have been expected, the dissolution of the Rump Parliament let loose a flood of political literature, squibs, satires and lampoons. Such works as The famous Tragedie of the Life and Death of Mrs. Rump ... as it was presented on a burning stage at Westminster, the 29th of May, 1660 (4to, 1660), are of course valueless save from a purely historical interest. A large number of songs and ballads were brought together and published in two parts, 1662, reprint 1874. This collection (The Rump), sometimes witty, sometimes angry, sometimes obscene, is weighty evidence of the loathing inspired by the republicans and their misrule, but it is of so personal and topical a nature that the allusions would hardly be understood by any one who had not made a very close and extended study of those critical months.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The Roundheads; or, The Good Old Cause was produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1682. They were unsettled and hazardous times. The country was convulsed by the judicial murders and horrors which followed in the train of the pseudo-Popish Plot engineered by the abominable Gates and his accomplices. King and Parliament were at hopeless variance. The air was charged with strife, internecine hatreds and unrest. In such an atmosphere and in such circumstances politics could not but make themselves keenly felt upon the stage. The actors were indeed 'abstracts and brief chronicles of the time', and the theatre became a very Armageddon for the poets. As A Lenten Prologue refus'd by the Players (1682) puts it:— 'Plots and Parties give new matter birth And State distractions serve you here for mirth! . . . . . The Stage, like old Rump Pulpits, is become The scene of News, a furious Party's drum.'

Produced on 4 December, 1682, Dryden and Lee's excellent Tragedy, The Duke of Guise, which the Whigs vainly tried to suppress, created a furore. Crowne's City Politics (1683) is a crushing satire, caricaturing Oates, Stephen College, old Sergeant Maynard and their faction with rare skill. Southerne's Loyal Brother (1682), eulogizes the Duke of York; the scope of D'Urfey's Sir Barnaby Whigg (1681), can be told by its title, indeed the prologue says of the author:— 'That he shall know both parties now he glories, By hisses th' Whigs, and by their claps the Tories.' His Royalist (1682) follows in the same track.

Even those plays which were entirely non-political are inevitably prefaced with a mordant prologue or wound up by an epilogue that has party venom and mustard in its tail.

It would be surprising if so popular a writer as Mrs. Behn had not put a political play on the stage at such a juncture, and we find her well to the fore with The Roundheads, which she followed up in the same year with The City Heiress, another openly topical comedy.

The cast of The Roundheads is not given in any printed copy, and we have no exact means of apportioning the characters, which must have entailed the whole comic strength of the house. It is known that Betterton largely refrained from appearing in political comedies, and no doubt Smith took the part of Loveless, whilst Freeman would have fallen to Joseph Williams. Nokes was certainly Lambert; and Leigh, Wariston. Mrs. Leigh probably played Lady Cromwell or Gilliflower; Mrs. Barry, Lady Lambert; and Mrs. Currer, Lady Desbro'. The piece seems to have been very successful, and to have kept the stage at intervals for some twenty years.



To the Right Noble

HENRY FITZ-ROY,

Duke of Grafton, Earl of Sutton, Viscount of Ipswich, Baron of Sudbury, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter, and Colonel of his Majesties Regiment of Foot-Guards, &c.

May it please Your Grace,

Dedications which were Originally design'd, as a Tribute to the Reverence and just esteem we ought to pay the Great and Good ; are now so corrupted with Flattery, that they rarely either find a Reception in the World, or merit that Patronage they wou'd implore. But I without fear Approach the great Object, being above that mean and mercenary Art; nor can I draw the Lovely Picture half so charming and so manly as it is; and that Author may more properly boast of a Lucky Hitt, whose choice and Fortune is so good, than if he had pleas'd all the different ill Judging world besides in the business of the Play; for none that way, can ever hope to please all; in an Age when Faction rages, and different Parties disagree in all things— - But coming the first day to a new Play with a Loyal Title, and then even the sober and tender conscienc'd, throng as to a forbidden Conventicle, fearing the Cub of their old Bear of Reformation should be expos'd, to be the scorn of the wicked, and dreading (tho' but the faint shadow of their own deformity) their Rebellion, Murders, Massacres and Villanies, from forty upwards, should be represented for the better undeceiving and informing of the World, flock in a full Assembly with a pious design to Hiss and Rail it as much out of countenance as they would Monarchy, Religion, Laws, and Honesty; throwing the Act of Oblivion in our Teeths, as if that (whose mercy cannot make them forget their old Rebellion) cou'd hinder honest Truths from breaking out upon 'em in Edifying Plays, where the Loyal hands ever out-do their venom'd Hiss; a good and happy Omen, if Poets may be allow'd for Prophets as of old they were: and 'tis as easily seen at a new Play how the Royal Interest thrives, as at a City Election, how the Good Old Couse is carried on; as a Noble Peer lately said, Tho' the Tories have got the better of us at the Play, we carried it in the City by many Voices, God be praised!

This Play, call'd The Roundheads, which I humbly lay at your Graces feet, Pardon the Title, and Heaven defend you from the bloody Race, was carried in the House nemine contra dicente, by the Royal Party, and under your Grace's Illustrious Patronage is safe from any new Seditious affronts abroad; Your Grace alone, whom Heaven and Nature has form'd the most adorable Person in the whole Creation, with all the advantages of a glorious Birth, has a double right and power to defend all that approach you for sanctuary; your very Beauty is a Guard to all you daigne to make safe: for You were born for Conquest every way; even what Phanatick, what peevish Politician, testy with Age, Diseases, miscarried Plots, disappointed Revolutions, envious of Power, of Princes, and of Monarchy, and mad with Zeal for Change and Reformation, could yet be so far lost to sense of Pleasure, as not to turn a Rebel to Revenge the Good old Cause, and the patronage to Plebean sedition with only looking on you, 'twou'd force his meger face to blushing smiles, and make him swear he had mistook the side, curse his own Party, and if possible, be reconciled to Honesty again: such power have charms like Yours to calm the soul, and will in spight of You plead for me to the disaffected, even when they are at Wars with your Birth and Power. But this Play, for which I humbly beg your Grace's Protection, needs it in a more peculiar manner, it having drawn down Legions upon its head, for its Loyalty— what, to Name us cries one, 'tis most abominable, unheard of daring cries another— she deserves to be swing'd cries a third; as if twere all a Libel, a Scandal impossible to be prov'd, or that their Rogueries were of so old a Date their Reign were past Remembrance or History; when they take such zealous care to renew it daily to our memories: And I am satisfied, that they that will justifie the best of these Traytors, deserves the fate of the worst, and most manifestly declare to the World by it, they wou'd be at the Old Game their fore-Fathers play'd with so good success: yet if there be any honest loyal man allied to any here nam'd, I heartily beg his pardon for any offensive Truth I have spoken, and 'tis a wonderful thing that amongst so Numerous a Flock they will not allow of one mangy Sheep; not one Rogue in the whole Generation of the Association.

Ignoramus the 1st and the 2d.

But as they are I leave 'em to your Grace to Judge of 'em; to whom I humbly present this small Mirror, of the late wretched Times: wherein your Grace may see something of the Miseries three the Most Glorious Kingdoms of the Universe were reduc'd to; where your Royal Ancestors victoriously Reign'd for so many hundred years: How they were Governed, Parcell'd out, and deplorably inslav'd, and to what Low, Prostituted Lewdness they fell at last: where the Nobility and Gentry were the most contemn'd and despis'd part of them, and such Meane (and till then obscure) Villains Rul'd, and Tyrannized, that no Age, nor Time, or scarce a Parish Book makes mentions or cou'd show there was any such Name or Family. Yet these were those that impudently Tug'd for Empire, and Prophan'd that illustrious Throne and Court, so due then, and possest now (through the infinite Mercies of God to this bleeding Nation) by the best of Monarchs; a Monarch, who had the divine goodness to Pardon even his worst of Enemies what was past; Nay, out of his Vast and God-like Clemency, did more than Heaven it self can do, put it out of his Power by an Act of Oblivion, to punish the unparalell'd Injuries done His Sacred Person, and the rest of the Royal Family: How great his Patience has been since, I leave to all the World to judge: but Heaven be prais'd, he has not yet forgot the Sufferings and Murders of the Glorious Martyr of ever Blessed memory, Your Graces Sacred Grandfather, and by what Arts and Ways that Devilish Plot was layed! and will like a skilful Pilate, by the wreck of one Rich Vessel, learn how to shun the danger of this present Threatning and save the rest from sinking; The Clouds already begin to disappear, and the face of things to change, thanks to Heaven, his Majesties infinite Wisdom, and the Over-Zeal of the (falsly called) True Protestant Party; Now we may pray for the King and his Royal Brother, defend his Cause, and assert his Right, without the fear of a taste of the Old Sequestration call'd a Fine; Guard the Illustrious Pair, good Heaven, from Hellish Plots, and all the Devilish Machinations of Factious Cruelties: and you, great Sir, (whose Merits have so Justly deserv'd that glorious Command so lately trusted to your Care, which Heaven increase, and make your glad Regiment Armies for our safety. May you become the great Example of Loyalty and Obedience, and stand a firm and unmoveable Pillar to Monarchy, a Noble Bullwark to Majesty; defend the Sacred Cause, imploy all that Youth, Courage, and Noble Conduct which God and Nature purposely has endued you with, to serve the Royal Interest: You, Sir, who are obliged by a double Duty to Love, Honour, and Obey his Majesty, both as a Father and a King! O undissolvable Knot! O Sacred Union! what Duty, what Love, what Adoration can express or repay the Debt we owe the first, or the Allegiance due to the last, but where both meet in one, to make the Tye Eternal; Oh what Counsel, what Love of Power, what fancied Dreams of Empire, what fickle Popularity can inspire the heart of Man, or any Noble mind, with Sacrilegious thoughts against it, can harbour or conceive a stubborn disobedience: Oh what Son can desert the Cause of an Indulgent Parent, what Subject, of such a Prince, without renouncing the Glory of his Birth, his Loyalty, and good Nature.