Charl. May I believe thou art not married then?

Wild. How can I, when I'm yours? How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life? Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn, [To L. Galliard. —And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.

Sir Tim. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?

Wild. I am Tom Wilding, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.

Sir Tim. What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito?

Wild. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

Sir Tim. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course, because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. Charlot.

Wild. Rather Diana, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's Charlot. I was not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.

Sir Charl. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing an old cast-off Mistress.

Sir Tim. How, have I married a Strumpet then?

Dia. You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. 'Tis true, I lov'd him, only him, and was true to him.

Sir Tim. Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-Speech more: but he shall hang for't, if there be e'er a Witness to be had between this and Salamanca for Money.

Wild. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks to your Ignoramus Juries.

Sir Tim. Then I'm resolv'd to disinherit him.

Wild. See, Sir, that's past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night's Ingenuity; they're [shews him the Writings.] sign'd, seal'd, and deliver'd in the presence of, &c.

Sir Tim. Bear Witness, 'twas he that rob'd me last night.

Sir Anth. We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank you for that, Sir; wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?

Sir Tim. No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay, drawn and quarter'd.

Wild. What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?

Sir Anth. Nay, then 'tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or blame him.

Wild. I'll propose fairly now; if you'll be generous and pardon all, I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir Anthony Meriwill's and Sir Charles his Hands—I have a Fortune here that will maintain me, Without so much as wishing for your Death.

All. This is but Reason.

Sir Charl. With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any Mischief to the King and Government.

All. Good and Just. [Sir Tim. pauses.

Sir Tim. Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by making a Noise.—Well, Tom, I pardon all, and will be Friends. [Gives him his Hand.

Sir Charl. See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify'd at last into good Nature; yet you'll still be cruel.

L. Gal. No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as happy as a Wife can make ye—One last look more, and then—be gone, fond Love.

[Sighing and looking on Wilding, giving Sir Charles her Hand.

Sir Charl. Come, Sir, you must receive Diana too; she is a cheerful witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and bring no Scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid Age with Business of State.

Let all things in their own due Order move, Let Caesar be the Kingdom's Care and Love; Let the hot-headed Mutineers petition, And meddle in the Rights of just Succession: But may all honest Hearts as one agree To bless the King, and Royal Albany.

[Exeunt.



EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality: Spoken by Mrs. Boteler.

My Plot, I fear, will take but with a few, A rich young Heiress to her first Lover true! 'Tis damn'd unnatural, and past enduring, Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring. Marrying's the Mask, which Modesty assures, Helps to get new, and covers old Amours; And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride, Ye now-a-days condemn him e'er he's try'd; E'er in his Office he's confirmed Possessor, Like Trincaloes you chuse him a Successor, In the gay Spring of Love, when free from Doubts, With early Shoots his Velvet Forehead sprouts, Like a poor Parson bound to hard Indentures, You make him pay his First-fruits e'er he enters. But for short Carnivals of stain good Cheer, You're after forc'd to keep Lent all the Year; Till brought at last to a starving Nun's Condition, You break into our Quarters for Provision; Invade Fop-corner with your glaring Beauties, And 'tice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties. Pray, Ladies, leave that Province to our Care; A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player, In which we Women claim a double share. In other things the Men are Rulers made; But catching Woodcocks is our proper Trade. If by Stage-Fops they a poor Living get, We can grow rich, thanks to our Mother-Wit, By the more natural Blockheads of the Pit. Take then the Wits, and all their useless Prattles; But as for Fools, they are our Goods and Chattels. Return, Ingrates, to your first Haunt the Stage; We taught your Youth, and helped your feeble Age. What is't you see in Quality we want? What can they give you which we cannot grant? We have their Pride, their Frolicks, and their Paint. We feel the same Touth dancing in our Blood; Our Dress as gay—All underneath as good. Most Men have found us hitherto more true, And if we're not abus'd by some of you, We're full as fair—perhaps as wholesom too. But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is, And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies; May question'd Marriages your Fortune be, And Lawyers drain your Pockets more than we: May Judges puzzle a clear Case with Laws, And Musquetoon at last decide the Cause.



THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE.



ARGUMENT.

Marcella and Cornelia, nieces to Count Morosini and sisters to Julio, who is contracted to Laura Lucretia, a lady of quality, sister of Count Octavio, in order to avoid Marcella's marriage with this nobleman, secretly leave Viterbo where they live, and accompanied only by their attendants, Petro and Philippa, come to Rome, and there pass for courtezans under the names of Euphemia and Silvianetta. Their beauty wins them great renown in the gay world, and Sir Harry Fillamour, who loves Marcella, and Frank Galliard, two English travellers, are keenly attracted by this reputation. Sir Harry, however, is anxious for matrimony, Galliard for an intrigue. Marcella in her turn is already enamoured of Fillamour whom she has met at Viterbo. Morosini and Octavio follow the fugitives to Rome, whilst Laura Lucretia, who loves Galliard, disguises herself in male attire and takes a house on the Corso next door to the supposed courtezans. Fillamour and Galliard encounter the two ladies in the gardens of the Villa Medici, and Fillamour takes Marcella for a courtezan, whilst Galliard engages with Cornelia. Octavio passing with his followers spies and attacks his rival. A general melee ensues. Julio, who has not seen his family for seven years, next appears, having taken Cornelia for a cyprian and followed her from St. Peter's. Marcella, in boy's attire, then gives Fillamour a letter from herself, signed under her own name, making an appointment for that night; but at the same time Galliard, claiming a former promise, drags his friend off to visit Euphemia. The intrigue is complicated by the ridiculous amours of two foolish travellers, Sir Signal Buffoon and Mr. Tickletext, a puritan divine, his tutor. These, unknown to each other, make assignations with the two bona robas by means of Petro, who dupes them thoroughly by his clever tricks, and pockets their money. Whilst Galliard and Sir Harry are serenading the ladies, Octavio, Julio and their bravos attack them. After the scuffle Laura Lucretia coming from her house leads in Julio, mistaking him for Galliard, and he her for Silvianetta. Next Sir Harry and Galliard arrive in safety at the sisters' house, and Marcella, as a courtezan, tempts her lover, who, however, refuses to yield and leaves her, to her secret joy. Tickletext has been placed by Petro in bed to await, as he supposes, Silvianetta, when Galliard in error entering the room in the dark gropes his way to the bed and finding a man, closes with him. The tutor escapes, and Cornelia coming in in the course of her wooing by Galliard informs him she is not really a courtezan as he supposed. In anger her gallant departs. Whilst he is telling Sir Harry this tale Cornelia, dressed as a page, follows him and delivers Fillamour a challenge as from Marcella's brother, Julio, summoning him to the Piazza di Spagna. Julio himself, newly come from Laura Lucretia, meeting Galliard relates to him how he passed the night with Silvianetta, which confirms the opinion the Englishman had already formed of her treachery and deceit. Laura Lucretia overhears and sends her maid to bring her Galliard; but whilst he is with her, Cornelia, who has jealously followed, feigning to be Julio's page, gives the amorous dame a letter as from her betrothed. The trick fails, Cornelia is laughed at as a saucy lad, repulsed and obliged to retire. Sir Harry is then met by Marcella dressed as a man and calling herself Julio. Julio himself happens to be at the Piazza di Spagna and he interrupts the quarrel. Octavio and Morosini speedily join him, as Crapine has tracked the runaways to their lodging. All these hurry into the courtezans' house, where they find Fillamour and Galliard. Mutual explanations follow. Octavio nobly renounces Marcella in favour of Fillamour who claims her hand, whilst Cornelia gives herself to Galliard in sober wedlock. Tickletext and Sir Signal are then discovered to be concealed in the room, and their mutual frailties exposed. It is promised that the money of which Petro has choused them shall be restored, and everything is forgiven, since "'twas but one night's intrigue, in which all were a little faulty."



SOURCE.

The plot of The Feign'd Curfezans; or, A Night's Intrigue is wholly original. It is one of those bustling pieces, quick with complicated intrigue, of the Spanish comedias de capa y espada school, which Mrs. Behn loved, and which none could present more happily or wittily than she. To quote the Biographia Dramatics, 'the play contains a vast deal of business and intrigue; the contrivance of the two ladies to obtain their differently disposed lovers, both by the same means, viz. by assuming the characters of courtezans, being productive of great variety.' Some incidents, indeed, recall The Rover; and the accident of Tickletext being discovered in bed by Galliard is similar to that when Carlo comes upon Fetherfool in the same circumstance, Rover II, Act iv, iv. On the whole, however, The Feign'd Curtezans is the better play, and may not unjustly claim to be, if not Mrs. Behn's masterpiece (a title it disputes with The Rover, Part I, and The Lucky Chance), at least one of the very best and wittiest of her sparkling comedies.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The Feign'd Curtezans; or, A Night's Intrigue was produced at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in 1679. The cast was a star one, and Downes remarks that it was 'well acted'; but though favourably received it does not, for some unaccountable reason, seem to have met with the triumphant success it certainly deserved. It continued to be played from time to time, and there was a notable revival on 8 August, 1716, at Lincoln's Inn Fields. Galliard was acted by J. Leigh; Sir Harry, Smith; Sir Signal, Bullock; Tickletext, Griffin; Pedro, Spiller; Julio, Bull jun. Cornelia, Mrs. Cross; Marcella, Mrs. Thurmond; Laura Lucretia, Mrs. Spiller. It was performed three times that season, but soon after disappears from the repertory.



TO MRS. ELLEN GUIN.

Madam,

'Tis no wonder that hitherto I followed not the good example of the believing Poets, since less faith and zeal then you alone can inspire, had wanted power to have reduc't me to the true worship: Your permission, Madam, has inlightened me, and I with shame look back on my past Ignorance, which suffered me not to pay an Adoration long since, where there was so very much due, yet even now though secure in my opinion, I make this Sacrifice with infinite fear and trembling, well knowing that so Excellent and perfect a Creature as your self differs only from the Divine powers in this; the Offerings made to you ought to be worthy of you, whilst they accept the will alone; and how Madam, would your Altars be loaded, if like heaven you gave permission to all that had a will and desire to approach 'em who now at distance can only wish and admire, which all mankinde agree to do; as if Madam, you alone had the pattent from heaven to ingross all hearts and even those distant slaves whom you conquer with your fame, pay an equall tribute to those that have the blessing of being wounded by your Eyes, and boast the happiness of beholding you dayly; insomuch that succeeding ages who shall with joy survey your History shall Envy us who lived in this, and saw those charming wonders which they can only reade of, and whom we ought in charity to pity, since all the Pictures, pens or pencills can draw, will give 'em but a faint Idea of what we have the honour to see in such absolute Perfection; they can only guess She was infinitely fair, witty, and deserving, but to what Vast degrees in all, they can only Judge who liv'd to Gaze and Listen; for besides Madam, all the Charms and attractions and powers of your Sex, you have Beauties peculiar to your self, an eternal sweetness, youth and ayr, which never dwelt in any face but yours, of which not one unimitable Grace could be ever borrow'd, or assumed, though with never so much industry, to adorn another, they cannot steal a look or smile from you to inhance their own beauties price, but all the world will know it yours; so natural and so fitted are all your Charms and Excellencies to one another, so intirely design'd and created to make up in you alone the most perfect lovely thing in the world; you never appear but you glad the hearts of all that have the happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole world into good Humour, whenever you look abroad, and when you speak, men crowd to listen with that awfull reverence as to Holy Oracles or Divine Prophesies, and bears away the precious words to tell at home to all the attentive family the Graceful things you utter'd and cry, but oh she spoke with such an Ayr, so gay, that half the beauty's lost in the repetition. 'Tis this that ought to make your Sex vain enough to despise the malicious world that will allow a woman no wit, and bless our selves for living in an Age that can produce so wondrous an argument as your undeniable self, to shame those boasting talkers who are Judges of nothing but faults.

But how much in vain Madam, I endeavour to tell you the sence of all mankinde with mine, since to the utmost Limits of the Universe your mighty Conquests are made known: And who can doubt the Power of that Illustrious Beauty, the Charms of that tongue, and the greatness of that minde, who has subdu'd the most powerfull and Glorious Monarch of the world: And so well you bear the honours you were born for, with a greatness so unaffected, an affability so easie, an Humour so soft, so far from Pride or Vanity, that the most Envious & most disaffected can finde no cause or reason to wish you less, Nor can Heaven give you more, who has exprest a particular care of you every way, and above all in bestowing on the world and you, two noble Branches, who have all the greatness and sweetness of their Royal and beautiful stock; and who give us too a hopeful Prospect of what their future Braveries will perform, when they shall shoot up and spread themselves to that degree, that all the lesser world may finde repose beneath their shades; and whom you have permitted to wear those glorious Titles which you your self Generously neglected, well knowing with the noble Poet; 'tis better far to merit Titles then to wear 'em.

Can you then blame my Ambition, Madam, that lays this at your feet, and begs a Sanctuary where all pay so great a Veneration? 'twas Dedicated yours before it had a being, and overbusy to render it worthy of the Honour, made it less grateful; and Poetry like Lovers often fares the worse by taking too much pains to please; but under so Gracious an Influence my tender Lawrells may thrive, till they become fit Wreaths to offer to the Rays that improve their Growth: which Madam, I humbly implore, you still permit her ever to do, who is,

Madam, Your most Humble, and most Obedient Servant, A. Behn.



THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; or, A Night's Intrigue.



PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mrs. Currer.

The Devil take this cursed plotting Age, 'T has ruin'd all our Plots upon the Stage; Suspicions, New Elections, Jealousies, Fresh Informations, New Discoveries, Do so employ the busy fearful Town, Our honest Calling here is useless grown: Each Fool turns Politician now, and wears A formal Face, and talks of State-affairs; Makes Acts, Decrees, and a new Model draws For Regulation both of Church and Laws; Tires out his empty Noddle to invent What Rule and Method's best in Government: But Wit, as if 'twere Jesuitical, Is an Abomination to ye all. To what a wretched pass will poor Plays come? This must be damn'd, the Plot is laid in Rome; 'Tis hard—yet— Not one amongst ye all I'll undertake, E'er thought that we should suffer for Religion's sake: Who wou'd have thought that wou'd have been th' occasion Of any contest in our hopeful Nation? For my own Principles, faith let me tell ye, I'm still of the Religion of my Cully; And till these dangerous times they'd none to fix on, But now are something in mere Contradiction, And piously pretend these are not days, For keeping Mistresses, and seeing Plays: Who says this Age a Reformation wants, When Betty Currer's Lovers all turns Saints? In vain, alas, I flatter, swear, and vow, You'll scarce do any thing for Charity now: Yet I am handsom still, still young and mad, Can wheedle, lye, dissemble, jilt—egad, As well and artfully as e'er I did; Yet not one Conquest can I gain or hope, No Prentice, not a Foreman of a Shop, So that I want extremely new Supplies; Of my last Coxcomb, faith, these were the Prize; And by the tatter'd Ensigns you may know, These Spoils were of a Victory long ago: Who wou'd have thought such hellish Times to have seen, When I shou'd be neglected at Eighteen? That Youth and Beauty shou'd be quite undone, A Pox upon the Whore of Babylon.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

ITALIANS.

Morosini, an old Count, Uncle to Julio. Mr. Norris. Julio, his Nephew, a young Count, contracted to Laura Lucretia. Mr. Crosby. Octavio a young Count, contracted to Marcella, deformed, revengeful. Mr. Gillo. Crapine, Morosini's Man. Petro, supposed Pimp to the two Curtezans. Mr. Leigh. Silvio, Page to Laura Lucretia. Antonio, an Attendant to Laura Lucretia. Page to Julio.

ENGLISH.

Sir _Harry Fillamour_, in love with _Marcella. Mr. _Smith_. Mr. _Galliard_, in love with _Cornelia_. Mr. _Betterton_. Sir _Signal Buffoon_, a Fool. Mr. _Nokes_. Mr. _Tickletext_, his Governour. Mr. _Underbill_. _Jack_, Sir _Signal's_ Man. Page to _Fillamour_.

WOMEN.

Laura Lucretia_, a young Lady of Quality, contracted to _Julio_, in love with _Galliard_, and Sister to _Octavio_. Mrs. _Lee_. _Marcella_, Mrs. _Currer_. and _Cornelia_, Mrs. _Barry_. Sisters to _Julio_, and Nieces to _Morosini_, and pass for Curtezans by the names of _Euphemia_ and _Silvianetta_. _Philippa_, their Woman. Mrs. _Norris_. _Sabina_, Confident to _Laura Lucretia_. Mrs. _Seymour_.

Pages, Musick, Footmen, and Bravos.

SCENE, Rome.



ACT I.

SCENE I. A Street.

Enter Laura Lucretia, and Silvio richly drest; Antonio attending, coming all in haste.

Sil. Madam, you need not make such haste away, the Stranger that follow'd us from St. Peter's Church pursues us no longer, and we have now lost sight of him: Lord, who wou'd have thought the approach of a handsome Cavalier should have possest Donna Laura Lucretia with fear?

Lau. I do not fear, my Silvio, but I wou'd have this new Habitation which I have design'd for Love, known to none but him to whom I've destin'd my Heart:—ah, wou'd he knew the Conquest he has made, [Aside.] Nor went I this Evening to Church with any other Devotion, but that which warms my heart for my young English Cavalier, whom I hop'd to have seen there; and I must find some way to let him know my Passion, which is too high for Souls like mine to hide.

Sil. Madam, the Cavalier's in view again, and hot in the pursuit.

Lau. Let's haste away then; and, Silvio, do you lag behind, 'twill give him an opportunity of enquiring, whilst I get out of sight.—Be sure you conceal my Name and Quality, and tell him—any thing but truth—tell him I am La Silvianetta, the young Roman Curtezan, or what you please to hide me from his knowledge.

[Exeunt Lau. and Ant.

Enter Julio and Page in pursuit.

Jul. Boy, fall you into discourse with that Page, and learn his Lady's Name—whilst I pursue her farther. [Ex. Jul.

[Page salutes Silvio, who returns it; they go out as talking to each other.

Enter Sir Harry Fillamour and Galliard.

Fil. He follows her close, whoe'er they be: I see this trade of Love goes forward still.

Gal. And will whilst there's difference in Sexes. But, Harry, the Women, the delicate Women I was speaking of?

Fil. Prithee tell me no more of thy fine Women, Frank; thou hast not been in Rome above a Month, and thou'ast been a dozen times in love, as thou call's! it; to me there is no pleasure like Constancy.

Gal. Constancy! and wou'dst thou have me one of those dull Lovers, who believe it their Duty to love a Woman 'till her Hair and Eyes change Colour, for fear of the scandalous Name of an Inconstant? No, my Passion, like great Victors, hates the lazy stay; but having vanquisht, prepares for new Conquests.

Fil. Which you gain as they do Towns by Fire, lose 'em even in the taking; thou wo't grow penitent, and weary of these dangerous Follys.

Gal. But I am yet too young for both: Let old Age and Infirmity bring Repentance,—there's her feeble Province, and even then too we find no plague like being deprived of dear Woman-kind.

Fil. I hate playing about a Flame that will consume me.

Gal. Away with your antiquated Notions, and let's once hear sense from thee: Examine but the whole World, Harry, and thou wilt find a beautiful Woman the Desire of the noblest, and the Reward of the bravest.

Fil. And the common Prize of Coxcombs: Times are alter'd now, Frank; why else shou'd the Virtuous be cornuted, the Coward be caress'd, the Villain roll with six, and the Fool lie with her Ladyship?

Gal. Mere accident, Sir; and the kindness of Fortune: but a pretty witty young Creature, such as this Silvianetta and Euphemia, is certainly the greatest Blessing this wicked World can afford us.

Fil. I believe the lawful enjoyment of such a Woman, and honest too, wou'd be a Blessing.

Gal. Lawful Enjoyment! Prithee what's lawful Enjoyment, but to enjoy 'em according to the generous indulgent Law of Nature; enjoy 'em as we do Meat, Drink, Air, and Light, and all the rest of her common Blessings?— Therefore prithee, dear Knight, let me govern thee but for a Day, and I will shew thee such a Signiora, such a Beauty, another manner of piece than your so admired Viterboan, Donna Marcella, of whom you boast so much.

Fil. And yet this rare piece is but a Curtezan, in coarse plain English a very Whore,—who filthily exposes all her Beauties to him can give her most, not love her best.

Gal. Why, faith, to thy comfort be it spoken, she does distribute her Charms at that easy rate.

Fil. Oh, the vast distance between an innocent Passion, and a poor faithless Lust!

Gal. Innocent Passion at Rome! Oh, 'tis not to be nam'd but in some Northern Climate: to be an Anchoret here, is to be an Epicure in Greenland; impossibilities, Harry. Sure thou hast been advising with Sir Signal Buffoon's Governour, that formal piece of Nonsense and Hypocrisy.

Fil. No, faith, I brought the humour along with me to Rome; and for your Governour I have not seen him yet, though he lodge in this same House with us, and you promis'd to bring me acquainted with him long since.

Gal. I'll do't this very minute.

Fil. No, I'm oblig'd not to engage my self this Evening, because I expect the arrival of Count Julio, whose last Letters assured me it would be to night.

Gal. Julio! What, the young Italian Count you made me acquainted with last Summer in England?

Fil. The same, the Ambassador's Nephew, a good Youth, and one I esteem.

Enter Julio.

Jul. I hope my Page will bring intelligence who this Beauty is.

Fil. Hah, Julio! Welcome, dear Friend. [Embraces him.

Jul. Sir Harry Fillamour! how glad am I to meet you in a Country, where I have power to repay you all those Friendships I receiv'd when I was a stranger in yours. Monsieur Galllard too! nay, then I'm sure to want no diversion whilst I stay in Rome. [Salutes Galliard.

Fil. But, pray, what made you leave England so soon?

Jul. E'en the great business of Mankind, Matrimony. I have an Uncle here, who has provided me Fetters, which I must put on, he says they will be easy; I lik'd the Character of my Mistress well enough, a brave masculine Lady, a Roman of Quality, Donna Laura Lucretia; till as luck wou'd have it, at my arrival this Evening, stepping into St. Peter's Church, I saw a Woman there that fir'd my heart, and whom I followed to her house: but meeting none that cou'd inform me who she was, I left my Page to make the discovery, whilst I with equal impatience came to look you out; whose sight I prefer even to a new Amour, resolving not to visit home, to which I have been a stranger this seven years, till I had kist your hands, and gained your promise to accompany me to Viterbo.

Fil. Viterbo! is that your place of Residence?

Jul. Yes, 'tis a pretty Town, and many noble Familys inhabit there, stor'd too with Beauties, at least 'twas wont to be: have you not seen it?

Gal. Yes, and a Beauty there too, lately, for his repose, who has made him sigh and look so like an Ass ever since he came to Rome.

Jul. I am glad you have so powerful an Argument, to invite you back; I know she must be rare and of quality, that cou'd engage your heart.

Fil. She's both; it most unluckily fell out, that I was recommended by a Person of Quality in England to a Nobleman at Viterbo, who being a Man of a Temper frank and gallant, received me with less Ceremony than is usual in Italy. I had the freedom of the House, one of the finest Villa's belonging to Viterbo, and the pleasure to see and converse at a distance with one of the loveliest Persons in the World, a Niece of this old Count's.

Jul. Very well, and cou'd you see her but at a distance, Sir?

Fil. Oh, no, 'twas all I durst desire, or she durst give; I came too late to hope; she being before promised in Marriage to a more happy man, the Consummation of which waits only the arrival of a Brother of hers, who is now at the Court of France, and every day expected.

Enter Petro like a Barber.

Gal. Hah! Signior Petro.

Fil. Come, Sir, we'll take a turn i'th' Gallery, for this Pimp never appears, but Francis desires to be in private.

Gal. Thou wrong'st an honest ingenious Fellow, to call him Pimp.

Pet. Ah, Signior, what his Worship pleases!

Gal. That thou art I'll be sworn, or what any man's Worship pleases; for let me tell ye, Harry, he is capacitated to oblige in any quality: for, Sir, he's your brokering Jew, your Fencing, Dancing, and Civility-Master, your Linguist, your Antiquary, your Bravo, your Pathick, Your Whore, your Pimp; and a thousand more Excellencies he has to supply The necessities of the wanting Stranger.—Well, Sirrah—what design now Upon Sir Signal and his wise Governour?—What do you represent now?

Pet. A Barber, Sir.

Gal. And why a Barber, good Signior Petro?

Pet. Oh, Sir, the sooner to take the heights of their Judgments; it gives handsome opportunities to commend their Faces; for if they are pleas'd with flattery, the certain sign of a Fool's to be most tickled when most commended, I conclude 'em the fitter for my purpose; they already put great confidence in me, will have no Masters but of my recommending, all which I supply my self, by the help of my several disguises; by which, and my industry, I doubt not but to pick up a good honest painful livelihood, by cheating these two Reverend Coxcombs.

Gal. How the Devil got'st thou this credit with 'em?

Pet. O, easily, Sir, as Knaves get Estates, or Fools Employments.

Fil. I hope amongst all your good qualities, you forgot not your more natural one of pimping.

Pet. No, I assure you, Sir; I have told Sir Signal Buffoon, that no Man lives here without his Inamorata: which very word has so fir'd him, that he's resolved to have an Inamorata whate'er it cost him; and, as in all things else, I have in that too promised my assistance.

Gal. If you assist him no better than you have done me, he may stay long enough for his Inamorata.

Pet. Why, faith, Sir, I lie at my young Lady night and day; but she is so loth to part with that same Maiden-head of hers yet—but to morrow night, Sir, there's hopes.—

Gal. To morrow night; Oh, 'tis an Age in Love! Desire knows no time but the present, 'tis now I wish, and now I wou'd enjoy: a new Day ought to bring a new Desire.

Pet. Alas, Sir, I'm but an humble Bravo.

Gal. Yes, thou'rt a Pimp, yet want'st the Art to procure a longing Lover the Woman he adores, though but a common Curtezan—Oh, confound her Maiden-head—she understands her Trade too well, to have that badge of Innocence.

Pet. I offered her her Price, Sir.

Gal. Double it, give any thing, for that's the best receipt I ever found to soften Womens hearts.

Pet. Well, Sir, she will be this Evening in the Garden of Medices Villa, there you may get an opportunity to advance your Interest—I must step and trim Mr. Tickletext, and then am at your service. [Exit Petro.

Jul. What is this Knight and his Governour, who have the blessed Fortune to be manag'd by this Squire?

Fil. Certain Fools Galliard makes use of when he has a mind to laugh, and whom I never thought worth a visit since I came to Rome: and he's like to profit much by his Travels, who keeps company with all the English, especially the Fops.

Gal. Faith, Sir, I came not abroad to return with the formality of a Judge; and these are such antidotes against Melancholy as wou'd make thee fond of fooling.—Our Knight's Father is even the first Gentleman of his House, a Fellow, who having the good fortune to be much a Fool and Knave, had the attendant blessing of getting an Estate of some eight thousand a year, with this Coxcomb to inherit it; who (to aggrandize the Name and Family of the Buffoons) was made a Knight; but to refine throughout, and make a compleat Fop, was sent abroad under the Government of one Mr. Tickletext, his zealous Father's Chaplain, as errant a blockhead as a man wou'd wish to hear preach; the Father wisely foreseeing the eminent danger that young Travellers are in of being perverted to Popery.

Jul. 'Twas well considered.

Gal. But for the young Spark, there is no description can reach him; 'tis only to be done by himself; let it suffice, 'tis a pert, saucy, conceited Animal, whom you shall just now go see and admire, for he lodges in the house with us.

Jul. With all my heart, I never long'd more for a new acquaintance.

Fil. And in all probability shall sooner desire to be rid on't.— Allons.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Draws off to a room in Tickletext's lodging, and discovers Mr. Tickletext a trimming, his Hair under a Cap, a Cloth before him: Petro snaps his fingers, takes away the Bason, and goes to wiping his face.

Tickletext and Petro.

Pet. Ah che Bella! Bella! I swear by these sparkling Eyes and these soft plump dimpled Cheeks, there's not a Signiora in all Rome, cou'd she behold 'em, were able to stand their Temptations; and for La Silvianetta, my life on't, she's your own.

Tick. Teze, teze, speak softly; but, honest Barberacho, do I, do I indeed look plump, and young, and fresh and—hah!

Pet. Ay, Sir, as the rosy Morn, young as old Time in his Infancy, and plump as the pale-fac'd Moon.

Tick. He—Why, this Travelling must needs improve a Man—Why, how admirably well-spoken your very Barbers are here—[Aside.]—But, Barberacho, did the young Gentlewoman say she lik'd me? did she, Rogue? did she?

Pet. A doated on you Signior, doated on you.

Tick. Why, and that's strange now, in the Autumn of my Age too, when Nature began to be impertinent, as a Man may say, that a young Lady shou'd fall in love with me—[Aside.] Why, Barberacho, I do not conceive any great matter of Sin only in visiting a Lady that loves a man, hah.

Pet. Sin, Sir! 'tis a frequent thing now-a-days in Persons of your Complexion.

Tick. Especially here at Rome too, where 'tis no scandal.

Pet. Ah, Signior, where the Ladies are privileg'd and Fornication licensed.

Tick. Right! and when 'tis licens'd, 'tis lawful; and when 'tis lawful, it can be no Sin: besides, Barberacho, I may chance to turn her, who knows?

Pet. Turn her, Signior, alas, any way, which way you please.

Tick. He, he, he! There thou wert knavish, I doubt—but I mean convert her—nothing else I profess, Barberacho.

Pet. True, Signior, true, she's a Lady of an easy nature, and an indifferent Argument well handled will do't—ha—here's your head of Hair—here's your natural [combing out his Hair.] Frize! And such an Air it gives the Face!—So, Signior—Now you have the utmost my Art can do. [Takes away the Cloth, and bows.

Tick. Well, Signior,—and where's your Looking-glass?

Pet. My Looking-glass!

Tick. Yes, Signior, your Looking-glass! an English Barber wou'd as soon have forgotten to have snapt his fingers, made his leg, or taken his Money, as have neglected his Looking-glass.

Pet. Ay, Signior, in your Country the Laity have so little Honesty, they are not to be trusted with the taking off your Beard unless you see't done:—but here's a Glass, Sir. [Gives him the Glass.

[Tick. sets himself and smirks in the Glass, Pet. standing behind him, making horns and grimaces, which Tick. sees in the Glass, gravely rises, turns towards Petro.

Tick. Why, how now, Barberacho, what monstrous Faces are you making there?

Pet. All, my Belly, my Belly, Signior: ah, this Wind-Cholick! this Hypocondriack does so torment me! ah—

Tick. Alas, poor Knave; certo, I thought thou hadst been somewhat uncivil with me, I profess I did.

Pet. Who, I, Sir, uncivil?—I abuse my Patrone!—I that have almost made my self a Pimp to serve you?

Tick. Teze, teze, honest Barberacho! no, no, no, all's well, all's well:—but hark ye—you will be discreet and secret in this business now, and above all things conceal the knowledge of this Gentlewoman from Sir Signal and Mr. Galliard.

Pet. The Rack, Signior, the Rack shall not extort it.

Tick. Hold thy Hand—there's somewhat for thee, [Gives him Money.] but shall I, Rogue—shall I see her to night?—

Pet. To night, Sir, meet me in the Piazza D'Hispagnia, about ten a Clock,—I'll meet you there,—but 'tis fit, Signior—that I should provide a Collation,—'tis the custom here, Sir.—

Tick. Well, well, what will it come to?—here's an Angel.—

Pet. Why, Sir, 'twill come to—about—for you wou'd do't handsomely— some twenty Crowns.—

Tick. How, man, twenty Crowns!

Pet. Ay, Signior, thereabouts.

Tick. Twenty Crowns!—Why, 'tis a Sum, a Portion, a Revenue.

Pet. Alas, Signior, 'tis nothing with her,—she'll look it out in an hour,—ah, such an Eye, so sparkling, with an amorous Twire—Then, Sir— she'll kiss it out in a moment,—such a Lip, so red, so round, so plump, so soft, and so—

Tick. Why, has she, has she, Sirrah—hah—here, here, prithee take money, here, and make no words on't—go, go your way, go—But to entertain Sir Signal with other matter, pray send his Masters to him; if thou canst help him to Masters, and me to Mistresses, thou shalt be the good Genius of us both: but see where he comes—

Enter Sir Signal.

Sir Sig. Hah! Signior Illustrissimo Barberacho, let me hug thee, my little Miphistophiloucho—de ye see here, how fine your Brokering Jew has made me, Signior Rabbi Manaseth—Ben—Nebiton, and so forth; hah— view me round— [Turns round.

Tick. I profess 'tis as fit as if it had been made for you.

Sir Sig. Made for me—Why, Sir, he swore to me by the old Law, that 'twas never worn but once, and that but by one High-German Prince—I have forgot his name—for the Devil can never remember a fart these dam'd Hogan-Mogan Titles.

Tick. No matter, Sir.

Sir Sig. Ay, but I shou'd be loth to be in any man's Clothes, were he never so high a German Prince—except I knew his name though.

Tick. Sir, I hold his name unnecessary to be remembred, so long as 'twas a princely Penniworth.—Barberacho, get you gone, and send the Masters. [Ex. Petro.

Sir Sig. Why, how now, Governour? how now, Signior Tickletext! prithee how camest thou so transmogrified, ha? why, thou look'st like any new-fledg'd Cupid.

Tick. Do I? away, you flatter; do I?

Sir Sig. As I hope to breathe, your Face shines through your pouder'd Hairs, like you know what on a Barn-door in a frosty morning.

Tick. What a filthy comparison there for a man of my Coat?

Sir Sig. What, angry—Corpo di me, I meant no harm,—Come, shall's to a Bonaroba, where thou shalt part with thy Pusilage, and that of thy Beard together?

Tick. How mean you, Sir, a Curtezan, and a Romish Curtezan?

Sir Sig. Now my Tutor's up, ha, ha, ha—and ever is when one names a Whore; be pacify'd, Man, be pacify'd, I know thou hat'st 'em worse than Beads or Holy-water.

Tick. Away, you are such another Knight—but leave this naughty discourse, and prepare for your Fencing and Civility-Masters, who are coming.

Sir Sig. Ay, when, Governour, when? Oh, how I long for my Civility-Master, that I may learn to out-complement all the dull Knights and Squires in Kent, with a Servitore Hulichimo—No Signiora Bellissima, base le Mane de vos Signiora scusa mia Illustrissimo, caspeto de Bacco, and so I'll run on, hah, Governour, hah! won't this be pure?

Tick. Notably ingenious, I profess.

Sir Sig. Well, I'll send my Staffiera for him incontinente.—he, Jack—a—Cazo, what a damned English name is Jack? let me see—I will call him Giovanni—which is as much as to say John!—he Giovanni.

Enter Jack.

Tick. Sir, by your favour, his English Protestant Name is John Pepper, and I'll call him by ne'er a Popish Name in Christendom.

Sir Sig. I'll call my own man, Sir, by what name I please, Sir; and let me tell you, Reverend Mr. Tickletext, I scorn to be served by any man whose name has not an Acho or an Oucho, or some Italiano at the end on't—therefore Giovanni Peperacho is the name by which you shall be distinguish'd and dignify'd hereafter.

Tick. Sir Signal, Sir Signal, let me tell you, that to call a man out of his name is unwarrantable, for Peter is call'd Peter, and John John; and I'll not see the poor Fellow wrong'd of his Name for ne'er a Giovanni in Rome.

Sir Sig. Sir, I tell you that one Italian Name is worth any two English Names in Europe, and I'll be judg'd by my Civility-Master.

Tick. Who shall end the dispute if he be of my opinion?

Sir Sig. Multo voluntiero, which is as much as to say, with all my heart.

Jack. But, Sir, my Grandmother wou'd never own me, if I should change the cursen Name she gave me with her own hands, an't please your Worship.

Sir _Sig_. He _Bestia_! I'll have no more of your Worship, Sirrah, that old _English_ Sir Reverence, let me have you call me _Signior Illustrissimo_ or Patrona Mea_—or—

Tick. Ay, that I like well enough now:—but hold, sure this is one of your Masters.

Enter Petro drest like a French Fencing-Master.

Pet. Signior Barberacho has sent me to teach you de Art of Fencing.

Sir Sig. Illustrissimo Signior Monsieur, I am the Person who am to learn.

Tick. Stay, Sir, stay—let me ask him some few questions first: for, Sir, I have play'd at Back-Sword, and cou'd have handled ye a weapon as well as any Man of my time in the University.

Sir Sig. Say you so, Mr. Tickletext? and faith, you shall have a bout with him.

[Tick. gravely goes to Petro.

Tick. Hum—hum—Mr. Monsieur—pray what are the Guards that you like best?

Pet. Monsieur, eder de Quart or de Terse, dey be both French and Italian: den for your Parades, Degagements, your Advancements, your Eloynements and Retierments, dey be de same.

Tick. Cart and Horse, what new-found inventions and words have we here?—Sir, I wou'd know, whether you like St. George's Guard or not.

Pet. Alons—Monsieur, Mettez vous en Guard! take de Flurette.

Sir Sig. Nay, faith and troth, Governor, thou shalt have a Rubbers with him.

[Tick, smiling refuses.

Tick. Nay, certo, Sir Signal,—and yet you shall prevail;—well, Sir, come your ways. [Takes the Flurette.

Pet. Set your right foot forward, turn up your hand so—dat be de Quart—now turn it dus—and dat be de Terse.

Tick. Hocus Pocus, Hicksius Doxius—here be de Cart, and here be de Horse—why, what's all this for; hah, Sir—and where's your Guard all this while?

Sir Sig. Ay, Sir, where's your Guard, Sir, as my Governour says, Sir, hah?

Tick. Come, come, Sir, I must instruct you, I see; Come your ways, Sir.—

Pet. Attende, attende une peu—trust de right hand and de right leg forward together.—

Tick. I marry, Sir, that's a good one indeed: What shall become of my Head then, Sir? what Guard have I left for that, good Mr. Monsieur, hah?

Pet. Ah, Morbleu, is not dis for every ting?

Tick. No, marry, is not it, Sir; St. George's Guard is best for the Head whilst you live—as thus, Sir.

Pet. Dat, Sir, ha, ha—dat be de Guard for de Back-Sword.

Tick. Back-sword, Sir, yes, Back-sword, what shou'd it be else?

Pet. And dis be de Single-Rapier.

Tick. Single-Rapier with a Vengeance, there's a weapon for a Gentleman indeed; is all this stir about Single-Rapier?

Pet. Single-Rapier! What wou'd you have for de Gentlemen, de Cudgel for de Gentlemen?

Tick. No, Sir, but I wou'd have it for de Rascally Frenchman, who comes to abuse Persons of Quality with paltry Single-Rapier.— Single-Rapier! Come, Sir, come—put your self in your Cart and your Horse as you call it, and I'll shew you the difference.

[Undresses himself till he appears in a ridiculous Posture.

Pet. Ah, Monsieur, me sall run you two three times through de Body, and den you break a me head, what care I for dat?—Pox on his ignorance. [Aside.

Tick. Oh, ho, Sir, do your worst, Sir, do your worst, Sir.

[They put themselves into several Guards, and Tick. beats Pet. about the Stage.—Enter Gall. Fill. and Jul.

Pet. Ah, Monsieur, Monsieur, will you kill a me?

Tick. Ah, Monsieur, where be your Carts now, and your Horse, Mr. Monsieur, hah?—and your Single-Rapier, Mr. Monsieur, hah?—

Gal. Why, how now, Mr. Tickletext, what mortal Wars are these? Ajax and Ulysses contending for Achilles his Armour?

Pet. If I be not reveng'd on him, hang me. [Aside

Sir Sig. Ay, why, who the Devil wou'd have taken my Governor for so tall a man of hands? but Corpo de me, Mr. Galliard, I have not seen his Fellow.

Tick. Ah, Sir, time was, I wou'd have play'd ye a Match at Cudgels with e'er a Sophister in the College, but verily I have forgotten it; but here's an Impudent Frenchman that wou'd have past Single-Rapier upon us.

Gal. How, nay a my word, then he deserv'd to be chastis'd for't—but now all's at Peace again; pray know my Kinsman, Sir Harry Fillamour.

Sir Sig. Yo baco les manos, Signior Illustrissimo Cavaliero,—and yours, Signiors, who are Multo bien Venito.

Tick. Oh Lord, Sir, you take me, Sir, in such a posture, Sir, as I protest I have not been in this many years.

[Dressing himself whilst he talks.

Fil. Exercise is good for health, Sir.

Gal. Sir Signal, you are grown a perfect Italian: Well, Mr. Tickletext, you will carry him home a most accomplish't Gentleman I see.

Tick. Hum, verily, Sir, though I say it, for a Man that never travell'd before, I think I have done reasonably well—I'll tell you, Sir—it was by my directions and advice that he brought over with him,—two English Knives, a thousand of English Pins, four pair of Jersey Stockings, and as many pair of Buckskin Gloves.

Sir Sig. Ay, Sir, for good Gloves you know are very scarce Commodities in this Country.

Jul. Here, Sir, at Rome, as you say, above all other places.

Tick. Certo, mere hedging Gloves, Sir, and the clouterlest Seams.

Fil. Very right, Sir,—and now he talks of Rome,—Pray, Sir, give me your opinion of the Place—Are there not noble Buildings here, rare Statues, and admirable Fountains?

Tick. Your Buildings are pretty Buildings, but not comparable to our University Buildings; your Fountains, I confess, are, pretty Springs,— and your Statues reasonably well carv'd—but, Sir, they are so ancient they are of no value: then your Churches are the worst that ever I saw— that ever I saw.

Gal. How, Sir, the Churches, why I thought Rome had been famous throughout all Europe for fine Churches.

Fil. What think you of St. Peter's Church, Sir? Is it not a glorious Structure?

Tick. St. Peter's Church, Sir, you may as well call it St. Peter's Hall, Sir; it has neither Pew, Pulpit, Desk, Steeple, nor Ring of Bells; and call you this a Church, Sir? No, Sir, I'll say that for little England, and a fig for't, for Churches, easy Pulpits, [Sir Sig. speaks, And sleeping Pews,] they are as well ordered as any Churches in Christendom: and finer Rings of Bells, Sir, I am sure were never heard.

Jul. Oh, Sir, there's much in what you say.

Fil. But then, Sir, your rich Altars, and excellent Pictures of the greatest Masters of the World, your delicate Musick and Voices, make some amends for the other wants.

Tick. How, Sir! tell me of your rich Altars, your Guegaws and Trinkets, and Popish Fopperies, with a deal of Sing-song—when I say, give me, Sir, five hundred close Changes rung by a set of good Ringers, and I'll not exchange 'em for all the Anthems in Europe: and for the Pictures, Sir, they are Superstition, idolatrous, and flat Popery.

Fil. I'll convince you of that Error, that persuades you harmless Pictures are idolatrous.

Tick. How, Sir, how, Sir, convince me! talk to me of being convinc'd, and that in favour of Popery! No, Sir, by your favour I shall not be convinc'd: convinc'd, quoth a!—no, Sir, fare you well, an you be for convincing: come away, Sir Signal, fare you well, Sir, fare you well:— convinc'd! [Goes out.

Sir Sig. Ha, ha, ha, so now is my Governour gone in a Fustian-fume: well, he is ever thus when one talks of Whoring and Religion: but come, Sir, walk in, and I'll undertake, my Tutor shall beg your Pardon, and renounce his English ill-bred Opinion; nay, his English Churches too—all but his own Vicaridge.

Fil. I have better diversion, Sir, I thank you—come, Julio, are you for a Walk in the Garden of Medices Villa, 'tis hard by?—

Jul. I'll wait on you— [Ex. Fil. and Julio.

Sir Sig. How in the Garden of Medices Villa?—but, harkye, Galliard, will the Ladies be there, the Curtezans, the Bona Roba's, the Inamorata's, and the Bell Ingrato's, hah?

Gal. Oh, doubtless, Sir. [Exit. Gall.

Sir Sig. I'll e'en bring my Governour thither to beg his Pardon, on purpose to get an opportunity to see the fine Women; it may be I may get a sight of my new Mistress, Donna Silvianetta, whom Petro is to bring me acquainted with.

[Exeunt.



ACT II.

SCENE I. The Gardens of the Villa Medici.

Enter Morosini and Octavio.

Oct. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but swift and sure Revenge, till I have found Marcella, that false deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival Fillamour; who, wanton in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and cries, these Joys were never meant for tame Octavio.

Enter Crapine.

Mar. How now, Crapine! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet, Marcella and Cornelia?

Crap. None, Sir.

Oct. That's wondrous strange, Rome's a place of that general Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion de stato, and present juncture of all affairs in Italy, of a common Curtezan.

Mar. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries, for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.

Oct. My task shall be for Fillamour. [Aside.

Mor. I'll only make a visit to your Sister Donna Laura Lucretia, and deliver her a Letter from my Nephew Julio, and return to you presently.— [Going out, is staid by Octavio.

Oct. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister Laura, she is not yet to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk—

Enter to them, as they are going out, Marcella and Cornelia, drest like Curtezans, Philippa, and Attendance.

Mor. Stay, stay, what Women are these?

Oct. Whores, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin, which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans. [Exeunt.

Mar. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts; And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.

Cor. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs; To whose dull melancholy Musick we, Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves, Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love! —No, I can make better use of famous Ovid. [Snatches a little Book from her. And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees, Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?

Mar. But, prithee, mad Cornelia, let's be grave and wise, at least enough to think a little.

Cor. On what? your English Cavalier Fillamour, of whom you tell so many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining Coxcomb!

Mar. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more.

Cor. Good Lord! what a damnable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to Woman.

Mar. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this Fillamour?

Cor. It may be not at Rome, but at Viterbo, where Men are scarce, you did; and did you follow him to Rome, to tell him you cou'd love no more?

Mar. A too forward Maid, Cornelia, hurts her own Fame, and that of all her Sex.

Cor. Her Sex! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not violate this dozen years: my Sex shou'd excuse me, if to preserve their Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour'd Husband, such as Octavio, before a young handsome Lover, such as you say Fillamour is.

Mar. I wou'd fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,—but the World, Cornelia—

Cor. Hang the malicious World—

Mar. And there's such Charms in Wealth and Honour too.

Cor. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; 'slife, Sister, thou art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou'd lay out upon so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as Octavio, I wou'd turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune.

Mar. That Word too startles me.

Cor. What, Curtezan! why, 'tis a noble Title, and has more Votaries than Religion; there's no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my Sister:—and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put on?

Mar. 'Twas the only Disguise that cou'd secure us from the search of my Uncle and Octavio. Our Brother Julio is by this too arriv'd, and I know they'll all be diligent,—and some Honour I was content to sacrifice to my eternal Repose.

Cor. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance to lose, 'tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are resolv'd we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry; though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation.

Mar. But is't not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not once see Fillamour? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might have oblig'd him to some Curiosity at least.

Cor. Ay! and an English Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new Faces.

Mar. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick Places to meet him! or if he be gone from Rome, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty have employ'd his Thoughts!

Cor. Why; if all these if's and or's come to pass, we have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious Profession, of which now we only seem to be—in which, to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades, the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels, and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been hitherto so covetous of, that Petro swears our Lovers begin to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:—therefore I think, faith, we must e'en be kind a little to redeem our Reputations.

Mar. However we may railly, certainly there's nothing so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man.

Cor. Faith, Sister, if 'twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest— Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony's all gone, and without a Miracle can hold out no longer honestly.

Mar. Then we must sell our Jewels.

Cor. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next?

Mar. Then we must—

Cor. What, go home to Viterbo, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be receiv'd to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable Octavio, and I to St. Teresa's, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a Cage,—for I shall have little heart to sing.—But come, let's leave This sad talk, here's Men—let's walk and gain new Conquest, I love it dearly— [Walk down the Garden.

Enter Gall. Fill, and Jul. see the Women.

Gal. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too—they're Curtezans, let's follow 'em.

Fil. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose, they are not worth regarding.

Gal. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at least good-humour'd, and let's follow them.

Jul. I'll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon.

Fil. Prithee do so: hah, who's that with such an Equipage?

[Exit Julio, Fil. and Gal. going after. Marcella and Cor. meet just entring, Laura with Silvio, Antonio, and her Equipage, drest like a Man.

Gal. Pox, let the Tradesmen ask, who cringe for such gay Customers, and follow us the Women!

[Exit Fil. and Gal. down the Scene, Lau. looking after 'em.

Lau. 'Tis he, my Cavalier, my Conqueror: Antonio, let the Coaches wait,—and stand at distance all: Now, Silvio, on thy Life forget my Sex and Quality, forget my useless name of Laura Lucretia, and call me Count of—

Sil. What, Madam?

Lau. Madam! ah, foolish Boy, thy feminine Courage will betray us all:— but—call me Count—Sans Coeur.—And tell me, Silvio, how is it I appear? How dost thou like my Shape—my Face and Dress? My Mien and Equipage, may I not pass for Man? Looks it en Prince and Masculine?

Sil. Now as I live, you look all over what you wish, and such as will beget a Reverence and Envy in the Men, and Passion in the Women. But what's the Cause of all this Transformation?

Lau. Love! Love! dull Boy, cou'dst thou not guess 'twas Love? that dear Englese I must enjoy, my Silvio.

Sil. What, he that adores the fair young Curtezan?

Lau. That very he; my Window joins to hers, and 'twas with Charms. Which he'ad prepar'd for her, he took this Heart, Which met the welcome Arrows in their flight, And sav'd her from their Dangers. Oft I've return'd the Vows he'as made to her, And sent him pleas'd away; When through the errors of the Night, and distance, He has mistook me for that happy Wanton, And gave me Language of so soft a Power, As ne'er was breath'd in vain to listning Maids.

Sil. But with Permission, Madam, how does this Change of Petticoat for Breeches, and shifting Houses too, advance that Love?

Lau. This Habit, besides many Opportunities 'twill give me of getting into his acquaintance, secures me too from being known by any of my Relations in Rome: then I have changed my House for one so near to that of Silvianetta's, and so like it too, that even you and I have oft mistook the entrance: by which means Love, Fortune or Chance, may with my Industry contrive some kind Mistake that may make me happier than the rest of Womankind.

Sil. But what shall be reserv'd then for Count Julio, whose last Letters promise his Arrival within a Day or two, and whom you're then to marry?

Lau. Reserv'd for him! a Wife! a Wife, my Silvio, That unconcern'd domestick Necessary, Who rarely brings a Heart, or takes it soon away.—

Sil. But then your Brother, Count Octavio, do you not fear his Jealousy?

Lau. Octavio! Oh, Nature has set his Soul and mine at odds, And I can know no Fear but where I love.

Sil. And then that thing which Ladies call their Honour.—

Lau. Honour, that hated Idol, even by those That set it up to worship! No, I have a Soul, my Boy, and that's all Love; And I'll the Talent which Heaven lent improve.

[Going out, meets Marcella and Cornelia follow'd by Gal. and Fil.

Sil. Here be the Curtezans, my Lord.

Lau. Hah, Silvianetta and Euphemia! pursu'd too by my Cavalier! I'll round the Garden, and mix my self amongst 'em. [Exit with Silvio and her Train.

Mar. Prithee, Sister, let's retire into the Grove, to avoid the Pursuit of these Cavaliers.

Cor. Not I, by these killing Eyes! I'll stand my ground were there a thousand, all arm'd with conquering Beauty.

Mar. Hah—now on my Conscience yonder's Fillamour.

Cor. Hah! Fillamour!

Mar. My Courage fails me at the sight of him—I must retire.

Cor. And I'll to my Art of Love.

[Mar. retires, and leans against a Tree, Cor. walks about reading.

Gal. 'Tis she, 'tis Silvianetta: Prithee advance, that thou mayst behold her, and renounce all honest Women; since in that one young Sinner there are Charms that wou'd excuse even to thee all frailty.

Fil. The Forms of Angels cou'd not reconcile me To Women of her Trade.

Gal. This is too happy an Opportunity, to be lost in convincing thy Singularity,—

[Gal. goes bowing by the side of Cornelia. Fil. walks about in the Scene.

—If Creatures so fair and charming as your self, had any need of Prayer, I shou'd believe by your profound Attention you were at your Evening's Devotion.

Cor. That you may find your Mistake in the opinion of my Charms, pray believe I am so, and ought not to be interrupted.

Gal. I hope a Man may have leave to make his Devotions by you, at least without Danger or Offence.

Cor. I know not that, I have reason to fear your Devotion may be ominous; like a blazing Star, it comes but seldom,—but ever threatens mischief—Pray Heaven, I share not in the Calamity.

Gal. Why, I confess, Madam, my Fit of Zeal does not take me often; but when it does, 'tis very harmless and wondrous hearty.—

Cor. You may begin then, I shall not be so wicked as to disturb you Orisons.

Gal. Wou'd I cou'd be well assur'd of that, for mine's Devotion of great Necessity, and the Blessing I pray for infinitely concerns me; therefore in Christian Charity keep down your Eyes, and do not ruin a young Man's good Intentions, unless they wou'd agree to send kind Looks, and save me the expence of Prayer.

Cor. Which wou'd be better laid out, you think, upon some other Blessing.

Gal. Why, faith, 'tis good to have a little Bank upon occasion, though I hope I shall have no great need here-after,—if the charming Silvianetta be but kind, 'tis all I ask of Heaven.

Cor. You're very well acquainted with my Name, I find.

Gal. Your Name! 'tis all I have to live on! Like chearful Birds, 'tis the first Tune I sing, To welcome in the Day: The Groves repeat it, and the Fountains purle it, And every pretty Sound that fills my Ear. Turns all to Silvianetta.

[Fil. looks awhile on Marcella.

Fil. Galliard, look there—look on that lovely Woman; 'tis Marcella, the beautiful Marcella.

[Offers to run to her, Gal. holds him.

Gal. Hold! Marcella! where?

Fil. That Lady there; didst ever see her equal?

Gal. Why, faith, as you say, Harry, that Lady is beautiful—and, make us thankful—kind: why, 'tis Euphemia, Sir, the very Curtezan I wou'd have shew'd you.—

Fil. Forbear, I am not fit for Mirth.

Gal. Nor I in Humour to make you merry; I tell ye—yonder Woman—is a Curtezan.

Fil. Do not profane, nor rob Heaven of a Saint.

Gal. Nor you rob Mankind of such a Blessing, by giving it to Heaven before its time.—I tell thee 'tis a Whore, a fine desirable expensive Whore.

Fil. By Heaven, it cannot be! I'll speak to her, and call her my Marcella, and undeceive thy leud Opinion. [Offers to go, he holds him.

Gal. Do, salute her in good Company for an honest Woman—do, and spoil her Markets:—'twill be a pretty civil spiteful Compliment, and no doubt well taken;—come, I'll convince ye, Sir. [Goes and pulls Philippa. —Harkye, thou kind Help meet for Man—thou gentle Child of Night—what is the Price of a Night or two ot Pleasure with yonder Lady—Euphemia, I mean, that Roman Curtezan—

Fil. Oh, Heavens! a Curtezan!

Phil. Sure you're a great Stranger in Rome, that cannot tell her Price.

Gal. I am so; name it, prithee, here's a young English Purchaser— Come forward, Man, and cheapen for your self— [Pulls him.

Phil. Oh, spare your pains, she wants no Customers.— [Flings away.

Fil. No, no, it cannot, must not be Marcella; She has too much Divinity about her, Not to defend her from all Imputation, Scandal wou'd die to hear her Name pronounc'd.

Phil. Believe me, Madam, he knows you not; I over-heard all he said to that Cavalier, and find he's much in love.

Mar. Not know me, and in love! punish him, Heaven, for his Falshood: but I'll contribute to deceive him on, and ruin him with Perjury.

Fil. I am not yet convinc'd, I'll try her farther. [Goes to her bowing.]—But, Madam, is that heavenly Beauty purchasable? I'll pay a Heart, rich with such Wounds and Flames—

Gal. Not forgetting the Money too, good Lad, or your Wounds and Flames will be of little Use. [Gal. goes to Cornelia.

Mar. He tells you Truth, Sir, we are not like the Ladies of your Country, who tire out their Men with loving upon the square, Heart for Heart, till it becomes as dull as Matrimony: to Women of our Profession there's no Rhetorick like ready Money, nor Billet-deux like Bills of Exchange.

Fil. Oh! that Heaven shou'd make two Persons so resembling, and yet such different Souls. [Looks on her.—'Sdeath, how she darts me through with every Look! But if she speak, she heals the Wound again.

Enter Octavio, with Followers.

Oct. Hah, my Rival Fillamour here! fall on—draw, Sir,—and say, I gave you one Advantage more, and fought thee fairly.

[_Draws on_ Fil. _who fights him out; the Ladies run off_: Gal. _falls on the Followers, with whom whilst he is engaged, enters_ Julio, _draws and assists him, and Laura _at the same time on the other side. Enter_ Petro _drest like a Civility-Master; Sir_ Signal _and Tickletext_: Sir_ Signal _climbs a Tree_, Tick _runs his Head into a Bush, and lies on his Hands and Knees_. Pet. assists_ Gal. _and fights out the Bravoes_. Pet. _re-enters_.

Lau. Hah, my Cavalier engag'd amongst the Slaves!

Pet. My Lady's Lovers! and set upon by Octavio! We must be diligent in our Affairs; Sir Signal, where are ye? Signior Tickletext.—I hope they have not miscarried in the fray.

Sir Sig. Oh, vos Servitor, vos Signiora; miscarried! no, the Fool has Wit enough to keep out of harm's way. [Comes down from the Tree.

Pet. Oh, very discreetly done, Signior.— [Sees Tick, in a bush, pulls him out by the heels.

Sir Sig. Why, how now, Governour, what, afraid of Swords?

Tick. No, Sir, I am not afraid of Swords, but I am afraid of Danger.

Enter Gal. embracing Laura; after 'em, Julio and Fil. Fil. looks about.

Gal. This Bravery, Sir, was wondrous.

Lau. 'Twas only Justice, Sir, you being opprest with odds.

Fil. She's gone, she's gone in Triumph with my Soul.

Jul. What was the matter, Sir? how came this Mischief?

Fil. Oh, easily, Sir; I did but look, and infinitely loved.

Jul. And therefore were you drawn upon, or was it some old Pique?

Fil. I know not, Sir, Oh, tell me not of Quarrels. The Woman, Friend, the Woman has undone me.

Gal. Oh, a blessed Hearing! I'm glad of the Reformation: Sir, you were so squeamish, forsooth, that a Whore wou'd not down with ye; no, 'twou'd spoil your Reputation.—

Fil. A Whore! wou'd I cou'd be convinc'd she were so; 'twou'd call my Virtue home, and make me Man again.

Gal. Thou ly'st—thou'rt as weak a Brother as the best of us, and believe me, Harry, these sort of Damsels are like Witches, if they once get hold of a Man, he's their own till the Charm be ended; you guess what that is, Sir?

Fil. Oh, Frank, hadst thou then felt how tenderly she prest my Hand in hers, as if she wou'd have kept it there for ever, it wou'd have made thee mad, stark mad in Love!—and nothing but Marcella cou'd have charm'd me. [Aside.

Gal. Ay, Gad, I'll warrant thee,—well, thou shalt this Night enjoy her.

Fil. How?

Gal. How! why, faith, Harry, e'en the old way, I know no other. Why, thou shalt lie with her, Man; come, let's to her.

_Fil_. Away, let's follow her instantly. [_Going out is stopt by Sir_ Signal_.

Enter Sir Sig. Tick. Petro.

Sir Sig. Signior, I have brought Mr. Tickletext to beg your Pardon— Sir.

Fil. I've other business, Sir. [Goes out.

Gal. Come, let's follow him; and you, my generous Cavalier, must give me leave to beg the Honour of your Friendship.

Lau. My Inclinations, Sir, have given you more—pray let me wait on you to your Lodgings, lest a farther Insolence shou'd be offer'd you.

Gal. Sir, you oblige too fast. [They go out.

Sir Sig. Ah, che Diavilo Ayles, these hot-brain'd fellows, sure, they're drunk.

Pet. Oh, fy, Signior, drunk, for a Man of Quality—'tis intolerable.

Sir Sig. Ay: why how so, Signior Morigoroso?

Pet. Imbriaco had made it a fine Speech indeed.

Sir Sig. Why, faith, and so it had, as thus,—ach Diavilo Ayles, these are hot-brain'd Fellows, sure they are imbriaco,—Now, wou'd not I be drunk for a thousand Crowns: Imbriaco sounds Cinquante per cent better.—Come, noble Signior, let's andiamo a casa, which is as much as to say, let's amble home.—

Tick. In troth, wondrous expert—Certo, Signior, he's an apt Scholar.

Sir Sig. Ah, Sir, you shall see, when I come to my Civilities.—

Pet. Where the first Lesson you shall learn, is, how to give and how to receive with a Bon-Grace.

Tick. That receiving Lesson I will learn my self.

Pet. This unfrequented part of the Garden, Signior, will fit our purpose as well as your Lodgings.—first then—Signiors, your Address. [Puts himself in the middle. [Petro bows on both sides, they do the like. —Very well, that's at the Approach of any Person of Quality, after which you must take out your Snuff-Box.

Sir Sig. Snuff-Box; why, we take no Snuff, Signior.

Pet. Then, Sir, by all means you must learn: for besides the Mode and Gravity of it, it inviveates the Pericranium; that is, sapientates the Brain,—that is, inspires Wit, Thought, Invention, Understanding, and the like—you conceive me, Signiors— [Bowing.

Sir Sig. Most profoundly, Signior.— [Bowing.

Pet.—Then, Signiors, it keeps you in confidence, and Countenance; and whilst you gravely seem to take a snush, you gain time to answer to the purpose, and in a politick Posture—as thus—to any intricate Question.

Tick. Hum—certo, I like that well; and 'twere admirable if a Man were allow'd to take it when he's out in's Sermon.

Pet. Doubtless, Signior, you might, it helps the Memory better than Rosemary: therefore I have brought each of you a Snuff-Box.

Sir Sig. By no means: excuse me Signior. [Refuses to take 'em.

Pet. Ah, Baggatelles, Signior, Baggatelles; and now, Signiors, I'll teach you how to take it with a handsom Grace: Signior, your Hand—and yours, Signior; [Lays Snuff on their hands. —so, now draw your hand to and fro under your Noses, and snuff it hard up—Excellent well.

[They daub all their Noses, and make Grimaces, and sneeze.

Sir Sig. Methinks, Signior, this Snuff stinks most damnably: pray, what scent do you call this?

Pet. Cackamarda Orangate, a rare Perfume I'll assure ye, Sir.

Sir Sig. Cackamarda Orangate; and 'twere not for the Name of Cackamarda, and so forth, a Man had as good have a Sir-reverence at his Nose.

[Sneezes often, he crys bonprovache.

Pet. Bonprovache—Signior, you do not understand it yet, bonprovache.

Sir Sig. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to endure this same Cackamarda; why Assafetida is odoriferous to it. [Sneezing.

Pet. 'Tis your right Dulce Piquante, believe me:—but come, Signiors, wipe your Noses, and proceed to your giving Lesson.

Sir Sig. As how, Signior?

Pet. Why—present me with something—that—Diamond on your Finger, to shew the manner of giving handsomly. [Sir Sig. gives it him. —Oh, fie, Signior—between your Finger and Thumb—thus—with your other Fingers at a distance—with a speech, and a bow.—

Sir Sig. Illustrissimo Signior, the manifold Obligations.

Pet. Now a fine turn of your hand—thus—Oh, that sets off the Present, and makes it sparkle in the Eyes of the Receiver.— [Sir Sig. turns his hand.

Sir Sig. Which you have heap'd upon me,—

Pet. There flourish again. [He flourishes.

Sir Sig. Oblige me to beg your acceptance of this small Present, which will receive a double Lustre from your fair Hand. [Gives it him.

Pet. Now kiss your fingers ends, and retire back with a bow.

Tick. Most admirably perform'd.

Sir Sig. Nay, Sir, I have Docity in me, though I say't: Come, Governor, let's see how you can out-do me in the Art of presenting.

Tick. Well, Sir, come; your Snuff-Box will serve instead of my Ring, will it not?

Pet. By no means, Sir, there is such a certain Relation between a Finger and a Ring, that no Present becomes either the giving or the receiving Hand half so well.

Sir Sig. Why, 'twill be restor'd again, 'tis but to practise by.

Pet. Ay, Signior, the next thing you are to learn is to receive.

Tick. Most worthy Signior, I have so exhausted the Cornucopia of your Favours, [Flourishes.]—and tasted so plenteously of the fulness of your bounteous Liberality, that to retaliate with this small Gem—is but to offer a Spark, where I have received a Beam of superabundant Sunshine. [Gives it.

Sir Sig. Most rhetorically perform'd, as I hope to breathe; Tropes and Figures all over.

Tick. Oh Lord, Sir Signal.

Pet. Excellent—Now let's see if you can refuse as civilly as you gave, which is by an obstinate denial; stand both together—Illustrious Signiors, upon my Honour my little Merit has not intitled me to the Glory of so splendid an Offering; Trophies worthy to be laid only at your Magnanimous Feet.

Sir Sig. Ah, Signior, no, no.

Pet. Signior Tickletext.

[He offers, they refuse going backward.

Tick. Nay, certo, Signior.

Pet. With what confidence can I receive so rich a Present? Signior Tickletext, ah—Signior—

Sir Sig. I vow, Signior—I'm ashamed you shou'd offer it.

Tick. In verity, so am I. [Still going back, he follows.]

Pet. Pardio! Baccus, most incomparable.—

Tick. But when, Signior, are we to learn to receive again?—

Pet. Oh, Sir, that's always a Lesson of it self:—but now, Signiors, I'll teach you how to act a story.

Sir Sig. How, how, Signior, to act a story?

Pet. Ay, Sir, no matter for words or sense, so the Body perform its part well.

Sir Sig. How, tell a story without words! why, this were an excellent device for Mr. Tickletext, when he's to hold forth to the Congregation, and has lost his Sermon-Notes—why, this is wonderful.—

Pet. Oh, Sir, I have taught it Men born deaf [Gets between 'em: Makes a sign of being fat; galloping about the Stage.] and blind:—look ye, stand close together, and observe—closer yet:—a certain Eclejastico, Plump and Rich—Riding along the Road, meets a Paver strapiao,—un Pavaro strapiao, Paure strapiao:—strapiao—strapiao— strapiao [Puts himself into the Posture of a lean Beggar; his hands right down by his sides,—and picks both their Pockets.] Elemosuna per un Paure strapiao, par a Moure de Dievos—at last he begs a Julio—Neinte [makes the fat Bishop.] the Paure strapiao begs a Mezo Julio— [lean] Neinte [fat]—une bacio—[lean]—Neinte— [fat]—at last he begs his Blessing—and see how willingly the Ecclesiastico gave his Benediction. [Opening his Arms, hits them both in the face.]—Scusa, scusa mea, Patronas— [Begs their pardon.]

Sir Sig. Yes, very willingly, which by the way he had never done had it been worth a farthing.

Tick. Marry, I wou'd he had been a little sparing of that too at this time—[sneezes] a shame on't, it has stir'd this same Cackamarda again most foully.

Pet. Your pardon, Signior;—but come, Sir Signal,—let's see how you will make this silent relation—Come, stand between us two—

Sir Sig. Nay, let me alone for a memory—come.

Pet. I think I have reveng'd my Backsword-beating. [Goes off.]

Sir Sig. Un paureo strapado—plump and rich, no, no, the Ecclesiastico meet un paureo strapado—and begs a Julio.

Tick. Oh, no, Sir, the strapado begs the Julio.

Sir Sig. Ay, ay, and the Ecclesastico crys Niente—[snaps his nail.] un meze Julio!—Niente—un Bacio, Niente: your Blessing then, Signior Ecclesastico. [Spreads out his Arms to give his blessing—and hits Tick.]

Tick. Adds me, you are all a little too liberal of this same Benediction.

Sir Sig. Hah—but where's Signior Morigoroso? what, is he gone?—but now I think on't, 'tis a point of good manners to go without taking leave.

Tick. It may be so, but I wish I had my Ring again, I do not like the giving Lesson without the taking one; why this is picking a Man's pocket, certo.

Sir Sig. Not so, Governour, for then I had had a considerable loss: Look ye here,—how—how [feeling in his Pocket.] how—[in another] how—gone? gone as I live, my Money, Governour; all the Gold Barberacho receiv'd of my Merchant to day—all gone.—

Tick. Hah—and mine—all my stock, the Money which I thought to have made a present to the Gentlewoman, Barberacho was to bring me to— [Aside.]—Undone, undone—Villains, Cutpurses—Cheats, oh, run after him.

Sir Sig. A Pox of all silent stories; Rogue, Thief—undone.—

[Exeunt.



ACT III.

SCENE I. The Corso.

Enter Julio and his Page.

Jul. How, the Lady whom I followed from St. Peter's Church, a Curtezan?

Pag. A Curtezan, my Lord, fair as the Morning, and as young.

Jul. I know she's fair and young; but is she to be had, Boy?

Pag. My Lord, she is—her Footman told me she was a Zittella.

Jul. How, a Zittella!—a Virgin, 'tis impossible.

Pag. I cannot swear it, Sir, but so he told me; he said she had a World of Lovers: Her name is Silvianetta, Sir, and her Lodgings—

Jul. I know't, are on the Corso; a Curtezan? and a Zittella too? a pretty contradiction; but I'll bate her the last, so I might enjoy her as the first: whate'er the price be, I'm resolv'd upon the adventure; and will this minute prepare my self. [Going off, Enter Mor. and Octa.]— hah, does the Light deceive me, or is that indeed my Uncle, in earnest conference with a Cavalier?—'tis he—I'll step aside till he's past, lest he hinders this Night's diversion. [Goes aside.

Mor. I say 'twas rashly done, to fight him unexamin'd.

Oct. I need not ask; my Reason has inform'd me, and I'm convinc'd, where-e'er he has concealed her, that she is fled with Fillamour.

Jul. Who is't they speak of?

Mor. Well, well, sure my Ancestors committed some horrid crime against Nature, that she sent this Pest of Woman-kind into our Family,—two Nieces for my share;—by Heaven, a Proportion sufficient to undo six Generations.

Jul. Hah? two Nieces, what of them? [Aside.

Mor. I am like to give a blessed account of 'em to their Brother Julio my Nephew, at his return; there's a new plague now:—but my comfort is, I shall be mad, and there's an end on't. [Weeps.

Jul. My Curiosity must be satisfied,—have patience, Noble Sir.—

Mor. Patience is a flatterer, Sir,—and an Ass, Sir; and I'll have none on't—hah, what art thou?

Jul. Has five or six Years made ye lose the remembrance of your Nephew—Julio?

Mor. Julio! I wou'd I had met thee going to thy Grave. [Weeps.

Jul. Why so, Sir?

Mor. Your Sisters, Sir, your Sisters are both gone.— [Weeps.

Jul. How gone, Sir?

Mor. Run away, Sir, flown, Sir.

Jul. Heavens! which way?

Mor. Nay, who can tell the ways of fickle Women—in short, Sir, your Sister Marcella was to have been married to this noble Gentleman,—nay, was contracted to him, fairly contracted in my own Chappel; but no sooner was his back turn'd, but in a pernicious Moon-light Night she shews me a fair pair of heels, with the young Baggage, your other Sister Cornelia, who was just come from the Monastery where I bred her, to see her Sister married.

Jul. A curse upon the Sex! why must Man's Honour Depend upon their Frailty? —Come—give me but any light which way they went, And I will trace 'em with that careful Vengeance—

Oct. Spoke like a Man, that understands his Honour; And I can guess how we may find the Fugitives.

Jul. Oh, name it quickly, Sir!

Oct. There was a young Cavalier—some time at Viterbo, Who I confess had Charms, Heaven has denied to me, That Trifle, Beauty, which was made to please Vain foolish Woman, which the brave and wise Want leisure to design.—

Jul. And what of him?

Oct. This fine gay thing came in your Sister's way, And made that Conquest Nature meant such Fools for: And, Sir, she's fled with him.

Jul. Oh, show me the Man, the daring hardy Villain, Bring me but in the view of my Revenge,—and if I fail to take it, Brand me with everlasting Infamy.

Oct. That we must leave to Fortune, and our Industry. —Come, Sir, let's walk and think best what to do,—

[Going down the Scene, Enter Fil. and Gal.

Fil. Is not that Julio? Boy, run and call him back. [Ex. Boy, re-enters with Jul.

Jul. Oh, Fillamour, I have heard such killing news Since last I left thee—

Fil. What, prithee?

Jul. I had a Sister, Friend—dear as my Life, And bred with all the Virtues of her Sex; No Vestals at the Holy Fire employ'd themselves In innocenter business than this Virgin; Till Love, the fatal Fever of her Heart, Betray'd her harmless Hours; And just upon the point of being married, The Thief stole in, and rob'd us of this Treasure: She'as left her Husband, Parents, and her Honour, And's fled with the base Ruiner of her Virtue.

Fil. And lives the Villain durst affront ye thus?

Jul. He does.

Gal. Where, in what distant World?

Jul. I know not.

Fil. What is he call'd?

Jul. I know not neither,—some God direct me to the Ravisher! And if he scape my Rage, May Cowards point me out for one of their tame Herd.

Fil. In all your Quarrels I must join my Sword.

Gal. And if you want,—here's another, Sir, that, though it be not often drawn in anger, nor cares to be, shall not be idle in good company.

Jul. I thank you both; and if I have occasion, will borrow their assistance; but I must leave you for a minute, I'll wait on you anon.— [They all three walk as down the street, talking.

Enter Laura, with Silvio and her Equipage.

Lau. Beyond my wish, I'm got into his Friendship: But Oh, how distant Friendship is from Love, That's all bestow'd on the fair Prostitute! —Ah, Silvio, when he took me in his Arms, Pressing my willing Bosom to his Breast, Kissing my Cheek, calling me lovely Youth, And wond'ring how such Beauty, and such Bravery, Met in a Man so young! Ah, then, my Boy, Then in that happy minute, How near was I to telling all my Soul! My Blushes and my Sighs were all prepar'd; My Eyes cast down, my trembling Lips just parting.— But still as I was ready to begin, He cries out Silvianetta! And to prevent mine, tells me all his Love. —But see—he's here.—

[Fill. and Gal. coming up the Scene.

Gal. Come, lay by all sullen Unresolves: for now the hour of the Berjere approaches, Night that was made for Lovers.—Hah! my Dear Sans-Coeur? my Life! my Soul! my Joy! Thou art of my opinion!

Lau. I'm sure I am, whate'er it be.

Gal. Why, my Friend here, and I, have sent and paid our Fine for a small Tenement of Pleasure, and I'm for taking present possession;—but hold—if you shou'd be a Rival after all.—

Lau. Not in your Silvianetta! my Love has a nice Appetite, And must be fed with high uncommon Delicates. I have a Mistress, Sir, of Quality; Fair, as Imagination paints young Angels; Wanton and gay, as was the first Corinna, That charm'd our best of Poets; Young as the Spring, and chearful as the Birds That welcome in the Day; Witty, as Fancy makes the Revelling Gods, And equally as bounteous when she blesses.

Gal. Ah, for a fine young Whore with all these Charms! but that same Quality allays the Joy: there's such a damn'd ado with the Obligation, that half the Pleasure's lost in Ceremony. —Here for a thousand Crowns I reign alone, Revel all day in Love without controul. —But come to our business, I have given order for Musick, Dark Lanthorns, and Pistols.

[This while Fil., stands studying.

Fil. Death, if it shou'd not be Marcella now! [Pausing aside.

Gal. Prithee no more considering,—resolve, and let's about it.

Fil. I wou'd not tempt my Heart again! for Love, What e'er it may be in another's Breast, In mine 'twill turn to a religious Fire; And so to burn for her, a common Mistress, Wou'd be an Infamy below her Practice.

Gal. Oh, if that be all, doubt not, Harry, but an Hour's Conversation with Euphemia will convert it to as leud a flame, as a Man wou'd wish.

Lau. What a coil's here about a Curtezan! what ado to persuade a Man to a Blessing all Rome is languishing for in vain!—Come, Sir, we must deal with him, as Physicians do with peevish Children, force him to take what will cure him.

Fil. And like those damn'd Physicians, kill me for want of method: no, I know my own Distemper best, and your Applications will make me mad.

Gal. Pox on't, that one cannot love a Woman like a Man, but one must love like an Ass.

Lau. S'heart, I'll be bound to lie with all the Women in Rome, with less ado than you are brought to one.

_Gal_. Hear ye that, _Henry_? s'death, art not asham'd to be instructed by one so young!—But see—the Star there appears,—the Star that conducts thee to the Shore of Bliss,—She comes! let's feel thy [Marcella _and_ Cornelia _above_ with_ Philippa.] Heart, she comes! So breaks the Day on the glad Eastern Hills, Or the bright God of Rays from _Thetis'_ Lap: A Rapture, now, dear Lad, and then fall to; for thou art old Dog at a long Grace.

Fil. Now I'm mere Man again, with all his Frailties— [Aside. —Bright lovely Creature!—

Gal. Damn it, how like my Lady's eldest Son was that?

Fil. May I hope my Sacrifice may be accepted by you; by Heaven, it must be she! still she appears more like.— [Aside.

Mar. I've only time to tell you Night approaches, And then I will expect you.

Enter Crapine, gazes on the Ladies.

Crap. 'Tis she, Donna Marcella, on my life, with the young wild Cornelia!—hah—yonder's the English Cavalier too; nay then, by this Hand I'll be paid for all my fruitless jaunts, for this good news—stay, let me mark the House.—

Mar. Now to my Disguise. [Ex. Marcella.

Gal. And have you no kind message to send to my Heart? cannot this good Example instruct you how to make me happy?

Cor. Faith, Stranger, I must consider first; she's skilful in the Merchandize of Hearts, and has dealt in Love with so good success hitherto, she may lose one Venture, and never miss it in her Stock: but this is my first, and shou'd it prove to be a bad bargain, I were undone for ever.

Gal. I dare secure the Goods sound—

Cor. And I believe will not lie long upon my hands.

Gal. Faith, that's according as you'll dispose on't, Madam—for let me tell you—gad, a good handsome proper Fellow is as staple a Commodity as any's in the Nation;—but I wou'd be reserv'd for your own use. Faith, take a Sample to night, and as you like it, the whole Piece; and that's fair and honest dealing I think, or the Devil's in't.

Cor. Ah, Stranger,—you have been so over-liberal for those same Samples of yours, that I doubt they have spoiled the sale of the rest; Cou'd you not afford, think ye, to throw in a little Love and Constancy, to inch out that want of Honesty of yours?

Gal. Love! oh, in abundance! By those dear Eyes, by that soft smiling Mouth, By every secret Grace thou hast about thee, I love thee with a vigorous, eager Passion; —Be kind, dear Silvianetta—prithee do, Say you believe, and make me blest to Night.

Crap. Silvianetta! so, that's the Name she has rifl'd for Cornelia, I perceive. [Aside.

Cor. If I shou'd be so kind-hearted, what good use wou'd you make of so obliging an Opportunity?

Gal. That which the happy Night was first ordain'd for.

Cor. Well, Signior, 'tis coming on, and then I'll try what Courage the Darkness will inspire me with:—till then—farewell.—

Gal. Till then a thousand times adieu.— [Blowing up kisses to her.

Phil. Ah, Madam, we're undone,—yonder's Crapine, your Uncle's Valet.

Cor. Now a Curse on him; shall we not have one night with our Cavaliers?—let's retire, and continue to out-wit him, or never more pretend to't. Adieu, Signior Cavalier—remember Night.—

Gal. Or may I lose my Sense to all Eternity.

[Kisses his fingers and bows, she returns it for a while. Exit. Crap.

Lau. Gods, that all this that looks at least like Love, Shou'd be dispens'd to one insensible! Whilst every syllable of that dear Value, Whisper'd to me, wou'd make my Soul all Extasy. [Aside. —Oh, spare that Treasure for a grateful Purchase; And buy that common Ware with trading Gold, Love is too rich a Price!—I shall betray my self.—[Aside.

Gal. Away, that's an heretical Opinion, and which This certain Reason must convince thee of; That Love is Love, wherever Beauty is, Nor can the Name of Whore make Beauty less.

Enter Marcella like a Man, with a Cloke about her.

Mar. Signior, is your Name Fillamour?

Fil. It is, what wou'd you, Sir?—

Mar_. I have a Letter for you—from _Viterbo_, and your _Marcella_, Sir. [_Gives it him_.

Fil. Hah—Viterbo! and Marcella! It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress, That met me in the way to Happiness, With some new long'd-for Beauty! [Opens it, reads.

Mar. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.— [Aside.

Fil. What is't that checks the Joy, that shou'd surprize me at the receipt of this.

Gal. How now! what's the cold fit coming on? [Pauses.

Fil. I have no power to go—where this—invites me— By which I prove 'tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart, But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes— Whose Rays I find more piercing than Marcella's.

Gal.—Ay, Gad, a thousand times—prithee, what's the matter?

Mar. Oh, this false-souled Man—wou'd I had leisure To be reveng'd for this Inconstancy! [Aside.

Fil.—But still she wants that Virtue I admire.

Gal. Virtue! 'S'death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string that makes no Musick.—What Letter's that? [Reads.] If the first Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm'd to night with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will receive—hah, Marcella!—Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!—Well, I see the Devil's never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv'd upon any Goodness! S'death, what a rub's here in a fair cast,—how is't man? Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works.

Fil. But I have sworn, sworn that I lov'd Marcella; And Honour, Friend, obliges me to go, Take her away and marry her. —And I conjure thee to assist me too.

Gal. What, to night, this might, that I have given to Silvianetta! and you have promis'd to the fair—Euphemia!

Lau. If he shou'd go, he ruins my design, [Aside. —Nay, if your word, Sir—be already past—

Fil. 'Tis true, I gave my promise to Euphemia; but that, to Women of her Trade, is easily absolv'd.

Gal. Men keep not Oaths for the sakes of the wise Magistrates to whom they are made, but their own Honour, Harry.—And is't not much a greater crime to rob a gallant, hospitable Man of his Niece, who has treated you with Confidence and Friendship, than to keep touch with a well-meaning Whore, my conscientious Friend?

Lau. Infinite degrees, Sir.

Gal. Besides, thou'st an hour or two good, between this and the time requir'd to meet Marcella.

Lau. Which an industrious Lover would manage to the best advantage.

Gal. That were not given over to Virtue and Constancy; two the best excuses I know for Idleness.

Fil.—Yes—I may see this Woman.

Gal. Why, Gad-a-mercy, Lad.

Fil.—And break my Chains, if possible.

Gal. Thou wilt give a good essay to that I'll warrant thee, Before she part with thee; come let's about it.

[They are going out on either side of Fil. persuading him.

Mar. He's gone, the Curtezan has got the day, [Aside. Vice has the start of Virtue every way; And for one Blessing honest Wives obtain, The happier Mistress does a thousand gain. I'll home—and practise all their Art to prove, That nothing is so cheaply gain'd as Love. [Exit.

Gal. Stay, what Farce is this—prithee let's see a little. [Offering to go.

[Enter Sir Signal, Mr. Tickletext, with his Cloke ty'd about him, a great Inkhorn ty'd at his Girdle and a great folio under his Arm, Petro drest like an Antiquary.

—How now, Mr. Tickletext, what, drest as if you were going a Pilgrimage to Jerusalem?

Tick. I make no such profane Journeys, Sir.

Gal. But where have you been, Mr. Tickletext?

Sir Sig. Why, Sir, this most Reverend and Renowned Antiquary has been showing us Monumental Rarities and Antiquities.

Gal. 'Tis Petro, that Rogue.

Fil. But what Folio have you gotten there, Sir, Knox, or Cartwright?

Pet. Nay, if he be got into that heap of Nonsense, I'll steal off and undress. [Aside.] [Ex. Petro.

[Tick, opening the Book.

Tick. A small Volume, Sir, into which I transcribe the most memorable and remarkable Transactions of the Day.

Lau. That doubtless must be worth seeing.

Fil. [Reads.]—April the twentieth, arose a very great Storm of Wind, Thunder, Lightning and Rain,—which was a shrewd sign of foul Weather. The 22th 9 of our 12 Chickens getting loose, flew overboard, the other three miraculously escaping, by being eaten by me that Morning for Breakfast.

Sir Sig. Harkye, Galliard—thou art my Friend, and 'tis not like a Man of Honour to conceal any thing from one's Friend,—know then I am The most fortunate Rascal that ever broke bread,—I am this night to visit, Sirrah,—the finest, the most delicious young Harlot, Mum—under the Rose—in all Rome, of Barberacho's acquaintance.

Gal.—Hah—my Woman, on my Life! and will she be kind?

Sir Sig. Kind! hang Kindness, Man, I'm resolv'd upon Conquest by Parly or by Force.

Gal. Spoke like a Roman of the first Race, when noble Rapes, not whining Courtship, did the Lover's business.

Sir Sig. 'Sha, Rapes, Man! I mean by force of Money, pure dint of Gold, faith and troth: for I have given 500 Crowns entrance already, & Par Dins Bacchus, 'tis tropo Caro—tropo Caro, Mr. Galliard.

Gal. And what's this high-priz'd Lady's Name, Sir?

Sir Sig. La Silvianetta,—and lodges on the Corso, not far from St. James's of the Incurables—very well situated in case of disaster—hah.

Gal. Very well,—and did not your wise Worship know this Silvianetta was my Mistress?

Sir Sig. How! his Mistress! what a damn'd Noddy was I to name her! [Aside.

Gal. D'ye hear, fool! renounce me this Woman instantly, or I'll first discover it to your Governour, and then cut your throat, Sir.

Sir Sig. Oh, Doux Ment—dear Galliard—Renounce her,—Corpo de mi, that I will soul and body, if she belong to thee, Man.—

Gal. No more; look to't—look you forget her Name—or but to think of her—farewel— [Nods at him.

Sir Sig. Farewell, quoth ye—'tis well I had the Art of dissembling after all, here had been a sweet broil upon the Coast else.—

Fil. Very well, I'll trouble my self to read no more, since I know you'l be so kind to the world to make it publick.

Tick. At my return, Sir, for the good of the Nation, I will print it, and I think it will deserve it.

Lau. This is a precious Rogue, to make a Tutor of.

Fil. Yet these Mooncalfs dare pretend to the breeding of our Youth; and the time will come, I fear, when none shall be reputed to travel like a Man of Quality, who has not the advantage of being impos'd upon by one of these pedantick Novices, who instructs the young Heir in what himself is most profoundly ignorant of.