[Exeunt.

Isab. So, so, disguise it how you will, I know you are a real Lover; And that secret shall advance my Love-design. Yes, Madam, now I will be serv'd by you, Or you shall fail to find a Friend of me. [Ex. Isab.

SCENE III. The Street.

Enter Lorenzo drunk, with a Page, and Musick, as in the dark.

Lor. Here's the Door, begin and play your best, But let them be soft low Notes, do you hear? [They play.

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Musick at my Lodgings! it is Alberto; Oh, how I love him for't—if Clarina stand his Courtship, I am made; I languish between Hope and Fear.

Lor. Stay, Friend, I hear somebody. [Musick ceases.

Pag. 'Tis nobody, Sir.

Enter Isabella.

Isab. 'Tis Lorenzo, and my Plot's ripe; [Aside. [Lorenzo being retir'd the while a little further.

'Twill not sure be hard to get him, under pretence Of seeing Clarina, into my Chamber, And then I'll order him at my pleasure; Ismena is on my side, for I know all her Secrets, And she must wink at mine therefore. [She retires.

Lor. Thou art in the right, Boy, I think indeed 'twas nothing. [Plays again.

Enter Alberto.

Alb. She yields, bad Woman! Why so easily won? By me too, who am thy Husband's Friend: Oh dangerous Boldness! unconsidering Woman! I lov'd thee, whilst I thought thou couldst not yield; But now that Easiness has undone thy Interest in my Heart, I'll back, and tell thee that it was to try thee.

Lor. No, no, 'twas my Fears, away with the Song, I'll take it on your word that 'tis fit for my purpose.

Fid. I'll warrant you, my Lord.

SONG.

_In vain I have labour'd the Victor to prove Of a Heart that can ne'er give attendance to Love; So hard to be done. That nothing so young Could e'er have resisted a Passion so long.

Yet nothing I left unattempted or said, That might soften the Heart of this pitiless Maid; But still she was shy, And would blushing deny, Whilst her willinger Eyes gave her Language the lye.

Since, _Phillis_, my Passion you vow to despise, Withdraw the false Hopes from your flattering Eyes: For whilst they inspire A resistless vain Fire, We shall grow to abhor, what we now do admire._ [Ex. _Musick_.

Alb. What's this, and at Clarina's Lodgings too? Sure 'tis Antonio, impatient of delay, Gives her a Serenade for me.

Enter Isabella.

Isab. 'Tis the Fool himself— My Lord, where are you?

Alb. How! a Woman's Voice! 'tis dark, I'll advance.

Lor. Thou Simpleton, I told thee there was somebody.

Pag. Lord, Sir, 'tis only Isabella that calls you.

Lor. Away, Sirrah, I find by my fears 'tis no Woman. [Goes out with the Page.

Isab. Why don't you come? here's nobody.

Alb. Here I am.

Isab. Where?

Alb. Here. [Gives her his Hand.

Isab. My Lord, you may venture, Clarina will be Alone within this Hour, where you shall entertain Her at your freedom: but you must stay awhile in my Chamber till my Lord's a bed; For none but I must know of the favour she designs you.

Alb. Oh Gods! what Language do I hear— False and Perfidious Woman, I might have thought, Since thou wert gain'd so easily by me, Thou wouldst with equal haste yield to another.

Isab. It is not Lorenzo, what shall I do? [She steals in.

Enter Lorenzo and Page.

Lor. A Pox of all damn'd cowardly fear! Now did I think I had drunk Nature up to Resolution: I have heard of those that could have dar'd in their Drink; But I find, drunk or sober, 'tis all one in me.

Alb. The Traitor's here, Whom I will kill whoe'er he be.

Lor. Boy, go see for Isabella.

Pag. I see a Man should not be a Coward and a Lover At once—Isabella, Isabella, she's gone, Sir. [Calls.

Alb. Yes, Villain, she's gone, and in her room Is one that will chastise thy Boldness.

Lor. That's a proud word though, whoe'er thou be; But how I shall avoid it, is past my Understanding.

Alb. Where art thou, Slave? [Alberto gropes for him, he avoids him.

Pag. Take heart, Sir, here's company which I will Get to assist you—

Enter Antonio.

Sir, as you are a Gentleman, assist a stranger set upon by Thieves. [They fight, Antonio with Alberto, Alberto falls, is wounded. Lor. and Page run away the while.

Alb. Whoe'er thou be'st that takes the Traitor's part, Commend me to the wrong'd Antonio.

Ant. Alberto! dear Alberto, is it thee?

Alb. Antonio!

Ant. I am asham'd to say I am Antonio; Oh Gods, why would you suffer this mistake?

Alb. I am not wounded much, My greatest pain is my concern for thee; Friend, thou art wrong'd, falsely and basely wrong'd; Clarina, whom you lov'd and fear'd, Has now betray'd thy Honour with her own.

Ant. Without that sad addition to my Grief, I should not long have born the weight of Life, Having destroy'd thine by a dire mistake.

Alb. Thou art deceiv'd.

Ant. Alas, why was it not permitted me To lose my Friend, or Wife? had one surviv'd, I might have dy'd in silence for the other; Oh my Alberto! oh Clarina too!— [Weeps.

Alb. Come, do not grieve for me, I shall be well, I yet find strength enough to get away; And then I'll let thee know my Fate and thine.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Antonio's House.

Enter Clarina, Ismena, and Isabella weeping.

Isab. For Heaven sake, Madam, pardon me.

Clar. Be dumb for ever, false and treacherous Woman, Was there no way but this to mask your Cheat? A Lye which has undone us all.

Isab. Alas, 'twas in the dark, how could I know him? Pray forgive it me, and try my future Service.

Clar. I never will forgive thee, naughty Girl; Alberto now incens'd will tell Antonio all.

Isab. What need you care, Madam? You are secure enough.

Clar. Thou salv'st an Error with a greater still; Dost thou not know Antonio's Jealousy, Which yet is moderate, rais'd to a higher pitch, May ruin me, Ismena, and thy self?

Ism. Sister, there cannot be much harm in this; 'Tis an ill chance, 'tis true, for by it we have lost The pleasure of an innocent Revenge Upon Antonio; but if understood, We have but miss'd that end.

Clar. Oh Ismena! This Jealousy is an unapprehensive madness, A non-sense which does still abandon Reason.

Isab. Madam, early in the Morning I'll to Alberto's Lodgings, and tell him the mistake.

Clar. 'Twill be too late.

Ism. Sister, what think you if I go myself?

Clar. You should not be so daring; Besides, I blush to think what strange opinion He'll entertain of me the while.

Ism. Do not let that afflict you. Fetch my Veil, and if Antonio chance to ask for me, Tell him I'm gone to Laura. [Ex. Isab. Believe me, I will set all strait again.

Enter Isabella with the Veil.

Clar. Thou hast more Courage, Girl, than I.

Ism. What need is there of much of that, To encounter a gay young Lover, Where I am sure there cannot be much danger?

Clar. Well, take your chance, I wish you luck, Sir, For I am e'en as much bent upon Revenge, As thou art upon Marriage.

Ism. Come, my Veil, this and the Night Will enough secure me. [Puts on the Veil and goes out.

[Ex. Clar. and Isab.

SCENE V. A Chamber in Alberto's House.

Discovers Alberto and Antonio.

Alb. Nay, thou shalt see't before thou dost revenge it; In such a case, thy self should be the Witness, She knows not what has past to night between us, Nor should she, if thou couldst contain thy Rage; And that, Antonio, you shall promise me: To morrow place thy self behind the Arras, And from thy Eyes thy own Misfortunes know. —What will not disobliged Passion do? [Aside.

Ant. I'll hide my Anger in a seeming calm, And what I have to do consult the while, And mask my Vengeance underneath a Smile. [Ex. Ant.

Enter Page.

Pag. My Lord, there is without a Lady Desires to speak with you.

Alb. Who is't?

Pag. I know not, Sir, she's veiled. [Exit Page.

Enter Ismena weeping.

Alb. Conduct her in.

Ism. Oh Alberto, Isabella has undone us all!

Alb. She weeps, and looks as innocent! —What mean you, false dissembling Clarina? What, have you borrow'd from Deceit new Charms, And think'st to fool me to a new belief?

Ism. How, Sir, can you too be unkind? Nay then 'tis time to die; alas, there wanted but your credit To this mistake, to make me truly miserable.

Alb. What Credit? What Mistake? oh, undeceive me, For I have done thee Injuries past Forgiveness, If thou be'st truly innocent.

Ism. If Isabella, under pretence of courting me For Lorenzo, whom she designs to Make a Husband, Has given him freedoms will undo my Honour, If not prevented soon.

Alb. May I credit this, and that it was not by thy Command she did it?

Ism. Be witness, Heaven, my Innocence in this, Which if you will believe, I'm safe again.

Alb. I do believe thee, but thou art not safe, Here, take this Poyniard, and revenge thy Wrongs, Wrongs which I dare not beg a Pardon for. [He gives her a Dagger.

Ism. Why, Sir, what have you done? have you Deceiv'd me, and do you not indeed love me?

Alb. Oh Clarina! do not ask that Question, Too much of that has made me ruin thee; It made me jealous, drunk with Jealousy, And then I did unravel all my Secrets.

Ism. What Secrets, Sir? you have then seen Antonio.

Alb. Yes.

Ism. Hah—Now, Wit, if e'er thou did'st possess A Woman, assist her at her need. [Aside. —Well, Sir, rise and tell me all.

Alb. I will not rise till you have pardoned me, Or punished my Misfortune.

Ism. Be what it will, I do forgive it thee.

Alb. Antonio, Madam, knows my Happiness, For in my Rage I told him that you lov'd me; —What shall I do?

Ism. I cannot blame you though it were unkind.

Alb. This I could help, but I have promis'd him, That he shall be a witness of this Truth; What say you, Madam, do I not merit Death? Oh speak, and let me know my doom whate'er it be.

Ism. Make good your Word.

Alb. What mean you?

Ism. What you have promised him, perform as you intended.

Alb. What then?

Ism. Then come as you design'd to visit me.

Alb. But let me know what 'tis you mean to do, That I may act accordingly.

Ism. No. Answer me to every Question ask'd, And I perhaps may set all strait again; It is now late, and I must not be missing: But if you love me, be no more jealous of me, —Farewel.

Alb. Must I be ignorant then of your Design?

Ism. Yes, Alberto; And you shall see what Love will make a Woman do. [He leads her out.

Alb. Now am I caught again, inconstant Nature. —Would she had less of Beauty or of Wit, Or that Antonio did but less deserve her; Or that she were not married, Or I'ad less Virtue, for 'tis that which awes me. That tender sense of nothing, And makes the other Reasons seem as Bugbears. —I love Clarina more than he can do. And yet this Virtue doth oppose that Love, Tells me there lurks a Treason there Against Antonio's and Clarina's Virtue. —'Tis but too true indeed, and I'm not safe, Whilst I conceal the Criminal within: I must reveal it, for whilst I hide the Traitor, I seem to love the Treason too; I will resign it then, since 'tis less blame To perish by my Pain, than live with Shame. [Exit.



ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in Salvator's House.

Enter Frederick and Laura.

Fred. Laura, consider well my Quality, And be not angry with your Father's Confidence, Who left us here alone.

Lau. He will repent that Freedom when he knows What use you've made on't, Sir.

Fred. Fy, fy, Laura, a Lady bred at Court, and Yet want complaisance enough to entertain A Gallant in private! this coy Humour Is not a-la-mode.—Be not so peevish with a Heart that dies for you.

Lau. Pray tell me, Sir, what is't in me that can Encourage this?

Fred. That which is in all lovely Women, Laura; A thousand Blushes play about your Cheeks, Which shows the briskness of the Blood that warms them. —If I but tell you how I do adore you, You strait decline your Eyes; Which does declare you understand my meaning, And every Smile or Frown betrays your thoughts, And yet you cry, you do not give me cause.

Enter Maid.

Maid. Curtius, Madam, waits without.

Fred. I do not like his haste, —Tell him he cannot be admitted now.

Lau. Sir, he is one that merits better treatment from you; How can you injure thus the Man you love?

Fred. Oh Madam, ask your Eyes, those powerful Attracts. And do not call their Forces so in question, As to believe they kindle feeble Fires, Such as a Friendship can surmount. No, Laura, They've done far greater Miracles.

Lau. Sir, 'tis in vain you tell me of their Power, Unless they could have made a nobler Conquest Than Hearts that yield to every petty Victor. —Look on me well, Can nothing here inform you of my Soul, And how it scorns to treat on these Conditions? [Looks on him, he gazes with a half Smile.

Fred. Faith, no, Laura. I see nothing there but wondrous Beauty, And a deal of needless Pride and Scorn, And such as may be humbled.

Lau. Sir, you mistake, that never can abate. But yet I know your Power may do me injuries; But I believe you're guilty of no Sin, Save your Inconstancy, which is sufficient; And, Sir, I beg I may not be the first [Kneels and weeps. May find new Crimes about you.

Fred. Rise, Laura, thou hast but too many Beauties, Which pray be careful that you keep conceal'd. [Offers to go.

Lau. I humbly thank you, Sir.

Fred.—But why should this interposing Virtue check me? —Stay, Laura, tell me; must you marry Curtius?

Lau. Yes, Sir, I must.

Fred. Laura, you must not.

Lau. How, Sir!

Fred. I say you shall not marry him, Unless you offer up a Victim, That may appease the Anger you have rais'd in me.

Lau. I'll offer up a thousand Prayers and Tears.

Fred. That will not do. Since thou'st deny'd my just Pretensions to thee, No less than what I told you of shall satisfy me.

Lau. Oh, where is all your Honour and your Virtue?

Fred. Just where it was, there's no such real thing. I know that thou wert made to be possest, And he that does refuse it, loves thee least. —There's danger in my Love, and your Delay, And you are most secure whilst you obey. [He pulls her gently.

Lau. Then this shall be my safety, hold off, [She draws a Dagger. Or I'll forget you are my Prince. [He laughs.

Fred. Pretty Virago, how you raise my Love? —I have a Dagger too; what will you do? [Shows her a Dagger.

Enter Curtius.

Cur. How! the Prince! arm'd against Laura too! [Draws.

Fred. Traitor, dost draw upon thy Prince?

Cur. Your Pardon, Sir, I meant it on a Ravisher, A foul misguided Villain, [Bows. One that scarce merits the brave name of Man; One that betrays his Friend, forsakes his Wife, And would commit a Rape upon my Mistress.

Fred. Her Presence is thy Safety, be gone and leave me.

Cur. By no means, Sir; the Villain may return, To which fair Laura, should not be expos'd.

Fred. Slave, dar'st thou disobey? [Offers to fight.

Cur. Hold, Sir, and do not make me guilty of a Sin, Greater than that of yours.

Enter Salvator.

Salv. Gods pity me; here's fine doings!—Why, how Came this roistring Youngster into my House? Sir, Who sent for you, hah?

Cur. Love.

Salv. Love, with a Witness to whom? my Daughter? —No, Sir, she's otherwise dispos'd of I can assure You. Be gone and leave my House, and that quickly Too; and thank me that I do not secure Thee for a Traitor.

Cur. Will you not hear me speak?

Salv. Not a word, Sir, go, be gone; unless your Highness will have him apprehended. [To Fred.

Fred. No, Sir, it shall not need—Curtius, look To hear from me.— [Comes up to him, and tells him so in a menacing Tone, and go out severally.

Salv. Go, Mrs. Minks, get you in.

[Ex. Salv. and Lau.

SCENE II. A Street.

Enter Frederick passing in Anger over the Stage, meets Lorenzo.

Lor. O Sir, I'm glad I've found you; for I have the rarest News for you.

Fred. What News?

Lor. Oh the Devil, he's angry;—Why, Sir, the prettiest young—

Fred. There's for your Intelligence. [Strikes him, and goes out.

Lor. So, very well; how mortal is the favour of Princes! these be turns of State now; what the Devil ails he trow; sure he could not be Offended with the News I have brought him; If he be, he's strangely out of tune: And sure he has too much Wit to grow virtuous at these Years. No, no, he has had some repulse from a Lady; and that's a wonder; for he has a Tongue and a Purse that seldom fails: if Youth and Vigour would Stretch as far, he were the wonder of the Age.

Enter Curtius.

Cur. Lorenzo, didst thou see the Prince?

Lor. Marry, did I, and feel him too.

Cur. Why, did he strike you?

Lor. I'm no true Subject if he did not; and that Only for doing that Service which once was most acceptable To him.—Prithee what's the matter with him, hah?

Cur. I know not, leave me.

Lor. Leave thee, what, art thou out of humour too? Let me but know who 'tis has disoblig'd thee, and I'll—

Cur. What wilt thou?

Lor. Never see his Face more, if a Man.

Cur. And what if a Woman?

Lor. Then she's an idle peevish Slut, I'll warrant her.

Cur. Conclude it so, and leave me.

Lor. Nay, now thou hast said the only thing that could Keep me with thee, thou mayst be desperate; I'll Tell you, Curtius, these female Mischiefs make Men Take dangerous Resolutions sometimes.

Enter Alberto.

Alb. Curtius, I've something to deliver to your Ear. [Whispers.

Cur. Any thing from Alberto is welcome.

Lor. Well, I will be hang'd if there be not some Mischief in agitation; it cannot be wenching; They look all too dull and sober for that; And besides, then I should have been a party concern'd.

Cur. The place and time.

Alb. An hour hence i'th' Grove by the River-side.

Cur. Alone, thou say'st?

Alb. Alone, the Prince will have it so.

Cur. I will not fail a moment. [Ex. Alb. —So this has eas'd my heart of half its Load.

Lor. I'll sneak away, for this is some fighting Business, and I may perhaps be invited a Second, A Compliment I care not for. [Offers to go.

Cur. Lorenzo, a word with you.

Lor. 'Tis so, what shall I do now? [Aside.

Cur. Stay.

Lor. I am a little in haste, my Lord.

Cur. I shall soon dispatch you.

Lor. I believe so, for I am half dead already With Fear. [Aside.] —Sir, I have promis'd to make a visit To a Lady, and—

Cur. What I've to say will not detain you long.

Lor. What a Dog was I, I went not When he first desir'd me to go! Oh Impertinency, thou art justly rewarded!

Cur. Lorenzo, may I believe you love me?

Lor. Now what shall I say, Ay or no? [Aside. The Devil take me if I know.

Cur. Will you do me a favour?

Lor. There 'tis again. [Aside.

Cur. I know I may trust thee with a secret.

Lor. Truly, Curtius, I cannot tell. In some cases I am not very retentive.

Cur. I am going about a business, that perhaps May take up all the time I have to live, And I may never see thy Sister more; Will you oblige me in a Message to her?

Lor. You know you may command me; —I'm glad 'tis no worse. [Aside.

Cur. Come, go with me into my Cabinet, And there I'll write to Laura; And prithee if thou hear'st that I am dead, Tell her I fell a Sacrifice to her, And that's enough, she understands the rest.

Lor. But harkye, Curtius, by your favour, this is but a Scurvy Tale to carry to your Mistress; I hope you are not in earnest.

Cur. Yes.

Lor. Yes! why, what a foolish idle humour's this in you? I vow 'twill go near to break the poor Girl's Heart;— Come, be advis'd, Man.

Cur. Perhaps I may consider on't for that reason.

Lor. There are few that go about such businesses, But have one thing or other to consider in favour of Life; I find that even in the most magnanimous:— Prithee who is't with?

Cur. That's counsel: and pray let this too which I have Told you be a Secret, for 'twill concern your Life.

Lor. Good Curtius, take it back again then; For a hundred to one but my over-care of keeping it Will betray it.

Cur. Thou lovest thy self better.

Lor. Well, that's a comfort yet.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Wood.

Enter Cloris dressed like a Country-Boy, follow'd by Guilliam a Clown; Cloris comes reading a Letter.

Clo. [Reads.] Cloris, beware of Men; for though I my self be one, Yet I have the Frailties of my Sex, and can dissemble too; Trust none of us, for if thou dost, thou art undone; We make Vows to all alike we see, And even the best of Men, the Prince, Is not to be credited in an affair of Love. —Oh Curtius, thy advice was very kind; Had it arriv'd before I'ad been undone! —Can Frederick too be false! A Prince, and be unjust to her that loves him too? —Surely it is impossible— Perhaps thou lov'st me too, and this may be [Pointing to the Letter. Some Plot of thine to try my Constancy: —Howe'er it be, since he could fail last night Of seeing me, I have at least a cause to justify This shameful change; and sure in this Disguise, I shall not soon be known, dost think I shall? [Looks on herself.

Guil. Why, forsooth, what do you intend to pass for, A Maid or a Boy?

Clo. Why, what I seem to be, will it not do?

Guil. Yes, yes, it may do, but I know not what; I would Love would transmography me to a Maid now, —We should be the prettiest Couple: Don't you remember when you dress'd me up the last Carnival, was I not the woundiest handsome Lass A body could see in a Summer's day? There was Claud the Shepherd as freakish after me, I'll warrant you, and simper'd and tript it like any thing.

Clo. Ay, but they say 'tis dangerous for young Maids to live at Court.

Guil. Nay, then I should be loth to give temptation. —Pray, forsooth, what's that you read so often there?

Clo. An advice to young Maids that are in love.

Guil. Ay, ay, that same Love is a very vengeance thing, Wou'd I were in love too; I see it makes a body valiant; One neither feels Hunger nor Cold that is possest with it.

Clo. Thou art i'th' right, it can do Miracles.

Guil. So it seems, for without a Miracle you and I could never Have rambled about these Woods all night without either Bottle or Wallet: I could e'en cry for hunger now.

Clo. What a dull Soul this Fellow hath? Sure it can never feel the generous Pains Of Love, as mine does now; oh, how I glory To find my Heart above the common rate! Were not my Prince inconstant, I would not envy what the Blessed do above: But he is false, good Heaven!— [Weeps. Guil. howls. —What dost thou feel, that thou shouldst weep with me?

Guil. Nothing but Hunger, sharp Hunger, forsooth.

Clo. Leave calling me forsooth, it will betray us.

Guil. What shall I call you then?

Clo. Call me, Philibert, or any thing; And be familiar with me: put on thy Hat, lest any come and see us.

Guil. 'Tis a hard name, but I'll learn it by heart. —Well, Philibert—What shall we do when we come to Court? [Puts on his Hat. Besides eating and drinking, which I shall do in abundance.

Clo. We must get each of us a Service: —But thou art such a Clown.

Guil. Nay, say not so, honest Philibert: for look ye, I am much the properer Fellow of the two. [Walks.

Clo. Well, try thy fortune; but be sure you never discover Me, whatever Questions may chance to be asked thee.

Guil. I warrant thee, honest Lad, I am true and trusty; But I must be very familiar with you, you say.

Clo. Yes, before Company.

Guil. Pray let me begin and practise a little now, An't please you, for fear I should not be saucy enough, When we arrive at Court.

Clo. I'll warrant you you'll soon learn there.

Guil. Oh Lord, Philibert! Philibert! I see a Man a coming Most deadly fine, let's run away.

Clo. Thus thou hast serv'd me all this night, There's not a Bush we come at, but thou start'st thus.

Guil. 'Tis true you are a Lover, and may stay the danger on't; But I'll make sure for one.

Clo. It is the Prince, oh Gods! what makes he here? With Looks disorder'd too; this Place is fit for Death and sad Despair; the melancholy Spring a sleepy murmur makes, A proper Consort for departing Souls, When mix'd with dying Groans, and the thick Boughs Compose a dismal Roof; Dark as the gloomy Shades of Death or Graves. —He comes this way, I'll hide my self awhile. [Goes behind a Bush.

Enter Frederick.

Fred. But yet not this, nor my despight to Laura, Shall make me out of love with Life, Whilst I have youthful Fires about my Heart: —Yet I must fight with Curtius, And so chastise the Pride of that fond Maid, Whose saucy Virtue durst controul my Flame. —And yet I love her not as I do Cloris; But fain I would have overcome that Chastity, Of which the foolish Beauty boasts so.

Clo. Curtius, I thank thee, now I do believe thee. Guilliam, if thou seest any fighting anon, [The Prince walks. Be sure you run out and call some body.

Guil. You need not bid me run away, when I once See them go to that.

Enter Curtius.

Cur. Sir, I am come as you commanded me.

Fred. When you consider what you've lately done, You will not wonder why I sent for you; And when I mean to fight, I do not use to parly: Come draw.

Cur. Shew me my Enemy, and then if I am slow—

Fred. I am he, needst thou one more powerful?

Cur. You, Sir! what have I done to make you so?

Fred. If yet thou want'st a further proof of it, Know I'll dispute my Claim to Laura.

Cur. That must not be with me, Sir; God forbid that I should raise my Arm against my Prince. —If Laura have so little Faith and Virtue, To render up that Right belongs to me, With all my heart I yield her To any but to you: And, Sir, for your own sake you must not have her.

Fred. Your Reason?

Cur. Sir, you're already married.

Fred. Thou lyest, and seek'st excuses for thy Cowardice.

Cur. I wish you would recal that hasty Injury; Yet this I'll bear from you, who know 'tis false.

Fred. Will nothing move thee?

Cur. You would believe so, Sir, if I should tell you, That besides all this, I have a juster Cause.

Fred. Juster than that of Laura? call it up, then, And let it save thee from a further shame.

Cur. Yes, so I will, 'tis that of Cloris, Who needs my aids much more; Do you remember such a Virgin, Sir? For so she was till she knew Frederick, The sweetest Innocent that ever Nature made.

Fred. Not thy own Honour, nor thy Love to Laura, Would make thee draw, and now at Cloris' Name Thou art incens'd, thy Eyes all red with Rage: —Oh, thou hast rouz'd my Soul! Nor would I justify my Wrongs to her, Unless it were to satisfy my Jealousy, Which thou hast rais'd in me by this concern. —Draw, or I'll kill thee.

Cur. Stay, Sir, and hear me out.

Fred. I will not stay, now I reflect on all Thy former kindness to her—

Cur. I will not fight, but I'll defend my self. [They fight.

Fred. We are betray'd.

Cur. Yes, Sir, and you are wounded. [Guil. runs bawling out, they are both wounded.

Clo. Oh Heaven defend the Prince! [She peeps.

Fred. I hear some coming, go, be gone, And save thy self by flight. [Frederick stands leaning on his Sword.

Cur. Sir, give me leave to stay, my flight will look like Guilt.

Fred. By no means, Curtius, thou wilt be taken here, And thou shalt never charge me with that Crime of betraying Thee: when we meet next, we'll end it.

Cur. I must obey you then. [Exit.

Enter Cloris.

Clo. Sir, has the Villain hurt you? [She supports him. —Pray Heaven my Sorrows do not betray me now; For since he's false, I fain would die conceal'd. [Aside. —Shew me your Wound, and I will tie it up. Alas, you bleed extremely.—

Fred. Kind Youth, thy Succours are in vain, though welcome; For though I bleed, I am not wounded much.

Clo. No? why did you let him pass unpunish'd then, Who would have hurt you more?

Enter Guilliam with Galliard.

Gal. Where was't?

Guil. Look ye, Sir, there, don't you see them?

Gal. How does your Highness? This Fellow told me Of a quarrel here, which made me haste.

Fred. Be silent, and carry me to my own apartment.

Gal. Alas, Sir, is it you that fought?

Fred. No more Questions.— Kind Boy, pray leave me not till I have found A way to recompense thy pretty care of me.

Clo. I will wait on you, Sir.

[Exeunt all but Guil.

Enter Lorenzo and his Page. Peeps first.

Lor. What's the matter here? the Prince is wounded too. Oh, what a Dog was I to know of some such thing, And not secure them all? [Lor. stands gazing at Guil. Guil. stands tabering his Hat, and scruing his Face. —What's here? Ha, ha, ha, this is the pleasantest Fellow that e'er I saw in my Life. Prithee, Friend, what's thy Name?

Guil. My Name, an't shall like ye. My Name, it is Guilliam.

Lor. From whence comest thou?

Guil. From a Village a great huge way off.

Lor. And what's thy business here, hah?

Guil. Truly, Sir, not to tell a Lye; I come to get a Service here at Court.

Lor. A Service at Court! ha, ha, that's a pleasant Humour, i'faith. Why, Fellow, what canst thou do?

Guil. Do, Sir! I can do any thing.

Lor. Why, what canst thou do? canst thou dress well? —Set a Peruke to advantage, tie a Crevat, And Cuffs? put on a Belt with dexterity, hah? These be the Parts that must recommend you.

Guil. I know not what you mean, But I am sure I can do them all.

Lor. Thou art confident it seems, and I can tell You, Sirrah, that's a great step to Preferment; —But well, go on then, canst ride the great Horse?

Guil. The biggest in all our Town I have rid a thousand times.

Lor. That's well; canst fence?

Guil. Fence, Sir, what's that?

Lor. A Term we use for the Art and Skill of handling a Weapon.

Guil. I can thrash, Sir.

Lor. What's that, Man?

Guil. Why, Sir, it is—it is—thrashing.

Lor. An Artist, I vow; canst play on any Musick?

Guil. Oh, most rogically, Sir, I have a Bagpipe that Every Breath sets the whole Village a dancing.

Lor. Better still; and thou canst dance, I'll warrant?

Guil. Dance, he, he, he, I vow you've light on My Master-piece, y'fegs.

Lor. And I'll try thee: Boy, go fetch some of the [To the Page. Musick hither which I keep in pay. [Ex. Page. —But hark you, Friend, though I love Dancing very well, And that may recommend thee in a great degree; Yet 'tis wholly necessary that you should be valiant too: We Great ones ought to be serv'd by Men of Valour, For we are very liable to be affronted by many here To our Faces, which we would gladly have beaten behind Our Backs.—But Pox on't, thou hast not the Huff And Grimace of a Man of Prowess.

Guil. As for fighting, though I do not care for it, Yet I can do't if any body angers me, or so.

Lor. But I must have you learn to do't when Any body angers me too.

Guil. Sir, they told me I should have no need on't Here; but I shall learn.

Lor. Why, you Fool, that's not a thing to be learn'd, —That's a brave Inclination born with Man, A brave undaunted something, a thing that, That comes from, from, I know not what, For I was born without it.

Enter Page and Musick.

Oh, are you come? let's see, Sirrah, your Activity, For I must tell you that's another step to Preferment. [He dances a Jig en Paisant. 'Tis well perform'd; well, hadst thou but Wit, Valour, Bone Mine, good Garb, a Peruke, Conduct and Secrecy in Love-Affairs, and half A dozen more good Qualities, thou wert Fit for something; but I will try thee. Boy, let him have better Clothes; as for his Documents, I'll give him those my self.

Guil. Hah, I don't like that word, it sounds terribly. [Aside.

[Ex. Page and Guil. with Musick.

Lor. This Fellow may be of use to me; being Doubtless very honest, because he is so very simple: For to say truth, we Men of Parts are sometimes Over-wise, witness my last night's retreat From but a supposed Danger, and returning to fall Into a real one. Well, I'll now to Isabella, And know her final Resolution; if Clarina will Be kind, so; if not, there be those that will. —And though I cannot any Conquest boast For all the Time and Money I have lost, At least of Isabel I'll be reveng'd, And have the flattering Baggage soundly swing'd; And rather than she shall escape my Anger, My self shall be the Hero that shall bang her. [Exit.



ACT IV.

SCENE I. Antonio's House.

Enter Ismena and Isabella.

Isab. Madam, turn your back to that side, For there Antonio is hid; he must not see your Face: now raise your Voice, that he may hear what 'tis you say.

Ism. I'll warrant you, Isabella: Was ever wretched Woman's Fate like mine, Forc'd to obey the rigid Laws of Parents, And marry with a Man I did not love?

Ant. Oh, there's my cause of Fear. [Ant. peeps.

Ism. Though since I had him, thou know'st I have endeavour'd To make his Will my Law, Till by degrees and Custom, which makes things natural, I found this Heart, which ne'er had been engag'd To any other, grow more soft to him; And still the more he lov'd, the more I was oblig'd, And made returns still kinder; till I became Not only to allow, but to repay his Tenderness.

Isab. She counterfeits rarely. [Aside. Madam, indeed I have observ'd this truth.

Ism. See who 'tis knocks. [One knocks.

Ant. What will this come to? [Aside.

Isab. Madam, 'tis Alberto.

Enter Alberto. Bows.

Ism. My Lord, you've often told me that you lov'd me, Which I with Womens usual Pride believ'd; And now, encourag'd by my hopeful Promises, You look for some Returns: Sir, is it so?

Alb. What means she? Pray Heaven I answer right. [Aside. —Madam, if I have err'd in that belief, To know I do so, is sufficient punishment. —Lovers, Madam, though they have no returns, Like sinking Men, still catch at all they meet with; And whilst they live, though in the midst of Storms, Because they wish, they also hope for Calms.

Ism. And did you, Sir, consider who I was?

Alb. Yes, Madam, Wife unto my Friend Antonio, The only Man that has an Interest here: —But, Madam, that must still submit to Love.

Ism. Canst thou at once be true to him and me?

Alb. Madam, I know not that; But since I must lose one, My Friendship I can better lay aside.

Ism. Hast thou forgot how dear thou art to him?

Alb. No, I do believe I am, and that his Life Were but a worthless trifle, if I needed it. Yet, Madam, you are dearer to him still Than his Alberto; and 'tis so with me: —Him I esteem, but you I do adore; And he whose Soul's insensible of Love, Can never grateful to his Friendship prove.

Ism. By your example, Sir, I'll still retain My Love for him; and what I had for you, Which was but Friendship, I'll abandon too.

Ant. Happy Antonio.— [Aside.

Ism. Pray what have you Antonio cannot own? Has he not equal Beauty, if not exceeding thine? Has he not equal Vigour, Wit, and Valour? And all that even raises Men to Gods, Wert not for poor Mortality? —Vain Man, couldst thou believe That I would quit my Duty to this Husband, And sacrifice his Right to thee? —Couldst thou believe me yesterday? When from thy Importunity and Impudence, To send thee from me, I promised thee to love thee. —Nay, rather, treacherous Man, Couldst thou believe I did not hate thee then, Who basely would betray thy Friend and me?

Alb. Sure this is earnest. [Aside.

Ant. Oh brave Clarina! [Aside.

Ism. Speak, Traitor to my Fame and Honour; Was there no Woman, but Antonio's Wife, With whom thou couldst commit so foul a Crime? And none but he to bring to publick Shame? A Man who trusted thee, and lov'd thee too? —Speak—and if yet thou hast a sense of Virtue, Call to the Saints for pardon, or thou dy'st. [She draws a Poniard, and runs at him; he steps back to avoid it.

Alb. Hold, Clarina!—I am amaz'd.

Ism. But stay. Thou say'st my Beauty forc'd thee to this Wickedness, And that's the cause you have abus'd Antonio. —Nor is it all the Power I have with him, Can make him credit what I tell him of thee; And should I live, I still must be pursu'd by thee, And unbeliev'd by him: —Alberto, thou shalt ne'er be guilty more, Whilst this—and this may meet. [Offering to wound her self, is stay'd by Alb. and Isab. They set Ism. in a Chair; Alb. kneels weeping.

Alb. Hold, my divine Clarina.—

Ant. Shall I discover my self, or steal away? [Aside. And all asham'd of Life after this Action, Go where the Sun or Day may never find me? Oh! what Virtue I've abus'd— Curse on my little Faith; And all the Curses Madness can invent, Light on my groundless Jealousy. [Ex. Antonio.

Alb. Clarina, why so cruel to my Heart? 'Tis true, I love you, but with as chaste an Ardour, As Souls departing pay the Deities, When with incessant Sighs they haste away, And leave Humanity behind. Oh! so did I Abandon all the lesser Joys of Life, For that of being permitted but t'adore ye. Alas, if 'twere displeasing to you, Why did your self encourage it? I might have languish'd, as I did before, And hid those Crimes which make you hate me now. —Oh, I am lost? Antonio, thou'st undone me; [He rises in Rage. —Hear me, Ungrate; I swear by all that's good, I'll wash away my Mischief with thy Blood.

Isab. Antonio hears you not, Sir, for he's departed.

Ism. Is Antonio gone? [She looks pertly up, who before lay half dead.

Alb. How's this, has she but feign'd?

Ism. Know it was but feign'd; I hope this proof Of what I've promis'd you, does not displease you.

Alb. Am I thus fortunate, thus strangely happy?

Ism. Time will confirm it to you—go, do not Now thank me for't, but seek Antonio out; Perhaps he may have too great a Sense of the Mischiefs his Jealousies had like to have caus'd: But conjure him to take no notice of what's past to me; This easy slight of mine secures our Fears, And serves to make Antonio confident, Who now will unbelieve his Eyes and Ears; And since before, when I was innocent, He could suspect my Love and Duty too, I'll try what my dissembling it will do. —Go haste.—

Alb. Madam, I go, surpriz'd with Love and Wonder. [Ex. Alb.

Ism. You'll be more surpriz'd, when you know [Aside. That you are cheated too as well as Antonio.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Street.

Enter Curtius disguis'd in a black Peruke and Beard, with Pietro disguised also.

Cur. Well, what hast thou learn'd?

Piet. News enough, Sir, but none good; That the Prince's Wounds are small, So that he intends to take the Air this Evening; That he sollicits Laura hard; And, Sir, that you are proclaim'd Traitor.

Cur. So, what says the Messenger you sent to Cloris?

Piet. Sir, he brings sad tidings back.

Cur. What tidings? is she dead? That would revive my Soul, And fortify my easy Nature with some wicked Notions, As deep as those this flattering Prince made use of, When he betray'd my Sister, pretty Cloris: —Come, speak it boldly, for nothing else Will make me do her Justice.

Piet. No, Sir, she is not dead, But fled, and none knows whither; Only Guilliam attends her.

Cur. Worse and worse; but what of Laura?

Piet. She, Sir, is kept a Prisoner by her Father, And speaks with none but those that come from Frederick.

Cur. Laura confin'd too! 'tis time to hasten then, With my, till now, almost disarmed Revenge: —Thus I may pass unknown the Streets of Florence, And find an opportunity to reach this Prince's Heart, —Oh, Vengeance! luxurious Vengeance! Thy Pleasures turn a Rival to my Love, And make the mightier Conquest o'er my Heart. —Cloris, I will revenge thy Tears and Sufferings; And to secure the Doom of him that wrong'd thee, I'll call on injur'd Laura too. —Here take these Pictures—and where thou see'st [Gives him Boxes. A knot of Gallants, open one or two, as if by stealth, To gaze upon the Beauties, and then straight close them— But stay, here comes the only Man I could have wish'd for; he'll proclaim my Business Better than a Picture or a Trumpet. [They stand by. [Curtius takes back the Pictures.

Enter Lorenzo and Guilliam dressed in fineish Clothes, but the same high-crown'd Hat.

Lor. Did, ha, ha, ha, did, ha, ha; did ever any Mortal Man behold such a Figure as thou art now? Well, I see 'tis a damnable thing not to Be born a Gentleman; the Devil himself Can never make thee truly jantee now. —Come, come, come forward; these Clothes become Thee, as a Saddle does a Sow; why com'st thou not? —Why—ha, ha, I hope thou hast not Hansel'd thy new Breeches, Thou look'st so filthily on't. [He advances, looking sourly.

Guil. No, Sir, I hope I have more manners than so; But if I should, 'tis not my fault; For the necessary Houses are hard To be met withal here at Court.

Lor. Very well, Sirrah; you begin already to be Witty with the Court: but I can tell you, it has as Many necessary Places in't, as any Court in Christendom —But what a Hat thou hast?

Guil. Why, Sir, though I say't, this is accounted of In our Village; but I had another but now, Which I blew off in a high Wind; and I never mist it, Till I had an occasion to pluck it off to a young Squire, they call a Lacquey; and, Fegs, I had none at all: and because I would not lose My Leg for want of a Hat, I fetch'd this; And I can tell you, Sir, it has a fashionable Brim.

Lor. A Fool's head of your own, has it not? The Boys will hoot at us as we pass—hah, Who be these, who be these— [Goes towards Cur. and Piet.

Cur. Here—this to Don Alonso—this to the English Count; and this you may shew to the Young German Prince—and this— I will reserve for higher Prices. [Gives Piet. Pictures.

Piet. Will you shew none to the Courtiers, Sir?

Cur. Away, you Fool, I deal in no such Trash.

Lor. How, Sir, how was that? pray how came we to Gain your dis-favour?

Cur. I cry you mercy, Sir, pray what are you;

Lor. A Courtier, Sir, I can assure you, And one of the best Rank too; I have the Prince's ear, Sir. —What have you there, hah?—Pictures? let me see— What, are they to be bought?

Cur. Sir, they are Copies of most fair Originals, Not to be bought but hired.

Lor. Say you so, Friend? the Price, the Price.

Cur. Five thousand Crowns a Month, Sir.

Lor. The Price is somewhat saucy.

Cur. Sir, they be curious Pieces, were never blown upon, Have never been in Courts, nor hardly Cities.

Lor. Upon my word, that's considerable; Friend, pray where do they live?

Cur. In the Piazzo, near the Palace.

Lor. Well, put up your Ware, shew not a face of them Till I return! for I will bring you The best Chapman in all Florence, Except the Duke himself.

Cur. You must be speedy then, For I to morrow shall be going towards Rome.

Lor. A subtle Rascal this: thou think'st, I warrant, To make a better Market amongst the Cardinals. —But take my word, ne'er a Cardinal of them all Comes near this Man, I mean, to bring you in Matters of Beauty—so, this will infallibly make My Peace again: [Aside.] Look ye, Friend —Be ready, for 'tis the Prince, the noble generous Frederick, That I design your Merchant. [Goes out.

Cur. Your Servant, Sir,—that is Guilliam; I cannot be mistaken in him, go call him back. [Pietro fetches him back, who puts on a surly Face. —Friend, what art thou?

Guil. What am I? why, what am I? dost thou not see What I am? a Courtier, Friend.

Cur. But what's thy Name?

Guil. My Name, I have not yet considered.

Cur. What was thy Name?

Guil. What was my Name?

Cur. Yes, Friend, thou hadst one.

Guil. Yes, Friend, thou hadst one.

Cur. Dog, do'st eccho me? do'st thou repeat? I say again, what is thy Name? [Shakes him.

Guil. Oh horrible!—why, Sir, it was Guilliam When I was a silly Swain.

Cur. Guilliam—the same; Didst thou not know a Maid whose name was Cloris?

Guil. Yes, there was such a Maid, But now she's none!

Cur. Was such a Maid, but now she's none! —The Slave upbraids my Griefs. [Aside.

Guil. Yes, Sir, so I said.

Cur. So you said!

Guil. Why, yes, Sir, what, do you repeat?

Cur. What mean you, Sirrah? have you a mind to Have your Throat cut? tell me where she is.

Guil. I dare as well be hang'd. Now must I devise a lye, or never look Cloris In the Face more. [Aside.

Cur. Here's Gold for thee; I will be secret too.

Guil. Oh, Sir, the poor Maid you speak of is dead.

Cur. Dead! where dy'd she? and how?

Guil. Now am I put to my wits; this 'tis to begin In Sin, as our Curate said: I must go on: [Aside. —Why, Sir, she came into the Wood—and hard by a River-side—she sigh'd, and she wept full sore; And cry'd two or three times out upon Curtius, —And—then— [Howls.

Cur. Poor Cloris, thy Fate was too severe.

Guil. And then as I was saying, Sir, She leapt into the River, and swam up the Stream. [Cur. weeps.

Piet. And why up the Stream, Friend?

Guil. Because she was a Woman—and that's all. [Ex. Guil.

Cur. Farewel, and thank thee. —Poor Cloris dead, and banish'd too from Laura! Was ever wretched Lover's Fate like mine! —And he who injures me, has power to do so; —But why, where lies this Power about this Man? Is it his Charms of Beauty, or of Wit? Or that great Name he has acquir'd in War? Is it the Majesty, that holy something, That guards the Person of this Demi-god? This awes not me, there must be something more. For ever, when I call upon my Wrongs, Something within me pleads so kindly for him, As would persuade me that he could not err. —Ah, what is this? where lies this Power divine, That can so easily make a Slave of mine?

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Frederick's Chamber.

Enter Frederick, and Cloris finely dress'd.

Fred. 'Tis much methinks, a Boy of so dejected, Humble Birth, should have so much of Sense And Soul about him.

Clo. I know not that; but if I have a thought Above that humble Birth or Education, It was inspir'd by Love.

Fred. Still you raise my Wonder greater; —Thou a Lover?

Clo. Yes, my Lord, though I am young, I've felt the power of Beauty; And should you look upon the Object, Sir, Your Wonders soon would cease; Each Look does even animate Insensibles, And strikes a reverend Awe upon the Soul: Nothing is found so lovely.

Fred. Thou speak'st prettily, I think Love Indeed has inspir'd thee.

Clo. These were the Flatteries, Sir, she us'd to me; Of her it was I learn'd to speak, and sigh, And look, as oft you say, I do on you.

Fred. Why then, it seems she made returns?

Clo. Ah! Sir, 'twas I that first was blest, I first the happy Object was belov'd; For, 'twas a Person, Sir, so much above me,— It had been Sin to've rais'd my Eyes to her; Or by a glance, or sigh, betray my Pain. But Oh! when with a thousand soft Expressions, She did encourage me to speak of Love! —My God! how soon extravagant I grew, And told so oft the story of my Passion, That she grew weary of the repeated Tale, And punish'd my presumption with a strange neglect. [Weeps.

Fred. How, my good Philibert?

Clo. Would suffer me to see her Face no more.

Fred. That was pity; without a Fault?

Clo. Alas, Sir, I was guilty of no Crime, But that of having told her how I lov'd her; For all I had I sacrific'd to her; —Poor worthless Treasures to any but a Lover; And such you know accept the meanest things, Which Love and a true Devotion do present. When she was present, I found a thousand ways To let her know how much I was her Slave; And absent, still invented new ones, And quite neglected all my little Business; Counting the tedious Moments of the Day By Sighs and Tears; thought it an Age to night, Whose Darkness might secure our happy meeting: But we shall meet no more on these kind Terms. [Sighs.

Fred. Come, do not weep, sweet Youth, thou art too young, To have thy blooming Cheeks blasted with sorrow; Thou wilt out-grow this childish Inclination, And shalt see Beauties here, whose every glance Kindle new Fires, and quite expel the old.

Clo. Oh, never, Sir.

Fred. When I was first in love, I thought so too, But now with equal ardour I doat upon each new and beauteous Object.

Clo. And quite forget the old?

Fred. Not so; but when I see them o'er again, I find I love them as I did before.

Clo. Oh God forbid, I should be so inconstant! No, Sir, though she be false, she has my Heart, And I can die, but not redeem the Victim.

Fred. Away, you little Fool, you make me sad By this resolve: but I'll instruct you better.

Clo. I would not make you sad for all the World. Sir, I will sing, or dance, do any thing That may divert you.

Fred. I thank thee, Philibert, and will accept Thy Bounty; perhaps it may allay thy Griefs awhile too.

Clo. I'll call the Musick, Sir. [She goes out.

Fred. This Boy has strange agreements in him.

Enter Cloris with Musick.

She bids them play, and dances a Jig.

This was wondrous kind, my pretty Philibert.

[Exeunt Musick.

Enter Page.

Page. Lorenzo, my Lord, begs admittance.

Fred. He may come in. [Exit Page.

Enter Lorenzo.

—Well, Lorenzo, what's the News with thee? —How goes the price of Beauty, hah?

Lor. My Lord, that question is a propos to What I have to say; this Paper will answer your Question, Sir— [Gives him a Paper, he reads. —Hah, I vow to gad a lovely Youth; [Lor. gazes on Phil. But what makes he here with Frederick? This Stripling may chance to mar my market of Women now— 'Tis a fine Lad, how plump and white he is; [Aside. Would I could meet him somewhere i'th' dark, I'd have a fling at him, and try whether I Were right Florentine.

Fred. Well, Sir, where be these Beauties?

Lor. I'll conduct you to them.

Fred. What's the Fellow that brings them?

Lor. A Grecian, I think, or something.

Fred. Beauties from Greece, Man!

Lor. Why, let them be from the Devil, So they be new and fine, what need we care? —But you must go to night.

Fred. I am not in a very good condition To make Visits of that kind.

Lor. However, see them, and if you like them, You may oblige the Fellow to a longer stay, For I know they are handsome.

Fred. That's the only thing thou art judge of; —Well, go you and prepare them; And Philibert, thou shalt along with me; I'll have thy Judgment too.

Clo. Good Heaven, how false he is! [Aside.

Lor. What time will your Highness come?

Fred. Two Hours hence. [Ex. Fred.

Lor. So then I shall have time to have a bout With this jilting Huswife Isabella, For my Fingers itch to be at her. [Aside. [Ex. Lorenzo.

Clo. Not know me yet? cannot this Face inform him? My Sighs, nor Eyes, my Accent, nor my Tale? Had he one thought of me, he must have found me out. —Yes, yes, 'tis certain I am miserable; He's going now to see some fresher Beauties, And I, he says, must be a witness of it; This gives me Wounds, painful as those of Love: Some Women now would find a thousand Plots From so much Grief as I have, but I'm dull; Yet I'll to Laura, and advise with her, Where I will tell her such a heavy Tale, As shall oblige her to a kind concern: —This may do; I'll tell her of this Thought, This is the first of Art I ever thought on; And if this proves a fruitless Remedy, The next, I need not study, how to die.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter Lorenzo, meets Guilliam, who passes by him, and takes no notice of him.

Lor. How now, Manners a few?

Guil. I cry you heartily, Sir, I did not see you.

Lor. Well, Sirrah, the News.

Guil. Sir, the Gentlewoman whom you sent me to says That she'll meet you here.

Lor. That's well, thou mayst come to be a States-man In time, thou art a fellow of so quick dispatch: But hark ye, Sirrah, there are a few Lessons I must learn you, Concerning Offices of this nature; But another time for that: but— [Whispers.

Enter Isabella, and Antonio's Valet.

Isab. Here he is; and prithee, when thou seest him in My Chamber, go and tell my Lord, Under pretence of the care you have of the Honour of his House.

Val. I warrant you, let me alone for a Tale, And a Lye at the end on't; which shall not over-much Incense him, nor yet make him neglect coming. [Ex. Val.

Lor. Oh, are you there, Mistress? what have you now To say for your last Night's Roguery? Are not you a Baggage? confess.

Isab. You have a mind to lose your opportunity again, As you did last Night, have ye not? Pray God your own Shadow scare you not, As it did then; and you will possibly believe No body meant you harm then, nor now.

Lor. Art thou in earnest?

Isab. Are you in earnest?

Lor. Yes, that I am, and that Clarina shall find, If I once come to her.

Isab. Come, leave your frippery Jests, and come in.

Lor. Guilliam, be sure you attend me here, And whoever you see, say nothing; the best on't is, Thou art not much known. [Isab. and Lor. go in.

Guil. Well, I see there is nothing but foutering In this Town; wou'd our Lucia were here too for me, For all the Maids I meet with are so giglish And scornful, that a Man, as I am, Gets nothing but flouts and flings from them. Oh, for the little kind Lass that lives Under the Hill, of whom the Song was made; Which because I have nothing else to do, I will sing over now; hum, hum.

The Song for Guilliam. [To some Tune like him.

In a Cottage by the Mountain Lives a very pretty Maid, Who lay sleeping by a Fountain, Underneath a Myrtle shade; Her Petticoat of wanton Sarcenet, The amorous Wind about did move, And quite unveil'd, And quite unveil'd the Throne of Love, And quite unveil'd the Throne of Love.

'Tis something cold, I'll go take a Niperkin of Wine, [Goes out.

Enter Isab. and Lor. above, as frighted into the Balcony.

Lor. This was some trick of thine, I will be hang'd else.

Isab. Oh, I'll be sworn you wrong me; Alas, I'm undone by't. [Ant. at the Door knocks.

Ant. Open the Door, thou naughty Woman.

Lor. Oh, oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?

Ant. Open the Door, I say.

Lor. Oh, 'tis a damnable leap out at this Balcony.

Isab. And yet you are a dead Man, if you see him.

Ant. Impudence, will you open the Door?

Isab. I will, Sir, immediately.

Lor. Devise some way to let me down, Or I will throw thee out; no Ladder of Ropes, no Device? —If a Man would not forswear Whoring for the future That is in my condition, I am no true Gentleman.

Ant. Open, or I will break the Door.

Isab. Hold the Door, and swear lustily that you Are my Husband, and I will in the mean time Provide for your safety, Though I can think of none but the Sheets from the Bed. [He holds the Door.

Lor. Any thing to save my Life; —Sir, you may believe me upon my Honour, I am lawful Husband to Isabella, And have no designs upon your House or Honour. [Isab. this while fastens the Sheets, which are to be suppos'd from the Bed, to the Balcony.

Ant. Thou art some Villain.

Lor. No, Sir, I am an honest Man, and married lawfully.

Ant. Who art thou?

Lor. Hast thou done?

Isab. Yes, but you must venture hard.

Isab. 'Tis Lorenzo, Sir.

Lor. A Pox on her, now am I asham'd to all eternity.

Isab. Sir, let me beg you'l take his Word and Oath to night, And to morrow I will satisfy you. [Lor. gets down by the Sheets.

Ant. Look you make this good, Or you shall both dearly pay for't.

Lor. I am alive, yes, yes, all's whole and sound, Which is a mercy, I can tell you; This is whoring now: may I turn Franciscan, If I could not find in my heart to do penance In Camphire Posset, this Month, for this. —Well, I must to this Merchant of Love, And I would gladly be there before the Prince: For since I have mist here, I shall be amorous enough, And then I'll provide for Frederick; For 'tis but just, although he be my Master, That I in these Ragousts should be his Taster.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Antonio's House.

Enter Ismena with a Veil.

Ism. Alberto is not come yet, sure he loves me; But 'tis not Tears, and Knees, that can confirm me; No, I must be convinc'd by better Argument. —Deceit, if ever thou a Guide wert made To amorous Hearts, assist a Love-sick Maid.

Enter Alberto.

Alb. Your pleasure, Madam? —Oh that she would be brief, And send me quickly from her, For her Eyes will overthrow my purpose. [Aside.

Ism. Alberto, do you love me?

Alb. No.

Ism. No! have you deceiv'd me then?

Alb. Neither, Clarina; when I told you so, By Heaven, 'twas perfect Truth.

Ism. And what have I done since should Merit your Dis-esteem?

Alb. Nothing but what has rais'd it.

Ism. To raise your Esteem, then it seems, is To lessen your Love; or, as most Gallants are, You're but pleas'd with what you have not; And love a Mistress with great Passion, till you find Your self belov'd again, and then you hate her.

Alb. You wrong my Soul extremely, 'Tis not of that ungrateful nature; To love me is to me a greater Charm Than that of Wit or Beauty.

Ism. I'm glad on't, Sir; then I have pleasant News for you, I know a Lady, and a Virgin too, That loves you with such Passion, As has oblig'd me to become her Advocate.

Alb. I am very much oblig'd to her, If there be any such.

Ism. Upon my Life, there is; I am in earnest, The Lady is my Sister too.

Alb. How, Clarina, this from you?

Ism. Nay, I have promis'd her, that you shall love her too, Since both her Birth and Beauty merits you.

Alb. Away, false Woman: I love your Sister! No, I will hate ye both.

Ism. Why so Angry? Alas, it is against my Will I do it.

Alb. Did you betray my Faith, when 'twas so easy To give a credit to your tale of Love? —Oh Woman, faithless Woman!

Ism. Alberto, with a world of shame I own That I then lov'd you, and must do so still: But since that Love must be accounted criminal, And that a world of danger does attend it; I am resolv'd, though I can never quit it, To change it into kind Esteem for you; And would ally you, Sir, as near to me, As our unkind Stars will permit me.

Alb. I thank you, Madam: Oh, what a shame it is, To be out-done in Virtue, as in Love!

Ism. Another favour I must beg of you, That you will tell Antonio what is past.

Alb. How mean you, Madam?

Ism. Why, that I love you, Sir, And how I have deceiv'd him into confidence.

Alb. This is strange; you cannot mean it sure.

Ism. When I intend to be extremely good, I would not have a secret Sin within, Though old, and yet repented too: no, Sir, Confession always goes with Penitence.

Alb. Do you repent you that you lov'd me then?

Ism. Not so; but that I did abuse Antonio.

Alb. And can you think that this will cure his Jealousy?

Ism. Doubtless it will, when he knows how needless 'tis; For when they're most secure, they're most betray'd: Besides, I did but act the part he made; And Ills he forces, sure he'll not upbraid. Go seek out Antonio.

Alb. You have o'ercome me, Madam, every way, And this your last Command I can obey; Your Sister too I'll see, and will esteem, But you've my Heart, which I can ne'er redeem.

[Exeunt severally.



ACT V.

SCENE I. Laura's Chamber.

Enter Laura and Cloris like a Boy, as before.

Lau. Forward, dear Cloris.

Clo. And, Madam, 'twas upon a Holyday, It chanc'd Prince Frederick came into our Village, On some reports were made him of my Beauty, Attended only by the noble Curtius: They found me in the Church at my Devotion, Whom Frederick soon distinguished from the rest; He kneel'd down by me, and instead of Prayer, He fell to praise—but 'twas my Beauty only; —That I could tell you, of my strange surprize! My Zeal was all disordered, and my Eyes Fed on the false, not real Sacrifice. —I wanted Art my Sentiments to hide, Which from my Eyes and Blushes soon he spy'd.

Lau. And did you know him then?

Clo. Not till he left me: —But, to be short, Madam, we parted there; But e'er he went he whisper'd in my ear, And sigh'd, Ah, Cloris! e'er you do depart, Tell me, where 'tis you will dispose my Heart? —Pray give me leave to visit it again, Your Eyes that gave can only ease my Pain. I, only blushing, gave him my consent; He paid his Thanks in Sighs, and from me went. That night, alas, I took but little rest; } The new and strange Disorder in my Breast } Can, Madam, only by your self be guest. }

Lau. I'll not deny that I'm a Lover too, And can imagine what was felt by you.

Clo. No sooner did the welcome Day appear, But Lucia brought me word the Prince was there; His very Name disorder'd me much more, Than did his Sight or Touch the day before; So soon my rising Love grew up to power, So soon he did become my Conqueror. —How pale and trembling, when he did appear, I grew, he too had marks of Love and Fear. —But I'll omit the many visits paid, Th' unvalued Presents, and the Oaths he made, My kind Disputes on all his Letters writ, How all my Doubts were answer'd by his Wit; How oft he vow'd to marry me, whilst I Durst not believe the pleasing Perjury: —And only tell you, that one night he came, Led by designs of an impatient Flame; When all the House was silently asleep, Except my self, who Love's sad Watch did keep; Arm'd with his Ponyard, and his Breast all bare, His Face all pale with restless Love and Fear; So many wild and frantick things he said, And so much Grief and Passion too betray'd, So often vow'd he'd finish there his Life, If I refus'd him to become his Wife; That I half-dying, said it should be so; Which though I fear'd, Oh, how I wish'd it too! Both prostrate on the Ground i'th' face of Heaven, His Vows to me, and mine to him were given: —And then, oh, then, what did I not resign! With the assurance that the Prince was mine. [Weeps.

Lau. Poor Cloris, how I pity thee! Since Fate has treated me with equal rigor; —Curtius is banish'd, Frederick still pursues me, And by a cruel Father I'm confin'd, And cannot go to serve my self or thee. [One knocks.

Lor. [Without.] Sister Laura, Sister.

Lau. It is my Brother, would he would be kind, And set us free; he shall not see thee, And I'll persuade him. [As she puts Cloris into her Closet, enter Lorenzo with a Letter.

Lor. Hah, locking her Closet! now, were I a right Italian, should I grow jealous, and enrag'd at I know not what: hah, Sister! What are you doing here? Open your Cabinet, and let me see't.

Lau. Sir, 'tis in disorder, and not worth your seeing now.

Lor. 'Tis so, I care not for that, I'll see't.

Lau. Pray do not, Brother.

Lor. Your denial makes me the more inquisitive.

Lau. 'Tis but my saying, he came from the Prince, And he dares not take it ill. [Aside. —Here, Sir, [Gives him the Key.

Lor. And here's for you too; a Letter from Curtius, And therefore I would not open it: I took it up At the Post-house. [She reads, and seems pleas'd. Now if this should prove some surly Gallant of hers, And give me a slash o'er the Face for peeping I were but rightly serv'd; And why the Devil should I expect my Sister should Have more Virtue than my self? She's the same flesh and blood: or why, because She's the weaker Vessel, Should all the unreasonable burden of the Honour Of our House, as they call it, Be laid on her Shoulders, whilst we may commit A thousand Villanies? but 'tis so— Here, open the Door; I'll put her before me, however. [She opens the Door, and brings out Cloris.

Lau. Sir, 'tis Philibert from the Prince.

Lor. Why, how now, Youngster, I see you intend To thrive by your many Trades; So soon, so soon, i'faith? but, Sirrah, This is my Sister, and your Prince's Mistress; Take notice of that.

Clo. I know not what you mean.

Lor. Sir, you cannot deceive me so; And you were right serv'd, you would be made fit For nothing but the great Turk's Seraglio.

Clo. You mistake my business, Sir.

Lor. Your Blushes give you the lye, Sirrah; But for the Prince's sake, and another reason I have, I will pardon you for once.

Lau. He has not done a fault, and needs it not.

Lor. Was he not alone with thee? And is not that enough? Well, I see I am no Italian In Punctillio's of honourable Revenge. There is but one experiment left to prove my self so; And if that fail, I'll e'en renounce my Country. —Boy, harkye,—there is a certain kindness You may do me, and get your pardon for being found here.

Clo. You shall command me any thing.

Lor. Prithee how long hast thou been set up for thy self, Hah?

Clo. As how, Sir?

Lor. Poh, thou understand'st me.

Clo. Indeed I do not, Sir; what is't you mean?

Lor. A smooth-fac'd Boy, and ask such a Question? Fy, fy, this Ignorance was ill counterfeited To me that understand the World.

Clo. Explain your self, Sir.

Lor. Lookye, ten or twenty Pistoles will do you No hurt, will it?

Clo. Not any, Sir.

Lor. Why, so, 'tis well any thing will make thee Apprehend.

Clo. I shall be glad to serve you, Sir, without that fee.

Lor. That's kindly said— I see a Man must not be too easy of belief: had I been so, This Boy would have been at, what d'ye mean, Sir? And, Lord, I understand you not. Well, Philibert, here's earnest to bind the Bargain; I am now in haste; when I see thee next, I'll tell thee more. [Lorenzo whispers to Laura.

Clo. This 'tis to be a Favourite now; I warrant you I must do him some good office to the Prince, Which I'll be sure to do.

Lor. Nay, it must be done, for she has us'd me basely; Oh, 'tis a Baggage.

Lau. Let me alone to revenge you on Isabella, Get me but from this Imprisonment.

Lor. I will: whilst I hold the old Man in a dispute, Do you two get away; but be sure thou pay'st her home.

Lau. I warrant you, Sir, this was happy; Now shall I see Curtius.

Lor. Philibert, I advise you to have a care of Wenching: 'twill spoil a good Face, And mar your better market of the two. [Ex. Lor.

Lau. Come, let us haste, and by the way, I'll tell thee Of a means that may make us all happy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Grove.

Enter Alberto melancholy.

Alb. Antonio said he would be here, I'm impatient till he come—

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Alberto, I have such a Project for thee!

Alb. Hah— [Gazes.

Ant. What ails thee, art thou well?

Alb. No.

Ant. Where art thou sick?

Alb. At Heart, Antonio, poison'd by thy Jealousy; —Oh, thou hast ruin'd me, undone my Quiet, And from a Man of reasonable Virtue, Hast brought me to a wild distracted Lover.

Ant. Explain your self.

Alb. Thou'st taught me, Friend, to love Clarina; Not, as I promis'd thee, to feign, but so, That I, unless I do possess that Object, I think must die; at best be miserable.

Ant. How, Sir, have I done this?

Alb. Yes, Antonio, thou hast done this.

Ant. My dear Alberto, said you that you lov'd her?

Alb. Yes, Antonio, against my will I do; As much against my will, as when I told her so; Urg'd by thy needless Stratagem.

Ant. Name it no more, it was an idle Fault, Which I do so repent me, That if you find I should relapse again, Kill me, and let me perish with my Weakness: And were that true you tell me of your Passion, Sure I should wish to die, to make you happy.

Alb. That's kindly said, and I submit to you, And am content to be out-done in Amity.

Ant. Yes, I'll resign my Claims, and leave the World; Alberto, 'tis unkind to think I would be happy By ways must ruin you: But sure you tell me this, but only to afflict me.

Alb. 'Tis truth, Antonio, I do love Clarina; And, what is yet far worse for thy repose, Believe my self so bless'd to be belov'd.

Ant. How, to be belov'd by her! —Oh dire effects of Jealousy!

Alb. All that you saw to day was only feign'd, To let you see, that even your Eyes and Ears Might be impos'd upon.

Ant. Can it be possible!

Alb. And now she thinks she is enough reveng'd; And lets you know, in her feign'd Scorn to me, That all your Sleights and Cunnings are but vain: She has deceiv'd them all, and by that Art, Gives you a Confidence, and me a Heart.

Ant. I must confess, it is but just in her To punish thus the Errors of my Fear; I do forgive her, from my Soul I do. —But, Sir, what satisfaction's this to you?

Alb. Clarina happy, I'll from Court retire, And by that Absence quench my Hopeless Fire: War I will make my Mistress, who may be, Perhaps, more kind than she has been to me; Where though I cannot conquer, 'twill allow That I may die; that's more than this will do.

Ant.—Why did you, Sir, betray my Weakness to her? Though 'twas but what I did deserve from you.

Alb. By all that's good, she knew the Plot before, From Isabella, who it seems o'erheard us, When you once press'd me to't: And had we wanted Virtue, thoud'st been lost.

Ant. I own the Crime; And first I beg thy Pardon, And after that will get it from Clarina; Which done, I'll wait upon thee to the Camp, And suffer one year's Penance for this Sin, Unless I could divert this Resolution, By a Proposal Clarina bid me make you.

Alb. What was it, Sir?

Ant. I have a Sister, Friend, a handsome Virgin, Rich, witty, and I think she's virtuous too; Return'd last Week from St. Teresia's Monastery.

Alb. Sure any thing that is to thee ally'd, Must find a more than bare Respect from me; But certain 'tis I ne'er shall love again, And have resolv'd never to marry any, Where Interest, and not Love, must join our hands.

Ant. You cannot tell what Power there lies in Beauty; Come, you shall see her, and if after that, You find you cannot love her, We'll both to Candia, where we both will prove Rivals in Honour, as we're now in Love. —But I'ad forgot to tell thee what I came for; I must this Evening beg your Company, Nay, and perhaps your Sword: come along with me, And by the way I'll tell you the Adventure.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Lodgings of Curtius.

Enter Curtius and Pietro, disguis'd as before.

Cur. I wonder we hear no news yet of the Prince, I hope he'll come; Pietro, be the Bravoes ready, And the Curtezans?

Piet. My Lord, they'll be here immediately, all well dress'd too.

Cur. They be those Bravoes that belong to me?

Piet. Yes, Sir, the same; But Antonio is their Patron.

Cur. They be stout and secret; 'tis well, Is the Music and all things ready? For I'll not be seen till my Part is to be play'd. What Arms have they?

Piet. Pistols, Sir, would you have other?

Cur. No, I have not yet consider'd how to kill him, Nor scarce resolv'd to do so any way. What makes this strange Irresolution in me? —Sure 'tis the force of sacred Amity, Which but too strictly was observ'd by me. —My Prince, and Friend, my Wife, and Sister too; Shall not those last, the powerful first out-do? My Honour, and my Love, are there ingag'd, And here, by ties of Duty, I'm oblig'd: I satisfy but these, if he must bleed; But ruin the whole Dukedom in the Deed, The hopeful Heir of all their noble Spoils, And Joy and Recompence of all their Toils. —Why, so was Cloris, Laura too, to me, Which both were ravish'd from me, Prince, by thee. [Knocks within.

Piet. Sir, they be the Bravoes and Curtezans. [Pietro goes out.

Cur. 'Tis well, I need not talk with them, They understand their work.

Piet. They do, my Lord, and shall be ready at your stamp; They are all Neapolitans, you know, Sir.

Cur. Are they the better for that?

Piet. Much, Sir, a Venetian will turn to your Enemy, If he will give him but a Souse more than you have done; And your Millanoise are fit for nothing but to Rob the Post or Carrier; a Genovese too Will sooner kill by Usury than Sword or Pistol; A Roman fit for nothing but a Spy.

Cur. Well, Sir, you are pleasant with my Countrymen.

Piet. I'll be so with my own too, Sir; and tell you, That a Maltan, who pretends to so much Honour And Gravity, are fit only to rob their Neighbours With pretence of Piety, —And a Cicilian so taken up with Plots, How to kill his Vice-Roy, that it keeps them From being Rogues to a less degree. But I have done, Sir, and beg your pardon.

Cur. Didst leave the Letter, I commanded thee, For Laura?

Piet. I did, my Lord.

Enter Lorenzo.

Lor. Well, here's the Prince just coming.

Cor. Pray, Sir, conduct him in, I'm ready for him.

[Ex. Cur. and Piet.

Enter the Prince, conducted by two Women in Masquerade, with Lights, he endeavouring to take off their Masks. [Ex. two Women. [He walks about while this Song is singing.

What is the recompence of War, But soft and wanton Peace? What the best Balsam to our Scars, But that which Venus gave to Mars, When he was circled in a kind Embrace?

Behold a Prince, who never yet Was vanquished in the Field; Awhile his Glories must forget, And lay his Laurels at the feet Of some fair Female Power, to whom he'll yield.

Fred. What's this the Preparation?

Lor. Yes, so it should seem; but had you met With so many defeats as I have done to night, You would willingly excuse this Ceremony.

Musick for the Dance.

Enter Antonio with Ismena, Alberto with Clarina, Laura and Cloris with two Men more, and all dress'd in Masquerade, with Vizards; they dance. The Prince sets down: the Dance being done, they retire to one side; and Alberto comes and presents him Clarina, and bows and retires; who puts off her Mask, and puts it on again, and retires.

Fred. She's wondrous fair; Sure in his whole Cabal he cannot show a fairer—

Lor. She resembles Clarina; I wish your Highness Would see further, and then perhaps this would Fall to my lot, for I love her for likeness sake. [Antonio presents Ismena, and retires as the other.

Fred. This I confess out-does the others; An Innocency dwells upon her Face, That's strangely taking, is it not, Lorenzo?

Lor. To say truth, she is very fine indeed. [They present Laura.

Fred. Hah! I am amaz'd; see, Lorenzo, Dost thou not know that Face?

Lor. O' my Conscience and Soul, 'tis my own Sister Laura; Why, how now, Mistress, Do things go thus with you, i'faith? [She shakes her Hand, as not understanding him.

Ant. Sir, she understands you not.

Lor. Is it not Laura then?

Ant. No, Sir, it is a Stranger.

Fred. Let her be what she will, I'll have her. [Fred. seems to talk, when she answers in Grimaces.

Lor. There have been Examples in the World Of the good Offices done by a Brother to a Sister; But they are very rare here, And therefore will surely be the more acceptable. Well, Sir, have you fix'd, that I may chuse?

Fred. I have, and had he thousands more, [Lor. goes to Clar. I would refuse them all for this fair Creature.

Enter Pietro.

Piet. Sir, all things are ready as you desire, But my Master must first speak with you alone.

Fred. About the Price, I'll warrant you; Let him come in: [All go out but Fred, to him Cur. —Are you the Master of the Ceremony?

Cur. I am.

Fred. Be speedy then, and by my Impatiency To be with that agreeable Stranger, Guess at my Approbation of the Ladies, and which I chuse.

Cur. Your mighty Heat, Sir, will be soon allay'd.

Fred. Shall it?

Cur. Yes, Sir, it shall, for you must die.

Fred. Sure thou art mad to tell me so, whoe'er thou be'st, Whilst I have this about me. [Draws.

Cur. That, Sir, you draw in vain; stand off— [Offers a Pistol.

Fred. What new conceited Preparation's this?

Cur. Sir, when you know this Face, it will inform you. [Pulls off his false Beard.

Fred. Curtius! I am betray'd, oh Villain! [Offers to fight.

Cur. Ho, within there— [He calls, and all the masked Men come out, and offer their Pistols at Frederick.

Fred. Hold, I am the Prince of Florence.

Cur. These, Sir, are Rogues, and have no sense of ought, But Mischief in their Souls; Gold is their Prince and God,—go, be gone— [They withdraw. —See, Sir, I can command them.

Fred. Curtius, why dost thou deal thus treacherously with me? Did I not offer thee to fight thee fairly?

Cur. 'Tis like the Injuries, Sir, that you have done me; Pardon me if my Griefs make me too rude, And in coarse terms lay all your Sins before you. —First, Sir, you have debauch'd my lovely Sister, The only one I had; The Hope and Care of all our noble Family: Thou, Prince, didst ravish all her Virtue from her, And left her nothing but a desperate sense of Shame, Which only serv'd to do her self that Justice, Which I had executed, had she not prevented me.

Fred. In this, upon my Soul, you do me wrong.

Cur. Next, (Oh, how unlike a brave and generous Man!) Without a Cause, you cast me from your Bosom; Withdrew the Honour of your promis'd Friendship, And made me partner in my Sister's Fate; Only with this difference, that she You left to act a Murder on her self; And mine you would have been so kind to've done With your own hand, but my respect prevented it. —Next, Sir, you ravish'd Laura from me, And under a pretence of sacred Friendship, You prov'd your self the worst of Enemies; And that's a Crime you dare not say was Ignorance, As you perhaps will plead your Sin to Cloris was.

Fred. Cloris, why, what hast thou to do with Cloris?

Cur. She was my Sister, Frederick.

Fred. Thy Sister!

Cur. Yes, think of it well, A Lady of as pure and noble Blood, As that of the great Duke thy Father, Till you, bad Man, infected it. —Say, should I murder you for this base Action, Would you not call it a true Sacrifice? And would not Heaven and Earth forgive it too?

Fred. No, had I known that she had been thy Sister, I had receiv'd her as a Gift from Heaven; And so I would do still.

Cur. She must be sent indeed from Heaven, If you receive her now.

Fred. Is Cloris dead? Oh, how I was to blame! [Weeps. —Here thou mayst finish now the Life thou threaten'st.

Cur. Now, Sir, you know my Justice and my Power; Yet since my Prince can shed a Tear for Cloris, I can forgive him; here, Sir,—send me to Cloris, [Kneels, and offers his Sword. That Mercy possibly will redeem the rest Of all the Wrongs you've done me; And you shall find nothing but Sorrow here, And a poor broken Heart that did adore you.

Fred. Rise, Curtius, and divide my Dukedom with me; Do any thing that may preserve thy Life, And gain my Pardon; alas, thy Honour's safe, Since yet none knows that Cloris was thy Sister, Or if they do, I must proclaim this truth; She dy'd thy Prince's Wife.

Cur. These Tidings would be welcome to my Sister, And I the fitting'st Man to bear that News.

[Offers to stab himself; is held by Frederick, Laura, and Cloris, who come in with Isabella, dress'd like Philibert, and the rest.

Lau. Stay, Curtius, and take me with thee in the way.

Cur. Laura, my dearest Laura! how came you hither?

Lau. Commanded by your Letter; have you forgot it?

Fred. Curtius, look here, is this not Cloris' Face?

Cur. The same; Oh my sweet Sister, is it thee? [Curtius goes to embrace her, she goes back.

Fred. Do not be shy, my Soul, it is thy Brother.

Cur. Yes, a Brother who despis'd his Life, When he believ'd yours lost or sham'd: But now the Prince will take a care of it.

Clo. May I believe my Soul so truly bless'd?

Fred. Yes, Cloris, and thus low I beg thy pardon [Kneels. For all the Fears that I have made thee suffer.

Enter all the rest, first Antonio and Alberto, without their Vizors.

Clo. Rise, Sir, it is my Duty and my Glory.

Alb. Sir, we have Pardons too to beg of you.

Fred. Antonio and Alberto, what, turn'd Bravoes?

Cur. I am amaz'd.

Ant. You'll cease your Wonder, Sir, when you shall know, —Those Braves which formerly belong'd to you, Are now maintain'd by me; which Pietro hir'd For this night's service; and from them we learnt What was to be done, (though not on whom) But that we guess'd, and thought it but our duty To put this Cheat on Curtius; Which had we seen had been resolv'd to kill you, Had been by us prevented: The Ladies too would needs be Curtezans To serve your Highness.

Fred. I'm much oblig'd to them, as you. —Cloris, a while I'll leave thee with thy Brother, Till I have reconcil'd thee to my Father: To marry me, is what he long has wish'd for, And will, I know, receive this News with Joy. [Exit Prince.

Lor. Here's fine doings; what am I like to come to if he Turn honest now? This is the worst piece of Inconstancy He ever was guilty of; to change ones Humour, or so, Sometimes, is nothing: but to change Nature, To turn good on a sudden, and never give a Man Civil warning, is a Defeat not be endur'd; I'll see the end on't though. [Goes out.

Alb. Here, Antonio—imagine how I love thee, Who make thee such a Present. [Gives him Clarina, who is dressed just as Ismena was, and Ismena in a Masquing Habit.

Ant. Clarina, can you pardon my Offence, And bless me with that Love, You have but justly taken from me?

Clar. You wrong me, Sir, I ne'er withdrew my Heart, Though you, but too unkindly, did your Confidence.

Ant. Do not upbraid me; that I was so to blame, Is shame enough: pray pardon, and forget it.

Clar. I do.

Ant. Alberto, to shew my Gratitude in what I may, I beg you would receive Ismena from me.

Alb. Who's this?

Ant. Ismena, whom I promis'd thee.

Alb. It is Clarina; do you mock my Pain? [Shows Ismena.

Ant. By Heaven, not I; this is Clarina, Sir.

Alb. That thy Wife Clarina! A Beauty which till now I never saw.

Ant. Sure thou art mad, didst thou not give her me but now, And hast not entertain'd her all this night?

Alb. Her Habit and her Vizard did deceive me; I took her for this lady,—Oh bless'd Mistake!

Ism. I see you're in the dark, but I'll unfold the Riddle, —Sir, in the Passage from the Monastery, Attended only by my Confessor, A Gentleman, a Passenger, in the same Boat, Address'd himself to me; And made a many little Courtships to me: I being veil'd, he knew not who receiv'd them, Nor what Confusion they begot in me. At the first sight, I grew to great esteems of him, But when I heard him speak— I'm not asham'd to say he was my Conqueror.

Alb. Oh, Madam, was it you? Who by your Conversation in that Voyage, Gave me Disquiets, Which nothing but your Eyes could reconcile again?

Ism. 'Twas I whom you deceiv'd with some such Language. —After my coming home I grew more melancholy, And by my silence did increase my Pain; And soon Clarina found I was a Lover, Which I confess'd at last, and nam'd the Object. She told me of your Friendship with Antonio, And gave me hopes that I again should see you: —But Isabella over-heard the Plot, Which, Sir, Antonio did contrive with you, To make a feigned Courtship to Clarina, And told us all the story.

Alb. Oh, how I'm ravish'd with my Happiness!

Ism. Clarina, Sir, at first was much inrag'd, And vow'd she would revenge her on Antonio; But I besought her to be pleas'd again, And said I would contrive a Counter-Plot, Should satisfy her Honour and Revenge. Thus, Sir, I got a Garment like to hers; And to be courted, though but in jest, by you, I run all hazards of my Brother's Anger, And your opinion of my Lightness too.

Clar. 'Twas a Temptation, Sir, I would not venture on, Lest from the reasons of a just Revenge, And so much Beauty as Alberto own'd, My Virtue should not well secure your Interest.

Ant. But why, Ismena, was that killing Plot, When I was hid behind the Arras? for now I confess all.

Ism. To make Alberto confident of my Love, And try his Friendship to the utmost point. —Alberto too I found had some reserves, Which I believ'd his Amity to you.

Alb. Yes, Madam, whilst I took you for his Wife, I thought it crime enough but to adore you; But now I may with honour own my Passion: I will, Ismena, confidently assure you, That I will die, unless you pity me.

Ism. She that durst tell you, Sir, how much she lov'd, When you believ'd it was a Sin to do so, Will now make good that Promise with Antonio's leave.

Ant. With perfect Joy, Ismena, I resign thee, [Ant. gives him Ism.

Alb. By double Ties you now unite our Souls; Though I can hardly credit what I see, The Happiness so newly is arriv'd. [To Ant.

Enter Prince, Lorenzo, and Guilliam, who comes up scraping to Cloris.

Fred. My Father is the kindest Man on Earth, And Cloris shall be welcome to his Bosom; Who'll make him happy in my Reformation. —Here, Curtius, take Laura, who, I find, Had rather be my Sister than my Mistress: The Duke commands it so.

Cur. Till you have pardon'd me my late Offences, I must deny myself so great a Happiness. [Cur. kneels.

Fred. Rise, you have it.

Enter Salvator.

Sal. Is here not a Runegado belongs to me?

Lau. No, Sir, my Faith's entire, And Curtius has the keeping of it.

Sal. Who made him Master of it, hau?

Lau. Heaven, my Inclinations and the Prince.

Sal. Three powerful Opposers; Take her, since it must be so, And mayst thou be happy with her.

Fred. Alberto, would this Court afforded A Lady worthy thee.

Alb. Sir, I'm already sped, I humbly thank you.

Lor. Sped, quoth ye? Heaven defend Me from such Fortune.

Fred. Lorenzo, I had forgot thee; thou shalt e'en marry too.

Lor. You may command me any thing but marrying.

Isab. What think you then of a smooth-fac'd Boy?

Lor. A Pox on him, sure he will not tell now, will he?

Isab. My Lord, I beg your leave to challenge Lorenzo.

Fred. What, to a Duel, Philibert?

Lor. Phil. Phil. hold, do not ruin the Reputation Of a Man that has acquir'd Fame amongst the female Sex; I protest I did but jest.

Isab. But, Sir, I'm in earnest with you.

Fred. This is not Philibert.

Isab. No, Sir, but Isabella—that was Philibert. [Pointing to Cloris.

Clo. Yes, Sir, I was the happy Boy to be belov'd, When Cloris was forgotten.

Fred. Oh, how you raise my Love and Shame! But why did Isabella change her Habit?

Clo. Only to take my place, lest you should miss me, Who being with Laura, at the Lodgings of Clarina, And comparing the Words of her Letter With what the Bravoes had confess'd to Antonio, We found the Plot which was laid for you, And join'd all to prevent it.

Fred. 'Twas sure the work of Heaven.

Isab. And now, Sir, I come to claim a Husband here.

Fred. Name him, and take him.

Isab. Lorenzo, Sir.

Lor. Of all Cheats, commend me to a Waiting-Gentlewoman; I her Husband?

Ant. I am a Witness to that Truth.

Fred. 'Tis plain against you; come, you must be honest.

Lor. Will you compel me to't against my will? Oh Tyranny, consider, I am a Man of Quality and Fortune.

Isab. As for my Qualities, you know I have sufficient, And Fortune, thanks to your Bounty, considerable too.

Fred. No matter, he has enough for both.

Lor. Nay, Sir, an you be against me, 'Tis time to reform in my own defence; But 'tis a thing I never consider'd, or thought on.

Fred. Marry first, and consider afterwards.

Lor. That's the usual way, I confess; Come, Isabella, since the Prince commands it, I do not love thee, but yet I'll not forswear it; Since a greater Miracle than that is wrought, And that's my marrying thee; Well, 'tis well thou art none of the most beautiful, I should swear the Prince had some designs on thee else.

Clo. Yes, Guilliam, since thou hast been so faithful, I dare assure thee Lucia shall be thine. [Clo. speaks aside to Guil. Guil. bows.

Fred. Come, my fair Cloris, and invest thy self In all the Glories which I lately promis'd: —And, Ladies, you'll attend her to the Court, And share the Welcomes which the Duke provides her; Where all the Sallies of my flattering Youth Shall be no more remember'd, but as past. Since 'tis a Race that must by Man be run, I'm happy in my Youth it was begun; It serves my future Manhood to improve, Which shall be sacrific'd to War and Love.

Curtain Falls.



EPILOGUE,

Spoken by Cloris.

Ladies, the Prince was kind at last, But all the Danger is not past; I cannot happy be till you approve My hasty condescension to his Love. 'Twas want of Art, not Virtue, was my Crime; And that's, I vow, the Author's Fault, not mine. She might have made the Women pitiless, But that had harder been to me than this: She might have made our Lovers constant too, A Work which Heaven it self can scarcely do; But simple Nature never taught the way To hide those Passions which she must obey. E'en humble Cottages and Cells, Where Innocence and Virtue dwells, Than Courts no more secure can be From Love and dangerous Flattery. Love in rural Triumph reigns, As much a God amongst the Swains, As if the Sacrifices paid Were wounded Hearts by Monarchs made: And this might well excuse th' Offence, If it be so to love a Prince. But, Ladies, 'tis your Hands alone, And not his Power, can raise me to a Throne; Without that Aid I cannot reign, But will return back to my Flocks again.

Guilliam advances.

Guil. How, go from Court! nay, zay not zo. Hear me but speak before you go: Whoy zay the Leadies should refuse ye, The Bleads I'm sure would better use ye— So long as ye are kind and young, I know they'll clap ye right or wrong.

* * * * * * * * *

NOTES: The Amorous Prince

NOTES ON THE TEXT.

Dramatis Personae

p. 123 Dramatis Personae. I have added to the list 'Salvator, Father to Lorenzo and Laura.' 'Ismena' is spelled 'Ismenia' throughout by 1724.

ACT I: Scene i

p. 124, l. 10 Should those. 4to 1671 reads 'Dwell'st perceive us' as a separate line. Throughout the play, except in lines as this specially noted, I carefully follow the metrical division of 4to 1671. 1724 prints many speeches and whole scenes as prose which the quarto gives as verse. It is noticeable that the edition of 1711 follows the quarto.

p. 125, l. 17 Bays. 1724 'Bay'.

ACT I: Scene ii

p. 127, l. 31 Exit Pietro. 1724 'Exit.' which would tend to a confusion here.

p. 131, l. 1 Thinking. 4to 1671 ends this line at 'Life' and makes 'Might ... Virtue' a second line.

ACT I: Scene iii

p. 133, l. 15 accompted. 1724 'accounted'.

p. 134, l. 34 a my. 1724 'on my'.

p. 137, l. 15 They retire. 4to 1671 'Exeunt.'

ACT I: Scene iv

p. 137, l. 16 Scene IV. The Same. All previous editions 'Scene IV.'

p. 140, l. 28 fixt. 1724 'fit'.

p. 141, l. 2 me alone. 1724 'me all alone'.

p. 141, l. 28 Ism. I can. 1724 wrongly gives this speech to Isabella.

p. 144, l. 4 if there need an Oath between us— 1724 'is there need of Oaths between us?'

ACT II: Scene i

p. 144, l. 15 Gal. My Lord. All previous editions give Galliard's lines with speech-prefix 'Ser.'

p. 145, l. 30 An. 4to 1671 'And'.

p. 146, l. 30 Exit. I have supplied this stage direction.

ACT II: Scene ii

p. 146, l. 31 Antonio's House. I have added the locale.

p. 147, l. 10 hurt ones. 4to 1671 'hurts one'. 1724 'hurt one'.

p. 147, l. 16 Cure. 1724 'spare'.

ACT II: Scene iii

p. 152, l. 18 The Street. I have supplied this locale.