SCENE I.
SCENE, A State-Room in the Palace.
Enter JOCULO, in a great Hurry.
Jocu.
Which way shall I go? Whither shall I run? How
shall I find out this Lady of ours?
Enter LUCILIA, LIBERIA, and DELIA.
O here she is.—Madam, I'm come to let you know—
Lucil.
Peace, Blockhead, and leave me to my solitary
Thoughts.
Jocu.
O! with all my Heart, Madam.—Yes, yes, I only
thought that I ought to inform you how the Lord Bellario—
but I humbly beg your Ladyship's Pardon; since you don't care
to hear of it I'll pocket up my News, and be gone as I came.
[Going.
Lucil.
What's that you say, Joculo? Come back.
Jocu.
No, Madam, I leave you to your solitary Thoughts.
Lucil.
Stay, I tell you, come hither: What did you say?
Jocu.
I, Madam! nothing at all—one's sometimes over-busy
in pretending to inform great People; but I'll be wiser for
the future.
Lucil.
I'll be trifl'd with no longer, Sir; what did you come
to tell me?
Jocu.
You'd fain know it then, would you, Madam?
Lucil.
Yes, make haste—what have you to say about the
Lord Bellario?
Jocu.
A wonderful Accident, Madam! But I'm afraid 'twill
disturb your solitary Thoughts—I had better put it off 'till another
Opportunity.
Lucil.
Speak quickly, Sir—or—
Jocu.
Why, as your Father, Madam, was walking in the
Forest a couple of horrible Ruffians, in Masks, darted out
upon him: There were but two pitiful Wretches of us with
-- 29 --
him, each of whom immediately gain'd his Tree, and your Father
was left alone to take care of himself—
Lucil.
And then—
Jocu.
No, hold, Madam—before I go any farther I must
needs say how foolish 'tis in People to expose themselves and
those that are about 'em to such kind of Dangers: 'Tis what I
don't understand, and what—
Lucil.
Will you dare, Sir, to tempt my Resentment any
longer?
Jocu.
Well, then, to resume the Thread of my Discourse—
Whereabouts did I break off tho'?
Lucil.
You said my Father was left alone to encounter the
Ruffians.
Jocu.
Ay, ay, 'tis true, true—When that Moment, Madam,
the Lord Bellario appear'd just as if he had been drop'd
out of the Clouds to save him.
Lucil.
And so—
Jocu.
Why, one of the Villains, Madam, was immediately
laid welt'ring in his Blood, and the other fled for't—Your Father,
full of Joy, as you may imagine, embrac'd the valiant Bellario,
proclaim'd him his present Deliverer, and your future Husband.
Lucil.
Ay, Liberia, since Heaven speaks so plainly in his Favour
'twou'd be Presumption in me to reject its Choice.
Lib. [Aside.]
Yes, yes, I know it would—you'll not attempt
any such thing I'm certain—Why, truly Cousin, I
think 'tis your Duty now to make a Curtsy, and say, As it please
you; and yet for all that, if it were not a Fellow I lik'd, I
would make another Curtsy, and say, As it pleases me.
Lucil.
But, if his Disdain still continue, I'll sooner—
Jocu.
O, no, no, Madam, he was in Excess of Transport
at your Father's Declaration—but see, here he comes, let him
answer for himself.
Enter GRATIANO, BELLARIO, &c.
Grati.
Daughter, you have heard already all that I can tell
you; Heaven, you see, has explain'd it self in favour of this
Lord, and sure, my dear Child, you'll not refuse the Recompense
of your Smiles to one who sav'd your Father's Life.
Lucil.
My Lord, that's not a Recompense which Bellario,
desires.
Bell.
Forgive me, Madam, if I have Ambition enough to
-- 30 --
aspire so high—I have too long deceiv'd you, Madam, but
now throw off the Veil, and speak the real Language of my
Soul; all that Disguise was the last Shift of a despairing Passion;
I languish'd, I dy'd for Love all the while: And if this
Stratagem offends you, Madam, I'm ready to expiate the Crime
of it any way you shall command me.
Lucil.
My Lord, if it be the Will of Heav'n and my Father,
I must submit; and at the same time must confess that I
can't blame your Stratagem, and am better pleas'd that what
you said to me was only a Pretence, than if it had been Truth.
Bell.
Silence is the perfectest Herald of Joy, Madam—I were
but little happy, if I could say how much—As you consent to
be mine I'll for ever be solely yours; I give away my self for
you, and dote on the Exchange.
Grati.
My dear Child you so transport me with this Goodness
and Duty, that Joy can't shew it self modest enough without
a Badge of Bitterness.
[Weeps.
Lib.
Soh! thus goes every one to the World but I, and I
am Sun-burnt; I may sit in a Corner and cry heigh-ho for a
Husband.
Grati.
Well, Neice, I hope to see you in a short time
fitted with one.
Lib.
Not till Heaven make Men of some other Mould.
Would not it grieve a Woman to be over-master'd by a Piece
of valiant Dust; to give an Account of her Life to a Clod of
wayward Marl?
Bell.
You have a merry Heart, fair Lady.
Lib.
Yes, my Lord, I thank it poor Fool, it keeps on the
windy side of Care.
Bell.
I'll get a Husband to your Mind, Lady Liberia.
Lib.
You—[Aside.] I had rather have one of your Father's
getting—Hath your Lordship ne'er a Brother like your self—
he'd make an excellent Husband, if a Maid could but come
by him.
Lucil.
Ay, my Dear, Protheus must be the Man after all—
Lib.
Not unless I might have another for change, Cousin—
He's too costly to wear every Day—My Lord, you promis'd
to take nothing amiss that I say.
Grati.
No, sweet Neice, they must be dull Dotards indeed
that did—but they tell me you have lost Lord Protheus' Heart
by your Rallery.
-- 31 --
Lib.
He lent it me for a while, indeed, and I gave him Use
for it; a double Heart for a single one.
Bell.
I'll tell him what you say, Lady!
Lib.
Do, do, he'll but break a Comparison or two on me, which
if not taken notice of, and laugh'd at, strikes him at once into
Melancholy; and then there's a Partridge' Wing sav'd, for the
Fool will eat no Supper that Night.
Lucil.
Look'e, my Dear, you two must never be separated;
your Humours tally to the greatest nicety.
Lib.
He, roast him, there's no Appearance of Humour in
him, unless it be the Humour he has for strange Disguises: As
to be a German to-day, and a Frenchman to-morrow; and
next Day in the Shape of two Countries at once, a Dutchman
from the Waste downward, all Trowsers; and a Spaniard from
the Hip upward, no Doublet.
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha!
Lib.
Well, Cousins, Fortune give you Joy with one another—
I'll go and prepare things necessary for your Nuptials.
[Ex. Lib.
Bell.
An entertaining chearful Creature!
Lucil.
She has little of the melancholy Element in her, indeed.
Grati.
No, she's never grave but when she sleeps—Nay, not
then neither, for I have heard my Daughter say that she hath often
dreamt of something merry, and wak'd herself with laughing.
Bell.
She'd make an excellent Wife for Protheus.
Lucil.
Lack-a-day, if they were but a Week marry'd they'd
talk themselves mad.
Grati.
However, my Lord, as your Nuptials cannot be celebrated
ere to-morrow; and as Time seems to go on Crutches
to youthful Lovers, 'till Hymen's Rites are all fulfil'd, let us
in the Interim, to pass it over the pleasanter, undertake to bring
those two Reprobates together: I would fain have it a Match,
methinks.
Jocu.
O that will be no difficult Task, for they are above half
Man and Wife already.
Bell.
How so?
Jocu.
Because they are always abusing one another; so Matrimony
will be only a proper License to do it for the future.
Bell.
'Tis no uncommon thing indeed for People to rally one
another into Matrimony, and I'm apt to think that will be their
Case.
-- 32 --
Grati.
I make no question of accomplishing it if you'll lend
your Assistance in the Way I shall direct.
Jocu.
I am for you, my Lord, tho' it cost me ten Nights
Watching, and ten Meals fasting.
Delia.
And I, my Lord, to the utmost.
Grati.
What say you, Daughter?
Lucil.
I'll do any modest Office, my Lord, to help my
Cousin to a good Husband.
Bell.
And Protheus will make no bad one, I'll answer for
him.
Grati.
I'll teach you how to humour your Cousin, that she
shall fall in love with him—and I, with your Helps, will so
practise on Protheus that, in spite of his quick Wit and queasy
Stomach, he shall dote upon Liberia—Come in with me,
Daughter, and you Lord Bellario, and I'll acquaint you with
my Intention.
[Exeunt.
Enter BYRON and GREMIO.
Byron.
Are we again disappointed then!
Grem.
Again, my Lord.
Byron.
Gratiano still lives it seems!
Grem.
He does indeed, my Lord.
Byron.
Revenge live with him! and the Lord Bellario shall
marry his Daughter, hey? This Match shall be—goes it not so?
Grem.
Yes, my Lord, if we can't cross it.
Byron.
Any Bar, any Cross, any Impediment will be Medicine
to me: I am sick of Abhorrence to the whole Crew of
'em, and any thing that thwarts their Inclinations will tally with
mine—but which way is it to be done?
Grem.
Not honestly, my Lord, but so cunningly that no Dishonesty
shall be suffer'd to appear.
Byron.
That's enough; no body now-a-days aims at more—
'tis the Mask, not the Meaning that's now regarded—Leaden
Coin, if it be but well gilt, goes as current as the best—and a
successful piece of Villany loses its Name, for the whole World
immediately stile it a Vertue.
Grem.
Since 'tis so, my Lord, those that will flinch at any
thing to gain their Ends deserve to suffer for it.
Byron.
True—for what have People to do with Vertue and
Merit in an Age where they are sure to starve by medling with
'em! Vice and Folly, united, is at present the reigning Fashion.
-- 33 --
Grem.
And a Fashion that every body runs into as fast as
they can.
Byron.
The World's in the right on't, and ev'ry one that
knows the World ought to give into it—and therefore tell me
quickly by what Piece of Villany I can bring about my Revenge.
Grem.
I think I told you, my Lord, some time ago how
much I am in the good Graces of Delia, Lucilia's Favourite,
who always lies in the same Apartment with her.
Byron.
What of that?
Grem.
I can prevail on her to discourse with me at a midnight
Hour out of her Lady's Chamber-Window—
Byron.
Suppose so—but what then?
Grem.
The Poison of that lies in you to temper: Go you
to the Lord Bellario, tell him that he wrongs his Honour in
marrying such a contaminated Wanton as Lucilia.
Byron.
What Proof shall I make of that?
Grem.
Proof enough to deceive Bellario, ruin Lucilia, and
kill your Brother—D'ye want any thing more?
Byron.
No, that would be even beyond the Vanity of my
Wishes.
Grem.
Go then this Evening to Bellario, tell him that you
know he's greatly impos'd on, and that Lucilia confers Favours
even on your Slave: He'll not believe this without Evidence;
tell him he shall have it; and that no less than seeing her, hearing
her converse with him at midnight from her Chamber-Window;
hear Gremio call her Lucilia, and she call him Gremio,
(for on some specious Pretence or other I'll prevail on
Delia to discourse under such a Disguise.) Tell him he shall
have Proof of it this very Night; in the mean time I'll go find
out Delia, and prepare her for the Business.
Byron.
O' my Word this bears the Face of going well.
Grem.
Fear it not—I'll so fashion the Matter that Jealousy
shall be call'd Assurance, and all the Business overthrown at
once.
Byron.
Let the Consequence be what it may, I'll put it in
practice—be thou but cunning in the working—
Grem.
Be you but constant in the Accusation, and my Cunning
shan't disgrace me.
Byron.
I'll reward thee beyond thy Wishes, if thou dost but
enable me to accomplish my Purpose.
[Exeunt severally.
-- 34 --
Scene 2
SCENE a Garden.
Enter PROTHEUS.
Proth.
I do much wonder that one Man, seeing how much
another is a Fool when he gives himself up to Love, will, after
he has laugh'd at such Follies in others, become the Subject of
his own Scorn by doing the same—Just such a Man is this
Lord Bellario: I have known when there was no Musick with
him but the Drum and the Fife, and now will he sit expiring
at the Squeak of a Fiddle or an Eunuch's Pipe: I have known
when he would have slept on the cold Ground in a good Coat
of Mail, and now will he lie on a Down-Bed ten Nights awake,
devising the Fashion of a new Doublet. May I be so transform'd
while I see with these Eyes! I cannot tell, I think not: I will
not be sworn indeed, but Love may transform me into a Muscle,
but till it has made me as lifeless as a Muscle it shall never make
me such an Oaf. One Woman is fair, yet I am well—another is
wise, yet I am well; another is virtuous, I still am well—but till
all Graces join in one Woman no Woman shall be join'd to
me. Noble she shall be, that's certain; wise, or I'll have none;
vertuous, or I'll not cheapen her; handsome, or I'll never look
on her; very young, of rare Discretion, and her Hair shall be
of what Colour it pleases Heaven—Now that there never
was, nor ever will be such a Woman is beyond a Question,
and therefore that I never shall be in love is out of dispute.
O here comes the Duke and Monsieur Love; I'll retire into this
Arbour and hear their Conference.
Enter GRATIANO, BELLARIO, and JOCULO.
Grati.
See there he sits in yonder fragrant Bower,
Where spreading Woodbines, ripen'd by the Sun,
Forbid the Sun to enter—like to Favourites
Made proud by Princes, who advance their Pride
Against that Power that rais'd it.
Jocu.
Ay, he's close in his Covert, we'll give the Fox his
Pennyworth.—But let us go a little nearer tho', that he may lose
none of the Bait.
Bell.
What was you saying to me this Morning, my Lord,
that the Lady Liberia had an Affection for Lord Protheus?
Grati.
I was saying so, my Lord.
Bell.
I never thought that Lady would have been fond of
any Man.
-- 35 --
Grati.
Nor I neither, but 'tis most wonderful that she should
so dote on this Protheus, whom she has always seem'd to hold
in contempt—but that she does dote on him most excessively
is certain.
Proth.
Is it possible! sits the Wind in that Corner?
Bell.
Perhaps she only counterfeits a Passion.
Jocu.
Like enough, I'gad.
Grati.
There was never Counterfeit came so near the Life
then.
Bell.
What Marks doth she shew of it?
Jocu.
Bait the Hook well—the Gudgeon will bite, I see that.
Grati.
What Marks, my Lord? Why, she will sit you, she
will sit you—You heard my Daughter say how, Joculo.
Jocu.
Ay, so I did, indeed, I shall never forget it—She'll
be up twenty Times a Night, and there will she sit, without any
Clothes on, 'till she have wrote a whole Sheet of Paper.
Grati.
Ay, my Daughter told us all.
Jocu.
When she comes to read it over she finds Protheus'
Name in ev'ry Line; then she tears it into a thousand Pieces,
and rails at her self in such a manner—What, says she, shall I
who have encounter'd him so long with Scorn fall in love with
him at last!—I measure him, says she, by my own Spirit; for if
he was to grow fond of me I should trample over him to the
Grave; nay, tho' I love him I should, and he would as certainly
serve me the same.
Bell.
You astonish me; I thought her Heart had been invincible.
Jocu.
After this down she falls upon her Knees, sighs, sobs,
beats her Breast, tears her Hair, prays, cries—Heav'n give me
Patience! O sweet Protheus!
Grati.
She doth indeed, and her Extasy carries her sometimes
so far that my Daughter is afraid what the Consequence
may be.
Proth.
I should think this a Gull now, but that the white-bearded
Fellow speaks it—Knavery cannot sure hide it self
in so much Reverence.
Bell.
I think Lord Protheus should be made acquainted with
it for fear of any bad Event.
Jocu.
O lack-a-day, my Lord, he'd only make a Jest of it
if he was, and torment the poor Creature worse.
-- 36 --
Bell.
Why then it would be a Merit to hang the Rogue; such
an excellent Girl as that is.
Jocu.
She's a little Cabinet of Perfections; fair, young, prudent,
virtuous, genteel, good-natur'd, chearful, witty and
wise.
Grati.
Wise in every thing, but loving this Protheus.
Bell.
O, my Lord, Wisdom and Blood combating in so
youthful a Breast we have ten Proofs to one that Blood gets
the Victory—However let us tell Protheus of it, and see how
he'll behave.
Grati.
Should we, think you?
Jocu.
No, I think not, no by no means, no—for I'm certain
she would die sooner than let her Affection be known to
him, or than bate a Breath of her usual Rallery at him.
Bell.
That's well judg'd—for if she was to give the least way,
that Lord has such a haughty insolent Spirit, he would use her
with Contempt for it.
Grati.
'Tis a pity, for the Man has a great many valuable
Accomplishments.
Jocu.
Yes, a jolly graceful Man, and very valiant, I assure
you—Nay, and wife too, as you may see in his Management
of Quarrels; for he either avoids 'em with great Discretion, or
undertakes 'em with a prudent Fear.
Proth.
Soh, Soh! how finely I am decypher'd by this Rascal.
Grati.
However let us say nothing to him of this Affair, let
her even try to wear it out.
Jocu.
Ah poor Soul! that's impossible—she'll wear her
Heart out first.
Grati.
Well, we'll hear farther of it; let it rest for the present.
Come, my Lord, shall we walk?
Jocu.
If he does not dote on her by this time I'll consent to
be skinn'd.
Grati.
The same Net must be spread for her which your
Mistress, Delia, and your self, Joculo, must manage: The Diversion
will be when they hold an Opinion of one another's
Affection—that's the Scene that I would see—Come, let's
be gone, and give him a breathing time.
Jocu.
He's full up to the Chin, half choak'd I'll engage for
him.
[Exeunt.
-- 37 --
Enter PROTHEUS.
Proth.
This can be no Trick, the Conference was seriously
born, and they have the Truth of it from Lucilia. Love me!
why it must be requited; I hear how I'm censur'd: They say I'll
behave proudly if I perceive her Inclinations; they say too that
she'll rather die than give any Sign of her Affection—I did
never think to marry—I must not seem proud—Happy are they
that hear their Faults, and put 'em to mending—They say the
Lady's fair—'tis a Truth; and virtuous—she is so; and wise, but
for loving me—By my Troth that's no Addition to her Wisdom,
nor any great Argument of her Folly, for I'll be horribly
in love with her. I may chance to have some odd Quirps
and Remnants of Wit broken on me, because I have rail'd at
Matrimony so long; but shall Quirps and Sentences, and those
Paper-Bullets of the Brain frighten a Man from his Humour?
No, the World must be peopl'd: When I said I would die a
Batchelor I did not think I should live 'till I were marry'd. O
here comes Liberia, by this Light she's a beautiful Lady—I spy
some Marks of Love in her already.
Enter LIBERIA.
Lib.
What alone in Contemplation, Lord Protheus?
Proth.
Yes, Fair Lady.
Lib.
The Banquet is ready yonder, and they wait for you;
you'll make better use of your Time if you'll go there.
Proth.
Fair Lady, I thank you for the Pains you have taken
to give me that Information.
Lib.
I took no more Pains for those Thanks than you took
Pains to thank me: If it had been painful I would not have
done it.
Proth.
You took Pleasure then, sweet Liberia, in doing it,
I hope.
Lib.
Just as much as you may take upon a Knife's Point,
and choke a Daw withal.
Proth. [Aside.]
Hum—there's a double Meaning in what
she says: I took no more Pains for those Thanks than you took
Pains to thank me—That's so much as to say any Pains that
I take for you is as easy as Thanks.—I'll try her a little
farther.
Lib.
Well, your Servant, my Lord.
-- 38 --
Proth.
Why in so much Haste, sweet Lady, can't you throw
away a few of your cheerful Moments on me?
Lib.
Hey! what does the Man mean? [Aside.] What was
that you was saying, my Lord?
Proth.
I should be glad methinks to know, Madam, upon
what Account your Ladyship's Rallery on me has been so exceedingly
tart of late; sure, fair Lady, I am not deserving of
such Treatment.
Lib.
Sir!—The Man's turn'd Fool sure.
[Aside.]
Proth.
You find nothing in my Person I hope, Liberia.
Lib.
Oh no, nothing at all—but Faults from Head to Foot.
Proth.
What my Leg's too big, I'll warrant.
Lib.
No, 'tis too little.
Proth.
As to my Face.
Lib.
Oh, 'tis a mighty fair one.
Proth.
Nay, there you're out, Liberia, for 'tis a black one,
I'll be sworn. But Pearls indeed are fair, and 'tis an old Saying,
that black Men are Pearls in beauteous Ladies Sight—But
you can find no Fault with my Eyes, I presume.
Lib.
Oh, my Lord, there's no objecting to them, they are
so violently bright—that I could never bear to look at 'em.
Proth.
A crafty Gipsy! she's playing her Part, and endeavours
to conceal her Affection from me—However,
fair Lady, I hope my Discourse is agreeable to you.
Lib.
Your Discourse—um—Why, but very indifferent
when you talk of War.
Proth.
But much so when I discourse of Love, my fair one.
Lib.
Ay—but much more so when you hold your Tongue.
Proth. [Aside.]
Lying Wanton—As to my Valour you can
make no doubt of that, Lady?
Lib.
None at all—for I know it to be Cowardise.
Proth. [Aside.]
This is nothing but Artifice, and convinces
me more than any thing that what I overheard is true. But
then as to my Possessions—them you don't consider, Liberia.
Lib.
Ay, but I do tho' and pity 'em too.
Proth.
Why so, fair Lady?
Lib.
Because they've got such a scurvy Owner—And so
farewel, Sir—and thank Heav'n you have one Friend in the
World that's honest enough to let you know what you are.
[Exit.
-- 39 --
Proth.
What am I to think of this now! 'Tis but an indifferent
Mark of her liking me that she finds nothing in me
but what she dislikes—But hold, I'm mistaken there—Women
are never particular in publickly railing at a Man, unless
they have a private Inclination for him—Right! 'tis therefore
neither more nor less than flat raving Love of my Person. Ay,
her Passion for me appears in ev'ry Look and Word—If I
do not take Pity of thee I'm a Villain, if I do not love thee
I'm a Jew.
[Exit.
Scene 3
SCENE changes to another Part of the Garden.
Enter LIBERIA.
Lib.
I abhor the Thoughts of committing Matrimony so
much, that I can't endure the Preparation even for another—
The Court within is full of nothing but Taylors, Tire-Women,
Perfumers, Lace-Men, and Confectioners—I'm glad
I've got out of the Croud. I'll e'en divert my self with a Song
to drive Wedlock out of my Head.
AIR I.
Sigh no more, Virgins, sigh no more,
Men were Deceivers ever;
One Foot in Sea, and t'other on Shore,
To one thing constant never.
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blith and merry,
Converting ev'ry Note of Woe,
To hey down, derry, derry.
Sing no more Ditties, sing no more
Of Tales so dull and heavy,
The Frauds of Men were ever sore,
Since Summer first was 'leafy,
Then sigh not so, but let them go,
And be you blith and merry,
Converting ev'ry Note of Woe,
To hey down, derry, derry.
How still this Evening is! as if hush'd on purpose to give a
Grace to Harmony. Hey ho! I'm in a very pensive mood at
present—How the Duce came I so? my Heart is generally
-- 40 --
so brisk that my Tongue can't keep Pace with it, and yet now
'tis so sluggish I can scarce drag it along. Psha, here comes
my Cousin; I'll get into this Grotto out o' the Way, or
else I shall be pester'd with Nonsense about her Match tomorrow.
Enter LUCILIA, DELIA, and JOCULO.
Delia.
See yonder, Madam, where Liberia runs, close to the
Ground as a Lapwing, to get from us into the Grotto.
Lucil.
The sweetest Angling is to see the Fish
Cut with her golden Oars the Silver Stream,
And greedily devour the treacherous Bait;
So angle we for her.
Jocu.
Begin then, Madam, pray begin; for I long to be at it.
Lucil.
What is it you say of my Cousin, Delia?
No truly, she's too disdainful;
I know how coy and wild her Temper is.
Jocu.
But harkye, Mrs. Delia, is it certain that Lord Protheus
is so desperately in love with her as you say?
Lucil.
Joculo, I know 'tis so; both my Father and Bellario
declar'd it to me.
Delia.
And did not they desire you'd make your Cousin acquainted
with it, Madam?
Lucil.
They did; but I persuaded 'em, if they had any Regard
for their Friend, to advise him to conquer his Affection;
for Nature never fram'd a Heart of such proud Stuff as Liberia's
is made of; then she's so vain, so fond of her own Wit and
her own Person that she regards nothing else; she can never
love another she's so much enamour'd with herself.
Jocu.
That's true enough, indeed; I never saw the Man
yet, however great or deserving, but that she would spell him
backward: If fair-fac'd, she'd swear the Gentleman should be
her Sister; if black, that Nature had made a Blot; if tall, he
was a Halbert ill-headed; if short, a Truncheon without any
Head at all; if talkative, a Vane blown with every Wind; and
if silent, why a Block moved by none. In this manner she takes
pleasure to turn every Man the wrong-side out.
Delia.
There's no great Virtue, I think, in so much Severity.
Jocu.
True, Madam Delia; but when People have no other
Employment for their Time but Talking, and have neither
Good-sense enough to talk wise things, nor Good-nature enough
-- 41 --
to talk innocent ones—why they must deal in Scandal
merely to be doing.
Lib.
Thou insolent Varlet!
Lucil.
But who dare tell her so? If I should speak, she'd
mock me into Air, laugh me out of myself, press me to death
with Wit; therefore I would counsel Lord Protheus to struggle
with his Passion.
Jocu.
Stalk on, stalk on, the Fowl sits.—Shall I go
then to Lord Protheus, Madam, and talk with him about it?
I know her Ladyship's Humour well enough; I can give him
a surfeit of her, I'll engage.—What a blessed Life a poor
Dog of a Husband must lead with that insolent, ungovernable
Spirit of hers! 'Slife! I'd as soon be marry'd to an English
Woman of Quality.
Lib.
Very well, Rascal! a pretty Character the Rogue has
given of me.
Lucil.
I love my Cousin well, and wish she would modestly
examine herself, and see how worthy an Offer is made
her. Come, Delia, let's go in and see that all things are in order
for to-morrow.
Jocu.
She's taken, I warrant her; we shall have rare laughing
to see how she'll struggle in the Net.
[Exeunt Lucilia and Delia, Joculo stands aside.
LIBERIA from the Grotto.
Lib.
'Slife! what a Fire is in my Ears! Can this possibly
be true? Is Lord Protheus really so desperately in Love
with me? He certainly is, I recollect a thousand Circumstances
now that convince me of it. Psha! how blind was
I not to see it before! And do I stand condemn'd so much
for Pride and Ill-nature then? If so, Contempt farewel, I've
tortur'd the poor Creature long enough in Conscience.—
There's one thing I am glad of; they all allow him to have
a great deal of Merit.—Why truly, now I consider the
thing, I'm o'the same Mind; I have been a little too cruel;
he must have been in a world of Anguish, poor Wretch! [Seeing
Joculo.] Oh Joculo, come hither, I wanted to speak with
thee.
Jocu.
Your Servant, Madam.
Lib.
Harkye, Joculo, hast thou heard Lord Protheus talk of
me lately?
-- 42 --
Jocu.
Oho! is your Ladyship thereabouts? But I'll be with
you. [Aside.]—Did you say any thing to me, Madam?
Lib.
Yes, Sir, I did.
Jocu.
I beg Pardon, Madam, I'm unfortunately given to a
kind of Deafness, which comes very often upon me all of a
sudden.—But what was your Ladyship pleas'd to say, Madam?
Lib.
I only ask'd if you had heard Lord Protheus talk of me
lately.
Jocu.
O! yes, yes, Madam; yes, yes, that I have indeed.
Lib.
But when, when?
Jocu.
This very Morning, Madam.
Lib.
This very Morning!
Jocu.
Ay; I saw him and the Duke you must know, Madam,
in woundy earnest Conversation together; the little smattering
of Curiosity that I have in my Constitution tempted
me to listen to what they were saying, when I soon found your
Ladyship was the Subject.
Lib. [Aside.]
Soh! now 'twill come out, I suppose.—
And in what manner did he talk of me?
Jocu.
Would you have me tell you, Madam?
Lib.
Why not?
Jocu.
Nay, I don't know why not—it may offend you,
perhaps.
Lib.
Um! he thinks I shall be offended at hearing that Protheus
loves me. [Aside.]—Offend me! no, not in the least.
Jocu.
And you'll promise not to be angry with me for repeating
it?
Lib.
I will.
Jocu.
Why then I found, Madam, they had been talking
something about Matrimony; and whether the Duke had propos'd
a Match between him and your Ladyship or not, I can't
tell; but—
Lib.
But what—
Jocu.
Why he swore—
Lib.
What did he swear?
Jocu.
That he'd sooner marry an Egyptian Crocodile.
Lib.
How!
Jocu.
Yes.—That the Venom of a Viper was mere Balsam
to your Ladyship's Spleen; and that a Man had better have
-- 43 --
a whole Nest of Hornets about his Ears, than stand the Sting of
your persecuting Tongue.
Lib.
'Tis false, he dare not say so.
Jocu.
Upon my Honour, and the Dignity of my Office, but
he did tho', Madam.—I know very well, said he—remember,
Madam, 'tis Lord Protheus that's speaking, not I.—
I know very well, said he, that the Gipsy has a mind to me,
and would give her Eyes to get my Heart in Exchange, but
Honesty holds out, said he, and bids her Defiance.
Lib.
Oh! I see what the Rascal is at now. [Aside.]—
Very well, Sir, be pleas'd to go on; but pray come a little
nearer, that I may hear it, for I'm given to the same kind of
Deafness that you are.
Jocu.
I'll speak louder, Madam.—Upon this, Madam, the
Duke made answer, That he could not but think you had some
good Qualities.
Lib.
The Duke said so, did he?
Jocu.
Yes, Madam.
Lib.
Very well, proceed pray.
Jocu.
You mean, Lord Protheus must proceed; 'tisn't I, you
know, Madam.
Lib.
Ay, ay, Lord Protheus then.
Jocu.
Yes, yes, said he, she has most excellent Qualities.—
You know his bluff manner of speaking, Madam.—Most
excellent Qualities, indeed, said he; she has Beauty by the Grain,
and Vanity by the Hundred-weight; Wit so light that it won't
turn a Scale, but Ill-nature beyond all Weight and Measure; a
Heart scantily enough furnish'd with any thing good, but most
abundantly stock'd with Pride and Disdain.—And then she's
such a Spitfire, such a Spitfire, said he, that whoever comes
within reach of her is in danger of losing an Ear at least.
Lib. [Giving him a Box o' the Ear.]
That you may witness
for him.
Jocu.
'Sbud! Madam, 'twas not I that said it; and so I told
you, but you would not remember it.—I'll tell you no more
for that, now.
Lib.
Get out of my Sight this Moment, Rascal, or I'll order
somebody to gather a Twig and hang thee up upon yonder
Willow.
Jocu.
I believe you had better do that Office for yourself,
Madam; you are pretty nigh Willow-ripe by this time, I fansy.
-- 44 --
—Your humble Servant, Madam.—If you should think
fit to take a Swing, I'll be sure to write an Elegy on you.
[Exit.
Lib.
I'll make thee suffer most swingingly for this Sauciness.
—The Rogue has provok'd me, tho' I know there's no Truth
in what he said. No, 'tis plain that Protheus loves me.—Well,
since the Stars will have it so, love on, Lord Protheus, and I'll
requite your Passion.
AIR.
A Heart young and tender
Is made to surrender,
That Fair One's a Traitor who flies Love's Alarms;
For the greater her Beauty,
The greater's her Duty
To Cupid, from whom she receives all her Charms.
[Exit.
James Miller [1737], The universal passion. A comedy. As it is Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, By His Majesty's Servants (Printed for J. Watts at the Printing-Office in Wild-Court [etc.], London) [word count] [S34700].
