SCENE I.
SCENE Continues.
PROTHEUS, LIBERIA.
Proth.
Soh, fair Lady, have you been weeping all this while?
Lib.
Yes, and I'll weep a while longer.
Proth.
But that I don't desire.
Lib.
You have no Reason, I'll do it freely.
Proth.
I am verily convinc'd that your Cousin has been
wrong'd.
Lib.
Ah! what might the Man deserve of me that would
right her.
Proth.
Is there any Way a Man can do it?
Lib.
Yes, some Men might do it for my Sake—tho' I know
that you are not one of them.
Proth.
Why so, sweet Lady?—there's nothing in the World
could so soon tempt me to do it, because there's nothing in the
World I love so well—Is not that strange now?
Lib.
So strange, that 'twere as possible for me to say I lov'd
nothing so well as you—But don't believe me if ever I should
say so—I'm sorry for my Cousin, that's all.
Proth.
By my Sword, Liberia, I do love thee cruelly.
Lib.
You protest from your Heart that you do really love me.
Proth.
You have my Heart so entirely that I have none of it
left to protest with.
Lib.
But how shall I be sure of this?
Proth.
Try me any way, command me any thing.
Lib.
Kill Bellario.
Proth.
How!
Lib.
Nay, farewel then—love me—yes—you love your
-- 59 --
own dear Carcase indeed—'tis highly worth preserving I must
own.
Proth.
But sweet Lady, stay a Moment.
Lib.
Indeed I won't—
Proth.
Let us be Friends before we part.
Lib.
Yes, you dare easier be Friends with me than fight my
Enemy.
Proth.
Is Bellario your Enemy?
Lib.
Is not he a Villain that has slander'd my Cousin? O
that I were a Man! What play the Hypocrite till they came to
join Hands, and then with publick Scorn, with blackest Rancour
—O Vengeance that I were a Man! I would eat his Heart
in the Market-Place.
Proth.
Well, but Lady—
Lib.
Talk with a Man from her Chamber-Window, indeed!
a likely Story truly!
Proth.
But hear me, Lady—
Lib.
I tell you she's slander'd, she's wrong'd, she's ruin'd.
Proth.
Well, I say so, but—
Lib.
A Lord indeed! a goodly Lord, a sweet Galant, o' my
Word! O that I wore a Sword for his Sake! or that I knew
any Man who would use it for my Sake! But Manhood is
melted into supple Curtesy, and Valour into pitiful Compliment;
Men are turn'd into nothing but Tongue, and he's as
brave as Hercules that only tells a Lye and swears to't—Well,
I can't be a Man with wishing, therefore I'll die a Woman with
vexing.
Proth.
Sweet Liberia stay; by this Hand I love thee.
Lib.
Use it for my Love, then, some other way than swearing
by it.
Proth.
Do you think in your Soul that Bellario has wrong'd
your Cousin?
Lib.
As sure as I have either Thought or Soul.
Proth.
Enough, I'm engag'd—He shall render me strict
Account for this Behaviour: Go, fair Lady, comfort your
Cousin, and tell her who's her Champion. As you hear of
me, so think of me.
Lib.
Right, now you say somewhat, Lord Protheus—when
you talk like a Man you talk like what a Woman values. If ever
I change my Life for any one, it shall be for one who would
venture his own for me.
-- 60 --
Proth.
That Sentence has whetted my Sword; I'll make
Bellario, within this half Hour, either forswear all he has said,
or he shall never be able to say or swear any thing again: But
before we part, lest we should never meet again, pray tell me
for which of my bad Parts you first fell in love with me?
Lib.
Fell in love with you!
Proth.
Yes, fell in love with me, for that you are in love
with me, fair Liberia, is out of Question—I would therefore
fain know which of my bad Parts was the Occasion of it.
Lib.
All of 'em together, which contain so close a Union of
Evil that they'll admit no good Part to mingle with 'em—
but for which of my good Parts did you first suffer Love
for me?
Proth.
Suffer Love,—a good Phrase!—I do suffer Love indeed,
for I love thee in spite of my Heart.
Lib.
Alas poor Heart! if you spite it for my Sake I'll
spite it for yours, for I'll never love that which my Friend
hates.
Proth.
You and I are too wise, Lady, to love peaceably, I
find.
Lib.
What you say is no sign of Wisdom—There's not a
wise Man in twenty that will praise himself.
Proth.
Alas, Lady, if a Man in this Age don't erect his own
Tomb before he dies, he shall live no longer in Monuments than
the Bell rings, and the Widow weeps.
Lib.
That's just one Hour in Noise, and one quarter of an
Hour in Tears.
Proth.
True, therefore 'tis more expedient for the Wise to
be Trumpet to his own Virtues; if Don Worm his Conscience,
find no Impediment to the contrary—So much
for praising my self, and now I'll go and prove that I am Praise-worthy.
Lib.
Fare you well—But don't have an Ague-Fit now,
when you come to the Proof; and be sure you get you a new
Sword for the Purpose, for I'll pawn my Life that the old
one won't part with the Scabbard.
[Exeunt.
GRATIANO solus, in a melancholy Posture.
[Slow Musick.
That Strain again—it had a dying Fall:
O it came o'er my Ear like the sweet South
-- 61 --
Breathing upon a Bank of Violets,
Stealing and giving Fragrance—'twill not do;
Alas no Comfort can delight my Ear,
But such a one whose Wrongs doth match with mine.
Bring me a Father that so lov'd his Child,
Whose Joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And let Him speak of Patience, count his Woe,
And let it answer every Strain for Strain.
But there is no such Man; for all are prompt
To offer Consolation to that Grief
Which they themselves not feel; but once they taste it,
That Counsel turns to Passion, which before
Would give instructive Medicine to Rage.
No, no, 'tis all Mens Office to speak Patience
To those who wring under the Load of Sorrow,
But no Man's Virtue to behave so moral
When he himself endures the like Disaster.
My Soul informs me that my Child is slander'd;
And that this Lord shall know—so shall my Brother.
Enter BELLARIO and LUCENTIUS crossing the Stage.
O here comes one—'tis well—Stay, stay, my Lord,
I must have Justice done me ere you go.
Bell.
Why, who has wrong'd thee?
Grati.
Thou, thou base Dissembler.
Nay, never lay thy Hand upon thy Sword,
I fear thee not.
Bell.
I would not give thee Fear.
My Hand, good Sir, meant nothing to my Sword.
Grati.
I speak not under Privilege of Age,
Nor like a Dotard—Know then, to thy Face,
Thou hast so wrong'd my guiltless Child and me,
That I am forc'd to lay my Reverence by,
And dare thee to the Trial of a Man.
I say thou hast bely'd my spotless Daughter;
Thy Calumny hath seiz'd her very Life,
And sent her basely in her May of Youth,
O! to a Tomb where Scandal never slept
Ere this contriv'd by thy malicious Tongue.
Bell.
Contriv'd by me!
Grati.
By thee, vile Man, by thee.
-- 62 --
Lucen.
You say not right, my Lord.
Grati.
Old Man, old Man,
I'll prove it on his Body if he dare,
Spite of his Bloom of Age and active Practice.
Bell.
Away, and know I scorn so mean an Action.
Grati.
D'ye think to daunt me—thou hast kill'd my Child;
Then kill me, Boy, and thou wilt kill a Man.
Bell.
Gratiano, I would not awake your Patience,
My Heart is plung'd in Anguish for Lucilia.
But O, my Lord, she was accus'd of nothing
But what was true, too true, and full of Proof.
Grati.
My Lord, my Lord—
Bell.
I will not hear you now.
Grati.
Not hear me now, but o' my Soul, you must;
What interrupted! well, 'tis all the same!
I'll find a Time, ere Sleep shall close these Eyes
I'll find a Time, young Lord, that you shall hear me.
[Exit.
Enter PORCO and ASINO bringing in Gremio bound.
Bell.
Hah! who is this? the Author of my Ruin, thus bound
and guarded?
Porco.
Come you along, Sir, come you along, if Justice
cannot tame you she shall never weigh Reason in her Scales again.
Lucen.
Enquire, my Lord, what Crime he has committed,
something may come from this—
Bell.
Officers, what Offence has this Man done?
Porco.
An please you, Sir, he has committed false Report;
moreover he has spoken Untruths; Secondarily, he is a Slanderer;
Thirdly, he has sworn false things; and Lastly, he is a
lying Rascal, an please your Honour.
Bell.
Answer me, Gremio, whom have you offended that
you are thus secur'd?—This wise Fellow is much too cunning
to be understood.
Grem.
My Lord, I'll readily confess my Villany—hear
me, and then kill me—I have deceiv'd even your Eyes—
What your Wisdom could not discover these shallow Fools
have brought to light, who in the Morning overheard me talking
with Lord Byron of the Business we had been engag'd in
that Night, which was to defame Lucilia, and break off your
Match—That you was brought by Byron's Contrivance to
see and hear me make Addresses to Delia, under the Name,
-- 63 --
and in the Dress of Lucilia; by which means you were determin'd
to refuse the Match, and disgrace her in publick—This
Piece of Knavery they have in Writing, which I had rather
seal with my Death than repeat over to my Shame—The
poor Lady, I hear, is dead upon mine and my Master's false
Accusation; I therefore own my self a Villain, and expect nothing
but the Reward of one.
Bell.
No more; unless the next Word thou dost speak
Have some malignant Influence o'er my Life;
If so, O breathe it quickly in my Ear,
That I no longer may be curst with Being,
For ev'ry Thought's a Dagger to my Soul.
Lucen.
But did Lord Byron spur thee on to this?
Grem.
He did, and paid me richly for it too.
Bell.
O Monster! I will make thee rue this Treachery;
Where shall I find the Villain—where—
Grem.
Learning, my Lord, that I was apprehended he is
fled it seems this Morning; but where is unknown.
Porco.
True, an please your Honour; one of our Officers is
now acquainting his Highness with the whole Affair.
Enter GRATIANO.
Grati.
Which is the Villain? let me see his Eyes,
That when I note another Man like him
I may avoid the Monster—Which is he?
Grem.
Look on me, Sir, if you would know the Wretch.
Grati.
Art thou? art thou the Slave that by thy Guile
Hast slain my Child.
Grem.
Yes, Sir, 'twas I alone.
Grati.
No, not so, Villain, thou bely'st thy self.
Here stand a Pair of honourable Men,
A third is fled, that had a noble Share in't.
I thank you, Sirs, for my poor Daughter's Death;
Record it with your high and worthy Deeds,
'Twas bravely, justly, gloriously done.
Bell.
I know not what to say, yet I must speak,
I cannot hope your Patience—yet must ask it.
Lucilia! now thy Image doth appear
In the bright Lustre that I lov'd it first;
-- 64 --
And ev'ry lovely Organ of thy Life
Comes cloath'd in a diviner, fairer Habit,
More moving, delicate, and full of Life,
Into the Eye and Prospect of my Soul,
Than when you liv'd indeed—Come, good old Man,
Revenge, revenge your injur'd Daughter's Cause,
And I will help thee to augment the Torture;
Yet all my Crime was but a fatal Error.
Grati.
You cannot call my Daughter back to Life,
And what besides is Recompense to me?
However this I pray you, publish straight
How innocent she dy'd; and if your Love
Can furnish out an Incense to her Mem'ry,
Let it be fix'd upon her Monument.
Bell.
O I will keep this Day for ever sacred,
And yearly at the Charmer's hallow'd Tomb
Attend with solemn penitential Rites,
To own my Rashness and her Innocence.
Grati.
Then hear me more—My Brother left a Daughter
Almost the Copy of my Child that's dead,
And she is now sole Heir to my Possessions;
Give her the Right you should have giv'n her Cousin,
And so dies my Revenge—
Bell.
O cruel Mercy!
This is Revenge indeed—O Gratiano!
[Falling at his Feet.
This generous Offer makes me more a Wretch
Than all the Deaths your Rage could have contriv'd:
Lay any other Chastisement upon me,
And I will bend beneath the righteous Weight,
And bless the Hands that minister the Torture.
But what! to wed another! hold, my Heart,
[Rising.
Now dear Lucilia's lost—to wed another!
Impossible; my Soul starts back with Horror,
And Nature shudders at the very Sound.
Grat.
'Tis well, I find your Readiness, young Lord,
To yield me Satisfaction—but, observe me,
One Hour I'll wait your final Resolution;
Grant my Demand, or Death shall be the Forfeit.
The while bring you this monstrous Villain on,
[To the Watch.
-- 65 --
That I may make him instantly confront
The female Slave who leagu'd in this Contrivance.
[Exeunt Gratiano, Gremio &c. remain Bellario and Lucen.
Bell. [Musing.]
And why not Death rather than living Torment?
To die is to be banish'd from my self.
Lucilia was my self—banish'd from her
Is self from self—O fatal Banishment!
Unless Lucilia's by me in the Night
There is no Musick in the Nightingale,
Unless I view Lucilia in the Day
All Nature is a beamless Blank to me.
What Light is Light now those fair Suns are set?
What Joy is Joy, now those sweet Smiles are ceas'd?
Unless I could but think that she's alive,
And feed upon the Shadow of Perfection.
But 'twill not do, Lucentius—all is lost,
For Death hath starv'd the Roses in her Cheeks,
And pinch'd the Lilly-Tincture of her Face.
Lucen.
Cease to lament for what you cannot help.
Bell.
O! I have fed upon this Woe already,
And now Excess of it will make me surfeit;
Yes, I must still lament, still curse my Folly,
For barely doubting one so fair, so chaste,
So grac'd with every Angel-like Perfection,
Could be corrupted—Madness to reflect
On what a Sea of melting Pearls she shed,
From her bright Eyes, to quench my flaming Fury;
Wringing her Hands, whose Whiteness so became them
As if but now they wax'd thus pale with Woe.
But neither Virgin Blush, pure Hands held up,
Deep struggling Sighs, nor Silver-shedding Tears
Could penetrate this base remorseless Breast.
Lucen.
The Duke, my Lord, attends your Resolution;
You have but one Hour giv'n to make your Choice.
Bell.
I have no Choice to make—Death is my Portion,
Lucilia claims my Life.—But then the Father!
What Compensation will he find in that?
Oh my destracted Brain!—Help, help, Lucentius,
To calm this warring Tempest in my Soul.
Come, lead me to my Fate; and as we go
-- 66 --
Learn me what Form of Wretchedness to fix on,
For I have only Misery to choose in;
And such should be that self-curst bankrupt's Doom,
Who madly squander'd so divine a Treasure.
[Exeunt.
Enter JOCULO, follow'd by DELIA weeping.
Jocu.
No, I won't, I won't indeed, Delia.
Delia.
Nay, dear Joculo, stay.
Jocu.
No, I tell you.
Delia.
But one Moment.
Jocu.
No such thing.
Delia.
Cruel Man, how can you be so hard-hearted?
Jocu.
I should only plague you with my impertinent Clack;
you had better go to your favourite Gremio, he'll delight you
with his melodious Whistle. [Aside.] The Tables are turn'd a
little; 'tis our Time now, and I'll try if I can't play the Courtier
as well as the greatest of 'em.
Delia.
Only hear my Request, Joculo, and then do as you will.
Jocu.
Well, I vouchsafe to lend an Ear.
Delia.
I know the Interest you have with Lucilia; pr'ythee,
Joculo, interceed for me with her.
Jocu.
Hey?
Delia.
I was ignorantly seduc'd into this villainous Plot.
Jocu.
Um—
Delia.
Without being at all acquainted with the Design, as
Gremio himself has declar'd.
Jocu.
Ah poor Gremio, I hope they han't laid his sweet
Tongue in Fetters as well as his Heels.
Delia.
And my Heart will burst unless Lucilia be reconcil'd
to me again.
[Weeping.
Jocu.
Ha, ha, ha!
Delia.
And therefore I conjure thee, Joculo, that thou
wouldst—
Jocu.
Ha, ha, ha!
Delia.
Nay, if nothing else will prevail on thee to pity me,
I'll put an end to my Misery, and see if my Death will make thee—
Jocu.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
Delia.
Barbarous Monster!
Jocu.
Why, I want the Reputation of having a Woman die
for Love of me, Delia; and if you would but tuck up your
self, upon this Occasion, ev'ry body would swear 'twas for
Love of me.
-- 67 --
Delia.
And then you inhumanly refuse, Joculo, to comply
with my Desire.
Jocu.
Why now, Delia, do you know what 'tis you are asking
of me?—You here are a disgrac'd Favourite, and d'ye
think one that's a Courtier will be foolish enough to take
your Part? No, no, I'gad, once any one is turn'd out of
the Herd we all join, like true Stags, and help to demolish
him. While you was in Place, Delia, I was your most affectionate
Friend, and most sincere obedient humble Slave—
but now you are out, and can neither do me Service nor Disservice
—Yours, Mrs. Delia, yours, yours.
[Walks about carelesly, taking a Pinch of Snuff.
Delia.
Very well, Joculo! it did not use to be so—this is
a Change I little expected!
Jocu.
A Change, my Dear—Lack-a-day, would not you
have me like the rest of the World? Why there's a general Metamorphosis
thro' the Land; this is the Age of reversing, Child.
All Ranks, Stations and Professions are turn'd topsy turvy.
Delia.
Hah!—
Jocu.
Nay, 'tis very true, my Dear, why an't many of our
mighty Nobles, and sage Senators, pray, turn'd Rooks, Pimps
and Jockies, and fix'd it as the highest Mark of Honour never
to be honest, as the Plume of Politeness never to keep their
Word, and as the Standard of Quality never to be qualify'd for
any thing at all—except it be Pensions and Places, hey Child!
Delia.
Very well, Sir.
Jocu.
Then your Soldiers are half of 'em turn'd Fiddlers and
Morrice-Dancers, because fighting is now quite foreign to the Profession;
whilst Priests are turn'd Play-Wrights, and preach from
the Stage, because 'tis unfashionable to go to hear 'em at Church.
Delia.
Um—strange indeed!
Jocu.
Physicians are turn'd Collectors of Flies and Cockle-shells,
because the whole Country choose to die by the Hand
of a single Quack—As for your Lawyers and Politicians—
Delia.
What of them? good Sir.
Jocu.
O, most of them will never change; they'll cheat and
plunder on.
Delia.
Very well, Sir—pray go on.
Jocu.
Then your fine Gentlemen are turn'd Monkies and
-- 68 --
Starlings, and will out-ape and out-chatter e'er a one of 'em,
whilst your fine Ladies are—'tis no matter what—you need
not be told that, Madam.
Delia.
Very pretty, indeed!
Jocu.
So you see, Child, the World is a little alter'd; other
People are chang'd as well as I: However, Delia, there is one
thing that I don't know but my abundant Good-nature may prevail
on me to do for thee.
Delia.
What is that?
Jocu.
Why, I suppose you have warm'd your self pretty
well, as we all do while the Sun shines; laid in a little Provision
against a rainy Day, hey Delia?—Now a Fellow-feeling
in that, join'd, as I was saying, to my own excessive Good-nature
might engage me, if not to endeavour to bring you in
favour again, yet at least to secure your Retreat.
Delia.
No, Fool, if I was drove to that I should not descend
so low as thee; the highest of all will condescend to a job on
such Considerations.
Jocu.
And the lowest of us all will do it on no other—so
that from the highest to the lowest we Courtiers are true to our
Principles at least—But hark'e, Child, I can put you in a
way of gaining your Point upon easier Terms, perhaps. You
Ladies, Madam Delia, have another sort of Bribe, which sometimes
does more at Court than even Mony it self, and which
you'd more willingly part with, I believe—let me see, [turning
her round.] about the Age of twenty-four: Um, that's too
far gone, rather too far, twenty would have been fifty per Cent.
at least better—black Eyes, very well—brown Hair, good—
a Forehead rather too low, no great matter—a Chin prettily
dimpl'd enough, Um—a little too short in the Waste, and something
too thick in the Shoulders, Hah, there must be good Allowance
made for that—but then a Hand as white as a Lilly, and
Lips as red as a Rose; but let's try if they are as sweet too.
[Kisses her.] Hah, delicious Slut! no Primrose comes up to
'em; why they'll go farther than old Gold.
Delia.
Well, Joculo, is your Heart any tenderer yet?
Jocu.
Yes, yes, 'tis tender enough now I'm sure; that Kiss
has quite melted it down.
Delia.
And then thou wilt interceed for me, hey?
-- 69 --
Jocu.
I will do any thing for thee; I will live in thy Eyes,
die in thy Lap, and be bury'd in thy Heart.
Delia.
Ay, ay; but that's not the thing: Will you go and
endeavour at what I desired you?
Jocu.
This Moment, and do it effectually.—But then
you must promise me, Delia, that if I should happen to be desperately
in Love with thee, as I have terrible Symptoms of it
upon me at present, that you'll be grateful, Hussy, hey?
Delia.
I promise thee every thing, dear Joculo.
Jocu.
One more Kiss by way of Pledge.—Well, I'm
gone.—Remember your Promise.
[Exit.
Delia.
Yes, till I have gain'd my Ends by it; and if I don't
forget it then, I ought never to see the Inside of a Court again.
[Exit.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to an Antichamber.
GRATIANO, BELLARIO, LUCENTIUS, JOCULO, &c.
Grati.
Well, Sir, have you resolv'd to make Atonement
For the sad Fate of injur'd, poor Lucilia,
By wedding instantly my Brother's Daughter,
Unknown, unseen, with all her Imperfections?
Bell.
I have resolv'd to live, and to be wretched,
For Death would be too light a Penance for me:
Take me, dispose of me which way you will,
I here devote my self your Slave for ever.
Grati.
Then I am paid; once more thou art my Friend:
And see, they're here; now prove your Resolution.
Enter LUCILIA, LIBERIA, DELIA, &c. in Veils.
Bell.
O thou most amiable injur'd Shade,
Thou who dost still inhabit in my Breast,
Look down and view the Anguish I endure!
See me bereav'd of all my Soul held dear,
Bereav'd of thee.—Then see me doom'd to bear—
O worst of Tortures!—doom'd to wed another!
Let This, sweet Spirit, let this Sight appease thee;
Let these dire Suff'rings plead my Pardon with thee,
And in some measure expiate my Crime.
Grati.
Come, come, my Lord, you must delay no longer;
-- 70 --
Here, take the Lady's Hand, and by your Honour
Oblige your self to wed her instantly.
Bell.
Honour, my Lord! I then should have no Honour,
The very Grant would rob me of the Pledge:
But by my Shame, by my eternal Shame,
By my pernicious, rash, distracted Folly!
I vow that I will—what? I cannot speak it.
Here, Gratiano, take, take your Revenge,
I will no longer parley with my Fate.
[Opening his Bosom.
Grati. [Aside.]
Brave gen'rous Man! I must not try him farther,
My Heart bleeds for him. [Weeping.] Well, my Lord, I yield
That she may quit her Veil.—Now, view her well,
And if you now refuse—
[Lucilia unveils.
Bell.
Hah! What, Lucilia!
Another fair Lucilia!—
Lucil.
Yes, another;
One dy'd disgrac'd by your injurious Passion,
Another lives to prove that Scandal false.
Grati.
She dy'd, my Lord, but whilst her Slander liv'd.
Bell.
Like a good Angel to a Wretch expiring,
Thy Presence beams sweet Comfort o'er my Soul.
O let me give a Loose to Joy.
[Running to embrace her.
Lucil.
Hold, hold, my Lord; I must not trust you more,
You may again bring Wretchedness upon me;
And after I have once escap'd the Wreck,
Why should I prove the boisterous Main again?
Bell.
O, your Reply's but just.—Yet know, Lucilia,
'Twas all Excess of Love, and curst Delusion:
My Shame and Guilt confound me.—But if Sorrow,
If hearty deep Contrition can atone,
Forgive my Rashness; 'tis the darling Pleasure
Of Heav'n, and heav'nly Minds, to deal out Mercy,
Where Penitence and Tears wash off the Crime.
Grati.
Come, Daughter, you must now o'erlook this Error,
And yield your Hand a Pledge of your Forgiveness.
Lib. [To Bellario and Lucilia.]
Heyday! what, keep aloof
still? Come, come, a Hand from each of you—be wise and
know your own Minds. [Joining their Hands.] There—
-- 71 --
'twere a pity two such good Friends should be Foes any longer.
Bell.
Bear witness, Heav'n, I've all that I could wish.
[Kissing her Hand.
Grati.
Now Blessings on you both! May endless Joys,
Sweet Peace of Mind, and each Domestick Bliss
Crown all your Days, and prosper all your Actions!
Proth.
'Tis very well, I'm glad things sort as they do; otherwise
this Lady here had tied me down, Sir, to call you to account
for your Misdemeanour.
Bell.
I fansy, Lord Protheus, you had more reason to call
the Lady herself to account; you are a greater Sufferer by her,
than by me.
Jocu.
Ay, ay, he isn't as he has been, my Lord; he didn't
use to wear that February Face, and frozen Tongue.
Lib.
I believe the poor Man has something at Heart; whether
it be Love, or not—
Bell.
Hang him, a Truant, there's not one Drop of true Blood
in him; he's not capable of being in Love; if he's melancholy
he wants Mony.
Jocu.
If he's not in Love there's no believing old Signs.
Lucil.
What Marks are there of it, Joculo?
Jocu.
O! special ones, Madam.—In the first place he
wanders about with his Arms lock'd up in one another, like a
discontented Patriot; then he sighs like a great Lady at the
Death of her Lap-Dog; is extremely fond of his own Company,
but avoided by every one else, as if he had the Pestilence
upon him.
Bell.
Then he has quite lost his Stomach I can witness.
Jocu.
O! he can't get the least Morsel down.—He has a
Lump that rises in his Throat, I suppose.
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha!
Lib.
Poor Gentleman! he's strangely alter'd, that must be
confess'd: He us'd, when he laugh'd, to crow like a Cock;
when he walk'd, to walk like a Lion; and when he fasted,
'twas presently after Dinner.—But now—Well, he's to be pitied,
poor Soul.
Grati.
Has any body seen him at the Perfumer's?
Jocu.
No, but the Perfumer has been with him.
Lucil.
I thought there was Civet in the Room.
-- 72 --
Proth.
Soh! I'm in a very pretty Situation here.
Bell.
Besides he looks younger, methinks, by the Loss of
a Beard.
Lib.
Yes, the old Ornament of his Cheek is gone towards
stuffing a Tennis-Ball.
Proth. [Aside.]
She too join in the Laugh! But that's no
more than 'twas said she would.
Jocu.
His jesting Spirit too has given him the slip, and he
speaks as puling as a dieted Beau.
Grati.
It can be nothing but Love.—However I know one
that loves him too.
Bell.
I should be glad to hear who.
Lib.
One that does not know him, I'll be sworn.
Grati.
Yes, and his wayward Humour; and yet, in spite of
all, dies for Love of him.
Proth.
Which is Lady Liberia in this Company, pray Sirs?
Lib.
I answer to that Name. Your Will and Pleasure, sweet
Lord Protheus?
[Curtsying.
Proth.
Are not you She that's dying for my Person? Do not
you love me exceedingly, fair Lady Liberia?
Lib.
Who, I? why no; no more than I love Aukwardness
and Ill-nature.
Proth.
Why then your Uncle, Bellario and Joculo have
been deceiv'd here; for they swore you did.
Jocu.
Yes, i'gad, and I'll swear it again.
Lib.
Very well: And pray, sweet Sir, are not you he that's
dying for my Person? Do not you love me exceedingly, Lord
Protheus?
Proth.
Who, I? why no; no more than I love Pride and
Pertness.
Lib.
Why then my Cousin Delia, and Joculo have been deceiv'd,
for they swore you did.
Jocu.
Ay, and I'm ready to swear that again too.
Proth.
They declar'd positively that you must die if I did not
return your Affection.
Lib.
They swore that you was above half dead already.
Jocu.
Very true; 'tis all very true.
Lib.
'Tis no matter.—You are not in love with me, you say
then.
-- 73 --
Proth.
Um! why no; I hope I am not: Or if I am it's
only out of Gratitude, because I knew that you were in love
with me first.
Bell.
Come, come, Protheus, no flinching; you are fairly
listed, and must not fly from your Colours; for here's a Paper
written with your own Hand; a halting Sonnet of his own
pure Brain made upon Lady Liberia.
Lucil.
And here's another in my Cousin's Hand, which proves
she has no great Aversion to Lord Protheus.
Proth.
A Miracle! here's our own Hands against our Hearts.
—Come, I will have thee; but by this Light I take thee out
of pure Pity.
Lib.
If I should ever yield 'twou'd be out of great Compassion,
merely to save your Life; for I know you are in a galloping
Consumption about it.
Proth.
I will stop that inveterate Mouth of thine.
[Kisses her.
Bell.
Ha, ha, ha!—How dost thou do, Protheus, the Marry'd
Man?
Jocu.
Ay, now the two Bears won't bite one another when
they meet again.
Proth.
I'll tell thee what, Bellario; a whole College of Wit-crackers
shan't make me alter my Purpose. Dost thou think I
care for a Satire, or an Epigram? No, if a Man will be beaten
with Brains he shall wear nothing handsome about him.—Get
marry'd thy self, get marry'd thy self; there's no Staff more reverend
than one tipt with Horn.
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha?
AIR.
Lib.
O! what shall I do when I'm marry'd?
Psha! I can't sing, I'm so out of Breath: This Creature has
given me such a Palpitation o' the Heart! Delia, you have seen
the Song, and must relieve me in it. Begin again, Musick.
O! what shall I do when I'm marry'd?
Such Cares and Pains
In Wedlock Chains;
-- 74 --
Such Bondage, who can bear it?
Delia.
What still inclin'd
To change your Mind?
Lib.
Yes—never to marry, I'll swear it.
O! what shall I do when I'm marry'd?
Delia.
Why sport and play
The live-long Day,
And every Night—
Lib.
—Oh horrid!
Your Hand, my Dear;
I die for fear
Of what I must do when I'm marry'd.
Proth.
Come, come, we are all merry, and Friends; and
so let's have a Dance before Marriage to lighten our own
and our Partners Hearts. But first, that we may all be in the
same Condition, and that this Rascal Joculo mayn't have room
to exercise his Faculty upon us, I desire he may be cast into the
Net himself.
Lucil.
Come hither, Delia; I know Joculo has had an Eye
of Affection upon you for some time; you must therefore take
one another for Life; upon which Condition I pardon you your
late Misdemeanour, and raise him to a higher Employment.
Jocu.
Um—'Tis but a scurvy Exchange tho', to leave off
playing the Fool in Jest, in order to play it in downright
Earnest.
Lib.
That's the last Jest you are to make, Joculo.
Jocu.
Ay, Madam, I shan't be in any great Humour to jest
for the future: I shall be fitter to make Penitential Hymns, or
Last Dying-Speeches.
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha!
Jocu.
Come, give me thy Hand; I don't know how to refuse
thee, neither.—This same Signior Cupid makes Fools of
People just as he pleases.
Delia.
Why, to say the truth, I'm engag'd to another; but
where Interest is concern'd, no body that belongs to a Court
can ever be expected to keep their Word.
-- 76 --
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord, your Brother Byron's seiz'd in Flight, and
kept strict guarded till your Pleasure's known.
Proth.
Think not of him till to-morrow; I'll devise some rare
Punishment for him. Now, Musick, strike up. [A Dance here.]
Come, Liberia, we set out, most of us, in bitter Defiance to Love
and Matrimony; and yet we have all been forc'd to surrender
on Discretion: Why 'tis the highest Mark of Courage we
cou'd possibly shew; 'tis a brave Lesson to the rest of the
World; and I heartily wish, from our Example, that honourable
Wedlock
May, spite of Rallery, once more come in Fashion;
Whilst Pride, Ambition, Av'rice fly the Nation,
And Love still reign the Universal Passion.
The End of the Fifth Act.
