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.
