SCENE V.
Vincentio, Julio.
VINCENTIO.
But pr'ythee Youth why not the swift Foot of
Time? methinks, that had sounded better.
JULIO.
Why aye, it might so with some People perhaps; for
Time, you must know, has different Paces with different
Persons; there are some he walks with, others that he
trots with; with this Man he ambles, with that he gallops,
and with another he stands stock-still,
VINCENTIO.
A pretty Youth this; I'll have some Discourse with
him.—Pr'ythee, young Gentleman, who does time
walk with?
JULIO.
Faith very few, I'm afraid; but such as are rich without
Pride, and Ambition, poor without Knavery, and Discontent,
wise without Frowardness, and gay without Libertinism,
find his Pace so easy, that they cannot be persuaded
he goes faster than a Walk.
VINCENTIO.
That may be very true; but who does he trot with?
JULIO.
With a Usurer on his Death-Bed, and a young Spendthrift
to the Expiration of a Bond; both of them think
he travels very unpleasantly.
-- 62 --
VINCENTIO.
Well, and who does he gallop with?
JULIO.
With a Lover in his Mistress's Arms, and a Thief to
the Gallows; for let him travel never so slow, he's at
his Journey's End with them in a Moment.
VINCENTIO.
But pr'ythee Youth, who does he stand still with?
JULIO.
Oh! with every body almost:—With a Maid between
the drawing up of her Marriage Articles and the
Wedding-Day; with a young Heir, whose Father lives
after he's of Age; with a Poet between the Receipt of his
Play and his Benefit Night; and a Lawyer in the Vacation.
VINCENTIO.
There's something so surprisingly engaging in this
Youth, I must be better acquainted with him.
[Aside.
Whereabouts in the Forest do you live, Youngster?
JULIO.
About a Quarter of a Mile hence Northward.
VINCENTIO.
Are you a Native of it?
JULIO.
I have heard my Mother say so, Sir.
VINCENTIO.
Methinks your Accent is a little finer than one would
expect in so desart a Place.
JULIO.
I have been told so indeed;—but I confess an old
Uncle of mine that was a Courtier, and grew fond of
Retirement, because he was thrown out of Favour, taught
me to speak:—Poor Paulino!—I shall never forget
-- 63 --
him;—he was the merriest, best-natured Creature,
—sometimes;—and then he wou'd so rail at
the Vices of the Court, and the Vanities of this wicked
World, that I protest he has given me many a comfortable
Nap in an Afternoon, when I could not sleep for the
Tooth-Ach all the Night before.—Sometimes he
would touch upon Love too.—
VINCENTIO.
He understood it doubtless.
JULIO.
Aye marry, but too well; for while he was at Court,
he happened to fall in Love with one of the Maids of
Honour, who slighted him forsooth; ah! it went to the
very Heart of him.—I have heard him run on about
a Fop, and an Opera, and an Assembly, and a Coach and
Six, and a fine Coat; and I don't know what all, for an
Hour together.—Well, thank Heaven that I'm no Woman:
I wou'd not have all the Mischiefs that he has
charged that Sex with to answer for, for the best Face in
Christendom.
VINCENTIO.
Do you remember any of the principal Faults he accused
them with?
JULIO.
Principal! Death Sir! they were all Principals; they
were as like as these two Fellows: (shewing her Hands.)
Ev'ry one was biggest till another was brought to match
it.
VINCENTIO.
Pr'ythee tell me some of the Generals then.
JULIO.
'Tis not my Custom to throw away Physick where
there is no Occasion for it; but there is somebody hereabouts
that's continually spoiling the Trees with scratching
-- 64 --
Names upon them; and then he has hung such a
Parcel of Songs and Dittys up and down the note Bushes, that
he has made a perfect Ballad-Shop of the Forest. Now
if I could meet with that Fancy-monger, methinks I
cou'd find in my Heart to give him a little Advice, for
he seems to be in a desperate Condition.
VINCENTIO.
Suppose I were that Man, now what wou'd you say to
me?
JULIO.
You! marry, I'm not to be caught so; you've none
of the Marks upon you, that my Uncle taught me to
know a Lover by.
VINCENTIO.
Marks! pray what were they?
JULIO.
Oh! I have them under black and white. (Takes out
a Pocket-Book.) Let me see—Oh! here—
VINCENTIO.
Well, examine me a little closer; compare me with
your Notes, and see what you'll think of me then.
JULIO.
Never the better I'm afraid. But come—
(reads.)
Imprimis, a lean Cheek;—you have it not.—Item,
a hollow melancholy Eye;—you have it not.—Item, a
pale Countenance;—you have it not.—Item, to muse,
and to sigh, to talk to himself, and start on a sudden
as if just awakened;—you do no such Thing.—Item,
to have the Collar unbuttoned, the Wig without Powder,
the Coat undusted, the Stockings ungarter'd;—the—
VINCENTIO.
Oh! you're quite mistaken Child; it might be so in
Days of Yore indeed, but the Case is clean altered now:
'Tis a Lover's Business to please; and one of these Fellows
-- 65 --
you describe, will go no more down with a modern
fine Lady, than a Play without Satire, or a Carnival
without masquing.—The Lover that would succeed
now-a-days, must be a quite different Sort of a Creature,
a mere Petit Maitre, a Beau Garçon. In short, he must
fence, dance, sing, drink, rake, wench, and dress, or
he'll have no Share with the Ladies, take my Word for
it.
JULIO.
Well, you shan't make me believe you're a Lover
yet; nay, you have cast yourself, for you agree as ill
with your own Description as you did with mine.
VINCENTIO.
Faith! I'm sorry, my Dear, I have so little Credit with
you; I wou'd fain make you believe I am in Love.
JULIO.
Me believe it! you may as soon make her you pretend
to love confess she believes it:—And let me tell you,
you'll not find that very easy, as Sincerity goes now:
But come, tell me sincerely, are you the Man that makes
all these fine Sonnets upon this same Camilla, and adorns
the Trees with them in this Manner?
VINCENTIO.
I swear to thee Youth, by the lilly Hand, ruby Lips,
starry Eyes, and heaving Breasts of the lovely Camilla,
that I am the He, the very, unfortunate He.
JULIO.
And are you really so much in Love as your Rhymes
speak you?
VINCENTIO.
Oh! far beyond, neither Rhyme nor Reason is sufficient
to express how deep I am in Love.
-- 66 --
JULIO.
Well then, out of pure Compassion, d'ye see, I'll do
my Endeavour to cure you; follow my Advice, and I
warrant we effect it.
VINCENTIO.
Aye, but suppose I wou'd not be cured, Youth?
JULIO.
But I can't suppose so, nor I won't suppose so; and
what then Sir? Death Sir, d'ye think I have had all
my Experience for nothing? Shew me e'er a Lover in
Christendom, that wou'd not be cured one Way or other,
and I'll ne'er wear Breeches again.
VINCENTIO.
There is something so surprisingly agreeable in this
Youth's Conversation, I can't bear the Thoughts of
leaving him. I'll e'en trifle with him his own Way; it
may at least be an Amusement for a melancholy Hour.
(Aside.)
Well Sir, I have considered on't, and am resolved
to obey you, begin your Instructions as soon as
you please.
JULIO.
Why aye, this is as it shou'd be now; I knew you'd
come too. Come then, stand up, and look in my Face—
nay, never be bashful, look boldly Man; well, d'ye
think you shou'd know me again?
VINCENTIO.
Aye, tho' I were to meet you at an Assembly, or at
Court on a Ball-Night, where most People appear as
different from their natural selves, as a modern Beau
from a human Creature, or a handsome Nun from a
Virgin.
JULIO.
Well then, you must remember wherever you see me,
to make Love to me, and call me your Camilla. Not only
-- 67 --
that, you must follow me to all Places, wait on me every
Hour, sigh, kneel at my Feet, press my Hands,
swear, lye, rave, and die if you please; in short, you
must do every Thing as if I were your real Mistress.
VINCENTIO.
This is an odd Sort of a Remedy; but however, I'm
determined to follow you.
JULIO.
Well, come on then; but remember I expect you to
be very constant, and very punctual: If once I catch
you tripping—
VINCENTIO.
Fear not; but first let me know, where I may find you
on Occasion.
JULIO.
Follow me, and I'll shew you, 'tis not far.
VINCENTIO.
Lead on Sir.
JULIO.
How! Sir!
VINCENTIO.
Gad so! Camilla I meant; I beg Pardon.
JULIO.
Well, take care for the future. Come Sir, this
Way.
-- 68 --
SCENE VI.
Marcellus; Hillario apart.
HILLARIO.
What a Plague shou'd Lord Marcellus want
here now?—I'll be hang'd if there be'nt some
Mischief o'Foot—Oh this is the Place Lady Julia was to
meet him in.—Well, I did not think he wou'd ha' come
I must confess.—Poor Devil! how she'll use him now!
But mum, let's hear what he has to say for himself?
MARCELLUS.
Whither am I going?—What do I here?—Is not this
the Place, I expect to see a Woman in, and consequently
one, I ought to avoid, as I would a false Friend, or an
Adder's Nest?—Well recollected;—I'll once more be
Master of my Reason, and leave it before I see her:—
Yet, why shou'd I?—What Danger is there in seeing
her? I am out of the Power of any Mischief, she can design
me:—I have trusted her with no Secrets;—deny'd
her no Favours, and am secure from her Revenge.—Surely,
I'm free from any Temptations, any Love-traps she
can lay in my Way.—Let me see, I think I may venture:
Yet she's a Woman;—what then?—Why under that
damn'd Word is comprehended every Thing to be avoided.
Yet sure she must be something more than the rest of her
detested Sex.—Some Being perhaps of a superior Order:
That gay Innocence, that noble Simplicity that appears
in all her Actions confirm it:—Yet hold; am not I prejudiced
-- 69 --
to her?—But what shou'd prejudice me? I am
no Love-sick, wishing Boy, to be insnared by the alluring
Form of the deceiving Tempters.—It must be so.—What
in the rest of her Sex is no more than Impertinence and
Affectation, in her is but a becoming Gaiety, the natural
Result of Innocence, Virtue, and good Nature.—
Shou'd Antonio and his Companions hear me reasoning
thus, what wou'd they think?—But what they will, I
care not; it cannot be a Crime to plead the Cause of
Virtue:—Yet, let me think a little:—Confusion! more
Objections!—I'll think no longer; but on, and lose the
Thoughts of Danger in the Midst of it.
The wisest Method Dangers to eschew,
Is to plunge in at once, and boldly venture through.
SCENE VII.
Hillario alone.
Ha! ha! ha! an excellent Remedy:—Well, this
was a most extraordinary Conflict.—I can't say
but the Philosopher argued very well; not but the Lover
answered as well too.—I must after him, and see what
it will come to.
-- 70 --
SCENE VIII.
Florinda sitting on a Bank before a Cottage.
'Ive waited so long for this Philosopher of mine,
that I almost begin to suspect his Courage, and fear
a Disappointment. Well, pray Heaven I an't in Love
with the Brute after all—for I begin to find myself a little
upon—I don't know how:—If so, I have jested to some
Purpose:—If he should not come now, I should be
strangely vexed methinks:—But I wrong him; for see
where he comes, with a Pace, and Countenance as solemn
as a Bawd's at a Funeral.—Now I begin to find the Woman
very strong in me; I must plague him a little, tho' I
must confess it is something barbarous;—but we have it in
our Natures, and I can't help it.
SCENE IX.
To her Marcellus.
FLORINDA.
So! Sir, I see you're not afraid of a Woman; or do
you come to be troublesome? I thought I had warn'd
you from this Place.
MARCELLUS.
I came—
-- 71 --
FLORINDA.
Aye, I see you came; but for what?
MARCELLUS.
Why &lblank;
FLORINDA.
Nay, come I know what you wou'd say now: You
had forgot this was the Place, or you came to gather
Simples, or to read under the Shade of these Trees, or
to fish, or to shoot, or to swim, or to walk, or to—
MARCELLUS.
Do any Thing but meet an impertinent Woman.
Death! What a Coxcomb was I?—I cou'd expect no
better.
(Aside.
FLORINDA.
Come what signifies Dissembling? You're in Love,
'tis plain, and come to see if you cou'd have Courage
enough to tell me so.
MARCELLUS.
So!—But since I have brought it upon myself, I
must bear it out as well as I can. (Aside.)—Well then,
to shew you how much you are mistaken, I came to
rail.
FLORINDA.
Dear Sir, begin then; Scandal, you know, is the
most agreeable Thing to a Woman.—Well, if you did
but know all my Acquaintance, that we might take
'em to pieces one after another, what a pleasant Creature
you'd be!—But come, begin with whom you
please.
MARCELLUS.
You mistake me still; I do not delight in Scandal;
speaking Truth is all I pretend to.
FLORINDA.
Oh Child! Scandal of one's Acquaintance is always
-- 72 --
true you know.—Well come, say something, or I protest
I must leave you.
MARCELLUS.
The only Thing I cou'd wish.—I am determin'd
therefore to be silent.
FLORINDA.
Then I shall have all the Talk to myself, and that
will be still a Pleasure. Well, see how People may be
mistaken; you have been represented to me as a meer
Brute, but I protest, I think you the most agreeable
Creature alive.
MARCELLUS.
Will neither talking, nor Silence rid me of your Company?
FLORINDA.
Rid you of my Company?—Well, you are pleas'd
to put on your little diverting Humours;—but, pray,
how come you to seek me?
MARCELLUS.
Why in short, I came out of pure Compassion, to
tell you some few of your Faults; and first, that I
think you the most impertinent of your whole Sex;
that now you're young, you're fit to be seduc'd by the
Flesh, and when you grow old, your Malice and Ill-nature
will prepare you to be led away by the Devil.
FLORINDA.
Believe me, Sir, you'd make an excellent Monk; what
Pity 'tis such Talents shou'd be lost to the World! I
protest if I had any Interest at Court, I'd put in for the
next vacant Priory for you.
MARCELLUS.
I'm afraid, Madam, I'm not qualified for the Office,
for I shou'd hardly be Master enough of my Temper to
talk calmly to a Set of impertinent Women, that pass
-- 73 --
all their Time at Church in regulating their own Dress,
censuring that of others, and practising Curtesies and
Compliments against the next Ball-Night.
FLORINDA.
Oh! I warrant you, your Complaisance for the Ladies
would soon make you overlook these fashionable
Faults;—besides, we should have you in Love soon, and
then you'd be as tame, and obliging, as a Poet behind
the Scenes while his Play's rehearsing.
MARCELLUS.
I'd hang or drown myself sooner, than be guilty of
so much Folly.
FLORINDA.
Why that wou'd be the most agreeable Thing you
cou'd do; What a Theme wou'd there be for the Wits
to talk of! We shou'd have dismal Ditties, with terrible
new Tunes, sung up and down, on the Triumphs of Love,
or the Downfal of a Philosopher.
MARCELLUS.
Even that would be more tolerable, than Womens
Impertinence.
FLORINDA.
I see no Room for Hope yet; I have one Reserve,
I'll try that upon him, and if it fail, 'twill then be time
enough to despair. (Aside.) But are you really that
Woman-hater, you pretend to be?
MARCELLUS.
What have you seen in my Behaviour, that might
give you Reason to doubt it?
FLORINDA.
What if I shou'd be in Love with you then, must I
despair?
-- 74 --
MARCELLUS.
Oh! cou'd I but see that;—I might hope some Revenge
for your Impertinence.
FLORINDA.
Heigh ho! I fear you have your Wish.
MARCELLUS.
Hey day! a new Tun of Folly a-broach: I see I
must be obliged to leave you in my own Defence.
FLORINDA.
Unhappy Florinda! how well is all thy past Indifference
repaid by him, who only cou'd inspire thee with a
Tenderness unfelt before!
[Whining.
MARCELLUS.
Farewel.—Yet stay, if she shou'd be sincere, I
shou'd, methinks, be the happiest of Mankind:—But
she's still—a Woman;—I'd best retire in time, for I
am but—a Man, and cannot be always Master of my
Passions.—'Tis resolv'd.
[Aside, going.
FLORINDA.
I like that Uncertainty,—it promises well; I'll push
it further:—But see, he's going, I must be speedy.
[Aside.]
Can you then leave me? cruel Marcellus!
MARCELLUS.
By Heaven, I'd not stay a Moment longer to purchase
the rich Treasures of the Indies.
FLORINDA.
Then go; and if it be possible for-ever. Ungrateful
Man! is this the Return for all my proffer'd Love? is
it so poor to be thrown back with so much Disregard?
Believe me, whatever I appear, I'm not beneath you, or
in Birth, or Fortunes. Still cold!—Oh! I cou'd grow
mad, and curse thee:—But why do I talk thus?—I soon
shall know an end of all my Sorrows; the friendly
-- 75 --
Hand of Death spreads quick o'er all my Senses, and I
shall soon be—nothing.
MARCELLUS.
Confusion! how she melts me! If I stay longer, I
shall confess myself a Coxcomb; I'll try if I have Resolution
enough to leave her.
[Aside, and going.
FLORINDA.
Not yet; once more. [Aside.] Stay Marcellus, and
take one last Farewel; yet now it needs not, for all is
done; and—Oh!
[Pretends to faint.
MARCELLUS running to her.
Death and Tortures! What has my Folly done—This
can be no Counterfeit; she's gone, for-ever gone.—Stay
Fair-one, and take me with thee;—for I feel something at
my Heart that pants, and tells me I can ne'er survive thee.
FLORINDA seeming to revive.
Why hast thou wak'd me from the welcome Death?—
Ungenerous Man! too well I know, you but recall'd
me to torment me more.
MARCELLUS.
No, by Heaven; Live, live thou Angel, and all my
future Life shall pass in pleasing thee.
FLORINDA.
So, this is some Encouragement however. [Aside.] Is
it possible? and can you love me?
MARCLLUS.
Oh for-ever: No anxious Miser ever doated more upon
his hoarded Treasures: No pious Saint e'er pray'd to
Heaven with half that Earnestness, I'll worship thee with.
FLORINDA starting up.
Ha! ha! ha! I'm very glad ro hear it I'll assure you;
It seems a Philosopher can be in Love then.
MARCELLUS.
Damnation! have you fool'd me?
-- 76 --
FLORINDA.
Why thou conceited Coxcomb, thou Compound of
Pride, ill Nature, and Affectation; what Charms in thy
Mind, or Person cou'd furnish thee with the Vanity to
think I was in earnest?
MARCELLUS.
I always thought, and now am satisfied, that you are
like all your damn'd deluding Sex;—a Devil:—Farewel.
FLORINDA.
Hark'ye, Lover of mine, methinks I wou'd fain have
thee damn thyself a little farther—and do one Thing before
you quite forsake me.
MARCELLUS.
What is it? Speak this Moment, or I'm gone for-ever:
What must I do?
FLORINDA.
Only swear you hate me.
MARCELLUS.
With all my Heart; I hate your Sex, and thee above
the rest. Farewel.
SCENE X.
Florinda alone.
Aye, aye, you may think so perhaps; but I can
see farther into your Heart, than you imagine. I
think I have you pretty fast upon the Hook, and I'll not
lose you for a little Care I'll promise you, tho' I must
play with you a little: I think I've pretty good Encouragement
so far; and
Who'd not pursue, when by such Hope invited?
A Victory half gain'd must ne'er be slighted.
End of the Third Act.
-- 77 --
John Carrington [1739], The modern receipt: or, A Cure for Love. A comedy. Altered from Shakespeare. With Original Poems, Letters &c. (Printed for the Author, London) [word count] [S35300].
