Mor.

Pretty Boy! Thy Manners are so soft, thy Sense so quick at every turn; thou should'st be older than thou seem'st to be—Hast ever been in Love?

Cæs.

A little my Lord—

Mor.
'Tis that has form'd thy Mind,
For Love, the kind refiner of the Soul,
Softens harsh Nature's Work, and tempers Man:
Without it, all are Salvages—
What sort of Woman?

Cæs.
One very like your Lordship.

Mor.
By so much the less meriting—Did she love you?

Cæs.

She kist me often, and told me so, but did not love me.

Mor.

Trust 'em no more, they're all—

Cæs.

O! hold, my Lord, some are Just, and Love as well as we. “My Father had a Daughter lov'd a Man,

Mor.
And what's her Story?

Cæs.
“A Blank, my Lord—She never told her Love,
“But let Concealment, like a Worm i'th' Bud,
“Feed on her Damask Cheek—
—She languish'd long,
Courting the Shade, the Night still found her weeping,
Nor cou'd the Sun e'er dry her Tears away,
'Till pining with distressful Melancholy
“She sate like Patience on a Monument, smiling at Grief.
Reduced to these extreams, at last I— (She blushes)

Mor.

How's that, Cæsario?

Cæs.

I don't—you forget, my Lord, to send me to the Lady.

Mor.
Right! my dear Boy, go bear it to her now,
And plead thy self the Cause of Love and Me;
Thou hast a soft insinuating Way,
May sooth her Anger, and delude her Scorn.
But if her People shou'd deny thee entrance—

Cæs.

I warrant ye, my Lord, I get admittance; I'll Storm the House, and Beat the Servants; my Youth, and your Indulgence will protect me.

Mor.

Nay; Women, Children, and Priests, they say, can affront no body, so thou art safe.

Cæs.

O! very safe, my Lord, doubly safe.

Mor.

Dear Cæsario, take this and prosper, (kisses her) Urge my Passion to her, and my Faith.

Cæs.

As zealously, as if your Favour depended on the Success; and if Fortune is but kind—

Mor.

Invoke thy own good Stars, for I have none.

Cæs.

Most faithfully, my Lord, and hope this Affair will be govern'd by 'em.

Scene changes to Villaretta's Enter Villaretta, Emilia, and Dromia, (taking her leave)

Dro.

Nay, pray Ladies! Not a Step for me— I'm gone in a moment.

Vill.

We will see you to the Stairs, Madam.

Dro.

I beseech your Ladyship—Nay good Lady Emilia.

Em.

Pray Madam—

Dro.

You make me rude—Your Servant—Oh! dear— pray—My Service to Segnior Drances.

Vill.

Ha! ha! this old Woman is the very Pink of Breeding, by her excess of Civility, she shou'd ha' been bred a Manteau-maker.

Em.

She thinks it the Character of Age to be Austere, and therefore hurries her poor Bones about, tho' they rattle as much as if they were already made into Dice.

Vill.

My Service to Segnior Drances! Ha! ha! I always told you, that this old Fool had still a smatch of 15 about her.

Em.

And will carry't to her Grave, except our merry Kinsman reels into her Arms.

Vill.

His Liquor 'll defend him, for drunken Men, they say, come by no harm.

Em.

It may be a good—she'll cure his Intemperance, my Life for't.

Vill.

She may be mistaken in her Remedy—! I have known People of her Age, marry with hopes of working strange Cures upon their Husbands.

Em.

And how did they succeed?

Vill.

As other Physitians, they grew their greatest Disease.

Em.

Which wou'd last all their Lives too perhaps— Well! methinks Marriage shou'd end just when People began to hate one another.

Vill.

At that rate you'd have few last longer than a monthly Rose.

Em.

If it smells sweet for the time, its well enough—I'd fain have the Men make one Law that we like.

Enter a Footman.

Foot.

Madam, a young Gentleman at the Gate desires to speak with you—He is very importunate, tho' we told him you wou'd not be seen.

Vill.

What sort of Person?

Foot.

A very handsome Youth.

2d Foot.

There's a Gentleman at the Gate, Madam, that swears he must speak with you, and will speak with you—I told him, you were sick; he says he is a Doctor, and came to cure you; I said you were asleep, he knows that too, and comes to wake you: I don't know what to say to him, he's prepar'd against all Denials.

Vill.

Hum! Tell him he shan't speak with me.

2d Foot.

I have, Madam, but he says he'll bring his Bed to the Door, and Live there till he does

Vill.

A merry Fellow!

1st Foot.

He'll speak with your Ladyship in spite of your Teeth.

Vill.

I'll disappoint him—Bid him come in.

1st Foot.

Come in, Madam?

Vill.
Yes, Impertinent. (Exeunt Footmen)
Some Message from his Highness!

Em.

Taken his Bed, and desires to see you before he dies! For after such a Repulse, he can't in Gallantry live above two Hours.

Vill.

Ha! ha! ha! There is nothing so ill-laid, as a Lover's-Plot—no body's surpriz'd in it, but those that wou'd be taken—Ha! ha! Well! Emilia, the happyest Woman in the World, is she that's a little Handsome; no Fool; and that never loves.

Ha! a handsome Youth.

Cæs.

My Business is with the Lady of the House

Vill.

Then you may tell it me, Sir.

Cæs. (Aside)

I'm lost! She's beautiful indeed—! I shan't be able to speak to her—

Em. (to Vill.)

A pretty blushing Boy!

Cæs. (Aside)

But Woman assist me—I'll belie my Heart, and look pleas'd.

Vill.

A very silent Embassy! Sir, my Servants told me you had a Tongue.

Cæs.

O! Madam, and a Heart, and Hands, and Legs, and all at your Ladyship's Service.

Vill.

Then, Sir, pray employ the most impertinent of 'em, and tell me your Business.

Cæs.

Never apprehend my Tongue, Madam, 'tis as glib as a Woman's, and when once well in, will never lie still—so take a Husband's care not to set it a going.

Vill. (to Em.)

I don't know what's the matter, but I can't be angry with this saucy Boy—Then, Sir, I must not know the Business

Cæs.

Yes, Lady, you must know, but only you must know it—I must have you by your self, without a Witness.

Em.

I go—

Vill.

Hold—Why, Sir, is it Treason?

Cæs.

You prophane it with the comparison. Treason's a Prostitute, the Chat of every Table; but this, Madam, is secret as Maiden-wishes, I scarce can trust it with my self.

Vill.

Emilia, I beg you to retire a little then, and let this impertinent Boy have his way.

Cæs.

Most bountiful Lady! were you as indulgent to Merit, as you are to Curiosity, this trouble had not been.

Vill.

Well, Sir, the Business in as few Words as you can.

Cæs.

Nay, Madam, I must use more Words than I wou'd to tell it you.

Vill.

Riddles—!

Cæs.

I come from a Lover to you.

Vill.

Thou art as impertinent, as if thou wert one thy self.

Cæs.

But this Letter must speak first.

Vill. (opens it)

Here, Sir, the last Word is all I value in't, and not value in it, so take it agen—You, I suppose then, are his Page?

Cæs.

Yes, Madam, and so have a Charter to be impudent.

Vill. (Aside)

'Tis impossible to be out of humour with this Youth—What does the Boy look at?

Cæs.

To see if all be Nature that I see.

Vill.

All in grain, I assure you Sir.

Cæs.

“And will you lead these Graces to the Grave, and leave the World no Copy?”

Vill.

By no means, Sir, I'll have 'em inventori'd out, when I die, and added as a Label to my Will, that every one may know what I was possest of.

Cæs.

Some know it too well already.

Vill.

Prithee, who are they?

Cæs.

Why your Ladyship, and my Lord.

Vill.

You put those together, that shall never come together.

Cæs.

Nay, Madam, I wou'd not put you together, Heaven knows! And yet I must tell you, that he loves you to that degree—

Vill. (Aside)

I love to hear him talk, tho' one I hate is the Subject—To what degree, Sir?

Cæs.

Why he talks of nothing but Villaretta, Dreams of nothing but Villaretta—He Swears, and Smiles, Frets, and Dances like a French-man, in a Fit of the Spleen— Then he thinks all the World Fools for being unconcern'd, but they, in return, think as oddly of him—there's all the World to one, Madam!

Vill.

Do you laugh at your Master?

Cæs.

No, Madam, I only laugh at a Mad-man, that raves of Villaretta—My Master must not be one that loves you—When he sighs for you, I'm discharg'd, but when he rails at you, I'm his humblest Servant.

Vill.

Why you and I are of a Mind! I shou'd bear him too, if he hated me, for I do him most constantly.

Cæs.

I wou'd not trust you—A Woman's Resolution is no more to be depended on, than a Man's Oath.

Vill. (Aside)

I'm extremely pleas'd with this Youth—! Harky'e, Sir, what Country are you? What Parentage?

Cæs.
“Above my Fortunes, yet my State is well;
“I am a Gentleman, my Name Cæsario—

But my Master, Lady, is the Theme; you shou'd enquire how he rested... How he looks.. And drop a little Pity on his Wounds... This, were I the Duke of Venice, I shou'd expect.

Vill.

You might.... (Aside) What am I doing—! But tell your Master, I detest his Passion; so let him trouble me no more, except, Sir, you'll call again, to tell me how he takes it... In the mean time, for your trouble, pray accept of this...

Cæs. “(putting away her Hand)

I am no fee'd Post, Madam, you misplace your Bounty—“My Master, not my self, wants recompence.”

Vill.
Triumphant Honesty! What is this Youth?
Above my Fortunes, yet my State is well;
I am a Gentleman—
For that, fair Youth, thou need'st no Herauld—That
Tongue! That Face! That Spirit above Gain! cou'd
not be born of vulgar Parents—!
Tho' he has left me, yet he is not gone,
I feel him in my Breast dispensing Laws,
And all within me pleas'd with his Commands.

But hold... He does not know it—Something I must do, or I may lose him... But Villaretta's Youth and Fortune need not fear a disappointment... Yet to be sure.... here!

Run after that same saucy Youth, the Duke's Page.... He calls himself Cæsario... He threw this Ring at my Feet, as he went out, and left it, whether I would or not; pray give it him again, and tell him, I shall be very angry if he plays these Tricks with me... He may, perhaps, have the Confidence to deny it; but be sure you leave it; and if he has any thing to say for himself, to excuse what he has done, you may bid him call to Morrow.

Serv.

I will, Madam.

Vill.

I do I do'nt know what, and am asham'd, but Love must hide the blushes that he makes.

Scene changes to the Ryalto. Enter Rodoregue, Sebastian, and Pedro.

Rod.

Dear Sebastian, (tho' unknown to me before this Voyage, yet since our common Calamity has made us one, let me call you so) add not to the Miseries the Sea has caus'd, by being sad.

Seb.

Captain, your Friendship wou'd make me forget any Loss—But a Sisters!

Rod.
Since that may possibly not be,
Diffide not in the Powers that guard her Life.

Seb.

What hope can there remain? I follow'd her flight so close, that in a few Hours we came up with the Vessel, in which, I was assur'd, she went; but before we had hail'd 'em, a Storm arose, that separated us; I saw that Vessel sink, and the Plank on which you found me, was all that was left of ours.

Rod.

And why might not some kind Plank remain for her? Suspend your Sorrow for a while; and since she was bound for Venice.....

Pedro, (Aside)

I'm glad to hear there may be Eating towards—

Seb.
Rodoregue! You oppress me with your Generosity.
You left your stated Course to succour me;
And tho' your Ship by my ill Stars was lost,
Yet here you follow to another Shipwrack,
More dreadful than the last.

Rod.
Think not of that, my Friend,
I fear no harm, while I can serve Sebastian;
These Weeds, and your good Genius, will protect me.

Ped.

Sir, Sir, there's a Lady that takes particular notice of you.

Rod.

I know her, she's a Widow, the greatest Fortune in Venice.

Ped. (Aside)

Good! This may be a lucky Adventure—

Seb.

She mistakes me for another.

Ped.

Ah! Sir, that's Grief makes you think so—But a Woman never looks kindly upon a Man by mistake, Sir, if she had lookt upon me so, it shou'd ha' been no mistake.

Seb.

Cou'd not all that salt Water cure your Impertinence, Rascal!

Rod.

Let him alone, honest Pedro—If you'll take a turn in these Walks, I'll try the temper of my Friends— In the mean time, lest you should have occasion for Money, take this Purse, and use it as your own; 'tis all I sav'd from the merciless Storm.

Seb.

This Rodoregue—

Rod.

No Words, Sebastian, with a Man so proud to serve you; Fortune has made amends for her ill Nature, since by it she has given me an opportunity of knowing you.

Seb.

This Generous Fellow confounds me more than my ill Fortune—

Ped.

Talk not of ill Fortune, Sir, with such a Mark of her Favour—I cou'd no more grieve, than be sober, with all that about me—I wish he had told you too, Sir, where that rich Widow lives, for I long to be serving your Honour by Land.

Seb.

Pray, Sir, let me have no more of your Familiarities— Wait here till I return, Hang-Dog!

Ped.

Very pretty—! When we were sinking, it was, Good Pedro! Dear Pedro! Segnior Pedro! Is there any Hopes—? He knew Death made all People alike, and thought fit to be acquainted with me, when he found we were near it—If I cou'd but hang my self now, I shou'd be as great as Alexander—But I don't love Preferment at that rate neither—What is there in this Sebastian more than in me? He can afford to be Idle, Game, and Wench more than I—But I love it as well—I was certainly got by a great Man, for I han't one of your Tradesmanly Virtues, of Cheating, Lying, and good Husbandry—So I'll

e'en get rid of this whimsical Master of mine, and push my Fortune.