University of Virginia Library

ACT. I.

Enter Tamira and Teresia.
Tam.
Oh, preach no more of Patience, good Teresia!
This reverent Counsel and religious Argument
I know with Reason would inspire a Heart,
That had less knowledge of the Pangs of Love:
But I (alass!) have no Religion left,
My stupid Soul now wants that Influence,
That lately with true Joy inspir'd my Bosome,
Where gloomy Sorrows only take possession.

Ter.
Well, well, still I say, you must have Patience,
Let the Snail creep, if it cannot fly; leave off
This whining and follow my Instructions, and
I tell you once more, you shall have Comfort.

Tam.
Get me my Freedom then,
Unty that knot, that fatal Marriage Band,
That Parents Cruelty impos'd upon me,
Forcing me from the Arms of dear D' Ambois,
To be an Offering to Mountsurry's Wealth:
Free me from this, and I'le be all Obedience;
I'le hear, I'le vow, I'le pray with more Devotion,
Than ever Penitent did to purchase Heaven.

Ter.
Why there 'tis now, I must get you your Freedom,
I must unty the knot, ods precious d' ye make a
Death of me already? 'tis true indeed you
Have worn me to mere skin and bones; I
Have pray'd and pray'd, till I have pray'd my
Self into a Consumption about you, and yet
I am not quite dead, and nothing but Death
Can unty Marriages that I know.

Tam.
Nor nought but Hell contrive to tye so fast.
All other Beings may find some Relief:
The wretched Slave, that tugs the painful Oar,
Lives still in hopes, he once may get his Freedom.
Th'unhappy Merchant toss'd in stormy Winds,
I'th'midst of Clouds and all tempestuous Dangers,
Shrugs himself up in hopes to find a Calm,
When safe he may behold the cheerful Sun.
Even Vegetives all feel this Influence:
The wrinkled Face of our dear Mother Earth,
That Winter furrows with its nipping Frosts,
Smiles at th'approach of the Springs youthful God,
And decks her wither'd Brow with Buds, and Flowers.
All things may have redress, but those that marry:
Even Death relieves not us, till 'tis too late.
Were I to torture one I wisht were dead,
To load her with a Curse, I'de bid her Wed.

Ter.
'Gad forgive me, why did you doe it then? I'me sure
'Twas without my Advice: I have told you many and
Many a fair time, a Womans Conscience may be
Satisfied like a good Christian, without going to a
Priest. for a Conjugal Hoop to bind her to her
Good Behaviour: besides, was it not done with your
Consent? Did you not give your Heart?

Tam.
I give my Heart!
No, all the Saints can witness not one grain,
Or atome on't; or less, if less can be:
I give my Heart! alass, I had no Heart,
No Will, no Sence; was fatally distracted,
Tortur'd, and teiz'd by Misers, call'd Relations;
Stark mad, they bid me Sign my Death, I did it;
And the unhappy Church-man that stood by
To joyn our Hands was sure as mad as I.

Ter.
If he had stript you both, and clapt Breast to Breast,
That your Hearts might have joyned, he had cone
Wiser; for my part I never liked that old
Custom of joyning Hands, there's no luck in't;
I made my Daughter Cons joyn Feet with her
Husband.

Tam.
Wou'd I had joyned my self to Death, then sure
I had been happy.

Ter.
Nay, nay, not a word more of Death, if thou
Lovest me; thou hast yet a great deal to do
With the things of this World, Child: Come, come,
I know you have been much distrest by Fortune;
I know too you loved, and were betroth'd to D' Ambois,
One that, to say truth, was a Man every Inch
Of him: nay, to do him Justice, the Gentleman
Wanted no parts to recommend him, but that he was poor.

Tam.
Poorer perhaps for me.
Too well I know his riotous Expences:
To court me in the dawning of our Love,
What Masques, what Rovels, what triumphant Shews,
Were still address'd! nor will I be ungrateful.
Here, take this purse, prythee seek him out;
I hear he shuns Converse and Company,
Hates the bright Sun, that smiles upon his Sorrows,
And wishes he and that might set for ever.
Oh! seek him out, and with thy kindest phrase
Assure him of my Friendship,

Ter.
Well, I hear you, but what says my Prayer book
To this? Sure these grateful Actions come all under
The notion of Charity! 'tis all Charity; come, set
Your heart at rest, the Gentleman shall know the
Good Will you bear him.

Tam.
It may be he'll desire to speak with me,
For all wrong'd Lovers still have much to say:
If so, then take this Secret; there's a Trap-door
To a dark Vault that opens in my Apartment,
Which to my Husband never yet was known;
To clear his Doubts for once I'le there admit him,
Without offence to Conjugal Obligements.

Ter.
Poor Heart, how fearful she is of offending!
Well, I'le go to the Church, and pray for a Blessing
Upon my Endeavours, and then I'le try what I
Can do to bring you together: It shall go hard
But your Scruple shall be satisfied; I think
I am bound in Conscience to take care of your
Scruple. Come, come, cheer up, at night expect an
Answer, I'le about it instantly.

[Exit.
Tam.
That he was Poor, there lies the fatal Plague,
That murders Peace, and breaks poor Lovers Hearts.
Oh, she is damn'd into the inmost Hell,
That breaks a solemn Vow or holy Contract,
For Int'rest, or her Lovers being poor.
That there's a Nobleness i'th'midst of Want
Appears by some Mens Actions; for as we see
Mean Habits gracefully adorning some,
Whilst others look like Asses in Embroidery:
So a brave Man shines out in spight of Poverty.
His Mind is great, though scanty be his Store,
'Tis he, that wants the Soul to give, is Poor.

[Exit.

SCENE. II.

A Grove.
Enter D' Ambois poorly habited.
D' Ambois.
Fortune, not Reason rules the State of things;
Reward goes backwards, Honour on its head:
Who is not poor, is monstrous; only Need
Gives Form and Worth to every humane Seed.
As Cedars beaten with continual Storms,
So great Men flourish, and do imitate
Unskilful Statuaries, that suppose
In frameing a Colossus, if they make him
Stroddle enough, strut, and look big and gape,
Their Work is goodly; So Men meerly great,
In their affected Gravity of Voice,
Sourness of Countenance, Manners, Cruelty,
Authority, Wealth, and all the Spawn of Fortune,
Think, they bear all the Kingdomes worth before 'em;
Yet differ not from those Colossick Statues.
Man is a Torch borne in the Wind, a Dream,
But of a Shaddow, sum'd with all his Substance,
And as great Seamen, using all their Studies,
And Skils in Neptunes deep invisible Paths,
In stout Ships richly built, and rib'd with Brass,
Do put a bridle round about the World;
When they have done it, coming near their Haven,
Are fain to give a Warning-piece, and call
A poor stai'd Fisherman, that never past
His Countrys Sight, so waft, and guide 'em in.
So when we wander farthest through the Waves
Of glassy Glory and the Gulphs of State,
Topt with all Titles, spreading all our Reaches,
As if each private Arm wou'd sphere the Earth,
We must to Virtue for our Guide resort,
Or we shall shipwrack in our safest Port.

Enter Monsieur, and Page.
Mons.
Since there's no second Place in Sovereign State,
I stand but as a Cypher; in a King
All Places are contain'd, his Words and Looks
Are like the Flashes and the Bolts of Jove;
His Deeds inimitable, as the Sea,
That uncontrolable still ebbs and flows:
There's but a Thread, betwixt me and a Crown,
I should not wish it cut, unless by Nature:
Yet to prepare me for that possible Fortune,
'Tis good to get resolved Spirits about me.
I follow'd D' Ambois to this green Retreat,
A Man of Courage beyond the reach of Fear,
Who discontent with his neglected Worth,
Abhors the Light, and seeks obscure Abodes.
But he is young, and haughty, apt to take
Fire at Advancement, to bear State, and flourish;
In his Rise therefore shall my Bounty shine,
And make his Pride, first Step to my Design,
What! D' Ambois!

D' Ambois.
He, Sir.

Mons.
Turn'd to Earth alive!
Up man, the Sun shines on thee.

D' Ambois.
Let it shine,
I am no Mote to play in't, as great Men are.

Mons.
Call'st thou Men great in Place Motes in the Sun?
They say so, that wou'd have thee freeze in Shades.
Who wou'd believe thy Metal cou'd be sloth,
Rust and consume? If Themistocles
Had liv'd obscure thus in the State of Athens,
Xerxes had made both it and him his Slaves.
If brave Camillus had lurkt so in Rome,
He had not five times been Dictator there,
Nor four times Triumpht.

D' Ambois.
What wou'd you have me do?

Mons.
Leave the troubled Streams,
And live with Thrivers at the Fountain head.

D' Ambois.
The Fountain head! alass, what shou'd I do
With that inchanted Glass? see Devils there?
Or like a Strumpet learn to set my Looks,
To please the gaudy Court, and practise Jugling?
Keep a Slaves double Tongue, and double Heart?
Flatter great Lords, to put 'em still in mind,
Why they were made Lords? or please humourous Ladies,
With Apish Cringes? tell 'em wanton Tales,
To make their Physick work? spend a Mans Life
In Sighs, and Visitations, that will make
His Eyes as hollow as his Mistress Heart?
Do no good, but to those that have no need,
But gain being forward, tho' your break for hast
All the Commandments e're you break your Fast?
Shall I learn this there?

Mons.
No, thou need'st not learn,
Thou hast the Theory, go there and Practise.

D' Ambois.
Yes, in a thread-bare Suite: when Men come there
They must have high Naps, and go from thence bare.
A Man may drown the parts of ten brave Men
In one poor Suit; fine Show and outward Gloss
Attract Court Loves, Merit has no Friend there.

Mons.
Thou sha't have Gloss enough, and all things fit,
To free from this dull Cloud thy smother'd Spirit;
Be rul'd by me then. Th'antient Scythians
Painted blind Fortunes powerfull Hand with Wings,
To shew her Gifts come swift and suddainly;
Which if her Favourite be not swift to take,
He loses them for ever; then be wise,
Stay but a while hear, and I'le send to thee.
Exit Mons.

D' Ambois.
What will he send, some Gold?
It is to sow upon my Spirits, and make't spring a Crown
Worth Millions of the Seed Crowns he will send;
For well I know the height of his Ambition.
O Providence, how sacred are thy Orders,
That this great Devil here, throughout all France
Cou'd find no Agent for his horrid purpose
But me, whose best Religion is my Loyalty!
The only he, that wou'd confound his Mischiefs,
Is a clear sign of your Eternal Justice.
I am for honest Actions as for great;
If I can bring up a new fashion,
And rise in Court for Virtue, speed his Plough:
The King has known me long as well as he,
Yet cou'd my Fortune never fit the length
Of both their Understandings, till this hour.

Enter Maffe.
Maffe.
Humour of Princes! can this Fellow here,
This sneaking, paltry, tatter'd Ragamuffin
Have any Merit worth a Thousand Crowns?
His Highness sure is mad, or would make me so.
He looks as if he rather wants a Dinner,
A good large Bellyful than a full Bag:
I must examine this. How now, poor Fellow,
Is thy name D' Ambois?

D' Ambois.
Sir.

Maffe.
Is thy name D' Ambois, I ask thee; what,
Art deaf?

D' Ambois.
How now? who have we here? serve you the Monsieur?

Maffe.
What?

D' Ambois.
'S death, serve you the Monsieur?

Maffe.
Yes that I do serve the Monsieur; this Fellow's
Sawcy, a right beggerly impudent Rogue,
Aside.
I'le not give him a souse.

D' Ambois.
Why then, Sir, I suppose.

Maffe.
Sir, I suppose—Good Captain Bare-enough, that
I am Steward to my Lord, and will be used with
More Respect ere I dispose his Bounty, for all
You are so hot, Sir.

D' Ambois.
I cry your mercy, Sir.
Now you have open'd my dull Eyes, I see you,
And should be glad to see the Bounty spoke of.
Pray what might I call your Name?

Maffe.
My Name! 'tis a sign thou art a fine Fellow
Not to know my Name, thou hast been well
Bred I warrant; but come, to make thee a
Little wiser, know at Court Men call me
Monsieur Maffe.

D' Ambois.
Monsieur Maffe!

Maffe.
Ay, with your Hat off, Sirrah, Monsieur Maffe,
Learn Breeding, Sirrah, learn Breeding.
Well, to proceed to a farther understanding,
What Countryman are you, Friend?

D' Ambois.
Why Friend, suppose an Englishman.

Maffe.
An Englishman!

D' Ambois.
An Englishman.

Maffe.
Why then you 're a Madman, Sirrah; and there's
Another Reason I'le not give you a Souse.

D' Ambois.
How! A Madman, Sir.

Maffe.
Oo'ns you're all so, there's not a sound Brain
Amongst you, some with Love, some with Drink,
And some with a kicksey-whimsey thing you call Religion;
You're bewitcht, the Devils in you all.

D' Ambois.
Most admirable Steward; what an impudent
Dog is this!

[Aside.
Maffe.
I've found this Fellow out, I see quite through
Him now: a hundred Crowns will make him swagger,
Caper, and get drunk with drinking
Healths to my Lords Royal Bounty:
So there's nine hundred saved, to give my Wife
A Necklace, Ring, or some such pretty trifle;
This now is call'd Discretion: here poor
Caterpillar, not to defer thy Fortune any longer,
His Highness sends thee a whole hundred Crowns.

D' Ambois.
A hundred, Sir! nay, do his Highness right;
I know his Hand is larger, and perhaps
I may deserve more than my Outside shows;
I am a Poet, as I am a Soldier;
And being well incourag'd, Sir, may write
His praise for giving, yours for delivering,
Like a most faithful Steward what he orders.

Maffe.
A Poet too, and in this Age of Blockheads!
Thou'rt like to be an Alderman; prythee
Take my Advice, and instead of thy Poetry
Learn to pick a Pocket, or the mysterious Art
Of Pimping. But
Prythee if thou shou'dst fall a Rhimeing
What wou'd thy Subject be? Ha!

D' Ambois.
Why faith I care not much:
If to his bounteous Grace I sing the praise
O fair great Noses, and to you of Long ones.

[Pulls him by the Nose.
Maffe.
An odd sort of a Fellow this, a very
Odd sort of a Fellow, and Gad I
Begin to fear him.

D' Ambois.
How say you? how dost thou like the Theme,
Old Ink-bottle? hah! Come, what Qualities
Have you besides your Jacket, and Gold Chain?
Can your Worship dance?

[Turns him about.
Maffe.
This is a plaguy Fellow, and I'me as plaguely
Affray'd of him: If he shou'd be possess'd with
A British Devil now, or carry ere a Gomera
Crag-Snuffle-dum-weehee Fiend about
Him, that shou'd break my head in old Welsh.
I had better have left off playing Tricks, 'Gad I'le venture
Him no longer, come, come, dost hear
I jested with thee a little to try thy Wit, but
Now in earnest bring thee a Thousand Crowns;
Sirrah, be thrifty and play the good Husband,
And you may make it a good standing Living,
'Tis a Bounty his Highness might perhaps have
Bestowed better.

D' Ambois.
Sirrah, y'are a Raskal, and you lye.

Strikes him.
Maffe.
How, Sir.

D' Ambois.
Mutter another Word,
And by thy Villains Blood it is thy last.

Strikes again.
Maffe.
Oh Lord!

D' Ambois.
A barbarous Groom, to grudge his Masters Bounty!
For well I know he wou'd like Death abhor
His Hind shou'd argue, what he gives his Friend.
Down, crouch, you Mungrel Cur, crawl to your Kennel,
And thank thy sordid Baseness that preserves thee.

Throws him down, kicks him and Exit.
Maffe.
Ah—why this was rather a
Belzebub than a Britain, this must
Be some damn'd hot Bavarian Flap-dragon,
That has been Bombing of Towns, and
Comes just now fizzing red hot out of a
Mortar-piece; have I liv'd thus long with the
Authority of a Controuler, and am I at last
Forc't to crawl like a Dog in a Dublet,
And at my years too? Well, If this be known,
I shall be hooted to Death by all the Boys;
Therefore I'le keep it secret, and limp home
As well as my Legs will carry me, and
The better to disguise it,
I'le my old stock of Impudence put on,
And look, as well as one that's beaten can.

[Exit.