University of Virginia Library

The SCENE a Garden-Wall, with the Door open.
Enter Rinaldo and Viola.
Rinald.
My sweetest Viola, such Love—

Viol.
Speak softly;
For oh! should any prying Tell-tale Listner
Hear this stol'n Visit to my Father's Ear
We ne'er should meet again.

Rinald.
Yet we have met,
May our warm Eyes have met before his Face.
How often has he seen my firing Soul,
(For sure my Heart look'd through me)
Snatch a kind Glance from those fair Twins of Light
Uncheck'd and unrebuk'd? How has he trusted me
To lead thee forth to silent Bow'rs and Groves
Unguarded and alone. Though he durst trust
Thy Innocence, how cou'd he trust thy Charms?
Did he believe that either I had no Heart,
Or thou no Darts to wound it?

Viol.
He believed,
He knew it, suffer'd it.

Rinald.
And now to part us
How can he play this Tyrant!

Viol.
All are Tyrants
When once Ambition reigns. The Lover he has provided me
His shining Gold has his weak Eyes so dazled,
Till blind to Justice, Honour, all Humanity,
Not his Heart only, but his very Doors are lock'd against thee.
Can Love be bought and sold! Oh barbarous Avarice,
How many thousand Maids hast thou undone!

C. C. Wife.

Do you hear that, Mr. Common Council-Man, Avarice!
Avarice! Well this honest Play I see will read you a Lecture upon your
own Text, I hope, for your Conversion.

C. C. Man.

Hist; let the Play go on.

Rinald.
But, oh, my fairest, how will all thy Constancy
Bear the proud Insults of a daring Rival
Made bold by Pow'r, audacious by Authority,
Commission'd for thy daily Persecution
By a commanding Father?

Viol.
Bear it! Not at all.
I'll fly at once the Tyrants and the Tyranny,
Fly for Protection to thy Arms of Love.
Wilt thou receive me, shou'd I play the Run-away?

Rinald.
Say that again, sweet Life.

Viol.
Run from my Family,
My Father, Friends, nay, run from my own Honour;
(For Virgin-Wanderers bear a hard Name,)
And all to meet the Man this Heart can only love.

Rinald.
Has the wide World thy Equal!

Viol.
But quick, I must make haste.
I owe this short stol'n Meeting to the Umbrage
Of a Religious Aunt now walking in the Garden:
I left her in her Evening-Contemplations,
And must be back before her worldly Thoughts
Return and miss me.—Thus then I have projected:
You know my Mother sprung from Noble Veins;
And th'Honourable Lord my Grandfather
Left me a Legacy in Pearl and Jewels
Worth Twenty thousand Crowns. My Father's Keys,
Unjealous of a Theft from my young Innocence,
Lye in my Pow'r to steal. I'll to his Closet,
And seize the sparkling Treasure.

C. C. Man.
Here's fine Roguery.

Viol.
Not that I'll play the Thief and rob my Father;
I'll only take no more than what's all mine,
And what's all thine, my self.

Rinald.
This is such Goodness!

Viol.
At the Hour of Twelve to Night, at Twelve exactly,
At the next Corner to my Father's House
Be ready to receive me.—Our next meeting
Shall be to part no more.

[Exit into the Garden.
Rinald.
To part no more.
[Looks on his Watch.
Right to a Minute! Now but four short Hours
To a long Life of Joy,—one Life! A hundred.
We'll taste a Year of Pleasure in a Day,
And make a Life a whole long Train of Ages.
But in these towring Transports for my own
Exalted Blessings, let me cast an Eye
Of Pity down on my unhappy Brother.
Oh, Carlo! what tho' thine the younger Birth,
In Merits equal to the Eldest born,
Honest and brave; and what's more glorious still,
Thou lov'st as Honourably, yet so unequal
Th'Immortal Dispensations; what a Cloud
Darkens thy Head, and what warm Sun chears mine.

Enter Antonio.
Anton.
My dear Rinaldo!

Rinald.
My best Friend Antonio.

Anton.
How moves the Sphere of Love?

Rinald.
All Musick, Boy.
This Night exactly at the Hour of Twelve
The lovely Eyes steal forth.

Anton.
What; a fair Wanderer!

Rinald.
Yes, Friend, to brighten this auspicious Night
Beyond the poorer Cynthia's borrow'd Beams:
That orient Star will shoot into these Arms.

Ant.
All Joy to your good Fortune. And to heighten
These Joys, I have a Plot, if my Art fails me not,
Will give a fair home push for the restoring
Your drooping Brother's Joys too.

Rinald.
The poor Carlo!
That will be kind indeed.

Anton.
To a Tavern hard by
We have lured out his rich Coxcomb-Rival.

Rinald.
Excellent.

Anton.
The Managers who have him in their Hands
Are all my faithful Tools. A Knavish Boy of mine
I have sent out to rig up for a Miss for him.
Thou shalt along, and lend thy helping Hand,
And by the way I'll tell thee the whole Project.

Rinald.
What; to a Tavern!

Anton.
Ay, thou hast four Hours good.
And less than half that time do's our whole Work.

Rinald.
But still, to a Tavern! Dost thou know my Weakness?
I dare not trust that mortal Poysoner Wine.
My least bold Launch into that cursed Juice
Transforms me to a Beast, strips all my Reason,
And fires me to a Madman.

Anton.
Fie, Rinaldo,
Ben't frighten'd at a Shadow! Drink? I hate it
As much as thou: It makes a Beast of me too.
Let your wild Tramontanes, your Belgick Boars
And German Swine love wallowing; we'll have none on't.
We'll only push about an innocent Glass:
Our Tavern-business is to load the Fool,
To gorge that shallow Monster down, and make him
The Tool I want of him—Thou, and I drink!—
No, my Rinaldo.

Rinald.
But my Fears—

Anton.
All Bugbears.
I tell thee thou shalt slip the Glass, drink any thing,
Drink nothing,—come along—

Rinald.
On these Conditions.

Anton.
Any Conditions. 'Tis to serve a Brother.
Thy generous Assistance in his Cause
Will bless thee in thy own.

Rinald.
Well, thou hast conquer'd me.

[Exeunt.