University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

ASTAPHIUM alone.
Ast.
[laughing.]
My teizing importunity's gone in,
My heart's at ease, at last I am alone.
Now I may freely speak my mind, say what
I wish to say, and in what way I please.
I've heard my mistress take her final leave
Of this gallant's estate—His houses and
His lands are mortgag'd for his treats to us.
But he's become the confidant of all
Her secrets, and a friend to advise us, more
Than help to maintain us—While he had to give,
He gave us—Now, to give he has nothing left.
For what was his is ours: and what was ours
Is his—It is the common course of things.
Men's fortunes unawares are wont to change
One with another—Human life is checquered.
Him we remember'd rich, and he us poor.
'Tis now just the reverse—And he's a fool
Who wonders at it. What! tho' he's in want,
It is but just he suffer us to live.
'Twould be a sin in us, to have compassion
Upon a spendthrift—Skilful bawds should have
Sharp teeth; but smile on all their customers:
Should fair bespeak them, but contrive their ruin.
A courtezan, in short, should be a briar,
And rend and tear whate'er comes in her way.
She ne'er should hear a lover's plea; but when
His purse is clos'd, dismiss him from her service.
He's a deserter—No gallant's worth hanging,
Who han't a total disregard for money.
If he, when he has just one present made,
Don't please to give another, 'tis meer trifling—
He is the man for us, who what he gives
Forgets—As long then as his money lasts,
Let him indulge in love—And when 'tis gone
Contentedly seek out some other business,
And to a fuller purse resign his place.
Who disregards his own affairs, and spends
His fortune, he is a gallant of worth.
The men are apt to say 'mong one another,
We treat them ill; and are insatiable.
But when all is done, how do we treat them ill?
No lover ever gave, by Castor's temple!
Enough, nor have we e'er receiv'd enough,
Nor ask'd enough—What, than an empty purse
Is worse?—The lover who denies to give,
Must sleep alone—We can't receive enough
From him, who ha'nt enough to give—We should
Be on the hunt to find fresh parties out,
Who from unbroken heaps can take, and give
Like this young country gull, who lives in here.
[pointing to the house.
'Troth, he's a merry mortal, and a generous.
To-night, unknown to his father, he will leap
The wall, and through the garden come to us.
'Tis him I want to meet with.—But there is
A roaring, boisterous fellow of a slave,
When he spies one of us come near the door,
Comes out, and hoots and halloo's us away,
Just as he scares the geese from off his corn.
He too's a country chuff—But come what may,
I'll rap—Who keeps the door?—Who is't comes out? [knocks.]