University of Virginia Library

Scena Quarta.

Buggio, Honorio.
Bug.
Where dost think I met thy Mistress?

Hon.
My Mistress!

Bug.
Make it not so strange, the Lady of your
Publick address, the Lady Arabella.

Hon.
The Lady Arabella! Where?

Bug.
See if your countenance speaks not truth for you:
Be Master of a better temper,
Or hang me if I tell you a Syllable.

Hon.
I'le tell you more without a Covenant;
Amante does with solemn Oaths deny
Those base aspersions which you swore he lay'd
Upon my Sisters Fame: And tho' he be
A Vagabond in Love, yet I believe him
A Man of Honour, that wou'd not eat his words;
Besides the Oath of silence you impos'd,
Begets suspicion.

Bug.
This comes by telling lyes, damnable lyes;
To please my fancy I expose my throat,
(aside)
And with a Pox must be Romantick still.

Hon.
Signior, I expect your answer.

Bug.
Sir, since my zeal and over-fond affection,
Has rendred me a sufferer in your thoughts;
I shall become more careful for the future
Of busie friendship, and a pur-blind zeal,
And find at present ways to vindicate
The truth.

Hon.
That will oblige me to implore your pardon,
For my unjust suspicion.

Bug.
'Tis confidence I see, must bear me out.
(aside)
Time will make all things plain.

Hon.
The time is riper Sir, than you suppose,
For by appointment, I'me to meet Amante
This Night in single Combate.

Bug.
Then I have made fine work, and shall no doubt
Have my dear Guts carv'd in Italian Cut-works,
Or my poor Carkass pounded to a Sawsage.

Hon.
If now you please to honour me so far
As to appear my Second, you'l thereby approve
Your truth, and friendship.

Bug.
Second!—A Pox of all lying, it will lie
Heavy on my blood one day, or other; and
Yet if I shou'd be hang'd for't, my very body
Cou'd not chuse but lie, after 'twere dead.

Enter Cicco, Furfante.
Cic.
Furfante, When we meet Company, whisper me.

Fur.
Yonder's Signior Honorio Sir, my young
Mistresses Servant.

Cic.
Good day Signior Honorio.

Hon.
How the Devil does he to see me at this
Distance, that gropes from one Room to another;
And knows not the way to his Mouth
But by custom—I joy to see you Sir,
That I may enquire of my souls chief
Happiness, my Arabella, how fares my life?

Cic.
In perfect health, like sad Penelope she
Moanes the absence of her Love, you make
Your self too much a Stranger.

Hon.
She makes m'indeed a Stranger to her heart,
Where I cou'd wish to be more intimate
Than Friends appear'd before the World knew fraud.
But since she's pleas'd to have it otherwise,
My duty's to submit.

Cic.
Talk not to me of duty, or submission; your flames
And flatteries make them proud; your terming
Them Deities make them forget ther frailty,
Calling them Mistresses, you teach them disobedience, Signior Honorio:
You have my voice, if she's mine, she's mine
To dispose.

Hon.
Doubt not her just obedience, she'll comply
In ev'ry thing she can; but Tyrant love
Does so our reason and our will surmount,
It makes all tyes besides of no account.

Cic.
Allow Girles reason, and will! that were fine i'faith.

Bug.
I see y' are busie Sir, I'le take my leave.

Cic.
Who's that, Furfante?

Hon.
Stay but a Minute, and I'le wait upon you,
In the mean time, consider of the business.

Bug.
Shou'd I refuse, he'd fight with me himself,
Tho' I perform nothing I'le promise fair.

Cic.
Does he turn this way yet?

Fur.
He does, speak aloud, for he's at some distance.

Cic.
Signior Buggio, my old acquaintance!
I protest I saw you not.

Fur.
He may believe him, for he has been
Blind these five years.

Bug.
Your Age excuses you.

Cic.
I am not wont to make such gross mistakes.

Fur.
Thanks to my Eyes, and your Ears.

Cic.
Old as I am, these Eyes will serve me without spectacles.

Fur.
As well as with 'em.

Bug.
I've heard, you have that sense so perfect,
That you can see the point of a Needle
At twelve score.

Cic.
Then Signior Buggio, you have heard a truth.

Fur.
He neither cares to hear, nor speak one.

Cic.
Son Honorio.

Hon.
That Title honours me, and revives my hopes.

Cic.
Hopes! I'le have 'em certainties, the day
Appointed, and that quickly too.

Hon.
You speak the Language of the Gods, prepare
My Arabella for a free consent,
And Hymen shall soon make us one.

Cic.
Say no more, I'le have't dispatch'd
To morrow, the privater, the better.

Fur.
For his Purse.

Cic.
Furfante!

Hon.
This suddenness surprizes me,
But old men do all by fits.
And I will sooner lose my life
Than this blest opportunity.

Cic.
I hope you'l wait upon your friend to morrow.

[Exeunt Cicco & Furfante.
Bug.
I sooner may neglect my self than him.

Hon.
You have consider'd my proposal?

Bug.
I have, and with a double joy receive
The honour, as vindicator both of my fame,
And truth.

Hon.
You'l approve your self a worthy Gentleman.
The Place is Pantalonies Grove, the hour Six.

Bug.
I understand you Sir.—If I observe
(aside)
Either time or place, I'le be fley'd, and
Have Vellum made of my Hide for Historians
To write authentick History—your Servant Sir.

Hon.
A word, you seem'd at first to intimate
Somewhat concerning my Arabella.

Bug.
True, I did—But—

Hon.
Mince not the matter, this old mans suddenness
Does justly give me cause of jealousie,
Which we esteem high wisdoms sentinel,
'Cause it alar'ms fear, and straight awakes
Suspending doubt, which actions wisely stay
'Till discreet reason can prepare their way.

Bug.
I shall so claw your wisdom.

(aside)
Hon.
Dear Buggio, be particular in what
Your hast did make appear of some concern.

Bug.
Yes, and have my Throat cut for my labour,
Sure, I shall learn more wit.

Hon.
Nay, how you play the Tyrant! that Friendship's
Poor, which danger can affright,
And he loves little can't forgive his Friend
When 'twas not he, but's Passion did offend.

Bug.
The danger, which I fear's to incur your hate;
Yet that I'le wave, with all the interest
Of divine Friendship, rather than conceal
Ought that may affront your love or honour.

Hon.
Thou wilt oblige me to Eternity.

Bug.
In short, I saw your Arabella, Signior,
With young Amante on the Grand Canale
In a Felucca rowing toward Leghorn,
Adorn'd with all the Gallantries of Art,
Harmonious Musick entertain'd her Ear,
Perfumes her smell, which much enrich'd the Air,
A Banquet and delicious Wines her taste,
Whil'st he appear'd the object of her Eye,
And pleas'd her more than that variety.

Hon.
Hell, and Devils! Art thou sure 'twas he?

Bug.
As sure—What? Dost thou take me for an Atheist?
Have I any Faith? have I any Eyes?

Hon.
Enough—you will not fail at Six.

Bug.
I'le sooner fail my Grannam on her Death-bed,
When she's bestowing Legacies.

[Exit.
Hon.
Were not Constantius injuries sufficient
But thou must wound more near, and having struck
My Honour, must destroy my Love, and wound
A Chastity my Soul did glory in?
Thy injuries confound my patience
And revenge, and make me think Heaven unjust,
That gave thee so much power to offend,
And but one life to make me satisfaction;
But I'le denounce a War against thy blood,
And thence proceed to thy affinities.
Nor shall my vengeance slacken, much less end,
Whil'st thou hast left, a Kinsman or a Friend.

[Exit.