 | Love Triumphant ; or, Nature will Prevail |  |
Enter Carlos, before Don Lopez his Door.
Carlos.
That's the Door of Lopez, and Sancho must come
out this way; now Fool sit fast, for thou shalt not want for
pestilent Advice: But first, I must know, how far thou hast
proceeded with the Father and the Daughter, that I may
know what Drugs I must prepare, for the present Condition
of my Patient; oh, the Door opens already, and he bolts out
single, as I wisht.
Enter Sancho, picking his Teeth.
Sancho.
What, Carlos, you have Din'd before me; but, it
may be, you ha'not far'd so well.
Carlos.
The best part of your Entertainment, I suppose,
was the Dessert of the Fair Dalinda after Dinner; and how,
and how, go Matters?
Sancho.
Better than thou wou'dst have 'em, thou wou'dst
have put a spoke in my Wheel, I know it.
Carlos.
No, Fortunne always sets those of your Admirable
Understanding uppermost; but remember, Dalinda was once
mine, however.
Sancho.
Thou wou'dst not have me give the Box away,
when I have thrown Seven? Come, set upon it what thou dar'st,
and I'le give thee leave to do thy worst.
Carlos.
You are very confident of your good Luck.
Sancho.
Thou know'st, I have a perpetual ascendant over thee.
And you are sure to carry her?
Sanch.
She is fond of my Person; she ogled me all Dinner
time; she put her foot under the Table, and trod upon
mine; and if these are not certain Symptoms of Passion,
the Devil's in Womankind.
Carl.
And her Father?
Sanch.
The goodest Old Man; he drank my Health to
his Daugther; and I, to comply with my Obligation, answer'd
the Challenge; there I think I was with her again.
Carl.
You have no more to do but to take out a Licence.
Sanch.
Indeed I have her Licence for it.
Carl.
What, quibbling too in your Prosperity? If you
let another I shall be inrag'd. But you have not told me
that her Father is consenting.
Sanch.
In a manner: But—
Carl.
But what; is he not absolutely yours?
Sanch.
There's a small demur upon the matter; in short,
he hit me in the Teeth with a damnable Rich Old Conde;
who, I find, has been dabbling with this Covetons Old
Huncks; but, bating him, Don Lopez tells me I shall be
the welcomest Man alive.
Carl.
Do you know that Conde's Name?
Sanch.
Don something de Cardona, whom the Devil confound.
Carl.
My old Acquaintance; he charged with me in
the Battel, but what became of him I know not; if he
be the Man, despair betimes, Sancho, he'll revenge my
Quarrel, and carry her in spight of you.
Sanch.
I am cunning, you know; and I believe he nam'd
that cursed, Conde only to draw me on the faster.
Carl.
And do you think a Gentleman can succeed against
a Conde, with a Woman?
Sanch.
Why not?
Carl.
No more than a Conde against a Duke, and so upwards.
Sanch.
No; I am resolute.
Carl.
To be the Shoeing-horn for the Conde?
Sanch.
I confess, I wou'd not be the Shoeing-horn to draw
him on.
Carl.
No; for that's to be a Pimp for him.
Sanch.
Right; therefore I will leave her.
Carl.
Then go back; and quarrel with her, and her Father;
Go, I say, immediately before your Virtue cools.
Sanch.
I'll give 'em their own, I'll warrant 'em: what,
make a Shoeing-horn of a Man of Honour?
Carl.
(alone.)
If the Conde be in Love, then why shou'd
Lopez admit of Sancho for a Suitor; if not, the Fool is
in the right, that it was only feign'd to draw him on.
However, my advice will strike on both sides; for if
Sancho quarrels he's discharged, and for the Conde—stay
a little—What if I shou'd play this Conde? I know
him, and can Mimmick him exactly, 'tis but a Jest if I
am discovered; and if the Conde loves her, and she him,
then I marry her in his shape—Oh, they are coming
out to quarrel in the open Air; for the House is grown
too liot for 'em; but I dare not stay to see the Battel, for
fear of getting blows on both sides.
Enter Lopez, Dalinda, and Sancho.
Lopez.
I'll wait upon you out of my House, however.
Sanch.
Father-in-Law, that might have been, no more
Ceremonies, I'll be no Shoeing-horn for any Man.
Lop.
You wou'd not be my Daughter's hinderance?
Sanch.
There's no more to be said on't; but either a Bargain,
or no Bargain.
Lop.
A Bargain, if the Conde comes not on.
Sanch.
Then as he comes on, I must go off, with a Pox
to you; and to your Daughter.
At least if shall not be a Pox of your giving.
Sanch.
The Conde's Pox take you then; that's an Honourable
Pox descended in a right Line from Don Rodoric the
Goth, I'll warrant you.
Lop.
Indeed, if your Estate were as great as his—
Sanch.
Nay, for that matter I can drop Gold with him,
as little as I care for her.
Dalind.
But then his Title?
Sanch.
I have more Gold yet, to weigh down his Parchment.
And then my Wit against a Conde's Wit, that's for
Overplus; for tho I say it—
Lop.
Who shou'd not say it.
Sanch.
Yet I do say it, and will say it, especially as
Lords go now: Come, there's no more to be said, Lopez;
but take back your Trumpery, I mean your Daughter; or
I'll send for the Scavenger with a Dung Cart.
Lop.
This is insufferable: and by this Honourable Beard—
Sanch.
Which I'll pull off by handfuls, if you swagger—
Lop.
(aside to Dalinda.
What shall we do with this Madman, Daughter?
Dalind.
You shou'd send for an Alguazile to order him, if
I were sure that the Conde wou'd come on again; but since
that's uncertain, go in, Father, and let me alone with him,
if I make him your Son-in-Law, that's Punishment sufficient
for him.
Lop.
Well, Cavalier, you may chance to hear of me.
Sanch.
Yes, and of your Daughter too, in the next Lampoon,
I doubt not—
(To Dalinda.)
Why don't you
follow him? What do you and I together, Madam Countess?
Dalind.
Nay, I know not.
Sanch.
Nor I neither.
Dalind.
I hope you will not beat me.
[She looks languishingly upon him.
Sanch.
I can't tell that—Thou hast a damnable kind
of lear that wou'd provoke me to something—I say
not what.
Beat me with my own hand, if I deserve it,
there 'tis for you.
[Gives him her hand, and squeezes his.
Sanch.
If I should beat thee now, as thou hast deserv'd
richly, I cou'd make thee satisfaction.
Dalind.
Indeed, they say an old Man shou'd never beat
a young Woman, because he cannot make her satisfaction.
Sanch.
Abominable Chuck. If I did not hate thee mortally,
I cou'd be content to love thee for a quarter of an
hour, or so—Why, what's here to do? You are at your
old tricks again: Prithee, sweet Devil, do not ogle me,
nor squeeze my Palm so feelingly, thou dear infernal, do
not.
Dalind.
Why, do I hurt you?
Sanch.
No, but thou ticklest me to the very Heart-strings,
most wickedly.
Dalind.
You command me then to leave you?
[Seems to be going.
Sanch.
Not command you neither, not absolutely.
Dalind.
I go then—
Sanch.
Then I do command thee—I mean, to stay
a little longer. Thou hast fir'd my blood most horribly,
with that squeezing; hast not thou the Itch? speak, Damnation,
I think I have got the Infection of thee—
[He shakes his hands.
Dalind.
I'll go and comfort my poor old Father, for the
Affront you gave him.
Sanch.
No, Perverseness; I'll make thee stay, in very
spight of thy proud Sex I'll humble thee.
Dalind.
But was not you a grievous Man to use him so?
You shall tell me, or I break your Fingers.
Sanch.
Not a word, to save thee from Perdition; I am
as dumb as a Heathen Oracle.
Dal.
Then I must squeeze it out of you—
[Pressing his hand again.
Sanch.
Ah, ah, it runs through me like Wild Fire—
[Panting.
Did not Carlos give you this naughty Counsel?
San.
I shou'd not answer thee, I know it. Heartlykins,
this is just cramping a Man when he's asleep, to make
him tell his Dream; let go my hand, and Carlos did not
advise me, but hold it, and he did; now will you be at quiet
with me?
Dal.
Not, till you promise me to be Friends with my
Father.
San.
Well, confound thee, I am Friends with him.
Dal.
And to banish Carlos for an Evil Counsellor.
San.
Upon condition, you'l discharge the Count from seeing
you.
Dal.
No Conditions, either surrender upon Discretion, or
I'le put you to the Sword.
San.
Pox on thee, for being so Tyrannical, but I can't help
my self, and therefore I totally submit.
Dal.
Now then, you shall perceive how Gracious a Princess
I intend to be; my Father dotes upon this Count, but I
despise him.
San.
That's a good Girl; for Love of me, I'le warrant you.
Dal.
You think I cokes you now.
San.
No, I know my own Merit too well for that.
Dal.
Then do what I advise you; my Father has not often
seen this Count; what if you shou'd pass for him?
San.
Hum, I do not apprehend thee.
Dal.
A Man of your Wit, and be so stupid; you shall
counterfeit the Count.
Sanch.
Counterfeit the Count, that's a pure quibble, but I
can make no more on't.
Dal.
He's an Old Fellow, and a Fool; now, you shall take
upon you to be this Count, to deceive my Father; and I'le
keep your Counsel, and Teach you how to Represent him.
San.
Oh, now I understand you; but 'tis impossible for me
to counterfeit a Fool.
Dal.
I'le warrant you, trust Nature.
San.
A Man of my Sense, can never hide his Parts.
Dal.
No, but you may shew 'em; go back to your Lodgings,
I'le provide you Cloaths, and send you Directions in
One word more, be sure you manage this in private, and shut
out Carlos, lest he should discover our Intriegue.
San.
Well, I will strive for once to get the better of my
Wit, and play the Natural as naturally as I can, but you had
better come your self and Teach me, for you have put me in
a pure way of taking your Instructions.
Dalind.
(alone.)
When I consider what has pass'd between
the Count and me, there's little Reason to believe, a Man
shou'd put on a foul Shirt again, when he has put it off already,
and has change of Linnen by him; however, my
Father shall know nothing of this Disguise, for he that sold
my first Maidenhead to the Lord, may sell my second to the
Fool; and that wou'd be too much in Conscience, that a
Woman once in twice, shou'd not have the Letting her own
Freehold; and therefore, I will have the Selling of my self,
and Sancho, shall have the refusal of the Bargain.
Fools, for the last Relief of Womankind.
Two Married Wits, no quiet can enjoy:
Two Fools together wou'd the House destroy.
But Providence, to level Humane Life,
Made the Fool Husband, for the Witty Wife.
[Exit Dalinda.
| Love Triumphant ; or, Nature will Prevail | |