 | The Princess of Cleve |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Musick, Songs, Maskers, &c.Nemours with Musick, Lady Poltrot.
Nem.
He has confess'd to me he intends to Cuckold St. Andre
when he walks in his sleep—Therefore if Love shou'd
inspire me to nick the opportunity, I hope you will not
bar the door which your Husband op'ns—
L. Pol.
Ingrateful Monster—
Nem.
Ingrateful, that's certain, and it lyes in your power to make
him a Monster.
L. P.
I dare not.
Nem.
What?
L. P.
Trust you.
Nem.
Nay then I am sure thou wilt, let me but in to shew the power
you have over me.
L. P.
As how my Lord?
Nem.
Why, when I have thee in my Arms, by Heav'n I'll quit my
Joys at thy desire—
L. P.
That will indeed be a perfect tryal of your love; come then
through the Garden back-stairs, and when you see the Candle put out,
thrust op'n the door.
Nem.
By Heav'n I'll eat thy hand—Thou dear sweet Seducer, how
it fires my Fancy to steal into a Garden, to rustle through the Trees,
to stumble up a narrow pair of back stairs, to whisper through the
of Joy—
L. P.
Farewel, the company comes, I must leave you a while, to
engage with my Husband, you'll fall asleep before the hour—
Nem.
If I do, the very transport of Imagination shall carry me in my
sleep to thy Bed, and I'll wake in the Act.
So there's one in the Fernbrake, and if she stir till Morning I have lost
my aim; but now, why what have we here? a Hugonot Whore by this
light—Have I? For the forward brisk, she that promis'd me the Ball
Assignation, that said, there was nothing like slipping out of the crowd
into a corner, breathing short an Ejaculation, and returning as if we
came from Church—Let me see, I'll put on my Mask, fling my
Cloak over my shoulder, and view 'em as they pass, not thou nor thou—
Enter Tournon in the Habit of a Hugonot.
Tour.
Ah thou unclean Person, have I hunted thee there like a Hart
from the Mountains to the Vallies, and thou would'st not be found;
verily thou hast been amongst the Daughters of the Philistines—Nay, if
you are Innocent, stand before me, and reply to the words of my
mouth—
Nem.
I shall truly—
Tour.
Say then—Hast thou not defil'd thy self with any Dalilah,
since last you felt upon my Neck and loved much?
Nem.
Nay verily—
Tour.
Have you not overheated your Body with adulterate Wines?
have you not been at a Play, nor touch'd Fruit after the leud Orange
Women?
Nem.
I am unpolluted.
Tour.
And yet methinks there is not the same colour in your cheeks;
nor does the Spirit dance in your Eye as formerly, why do you not approach
me?
[Unmasking.
Nem.
Tournon turn'd Heretick! why thou dear Raskal, this is such a
new Frolick, that though I am engag'd as deep as Damnation to another,
thou shalt not 'scape me.
[Marg. claps him on the shoulder.
Mar.
I love a Man that keeps the Commandment of his word.
Nem.
And I a Woman that breaks hers with her Husband, yet loves
her Neighbour as her self—I wou'd fain be in private with you.
Cel.
And I with you, because I am resolv'd never to see you more.
Nem.
Never to see me more? the reason.
Cel.
Because I hate you.
Nem.
And yet I believe you love me too, because you are precise to
the Minute.
Cel.
True, yet I hate you justly, heartily and maliciously—
By Gad, and I'll love the as heartily, justly and maliciously, as
thou canst love me for thy blood; come away Riddle, and I'll unfold
thee.
[Exeunt.
Poltrot, St. Andre disguis'd with Elianora, L. Poltrot coming up to 'em—
Elia.
But is it true indeed, that your Friend can tell all the actions of
our Life past, present, and to come, yet cannot speak one word?
Pol.
O he's infallible! why what did you never hear of your second-sight
men, your Dumb High-landers that tell Fortunes? why you wou'd
think the Devil in Hell were in him, he speaks exactly.
Elia.
I thought you had said he was Dumb?
Pol.
Right, but I am his Interpreter, and when the fit comes on him,
he blows through me like a Trunk, and strait I become his speaking
Trumpet.
L. P.
Pray, Sir, may not I have my Fortune told me too?
Pol.
Ay—and there were a thousand of you, he will run you 'em over
like the Christ cross-row, and never miss a tittle; he shall tell ye his
name that cry'd God bless you when you sneez'd last, tell you when you
wink'd last, when and where you scratch'd last, and where you sate o'
Saturday—
Elia.
Pray let him tell us then, for we are Sisters, our Tempers and
Conditions, whither married or unmarried, with all the Impertinences
thereunto belonging—
Pol.
I'll speak to him—Son of the Sun, and Emperor of the Stars—
St. A.
Ha, Ha—
Pol.
Look ye, look ye, he's pleas'd to tell you, but you must go near
him, for he must look in your hand, touch your Face, Breasts, and
where-ever else he pleases.
St. A.
—Makes Horns with both his hands, puts his Finger in his
Mouth and Laughs.
Pol.
In nomine domine Bomine. I protest I am confounded; well
Ladies, I cou'd not have thought it had been in you, but 'tis certainly
true, and I must out with it; first he says, you are both married, you
are both Libidinous beyond example, and your Husbands are the greatest
Cornutors in Christendom—
Elia., L. P.
Indeed.
Pol.
Ay indeed, indeed and indeed—He says you are a couple of
Messalina's, and the Stews cannot satisfie you; he says your thoughts are
swell'd with a Carnosity; nay, you have the Green Sickness of the
Soul, which runs upon nothing but weighing Stallions, churning Boars,
and bellowing Bulls—
O! I confess, I confess—But for Heav'n sake, dear Sir—
Let it not take Air, for then we are both undone.
Elia.
O! Undone, undone Sir, if our Husbands shou'd know it, for
they are a couple of the Jealousest, troublesome, impertinent Cuckolds
alive.
Pol.
Alack! Alack—O Jezabel! but I will have my Eunuchs fling her
from the Window, and the Dogs shall eat her.
L. P.
But, pray Sir, ask him how many times—
Pol.
What, how many times you have Cuckolded 'em?
Elia.
Spare our Modesty, you make the Blood so flush in our Faces.
Pol.
But by Jove I'll let it out, I'll hold her by the Muzzle, and stick
her like a Pig—
L. P.
Will you speak to him Sir?
Pol.
See, he understands you without it, he says your Iniquities are
innumerable, your Fornications like the hairs of your head, and your
Adulteries like the Sands on the Sea-shore; that you are all Fish downward;
that Lot's Wife is fresh to you, and that when you were little
Girls of Seven, you were so wanton, your Mothers ty'd your hands behind
you—
Elia.
All this we confess to be true, but we confess too, if Fate had
found out any sort of Tools, but those leaden Rogues our Husbands.
L. P.
Whose Wits are as dull as their Appetites—
El.
Mine such a Utensil, as is not fit to wedge a Block.
L. P.
Nor mine the Beetle to drive him—
St. A.
Nay then 'tis time to uncase and be reveng'd.
L. P.
Heark you Strumpet—
El., L. P.
Ha, Ha, Ha, are you not fitted finely,
—You must turn Fortune-tellers, must you?
Eli.
And think we cou'd not know you?
L. P.
Well Gentlemen, shall homely Beck go down with you at last?
Pol.
But didst thou know me then indeed?
L. P.
As if that sweet Voice of yours cou'd be disguis'd in any shape.
Pol.
Nay, I confess I have a whirl in my Voice, a warble that is particular—
El.
And what say you Sir, shall musty Wife come into Grace agen?
St. A.
She shall, and, here's my hand on't, all Friends Nell, and when
I leave thee agen, may I be Cuckold in earnest.
Pol.
Certain as I live, all this proceeded from his Lady, my dreaming
Cuckold Wife cou'd never think on't; well, I am resolv'd this very night,
when he Rambles in his sleep, to watch him, slip to his Wife and say nothing.
Hey! Come, come, where are these Dancers, a little Diversion
and then for Bed.
Tour.
to Elia.
I have lock'd the Vidam in your Closet, who will be
sure to watch your Husbands rising, therefore be not surpriz'd—
[Exit Tournon.
St. A.
Come, well let's away to bed.
El.
And what then?
St. A.
Nay, Gad that I can't tell, for what with Dancing, Singing,
Fencing, and my last Dutchess, I am very Drowzy.
Pol.
And so am I, perhaps our Wives have giv'n us Opium, lest we
shou'd disturb 'em in the night.
Eli.
Don't these Men deserve to be fitted?
Cel.
They do, and Fortune grant they may—Hear us, O! hear us
good Heav'n, for we pray heartily.
[Bxeunt as Nemours and Marguerite enter:
Nem.
Was ever Man so blest with such possession,
Thou Ebbing, Flowing, Ravishing, Racking Joy;
A Skin so white and soft, the yielding Mould
Lets not the Fingers stay upon the dint,
But from the beauteous Dimples slips 'em down
To pleasures that must be without a name.
Yet Hands, and Arms, and Breasts we may remember,
And that which I so love, no smelling Art,
But sweet by nature, as just peeping Violets,
Or op'ning Buds.
Marg.
Than you do love me?
Nem.
O! I cou'd dye methinks this very hour,
But for the luscious hopes of thousand more,
And all like these, yet when I must go out,
Let it be thus, with beauty laughing by me,
Songs, Lutes and Canopeis, while I Sacrifice
To thee the last dear ebbing drop of Love.
But show me now that face.
Marg.
No, you dissemble, you say the same thing to every one you
meet; I thought once indeed to have fixt my Heart upon you, but I'm
off agen, and am resolv'd you shall never see me.
Nem.
You dally, come, by all the kindness past.
Marg.
Swear then.
Nem.
What?
Marg.
Never to touch your dear Domestick she,
That lives in Shades to all the World but me.
Do you guess I know you now?
Nem.
I do, and swear, but are these equal Terms, that you shall never
touch a Man but me?
I will—But how can you convince me? Oaths with you Libertines
of Honour are to little purpose.
Nem.
But this must satisfie thee, there is more pleasure in thee after
Enjoyment, than in her and all Womankind before it; thou hast Inspiration,
Extasie, and Transport, all these bewitching Joys that make
men mad—
Marg.
Unmasking]
And thou Villany, Treachery, Perjury, all those
Monstrous, Diabolical Arts, that seduce Young Virgins from their Innocent
homes, to set 'em on the High-way to Hell and Damnation.
Nem.
Ha! Ha! my Marguerite, is't possible?
Marg.
Call me not yours, nor think of me agen,
I am convinc'd you're Traytors all alike,
And from this hour renounce you—
Not but Ill be reveng'd,
Yes, I will try the Joys of Life like you,
But not with Men of Quality, you Devils of Honour;
No, I will satisfie
My Pride, Disdain, Rage and Revenge more safely,
By all the Powers of Heav'n and Earth I will;
I'll change my loving lying Tinsel Lord,
For an obedient wholsome drudging Fool.
Nem.
Why this will make the matter easie to both,
Take you your Ramble Madam, and I'll take mine.
But is't possible for one of your nice tast
To Bed a Fool?
Marg.
To choose, to choose my Lord
A Fool, now by my Will and pride of Heart,
There's Freedom, Fancy and Creation in't,
He truckles to the Frown, and cries forgive me;
Besides the moulding of him without blushing;
And what wou'd Woman more, now view the other
Your Man of Sense, that vaunts despotick Pow'r,
That reels precisely home at break of day,
Thunders the House, brains half the Family,
Cries, where's my Whore, what will she Stew till Doomsday?
When she appears, and kindly goes to help him,
Roars out a Shop, a walking-shop of Scents,
Flavours of Physick, and the clammy Bath,
The slench of Orange-flow'rs, the Devil Pulvilio;
These, these, he cries, are the Blest Husband's Joys!
Nem.
I swear most natural and unaffected—Ha! Ha—
Marg.
But if he chance to use her civilly,
Take heed, there's covert malice in his Smiles,
Millions to one the Villain has been Whoreing,
Besides a thousand under Plots and Crosses,
Prescribing silence still where-e'er he comes,
No chat, he cries, of Colours Points or Fashions.
Nem.
Preach on Divine, Ha, Ha—
Marg.
Let me not hear you ask my sickly Lady,
Whither she found Obstructions at the Waters.
Nem.
Fye, that's Obscene—
Marg.
Thus Damns the Affectation of our Prattle,
And Swears he'll Gag the Clack, or what is worse.
Nem.
Nay, hold—
Marg.
Send for the new found Lock—
Nem.
What Mad—
Marg.
Do Villain, Traytor—
Contrive this Mischief, if thou canst, for me,
Send thou the Padlock, but I'll find the Key.
[Exit.
Nem.
Whir goes the Partridge on the purring Wing—
Yet when I see my time I must recall her,
For she has admirable things in her, such as if I gain not, the Princess
of Cleve may fix me to her, without nauseating the Vice of Constancy—
Ha! Bellamore.
What News, my Dear, Ha—Hast thou found her? Speak.
Bell.
I have.
Nem.
Where, how, when and by what means?
Bell.
After I had enquir'd after the Prince's Health,
I ask'd a Woman of his Lady, who told me,
She was retir'd into the great Bower in the Garden.
Nem.
The very place where first I saw and lov'd her,
When after I had sav'd the Prince's Life,
He brought me late one ev'ning to the view,
There Love and Friendship first began;
My Love remains and Friendship, as
Much as Man can have for his Cuckold.
Nay, I know not that Man upon Earth I love so well, or cou'd take so
much from, as this hopeful Prince of Cleve—Didst thou see her in
the Garden—
Bell.
My Lord, I did, where she appear'd like her that gave Acteon
Horns, with all her Nimphs about her, busie in tyeing Knots which she
took from Baskets of Ribbons that they brought her; and methought she
ti'd and unti'd 'em so prettily, as if she had been at Cross Questions, or
knew not what she did, her Face, her Neck, and Arms quite bare—
Nem.
No more, if I live I'll see her to night, for the Heroick Vein
comes upon me—Death and the Devil, what shall become of the back-stair
Rogue? go to St. Andre's House, through the Garden up the back-stairs,
push open the door and be blest. Hell! can't I be in two places at once?
Heark thee, give her this, and this, and this, and when thou bitest her
with a parting blow, sigh out Nemours.
Bell.
I'll do't—
Enter the Prince of Cleve.
Nem.
Go to Tournon for the rest, she'll instruct thee in the Management: Away.
[Exit Bell.
Ha! he comes up but slowly, yet he sees me,
Perhaps he's Jealous, why then I'm jealous too;
Hypocrisie and Softness, with all the Arts of Woman,
Tip my Tongue.
P. C.
I come, my Lord, to ask you if you love me.
Nem.
Love thee, my Cleve, by Heav'n, e'er yet I saw thee,
Thus were my Prayers still offer'd to the Fates,
If I must choose a Friend, grant me ye Powers
The Man I love may seize my Heart at once;
Guide him the perfect temper of your selves,
With ev'ry manly Grace and shining Vertue;
Add yet the bloom of Beauty to his Youth,
That I may make a Mistress of him too.
P. C.
O Heav'n!
Nem.
That at first view our Souls may kindle,
And like two Tapers kindly mix their Beams;
I knelt and pray'd, and wept for such a Blessing,
And they return'd me more than I cou'd ask,
All that was Good or Great or Just in thee.
P. C.
You say you love me, I must make the proof,
For you have brought it to a doubt—
Nem.
In what?
P. C.
In this, you have not giv'n me all your Heart,
You Muse of late, ev'n on my Bridal day,
I saw you sit with a too thoughtful brow,
You sigh'd and hung your Head upon your Hand:
Nay in the midst of Laughter—
You started, blush'd and cry'd 'twas wond'rous well,
And yet you knew not what—Speak like a Friend,
What is the cause my Lord?
Nem.
Shall I deal plainly with you? I'm not well.
P. C.
I do believe it, how hap'ned the Distemper?
Nem.
It is too deep to search,
Nor can I tell you.
P. C.
Then you're no Friend.
Say rather that you will not trust a Man
You do not love.
Nem.
By Heav'n I do.
P. C.
By Heav'n you do? Yet 'tis too deep to search
For such a shallow Friend.
Nem.
Of all Mankind
You ought not—
P. C.
Nay, the rest.
Nem.
It is not fit,
Be satisfied, I'll bear it to my Grave
Whate'er it be.
P. C.
You are in Love my Lord,
And if you do not Swear—But where's the need?
You start, you change, you are another Man,
You blush, you're all constraint, you turn away.
Nem.
Why take it then; 'tis true, I am in Love,
In Torture, Racks, in all the Hells of Love,
Of hopeless, restless and eternal Love.
P. C.
Her name my Lord.
Nem.
Her name my Lord to you?
P. C.
To me Confusion, Plagues and Death upon me,
Why not to me? And wherefore did you say,
Of all Mankind I ought not—There you stopt,
But wou'd have said—To pry into this business—
Yet speak to ease the Troubles of my Soul,
By all our Friendship, by the Life thou gav'st me,
I do conjure thee, thunder in my Ears,
'Tis Chartres that thou lov'st, Chartres my Wife.
Nem.
Your Wife, my Lord?
P. C.
My Wife, my Lord, and I must have you own it.
Nem.
I will not tell you Sir, who 'tis I love,
Yet think me not so base, were it your Wife,
That all the subtlest Wit of Earth or Hell
Shou'd make me vent a Secret of that nature
To any Man on Earth, much less to you.
P. C.
Yet you cou'd basely tell it to the Vidam,
And he to all the Court—But I waste time,
By all the boiling Venom of my Passion,
I'll make you own it e'er we part—Dispatch,
Say thou hast Whor'd my Wife, Damnation on me,
Pronounce me Cuckold.
Nem.
But then I give my self the Lye,
Who told you just before, I wou'd not speak,
Beside, I fear you are going Mad.
P. C.
Draw then and make it up,
For if thou dost not own what I demand,
What you both know and have complotted on me,
Tho neither will confess, I swear agen,
That one of us must fall.
Nem.
Then take my Life.
P. C.
I will, by Heav'n, if thou refuse me Justice;
Draw then, for if thou dost not I will kill thee,
And tell my Wife thou basely didst confess
Thy Guilt at last, in hopes to save thy Life.
Nem
That is a blast indeed, that Honour shrinks at,
Therefore I draw, but Oh! be witness Heav'n,
With such a trembling Hand and bleeding Heart,
As if I were to fight against my Father.
Therefore I beg thee by the name of Friend,
Which once with half this Suit wou'd have dissolv'd thee;
I beg thee, gentle Cleve, to hold thy hand.
P. C.
I'm Deaf as Death, that calls for one or both.
[Cleve is disarm'd, Nemours gives him his Sword agen.
Nem.
Then give it me, I arm thy hand agen,
Against my Heart, against this Heart that loves thee;
Thrust then, for by the Blood that bears my Life,
Thou shalt not know the name of her I love;
Not but I swear upon the point of Death,
Your Wife's as clear from me, as Heav'n first made her.
P. C.
No more my Lord, you've giv'n me twice my Life.
Nem.
Are you not hurt?
P. C.
Alass, 'tis not so well,
I have no Wound but that which Honour makes,
And yet there's something cold upon my Heart,
I hope 'tis Death, and I shall shortly pay you,
With Chartres love, for you deserve her better.
Nem.
No Sir, you shall not, you shall live my Lord,
And long enjoy your beauteous vertuous Bride;
You shall, Dear Prince, why are you then so cold?
P. C.
I cannot speak—
But thus, and thus, there's something rises here.
Nem.
I'll wait you home, nay, shake these drops away,
And hang upon my arm—
P. C.
I will do any thing,
So you will promise never to upbraid me.
Nem.
I swear I will not.
But will you love me too
As formerly?
Nem.
I swear far more than ever.
P. C.
Thou know'st my Nature soft, yet Oh such Love!
Such Love as mine, and injur'd as I thought,
Wou'd spleen the Gaul-less Turtle, wou'd it not?
Nem.
It wou'd by Heav'n—You make a Woman of me.
[Weeping.
P. C.
Why, any thing thou sayst to humour me,
Yet it is kind, and I must love these Tears,
I hope my Heart will break, and then we're ev'n;
Yet if this cruel Love thy Cleve shou'd kill,
Remember after Death thou lov'st me still.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Tournon with the Vidam.Tour.
So let that corner be your Post, and as soon as ever you see
St. Andre come stalking in his Dream, slip to his Lady, and
when you have agreed upon the Writings, I'll be ready to bring you off
with a Witness—
Vid.
Thou Dear obliging—
Tour.
No more o'that; away, mark but how easily those that are
gifted with Discretion bring things about; in the name of Goodness let
Men and Women have their Risks, but still be careful of the Main—
Here's a hot-headed Lord goes mad for a prating Girl, Treats her, Presents
her, Flames for her, Dies for her, till the Fool complies for pure
Love, and when the bus'ness fails, is forc'd to live at last by the love of
his Footmen; but she that makes a firm Bargain, is commonly thought
a great Soul, for my Lord having consider'd on't, thinks her a Person of
depth, and so resolves to have it out of her—But why do I talk so
my self, when there's something to do, certainly I shou'd have made a
rare Speaker in a Parliament of Women, or a notable Head to a Female
Jury, when his Lordship gravely puts the question, whither it be
Satis or Non Satis or Nunquam Satis, and we bring it in Ignoramus—
Ha! but who comes here? I must attend for Bellamore.
Enter Poltrot, Celia over-hearing.
Pol.
My Wife and I went to Bed together, and I'll warrant full she
was of Expectation, so white and clean, and much inclin'd to laugh, and
lay at her full length, as who wou'd say come eat me.
Cel.
Said she so sweet Sir?
Pol.
Not a bit by the Lord, not I, not I—
Cel.
Alas! nice Gentleman.
Pol.
A Farmer wou'd say this was barbarously done, because he loves
Beef—But I have Plover in reserve—Ha! St. Andre, heark, I
last night I was Gelt—
Enter St. Andre in his sleep. The Vidam goes in—
'Tis he, 'tis he, by the twilight I see him—
Ay, now the politick head goes, it shall be branch'd by and by—What
was that stop for, there's neither Gate nor Stile in your way; now by
that sudden stretch, he seems as if he wou'd take a jump, or practice on
the High rope; O your humble Servant Sir, I'll but do a little bus'ness
for you, and be with you agen. Nay, look you Sir, I have as many
Bobs as Democritus when he cry'd Poor lack—There's more Pride in a
Puritans Band, short Hair, and Cap pinch'd, than under a Kings Crown.
Poor Jack, Citizens, Citizens, look to your Wives, the Courtiers
come, look to 'em, they'll do 'em, look to 'em, they'll do 'em, Poor
Jack—
St. A.
Ha! Ha! You'll tickle me to death—Nay, prithee Pen—
Your Mistress will hear us—Thou art the wantonest Rogue—
Enter Tournon with Bellamore.
Tour.
Madam.
Cel.
Here's.
Tour.
Here's a Thief I took in your Chamber—
Bell.
Ah Madam! retire for a moment, and I'll make you the whole
Confession.
Cel.
Confess and you know what follows, however I am resolv'd to
hear what you can say for your self.
[Exeunt.
St. A.
Nay Pish, nay Fie sweet heart—
But I'll kiss you if I can;
I did not take you for to be
Such a kind of a Man.
[Re-enter Poltrot.
But I'll go call my Mother as loud as I can cry,
Why Mother, Mother, Mother, out upon you, Fye.
Pol.
O Lord! O Lord! I had like to have trod upon a Serpent that
wou'd have bit me to death. I went to take up the Cloths as gently as
I cou'd for my Life, when a great huge hoarse Voice flew in my face,
with Damme you Son of a Whore, I'll cut your Throat; you may guess
I withdrew, for o'my Conscience the Fright had almost made me unclean;
but I'll to my own Spouse, and if the Lord be pleas'd to bring
me off safe this bout, I'll never, never go a Cuckold-making agen while
my eyes are open.
[Exit.
St. A.
Heark, my Wife's coming up Stairs—Help up with my
Breeches; so, so, smooth the Bed—What damn'd Luck's this—
So, fall a rubbing the Room agen—Heark you Wife, Celia has been
upon the hunt for you all this day, she's below in the Garden, go, go,
we'll kiss when you come back—Now Sirrah, now you Rogue, she's
gone, come, come, lose not your opportunity, I'll keep on my Breeches
for fear—Ay? No, no, not upon the Bed, Pish, against the back of
Gown, and a Fan, and a lac'd Petticoat, and pay thee double Wages;
O! thou dear pretty soft sweet wriggling Rogue, what wou'dst thou
dodge me, Gad but I'll have thee, Gad but I'll catch thee; Ay, and
have at thee agen and agen.
[Exit. Re-enter Poltrot.
Pol.
Was ever Man of Honour thus unfortunately met with? I went
into my Chamber and trod as softly as a half-starv'd Mouse, for fear of
waking my Cat, when coming close to my Bed-side, methought it rock'd
to and fro like a great Cradle, and the Cloaths heav'd as if some Beast
lay blowing there—But the Beast was by the Bed-side it seems—Yes, I
am, and who can help it, as very a Cornuto as e'er was grafted—
I heard my beloved Wife too—The Plagues of Egypt on her—Speak
so lovingly and angrily together—Nay, Prithee my Dear—Nay, now
you are tiresome—I shall be asham'd to look you in the face agen! Why,
how will she look upon me then? O Lord—O Lord—What shall I do?
shall I stand thus like a Cuckoldly Son of a Whore, with my Horns in
my Pocket and not be reveng'd—
But here comes as very a Cuckold as my self, I am resolv'd to wake
him, and we'll fall upon 'em together—Allo, St. Andre, St. Andre.
St. A.
Ti—ti 'tis im—im—im—possible I-I-I shou'd be the Man,
Fo-Fo-For I cannot speak a plain word.
Pol.
You're a Cuckold, a Cuckold, a Cuckold.
St. A.
Why lo-lo-look you, I said it co-co cou'd not be me, for Sir, I
all the World knows I am no Cu-Cu-Cu-ckold.
Pol.
Wake, wake, I say, or I'll shake the bones out of your Body,
your Horns are a growing, your Bed is a going, your Heifer's a Plowing.
St. A.
Why, let her Plo-Plo-Plow on, if the Se-Se-Seed be well
Sown, we shall have a good Cro-Crop—
Pol.
Worse and worse, why then I will roar out directly and raise the
Neighbours—Help! Ho, Help! Murder! Murder! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Cuckoldom! Cuckoldom! Thieves! Murder! Rapes! Cuckoldom!
Enter the Vidam and Bellamore. The Vidam comes up to Poltrot, shoots off a Pistol, St. Andre and Poltrot fall down together—Tournon enters with the Ladies—Tournon leads off the Vidam and Bellamore.
Cel.
Thieves! Thieves! Ho! Jaques! Pedro—Thoma—
Elia.
Thieves! Thieves—Wake! wake! my Lord.
St. A.
Waking]
Why, what a Devil's the matter? where am I?
Elia.
O! you'll never leave this ill habit of walking in your sleep—
'Tis a mercy we had not all been Murder'd—You went down in your
Shirt Sir, open'd the door, and let in Rogues that had like to have cut
the Bed cord, rather than endure this—
St. A.
Where's Poltrot?
Cel.
Murder'd Sir, here! here! here! one of the Villains discharg'd
a Pistol just in his Belly—
St. A.
Shot in the Guts! Lord bless us! here Thom. a light! light!
light! shot in the Guts say you—
Pol.
Oh! Oh—Lower, lower, lower—Feel, feel, search me, lower,
lower—
St. A.
Cold hereabouts—Let's bear him to his Bed, and send for a
Surgeon—
Pol.
Softly! softly! softly—Come not near me Crocodil; Oh! Oh—
St. A.
Unhappy Chance, no where but just in the Guts?
Pol.
Yes, yes, yes, in the Head too, in the Head Man, in the Head:
Nay, and let me tell you, you had best search your own, but bear me off
or I shall Swoon, I feel something trickle, trickle in my Breeches;
Oh! Oh! Oh!
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Nemours, Pedro list'ning.Nem.
Alass! Poor Prince, I protest the Violence of his Passion has
cast him in a Fever, he dies of it—And how then? shall
I Marry the Princess of Cleve, or stick to Marguerite as we are? for
'tis most certain she has rare things in her, which I found by my last
Experiment, and I love her more than ever, almost to Jealousie; besides
Tournon tells me, the Dauphin begins to buz about her agen, and
who knows but in this heat of hers, as she says, she will hang her self
out to sale, but he may nick the time and buy her—I like not that—
No, I'll throw boldly, clear the Table if I can, if not, 'tis but at last
forswearing Play, shake off my new acquaintance, and be easie with
my reserve—Heark, I am just upon the Bower Musick—
Pedro.
I have hitherto obey'd my Master's order, but I'm resolv'd to
dog him till he's lodg'd—
Ne.
Now do I know the Precise will call me damn'd Rogue for wronging
my Friend, especially such a soft sweet natur'd Friend as this gentle
Prince—Verily I say they lye in their Throats, were the gravest of
'em in my condition, and thought it shou'd never be known, they wou'd
rouze up the Spirit, cast the dapper Cloak, leave off their humming and
haing, and fall too like a Man of Honour.
[Exit.
Pedro
I'll face him till he enters the Bower, and then call my Lord.
[Ex.
Lovely Selina, Innocent and Free
From all the dangerous Arts of Love,
Thus in a Melancholy Grove
Enjoy'd the sweetness of her Privacy,
Till th'envious Gods designing to undo her,
Dispatcht the Swain, not unlike them, to wo her:
It was not long e'er the design did take,
A gentle Youth born to perswade,
Deceiv'd the too too easie Maid;
Her Scrip and Garlands soon she did forsake.
And rashly told the Secrets of her Heart,
Which the fond Man would ever more impart.
False Florimel, Joy of my Heart, said she,
'Tis hard to Love and Love in vain,
To Love and not be Lov'd again,
And why shou'd Love and Prudence disagree?
Pity ye Powers that sit at ease above:
If e'er you knew what 'tis to be in Love.
Princess C.
Alas! Irene, I do believe Nemours
The Man thou represents him; yet, Oh! Heav'n,
And Oh my Heart! in spite of my resolves,
Spite of those matchless Virtues of my Husband,
I love the Man my reason bids me hate:
Yet grant me some few hours ye Saints to live,
That I may try what Innocence so arm'd
As mine, with vows can do in such a cause!
The War's begun, the War of Love and Vertue,
And I am fixt to conquer or to dye.
Iren.
Your Fate is hard, and since you honour'd me
With the important Secret of your Life,
I've labour'd for the Remedy of Love.
Princess C.
I must to Death own thee my better Angel,
Thou know'st the struglings of my wounded Soul,
Hast seen me strive against this lawless Passion,
My Veins half burst, my weary Eye-balls fixt,
My Brows all cover'd with big drops of Sweat,
Which strangling Grief wrung from my tortur'd Brain.
Ir.
Alass I weep to see you thus agen.
Princess C.
Thou hast heard me curse the hour, when first I saw
The fatal charming Face of lov'd Nemours,
Hast heard the Death-bed Counsel of my Mother.
Yet what can this avail, spite of my Soul
The Nightly Warnings from her dreadful Shroud?
I love Nemours, I languish for Nemours,
And when I think to banish him my Breast,
My Heart rebels, I feel a gorgeing pain
That choaks me up, tremblings from Head to Foot;
A shog of Blood and Spirits, Mad-mens Fears,
Convulsions, gnawing Griefs and angry Tears.
Enter Nemours.
Ha! but behold—My Lord—
Nem.
O! Pardon me,
Spare me a minute's space and I am gone.
Princes. C.
Is this a time Sir?
Nem.
O! I must speak or dye.
Princess C.
Dye then, e'er thus presume to violate
The Honour of your Friend, your own and mine—
Nem.
Yet hear me, and I swear by all things Sacred,
Never to see you more.
Princess C.
Speak then—And keep your word.
P. C.
Horrour and Death!
Nem.
Did you but know what 'tis to love like me,
Without a dawn of Bliss to dream all day,
To pass the night in broken sleeps away,
Toss'd in the restless tides of Hopes and Fears,
With Eyes for ever running o'er with Tears;
To leave my Couch, and fly to beds of Flow'rs,
T'invoke the Stars, to curse the dragging hours,
To talk like Mad-men to the Groves and Bow'rs.
Cou'd you know this, yet blame my tortur'd Love,
If thus it throws my Body at your Feet:
Oh! fly not hence;
Vouchsafe but just to view me in despair,
I ask not Love, but Pity from the Fair.
Princess C.
O Heavens! inspire my Heart.
The Heavenly Powers
Accept the poorest Sacrifice we bring,
A Slave to them's as welcome as a King.
Behold a Slave that Glories in your Chains,
Ah! with some shew of Mercy view my Pains;
Your piercing Eyes have made their splendid way,
Where Lightning cou'd not pass—
Even through my Soul their pointed Lustre goes,
And Sacred Smart upon my Spirit throws;
Yet I your Wounds with as much Zeal desire,
As Sinners that wou'd pass to Bliss through Fire.
Yes, Madam, I must love you to my Death,
I'll sigh your name with my last gasp of Breath.
Princess C.
No more, I have heard you Sir, as you desir'd,
Enter the Prince of Cleve.
Reply not, but withdraw, if possible;
Fix to your word, and let us trust our Fates,
Be gon I charge you, speak not, but retire.
[Exit. Nem.
P. C.
Excellent Woman, and Oh! matchless Friend,
Love, Friendship, Honour, Poison, Daggers, Death.
[Falls.
Princess C.
O Heaven! Irene, help! help the Prince my Lord.
My Dearest Cleve, wake from this Dream of Death,
And hear me speak—
P. C.
Curse on my Disposition,
That thus permits me bear the Wounds of Honour!
And Oh! thou foolish, gentle, love-sick Heart,
Why didst thou let my hand from stabbing both?
Princess C.
Behold, 'tis yet my Lord within your Power
To give me Death—
P. C.
I do entreat thee leave me,
I'm bound for Death my self, and I wou'd make
My passage easie, if you wou'd permit me:
All that I ask thee for the Heart I gave thee;
And for the Life I love in thy behalf,
Is, that thou'dst leave me to my self a while,
And this poor honest Friend—
Princess C.
I wou'd obey you,
But cannot stir—I know, I know my Lord,
You think that I design'd to meet Nemours
This night, but by the Powers above I Swear.
P. C.
O! do not Swear, for Chartres credit me,
There is a Power that can and will revenge;
Therefore dear Soul, for I must love thee still,
If thou wilt speak, confess, repent thy fault,
For me, by all my hopes of Heav'n, I swear
I freely now forgive thee—Oh! my Heart—
Pedro, thy arm, let me to bed—
Princess C.
And do you then refuse
My help?
P. C.
In Honour Chartres, after such a Fall,
I ought not to permit that thou shou'dst touch me—
Princess C.
But Sir, I will, your arm? I'll hold you all
Thus in the closest strictest dearest Clasps;
Nor shall you dye believing my Dishonor,
I swear I knew not of Nemours his coming,
Nor had I spoke those words which yet were guiltless,
Had he not vow'd never to see me more:
By our first Meeting, by our Nuptial Joys,
By my dead Mother's Ghost, by your own Spirit;
Which Oh! I fear is taking leave for ever,
I swear that this is true—
P. C.
I do believe thee;
Thou hast such Power, such Charms in those dear Lips,
As might perswade me that I am not dying.
Off Pedro, by my most untimely Fate
I swear—I'm reconcil'd; and heark thee Cleve,
If thou dost Marry, Ha! I cannot speak,
Away to Bed, yet love my Memory—
Princess C.
To Bed, and must we part then?
P. C.
O! we must—
Were I to live I shou'd not see thee more—
But since I am dying, by this Kiss I beg thee,
Nay, I command thee part, be gone and leave me.
Princess C.
I go, and leave this Farewel Prayer behind me.
For me, if all I've said be not most true,
True as thou think'st me False, all Curses on me!
The Whips of Conscience, and the Stings of Pleasure,
Soars and Distempers, Disappointments plague me;
May all my Life be one continu'd Torment,
And that more Racking than a Woman's Labour;
In meeting Death may my least Trouble be
As great as now my parting is with thee.
[Exeunt severally.
| The Princess of Cleve | |