 | The Princess of Cleve |  |
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.
| The Princess of Cleve | |