University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter PISTOCLERUS and LYDUS.
PISTOCLERUS.
Ye gods! how feel I what I feel!—What is it?—
I know not, I'm in such a flutter—Yet
I'm standing still—Here is no fire, but I
Am in a flame—What am I but a ship
In danger of the rocks and shoals of love?
Can the land wreck, and dash a man to pieces?—
Bacchis and land I've only touch'd to-day.—
If Bacchis is a berry, she's a rough one.
Men formerly, 'tis said, rose from the earth—
Would the earth wreck the children of her womb?
Whence this misfortune then? And am I shipwreck'd
By Bacchis, or by land?—

Lyd.
[apart.]
This man's in love—
I see it plain; and therefore the piazza's,
The temples, forums, theatres, and all
The brothels, night-cellars, and stews has search'd
With such a prying curiosity—

Pis.
I'm shipwreck'd I confess.—Bacchis it is,
Not Neptune, who my little bark has toss'd;
Has tumbled, broke, and dash'd it all in pieces.

Lyd.
Bacchis has rais'd the storm—'Tis over with us—
We've lost our course—

Pis.
I'll to the rock whereon
We split, and wreck my fortune and my youth.
Uncertain is the lot of things—The fates
As they list govern men—While I, my friend
Mnesilochus, assisted with my care,
I found his mistress out, where he may ruin
His fortune and himself—At the same place
Perdition to myself, estate and youth
I found—Since 'tis the pleasure of the god
Of love, I'm young—To indulge myself at some
Expence, is better now, than in old age.
I hold it for a maxim of wise men,
What Lydus blames, if Venus, or the god
Of wine, or any sensual god, a youth
Contemns, he either is a fool, or will
Become a lover, when his hairs are grey.
I'll to the rock where I was lost—My father
May now collect the fragments—Follow Lydus—
I the twin sisters see, my Bacchides.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter first and second BACCHIS.
1. Bac.
Won't it be better I should speak, and you
Should hold your tongue?—

2. Bac.
With all my heart.

1. Bac.
And when
My memory fails, do you assist me.

2. Bac.
'Troth
I'm more afraid I shall forget, than you.
I never shall remember to remind you.

1. Bac.
E'en as I fear the little nightingale
Will lose her song—Follow this way.

Enter PISTOCLERUS.
Pis.
What are
These courtezans, these name-sake sisters, doing?
What consultation are you now upon?

1. Bac.
[to 2. Bac.]
Why, good.—

Pis.
That don't belong to your profession.

1. Bac.
No being's more unhappy than a woman.

Pis.
What is there that you think deserves it more?

1. Bac.
My sister has been praying me, that I
Would search some patron out, to be her guard
Against this captain, and would bring her home
When she has serv'd her time.—And now I beg
Your patronage.

Pis.
My patronage?—For what?

1. Bac.
That, when her time's expir'd, she may return,
Lest he, the captain, keep her for his maid.
Had she wherewith to pay him back his money,
She would with all her heart.

Pis.
Where is this man?

1. Bac.
I now expect him here.—But this affair
You'll best transact with us.—Sit here, and wait
His coming—Take with me a chearful glass,
And after, I'll indulge you with a kiss.

Pis.
Your coaxing is meer birdlime.

1. Bac.
How is that?

Pis.
Because I find, two aim at one poor dove.
Undone! [aside]
My feathers brush the limed reed.
I'm sure such wanton doings suit not me.

[To her.]
1. Bac.
Marry! Why not?

Pis.
Bacchis, because I fear,
A Bacchant, and your Bacchanal.

1. Bac.
What is it
You fear?—The bed won't make you naughty with me.

Pis.
Your fondness 'tis, more than your bed I fear.
You're a sly serpent—Such a dark retreat
Suits not my youth.

1. Bac.
If at my house you'd play
The fool, I would prohibit you myself.
But when the Captain comes, I wish you here,
Because before your face, no man will dare
To injure her or me—That you'll prevent,
And also serve your friend—Besides, he will,
When he arrives, suspect that I'm your mistress.
Prithee, why thus struck dumb?

Pis.
Because, these things
Are pretty in the talking of—But use them,
And put them to the proof, with stings they're arm'd
Which our fair deeds, our fame and fortune wound,
And pierce our very souls—Away! away!

1. Bac.
Ah! you're too savage.

Pis.
That is for my interest.

2. Bac.
You must be tam'd—And what do you fear from her?

Pis.
What fear I?—In the hey-day of my blood
To enter one of these academies
Where people toil and sweat for their undoing;
I my own ruin for a quoit shall toss;
My running will be my disgrace and shame.

1. Bac.
This is sheer wit.

Pis.
They'll give me, for a sword,
A turtle dove to play with—And another,
'Stead of the manly cestus, in my hands
Will put a cup, and a capacious bowl
Will be my helmet, while upon my head,
The festive rose, and not a plume will nod;
A die will be my spear; my coat of mail
A soft voluptuous cloak, my steed a couch—
And I, when I should grasp a shield, shall find
A strumpet in my arms—Away! away!—

1. Bac.
Ah! you're too savage!—

Pis.
That is for my interest.

1. Bac.
You must be tam'd—I'll undertake the task.

Pis.
Alas! you'll be a mistress too expensive.

1. Bac.
But seem to love me.

Pis.
Must I be in jest?
And only seem? or love you in good earnest?

1. Bac.
O fye!—In earnest to be sure—And when
The captain comes, I wish you would embrace me.

Pis.
What need of that?

1. Bac.
What need?—That he may see you.
I know well what I do—

Pis.
I, what I fear—
But what d'you say?

1. Bac.
Why, what's the matter now?

Pis.
Why then suppose you on a sudden have
A dinner, or a drinking-bout, or else
Perhaps a supper, not uncommon things
In such assemblies, where shall be my place?

1. Bac.
By me, my life—We wits will sit together.
Come when you will, you'll always find good room.
If you with elegance would be receiv'd,
But only say, give me good cheer, my rose,
For your reception, I'll provide a place,
Where to your heart's content you may indulge—

Pis.
Here is a rapid stream; 'tis hazardous
To pass this way—

1. Bac.
You something in the stream
Must lose—Come, give your hand, and follow me.

Pis.
Away!—By no means.

1. Bac.
Why not?—

Pis.
Nothing can
Be more bewitching, than night, women, wine,
To one of my warm blood.

1. Bac.
Why leave me then—
Whate'er I've done, 'twas all to pleasure you.
E'en let the captain take my sister off,
And be you absent, if you like it best.

Pis.
And am I not a thing of nothing, who
Cannot my passions rule.

1. Bac.
What is't you fear?

Pis.
Nothing—I now resign myself to you.
I'm wholly at your service.—

1. Bac.
You're a charmer.—
Now this I wish you'd do—This very day,
To welcome her return, I mean to give
A sumptuous entertainment to my sister.
Be you our caterer—Provide a good
And splendid treat. The money I will order
To be brought to you—

Pis.
No—I'll bear the expence—
'Twould be a shame, that you on my account,
Meerly to favour me, should for that favour
Spend your own money.

1. Bac.
No—I cannot suffer you
To pay.

Pis.
Pray give me leave—

1. Bac.
I must consent,
If 'tis your pleasure—Prithee then, make haste.

Pis.
I shall return before my love-fit's over.
[Exit Pistoclerus.

2. Bac.
You'll entertain me well on my return.

1. Bac.
Prithee, how so?

2. Bac.
Because I think you've had
A lucky haul to-day.

1. Bac.
He's mine for certain.
Now, sister, with Mnesilochus I'll try
To forward your affair, that you at home
May rather fill your purse, than troop off hence
With that same captain—

2. Bac.
That's my wish.

1. Bac.
I'll do
My best—The water's warm—Come, let's go in
That you may bathe—Your voyage has no doubt
Disordered you.

2. Bac.
Why yes, a little, sister.
Besides, here's some one coming, who I know not,
That makes a bustle—Let's begone, my sister.

1. Bac.
Follow me in, that you may take some rest.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Re-enter PISTOCLERUS, with provision for the entertainment, followed by LYDUS.
Lyd.
I've, Pistoclerus, follow'd you some time
In silence, and observ'd what you're about
In this new dress—And may the gods so love me!
As I believe Lycurgus might be here
Debauch'd—And whither now with such a train?

Pis.
Why to this place—

Lyd.
Why thither? Who is't lives there?

Pis.
Love, pleasure, Venus, beauty, joy and sport,
Jesting, with conversation, and sweet kissing.

Lyd.
How now!—What intercourse have you with these
Destructive gods?

Pis.
Bad are the men who dare
Speak evil of the good—But you don't spare
The gods—You are unjust—

Lyd.
Is then sweet kissing
Rank'd 'mongst the gods?—

Pis.
Do you not think she is?
You're a barbarian, Lydus, whom I thought
Wiser than Thales—Go, you're more an ideot
Than Rome's Potitius; you don't even know,
At your great age, the names of all the gods.

Lyd.
Your dress offends me—

Pis.
'Twas not bought for you.
'Twas bought for me; and I'm delighted with it.

Lyd.
And do you make such repartees to me?
Had you ten tongues, you should restrain them all.

Pis.
Not every stage of life is fit for school—
I'm thinking, Lydus, now of something else;
How these provisions may be nicely dress'd,
As their magnificence deserves—

Lyd.
You've now
Undone yourself and me—My labour's lost,
And all my good instruction's giv'n in vain.

Pis.
My labour's lost in the same place with yours.
By your instructions, neither you nor I
Have profited—

Lyd.
O! you are fascinated—

Pis.
And you are troublesome—So, hold your tongue,
And, Lydus, follow me.

Lyd.
Observe that, pray.
[to the spectators.
He does not call me leader now, but Lydus.

Pis.
When I am here with other guests at table,
And sitting by my love and kissing her,
Perhaps, 'tis most improper and unfit
To have my leader in our company.

Lyd.
Are these provisions for such doings, pray?

Pis.
Such is my wish—Th'event I leave to heaven.

Lyd.
And will you have a mistress?—

Pis.
When you see,
You'll know—

Lyd.
You shan't—I will not suffer it—
I'm going home—

Pis.
Stay Lydus, and beware
A mischief—

Lyd.
What is that?—Beware a mischief!

Pis.
I'm grown too old for your tuition now.

Lyd.
Where shall I find a gulf to swallow me?
O how much more I see than I would see,
And how much better to have died than live!
A pupil thus to threaten me his governor!
No more hot blooded fiery boys for me—
Vigour to attack worn out and feeble age.

Pis.
In my opinion, I am Hercules,
And Linus you—

Lyd.
I'm more afraid by these
Your shameless deeds, I shall be Phœnix soon;
And bring your father tidings of your death.

Pis.
Enough of history—

Lyd.
This boy is lost [aside.]

To shame—Where'er you got the impudence,
'Twas not an acquisition to be wish'd for
At your green age—He's ruin'd past redemption.
Do you ne'er once reflect you have a father?

[to him.
Pis.
Are you my servant then, or am I yours?

Lyd.
These are the lessons of a wicked master,
Not mine—And you have made a rapid progress.
It was not so when I instructed you,
And threw away my labour and my time.

Pis.
You've hitherto had liberty of speech,
And prate enough—Follow me this way then,
And hold your tongue.

Lyd.
'Twas an unhappy piece
Of craft, these vile debaucheries to conceal,
Both from your father and from me, your governor.

[Exeunt.