 | The Princess of Cleve |  |
SCENE I.
The Vidam, Tournon.Tour.
A woman in Love with another, and confess it to her Husband
—What wou'd I give to know her—Without
all question Nemours is the Person belov'd.
Vid.
That's plain by his eagerness in the Discovery, he forc'd me to
hear him whether I wou'd or no; yet what I so admire in his Temper,
is, that for all the former Heat, I no sooner mentioned you, but he flew
from it, and run upon another Scent, as if the first had never been.
Tour.
Where did you find him?
Vid.
At the Princess of Cleve's, and my Heart tells me that's the Lady
that acquainted her Husband how she was determin'd to make him a
Cuckold—If he pleas'd to give his consent—
Tour.
My Judgment, which is most Sagacious in these Matters, is most
positive in your opinion, for by his whitely cast, the Prince of Cleve
must be the Man fork'd in the Book of Fate—
Vid.
And yet 'tis odd, that Nemours of all Men, shou'd have such luck
at this Lottery.
O to choose, my Lord! because she's nice and precise; your
demure Ladies that are so Squob in company, are Devils in a corner;
they are a sort of melancholy Birds, that ne'er peep abroad by day, but
they to whit, to whou it at night; nay, to my particular knowledge,
all grave Women love wild Men, and if they can but appear civil at
first, they certainly snap 'em; for mark their Language, the Man is a
handsom Man, if he had but Grace; the Man has Wit, Parts and excellent
Gifts, if he wou'd but make a right use of 'em; why all these
If's are but civil Pimps to a most Bawdy conclusion—But see, I descry
him with a Mask yonder—
Vid.
You'll remember St. Andre's Lady for this Discovery.
Tour.
If she be not yours to night, never acquaint me with a Mystery
agen—
Vid.
Not a word to the Duke—My Gravity gets me a hank over
him—Therefore if you tell him of any Love Matters of mine, you must
never hope for more Secrets—
Tour.
Trouble not your head, but away.
[Exit. Vid.
So this gets me a Diamond from the Queen, an Embassadors Merit at least.
Confess to her Husband, alas poor Princess—See, they come; but that
which startles me, is how a Woman of Marguerite's Sex can contain all
this while as she seems to do; but perhaps she designs to pump him—
Or has some further end, which I must learn.
Enter Nemours and Marguerite.
Marg.
But did you never promise thus before?
Nem.
Never—But why these Doubts—Thou hast all the Wit
in the World—Thou know'st I love thee without Protestations, why
then this delay?
Marg.
I have not convers'd with you an hour, and you are for running
over me: No Sir, but if you can have patience till the Ball—Oh I
shall burst—
Nem.
Patience, I must; but if it were not for the clog of thy Modesty,
we might have been in the third Heav'n by this, and have danc'd at the
Ball beside—Ha! you faint—Take off your Mask—
Marg.
Unhand me, or—But pray, e'er we part, let me ask you
a serious question; what if you shou'd have pick'd up a Devil Incarnate?
Nem.
Why, by your loving to go in the dark thus, I make me begin
to suspect you—But be a Devil and thou wilt, if we must be Damn'd
together, who can help it—
Marg.
I shall not hold—
Nem.
Yet, now I think on't, thou canst be no Devil, thou art so fraid
of a Sinner; for you refus'd me just now, when I profer'd to sell my
self, and seal the Bargain with the best of my Blood.
But if I shou'd permit you, cou'd you find in your heart to ingender
with a damn'd Spirit?
Nem.
Yes marry cou'd I, for all you ask the question so seriously: For
know, thou bewitching Creature, I have long'd any time this seven years
to be the Father of a Succubus—
Marg.
Fiend, and no Man—
Nem.
Besides, Madam, don't you think a feat Devil of yours and
my begetting, wou'd be a prettier sight in a House, than a Monkey or
a Squirrel? Gad I'd hang Bells about his neck, and make my Valet
spruce up his Brush Tail ev'ry Morning as duly as he comb'd my head.
Marg.
But is it possible (for I know you have a Mistress, a Convenience
as you call her,) that you cou'd leave her for me, who may be
Ugly, Diseas'd, or a Devil indeed for ought you know?
Nem.
Why, since you tax me with truth, I must answer like a Man
of Honour; I cou'd leave her for thee or any else of your Tribe, so
they were all like you—
Marg.
But in the name of Reason, what is there in us Runners at All,
that a Wife, or a Mistress of that nature, may not possess with more
advantage?
Nem.
Why, the freedom Wit and Roguery, and all sort of acting, as
well as Conversation. In a Domestick she, there's no Gaity, no Chat,
no Discourse, but of the Cares of this World and its Inconveniencies;
what we do we do, but so dully; by Gad, my Thing ask'd me once,
when my Breeches were down, what the Stuff cost a Yard—Ha! what
now, upon the Gog agen? nay, then have with you at all Adventures,
at least to put you in mind of the Ball—
[Exeunt.
Enter Tournon.
Tour.
Ha! yonder she lost him—see, what can she intend by keeping
her self so close—But see La March has seiz'd her, and now the Mystery
will open of it self.
Re-enter Marguerite with La March.
La M.
But have you found him false?
Tour.
Curses, Damnation,
The Racks of Womens Wits, when her Soul
Is bawk'd of Vengeance, wait on his desires.
La M.
Why did you leave him so upon the sudden?
Marg.
Because I found my Passion move too strongly,
My foolish Heart wou'd not obey my Will;
I found my Eyes grow full, my Sighs had choak'd me,
And I was dying in his Arms—
But now
You have got Breath, what is your purpose Madam?
Nem.
To meet him as I promis'd, to enjoy him
With the last Pang of a revengeful Pleasure;
And let him know—
Then make him Damn himself with thousand Oaths,
That he'll ne'er see forsak'n Marguerite more,
The curst fond, foolish, doting Marguerite;
For thus with an extorted Gallantry,
I'll force him to revile me to my face;
Then throw the Mask away, and vent my Rage;
Tell him he is a Fiend, Devil, Devil, Devil,
Or what is worse, a Man—
And leave him to the Horror of his Soul.
[Exit.
Tour.
I've heard her Rave, and must applaud thy Conduct
To the next task, then when she has satisfied
This odd Figary of Revenge and Pleasure,
Take her in the height of her disdain
And ply her with the Dauphin; then tell Nemours
Of her resolve to cast him further off,
Millions to one we carry the design.
But hast and scout, while I attend the Duke,
That harps upon the loss of his new Mistress.
Enter Nemours.
Nem.
Death and the Devil—We went talking along so pleasantly,
when of a sudden whisp'ring, she wou'd not fail me at the Ball, she
sprung from me at yon dark corner and vanish'd. Well if she be a Devil,
Hell by her shou'd be a merry place, or perhaps she has not been there
yet, but fell this Morning and took Earth in her way; my Comfort is,
I shall make a new discovery if she keeps her word, and she has too much
wit to break it before she tryes me.
Tour.
And where are you to make this new discovery?
Nem.
At the Ball in Masquerade—Thus wou'd I have Time rowl still
all in these lovely Extreams, the Corruption of Reason being the Generation
of Wit; and the Spirit of Wit lying in the Extravagance of Pleasure:
Nay, the two nearest ways to enter the Closet of the Gods, and
lye even with the Fates themselves, are Fury and Sleep—Therefore the
Fury of Wine and Fury of Women possess me waking and sleeping; let
me Dream of nothing but dimpl'd Cheeks, and laughing Lips, and flowing
Bowls, Venus be my Star, and Whoring my House, and Death I
defie thee. Thus sung Rosidore in the Urn—But where and when, with
my Fops Wives, be quick, thou know'st my appointment with this
unknown, and the Minute's precious.
Why, I have contriv'd you the sweetest Wight in the World, if
you dare.
Nem.
Dare, and in a Woman's Cause! why, I have no drop of Blood
about me, but must out in their service, and what matter is't which way?
Tour.
Know Poltrot's Lady has inform'd me, how St. Andre walks in
his sleep, and that her Husband last night attempted to Cuckold him,
that she watch'd and overheard the whole matter, but Poltrot cou'd not
find the door before St. Andre return'd; she doubts not but he will try
agen to night—Now if you can nick the time when Poltrot rises, and
steal to her, ten to one but she'll be glad to be reveng'd—
Nem.
Or she wou'd not have told thee the bus'ness—There wants but
speaking with her, taking her by the hand, and 'tis a bargain—
Enter Celia, Elianora Mask'd. Poltrot, St. Andre following.
Tour.
Step, step aside, they are upon the hunt for you, and their Husbands
have 'em in the wind; stand by a while to observe, and I'll turn
you loose upon 'em—
St. A.
Ha, Tournon! by my Honour a Prize, let's board 'em.
Pol.
Be not too desperate my little Frigat, for I am, that I am, a
Furious Man of Honour.
Cel.
Now Heav'n defend us, what will you give us a Broad-side?
El.
Lord! how I dread the Guns of the lower Tire.
St. A.
Such notable Marks-men too, we never miss hitting between
Wind and Water.
Cel.
I'll warrant they carry Chain-shot; Pray Heav'n they do not
split us Sister!
Pol.
Yield then, yield quickly, or no Mercy, we have been so shatter'd
to day already by two she Pirates, that we are grown desperate.
El.
But what alas have we done, that you shou'd turn your Revenge
upon us poor harmless Innocents, that never wrong'd you, never saw you
before?
Cel.
If you shou'd deal unkindly with us, 'twou'd break our Hearts,
for we are the gentlest things.
St. A.
And we will use you so gently, so kindly, like little Birds, you
shall never repent the loss of your Liberty.
El.
I'll warrant Sister they'll put us in a Cage, or tye us by the Legs.
Pol.
No, upon the word of a Man of Honour, your Legs shall be at
liberty.
Cel.
What will you Pinnion our Wings then, and let us hop up and
down the House?
St. A.
Not in the House where we live, pretty Soul, for there's two
ravenous Sow-Cats will Eat you.
El.
Your Wives you mean.
Something like, two Melancholy things that sit purring in the
Chimney-corner, and to exercise their spite, kill Crickets.
Cel.
Oh! for God-sake keep us from your Wives.
St. A.
I'll warrant thee little Rosamond, safe from my jealous Elianor—
Pol.
And if any Wife in Europe dares but touch a hair of thee, I say
not much, but that Wife were better be a Widow.
El.
But are your Wives handsome and well qualited? for whatever
you say to us, when you have had your will you'll home at night, and for
my part I cry All or none.
Pol.
And All thou shalt have dear Rogue, never fear my Wive's
Beauty or good Nature, they are things to her like Saints and Angels,
which she believes never were nor never will be—She's a Bason of
Water against Lechery, and looks so sharp whenever I see her, like
Vinegar she makes me sweat.
St. A.
And mine's so fulsome, that a Goat with the help of Cantharides
wou'd not touch her.
Cel.
But then for their Qualities—
St. A.
Such Scolds, like Thunder they turn all the Drink in the Cellar.
Pol.
Such Niggards, they eat Kitchin-stuff and Candles ends—Once
indeed raving mad my Wife seem'd Prodigal, for a Rat having eat his
way through an old Cheese, she baited a Trap for him with a piece of
pareing—But having caught him, by the Lord she eat him up without
mercy tail and all.
El.
Are they not ev'n with us Sister?
St. A.
'Tis hop'd tho, the Hangman will take 'em off of our hands,
for they are shroadly suspected for Witches, mine noints her self ev'ry
Night, sets a Broom-staff in the Chimny, and op'ns the Window, for
what purpose but to fly?
Pol.
Gad, and my Wife has Tets in the wrong place, she's warted all
over like a pumpl'd Orange.
Cel.
Yet sure, Gentlemen, you told these Hags another story once,
and made as deep Protestations to them as you do to us?
St. A.
Never by this hand, the Salt Souls fell in Lust with us, and
haul'd us to Matrimony like Bears to the Stake.
Pol.
Where they set a long black thing upon us, that cry'd Have and
Hold.
El.
Put the question they had been Handsome, brought you great
Portions, were Pleasant and Airy and willing to humour you.
Enter Nemours with the Vidam.
Nem.
Nay then I can hold no longer: Z'death, there's it Madam,
Willing! That Willingness spoils all my Dear, my Hony, my Jewel,
it Palls the Appetite like Sack at Meals—Give me the smart disdainful
my Lips after she's down, and long for t'other-Glass.
St. A.
Nay if your Grace come in there's no dallying, I'll make sure
of one.
Pol.
Nay, and for my part I am resolv'd to secure another; come
Madam no striving, for I am like a Lion, when I lay hold, if the Body
come not willingly, I pull a whole Limb away—
Nem.
Yes Madam, he speaks truth, take it on my word who am a
rational Creature, he is a great furious wild Beast.
Cel.
Pray Heav'n he be not a horned Beast, is the Monster married?
Vid.
Yes Ladies, they are both married.
El.
Married! For Heav'n sake, Gentlemen, save us from the Cattle.
Pol.
Why, what is the Breeze in your Tails? Z'death Ladies we'll not
eat you.
Cel.
Say you so? But we'll not trust you, I am sure you both look
hungrily.
Vid.
It may be their Wives use 'em unkindly.
El.
And the poor good-natur'd things take it to heart.
Cel.
I swear 'tis pity, they have both promising looks.
Nem.
Proceed, sweet Souls, we'll defend you to death, spare 'em not.
El.
Or it may be we mistake all this while, and their pitiful looks are
caused by loving too much.
Vid.
Right Madam, a little too Uxorious; Ha, Ha!
St. A.
Now have not I one word to say, but stand to endure all Jerks
like a School-boy with my Shirt up.
Pol.
I'll have one fling at 'em tho' I dye for't; why Ladies you'll over-shoot
your selves at this rate—Must we only be the Butts to bear all
your Railery? methinks you might spend one Arrow at random, and
take off that Daw that Chatters so near you—Gad, and I think I paid
'em there—
Cel.
Butts and Daw! Let me never Laugh agen, if they be not Witty
too—Why, you pleasant Rogues, Z'life I cou'd Kiss 'em if they did not
stink of Matrimony.
St. A.
Mum, Mum, Mum. Did not I tell you 'twas a madness to
speak to 'em?
El.
They envy my Friend too here, this pleasant Companion.
Cel.
This dear agreeable Person.
Nem.
Ay, Damme Madam, the Rogues envy us—
El.
What a gentle Aspect?
Cel.
How proper and Airy?
El.
See, here's Blood in this Face.
Vid.
Pure Blood, Madam, at your Service.
Cel.
Will you walk dear Sir? give me your hand—
El.
And me yours—
Come you dear ravishing Rogues—Your Servant Mr. Butts—
Vid.
Gentle Mr. Butts—
El.
Adieu sweet Mr. Butts.
Cel.
Witty Mr. Butts, Ha, Ha, Ha!
[Exeunt Nem. Vid. Cel. El.
St. A.
Well, I'll to a Dutchess.
Pol.
Lord! thou art always so high-flown—Hast thou never a cast
Countess for me—
St. A.
Come along to the Ball and thou shalt see, the Duke of Nemours
is the Gallant to night—and Treats at his Palace, because 'tis the King's
Birth-day—Let me see, what new Fancy for the Masquerade? Oh! I
have it—Because the Town is much taken with Fortune-telling, I'll act
the Dumb Man, the Highlander that made such a noise, and thou shalt
be my Interpreter—Come along, and as we go I'll instruct thee in the
Signs.
Pol.
Dear Rogue, let's practise a little before we stir—As what sign
for Lechery, because we may Nick our Wives.
St. A.
Why thus, that's a glanting squeez'd Eye—or thus—for a
moist Hand, or thus, for a Whore in a corner, or thus for downright
Cuckolding.
Pol.
Well, I swear this will be rare sport, and so my damn'd Spouse,
I am resolv'd to tickle her with a squeez'd Eye and a moist Hand; and a
Whore in a corner till she confess her self guilty of downright
Cuckoldom; then in revenge for her last Impudence, Sue for a Divorce:
Call her in open Court the Whore of Babel.
[Exeunt.
| The Princess of Cleve | |