University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Poltrot, Bellamore.
Bell.

Come, come, take her into Grace agen, 'twas but a slip.

Pol.

Take her into Grace agen?—Why sure you wou'd
have her bring me to that pass she did in England, when my
Lord Hairbrain us'd to keep me in awe, stand biting my Lips, twisting
my Hat, playing with my Thumbs while they were at it, and I durst not
look behind me.

Bell.

Meer Jealousie; you say your self you saw nothing.

Pol.

No Sir, I thank you, I had more care of my Throat; neither is
this the first Fault; for once upon a time, a little while after we were
Married, at London—a Pox o'that Cuckolding Trojan Race; she was
talking to me one day out of her Window more pleasantly than ordinary—
And acted with her Head and Body wond'rous prettily—Butting
at me like a little Goat, while I butted at her agen. I being glad to
find her in so good humour, what did I Sir, but stole away, and came
softly up the back-stairs, thinking to cry Bo—But Oh! Lord—How was
I Thunder-struck, to find my Lord Hairbrain there all in a Sweat—
Kissing and Smacking, Puffing and Blowing so hard, you wou'd have
sworn they had been at Hot-cockles—

Bell.

A little Familiar perhaps, things of Custom—

Pol.

Ay Sir, Kiss my Wife and welcome, but for that Zeal in her shogging
and Butting—Noli me tangere I cry—I am sure it ran so in my Imagination,
I have been Horn-mad ever since—Therefore spare your
pains, for I am resolute.

Enter Celia.
Bell.

See where she comes my Lord—But you are resolv'd you
say—However, let me advise you, have a care of making her desperate.

[Exit.
Pol.

Desperate—Damn her, Polluter of my Sheets—Damn her.
Seek, Celia, not to shun me, for where'er you fly,
I'll follow—hang upon thy knees and dye.

[Cel.]
Poltrot, behold—Ah! canst thou see me kneel,
And yet no Bowels of Compassion feel?
Why dost thou bluster by me like a Storm,
And ruffle into Frowns that Godlike Form?
Why dost thou turn away those Eyes of thine,
In which Love's Glory and his Conquests shine?

Pol.
What is this thing call'd Woman? she is worse
Than all Ingredients ram'd into a Curse.
Were she a Witch, a Bawd, a Noseless Whore,
I cou'd forgive her, so she were no more:
But she's far worse, and will in time Forestall
The Devil, and be the Damning of us all.

Cel.
Yet Honour bids you sink with her you call
So foul, whose Frailties you too sharply nam'd;
Like Adam you shou'd choose with her to fall,
And in meer Generosity be Damn'd.

Pol.
No, by thy self, and all alone be curst,
And by the Winds thy Venom dust be hurl'd;
For thou'rt a Serpent equal to the first,
And hast the will to Damn another World.

Cel.
But am I not thy Wife? Let that attone—

Pol.
My Dear Damn'd Wife, I do confess thou art
Flesh of my Flesh, and Bone too of my Bone,
Wou'd mine had all been broke when first thou wert.

Cel.

Why then I'll cringe no longer, heark you Sir, leave off your
Swelling and Frowning, and awkward ambling, and tell me in fine,
whether you'll be reconcil'd or no, for I am resolv'd to stoop no longer
to an ungrateful Person.

Pol.

To your Husband, to your Head, to your Lord and Master, you
will not Goodey Bathsheba, but you cou'd stoop your Swines Flesh last
night you cou'd, to your Rank Bravado, that wou'd have struck his
Tusks in my Guts; he had you with a Beck, a Snort, nay, o'my Conscience
thou wou'dst not give him time to speak, but hunch'd him on
the side like a full Acorn'd Boar, cry'd Oh! and mounted—

Cel.

Are you resolv'd then, never to take me into Grace agen for
one Slip?

Pol.

No, I'm the Son of a Carted Bawd if I do; a Slip do you call
it? what, when I heard the Bed crack with the Violence of my Cuckoldom!
No, I will ascend the Judge of my own Cause, proceed to Condemnation,
and banish thee for ever the Confines of our Benevolence—

Cel.

What here, before the Vidam here?

Pol.

Yes, Impudence, before the Vidam and the Duke Nemours; nay,
to thy eternal Confusion, I will post thee in the Market-place; but
first I'll find out St. Andre, and tell him the whole matter, that he

may know too, what a Ram his blessed Ewe has made him, and
then—

Cel.

And then I'll have your Throat cut.

Pol.

Ha! Tygress, cut my Throat! why thou Shee Bear! thou Dam of
Lyons Whelps, thou Cormorant of Cormorants, why what wilt thou
devour me Horns and all?

Cel.

He that miss'd your Guts in the dark, shall take better aim at
your Gullet by day-light; nay, to thy Terror of Heart be it known,
thou Monster of ill nature, if I wou'd have consented last night to have
run his Fortune, which is no small one, he wou'd have murder'd thee
in thy Bed, for I heard him speak these very words, Let him lye, In
Mortuis—& in limbo Patrum—Where I must have pray'd for that unthankful
Soul, or thou wou'dst have been Damn'd to all Eternity, dying
suddenly and without Repentance—

Pol.

O Lord! O Lord! In Mortuis, & in limbo Patrum; what, to
be toss'd on burning Pitchforks for my Sins, why, what a Bloody-minded
Son of Belial is this?

Cel.

In fine, since you will have the truth, he has long had a design
upon both our Bodies, to Ravish mine, and rip open yours.

Pol.

Why then he's a Cannibal; Lord! Lord! Lord! Lord! why
what pleasure can it be to any Man to rip me open? to Ravish thee indeed,
there's some Sense in that—But there's none in ripping me open;
why this is such a brutish Cruelty—

Cel.

Rogue, and so I told him—Therefore when he found that nothing
cou'd make me consent to your Murder, he Swore, and caught
me by the hair, if I stir'd, or made the least noise, he wou'd Murder
us all, set the House o'Fire, and so leave us to our selves—

Pol.

And so thou wert forc'd to consent; why then by this Kiss, I
Swear from my Soul, which might have been Damn'd as thou sayst, but
for thee, I forgive thee—And what was he that Cuckolded St. Andre,
such another Mephostophilus as this too?

Cel.

O! my Dear, there are not such a pair of Fiends upon Earth
agen—Why, they look upon't as a Favour to our Sex if they Ravish
a Woman, for you must know they were formerly Heads of the
Banditti—

Pol.

Well, and I must praise thy Discretion in Sacrificing thy Body,
for o'my Conscience, if they had seen this Smock-face of mine, I had
gone to pot too before my Execution.

Cel.

They sent their Pages this Morning to know whether it was our
pleasure to have your Throats cut: But we answered 'em all was well,
and desir'd 'em as ever they hop'd to see us agen, to stir no further in the
matter.

Pol.

Mum, Mum, dear sweet Soul, secure my Life and thou shalt
command me for the future with as full a swing as thou canst desire,

only like those that use that exercise, let it be too and fro, sometimes
at home and sometimes abroad, and we'll be as merry as the day is long.

Cel.

Be thou but true to me, and like the Indian Wives, I'll not
out-live thee—

Pol.

And I'll Swear now, that was kindly said, as I hope for mercy,
but it makes me weep, what burn for me—And shall I not return, I
will, I will, I will return when thou dost burn;

Enter St. Andre, Elianor.
Nay, when thy Body in the Fire appears,
My Ghost shall rise and quench it with his Tears.

St. A.

All Flesh is Grass, that's certain, we're all Mortal, the Court's
in Mourning for the Prince of Cleve, the Vidam of Chartres is extreamly
griev'd—Heark you Poltrot, sure as I am alive he dy'd of Jealousie.
Well Nelle, for this last care of thine, I Swear to be constant to thy
Sheets, and as thou sayst, I think it will not be amiss to tye me to
thee now and then for fear of the worst—Ha! Poltrot—

Pol.

Ha! Bully, I heard your kind Expressions to your Nelle, and I'll
Swear I'll vie thee with who shall love most, for I'll Swear these daily
Examples make my hair stand an end—Cut my Throat, and rip me
open, he shall Cuckold me all over first, like the Man in the Almanack,
nay, he shall Ravish her while I hold the door to my own deflow'ring.

SCENE II.

Tournon, Nemours.
Nem.

Resolv'd never to see me more, and give up her Honour to
the Dauphin, that puling sniveling Prince, that looks as if
he suck'd still, or were always in a Milk Diet for the Sins of his Florentine
Mother.

Tour.

Bless me! you are jealous.

Nem.

I confess it—The last time I had her in Disguise, she made
such Discoveries as I shall never forget: Lose her I must not, no, I'll
lose a Limb first, therefore go tell her, tell her the Prince of Cleve's
Death has wrought my Conversion, I grow weary of my wild Courses,
repent of my Sins, am resolv'd to leave off Whoreing and marry his
Wife—

Tour.

So the Town talks indeed.

Nem.

The Town is as it always was and will be, a Talk, a Hum, a
Buz, and a great Lye—Do as I bid thee, and tell her, just as you left
me, I was going to make my Court to the Princess upon her Husband's
Tomb, which is true too, I mean a Visit by the way of Consolation,

not but I knew it the only opportunity to catch a Woman in the undress
of her Soul; nay, I wou'd choose such a time for my life, and 'tis like
the rest of those starts, and one of the Secrets of their Nature—Why
they melt, nay, in Plagues, Fire, Famine, War, or any great Calamity—
Mark it—Let a man stand but right before 'em, and like hunted Hares
they run into his lap.

Tour.

But who's the Instrument to bring you to her?

Nem.

Her Uncle the Vidam, she lies at his House immur'd in a dark
room, with her Husband's Image in her view, and so resolves, he says,
for Death. However I'll sound her in the ebb of her Soul, if my Boat
run aground 'tis but calling for Marguerite, and she'll weep a Tide that
shall set me afloat agen—As thus, I'll lay the Dauphin in her dish,
nose her in the Tiptoe of her Pride, Railing, Lying, Laming, Hanging,
Drowning, Dying, and she comes about agen.

[Exit.
Tour.

Go thy ways Petronius, nay, if he were dying too, with his
Veins cut, he wou'd call for Wine, Fiddles and Whores, and laugh himself
into the other World.

Enter La March.
Where's Marguerite?

La M.

She follows like a Wind, with swollen Cheeks, ruffled Hair,
and glareing Eyes, the Princess of Cleve has found her Fury, nor will she
yet believe it.

SCENE III.

The Princess of Cleve, Irene in Mourning, Song, as the Princess kneels at the State.

CHORUS.

Princess C.
Dead thou dear Lord—Yet from thy Throne of Bliss,
If any thing on Earth be worth thy view,
Look down and hear me, hear my Sighs and Vows,
Till Death has made me cold, and Wax like thee:
Water shall be my Drink and Herbs my Food,
The Marble of my Chappel be my Bed;
The Altars Steps my Pillows, while all night
Stretch'd out, I groaning lye, upon the Floor,
Beat my swoll'n Breasts, and thy dear loss deplore.

Iren.
Ah! Madam, what a Life have you propos'd?

Princess C.
Too little all for an Offence like mine;
Yet Death will shortly purge my dross away,
For Oh! Irene, where's the Joy I find it here,
Yes, I shall dye without those violent means
That might have hazarded my Soul—O Heaven—
O thou that seest my Heart, and know'st my Terrors,
Wilt thou forgive those Crimes I cou'd not help,
And wou'd not hide?

Iren.
Doubt not but your Account
Shall stand as fair in his Eternal Book,
As any Saints above—

Princess C.
Take, take me then
From this bad World, quench these Rebellious thoughts;
For Oh! I have a pang, a longing wish
To see the Luckless Face of lov'd Nemours,
To gaze a while, and take one last Farewel,
Like one that is too loose a Limb—'Tis gone—
It was corrupt, a Gangreen to my Honour,
Yet I methinks wou'd view the bleeding part,
Shudder a little—Weep—and grudge at parting.
But by the Soul of my triumphant Saint,
I swear this longing is without a guilt,
Nor shall it ever be by my appointment.

Enter Nemours.
Iren.
But if he shou'd attempt this cruel visit,
How wou'd your Heart receive him?

Princess C.
With such Temper,
So clear and calm in height of my Misfortune,
As thou thy self perhaps wou'dst wonder at.

Iren.
Ha! but he's here—

Princess C.
Is't possible my Lord?
Has then my Uncle thus betray'd my Honour?

Nem.
Start not, nor wonder Madam, but forgive
The Vidam who has thus entrap'd your Virtue,
To end a ling'ring Wretch—That dies for Love—

Princess C.
For Love, my Lord, is this a time for Love,
In Tears and Blacks, the Livery of Death?
But what's your hope, if I shou'd stay to hear you?
Ah! What can you expect from rigorous Vertue,
From Chastity as cold as Cleve himself?
You that are made, my Lord, for other Pleasures—

Nem.
Is this then the reward of all my Passion?
As if there cou'd be any Happiness
For this disconsolate despairing Wretch,
But in your Love alone?

Princess C.
You're pleas'd my Lord
That I shou'd entertain you, and I will,
Before this dear Remembrancer of Cleve;
We'll talk of murder'd Love—And you shall hear
From this abandon'd part of him that was,
How much you have been lov'd.

Nem.
Ha! Madam—

Princess C.
Yes,
Sighing I speak it Sir, you have inspir'd me
With something which I never felt before,
That pleas'd and pain'd the quicknings of first Love;
Nor fear'd him then, when with his Infant Beams,
He dawn'd upon my chill and senseless Blood.
But Oh! when he had reach'd his fierce Meridian,
How different was his form! that Angel Face,
With his short Rayes, shot to a glaring God.
I grew inflam'd, burnt inward, and the Breath
Of the grown Tyrant, parch'd my Heart to Ashes.
Nor need I blush to make you this Confession,
Because, my Lord, 'tis done without a Crime.

Nem.
Because for this most blest discovery,
I am resolv'd to kneel an Age before you.

Princess C.
Rise, I conjure you, rise, I've told you nothing
But what you knew, my Lord, too well before:
Not but I always vow'd to keep those Rules
My Duty shou'd prescribe.

Nem.
Strike me not dead
With Duty's name, by Heav'n I Swear you're free
As Air, as Waters, Winds or open Wilds,
There is no Form of Obligation now;
Nay, let me say, for Duty: O forgive me,
'Tis utmost Duty now to keep that Love
You have confess'd for me.

Princess C.
'Tis Duty's Charge,
The voice of Honour and the cry of Love,
That I shou'd fly from Paris as a Pest,
That I shou'd wear these Rags of Life away
In Sunless Caves, in Dungeons of Despair,
Where I shou'd never think of Man agen.
But more particularly that of you,
For Reasons yet unknown.

Nem.
Unknown they are,
And wou'd to Heav'n they might be ever so,
Since 'tis impossible they shou'd be just;
Nay, Madam, let me say the Ghost of Cleve—

Princess C.
Ah! Sir, how dare you mention that dear name,
That drains my Eyes, and cries to Heav'n for Blood.
Name it no more without the Consequence,
For 'tis but too too true, you were the Cause
Of Cleve's untimely Death, I Swear I think
No less than if you had stabb'd him through the Heart.

Nem.
O! Cruel Princess, but why shou'd I answer,
When thus you raise the shadow of a reason
To ruin me for ever? Is it a fault
To Love? Then blame not me; No, Madam, no,
But blame your self, who told it to your Husband;
But Oh! you wou'd not argue thus against me
If ever you had lov'd—
You have deceiv'd your self and flatter'd me;
Why am I thrown else from the Glorious Height,
Snatch'd in a moment from my blissful State,
And hurl'd like Lightning by the hand of Fate?

Princess C.
Be satisfi'd, my Lord, you are not flatter'd,
I have such Love for you, that Duties bar,
Wou'd prove too weak to hinder our Engagement.
But there is more.

Nem.
More Fancy, more Chimera!
But let it come, I'll stand the stalking Nothing,
And when the bladder'd Air wou'd turn the Ballance,
I'll cast in Love substantial, pondrous Love,
Eternal Love, and hurl him to the Beam.
But speak, and if a Hell of Separation
Must part my Soul and Body, do not Rack me,
But let the Poyson steal into my Veins,
And Damn me mildly, Madam, as you can.

Princess C.
Hear then, my bosom thought—'Tis the last time
I e'er shall see you, and 'tis a poor reward
For such a Love, yet, Sir, 'tis all I have,
And you must ask no more.

Nem.
Be Witness, Heav'n,
Of my Obedience, I will ask her nothing.

Princess C.
Know then, my Lord, you're free, and I am so
Free for the eternal Bond of Marriage—
My Heart too is inclin'd by Love like yours,
Nor can I fear the censuring World shou'd blame us.
But now, my Lord, What Power on Earth can give
Security that Bond shall prove Eternal?

Nem.
Ha! Madam.

Princess C.
Silence, silence I command you;
No, no, Nemours. I know the World too well,
You have a Sense too nice for long Enjoyment,
Cleve was the Man that only cou'd love long:
Nor can I think his passion wou'd have lasted,
But that he found I cou'd have none for him.
'Tis Obstacle, Ascent, and Lets and Bars,
That whet the Appetite of Love and Glory;
These are the fuel for that fiery Passion,
But when the flashy stubble we remove,
The God goes out and there's an end of Love.

Nem.
Ah Madam! I'm not able to contain,
But must perforce break your commands to answer,
Once to be yours, is to be for ever yours,
Yours only, without thought of other Woman.

Princess C.
Why this sounds well and natural till you're cloid,
But Oh! when one satiety has pall'd you,
You sicken at each view, and ev'ry glance
Betrays your guilty Soul, and says you loath her.
I know it, Sir, you have the well-bred cast
Of Gallantry and Parts to gain success;
And do but think when various Forms have charm'd you,
How I shou'd bear the cross returns of Love?

Nem.
Ah Madam! now I find you're prejudic'd
To blast my hopes.

Princess C.
'Tis Reason, all calm Reason;
Nature affirms no violent thing can last,
I know't, I see't, ev'ry new Face that came
Wou'd charm you from me—Ha! and cou'd I Love
To see that Fatal day, and see you scorn me,
To hear the Ghost of Cleve each hour upbraid me;
No, 'tis impossible, with all my Passion,
Not to submit to these Almighty Reasons;
For this I brave your noblest Qualities,
I'll keep your Form at distance, curb my Soul,
Despair of Smiles and Tears, and Prayers and Oaths,
And all the Blandishments of Perjur'd Love:
I will, I must, I shall, nay, now I can,
Defie to Death the lovely Traytor Man.

Nem.
No. Madam, think not you shall carry't thus,
'Tis not allowable, 'tis past example,
'Tis most unnatural, unjust and monstrous;
And were the rest of Women thus resolv'd,
You wou'd destroy the purpose of Creation.
What, when I have the happiness to please,
When Heav'n and Earth combine to make us happy,
Will you defeat the aim of Destiny,
By most unparallel'd extreams of Vertue,
Which therefore take away its very Being?

Princess C.
Away, I must not answer, but conjure you
Never to seek occasion more to see me;
Farewel—'Tis past.

Nem.
I cannot let you go;
I'll follow on my Knees, and hold your Robe,
Till you have promis'd me that I shall see you,
To shew you how each day by slow degrees
I dye away: This you shall grant by Heav'n,
Or you shall see my Blood let out before you.

Princess C.
Alas! Nemours, O Heav'n! why must it be,
That I shou'd charge you with the death of Cleve?
Alass! why met we not e'er I engag'd
To my dead Lord? And why did Fate divide us?

Nem.
Fate does not, No—
'Tis you that cross both Fortune, Heav'n and Fate;
'Tis you obstruct my Bliss, 'tis you impose
Such Laws as neither Sense nor Vertue warrant.

Princess C.
'Tis true, my Lord, I offer much to duty,
Which but subsists in thought, therefore have patience,
Expect what time, with such a love as mine,
May work in your behalf; my Husband's death
So bleeding, fresh I see him in the Pangs;
Nay, look, methinks I see his Image rise.
And point an everlasting Separation;
Yet Oh! it shall not be without a Tear.

Nem.
O! stay.

Princess C.
Let go, believe no other Man
Cou'd thus have wrought me, but your self, to Love—

Nem.
Stay then.

Princess C.
I dare not—Think I love you still—

Nem.
I do—But stay and speak it o'er agen—

Princess C.
Believe that I shall love you to my death.

Nem.
I will. But live and love me.

Princess C.
Off, I charge you.
Believe this parting wounds me like the Fate
Of Cleve or worse: Believe, but Oh! farewel—

Nem.
Believe, but what? That last thought I implore.

Princess C.
Believe that you shall never see me more.

[Exit.
Enter the Vidam.
Vid.

Well, and how goes the Game? What, on the Knee, a gather'd
Brow, and a large dew upon it? Nay, than you are a looser.

Nem.
Didst thou see her pass?

Vid.
I did—she wrung me by the hand and sigh'd,
Then look'd back twice,
And totter'd on the threshold at the door.

Nem.

Believe that you shall never see me more—she Lyes, I'll Wager
my State, I Bed her eighteen months three weeks hence, at half an hour
past two in the Morning.

Vid.
Why Faith, and that's as exact as e'er an Astrologer of 'em all.

Nem.
Give me thy hand, Vidam, I know the Souls of
Women better than they know themselves;
I know the Ingredients just that make 'em up,
All to loose Grains, the subtlest volatile Atoms,
With the whole Mish-mash of their Composition.
Heark there without, the voice of Marguerite,
Now thou shalt see a Battle worth the gazing,
Mark but how easily my reason flings her,
And yet at last I'll swing into Friendship
Because I love her—

Enter Bellamore.
Bell.
The Princess—shall I stop her?

Nem.
No, let her come,
With flying Colours, and with beat of Drum—
Like the Fanatick, I'll but rub me down,
And then have at her, Vidam, stay you here—
By Heav'n I'm jealous of this changeable Stuff,
Therefore the hits will be the livelier o'both sides,
The Dauphin, but no more—she comes, she comes.

Enter Marguerite pushing Bellamore.
Marg.
Be gon, Villain, Devil, Fury, Monster of a Man.

Nem.
But hear me but six words in private.

Enter Poltrot, Celia.
Pol.

And I swear by this lascivious bit of Beauty, I will cleave to
my Celia for Better for Worse, in Searge, Grogrum or Crape, though a
Queen shou'd come in my way in Beaten Gold—

Nem.

What then, Gentlemen, I perceive there have been Wars at home—

Pol.

Not a Battle, my Lord, only a Charge, a Charge sounded or so.

Nem.

What was it a Trumpet, or through a Horn Sir?

Pol.

A Horn Sir, a Horn Sir, no Sir, 'twas not a Horn Sir—Only my
Celia was a little disdainful, but we are Friends agen Sir, and what then Sir?

Nem.

Come, come, all Friends, were Tournon here I wou'd forgive
her, a litte Scorn in a pretty Woman, so it be not too much affected, is a
Charm to new Friendship; therefore let each Man take his Fair one by
the hand, thus lay it to his Lips, and Swear a whole Life's Constancy—

St. A.

As I will to my Nelle, though I haule Cats at Sea, or cry Small-coal;
and for him that upbraids her, I'll have more Bobs, than Democritus
when he cry'd Poor-Jack. There's more Pride in Diogenes, or under
a Puritan's Cap, than in a King's Crown.

Nem.

For my part, the Death of the Prince of Cleve, upon second
thoughts, has so truly wrought a change in me, as nothing else but a Miracle
cou'd—For first I see, and loath my Debaucheries—Next, while I
am in Health, I am resolv'd to give satisfaction to all I have wrong'd;
and first to this Lady, whom I will make my Wife before all this Company
e'er we part—This, I hope, whenever I dye, will convince the
World of the Ingenuity of my Repentance, because I had the power to
go on.

He well Repents that will not Sin, yet can,
But Death-bed Sorrow rarely shews the Man.