University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

The SCENE a Garden-Wall, with the Door open.
Enter Rinaldo and Viola.
Rinald.
My sweetest Viola, such Love—

Viol.
Speak softly;
For oh! should any prying Tell-tale Listner
Hear this stol'n Visit to my Father's Ear
We ne'er should meet again.

Rinald.
Yet we have met,
May our warm Eyes have met before his Face.
How often has he seen my firing Soul,
(For sure my Heart look'd through me)
Snatch a kind Glance from those fair Twins of Light
Uncheck'd and unrebuk'd? How has he trusted me
To lead thee forth to silent Bow'rs and Groves
Unguarded and alone. Though he durst trust
Thy Innocence, how cou'd he trust thy Charms?
Did he believe that either I had no Heart,
Or thou no Darts to wound it?

Viol.
He believed,
He knew it, suffer'd it.

Rinald.
And now to part us
How can he play this Tyrant!

Viol.
All are Tyrants
When once Ambition reigns. The Lover he has provided me
His shining Gold has his weak Eyes so dazled,
Till blind to Justice, Honour, all Humanity,
Not his Heart only, but his very Doors are lock'd against thee.
Can Love be bought and sold! Oh barbarous Avarice,
How many thousand Maids hast thou undone!

C. C. Wife.

Do you hear that, Mr. Common Council-Man, Avarice!
Avarice! Well this honest Play I see will read you a Lecture upon your
own Text, I hope, for your Conversion.

C. C. Man.

Hist; let the Play go on.

Rinald.
But, oh, my fairest, how will all thy Constancy
Bear the proud Insults of a daring Rival
Made bold by Pow'r, audacious by Authority,
Commission'd for thy daily Persecution
By a commanding Father?

Viol.
Bear it! Not at all.
I'll fly at once the Tyrants and the Tyranny,
Fly for Protection to thy Arms of Love.
Wilt thou receive me, shou'd I play the Run-away?

Rinald.
Say that again, sweet Life.

Viol.
Run from my Family,
My Father, Friends, nay, run from my own Honour;
(For Virgin-Wanderers bear a hard Name,)
And all to meet the Man this Heart can only love.

Rinald.
Has the wide World thy Equal!

Viol.
But quick, I must make haste.
I owe this short stol'n Meeting to the Umbrage
Of a Religious Aunt now walking in the Garden:
I left her in her Evening-Contemplations,
And must be back before her worldly Thoughts
Return and miss me.—Thus then I have projected:
You know my Mother sprung from Noble Veins;
And th'Honourable Lord my Grandfather
Left me a Legacy in Pearl and Jewels
Worth Twenty thousand Crowns. My Father's Keys,
Unjealous of a Theft from my young Innocence,
Lye in my Pow'r to steal. I'll to his Closet,
And seize the sparkling Treasure.

C. C. Man.
Here's fine Roguery.

Viol.
Not that I'll play the Thief and rob my Father;
I'll only take no more than what's all mine,
And what's all thine, my self.

Rinald.
This is such Goodness!

Viol.
At the Hour of Twelve to Night, at Twelve exactly,
At the next Corner to my Father's House
Be ready to receive me.—Our next meeting
Shall be to part no more.

[Exit into the Garden.
Rinald.
To part no more.
[Looks on his Watch.
Right to a Minute! Now but four short Hours
To a long Life of Joy,—one Life! A hundred.
We'll taste a Year of Pleasure in a Day,
And make a Life a whole long Train of Ages.
But in these towring Transports for my own
Exalted Blessings, let me cast an Eye
Of Pity down on my unhappy Brother.
Oh, Carlo! what tho' thine the younger Birth,
In Merits equal to the Eldest born,
Honest and brave; and what's more glorious still,
Thou lov'st as Honourably, yet so unequal
Th'Immortal Dispensations; what a Cloud
Darkens thy Head, and what warm Sun chears mine.

Enter Antonio.
Anton.
My dear Rinaldo!

Rinald.
My best Friend Antonio.

Anton.
How moves the Sphere of Love?

Rinald.
All Musick, Boy.
This Night exactly at the Hour of Twelve
The lovely Eyes steal forth.

Anton.
What; a fair Wanderer!

Rinald.
Yes, Friend, to brighten this auspicious Night
Beyond the poorer Cynthia's borrow'd Beams:
That orient Star will shoot into these Arms.

Ant.
All Joy to your good Fortune. And to heighten
These Joys, I have a Plot, if my Art fails me not,
Will give a fair home push for the restoring
Your drooping Brother's Joys too.

Rinald.
The poor Carlo!
That will be kind indeed.

Anton.
To a Tavern hard by
We have lured out his rich Coxcomb-Rival.

Rinald.
Excellent.

Anton.
The Managers who have him in their Hands
Are all my faithful Tools. A Knavish Boy of mine
I have sent out to rig up for a Miss for him.
Thou shalt along, and lend thy helping Hand,
And by the way I'll tell thee the whole Project.

Rinald.
What; to a Tavern!

Anton.
Ay, thou hast four Hours good.
And less than half that time do's our whole Work.

Rinald.
But still, to a Tavern! Dost thou know my Weakness?
I dare not trust that mortal Poysoner Wine.
My least bold Launch into that cursed Juice
Transforms me to a Beast, strips all my Reason,
And fires me to a Madman.

Anton.
Fie, Rinaldo,
Ben't frighten'd at a Shadow! Drink? I hate it
As much as thou: It makes a Beast of me too.
Let your wild Tramontanes, your Belgick Boars
And German Swine love wallowing; we'll have none on't.
We'll only push about an innocent Glass:
Our Tavern-business is to load the Fool,
To gorge that shallow Monster down, and make him
The Tool I want of him—Thou, and I drink!—
No, my Rinaldo.

Rinald.
But my Fears—

Anton.
All Bugbears.
I tell thee thou shalt slip the Glass, drink any thing,
Drink nothing,—come along—

Rinald.
On these Conditions.

Anton.
Any Conditions. 'Tis to serve a Brother.
Thy generous Assistance in his Cause
Will bless thee in thy own.

Rinald.
Well, thou hast conquer'd me.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to a Street.
Enter Carlo and Boy in Girls Cloaths.
Carlo.

Troth, my young Varlet, thou becom'st thy Petticoats extremely
well.

Boy.

Ay, Sir, or my Glass lyes. [Looking in a Pocket-glass.]
Look ye,
Sir, Here's a Face carries as tempting a Lure, as if I had been stamp'd
in the fair cozening Mould. Not the errantest Gypsy of the Sex beyond
me.

Carlo.

Nay, Boy, at the rate thou talk'st, thou hast not only borrow'd
the Face, but the Vanity of the fair Sex too.

Boy.
Vain, or not vain, ne'er fear, I'll do the Work for you.
I shall find Charms enough, I warrant ye, to conquer
That thin-soul'd Animal, your doubty Rival.
But, Sir, I must be gone. The Cabal stay for me.

Carlo.
Ay, Boy, and take this Earnest of my Favour
T'encourage thy Performance.

[Gives him Money.
Boy.
I humbly thank you, Sir.

[Bowing.
Carlo.
A Bow! A Curt'sy, ye young Rogue.

Boy.
No, by no means, Sir.
My natural Duty to my noble Master.
[Bowing.
I keep my Curt'sies for the Fool your Rival.

[Curt'sying
Carlo.
Well, speed your Plot.

Boy.

A Piece of Gold! Well, I shall set up for a Miss, I begin
with one part of her Trade the fing'ring of Money already.

[Exit.
Carlo.
Debarr'd all Hopes of making my Accesses
By open Steps to my fair Lucia's Arms,
Oh Love, forgive me when in thy great Cause
I play this humble Game.

Enter Chevalier and Servants in Livery.
Chev.

Drive to my Guardian Uncle's, and prepare him for my
Reception.

[Exeunt Servants.
Carlo.
Ha! the young Honourable Chevalier,
My Master's Nephew!

Chev.
Honest Carlo!

Carlo.
Welcome to your own native Air.

Chev.
Yes, my good Friend,
Not tied too close a Slave to Books and Tutors,
I have made this Trip from Rome's Imperial Vatican,
My haughty School-Mistress, to fair Verona,
My humbler Cradle-Nurse.

Carlo.
To pay a Visit
To your kind Uncle-Guardian.

Chev.
Yes, and make
One farther Country-step down to the Villa
That calls me Lord, there to doal round my Smiles
Amongst my Rustick Vassals.

Carlo.
Your warm Presence
Amongst those Homagers will cherish where it shines.
Well, Chevalier, in all your learned Nutriture
Suck'd from the Breast of that illustrious Mother,
How do you like the World's proud Beauty, Rome?

Chev.
I have survey'd her with the Eye of Wonder.
Oh, Rome! would some bold Painter, thy own Angelo,
Or thy fam'd Raphael, draw thee to the Life.
Here Shirts of Hair-cloth graced with Copes of Gold:
There Pomp in Penance; nay ev'n Cells in Palaces.
Thy Lights and Shades thus beautifully mix'd,
Thou'rt all one Princely Scene of proud Humility.

Car.
I see, young Student, you are grown up an Orator.

Chev.
An Orator! Not on this Subject, Carlo.
I have not seen the Glories of New Rome
With half the Pleasure I have read the Monuments
Of the more glorious Old one; She whose Arm
Held the universal Reins, and drove the World;
How has my very Soul glow'd with the Stories
Of her immortal Heroes!

Carlo.
If thy Breast
Has caught that noble Warmth from shining Honour,
How hast thou stood the Charms of brighter Beauty?
Say; hast thou felt Love yet?

Chev.
Faith, Carlo, no.
I have seen gay Courts, seen all the Roman Beauties,
Whole Constellations of the Fair, untouch'd
Ev'n with one single Dart from their whole Quivers.
Not that I am Shot-free, or desire to be so.
No, Carlo, with ten thousand Crowns a-Year,
That fair Inheritance, a brisk young Fellow;
Nay, and bred up t'old fashion'd Honour too,
A Soul above a wanton Syren's Arms;
I want a Shaft from some bright Eyes of Honour
To strike this Virgin-heart, want a fair Partner
To share my Joys of Life, and Smiles of Fortune.

Carlo.
Cherish those vertuous Thoughts, and trust in Providence
To find thy yet unconquer'd Heart a fair one,
Shall crown thy Life with Blessings.

Chev.
Troth, good Carlo,
Had I but half thy easy Master's Faith
In Fortune-tellers, Dreams, and airy Visions,
(As I thank Heav'n, I have not,) I should tell thee
A very melancholy Tale of Blessings
Reserv'd by Fate for me.

Carlo.
Prithee, what Tale?

Chev.
I'll tell thee. Early e'er I wak'd this Morning,
I dreamt I met the most Angelick Creature
That ever made Man happy, or Man miserable.
Nay, in a Country Cot I met this Wonder.
I lov'd her, woo'd her. But, alas, th'invincible
With all the generous Pity she return'd me
Her plighted Faith all seal'd before, cou'd neither
Give me her Heart, nor I retrieve my own.
For, oh! in her too fatal Fetters bound,
I wore them to a Grave, and died to break 'em.

Carlo.
A melancholy Tale indeed!

Chev.
Nay, Carlo,
I had not travell'd two short Leagues from Rome
Before a grizly Hermit stopp'd my Chariot,
Told me the whole inevitable Fate
To which my Country-Journey drove, repeating
All the same Tale my Dream had told before.

Carlo.
These Circumstances look a little odly.

Chev.
Well, if there be that Beauty in the World,
That one yet unseen Phœnix of the Sex
Able to work these wond'rous Feats upon me,
I shall believe the Miracle when I see it.—
But hist—The Night grows on, and my good Uncle
Will wonder at my stay. Come, wilt thou hand me to him.

Carlo.
I! Alas, his Doors are barr'd against the banish'd Carlo!

Chev.
How! Banish'd! Prithee, Man, for what!

Carlo.
A Crime unpardonable! I have aspired
To love his beauteous Daughter.

Chev.
My sweet Cousin Lucia!
And do's she love thee, Carlo!

Carlo.
Do I live, Sir?
Without her Love I cannot.

Chev.
By my Life
I honour the kind Girl. I am sure thou merit'st her;
And if my Interest with thy cruel Master
Can do thee Service, here's my Hand I'll set up
A Champion in thy Cause.

[Exit.
Carlo.
Alas, sweet Youth! against this barb'rous Father
His Heart of Flint thy frank and open Pow'r
Will prove too weak to carry the Attack:
I must find deeper Mines this Rock to shake.

[Exit.
The SCENE opens and discovers Rinaldo, Antonio, Silvio, and Count as in a Tavern, each with a Bumper of Wine, Drawers attending.
Anton.

Come, all in a Volley.

Rinald.

Present!

Silv.

Give Fire!

[They all drink and Huzza.
Count.

Huzzee! Well this huzzeeing is very pretty Sport, only
these Bumpers are such naughty Things.

Anton.

Oh fie, Don; we give you your Glass as we give you our
Souls, brim full. Our Love flows o'er like our Wine, Noble Count.

Rinald.

Ay, Faith, young Lord, we love you better than your
Mistress.

Count.

Better than she loves one! Ay, she don't love me at all.

Anton.

Not love thee! 'Tis impossible. Not love a fine young
Spark with such a Shape.

Rinald.

And such a Face!

Silv.

Such Beauty!

Anton.

Such Charms!

Count.

Ay, my Lady Mother tells me I am very handsom.

Rinald.

And don't this cruel Creature love a Youth so pretty!

Anton.

Ay, and so witty too!

Silv.

So sharp!

Rinald.

So, ingenious!

Count.

Nay hold, Gentlemen—Not too much of your Sharps.
My wife Lady Mother bid me never bear my self too much upon my
Wit. I am a Lord, and am worth Five hundred thousand Crowns,
And had no occasion for Wit. Let your poor Rogues boast of their
Wits, who have nothing else to live by.

Rinald.

Ay, marry! now you speak like an Oracle. What's flashy
Wit to massy Gold, dear Boy?

Anton.

But still this senseless foolish Girl not love thee!

Count.

Love me! Why she can't endure the sight of me; but roars,
And bauls, and spits, and squauls. But that a Man may see she's a
woman by her Petticoats, udzooks she talks to me more like a Cat
than a Christian.

Anton.

Oh abominable!

Rinald.

A Mistress! A Monster! Talk no more of her, she is not
worth thy Thought.

Count.

Ay, but I must think of her whether I will or no. Here's
My Lady Mother has sent me a purpose to think of her and no body
else. And here's an old doating Father of hers so woundily in Love
with me, and so stark staring mad for me for a Son-in-law, that he's
for putting us together to bed nouluns voluns, as they call it: And if I
shan't Grace enough to behave my self like a sober good Christian,
udz daggers, I believe he'll force me to ravish his Daughter.

Rinald.

And must the coy Puss be ravish'd! A Rape! A Halter!

Anton.

Ay hang her, Brute, hang her! And e'en too good for her!

Silv.

No, drown her, Boy, drown her in a hearty full Bowl of
thy happy Deliverance from her.

Count.

My happy Deliverance from her! Udzooks, I'll drink a
double Bumper to that Health.

Rinald.
Ay, that's a Health worth drinking.

Anton.
Ay, fill round, Rascals.

A SONG by Antonio and Silvio.
Ant.

Silv.

Ant.

Silv.

Chor.


And so to the Noble Don's Deliverance.

[They all drink.
Count.

I don't know, Gentlemen, methinks the Candles all of a
sudden fall a twinkling so strangely: And the Room begins to dance
round me.

Anton.

Ay, Don, get but loose from this young Barbarian, and
every thing will dance round thee for the Joy of that blest Deliverance.

Enter a Drawer.
Draw.

Here's a young Lady desires to speak with her Father
Don Silvio.

Silv.

My Daughter, Gentlenen, Bring her up, Sirrah.

Enter Boy in Girls Cloaths.
Boy.

I hope, worthy Gentlemen, you'll excuse my Blushes for this
Boldness. But a Father's Commands are absolute.

[They all rise and salute the Boy.
Rinald.

Oh, sweet Lady! never blush at this high Favour done to
our most humble Servant.

Anton.

Oh, fie, Noble Don! Where's your Civility to the young
Lady.

Count.

And may I be so bold, forsooth?

Silv.

Bold? She's my Daughter, Noble Don, and my humble
veins will be proud of that high Honour.

[The Count salutes her.
Count.

A rare Girl!

Rinald.

Well, sweet Lady, since smiling Fortune throws so fair a
blessing amongst us, with your kind Father's Leave we must beg the
honour of you to take a Seat with us.

Silv.
Ay, Girl, sit down.

Boy.
Where will you please to place me!

Silv.
Next this young Noble Lord.

Count.
Ay, Madam, I am a Count.

Boy.
Yes, my dear Father, here's Modesty and Honour in this Face,
And here I best dare trust my self.

Count.
Sweet Creature!

[They all sit.
Anton.
Nay, Madam, you could never honour us
With your sweet Company in a kinder Minute,
So but to join us with your tender Pity
Of this young Don's Misfortunes.

Boy.
How! Misfortunes!
Is there one angry Star can cast a Frown
upon this Darling!

Rinald.
Alas, he's forc'd by a harsh Mother's Commands
To offer up his Heart to that most barbarous Woman!—

Boy.
Barbarous to whom? To this young fine sweet Gentleman!

Count.

Young, fine, sweet Gentleman! How long would it be before
my Puss of a Miss wou'd say such fine Things to one!

Boy.
I hope, dear Don, these Gentlemen do but jest,
as there that cruel Creature in the World, can be unkind to Thee!

Count.

Unkind! Why she's a mere Tyger to me, calls me as many
hard Names as there are Stars in the Sea: Flies open-mouth'd upon
me as furious as a Lamb upon a Lion.

Boy.
Oh horrid, horrid! Has she a Heart of Flesh!
Is she a Woman! Has she Eyes, and can she
Look on such Youth, such Honour and such Sweetness,
And feel not one soft Touch! I am sure my Heart,
My gentle Heart cou'd never stand the Pow'r
Of all thy conqu'ring Charms.

Count.

Oh, dear sweet Rogue! I protest I can't forbear—These
Honey-words do so melt in my Mouth, that I vow I must buss thee
once more. [Kisses her.]
Udzooks, she kisses like a little Cherubim.

Rinald.

Ay, Noble Don, this civil dear Creature can use a Gentleman
a little like a Christian, and so kiss her again.

Count.

Zooks, and so I will.

[Ruffles her.
Silv.

Ay, Noble Sir, kiss my Daughter and welcome.

Count.
[Kissing again.]

Udzooks, she ravishes me!

Anton.

Well, Don, what if we drink the Lady's Health?

Count.

This sweet Puggy's Health! Udzoons, it shall go round
three Bumpers in a Hand, and no body shall drink it but my self.
And so some Wine, Sirrah, some Wine.

Rinald.

Ay, here's some Musick in this.

Count.

Here, Noble Lass, here's a Health to thee from the very
Top to the Bottom of thee; from the Pinacle of thy Quoif to the Tip
of thy Smicket. Udzooks, thy Busses do so inspire me that I begin
to grow witty.

[Drinks off a Bumper, and staggers.

How my Head swims! I am half Seas over, and I'll sail upon a Bottle
to Shore.

Boy.

Oh, fie, Gentlemen, what have you done; made the dear
Man drink too much.

Count.

Drink! who cares for Drink! One Buss is worth forty Bumpers!

Boy.

You don't know what harm you have done the poor Creature;
I protest, Gentlemen, he shall stay no longer in your Company!
Come, dear Don, thou shalt leave these naughty Men. I have a Servant
with a Candle at the Door, and I'll lend thee my Hand to lead
thee home to Bed.

Count.

And wilt thou lead me home, and see me Pig in my Straw,
sweet Fubs?

Boy.

Lead thee! Ay, were it forty Miles. With a Friend to the
World's End.

Count.

Say'st thou so! Come along, Girl, and, let my old Miss
Monster hang her self.

Puss, Puss, scratching Cat-Puss,
Take your own Garters, and fairly go truss.

[Exeunt.
Anton.

So; Business go's on rarely. Let the young Rogue alone
to manage the rest of the Plot—But, Sirrah, what's a Clock?

Draw.

By our House-Tattler exactly Three quarters past Ten.

Rinald.

Right, to a Second.

[Looking on his Watch.
Anton.

So, we have one full Hour and better for managing thy
Matters. What if we adjourn to the next Room? Now I remember
me, that fronts the Corner-house, where thy Mistress must come.
We'll just take one sober Glass to the Consummation of thy Felicity,
and then start fair, Boy.

Gay Friends may laugh, and the brisk Bottle move:
But all the mighty Work of Life is Love.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to a Street.
Enter Boy and Count met by Carlo in a Cloak, and a Man with a Lanthorn.
Count.
Puss, Puss, fairly go truss.

Carlo.
So, all goes well; yonder they come. Dear Rogue!

[To the Boy.
Boy.
I have him safe, no Wedlock Noose tied faster.

[Aside to Carlo.
Carlo.

But, hush, I must keep Distance; the Fool knows me.
Lend your Hand, Sirrah.

[The Man with the Lanthorn goes to the Count.
Boy.

Oh, barbarous Creatures! to use a poor Gentleman so unmercifully.

Count.

Hush, hush, all's well. I'll hold by thy Apron-strings, and
walk as uprightly as a Judge.

Boy.
Alas, dear Don, I dare not carry thee home to thy Lady-Mother,
'Twou'd break her poor Heart to see thee in this Condition.
No; I'll take thee Home with me to my Lodging.

Count.
Hee, poor Thing!

Boy.
And thou shalt sleep in my nown Bed, Deary.

Count.
And wilt thou sleep by me, pretty Mopsy?

Boy.
No, I'll watch by thee, sit like a Cupid by thy side,
And sing thee twenty pretty Songs of Love.

[Here the Boy sings.
Count.

O Limini! What rare Musick shall I have! and so pretty
a Fidler too.

Boy.
Now, Sir, be you prepar'd to make all safe.

Carlo.
Ay, Boy, the Fool in Drink, no Satyr ranker
Ply him with Wine and Wantonness; and when
The Swine quite drown'd in Swill, thou hast safely roosted him,
Long e'er he wakes ne'er fear to slip to Bed to him,
I'll have my Mirmidons of Justice ready
To rouze him from his drunken Nest, and shew him
The Syren by his side without discovering
The false or the true Miss.

Boy.
I have my Lesson.

Count.
Where, where's the Wench!—

Boy.
Here, my dear Count.

Count.
Sweet Pug.

Exeunt. Manet only Carlo.
Carlo.
As firm as he has resolv'd to sacrifice
His beauteous Daughter to this Driveler's Arms
I'll try to shake this cruel Father, give him
That ruful Picture of his darling Blockhead
Shall fright him into Mercy. Yes, fair Lucia,
When the keen Fool aspires to no less Prey
Than thy sweet Charms, 'tis time our Snares to lay:
Like Traps for Vermine 'tis but all fair Play.

[Exit.
C. C. Wife.

And how do you like Matters, Hubby?

C. C. Man.

Monstrously well. The Author has been profoundly ingenious
to make this Carlo and Rinaldo Brothers.

C. C. Wife.

And why not Brothers?

C. C. Man.

Ay, ay, what should they be else! Both Brethren in the
same Iniquity! Gentlemen of Honour and Lovers! Rakes and Scoundrels!
A Brace of downright Owlers! Both for setting up false Colours,
and launching out at midnight, only to make stol'n Prize of two honest
Men's Daughters. Ay, poor Innocents, that's all.

C. C. Wife.

All! Ay, and little enough to do the young Things Reason.
If the old ones are such blind Fools, as not to see where they
may dispose of their Children happily, the young ones (bless their Eyesight)
have Wit enough to do it for 'em.

The SCENE changes. Enter Viola in a Night-Gown (with a Key in one Hand, and a Casket in the other,) at a Garden-Gate which she locks after her.
Viol.
“The Night is terrible, and I enclosed
“With what my Vertue and my self hate most
“Darkness. Were it by Day I am bold enough:
“But then a thousand Eyes warn me from going.
“Why might not Heav'n have made
“A time for envying prying Folks to sleep
“Whilst Lovers met, and yet the Sun have shone?
“Yet I was bold enough to steal these Keys
“Out of my Father's Chamber, and dare yet
“Venture upon my Enemy the Night,
“Arm'd only with my Love to meet my Friend.
“Alas, how valiant, and how 'fraid at once
“Love makes a Virgin—Stay, this little Casket,
With its rich Cargo, I must hide from sight.
[Puts it in her Pocket.
And this more humble Habit best secures me
From dang'rous gazing Eyes. “Farewel my Place of Birth:
[Throws the Keys over the Wall
“For thee I'll see no more. Ye Houshold Gods!
If such there be, from you I must remove
For now my only Guardian Pow'r is Love.

[Exit.
The SCENE opens, and discovers a Table, with Wine, Bottles, &c. confused. Antonio, Rinaldo, and Silvio standing drunk with Drawers attending them, with Flasks, and another with a Light.
Silv.

Come, noble Captain, thou shalt lead the Van, our valiant
Generalissimo.

Anton.

Ay, Boy, and march before us, as big as little Cæsar, or
Great Alexander.

Rinald.
Cæsar and Alexander! Roysters, mere Roysters!
A brace of Bullies, huff'd, talk'd big, and roar'd,
And so they drove the Coward World before 'em.
What said the good old Clytus, sober Clytus?
Give me Greek Wine—fill, fill it up a Bumper.
[The Drawer fills to 'em.
Here, here's a Health to a greater Man than Alexander.

All.
To a greater Man than Alexander!

[All drink.
Rinald.

But what think you of the noble Alexander, when he pick'd
up a Whore, drank Confusion to Sobriety, and set a whole Town
o'fire to light 'em to Bed together?

Sil.

“Pick up a Whore!

Anton.

“Who's that talks of Whores? A good Whore were worth
Money, Boys.

Rinal.

“Ay, where are they? where are the Wenches?

Anton.

“Drawer.

Draw.

“Here, Sir.

Anton.

“Can you procure—

Draw.

“What, Sir.

Anton.

“A Whore or two, or three, as need shall serve, Boy.

Draw.

“I protest, Sir, we are altogether unprovided.

Anton.

“The more's the pity, Boy; can't you 'vise us where,
my Child?

Silv.

“Ay, Rascal, do you keep no Whores? no good Members?

Draw.

“Whores, Sir?

Anton.

“Ay, Whores; do you think we come to lie with your
Hogsheads?

Rinal.

“I must beat the Watch, I have long'd for it these three
Weeks.

Anton.

“We'll beat the Town too, an' thou wilt. We are proof,
Boy, shall we kill any Body?

Rinal.

“No; but we'll hurt 'em dangerously.

Anton.

“Now must I kill one; I can't avoid it. Boy, easily afore
there with your Candle.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes. Enter Viola.
Viol.
“This is the Place, I have out-told the Clock
“For haste—He is not here—Rinaldo—No—
“Now every Pow'r that loves and is belov'd
“Keep me from Shame to Night. I cannot back:
“I threw the Key within.—But oh Rinaldo!
“Sure thou wilt come; thou must. If thou deceivest me,
“What Woman will e'er trust a Man again.

Anton.
[within]
“Thou art overlong at thy Pot Don John,
“Thou art overlong at thy Pot, Don.

Viol.
“Bless me! Who's that?

Silv.
[within.]
Phooh!

Rinald.
[within]
There, Boys.

Viol.
“Darkness, be thou my Cover, I must fly:
“To thee I haste for Help. They have a light;
“Wind, if thou lov'st a Virgin, blow it out.

Enter Antonio, Rinaldo, Silvio, and a Drawer with Flambeaus.
Rin.
Boy!

Draw.
“Sir!

Rin.
“Why, Boy!

Draw.
“What say you, Sir?

Rin.
“Boy, art thou drunk, Boy?

Draw.
“What wou'd you, Sir?

Anton.
“Ay, that's the point.

Draw.
“Why, Sir, you'll be at your Lodgings presently.

Rinal.
“I'll go to no Lodgin

Draw.
“Whither will you go then?

Anton.
“We'll go no farther.

Draw.
“For Heav'n's sake, Gentlemen, don't stay here all Night.

Anton.

“No more we will not, Boy.—Lay me down, and rowl
me to a Whore.

Silv.

“And me to another.

Rinal.

“Ay, there's some sense in that; we are too sober for civil
Womens Company.

Viol.

“That is Rinaldo—Rinaldo

Rinal.

“What's that, Boy?

Draw.

“'Tis a Wench, Sir; pray, Gentlemen, come away.

Viol.

“Oh my dear Love! how dost thou?

Rinal.

“Faith, Sweetheart, e'en as thou seest.

Silv.

“A Wench!
“Where's this Wench?

Viol.

“Speak softly, for the Love of Heaven.

Draw.

“Mistress, get you gone, and don't entice the Gentlemen,
now you see they are drunk, or I'll call the Watch, and lay you
fast enough.

Viol.

“Alas! what are you? And what do you mean?
Sweet Love, where, where's the Place?

Rinal.

“Marry sweet Love, e'en here, and so lie down.

Viol.

“Oh frightful [Antonio and Silvio seize her.]
Good Heaven,
what mean you?

Silv.

“I'll have the Wench.

Anton.

“If you can get her.

Silv.

“Let go the Wench.

Anton.

“Let you go the Wench.

Viol.

“Oh! Gentlemen, as you had Mothers—

Rinal.

They had no Mothers, they are Sons of Whores.

Anton.

You lie, my Mother was a civil Woman, and had a Husband
as sober a Man as my self.

Rinal.
“Who gives the Lie?

[Draws.
Silv.
“Ay, the Lie, Rascal!

[He and Antonio draw.
Viol.
“Oh! bless me, Heaven.

Anton.
“How many is there on's?

Rinal.
“About five.

Anton.
“Why then let's fight three to three.

Silv.
“Content.

[They push at random, and fall down.
Draw.
“The Watch! the Watch! the Watch! Where are you?

[Ex.
Rinal.
“Where are these Cowards?

Anton.
“Where's the Whore?

Silv.
“Oh!

Rinal.
“I mist you narrowly there.

Viol.
Oh let me fly from this wild Herd of Savages:
“And thou dear Heaven I know not what to ask thee.
“My State is such I want a Prayer fit for me.
But let my pityed Sex your Mercy move,
That never Maiden more may be in love.

[Exit.
Enter Corrigidore, Drawer and Watch.
Corr.
“Where are they, Boy?

Draw.
“Make no such haste; they are no Runners.

Corr.
What! my good Friend Antonio!

Anton.
Your Friend! you lie, I'm no Friend to Nightwalkers.

Draw.

“Come, Gentlemen, never trouble your selves to talk with
them, they are past Sense to answer you; but lend 'em your helping
Hands to raise 'em.

Draw.

Now you are up, Sir, will you go to Bed.

[They raise him.]
Anton.

“I'll truckle here, Boy: Give me another
Pillow.

Draw.

“Will you stand up then, and let me lay it on?

Ant.

“Yes.

Draw.

“There, hold him two of you.—Now they are up,
move forwards.

Rinal.

“And this way and that way, Tom.

Silv.

“And here away, and there away, Tom.

All.

“Thou art over-long at thy Pot, Don John.

Rinal.

“Lead valiantly, sweet Midnight Magistrates. Whoop-ha,
Boys!

Corr.

“This Wine hunts in their Heads.

Rinal.

“Give me the Bill; for I'll be the Serjeant.

[Snatches Staff.]
Corr.

“Look to him, Sirs.

Rinal.

“Keep your Ranks, you Rascals, keep your Ranks.

[Exeunt.
C. C. Wife.

Well, how do you like this Crew of Madmen?

C. C. Man.

Oh! well enough; Drunkenness is its own Looking-Glass
And the very Picture of the Sin is half enough to convert the Sinner.
I find no Fault in the Representation of that Vice upon the Stage.

C. C. Wife.

No, 'tis your Jilts and your Gypsies, your Wantons and
your Libertines, that the loose Scriblers of this Age dress up so lovely
is the crying Shame of the Stage, but I hope you'll find no such in this
Play.

C. C. Man.

No; if I did I should soon be upon the Bones of 'em.