 | The City-Ramble : or, A Play-house Wedding |  |
D. Garc.
Yes, Nephew, thour't my eldest Brother's Heir,
Thy Birth and Title both demand Respect from me:
But still, young Knight, I'd willingly reign Lord
Beneath this Roof. I am my own Family's Head.
Chev.
But with a Miser's Heart. How can you barter
Your beauteous Daughter's Happiness, all her Joys
Only for shining Dross!
D. Garc.
Look you, young Sir,
Once more I tell you I was born before you,
Tho' from a Line below you, and disdain
To be controul'd by Boys.
Chev.
That Boy thou own'st
His Birth is thy Superiour; and I am sure
My Soul's as far above thee, as high Heav'n
From thy own Element Earth—That Boy then shall be heard.
D. Garc.
If the bare Hearing, Sir, will please you,
Talk on, your Breath's your own.
Chev.
I'll cool that Breath,
And calmly reason.—If the honest Carlo
Has no Default but want of worldly Smiles
To bar him from your Lucia's Arms; look up
To my more shining Fortunes. Whilst your Lucia
Shall no less share my warmest Smiles. My Roof,
My Heart, my whole Estate divide between us.
D. Garc.
I thank you, Sir, for this kind Golden Vision.
But as your Soul so tow'rs above me, mine's
Too proud to wed my Daughter to Dependence.
Besides I have Bonds of Conscience to oblige me
To match her to this Count.
Chev.
How! Conscience, say you?
D. Garc.
Yes, if your Learning from the Fount of Rome
Has taught you Morals too: Judge you between us.
The good old Count, the Father to this Youth,
Call'd me t'his Death-bed side, and there bequeath'd
His Son to my Protection. And t'upraise
His Honourable Family's last Hope
And Name all center'd in that single Son;
At his Request before High Heav'n I promis'd him
My Girl shou'd wed his Son.
Chev.
What if you had promis'd
That you'd turn Wizard for him, wou'd your Conscience bind you
To make a League with Hell to keep your Word with him?
Unreasonable Contracts are all null'd,
Void, and expir'd even with the Breath that made them.
This Moral Rome has taught me, tho' not you, Sir—
The Morning calls me, and my Chariot waits
To drive me to my Villa.—Look, old Sir,
See that you treat your Daughter with Humanity,
Or by the Honour of my Veins I'll throw you
A Stranger from my Blood, and quite forget
There is that Wretch Don Garcia in the World.
[Exit.
D. Garc.
Have I advanced to th'highest City-Laurels,
An Honourable Magistrate! The Lord
Of Pow'r, Command, and Trust; and yet a Slave
In my own Family; my Veins controul me!
No, loud as this young Threat'ner Champions for her,
I will subdue this Rebel e'er I have done with her;
I'll bend her Heart or break it.
Sir, here are Officers of Justice at your Gate desire to bring
some Criminals before you.
D. Garc.
Admit them.
Enter an old Woman.
Old Wom.
An please your Worship, I have had my House dishonour'd,
the wicked Sin of Whoredom committed, an' please you, under my
vertuous Roof.
D. Garc.
Where are the Offenders! I'll hear you Face to Face.
Enter Count and Boy in Girls Habit, brought in as Prisoners, attended by Officers and Silvio.
Bless me! my Count! Well, Woman, which of these
Are the Dishonourers of your vertuous Roof.
[Enter Lucia in the Balcone.
Old Wom.
E'en this sweet Brace of Sinners, that fair Gypsy, and
this young Don.
Luc.
By this good Light, my Lover!
D. Garc.
My Daughter here, and stol'n t'her Closet-window!
Death! what a Tale will here be for her Ears!
[Aside.
Well, Woman, what have you to charge against them?
Old Wom.
My first Charge against them is, that I am a sober grave
Matron, an' please ye: That I have lived these fifty long Winters
in this Honourable City of Verona, an' please ye; and to say a proud
Word have kept as fair a Reputation as your Worship's own Mother,
an' please ye. And yesterday this young, and by her Looks, modest
Gentlewoman, took a Lodging at my House, an' please ye. And last
Night, the first and last she e'er shall sleep there, brought home this
young Don, her Honourable Kinsman, as she call'd him, an' please
ye. And I being a Religious good Woman, and going to my natural
Rest in a sober good Hour, little dreaming of any naughty Designs
between 'em: No sooner was my old Head lay'd, and my weak Eyes
closed, but by the wicked Instigation of the Flesh and the Devil, they
crept to Bed together, an' please ye—And rising betimes for my
Morning's Devotion, and peeping in as I went by her Chamber-door;
bless my Eyes, I saw that young Don sleeping and snoring as heartily
as a tired Traveller after a Pilgrimage, an' please ye: and that young
Jezabel as close to his side as two Twin-cherries, an' please ye—
Now for to see such woful Doings in my House, what did me I, but
run, and call'd in the City-Officers, an' please ye; and rowz'd 'em
from their wicked Bed of Sin to bring 'em to Justice, an' please ye,
for the Scandal put upon my honest House, an' please ye.
D. Garc.
You shall have Reparation, and they Justice.
Old Wom.
I humbly thank your Worship.
D. Garc.
Well, Count, what do you say to all this?
Silv.
Ay, worthy Sir, let the Don speak himself.
D. Garc.
Why, who are you that set up for a Counsellor?
Silv.
This wretched Creature's Father.
D. Garc.
'Troth I pity you.—
Well, Sir, you hear what things are charg'd upon you.
Count.
Charg'd upon me! udzooks, I kist this pretty sweet Rogue,
And I'll kiss her and kiss her again, and what's that to any body?
D. Garc.
If you are so free of your Kisses, pray give us the History
of this kissing Meeting between you.
Count.
Why so I can; do you think I am asham'd?
D. Garc.
No, I both see, and am sorry you are not.
Silv.
Ay noble Don, tell his Worship the whole Story.
Count.
Then the first Charge against me, I am a young Count
an' please you; and have been bred and born in this City of Verona
ever since my Lady Mother got me, an' please you; and 'tis well
known have behaved my self like a Man of Honour in the World,
from the first Day I came into it, an' please you; ay, and every body
loves me too, but the Puss your Daughter, an' please you; and
last Night some civil fine Gentlemen came to desire my sweet Company,
to take a Glass of Wine with 'em an' please you; and I being
a civil fine Gentleman, and a Lord, went along with 'em an' please
you—
D. Garc.
To a publick Tavern?
Count.
Ay, Sir, and then this honourable young Gentlewoman
came to that honourable old Gentleman her Father, an' please you;
and she look'd, and she look'd, and she look'd upon me, and found
me to be a pretty sweet Creature, and so she told me an' please you;
and I look'd as much upon her, and told her she was a pretty sweet
Creature an' please you; and then I kist her an' please you, and she
kist me an' please you, and then we both kist an' please you: Really,
if you'll believe me, she busses so lusciously, udzooks you may
keep your fusty Daughter these forty Years before you teach her to
buss half so prettily, an' please you.
No matter how backward my Daughter is in her Learning;
I see you are a very forward Scholar with this young Tutresses
good teaching. Well, and what follow'd this kissing Prologue?
Count.
Follow'd! why we drank this Lady's Health an' please you;
and we drank, and we drank, udzooks 'till my Head began to be a
little topsy versy. And would you believe it? this pretty sweet
Fubs took such pity of me (oh! 'tis a charitable Creature) that she'd
let me stay and drink no more, but most courteously offer'd me her
own dear Hand, and an honest Fellow with a sober Candle and Lanthorn
to lead me home, an' please ye.
D. Garc.
Very well. But how came it that this charitable Lady,
with neither the Light of her own fair Eyes, nor that sober Candle,
cou'd find the way to the noble Don's Home, but must drop with
you into her own Home, an' please you?
Count.
Oh Lord, Sir! Charity, mere Charity: Why she found me
in such a woeful pickle, that the poor thing was ashamed to carry
me home to Bed at my Lady Mother's.
D. Garc.
And so the poor thing modestly carryed you home to
her own Bed. 'Twas charitably done of her indeed.
Count.
Ay, did not I tell you so?
D. Garc.
Well, Don, and how did she treat you at this Home of
hers.
Count.
Oh most shumshously! gave me a noble Supper, and Kisses
whole Heaps of 'em; and sung me twenty pretty Songs; and promis'd
me o'er and o'er again to go to Bed with me.
D. Garc.
Ay, ay, and has as honestly kept her Word with you;
and so you went lovingly Hand in Hand to Bed together.
Boy.
Oh! dear Sir, do not put him to that Question,
'Twill make me die with Blushes. 'Tis enough;
I could deny him nothing, granted all
His warmest Love could ask. In those dear Arms.
[The Count and the Boy run together kissing and embracing.
D. Garc.
Tear 'em asunder.—This Impudence is unsufferable:
Sure they'll repeat their Lewdness before my Face.
[They are forced asunder.
Count.
How can you have the Conscience, when you see how the
poor thing loves me.
D. Garc.
Loves thee!—Look you, old Sir,
Hide if you can her Shame, teach her Repentance;
But see that these vile Wantons never meet again.
Silv.
They never shall.
D. Garc.
No, I'll take Care they shall not.
Here, take this Rover home safe to his Mother;
Keep you your Syren, and we'll keep our Cully.
Silv.
And for you, Daughter, I'll take Care—
Boy.
How, part us!
Was e'er poor Creature used so hard before?
Count.
And must I never, never see thee more.
Exeunt, forced out severally, manet only D. Garcia.
D. Garc.
What Chance, like this, could have conspired against me?
How will my Rebel Daughter triumph now?
But th'angry Stars, whose Malice I defie,
I stand resolv'd, not Fate more fix'd than I.
Enter Lucia below.
Well, my fair Spy, we have had your list'ning Ear.
Luc.
An Ear! my Ears, Eyes, ev'ry Sense about me
To be so entertain'd! My courtly Don
Brought Hero-like to dazle his young Mistress,
With this triumphant Equipage t'attend him.
D. Garc.
You rally wond'rous well. I see the Subject
Has made you witty.
Luc.
No Sir, 'tis a Matter
Too serious for such Levity. O think Sir,
To what Embraces you would force your Daughter.
Simplicity should bring at least a Dow'r
Of Love and Truth with it, if 'twere but only
To make the Fool go down. But, Sir, to link
A wretched Woman to an empty Libertine,
So light a Feather that each puff of Folly
Shall carry him to Taverns, Whores, and Lewdness.
Oh Sir! consider all the dreadful Consequences
Of such a fatal Match.
D. Garc.
His this Nights Folly,
The Sin of Wine, not vitiated Nature,
Nay, and the Work of Plot and Malice, claims
An honest Marriage Bed will cure this Folly.
Luc.
And so you want my innocent Arms of Love
To mend a guilty Fool.
D. Garc.
I want to mend
Thy own more shallow Weakness. How many Women
Of Wit as great as thine, and Birth beyond
Thy humble Veins, yet not thy squeamish Stomach,
Have call'd the Church-Man to say Grace, sat down
To a rich Fool of Honour, and thank'd Heaven for the Blessing.
Luc.
Yes, honest Fools, tame governable Animals,
Fools in their naked innocent Simplicity,
Things they could keep at home, and call their own,
Some of our condescending Sex have stoop'd to;
But a vile compound of half Fool, half Satyr,
Wild Rovers that shall run to lewd Debauches,
And bring home foul Diseases, are the Devil.
D. Garc.
You are very smart, young Mistress.
Luc.
So smart, that if the few fair Sweets I bring
Must be all sacrific'd to a loath'd Driveler,
I'd willingly carry my Load of Martyrdom whole to my Grave.
I ne'er was proud, Sir, of this little Beauty,
And yet I love this honest Face too well
To have it eaten up with Rot and Cankers,
Without one single Pleasure to deserve for't.
D. Garc.
How now, my witty One!
You talk of worldly Matters very learnedly,
My pert young Gossip.
Luc.
I'm turn'd of twenty, Sir,
And Women at my Years are all Philosophers.
D. Garc.
And Fathers at my Age are sovereign Lords,
Too proud to be controul'd by such young Rebels.
I tell you once for all, back to your Jayl again
This very Hour I'll send you; when your Eyes
Are open'd to see Reason, and accept
The Offers I have made, you may command
Your Prison-Keys, and my embracing Arms
To open to your Liberty.
I hope, Sir,
When you have lock'd me up you'll please to grant me
That fatherly kind Favour as to see me.
D. Garc.
To see thee!
Luc.
Yes,—As little as 'tis possible.
I would not willingly give my self the Horrour,
To look upon the very Veins I sprung from,
Transform'd to this Barbarian.
D. Garc.
You may flutter,
And rave, and beat your Cage: But I shall tame you.
Luc.
Not with an Idiot Husband.
D. Garc.
With that Husband,
Your Only, and your All; or from this Hour
Expect to see the Face of Man no more.
Luc.
Now, Sir, I'll thank you for this Act of Mercy.
You have given me my free Choice, and here I take it,
Never to see Man more. Now jayl me, shut me
From Light and Day: Still thro' my darkest Dungeon,
Whilst th'Eyes of my bright Soul can look abroad,
And tell me there's a Carlo in the World,
In vain you bar my Joys: 'Tis nobler starving
On a Cameleon Feast, even the mere Thought
Of the dear Man I love, than to die surfeited
On Stench and Carrion, the rank Dish you cater for me.
Now to my Jail, as soon, Sir, as you please;
But know, to your Confusion, Love's a Palm-Tree;
In vain your whole oppressive Arts conspire,
The weight that loads it makes it mount but higher.
[Exeunt.
| The City-Ramble : or, A Play-house Wedding | |