University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

Enter Valerio and Viola.
Val.
“We are now near home, and whilst our Horses are
“Walk'd down the Hill, this foot-way is more pleasant,
“'Tis a Time, pretty One, not to be wept away,
“For every living thing is full of Love:
“Art not thou so too? Ha!

Viol.
“Nay, there are living things insensible of Love,
“Or I had not been here: But for my self,
“Alas! I have too much.

Val.
“It cannot be
“That so much Beauty, so much Youth and Grace
“Should have too much of Love.

Viol.
“Pray what is Love?
“For I am full of that I do not know.

Val.
“Why Love, fair Maid, is an extreme Desire
“That's not to be examin'd, but fulfill'd.
“To ask the Reason why thou art in love,
“Or what might be the noblest End in Love,
“Would overthrow that kindly rising Warmth,
“That many times slides gently o'er the Heart,
“'Twould make thee grave and staid: thy Thoughts wou'd be
“Like a thrice married Widow, full of Ends,
“And void of all Compassion. And to fright thee
“From such Enquiry, whereas thou art now
“Living in Ignorance, mild, fresh and sweet,
“And but sixteen, the knowing what Love is
“Would make thee six and forty.

Viol.
“Would it would make me nothing. I have heard
“Scholars affirm the World's upheld by Love,
“But I believe Women maintain all this,
“For there's no Love in Men.

Val.
“Yes, in some Men.

Viol.
“I know 'em not.

Val.
“Why, there is Love in me.

Viol.
“There's Charity, I'm sure, towards me.

Val.
“And Love; which I will now express, my pretty Maid.
“I dare not bring thee home; my Wife is fowl,
“And therefore envious; she is very old,
“And therefore jealous: Thou art fair and young,
“A Subject fit for her unlucky Vices
“To work upon. She never will endure thee.

Viol.
“Oh! fear not, Sir, the Friendship I shall hold with you
“Can she endure, I shou'd be thankful to you. May I pray
“For you and her? Will she be brought to think
“That all the honest Industry I have
“Deserves her Bread? If this may be endur'd,
“She'll pick a Quarrel with a sleeping Child
“E'er she fall out with me.

Val.
“But trust me, she does hate all handsomeness.

Viol.
“How fell you then in Love with such a Creature?

Val.
“I never lov'd her.

Viol.
“And yet married her!

Val.
“She was a rich one.

Viol.
“And you swore, I warrant ye,
“She was a fair One then too?

Val.
“Or believe me
“I think I had not had her.

Viol.
“Are you Men
“All such? Would you wou'd wall us in a Place
“Where all we Women that are innocent
“Might live together.

Val.
“Do not weep at this;
“Although I dare not, for some weighty Reason,
“Displease my Wife, yet I forget not thee.

Viol.
“What will you do with me?

Val.
“Thou shalt be plac'd
“At my Man's House, have the best Food and Rayment
“As can be bought with Money. These white Hands
“shall never learn to work; but they shall play
“As thou sayst they were wont, teaching the Strings
“To move in Order; or what else thou wilt.

Viol.
Oh dear Sir! do not talk of Sloth nor Vanities,
But let my Labour get me means to live.

Val.
But if, my pretty One, I shou'd receive thee
To a more hospitable Roof, good Deeds
Will pay themselves, and such I must esteem
My generous Reception of such Sweetness,
Beyond the menial Service thou canst do me,
Thou wilt not be ungrateful to so kind
A Benefactor.

Viol.
Be ungrateful! No.
That Sin my Soul yet never knew.

Val.
“Then give me
“Some Tryal of thy Gratitude. I believe
“We are alone; shew me how thou wilt kiss,
“And hug me hard, when I have stol'n away
“From my too clamorous Wife that watches me,
“To spend a blessed Hour or two with thee.

Viol.
“Is this the Love you mean? you wou'd have that
“Is not in me to give; you wou'd have Wantonness.

Viol.
“Nay, give it not so harsh a Name; but such
“Is the warm Love I want.

Viol.
“And by my Troth
“I have it not.—For Heav'ns sake use me kindly;
“Though I be good, and shew perhaps a Monster,
“As this World goes.

Val.
“I do but speak to thee:
“Thy Answers are thy own—I compel none;
I must confess, all the whole Charity
I have this Day shewn thee had no other Ends
But to possess the Sweets I had preserv'd.
“Alas! What Profit could thy Work do me?
No; the soft melting Joys of Love in those
Dear Arms were all my Hopes; but not forced from thee,
No, with thy own Consent.

Viol.
“I give you Thanks
“For all your Courtesies, and there's a Jewel
“That's worth the taking, that I did preserve
“Safe from the Robbers. Pray you leave me here
“Just as you found me, a poor Innocent,
“And Heav'n will bless you for it.

Val.
“Pretty Maid,
“I am no Robber, nor yet Ravisher;
“I prithee keep thy Jewel. I have done
“No Wrong to thee.

Viol.
No, Sir, nor think of doing it;
You have done too much already, ev'n in breathing
Such impure Sounds to Ears so chast as mine.
Look round you, Sir, behold yon' Streaks of red,
The crimson Skies around the setting Sun,
And think it ev'n the very Blush of Heav'n
To have heard such Words as these.

Val.
This charming Innocence
Has touch'd my Soul so near, that here I leave thee
With both our Vertues safe. Nor dares my Roof
Receive the kindling Flames thou woud'st bring there.
“No, from thy sight my rescued Honour flies:
“I dare no longer trust such dangerous Eyes.

[Exit.
Viol.
“What have I scaped! Can Men be such strange Creatures!
“Woman, they say, was only made of Man.
“Methinks 'tis strange they shou'd be so unlike.
“It may be all the best was cut away
“To make the Woman, and the bad was left
“Behind with him.—I'll sit me down, and weep.
“All Things have cast me from 'em, but the Earth.
“The Evening comes, and every little Flow'r
“Droops now as well as I.—But see, kind Heav'n
Pities the Innocent. Yonder I see
Some rustick Maids pass by—I'll fly to them:
Their homely Roof will sure receive me gentlier
Than this bad Man wou'd do. True Honour dwells
Not in proud Palaces, but Cots and Cells.

[Exit.
Enter Jenny dress'd up as a Shepherdess, and her Lover as a Swain, call'd Damon and Phyllis, attended by other Rustick Maids.
Phyll.
'Psha, You're so troublesome!

Dam.
Fie, my sweet Phyllis, can Love be troublesome?

Phyll.
Can any thing but a Fool ask that Question!

C. C. Man.

Hey day, who's here! Look, Fubby, look: That young
Phyllis there and my Jenny are as like one another as two Eggs out of one
Nest. Nay were not the Chicken safe in yonder Coop I should swear 'twas she.

C. C. Wife.

As I hope to be an Alderman's Lady, much such a Look.

C. C. Man.

Good lack a day, how Faces may resemble!

C. C. Wife.

But hush, we disturb the Play.

Dam.
Come, come, be kind my Dear, and take thy Damon—
Thou know'st I have woo'd thee long.

Phyll.
Long! How long! Poor three short Months.

Dam.

Three Months quotha! How many an honest Turtle-couple
have I seen coo, mate, nest, ay, and breed too in half our wooing time.

Phyll.

And so you'd have me such another tame Houshold Dove, slip
my Neck into the Wedlock-coop, and fall to billing without Fear or
Wit. No, you're a little too hasty. What think you of a Mistress
has made her humble Servant wait an Age for her?

Dam.

And to marry'd in Crutches; Got their Bride-men and Bridemaids

to sling 'em into Bed together, and there e'en snored their moment
Snuffs of Life out.

Prithee, young Fool, learn thou more Wit, and take
Thy hearty Damon, a warm brisk young Fellow
Able to do the double Work of Marriage for thee;
Make thee a Wife and Mother.

1 Rust. Maid.
By my Troth, the Man speaks honestly.

2 Rust. Maid.

Ay, and ingeniously too. Here's some sense in
Courtship. But who have we here?

Enter Viola.
Viol.
May a poor Maid, by persecuting Fortune
Lost in these Woods, a Stranger, and exposed
To all the Horrors of approaching Night,
Find so much Pity amongst all you Fair ones
Of my own tender Sex, to beg this Night's
Reception in your Hospitable Walls!

1 Rust. Maid.
The Thing talks prettily.

2 Rust. Maid.
And looks as prettily. Let her go on.

Viol.
Nor let it fright you to receive a Wanderer.
Believe me, tho' a Rambler, I am an honest one:
Ill used by a bad Man; and for no Fault
But my fair Vertue and unspotted Innocence
Deserted at this Hour, and left alone
To nought but Heav'n to shield me.

Phyll.
Trust me, Sweet on
He must be a bad Man indeed, cou'd use thee ill.

Dam.
Prithee, dear Phyllis, make her thy Guest to night.

Phyll.
Why honow, busie Fool, who bid you ask for her!—
Such Sweetness, pretty Maid, pleads its own Cause.
And thou shalt be my Guest.

Viol.
Kind Heav'n reward you.

Dam.

Hark you—only one sober Word. Prethee make her
thy Bedfellow too.

Phyll.

Still impertinent! My Arm,
my Bed, and Heart shall all receive her without your senseless Stuff!

Dam.

Do you hear, Chicken? I have done your business for you:
You shall be her Bedfellow to night; but upon condition you speak
good Word for me that I may be her Bedfellow to-morrow night.

Viol.

How, Friend, a Man her Bedfellow!

Dam.

Ay, ay, a Man; why, 'tis the whole Work I have been doing
these three Months, and there wants nothing but her Consenting

finish it. But thou, dear witty Rogue, if thou'dst thrust in a Honey-speech
or two for me, thou dost not know what Service thou'dst do me.

Phyll.

Nay, Damon, if this ingenious sweet Creature does take thy
Cause in hand, her Wit may do more for thee in an hour, than thy
Blockhead in a month.

Dam.

Do you hear that, Child? She tells you her self, what Wonders
you'll do for me.

Viol.
Nay, my kind Patroness, if I have your own Commission
To plead his Cause, Love shall not want an Advocate.

Dam.

Nay, dear Prattler, we shall find thee Work enough for that
pretty talking Talent of thine. Here's our noble Landlord coming
down amongst us: We expect him here this very Night. Yonder
Sycamore-walk leads directly up to his great House, and he must pass
this very way. Oh, he's a Noble young Spark, an Honourable
Knight, and bred up a Scholar at Rome, forsooth. Ay, and the Lord
of I know not how many Miles round us, an Estate of Ten thousand
Crowns a year; and we are some of his Vassals, as they call us, his
Tenants. Now, Child, what shalt thou do, but be our Spokeswoman
for us, and make him a fine Compliment in our Name to give him
his welcome among us.

Viol.
With all my Heart, kind Friend, that's the least Return
For the kind Favours I have received amongst you.

Dam.

Nay, dear Rogue, thou must throw in one word by the by,
in my own special Case. You must know, my good Father, rest his
Soul, held a Pasture-farm of Two hundred Crowns a year of him.
And here's this cunning Baggage will never let me slip my Neck into
Wedlock with her, till my Landlord has renew'd my Lease. Now if
thou'dst but put in a bob that way—But see, yonder he comes.

Enter Chevalier and Attendants.
Chev.
Drive round the Park, I'll take the Evening Air,
And walk the small Remainder of my Journey.

Dam.
Now, Girl, speak up.

Viol.
Permit me, Honour'd Sir,
A Stranger to these Rural Groves, in Gratitude
For the Protection these kind Friends have given me,
Commission'd in their Names, with humblest Duty
To hail you, Sir, to these sweet Bow'rs of Innocence,
And all those bending Knees that call you Lord.

Chev.
Go on, thou charming Orator!

Viol.
Alas, Sir, give my weak Eloquence no such gay Title:
I am but an humble Suppliant in the Cause
Of your poor Homagers t'intreat the Blessing
Of their most Honour'd Lord's warm Smiles. Nay, I have one
More singular Grace t'implore. This honest Swain,
Your duteous Vassal, love that beauteous Maid,
And humbly begs by me your gracious Hand
To crown his Joys, and give him his fair Bride.
Nay, and to urge his Suit a little farther,
He has desired me, Sir, to lay before you
He holds some Lands of you.

Dam.
Yes, an' please your Worship, Two hundred Crowns a year.

Chev.
Hold from me! No;
My Title's all expired. The Land thou hold'st
No longer mine, but thine; no more my Vassal,
But now thy own free Lord. That Fair one gives it thee
In Dowry with this Bride.
[Gives him Phyllis.
nor shalt thou wait
For lingring Blessings from that giving Hand,
I'll wake the Lark to sign and seal it thine.

Dam.
My own free Lord, and all my clear Estate.
Well, Phyllis, now—

Phyll.
My Hand and Heart's all thine.

Dam.
And shall I marry thee?

Phyll.
Ay, Fool, to morrow. Two hundred Crowns a year!

Dam.

Oh, Noble Sir, you have so overloaded me with this Heap
of Kindness I don't know how to thank you!

Chev.
Thank not me.
I have given thee nothing. Thank this gracious Foundress
Of thy whole Feast of Joy—Hast thou ought else,
Divine one, to command me? I cou'd doal
Whole Worlds away when dispensing Smiles
Direct my showring Hand.

Viol.
Oh my dread Fears! where will this end?

Chev.
But stay, what am I doing?
I am yet but in a Cloud, and walk before thee
With unenlighten'd Eyes. Instruct my Weakness,
And let me know the due Respects I owe thee.
Say, whence bright Excellence, and who thou art?

Viol.
Alas, I am a poor Maid—

Chev.
A Maid, and poor one!
By Heav'n, there's Musick in that sound! Believe me
Those Charms, fair Nymph, have made me so ill-natured
Methinks I would not have thee be a rich one,
For that might make thee proud: And then, alas,
I should approach with trembling Knees before thee—
But see the Sun's retir'd, and Night's bleak Air
Will breathe too boldly on those lovely Roses.
Say then amongst you all,
Where takes this fair Unknown her Rest to Night?

Phyll.
She does me th'Honour, Sir, to be my Bedfellow.

Chev.
And shall I beg one Honour too?

Viol.
From me, Sir?

Chev.
Only permit me thy fair Hand to lead thee
To thy reposing Cell. There with a Prayer
To yond bright Throne call all thy Guardian Angels
To wait thy golden Dreams. Then to my own
Unresting Bed retired, upraise the Morn,
Call to the Groves to wake their whole wing'd Choir,
To tune their Airs for thee: Bid the gay Spring
All, all for thee her flowry Odours breathe,
And Roses ev'n uncropp'd thy Garlands wreathe.
Say, shall I in this Cause—

Viol.
Here you reign Lord.
[Giving him her Hand.
And I am all Duty—Guard me, guard me Heav'n!

Chev.
Now, Woman, thou who boasts the envied Glory
To spread the Pillow for this beauteous Guest,
Lead, lead the way before me. Lead to that
Rich Bed of Bliss where those fair Eyes shall sleep,
The honour'd Walls which this fair Charge shall keep,
My humbler Tow'rs to that proud Roof must bow,
Mine but the Cottage, thine's the Palace now.

[Exeunt, the Maids leading, then Damon and Phyllis hand in hand, and the Chevalier and Viola last.
C. C. Wife.

Well, I perceive by this high-flown Courtier, here's new
Love-work going forwards.

C. C. Man.

Ay, and old Love-work well finish'd, a Mariage-bargain
honestly struck for to morrow, between this Phyllis and Damon.

C. C. Wife.

Yes, yes, well finish'd indeed, with neither Lucia's
Fool, nor my Jenny's Alderman to spoil Sport between 'em.

SCENE changes to a Bed-Chamber. Enter Don Garcia, Lucia, the Count, and Boy in his own Cloaths.
D. Garc.

Well, Boy, what's this sad Story thou hast to tell my
Daughter in my Hearing?

Boy.
Only this: Your hated and her best lov'd Carlo's dead.

Luc.
Dead!

D. Garc.
Prithee, Boy, how dy'd he!

Boy.
Ay, Sir, there's the sadness of my Story; barr'd all Hope
Of his fair Lucia, in his wild Despair
He plung'd a fatal Dagger to his Heart.

Luc.
The dear Man kill'd!

D. Garc.
Self-murder! Horrible!

Boy.
The Blow thus struck, he had only Breath enough
To tell us that his Death gave him this only Pain,
He fear'd his restless Spirit wou'd disturb
His Lucia's broken Sleeps.

Luc.
Ah me! His Ghost! I tremble at the Thought!

Boy.
Fear nothing, Madam, hope a gentler Treatment
From your kind Carlo, ev'n beyond the Grave.
Alas, with the same dying Breath he told us,
If his last Prayer might but obtain the Favour,
That his dead Body might be brought before you
For one last Look, one melting Tear of Pity
From those fair Eyes, he hoped his disturb'd Spirit
Would be appeas'd, and he should sleep in Peace.
In Duty therefore, Sir, to his last Request
I've brought him in his narrow Walls of Death
Here to your Gates, and wait your Will and Pleasure.

D. Garc.
Brought to my House! I do not like such Guests.

Luc.
You ought to grant me, Sir, one parting Look
Of the dear Man I lov'd for your own sake.
When once the Object of Desire is dead,
Desire it self must die. The living Carlo
Barr'd up my Breast from any other Love;
But now he's gone, Heav'n may in time be kind,
And give me back my self, to make a new
Disposal of my Heart more to your liking.

D. Garc.
Now thou speak'st honestly, and thou shalt see him.
And the Waiters at the Gate bring in the Body.

Count.
Bring in the dead Man!

Boy.
Sir, will you please to stay, and take one Look
Of the sad Reliques of th'unhappy Carlo?

D. Garc.
No, Boy, I have had too much of his sweet Looks,
Almost to that fond Gypsies Ruin)
[Aside.
And care not to be troubled with his sour ones.
No, Boy, I'll leave him to that young weeping Fool;
The melancholy Feast is all her own.

Boy.
Perhaps this young Gentleman may have the Curiosity—

Count.
Curiosity! Friend, for what?

Boy.
To see this poor dead Man.

Count.

I see him! What, and fright my self out of my Wits!
No, you young Rascal, I am a wiser Fool then that comes to. I
have not such an extraordinary Stock of Wits, to play the Prodigal
and lose 'em at that Rate. No, my small Friend, you may keep your
frights to your self.

D. Garc.

Ay, come along, Don.

Count.
Look upon dead Folks, quotha!

[Exeunt D. Garc. and Count.
Luc.
Dear witty Rogue, thou'rt a rare Engineer.

Boy.
All but my Duty, Madam, to so dear
A Master, and t'oblige so fair a Mistress.

Luc.
Thy Mistress, Boy!

Boy.
Ay, mine in my blest Master's Arms.
But see they are here.

[Enter four Bearers with a mourning Coffin.]
Boy.
No Peephole left for any dangerous Eye.

Luc.
No, Boy, my Father's Walls are all too thick for Peepholes:
Besides, fear nothing, Boy, the Object is not
so very tempting to invite Spectators.

[The Coffin is open'd, and Carlo leaps out of it, and runs to embrace her.]
Carlo.
My darling Life! Are my Eyes once more blest.

Boy.
Ay, and your Lips too at this rate.

Luc.
My Carlo!

Carlo.
I am all Raptures!

Boy.

Oh dear Sir, be as sparing as possible of this high-flown
entertainment at present, and make a whole Feast on't to Morrow
night.

Luc.

The Boy advises well, we must be speedy.

[Lies down in the Coffin.
Boy.

You'll be a little pincht for Bed-room, Madam, but you must
make a hard shift with it at present; my Master will make you amends
with a fairer Lodging and a softer Pillow to Morrow.

Luc.
So, my dear Carlo, slip into my Closet,
There you'll find all things ready to equip you
For your last Masquerade. Success,
And every smiling Star of this blest Night,
Speed our great Project. So, now close me up
In my low Roof of Death, and bear me forth—

Boy.
To Love and Life, dear Lady.—So, take Care
You leave the outward Door a-jar.

Bearer.
Ne'er fear, Sir, we have our full Instructions.

[Exeunt, bearing the Lady in the Coffin, manet only Boy.
Boy.

Well, little Cupid, thy Votaries have been always fam'd for
Politicians, and if this Night's Design miscarry, thy blind Deity shall
have no Knee of mine.

Enter Don Garcia, and Count peeping.
D. Garc.
I see my Daughter gave him a short look,
The Body's gone so soon. So much the better:
I hope she'll make as short a Work of losing
His Memory too.—Come, Count, advance and fear not.

Count.
No dead Folks!

D. Garc.
No, the Coast is clear.

Count.
Say you so, Sir.

[Bolts in.
D. Garc.
Ha! Boy! Art thou here still?—But where's my Daughter?

Boy.
Only gone t'her Closet, where she requests you'll leave her
For a few short retiring Minutes to compose her Sorrow,
And then she'll come and pay her Duty to you.

D. Garc.
Very well. But how did she receive
The sight of her dead Carlo?

Boy.
When I open'd
To her sad Eyes the mournful Cell of Death,
And shew'd her his wan Cheeks, and ghastly Wound,
She fetch'd a Sigh,—dropt a fresh Tear,—look'd pale,
And in a few short broken Accents cry'd,
Alas! 'Twas hard!—Poor Youth!—All this for me!
Thou lov'dst me but too well!—So sigh'd again;
Then bid me close the Coffin: 'Twas an Object
Too pitiful, and she durst look no more.

Enter Carlo, as a Ghost, with a bloody Breast, and Dagger in one Hand, and lighted Torch in another.
D. Garc.
Carlo!

[They all shriek, Don Garcia falling backward into an Elbow Chair, and the Count upon his Knees, with his Face the Wall, &c.]
Carlo.
No! Carlo's Ghost!

D. Garc.
Bless me, sweet Heav'n!

[Count groans.
Count.
No, worldly Wretch, before thou ask'st for Blessings,
Implore Heav'n's Pardon first. Look on this Wound,
The Blow my own, but all the Guilt was thine:
Thou torest thy Daughter from my rightful Arms,
And nought but Death could make my Lucia mine.
[Count groans.
“Now far beyond thy reach, she's thine no more:
“Born up on Wings of Angels to that Seat,
“Where neither Father's Anger, Poverty,
“Nor Mortal cross shall ever part us more.
Up to that Seat of Mercy, where even this
Dire Stroak of Death is pardon'd for her sake,
And our united Hearts Love's endless Feast shall make.

[Exit.
[Count groans.
D. Garc.
Oh my sick Soul! Confusion! Dire Confusion!

Count.
Ha! Is he gone?

D. Garc.
Ay, and thy Lucia's gone.

Count.
Ay, with all my Heart, e'en to the Devil together.

D. Garc.
How, Wretch! the Devil.

Count.
Ay, to the Devil, who cares? Here you must bring me
Amongst a Pack of Bloody-Bones and Cut-Throats,
And pull down a whole House of Goblings upon my Head,
And all for your paltry Daughter, Forsooth,
When one of my Mother's Cook-Maids would have serv'd my Turn.

Tis a Mercy the bloody-minded Ghost did not leave a stink of Brimstone,
and choak'd one.

D. Garc.

Take hence that prating Fool.

Count.
Ay, and a good Riddance.

Serv.
Come, Don, we'll lead thee from this House of Sorrow.

[Exit Count.
D. Garc.
Whither, oh! where's my Lucia gone?

Boy.
To Heaven, Sir.
To her dear Carlo's Arms, you heard him tell you so.

D. Garc.
Oh my lost Lucia! Where shall thy poor Father
Shrowd his sad Head?—Give me, ye Powers, if possible
My Daughter and my Carlo back to Life again,
I'd throw her int' his Arms, and thank kind Heaven
I had a Child to give, and so well given.

[Exit.
Boy.
Thrown int' his Arms! Yes, she's a duteous Child,
And has took Care your Will shall be fulfill'd.

[Exit.
C. C. Wife.

We have sat here 'till we are almost tired; prithee,
my Dear, let's take a short Trip behind the Scenes this Musick Time.

C. C. Man.

With all my Heart.

[Exeunt from the Boy.