University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter ALCESIMARCHUS and MELÆNIS.
ALCESIMARCHUS.
Love, I believe, was he who first invented
The tortures us'd among mankind.—For proof,
I need not look abroad: from my own feelings
I have sufficient ground for my conjectures.
In feeling mutual tortures, I surpass
All men—I'm toss'd, tormented, agitated,
Prick'd, rack'd upon the wheel of love, distracted,
Torn, fainting am I hurried round; and thus
My inmost mind is in a cloud, that where
I am, I am not; where I am not, there
My mind is: such are all my faculties,
I like and like not as the moment passes.
Fatigu'd in mind, thus does love draw me on,
Pursues, drives, drags me, seizes and retains,
Drains me to nothing; and then gives me all:
All that he gives, retracts, and so deludes me.
From what he once persuaded, now dissuades;
What he dissuaded, holds out to my choice.
He treats me like the raging sea; and wrecks
My mind to madness;—nor is there an evil
I do not feel, but that I cannot down
And sink outright. My father, in the country
Detain'd me six days running at his seat there;
Nor could I see the mistress of my soul.
'Tis horrid to relate—

Mel.
D'you bam us thus,
For that at Lemnos you've another mistress,
Rich and betroth'd? Then have her—It is true,
We cannot number friends, or wealth with you;
But I've no fear, our faith will stand as firm.
If you are wrung, you know whence it proceeds.

Alc.
May all the gods confound me!—

Mel.
Take your wish.

Alc.
If e'er I marry her my father gives me!

Mel.
And me, if e'er I give into your arms
Daughter of mine!

Alc.
And would you wish, Melænis,
I should forswear myself?

Mel.
Sooner than I
And my affairs be ruin'd, and my girl
Deluded thus.—Be gone, and find out those
Will trust your oaths—With us, Alcesimarchus,
You've forfeited your title to our friendship—

Alc.
Try me but once—

Mel.
I've made that tryal oft;
And have as oft had reason to repent.

Alc.
Nay, give her to me—

Mel.
I, in this new matter,
Of the old proverb will avail myself.
What I have given, I wish I had not given;
And what I have left ungiven, I shall not give.

Alc.
And so, you will not send her back again?

Mel.
Answer yourself for me.

Alc.
Not send her to me!

Mel.
You know my resolution, Sir, already.

Alc.
Fix'd in the heart?

Mel.
You think that I attend not:
What you say now? 'troth I don't hear at all.

Alc.
Not hear? alas! then what is to be done?

Mel.
Think you of that—You know your own affairs.

Alc.
Why then, may all the gods and goddesses,
Superiour, middle, and inferiour deities,
May Juno, queen and daughter of high Jove,
His uncle Saturn—

Mel.
'Troth, his father rather.

Alc.
May Ops the opulent, grandame of Jove!—

Mel.
His mother say—

Alc.
Ay, daughter, uncle, Jove—
You mad me—You're the cause of all these blunders—

Mel.
Proceed, proceed—

Alc.
May I not know your mind?

Mel.
Say on—I never shall desist—'Tis fix'd—

Alc.
Why then, may Jupiter, may Juno, Saturn—
May all—I know not what to say—Yet stay—
Hear, woman—Know, my resolution's taken.
May all the gods, great, little, middle, all,
Curse me; ne'er may I live to give Silenium
A single kiss! if I destroy you not,
Your daughter, you, myself, immediately—
And then to-morrow morning, murder both of you.
And afterwards, the third time I attack you,
By Hercules! I'll quite demolish you—
Unless you give her back to me again.
I've said it—So farewel—

[Exit.
Mel.
He is gone in,
And in a rage—What am I now to do?
If she return, things are but where they were.
Whene'er dislike comes on him, out of doors
He'll turn her, and bring home his Lemnian wife—
But I will in and follow him—In his frenzy
He may do mischief, if we are not cautious.
In short, as justice is not to be had,
When poor with rich contend, I would much rather
Take all my trouble in vain, than lose my daughter.
But who's this hast'ning hither strait! On both sides
Danger and dread attack and quite distract me.

[goes apart.

SCENE II.

Enter LAMPADISCUS.
Lam.
I've follow'd the old woman thro' the streets,
And plagu'd her with my clamour—How she's been
Upon her guard, and would remember nothing!—
How have I sooth'd the jade! how promis'd mountains!
What arts have I not us'd, what tricks not tried!
With much ado, I forc'd from her the truth,
Upon my promise of a keg of wine.

SCENE III.

Enter PHANOSTRATA.
Pha.
Methought I heard the voice of Lampadiscus,
My servant, 'fore the house!

Lam.
You are not deaf,
Mistress;—you heard aright.

Pha.
Why are you here?

Lam.
To give you joy—

Pha.
Well, what's the matter now?

Lam.
But now I saw a woman quit these doors.

Pha.
She that took up my daughter?

Lam.
'Twas the same.

Pha.
What follow'd?

Lam.
I then told her how I'd seen her
Take up my master's daughter in the Hippodrome—

Pha.
And shew'd she any fear?—

Mel.
[apart.]
I tremble now.
How my heart leaps!—For well I recollect
The infant girl was brought me from the Hippodrome,
Whom I've brought up my own—

Pha.
Say on, I pray—
My soul's impatient to hear all your tale.

Mel.
[apart.]
Would you could hear no more!—

Lam.
Then I proceed?
And with the daughter talk in terms like these:
Depend upon it, your chance-mother here,
Calls you hers, meerly lest you should desert her.
She's but your nurse, then think her not your mother.
I am the man recalls, and leads you back
To opulence; where you may place yourself
In a rich family; and your father may
A dowry give of twenty talents with you.
Nor will you here, after the Tuscan mode,
By prostitution be obliged to obtain
A dowry.

Pha.
Is she, say, a courtezan
That took her up?

Lam.
She was a courtezan—
But I'll unfold to you the whole affair—
I had just brought the girl by my persuasion
To my opinion: when, with tears, intreaties,
Clasping her knees, th'old woman begg'd and pray'd
She'd not desert her;—swore in sacred terms
She was her daughter, and she had given her life.
Her whom you seek, she cried, I gave to a friend,
To bring up as a daughter of her own;
And she is still alive—Where is she, say?
Insisted I—

Pha.
Preserve me, gods! I pray.

Mel.
[apart.]
But me you have undone.

Pha.
You should have ask'd
To whom she gave her—

Lam.
I did ask—She told me,
She gave her to the courtezan Melænis—

Mel.
[apart.]
He names me too!—Undone!—

Lam.
When she was silent,
I question'd the old woman the next moment.
Where lives she, said I?—Lead—Shew me the house.
She's carried off, she cries, and lives abroad.

Mel.
[apart.]
That brings cold water to a fainting wretch.

Lam.
Where'er she's gone, we shall pursue her—What!
D'you trifle with us?—Your destruction's near—
Not thus far off, by Hercules!—I insisted,
'Till the old woman swore, she'd shew the place.

Pha.
'Twas wrong to let her go—

Lam.
O! she is safe—
But said, there was a certain female friend,
Involv'd with her in this affair, with whom
She'd wish to meet—I know that she will come.

Mel.
[apart.]
She will discover me, and in her distress
Involve me too.

Pha.
What am I now to do?

Lam.
Go in; and keep your spirits up, be sure.
If your good man come home, bid him stay there
In case I want him, that he be i'th'way.
I must run back again to the old woman.

Pha.
Take care now, Lampadiscus—

Lam.
Never fear,
I'll give a good account of the affair.

Pha.
My hopes are in the gods and you—

Lam.
And mine,
That you may see your daughter safe at home.

Mel.
Stay, stay, young man, and hear me—

Lam.
Is it me
You speak to, woman?—

Mel.
You—

Lam.
What would you with me?
For I am very busy—

Mel.
Who lives here?

Lam.
My master Demipho.—

Mel.
Is it the same
Who has betroth'd his daughter to the youth
Of such great wealth, Alcesimarchus?

Lam.
He.—

Mel.
What other daughter are you searching for?

Lam.
I'll tell you.—His wife's daughter, tho' she's not
The daughter of his wife—

Mel.
What riddle's that?

Lam.
Know then, my master had another daughter,
And by another woman—

Mel.
Yet but now
You surely said, you were in search of one,
Daughter of her you talk'd with.

Lam.
True, I am.

Mel.
Then, prithee, say, how this can be the first,
Who's now his wife?

Lam.
You weary me with prating,
Woman, whoe'er you are—The middle woman,
Who was his wife, he had this daughter by,
Giv'n to Alcesimarchus—This wife died—
You take me now?—

Mel.
I understand that well.
But how the first is last, the last is first;
This is the knot I would untie—

Lam.
Truth is,
He had this dame before he married her—
She was with child by him, and brought forth a daughter,
Whom, yet an infant, she expos'd—I am
The very man expos'd her—But a woman,
Some other, took her up, while I look'd on.
After some time, my master weds the mother—
And 'tis that daughter we are now in search of—
Why lift you up your hands and eyes to heaven?

Mel.
Proceed now, whither you so fast were going—
I stop you not—I see the whole affair—

Lam.
Thanks to the gods, or else, you'd ne'er have left me.

[Exit.
Mel.
However ill inclin'd, 'tis now my business,
Spite of my teeth, to be an honest woman—
The secret's out; and better 'tis for me
To make friends here, than have the bawd detect me.
I'll home, and bring Silenium to her parents.

[Exit.