 | Don Sebastian, King of Portugal |  |
Scene 2.
Is a Night Scene of the Mufti's Garden where an Arbour is discover'd.Enter Antonio.
Ant.
She names her self Morayma; the Mufti's only Daughter,
and a Virgin! This is the time and place that
she appointed in her letter, yet she comes not. Why thou
sweet delicious Creature, why to torture me with thy delay!
dar'st thou be false to thy Assignation? What, in the cool
and silence of the night, and to a new Lover? Pox on the
Hypocrite thy Father, for instructing thee so little in the
sweetest point of his Religion. Hark, I hear the rustling of
her Silk Mantle. Now she comes; now she comes; no,
hang't, that was but the whistling of the wind through the
Orange Trees. Now again, I hear the pit a pat of a pretty
foot through the dark Alley: No, 'tis the Son of a Mare
that's broken loose and munching upon the Melons:—Oh
the misery of an expecting Lover! Well I'll e'en despair, go
into my Arbour, and try to sleep; in a dream I shall enjoy
her in despight of her.
[Goes into the Arbour and lyes down.
Enter Johayma wrapt up in a Moorish Mantle.
Joh.
Thus far my love has carry'd me, almost without
my knowledg whither I was going: Shall I go on, shall I
discover my self!—What an injury am I doing to my
old Husband!—Yet what injury, since he's old, and has
three Wives and six Concubines besides me! 'Tis but stealing
my own Tythe from him.
[She comes a little nearer the Arbour.
Antonio
raising himself a little and looking.
At last 'tis she: this is no illusion I am sure; 'tis a true She-devil
of Flesh and Blood; and she cou'd never have taken a
fitter time to tempt me.—
He's young and handsome.—
Ant.
Yes, well enough I thank nature.
[Aside.
Joh.
And I am yet neither old nor ugly: sure he will not
refuse me.
Ant.
No, thou mayst pawn thy Maiden-head upon't he
wonnot.
[Aside.
Joh.
The Mufti wou'd feast himself upon other Women,
and keep me fasting.
Ant.
O, the holy Curmudgeon!
[Aside.
Joh.
Wou'd Preach abstinence, and practice luxury! but I
thank my Stars, I have edify'd more by his example than his
precept.
Anton.
Most divinely argu'd; she's the best Casuist in all
Affrick.
He rushes out and embraces her.
I can hold no longer from embracing thee my dear Morayma:
the old unconscionable Whorson thy Father, cou'd he
expect cold chastity from a Child of his begetting?
Joh.
What nonsense do you talk? do you take me for the
Mufti's Daughter?
Ant.
Why are you not Madam?
[throwing off her Barnus.
Joh.
I find you had an appointment with Morayma.
Ant.
By all that's good, the nauseous Wife.
[Aside.
Joh.
What you are confounded and stand mute?
Ant.
Somewhat nonplust I confess; to hear you deny your
name so positively; why are not you Morayma the Mufti's
Daughter? Did not I see you with him, did not he present
me to you? Were you not so charitable as to give me Money?
Ay and to tread upon my foot, and squeeze my hand
too, if I may be so bold to remember you of past favours.
Joh.
And you see I am come to make 'em good, but I am
neither Morayma nor the Mufti's Daughter.
Ant.
Nay, I know not that: but I am sure he is old enough
to be your Father: and either Father, or Reverend Father, I
heard you call him.
Once again, how came you to name Morayma?
Ant.
Another damn'd mistake of mine: For, asking one of my
fellow Slaves, who were the chief Ladies about the house; he
answer'd me Morayma and Johayma; but she it seems is his
Daughter, with a Pox to her, and you are his beloved Wife.
Joh.
Say your beloved Mistris, if you please; for that's the
Title I desire. This Moon-shine grows offensive to my Eyes,
come, shall we walk into the Arbor? There we may rectifie all
mistakes.
Ant.
That's close and dark.
Joh.
And are those faults to Lovers?
Ant.
But there I cannot please my self, with the sight of your
beauty.
Joh.
Perhaps you may do better.
Ant.
But there's not a breath of air stirring.
Joh.
The breath of Lovers is the sweetest air; but you are
fearful.
Ant.
I am considering, indeed, that if I am taken with you.—
Joh.
The best way to avoid it, is to retire, where we may not
be discover'd.
Ant.
Where lodges your Husband?
Joh.
Just against the face of this open Walk.
Ant.
Then he has seen us already, for ought I know.
Joh.
You make so many Difficulties, I fear I am displeasing
to you.
Ant.
aside.
If Morayma comes and takes me in the Arbor with
her, I have made a fine exchange of that Diamond for this
Pebble.
Joh.
You are much fall'n off, let me tell you, from the fury
of your first embrace.
Ant.
I confess, I was somewhat too furious at first, but you
will forgive the transport of my passion; now I have consider'd
it better, I have a qualm of Conscience.
Joh.
Of Conscience! Why, what has Conscience to do with
two young Lovers that have opportunity?
Ant.
Why truly Conscience is something to blame for interposing
in our matters: But how can I help it, if I have a Scruple
to betray my Master?
There must be something more in it; for your Conscience
was very quiet when you took me for Morayma.
Ant.
I grant you, Madam, when I took you for his Daughter;
For then I might have made you an honorable amends by Marriage.
Joh.
You Christians are such peeking Sinners, you tremble
at a Shadow in the Moon-shine.
Ant.
And you Affricans are such Termagants, you stop at
nothing. I must be plain with you, you are married, and to
a Holy Man, the Head of your Religion: Go back to your
Chamber, go back, I say, and consider of it for this night; as
I will do on my part: I will be true to you, and invent all the
Arguments I can to comply with you; and who knows, but at
our next meeting, the sweet Devil may have more power over
me: I am true flesh and blood, I can tell you that for your
comfort.
Joh.
Flesh without blood I think thou art; or if any, 'tis as
cold as that of Fishes. But I'll teach thee, to thy cost, what
Vengeance is in store for refusing a Lady, who has offer'd thee
her Love:—Help, Help, there; will no body come to my
assistance?
Ant.
What do you mean, Madam, for Heaven's sake peace;
your Husband will hear you; think of your own danger, if
you will not think of mine.
Joh.
Ingrateful Wretch, thou deserv'st no pity: Help, Help,
Husband, or I shall be ravish'd: The Villain will be too strong
for me. Help, help, for pity of a poor distressed Creature.
Ant.
Then I have nothing but impudence to assist me: I must
drown her clamor what e'er comes on't.
He takes out his Flute, and plays as loud as he can possibly, and she continues crying out.
Enter the Mufti in his Night-gown, and two Servants.
Mufti,
O thou Villain, what horrible impiety art thou committing?
What ravishing the Wife of my Bosom? Take him
Monster.
[Servants seize him.
Ant.
Mercy, dear Master, Mercy: Hear me first, and after,
if I have deserved hanging, spare me not; What have you seen
to provoke you to this cruelty?
Mufti,
I have heard the out-crys of my Wife; the bleatings
of the poor innocent Lamb: Seen nothing, say'st thou? If I see
the Lamb lye bleeding, and the Butcher by her with his Knife
drawn and bloody, is not that evidence sufficient of the Murther?
I come too late, and the Execution is already done.
Ant.
Pray think in reason, Sir, is a Man to be put to death
for a similitude? No Violence has been committed; none intended:
The Lamb's alive; and if I durst tell you so, no more
a Lamb than I am a Butcher.
Joh.
How's that, Villain, dar'st thou accuse me?
Ant.
Be patient Madam, and speak but truth, and I'll do any
thing to serve you: I say again, and swear it too, I'll do any
thing to serve you.
Joh.
aside.
I understand him; but I fear, 'tis now too late to
save him:—Pray hear him speak, Husband; perhaps he
may say something for himself; I know not.
Mufti,
Speak thou, has he not violated my Bed and thy
Honor?
Joh.
I forgive him freely; for he has done nothing: What
he will do hereafter, to make me satisfaction, himself best knows.
Ant.
Any thing, any thing, sweet Madam: I shall refuse no
drudgery.
Muf.
But, did he mean no mischief? Was he endeavouring
nothing?
Joh.
In my Conscience, I begin to doubt he did not.
Muf.
'Tis impossible: Then what meant all those out-crys?
Joh.
I heard Musick in the Garden, and at an unseasonable
time of night; and I stole softly out of my Bed, as imagining
it might be he.
Muf.
How's that Johayma? Imagining it was he, and yet
you went?
Why not, my Lord? Am not I the Mistris of the
Family? And is it not my place to see good Orders kept in it?
I thought he might have allur'd some of the Shee-slaves to him;
and was resolv'd to prevent what might have been betwixt him
and them; when on the sudden he rush'd out upon me, caught
me in his arms, with such a fury.—
Muf.
I have heard enough, away with him.—
Joh.
Mistaking me, no doubt, for one of his fellow Slaves:
With that, affrighted as I was, I discover'd my self, and cry'd
aloud: But as soon as ever he knew me, the Villain let me go,
and I must needs say, he started back, as if I were some Serpent;
and was more afraid of me than I of him.
Muf.
O thou corrupter of my Family, that's cause enough of
death; once again, away with him.
Joh.
What, for an intended Trespass? No harm has been
done, whatever may be. He cost you five hundred Crowns
I take it.—
Muf.
Thou say'st true, a very considerable Sum: He shall not
dye, tho he had committed folly with a Slave; 'tis too much to
lose by him.
Ant.
My only fault has ever been to love playing in the
dark, and the more she cry'd, the more I play'd; that it might
be seen I intended nothing to her.
Muf.
To your Kennel, Sirrah, mortifie your flesh, and consider
in whose Family you are.
Joh.
And one thing more; remember from henceforth to obey
better.
Muf.
aside.
For all her smoothness, I am not quite cur'd of my
Jealousie; but I have thought of a way that will clear my
doubts.
[Exit Mufti with Johayma and Servants.
Ant.
I am mortify'd sufficiently already, without the help of
his ghostly Counsel: Fear of Death has gone farther with me
in two Minutes, than my Conscience wou'd have gone in two
Months. I find my self in a very dejected conditon, all over
me; poor Sin lyes dormant, Concupiscence is retir'd to his winter
but alas for her and me!
(Morayma comes out of the Arbour; she steals behind him, and claps him on the back.)
Morayma,
And if Morayma shou'd appear, as she does appear,
alas you say for her and you!
Antonio,
Art thou there, my sweet temptation! my Eyes,
my Life, my Soul, my all!
Morayma,
A mighty Complement, when all these, by your
own Confession, are just nothing.
Ant.
Nothing, till thou cam'st to new create me; thou dost not
know the power of thy own Charms: let me embrace thee, and
thou shalt see how quickly I can turn wicked.
Morayma
stepping back.
Nay, if you are so dangerous, 'tis best
keeping you at a distance; I have no mind to warm a frozen Snake
in my bosom; he may chance to recover, and sting me for my
pains.
Ant.
Consider what I have suffer'd for thy sake already; and
make me some amends: two disappointments in a night, O cruel
Creature!
Mor.
And you may thank your self for both: I came eagerly
to the Charge, before my time, through the back walk behind
the Arbour; and you, like a fresh-water Soldier, stood guarding
the Pass before: if you miss'd the Enemy, you may thank
your own dulness.
Anton.
Nay, if you will be using stratagems, you shall give me
leave to make use of my advantages, now I have you in my
power: we are fairly met; I'll try it out, and give no quarter.
Mor.
By your favour, Sir, we meet upon treaty now, and not
upon defiance.
Ant.
If that be all, you shall have Carte blanche immediately;
for I long to be ratifying.
Mor.
No, now I think on't, you are already enter'd into
Articles with my Enemy Johayma: Any thing to serve you Madam;
I shall refuse no drudgery: whose words were those
Anton.
Not very heroick; but self preservation is a point above
Honour and Religion too—Antonio was a Rogue I
must confess; but you must give me leave to love him.
Mor.
To beg your life so basely; and to present your Sword
to your Enemy; Oh Recreant!
Ant.
If I had died honourably, my fame indeed wou'd have
sounded loud, but I shou'd never have heard the blast: Come,
don't make your self worse natur'd than you are: to save my life,
you wou'd be content I shou'd promise any thing.
Mor.
Yes, if I were sure you wou'd perform nothing.
Ant.
Can you suspect I wou'd leave you for Johayma?
Mor.
No; but I can expect you wou'd have both of us: Love is
covetous, I must have all of you; heart for heart is an equal truck.
In short, I am younger; I think handsomer; and am sure I love you
better, she has been my step-mother these fifteen years: you think
that's her face you see, but 'tis only a dawb'd Vizard: she wears an
Armour of proof upon't: an inch thick of Paint, besides the
Wash: her Face is so fortifi'd that you can make no approaches to
it, without a Shovel. But for her constancy, I can tell you for your
comfort, she will love till death, I mean till yours: for when she
has worn you out, she will certainly dispatch you to another world,
for fear of telling tales; as she has already serv'd three Slaves, your
Predecessors of happy memory in her favours. She has made my
pious Father a three pil'd Cuckold to my knowledg: and now
she wou'd be robbing me of my single Sheep too.
Ant.
Prithee prevent her then; and at least take the shearing of
me first.
Mor.
No; I'll have a Butchers Pen'worth of you; first secure
the Carcass, and then take the fleece into the bargain.
Ant.
Why sure, you did not put your self and me to all this
trouble, for a dry come off: by this hand—(taking it:)
Mor.
Which you shall never touch; but upon better assurances
than you imagine.
(Pulling her hand away.)
Ant.
I'll marry thee, and make a Christian of thee thou pretty
damn'd Infidel.
Mor.
I mean you shall: but no earnest, till the bargain be made
before witness: there's love enough to be had, and as much as
terms.
Ant.
I vow and swear by Love; and he's a Deity in all Religions.
Mor.
But never to be trusted in any: he has another name too,
of a worse sound. Shall I trust an Oath, when I see your Eyes languishing,
your Cheeks flushing, and can hear your heart throbbing?
no, I'll not come near you: He's a foolish Physitian who will feel
the pulse of a Patient, that has the Plague-spots upon him.
Ant.
Did one ever hear a little Moppet, argue so perversly against
so good a Cause! Come, prithee, let me anticipate a little
of my Revenue.
Mor.
You wou'd feign be fingring your Rents before-hand;
but that makes a man an ill Husband ever after. Consider, Marriage
is a painful Vocation, as you shall prove it, manage your Incomes
as thriftily as you can, you shall find a hard task on't,
to make even at the years end, and yet to live decently.
Ant.
I came with a Christian intention, to revenge my self upon
thy Father; for being the head of a false Religion.
Mor.
And so you shall; I offer you his Daughter for your Second:
but since you are so pressing, meet me under my Window,
to morrow night, body for body, about this hour; I'll slip down
out of my Lodging, and bring my Father in my hand.
Ant.
How, thy Father!
Mor.
I mean all that's good of him; his Pearls, and Jewels, his
whole contents, his heart, and Soul; as much as ever I can carry.
I'll leave him his Alchoran; that's revenue enough for him: every
page of it is Gold and Diamonds. He has the turn of an Eye, a
demure Smile, and a godly Cant, that are worth Millions to
him. I forgot to tell you, that I will have a Slave prepar'd at
the Postern gate, with two Horses ready sadled: no more, for I
fear, I may be miss'd; and think I hear 'em calling for me,—if
you have constancy and Courage.—
Ant.
Never doubt it: and love, in abundance to wander with
thee all the World over.
Mor.
The value of twelve hundred thousand Crowns in a Casket!—
Ant.
A heavy burden Heaven knows! but we must pray for patience
to support it.
Besides a willing Titt that will venture her Corps with
you:—Come, I know you long to have a parting blow with me;
and therefore to shew I am in Charity—
(He kisses her.)
Ant.
Once more, for pity; that I may keep the flavour upon
my lips till we meet again.
Mor.
No; frequent Charities make bold Beggars: and besides I
have learnt of a Falconer, never to feed up a Hawk when I wou'd
have him fly: that's enough—but if you will be nibling,
here's a hand to stay your stomach.
(Kissing her hand.)
Anton.
Thus Conquer'd Infidels, that Wars may cease,
Are forc'd to give their hands, and sign the Peace.
Mor.
Thus Christians are outwitted by the Foe;
You had her in your Pow'r, and let her go.
If you release my hand, the fault's not mine;
You shou'd have made me seal, as well as sign.
She runs off, he follows her to the door; then comes back again, and goes out at the other.
| Don Sebastian, King of Portugal | |