University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

—A Room in Balthazar's House.
Enter Balthazar and Volante.
Balthazar.
Not yet apparell'd?

Volante.
'Tis her wedding-day, sir:
On such occasions women claim some grace.

Balthazar.
How bears she
The coming of her greatness?

Volante.
Bravely, sir.
Instead of the high honours that await her,
I think that, were she now to be enthron'd,
She would become her coronation:
For, when she has adjusted some stray lock,
Or fixt at last some sparkling ornament,
She views her beauty with collected pride,
Musters her whole soul in her eyes, and says,
“Look I not like an Empress?” But, she comes.—

Enter Juliana, in her Wedding-dress.
Juliana.
Well, sir, what think you? do I to the life
Appear a duchess, or will people say,
She does but poorly play a part which nature
Never designed her for?—But, where's the Duke?

Balthazar.
Not come yet.

Juliana.
How! not come?—the Duke not come!

Volante.
Patience, sweet sister; oft without a murmur
It has been his delight to wait for you.

Juliana.
It was his duty.—Man was born to wait
On woman, and attend her sov'reign pleasure!
This tardiness upon his wedding-day
Is but a sorry sample of obedience.

Balthazar.
Obedience, girl!

Juliana.
Ay, obedience! sir.

Volante.
Why, what a wire-drawn puppet you will make
The man you marry!—I suppose, ere long,
You'll choose how often he shall walk abroad
For recreation; fix his diet for him;
Bespeak his clothes, and say on what occasions
He may put on his finest suit;—

Juliana.
Proceed.

Volante.
Keep all the keys, and when he bids his friends,
Mete out a modicum of wine to each.
Had you not better put him on a livery
At once, and let him stand behind your chair?—
Why, I would rather wed a man of dough,
Such as some school-girl, when the pye is made,
To amuse her childish fancy, kneads at hazard
Out of the remnant paste—a paper man
Cut by a baby. Heav'ns preserve me ever
From that dull blessing—an obedient husband!

Juliana.
And make you an obedient wife!—a thing
For lordly man to vent his humours on;
A dull domestic drudge, to be abus'd
Or fondled as the fit may work upon him;—
“If you think so, my dear,” and, “As you please;”
And, “You know best;”—even when he nothing knows.
I have no patience—that a free-born woman
Should sink the high tone of her noble nature
Down to a slavish whisper, for that compound
Of frail mortality they call a man,
And give her charter up, to make a tyrant!—

Balthazar.
You talk it most heroically.—Pride
May be a proper bait to catch a lover,
But, trust me, daughter, 'twill not hold a husband.

Juliana.
Leave that to me.—And what should I have caught,
If I had fish'd with your humility?—
Some pert apprentice, or rich citizen.—
Who would have bought me? Some poor gentleman,
Whose high patrician blood would have descended
To wed a painter's daughter and her ducats.—
I felt my value, and still kept aloof,
Nor stoop'd my eye till I had met the man,
Pick'd from all Spain, to be my husband, girl:
And him I have so manag'd, that he feels
I have conferr'd an honour on his house,
By coyly condescending to be his.

Balthazar.
He comes.

Volante.
Smooth your brow, sister.

Juliana.
For a man!
He must be one not made of mortal clay, then.
Enter the Duke.
Oh! you are come, sir? I have waited for you!—
Is this your gallantry? at such a time, too?

Duke.
I do intreat your pardon;—if you knew
The pressing cause—

Volante.
Let me intreat for him.

Balthazar.
Come, girl, be kind.

Juliana.
Well, sir, you are forgiven.

Duke.
You are all goodness; let me on this hand—

[Taking her hand, which she withdraws.
Juliana.
Not yet, sir; 'tis a virgin hand as yet,
And my own property:—forbear awhile,
And with this humble person 'twill be yours.

Duke.
Exquisite modesty! Come, let us on,
All things are waiting for the ceremony;
And, till you grace it, Hymen's wasting torch
Burns dim and sickly.—Come, my Juliana.

[Exeunt.