[Exit Servant.

L. Ful. What, into my Apartment, Sir, a nasty Chest!

Sir Cau. By all means—for if the Searchers come, they’ll never be so uncivil to ransack thy Lodgings; and we are bound in Christian Charity to do for one another—Some rich Commodities, I am sure—and some fine Knick-knack will fall to thy share, I’ll warrant thee —Pox on him for a young Rogue, how punctual he is! [Aside.

Enter with the Chest.

—Go, my Dear, go to Bed—I’ll send Sir Nicholas a Receit for the
Chest, and be with thee presently—

[Ex. severally.

[Gayman peeps out of the Chest, and looks round him wondring.

Gay. Hah, where am I? By Heaven, my last Night’s Vision—’Tis that inchanted Room, and yonder’s the Alcove! Sure ‘twas indeed some Witch, who knowing of my Infidelity—has by Inchantment brought me hither— ’.is so—I am betray’d—[Pauses. Hah! or was it Julia, that last night gave me that lone Opportunity?—but hark, I hear some coming— [Shuts himself in.

Enter Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. [Lifting up the Chest-lid.] So, you are come, I see—
                                          [Goes, and locks the door.

Gay. Hah—he here! nay then, I was deceiv’d, and it was Julia that last night gave me the dear Assignation. [Aside.

[Sir Cautious peeps into the Bed-chamber.

L. Ful. [Within.] Come, Sir Cautious, I shall fall asleep, and then you’ll waken me.

Sir Cau. Ay, my Dear, I’m coming—she’s in Bed—I’ll go put out the
Candle, and then—

Gay. Ay, I’ll warrant you for my part—

Sir Cau. Ay, but you may over-act your part, and spoil all—But, Sir,
I hope you’ll use a Christian Conscience in this business.

Gay. Oh, doubt not, Sir, but I shall do you Reason.

Sir Cau. Ay, Sir, but—

Gay. Good Sir, no more Cautions; you, unlike a fair Gamester, will rook me out of half my Night—I am impatient—

Sir Cau. Good Lord, are you so hasty? if I please, you shan’t go at all.

Gay. With all my soul, Sir; pay me three hundred Pound, Sir—

Sir Cau. Lord, Sir, you mistake my candid meaning still. I am content to be a Cuckold, Sir—but I wou’d have things done decently, d’ye mind me?

Gay. As decently as a Cuckold can be made, Sir.—But no more disputes, I pray, Sir.

Sir Cau. I’m gone—I’m gone—but harkye, Sir, you’ll rise before day?
                                                 [Going out, returns.

Gay. Yet again—

Sir Cau. I vanish, Sir—but harkye—you’ll not speak a word, but let her think ‘tis I?

Gay. Be gone, I say, Sir— [He runs out. I am convinc’d last night I was with Julia. Oh Sot, insensible and dull!

Enter softly Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. So, the Candle’s out—give me your hand.

[Leads him softly in.

SCENE V. Changes to a Bed-chamber.

Lady Fulbank suppos’d in Bed. Enter Sir Cautious and Gayman by dark.

Sir Cau. Where are you, my Dear? [Leads him to the bed.

L. Ful. Where shou’d I be—in Bed; what, are you by dark?

Sir Cau. Ay, the Candle went out by Chance.

[Gayman signs to him to be gone; he makes grimaces as loath to go, and Exit.

SCENE VI. Draws over, and represents another Room in the same House.

Enter Parson, Diana, and Pert drest in Diana’s Clothes.

Dia. I’ll swear, Mrs. Pert, you look very prettily in my Clothes; and since you, Sir, have convinc’d me that this innocent Deceit is not unlawful, I am glad to be the Instrument of advancing Mrs. Pert to a Husband, she already has so just a Claim to.

Par. Since she has so firm a Contract, I pronounce it a lawful Marriage—but hark, they are coming sure—

Dia. Pull your Hoods down, and keep your Face from the Light. [Diana runs out.

Enter Bearjest and Noisey disordered.

Bea. Madam, I beg your Pardon—I met with a most devilish Adventure; —your Pardon too, Mr. Doctor, for making you wait.—But the business is this, Sir—I have a great mind to lie with this young Gentlewoman to Night, but she swears if I do, the Parson of the Parish shall know it.

Par. If I do, Sir, I shall keep Counsel.

Bea. And that’s civil, Sir—Come, lead the way, With such a Guide, the Devil’s in’t if we can go astray.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Changes to the Anti-chamber.

Enter Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in stormy Weather, that has ventur’d all his Wealth in one Bottom.—Woman is a leaky Vessel.—if she should like the young Rogue now, and they should come to a right understanding—why, then I am a—Wittal—that’s all, and shall be put in Print at Snow-hill, with my Effigies o’th’ top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.—Hum—they’re damnable silent—pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her—hum—hark, what’s that?—a noise!—he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall forfeit the Money—How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot’s discovered, what shall I do?—Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet—and that would be a damn’d thing.—sure they’re coming out—I’ll retire and hearken how ’.is with them. [Retires.

    Enter Lady Fulbank undrest, Gayman, half undrest upon
    his Knees, following her, holding her Gown.

L. Ful. Oh! You unkind—what have you made me do? Unhand me, false
Deceiver—let me loose—

Sir Cau. Made her do?—so, so—’tis done—I’m glad of that—
                                                     [Aside peeping.

Gay. Can you be angry, Julia? Because I only seiz’d my Right of Love.

L. Ful. And must my Honour be the Price of it?
Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion?
—What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress?
Oh—be gone, be gone—dear Robber of my Quiet. [Weeping.

Sir Cau. Oh, fearful!—

Gay. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so,
You are an innocent Adulteress.
It was the feeble Husband you enjoy’d
In cold imagination, and no more;
Shily you turn’d away—faintly resign’d.

Sir Cau. Hum, did she so?—

Gay. Till my Excess of Love betray’d the Cheat.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, that was my Fear.

L. Ful. Away, be gone—I’ll never see you more—

Gay. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine.
Not see you more!—Heavens! I before ador’d you,
But now I rave! And with my impatient Love,
A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning!
I have discover’d now new Worlds of Charms,
And can no longer tamely love and suffer.

Sir Cau. So—I have brought an old House upon my Head,
Intail’d Cuckoldom upon my self.

L. Ful. I’ll hear no more—Sir Cautious,—where’s my Husband?
Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded?

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, she’s well enough pleas’d, I fear, for all.

Gay. Base as he is, ‘twas he expos’d this Treasure; Like silly Indians barter’d thee for Trifles.

Sir Cau. O treacherous Villain!—

L. Ful. Hah—my Husband do this?

Gay. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer, Contriv’d the means, and brought me to thy Bed.

L. Ful. My Husband! My wise Husband!
What fondness in my Conduct had he seen,
To take so shameful and so base Revenge?

Gay. None—’twas filthy Avarice seduc’d him to’t.

L. Ful. If he cou’d be so barbarous to expose me,
Cou’d you who lov’d me—be so cruel too?

Gay. What—to possess thee when the Bliss was offer’d?
Possess thee too without a Crime to thee?
Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame,
So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it.

L. Ful. I am convinc’d the fault was all my Husband’s—
And here I vow—by all things just and sacred,
To separate for ever from his Bed. [Kneels.

Sir Cau. Oh, I am not able to indure it— Hold—oh, hold, my Dear— [He kneels as she rises.

L. Ful. Stand off—I do abhor thee—

Sir Cau. With all my Soul—but do not make rash Vows.
They break my very Heart—regard my Reputation.

L. Ful. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already—
Rise, ‘tis in vain you kneel.

Sir Cau. No—I’ll never rise again—Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design to have discover’d whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I might have hang’d him—

Gay. A very innocent Design indeed!

Sir Cau. Ay, Sir, that’s all, as I’m an honest man.—

L. Ful. I’ve sworn, nor are the Stars more fix’d than I.

Enter Servant.

Serv. How! my Lady and his Worship up?—Madam, a Gentleman and a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with your Ladyship.

L. Ful. This is strange!—bring them up— [Exit Servant.
Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day?

Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.

Let. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me trespass on you for my Life’s security, and beg you will protect me, and my Husband— [Points at Bellmour.

Sir Cau. So, here’s another sad Catastrophe!

L. Ful. Hah—does Bellmour live? is’t possible?
Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes;
And shall not fail of my Protection now.

Bel. I humbly thank your Ladyship.

Gay. I’m glad thou hast her, Harry; but doubt thou durst not own her; nay dar’st not own thy self.

Bel. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon— But hark, I think we are pursu’d already— But now I fear no force.

[A noise of some body coming in.

L. Ful. However, step into my Bed-chamber.

[Exeunt Leticia, Gayman and Phillis.

Enter Sir Feeble in an Antick manner.

Sir Feeb. Hell shall not hold thee—nor vast Mountains cover thee, but I will find thee out—and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase. [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau.

Sir Cau. How—lash my filthy Carcase?—I defy thee, Satan—

Sir Feeb. ‘Twas thus he said.

Sir Cau. Let who’s will say it, he lies in’s Throat.

Sir Feeb. How, the Ghostly—hush—have a care—for ‘twas the Ghost of Bellmour—Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!— [Runs to the Lady Fulbank.

L. Ful. What bleeding Wound?—Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir Feeb. No—but for want of rest, I shall e’er Morning. [Weeps.
—She’s gone—she’s gone—she’s gone— [He weeps.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, she’s gone, she’s gone indeed.
                                          [Sir Cau. weeps.

Sir Feeb. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision —harkye, Sir—a word in your Ear—have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir Cau. Ay, but I have married one already. [Weeping.

Sir Feeb. Hast thou? Divorce her—flie her, quick—depart—be gone, she’ll cuckold thee—and still she’ll cuckold thee.

Sir Cau. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?—Why, are not you married?

Sir Feeb. Mum—no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your
Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. Ful. Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [Weeps. Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool—to think she’d love me—’twas by base means I gain’d her—cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life—

L. Ful. You did so, Sir, but ‘tis not past Redress—you may make that honest Gentleman amends.

Sir Feeb. Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate—

L. Ful. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.—Come forth, Leticia, and your injur’d Ghost.

Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.

Sir Feeb. Hah, Ghost—another Sight would make me mad indeed.

Bel. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.

Sir Feeb. Hah—who’s that, Francis!—my Nephew Francis?

Bel. Bellmour, or Francis, chuse you which you like, and I am either.

Sir Feeb. Hah, Bellmour! and no Ghost?

Bel. Bellmour—and not your Nephew, Sir.

Sir Feeb. But art alive? Ods bobs, I’m glad on’t, Sirrah;—But are you real, Bellmour?

Bel. As sure as I’m no Ghost.

Gay. We all can witness for him, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Where be the Minstrels, we’ll have a Dance—adod, we will —Ah—art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?—a Vengeance on thee—thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb—but I forgive thee—and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you’ll give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

Bel. You are so generous, Sir, that ‘tis almost with grief I receive the Blessing of Leticia.

Sir Feeb. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou’d have had her—ods bobs, you wou’d—

Enter Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, and Noisey.

Bea. Justice, Sir, Justice—I have been cheated—abused—assassinated and ravisht!

Sir Cau. How, my Nephew ravisht!—

Pert. No, Sir, I am his Wife.

Sir Cau. Hum—my Heir marry a Chamber-maid!

Bea. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. Dy, and brought her to Ned’s Chamber here—to marry her.

Sir Feeb. My Daughter Dy stoln—

Bea. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip—what does he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob’d me off here with my Lady’s cast Petticoat—

Noi. Sir, she’s a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir.

Pert. Madam, ‘twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted to him before—see, here it is— [Gives it ‘em.

All. A plain Case, a plain Case.

Sir Feeb. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter, Sir? [To Bredwel, who with Diana kneels.

Bred. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing—

Sir Feeb. You will ha’t, whether I will or not—rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew—

Sir Cau. Well, Sir, I will—but all this while you little think the
Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Sir Feeb. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.

Sir Cau. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.

Sir Feeb. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you’re a wise man. Come, dry your Eyes—and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs; d’ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.

Sir Cau. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to you—with my whole Estate—my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. [To Gayman.

Gay. I thank you, Sir—do you consent, my Julia?

L. Ful. No, Sir—you do not like me—a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

Gay. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. Ful. Come hither, Bredwel—witness for my Honour—that I had no design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

Bred. Believe me, Sir, ‘tis true—I feigned a danger near—just as you got to bed—and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

Bea. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain here, Sir?

Gay. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired—to beat you for abusing me to day.

Noi. To make you ‘mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the death of Sir Thomas Gayman, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand pounds a year—

Gay. I thank you, Sir—I heard the news before.

Sir Cau. How’s this; Mr. Gayman, my Lady’s first Lover? I find, Sir Feeble, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; ‘tis no wonder that both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit Matches for either, that’s the truth on’t.

The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield, Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. Betterton.

Long have we turn’d the point of our just Rage
On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age.
Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer
In Nice and Flutter, seen his Fop-face here.
Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack
Of shatterhead Rhymers whip’d on Craffey’s back;
But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster,
The lower ‘tis cut down, it grows the faster.
Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop,
An After Math of Coxcombs is come up;
Who not content false Poetry to renew,
By sottish Censures wou’d condemn the true.
Let writing like a Gentleman—fine appear,
But must you needs judge too en Cavalier?
_These whiffling Criticks, ‘tis our Auth’ress fears,
And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers:
Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce,
There’s no great harm in a good quiet Dunce.
But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow
Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know.
On downright Dulness let her rather split,
Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.

Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,—
Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke |
Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke, |
And address Songs to whom you never spoke? |
In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit,
Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit?
Unjustly of the Innocent you complain,
’.is Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain.
Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile?
’.is true, none else will think it worth their while:
But thus you’re hid! oh, ‘tis a politick Fetch;
So some have hang’d themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch.
Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame, |
For being so they well deserve the shame, |
’.is the worst scandal to have borne that name. |
                           [See the late Satir on Poetry]
At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill |
Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill; |
Well may you rail at what you ape so ill. |
With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth,
You’re in a state of mortal War by Birth.
Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne’er knew
Two things so opposite as Them and You.
On such your Muse her utmost fury spends,
They’re slander’d worse than any but your Friends.
More years may teach you better; the mean while,
If you can’t mend your Morals, mend your Style.

THE FORC’D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM.

ARGUMENT.

The King of France to reward his favourite Alcippus, at the motion of prince Philander, gladly assents to his being created general in place of old Orgulius, who seeks to resign his office, and further on his royal word pledges the new-made commander, Erminia, Orgulius’ daughter, in marriage. The lady, however, loves the dauphin, whilst the princess Galatea is enamoured of Alcippus. All three are plunged into despair, and the brother and sister knowing each other’s passion bemoan their hapless fate. The prince, indeed, threatens to kill Alcippus, upon which Galatea declares she will poniard Erminia. On the wedding night the bride confesses her love for Philander and refuses to admit Alcippus to her love. The dauphin at the same time serenades Erminia at her chamber door, but Pisaro, a friend to Alcippus, meeting him, there is a scuffle during which Alcander, the prince’s companion, wounds the intruder. The noise rouses Erminia who issues from her room and encounters Philander. Alcippus, seeing them together, mad with jealousy, attacks the prince. He is, however, beaten back and even wounded, and later his fury is inflamed by Pisaro’s tale, who also informs the favourite that Galatea, for whom the narrator cherishes a hopeless love, dotes fondly upon him. Erminia, now that she has been joined in wedlock with Alcippus, guards herself carefully from the dauphin’s passion, but when the general is obliged by his duties to leave for the camp Philander hopes to persuade her to yield to him. Alcippus, however, whose departure is a feint, returns secretly, leaving Pisaro to continue the journey alone. Isillia, Erminia’s woman, has already admitted Philander to her mistress’ chamber, when the lovers are surprised by the arrival of Alcippus on the scene. The prince is concealed, although the meeting had been purely innocent, but he is betrayed owing to the fact of his inadvertently leaving his hat and sword upon a table. He departs unmolested, but once he is gone Alcippus, beside himself with blind fury, strangles Erminia with an embroidered garter—Pisaro, coming in a few moments after, reproaches him with the murder but hurries him away to concealment. The deed, however, is discovered and noised abroad by Falatius, a busy coxcomb courtier. Orgulius demands Alcippus’ life from the King, but Galatea, heart-broken, pleads for the man she loves. Philander is distraught with grief, and the King decides that if he harms himself Alcippus shall straightway pay the forfeit. The prince is about to wreak his vengeance on the cruel husband when he is met by Erminia herself, who, owing to her maid’s attentions, has recovered from the swoon Alcippus took for death. It is resolved that Alcippus, who is now torn with agony and remorse, must be fittingly punished, and accordingly as he lies sick at heart in his chamber Erminia enters as a spirit, and so looking over his shoulder into a mirror wherein he is gazing tells him plainly of Galatea’s love. The princess then passes by as it were a phantom, and after a masque, which he takes for a dream, he is conducted to a room draped in black wherein is placed a catafalque. Here he encounters Philander and as they are at hot words the King, who has been privy to the whole design, enters and the two are reconciled. Erminia next appears, and the happy accident explained, Erminia is bestowed upon the dauphin, whilst the princess is united to the favourite.

There is a slight underplot which deals with the amours of Aminta, sister to Pisaro, and Alcander. She is also courted by the cowardly fop, Falatius.

SOURCE.

The Forc’d Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom is the earliest, and most certainly one of the weakest of Mrs. Behn’s plays. This is, however, far from saying that it is not a very good example of the Davenant, Howard, Porter, Stapylton school of romantic tragi-comedy. But Aphara had not yet hit upon her brilliant vein of intrigue. In The Forced Marriage she seems to have remembered The Maid’s Tragedy. The situation between Alcippus and Erminia, Act ii, III, has some vague resemblance to that of Amintor and Evadne, Act ii, I. Aminta also faintly recalls Dula, whilst the song ‘Hang love, for I will never pine’ has a far-off echo of ‘I could never have the power.’ But Mrs. Behn has not approached within measuring distance of that supreme masterpiece.

THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The stage history of The Forc’d Marriage; or, The Jealous Bridegroom is best told in the quaint phrase of old Downes. Produced in December, 1670 at the Duke’s Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, The Jealous Bridegroom, says the veteran prompter, ‘wrote by Mrs. Behn, a good play and lasted six days’. This, it must be remembered, was by no means a poor run at that time. ‘Note,’ continues the record, ‘In this play, Mr. Otway the poet having an inclination to turn actor; Mrs. Behn gave him the King in this play for a probation part, but he being not us’d to the stage, the full house put him to such a sweat and tremendous agony, being dash’d, spoilt him for an actor.’

To quote Mr. Gosse’s excellent and classic essay on Otway:—’The choice of the part showed the kindly tact of the shrewd Mrs. Behn. The king had to speak the few first words, to which the audience never listens, to make some brief replies in the first scene, and then not to speak again until the end of the fourth act. In the fifth act he had to make rather a long speech to Smith [Mr. Gosse by a slip writes ‘Betterton’. The King (v, III) is talking to Philander, acted by Smith. Betterton played the favourite Alcippus.], explaining that he was “old and feeble, and could not long survive,” and this is nearly all he had to say till the very end, where he was in great force as the kind old man who unites the couples and speaks the last words. It was quite a crucial test, and Otway proved his entire inability to face the public. He trembled, was inaudible, melted in agony, and had to leave the stage. The part was given to Westwood, a professional actor, and Otway never essayed to tread the boards again.’

The Forced Marriage seems never to have been revived since its production. On the title page of the second quarto (1690), The Forc’d Marriage is said to have been played at the Queen’s Theatre. This is because the Duke’s House temporarily changed its name thus. It does not refer to a second run of the play.

THE FORC’D MARRIAGE;

or, the Jealous Bridegroom.

Va mon enfant! prends ta fortune.

PROLOGUE.

Gallants, our Poets have of late so us’d ye,
In Play and Prologue too so much abus’d ye,
That should we beg your aids, I justly fear,
Ye’re so incens’d you’d hardly lend it here.
But when against a common Foe we arm,
Each will assist to guard his own concern.
Women those charming Victors, in whose Eyes
Lie all their Arts, and their Artilleries,
Not being contented with the Wounds they made,
Would by new Stratagems our Lives invade.
Beauty alone goes now at too cheap rates;
And therefore they, like Wise and Politick States,
Court a new Power that may the old supply,
To keep as well as gain the Victory.
They’ll join the force of Wit to Beauty now,
And so maintain the Right they have in you.
If the vain Sex this privilege should boast,
Past cure of a declining Face we’re lost.
You’ll never know the bliss of Change; this Art
Retrieves (when Beauty fades) the wandring Heart;
And though the Airy Spirits move no more,
Wit still invites, as Beauty did before.
To day one of their Party ventures out,
Not with design to conquer, but to scout.
Discourage but this first attempt, and then
They’ll hardly dare to sally out again.
The Poetess too, they say, has Spies abroad,
Which have dispersed themselves in every road,
I’th’ Upper Box, Pit, Galleries; every Face
You find disguis’d in a Black Velvet Case.
My life on’t; is her Spy on purpose sent,
To hold you in a wanton Compliment;
That so you may not censure what she ‘as writ,
Which done, they face you down ‘twas full of Wit.
Thus, while some common Prize you hope to win,
You let the Tyrant Victor enter in.
I beg to day you’d lay that humour by,
Till your Rencounter at the Nursery;
Where they, like Centinels from duty free,
May meet and wanton with the Enemy.

Enter an Actress.

How hast thou labour’d to subvert in vain, What one poor Smile of ours calls home again? Can any see that glorious Sight and say

[Woman pointing to the ladies.

A Woman shall not Victor prove to day?
Who is’t that to their Beauty would submit,
And yet refuse the Fetters of their Wit?
He tells you tales of Stratagems and Spies;
Can they need Art that have such powerful Eyes?
Believe me, Gallants, he’as abus’d you all;
There’s not a Vizard in our whole Cabal:
Those are but Pickeroons that scour for prey
And catch up all they meet with in their way;
Who can no Captives take, for all they do
Is pillage ye, then gladly let you go.
Ours scorns the petty Spoils, and do prefer
The Glory not the Interest of the War:
But yet our Forces shall obliging prove,
Imposing nought but Constancy in Love:
That’s all our Aim, and when we have, it too,
We’ll sacrifice it all to pleasure you.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

King, Mr. Westwood. Philander, his Son, betrothed to Erminia, Mr. Smith. Alcippus, Favourite, in love with Erminia, Mr. Betterton. Orgulius, late General, Father to Erminia, Mr. Norris. Alcander, Friend to the Prince, in love with Aminta, Mr. Young. Pisaro, Friend to the young General Alcippus, Mr. Cademan. Falatius, a fantastick Courtier, Mr. Angel. Labree, his Man. Cleontius, Servant to the Prince, and Brother Mr. Crosby. to Isillia, Page to Pisaro.

WOMEN.

Galatea, Daughter to the King, Mrs. Jennings. Erminia, Daughter to Orgulius, espous’d to the Mrs. Betterton. Prince, Aminta, Sister to Pisaro, in love with Alcander, Mrs. Wright. Olinda, Sister to Alcander, Maid of Honour to Mrs. Lee. the Princess, Isillia, Sister to Cleontius, Woman to Erminia, Mrs. Clough. Lysette, Woman to Aminta. Clergy, Officers, Pages and Attendants.

Scene within the Court of FRANCE.

ACT I.

SCENE I. The Palace.

Enter King, Philander, Orgulius, Alcippus, Alcander, Pisaro, Cleontius, Falatius; and Officers.

King. How shall I now divide my Gratitude, Between a Son, and one that has oblig’d me, Beyond the common duty of a Subject?

Phil. Believe me, Sir, he merits all your Bounty,
I only took example by his Actions;
And all the part o’th’ Victory which I gain’d,
Was but deriv’d from him.

King. Brave Youth, whose Infant years did bring us Conquests;
And as thou grew’st to Man, thou grew’st in Glory,
And hast arriv’d to such a pitch of it,
As all the slothful Youth that shall succeed thee,
Shall meet reproaches of thy early Actions:
When Men shall say, thus did the brave Alcippus;
And that great Name shall every Soul inspire
With Emulation to arrive at something,
That’s worthy of Example.

Alcip. I must confess I had the honour, Sir,
To lead on twenty thousand fighting Men,
Whom Fortune gave the Glory of the Day to.
I only bid them fight, and they obey’d me;
But ‘twas my Prince that taught them how to do so.

King. I do believe Philander wants no courage;
But what he did was to preserve his own.
But thine the pure effects of highest Valour;
For which, if ought below my Crown can recompense,
Name it, and take it, as the price of it.

Alcip. The Duty which we pay your Majesty, Ought to be such, as what we pay the Gods; Which always bears its Recompence about it.

King. Yet suffer me to make thee some return,
Though not for thee, yet to incourage Bravery.
I know thy Soul is generous enough,
To think a glorious Act rewards it self.
But those who understand not so much Virtue,
Will call it my neglect, and want of Gratitude;
In this thy Modesty will wrong thy King.
Alcippus, by this pause you seem to doubt
My Power or Will; in both you are to blame.

Alcip. Your pardon, Sir; I never had a thought
That could be guilty of so great a Sin.
That I was capable to do you service,
Was the most grateful Bounty Heaven allow’d me,
And I no juster way could own that Blessing,
Than to imploy the Gift for your repose.

King. I shall grow angry, and believe your Pride Would put the guilt off on your Modesty, Which would refuse what that believes below it.

Phil. Your Majesty thinks too severely of him;
Permit me, Sir, to recompense his Valour,
I saw the wonders on’t, and thence may guess
In some Degree, what may be worthy of it.

King. I like it well, and till thou hast perform’d it, I will divest my self of all my Power, And give it thee, till thou hast made him great.

Phil. I humbly thank you, Sir—

[Bows to the King, takes the Staff from Orgulius, and gives it to Alcippus, who looks amazedly.

And here I do create him General.
You seem to wonder, as if I dispossess’d
The brave Orgulius; but be pleas’d to know,
Such Reverence and Respect I owe that Lord,
As had himself not made it his Petition,
I sooner should have parted with my Right,
Than have discharg’d my debt by injuring him.

King. Orgulius, are you willing to resign it?

Org. With your permission, Sir, most willingly;
His vigorous Youth is fitter for’t than Age,
Which now has render’d me uncapable
Of what that can with more success perform.
My Heart and Wishes are the same they were,
But Time has quite depriv’d me of that power
That should assist a happy Conqueror.

King. Yet Time has added little to your years, Since I restor’d you to this great Command, And then you thought it not unfit for you.

Org. Sir, was it fit I should refuse your Grace?
That was your act of Mercy: and I took it
To clear my Innocence, and reform the Errors
Which those receiv’d who did believe me guilty,
Or that my Crimes were greater than that Mercy.
I took it, Sir, in scorn of those that hated me,
And now resign it to the Man you love.

King. We need not this proof to confirm thy Loyalty;
Nor am I yet so barren of Rewards,
But I can find a way, without depriving
Thy noble Head of its victorious Wreaths,
To crown another’s Temples.

Org. I humbly beg your Majesty’s consent to’t,
If you believe Alcippus worthy of it;
The generous Youth I have bred up to Battles,
Taught him to overcome, and use that Conquest
As modestly as his submissive Captive,
His Melancholy, (but his easy Fetters)
To meet Death’s Horrors with undaunted looks:
How to despise the Hardships of a Siege;
To suffer Cold and Hunger, want of Sleep.
Nor knew he other rest than on his Horse-back,
Where he would sit and take a hearty Nap;
And then too dreamt of fighting.
I could continue on a day in telling
The Wonders of this Warrior.

King. I credit all, and do submit to you. But yet Alcippus seems displeas’d with it.

Alcip. Ah, Sir! too late I find my Confidence
Has overcome my unhappy Bashfulness;
I had an humbler Suit to approach you with;
But this unlook’d for Honour
Has soon confounded all my lesser aims,
As were they not essential to my Being,
I durst not name them after what y’have done.

King. It is not well to think my Kindness limited;
This, from the Prince you hold, the next from me;
Be what it will, I here declare it thine.
—Upon my life, designs upon a Lady;
I guess it from thy blushing.
—Name her, and here thy King engages for her.

Phi. O Gods!—What have I done? [Aside.

Alcip. Erminia, Sir.— [Bows.

Phi. I’m ruin’d.— [Aside.

King. Alcippus, with her Father’s leave, she’s thine.

Org. Sir, ‘tis my Aim and Honour.

Phi. Alcippus, is’t a time to think of Weddings, When the disorder’d Troops require your Presence? You must to the Camp to morrow.

Alcip. You need not urge that Duty to me, Sir.

King. A Day or two will finish that affair, And then we’ll consummate the happy Day, When all the Court shall celebrate your Joy.

[They all go out, but Alcan. Pisa, and Fal.

Pis. Falatio, you are a swift Horseman; I believe you have a Mistress at Court, You made such haste this Morning.

Fal. By Jove, Pisaro, I was weary enough of the
Campaign; and till I had lost sight of it,
I clapt on all my Spurs—
But what ails Alcander?

Pis. What, displeas’d?

Alcan. It may be so, what then?

Pis. Then thou mayst be pleas’d again.

Alcan. Why the Devil should I rejoice? Because I see another rais’d above me; Let him be great, and damn’d with all his Greatness.

Pis. Thou mean’st Alcippus, who I think merits it.

Alcan. What is’t that thou cal’st Merit?
He fought, it’s true, so did you, and I,
And gain’d as much as he o’th’ Victory,
But he in the Triumphal Chariot rode,
Whilst we ador’d him like a Demi-God.
He with the Prince an equal welcome found,
Was with like Garlands, though less Merit, crown’d.

Fal. He’s in the right for that, by Jove.

Pis. Nay, now you wrong him.

Alcan. What’s he I should not speak my sense of him?

Pis. He is our General.

Alcan. What then?
What is’t that he can do, which I’ll decline?
Has he more Youth, more Strength, or Arms than I?
Can he preserve himself i’th’ heat of the Battle?
Or can he singly fight a whole Brigade?
Can he receive a thousand Wounds, and live?

Fal. Can you or he do so?

Alcan. I do not say I can; but tell me then, Where be the Virtues of this mighty Man, That he should brave it over all the rest?

Pis. Faith, he has many Virtues, and much Courage; And merits it as well as you or I: Orgulius was grown old.

Alcan. What then?

Pis. Why then he was unfit for’t, But that he had a Daughter that was young.

Alcan. Yes, he might have lain by,
Like rusty Armour, else,
Had she not brought him into play again;
The Devil take her for’t.

Fal. By Jove, he’s dissatisfy’d with every thing.

Alcan. She has undone my Prince,
And he has most unluckily disarm’d himself,
And put the Sword into his Rival’s hand,
Who will return it to his grateful Bosom.

Phi. Why, you believe Alcippus honest—

Alcan. Yes, in your sense, Pisaro, But do not like the last demand he made; ’.was but an ill return upon his Prince, To beg his Mistress, rather challeng’d her.

Pis. His ignorance that she was so, may excuse him.

Alcan. The Devil ‘twill, dost think he knew it not?

Pis. Orgulius still design’d him for Erminia; And if the Prince be disoblig’d from this, He only ought to take it ill from him.

Alcan. Too much, Pisaro, you excuse his Pride, But ‘tis the Office of a Friend to do so.

Pis. ‘Tis true, I am not ignorant of this,
That he despises other Recompence
For all his Services, but fair Erminia,
I know ‘tis long since he resign’d his Heart,
Without so much as telling her she conquer’d;
And yet she knew he lov’d; whilst she, ingrate,
Repay’d his Passion only with her Scorn.

Alcan. In loving him, she’d more ingrateful prove To her first Vows, to Reason, and to Love.

Pis. For that, Alcander, you know more than I.

Fal. Why sure Aminta will instruct her better, She’s as inconstant as the Seas and Winds, Which ne’er are calm but to betray Adventurers.

Alcan. How came you by that knowledg, Sir?

Fal. What a Pox makes him ask me that question now? [Aside.

Pis. Prithee, Alcander, now we talk of her,
How go the Amours ‘twixt you and my wild Sister?
Can you speak yet, or do you tell your tale
With Eyes and Sighs, as you were wont to do?

Alcan. Faith, much at that old rate, Pisaro, I yet have no incouragement from her To make my Court in any other language.

Pis. You’ll bring her to’t, she must be overcome, And you’re the fittest for her fickle Humour.

Alcan. Pox on’t, this Change will spoil our making Love,
We must be sad, and follow the Court-Mode:
My life on’t, you’ll see desperate doings here;
The Eagle will not part so with his Prey;
Erminia was not gain’d so easily,
To be resign’d so tamely.—But come, my Lord,
This will not satisfy our appetites,
Let’s in to Dinner, and when warm with Wine,
We shall be fitter for a new Design.

[They go out. Fal. stays.

Fal. Now am I in a very fine condition,
A comfortable one, as I take it:
I have ventur’d my Life to some purpose now;
What confounded luck was this, that he of all men
Living, should happen to be my Rival?
Well, I’ll go visit Aminta, and see how
She receives me.—
Why, where a duce hast thou dispos’d of Enter Labree.
Thy self all this day? I will be bound to be
Hang’d if thou hast not a hankering after
Some young Wench; thou couldst never loiter
Thus else; but I’ll forgive thee now, and prithee go to
My Lady Aminta’s Lodgings; kiss her hand
From me; and tell her, I am just returned from
The Campain: mark that word, Sirrah.

Lab. I shall, Sir, ‘tis truth.

Fal. Well, that’s all one; but if she should
Demand any thing concerning me, (for
Love’s inquisitive) dost hear? as to my Valour, or so,
Thou understand’st me; tell her
I acted as a man that pretends to the glory of
Serving her.

Lab. I warrant you, Sir, for a Speech.

Fal. Nay, thou mayst speak as well too much
As too little; have a care of that, dost hear?
And if she ask what Wounds I have, dost mind me?
Tell her I have many, very many.

Lab. But whereabouts, Sir?

Fal. Let me see—let me see; I know not where To place them—I think in my Face.

Lab. By no means, Sir, you had much better Have them in your Posteriors: for then the Ladies Can never disprove you; they’ll not look there.

Fal. The sooner, you Fool, for the Rarity on’t.

Lab. Sir, the Novelty is not so great, I assure you.

Fal. Go to, y’are wicked; But I will have them in my Face.

Lab. With all my heart, Sir, but how?

Fal. I’ll wear a patch or two there, and I’ll Warrant you for pretending as much as any man; And who, you Fool, shall know the fallacy?

Lab. That, Sir, will all that know you, both in the Court and Camp.

Fal. Mark me, Labree, once for all; if thou takest
Delight continually thus to put me in mind of
My want of Courage, I shall undoubtedly
Fall foul on thee, and give thee most fatal proofs
Of more than thou expectest.

Lab. Nay, Sir, I have done, and do believe ‘tis only I dare say you are a man of Prowess.

Fal. Leave thy simple fancies, and go about thy business.

Lab. I am gone; but hark, my Lord, If I should say your Face were wounded, The Ladies would fear you had lost your Beauty.

Fal. O, never trouble your head for that, Aminta Is a Wit, and your Wits care not how ill-favour’d Their Men be, the more ugly the better.

Lab. An’t be so, you’ll fit them to a hair.

Fal. Thou art a Coxcomb, to think a man of my
Quality needs the advantage of Handsomness:
A trifle as insignificant as Wit or Valour; poor
Nothings, which Men of Fortune ought to despise.

Lab. Why do you then keep such a stir, to gain The reputation of this thing you so despise?

Fal. To please the peevish humour of a Woman, Who in that point only is a Fool.

Lab. You had a Mistress once, if you have not Forgotten her, who would have taken you with All these faults.

Fal. There was so; but she was poor, that’s the Devil, I could have lov’d her else. —But go thy ways; what dost thou muse on?

Lab. Faith, Sir, I am only fearful you will never Pass with those Patches you speak of.

Fal. Thou never-to-be-reclaim’d Ass, shall I never
Bring thee to apprehend as thou ought’st? I tell thee,
I will pass and repass, where and how I please;
Know’st thou not the difference yet, between a Man
Of Money and Titles, and a Man of only Parts,
As they call them? poor Devils of no Mein nor Garb:
Well, ‘tis a fine and frugal thing, this Honour,
It covers a multitude of Faults:
Even Ridicule in one of us is a-la-mode.
But I detain thee; go haste to Aminta.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. Galatea’s Apartments.

Enter Galatea, Aminta, and Olinda.

Gal. Will Erminia come?

Oli. Madam, I thought she’d been already here.

Gal. But prithee how does she support this news?

Oli. Madam, as those unreconciled to Heaven Would bear the pangs of death.

Am. Time will convince her of that foolish error, Of thinking a brisk young Husband a torment.

Gal. What young Husband?

Am. The General, Madam.

Gal. Why, dost thou think she will consent to it?

Am. Madam, I cannot tell, the World’s inconstant.

Gal. Ay, Aminta, in every thing but Love; And sure they cannot be in that: What say’st thou, Olinda?

Oli. Madam, my Judgment’s naught.
Love I have treated as a stranger Guest,
Receiv’d him well, not lodg’d him in my Breast.
I ne’er durst give the unknown Tyrant room;
Lest he should make his resting place his home.

Gal. Then thou art happy; but if Erminia fail, I shall not live to reproach her.

Am. Nay, Madam, do not think of dying yet: There is a way, if we could think of it.

Gal. Aminta, when will thou this Humour lose?

Am. Faith, never, if I might my Humour chuse.

Gal. Methinks thou now should’st blush to bid me live.

Am. Madam, ‘tis the best counsel I can give.

Gal. Thy Counsel! Prithee, what dost counsel now?

Am. What I would take my self I counsel you.

Gal. You must my Wounds and my Misfortunes bear
Before you can become my Counsellor.
You cannot guess the Torments I endure:
Not knowing the Disease you’ll miss the Cure.

Am. Physicians, Madam, can the Patient heal
Although the Malady they ne’er did feel;
But your Disease is epidemical,
Nor can I that evade that conquers all.
I lov’d, and never did like pleasure know,
Which Passion did with time less vigorous grow.

Gal. Why, hast thou lost it?

Am. It, and half a score.

Gal. Losing the first, sure thou couldst love no more.

Am. With more facility, than when the Dart Arm’d with resistless fire first seiz’d my Heart; ’.was long then e’er the Boy could entrance get, And make his little Victory compleat; And now he’as got the knack on’t, ‘tis with ease He domineers, and enters when he please.

Gal. My Heart, Aminta, is not like to thine.

Am. Faith, Madam, try, you’ll find it just like mine.
The first I lov’d was Philocles, and then
Made Protestations ne’er to love again,
Yet after left him for a faithless crime;
But then I languisht even to death for him;
—But Love who suffer’d me to take no rest,
New fire-balls threw, the old scarce dispossest;
And by the greater flame the lesser light,
Like Candles in the Sun extinguished quite,
And left no power Alcander to resist,
Who took, and keeps possession of my breast.

Gal. Art thou a Lover then, and look’st so gay, But thou hast ne’er a Father to obey. [Sighing.

Am. Why, if I had I would obey him too.

Gal. And live?

Am. And live.

Gal. ‘Tis more than I can do.

Enter Erminia weeping.

—Thy Eyes, Erminia, do declare thy Heart
          [Gal. meets her, embraces her, and weeps.
Has nothing but Despairs and Death t’impart,
And I alas, no Comfort can apply,
But I as well as you can weep and die.

Er. I’ll not reproach my Fortune, since in you
Grief does the noblest of your Sex subdue;
When your great Soul a sorrow can admit,
I ought to suffer from the sense of it;
Your cause of grief too much like mine appears,
Not to oblige my Eyes to double tears;
And had my heart no sentiments at home,
My part in yours had doubtless fill’d the room.
But mine will no addition more receive,
Fate has bestow’d the worst she had to give;
Your mighty Soul can all its rage oppose,
Whilst mine must perish by more feeble blows.

Gal. Indeed I dare not say my cause of grief Does yours exceed, since both are past relief. But if your Fates unequal do appear, Erminia, ‘tis my heart that odds must bear.

Er. Madam, ‘tis just I should to you resign,
But here you challenge what is only mine:
My Fate so cruel is, it will not give
Leave to Philander (if I die) to live:
Might I but suffer all, ‘twere some content,
But who can live and see this languishment?
You, Madam, do alone your Sorrows bear,
Which would be less, did but Alcippus share;
As Lovers we agree, I’ll not deny,
But thou art lov’d again, so am not I.

Am. Madam, that grief the better is sustain’d,
That’s for a loss that never yet was gain’d;
You only lose a man that does not know
How great the honour is which you bestow;
Who dares not hope you love, or if he did,
Your Greatness would his just return forbid;
His humble thoughts durst ne’er to you aspire,
At most he would presume but to admire;
Or if it chanc’d he durst more daring prove,
You still must languish and conceal your Love.

Gal. This which you argue lessens not my Pain,
My Grief’s the same were I belov’d again.
The King my Father would his promise keep,
And thou must him enjoy for whom I weep.

Er. Ah, would I could that fatal gift deny;
Without him you; and with him, I must die;
My Soul your royal Brother does adore,
And I, all Passion, but from him, abhor;
But if I must th’unsuit Alcippus wed,
I vow he ne’er shall come into my Bed.

Gal. That’s bravely sworn, and now I love thee more
Than e’er I was oblig’d to do before,
—But yet, Erminia, guard thee from his Eyes,
Where so much love, and so much Beauty lies;
Those charms may conquer thee, which made me bow,
And make thee love as well as break this Vow.

Er. Madam, it is unkind, though but to fear Ought but Philander can inhabit here. [Lays her hand on her heart.

Gal. Ah, that Alcippus did not you approve,
We then might hope these mischiefs to remove;
The King my Father might be won by Prayer,
And my too powerful Brother’s sad despair,
To break his word, which kept will us undo:
And he will lose his dear Philander too,
Who dies and can no remedies receive:
But vows that ‘tis for you alone he’ll live.

Er. Ah, Madam, do not tell me how he dies,
I’ve seen too much already in his Eyes:
They did the sorrows of his Soul betray,
Which need not be confest another way:
’.was there I found what my misfortune was,
Too sadly written in his lovely face.
But see, my Father comes: Madam, withdraw a while,
And once again I’ll try my interest with him.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. A room in the house of Orgulius.

Enter Orgulius, Erminia weeping, and Isillia.

Er. Sir, does your fatal resolution hold?

Org. Away, away, you are a foolish Girl, And look with too much pride upon your Beauty; Which like a gaudy flower that springs too soon, Withers e’er fully blown. Your very Tears already have betray’d Its weak inconstant nature; Alcippus, should he look upon thee now, would swear thou wert not that fine thing he lov’d.

Er. Why should that blessing turn to my despair? Curse on his Faith that told him I was fair.

Org. ‘Tis strange to me you shou’d despise this Fortune, I always thought you well inclin’d to love him, I would not else have thus dispos’d of you.

Er. I humbly thank you, Sir, though’t be too late, And wish you yet would try to change my Fate; What to Alcippus you did Love believe, Was such a Friendship as might well deceive; ’.was what kind Sisters do to Brothers pay; Alcippus I can love no other way. —Sir, lay the Interest of a Father by, And give me leave this Lover to deny.

Org. Erminia, thou art young, and canst not see The advantage of the Fortune offer’d thee.

Er. Alas, Sir, there is something yet behind. [Sighs.

Org. What is’t, Erminia? freely speak thy mind.

Er. Ah, Sir, I dare not, you inrag’d will grow.

Org. Erminia, you have seldom found me so; If no mean Passion have thy Soul possest, Be what it will I can forgive the rest.

Er. No, Sir, it is no crime, or if it be, Let Prince Philander make the Peace for me; He ‘twas that taught the Sin (if Love be such.)

Org. Erminia, peace, he taught you then too much.

Er. Nay, Sir, you promis’d me you wou’d not blame My early Love, if ‘twere a noble Flame.

Org. Than this a more unhappy could not be; Destroy it, or expect to hear of me. [Offers to go out.

Er. Alas, I know ‘twould anger you, when known. [She stays him.

Org. Erminia, you are wondrous daring grown. Where got you courage to admit his Love, Before the King or I did it approve?

Er. I borrow’d Courage from my Innocence, And my own Virtue, Sir, was my defence. Philander never spoke but from a Soul, That all dishonest Passions can controul; With Flames as chaste as Vestals that did burn, From whence I borrow’d mine, to make return.

Org. Your Love from Folly, not from Virtue grew; You never could believe he’d marry you.

Er. Upon my life no other thing he spoke, But those from dictates of his Honour took.

Org. Though by his fondness led he were content
To marry thee, the King would ne’er consent.
Cease then this fruitless Passion, and incline
Your Will and Reason to agree with mine,
Alcippus I dispos’d you to before,
And now I am inclin’d to it much more.
Some days I had design’d t’have given thee
To have prepar’d for this solemnity;
But now my second thoughts believe it fit,
You should this night to my desires submit.

Er. This night! Ah, Sir, what is’t you mean to do?

Org. Preserve my Credit, and thy Honour too.

Er. By such resolves you me to ruin bring.

Org. That’s better than to disoblige my King.

Er. But if the King his liking do afford,
Would you not with Alcippus break your word?
Or would you not to serve your Prince’s life,
Permit your Daughter to become his Wife?

Org. His Wife, Erminia! if I did believe
Thou could’st to such a thought a credit give,
I would the interest of a Father quit,
And you, Erminia, have no need of it:
Without his aid you can a Husband chuse;
Gaining the Prince you may a Father lose.

Er. Ah, Sir, these words are Poniards to my Heart;
And half my Love to Duty does convert;
Alas, Sir, I can be content to die,
But cannot suffer this Severity: [Kneels.
That care you had, dear Sir, continue still,
I cannot live and disobey your will. [Rises.

Org. This duty has regain’d me, and you’ll find
A just return; I shall be always kind.
—Go, reassume your Beauty, dry your Eyes;
Remember ‘tis a Father does advise. [Goes out.

Er. Ungrateful Duty, whose uncivil Pride
By Reason is not to be satisfy’d;
Who even Love’s Almighty Power o’erthrows,
Or does on it too rigorous Laws impose;
Who bindest up our Virtue too too strait,
And on our Honour lays too great a weight.
Coward, whom nothing but thy power makes strong;
Whom Age and Malice bred t’affright the young;
Here thou dost tyrannize to that degree,
That nothing but my Death will set me free.

[Ex. Erm. and Isil.