Footnotes:
- Sir Charles Sedley, noted among "the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease," was so highly applauded for his taste and judgment, that Charles said, "Nature had given him a patent to be Apollo's viceroy." Some account has been given of this celebrated courtier, in the introduction to the Essay on Dramatic Poetry. Dryden was at this time particularly induced to appeal to the taste of the first among the gay world, by the repeated censures which had been launched against him from the groves of Academe. Mr Malone gives the titles of three pamphlets which had appeared against Dryden. 1. The Censure of the Rota, on Mr Dryden's Conquest of Granada, printed at Oxford. 2. A Description of the Academy of the Athenian Virtuoso, with a discourse held there in vindication of Mr Dryden's Conquest of Granada, against the Author of the Censure of the Rota. 3. A Friendly Vindication of Mr Dryden, from the Author of the Censure of the Rota, printed at Cambridge. Thus assailed by the grave and the learned, censured for the irregularities of his gay patrons, which he countenanced although he did not partake, and stigmatized as a detractor of his predecessors, and a defamer of classical learning, it was natural for Dryden to appeal to the most accomplished of those amongst whom he lived, and to whose taste he was but too strongly compelled to adapt his productions. Sedley, therefore, as a man of wit and gallantry, is called upon to support our author against the censures of pedantic severity. Whatever may be thought of the subject, the appeal is made with all Dryden's spirit and elegance, and his description of the attic evenings spent with Sedley and his gay associates, glosses over, and almost justifies, their occasional irregularities. We have but too often occasion to notice, with censure, the licentious manners of the giddy court of Charles; let us not omit its merited commendation. If the talents of the men of parts of that period were often ill-directed, and ill-rewarded, let not us, from whom that gratitude is justly due, forget that they were called forth and stimulated to exertion, by the countenance and applause of the great. We, at least, who enjoy the fruit of these exertions, ought to rejoice, that the courtiers of Charles possessed the taste to countenance and applaud the genius which was too often perverted by the profligacy of their example, and left unrewarded amid their selfish prodigality.
- At this period, seconds in a duel fought, as well as principals.
- The second Dutch war, then raging.
- To whom the tragedy of "Amboyna" is dedicated.
- It is impossible to avoid contrasting this beautiful account of elegant dissipation with the noted freak of Sir Charles Sedley, to whom it is addressed. In June 1663, being in company with Lord Buckhurst and Sir Thomas Ogle, in a tavern in Bowstreet, and having become furious with intoxication, they not only exposed themselves, by committing the grossest indecencies in the balcony, in the sight of the passengers; but, a mob being thus collected, Sedley stripped himself naked, and proceeded to harangue them in the grossest and most impious language. The indignation of the populace being excited, they attempted to burst into the house, and a desperate riot ensued, in which the orator and his companions had nearly paid for their frolic with their lives. For this riot they were indicted in the Court of Common Pleas, and heavily fined; Sedley in the sum of L. 500. When the Lord Chief Justice, Sir Robert Hyde, to repress his insolence, asked him if he had ever read the "Complete Gentleman?" Sedley answered, that he had read more books than his lordship; a repartee which exhibits more effrontery than wit. The culprits employed Killigrew and another courtier to solicit a mitigation of the fine; but, in the true spirit of court friendship, they begged it for themselves, and extorted every farthing.
- Our author here shortly repeats what he has said at more length in his Defence of the Epilogue to the second part of the Conquest of Granada.
- The pedant Mr Malone conjectures to be Matthew Clifford, Master of the Charter-house, one of the Duke of Buckingham's colleagues in writing "The Rehearsal." But the pedant is obviously the same with the Fastidious Brisk of Oxford, mentioned in the following sentence, which can hardly apply to Clifford, who was educated at Cambridge. One Leigh is said by Wood to have written the Censure of the Rota; and as he was educated at Oxford and the book printed there, he may be "the contemptible pedant," though his profession was that of a player in the duke's company.
- Fungoso and Sir Fastidious Brisk are two characters in "Every Man Out of his Humour;" the former of whom is represented as copying the dress and manners of the latter. Dryden seems only to mean, that one of those pamphleteers was the servile imitator of the other.
PROLOGUE.
Prologues, like bells to churches, toll you in
With chiming verse, till the dull plays begin;
With this sad difference though, of pit and pew,
You damn the poet, but the priest damns you:
But priests can treat you at your own expence,
And gravely call you fools without offence.
Poets, poor devils, have ne'er your folly shown,
But, to their cost, you proved it was their own:
For, when a fop's presented on the stage,
Straight all the coxcombs in the town engage;
For his deliverance and revenge they join,
And grunt, like hogs, about their captive swine.
Your poets daily split upon this shelf,—
You must have fools, yet none will have himself.
Or if, in kindness, you that leave would give,
No man could write you at that rate you live:
For some of you grow fops with so much haste,
Riot in nonsense, and commit such waste,
'Twould ruin poets should they spend so fast.
He, who made this, observed what farces hit,
And durst not disoblige you now with wit.
But, gentlemen, you over-do the mode;
You must have fools out of the common road.
Th' unnatural strained buffoon is only taking;
No fop can please you now of God's own making.
Pardon our poet, if he speaks his mind;
You come to plays with your own follies lined:
Small fools fall on you, like small showers, in vain;
Your own oiled coats keep out all common rain.
You must have Mamamouchi[1], such a fop
As would appear a monster in a shop;
He'll fill your pit and boxes to the brim,
Where, rain'd in crowds, you see yourselves in him.
Sure there's some spell, our poet never knew,
In Hullibabilah de, and Chu, chu, chu;
But Marababah sahem[2] most did touch you;
That is, Oh how we love the Mamamouchi!
Grimace and habit sent you pleased away:
You damned the poet, and cried up the play.
This thought had made our author more uneasy,
But that he hopes I'm fool enough to please ye.
But here's my grief,—though nature, joined with art,
Have cut me out to act a fooling part,
Yet, to your praise, the few wits here will say,
'Twas imitating you taught Haynes to play.
Footnotes:
- See the introductory remarks on the "Citizen turned Gentleman," of Ravenscroft, where the jest turns on Jorden's being created a Mamamouchi, or Turkish paladin, as it is interpreted.
-
Trickman. I told him she was woundrous beautiful. Then said he, Marababa sahem, Ah how much in love am I!
Jorden. Marababa sahem, means, how much in love am I?
Trick. Yes.
Jorden. I am beholden to you for telling me, for I ne'er could have thought that Marababa sahem, should signify, Ah how much in love am I. Ah this Turkish is an admirable language!
Citizen turned Gentleman, Act. IV.
In the same piece, we are presented with a grand chorus of Turks and Dervises, who sing, "Hu la baba la chou ba la baba la da."
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Duke of Mantua.
Prince Frederick, his son.
Aurelian, a Roman Gentleman.
Camillo, his friend.
Mario, Governor of Rome.
Ascanio, page of honour to the Prince.
Benito, Servant to Aurelian.
Valerio, confidant to the Duke.
Fabio, Servant to Mario.
Sophronia, Abbess of the Torr' di Specchì.
Lucretia, a Lady designed to be a Nun.
Hippolita, a Nun.
| Laura, Violetta |
} } |
Sisters, nieces to Mario. |
Frontona, lets Lodgings.
SCENE—Rome.
THE ASSIGNATION;
OR,
LOVE IN A NUNNERY.
ACT I.
SCENE I.—A Room, a great glass placed.
Enter Benito, with a guitar in his hand.
Ben. [Bowing to the glass.] Save you, sweet signior Benito; by my faith I am glad to see you look so bonnily to-day. Gad, sir, every thing becomes you to a miracle: your peruke, your clothes, your hat, your shoe-ties; and, gad, sir, let me tell you, you become every thing; you walk with such a grace, and you bow so pliantly!
Aurelian. [Within.] Benito, where are you, sirrah?
Ben. Sirrah! That my damned master should call a man of my extraordinary endowments, sirrah! A man of my endowments? Gad, I ask my own pardon, I mean a person of my endowments; for a man of my parts and talents, though he be but a valet de chambre, is a person; and let me tell my master—Gad, I frown too, as like a person as any jack-gentleman of them all; but, gad, when I do not frown, I am an absolute beauty, whatever this glass says to the contrary; and, if this glass deny it, 'tis a base lying glass; so I'll tell it to its face, and kick it down into the bargain.
Aur. [Within.] Why, Benito, how long shall we stay for you?
Ben. I come, sir.—What the devil would he have? But, by his favour, I'll first survey my dancing and my singing. [He plays on his guitar, and dances and sings to the glass.] I think that was not amiss: I think so. Gad, I can dance [Lays down the guitar.] and play no longer, I am in such a rapture with myself. What a villanous fate have I! With all these excellencies, and a profound wit, and yet to be a serving-man!
Enter Aurelian and Camillo.
Aur. Why, you slave, you dog, you son of twenty fathers, am I to be served at this rate eternally? A pox of your conceited coxcomb!
Cam. Nay, pr'ythee, Aurelian, be not angry.
Aur. You do not know this rogue, as I do, Camillo. Now, by this guitar, and that great looking-glass, I am certain how he has spent his time. He courts himself every morning in that glass at least an hour; there admires his own person, and his parts, and studies postures and grimaces, to make himself yet more ridiculous than he was born to be.
Cam. You wrong him, sure.
Aur. I do; for he is yet more fool than I can speak him. I never sent him on a message, but he runs first to that glass, to practise how he may become his errand. Speak, is this a lie, sirrah?
Ben. I confess, I have some kindness for the mirror.
Aur. The mirror! there's a touch of his poetry too; he could not call it a glass. Then the rogue has the impudence to make sonnets, as he calls them; and, which is greater impudence, he sings them too; there's not a street in all Rome which he does not nightly disquiet with his villanous serenade: with that guitar there, the younger brother of a cittern, he frights away the watch; and for his violin, it squeaks so lewdly, that Sir Tibert[1] in the gutter mistakes him for his mistress. 'Tis a mere cat-call.
Cam. Is this true, Benito?
Ben. to Cam. [Aside.] My master, sir, may say
his pleasure; I divert myself sometimes with hearing
him. Alas, good gentleman, 'tis not given to all
persons to penetrate into men's parts and qualities;
but I look on you, sir, as a man of judgment, and
therefore you shall hear me play and sing.
[He takes up the guitar, and begins.
Aur. Why, you invincible sot you, will nothing mend you? Lay it down, or—
Ben. to Cam. Do ye see, sir, this enemy to the muses? he will not let me hold forth to you. [Lays down the guitar.] O envy and ignorance, whither will you!—But, gad, before I'll suffer my parts to be kept in obscurity—
Aur, What will you do, rascal?
Ben. I'll take up the guitar, and suffer heroically. [He plays, Aur. kicks.
Aur. What? do you mutiny?
Ben. Ay, do, kick till your toes ache; I'll be baffled in my music by ne'er a foot in Christendom.
Aur. I'll put you out of your tune, with a vengeance to you.
[As Aurelian kicks harder, Benito sings faster,
and sometimes cries out.
Cam. holding Aur. Nay, then, 'tis time to stickle[2]. Hold, Aurelian, pr'ythee spare Benito, you know we have occasion for him.
Aur. I think that was well kicked.
Ben. And I think that was well sung too.
Cam. Enough, Aurelian.
Ben. No, sir; let him proceed to discourage virtue and see what will come on it.
Cam. Now to our business. But we must first instruct Benito.
Aur. Be ruled by me, and do not trust him. I prophesy he'll spoil the whole affair; he has a worm in his head as long as a conger, a brain so barren of all sense, and yet so fruitful of foolish plots, that if he does not all things his own way, yet at least he'll ever be mingling his designs with yours, and go halves with you; so that, what with his ignorance, what with his plotting, he'll be sure to ruin you with an intention to serve you. For my part, I had turned him off long since, but that my wise father commanded the contrary.
Cam. Still you speak, as if what we did were choice, and not necessity. You know their uncle is suspicious of me, and consequently jealous of all my servants; but if we employ yours, who is not suspected, because you are a stranger, I doubt not to get an assignation with the younger sister.
Aur. Well, use your own way, Camillo: but if it ever succeed with his management—
Cam. You must understand then, Benito, that this old Signior Mario has two nieces, with one of which I am desperately in love, and—
Ben. [Aside to him.] I understand you already, sir, and you desire love reciprocal. Leave your business in my hands; and, if it succeed not, think me no wiser than my master.
Cam. Pray take me with you. These sisters are great beauties, and vast fortunes; but, by a clause in their father's will, if they marry without their uncle's consent, are to forfeit all. Their uncle, who is covetous and base to the last degree, takes advantage of this clause; and, under pretence of not finding fit matches for them, denies his consent to all who love them.
Ben. Denies them marriage! Very good, sir.
Cam. More than this, he refuses access to any suitor, and immures them in a mean apartment on the garden side, where he barbarously debars them from all human society.
Ben. Uses them most barbarously! Still better and better.
Cam. The younger of these sisters, Violetta, I have seen often in the garden, from the balcony in this chamber, which looks into it; have divers times shot tickets on the point of an arrow, which she has taken; and, by the signs she made me, I find they were not ill received.
Ben. I'll tell you now, just such an amour as this had I once with a young lady, that—
Aur. Quote yourself again, you rogue, and my feet shall renew their acquaintance with your buttocks.
Cam. Dear Benito, take care to convey this ticket to Violetta; I saw her just now go by to the next chapel: be sure to stand ready to give her holy water, and slip the ticket into the hand of her woman Beatrix; and take care the elder sister, Laura, sees you not, for she knows nothing of our amour.
Ben. A word to the wise. Have you no service to Laura? [To Aur.
Aur. None that I shall trouble you withal; I'll see first what returns you make from this voyage, before I put in my venture with you. Away; begone, Mr Mercury.
Ben. I fly, Mr Jupiter. [Exit.
Aur. This lady, Laura, I have seen from your balcony, and was seen by her. Methought, too, she looked with a languishing eye upon me, as who should say, Are you a man, and have no pity for a poor distressed virgin? For my part, I never found so much disposition in myself to love any woman at first sight. Handsome she is; of that I am certain.
Cam. And has wit, I dare assure you; but I have not heard she has admitted of any gallantry.
Aur. Her hour is not come yet; she has not met with a man to love; when that happens, (as I am resolved to push my fortune) you shall see that, as her love warms, her virtue will melt down, and dissolve in it; for there's no such bawd to a woman, as her own wit is.
Cam. I look upon the assignation as certain; will you promise me to go? You and Benito shall walk in the garden, while I search the nymph within the shade. One thing I had forgot to tell you, that our general of the church, the Duke of Mantua, and the prince his son, are just approaching the gates of Rome. Will you go see the ceremony of their entrance?
Aur. With all my heart. They say he has behaved himself gallantly against the French, at their return from Naples. Besides, I have a particular knowledge of young prince Frederick, ever since he was last at our Venetian carnivals.
Cam. Away, then, quickly; lest we miss the solemnity. [Exeunt.
Enter Laura and Violetta, striving about a letter, which Laura holds.
Vio. Let it go, I say.
Lau. I say, let you go.
Vio. Nay, sweet sister Laura.
Lau. Nay, dear Violetta, it is in vain to contend;
I am resolved I'll see it.
[Plucks the paper from Violetta.
Vio. But I am resolved you shall not read it. I know not what authority this is which you assume, or what privilege a year or two can give you, to use this sovereignty over me.
Lau. Do you rebel, young gentlewoman? I'll make you know I have a double right over you. One, as I have more years, and the other, as I have more wit.
Vio. Though I am not all air and fire, as you are, yet that little wit I have will serve to conduct my affairs without a governess.
Lau. No, gentlewoman, but it shall not. Are you fit, at fifteen, to be trusted with a maidenhead? It is as much as your betters can manage at full twenty.
For 'tis of a nature so subtile,
That, if it's not luted with care,
The spirit will work through the bottle,
And vanish away into air.
To keep it, there nothing so hard is,
'Twill go betwixt waking and sleeping;
The simple too weak for a guard is,
And no wit would be plagued with the keeping.
Vio. For aught I see, you are as little to be trusted with your madness, as I with my simplicity; and, therefore, pray restore my letter.
Lau. [Reading it.] What's here? An humble petition for a private meeting? Are you twittering at that sport already, mistress novice?
Vio. How! I a novice at ripe fifteen? I would have you to know, that I have killed my man before I was fourteen, and now am ready for another execution.
Lau. A very forward rose-bud: You open apace, gentlewoman. I find indeed your desires are quick enough; but where will you have cunning to carry on your business with decency and secrecy? Secrecy, I say, which is a main part of chastity in our sex. Where wit, to be sensible of the delicacies of love? the tenderness of a farewell-sigh for an absence? the joy of a return? the zeal of a pressing hand? the sweetness of little quarrels, caused and cured by the excess of love? and, in short, the pleasing disquiets of the soul, always restless, and wandering up and down in a paradise of thought, of its own making?
Vio. If I understood not thus much before, I find you are an excellent instructor; and that argues you have had a feeling of the cause in your time too, sister.
Lau. What have I confessed before I was aware! She'll find out my inclination to that stranger, whom I have only seen, and to whom I have never spoken—[Aside.] No, good Violetta, I never was in love; all my experience is from plays and romances. But, who is this man, to whom you have promised an assignation?
Vio. You'll tell my uncle.
Lau. I hate my uncle more than you do.
Vio. You know the man, 'tis signior Camillo: His birth and fortunes are equal to what I can expect; and he tells me his intentions are honourable.
Lau. Have I not seen him lately in his balcony, which looks into our garden, with another handsome gentleman in his company, who seems a stranger?
Vio. They are the same. Do you think it a reasonable thing, dear Laura, that my uncle should keep us so strictly, that we must be beholden to hearsay, to know a young gallant is in the next house to us?
Lau. 'Tis hard, indeed, to be mewed like hawks, and never manned: To be locked in like nuns here.
Vio. They, that look for nun's flesh in me, shall be mistaken.
Lau. Well, what answer have you returned to this letter?
Vio. That I would meet him at eight this evening, in the close walk in the garden, attended only by Beatrix, my woman.
Lau. Who comes with him?
Vio. Only his friend's man, Benito; the same who brought me the letter which you took from me.
Lau. Stay, let me think a little. Does Camillo, or this Benito, know your maid Beatrix?
Vio. They have never talked with her; but only seen her.
Lau. 'Tis concluded then. You shall meet your servant, but I'll be your Beatrix: I'll go instead of her, and counterfeit your waiting-woman; in the dark I may easily pass for her. By this means I shall be present to instruct you, for you are yet a callow maid: I must teach you to peck a little; you may come to prey for yourself in time.
Vio. A little teaching will serve my turn: If the old one left me to myself, I could go near to get my living.
Lau. I find you are eager, and baiting to be gone
already, and I'll not hinder you when your hour approaches.
In the mean time, go in, and sigh, and
think fondly and ignorantly of your approaching
pleasures:
Love, in young hearts, is like the must of wine;
'Tis sweetest then; but elder 'tis more fine. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I.—The front of a Nunnery.
Prince Frederick, Aurelian, Camillo, and Ascanio, the Prince's Page.
Fred. My father's ancient, and may repose himself, if he pleases, after the ceremony of his entrance; but we, who are younger, should think it a sin to spend any part of day-light in a chamber. What are your ways of living here?
Cam. Why, sir, we pass our time, either in conversation alone, or in love alone, or in love and conversation together.
Fred. Come, explain, explain, my counsel learned in the laws of living.
Cam. For conversation alone; that's either in going to court, with a face of business, and there discoursing of the affairs of Europe, of which Rome, you know, is the public mart; or, at best, meeting the virtuosi, and there wearying one another with rehearsing our own works in prose and poetry.
Fred. Away with that dry method, I will have none on't. To the next.
Cam. Love alone, is either plain wenching, where every courtezan is your mistress, and every man your rival; or else, what's worse, plain whining after one woman: that is, walking before her door by day, and haunting her street by night, with guitars, dark-lanthorns, and rondaches[3].
Aur. Which, I take it, is, or will he our case, Camillo.
Fred. Neither of these will fit my humour: If your third prove not more pleasant, I shall stick to the old Almain recreation; the divine bottle, and the bounteous glass, that tuned up old Horace to his odes.
Aur. You shall need to have no recourse to that; for love and conversation will do your business: that is, sir, a most delicious courtezan,—I do not mean down-right punk,—but punk of more than ordinary sense in conversation; punk in ragou, punk, who plays on the lute, and sings; and, to sum up all, punk, who cooks and dresses up herself, with poignant sauce, to become a new dish every time she is served up to you.
Fred. This I believe, Aurelian, is your method of living, you talk of it so savourily.
Aur. There is yet another more insipid sort of love and conversation: As, for example, look you there, sir; the courtship of our nuns. [Pointing to the Nunnery.] They talk prettily; but, a pox on them, they raise our appetites, and then starve us. They are as dangerous as cold fruits without wine, and are never to be used but where there are abundance of wenches in readiness, to qualify them.
Cam. But yet they are ever at hand, and easy to come by; and if you'll believe an experienced sinner, easiness in love is more than half the pleasure of it.
Fred. This way of chatting pleases me; for debauchery, I hate it; and to love is not in my nature, except it be my friends. Pray, what do you call that nunnery?
Cam. 'Tis a house of Benedictines, called the Torre
di Specchi, where only ladies of the best quality
are professed.
[Lucretia and Hippolita appear at the grate.
Aur. Look you yonder, sir, are two of the pretty magpies in white and black. If you will lull yourself into a Platonic dream, you may; but consider your sport will be dull when you play without stakes.
Fred. No matter, I'll fool away an hour of courtship; for I never was engaged in a serious love, nor I believe can be. Farewell, gentlemen; at this time I shall dispense with your attendance;—nay, without ceremony, because I would be incognito.
Cam. Come then, Aurelian, to our own affairs. [Exeunt Aurelian and Camillo.
The Prince and Ascanio approach.
Fred. [To Lucretia.] For what crime, fair creature, were you condemned to this perpetual prison?
Luc. For chastity and devotion, and two or three such melancholy virtues: They first brought me hither, and must now keep me company.
Fred. I should rather have guessed it had been murder, and that you are veiled for fear of doing more mischief with those eyes; for, indeed, they are too sharp to be trusted out of the scabbard.
Luc. Cease, I beseech you, to accuse my eyes, till they have done some execution on your heart.
Fred. But I am out of reach, perhaps.
Luc. Trust not to that; they may shoot at a distance, though they cannot strike you near at hand.
Fred. But if they should kill, you are ne'er the better: There's a grate betwixt us, and you cannot fetch in the dead quarry.
Luc. Provided we destroy the enemy, we do not value their dead bodies: But you, perhaps, are in your first error, and think we are rather captives than warriors; that we come like prisoners to the grate, to beg the charity of passengers for their love.
Fred. [To Ascanio.] Enquire, as dextrously as you can, what is the name and quality of this charming creature.
Luc. [To Hippolita.] Be sure, if the page approaches
you, to get out of him his master's name.
[The Prince and Lucretia seem to talk.
Hip. [To Ascanio.] By that short whisper, which I observed you took with your master, I imagine, Mr Page, you come to ask a certain question of me.
Asca. By this thy question, and by that whisper with thy lady, (O thou nymph of devotion!) I find I am to impart a secret, and not to ask one: Therefore, either confess thou art yet a mere woman under that veil, and, by consequence, most horribly inquisitive, or thou shalt lose thy longing, and know nothing of my master.
Hip. By my virginity, you shall tell first.
Asca. You'll break your oath, on purpose to make the forfeit.
Hip. Your master is called—
Asca. Your lady is ycleped—
Hip. For decency, in all matters of love, the man should offer first, you know.
Asca. That needs not, when the damsel is so willing.
Hip. But I have sworn not to discover first, that her name is madam Lucretia; fair, as you see, to a miracle, and of a most charming conversation; of royal blood, and niece to his holiness; and, if she were not espoused to heaven, a mistress for a sovereign prince.
Asca. After these encomiums, 'twere vain for me to praise my master: He is only poor prince Frederick, otherwise called the prince of Mantua; liberal, and valiant, discreet and handsome, and, in my simple judgment, a fitter servant for your lady, than his old father, who is a sovereign.
Hip. Dare you make all this good, you have said of your master?
Asca. Yes, and as much more of myself to you.
Hip. I defy you upon't, as my lady's second.
Asca. As my master's, I accept it. The time?
Hip. Six this evening.
Asca. The place?
Hip. At this grate.
Asca. The weapons?
Hip. Hands, and it may be lips.
Asca. 'Tis enough: Expect to hear from me.
[They withdraw, and whisper to their Principals.
After the whisper.
Fred. [To Lucretia.] Madam, I am glad I know my enemy; for since it is impossible to see, and not admire you, the name of Lucretia is the best excuse for my defeat.
Luc. Persons, like prince Frederick, ought not to assault religious houses, or to pursue chastity and virtue to their last retreat.
Fred. A monastery is no retreat for chastity; 'tis only a hiding place for bad faces, where they are thrust in crowds together, like heaps of rubbish out of the way, that the world may not be peopled with deformed persons: And that such, who are out of play themselves, may pray for a blessing on their endeavours, who are getting handsome children, and carrying on the work for public benefit.
Luc. Then you would put off heaven with your leavings, and use it like them, who play at cards alone; take the courts for yourselves, and give the refuse to the gentlemen.
Fred. You mistake me, madam; I would so contrive it, that heaven and we might be served at once. We have occasion for wit and beauty; now piety and ugliness will do as well for heaven: that plays at one game, and we at another; and therefore heaven may make its hand with the same cards that we put out.
Luc. I could easily convince you, if the argument concerned me; hut I am one of those, whom, for want of wit and beauty, you have condemned to religion; and therefore am your humble servant, to pray for your handsome wife and children.
Fred. Heaven forbid, madam, that I should condemn you, or indeed any handsome woman, to be religious! No, madam; the occasions of the world are great and urgent for such as you; and, for my part, I am of opinion, that it is as great a sin for a beauty to enter into a nunnery, as for an ugly woman to stay out of it.
Luc. The cares of the world are not yet upon you; but as soon as ever you come to be afflicted with sickness, or visited with a wife, you'll be content I should pray for you.
Fred. Any where rather than in a cloyster; for,
truly, I suppose, all your prayers there will be how
to get out of it; and, upon that supposition, madam,
I am come to offer you my service for your
redemption. Come, faith, be persuaded, the church
shall lose nothing by it: I'll take you out, and put
in two or three crooked apostles in your place.
[Bell rings within.
Luc. Hark, the bell rings; I must leave you: 'tis a summons to our devotion.
Fred. Will you leave me for your prayers, madam? You may have enough of them at any time, but remember you cannot have a man so easily.
Luc. Well, I'll say my beads for you, and that's
but charity; for I believe I leave you in a most deplorable
condition.
[Exeunt Women.
Fred. Not deplorable neither, but a little altered: If I could be in love, as I am sure I cannot, it should be with her, for I like her conversation strangely.
Asca. Then, as young as I am, sir, I am beforehand with you; for I am in love already. I would fain make the first proof of my manhood upon a nun: I find I have a mighty grudging to holy flesh.
Fred. I'll ply Lucretia again, as soon as ever her devotion's over. Methinks these nuns divide their time most admirably; from love to prayers, from prayers to love; that is, just so much sin, just so much godliness.
Asca. Then I can claim that sister's love by merit.
Half man, half boy; for her half flesh, half spirit.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Street.
Aurelian and Camillo.
Aur. I'll proceed no farther, if Benito goes: I know his folly will produce some mischief.
Cam. But Violetta desired me, in her note, to bring him, on purpose to pass the time with her woman, Beatrix.
Aur. That objection's easily removed: I'll supply Benito's place; the darkness will prevent discovery; and, for my discourse, I'll imitate the half wit and patched breeding of a valet de chambre.
Cam. But how shall we get rid of him?
Aur. Let me alone for that.
Enter Benito.
Ben. Come, are we ready, gallants? The clock's upon the stroke of eight.
Aur. But we have altered our resolution; we go another way to-night.
Ben. I hope you have not broke my assignation?
Aur. Why do you hope so?
Ben. Because my reputation is engaged in't: I've stipulated, upon mine honour, that you shall come.
Aur. I shall beat you, if you follow me. Go, sirrah, and adjourn to the great looking-glass, and let me hear no more from you till to-morrow morning.
Ben. Sir, my fidelity, and, if I may be so vain, my discretion, may stand you in some stead.
Aur. Well, come along then; they are brave fellows, who have challenged us; you shall have fighting enough, sir.
Ben. How, sir, fighting?
Aur. You may escape with the loss of a leg, or an arm, or some such transitory limb.
Ben. No, sir; I have that absolute obedience to
your commands, that I will bridle my courage, and
stay at home.
[Exit.
Cam. You took the only way to be rid of him.
There's the wall; behind yon pane of it we'll set
up the ladder.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Night-piece of a Garden.
Enter Laura and Violetta.
Vio. Remember your waiting-woman's part, Laura.
Lau. I warrant you, I'll wait on you by night, as well as I governed you by day.
Vio. Hark, I hear footsteps; and now, methinks, I see something approaching us.
Lau. They are certainly the men whom we expect.
Enter Aurelian and Camillo.
Cam. I hear womens' voices.
Aur. We are right, I warrant you.
Cam. Violetta, my love!
Vio. My dear Camillo!
Cam. Speak those words again; my own name never sounded so sweetly to me, as when you spoke it, and made me happy by adding dear to it.
Vio. Speak softly then; I have stolen these few minutes from my watchful uncle and my sister, and they are as full of danger as they are of love. Something within me checks me too, and says, I was too forward in venturing thus to meet you.
Cam. You are too fearful rather; and fear's the greatest enemy to love.
Vio. But night will hide my blushes, when I tell you, I love you much, or I had never trusted my virtue and my person in your hands.
Cam. The one is sacred, and the other safe; but
this auspicious minute is our first of near converse.
May I not hope that favour, which strangers, in civility,
may claim, even from the most reserved?
[Kisses her hand.
Vio. I fear you'll censure me.
Cam. Yes, as the blest above tax heaven for making them so happy. [They walk further off.
Aur. [Stepping towards Laura.] Damsel of darkness, advance, and meet my flames!
Lau. [Stepping forward.] Right trusty valet, heard, but yet unseen, I have advanced one step on reputation.
Aur. Now, by laudable custom, I am to love thee vehemently.
Lau. We should do well to see each other first: You know 'tis ill taking money without light.
Aur. O, but the coin of love is known by the weight only, and you may feel it in the dark: Besides, you know 'tis prince-like to love without seeing.
Lau. But then you may be served as princes are sometimes.
Aur. Let us make haste, however, and despatch a little love out of the way: We may do it now with ease, and save ourselves a great deal of trouble, if we take it in time, before it grows too fast upon our hands.
Lau. Fye, no; let us love discreetly: we must manage our passion, and not love all our love out at one meeting, but leave some for another time.
Aur. I am for applying the plaster while the
wound is green; 'twill heal the better.
[Takes her by the hand.
Lau. Let go my hand! What crime has the poor wretch committed, that you press it thus? I remember no mischief it has done you.
Aur. O, 'tis a heinous malefactor, and is pressed by law, because it will confess nothing. Come, withdraw a little farther, we have urgent business with one another.
Lau. 'Twere a shame to quit my ground upon the first charge; yet if you please to take a truce a little, I will consent to go behind the lovers, and listen with you.
Aur. I wonder you deferred the proposition so
long. I were neither true valet, nor you true woman,
if we could not eves-drop.
[They retire behind the other two, who come forward
upon the Stage.
Cam. [Kissing Violetta's hand.] Give me another yet, and then—
Vio. And then will you be satisfied?
Cam. And then I'll ask a thousand more, and ne'er be satisfied. Kisses are but thin nourishment; they are too soon digested, and hungry love craves more.
Vio. You feed a wolf within you.
Cam. Then feast my love with a more solid diet. He makes us now a miser's feast, and we forbear to take our fill. The silent night, and all these downy hours, were made for lovers: Gently they tread, and softly measure time, that no rude noise may fright the tender maid, from giving all her soul to melting joys.
Vio. You do not love me; if you did, you would not
Thus urge your satisfaction in my shame;
At best, I see you would not love me long,
For they, who plunder, do not mean to stay.
Cam. I haste to take possession of my own.
Vio. Ere heaven and holy vows have made it so?
Cam. Then witness, heaven, and all these twinkling stars—
Vio. Hold, hold, you are distempered with your love;
Time, place, and strong desires, now swear, not you.
Cam. Is not love love, without a priest and altars?
The temples are inanimate, and know not
What vows are made in them; the priest stands ready
For his hire, and cares not what hearts he couples;
Love alone is marriage.
Vio. I never will receive these midnight vows:
But when I come hereafter to your arms,
I'll bring you a sincere, full, perfect bliss;
Then you will thank me that I kept it so,
And trust my faith hereafter.
Lau. There is your destiny, lover mine: I am to be honest by infection; my lady will none, you see.
Aur. Truth is, they are a lost couple, unless they
learn grace by our example. Come, shall we begin
first, and shame them both?
[Takes her by the hand again.
Lau. You will never be warned of this hand, Benito.
Aur. Oh, it is so soft, as it were made on purpose to take hearts, and handle them without hurting! These taper fingers too, and even joints so supple, that methinks I mould them as they pass through mine: nay, in my conscience, though it be nonsense to say it, your hand feels white too.
Lau. Methinks yours is not very hard, for a serving-man's. But where, in the name of wonder, have you learned to talk so courtly? You are a strange valet de chambre.
Aur. And you are as strange a waiting-woman: You have so stabbed me with your repartees to-night, that I should be glad to change the weapon, to be revenged on you.
Lau. These, I suppose, are fragments, which you learned from your wild master, Aurelian: many a poor woman has passed through his hands with these very words. You treat me just like a serving-man, with the cold meat which comes from your master's table.
Aur. You could never have suspected me for using my master's wit, if you had not been guilty of purloining from your lady. I am told, that Laura, your mistress's sister, has wit enough to confound a hundred Aurelians.
Lau. I shall do your commendations to Laura for your compliment.
Aur. And I shall not fair to revenge myself, by informing Aurelian of yours.
Enter Benito with a Guitar.
Ben. The poor souls shall not lose by the bargain, though my foolish gadding masters have disappointed them. That ladder of ropes was doubtless left there by the young lady in hope of them.
Vio. Hark, I hear a noise in the garden.
Lau. I fear we are betrayed.
Cam. Fear nothing, madam, but stand close.
Ben. Now, Benito, is the time to hold forth thy
talent, and to set up for thyself. Yes, ladies, you
shall be serenaded, and when I have displayed my
gifts, I'll retire in triumph over the wall, and hug
myself for the adventure.
[He fums on the Guitar.
Vio. Let us make haste, sister, and get into covert; this music will raise the house upon us immediately.
Lau. Alas, we cannot; the damn'd musician stands just in the door where we should pass.
Ben. singing.
Eveillez vous, belles endormies;
Eveillez vous: car il est jour:
Mettez la tête a la fenestre,
Vous entendrez parler d'amour.
Aur. [aside to Cam.] Camillo, this is my incorrigible rogue; and I dare not call him, Benito, for fear of discovering myself not to be Benito.
Cam. The alarm is already given through the
house. Ladies, you must be quick: Secure yourselves
and leave us to shift.
[Exeunt Women.
Within. This way, this way.
Aur. I hear them coming; and, as ill luck will have it, just by that quarter where our ladder is placed.
Cam. Let us hide in the dark walk till they are past.
Aur. But then Benito will be caught, and, being known to be my man, will betray us.
Ben. I hear some in the garden: Sure they are the
ladies, that are taken with my melody. To it again,
Benito; this time I will absolutely enchant them.
[Fums again.
Aur: He is at it again. Why, Benito, are you mad?
Ben. Ah, madam! are you there? This is such a
favour to your poor unworthy servant. [Sings.
But still between kissing Amyntas did say,
Fair Phillis, look up, and you'll turn night to day.
Aur. Come away, you insufferable rascal; the house is up, and will be upon us immediately.
Ben. O gemini, is it you, sir?
Within. This way; follow, follow.
Aur. Leave your scraping and croaking, and step with us into this arbour.
Ben. Scraping and croaking! 'Sfoot, sir, either grant I sing and play to a miracle, or I'll justify my music, though I am caught, and hanged for it.
Enter Mario, and Servants.
Mar. Where is this serenading rascal? If I find him, I'll make him an example to all midnight caterwaulers, of which this fidler is the loudest.
Ben. O that I durst but play my tune out, to convince
him! Soul of harmony! Is this lewd?
[Plays and sings softly.
Cam. Peace, dear Benito: We must flatter him.
Ben. [singing softly.] Mettez le tête: The notes
which follow are so sweet, sir, I must sing them,
though it be my ruin—Parler d'amour.
[Laura and Violetta in the Balcony.
Lau. Yes, we are safe, sister; but they are yet in danger.
Vio. They are just upon them.
Lau. We must do something: Help, help! thieves, thieves! we shall be murdered.
Mar. Where? Where are they?
Lau. Here, sir, at our chamber-door, and we are run into the balcony for shelter: Dear uncle, come and help us.
Mar. Back again quickly: I durst have sworn
they had been in the garden. 'Tis an ignis fatuus,
I think, that leads us from one place to another.
[Exit Mario, and Servants.
Vio. They are gone. My dear Camillo, make haste, and preserve yourself.
Cam. May our next meeting prove more propitious!
Aur. [To Bentio.] Come, sirrah, I shall make you sing another note when you are at home.
Ben. Such another word, and I'll sing again.
Aur. Set the ladder, and mount first, you rogue.
Ben. Mount first yourself, and fear not my delaying.
If I am caught, they'll spare me for my playing.
[Sings as he goes off.
Vouz entendrez parler d'amour. [Exeunt.
ACT III.
SCENE I.—The Front of the Nunnery.
Ascanio, and Hippolita, at the Grate.
Hip. I see you have kept touch, brother.
Asca. As a man of honour ought, sister, when he is challenged. And now, according to the laws of duel, the next thing is to strip, and, instead of seconds, to search one another.
Hip. We will strip our hands, if you please, brother; for they are the only weapons we must use.
Asca. That were to invite me to my loss, sister; I could have made a full meal in the world, and you would have me take up with hungry commons in the cloyster. Pray mend my fare, or I am gone.
Hip. O, brother, a hand in a cloyster is fare like flesh in Spain; 'tis delicate, because 'tis scarce. You may be satisfied with a hand, as well as I am pleased with the courtship of a boy.
Asca. You may begin with me, sister, as Milo did; by carrying a calf first, you may learn to carry an ox hereafter. In the mean time produce your hand, I understand nun's flesh better than you imagine: Give it me, you shall see how I will worry it. [She gives her hand.] Now could not we thrust out our lips, and contrive a kiss too?
Hip. Yes, we may; but I have had the experience of it: It will be but half flesh, half iron.
Asca. Let's try, however.
Hip. Hold, Lucretia's here.
Asca. Nay, If you come with odds upon me, 'tis time to call seconds. [Ascanio hems.
The Prince and Lucretia appear.
Luc. Sir, though your song was pleasant, yet there was one thing amiss in it,—that was, your rallying of religion.
Fred. Do you speak well of my friend Love, and I'll try to speak well of your friend Devotion.
Luc. I can never speak well of love: 'Twas to avoid it that I entered here.
Fred. Then, madam, you have met your man; for, to confess the truth to you, I have but counterfeited love, to try you; for I never yet could love any woman: and, since I have seen you, and do not, I am certain now I shall 'scape for ever.
Luc. You are the best man in the world, if you continue this resolution. Pray, then, let us vow solemnly these two things: the first, to esteem each other better than we do all the world besides; the next, never to change our amity to love.
Fred. Agreed, madam. Shall I kiss your hand on it?
Luc. That is too like a lover; or if it were not, the narrowness of the grate will excuse the ceremony.
Hip. No, but it will not, to my knowledge: I have tried every bar many a fair time over; and at last have found out one, where a hand may get through, and be gallanted.
Luc. [giving her hand.] There, sir, 'tis a true one.
Fred. [kissing it.] This, then, is a seal to our perpetual friendship, and defiance to all love.
Luc. That seducer of virtue.
Fred. That disturber of quiet.
Luc. That madness of youth.
Fred. That dotage of old age.
Luc. That enemy to good humour.
Fred. And, to conclude all, that reason of all unreasonable actions.
Asca. This doctrine is abominable; do not believe it, sister.
Hip. No; if I do, brother, may I never have comfort from sweet youth at my extremity.
Luc. But remember one article of our friendship, that though we banish love, we do not mirth, nor gallantly; for I declare, I am for all extravagancies, but just loving.
Fred. Just my own humour; for I hate gravity and melancholy next to love.
Asca. Now it comes into my head, the duke of Mantua makes an entertainment to night in masquerade: If you love extravagancy so well, madam, I'll put you into the head of one; lay by your nunship for an hour or two, and come amongst us in disguise.
Fred. My boy is in the right, madam. Will you venture? I'll furnish you with masking-habits.
Hip. O my dear sister, never refuse it; I keep the keys, you know: I'll warrant you we will return before we are missed. I do so long to have one fling into the sweet world again, before I die. Hang it, at worst, it is but one sin more, and then we will repent for all together.
Asca. But if I catch you in the world, sister, I'll make you have a better opinion of the flesh and the devil for ever after.
Luc. If it were known, I were lost for ever.
Fred. How should it be known? You have her on your side, there, that keeps the keys: And, put the worst, that you are taken in the world, the world is a good world to stay in; and there are certain occasions of waking in a morning, that may be more pleasant to you than your matins.
Luc. Fye, friend, these extravagancies are a breach of articles in our friendship. But well, for once, I'll venture to go out: Dancing and singing are but petty transgressions.
Asca. My lord, here is company approaching; we shall be discovered.
Fred. Adieu, then, jusqu' a revoir; Ascanio shall be with you immediately, to conduct you.
Asca. How will you disguise, sister? Will you be a man or a woman?
Hip. A woman, brother page, for life: I should have the strangest thoughts if I once wore breeches.
Asca. A woman, say you? Here is my hand, if
I meet you in place convenient, I'll do my best to
make you one.
[Exeunt.
Enter Aurelian and Camillo.
Cam. But why thus melancholy, with hat pulled down, and the hand on the region of the heart, just the reverse of my friend Aurelian, of happy memory?
Aur. Faith, Camillo, I am ashamed of it, but cannot help it.
Cam. But to be in love with a waiting-woman! with an eater of fragments, a simperer at lower end of a table, with mighty golls, rough-grained, and red with starching, those discouragers and abaters of elevated love!
Aur. I could love deformity itself, with that good humour. She, who is armed with gaiety and wit, needs no other weapon to conquer me.
Cam. We lovers are the great creators of wit in our mistresses. For Beatrix, she is a mere utterer of yes and no, and has no more sense than what will just dignify her to be an arrant waiting-woman; that is, to lie for her lady, and take your money.
Aur. It may be, then, I found her in the exaltation of her wit; for certainly women have their good and ill days of talking, as they have of looking.
Cam. But, however, she has done you the courtesy to drive out Laura; and so one poison has expelled the other.
Aur. Troth, not absolutely neither; for I dote on Laura's beauty, and on Beatrix's wit: I am wounded with a forked arrow, which will not easily be got out.
Cam. Not to lose time in fruitless complaints, let us pursue our new contrivance, that you may see your two mistresses, and I my one.
Aur. That will not now be difficult: This plot's so laid, that I defy the devil to make it miss. The woman of the house, by which they are to pass to church, is bribed; the ladies are by her acquainted with the design; and we need only to be there before them, and expect the prey, which will undoubtedly fall into the net.