The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 04

Cam. Your man is made safe, I hope, from doing us any mischief?

Aur. He has disposed of himself, I thank him, for an hour or two: The fop would make me believe, that an unknown lady is in love with him, and has made him an assignation.

Cam. If he should succeed now, I should have the worse opinion of the sex for his sake.

Aur. Never doubt but he will succeed: Your brisk fool, that can make a leg, is ever a fine gentleman among the ladies, because he is just of their talent, and they understand him better than a wit.

Cam. Peace, the ladies are coming this way to the chapel, and their jailor with them: Let them go by without saluting, to avoid suspicion; and let us go off to prepare our engine.

Enter Mario, Laura, and Violetta.

Aur. I must have a look before we go. Ah, you little divine rogue! I'll be with you immediately.
[Exeunt Aurelian and Camillo.

Vio. Look you, sister, there are our friends, but take no notice.

Lau. I saw them. Was not that Aurelian with Camillo?

Vio. Yes.

Lau. I like him strangely. If his person were joined with Benito's wit, I know not what would become of my poor heart.

Enter Fabio, and whispers with Mario.

Mar. Stay, nieces, I'll but speak a word with Fabio, and go with you immediately.

Vio. I see, sister, you are infinitely taken with Benito's wit; but I have heard he is a very conceited coxcomb.

Lau. They, who told you so, were horribly mistaken. You shall be judge yourself, Violetta; for, to confess frankly to you, I have made him a kind of an appointment.

Vio. How! have you made an assignation to Benito? A serving-man! a trencher-carrying rascal!

Lau. Good words, Violetta! I only sent to him from an unknown lady near this chapel, that I might view him in passing by, and see if his person were answerable to his conversation.

Vio. But how will you get rid of my uncle?

Lau. You see my project; his man Fabio is bribed by me, to hold him in discourse.

Enter Benito, looking about him.

Vio. In my conscience this is he. Lord, what a monster of a man is there! with such a workiday rough-hewn face too! for, faith, heaven has not bestowed the finishing upon it.

Lau. It is impossible this should be Benito; yet he stalks this way. From such a piece of animated timber, sweet heaven deliver me!

Ben. [Aside.] This must of necessity be the lady who is in love with me. See, how she surveys my person! certainly one wit knows another by instinct. By that old gentleman, it should be the lady Laura too. Hum! Benito, thou art made for ever.

Lau. He has the most unpromising face, for a wit, I ever saw; and yet he had need have a very good one, to make amends for his face. I am half cured of him already.

Ben. What means all this surveying, madam? You bristle up to me, and wheel about me, like a turkey-cock that is making love: Faith, how do you like my person, ha?

Lau. I dare not praise it, for fear of the old compliment, that you should tell me, it is at my service. But, pray, is your name Benito?

Ben. Signior Benito, at your service, madam.

Lau. And have you no brother, or any other of your name; one that is a wit, attending on signior Aurelian?

Ben. No, I can assure your ladyship; I myself am the only wit, who does him the honour,—not to attend him, but—to bear him company.

Lau. But sure it was another you, that waited on Camillo in the garden, last night?

Ben. It was no other me, but me signior Benito.

Lau. 'Tis impossible.

Ben. 'Tis most certain.

Lau. Then I would advise you to go thither again, and look for the wit which you have left there, for you have brought very little along with you. Your voice, methinks, too, is much altered.

Ben. Only a little overstrained, or so, with singing.

Lau. How slept you, after your adventure?

Ben. Faith, lady, I could not sleep one wink, for dreaming of you.

Lau. Not sleep for dreaming? When the place falls, you shall be bull-master-general at court.

Ben. Et tu, Brute! Do you mistake me for a fool too? Then, I find there's one more of that opinion besides my master.

Vio. Sister, look to yourself, my uncle is returning.

Lau. I am glad on't: He has done my business: He has absolutely cured me. Lord, that I could be so mistaken!

Vio. I told you what he was.

Lau. He was quite another thing last night: Never was man so altered in four-and-twenty hours. A pure clown, mere elementary earth, without the least spark of soul in him!

Ben. But, tell me truly, are not you in love with me? Confess the truth: I love plain-dealing: You shall not find me refractory.

Lau. Away, thou animal! I have found thee out for a high and mighty fool, and so I leave thee.

Mar. Come, now I am ready for you; as little devotion, and as much good huswifery as you please. Take example by me: I assure you, nobody debauches me to church, except it be in your company.
[Exeunt.

Manet Benito.

Ben. I am undone for ever; What shall I do with myself? I'll run into some desart, and there I'll hide my opprobrious head. No, hang it, I wont neither; all wits have their failings sometimes, and have the fortune to be thought fools once in their lives. Sure this is but a copy of her countenance; for my heart is true to me, and whispers to me, she loves me still. Well, I'll trust in my own merits, and be confident.
[A noise of throwing down water within.

Enter Mario, Fabio, Laura, and Violetta.

Lau. [Shaking her clothes.] O, sir, I am wet quite through my clothes, and am not able to endure it.

Vio. Was there ever such an insolence?

Mar. Send in to see who lives there: I'll make an example of them.

Enter Frontona.

Fab. Here is the woman of the house herself, sir.

Fron. Sir, I submit, most willingly, to any punishment you shall inflict upon me: For, though I intended nothing of an affront to these sweet ladies, yet I can never forgive myself the misfortune, of which I was the innocent occasion.

Vio. O, I am ready to faint away!

Fron. Alas, poor sweet lady, she's young and tender, sir. I beseech you, give me leave to repair my offence, with offering myself, and poor house, for her accommodation.

Ben. I know that woman: There's some villanous plot in this, I'll lay my life on't. Now, Benito, cast about for thy credit, and recover all again.

Mar. Go into the coach, nieces, and bid the coachman drive apace. As for you, mistress, your smooth tongue shall not excuse you.

Lau. By your favour, sir, I'll accept of the gentlewoman's civility; I cannot stir a step farther.

Fron. Come in, sweet buds of beauty, you shall have a fire in an inner chamber; and if you please to repose yourself a while, sir, in another room, they shall come out, and wait on you immediately.

Mar. Well, it must be so.

Fron. [Whispering the Ladies.] Your friends are ready in the garden, and will be with you as soon as we have shaken off your uncle.

Ben. A cheat, a cheat! a rank one! I smell it, old sir, I smell it.

Mar. What's the matter with the fellow? Is he distracted?

Ben. No, 'tis you are more likely to be distracted but that there goes some wit to the being mad; and you have not the least grain of wit, to be gulled thus grossly.

Fron. What does the fellow mean?

Ben. The fellow means to detect your villany, and to recover his lost reputation of a wit.

Fron. Why, friend, what villany? I hope my house is a civil house.

Ben. Yes, a very civil one; for my master lay in of his last clap there, and was treated very civilly, to my knowledge.

Mar. How's this, how's this?

Fron. Come, you are a dirty fellow, and I am known to be a person that—

Ben. Yes, you are known to be a person that—

Fron. Speak your worst of me; what person am I known to be?

Ben. Why, if you will have it, you are little better than a procuress: You carry messages betwixt party and party:—And, in one word, sir, she's as arrant a fruit-woman as any is about Rome.

Mar. Nay, if she be a fruit-woman, my nieces shall not enter her doors.

Ben. You had best let them enter, you do not know how they may fructify in her house: For I heard her, with these ears, whisper to them, that their friends were within call.

Mar. This is palpable, this is manifest; I shall remember you, lady fruiterer; I shall have your baskets searched when you bring oranges again.—Come away, nieces; and thanks, honest fellow, for thy discovery.
[Exeunt Mario and Women.

Ben. Hah couragio! Il diavolo e morto: Now, I think I have tickled it; this discovery has reinstated me into the empire of my wit again. Now, in the pomp of this achievement, will I present myself before madam Laura, with a—Behold, madam, the happy restoration of Benito!

Enter Aurelian, Camillo, and Frontona, over-hearing him,

Oh, now, that I had the mirror, to behold myself in the fulness of my glory! and, oh, that the domineering fop, my master, were in presence, that I might triumph over him! that I might even contemn the wretched wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul, and of a debased understanding. [He looks about him, and sees his master.] How the devil came these three together? Nothing vexes me, but that I must stand bare to him, after such an enterprise as this is.

Aur. Nay, put on, put on again, sweet sir; why should you be uncovered before the fop your master, the wretched wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul?

Ben. Ay, sir, you may make bold with yourself at your own pleasure: But, for all that, a little bidding would make me take your counsel, and be covered, as affairs go now.

Aur. If it be lawful for a man of a debased understanding to confer with such an exalted wit, pray what was that glorious achievement, which wrapt you into such an ecstasy?

Ben. 'Tis a sign you know well how matters go, by your asking me so impertinent a question.

Aur. [Putting off his hat to him.] Sir, I beg of you, as your most humble master, to be satisfied.

Ben. Your servant, sir; at present I am not at leisure for conference. But hark you, sir, by the way of friendly advice, one word: Henceforward, tell me no more of the adventure of the garden, nor of the great looking-glass.

Aur. You mean the mirror.

Ben. Yes, the mirror; tell me no more of that, except you could behold in it a better, a more discreet, or a more able face for stratagem, than I can, when I look there.

Aur. But, to the business; What is this famous enterprise?

Ben. Be satisfied, without troubling me farther, the business is done, the rogues are defeated, and your mistress is secured: If you would know more, demand it of that criminal [Pointing to Fron.], and ask her, how she dares appear before you, after such a signal treachery, or before me, after such an overthrow?

Fron. I know nothing, but only that, by your master's order, I was to receive the two ladies into my house, and you prevented it.

Ben. By my master's order? I'll never believe it. This is your stratagem, to free yourself, and deprive me of my reward.

Cam. I'll witness what she says is true.

Ben. I am deaf to all asseverations, that make against my honour.

Aur. I'll swear it then. We two were the two rogues, and you the discoverer of our villany.

Ben. Then, woe, woe, to poor Benito! I find my abundance of wit has ruined me.

Aur. But come a little nearer: I would not receive a good office from a servant, but I would reward him for his diligence.

Ben. Virtue, sir, is its own reward: I expect none from you.

Aur. Since it is so, sir, you shall lose no further time in my service: Henceforward, pray know me for your humble servant; for your master I am resolved to be no longer.

Ben. Nay, rather than so, sir, I beseech you let a good, honest, sufficient beating atone the difference.

Aur. 'Tis in vain.

Ben. I am loth to leave you without a guide.

Aur. He's at it again! do you hear, Camillo?

Cam. Pr'ythee, Aurelian, be mollified, and beat him.

Fron. Pray, sir, hear reason, and lay it on, for my sake.

Aur. I am obdurate.

Cam. But what will your father say, if you part with him?

Aur. I care not.

Ben. Well, sir, since you are so peremptory, remember I have offered you satisfaction, and so long my conscience is at ease. What a devil, before I'll offer myself twice to be beaten, by any master in Christendom, I'll starve, and that is my resolution; and so your servant that was, sir.
[Exit.

Aur. I am glad I am rid of him; he was my evil genius, and was always appearing to me, to blast my undertakings: Let me send him never so far off, the devil would be sure to put him in my way, when I had any thing to execute. Come, Camillo, now we have changed the dice, it may be we shall have better fortune.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter the Duke of Mantua in masquerade, Frederick, Valerio, and others. On the other side, enter Lucretia, Hippolita, and Ascanio.

Luc. [To Asca.] The prince I know already, by your description of his masking habit; but, which is the duke, his father?

Asca. He whom you see talking with the prince, and looking this way. I believe he has observed us.

Luc. If he has not, I am resolved we'll make ourselves as remarkable as we can: I'll exercise my talent of dancing.

Hip. And I mine of singing.

Duke. [To Fred.] Do you know the company which came in last?

Fred. I cannot possibly imagine who they are.—At least I will not tell you. [Aside.

Duke. There's something very uncommon in the air of one of them.

Fred. Please you, sir, I'll discourse with her, and see if I can satisfy your highness.

Duke. Stay, there's a dance beginning, and she seems as if she would make one.

Duke [After the dance.] My curiosity redoubles; I must needs hail that unknown vessel, and enquire whither she's bound, and what freight she carries.

Fred. She's not worth your trouble, sir: She'll either prove some common courtezan in disguise, or, at best, some homely person of honour, that only dances well enough to invite a sight of herself, and would look ill enough to fright you.

Duke. That's maliciously said; all I see of her is charming, and I have reason to think her face is of the same piece; at least I'll try my fortune.

Fred. What an unlucky accident is this! If my father should discover her, she's ruined: If he does not, yet I have lost her conversation to-night.

Duke approaches Lucretia.

Asca. 'Tis the duke himself, who comes to court you.

Luc. Peace, I'll fit him; for I have been informed, to the least tittle, of his actions since he came to town.

Duke. [To Luc.] Madam, the duke of Mantua, whom you must needs imagine to be in this company, has sent me to you, to know what kind of face there is belonging to that excellent shape, and to those charming motions, which he observed so lately in your dancing.

Luc. Tell his highness, if you please, that there is a face within the mask, so very deformed, that, if it were discovered, it would prove the worst visor of the two; and that, of all men, he ought not to desire it should be exposed, because then something would be found amiss in an entertainment, which he has made so splendid and magnificent.

Duke. The duke, I am sure, would be very proud of your compliment, but it would leave him more unsatisfied than before; for, he will find in it so much of gallantry, as, being added to your other graces, will move him to a strange temptation of knowing you.

Luc. I should still have the same reason to refuse him; for 'twere a madness, when I had charmed him by my motion and converse, to hazard the loss of that conquest by my eyes.

Duke. I am on fire 'till I discover her. [Aside.]—At least, madam, tell me of what family you are.

Luc. Will you be satisfied, if I tell you I am of the Colonne? You have seen Julia of that house?

Duke. Then you are she.

Luc. Have I not her stature most exactly?

Duke. As near as I remember.

Luc. But, by your favour, I have nothing of her shape; for, if I may be so vain to praise myself, she's a little thicker in the shoulders, and, besides, she moves ungracefully.

Duke. Then you are not she again.

Luc. No, not she: But you have forgotten Emilia of the Ursini, whom the duke saluted yesterday at her balcony, when he entered. Her air and motion—

Duke. Are the very same with yours. Now I am sure I know you.

Luc. But there's too little of her to make a beauty: My stature is more advantageous.

Duke. You have cozened me again.

Luc. Well, I find at last I must confess myself: What think you of Eugenia Beata? The duke seemed to be infinitely pleased last night, when my brother presented me to him at the Belvidere.

Duke. Now I am certain you are she, for you have both her stature and her motion.

Luc. But, if you remember yourself a little better, there's some small difference in our wit; for she has indeed the air and beauty of a Roman lady, but all the dulness of a Dutch woman.

Duke. I see, madam, you are resolved to conceal yourself, and I am as fully resolved to know you.

Luc. See which of our resolutions will take place.

Duke. I come from the duke, and can assure you, he is of an humour to be obeyed.

Luc. And I am of an humour not to obey him. But why should he be so curious?

Duke. If you would have my opinion, I believe he is in love with you.

Luc. Without seeing me?

Duke. Without seeing all of you: Love is love, let it wound us from what part it please; and if he have enough from your shape and conversation, his business is done, the more compendiously, without the face.

Luc. But the duke cannot be taken with my conversation, for he never heard me speak.

Duke. [Aside.] 'Slife, I shall discover myself.—Yes madam, he stood by incognito, and heard me speak with you: But—

Luc. I wish he had trusted to his own courtship, and spoke himself; for it gives us a bad impression of a prince's wit, when we see fools in favour about his person.

Duke. Whatever I am, I have it in commission from him to tell you, he's in love with you.

Luc. The good old gentleman may dote, if he so pleases; but love, and fifty years old, are stark nonsense.

Duke. But some men, you know, are green at fifty.

Luc. Yes, in their understandings.

Duke. You speak with great contempt of a prince, who has some reputation in the world.

Luc. No; 'tis you that speak with contempt of him, by saying he is in love at such an age.

Duke. Then, madam, 'tis necessary you should know him better for his reputation; and that shall be, though he violate the laws of masquerade, and force you.

Fred. I suspected this from his violent temper. [Aside.] Sir, the emperor's ambassador is here in masquerade, and I believe this to be his lady: It were well if you inquired of him, before you forced her to discover.

Duke. Which is the ambassador?

Fred. That farthermost. [Duke retires farther.

Fred. to Luc. Take your opportunity to escape, while his back is turned, or you are ruined. Ascanio, wait on her.

Luc. I am so frighted, I cannot stay to thank you. [Exeunt Luc. Asca. and Hip.

Duke to Fred. 'Tis a mistake, the ambassador knows nothing of her: I'm resolved I'll know it of herself, ere she shall depart.—Ha! Where is she? I left her here.

Fred. [Aside.] Out of your reach, father mine, I hope.

Duke. She has either shifted places, or else slipped out of the assembly.

Fred. I have looked round: She must be gone, sir.

Duke. She must not be gone, sir. Search for her every where: I will have her.

Fred. Has she offended your highness?

Duke. Peace, with your impertinent questions. Come hither, Valerio.

Val. Sir?

Duke. O, Valerio, I am desperately in love: That lady, with whom you saw me talking, has—But I lose time; she's gone; haste after her,—find her,—bring her back to me.

Val. If it be possible.

Duke. It must be possible; the quiet of my life depends upon it.

Val. Which way took she?

Duke. Go any way,—every way; ask no questions: I know no more, but that she must,—must be had.
[Exit Valerio.

Fred. Sir, the assembly will observe, that—

Duke. Damn the assembly; 'tis a dull insignificant crowd, now she is not here: Break it up, I'll stay no longer.

Fred. [Aside.] I hope she's safe, and then this fantastic love of my father's will make us sport to-momorrow.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Lucretia, Ascanio, and Hippolita.

Luc. Now that we are safe at the gate of our convent, methinks the adventure was not unpleasant.

Hip. And now that I am out of danger, brother, I may tell you what a novice you are in love, to tempt a young sister into the wide world, and not to show her the difference betwixt that and her cloister. I find I may venture safely with you another time.

Asca. O, sister, you play the brazen-head with me,—you give me warning when time's past. But that was no fit opportunity: I hate to snatch a morsel of love, and so away. I am for a set-meal, where I may enjoy my full gust; but, when I once fall on, you shall find me a brave man upon occasion.

Luc. 'Tis time we were in our cells. Quick, Hippolita; where's the key?

Hip. Here, in my pocket—No, 'tis in my other pocket:—Ha, 'tis not there neither. I am sure I put it in one of them.

Luc. What should we do, if it should be lost now?

Hip. I have searched myself all over, and cannot find it.

Asca. A woman can never search herself all over; let me search you, sister.

Luc. Is this a time for raillery? Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort quickly; have you found it?
[Here Ascanio slips away.

Hip. Speak you comfort, madam, and tell me you have it, for I am too sure that I have none on't.

Luc. O, unfortunate that we are! day's breaking; the handicrafts' shops begin to open.
[Clock strikes.

Hip. The clock strikes two: Within this half hour we shall be called up to our devotions. Now, good Ascanio—Alas, he's gone too! we are left miserable and forlorn.

Luc. We have not so much as one place in the town for a retreat.

Hip. O, for a miracle in our time of need! that some kind good-natured saint would take us up, and heave us over the wall into our cells.

Luc. Dear sister, pray, for I cannot: I have been so sinful in leaving my cloister for the world, that I am ashamed to trouble my friends above to help me.

Hip. Alas, sister, with what face can I pray then! Yours were but little vanities, but I have sinned swingingly against my vow; yes, indeed, sister, I have been very wicked,—for I wished the ball might be kept perpetually in our cloister, and that half the handsome nuns in it might be turned to men, for the sake of the other.

Luc. Well, if I were free from this disgrace, I would never more set foot beyond the cloister, for the sake of any man.

Hip. And here I vow, if I get safe within my cell, I will not think of man again these seven years.

Re-enter Ascanio.

Asca. Hold, Hippolita, and make no more rash vows: If you do, as I live, you shall not have the key.

Hip. The key! why, have you it, brother?

Luc. He does but mock us. I know you have it not, Ascanio.

Asca. Ecce signum; here it is for you.

Hip. O, sweet brother, let me kiss you.

Asca. Hands off, sweet sister, you must not be forsworn; you vowed you would not think of a man these seven years.

Hip. Aye, brother, but I was not so hasty but I had wit enough to cozen the saint to whom I vowed; for you are but a boy, brother, and will not be a man these seven years.

Luc. But where did you find the key, Ascanio?

Asca. To confess the truth, madam, I stole it out of Hippolita's pocket, to take the print of it in wax; for I'll suppose you'll give my master leave to wait on you in the nunnery-garden, after your abbess has walked the rounds.

Luc. Well, well, good-morrow. When you have slept, come to the grate for a letter to your lord. Now will I have the headach, or the megrim, or some excuse; for I'm resolved I'll not rise to prayers.

Hip. Pray, brother, take care of our masking-habits, that they may be forthcoming another time.

Asca. Sleep, sleep, and dream of me, sister: I'll make it good, if you dream not too unreasonably.

Luc. Thus dangers in our love make joys more dear;
And pleasure's sweetest when 'tis mixed with fear. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.
SCENE I.—A Dressing-chamber.

The Masking-habits of Lucretia and Hippolita laid in a Chair.—Enter Frederick and Ascanio.

Fred. I never thought I should have loved her. Is't come to this, after all my boastings and declarations against it? Sure I loved her before, and did not know it, till I feared to lose her: There's the reason. I had never desired her, if my father had not. This is just the longing of a woman: She never finds the appetite in herself, till she sees the meat on another's plate. I'm glad, however, you took the impression of the key; but 'twas not well to fright them.

Asca. Sir, I could not help it; but here's the effect on't: the workman sat up all night to make it.
[Gives a key.

Fred. This key will admit me into the seraglio of the godly. The monastery has begun the war, in sallying out upon the world; and therefore 'tis but just that the world should make reprisals on the monastery.

Asca. Alas, sir, you and Lucretia do but skirmish; 'tis I and Hippolita that make the war: 'Tis true, opportunity has been wanting for a battle, but the forces have been stoutly drawn up on both sides. As for your concernment, I come just now from the monastery; and have orders from your Platonic mistress to tell you, she expects you this evening in the garden of the nunnery; withal, she delivered me this letter for you.

Fred. Give it me.

Asca. O, sir, the duke your father! [The Prince takes the letter, and, thinking to put it up hastily, drops it.

Enter Duke.

Duke. Now, Frederick, not abroad yet?

Fred. Your last night's entertainment left me so weary, sir, that I overslept myself this morning.

Duke. I rather envy you than blame you: Our sleep is certainly the most pleasant portion of our lives. For my own part, I spent the night waking and restless.

Fred. Has any thing of moment happened to discompose your highness?

Duke. I'll confess my follies to you: I am in love with a lady I saw last night in masquerade.

Fred. 'Tis strange she should conceal herself.

Duke. She has, from my best search; yet I took exact notice of her masking habit, and described it to those whom I employed to find her.

Fred. [Aside.] 'Sdeath, it lies there unremoved, and, if he turns himself, full in his eye. Now, now, 'twill be discovered.

Duke. For 'twas extremely remarkable. I remember very well, 'twas a loose long robe, streaked black and white, girt with a large silver ribband, and the vizor was a Moor's face.

Fred. [Running to the chair where the habits are sits down.] Sir, I beg pardon of your highness for this rudeness; I am—O, Oh!—

Duke. What's the matter?

Fred. I am taken so extremely ill o' the sudden, that I am forced to sit before you.

Duke. Alas, what's your distemper?

Fred. A most violent griping, which pulls me together on a heap.

Duke. Some cold, I fear, you took last night. [Runs to the door.] Who waits there? Call physicians to the prince.

Fred. Ascanio, remove these quickly. [Ascanio takes away the habits, and Exit.

Duke. [Returning.] How do you find yourself?

Fred. [Arising.] Much better, sir: That which pained me is removed. As it came unexpectedly, so it went as suddenly.

Enter Valerio.

Duke. The air, perhaps, will do you good. If you have health, you may see those troops drawn out, which I design for Milan.

Fred. Shall I wait your highness?

Duke. No, leave me here with Valerio; I have a little business, which dispatched, I'll follow you immediately.—Well, what success, Valerio?
[Exit Frederick.

Val. Our endeavours are in vain, sir; there has been inquiry made about all the palaces in Rome, and neither of the masking habits can be discovered.

Duke. Yet it must be a woman of quality. What paper's that at my foot?

Val. [Taking up the letter.] 'Tis sealed, sir, and directed to the prince.

Duke. [Taking the letter.] 'Tis a woman's, hand. Has he got a mistress in town so soon? I am resolved to open it, though I do not approve my own curiosity.
[Opens and reads it.

Now my fear is over, I can laugh at my last night's adventure. I find that at fifty all men grow incorrigible, and lovers especially; for, certainly, never any creature could be worse treated than your father; [How's this, Valerio? I am amazed.] and yet the good, old, out-of-fashion gentleman heard himself rallied and bore it with all the patience of a Christian prince. [Now, 'tis plain, the lady in masquerade is a mistress of my son's, and the undutiful wretch was in the plot to abuse me.] Ascanio will tell you the latter part of our misfortune, how hardly we got into the cloister. [A nun, too! Oh, the devil!] When we meet next, pray provide to laugh heartily; for there is subject sufficient for a plentiful fit, and fop enough to spare for another time.

Lucretia.

Val. Lucretia! now the mystery is unfolded.

Duke. Do you know her?

Val. When I was last at Rome I saw her often; she is near kinswoman to the present Pope; and, before he placed her in this nunnery of Benedictines, was the most celebrated beauty of the town.

Duke. I know I ought to hate this woman, because she has affronted me thus grossly; but yet, I cannot help it, I must love her.

Val. But, sir, you come on too much disadvantage to be your son's rival.

Duke. I am deaf to all considerations: Pr'ythee do not think of giving a madman counsel. Pity me, and cure me, if thou canst; but remember, there's but one infallible medicine,—that's enjoyment.

Val. I had forgot to tell you, sir, that the governor, Don Mario, is without, to wait on you.

Duke. Desire him to come in.

Enter Don Mario.

Mar. I am come, sir, to beg a favour from your highness; and 'tis on the behalf of my sister Sophronia, abbess of the Torr' di Specchi.

Val. Sir, she's abbess of that very monastery where your mistress is inclosed. [Aside to the Duke.

Duke. I should be glad to serve any relation of yours, Don Mario.

Mar. Her request is, that you would be pleased to grace her chapel this afternoon. There will be music, and some little ceremony, in the reception of my two nieces, who are to be placed on pension there.

Duke. Your nieces, I hear, are fair, and great fortunes.

Mar. Great vexations, I'm sure they are; being daily haunted by a company of wild fellows, who buzz about my house like flies.

Duke. Your design seems reasonable: women in hot countries are like oranges in cold; to preserve them, they must be perpetually housed. I'll bear you company to the monastery.—Come, Valerio; this opportunity is happy beyond our expectation.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Camillo and Aurelian.

Cam. He has smarted sufficiently for this offence. Pr'ythee, dear Aurelian, forgive him. He waits without, and appears penitent; I'll be responsible for his future carriage.

Aur. For your sake, then, I receive him into grace.

Cam. [At the door.] Benito, you may appear; your peace is made.

Enter Benito.

Aur. But it must be upon conditions.

Ben. Any conditions, that are reasonable; for, as I am a wit, sir, I have not eaten—

Aur. You are in the path of perdition already; that's the principal of our conditions, you are to be a wit no more.

Ben. Pray, sir, if it be possible, let me be a little wit still.

Aur. No, sir; you can make a leg, and dance; those are no talents of a wit: you are cut out for a brisk fool, and can be no other.

Ben. Pray, sir, let me think I am a wit, or my heart will break.

Cam. That you will naturally do, as you are a fool.

Aur. Then no farther meddling with adventures, or contrivances of your own; they are all belonging to the territories of wit, from whence you are banished.

Ben. But what if my imagination should really furnish me with some—

Aur. Not a plot, I hope?

Ben. No, sir, no plot; but some expedient then, to mollify the word, when your invention has failed you?

Aur. Think it a temptation of the devil, and believe it not.

Ben. Then farewell all the happiness of my life.

Cam. You know your doom, Benito; and now you may take your choice, whether you will renounce wit, or eating.

Ben. Well, sir, I must continue my body, at what rate soever; and the rather, because now there's no farther need of me in your adventures; for I was assured by Beatrix, this morning, that her two mistresses are to be put in pension, in the nunnery of Benedictines, this afternoon.

Cam. Then I am miserable.

Aur. And you have deferred the telling it, till it is past time to study for prevention.

Cam. Let us run thither immediately, and either perish in't, or free them. You'll assist me with your sword?

Aur. Yes, if I cannot do it to more purpose with my counsel. Let us first play the fairest of our game; 'tis time enough to snatch when we have lost it.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.—A Chapel.

The Duke, Valerio, Attendants. At the other door, Laura, Violetta, Beatrix, Mario. Instrumental and vocal music; in the time of which, enter Aurelian and Camillo. After the music, enter Sophronia, Lucretia, Hippolita, and other Nuns.

Duke. [To Valerio, who had whispered to him.] I needed not those marks to know her. She's one continued excellence; she's all over miracle.

Soph. [To the Duke.] We know, sir, we are not capable by our entertainment, of adding any thing to your pleasures; and therefore we must attribute this favour of your presence, to your piety and devotion.

Duke. You have treated me with harmony so excellent, that I believed myself among a choir of angels; especially when I beheld so fair a troop behind you.

Soph. Their beauty, sir, is wholly dedicated to heaven, and is no way ambitious of a commendation, which, from your mouth, might raise a pride in any other of the sex.

Cam. I am impatient, and can bear no longer. Let what will happen—

Aur. Do you not see your ruin inevitable? Draw in a holy place! and in the presence of the Duke!

Mar. I do not like Camillo's being here: I must cut short the ceremony. [Whispers Sophronia.

Soph. [To Laura and Violetta.] Come, fair cousins, we hope to make the cloisteral life so pleasing, that it may be an inducement to you to quit the wicked world for ever.

Vio. [Passing by Camillo.] Take that, and read it at your leisure. [Conveys a note into his hand.

Cam. A ticket, as I live, Aurelian.

Aur. Steal off, and be thankful: if that be my Beatrix with Laura, she's most confoundedly ugly. If ever we had come to love-work, and a candle had been brought us, I had fallen back from that face, like a buck-rabbit in coupling.
[Exeunt Camillo and Aurelian.

Soph. Daughters, the time of our devotion calls us.—All happiness to your highness.

Luc. [To Hippolita.] Little thinks my venerable old love there, that his mistress in masquerade is so near him. Now do I even long to abuse that fop-gravity again.

Hip. Methinks, he looks on us.

Luc. Farewell, poor love; I am she, I am, for all my demure looks, that treated thee so inhumanly last night.
[She is going off, after Sophronia.

Duke. [following her.] Stay, lady; I would speak with you.

Luc. Ah! [Shrieking.

Soph. How now, daughter? What's the meaning of that indecent noise you make?

Luc. [Aside.] If I speak to him, he will discover my voice, and then I am ruined.

Duke. If your name be Lucretia, I have some business of concernment with you.

Luc. [To Sophronia.] Dear madam, for heaven's sake make haste into the cloister; the duke pursues me on some ill design.

Soph. [To the Duke.] 'Tis not permitted, sir, for maids, once entered into religion, to hold discourses here of worldly things.

Duke. But my discourses are not worldly, madam;
I had a vision in the dead of night,
Which shewed me this fair virgin in my sleep,
And told me, that from her I should be taught
Where to bestow large alms, and great endowments,
On some near monastery.

Soph. Stay, Lucretia;
The holy vision's will must be obeyed. [Exeunt Sophronia and Nuns.

Luc. [Aside.] He does not know me, sure; and yet I fear religion is the least of his business with me.

Duke. I see, madam, beauty will be beauty in any habit;
Though, I confess, the splendour of a court
Were a much fitter scene for yours, than is
A cloistered privacy.

Luc. [counterfeiting her voice.]
The world has no temptations for a mind
So fixed and raised above it;
This humble cell contains and bounds my wishes:
My charity gives you my prayers, and that's
All my converse with human kind.

Duke. Since when, madam, have the world and you been upon these equal terms of hostility? Time was, you have been better friends.

Luc. No doubt I have been vain, and sinful; but the remembrance of those days cannot be pleasant to me now, and therefore, if you please, do not refresh their memory.

Duke. Their memory! you speak as if they were ages past.

Luc. You think me still what I was once—a vain, fond, giddy creature: I see, sir, whither your discourses tend, and therefore take my leave.

Duke. Yes, madam, I know you see whither my discourses tend, and therefore 'twill not be convenient that you should take your leave. Disguise yourself no farther; you are known, as well as you knew me in masquerade.

Luc. I am not used enough to the world to interpret riddles; therefore, once more, heaven keep you.

Duke. This will not do; your voice, your mien, your stature, betray you for the same I saw last night: you know the time and place.

Luc. You were not in this chapel, and I am bound by vow to stir no farther.

Duke. But you had too much wit to keep that vow.

Luc. If you persist, sir, in this raving madness, I can bring witness of my innocence. [Is going.

Duke. To save that labour, see if you know that hand, and let that justify you. [Shows her letter.

Luc. What do I see! my ruin is inevitable.

Duke. You know you merit it:
You used me ill, and now are in my power.

Luc. But you, I hope, are much too noble to
Destroy the fame of a poor silly woman?

Duke. Then, in few words,—for I am bred a soldier,
And must speak plain,—it is your love I ask;
If you deny, this letter is produced;
You know the consequence.

Luc. I hope I do not;
For though there are appearances against me,
Enough to give you hope I durst not shun you,
Yet, could you see my heart, 'tis a white virgin-tablet,
On which no characters of earthly love
Were ever writ: And, 'twixt the prince and me,
If there were any criminal affection,
May heaven this minute—

Duke. Swear not; I believe you:
For, could I think my son had e'er enjoyed you,
I should not be his rival. Since he has not,
I may have so much kindness for myself,
To wish that happiness.

Luc. You ask me what I must not grant,
Nor, if I loved you, would: you know my vow of chastity.

Duke. Yet again that senseless argument?
The vows of chastity can ne'er be broken,
Where vows of secrecy are kept. Those I'll swear with you.
But 'tis enough at present, you know my resolution.
I would persuade, not force, you to my love;
And to that end I give you this night's respite.
Consider all, that you may fear or hope;
And think that on your grant, or your denial,
Depends a double welfare, yours and mine. [Exit.

Luc. A double ruin, rather, if I grant;
For what can I expect from such a father,
When such a son betrays me! Could I think,
Of all mankind, that Frederick would be base?
And, with the vanity of vulgar souls,
Betray a virgin's fame? One, who esteemed him,
And I much fear did more than barely so—
But I dare note examine myself farther, for fear of confessing to my own thoughts, a tenderness of which he is unworthy.

Enter Hippolita.

Hip. I watched till your old gallant was gone, to bring you news of your young one. A mischief on these old dry lovers! they are good for nothing but tedious talking; well, yonder's the prince at the grate; I hope I need say no more to you.

Luc. I'll come when I've recovered myself a little. I am a wretched creature, Hippolita! the letter I writ to the prince—

Hip. I know it,—is fallen into his father's hands by accident. He's as wretched as you too. Well, well, it shall be my part to bring you together; and then, if two young people, that have opportunity, can be wretched and melancholy—I'll go before, and meet Ascanio.
[Exit.

Luc. I am half unwilling to go, because I must be accessary to her assignation with Ascanio; but, for once, I'll meet the prince in the garden-walk: I am glad, however, that he is less criminal than I thought him.
[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. —The Nunnery-Garden.

Hippolita, Ascanio, meeting Laura and Violetta.

Hip. I hear some walking this way.—Who goes there?

Lau. We are the two new pensioners, Laura and Violetta.

Hip. Go in, to your devotion: These undue hours of walking savour too much of worldly thoughts.

Lau. Let us retire to the arbour, where, by this time, I believe, our friends are.—Good-night, sister.

Hip. Good angels guard you. [Exeunt Lau. and Vio.] Now, brother, the coast is clear, and we have the garden to ourselves. Do you remember how you threatened me? But that's all one, how good soever the opportunity may be, so long as we two resolve to be virtuous.

Asca. Speak for yourself, sister, for I am wickedly inclined. Yet, I confess, I have some remorse when I consider you are in religion.

Hip. We should do very well to consider that, both of us; for, indeed, what should young people do, but think of goodness and religion; especially when they love one another, and are alone too, brother?

Asca. A curse on't! here comes my lord, and Lucretia. We might have accomplished all, and been repenting by this time; yet who the devil would have thought they should have come so soon—Ah!
[Sets his teeth.

Hip. Who the devil would have put it to the venture? This is always the fault of you raw pages: You, that are too young, never use an opportunity; and we, that are elder, can seldom get one.—Ah!
[Sets her teeth.

Enter Frederick and Lucretia.

Luc. I believe, indeed, it troubled you to lose that letter.

Fred. So much, madam, that I can never forgive myself that negligence.

Luc. Call it not so, 'twas but a casuality, though, I confess, the consequence is dangerous; and therefore have not both of us reason to defy love, when we see a little gallantry is able to produce so much mischief?

Fred. [Aside.] Now cannot I, for my heart, bring out one word against this love.

Luc. Come, you are mute upon a subject, that is both easy and pleasant. A man in love is so ridiculous a creature—

Fred. Especially to those that are not.

Luc. True; for to those that are, he cannot be so: They are like the citizens of Bethlehem, who never find out one another's madness, because they are all tainted. But for such ancient fops, as, with reverence, your father is, what reason can they have to be in love?

Fred. Nay, your old fop's unpardonable, that's certain. But—

Luc. But what? Come, laugh at him.

Fred. But I consider he is my father, I can't laugh at him.

Luc. But, if it were another, we should see how you would insult over him.

Fred. Ay, if it were another—And yet I don't know neither, 'tis no part of good nature to insult: A man may be overtaken with a passion, or so; I know it by myself.

Luc. How, by yourself! You are not in love, I hope?—Oh that he would confess first now! [Aside.

Fred. But, if I were, I should be loth to be laughed at.

Luc. Since you are not in love, you may the better counsel me: What shall we do with this same troublesome father of yours?

Fred. Any thing, but love him.

Luc. But you know he has me at a bay; my letter is in his possession, and he may produce it to my ruin: Therefore, if I did allow him some little favour, to mollify him—

Fred. How, madam? Would you allow him favours? I can never consent to it: Not the least look or smile; they are all too precious, though they were to save his life.

Luc. What, not your father? Oh that he would confess he loved me first! [Aside.

Fred. What have I done? I shall betray myself, and confess my love to be laughed at, by this hard-hearted woman. [Aside.] 'Tis true, madam, I had forgot; he is, indeed, my father, and therefore you may use him as kindly as you please.

Luc. He's insensible: Now he enrages me. [Aside.] What if he proposes to marry me? I am not yet professed, and 'twould be much to my advantage.

Fred. Marry you! I had rather die a thousand deaths, than suffer it.

Luc. This begins to please me. [Aside.
But why should you be so much my enemy?

Fred. Your enemy, madam! Why, do you desire it?

Luc. Perhaps I do.

Fred. Do it, madam, since it pleases you so well.

Luc. But you had rather die, than suffer it.

Fred. No, I have changed my mind: I'll live, and not be concerned at it.

Luc. Do you contradict yourself so soon? Then know, sir, I did intend to do it; and I am glad you have given me advice so agreeable to my inclinations.

Fred. Heaven! that you should not find it out! I delivered your letter on purpose to my father, and 'twas my business, now, to come and mediate for him.