Title: The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III
Author: Aphra Behn
Language: English
THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III
EDITED BY MONTAGUE SUMMERS
MCMXV
CONTENTS:
THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY THE FALSE COUNT THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN’S BARGAIN THE FORC’D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON NOTES
THE TOWN-FOP; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY.
ARGUMENT.
Sir Timothy Tawdrey is by the wishes of his mother and the lady’s father designed for Celinda, who loves Bellmour, nephew to Lord Plotwell. A coxcomb of the first water, Sir Timothy receives a sharp rebuff when he opens his suit, and accordingly he challenges Bellmour, but fails to appear at the place of meeting. Celinda’s old nurse, at night, admits Bellmour to her mistress’ chamber, where they are surprized by Friendlove, her brother, who is, however, favourable to the union, the more so as he is a friend of Bellmour, and they have but newly returned from travelling together in Italy. Lord Plotwell warmly welcomes his nephew home, and proceeds to unfold his design of giving him his niece Diana in marriage. When he demurs, the old lord threatens to deprive him of his estate, and he is compelled eventually to acquiesce in the matrimonial schemes of his guardian. Bellmour sends word to Celinda, who replies in a heart-broken letter; and at the wedding feast Friendlove, who himself is deeply enamoured of Diana, appears in disguise to observe the traitor. He is followed by his sister disguised as a boy, and upon Friendlove’s drawing on Bellmour a scuffle ensues which, however, ends without harm. In the nuptial chamber Bellmour informs Diana that he cannot love her and she quits him maddened with rage and disappointment. Sir Timothy serenades the newly-mated pair and is threatened by Bellmour, whilst Celinda, who has been watching the house, attacks the fop and his fiddlers. During the brawl Diana issuing forth meets Celinda, and taking her for a boy leads her into the house and shortly makes advances of love. They are interrupted by Friendlove, disguised, and he receives Diana’s commands to seek out and challenge Bellmour. At the same time he reveals his love as though he told the tale of another, but he is met with scorn and only bidden to fight the husband who has repulsed her. Bellmour, meantime, in despair and rage at his misery plunges into reckless debauchery, and in company with Sir Timothy visits a bagnio, where they meet Betty Flauntit, the knight’s kept mistress, and other cyprians. Hither they are tracked by Charles, Bellmour’s younger brother, and Trusty, Lord Plotwell’s old steward. Sharp words pass, the brothers fight and Charles is slighted wounded. Their Uncle hears of this with much indignation, and at the same time receiving a letter from Diana begging for a divorce, he announces his intention to further her purpose, and to abandon wholly Charles and Phillis, his sister, in consequence of their elder brother’s conduct. Sir Timothy, induced by old Trusty, begins a warm courtship of Phillis, and arranges with a parasite named Sham to deceive her by a mock marriage. Sham, however, procures a real parson, and Sir Timothy is for the moment afraid he has got a wife without a dowry or portion. Lord Plotwell eventually promises to provide for her, and at Diana’s request, now she recognizes her mistake in trying to hold a man who does not love her, Bellmour is forgiven and allowed to wed Celinda as soon as the divorce has been pronounced, whilst Diana herself rewards Friendlove with her hand.
SOURCE.
The Town-Fop; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey is materially founded upon George Wilkins’ popular play, The Miseries of Enforced Marriage (4to, 1607, 1611, 1629, 1637), reprinted in Dodsley. Sir Timothy himself is moulded to some extent upon Sir Francis Ilford, but, as Geneste aptly remarks, he may be considered a new character. In the older drama, Clare, the original of Celinda, dies tragically of a broken heart. It cannot be denied that Mrs. Behn has greatly improved Wilkins’ scenes. The well-drawn character of Betty Flauntit is her own, and the realistically vivacious bagnio episodes of Act iv replace a not very interesting or lively tavern with a considerable accession to wit and humour, although perhaps not to strict propriety.
THEATRICAL HISTORY.
The Town-Fop; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey was produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden, in September, 1676. There is no record of its performance, and the actors’ names are not given. It was a year of considerable changes in the company, and any attempt to supply these would be the merest surmise.
THE TOWN-FOP; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey.
PROLOGUE.
_As Country Squire, who yet had never known
So a young Poet, who had never been
As tawdry Gown and Petticoat gain more
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
Lord Plotwell. Bellmour, Nephew to the Lord Plotwell, contracted to Celinda. Charles, Brother to Bellmour. Friendlove, Brother to Celinda, in love with Diana. Sir Timothy Tawdrey, a Fop-Knight, design’d to marry Celinda. Sham, | Hangers on to Sir Timothy. Sharp, | Trusty, An old Steward to Bellmour’s Family. Page to Bellmour. Page to Lord Plotwell. Sir Timothy’s Page. Guests, Dancers, Fiddlers, and Servants.
WOMEN.
The Lady Diana, Niece to the Lord Plotwell. Celinda, Sister to Friendlove, contracted to Bellmour. Phillis, Sister to Bellmour. Betty Flauntit, kept by Sir Timothy. Driver, A Bawd. Jenny, | Two Whores Doll, | Nurse, Ladies and Guests.
SCENE, Covent-Garden.
ACT I.
SCENE I. The Street.
Enter Sir Timothy Tawdrey, Sham, and Sharp.
Sir Tim. Hereabouts is the House wherein dwells the Mistress of my Heart; for she has Money, Boys, mind me, Money in abundance, or she were not for me—The Wench her self is good-natur’d, and inclin’d to be civil: but a Pox on’t—she has a Brother, a conceited Fellow, whom the World mistakes for a fine Gentleman; for he has travell’d, talks Languages, bows with a bonne mine, and the rest; but, by Fortune, he shall entertain you with nothing but Words—
Sham. Nothing else!—
Sir Tim. No—He’s no Country-Squire, Gentlemen, will not game, whore; nay, in my Conscience, you will hardly get your selves drunk in his Company—He treats A-la-mode, half Wine, half Water, and the rest—But to the Business, this Fellow loves his Sister dearly, and will not trust her in this leud Town, as he calls it, without him; and hither he has brought her to marry me.
Sham. A Pox upon him for his Pains—
Sir Tim. So say I—But my Comfort is, I shall be as weary of her, as the best Husband of ‘em all. But there’s Conveniency in it; besides, the Match being as good as made up by the old Folks in the Country, I must submit—The Wench I never saw yet, but they say she’s handsom—But no matter for that, there’s Money, my Boys.
Sharp. Well, Sir, we will follow you—but as dolefully as People do their Friends to the Grave, from whence they’re never to return, at least not the same Substance; the thin airy Vision of a brave good Fellow, we may see thee hereafter, but that’s the most.
Sir Tim. Your Pardon, sweet Sharp, my whole Design in it is to be Master of my self, and with part of her Portion to set up my Miss, Betty Flauntit; which, by the way, is the main end of my marrying; the rest you’ll have your shares of—Now I am forc’d to take you up Suits at treble Prizes, have damn’d Wine and Meat put upon us, ‘cause the Reckoning is to be book’d: But ready Money, ye Rogues! What Charms it has! makes the Waiters fly, Boys, and the Master with Cap in Hand—excuse what’s amiss, Gentlemen—Your Worship shall command the best—and the rest—How briskly the Box and Dice dance, and the ready Money submits to the lucky Gamester, and the gay Wench consults with every Beauty to make her self agreeable to the Man with ready Money! In fine, dear Rogues, all things are sacrific’d to its Power; and no Mortal conceives the Joy of Argent Content. ‘Tis this powerful God that makes me submit to the Devil, Matrimony; and then thou art assur’d of me, my stout Lads of brisk Debauch.
Sham. And is it possible you can be ty’d up to a Wife? Whilst here in London, and free, you have the whole World to range in, and like a wanton Heifer, eat of every Pasture.
Sir Tim. Why, dost think I’ll be confin’d to my own dull Enclosure? No, I had rather feed coarsely upon the boundless Common; perhaps two or three days I may be in love, and remain constant, but that’s the most.
Sharp. And in three Weeks, should you wed a Cynthia, you’d be a Monster.
Sir Tim. What, thou meanest a Cuckold, I warrant. God help thee! But a Monster is only so from its Rarity, and a Cuckold is no such strange thing in our Age.
Enter Bellmour and Friendlove.
But who comes here? Bellmour! Ah, my little dear Rogue! how dost thou? —Ned Friendlove too! Dear Lad, how dost thou too? Why, welcome to Town, i’faith, and I’m glad to see you both.
Friend. Sir Timothy Tawdrey!—
Sir Tim. The same, by Fortune, dear Ned: And how, and how, Man, how go Matters?
Friend. Between who, Sir?
Sir Tim. Why, any Body, Man; but, by Fortune, I’m overjoy’d to meet thee: But where dost think I was going?
Friend. Is’t possible one shou’d divine?
Sir Tim. Is’t possible you shou’d not, and meet me so near your Sister’s Lodgings? Faith, I was coming to pay my Respects and Services, and the rest—Thou know’st my meaning—The old Business of the Silver-World, Ned; by Fortune, it’s a mad Age we live in, Ned; and here be so many—wicked Rogues, about this damn’d leud Town, that, ’.aith, I am fain to speak in the vulgar modish Style, in my own Defence, and railly Matrimony and the rest.
Friend. Matrimony!—I hope you are so exactly refin’d a Man of the Town, that you will not offer once to think of so dull a thing: let that alone for such cold Complexions as Bellmour here, and I, that have not attain’d to that most excellent faculty of Keeping yet, as you, Sir Timothy, have done; much to your Glory, I assure you.
Sir Tim. Who, I, Sir? You do me much Honour: I must confess I do not find the softer Sex cruel; I am received as well as another Man of my Parts.
Friend. Of your Money you mean, Sir.
Sir Tim. Why, ‘faith, Ned, thou art i’th’ right; I love to buy my
Friend. I am not of your Mind, I love to love upon the square; and that I may be sure not to be cheated with false Ware, I present ‘em nothing but my Heart.
Sir Tim. Yes, and have the Consolation of seeing your frugal huswifery
Friend. If she be clean, and pretty, and drest in Love, I can excuse the rest, and so will she.
Sir Tim. I vow to Fortune, Ned, thou must come to London, and be a little manag’d: ‘slife, Man, shouldst thou talk so aloud in good Company, thou wouldst be counted a strange Fellow. Pretty—and drest with Love—a fine Figure, by Fortune: No, Ned, the painted Chariot gives a Lustre to every ordinary Face, and makes a Woman look like Quality; Ay, so like, by Fortune, that you shall not know one from t’other, till some scandalous, out-of-favour’d laid-aside Fellow of the Town, cry—Damn her for a Bitch—how scornfully the Whore regards me—She has forgot since Jack—such a one, and I, club’d for the keeping of her, when both our Stocks well manag’d wou’d not amount to above seven Shillings six Pence a week; besides now and then a Treat of a Breast of Mutton from the next Cook’s.—Then the other laughs, and crys—Ay, rot her—and tells his Story too, and concludes with, Who manages the Jilt now; Why, faith, some dismal Coxcomb or other, you may be sure, replies the first. But, Ned, these are Rogues, and Rascals, that value no Man’s Reputation, because they despise their own. But faith, I have laid aside all these Vanities, now I have thought of Matrimony; but I desire my Reformation may be a Secret, because, as you know, for a Man of my Address, and the rest—’tis not altogether so Jantee.
Friend. Sir, I assure you, it shall be so great a Secret for me, that I will never ask you who the happy Woman is, that’s chosen for this great Work of your Conversion.
Sir Tim. Ask me—No, you need not, because you know already.
Friend. Who, I? I protest, Sir Timothy—
Sir Tim. No Swearing, dear Ned, for ‘tis not such a Secret, but I will trust my Intimates: these are my Friends, Ned; pray know them—This Mr. Sham, and this—by Fortune, a very honest Fellow [Bows to ‘em] Mr. Sharp, and may be trusted with a Bus’ness that concerns you as well as me.
Friend. Me! What do you mean, Sir Timothy?
Sir Tim. Why, Sir, you know what I mean.
Friend. Not I, Sir.
Sir Tim. What, not that I am to marry your Sister Celinda?
Friend. Not at all.
Bel. O, this insufferable Sot! [Aside.
Friend. My Sister, Sir, is very nice.
Sir Tim. That’s all one, Sir, the old People have adjusted the matter, and they are the most proper for a Negotiation of that kind, which saves us the trouble of a tedious Courtship.
Friend. That the old People have agreed the matter, is more than I know.
Sir Tim. Why, Lord, Sir, will you persuade me to that? Don’t you know that your Father (according to the Method in such Cases, being certain of my Estate) came to me thus—Sir Timothy Tawdrey,—you are a young Gentleman, and a Knight, I knew your Father well, and my right worshipful Neighbour, our Estates lie together; therefore, Sir, I have a desire to have a near Relation with you—At which, I interrupted him, and cry’d—Oh Lord, Sir, I vow to Fortune, you do me the greatest Honour, Sir, and the rest—
Bel. I can endure no more; he marry fair Celinda!
Friend. Prithee let him alone. [Aside.
Sir Tim. To which he answer’d—I have a good Fortune—have but my Son Ned, and this Girl, call’d Celinda, whom I will make a Fortune, sutable to yours; your honoured Mother, the Lady Tawdrey, and I, have as good as concluded the Match already. To which I (who, though I say it, am well enough bred for a Knight) answered the Civility thus—I vow to Fortune, Sir—I did not swear, but cry’d—I protest, Sir, Celinda, deserves—no, no, I lye again, ‘twas merits—Ay, Celinda—merits a much better Husband than I.
Friend. You speak more Truth than you are aware of. [Aside.] Well, Sir, I’ll bring you to my Sister; and if she likes you, as well as My Father does, she’s yours; otherwise, I have so much Tenderness for her, as to leave her Choice free.
Sir Tim. Oh, Sir, you compliment. _Alons, Entrons.
[Exeunt_.
SCENE II. A Chamber.
Enter Celinda, and Nurse.
Cel. I wonder my Brother stays so long: sure Mr. Bellmour is not yet arriv’d, yet he sent us word he would be here to day. Lord, how impatient I grow!
Nur. Ay, so methinks; if I had the hopes of enjoying so sweet a Gentleman as Mr. Bellmour, I shou’d be so too—But I am past it—Well, I have had my Pantings, and Heavings, my Impatience, and Qualms, my Heats, and my Colds, and my I know not whats—But I thank my Stars, I have done with all those Fooleries.
Cel. Fooleries!—
Nur. You need not, your Sighs, and daily (nay, and nightly too) Disorders, plainly enough betray the Truth.
Cel. Thou speak’st as if it were a Sin:
Nur. Quite undone! Now God forbid it; what, for loving? You said but now there was no Life without it.
Cel. But since my Brother came from Italy,
Nur. Very pretty! You are grown a notable Proficient in Love—And you are resolv’d (if he please) to marry him?
Cel. Or I must die.
Nur. Ay, but you know the Lord Plotwell has the Possession of all his Estate, and if he marry without his liking, has Power to take away all his Fortune, and then I think it were not so good marrying him.
Cel. Not marrying him! Oh, canst thou think so poorly of me?
Nur. Very fine!
Cel. There we wou’d practise such degrees of Love,
Nur. Good lack! how prettily Love teaches his Scholars to prattle.— But hear ye, fair Mrs. Celinda, you have forgot to what end and purpose you came to Town; not to marry Mr. Bellmour, as I take it—but Sir Timothy Tawdrey, that Spark of Men.
Cel. Oh, name him not—Let me not in one Moment Descend from Heaven to Hell— How came that wretched thing into thy Noddle?
Nur. Faith, Mistress, I took pity of thee, I saw you so elevated with Thoughts of Mr. Bellmour, I found it necessary to take you down a degree lower.
Cel. Why did not Heaven make all Men like lo Bellmour? So strangely sweet and charming!
Nur. Marry come up, you speak well for your self; Oh intolerable loving Creature! But here comes the utmost of your Wishes.
Cel. My Brother, and Bellmour! with strange Men!
Enter Friendlove, Bellmour, Sir Timothy, Sham, and Sharp.
Friend. Sister, I’ve brought you here a Lover, this is the worthy Person you have heard of, Sir Timothy Tawdrey.
Sir Tim. Yes, faith, Madam, I am Sir Timothy Tawdrey, at your
Cel. The same, but cannot return your Compliment.
Sir Tim. Oh Lord, oh Lord, not return a Compliment. Faith, Ned, thy Sister’s quite spoil’d, for want of Town-Education; ‘tis pity, for she’s devilish pretty.
Friend. She’s modest, Sir, before Company; therefore these Gentlemen and I will withdraw into the next Room.
Cel. Inhuman Brother! Will you leave me alone with this Sot?
Friend. Yes, and if you would be rid of the trouble of him, be not coy, nor witty; two things he hates.
Bel. ‘Sdeath! Must she be blown upon by that Fool?
Friend. Patience, dear Frank, a little while.
[Exeunt Friend. Bell. Sham and Sharp.
[Sir Timothy walks about the Room, expecting when
Cel. Oh, dear Nurse, what shall I do?
Nur. I that ever help you at a dead Lift, will not fail you now.
Sir Tim. What a Pox, not a Word?
Cel. Sure this Fellow believes I’ll begin.
Sir Tim. Not yet—sure she has spoke her last—
Nur. The Gentleman’s good-natur’d, and has took pity on you, and will not trouble you, I think.
Sir Tim.—Hey day, here’s Wooing indeed—Will she never begin, trow? —This some would call an excellent Quality in her Sex—But a pox on’t, I do not like it—Well, I see I must break Silence at last—Madam—not answer me—’shaw, this is mere ill breeding—by Fortune—it can be nothing else—O’ my Conscience, if I should kiss her, she would bid me stand off—I’ll try—
Nur. Hold, Sir, you mistake your Mark.
Sir Tim. So I should, if I were to look in thy mouldy Chaps, good
Nur. Try, Sir.
Sir Tim. Which way?
Nur. Why, speak to her first.
Sir Tim. I never knew a Woman want a Cue for that; but all that I
Nur. Likely those you have met with may, but this is no such Creature, Sir.
Sir Tim. I must confess, I am unus’d to this kind of Dialogue; and
Cel. If I can, Sir.
Sir Tim. But first I should ask you if you can speak? For that’s a
Cel. And if I cannot, how will you be answer’d?
Sir Tim. Faith, that’s right; why, then you must do’t by signs.
Cel. But grant I can speak, what is’t you’ll ask me?
Sir Tim. Can you love?
Cel. Oh, yes, Sir, many things; I love my Meat, I love abundance of Adorers, I love choice of new Clothes, new Plays; and, like a right Woman, I love to have my Will.
Sir Tim. Spoke like a well-bred Person, by Fortune: I see there’s hopes of thee, Celinda; thou wilt in time learn to make a very fashionable Wife, having so much Beauty too. I see Attracts, and Allurements, wanton Eyes, the languishing turn of the Head, and all That invites to Temptation.
Cel. Would that please you in a Wife?
Sir Tim. Please me! Why, Madam, what do you take me to be? a Sot?— a Fool?—or a dull Italian of the Humour of your Brother?—No, no, I can assure you, she that marries me, shall have Franchise—But, my pretty Miss, you must learn to talk a little more—
Cel. I have not Wit, and Sense enough, for that.
Sir Tim. Wit! Oh la, O la, Wit! as if there were any Wit requir’d in a Woman when she talks; no, no matter for Wit, or Sense: talk but loud, and a great deal to shew your white Teeth, and smile, and be very confident, and ‘tis enough—Lord, what a Sight ‘tis to see a pretty Woman Stand right up an end in the middle of a Room, playing with her Fan, for want of something to keep her in Countenance. No, she that is mine, I will teach to entertain at another rate.
Nur. How, Sir? Why, what do you take my young Mistress to be?
Sir Tim. A Woman—and a fine one, and so fine as she ought to permit her self to be seen, and be ador’d.
Nur. Out upon you, would you expose your Wife? by my troth, and I were she, I know what I wou’d do—
Sir Tim. Thou do—what thou wouldst have done sixty Years ago, thou meanest.
Nur. Marry come up, for a stinking Knight; worse than I have gone down with you, e’er now—Sixty Years ago, quoth ye—As old as I am— I live without Surgeons, wear my own Hair, am not in Debt to my Taylor, as thou art, and art fain to kiss his Wife, to persuade her Husband to be merciful to thee—who wakes thee every Morning with his Clamour and long Bills, at thy Chamber-door.
Sir Tim. Prithee, good Matron, Peace; I’ll compound with thee.
Nur. ‘Tis more than thou wilt do with thy Creditors, who, poor Souls, despair of a Groat in the Pound for all thou ow’st them, for Points, Lace, and Garniture—for all, in fine, that makes thee a complete Fop.
Sir Tim. Hold, hold thy eternal Clack.
Nur. And when none would trust thee farther, give Judgments for twice the Money thou borrowest, and swear thy self at Age; and lastly—to patch up your broken Fortune, you wou’d fain marry my sweet Mistress Celinda here—But, Faith, Sir, you’re mistaken, her Fortune shall not go to the Maintenance of your Misses; which being once sure of, she, poor Soul, is sent down to the Country-house, to learn Housewifery, and live without Mankind, unless she can serve her self with the handsom Steward, or so—whilst you tear it away in Town, and live like Man and Wife with your Jilt, and are every Day seen in the Glass Coach, whilst your own natural Lady is hardly worth the Hire of a Hack.
Sir Tim. Why, thou damnable confounded Torment, wilt thou never cease?
Nur. No, not till you raise your Siege, and be gone; go march to your Lady of Love, and Debauch—go—You get no Celinda here.
Sir Tim. The Devil’s in her Tongue.
Cel. Good gentle Nurse, have Mercy upon the poor Knight.
Nur. No more, Mistress, than he’ll have on you, if Heaven had so abandon’d you, to put you into his Power—Mercy—quoth ye—no—, no more than his Mistress will have, when all his Money’s gone.
Sir Tim. Will she never end?
Cel. Prithee forbear.
Nur. No more than the Usurer would, to whom he has mortgag’d the best part of his Estate, would forbear a Day after the promis’d Payment of the Money. Forbear!—
Sir Tim. Not yet end! Can I, Madam, give you a greater Proof of my
Nur. This—thou art so sorry a Creature, thou wilt endure any thing for the lucre of her Fortune; ‘tis that thou hast a Passion for: not that thou carest for Money, but to sacrifice to thy Leudness, to purchase a Mistress, to purchase the Reputation of as errant a Fool as ever arriv’d at the Honour of keeping; to purchase a little Grandeur, as you call it; that is, to make every one look at thee, and consider what a Fool thou art, who else might pass unregarded amongst the common Croud.
Sir Tim. The Devil’s in her Tongue, and so ‘tis in most Women’s of her
Nur. Do not persuade me, Madam, I am resolv’d to make him weary of his Wooing.
Sir Tim. So, God be prais’d, the Storm is laid—And now, Mrs. Celinda, give me leave to ask you, if it be with your leave, this Affront is put on a Man of my Quality?
Nur. Thy Quality—
Sir Tim. Yes; I am a Gentleman, and a Knight.
Nur. Yes, Sir, Knight of the ill-favour’d Countenance is it?
Sir Tim. You are beholding to Don Quixot for that, and ‘tis so many Ages since thou couldst see to read, I wonder thou hast not forgot all that ever belong’d to Books.
Nur. My Eye-sight is good enough to see thee in all thy Colours, thou Knight of the burning Pestle thou.
Sir Tim. Agen, that was out of a Play—Hark ye, Witch of Endor, hold your prating Tongue, or I shall most well-favour’dly cudgel ye.
Nur. As your Friend the Hostess has it in a Play too, I take it, Ends which you pick up behind the Scenes, when you go to be laught at even by the Player-Women.
Sir Tim. Wilt thou have done? By Fortune, I’ll endure no more—
Nur. Murder, Murder!
Cel. Hold, hold.
Enter Friendlove, Bellmour, Sham and Sharp.
Friend. Read here the worst of News that can arrive, [Gives Bellm. a Letter. —What’s the matter here? Why, how now, Sir Timothy, what, up in Arms with the Women?
Sir Tim. Oh, Ned, I’m glad thou’rt come—never was Tom Dove baited as I have been.
Friend. By whom? my Sister?
Sir Tim. No, no, that old Mastiff there—the young Whelp came not on, thanks be prais’d.
Bel. How, her Father here to morrow, and here he says, that shall be the last Moment, he will defer the Marriage of Celinda to this Sot— Oh God, I shall grow mad, and so undo ‘em all—I’ll kill the Villain at the Altar—By my lost hopes, I will—And yet there is some left—Could I but—speak to her—I must rely on Dresswell’s Friendship—Oh God, to morrow—Can I endure that thought? Can I endure to see the Traytor there, who must to morrow rob me of my Heaven?—I’ll own my Flame—and boldly tell this Fop, she must be mine—
Friend. I assure you, Sir Timothy, I am sorry, and will chastise her.
Sir Tim. Ay, Sir, I that am a Knight—a Man of Parts and Wit, and one that is to be your Brother, and design’d to be the Glory of marrying Celinda.
Bel. I can endure no more—How, Sir—You marry fair Celinda!
Sir Tim. Ay, Frank, ay—is she not a pretty little plump white
Bel. Yes.
Sir Tim. Oh, I had forgot thou art a modest Rogue, and to thy eternal
Bel. Why, Sir, I can court a Lady—
Sir Tim. No, no, thou’rt modest; that is to say, a Country Gentleman; that is to say, ill-bred; that is to say, a Fool, by Fortune, as the World goes.
Bel. Neither, Sir—I can love—and tell it too—and that you may believe me—look on this Lady, Sir.
Sir Tim. Look on this Lady, Sir—Ha, ha, ha,—Well, Sir—Well, Sir—
Bel. Nay, view her well, Sir—
Sir. Tim. Pleasant this—Well, Frank, I do—And what then?
Bel. Is she not charming fair—fair to a wonder!
Sir Tim. Well, Sir, ‘tis granted—
Bel. And canst thou think this Beauty meant for thee, for thee, dull common Man?
Sir Tim. Very well, what will he say next?
Bel. I say, let me no more see thee approach this Lady.
Sir Tim. How, Sir, how?
Bel. Not speak to her, not look on her—by Heaven—not think of her.
Sir Tim. How, Frank, art in earnest?
Bel. Try, if thou dar’st.
Sir Tim. Not think of her!—
Bel. No, not so much as in a Dream, could I divine it.
Sir Tim. Is he in earnest, Mr. Friendlove?
Friend. I doubt so, Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim. What, does he then pretend to your Sister?
Bel. Yes, and no Man else shall dare do so.
Sir Tim. Take notice I am affronted in your Lodgings—for you, Bellmour—You take me for an Ass—therefore meet me to morrow Morning about five, with your Sword in your Hand, behind Southampton House.
Bel. ‘Tis well—there we will dispute our Title to Celinda. [Exit Sir Tim. Dull Animal! The Gods cou’d ne’er decree So bright a Maid shou’d be possest by thee.
[Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. A Palace.
Enter Nurse with a Light.
Nur. Well, ‘tis an endless trouble to have the Tuition of a Maid in love, here is such Wishing and Longing.—And yet one must force them to what they most desire, before they will admit of it—Here am I sent out a Scout of the Forlorn Hope, to discover the Approach of the Enemy—Well —Mr. Bellmour, you are not to know, ‘tis with the Consent of Celinda, that you come—I must bear all the blame, what Mischief soever comes of these Night-Works.
Enter Bellmour.
Oh, are you come—Your Hour was Twelve, and now ‘tis almost Two.
Bel. I could not get from Friendlove—Thou hast not told Celinda of my coming?
Nur. No, no, e’en make Peace for me, and your self too.
Bel. I warrant thee, Nurse—Oh, how I hope and fear this Night’s Success!
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. A Chamber.
Celinda in her Night-Attire, leaning on a Table.
Cel. Oh Heavens! Mr. Bellmour at this late Hour in my Chamber!
Bel. Yes, Madam; but will approach no nearer till you permit me; And sure you know my Soul too well to fear.
Cel. I do, Sir, and you may approach yet nearer, And let me know your Business.
Bel. Love is my bus’ness, that of all the World; Only my Flame as much surmounts the rest, As is the Object’s Beauty I adore.
Cel. If this be all, to tell me of your Love, To morrow might have done as well.
Bel. Oh, no, to morrow would have been too late,
Cel. Oh, if I am so wretched to be his, Surely I cannot live; For, Sir, I must confess I cannot love him.
Bel. But thou may’st do as bad, and marry him, And that’s a Sin I cannot over-live; —No, hear my Vows—
Cel. But are you, Sir, in earnest?
Bel. In earnest? Yes, by all that’s good, I am; I love you more than I do Life, or Heaven!
Cel. Oh, what a pleasure ‘tis to hear him say so! [Aside. —But pray, how long, Sir, have you lov’d me so?
Bel. From the first moment that I saw your Eyes, Your charming killing Eyes, I did adore ‘em; And ever since have languisht Day and Night.
Nur. Come, come, ne’er stand asking of Questions, But follow your Inclinations, and take him at his Word.
Bel. Celinda, take her Counsel,
Cel. Pray give me till to morrow, Sir, to answer you; For I have yet some Fears about my Soul, That take away my Rest.
Bel. To morrow! You must then marry—Oh fatal Word! Another! a Beast, a Fool, that knows not how to value you.
Cel. Is’t possible my Fate shou’d be so near?
Nur. Nay, then dispose of your self, I say, and leave dissembling; ’.is high time.
Bel. This Night the Letter came, the dreadful News Of thy being married, and to morrow too. Oh, answer me, or I shall die with Fear.
Cel. I must confess it, Sir, without a blush,
Bel. That Sigh was kind,
Cel. Alas, Sir! what is’t you’d have me do?
Bel. Why—I wou’d have you love, and after that
Cel. Have you consider’d, Sir, your own Condition? ’.is in your Uncle’s Power to take your Fortune, If in your Choice you disobey his Will. —And, Sir, you know that mine is much below you.
Bel. Oh, I shall calm his Rage,
Cel. Part! Oh, ‘tis a fatal Word! I will do any thing to save that Life, To which my own so nearly is ally’d.
Enter Friendlove.
Friend. So, forward Sister!
Bel. Ha, Friendlove!
Friend. Was it so kindly done, to gain my Sister Without my knowledge?
Bel. Ah, Friend! ‘Twas from her self alone That I wou’d take the Blessing which I ask.
Friend. And I’ll assist her, Sir, to give it you. Here, take him as an Honour, and be thankful.
Bel. I as a Blessing sent from Heaven receive her, And e’er I sleep will justify my Claim, And make her mine.
Friend. Be not so hasty, Friend: Endeavour first to reconcile your Uncle to’t.
Bel. By such Delays we’re lost: Hast thou forgot? To morrow she’s design’d another’s Bride!
Friend. For that let me alone t’evade.
Bel. If you must yet delay me,
Nur. Heartily sworn, as I vow.
Cel. And here I wish as solemnly the same: —May all arrive to me, If e’er I marry any Man but Bellmour!
Nur. We are Witnesses, as good as a thousand.
Friend. But now, my Friend, I’d have you take your leave; the day comes on apace, and you’ve not seen your Uncle since your Arrival.
Bel. ‘Tis Death to part with thee, my fair Celinda; But our hard Fates impose this Separation: —Farewel—Remember thou’rt all mine.
Cel. What have I else of Joy to think upon? —Go—go—depart.
Bel. I will—but ‘tis as Misers part with Gold, Or People full of Health depart from Life.
Friend. Go, Sister, to your Bed, and dream of him.
[Ex. Cel. and Nurse.
Bel. Whilst I prepare to meet this Fop to fight him.
Friend. Hang him, he’ll ne’er meet thee; to beat a Watch, or kick a Drawer, or batter Windows, is the highest pitch of Valour he e’er arriv’d to.
Bel. However, I’ll expect him, lest he be fool-hardy enough to keep his Word.
Friend. Shall I wait on thee?
Bel. No, no, there’s no need of that—Good-morrow, my best Friend.
Friend. But e’er you go, my dearest Friend and Brother,
Bel. She has a Spirit equal to her Beauty,
Friend. I neither doubt thy Industry, nor Love; Go, and be careful of my Interest there, Whilst I preserve thine as intirely here.
[Ex. severally.
SCENE III. Sir Timothy’s House.
Enter Sir Timothy, Sham, Sharp, and Boy.
Sharp. Good morrow, Sir Timothy; what, not yet ready, and to meet Mr. Bellmour at Five? the time’s past.
Sir Tim.—Ay, Pox on’t—I han’t slept to Night for thinking on’t.
Sham. Well, Sir Timothy, I have most excellent News for you, that will do as well; I have found out—
Sir Tim. A new Wench, I warrant—But prithee, Sham, I have other matters in hand; ‘Sheart, I am so mortify’d with this same thought of Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again.
Sharp. And you were so forward, Sir Timothy—
Sir Tim. Ay, Sharp, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but
Sham. ‘Shaw, Sir, ‘tis nothing, a Man wou’d do’t for Exercise in a Morning.
Sir Tim. Ay, if there were no more in’t than Exercise; if a Man cou’d take a Breathing without breathing a Vein—but, Sham, this Wounds, and Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say’st ‘tis nothing, prithee do thou meet Bellmour in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and ’.is no matter if the World were well rid of thee.
Sham. I wou’d do’t with all my Soul—but your Honour, Sir—
Sir Tim.—My Honour! ‘tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight Duels—I warrant you the wise Italian thinks himself a Man of Honour; and yet when did you hear of an Italian, that ever fought a Duel? Is’t not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my Face, hear my self call’d, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the rest?—But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he can—And this is your damn’d Honourable English way of shewing a Man’s Courage.
Sham. I must confess I am of your mind, and therefore have been studying a Revenge, sutable to the Affront: and if I can judge any thing, I have hit it.
Sir Tim. Hast thou? dear Sham, out with it.
Sham. Why, Sir—what think you of debauching his Sister?
Sir Tim. Why, is there such a thing in Nature?
Sham. You know he has a Sister, Sir.
Sir Tim. Yes, rich, and fair.
Sham. Both, or she were not worthy of your Revenge.
Sir Tim. Oh, how I love Revenge, that has a double Pleasure in it—and where—and where is this fine piece of Temptation?
Sham. In being, Sir—but Sharp here, and I, have been at some cost in finding her out.
Sir Tim. Ye shall be overpaid—there’s Gold, my little Maquere—but she’s very handsom?
Sharp. As a Goddess, Sir.
Sir Tim. And art thou sure she will be leud?
Sharp. Are we sure she’s a Woman, Sir?—Sure, she’s in her Teens, has Pride and Vanity—and two or three Sins more that I cou’d name, all which never fail to assist a Woman in Debauchery—But, Sir, there are certain People that belong to her, that must be consider’d too.
Sir Tim. Stay, Sir, e’er I part with more Money, I’ll be certain what returns ‘twill make me—that is, I’ll see the Wench, not to inform my self, how well I like her, for that I shall do, because she is new, and Bellmour’s Sister—but to find what possibility there is in gaining her.—I am us’d to these things, and can guess from a Look, or a Kiss, or a Touch of the Hand—but then I warrant, ‘twill come to the knowledge of Betty Flauntit.
Sham. What, Sir, then it seems you doubt us?
Sir Tim. How do you mean, your Honesty or Judgment? I can assure you,
Sharp. How, Sir, doubt our Honesty!
Sir Tim. Yes—why, I hope neither of you pretend to either, do you?
Sham. Why, Sir, what, do you take us for Cheats?
Sir Tim. As errant, as any’s in Christendom.
Sharp. How, Sir?
Sir Tim. Why, how now—what, fly in my Face? Are your Stomachs so queasy, that Cheat won’t down with you?
Sham. Why, Sir, we are Gentlemen; and though our ill Fortunes have thrown us on your Bounty, we are not to be term’d—
Sir Tim. Why, you pair of Hectors—whence this Impudence?—Do ye know me, ye Raggamuffins?
Sham. Yes, but we knew not that you were a Coward before. You talkt big, and huft where-e’er you came, like an errant Bully; and so long we reverenc’d you—but now we find you have need of our Courage, we’ll stand on our own Reputations.
Sir Tim. Courage and Reputation!—ha, ha, ha—why, you lousy
Sharp. Why, Sir, who dares question either?
Sir Tim. He that dares try it. [Kicks ‘em.
Sharp. Hold, Sir, hold.
Sham. Enough, enough, we are satisfy’d.
Sir Tim. So am not I, ye mangy Mungrels, till I have kickt Courage and
Sham. Hold there, Sir, ‘tis enough, we are satisfy’d, that you have Courage.
Sir Tim. Oh, are you so? then it seems I was not to be believ’d—I told you I had Courage when I was angry.
Sham. Ay, Sir, we have prov’d it, and will now swear it.—But we had an Inclination to try, Sir.
Sir Tim. And all you did, was but to try my Courage, hah!
Sharp. On our Honours, nothing else, Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim. Though I know ye to be cursed cowardly lying Rogues, yet because I have use of ye, I must forgive ye.—Here, kiss my Hand, and be forgiven.
Sham. ‘Tis an Honour we are proud of, Sir.
Sir Tim. Oh, is it so, Rascallians? then I hope I am to see the Lady without Indentures.
Sharp. Oh Lord, Sir, any thing we can serve you in.
Sham. And I have brib’d her Maid to bring her this Morning into the Mall.
Sir Tim. Well, let’s about it then; for I am for no fighting to day—D’ye hear, Boy—Let the Coach be got ready whilst I get my self drest.
Boy. The Coach, Sir! Why, you know Mr. Shatter has pawn’d the Horses.
Sir Tim. I had forgot it—A pox on’t, this ‘tis to have a Partner in
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. Lord Plotwell’s House.
Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty.
Trusty. Mr. Charles, your Brother, my young Master Bellmour, is come.
Char. I’m glad on’t; my Uncle began to be impatient that he came not, you saying you left him but a day’s Journey behind you yesterday. My Uncle has something of importance to say to him, I fancy it may be about A Marriage between him and my Lady Diana—such a Whisper I heard—
Trusty. Ay, marry, Sir, that were a Match indeed, she being your Uncle’s only Heir.
Char. Ay, but they are Sisters Children, and too near a-kin to be happy.
Trusty. ‘Twere pity my young Master shou’d be unhappy in a Wife; for he is the sweetest-natur’d Gentleman—But one Comfort is, Mr. Charles, you, and your Sister Mrs. Phillis, will have your Portions assign’d you if he marry.
Char. Yes, that he can’t deny us the very Day after his Marriage.
Trusty. I shall be glad to see you all dispos’d of well; but I was half afraid, your Brother would have married Mrs. Celinda Friendlove, to whom he made notable Love in Yorkshire I thought: not but she’s a fine Lady; but her Fortune is below that of my young Master’s, as much as my Lady Diana’s is above his—But see, they come; let us retire, to give ‘em leave to talk alone.
[Exeunt.
EnterLord Plotwell, and Bellmour.
Lord. And well, Frank, how dost thou find thy self inclin’d? thou should’st begin to think of something more than Books. Do’st thou not wish to know the Joys that are to be found in a Woman, Frank? I well remember at thy Age I fancy’d a thousand fine things of that kind.
Bel. Ay, my Lord, a thousand more perhaps than are to be found.
Lord. Not so; but I confess, Frank, unless the Lady be fair, and there be some Love too, ‘tis not altogether so well; therefore I, who am still busy for thy good, have fix’d upon a Lady—
Bel. Ha!—
Lord. What, dost start? Nay, I’ll warrant thee she’ll please; A Lady rich, and fair, and nobly born, and thou shalt marry her, Frank.
Bel. Marry her, my Lord—
Lord. Why, yes, marry her—I hope you are none of the fashionable Fops, that are always in Mutiny against Marriage, who never think themselves very witty, but when they rail against Heaven and a Wife— But, Frank, I have found better Principles in thee, and thou hast the Reputation of a sober young Gentleman; thou art, besides, a Man of great Fortune, Frank.
Bel. And therefore, Sir, ought the less to be a Slave.
Lord. But, Frank, we are made for one another; and ought, by the Laws of God, to communicate our Blessings.
Bel. Sir, there are Men enough, fitter much than I, to obey those Laws; nor do I think them made for every one.
Lord. But, Frank, you do not know what a Wife I have provided for you.
Bel. ‘Tis enough I know she’s a Woman, Sir.
Lord. A Woman! why, what should she be else?
Bel. An Angel, Sir, e’er she can be my Wife.
Lord. In good time: but this is a Mortal, Sir—and must serve your turn—but, Frank, she is the finest Mortal—
Bel. I humbly beg your Pardon, if I tell you,
Lord. But, Sir, perhaps you do not guess the Lady.
Bel. Or cou’d I, Sir, it cou’d not change my Nature.
Lord. But, Sir, suppose it be my Niece Diana.
Bel. How, Sir, the fair Diana!
Lord. I thought thou’dst come about again; What think you now of Woman-kind, and Wedlock?
Bel. As I did before, my Lord.
Lord. What, thou canst not think I am in earnest; I confess, Frank, she is above thee in point of Fortune, she being my only Heir—but suppose ‘tis she.
Bel. Oh, I’m undone!—Sir, I dare not suppose so greatly in favour of my self.
Lord. But, Frank, you must needs suppose—
Bel. Oh, I am ruin’d, lost, for ever lost.
Lord. What do you mean, Sir?
Bel. I mean, I cannot marry fair Diana.
Lord. Death! how’s this?
Bel. She is a thing above my humble wishes—
Lord. Is that all? Take you no care for that; for she loves you already, and I have resolv’d it, which is better yet.
Bel. Love me, Sir! I know she cannot, And Heav’n forbid that I should injure her.
Lord. Sir, this is a Put-off: resolve quickly, or I’ll compel you.
Bel. You wou’d not use Extremity; What is the Forfeit of my Disobedience?
Lord. The loss of all your Fortune, If you refuse the Wife I have provided— Especially a handsom Lady, as she is, Frank.
Bel. Oh me, unhappy! What cursed Laws provided this Severity?
Lord. Even those of your Father’s Disposal, who seeing so many Examples in this leud Age, of the ruin of whole Families by imprudent Marriages, provided otherwise for you.
Bel. But, Sir, admit Diana be inclin’d, And I (by my unhappy Stars so curs’d) Should be unable to accept the Honour.
Lord. How, Sir! admit!—I can no more admit, Than you can suppose—therefore give me your final Answer.
Bel. Sir, can you think a Blessing e’er can fall Upon that Pair, whom Interest joins, not Love?
Lord. Why, what’s in Diana, that you shou’d not love her?
Bel. I must confess she has a thousand Virtues,
Lord. Indeed, Sir, but I will not; love me this Lady, and marry me this Lady, or I will teach you what it is to refuse such a Lady.
Bel. Sir, ‘tis not in my power to obey you.
Lord. How! not in your pow’r?
Bel. No, Sir, I see my fatal Ruin in your Eyes, And know too well your Force, and my own Misery. —But, Sir—when I shall tell you who I’ve married—
Lord. Who you’ve married;—By all that’s sacred, if that be true, thou art undone for ever.
Bel. O hear me, Sir! I came with Hopes to have found you merciful.
Lord. Expect none from me; no, thou shalt not have So much of thy Estate, as will afford thee Bread: By Heav’n, thou shalt not.
Bel. Oh, pity me, my Lord, pity my Youth;
Lord. Very fine! where is the Priest that durst dispose of you without my Order? Sirrah, you are my Slave—at least your whole Estate is at my mercy—and besides, I’ll charge you with an Action of 5000 pounds. For your ten Years Maintenance: Do you know that this in my power too?
Bel. Yes, Sir, and dread your Anger worse than Death.
Lord. Oh Villain! thus to dash my Expectation!
Bel. Sir, on my bended Knees, thus low I fall To beg your mercy.
Lord. Yes, Sir, I will have mercy; I’ll give you Lodging—but in a Dungeon, Sir, Where you shall ask your Food of Passers by.
Bel. All this, I know, you have the Pow’r to do;
Lord. Very well, Sir, I shall tame that Courage, and punish that Harlot, whoe’er she be, that has seduc’d ye.
Bel. How, Harlot, Sir!—Death, such another Word,
Lord. Who waits there?
Enter Trusty and Servants.