THE Perjur'd Husband: OR, The Adventures of Venice.
A TRAGEDY.
As 'twas Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane, By His Majesty's Servants.
Written by S. Carroll.
LONDON, Printed for Bennet Banbury, at the Blue Anchor in the New Exchange in the Strand. 1700.
To His Grace WRIOTHESLY, Duke of Bedford.
TIs the just Prerogative of true Greatness to be universally admir'd by all; and one so Eminently possest of it as your Grace, can no more escape the Tribute of our Praise and Admiration, than you can cease to deserve it; not that 'tis in the power of any one, or even the Applause of Multitudes, to reach half your Merit, yet may we be allow'd, according to the proportion of our poor stock, to throw in our Mite; and not be frightned from the hopes of your Grace's Patronage, by considering the unworthiness of the Offering; for were none but worthy Offerings made, the Gods themselves wou'd lose their Sacrifice; and they that deserve most our Praise shou'd have it least, because 'tis hardest to give them their due.
And 'tis impossible, my Lord, this Poem shou'd find Sanctuary any where but in the umbrage of your favour, for the Eyes of all Mankind are so fixt upon your Grace, that 'twou'd be a disappointment to the publick to lay at any others door, what is so much your due. And tho I hit not a Wildair for [Page] the humour of the Town in my Play, I may boldly say I have copied the greatest part of mankind in the Just Admiration of your Grace.
Your particular Art, in appearing Free, Complaisant and Conversible, without quitting a Noble Greatness proper to your self, makes us at once approach you with Freedom and with Awe: Your Goodness, that makes you stoop to your Inferiours, loses nothing by being view'd near at hand, but is the more admir'd for it; and thus we consider your Grace arriv'd at the height of Greatness, without a mortifying reflection on the lowness of our own condition; nor does the world envy the truly Great, who by their Goodness and Affability make Mankind partake of their Felicity.
I may plead Prescription in excuse of this presumption, and tell how Poets in all ages have pretended a Right to lay their Works at some Nobleman's feet; but I'd rather submit to your Grace's Goodness; for if I have offended, 'tis a fault of the best kind, and proceeds from too much Zeal to let the World know how much I am,
TO THE READER.
I Should not trouble my Reader with a Preface, if Mr Collier had taught Manners to Masks, Sense to Beaux, and Good Nature to Criticks, as well as Morality to the Stage; the first are sure to envy what they can't equal, and condemn what they don't understand; the Beaux usually take a greater liberty with our sex than they wou'd with their own, because there's no fear of drawing a Duel upon their hands; the latter are a sort of rude splenatick Men, that seldom commend any thing but what they have had a hand in. These Snarling Sparks were pleas'd to carp at one or two Expressions, which were spoken in an Aside by one of the Inferiour Characters in the Drama; and without considering the Reputation of the persons in whose mouths the language is put, condemn it strait for loose and obscure: Now (with submission to better Judges) I cannot believe that a Prayer-Book shou'd be put into the hands of a woman, whose Innate Vertue won't secure her Reputation; nor is it reasonable to expect a person, whose Inclinations are always forming projects to the dishonour of her Husband, shou'd deliver her Commands to her Confident in the words of a Psalm. I, heartily wish that those that find fault with the liberty of my stile, wou'd be pleas'd to set a Pattern to the Town, by Retrenching some of their Debaucheries, for Modesty thrives best by Example. Modest Language from the truly Vertuous is expected, I mean such as will neither act ill, nor suffer ill to be acted: It is not enough that Lucy says she's honest, in having denied the Brutal part; who ever thinks Vertue centers in that, has a wrong notion of it; no, Vertue is a tender Plant, which cannot live in tainted ground; Vertue is what the air of Flattery cannot blast, nor the vile sordid dross of Gain poyson; and she that can withstand these two shocks may be stil'd truly vertuous. I ask my Reader's pardon for my bluntness, but I hope none of my Sex so qualified will condemn me for exposing the Vices of the seeming Religious.
I fear there is but too many hit by the Character of Signora Pizalta; I wish for the sake of the reverse party there were fewer, or they better known, since the malicious world are so apt to judge of peoples Inclinations by the company they keep; which is sometimes Authentick, but not always an Infallible Rule. I shall say little in Justification of the Play, only desire the Reader to judge impartially, and not condemn it by the shroeness of its Life, since the season of the year ne're promis'd much better success. It went off with general Applause; and 'tis the opinion of some of our best Judges, that it only wanted the Addition of good Actors, and a full Town, to have brought me a sixth night, there having been worse Plays within this twelve-month approv'd of.
THE PROLOGUE. By a Gentleman. Spoken by Mrs Oldfield.
EPILOGUE. By Mr B —. Spoken by Mr Jo. Haines.
Persons Represented.
-
MEN.
- COunt Bassino, a Savoyard, Married to Placentia, and in Love with Aurelia.
- Mr Mills.
- Armando, Bassino's Friend.
- Mr Simpson.
- Alonzo, a Venetian Gentleman, betrothed to Aurelia.
- Mr Thomas.
- Pizalto, a Noble Venetian.
- Mr Norris.
- Ludovico, a French man.
- Mr Fairbank.
-
WOMEN.
- Placentia, Bassino's Wife.
- Mrs Kent.
- Aurelia, a young Venetian Lady, betrothed to Alonzo, but in Love with Bassino.
- Mrs Oldfield.
- Floreila, her. Woman.
- Mrs Baker.
- Lady Pizalta, Pizalto's Wife.
- Mrs Moore.
- Lucy, her Woman.
- Mrs Lucas:
- Maskers, Dancers, Singers and Attendants.
- SCENE, Venice in Carnival time.
THE Perjur'd Husband.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Nay, Madam, I fancy your Passion has little occasion for Lenitives: it blazes so violently at first, 'tis like to be soon extinguish'd.
Dear Lucy, don't trifle with me; but contrive, imagine, do any thing, to bless thy Love-sick Mistress with the sight of that dear man. And as an earnest of further Rewards, here take this —
Hum — A civil question, sayst thou? What's it, prithee, a nights lodging? if so, pull off thy, Mask, and I'll resolve thee instantly — But I never strike Bargains in the dark.
I don't know, Sir, but it may tend to that, by way of Proxy, at the long run: But at present my Commission reaches no further than to know your Lodgings; if any Thing comes on't, I fancy 'twill not displease you
What are you studying, Sir? Are you so long resolving whether you shall accept a Lady's Favour, or no?
SCENE II.
SCENE III.
Florella here! she comes opportunely — she may inform me of what I yet but fear — Good morrow, Florella: How fares my Love, my dear Aurelia?
Well in health — Only she's now and then in a little fit of Melancholy, such as usually proceeds from timerous doubts about that dreadful state of Matrimony: You know the time draws nigh that gives her to your arms.
Signior, my Lady is not drest, and I shall displease her, in admitting even you without her leave.
SCENE IV. Ludovico's Lodgings.
- Ludovico Solus.
Mountaine, run to Signiora Ronquilla, and tell her I have done with her for ever if she does not send this Evening the hundred Ducats she promised to lend me — And Harkee, as you come back acquaint Signiora Cornara I shall be busie to morrow, and desire she will put off her visit till another day.
Reads. Hum, hum, a Letter — Tho it may seem improper for one of my Sex to make the first steps in an Amour, yet you ought to consider that the rigorous consinement we are under all the Year round, may, in some measure, excuse the Liberties we take during the Carnival. If you have the Courage to meet me, I shall be at four in the afternoon in the Piazza d'Espagna, invisible to all but yourself. — Well, I believe all Women in Venice are wild for Gallants.
Aside. Egad — I am in doubt whether I shall throw my time away on this intrigue or no — Harkee Child, step into the next Chamber, and I'll answer your Message instantly —
Let me see — [Reads in his Table book] Monday, at two in the afternoon I am to meet Signiora Belleza at her Nurse's — She's a pretty Rogue, and so I'll go — At three of the Clock Signiora Dorinda the Senator's Wife at the Indian house — Pshaw, she's an old acquaintance, — I shan't go — [...]t half an hour past three the Countess Wrinkle, who presented me with a Gold-hilted Sword — Silly Fool! Does she think I'll bestow one of my Visits on an old shrivelled Piece of Antiquity, for a trifling Present, not worth above threescore Pistoles — At a quarter past four, my Semstress Dorothy Steenkirk, who supplies me with Linnen, — Oh! this Visit may be put off for a new Intrigue — And so Ill acquaint the Messenger.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Madam, I did; I found him in his study reading the Lover's Watch, which he swears does not at all agree with his Constitution. He hates injunctions of Love, like those of Pennance: For the one, says he, is no more pleasurable to the Body, than the other beneficial to the Soul.
What a fine Gallant I'm like to have with these Principles! Well, — what did he say to a Summons from a Woman of my Quality? Did it not make him wish the Time of Assignation were sooner than the appointment in the Letter?
He first hum'd over your Billet; and pausing a while, he desir'd me to stay for an Answer in a next Room; Then coming to me, he ask'd me what Countrywoman you were? For, said he, if she should prove an old Acquaintance, I would use her damnably — But when I had assur'd him you never saw the outside of these Walls, he began to have that desire which all men have to a new Face.
He strait enquir'd whether you were black, brown, fair, old, young, maid, wife or widow? I told him you was a wretched Wife to an old, impotent, rich, covetous, noble Venetian; beautiful, young, generous, and of a fair Complexion. He hugg'd me at these words, seem'd transported with the News, and swore that in intriguss a Wife was most suitable to his Temper; for, said he, there's neither Children to Father, nor Honour to repair: and where his Pocket and Liberty are safe, he is contented to venture his Body and Soul.
In short, Madam, he says he has had several Bills of this Nature drawn upon him of late, and how much his stock may be exhausted he knows not; but however he'll meet you, and if he cannot answer your Expectation, he'll give you earnest.
You talk merrily, Girl, I hope you did not tell my name. I should be loath to trust a man of his Character with my Reputation at first dash.
That's well: Oh! Reputation, what several sorts of Slavery do we undergo to preserve Thee! For to be thought Virtuous, we are forced to be constantly railing against Vice, tho our Tongues and Maxims seldom agree.
Alas! Madam, that Pretence is grown too common: for the Men now take it for granted, that a Lady is very near surrendring, when once she holds out that Flag of Defiance.
Well — Men use us very barbarously: They will neither suffer us to be honest, nor allow us to be thought so — Here take this Key, and secure every thing that concerns my Reputation: and if my Husband wakes e're I come back, you may easily find some excuse to prevent his Enquiries; for the Carnival allows us more Liberty, than at other times we dare pretend to — I know thy honesty; and will rely upon't.
Goodluck attend you, Madam — Oh! Heavens! here's my Lord — Madam, Madam, Madam — Oh! Lord, what shall I say now she's gone?
Hist, hist, Lucy: Don't, don't, don't call your Lady, for I have a word or two to say to Thee in private, and have waited for this lucky opportunity a great while —
aside. Now Venus be prais'd, I hope he has found some Business of his own that may give my Lady an opportunity to mind hers.
No, indeed, Sir — But I'm certain, and old Man's Business can't be great.
aside. O'my Consclence, and little too, I believe: Yet I wish he has enough to serve my Ends, I'll make my Fortune — Lord Sir, what do you mean? I rival my Lady! Heaven forbid, I would not injure so good a Woman for the world —
No injury, say you, my Lord? Why, I wonder you should be so jealous of my Lady, and preach such religious Maxims to her, when your own Principles are quite opposite.
Look ye, Child, a Man may do that, which would look abominable in a Wife — A Woman's Reputation is a nice thing —
'Tis so — And therefore 'tis but reason I should take care of mine.
Prithee, no more of that: thy reputation shall be safe; I'll marry thee to my Gentleman.
Gentleman — Valet! Faugh — And what good will a hundred Crowns do me, when my Virginity is gone! indeed, if you lov'd me as much as you say, and would make my fortune, (for I should love extreamly to be a Lady) I cannot tell how far you might perswade me — I know my Reputation would be safe in your hands.
Make thy fortune! Why, I've known some of our Nobles marry a Wife with less than a hundred Crowns — But, adod, thou'rt a charming Girl, and therefore I'll make it a hundred Pistoles — What sayst thou now.
Ah! adod, I must buss thee; [kisses her] ah, Rogue, methinks I'm a young, lusty, vigorous Fellow again — Thou shall find I am, Girl.
aside. I believe I shall fail you, old Gentleman: Well, my Lord, make it up a thousand Pistoles, and I am yours, else I'll dye' a Maid I'm resolv'd.
Reasonable! Why you don't ask a reasonable thing — Look you, you know my mind, I'll not bate a Penny — I'll warrant my Lady will give me two hundred at least for my discovery.
aside. Udslife! she won't tell my Wife sure, I'm ruin'd if she does, I'd rather give her two thousand — Hold, hold, Lucy: sweet Lucy, prithee, come back — Faith, thou'rt so charming, I can deny thee nothing — Come, it shall be what thou wilt — Come now Rogue, let's retire to thy Chamber —
Nay, nay, no entring the Premisses, till you have paid the Purchase.
Adod, Thou'rt a Wag — Come in then, and I'll discharge the Debt: Thou art a cunning Gipsy.
You shall have reason to say so e're I have done with you, old Gentleman — For I am resolv'd to show you a Trick, and preserve my Verrue.
SCENE II. The Piazza d'Espagna in Venice.
Friends and good Wine! I suppose those Friends were female ones —
No, faith: You shall judge of that — But suppose they were — Why should you be angry that I did not fly with the desir'd haste, as long as I am come time enough to give you satisfaction — Besides, I han't seen your face yet, and for ought I know, it mayn't reward my Compliment in coming now — Prithee, Child, unmask, and then I'll tell thee more of my mind.
The Devil take this fellow — and yet methinks I love him for his indifferency — aside] You talk as if you were unskill'd in the Art of Love: Don't you know that Expectation feeds more than twenty tasted Pleasures?
Hum — some sort of Fops it may: But I'm none of those — I never give my opinion of a Dish till I've tasted Neither do I care to dine often on one sort of Meat without changing the Sauce — But when that Cloud's withdrawn, how long I shall keep my Resolution I know not.
Say you so! Why then the only way to preserve your Appetite is to feed you slenderly: or only let you see the food, but not to taste.
unmasks. Well, Sir, what think you? is there any thing in this Face worth your regard?
Ah! By Heaven, an Angel — Oh! Madam, now blame your self for my neglect, for had you sent the Picture of her, in whom all those Beauties center, I had in this place waited the coming of my Goddess, or rather flown on the Wings of eager Love, to meet my fair, tho in the Arms of ten thousand Dangers — Say, my Charming Angel, do you forgive me? But why do I ask? your Eyes assure me you do; at least I'll force a pardon from these dear, soft, ruby lips. [Kisses her in extasy.
Hold, hold! Been't so lavish — a sparing Gamester is the likeliest to keep in stock — whilst a profuse hand at one cast throws all he has away.
To fear, that were to doubt your Charms, in which a Lover is sure to find constant supplies [...] — But we lose time — Let's retire to my Lodgings, where I'll give thee the best proofs of my Love I can.
aside. Well! He's a charming Fellow — Oh! how happy are VVives in France and England, where such as he swarm!
Come, Madam, come — VVhy what do you mean by this delay? Consider I'm a man, a mortal, wishing, amorous man —
aside. Ay, ay: That I know: At least I hope to find you such — or I would not be in such haste —
All, Sir, Yes, and all in all to me — Do you consider what Country you're in, Sir?
Yes, Faith, Madam: and what constitution I am of too. I know Murder is as venial a Sin here, as Adultery is in some Countries; And I am too apprehensive of my mortal Part not to avoid Danger — Therefore, Madam, You have an infallible security — if I should betray You, I bring my self into jeopardy, and of all Pleasures Self-Preservation is the dearest,
Ay, Madam, that's best — Hang your creeping, cringing, whining, sighing, dying, lying Lovers — Pough! Their Flames are not more durable than mine, tho they make more noise in the blaze
aside. The Duce take me if this fellow has not charm'd me strangely — Well, the Carn val is almost over, and then must I be shut up like a Nun again — Hey! Hoa! This time will be so short —
Let's make the better use on't then, my Dear. We will consider when we have nothing else to do, but at present there's a matter of the greatest moment which I must impart to you — Therefore, come dear Rogue, come —
(Looking on her Watch.) Hold — I have out-staid my time, and must return home instantly to prevent discoveries.
Faith, Madam, this is not fair — To raise a man's Expectation, and then disappoint him! VVould you be serv'd so your self now?
I'll endeavour to disingage my self from my jealous Husband, and contrive another meeting.
ACT III. SCENE I.
SCENE I. Aurelia's
Lodgings.
SCENE II. Lady Pizalta's Lodgings.
Well, Thou'rt an admitable Girl! What would half the Ladies in Venice give for such a Servant?
aside. Truly, you have reason to say so, for 'tis not the first Intrigue I have manag'd for you — Oh! dear Madam, your Ladyship does me too much honour — But how do you like your new Servant, Madam?
Oh! above all men living, Lucy: He has the most bewitching Conversation I ever met with — Say, is there no way to contrive a second meeting? For I'm impatient till I see the dear man again — The end of the Carnival draws near, which is indeed the end of Life to me: for then must I be coopt up with age: condemn'd to an eternal coughing, spitting, snoring and ill nature — Then let me make the best of life — since Hell cannot have a worse plague in store than I have felt already.
Indeed, Madam, I pity you: and wish 'twere in my Power to free you from this old, wither'd log, but tho that's impossible, yet I may do you some little services to make life's tedious journey pleasant — Let me see, I have it — What would you say now, Madam, if I should contrive a way to have your Lover in your own Chamber?
That were worth a King's Revenue — Speak, quickly, how, how, good Lucy?
Why, thus: He shall put on my Cloaths, and in my place attend you.
Oh! let me alone, Madam, to manage him: He is defective in sight, you know; and not mistrusting any thing, will not be over curious: But if he should, I have a way to bring you off — My life on't — This Plot may be of use to my design, I'll manage it with care.
Oh! The Pleasure of hearing my Husband lie coughing, and calling me to Bed: and my answering him, I'm coming, Dear: and [Page 23] while he imagines me in the next Room undressing, I'm happy in the Arms of my Ludovico. Certainly there's as much satisfaction in deceiving a dull jealous Husband, as in getting a new Gallant: Were it not grown so common — Each Tradesman's Wife must have her Gallant too — and sometimes makes a Journey man of the Apprentic: e're his Indentures be half out — 'Tis an unsufferable Fault that Quality can have no Pleasure above the Vulgar, except it be in paying their deb s. Well, dear Lucy, I admire thy contrivance — Ab ut it instantly —
Nothing to be done without a Bribe I find, in Love as well as Law — Well Lucy, if you manage this intrigue with care and secresie the Gown is yours.
Madam, I'll go about your business: Your Ladyship's very humble servant.
SCENE III. The Piazza.
Come along with me, Sir, I'll help you to an Extinguisher presently.
If Thou meanest thy Lady with all my heart — But I can tell Thee, she'll rather prove Oyl, than what you speak of — But, say, where am I to see my lovely Charmer?
Nay, without the help of a Conjurer, I assure you: if you dare take me for your Pilot, I'll warrant you success in your Voyage — I'll set you safe in the Island of Love; 'tis your business to improve the Soil.
I warrant Thee, Girl; do you but bring me there once, and if I play not my part, may I never more know the pleasure of an intrigue
Oh! Sir, your Commission won't reach so high as the head: I believe my Lady will excuse little matters: You can undress, I suppose
Oh! The best and the quickest of any man in Venice. Buta Pox on't — Canst find no other way? — I, I, I — I like Petticoats in their proper Places, but I don't care to have my Legs in 'em.
SCENE IV. Pizalto's Lodgings.
Well — My Wife's a fine Woman, a very fine Woman! But a Pox she's a Wife still, and this young Jade runs in my head plaguly: Well — here 'tis under my hand; a Thousand Pistoles — A great samm for a Maidenhead, as Maidenheads go now a-days — Ah had I been young now,
Oh! are you come! Here, here, Lucy: Here's a Fortune for thee worth twenty Maidenheads, adod! I have not so much money by me at present, but there's security.
Your Lordships Bond's sufficient — Well, but that I am satisfied my Reputation is safe with your Lordship, or twice the summ should not have prevailed — Go to my Chamber, my Lord, I'll but step and see if my Lady wants any thing, and I'll be with you instantly.
You won't stay, Lucy? Ah Girl, buss thy Ladys Chucky; now do, now —
ACT IV. SCENE I.
SCENE I. Armando's
Lodgings.
Opens the Letter. A Letter! — And to Aurelia! Now curiosity prompts me to know the subject — What's here?
Reads. I have dispatch'd Armando to the Court of Savoy, and found pretence to stay behind —
This night I give a Mask at my Lodgings, which, I hope will divert Alonzo till the Priest has joyned our hands; and while all the Company are engaged in mirth, I'll steal to the dear Arms of my Divine Aurelia.
SCENE II. Pizalta's Lodgings.
Why, what makes this young Jade stay so long? Adod, This is to pay before-hand — Ha — Methinks I hear a laughing and giggling in my Wife's Apartment; I must know whence their Mirth proceeds. Ho! Here's Lucy coming — Harkee you, pray, why did you make me wait so long? Nay, I'm resolved you than't scape me now — [Goes to the door, and pulls in Ludovico, in Lucy's Cloatbs, whose Commode falls off in the streggie, and discovers his bald head.] Oh! Benedicite! What have we here? A man dilguis'd in my Wife's Chamber! And I unarm'd! Oh! Curst Minute! — Speak, Thou wicked Prophet, Thou Son of Iniquity, what can est Thou here for? Ha — Thou Priest of Baal, to offer Sacrifices on the Altar of my Wife? Oh! My head! My Hores weigh it down to the ground already — Within there, bring me my Sword and Pisto's.
A Pox on all Petticoats — What a Devil shall I say now! Oh! for a Sword! That would be of more use to me now than my Tengue.
What ails my dear Chucky? Why dost Thou call for Arms, Dealy
To cut down that vile Creeper, which over-runs thy Garden of Virtue —
aside. Oh! the Devil, what does she mean? Death, Hell and Furies! if I come off now, catch me at this sport again and hang me —
Oh! are you there, Mistress? how came this man here in your Cloaths? ha — Gentlewoman —
aside. How confidently she asks the question, poor Lady! as if she knew nothing of it! Now must I bring her off —
Why thou art the very Casement thro which thy Mistress sucks the Air of Abomination — Tell me, I say, how he came here, and for what — and be sure it be a substantial Lie, or 'twill not pass.
Harkee, Sir, one word with you — Do you remember our agreement to night?
Then imagine what I design'd that Gentleman for: I'm honest, Sir, that's all —
Honest! with a Pox — What! and so you honestly provided a Companion for my Wife in my absence — ha —
Oh! The Devil! This shan't pass, Hussy — Do you think I'll be Cuckol'd, jilted, bubbled, and let it pass for a Christmas Gambol.
Right, my Lord; Ground that lies fallow will breed Weeds in time: but yours is clear yer.
D [...]mn your Jests: I shall expect a better account, do you hear? I'll find a Servant to see you out of doors to Ludovico.
Well, this was an admirable Lift at a pinch — She has brought me off now — And if e're they catch me at this Musick again, I'll give 'em leave to make an Italian Singer of me — No more intrigues in Disguise — if it had not been for the Waiting-woman now, I might have been hang'd for a thief.
Faith, not much — I think I have lost my Manhood with my Breeches — This transformation may suit with Gods, but not with Mortals of my Humour — Come, prithee, good Mistress Lucy, help me to my proper shape again, for tho I have a natural inclination to Petticoats, I hate'em upon my own Back.. A Flourish of Musick within.
Hark! I hear Count Bassino's Musick: He gives a Mask to night, you are already drest for Masquerade, won't you stay and take a Dance?
Why, Ay: Faith my Stomach is damn'd squeamish in these Matters: Yet, Egad if I could find one with half as much Money as Thou hast. Wit and Beauty, I'd Marry, and live honest.
One with the other, Child: There's no living upon Love thou knowest — Tho Faith I could Love well enough too.
Well, suppose I help you to a Lady with a round summ, you'd keep your word and marry her?
Well, Sir, come to the Mask, and I'll engage you a Mistress, if you are not over-curious.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Ah! Mistress Lucy! I'm come thou seest — I expect thou shalt be as good as thy word, Child — is the Lady here?
By and by, Madam, I am catering for my self now — Well, Sir, will two thousand Pistoles do?
Why then I take you at your word, Sir, and can produce the aforesaid summ — To Piz. With a little of your assistance, my Lord.
aside. Hum — A pretty Wife I am like to have — Catch me there if you can —
Ha — ha — But it had been current Coyn, if I had suffer'd you to put your stamp upon't — in my Bed chamber, my Lord —
How Mistress, have you trick'd my Husband out of a thousand Pistoles, and never told me of it?
Nay, Madam, don't frown — Remember you have trick'd him out of something too, which I never told him of — Don't urge me to more Discoveries.
aside. So — Here's Trick upon Trick: But, faith, you shall never trick me out of my Liberty. I'm not so fond of a Wife to marry a Chamber-maid, tho with ten times as much Money: And so, sweet Mistress Abigail, your humble servant.
Ha — What! my Lover gone! With all my heart: Better now than after; for whilst I have my Fortune in my own Hands, I shall have no need to sue for a Separate Maintenance, and get nothing for it neither.
A SONG.
Come now, Gentlemen and Ladies, be pleas'd to walk into the next Room, and take a small Collation — But where's my Lord Bassino? Come, Gentlemen, He's gone before us.
Where we will quickly follow. aside. Alonzo a word with you —
SCENE II. A Chamber in Aurelia's House.
- Aurelia Sola.
No, Madam, A young stranger desires to speak with you: He says you are not acquainted with his Name, but will soon with his business, which is something of great import, that can be told to none but your self.