A Common-Wealth OF WOMEN.
A PLAY: As it is Acted at the Theatre Royal, By their Majesties Servants.
By Mr. D'URFEY.
Licensed.
LONDON, Printed for R. Bentley in Russel-street in Covent-Garden; and I. Hindmarsh at the Golden Ball in Cornwell, over against the Royal Exchange. 1686.
To the truly Noble and Illustrious Prince CHRISTOPHER Duke of ALBEMARLE, Earl of Torrington, Barron Monck of Potheridge, Beauchamp, and Teyes, Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter: And one of the Lords of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, &c.
I HAD not presum'd to trouble you with the reading this Trifle, had I not bin proud of an Occasion of Dedicating my self, as well as it, to your service: Scribles of this Nature are usually design'd only to insinuate the Author into the good Opinion of his Patron; but besides that, my Lord, I must confess another meaning, and acknowledge this Minute my happiest, since it gives me an Opportunity of prostrating my self, and Book, at the Feet of a true, Loyal English Nobleman, whose Virtues Lineally descended, have justly received no blemish; One who may, like the Heroes of Old, suffer depressions through the want of Iustice, from byass'd or mistaken Opinions; but never through want of Merit. Besides my own humble Acknowledgements, my Lord, for the favours I have particularly received from your Grace; I think it is my Duty, and indeed the Duty of every good Subject, as well as my self, with Tears of Ioy, to thank you for your late Loyalty, [Page] Dil [...]ence, and unwearied service of the King, against the Rebels; in which you faithfully shew'd the unvalued Vertue of your Temper, sparing no Cost, nor ommitting no Stratagem, that could advance to the eternal fixing our Great (tho' then scarce settl'd) Monarch in this Throne; as once your Immortal, and I hope (never forgotten) Father, did the late glorious Prince before. We cannot now doubt, but that Almighty Providence has pronounced a long and happy Reign to our Great and Glorious Master; his late wonderful, as well as fortunate success, sufficiently shews the Eternal Arm was lifted for him, in the Miraculous and speedy scattering and confounding so formidable an Eenmy, as the Rebels were, or wou'd have bin, upon the least fleshing and encouragement. Nor shall we ever, I hope, forget your Graces Indefatigable Zeal, Policy and Diligence, in defending and keeping a City, which they so vehemently aim'd at, as highly conducing to their Designs; this was a Piece of Service, which (without offence to any one) I hope I may presume to say, none but the Son of a Restorer could have done, the Brood of Rankest Rebellion, like the Plague, having reign'd there long before; and the Mobile being all poison'd with the pernitious Tenets of a misled, ungrateful Vsurper; who some years since took his Progress that way, to prepare the Party for this purpose. This, Sir, your very Enemies (if it is possible you can have any) must acknowledge: Nor can I omit the Conflicts of your Graces vexation, and dissatisfaction, by being disappointed [Page] of ingaging the Enemy, as you heartily wish'd, and endeavour'd to do: I know the Noble Old General's Genius inspir'd ye; and your Martial Spirit even burnt with the Lust of Action; you might well be said in this juncture, to be tortur'd with as much rage for not fighting, and Conquering, as a Masterly Poet has written of your Glorious Father, when in the late Dutch War Ingaging almost a whole Fleet, he was disabled by Du Ruyter.
And at last describing the Fight, and the General's Rage for the ill success, he goes on,
This, tho' on a Contrary Theam, I am sure is not Improperly adapted; your inward and secret disturbance [Page] for being depriv'd of the Glory you hop'd for, being rightly considered, was not less, than that of your Noble Father.
And now, my Lord, for fear of troubling your Grace with two prolix an Epistle, which cannot excuse my fault, for the meanness of what I present ye, I must make use of the Confidence, natural to Poets; and briefly beg to shelter my self under your Graces Patronage; whose true Vertue, and uncommon Sweetness, in favouring Wit and Merit, where-ever you find it, emboldens me to expect a favourable reception, in hopes, that the true English Noble Temper, which influences all Mankind with Admiration, that have the Honour to know you, will not fail to bless particularly with your good Opinion, and pardon the Errors, and Presumption of,
Dramatis Personae.
- CAptain Marine.Mr. Williams.
- Du Pier, his Lieutenant.Mr. Griffin.
- Boldsprite,The Ships Master. Mr. Percival.
-
Three wild Fellows of the Town, that Ramble to Sea, and desert their Wives.
- FranvilMr. Ievan.
- Frugal. Mr. Leigh.
- Hazard. Mr. Hains.
- Surgeon of the Ship. Mr. Sanders.
- Don Sebastian. Governour of several Portuguize Islands, but chas'd form thence by French Pyrates. Mr. Gillow.
- Nicusa. His Son. Mr. Bowman.
- La Mure. A Vilainous French Pyrate. Mr. Norris.
- Bourcher. His Companion, and Friend.Mr. Harris.
- Boatswain. Mr. Low.
- Chaplain. Mr. Farr.
- Roselia. Protectress of the Amazonian Countrey. Mrs. Cory.
- Clarinda. Her Eldest Daughter. Lady Slingsby.
- Aminta. Her youngest Daughter, ravish'd from her by La Mure, in her Infancy, and bred up with him. Mrs. Cook.
-
Amazonians.
- Menalippe. Mrs. Twiford.
- Iulietta. Mrs. Percival.
- Hippolita. Mrs. Price.
- Ariadne. Mrs. Osborn.
- Aglaura. Mrs. Knight.
- Clita. Miss. Nanny.
PROLOGUE.
A Common-Wealth OF WOMEN.
ACT I. SENE I. Covent-Garden.
MY Love!
I hope I am.
Most certain; so punctual, and so fair, it must be she!
Punctual, you have reason to own me, for if you knew the Difficulty I have undergone, to get out to you.
I can guess at it, and am too sensible of the Villany of that French-firework, thy Damn'd Guardian, not to know the Difficulty. But 'prithee tell me, what pretty Stratagem did Love instruct thee with, to make me thus happy?
After Dinner, 'tis always his Custom to call for Tea, in which I cunningly infus'd a Dram or two of Opium, which made its Operation instantly; for after sneezing two or three times, and according to his usual manner, fetching a Rhumatick Cough from the bottom of his Lungs, which I always pray heartily may choak him.
And so do I too, Faith. I hope our prayers will be heard one Day.
He fell fast asleep, and by that means gave me Opportunity to meet an ungrateful Creature here, that is more ready to laugh at me for my Weakness, than reward me for my Love.
What a barbarous thought is that! Deny it, and make me amends, or I swear I will kiss thee into an Extasie.
Oh! I am fond and foolish: All my Actions shew Woman, silly Woman, and must confess, deserve it.
Prithee, no more of this, it wrongs my Love. And since we have leasure to talk an Hour, make me so happy to hear the remainder of thy Story; the story of thy Father, and the manner of thy bringing hither to England, under the Tuition of that Villain, that Cursed Pirate La Mure: You have often begun it, but we have bin still interrupted.
'Tis a sad Tale; but I can deny you nothing: If you remember then, I told you that Don Sebastian was my Father. A generous Portuguise; of Noble House, and Nature; and Governour of several large Plantations in the Happy Islands; his Industry and Care made him so rich, that he might vie with Princes; so stor'd he was with Friends and Gifts of Fortune! But many years he had not thus continued, when Hell contriving how to blast our Joys; drove on our Shore a number of French Pyrates; of which La Mure was the most Villainous, and being Captain of the rest, and well stor'd with Ammunition, enter'd upon our Fortress, ruin'd our Plantations; and chas'd the Peaceful Industrious Portugals, like Flocks of Sheep upon the barren Mountains.
Inhumane Villains!
My Father, in this distress, willing to save his Treasure, with the help of my Brother, and a Party of Negro Slaves, secretly Convey'd his Plate, Money, and Jewels into a small Vessel, and put to Sea, with design-to return, when they were gone, and comfort us with his Fortune and Policy.
The Design was prudent, whatever the Event was.
Oh it was fatal! For this Curst La Mure having Intelligence by his Spies of my Fathers escape, and not knowing how to pursue him, turn'd his rage upon my poor Mother, my Sister, and my self. And having Laden his Ship with the Spoils and Riches of our Island, carried us with him, and the put to Sea.
Where will this end?
You shall know instantly. And the greatest Barbarity that ever Villain acted: For sailing thence a few Leagues, and resolving to be revenged on us, for the loss of my Father's Treasure, he leaves my sighing Mother and a little Sister alone and comfortless upon a wild and barren Island.
Damn'd Hellish Dog!
And since that hour, I never heard of 'em. As to my self, (tho' an Infant,) it pleas'd his Devil-ship to like my face. And therefore brought me, (with my Nurse, who has since told me this Story;) with him to London; where I have liv'd a melancholly and hated [Page 3] Life ever since: And now am hourly plagu'd with the intollerable Harangues of his Nauseous Love, and Impertinent Follies. Oh Marine!
Why sighs, my dearest?
What shall I do?
Can I with Honour do it?
Yes, else I would nor propose it.
Speak then, nay quickly, for I fear he'll wake e're I get back agen.
Oh! I shall ne're endure the Sea agen.
Rather endure a Storm in all its frights and dangers, than live to be enslav'd to Villany.
Yet more doubts: by all that's good, you wrong me; prithee no more of it. Come, your Promise?
I do: I must.
At twelve.
Exactly.
Till then farewell. Heaven and its Angels guard thee.
Oh Love! thou mak'st us do we know not what.
Nay prithee Lieutenant, get off further; Life, I am affraid the Fellow is kill'd.
Kill'd! Hang him; no Sword can hurt him; His Soul and all his Spirits are shrunk so low into his heels. 'Tis impossible any wound given him should be Mortal. A Slave, to abuse our noble Admiral. By this Hilt, if thou hadst not stood in my way, I would have cut the Rogue into Stakes, and have eaten him up for my Breakfast.
How now, Lieutenant, what's the matter?
Captain, your Humble Servant. I Plague on't, I know not, a damn'd huffing fellow yonder, a Rebel, Whiggy Buffle head—I know not what to make of him, not I—had the Impudence, to my Face, to affront our great Master the Admiral.
And thou hast kill'd him, I warrant.
Clapt him through the Guts—Ham-string'd him; broke out six or seven of his Teeth with the Pummel of my Sword, or so: But I'le be pox'd, if he does not live to be hang'd, for all this.
Prithee, do not thou tempt thy Fate, and live to be hang'd instead of him: Our City Juries will shew thee but little favour or affection, if thou once com'st into their Clutches.
Consume 'em: I'le sooner make my self Immortal, with a pennyworth of Rats-bane, than stand to the Courtesie of such a Cry of Blood-hounds. But prithee, Captain, when shall we to Sea agen? Pox o', this Dirty part of the World, a Man only fowls his Linnen here, and draws Air amongst a rout of Rebels—I am clearly for the Watry Element: And had rather Converse with Dolphins, Whales, and Porpices, than our Natives: Why, they are honest Creatures, and better Company.
They are so i'faith: And thou shalt be with them suddenly. For I have some urgent business will call me aboard within these few hours. And to morrow, if the Wind sit fare, adieu old England.
By the green Neptune, I am glad on't: A Brummingham Son of a Whore, affront the Noble Admiral! Nay, 'tis well they scour'd, we should have made a separation between some of their Souls and Bodies else before this time, hah, Master!
What, has my Master bin in the Skirmish too?
Yes Faith, the old Lad was all hands aloft with 'em. I saw him clap one of 'em thro' the Shoulder, and throw a couple more into the Cellar; that I saw him do.
Why, well said old Sea-mark.
Me! Why, how now, d'ee doubt me? Give me but a good Cause, and a good Sword, and if I flinch, hang me on the Top-Mast-head, or flea me, and make Ship-Buckets of my Hide. What, I have not had so many Towels drawn through me for nothing, sure!
Ha, ha, ha. But hark you, Lieutenant, a word with thee; I must require thy assistance in a business to night.
Require—Command, dear Captain! Pox of requirings and requests—your Ear—is there a Man or a Woman in the Case?
A Woman, Du Piere! an Angel-Woman! a Fortune too, and Young as the Rose-bud—Beautiful as the Blushing Morning; and as willing as my self.
Good. Well, must we scale for her, or steal her Cunningly? Must we mount the Counterscarp like Men of Mettle; or squeeze our selves, like Cats, into the Cellar Window?
Neither; she will meet us half way.
Gad, a Gentlewoman I warrant her: Is there no one else but her to take care of?
Why, Faith yes, there may a Man come into her rescue, which if it happen, I must enjoyn thee to—
Cut his Throat—Humh.
No, no: onely oppose him, whilst I get off with my fair Prize.
Well, I shall Cut his Throat, my mind gives me, I shall; if he takes away the Woman, he must take away this too; then Lord have mercy upon his Winde-pipe, I say.
But what shall we do for a third Man, in case of Danger? who, amongst the Ships Crew, can we trust in such a business?
Why, Old Tarr there, against the World: There was not such another for a Wench, since Noah's Flood.
Captain, if you dare trust me in your Affair, they shall saw off my Beard with a Back-Sword, e're I leave you: Tho' I care not this for the Woman—for my part, I am past these things.
Well, well, my good Friend, I will be oblig'd to thee. Go then instantly and prepare the Barge, and meet me at Eleven, here at the Corner of the Piazza.
The Wind favours our Design rarely too; besides, we shall have more Company, for there are three or four young Blades, Acquaintance of mine, that it seems are married to ill Wives, and to avoid 'em, design to take a Ramble, and go Reformades with us; for I told 'em it could not be long before we should put to Sea; and since it happens thus opportunely—I'le send instantly to give 'em notice.
Do—if they are of the Town-breed, they may prove very good Diversion for us.
The best in the World, Faith, I know 'em to a Hair—They supt to night at the Rose, and I believe are there still, for they are no Starters, to my knowledge—I'le step into your Lodging, since 'tis so near hand, and write a Letter to 'em to be ready.
I'le go with thee, and prepare all things for our Adventure—Ah, Lieutenant! This Fortune-stealing is a blessed business, is it not?
Ah, if she were but old, tough, and stanch! Pox on't, I hate your young Weehees, Skitish Colts—they are so hard mouth'd, there's no dealing with 'em.
I hope to see thee fitted one day: Come, Let's away,—
SCENE, A Tavern.
ARe we all agreed then?
All, all! most Constantly.
Let's hear the Oath once more. Come, Frugal—my Merchant Royal; thou shalt be Speaker. Silence.
First we have sworn to take a Ramble to Sea for three years, and during that Term, we have oblig'd our selves never to converse with our Wives, kiss our Wives, nor remember our Wives.
No, nor Children, but let them stay at home, keep Lent, and chew the Cud.
And to this we all once more swear.
All, all.
Kiss the Book.
But harkee, Gentlemen, now I have sworn this, 'tis fit I should know the meaning on't—'Tis but just we declare some Reasons why we leave our Wives,—hah?
'Tis so: Let one speak then, and the other two shall be Judges.
Do you begin then.
With all my Heart: Why, first then, most Judicious Auditors, the Reason why I desert my Matrimony is, because she grudges me my Dress, and Garniture, and takes more care to Lace her own Petticoat, than my Pantaloons. Besides, she knows that Dress and Garniture, as I said before, are the only Comforts of my Life: I should lead the life of a Dog, if it were not for my Feathers, my Fiddles, and my Fineries: But I'le be reveng'd for her, for I have prepar'd a Wardrobe, that shall outshine the Sun in the new World, where we are going. And resolve to bid adien to my damn'd Dog with a Bottle at home: What say you now? Have I not Reason?
Reason! reason! great reason.
Reason! reason! great reason.
Come, now Merchant—now, let's here thine?
Mine! nay, if I have not Reason, the Devil's in't! Mine! why, look ye, In the first place, Gentlemen, you must know that I am a Cuckold.
Very good.
My Wife is an eternal Scold, and had two By-blows before I marry'd her.
Hem! Let's have no more on't; Tace! thou hast very Substantial Reason, Faith.
Most Powerful! there's great strength of Reason in't.
I think so. Besides, she was lavish and extravagant, and continually rail'd at my Usury, and honest turning the penny: but to be reveng'd on her, I cunningly broke lately, have put all my Plate, Money, and Jewels into two Chests, and intend to seek some other Countrey; where I will live, grow rich, and plant a Colony. Now your approbations, Gentlemen? Have I not Reason?
Ay; the Deme take me, if thou hast not. But come Sharper, now for thee. What occasion hadst thou to leave thy Wife?
Oh! occcasion enough, Faith.
What, prithee?
Because I could not keep her.
Pithy and short.
A very solid Reason in troth, and must pass muster.
Besides, I have had an Antipathy to Woman-kind, ever since I saw one of 'em unscrue her Nose one night—Oh, that Nose! that Nose has stuck in my Stomach plaguily.
Hell. I see we are all fixt, and of one mind: And resolve to forget and despise that Vexatious and Impertinent Sex. For my own part, I hate a Woman heartily.
And I.
And all things with flat. Bottoms I abominate.
Sir, here's a Letter just now left at our House, directed to you.
News, news, my Lads! rare news!
What, prithee?
The Captain's just a going; the Ship is fall'n down, and the Barge given order for: here's a Letter from the Lieutenant, that says, they'l be gone by four a Clock this morning. I'le e'en go instantly and get ready my Money and Wardrobe: And then adieu dear Dog with a Bottle, as I said before.
And I my Chests of Plate and Jewels.
And I my Cat, and my Bale of Dice: For that's all my Cargo.
Come away, Boys; make haste, we shall lose the wind else.
I'le be ready in a moment.
If I can but draw 'em in to play in the new World, where we are a going—I am made for ever. Well, Fortune for me, there lyes all my hopes.
SCENE, Covent-Garden.
DOst thou see that Light in the Window there?
Yes, I thank my Fortune, I have been acquainted with such Stars before now: And on these Occasions two: But I had rather that Meteor were extinguisht for all that, Captain, left we should be seen.
'Tis past twelve, and few people pass this way.
I fancy your Fortune-stealer to be very like your Venison-stealer, that thinks himself oblig'd to the Moon, till he has got his Game, but afterwards wishes her in a dark-Lanthorn, for fear it should be taken from him.
Master, be sure you scout diligently, and tell us if any one comes.
Go too, go too, mind your Business, and make haste; 'tis well there's Money in the Case. Before I would stand quaking here for a squab-sucking Rabbit; that's hardly worth the skinning, I'd as soon stand Sentinel upon one of the Moles at Argier, tho' I were sure of neither Pay, nor Provender.
Hark! What noise was that? Didst hear no noise?
Some body at prayers, I think: Pox on't, we shall have ill luck.
'Tis some dreaming Phanatick or other is singing of Psalms in's sleep.
Come, Captain, prithee give the Sign. I long to have the Treasure in our Custody: That if any resistance happens, we may fight for something.
This must be the Door. Harkee, Lieutenant, prithee look to that corner of the Street—I think I hear the Constable and Watch.
No. Rot 'em, they are making themselves drunk with Brandy. They'l ne'er mind us. Come, come, the sign, the sign.
Who's there?
What's that there in white?
Hush, it must be she.
In her Smock, I hope: To make a quicker dispatch of the Business.
Who's there?
'Tis I.
Are you alone? What's that yonder?
Two worthy Friends, that I've intrusted to assist me.
Oh my my Love: How shall I get to thee? For this jealous Wretch has taken the Key of the Street door into his Chamber.
Leap into my Arms, I can bear thy weight with ease.
'Sbud, would I had her weight in Tobacco or Pepper. Why, what a bustle's here with a green Artichoak?
No—I must venture to get it from thence: In the mean time, catch this Casket; keep it diligently; for 'tis worth your Care: whil'st I go and try my Fortune.
Make haste, my Dearest: For I am impatient, till I have thee in my Arms. Lieutenant!
How now? What has Heav'n sent us?
There's something in this Casket, Lieutenant, that will pay for our trouble.
Why, merry be her Heart: I like a Wench that pays well for her Man, before she has him: And of all Mistresses, your giving Mistress ought most to be admir'd.
Heark, what's that?
Mischief! I'le lay my Life: The Truce is broken, and War will ensue. Tarr, hawl up thy Main Sheet, there's a Storm a coming.
Oh, undone, undone! ruin'd for ever!
I thought so.
What's the matter, Sweet! Fear nothing. Thou art safe as in a Castle here.
Eagerly reaching the Key out of the Window, my Sleeve hitcht in the great Looking-glass, pull'd it after me, and broke it in pieces: Which has, I am sure, alarm'd the House. Hark—I hear 'em coming.
Well, well, and let 'em come. Captain, retreat you off with your Lady. Tarr, Come hither, and fix thy foot to mine: By this Hilt, if they come on, we'll mawle 'em.
Is there any Plunder to be got, Boy? This scouring for nothing, is such cold Work—
O Diable! Rascal! Robera Teefe! V'ere are yee? Vat hoa! Iacka, Petra, Tobee! Vere are ye all, Sons of Whore? I am robbe: Oh Jernee! Mondieu. Here de are! fall on.
Harkee, Diable! Rascale! Teefe! or what do you call your [Page 10] self? Get you gon, or I shall so pink your Guts, d'ee hear?
Morbleu, Villain! pinka my Guts. Courage.
Nay, if you will be paunch'd, have at your French paunch.
What, hoa, Watch! Watch! Thieves, Thieves, murder.
Sirrah, I'le spoil your Cackling presently.
Stand, who goes there?
Oh, Mr. Constable, you are come opportunely: Here are a Company of disguis'd Turks, wou'd have Committed a rape upon a Lady just now; if it had not bin for this Gentleman, and my self.
How, Turks in my Territories!
Notorious ones. They are all hous'd within there.
Do I represent the Kings Person, and suffer Mahomet under my Nose, hah?
Monsieur Constable, Monsieur Constable!
Seize, Seize him, Mr. Constable. He is a Mufti; and came over from St. Omers, with Doctor what d'ee call him?
A Mufti! down with him, down with him, I say.
Why, Monsieur Constable, vat you do? Is de Teevil in you?
Search the House, search the House—
Come [...]arr, let's put off now: And go aboard immediately: I think the Coast is clear—
ACT II. Scene I.
LAy her aloof: the Sea grows Boistrous: How it spits against the Clouds! how it Capers! And how the Thunder-thumping Element frights it back—There are Devils dancing Air, I think; I saw a Dolphin just now hang in the Horns of the Moon—shot from a Wave! Hey, how she kicks! how she yerks! Down with the Main Mast there, lay her at Hull. Furle up her Linnens, and let her ride it out.
She'll never brook it, Master: She's so deep Laden, that she'll bulge.
We have discover'd the Land, Sir; pray let's make in, she's so drunk, she may chance to cast up her Lading.
Stand in, Stand in. We are all lost else.
Steer her a Starboard there. What, hoa! call up the Boatswain. Holloa—below there!
What says my Master? what shall we do? We must cast up all her Lading: She will not swim an hour else.
What comfort, Master? I never saw, since I've known the Sea, so rude a Tempest! In what condition are we?
Dangerous enough, Sir. We have sprung five Leaks; and no little ones; Besides, her Ribs are open: and Rudder almost spent: But come, have good Courage. Death comes out once, and let him come in all his fury.
The Storm is so lowd, we cannot hear one another.
What's the Coast.
We know not yet. Let's bear in with all the Sail we can.
Master, see what a Thunder-clap is coming: Oh Lord! how dreadful it looks.
Ye fearful Rogue. Sirrah, thou hast bin praying, I see it in thy Face; thou hast bin mumbling, when we are splitting. You Slave, is this a time to discourage your Friends with your Cold Ejaculations: Sirrah—let me but see thee look Religiously agen, and I'le flea thee, as I would an Eele.
Is't not possible to make in to the Land? 'Tis here before us.
Here, hard by, Sir.
Death is nearer, Gentlemen.
Oh, oh, oh.
Why, there's another Rogue now with his Bagpipes: Prithee, Dear Captain, give me leave to throw that Maudlin Fellow over-board.
Come let's go in, and read.
Ay, come—
Let's hoist the Boat out, and go all at one Cast; the more the merrier.
Hold, you are too hasty, Captain; d'ee long to be in the Fish-market, before your time? hold her up there▪
Oh miserable Fortune!
So! now we are like to have rare Musick?
Mercy, mercy, what will become of us? Pray, Gentlemen—pray.
Lookee! prithee, my Dear; no more words now, by this Light—thou art the most unseasonable Rogue in a Storm. Nay, prithee be gone.
Pray, Gentlemen; pray, pray—
Nothing but horrour sounding in my Ears: No promise of rest to my poor frighted Soul! gentle Master, is there no hopes?
None, that I know! Dev'l, Clap this Woman under hatches.
Prithee speak mildly to her. Have patience, Sweet.
Keep her thus, keep her thus.
Oh, that Wave will devour me! Oh—
Carry her down, Captain—or by these hands I'le give no more Direction. We have ne're better Luck, when we have such Stowage as these Trinckets with us. These sweet Sin-breeders; how can Heaven smile on us—when such a Burthen of Iniquity—lyes tumbling like a potion in the Ships belly.
I know thou do'st.
And think too, I have treasur'd the Remembrance within me here, fast lock'd up in my heart; and yet I doubt not but a Day will come—To Crown our flourishing Loves, and make us happy.
Throw out the Lading, it must all over-board.
It clears to Sea ward, Master: Heave out there: Let's lighten her! all the Meat and the Cakes. We are all gone else. That we may find her Leaks, and hold her up.
Must my goods over too? Kind, honest Master: Why, here lies all my Money—the Money I have rak'd by [Page 13] Usury, to buy new Lands and Mannors in new Countreys.—I have been these 20 years a raising.
Over with it.
The Devils are got together by the Ears, who shall have it.—And here they quarrel in the Clouds.
Oh, I am undone!
Hang ye, Mungrels, would you be only happy?
Save but one Chest of Plate!
Away with it lustily, Sailers; it was some Pawn that he has got unjustly, down with it low enough; and let Crabs breed in't.
Over with the Truncks too.
Take mine, and spare not.
Nay, nay; all that has weight must go.
Will you throw away my Lordship, that I sold, to buy me a fine Wardrobe—For pity's sake, be favourable to my fine Wardrobe.
Over with it—I love to see a Lordship sink. My Friend, you left no Wood upon't, to buoy it up, you might have sav'd it else.
For my part, I have nothing of weight, but my Prayer-Book: And that, I am resolv'd, shall not burden the Ship. There 'tis.—
Why, well said!
Come, come, Lieutenant, you may lose too.
Thou ly'st: I have nothing to lose, but my Maidenhead, my Skin, my Cloaths, my Sword here, and my Self, two Crowns in my Pocket, two pair of Cards, and three false Dice—I can swim like a Fish, Rascal, nothing to hinder me.
In with her of all hands.
Come Captain, come Gentlemen: Ye must all help, my Life now for the Land. 'Tis high, and very Rocky.
However, let's attempt it.
Then Cheer lustily, my Hearts, and away with her.
SCENE, a Barren Island.
IT must be a Ship—I see it now; a tall Ship, she has wrought lustily for her Deliverance! Heav'ns Mercy! what a dismal Day has here been?
To still and quiet Minds that know no Miseries, it may seem [Page 14] wretched; but with us 'tis ordinary. Heav'n has no Storm in store, nor Earth no Terror, that can seem new to us.
Yes: and make to Shore!
Most miserable Men, I pity 'em.
What Shouts of Joy they make?
They are living yet, I hope, Sir; such Goodness Cannot perish.
Wet come a Shore, my Hearts; we are safe arriv'd tho'.
Thanks to Heavens Goodness! and no Man lost neither, but the poor Chaplain.
Ay—the poor Soul-Broker's gone, he was wash'd, with a Wave, off the Quarter-Deck—I saw his Cassock and he fluttering between Wind and Water, a great while—Well, Peace be with him, he was too good for us.
My Dearest Life—Well, what cheer, my Lads?
Faith! no great Cheer, Captain! a piece of Sous'd Bisket, and half a hard Egg: For the Sea has taken order, being young and strong, we shall not surfeit: For my own part, the Water has made a mear Toste of me; I am sopt rarely: However, I'le Dance▪ till I am dry: Come, Surgeon, out with your Glister-pipe, Sirrah, and strike a Galliard.
Why, what a brave day is here? And what fair Weather, after so foul a Storm?
Ay, if the Master had not been bewitch'd, he might have foreseen this Weather, and have sav'd our Goods! Oh my dear Plate and Jewels! Oh my dear Money! Vengeance on the Master.
Ay, and twenty small Curses beside; I have lost my fine Wardrobe; oh insupportable! the Ladies will hate me.
Oh never think on 'em: VVe have our Lives and Healths!
For my part I've lost nothing, but my Pray'r Book: I sav'd my other Cargo, my bale of Dice: therefore I am happy.
Not think of 'em, Sir! I must and will think of 'em: And that 'twas most maliciously done, to undo me
And me too: I lost all: I had fifteen fair Suits: the worst of 'em Embroider'd; and now I ha'n't so much as a Shirt left.
Ha, ha, ha, hast not, Faith?
No, by this Light; nor ragg of Cloaths neither, but these poor things.
Give me thy hand: I am glad on't with all my Heart. Is thy Skin whole?
Sir, you may spare your Raillery.
Faith, I shannot! Harkee, wilt thou see a Dog- fish now rise in one of thy brave Doublets? And tumble like a Tub, to make thee merry? Or an Old Haddock rise with thy Beaver Hat on? A Mermaid in a Wastcoat of your Worships; or a Dolphin with your Point Crevat?
You are merry, Sir; but if I take it thus—if I be foisted and jeer'd out of my VVardrobe—
Nor I, neither.
Nor will I leave my Friends.
Neither Master, nor Mate, nor none of you shall abuse me: I say our Goods might ha' been sav'd; and I'le have satisfaction.
Nay, be not angry, Gentlemen.
Sir, we have reason: And some Friends I can make.
Why, you Scoundrels! was not what I did for the general Safety? if you aim at me, I am not so tame—
No, nor we neither.
Pray take my Counsel, Gallants: Fight not till the Surgeon be well, d'ee hear? He's damnable Sea-sick yonder: and may spoil all: Besides he has lost his Fiddle-stick—And the best Box of Boars-grease. Nay—do not draw your Swords; for if you do.—
Who would you fight with, Gentlemen? Who has done you wrong? For shame be better temper'd; no sooner come to give thanks for our safeties, but we must raise new Civil Broils among us—Put up, put up, for shame.—
We have been wrong'd, Sir, and damnably too.
Nay, lookee; if you will needs fight, and think to raise new Riches by your Valours, come—have at you: I have little else to do now: I have said my Prayers—You say you have lost, and make your Loss your Quarrel, and grumble at my Captain here, and the Master: two worthy Persons, indeed, too worthy for such Rescals—Come you Wardrobe Gallant, come on: and you, Money Merchant, that build on Golden Monuments in Potosi. Come, draw all your Swords, ye say ye are miserable?
Put up, Gentlemen, or, by this light, he'll swinge you damnably—I see't in's Face.
Captain stand by a little: And see how I'le correct 'em. I'le make 'em ten times poorer—I will not leave 'em—for look you, fighting is as nourshing to me, as eating: I was born quarrelling.
Come, they'l Consider.
I will not leave 'em skin to cover 'em: there's no joint shall stand in's proper place. D'ee grumble when you are well, you Rogues?
A Devilish Fellow this Lieutenant. Gad he has quash'd me already.
'Scape drowning, and d'ee prate?
Pray, Gentlemen, for my sake be quiet; let it become me to make all Friends.
We have so much breeding, not to deny a Lady any thing: Come let's put up.
Ay, ay: We were to blame, to draw before the Lady, that's the truth on't.
This Passion, and too much Courage, is a damnable fault.
'Tis well, 'tis very well: There's half a Bisket, break it amongst you all, and thank my Bounty; that is Cloaths and Plate too now. Come no more quarrels.
Ha! in the name of wonder, what have we here? Are they humane Creatures?
I have heard of Sea-Calves.
They are no shadows sure, they have legs and arms.
Ay, they hang but scurvily on though.
What Beards they have?
They have sown Horse Tails to their Faces, to keep—'em warm.
How their Eyes are sunk, as if they had bin frighted; sure they are wretched Men?
There are Wardrobes for you: Look you, my Friend, what do you think of these now for a Couple of Courtiers?
They kneel, sure they would beg something.
What are you? Speak, are you Substances, or wandring shadows, that find no peace on Earth, till you reveal some secret?
We are Men as you are, onely our Miseries make us seem Monsters; if ever pity dwelt in noble Hearts—
Stand up, and speak boldly.
If you are Christians, and by that blessed Name bound to [...]elieve us. Convey us from this Island.
Speak—what are you?
How came you hither?
In a small Vessel: Driven hither by French Pyrates, to save my VVealth from those insulting Robbers.
French Pyrates! Oh my heart!
Is all the Island uninhabited?
Most desolate, neither Man nor Beast to comfort or sustain us.
Oh Lord! we shall be starv'd too! Mercy on us, eat a Toad! did he say?
VVould I were at home agen with my dear Matrimony, I begin to be weary of rambling.
For Heaven's sake, let's aboard, I would discourse with this Fellow; for my mind gives me, he can tell me something of my Father?
D'ee know no farther?
You shall aboard with us; we will relieve you.
By Heaven, 'tis Gold and Jewels!
How!
VVhat's that? Gold and Jewels!
Be not too hasty, here lies another heap.
And here another; all Gold! by this Light.
Stand farther off, you must not be your own Carvers.
VVe have shares, and large ones—I'le have my Plate and Money made good.
And I my VVard-robe.
Ay, and we'll Carve our selves too. VVhat hoa! Fellow-Sailers, stand to your freedoms: Gold, gold.
Tell not me of Care, Sir—holloa! All that will share with us—assist us. I'le have all this.
And I this.
You shall be hang'd first: Captain, let's set in.
This Damn'd Gold will undo us all.
My Losses must be made good.
And so must mine; or else this Sword shall right me.
Nay if you will be Dogs—
Stay, dear Marine! Lieutenant, oh Heavens! what will become of us?
Now Fortune favour us. Come Son, if we stay here, we dye: Here rides their Ship. Whilst they are gone to the spoil—let us make quick use, and get off.
Away—Dear Father.
This Gold was our overthrow.
It may be now our happiness.
You shall have Gold: Yes! I'le cram it into you—you shall be your own Carvers, yes; I'le carve you, base greedy Rogues. Captain, let's make an end of 'em.
No—hang 'em, though they are Villains, yet they are our Countrey-men: prithee Master get the Boat ready, and let's aboard.
Oh, I am hurt to Death.
And I—my Leg is almost cut off—Oh.
Oh Captain, we are undone, we are undone; all miserable! ruin'd—lost—the ship—the Ship.
What of her?
Oh she's under sail, and floating: See where she flies—see to your shames, you Wretches, those poor starv'd things that shew'd us Gold, have chous'd us.
We are snapt finely.
They have cut her Cables, and got her out: The Tide too has befriended them.
Oh damn'd misfortune! why, where were all the Saylers that kept her?
Here in the mutiny, to take up Money, with a Pox to 'em: And left no Creature; left the Boat a shore too. Oh this Gold! This damn'd bewitching Gold.
Oh we shall be starv'd, we shall be starv'd.
Come back, good Men; come back, good old Men—
Come back, good honest Men.
Come back, good Men, come back: Yes, 'tis very likely they will! D'ee look like Dogs now? Are your mighty Courages abated?
This is the worst of miseries: Oh what shall we do?
Retire, Sir, and comfort her, and let us make the best use of our Misfortune: I'le but vex these Rascals a little, and come to you straight—
Oh I am hurt and hungry, hurt and hungry, very hungry.
Here's a pestle of a Portigue, Sir. 'Tis excellent meat, with soure Sawce: And here's two Chains, you may suppose 'em Sawsages: Then there wants Mustard; but the Surgeon there will supply that presently with Salves.
My Salves, and all my Instruments are lost, and I am hurt and starv'd.
Starv'd! what in a Land that flows with Milk and Honey! [Page 21] a second Canaan! Come, Faith, let's go all to supper.
Ay, where's the meat?
Where's the meat? VVhy, what a Veal voice is there?
Veal—gad would we had it.
Ay, or Mutton either: tho' 'twere of a rotten Sheep that dy'd in a Ditch.
Now would I cut your throats ye Dogs; but that I won't do you such a Courtesie to keep you from the Benefit of starving; which will be, and suddenly; unless you can eat Mud, and fancy 'tis Custard; to which excellent repast, I leave ye: Your first Couse is serv'd up. Expect the second hereafter—
Ah, Pox o' these Jewels.
Oh this Cursed Gold.—
ACT III. Scene I.
A flat Rock.
Not much; your Company is still a Cordial to me.
Indeed, I could eat to keep you company.
A SONG between two Amazons.
And must I always dream, and dream then, and to no purpose—by this light I will have a Husband, or she shall never live a good day.
Nay, the Protectress is too severe, that's the truth on't.
Because she's Old, she thinks every one has as little Occasion for a Husband, as her self: But she's mistaken in me, I can assure Her.
Ay, and in me too.
Which Custome shall continue. We'll have no Arbitrary proceedings.
No: nor will we have our Privileges impos'd upon, unless she will give us Men.
What's that you murmur about men?
Men! Out upon 'em, I'le assure your Highness, our thoughts are—
Of nothing else, if the truth were known.
I give you leave to consider— Menalippe, Clita, follow me. You are too young to ingage in private Factions: And therefore meet my pitty—but for the rest—
Let them take heed, how they my Will debate, Or act a Crime they may repent too late.
If such Pride as this hold long, we are like to have a hopeful Government.
Ay, and without Men too, to keep us Company, And be Civil to us, I assure ye: my Dears, now we are alone, and have liberty to speak our thoughts, In my Opinion, this usage of our Protectress is not to be endur'd.
Endur'd! by my Virginity, 'tis downright Tyranny: For I confess, for my own part, I have no liking to this single solitary Life; nor do I love hunting other Creatures so well, but I had as lieve be hunted my self.
Nor I, by Venus.
By Venus! by Diana, I hope you meant to swear, Hippolita? she, you know, had the most Virtues.
It may be so: But I'm sure t'other had the most Wit.
Very fine: I wish you could influence the Protectress with this Doctrine.
Pox on her, nothing can influence an old Woman, but a Iulip.
Oh, Eringo's, or an Ownce or two of Green Ginger, would work admirable Effects.
I know not what Consolation she may have, but if I have any Comfort in this life, but when I sleep, I am a Whore.
A Whore! Oh Venus! what a sweet charming luscious honey word, has this raw Creature thrown away—A Whore! what the Devil, would you be an Angel?
Would I were a VVhore upon a good account.
Or I either: Oh little England's a sweet place for this purpose, the VVhores have as much respect there as the Women of Quality.
And more than their Wives, I hear, a thousand times.
But you were talking of Dreams, Sweet-heart: And last night I had the sweetest sure, that ever woman had; for methought as I [Page 26] was lying in my Cabine, a fine young brisk, well shap'd man, stole softly to me all unbutton'd, and taking me in his Arms, kiss'd me, on my Conscience, above twenty times.
Deuce take you: You have made my mouth run with water.
Lord! what a man is this, thought I, to do this to a Maid: And so stretching out my Arms, thinking to Catch him fast—
You wak'd, and found nothing—
Even so: Therefore the Devil take all false Figures, I say.
And so say I too: For my part I have wish'd the Statues in the Garden had bin real, a thousand times.
Madam, we wait on you: Who rouz'd the Stag?
Clarinda, and in the instant, Lodg'd a Steel-Headed Arrow in his Hanch, VVith which he's fled.
Ha, what's this comes here?
By all that's good, a man: shall I shoot him.
No, no: 'Tis a handsome Beast, sure.
VVould we had more o' the Breed, really 'tis a very Comely Creature.
Let's hear if it can speak?
He comes towards us! O Lord! won't it eat me?
Stand, or I'le shoot.
Hold—he makes no resistance.
Cruel Hippolita, how could'st thou find in thy Heart to kill him?
Madam, if I had done it, I had but obey'd your Mother's Commands.
I have heard my Mother say, I had a Father: And was not he a Man?
A sin against Nature, to deny it.
Nor can we ever hope to be made Mothers without 'em.
Never, never; 'tis impossible.
Ay, by my faith is it.
Why, how then could you have design of killing the likeness of the thing by which you are.
Only in obedience to your Mother.
Age is not sensible of it's own Barbarity. I swear I am resolv'd to defend and keep him.
For your own Use.
Nay, if you are resolv'd on't, I'le assist you.
And I.
And I.
And all of us.
Well, I see by instinct, though a Maid have never seen a Man; there are some certain motions that inform her—but here's the Protectress; now I expect a Storm.
Vows made in heat, and wild temerity, VVith Heaven, still pass for nothing. Alas! Madam, should women always use this rigid abstinence, in a few years the whole world would be peopled only with Beasts. Besides, pray look on him: Is there not something nobler in his Face, Than graces others?
Spoke to the purpose, Madam: Let's speak well of the man now we have him—Come, come, there's but few of the sort.
VVe must, and will have the man: therefore speak boldly, Madam.
Hear then my Resolution; and endeavour not to add to what I grant, for 'twill be fruitless: you shall appear as good Angels to these wretched men.
We will reserve our selves: This is the utmost you shall obtain, Therefore as you think fit, dismiss this Stranger. And all prepare to morrow for the meeting.
We'll shew you the pleasant Groves and Springs, and Grotto's, and you shall eat and drink with us.
SCENE, The Barren Island.
OH what a Tempest have I in my Stomach? My Guts are grumbling a kind of Tune, Like the Base Pipes of an Organ: I am starv'd into a Substance so thin, that my Body is transparent; you may see my heart, and the appurtenances, hang up here in its mortal Closet, as easily as a Candle in a Lanthorn.
For my part, I've forgot to eat.
My Bellies grown together, like an empty Satchel. I have bin throwing a main yonder, to pass away the time: But I can get nothing—my Guts grumble still.
I am thinking, Gentlemen, what a happiness—
How's that! have you the Courage to think of any happiness! Gad you have a hoard of meat then, Sirrah. You could never have a happy thought, without the encouragement of Beef, or some such Blessing.
Beef, Rogues, Beef; who the Devil talks of Beef there? [Page 31] I'le draw. I rage, I storm lowder than the Winds or Weather. I am not naturally Valliant, but to provoke my Courage with the sound of Beef, and give me none, makes me a fury—I roar like the Sea: Therefore you happy Rascal, make attonement quickly; or in the name of Famin, I will so grind you—ah—
Is the Devil in you? Why I am more starv'd than any of ye, have three times louder Bag-pipes in my Guts. And am ten times as thin, I was diving in the Sea to find Oysters last night, and the Saylers took me for Will with the Wisp—The Moon shone quite through me.
Why, Sirrah, what happiness is that you are thinking of then? Answer me that.
Ay, ay, answer that; the Dog has blood in's face; an apparent sign of nourishment, he has Eaten lately—I fee't plainly—this Rogue has half an Ox by him, I warrant, in some corner now—hah—my Mouth Waters at the Rascal Confoundedly.
An Ox! Oh Parradise! 'Sbud, wou'd I had but the Hoof of one, on Condition you were all hang'd—or any part else that had the honour of belonging to blessed Beef.
Pox on thee, do not talk on't then: Do not charm my starving Intellects, with that most delightful sound—Now if I were a great man, the word should be nothing but Beef, through my Kingdome; my Armies should exercise nothing else: And my Butcher should mouth it instead of a Drum.
When I was speaking of happiness: I was thinking what a pleasure my Dogs had, when I kept House at Home—they had a Store-House, a Store-House of most blessed Bones, and Crusts; hard and happy Crusts.
Would I had one to gnaw now: or were but amongst 'em; I'd snarl for a short Dinner with 'em.
Now has this tantalizing Rogue set my Mouth a watering, a second time, with talking of his Hounds.
A Son of a Whore, when he knows too, that a fat Beagle is as good as a fat Buck—And that the Loyn of a Bull-dog—
Ah, is better than a Loyn of Veal a thousand times.
This thing has bin our ruine: The Captain had not gone to Sea, but for her sake; and all those mischiefs that are fallen upon us, are come by her means.
Why should we consume thus and starve? Have nothing to relieve us: And she live there that bred our Miseries, unrosted or unboil'd, hah!
Right; I have read in Histories of such restoring Meats: Besides, we have Examples, a thousand Examples, Women that have eaten their Children, Men their Slaves, nay, their Brothers: But these are nothing; Husbands devour'd their Wives. (They are their Chattels.) And of a School-master, that, in time of Famin, powdred up all his Scholars—she's young and tidy—on my Conscience she'll eat delicately, just like young Pork; a little leaner: your Opinion, Surgeon?
I think she may be good meat; but we shall want Salt.
A pox, she wants no powdring, Man.
But to suck out the humorous parts: by all means let's kill her in a Chafe; she'll eat the sweeter.
Let's kill her any way, and kill her quickly; that we may go to supper.
But how if the Captain—
Oh—he's dead, and the rest famish'd. Come, wake her,
Cut her throat, and then divide her; Every man his share.
Hush—she wakes her self—
Who's there! Oh, Gentlemen! give me some Food, or else I perish: I am just now dying.
An appetite! I'll fit you for your appetite! since you would be such Devils! why did you not begin with one another handsomely? And spare the Woman to beget more Food on?
For my sake spare 'em, Lieutenant: And pray come into the Cave, and eat with us.
Stir not within forty foot of this Food, if you do, Dogs—
Oh Lieutenant! Lieutenant! Dear noble Lieutenant.
Come Master, and honest Sailers: Let's go in: Oh my Dear! I have strange news to tell thee: I have discover'd a new World, a Paradise of Angels, such as thou art; that have supply'd me with these Meats and Drinks. We shall see 'em to morrow, and they'l relieve us further: I'le tell thee more within.
ACT IV. Scene I.
A Barren Island.
FInd d'em out quickly, vid out excuse or delays, or begar your Troate sal be Cut.
Alas, Sir, we left 'em here: But you see the place is fatal, and who knows but they may be starv'd, and dead, and rotten.
Rotten: De Dev'la rot 'em! dat is no matre, I vil have my revenge on d'em; dead or alive! Morbleu! I vil search every Corner of de World, but I vill have d'em.
You see these Foot-steps, and the tracks new made, shew that they have bin here—hah! and see a further discovery—what's that moves there upon the River?
I see it now plainly. 'Tis a Vessel, and throng'd with people—They seem as sailing over to that other Country there.
'Tis they, Sir. I know the Captain by his Feather; and if you observe narrowly, look yonder, you may see the Woman too.
Oh Diable! it is she, begar I know her.
But how is't possible they should get thither?
That indeed is most difficult: And much I wonder by what strange adventure they had this help: Yet thus far I can advise you, whil'st we were Crusing up and down, before you took us, we chanc'd to touch upon a place, govern'd by Women, and went by night on shore to get fresh Water: Thither, as I suppose, that Vessel's gone; for it lies Westward.
Shew us de vay, make us come thither, or begar you sal be no living Creature.
Sir, I'le do the best I can, tho' I am but an ill Pilot.
Look to't: For if you fail, expect no mercy.
Was ever Fate like ours, to be so taken.
And by this Vallain La Mure too! for now I know 'Tis hee, tho' misery and Age disguise me from him. But to relieve us—take this advise, Son, when we are landed yonder, instead of searching for the Fugitive Woman, throw thy self on the mercy of the Protectress; there's more pity to be expected from them, than from this Barb'rous Wretch.
Well counsell'd, Sir—I'le do't—and hope good Heaven [Page 35] will take compassion on us.
We are undone else.
SCENE, The Grotto.
Come, my dear, the Song, the Song! methinks I'm so merry o'th' suddain!
A SONG.
This is the happiest Day that ever blest our Life. Some of the men are landed already.
Where, where! did you see 'em, my Dear?
Through the West-Gate of the Garden that looks towards the Sea. Well, I swear there's one of 'em so pretty a fellow, that I could not forbear Oagling him for my Heart.
You mad Creature, you: And yet he may be a Monster under his Clothes, for ought you know.
If he were: He is not the first Monster a Woman has bin fond of, I hope. I knew one so fond of a Monkey once, she desir'd to be marry'd to't.
Why really the Masculine Creature comes so near the Nature of Humanity, that really one would wonder: But did she desire to wed the Creature!
But, Sister, prithee are they all young Men: Can'st thou tell? For you know Age will but trouble us; Their Imperfections are not to be reform'd: And your man, when he comes to be old, is good for little or nothing.
Why, troth, I think these are a mixt Party, some young, some old; some weak, and some strong; some that look briskly, as if they had Wit; and others Clownishly, as if they might be made Fools.
Venus direct me to one of them. I long to make a Fool of a Man strangely.
Ay, that's a general longing amongst us: For I never heard yet, that a woman was very desirous that a man should get the upper-hand of her.
Then she's a Fool. For my part, Ple give a Man the upper hand of me, with all my heart.
Alas! she's too young to understand good Decorum. To use a good Decorum is a wonderful thing: And wonderful things are beyond thy knowledge, Child. The Girl is very ignorant, really.
Why then I desire to be instructed really. 'Tis strange you'l allow no one to speak of a man, but your self.
'Tis likely my Abilities are more—
Your Abilities—
Alas! thou art a young, raw, crude insipid thing, really.
And you are a stale, musty, undesirable thing, really; nay, to vex you throughly, a thing of five and forty.
How! five and forty—let me come to her. Really the Creature provokes me now.
How now Malapert! how dare you mention any ones age?
I five and forty! you Squab-Duckling?
Yes, that you are, and more; and your Desires lye so hid in the Ashes of your age; that 'tis impossible to kindle ye.
But if I were as she, I'd kindle ye—
What, are you coming in with your Abilities too?
I'le tell you instantly.
Hold, hold—pray let us not enter into Battel upon the Point; but leave it to the Men rather, who by this time are coming to receive Audience: But come, enough of this dear Sister; we shall have our hands full, I warrant you—
A Common-Wealth of Women, say you, Captain?
Most certain! all Women; and such as share the Vanity and Ambition of the Sex, secure and unconfin'd.
What will become of us now? All Women! what! ne're a Man amongst 'em, to get 'em Children; and do such Drudgery.
Not one, Sir.
Sure they'l be good to me, for Sexes sake?
And have we then, like Flounders, leapt out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire: Fled from a Female Fiend or two at home, to be plagu'd here with a whole Nation of Devils?
For my part I expect to be unman'd within these two days, so prefer'd as a Chamber-maid to one of 'em, and daily employ'd in the most Heroick Exercises of washing and starching.
Washing and starching! why, thou speak'st of Honourable Employments. Come, shall I give thee a taste of thy true Office? Thou wilt be prefer'd to be Gentleman-Usher in ordinary to her Ladiships Lap-Dog.
Oh!
Nay, hear it out, Man: And dayly be Commanded to exercise thy patience in holding him out upon natural Necessities.
Oh! Zooks, I'le be hang'd first.
Ha, ha, ha.
And for thy part, thou wilt
be doom'd three times a week to pair her Nails, and Cut her Corns; and without any hopes of going further, upon the forfeiture of a Limb, for every such adventure.
Oh insupportable! the Devil shall have her first.
And if thou fail'st in the least punctilio of Duty, then [Page 38] expect the lash, for thou wilt be jerk'd unmercifully. Nay they will do it only to breathe upon thee; and scourge thee every Morning to keep themselves in wind.
Oh, dear Lieutenant, not a word more, unless you would see me give up the Ghost before you. He has given me the griping of the Guts with the thought on't already.
Oh, the Pox take 'em, how imperiously they look?
Sure they are Furies!
Let them be Devils, they are Devils of Flesh and Blood. And after so long a Lent, to me they are Angels.
Oh Heavens! are these the Jewels you run mad for? These Jack-a-Lents! these shrivel'd poor stufft Eel-skins!
Pox on her! what does she call us Eel-skins?
What can you see amongst these signs of Men, that can oblige from you a gentle look?
Signs of Men! very fine—
The Devil take 'em, they fright me plaguily!
We see with our own Eyes, Madam. Besides Age makes your Highness look through the wrong end of the perspective.
Can nothing perswade you to love your selves; and place your happiness in Cold and Chaste Embraces of each other?—alas! my Child: Thou know'st not what man is.
No—but I desire to know, that's the Point.
And when thou do'st; how soon wilt thou repent?
I know not: but I fancy I should not a great while.
But they are starv'd!
No matter, we'll feed 'em up; we'll cram 'em as we do Chickens, but we'll fatten 'em really.
Besides, Madam, we had your grant to have 'em as they were.
D'ee see the Woman, Madam?
I have view'd her long—I swear, 'tis a sweet Creature! [Page 39] And to my self I do appear deform'd, when I consider her. And yet she is the Stranger's Sister! why then should I fear? She cannot be my Rival.
I am instructed: But take heed, dear Friend, you prove not false; my life you know depends on't.
They make towards us: I am damnably afraid of that Old Woman, her Blood is Curdled: Pox on her, she has no Devil in her.
How! Have I bid defiance to the rage of Fire and Water, and held the Devil at staves end so often, to be baffled at last by an old Weather-beaten Fire-ship?
Well—I do hope to live to see her turn'd into a Gibb-Cat, and mewing upon the top of the House for all this.
Hark you! have yon a mind to be hang'd, Scoundrel, ha?
No great Stomach to't, Lieutenant: I had rather go to [...]upper, for my part.
O rare old Woman, gad sa' me! why, who would have thought this of her?
And this mine: There's nothing like Womans-flesh after a long Lent—dear Fubs, I make bold.
As I could wish: Till now I ne're was happy.
Nor I accurs'd!
A curse of that Lieutenant; I hope I shall have the heart to cut his Throat, one time or other.
He's merry. Oh my heart! now, dear Marine, remember your Vows.
Can do it—why, what is't a young brisk able Fellow cannot do? Harkee, Captain, a word with you.
What say'st thou?
I'le give my Mistress this Jewel: then draw her into play, top false Dice upon her, and rook her on't agen.
Harkee, Lieutenant, you see this does take her strangely.
Confound your Politiques: now we are ten times worse than ever.
Peace, ye Curs you: Do I live to be the Subject of your mouldy jests?
ACT V. Scene I.
A flat Rock.
Yes, and never shall have peace, till I am His wife.
Oh Heavens—
Ha! the meaning of that sigh, does the news Displease you?
No Madam: 'Twas onely the effects of my surprize.
Take care, how you abuse me. I have trusted you with more than my life, my first Love: Therefore use me well. And dearest Sister: For so I'le call you ever. And methinks we should be Sisters, Natural Sisters: Yet, if you were, I could not love you more; befriend me in this Business.
SCENE II.
AH the Devil take the Captain, that brought us to this Cursed Place. Why, rowing at the Gallies is better by half than this slavery.
Come, come; few know the goodness of Wives, till they want 'em. Ah would I were at home, I'd ne're throw a main agen, but live sober, and sing Psalms—prithee Surgeon thred this Needle for me?
Alas, I cannot see, Man! I have made my self blind with weeping.
Come, come, mind your business.
Oh that ever I should come to this—little did I think, when I put to Sea, to fall into the hands of these Petticoat-whipsters! Oh, gads bud— I have spun a fair thread.
Nay, Faith you do well to air us, Ladies, we should grow musty else. But prithee, my dear Penthisilea, whence comes this kindness—'Tis excellent Wine, Faith.
Come, skink away Boy.
How, the Lieutenant at liberty! and drinking Wine too! whilst we are famishing here. Choak him.
I thought they would free him—ah these Women love a strong Fellow strangely.
Madam, my service t'ee—here's a health—let me see—here's a health—to your merry thought.
Now their hearts are steept in Wine, and their bones at rest. They can talk a little.
Prithee do not slander our bones—but let 'em be quiet, they have bin our Servants thus long, and had their share of Pains and Recreations; and to affront 'em now, gad is fowl play.
Well, Fools may talk of Mythridate, Cordials, Elixers; but from my Cradle this was my only Physick—why, here's a Colour now! what Lady's Cheek, tho' Cerus'd and Virmillion'd like a picture, comes near it? Here's your Complexion for you! O my dear, faith I love thee with passion.
There's Fruits, and Confections within too, Lieutenant.
A pox, Boys meat—I am past it, here's strong food for Men. Nectar, old Lad. Mistress of Merry-hearts, once more I am bold with you.
Take heed man—prithee be temperate:
Let's be sober.
Temperate! why, how now Tarr! hast thou liv'd at Sea so long, where to be sober, whil'st we have Wine aboard, is Capital Treason, and dost thou preach Temperance, and Sobriety?
Ha, ha, ha.
Hang him, he has found us out; now shall we be jeer'd to Death.
And what think you of changing places with one of these now—hah—
I'll be hang'd first.
Ha, ha, ha—why, how now Monsieur Wardrobe, what in the Sudds? Well, scoure the Shifts clean, d'ee hear! Sirrah—Or your Patroness will swinge you. Look, Master, here's another of 'em at his Exercise.
Prithee, dear Lieutenant, leave Joking; and give us a sup of the Bottle. We are almost starv'd.
What, my honest Partner, and Companion in starving, Ned Glister-pipe too! Harkee; Thou hast skill in Phlebotomy. Let the Ladies blood. Cool 'em, Cool 'em; d'ee hear? 'Tis a better Employment; and leave spinning, you Fool, leave spinning.
Leave spinning! Ay, would I could i'faith.
One gulph, dear Lieutenant; but one gulph.
Well said, honest In and In—Come 7 or 11? Sirrah, I set you this Bottle.
Oh that this damn'd Epicure, should have the pleasure of being drunk, and we ready to Choak.
What's here, my Baboon Merchant too! ha, ha, ha; not to hinder your business, Friend; one word with you—what think you now,
Sirrah—Carry the dear Creature to the River side, and let him drink—do't quickly—must I spur you on, you dull Drone—
The dear Creature! a pox on it's Dearness—gad I'le hang my self to night—But I'le first be reveng'd on her—for I'le hang up her Monster too—I am resolv'd on that—
Well, honest Towzer—farewell to thee.
Come, let's be gone—I see Clarinda coming yonder.
Go march, Sir, march. Nay, without reply, as you expect to be oblig'd hereafter.
Look to 'em, d'ee hear! and give 'em due Correction. They'l never mind their Business else. I know 'em to a hair. Ha, ha, ha—
Is there no remedy? Must the Captain, and this Devil of a Lieutenant, perpetually plague us? And we not revenge it.
Well thought on, faith: I have found one way to do it, and home too.
What is't?
Yonder comes the Protectresses Daughter: VVho, I am certain, loves the Captain. And he has told her, this Lady that came with him, is his Sister. Now the only way to be reveng'd on 'em all, and procure our Liberty, is to—
Inform her the contrary.
Right.
Let's do't instantly, here she comes.
Bless thy Divine Beauty.
Mirrour of sweetness, vouchsafe one word, we beseech thee.
Poor flattery! what would you have, ye wretches?
We can discover something that concerns you—
Something about the Captain.
Ha. The Captain!
Promise us but our Liberty, and a little meat, and you shall know all.
Know all! how they make me tremble! what shall I know? Speak, and if it merits favour, you shall have it.
This little Gentlewoman that's with the Captain—
Well—what of her—his Sister, you mean.
Sister—ha, alas! you are deceiv'd in her!
Deceiv'd in her.
She is no Sister.
No Sister—what is she then? speak quickly! Oh my heart.
She is his—
Peace: Let me speak—why, faith, sweet Lady, she is as a Man would say his—
VVhat?
His Mistress—or so. That's the plain truth on't.
They say, she is Virtuous—but she has bin his Cabin-Mate this six Months, to my knowledge.
His Cabin-mate too—oh this slye Serpent: Be sure you do not lie to me.
If I do—hang me empty—
No—you shall be fed—but with such food as you have given me, new misery—away with 'em to Prison—speak not a word—begon. Oh I could rage and Curse, and kill now. Kill him, her, any thing in my revenge; which they shall feel, and instantly. And now brave Mother, follow thy noble Anger: And I'le help thee.
What storm is coming now? What must we lose the Men agen?
I'le lose my life first—I assure you, I like my Man extreamly.
The Rogues are plaguy unfortunate. I am afraid we shall have but an unlucky breed from 'em.
Yes really, the fellows behave themselves with diligence enough.
They say they are Gentlemen: But they prove Mungrels.
Pray do not rail at the men: I'le assure you, mine proves admirably.
How do thine suffer; Iuliet?
Faith, like Boys: They are fearful in all Fortunes—when I smile, thay kneel, and beg to have that Face Continued—And like poor Dogs, adore the ground I go on; when I frown, they hang their Tails, like fearful Sheep-hounds—shew 'em a Crust of bread, they'l Saint me presently.
Ridiculous Wretches: Have they names like Christians.
Oh, very fair names, and brag of mighty Kindred too. They offer very handsomely. But that I am a Fool, and dare not venture too much; they are sound too, o'my Conscience, or very near upon't.
These are poor, base, Creatures.
Pax on 'em—'tis that makes me hate 'em: If they were, or would be manly in their sufferings, perhaps one might strain a point or two.
Mine, I assure you, were not cast in such base Mould—Afflictions, Tortures, are Names, and Natures of delight to my Men. They sleep soundly, and seldome troublesome, unless, 'tis when they dream of Fights and Tempests—And then they roar, and whistle for Bottles of Wine. And sometimes down they'l throw me—and in that rage, for they are violent fellows, they play such Freaks—
Yes, indeed, the Rogues will fumble one strangely.
If they have meat, they thank me; if none, they heartily desire they may be hang'd.
Come, come; let's all go to the Protectress, and intercede for 'em.
For my part really, I'le mutiny if I have not mine freed to night.
And I mine—for I assure you, he's a Man every inch of him.
This Grove, Sir, belongs to the Protectresses Palace. And the Lights, that we saw just at our Entrance, I suppose belong to her.
Begar you had best supposa right. And lead us right too. If I no find this damn'd Woman, I shall find your head: Morbleu I will hang you, dat is in plain Term.
Hush, Sir—and pray let us hide our selves behind these Bushes. For, if my Eyes are perfect; I see a Man coming down the walk.
Fly Son to the Protectress, this is the Minute, or we are lost. Throw thy self at her feet, and discover us—I'd rather be at her mercy, and in Slavery, than live to be thus us'd by this horrid Villain; away—that's the Palace just before thee.
I could discern him plainly—I am certain, 'twas a man—ha, and yonder I think he comes.
my Love, where art thou?
Jerne, is not that she?
It is, Sir—I heard her Voice.
Stand close, make no noise.
How well this darkness suits my melancholly? Who's there?
but who else can it be? No other Man's at liberty in the Island. Oh my best life: I have the saddest news to tell thee: But come, let us go farther off, to secure us from being over-heard.
Ay begar, you sal be secura presantly! I will secure you—
He has carry'd her off; come, let's follow.
I must obey you, Sir! Cruel Fortune! no news of my Son yet!
Search round the Grove—And all you find bring hither, if they resist, or, seem unwilling, force 'em—
Force Marine hither too, and the sly Witch, his pretended Sister.
Stranger, thou hast told me wonders, which if true, as by my beating heart I have some hopes, this day will be the happiest of my life—You say your Name's Nicusa?
It is, Madam—And the Son of Don Sebastian a Portuguise; [Page 52] by adverse Fortune thrown upon your Coast, Slaves to La Mure, a barb'rous French Pyrate.
More wonders still, for by that name they still'd the Villain that was Author of our Misery.
Believe him not, Madam; he is a Man: And men have the Curst trick of lying from their Cradles.
I hope he does not. And now methinks there are some features in his face—I am acquainted with—what was your Mother's name?
Roselia.
Oh Heaven!
One, whom tho' I can hardly remember, yet if I may presume to speak my thoughts, had some features just like yours—But here comes one will satisfie you fully.
Thou beauteous Spring, and Fountain of my joys, receive my Blessing—But Aminta, my lost Aminta—were she but here too, then my joys were perfect.
Who calls Aminta—here I am, and come to make a third in this strange meeting.
Miracle, on Miracle!
This Adventure would make a Theam for an Excellent History —
I am Aminta, and, as I was inform'd by my Nurse, am Daughter to Sebastian and Roselia. More of the business, that French Pyrate there, whom Heaven has strangely thrown upon this Island, can soon inform you—
By all that's good—'Tis he! that Villain, La Mure; I know him.
So—we are in a hopeful condition.
Suspend your wonder, Madam—'Tis the same, that Execrable Robber, that caus'd our separation.
I was saying just now, I vud hang him, Morbleu, now I fear he will hanga me! Oh damn'd Whore, Zh [...]lt, Fortune.
Speak, abhor'd Villain! And if thou can'st discover any thing to save thy life, do it quickly.
The Diable take you all. Dat is all I vill discover, vor, vrom dis moment, me vil no open my Lips.
Let him be rack'd; Slave, we'll make you confess.
She has bin bred in England, from whence to avoid his Love, she lately fled away with this young Gentleman, and afterwards wrackt upon that Island, where you found 'em.
The fray ruin'd themselves. There for the space of sixteen tedious Years, we liv'd oppress'd with all the miseries humanity could suffer, till Heaven grown weary of afflicting us, by the means of this young man, at last reliev'd us. Captain, look in my face, do you not know me?
Not I, Sir; nor can I ever call to mind, that I, till, now have seen you.
That trick of Fortune, Sir, I have reason to remember.
Those famish'd Portugals, were my self and Son—but being at Sea, we were afterwards retaken by La Mure, and describing your company, and this young Virgin, who now I'le call my Daughter; whom it seems he came in search of; we were brought back, where now we live to make you some amends for all past ills. But where are all your Comrades?
Oh Mother! what a happy hour is this! How blest! how full of rapture! And as the chief Author of all our present Happiness, receive this noble Gentleman. No Brother now, but my betrothed Husband.
Sir, for your ill usage, happening thro' our Errors, let this attone.
I do with all my heart. And from this moment banish all fond desires.
So, so! I like this very well—now sure some of the men will fall to our share agen.
I hope so—I am sure there can be no good Conclusion without 'em.
What's to be done with us now, I wonder?
There are not many new ways of starving, that's my Comfort.
Gentlemen, I am to beg your pardon too, and inform you, that you have suffered by a mistake: But now you are free, as if in your own Nation.
Gad—'Twas well you sent as you did: For I was just upon the Swing, the Devil and I had fully agreed upon the matter—you may see by my Bridle here. I was just ready for a journey.
I in the same humour! Ha, ha, ha.
Ay, were not you almost ready to Dangle in one of your Garters, for the loss of your Widdow, and the rest of your mighty [Page 55] Expectations?
No—If I were, the Dence take me.
Nor you have not bin concern'd about it?
Perhaps I have had the griping of the Guts, A kind of a grumbling humour, or so, to be at you,—But no more—for my part, I gave you over for an obstinate Old Woman, and resolv'd to think no more of you.
Well, Sir, with my self I can do you no justice—because this Gentleman here takes possession of me by a better Title.
How, a better Title! Faith, methinks a Widdow, and a Woman of your Sense, should think my Title better than his, by twenty years purchase, by your favour, Madam.
Ay, a Widdow indeed might think so: But know, (Gallant that should have bin) the Fates have so order'd it, that I am now found to be a Wife.
A Wife!
Even so. And to this very Gentleman, that lays such Claim. But to make thee full amends, for the loss of my self—if this Lady can creep into thy heart—Take her, she's thine; she's rich, but a little foppish.
With all my heart, by this light; she's rich you say—I'le marry her, that I may beat her, and make her Loyal.
Come, let's retire, and make a glad relation of our Fortunes: 'Twill add to our content; Oh my Sebastian! I have miracles to tell thee, how I came hither to the Womens Common-Wealth: How chosen Protectress! it is a Tale bears full variety.