DON SEBASTIAN, King of Portuagal: A TRAGEDY Acted at the Theatre Royal.
Written by Mr. DRYDEN.
LONDON: Printed for Jo. Hindmarsh, at the Golden Ball in Cornhil. MDCXC.
Don Sebastian King of Portugal. A Tragedy. Persons Represented.
- 1 Don Sebastian King of Portugal,
- By Mr. Williams.
- 2 Muley-Moluch Emperor of Barbary,
- Mr. Kynaston.
- 3 Dorax, a Noble Portuguese now a Renegade, formerly Don Alonzo de Sylvera Alcalde, or Governor of Alcazar▪
- Mr. Betterton.
- 4 Benducar, C [...]ief Minister and Favourite to the Emperor,
- Mr. Sandford.
- 5 The Mufti Abdalla,
- Mr. Underhill.
- 6 Muley-Zeydan Brother to the Emperor,
- Mr. Powell, Jun.
- 7 Don Antonio, a Young Noble amorous Portuguese. now a Slave,
- Mr. Betterton.
- 8 Don Alvarez, an old Counsellor to Don Sebastian, now a Slave also,
- Mr. Boweman.
- 9 Muftapha Captain of the Rabble.
- Mr. Leigh.
- 10 Almeyda a Captive Queen of Barbary,
- Mrs. Barry.
- 11 Morayma, Daughter to the Mufti,
- Mrs. Montfort.
- 12 Johayma, Chief Wife to the Mufti,
- Mrs. Leigh.
- Two Merchants.
- Rabble.
- A Servant to Benducar.
- A Servant to the Mufti.
- Scene in the Castle of Alcazar.
TO THE Right Honourable Philip Earl of Leycester, &c.
FAR be it from me, (My most Noble Lord) to think, that any thing which my meanness can produce, should be worthy to be offer'd to your Patronage; or that ought which I can say of you shou'd recommend you farther, to the esteem of good men in this present Age, or to the veneration which will certainly be paid you by Posterity. On th [...] other side, I must acknowledg it a great presumption in me, to make you this Address; and so much the greater, because by the common suffrage even of contrary parties, yon have been always regarded, as one of the first Persons of the Age, and yet no one Writer has dar'd to tell you so: Whether we have been, all conscious to our selves that it was a needless labour to give this notice to Mankind, as all men are asham'd to tell stale news, or that we were justly diffident of our own performances, as even Cicero is observ'd to be in awe when he writes to Atticus; where knowing himself overmatch'd in good sense, and truth of knowledg, he drops the gawdy train of words, and is no longer the vain-glorious Orator. From whatever reason it may be, I am the first bold offender of this kind: I have broken down the fence, and ventur'd into the Holy Grove; how I may be punish'd for my profane attempt, I know not; but I wish it may not be of ill Omen to your Lordship; and that a crowd of bad Writers, do not rush into the quiet of your recesses after me. Every man in all changes of Government, which have been, or may possibly arrive, will agree, that I cou'd not have offer'd my Incense, where it cou'd be so well deserv'd. For you, My Lord, are secure in your own merit; and all Parties, as they rise uppermost, are sure to court you in their turns; 'tis a tribute which has ever been paid your vertue: The leading men still bring their bullion to your mint, to receive the stamp of their intrinsick value, that they may afterwards hope to pass with human kind. They [Page] rise and fall in the variety of Revolutions; and are sometimes great, and therefore wise in mens opinions, who must court them for their interest: But the reputation of their parts most commonly follows their success; few of 'em are wise, but as they are in power: Because indeed, they have no sphere of their own, but like the Moon in the Copernican Systeme of the World, are whirl'd about by the motion of a greater Planet. This it is to be ever busie; neither to give rest to their Fellow creatures, nor, which is more wretchedly ridiculous, to themselves: Tho truly, the latter is a kind of justice, and giving Mankind a due revenge, that they will not permit their own hearts to be at quiet, who disturb the repose of all beside them. Ambitious Meteors! how willing they are to set themselves upon the Wing; and taking every occasion of drawing upward to the Sun: Not considering that they have no more time allow'd them for their mounting, than the short revolution of a day: and that when the light goes from them, they are of necessity to fall. How much happier is he, (and who he is I need not say, for there is but one Phoenix in an Age,) who centring on himself, remains immovable, and smiles at the madness of the dance about him. He possesses the midst, which is the portion of safety and content: He will not be higher, because he needs it not; but by the prudence of that choice, he puts it out of Fortunes power to throw him down. 'Tis confest, that if he had not so been born, he might have been too high for happiness; but not endeavoring to ascend, he secures the native height of his station from envy; and cannot descend from what he is, because he depends not on another. What a glorious Character was this once in Rome; I shou'd say in Athens, when in the disturbances of a State as mad as ours, the wise Pomponius transported all the remaining wisdom and vertue of his Country, into the Sanctuary of Peace and Learning. But, I wou'd ask the World, (for you, My Lord, are too nearly concern'd to judge this Cause) whether there may not yet be found, a Character of a Noble Englishman, equally shining with that illustrious Roman? Whether I need to name a second Atticus; or whether the World has not already prevented me, and fix'd it there without my naming. Not a second with a longo sed proximus intervallo, not [Page] a Young Marcellus, flatter'd by a Poet, into a resemblance of the first, with a frons laeta parum, & dejecto lumina vultu, and the rest that follows, si qua fata aspera rumpas Tu Marcellus eris: But a Person of the same stamp and magnitude; who owes nothing to the former, besides the Word Roman, and the Superstition of reverence, devolving on him by the precedency of eighteen hundred years. One who walks by him with equal paces, and shares the eyes of beholders with him: One, who had been first, had he first liv'd; and in spight of doating veneration is still his equal. Both of them born of Noble Families in unhappy Ages, of change and tumult; both of them retiring from Affairs of State: Yet, not leaving the Common-wealth, till it had left it self; but never returning to publick b [...]siness, when they had once quitted it; tho courted by the Heads of either Party. But who wou'd trust the quiet of their lives, with the extravagancies of their Countrymen, when they were just in the giddiness of their turning; when the ground was tottering under them at every moment; and none cou'd guess whether the next heave of the Earthquake, wou'd settle them on the first Foundation, or swallow it? Both of them knew Mankind exactly well; for both of them began that study in themselves; and there they found the best part of humane composition, the worst they learn'd by long experience of the folly, ignorance, and immorality of most beside them. Their Philosophy on both sides, was not wholly speculative, for that is barren, and produces nothing but vain Ideas of things which cannot possibly be known; or if they cou'd, yet wou'd only terminate in the understanding; but it was a noble, vigorous, and practical Philosophy, which exerted it self in all the offices of pity, to those who were unfortunate, and deserv'd not so to be. The Friend was always more consider'd by them than the cause: And an Octavius, or an Anthony in distress, were reliev'd by them, as well as a Brutus or a Cassius. For the lowermost party to a noble mind, is ever the fittest object of good will. The eldest of them, I will suppose for his honour, to have been of the Academick Sect, neither Dogmatist nor Stoick; if he were not, I am sure he ought in common justice, to yield the precedency to his younger Brother. For stiffness of Opinion is the effect [Page] of Pride, and not of Philosophy: 'Tis a miserable Presumption of that knowledg which humane Nature is too narrow to contain. And the ruggedness of a Stoick is only a silly affectation of being a God: To wind himself up by Pulleys, to an insensibility of suffering; and at the same time to give the lye to his own Experience, by saying he suffers not, what he knows he feels. True, Philosophy is certainly of a more pliant Nature, and more accommodated to human use; Homo sum, humani à me nihil alienum puto. A wise man will never attempt an impossibility; and such it is to strain himself beyond the nature of his Being; either to become a Deity, by being above suffering, or to debase himself into a Stock or Stone, by pretending not to feel it. To find in ourselves the Weaknesses and Imperfections of our wretched Kind, is surely the most reasonable step we can make towards the Compassion of our fellow Creatures. I cou'd give Examples of this kind in the second Atticus. In every turn of State, without meddling on either side, he has always been favorable and assisting to opprest Merit. The Praises which were given by a great Poet to the late Queen Mother on her rebuilding Somerset Palace, one part of which was fronting to the mean Houses on the other side of the Water, are as justly his:
Neither has he so far forgotten a poor Inhabitant of his Suburbs, whose best prospect is on the Garden of Leicester-House; but that more than once he has been offering him his Patronage, to reconcile him to a World, of which his Misfortunes have made him weary. There is another Sidney still remaining, tho there can never be another Spencer to deserve the Favor. But one Sidney gave his Patronage to the applications of a Poet; the other offer'd it unask'd. Thus, whether as a second Atticus, or a second Sir Philip Sidney, the latter, in all respects, will not have the worse of the comparison; and if he will take up with the second place, the World will not so far flatter his Modesty, as to seat him there, unless it be out of a deference of Manners, that he may place himself where he pleases at his own Table.
[Page]I may therefore safely conclude, that he, who by the consent of all men, bears so eminent a Character, will out of his inborn Nobleness, forgive the Presumption of this Address. 'Tis an unfinish'd Picture, I confess, but the Lines and Features are so like, that it cannot be mistaken for any other; and without writing any name under it, every beholder must cry out, at the first sight, this was design'd for Atticus; but the bad Artist, has cast too much of him into shades. But I have this Excuse, that even the greater Masters commonly fall short of the best Faces. They may flatter an indifferent Beauty; but the excellencies of Nature, can have no right done to them: For there both the Pencil and the Pen are overcome by the Dignity of the Subject; as our admirable Wal [...]er has express'd it; ‘The Hero's Race transcends the Poet's Thought.’
There are few in any Age who can bear the load of a Dedication; for where Praise is undeserv'd, 'tis Satyr: Tho Satyr on Folly is now no longer a Scandal to any one Person, where a whole Age is dipt together; yet I had rather undertake a Multitude one way, than a single Aiticus the other; for 'tis easier to descend, than 'tis to climb. I shou'd have gone asham'd out of the World, if I had not at least attempted this Address, which I have long thought owing: And if I had never attempted, I might have been vain enough to think I might have succeeded in it: now I have made the Experiment, and have fail'd, through my Unworthiness. I may rest satisfi'd, that either the Adventure is not to be atchiev'd, or that it is reserv'd for some other hand.
Be pleas'd therefore, since the Family of the Attici is and ought to be above the common Forms of concluding Letters, that I may take my leave in the Words of Cicero to the first of them: Me, O Pomponi, valdè poenitet vivere: tantùm te oro, ut quoniam me ipse semper amâsti, ut eodem amore sis; ego nimirum, idem sum. Inimici mei mea mihi non meipsum ademerunt. Cura, Attice, ut valeas.
Dabam Cal. Jan. 1690.
THE PREFACE·
WHether it happen'd through a long disuse of Writing, that I forgot the usual compass of a Play; or that by crowding it, with Characters and Incidents, I put a necessity upon my self of lenghthning the main Action, I know not; but the first days Audience sufficiently convinc [...]d me of my error; and that the Poem was insupportably too long. 'Tis an ill ambition of us Poets, to please an Audience with more than they can bear: And, supposing that we wrote as well, as vainly we imagin our selves to write; yet we ought to consider, that no man can bear to be long tickled. There is a nauseousness in a City feast when we are to sit four hours after we are cloy'd. I am, therefore, in the first place, to acknowledg with all manner of gratitude, their civility; who were pleas'd to endure it with so much patience, to be weary with so much good nature and silence, and not to explode an entertainment, which was design'd to please them; or discourage an Author, whose misfortunes have once more brought him against his will, upon the Stage. While I continue in these bad circumstances, (and truly I see very little probability of coming out:) I must be oblig'd to write, and if I may still hope for the same kind usage, I shall the less repent of that hard necessity. I write not this out of any expectation to be pityed; for I have Enemies enow to wish me yet in a worse condition; but give me leave to say, that if I can please by writing, as I shall endeavour it, the Town may be somewhat oblig'd to my misfortunes, for a part of their diversion. Having been longer acquainted with the Stage, than any Poet now living, and having observ'd how difficult it was to please; that the humours of Comedy were almost spent, that Love and Honour (the mistaken Topicks of Tragedy) were quite worn out, that the Theaters cou'd not support their charges, that the Audience forsook them, that young men without Learning set up for Judges, and that they talk'd loudest, who understood the least: all these discouragements had not only wean'd me from the Stage, but had also given me a loathing of it. But enough of this: the difficulties [Page] continue; they increase, and I am still condemn'd to dig in those exhausted Mines. Whatever fault I next commit, rest assur'd it shall not be that of too much length: Above twelve hunder'd lines have been cut off from this Tragedy, since it was first deliver'd to the Actors. They were indeed so judiciously lopt by Mr. Betterton, to whose care and excellent action, I am equally oblig'd, that the connexion of the story was not lost; but on the other side, it was impossible to prevent some part of the action from being precipitated, and coming on without that due preparation, which is requir'd to all great events: as in particular, that of raising the Mobile, in the beginning of the Fourth Act; which a Man of Benducar's cool Character, cou'd not naturally attempt, without taking all those precautions, which he foresaw wou'd be necessary to render his design successful. On this consideration, I have replac'd those lines, through the whole Poem; and thereby restor'd it, to that clearness of conception, and (if I may dare to say it) that lustre, and masculine vigour, in which it was first written. 'Tis obvious to every understanding Reader, that the most poetical parts, which are Descriptions, Images, Similitudes, and Moral Sentences; are those, which of necessity were to be par'd away, when the body was swoln into too large a bulk for the representation of the Stage. But there is a vast difference betwixt a publick entertainment on the Theatre, and a private reading in the Closet: In the first we are confin'd to time, and though we talk not by the hour-glass, yet the Watch often drawn out of the pocket, warns the Actors, that their Audience is weary; in the last, every Reader is judge of his own convenience; he can take up the book, and lay it down at his pleasure; and find out those beauties of propriety, in thought and writing, which escap'd him in the tumult and hurry of representing. And I dare boldly promise for this Play, that in the roughness of the numbers and cadences, (which I assure was not casual, but so design'd) you will see somewhat more masterly arising to your view, than in most, if not any of my former Tragedies. There is a more noble daring in the Figures and more suitable to the lostiness of the Subject; and besides this some newnesses of English, translated from the Beauties of Modern Tongues, as well as from the elegancies of the Latin; and here and there some old words are sprinkled, which for their significance and sound, deserv'd not to be antiquated; such as we often find in Salust amongst the [Page] Roman Authors, and in Milton's Paradise amongst ours; though perhaps the latter instead of sprinkling, has dealt them with too free a hand, even sometimes to the obscuring of his sense.
As for the story or plot of the Tragedy, 'tis purely fiction; for I take it up where the History has laid it down. We are assur'd by all Writers of those times, that Sebastian a young Prince of great courage and expectation, undertook that War partly upon a religious account, partly at the sollicitation of Muley-Mahumet, who had been driven out of his Dominions, by Abdelmelech, or as others call him Muley-Moluch his nigh Kinsman, who descended from the same Family of the Xeriff's; whose Fathers Hamet and Mahomet had conquer'd that Empire with joint Forces; and shar'd it betwixt them after their victory: That the body of Don Sebastian was never found in the Field of Battel; which gave occasion for many to believe, that he was not slain; that some years after, when the Spaniards with a pretended title, by force of Arms had Ʋsurp'd the Crown of Portugal, from the House of Braganza, a certain Person who call'd himself Don Sebastian, and had all the marks of his body and features of his face, appear'd at Venice, where he was own'd by some of his Country-men; but being seiz'd by the Spaniards was first Imprison'd, then sent to the Gallies, and at last put to Death in private. 'Tis most certain, that the Portugueses expected his return for almost an Age together after that Battel; which is at least a proof of their extream love to his Memory; and the usage which they had from their new Conquerors, might possibly make them so extravagant in their hopes and wishes for their old Master.
This ground work the History afforded me, and I desire no better to build a Play upon it: For where the event of a great action is left doubtful, there the Poet is left Master: He may raise what he pleases on that foundation, provided he makes it of a piece, and according to the rule of probability. From hence I was only oblig'd, that Sebastian shou'd return to Portugal no more; but at the same time I had him at my own disposal, whether to bestow him in Affrick, or in any other corner of the World, or to have elos'd the Tragedy with his death; and the last of these was certainly the most easie, but for the same reason, the least artful; because as I have somewhere said, the poyson and the dagger are still at hand, to butcher a Heroe, when a Poet wants the brains to save him. It being therefore only necessary [Page] according to the Laws of the Drama, that Sebastian shou'd no more be seen vpon the Throne, I leave it for the World to judge, whether or no I have disposed of him according to art, or have bungled up the conclusion of his adventure. In the drawing of his character I forgot not piety, which any one may observe to be one principal ingredient of it; even so far as to be a habit in him; though I show him once to be transported from it by the violence of a sudden passion, to endeavor a self murther. This being presuppos'd, that he was Religious, the horror of his incest, tho innocently committed, was the best reason which the Stage cou'd give for hind'ring his return. 'Tis true I have no right to blast his Memory, with such a crime: but declaring it to be fiction, I desire my Audience to think it no longer true, than while they are seeing it represented: For that once ended, he may be a Saint for ought I know; and we have reason to presume he is. On this supposition, it was unreasonable to have kill'd him; for the Learned Mr. Rymer has well observ'd, that in all punishments we are to regulate our selves by Poetical justice; and according to those measures an involuntary sin deserves not death; from whence it follows, that to divorce himself from the beloved object, to retire into a desart, and deprive himself of a Throne, was the utmost punishment, which a Poet cou'd inflict, as it was also the utmost reparation, which Sebastian cou'd make. For what relates to Almeyda, her part is wholly fictitious: I know it is the surname of a noble Family in Portugal, which was very instrumental in the Restoration of Don John de Braganza, Father to the most Illustrious and most Pious Princess our Queen Dowager. The French Author of a Novel, call'd Don Sebastian, has given that name to an Affrican Lady of his own invention, and makes her Sister to Muley-Mahumet. But I have wholly chang'd the accidents, and borrow'd nothing but the supposition, that she was belov'd by the King of Portugal. Tho, if I had taken the whole story, and wrought it up into a Play, I might have done it exactly according to the practice of almost all the Ancients; who were never accus'd of being Plagiaries, for building their Tragedies on known Fables. Thus Augustus Caesar wrote an Ajax, which was not the less his own, because Euripides had written a Play before him on that Subject. Thus of late years Corneille writ an Oedipus after Sophocles; and I have design'd one after him, which I wrote with Mr. Lee, yet neither the French Poet stole from the [Page] Greek, nor we from the French man. 'Tis the contrivance, the new turn, and new characters, which alter the property and make it ours. The Materia Poetica is as common to all Writers, as the Materia Medica to all Physicians. Thus in our Chronicles, Daniels History is still his own, though Matthew Paris, Stow and Hollingshed writ before him, otherwise we must have been content with their dull relations, if a better Pen had not been allow'd to come after them, and write his own account after a new and better manner.
I must farther declare freely, that I have not exactly kept to the three Mechanick rules of unity: I knew them and had them in my eye, but follow'd them only at a distance; for the Genius of the English cannot bear too regular a Play; we are given to variety, even to a debauchery of Pleasure. My Scenes are therefore sometimes broken, because my Ʋnder-plot requir'd them so to be; though the General Scene remains of the same Castle, and I have taken the time of two days, because the variety of accidents, which are here represented, cou'd not naturally be suppos'd to arrive in one: But to gain a greater Beauty, 'tis lawful for a Poet to supersede a less.
I must likewise own, that I have somewhat deviated from the known History, in the death of Muley-Moluch, who, by all relations dyed of a feaver in the Battel, before his Army had wholly won the Field; but if I have allow'd him another day of life, it was because I stood in need of so shining a Character of brutality, as I have given him; which is indeed the same, with that of the present Emperor Muley Ishmael, as some of our English Officers, who have been in his Court, have credibly inform'd me.
I have been listning what objections had been made, against the conduct of the Play, but found them all so trivial, that if I shou'd name them, a true critick wou'd imagin that I play'd booty, and only rais'd up fantoms for my self to conquer. Some are pleas'd to say the Writing is dull; but aetatem habet de se loquatur. Others that the double poyson is unnatural; let the common received opinion, and Ausonius his famous Epigram answer that. Lastly a more ignorant sort of Creatures than either of the former, maintain that the Character of Dorax, is not only unnatural, but inconsistent with it self; let them read the Play and think again, and if yet they are not satisfied, cast their eyes on that Chapter of the Wise [Page] Montaigne, which is intituled de l' Inconstance des actions humaines. A longer reply, is what those Cavillers deserve not; but I will give them and their fellows to understand, that the Earl of Dorset, was pleas'd to read the Tragedy twice over before it was Acted; and did me the favour to send me word, that I had written beyond any of my former Plays; and that he was displeas'd any thing shou'd be cut away. If I have not reason to prefer his single judgment to a whole Faction, let the World be judge; for the opposition is the same with that of Lucan's Heroe against an Army; concurrere bellum, atque virum. I think I may modestly conclude, that whatever errors there may be, either in the design, or writing of this Play, they are not those which have been objected to it. I think also, that I am not yet arriv'd to the Age of doating; and that I have given so much application to this Poem, that I cou'd not probably let it run into many gross absurdities; which may caution my Enemies from too rash a censure; and may also encourage my friends, who are many more than I cou'd reasonably have expected, to believe their kindness has not been very undeservedly bestowed on me. This is not a Play that was huddled up in hast; and to shew it was not, I will own, that beside the general Moral of it, which is given in the four last lines, there is also another Moral, couch'd under every one of the principal Parts and Characters, which a judicious Critick will observe, though I point not to it in this Preface. And there may be also some secret Beauties in the decorum of parts, and uniformity of design, which my puny judges will not easily find out; let them consider in the last Scene of the fourth Act, whether I have not preserv'd the rule of decency, in giving all the advantage to the Royal Character; and in making Dorax first submit: Perhaps too they may have thought, that it was through indigence of Characters, that I have given the same to Sebastian and Almeyda; and consequently made them alike in all things but their Sex. But let them look a little deeper into the matter, and they will find that this identity of Character in the greatness of their Souls; was intended for a preparation of the final discovery, and that the likeness of their nature, was a fair hint to the proximity of their blood.
To avoid the imputation of too much vanity (for all Writers, and especially Poets will have some) I will give but one other instance, in relation to the Ʋniformity of the design. I have observ'd that [Page] the English will not bear a thorough Tragedy; but are pleas'd, that it shou'd be lightned with underparts of mirth. It had been easie for me to have given my Audience a better course of Comedy, I mean a more diverting, than that of Antonio and Morayma. But I dare appeal even to my Enemies, if I or any man cou'd have invented one, which had been more of a piece, and more depending, on the serious part of the design. For what cou'd be more uniform, than to draw from out of the members of a Captive Court, the Subject of a Comical entertainment? To prepare this Episode, you see Dorax giving the Character of Antonio, in the beginning of the Play, upon his first sight of him at the Lottery; and to make the dependence, Antonio is ingag'd in the Fourth Act, for the deliverance of Almeyda; which is also prepar'd, by his being first made a Slave to the Captain of the Rabble.
I shou'd beg pardon for these instances; but perhaps they may be of use to future Poets, in the conduct of their Plays: At least if I appear too positive; I am growing old, and thereby, in possession of some experience, which men in years will always assume for a right of talking. Certainly, if a Man can ever have reason to set a value on himself, 'tis when his ungenerous Enemies are taking the advantage of the Times upon him, to ruin him in his reputation. And therefore for once, I will make bold to take the Counsel of my Old Master Virgil.
PROLOGUE TO DON SEBASTIAN King of Portugal.
Don Sebastian, King of Portugal.
ACT I. SCENE I.
You have the Key, he opens inward to you.
My Father!
The gallant Renegade you mean?
He's just upon us.
My Oracle!
Well Bemboucar!
Bare Bemboucar!
Some call me Favourite.
You cou'd not meet him then?
Bring forth th' unhappy Relicks of the War.
But are these all? Speak you who are their Masters.
All upon my Honour: If you'll take 'em as their Fathers got 'em, so. If not, you must stay till they get a better generation: These Christians are mere bunglers; they procreate nothing but out of their own Wives; And these have all the looks of Eldest Sons.
Pain of your lives let none conceal a Slave.
Let every Man look to his own Conscience, I am sure mine shall never hang me.
Nay if Accomplices must suffer, it may go hard with me; but here's the Devil on't, there's a Great Man and a Holy Man too, concern'd with me. Now if I confess, he'll be sure to scape between his Greatness and his Holiness, and I shall be murder'd, because of my Poverty and Rascality.
'Tis a fine place they say; but Doctor I am not worthy on't: I am contented with this homely World, 'tis good enough for such a poor rascally Musulman as I am: Besides I have learnt so much good manners, Doctor, as to let my Betters be serv'd before me.
Your Majesty may lay your Soul on't: but for my [Page 8] part, though I am a plain Fellow, yet I scorn to be trick'd into Paradice, I wou'd he shou'd know it. The troth on't is an't like you, His reverence bought of me the flower of all the Market; these — these are but Dogs meat to 'em, and a round price he pay'd me too I'll say that for him; but not enough for me to venture my neck for: If I get Paradice when my time comes I can't help my self; but I'll venture nothing before-hand, upon a blind Bargain.
Where are those Slaves? produce 'em.
They are not what he says.
By the same token there was a dainty Virgin, (Virgin said I! but I won't be too positive of that neither) with a roguish leering eye! he paid me down for her upon the nail a thousand golden Sultanins; or he had never had her I can tell him that: Now is it very likely he would pay so dear for such a delicious Morsel, and give it away out of his own mouth; when it had such a farewel with it too?
Hold Sir, the Woman must not draw.
What shall I do to conquer thee?
I'll show thee for a Monster through my Affrick.
Sure he wou'd sleep.
What say'st thou, ha! No more of that.
Remember, Sir, your Vow.
One of his generous Fits, too strong to last.
Stand off ye Slaves, I will not be unveil'd.
Slave is thy Title: Force her.
How's this!
What Female Fury have we here!
Wou'd I had never seen it!
Woud'st thou revenge thee, Trait'ress, hadst thou pow'r?
I'll hear no more.
My Chattels are come into my hands again, and my Conscience will serve me to sell 'em twice over; any price now, before the Musti comes to claim 'em.
I confess he's somewhat tough; but I suppose you wou'd not boyl him. I ask for him a thousand Crowns.
Thou mean'st a thousand Marvedi's.
Prithee Friend, give me leave to know my own meaning.
What virtues has he to deserve that price?
Marry come up Sir! Virtues quoth ah! I took him in the King's Company; he's of a great Family, and rich, What other Virtues wou'dst thou have in a Noble-man?
I buy him with another man's Purse, that's my comfort.
My Lord Dorax, the Governor, will have him at any rate:—
There's Handsel.
Come, old Fellow, to the Castle.
Something of a Secret, and of the King I heard him mutter: A Pimp I warrant him, for I am sure he is an old Courtier.
Dog, what wou'dst thou have!
Learn better manners, or I shall serve you a Dogtrick; come, down upon all four immediately;
I'll make you know your Rider.
Thou wilt not make a Horse of me?
Be advis'd Friend, and buckle to thy Geers: Behold my Ensign of Royalty display'd over thee.
I hope one day to use thee worse in Portugal.
Ay, and good reason, Friend, if thou catchest me a conquering on thy side of the water, lay me on lustily, I'll take it as kindly as thou dost this.—
Hold my dear Thrum-eap: I obey thee chearfully,
I see the Doctrine of Non-Resistance is never practis'd thoroughly but when a Man can't help himself.
You, Friend, I wou'd see that Fellow do his Postures.
Now Sirrah follow, for you have rope enough:
To your paces Villain, amble, trot, and gallop:—
Quick, about there.— Yeap, the more Money's bidden for you, the more your credit.
He's well chin'd, and has a tolerable good back; that's half in half.
I wou'd see him strip, has he no Diseases about him?
He's the best piece of Man's flesh in the Market, not an Eye-sore in his whole body: Feel his Legs, Master, neither Splint, Spavin, nor Wind gall.
Out upon him, how, his flank heaves! The Whorson's broken-winded.
Thick breath'd a little: Nothing but a sorry cold with lying out a nights in Trenches;— but sound Wind and Limb, I warrant him.
Try him at a loose trot a little.
For Heaven's sake Owner spare me; you know I am but new broken.
'Tis but a washy Jade, I see: What do you ask for this Bauble?
Bauble do you call him; he's a substantial true-bred Beast; bravely forehanded; mark but the cleanness of his shapes too; his Dam may be a Spanish Gennet, but a true Barb by the Sire, or I have no skill in Horse-flesh. —
Marry I ask Six Hundred Xeriffs for him.
What's that you are asking, Sirrah?
Marry, I ask your Reverence Six Hundred Pardons; I was doing you a small piece of service here, putting off your Chattel for you.
And putting the Mony into your own Pocket.
Upon vulgar reputation, no my Lord, it was for your profit and emolument. What, wrong the Head of my Religion? I was sensible you wou'd have damn'd me, or any man that shou'd have injur'd you in a single Farthing; for I knew that was Sacrifice.
Sacriledge you mean, Sirrah,—and damning shall be the least part of your punishment; I have taken you in the manner, and will have the Law upon you.
Good my Lord, take pity upon a poor man in this World, and damn me in the next.
No Sirrah, so you may repent, and scape punishment: Did not you sell this very Slave amongst the rest to me, and take Mony for him.
Right my Lord.
And selling him again? Take Mony twice for the same Commodity? Oh, Villain!
But did you not know him to be my Slave, Sirrah?
Why shou'd I lye to your Honor, I did know him; and thereupon, seeing him wander about; I took him up for a stray, and impounded him, with intention to restore him to the right Owner.
And yet at the same time was selling him to another: How rarely the Story hangs together.
Patience, my Lord.
I took him up, as your Heriot, with intention to have made the best of him, and then have brought the whole product of him in a Purse to you; for I know you wou'd have spent half of it upon your pious Pleasures, have hoarded up the other half, and given the remainder in Charities to the Poor.
And what's become of my other Slave? Thou hast sold him too I have a villainous suspicion.
I know you have, my Lord; but while I was managing this young robustous Fellow, that old Spark who was nothing but Skin and Bone, and by consequence, very nimble, slipt through my fingers like an Eel, for there was no hold fast of him, and ran away to buy himself a new Master.
Follow me home, Sirrah:
I shall remember you some other time.
I never doubted your Lordships memory, for an ill turn: And I shall remember him too in the next rising of the Mobile, for this act of Resumption; and more especially for the Ghostly Counsel he gave me before the Emperor, to have hang'd my self in silence, to have sav'd his Reverence. The [Page 20] best on't is, I am beforehand with him, for selling one of his Slaves twice over.—And if he had not come just in the nick, I might have pocketed up t'other: For what should a poor Man do, that gets his living by hard labor, but pray for bad times when he may get it easily. O, for some incomparable Tumult! Then shou'd I naturally wish, that the beaten Party might prevail, because we have plundered t'other side already, and there's nothing more to get of 'em.
ACT II.
Scene 1. Suppos'd to be a terrace Walk, on the side of the Castle of Alcazar.
AND thinkest thou not it was discovered?
I hope they wou'd not.
Then thou doubt'st they wou'd?
To whom?
No more: if I suspected thee — I wou'd.
I thank your kindness: Guilt had almost lost me!
They must be trampled out.
But first be known.
Torture shall force it from 'em.
You wou'd not put a Nation to the rack?
Yes, the whole World; so I be safe, I care not.
I like this well: 'Tis wholesom wickedness.
He'll tell you more.
This goes beyond the mark.
He speaks but reason.
I laugh at that Command.
You must do more than see; serve, and respect him.
Indeed you do.
And yet enjoyn'd my Service, and Attendance?
That thought escap'd me.
What means this Riddle?
Hold and let me think.
Well; and he trusts you too.
Consider well what I have done for you.
Consider thou what thou woud'st have me do.
You've too much honour for a Renegade.
Let me embrace thee.
Brave and honest.
In spight of thy Temptations.
Was ever Man so ruin'd by himself!
And thou hast cause.
I'm calm again; thou canst not marry me.
'Tis late to joyn, when we must part so soon.
Old venerable Alvarez! — (sighing.)
But why that sigh in naming that good Man?
Scene 2. Suppos'd a Garden; with Lodging Rooms behind it; or on the sides.
ANd how do you like him, look upon him well; he's a personable Fellow of a Christian Dog. Now I think you are fitted, for a Gardiner: Ha what say'st thou Johayma?
He may make a shift to sow lettice, raise Melons, and water a Garden plat.
But otherwise a very filthy Fellow; how odiously he smells of his Country garlike! fugh, how he stinks of Spain.
Why honey-bird I bought him a purpose for thee; didst not thou say thou long'dst for a Christian Slave?
Ah, but the sight of that loathsom creature has almost cur'd me; And how can I tell that he's a Christian? and he were well search'd he may prove a Jew for ought I know.
And besides I have always long'd for an Eunuch; for they say that's a Civil Creature, and almost as harmless as your self Husband: speak fellow, are not you such a kind of peaceable thing?
I was never taken for one in my own Country; and not very peaceable neither, when I am well provok'd.
To your Occupation Dog; bind up the Jessamines in yond Arbor, and handle your pruning knife with dexterity; tightly I say, go tightly to your business; you have cost me much; and must earn it in your work; here's plentiful provision for you, rascal, sallating in the Garden, and water in the tanck, and on Holydays the licking of a platter of Rice, when you deserve it.
What have you been bred up to Sirrah, and what can you perform to recommend you to my service?
Why Madam, I can perform as much as any Man, in a fair Ladies Service.
[Page 40]I can play upon the Flute, and Sing; I can carry your Umbrella, and fan your Ladyship, and cool you when you are too hot: in fine, no Service either by day or by night shall come amiss to me; and besides am of so quick an apprehension, that you need but wink upon me at any time, to make me understand my duty.
The Whelp may come to something in time, when I have enter'd him into his business.
A very malapert Cur, I can tell him that; I do not like his fawning, you must be taught your distance Sirrah.
He ha's deserv'd it I confess; but for once let his ignorance plead his pardon; we must not discourage a beginner. Your Reverence has taught us Charity ev'n to Birds and Beasts: here you filthy brute you: — take this little Alms, to buy you plaisters.
Money and a Love pinch in the inside of my palm into the bargain.
Sir, my Lord Benducar is coming to wait on you, and is already at the Palace Gate.
Come in Johayma, regulate the rest of my Wives and Concubines, and leave the Fellow to his work.
Look how stupidly he stares about him, like a Calf new come into the World: I shall teach you Sirrah to know your business, a little better. — this way you awkard rascal, here lyes the Arbour, must I be showing you eternally?
Come away Minion; you shall show him nothing.
I'll but bring him into the Arbor, where a Rose-tree and a Myrtle are just falling for want of a prop; if they were bound together they wou'd help to keep up one another: — He's a raw Gardiner, and 'tis but Charity to teach him.
No more deeds of Charity to day; come in, or I shall think you a little better dispos'd than I cou'd wish you.
Well, go before, I will follow my Pastor.
So you may cast a sheeps eye behind you: In before me. And you, sawciness, mind your pruning knife; or I may chance to use it for you.
Thank you for that; but I am in no such hast to be made a Musulman. For his Wedlock, with all her haughtiness, I find her coming. How far a Christian shou'd resist, I partly know; but how far a lewd young Christian can resist is another question. She's tolerable, and I am a poor Stranger, far from better Friends, and in a bodily necessity: Now have I a strange temptation to try what other Females are belonging to this Family: I am not far from the Womens apartment I am sure; and if these Birds are within distance, here's that will chuckle 'em together.
If there be variety of Moors flesh in this Holy Market 'twere madness to lay out all my money upon the first bargain.
Ay there's an Apparition! This is a Morsel worthy of a Mufti; this is the relishing bit in secret; this is the Mystery of his Alcoran, that must be reserv'd from the knowledg of the profane Vulgar. This is his Holyday Devotion; see, she beckons too. —
Come a little nearer and speak softly.
I come, I come I warrant thee; the least twinckle had brought me to thee; such another kind syllable or two, wou'd turn me to a Meteor and draw me up to thee.
I dare not speak, for fear of being over-heard; but if you think my Person worth your hazard, and can deserve my love — the rest this Note shall tell you — (throws down a handkerchief.) No more, my heart goes with you.
O thou pretty little heart; art thou flown hither, I'll keep it warm I warrant it, and brood upon it in the newnest: but now for my Treasure trove, that's wrapt up in the handkerchief: No peeping here, though I long to be spelling her Arabick scrawls and pot-hooks. But I must carry off my prize, as Robbers do; and not think of sharing the booty, before I am free from danger, and out of eye-shot from the other Windows. If her wit be as poynant as her Eyes, I am a double Slave. Our Northern Beauties are meer dough to these: Insipid white Earth, meer Tobaccopipe-clay; With no more Soul and Motion in 'em, than a Fly in Winter.
ACT. III.
Scene 1. A Terrace-walk; or some other publick place in the Castle of Alcazar.
Have patience till I clear it.
Most sure he ought not.
Dispatch; what saw he?
Hell confound 'em!
For both.
Disgrace, and Death, and Avarice have lost him!
Two things I humbly offer to your prudence.
Be brief; but let not either thwart my love.
I had not time.
You talk in Clouds, explain your meaning, Sir.
Affrighted?
Yes, astonish'd, and confounded.
Thou hast not broke my trust repos'd in thee?
Impos'd, but not receiv'd: Take back that falsehood.
Thou art not marry'd to Almeyda?
Yes.
And own'st the usurpation of my Love?
Thou wilt not dare to break what Heav'n has joyn'd?
Farewel, my life's not worth another word.
Perform your Orders.
Then Prayers are vain as Curses.
I hear Men call thee Dorax.
Silence became me then.
Yet we may talk hereafter.
A King and thou can never have a reck'ning.
I'm still without thy meaning but I thank thee.
Thank me when I ask thanks; thank me with that.
Such surly kindness did I never see!
That's done with ease, I speak him dead: proceed.
Preach thou that doctrine.
Why speaks not Dorax?
No more; what ere he said was by Command.
Trust my revenge; be sure I wish him dead.
Choak in that threat: I can say Or, as loud.
Expect an answer worthy of that Message.
Do't; 'tis left to thee.
Yet more; but clear your brow; for he observes.
I'm sure I meant it well.
Scene 2. Is a Night Scene of the Mufti 's Garden where an Arbour is discover'd.
SHE names her self Morayma; the Mufti's only Daughter, and a Virgin! This is the time and place that she appointed in her letter, yet she comes not. Why thou sweet delicious Creature, why to torture me with thy delay! dar'st thou be false to thy Assignation? What, in the cool and silence of the night, and to a new Lover? Pox on the Hypocrite thy Father, for instructing thee so little in the sweetest point of his Religion. Hark, I hear the rustling of her Silk Mantle. Now she comes; now she comes; no, hang't, that was but the whistling of the wind through the Orange Trees. Now again, I hear the pit a pat of a pretty foot through the dark Alley: No, 'tis the Son of a Mare that's broken loose and munching upon the Melons: — Oh the misery of an expecting Lover! Well I'll e'en despair, go into my Arbour, and try to sleep; in a dream I shall enjoy her in despight of her.
Thus far my love has carry'd me, almost without my knowledg whither I was going: Shall I go on, shall I discover my self! — What an injury am I doing to my old Husband! — Yet what injury, since he's old, and has three Wives and six Concubines besides me! 'Tis but stealing my own Tythe from him.
At last 'tis she: this is no illusion I am sure; 'tis a true Shedevil of Flesh and Blood; and she cou'd never have taken a fitter time to tempt me. —
Yes, well enough I thank nature.
And I am yet neither old nor ugly: sure he will not refuse me.
No, thou mayst pawn thy Maiden-head upon't he wonnot.
The Mufti wou'd feast himself upon other Women, and keep me fasting.
O, the holy Curmudgeon!
Wou'd Preach abstinence, and practice luxury! but I thank my Stars, I have edify'd more by his example than his precept.
Most divinely argu'd; she's the best Casuist in all Affrick.
I can hold no longer from embracing thee my dear Morayma: the old unconscionable Whorson thy Father, cou'd he expect cold chastity from a Child of his begetting?
What nonsense do you talk? do you take me for the Mufti's Daughter?
Why are you not Madam?
I find you had an appointment with Morayma.
By all that's good, the nauseous Wife.
What you are confounded and stand mute?
Somewhat nonplust I confess; to hear you deny your name so positively; why are not you Morayma the Mufti's Daughter? Did not I see you with him, did not he present me to you? Were you not so charitable as to give me Money? Ay and to tread upon my foot, and squeeze my hand too, if I may be so bold to remember you of past favours.
And you see I am come to make 'em good, but I am neither Morayma nor the Mufti's Daughter.
Nay, I know not that: but I am sure he is old enough to be your Father: and either Father, or Reverend Father, I heard you call him.
Once again, how came you to name Morayma?
Another damn'd mistake of mine: For, asking one of my fellow Slaves, who were the chief Ladies about the house; he answer'd me Morayma and Johayma; but she it seems is his Daughter, with a Pox to her, and you are his beloved Wife.
Say your beloved Mistris, if you please; for that's the Title I desire. This Moon-shine grows offensive to my Eyes, come, shall we walk into the Arbor? There we may rectifie all mistakes.
That's close and dark.
And are those faults to Lovers?
But there I cannot please my self, with the sight of your beauty.
Perhaps you may do better.
But there's not a breath of air stirring.
The breath of Lovers is the sweetest air; but you are fearful.
The best way to avoid it, is to retire, where we may not be discover'd.
Where lodges your Husband?
Just against the face of this open Walk.
Then he has seen us already, for ought I know.
You make so many Difficulties, I fear I am displeasing to you.
If Morayma comes and takes me in the Arbor with her, I have made a fine exchange of that Diamond for this Pebble.
You are much fall'n off, let me tell you, from the fury of your first embrace.
I confess, I was somewhat too furious at first, but you will forgive the transport of my passion; now I have consider'd it better, I have a qualm of Conscience.
Of Conscience! Why, what has Conscience to do with two young Lovers that have opportunity?
Why truly Conscience is something to blame for interposing in our matters: But how can I help it, if I have a Scruple to betray my Master?
There must be something more in it; for your Conscience was very quiet when you took me for Morayma.
I grant you, Madam, when I took you for his Daughter: For then I might have made you an honorable amends by Marriage.
You Christians are such peeking Sinners, you tremble at a Shadow in the Moon-shine.
And you Affricans are such Termagants, you stop at nothing. I must be plain with you, you are married, and to a Holy Man, the Head of your Religion: Go back to your Chamber, go back, I say, and consider of it for this night; as I will do on my part: I will be true to you, and invent all the Arguments I can to comply with you; and who knows, but at our next meeting, the sweet Devil may have more power over me: I am true flesh and blood, I can tell you that for your comfort.
Flesh without blood I think thou art; or if any, 'tis as cold as that of Fishes. But I'll teach thee, to thy cost, what Vengeance is in store for refusing a Lady, who has offer'd thee her Love: —Help, Help, there; will no body come to my assistance?
What do you mean, Madam, for Heaven's sake peace; your Husband will hear you; think of your own danger, if you will not think of mine.
Ingrateful Wretch, thou deserv'st no pity: Help, Help, Husband, or I shall be ravish'd: The Villain will be too strong for me. Help, help, for pity of a poor distressed Creature.
Then I have nothing but impudence to assist me: I must drown her clamor what e'er comes on't.
O thou Villain, what horrible impiety art thou committing? What ravishing the Wife of my Bosom? Take him [Page 63] away, ganch him, impale him, rid the World of such a Monster.
Mercy, dear Master, Mercy: Hear me first, and after, if I have deserved hanging, spare me not: What have you seen to provoke you to this cruelty?
I have heard the out-crys of my Wife; the bleatings of the poor innocent Lamb: Seen nothing, say'st thou? If I see the Lamb lye bleeding, and the Butcher by her with his Knife drawn and bloody, is not that evidence sufficient of the Murther? I come too late, and the Execution is already done.
Pray think in reason, Sir, is a Man to be put to death for a similitude? No Violence has been committed; none intended: The Lamb's alive; and if I durst tell you so, no more a Lamb than I am a Butcher.
How's that, Villain, dar'st thou accuse me?
Be patient Madam, and speak but truth, and I'll do any thing to serve you: I say again, and swear it too, I'll do any thing to serve you.
I understand him; but I fear, 'tis now too late to save him:—Pray hear him speak, Husband; perhaps he may say something for himself; I know not.
Speak thou, has he not violated my Bed and thy Honor?
I forgive him freely; for he has done nothing: What he will do hereafter, to make me satisfaction, himself best knows.
Any thing, any thing, sweet Madam: I shall refuse no drudgery.
But, did he mean no mischief? Was he endeavouring nothing?
In my Conscience, I begin to doubt he did not.
'Tis impossible: Then what meant all those out-crys?
I heard Musick in the Garden, and at an unseasonable time of night; and I stole softly out of my Bed, as imagining it might be he.
How's that Johayma? Imagining it was he, and yet you went?
Why not, my Lord? Am not I the Mistris of the Family? And is it not my place to see good Orders kept in it? I thought he might have allur'd some of the Shee-slaves to him; and was resolv'd to prevent what might have been betwixt him and them; when on the sudden he rush'd out upon me, caught me in his arms, with such a fury.—
Mistaking me, no doubt, for one of his fellow Slaves: With that, affrighted as I was, I discover'd my self, and cry'd aloud: But as soon as ever he knew me, the Villain let me go, and I must needs say, he started back, as if I were some Serpent; and was more afraid of me than I of him.
O thou corrupter of my Family, that's cause enough of death; once again, away with him.
What, for an intended Trespass? No harm has been done, whatever may be. He cost you five hundred Crowns I take it.—
Thou say'st true, a very considerable Sum: He shall not dye, tho he had committed folly with a Slave; 'tis too much to lose by him.
My only fault has ever been to love playing in the dark, and the more she cry'd, the more I play'd; that it might be seen I intended nothing to her.
To your Kennel, Sirrah, mortifie your flesh, and consider in whose Family you are.
And one thing more; remember from henceforth to obey better.
For all her smoothness, I am not quite cur'd of my Jealousie; but I have thought of a way that will clear my doubts.
I am mortify'd sufficiently already, without the help of his ghostly Counsel. Fear of Death has gone farther with me in two Minutes, than my Conscience wou'd have gone in two Months. I find my self in a very dejected condition▪ all over me; poor Sin lyes dormant, Concupiscence is retir'd to his winter [Page 65] quarters; and if Morayma shou'd now appear, I say no more, but alas for her and me!
And if Morayma shou'd appear, as she does appear, alas you say for her and you!
Art thou there, my sweet temptation! my Eyes, my Life, my Soul, my all!
A mighty Complement, when all these, by your own Confession, are just nothing.
Nothing, till thou cam'st to new create me; thou dost not know the power of thy own Charms: let me embrace thee, and thou shalt see how quickly I can turn wicked.
Nay, if you are so dangerous, 'tis best keeping you at a distance; I have no mind to warm a frozen Snake in my bosom; he may chance to recover, and sting me for my pains.
Consider what I have suffer'd for thy sake already; and make me some amends: two disappointments in a night, O cruel Creature!
And you may thank your self for both: I came eagerly to the Charge, before my time, through the back walk behind the Arbour; and you, like a fresh-water Soldier, stood guarding the Pass before: if you miss'd the Enemy, you may thank your own dulness.
Nay, if you will be using stratagems, you shall give me leave to make use of my advantages, now I have you in my power: we are fairly met; I'll try it out, and give no quarter.
By your favour, Sir, we meet upon treaty now, and not upon defiance.
If that be all, you shall have Carte blanche immediately; for I long to be ratifying.
No, now I think on't, you are already enter'd into Articles with my Enemy Johayma: Any thing to serve you Madam; I shall refuse no drudgery: whose words were those [Page 66] Gentleman? was that like a Cavalier of honour?
Not very heroick; but self preservation is a point above Honour and Religion too — Antonio was a Rogue I must confess; but you must give me leave to love him.
To beg your life so basely; and to present your Sword to your Enemy; Oh Recreant!
If I had died honourably, my fame indeed wou'd have sounded loud, but I shou'd never have heard the blast: Come, don't make your self worse natur'd than you are: to save my life, you wou'd be content I shou'd promise any thing.
Yes, if I were sure you wou'd perform nothing.
Can you suspect I wou'd leave you for Johayma?
No; but I can expect you wou'd have both of us: Love is covetous, I must have all of you; heart for heart is an equal truck. In short, I am younger; I think handsomer; and am sure I love you better, she has been my step-mother these fifteen years: you think that's her face you see, but 'tis only a dawb'd Vizard: she wears an Armour of proof upon't: an inch thick of Paint, besides the Wash: her Face is so fortifi'd that you can make no approaches to it, without a Shovel. But for her constancy, I can tell you for your comfort, she will love till death, I mean till yours: for when she has worn you out, she will certainly dispatch you to another world, for fear of telling tales; as she has already serv'd three Slaves, your Predecessors of happy memory in her favours. She has made my pious Father a three pil'd Cuckold to my knowledg: and now she wou'd be robbing me of my single Sheep too.
Prithee prevent her then; and at least take the shearing of me first.
No; I'll have a Butchers Pen'worth of you; first secure the Carcass, and then take the fleece into the bargain.
Why sure, you did not put your self and me to all this trouble, for a dry come off: by this hand — (taking it:)
Which you shall never touch; but upon better assurances than you imagine.
I'll marry thee, and make a Christian of thee thou pretty damn'd Infidel.
I mean you shall: but no earnest, till the bargain be made before witness: there's love enough to be had, and as much as [Page 67] you can turn you to; never doubt it, but all upon honourable terms.
I vow and swear by Love; and he's a Deity in all Religions.
But never to be trusted in any: he has another name too, of a worse sound. Shall I trust an Oath, when I see your Eyes languishing, your Cheeks flushing, and can hear your heart throbbing? no, I'll not come near you: He's a foolish Physitian who will feel the pulse of a Patient, that has the Plague-spots upon him.
Did one ever hear a little Moppet, argue so perversly against so good a Cause! Come, prithee, let me anticipate a little of my Revenue.
You wou'd feign be fingring your Rents before-hand; but that makes a man an ill Husband ever after. Consider, Marriage is a painful Vocation, as you shall prove it, manage your Incomes as thriftily as you can, you shall find a hard task on't, to make even at the years end, and yet to live decently.
I came with a Christian intention, to revenge my self upon thy Father; for being the head of a false Religion.
And so you shall; I offer you his Daughter for your Second: but since you are so pressing, meet me under my Window, to morrow night, body for body, about this hour; I'll slip down out of my Lodging, and bring my Father in my hand.
How, thy Father!
I mean all that's good of him; his Pearls, and Jewels, his whole contents, his heart, and Soul; as much as ever I can carry. I'll leave him his Alchoran; that's revenue enough for him: every page of it is Gold and Diamonds. He has the turn of an Eye, a demure Smile, and a godly Cant, that are worth Millions to him. I forgot to tell you, that I will have a Slave prepar'd at the Postern gate, with two Horses ready sadled: no more, for I fear, I may be miss'd; and think I hear 'em calling me, — if you have constancy and Courage. —
Never doubt it: and love, in abundance to wander with thee all the World over.
A heavy burden Heaven knows! but we must pray for patience to support it.
Besides a willing Titt that will venture her Corps with you:— Come, I know you long to have a parting blow with me; and therefore to shew I am in Charity —
Once more, for pity; that I may keep the flavour upon my lips till we meet again.
No; frequent Charities make bold Beggars: and besides I have learnt of a Falconer, never to feed up a Hawk when I wou'd have him fly: that's enough — but if you will be nibling, here's a hand to stay your stomach.
ACT IV.
Scene 1. Benducar 's Pallace in the Castle of Alcazar.
Night wasts apace: when, when will he appear?
He only waits your Summons.
All but the Mufti.
We must go on without him.
The People, are they rais'd?
Then I'm at ease.
Yet better.
Ha! What's that grizly Fellow that attends thee?
Why ask you Sir?
Command my Sword and Life.
A Night Scene of the Mufti's Garden.
This 'tis to have a sound Head-piece; by this I h [...] got to be chief of my Religion; that is, honestly speaking [...] teach others what I neither know nor believe my self. F [...] [Page 76] what's Mahomet to me, but that I get by him? Now for my Policy of this night: I have mew'd up my suspected Spouse in her Chamber. No more Embassies to that lusty young Stallion of a Gardiner. Next my habit of a Slave; I have made my self as like him as I can, all but his youth and vigor; which when I had, I pass'd my time as well as any of my Holy Predecessors. Now walking under the Windows of my Seraglio, if Johayma look out, she will certainly take me for Antonio, and call to me; and by that I shall know what Concupiscence is working in her; she cannot come down to commit Iniquity, there's my safety; but if she peep, if she put her Nose abroad, there's demonstration of her pious Will: And I'll not make the first precedent for a Church-man to forgive Injuries.
Now I can embrace you with a good Conscience; here are the Pearls and Jewels, here's my Father.
I am indeed thy Father; but how the Devil didst thou know me in this disguise? And what Pearls and Jewels dost thou mean?
What have I done, and what will now become of me!
Art thou mad, Morayma?
I think you'll make me so.
Why, what have I done to thee? Recollect thy self, and speak sense to me.
Then give me leave to tell you, you are the worst of Fathers.
Did I think I had begotten such a Monster? Proceed my dutiful Child, proceed, proceed.
You have been raking together a mass of Wealth, by indirect and wicked means; the Spoils of Orphans are in these Jewels, and the Tears of Widows in these Pearls.
Thou amazest me!
I wou'd do so. This Casket is loaded with your Sins; 'tis the Cargo of Rapines, Simony, and Extortions; the Iniquity of thirty Years Muftiship, converted into Diamonds.
Wou'd some rich rayling Rogue would say as much to me, that I might squeeze his Purse for scandal.
No Sir, you get more by pious Fools than Raylers, when you insinuate into their Families, manage their Fortunes while they live, and beggar their Heirs by getting Legacies when they dye. And do you think I'll be the receiver of your Theft? I discharge my Conscience of it: Here take again your filthy Mammon, and restore it you had best to the true Owners.
I am finely documented by my own Daughter.
And a great credit for me to be so: Do but think how decent a Habit you have on, and how becoming your Function to be disguis'd like a Slave, and eyes-dropping under the Womens Windows, to be saluted, as you deserve it richly, with a Piss-pot: If I had not known you casually by your shambling gate, and a certain reverend awkardness that is natural to all of your Function, here you had been expos'd to the laughter of your own Servants; who have been in search of you through your whole Seraglio, peeping under every Petticoat to find you.
Prithee Child reproach me no more of human Failings; they are but a little of the pitch and spots of the World that are still sticking on me; but I hope to scour 'em out in time: I am better at bottom than thou think'st; I am not the Man thou tak'st me for.
No, to my sorrow Sir you are not.
It was a very odd beginning, tho methought, to see thee come running in upon me with such a warm embrace; prithee what was the meaning of that violent hot Hug?
I am sure I meant nothing by it, but the zeal and affection which I bear to the Man of the World, whom I may love lawfully.
But thou wilt not teach me at this age the nature of a close Embrace?
No indeed; for my Mother in Law complains, that you are past teaching: But if you mistook my innocent Embrace for Sin, I wish heartily it had been given where it wou'd have been more acceptable.
Why, this is as it shou'd be now: Take the Treasure again, it can never be put into better hands.
Yes, to my knowledg but it might. I have confess'd my Soul to you, if you can understand me rightly; I never disobey'd you till this night, and now since through the violence of my Passion, I have been so unfortunate, I humbly beg your pardon, your blessing, and your leave, that upon the first opportunity, I may go for ever from your sight; for Heaven knows, I never desire to see you more.
Thou mak'st me weep at thy unkindness; indeed dear Daughter we will not part.
Indeed dear Daddy but we will.
Why if I have been a little pilfering, or so, I take it bitterly of thee to tell me of it; since it was to make thee rich; and I hope a Man may make bold with his own Soul, without offence to his own Child: Here take the jewels again, take'em I charge thee upon thy Obedience.
Well then, in vertue of Obedience I will take 'em; but on my Soul, I had rather they were in a better hand.
Meaning mine, I know it.
Meaning his whom I love better than my life.
That's me again.
I wou'd have you think so.
How thy good nature works upon me; well I can do no less than venture damning for thee, and I may put fair for it, if the Rabble be order'd to rise to Night.
What do you mean my Dear, to stand talking in this suspicious place, just underneath Johayma's Window? (to the Mufti) You are well met Comerade, I know you are the friend of our flight? are the horses ready at the postern gate?
Antonio, and in disguise! now I begin to smell a rat.
And I another, that out-stinks it; false Morayma, hast thou thus betray'd me to thy Father!
Alas, I was betray'd my self: He came disguis'd like you, and I poor Innocent ran into his hands.
In good time you did so; I laid a trap for a Bitch Fox, and a worse Vermine has caught himself in it: you wou'd fain break loose now, though you left a limb behind you; but I am yet in my own Territories and in call of Company, that's my comfort.
No; I have a trick left to put thee past thy squeeking: I have giv'n thee the quinzey; that ungracious tongue shall Preach no more false Doctrin.
What do you mean? you will not throttle him? consider he's my Father.
Prithee let us provide first for our own safety; if I do not consider him, he will consider us with a vengeance afterwards.
You may threaten him for crying out, but for my sake give him back a little cranny of his Wind-pipe, and some part of Speech.
Not so much as one single Interjection: Come away Father-in-Law, this is no place for Dialogues, when you are in the Mosque you talk by hours, and there no Man must interrupt you; this is but like for like, good Father-in-Law; now I am in the Pulpit 'tis your turn to hold your tongue.
Nay if you will be hanging back, I shall take care you shall hang forward.
T'other way to the Arbour with him; and make hast before we are discover'd.
If I only bind and gag him there, he may commend me hereafter for civil usage; he deserves not so much favour by any action of his life.
Yes, pray bate him one, for begetting your Mistress.
I wou'd, if he had not thought more of thy Mother than of thee; once more come along in silence, my Pythagorean Father-in-Law.
At the Balcony. — A Bird in a Cage may peep at least; though she must not fly; what bustle's there beneath my Window? Antonio by all my hopes, I know him by his habit; but what makes that Woman with him, and a Friend, a Sword drawn, and hasting hence? this is no time for silence: Who's within, call there, where are the Servants, why Omar, Abedin, Hassan and the rest, make hast and run into the Garden; there are Thieves and Villains; arm all the Family, and stop 'em.
O that Schriech Owl at the Window! we shall be pursu'd immediatly; which way shall we take?
'Tis impossible to escape them; for the way to our Horses lyes back again by the House; and then we shall meet 'em full in the teeth; here take these Jewels; thou may'st leap the Walls and get away.
And what will become of thee then poor kind Soul?
I must take my fortune; when you are got safe into your own Country, I hope you will bestow a sigh on the memory of her who lov'd you!
It makes me mad, to think how many a good night will be lost betwixt us! take back thy Jewels; 'tis an empty Casket without thee; besides I shou'd never leap well with the weight of all thy Fathers sins about me, thou and they had been a bargain.
Prithee take 'em, 'twill help me to be reveng'd on him.
No; they'll serve to make thy peace with him.
I hear 'em coming; shift for your self at least; remember I am yours for ever.
And I but the empty shadow of my self without thee! farewel Father-in-Law, that shou'd have been, if I had not been curst in my Mothers belly — Now which way fortune. —
O here's a gate open; but it leads into the Castle; yet I must venture it.
There's the Rabble in a Mutiny; what is the Devil up at Midnight! — however 'tis good herding in a Crowd.
Now, to do things in order, first I seize upon the Bag, and then upon the Baggage: for thou art but my flesh and blood, but these are my Life and Soul.
Then let me follow my flesh and blood, and keep to your self your Life and Soul.
Both or none; come away to durance.
Well, if it must be so, agreed; for I have another trick to play you; and thank your self for what shall follow.
From above. One of them took through the private way into the Castle; follow him be sure, for these are yours already.
Help here quickly Omar Abedin; I have hold on the Villain that stole my jewels; but 'tis a lusty Rogue, and he will prove too strong for me; what, help I say, do you not know your Masters Daughter?
Now if I cry out they will know my voice; and then I am disgrac'd for ever: O thou art a venomous Cockatrice!
Of your own begetting.
What a glorious deliverance have you had Madam from this bloody-minded Christian!
Give me back my Jewels, and carry this notorious Malefactor to be punish'd by my Father.
I'll hunt the other dry-foot.
I long to be handselling his hide, before we bring him to my Master.
Hang him, for an old Covetous Hypocrite: he deserves a worse punishment himself for keeping us so hardly.
Ay, wou'd he were in this Villains place; thus I wou'd lay him on, and thus.
And thus wou'd I revenge my self of my last beating,
Oh, oh, oh!
The Devil's in that supposing Rascal; I can bear no more; and I am the Mufti: Now suppose your selves my Servants, and hold your hands; an anointed halter take you all.
My Master! you will pardon the excess of our zeal for you, Sir, indeed we all took you for a Villain, and so we us'd you.
Ay so I feel you did; my back and sides are abundant testimonies of your zeal. Run Rogues, and bring me back my Jewels, and my Fugitive Daughter: run I say.
Sir, the Castle is in a most terrible combustion; you may hear 'em hither.
'Tis a laudable commotion: The voice of the Mobile is the voice of Heaven. I must retire a little, to strip me of the Slave, and to assume the Mufti; and then I will return: for the piety of the People must be encouraged; that they may help me to recover my Jewels, and my Daughter.
And so at length, as I inform'd you, I escap'd out of his covetous clutches; and now fly to your illustrious feet for my protection.
Thou shalt have it, and now defie the Mufti. 'Tis the first Petition that has been made to me since my exaltation to Tumult; in this second Night of the Month Abib, and in the year of the Hegyra; the Lord knows what year; but 'tis no matter; for when I am settled, the Learned are bound to find it out for me: for I am resolv'd to date my Authority over the Rabble, like other Monarchs.
I have always had a longing to be yours again; though I cou'd not compass it before, and had design'd you a Casket of my Masters jewels too; for I knew the Custom, and wou'd not have appear'd before a Great Person, as you are, without a present: But he has defrauded my good intentions, and basely robb'd you of 'em, 'tis a prize worth a Million of Crowns, and you carry your Letters of mark about you.
I shall make bold with his Treasure, for the support of my New Government.
What do these vile Ragga-muffins so near our Person? your savour is offensive to us; bear back there, and make room for honest Men to approach us; these fools and knaves are always impudently [Page 84] crowding next to Princes, and keeping off the more deserving, bear back I say.
That's dutifully done; now shout to show your Loyalty.
Hear'st thou that, Slave Antonio? these obstreperous Villains shout, and know not for what they make a noise. You shall see me manage 'em, that you may judge what ignorant Beasts they are. For whom do you shout now? who's to Live and Reign? tell me that the wisest of you.
Even who you please Captain.
La you there; I told you so.
We are not bound to know who is to Live and Reign; our business is only to rise upon command, and plunder.
Ay, the Richest of both Parties; for they are our Enemies.
This last Fellow is a little more sensible than the rest; he has enter'd somewhat into the merits of the Cause.
If a poor Man may speak his mind, I think, Captain, that your self are the fittest to Live and Reign, I mean not over, but next and immediatly under the People; and thereupon I say, A Mustafa, A Mustafa.
A Mustafa, A Mustafa.
I must confess the sound is pleasing, and tickles the ears of my Ambition; but alas good People, it must not be: I am contented to be a poor simple Vice-Roy; but Prince Muley-Zeydan is to be the Man: I shall take care to instruct him in the arts of Government; and in his duty to us all: and therefore mark my Cry: A Muley-Zeydan, A Muley-Zeydan.
A Muley-Zeydan, A Muley-Zeydan.
You see Slave Antonio, what I might have been.
I observe your Modesty.
But for a foolish promise I made once to my Lord Benducar, to set up any one he pleas'd.
Here's the Old Hypocrite again; now stand your ground, and bate him not an inch. Remember the Jewels, the Rich and Glorious Jewels; they are destin'd to be yours, by virtue of Prerogative.
Let me alone to pick a quarrel, I have an old grudge to him upon thy account.
Good People, here you are met together.
Ay, we know that without your telling, but why are we met together, Doctor? for that's it which no body here can tell.
Why to see one another in the Dark; and to make Holy-day at Midnight.
You are met, as becomes good Musulmen; to settle the Nation; for I must tell you, that though your Tyrant is a lawful Emperor, yet your lawful Emperor is but a Tyrant.
What stuff he talks!
'Tis excellent fine matter indeed, Slave Antonio; he has a rare tongue; Oh, he wou'd move a Rock of Elephant!
Nay that's true on t'other side: the Jewels must be mine; but he has a pure fine way of talking; my Conscience goes along with him, but the Jewels have set my heart against him.
That your Emperor is a Tyrant is most manifest; for you were born to be Turks, but he has play'd the Turk with you; and is taking your Religion away.
We find that in our decay of Trade; I have seen for these hunder'd years, that Religion and Trade always go together.
He is now upon the point of Marrying himself, without your Sovereign consent; and what are the effects of Marriage?
A scoulding, domineering Wife, if she prove honest; and if a Whore, a fine gawdy Minx, that robs our Counters every Night, and then goes out, and spends it upon our Cuckold-makers.
No, the natural effects of Marriage are Children: Now on whom wou'd he beget these Children? Even upon a Christian! Oh horrible; how can you believe me, though I am ready to swear it upon the Alcoran! Yes, true Believers, you may believe me, that he is going to beget a Race of Misbelievers.
That's fine, in earnest; I cannot forbear hearkening to his enchanting Tongue.
Ay, Ay, the Jewels! Now again I hate him; but yet my Conscience makes me listen to him.
Therefore to conclude all, Believers, pluck up your Hearts, and pluck down the Tyrant: Remember the Courage of your Ancestors; remember the Majesty of the People; remember your selves, your Wives and Children; and lastly, above all, remember your Religion, and our holy Mahomet; all these require your timous assistance; shall I say they beg it? No, they claim it of you, by all the nearest and dearest Tyes of these three P's Self-Preservation, our Property, and our Prophet. Now answer me with an unanimous chearful Cry, and follow me, who am your Leader to a glorious Deliverance.
Now you see what comes of your foolish Qualms of Conscience: The Jewels are lost, and they are all leaving you.
What am I forsaken of my Subjects? Wou'd the Rogue purloin my liege People from me! I charge you in my own Name come back ye Deserters; and hear me speak.
What will he come with his Balderdash, after the Mufti's eloquent Oration?
He's our Captain, lawfully pick'd up, and elected upon a Stall; we will hear him.
Speak Captain, for we will hear you.
Do you remember the glorious Rapines and Robberies you have committed? Your breaking open and gutting of Houses, your rummaging of Cellars, your demolishing of Christian Temples, and bearing off in triumph the superstitious Plate and Pictures, the Ornaments of their wicked Altars, when all rich Moveables were sentenc'd for idolatrous, and all that was idolatrous was seiz'd? Answer first for your remembrance, of all these sweetnesses of Mutiny; for upon those Grounds I shall proceed.
Yes we do remember, we do remember.
Then make much of your retentive Faculties. And who led you to those Hony-Combs? Your Mufti? No, Believers, he only preach'd you up to it; but durst not lead you; he was but your Counsellor, but I was your Captain; he only lood you, but 'twas I that led you.
That's true, that's true.
There you were with him for his Figures.
I think I was, Slave Antonio. Alas I was ignorant of my own Talent.—Say then, Believers, will you have a Captain for your Mufti? Or a Mufti for your Captain? And further to instruct you how to Cry, Will you have a Mufti, or no Mufti?
No Mufti, no Mufti.
Do I then spet upon your Faces? Do I discourage Rebellion, Mutiny, Rapine, and Plundering? You may think I do, Believers, but Heaven forbid: No, I encourage you to all these laudable Undertakings; you shall plunder, you shall pull down the Government; but you shall do this upon my Authority, and not by his wicked Instigation.
Nay, when his turn is serv'd, he may preach up Loyalty again, and Restitution, that he might have another Snack among us.
He may indeed; for 'tis but his saying 'tis Sin, and then we must restore; and therefore I wou'd have a new Religion, [Page 96] where half the Commandments shou'd be taken away, the rest mollifi'd and there shou'd be little or no Sin remaining.
Another Religion, a new Religion, another Religion.
And that may easily be done, with the help of a little Inspiration: For I must tell you, I have a Pigeon at home, of Mahomet's own breed; and when I have learnt her to pick Pease out of my Ear, rest satisfi'd 'till then, and you shall have another. But now I think on't, I am inspir'd already, that 'tis no Sin to depose the Mufti.
And good reason; for when Kings and Queens are to be discarded, what shou'd Knaves do any longer in the pack?
He is depos'd, he is depos'd, he is depos'd.
Nay, if he and his Clergy will needs be preaching up Rebellion, and giving us their Blessing, 'tis but justice they shou'd have the first fruits of it.—Slave Antonio, take him into custody; and dost thou hear, Boy, be sure to secure the little transitory Box of Jewels: If he be obstinate, put a civil Question to him upon the Rack, and he squeaks I warrant him.
Come my quondam Master, you and I must change Qualities.
I hope you will not be so barbarous to torture me, we may preach Suffering to others, but alas, holy Flesh is too well pamper'd to endure Martyrdom.
Now, late Mufti, not forgetting my first Quarrel to you, we will enter our selves with the Plunder of your Palace: 'tis good to sanctifie a Work and begin a God's name.
Our Prophet let the Devil alone with the last Mob.
But he takes care of this himself.
Not so much hast Masters; come back again: you are so bent upon mischief, that you take a man upon the first word of Plunder. Here's a sight for you: the Emperour is come upon his head to visit you.
Most Noble Emperour, now I hope you will not hit us in the teeth, that we have pull'd you down, for we can tell you to your face, that we have exalted you.
In the name of the People we command you speak: But that pretty Lady shall speak first; for we have taken somewhat of a likeing to her Person, be not afraid Lady to speak to these rude Ragga-muffians: there's nothing shall offend you, unless it be their stink, and please you.
How she assumes! I like not this beginning.
She might have pass'd over all your petty businesses and no great matter: But the Raising of my Rabble is an Exploit of consequence; and not to be mumbled up in silence for all her pertness.
Think'st thou so Slave Antonio?
Most certainly Sir; and you cannot in honour but protect her, Now look to your hits, and make your fortune.
Methought indeed she cast a kind leer towards me: Our Prophet was but just such another Scoundrell as I am, till he rais'd himself to power, and consequently to Holyness, by marrying his masters Widow: I am resolved I'le put forward for my self: for why should I be my Lord Benducars Fool and Slave, when I may be my own fool and his Master?
Take her into possession, Mustafa.
That's better Counsell than you meant it: Yes I do take her into possession, and into protection too: what say you, Masters, will you stand by me?
One and all; One and all.
Alas the poor Gentleman has gotten a cold, with a Sermon of two hours long, and a prayer of four: and besides, if he durst speak, mankind is grown wiser at this time of day, than to cut one anothers throats about Religion. Our Mufti is a Green coat, and the Christians is a black coat; and we must wisely go together by the ears, whether green or black shall sweep our spoils.
We will have a fair Tryall of Skill for't, I can tell him that. When we have dispatch'd with Muley Zeydan, your Lordship shall march in equall proportions of your body, to the four gates of the City: and every Tower shall have a Quarter of you,
My Sebastian! My Almeyda!
Do you then live?
And live to love thee ever.
I suppose you may put it up without offence to any man here present? For my part, I have been Loyall to my Soveraign Lady: though that Villain Benducar, and that Hypocrite the Mufti, would have corrupted me; but if those two scape publick Justice, then I and all my late honest Subjects here, deserve hanging.
You are fall'n into good hands, Father in law; your sparkling Jewells, and Morayma's eyes may prove a better bail than you deserve.
The best that can come of me, in this condition; is to have my life begg'd first, and then to be begg'd for a Fool afterwards.
Now do you know me?
Thou shouldst be Alonzo.
How Tyrant?
Tyrant.
All false as Hell or thou.
My Services deserv'd thou should'st revoke it.
O patience Heaven!
His Ghost! then is my hated Rivall dead?
He's dead: make hast, and thou mayst yet o're take him.
I never can forgive him such a death!
Yet, twice this day I ow'd my life to Dorax.
I sav'd you but to kill you; there's my grief.
ACT V. The Scene is a Room of State.
Here's a Lady at the door, that bids me tell you, she is come to make an end of the game, that was broken off betwixt you.
What manner of Woman is she? Does she not want two of the four Elements? has she any thing about her but ayr and fire?
Truly, she flys about the room, as if she had wings instead of legs; I believe she's just turning into a bird: a house-bird I warrant her: and so hasty to fly to you, that, rather than fail of entrance, she wou'd come tumbling down the Chimney, like a Swallow.
Look if she be not here already: what, no deniall it seems will serve your turn? why! thou little dun, is thy debt so pressing?
Little Devill if you please: your lease is out, good Mr. Conjurer; and I am come to fetch you Soul and Body; not an hour of lewdness longer in this world for you.
Where the Devill hast thou been? and how the Devill didst thou find me here?
I follow'd you into the Castle yard: but there was nothing but Tumult, and Confusion: and I was bodily afraid of being pick'd up by some of the Rabble▪ considering I had a double charge about me,—my Jewells & my Mayden-head.
Both of 'em intended for my Worships sole use and Property.
And what was poor little I among 'em all?
Not a mouthfull a piece: 'twas too much odds in Conscience.
So seeking for shelter, I naturally ran to the old place [Page 113] of Assignation, the Garden-house: where for want of instinct, you did not follow me.
Well for thy Comfort, I have secur'd thy Father; and I hope thou hast secur'd his effects for us.
Yes truly I had the prudent foresight to consider that when we grow old, and weary of Solacing one another, we might have, at least, wherewithall to make merry with the World; and take up with a worse pleasure of eating and drinking, when we were disabled for a better.
Thy fortune will be e'en too good for thee: for thou art going into the Country of Serenades, and Gallantries; where thy street will be haunted every Night, with thy foolish Lovers, and my Rivals; who will be sighing, and singing under thy inexorable windows, lamentable ditties, and call thee Cruell, & Goddess, & Moon, and Stars, and all the Poeticall names of wicked rhyme: while thou and I, are minding our bus'ness, and jogging on, and laughing at 'em; at leisure-minuts, which will be very few, take that by way of threatning.
I am afraid you are not very valiant, that you huff so much before hand: but, they say, your Churches are fine places for Love-devotion: many a she-Saint is there worship'd.
Temples are there, as they are in all other Countries, good conveniences for dumb enterviews: I hear the Protestants an't much reform'd in that point neither; for their Sectaries call [...]heir Churches by the naturall name of Meeting-houses. therefore I warn thee in good time, not more of devotion than needs must, good future Spowse; and allways in a veile; for those eyes of thine are damn'd enemies to mortification.
The best thing I have heard of Christendom, is that we women are allow'd the priviledge of having Souls; and I assure you, I shall make bold to bestow mine, upon some Lover, when ever you begin to go astray, and, if I find no Convenience in a Church, a private Chamber will serve the turn.
When that day comes, I must take my revenge and turn Gardener again: for I find I am much given to Planting.
But take heed, in the mean time, that some young Antonio does not spring-up in your own Family; as false as his Father, though of another mans planting.
How fares our Royall Pris'ner, Muley Zeydan?
You shou'd exact 'em.
I wish she may not wod to bloud more near.
What if I make her mine?
Now Hea'vn forbid!
The fairest of her Sex.
The pride of Nature.
Have you forgot?
Yes, he was just, and therefore cou'd not change.
'Tis a base wrong thou offer'st to the Dead.
Not Hea'vn and Earth combin'd, can hinder it.
Thou ly'st Impostor, Perjur'd Fiend thou ly'st.
Out, base Impostor, I abhor thy praise.
Away; you all combine to make me wretched.
Hea'vn cannot be more true, than this is false.
Now life, or death.
And either thine, or ours.
For Heav'ns sake hold, and recollect your mind.
Heav'n comfort you!
What to destroy himself, O Parricide!
Let him be Guilty of his own death if he pleases: for I'le not be guilty of mine; by holding him.
To make the trifle death, a thing of moment!
Not wilfull neither.
True; if I liv'd.
I said so, if you liv'd.
What, more than death?
To expiate this, can I do more then dye?
How, damn'd?
Why is that News?
O, horrour! horrour!
Mean you to turn an Anchoret?
You may repent, and wish your Crown too late.
This is too cruell!
But if a wish shou'd come a thwart our prayers!
It wou'd do well to curb it: if we cou'd
To love, and be belov'd, and yet be wretched!
'Tis pennance too Voluptuous, for my Crime.
We swear to keep it secret.