The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 17

_Luc._ I have nothing to pay for so great a Favour, but such a Love as cannot but be great, since at first sight of that sweet Face and Shape it made me your absolute Captive.

_Blunt._ Kind heart, how prettily she talks! Egad I'll show her Husband a _Spanish_ Trick; send him out of the World, and marry her: she's d.a.m.nably in love with me, and will ne'er mind Settlements, and so there's that say'd.

[Aside.

_Luc._ Well, Sir, I'll go and undress me, and be with you instantly.

_Blunt._ Make haste then, for 'dsheartlikins, dear Soul, thou canst not guess at the pain of a longing Lover, when his Joys are drawn within the compa.s.s of a few minutes.

_Luc._ You speak my Sense, and I'll make haste to provide it. [Exit.

_Blunt._ 'Tis a rare Girl, and this one night's enjoyment with her will be worth all the days I ever past in Ess.e.x.-- Would she'd go with me into _England_, tho to say truth, there's plenty of Wh.o.r.es there already.-- But a pox on 'em they are such mercenary prodigal Wh.o.r.es, that they want such a one as this, that's free and generous, to give 'em good Examples:-- Why, what a House she has! how rich and fine!

Enter _Sancho_.

_Sancho._ Sir, my Lady has sent me to conduct you to her Chamber.

_Blunt._ Sir, I shall be proud to follow-- Here's one of her Servants too: 'dsheartlikins, by his Garb and Gravity he might be a Justice of Peace in _Ess.e.x_, and is but a Pimp here.

[Exeunt.

_The Scene changes to a Chamber with an Alcove-Bed in it, a Table, &c. _Lucetta_ in Bed. Enter _Sancho_ and _Blunt_, who takes the Candle of _Sancho_ at the Door._

_Sanch._ Sir, my Commission reaches no farther.

_Blunt._ Sir, I'll excuse your Complement:-- what, in Bed, my sweet Mistress?

_Luc._ You see, I still out-do you in kindness.

_Blunt._ And thou shall see what haste I'll make to quit scores-- oh the luckiest Rogue!

[Undresses himself.

_Luc._ Shou'd you be false or cruel now!

_Blunt._ False, 'Sheartlikins, what dost thou take me for a _Jew_? an insensible Heathen,-- A Pox of thy old jealous Husband: and he were dead, egad, sweet Soul, it shou'd be none of my fault, if I did not marry thee.

_Luc._ It never shou'd be mine.

_Blunt._ Good Soul, I'm the fortunatest Dog!

_Luc._ Are you not undrest yet?

_Blunt._ As much as my Impatience will permit.

[Goes towards the Bed in his s.h.i.+rt and Drawers.

_Luc._ Hold, Sir, put out the Light, it may betray us else.

_Blunt._ Any thing, I need no other Light but that of thine Eyes!-- 'sheartlikins, there I think I had it.

[Aside.

[Puts out the Candle, the Bed descends, he gropes about to find it.

--Why-- why-- where am I got? what, not yet?-- where are you sweetest?-- ah, the Rogue's silent now-- a pretty Love-trick this-- how she'll laugh at me anon!-- you need not, my dear Rogue! you need not! I'm all on a fire already-- come, come, now call me in for pity-- Sure I'm enchanted!

I have been round the Chamber, and can find neither Woman, nor Bed-- I lockt the Door, I'm sure she cannot go that way; or if she cou'd, the Bed cou'd not-- Enough, enough, my pretty Wanton, do not carry the Jest too far-- Ha, betray'd! Dogs! Rogues! Pimps! help! help!

[Lights on a Trap, and is let down.

Enter _Lucetta_, _Philippo_, and _Sancho_ with a Light.

_Phil._ Ha, ha, ha, he's dispatcht finely.

_Luc._ Now, Sir, had I been coy, we had mist of this Booty.

_Phil._ Nay when I saw 'twas a substantial Fool, I was mollified; but when you doat upon a Serenading c.o.xcomb, upon a Face, fine Clothes, and a Lute, it makes me rage.

_Luc._ You know I never was guilty of that Folly, my dear _Philippo_, but with your self-- But come let's see what we have got by this.

_Phil._ A rich Coat!-- Sword and Hat!-- these Breeches too-- are well lin'd!-- see here a Gold Watch!-- a Purse-- ha! Gold!-- at least two hundred Pistoles! a bunch of Diamond Rings; and one with the Family Arms!-- a Gold Box!-- with a Medal of his King! and his Lady Mother's Picture!-- these were sacred Reliques, believe me!-- see, the Wasteband of his Breeches have a Mine of Gold!-- Old Queen _Bess's_. We have a Quarrel to her ever since _Eighty Eight_, and may therefore justify the Theft, the Inquisition might have committed it.

_Luc._ See, a Bracelet of bow'd Gold, these his Sister ty'd about his Arm at parting-- but well-- for all this, I fear his being a Stranger may make a noise, and hinder our Trade with them hereafter.

_Phil._ That's our security; he is not only a Stranger to us, but to the Country too-- the Common-Sh.o.r.e into which he is descended, thou know'st, conducts him into another Street, which this Light will hinder him from ever finding again-- he knows neither your Name, nor the Street where your House is, nay, nor the way to his own Lodgings.

_Luc._ And art not thou an unmerciful Rogue, not to afford him one Night for all this?-- I should not have been such a _Jew_.

_Phil._ Blame me not, _Lucetta_, to keep as much of thee as I can to my self-- come, that thought makes me wanton,-- let's to Bed,-- Sancho, lock up these.

_This is the Fleece which Fools do bear, Design'd for witty Men to sheer._ [Exeunt.

_The Scene changes, and discovers _Blunt_, creeping out of a Common Sh.o.r.e, his Face, &c., all dirty._

_Blunt._ Oh Lord! [Climbing up.] I am got out at last, and (which is a Miracle) without a Clue-- and now to d.a.m.ning and Cursing,-- but if that would ease me, where shall I begin? with my Fortune, my self, or the Quean that cozen'd me-- What a dog was I to believe in Women! Oh c.o.xcomb-- ignorant conceited c.o.xcomb! to fancy she cou'd be enamour'd with my Person, at the first sight enamour'd-- Oh, I'm a cursed Puppy,'tis plain, Fool was writ upon my Forehead, she perceiv'd it,-- saw the _Ess.e.x_ Calf there-- for what Allurements could there be in this Countenance? which I can indure, because I'm acquainted with it-- Oh, dull silly Dog! to be thus sooth'd into a Cozening! Had I been drunk, I might fondly have credited the young Quean! but as I was in my right Wits, to be thus cheated, confirms I am a dull believing _English_ Country Fop.-- But my Comrades! Death and the Devil, there's the worst of all-- then a Ballad will be sung to Morrow on the _Prado_, to a lousy Tune of the enchanted Squire, and the annihilated Damsel-- But _Fred_, that Rogue, and the Colonel, will abuse me beyond all Christian patience-- had she left me my Clothes, I have a Bill of Exchange at home wou'd have sav'd my Credit-- but now all hope is taken from me-- Well, I'll home (if I can find the way) with this Consolation, that I am not the first kind believing c.o.xcomb; but there are, Gallants, many such good Natures amongst ye.

_And tho you've better Arts to hide your Follies, Adsheartlikins y'are all as errant Cullies._

SCENE III. _The Garden, in the Night._

Enter _Florinda_ undres'd, with a Key, and a little Box.

_Flor._ Well, thus far I'm in my way to Happiness; I have got my self free from _Callis_; my Brother too, I find by yonder light, is gone into his Cabinet, and thinks not of me: I have by good Fortune got the Key of the Garden Back-door,-- I'll open it, to prevent _Belvile's_ knocking,-- a little noise will now alarm my Brother. Now am I as fearful as a young Thief. [Unlocks the Door.] --Hark,-- what noise is that?-- Oh,'twas the Wind that plaid amongst the Boughs.-- _Belvile_ stays long, methinks-- it's time-- stay-- for fear of a surprize, I'll hide these Jewels in yonder Jessamin.

[She goes to lay down the Box.

Enter _Willmore_ drunk.

_Will._ What the Devil is become of these Fellows, _Belvile_ and _Frederick_? They promis'd to stay at the next corner for me, but who the Devil knows the corner of a full Moon?-- Now-- whereabouts am I?-- hah-- what have we here? a Garden!-- a very convenient place to sleep in-- hah-- what has G.o.d sent us here?-- a Female-- by this light, a Woman; I'm a Dog if it be not a very Wench.--

_Flor._ He's come!-- hah-- who's there?

_Will._ Sweet Soul, let me salute thy Shoe-string.

_Flor._ 'Tis not my _Belvile_-- good Heavens, I know him not.-- Who are you, and from whence come you?