The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 22

_Will._ Do not be modest now, and lose the Woman: but if we shall fetch her back, so--

_Belv._ Do not speak to me.

_Will._ Not speak to you!-- Egad, I'll speak to you, and will be answered too.

_Belv._ Will you, Sir?

_Will._ I know I've done some mischief, but I'm so dull a Puppy, that I am the Son of a Wh.o.r.e, if I know how, or where-- prithee inform my Understanding.--

_Belv._ Leave me I say, and leave me instantly.

_Will._ I will not leave you in this humour, nor till I know my Crime.

_Belv._ Death, I'll tell you, Sir--

[Draws and runs at _Will._ he runs out; _Belv._ after him, _Fred._ interposes.

Enter _Angelica_, _Moretta_, and _Sebastian_.

_Ang._ Ha-- _Sebastian_-- Is not that _Willmore_? haste, haste, and bring him back.

_Fred._ The Colonel's mad-- I never saw him thus before; I'll after 'em, lest he do some mischief, for I am sure _Willmore_ will not draw on him.

[Exit.

_Ang._ I am all Rage! my first desires defeated For one, for ought he knows, that has no Other Merit than her Quality,-- Her being Don _Pedro's_ Sister-- He loves her: I know 'tis so-- dull, dull, insensible-- He will not see me now tho oft invited; And broke his Word last night-- false perjur'd Man!

--He that but yesterday fought for my Favours, And would have made his Life a Sacrifice To've gain'd one Night with me, Must now be hired and courted to my Arms.

_Moret._ I told you what wou'd come on't, but _Moretta's_ an old doating Fool-- Why did you give him five hundred Crowns, but to set himself out for other Lovers? You shou'd have kept him poor, if you had meant to have had any good from him.

_Ang._ Oh, name not such mean Trifles.-- Had I given him all My Youth has earn'd from Sin, I had not lost a Thought nor Sigh upon't.

But I have given him my eternal Rest, My whole Repose, my future Joys, my Heart; My Virgin Heart. _Moretta_! oh 'tis gone!

_Moret._ Curse on him, here he comes; How fine she has made him too!

Enter _Willmore_ and _Sebast._ _Ang._ turns and walks away.

_Will._ How now, turn'd Shadow?

Fly when I pursue, and follow when I fly!

_Stay gentle Shadow of my Dove,_ [Sings.

_And tell me e'er I go, Whether the Substance may not prove A fleeting Thing like you._

There's a soft kind Look remaining yet.

[As she turns she looks on him.

_Ang._ Well, Sir, you may be gay; all Happiness, all Joys pursue you still, Fortune's your Slave, and gives you every hour choice of new Hearts and Beauties, till you are cloy'd with the repeated Bliss, which others vainly languish for-- But know, false Man, that I shall be reveng'd.

[Turns away in a Rage.

_Will._ So, 'gad, there are of those faint-hearted Lovers, whom such a sharp Lesson next their Hearts would make as impotent as Fourscore-- pox o' this whining-- my Bus'ness is to laugh and love-- a pox on't; I hate your sullen Lover, a Man shall lose as much time to put you in Humour now, as would serve to gain a new Woman.

_Ang._ I scorn to cool that Fire I cannot raise, Or do the Drudgery of your virtuous Mistress.

_Will._ A virtuous Mistress! Death, what a thing thou hast found out for me! why what the Devil should I do with a virtuous Woman?-- a fort of ill-natur'd Creatures, that take a Pride to torment a Lover. Virtue is but an Infirmity in Women, a Disease that renders even the handsom ungrateful; whilst the ill-favour'd, for want of Solicitations and Address, only fancy themselves so.-- I have lain with a Woman of Quality, who has all the while been railing at Wh.o.r.es.

_Ang._ I will not answer for your Mistress's Virtue, Tho she be young enough to know no Guilt: And I could wish you would persuade my Heart, 'Twas the two hundred thousand Crowns you courted.

_Will._ Two hundred thousand Crowns! what Story's this?-- what Trick?-- what Woman?-- ha.

_Ang._ How strange you make it! have you forgot the Creature you entertain'd on the Piazza last night?

_Will._ Ha, my Gipsy worth two hundred thousand Crowns!-- oh how I long to be with her-- pox, I knew she was of Quality.

[Aside.

_Ang._ False Man, I see my Ruin in thy Face.

How many vows you breath'd upon my Bosom, Never to be unjust-- have you forgot so soon?

_Will._ Faith no, I was just coming to repeat 'em-- but here's a Humour indeed-- would make a Man a Saint-- Wou'd she'd be angry enough to leave me, and command me not to wait on her.

[Aside.

Enter _h.e.l.lena_, drest in Man's Clothes.

_h.e.l.l._ This must be _Angelica_, I know it by her mumping Matron here-- Ay, ay,'tis she: my mad Captain's with her too, for all his swearing-- how this unconstant Humour makes me love him:-- pray, good grave Gentlewoman, is not this _Angelica_?

_Moret._ My too young Sir, it is-- I hope 'tis one from Don _Antonio_.

[Goes to _Angelica_.

_h.e.l.l._ Well, something I'll do to vex him for this. [Aside.

_Ang._ I will not speak with him; am I in humour to receive a Lover?

_Will._ Not speak with him! why I'll be gone-- and wait your idler minutes-- Can I shew less Obedience to the thing I love so fondly?

[Offers to go.

_Ang._ A fine Excuse this-- stay--

_Will._ And hinder your Advantage: should I repay your Bounties so ungratefully?

_Ang._ Come hither, Boy,-- that I may let you see How much above the Advantages you name I prize one Minute's Joy with you.

_Will._ Oh, you destroy me with this Endearment.

[Impatient to be gone.

--Death, how shall I get away?-- Madam,'twill not be fit I should be seen with you-- besides, it will not be convenient-- and I've a Friend-- that's dangerously sick.

_Ang._ I see you're impatient-- yet you shall stay.

_Will._ And miss my a.s.signation with my Gipsy.

[Aside, and walks about impatiently.