The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 86

ACT II.

SCENE I. _The Gardens of the Villa Medici_.

_Enter_ Morosini _and_ Octavio.

_Oct_. By Heaven, I will not eat, nor sleep, nor pray for any thing but swift and sure Revenge, till I have found _Marcella_, that false deceiving Beauty, or her Lover, my hated Rival _Fillamour_; who, wanton in the Arms of the fair Fugitive, laughs at my shameful easiness, and cries, these Joys were never meant for tame _Octavio_.

_Enter_ c.r.a.pine.

_Mar_. How now, _c.r.a.pine_! What, no News, no News of my Nieces yet, _Marcella_ and _Cornelia_?

_c.r.a.p_. None, Sir.

_Oct_. That's wondrous strange, _Rome's_ a place of that general Intelligence, methinks thou might'st have News of such trivial things as Women, amongst the Cardinals Pages: I'll undertake to learn the Religion _de stato_, and present juncture of all affairs in _Italy_, of a common Curtezan.

_Mar_. Sirrah, Sirrah, let it be your care to examine all the Nunneries, for my own part not a Petticoat shall escape me.

_Oct_. My task shall be for _Fillamour_. [_Aside_.

_Mor_. I'll only make a visit to your Sister _Donna Laura Lucretia_, and deliver her a Letter from my Nephew _Julio_, and return to you presently.-- [_Going out, is staid by_ Octavio.

_Oct_. Stay, Sir, defer your visit to my Sister _Laura_, she is not yet to know of my being in Town; 'tis therefore I have taken a Lodging in an obscure street, and am resolv'd never to be my self again till I've redeem'd my Honour. Come, Sir, let's walk--

_Enter to them, as they are going out_, Marcella _and_ Cornelia, _drest like Curtezans_, Philippa, _and Attendance_.

_Mor_. Stay, stay, what Women are these?

_Oct_. Wh.o.r.es, Sir, and so 'tis ten to one are all the kind; only these differ from the rest in this, they generously own their trade of Sin, which others deal by stealth in; they are Curtezans.

[_Exeunt_.

_Mar_. The Evening's soft and calm, as happy Lovers Thoughts; And here are Groves where the kind meeting Trees Will hide us from the amorous gazing Croud.

_Cor_. What should we do there, sigh till our wandering Breath Has rais'd a gentle Gale amongst the Boughs; To whose dull melancholy Musick we, Laid on a Bed of Moss, and new-fallen Leaves, Will read the dismal tale of Echo's Love!

--No, I can make better use of famous _Ovid_.

[_s.n.a.t.c.hes a little Book from her_.

And prithee what a pox have we to do with Trees, Flowers, Fountains, or naked Statues?

_Mar_. But, prithee, mad _Cornelia_, let's be grave and wise, at least enough to think a little.

_Cor_. On what? your _English_ Cavalier _Fillamour_, of whom you tell so many dull stories of his making Love! Oh, how I hate a civil whining c.o.xcomb!

_Mar_. And so do I, I'll therefore think of him no more.

_Cor_. Good Lord! what a d.a.m.nable wicked thing is a Virgin grown up to Woman.

_Mar_. What, art thou such a Fool to think I love this _Fillamour?_

_Cor_. It may be not at _Rome_, but at _Viterbo_, where Men are scarce, you did; and did you follow him to _Rome_, to tell him you cou'd love no more?

_Mar_. A too forward Maid, _Cornelia_, hurts her own Fame, and that of all her s.e.x.

_Cor_. Her s.e.x! a pretty consideration, by my Youth; an Oath I shall not violate this dozen years: my s.e.x shou'd excuse me, if to preserve their Fame they expected I should ruin my own Quiet; in chasing an ill-favour'd Husband, such as _Octavio_, before a young handsome Lover, such as you say _Fillamour_ is.

_Mar_. I wou'd fain persuade my self to be of thy mind,--but the World, _Cornelia_--

_Cor_. Hang the malicious World--

_Mar_. And there's such Charms in Wealth and Honour too.

_Cor_. None half so powerful as Love, in my opinion; 'slife, Sister, thou art beautiful, and hast a Fortune too, which before I wou'd lay out upon so shameful a purchase as such a Bedfellow for life as _Octavio_, I wou'd turn errant keeping Curtezan, and buy my better Fortune.

_Mar_. That Word too startles me.

_Cor_. What, Curtezan! why, 'tis a n.o.ble t.i.tle, and has more Votaries than Religion; there's no Merchandize like ours, that of Love, my Sister:--and can you be frighted with the Vizor, which you your self put on?

_Mar_. 'Twas the only Disguise that cou'd secure us from the search of my Uncle and _Octavio_. Our Brother _Julio_ is by this too arriv'd, and I know they'll all be diligent,--and some Honour I was content to sacrifice to my eternal Repose.

_Cor_. Spoke like my Sister! a little impertinent Honour, we may chance to lose, 'tis true; but our down-right Honesty I perceive you are resolv'd we shall maintain through all the dangers of Love and Gallantry; though to say truth, I find enough to do, to defend my Heart against some of those Members that nightly serenade us, and daily show themselves before our Window, gay as young Bridegrooms, and as full of expectation.

_Mar_. But is't not wondrous, that amongst all these Crouds we should not once see _Fillamour_? I thought the Charms of a fair young Curtezan might have oblig'd him to some Curiosity at least.

_Cor_. Ay! and an _English_ Cavalier too, a Nation so fond of all new Faces.

_Mar_. Heaven, if I should never see him, and I frequent all publick Places to meet him! or if he be gone from _Rome_, if he have forgot me, or some other Beauty have employ'd his Thoughts!

_Cor_. Why; if all these if's and or's come to pa.s.s, we have no more to do than to advance in this same glorious Profession, of which now we only seem to be--in which, to give it its due, there are a thousand Satisfactions to be found, more than in a dull virtuous Life: Oh, the world of Dark-Lanthorn-Men we should have! the Serenades, the Songs, the Sighs, the Vows, the Presents, the Quarrels, and all for a Look or a Smile, which you have been hitherto so covetous of, that _Petro_ swears our Lovers begin to suspect us for some honest Jilts; which by some is accounted much the leuder scandal of the two:--therefore I think, faith, we must e'en be kind a little to redeem our Reputations.

_Mar_. However we may railly, certainly there's nothing so hard to Woman, as to expose her self to villainous Man.

_Cor_. Faith, Sister, if 'twere but as easy to satisfy the nice scruples of Religion and Honour, I should find no great Difficulty in the rest-- Besides, another Argument I have, our Mony's all gone, and without a Miracle can hold out no longer honestly.

_Mar_. Then we must sell our Jewels.

_Cor_. When they are gone, what Jewel will you part with next?

_Mar_. Then we must--

_Cor_. What, go home to _Viterbo_, ask the old Gentleman pardon, and be receiv'd to Grace again, you to the Embraces of the amiable _Octavio_, and I to St. _Teresa's_, to whistle through a Grate like a Bird in a Cage,--for I shall have little heart to sing.--But come, let's leave This sad talk, here's Men--let's walk and gain new Conquest, I love it dearly-- [_Walk down the Garden_.

_Enter_ Gall. Fill, _and_ Jul. _see the Women_.

_Gal_. Women! and by their garb for our purpose too--they're Curtezans, let's follow 'em.

_Fil_. What shall we get by gazing but Disquiet? If they are fair and honest, we look, and perhaps may sigh in vain; if beautiful and loose, they are not worth regarding.

_Gal_. Dear notional Knight, leave your satirical Fopperies, and be at least good-humour'd, and let's follow them.

_Jul_. I'll leave you in the Pursuit, and take this Opportunity to write my Uncle word of my Arrival; and wait on you here anon.