The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 47

_Fran_. Oh, hold, most mighty _Turk_. [_Kneeling_.

_Guz_. Slave, darest thou interrupt 'em,--die, Dog.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, I'm silent.

_Car_. I love you, fair one, and design to make you--

_Fran_. A most notorious Strumpet. A Pox of his Courtesy.

_Car_. What Eyes you have like Heaven blue and charming, a pretty Mouth, Neck round and white as polisht Alabaster, and a Complexion beauteous as an Angel, a Hair fit to make Bonds to insnare the G.o.d of Love,--a sprightly Air,--a Hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in a Morning are half so sweet and soft.

_Fran_. Oh, d.a.m.n'd circ.u.mcised _Turk_.

_Car_. You shall be call'd the beautiful _Sultana_, And rule in my Seraglio drest with Jewels.

_Fran_. Sure, I shall burst with Vengeance.

_Jul_. Sir, let your Virtue regulate your Pa.s.sions; For I can ne'er love any but my Husband.

_Fran_. Ah, dissembling Witch!

_Jul_. And wou'd not break my Marriage Vows to him, For all the honour you can heap upon me.

_Fran_. Say, and hold; but _Sultana_ and precious Stones are d.a.m.nable Temptations,--besides, the Rogue's young and handsome,--What a scornful look she casts at me; wou'd they were both handsomely at the Devil together.

_Guz_. Dog, do you mutter?

_Fran_. Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsy shook my Lips a little.

_Guz_. Slave, go, and on your knees resign your Wife.

_Fran_. She's of years of discretion, and may dispose of her self; but I can hold no longer: and is this your _Mahometan_ Conscience, to take other Mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the World? [_In rage_.

_Guz_. Peace, thou diminutive Christian.

_Fran_. I say, Peace thou over-grown _Turk_.

_Guz_. Thou _Spanish_ Cur.

_Fran_. Why, you're a _Mahometan_ b.i.t.c.h, and you go to that.

_Guz_. Death, I'll dissect the bald-pated Slave.

_Fran_. I defy thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage-head, for I am mad, and will be valiant.

[Guz. _throws his Turbant at him_.

_Car_. What Insolence is this!--Mutes--strangle him.--

[_They put a Bow-string about his neck_.

_Jul_. Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband's life.

_Car_. No more,--this fair one bids you live,--henceforth, _Francisco_, I p.r.o.nounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come, as the deceased Husband of the Great _Sultana_, murmur not upon pain of being made an Eunuch--take him away.

_Jul_. Go, and be satisfied, I'll die before I'll yield.

_Fran_. Is this my going to Sea?--the Plague of losing Battels light on thee.

_When ill success shall make thee idle lie, Mayst thou in bed be impotent as I_.

_Car_. Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains, and use him with respect, because he was the Husband of our beloved _Sultana_.

_Fran_. I see your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou'd be contented.

[_They pull off his Chains_.

[Carlos _and_ Julia _sit under an Umbrella_.

The SONG.

_How strangely does my Pa.s.sion grow, Divided equally twixt two_?

Damon _had ne'er subdued my Heart, Had not_ Alexis _took his part: Nor cou'd_ Alexis_ powerful prove, Without my_ Damon's _aid, to gain my Love.

When my_ Alexis _present is, Then I for_ Damon _sigh and mourn; But when_ Alexis _I do miss_, Damon _gains nothing but my Scorn: And, if it chance they both are by, For both, alas! I languish, sigh, and die.

Cure then, thou mighty winged G.o.d, This raging Fever in my Blood.

One golden-pointed Dart take back; But which, O_ Cupid, _wilt thou take?

if_ Damon's, _all my hopes are crost: Or, that of my_ Alexis, _I am lost_.

_Enter Dancers, which dance an Antick_.

_Car_. Come, my dear _Julia_, let's retire to shades. [_Aside to her_.

Where only thou and I can find an entrance; These dull, these necessary delays of ours Have drawn my Love to an impatient height.

--Attend these Captives, at a respectful distance.

[_Ex. all but _Isa_. who stays_ Guil.

_Guil_. What wou'd the Great _Sultana_?

_Isa_. Ah! do not pierce my Heart with this unkindness.

_Guil_. Ha, ha, ha,--Pages,--give order, I have Letters writ to _Sevil_, to my Merchant,--I will be ransomed instantly.

_Isa_. Ah, cruel Count!

_Guil_. Meaning me, Lady! ah, fy! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no, not I, a Dog, a very Chim--hum,--a Son of a Wh.o.r.e, I, not worthy your notice.