The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 37

_s.h.i.+ft._ He is, I came with him; he's impatient of your Return: I'll let him know you're here.

[Exit. _s.h.i.+ft_.

_Feth._ Why, what a Pox ails the Captain o'th' sudden? He looks as sullenly as a routed General, or a Lover after hard Service.

_Blunt._ Oh-- something the Lieutenant has told him about a Wench; and when _Cupid's_ in his Breeches, the Devil's ever in's Head-- how now-- What a pox is the matter with you, you look so scurvily now?-- What, is the Gentlewoman otherwise provided? has she cas.h.i.+er'd ye for want of Pay? or what other dire Mischance?-- hah--

_Will._ Do not trouble me-- -

_Blunt._ Adsheartlikins, but I will, and beat thee too, but I'll know the Cause. I heard _s.h.i.+ft_ tell thee something about _La Nuche_, a Damsel I have often heard thee Fool enough to sigh for.

_Will._ Confound the mercenary Jilt!

_Blunt._ Nay, adsheartlikins they are all so; tho I thought you had been Wh.o.r.e-proof; 'tis enough for us Fools, Country Gentlemen, Esquires, and Cullies, to miscarry in their amorous Adventures, you Men of Wit weather all Storms you.

_Will._ Oh, Sir, you're become a new Man, wise and wary, and can no more be cozen'd.

_Blunt._ Not by Woman-kind; and for Man I think my Sword will secure me.

Pox, I thought a two Months absence and a Siege would have put such Trifles out of thy Head: You do not use to be such a Miracle of Constancy.

_Will._ That Absence makes me think of her so much; and all the Pa.s.sions thou find'st about me are to the s.e.x alone. Give me a Woman, Ned, a fine young amorous Wanton, who would allay this Fire that makes me rave thus, and thou shouldst find me no longer particular, but cold as Winter-Nights to this La Nuche: Yet since I lost my little charming Gipsey, nothing has gone so near my Heart as this.

_Blunt._ Ay, there was a Girl, the only she thing that could reconcile me to the Petticoats again after my Naples Adventure, when the Quean rob'd and stript me.

_Will._ Oh name not h.e.l.lena! She was a Saint to be ador'd on Holy-days.

Enter _Beaumond_.

_Beau._ Willmore! my careless wild inconstant-- how is't, my lucky Rover?

[embracing.

_Will._ My Life! my Soul! how glad am I to find thee in my Arms again-- and well-- When left you _Paris_? _Paris_, that City of Pottage and Crab-Wine, swarming with Lacquies and Philies, whose Government is carried on by most Hands, not most Voices-- And prithee how does _Belvile_ and his Lady?

_Beau._ I left 'em both in Health at St. _Germains._

_Will._ Faith, I have wisht my self with ye at the old Temple of Bacchus at _St. Clou_, to sacrifice a Bottle and a Damsel to his Deity.

_Beau._ My constant Place of Wors.h.i.+p whilst there, tho for want of new Saints my Zeal grew something cold, which I was ever fain to supply with a Bottle, the old Remedy when _Phyllis_ is sullen and absent.

_Will._ Now thou talk'st of Phillis prithee, dear _Harry_, what Women hast in store?

_Beau._ I'll tell thee; but first inform me whom these two Sparks are.

_Will._ Egad, and so they are, Child: Salute 'em-- They are my Friends-- True Blades, _Hal._ highly guilty of the royal Crime, poor and brave, loyal Fugitives.

_Beau._ I love and honour 'em, Sir, as such [Bowing to _Blunt_.

_Blunt._ Sir, there's neither Love nor Honour lost.

_Feth._ Sir, I scorn to be behind-hand in Civilities.

_Beau._ At first sight I find I am much yours, Sir. [To _Feth._

_Feth._ Sir, I love and honour any Man that's a Friend to Captain _Willmore_-- and therefore I am yours--

Enter _s.h.i.+ft_.

--Well, honest Lieutenant, how does thy Body?-- When shall _Ned_, and thou and I, crack a Bisket o'er a Gla.s.s of Wine, have a Slice of Treason and settle the Nation, hah?

_s.h.i.+ft._ You know, Squire, I am devotedly yours. [They talk aside.

_Beau._ Prithee who are these?

_Will._ Why, the first you saluted is the same _Ned Blunt_ you have often heard _Belvile_ and I speak of: the other is a Rarity of another Nature, one Squire _Fetherfool_ of _Croydon_, a tame Justice of Peace, who liv'd as innocently as Ale and Food could keep him, till for a mistaken Kindness to one of the Royal Party, he lost his Commission, and got the Reputation of a Sufferer: He's rich, but covetous as an Alderman.

_Beau._ What a Pox do'st keep 'em Company for, who have neither Wit enough to divert thee, nor Good-nature enough to serve thee?

_Will._ Faith, _Harry_, 'tis true, and if there were no more Charity than Profit in't, a Man would sooner keep a Cough o'th' Lungs than be troubled with 'em: but the Rascals have a blind side as all conceited c.o.xcombs have, which when I've nothing else to do, I shall expose to advance our Mirth; the Rogues must be cozen'd, because they're so positive they never can be so: but I am now for softer Joys, for Woman, for Woman in abundance-- dear _Hal_. inform me where I may safely unlade my Heart.

_Beau._ The same Man still, wild and wanton!

_Will._ And would not change to be the Catholick King.

_Beau._ I perceive Marriage has not tam'd you, nor a Wife who had all the Charms of her s.e.x.

_Will._ Ay-- she was too good for Mortals. [With a sham Sadness.

_Belv._ I think thou hadst her but a Month, prithee how dy'd she?

_Will._ Faith, e'en with a fit of Kindness, poor Soul-- she would to Sea with me, and in a Storm-- far from Land, she gave up the Ghost-- 'twas a Loss, but I must bear it with a Christian Fort.i.tude.

_Beau._ Short Happinesses vanish like to Dreams.

_Will._ Ay faith, and nothing remains with me but the sad Remembrance-- not so much as the least Part of her hundred thousand Crowns; _Brussels_ that inchanted Court has eas'd me of that Grief, where our Heroes act _Tantalus_ better than ever _Ovid_ describ'd him, condemn'd daily to see an Apparition of Meat, Food in Vision only. Faith, I had Bowels, was good-natur'd, and lent upon the publick Faith as far as 'twill go-- But come, let's leave this mortifying Discourse, and tell me how the price of Pleasure goes.

_Beau._ At the old Rates still; he that gives most is happiest, some few there are for Love!

_Will._ Ah, one of the last, dear _Beaumond_; and if a Heart or Sword can purchase her, I'll bid as fair as the best. d.a.m.n it, I hate a Wh.o.r.e that asks me Mony.

_Beau._ Yet I have known thee venture all thy Stock for a new Woman.

_Will._ Ay, such a Fool I was in my dull Days of Constancy, but I am now for Change, (and should I pay as often,'twould undo me)-- for Change, my Dear, of Place, Clothes, Wine, and Women. Variety is the Soul of Pleasure, a Good unknown; and we want Faith to find it.

_Beau._ Thou wouldst renounce that fond Opinion, _Willmore_, didst thou see a Beauty here in Town, whose Charms have Power to fix inconstant Nature or Fortune were she tottering on her Wheel.

_Will._ Her Name, my Dear, her Name?

_Beau._ I would not breathe it even in my Complaints, lest amorous Winds should bear it o'er the World, and make Mankind her Slaves; But that it is a Name too cheaply known, And she that owns it may be as cheaply purchas'd.