The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iv Part 5

Enter _Leander_.

_Lod._ I hope 'twill be ridiculous enough, and then the Devil's in't if it do not do his Business with my Mother, for she hates all impertinent Noises but what she makes herself. She's now going to make a Visit to your Uncle, purposely to give me an opportunity to _Isabella_.

_Lean._ And I'm ingag'd to wait on her thither, she designs to carry the Fiddles too; he's mad enough already, but such a Visit will fit him for Bedlam.

_Lod._ No matter, for you have all a leud Hand with him; between his continual imaginary Sickness, and perpetual Physic, a Man might take more Pleasure in an Hospital. What the Devil did he marry a young Wife for? and they say a handsome Creature too.

_Lean._ To keep up his t.i.tle of Cuckold I think, for she has Beauty enough for Temptation, and no doubt makes the right use on't: wou'd I cou'd know it, that I might prevent her cheating my Uncle longer to my undoing.

_Lod._ She'll be cunning enough for that, if she have Wit: but now thou talk'st of Intrigues, when didst see _Wittmore_? that Rogue has some lucky Haunt which we must find out.--But my Mother expects your attendance; I'll go seek my Sister, and make all the Interest there I can for you, whilst you pay me in the same Coin to _Isabella_. _Adieu._

_Lean._ Trust my Friends.h.i.+p.--

[Ex. severally.

ACT II.

SCENE I. A Garden to Sir _Patient Fancy's_ House.

Enter Lady _Fancy_, _Wittmore_, and _Maundy_.

_Wit._ Enough, my charming Mistress, you've set my Soul at Peace, and chas'd away those Fears and Doubts my Jealousy created there.

_Maun._ Mr. _Wittmore's_ satisfy'd of your Constancy, Madam; though had I been your Ladys.h.i.+p, I should have given him a more substantial Proof, which you might yet do, if you wou'd make handsome use of your time.

_Wit._ _Maundy_ advises well; my dearest, let's withdraw to yonder Covert Arbour, whose kind Shades will secure us a Happiness that G.o.ds might envy.

[Offers to lead her out.

L. _Fan._ I dare not for the world, Sir _Patient_ is now asleep, and 'tis to those few Minutes we are oblig'd for this Enjoyment, which shou'd Love make us transgress, and he shou'd wake and surprize us, we are undone for ever: no, let us employ this little time we have in consulting how we may be often happy, and securely so: Oh, how I languish for the dear opportunity!

_Wit._ And cou'd you guess what Torments I have suffer'd in these few fatal Months that have divided us, thou wou'dst pity me.

L. _Fan._ --But to our Business; for though I am yet unsuspected by my Husband, I am eternally plagu'd with his Company; he's so fond of me, he scarce gives me time to write to thee, he waits on me from room to room, hands me in the Garden, shoulders me in the Balcony, nay, does the office of my Women, dresses and undresses me, and does so smirk at his handywork: In fine, dear _Wittmore_, I am impatient till I can have less of his Company, and more of thine.

_Wit._ Does he never go out of Town?

L. _Fan._ Never without me.

_Wit._ Nor to Chuch?

L. _Fan._ To a Meeting-house you mean, and then too carries me, and is as vainly proud of me as of his rebellious Opinion, for his Religion means nothing but that, and Contradiction; which I seem to like too, since 'tis the best Cloke I can put on to cheat him with.

_Wit._ Right, my fair Hypocrite.

L. _Fan._ But, dear _Wittmore_, there's nothing so comical as to hear me cant, and even cheat those Knaves, the Preachers themselves, that delude the ignorant Rabble.

_Wit._ What Miracles cannot your Eyes and Tongue perform!

L. _Fan._ Judge what a fine Life I lead the while, to be set up with an old formal doting sick Husband, and a Herd of snivelling grinning Hypocrites, that call themselves the teaching Saints; who under pretence of securing me to the number of their Flock, do so sneer upon me, pat my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and cry fie, fie upon this fas.h.i.+on of tempting Nakedness.

[Through the Nose.

_Wit._ Dear Creature, how cou'd we laugh at thy new way of living, had we but some Minutes allow'd us to enjoy that Pleasure alone.

L. _Fan._ Think, dear _Wittmore_, think, _Maundy_ and I have thought over all our Devices to no purpose.

_Wit._ Pox on't, I'm the dullest dog at plotting, thinking, in the world; I should have made a d.a.m.nable ill Town Poet: Has he quite left off going to the Change?

L. _Fan._ Oh, he's grown cautiously rich, and will venture none of his substantial Stock in transitory Traffick.

_Wit._ Has he no mutinous Cabal, nor Coffee-houses, where he goes religiously to consult the Welfare of the Nation?

L. _Fan._ His imagin'd Sickness has made this their Rendesvouz.

_Wit._ When he goes to his blind Devotion, cannot you pretend to be sick? that may give us at least two or three opportunities to begin with.

L. _Fan._ Oh! then I should be plagu'd with continual Physick and Extempore Prayer till I were sick indeed.

_Wit._ d.a.m.n the humorous c.o.xcomb and all his Family, what shall we do?

L. _Fan._ Not all, for he has a Daughter that has good Humour, Wit, and Beauty enough to save her,--stay--that has jogg'd a Thought, as the Learned say, which must jog on, till the motion have produc'd something worth my thinking.--

Enter _Roger_ running.

_Maun._ Ad's me, here's danger near, our Scout comes in such haste.

L. _Fan._ _Roger_, what's the matter?

_Rog._ My Master, Madam, is risen from sleep, and is come in to the Garden.--See, Madam, he's here.

L. _Fan._ What an unlucky Accident was this?

_Wit._ What shall I do, 'tis too late to obscure my self?

L. _Fan._ He sees you already, through the Trees,--here--keep your distance, your Hat under your Arm; so, be very ceremonious, whilst I settle a demure Countenance.--

_Maun._ Well, there never came good of Lovers that were given to too much talking; had you been silently kind all this while, you had been willing to have parted by this time.

Enter Sir _Patient_ in a Night-Gown, reading a Bill.

Sir _Pat._ Hum,--Twelve Purges for this present _January_--as I take it, good Mr. Doctor, I took but Ten in all _December._--By this Rule I am sicker this Month, than I was the last.--And, good Master Apothecary, methinks your Prizes are somewhat too high: at this rate no body wou'd be sick.--Here, _Roger_, see it paid however,--Ha, hum. [Sees 'em, and starts back.] What's here, my Lady Wife entertaining a leud Fellow of the Town? a flaunting Cap and Feather Blade.

L. _Fan._ Sir _Patient_ cannot now be spoken with. But, Sir, that which I was going just now to say to you, was, that it would be very convenient in my opinion to make your Addresses to _Isabella_,--'twill give us opportunities. [Aside.] We Ladies love no Imposition; this is Counsel my Husband perhaps will not like, but I would have all Women chuse their Man, as I have done,--my dear _Wittmore_.

[Aside.

Sir _Pat._ I profess ingenuously an excellent good Lady this of mine, though I do not like her Counsel to the young Man, who I perceive would be a Suitor to my Daughter _Isabella_.