The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iv Part 101

_Prince._ You pain me when you compliment my Friends.h.i.+p. [Embracing.

_Geo._ Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour, when you shall hear my Story.

_Prince._ Thou canst say nothing I can value less.

_Geo._ Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv'd you, being still receiv'd by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and Divertis.e.m.e.nts; where ev'n you did me the Honour to esteem, and call me Friend.

_Prince._ Whate'er thou art, I'm sure thy Mind's ill.u.s.trious.

_Geo._ My Family, I must confess, is honourable; but, Sir, my Father was the younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin'd to be last: I'm a _Cadet_, that Out-cast of my Family, and born to that curse of our old _English_ Custom. Whereas in other Countries, younger Brothers are train'd up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the Brave; we basely bind our youngest out to Slavery, to lazy Trades, idly confin'd to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean Cunning, how to cheat and chaffer.

_Prince._ A Custom insupportable!--

_Geo._ To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant, Sir--was destin'd by his Parents, and am yet this bound indentur'd Slave.

_Prince._ Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Virtue is most valu'd when opprest--Are all your Merchants Apprentices thus gay?

_Geo._ Not all--but, Sir, I could not bow my Mind to this so necessary Drudgery; and yet however, I a.s.sum'd my native Temper, when out o'th'

Trading City; in it, I forc'd my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity, which well enough deceiv'd the busy Block-heads; my Clothes and Equipage I lodg'd at this End of the Town, where I still pa.s.s'd for something better than I was, whene'er I pleas'd to change the Trader for the Gentleman.

_Prince._ And liv'd thus undiscover'd--

_Geo._ With Ease, still lov'd and courted by the Great, ever play'd high with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where'er my Fancy lik'd: but sometimes running out my Master's Cash, (which was supply'd still by my Father) they sent me, to reform my expensive Life, a Factor, into _France_--still I essay'd to be a plodding Thriver, but found my Parts not form'd for dirty Business.

_Prince._ There's not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not tend to something far more glorious.

_Geo._ If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life you have so oft preserv'd.

_Prince._ No more;--Thou hast increas'd my Value for thee.--Oh! take my Heart, and see how't has been us'd by a fair Charmer, since I saw thee last--That sullen day we parted, you for _England_, you may remember I design'd for _Flanders_.

_Geo._ I do, with Melancholy, Sir, remember it.

_Prince._ Arriv'd at _Ghent_, I went to see an _English_ Nun initiated, where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver'd up a Victim to foolish Chast.i.ty; but among the Relations, then attending the Sacrifice, was a fair Sister of the young Votress, but so surpa.s.sing all I'ad seen before, that I neglecting the dull holy Business, paid my Devotion to that kneeling Saint.

_Geo._ That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.

_Prince._ Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was heighten'd with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow dwelt upon her Eyes, that taught my new-born-Pa.s.sion Awe and Reverence.

_Geo._ This Description of her fires me.-- [Aside.

_Prince._ Her dimpl'd Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Majesty and Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav'd, I burnt, I languish'd with Desire, the holy Place cou'd scarce contain my Madness: with Pain, with Torture, I restrain'd my Pa.s.sion when she retir'd, led sadly from the Altar. I, mixing with the Croud, enquir'd her Name and Country; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and liv'd in _England_, nay, in this very Town: this gave me Anguish not to be conceiv'd, till I resolv'd to follow her, which is the cause you find me here so soon. Thy Aid, thy Aid, _Lejere_, or I am lost.

_Geo._ I wish to live no longer than to serve your Highness: if she be, Sir, a Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you'll easily conquer. You've all the Youth, and Beauty, that can charm; and what gains most upon a Woman's Heart, you've a powerful t.i.tle, Sir, a sort of Philter, that ne'er fails to win. But you've not told me yet the Lady's Name.

_Prince._ I had forgot that;--'Tis in these Tablets written: [Gives him the Tablets.

I'm now in haste, going to receive some Bills: I lodge at _Welborn's_, who came over with me, being sent for to be marry'd.

_Geo._ I know the House, 'tis in _Southampton-Square_: I'll wait upon your Highness-- [Exit _Prince_.

Let me see--Daughter to a deceas'd Lord; a Maid, and no Dowry, but Beauty; living in _Lincoln's-Inn-Fields_.

[Opening the Tablets, reads.

--Ha!--her Name _Mirtilla_! _Mirtilla_! [Pauses.

Prince, thou hast paid thyself for all the Favours done me.

_Mirtilla!_ [Pauses.

Why, yes, _Mirtilla_! He takes but what she has given away already.--

Oh! d.a.m.n her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer mine--And thou'rt my Friend.

[Pauses again.

_Mirtilla's_ but my Mistress, and has taken all the Repose of my poor Life away--Yes, let him take her, I'll resign her to him; and therefore shut my Eyes against her Charms: fix her Inconstancy about my Heart, and scorn whatever she can give me.

[Exit.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Sir _Morgan Blunder_ in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him _Manage_ with a Caudle.

_Man._ Your Lady Mother has sent you a Caudle, Sir.

Sir _Morg._ Good Mrs. _Manage_, remember my kind Love to my Lady Mother, and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but never eat in a Morning after hard drinking over night.

_Man._ Ah, Sir, but now you're marry'd to a fine Lady, you ought to make much of your self.

Sir _Morg._ Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Caudle; my Stomach is plaguy squeamish, and a hair of the old Dog's worth both of 'em. Oh! sick! sick!

Enter Sir _Merlin_, singing a Song in praise of a Rake-h.e.l.l's Life.

A SONG.

The _Town-Rake_; written by Mr. _Motteux_.

I.

_What Life can compare with the jolly Town-Rake's, When in Youth his full Swing of all Pleasure he takes?

At Noon, he gets up, for a Whet, and to dine, And wings the dull Hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine; Then jogs to the _Play-house_, and chats with the Masks, And thence to the _Rose_, where he takes his three Flasks.

There, great as a _Caesar_, he revels, when drunk, And scours all he meets, as he reels to his Punk; Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes.

What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's?_

II.

_He, like the _Great Turk_, has his Favourite She; But the Town's his _Seraglio_, and still he lives free.

Sometimes she's a Lady; but as he must range, _Black-Betty_, or _Oyster-Doll_, serves for a Change.

As he varies his Sports, his whole Life is a Feast; He thinks him that's soberest the most like a Beast.

At Houses of Pleasure breaks Windows and Doors; Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Wh.o.r.es.

Rare work for the Surgeon, and Midwife he makes.

What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's?_

III.