A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 90

LOVE. Ah! as I live, I will not, I have sworn. Do not pull me: I will not be d.a.m.ned, I have sworn.

[_He pulls her, and says this._

JOLLY. As I live I'll break your bodkin then. A weeping tyrant!

Come, by this good day, you shall be merciful.

LOVE. Why, you will not be uncivil! You will not force me, will you? As I live, I will not.

JOLLY. Nay, an' you be wilful, I can be stubborn too.

[_He pulls still._

LOVE. Hang me, I'll call aloud. Why, Nan! Nay, you may force me; but, as I live, I'll do nothing.

[_Exeunt ambo._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. A pox upon you, are you earthed? The rogue has got her necklace of pearl; but I hope he will leave the rope to hang me in. How the pox came they so great? I must have some trick to break his neck, else the young rogue will work me out. 'Tis an excellent old lady, but I dare not call her so: yet would she were young enough to bear, we might do some good for our heirs, by leaving such a charitable brood behind. She's a woman after the first kind; 'tis but going into her, and you may know her.

Then she'll oblige so readily, and gives with greater thanks than others receive; takes it so kindly to be courted. I am now to oblige her (as she calls it) by professing young Wild's love, and desiring an a.s.surance she's sensible of his sufferings; which though it be false and beyond my commission, yet the hopes of such a new young thing, that has the vogue of the town for handsomest, 'twill so tickle her age, and so blow up her vanity, to have it said he is in love with her, and so endear her to me for being the means, that the parson's malice will be able to take no root. She comes: I must not be seen.

_Enter_ LOVEALL _and_ JOLLY.

LOVE. Give me that letter; I'll swear you shall not read it.

JOLLY. Take it; I'll away. What time shall I call you? in the evening? There's a play at court to-night.

LOVE. I would willingly be there, but your ladies are so censorious and malicious to us young ladies in the town, especially to me, because the wits are pleased to afford me a visit or so: I could be content else to be seen at court. Pray, what humour is the queen of? The captain of her guard I know.

JOLLY. The queen! Who's that knocks at the back-door?

[_The_ CAPTAIN _knocks_.

LOVE. Smoothe my band; I know not. Go down that way, and look you be not false; if you should be false, I'll swear I should spoil myself with weeping.

JOLLY. Farewell! In the evening I'll call you.

[_Exit_ JOLLY.

LOVE. Who's there? Captain, where have you been all this while? I might sit alone, I see, for you, if I could not find conversation in books.

[_She takes a book in her hand, and sits down._

CAPT. Faith, madam, friends newly come to town engaged me; and my stay was civility rather than desire. What book's that?

LOVE. I'll swear he was a witch that writ it; for he speaks my thoughts, as if he had been within me: the original, they say, was French.

CAPT. O, I know it; 'tis the _Accomplished Woman_:[213] yourself he means by this, while you are yourself.

LOVE. Indeed, I confess, I am a great friend to conversation, if we could have it without suspicion; but the world's so apt to judge, that 'tis a prejudice to our honour now to salute a man.

CAPT. Innocence, madam, is above opinion, and your fame's too great to be shook with whispers.

LOVE. You are ever civil, and therefore welcome. Pray, what news is there now in town? for I am reclused here. Unless it be yours, I receive no visits; and I'll swear, I charged the wench to-day not to let you in: I wonder she let you come.

CAPT. Faith, madam, if it had been my own business, I should not have ventured so boldly; but the necessity that forces me to come concerns my friend, against whom if your mercy be now bounded with those strict ties of honour and cold thoughts which I have ever found guard your heart, my friend, a young and handsome man, is lost, is lost in his prime, and falls like early blossoms. But methinks you should not prove the envious frost to destroy this young man, this delicate young man, that has whole bundles of boys in his breeches: yet if you be cruel, he and they die, as useless as open-a.r.s.es[214] gathered green.

[_She must be earnest in her looks all the time he speaks, desirous to know who he speaks of._

LOVE. Good captain, out with the particular. What way can my charity a.s.sist him? You know by experience I cannot be cruel: remember how I fetched you out of a swoon, and laid you in my own bed.

CAPT. That act preserved a life that has always been laboured in your service, and, I dare say, your charity here will find as fruitful a grat.i.tude.

LOVE. But I hope he will not be so uncivil as you were: I'll swear I could have hanged you for that rape, if I would have followed the law; but I forgave you upon condition you would do so again. But what's this young man you speak of?

CAPT. Such is my love to you and him, that I cannot prefer mine own particular before your content, else I'd have poisoned him, ere I'd have brought him to your house.

LOVE. Why, I pray?

CAPT. Because he's young, handsome, and of sound parts: that I am sure will ruin me here.

LOVE. His love may make all these beauties; else I have an honour will defend me against him, were he as handsome as young Wild.

CAPT. Why, ay, there it is: that one word has removed all my fears and jealousies with a despair; for that's the man whose love, life, and fortune lies at your feet; and, if you were single, by lawful means he would hope to reach what now he despairs of.

LOVE. Let him not despair; love is a powerful pleader, and youth and beauty will a.s.sist him; and if his love be n.o.ble, I can meet it, for there's none that sacrifices more to friends.h.i.+p-love than I.

CAPT. My friend's interest makes me rejoice at this. Dare you trust me to say this to him, though it be not usual! Pray, speak: nay, you are so long still a-resolving to be kind! Remember, charity is as great a virtue as chast.i.ty, and greater, if we will hear nature plead: for the one may make many maids, the other can but preserve one. But I know you will be persuaded; let it be my importunity that prevailed. Shall I bring him hither one evening?

LOVE. Why do you plead thus? Pray, be silent, and when you see him, tell him he has a seat here, and I----

[_She turns away._

CAPT. Out with it; what is't? Shall he call you mistress, and his Platonic?

LOVE. Away, away! Me?

CAPT. No niceness; is't a match?

LOVE. Lord, would I were as worthy as willing (pray tell him so): he shall find me one of the humblest mistresses that ever he was pleased to honour with his affections.

CAPT. Dare you write this to him, and honour me with bearing it?

I confess I am such a friend to friends.h.i.+p-love too, that I would even bring him on my back to a midnight's meeting.

LOVE. If you will stay here, I'll go in and write it.