John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

Vio. O, I am ready to faint away!

  Fron. Alas, poor sweet lady, she’s young and tender, sir. I beseech you, give me leave to repair my offence, with offering myself, and poor house, for her accommodation.

  Ben. I know that woman: There’s some villanous plot in this, I’ll lay my life on’t. Now, Benito, cast about for thy credit, and recover all again.

  Mar. Go into the coach, nieces, and bid the coachman drive apace. As for you, mistress, your smooth tongue shall not excuse you.

  Lau. By your favour, sir, I’ll accept of the gentlewoman’s civility; I cannot stir a step farther.

  Fron. Come in, sweet buds of beauty, you shall have a fire in an inner chamber; and if you please to repose yourself a while, sir, in another room, they shall come out, and wait on you immediately.

  Mar. Well, it must be so.

  Fron. [Whispering the Ladies.] Your friends are ready in the garden, and will be with you as soon as we have shaken off your uncle.

  Ben. A cheat, a cheat! a rank one! I smell it, old sir, I smell it.

  Mar. What’s the matter with the fellow? Is he distracted?

  Ben. No, ’tis you are more likely to be distracted but that there goes some wit to the being mad; and you have not the least grain of wit, to be gulled thus grossly.

  Fron. What does the fellow mean?

  Ben. The fellow means to detect your villany, and to recover his lost reputation of a wit.

  Fron. Why, friend, what villany? I hope my house is a civil house.

  Ben. Yes, a very civil one; for my master lay in of his last clap there, and was treated very civilly, to my knowledge.

  Mar. How’s this, how’s this?

  Fron. Come, you are a dirty fellow, and I am known to be a person that —

  Ben. Yes, you are known to be a person that —

  Fron. Speak your worst of me; what person am I known to be?

  Ben. Why, if you will have it, you are little better than a procuress: You carry messages betwixt party and party: — And, in one word, sir, she’s as arrant a fruit-woman as any is about Rome.

  Mar. Nay, if she be a fruit-woman, my nieces shall not enter her doors.

  Ben. You had best let them enter, you do not know how they may fructify in her house: For I heard her, with these ears, whisper to them, that their friends were within call.

  Mar. This is palpable, this is manifest; I shall remember you, lady fruiterer; I shall have your baskets searched when you bring oranges again. — Come away, nieces; and thanks, honest fellow, for thy discovery.

  [Exeunt Mario and Women.

  Ben. Hah couragio! Il diavolo e morto: Now, I think I have tickled it; this discovery has reinstated me into the empire of my wit again. Now, in the pomp of this achievement, will I present myself before madam Laura, with a — Behold, madam, the happy restoration of Benito!

  Enter Aurelian, Camillo, and Frontona, over-hearing him,

  Oh, now, that I had the mirror, to behold myself in the fulness of my glory! and, oh, that the domineering fop, my master, were in presence, that I might triumph over him! that I might even contemn the wretched wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul, and of a debased understanding. [He looks about him, and sees his master.] How the devil came these three together? Nothing vexes me, but that I must stand bare to him, after such an enterprise as this is.

  Aur. Nay, put on, put on again, sweet sir; why should you be uncovered before the fop your master, the wretched wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul?

  Ben. Ay, sir, you may make bold with yourself at your own pleasure: But, for all that, a little bidding would make me take your counsel, and be covered, as affairs go now.

  Aur. If it be lawful for a man of a debased understanding to confer with such an exalted wit, pray what was that glorious achievement, which wrapt you into such an ecstasy?

  Ben. ’Tis a sign you know well how matters go, by your asking me so impertinent a question.

  Aur. [Putting off his hat to him.] Sir, I beg of you, as your most humble master, to be satisfied.

  Ben. Your servant, sir; at present I am not at leisure for conference. But hark you, sir, by the way of friendly advice, one word: Henceforward, tell me no more of the adventure of the garden, nor of the great looking-glass.

  Aur. You mean the mirror.

  Ben. Yes, the mirror; tell me no more of that, except you could behold in it a better, a more discreet, or a more able face for stratagem, than I can, when I look there.

  Aur. But, to the business; What is this famous enterprise?

  Ben. Be satisfied, without troubling me farther, the business is done, the rogues are defeated, and your mistress is secured: If you would know more, demand it of that criminal [Pointing to Fron.], and ask her, how she dares appear before you, after such a signal treachery, or before me, after such an overthrow?

  Fron. I know nothing, but only that, by your master’s order, I was to receive the two ladies into my house, and you prevented it.

  Ben. By my master’s order? I’ll never believe it. This is your stratagem, to free yourself, and deprive me of my reward.

  Cam. I’ll witness what she says is true.

  Ben. I am deaf to all asseverations, that make against my honour.

  Aur. I’ll swear it then. We two were the two rogues, and you the discoverer of our villany.

  Ben. Then, woe, woe, to poor Benito! I find my abundance of wit has ruined me.

  Aur. But come a little nearer: I would not receive a good office from a servant, but I would reward him for his diligence.

  Ben. Virtue, sir, is its own reward: I expect none from you.

  Aur. Since it is so, sir, you shall lose no further time in my service: Henceforward, pray know me for your humble servant; for your master I am resolved to be no longer.

  Ben. Nay, rather than so, sir, I beseech you let a good, honest, sufficient beating atone the difference.

  Aur. ’Tis in vain.

  Ben. I am loth to leave you without a guide.

  Aur. He’s at it again! do you hear, Camillo?

  Cam. Pr’ythee, Aurelian, be mollified, and beat him.

  Fron. Pray, sir, hear reason, and lay it on, for my sake.

  Aur. I am obdurate.

  Cam. But what will your father say, if you part with him?

  Aur. I care not.

  Ben. Well, sir, since you are so peremptory, remember I have offered you satisfaction, and so long my conscience is at ease. What a devil, before I’ll offer myself twice to be beaten, by any master in Christendom, I’ll starve, and that is my resolution; and so your servant that was, sir.

  [Exit.

  Aur. I am glad I am rid of him; he was my evil genius, and was always appearing to me, to blast my undertakings: Let me send him never so far off, the devil would be sure to put him in my way, when I had any thing to execute. Come, Camillo, now we have changed the dice, it may be we shall have better fortune.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE II.

  Enter the Duke of Mantua in masquerade, Frederick, Valerio, and others. On the other side, enter Lucretia, Hippolita, and Ascanio.

  Luc. [To Asca.] The prince I know already, by your description of his masking habit; but, which is the duke, his father?

  Asca. He whom you see talking with the prince, and looking this way. I believe he has observed us.

  Luc. If he has not, I am resolved we’ll make ourselves as remarkable as we can: I’ll exercise my talent of dancing.

  Hip. And I mine of singing.

  Duke. [To Fred.] Do you know the company which came in last?

  Fred. I cannot possibly imagine who they are. — At least I will not tell you. [Aside.

  Duke. There’s something very uncommon in the air of one of them.

  Fred. Please you, sir, I’ll discourse with her, and see if I can satisfy your highness.

  Duke. Stay, there’s a dance beginning, and she seems as if she would make one.

  SONG AND DANCE.

  Long betwixt love and fear Phyllis, tormented,

  Shunned
her own wish, yet at last she consented:

  But loth that day should her blushes discover,

  Come, gentle night, she said,

  Come quickly to my aid,

  And a poor shamefaced maid

  Hide from her lover.

  Now cold as ice I am, now hot as fire,

  I dare not tell myself my own desire;

  But let day fly away, and let night haste her:

  Grant, ye kind powers above,

  Slow hours to parting love;

  But when to bless we move,

  Bid them fly faster.

  How sweet it is to love, when I discover

  That fire, which burns my heart, warming my lover!

  ’Tis pity love so true should be mistaken:

  But if this night he be

  False or unkind to me,

  Let me die, ere I see

  That I’m forsaken.

  Duke [After the dance.] My curiosity redoubles; I must needs hail that unknown vessel, and enquire whither she’s bound, and what freight she carries.

  Fred. She’s not worth your trouble, sir: She’ll either prove some common courtezan in disguise, or, at best, some homely person of honour, that only dances well enough to invite a sight of herself, and would look ill enough to fright you.

  Duke. That’s maliciously said; all I see of her is charming, and I have reason to think her face is of the same piece; at least I’ll try my fortune.

  Fred. What an unlucky accident is this! If my father should discover her, she’s ruined: If he does not, yet I have lost her conversation to-night.

  Duke approaches Lucretia.

  Asca. ’Tis the duke himself, who comes to court you.

  Luc. Peace, I’ll fit him; for I have been informed, to the least tittle, of his actions since he came to town.

  Duke. [To Luc.] Madam, the duke of Mantua, whom you must needs imagine to be in this company, has sent me to you, to know what kind of face there is belonging to that excellent shape, and to those charming motions, which he observed so lately in your dancing.

  Luc. Tell his highness, if you please, that there is a face within the mask, so very deformed, that, if it were discovered, it would prove the worst visor of the two; and that, of all men, he ought not to desire it should be exposed, because then something would be found amiss in an entertainment, which he has made so splendid and magnificent.

  Duke. The duke, I am sure, would be very proud of your compliment, but it would leave him more unsatisfied than before; for, he will find in it so much of gallantry, as, being added to your other graces, will move him to a strange temptation of knowing you.

  Luc. I should still have the same reason to refuse him; for ‘twere a madness, when I had charmed him by my motion and converse, to hazard the loss of that conquest by my eyes.

  Duke. I am on fire ‘till I discover her. [Aside.] — At least, madam, tell me of what family you are.

  Luc. Will you be satisfied, if I tell you I am of the Colonne? You have seen Julia of that house?

  Duke. Then you are she.

  Luc. Have I not her stature most exactly?

  Duke. As near as I remember.

  Luc. But, by your favour, I have nothing of her shape; for, if I may be so vain to praise myself, she’s a little thicker in the shoulders, and, besides, she moves ungracefully.

  Duke. Then you are not she again.

  Luc. No, not she: But you have forgotten Emilia of the Ursini, whom the duke saluted yesterday at her balcony, when he entered. Her air and motion —

  Duke. Are the very same with yours. Now I am sure I know you.

  Luc. But there’s too little of her to make a beauty: My stature is more advantageous.

  Duke. You have cozened me again.

  Luc. Well, I find at last I must confess myself: What think you of Eugenia Beata? The duke seemed to be infinitely pleased last night, when my brother presented me to him at the Belvidere.

  Duke. Now I am certain you are she, for you have both her stature and her motion.

  Luc. But, if you remember yourself a little better, there’s some small difference in our wit; for she has indeed the air and beauty of a Roman lady, but all the dulness of a Dutch woman.

  Duke. I see, madam, you are resolved to conceal yourself, and I am as fully resolved to know you.

  Luc. See which of our resolutions will take place.

  Duke. I come from the duke, and can assure you, he is of an humour to be obeyed.

  Luc. And I am of an humour not to obey him. But why should he be so curious?

  Duke. If you would have my opinion, I believe he is in love with you.

  Luc. Without seeing me?

  Duke. Without seeing all of you: Love is love, let it wound us from what part it please; and if he have enough from your shape and conversation, his business is done, the more compendiously, without the face.

  Luc. But the duke cannot be taken with my conversation, for he never heard me speak.

  Duke. [Aside.] ‘Slife, I shall discover myself. — Yes madam, he stood by incognito, and heard me speak with you: But —

  Luc. I wish he had trusted to his own courtship, and spoke himself; for it gives us a bad impression of a prince’s wit, when we see fools in favour about his person.

  Duke. Whatever I am, I have it in commission from him to tell you, he’s in love with you.

  Luc. The good old gentleman may dote, if he so pleases; but love, and fifty years old, are stark nonsense.

  Duke. But some men, you know, are green at fifty.

  Luc. Yes, in their understandings.

  Duke. You speak with great contempt of a prince, who has some reputation in the world.

  Luc. No; ’tis you that speak with contempt of him, by saying he is in love at such an age.

  Duke. Then, madam, ’tis necessary you should know him better for his reputation; and that shall be, though he violate the laws of masquerade, and force you.

  Fred. I suspected this from his violent temper. [Aside.] Sir, the emperor’s ambassador is here in masquerade, and I believe this to be his lady: It were well if you inquired of him, before you forced her to discover.

  Duke. Which is the ambassador?

  Fred. That farthermost. [Duke retires farther.

  Fred. to Luc. Take your opportunity to escape, while his back is turned, or you are ruined. Ascanio, wait on her.

  Luc. I am so frighted, I cannot stay to thank you. [Exeunt Luc. Asca. and Hip.

  Duke to Fred. ’Tis a mistake, the ambassador knows nothing of her: I’m resolved I’ll know it of herself, ere she shall depart. — Ha! Where is she? I left her here.

  Fred. [Aside.] Out of your reach, father mine, I hope.

  Duke. She has either shifted places, or else slipped out of the assembly.

  Fred. I have looked round: She must be gone, sir.

  Duke. She must not be gone, sir. Search for her every where: I will have her.

  Fred. Has she offended your highness?

  Duke. Peace, with your impertinent questions. Come hither, Valerio.

  Val. Sir?

  Duke. O, Valerio, I am desperately in love: That lady, with whom you saw me talking, has — But I lose time; she’s gone; haste after her, — find her, — bring her back to me.

  Val. If it be possible.

  Duke. It must be possible; the quiet of my life depends upon it.

  Val. Which way took she?

  Duke. Go any way, — every way; ask no questions: I know no more, but that she must, — must be had.

  [Exit Valerio.

  Fred. Sir, the assembly will observe, that —

  Duke. Damn the assembly; ’tis a dull insignificant crowd, now she is not here: Break it up, I’ll stay no longer.

  Fred. [Aside.] I hope she’s safe, and then this fantastic love of my father’s will make us sport to-momorrow.

  [Exeunt.

  SCENE III.

  Enter Lucretia, Ascanio, and Hippolita.

  Luc. Now that we are safe at the gate of our convent, methinks the
adventure was not unpleasant.

  Hip. And now that I am out of danger, brother, I may tell you what a novice you are in love, to tempt a young sister into the wide world, and not to show her the difference betwixt that and her cloister. I find I may venture safely with you another time.

  Asca. O, sister, you play the brazen-head with me, — you give me warning when time’s past. But that was no fit opportunity: I hate to snatch a morsel of love, and so away. I am for a set-meal, where I may enjoy my full gust; but, when I once fall on, you shall find me a brave man upon occasion.

  Luc. ’Tis time we were in our cells. Quick, Hippolita; where’s the key?

  Hip. Here, in my pocket — No, ’tis in my other pocket: — Ha, ’tis not there neither. I am sure I put it in one of them.

  Luc. What should we do, if it should be lost now?

  Hip. I have searched myself all over, and cannot find it.

  Asca. A woman can never search herself all over; let me search you, sister.

  Luc. Is this a time for raillery? Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort quickly; have you found it?

  [Here Ascanio slips away.

  Hip. Speak you comfort, madam, and tell me you have it, for I am too sure that I have none on’t.

  Luc. O, unfortunate that we are! day’s breaking; the handicrafts’ shops begin to open.

  [Clock strikes.

  Hip. The clock strikes two: Within this half hour we shall be called up to our devotions. Now, good Ascanio — Alas, he’s gone too! we are left miserable and forlorn.

  Luc. We have not so much as one place in the town for a retreat.

  Hip. O, for a miracle in our time of need! that some kind good-natured saint would take us up, and heave us over the wall into our cells.

  Luc. Dear sister, pray, for I cannot: I have been so sinful in leaving my cloister for the world, that I am ashamed to trouble my friends above to help me.

  Hip. Alas, sister, with what face can I pray then! Yours were but little vanities, but I have sinned swingingly against my vow; yes, indeed, sister, I have been very wicked, — for I wished the ball might be kept perpetually in our cloister, and that half the handsome nuns in it might be turned to men, for the sake of the other.

  Luc. Well, if I were free from this disgrace, I would never more set foot beyond the cloister, for the sake of any man.

  Hip. And here I vow, if I get safe within my cell, I will not think of man again these seven years.