by John Dryden
Luc. I’ll come when I’ve recovered myself a little. I am a wretched creature, Hippolita! the letter I writ to the prince —
Hip. I know it, — is fallen into his father’s hands by accident. He’s as wretched as you too. Well, well, it shall be my part to bring you together; and then, if two young people, that have opportunity, can be wretched and melancholy — I’ll go before, and meet Ascanio.
[Exit.
Luc. I am half unwilling to go, because I must be accessary to her assignation with Ascanio; but, for once, I’ll meet the prince in the garden-walk: I am glad, however, that he is less criminal than I thought him.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV. — The Nunnery-Garden.
Hippolita, Ascanio, meeting Laura and Violetta.
Hip. I hear some walking this way. — Who goes there?
Lau. We are the two new pensioners, Laura and Violetta.
Hip. Go in, to your devotion: These undue hours of walking savour too much of worldly thoughts.
Lau. Let us retire to the arbour, where, by this time, I believe, our friends are. — Good-night, sister.
Hip. Good angels guard you. [Exeunt Lau. and Vio.] Now, brother, the coast is clear, and we have the garden to ourselves. Do you remember how you threatened me? But that’s all one, how good soever the opportunity may be, so long as we two resolve to be virtuous.
Asca. Speak for yourself, sister, for I am wickedly inclined. Yet, I confess, I have some remorse when I consider you are in religion.
Hip. We should do very well to consider that, both of us; for, indeed, what should young people do, but think of goodness and religion; especially when they love one another, and are alone too, brother?
Asca. A curse on’t! here comes my lord, and Lucretia. We might have accomplished all, and been repenting by this time; yet who the devil would have thought they should have come so soon — Ah!
[Sets his teeth.
Hip. Who the devil would have put it to the venture? This is always the fault of you raw pages: You, that are too young, never use an opportunity; and we, that are elder, can seldom get one. — Ah!
[Sets her teeth.
Enter Frederick and Lucretia.
Luc. I believe, indeed, it troubled you to lose that letter.
Fred. So much, madam, that I can never forgive myself that negligence.
Luc. Call it not so, ’twas but a casuality, though, I confess, the consequence is dangerous; and therefore have not both of us reason to defy love, when we see a little gallantry is able to produce so much mischief?
Fred. [Aside.] Now cannot I, for my heart, bring out one word against this love.
Luc. Come, you are mute upon a subject, that is both easy and pleasant. A man in love is so ridiculous a creature —
Fred. Especially to those that are not.
Luc. True; for to those that are, he cannot be so: They are like the citizens of Bethlehem, who never find out one another’s madness, because they are all tainted. But for such ancient fops, as, with reverence, your father is, what reason can they have to be in love?
Fred. Nay, your old fop’s unpardonable, that’s certain. But —
Luc. But what? Come, laugh at him.
Fred. But I consider he is my father, I can’t laugh at him.
Luc. But, if it were another, we should see how you would insult over him.
Fred. Ay, if it were another — And yet I don’t know neither, ’tis no part of good nature to insult: A man may be overtaken with a passion, or so; I know it by myself.
Luc. How, by yourself! You are not in love, I hope? — Oh that he would confess first now! [Aside.
Fred. But, if I were, I should be loth to be laughed at.
Luc. Since you are not in love, you may the better counsel me: What shall we do with this same troublesome father of yours?
Fred. Any thing, but love him.
Luc. But you know he has me at a bay; my letter is in his possession, and he may produce it to my ruin: Therefore, if I did allow him some little favour, to mollify him —
Fred. How, madam? Would you allow him favours? I can never consent to it: Not the least look or smile; they are all too precious, though they were to save his life.
Luc. What, not your father? Oh that he would confess he loved me first! [Aside.
Fred. What have I done? I shall betray myself, and confess my love to be laughed at, by this hard-hearted woman. [Aside.] ’Tis true, madam, I had forgot; he is, indeed, my father, and therefore you may use him as kindly as you please.
Luc. He’s insensible: Now he enrages me. [Aside.] What if he proposes to marry me? I am not yet professed, and ‘twould be much to my advantage.
Fred. Marry you! I had rather die a thousand deaths, than suffer it.
Luc. This begins to please me. [Aside.
But why should you be so much my enemy?
Fred. Your enemy, madam! Why, do you desire it?
Luc. Perhaps I do.
Fred. Do it, madam, since it pleases you so well.
Luc. But you had rather die, than suffer it.
Fred. No, I have changed my mind: I’ll live, and not be concerned at it.
Luc. Do you contradict yourself so soon? Then know, sir, I did intend to do it; and I am glad you have given me advice so agreeable to my inclinations.
Fred. Heaven! that you should not find it out! I delivered your letter on purpose to my father, and ’twas my business, now, to come and mediate for him.
Luc. Pray, then, carry him the news of his good success. Adieu, sweet prince!
Fred. Adieu, dear madam.
Asca. Hey day! what will this come to? They have cozened one another into a quarrel; just like friends in fencing, a chance thrust comes, and then they fall to it in earnest.
Hip. You and I, brother, shall never meet upon even terms, if this be not pieced. — Face about, madam; turn quickly to your man, or, by all that’s virtuous, I’ll call the abbess.
Asca. I must not be so bold with you, sir; but, if you please, you may turn towards the lady: and, I suppose, you would be glad I durst speak to you with more authority, to save the credit of your willingness.
Fred. Well, I’ll shew her I dare stay, if it be but to confront her malice.
Luc. I am sure I have done nothing to be ashamed of, that I should need to run away.
Asca. Pray give me leave, sir, to ask you but one question; Why were you so unwilling that she should be married to your father?
Fred. Because then her friendship must wholly cease.
Asca. But you may have her friendship, when she is married to him.
Fred. What! when another has enjoyed her?
Asca. Victoria, Victoria! he loves you, madam; let him deny it, if he can.
Luc. Fye, fye, loves me, Ascanio! I hope he would not forswear himself, when he has railed so much against it.
Fred. I hope I may love your mind, madam; I may love spiritually.
Hip. That’s enough, that’s enough: Let him love the mind without the body, if he can.
Asca. Ay, ay, when the love is once come so far, that spiritual mind will never leave pulling, and pulling, till it has drawn the beastly body after it.
Fred. Well, madam, since I must confess it, — though I expect to be laughed at, after my railing against love, — I do love you all over, both soul and body.
Asca. Lord, sir, what a tigress have you provoked! you may see she takes it to the death, that you have made this declaration.
Hip. I thought where all her anger was: Why do you not rail, madam? Why do you not banish him? the prince expects it; he has dealt honestly, he has told you his mind, and you may make your worst on’t.
Luc. Because he does expect it, I am resolved, I’ll neither satisfy him nor you: I will neither rail nor laugh: Let him make his worst of that, now.
Fred. If I understand you right, madam, I am happy beyond either my deserts or expectation.
Luc. You may give my words what interpretation you please, sir; I shall not envy you their meanin
g in the kindest sense. But we are near the jessamine walk, there we may talk with greater freedom, because ’tis farther from the house.
Fred. I wait you, madam. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Aurelian, with a dark lanthorn. Camillo and Benito.
Cam. So, we are safe got over into the nunnery-garden; for what’s to come, trust love and fortune.
Aur. This must needs be the walk she mentioned; yet, to be sure, I’ll hold the lanthorn while you read the ticket.
Cam. [Reads.] I prepared this ticket, hoping to see you in the chapel: Come this evening over the garden wall, on the right hand, next the Tiber.
Aur. We are right, I see.
Cam. Bring only your discreet Benito with you, and I will meet you attended by my faithful Beatrix.
Violetta.
Ben. Discreet Benito! Did you hear, sir?
Aur. Mortify thyself for that vain thought; and, without enquiring into the mystery of these words, which I assure thee were not meant to thee, plant thyself by that ladder without motion, to secure our retreat; and be sure to make no noise.
Ben. But, sir, in case that —
Aur. Honest Benito, no more questions: Basta is the word. Remember, thou art only taken with us, because thou hast a certain evil dæmon, who conducts thy actions, and would have been sure, by some damned accident or other, to have brought thee hither to disturb us.
Cam. I hear whispering not far from us, and I think ’tis Violetta’s voice.
Aur. [To Ben.] Retire to your post; avoid, good Satan. [Exit Ben.
Enter Laura, with a dark lanthorn hid, and Violetta.
Cam. Ours is the honour of the field, madam; we are here before you.
Vio. Softly, dear friend; I think I hear some walking in the garden.
Cam. Rather, let us take this opportunity for your escape from hence; all things are here in readiness.
Vio. This is the second time we ever have met; let us discourse, and know each other better first; that’s the way to make sure of some love beforehand; for, as the world goes, we know not how little we may have when we are married.
Cam. Losses of opportunity are fatal in war, you know, and love’s a kind of warfare.
Vio. I shall keep you yet a while from close fighting.
Cam. But, do you know what an hour in love is worth? ’Tis more precious than an age of ordinary life; ’tis the very quintessence and extract of it.
Vio. I do not like your chemical preparation of love; yours is all spirit, and will fly too soon; I must see it fixed, before I trust you. But we are near the arbour: Now our out-guards are set, let us retire a little, if you please; there we may walk more freely.
[Exit.
Aur. [To Lau.] My lady’s woman, methinks you are very reserved to-night: Pray, advance into the lists; though I have seen your countenance by day, I can endure to hear you talk by night. Be cunning, and set your wit to show, which is your best commodity: It will help the better to put off that drug, your face.
Lau. The coarsest ware will serve such customers as you are: Let it suffice, Mr Serving-man, that I have seen you too. Your face is the original of the ugliest vizors about town; and for wit, I would advise you to speak reverently of it, as a thing you are never like to understand.
Aur. Sure, Beatrix, you came lately from looking in your glass, and that has given you a bad opinion of all faces; but since when am I become so notorious a fool?
Lau. Since yesterday; for t’other night you talked like a man of sense: I think your wit comes to you, as the sight of owls does, only in the dark.
Aur. Why, when did you discourse by day with me?
Lau. You have a short memory. This afternoon in the great street. Do you remember when you talked with Laura?
Aur. But what was that to Beatrix?
Lau. [Aside.] ‘Slife, I had forgot that I am Beatrix. But pray, when did you find me out to be so ugly?
Aur. This afternoon, in the chapel.
Lau. That cannot be; for I well remember you were not there, Benito: I saw none but Camillo, and his friend, the handsome stranger.
Aur. [Aside] Curse on’t, I have betrayed myself.
Lau. I find you are an impostor: you are not the same Benito: your language has nothing of the serving-man.
Aur. And yours, methinks, has not much of the waiting-woman.
Lau. My lady is abused, and betrayed by you: But I am resolved, I’ll discover who you are. [Holds out a lanthorn to him.] How! the stranger?
Aur. Nay, madam, if you are good at that, I’ll match you there too. [Holds out his lanthorn.] O prodigy! Is Beatrix turned to Laura?
Lau. Now the question is, which of us two is the greatest cheat?
Aur. That’s hardly to be tried, at so short warning: Let’s marry one another, and then, twenty to one, in a twelvemonth we shall know.
Lau. Marry! Are you at that so soon, signior? Benito and Beatrix, I confess, had some acquaintance; but Aurelian and Laura are mere strangers.
Aur. That ground I have gotten as Benito, I am resolved I’ll keep as Aurelian. If you will take state upon you, I have treated you with ceremony already; for I have wooed you by proxy.
Lau. But you would not be contented to bed me so; or give me leave to put the sword betwixt us.
Aur. Yes, upon condition you’ll remove it.
Lau. Pray let our friends be judge of it; if you please, we’ll find them in the arbour.
Aur. Content; I am then sure of the verdict, because the jury is bribed already. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Benito meeting Frederick, Ascanio, Lucretia, and Hippolita.
Ben. Knowing my own merits, as I do, ’tis not impossible, but some of these harlotry nuns may love me. Oh, here’s my master! now if I could but put this into civil terms, so as to ask his leave, and not displease him —
Asca. I hear one talking, sir, just by us.
Ben. I am stolen from my post, sir, but for one minute only, to demand permission of you, since it is not in our articles, that if any of these nuns should cast an eye, or so —
Fred. ‘Slife, we are betrayed; but I’ll make this rascal sure. [Draws and runs at him.
Ben. Help! murder, murder! [Runs off.
Enter Aurelian and Camillo; Laura and Violetta after them.
Aur. That was Benito’s voice: We are ruined.
Cam. O, here they are, we must make our way. [Aur. and the Prince make a pass or two confusedly, and fight off the stage. The Women shriek.
Asca. Never fear, ladies. — Come on, sir; I am your man.
Cam. [Stepping back.] This is the prince’s page, I know his voice. — Ascanio?
Asca. Signior Camillo?
Cam. If the prince be here, ’tis Aurelian is engaged with him. Let us run in quickly, and prevent the mischief.
[All go off. A little clashing within. After which they all re-enter.
Fred. [To Aur.] I hope you are not wounded.
Aur. No, sir; but infinitely grieved, that —
Fred. No more; ’twas a mistake: But which way can we escape? the abbess is coming; I see the lights.
Luc. You cannot go by the gate, then. Ah me, unfortunate!
Cam. But over the wall you may: We have a ladder ready. — Adieu, ladies. — Curse on this ill luck, when we had just persuaded them to go with us!
Fred. Farewell, sweet Lucretia.
Lau. Good-night, Aurelian.
Aur. Ay, it might have proved a good one: Faith, shall I stay yet, and make it one, in spite of the abbess, and all her works?
Lau. The abbess is just here; you will be
Caught in the spiritual trap, if you should tarry.
Aur. That will be time enough, when we two marry. [Exeunt severally.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
Enter Sophronia, Lucretia, Laura, and Violetta.
Soph. By this, then, it appears you all are guilty;
Only your ignorance of each others crimes
Caused first that tumult, and this discovery.
Good heavens, that I should live to see this day!
Methinks these holy walls, the cells, the cloisters,
Should all have struck a secret horror on you:
And when, with unchaste thoughts,
You trod these lonely walks, you should have looked,
The venerable ghost of our first foundress
Should, with spread arms, have met you in her shroud,
And frighted you from sin.
Luc. Alas! you need not aggravate our crimes;
We know them to be great beyond excuse,
And have no hope, but only from your mercy.
Lau. Love is, indeed, no plea within these walls;
But, since we brought it hither, and were forced,
Not led by our own choice, to this strict life —
Vio. Too hard for our soft youth, and bands of love,
Which we before had knit —
Lau. Pity your blood,
Which runs within our veins; and since heav’n puts it
In your sole power to ruin or to save,
Protect us from the sordid avarice
Of our domestic tyrant, who deserves not
That we should call him uncle, or your brother.
Soph. If, as I might, with justice I should punish,
No penance could be rigorous enough;
But I am willing to be more indulgent.
None of you are professed: And, since I see
You are not fit for higher happiness,
You may have what you think the world can give you.
Luc. Let us adore you, madam!
Soph. You, Lucretia,
I shall advise within.
Vio. But for us, madam?
Soph. For you, dear nieces, I have long considered
The injuries you suffer from my brother,
And I rejoice it is in me to help you:
I will endeavour, from this very hour,
To put you both into your lovers’ hands,
Who, by your own confession, have deserved you;
But so as (though ’tis done by my connivance)
It shall not seem to be with my consent.
Lau. You do an act of noble charity,
And may just heaven reward it!
Enter Hippolita, and whispers Lucretia.
Soph. Oh, you’re a faithful portress of a cloister!
