by Thomas Otway
Young thing, that was in time t’ have bin a Lord,
But he’s but Worms-meat now.
Mar. sen.
My best Sulpitius,
Thou always comfort’st me. See here a man,
A Stranger to my Bloud as well as Fortune,
But meerly of his choice my Honour’s friend:
What mighty things would he not doe for me?
Could’st thou, when Honour call’d thee, whine for Love?
Sulpit.
How? my young son of war in Love? with whom?
Mar. Jun.
A Woman, Sir.... I must not speak her Name.
Sulpit.
If it be hopeless Love, use generous means,
And lay a kinder Beauty to the Wound.
Take in a new Infection to the heart,
And the rank Poison of the old will dy. —
Mar. Jun.
A Plantane leaf is excellent for that.
Sulpit.
For what?
Mar. Jun.
For: broken Shins.
Sulpit.
Why? art thou mad?
Mar. Jun.
Not mad, but bound more then a Mad-man is,
Confin’d to limits, kept, without my food,
Whipt and tormented.... Prithee do not wake me;
Let me dream on —
Sulpit.
Oh! the small Queen of Fairies
Is busy in his Brains; the Mab that comes
Drawn by a little Team of smallest Atoms
Over mens Noses as they lie asleep,
In a Chariot of an empty Hazel-nut
Made by a Joiner Squirrel: in which state
She gallops night by night through Lovers brains.
And then how wiokedly they dream, all know.
Sometimes she courses o’re a Courtier’s Nose,
And then he dreams of begging an Estate.
Sometimes she hurries o’re a Souldier’s Neck,
And then dreams he of cutting forrein Throats,
Of Breaches... Ambuscado’s, temper’d Blades,
Of good rich Winter-quarters, and false Musters.
Sometimes she tweaks a Poet by the Ear,
And then dreams he
Of Panegyricks, flatt’ring Dedications,
And mighty Presents from the Lord knows who,
But wakes as empty as he laid him down.
Sh’ has bin with Sylla too, and he dreams now
Of nothing but a Consulship.
Mar. sen.
A Rattle!
Give the fantastick giddy Boy a Rattle:
The puling Fondling should not want a Play thing.
A Consulship?
Sulpit.
By all the Gods, he’ll shake it
H’ has drawn a Force from Capua here to Rome,
As if he meant Destruction or Success:
The Rabble too are drunk with him already....
Mar. sen.
Alarm all our Citizens to Arms
That are my Friends. Draw you your Guards together,
And take possession of the Forum. Thou,
Inglorious Boy, behold my Face no more,
Till thou’st done something worthy of my Name.
Mar. Jun.
First perish Rome, and all I hold most dear,
Rather then let me feel my Father’s Hate....
Mar. sen.
Why, that’s well said....
Sulpit.
My Troups are all together,
All ready on the Forum: but the Heav’ns
Play tricks with us. Our Ensigns, as they stood
Display’d before our Troups, took fire untouch’d,
And burnt to tinder.
Three Ravens brought their young ones in the streets,
Devouring ’em before the people’s eyes,
Then bore the Garbage back into their Nests.
A noise of Trumpets rattling in the Air
Was heard, and dreadfull Cries of dying men.
Mar. sen.
It was the Roman Genius that thus warns
Me, her old Friend, not to let slip my Fate.
Ambition! oh Ambition! if I ‘ve done
For thee things great and well.... shall Fortune now
Forsake me?
Hark thee, Sulpitius, if it come to blows,
Let not a Hair of that Metellus scape thee,
Who’d strip my Age of its most dear bought Honours.
Else why have I thus bustled in the World,
Through various and uncertain Fortunes hurl’d,
But to be Great, unequall’d, and alone?
Which onely he can be who still spurs on
As swift at last as when he first begun.....
[Exeunt.
The end of the First ACT.
ACT II.
Enter Metellus and Nurse.
Metell.
I Cannot rest to night: Ill-boding Thoughts
Have chas’d soft Sleep from my unsettled Brains.
This seems Lavinia’s Chamber, and she up.
Rest too to night has bin a stranger here.
Lavinia! my Daughter, hoa! where art thou?
Nurse.
Now by my Maidenhead, (at twelve years old I had one)
Come: what, Lamb? what, Lady-bird? Gods forbid.
Where’s this Girl Lavinia?
Enter Lavinia.
Lavin.
How now? who calls?
Nurse.
Your Father, Child.
Lavin.
I’m here. Your Lordship’s pleasure.
Metell.
Why up at this unlucky time of Night,
When nought but loathsome Vermin are abroad,
Or Witches gathering pois’nous Herbs for Spells
By the pale light of the cold waning Moon?
Lavin.
Alas! I could not sleep: in a sad Dream,
Methought. I saw one standing by my Bed,
To warn me I should have a care of Sleep,
For ’twould be banefull —
Metell.
Dreams give Children Fears.
Lavin.
At which I rose from my uneasy Pillows,
And to my Closet went, to pray the Gods
T’ avert th’ unlucky Omen.
Metell.
’Twas well done.
Nurse, give us leave a while: I must impart
Something to my Lavinia. Yet stay,
And hear it too. Thou know’st Lavinia’s Age.
Nurse.
‘Faith, I know her Age to an hour.
Metell.
She’s bare Sixteen.
Nurse.
I’ll lay Sixteen of my Teeth of it; and yet no Disparagement, I have but Six: she’s not Sixteen. How long is’t now since Marius triumph’d last?
Metell.
No matter, Woman, what is that to thee?
Nurse.
Even or odd, of all days in the year, since Marius enter’d Rome in Triumph, ’tis now even Thirteen years. Young Marius then too was but a Boy. My Lais and she were both of an Age. Well, Lais is in Happiness: she was too good for me. But as I was saying, a month hence she ‘ll be Sixteen. ’Tis since Marius triumph’d now full Thirteen years, and then she was weaned. Sure I shall never forget it of all days.... Upon that day, (for I had then laid Wormseed to my Breast, sitting in the Sun under the Dove-house-Wall) my Lady and you were at the Show. Nay, I do bear a Brain! but, as I said before, when it did tast the Wormseed on my Nipple, and felt it bitter, pretty Fool! to see it teachy and fall out with the Nipple. Shout quo’ the people in the streets. ’Twas no need, I trow, to bid me trudge. And since that time it is Thirteen years; and then she cou’d stand alone, nay, she cou’d run and waddle all about: for just the day before, she broke her Forehead, and then my Husband (Peace he with him, he was a merry man) took up the Baggage. Ay, quoth he, dost thou fall upon thy Face? thou wilt fall backward when thou hast more wit; wilt thou not, Vinny? and by
my fackings, the pretty Chit left Crying, and said, Ay.... I warrant and I should live a Thousand years, I never should forget it. Wilt thou not, Vinny? quoth he; and, pretty Fool, it stopt, and said, Ay.
Metell.
Enough of this; stop thy impertinent Chat.
Nurse.
Yes, my Lord: yet I cannot chuse but laugh, to think it should leave Crying, and say, Ay.... And yet in sadness it had a Bump on its Brow as big as a Cockrill’s stone, a parlous Knock, and it cry’d bitterly. Ay, quo’ my Husband, fall’st upon thy Face? thou wilt fall backward when thou com’st to Age, wilt thou not, Vinny? Look you now, it stinted, and said, Ay....
Metell.
Intolerable trifling Gossip, peace.
Nurse.
Well; thou wast the pretty’st Babe that e’re I nurst. Might I but live to see thee marry’d once, I should be happy. It stinted, and said, Ay.
Metell.
What think you then of Marriage, my Lavinia?
It was the subject that I came to treat of.
Lavin.
It is a thing I have not dreamt of yet.
Nurse.
Thing? the thing of Marriage? were I not thy Nurse;
I would swear thou hadst suckt thy Wisedome from thy Teat.
The thing?
Metell.
Think of it now then, for I come to make
Proposals may be worthy of your Wishes.
They are for Sylla, the young, the gay, the handsome,
Noble in Birth and Mind, the valiant Sylla.
Nurse.
A man, young Lady, Lady, such a man as all the world... why, he’s a man of Wax.
Metell.
Consider, Child, my Hopes are all in Thee.
And now Old age gains ground so fast upon me,
‘Mongst all its sad Infirmities, my Fears
For Thee are not the smallest.
Therefore I’ve made Alliance with this Sylla,
A high-born Lord, and of the noblest Hopes
That Rome can boast, to give thee to his Arms;
So in the Winter of my Age to find
Rest from all worldly Cares, and kind rejoycing
In the warm Sun-shine of thy Happiness.
Lavin.
If Happiness be seated in Content,
Or that my being blest can make you so,
Let me implore it on my Knees. I am
Your onely Child, and still, through all the Course
Of my past Life, have bin obedient too:
And as y’ have ever bin a loving Parent,
And bred me up with watchfull tender’st Care,
Which never cost me hitherto a Tear;
Name not that Sylla any more: indeed
I cannot love him.
Metell.
Why?
Lavin.
In deed I cannot.
Metell.
Oh early Disobedience! by the Gods,
Debaucht already to her Sexe’s Folly,
Perverseness, and untoward headstrong Will
Lavin.
Think me not so, I gladly shall submit
To any thing; nay, must submit to all:
Yet think a little, or you sell my Peace.
The Rites of Marriage are of mighty moment:
And should you violate a thing so Sacred
Into a lawful Rape, and load my Soul
With hatefull Bonds, which never can grow easy,
How miserable am I like to be?
Metell.
Has then some other taken up your Heart?
And banisht Duty as an Exile thence?
What sensual lewd Companion of the Night
Have you bin holding Conversation with,
From open Windows at a midnight hour,
When your loose Wishes would not let you sleep?
Lavin.
If I should love, is that a fault in one
So young as I? I cannot guess the Cause,
But when you first nam’d Sylla for my Love,
My Heart shrunk back as if you’d done it wrong.
If I did love, I’d tell you.... if I durst.
Oh Marius!
Metell.
Hah!
Lavin.
‘T was Marius, Sir, I nam’d,
That Enemy to you and all your House.
’Twas an unlucky Omen that he first
Demanded me in Marriage for his Son.
Yet, Sir, believe me, I as soon cou’d wed
That Marius, whom I’ve cause to hate, as Sylla.
Metell.
No more: by all the Gods, ‘twill make me mad,
That daily, nightly, hourly, every way
My care has bin to make thy Fortune high;
And having now provided thee a Lord
Of noblest Parentage, of fair Demeans,
Early in Fame, Youthful, and well ally’d,
In every thing as thought cou’d wish a man,
To have at last a wretched puling Fool,
A whining Suckling, ignorant of her Good,
To answer, I’ll not wed; I cannot love.
If thou art mine, resolve upon Compliance,
Or think no more to rest beneath my Roofs.
Go, try thy Risk in Fortune’s barren Field,
Graze where thou wilt, but think no more of Me,
Till thy Obedience welcome thy Return.
Lavin.
Will you then quite cast off your poor Lavinia?
And turn me like a Vagrant out of Doors,
To wander up and down the streets of Rome,
And beg my bread with sorrow? Can I bear
The proud and hard Reuilings of a Slave,
Fat with his Master’s plenty, when I ask
A little Pity son my pinching Wants?
Shall I endure the cold, wet, windy Night,
To seek a shelter under dropping Eves,
A Porch my Bed, a Threshold for my Pillow,
Shiv’ring and starv’d for want of warmth and food,
Swell’d with my Signs, and almost choak’d with Tears?
Must I at the uncharitable Gates
Of proud great men implore Relief in vain?
Must I, your poor Lavinia, bear all this,
Because I am not Mistriss of my Heart,
Or cannot love according to your liking?
Metell.
Art thou not Mistriss of thy Heart then?
Lavin.
No.
’Tis giv’n away.
Metell.
To whom?
Lavin.
I dare not tell.
But I’ll endeavour strangely to forget him,
If you’ll: forget but Sylla.
Metell.
Thou dost well.
Conceal his Name if thou’dst preserve his Life.
For if there be a Death in Rome that might
Be bought, it should not miss him. From this hour
Curst be thy Purposes, most curst thy Love.
And if thou marry’st, in thy Wedding-night
May all the Curses of an injur’d Parent
Fall thick, and blast the Blessings of thy Bed.
Lavin.
What have you done? alas! Sir, as you spoke,
Methought the Fury of your words took place,
And struck my Heart, like Lightning, dead within me.
Gone too?
[Ex. Metell.
Is there no Pity sitting in the Clouds
That sees into the bottom of my Grief?
Alas! that ever Heav’n should practise Strategems
Upon so soft a Subject as my self!
What say’st Thou? hast not thou a word of Joy?
Some Comfort, Nurse, in this Extremity.
Nurse.
Marry, and there’s but need on’t’ ‘ods my life, this Dad of ours was an arrant Wag in his young days for all this. Well, and what then? Marius is a Man, and so’s Sylla. Oh! but Marius’s Lip! and then Sylla’s Nose and Forehead! But then M
arius’s Eye agen! how ‘twill sparkle, and twinckle, and rowl, and sleer? But to see Sylla a horseback! But to see Marius walk, or dance! such a Leg, such a Foot, such a Shape, such a Motion. Ah h h... Well, Marius is the man, must be the man, and shall be the man.
Lavin.
He’s by his Father’s Nature rough and fiorce,
And knows not yet the follies of my Love:
And when he does, perhaps may scorn and hate me.
Nurse.
Yes, yes, he’s a rude, unmannerly, ill-bred Fellow. He is not the Flow’r of Curtesy; but, I’ll warrant him, as gentle as a Lamb. Go thy ways, Child, serve God. What? a Father’s an Old man, and old men they say will take care. But a Young man! Girl, ah! a Young man! There’s a great deal in a Young man, and thou shalt have a Young man. What? I have bin thy Nurse these Sixteen years, and I should know what’s good for thee surely. Oh! ay ... a Young man!
Lavin.
Now prithee leave me to my self a while.
[Ex. Nurse.
’Tis hardly yet within two hours of Day.
Sad Nights seem long.... I’ll down into the Garden.
The Queen of Night
Shines fair with all her Virgin-stars about her.
Not one amongst ’em all a Friend to me:
Yet by their Light a while I’ll guide my steps,
And think what course my wretched state must take.
Oh Marius!
[Ex. Lavinia.
SCENE A WALLED GARDEN BELONGING TO METELLUS HOUSE.
Enter Marlus junior.
Mar. Jun.
HOW vainly have I spent this idle Night!
Ev’n Wine can’t heal the ragings of my Love.
This sure should be the Mansion of Lavinia;
For in such Groves the Deities first dwelt.
Can I go forward when my Heart is here?
Turn back, dull Earth, and find thy Center out...
[Enters the Garden.
Enter Granius and Sulpitius.
Gran.
This way... he went... Why, Marius! Brother Marius!
Sulp.
Perhaps he’s wise, and gravely gone to bed.
There’s not so weak a Drunkard as a Lover;
One Bottle to his Lady’s health quite addles him.
Gran.
He ran this way, and leapt this Orchard-Wall.
Call, good Sulpitius.
Sulpit.
Nay, I’ll conjure too.
Why, Marius! Humours! Passion! mad-man Lover!
Appear thou in the likeness of a Sigh.
Speak but one word, and I am satisfy’d.
He hears not, neither stirs he yet. Nay then
I conjure thee by bright Lavinia’s Eyes,
By her high Forehead, and her scarlet Lip,
By her fine Foot, straight Leg, and quivering Thigh,
And the Demeans that there adjacent ly,
That in thy likeness thou appear to us.
Gran.
Hold, good Sulpitius, this will anger him....
