THE Dutch Lover: A COMEDY, ACTED AT THE DUKE'S THEATRE.  
Written by Mrs. A. Bhen.  
LONDON: Printed for Thomas Dring, at the Sign of the Harrow at Chancery-lane end, over against the Inner Temple Gate in Fleetstreet. 1673.   

Good, Sweet, Honey, Sugar-candied READER.  
WHich I think is more than any one has called you yet.) I must have a word or two with you before you do advance into the Treatise; but 'tis not to beg your pardon for diverting you from your affairs, by such an idle Pamphlet as this is, for I presume you have not much to do, and therefore are to be obliged to me for keeping you from worse employment, and if you have a better, you may get you gone about your business: but if you will misspend your time, pray lay the fault upon yourself; for I have dealt pretty fairly in the matter, and told you in the Title Page what you are to expect within. Indeed, had I hung out a sign of the Immortality of the Soul, of the Mystery of Godliness, or of Ecclesiastical Policy, and then had treated you with Indiscerpibility, and Essential Spissitude (words, which though I am no competent judge of, for want of Languages, yet I fancy strongly aught to mean just nothing) with a company of Apocryphal midnight tales culled out of the choicest insignificant Authors; If I had only proved in Folio that Apollonius was a naughty Knave, or had presented you with two or three of the worst principles transcribed out of the peremptory and ill natured, (though prettily ingenious) Doctor of Malmsbury undigested, and ill managed by a silly, saucy, ignorant, impertinent, ill educated Chaplain, I were then indeed sufficiently in fault; but having inscribed Comedy on the beginning of my Book, you may guests pretty near what pennyworths you are like to have, and beware your money and your time accordingly.  
I would not yet be understood to lessen the dignity of Plays, for surely they deserve a place among the middle, if not the better sort of Books; for I have heard that most of that which bears the name of Learning, and which has abused such quantities of Ink and Paper, and continually employs so many ignorant, unhappy souls for ten, twelve, twenty years in the University (who yet poor wretches think they are doing something all the while) as Logic, etc. and several other things (that shall be nameless, lest I should mispel them) are much more absolutely nothing then the arrantest Play that e'er was writ. Take notice, Reader, I do not assert this purely upon my own knowledge; but I think I have known it very fully proved, both sides being fairly heard, and seen some ingenious opposers of it most abominably baffled in the Argument: Some of which I have got so perfectly by rote, that if this were a proper place for it, I am apt to think myself could almost make it clear; and as I would not undervalue Poetry, so neither am I altogether of their judgement, who believe no wisdom in the world beyond it. I have often heard indeed (and read) how much the World was anciently obliged to it for most of that which they called Science, which my want of letters makes me less assured of than others happily may be: but I have heard some wise men say, that no considerable part of useful knowledge was this way communicated, and on the other way, that it hath served to propagate so many idle superstitions, as all the benefits it hath or can be guilty of, can never make sufficient amends for, which unaided by the unluckey charms of Poetry, could never have possessed a thinking Creature such as man. However true this is, I am myself well able to affirm that none of all our English Poets, and least the Dramatic (so I think you call them) can be justly charged with too great reformation of men's minds or manner's, and for that I may appeal to general experiment, if those who are the most assiduous Disciples of the Stage, do not make the findest and the lewdest crew about this Town; for if you should unhappily converse them through the year, you will not find one dram of sense amongst a Club of them, unless you will allow for such a little Link-Bays Ribaldry, thick larded with unseasonable oaths, & impudent defiance of God, and all things serious; and that at such a senseless damned unthinking rate, as, if 'twere well distributed, would spoil near half the Apothecary's trade, and save the sober people of the Town the charge of Vomits; And it was smartly said, (how prudently I cannot tell) by a late learned Doctor, who, though himself no great asserter of a Deity, (as you'll believe by that which follows) yet was observed to be continually persuading of this sort of men (if I for once may call them so) of the necessity and truth of our Religion; and being asked how he came to bestir himself so much this way, made answer, that it was because their ignorance and indiscreet debauch made them a scandal to the profession of Atheism. And for their wisdom and design, I never knew it reach beyond the invention of some notable expedient, for the speedier ridding them of their estate, (a devilish clog to Wit and Parts) than other groveling Mortals know, or battering half a dozen fair new Windows in a Morning after their debauch, whilst the dull unj●nt●e Rascal they belong to is fast asleep. But I'll proceed no farther in their character, because that miracle of Wit (in spite of Academic frippery) the mighty Echard hath already done it to my satisfaction; and whoever undertakes a Supplement to any thing he hath discoursed, had better for their reputation be doing nothing.  
Besides, this Theme is worn too threadbare by the whiffling wouldbe Wits of the Town, and of both the stone-blind-eyes of the Kingdom. And therefore to return to that which I before was speaking of, I will have leave to say that in my judgement the increasing number of our latter Plays have not done much more towards the amending of men's Morals, or their Wit, than hath the frequent Preaching, which this last age hath been pestered with, (indeed without all Controversy they have done less harm) nor can I once imagine what temptation any one can have to expect it from them: for, sure I am, no Play was ever writ with that design. If you consider Tragedy, you'll find their best of characters unlikely patterns for a wise man to pursue: For he that is the Knight of the Play, no sublunary feats must serve his Dulcinea; for if he can't bestrid the Moon, he'll ne'er make good his business to the end, and if he chance to be offended, he must without considering right or wrong confound all things he meets, and put you half a score likely tall fellows into each pocket; and truly if he come not something near this pitch, I think the Tragedies not worth a farthing; for Plays were certainly intended for the exercising of men's passions, not their understandings, and he is infinitely far from wise, that will bestow one moments private meditation on such things: And as for Comedy, the finest folks you meet with there, are still unfitter for your imitation, for though within a leaf or two of the Prologue, you are told that they are people of Wit, good Humour, good Manners, and all that: yet if the Authors did not kindly add their proper names, you'd never know them by their characters; for whatsoe'er's the matter, it hath happened so spitefully in several Plays, which have been pretty well received of late, that even those persons that were meant to be the ingenious Censors of the Play, have either proved the most debauched, or most unwitty people in the Company: nor is this error very lamentable, since as I take it Comedy was never meant, either for a converting or confirming Ordinance: In short, I think a Play the best divertisement that wise men have; but I do also think them nothing so, who do discourse as formally about the rules of it, as if 'twere the grand affair of humane life. This being my opinion of Plays, I studied only to make this as entertaining as I could, which whether I have been successful in, my gentle Reader, you may for your shilling judge. To tell you my thoughts of it, were to little purpose, for were they very ill, you may be sure I would not have exposed it; nor did I so till I had first consulted most of those who have a reputation for judgement of this kind; who were at least so civil (if not kind) to it as did encourage me to venture it upon the Stage, and in the Press: Nor did I take their single word for it, but used their reasons as a confirmation of my own.  
Indeed that day 'twas Acted first, there comes me into the Pit, a long, lither, phlegmatic, white, ill-favoured, wretched Fop, an officer in Masquerade newly transported with a Scarf & Feather out of France, a sorry Animal that has nought else to shield it from the uttermost contempt of all mankind, but that respect which we afford to Rats and Toads, which though we do not well allow to live, yet when considered as a part of God's Creation, we make honourable mention of them. A thing, Reader— but no more of such a Smelled: This thing, I tell ye, opening that which serves it for a mouth, out issued such a noise as this to those that sat about it, that they were to expect a woeful Play, God damn him, for it was a woman's. Now how this came about I am not sure, but I suppose he brought it piping hot from some, who had with him the reputation of a villainous Wit: for Creatures of his size of sense talk without all imagination, such scraps as they pick up from other folks. I would not for a world be taken arguing with such a property as this, but if I thought there were a man of any tolerable parts, who could upon mature deliberation distingush well his right-hand from his left, and justly state the difference between the number of sixteen and two, yet had this prejudice upon him; I would take a little pains to make him know how much he errs. For waving the examination, why women having equal education with men, were not as capable of knowledge, of whatever sort as well as they: I'll only say as I have touched before, that Plays have no great room for that which is men's great advantage over women, that is Learning: We all well know that the immortal Shakespears Plays (who was not guilty of much more of this than often falls to womens' share) have better pleased the World than Jonson's works, though by the way 'tis said that Benjamin was no such Rabbi neither, for I am informed his Learning was but Grammar high; (sufficient indeed to rob poor Sallust of his best Orations) and it hath been observed, that they are apt to admire him most confoundedly, who have just such a scantling of it as he had; and I have seen a man the most severe of Jonson's Sect, sit with his Hat removed less than a hairs breadth from one sullen posture for almost three hours at the alchemist; who at that excellent Play of Harry the Fourth (which yet I hope is far enough from Farce) hath very hardly kept his Doublet whole; but affectation hath always had a greater share both in the actions and discourse of men than truth and judgement have: and for our Modern ones, except our most unimitable Laureate, I dare to say I know of none that write at such a formidable rate, but that a woman may well hope to reach their greatest heights. Then for their musty rules of Unity, and God knows what besides, if they meant any thing, they are enough intelligable, and as practible by a woman; but really methinks they that disturb their heads with any other rules of Plays besides the making them pleasant, and avoiding of scurrility, might much better be employed in studying how to improve men's too too imperfect knowledge of that ancient English Game; which hight long Laurence: And if Comedy should be the Picture of ridiculous mankind, I wonder any one should think it such a sturdy task, whilst we are furnished with such precious Originals as him, I lately told you of; if at least that Character do not dwindle into Farce, and so become too mean an entertainment for those persons who are used to think. Reader, I have a complaint or two to make to you, and I have done; Know then this Play was hugely injured in the Acting, for 'twas done so imperfectly as never any was before, which did more harm to this than it could have done to any of another sort; the Plot being busy (though I think not intricate) and so requiring a continual attention, which being interrupted by the intolerable negligence of some that acted in it, must needs much spoil the beauty on't. My Dutch Lover spoke but little of what I intended for him, but supplied it with a deal of idle stuff, which I was wholly unacquainted with, till I had heard it first from him; so that jack pudding ever used to do: which though I knew before, I gave him yet the part, because I knew him so acceptable to most o'th' lighter Periwigs about the Town, and he indeed did vex me so, I could almost be angry: Yet, but Reader, you remember, I suppose, a fusty piece of Latin that has passed from hand to hand this thousand years they say (and how much longer I can't tell) in favour of the dead. I intended him a habit much more notably ridiculous, which if it can ever be important was so here, for many of the Scenes in the three last Acts depended upon the mistakes of the Colonel for Haunce, which the ill-favoured likeness of their Habits is supposed to cause. Lastly, my Epilogue was promised me by a Person who had surely made it good, if any, but he failing of his word, deputed one, who has made it as you see, and to make out your pennyworth you have it here. The Prologue is by misfortune lost. Now, Reader, I have eased my mind of all I had to say, and so sans farther complyment, Adieu.   


The Actors Names.  
AMbrosio, A Nobleman of Spain.  
Marcel, His Son.  
Silvio, Supposed bastard Son to Ambrosio.  
Antonio, A German that has debauched Hippolyta.  
Alonzo, A Flaunders Colonel contracted to Hippolyta. and newly arrived at Madrid.  
Lovis, His friend.  
Carlo, Father to Lovis, and Euphemia.  
Haunce van Ezel, A Dutch Fop contracted to Euphemia, newly arrived at Madrid.  
Gload, His Cashkeeper.  
Pedro, An old servant to Alonzo.  
Euphemia, In love with Alonzo.  


Daughters to Ambrosio.  
Hippolyta, In love with Antonio  
Cleonte, In love with Silvio    
Clarinda, Sister unknown to Alonzo in love with Marcel.  
Dormida, Her Governess.  
Francisca, Woman to Cleonte.  


Two Maids to Euphemia.  
Olinda,  
Dorice,     The Scene Madrid.  

THE Dutch Lover.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Enter Alonzo and Lovis in travelling habits, attended by Pedro and Gload. Lov. 
DEar Alonzo! I shall love a Church the better this month for giving me a sight of thee, whom I so little expected in this part of the World, and less in so sanctified a place. What affair could be powerful enough to draw thee from the kind obliging Ladies of Brabant?  Alon. 
First the sudden orders of my Prince Don john, and next a fair Lady.  Lov. 
A Lady! can any of this Country relish with a man that has been used to the freedom of those of Brussels, from whence I suppose you are now arrived?  Alon. 
This morning landed, from such a storm, as set us all to making vows of conversion, (upon good conditions) and that indeed brought me to Church.  Lov. 
In that very storm I landed too, but with less sense of danger than you, being diverted with a pleasant fellow that came along with me, and who is defigned to marry a sister of mine against my will— And now I think of him, Gload, where hast thou left this Master of thine?  Glo. 
At the Inn, Sir, in as lamentable a pickle, as if he were still in the storm; recruiting his emptied stomach with Brandy, and railing against all womenkind for your sister's sake, who has made him undertake this voyage.  Lov. 
Well, I'll come to him, go home before.  Exit Gload. Alon. 
Prithee what thing is this?  Lov. 
Why, 'tis the Cashier to this Squire I spoke of, a man of business, and as wise as his Master, but the graver Coxcomb of the two. But this Lady, Alonzo, who is this Lady thou speak'st of? shall not I know her? we were wont to divide the spoils of Beauty, as well as those of war between us.  Alon. 
O but this is no such prize, thou wouldst hardly share this with the danger, there's Matrimony in the case.  Lov. 
Nay, then keep her to thyself, only let me know who 'tis that can debauch thee to that scandalous way of life; is she fair? will she recompense the folly?  Alon. 
Faith I know not, I never saw her yet, but 'tis the sister of Marcell, whom we both knew last Summer in Flandens, and where he and I contracted such a friendship, that without other consideration he promised me Hippolyta, for that's his sister's name.  Lov. 
But wilt thou really marry her?  Alon. 
I consider my advantage in being allied to so considerable a man as Ambrosio, her father; I being now so unhappy as not to know my Birth or Parents.  Lov. 
I have often heard of some such thing, but durst not ask the truth of it.  Alon. 
'Tis so, all that I know of myself is, that a Spanish Soldier, who brought me up in the Army, dying, confessed I was not his son, (which till then I believed) and at the age of twelve left me to shift for myself; the fortune he enriched me with was his Horse and Arms, with a few documents how to use them, as I had seen him do with good success: This servant, and a Crucifix of value. [Points to Pedro. And from one degree to another, I arrived to what you knew me, Colonel of the Prince's Regiment, and the glory of his favour▪  Lov. 
Honour is the Child of Virtue, and finds an owner every where.  Alon. 
Oh, Sir, you are a Courtier, and have much the odds of a Soldier in parleys of this nature: But hither I am come—  Lov. 
To be undone; faith thou look'st ill upon't.  Alon. 
I confess I am not altogether so brisk as I should have been upon another occasion; you know Lovis I have been used to Christian liberty, and hate this formal courtship. Pox on't, would 'twere over.  Lov. 
Where all parties are agreed, there's little need of that; and the Ladies of Spain, whatever gravity they assume, are as ready as any you ever met withal.  Alon. 
But there's a damned custom that does not at all agree with men so frank and gay as thou and I; there's a deal of danger in the achievement, which some say heightens the pleasure, but I am of another opinion.  Ped. 
Sir, there is a female in a veil has followed us ever since we came from Church.  Alon. 
Some amorous adventure: See she [Enter Olinda. advances: Prithee retire, there may be danger in it.  [Puts Lovis back. Lov. 
Oh then, I must by no means leave you.  [Lovis advances. Olin. 
Which of these two shall I choose?  [She look on both. 
Sir, you appear a stranger.  [To Lovis. Alon. 
We are both so Lady.  Olin. 
I shall spoil all, and bring [She looks again on both. the wrong. Sir, you should be a Cavalier, that—  Alon. 
Would gladly obey your orders.  Lov. 
Nay, I find 'tis all one to you, which you choose, so you have one of us; but would not both do better?  Olin. 
No, Sir, my commission's but to one.  Alon. 
Fix and proceed then, let me be the man.  Olin. 
What shall I do? they are both well: [Aside. but I'll e'en choose, as 'twere, for myself; and hang me if I know which that shall be. [Looks on both.] Sir, there is a Lady of quality and beauty, who guessing you to be men of honour, has sent me to one of you.  Alon. 
Me I am sure.  Lov. 
Me, me, he's engaged already.  Alon. 
That's foul play Lovis.  Olin. 
Well, I must have but one, and therefore I'll wink and choose.  Lov. 
I'll not trust blind fortune.  Alon. 
Prithee Lovis let thee and I agree upon the matter, and I find the Lady will be reasonable; cross or pile who shall go.  Lov. 
Go, Sir, whither?  Alon. 
To the Lady that—  Lov. 
Sent for neither of us that I can hear of yet.  Olin. 
You will not hear me out, but I'll end the difference by choosing you, Sir; and if you'll follow me [To Alonzo. at a distance, I will conduct you where this Lady is.  Alon. 
Fair guide march on, I'll follow thee.  [Offers to go. Lov. 
You are not mad, Sir, 'tis some abuse, and dangerous.  [Pulls him back. Alon. 
Be not envious of my happiness: Forbear a wench, for fear of danger!  Lov. 
Have a care, 'tis some plot. [Holds him.] Where did this Lady see us, we are both strangers in the City?  Alon. 
No matter where.  Olin. 
At Church, Sir, just now.  Alon. 
ay, I at Church, at Church, enough.  Lov. 
What's her name?  Alon. 
Away, thou art fuller of questions than a Fortune-teller: Come let's be gone.  Lov. 
Sure you do not mean to keep your word, Sir?  Alon. 
Not keep my word, Lovis! What wicked life hast thou known me lead, should make thee suspect I should not. When I have made an interest in her, and find her worth communicating, I will be just upon honour.— Go, go.  Lov. 
Well, go your ways, if marriage do not tame you, you are passed all hopes: but pray, Sir, let me see you at my lodgings, the Golden Fleece here at the gate.  Alon. 
I'll attend thee there, and tell thee my adventure: Farewell. [Exit Lovis.] Pedro, go you and inquire for the house of Don Ambrosio, and tell him I will wait on him in the evening, by that time I shall get myself in order.  [Exeunt Alonzo and Olinda: Pedro the other way.  

SCENE II.  [House of Ambrosio. Enter Silvio, melancholy. Silu. 
I Must remove Marcell, for his nice honour  
Will ne'er permit that I should court my Sister;  
My passion will admit of no restraint,  
'Tis grown so violent; and fair Cleonte's charms  
Each day increase to such a killing number,  
That I must speak or die.  Enter Francisca. Franc. 
What, still with folded arms and downcast looks?  Silu. 
Oh Francisca!  
My brother's presence now afflicts me more  
Than all my fears of cruelty from Cleonte,  
She is the best, the sweetest, kindest sister—  Franc. 
ay, Sir, but she will never make the kindest Mistress.  Silu. 
At least she should permit me to adore her,  
Were but Marcell away.  
Hast thou no stratagem to get him absent?  
For I can think of nothing but my sister.  [Sighs. Franc. 
I know of none, nor other remedy for you than loving less.  Silu. 
Oh 'tis impossible,  
Thou know'st I've tried all ways, made my addresses  
To all the fairest Virgins in Madrid;  
Nay, and at last fell to the worst debauchery,  
That of frequenting every common house:  
But souls that feed so high on love as mine  
Must nauseate courser diet:  
No, I must still love on, and tell her so,  
Or I must live no longer.  Franc. 
That methinks you might do even in the presence of Marcell. A brother is allowed to love a sister.  Silu. 
But I shall do't in such a way Francisca,  
Be so transported, and so passionate,  
I shall betray what he will ne'er endure.  
And since our other sister loose Hippolyta was lost,  
He does so guard and watch the fair Cleonte.  Franc. 
Why, quarrel with him, Sir, you know you are so much dearer to my Lord your Father than he is, that should he perceive a difference between ye, he would soon dismiss him the house; and 'twere but reason, Sir, for I am sure Don Marcel loves you not.  Silu. 
That I excuse, since he the lawful heir to all my Father's Fortunes, sees it every day ready to be sacrificed to me, who can pretend no title to't, but the unaccountable love my Father bears me.  Franc. 
Can you dissemble, Sir?  Silu. 
The worst of any man, but would endeavour it, if it could any ways advance my love.  Franc. 
Which I must find some way to ruin.  [Aside. 
Then court his Mistress.  Silu. 
The rich Flavia?  Franc. 
That would not incense him, for her he is to marry; but 'tis the fair Clarinda has his heart.  Silu. 
To act a feigned love, and hide a real one,  
Is what I have already tried in vain.  
Even fair Clarinda I have courted too,  
In hope that way to banish from my soul  
The hopeless flame Cleonte kindled there;  
But 'twas a shame to see how ill I did dissemble.  Franc. 
Stay, Sir, here comes Marcell. I'll leave you.  [Exit Francisca. Enter Marcell with a letter open in his hand which he kisses. Mar. 
Kind Messenger of love! thus, thus a thousand times  
I bid thee welcome from my fair Clarinda.  
Thus joyful Bridegrooms after long despairs  
Possess the yielding treasure in their arms;  
Only thus much the happier lover I,  
Who gather all the sweets of this fair Maid  
Without the ceremonious tie of Marriage;  
That tie that does but nauseate the delight,  
Be far from happy Lovers; we'll embrace  
As unconfined and free as whispering Air  
That mingles wantonly with spreading flowers.  Silu. 
What's all this?  Mar. 
Silvio, the victory's won.  
The heart that nicely stood it out so long;  
Now yields upon conditions.  Silu. 
What victory? or what heart?  Mar. 
I am all rapture, cannot speak it out;  
My senses have caroused too much of joy;  
And like young drunkards, proud of their new tried strength,  
Have made my pleasure less by the excess.  Silu. 
This is wondrous.  
Impart some of your over-charge to me,  
The burden lightened will be more supportable.  Mar. 
Read here, & change thy wonders when thou know'st  
How happy man can be.  [Gives him a letter. [Silvio reads.] 
Marcel,  
DOrmida will have me tell you what effects your vows have made, and how easily they have drawn from me a consent to see you, as you desired this night in my chamber: you have sworn to marry me, and love will have me credit you, and then methinks I ought not to deny you any thing, nor question your Virtue. Dormida will wait to throw you down the key, when all are in bed, that will conduct you to  
Your Clarinda▪  Silu. 
Damn her for a dissembler;  
Is this the chaste, the excellent Clarinda,  
Whom whilst I courted was as cold and nice,  
As a young Nun the day she is invested.  Mar. 
How now brother, what displeased with it?  [Takes the Letter. Silu. 
A little, Sir, to see another's happiness,  
Whilst I where ere I pay my vows and sighs  
Get nothing but disdain, and yet this shape  
And face I never thought unhandsome.  Mar. 
These be the least approaches to a heart;  
'Tis not dull looking well will do the feat,  
There is a knack in Love, a critical minute:  
And women must be watched as witches are  
Ere they confess, and then they yield a pace.  Enter a Boy. Boy. 
Sir, there is without a servant of Don Alonzo 's, who says his Master will be here to night.  [Marcell is surprised. Mar. 
Alonzo! now I begin to wake  
From Love; like one from some delightful dream,  
To reassume my wonted cares and shame.  
— I will not speak with him.  [Exit Boy. 
Oh Hippolyta! thou poor lost thing Hippolyta!  
How art thou fallen from Honour, and from Virtue,  
And livest in whoredom, with an impious villain?  
Who in revenge to me has thus betrayed thee.  
Keep thyself closer than thou'st done thy sin;  
For if I find thee out, by all that's good,  
Thou hadst more mercy on thy slaughtered honour,  
Than I will have for thee.  
And thou Antonio that hast betrayed her,  
Who till profaned by thee, was chaste as shrines,  
And pure as are the vows are offered there,  
That rape which thou'st committed on her innocence,  
I will revenge as shall become her Brother.  [Offers to go out in rage. Silu. 
Stay Marcell,  
I can inform you where these Lovers are.  Mar. 
Oh tell me quickly then,  
That I may take them in their foul embraces,  
And send their souls to Hell.  Silu. 
Last night I made a youthful sally to  
One of those houses where love and pleasure  
Are sold at dearest rates.  Mar. 
A Bordello; forwards pray.  Silu. 
Yes, at the corner of St. Jerome's; where after seeing many faces which pleased me not, I would have took my leave; but the Matron of the house, a kind obliging Lady, seeing me so nice, and of quality (though disguised) told me she had a beauty, such an one, as had Count D' Oliveris in his height of power seen, he would have purchased at any rate. I grew impatient to see this fine thing, and promised largely; then leading me into a room as gay, and as perfumed as an Altar upon a Holiday, I saw seated upon a Couch of state—  Mar. 
Hippolyta?  Silu. 
Hippolyta our sister dressed like a Venice Courtesan,  
With all the charms of a loose wanton,  
Singing and playing to her ravished Lover,  
Who I perceived assisted to expose her.  Mar. 
Well, Sir, what followed?  Silu. 
Surprised at sight of this, I did withdraw  
And left them laughing at my little confidence.  Mar. 
How! left them? and left them living too?  Silu. 
If a young wench will be gadding,  
Who can help it?  Mar. 
'Sdeath, you should, were you that half her brother,  [Enraged. 
Which my Father too dotingly believes you.  Silu. 
How! do you question his belief, Marcel?  Mar. 
I ne'er considered it; be gone and leave me.  Silu. 
Am I a dog that thus you bid me vanish?  [Aside. 
What mean you by this language?  [Comes up to him. 
And how dare you upbraid me with my birth,  
Which know, Marcel, is more illustrious far  
Than thine, being begot when love was in his reign,  
With all his youth and heat about him?  
I like birds of bravest kind was hatched  
In the hot Sunshine of delight, whilst  
Thou Marcel were't poorly brooded  
In the cold nest of Wedlock.  Mar. 
Thy Mother was some base notorious strumpet,  
And by her witchcraft, reduced may Father's soul,  
And in return she paid him with a bastard,  
Which▪ was thou.  Silu. 
Marcel, thou liest.  [strikes him. Mar. 
Though 'twere no point of valour but of rashness  
To fight thee, yet I'll do't.  Silu. 
By Heaven I will not put this injury up.  [They fight, Silvio is wounded. Fight again. Enter Ambrosio, and Cleonte between; Silvio falls into the arms of Cleonte. Amb. 
Hold! I command you hold;  
Ah Traitor to my blood, what hast thou done?  [To Marcel, who kneels and lays his sword at his feet. Silu. 
In fair Cleontes Arms!  
O I could kiss the hand that gives me death,  
So I might thus expire.  Mar. 
Pray hear me, Sir, before you do condemn me.  Amb. 
I will hear nothing but thy death pronounced,  
Since thou hast wounded him, if it be mortal.  
Have I not charged thee on thy life, Marcel,  
Thou shouldst not hold discourse with him of any kind?  Mar. 
I did foresee my fate, but could not shun it.  [Takes his sword and goes out. Amb. 
What ho! Biscay, Surgeon; on your lives a Surgeon: where be these rascals?  [Goes out. Silu. 
I would not have a Surgeon search my wound,  
With rude and heavy hands;  
Yours, fair Cleonte, can apply the Balsam  
Far more successfully.  
For they are soft and white as down of Swans,  
And every touch is sovereign.  Cleo. 
But I should die with looking on your wounds.  Silu. 
And I shall die unless you cure them, sister.  Cleo. 
With the expense of mine to save your life,  
Is both my wish and duty.  Silu. 
I thank ye pretty innocence.  [Leads him in.  

SCENE III.  [A Grove. Discovers Euphemia veiled alone walking. Elf, 
OLinda stays long, I hope she has over-took the Cavalier, Lord how I am concerned! if this should be love now, I were in a fine condition, at least if he be married, or a lover: Oh that fear! hang me, if it has not disordered me all over. But see, where she comes with him too.  Enter Olinda and Alonzo. Olin. 
Here he is, Madam, I hope 'tis the right man.  Alon. 
Madam, you see what haste I make to obey your kind commands.  Euph. 
'Twas as kindly done, Sir; but I fear when you know to what end 'tis, you'll repent your haste.  Alon. 
'Tis very likely; but if I do, you are not the first of your sex that has put me to repentance: but lift up your veil, and if your face be good—  [Offers to lift up her veil. Euph. 
Stay you're too hasty.  Alon. 
Nay, let's have fair play on both sides, I'll hide nothing from you.  [Offers again. Euph. 
I have a question or two to ask you first,  Alon. 
I can promise nothing till I see my reward. I am a base barterer, here's one for tother; you saw your man and liked him, and if I like you when I see you—  [Offers again. Euph. 
But if you do not, must all my liking be cast away?  Alon. 
As for that, trust to my good nature; a frank wench has hitherto taken me as much as beauty. And one proof you have already given of that, in this kind invitation; come, come do not lose my little new-gotten good opinion of thee, by being coy and peevish.  [Offers again. Euph. 
You are strangely impatient, Sir.  Alon. 
O you should like me the better for that, 'tis a sign of youth and fire.  Euph. 
But, Sir, before I let you see my face—  Alon. 
I hope I must not promise you to like it.  Euph. 
No, that were too unreasonable; but I must know whether you are a lover.  Alon. 
What an idle question's that to a brisk young fellow? a Lover, yes, and that as often as I see a new face.  Euph. 
That I'll allow.  Alon. 
That's kindly said; and now do I find I shall be in love with thine, as soon as I see't, for I am half so with thy humour already.  Euph. 
Are you not married, Sir?  Alon. 
Married!  Euph. 
Now I dread his answer. [Aside.] Yes, married.  Alon. 
Why I hope you make no scruple of conscience to be kind to a married man.  Euph. 
Now do I find, you hope I am a Courtesan that come to bargain for a night or two; but if I possess you it must be for ever.  Alon. 
For ever let it be then, come let's begin on any terms.  Euph. 
I cannot blame you, Sir, for this mistake, since what I've rashly done, has given you cause to think I am not virtuous.  Alon. 
Faith, Madam, man is a strange ungoverned thing; yet I in the whole course of my life have taken the best care I could to make as few mistakes as possible, and treating all womenkind alike we seldom err; for where we find one as you profess to be, we happily light on a hundred of the sociable and reasonable sort.  Euph. 
But sure you are so much a Gentleman that you may be convinced.  Alon. 
Faith if I be mistaken, I cannot devise what other use you can make of me.  Euph. 
In short this; I must leave you instantly; and will only tell you I am the sole Daughter of a rich Parent, young, and as I am told not unhandsome; I am contracted to a man I never saw, nor I am sure shall not like when I do see, he having more vice and folly than his fortune will excuse, though a great one: and I had rather die than marry him.  Alon. 
I understand you, and you would have me dispatch this man.  Euph. 
I am not yet so wicked. The Church is the only▪ place I am allowed to go to, and till now could never see the man that was perfectly agreeably to me: Thus veil, I'll venture to tell you so.  Alon. 
What the devil will this come too? her mien and shape are strangely graceful, and her discourse is free and natural: What a damned defeat is this, that she should be honest now? [Aside.  Euph. 
Well, Sir, what answer? I see he is uneasy [Aside.  Alon. 
Why, as I was saying, Madam, I am a stranger.  Euph. 
I like you the better for that.  Alon. 
But, Madam, I am a man unknown, unowned in the world; and much unworthy the honour you do me.— Would I were well rid of her, and yet I find a damnable inclination to stay too.  [Aside. 
Will nothing but Matrimony serve your turn, Madam? pray use a young Lover as kindly as you can.  Euph. 
Nothing but that will do, and that must be done.  Alon. 
Must! 'slife this is the first of her sex that ever was beforehand with me, and yet that I should be forced to deny her too. [Aside.  Euph. 
I fear his answer, Olinda.  [Aside. Olin. 
At lest 'tis but making a discovery of your beauty, and then you have him sure.  Alon. 
Madam, 'tis a matter of moment, and requires deliberation; besides I have made a kind of promise—  Euph. 
Never to marry?  Alon. 
No faith, 'tis not so well: but since now I find we are both in haste, I am to be married.  Euph. 
This I am sure is an excuse; but I'll fit him for't. [Aside. To be married said you? that word has killed me, Oh I feel it drill,  
Through the deep wound his eyes have lately made:  
'Twas much unkind to make me hope so long.  She leans on Olinda, as if she sounded, who pulls off her veil: he standest gazing at a distance. Olin. 
Sure she does but counterfeit, and now I'll play my part. Madam, Madam!  Alon. 
What wondrous thing is that! I should not look upon't, it changes nature in me.  Olin. 
Have you no pity, Sir? come nearer pray.  Alon. 
Sure there's witchcraft in that face, it never could have seized me thus else, I have loved a thousand times, yet never felt such joyful pains before.  Olin. 
She does it rarely. What mean you, Sir?  Alon. 
I never was a captive till this hour.  
If in her death such certain wounds she give,  
What mischiefs she would do, if she should live!  
Yet she must live, and live that I may prove  
Whether this strange disorder here be love.  [To his heart. 
Divine, divinest Maid.  [Kneels. Olind. 
Come nearer, Sir, you'll do a Lady no good at that distance. Speak to her, Sir.  [He rises and comes to her gazing still. Alon. 
I know not what to say,  
I am unused to this soft kind of language;  
But if there be a charm in words, and such  
As may conjure her to return again;  
Prithee instruct me in them, I'll say any thing, do any thing, and suffer all the wounds her eyes can give.  Euph. 
Sure he is real.  [Aside. 
Alas! I am discovered, how came my veil off?  [She pretends to recover, and wonder that her veil is off. Alon. 
That you have let me see that lovely face,  
May move your pity, not your anger, Madam;  
Pity the woundsed has made, pity the slave,  
Who till this moment boasted of his freedom.  Euph. 
May I believe all this? for that we easily do in things we wish.  Alon. 
Command me things impossible, to all sense but a Lovers, I will do't: to show the truth of this, I could even give you the last proof of it, and take you at your word, to marry you.  Euph. 
O wondrous reformation! marry me!  [Laughs. Alon. 
How do you mock my grief!  Euph. 
What a strange dissembling thing is man! to put me off too, you were to be married.  Alon. 
Ha, I had forgot Hippolyta.  [He starts. Euph. 
See Olinda, the miracle increases, he can be serious too. How do you, Sir?  Alon. 
●Tis you have robbed me of my native humour,  
I ne'er could think till now.  Euph. 
And to what purpose was it now?  Alon. 
Why, Love and Honour were at odds within me,  
And I was making peace between them.  Euph. 
How fell that out, Sir?  Alon. 
About a pair of beauties; women,  
That set the whole world at odds.  
She that is Honour's choice I never saw,  
And Love has taught me new obedience here.  Euph. 
What means he? I fear he is in earnest.  [Aside. Olin. 
'Tis nothing but his aversion to marriage, which most young men dread nowadays.  Euph. 
I must have this stranger, or I must die; for whatever face I put upon't, I am far gone in love, but I must hide it.  [Aside. 
Well, since I have missed my aim, you shall never boast my death; I'll cast myself away upon the next handsome young fellow I meet, though I die for't; and so farewell to you loving, Sir.  [Offers to go. Alon. 
Stay, do not marry, as you esteem the life of him that shall possess you.  Euph. 
Sure you will not kill him.  Alon. 
By Heaven I will.  Euph. 
O I'll trust you, Sir: Farewell, farewell.  Alon. 
You shall not go in triumph thus,  
Unless you take me with you.  Euph. 
Well, Since you are so resolved (and so in love) I'll give you leave to see me once more at a house at the corner of St. jeroms', where this Maid shall give you entrance.  Alon. 
Why, that's generously said.  Euph. 
As soon as 'tis dark you may venture.  Alon. 
Till then will be an age, farewell fair Saint,  
To thee and all my quiet till we meet.  [Exeunt. 
The end of the first Act.    

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  [The street. Enter Marcel in a Cloak, alone. Mar. 
THe night comes on, and offers me two pleasures,  
The least of which would make another blessed;  
Love and revenge, but I whilst I dispute  
Which happiness to choose, neglect them both.  
The greatest bliss that mankind can possess,  
Persuades me this way, to my fair Clarinda:  
But tyrannic Honour  
Presents the credit of my house before me,  
And bids me first redeem its fading glory,  
By sacrificing that false woman's heart  
That has undone its fame.  
But stay, Oh conscience, when I look within,  
And lay my anger by, I find that sin  
Which I would punish in Antonio's soul,  
Lie nourished up in mine without control.  
To fair Clarinda such a siege I lay,  
As did that traitor to Hippolyta;  
Only Hippolyta a brother has,  
Clarinda none to punish her disgrace:  
And 'tis more glory the defenced to win,  
Than 'tis to take unguarded virtue in.  
I either must my shameful love resign,  
Or my more brave and just revenge decline.  Enter Alonzo dressed, with Lovis. [Marcel stays. Alon. 
But to be thus in love, is't not a wonder Lovis?  Lov. 
No, Sir, it had been much a greater, if you had stayed a night in Town without being so; and I shall see this wonder as often as you see a new face of a pretty woman.  Alon. 
I do not say that I shall lose all passion, for the fair sex hereafter; but on my conscience this amiable stranger has given me a deeper wound than ever I received from any before.  Lov. 
Well, you remember the bargain.  Alon. 
What bargain?  Lov. 
To communicate; you understand.  Alon. 
There's the Devil on't, she is not such a prize: Oh were she not honest! friend.  [Hugs him. Lov. 
Is it so to do? what, you pretend to be a lover, and she honest, now only to deprive me of my part, remember this Alonzo.  Mar. 
Did I not hear Alonzo named?  [Aside. Alon. 
By all that's good I am in earnest, friend,  
Nay thy own eyes shall convince thee  
Of the power of hers.  
Her veil fell off, and she appeared to me,  
Like unexpected day from out a cloud;  
The lost benighted traveller  
Sees not th' approach of next morning's Sun  
With more transported joy,  
Than I this ravishing and unknown beauty.  Lov. 
hay day! what stuffs here? nay, now I see thou art quite gone indeed.  Alon. 
I fear it, Oh had she not been honest!  
What joy! what heaven of joys she would distribute!  
With such a face, and shape, a wit, and mien—  
But as she is, I know not what to do.  Lov. 
You cannot marry her.  Alon. 
I would not willingly, though I think I'm free: For Pedro went to Marcel to tell him I was arrived, and would wait on him; but was treated more like a spy, than a messenger of love: they sent no answer back, which I tell you Lovis angers me: 'twas not the entertainment I expected from my brave friend Marcel. But now I am for the fair stranger, who by this expects me.  Mar. 
'Tis Alonzo, Oh how he animates my rage! and turns me over to revenge, upon Hippolyta and her false lover. [Aside.  Lov. 
Who's this that walks before us?  [They go out. Alon. 
No matter who.  Mar. 
I am followed.  [Enter again. Lov. 
See he stops.  [Marcel looks back. Alon. 
Let him do what he please, we will outgo him.  [They go out. Lov. 
This man who e'er he be still follows us.  Alon. 
I care not, nothing shall hinder my design, I'll go though I make my passage through his heart.  [They enter at another door, he follows. Lov. 
See, he advances, pray stand by a little.  [They stand by. Mar. 
Sure there's some trick in this, but I'll not fear it.  
This is the street, and here about's the house.  [Looks about. 
This must be it, if I can get admittance now.  [Knocks. Enter Olinda with a light. Olin. 
O, Sir, are you come? my Lady grew impatient.  [They go in. Mar. 
She takes me for some other: this is happy.  [Aside. Alon. 
Gods! is not that the Maid that first conducted me to the fair thing that robbed me of my heart?  Lov. 
I think it is.  Alon. 
She gives admittance to another man.  
All womenkind are false, I'll in and tell her so.  [Offers to go. Lov. 
You are too rash, 'tis dangerous.  Alon. 
I do despise thy counsel, let me go.  Lov. 
If you're resolved, I'll run the hazard with you.   

SCENE II.  They both go in, the Scene changes to a chamber: Enter from one side Olinda, lighting in Marcel muffled as before in his Cloak; from the other Antonio leading in Euphemia veiled. Mar. 
BY Heavens 'tis she: Vile strumpet!  [Throws off his cloak, and snatches her from him. Euph. 
Alas, this is not he whom I expected.  Anto. 
Marcel! I had rather have encountered my evil Angel than thee.  [Draws. Mar. 
I do believe thee, base ungenerous coward.  [Draws. They fight, Marcel disarms Antonio by wounding his hand. Enter Alonzo, goes betwixt them, and with his sword drawn opposes Marcel, who is going to kill Antonio; Lovis follows him. Alon. 
Take courage, Sir.  [To Antonio, who goes out mad. Mar. 
Prevented! who e'er thou be'st,  
It was unjustly done,  
To save his life who merits death,  
By a more shameful way.  
But thanks ye gods she still remains to meet  
That punishment that's due to her foul lust.  [Offers to run at her, Alonzo goes between. Alon. 
'Tis this way you must make your passage then.  Mar. 
What art thou, that thus a second time  
Dar'st interpose between revenge and me?  Alon. 
'Tis Marcel! what can this mean?  [Aside. 
Dost thou not know me friend? look on me well.  Mar. 
Alonzo here! Ah I shall die with shame.  [Aside. 
As thou'rt my friend, remove from that bad woman,  
Whose sins deserve no sanctuary.  Euph. 
What can he mean? I dare not show my face.  [Aside. Alon. 
I do believe this woman is a false one,  
But still she is a woman, and a fair one:  
And would not suffer thee to injure her,  
Though I believe she has undone thy quiet,  
As she has lately mine.  Mar. 
Why dost thou know it then?  
Stand by, I shall forget thou art my friend else,  
And through thy heart reach hers.  Alon. 
Nothing but love could animate him thus,  
He is my Rival.  [Aside. 
Marcel, I will not quit one inch of ground;  
Do what thou dar'st, for know I do adore her,  
And thus am bound by love to her defence.  [Offers to fight Marcel, who retires in wonder. Euph. 
Hold noble stranger, hold.  Mar. 
Have you such pity on your lover, there?  [Offers to kill her, Alonzo stays him. Euph. 
Help, help.  [Her veil falls off. Enter Hippolyta dressed like a Courtesan: Sees Marcel. Hip. 
Oh Gods, my brother! in pity, Sir, defend me,  
From the just rage of that incensed man.  Runs behind Lovis, whilst Marcel stands gazing on both with wonder. Lov. 
I know not the meaning of all this, but  
However I'll help the Lady in distress.  
Madam, you're safe, whilst I am your protector.  [Leads her out. Mar. 
I've lost the power of striking where I ought,  
Since my misguided hand so lately erred.  
Oh rage, dull senseless rage, how blind and  
Rude it makes us.  
Pardon fair creature my unruly passion;  
And only blame your veil which hid that face,  
Whose innocence and beauty had disarmed it:  
I took you for the most perfidious woman,  
The falsest losest thing.  Alon. 
How! are you a stranger to her?  Mar. 
Yes I am, have you forgiven me Madam?  Euph. 
Sir, I have.  [Marcel bows and offers to go out. Alon. 
Stay friend, and let me know your quarrel.  Mar. 
Not for the world, Alonzo.  Alon. 
This is unfriendly, Sir.  Mar. 
Thou dost delay me from the noblest deed,  
On which the honour of my house depends,  
A deed which thou wilt curse thyself for hindering.  
Farewell.  [Goes out. Alon. 
What can the meaning of this be?  Euph. 
Oh do not ask, but let us quickly leave this dangerous place.  Alon. 
Does't not belong to you?  Euph. 
No, but you would like me the better if it did: for,  
Sir, it is a—  Alon. 
Upon my life a bawdy-house.  Euph. 
So they call it.  Alon. 
You do amaze me.  Euph. 
Truth is, not daring to trust my friends or relations with a secret that so nearly concerned me, as the meeting you, and hearing of a new come Courtesan living in this house, I sent her word I would make her a visit, knowing she would gladly receive it from a Maid of my quality: When I came, I told her my business, and very frankly she offered me her house and service.  
Perhaps you'll like me the worse for this bold venture, but when you consider my promised husband is every day expected, you will think it but just to secure myself any way.  Alon. 
You could not give me a greater proof than this of what you say, you bless me with your Love.  Euph. 
I will not question but you are in earnest; at least if any doubt remain, these will resolve it.  [Gives him Letters. Alon. 
What are these, Madam?  Euph. 
Letters, Sir, I intercepted from the Father of my designed Husband out of Flanders to mine.  Alon. 
What use can I make of them?  Euph. 
Only this: put yourself into a equipage very ridiculous, and pretend you are my foolish lover arrived from Flanders, call yourself hance van Erel, and give my Father these, as for the rest I'll trust your wit,  Alon. 
What shall I say or do now?  [Aside. Euph. 
Come, come, no study, Sir, this must be done,  
And quickly too, or you will lose me.  Alon. 
Two great evils, if I had but the grace to choose the least now, that is, lose her.  [Aside. Euph. 
I'll give you but to night to consider it.  Alon. 
Short warning this: but I am damnably in love, and cannot withstand temptation.  [Kisses her hand. Euph. 
I had forgot to tell you my name's Euphemia, my Father's you will find on the Letters, and pray show your love in your haste. Farewell.  Alon. 
Stay fair Euphemia, and let me pay my thanks, and tell you that I must obey you.  Euph. 
I give a credit where I give a heart.  
Go inquire my birth and fortune, as for you  
I am content with what I see about you.  Alon. 
That's bravely said, nor will I ask one question about you, not only to return the bounty, but to avoid all things that look like the approaches to a married life. If fortune will put us together, let her e'en provide for us.  Euph. 
I must be gone: farewell, and pray make haste,  [Looks kindly on him. Alon. 
There's no resisting those looks, Euphemia: One more to fortify me well; For I shall have need of every aid in this case.  [Look at one another and go.  

SCENE III.  Enter Antonio in haste with Hippolyta; weeping, as passing over the stage. Ant. 
COme let us haste, I fear we are pursued.  Hip. 
Ah whither shall we fly?  Ant. 
We are near the gate, and must secure ourselves with the darkness of the night in St. Peter's Grove, we dare not venture into any house.  [Exeunt. Enter Clarinda and Dormida above in the Balcony. Clar. 
Canst thou not see him yet?  Dorm. 
Good lack-a-day what an impatient thing is a young Girl in love?  Clar. 
Nay, good Dormida, let not want of sleep make thee testy.  Dorm. 
In good time are you my Governess, or I yours? that you are giving me instructions, go get you in, or I shall lay down my office.  Clar. 
Nay, wait a little longer, I'm sure he will come.  Dorm. 
You are sure! you have wondrous skill indeed in the humours of men: how came you to be so well acquainted with them? you scarce ever saw any but Don Marcel, and him too but through a grate or window, or at Church, and yet you are sure. I am a little the elder of the two, and have managed as many intrigues of this kind as any woman, and never found a constant just man, as they say, of a thousand, and yet you are sure.  Clar. 
Why is it possible Marcel should be false?  Dorm. 
Marcel! no, no, sweetheart, he is that man of a thousand.  Clar. 
But if he should, you have undone me, by telling me so many pretty things of him.  Dorm. 
Still you question my ability, which by no means I can endure; get you in I say.  Clar. 
Do not speak so loud, you will wake my mother.  Dorm. 
At your instructions again; do you question my conduct and management of this affair: go watch for him yourself: I'll have no more to do with you back nor edge.  [Offers to go. Clar. 
Will you be so barbarous to leave me to myself, after having made it your business this three months to solicit a heart which was but too ready to yield before; after having sworn to me how honourable all his intents were; nay, made me write to him to come to night? And now when I have done this, and am all trembling with fear and shame (and yet an infinite desire to see him too) [Sighs. thou wilt abandon me: go, when such as you oblige, 'tis but to be insolent with the more freedom.  Dorm. 
What you are angry I'll warrant?  [Smiles. Clar. 
I will punish myself to pay thee back, and will not see Marcel.  Dorm. 
What a pettish fool is a Maid in love at fifteen, how unmanageable? but I'll forgive all, go get you in, I'll watch for your lover; I would not have you disoblige a man of his pretensions, and quality for all the world.  [Clarinda goes in. Enter Alonzo below. Alon. 
Now do I want Lovis extremely, to consult with him about this business: For I am afraid the devil, or love, or both are so great with me, that I must marry this fair enchantress, which is very unluckily; but, since Ambrosio and Marcel refuse to see me, I hold myself no longer engaged in honour to Hippolyta.  Dorm. 
above. Whist, whist, Sir, Sir.  Alon. 
Whose there?  Dor. 
'Tis I, your servant, Sir; oh you are a fine spark, are you not, to make so fair a creature wait so long for you? there, there's the key, open the door softly and come in.  [Throws him down a key in a handkerchief. Alon. 
What's this? but I'll ask no questions: so fair a creature said she? Now if 'twere to save my life cannot I forbear, I must go in: Should Euphemia know this, she would call it levity and inconstance; but I plead necessity, and will be judged by the amorous men, and not the jealous women: For certain this Lady, who e'er she be, designs me a more speedy favour than I can hope from Euphemia, and on easier terms too: this is the door, that must conduct to the languishing Venus.  [Opens the door and goes in, leaving it unshut. Enter Marcel with his sword drawn. Mar. 
Thus far I have pursued the fugitives,  
Who by the help of hasty fear and night,  
Are got beyond my power; unlucky-accident!  
Had I but killed Antonio, or Hippolyta,  
Either had made my shame supportable.  
But though I have missed the pleasure of revenge,  
I will not that of love.  
One look from fair Clarinda will appease  
The madness which this disappointment raised.  [Walks looking towards the window. 
None appears yet: Dormida was to throw me down the key.  
The door is open, left so to give me entrance.  [Goes to the door.  

SCENE IU.  [Changes to a dark hall. Discovers Alonzo groping about in the hall. Alon. 
NOw am I in a worse condition than before, can neither advance nor retreat; I do not like this groping alone in the dark thus; whereabouts am I? I dare not call: were this fair thing she spoke of but now, half so impatient as I, she would bring a light and conduct me.  Enter Marcel. Mar. 
'Tis wondrous dark.  Alon. 
Ha! a man's voice that way; that's not so well, it may be some Lover, Husband or Brother; none of which are to be trusted in this case, therefore I'll stand upon my guard.  Draws: Marcel coming towards justles him. Mar. 
Who's there?  Alon. 
A man.  Mar. 
A man! none such inhabit here.  [Draws. 
Thy business?  Alon. 
This shall answer you, since there's no other way.  They fight, Alonzo wounds Marcel, who fights him to the door; Alonzo goes out, Marcel gropes to follow. Mar. 
This is not just ye gods to punish me, and let the Traitor scape unknown too: Me thought 'twas Silvio's voice, or else a sudden thought of jealousy come into my head, would make me think so.  Enter Clarinda and Dormida with light. Clar. 
I tell you I did hear the noise of fighting.  Dor. 
Why, between whom should it be? I'll be sworn Marcel came in alone.  Clar. 
Marcel! and wounded too, oh I am lost.  [Sees him, weeps. Mar. 
Keep your false tears to bathe your lovers wounds, For I perhaps have given some— Thou old assistant to her lust, whose greatest sin is wishing, tell me who 'twas thou didst procure for her.  [In rage to Dormida. Dorm. 
Alas! I cannot imagine who it should be, unless Don Silvio, who has sometimes made addresses to her: But oh the house is up, Madam, we are undone; let's fly for heaven's sake.  Clar. 
Oh Marcel, can you believe—  [A noise. Dorm. 
Come, come, I'll not be undone for your fiddle fadles, I'll lay it all on you if I be taken.  [Pulls out Clarinda. Mar. 
Sot that I was, I could not guests at this to day, by his anger at the Letter I foolishly showed him, he is my rival, and 'tis with him she's fled; and I'll endeavour to pursue them.  [Offers to go. 
But oh my strength complys with their [Leaning on his sword. design, and shamefully retires to give them leave to play their amorous game out.  [Goes faintly out.  

SCENE V.  [Changes to the Street. Disovers Alonzo alone. Alon. 
THis Act of mine was rash, and ill natured,  
And I cannot leave the Street with a good conscience,  
Till I know what mischief I have done.  Enter Dormida and Clarinda. 
Ha, Ladies from the same house! these are birds that I have frighted from their nests I am sure: I'll proffer my service to them.  Dor. 
Why do not you make more haste?  Clar. 
How can she go whose life is left behind?  
Besides I know not whither we should go.  
Ye powers that guard the innocent protect us.  Alon. 
These must be some whom I have injured.  
Ladies— you seem as in distress.  Dorm. 
Oh, Sir, as you are a Gentleman assist a pair of Virgins.  Alon. 
What's this, a mumping Matron? I hope the others young, or I have offered my service to little purpose.  Clar. 
Sir, if you will have the charity to assist us,  
Do it speedily, we shall be very grateful to you.  Alon. 
Madam, I will, but know not where to carry ye; my lodging is an Inn, and is neither safe nor honourable: but fortune fares no less than protect the fair, and I'll venture my life in your protection and service.  [Exeunt. Enter Marcel faintly. Mar. 
Stay Traitor stay, oh they are out of sight,  
But may my curse overtake them in their flight.  [Exit.  

SCENE VI.  [Chamber of Cleonte. She is discovered in her nightgown, at a Table, as undressing Francisca by her. Cleo. 
FRancisca, thou art dull to night.  [Sighs. Franc. 
You will not give me leave to talk.  Cleo. 
Not thy way indeed, hast thou no stories but of love, and of my Brother Silvio?  Franc. 
None that you wish to hear: But I'll do what you please, so you will not oblige me to sigh for you.  Cleo. 
Then prithee sing to me.  Franc. 
What Song, a merry or a sad?  Cleo. 
Please thy own humour, for than thou'lt sing best.  Franc. 
Well, Madam, I'll obey you and please myself.  [SINGS.] 

A Myntas led me to a grove,  
Where all the Trees did shade us:  
The Sun itself, though it had striven,  
Yet could not have betrayed us.  
The place secure from humane eyes,  
No other fear allows;  
But when the winds that gently rise  
Do kiss the yielding boughs.   

Down there we sat upon the Moss,  
And did begin to play  
A thousand wanton tricks, to pass  
The heat of all the day.  
A many kisses he did give,  
And I returned the same:  
Which made me willing to receive,  
That which I dare not name.   

His charming eyes no aid required,  
To tell their amorous tale;  
On her that was already fired,  
'Twas easy to prevail.  
He did but kiss, and clasp me round,  
Whilst they his thoughts expressed,  
And laid me gently on the ground;  
Ah! who can guests the rest?   After the Song, enter Silvio all undressed, gazing wildly on Cleonte; his arm tied up. Cle. 
My Brother Silvio, at this late hour, and in my lodgings too! How do you, Sir? are you not well?  Sil. 
Oh why did nature give me being?  [Aside. 
Or why create me brother to Cleonte?  
Or give her charms, and me the sense to adore 'em?  Cleo. 
Dear Brother—  [Goes to him. Sil. 
Ah Cleonte—  [Takes her by the hand and gazes. Cleo. 
What would you, Sir?  Sil. 
I am not— well—  Cleo. 
Sleep, Sir, will give you ease.  Sil. 
I cannot sleep, my wounds do rage and burn so, as they put me past all power of rest.  Cleo. 
We'll call your Surgeon, Sir.  Sil. 
He can contribute nothing to my cure,  
But I must owe it all to thee, Cleonte.  Cleo. 
Instruct me in the way, give me your arm,  
And I will bathe it in a thousand tears,  [Goes to untie his arm. 
And breath so many sighs into your wound—  Sil. 
Let that slight hurt alone, and search this— here.  [To his heart. Cleo. 
How! are you wounded there?  
And would not let us know it all this while?  Sil. 
I durst not tell you, but designed to suffer,  
Rather than trouble you with my complaints;  
But now my pain is greater than my courage.  Franc. 
Oh, he will tell her, that he loves her sure.  [Aside. Cleo. 
Sit down, and let me see't.  [He sits down, she puts her hand into his bosom. Franc. 
Oh foolish innocence—  [Aside. Cleo. 
You have deceived me brother, here's no wound.  Sil. 
Oh take away your hand—  
It does increase my pain, and wounds me deeper.  Cleo. 
No, surely, Sir, my hand is very gentle.  Sil. 
Therefore it hurts me sister; the very thoughts  
Of touches by so soft and fair a hand,  
Playing about my heart are not to be  
Endured with life.  [Rises in passion. Cleo. 
Alas, what means my Brother?  Sil. 
Can you not guests fair sister? have my eyes  
So ill expressed my soul? or has your innocence  
Not suffered you to understand my sighs?  
Have then a thousand tales which I have told you,  
Of broken hearts and lovers languishments,  
Not served to tell you, that I did adore you?  Cleo. 
Oh let me still remain in innocence,  
Rather than sin so much to understand you.  Franc. 
I can endure no more—  [Goes out. Sil. 
Can you believe it sia to love a Brother? it is not so▪ in nature.  Cleo. 
Not as a Brother, Sir; but otherwise  
It is, by all the Laws of Men and Heaven.  Sil. 
Sister, so 'tis that we should do no murder,  
And yet you daily kill, and I among the number  
Of your victims, must charge you with the sin of  
Killing me, a Lover, and a Brother.  Cleo. 
What would you have me do?  Sil. 
Why— I would have thee do— I know not what—  
Still to be with me— yet that will not satisfy;  
To let me— look upon thee— still that's not enough.  
I dare not say to kiss thee, and embrace thee;  
That were to make me wish— I dare not tell thee what—  Cleo. 
I must not hear this language from a Brother.  [She offers to go. Sil. 
What a vile thing's a brother?  
Stay, take this dagger, and add one wound more  He kneels and offers her a dagger, and holds her by the coat. 
To those your eyes have given, and after that  
You'll find no trouble from my sighs and tears.  Enter Francisca. Franc. 
By this she understands him, curse on her innocence, 'Tis fuel to his flame— [Aside.] Madam, there is below a Lady who desires to speak with the Mistress of the house.  Cleo. 
At this hour a Lady! who can it be?  Franc. 
I know not, but she seems of quality.  Cleo. 
Is she alone?  Franc. 
Attended by a Gentleman and an old woman.  Cleo. 
Perhaps some one that needs a kind assistance? my father is in bed, and I'll venture to know their business: Bring her up.  Franc. 
'Twere good you should retire, Sir.  [To Silvio, and Exit. Sil. 
I will, but have a care of me, Cleonte,  
I fear I shall grow mad, and so undo thee:  
Love me— but do not let me know't too much.  [Goes out. Enter Francisca with lights; followed by Alonzo, Clarinda, and Dormida: Alonzo gazes on Cleonte a while. Cleo. 
Is't me you would command?  Clar. 
I know not what to say, I'm so disordered.  [Aside Alon. 
What Troops of beauties she has! sufficient to take whole Cities in.— Madam, I beg—  [Takes Clarinda by the hand, and approaches Cleonte. Cleo. 
What, Sir?  Alon. 
That you would receive into protection—  Cleo. 
What pray, Sir?  Alon. 
Would you would give me leave to say a heart, that your fair eyes have lately made unfit for its old quarters.  Cleo. 
I rather think you mean this Lady, Sir.  [Alonzo looks with wonder on Clarinda Alon. 
She's heavenly fair too, and has surprised my heart, just as 'twas going to the others bosom, and robbed her at least of one half of it.  [Aside. Clar. 
Madam, I am a Virgin in distress,  
And by misfortune forced to seek a sanctuary,  
And humbly beg it here.  Cleo. 
Entreaties were not made for that fair mouth,  
Command and be obeyed.  
But, Sir, to whom do you belong?  Alon. 
I belong to a very fair person,  
But do not know her name.  Cleo. 
But what are you, pray, Sir?  Alon. 
Madam, a wanderer; a poor lost thing, that none will own or pity.  Cleo. 
That's sad indeed; but who e'er you are, since you belong to this fair Maid, you'll find a welcome every where.  Alon. 
And if I do not, I am cashiered.  [Aside. 
Madam, if telling you I am her Brother,  
Can make me more acceptable,  
I shall be yet more proud of the alliance.  Cleo. 
What must I call your Sister, Sir, when I would pay my duty?  Alon. 
There I am routed again with another hard question.  [Aside. Clar. 
Madam, my name's Clarinda.  Alon. 
Madam, I'll take my leave, and wish the heart I leave with you to night, may persuade you to suffer my visits to morrow, till when I shall do nothing but languish.  Cleo. 
I know not what loss you have suffered to night, but since your fair Sister's presence with us allows it, you need not doubt a welcome.  Alon. 
I humbly thank you, Madam.  [Kisses her hand, and looks amorously on Clarinda. Franc. 
Madam, pray retire, for Don Marcel is come into the house all bloody, enraged against somebody.  Clar. 
I'm troubled at his hurt, but cannot fear his rage. Good night, Sir.  [They go out. Alon. 
They are gone; now had I as much mind to have kissed the other's hand, but that 'twas not a ceremony due to a Sister: what the Devil came into my head to say she was so? nothing but the natural itch of talking and lying; they are very fair; but what's that to me, Euphemia surpasses both: but a pox of her terms of marriage, I'll set that to her beauty, and then these get the day, as far as natural necessity goes: but I'll home and sleep upon't, and yield to what's most powerful in the morning.  
To night these strangers do my heart possess,  
But which the greatest share, I cannot guests:  
My fate in love resembles that in war,  
When the rich spoil falls to the common share.  [Goes out.  

SCENE VII.  [The Street. Enter Alonzo, as out of the house gazing upon it. Alon. 
SUre I shall know this house again to morrow,  [To him Lovis. Lov. 
I wonder what should be become of Alonzo, I do not like these night-works of his.— whose's there?  Alon. 
Lovis!  Lov. 
Alonzo!  Alon. 
The same, where hast thou been?  Lov. 
In search of you this two hours.  Alon 
O I have been taken up with new adventures, since I saw thee; but prithee what became of thine? for me thought it was a likely woman.  Lov. 
Faith, Sir, I thought I had got a Prize; but a pox on't, when I came into the Street, e'er she had recovered breath to tell me who she was, the Cavalier you rescued from Marcel laid claim to her; thanked me for her preservation and vanished. I hope you had better luck with your Female, whose face I had not the good fortune to see.  Alon. 
Not so good as I could have wished, for she stands still on her honourable terms.  Lov. 
Of Matrimony, ha, ha, a very Jilt, I'll warrant her; Come, come, you shall see her no more.  Alon. 
Faith, I fear I must.  Lov. 
To what purpose?  Alon. 
To persuade her to reason.  Lov. 
That you'll soon do, when she finds you will not bite at t'other bait.  Alon. 
The worst is, if I see her again, it must be at her father's house; and so transformed from man to beast— I must appear like a ridiculous lover▪ she expects out of Flanders.  Lov. 
A very cheat, a trick to draw thee in; be wise in time.  Alon. 
No on my conscience she's in earnest, she told me her name, and his I am to represent.  Lov. 
What is't, I pray?  Alon. 
Haunce van Ezel.  Lov. 
Ha; her name too, I beseech you?  [I 〈◊〉. Alon. 
Euphemia! and such a creature 'tis—  Lov. 
'Sdeath my Sister all this while: This has called up all that's Spaniard in me, and makes me raging mad. [Aside. But do you love her, Sir?  Alon. 
Most desperately, beyond all sense or reason.  Lov. 
And could you be content to marry her?  Alon. 
Any thing but that— But thou know'st, my engagement elsewhere; and I have hopes that yet she'll be wise, and yield on more pleasant terms.  Lov. 
I could be angry now 'twere unreasonable to blame him for this.  [Aside. 
Sir, I believe by your treatment from Ambrosio and Marcel, you may come off there easily.  Alon. 
That will not satisfy satisfy honour though satisfy will my love; that I have not Hippolyta I
              will owe to my own inconstancy, not theirs; besides this may be a cheat as you say.  Lov. 
But does Euphemia love you?  Alon. 
'Faith, I think she has too much wit to dissemble, and too much beauty to need that Art.  Lov. 
Then you must marry her.  Alon. 
Not if I can avoid it.  Lov. 
I know this Lady, Sir, and know her to be worth your love; I have it in my power too, to serve you, if you proceed suddenly, which you must do or lose her; for this Flandrian Boor your Rival is already arrived, and designs to morrow to make his first address to Euphemia.  Alon. 
Oh he must not, shall not see her.  Lov. 
How will you hinder him?  Alon. 
With this.  [To his sword. 
Where is this Rival? tell me: Conduct me to him straight; I find my love above the common rate, and cannot brook this Rival.  Lov. 
So, this blows the flame— His life will be no hindrance to you in this affair, if you design to love on.  Alon. 
Dost know him?  Lov. 
Yes, he is a pleasant original for you to be copied by: It is the same Fop, I told you was to marry my Sister, and who came along with me to Madrid.  Alon. 
How! Euphemia thy Sister?  Lov. 
Then, isdend is she, and whom my Father designs to cast away upon this half man, half fool; but I find she has wit to make a better choice; she yet knows nothing of my arrival, and till you resolve what to do, shall not; and my Dutch man does nothing without me.  Alon. 
If thou hast the management of him, he's likely to thrive.  Lov. 
But not in his Amour, if you please: In short, Sir, if you do really love my Sister, I am content to be so ungracious a child to contribute to the cheating my Father of this same hopeful son he expects, and put you upon him: but what you do, must be speedily then.  Alon. 
I am obliged to thee for this frank offer, and will be instructed by thee.  Lov. 
If you're resolved, I'll warrant you success.  Alon. 
I think I am resolved in spite of all my inclinations to libertinism.  Lov. 
Well, Sir, I'll get you such a suit then, as that our Hero makes his first approach in, as ridiculously gay as his humour, which you must assume too.  Alon. 
Content.  Lov. 
To night I must pay my duty to my Father, and will prepare your way, and acquaint my sister with it: 'tis but a frolic if we succeed not.  Alon. 
God a mercy lad, let's about it then e'er we sleep, lest I change my resolution before morning.  [Exeunt. 
The end of the second ACT.    

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  [House of Carlo. Enter Alonzo, dressed ridiculously, meeting Lovis; they laugh at each other. Lov. 
VEry Haunce all over, the Tailor has played his part, play but yours as well, and I'll warrant you the wench.  Alon. 
But prithee, why need I act the fool thus, since Haunce was never seen here?  Lov. 
To make good the character I always gave of him to my Father; but here he comes, pray be very rude, and very impertinent.  Alon. 
Lord, Lord, how shall I look thus damnably set out, and thus in love!  Enter Don Carlo. Lov. 
This, Sir, is Monsieur Haunce, your son that must be.  Alon. 
Beso los manos signior: Is your name Don Carlo? and are you the gravity of this House? and the Father of Dona Euphemia? and are you—  Car. 
Sir, I guess by all these your demands at once;  
Your name to be Mine here Haunce van Ezel.  Alon. 
Your judgement's good; but to my questions.  Car. 
In truth I have forgot them, there was so many.  Alon. 
Are you he who is to be my Father?  Car. 
'Tis so negotiated— and if all circumstances concur— For, Sir, you must conceive, the consequence of so grand a conjunction—  Alon. 
Less of your complyments, Sir, and more of your Daughter, I beseech you. ' 'Sheart what a formal coxcomb 'tis!  [Aside. Lov. 
Prithee give him way.  [Aside. Alon. 
By this light I'll lose thy sister first? Why who can endure the grave approaches to the matter? 'Dslise, I would have it as I would my fate, sudden and unexpected.  Car. 
Pray how long have you been landed?  Alon. 
So, now shall I be plagued with nothing but wise questions, to which I am able to make no answer.  [Aside 
Sir, it is your Daughter that I desire to see impatiently.  Car. 
Have you no letters from my very good friend your Father?  Alon. 
What if I have not? cannot I be admitted to your Daughter without a pass?  Car. 
O lack, Sir—  Alon. 
But to let you see I come with full power (though I am old enough to recommend myself) here is my commission for what I do.  [Gives him Letters. Car. 
I remember amongst his other faults, my son writ me word he had courage: if so, I shall consider what to do. [Reads. Sir, I find by these your Father's letters, you are not yet arrived.  Alon. 
I know that, Sir, but I was told I should express my love in my haste: therefore outsailing the Packet, I was the welcome messenger myself; and since I am so forward, I beseech you, Sir— [Carlo coming to embrace him. Now dare not I proceed, he har so credulous a consenting face.  [Aside. Car. 
Spare your words, I understand their meaning, a prudent man speaks least, as the Spaniard has it; and since you are so forward, as you were saying, I shall not be backward, but as your Father adviseth here, hasten the uniting of our Families, with all celerity; for delay in these affairs, is but to prolong time, as the wise man says.  Alon. 
You are much in the right, Sir. But my wife, I desire to be better acquainted with her.  Car. 
She shall be forthcoming, Sir. Had you a good passage? for the seas and winds regard no man's necessity.  Alon. 
No, no, a very ill one: your Daughter, Sir.  Car. 
Pray how long were you at sea?  Alon. 
Euphemia, Sir, Euphemia, your daughter. This Don's fuller of questions than of proverbs, and that's a wonder.  [Aside. Car. 
They say Flanders is a very fine Country, I never saw it; but—  Alon. 
Nor 'tis no matter, sir, if you never do, so I saw your Daughter. He'll catechise me home to my Dutch Parents by and by, of which I can give him no more account than—  [Aside. Car. 
Are they as dissatisfied with their new Governor, as they were with Don john? for they love change.  Alon. 
A pox of their government, I tell you I love your Daughter.  Car. 
I fear 'tis so, he is valiant, and what a dangerous quality is that in Spain? 'tis well he's rich.  [Aside. Lov. 
Pray, Sir, keep him not long in discourse, the sea has made him unfit for—  Alon. 
Any thing but seeing my Mistress.  Lov. 
I'll have mercy upon thee, and fetch her to thee.  [Exit Lovis. Car. 
Sir, you must know, that we suffer not our women in Spain to converse so frequently with your sex, and that through a cautious— well considered prudent— consideration.  Alon. 
But, Sir, do you consider what an impatient thing a young lover is, or is it so long since you were one yourself, you have forgot it? 'Tis well he wanted words: But yonder's Euphemia, whose [Enter Euphemia and Lovis. beauty is sufficient to excuse every defect in the whole Family, though each were a mortal sin: and now 'tis impossible to guard myself longer from those fair eyes.  [Asides. Car. 
I must not urge him to speak much before Euphemia, lest she discover he wants wit by his much tongue: [Aside. There's my daughter, Sir, go and salute her.  Alon. 
Oh, I thank you for that, Sir.  [He stands ridiculously looking on her. Car. 
You must be bold, Sir.  Alon. 
Well, Sir, since you command me—  [Goes rudely to kiss her. Car. 
I did not mean kissing by saluting.  Alon. 
I cry you mercy, Sir, so I understood you.  Car. 
Fie upon't, that he should be no more a Master of civility.  Lov. 
I fear, Sir, my sister will never like this humour in her Lover; he wants common conversation.  Car. 
Conversation— ye foolish boy, he has money and needs none of your conversation. And yet if I thought he were valiant—  This while Alonzo and Euphemia make signs of love with their eyes. Lov. 
I hope, Sir, he does but boast of more of that than he really has.  Car. 
That fault I myself have been guilty of, and can excuse; but the thing itself I shall never endure: you know I was forced to send you abroad, because I thought you addicted to that. I shall never sleep in aquiet— Valiant! that's such a thing to be rich or wise, and valiant.  [Goes to Euphemia. Lov. 
Colonel, pray to the business, for I fear you will betray yourself.  Car. 
But look upon his wealth Euphemia, and you will find those advantages there which are wanting in his person: But I think the man's well.  Euph. 
I must not seem to yield too soon.  [Aside. 
Sir, there be many Spaniards born that are as rich as he, and have wit too.  Car. 
She was ever very averse to this marriage. [Aside. This man 〈◊〉 Spaniard, his mother was one, and my first Mistress, and she I can tell you was a great fortune—  Euph. 
ay, Sir, but he is such a fool—  Car. 
You are a worse, to find salt with that in a husband.  Albn. 
Stand aside, sir, are you to at your Daughter or I?  Car. 
I was inclining her—  Alon. 
You inclining her! an old man vows Rhetoric; set me to her.  [Goes to Euphemia. Car. 
This capricious humour was tolerable in him, whilst I believed it the effects of folly, but now 'tis that of valour: Oh I tremble at the sight of him.  Euph. 
Now I see you are a Cavalier of your word.  Alon. 
Faith Euphemia, you might have believed, and taken me upon better terms, if you had so pleased: To marry you is but an ill-favoured proof to give you of my passion.  Euph. 
Do you repent it?  Alon. 
Would to God 'twere come but to that, I was just upon the point of it when you entered. But I know not what the Devil there is in that face of yours, but it has debauched every sober thought about me. Faith, do not let us marry yet.  Euph. 
If we had not proceeded too far to retreat, I should be content.  Alon. 
What shall I come to? all on the sudden to leave delicious whoring, drinking and fighting, and be condemned to a dull honest Wife. Well, if it he my ill fortune, may this curse light on thee that hast brought me to't: may I love thee even after we are married to that troublesome degree, that I may grow most damnable jealous of thee, and keep thee from the fight of all mankind, but thy own natural husband, that so thou mayst be deprived of the greatest pleasure of this life; the blessing of change.  Euph. 
I am sorry to find so much ill nature in you, would you have the conscience to tie me to harder conditions than I would you?  Alon. 
Nay, I do not think I shall be so wickedly loving; but I am resolved to marry thee and try.  Euph. 
My Father, Sir, on with your disguise.  [To them Carlo. Car. 
Well, Sir, how do you like my Daughter?  Alon. 
So, so, she'll serve for a Wife.  Clar. 
But do you find her willing to be so?  Alon . 
'Tis not, a half-peny matter for that, as long as my Father and you are agreed upon the matter.  Car. 
Well Euphemia, setting all foolish modesty aside, how do you like this man?  Euph. 
As one, whom in obedience to you, I am content to cast myself away upon.  Car. 
How seems his humour to you?  Euph. 
Indifferent, Sir, he is not very courtly, something rough and hasty.  Car. 
I fear she has found his ill quality of valour too, and since 'tis certain 'tis so, why should it be said that I ruined a child to satisfy my appetite of riches?  [Aside. 
Come Daughter, can you love him, or can you not? For I'll make but short work on't; you are my Daughter, and have a fortune great enough to enrich any man; and I'm resolved to put no force upon your inclinations.  Euph. 
How's this! nay, then 'tis time I left dissembling. [Aside. Sir, this bounty in you has strangely overcome me, and makes me ashamed to have withstood your will so long.  Car. 
Do not dissemble with me, I say do not; for I am resolved you shall be happy.  Euph. 
Sir, my obedience shall—  Car. 
No more of your obedience: I say again do not dissemble, for I'm not pleased with your obedience.  Euph. 
This alteration is very strange and sudden; pray Heaven he have not found the cheat.  [Aside. 
Love, Sir, they say will come after marriage; pray let me try it.  Car. 
Few have found it so; nor shall you experience it! so dear a rate as your ruin.  Euph. 
But, Sir, methinks I am grown to love him more since he spoke to me, than before.  Clar. 
The effects of your obedience again.  Euph. 
This is a strange alteration, Sir; not all my tears and prayers before I saw him could prevail with you. I beseech you, Sir, believe me.  Car. 
Nor should now, had I not another reason for't.  Euph. 
Oh, I fear.— But, Sir—  Car. 
Go to, I'll be better satisfied e'er I proceed farther; both of your inclinations, and his courage.  [Aside. Euph. 
Do you consider his wealth, Sir?  Car. 
That shall not now befriend him.  Alon. 
Sir, I bar whispering; 'tis not in my bargain nor civil: I'll have fair play for my money.  Car. 
I am only knowing my Daughter's pleasure, she is a little peevish, as Virgins use in such cases, but would that were all, and I'd endeavour to reconcile her.  Alon. 
I thank you, Sir; in the mean time I'll take a walk for an hour or two, to get me a better stomach both to my Dinner and Mistress.  Car. 
Do so, Sir. Come Euphemia, I will give you a proof of my indulgence, thou shalt marry no valiant fools, valiant quoth ye. Come, come— had he been peaceable and rich— Come, come—  [Ex. with Euphemia. Lov. 
Well, now I'll go look after my Dutchman, lest he surprise us here, which must not be; where shall I find you?  Alon. 
I'll wait upon my Prince, and then on you here.  Lov. 
Do so, and carry on this humour.  Adieu.  

SCENE II.  [A flat Grove. Enter Haunce in a fantastical travelling habit with a bottle of brandy in his hand, as sick: Gload marches after. Hau. 
AH, ah, a pox of all Sea-voyages.  [Drinks. 
Here Gload, take thee t'other soap and then let's home.  [Gload drinks. 
Ah, ha, a pox of all Sea-voyages.  Glo. 
Sir, if I may advise, take t'other turn in the Grove, for I find by my nose you want more airing.  Hau. 
How sirrah! by your nose? have a care, you know 'tis ill jesting with me when I'm angry.  Glo. 
Which is as often as you are drunk, I find it has the same effects on me too; but truly, Sir, I meant no other than that you smell a little of the vessel, a certain sour remains of a storm about you.  Hau. 
Ah, ah, do not name a storm to me, unless thou wilt have the effects on't in thy face.  [Drinks. Glo. 
Shakstone, sha', bear up, Sir, bear up.  Hau. 
Saleriment, a sea phrase too! why ye rascal, I tell you I can endure nothing that puts me in mind of that element.  [Drinks. Glo. 
The sight of Donna Euphemia will—  [Gload drinks between while too. Hau. 
Hold, hold, let me consider whether I can endure to hear her named or not; for I think I am so throughly mortified, I shall hardly relish womankind again this— two hours.  [Drinks. Glo. 
You a man of courage, and talk thus?  Hau. 
Courage? why what dost thou call courage? Hector himself would not have changed his ten years' siege for our ten days storm at Sea— a storm— a hundred thousand fighting men are nothing to't; City's sacked by fire nothing; 'tis a resistless coward that attaques a man at disadvantage; an unaccountable magic that first conjures down a man's courage, and then plays the Devil over him. And in fine, it is a storm—  Glo. 
Good lack that it should be all these terrible, things and yet that we should outbrave it.  Hau. 
No god a mercy to our courages though, I tell you that now Gload; but like an angry wench, when it had huft and blustered itself weary, it lay still again.  [Drinks. Glo. 
Hold, hold, Sir, you know we are to make visits to Ladies, Sir; and this replenishing of our spirits, as you call it, Sir, may put us out of case.  Hau. 
Thou art a fool, I never made love so well as when I was drunk, it improves my parts, and makes me witty; that is, it makes me say any thing that comes next, which passes nowadays for wit; and when I'm very drunk, I'll home and dress me, and the Devils in't, if she resist me so qualified, and so dressed.  Glo. 
Truly, Sir, those are things that do not properly belong to you.  Hau. 
Your reason, your reason, we shall have thee witty too in thy drink, hah?  [Laughs. Glo. 
Why, I say, Sir, none but a Cavalier ought to be soundly drunk, or wear a sword and feather; and a cloak and band were fitter for a Merchant.  Hau. 
Saleriment, I'll beat any Don in Spain that does but think he has more right to any sort of debauchery, or gallantry than I, I tell you that now Gload.  Glo. 
Do you remember, Sir, how you were wont to go at home? when instead of a Periwig, you wore a slink, greasy hair of your own, through which a pair of large thin souses appeared, to support a formal hat, on end thus—  [Imitates him. Hau. 
Ha, ha, ha, the Rogue improves upon't.  [Gives him Brandy. Glo. 
A Choler in stead of a Cravat twelve inches high; with a blue, stiff, starched, lawn Band, set in print like your Whiskers; a Doublet with small Skirts hooked to a pair of wide-kneed Briches, which dangled half way over a leg, all to be dashed and durtyed as high as the gartering.  Hu. 
Ha, ha, ha, very well, proceed.  [Drinks. Glo. 
Your hands defiled with counting of damned dirty money, never made other use of gloves, than continually to draw them through— thus— till they were dwindled into the scantling of a Cats-gut.  Ha. 
Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant rascal.  [Drinks. Glo. 
A cloak, half a yard shorter than the Breeches, not through lined, but faced as far as 'twas turned back, with a pair of frugal butter ●ams, which was always managed— thus—  Hau. 
Well, Sir, have you done, that I may show you this Merchant reversed?  Glo. 
Presently, Sir; only a little touch at your debauchery, which unless it be in damned Brandy, you dare not go to the expense of. Perhaps at a wedding, or some treat where your purse is not concerned, you would most insatiably tipple, otherwise your two stivers Club is the highest you dare go, where you will be condemned for a prodigal (even by your own conscience) if you add two more extraordinary to the sum, and at home sit in the chimney corner, cursing the face of Duke de Alva upon the Juggs, for laying an imposition on Beer: And now, Sir, I have done.  Hau. 
And dost thou not know when one of those thou hast described, goes but half a league out of Town, that he is so transformed from the Merchant to the Gallant in all points, that his own Parents, nay, the Devil himself cannot know him? Not a young English Squire, newly come to an estate, above the management of his wit, has better horses, gayer clothes, swears, drinks, and does every thing with a better grace than he: Damns the stingy Cabal of the two Stiver Club, and puts the young King of Spain and his Mistress together in a Romer of a Pottle, and in pure gallantry breaks the Glasses over his head, scorning to drink twice in the same; and a thousand things full as heroic and brave I could tell you of this same Holiday Squire. But come, t'other turn, and t'other soap, and then for Donna Euphemia. For I find I begin to be reconciled to the sex.  Glo. 
But, Sir, if I might advise, let's e'en sleep first.  Hau. 
Away you fool, I hate the sober Spanish way of making love, that's unattended with Wine and Music, give me a wench that will out-drink the Dutch, outdance the French, and out— out— kiss the English.  Glo. 
Sir, that's not the fashion in Spain.  Hau. 
Hang the fashion; I'll manage her that must be my wife as I please, or I'll beat her into fashion.  Glo. 
What beat a woman, Sir?  Hau. 
Shakstone, all's one for that, if I am provoked, anger will have its effects on whomsoe'er it light; so said Van Trump, when he took his Mistress a cuff o'th' ear for finding fault with an ill-fashioned leg he made her; I liked his humour well, therefore come thy ways.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE III.  Draws off, discovers Antonio sleeping on the ground; Hippolyta sitting by, who sings. 

AH false Amyntas, can that hour  
So soon forgotten be,  
When first I yielded up my power  
To be betrayed by thee?  
God knows with how much innocence  
I did my heart resign,  
Unto thy faithless eloquence,  
And gave thee what was mine.   

I had not one reserve in store,  
But at thy feet I laid  
Those arms which conquered heretofore,  
Though now thy trophies made.  
Thy eyes in silence told their tale,  
Of love in such a way,  
That 'twas as easy to prevail,  
As after to betray.   [She comes forth, weeps. Hip. 
My grief's too great to be diverted this way.  [Pointing to Antonio. 
Why should this villain sleep, this treacherous man—  
Who has for ever robbed me of my rest?  
Had I but kept my innocence entire,  
I had outbraved my fate, and broke my chains,  
Which now I bear like a poor guilty slave,  
Who sadly cries, If I were free from these,  
I am not from my crimes; so still lives on,  
And drags his loathed fetters after him.  
Why should I fear to die, or murder him?  
It is but adding one sin more to th' number.  
This— would soon do't— but where's the hand to guide it?  [Draws a dagger, sighs. 
For 'tis an act too horrid for a woman.  [Turns away. 
But yet thus sleeping I might take that soul,  [Turns to him. 
Which waking all the charms of Art and Nature  
Had not the power t' effect.  
Oh were I brave, I could remember that,  
And this way be the Mistress of his heart.  
But mine forbids it should be that way won;  
No, I must still love on, in spite of me,  
And wake him quickly, lest one moment's thought▪  
Upon my shame should urge me to undo him.  
Antonio, Antonio.  He wakes, riseth and looks amazedly to see the dagger in her hand. Ant. 
Vile woman, why that dagger in thy hand?  Hip. 
t'o've killed thee with;  
But that my love overcame my juster passion,  
And put it in thy power to save thyself,  
Thank that, and not my reason for thy life.  Ant. 
She's doubly Armed, with that and injury,  
And I am wounded and defenceless.  [Aside. 
Hippolyta, why all this rage to me?  [Kindly smiles. Hip. 
Antonio, thou art perjured, false and base.  [In great rage. Ant. 
What said my fairest Mistress?  [Goes to her looking softly. Hip. 
I said that thou wert perjured, false and base.  [Lesle in rage. Ant. 
My dear Hippolyta, speak it again,  
I do not understand thee.  [Takes her by the hand. Hip. 
I said that thou wert perjured my Antonio.  [Sighs. Ant. 
Thou wert to blame, but 'twas thy jealousy,  
Which being a fault of love I will excuse.  
Give me that mark of anger, prithee do,  
It mis-becomes thy hand.  Hip. 
I've nothing left but this I can command,  
And do not ravish this too.  Ant. 
It is unkind thus to suspect my love;  
Will you make no allowance for my humour?  
I am by nature rough and cannot please  
With eyes and words all soft as others can,  
But I can love as truly my blunt way.  Hip. 
You were so soft, when first you conquered me,  [Sighs. 
That but the thoughts of that dear face and eyes,  
So managed, and so set for conquest out,  
Would make me kind even to another man;  
Could I but thus embrace and hide my eyes,  
And call him my Antonio.  [She leans on his bosom, he the while gets her dagger's. Ant. 
Stand off false woman, I despise thy love,  
Of which to every man I know thou dealest  
An equal share.  Hip. 
I do not wonder that I am deceived,  
But that I should believe thee, after all thy treachery.  
But prithee tell me why thou treat'st me thus?  
Why didst thou with the sacred vows of Marriage,  
After a long and tedious courtship to me,  
Ravish me from my Parents and my Husband?  
For so the brave Alonzo was by promise.  Ant. 
Why I will tell thee; 'twas not love to thee,  
But hatred to thy Brother Don Marcel,  
Who made addresses to the fair Clarinda,  
And by his quality destroyed my hopes.  Hip. 
And durst you not revenge yourself on him?  Ant. 
His life alone could not appease my anger;  
And after studying what I had to do—  Hip. 
The Devil taught thee this.  Ant. 
Yes, and you I chose,  
Because you were contracted to Alonzo,  
That the disgrace might be more eminent.  Hip. 
I do believe thee, for when I reflect  
On all thy usage since thou hast betrayed me,  
I find thou hast not paid me back one sigh  
Or smile for all that I have given thee.  Ant. 
Hear me out.  Hip. 
Most calmly.  Ant. 
From Town to Town you know I did remove you,  
Under pretence to shun your Brother's anger:  
By'r 'twas indeed to spread your fame abroad.  
But being not satisfied till in Madrid,  
Here in your native Town I had proclaimed you.  
The house from whence your Brother's fury chased us,  
Was a Bordello, where 'twas given out  
Thou wert a Venice Courtesan to hire,  
Whilst you believed it was your Nuptial Palace.  [Laughs. Hip. 
Dost think I did not understand the plot?  
Yes, and was mad till some young Lovers came.  
But you had set a price too high upon me,  
No brisk young man durst venture,  
I had exposed myself at cheaper rates.  Ant. 
Your price, I pray young sinner?  [Pulls off his hat in scorn. Hip. 
Thy life; he that durst say Antonio lives no more,  
Should have possessed me gratis.  Ant. 
I would have taken care none should have done't;  
To show, and offer you to sale, was equally as shameful.  Hip. 
Well, what hast thou more to do? this is no  
Place to inhabit in; nor shalt thou force me further;  
And back into the Town thou dar'st not go.  Ant. 
Perhaps I had been kinder to you,  
Had you continued still to give me that—  
Might have begot a passion in me.  Hip. 
I have too much repentance for that sin  
To increase it, at the price of being beloved by thee.  Ant. 
Consider what you do, this place is silent,  
And far from any thing that may assist you.  
Come lead me to the covert of this Grove.  [Takes her rudely. Enter Haunce and Gload drunk; Haunce seeing them offers to go out again. Glo. 
Hold, hold, Sir, why do you run away?  Hau. 
Thou fool, dost not see the reason?  Glo. 
I see a man and a Lady, Sir.  Hau. 
Why you coxcomb they are Lovers;  
Or some that are going to do the deed of love.  Ant. 
How! men here? Your business.  Hau. 
Prithee friend do not trouble yourself with ours, but follow your own; my man is a little saucy in his drink indeed, but I am sober enough to understand how things go.  Ant. 
Leave us then.  Hau. 
Leave us then— good words, good words, friend, for look ye I am in a notable humour at present, and will be entreated.  Glo. 
Yes, Sir, we will be entreated.  Ant. 
Pray leave us then.  Hau. 
That's something— but hark ye friend, say a man had a mind to put in for a share with you.  Ant. 
Rude slaves leave us.  Hau. 
Ha slaves!  Glo. 
Slaves said you, Sir? hah—  Hip. 
Oh, as you're a Gentleman assis me.  [To Haunce. Hau. 
Assist thee? this fellow looks as he would not have his abilities called in question; otherwise I am amorous enough to do thee a kindness.  [Offers still to go, she holds him. Hip. 
Sir, you mistake me; this is a ravisher—  Hau. 
A ravisher! ha, ha, ha, dost like him the worse for that? no, no, I beg your pardon, Madam.  Hup. 
Have you no manhood, Sir?  Glo. 
She is in earnest: now if I durst stay, how I would domineer over my Master; I never tried perhaps, I may be valiant thus inspired. Lady, I am your champion, who dares ravish you or me either?  Ant. 
Rascal unhand her.  [He comes up to them, Gload puts the Lady before him. Hau. 
How, how Gload engaged! nay I scorn to be outdone by my man. Sirrah, march off with the baggage; whilst I secure the enemy.  Ant. 
Rash man what mean you?  Hau. 
I say stand off, and let him go quietly away with the wench, or look you—  Ant. 
Unmannered fool, I will chastise thy boldness. [Goes up to him with his dagger.  Hau. 
How, how, hast thou no other weapon?  Ant. 
No, if I had, thou durst not have encountered me.  Hau. 
I scorn thy words, and therefore there lies my sword; and since you dare me at my own weapon, I tell you I am as good at snick a snee as the best Don of you all—  [Draws a great Dutch knife. Ant. 
Can I endure this affront?  Glo. 
The best way to make a coward fight, is to leave him in danger— Come Lady—  [Goes out. Ant. 
Thou base unmannered fool; how dar'st thou offer at a Gentleman, with so despised a thing as that?  Hau. 
Despised a thing? talk not so contemptibly of this weapon: I say do not, but come on if you dare.  Ant. 
I can endure no longer—  [Flies at him, Haunce cuts his face, and takes away (after a while) his Dagger. 
Injustice! can such a dog, and such a weapon vanquish me?  Hau. 
Beg your life; for I scorn to stain my victory in blood— that I learned out of Pharamont.  [Aside. Ant. 
He does not merit life, could not defend it against so poor and base a thing as thou: Had but Marcel left me my sword—  Hau. 
O than I perceive you are used to be vanquished, and therefore I scorn to kill thee, live, live.  Ant. 
How the rascal triumphs over me.  Hau. 
And now like a generous enemy, I will conduct thee to my Tent, and have thy wounds dressed—  
That too I had out of Pharamont.  [Aside. Ant. 
What if I take the offer of this sot? so I may see Hippolyta again. But I forget—  [Aside. Hau. 
Will you accept my offer?  Ant. 
For some reasons I dare not venture into the Town.  Hau. 
My lodging is at St. Peter's gate, hard by; and on the Parol of a man of Prowess you shall be safe and free— Pharamont again.  [Aside. Ant. 
I'll trust him, for worse I cannot be.  [Aside. 
Lead on, I'll follow, Sir—  Hau. 
Not so, for though the captive aught to follow the victor, yet I'll not trust my enemy at my backside.  
Politics too—  [Aside. Ant. 
you must command—  [Go out.  

SCENE IU.  [The Garden. Enter Silvio and Francisca. Sil. 
WEll dear Francisca, will Cleonte come,  
And all alone into the Garden?  Franc. 
My Lord, she will, I have at last prevailed, to what intent she knows not; this is an hour wherein you'll scarce be interrupted: the amorous entertainment you have prepared for her, will advance your design; such objects heighten the desire: is all ready on your part?  Sil. 
It is, and I'm prepared for all the resistance she can make, and am resolved to satisfy my insupportable flame, since there's no other hopes left me.  Franc. 
She's coming, Sir, retire.  [Exit Silvio into the Garden. 
Oh how he kills me: Well, at least this pleasure I have whilst I am dying; that when he possesses the fair Cleonte, he for ever ruins his interest in her heart, and must find nothing but her mortal hate and scorn.  Enter Cleonte. Cleo. 
Francisca, why art thou so earnest for my coming into the Garden so early?  Franc. 
Because, Madam, here without interruption you may learn what the Lady Clarinda has to tell you.  Cleo. 
Is that all? go wait upon her hither then.  Franc. 
Yes, when you're more pleasant affair is dispatched, I will—  [Aside. [Exit Francisca. Cleo. 
Can this be love I feel?  
This strange unusual something in my soul,  
That pleads so movingly for Silvio there;  
And makes me wish him not allied to me.  A noise of Rural music is heard within the Trees, as Pipes, Flutes and Voices. 
Ha! what pleasant noise is this? sure 'tis i'th' Air—  
Bless me what strange things be these!  Enter Swains playing on Pipes, after them four Shepherd's with Garlands and Flowers, and four Nymphs dancing an amorous Dance to that Music, wherein the Shepherds make love to the Nymphs, and put the Garlands on their heads, and go out; the Nymphs come and lay them at Cleonte's feet, and sing. 1. Nymp. 
HEre at your feet, we tribute pay,  
Of all the glories of the May.  2. Nymp. 
Such Trophies can be only due  
To vitors so divine as you.  Both. 
Come, follow, follow, where love leads the way,  
To pleasures that admit of no delay.  1. Nymp. 
Come follow to the amorous shade,  
Covered with Roses and with jessamine.  2. Nymp. 
Where the love-sick boy is laid,  
Panting for Love's charming Queen.  Both. 
Come, follow, follow, where we lead the way  
To pleasures that admit of no delay.  [Lead her out. The Scene changes to a fine Arbour, they leave her and vanish Cleo. 
I am all wonder.  Enter Silvio in rapture, not yet seeing Cleonte. Sil. 
I'm all on fire, till I enjoy my Sister;  
Not all the Laws of Birth and Nature  
Can hinder me from loving— Nor is't just:  
Why should the charm of fair Cleontes eyes,  
Me, less than Aliens to her blood surprise?  
And why (since I love beauty every where,  
And that Cleonte has the greatest share)  
Should I not be allowed to worship her?  
The empty words of nature, and of blood,  
Are such as lovers never understood.  
Prudence in love, 'twere nonsense to approve,  
And he loves most that gives a loose to love.  Cleo. 
Silvio here—  Sil. 
Ha— yonder she's!  [Sees her. 
And now my passion knows no bounds nor laws.  
Cleonte come! come satisfy my flame!  [Runs to her, and takes her passionately by the hand. 
These private shades are ours, no jealous eye  
Can interrupt our heaven of joy!  Cleo. 
What mean you? do you know I am your sister?  Silu. 
Oh that accursed name— why should it check me—  [He pauses. 
Would thou hadst rather been some misbegotten Monster,  
That might have startled nature at thy birth:  
Or if the powers above would have thee fair,  
Why wert thou born my sister?  
Oh if thou wouldst preserve thy soul and mine,  
Fly from this place and me; make haste away,  
A strange wild Monster is broke in upon thee;  
A thing that was a man, but now as mad,  
As raging Love can make him.  
Fly me, or thou art lost for ever.  Cleo. 
Remember Silvio that you are my brother,  
And can you hurt your Sister?  [Weeps. Sil. 
Shouldst thou repeat those ties a thousand times,  
'Twill not redeem thee from the fate that threatens thee.  
Be gone, whilst so much virtue does remain about me,  
To wish thee out of danger.  Cleo. 
Sure Silvio this is but to try my virtue.  [Weeps still. Sil. 
No, look on my eyes Cleonte, and thou shalt see them flame with a strange wicked fire.  [Looks wildly on her. 
Yet do not look, thy eyes increase it,  
— Alas!  [Turns away, and hides his eyes. 
And I shall still forget I am thy brother:  
Go, go, whilst I have power to take my eyes away;  
For if they turn again it will be fatal.  Cleo. 
Pray hear me, Sir.  Sil. 
Oh do not speak, thy voice has charms  
As tempting as thy face, but whilst thou art silent and unseen,  
Perhaps my madness may be moderate;  
For as it is, the best effects of it,  
Will prompt me on to kill thee.  Cleo. 
To kill me?  Sil. 
Yes, for shouldst thou live, adorned with so much beauty,  
So much my passion is above my reason:  
In some such fit as does possess me now  
I should commit a rape, a rape upon thee;  
Therefore be gone, and do not tempt despair,  
That merciless rude thing, but save thy honour,  
And thy life.  Cleo. 
I will obey you, Sir.  [Goes into the Garden. Sil. 
She's gone— and now [Walks and talks in stopping. my hot fit abates— she is my sister— that is, my Father's Daughter— but— what if his Wife deceived him— or perhaps— (which is the likelier thing) my Mother played the false one— for 'twas her trade to do so— and I'm not son to Ambrosio— Oh that she were in being to confess this truth, for sure 'tis truth, than I might love and might enjoy Cleonte— enjoy Cleonte!  [In transport. 
Oh that thought! what fire it kindles in my veins, and now my cold fit's gone.— I'll after her [Offers to go, but starts and returns.— no, let me pause a while—  
For in this ague of my love and fear,  
Both the extremes are mortal—  [Goes into the Garden. Enter Ambrosio and Marcel. Amb. 
I'm reconciled to you, since your Brother Silvio would have it so.  Mar. 
My blood flows to my face, to hear him named.  Amb. 
Let there be no more differences between you: But Silvio has of late been discontent, keeps home, and shuns the conversation, which youth delights in; goes not to Court as he was wont: Prithee Marcel learn thou the cause of it.  Mar. 
I do believe I shall my Lord,— too soon.  [Aside. Amb. 
I'm now going to my Villa, and shall not return till night: by the way I mean to visit your wife that was designed to be, the rich Flavia, and see if I can again reconcile her to you; for your neglect has been great, and her anger is just.  Mar. 
I rather wish it should continue, Sir, for I have yet no inclinations to marry.  Amb. 
No more, I'll have it so, if I can.  Mar. 
I'm silent, Sir.  [Exeunt Ambrosio and Marcel. Enter as from out of the Garden Cleonte, Clarinda, Francisca, Dormida, from amongst the trees▪ sadly; Silvio, who starts at sight of them. Cleo. 
I am satisfied you knew not of my Brothers being in the Garden.  [To Franc. Sil. 
Clarinda with my sister! and in our house! she's very fair— and yet how dull and blasted all her Beauties seem, when they approach the fair Cleontes— I cannot shun a tedious compliment: to see the fair Clarinda [Goes to Clarinda. here, is a happiness beyond my hope; I'm glad to see her kind to the sister, who always treated the Brother with so much scorn and rigour.  Clar. 
Silvio! sure I'm betrayed.  [Aside. [He talks to her. Enter Marcel, and is amazed. Mar. 
Ha! Silvio with Clarinda in our house:  
Oh daring villain, to make this place a sanctuary,  
To all thy lusts and treachery.  
Now I'm convinced, 'twas he that wounded me,  
And he that fled last night with that false woman.  [Cleonte goes to Marcel. Sil. 
You need not fear me now, fair maid,  
I'm disarmed of all my dangerous love.  Mar. 
It was by his contrivance that she came, [To Cleonte. do not excuse him, but send her quickly from you, lest you become as infamous as she—  Cleo. 
Oh how I hate her now I know my Brother Silvio loves her.  Mar. 
How every gesture shows his passion, whilst she seems pleased to hear to him. I can endure no more—  Cleo. 
What will you do?  [She goes to them. Mar. 
Nothing dear Sister.  
But if I can be wise and angry too;  [Aside. 
For 'tis not safe t'attack him in the Garden.  
How now Silvio— under the name of Brother:  
I see you dare too much.  [Snatches away his Sister and Clarinda. Sil. 
What mean you by this rude address, Marcel?  Mar. 
I'll tell you, Sir, anon. Go get you in.  [To the women, who go in. Sil. 
Well, Sir, your business now?  Mar. 
It is not safe to tell you here, though I have hardly patience to stay till thou meet me in St. Peter's Grove.  Sil. 
I will not fail you, Sir, an hour hence.  [Goes in after them. Mar. 
I dare not in this rage return to upbraid Clarinda, lest I do things, that misbecome man.  [Goes out. 
The end of the third ACT.    

ACT IU.  

SCENE I.  [House of Carlo. After a noise of Music without: Enter Haunce dressed as Alonzo was, followed by Gload, in Masquerade. Hau. 
HOld, hold, I do not like the salutations▪ I receive from all I meet in this house.  Glo. 
Why, Sir, methinks they are very familiar scabs all.  Hau. 
Saleriment, they all salute me as they were my old acquaintance, Your servant Mine here Haunce, cries one; your servant Monsieur Haunce, cries another.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
Your servant, Sir, you come now indeed like a Bridegroom all beset with dance and fiddle.  Hau. 
Bridegroom, ha, ha, ha, dost hear Gload? 'tis true faith. But how the Devil came he to know it, man, hah?  Ser. 
My Master, Sir, was just as king for you, he longs to speak with you.  Hau. 
Ha, ha, with me, Sir, why? ha, ha, who the pox am I?  Ser. 
You, Sir, why who should you be?  Hau. 
Who should I be? why who should I be?  Ser. 
Mine here Haunce van Ezel, Sir.  Hau. 
Ha, ha, ha, well guest, i'faith now.  Glo. 
Why how should they guests otherwise, coming so attended with Music, as prepared for a wedding.  Hau. 
Ha, ha, ha, says thou so? faith 'tis a good device to save the charges of the first compliments: Ha, but hark ye, hark ye, friend, are you sure this is the house of Don Carlo?  Ser. 
Why, Sir, have you forgot it?  Hau. 
Forgot it, ha, ha, dost hear Gload? forgot it! why how the Devil should I remember it?  Glo. 
Sir, I believe this is some new fashioned civility in Spain to know every man before he sees him.  Hau. 
No, no, you fool, they never change their fashion in Spain, man.  Glo. 
I mean their manner of address, Sir.  Hau. 
It may be so, I'll see farther. Friend, is Don Carlo within?  Ser. 
He has not been out since, Sir.  Hau. 
Since ha', ha, ha, since when? hah.  Ser. 
Since you saw him, Sir.  Hau. 
Saleriment, will you make me mad? Why you damnable rascal, when did I see him? hah.  Ser. 
Here comes my Master himself, Sir, [Enter Carlo. let him inform you, if you grow so hot upon the question.  Car. 
How now son, what angry? you have e'en tired your self with walking, and are out of humour.  Hau. 
Look there again— the old man's mad too: why how the pox should he know I have been walking?— indeed, Sir— I have, as you say, been walking, [Playing with his hat.— and am— as you say, out of humour— But under favour, Sir, who are you? sure 'tis the old [Surlily to him. Conjurer, and those were his little imps I met.  Car. 
Sure son you should be a wit by the shortness of your memory.  Hau. 
By the goodness of yours, you should be none, ha, ha, ha. Did not I meet with him there Gload, hah? But pray refresh my memory, and let me know you, I come to seek a father amongst you here, one Don Carlo.  Car. 
Am not I the man, Sir?  Hau. 
How the Devil should I know that now, unless by instinct?  Glo. 
The old man is mad, and must be humoured.  Hau. 
Cry you mercy, Sir, I vow I had quite forgot you: Sir I hope Donna Euphemia—  Car. 
Oh, Sir, she's in much a better humour than when you saw her last, complys with our desires more than I could hope or wish.  Hau. 
Why look here again— I asked after her health, not her humour.  Car. 
I know not what arts you have made use of, but she's strangely taken with your conversation and person.  Glo. 
Truly, Sir, you are mightily beholden to her, that she should have all this good will to your person and conversation before she sees you.  Hau. 
ay, so I am, therefore, Sir, I desire to see your Daughter, for I shall hardly be so generous as she has been, and be quits with her before I see her.  Car. 
Why, Sir, I hope you liked her when you saw her last.  Hau. 
Stark mad— I saw her last! why, what the Devil do you mean, I never saw her in all my life, man. Stark mad, as I am true Dutch—  [Aside. Car. 
A lover always thinks the time tedious: But here's my Daughter.  Enter Euphemia and Olinda. Hau. 
ay, one of these must be she: but 'tis a wonder I should not know which is she by instinct.  [Aside. [Stands looking very simply on both. Euph. 
This is not Alonzo— has he betrayed me?  [Aside. Car. 
Go, Sir, she expects you.  Hau. 
Your pardon, Sir, let her come to me, if she will, I'm sure she knows me better than I do her.  Glo. 
How should she know you, Sir?  Hau. 
How? by instinct, you fool, as all the rest of the house does: Don't you fair Mistress?  Euph. 
I know you—  Hau. 
Yes, you know me; you need not be so coy mun, the old man has told me all.  Euph. 
What has he told you? I am ruined.  [Aside. Hau. 
Faith, much more than I believed, for he was very full of his new fashioned Spanish civility, as they call it: but ha, ha, I hope, fair Mistress, you do not take after him?  Euph. 
What if I do, Sir?  Hau. 
Why then I had as leeve marry a steeple with an perpetual ring of bells.  Glo. 
Let me advise you, Sir, methinks you might make a handsomer speech for the first, to so pretty a Lady— Fakes an I were to do't—  Hau. 
I had a rare speech for her thou knowest, and an entertainment besides, that was, though I say it, unordinary: but a pox of this new way of civility as thou call'st it, it has put me quite beside my part.  Glo. 
Though you are out of your complementing part, I am not out of my dancing one, and therefore that part of your entertainment, I'll undertake for. 'Slife, Sir, would you disappoint all our Ships company—  Hau. 
That's according as I find this proud tit in humour.  Car. 
And why so coy? pray why all this dissimulation? Come, come, I have told him your mind, and do intend to make you both happy immediately.  Euph. 
How, Sir, immediately?  Car. 
Yes, indeed, nay, if you have deceived me, and dissembled with me, when I was so kind, I'll show you trick for trick i saith—  [Goes to Haunce. Euph. 
What shall we do Olinda?  Olin. 
Why marry Don Alonzo, Madam.  Euph. 
Do not rally, this is no time for mirth.  Olin. 
Fie upon't, Madam, that you should have so little courage; your Father takes this fellow to be Alonzo.  Car. 
What counsel are you giving there, hah?  Olin. 
Only taking leave of our old acquaintance, since you talk of marrying us so soon.  Car. 
What acquaintance pray?  Olin. 
Our Maidenheads, Sir.  Hau. 
Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant wench faith now; I believe you would be content to part with yours with less warning.  Olin. 
On easy terms perhaps, but this marrying I do not like; 'tis like going a long voyage to Sea, where after a while, even the calms are distasteful, and the storm's dangerous: one seldom sees a new object, 'tis still a deal of Sea, Sea; Husband, Husband, every day— till one's cloyed with it.  Car. 
A mad Girl this, son.  Hau. 
ay, Sir, but I wish she had left out the simile, it made my stomach wamble.  Glo. 
Pray, Sir, let you the Maid alone as an utensil belonging to my place and office, and meddle you with the Mistress.  Hau. 
Faith now thou hast the better bargain of the two: my Mistress looks so scurvily and civil, that I don't know what to say to her— Lady— hang't, that look has put me quite out again.  Car. 
To her, son, to her—  Hau. 
Hark ye Lady— Well what's next now? Oh pox quite out, quite out; tell me whether the old man lied or no, when he told me you loved me.  Euph. 
I love you—  Hau. 
Look you there now how she looks again.  Car. 
She's only bashful, Sir, before me, therefore if you please to take a small collation, that has waited within for you this three hours  Hau. 
That's strange now, that any thing should wait me, who was no more expected here than Bethlehem Gaber: Faith now Lady, this Father of yours is very simple.  Euph. 
To take you for his son.  Hau. 
I meant to have surprised you▪ I vow before you had dreamt of me, and when I came you all knew me as well as if you had cast a Figure for me.  Car. 
Well son, you'll follow.  Euph. 
You will not leave me alone, Sir, with a man?  Hau. 
Go your ways, go your ways— I shall know more of your [Gload makes grimasses to Olinda of love. secrets before night yet, you little pouting hypocrite you.  Euph. 
You know my secrets! why who are you?  Hau. 
Ha, ha, ha, that's a very good one faith now: who am I, quoth thou, why there's not a child▪ thus high in all your Father's house would have asked me so simple a question.  Olin. 
Madam, I find by his man, this is your expected lover, whom you must flatter, or you are undone, 'tis Haunce van Ezel.  [To Euphemia. Euph. 
The fop himself.  Hau. 
Oh, do you know me now?  Euph. 
'Tis impossible.  Hau. 
This is an extreme the other way now.  [Aside. 
Impossible, ha, ha, ha! No, no, poor thing do not doubt thy happiness: for look ye, to confirm you, here are my Bills of Exchange with my own natural name to them, if you can read written hand—  [Shows her peppers. Glo. 
Not love you, I'll swear you lie now, you little Jade, I am now in Masquerade, and you cannot judge of me; but I am Book-keeper and Cashier to my Master, and my love will turn to account, I'll warrant you.  Olin. 
There may be use made of him,  [Aside. 
I shall think of it. But pray why are you thus accoutered?  Glo. 
Fakes to entertain your Lady, we have brought the whole Ships company too in Masquerade.  Olin. 
That indeed will be very proper at this time of the day, and the first visit too.  Glo. 
Shaw, that's nothing, you little think what blades we are must— Sir, I'll call in the fiddles and the company.  Hau. 
Well remembered, faith now I had e'en forgot it.  Euph. 
What's the meaning of this?  [Fiddles strike up. Hau. 
To show you the difference between the damnable dull gravity of the Spanish, and brisk gaiety of the Dutch. Come, come begin all.  Enter Dutch men and women Dancing. 
Nay, I'll show you what I can do too, come Gload.  [They two dance. 
There's for you now, and yet you have not seen half my good qualities; I can sing the newest Ballad that has been made, so I can.  [Sings a Dutch Song. Euph. 
Be these your friends, Sir? they look as if you had ransacked a Hoy for them.  Hau. 
How? look on them well, they are all States, or States-fellows, I tell you that now, and they can bear witness who I am too.  Euph. 
Now I'm convinced, and am sorry I doubted my happiness so long: I had such a Character of you.  Hau. 
Of me, oh Lord, I vow now— as they say— I don't know— ha, ha,—  Euph. 
I heard you were the most incorrigible fool, the most intolerable fop.  Hau. 
Ha, ha, ha, do you hear Gload?— who I a fop? I vow they were mistaken in me, for I am counted as pretty a Merchant as any walks the change; can write a very plain hand, and cast account as well as— My man Gload— can't I, sirrah?  Glo. 
Yes indeed, forsooth, can he.  Hau. 
Agad, a fool, a fop, quoth ye—  [Walks angry. Olin. 
By all means flatter him, Madam.  Euph. 
I'm satisfied, Sir.  Hau. 
I care not whether you are or no, for I shall have you whether you will or no, must.  Euph. 
'Tis very likely; but there is a certain troublesome fellow in love with me, that has made me vow when ever I marry to ask him leave.  Hau. 
How, ask his leave? I scorn to ask any bodies leave, I tell you that, though 'twere my Mistress—  Euph. 
I cannot marry you then.  Hau. 
How not marry me? look here now [Ready to cry. Gload, can't you marry, and let no living soul know't?  Euph. 
Oh no, Sir, I love your life better, which would be endangered.  Hau. 
Why what a cursed custom you have in Spain, a man can neither marry, nor console his Neighbour's Wife without having his throat cut? Why what if he will not give you leave?  Euph. 
Why then you must fight him.  Hau. 
How! fight him, I fight him!  Glo. 
Why yes, Sir, you know you can fight, you tried but this very morning—  Hau. 
Softly you damned Rogue, not a word of my prowess aloud. Saleriment, I shall be put to fight when I am sober, shall I, for your damned prating, ye rascal?  Euph. 
I am glad you have that good quality.  [Olinda speaking to Gload, pushes him to speak. Glo. 
ay, Madam— my Master— has many more: But if you please to tell him his Rival's name.  Hau. 
I'll have your ears for this sirrah, the next time I'm soundly drunk, and you know that won't be long. [Aside. Lord, Madam, my man knows not what he says.  
Ye rascal say I have no courage— or I will drink myself to the miracle of valour, and exercise it all on thee.  Glo. 
I know what I do, Sir, you had courage this morning, is the fit over?  Hau. 
Have I not slept since you rogue, have I not?  Glo. 
I have a trick to save your honour, Sir, and therefore I will stand in't you have courage.  Hau. 
A pox of your trick, the rogue knows I dare not chastise him now, for fear they should think I have valour.  Glo. 
Madam, my Master's modest, but tell him who 'tis he must fight with—  Hau. 
Oh, for a Tun of Rhenish— that I might abundantly beat thee—  Euph. 
Your Rival's name's Alonzo, Sir.  Hau. 
Oh the Devil, a thundering name too; but will this same— Alonzo make no allowance for necessity— I vow 'tis pure necessity in me to marry you, the old men being agreed upon the matter, I am but an instrument— alas, not I, [Cries. A very Tool, as they say, so I am.  Glo. 
Lord, Sir, why do you cry? I meant no harm.  Hau. 
No harm you rascal— to say I am valiant.  Glo. 
Why yes, Sir, and if you would say so too, at worst 'twas but getting Don Lovis to have fought for you; you know that's a small courtesy to a friend.  Hau. 
Faith now thou art in the right, he'll do his business for him, I'll warrant him.  [Wipes his eyes. 
Nay then, Madam, I have courage, and will to this Don— this Alonzo you speak of; and if he do not resign you, and consign you too, I'll make him; yes, make him, do ye see— If Lovis should refuse me now—  [Aside. Glo. 
Shaw, Sir, he makes nothing to kill a man, ten or twenty.  Euph. 
Well, since you are so resolved, my Brother will tell you where to find this Alonzo; and tell him I must marry you to day, for I am resolved not to lie alone to night.  Hau. 
What would not a man do for so kind a Mistress?  Euph. 
Well, get you about it straight then, lest my Father's coming prevent it.  [Exeunt Euphemia and Olinda. Hau. 
I am gone— But if Lovis should fail—  Glo. 
He would beat you, if he thought you doubted him.  Hau. 
I'll keep my fears then to myself.  [Go out.  

SCENE II.  [The Street. Enter Hippolyta dressed like a man with a paper Hip. 
THus I dare look abroad again:  
Methinks I am not what I was,  
My soul too is all man:  
Where dwells no tenderness, no womanish passions.  
I cannot sigh, nor weep, nor think of love,  
But as a foolish dream that's gone and passed.  
Revenge has took possession of my soul,  
And drove those shadows thence; and shows me now  
Love, in so poor, so despicable a shape,  
So quite devested of his Artful Beauty,  
That I'm ashamed I ever was his votary.  
Well, here's my Challenge to Antonio;  
But how to get it to him is the question.  
Base as he is he'll not refuse to come,  
And since he never saw the wronged Alonzo,  
Sure I may pass for him. Who's here—  Enter Haunce and Gload. She stands aside. Hau. 
Gload, if it 'twere possible I could be sober and valiant at once, I should now be provoked to exercise it; for I cannot find Lovis, and then how I shall come off, the Lord knows. And then again, for letting the Lady go, whom I rescued in the Grove this morning.  Glo. 
Should I disobey a Lady, Sir? for she commanded me to let her go so soon as she came into the gate. And, Sir, look here comes Don Lovis.  Enter Lovis and Alonzo. Hau. 
Oh Brother Lovis, where the Devil have you been all this day, I stayed for you to go with me to your sisters, as long as flesh and blood could forbear.  Lov. 
Why have you been there without me.  Hau. 
Yes marry have I, Sir.  Alon. 
I am undone then—  [Aside. Hau. 
I needed no recommendations must, for when I came they were all as well acquainted with me— I never saw them before, but by the way, they are all no wiser than they should be; except your sister, who is the pretty'st, loving, sweet rogue—  Alon. 
How's this?  Lov. 
But have you seen my Sister?  Hau. 
Seen her, yes, and will marry her too must before night, and she were a thousand sisters— But hark ye Lovis, the business is this— you must know that before I marry her, I am to seek out a certain fellow, they call— they call Alonzo, I, I, Alonzo— a pox on him, a troublesome rascal they say he is, and his leave, it seems, must be asked to marry your sister.  Lov. 
Well, Sir, and what if he will not give you leave?  Hau. 
Why then you must know I am to get him very well favour'dly beaten.  Alon. 
Sure this is the coxcomb himself.  Hau. 
Now for your sister's sake, who loves me, poor thing; I will not run the danger of beating him myself, but must desire that small courtesy of thee.  Lov. 
How! I beat him?  Hau. 
You beat him, yes you; what a pox do you scruple such a kindness to a friend; I know you make no more of killing a man next your heart in a morning, than I do of eating a pickled Herring.  Lov. 
But she desired you to do't.  Hau. 
That's all one so it be done must: besides why should I run myself into praemunire when I need not; your Father is bound by agreement to mine, to deliver me the wares (that in his Daughter) safe and sound; and I have no more to do, but to protest against him in case of non-performance. 'Twill be a dear commodity to me at this rate.  [Cries. Lov. 
Well, Sir, I'll see what may be done.  Hau. 
Spoke like a friend now: well, you must about it instantly, for I must be married to day.  Alon. 
Must you so, Sir?—  Hau. 
Yes marry must I, Sir,— who the devils this now?  [To Lovis. Alon. 
That same Alonzo whom you inquire for.  Hau. 
Are you so, Sir?— Why what then, Sir?— Lovis, Lovis.  [Runs behind Lovis. Alon. 
What then, Sir; then I tell you, I will not be beaten.  Hau. 
Look ye here now— Lovis.  Lov. 
Ha, ha, ha, canst thou be angry with him?  [To Alonzo. Hau. 
ay, can you be angry with me?  Alon. 
I know not why an Ass should have more privilege than any other rude beast.  Lov. 
Ha, ha, ha, this humour's so pleasant in thee, I wish thou wouldst pursue it a little— Haunce, bear up to him, he's but a mere huff, ha, ha, ha.  [Claps him on the back, he goes fearfully forward. Glo. 
ay, Sir, as long as Don Lovis is here, you may say what you will.  Hau. 
May I so?— and why, Sir?— am I, Sir,— an Ass, Sir?  [Runs behinds Lovis. Alon. 
'Sdeath you rascal, do you question me?  Hau. 
Oh hold, Sir, hold, not I, God forbid I should question it, Lovis— is it indeed Alonzo, hah?  Lov. 
Yes indeed is it.  Hau. 
And wilt thou not do so much as to beat him for me a little?  Lov. 
Not I, I dare not, he's a terrible man.  Hau. 
Why look you here now you damned rogue, [To Gload. have not you served me finely, hah?  Glo. 
Why, Sir, 'tis but crying peccavi.  Hau. 
Peccavi, and be hanged to you— Lord, Sir, [To Alonzo. why are you so angry, I came but to ask you a civil question, from my wife that must be?  Alon. 
You must ask me leave, first.  Hau. 
Yes, yes, Sir, so she said must; for she must marry me to night.  Alon. 
Yes, you shall have it with this— too  [Draws. Hau. 
Why look you [Haunce runs away Lovis stays him. here now, here's damned doings. For my part I declare it here upon my deathbed, I am forced to what I do, and you kill me against my will.  Alon. 
Dost think we are not discovered in our design? I'd kill the dog if I thought we were.  Lov. 
I believe not, and perceive by my Sister's message, that we are to come to her, and prevent this fellows marrying her.  Alon. 
Well, Sir, I'll spare your life, and give your Mistress leave to marry to night.  Hau. 
How, Sir, to night?— But is he in earnest Lovis?  Lov. 
In very good earnest.  Hau. 
Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra— hay boys, what a night we'll have on't Gload; for fiddles and dancing.  Alon. 
Tell your Mistress I will dispatch a little affairs and wait on her.  Glo. 
And pray, Sir, may I have leave to marry the Maid too.  Alon. 
We'll consider on't.  Hau. 
I am not such a fool to venture though, till I know the coast is clear, for his very looks are terrible, but go you Gload and tell her what he says. [Alonzo talks to Lovis.  Enter Hippolyta from aside. Hip. 
These be the men that rescued me this morning,  
And are not to be employed in my affair.  
But yonder stranger has a noble look,  
And from him I'll entreat this favour— Sir—  [To Alonzo. Alon. 
With me, Sir?  Hip. 
Yes, please you to walk a little this way, Sir.  [Takes him aside. Hau. 
Well, make you sure of fiddles, for look ye, we'll appear to night like ourselves.  Glo. 
It shall be done, Sir.  Hip. 
I am a stranger and a Gentleman, And have an humble suit to you.  Alon. 
You may command me any thing.  Hippolito. 
Sir, there is a Gentleman, if I may call him so, that dares do ill: has put a base affront upon a Lady— a Lady whom all brave men are bound to vindicate: I've writ him here a challenge, and only beg you'll give it him, I will attend you in St. Peter's Grove, where I desire the perfidious Antonio (for that's his name, to whom this is directed) to meet me.  Alon. 
I'm pleased to see this gallantry in a man so young, and will serve you in this, or whatever else you shall command. But where is this Antonio?  Hip. 
That I'll inquire of these. Sir, pray can you give any account of the Cavalier [To Haunce, who starts as afraid. you fought with this morning in St. Peter's Grove, that had a Lady with him?  Hau. 
So, now perhaps I shall be hanged for that.  [Aside. 
I fight, Sir, I never fought in my life, nor saw no man, not I  Glo. 
Shakstone, you may confess it, Sir, there's no Law against killing in Spain.  Hip. 
How? have you murdered him?  [Takes hold of him. Hau. 
This rogue has a mind to have me dispatched, [Aside. Hold, Sir, the man's as well and alive as you are, and is now at my lodgings; look ye here's the dagger I disarmed him off— but that I do not love to boast.  [Shows it. Hip. 
It is the same.  Alon. 
Sir, I shall not fail to wait on you with the Answer I receive—  Hip. 
I humbly thank you, Sir.  Alon. 
So prithee, dear Lovis, go make my excuse to your Sister for a moment, and let her get all things ready against I come; let the Priest too wait, for I see my destiny, which I can no longer prevent, draws on a pace.  [Exit Lovis. 
Come, Sir, you must conduct me to Antonio.  [Exeunt Alonzo, and Haunce, and Gload. Hip. 
So now the work's half done that will redeem  
All the lost credit of our Family.  
To kill, or to be killed, I care not which,  [Weeps. 
So one or both expire; be strong my soul,  
And let no feeble woman dwell about thee.  
Hence fears and pity, such poor things as these  
Cannot the storms of my revenge appease:  
Those showers must from his treacherous heart proceed.  
If I can live and see Antonio bleed.  [Sighs and exit.  

SCENE III.  [A deep Grove. Enter Marcel alone. Mar. 
THe hour is almost come which I appointed,  
And yet no Silvio appears, the time seems long to me;  
But he that's circled in his Mistress arms,  
Forgets the hasty hours,  
And passes them as unregarded by,  
As men do beggars who demand a charity.  Enter Hippolyta. 
Young man, hast thou encountered none within this Grove?  Hip. 
Not any, Sir,— Marcel! my injured Brother!  Mar. 
Why dost thou turn away, and hide thy face?  Hip. 
'Tis not my face I hide, but sorrow there.  [Weeps. Mar. 
Trust me thou weepst; would I could do so too,  
That I might be less angry;  
And silence best expresses grief:  
But thine's a saucy sorrow dares approach  
A face so fair and young.  Hip. 
If the ingrate for whom I grieve had thought so  
I might have spared my tears. Farewell, Sir.  Mar. 
Stay, hast thou been a Lover?  Hip. 
A very, very passionate one.  Mar. 
And wert thou not beloved?  Hip. 
At first to draw me in, the cunning Artist,  
Made me believe I was.  Mar. 
Oh! I could kiss thee now for the alliance  
Between thy grief and mine.  
Hadst thou a loose and wanton Sister too?  
Then thou wert perfect wretched, as I am.  [Weeps. 
But prithee leave me, now I think of it:  
For shouldst thou stay, thou'dst rob me of my anger:  
For since a youth like thee can be unhappy,  
With such a shape, and so divine a face,  
Methinks I should not quarrel with my star,  
But bow to all my faithless Mistress scorns.  
Hollowing within. So ho, ho, so ho, ho—  Mar. 
So ho, so ho, ho, ho— 'Tis my false Rival.  
Now leave me, Sir, to reassume my anger.  Hip. 
I will obey— farewell—  
My own despair makes me neglect his life.  [Goes out. Enter Silvio. Mar. 
'Tis Silvio.  Sil. 
You see I have obeyed you, Sir.  Mar. 
Come, Sir, your sword.  Sil. 
You are my Brother, and 'twere an impious action  
To fight you unprovoked: give me a cause,  
Nay, and a just one too, or I shall find it hard,  
— To wound Cleontes brother.  [Aside sighing. Mar. 
Thou cam'st prepared to talk, and not to fight.  
I cannot blame thee, for were I Silvio,  
Thus I would do to save a life beloved:  [Offers to fight; Silvio steps back. 
But 'twill not serve you now.  Sil. 
Your reason, Sir, and I'm ready, if it be just.  Mar. 
Oh do not urge me to repeat my wrongs,  
For if thou dost, I hardly shall have man enough remain  
To fight thee fairly.  [Offers still. Sil. 
Surely he knows my passion for Cleonte—  [Aside. 
I Urge the reason still.  Mar. 
Hast thou forgot thy last night's treachery? how like a thief thou stolest into her lodging.  Sil. 
'Tis so— 'tis true Marcel, I rudely did intrude—  Mar. 
Oh quickly haste— this looks like womens' jangling.  [Offers to fight again. Sil. 
Oh is it bravely done Marcel to punish,  
A passion which you ought to pity rather?  
'Tis what I cannot reconcile nor justify,  
And so distracted it has made me too—  
I will not fight in so unjust a cause  
Kill me, and I'll embrace you whilst I die;  
A thousand wounds imprinted on this body,  
Will bring less pain than that her eyes have caused.  
Here strike— Pity my pain and ease me.  [Opens his arms, and throws away his sword. Mar. 
I find thou hast a charm about the tongue,  
And thou implor'st thy death in such away  
I cannot hurt thee; and it gives me hopes  
Thou art not yet so blessed to be beloved,  
For than thou wouldst not be thus desperate.  Sil. 
Oh yes, I am beloved.  Mar. 
Oh do not say thou art,  
Nor take me from a calmness, that may spare thee.  Sil. 
Not say I am beloved! thou canst not hire me  
With life or fuller joy, to say I am not.  
If there be truth, and love, in innocence, she loves me.  Mar. 
Yet, yet ye Gods I can endure— say but thou art not,  
For I would yet preserve thee.  Sil. 
Oh canst thou wish that I should fall so low,  
To save my life with lies; the poorest sin of all the number.  Mar. 
Then once again thou hast debauched my pity.  [Takes to his sword. Sil. 
Her passion I will justify, but not my own;  
Her's as pure as prayers of penitence;  
But mine— I cannot give a name to.  [They fight: Enter Alonzo and parts them. Alon. 
How now, what's here to do Marcel?  Mar. 
Alonzo! the only man I wish to shun.  Sil. 
I'm glad who e'er thou beest thou hast prevented us.  Alon. 
Thou hast more wit than he than I find: Your quarrel, Sir, may a man have leave to inquire into't.  Mar. 
This is that Silvio; that Noble Youth my Brother, whom thou hast often heard me name.  Alon. 
An excellant▪ character for an enemy, Noble and Brother: for shame put up your swords, and I'll be judge between ye.  Mar. 
The case is soon decided; I will not tell you with how tedious a courtship I won the heart, as I thought, of a young beauty in this Town— And yesterday received a Billet from her, to wait on her at night, to receive the recompense of all my pains and sufferings— In this ecstasy of joy I showed him the paper; and he getting thither before me, robbed me of my prize.  Sil. 
I am so pleased at this mistake of thine,  
I can forgive it freely.  Mar. 
Not content with this, most treacherosly, hid in the shades of night, he met me in the Hall of this false woman, and stabbed me, which did secure his flight with her; and wouldst thou have me put this injury up?  Alon. 
Faith you must, and your sword too,  
Unless you mean to keep it drawn on me.  
'Twas I that wounded you i'th' dark; and it was I  
That robbed you of Clarinda  Mar 
Thou?  Alon. 
ay, am I so unlikely a man to do such a feat?  Mar. 
How dare you, Sir, do this?  Alon. 
I dare do any thing, but break my word, as thou hast basely done with me— But I am now in haste, and should be glad to know where to meet you anon.  Mar. 
I'll wait on you at the farther side of this Grove by the River.  Alon. 
I will not fail you—  [Exit Alonzo. Mar. 
Come, Sir, till I can better prove you are my Rival I will believe you are my friend and brother.  Sil. 
When thou shalt know my miserable story,  
Thou wilt believe and pity me.  [Go out. Enter again Hippolyta from out of the wood. Hip. 
I wonder this Cavalier stays so long.  
Pray heaven he meet Antonio.  Enter Alonzo. 
Your Servant, Sir.  Alon. 
The Cavalier to whom you sent me, Sir,  
Will wait upon you here.  Hip. 
I humbly thank you, Sir, and should be glad to know how I might pay my gratitude.  Alon. 
My duty ends not here; I have a sword to serve you.  Hip. 
You shame me with this generosity, but, Sir, I hope my own will be sufficient in so good a cause.  Alon. 
Though you are young, I question not your bravery,  
But I must beg to stay and see fair play,  
And offer you my service when you've done.  Hip. 
The enemy appears, Sir,— and since you are so good, I beg you would retire behind those trees; for if he see us both, since he is single, he will suspect some treachery.  Alon. 
You've reason, Sir, and I'll obey you.  [Goes aside. Enter Antonio reading a paper. 
SIR,  
I Desire you to meet me in St. Peter's Grove, with your sword in your hand about an hour hence; you will guests my business▪ when you know my name to be  
Alonzo.  Alon. 
How's that?  [Aside. Ant. 
I wished had been another enemy,  
Since from the justice of his cause, I fear  
An ill success; would I had seen Hippolyta,  
That e'er I died I might have had her pardon.  
This conscience— 'tis ominous.  
Sin ne'er appears in any horrid shape,  
Till it approaches death—  Goes forward sees Hippolyta, who justles him in passing by; he stops and looks. Hip. 
You seem, Sir, to be he whom I expect.  Ant. 
I'm called Antonio, Sir—  Hip. 
And I Alonzo; the rest we need not ask,  
For thou art well acquainted with my injuries,  
And I with thy perfidiousness.  [Draws. Ant. 
I know of none you have received from me,  
If on Hippolyta's account you fight,  
She loved me, and believed, and what dull Lover  
Would have refused a Maid so easily gained?  Hip. 
Ah Traitor, by how base a way  
Thou wouldst evade thy fate?  
Didst thou not know she was my wife by promise?  
Did not Marcel, Ambrosio, all consent  
To make her mine as soon as I arrived?  Alon. 
Who the Devil's that young Bully that takes my name and my concerns upon him?  [Aside. Hip. 
But why should I expect a truth from thee,  
Who after so much time, so many vows,  
So many tears, despairs and sighs, at last  
Didst gain a credit with this easy fool,  
Then left her to her shames, and her despairs— Come, Sir,—  
Or I shall talk myself to calmness—  [Aside. Ant. 
I'm ready, Sir, to justify the deed.  [They offer to fight, Alonzo steps forth. Alon. 
Hold! hold! fair thief that robbest me of my name,  
And wouldst my honour too  [Puts her by. 
If thou hast wronged the fair Hippolyta,  [To Antonio. 
No man but I has right to do her justice.  
Or you are both my Rivals— tell me which,  
Which of you is it I must kill— or both?  
I am Alonzo, who dares love Hippolyta?  Hip. 
Let not your friendship, Sir, proceed so far,  
To take my name, to take my quarrel on you.  Alon. 
In this dispute none's more concerned than I,  
And I will keep my ground in such a cause,  
Though all the Rivals that her beauty makes me,  
Were armed to take my life away.  Ant. 
Come, Sir, I care not which of you's Alonzo.  [They go to fight, she holds Alonzo. Hip. 
This gallantry's too much, brave stranger.  
Antonio hurt him not; I am the wronged Alonzo,  
And this a perfect stranger to the business;  
Who seeing me appear less man than he,  
And unacquainted with my deeds abroad,  
In Bounty takes my name and quarrel on him.  Alon. 
Take heed young man, and keep thy virtue in,  
Lest thus misguided it become a crime.  
But thou he says haste wronged Hippolyta,  [To Antonio 
And I am he must punish it.  Hip. 
Sure it is he indeed—  
For such a miracle my brother rendered him.  [Aside. 
Hold, hold thou wonder of thy sex—  [They fight. Alon. 
Stand by, I shall be angry with thee else,  
And that will be unsafe—  As Alonzo fights with one hand, he keeps her off with t'other;, she presses still forward on Antonio with her sword endeavouring to keep back Alonzo. Enter to them Marcel. Mar. 
Sure I heard the noise of swords this way!  [Draws. 
Ha, two against one? courage, Sir.  [To Antonio. They fight all four, Marcel with Hippolyta whom he wounds, and Alonzo with Antonio, who is disarmed. Hip. 
Good Heaven! how just thou art!  Mar. 
What, dost thou faint already?— Ha, the pretty talking youth I saw but now! [Runs to her, and holds her up. Alas, how dost thou?  Hip. 
Well, since thy hand has wounded me.  Ant. 
My life is yours, nor would I ask the gift,  
But to repair my injuries to Hippolyta.  Alon. 
I give it thee—  [Gives him his sword. Mar. 
How, Antonio!—  
What unkind hand has robbed me of the justice,  
Of killing thee?  Alon. 
His that was once thy friend Marcel.  Mar. 
Oh dost thou know my shame?  [Turns away. Alon. 
I know thou are false to friendship,  
And therefore do demand mine back again, thou'st used it scurvily.  Mar. 
Thou know'st too much to think I've injured thee.  Alon. 
Not injured me! who was it promised me Hippolyta?  
Who his alliance, and his friendship too?  
And who has broke them all but thou perfidious?  
Come 'tis Hippolyta that I demand,  Mar. 
By this he should not know my sister's shame.  [Aside. 
Oh, Sir, you must not have Hippolyta.  Alon. 
How! not have Hippolyta!  
Though every step were guarded by a Brother:  
Though she were circled round about with Rivals,  
Ye should not all have power to keep her from me.  
Not have Hippolyta!—  
'Sdeath, Sir, because I do not know my birth,  
And cannot boast a little empty title,  
I must not have Hippolyta—  
Now I will have her, and when you know I can,  
You shall petition me to marry her,  
And yet I will not do't. Come, Sir—  [Offers to fight. Hip. 
Hold, hold brave man, or turn your sword on me,  
I am the unhappy cause of all your rage:  
'Tis I generous Alonzo that can tell you  
What he's ashamed to own,  
And thou wilt blush to hear.  Mar. 
Hippolyta! thou wretched wicked woman:  
Thus I reward thy sins—  [Offers to kill her, Antonio steps between. Ant. 
Hold, Sir, and touch her not without my leave,  
She is my wife; by sacred vows my wife.  Alon. 
I understand not riddling, but whoever thou be'st, man or woman, thou'rt worth our care.—  
She faints— come let us bear her hence.  [She faints, Antonio kneels to her. Ant. 
Oh stay Hippolyta, and take me with thee,  
For I have no use of life when thou art gone.  [Weeps. 
Here kill me brave Marcel;— and yet you need not,  
My own remorse and grief will be sufficient.  Mar. 
I credit thee, and leave thee to their mercy.  Hip. 
That goodness, Sir, has called me back to life,  
To pay my humble thanks; could you have mercy too, to pardon me— you might redeem my soul.  Mar. 
Some pity I have yet, that may preserve thee too,  
Provided this repentance be not feigned.  Ant. 
My life, Sir, is security for both.  Mar. 
Doubt not, I'll take the forfeit, Sir— Come Hippolyta,  
Thy Father's house shall once again receive thee.  Ant. 
Lean on my arm my dearest.  Mar. 
Sir, by the way, I'll let you know her story,  
And then perhaps you will not blame my friendship.  Alon. 
And in return, I'll give you back Clarinda—  
And beg your pardon for the wound I gave you.  [Exeunt leading Hippolyta. 
The end of the fourth ACT.    

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  [A Garden. Enter Cleonte, Clarinda weeping, and Dormida, and Francisca. Cleo. 
FEar not, I'll use my interest both with your Mother and my Father, to set your heart at rest, Whose pain I feel by something in my own.  Clar. 
The Gods reward your bounty, fair Cleonte.  Dor. 
ay, I, Madam, I beseech you make our peace with my good Lady her Mother, what ever becomes of the rest, for she'll e'en die with grief—  [Weeps. 
She had but too fair pledges of her Nuptial Bed,  
And both by cruel fate are ravished from her.  
Manual a child was lost,  
And this; not holy Relics were more strictly guarded,  
Till false Marcel betrayed me to debauch her.  [Weeps aloud. Cleo. 
Alas, had you a brother once?  [To Clarinda. Clar. 
Madam, I might have had: but he was lost ere I was born.  Cleo. 
Ah would my Silvio had been so.  [Aside. 
By what strange accident Clarinda?  Dorm. 
Madam, I can inform you best.  [Puts herself between. Cleo. 
Do then Dormida.  Dorm. 
Madam, you must know, my Lady Octavia, for that's her name, was in her youth the very flower of Beauty and Virtue: Oh such a face and shape, had you but seen her— And though I say it, Madam, I thought myself too somebody then.  Clar. 
Thou art tedious: Madam, 'tis true my Mother had the reputation of both those attractions, which gained her many Lovers: amongst the rest, Don Manual, and Don Alonzo, were most worthy her esteem.  Dor. 
ay, Madam, Don Alonzo, there was a man for you, so obliging and so bountiful.— Well, I'll give you an Argument of both to me: for you must know I was a Beauty then, and worth obliging.  [Puts herself between. 
And he was the man my Lady loved, though Don Manual were the richer: but to my own story—  Cleo. 
Forward Clarinda.  Clar. 
But as it most times happens,  
We marry where our Parents like, not we;  
My Mother was disposed of to Don Manual.  Dor. 
ay, Madam; but had you seen Don Alonzo's rage, and how my Lady took this disappointment— But I who was very young, and very pretty as I told you before—  Cleo. 
Forbear. Madam, 'tis true,  
Alonzo was so far transported,  
That oft he did attempt to kill my Father;  
But bravely tho', and still he was prevented:  
But when at the entreaties of my Mother,  
The King confined my Father,  
Alonzo then studied a new revenge,  
And thinking that my Father's life depended  
Upon a son he had scarce a year old;  
He did design to steal him, and one evening,  
When with his Nurse and Maid he took the Air,  
This desperate Lover seized the smiling prize,  
Which never since was heard of.  Cleo. 
I guess the grief the Parents must sustain.  Dor. 
It almost caused their deaths, nor did kind heaven  
Supply them with another till long after,  
Unhappy this was born.  
Which just her father lived to see, and died.  [Weeps. 
Then she was, Daughter, Son, and Husband too,  
To her afflicted Mother: But as I told you Madam, I was then in my prime—  Clar. 
Now, Madam, judge what her despair must be,  
Who is deprived of all her joys in me.  [Weeps. Cleo. 
Francisca, see who is that knocks so hastily.  [One knocks. Franc. 
Oh, Madam, 'tis Don Marcel leading a wounded man.  Cleo. 
Oh my fears, 'tis Silvio.  Franc. 
'Tis not Don Silvio.  Enter Marcel leading Hippolyta wounded, followed by Alonzo and Pedro [Aside. Cleo. 
Alas, what youth is this you lead all bleeding?  Mar. 
One that deserves your care; where's my Father?  Cleo. 
Not yet returned.  Mar. 
'Tis well; and you, Sir, I must confine till I know  
How to satisfy my honour, and that of my wronged Sister.  [To Antonio. Ant. 
The holy man will soon decide our difference:  
Pray send for one, and reconcile us all.  Hip. 
I fear Antonio still thou dost dissemble.  Ant. 
So let me find forgiveness when I die:  
If any fear of death have wrought this change:  
But a pure sense of all my wrongs to thee,  
Knowing thy constant love, and virtue to me.  Mar. 
I will secure your fear— Francisca, send for Father joseph to me, and conduct these Gentlemen to the Lodgings next the Garden.  [Exeunt Francisca, Antonio and Hippolyta. Alon. 
Prithee Marcel, are thee and I awake, or do we dream? thou, that thou art in thy Father's House; and I, that I see those two fair women there. Pray lovely fugitive, how come you hither?  [To Clarinda. Mar. 
I thought thou wert mistaken,  
'Twas Silvio brought her hither, that false man.  
But how came you to know her?  Alon. 
Know her! 'slife I question my sense.  
Pray Lady are you flesh and blood?  [To Cleonte. Cleo. 
Yes surely, Sir; for 'twere pity you should have bestowed your heart on a shadow, and I well remember you gave it one of us last night.  Alon. 
A dream, a dream, but are you indeed the same fair person, and is this the same house too?  Cleo. 
I am afraid your heart's not worth the keeping, since you took no better notice where you disposed of it.  Alon. 
Faith, Madam, you wrong a poor Lover, who has languished in search of it all this livelong day.  Cleo. 
Brother, I beseech you, receive the innocent Clarinda, who, I fear, will have the greatest cause of complaint against you.  [To Marcel. Gives him Clarinda. Alon. 
But pray, fair one, let you and I talk a little about that same heart you put me in mind of just now.  [To Cleonte, with whom he seems to talk. Ped. 
Surely that's my old Mistress Dormida; twenty years has not made so great an alteration in that ill-favoured face of hers, but I can find a Lover there.  Goes to her, they seem to talk earnestly, and sometimes pleasantly, pointing to Clarinda. Mar. 
Enough Clarinda: I'm too well convinced,  
Would thou hadst still remained a criminal.  
Now how can I reward thy faith and love?  Clar. 
I know Marcel, it is not in thy power,  
Thy faithless story I'm acquinted with.  Mar. 
Do not reproach me with my shame Clarinda.  
'Tis true, to gain thee to consent to my desires,  
I made an honourable pretence of loving.  
Pardon a Lover, all the ways he takes  
To gain a Mistress so beloved and fair.  
But I have since repented of that sin,  
And came last night for thy forgiveness too.  Ped. 
This is news indeed; 'tis fit I keep this secret no longer from my Master. Don Manual being dead, my vow's expired.  [Aside.] [Pedro goes to Alonzo. Clar. 
And do you mean no more to love me then?  Mar. 
In spite of me above my sense or being.  Clar. 
And yet you'll marry Flavia?  Mar. 
Against my will I must, or lose a Father.  Clar. 
Then I must die, Marcel.  Mar. 
Do not unman my soul, it is too weak  
To bear the weight of fair Clarinda's tears.  Alon. 
Why was this secret kept from me so long?  Ped. 
I was obliged by vow, Sir, to Don Alonzo my dead Master, not to restore you till Don Manual's death; believing it a happiness too great for his Rival, for so he was upon your Mother's score.  Alon. 
Have I a Mother living?  Ped. 
Here in Madrid, Sir, and that fair maid's your Sister.  [Pointing to Clarinda. Alon. 
I scarce can credit thee, but that I know thee honest.  Ped. 
To confirm that belief, Sir, here are the writings of twelve thousand crowns a year, left you by your Foster [Gives him papers, he reads. Father, the brave Alonzo, whose name he gave you too.  Alon. 
I am convinced— How now Marcel, what all in tears? why who the Devil would love in earnest? Come, come, make me judge between you.  Mar. 
You'll soon decide it then, my heart's Clarinda's;  
But my forced vows are given to another.  Alon. 
Vows! dost think the Gods regard the vows of Lovers? they are things made in necessity, and ought not to be kept, nor punished when broken: if they were— Heaven have mercy on me poor sinner.  Enter Ambrosio. Mar. 
My Father returned!  [Bows and goes to him, and then leads Alonzo to him. 
Sir, this is the gallant man that was designed to be your son-in-Law.  Amb. 
And that you were not so, Sir, was my misfortune only.  Alon. 
I am glad to find it no slight to my person,  
Or unknown quality that deprived me of that honour.  Mar. 
To convince you of that, Alonzo, I know my father will bestow this other sister on you; more fair and young, and equally as rich.  [Ambrosio calls Marcel aside. Alon. 
How, his Sister! Fool, that I was, I could not guess at this; and now have I been lying and swearing all this while how much I loved her. Well, take one time with another, a man falls into more danger by this amorous humour, than he gets good turns by it.  Mar. 
Pardon me, Sir, I knew not you had designed her elsewhere— Dear Alonzo, my Father—  Alon. 
ay, Sir, I am much obliged to him. Oh Pox would I were well with Euphemia.  Mar. 
I protest I could wish—  Alon. 
ay, so could I, Sir, that you had made a better judgement of my humour: all must out, I have no other way to avoid this compliment else. Why look ye Marcel— your Sister is— Pox I am ill at dissimulation, and therefore in plain terms, I am to be married this very evening to another.  Mar. 
This was happy, and has saved me an excuse. [Aside. But are you in earnest, Sir? how is it possible, being so lately come into Madrid?  Alon. 
Destiny, destiny, Marcel, which there was no avoiding, tho' I missed of Hippolyta.  Mar. 
Who is it prithee?  Alon. 
A woman I hope, of which indeed I would have been better assured; but she was wilful. She's called Euphemia.  Mar. 
Our next neighbour, the Daughter of old Carlo.  Alon. 
The same.  Mar. 
Thou art happy to make so good a progress in so short a time, but I am—  Alon. 
Not so miserable as you believe. Come, come, you shall marry Clarinda.  Mar. 
'Tis impossible.  Alon. 
Where's the hindrance.  Mar. 
Her want of fortune; that's enough, friend.  Alon. 
Stand by and expect the best.— [Goes to Ambrosio. Sir, I have an humble suit to you.  Amb. 
I should be infinitely pleased you could ask me any thing in my power, but, Sir, this daughter I had disposed of, before I knew you would have missed of Hippolyta.  Alon. 
Luckyer than I expected. [Aside. Sir, that was an honour I could not merit, and am contented with my fate: But my request is, that you would receive into your family a Sister of mine, whom I would bestow on Don Marcel.  Mar. 
Ha, what mean you, Sir! a Sister of yours?  Alon. 
Yes, she will not be unwelcome.— This is she.  Amb. 
This is the daughter to Octavia— Her Mother was a Lady whom once I did adore, and 'twas her fault she was not more happy with me, than with Don Manual. Nor have I so wholly forgot that flame, but I might be inclined to your proposal: But, Sir, she wants a fortune.  Alon. 
That I'll supply.  Mar. 
You supply, Sir? on what kind scorce, I pray?  Alon. 
That which you'll suffer without being jealous,  
When you shall know she is indeed my Sister.  Clar. 
How! this brave man my Brother?  Alon. 
So they tell me, and that my name is Manual,  
Had you not such a Brother?  Dor. 
Oh ye gods, is this the little Manual?  Ped. 
Yes Dormida, and for a farther proof see this.  [Opens his master's bosom, and shows a Crucifix. Dor. 
This I remember well, it is Don Manual:  
Pray let me look upon you: Just like my Lord—  
Now may the soul of Don Alonzo rest in peace,  
For making so hopeful a man of you.  Alon. 
Amen. But, Sir, if you approve of my Sister,  
I'll make her as worthy of Marcel, as Flavia.  Amb. 
I've lost the hopes of her— She's not to be reconciled.  [Aside. 
Clarinda needs no more than to belong to you,  
To make her valuable— and I consent with joy.  [Gives her to Marcel. Mar. 
And I with joys beyond expression, Sir, receive her.  Alon. 
Pedro, there rests no more than that you wait on my Mother, and let her know all that has happened to myself and sister, and that I'll pay my duty to her ere I sleep.  Dor. 
The very joy to find her Son again, will get my pardon too, and then perhaps Pedro and I may renew our old amours.  Alon. 
Sir, I have another request to make.  Amb. 
You must command, Sir.  Alon. 
That is, that you will permit this fair company to honour me this evening at my Fathers-in-law Don Carlo.  Amb. 
How, has Don Carlo married the Lady Octavia?  Alon. 
No, Sir, but a worse matter than that, I am to marry his Daughter.  Amb. 
Oh, Sir, Euphemia has too much beauty and virtue to make you doubt your happiness.  Alon. 
Well, Sir, I must venture that. But your company I'll expect, the Ladies may clap on their visards, and make a Masquerading night on't: though such freedoms are not very usual in Spain; we that have seen the world, may absolve one another.  Amb. 
My Garden joins to that of Don Carlo▪ and that way we will wait on you, as soon as I have dispatched a small affair.  Alon. 
Your humble Servant, Sir.  [Goes out. Ambrosio the other way. Mar. 
Sister, go you and prepare my Father to receive Hippolyta, whilst I go see them married.  [Exeunt Cleonte and Clarinda. Marcel passing over the garden, sees Silvio enter in passion, followed by Francisca. Silv. 
Do not Francisca— do not blow my flame,  
The cure thou bringst is much the greater Hell.  [Offers to go, but stops. Mar. 
Ha, Silvio; unseen I'll hear their business.  [Goes aside. Sil. 
I would fain shun thee, but this impious weight  
Of love upon my soul, hinders my flight:  
I'm fixed— like conscious guilt it keep me here,  
And I am now insensible of fear.  
Speak on! thou messenger of Sacred Love— speak on!  Franc. 
The fair Cleonte, Sir, whose soul's inflamed  
No less than yours; though with a Virgin modesty  
She would conceal it, pitying now your pain  
Has through my intercession—  Sil. 
Oh quickly speak! what happiness designed me?  Franc. 
To admit you, Sir, this night into her Chamber.  Mar. 
Death to my soul! what's this?  [Aside. Sil. 
Her chamber! is that all? will that allay this fever  
In my blood?— No, no, Francisca.  
'Tis grown too high for amorous parleys only;  
Her arms, her charming bosom, and her bed,  
Must now receive me or I die, Francisca.  Franc. 
I mean no other, Sir; why can you think  
A Maid in love as much as you can be,  
Assisted with the silence of the night;  
(Which veil her blushes too) can say— I dare not?  
Or if she do, she'll speak it faintly o'er,  
And even whilst she so denys will yield.  
Go, go prepare yourself for this encounter,  
And do not dally as you did to day,  
And fright your pleasure with the name of sister—  Mar. 
Oh cursed witch!  [Aside. Franc. 
What say you, Sir?  Sil. 
That name has checked my joy—  
And makes it strangely silent and imperfect.  [Walks away. Franc. 
Why do you go, before you answer me?  [Follows him into the garden. Mar. 
I'll follow him, and kill them.  [Comes out with a Dagger. 
Oh who would be allied unto a woman,  
nature's loose handiwork? the slight employs  
Of all her wanton hours— Oh I could rave now—  
Abandon sense and nature.  
Hence all considerate thoughts, and in their room,  
Supply my soul with vengeance, that may prove  
Too great to be allayed by nature, or by love.  [Goes into the Garden after them. Enter again Silvio melancholy followed by Francisca. Franc. 
But will you lose this opportunity,  
Her lodgings too being so near your own?  Sil. 
Hell take her for her wickedness.  
Oh that ten thousand mountains stood between us,  
And seas as vast and raging as her lust,  
That we might never meet— Oh perfect woman,  
I find there is no safety in thy sex:  
No trusting to thy innocence.  
That being counterfeit, thy beauty's gone,  
Dropped like a Rose o'er blown,  
And left thee nothing but a withered root,  
That never more can bloom.  Franc. 
Alas, I fear I have done ill in this.  [Aside. Sil. 
I now should hate her; but there yet remains  
Something within, so strangely kind to her;  
That I'm resolved to give her one proof more,  
Of what I have vowed her often, yes I'll kill her—  Franc. 
How kill her, Sir? Gods, what have I done!  [Aside. Sil. 
Yes, can I let her live, and say I loved her?  
No, she shall tempt no more vain yielding men.  Franc. 
Consider, Sir, it is to save your life she does it.  Sil. 
My life!  
'Twere better she and I were buried  [Enter Marcel from amongst the trees softly with his Dagger behind Silvio.] 
Quick in one grave, than she should fall to this,  
She has out-sinned even me in this consent.  Mar. 
Oh here they are.—  Franc. 
My Lord defend yourself, you are undone else.  Sil. 
Ha, Marcel!—  [Draws. Franc. 
Help, help.  Mar. 
Hell take thy throat.  Enter Ambrosio, Clarinda, Cleonte, and the rest of the house. Amb. 
Hold villain, hold!  
How darest thou thus rebel— ungrateful wretch?  Mar. 
This cause, Sir, is so just, that when you hear it,  
You'll curse me, that I let him live thus long:  
He loves my sister, Sir; and that lewd woman  
Repays his lustful flame; and does this evening  
Invite him to her bed;— Oh let me kill him.  [Offers to go to him. Amb. 
That he should love Cleonte I'll allow,  
And her returns too, whilst they're innocent.  Mar. 
But, Sir, he does not love her as a Sister.  Amb. 
If that be all his crime, I still forgive him.  Sil. 
Yes, Sir, 'tis true I do adore my Sister,  
But am so far from that foul thing he named,  
That could I think I had a secret thought  
That tended that way, I would search it— thus—  [Goes to stab himself. Cleo. 
What me an you by this desperation?  Sil. 
Oh take away this woman from my sight,  [Pointing to Cleonte. 
For she will finish what this has ill begun.  [Holds his Dagger up. Franc. 
Thus low, Sir, for your mercy I must kneel;  [Kneels. 
Which yet I must despair of when you know  
How very very wicked I have been.  [Weeps. 
Cleonte, Sir, is chaste as Angels are.  Sil. 
My Sister innocent! how soon I do believe thee!  Franc. 
Yes, Sir, nor knows of that vile message which I brought you.  Sil. 
What Devil set thee on to tempt me then?  Franc. 
The worst of Devils, hopeless, raging love;  
And you, my Lord, were the unhappy object.  Mar. 
Oh sinful woman, what was thy design?  Cleo. 
What means all this?  [Aside. Franc. 
At least to have enjoyed him once; which done,  
Thinking it had been the fair Cleonte,  
It would have made him hate her.  Sil. 
Should all thy other sins be unrepented,  
The piety of this confession saves thee.  
Pardon, Cleonte, my rude thoughts of thee,  [Kneels, she takes him up. 
I had designed t'o've killed thee—  
Had not this knowledge of thy innocence  
Arrived before I'd seen thee next.  
And, Sir, your pardon too I humbly beg;  [To Ambrosio. 
With licence to depart, I cannot live  
Where I must only see my beauteous sister;  
That torment is too great to be supported,  
That still must last, and never hope a cure.  Amb. 
Since you are so resolved, I will unfold  
A secret to you, that perhaps may please you.  Sil. 
Low at your feet I do implore it, Sir.  [Kneels. Amb. 
Your quality forbids this ceremony.  [Takes him up. Sil. 
How, Sir!  Amb. 
Your Father was the mighty favourite, the Conte De Olivaris; your Mother, Spain's celebrated Beauty, Donna Margarita Spiniola, by whom your Father had two natural Sons, Don Lovis de Harro, and yourself Don Roderigo. The story of his disgrace you know with all the world; 'twas then he being banished from the Court, he left you to my care then very young. I received you as my own, and as more than such educated you, and as your Father obliged me to do, brought you always up about their Majesties— For he hoped if you had beauty and merits, you might inherit part of that glory he lost.  Mar. 
This is wondrous—  Amb. 
This truth you had not known so soon, had you not made as great an interest at Court as any man so young ever did: and if I had not acquitted myself in all points as became the friend of so great and brave a man, as Conte de Olivaris, the Fortune he left you was two millions of Crowns.  Sil. 
Let me embrace your feet for this blessed news.  
Is not the fair Cleonte than my sister?  Amb. 
No, Sir, but one whom long since I designed your wife, if you are pleased to think her worthy of it.  [Offers her. Sil. 
Without her, Sir, I do despise my being: And do receive her as a blessing, sent from heaven to make my whole life happy.  Amb. 
What say you, Cleonte?  Cleo. 
Sir, I must own a joy greater than is fit for a Virgin to express.  Mar. 
Generous Don Roderigo, receive me as your friend, and pardon all the fault you found in me as a brother.  [Embraces him. Sil. 
Be ever dear unto my soul, Marcel.  Mar. 
Now is the time to present Hippolyta and Antonio to my Father, whilst his humour is so good. And you, dear Brother, I must beg to join with us in so just a cause.  Sil. 
You need not doubt my power, and less my will.  Mar. 
Do you prepare him then, whilst I bring them in: For by this I know my Confessor has made them one.  [Exit Marcel. Sil. 
Sir, I've a suit to you.  Amb. 
You cannot ask what I can deny.  Sil. 
Hippolyta, Sir, is married to Antonio,  
And humbly begs your pardon for her past fault.  Amb. 
Antonio and Hippolyta! oh name them not.  Enter Antonio and Hippolyta, a Friar and Marcel. Mar. 
Pray, Sir, forgive them, your honour being safe,  
Since Don Antonio has by marrying her▪  
Repaired the injury he did us all,  
Without which I had killed him.  Amb. 
Thou art by nature more severe than I,  
And if thou think'st our honour satisfied,  
I will endeavour to forget their fault's.  Ant. 
We humbly thank you, Sir, and beg your blessing:  
At least bestow it on Hippolyta;  
For she was ever chaste, and innocent,  
And acted only what became her duty;  
Since by a sacred vow she was my Wife.  Amb. 
How cam'st thou then to treat her so inhumanely?  Ant. 
In pure revenge to Don Marcel her Brother:  
And forced my nature to a stubbornness,  
Which whilst I did put on, I blushed to own;  
And still between thoughts so unjust, and action,  
Her virtue would rise up and check my soul,  
Which still secured her fame.  Hip. 
And I have seen in midst of all thy anger  
Thou'st turned away and changed thy words to sighs;  
Dropped now and then a tear as if ashamed  
Not of thy injuries, but my little merit.  Amb. 
How weak and easy nature makes me— Rise  
I must forgive you both.  
Come, Sir, I know you long to be secured  
Of what you say you love so much, Cleonte—  Franc. 
But, Madam, have you fully pardoned me?  Sil. 
We will all join in your behalf, Francisca.  Cleo. 
I can forgive you, when you can repent.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  [House of Carlo. Enter Olinda. Olin. 
BUt is the Bride-chamber dressed up, and the bed made as it ought to be?  Dorm. 
As for the making, 'tis as it use to be, only the Velvet Furniture.  Olin. 
As it use to be? oh ignorance! I see these young wenches are not arrived yet to bare imagination: Well, I must order it myself, I see that.  Dor. 
Why Olinda, I hope they will not go just to bed upon their marrying without some signs of a wedding, as Fiddles and Dancing, and so forth.  Olin. 
Good Lord, what joys you have found out for the first night of a young Bride and Bridegroom. Fiddles and Dancing, ha, ha, ha! they'll be much merrier by themselves that Fiddles and Dancing can make them, you fool.  Enter Haunce and Gload. 
Bless me! what is't I see?  [Stares on Haunce. Hau. 
Why? what the Devil means she? Look about me Gload, and see what I have that's so terrible.  Olin. 
Oh, I have no power to stir, it is a spirit.  Hau. 
What does she mean now Gload?  Glo. 
She desires to be satisfied whether we be flesh and blood, Sir, I believe.  Hau. 
Dost see nothing that's divel-wise about me?  Glo. 
No indeed, Sir, not I  Hau. 
Why then the wench is tippled, that's all, a small fault.  Olin. 
In the name of goodness, Sir, what are you?  Glo. 
ay, I, Sir, 'tis that she desires to know.  Olin. 
Who are you, Sir?  Hau. 
Why who should I be but he that's to be your Master anon?  Glo. 
Yes, who should he be but Mine here Haunce Van Ezel?  Olin. 
What, did you come in at the door?  Hau. 
Yes marry did I, what do you think I creep in like a Lapland witch through the key holes?  Dorm. 
Nay, nay, this cannot be the Bridegroom.  Olin. 
No, for 'tis but a moment since we left him, you know in my Lady's Chamber.  Hau. 
Very drunk by this good light.  Dorm. 
And therefore it cannot be Myn heer Haunce.  Hau. 
What a Devil will you persuade me out of my Christian name?  Olin. 
The Priest has yet scarce done his office, who is marrying him above to my Lady.  Hau. 
Saleriment, here's brave doing, to marry me, and never give me notice; or thou art damnable drunk, or very mad.  Glow. 
Yes, and I am married to you too, am I not?  [To Olinda. Olin. 
You? we know neither of you.  Hau. 
Ha, ha ha, here's a turn for you.  Enter Carlo. Car. 
Why, Olinda, Dorice, Olinda, where be these mad Girls? 'tis almost night, and nothing in order. Why what now? Who's here?  Hau. 
So the old man's possessed too— Why what a Devil ails you, Sir?  [Goes roughly to him. Car. 
From whence come you, Sir? and what are you?  Hau. 
Gload, let's be gone, for we shall be transmigrated into some strange shapes anon, for all the house is enchanted. Who am I, quoth ye? before I came you all knew me; and now you are very well acquainted with me, you have forgot me.  Car. 
If you be my son Haunce, how▪ came you here?  Hau. 
If I be your son Haunce? where should I be else?  Car. 
Above with your Wife, not below amongst the Maids.  Hau. 
What wife? what wife? ha, ha, ha, do not provoke me, lest I take you a slap in the face, I tell you that now.  Car. 
Oh I find by his humour this is he, and I am finely cheated and abused. I'll up and know the truth.  [Goes out. Hau. 
And so will I.  [Follows. Glo. 
Why, but Mistress Olinda, you have not indeed forgot me, have you?  Olin. 
For my lover I have, but perhaps I may call you to mind as my servant hereafter.  Glo. 
Since you're so proud and so fickle, you shall stand hereafter as a Cipher with me: and I'll begin upon a new account with this pretty Maid, what say you forsooth?  Dorm. 
I am willing enough to get a husband as young as I am.  Glo. 
Why, that's well said, give your hand upon the bargain— God ha' mercy with all my heart i'fais.  [Go in. Scene Draws off, discovers a chamber. Enter Alonzo, Euphemia and Lovis: To them Carlo, Haunce, and the rest. Car. 
Oh I am cheated, undone, abused.  Lov. 
How, Sir, and where?  Haunce sees Alonzo dressed like him, goes gazing about him, and on himself, call Gload to do the same. Car. 
Nay, I know not how, or where; but so I am; and when I find it, I'll turn you all out of doors. Who are you, Sir? quickly tell me.  Alon. 
If you be in such haste, take the shortest account. I am your son.  Car. 
I mean, Sir, what's your name, and which of you is Haunce van Ezel?  Hau. 
ay, which of us is Haunce van Ezel, tell us that, Sir; we shall handle ye, i' faith, now—  Alon. 
He, Sir, can best inform you.  [Pointing to Haunce. Hau. 
Who, I! I know no more than the great Turk, not I, which of us is me; my hat, my feather; my suit, and my Garniture all over faith now; and I believe this is me, for I'll trust my eyes before any other sense about me. What sayst thou now Gload? guests which of us is thy own natural Master now if thou canst.  Glo. 
Which, Sir?— why— let me see— let me see, [Turns them both about. ●akes I cannot tell, Sir.  Car. 
Come, come, the cheat is plain, and I'll not be fobbed off, therefore tell me who you are, Sir.  [To Alonzo. Alon. 
One that was very unwilling to have put this trick upon you, if I could have persuaded Euphemia to have been kind on any other terms, but nothing would down with her but Matrimony.  Car. 
How long have you known her?  Alon. 
Faith, Sir, too long by at least an hour.  Car. 
I say again what are you, Sir?  Alon. 
A man I am, and they call me Alonzo.  Car. 
How! I hope not the great fighting Colonel, whom my son served as a Volunteer in Flanders.  Alon. 
Even he, Sir.  Car. 
Worse and worse, I shall grow mad, to think that in spite of all my care, Euphemia should marry with so notorious a man of war.  Hau. 
How! is this Alonzo, and am I cozened? pray tell me truly, are you not me indeed?  Alon. 
All over, Sir, only the inside a little less fool.  Hau. 
So here's fine juggling— are not you a rare Lady, hah?—  [To Euphemia: Cries. Euph. 
I assure you, Sir, if this man had not passed for you, I had never had him.  Hau. 
Had him! O you are a flattering thing, I durst ha' sworn you could no more ha' been without me, than a Barbers▪ Shop without a Fiddle, so I did: Oh what a damnable voyage have I back again without a wife too.—  [Cries again. Lov. 
If that be all, we'll get you one before you go: that shall be my care.  Hau. 
A pox of your care; well, I will get myself most soundly drunk to night, to be revenged of these two damnable Dons. Come Gload, let us about something in order to't.  [Exit. Euph. 
Pray, Sir, be persuaded, he's worth your owning.  Car. 
Tell not me of owning: what fortune has he?  Lov. 
His Horse and Arms, the favour of his Prince and his pay.  Car. 
His Horse and Arms I wholly dislike as impliments of war, and that same Princely favour, as you call it, will buy no Lands, and his Pay he shall have when he can get it.  Lov. 
But, Sir, his coming to Madrid was to take possession of a place the Prince has promised him.  Car. 
Has promised him? what! I shall marry my Daughter to the promises of ere a Prince in Christendom, shall I? No, no; promises, quoth ye?  Alon. 
Well, Sir, will this satisfy you?  [Gives him a parchment. Euph. 
If it should not, let us consider what next to do.  Alon. 
No consideration Euphemia; not so much as that we are married, lest it lessen our joys.  Car. 
12000 Crowns a year!— Sir, I cry you mercy, and wish you joy with my Daughter.  Lov. 
So his courage will down with him now.  Alon. 
To satisfy you farther, Sir, read this.  [Gives him another paper. 
And now Euphemia prepare yourself to receive some gallant friends of mine, whom you must be acquainted with, and who design to make a merry night on't.  Euph. 
A whole night Alonzo?  Alon. 
By no means Euphemia, for the first too, which if the thoughts of its being part of my duty do not hinder, will be pleasant enough to me.  Car. 
So considerable an office at Court too!— Let me embrace you, Sir; and tell you how happy I am in so brave a Son-in-law.  Alon. 
With that assurance, Sir, I'll take a more than ordinary freedom with you, and teach Euphemia a franker way of living, than what a native Spaniard would have allowed her.  Car. 
She shall be what sort of wife you'll have her.  Enter Servant: After a noise of Music. Alon. 
What music's that?  Seru. 
It waits upon some Ladies and Gentlemen who ask for you, Sir.  Alon. 
Wait them in, they are those friends of mine I told you off.  [He goes and brings them in. Enter Marcel and Clarinda, Silvio and Cleonte, Antonio and Hippolyta, Dormida and Francisca, all salute Euphemia. Enter Haunce, and Gload in Masquerade, to the company Olinda and Dorice masked. Hau. 
Well, the devil's in't if we shall not appear ridiculous enough, hah Gload?  Glo. 
ay, Sir, the more ridiculous the better.  Hau. 
I was always of that mind.— Ha, hay Boys, who be all these Dons and Donna's?— Harkye Lovis, I hope the Wife you promised me is amongst these fair Ladies, for so I guess they are both, fair and Ladies.  Lov. 
You guess right, Sir.  Alon. 
Now Ladies and Gentlewomen command your Music, and do what likes you best.  Lov. 
Here's the Lady I recommend to you, take her, Sir, be thankful.  [Gives him Olinda. Olin. 
This is the fool that I am to manage.  Dor. 
And this my lot.  [Takes Gload. [Music plays, they all dance. Lov. 
There is within a young Father ready to join your hands: take this opportunity, and make sure of a Wife.  Hau. 
I warrant you, Sir.  [Exeunt Haunce, Olinda, Gload and Dorice. Enter Pedro Ped. 
Your Mother, Sir, whom I found more dead than living for the loss of your Sister, was very near dying outright with joy to hear of your arrival, and most impatiently expects you.  Dor. 
And are we all forgiven Pedro?  Ped. 
Yes, you and I are like to be fellow Servants together again, Dormida.  Dor. 
And fellow Lovers too I hope, Pedro.  Ped. 
The devil's in't if age have not allayed flames of all sorts in thee: but if you contribute to my allowance—  Dor. 
Thou know'st I could never keep any thing from thee Pedro.  Alon. 
Come Ladies, there is a small Banquet attends you in the next room.  Silu. 
We'll wait on you, Sir.  Enter Haunce, Gload, Olinda and Dorice. Hau. 
Hold, hold, and give me joy too, for I am Married, if she has not mistaken her man again and I my woman.  Olin. 
No, you are the man I look for, and I no cheat, having all about me that you look for too, but Money.  [Discovers herself. Alon. 
How Olinda!  Olin. 
Yes indeed, Sir, I served my Lady first, and then thought it no offence to take the reward due to that service.  Hau. 
Here's a Spanish trick for you now, to marry a Wife before one sees her.  Euph. 
What Dorice Married too?  Dor. 
After your example, Madam.  Glo. 
Yes indeed, forsooth, and I have made bold too after the example of my Master.  Hau. 
Now do they all expect I should be dissatisfied; but, Gentlemen, in sign and token that I am not, I'll have one more merry frisk before we part, 'tis a witty wench; faith and troth after a month 'tis all one whose who; therefore come on Gload.  [They dance▪ together. Alon. 
Monsieur Haunce, I see you are a man of Gallantry. Come let us in, I know every man here desires to make this night his own, and sacrifice it to pleasure.  
The Ladies too in blushes do confess  
Equal desires; which yet they'll not confess  
Theirs, though less fierce, more constant will abide;  
But ours less currant grow the more they're tried.     

EPILOGUE.  
HIss 'em and cry 'em down, 'tis all in vain,  
Incorrigible Scribles can't abstain:  
But impudently i'th' old sin engage;  
Though doomed before, nay banished from the Stage.  
Whilst sad experience our eyes convinces,  
That damned their Plays which hanged the German Princess:  
And we with ornament set off a Play  
Like her dressed fine for Execution-day.  
And faith I think with as small hopes to live;  
Unless kind Gallants the same grace you'd give  
Our Comedy as Her; beg a Reprieve.  
Well what th' other mist let our Scribe get  
Apardon, for she swears she's the less cheat.  
She never gulled you Gallants of the Town  
Of sum, above four shillings or half a crown.  
Nor does she as some late great Authors do,  
Bubble the Audience and the Players too.  
Her humble Muse soars not in the high-rode  
Of Wit transverst, or Bawdy alamode:  
Yet hopes her plain and easy style is such,  
As your high censures will disdain to touch.  
Let her low sense creep safe from your Bravadoes,  
Whilst Rotas and Cabals aim at Granadoes.  
FINIS▪