THE ASSIGNATION: OR, Love in a Nunnery. As it is ACTED, At the THEATRE-ROYAL.  
Written by JOHN DRYDEN Servant to His MAJESTY.  
Successum dea dira negat—  Virg. 
LONDON: Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1673.   

TO MY MOST HONOURED FRIEND Sir CHARLES SEDLEY, Baronet.  
Sir,  
THe Design of Dedicating Plays, is as common and unjust, as that of desiring Seconds in a Duel. 'Tis engaging our Friends (it may be) in a senseless quarrel, where they have much to venture, without any concernment of their own. I have declared thus much beforehand, to prevent you from suspicion, that I intent to interest either your judgement or your kindness, in defending the Errors of this Comedy. It succeeded ill in the representation, against the opinion of many the best Judges of our Age, to whom you know I read it e'er it was presented publicly. Whether the fault was in the Play itself, or in the lameness of the Action, or in the number of its Enemies, who came resolved to damn it for the Title, I will not now dispute: that would be too like the little satisfaction which an unlucky Gamester finds in the relation of every cast by which he came to lose his Money. I have had formerly so much success, that the miscarriage of this Play was only my giving fortune her revenge: I owed it her; and she was indulgent that she exacted not the payment long before. I will therefore deal more reasonably with you, than any Poet has ever done with any Patron: I do not so much as oblige you for my sake to pass two ill hours in reading of my Play. Think, if you please, that this Dedication is only an occasion I have taken to do myself the greatest honour imaginable with Posterity; that is, to be recorded in the number of those Men whom you have favoured with your Friendship and esteem. For, I am well assured, that besides the present satisfaction I have, it will gain me the greatest part of my reputation with after-Ages, when they shall find me valuing myself on your kindness to me: I may have reason to suspect my own credit with them, but I have none to doubt of yours. And they who perhaps would forget me in my Poems, would remember me in this Epistle.  
This was the course which has formerly been practised by the Poets of that Nation who were Masters of the Universe. Horace and Ovid, who had little reason to distrust their Immortality; yet took occasion to speak with honour of Virgil, Varius, Tibullus, and Propertius their Contemporaries: as if they sought in the testimony of their Friendship a farther evidence of their fame. For my own part, I, who am the least amongst the Poets, have yet the fortune to be honoured with the best Patron, and the best Friend. For, (to omit some Great Persons of our Court, to whom I am many ways obliged, and who have taken care of me, even amidst the Exigencies of a War,) I can make my boast to have found a better Maecenas in the person of my Lord Treasurer Clifford, and a more Elegant Tibullus in that of Sir Charles Sedley. I have chosen that Poet to whom I would resemble you, not only because I think him at least equal, if not superior to Ovid in his Elegies: nor because of his quality for he was (you know) a Roman Knight as well as Ovid: but for his Candour, his Wealth, his way of Living, and particularly because of this testimony which is given him by Horace, which I have a thousand times in my mind applied to you. 
Non tu Corpus eras sine pectore; Dii tibi formam,  
Dii tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi.  
Quid voveat dulci Nutricula majus Alumno  
Quam sapere, & fari possit quae sentiat, & cui  
Gratia, forma, valetudo contingat abunde;  
Et mundus victus, non deficiente crumena?  Certainly the Poets of that Age enjoyed much happiness in the Conversation and Friendship of one another. They imitated the best way of Living, which was to pursue an innocent and inoffensive Pleasure; that which one of the Ancients called Eruditam voluptatem. We have, like them, our Genial Nights; where our discourse is neither too serious, nor too light; but always pleasant, and for the most part instructive: the raillery neither too sharp upon the present, nor too censorious on the absent; and the Cups only such as will raise the Conversation of the Night, without disturbing the business of the Morrow. And thus far not only the Philosophers, but the Fathers of the Church have gone, without lessening their Reputation of good Manners, or of Piety. For this reason I have often Laughed at the ignorant and ridiculous Descriptions which some Pedants have given of the Wits (as they are pleased to call them:) which are a Generation of Men as unknown to them, as the People of Tartary or the terra Australis are to us. And therefore as we draw Giants and Anthropophagis in those vacances of our Maps, where we have not traveled to discover better; so those wretches Paint lewdness, Atheism, Folly, ill-Reasoning, and all manner of Extravagances amongst us for want of understanding what we are. Oftentimes it so falls out, that they have a particular picque to some one amongst us; and then they immediately interest Heaven in their quarrel: As 'tis an usual trick in Courts; when one designs the ruin of his Enemy, to disguise his malice with some concernment of the Kings: and to revenge his own cause, with pretence of vindicating the Honour of his Master. Such Wits as they describe, I have never been so unfortunate to meet in your Company: but have often heard much better Reasoning at your Table, than I have encountered in their Books. The Wits they describe, are the Fops we banish: for Blasphemy and Atheism, if they were neither Sin nor Ill Manners, are Subjects so very common, and worn so Threadbare, that people who have sense avoid them, for fear of being suspected to have none. It calls the good Name of their Wit in question, as it does the Credit of a Citizen when his Shop is filled with Trumperies, and Painted Titles in stead of Wares: we conclude them Bancrupt to all manner of understanding: and, that to use Blasphemy, is a kind of applying Pigeons to the Soles of the Feet: it proclaims their Fancy as well as judgement, to be in a desperate condition. I am sure for your own particular, if any of these Judges had once the happiness to converse with you, to hear the Candour of your Opinions; how freely you commend that wit in others, of which you have so large a Portion yourself; how unapt you are to be censorious; with how much easiness you speak so many things, and those so Pointed, that no other Man is able to excel, or perhaps to reach by Study; they would, in stead of your Accusers, become your Proselytes. They would reverence so much good Sense, and so much good Nature in the same person: and come, like the Satire, to warm themselves at that Fire, of which they were ignorantly afraid, when they stood at distance. But, you have too great a Reputation to be wholly free from Censure: 'tis a fine which Fortune sets upon all extraordinary persons, and from which you should not wish to be delivered till you are dead. I have been, used by my Critics much more severely, and have more reason to complain, because I am deeper taxed for a less Estate. I am ridiculously enough accused to be a contemner of Universities, that is in other words, an Enemy of Learning: without the Foundation of which I am sure no Man can pretend to be a Poet. And if this be not enough, I am made a Detractor from my Predecessors, whom I confess to have been my Masters in the Art. But this latter was the accusation of the best Judge, and almost the best Poet in the Latin Tongue. You find Horace complaining, that for taxing some Verses in Lucilius, he himself was blamed by others, though his Design was no other than mine now, to improve the Knowledge of Poetry: and it was no defence to him, amongst his Enemies, any more than it is for me, that he Praised Lucilius where he deserved it; Paginâ laudatur eâdem. 'Tis for this reason I will be no more mistaken for my good meaning: I know I honour Ben johnson more than my little Critics, because without vanity I may own, I understand him better. As for the Errors they pretend to find in me, I could easily show them that the greatest part of them are Beauties: and for the rest, I could recriminate upon the best Poets of our Nation, if I could resolve to accuse another of little faults, whom at the same time I admire for greater Excellencies. But I have neither concernment enough upon me to write any thing in my own Defence, neither will I gratify the ambition of two wretched Scribblers, who desire nothing more than to be Answered. I have not wanted Friends, even amongst Strangers, who have defended me more strongly, than my contemptible Pedant could attack me. For the other: he is only like Fungoso in the Play, who follows the Fashion at a distance, and adores the Fastidius Brisk of Oxford. You can bear me witness, that I have not consideration enough for either of them to be angry: Let Maevius and Bavius admire each other, I wish to be hated by them and their Fellows, by the same reason for which I desire to be loved by you. And I leave it to the world, whether their judgement of my Poetry ought to be preferred to yours; though they are as much prejudiced by their Malice, as I desire you should be led by your Kindness, to be partial to, Sir,  
Your most Humble and most Faithful Servant John Dryden.   

Prologue.  
PRologues, like Bells to Churches, toul you in  
With Chimeing Verse; till the dull Plays begin:  
With this sad difference though, of Pit and Pew;  
You damn the Poet, but the Priest damns you.  
But Priests can treat you at your own expense:  
And, gravely, call you Fools, without offence.  
Poets, poor Devils, have ne'er your Folly shown  
But, to their cost, you proved it was their own.  
For, when a Fop's presented on the Stage,  
Straight all the Coxcombs in the Town engage:  
For his deliverance, and revenge they join:  
And grunt, like Hogs, about their Captive Swine.  
Your Poets daily split upon this shelf:  
You must have Fools, yet none will have himself.  
Or, if in kindness, you that leave would give,  
No man could write you at that rate you live:  
For some of you grow Fops with so much haste,  
Riot in nonsense, and commit such waste,  
'Twould Ruin Poets should they spend so fast.  
He who made this, observed what Farces hit,  
And durst not disoblige you now with wit.  
But, Gentlemen, you overdo the Mode:  
You must have Fools out of the common Rode.  
Th' unnatural strained Buffoon is only taking:  
No Fop can please you now of Gods own making.  
Pardon our Poet if he speaks his Mind,  
You come to Plays with your own Follies lined:  
Small Fools fall on you, like small showers, in vain:  
Your own oiled Coats keep out all common rain.  
You must have Mamamouchi, such a Fop  
As would appear a Monster in a Shop:  
he'll fill your Pit and Boxes to the brim,  
Where, Rammed in Crowds, you see yourselves in him.  
Sure there's some spell our Poet never knew,  
In hullibabilah damn, and Chu, chu, chu.  
But Marabarah sahem most did touch you,  
That is: Oh how we love the Mamamouchi!  
Grimace and habit sent you pleased away:  
You damned the Poet, and cried up the Play.  
This thought had made our Author more uneasy,  
But that he hopes I'm Fool enough to please ye:  
But here's my grief; though Nature joined with art,  
Have cut me out to act a Fooling Part;  
Yet, to your praise, the few wits here will say,  
'Twas imitating you taught Haynes to Play.   

Persons Represented.  

By  Duke of Mantova 
Major Mohun.  Prince Frederick his Son 
Mr. Kynaston.  Aurelian a Roman Gentleman 
Mr. Hart.  Camillo his Friend 
Mr. Burt.  Mario Governor of Rome 
Mr. Cartwright.  Ascanio, Page of Honour to the Prince 
Mrs. Reeve.  Benito, Servant to Aurelian 
Mr. Haynes.  Valerio, Confident to the Duke 
 Fabio, Servant to Mario 
 Sophronia, Abbess of the Torr'di Specchi. 
Mrs. james.  Lucretia, a Lady designed to be a Nun 
Mrs. Martial.  Hippolita, a Nun 
Mrs. Knep.  Laura Sisters, Nieces to Mario 
Mrs. Bowtel.  and Violetta Sisters, Nieces to Mario 
Mrs. Cox.   
Scene, ROME.   

THE ASSIGNATION: OR, Love in a Nunnery.  SCENE ROME. A Great Glass Placed. Enter Benito, with a Guittar in his hand. Benito 
bowing to the Glass. SAve you, sweet Signior Benito; by my faith I am glad to see you look so bonily to day: Gad, Sir, every thing becomes you to a miracle! your Peruke, your clothes, your Hat, your Shoe-ties; and, Gad, Sir, let me tell you, you become every thing; you walk with such a grace, and you bow so pliantly—  Aurelian 
within. Benito, Where are you, Sirrah?  Ben. 
Sirrah! That my damned Master should call a man of my extraordinary endowments, Sirrah! A man of my endowments? Gad, I ask my own pardon, I mean, a person of my endowments; for a man of my parts and talents, though he be but a Valet de Chambre, is a person; and, let me tell my Master— Gad, I frown too, as like a person as any Jack-Gentleman of'em all; but, Gad, when I do not frown, I am an absolute beauty: whatever this Class says to the contrary: and, if this Glass deny it, 'tis a base, lying Glass, so I'll tell it to its face, and kick it down into the bargain.  Aurelia 
within. Why Benito, How long shall we stay for you?  Ben. 
I come, Sir. What the Devil would he have? But, by his favour, I'll first survey my Dancing, and my Singing. He plays on the Guittar, and Dances and Sings to the Glass. I think that was not amiss: I think so. Gad, I can Lays down the Guittar. Dance, and play no longer, I am in such a rapture with myself. What a villainous base fate have I? with all these excellencies, and a profound wit, and yet to be a Servingman!  Enter Aurelian and Camillo. Aur. 
Why, you Slave, you Dog, you Son of twenty Fathers, am I to be served at this rate eternally? A pox o'your conceited coxcomb.  Camillo. 
Nay, prithee, Aurelian, be not angry.  Aur. 
You do not know this Rogue, as I do, Camillo. Now, by this Guittar, and that great looking-glass, I am certain how he has spent his time. He courts himself every morning in that Glass, at least an hour: there admires his own person, and his parts, and studies postures and grimaces, to make himself yet more ridiculous, than he was born to be.  Cam. 
You wrong him sure.  Aur. 
I do; for he is yet more fool than I can speak him: I never sent him on a message, but he runs first to that Glass, to practise how he may become his errand. Speak, Is this a lie, Sirrah?  Ben. 
I confess, I have some kindness for the mirror.  Aur. 
The mirror! there's a touch of his Poetry too, he could not call it a Glass. Then the Rogue has the impudence to make Sonnets, as he calls 'em; and, which is a greater impudence, he sings 'em too: there's not a Street in all Rome which he does not nightly disquiet with his villainous Serenades: with that Guittar there, the younger brother of a Cittern, he frights away the Watch; and for his Violin, it squeaks so lewdly, that Sir Tibert in the gutter mistakes him for his Mistress. 'Tis a mere Cat-call.  Cam. 
Is this true Benito?  Ben. 
to Cam. aside. My Master, Sir, may say his pleasure; I divert myself sometimes with hearing him: Alas, good Gentleman, 'tis not given to all persons to penetrate into men's parts and qualities; but I look on you, Sir, as a man of judgement, and therefore you shall hear me play and sing.  He takes up the Guittar and begins. Aur. 
Why, you invincible Sot you, will nothing mend you? Lay't down, or—  Ben. 
to Camillo. Do ye see, Sir, this Enemy to the Muses? he will not let me hold forth to you. Lays down the Guittar. O Envy, and Ignorance, Whither will you!— But, Gad, before I'll suffer my parts to be kept in obscurity—  Aur. 
What will you do, Rascal?  Ben. 
I'll take up the Guittar, and suffer heroically.  He Plays, Aure. Kicks. Aur. 
What? Do you Mutiny?  Ben. 
Ay, do, kick till your toes ache; I'll be baffled in my Music by ne'er a foot in Christendom.  Aur. 
I'll put you out of your time, with a vengeance to you.  As Aurelian kicks harder, Benito sings faster, and sometimes cries out. Cam. 
holding Aurelia Nay, then 'tis time to stickle. Hold, Aurelian, prithee spare Benito, you know we have occasion for him.  Aur. 
I think that was well kicked.  Ben. 
And I think that was well Sung too.  Cam. 
Enough, Aurelian.  Ben. 
No, Sir; let him proceed to discourage virtue, and see what will come on't.  Cam. 
Now to our business: but we must first instruct Benito.  Aur. 
Be ruled by me, and do not trust him: I prophesy he'll spoil the whole affair; he has a Worm in's head as long as a Conger, a brain so barren of all sense, and yet so fruitful of foolish plots, that if he does not all things his own way, yet at least he'll ever be mingling his designs with yours, and go halves with you, so that what with his ignorance, what with his plotting, he'll be sure to ruin you, with an intention to serve you. For my part I had turned him off long since; but that my wise Father, commanded me the contrary.  Cam. 
Still you speak, as if what we did were choice, and not necessity: you know their Uncle is suspicious of me, and consequently jealous of all my Servants; but if we employ yours, who is not suspected, because you are a stranger; I doubt not to get an Assignation with the younger Sister.  Aur. 
Well, use your own way, Camillo: but if it ever succeed, with his management—  Cam. 
You must understand then, Benito, that this old Signior Mario, has two Nieces, with one of which I am desperately in Love, and—  Ben. 
aside to him, I understand you already, Sir, and you desire Love reciprocal: Leave your business in my hands, and, if it succeed not, think me no wiser than my Master.  Cam. 
Pray take me with you. These Sisters are great Beauties and vast Fortunes; but, by a Clause in their Father's Will, if they Marry without their Uncle's Consent, are to forfeit all. Their Uncle, who is covetous, and base to the last degree, takes advantage of this Clause, and under pretence of not finding fit Matches for them, denies his consent to all who love 'em.  Ben. 
Denies 'em marriage: very good, Sir.  Cam. 
More than this, he refuses access to any Suitor, and immures 'em in a mean apartment on the garden side, where he barbarously debars 'em from all humane Socitey.  Ben. 
Uses them most barbarously: Still better and better.  Cam. 
The younger of these Sisters, Violetta, I have seen often in the Garden, from the Balcony in this Chamber, which looks into it, have divers times shot Tickets on the point of an Arrow, which She has taken, and by the signs she made me I find they were not ill received.  Ben. 
I'll tell you now, just such an Amour as this had I once with a young Lady, that—  Aur. 
Quote yourself again, you Rogue, and my feet shall renew their acquaintance with your Buttocks.  Cam. 
Dear Benito, take care to convey this Ticket to Violetta: I saw her just now go by to the next Chapel; be sure to stand ready to give her Holy-water, and slip the Ticket into the hand of her Woman Beatrix; And take care the elder Sister Laura sees you not, for she knows nothing of our Amour.  Ben. 
A word to the wise. Have you no Service to Laura? To Aurelian.  Aur. 
None that I shall trouble you withal: I'll see first what returns you make from this Voyage, before I put in my venture with you. Away; be gone, Mr. Mercury.  Ben. 
I fly, Mr. jupiter. Exit.  Aur. 
This Lady Laura I have seen from your Balcone, and was seen by her: methought, too, she looked with a languishing eye upon me, as who should say, Are you a man, and have no pity for a poor distressed Virgin? For my part, I never found so much disposition in myself to Love any woman at first sight: handsome she is, of that I am certain.  Cam. 
And has Wit, I dare assure you; but I have not heard she has admitted of any Gallantry.  Aur. 
Her hour is not come yet; she has not met with a man to Love: when that happens (as I am resolved to push my fortune) you shall see that, as her love warms, her virtue will melt down, and dissolve in it; for there's no such Bawd to a woman, as her own wit is.  Cam. 
I look upon the Assignation, as certain: Will you promise me to go? You and Benito shall walk in the Garden, while I search the Nymph within the shade; one thing I had forgot to tell you, that our General of the Church, the Duke of Mantova, and the Prince his Son, are just approaching the Gates of Rome: Will you go see the Ceremony of their Entrance?  Aur. 
With all my heart. They say, he has behaved himself gallantly against the French, at their return from Naples: besides, I have a particular knowledge of young Prince Frederick, ever since he was last at our Venetian Carnival.  Cam. 
Away, then, quickly; lest we miss the Solemnity.  Exeunt. Enter Laura, and Violetta striving about a Letter, which Laura holds. Vio. 
Let it go, I say:  Lau. 
I say, let you go.  Vio. 
Nay, sweet Sister Laura.  Lau. 
Nay, dear Violetta, 'tis in vain to contend, I am resolved I'll see it. Plucks the Paper from Violetta.  Vio. 
But I am resolved you shall not read it. I know not what authority this is which you assume, or what privilege a year or two can give you, to use this Sovereignty over me.  Lau. 
Do you rebel young Gentlewoman? I'll make you know I have a double right over you: one, as I have more years; and the other as I have more wit.  Vio. 
Though I am not all Air and Fire, as you are, yet that little wit I have, will serve to conduct my Affairs, without a Governess.  Lau. 
No, Gentlewoman, but it shall not: are you fit at Fifteen to be trusted with a Maidenhead? 'Tis as much your betters can manage at full twenty.  

For 'tis of a nature so subtle,  
That, if 'tis not Luted with care  
The Spirit will work through the Bottle,  
And vanish away into Ayr.  
To keep it, there's nothing so hard is,  
'Twill go betwixt waking and sleeping,  
The Simple too weak for a guard is,  
And no Wit would be plagued with the keeping.   Vio. 
For aught I see, you are as little to be trusted with your Madness, as I with my Simplicity; and therefore pray restore my Letter.  Lau. 
reading it. What's here? An humble Petition for a private Meeting? Are you twittering at that sport already, Mistress Novice?  Vio. 
How! I a Novice, at ripe Fifteen? I would have you to know, that I have killed my Man before I was Fourteen, and now am ready for another execution.  Lau. 
A very forward Rose-bud: you open apace, Gentlewoman. I find indeed your desires are quick enough; but where will you have cunning to carry on your business with decency and secrecy? Secrecy, I say, which is a main part of chastity in our Sex. Where wit, to be sensible of the delicacies of Love? the tenderness of a farewell-sigh? for an absence? the joy of a return? the zeal of a pressing-hand? the sweetness of little quarrels, caused, and cured, by the excess of Love? and, in short, the pleasing disquiets of the Soul, always restless, and wandering up and down in a paradise of thought, of its own making?  Vio. 
If I understood not thus much before, I find you are an excellent instructor, and that argues you have had a feeling of the cause in your time too, Sister.  Lau. 
What have I confessed before I was aware! She'll find out my inclination to that stranger, whom I have only seen, and to whom I have never spoken— Aside. No, good Violetta, I never was in Love; all my experience is from Plays and Romances: But who is this man, to whom you have promised an Assignation?  Vio. 
You'll tell my Uncle.  Lau. 
I hate my Uncle more than you do.  Vio. 
You know the man, 'tis Signior Camillo: his Birth and Fortunes are equal to what I can expect; and he tells me his intentions are Honourable.  Lau. 
Have I not seen him lately in his Balcone, which looks into our Garden, with another handsome Gentleman in his Company, who seems a stranger?  Vio. 
They are the same. Do you think it a reasonable thing, dear Laura, that my Uncle should keep us up so strictly, that we must be beholden to hearsay, to know a young Gallant is in the next house to us?  Lau. 
'Tis hard, indeed, to be mewed like Hawks, and never Maned: to be locked in like Nuns here.  Vio. 
They that look for Nun's flesh in me shall be mistaken.  Lau. 
Well, What answer have you returned to this Letter?  Vio. 
That I would meet him at eight this evening, in the close walk in the Garden, attended only by Beatrix my Woman.  Lau. 
Who comes with him?  Vio. 
Only his friend's Man Benito; the same who brought me the Letter which you took from me.  Lau. 
Stay, let me think a little. Do Camillo, or this Benito, know your Maid Beatrix?  Vio. 
They have never talked with her; but only seen her.  Lau. 
'Tis concluded then; you shall meet your Servant, but I'll be your Beatrix: I'll go in stead of her, and counterfeit your waiting-woman: in the dark I may easily pass for her: By this means I shall be present to instruct you; for you are yet a Callow Maid: I must teach you to Peck a little, you may come to Prey for yourself in time.  Vio. 
A little teaching will serve my turn: if the old one left me to myself, I could go near to get my Living.  Lau. 
I find you are eager, and Baiting to be gone already, and I'll not hinder you when your hour approaches. In the mean time go in, and sigh, and think fondly, and ignorantly of your approaching pleasures:  

Love, in young hearts, is like the must of Wine;  
'Tis sweetest then; but elder 'tis more fine. Exeunt.    


ACT. II. SCENE I.  The Front of a Nunnery. Prince Frederick, Aurelian, Camillo, and Ascanio the Prince's Page. Fred. 
MY Fathers ' ancient, and may repose himself, if he pleases, after the Ceremony of his Entrance; but we, who are younger, should think it a sin, to spend any part of daylight in a Chamber. What are your ways of living here?  Cam. 
Why Sir, we pass our time, either in conversation alone, or in Love alone, or in Love and Conversation together.  Fred. 
Come, explain, explain, my Counsel learned in the Laws of Living.  Cam. 
For conversation alone; that's either in going to Court, with a Face of Business, and there discoursing of the affairs of Europe, of which, Rome, you know, is the public Mart; or, at best, meeting the Vertuosis, and there, wearying one another with rehearsing our own works, in Prose and Poetry.  Fred. 
Away with that dry method, I will have none on't. To the next.  Cam. 
Love alone, is either plain wenching, where every Courtesan is your Mistress, and every Man your Rival; or else, what's worse, plain whining after one Woman: that is, walking before her door by day, and haunting her street by night, with guitars, dark Lanterns, and Rondaches.  Aur. 
Which, I take it, is, or will be our case, Camillo.  Fred. 
Neither of these will fit my humour: if your third prove not more pleasant, I shall stick to the old Almain recreation; the Divine bottle, and the bounteous glass, that tuned up old Horace to his Odes.  Aur. 
You shall need to have no recourse to that; for Love, and Conversation will do your business: that is, Sir, a most delicious Courtesan, I do not mean downright Punk, but Punk of more than ordinary sense in Conversation: Punk in Ragou, Punk who plays on the Lute, and Sings; and, to sum up all, Punk who Cooks and Dresses up herself, with Poignant Sauce, to become a new Dish every time she is served up to you.  Fred. 
This I believe, Aurelian, is your method of living, you talk of it so savorily.  Aur. 
There is yet another more insipid sort of Love and Conversation: as for example, look you there, Sir; the Pointing to the Nunnery Courtship of our Nuns. They talk prettily; but, a Pox on'em, they raise our appetites, and then starve us. They are as dangerous as cold Fruits without Wine, and are never to be used but where there are abundance of Wenches in readiness, to qualify 'em.  Cam. 
But yet they are ever at hand, and easy to come by; and if you'll believe an experienced sinner, easiness in Love is more than half the pleasure of it.  Fre. 
This way of chatting pleases me; for debauchery, I hate it; and, to Love, is not in my nature, except it be my Friends. Pray, What do you call that Nunnery.  Cam. 
'Tis a House of Benedictines, called the Torre di Specchi, where only Ladies of the best Quality are Professed.  Lucretia and Hippolita appear at the Grates. Aur. 
Look you yonder, Sir, are two of the pretty Magpies, in white and black: if you will lull yourself into a Platonic Dream you may: but, consider your sport will be but dull, when you play without Stakes.  Fred. 
No matter, I'll fool away an hour of Courtship; for I never yet was engaged in a serious love, nor I believe can be. Farewell, Gentlemen; at this time I shall dispense with your attendance: nay, without Ceremony, because I would be incognito.  Cam. 
Come then, Aurelian, to our own affairs.  Exeunt Aur. and Camillo. The Prince and Ascanio approach. Fred. 
to Lu. For what Crime, fair Creature, were you condemned to this perpetual Prison?  Luc. 
For Chastity and Devotion, and two or three such melancholy virtues: they first brought me hither, and now must keep me company.  Fred. 
I should rather have guessed it had been Murder, and that you are veiled, for fear of doing more mischief wirh those Eyes: for, indeed, they are too sharp to be trusted out of the Scabbard.  Luc. 
Cease, I beseech you, to accuse my Eyes, till they have done some execution on your heart.  Fred. 
But I am out of reach, perhaps.  Luc. 
Trust not to that; they may shoot at a distance, though they cannot strike you near at hand.  Fred. 
But, if they should kill, you are ne'er the better: there's a Grate betwixt us, and you cannot fetch in the dead Quarry.  Luc. 
Provided we destroy the Enemy, we do not value their dead bodies: but you, perhaps, are in your first error, and think we are rather Captives than Warriors; that we come like Prisoners to the Grate, to beg the Charity of Passengers for their love.  Fre. 
to Ascanio. Inquire as dexterously as you can, what is the Name and Quality of this Charming Creature.  Luc. 
to Hip. Be sure, if the Page approaches you, to get out of him his Master's Name. The Prince and Lucretia seem to talk.  Hip. 
to Asca. By that short whisper which I observed you took with your Master, I imagine, Mr. Page, you come to ask a certain question of me.  Asca. 
By this thy question, and by that whisper with thy Lady, (O thou Nymph of Devotion!) I find I am to impart a secret, and not to ask one: therefore, either confess thou art yet a mere Woman under that Veil, and by consequence most horribly inquisitive, or thou shalt lose thy longing, and know nothing of my Master.  Hip. 
By my Virginity, you shall tell first.  Asca. 
You'll break your Oath, on purpose to make the forfeit.  Hip. 
Your Master is called—  Asca. 
You Lady is Yclept—  Hip. 
For decency, in all matters of Love, the Man should offer first, you know.  Asca. 
That needs not, when the Damsel is so willing.  Hip. 
But I have sworn not to discover first, that her Name is Madam Lucretia; fair, as you see, to a Miracle, and of a most charming conversation; of Royal blood, and Niece to his Holiness; and, if she were not espoused to Heaven, a Mistress for a Sovereign Prince.  Asca. 
After these Encomiums, 'twere vain for me to praise my Master: he is only poor Prince Frederick, otherwise called the Prince of Mantova; liberal, and valiant, discreet and handsome, and, in my simple judgement, a fitter Servant for your Lady, than his old Father, who is a Sovereign.  Hip. 
Dare you make all this good you have said of your Master?  Asca. 
Yes, and as much more of myself to you.  Hip. 
I defy you upon't, as my Lady's Second.  Asca. 
As my Masters, I accept it. The time?  Hip. 
Six this evening.  Asca. 
The place?  Hip. 
At this Grate.  Asca. 
The Weapons?  Hip. 
Hands, and it may be Lips.  Asca. 
'Tis enough: expect to hear from me.  They withdraw and whisper to their Principals. After the Whisper. Fred. 
to Luc. Madam, I am glad I know my enemy; for since it is impossible to see, and not admire you, the name of Lucretia is the best excuse for my defeat.  Luc. 
Persons, like Prince Frederick, ought not to assault Religious Houses; or to pursue Chastity and Virtue to their last retreat.  Fred. 
A Monastery is no retreat for Chastity; 'tis only a hiding place for bad faces, where they are thrust in Crowds together, like heaps of rubbish out of the way, that the world may not be peopled with deformed persons, and that such who are out of Play themselves, may pray for a blessing on their endeavours, who are getting handsome Children: and carrying on the work for public benefit.  Luc. 
Then you would put off Heaven with your leavings, and use it like them who play at Cards alone, take the Courts for yourselves, and give the refuse to the Gentleman.  Fred. 
You mistake me, Madam; I would so contrive it, that Heaven and we might be served at once: we have occasion for Wit and Beauty; now Piety and Ugliness will do as well for Heaven; that plays at one Game, and we at another, and therefore heaven may make its hand with the same Cards that we put out.  Luc. 
I could easily convince you if the argument concerned me; but I am one of those, whom, for want of wit and beauty, you have condemned to Religion: and therefore am your humble Servant to Pray for your handsome Wife and Children.  Fred. 
Heaven forbid, Madam, that I should condemn you, or indeed any handsome woman, to be Religious. No, Madam; the occasions of the World are great and urgent for such as you: and, for my part, I am of opinion, that it is as great a Sin for a Beauty to enter into a Nunnery, as for an ugly woman to stay out of it.  Luc. 
The Cares of the World are not yet upon you; but as soon as ever you come to be afflicted with Sickness, or visited with a Wife, you'll be content I should pray for you.  Fre. 
Any where, rather than in a Cloister; for, truly, I suppose, all your Prayers there will be how to get out of it; and, upon that supposition, Madam, I am come to offer you my service for your redemption. Come, faith, be persuaded, the Church shall lose nothing by it: I'll take you out, and put in two or three Crooked Apostles in your place. Bell rings within.  Luc. 
Hark, the Bell rings, I must leave you: 'tis a summons to our Devotion.  Fred. 
Will you leave me for your Prayets, Madam? You may have enough of them at any time, but remember you cannot have a Man so easily.  Luc. 
Well, I'll say my Beads for you, and that's but Charity, for I believe I leave you in a most deplorable condition.  Exeunt Women. Fred. 
Not deplorable neither, but a little altered: if I could be in Love, as I am sure I cannot, it should be with her, for I like her conversation strangely.  Asca. 
Then, as young as I am, Sir, I am beforehand with you; for I am in Love already. I would fain make the first proof of my Manhood upon a Nun: I find I have a mighty grudging to Holy Flesh.  Fred. 
I'll ply Lucretia again, as soon as ever her Devotion's over. Methinks these Nuns divide their time most admirably: from Love to Prayers; from Prayers to Love: that is, just so much Sin, just so much Godliness.  Asca. 
Then I can claim that Sister's Love by merit:  
Half Man, half Boy; for her half Flesh, half Spirit. Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  A Street. Aurelian and Camillo. Aur. 
I'll proceed no farther, if Benito goes: I know his folly will produce some mischief.  Cam. 
But Violetta desired me, in her Note, to bring him, on purpose to pass the time with her Woman Beatrix.  Aur. 
That objection is easily removed: I'll supply Benito's place; the darkness will prevent discovery, and, for my discourse, I'll imitate the half Wit, and patched breeding of a Valet de Chambre.  Cam. 
But how shall we get rid of him?  Aur. 
Let me alone for that.  Enter Benito. Ben. 
Come, Are we ready, Gallants? the Clock's upon the stroke of Eight.  Aur. 
But we have altered our resolution: we go another way to night.  Ben. 
I hope you have not broke my Assignation.  Aur. 
Why do you hope so?  Ben. 
Because my reputation is engaged in't: I'ave stipulated upon my honour that you shall come.  Aur. 
I shall beat you if you follow me. Go, Sirrah, and adjourn to the great looking-glass, and let me hear no more from you till to morrow morning.  Ben. 
Sir, my fidelity, and, if I may be so vain, my discretion may stand you in some stead.  Aur. 
Well, come along then, they are brave Fellows who have challenged us, you shall have fighting enough, Sir.  Ben. 
How, Sir, Fighting?  Aur. 
You may scape with the loss of a Leg, or an arm, or some such transitory limb.  Ben. 
No, Sir; I have that absolute obedience to your commands, that I will bridle my courage, and stay at home. Exit.  Cam. 
You took the only way to be rid of him. There's the wall: behind yond pane of it we'll set up the Ladder. Exeunt.   

SCENE III.  A Night-piece of a Garden. Enter Laura and Violetta. Vio. 
Remember your waiting-woman's part, Laura.  Lau. 
I warrant you, I'll wait on you by night as well as I governed you by day.  Vio. 
Hark, I hear footsteps; and now, methinks, I see something approaching us.  Lau. 
They are certainly the Men whom we expect.  Enter Aurelian and Camillo. Cam. 
I hear womens' voices.  Aur. 
We are right, I warrant you.  Cam. 
Violetta, my Love!  Vio. 
My dear Camillo!  Cam. 
O speak those words again: my own name never sounded so sweetly to me, as when you spoke it, and made me happy by adding Dear to it.  Vio. 
Speak softly then. I have stolen these few minutes from my watchful Uncle and my Sister, and they are as full of danger as they are of love. Something within me checks me too, and says, I was too forward in venturing thus to meet you.  Cam. 
You are too fearful rather, and fear's the greatest enemy to Love.  Vio. 
But night will hide my blushes, when I tell you I love you much, or I had never trusted my virtue and my person in your hands.  Cam. 
The one is sacred, and the other safe; but this auspicious minute is our first of near converse. May I not hope that favour, which strangers, in civility, my claim even from the most reserved?  Kisses her hand. Vio. 
I fear you'll censure me.  Cam. 
Yes, as the blessed above tax heaven for making them so happy. They walk farther off.  Aur. 
stepping towards Lau. Damsel of darkness, advance, and meet my flames.  Lau. 
stepping forward. Right trusty Valet, heard, but yet unseen, I have advanced one step on reputation.  Aur. 
Now, by laudable custom, I am to love thee vehemently.  Lau. 
We should do well to see each other first: You know 'tis ill taking Money without light.  Aur. 
O, but the coin of Love is known by the weight only, and you may feel it in the dark: Besides, you know 'tis Princelike to Love without seeing.  Lau. 
But than you may be served as Princes are sometimes.  Aur. 
Let us make haste however, and dispatch a little Love out of the way: we may do it now with ease, and save ourselves a great deal of trouble, if we take it in time, before it grows too fast upon our hands.  Lau. 
Fie, no; let us Love discreetly, we must manage our passion, and not love all our love out at one meeting, but leave some for another time.  Aur. 
I am for applying the Plaster whilst the wound is green, 'twill heal the better. Takes her by the hand.  Lau. 
Let go my hand: What crime has the poor wretch committed that you press it thus? I remember no mischief it has done you.  Aur. 
O 'tis a heinous malefactor, and is pressed by Law, because it will confess nothing. Come, withdraw a little farther, we have urgent business with one another.  Lau. 
'Twere a shame to quit my ground upon the first charge; yer if you please to take truce a little, I will consent to go behind the Lovers, and listen with you.  Aur. 
I wonder you deferred the Proposition so long. I were neither true Valet, nor you true Woman if we could not Eavesdrop.  They retire behind the other two, who come forward upon the Stage. Cam. 
kissing Violetta's hand. Give me another yet, and then—  Vio. 
And then will you be satisfied?  Cam. 
And then I'll ask a thousand more, and ne'er be satisfied. Kisses are but thin nourishment, they are too soon digested, and hungry Love craves more.  Vio. 
You feed a Wolf within you.  Cam. 
Then feast my Love with a more solid diet. He makes us now a Miser's Feast, and we forbear to take our fill. The silent night, and all these downy hours were made for Lovers: Gently they tread, and softly measure time, that no rude noise may fright the tender Maid, from giving all her soul to melting joys.  Vio. 
You do not love me; if you did, you would not  
Thus urge your satisfaction in my shame;  
At best, I see you would not love me long,  
For they who plunder do not mean to stay.  Cam. 
I haste to take possession of my own.  Vio. 
ere Heaven and holy vows have made it so?  Cam. 
Then witness Heaven, and all these twinkling Stars—  Vio. 
Hold, hold; you are distempered with your love:  
Time, place, and strong desires now swear, not you.  Cam. 
Is not Love love without a Priest and Altars?  
The Temples are inanimate, and know not  
What Vows are made in them; the Priest stands ready  
For his hire, and cares not what hearts he couples,  
Love alone is marriage.  Vio. 
I never will receive these Midnight Vows;  
But when I come hereafter to your Arms,  
I'll bring you a sincere, full, perfect bliss,  
Than you will thank me that I kept it so,  
And trust my faith hereafter.  Lau. 
There's your destiny, Lover mine: I am to be honest by infection; my Lady will none you see.  Aur. 
Truth is, they are a lost couple, unless they learn grace by our example. Come, shall we begin first, and shame them both Takes her by the hand again.  Lau. 
You'll never be warned of this hand, Benito.  Aur. 
Oh, 'tis so soft, as it were made on purpose to take hearts, and handle them without hurting. These Taper fingers too, and even joints, so supple, that methinks I mould 'em as they pass through mine: nay, in my conscience, th' it be nonsense to say it, your hand feels white too.  Lau. 
Methinks yours is not very hard, for a Servingman's: but where, in the name of wonder, have you learned to talk so courtly? you are a strange Valet de Chambre.  Aur. 
And you are as strange a Waiting-woman: you have so stabbed me with your Repartees to night, that I should be glad to change the weapon to be revenged on you.  Lau. 
These, I suppose, are fragments which you learned from your wild Master Aurelian: many a poor woman has passed through his hands, with these very words. You treat me just like a Servingman, with the cold Meat which comes from your Master's Table.  Aur. 
You could never have suspected me for using my Master's wit, if you had not been guilty of purloining from your Lady. I am told, that Laura, your mistress's Sister, has wit enough to confound a hundred Aurelians.  Lau. 
I shall do your commendations to Laura for your compliment.  Aur. 
And I shall not fail to revenge myself by informing Aurelian of yours.  Enter Benito with a Guittar. Ben. 
The poor souls shall not lose by the bargain, though my foolish gadding Masters have disappointed them. That Ladder of ropes was doubtless left there by the young Lady in hope of them.  Vio. 
Hark, I hear a noise in the Garden.  Lau. 
I fear we are betrayed.  Cam. 
Fear nothing, Madam, but stand close.  Ben. 
Now, Benito, is the time to hold forth thy talent, and to set up for thyself. Yes, Ladies, you shall be Serenaded, and when I have displayed my gifts, I'll retire in Triumph over the Wall, and hug myself for the adventure. He fums on the Guittar.  Vio. 
Let us make haste, Sister, and get into Covert, this Music will raise the House upon us immediately.  Lau. 
Alas, we cannot, the damned Musician stands just in the door where we should pass.  Ben. 
Singing. Eveillez vous, Bells endormies;  
Eveillez vous: car il est jour:  
Mettez la tete a la fenestre  
Vous entendrez parler d'amour.  Aur. 
aside to Cam. Camillo, this is my incorrigible rogue; and I dare not call him Benito, for fear of discovering myself not to be Benito.  Cam. 
The alarm's already given through the house. Ladies, you must be quick: secure yourselves, and leave us to shift.  Exeunt Women. 
Within. This way, this way.  Aur. 
I hear'em coming; and, as ill luck will have it, just by that quarter where our Ladder is placed.  Cam. 
Let us hide in the dark walk till they are passed.  Aur. 
But then Benito will be caught, and being known to be my man, will betray us.  Ben. 
I hear some in the Garden: Sure they are the Ladies, that are taken with my melody. To't again Benito; this time I will absolutely enchant 'em. Fums again.  Aur. 
He's at it again. Why Benito, Are you mad?  Ben. 
Ah, Madam! Are you there? this is such a favour to your poor unworthy Servant.  Sings. 

But still between kissing Amintas did say,  
Fair Phillis look up, and you'll turn night to day.   Aur. 
Come away, you unsufferable rascal, the House is up, and will be upon us immediately.  Ben. 
O Gemini, Is it you Sir?  
Within. This way; follow, follow.  Aur. 
Leave your scraping and croaking, and step with us into this Arbour.  Ben. 
Scraping and Croaking! 'Sfoot, Sir, either grant I sing and play to a Miracle, or I'll justify my Music, though I am caught, and hanged for't.  Enter Mario and Servants. Mar. 
Where is this Serenading Rascal? If I find him, I'll make him an example to all midnight Caterwaulers, of which this Fiddler is the lewdest.  Ben. 
O that I durst but Play my Tune out to convince him! Soul of harmony! Is this lewd?  Plays and Sings softly. Cam. 
Peace, dear Benito: We must flatter him.  Ben. 
Singing softly. Mettez la tete: the Notes which follow are so sweet, Sir, I must sing 'em, though it be my ruin— Parlour d' amour. Laura and Violetta in the Balcone.  Lau. 
Yes, we are safe, Sister; but they are yet in danger.  Vio. 
They are just upon 'em:  Lau. 
We must do something: Help, help; Thief's, thiefs; we shall be murdered.  Mar. 
Where? Where are they?  Lau. 
Here, Sir, at our Chamber door, and we are run into the Balcone for shelter: Dear Uncle, come and help us.  Mar. 
Back again quickly: I durst have sworn they had been in the Garden. 'Tis an Ignis fatuus I think that leads us from one place to another. Exeunt Mar. and Servants.  Vio. 
They are gone. My dear Camillo, make haste, and preserve yourself.  Cam. 
May our next Meeting prove more propitious.  Aur. 
to Benito. Come, Sirrah, I shall make you sing another note when you are at home.  Ben. 
Such another word, and I'll sing again.  Aur. 
Set the Ladder, and mount first, you Rogue.  Ben. 
Mount first yourself, and fear not my delaying:  
If I am caught, they'll spare me for my playing.  Sings as he goes off. 
Vous entendrez parler d'amour. Exeunt omnes.    


ACT. III. SCENE I.  The Front of the Nunnery. Hip. 
IAscanio, and Hippolita at the Grate.  
See you have kept touch, Brother,  Asca. 
As a man of honour ought, Sister, when he is challenged: and now, according to the Laws of Duel, the next thing is to strip, and, in stead of seconds, to search one another.  Hip. 
We'll strip our hands, if you please, Brother; for they are the only weapons we must use.  Asca. 
That were to invite me to my loss, Sister; I could have made a full meal in the World, and you would have me take up with hungry commons in the Cloister. Pray mend my fare, or I am gone.  Hip. 
O, Brother, a hand in a Cloister, is fare like flesh in Spain, 'tis delicate, because 'tis scarce. You may be satisfied with a hand, as well as I am pleased with the Courtship of a Boy.  Asca. 
You may begin with me Sister, as Milo did, by carrying a Calf first, you may learn to carry an Ox hereafter: In the mean time produce your hand, I understand Nuns-flesh better than you imagine: give it me, you shall see how I will worry it. She gives her hand. Now Could not we thrust out our lips, and contrive a Kiss too?  Hip. 
Yes, we may; but I have had the experience of it: it will be but half flesh, half Iron.  Asca. 
Let's try however.  Hip. 
Hold, Lucretia is here.  Asca. 
Nay, if you come with odds upon me, 'tis time to call Seconds. Ascanio Hems.  The Prince and Lucretia appear. Luc. 
Sir, though your Song was pleasant, yet there was one thing amiss in it, that was your Rallying of Religion.  Fred. 
Do you speak well of my Friend Love, and I'll try to speak well of your friend Devotion.  Luc. 
I can never speak well of Love: 'twas to avoid it that I entered here.  Fred. 
Then, Madam, you have met your Man: for, to confess the truth to you, I have but counterfeited Love to try you; for I never yet could love any Woman: and, since I have seen you, and do not, I am certain now I shall scape for ever.  Luc. 
You are the best man in the World, if you continue this resolution▪ Pray, then, let us vow solemnly these two things: the first, to esteem each other better than we do all the world besides; the next, never to change our amity to love.  Fre. 
Agreed Madam: shall I kiss your hand on't?  Luc. 
That's too like a Lover: or, if it were not, the narrowness of the Grate will excuse the ceremony.  Hip. 
No, but it will not, to my knowledge: I have tried every bar many a fair time over, and, at last, have found out one where a hand may get through, and be gallanted.  Luc. 
giving her hand. There, Sir; 'tis a true one.  Fre. 
kissing it. This, then, is a Seal to our perpetual friendship; and a defiance to all Love.  Luc. 
That seducer of virtue.  Fre. 
That disturber of quiet.  Luc. 
That madness of youth.  Fre. 
That dotage of old age.  Luc. 
That enemy to good humour.  Fre. 
And, to conclude all, that reason of all unreasonable actions  Asca. 
This Doctrine is abominable, do not believe it Sister.  Hip. 
No, if I do, Brother, may I never have comfort from sweet youth at my extremity.  Luc. 
But remember one article of our friendship, that though we banish Love, we do not Mirth, nor Gallantry; for I declare, I am for all extravagancies, but just loving.  Fre. 
Just my own humour; for I hate gravity and melancholy next to love.  Asca. 
Now it comes into my head, the Duke of Mantova makes an entertainment to night in Masquerade: if you love extravagancy so well, Madam, I'll put you into the head of one; lay by your Nun-ship for an hour or two, and come amongst us in disguise.  Fre. 
My Boy is in the right, Madam. Will you venture?  
I'll furnish you with Masking-habits.  Hip. 
O my dear Sister, never refuse it: I keep the Keys you know, I'll warrant you well' return before we are missed. I do so long to have one fling into the sweet World again before I die. Hang't, at worst, 'tis but one sin more, and then we'll repent for all together.  Asca. 
But if I catch you in the World, Sister, I'll make you have a better opinion of the Flesh and the Devil for ever after.  Luc. 
If it were known, I were lost for ever.  Fre. 
How should it be known? you have her on your side, there, that keeps the Keys: and, put the worst, that you are taken in the World; the World's a good World to stay in; and there are certain occasions of waking in a morning, that may be more pleasant to you than your Matins.  Luc. 
Fie, Friend, these extravagancies are a breach of Articles in our Friendship: but well, for once, I'll venture to go out; Dancing and Singing are but petty transgressions.  Asca. 
My Lord, here's company approaching: we shall be discovered.  Fred. 
Adieu then, jusqu'a revoir; Ascanio shall be with you immediately, to conduct you.  Asca. 
How, Will you disguise, Sister? Will you be a Man, or a Woman?  Hip. 
A Woman, Brother Page, for life: I should have the strangest thoughts if I once wore Breeches.  Asca. 
A Woman, say you? Here's my hand, if I meet you in place convenient, I'll do my best to make you one. Exeunt.  Enter Aurelian and Camillo. Cam. 
But, Why thus melancholy, with Hat pulled down, and the hand on the Region of the Heart, just the reverse of my Friend Aurelian, of happy memory?  Aur. 
Faith, Camillo, I am ashamed on't, but cannot help it.  Cam. 
But to be in Love with a Waiting-woman! with an eater of Fragments, a Simperer at lower end of a Table, with mighty Golls, rough-grained, and red with Starching, those discouragers and abettors of elevated love!  Aur. 
I could Love Deformity itself, with that good humour. She who is armed with Gaiety and Wit, needs no other Weapon to conquer me.  Cam. 
We Lovers are the great Creators of wit in our Mistresses. For Beatrix, she a mere utterer of Yes and No, and has no more Sense than what will just dignify her to be an arrant waiting-woman: that is, to lie for her Lady, and take your Money.  Aur. 
It may be then I found her in the exaltation of her wit; for, certainly, women have their good and ill days of talking, as they have of looking.  Cam. 
But, however, she has done you the courtesy to drive out Laura: and so one Poison has expelled the other.  Aur. 
Troth, not absolutely neither; for I dote on Laura's beauty, and on Beatrix's wit: I am wounded with a forked Arrow, which will not easily be got out.  Cam. 
Not to lose time in fruitless complaints, let us pursue our new contrivance, that you may see your two Mistresses, and I my one.  Aur. 
That will not now be difficult: this plot's so laid, that I defy the Devil to make it miss. The Woman of the house, by which they are to pass to Church, is bribed; the Ladies are, by her, acquainted with the design; and we need only to be there before them, and expect the prey, which will undoubtedly fall into the net.  Cam. 
Your Man is made safe, I hope, from doing us any mischief.  Aur. 
He has disposed of himself, I thank him, for an hour or two: the Fop would make me believe that an unknown Lady is in love with him, and has made him an Assignation.  Cam. 
If he should succeed now, I should have the worse opinion of the Sex for his sake.  Aur. 
Never doubt but he'll succeed: your brisk Fool that can make a Leg, is ever a fine Gentleman among the Ladies, because he's just of their talent, and they understand him better than a Wit..  Cam. 
Peace, the Ladies are coming this way to the Chapel, and their Jailor with 'em: let 'em go by without saluting, to avoid suspicion; and let us go off to prepare our Engine.  Enter Mario, Laura, and Violetta. Aur. 
I must have a look before we go. Ah, you little Divine rogue! I'll be with you immediately.  Exeunt Aur. and Cam. Vio. 
Look you, Sister, there are our Friends, but take no notice.  Lau. 
I saw them. Was not that Aurelian with Camillo?  Vio. 
Yes.  Lau. 
I like him strangely. If his person were joined with Benito's Wit, I know not what would become of my poor heart.  Enter Fabio, and whispers with Mario. Mar. 
Stay, Nieces, I'll but speak a word with Fabio, and go with you immediately.  Vio. 
I see, Sister, you are infinitely taken with Benito's wit; but I have heard he is a very conceited Coxcomb.  Lau. 
They who told you so, were horribly mistaken: you shall be judge yourself, Violetta; for, to confess frankly to you, I have made him a kind of an appointment.  Vio. 
How! Have you made an Assignation to Benito? A Servingman! a Trencher-carrying Rascal!  Lau. 
Good words, Violetta! I only sent to him from an unknown Lady near this Chapel, that I might view him in passing by, and see if his person were answerable to his conversation.  Vio. 
But how will you get rid of my Uncle?  Lau. 
You see my project; his man Fabio is bribed by me, to hold him in discourse.  Enter Benito, looking about him. Vio. 
In my conscience this is he. Lord, what a Monster of a Man is there! With such a Workiday-rough-hewn face too! for, faith, Heaven has not bestowed the finishing upon't.  Lau. 
'Tis impossible this should be Benito; yet he stalks this way: from such a piece of animated Timber, sweet Heaven deliver me.  Benito 
aside. This must of necessity be the Lady who is in Love with me. See, how she surveys my Person! Certainly one Wit knows another by instinct. By that old Gentleman, it should be the Lady Laura too. Hum! Benito, thou art made for ever.  Lau. 
He has the most unpromising Face, for a Wit, I ever saw; and yet he had need have a very good one, to make amends for his face. I am half cured of him already.  Ben. 
What means all this Surveying, Madam? you bristle up to me, and wheel about me, like a Turkeycock that is making Love: Faith, How do you like my Person, ha?  Lau. 
I dare not praise it, for fear of the old Compliment, that you should tell me, 'Tis at my service. But, pray, Is your Name Benito?  Ben. 
Signior Benito, at your service, Madam.  Lau. 
And have you no Brother, or any other of your Name, one that is a Wit, attending on Signior Aurelian?  Ben. 
No, I can assure your Ladyship: I myself am the only wit who does him the honour, not to attend him, but to bear him company.  Lau. 
But sure it was another you, that waited on Camillo in the Garden, last night.  Ben. 
It was no other Me, but me Signior Benito.  Lau. 
'Tis impossible.  Ben. 
'Tis most certain.  Lau. 
Then I would advise you to go thither again, and look for the wit which you have left there, for you have brought very little along with you: your voice, methinks, too, is much altered.  Ben. 
Only a little overstrained, or so, with Singing.  Lau. 
How slept you, after your adventure?  Ben. 
Faith, Lady, I could not sleep one wink, for Dreaming of you.  Lau. 
Not sleep for Dreaming! When the place falls, you shall be Bull-master-General at Court.  Ben. 
Et tu Brute! Do you mistake me for a Fool too? then, I find there's one more of that opinion besides my Master.  Vio. 
Sister, look to yourself, my Uncle's returning.  Lau. 
I am glad on't; he has done my business: he has absolutely cured me. Lord, that I could be so mistaken!  Vio. 
I told you what he was.  Lau. 
He was quite another thing last night: never was Man so altered in four and twenty hours. A pure Clown, mere Elementary earth, without the least spark of Soul in him!  Ben. 
But, tell me truly, Are not you in Love with me? Confess the truth: I love plain-dealing: you shall not find me refractory.  Lau. 
Away, thou Animal; I have found thee out for a high and mighty fool, and so I leave thee.  Mar. 
Come, now I am ready for you; as little Devotion, and as much good Housewifery as you please: take example by me; I assure you no body debauches me to Church, except it be in your Company. Exeunt.  Manet Benito▪ Ben. 
I am undone for ever: What shall I do with myself? I'll run into some Desert, and there I'll hide my opprobrious head. No, hang't, I won't neither; all Wits have their failings sometimes, and have the fortune to be thought fools once in their lives. Sure this is but a copy of her countenance; for my heart's true to me, and whispers to me, she loves me still: well, I'll trust in my own merits, and be confident.  A noise of throwing down water within. Enter Mario, Fabio, Laura, and Violetta. Lau. 
shaking her clothes, Oh Sir, I am wet quite through my clothes, I am not able to endure it.  Vio. 
Was there ever such an insolence?  Mar. 
Send in to see who lives there: I'll make an example of'em.  Enter Frontona. Fab. 
Here's the Woman of the House herself, Sir.  Fron. 
Sir, I submit, most willingly, to any punishment you shall inflict upon me; for, though I intended nothing of an affront to these sweet Ladies, yet I can never forgive myself the misfortune of which I was the innocent occasion.  Vio. 
O I am ready to faint away.  Fron. 
Alas, poor sweet Lady, she's young and tender, Sir: I beseech you, give me leave to repair my offence, with offering myself, and poor House, for her accommodation.  Ben. 
I know that Woman: there's some villainous Plot in this, I'll lay my life on't. Now, Benito, cast about for thy credit, and recover all again.  Mar. 
Go into the Coach, Nieces, and bid the Coachman drive apace. As for you, Mistress, your smooth Tongue shall not excuse you.  Lau. 
By your favour, Sir, I'll accept of the Gentlewoman's civility; I cannot stir a step farther.  Fro. 
Come in, sweet Buds of Beauty, you shall have a Fire in an inner Chamber, and if you please to repose yourself a while, Sir, in another Room, they shall come out, and wait on you immediately.  Mar. 
Well, if it must be so.  Fron. 
whispering the Ladies. Your Friends are ready in the Garden, and will be with you as soon as we have shaken off your Uncle.  Ben. 
A Cheat, a cheat, a rank one; I smell it, old Sir, I smell it.  Mar. 
What's the matter with the Fellow? Is he distracted?  Ben. 
No, 'tis you are more likely to be distracted; but that there goes some wit to the being mad, and you have not the least grain of wit to be gulled thus grossly.  Fron. 
What does the fellow mean?  Ben. 
The Fellow means to detect your villainy, and to recover his lost reputation of a Wit..  Fron. 
Why, Friend, What villainy? I hope my house is a civil house.  Ben. 
Yes, a very civil one; for my master lay in of his last Clap there, and was treated very civilly to my knowledge.  Mar. 
How's this, How's this?  Fron. 
Come, you are a dirty Fellow, and I am known to be a person that—  Ben. 
Yes, you are known to be a person that—  Fron. 
Speak your worst of me, What person am I known to be?  Ben. 
Why, if you will have it, you are a little better than a procuress: you carry messages betwixt party and party, and, in one word Sir, she's as arrant a Fruit-woman as any is about Rome.  Mar. 
Nay, if she be a Fruit-woman, my Nieces shall not enter into her doors.  Ben. 
You had best let them enter, you do not know how they may fructify in her house, for I heard her with these Ears whisper to'm, that their Friends were within call.  Mar. 
This is palpable, this is manifest; I shall remember you, Lady Fruiterer, I shall have your baskets searched when you bring Oranges again. Come away, Nieces; and thanks honest Fellow for thy discovery. Exeunt Mario and Women.  Ben. 
Ha couragio: Il Diavolo e morto. Now I think I have tickled it; this discovery has re-instated me into the Empire of my wit again. Now, in the pomp of this achievement, will I present myself before Madam Laura, with a Behold, Madam, the happy restauration of Benito.  Enter Aurelian, Camillo, and Frontona, overhearing him. 
Oh, now, that I had the Mirror, to behold myself in the fullness of my glory! and, oh, that the domineering Fop my Master were in presence, that I might triumph over him! that I might even contemn the wretched wight, the mortal of a groveling Soul, and of a debased understanding.  He looks about him and sees his Master. 
How the Devil came these three together? nothing vexes me but that I must stand bare to him, after such an enterprise as this is.  Aur. 
Nay, put on, put on again, sweet Sir; Why should you be uncovered before the Fop your Master? the wretched wight, the mortal of a groveling Soul.  Ben. 
Ay, Sir, you may make bold with yourself at your own pleasure: But for all that, a little bidding would make me take your Counsel and be covered, as Affairs go now.  Aur. 
If it be lawful for a man of a debased understanding to confer with such an exalted wit, pray what was that glorious achievement which rapt you into such an ecstasy?  Ben. 
'Tis a sign you know well how matters go, by your asking me so impertinent a question.  Aur. 
putting off his Hat to him. Sir, I beg of you, as your most humble Master, to be satisfied.  Ben. 
Your Servant, Sir; at present I am not at leisure for conference. But hark you, Sir, by the way of friendly advice, one word, henceforward tell me no more of the adventure of the Garden, nor of the great Looking-glass—  Aur. 
You mean the Mirror.  Ben. 
Yes, the Mirror; tell me no more of that, except you could behold in it a better, a more discreet, or a more able face for stratagem, than I can, when I look there.  Aur. 
But, to the business; What is this famous enterprise?  Ben. 
Be satisfied, without troubling me farther, the business is done, the Rogues are defeated, and your Mistress is secured: if you would know more, demand it of that Criminal, Pointing to Frontona. and ask her how she dares appear before you, after such a signal treachery, or before me, after such an overthrow?  Fron. 
I know nothing, but only that, by your Master's Order, I was to receive the two Ladies into my house, and you prevented it.  Ben. 
By my Master's Order? I'll ne'er believe it. This is your stratagem, to free yourself, and defraud me of my reward.  Cam. 
I'll witness what she says is true.  Ben. 
I am deaf to all asseverations that make against my honour.  Aur. 
I'll swear it then. We two were the two Rogues, and you the discoverer of our Villainy.  Ben. 
Then, woe, woe, to poor Benito! I find my abundance of wit has ruined me.  Aur. 
But come a little nearer: I would not receive a good office from a Servant, but I would reward him for his diligence.  Ben. 
Virtue, Sir, is its own reward: I expect none from you.  Aur. 
Since it is so, Sir, you shall lose no further time in my service: henceforward pray know me for your humble Servant; for your Master I am resolved to be no longer.  Ben. 
Nay, rather than so, Sir, I beseech you let a good honest sufficient beating atone the difference.  Aur. 
'Tis in vain.  Ben. 
I am loath to leave you without a guide.  Aur. 
He's at it again, do you hear, Camillo?  Cam. 
Prithee, Aurelian, be molifyed, and beat him.  Fron. 
Pray, Sir, hear reason, and lay't on, for my sake.  Aur. 
I am obdurate.  Cam. 
But, What will your Father say, if you part with him?  Aur. 
I care not.  Ben. 
Well, Sir, since you are so peremptory, remember I have offered you satisfaction, and so long my conscience is at ease: what a Devil, before I'll offer myself twice to be beaten, by any Master in Christendom, I'll starve, and that's my resolution, and so your Servant that was Sir. Exit.  Aur. 
I am glad I am rid of him; he was my Evil Genius, and was always appearing to me, to blast my undertakings: Let me send him never so far off, the Devil would be sure to put him in my way, when I had any thing to execute. Come, Camillo, now we have changed the Dice, it may be we shall have better fortune.   

SCENE. II.  Enter the Duke of Mantova in Masquerade, Frederick, Valerio, and others. On the other side Enter Lucretia, Hippolita, and Ascanio. Luc. 
to Asca. The Prince I know already, by your description of his Masking-habit; but, Which is the Duke his Father?  Asca. 
He whom you see talking with the Prince, and looking this way. I believe he has observed us.  Luc. 
If he has not, I am resolved we'll make ourselves as remarkable as we can: I'll exercise my talent of Dancing.  Hip. 
And I mine of Singing.  Duke 
to Frederick. Do you know the Company which came in last?  Fred. 
I cannot possibly imagine who they are: at least I will not tell you— Aside.  Duke. 
There's something very uncommon in the Air of one of them.  Fred. 
Please you, Sir, I'll discourse with her, and see if I can satisfy your Highness.  Duke. 
Stay, there's a Dance beginning, and she seems as if she would make one.  

SONG and DANCE.  

Long betwixt Love and fear Phillis tormented,  
Shunned her own wish yet at last she consented:  
But loath that day should her blushes discover,  
Come gentle Night She said,  
Come quickly to my aid,  
And a poor Shamefaced Maid  
Hide from her Lover.   

Now cold as Ice I am, now hot as Fire,  
I dare not tell myself my own desire;  
But let Day fly away, and let Night haste her:  
Grant ye kind Powers above,  
Slow hours to parting Love,  
But when to Bliss we move,  
Bid 'em fly faster.   

How sweet it is to Love when I discover,  
That Fire which burns my Heart, warming my Lover;  
'Tis pity Love so true should be mistaken:  
But if this Night he be  
False or unkind to me,  
Let me die ere I see  
That I'm forsaken.    
After the Dance. My curiosity redoubles, I must needs hale that unknown Vessel, and inquire whither she's bound, and what freight she carries.  Fred. 
She's not worth your trouble, Sir: she'll either prove some common Courtesan in disguise, or at best, some homely person of Honour, that only dances well enough to invite a sight of herself, and would look ill enough to fright you.  Duke. 
That's maliciously said; all I see of her is charming, and I have reason to think her face is of the same piece, at least I'll try my fortune.  Fred. 
What an unlucky accident is this! If my father should discover her, she's ruined: if he does not, yet I have lost her conversation to night.  Duke approaches Lucretia. Asca. 
'Tis the Duke himself who comes to court you.  Luc. 
Peace, I'll fit him; for I have been informed to the least title of his actions since he came to Town.  Duke 
to Lucretia. Madam, the Duke of Mantova, whom you must needs imagine to be in this company, has sent me to you, to know what kind of face there is belonging to that excellent shape, and to those charming motions which he observed so lately in your Dancing.  Luc. 
Tell his Highness, if you please, that there is a Face within the Masque, so very deformed, that if it were discovered, it would prove the worst Vizor of the two; and that, of all Men, he ought not to desire it should be exposed, because than something would be found amiss in an entertainment which he has made so splendid and magnificent.  Duke. 
The Duke I am sure would be very proud of your compliment, but it would leave him more unsatisfied than before, for he will find in it so much of Gallantry, as, being added to your other graces, will move him to a strange temptation of knowing you.  Luc. 
I should still have the more reason to refuse him; for 'twere a madness, when I had charmed him by my motion and converse, to hazard the loss of that conquest by my eyes.  Duke 
aside. I am on fire till I discover her.  
At least, Madam, tell me of what Family you are.  Luc. 
Will you be satisfied if I tell you I am of the Colonne; you have seen julia of that House.  Duke. 
Then you are she.  Luc. 
Have I not her Stature most exactly?  Duke. 
As near as I remember.  Luc. 
But, by your favour, I have nothing of her shape; for, if I may be so vain to praise myself, she's a little thicker in the shoulders, and, besides, she moves ungracefully.  Duke. 
Then you are not she again.  Luc. 
No not she: but you have forgotten Emilia of the Ursini, whom the Duke saluted yesterday at her Balcone, when he entered. Her Air and Motion—  Duke. 
Are the very same with yours. Now I am sure I know you.  Luc. 
But there's too little of her to make a Beauty: my stature is much more advantageous.  Duke. 
You have cozened me again.  Luc. 
Well, I find at last I must confess myself. What think you of Eugenia Beata? the Duke seemed to be infinitely pleased last night, when my Brother presented me to him at the Belvedere.  Duke. 
Now I am certain you are she; for you have both her stature, and her motion.  Luc. 
But, if you remember yourself a little better, there's some small difference in our wit: for she has indeed the Air and Beauty of a Roman Lady, but all the dulness of a Dutch-woman.  Duke. 
I see, Madam, you are resolved to conceal yourself, and I am as fully resolved to know you.  Luc. 
See which of our resolutions will take place.  Duke. 
I come from the Duke, and can assure you he is of an humour to be obeyed.  Luc. 
And I am of an humour not to obey him. But, Why should he be so curious?  Duke. 
If you would have my opinion, I believe he is in love with you.  Luc. 
Without seeing me?  Duke. 
Without seeing all of you: Love is love, let it wound us from what part it please; and if he have enough from your shape and conversation, his business is done, the more compendiously, without the face.  Luc. 
But the Duke cannot be taken with my conversation, for he never heard me speak.  Duke 
aside. ' 'Slife, I shall discover myself. Yes, Madam, he stood by, incognito, and heard me speak with you: but—  Luc. 
I wish he had trusted to his own courtship, and spoke himself; for it gives us a bad impression of a Prince's wit, when we see fools in favour about his person.  Duke. 
What ever I am, I have it in Commission from him to tell you, He's in Love with you.  Luc. 
The good old Gentleman may dote, if he so pleases; but love, and fifty years old, are stark nonsense.  Duke. 
But some men, you know, are green at fifty.  Luc. 
Yes, in their understandings.  Duke. 
You speak with great contempt of a Prince, who has some reputation in the world.  Luc. 
No; 'tis you that speak with contempt of him, by saying he is in love at such an Age.  Duke. 
Then, Madam, 'tis necessary you should know him better for his reputation: and, that shall be, though he violate the Laws of Masquerade, and force you.  Fred. 
I suspected this, from his violent temper. Aside. Sir, the Emperor's Ambassador is here, in Masquerade, and I believe this to be his Lady: it were well if you enquired of him, before you forced her to discover.  Duke. 
Which is the Ambassador?  Fred. 
That farthermost. Duke retires farther.  Fred. 
to Luc. Take your opportunity to escape, while his back is turned, or you are ruined. Ascanio, wait on her.  Luc. 
I am so frighted, I cannot stay to thank you.  Exeunt Luc. Asca. and Hippolita. Duke 
to Fred. 'Tis a mistake, the Ambassador knows nothing of her: I'm resolved I'll know it of herself, ere she shall depart. Ha! Where is she? I left her here.  Fred. 
aside. Out of your reach, Father mine, I hope.  Duke. 
She has either shifted places, or else slipped out of the Assembly.  Fred. 
I have looked round: she must be gone, Sir.  Duke. 
She must not be gone, Sir. Search for her every where: I will have her.  Fred. 
Has she offended your Highness?  Duke. 
Peace, with your impertinent questions. Come hither, Valerio.  Valerio. 
Sir?  Duke. 
O, Valerio, I am desperately in love: that Lady, with whom you saw me talking, has— But I lose time; she's gone; haste after her; find her; bring her back to me.  Val. 
If it be possible.  Duke. 
It must be possible; the quiet of my life depends upon it.  Val. 
Which way took she?  Duke. 
Go any way, every way; ask no questions: I know no more, but that she must must be had. Exit Valerio.  Fred. 
Sir, the assembly will observe, that—  Duke. 
Damn the assembly, 'tis a dull insignificant crowd, now she is not here: break it up, I'll stay no longer.  Fred. 
aside. I hope she's safe, and then this fantastic love of my Fathers will make us sport too morrow. Exeunt.   

SCENE III.  Lucretia, Ascanio, Hippolita. Luc. 
Now, that we are safe at the gate of our Covent, methinks the adventure was not unpleasant.  Hip. 
And now that I am out of danger, Brother, I may tell you what a Novice you are in love, to tempt a young Sister into the wide World, and not to show her the difference betwixt that and her Cloister: I find I may venture safely with you another time.  Asca. 
O, Sister, you play the Brazenhead with me; you give me warning when Time's past; but that was no fit opportunity: I hate to snatch a morsel of Love, and so away; I am for a set-meal, where I may enjoy my full gust; but when I once fall on, you shall find me a brave man upon occasion.  Luc. 
'Tis time we were in our Cells. Quick, Hippolita, where's the Key?  Hip. 
Here, in my pocket— No, 'tis in my other Pocket— Ha— 'tis not there, neither. I am sure I put it in one of them.  Luc. 
What should we do, if it should be lost now?  Hip. 
I have searched myself all over, and cannot find it.  Asca. 
A woman can never search herself all over; let me search you, Sister.  Luc. 
Is this a time for Raillery? Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort quickly; Have you found it?  Here Ascanio slips away. Exit. Hip. 
Speak you comfort, Madam, and tell me you have it, for I am too sure that I have none on't.  Luc. 
O unfortunate that we are! day's breaking; the handicraft's shops begin to open. Clock striketh.  Hip. 
The Clock strikes two: within this half hour we shall be called up to our Devotions. Now, good Ascanio— Alas he's gone too! we are left miserable, and forlorn.  Luc. 
We have not so much as one place in the Town for a Retreat.  Hip. 
O, for a Miracle in our time of need! that some kind good-natured Saint would take us up, and heave us over the Wall into our Cells.  Luc. 
Dear Sister, Pray; for I cannot: I have been so sinful, in leaving my Cloister for the World, that I am ashamed to trouble my Friends above to help me.  Hip. 
Alas, Sister, with what face can I Pray, then! Yours were but little vanities; but I have sinned swingly, against my Vow; yes, indeed, Sister, I have been very wicked; for I wished the Ball might be kept perpetually in our Cloister, and that half the handsome Nuns in it might be turned to Men, for the sake of the other.  Luc. 
Well, if I were free from this disgrace, I would never more set foot beyond the Cloister, for the sake of any Man.  Hip. 
And here I Vow, if I get safe within my Cell, I will not think of Man again these seven years.  Ascanio Reenters. Asca. 
Hold, Hippolita, and make no more rash Vows: if you do, as I live, you shall not have the Key.  Hip. 
The Key! why, Have it you, Brother?  Luc. 
He does but mock us: I know you have it not, Ascanio.  Asca. 
Ecce signum; Here it is for you.  Hip. 
O, sweet Brother, let me kiss you.  Asca. 
Hands off, sweet Sister; you must not be forsworn: you vowed you would not think of a man these seven years.  Hip. 
Ay, Brother, but I was not so hasty, but I had wit enough to cozen the Saint to whom I vowed; for you are but a Boy, Brother, and will not be a Man these seven years.  Luc. 
But, Where did you find the Key, Ascanio?  Asca. 
To confess the truth, Madam, I stole it out of Hippolyta's Pocket, to take the Print of it in Wax; for, I'll suppose, you'll give my Master leave to wait on you in the Nunnery-garden, after your Abbess has walked the Rounds.  Luc. 
Well, well, good morrow: when you have slept, come to the Grate for a Letter to your Lord. Now will I have the headache, or the Megrim, or some excuse, for I am resolved I'll not rise to Prayers.  Hip. 
Pray, Brother, take care of our Masking-habits, that they may be forthcoming another time.  Asca. 
Sleep, sleep, and dream of me, Sister: I'll make it good, if you dream not too unreasonably.  Luc. 
Thus dangers in our Love make joys more dear;  
And Pleasure's sweetest, when 'tis mixed with fear. Exeunt.    


ACT. IV. SCENE I.  A Dressing-Chamber. The Masking-habits of Lucretia and Hippolita laid in a Chair. Fred. and Ascanio. Fred. 
I Never thought I should have loved her. Is't come to this, after all my boastings and declarations against it? Sure I loved her before, and did not know it, till I feared to lose her: there's the reason. I had never desired her, if my Father had not. This is just the longing of a Woman: she never finds the appetite in herself, till she sees the Meat on another's Plate. I'm glad however, you took the impression of the Key; but 'twas not well to fright them.  Asca. 
Sir, I could not help it; but here's the effect on't: the Workman sat up all night to make it. Gives a Key  Fred. 
This Key will admit me into the Seraglio of the Godly. The Monastery has begun the War, in Sallying out upon the World, and therefore 'tis but just that the World should make Reprizals on the Monastery.  Asca. 
Alas, Sir, you and Lucretia do but skirmish; 'tis I and Hippolita that make the War: 'tis true, opportunity has been wanting for a Battle, but the forces have been stoutly drawn up on both sides. As for your concernment, I come just now from the Monastery, and have Orders from you Platonic Mistress to tell you, she expects you this evening in the Garden of the Nunnery; withal, she delivered me this Letter for you.  Fred. 
Give it me,  Asca. 
O, Sir, the Duke your Father!  The prince takes the Letter, and thinking to put it up bastily, drops it. Enter Duke. Duke. 
Now, Frederick! not abroad yet?  Fred. 
Your last night's entertainment left me so weary, Sir, that I over-slept myself this morning.  Duke. 
I rather envy you, than blame you: our sleep is certainly the most pleasant portion of our lives. For my own part, I spent the night waking, and restless.  Fred. 
Has any thing of moment happened to discompose your Highness?  Duke. 
I'll confess my follies to you: I am in love with a Lady I saw last night in Masquerade.  Fred. 
'Tis strange she should conceal herself.  Duke. 
She has, from my best search; yet I took exact notice of her Masking habit, and described it to those whom I employed to find her.  Fred. 
aside. 'Sdeath, it lies there unremoved; and, if he turns himself, full in his eye. Now, now 'twill be discovered.  Duke. 
For 'twas extremely remarkable. I remember very well 'twas a loose long Robe, streaked black and white, girt with a large Silver Ribbon, and the Vizor was a Moor's Face.  Fred. Running to the Chair where the Habits are, sits down. 
Sir, I beg pardon of your Highness for this Rudeness, I am— O, Oh—  Duke. 
What's the Matter?  Fred. 
I am taken so extremely ill o'the sudden, that I am forced to sit before you.  Duke. 
Alas, What's your distemper?  Fred. 
A most violent griping, which pulls me together on a heap.  Duke. 
Some cold, I fear, you took last night. Runs to the Door. Who waits there? Call Physicians to the Prince.  Fred. 
Ascanio, remove these quickly.  Ascanio takes away the habits, and Exit. Duke 
returning. How do you find yourself?  Fre. 
arising. Much better. Sir: that which pained me is removed: as it came unexpectedly, so it went as suddenly.  Enter Valerio. Duke. 
The Air, perhaps, will do you good. If you have health, you may see those Troops drawn out, which I design for Milan.  Fred. 
Shall I wait your Highness?  Duke. 
No, leave me here with Valerio; I have a little business, which dispatched, I'll follow you immediately. Well, What success, Valerio? Exit Frederick.  Val. 
Our endeavours are in vain, Sir: there has been inquiry made about all the Palaces in Rome, and neither of the Masking-habits can be discovered.  Duke. 
Yet, it must be a Woman of Quality. What Paper's that at my foot?  Val. 
taking up the Letter. 'Tis Sealed, Sir, and directed to the Prince.  Duke, 
taking the Letter. 'Tis a Woman's hand. Has he got a Mistress in Town so soon? I am resolved to open it, though I do not approve my own curiosity. Opens and Reads it.  
Now my fear is over, I can laugh at my last night's adventure: I find that at Fifty all Men grow incorrigible, and Lovers especially; for, certainly, never any Creature could be worse treated than your Father, (How's this, Valerio? I am amazed) and yet the good, old, out of fashion Gentleman heard himself Raillied, and bore it with all the patience of a Christian Prince. (Now 'tis plain, the Lady in Masquerade is a Mistress of my Son's, and the undutiful wretch was in the Plot to abuse me.) Ascanio will tell you the latter part of our misfortune, how hardly we got into the Cloister, (A Nun too! Oh, the Devil!) when we meet next, pray provide to laugh heartily, for there is subject sufficient for a plentiful fit, and fop enough to spare for another time  
Lucretia.  Val. 
Lucretia! now the Mystery is unfolded.  Duke. 
Do you know her?  Val. 
When I was last at Rome, I saw her often; she is near Kinswoman to the present Pope; and, before he placed her in this Nunnery of Benedictines, was the most celebrated Beauty of the Town.  Duke. 
I know I ought to hate this Woman, because she has affronted me thus grossly; but yet I cannot help it, I must love her.  Val. 
But, Sir, you come on too much disadvantage to be your Son's Rival.  Duke. 
I am deaf to all considerations: prithee do not think of giving a Madman Counsel: pity me, and cure me, if thou canst; but remember there's but one infallible Medicine, that's enjoyment.  Val. 
I had forgot to tell you, Sir, that the Governor Don Mario is without, to wait on you.  Duke. 
Desire him to come in.  Enter Don Mario. Mar. 
I am come, Sir, to beg a favour from your Highness, and 'tis on the behalf of my Sister Sophronia, Abbess of the Torr' di Specchi.  Val. 
Sir, she's Abbess of that very Monastery where your Mistress is enclosed. Aside, to the Duke.  Duke. 
I should be glad to serve any Relation of yours, Don Mario.  Mar. 
Her request is, That you would be pleased to grace her Chapel this afternoon. There will be Music, and some little Ceremony, in the Reception of my two Nieces, who are to be placed in Pension there.  Duke. 
Your Nieces, I hear, are fair, and great Fortunes.  Mar. 
Great vexations I'm sure they are; being daily haunted by a company of wild Fellows, who buzz about my house like Flies.  Duke. 
Your design seems reasonable; Women in hot Countries are like Oranges in cold: to preserve them, they must be perpetually housed. I'll bear you company to the Monastery. Come, Valerio; this opportunity is happy beyond our expectation. Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  Camillo, Aurelian. Cam. 
He has smarted sufficiently for this offence: prithee, dear Aurelian, forgive him; he waits without, and appears penitent; I'll be responsible for his future carriage.  Aur. 
For your sake, then, I receive him into grace.  Cam. 
at the door. Benito, you may appear, your peace is made.  Enter Benito. Aur. 
But, it must be upon conditions.  Ben. 
Any conditions that are reasonable; for, as I am a Wit, Sir, I have not eaten—  Aur. 
You are in the path of perdition already; that's the principal of our Conditions, you are to be a Wit no more.  Ben. 
Pray, Sir, if it be possible, let me be a little Wit still.  Aur. 
No, Sir: you can make a Leg, and Dance; those are no Talents of a Wit: you are cut out for a brisk fool▪ and can be no other.  Ben. 
Pray, Sir, let me think 〈…〉 Wit, or my heart will break.  Cam. 
That you will naturally do, as you are a Fool.  Aur. 
Then, no farther meddling with adventures, or contrivances of your own: they are all belonging to the Territories of wit, from whence you are banished.  Ben. 
But what if my imagination should really furnish me with some—  Aur. 
Not a Plot, I hope?  Ben. 
No, Sir, no Plot; but some expedient then, to mollify the word, when your invention has failed you?  Aur. 
Think it a temptation of the Devil, and believe it not.  Ben. 
Then farewell all the happiness of my life.  Cam. 
You know your doom, Benito, and now you may take your choice, whether you will renounce wit, or eating.  Ben. 
Well, Sir, I must continue my Body at what rate soever: and the rather, because now there's no farther need of me in your adventures; for I was assured, by Beatrix, this morning, that her two Mistresses are to be put in Pension in the Nunnery of Benedictines, this afternoon.  Cam. 
Then I am miserable.  Aur. 
And you have deferred the telling it till it is past time to study for prevention.  Cam. 
Let us run thither immediately, and either perish in't, or free them. You'll assist me with your Sword?  Aur. 
Yes, if I cannot do't to more purpose, with my counsel. Let us first play the fairest of our Game, 'tis time enough to snatch when we have lost it. Exeunt.   

SCENE III.  A Chapel. The Duke, Valerio, Attendants. At the other door, Laura, Violetta, Beatrix, Mario. Instrumental and vocal Music. In the time of which, Enter Aurelian and Camillo. After the Music, Enter Sophronia, Lucretia, Hippolita, and other Nuns. Duke 
to Valeria, who had whispered to him. I needed not those marks to know her. She's one continued excellence; she's all over Miracle,  Soph. 
to the Duke. We know, Sir, we are not capable, by our Entertainments, of adding any thing to your pleasures, and therefore we must attribute this favour of your presence, to your piety and devotion.  Duke. 
You have treated me with Harmony so excellent, that I believed myself among a choir of angels; especially, when I beheld so fair a Troop behind you.  Soph. 
Their Beauty, Sir, is wholly dedicated to Heaven, and is no way ambitious of a commendation, which from your mouth might raise a pride in any other of the Sex.  Cam. 
I am impatient, and can bear no longer. Let what will happen—  Aur. 
Do you not see your ruin inevitable? Draw in a holy place! and in the presence of the Duke!  Mar. 
I do not like Camillo's being here: I must cut short the Ceremony. Whispers Sophronia,  Soph. 
to Lau. and Violet. Come, fair Cousins, we hope to make the Cloysteral life so pleasing, that it may be an inducement to you to quit the wicked world for ever.  Violetta passing by Camillo. 
Take that, and read it at your leisure.  Conveys a Note into his hand. Cam 
A Ticket, as I live, Aurelian.  Aur. 
Steal off, and be thankful: If that be my Beatrix with Laura, she's most confoundedly ugly. If ever we had come to Love-work, and a Candle had been brought us, I had fallen back from that face, like a Buck Rabbit in coupling.  Exeunt Camillo and Aurelian. Soph. 
Daughters, the time of our Devotion calls us. All happiness to your Highness.  Luc. 
to Hip. Little thinks my venerable old Love there, that his Mistress in Masquerade is so near him. Now do I e'en long to abuse that Fop-gravity again.  Hip. 
Methinks he looks on us.  Luc. 
Farewell, poor love, I am she, I am, for all my demure looks, that treated thee so inhumanely last night.  She is going off, after Sophonia. Duke 
following her. Stay Lady; I would speak with you.  Luc. 
Ah! (screaking.)  Soph. 
How now, Daughter? What's the meaning of that undecent noise you make?  Luc. 
aside. If I speak to him, he will discover my voice, and then I am ruined.  Duke. 
If your name be Lucretia, I have some business of concernment with you.  Luc. 
to Soph. Dear Madam, for Heaven's sake make haste into the Cloister, the Duke pursues me on some ill design.  Soph. 
to the Duke. 'Tis not permitted, Sir, for Maids once entered into Religion, to hold discourses here of worldly things.  Duke. 
But my discourses are not worldly Madam;  
I had a Vision in the dead of night,  
Which showed me this fair Virgin in my sleep,  
And told me, that from her I should be taught  
Where to bestow large Alms, and great Endowments,  
On some near Monastery.  Soph. 
— Stay, Lucretia,  
The Holy Vision's will must be obeyed.  Exeunt Soph. cum suis. Luc. 
aside. He does not know me, sure; and yet I fear Religion is the least of his business with me.  Duke. 
I see, Madam, Beauty will be beauty in any habit.  
Though I confess, the splendour of a Court  
Were a much fitter Scene for yours, then is  
A Cloistered privacy.  Luc. 
counter-feiting her voice. The World has no temptations for a mind  
So fixed, and raised above it,  
This humble Cell contains and bounds my wishes.  
My Charity gives you my Prayers, and that's all my  
Converse with humane kind.  Duke. 
Since when, Madam, have the World and you been upon these equal terms of hostility? time was you have been better friends.  Luc. 
No doubt I have been vain, and sinful; but, the remembrance of those days cannot be pleasant to me now, and therefore, if you please, do not refresh their Memory.  Duke. 
Their memory! you speak as if they were Ages past.  Luc. 
You think me still what I was once, a vain, fond, giddy creature; I see, Sir, whether your discourses tend, and therefore take my leave.  Duke. 
Yes, Madam, I know you see whither my discourses tend, and therefore 'twill not be convenient that you should take your leave. Disguise yourself no farther; you are known, as well as you knew me in Masquerade.  Luc. 
I am not used enough to the World, to interpret Riddles; therefore, once more, heaven keep you.  Duke. 
This will not do: your voice, your mien, your stature, betray you for the same I saw last night: you know the time and place.  Luc. 
You were not in this Chapel; and, I am bound by vow to stir no farther.  Duke. 
But you had too much wit to keep that vow.  Luc. 
If you persist, Sir, in this raving madness,  
I can bring witness of my innocence. Is going.  Duke. 
To save that labour, see if you know that hand, and let that justify you. (Shows her Letter.)  Luc. 
What do I see! my ruin is inevitable.  Duke. 
You know you merit it:  
You used me ill, and now are in my power.  Luc. 
But you, I hope, are much too noble  
To destroy the Fame of a poor silly Woman?  Duke. 
Then, in few words, for I am bred a Soldier,  
And must speak plain, it is your Love I ask:  
If you deny, this Letter is produced;  
You know the consequence.  Luc. 
I hope I do not:  
For, though there are appearances against me,  
Enough to give you hope I durst not shun you;  
Yet, could you see my heart, 'tis a white Virgin-Tablet,  
On which no Characters of earthly love  
Were ever writ: and, 'twixt the Prince and me;  
If there were any Criminal affection,  
May heaven this minute—  Duke. 
Swear not; I believe you:  
For could I think my Son had e'er enjoyed you,  
I should not be his Rival. Since he has not,  
I may have so much kindness for myself  
To wish that happiness.  Luc. 
You ask me what I must not grant,  
Nor if I loved you would: you know my vow of Chastity.  Duke. 
Yet again that senseless argument?  
The Vows of Chastity can ne'er be broken,  
Where Vows of secrecy are kept: those I'll swear with you.  
But 'tis enough, at present, you know my resolution.  
I would persuade, not force you to my Love;  
And to that end I give you this night's respite.  
Consider all, that you may fear or hope;  
And think that on your grant, or your denial,  
Depends a double welfare, yours and mine. Exit.  Luc. 
A double ruin rather, if I grant: For what can I expect from such a Father, when such a Son betrays me! Could I think of all Mankind, that Frederick could be base. And, with the vanity of vulgar Souls betray a Virgin's fame: one who esteemed him, and I much fear did more than barely so— But I dare not examine myself farther; for fear of confessing to my own thoughts, a tenderness of which he is unworthy.  Enter Hippolita. Hip. 
I watched till your old Gallant was gone, to bring you news of your young one. A mischief on these old dry Lovers, they are good for nothing but tedious talking; Well, yonder's the Prince at the Grate; I hope I need say no more to you.  Luc. 
I'll come when I have recovered myself a little.  
I am a wretched creature, Hippolita; the Letter  
I writ the Prince—  Hip. 
I know it, is fallen into his Father's hands by accident. He's as wretched as you too. Well, well, it shall be my part to bring you together; and then, if two young people that have opportunity, can be wretched and melancholy— I'll go before and meet Ascanio. Exit.  Luc. 
I am half unwilling to go, because I must be accessary to her Assignation with Ascanio; but, for once, I'll meet the Prince in the Garden walk: I am glad however that he is less criminal than I thought him. Exeunt.   

SCENE IU.  The Nunnery-Garden. Hippolita, Ascanio, meeting Laura and Violetta. Hip. 
I hear some walking this way. Who goes there?  Lau. 
We are the two new Pensioners, Laura and Violetta.  Hip. 
Go in, to your devotion: these undue hours of walking savour too much of worldly thoughts.  Lau. 
Let us retire to the Arbour, where, by this time, I believe our Friends are. Good-night, Sister.  Hip. 
Good Angels guard you. Exit Laura and Violetta. Now, Brother, the coast is clear, and we have the Garden to ourselves, Do you remember how you threatened me? but that's all one. How good soever the opportunity may be, so long as we two resolve to be virtuous.  Asca. 
Speak for yourself, Sister, for I am wickedly inclined. Yet, I confess, I have some remorse, when I consider you are in Religion.  Hip. 
We should do very well to consider that, both of us; for, indeed, What should young people do, but think of Goodness and Religion; especially when they love one another, and are alone too, Brother?  Asca. 
A curse on't, here comes my Lord, and Lucretia. We might have accomplished all, and been repenting by this time; yet who the Devil would have thought they should have come so soon?— Ah— Sets his Teeth.  Hip. 
Who the Devil would have put it to the venture? This is always the fault of you raw Pages: you that are too young, never use an opportunity; and we that are elder can seldom get one.— Ah! Sets her Teeth.  Enter Frederick and Lucretia. Luc. 
I believe, indeed, it troubled you to lose that Letter.  Fred. 
So much, Madam, that I can never forgive myself that negligence.  Luc. 
Call it not so, 'twas but a casualty, though, I confess, the consequence is dangerous; and therefore have not both of us reason to defy Love, when we see a little Gallantry is able to produce so much mischief.  Fred. 
aside. Now cannot I, for my heart, bring out one word against this Love.  Luc. 
Come, you are mute, upon a Subject that is both easy and pleasant. A man in Love is so ridiculous a creature—  Fred. 
Especially to those that are not.  Luc. 
True; for to those that are, he cannot be so: they are like the Citizens of Bethlehem, who never find out one another's Maddess, because they are all tainted. But for such ancient Fops, as (with reverence) your Father is, What reason can they have to be in Love?  Fred. 
Nay, your old Fop's unpardonable, that's certain— But—  Luc. 
But What? Come, laugh at him.  Fred. 
But, I consider, he is my Father, I can't laugh at him.  Luc. 
But, if it were another, we should see how you would insult over him.  Fred. 
Ay, if it were another— And yet I don't know neither, 'tis no part of good nature to insult: a man may be overtaken with a passion, or so, I know it by myself.  Luc. 
How, by yourself? you are not in love, I hope?  
Oh that he would confess first now! Aside.  Fred. 
But, if I were, I should be loath to be laughed at.  Luc. 
Since you are not in Love, you may the better counsel me: What shall I do with this same troublesome Father of yours?  Fred. 
Any thing, but love him.  Luc. 
But you know he has me at a Bay; my Letter is in his possession, and he may produce it to my ruin: therefore if I did allow him some little favour, to mollify him—  Fred. 
How, Madam? would you allow him Favours? I can never consent to it: not the least look or smile; they are all too precious, though they were to save his life.  Luc. 
What, Not your Father? Oh that he would confess he loved me first! Aside.  Fred. 
What have I done? I shall betray myself, and confess my love, to be laughed at, by this hard-hearted Woman. Aside. 'Tis true, Madam, I had forgot; he is, indeed, my Father, and therefore you may use him as kindly as you please.  Luc. 
He's insensible: now he enrages me. Aside. What if he proposes to Marry me? I am not yet professed, and 'twould be much to my advantage.  Fred. 
Marry you! I had rather die a thousand deaths, than suffer it.  Luc. 
This begins to please me. Aside.  
But, Why should you be so much my enemy?  Fred. 
Your enemy, Madam? Why, Do you desire it?  Luc. 
Perhaps I do,  Fred. 
Do it, Madam, since it pleases you so well.  Luc. 
But you had rather die, than suffer it.  Fred. 
No, I have changed my mind: I'll live, and not be concerned at it.  Luc. 
Do you contradict yourself so soon? Then know, Sir, I did intend to do it; and I am glad you have given me advice so agreeable to my inclinations.  Fred. 
Heaven! that you should not find it out! I delivered your Letter on purpose to my Father, and 'twas my business, now, to come and mediate for him.  Luc. 
Pray, then, carry him the news of his good success.  
Adieu, sweet Prince.  Fred. 
Adieu, dear Madam.  Asca. 
hay day! What will this come to? they have cozened one another into a quarrel; just like friends in Fencing, a chance thrust comes, and then they fall to't in earnest.  Hip. 
You and I, Brother, shall never meet upon even terms, if this be not pieced. Faces about, Madam, turn quickly to your Man, or by all that's virtuous, I'll call the Abbess.  Asca. 
I must not be so bold with you, Sir; but, if you please, you may turn towards the Lady, and I suppose you would be glad I durst speak to you with more authority, to save the credit of your willingness.  Fred. 
Well, I'll show her I dare stay, if it be but to confront her Malice.  Luc. 
I am sure I have done nothing to be ashamed of, that I should need to run away.  Asca. 
Pray give me leave, Sir, to ask you but one question; Why were you so unwilling that she should be Married to your Father?  Fred. 
Because then, her Friendship must wholly cease.  Asca. 
But, you may have her Friendship, when she is Married to him.  Fred. 
What, when another had enjoyed her?  Asca. 
Victoria, Victoria, he loves you, Madam; let him deny it if he can.  Luc. 
Fie, fie, love me, Ascanio! I hope he would not forswear himself, when he has railed so much against it.  Fred. 
I hope I may love your mind, Madam; I may Love Spiritually.  Hip. 
That's enough, that's enough: let him love the mind without the body if he can.  Asca. 
Ay, ay, when the love is once come so far, that Spiritual Mind will never leave pulling, and pulling, till it has drawn the beastly body after it.  Fred. 
Well, Madam, since I must confess it, (though I expect to be laughed at, after my railing against Love) I do love you all over, both Soul and Body.  Asca. 
Lord, Sir, What a Tygress have you provoked! you may see she takes it to the death that you have made this declaration.  Hip. 
I thought where all her anger was: Why do you not rail, Madam? Why do you not banish him? the Prince expects it; he has dealt honestly, he has told you his Mind, and you make your worst on't.  Luc. 
Because he does expect it, I am resolved I'll neither satisfy him nor you; I will neither rail nor laugh: let him make his worst of that, now.  Fred. 
If I understand you right, Madam, I am happy beyond either my deserts or expectation.  Luc. 
You may give my words what interpretation you please, Sir, I shall not envy you their meaning in the kindest sense. But we are near the Jessamine-walk, there we may talk with greater freedom, because 'tis farther from the House.  Fred. 
I wait you, Madam. Exeunt.   

SCENE. V.  Aurelian with a dark Lantern, Camillo and Benito. Cam. 
So, we are safe got over into the Nunnery-Garden; for what's to come, trust Love and Fortune.  Aur. 
This must needs be the walk she mentioned; yet, to be sure, I'll hold the Lantern while you read the Ticket.  Cam. 
reads. I prepared this Ticket, hoping to see you in the Chapel: come this evening over the Garden-wall, on the right hand, next the Tiber.  Aur. 
(We are right, I see.)  Cam. 
Bring only your discreet Benito with you, and I will meet you, attended by my faithful Beatrix. Violetta.  Ben. 
Discreet Benito! Did you hear that, Sir?  Aur. 
Mortify thyself for that vain thought; and, without enquiring into the mystery of these words, which I assure thee were not meant to thee, plant thyself by that Ladder without motion, to secure our retreat; and be sure to make no noise.  Ben. 
But, Sir, in case that—  Aur. 
Honest Benito, no more questions: Basta is the word. Remember, thou art only taken with us, because thou hast a certain evil Daemon who conducts thy actions, and would have been sure, by some damned accident or other, to have brought thee hither to disturb us.  Cam. 
I hear whispering not far from us, and I think 'tis Violetta's voice.  Aur. 
to Benito. Retire to your Post; avoid, good Satan.  Exit Benito. Enter Laura with a dark Lantern hid, and Violetta. Cam. 
Ours is the honour of the Field, Madam; we are here before you.  Vio. 
Softly, dear friend, I think I hear some walking in the Garden.  Cam. 
Rather, let us take this opportunity for your escape from hence; all things are here in readiness.  Vio. 
This is the second time we e'er have met; let us discourse, and know each other better first: that's the way to make sure of some love beforehand; for, as the world goes, we know not how little we may have when we are Married.  Cam. 
Losses of opportunity are fatal, in war, you know, and Love's a kind of warfare.  Vio. 
I shall keep you yet a while from close fighting.  Cam. 
But, Do you know what an hour in Love is worth? 'Tis more precious than an Age of ordinary life; 'tis the very Quintessence and Extract of it.  Vio. 
I do not like your Chemical preparation of love; yours is all Spirit, and will fly too soon: I must see it fixed, before I trust you. But we are near the Arbour; now our out guards are set, let us retire a little, if you please; there we may talk more freely.  Exeunt. Aur. 
to Laura. My Lady's Woman, methinks you are very reserved to night: pray advance into the Lists; though I have seen your countenance by day, I can endure to hear you talk by night. Be cunning, and set your wit to show which is your best commodity: it will help the better to put off that drug, your Face.  Lau. 
The coursest ware will serve such customers as you are: let it suffice, Mr. Servingman, that I have seen you too. Your face is the original of the ugliest Vizors about Town; and for wit, I would advise you to speak reverently of it, as a thing you are never like to understand.  Aur. 
Sure, Beatrix, you came lately from looking in your Glass, and that has given you a bad opinion of all faces. But since when am I become so notorious a fool?  Lau. 
Since yesterday; for t'other night you talked like a man of sense: I think your wit comes to you, as the sight of Owls does, only in the dark.  Aur. 
Why, When did you discourse by day with me?  Lau. 
You have a short memory. This afternoon, in the great street. Do you not remember when you talked with Laura?  Aur. 
But what was that to Beatrix?  Lau. 
aside. ' 'Slife, I had forgot that I am Beatrix.  
But, pray, When did you find me out to be so ugly?  Aur. 
This afternoon, in the Chapel.  Lau. 
That cannot be, for I well remember you were not there, Benito: I saw none but Camillo, and his friend the handsome stranger.  Aur. 
aside. Curse on't, I have betrayed myself.  Lau. 
I find you are an Impostor; you are not the same Benito: your language has nothing of the Servingman.  Aur. 
And yours, methinks, has not much of the Waiting-woman.  Lau. 
My Lady is abused, and betrayed by you: but I am resolved  
I'll discover who you are. Holds out a Lantern to him.  
How? the Stranger!  Aur. 
Nay, Madam, if you are good at that, I'll match you there too. Holds out his Lantern. O prodigy! Is Beatrix turned to Laura?  Lau. 
Now the question is, which of us two is the greatest cheat?  Aur. 
That's hardly to be tried, at so short warning: Let's Marry one another, and then, twenty to one, in a Twelve Month we shall know.  Lau. 
Marry! Are you at that so soon, Signior? Benito and Beatrix, I confess, had some acquaintance; but Aurelian and Laura are mere strangers.  Aur. 
That ground I have gotten as Benito, I am resolved I'll keep as Aurelian. If you will take State upon you, I have treated you with Ceremony already; for I have wooed you by Proxy.  Lau. 
But you would not be contented to bed me so; or give me leave to put the Sword betwixt us.  Aur. 
Yes, upon condition you'll remove it.  Lau. 
Pray let our Friends be judge of it; if you please, we'll find 'em in the Arbour.  Aur. 
Content; I am then sure of the Verdict, because the Jury is bribed already. Exeunt.   

SCENE VI.  Benito meeting Frederick, Ascanio, Lucreria and Hippolita. Ben. 
Knowing my own merits, as I do, 'tis not impossible but some of these Harlotry Nuns may love me: Oh, here's my Master! now if I could but put this into civil terms, so as to ask his leave, and not displease him—  Asca. 
I hear one talking, Sir, just by us.  Ben. 
I am stolen from my post, Sir, but for one minute only, to demand permission of you, since it is not in our Articles, that if any of these Nuns should cast an eye or so—  Fred. 
'Slife, we are betrayed; but I'll make this Rascal sure.  Draws and runs at him. Ben. 
Help, Murder, Murder. Runs off.  Enter Aurelian and Camillo; Laura and Violetta after them. Aur. 
That was Benito's voice: we are ruined.  Cam. 
Oh, here they are; we must make our way.  Aur. and the Prince make a Pass or two confusedly, and fight off the Stage. The Women Schreek. Asca. 
Never fear, Ladies. Come on, Sir; I am your Man.  Cam. 
stepping back. This is the Prince's Page, I know his voice, Ascanio?  Asca. 
Signior Camillo!  Cam. 
If the Prince be here, 'tis Aurelian is engaged with him. Let us run in quickly, and prevent the mischief.  All go off. A little Clashing within. After which they all re-enter. Fred. 
to Aur. I hope you are not wounded.  Aur. 
No, Sir; but infinitely grieved that—  Fred. 
No more; 'twas a mistake: but which way can we escape, the Abbess is coming, I see the Lights.  Luc. 
You cannot go by the Gate then. Ah me, unfortunate!  Cam. 
But over the Wall you may: we have a Ladder ready. Adieu, Ladies. Curse on this ill luck, where we had just persuaded 'em to go with us!  Fred. 
Farewell, sweet Lucretia.  Lau. 
Good-night, Aurelian.  Aur. 
ay, it might have proved a good one: Faith, shall I stay, yet, and make it one, in spite of the Abbess, and all her Works?  Lau. 
The Abbess is just here; you will be caught  
In the Spiritual Trap, if you should tarry.  Aur. 
That will be time enough when we two Marry.  Exeunt severally.   


ACT. V. SCENE I.  Enter Sophronia, Lucretia, Laura, Violetta. Soph. 
BY this, then, it appears you all are guilty;  
Only your ignorance of each others crimes  
Caused first that tumult, and this discovery.  
Good Heavens, that I should live to see this day!  
Methinks these Holy Walls, the Cells, the Cloisters,  
Should all have struck a secret horror on you:  
And when, with unchaste thoughts,  
You trod these lonely walks, you should have looked  
The venerable Ghost of our first Foundress  
Should with spread arms have met you in her Shroud,  
And frighted you from Sin.  Luc. 
Alas, you need not aggravate our crimes,  
We know them to be great beyond excuse,  
And have no hope, but only from your mercy.  Lau. 
Love is, indeed, no plea within these Walls;  
But, since we brought it hither, and were forced,  
Not led by our own choice, to this strict life—  Vio. 
Too hard for our soft youth, and bands of love,  
Which we before had knit.  Lau. 
— Pity your blood,  
Which runs within our veins, and since Heaven puts it  
In your sole power to ruin or to save,  
Protect us from the sordid avarice  
Of our domestic Tyrant, who deserves not  
That we should call him Uncle, or you Brother.  Soph. 
If, as I might, with Justice I should punish,  
No penance could be rigorous enough;  
But I am willing to be more indulgent.  
None of you are Professed: and since I see  
You are not fit for higher happiness,  
You may have what you think the world can give you.  Luc. 
Let us adore you, Madam.  Soph. 
— You, Lucretia,  
I shall advise within.  Vio. 
— But for us, Madam?  Soph. 
For you, dear Nieces, I have long considered  
The injuries you suffer from my Brother,  
And I rejoice it is in me to help you:  
I will endeavour, from this very hour,  
To put you both into your Lover's hands,  
Who, by your own confession, have deserved you;  
But so as (though 'tis done by my connivance)  
It shall not seem to be with my consent.  Lau. 
You do an act of noble charity,  
And may just heaven reward it.  Enter Hippolita and whispers Lucretia. Soph. 
Oh, you're a faithful Portress of a Cloister.  
What is't you whisper to Lucretia?  
On your Obedience tell me.  Luc. 
— Since you must know, Madam,  
I have received a Courtship from the Prince  
Of Mantova. The rest Hippolita may speak.  Hip. 
His Page Ascanio is at the grate,  
To know from him, how you had scaped this danger;  
And brings with him those Habits—  Soph. 
I find that here has been a long commerce.  
What Habits?  Luc. 
I blush to tell you, Madam. They were Masking Habits, in which we went abroad.  Soph. 
O strange Impiety! Well, I conclude  
You are no longer for Religious clothing:  
You would infect our Order.  Luc. 
kneeling. Madam, you promised us forgiveness.  Soph. 
I have done; for 'tis indeed too late to chide.  Hip. 
With Ascanio, there are two Gentlemen; Aurelian and Camillo I think they call themselves, who came to me, recommended from the Prince, and desired to speak with Laura and Violetta.  Soph. 
I think they are your Lovers, Nieces.  Vio. 
Madam, they are.  Hip. 
But, for fear of discovery from your Uncle Mario, whose House you know, joins to the Monastery, are both in Masquerade.  Soph. 
to Laura and Violetta. This opportunity must not be lost.  
You two shall take the Masking-habits instantly,  
And, in them, scape your jealous Unckle's eyes.  
When you are happy, make me so, by hearing your success.  Kisses them. Exeunt Lau. and Vio. Luc. 
A sudden thought is sprung within my mind,  
Which, by the same indulgence you have shown,  
May make me happy too. I have not time  
To tell you now, for fear I lose this opportunity.  
When I return from speaking with Ascanio,  
I shall declare the secrets of my Love,  
And crave your farther help.  Soph. 
In all that virtue will permit you shall not fail to find it.  Exit Lucretia. Hip. 
Madam, the foolish Fellow whom we took grows troublesome; What shall we do with him?  Soph. 
Send for the Magistrate; he must be punished—  
Yet hold; that would betray the other secret.  
Let him be straight turned out, on this Condition,  
That he presume not ever to disclose  
He was within these walls. I'll speak with him:  
Come, and attend me to him. Exit Sophronia.  Hip. 
You fit to be an Abbess? We that live out of the World, should at least have the common sense of those that live far from Town; if a Pedlar comes by 'em once a year, they will not let him go without providing themselves with what they want.  Exit after Sophronia.  

SCENE II.  The Street. Aurelian, Camillo, Laura, Violetta: all in Masking habits. Cam. 
This generosity of the Abbess is never to be forgot; and it is the more to be esteemed because it was the less to be expected.  Vio. 
At length, my Camillo, I see myself safe within your Arms; and yet, methinks, I can never be enough secure of you: for, now I have nothing else to fear, I am afraid of you; I fear your constancy: they say possession is so dangerous to Lovers, that more of them die of Surfeits than of Fasting.  Lau. 
You'll be rambling too, Aurelian, I do not doubt it, if I would let you; but I'll take care to be as little a Wife, and as much a Mistress to you, as is possible: I'll be sure to be always pleasant, and never suffer you to be cloyed.  Aur. 
You are certainly in the right: pleasantness of humour makes a Wife last in the sweet meat, when it will no longer in the Fruit. But pray let's make haste to the next honest Priest, that can say Grace to us, and take our appetites while they are coming.  Cam. 
That way leads to the Austin-friars-s, there lives a Father of my acquaintance.  Lau. 
I have heard of him; he has a mighty stroke at Matrimonies, and mumbles 'em over as fast, as if he were teaching us to forget 'em all the while.  Enter Benito, and overhears the last speech. Ben. 
Cappari; that's the voice of Madam Laura. Now, Benito, is the time to repair the lost honour of thy wit, and to blot out the last adventure of the Nunnery.  Vio. 
That way I hear company; let's go about by this other street, and shun 'em.  Ben. 
That voice I know too; 'tis the younger Sister, Violetta's. Now have these two most treacherously conveyed themselves out of the Nunnery, for my Master and Camillo, and given up their persons to those lewd Rascals in Masquerade; but I'll prevent 'em. Help there, Thief's and Ravishers, villainous Maskers, stop Robbers, stop Ravishers.  Cam. 
We are pursued that way, let's take this street.  Lau. 
Save yourselves, and leave us.  Cam. 
We'll rather die than leave you.  Enter at several doors Duke of Mantova and Guards, and Don Mario and Servants, with Torch's. Aur. 
So, now the way is shut up on both sides. We'll die merrily however:— have at the fairest.  Aurelian and Camillo fall upon the Duke's Guards, and are seized behind by Mario 's Servants. At the drawing of Swords, Benito runs off. Duke. 
Are these insolences usually committed in Rome by night? it has the fame of a well-governed City; and methinks, Don Mario, it does somewhat reflect on you to suffer these Disorders.  Mar. 
They are not to be hindered in the Carnival: you see, Sir, they have assumed the Privilege of Maskers.  Lau. 
to Au. If my Uncle know us, we are ruined; therefore be sure you do not speak.  Duke. 
How then can we be satisfied this was not a device of Masking, rather than a design of Ravishing?  Mar. 
Their accuser is fled, I saw him run at the beginning of the scuffle; but I'll examine the Ladies.  Vio. 
Now we are lost.  Duke coming near Laura takes notice of her Habit. Duke 
aside. 'Tis the same, 'tis the same; I know Lucretia by her Habit: I'm sure I am not mistaken. Now, Sir, you may cease your examination, I know the Ladies.  Aur. 
to Cam. How the Devil does he know 'em?  Cam. 
'Tis alike to us; they are lost both ways.  Duke 
taking Laura aside. Madam, you may confess yourself to me. Whatever your design was in leaving the Nunnery, your reputation shall be safe. I'll not discover you, provided you grant me the happiness I last requested.  Lau. 
I know not, Sir, how you could possibly come to know me, or of my design in quitting the Nunnery; but this I know, that my Sister and myself are both unfortunate, except your Highness be pleased to protect us from our Uncle; at least, not to discover us.  Duke. 
His Holiness your Uncle, shall never be acquainted with your flight, on Condition you will wholly renounce my Son, and give yourself to me.  Lau. 
Alas, Sir, For whom do you mistake me?  Duke. 
I mistake you not, Madam: I know you for Lucretia. You forget that your Disguise betrays you.  Lau. 
Then, Sir, I perceive I must disabuse you: if you please to withdraw a little, that I may not be seen by others, I will pull off my Mask, and discover to you that Lucretia and I have no resemblance, but only in our misfortunes.  Duke. 
'Tis in vain, Madam, this dissembling: I protest if you pull off your Mask, I will hide my Face, and not look upon you, to convince you that I know you.  Enter Benito. Ben. 
So, now the fray is over, a man may appear again with safety. Oh, the Rogues are caught I see, and the Damsels delivered. This was the effect of my valour at the second hand.  Aur. 
Look, look, Camillo, it was my perpetual Fool that caused all this, and now he stands yonder, laughing at his mischief, as the Devil is pictured, grinning behind the Witch upon the Gallows.  Ben. 
to Mario. I see, Sir, you have got your Women, and I am glad on't: I took 'em just flying from the Nunnery.  Duke 
to Lau. You see that Fellow knows you too.  Mar. 
Were these Women flying from a Nunnery?  Ben. 
These Women? hay day! then, it seems, you do not know they are your Nieces.  Duke. 
His Nieces, say you? Take heed, Fellow, you shall be punished severely if you mistake.  Cam. 
Speak to Benito in time, Aurelian.  Aur. 
The Devil's in him, he's running downhill full speed, and there is no stopping him.  Mar. 
My Nieces?  Ben. 
Your Nieces? Why, Do you doubt it? I praise Heaven I never met but with two half-wits in my life, and my Master's one of'em; I will not name the other, at this time.  Duke. 
I say they are not they.  Ben. 
I am sure they are Laura and Violetta, and that those two Rogues were running away with 'em, and that I believe with their consent.  Vio. 
Sister, 'Tis in vain to deny ourselves; you see our ill fortune pursues us unavoidably. Turning up her Masque. Yes, Sir, we are Laura and Violetta, whom you have made unhappy by your Tyranny.  Lau. 
turning up her Mask. And these two Gentlemen are no Ravishers, but—  Ben. 
How, no Ravishers? yes, to my knowledge, they are— As he speaks, Aurelian pulls off his Mask. no Ravishers, as Madam Laura was saying; but two as honest Gentlemen as e'er broke bread: My own dear Master, and so forth!  Runs to Aurelian, who thrusts him back. Enter Valerio, and whispers the Duke, giving him a Paper, which he reads, and seems pleased. Mar. 
Aurelian and Camillo! I'll see you in safe custody, and, for, these Fugitives, go, carry 'em to my Sister, and desire her to have a better care of her Kinswomen.  Vio. 
We shall live yet to make you refund our Portions. Farewell Camillo; comfort yourself; remember there's but a Wall betwixt us.  Lau. 
And I'll cut through that Wall with Vinegar, but I'll come to you, Aurelian.  Aur. 
I'll cut through the Grates with Aqua-sortis, but I'll meet you. Think of these things, and despair and die, old Gentleman.  Aurelian and Camillo are carried off on one side, and Laura and Violetta on the other. Ben. 
All things go cross to men of sense: would I had been born with the brains of a Shopkeeper, that I might have thriven without knowing why I did so. Now must I follow my Master to the Prison, and, like an ignorant Customer that comes to buy, must offer him my backside, tell him I trust to his honesty, and desire him to please himself, and so be satisfied. Exit.  Duke 
to Valerio. I am overjoyed, I'll see her immediately: now my business with Don Mario is at an end, I need not desire his company to introduce me to the Abbess, this Assignation from Lucretia shows me a nearer way. Noble Don Mario, it was my business when this accident happened in the street to have made you a visit; but now I am prevented by an occasion which calls me another way.  Mar. 
I receive the intention of that honour as the greatest happiness that could befall me: in the mean time, if my attendance—  Duke. 
By no means, Sir, I must of necessity go in private, and therefore, if you please, you shall omit the ceremony.  Mar. 
A happy even to your Highness. Now will I go to my Sister the Abbess, before I sleep, and desire her to take more care of her Flock, or, for all our Relation, I shall make complaint, and endeavour to ease her of her charge. Exit.  Duke. 
So, now we are alone, What said Lucretia?  Val. 
When first I pressed her to this Assignation,  
She spoke like one in doubt what she should do;  
She demured much upon the decency of it,  
And somewhat too she seemed to urge, of her  
Engagement to the Prince: in short, Sir,  
I perceived her wavering; and closed with the opportunity.  Duke. 
O, when women are once irresolute, betwixt the former love and the new one, they are sure to come over to the latter: the wind, their nearest likeness, seldom chaps about to return into the old corner.  Val. 
In conclusion, she consented to the interview, and for the rest, I urged it not, for I suppose she will hear reason sooner from your mouth than mine.  Duke. 
Her Letter is of the same tenor with her Discourse; full of doubts and doubles, like a hunted Hare when she's near tired. The Garden, you say, is the place appointed?  Val. 
It is, Sir; and the next half hour the time: but, Sir, I fear the Prince your Son will never bear the loss of her with patience.  Duke. 
'Tis no matter; let the young Gallant storm to night, to morrow he departs from Rome.  Val. 
That, Sir, will be severe.  Duke. 
He has already received my commands to travel into Germany: I know it stung him to the quick; but he's too dangerous a Rival: the Soldiers love him too; when he's absent they will respect me more. Exeunt Guards.  
But I defer my happiness too long; dismiss my Guards there.  
The pleasures of old age brook no delay:  
Seldom they come, and soon they fly away. Exeunt.   

SCENE III.  Prince and Ascanio. Fred. 
'Tis true, he is my Father; but when Nature  
Is dead in him, Why should it live in me?  
What have I done, that I am banished Rome,  
The World's delight, and my Souls joy Lucretia,  
And sent to reel with midnight Beasts in Almain?  
I cannot, will not bear it.  Asca. 
I'm sure you need not, Sir: the Army is all yours; they wish a youthful Monarch, and will resent your injuries.  Fred. 
Heaven forbid it. And yet I cannot lose Lucretia.  
There's something I would do, and yet would shun  
The ill that must attend it.  Asca. 
You must resolve, for the time presses. She told me, this hour, she had sent for your Father: what she means I know not, for she seemed doubtful, and would not tell me her intention.  Fred. 
If she be false;— yet, Why should I suspect her? yet, Why should I not? she's a Woman; that includes ambition, and inconstancy: then, she's tempted high: 'twere unreasonable to expect she should be faithful: well, something I have resolved and will about it instantly: and if my Friends prove faithful I shall prevent the worst.  Enter Aurelian and Camillo guarded. 
Aurelian and Camillo? How came you thus attended?  Cam. 
You may guests at the occasion, Sir; pursuing the adventure which brought us to meet you in the Garden, we were taken by Don Mario.  Aur. 
And, as the Devil would have it, when both we and our Mistresses were in expectation of a more pleasant lodging.  Fred. 
Faith, that's very hard, when a man has charged and primed, and taken aim, to be hindered of his shoot— Soldiers, release these Gentlemen; I'll answer it.  Cap. 
Sir, we dare not disobey our Orders.  Fred. 
I'll stand betwixt you and danger. In the mean time take this, as an acknowledgement of the kindness you do me.  Cap. 
Ay, marry, there's Rhetoric in Gold: Who can deny these arguments? Sir, you may dispose of our prisoners as you please; we'll use your name if we are called in question.  Fred. 
Do so. Good-night good Soldiers. Exeunt Soldiers. Now, Gentlemen, no thanks, you'll find occasion instantly to reimburse me of my kindness.  Cam. 
Nothing but want of liberty could have hindered us from serving you.  Fred. 
Meet me, within this half hour, at our Monastery; and if, in the mean time, you can pick up a dozen of good Fellows, who dare venture their lives bravely, bring them with you.  Aur. 
I hope the Cause is bad too, otherwise we shall not deserve your thanks: may it be for demolishing that cursed Monastery.  Fred. 
Come, Ascanio, follow me. Exeunt severally.   

SCENE IU.  The Nunnery-Garden. Duke, Lucretia. Luc. 
In making this appointment,  
I go too far, for one of my profession;  
But I have a divining Soul within me,  
Which tells me, trust reposed in noble natures  
Obliges them the more.  Duke. 
I come to be commanded, not to govern,  
Those few soft words you sent me, have quite altered  
My rugged nature; if it still be violent,  
'Tis only fierce and eager to obey you,  
Like some impetuous flood, which Mastered once,  
With double force bends backward.  
The place of Treaty shows you strongest here;  
For still the vanquished sues for peace abroad,  
While the proud Victor makes his terms at home.  Luc. 
That peace, I see, will not be hard to make  
When either side shows confidence of noble dealing  
From the other.  Duke. 
And this, sure, is our case, since both are met alone.  Luc. 
'Tis mine, Sir, more than yours.  
To meet you single, shows I trust your virtue;  
But you appear distrustful of my Love.  Duke. 
You wrong me much, I am not.  Luc. 
Excuse me, Sir, you keep a curb upon me:  
You awe me with a Letter, which you hold  
As Hostage of my Love; and Hostages  
Are ne'er required but from suspected Faith.  Duke 
We are not yet in terms of perfect peace;  
When e'er you please to seal the Articles,  
Your pledge shall be restored.  Luc. 
That were the way to keep us still at distance;  
For what we fear, we cannot truly love.  Duke. 
But how can I be then secure, that when  
Your fear is o'er your love will still continue?  Luc. 
Make trial of my gratitude; you'll find  
I can acknowledge kindness.  Duke. 
But that were to forego the faster hold  
To take a loose, and weaker.  
Would you not judge him mad who held a Lion  
In chains of Steel, and changed 'em for a twine?  Luc. 
But love is soft,  
Not of the Lion's nature, but the Dove's;  
An Iron chain would hang too heavy on a tender neck.  Duke. 
Since on one side there must be confidence,  
Why may not I expect, as well as you,  
To have it placed in me? Repose your trust  
Upon my Royal word.  Luc. 
As 'tis the privilege of womankind  
That men should court our Love,  
And make the first advances; so it follows  
That you should first oblige; for 'tis our weakness  
Gives us more cause of fear, and therefore you,  
Who are the stronger Sex, should first secure it.  Duke. 
But, Madam, as you talk of fear from me,  
I may as well suspect design from you,  Luc. 
Design▪ of giving you my Love more freely,  
Of making you a Title to my heart,  
Where you by force would reign.  Duke. 
O that I could believe you! but your words  
Are not enough disordered for true love;  
They are not plain, and hearty, as are mine;  
But full of art, and close insinuation:  
You promise all, but give me not one proof  
Of love before; not the least earnest of it.  Luc. 
And, What is then this midnight conversation?  
These silent hours divided from my sleep?  
Nay, more; stolen from my Prayers with Sacrilege,  
And here transferred to you? This guilty hand,  
Which should be used in dropping holy Beads,  
But now, bequeathed to yours? This heaving heart,  
Which only should be throbing for my sins,  
But which now beats uneven time for you?  
These are my arts! and these are my designs!  Duke. 
I love you more, Lucretia, than my Soul;  
Nay, than yours too, for I would venture both  
That I might now enjoy you; and if what  
You ask me did not make me fear to lose you,  
Though it were even my life, you should not be denied it.  Luc. 
Then I will ask no more.  
Keep my Letter, to upbraid me with it;  
To Say, when I am sullied with your Lust,  
And fit to be forsaken, Go, Lucretia,  
To your first love; for this, for this, I leave you.  Duke. 
Oh, Madam, never think that day can come!  Luc. 
It must, it will, I read it in your looks;  
You will betray me when I'm once engaged.  Duke. 
If not my Faith, your Beauty will secure you.  Luc. 
My Beauty is a Flower upon the stalk,  
Goodly to see; but, gathered for the scent,  
And once with eagerness pressed to your nostrils,  
The sweets drawn out, 'tis thrown with scorn away.  
But I am glad I find you out so soon:  
I simply loved, and meant (with shame I own it)  
To trust my Virgin-honour in your hands;  
I asked not wealth, for hire; and, but by chance,  
(I wonder that I thought on't) begged one trial,  
And, but for form, to have pretence to yield,  
And that you have denied me. Farewell: I could  
Have loved you, and yet, perhaps, I—  Duke. 
O speak, speak out, and do not drown that word,  
It seemed as if it would have been a kind one,  
And yours are much too precious to be lost.  Luc. 
Perhaps— I cannot yet leave loving you.  
There 'twas. But I recalled it in my mind,  
And made it false before I gave it Ayr.  
Once more, farewell— I wonot;  
Now I can say I wonot, wonot love you▪ Going.  Duke. 
You shall; and this shall be the Seal of my affection.  Gives the Letter. 
There, take it, my Lucretia; I give it with more joy,  
Than I with grief received it.  Luc. 
Good night; I'll thank you for't some other time.  Duke. 
You'll not abuse my love?  Luc. 
No; but secure my Honour.  Duke. 
I'll force it from your hands. Lucretia runs.  Luc. 
Help, help, or I am ravished; help, for heaven's sake.  Hippolita, Laura, and Violetta within, in several places. 
Within. Help, help Lucretia; they bear away Lucretia by force.  Duke. 
I think there is a Devil in every corner.  Enter Valerio. Val. 
Sir, the design was laid on purpose for you, and all the women placed to cry. Make haste away; avoid the shame for heaven's sake.  Duke 
going. O, I could fire this Monastery!  Enter Frederick and Ascanio. (Frederick entering speaks as to some behind him) Fred. 
Pain of your lives, let none of you presume to enter but myself.  Duke. 
My Son! O, I could burst with spite, and die with shame, to be thus apprehended! this is the baseness and cowardice of guilt: an Army now were not so dreadful to me as that Son, o'er whom the right of Nature gives me power.  Fred. 
Sir, I am come—  Duke. 
To laugh at first, and then to blaze abroad  
The weakness, and the follies of your Father.  Val. 
Sir, he has Men in Arms attending him.  Duke. 
I know my doom then. You have taken a popular occasion; I am now a ravisher of chastity, fit to be made prisoner first, and then deposed.  Fred. 
You will not hear me, Sir.  Duke. 
No, I confess I have deserved my fate;  
For, What had these gray hairs to do with Love?  
Or, if th' unseemly folly would possess me,  
Why should I choose to make my Son my Rival:  Fred. 
Sir, you may add you banished me from Rome,  
And from the light of it, Lucretia's eyes.  Duke. 
Nay, if thou aggravat'st my crimes, thou giv'st  
Me right to justify'em: thou doubly art my slave,  
Both Son and Subject. I can do thee no wrong,  
Nor hast thou right t'arraign or punish me:  
But thou inquirest into thy Father's years;  
Thy swift ambition could not stay my death,  
But must ride post to Empire. Lead me now:  
Thy crimes have made me guiltless to myself,  
And given me face to bear the public scorn.  
You have a guard without?  Fred. 
I have some friends.  Duke. 
Speak plainly your intent.  
I love not a sophisticated truth,  
With an allay of lie in't.  Fred. 
kneeling. This is not, Sir, the posture of a Rebel,  
But of a suppliant, if the Name of Son  
Be too much honour to me.  
What first I purposed, I scarce know myself.  
Love, Anger, and Revenge then rolled within me,  
And yet, even then, I was not hurried farther  
Than to preserve my own.  Duke. 
— Your own! What mean you?  Fred. 
My Love, and my Lucretia; which I thought  
In my then boiling passion, you pursued  
With some injustice, and much violence;  
This led me to repel that force by force.  
'Twas easy to surprise you, when I knew  
Of your intended visit.  Duke. 
— Thank my folly.  Fred. 
But reason now has reassumed its place,  
And makes me see how black a crime it is  
To use a force upon my Prince and Father.  Duke. 
You give me hope you will resign Lucretia.  Fred. 
Ah no: I never can resign her to you;  
But, Sir, I can my life: which, on my knees,  
I tender, as th'atoning Sacrifice.  
Or if your hand (because you are a Father)  
Be loath to take away that life you gave,  
I will redeem your crime, by making it  
My own: So you shall still be innocent, and I  
die blessed, and unindebted for my being.  Duke 
embracing him. O Frederick, you are too much a Son,  
And I too little am a Father: You,  
And you alone, have merited Lucretia.  
'Tis now my only grief,  
I can do nothing to requite this virtue;  
For to restore her to you  
Is not an act of generosity,  
But a scant, niggard Justice; yet I love her  
So much, that even this little which I do  
Is like the bounty of an Usurer;  
High to be prized from me,  
Because 'tis drawn from such a wretched mind.  Fred. 
kissing his hands. You give me now a second, better life;  
But, that the gift may be more easy to you,  
Consider, Sir, Lucretia did not Love you:  
I fear to say ne'er would.  Duke. 
You do well, to help me to o'ercome that difficulty:  
I'll weigh that, too, hereafter. For a love,  
So violent as mine, will ask long time,  
And much of reason, to effect the cure.  
My present care shall be to make you happy;  
For that will make my wish impossible,  
And then the remedies will be more easy.  Enter Sophronia, Lucretia, Violetta, Laura, Hippolita. Soph. 
I have, with joy, o'erheard this happy change,  
And come, with blessings, to applaud your conquest,  
Over the greatest of Mankind, yourself.  Duke. 
I hope 'twill be a full, and lasting one.  Luc. 
kneeling. Thus, let me kneel, and pay my thanks and duty.  
Both to my Prince, and Father?  Duke. 
Rise, rise, too charming Maid; for yet I cannot  
Call you Daughter: that first name, Lucretia,  
Hangs on my lips, and would be still pronounced.  
Look not too kindly on me; one sweet glance,  
Perhaps, would ruin both: therefore, I'll go  
And try to get new strength to bear your eyes.  
Till then, Farewell. Be sure you love my Frederick,  
And do not hate his Father. Exeunt Duke and Valerio.  Fred. 
at the door. Now, friends, you may appear.  Enter Aurelian, Camillo, Benito. 
Your pardon. Madam, that we thus intrude  
On holy ground: yourself best know it could not  
Be avoided, and it shall be my care it be excused.  Soph. 
Though Sovereign Princes bear a privilege,  
Of entering when they please within our walls,  
In others, 'tis a crime past dispensation:  
And therefore, to avoid a public scandal,  
Be pleased, Sir, to retire, and quit this Garden.  Aur. 
We shall obey you, Madam: But, that we may do it with less regret, we hope you will give these Ladies leave to accompany us.  Soph. 
They shall.  
And Nieces, for myself, I only ask you  
To justify my conduct to the world,  
That none may think I have betrayed a trust,  
But freed you from a Tyranny.  Lau. 
Our duty binds us to acknowledge it.  Cam. 
And our gratitude, to witness it.  Vio. 
With a holy, and lasting remembrance of your favour.  Fred. 
And it shall be my care, either by reason to bend your Unckle's will, or, by my Father's interest, to force your Dowry from his hands.  Ben. 
to Aur. Pray, Sir, let us make haste over these Walls again, these Gardens are unlucky to me: I have lost my reputation of Music in the one of 'em, and of wit in the other.  Aur. 
to Lau. Now, Laura, you may take your choice betwixt the two Benitoes, and consider whether you had rather he should Serenade you in the Garden, or I in Bed to night.  Lau. 
You may be sure I shall give Sentence for Benito; for, the effect of your Serenading would be to make me pay the Music nine Months hence.  Hip. 
to Asca. You see, Brother, here's a General Jayle-delivery: there has been a great deal of bustle and disturbance in the Cloister to night; enough to distract a Soul which is given up, like me, to contemplation: and therefore, if you think fit, I could e'en be content to retire, with you, into the World; and, by way of Penance, to Marry you; which, as Husbands and Wives go now, is a greater Mortification than a Nunnery.  Asca. 
No, Sister, if you love me, keep to your Monastery: I'll come now and then to the Grate and beg you a Recreation. But I know myself so well, that, if I had you one twelve Month in the world, I should run myself into a Cloister, to be rid of you.  Soph. 
Nieces, once more farewell. Adieu, Lucretia:  
My wishes and my prayers attend you all.  Luc. 
to Fred. I am so fearful,  
That, though I gladly run to your embraces,  
Yet, venturing in the World a second time,  
Methinks I put to Sea in a rough storm,  
With shipwrecks round about me.  Fred. 
My Dear, be kinder to yourself, and me,  
And let not fear fright back our coming joys;  
For we, at length, stand reconciled to fare:  
And now to fear, when to such bliss we move,  
Were not to doubt our Fortune, but our Love.    

Epilogue.  
SOme have expected from our Bills to day  
To find a Satire in our Poet's Play.  
The Zealous Rout from Coleman-street did run,  
To see the Story of the Friar and Nun.  
Or Tales, yet more Ridiculous to hear,  
Vouched by their Vicar of Ten pounds a year;  
Of Nuns, who did against Temptation Pray,  
And Discipline laid on the Pleasant way:  
Or that to please the Malice of the Town,  
Our Poet should in some close Cell have shown  
Some Sister, Playing at Content alone:  
This they did hope; the other side did fear,  
And both you see alike are Cozened here.  
Some thought the Title of our Play to blame,  
They liked the thing, but yet abhorred the Name:  
Like Modest Punks, who all you ask afford,  
But, for the World, they would not name that word.  
Yet, if you'll credit what I heard him say,  
Our Poet meant no Scandal in his Play;  
His Nuns are good which on the Stage are shown,  
And, sure, behind our Scenes you'll look for none.  
FINIS.