AN Evening's Love, OR THE Mock-Astrologer. Acted at the THEATER ROYAL, BY HIS MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.  
WRITTEN BY JOHN DRYDEN, Servant to His Majesty.  Mallem Convivis quàm placuisse Cocis. Mart. 
In the SAVOY, Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at the Anchor in the lower Walk of the New Exchange, 1671.   

TO HIS GRACE, WILLIAM, DUKE of NEW CASTLE, One of his majesty's most Honourable Privy Council; and of the most noble Order of the Garter, etc.  
AMongst those few persons of Wit and Honour, whose favourable opinion I have desired, your own virtue and my great obligations to your Grace, have justly given you the precedence. For what could be more glorious to me, than to have acquired some part of your esteem, who are admired and honoured by all good men; who have been, for so many years together, the Pattern and Standard of Honour to the Nation: and whose whole life has been so great an example of Heroic virtue, that we might wonder how it happened into an Age so corrupt as ours, if it had not likewise been a part of the former? as you came into the world with all the advantages of a noble Birth and Education, so you have rendered both, yet more conspicuous by your virtue. Fortune, indeed, has perpetually crowned your undertakings with success, but she has only waited on your valour, not conducted it. She has ministered to your glory like a slave, and has been led in triumph by it. or at most while Honour led you by the hand to greatness, fortune only followed to keep you from sliding back in the ascent. That which Plutarch accounted her favour to Cymon and Lucullus, was but her justice to your Grace: and, never to have been overcome where you led in person, as it was more than Hannibal could boast; so it was all that providence could do for that party which it had resolved to ruin. Thus, my Lord, the last smiles of victory were on your arms: and, every where else, declaring for the Rebels, she seemed to suspend herself, and to doubt, before she took her flight, whether she were able wholly to abandon that cause for which you fought.  
But the greatest trials of your Courage and Constancy were yet to come: many had ventured their fortunes, and exposed their lives to the utmost dangers for their King and Country, who ended their loyalty with the War: and submitting to the iniquity of the times, chose rather to redeem their former plenty by acknowledging an Usurper, then to suffer with an unprofitable fidelity (as those meaner spirits called it) for their lawful Sovereign. But, as I dare not accuse so many of our Nobility, who were content to accept their Patrimonies from the Clemency of the Conqueror, and to retain only a secret veneration for their Prince, amidst the open worship which they were forced to pay to the Usurper, who had dethroned him; so, I hope, I may have leave to extol that virtue which acted more generously; and which was not satisfied with an inward devotion to Monarchy, but produced itself to view, and asserted the cause by open martyrdom. Of these rare patterns of loyalty your Grace was chief: those examples you could not find, you made. Some few Cato's there were with you whose invincible resolution could not be conquered by that usurping Caesar: your virtue opposed itself to his fortune, and overcame it by not submitting to it. The last and most difficult Enterprise he had to effect, when he had conquered three Nations, was to subdue your spirits: and he died weary of that War, and unable to finish it.  
In the mean time you lived more happily in your exile then the other on his Throne: your loyalty made you friends and servants amongst Foreigners: and you lived plentifully without a fortune; for you lived on your own desert and reputation. The glorious Name of the valiant and faithful Newcastle was a Patrimony which could never be exhausted.  
Thus, my Lord, the morning of your life was clear, and calm; and, though it was afterwards overcast; yet, in that general storm, you were never without a shelter. And now you are happily arrived to the evening of a day as serene, as the dawn of it was glorious: but such an evening as, I hope, and almost prophesy, is far from night: 'Tis the Evening of a Summer's Sun, which keeps the daylight long within the skies. The health of your body is maintained by the vigour of your mind: neither does the one shrink from the fatigue of exercise, nor the other bend under the pains of study. Methinks I behold in you another Caius Marius, who in the extremity of his age, exercised himself almost every morning in the Campus Martius, amongst the youthful Nobility of Rome. And afterwards, in your retirements, when you do honour to Poetry, by employing part of your leisure in it, I regard you as another Silius Italicus, who having passed over his Consulship with applause, dismissed himself from business and from the Gown, and employed his age, amongst the shades, in the reading and imitation of Virgil.  
In which, lest any thing should be wanting to your happiness, you have, by a rare effect of Fortune, found, in the person of your excellent Lady, not only a Lover, but a Partner of your studies. A Lady whom our Age may justly equal with the Sapph of the Greeks, or the Sulpitia of the Romans. Who, by being taken into your bosom, seems to be inspired with your Genius: And by writing the History of your life in so masculine a style, has already placed you in the Number of the Heroes. She has anticipated that great portion of Fame which envy often hinders a living virtue from possessing: which would, indeed, have been given to your ashes, but with a latter payment: and, of which you could have no present use, except it were by a secret presage of that which was to come, when you were no longer in a possibility of knowing it. So that if that were a praise or satisfaction to the greatest of Emperors, which the most judicious of Poets gives him,  
Praesenti tibi maturos largimur honores, etc.  
That the adoration which was not allowed to Hercules and Romulus till after death, was given to Augustus living; then certainly it cannot be denied but that your Grace has received a double satisfaction: the one, to see yourself consecrated to immortality while you are yet alive: the other, to have your praises celebrated by so dear, so just, and so pious an Historian.  
'Tis the consideration of this that stops my pen: though I am loath to leave so fair a subject, which gives me as much field as Poetry could wish; and yet no more than truth can justify. But to attempt any thing of a Panegyric were to enterprise on your Lady's right; and to seem to affect those praises, which none but the Duchess of Newcastle can deserve, when she writes the actions of her Lord. I shall therefore leave that wider space, and contract myself to those narrow bounds which best become my Fortune and Employment.  
I am obliged, my Lord, to return you not only my own acknowledgements; but to thank you in the name of former Poets. The manes of Johnson and D'avenant seem to require it from me, that those favours which you placed on them, and which they wanted opportunity to own in public, yet might not be lost to the knowledge of Posterity, with a forgetfulness unbecoming of the Muses, who are the Daughters of Memory. And give me leave, my Lord, to avow so much of vanity, as to say, I am proud to be their Remembrancer: for, by relating how gracious you have been to them, and are to me, I in some measure join my name with theirs: and the continued descent of your favours to me is the best title which I can plead for my succession. I only wish, that I had as great reason to be satisfied with myself, in the return of our common acknowledgements, as your Grace may justly take in the conferring them: for I cannot but be very sensible that the present of an ill Comedy, which I here make you, is a very unsuitable way of giving thanks for them, who themselves have written so many better. This pretends to nothing more than to be a foil to those Scenes, which are composed by the most noble Poet of our Age, and Nation: and to be set as a water-mark of the lowest ebb, to which the wit of my Predecessors has sunk and run down in me: but, though all of 'em have surpassed me in the Scene; there is one part of glory in which I will not yield to any of them. I mean, my Lord, that honour and veneration which they had for you in their lives; and which I preserve after them, more holily than the Vestal fires were maintained from Age to Age; but with a greater degree of heat and of devotion than theirs, as being with more respect and passion than they ever were  
Your GRACES most obliged, most humble, and most obedient Servant JOHN DRYDEN.   

PREFACE.  
I Had thought, Reader, in this Preface to have written somewhat concerning the difference betwixt the Plays of our Age, and those of our Predecessors on the English Stage: to have shown in what parts of Dramatic Poesy we were excelled by Ben. Johnson, I mean, humour, and contrivance of Comedy; and in what we may justly claim precedence of Shakespeare and Fletcher, namely in Heroic Plays: but this design I have waved on second considerations; at least deferred it till I publish the Conquest of Granada, where the discourse will be more proper. I had also prepared to treat of the improvemeni of our Language since Fletcher's and Johnson's days, and consequently of our refining the Courtship, Raillery, and Conversation of Plays: but as I am willing to decline that envy which I should draw on myself from some old Opiniatre judges of the Stage; so likewise I am pressed in time so much that I have not leisure, at present, to go thorough with it. Neither, indeed, do I value a reputation gained from Comedy, so far as to concern myself about it any more than I needs must in my own defence: for I think it, in its own noture, inferior to all sorts of Dramatic writing. Low Comedy especially requires, on the Writers part, much of conversation with the vulgar: and much of ill nature in the observation of their follies. But let all men please themselves according to their several tastes: that which is not pleasant to me may be to others who judge better: and, to prevent an accusation from my enemies, I am sometimes ready to imagine that my disgust of low Comedy proceeds not so much from my judgement as from my temper; which is the reason why I so seldom write it; and that when I succeed in it, (I mean so far as to please the Audience) yet I am nothing satisfied with what I have done; but am often vexed to hear the people laugh, and clap, as they perpetually do, where I intended 'em no jest; while they let pass the better things without taking notice of them. Yet even this confirms me in my opinion of slighting popular applause, and of contemning that approbation which those very people give, equally with me, to the Zany of a Mountebank; or to the appearance of an Antic on the Theatre, without wit on the Poet's part, or any occasion of laughter from the Actor, besides the ridiculousness of his habit and his Grimaces.  
But I have descended before I was aware, from Comedy to Farce; which consists principally of Grimaces. That I admire not any Comedy equally with Tragedy, is, perhaps, from the sullenness of my humour; but that I detest those Farees, which are now the most frequent entertainments of the Stage, I am sure I have reason on my side. Comedy consists, though of low persons, yet of natural actions, and characters; I mean such humours, adventures, and designs, as are to be found and met with in the world. Farce, on the other side, consists of forced humours, and unnatural events: Comedy presents us with the imperfections of humane nature. Farce entertains us with what is monstruous and chimerical: the one causes laughter in those who can judge of men and manners; by the lively representation of their folly or corruption; the other produces the same effect in those who can judge of neither, and that only by its extravagances. The first works on the judgement and fancy; the latter on the fancy only: There is more of satisfaction in the former kind of laughter, and in the latter more of scorn. But, how it happens that an impossible adventure should cause our mirth, I cannot so easily imagine. Something there may be in the oddness of it, because on the Stage it is the common effect of things unexpected to surprise us into a delight: and that is to be ascribed to the strange appetite, as I may call it, of the fancy; which, like that of a longing Woman, often runs out into the most extravagant desires; and is better satisfied sometimes with Loam, or with the Rinds of Trees, than with the wholesome nourishments of life. In short, there is the same difference betwixt Farce and Comedy, as betwixt an Empirique and a true Physician: both of them may attain their ends; but what the one performs by hazard, the other does by skill. And as the Artist is often unsuccessful, while the Mountebank succeeds; so Farces more commonly take the people than Comedies. For to write unnatural things, is the most probable way of pleasing them, who understand not Nature. And a true Poet often misses of applause, because he cannot debase himself to write so ill as to please his Audience.  
After all, it is to be acknowledged, that most of those Comedies, which have been lately written, have been allied too much to Farce: and this must of necessity fall out till we forbear the translation of French Plays: for their Poets wanting judgement to make, or to maintain true characters, strive to cover their defects with ridiculous Figures and Grimaces. While I say this I accuse myself as well as others: and this very play would rise up in judgement against me, if I would the fend all things I have written to be natural: but I confess I have given too much to the people in it, and am ashamed for them as well as for myself, that I have pleased them at so cheap a rate: not that there is anything here which I would not defend to an ill-natured judge: (for I despise their censures, who I am sure would write worse on the same subject:) but because I love to deal clearly and plainly, and to speak of my own faults withmore criticism, than I would of another Poets. Yet I think it no vanity to say that this Comedy has as much of entertainment in as it many other which have been lately written: and, if I find my own errors in it, I am able at the same time to arraign all my Contemporaries for greater. As I pretend not that I can write humour, so none of them can reasonably pretend to have written it as they ought. Johnson was the only man of all Ages and Nations woe has performed it well; and that but in three or four of his Comedies: the rest are but a Crambe bis cocta; the same humours a little varied and written worse: neither was it more allowable in him, than it is in our present Poets, to represent the follies of particular persons; of which many have accused him. Parcere personis dicere de vitiis is the rule of Plays. And Horace tells you that the old Comedy amongst the Grecians was silenced for the too great liberties of the Poets.  
—— In vitium libertas excidit & vim  
Dignam lege regi: lex est accepta chorusque  
Turpiter obticuit, sublato jure nocendi.  
Of which he gives you the reason in another place: where having given the precept.  Neve immunda crepent, ignominiosáque dicta: 
He immediately subjoins,  Offenduntur enim, quibus est equus, & pater, & res. 
But Ben. Johnson is to be admired for many excellencies; and can be taxed with fewer failings than any English Poet. I know I have been accused as an enemy of his writings; but without any other reason than that I do not admire him blindly, and without looking into his imperfections. For why should he only be exempted from those frailties, from which Homer and Virgil are not free? Or why should there be any ipse dixit in our Poetry, any more than there is in our Philosophy? I admire and applaud him where I ought: those who do more do but value themselves in their admiration of him: and, by telling you they extol Ben. Johnson s way, would insinuate to you that they can practise it. For my part I declare that I want judgement to imitate him: and should think it a great impudence in myself to attempt it. To make men appear pleasantly ridiculous on the Stage was, as I have said, his talon: and in this he needed not the acumen of wit, but that of judgement. For the characters and representations of folly are only the effects of observation; and observation is an effect of judgement. Some ingenious men, for whom I have a particular esteem, have thought I have much injured Ben. Johnson when I have not allowed his wit to be extraordinary: but they confound the notion of what is witty with what is pleasant. That Ben. Johnson's Plays were pleasant he must want reason who denies: But that pleasantness was not properly wit, or the sharpness of conceit; but the natural imitation of folly: which I confess to be excellent in its kind, but not to be of that kind which they pretend. Yet if we will believe Quintilian in his Chapter de Movendo risu, he gives his opinion of both in these following words. Stulta reprehendere facillimum est; nam per se sunt ridicula: & a derisu non procul abest risus: sed rem urbanam facit aliqua ex nobis adjectio.  
And some perhaps would be apt to say of Johnson as it was said of Demosthenes; Non displicuisse illi jocos, sed non contigisse, I will not deny but that I approve most the mixed way of Comedy; that which is neither all wit, nor all humour, but the result of both. Neither so little of humour as Fletcher shows, nor so little of love and wit, as Johnson. Neither all cheat, with which the best Plays of the one are filled, nor all adventure, which is the common practice of the other. I would have the characters well chosen, and kept distant from interfaring with each other; which is more than Fletcher or Shakespeare did: but I would have more of the Urbana, venusta, salsa, faceta and the rest which Quintilian reckons up as the ornaments of wit; and these are extremely wanting in Ben. Johnson. As for reparty in particular; as it is the very soul of conversation, so it is the greatest grace of Comedy, where it is proper to the Characters: there may be much of acuteness in a thing well said; but there is more in a quick reply: sunt, enim, longè venustiora omnia in respondendo quàm in provocando. Of one thing I am sure, that no man ever will decry wit, but he who despairs of it himself; and who has no other quarrel to it but that which the Fox had to the Grapes. Yet, as Mr. Cowley, (who had a greater portion of it than any man I know) tells us in his Character of Wit, rather than all wit let there be none; I think there's no folly so great in any Poet of our Age as the superfluity and waist of wit was in some of our predecessors: particularly we may say of Fletcher and of Shakespeare, what was said of Ovid, In omni ejus ingenio, facilius quod rejici, quàm quod adjici potest, invenies. The contrary of which was true in Virgil and our incomparable Johnson.  
Some enemies of reparty have observed to us, that there is a great latitude in their Characters, which are made to speak it: And that it is easier to write wit than humour; because in the characters of humour, the Poet is confined to make the person speak what is only proper to it. Whereas all kind of wit is proper in the Character of a witty person. But, by their favour, there are as different characters in wit as in folly. Neither is all kind of wit proper in the mouth of every ingenious person. A witty Coward and a witty Brave must speak differently. Falstaff and the Liar, speak not like Don John in the Chances, and Valentine in Wit without Money. And Johnson's Truwit in the Silent Woman, is a Character different from all of them. Yet it appears that this one Character of Wit was more difficult to the Author, than all his images of humour in the Play: For those he could describe and manage from his observation of men; this he has taken, at least a part of it, from books: witness the Specches in the first Act, translated verbatim out of Ovid de Arte Amandi. To omit what afterwards he borrowed from the sixth Satire of Juvenal against Women.  
However, if I should grant, that there were a greater latitude in Characters of Wit, than in those of Humour; yet that latitude would be of small advantage to such Poets who have too narrow an imagination to write it. And to entertain an Audience perpetually with Humour, is to carry them from the conversation of Gentlemen, and treat them with the follies and extravagances of Bedlam.  
I find I have launched out farther than I intended in the beginning of this Preface. And that in the heat of writing, I have touched at something, which I thought to have avoided. 'Tis time now to draw homeward: and to think rather of defending myself, than assaulting others. I have already acknowledged that this Play is far from perfect: but I do not think myself obliged to discover the imperfections of it to my Adversaries, any more than a guilty person is bound to accuse himself before his Judges. 'Tis charged upon me that I make debauched persons (such as they say my ginger and Gamester are) my Protagonists, or the chief persons of the Drama; and that I make them happy in the conclusion of my Play; against the Law of Comedy, which is to reward virtue and punish vice. I answer first, that I know no such law to have been constantly observed in Comedy, either by the Ancient or Modern Poets. Choerea is made happy in the Eunuch, after having deflowered a Virgin: and Terence generally does the same through all his Plays, where you perpetually see, not only debauched young men enjoy their Mistresses, but even the Courtesans themselves rewarded and honoured in the Catastrophe. The same may be observed in Plautus almost every where. Ben. Johnson himself, after whom I may be proud to err, has given me more than once the example of it. That in the Alchemist is notorious, where Face, after having contrived and carried on the great cozenage of the Play, and continued in it without repentance to the last, is not only forgiven by his Master, but enriched by his consent, with the spoils of those whom he had cheated. And, which is more, his Master himself, a grave man, and a Widower, is introduced taking his Man's counsel, debauching the Widow first, in hope to marry her afterward. In the Silent Woman, Dauphine, (who with the other two Gentlemen, is of the same Character with my Celadon in the Maiden Queen, and with Wildblood in this) professes himself in love with all the Collegiate Ladies: and they likewise are all of the same Character with each other, excepting only Madam Otter, who has something singular:) yet this naughty Dauphine is crowned in the end with the possession of his Uncle's Estate, and with the hopes of enjoying all his Mistresses. And his friend Mr. Truwit (the best Character of a Gentleman which Ben. Johnson ever made) is not ashamed to pimp for him. As for Beaumond and Fletcher, I need not allege examples out of them; for that were to quote almost all their Comedies. But now it will be objected that I patronise vice by the authority of former Poets, and extenuate my own faults by recrimination. I answer that as I defend myself by their example; so that example I defend by reason, and by the end of all Dramatic Poesy. In the first place therefore give me leave to show you their mistake who have accused me. They have not distinguished, as they ought, betwixt-the rules of Tragedy and Comedy. In Tragedy, where the Actions and Persons are great, and the crimes horrid, the laws of justice are more strictly to be observed: and examples of punishment to be made to deter mankind from the pursuit of vice. Faults of this kind have been rare amongst the Ancient Poets: for they have punished in Oedipus, and in his posterity, the sin which he knew not he had committed. Medea is the only example I remember at present, who escapes from punishment after murder. Thus Tragedy fulfils one great part of its institution; which is by example to instruct. But in Comedy it is not so; for the chief end of it is divertisement and delight: and that so much, that it is disputed, I think, by Heinsius, before Horace his art of Poetry, whether instruction be any part of its employment. At least I am sure it can be but its secondary end: for the business of the Poet is to make you laugh: when he writes humour he makes folly ridiculous; when wit, he moves you, if not always to laughter, yet to a pleasure that is more noble. And if he works a cure on folly, and the small imperfections in mankind, by exposing them to public view, that cure is not performed by an immediate operation. For it works first on the ill nature of the Audience; they are moved to laugh by the representation of deformity; and the shame of that laughter, teaches us to amend what is ridiculous in our manners. This being, then, established, that the first end of Comedy is delight, and instruction only the second; it may reasonably be inferred that Comedy is not so much obliged to the punishment of the faults which it represents, as Tragedy. For the persons in Comedy are of a lower quality, the action is little, and the faults and vices are but the sallies of youth, and the frailties of humane nature, and not premeditated crimes: such to which all men are obnoxious, not such, as are attempted only by few, and those abandonned to all sense of virtue: such as move pity and commiseration; not detestation and horror; such in short as may be forgiven, not such as must of necessity be punished. But, lest any man should think that I write this to make libertinism amiable; or that I cared not to debase the end and institution of Comedy, so I might thereby maintain my own errors, and those of better Poets; I must farther declare, both for them and for myself, that we make not vicious persons happy, but only as heaven makes sinners so: that is by reclaiming them first from vice. For so 'tis to be supposed they are, when they resolve to marry; for then enjoying what they desire in one, they cease to pursue the love of many. So Chaerea is made happy by Terence, in marrying her whom he had deflowered: And so are Wildblood and the ginger in this Play.  
There is another crime with which I am charged, at which I am yet much less concerned, because it does not relate to my manners, as the former did, but only to my reputation as a Poet: A name of which I assure the Reader I am nothing proud; and therefore cannot be very solicitous to defend it. I am taxed with stealing all my Plays, and that by some who should be the last men from whom I would steal any part of 'em. There is one answer which I will not make; but it has been made for me by him to whose Grace and Patronage I owe all things.  
Et spes & ratio studiorum, in Caesare tantum.  
And without whose command they should no longer be troubled with any thing of mine, that he only desired that they who accused me of theft would always steal him Plays like mine. But though I have reason to be proud of this defence, yet I should wave it, because I have a worse opinion of my own Comedies than any of my Enemies can have. 'Tis true, that where ever I have liked any story in a Romance, Novel, or foreign Play, I have made no difficulty, nor ever shall, to take the foundation of it, to build it up, and to make it proper for the English Stage. And I will be so vain to say it has lost nothing in my hands: But it always cost me so much trouble to heighten it, for our Theatre (which is incomparably more curious in all the ornaments of Dramatic Poesy, than the French or Spanish) that when I had finished my Play, it was like the Hulk of Sir Francis Drake, so strangely altered, that there scarce remained any Plank of the Timber which first built it. To witness this I need go no farther than this Play: It was first Spanish, and called El Astrologo fingido; then made French by the younger Corneille: and is now translated into English, and in print, under the name of the Feigned ginger. What I have performed in this will best appear by comparing it with those: you will see that I have rejected some adventures which I judged were not divertising: that I have heightened those which I have chosen, and that I have added others which were neither in the French nor Spanish. And besides yoù will easily discover that the Walk of the ginger is the least considerable in my Play: for the design of it turns more on the parts of Wildblood and Jacinta, who are the chief persons in it. I have farther to add, that I seldom use the wit and language of any Romance, or Play which I undertake to alter: because my own invention (as bad as it is) can furnish me with nothing so dull as what is there. Those who have called Virgil, Terence, and Tasso Plagiaries (though they much injured them,) had yet a better colour for their accusation: For Virgil has evidently translated Theocritus, Hesiod, and Homer, in many places; besides what he has taken from Ennius in his own language. Terence was not only known to translate Menander, (which he avows also in his Prologues) but was said also to be help' in those Translations by Scipio the African, and Laelius. And Tasso, the most excellent of modern Poets, and whom I reverence next to Virgil, has taken both from Homer many admirable things which were left untouched by Virgil, and from Virgil himself where Homer could not furnish him. Yet the bodies of Virgil's and Tasso's Poems were their own: and so are all the Ornaments of language and elocution in them. The same (if there were any thing commendable in this Play) I could say for it. But I will come nearer to our own Countrymen. Most of Shakespear's Plays, I mean the Stories of them, are to be found in the Hecatommuthi, or hundred Novels of Cinthio. I have, myself, read in his Italian, that of Romeo and Juliet, the Moor of Venice, and many others of them. Beaumond and Fletcher had most of theirs from Spanish Novels: witness the Chances, the Spanish Curate, Rule a Wife and have a Wife, the Little French Lawyer, and so many others of them as compose the greatest part of their Volume in folio. Ben. Johnson, indeed, has designed his Plots himself; but no man has borrowed so much from the Ancients as he has done: And he did well in it, for he has thereby beautified our language.  
But these little Critics do not well consider what is the work of a Poet, and what the Graces of a Poem: The Story is the least part of either: I mean the foundation of it, before it is modelled by the art of him who writes it; who forms it with more care, by exposing only the beautiful parts of it to view, than a skilful Lapidary sets a Jewel. On this foundation of the Story the Characters are raised: and, since no Story can afford Characters enough for the variety of the English Stage, it follows that it is to be altered, and enlarged, with new persons, accidents, and designs, which will almost make it new. When this is done, the forming it into Acts, and Scenes, disposing of actions and passións into their proper places, and beautifying both with descriptions, similitudes, and propriety of language, is the principal employment of the Poet; as being the largest field of fancy, which is the principal quality required in him: For so much the word 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 employs. Judgement, indeed, is necessary in him; but 'tis fancy that gives the life touches, and the secret graces to it; especially in serious Plays, which depend not much on observation. For to write humour in Comedy (which is the theft of Poets from mankind) little of fancy is required; the Poet observes only what is ridiculous, and pleasant folly, and by judging exactly what is so, he pleases in the representation of it.  
But in general, the employment of a Poet, is like that of a curious Gunsmith, or Watchmaker: the Iron or Silver is not his own; but they are the least part of that which gives the value: The price lies wholly in the workmanship. And he who works dully on a Story, without moving laughter in a Comedy, or raising concernments in a serious Play, is no more to be accounted a good Poet, than a Gunsmith of the Minories is to be compared with the best workman of the Town.  
But I have said more of this than I intended; and more, perhaps, than I needed to have done: I shall but laugh at them hereafter, who accuse me with so little reason; and withal contemn their dulness, who, if they could ruin that little reputation I have got, and which I value not, yet would want both wit and learning to establish their own; or to be remembered in after ages for any thing, but only that which makes them ridiculous in this.   

Prologue.  

WHen first our Poet set himself to write,  
Like a young Bridegroom on his Wedding-night  
He laid about him, and did so bestir him,  
His Muse could never lie in quiet for him:  
But now his Honeymoon is gone and passed,  
Yet the ungrateful drudgery must last:  
And he is bound, as civil Husbands do,  
To strain himself, in complaisance to you:  
To write in pain, and counterfeit a bliss,  
Like the faint smacking of an after kiss.  
But you, like Wives ill pleased, supply his want;  
Each writing Monsieur is a fresh Gallant:  
And though, perhaps, 'twas done as well before,  
Yet still there's something in a new amour.  
Your several Poets work with several tools,  
One gets you wits, another gets you fools:  
This pleases you with some by-stroke of wit,  
This finds some cranny, that was never hit.  
But should these janty Lovers daily come  
To do your work, like your good man at home,  
Their fine small-timbered wits would soon decay;  
These are Gallants but for a Holiday.  
Others you had who oftener have appeared,  
Whom, for mere impotence you have cashiered:  
Such as at first came on with pomp and glory,  
But, overstraining, soon fell flat before ye.  
Their useless weight with patience long was born,  
But at the last you threw 'em off with scorn.  
As for the Poet of this present night,  
Though now he claims in you an Husbands right,  
He will not hinder you of fresh delight.  
He, like a Seaman, seldom will appear;  
And means to trouble home but thrice a year:  
That only time from your Gallants he'll borrow;  
Be kind to day, and Cuckold him to morrow.    

Persons Represented.  
MEN. By Wildblood, Two young English Gentlemen. Mr. Hart. Bellamy, Mr. Mohun. Maskall, Their Servant. Mr. Shatterell. Don Alonzo de Ribera, an old Spanish Gentleman. Mr. Wintershall. Don Lopez de Gamboa, a young Noble Spaniard. Mr. Burt. Don Melchor de Guzman, A Gentleman of a great Family; but of a decayed fortune. Mr. Lydall.  
WOMEN. By Donna Theodosia, Daughters to Don Alonzo. Mrs. Bowtell. Donna Jacintha, Mrs. Ellen Guynn. Donna Aurelia, Their Cousin Mrs. Martial; and formerly by Mrs. Quin. Beatrix, Woman and Confident to the two Sisters Mrs. Knopp. Camilla, Woman to Aurelia. Mrs. Betty Slate.  
Servants to Don Lopez, and Don Alonzo.  
The Scene Madrid, in the Year 1665.  
The Time the last Evening of the Carnival.   

AN EVENING'S LOVE, OR THE Mock-Astrologer.  

ACT. I. SCENE I.  Don Lopez, and a Servant, walking over the Stage. Enter another Servant, and follows him. Ser. 
Done Lopez?  Lop. 
Any new business.  Ser. 
My Master had forgot this Letter.  
Which he conjures you, as you are his friend,  
To give Aurelia from him.  Lop. 
Tell Don Melchor 'tis a hard task which he enjoins me:  
He knows I love her, and much more than he;  
For I love her alone, but he divides  
His passion betwixt two: Did he consider  
How great a pain 'tis to dissemble love,  
He would never practise it.  Ser. 
He knows his fault; but cannot mend it.  Lop. 
To make the poor Aurelia believe  
He's gone for Flanders, whiles he lies concealed,  
And every night makes visits to her Cousin.  
When will he leave this strange extravagance?  Ser. 
When he can love one more, or t'other less.  Lop. 
Before I loved myself, I promised him  
To serve him in his love; and I'll perform it,  
How e'er repugnant to my own concernments.  Seru. 
You are a noble Cavalier.  Exit Servant. Enter Bellamy, Wildblood, Maskall. 2d. Ser. 
Sir, your Guests of the English Embassador's Retinue.  Lop. 
Cavaliers, will you please to command my Coach to take the air this Evening?  Bell. 
We have not yet resolved how to dispose of ourselves; but however we are highly acknowledging to you for your civility.  Lop. 
You cannot more oblige me then by laying your commands on me.  Wild. 
We kiss your hands.  Exit Lopez cum Servo. Bell. 
Give the Don his due, he entertained us nobly this Carnival.  Wild. 
Give the Devil the Don for any thing I liked in his Entertainment.  Bell. 
I hope we had variety enough.  Wild. 
ay, it looked like variety, till we came to taste it; there were twenty several dishes to the eye, but in the palate nothing but Spices. I had a mind to eat of a Pheasant, and as soon as I got it into my mouth, I found I was chawing a limb of Cinnamon; then I went to cut a piece of Kid, and no sooner it had touched my lips, but it turned to red Pepper: at last I began to think myself another kind of Midas, that every thing I touched should be turned to Spice.  Bell. 
And for my part, I imagined his Catholic Majesty had invited us to eat his Indies. But prithee let's leave the discourse of it, and contrive together how we may spend the Evening; for in this hot Country, 'tis as in the Creation, the Evening and the Morning make the Day.  Wild. 
I have a little serious business.  Bell. 
Put it off till a fitter season: for the truth is, business is then only tolerable, when the world and the flesh have no baits to set before us for the day.  Wild. 
But mine perhaps is public business.  Bell. 
Why, is any business more public than drinking and wenching? Look on those grave plodding fellows, that pass by us as though they were meditating the reconquest of Flanders: fly'em to a Mark, and I'll undertake three parts of four are going to their Courtesans. I tell thee, Jack, the whisking of a Silk-Gown, and the rash of a Tabby-Pettycoat, are as comfortable sounds to one of these rich Citizens, as the chink of their Pieces of Eight.  Wild. 
This being granted to be the common design of humane kind, 'tis more than probable 'tis yours; therefore I'll leave you to the prosecution of it.  Bell. 
Nay, good Jack, mine is but a Mistress in Embryo; the possession of her is at least some ten days off, and till that time, thy company will be pleasant, and may be profitable to carry on the work. I would use thee like an under kind of Chemist, to blow the coals; 'twill be time enough for me to be alone when I come to projection.  Wild. 
You must excuse me, Frank; I have made an appointment at the Gameing-house.  Bell. 
What to do there I prithee? to misspend that money which kind fortune intended for a Mistress? or to learn new Oaths and Curses to carry into England? that is not it— I heard you were to marry when you left home: perhaps that may be still running in your head, and keep you virtuous.  Wild. 
Marriage quoth a! what dost thou think I have been bred in the Deserts of afric, or among the Savages of America? nay, if I had, I must needs have known better things than so; the light of Nature would not have let me gone so far astray.  Bell. 
Well! what think you of the Prado this Evening?  Wild. 
Pox upon't, 'tis worse than our contemplative Hyde-park.  Bell. 
O! but we must submit to the Custom of the Country for courtship: what ever the means are, we are sure the end is still the same in all places. But who are these?  Enter Don Alonzo de Ribera, with his two Daughters Theodosia and Jacinta, and Beatrix their Woman, passing by. Theo. 
Do you see those strangers, Sister, that eye us so earnestly?  Jac. 
Yes, and I guess 'em to be feathers of the English Embassador's Train; for I think I saw 'em at the grand Audience— And have the strangest temptation in the world to talk to 'em: A mischief on this modesty.  Beat. 
A mischief of this Father of yours that haunts you so.  Jac. 
'Tis very true Beatrix; for though I am the younger Sister, I should have the grace to lay modesty first aside: however, Sister, let us pull up our Vails and give 'em an Essay of our faces.  They pull up their Vails, and pull 'em down again. Wild. 
Ah Bellamy! undone, undone! dost thou see those Beauties?  Bell. 
Prithee Wildblood hold thy tongue, and do not spoil my contemplation; I am undoing myself as fast as e'er I can too.  Wild. 
I must go to 'em.  Bell. 
Hold Madman; dost thou not see their father? hast thou a mind to have our throats cut?  Wild. 
By a Hector of fourscore? Hang our throats, what a Lover and cautious?  Is going towards them. Alon. 
Come away Daughters, we shall be late else.  Bell. 
Look you, they are on the wing already.  Wild. 
Prithee, dear Frank, let's follow 'em: I long to know who they are.  Mask. 
Let me alone, I'll dog 'em for you.  Bell. 
I am glad on't, for my shoes so pinch me, I can scarce go a step farther.  Wild. 
'cross the way there lives a Shoemaker: away quickly, that we may not spoil our man's design.  Ex. Bell. Wild. Alon. offers to go off.— 
Now friend! what's your business to follow us?  Mask. 
Noble Don; 'tis only to recommend my service to you: A certain violent passion I have had for your worship since the first moment that I saw you.  Alon. 
I never saw thee before to my remembrance.  Mask. 
No matter Sir; true love never stands upon ceremony.  Alon. 
Prithee begone my saucy companion, or I'll clap an Alguazile upon thy heels; I tell thee I have no need of thy service.  Mask. 
Having no servant of your own, I cannot in good manners leave you destitute.  Alon. 
I'll beat thee if thou follow'st me.  Mask. 
I am your Spaniel Sir, the more you beat me, the better I'll wait on you.  Alon. 
Let me entreat thee to be gone; the boys will hoot at me to see me followed thus against my will.  Mask. 
Shall you and I concern ourselves for what the Boys do, Sir? Pray do you hear the news at Court?  Alon. 
Prithee what's the news to thee or me?  Mask. 
Will you be at the next Juego de cannas?  Alon. 
If I think good.  Mask. 
Pray go on Sir, we can discourse as we walk together: And whither were you now a going, Sir?  Alon. 
To the Devil I think.  Mask. 
O! not this year or two, Sir, by your age.  Jac. 
My Father was never so matched for talking in all his life before; he who loves to hear nothing but himself: Prithee, Beatrix, stay behind, and see what this impudent Englishman would have.  Beat. 
Sir! if you'll let my Master go, I'll be his pawn.  Mask. 
Well, Sir, I kiss your hand, in hope to wait on you another time.  Alon. 
Let us mend our pace to get clear of him.  Theo. 
If you do not, he'll be with you again, like Atalanta in the fable, and make you drop another of your golden Apples.  Ex. Alon. Theod. Jacinta. Maskal whispers Beatrix the while. Beat. 
How much good language is here thrown away to make me betray my Ladies?  Mask. 
If you will discover nothing of 'em, let me discourse with you a little.  Beat. 
As little as you please.  Mask. 
They are rich I suppose.  Beat. 
Now you are talking of them again: but they are as rich, as they are fair.  Mask. 
Then they have the Indies: well, but their Names my sweet Mistress.  Beat. 
Sweet Servant their Names are—  Mask. 
Their Names are— out with it boldly—  Beat. 
A secret not to be disclosed.  Mask. 
A secret say you? Nay, than I conjure you as you are a Woman tell it me.  Beat. 
Not a syllable.  Mask. 
Why then as you are a Waiting-woman: as you are the Sieve of all your Lady's Secrets tell it me.  Beat. 
You lose your labour: nothing will strain through me.  Mask. 
Are you so well stopped i'th' bottom?  Beat. 
It was enjoined me strictly as a Secret.  Mask. 
Was it enjoined thee strictly, and canst thou hold it? Nay then thou art invincible: but, by that face, that more than ugly face, which I suspect to be under thy Veil, disclose it to me.  Beat. 
By that Face of thine, which is a Natural Visor: I will not tell thee.  Mask. 
By thy—  Beat. 
No more Swearing I beseech you.  Mask. 
That Woman's worth little that is not worth an Oath: well, get thee gone, now I think on't thou shalt not tell me.  Beat. 
Shall I not? Who shall hinder me? They are Don Alonzo de Ribera's Daughters.  Mask. 
Out, out: I'll stop my Ears.  Beat. 
— They live hard by, in the Calle maior.  Mask. 
O infernal Tongue—  Beat. 
And are going to the next Chapel with their Father.  Mask. 
Wilt thou never have done tormenting me? in my Conscience anon thou wilt blab out their Names too.  Beat. 
Their Names are Theodosia and Jacinta.  Mask. 
And where's your great Secret now?  Beat. 
Now I think I am revenged on you for running down my poor old Master.  Mask. 
Thou art not fully revenged till thou hast told me thy own Name too.  Beat. 
'Tis Beatrix, at your service, Sir, pray remember I wait on 'em.  Mask. 
Now I have enough, I must be going.  Beat. 
I perceive you are just like other Men; when you have got your ends you care not how soon you are going.——. Farewell,— you'll be constant to me—  Mask. 
If thy face, when I see it, do not give me occasion to be otherwise.  Beat. 
You shall take a Sample that you may praise it when you see it next.  (She pulls up her Veil.) Enter Wildblood and Bellamy. Wild. 
Look, there's your Dog with a Duck in's mouth— Oh she's got loose and dived again.—  [Exit Beatrix. Bell. 
Well Maskall, What news of the Ladies of the Lake?  Mask. 
I have learned enough to embark you in an Adventure; they are Daughters to one Don Alonzo de Ribera in the Calle major, their Names Theodosia and Jacinta, and they are going to their Devotions in the next Chapel.  Wild. 
Away then, let us lose no time, I thank Heaven I never found myself better inclined to Godliness than at this present.—  Exeunt.  

SCENE II. A Chapel.  Enter Alonzo, Theodosia, Jacinta, Beatrix, other Ladies and Cavaliers as at their Devotion. Alon. 
By that time you have told your Beads I'll be again with you.  Exit. Jac. 
Do you think the English Men will come after us?  Beat. 
Do you think they can stay from you?  Jac. 
For my part I feel a certain qualm upon my heart, which makes me believe I am breeding Love to one of'em.  Theo. 
How, Love, Jacinta, in so short a time? Cupid's Arrow was well feathered to reach you so suddenly.  Jac. 
Faith as good at first as at last Sister, 'tis a thing that must be done, and therefore 'tis best dispatching it out o'th' way.  Theo. 
But you do not mean to tell him so whom you love?  Jac. 
Why should I keep myself and Servant in pain for that which may be cured at a day's warning?  Beat. 
My Lady tells you true, Madam, long tedious Courtship may be proper for cold Countries, where their Frosts are long a thawing; but Heaven be praised we live in a warm Climate.  Theo. 
The truth is, in other Countries they have opportunities for Courtship, which we have not, they are not mewed up with double Locks and Grated Windows; but may receive Addresses at their leisure.  Jac. 
But our Love here is like our Grass; if it be not mowed quickly 'tis burnt up.  Enter Bellamy, Wildblood, Maskall: they look about 'em. Theo. 
Yonder are your Gallants, send you comfort of 'em: I am for my Devotions.  Jac. 
Now for my heart can I think of no other Prayer, but only that they may not mistake us— Why Sister, Sister,— will you Pray? What injury have I ever done you, that you should Pray in my company? If your servant Don Melchor were here, we should have you mind Heaven as little as the best on's.  Beat. 
They are at a loss, Madam, shall I put up my Veil that they may take aim?  Jac. 
No, let 'em take their Fortune in the dark: we shall see what Archers these English are.  Bell. 
Which are they think'st thou?  Wild. 
There's no knowing them, they are all Children of darkness.  Bell. 
I'll besworn they have one sign of Godliness among 'em, there's no distinction of persons here.  Wild. 
Pox o''is blind-mans-buffe; they may be ashamed to provoke a man thus by their keeping themselves so close.  Bell. 
You are for the youngest you say; 'tis the eldest has smitten me. And here I fix, if I am right— happy man be his dole.———— By Theodosia.  Wild. 
I'll take my fortune here.— By Jacinta. Madam, I hope a stranger may take the liberty without offence to offer his devotions by you.  Jac. 
That, Sir, would interrupt mine, without being any advantage to your own.  Wild. 
My advantage, Madam, is very evident; for the kind Saint to whom you pray, may by the neighbourhood mistake my devotions for yours.  Jac. 
O Sir! our Saints can better distinguish between the prayers of a Catholic and a Lutheran.  Wild. 
I beseech you, Madam, trouble not yourself for my Religion; for though I am a Heretic to the men of your Country, to your Ladies I am a very zealous Catholic: and for fornication and adultery, I assure you I hold with both Churches.  Theo. to Bell. 
Sir, if you will not be more devout, be at least more civil, you see you are observed.  Bell. 
And pray, Madam, what do you think the lookers on imagine I am employed about?  Theo. 
I will not trouble myself to guests.  Bell. 
Why, by all circumstances, they must conclude that I am making love to you: and methinks it were scarce civil to give the opinion of so much good company the lie.  Theo. 
If this were true, you would have little reason to thank 'em for their Divination.  Bell. 
Meaning I should not be loved again.  Theo. 
You have interpreted my riddle, and may take it for your pains.  Enter Alonso, (and goes apart to his devotion) Beat. 
Madam, your Father is returned.  Bell. 
She has nettled me, would I could be revenged on her.  Wild. 
Do you see their Father? let us make as though we talked to one another, that we may not be suspected.  Beat. 
You have lost your Englishmen.  Jac. 
No, no, 'tis but design I warrant you: you shall see these Island Cocks wheel about immediately.  Beat. 
Perhaps they thought they were observed.  The English gather up close to them. Wild. to Bell. 
Talk not of our Country Ladies: I declare myself for the Spanish Beauties.  Bell. 
Prithee tell me what thou canst find to dote on in these Castilians.  Wild. 
Their wit and beauty.  Theo. 
Now for our Champion St. Jago for Spain there.  Bell. 
Faith I can speak no such miracles of either; for their beauty 'tis much as the moors left it; not altogether so deep a black as the true Aethiopian: A kind of beauty that is too civil to the lookers on to do them any mischief.  Jac. 
This was your frowardness that provoked him, Sister.  Theo. 
But they shall not carry it off so.  Bell. 
As for their wit, you may judge it by their breeding, which is commonly in a Nunnery; where the want of mankind while they are there, makes them value the blessing ever after.  Theo. 
Prithee dear Jacinta tell me, what kind of creatures were those we saw yesterday at the Audience? Those I mean that looked so like Frenchmen in their habits, but only became their Apishness so much worse.  Jac. 
Englishmen I think they called 'em.  Theo. 
Cry you mercy; they were of your wild English indeed, that is a kind of Northern Beast, that is taught its feats of activity in Monsieurland, and for doing 'em too lubberly, is laughed at all the world over.  Bell. 
Wildblood, I perceive the women understand little of discourse; their Gallants do not use 'em to't: they get upon their Gennits, and prance before their Lady's windows; there the Palfrey curvets and bounds, and in short entertains 'em for his Master.  Wild. 
And this horseplay they call making love.  Beat. 
Your Father Madam.—  Alon. 
Daughters! what Cavaliers are those which were talking by you?  Jac. 
Englishmen, I believe Sir, at their devotions: Cavalier, would you would try to pray a little better than you have raillyed.  aside to Wildblood. Wild. 
Hang me if I put all my devotions out of order for you: I remember I prayed but on Tuesday last, and my time comes not till Tuesday next.  Mask. 
You had as good prey, Sir; she will not stir till you have: Say any thing.  Wild. 
Fair Lady, though I am not worthy of the least of your favours, yet give me the happiness this Evening to see you at your father's door, that I may acquaint you with part of my sufferings.  aside to Jacinta. Alon. 
Come Daughters, have you done?  Jac. 
Immediately Sir.— Cavalier, I will not fail to be there at the time appointed, if it be but to teach you more wit, henceforward, then to engage your heart so lightly.  aside to Wildblood. Wild. 
I have engaged my heart with so much zeal and true devotion to your divine beauty, that—  Alon. 
What means this Cavalier?  Jac. 
Some zealous ejaculation.  Alon. 
May the Saint-hear him.  Jac. 
I'll answer for her.—  Ex. Father and Daughters. Wild. 
Now Bellamy, what success?  Bell. 
I prayed to a more Marble Saint than that was in the Shrine; but you, it seems, have been successful.  Wild. 
And so shalt thou; let me alone for both.  Bell. 
If you'll undertake it, I will make bold to indulge my love; and within this two hours be a desperate Inamorado. I feel I am coming apace to it.  Wild. 
Faith I can love at any time with a wish at my rate: I give my heart according to the old law of pawns, to be returned me before sunset.  Bell. 
I love only that I may keep my heart warm; for a man's a pool if love stir him not; and to bring it to that pass, I first resolve whom to love, and presently after imagine I am in love; for a strong imagination is required in a Lover as much as in a Witch.  Wild. 
And is this all your Receipt?  Bell. 
These are my principal ingredients; as for Piques, Jealousies, Duels, Daggers, and Halters, I let 'em alone to the vulgar.  Wild. 
Prithee let's round the street a little; till Maskall watches for their Woman.  Bell. 
That's well thought on: he shall about it immediately. We will attempt the Mistress by the Maid: Women by women still are best betrayed.  Exeunt.   

ACT. II.  Wildblood, Bellamy, Maskall. Wild. 
DId you speak with her Woman?  Mask. 
Yes, but she was in haste, and bid me wait her hereabouts when she returned.  Bell. 
Then you have discovered nothing more?  Mask. 
Only, in general, that Donna Theodosia is engaged elsewhere; so that all your Courtship will be to no purpose.  [Too Wild.] 
But for your Mistress, Sir, she is waded out of her depth in love to you already.  Wild. 
That's very hard, when I am scarce knee-deep with her: 'tis true, I have given her hold of my heart, but if she take not heed it will slip through her fingers.  Bell. 
You are Prince of the Soil, Sir, and may take your pleasure when you please; but I am the Eve to your Holiday, and must fast for being joined to you.  Wild. 
Were I as thou art, I would content myself with having had one fair flight at her, without wearying myself on the wing for a retrieve; for when all's done the Quarry is but woman.  Bell. 
Thank you, Sir, you would fly 'em both yourself, and while I turn tail, we should have you come gingling with your bells in the neck of my Partridge; do you remember who encouraged me to love, and promised me his assistance?  Wild. 
ay, while there was hope Frank, while there was hope; but there's no contending with one's destiny.  Bell. 
Nay, it may be I care as little for her as another man; but while she flies before me I must follow: I can leave a woman sirst with ease, but if she begins to fly before me, I grow opiniatre as the Devil.  Wild. 
What a secret have you found out? why 'tis the nature of all mankind: we love to get our Mistresses, and purr over 'em, as Cats do over Mice, and then let 'em go a little way; and all the pleasure is, to pat 'em back again: But yours, I take it, Frank, is gone too far; prithee how long dost thou intend to love at this rate?  Bell. 
Till the evil constellation be passed over me: yet I believe it would hasten my recovery if I knew whom she loved.  Mask. 
You shall not be long without that satisfaction.  Wild. 
‛ St, the door opens; and two women are coming out.  Bell. 
By their stature they should be thy gracious Mistress and Beatrix.  Wild. 
Methinks you should know your Q. then and withdraw.  Bell. 
Well, I'll leave you to your fortune; but if you come to close fighting, I shall make bold to run in and part you.  Bellamy and Maskall withdraw. Wild. 
Yonder she comes with full sails i'faith; I'll hail her amain for England.  Enter Jacinta and Beatrix at the other end of the Stage. Beat. 
You do love him then?  Jac. 
Yes, most vehemently.  Beat. 
But set some bounds to your affection.  Jac. 
None but fools confine their pleasure: what Usurer ever thought his Coffers held too much? No, I'll give myself the swinge, and love without reserve. If I'll keep a passion, I'll never starve it in my service.  Beat. 
But are you sure he will deserve this kindness?  Jac. 
I never trouble myself so long beforehand: Jealousies and disquiets are the dregs of an amour; but I'll leave mine before I have drawn it off so low: when it once grows troubled I'll give vent to a fresh draught.  Beat. 
Yet it is but prudence to try him first; no Pilot ventures on an unknown Coast without sounding.  Jac. 
Well, to satisfy thee I am content; partly too because I find a kind of pleasure in laying baits for him.  Beat. 
The two great virtues of a Lover are constancy and liberality; if he profess those two, you may be happy in him.  Jac. 
Nay, if he be not Lord and Master of both those qualities I disown him— But who goes there?  Beat. 
He, I warrant you, Madam; for his Servant told me he was waiting hereabout.  Jac. 
Watch the door, give me notice if any come.  Beat. 
I'll secure you, Madam.—  Exit Beatrix. Jac. to Wild. 
What have you laid an ambush for me?  Wild. 
Only to make a Reprisal of my heart.  Jac. 
'Tis so wild, that the Lady who has it in her keeping, would be glad she were well rid on't: it does so flutter about the Cage. 'Tis a mere Bajazet; and if it be not let out the sooner, will beat out the brains against the Grates.  Wild. 
I am afraid the Lady has not fed it, and 'tis wild for hunger.  Jac. 
Or perhaps it wants company; shall she put another to it?  Wild. 
I; but than 'twere best to trust 'em out of the Cage together; let 'em hop about at liberty.  Jac. 
But if they should lose one another in the wide world.  Wild. 
They'll meet at night I warrant 'em.  Jac. 
But is not your heart of the nature of those Birds that breed in one Country, and go to winter in another?  Wild. 
Suppose it does so; yet I take my Mate along with me. And now to leave our parables, and speak in the language of the vulgar, what think you of a voyage to merry England?  Jac. 
Just as Aesop's Frog did, of leaping into a deep Well in a drought: if he ventured the leap, there might be water; but if there were no water, how should he get out again?  Wild. 
Faith we live in a good honest Country, where we are content with our old vices, partly because we want wit to invent more new. A Colony of Spaniards, or spiritual Italians planted among us would make us much more racy. 'Tis true, our variety is not much; but to speak nobly of our way of living, 'tis like that of the Sun, which rises, and looks upon the same things he saw yesterday, and goes to bed again.  Jac. 
But I hear your women live most blessedly; there's no such thing as jealousy among the Husbands; if any man has horns, he bears 'em as loftily as a Stag, and as inoffensively.  Wild. 
All this I hope gives you no ill Character of the Country.  Jac. 
But what need we go into another Climate? as our love was born here; so let it live and die here, and be honestly buried in its native Country.  Wild. 
Faith agreed with all my heart. For I am none of those unreasonable lovers, that propose to themselves the loving to eternity; the truth is, a month is commonly my stint; but in that month I love so dreadfully, that it is after a twelvemonth's rate of common love.  Jac. 
Or would not a fortnight serve our turn? for in troth a month looks somewhat dismally; 'tis a whole Egyptian year, if a Moon changes in my love I shall think my Cupid grown dull, or fallen into an Apoplexy.  Wild. 
Well, I pray heaven we both get off as clear as we imagine; for my part I like your humour so damnably well, that I fear I am in for a week longer than I proposed; I am half afraid your Spanish Planet, and my English one have been acquainted, and have found out some by-room or other in the 12 houses: I wish they have been honourable.  Jac. 
The best way for both were to take up in time; yet I am afraid our forces are engaged so far, that we must make a battle on't. What think you of disobliging one another from this day forward; and showing all our ill humours at the first; which Lovers use to keep as a reserve till they are married?  Wild. 
Or let us encourage one another to a breach by the dangers of possession: I have a Song to that purpose.  Jac. 
Pray let me hear it: I hope it will go to the tune of one of our Passa-calles.  

SONG.  
You charmed me not with that fair face  
Though it was all divine:  
To be another's is the Grace,  
That makes me wish you mine.  
The Gods and Fortune take their part  
Who like young Monarchs fight;  
And boldly dare invade that heart  
Which is another's right.  
First mad with hope we undertake  
To pull up every bar;  
But once possessed, we faintly make  
A dull defensive war.  
Now every friend is turned a foe  
In hope to get our store:  
And passion makes us Cowards grow,  
Which made us brave before.   Jac. 
Believe it, Cavalier, you are a dangerous person: do you hold forth your gifts in hopes to make me love you less?  Wild. 
They would signify little, if we were once married: those gaieties are all nipped, and frost-bitten in the Marriage-bed, i'faith.  Jac. 
I am sorry to hear 'tis so cold a place: but 'tis all one to us who do not mean to trouble it: the truth is, your humour pleases me exceedingly; how long it will do so, I know not; but so long as it does, I am resolved to give myself the content of seeing you. For if I should once constrain myself, I might fall in love in good earnest: but I have stayed too long with you, and would be loath to surfeit you at first.  Wild. 
Surfeit me, Madam, why you have but Tantalised me all this while.  Jac. 
What would you have?  Wild. 
A hand, or lip, or any thing that you can spare; when you have Conjured up a Spirit he must have some employment, or he'll tear you a pieces.  Jac. 
Well, Here's my Picture; to help your contemplation in my absence.  Wild. 
You have already the Original of mine: but some revenge you must allow me: a Locket of Diamonds, or some such trifle, the next time I kiss your hand.  Jac. 
Fie, fie; you do not think me mercenary! yet now I think on't, I'll put you into our Spanish Mode of Love: our Ladies here use to be the Banquiers of their Servants, and to have their Gold in keeping.  Wild. 
This is the least trial you could have made of me: I have some 300 Pistols by me; those I'll send you by my servant.  Jac. 
Confess freely; you mistrust me: but if you find the least qualm about your Gold, pray keep it for a Cordial.  Wild. 
The Cordial must be applied to the heart, and mines with you Madam: Well; I say no more; but these are dangerous beginnings for holding on: I find my month will have more than one and thirty days in't.  Enter Beatrix running. Beat. 
Madam, your Father calls in haste for you; and is looking you about the house.  Jac. 
Adieu Servant, be a good manager of your stock of Love, that it may hold out your Month; I am afraid you'll waste so much of it before to morrow night, that you'll shine but with a quarter Moon upon me.  Wild. 
It shall be a Crescent.  Exit Wild, Jacinta severally, Beatrix is going, and Maskal runs and stops her. Mask. 
Pay your ransom; you are my Prisoner.  Beat. 
What do you fight after the French Fashion; take Towns before you declare a War?  Mask. 
I should be glad to imitate them so far, to be in the middle of the Country before you could resist me.  Beat. 
Well, what composition Monsieur?  Mask. 
Deliver up your Lady's secret; what makes her so cruel to my Master?  Beat. 
Which of my Ladies, and which of your Masters? For I suppose we are Factors for both of them.  Mask. 
Your eldest Lady, Theodosia.  Beat. 
How dare you press your Mistress to an inconvenience?  Mask. 
My Mistress? I understand not that language; the fortune of the Valet ever follows that of the Master; and his is desperate; if his fate were altered for the better, I should not care if I ventured upon you for the worse.  Beat. 
I have told you already Donna Theodosia loves another.  Mask. 
Has he no name?  Beat. 
Let it suffice he is born noble, though without a fortune. His poverty makes him conceal his love from her Father; but she sees him every night in private: and to blind the world about a fortnight ago, he took a solemn leave of her, as if he were going into Flanders: in the mean time he lodges at the house of Don Lopez de Gamboa; and is himself called Don Melchor de Guzman.  Mask. 
Don Melchor de Guzman! O heavens!  Beat. 
What amazes you!  Theo. within. 
Why, Beatrix, where are you?  Beat. 
You hear I am called; Adieu; and be sure you keep my Counsel.  Mask. 
Come, Sir, you see the Coast is clear.  Ex. Beatrix. Enter Bellamy. Bell. 
Clear, dost thou say? no 'tis full of Rocks and Quicksands: yet nothing vexes me so much as that she is in love with such a poor Rogue.  Mask. 
But that he should lodge privately in the same house with us! 'twas oddly contrived of fortune.  Bell. 
Hang him Rogue, methinks I see him perching like an Owl by day, and not daring to flutter out till Moonlight. The Rascal invents love, and brews his compliments all day, and broaches 'em at night; just as some of our dry wits do their stories before they come into company: well, if I could be revenged on either of 'em.  Mask. 
Here she comes again with Beatrix; but good Sir moderate your passion.  Enter Theodosia and Beatrix. Bell. 
Nay, Madam, you are known; and must not pass till I have spoke with you. Bellamy lifts up Theodosia's Veil.  Theo. 
This rudeness to a person of my quality may cost you dear. Pray when did I give you encouragement for so much familiarity?  Bell. 
When you scorned me in the Chapel.  Theo. 
The truth is, I denied you as heartily as I could; that I might not be twice troubled with you.  Bell. 
Yet you have not this aversion for all the world: however I was in hope though the day frowned, the night might prove as propitious to me as it is to others.  Theo. 
I have now a quarrel both to the Sun and Moon, because I have seen you by both their lights.  Bell. 
Spare the Moon I beseech you, Madam, she is a very trusty Planet to you.  Beat. 
O Maskal you have ruined me.  Mask. 
Dear Sir, hold yet.  Bell. 
Away.  Theo. 
Pray, Sir, expound your meaning; for I confess I am in the dark.  Bell. 
Methinks you should discover it by Moonlight. Or if you would have me speak clearer to you, give me leave to wait on you at a midnight assignation; and that it may not be discovered, I'll feign a voyage beyond sea, as if I were gone a Captaining to Flanders.  Mask. 
A pox on's memory, he has not forgot one syllable.  Theo. 
Ah Beatrix, you have betrayed and sold me.  Beat. 
You have betrayed and sold yourself, Madam, by your own rashness to confess it; Heaven knows I have served you but too faithfully.  Theo. 
Peace, impudence; and see my face no more.  Mask. 
Do you know what work you have made, Sir?  Bell. 
Let her see what she has got by slighting me.  Mask. 
You had best let Beatrix be turned away for me to keep: if you do, I know whose purse shall pay for 't.  Bell. 
That's a curse I never thought on: cast about quickly and save all yet. Range, quest, and spring a lie immediately.  Theo to Beat. 
Never importune me farther; you shall go; there's no removing me.  Beat. 
Well; this is ever the reward of innocence—  (going) Mask. 
Stay, guiltless Virgin, stay; thou shalt not go.  Theo. 
Why, who should hinder it?  Mask. 
That will I in the name of truth. (If this hard-bound lie would but come from me:) Madam, I must tell you it lies in my power to appease this tempest with one word.  Beat. 
Would it were come once.  Mask. 
Nay, Sir, 'tis all one to me, if you turn me away upon't; I can hold no longer.  Theo. 
What does the fellow mean?  Mask. 
For all your noddings, and your Mathematical grimaces, in short, Madam, my Master has been conversing with the Planets; and from them has had the knowledge of your affairs.  Bell. 
This Rogue amazes me.  Mask. 
I care not, Sir, I am for truth; that will shame you and all your Devils: in short, Madam, this Master of mine that stands before you, without a word to say for himself, so like an Oph, as I may say with reverence to him—  Bell. 
The Rascal makes me mad.  Mask. 
Is the greatest ginger in Christendom.  Theo. 
Your Master an ginger?  Mask. 
A most profound one.  Bell. 
Why you dog, do you consider what an improbable lie this is; which you know I can never make good: disgorge it you Cormorant, or I'll pinch your throat out.—  Takes him by the throat. Mask. 
'Tis all in vain, Sir, you are and shall be an ginger what e'er I suffer: you know all things, see into all things, foretell all things; and if you pinch more truth out of me, I will confess you are a Conjurer.  Bell. 
How, sirrah, a Conjurer?  Mask. 
I mean, Sir, the Devil is in your fingers: own it you had best, Sir, and do not provoke me farther; what did not I see you an hour ago, turning over a great Folio with strange While he is speaking, Bellamy stops his mouth by fits. figures in it, and then muttering to yourself like any Poet, and then naming Theodosia, and then staring up in the sky, and then poring upon the ground; so that betwixt God and the Devil, Madam, he came to know your love.  Bell. 
Madam, if ever I knew the least term in Astrology, I am the arrantest Son of a whore breathing.  Beat. 
O, Sir, for that matter you shall excuse my Lady: Nay hide your talents if you can, Sir.  Theo. 
The more you pretend ignorance, the more we are resolved to believe you skilful.  Bell. 
You'll hold your tongue yet.  Mask. 
You shall never make me hold my tongue, except you conjure me to silence: what did you not call me to look into a Crystal, and there showed me a fair Garden, and a Spaniard stalking in his narrow breeches, and walking underneath a window; I should know him again amongst a thousand.  Beat. 
Don Melchor, in my conscience, Madam.  Bell. 
This Rogue will invent more stories of me, than e'er were fathered upon Lilly.  Mask. 
Will you confess then; do you think I'll stain my honour to swallow a lie for you?  Bell. 
Well, a pox on you, I am an ginger.  Beat. 
O, are you so, Sir?  Theo. 
I hope then, learned Sir, as you have been curious in enquiring into my secrets, you will be so much a Cavalier as to conceal 'em.  Bell. 
you need not doubt me, Madam; I am more in your power than you can be in mine: besides, if I were once known in Town, the next thing, for aught I know, would be to bring me before the fathers of the Inquisition.  Beat. 
Well, Madam, what do you think of me now; I have betrayed you, I have sold you; how can you ever make me amends for this imputation? I did not think you could have used me so.—  (Cries and claps her hands at her.) Theo. 
Nay, prithee Beatrix do not cry; I'll leave of my new Gown to morrow, and thou shalt have it.  Beat. 
No, I'll cry eternally; you have taken away my good name from me; and you can never make me recompense— except you give me your new Gorget too.  Theo. 
No more words; thou shalt have it Girl.  Beat. 
O, Madam, your Father has surprised us!  Enter Don Alonzo, and frowns. Bell. 
Then I'll begone to avoid suspicion.  Theo. 
By your favour, Sir, you shall stay a little; the happiness of so rare an acquaintance, aught to be cherished on my side by a longer conversation.  Alon. 
Theodosia, what business have you with this Cavalier?  Theo. 
That, Sir, which will make you as ambitious of being known to him as I have been: under the habit of a Gallant he conceals the greatest ginger this day living.  Alon. 
You amaze me Daughter.  Theo. 
For my own part I have been consulting with him about some particulars of my fortunes past and future; both which he has resolved me with that admirable knowledge.—  Bell. 
Yes, faith, Sir, I was foretelling her of a disaster that severely threatened her: and (one thing I foresee already by my stars, that I must bear up boldly, or I am lost.)  Mask. to Bellamy. 
Never fear him, Sir; he's an ignorant fellow, and credulous I warrant him.  Alon. 
Daughter be not too confident in your belief; there's nothing more uncertain than the cold Prophecies of these Nostradamusses; but of what nature was the question which you asked him?  Theo. 
What should be my fortune in marriage.  Alon. 
And, pray, what did you answer, Sir?  Bell. 
I answered her the truth, that she is in danger of marrying a Gentleman without a fortune.  Theo. 
And this, Sir, has put me into such a fright—  Alon. 
Never trouble yourself about it, Daughter; follow my advice and I warrant you a rich Husband.  Bell. 
But the stars say she shall not follow your advice: if it happens otherwise I'll burn my folio Volumes, and my Manuscripts too, I assure you that, Sir.  Alon. 
Be not too confident, young man; I know somewhat in Astrology myself; for in my younger years I studied it; and though I say it, made some small proficience in it.  Bell. 
Marry Heaven forbid.—  (aside.) Alon. 
And I could only find it was no way demonstrative, but altogether fallacious.  Mask. 
On what a Rock have we split ourselves!  Bell. 
Now my ignorance will certainly come out!  Beat. 
Sir, remember you are old and crazy, Sir; and if the Evening Air should take you— beseech you Sir retire.  Alon. 
Knowledge is to be preferred before health; I must needs discuss a point with this learned Cavalier, concerning a difficult question in that Art, which almost gravels me.  Mask. 
How I sweat for him, Beatrix, and myself too, who have brought him into this Praemunire!  Beat. 
You must be impudent; for our old man will stick like a burr to you, now he's in a dispute.  Alon. 
What Judgement may a man reasonably form from the trine Aspect of the two Infortune's in Angular houses?  Bell. 
That's a matter of nothing, Sir; I'll turn my man loose to you for such a question.—  (Puts Maskal forward.) Alon. 
Come on, Sir, I am the quaerent.  Mask. 
Meaning me, Sir! I vow to God, and your Worship knows it, I never made that Science my study in the least, Sir.  Bell. 
The gleanings of mine are enough for that: why, you impudent rogue you, hold forth your gifts, or I'll— What a devil must I be pestered with every trivial question, when there's not a Master in Town of any Science, but has his Usher for these mean offices?  Theo. 
Try him in some deeper question, Sir; you see he will not put himself forth for this.  Alon. 
Then I'll be more abstruse with him: what think you, Sir, of the taking Hyleg? or of the best way of rectification for a Nativity? have you been conversant in the Centiloquium of Trismegistus: what think you of Mars in the tenth when 'tis his own House, or of Jupiter configurated with malevolent Planets?  Bell. 
I thought what your skill was! to answer your question in two words, Mars rules over the Martial, and Jupiter over the Jovial; and so of the rest, Sir.  Alon. 
This every Schoolboy could have told me.  Bell. 
Why then you must not ask such Schoolboys questions. (But your Carcase, Sirrah, shall pay for this.)—  Aside to Maskal. Alon. 
You seem not to understand the Terms, Sir.  Bell. 
By your favour, Sir, I know there are five of 'em; do not I know your Michaelmas, your Hillary, your Easter, your Trinity, and your Long Vacation term, Sir?  Alon. 
I do not understand a word of this Jargon.  Bell. 
It may be not, Sir; I believe the terms are not the same in Spain they are in England.  Mask. 
Did one ever hear so impudent an ignorance?  Alon. 
The terms of Art are the same every where.  Bell. 
Tell me that! you are an old man, and they are altered since you studied them.  Alon. 
That may be I must confess; however if you please to discourse something of the Art to me, you shall find me an apt Scholar.  Enter a Servant to Alonzo. Ser. 
Sir,—  (whispers.) Alon. 
Sir, I am sorry a business of importance calls me hence; but I'll wait on you some other time, to discourse more at large of Astrology.  Bell. 
Is your business very pressing?  Alon. 
It is, I assure you, Sir.  Bell. 
I am very sorry, for I should have instructed you in such rare secrets; I have no fault, but that I am too communicative.  Alon. 
I'll dispatch my business, and return immediately; come away Daughter.  Exeunt Alonzo, Theodosia, Beatrix, Servus. Bell. 
A Devil on's learning; he had brought me to my last legs; I was fighting as low as ever was Squire Widdrington.  Mask. 
Who would have suspected it from that wicked Elder?  Bell. 
Suspected it? why 'twas palpable from his very Physiognomy; he looks like Haly, and the spirit Fircu in the Fortune-book.  Enter Wildblood. Widl. 
How now Bellamy, in wrath, prithee, what's the matter?  Bell. 
The story is too long to tell you; but this Rogue here has made me pass for an errand Fortune-teller.  Mask. 
If I had not, I am sure he must have passed for an errand Madman; he had discovered, in a rage, all that Beatrix had confessed to me concerning her Mistress' love; and I had no other way to bring him off, but to say he knew it by the Planets.  Wild. 
And art thou such an Oph to be vexed at this? as the adventure may be managed it may make the most pleasant one in all the Carnival.  Bell. 
Death! I shall have all Madrid about me within these two days.  Wild. 
Nay, all Spain, i'faith, as fast as I can divulge thee: not a Ship shall pass out from any Port, but shall ask thee for a wind; thou shalt have all the trade of Lapland within a Month.  Bell. 
And do you think it reasonable for me to stand defendant to all the impertinent questions that the Town can ask me.  Wild. 
Thou shalt do't boy: pox on thee, thou dost not know thine own happiness; thou wilt have the Ladies come to thee; and if thou dost not sit them with fortunes, thou art bewitched.  Mask. 
Sir, 'tis the easiest thing in Nature; you need but speak doubtfully, or keep yourself in general terms, and for the most part tell good rather than bad fortune.  Wild. 
And if at any time thou ventur'st at particulars, have an evasion ready like Lily; as thus, it will infallibly happen if our sins hinder not. I would undertake with one of his Almanacs to give very good content to all Christendom, and what good luck fell not out in one Kingdom, should in another.  Mask. 
The pleasure on't will be to see how all his Customers will contribute to their own deceiving; and verily believe he told them that, which they told him.  Bell. 
Umh! now I begin to taste it; I am like the drunken Tinker in the Play, a great Prince, and never knew it.  Wild. 
A great Prince, a great Turk; we shall have thee within these two days, do grace to the Ladies by throwing out a handkerchief; ' lif, I could feast upon thy fragments.  Bell. 
If the women come you shall be sure to help me to undergo the burden; for though you make me an Astronomer I am no Atlas, to bear all upon my back. But who are these?  Enter Musicians with disguises; and some in their hands. Wild. 
You know the men if their Masking habits were off; they are the Music of our Ambassadors Retinue: my project is to give our Mistresses a Serenade; this being the last Evening of the Carnival; and to prevent discovery here are disguises for us too.——  Bell. 
'Tis very well; come Maskall help on with 'em, while they tune their Instruments.  Wild. 
Strike up Gentlemen; we'll entertain 'em with a song al' Angloise, pray be ready with your Chorus.  

SONG.  

After the pangs of a desperate Lover,  
When day and night I have sighed all in vain,  
Ah what a pleasure it is to discover  
In her eyes pity, who causes my pain!   

2.  
When with unkindness our love at a stand is,  
And both have punished ourselves with the pain,  
Ah what a pleasure the touch of her hand is,  
Ah what a pleasure to press it again!   

3.  
When the denial comes fainter and fainter,,  
And her eyes give what her tongue does deny,  
Ah what a trembling I feel when I venture,  
Ah what a trembling does usher my joy!   

4.  
When, with a Sigh, she accords me the blessing,  
And her eyes twinkle 'twixt pleasure and pain;  
Ah what a joy 'tis beyond all expressing,  
Ah what a joy to hear, shall we again!    Theodosia and Jacinta above. Jacinta throws down her handkerchief with a Favour tied to it. Jac. 
Ill Musicians must be rewarded: there, Cavalier, 'tis to buy your silence.——  Exeunt women from above. Wild. 
By this light, which at present is scarce an oath, an handkerchief and a favour.  Music and guitars tuning on the other side of the Stage. Bell. 
Hark, Wildblood, do you hear; there's more melody; on my life some Spaniards have taken up this Post for the same design.  Wild. 
I'll be with their Catguts immediately.  Bell. 
Prithee be patient; we shall lose the sport else.  Don Lopez and Don Melchor disguised, with Servants, and Musicians on the other side. Wild. 
'Tis some Rival of yours or mine, Bellamy: for he addresses to this window.  Bell. 
Damn him, let's fall on then.  The two Spaniards and the English fight: the Spaniards are beaten off the Stage; the Musicians on both sides and Servants fall confusedly one over the other. They all get off, only Maskal remains upon the ground. Mask. rising. 
So, all's past, and I am safe: a pox on these fighting Masters of mine, to bring me into this danger with their valours and magnanimities. When I go a Serenading again with 'em, I'll give 'em leave to make Fiddle-strings of my small-guts.  To him Don Lopez. Lop. 
Who goes there?  Mask. 
'Tis Don Lopez by his voice.  Lop. 
The same; and by yours you should belong to my two English Guests. Did you hear no tumult hereabouts?  Mask. 
I heard a clashing of swords, and men a fighting  Lop. 
I had my share in't; but how came you here:  Mask. 
I came hither by my Master's order to see if you were in any danger.  Lop. 
But how could he imagine I was in any?  Mask. 
'Tis all one for that, Sir, he knew it, by— Heaven, what was I going to say, I had like to have disovered all!  Lop. 
I find there is some secret in't; and you dare not trust me.  Mask. 
If you will swear on your honour to be very secret, I will tell you.  Lop. 
As I am a Cavalier, and by my Beard, I will.  Mask. 
Then, in few words, he knew it by Astrology, or Magic.  Lop. 
You amaze me! Is he conversant in the occult Sciences?  Mask. 
Most profoundly.  Lop. 
I always thought him an extraordinary person; but I could never imagine his head lay that way.  Mask. 
He showed me yesterday in a glass a Lady's Maid at London, whom I well knew; and with whom I used to converse on a Pallet in a drawing-room, while he was paying his devotions to her Lady in the Bedchamber.  Lop. 
Lord, what a treasure for a State were here! and how much might we save by this man, in Foreign Intelligence!  Mask. 
And just now he showed me how you were assaulted in the dark by Foreigners.  Lop. 
Could you guests what Countrymen?  Mask. 
I imagined them to be Italians.  Lop. 
Not unlikely; for they played most furiously at our backsides.  Mask. 
I will return to my Master with the good news of your safety; but once again be secret; or disclose it to none but friends.—— So, there's one Woodcock more in the Spring.—  Exit. Lop. 
Yes, I will be very secret; for I will tell it only to one person; but she is a woman. I will to Aurelia, and acquaint her with the skill of this rare Artist: she is curious as all women are; and, 'tis probable, will desire to look into the Glass to see Don Melchor, whom she believes absent. So that by this means, without breaking my oath to him, he will be discovered to be in Town. Then his intrigue with Theodosia will come to light too, for which Aurelia will, I hope, discard him, and receive me. I will about it instantly:  
Success, in love, on diligence depends;  
No lazy Lover e'er attained his ends.  Exit.  

ACT. III.  Enter Bellamy, Maskall. Bell. 
THen, they were certainly Don Lopez and Don Mel-Melchor with whom we fought!  Mask. 
Yes, Sir.  Bell. 
And when you met Lopez he swallowed all you told him?  Mask. 
As greedily, as if it had been a new Saints miracle.  Bell. 
I see 'twill spread.  Mask. 
And the fame of it will be of use to you in your next amour: for the women you know run mad after Fortune-tellers and Preachers.  Bell. 
But for all my bragging this amour is not yet worn off. I find constancy, and once a night come naturally upon a man towards thirty: only we set a face on't; and call ourselves unconstant for our reputation.  Mask. 
But, What say the Stars, Sir?  Bell. 
They move faster than you imagine; for I have got me an Argol, and an English-Almanack; by help of which in one half-hour I have learned to Cant with an indifferent good grace: Conjunction, Opposition, Trine, Square and Sextile, are now no longer Bug-bears to me, I thank my Stars for't.  Enter Wildblood. 
— Monsieur Wildblood, in good time! What, you have been taking pains too, to divulge my Talent?  Wild. 
So successfully, that shortly there will be no talk in Town but of you only: another Miracle or two, and a sharp Sword, and you stand fair for a New Prophet.  Bell. 
But where did you begin to blow the Trumpet.  Wild. 
In the Gaming-house: where I found most of the Town-wits; the Prose-wits playing, and the Verse-wits cooking.  Bell. 
All sorts of Gamesters are so Superstitious, that I need not doubt of my reception there.  Wild. 
From thence I went to the latter end of a Comedy, and there whispered it to the next Man I knew who had a Woman by him.  Mask. 
Nay, than it went like a Train of Powder, if once they had it by the end.  Wild. 
Like a Squib upon a Line, i'faith, it ran through one row, and came back upon me in the next: at my going out I met a knot of Spaniards, who were formally listening to one who was relating it: but he told the Story so ridiculously, with his Marginal Notes upon it, that I was forced to contradict him.  Bell. 
'Twas discreetly done.  Wild. 
ay, for you, but not for me: What, says he, must such Borachoes as you, take upon you to vilify a Man of Science? I tell you, he's of my intimate Acquaintance, and I have known him long, for a prodigious person— When I saw my Don so fierce, I thought it not wisdom to quarrel for so slight a matter as you Reputation, and so withdrew.  Bell. 
A pox of your success! now shall I have my Chamber besieged to morrow morning: there will be no stirring out for me; but I must be fain to take up their Questions in a cleft-Cane, or a Begging-box, as they do Charity in Prisons.  Wild. 
Faith, I cannot help what your Learning has brought you to: Go in and study; I foresee you will have but few Holidays: in the mean time I'll not fail to give the World an account of your endowments. Farewell: I'll to the Gaming house.  Exit Wildblood. Mask. 
O, Sir, here is the rarest adventure, and which is more, come home to you.  Bell. 
What is it?  Mask. 
A fair Lady and her Woman, wait in the outer Room to speak with you.  Bell. 
But how know you she is fair?  Mask. 
Her Woman plucked up her Veil when she spoke to me; so that having seen her this evening, I know her Mistress to be Donna Aurelia, Cousin to your Mistress Theodosia, and who lodges in the same House with her: she wants a Star or two I warrant you.  Bell. 
My whole Constellation is at her service: but what is she for a Woman?  Mask. 
Fair enough, as Beatrix has told me; but sufficiently impertinent. She is one of those Ladies who make ten Visits in an afternoon; and entertain her they see, with speaking ill of the last from whom they parted: in few words, she is one of the greatest Coquettes in Madrid: and to show she is one, she cannot speak ten words without some affected phrase that is in fashion.  Bell. 
For my part I can suffer any impertinence from a woman, provided she be handsome: my business is with her Beauty, not with her Morals: let her Confessor look to them.  Mask. 
I wonder what she has to say to you?  Bell. 
I know not; but I sweat for fear I should be graveled.  Mask. 
Venture out of your depth, and plunge boldly Sir; I warrant you will swimm.  Bell. 
Do not leave me I charge you; but when I look mournfully upon you help me out.  Enter Aurelia and Camilla. Mask. 
Here they are already.  [Aurelia plucks up her veil. Aur. 
How am I dressed to night, Camilla? is nothing disordered in my head?  Cam. 
Not the least hair, Madam.  Aur. 
No? let me see: give me the Counsellor of the Graces.  Cam. 
The Counsellor of the Graces, Madam?  Aur. 
My Glass I mean: what will you never be so spiritual as to understand refined language?  Cam. 
Madam!  Aur. 
Madam me no Madam, but learn to retrench your words; and say Mam; as yes Mam, and no Mam, as other Lady's Women do. Madam! 'tis a year in pronouncing.  Cam. 
Pardon me Madam.  Aur. 
Yet again ignorance: par-don Madam, fie fie, what a superfluity is there, and how much sweeter the Cadence is, parn me Mam! and for your Ladyship, your Laship— Out upon't, what a furious indigence of Ribbons is here upon my head! This dress is a Libel to my beauty; a mere Lampoon. Would any one that had the least revenue of common sense have done this?  Cam. 
Mam the Cavalier approaches your Laship.  Bell. to Mask. 
Maskall, pump the woman; and see if you can discover any thing to save my credit.  Aur. 
Out upon it; now I should speak I want assurance.  Bell. 
Madam, I was told you meant to honour me with your Commands.  Aur. 
I believe, Sir, you wonder at my confidence in this visit: but I may be excused for waving a little modesty to know the only person of the Age.  Bell. 
I wish my skill were more to serve you, Madam.  Aur. 
Sir, you are an unfit judge of your own merits: for my own part I confess I have a furious inclination for the occult Sciences; but at present 'tis my misfortune——  [sighs. Bell. 
But why that sigh, Madam?  Aur. 
You might spare me the shame of telling you; sioce I am sure you can divine my thoughts: I will therefore tell you nothing.  Bell. 
What the Devil will become of me now!—  [Aside. Aur. 
You may give me an Essay of your Science, by declaring to me the secret of my thoughts.  Bell. 
If I know your thoughts, Madam, 'tis in vain for you to disguise them to me: therefore as you tender your own satisfaction lay them open without bashfulness.  Aur. 
I beseech you let us pass over that chapter; for I am shamefaced to the last point: Since therefore I cannot put off my modesty, secure it, and tell me what I think.  Bell. 
Madam, Madam, that bashfulness must be laid aside: not but that I know your business perfectly; and will if you please unfold it to you all, immediately.  Aur. 
Favour me so far, I beseech you, Sir; for I furiously desire it.  Bell. 
But then I must call up before you a most dreadful Spirit, with head upon head, and horns upon horns: therefore consider how you can endure it.  Aur. 
This is furiously furious; but rather than fail of my expectances, I'll try my assurance.  Bell. 
Well, then, I find you will force me to this unlawful, and abominable act of Conjuration: remember the sin is yours too.  Aur. 
I espouse the crime also.  Bell. 
I see when a woman has a mind to't, she'll never boggle at a sin. Pox on her, what shall I do?— Well, I'll tell you your thoughts, Madam; but after that expect no farther service from me; for 'tis your confidence must make my Art successful:— Well, you are obstinate, then; I must tell you your thoughts?  Aur. 
Hold, hold, Sir, I am content to pass over that chapter rather than be deprived of your assistance.  Bell. 
'Tis very well; what need these circumstances between us two? Confess freely, is not love your business?  Aur. 
You have touched me to the quick, Sir.  Bell. 
La you there; you see I knew it; nay, I'll tell you more, 'tis a man you love.  Au. 
O prodigious Science! I confess I love a man most furiously, to the last point, Sir.  Bell. 
Now proceed Lady, your way is open; I am resolved I'll not tell you a word farther.  Aur. 
Well, then, since I must acquaint you with what you know much better than myself; I will tell you I loved a Cavalier, who was noble, young, and handsome; this Gentleman is since gone for Flanders; now whether he has preserved his passion inviolate or not, is that which causes my inquietude.  Bell. 
Trouble not yourself, Madam; he's as constant as a Romance Heros.  Aur. 
Sir, your good news has ravished most furiously; but that I may have a confirmation of it, I beg only, that you would lay your commands upon his Genius, or Idea, to appear to me this night, that I may have my sentence from his mouth. This, Sir, I know is a slight effect of your Science, and yet will infinitely oblige me.  Bell. 
What the Devil does she call a slight effect! [aside] Why Lady, do you consider what you say? you desire me to show you a man whom yourself confess to be in Flanders.  Aur. 
To view him in a glass is nothing, I would speak with him in person, I mean his Idea, Sir.  Bell. 
I but Madam, there is a vast sea betwixt us and Flanders; and water is an enemy to Conjuration: A witch's horse you know, when he enters into water, returns into a bottle of hay again.  Aur. 
But, Sir, I am not so ill a Geographer, or to speak more properly, a Chorographer, as not to know there is a passage by land from hence to Flanders.  Bell. 
That's true, Madam, but Magic works in a direct line. Why should you think the Devil such an Ass to go about? 'gad he'll not stir a step out of his road for you or any man.  Aur. 
Yes, for a Lady, Sir; I hope he's a person that wants not that civility for a Lady: especially a spirit that has the honour to belong to you, Sir.  Bell. 
For that matter he's your Servant, Madam; but his education has been in the fire, and he's naturally an enemy to water I assure you.  Aur. 
I beg his pardon for forgetting his Antipathy; but it imports not much, Sir; for I have lately received a letter from my Servant, that he is yet in Spain; and stays for a wind in St. Sebastian's.  Bell. 
Now I am lost past all redemption.— Maskall— must you be smickering after Wenches while I am in calamity?  [aside.] Mask. 
It must be he, I'll venture on't. [aside] Alas Sir, I was complaining to myself of the condition of poor Don Melchor, who you know is windbound at St. Sebastian's.  Bell. 
Why you impudent Villain, must you offer to name him publicly, when I have taken so much care to conceal him all this while?  Aur. 
Mitigate your displeasure I beseech you; and without making farther testimony of it, gratify my expectances.  Bell. 
Well, Madam, since the Sea hinders not, you shall have your desire. Look upon me with a fixed eye— so— or a little more amorously if you please.— Good. Now favour me with your hand.  Aur. 
Is it absolutely necessary you should press my hand thus?  Bell. 
Furiously necessary, I assure you, Madam; for now I take possession of it in the name of the Idea of Don Melchor. Now, Madam, I am farther to desire of you, to write a Note to his Genius, wherein you desire him to appear, and this, we Men of Art, call a Compact with the Ideas.  Aur. 
I tremble furiously.  Bell. 
Give me your hand, I'll guide it.  [They write. Mask. to Cam. 
Now, Lady mine, what think you of my Master?  Cam. 
I think I would not serve him for the world: nay, if he can know our thoughts by looking on us, we women are hypocrites to little purpose.  Mask. 
He can do that and more; for by casting his eyes but once upon them, he knows whether they are Maids, better than a whole Jury of Midwives.  Cam. 
Now Heaven defend me from him.  Mask. 
He has a certain small Familiar which he carries still about him, that never fails to make discovery.  Cam. 
See, they have done writing; not a word more, for fear he knows my voice.  Bell. 
One thing I had forgot, Madam, you must subscribe your name to't.  Aur. 
There 'tis; farewell Cavalier, keep your promise, for I expect it furiously.  Cam. 
If he sees me I am undone.  [Hiding her face. Bell. 
Camilla!  Cam. starts and schreeks. 
Ah he has found me; I am ruined!  Bell. 
You hide your face in vain; for I see into your heart.  Cam. 
Then, sweet Sir, have pity on my srailty; for if my Lady has the least inkling of what we did last night, the poor Coachman will be turned away.  Exit after her Lady. Mask. 
Well, Sir, how like you your New Profession?  Bell. 
Would I were well quit on't; I sweat all over.  Mask. 
But what faint-hearted Devils yours are that will not go by water? Are they all Lancashire Devils, of the brood of Tybert and Grimalkin, that they dare not wet their feet?  Bell. 
Mine are honest land Devils, good plain foot Posts, that beat upon the hoof for me: but to save their labour, here take this, and in some disguise deliver it to Don Melchor.  Mask. 
I'll serve it upon him within this hour, when he sallies out to his assignation with Theodosia: 'tis but counterfeiting my voice a little; for he cannot know me in the dark. But let me see, what are the words?  Reads. 
Don Melchor, if the Magic of love have any power upon your spirit, I conjure you to appear this night before me: you may guests the greatness of my passion, since it has forced me to have recourse to Art: but no shape which resembles you can fright  
Aurelia.  Bell. 
Well, I am glad there's one point gained; for by this means he will be hindered to night from entertaining Theodosia.— Pox on him, is he here again?  Enter Don Alonzo. Alon. 
Cavalier Ingles I have been seeking you: I have a Present in my Pocket for you; read it by your Art and take it.  Bell. 
That I could do easily;— but to show you I am generous, I'll none of your Present; do you think I am mercenary?  Alon. 
I know you will say now 'tis some Astrological question, and so 'tis perhaps.  Bell. 
ay, 'tis the Devil of a question without dispute.  Alon. 
No 'tis within dispute: 'tis a certain difficulty in the Art; a Problem which you and I will discuss, with the arguments on both sides,  Bell. 
At this time I am not problematically given; I have a humour of complaisance upon me, and will contradict no man.  Alon. 
We'll but discuss a little.  Bell. 
By your favour I'll not discuss; for I see by the Stars that if I Dispute to day, I am infallibly threatened to be thought ignorant all my life after.  Alon. 
Well, then, we'll but cast an eye together, upon my eldest Daughters Nativity.  Bell. 
Nativity!—  Alon. 
I know what you would say now, that there wants the Table of Direction for the five Hylegiacalls; the Ascendant, Medium Coeli, Sun, Moon, and Sors: but we'll take it as it is.  Bell. 
Never tell me that, Sir—  Alon. 
I know what you would say again, Sir—  Bell. 
'Tis well you do, for I'll besworn I do not—  [Aside. Alon. 
You would say, Sir—.  Bell. 
I say, Sir, there is no doing without the Sun and Moon, and all that, Sir. And so you may make use of your Paper for your occasions. Come to a man of Art without [tears it. the Sun and Moon, and all that, Sir—  Alon. 
'Tis no matter; this shall break no squares betwixt us: [Gathers up the Torn Papers. I know what you would say now, that Men of parts are always choleric; I know it by myself, Sir.  [He goes to match the Papers, Enter Don Lopez. Lop. 
Don Alonzo in my house! this is a most happy opportunity to put my other design in execution; for if I can persuade him to bestow his Daughter on Don Melchor, I shall serve my Friend, though against his will: and, when Aurelia sees she cannot be his, perhaps she will accept my Love.  Alon. 
I warrant you, Sir, 'tis all pieced right, both top, sides and bottom; for, look you, Sir, here was Aldeboran, and there Cor Scorpii—  Lop. 
Don Alonzo, I am happy to see you under my Roof: and shall take it—  Alon. 
I know what you would say, Sir, that though I am your neighbour, this is the first time I have been here. [to Bellamy— But, come, Sir, by Don Lopez his permission let us return to our Nativity.  Bell. 
Would thou wert there, in thy Mother's Belly again.  — Aside. Lop. 
But Sennor— to Alonzo.  Alon. 
It needs not Sennor; I'll suppose your Compliment; you would say that your house and all things in it are at my service: but let us proceed without his interruption.  Bell. 
By no means, Sir; this Cavalier is come on purpose to perform the civilities of his house to you.  Alon. 
But, good Sir—  Bell. 
I know what you would say, Sir.  Exeunt Bellamy and Maskal. Lop. 
No matter, let him go, Sir; I have long desired this opportunity to move a Suit to you in the behalf of a Friend of mine: if you please to allow me the hearing of it.  Alon. 
With all my heart, Sir.  Lop. 
He is a person of worth and virtue, and is infinitely ambitious of the honour—  Alon. 
Of being known to me; I understand you, Sir.  Lop. 
If you will please to favour me with your patience, which I beg of you a second time.  Alon. 
I am dumb, Sir.  Lop. 
This Cavalier of whom I was speaking, is in Love—  Alon. 
Satisfy yourself, Sir, I'll not interrupt you.  Lop. 
Sir, I am satisfied of your promise.  Alon. 
If I speak one Syllable more the Devil take me: speak when you please.  Lop. 
I am going, Sir;  Alon. 
You need not speak twice to me to be silent: though I take it somewhat ill of you to be tutored—  Lop. 
This eternal old Man will make me mad.  [Aside. Alon. 
Why when do you begin, Sir? How long must a man wait for you? pray make an end of what you have to say quickly, that I may speak in my turn too.  Lop. 
This Cavalier is in Love—  Alon. 
You told me that before, Sir; Do you speak Oracles that you require this strict attention? either let me share the talk with you or I am gone.  Lop. 
Why, Sir, I am almost mad to tell you, and you will not suffer me.  Alon. 
Will you never have done, Sir; I must tell you, Sir, you have tatled long enough; and 'tis now good Manners to hear me speak. Here's a Torrent of words indeed; a very impetus dicendi, Will you never have done?  Lop. 
I will be heard in spite of you.  This next Speech of Lopez, and the next of Alonzo's, with both their Replies, are to be spoken at one time; both raising their voices by little and little, till they bawl, and come up close to shoulder one another. Lop. 
There's one Don Melchor de Guzman, a Friend and Acquaintance of mine, that is desperately in Love with your eldest Daughter Donna Theodosia.  Alon. at the same time. 
'Tis the sentence of a Philosopher, Loquere ut te videam; Speak that I may know thee; now if you take away the power of speaking from me—  Both pause a little; then speak together again. Lop. 
I'll try the Language of the Law; sure the Devil cannot out-talk that Gibberish— For this Don Melchor of Madrid aforesaid, as premised, I request, move, and supplicate, that you would give, bestow, Marry, and give in Marriage, this your Daughter aforesaid, to the Cavalier aforesaid— not yet, thou Devil of a Man thou shalt be silent—  [Exit Lopez running. Alon. 
At the fume time with Lopez his last speech, and after Lopez is runout Oh, how I hate, abominate, detest and abhor, these perpetual Talkers, Disputants, Controverters, and Duellers of the Tongue! But, on the other side, if it be not permitted to prudent men to speak their minds, appositely, and to the purpose ' and in few words— If, I say, the prudent must be Tongue-tied; then let Great Nature be destroyed; let the order of all things be turned topsy-turvy; let the Goose devour the Fox; let the Infants preach to their Great-Grandsires; let the tender Lamb pursue the Wolf, and the Sick prescribe to the Physician. Let Fishes live upon dryland, and the Beasts of the Earth inhabit in the Water.— Let the fearful Hare—  Enter Lopez with a Bell, and rings it in his ears. Alon. 
Help, help, murder, murder, murder. Exit Alonzo running.  Lop. 
There was no way but this to be rid of him.  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Sir, there are some Women without in Masquerade; and, I believe, persons of Quality, who are come to Play here.  Lop. 
Bring 'em in with all respect.  Enter again the Servant, after him Jacinta, Beatrix, and other Ladies and Gentlemen; all Masked. Lop. 
Cavaliers, and Ladies, you are welcome: I wish I had more company to entertain you:— Oh, here comes one sooner than I expected.  Enter Wildblood and Maskal. Wild. 
I have swept your Gaming-house, i'faith, Ecce signunt.  [Shows Gold. Lop. 
Well, here's more to be had of these Ladies, if it be your fortune.  Wild. 
The first Stakes I would play for, should be their Veils, and Visor Masques.  Jac. to Beat. 
Do you think he will not know us?  Beat. 
If you keep your Design of passing for an African.  Jac. 
Well, now I shall make an absolute trial of him; for, being thus incognita, I shall discover if he make Love to any of you. As for the Gallantry of his Serenade, we will not be indebted to him, for we will make him another with our guitars.  Beat. 
I'll whisper your intention to the Servant, who shall deliver it to Don Lopez.  [Beatrix whispers to the Servant. Seru. to Lopez. 
Sir, the Ladies have commanded me to tell you, that they are willing, before they Play, to present you with a Dance; and to give you an Essay of their guitars.  Lop. 
They much honour me.  A DANCE. After the Dance the Cavaliers take the Ladies and Court them. Wildblood takes Jacinta; Wild. 
While you have been Singing, Lady, I have been Praying: I mean, that your Face and Wit may not prove equal to your Dancing; for, if they be, there's a heart gone astray to my knowledge.  Jac. 
If you pray against me before you have seen me, you'll curse me when you have looked on me.  Wild. 
I believe I shall have cause to do so, if your Beauty be as killing as I imagine it.  Jac. 
'Tis true, I have been flattered in my own Country, with an opinion of a little handsomeness; but, how it will pass in Spain is a question.  Wild. 
Why Madam, Are you not of Spain?  Jac. 
No, Sir, of Morocco: I only came hither to see some of my Relations who are settled here, and turned Christians, since the expulsion of my Countrymen the Moors.  Wild. 
Are you then a Mahometan?  Jac. 
A Musullman at your service.  Wild. 
A Musullwoman say you? I protest by your voice I should have taken you for a Christian Lady of my acquaintance.  Jac. 
It seems you are in love then: if so, I have done with you. I dare not invade the Dominions of another Lady; especially in a Country where my Ancestors have been so unfortunate.  Wild. 
Some little liking I might have, but that was only a morning-dew, 'tis drawn up by the Sunshine of your Beauty: I find your African-Cupid is a much surer Archer than ours of Europe. Yet would I could see you; one look would secure your victory.  Jac. 
I'll reserve my Face to gratify your imagination with it, make what head you please, and set it on my Shoulders.  Wild. 
Well, Madam, an eye, a nose, or a lip shall break no squares: the Face is but a spans breadth of beauty; and where there is so much besides, I'll never stand with you for that.  Jac. 
But, in earnest, Do you love me?  Wild. 
ay, by Alha do I, most extremely: you have Wit in abundance, you Dance to a Miracle, you Sing like an Angel, and I believe you look like a Cherubin.  Jac. 
And can you be constant to me?  Wild. 
By Mahomet, can I.  Jac. 
You Swear like a Turk, Sir; but, take heed: for our Prophet is a severe punisher of Promise-breakers.  Wild. 
Your Prophet's a Cavalier; I honour your Prophet and his Law, for providing so well for us Lovers in the other World, Black Eyes, and Fresh-Maidenheads every day; go thy way little Mahomet, i'faith thou shalt have my good word. But, by his favour Lady, give me leave to tell you, that we of the Uncircumcised, in a civil way, as Lovers, have somewhat the advantage of your Musullman.  Jac. 
The Company are rejoined, and set to play; we must go to 'em: Adieu, and when you have a thought to throw away, bestow it on your Servant Fatyma.  [She goes to the Company. Wild. 
This Lady Fatyma pleases me most infinitely: now am I got among the Hamets', the Zegries, and the Bencerrages. hay, What work will the Wildbloods make among the Cid's and the Bens of the Arabians!  Beat. to Jac. 
False, or true Madam?  Jac. 
False as Hell; but by Heaven I'll fit him for't: Have you the high-running Dice about you?  Beat. 
I got them on purpose, Madam.  Jac. 
You shall see me win all their Money; and when I have done, I'll return in my own person, and ask him for the money which he promised me.  Beat. 
'Twill put him upon a straight to be so surprised: but, let us to the Table; the Company stays for us.  [The Company fit. Wild. 
What is the Lady's Game, Sir?  Lop. 
Most commonly they use Raffle. That is, to throw with three Dice, till Duplets and a chance be thrown; and the highest Duplets wins except you throw In and In, which is called Raffle; and that wins all.  Wild. 
I understand it: Come, Lady, 'tis no matter what I lose; the greatest stake, my heart, is gone already  To Jacinta. They play: and the rest by couples. Wild. 
So, I have a good chance, two quatres and a since.  Jac. 
Two sixes and a trey wins it.— sweeps the money.  Wild. 
No matter; I'll try my fortune once again: what have I here two sixes and a quater?— an hundred Pistols on that throw.  Jac. 
I take you, Sir.— Beatrix the high running Dice.—  Beat. 
Here Madam.—  Jac. 
Three fives: I have won you Sir.  Wild. 
ay, the pox take me for't, you have won me: it would never have vexed me to have lost my money to a Christian; but to a Pagan, an Infidel.—  Mask. 
Pray, Sir, leave off while you have some money.  Wild. 
Pox of this Lady Fatyma! Raffle thrice together, I am out of patience.  Mask. to him. 
Sir, I beseech you if you will lose, to lose en Cavalier.  Wild. 
Tol de ra, tol de ra— pox and curse— tol de ra, etc. What the Devil did I mean to play with this Brunet of Africa?  The Ladies rise. Wild. 
Will you be gone already Ladies?  Lop. 
You have won our money; but however we are acknowledging to you for the honour of your company.  Jacinta makes a sign of farewell to Wildblood. Wild. 
Farewell Lady Fatyma.  Exeunt all but Wild. and Mask. Mask. 
All the company took notice of your concernment.  Wild. 
'Tis no matter; I do not love to fret inwardly, as your silent losers do, and in the mean time be ready to choke for want of vent.  Mask. 
Pray consider your condition a little; a younger Brother in a foreign Country, living at a high rate, your money lost, and without hope of a supply. Now curse if you think good.  Wild. 
No, now I will laugh at myself most unmercifully: for my condition is so ridiculous that 'tis past cursing. The pleasantest part of the adventure is, that I have promised 300 pistols to Jacinta: but there is no remedy, they are now fair Fatymas.  Mask. 
Fatyma!  Wild. 
ay, I, a certain African Lady of my acquaintance whom you know not.  Mask. 
But who is here, Sir!  Enter Jacinta and Beatrix in their own shapes. Wild. 
Madam, what happy star has conducted you hither to night! A thousand Devils of this fortune!  [aside. Jac. 
I was told you had Ladies here and fiddles; so I came partly for the divertisement, and partly out of jealousy.  Wild. 
Jealousy! why sure you do not think me a Pagan, an Infidel? But the company's broke up you see. Am I to wait upon you home, or will you be so kind to take a hard lodging with me to night?  Jac. 
You shall have the honour to lead me to my Father's.  Wild. 
No more words then, let's away to prevent discovery.  Beat. 
For my part I think he has a mind to be rid of you.  Wild. 
No: but if your Lady should want sleep, 'twould spoil the lustre of her eyes to morrow. There were a Conquest lost.  Jac. 
I am a peaceable Princess, and content with my own; I mean your heart, and purse; for the truth is, I have lost my money to night in Masquerade, and am come to claim your promise of supplying me.  Wild. 
You make me happy by commanding me: to morrow morning my servant shall wait upon you with 300 pistols.  Jac. 
But I left my company with promise to return to play.  Wild. 
Play on tick, and lose the Indies, I'll discharge it all to morrow.  Jac. 
To night, if you'll oblige me.  Wild. 
Maskall, go and bring me 300 pistols immediately.  Mask. 
Are you mad Sir?  Wild. 
Do you expostulate you rascal! how he stares; I'll be hanged if he have not lost my gold at play: if you have, confess you had best, and perhaps I'll pardon you; but if you do not confess I'll have no mercy: did you lose it?  Mask. 
Sir, 'tis not for me to dispute with you.  Wild. 
Why then let me tell you, you did lose it.  Jac. 
ay, as sure as e'er he had it, I dare swear for him: but commend to you for a kind Master, that can let your Servant play off 300 pistols, without the least sign of anger to him.  Beat. 
'Tis a sign he has a greater bank in store to comfort him.  Wild. 
Well, Madam, I must confess I have more than I will speak of at this time; but till you have given me satisfaction—  Jac. 
Satisfaction; why are you offended, Sir?  Wild. 
Heaven! that you should not perceive it in me: I tell you I am mortally offended with you.  Jac. 
Sure 'tis impossible.  Wild. 
You have done nothing I warrant to make a man jealous: going out a gaming in Masquerade, at unseasonable hours, and losing your money, at play; that loss above all provokes me.  Beat. 
I believe you; because she comes to you for more.  [Aside.] Jac. 
Is this the quarrel? I'll clear it immediately.  Wild. 
'Tis impossible you should clear it; I'll stop my ears if you but offer it. There's no satisfaction in the point.  Jac. 
You'll hear me?—  Wild. 
To do this in the beginning of an amour, and to a jealous servant as I am; had I all the wealth of Peru, I would not let go one Maravediss to you.  Jac. 
To this I answer—  Wild. 
Answer nothing, for it will but inflame the quarrel betwixt us: I must come to myself by little and little; and when I am ready for satisfaction I will take it: but at present it is not for my honour to be friends.  Beat. 
Pray let us neighbour Princes interpose a little.  Wild. 
When I have conquered, you may interpose; but at present the mediation of all Christendom would be fruitless.  Jac. 
Though Christendom can do nothing with you, yet I hope an African may prevail. Let me beg you for the sake of the Lady Fatyma.  Wild. 
I begin to suspect that Lady Fatyma is no better than she should be. If she be turned Christian again I am undone.  Jac. 
By Alha I am afraid on't too: By Mahomet I am.  Wild. 
Well, well, Madam, any man may be overtaken with an oath; but I never meant to perform it with her: you know no oaths are to be kept with Infidels. But———  Jac. 
No, the love you made was certainly a design of charity you had to reconcile the two Religions. There's scarce such another man in Europe to be sent Apostle to convert the Moor Ladies.  Wild. 
Faith I would rather widen their breaches then make 'em up.  Jac. 
I see there's no hope of a reconcilement with you; and therefore I give it o'er as desperate.  Wild. 
You have gained your point, you have my money; and I was only angry because I did not know 'twas you who had it.  Jac. 
This will not serve your turn, Sir; what I have got I have conquered from you.  Wild. 
Indeed you use me like one that's conquered; for you have plundered me of all I had.  Jac. 
I only difarmed you for fear you should rebel again; for if you had the sinews of war I am sure you would be flying out.  Wild. 
Dare but to stay without a new Servant till I am flush again, and I will love you, and treat you, and present you at that unreasonable rate; that I will make you an example to all unbelieving Mistresses.  Jac. 
Well, I will try you once more; but you must make haste then, that we may be within our time; methinks our love is drawn out so subtle already, that 'tis near breaking.  Wild. 
I will have more care of it on my part, than the kindred of an old Pope have to preserve him.  Jac. 
Adieu; for this time I wipe off your score.  
Till you're caught tripping in some new amour.  [Ex. Women. Mask. 
You have used me very kindly, Sir, I thank you.  Wild. 
You deserved it for not having a lie ready for my occasions. A good Servant should be no more without it, than a Soldier without his arms. But prithee advise me what's to be done to get Jacinta.  Mask. 
You have lost her, or will lose her by your submitting: if we men could but learn to value ourselves, we should soon take down our Mistresses from all their Altitudes, and make 'em dance after our Pipes, longer perhaps than we had a mind to't.— But I must make haste, or I shall lose Don Melchor.—  Wild. 
Call Bellamy, we'll both be present at thy enterprise: then I'll once more to the Gaming-house with my small stock, for my last refuge: if I win, I have wherewithal to mollify Jacinta.  
If I throw out I'll bear it off with huffing;  
And snatch the money like a Bulli-Ruffin.  Exeunt.  

ACT. IU.  Bellamy, Wildblood: Maskall in a visor. Bell. 
HEre comes one, and in all probability it must be Don Melchor going to Theodosia.  Mask. 
Stand close, and you shall see me serve the Writ upon him.  Enter Don Melchor. Wild. 
Now, Maskall.  Mask. 
I stayed here, Sir, by express order from the Lady Aurelia, to deliver you this Note; and to desire you from her to meet her immediately in the Garden.  Mel. 
Do you hear friend!  Mask. 
Not a syllable more, Sir, I have performed my orders.  Maskal retires to his Masters. Mel. 
He's gone; and 'tis in vain for me to look after him. What envious Devil has discovered to Aurelia that I am in Town? it must be Don Lopez, who to advance his own pretentensions to her, has endeavoured to ruin mine.  Wild. 
It works rarely.  Mel. 
But I am resolved to see Aurelia; if it be but to defeat him.  Exit Melchor. Wild. 
Let's make haste after him; I long to see the end of this adventure.  Mask. 
Sir, I think I see some women coming yonder.  Bell. 
Well; I'll leave you to your adventures; while I prosecute my own.  Wild. 
I warrant you have made an assignation to instruct some Lady in the Mathematics.  Bell. 
I'll not tell you my design; because if it does not succeed you shall not laugh at me.  Exit Bellamy. Enter Beatrix; and Jacinta in the habit of a Mulatta. Wild. 
Let us withdraw a little, and see if they will come this way.  Beat. 
We are right, Madam, 'tis certainly your Englishman, and his Servant with him. But why this second trial, when you engaged to break with him, if he failed in the first?  Jac. 
'Tis true, he has been a little inconstant; choleric, or so.  Beat. 
And it seems you are not contented with those vices; but are searching him for more. This is the folly of a bleeding Gamester, who will obstinately pursue a losing hand.  Jac. 
On t'other side you would have me throw up my Cards before the game be lost: let me make this one more trial, when he has money whether he will give it me, and then if he fails—  Beat. 
You'll forgive him again.  Jac. 
He's already in Purgatory; but the next offence shall put him in the pit past all redemption; prithee sing to draw him nearer: Sure he cannot know me in this disguise.  Beat. 
Make haste then; for I have more Irons in the fire: when I have done with you I have another assignation of my Lady Theodosia's to Don Melchor.  

SONG.  

Calm was the Even, and clear was the Sky,  
And the new budding flowers did spring,  
When all alone went Amyntas and I  
To hear the sweet Nightingale sing;  
I sat, and he laid him down by me;  
But scarcely his breath he could draw;  
For when with a fear he began to draw near,  
He was dashed with A ha ha ha ha!   

2.  
He blushed to himself, and lay still for a while,  
And his modesty curbed his desire;  
But straight I convinced all his fear with a smile,  
Which added new flames to his fire.  
O Sylvia, said he, you are cruel,  
To keep your poor Lover in awe;  
Tken once more he pressed with his hand to my breast,  
But was dashed with A ha ha ha ha.   

3.  
I knew 'twas his passion that caused all his fear;  
And therefore I pitied his case:  
I whispered him softly there's no body near,  
And laid my cheek close to his face:  
But as he grew bolder and bolder,  
A Shepherd came by us and saw;  
And just as our bliss we began with a kiss,  
He laughed out with A ha ha ha ha.    Wild. 
If you dare be the Sylvia, Lady, I have brought you a more confident Amyntas, than that bashful Gentleman in your Song—-  Goes to lay hold of her. Jac. 
Hold, hold; Sir, I am only an Ambassadress sent you from a Lady, I hope you will not violate the Laws of Nations.  Wild. 
I was only searching for your Letters of Credence: but methinks with that beauty you look more like a Herald that comes to denounce war to all mankind.—  Jac. 
One of the Ladies in the Masque to night has taken a liking to you; and sent you by me this purse of gold, in recompense of that she saw you lose.  Wild. 
And she expects in return of it, that I should wait on her; I'll do't, Where lives she? I am desperately in love with her.  Jac. 
Why, Can you love her unknown?  Wild. 
I have a Banque of Love, to supply every one's occasions; some for her, some for another, and some for you; charge what you will upon me, I pay all at sight, and without questioning who brought the Bill.  Jac. 
Heyday, You dispatch your Mistresses as fast, as if you meant to o'errun all Womankind: sure you aim at the Universal-Monarchy.  Wild. 
Now I think on't, I have a foolish fancy to send thy Lady a taste of my love by thee.  Jac. 
'Tis impossible your love should be so humble, to descend to a Mulatta.  Wild. 
One would think so, but I cannot help it. Gad, I think the reason is because there's something more of sin in thy colour then in ours. I know not what's the matter, but a Turkey-cock is not more provoked at red, than I bristle at the sight of black. Come, be kinder to me. Young, and slip an opportunity? 'Tis an Evening lost out of your life.  Jac. 
These fine things you have said over a thousand times; your cold Compliment the cold Pie of love which you serve up to every new guest whom you invite.  Wild. 
Come; because thou art very moving, here's part of the Gold, which thou brought'st to corrupt me for thy Lady: truth is, I had promised a sum to a Spanish Lady— but thy eyes have allured it from me.  Jac. 
You'll repent to morrow.  Wild. 
Let to morrow starve: or provide for himself, as to night has done: to morrow is a cheat in love, and I will not trust it.  Jac. 
ay, but Heaven that sees all things—  Wild. 
Heaven that sees all things will say nothing: that is, all eyes and no tongue; Et la lune & les estoiles,— you know the Song.  Jac. 
A poor slave as I am—  Wild. 
It has been always my humour to love downward. I love to stoop to my prey, and to have it in my power to souse at when I please. When a man comes to a great Lady, he is fain to approach her with fear and reverence; methinks there's something of Godliness in't.  Jac. 
Yet I cannot believe, but the meanness of my habit must needs scandalize you.  Wild. 
I'll tell thee my friend and so forth, that I exceedingly honour course Linen; 'tis as proper sometimes in an under Garment, as a course Towel is to rub and scrub me.  Jac. 
Now I am altogether of the other side, I can love no where but above me: methinks the rattling of a Coach and six, sounds more eloquently, than the best Harangue a Wit could make me.  Wild. 
Do you make no more esteem of a Wit then?  Jac. 
His commendations serve only to make others have a mind to me; He does but say Grace to me like a Chaplain; and like him is the last that shall fall on. He ought to get no more by it, than a poor Silk-weaver does by the Ribbon which he works, to make a Gallant fine.  Wild. 
Then what is a Gentleman to hope from you?  Jac. 
To be admitted to pass my time with, while a better comes: to be the lowest step in my Staircase, for a Knight to mount upon him, and a Lord upon him, and a Marquis upon him, and a Duke upon him, till I get as high as I can climb.  Wild. 
For aught I see, the Great Ladies have the Appetites which you Slaves should have; and you Slaves the Pride which ought to be in Ladies. For, I observe, that all women of your condition are like the women of the Playhouse, still Piquing at each other, who shall go the best Dressed, and in the Richest Habits: till you work up one another by your high flying, as the Heron and Jerfalcon do. If you cannot outshine your fellow with one Lover, you fetch her up with another: and in short, all you get by it is only to put Finery out of countenance; and to make the Ladies of Quality go plain, because they will avoid the Scandal of your bravery.  Beat. running in. 
Madam, come away; I hear company in the Garden.  Wild. 
You are not going?  Jac. 
Yes, to cry out a Rape if you follow me.  Wild. 
However, I am glad you have left your treasure behind you: farewell Fairy.  Jac. 
Farewell Changeling— Come Beatrix.  [Exeunt Women. Mask. 
Do you know how you came by this money, Sir? you think, I warrant, that it came by fortune.  Wild. 
No, Sirrah, I know it came by my own industry. Did not I come out diligently to meet this gold, in the very way it was to come? what could Fate do less for me? they are such thoughtless, and undesigning rogues as you, that make a drudge of poor providence, and set it a shifting for you. Give me a brave fellow like myself; that if you throw him down into the world, lights every where upon his legs, and helps himself without being beholding to Fate, that is the Hospital of fools.  Mask. 
But after all your jollity, what think you if it was Jacinta that gave it you in this disguise? I am sure I heard her call Beatrix as she went away.  Wild. 
Umh! thou awaken'st a most villainous apprehension in me! methought indeed I knew the voice; but the face was such an evidence against it! if it were so she is lost for ever.  Mask. 
And so is Beatrix!  Wild. 
Now could I cut my throat for madness.  Mask. 
Now could I break my neck for despair; if I could find a precipice absolutely to my liking.  Wild. 
'Tis in vain to consider on't. There's but one way; go you Maskal, and find her out, and invent some excuse for me, and be sure to beg leave I may come and wait upon her with the gold before she sleeps.  Mak. 
In the mean time you'll be thinking at your lodging.  Wild. 
But make haste then to relieve me; for I think over all my thoughts in half an hour.  Exit Maskall. Wild solus. 
Hang't, now I think on't, I shall be but melancholic at my Lodging, I'll go pass my hour at the Gaming-house, and make use of this money while I have tools, to win more to it. Stay, let me see, I have the box and throw. My Don he sets me ten pistols; I neck him: ten more, I sweep them too. Now in all reason he is nettled, and sets me twenty: I win them too. Now he kindles, and butters me with forty. They are all my own: in fine, he is vehement, and bleeds on to fourscore or an hundred; and I not willing to tempt fortune, come away a moderate winner of 200 pistols.  The Scene opens and discovers Aurelia and Camilla: behind them a Table and lights set on it. The Scene is a Garden with an Arbour in it. 
The Garden door opens! How now, Aurelia and Camilla in expectation of Don Melchor at the Garden door; I'll away jest I prevent the design, and within this half hour come sailing back with full pockets, as wantonly as a laden Galleon from the Indies.  Exit. Aur. 
But dost thou think the Englishman can keep his promise? for I confess I furiously desire to see the Idea of Don Melchor.  Cam. 
But, Madam, if you should see him, it will not be he, but the Devil in his likeness; and then why should you desire it?  Aur. 
In effect 'tis a very dark Enigma; and one must be very spiritual to understand it. But be what it will, body or fantome, I am resolved to meet it.  Cam. 
Can you do it without fear?  Aur. 
No; I must avow it, I am furiously fearful; but yet I am resolved to sacrifice all things to my love. Therefore let us pass over that chapter.  Don Melchor without. Cam. 
Do you hear, Madam, there's one treading already; how if it be he?  Aur. 
If it be he; that is to say his Spectre, that is to say his Fantome, that is to say his Idea, that is to say, He and not he.  Cam. crying out. 
Ah, Madam, 'tis he himself; but he's as big again as he used to be, with eyes like saucers.— I'll save myself  runs under the table. Enter Don Melchor: they both shriek. Aur. 
Oh heaven! humanity is not able to support it. [running.  Mel. 
Dear Aurelia, what mean you?  Aur. 
The Tempter has imitated his voice too; avoid, avoid Spectre.  Cam. 
If he should find me under the table now!  Mel. 
Is it thus my Dear that you treat your Servant?  Aur. 
I am not thy Dear; I renounce thee, spirit of darkness.  Mel. 
This Spirit of darkness is come to see an Angel of light by her command; and to assure her of his constancy, that he will be hers eternally.  Aur. 
Away Infernal, 'tis not thee, 'tis the true Don Melchor that I would see.  Mel. 
Hell and Furies.  Aur. 
Heaven and Angels! Ah—  runs out shrieking. Mel. 
This is a riddle past my finding out, to send for me, and then to shun me; but here's one shall resolve it for me: Camilla, what dost thou there?  Cam. 
Help, help, I shall be carried away, bodily.  She rises up, overthrows the Table and lights, and runs out. The Scene Shuts. Mel. alone. 
Why Aurelia, Camilla! they are both run out of hearing! This amazes me; what can the meaning of it be? Sure she has heard of my unfathfulness, and was resolved to punish me by this contrivance! to put an affront upon me by this abrupt departure, as I did on her by my seeming absence.  Enter Theodosia and Beatrix. Theo. 
Don Melchor! is it you my Love that have frighted Aurelia so terribly?  Mel. 
Alas, Madam, I know not; but coming hither by your appointment, and thinking myself secure in the night without disguise, perhaps it might work upon her fancy, because she thought me absent.  Theo. 
Since 'tis so unluckily fallen out that she knows you are at Madrid, it can no longer be kept a secret; therefore you must now pretend openly to me, and run the risk of a denial from my Father.  Mel. 
O, Madam, there's no question but he'll refuse me: for alas, what is it he can see in me worthy of that honour? or if he should be so partial to me, as some in the world are, to think me valiant, learned, and not altogether a fool, yet my want of fortune would weigh down all.  Theo. 
When he has refused you his consent, I may with Justice dispose of myself; and that, while you are constant, shall never be to any but yourself: in witness of which, accept this Diamond as a Pledge of my heart's firmness to you.  Beat. 
Madam, Your Father is coming this way.  Theo. 
'Tis no matter; do not stir; since he must know you are returned, let him now see you.  Enter Don Alonzo. Alon. 
Daughter, What make you here at this unseasonable hour?  Theo. 
Sir,—  Alon. 
I know what you would say, That you heard a noise, and ran hither to see what it might be— Bless us! Who is this with you?  Mel. 
'Tis your servant Don Melchor; just returned from St. Sebastian's.  Alon. 
But, Sir, I thought you had been upon the Sea for Flanders.  Mel. 
I had so designed it.  Alon. 
But, Why came you back from St. Sebastian's?  Mel. 
As for that, Sir, 'tis not material—  Theo. 
An unexpected Law Suit has called him back from St. Sebastian's.  Alon. 
And, How fares my Son-in-Law that lives there?  Melch. 
In Catholic health, Sir.  Alon. 
Have you brought no Letters from him?  Mel. 
I had, Sir, but I was set on by the way, by Pickerons': and, in spite of my resistance, robbed, and my Portmanteau taken from me.  Theo. 
And this was that which he was now desiring me to excuse to you.  Alon. 
If my Credit, Friends, or Counsel can do you any service in your Suit, I hope you will command them freely.  Mel. 
When I have dispatched some private business I shall not fail to trouble you; till then, humbly kisses your hands, the most obliged of your servants—  Exit Melchor. Alon. 
Daughter, now this Cavalier is gone, What occasion brought you out so late? I know what you would say, That it is Melancholy; a Tincture of the Hypocondriaque you mean: but, What cause have you for this Melancholy? give me your hand, and answer me without Ambages or Ambiguities.  Theo. 
He will find out I have given away my Ring— I must prevent him— Sir, I am ashamed to confess it to you; but, in hope of your indulgence, I have lost the Table Diamond you gave me.  Alon. 
You would say, The fear of my displeasure has caused this perturbation in you; well, do not disquiet yourself too much, you say 'tis gone; I say so too. 'Tis stolen; and that by some Thief I take it: but, I will go and consult the ginger immediately.  [He is going. Theo. 
What have I done? to avoid one inconvenience, I have run into another: this Devil of an ginger will discover that Don Melchor has it.  [Aside. Alon. 
When did you lose this Diamond? the minute and second I should know; but the hour will serve for the Degree ascending.  Theo. 
Sir, the precise time I know not; but, it was betwixt six and seven this evening, as near as I can guests.  Alon. 
'Tis enough; by all the Stars I'll have it for you: Therefore go in, and suppose it on your finger.  Beat. 
I'll watch you at a distance, Sir, that my Englishman may have wherewithal to answer you——  [Aside.] Exit Theo. Beat. Alon. 
This melancholy wherewith my Daughter laboureth, is— a— I know what I would say, is a certain species of the Hysterical Diseases; or a certain motion, caused by a certain appetite, which at a certain time heaveth in her, like a certain motion of an Earthquake—  Enter Bellamy. Bell. 
This is the place, and very near the time that Theodosia appoints her meeting with Don Melchor. He is this night otherwise disposed of with Aurelia: 'Tis but trying my fortune to tell her of his Infidelity, and my love. If she yields she makes me happy; if not, I shall be sure Don Melchor has not planted the Arms of Spain in the Fort before me. However, I'll push my Fortune as sure as I am an Englishman.  Alon. 
Sennor Ingles, I know your voice, though I cannot perfectly discern you.  Bell. 
How the Devil come he to cross me?  Alon. 
I was just coming to have asked another Favour of you.  Bell. 
Without Ceremony command me, Sir.  Alon. 
My Daughter Theodosia has lost a fair Diamond from her finger, the time betwixt six and seven this evening; now I desire you, Sir, to erect a Scheme for it, and if it be lost, or stolen, to restore it to me— This is all, Sir.  Bell. 
There is no end of this old Fellow; thus will he bait me from day to day, till my ignorance be found out.—  [Aside. Alon. 
Now is he casting a Figure by the Art of Memory, and making a Judgement of it to himself. This Astrology is a very mysterious speculation—  [Aside. Bell. 
'Tis a madness for me to hope I can deceive him longer. Since than he must know I am no ginger, I'll discover it myself to him, and blush once for all—  [aside. Alon. 
Well, Sir, and what do the Stars hold forth? What says nimble Master Mercury to the matter?  Bell. 
Sir, not to keep you longer in ignorance, I must ingeniously declare to you that I am not the man for whom you take me. Some smattering in Astrology I have; which my Friends, by their indiscretion, have blown abroad, beyond my intentions. But, you are not a person to be imposed on like the vulgar: therefore, to satisfy you in one word, my skill goes not far enough to give you knowledge of what you desire from me.  Alon. 
You have said enough, Sir, to persuade me of your Science, if Fame had not published it, yet this very humility of yours were enough to confirm me in the belief of it.  Bell. 
Death, you make me mad, Sir: Will you have me Swear? As I am a Gentleman, a man of the Town, one who wears good clothes, Eats, Drinks, and Wenches abundantly; I am a damned ignorant, and senseless Fellow.  Enter Beatrix. Alon. 
How now Gentlewoman— What, Are you going to relief by Moonshine?  Beat. 
I was going on a very charitable Office, to help a Friend that was graveled in a very doubtful business.  Bell. 
Some good news, Fortune, I beseech thee.  Beat. 
But now I have found this learned Gentleman, I shall make bold to propound a Question to him from a Lady.  Alon. 
I will have my own Question first resolved.  Bell. 
O, Sir, 'tis from a Lady—  Beat. 
If you please, Sir, I'll tell it in your ear—— My Lady has given Don Melchor the Ring; in whose company her Father found her but just now at the Garden door.  [In whisper. Bell. aloud. 
Come to me to morrow, and you shall receive an answer—  Beat. 
Your Servant, Sir,——  [Exit Beatrix. Alon. 
Sir, I shall take it very unkindly if you satisfy any other, and leave me in this perplexity.  Bell. 
Sir, if my knowledge were according—  Alon. 
No more of that, Sir, I beseech you.  Bell. 
Perhaps I may know something by my Art concerning it; but, for your quiet, I wish you would not press me.  Alon. 
Do you think I am not Master of my Passions?  Bell. 
Since you will needs know what I would willingly have concealed, the person who has your Diamond, is he whom you saw last in your Daughter's company.  Alon. 
You would say 'tis Don Melchor de Guzman. Who, the Devil would have suspected him of such an action? But he is of a decayed Family, and poverty it seems has enforced him to it: now I think on't better he has e'en stolen it for a fee to bribe his Lawyer; to requite a lie with a theft; I'll seek him out, and tell him part of my mind before I sleep.  [Exit Alon. Bell. 
So, once more I am at liberty: but this Astrology is so troublesome a Science— would I were well rid on't.  Enter Don Lopez and a Servant. Lop. 
Astrology does he say? O Cavalier is it you; not finding you at home I came on purpose to seek you out: I have a small request to the Stars by your mediation.  Bell. 
Sir, for pity let 'em shine in quiet a little; for what for Ladies and their Servants, and younger Brothers, they scarce get a Holiday in a twelvemonth.  Lop. 
Pray pardon me, if I am a little curious of my destiny, since all my happiness depends on your answer.  Bell, 
Well, Sir, what is it you expect?  Lop. 
To know whether my love to a Lady will be successful.  Bell. 
'Tis Aurelia he means— (aside) Sir, in one word I answer you, that your Mistress loves another: one who is your friend: but comfort yourself; the Dragon's tail is between him and home, he never shall enjoy her.  Lop. 
But what hope for me?  Bell. 
The Stars have partly assured me you shall be happy, if you acquaint her with your passion, and with the double dealing of your friend, who is false to her.  Lop. 
You speak like an Oracle. But I have engaged my promise to that friend to serve him in his passion to my Mistress.  Bell. 
We English seldom make such scruples; Women are not comprised in our Laws of friendship: they are ferae naturae; our common game, like Hare and Partridge: every man has equal right to them, as he has to the Sun and Elements.  Lop. 
Must I then betray my friend?  Bell. 
In that case my friend is a Turk to me, if he will be so barbarous as to retain two women to his private use; I will be factious for all distressed Damsels; who would much rather have their cause tried by a full Jury, than a single Judge.  Lop. 
Well, Sir, I will take your counsel; and if I err, the fault be on love and you.—  Exit Lopez. Bell. 
Were it not for love I would run out of the Town, that's the short on't; for I have engaged myself in so many promises for the Sun and Moon, and those little minc'd-meats of 'em, that I must hide before my day-of-payment comes. In the mean time I forget Theodosia; but now I defy the Devil to hinder me.  As he is going out he meets Aurelia, and almost justles her down. With her Camilla enters. Aur. 
What rudeness is this?  Bell. 
Madam Aurelia, is it you?  Aur. 
Monsieur Bellamy!  Bell. 
The same, Madam.  Aur. 
My Uncle told me he left you here: and indeed I came hither to complain of you: for you have treated me so inhumanely that I have some reason to resent it.  Bell. 
What occasion can I have given you for a complaint?  Aur. 
Don Melchor, as I am informed by my Uncle, is effectively at Madrid: so that it was not his Idea, but himself in person whom I saw: and since you knew this, why did you conceal it from me?  Bell. 
When I spoke with you I knew it not: but I discovered it in the erecting of my figure. Yet if instead of his Idea I constrained himself to come, in spite of his resolution to remain concealed, I think I have shown a greater effect of my art then what I promised.  Aur. 
I render myself to so convincing an argument: but by overhearing a discourse just now betwixt my Cousin Theodosia and her Maid, I find that he has concealed himself upon her account, which has given me jealousy to the last point; for to avow an incontestable truth, my Cousin is furiously handsome.  Bell. 
Madam, Madam, trust not your ears too far; she talked on purpose that you might hear her: but I assure you the true cause of Don Melchor's concealment, was not love of her, but jealousy of you: he stayed in private to observe your actions: build upon't Madam, he is inviolably yours.  Aur. 
Then will he sacrifice my Cousin to me?  Bell. 
'Tis furiously true Madam.  Aur. 
O most agreeable assurance!  Cam. 
Albricias Madam, for my good news; Don Melchor is coming this way; I know him by his voice; but he is in company with another person.  Aur. 
It will not be convenient to give him any umbrage by seeing me with another person; therefore I will go before; do you stay here and conduct him to my Apartment. Good-night Sir.  Exit. Bell. 
I have promised Don Lopez he shall possess her; and I have promised her she shall possess Don Melchor: 'tis a little difficult I confess, as to the Matrimonial part of it: but if Don Melchor will be civil to her, and she be civil to Don Lopez, my credit is safe without the benefit of my Clergy. But all this nothing to Theodosia.  Exit Bellamy. Enter Don Alonzo and Don Melchor. Cam. 
Don Melchor, a word in private.  Mel. 
Your pleasure, Lady; Sir, I will wait on you immediately.  Cam. 
I am sent to you from a fair Lady, who bears you no ill will. You may guests whom I mean.  Mel. 
Not by my own merits, but by knowing whom you serve: but I confess I wonder at her late strange usage when she fled from me.  Cam. 
That was only a mistake; but I have now, by her command, been in a thousand places in quest of you.  Mel. 
You overjoy me.  Cam. 
And where amongst the rest do you think I have been looking you?  Mel. 
Pray refresh my memory.  Cam. 
In that same street, by that same shop; you know where by a good token.  Mel. 
By what token?  Cam. 
Just by that shop where, out of your nobleness, you promised me a new Silk Gown.  Mel. 
O, now I understand you.  Cam. 
Not that I press you to a performance—  Mel. 
Take this, and please yourself in the choice of it—  Gives her money.] Cam. 
Nay, dear Sir, now you make me blush; in faith I— an ashamed— I swear 'tis only because I would keep something for your sake.— But my Lady expects you immedeiately in her Apartment.  Mel. 
I'll wait on her if I can possibly— Exit Camilla. But if I can prevail with Don Alonzo for his Daughter, then will I again consider, which of the Ladies best deserves me.—  [Aside.] To Alonzo. 
Sir, I beg your pardon for this rudeness in leaving you.  Alon. 
I cannot possibly resolve with myself to tell him openly he is a thief; but I'll guild the pill for him to swallow.  [aside. Mel. 
I believe he has discovered our amour: how he surveys me for a Son in law!  Alon. 
Sir, I am sorry for your sake, that true nobility is not always accompanied with riches to support it in its lustre.  Mel. 
You have a just exception against the Caprichiousness of destiny; yet if I were owner of any noble qualities, (which I am not) I should not much esteem the goods of fortune.  Alon. 
But pray conceive me, Sir, your father did not leave you flourishing in wealth.  Mel. 
Only a very fair Seat in Andalusia, with all the pleasures imaginable about it: that alone, were my poor deserts according, which I confess they are not, were enough to make a woman happy in it.  Alon. 
But give me leave to come to the point I beseech you, Sir. I have lost a Jewel which I value infinitely, and I hear it is in your possession: but I accuse your wants, not you, for it.  Mel. 
Your Daughter is indeed a Jewel, but she were not lost, were she in possession of a man of parts.  Alon. 
A precious Diamond Sir.—  Mel. 
But a man of honour, Sir.  Alon. 
I know what you would say, Sir, that a man of honour is not capable of an unworthy action; but therefore I do not accuse you of the theft, I suppose the Jewel was only put into your hands.  Mel. 
By honourable ways I assure you Sir.  Alon. 
Sir, Sir, will you restore my Jewel?  Mel. 
Will you please, Sir, to give me leave to be the unworthy possessor of her? I know how to use her with that respect.—  Alon. 
I know what you would say, Sir, but if it belongs to our Family; otherwise I assure you it were at your service.  Mel. 
As it belongs to your Family I covet it; not that I plead my own deserts, Sir.  Alon. 
Sir, I know your deserts; but, I protest I cannot part with it: for, I must tell you, this Diamond Ring was originally my Great Grandfathers.  Mel. 
A Diamond Ring, Sir, do you mean?—  Alon. 
By your patience, Sir, when I have done you may speak your pleasure. I only lent it to my Daughter; but, how she lost it, and how it came upon your Finger, I am yet in tenebris.  Mel. 
Sir—  Alon. 
I know it, Sir; but spare yourself the trouble, I'll speak for you; you would say you had it from some other hand; I believe it, Sir.  Mel. 
But, Sir—  Alon. 
I warrant you, Sir, I'll bring you off without your speaking; from another hand you had it; and now Sir, as you say, Sir, and as I am saying for you, Sir, you are loath to part with it.  Mel. 
Good Sir,— let me—  Alon. 
I understand you already, Sir, that you have taken a fancy to it, and would buy it; but, to that I answer as I did before, that it is a Relic of my family: now, Sir, if you can urge aught farther, you have liberty to speak without interruption.  Mel. 
This Diamond you speak on I confess—  Alon. 
But, What need you confess, Sir, before you are accused?  Mel. 
You promised you would hear me in my turn, Sir, but—  Alon. 
But, as you were saying, it is needless, because I have already spoken for you.  Mel. 
The truth is, Sir, I was too presumptuous to take this Pledge from Theodosia without your knowledge; but, you will pardon the invincible necessity, when I tell you—  Alon. 
You need not tell me, I know your necessity was the reason of it, and that place and opportunity have caused your error.  Mel. 
This is the goodest old man I ever knew; he prevents me in my motion for his Daughter. Since, Sir, you know the cause of my errors, and are pleased to lay part of the blame upon Youth and Opportunity; I beseech you favour me so far, to accept me as fair Theodosia already has—.  Alon. 
I conceive you, Sir, that I would accept of your excuse: why restore the Diamond and 'tis done.  Mel. 
More joyfully than I received it: and with it I beg the honour to be received by you as your Son in Law.  Alon. 
My Son in Law! this is the most pleasant Proposition I ever heard.  Mel. 
I am proud you think it so; but, I protest I think not I deserve this honour.  Alon. 
Nor I, I assure you, Sir; marry my daughter— ha, ha, ha.  Mel. 
But, Sir—.  Alon. 
I know what you would say, Sir, that there is too much hazard in the Profession of a Thief, and therefore you would Marry my Daughter to become rich, without venturing your Neck for't. I beseech you, Sir, steal on, be apprehended, and if you please, be hanged, it shall make no breach betwixt us. For my part, I'll keep your Counsel, and so good night, Sir.  [Exit Alonzo. Mel. 
Is the Devil in this old man, first to give me occasion to confess my Love, and, when he knew it, to promise he would keep my Counsel? But, Who are these? I'll not be seen; but to my old appointment with Theodosia, and desire her to unriddle it—  [Exit Melchor. Enter Maskal, Jacinta, Beatrix. Mask. 
But, Madam, Do you take me for a man of Honour?  Jac. 
No.  Mask. 
Why there's it; if you had, I would have sworn that my Master has neither done nor intended you any injury; I suppose you'll grant he knew you in your disguise?  Beat. 
Nay, to know her, and use her so, is an aggravation of his Crime.  Mask. 
Unconscionable Beatrix! Would you two have all the Carnival to yourselves? He knew you, Madam, and was resolved to countermine you in all your Plots. But, when he saw you so much piqued, he was too good natured to let you sleep in wrath, and sent me to you to disabuse you: for, if the business had gone on till to morrow, when Lent begins, you would have grown so peevish (as all good Catholics are with fasting) that the quarrel would never have been ended.  Jac. 
Well; this mollifies a little: I am content he shall see me.  Mask. 
But, that you may be sure he knew you, he will bring the Certificate of the Purse along with him.  Jac. 
I shall be glad to find him innocent.  Enter Wildblood at the other end of the Stage. Wild. 
No mortal man ever threw out so often. It could not be me, it must be the Devil that did it: he took all the Chances, and changed 'em after I had thrown 'em: but, I'll be even with him; for, I'll never throw one of his Dice more.  Mask. 
Madam, 'tis certainly my Master; and he is so zealous to make his peace, that he could not stay till I called him to you— Sir.  Wild. 
Sirrah, I'll teach you more manners then to leave me another time: you Rogue, you have lost me two hundred Pistols, you and the Devil your accomplice; you, by leaving me to myself, and he by tempting me to Play it off.  Mask. 
Is the wind in that door? here's like to be fine doings.  Wild. 
Oh mischief! am I fallen into her ambush? I must face it out with another quarrel.—  [Aside. Jac. 
Your man has been treating your Accommodation; 'tis half made already.  Wild. 
ay, On your part it may be.  Jac. 
He says you knew me.  Wild. 
Yes; I do know you so well, that my poor heart aches for't: I was going to bed without telling you my mind; but, upon consideration I am come.  Jac. 
To bring the Money with you.  Wild. 
To declare my grievances, which are great, and many.  Mask. 
Well, for impudence, let thee alone.  Wild. 
As in the first place—  Jac. 
I'll hear no Grievances; Where's the Money?  Beat. 
I; keep to that, Madam.  Wild. 
Do you think me a person to be so used?  Jac. 
We will not quarrel; Where's the Money?  Wild. 
By your favour we will quarrel.  Beat. 
Money, Money—  Wild. 
I am angry, and can hear nothing.  Beat. 
Money, Money, Money, Money.  Wild. 
Do you think it a reasonable thing to put on two disguises in a Night, to tempt a man? (Help me, Maskal, for I want Arguments abominably) I thank Heaven I was never so barbarously used in all my life.  Jac. 
He begins to anger me in good earnest.  Mask. 
A thing so much against the Rules of Modesty: so undecent a thing.  Wild. 
ay, so undecent a thing: nay, now I do not wonder at myself for being angry. And then to wonder I should love her in those disguises? to quarrel at the natural desires of humane kind, assaulted by powerful temptations; I am enraged at that—  Jac. 
Heyday! you had best quarrel too for my bringing you the Money!  Wild. 
I have a grudging to you for't: (Maskall, the Money, Maskall; now help or we are gone.)  Mask. 
Would she offer to bring Money to you? first to affront your poverty——  Wild. 
I; to affront my poverty. But, that's no great matter; and then—  Mask. 
And then, to bring you Money (I stick fast, Sir.)  Wild. 
(Forward, you Dog, and invent, or I'll cut your throat;) and then as I was saying, to bring me Money—  Mask. 
Which is the greatest and most sweet of all temptations; and to think you could resist it: being also aggravated by her handsomeness who brought it.  Wild. 
Resist it? no; I would she would understand it, I know better what belongs to flesh and blood then so.  Beat. to Jac. 
This is plain confederacy; I smoke it; he came on purpose to quarrel with you; break first with him and prevent it.  Jac. 
If it be come to that once, the Devil take the hindmost; I'll not be last in love; for that will be a dishonour to my Sex.  Wild. 
And then—  Jac. 
Hold Sir; there needs no more: you shall fall out; and I'll gratify you with a new occasion: I only tried you in hope you would be false; and rather than fail of my design, brought gold to bribe you to't.  Beat. 
As people when they have an ill bargain, are content to lose by't, that they may get it off their hands.  Mask. 
Beatrix, while our principals are engaged, I hold it not for our honour to stand idle.  Beat. 
With all my heart: please you let us draw off to some other ground.  Mask. 
I dare meet you on any Spot, but one.  Wild. 
I think we shall do well to put it to an issue; this is the last time you shall ever be troubled with my addresses.  Jac. 
The favour had been greater to have spared this too.  Mask. 
Beatrix, let us dispatch; or they'll break off before us.  Beat. 
Break as fast as thou wilt, I am as brittle as thou art for thy heart.  Wild. 
Because I will absolutely break off with you, I will keep nothing that belongs to you: therefore take back your Picture, and your Handkerchief.  Jac. 
I have nothing of yours to keep; therefore take back your liberal promises. Take 'em in imagination.  Wild. 
Not to be behind hand with you in your frumps, I give you back your Purse of Gold: take you that— in imagination.  Jac. 
To conclude with you, take back your oaths and protestations; they are never the worse for the wearing I assure you: therefore take 'em, spick and span new, for the use of your next Mistress.  Mask. 
Beatrix, follow your leader; here's the sixpenny whittle you gave me, with the Mutton haft: I can spare it, for knives are of little use in Spain.  Beat. 
There's your Scissors with the stinking brass chain to 'em: 'tis well there was no love betwixt us; for they had been too dull to cut it.  Mask. 
There's the dandruff Comb you lent me.  Beat. 
There's your ferret Ribboning for garters.  Mask. 
I would never have come so near as to have taken 'em from you.  Beat. 
For your Letter I have it not about me; but upon reputation I'll burn it.  Mask. 
And for yours, I have already put it to a fitting employment.— Courage, Sir; how goes the battle on your wing?  Wild. 
Just drawing off on both sides. Adieu Spain.  Jac. 
Farewell old England.  Beat. 
Come away in Triumph; the day's your own Madam.  Mask. 
I'll bear you off upon my shoulders, Sir; we have broke their hearts.  Wild. 
Let her go first then; I'll stay, and keep the honour of the Field.  Jac. 
I'll not retreat, if you stay till midnight.  Wild. 
Are you sure than we have done loving?  Jac. 
Yes, very sure; I think so.  Wild. 
'Tis well you are so; for otherwise I feel my stomach a little maukish. I should have doubted another sit of love were coming up.  Jac. 
No, no; your inconstancy secures you enough for that.  Wild. 
That's it which makes me fear my own returning: nothing vexes me, but that you should part with me so slightly, as though I were not worth your keeping; well, 'tis a sign you never loved me.  Jac. 
'Tis the least of your care whether I did or did not: it may be it had been more for the quiet of myself, if I— but 'tis no matter, I'll not give you that satisfaction.  Wild. 
But what's the reason you will not give it me?  Jac. 
For the reason that we are quite broke off.  Wild. 
Why are we quite broke off?  Jac. 
Why are we not?  Wild. 
Well, since 'tis passed, 'tis past; but a pox of all foolish quarrelling for my part.  Jac. 
And a mischief of all foolish disguisements for my part.  Wild. 
But if it were to do again with another Mistress, I would e'en plainly confess I had lost my money.  Jac. 
And if I had to deal with another Servant, I would learn more wit then to tempt him in disguises: for that's to throw a Venice-glass to the ground, to try if it would not break.  Wild. 
If it were not to please you, I see no necessity of our parting.  Jac. 
I protest I do it only out of complaisance to you.  Wild. 
But if I should play the fool and ask you pardon, you would refuse it.  Jac. 
No, never submit, for I should spoil you again with pardoning you.  Mask. 
Do you hear this, Beatrix? they are just upon the point of accommodation; we must make haste or they'll make a peace by themselves; and exclude us from the Treaty.  Beat. 
Declare yourself the Aggressor then; and I'll take you into mercy.  Wild. 
The worst that you can say of me is that I have loved you thrice over.  Jac. 
The prime Articles between Spain and England are sealed; for the rest concerning a more strict alliance; if you please we'll dispute them in the Garden.  Wild. 
But in the first place let us agree on the Article of Navigation I beseech you.  Beat. 
These Leagues offensive and defensive will be too strict for us, Maskall: a Treaty of commerce will serve our turn.  Mask. 
With all my heart; and when our loves are veering, We'll make no words, but fall to privateering.  Exeunt, the men leading the women.  

ACT. V.  Lopez, Aurelia, and Camilla. Lop. 
'tIs true, if he had continued constant to you, I should have thought myself obliged in honour to be his friend; but I could no longer suffer him to abuse a person of your worth and beauty with a feigned affection.  Aur. 
But is it possible Don Melchor should be false to love? I'll be sworn I did not imagine such a treachery could have been in nature; especially to a Lady who had so obliged him.  Lop. 
'Twas this, Madam, which gave me the coufidence to wait upon at an hour which would be otherwise unseasonable.  Aur. 
You are the most obliging person in the world.  Lop. 
But to clear it to you that he is false; he is at this very minute at an assignation with your Cousin in the Garden; I am sure he was endeavouring it not an hour ago.  Aur. 
I swear this Evenings Air begins to incommode me extremely with a cold; but yet in hope of detecting this perjured man I am content to stay abroad.  Lop. 
But withal you must permit me tell you, Madam, that it is but just I should have some share in a heart which I endeavour to redeem: in the Law of Arms you know that they who pay the ransom have right to dispose of the prisoner.  Aur. 
The prize is so very inconsiderable that 'tis not worth the claiming.  Lop. 
If I thought the boon were small, I would not importune my Princess with the ask it: but since my life depends upon the grant—  Cam. 
Mam, I must needs tell your Laship that Don Lopez has deserved you: for he has acted all along like a Cavalier; and more for your interest than his own; besides Mam Don Melchor is as poor as he is false: for my part I shall ne'er endure to call him Master.  Aur. 
Don Lopez go along with me, I can promise nothing, but I swear I will do my best to disengage my heart from this furious tender which I have for him.  Cam. 
If I had been a man I could never have forsaken you: Ah those languishing casts, Mam; and that pouting lip of your Laship, like a Cherry-bough weighed down with the weight of fruit.  Aur. 
And that sigh too I think is not altogether disagreeaable: but something charmante and mignonne.  Cam. 
Well, Don Lopez, you'll be but too happy.  Lop. 
If I were once possessor—  Enter Bellamy and Theodosia. Theo. 
O we are surprised.  Bell. 
Fear nothing, Madam, I think I know 'em: Don Lopez?  Lop. 
Our famous ginger, how come you here!  Bell. 
I am infinitely happy to have met you with Donna Aurelia, that you may do me the favour to satisfy this Lady of a truth which I can scarce persuade her to believe.  Lop. 
I am glad our concernments are so equal: for I have the like favour to ask from Donna Theodosia.  Theo. 
Don Lopez is too noble to be refused any thing within my power; and I am ready to do him any service after I have asked my Cousin if ever Don Melchor pretended to her?  Aur. 
'Tis the very question which I was furiously resolved to have asked of you.  Theo. 
I must confess he has made some professions to me: and withal I will acknowledge my own weakness so far as to tell you I have given way he should often visit me when the world believed him absent.  Aur. 
O Cavalier ginger; how have you betrayed me! did you not assure me that Don Melchor's tender and inclination was for me only?  Bell. 
I had it from his Star, Madam, I do assure you, and if that twinkled false, I cannot help it: The truth is there's no trusting the Planet of an inconstant man: his was moving to you when I looked on't, and if since it has changed the course, I am not to be blamed for't.  Lop. 
Now, Madam, the truth is evident. And for this Cavalier he might easily be deceived in Melchor, for I dare affirm it to you both, he never knew to which of you he was most inclined: for he visited one, and writ letters to the other.  Bell. to Theo. 
Then Madam I must claim your promise: (since I have discovered to you that Don Melchor is unworthy of your favours) that you would make me happy, who amongst my many imperfections can never be guilty of such a falsehood.  Theo. 
If I have been deceived in Melchor whom I have known so long, you cannot reasonably expect I should trust you at a day's acquaintance.  Bell. 
For that, Madam, you may know as much of me in a day as you can in all your life: all my humours circulate like my blood, at farthest within 24 hours. I am plain and true like all my Countrymen; you see to the bottom of me as easily as you do to the gravel of a clear stream in Autumn.  Lop. 
You plead so well, Sir, that I desire you would speak for me too: my cause is the same with yours, only it has not so good an Advocate.  Aur. 
Since I cannot make myself happy, I will have the glory to felicitate another: and therefore I declare I will reward the fidelity of Don Lopez.  Theo. 
All that I can say at present is, that I will never be Don Melchors: the rest time and your service must make out.  Bell. 
I have all I can expect, to be admitted as eldest Servant; as preferment falls I hope you will remember my seniority.  Cam. 
Mam, Don Melchor.  Aur. 
Cavaliers retire a little; we shall see to which of us he will make his Court.  The men withdraw. Enter Don Melchor. Don Melchor 
I thought you had been a bed before this time.  Mel. 
Fair Aurelia, this is a blessing beyond expectation to see you again so soon.  Aur. 
What important business brought you hither?  Mel. 
Only to make my peace with you before I slept. You know you are the Saint to whom I pay my devotions.  Aur. 
And yet it was beyond your expectances to meet me? This is furiously incongruous.  Theo. advancing. 
Don Melchor, whither were you bound so late?  Mel. 
What shall I say? I am so confounded that I know not to which of them I should excuse myself.  Aside. Theo. 
Pray answer me truly to one question: did you never make any addresses to my Cousin.  Mel. 
Fie, fie, Madam, there's a question indeed.  Aur. 
How Monster of ingratitude, can you deny the Declaration of your passion to me?  Mel. 
I say nothing Madam.  Theo. 
Which of us is it for whom you are concerned?  Mel. 
For that Madam, you must excuse me; I have more discretion then to boast a Lady's favour.  Aur. 
Did you counterfeit an address to me?  Mel. 
Still I say nothing, Madam; but I will satisfy either of you in private; for these matters are too tender for public discourse.  Enter Lopez and Bellamy hastily with their swords drawn. Bellamy and Lopez! 
This is strange!  Lop. 
Ladies, we would not have disturbed you, but as we were walking to the Garden door, it opened suddenly against us, and we confusedly see by Moonlight, some persons entering, but who they were we know not.  Bell. 
You had best retire into the Garden-house, and leave us to take our fortunes, without prejudice to your reputations.  Enter Wildblood, Maskall, Jacinta, Beatrix. Wild. to Jacinta entering. 
Do not fear, Madam, I think I heard my friend's voice.  Bell. 
Marry hang you, is it you that have given us this hot alarm.  Wild. 
There's more in't than you imagine, the whole house is up: for seeing you two, and not knowing you after I had entered the Garden-door, I made too much haste to get out again, and have left the key broken in it. With the noise one of the Servants came running in, whom I forced back; and doubtless he is gone for company, for you may see lights running through every Chamber.  Theo. Jaci. 
What will become of. us?  Bell. 
We must have recourse to our former resolution. Let the Ladies retire into the Garden-house. And now I think on't you Gentlemen shall go in with 'em, and leave me and Maskall to bear the brunt on't.  Mask. 
Me, Sir? I beseech you let me go in with the Ladies too; dear Beatrix speak a good word for me, I protest 'tis more out of love to thy company than for any fear I have.  Bell. 
You Dog I have need of your wit and counsel. We have no time to deliberate. Will you stay, Sir?  [to Maskall. Mask. 
No Sir, 'tis not for my safety.  Bell. 
Will you in Sir?  [to Melchor. Mel. 
No Sir, 'tis not for my honour, to be assisting to you: I'll to Don Alonzo, and help to revenge the injury you are doing him.  Bell. 
Then we are lost, I can do nothing.  Wild. 
Nay, and you talk of honour, by your leave Sir. I hate your Spanish honour ever since it spoiled our English Plays, with faces about and t'other side.  Falls upon him & throws him down. Mel. 
What do you mean, you will not murder me?  Mel. 
Must valour be oppressed by multitudes?  Wild. 
Come yarely my mates, every man to his share of the burden. Come yarly hay.  The four men take him each by a limb, and carry him out, he crying murder. Theo. 
If this Englishman save us now I shall admire his wit.  Beat. 
Good wits never think themselves admired till they are well rewarded: you must pay him in specie, Madam, give him love for his wit.  Enter the Men again. Bell. 
Ladies fear nothing, but enter into the Garden-house with these Cavaliers—  Mask. 
Oh that I were a Cavalier too!  Is going with them. Bell. 
Come you back Sirrah.  Stops him. 
Think yourselves as safe as in a Sanctuary, only keep quiet what ever happens.  Jac. 
Come away then, they are upon us.  Exeunt all but Bell. and Mask. Mask. 
Hark, I hear the foe coming: methinks they threaten too, Sir; pray let me go in for a Guard to the Ladies and poor Beatrix. I can fight much better when there is a wall betwixt me and danger.  Bell. 
Peace, I have occasion for your wit to help me lie.  Mask. 
Sir, upon the faith of a sinner you have had my last lie already; I have not one more to do me credit as I hope to be saved, Sir.  Bell. 
Victore, victore; knock under you rogue, and confess me Conqueror, and you shall see I'll bring all off.  Enter Don Alonzo and six Servants; with lights and swords drawn. Alon. 
Search about there.  Bell. 
Fear nothing, do but vouch what I shall say.  Mask. 
For a passive lie I can yet do something.  Alon. 
Stand: who goes there?  Bell. 
Friends.  Alon. 
Friends? who are you?  Bell. 
Noble Don Alonzo, such as are watching for your good.  Alon. 
Is it you, Sennor Ingles? why all this noise and tumult? where are my Daughters and my Niece? But in the first place, though last named, how came you hither, Sir.  Bell. 
I came hither— by Astrology, Sir.  Mask. 
My Master's in, heavens send him good shipping with his lie, and all kind Devils stand his friends.  Alon. 
How, by Astrology, Sir? meaning you came hither by Art Magic.  Bell. 
I say by pure Astrology Sir, I foresaw by my Art a little after I had left you that your Niece and Daughters would this night run a risk of being carried away from this very Garden.  Alon. 
O the wonders of this speculation!  Bell. 
Thereupon I called immediately for my sword and came in all haste to advertise you; but I see there's no resisting Destiny, for just as I was entering the Garden door I met the Women with their Gallants all under sail and outward bound.  Mask. 
Thereupon what does me he but draws by my advice—  Bell. 
How now Mr. Rascal? are you itching to be in?  Mask. 
Pray, Sir, let me go snip with you in this lie, and be not too covetous of honour? you know I never stood with you; now my courage is come to me I cannot resist the temptation.  Bell. 
Content; tell on.  Mask. 
So in short Sir we drew, first I, and then my Master; but, being overpowered, they have escaped us, so that I think you may go to bed and trouble yourself no further, for gone they are.  Bell. 
You tell a lie! you have curtailed my invention: you are not fit to invent a lie for a Bawd when she would whedle a young Squire.  Alon. 
Call up the Officers of Justice, I'll have the Town searched immediately.  Bell. 
'Tis in vain, Sir; I know by my Art you'll never recover 'em: besides, 'tis an affront to my friends the Stars, who have otherwise disposed of 'em.  Enter a Servant. Ser. 
Sir, the key is broken in the Garden-door, and the door locked, so that of necessity they must be in the Garden yet.  Alon. 
Disperse yourselves, some into the Wilderness, some into the Allies, and some into the Parterre: you Diego, go try to get out the key, and run to the Corigidore for his assistance: in the mean time I'll search the Garden-house myself.  Exeunt all the Servants but one. Mask. 
I'll be unbetted again if you please Sir, and leave you all the honour of it.  [To Bellamy aside. Alon. 
Come Cavalier, let us in together.  Bell. holding him. 
Hold Sir for the love of heaven, you are not mad.  Alon. 
We must leave no place unsearched. A light there.  Bell. 
Hold I say, do you know what you are undertaking? and have you armed yourself with resolution for such an adventure?  Alon. 
What adventure?  Bell. 
A word in private— The place you would go into is full of enchantments; there are at this time, for aught I know, a Legion of spirits in it.  Alon. 
You confound me with wonder, Sir!  Bell. 
I have been making there my Magical operations, to know the event of your Daughter's flight: and, to perform it rightly, have been forced to call up Spirits of several Orders: and there they are humming like a swarm of Bees, some stalking about upon the ground, some flying, and some sticking upon the walls like Rear-mices.  Mask. 
The Devil's in him, he's got off again.  Alon. 
Now Sir I shall try the truth of your friendship to me. To confess the secret of my soul to you, I have all my life been curious to see a Devil: And to that purpose have conned Agrippa through and through, and made experiment of all his rules, Pari die & incremento Lunae, and yet could never compass the sight of one of these Daemoniums: if you will ever oblige me let it be on this occasion.  Mask. 
There's another storm arising.  Bell. 
You shall pardon me, Sir, I'll not expose you to that peril for the world without due preparations of ceremony.  Alon. 
For that, Sir, I always carry a Talisman about me; that will secure me: and therefore I will venture in a God's name, and defy 'em all at once.  [Going in. Mask. 
How the pox will he get off from this?  Bell. 
Well, Sir, since you are so resolved, send off your Servant that there may be no noise made on't, and we'll take our venture.  Alon. 
Pedro, leave your light, and help the fellows search the Garden.  Exit Servant. Mask. 
What does my incomprehensible Master mean?  Bell. 
Now I must tell you Sir, you will see that which will very much astonish you if my Art fail me not.  Goes to the door. 
You Spirits and Intelligences that are within there, stand close, and silent, at your peril, and fear nothing, but appear in your own shapes, boldly.— Maskal open the door.  Maskall goes to one side of the Scene, which draws, and discovers Theo. Jac. Aur. Beat. Cam. Lop. Wild. standing all without motion in a rank. 
Now Sir what think you?  Alon. 
They are here, they are here: we need search no farther. Ah you ungracious baggages!  [Going toward them. Bell. 
Stay, or you'll be torn in pieces: these are the very shapes I Conjured up, and truly represent to you in what company your Niece and Daughters are, this very moment.  Alon. 
Why are they not they? I durst have sworn that some of 'em had been my own flesh and blood— Look; one of them is just like that rogue your Comrade.  Wildblood shakes his head and frowns at him. Bell. 
Do you see how you have provoked that English Devil: take heed of him; if he gets you once into his clutches:—  Wildblood embracing Jacinta. Alon. 
He seems to have got possession of the Spirit of my Jacinta by his hugging her.  Bell. 
Nay, I imagined as much: do but look upon his physiognomy, you have read Baptista Porta: has he not the leer of a very lewd debauched Spirit?  Alon. 
He has indeed: Then there's my Niece Aurelia, with the Spirit of Don Lopez; but that's well enough; and my Daughter Theodosia all alone: pray how comes that about?  Bell. 
She's provided for with a Familiar too: one that is in this very room with you, and by your Elbow; but I'll show you him some other time.  Alon. 
And that Baggage Beatrix, how I would swinge her if I had her here; I lay my life she was in the Plot for the flight of her Mistresses.  [Bea. Claps her hands at him. Bell. 
Sir you do ill to provoke her: for being the Spirit of a Woman, she is naturally mischievous: you see she can scarce hold her hands from you already.  Mask. 
Let me alone to revenge your quarrel upon Beatrix: if e'er she come to light I'll take a course with her I warrant you Sir.  Bell. 
Now come away Sir, you have seen enough: the Spirits are in pain whilst we are here: we keep 'em too long condensed in bodies: if we were gone they would rarify into air immediately. Maskall shut the door.  Maskall goes to the Scene and it closes. Alon. 
Monstrum hominis! O prodigy of Science!  Enter two Servants with Don Melchor. Bell. 
Now help me with a lie Maskall, or we are lost.  Mask. 
Sir, I could never lie with man or woman in a fright.  Ser. 
Sir, we found this Gentleman bound and gagged, and he desired us to bring him to you with all haste imaginable.  Mel. 
O Sir, Sir, your two Daughters and your Niece—  Bell. 
They are gone he knows it: but are you mad Sir to set this pernicious wretch at liberty?  Mel. 
I endeavoured all that I was able—  Mask. 
Now Sir I have it for you— Aside to his Master. He was endeavouring indeed to have got away with 'em: for your Daughter Theodosia was his prize: but we prevented him, and left him in the condition in which you see him.  Alon. 
I thought somewhat was the matter that Theodosia had not a Spirit by her, as her Sister had.  Bell. 
This was he I meant to show you.  Mel. 
Do you believe him Sir?  Bell. 
No, no, believe him Sir: you know his truth ever since he stole your Daughter's Diamond.  Mel. 
I swear to you by my honour.  Alon. 
Nay, a thief I knew him, and yet after that, he had the impudence to ask me for my Daughter.  Bell. 
Was he so impudent? The case is plain Sir, put him quickly into custody.  Mel. 
Hear me but one word Sir, and I'll discover all to you.  Bell. 
Hear him not Sir: for my Art assures me if he speaks one syllable more, he will cause great mischief.  Alon. 
Will he so? I'll stop my ears, away with him.  Mel. 
Your Daughters are yet in the Garden, hidden by this fellow and his accomplices.  Alon. at the same time drowning him. 
I'll stop my ears, I'll stop my ears.  Bell. and Mask. at the same time also. 
A thief, a thief, away with him.  Servants carry Melchor off struggling. Alon. 
He thought to have born us down with his confidence.  Enter another Servant. Ser. 
Sir, with much ado we have got out the key and opened the door.  Alon. 
Then, as I told you, run quickly to the Corregidor, and desire him to come hither in person to examine a malefactor.  Wildblood sneezes within. Alon. 
Hark, what noise is that within? I think one sneezes.  Bell. 
One of the Devils I warrant you has got a cold with being so long out of the fire.  Alon. 
Bless his Devilship as I may say.  Wildblood sneezes again. Ser. to Don Alonzo. 
This is a man's voice, do not suffer yourself to be deceived so grossly, Sir.  Mask. 
A man's voice, that's a good one indeed! that you should live to these years and yet be so silly as not to know a man from a Devil.  Alon. 
There's more in't than I imagined: hold up your Torch and go in first, Pedro, and I'll follow you.  Mask. 
No let me have the honour to be your Usher.  Takes the Torch and goes in. Mask. within. 
Help, help, help.  Alon. 
What's the matter?  Bell. 
Stir not upon your life Sir.  Enter Maskall again without the Torch. Mask. 
I was no sooner entered, but a huge Giant seized my Torch, and felled me along, with the very whiff of his breath as he passed by me.  Alon. 
Bless us!  Bell at the door to them within. 
Pass out now while you have time in the dark: the Officers of Justice will be here immediately, the Garden-door is open for you.  Alon. 
What are you muttering there Sir?  Bell. 
Only dismissing these Spirits of darkness, that they may trouble you no further: go out I say.  They all come out upon the Stage, groping their way. Wildblood falls into Alonzo's hands. Alon. 
I have caught some body; are these your Spirits? Another light quickly, Pedro.  Mask. slipping between Alonzo and Wildblood. 
'Tis Maskall you have caught, Sir; do you mean to strangle me that you press me so hard between your Arms?  Alon. letting Wildblood go. 
Is it thee Maskall? I durst have sworn it had been another.  Bell. 
Make haste now before the Candle comes.  Aurelia falls into Alonzo's arms. Alon. 
Now I have another.  Aur. 
'Tis Maskall you have caught Sir.  Alon. 
No I thank you Niece, this artifice is too gross! I know your voice a little better. What ho bring lights there.  Bell. 
Her impertinence has ruined all.  Enter Servants with lights and swords drawn. Ser. 
Sir, the Corregidor is coming according to your desire: in the mean time we have secured the Garden doors.  Alon. 
I am glad on't: I'll make some of 'em severe examples.  Wild. 
Nay then as we have lived merrily, so let us die together: but we'll show the Don some sport first.  Theo. 
What will become of us!  Jac. 
We'll die for company: nothing vexes me but that I am not a man to have one thrust at that malicious old father of mine before I go.  Lop. 
Let us break our way through the Corregidor's band.  Jac. 
A match i'faith: we'll venture our bodies with you: you shall put the baggage in the middle.  Wild. 
He that pierces thee, I say no more, but I shall be somewhat angry with him: [to Alonzo] in the mean time I arrest you Sir, in the behalf of this good company. As the Corregidor uses us, so we'll use you.  Alon. 
You do not mean to murder me!  Bell. 
You murder yourself if you force us to it.  Wild. 
Give me a Razor there, that I may scrape his weeson, that the bristles may not hinder me when I come to cut it.  Bell. 
What need you bring matters to that extremity? you have your ransom in your hand: here are three men, and there are three women; you understand me.  Jac. 
If not, here's a sword and there's a throat: you understand me.  Alon. 
This is very hard!  Theo. 
The propositions are good, and marriage is as honourable as it used to be.  Beat. 
You had best let your Daughters live branded with the name of Strumpets: for what ever befalls the men, that will be sure to be their share.  Alon. 
I can put them into a Nunnery.  All the Women. 
A Nunnery!  Jac. 
I would have thee to know, thou graceless old man, that I defy a Nunnery: name a Nunnery once more, and I disown thee for my Father.  Lop. 
You know the Custom of the Country, in this case Sir: 'tis either death or marriage: the business will certainly be public; and if they die they have sworn you shall bear 'em company.  Alon. 
Since it must be so, run Pedro and stop the Corregidor: tell him it was only a Carnival merriment, which I mistook for a Rape and Robbery.  Jac. 
Why now you are a dutiful Father again, and I receive you into grace.  Bell. 
Among the rest of your mistakes, Sir, I must desire you to let my Astrology pass for one: my Mathematics, and Art Magic were only a Carnival device; and now that's ending, I have more mind to deal with the flesh than with the devil.  Alon. 
No ginger! 'tis impossible!  Mask. 
I have known him, Sir, this seven years, and dare take my oath he has been always an utter stranger to the Stars: and indeed to any thing that belongs to heaven.  Lop. 
Then I have been cozened among the rest.  Theo. 
And I; but I forgive him.  Beat. 
I hope you will forgive me, Madam; who have been the cause on't; but what he wants in Astrology he shall make up to you some other way I'll pass my word for him.  Alon. 
I hope you are both Gentlemen?  Bell. 
As good as the Cid himself, Sir.  Alon. 
And for your Religion, right Romans—  Wild. 
As ever was Marc Anthony.  Alon. 
For your fortunes and courages—  Mask. 
They are both desperate, Sir; especially their fortunes.  Theo. to Bell. 
You should not have had my consent so soon, but only to revenge myself upon the falseness of Don Melchor.  Aur. 
I must avow that gratitude, for Don Lopez is as prevalent with me as revenge against Don Melchor.  Alon. 
Lent you know begins to morrow; when that's over marriage will be proper.  Jac. 
If I stay till after Lent, I shall be to marry when I have no love left: I'll not bate you an Ace of to night, Father: I mean to bury this man ere Lent be done, and get me another before Easter.  Alon. 
Well, make a night on't then.  [Giving his Daughters. Wild. 
Jacinta Wildblood, welcome to me: since our Stars have doomed it so we cannot help it: but 'twas a mere trick of Fate to catch us thus at unawares: to draw us in with a what do you lack as we passed by: had we once separated to night, we should have had more wit than ever to have met again to morrow.  Jac. 
'Tis true we shot each other flying: we were both upon wing I find; and had we passed this Critical minute, I should have gone for the Indies, and you for Greenland ere we had met in a bed upon consideration.  Mask. 
You have quarrelled twice to night without bloodshed, 'ware the third time.  Jac. 
A propos! I have been retrieving an old Song of a Lover that was ever quarrelling with his Mistress: I think it will fit our amour so well, that if you please I'll give it you for an Epithalamium: and you shall sing it.  Gives him a Paper. Wild. 
I never sung in all my life; nor ever durst try when I was alone, for fear of braying.  Jac. 
Just me, up and down; but for a frolic let's sing together: for I am sure if we cannot sing now, we shall never have cause when we are married.  Wild. 
Begin then; give me my Key, and I'll set my voice to't.  Jac. 
Fa la, fa lafoy, fa la.  Wild. 
Fala, fala, fala. Is this your best upon the faith of a Virgin?  Jac. 
I by the Muses, I am at my pitch.  Wild. 
Then do your worst: and let the company be judge who sings worst.  Jac. 
Upon condition the best singer shall wear the breeches: prepare to strip Sir; I shall put you into your drawers presently.  Wild. 
I shall be revenged with putting you into your smock anon; St. George for me.  Jac. 
St. James for me: come start Sir.  

SONG.  

Damon.  
Celimena, of my heart,  
None shall e'er bereave you:  
If, with your good leave, I may  
Quarrel with you once a day,  
I will never leave you.   

2. Celimena.  
Passion's but an empty name  
Where respect is wanting:  
Damon you mistake your aim;  
Hang your heart, and burn your flame,  
If you must be ranting.   

3. Damon.  
Love as dull and muddy is,  
As decaying liquour:  
Anger sets it on the lees,  
And refines it by degrees,  
Till it works it quicker.   

4. Celimena.  
Love by quarrels to beget  
Wisely you endeavour;  
With a grave Physician's wit  
Who to cure an Ague fit  
Put me in a Favour.   

5. Damon.  
Anger rouzes love to fight,  
And his only bait is,  
'Tis the spur to dull delight,  
And is but an eager bite,  
When desire at height is.   

6. Celimena.  
If such drops of heat can fall  
In our wooing weather;  
If such drops of heat can fall,  
We shall have the Devil and all  
When we come together.    Wild. 
Your judgement Gentlemen: a Man or a Maid?  Bell. 
And you make no better harmony after you are married than you have before, you are the miserablest couple in Christendom.  Wild. 
'Tis no great matter; if I had had a good voice she would have spoiled it before tomorrow.  Bell. 
When Maskall has married Beatrix, you may learn of her.  Mask. 
You shall put her life into a Lease then.  Wild. 
Upon condition that when I drop into your house from hunting, I may set my slippers at your door, as a Turk does at a Jews, that you may not enter.  Beat. 
And while you refresh yourself within, he shall wind the horn without.  Mask. 
I'll throw up my Lease first.  Bell. 
Why thou wouldst not be so impudent, to marry Beatrix: for thyself only?  Beat. 
For all his ranting and tearing now, I'll pass my word he shall degenerate into as tame and peaceable a Husband as a civil Woman would wish to have.  Enter Don Melchor with a Servant. Mel. 
Sir—  Alon. 
I know what you would say, but your discovery comes too late now.  Mel. 
Why the Ladies are found.  Aur. 
But their inclinations are lost I can assure you.  Jac. 
Look you Sir, there goes the game: your Plate-fleet is divided; half for Spain, and half for England.  Theo. 
You are justly punished for loving two.  Mel. 
Yet I have the comfort of a cast Lover: I will think well of myself; and despise my Mistresses.  Exit. DANCE. Bell. 
Enough, enough; let's end the Carnival a-bed.  Wild. 
And for these Gentlemen, when e'er they try, May they all speed as soon, and well as I.  Exeunt omnes.  

Epilogue.  

MY part being small, I have had time to day.  
To mark your various censures of our Play:  
First, looking for a Judgement or a Wit,  
Like Jews I saw 'em scattered through the Pit:  
And where a knot of Smilers lent an ear  
To one that talked, I knew the foe was there.  
The Club of jests went round; he who had none  
Borrowed o'th' next, and told it for his own:  
Among the rest they kept a fearful stir,  
In whispering that he stole th' ginger;  
And said, betwixt a French and English Plot  
He eased his half-tired Muse, on pace and trot.  
Up starts a Monsieur new come o'er; and warm  
In the French stoop; and the pull-back o'th' arm;  
Morbleu dit il, and cocks, I am a rogue  
But he has quite spoiled the faint Astrologue.  
Pox, says another; here's so great a stir  
With a son of a whore Farce that's regular,  
A rule where nothing must decorum shock!  
Dam' me 'tis as dull as dining by the clock.  
An Evening! why the devil should we be vexed  
Whither he gets the Wench this night or next?  
When I heard this, I to the Poet went,  
Told him the house was full of discontent,  
And asked him what excuse he could invent.  
He neither swore nor stormed as Poets do,  
But, most unlike an Author, vowed 'twas true.  
Yet said, he used the French like Enemies,  
And did not steal their Plots, but made 'em prize.  
But should he all the pains and charges count  
Of taking 'em, the bill so high would mount,  
That, like prize-good, which through the Office come,  
He could have had 'em much more cheap at home.  
He still must write; and Banquier-like, each day  
Accept new Bills, and he must break, or pay.  
When through his hands such sums must yearly run,  
You cannot think the Stock is all his own.  
His haste his other errors might excuse;  
But there's no mercy for a guilty Muse:  
For like a Mistress, she must stand or fall,  
And please you to a height, or not at all.   
FINIS.