John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Flo. What is it, that makes you fidge up and down so?

  Cel. ‘Faith, I am sent for by a very dear friend, and ’tis upon a business of life and death.

  Flo. On my life, some woman?

  Cel. On my honour, some man; do you think I would lie to you?

  Flo. But you engaged to sup with me.

  Cel. But I consider it may be scandalous to stay late in your lodgings. Adieu, dear miss! If ever I am false to thee again! — [Exit CELADON.

  Flo. See what constant metal you men are made of! He begins to vex me in good earnest. Hang him, let him go and take enough of ‘em: And yet, methinks, I can’t endure he should neither. Lord, that such a mad-cap as I should ever live to be jealous! I must after him. Some ladies would discard him now, but I A fitter way for my revenge will find; I’ll marry him, and serve him in his kind.

  [Exit FLO.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I, — The Walks.

  MELISSA, after her OLINDA and SABINA.

  Mel. I must take this business up in time: This wild fellow begins to haunt my house again. Well, I’ll be bold to say it, ’tis as easy to bring up a young lion without mischief, as a maidenhead of fifteen, to make it tame for an husband’s bed. Not but that the young man is handsome, rich, and young, and I could be content he should marry one of them; but to seduce them both in this manner: — Well, I’ll examine them apart, and if I can find out which he loves, I’ll offer him his choice. — Olinda, come hither, child.

  Olin. Your pleasure, madam?

  Met. Nothing but for your good, Olinda; what think you of Celadon?

  Olin. Why I think he’s a very mad fellow; but yet I have some obligements to him: he teaches me new airs of the guitar, and talks wildly to me, and I to him.

  Mel. But tell me in earnest, do you think he loves you?

  Olin. Can you doubt it? There were never two so cut out for one another; we both love singing, dancing, treats, and music. In short, we are each other’s counterpart.

  Mel. But does he love you seriously?

  Olin. Seriously? — I know not that; if he did, perhaps I should not love him: But we sit and talk, and wrangle, and are friends; when we are together, we never hold our tongues; and then we have always a noise of fiddles at our heels; he hunts me merrily, as the hound does the hare; and either this is love, or I know it not.

  Mel. Well, go back, and call Sabina to me.

  [OLINDA goes behind.

  This is a riddle past my finding out: Whether he loves her, or no, is the question; but this, I am sure of, she loves him: — O my little favourite, I must ask you a question concerning Celadon: is he in love with you?

  Sab. I think, indeed, he does not hate me; at least, if a man’s word may be taken for it.

  Mel. But what expressions has he made you?

  Sab. Truly, the man has done his part: He has spoken civilly to me, and I was not so young but I understood him.

  Mel. And you could be content to marry him?

  Sab. I have sworn never to marry: besides he’s a wild young man; yet, to obey you, mother, I would be content to be sacrificed.

  Mel. No, no, we would but lead you to the altar.

  Sab. Not to put off the gentleman neither; for if I have him not, I am resolved to die a maid, that’s once, mother.

  Mel. Both my daughters are in love with him, and I cannot yet find he loves either of them.

  Olin. Mother, mother, yonder’s Celadon in the walks.

  Mel. Peace, wanton; you had best ring the bells for joy. Well, I’ll not meet him, because I know not which to offer him; yet he seems to like the youngest best: I’ll give him opportunity with her. Olinda, do you make haste after me.

  Olin. This is something hard though.

  [Exit MEL.

  Enter CELADON.

  Cel. You see, ladies, the least breath of yours brings me to you: I have been seeking you at your lodgings, and from thence came hither after you.

  Sab. ’Twas well you found us.

  Cel. Found you! half this brightness betwixt you two was enough to have lighted me; I could never miss my way: Here’s fair Olinda has beauty enough for one family; such a voice, such a wit, so noble a stature, so white a skin! —

  Olin. I thought he would be particular at last. [Aside.

  Cel. And young Sabina, so sweet an innocence, such a rose-bud newly blown. This is my goodly palace of love, and that my little withdrawing room. A word, madam. — [To SAB.

  Olin. I like not this — [Aside.] Sir, if you are not too busy with my sister, I would speak with you.

  Cel. I come, madam.

  Sab. Time enough, sir; pray finish your discourse — and as you were a saying, sir, —

  Olin. Sweet sir, —

  Sab. Sister, you forget, my mother bid you make haste.

  Olin. Well, go you, and tell her I am coming.

  Sab. I can never endure to be the messenger of ill news; but, if you please, I’ll send her word you won’t come.

  Olin. Minion, minion, remember this — [Exit OLIN.

  Sab. She’s horribly in love with you.

  Cel. Lord, who could love that walking steeple! She’s so high, that every time she sings to me, I am looking up for the bell that tolls to church. — Ha! give me my little fifth-rate, that lies so snug. She! hang her, a Dutch-built bottom: She’s so tall, there’s no boarding her. But we lose time — madam, let me seal my love upon your mouth. [Kiss] Soft and sweet, by heaven! sure you wear rose-leaves between your lips.

  Sab. Lord, Lord, what’s the matter with me! my breath grows so short, I can scarce speak to you.

  Cel. No matter, give me thy lips again, and I’ll speak for thee.

  Sab. You don’t love me —

  Cel. I warrant thee; sit down by me, and kiss again, — She warms faster than Pygmalion’s image. [Aside] — [Kiss.] — Ay marry, sir, this was the original use of lips; talking, eating, and drinking came in by and by.

  Sab. Nay, pray be civil; will you be at quiet?

  Cel. What, would you have me sit still, and look upon you, like a little puppy-dog, that’s taught to beg with his fore-leg up?

  Enter FLORIMEL.

  Flo. Celadon the faithful! in good time, sir, —

  Cel. In very good time, Florimel; for heaven’s sake, help me quickly.

  Flo. What’s the matter?

  Cel. Do you not see? here’s a poor gentlewoman in a swoon! (Swoon away.) I have been rubbing her this half hour, and cannot bring her to her senses.

  Flo. Alas! how came she so?

  Cel. Oh barbarous! do you stay to ask questions? run, for charity.

  Flo. Help, help! alas! poor lady — [Exit FLO.

  Sab. Is she gone?

  Cel. Ay, thanks be to my wit, that helped me at a pinch; I thank heaven, I never pumpt for a lye in all my life yet.

  Sab. I am afraid you love her, Celadon!

  Cel. Only as a civil acquaintance, or so; but, however, to avoid slander, you had best be gone before she comes again.

  Sab. I can find a tongue as well as she.

  Cel. Ay, but the truth is, I am a kind of scandalous person, and for you to be seen in my company — stay in the walks, by this kiss I’ll be with you presently.

  Enter FLORIMEL running.

  Flo. Help, help! — I can find nobody.

  Cel. Tis needless now, my dear; she’s recovered, and gone off; but so wan and weakly, —

  Flo.Umph! I begin to smell a rat. — What was your business here, Celadon?

  Cel. Charity, Christian charity; you saw I was labouring for life with her.

  Flo. But how came you hither? — Not that I care this, but only to be satisfied. [Sings.

  Cel. You are jealous, in my conscience!

  Flo. Who, I jealous! — then I wish this sigh may be the last that ever I may draw. [Sighs.

  Cel. But why do you sigh, then?

  Flo. Nothing but a cold, I cannot fetch my breath well. But what will you say, if I wrote the letter you had, to try your faith?

  Ce
l. Hey day! this is just the devil and the sinner; you lay snares for me, and then punish me for being taken: Here’s trying a man’s faith indeed! — What, do you think I had the faith of a stock, or of a stone? Nay, an you go to tantalize a man — I love upon the square, I can endure no tricks to be used to me.

  [OLINDA and SABINA at the door peeping.

  Olin. and Sab. Celadon! Celadon!

  Flo. What voices are those?

  Cel. Some comrades of mine, that call me to play. — Pox on them, they’ll spoil all. [Aside.

  Flo. Pray, let’s see them.

  Cel. Hang them, tatterdemallions! they are not worth your sight. — Pray, gentlemen, begone; I’ll be with you immediately.

  Sab. No; we’ll stay here for you.

  Flo. Do your gentlemen speak with treble voices? I am resolved to see what company you keep.

  Cel. Nay, good my dear.

  [He lays hold of her to pull her back, she lays hold of OLINDA, by whom SABINA holds; so that, he pulling, they all come in.

  Flo. Are these your comrades? [Sings.] ’Tis Strephon calls, what would my love? Why do you not roar out, like a great bass-viol, Come follow to the myrtle-grove. — Pray, sir, which of these fair ladies is it, for whom you were to do the courtesy? for it were unconscionable to leave you to them both: — What, a mans but a man, you know.

  Olin. The gentleman may find an owner.

  Sab. Though not of you.

  Flo. Pray, agree whose the lost sheep is, and take him.

  Cel. ‘Slife, they’ll cry me anon, and tell my marks.

  Flo. Troth, I pity your highness there; I perceive he has left you for the little one: Methinks he should have been afraid to break his neck, when he fell so high as from you to her.

  Sab. Well, my drolling lady, I may be even with you.

  Flo. Not this ten years, by the growth, yet.

  Sab. Can flesh and blood endure this!

  Flo. How now, my amazon in decimo sexto!

  Olin. Do you affront my sister?

  Flo. Ay; but thou art so tall, I think I shall never affront thee.

  Sab. Come away, sister; we shall be jeered to death else. [Exeunt OLIN. and SAB.

  Flo. Why do you look that way? You can’t forbear leering after the forbidden fruit. — But whene’er I take a wencher’s word again!

  Cel. A wencher’s word! — Why should you speak so contemptibly of the better half of mankind? I’ll stand up for the honour of my vocation.

  Flo. You are in no fault, I warrant!— ‘Ware my busk.

  Cel. Not to give a fair lady the lie, I am in fault; but otherwise — Come, let us be friends, and let me wait on you to your lodgings.

  Flo. This impudence shall not save you from my table-book. Item, A month more for this fault. [They walk to the door.

  Sold. [within.] Stand! —

  Sold. Stand, give the word!

  Cel. Now, what’s the meaning of this, trow? — guards set!

  Sold. Give the word, or you cannot pass: — These are they, brother; let’s in and seize them.

  The two Soldiers enter.

  Sold. Down with him!

  Sold. Disarm him!Cel. How now, rascals? — [Draws, and beats one off, and catches the other. Ask your life, you villain. 2 Sold. Quarter! quarter!

  Cel. Was ever such an insolence?

  Sold. We did but our duty; — here we were set to take a gentleman and lady, that would steal a marriage without the queen’s consent, and we thought you had been they. [Exit Sold.

  Flo. Your cousin Philocles, and the princess Candiope, on my life! for I heard the queen give private orders to Lysimantes, and name them twice or thrice.

  Cel. I know a score or two of madcaps here hard by, whom I can pick up from taverns, and gaming-houses, and bordels; those I’ll bring to aid him, — Now, Florimel, there’s an argument for wenching: Where would you have had so many honest men together, upon the sudden, for a brave employment?

  Flo. You’ll leave me then, to take my fortune?

  Cel. No: — If you will, I’ll have you into the places aforesaid, and enter you into good company.

  Flo. ‘Thank you, sir; here’s a key, will let me through this back-door to my own lodgings.

  Cel. If I come off with life, I’ll see you this evening; if not, — adieu, Florimel!

  Flo. If you come not, I shall conclude you are killed; or taken, to be hanged for a rebel to-morrow morning: and then I’ll honour your memory with a lampoon, instead of an epitaph.

  Cel. No, no! I trust better in my fate: I know I am reserved to do you a courtesy. [Exit CEL.

  [As FLORIMEL is unlocking the door to go out, FLAVIA opens it against her, and enters to her, followed by a Page.

  Fla. Florimel, do you hear the news?

  Flo. I guess they are in pursuit of Philocles.

  Fla. When Lysimantes came with the queen’s orders,

  He refused to render up Candìope;

  And, with some few brave friends he had about him,

  Is forcing of his way through all the guards.

  Flo. A gallant fellow! — I’ll in, will you with me? — Hark! the noise comes this way!

  Fla. I have a message from the queen to Lysimantes. — I hope I may be safe among the soldiers.

  Flo. Oh, very safe! — Perhaps some honest fellow in the tumult may take pity of thy maidenhead, or so. — Adieu! [Exit FLO.

  Page. The noise comes nearer, madam.

  Fla. I am glad on’t. — This message gives me the opportunity of speaking privately with Lysimantes.

  Enter PHILOCLES and CANDIOPE, with three Friends, pursued by LYSIMANTES, and Soldiers.

  Lys. What is it renders you thus obstinate? You have no hope of flight, and to resist is full as vain.

  Phil. I’ll die rather than yield her up.

  Fla. My lord!

  Lys. How now? some new message from the queen? — Retire a while to a convenient distance.

  [To the Soldiers. LYS. and FLAV. whisper.

  Lys. O Flavia, ’tis impossible! the queen in love with Philocles!

  Fla. I have suspected it before; but now

  My ears and eyes are witnesses.

  This hour I overheard her, to Asteria,

  Making such sad complaints of her hard fate! —

  For my part, I believe, you lead him back

  But to his coronation.

  Lys. Hell take him first!

  Fla. Presently after this she called for me,

  And bid me run, and, with strict care, command you,

  On peril of your life, he had no harm:

  But, sir, she spoke it with so great concernment,

  Methought I saw love, anger, and despair,

  All combating at once upon her face.

  Lys. Tell the queen, — I know not what,

  I am distracted so. —

  But go, and leave me to my thoughts. —

  [Exit FLAVIA.

  Was ever such amazing news,

  Told in so strange and critical a moment? —

  What shall I do? —

  Does she love Philocles, who loves not her;

  And loves not Lysimantes, who prefers her

  Above his life? — What rests, but that I take

  This opportunity, which she herself

  Has given me, to kill this happy rival! —

  Assist me, soldiers!

  Phil. They shall buy me dearly.

  Cand. Ah me, unhappy maid!

  Enter CELADON, with his Friends, unbuttoned and reeling.

  Cel. Courage, my noble cousin! I have brought A band of blades, the bravest youths of Syracuse; Some drunk, some sober, all resolved to run Your fortune to the utmost. — Fall on, mad boys!

  Lys. Hold a little! — I’m not secure of victory against these desperate ruffians.

  Cel. No, but I’ll secure you! They shall cut your throat for such another word of them. Ruffians, quoth a’! call gamesters, whoremasters, and drunkards, ruffians!

  Lys. Pray, gentlemen, fall back a little.

/>   Cel. O ho, are they gentlemen now with you! — Speak first to your gentlemen soldiers to retire; And then I’ll speak to my gentlemen ruffians. [CEL. signs to his party. There’s your disciplined men now. — [They sign, and the Soldiers retire on both sides. Come, gentlemen, let’s lose no time: While they are talking, let’s have one merry main before we die, for mortality sake.

  Fr. Agreed! here’s my cloak for a table.

  Fr. And my hat for a box.

  [They lie down and throw.

  Lys. Suppose I killed him!

  ‘Twould but exasperate the queen the more:

  He loves not her, nor knows he she loves him: —

  sudden thought is come into my head, —

  So to contrive it, that this Philocles,

  And these his friends, shall bring to pass that for me,

  Which I could never compass. — True, I strain

  A point of honour; but then her usage to me —

  It shall be so. —

  Pray, Philocles, command your soldiers off;

  As I will mine: I’ve somewhat to propose,

  Which you perhaps may like.

  Can. I will not leave him.

  Lys. ’Tis my desire you should not.

  Phil. Cousin, lead off your friends.

  Cel. One word in your ear, coz: — Let me advise you, either make your own conditions, or never agree with him: his men are poor rogues, they can never stand before us.

  [Exeunt all but Lys. Phil. and Cand.

  Lys. Suppose some friend, ere night,

  Should bring you to possess all you desire;

  And not so only, but secure forever

  The nation’s happiness?

  Phil. I would think of him, As some god or angel.

  Lys. That god or angel you and I may be to one another.

  We have betwixt us

  An hundred men; the citadel you govern:

  What were it now to seize the queen?

  Phil. O impiety! to seize the queen! — To seize her, said you?

  Lys. The word might be too rough, — I meant, secure her.

  Phil. Was this your proposition? — And had you none to make it to but me?

  Lys. Pray hear me out, ere you condemn me! —

  I would not the least violence were offered

  Her person. Two small grants is all I ask;

  To make me happy in herself, and you

  In your Candiope.

  Cand. And will not you do this, my Philocles? — Nay, now my brother speaks but reason.