John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

Bel. 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.

  [Aside.

  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.

  Bel. 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 oaf, as I might say, with reverence to him ——

  Bel. The rascal makes me mad!

  Mask. Is the greatest astrologer in Christendom.

  Theo. Your master an astrologer?

  Mask. A most profound one.

  Bel. Why, you dog, you do not 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 astrologer, whatever 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.

  Bel. 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. [While he is speaking, Bellamy stops his mouth by fits.] What! did not I see you an hour ago turning over a great folio, with strange 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.

  Bel. 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.

  Bel. You’ll hold your tongue yet.

  [To Mask.

  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 shewed 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.

  Bel. 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?

  Bel. Well, a pox on you, I am an astrologer.

  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 them.

  Bel. 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, pr’ythee, Beatrix, do not cry; I’ll leave off 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 recompence —— 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.

  Bel. Then, I’ll begone, to avoid suspicion.

  Theo. By your favour, sir, you shall stay a little; the happiness of so rare an acquaintance ought 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 astrologer 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 ——

  Bel. 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.

  [Aside.

  Mask. [To Bel.] 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 old 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?

  Bel. I answered her the truth, that she is in danger of marrying a gentleman without a fortune.

  Theo. And this, sir, has put me in such a fright —

  Alon. Never trouble yourself about it, daughter; follow my advice, and I warrant you a rich husband.

  Bel. 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 proficiency in it.

  Bel. 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!

  Bel. 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 præmunire!

  Beat. You must be impudent; for our old man will stick like a burr to you, now he’s in a dispute.

  Alon. What judgment may a man reasonably form from the trine aspect of the two infortunes in angular houses?

  Bel. That’s a matter of nothing, sir; I’ll turn my man loose to you for such a question.

  [Puts Maskall forward.

  Alon. Come on, sir. I am the quærent.

  Mask. Meaning me, sir! I vow to God, and your worship knows it, I never made that science my study in the least, sir.

  Bel. 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 thi
nk you of Mars in the tenth, when ’tis his own house, or of Jupiter configurated with malevolent planets?

  Bel. 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 school-boy could have told me.

  Bel. Why then you must not ask such school-boy’s questions. But your carcase, sirrah, shall pay for this.

  [Aside to Maskall.

  Alon. You seem not to understand the terms, sir.

  Bel. By your favour, sir, I know there are five of them; do not I know your Michaelmas, your Hillary, your Easter, your Trinity, and your Long Vocation term, sir?

  Alon. I do not understand a word of this jargon.

  Bel. 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.

  Bel. 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.

  Bel. Is your business very pressing?

  Alon. It is, I assure you, sir.

  Bel. 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 Alon. Theo. Beat. and Serv.

  Bel. A devil on his 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?

  Bel. Suspected it? why ’twas palpable from his very physiognomy; he looks like Haly, and the spirit Fircue in the fortune-book.

  Enter Wildblood.

  Wild. How now, Bellamy! in wrath! pr’ythee, what’s the matter?

  Bel. The story is too long to tell you; but this rogue here has made me pass for an arrant fortune-teller.

  Mask. If I had not, I am sure he must have passed for an arrant mad man; he had discovered, in a rage, all that Beatrix had confessed to me concerning her mistress’s 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 oaf to be vexed at this? as the adventure may be managed, it may make the most pleasant one in all the carnival.

  Bel. Death! I shall have all Madrid about me in 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.

  Bel. 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 fit 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 venturest at particulars, have an evasion ready like Lilly; as thus, — It will infallibly happen, if our sins hinder not. — I would undertake, with one of his almanacks, 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.

  Bel. Umph! 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; ‘life, I could feast upon thy fragments.

  Bel. 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 ambassador’s retinue. My project is to give our mistress a serenade, this being the last evening of the carnival; and, to prevent discovery, here are disguises for us too.

  Bel. ’Tis very well; come, Maskall, help on with them, while they tune their instruments.

  Wild. Strike up, gentlemen; we’ll entertain them with a song a l’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!

  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!

  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!

  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 Jacintha above. Jacintha 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.

  Bel. 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.

  Bel. Pr’ythee, 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.

  Bel. 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 Maskall 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 them, I’ll give them 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 a going to say! I had like to have discovered 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. Mo
st profoundly.

  Lop. I always thought him an extraordinary person; but I could never imagine his head lay that way.

  Mask. He shewed 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 bed-chamber.

  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 shewed me, how you were assaulted in the dark by foreigners.

  Lop. Could you guess 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 springe. ——

  [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.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Bellamy and Maskall.

  Bel. Then, they were certainly Don Lopez and Don Melchor, with whom we fought.

  Mask. Yes, sir.

  Bel. And when you met Lopez, he swallowed all you told him?

  Mask. As greedily, as if it had been a new saint’s miracle.

  Bel. 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.

  Bel. 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 inconstant for our reputation.

  Mask. But what say the stars, sir?