John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  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 same time with Lopez’s last speech, and after Lopez is run out.] 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 dry land, 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.

  Serv. Sir, there are some women without in masquerade, and, I believe, persons of quality, who are come to play here.

  Lop. Bring them in with all respect.

  Enter again the Servant, after him Jacintha, Beatrix, and other Ladies and Gentlemen: all masqued.

  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 Maskall.

  Wild. I have swept your gaming house, i’faith; Ecce signum.

  [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 masks.

  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.

  [Beat. whispers to the Serv.

  Serv. 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 Jacintha.

  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 Mussulman, at your service.

  Wild. A Mussulwoman, 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 span’s 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 Alla, 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 cherubim.

  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 mussulman.

  Jac. The company are rejoined, and set to play; we must go to them. Adieu; and when you have a thought to throw away, bestow it on your servant Fatima.

  [She goes to the company.

  Wild. This lady Fatima pleases me most infinitely: Now am I got among the Hamets, the Zegrys, and the Bencerrages. Hey, what work will the Wildbloods make among the Cids 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 strait to be surprised: But, let us to the table; the company stays for us.

  [The company sit.

  Wild. What is the ladies’ 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 duplet 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 Jacintha.

  [They play; and the rest by couples.

  Wild. So, I have a good chance, two quarters and a sice.

  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 quarter? — An hundred pistoles on that throw.

  Jac. I take you, sir. — Beatrix, the high running dice.

  [Aside.

  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 vext 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 Fatima! 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. What the devil did I mean, to play with this brune
tte of Afric? [The Ladies rise.] 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.

  [Jac. makes a sign of farewell to Wild.

  Wild. Farewell, lady Fatima.

  [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 choak 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 three hundred pistoles to Jacintha: But there is no remedy, they are now fair Fatima’s.

  Mask. Fatima!

  Wild. Ay, ay, a certain African lady of my acquaintance, whom you know not.

  Mask. But who is here, sir?

  Enter Jacintha 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 three hundred pistoles.

  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 three hundred pistoles 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 me to you for a kind master, that can let your servant play off three hundred pistoles, 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 maravedis 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 Fatima.

  Wild. I begin to suspect, that lady Fatima is no better than she should be. If she be turned Christian again, I am undone.

  Jac. By Alla, 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, than make them up.

  Jac. I see there’s no hope of a reconcilement with you; and therefore I give it over 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 disarmed 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 are caught tripping in some new amour.

  [Exeunt 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, pr’ythee, advise me what’s to be done to get Jacintha.

  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 them 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 enterprize: 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 Jacintha.

  If I throw out, I’ll bear it off with huffing, And snatch the money like a bully-ruffin. [Exeunt.

  ACT IV.

  SCENE I.

  Enter Bellamy, Wildblood, Maskall, in a Visor.

  Bel. 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.

  [Mask. 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 pretensions 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 Mel.

  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.

  Bel. 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.

  Bel. I’ll not tell you my design; because, if it does not succeed, you shall not laugh at me.

  [Exit Bel.

  Enter Beatrix; and Jacintha, in the habit of a Mulatto.

  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; pr’ythee 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 sate, 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!