by John Dryden
Lau. Who comes with him?
Vio. Only his friend’s man, Benito; the same who brought me the letter which you took from me.
Lau. Stay, let me think a little. Does Camillo, or this Benito, know your maid Beatrix?
Vio. They have never talked with her; but only seen her.
Lau. ’Tis concluded then. You shall meet your servant, but I’ll be your Beatrix: I’ll go instead of her, and counterfeit your waiting-woman; in the dark I may easily pass for her. By this means I shall be present to instruct you, for you are yet a callow maid: I must teach you to peck a little; you may come to prey for yourself in time.
Vio. A little teaching will serve my turn: If the old one left me to myself, I could go near to get my living.
Lau. I find you are eager, and baiting to be gone already, and I’ll not hinder you when your hour approaches. In the mean time, go in, and sigh, and think fondly and ignorantly of your approaching pleasures:
Love, in young hearts, is like the must of wine;
’Tis sweetest then; but elder ’tis more fine. [Exeunt.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — The front of a Nunnery.
Prince Frederick, Aurelian, Camillo, and Ascanio, the Prince’s Page.
Fred. My father’s ancient, and may repose himself, if he pleases, after the ceremony of his entrance; but we, who are younger, should think it a sin to spend any part of day-light in a chamber. What are your ways of living here?
Cam. Why, sir, we pass our time, either in conversation alone, or in love alone, or in love and conversation together.
Fred. Come, explain, explain, my counsel learned in the laws of living.
Cam. For conversation alone; that’s either in going to court, with a face of business, and there discoursing of the affairs of Europe, of which Rome, you know, is the public mart; or, at best, meeting the virtuosi, and there wearying one another with rehearsing our own works in prose and poetry.
Fred. Away with that dry method, I will have none on’t. To the next.
Cam. Love alone, is either plain wenching, where every courtezan is your mistress, and every man your rival; or else, what’s worse, plain whining after one woman: that is, walking before her door by day, and haunting her street by night, with guitars, dark-lanthorns, and rondaches.
Aur. Which, I take it, is, or will he our case, Camillo.
Fred. Neither of these will fit my humour: If your third prove not more pleasant, I shall stick to the old Almain recreation; the divine bottle, and the bounteous glass, that tuned up old Horace to his odes.
Aur. You shall need to have no recourse to that; for love and conversation will do your business: that is, sir, a most delicious courtezan, — I do not mean down-right punk, — but punk of more than ordinary sense in conversation; punk in ragou, punk, who plays on the lute, and sings; and, to sum up all, punk, who cooks and dresses up herself, with poignant sauce, to become a new dish every time she is served up to you.
Fred. This I believe, Aurelian, is your method of living, you talk of it so savourily.
Aur. There is yet another more insipid sort of love and conversation: As, for example, look you there, sir; the courtship of our nuns. [Pointing to the Nunnery.] They talk prettily; but, a pox on them, they raise our appetites, and then starve us. They are as dangerous as cold fruits without wine, and are never to be used but where there are abundance of wenches in readiness, to qualify them.
Cam. But yet they are ever at hand, and easy to come by; and if you’ll believe an experienced sinner, easiness in love is more than half the pleasure of it.
Fred. This way of chatting pleases me; for debauchery, I hate it; and to love is not in my nature, except it be my friends. Pray, what do you call that nunnery?
Cam. ’Tis a house of Benedictines, called the Torre di Specchi, where only ladies of the best quality are professed.
[Lucretia and Hippolita appear at the grate.
Aur. Look you yonder, sir, are two of the pretty magpies in white and black. If you will lull yourself into a Platonic dream, you may; but consider your sport will be dull when you play without stakes.
Fred. No matter, I’ll fool away an hour of courtship; for I never was engaged in a serious love, nor I believe can be. Farewell, gentlemen; at this time I shall dispense with your attendance; — nay, without ceremony, because I would be incognito.
Cam. Come then, Aurelian, to our own affairs. [Exeunt Aurelian and Camillo.
The Prince and Ascanio approach.
Fred. [To Lucretia.] For what crime, fair creature, were you condemned to this perpetual prison?
Luc. For chastity and devotion, and two or three such melancholy virtues: They first brought me hither, and must now keep me company.
Fred. I should rather have guessed it had been murder, and that you are veiled for fear of doing more mischief with those eyes; for, indeed, they are too sharp to be trusted out of the scabbard.
Luc. Cease, I beseech you, to accuse my eyes, till they have done some execution on your heart.
Fred. But I am out of reach, perhaps.
Luc. Trust not to that; they may shoot at a distance, though they cannot strike you near at hand.
Fred. But if they should kill, you are ne’er the better: There’s a grate betwixt us, and you cannot fetch in the dead quarry.
Luc. Provided we destroy the enemy, we do not value their dead bodies: But you, perhaps, are in your first error, and think we are rather captives than warriors; that we come like prisoners to the grate, to beg the charity of passengers for their love.
Fred. [To Ascanio.] Enquire, as dextrously as you can, what is the name and quality of this charming creature.
Luc. [To Hippolita.] Be sure, if the page approaches you, to get out of him his master’s name.
[The Prince and Lucretia seem to talk.
Hip. [To Ascanio.] By that short whisper, which I observed you took with your master, I imagine, Mr Page, you come to ask a certain question of me.
Asca. By this thy question, and by that whisper with thy lady, (O thou nymph of devotion!) I find I am to impart a secret, and not to ask one: Therefore, either confess thou art yet a mere woman under that veil, and, by consequence, most horribly inquisitive, or thou shalt lose thy longing, and know nothing of my master.
Hip. By my virginity, you shall tell first.
Asca. You’ll break your oath, on purpose to make the forfeit.
Hip. Your master is called —
Asca. Your lady is ycleped —
Hip. For decency, in all matters of love, the man should offer first, you know.
Asca. That needs not, when the damsel is so willing.
Hip. But I have sworn not to discover first, that her name is madam Lucretia; fair, as you see, to a miracle, and of a most charming conversation; of royal blood, and niece to his holiness; and, if she were not espoused to heaven, a mistress for a sovereign prince.
Asca. After these encomiums, ‘twere vain for me to praise my master: He is only poor prince Frederick, otherwise called the prince of Mantua; liberal, and valiant, discreet and handsome, and, in my simple judgment, a fitter servant for your lady, than his old father, who is a sovereign.
Hip. Dare you make all this good, you have said of your master?
Asca. Yes, and as much more of myself to you.
Hip. I defy you upon’t, as my lady’s second.
Asca. As my master’s, I accept it. The time?
Hip. Six this evening.
Asca. The place?
Hip. At this grate.
Asca. The weapons?
Hip. Hands, and it may be lips.
Asca. ’Tis enough: Expect to hear from me. [They withdraw, and whisper to their Principals. After the whisper.
Fred. [To Lucretia.] Madam, I am glad I know my enemy; for since it is impossible to see, and not admire you, the name of Lucretia is the best excuse for my defeat.
Luc. Persons, like prince Frederick, ought not to assault religious houses, or to pursue chastity and virtue to thei
r last retreat.
Fred. A monastery is no retreat for chastity; ’tis only a hiding place for bad faces, where they are thrust in crowds together, like heaps of rubbish out of the way, that the world may not be peopled with deformed persons: And that such, who are out of play themselves, may pray for a blessing on their endeavours, who are getting handsome children, and carrying on the work for public benefit.
Luc. Then you would put off heaven with your leavings, and use it like them, who play at cards alone; take the courts for yourselves, and give the refuse to the gentlemen.
Fred. You mistake me, madam; I would so contrive it, that heaven and we might be served at once. We have occasion for wit and beauty; now piety and ugliness will do as well for heaven: that plays at one game, and we at another; and therefore heaven may make its hand with the same cards that we put out.
Luc. I could easily convince you, if the argument concerned me; hut I am one of those, whom, for want of wit and beauty, you have condemned to religion; and therefore am your humble servant, to pray for your handsome wife and children.
Fred. Heaven forbid, madam, that I should condemn you, or indeed any handsome woman, to be religious! No, madam; the occasions of the world are great and urgent for such as you; and, for my part, I am of opinion, that it is as great a sin for a beauty to enter into a nunnery, as for an ugly woman to stay out of it.
Luc. The cares of the world are not yet upon you; but as soon as ever you come to be afflicted with sickness, or visited with a wife, you’ll be content I should pray for you.
Fred. Any where rather than in a cloyster; for, truly, I suppose, all your prayers there will be how to get out of it; and, upon that supposition, madam, I am come to offer you my service for your redemption. Come, faith, be persuaded, the church shall lose nothing by it: I’ll take you out, and put in two or three crooked apostles in your place.
[Bell rings within.
Luc. Hark, the bell rings; I must leave you: ’tis a summons to our devotion.
Fred. Will you leave me for your prayers, madam? You may have enough of them at any time, but remember you cannot have a man so easily.
Luc. Well, I’ll say my beads for you, and that’s but charity; for I believe I leave you in a most deplorable condition.
[Exeunt Women.
Fred. Not deplorable neither, but a little altered: If I could be in love, as I am sure I cannot, it should be with her, for I like her conversation strangely.
Asca. Then, as young as I am, sir, I am beforehand with you; for I am in love already. I would fain make the first proof of my manhood upon a nun: I find I have a mighty grudging to holy flesh.
Fred. I’ll ply Lucretia again, as soon as ever her devotion’s over. Methinks these nuns divide their time most admirably; from love to prayers, from prayers to love; that is, just so much sin, just so much godliness.
Asca. Then I can claim that sister’s love by merit. Half man, half boy; for her half flesh, half spirit.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II. — A Street.
Aurelian and Camillo.
Aur. I’ll proceed no farther, if Benito goes: I know his folly will produce some mischief.
Cam. But Violetta desired me, in her note, to bring him, on purpose to pass the time with her woman, Beatrix.
Aur. That objection’s easily removed: I’ll supply Benito’s place; the darkness will prevent discovery; and, for my discourse, I’ll imitate the half wit and patched breeding of a valet de chambre.
Cam. But how shall we get rid of him?
Aur. Let me alone for that.
Enter Benito.
Ben. Come, are we ready, gallants? The clock’s upon the stroke of eight.
Aur. But we have altered our resolution; we go another way to-night.
Ben. I hope you have not broke my assignation?
Aur. Why do you hope so?
Ben. Because my reputation is engaged in’t: I’ve stipulated, upon mine honour, that you shall come.
Aur. I shall beat you, if you follow me. Go, sirrah, and adjourn to the great looking-glass, and let me hear no more from you till to-morrow morning.
Ben. Sir, my fidelity, and, if I may be so vain, my discretion, may stand you in some stead.
Aur. Well, come along then; they are brave fellows, who have challenged us; you shall have fighting enough, sir.
Ben. How, sir, fighting?
Aur. You may escape with the loss of a leg, or an arm, or some such transitory limb.
Ben. No, sir; I have that absolute obedience to your commands, that I will bridle my courage, and stay at home.
[Exit.
Cam. You took the only way to be rid of him. There’s the wall; behind yon pane of it we’ll set up the ladder.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. — A Night-piece of a Garden.
Enter Laura and Violetta.
Vio. Remember your waiting-woman’s part, Laura.
Lau. I warrant you, I’ll wait on you by night, as well as I governed you by day.
Vio. Hark, I hear footsteps; and now, methinks, I see something approaching us.
Lau. They are certainly the men whom we expect.
Enter Aurelian and Camillo.
Cam. I hear womens’ voices.
Aur. We are right, I warrant you.
Cam. Violetta, my love!
Vio. My dear Camillo!
Cam. Speak those words again; my own name never sounded so sweetly to me, as when you spoke it, and made me happy by adding dear to it.
Vio. Speak softly then; I have stolen these few minutes from my watchful uncle and my sister, and they are as full of danger as they are of love. Something within me checks me too, and says, I was too forward in venturing thus to meet you.
Cam. You are too fearful rather; and fear’s the greatest enemy to love.
Vio. But night will hide my blushes, when I tell you, I love you much, or I had never trusted my virtue and my person in your hands.
Cam. The one is sacred, and the other safe; but this auspicious minute is our first of near converse. May I not hope that favour, which strangers, in civility, may claim, even from the most reserved?
[Kisses her hand.
Vio. I fear you’ll censure me.
Cam. Yes, as the blest above tax heaven for making them so happy. [They walk further off.
Aur. [Stepping towards Laura.] Damsel of darkness, advance, and meet my flames!
Lau. [Stepping forward.] Right trusty valet, heard, but yet unseen, I have advanced one step on reputation.
Aur. Now, by laudable custom, I am to love thee vehemently.
Lau. We should do well to see each other first: You know ’tis ill taking money without light.
Aur. O, but the coin of love is known by the weight only, and you may feel it in the dark: Besides, you know ’tis prince-like to love without seeing.
Lau. But then you may be served as princes are sometimes.
Aur. Let us make haste, however, and despatch a little love out of the way: We may do it now with ease, and save ourselves a great deal of trouble, if we take it in time, before it grows too fast upon our hands.
Lau. Fye, no; let us love discreetly: we must manage our passion, and not love all our love out at one meeting, but leave some for another time.
Aur. I am for applying the plaster while the wound is green; ‘twill heal the better.
[Takes her by the hand.
Lau. Let go my hand! What crime has the poor wretch committed, that you press it thus? I remember no mischief it has done you.
Aur. O, ’tis a heinous malefactor, and is pressed by law, because it will confess nothing. Come, withdraw a little farther, we have urgent business with one another.
Lau. ‘Twere a shame to quit my ground upon the first charge; yet if you please to take a truce a little, I will consent to go behind the lovers, and listen with you.
Aur. I wonder you deferred the proposition so long. I were neither true valet, nor you true woman, if we could not eves-drop.
[They retire beh
ind the other two, who come forward upon the Stage.
Cam. [Kissing Violetta’s hand.] Give me another yet, and then —
Vio. And then will you be satisfied?
Cam. And then I’ll ask a thousand more, and ne’er be satisfied. Kisses are but thin nourishment; they are too soon digested, and hungry love craves more.
Vio. You feed a wolf within you.
Cam. Then feast my love with a more solid diet. He makes us now a miser’s feast, and we forbear to take our fill. The silent night, and all these downy hours, were made for lovers: Gently they tread, and softly measure time, that no rude noise may fright the tender maid, from giving all her soul to melting joys.
Vio. You do not love me; if you did, you would not
Thus urge your satisfaction in my shame;
At best, I see you would not love me long,
For they, who plunder, do not mean to stay.
Cam. I haste to take possession of my own.
Vio. Ere heaven and holy vows have made it so?
Cam. Then witness, heaven, and all these twinkling stars —
Vio. Hold, hold, you are distempered with your love;
Time, place, and strong desires, now swear, not you.
Cam. Is not love love, without a priest and altars?
The temples are inanimate, and know not
What vows are made in them; the priest stands ready
For his hire, and cares not what hearts he couples;
Love alone is marriage.
Vio. I never will receive these midnight vows:
But when I come hereafter to your arms,
I’ll bring you a sincere, full, perfect bliss;
Then you will thank me that I kept it so,
And trust my faith hereafter.
Lau. There is your destiny, lover mine: I am to be honest by infection; my lady will none, you see.
Aur. Truth is, they are a lost couple, unless they learn grace by our example. Come, shall we begin first, and shame them both?
[Takes her by the hand again.
Lau. You will never be warned of this hand, Benito.
Aur. Oh, it is so soft, as it were made on purpose to take hearts, and handle them without hurting! These taper fingers too, and even joints so supple, that methinks I mould them as they pass through mine: nay, in my conscience, though it be nonsense to say it, your hand feels white too.