John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  What is’t you whisper to Lucretia?

  On your obedience tell me.

  Luc. Since you must know, madam,

  I have received a courtship from the prince

  Of Mantua. The rest Hippolita may speak.

  Hip. His page, Ascanio, is at the grate,

  To know, from him, how you had scaped this danger;

  And brings with him those habits —

  Soph. I find that here has been a long commerce. What habits?

  Luc. I blush to tell you, madam; they were masking habits, in which we went abroad.

  Soph. O strange impiety! Well, I conclude

  You are no longer for religious clothing;

  You would infect our order.

  Luc. [Kneeling.] Madam, you promised us forgiveness.

  Soph. I have done; for ’tis indeed too late to chide.

  Hip. With Ascanio there are two gentlemen; Aurelian and Camillo, I think they call themselves, who came to me, recommended from the prince, and desired to speak with Laura and Violetta.

  Soph. I think they are your lovers, nieces.

  Vio. Madam, they are.

  Hip. But, for fear of discovery from your uncle, Mario, whose house, you know, joins to the monastery, are both in masquerade.

  Soph. This opportunity must not be lost. [To Laura and Violetta.

  You two shall take the masking habits instantly,

  And, in them, scape your jealous uncle’s eyes.

  When you are happy, make me so, by hearing your success. [Kisses them. Exeunt Lau. and Vio.

  Luc. A sudden thought is sprung within my mind,

  Which, by the same indulgence you have shown,

  May make me happy too. I have not time

  To tell you now, for fear I lose this opportunity.

  When I return from speaking with Ascanio,

  I shall declare the secrets of my love,

  And crave your farther help.

  Soph. In all that virtue will permit, you shall not fail to find it. [Exit Lucretia.

  Hip. Madam, the foolish fellow, whom we took, grows troublesome; what shall we do with him?

  Soph. Send for the magistrate; he must be punished —

  Yet, hold; that would betray the other secret.

  Let him be strait turned out, on this condition,

  That he presume not ever to disclose

  He was within these walls. I’ll speak with him.

  Come, and attend me to him. [Exit Sophronia.

  Hip. You fit to be an abbess! We, that live out of the world, should, at least, have the common sense of those that live far from town; if a pedlar comes by them once a year, they will not let him go, without providing themselves with what they want.

  [Exit after Sophronia.

  SCENE II. — The Street.

  Enter Aurelian, Camillo, Laura, Violetta; all in Masking-habits.

  Cam. This generosity of the abbess is never to be forgot; and it is the more to be esteemed, because it was the less to be expected.

  Vio. At length, my Camillo, I see myself safe within your arms; and yet, methinks, I can never be enough secure of you; for now, I have nothing else to fear, I am afraid of you; I fear your constancy. They say possession is so dangerous to lovers, that more of them die of surfeits than of fasting.

  Lau. You’ll be rambling too, Aurelian; I do not doubt it, if I would let you; but I’ll take care to be as little a wife, and as much a mistress to you, as is possible: I’ll be sure to be always pleasant, and never suffer you to be cloyed.

  Aur. You are certainly in the right: Pleasantness of humour makes a wife last in the sweetmeat, when it will no longer in the fruit. But, pray, let’s make haste to the next honest priest that can say grace to us, and take our appetites while they are coming.

  Cam. That way leads to the Austin-Friars; there lives a father of my acquaintance.

  Lau. I have heard of him; he has a mighty stroke at matrimonies, and mumbles them over as fast, as if he were teaching us to forget them all the while.

  Enter Benito, and overhears the last speech.

  Ben. Cappari; that is the voice of madam Laura. Now, Benito, is the time to repair the lost honour of thy wit, and to blot out the last adventure of the nunnery.

  Vio. That way I hear company; let us go about by this other street, and shun them.

  Ben. That voice I know too; ’tis the younger sister’s, Violetta’s, Now have these two most treacherously conveyed themselves out of the nunnery, for my master and Camillo, and given up their persons to those lewd rascals in masquerade; but I’ll prevent them. Help there! thieves and ravishers! villainous maskers! stop, robbers! stop, ravishers!

  Cam. We are pursued that way, let’s take this street.

  Lau. Save yourselves, and leave us.

  Cam. We’ll rather die, than leave you.

  Enter, at several doors, Duke of Mantua and Guards, and Don Mario and Servants, with Torches.

  Aur. So, now the way is shut up on both sides. We’ll die merrily, however: — have at the fairest.

  [Aurelian and Camillo fall upon the Duke’s Guards, and are seized behind by Mario’s Servants. At the drawing of Swords, Benito runs off.

  Duke. Are these insolencies usually committed in Rome by night? It has the fame of a well-governed city; and methinks, Don Mario, it does somewhat reflect on you to suffer these disorders.

  Mar. They are not to be hindered in the Carnival: You see, sir, they have assumed the privilege of maskers.

  Lau. [To Aur.] If my uncle know us, we are ruined; therefore be sure you do not speak.

  Duke. How then can we be satisfied this was not a device of masking, rather than a design of ravishing?

  Mar. Their accuser is fled, I saw him run at the beginning of the scuffle; but I’ll examine the ladies.

  Vio. Now we are lost. [Duke coming near Laura, takes notice of her habit.

  Duke. [Aside.] ’Tis the same, ’tis the same; I know Lucretia by her habit: I’m sure I am not mistaken. — Now, sir, you may cease your examination, I know the ladies.

  Aur. [To Cam.] How the devil does he know them?

  Cam. ’Tis alike to us; they are lost both ways.

  Duke. [Taking Laura aside.] Madam, you may confess yourself to me. Whatever your design was in leaving the nunnery, your reputation shall be safe. I’ll not discover you, provided you grant me the happiness I last requested.

  Lau. I know not, sir, how you could possibly come to know me, or of my design in quitting the nunnery; but this I know, that my sister and myself are both unfortunate, except your highness be pleased to protect us from our uncle; at least, not to discover us.

  Duke. His holiness, your uncle, shall never be acquainted with your flight, on condition you will wholly renounce my son, and give yourself to me.

  Lau. Alas, sir, for whom do you mistake me?

  Duke. I mistake you not, madam: I know you for Lucretia. You forget that your disguise betrays you.

  Lau. Then, sir, I perceive I must disabuse you: If you please to withdraw a little, that I may not be seen by others, I will pull off my mask, and discover to you, that Lucretia and I have no resemblance, but only in our misfortunes.

  Duke. ’Tis in vain, madam, this dissembling: I protest, if you pull off your mask, I will hide my face, and not look upon you, to convince you that I know you.

  Enter Benito.

  Ben. So, now the fray is over, a man may appear again with safety. — Oh, the rogues are caught, I see, and the damsels delivered. This was the effect of my valour at the second hand.

  Aur. Look, look, Camillo! it was my perpetual fool that caused all this; and now he stands yonder, laughing at his mischief, as the devil is pictured, grinning behind the witch upon the gallows.

  Ben. [To Mario.] I see, sir, you have got your women, and I am glad on’t: I took them just flying from the nunnery.

  Duke. [To Lau.] You see that fellow knows you too.

  Mar. Were these women flying from a nunnery?

  Ben. These women? he
yday! then, it seems, you do not know they are your nieces.

  Duke. His nieces, say you? Take heed, fellow, you shall he punished severely, if you mistake.

  Cam. Speak to Benito in time, Aurelian.

  Aur. The devil’s in him; he’s running down-hill full speed, and there’s no stopping him.

  Mar. My nieces?

  Ben. Your nieces? Why, do you doubt it? I praise heaven I never met but with two half-wits in my life, and my master’s one of them; I will not name the other at this time.

  Duke. I say, they are not they.

  Ben. I am sure they are Laura and Violetta; and that those two rogues were running away with them, and that, I believe, with their consent.

  Vio. Sister, ’tis in vain to deny ourselves; you see our ill fortune pursues us unavoidably. [Turning up her mask.] Yes, sir, we are Laura and Violetta, whom you have made unhappy by your tyranny.

  Lau. [Turning up her mask.] And these two gentlemen are no ravishers, but —

  Ben. How, no ravishers? Yes, to my knowledge they are — [As he speaks, Aurelian pulls off his mask.] No ravishers, as madam Laura was saying; but two as honest gentlemen as e’er broke bread. My own dear master, and so forth!

  [Runs to Aur. who thrusts him back.

  Enter Valerio, and whispers the Duke, giving him a paper; which he reads, and seems pleased.

  Mar. Aurelian and Camillo! I’ll see you in safe custody; and, for these fugitives, go, carry them to my sister, and desire her to have a better care of her kinswomen.

  Vio. We shall live yet to make you refund our portions. Farewell, Camillo; comfort yourself; remember there’s but a wall betwixt us.

  Lau. And I’ll cut through that wall with vinegar, but I’ll come to you, Aurelian.

  Aur. I’ll cut through the grates with aquafortis, but I’ll meet you. Think of these things, and despair, and die, old gentleman.

  [Aurelian and Camillo are carried off on one side, and Laura and Violetta on the other.

  Ben. All things go cross to men of sense: Would I had been born with the brains of a shop-keeper, that I might have thriven without knowing why I did so. Now, must I follow my master to the prison, and, like an ignorant customer that comes to buy, must offer him my backside, tell him I trust to his honesty, and desire him to please himself, and so be satisfied.

  [Exit.

  Duke. [To Val.] I am overjoyed; I’ll see her immediately: Now my business with Don Mario is at an end, I need not desire his company to introduce me to the abbess; this assignation from Lucretia shows me a nearer way. — Noble Don Mario, it was my business, when this accident happened in the street, to have made you a visit; but now I am prevented by an occasion which calls me another way.

  Mar. I receive the intention of that honour as the greatest happiness that could befal me: In the meantime, if my attendance —

  Duke. By no means, sir, I must of necessity go in private; and therefore, if you please, you shall omit the ceremony.

  Mar. A happy even to your highness. — Now will I go to my sister, the abbess, before I sleep, and desire her to take more care of her flock, or, for all our relation, I shall make complaint, and endeavour to ease her of her charge.

  [Exit.

  Duke. So, now we are alone, what said Lucretia?

  Val. When first I pressed her to this assignation,

  She spoke like one in doubt what she should do;

  She demurred much upon the decency of it,

  And somewhat too she seemed to urge, of her

  Engagement to the prince: In short, sir,

  I perceived her wavering, and closed with the opportunity.

  Duke. O, when women are once irresolute, betwixt the former love and the new one, they are sure to come over to the latter. The wind, their nearest likeness, seldom chops about to return into the old corner.

  Val. In conclusion, she consented to the interview; and for the rest, I urged it not, for I suppose she will hear reason sooner from your mouth than mine.

  Duke. Her letter is of the same tenor with her discourse, full of doubts and doubles; like a hunted hare when she is near tired. The garden, you say, is the place appointed?

  Val. It is, sir; and the next half hour the time. But, sir, I fear the prince your son will never bear the loss of her with patience.

  Duke. ’Tis no matter; let the young gallant storm to-night, to-morrow he departs from Rome.

  Val. That, sir, will be severe.

  Duke. He has already received my commands to travel into Germany. I know it stung him to the quick, but he’s too dangerous a rival: the soldiers love him too; when he’s absent they will respect me more. But I defer my happiness too long; dismiss my guards there.

  [Exeunt Guards.

  The pleasures of old age brook no delay;

  Seldom they come, and soon they fly away. [Exeunt.

  SCENE III.

  Enter Frederick and Ascanio.

  Fred. ’Tis true, he is my father; but when nature

  Is dead in him, why should it live in me?

  What have I done that I am banished Rome,

  The world’s delight, and my soul’s joy, Lucretia,

  And sent to reel with midnight beasts in Almain!

  I cannot, will not, bear it.

  Asca. I’m sure you need not, sir; the army is all yours; they wish a youthful monarch, and will resent your injuries.

  Fred. Heaven forbid it! and yet I cannot lose Lucretia.

  There’s something I would do, and yet would shun

  The ill, that must attend it.

  Asca. You must resolve, for the time presses. She told me, this hour, she had sent for your father: what she means I know not, for she seemed doubtful, and would not tell me her intention.

  Fred. If she be false — yet, why should I suspect her? Yet why should I not? She’s a woman; that includes ambition and inconstancy; then, she’s tempted high: ‘twere unreasonable to expect she should be faithful: Well, something I have resolved, and will about it instantly; and if my friends prove faithful, I shall prevent the worst.

  Enter Aurelian and Camillo, guarded.

  Aurelian and Camillo? How came you thus attended?

  Cam. You may guess at the occasion, sir; pursuing the adventure which brought us to meet you in the garden, we were taken by Don Mario.

  Aur. And, as the devil would have it, when both we and our mistresses were in expectation of a more pleasing lodging.

  Fred. Faith, that’s very hard, when a man has charged and primed, and taken aim, to be hindered of his shoot. — Soldiers, release these gentlemen, I’ll answer it.

  Cap. Sir, we dare not disobey our orders.

  Fred. I’ll stand betwixt you and danger. In the mean time take this, as an acknowledgment of the kindness you do me.

  Cap. Ay, marry, there’s rhetoric in gold: who can deny these arguments: Sir, you may dispose of our prisoners as you please; we’ll use your name, if we are called in question.

  Fred. Do so. Goodnight, good soldiers. [Exeunt soldiers.] Now, gentlemen, no thanks; you’ll find occasion instantly to reimburse me of my kindness.

  Cam. Nothing but want of liberty could have hindered us from serving you.

  Fred. Meet me within this half hour, at our monastery; and if, in the mean time, you can pick up a dozen of good fellows, who dare venture their lives bravely, bring them with you.

  Aur. I hope the cause is bad too, otherwise we shall not deserve your thanks. May it be for demolishing that cursed monastery!

  Fred. Come, Ascanio, follow me. [Exeunt severally.

  SCENE IV. — The Nunnery Garden.

  Enter Duke and Lucretia.

  Luc. In making this appointment,

  I go too far, for one of my profession;

  But I have a divining soul within me,

  Which tells me, trust reposed in noble natures

  Obliges them the more.

  Duke. I come to be commanded, not to govern:

  Those few soft words, you sent me, have quite altered

>   My rugged nature; if it still be violent,

  ’Tis only fierce and eager to obey you;

  Like some impetuous flood, which, mastered once,

  With double force bends backward.

  The place of treaty shows you strongest here;

  For still the vanquished sues for peace abroad,

  While the proud victor makes his terms at home.

  Luc. That peace, I see, will not be hard to make,

  When either side shows confidence of noble dealing

  From the other.

  Duke. And this, sure, is our case, since both are met alone.

  Luc. ’Tis mine, sir, more than yours.

  To meet you single, shows I trust your virtue;

  But you appear distrustful of my love.

  Duke. You wrong me much; I am not.

  Luc. Excuse me, sir, you keep a curb upon me;

  You awe me with a letter, which you hold

  As hostage of my love; and hostages

  Are ne’er required but from suspected faith.

  Duke. We are not yet in terms of perfect peace;

  Whene’er you please to seal the articles,

  Your pledge shall be restored.

  Luc. That were the way to keep us still at distance;

  For what we fear, we cannot truly love.

  Duke. But how can I be then secure, that, when

  Your fear is o’er, your love will still continue?

  Luc. Make trial of my gratitude; you’ll find

  I can acknowledge kindness.

  Duke. But that were to forego the faster hold,

  To take a loose, and weaker.

  Would you not judge him mad, who held a lion

  In chains of steel, and changed them for a twine?

  Luc. But love is soft,

  Not of the lion’s nature, but the dove’s;

  An iron chain would hang too heavy on a tender neck.

  Duke. Since on one side there must be confidence,

  Why may not I expect, as well as you,

  To have it plac’d in me? Repose your trust

  Upon my royal word.

  Luc. As ’tis the privilege of womankind,

  That men should court our love,

  And make the first advances; so it follows,

  That you should first oblige; for ’tis our weakness

  Gives us more cause of fear, and therefore you,

  Who are the stronger sex, should first secure it.

  Duke. But, madam, as you talk of fear from me,