The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 120

Enter _Tom_.

_Tom._ Madam, here's Mr. _Ananias Gogle_, the Lay-Elder of _Clement's_ Parish.

_L. Des._ d.a.m.n the sham Saint; am I now in Condition to be plagu'd with his impertinent Nonsense?

_Tom._ Oh! Pray, Madam, hear him preach a little; 'tis the purest Sport--

Enter _Ananias_.

_Ana._ Peace be in this Place.

_L. Des._ A blessed hearing; he preaches nothing in his Conventicles, but Blood and Slaughter.

[Aside.

What wou'd you, Sir? I'm something busy now.

_Ana._ Ah, the Children of the Elect have no Business but the great Work of Reformation: Yea verily, I say, all other Business is profane, and diabolical, and devilish; Yea, I say, these Dressings, Curls, and Shining Habilliments-- which take so up your time, your precious time; I say, they are an Abomination, yea, an Abomination in the sight of the Righteous, and serve but as an _Ignis fatuus_, to lead vain Man astray-- I say again-- [Looking now and then behind on the Page.

_L. Des._ --You are a very c.o.xcomb.

_Ana._ I say again, that even I, upright I, one of the new Saints, find a sort of a-- a-- I know not what-- a kind of a Motion as it were-- a stirring up-- as a Man may say, to wickedness-- Yea, verily it corrupteth the outward Man within me.

_L. Des._ Is this your Business, Sir, to rail against our Clothes, as if you intended to preach me into my Primitive Nakedness again?

_Ana._ Ah, the naked Truth is best; but, Madam, I have a little work of Grace to communicate unto you, please you to send your Page away--

_L. Des._ Withdraw-- sure I can make my Party good with one wicked Elder:-- Now, Sir, your Bus'ness.

[Ex. _Tom._ --Be brief.

_Ana._ As brief as you please-- but-- who in the sight of so much Beau - - ty-- can think of any Bus'ness but the Bus'ness-- Ah! hide those tempting b.r.e.a.s.t.s,-- Alack, how smooth and warm they are-- [Feeling 'em, and sneering.

_L. Des._ How now, have you forgot your Function?

_Ana._ Nay, but I am mortal Man also, and may fall seven times a day-- Yea verily, I may fall seven times a day-- Your Ladyship's Husband is old,-- and where there is a good excuse for falling,-- ah, there the fall-- ing-- is excusable.-- And might I but fall with your Ladyship,-- might I, I say.--

_L. Des._ How, this from you, the Head o' th' Church Militant, the very Pope of Presbytery?

_Ana._ Verily, the Sin lieth in the Scandal; therefore most of the discreet pious Ladies of the Age chuse us, upright Men, who make a Conscience of a Secret, the Laity being more regardless of their Fame.-- In sober sadness, the Place-- inviteth, the Creature tempting, and the Spirit very violent within me.

[Takes and ruffles her.

_L. Des._ Who waits there?-- I'm glad you have prov'd your self what I ever thought of all your pack of Knaves.

_Ana._ Ah, Madam! Do not ruin my Reputation; there are Ladies of high Degree in the Commonwealth, to whom we find our selves most comforting; why might not you be one?-- for, alas, we are accounted as able Men in Ladies Chambers, as in our Pulpits: we serve both Functions--

Enter Servants.

Hah! her Servants-- [Stands at a distance.

_L. Des._ Shou'd I tell this, I shou'd not find belief. [Aside.

_Ana._ Madam, I have another Errand to your Ladiship.-- It is the Duty of my Occupation to catechize the Heads of every Family within my Diocese; and you must answer some few Questions I shall ask.-- In the first place, Madam,-- Who made ye?

_L. Des._ So, from Whoring, to a zealous Catechism-- who made me? what Insolence is this, to ask me Questions which every Child that lisps out Words can answer!

_Ana._ 'Tis our Method, Madam.

_L. Des._ Your Impudence, Sirrah,-- let me examine your Faith, who are so sawcy to take an account of mine-- Who made you? But lest you shou'd not know, I will inform you: First, Heav'n made you a deform'd, ill-favour'd Creature; then the Rascal your Father made you a Taylor; next, your Wife made you a Cuckold; and lastly the Devil has made you a Doctor; and so get you gone for a Fool and a Knave all over.

_Ana._ A Man of my Coat affronted thus!

_L. Des._ It shall be worse, Sirrah, my Husband shall know how kind you wou'd have been to him, because your Disciple and Benefactor, to have begot him a Babe of Grace for a Son and Heir.

_Ana._ Mistake not my pious meaning, most gracious Lady.

_L. Des._ I'll set you out in your Colours: Your impudent and b.l.o.o.d.y Principles, your Cheats, your Rogueries on honest Men, thro their kind, deluded Wives, whom you cant and goggle into a Belief, 'tis a great work of Grace to steal, and beggar their whole Families, to contribute to your Gormandizing, l.u.s.t and Laziness; Ye Locusts of the Land, preach Nonsense, Blasphemy, and Treason, till you sweat again, that the sanctify'd Sisters may rub you down, to comfort and console the Creature.

_Ana._ Ah! Am--

_L. Des._ Sirrah, be gone, and trouble me no more-- be gone-- yet stay-- the Rogue may be of use to me-- Amongst the heap of Vice, Hypocrisy, and Devils that possess all your Party, you may have some necessary Sin; I've known some honest, useful Villains amongst you, that will swear, profess, and lye devoutedly for the Good Old Cause.

_Ana._ Yea, verily, I hope there are many such, and I shou'd rejoice, yea, exceedingly rejoice in any Gadly Performance to your Ladiship.

_L. Des._ This is a pious Work: You are a Knave of Credit, a very Saint with the rascally Rabble, with whom your seditious Cant more prevails, your precious Hum and Ha, and gifted Nonsense, than all the Rhetorick of the Learn'd or Honest.

_Ana._ Hah!

_L. Des._ --In fine, I have use of your Talent at present, there's one now in Confinement of the Royal Party-- his Name's _Freeman_.

_Ana._ And your Ladiship wou'd have him dispatch'd; I conceive ye-- but wou'd you have him dispatch'd privately, or by Form of Law? we've Tools for all uses, and 'tis a pious Work, and meritorious.

_L. Des._ Right, I wou'd indeed have him dispatch'd, and privately; but 'tis. .h.i.ther privately, hither to my Chamber, privately, for I have private Bus'ness with him. D'ye start?-- this must be done-- for you can pimp I'm sure upon occasion, you've Tools for all uses; come, resolve, or I'll discover your b.l.o.o.d.y Offer. Is your Stomach so queasy it cannot digest Pimping, that can swallow Whoring, false Oaths, Sequestration, Robbery, Rapes, and Murders daily?

_Ana._ Verily, you mistake my pious Meaning; it is the Malignant I stick at; the Person, not the Office: and in sadness, Madam, it goeth against my tender Conscience to do any good to one of the Wicked.

_L. Des._ It must stretch at this time; go haste to the Guard, and demand him in my Husband's Name; here's something worth your Pains-- having releas'd him, bring him to me, you understand me-- go bid him be diligent, and as you behave your self, find my Favour; for know, Sir, I am as great a Hypocrite as you, and know the Cheats of your Religion too; and since we know one another, 'tis like we shall be true.

_Ana._ But shou'd the Man be missing, and I call'd to account?--

_L. Des._ He shall be return'd in an hour: go, get you gone, and bring him, or-- no more-- [Ex. _Ana._ For all degrees of Vices, you must grant, There is no Rogue like your _Geneva_ Saint. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. _A Chamber in La. _Desbro's_ House. Candles, and Lights._

Enter L. _Desbro_ and _Freeman_.