The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 68

L. _Gal_. Who is a most devout Baud, a precise Procurer; A Saint in the Spirit, and Wh.o.r.e in the Flesh; A Doer of the Devil's Work in G.o.d's Name.

Is she your Informer? nay, then the Lye's undoubted-- I say once more, adone with your idle t.i.ttle-Tattle, --And to divert me, bid Betty sing the Song which _Wilding_ made To his last Mistress; we may judge by that, What little Haunts, and what low Game he follows.

This is not like the Description of a rich Citizen's Daughter and Heir, but some common Hackney of the Suburbs.

_Clos_. I have heard him often swear she was a Gentlewoman, and liv'd with her Friends.

L. _Gal_. Like enough, there are many of these Gentlewomen who live with their Friends, as rank Prost.i.tutes, as errant Jilts, as those who make open profession of the Trade--almost as mercenary--But come, the Song.

[_Enter_ Betty.

SONG.

_In Phillis all vile Jilts are met, Foolish, uncertain, false, Coquette.

Love is her constant welcome Guest, And still the newest pleases best.

Quickly she likes, then leaves as soon; Her Life on Woman's a Lampoon.

Yet for the Plague of human Race, This Devil has an Angel's Face; Such Youth, such Sweetness in her Look, Who can be Man, and not be took?

What former Love, what Wit, what Art, Can save a poor inclining Heart?

In vain a thousand Times an hour Reason rebels against her Power.

In vain I rail, I curse her charms; One Look my feeble Rage disarms.

There is Inchantment in her Eyes; Who sees 'em, can no more be wise_.

_Enter_ Wilding, _who runs to embrace L_. Gal.

_Wild_. Twelve was the lucky Minute when we met: Most charming of your s.e.x, and wisest of all Widows, My Life, my Soul, my Heaven to come, and here!

Now I have liv'd to purpose, since at last--Oh, killing Joy!

Come, let me fold you, press you in my Arms, And kiss you Thanks for this dear happy Night.

L. _Gal_. You may spare your Thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve 'em; I shall give you no occasion for 'em.

_Wild_. Nay, no scruples now, dearest of Dears, no more, 'Tis most unseasonable-- I bring a Heart full fraight with eager Hopes, Opprest with a vast Load of longing Love; Let me unlade me in that soft white Bosom, That Storehouse of rich Joys and lasting Pleasures, And lay me down as on a Bed of Lillies.

[_She breaks from him_.

L. _Gal_. You're wondrous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly you mistake the Person you address 'em to.

_Wild_. Why, are you not my Lady _Galliard_, that very Lady _Galliard_, who, if one may take her Word for't, loves _Wilding_? Am I not come hither by your own Appointment; and can I have any other Business here at this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and--

L. _Gal_. Scandalous and vain! by my Appointment, and for so leud a purpose; guard me, ye good Angels. If after an Affront so gross as this, I ever suffer you to see me more, Then think me what your Carriage calls me, An impudent, an open Prost.i.tute, Lost to all sense of Virtue, or of Honour.

_Wild_. What can this mean? [_Aside_.

Oh, now I understand the Mystery.

[_Looking on_ Closet.

Her Woman's here, that troublesome piece of Train.

--I must remove her. Hark ye, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you, as I came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below, and in great haste to speak with you.

_Clos_. A Kinsman! that's very likely indeed, and at this time of night.

_Wild_. Yes, a very near Kinsman, he said he was your Father's own Mother's Uncle's Sister's Son; what d'ye call him?

_Clos_. Ay, what d'ye call him indeed? I shou'd be glad to hear his Name.

Alas, Sir, I have no near Relation living that I know of, the more's my Misfortune, poor helpless Orphan that I am.

[_Weeps_.

_Wild_. Nay, but Mrs. Closet, pray take me right, This Country-man of yours, as I was saying--

L. _Gal_. Chang'd already from a Kinsman to a Countryman! a plain Contrivance to get my Woman out of the Room. Closet, as you value my Service, stir not from hence.

_Wild_. This Countryman of yours, I say, being left Executor by your Father's last Will and Testament, is come--Dull Waiting-woman, I wou'd be alone with your Lady; know your Cue and retire.

_Clos_. How, Sir!

_Wild_. Learn, I say, to understand Reason when you hear it. Leave us awhile; Love is not a Game for three to play at.

[_Gives her Mony_.

_Clos_. I must own to all the World, you have convinc'd me; I ask a thousand Pardons for my Dulness. Well, I'll be gone, I'll run; you're a most powerful Person, the very Spirit of Persuasion--I'll steal out--You have such a taking way with you--But I forgot my self. Well, your most obedient Servant; whenever you've occasion, Sir, be pleas'd to use me freely.

_Wild_. Nay, dear Impertinence, no more Complements, you see I'm busy now; prithee be gone, you see I am busy.

_Clos_. I'm all Obedience to you, Sir--Your most obedient--

L. _Gal_. Whither are you fisking and giggiting now?

_Clos_. Madam, I am going down, and will return immediately, immediately.

[_Exit_ Clos.

_Wild_. So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be prais'd for the Deliverance. And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more precious time; we have fool'd away too much already.

L. _Gal_. This to me!

_Wild_. To you, yes, to whom else should it be? Unless being sensible you have not Discretion enough to manage your own Affairs your self, you resolve like other Widows, with all you're Worth to buy a Governour, commonly call'd a Husband. I took ye to be wiser; but if that be your Design I shall do my best to serve you--though to deal freely with you--

L. _Gal_. Trouble not your self, Sir, to make Excuses; I'm not so fond of the Offer to take you at your Word. Marry you! a Rakeshame, who have not Esteem enough for the s.e.x to believe your Mother honest--without Money or Credit, without Land either in presenter prospect; and half a dozen hungry Vices, like so many bauling Brats at your Back, perpetually craving, and more chargeable to keep than twice the number of Children.

Besides, I think you are provided for; are you not married to Mrs.

_Charlot Gett-all_?

_Wild_. Married to her! Do I know her, you shou'd rather ask. What Fool has forg'd this unlikely Lye? but suppose 'twere true, cou'd you be jealous of a Woman I marry? Do you take me for such an a.s.s, to suspect I shall love my own Wife? On the other side, I have a great Charge of Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let 'em starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, though they send their Children a begging; I shou'd be worse than an Infidel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff aukward thing or other with an ugly Face, and a handsom Estate, that's certain: but whoever is ordain'd to make my Fortune, 'tis you only can make me happy-- Come, do it then.

L. _Gal_. I never will.

_Wild_. Unkindly said, you must.

L. _Gal_. Unreasonable Man! because you see I have unusual Regards for you, Pleasure to hear, and Trouble to deny you; A fatal yielding in my Nature toward you, Love bends my Soul that way-- A Weakness I ne'er felt for any other; And wou'd you be so base? and cou'd you have the Heart To take th' advantage on't to ruin me, To make me infamous, despis'd, loath'd, pointed at?

_Wild_. You reason false, According to the strictest Rules of Honour, Beauty should still be the Reward of Love, Not the vile Merchandize of Fortune, Or the cheap Drug of a Church-Ceremony.

She's only infamous, who to her Bed For Interest takes some nauseous Clown she hates: And though a Jointure or a Vow in publick Be her Price, that makes her but the dearer Wh.o.r.e.

L. _Gal_. I understand not these new Morals.