The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 79

[_Shews her the Writings_.

And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love, When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail, Had made ye mine for ever.

[_Aloud_.

_Enter Sir_ Anthony, _pulling in Sir_ Tim. _and_ Diana.

Sir _Anth_. Morrow, _Charles_; Morrow to your Ladyship: _Charles_, bid Sir _Timothy_ welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd none of my Friends shall pa.s.s this joyful Day without giving thee Joy, _Charles_, and drinking my Lady's Health.

_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and Heiress of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, Knight and Alderman.

_Wild_. Ha, married to _Diana_! How fickle is the Faith of common Women!

[_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.

_Wild_. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all.

[_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.

Sir _Tim_. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you know.

_Enter_ Charlot _weeping, and_ Clacket.

_Charl_. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs, Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face The perjur'd, false, forsworn!

L. _Gal_. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?

_Charl_. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.

[_Weeps_.

_Wild. Charlot_! Nay, then I am discover'd.

L. _Gal_. Alas, what wou'dst thou?

_Charl_. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband.

Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love, Whether he more belongs to her or me.

Sir _Anth_. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been dabling here?

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, I know her not.--Hark ye, Widow, this is some Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd find in my Heart to take her at her word.

L. _Gal_. Vile Man, this will not pa.s.s your Falshood off.

Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him, To find how much I value him.

Sir _Char_. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;--Tell me, thou pretty weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?

_Charl_. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your Face.

L. _Gal_. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul--Neighbour, pray let her lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.

Sir _Char_. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?

_Charl_. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving.

--Will you not let me see the lovely false one? [_To L_. Gal.

For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.

L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him.

_Charl_. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel!

He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any G.o.d!

All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet: And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too That all his Oaths were true.

Sir _Anth_. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak--you, Mistress. [_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief: 'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir. [_To_ Wild.

_Wild_. So.

Sir _Tim_. What, my Lord?

Mrs. _Clack_. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord: Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?

[Charlot. _runs, and catches him in her Arms_.

_Charl_. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee; Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.

_Wild_. Never; thou truest of thy s.e.x, and dearest, Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer, This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.

_Charl_. May I believe thou art not married then?

_Wild_. How can I, when I'm yours?

How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life?

Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn, [_To L_. Galliard.

--And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.

Sir _Tim_. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?

_Wild_. I am _Tom Wilding_, Sir, that once bore some such t.i.tle, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.

Sir _Tim_. What, and are you no Polish Emba.s.sador then incognito?

_Wild_. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

Sir _Tim_. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course, because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. _Charlot_.