The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 97

SCENE I.

_Enter_ Fillamour _and_ Galliard, _as in_ Silvianetta's _Apartment_.

_Fil_. How splendidly these common Women live!

How rich is all we meet with in this Palace; And rather seems the Apartment of some Prince, Than a Receptacle for l.u.s.t and Shame.

_Gal_. You see, _Harry_, all the keeping Fools are not in our Dominions; but this grave, this wise People, are Mistress-ridden too.

_Fil_. I fear we have mistook the House, and the Youth that brought us in may have deceived us, on some other design; however whilst I've this--I cannot fear--[_Draws_.

_Gal_. A good caution, and I'll stand upon my guard with this; but see-- here's one will put us out of doubt.

[_Pulls a Pistol out of his pocket_.

_Fil_. Hah! the fair Inchantress.

[_Enter_ Mar. _richly and loosely drest_.

_Mar_. What, on your guard, my lovely Cavalier? Lies there a danger In this Face and Eyes, that needs that rough resistance?

--Hide, hide that mark of Anger from my sight, And if thou wou'dst be absolute Conquerer here, Put on soft Looks, with Eyes all languishing, Words tender, gentle Sighs, and kind Desires.

_Gal_. Death, with what unconcern he hears all this!

Art thou possest?--Pox, why dost not answer her?

_Mar_. I hope he will not yield--[_Aside_.

--He stands unmov'd-- Surely I was mistaken in this Face, And I believe in Charms that have no power.

_Gal_. 'Sdeath, thou deservest not such a n.o.ble Creature,-- I'll have 'em both my self.--[_Aside_.

_Fil_.--Yes, thou hast wondrous power, And I have felt it long. [_Pausingly_.

_Mar_. How!

_Fil_.--I've often seen that Face--but 'twas in Dreams: And sleeping lov'd extremely!

And waking;--sigh'd to find it but a Dream: The lovely Phantom vanish'd with my Slumbers, But left a strong Idea on my heart Of what I find in perfect Beauty here, --But with this difference, she was virtuous too.

_Mar_. What silly she was that?

_Fil_. She whom I dream'd I lov'd.

_Mar_. You only dreamt that she was virtuous too; Virtue it self's a Dream of so slight force, The very fluttering of Love's Wings destroys it; Ambition, or the meaner hope of Interest, wakes it to nothing; In Men a feeble Beauty shakes the dull slumber off.--

_Gal_. Egad, she argues like an Angel, _Harry_.

_Fil_.--What haste thou'st made to d.a.m.n thy self so young!

Hast thou been long thus wicked? hast thou sinn'd past Repentance?

Heaven may do much to save so fair a Criminal; Turn yet, and be forgiven.

_Gal_. What a Pox dost thou mean by all this Canting?

_Mar_. A very pretty Sermon, and from a Priest so gay, It cannot chuse but edify.

Do Holy men of your Religion, Signior, wear all this Habit?

Are they thus young and lovely? Sure if they are, Your Congregation's all compos'd of Ladies; The Laity must come abroad for Mistresses.

_Fil_. Oh, that this charming Woman were but honest!

_Gal_. 'Twere better thou wert d.a.m.n'd; honest!

Pox, thou dost come out with things so mal a propo--

_Mar_. Come leave this Mask of foolish Modesty, And let us haste where Love and Musick calls; Musick, that heightens Love, and makes the Soul Ready for soft Impressions.

_Gal_. So, she will do his business with a Vengeance.

_Fil_. Plague of this tempting Woman, she will ruin me: I find weak Virtue melt from round my Heart, To give her Tyrant Image a Possession: So the warm Sun thaws Rivers icy Tops.

Till in the stream he sees his own bright Face.

_Gal_. Now he comes on apace,--how is't, my Friend?

Thou stand'st as thou'dst forgot thy business here, --The Woman, _Harry_, the fair Curtezan; Canst thou withstand her Charms? I've business of my own, Prithee fall to--and talk of Love to her.

_Fil_. Oh, I cou'd talk Eternity away, In nothing else but Love;--cou'dst thou be honest?

_Mar_. Honest! was it for that you sent two thousand Crowns, Or did believe that trifling Sum sufficient To buy me to the slavery of Honesty?

_Gal_. Hold there, my brave Virago.

_Fil_. No, I wou'd sacrifice a n.o.bler Fortune, To buy thy Virtue home.

_Mar_. What shou'd it idling there?

_Fil_. Why--make thee constant to some happy Man, That wou'd adore thee for't.

_Mar_. Unconscionable! constant at my years?

--Oh, 'twere to cheat a thousand, Who between this and my dull Age of Constancy.

Expect the distribution of my Beauty.

_Gal_. 'Tis a brave Wench-- [_Aside_.

_Fil_. Yet charming as thou art, the time will come When all that Beauty, like declining Flowers, Will wither on the Stalk,--but with this difference, The next kind Spring brings Youth to Flowers again, But faded Beauty never more can bloom.

--If Interest make thee wicked, I can supply thy Pride.--

_Mar_. Curse on your necessary Trash!--which I despise, But as 'tis useful to advance our Love.

_Fil_. Is Love thy business? who is there born so high, But Love and Beauty equals?

And thou mayst chuse from all the wishing World.

This Wealth together wou'd inrich one Man, Which dealt to all, wou'd scarce be Charity.

_Mar_. Together! 'tis a Ma.s.s wou'd ransom Kings: Was all this Beauty given for one poor petty Conquest?

--I might have made a hundred Hearts my slaves, In this lost time of bringing one to Reason.-- Farewel, thou dull Philosopher in Love; When Age has made me wise, I'll send for you again.

[_Offers to go_, Gal. _holds her_.