The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 20

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, silly indeed--a Pox upon her--a silly Knight, you say--

_Driv_. Ay, Sir, one she makes a very a.s.s of.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, so methinks--but she's kind, and will do reason for all him.

_Driv_. To a Friend, a Man of Quality--or so.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, she blinds the Knight.

_Driv_. Alas, Sir, easily--he, poor Cully, thinks her a very Saint--but when he's out of the way, she comes to me to pleasure a Friend.

Sir _Tim_. But what if the Fool miss her?

_Driv_. She cries Wh.o.r.e first, brings him upon his Knees for her Fault; and a piece of Plate, or a new Petticoat, makes his Peace again.

Sir _Tim. Why--look you, Mistress, I am that Fop, that very silly Knight, and the rest that you speak of.

_Driv_. How, Sir? then I'm undone, she's the Upholder of my Calling, the very Grace of my Function.

Sir _Tim_. Is she so? e'en keep her to your self then, I'll have no more of her, by Fortune--I humbly thank you for your Intelligence, and the rest. Well--I see there's not one honest Wh.o.r.e i'th' Nation, by Fortune.

_Enter_ Charles Bellmour, _and_ Trusty.

Hark ye, Mistress, what was your Bus'ness here?

_Flaunt_. To meet a Rogue!--

Sir _Tim_. And I to meet a Wh.o.r.e, and now we are well met.

_Flaunt_. How, Sir?

Sir _Tim_. Nay, never be surpriz'd, for your Intrigues are discover'd, the good Matron of the House (against her Will) has done me that kindness--you know how to live without your Keeper, and so I'll leave you.

_Flaunt_. You're too serviceable a Fool to be lost so. [_Aside_.

_Bel_. Who knows this bold Intruder?

_Char_. How, Sir, am I a Stranger to you? But I shou'd wonder at it, since all your last Night's Actions betray'd a strange depravity of Sense.--Sir, I have sought you long, and wish I had not found you yet, since both the Place and Company declare, how grossly you've dissembled Virtue all this while.

_Bel_. Take hence that prating Boy.

_Char_. How, Sir--You are my elder Brother, yet I may be allow'd to do the Business that I came for, and from my Uncle to demand your Wife.

_Bel_. You may return, and tell him that she's dead.

_Char_. Dead! sure, Sir, you rave.

[_Turns him about_.

_Bel_. Indeed I do--but yet she's dead, they say.

_Char_. How came she dead?

_Bel_. I kill'd her--ask no more, but leave me.

[_Turns him about again_.

_Char_. Sir, this is Madman's Language, and not to be believed.

_Bel_. Go to--y'are a saucy Boy.

_Char_. Sir, I'm an angry Boy-- But yet can bear much from a Brother's Mouth; Y'ave lost your sleep: pray, Sir, go home and seek it.

_Bel_. Home! I have no Home, unless thou mean'st my Grave, And thither I cou'd wish thou wou'd conduct me. [_Weeps_.

_Flaunt_. Pray Heaven this young virtuous Fellow don't spoil all.

--Sir, shall I send for a Scrivener to draw the Settlement you promis'd me?

_Bel_. Do so, and I'll order him to get it ready.

_Char_. A Settlement! On whom? This Woman, Sir?

_Bel_. Yes, on this Woman, Sir.

_Char_. Are you stark mad?--Know you where you are?

_Bel_. Yes, in a Baudy-house.

_Char_. And this Woman, Sir.--

_Bel_. A very Wh.o.r.e--a tawdry mercenary Wh.o.r.e!

And what of this?

_Char_. And can you love her, Sir?

_Bel_. No, if I did, I wou'd not gratify her.

_Char_. What, is't in Charity to keep her honest?

_Bel_. Neither.

_Char_. Is your l.u.s.t grown so high--

_Bel_. Take that-- [_Strikes him_.

For naming but so base a thing to me.

_Char_. I wear a Sword, but not to draw on Mad-men. But since y'are so free, Sir, I demand that Fortune, which by my Father's Will y'are bound to pay the day after your Wedding-Day; my Sister's too is due.

_Bel_. Ha, ha, ha,--Sir _Timothy_, come hither--who dost think this is?