The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 21

Sir _Tim_. A Fidler, perhaps--let him play in the next Room.

_Bel_. No, my Brother--come to demand his Portion of me; he says I am in leud Company, and, like a Boy, he wou'd correct me.

Sir _Tim_. Why, this comes of Idleness; thou should'st have bound him Prentice in time, the Boy would have made a good saucy Taylor.

_Char_. Sirrah, y'are a Rascal, whom I must thus chastise.

[_Kicks him_.

[_They all draw, and_ Bellmour _stands foremost, and fights with_ Charles; _the Women run squeaking out, Sir_ Tim.

Sham, _and_ Sharp _sneak behind_; Trusty _interposes_.

_Trust_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, my dear Masters! Oh, what a fight is this? Two Brothers fighting with each other! Oh, were my old Master alive, this wou'd break his Heart: Oh, Sir, you've kill'd your Brother!

_Bel_. Why, then his Portion's paid.

[Charles _wounded_.

Sir _Tim_. How, kill'd! Nay, 'tis time we departed then, and shifted for ourselves.

[_Ex. Sir_ Tim. Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Trust_. Oh, Sir, shall I send for a Chyrurgion?

_Char_. No, for a Coach rather, I am not wounded much.

[_Ex_. Trusty.

_Bel_. How dar'st thou trust thy self alone with me?

_Char_. Why should I fear thee?

_Bel_. Because I'm mad, Mad as a Tygress rob'd of her dear Young.

_Char_. What is't that makes you so?

_Bel_. My Uncle's Politicks, h.e.l.l take him for't, Has ruin'd me, thou and my Sister too, By marrying me to a fair hated Maid, When I had plighted all my Faith before.

_Enter_ Trusty.

_Trust_. Sir, here's a Coach.

_Char_. Come, Brother, will you go home with me?

_Bel_. Home!--no, never to that place thou call'st so.

If, when I'm dead, thou wouldst behold thy Brother, And take the last Adieu from his cold Lips, (If those so perjur'd can deserve that kindness) Inquire for lost _Celinda_, at whose Feet Thou shalt behold me fall'n a Sacrifice.

Till then, I'll let mistaken Parents know The mischiefs that ensue a broken Vow.

[_Ex. severally_.

ACT V.

SCENE I. _Covent Garden_.

_Enter_ Betty Flaunt.i.t _alone_.

_Flaunt_. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such d.a.m.n'd ill luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this _Bellmour_, and, as the Devil wou'd have it, to find my Knight there; then to be just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again-- anon) forc'd me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this be not ill Luck, the Devil's in't--But _Driver_ must bring matters about, that I may see this liberal Squire again--But here comes my Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy.

Sir _Tim_. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self, thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

_Flaunt_. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you--who dares accuse me?

Sir _Tim_. E'en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. _Driver_ the Baud.

_Flaunt_. She! She's an impudent confounded Lyar--and because she wou'd have your worshipful Custom--scandaliz'd me, to breed a difference between us.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

_Flaunt_. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by your Name, and told her my Bus'ness, our Amours are not kept so secret, nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir _Tim_. Now though I know this to be a d.a.m.n'd Lye, yet the Devil has a.s.sisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but forgive her.

_Flaunt_. Forgive me!--Who shall forgive you your debauch'd Whoring and Drinking?--marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if y'are every where as you are at home with me--No, Sirrah, I'll never bed with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be seen in _Hide-Park_ in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas'd it with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches--I'll be d.a.m.n'd before I'll endure it.

Sir _Tim_. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify'd--nay, dear _Betty_, forgive me, and I'll be very good for the future.

_Flaunt_. Will you swear to be so?

Sir _Tim_. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

_Flaunt_. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won Money last Night.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, that's it that appeases her highest Storms--here, my Jewel, here's a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

_Flaunt_. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum; let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more.

[_She feels in his Pockets_.

Sir _Tim_. So, 'twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been Made under every Rag on't else; and what I was painfully cheating for All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans in half an Hour.

--Well, are you satisfy'd I have no more?

_Flaunt_. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my _Timmy?_

Sir _Tim_. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye.

[_Aside_.