The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iv Part 3

_Cur._ Yes, Sir.

_Lean._ This is the Beast _Lodwick_ spoke of; how could I laugh were he design'd for any but _Lucretia!_ [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ And dost hear, ask him if he have not sold his own Dog _Diver_ with the white Ear; if I can purchase him, and my own Dog prove right, I'll be Duke of Ducking-Pond, ads zoz.

[Sir _Cred._ dresses himself.

Well, I think I shall be fine anon, he.

_Cur._ But zo, zo, Sir, as the saying is, this Suit's a little out of fashion, 'twas made that very year I came to your Worship, which is five Winters, and as many Summers.

Sir _Cred._ What then Mun, I never wear it, but when I go to be drunk, and give my Voice for a Knight o'th' Shire, and here at _London_ in Term time, and that but eight times in Eight Visits to Eight several Ladies to whom I was recommended.

_Cur._ I wonder that amongst eight you got not one, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Eight! Zoz, I had Eight score, Mun; but the Devil was in 'em, they were all so forward, that before I cou'd seal and deliver, whip, quoth _Jethro_, they were either all married to some body else, or run quite away; so that I am resolv'd if this same _Lucretia_ proves not right, I'll e'en forswear this Town and all their false Wares, amongst which, zoz, I believe they vent as many false Wives as any _Metropolitan_ in Christendom, I'll say that for't, and a Fiddle for't, i'faith:--come give me my Watch out,--so, my Diamond Rings too: so, I think I shall appear pretty well all together, _Curry_, hah?

_Lean._ Like some thing monstrously ridiculous, I'll be sworn.

[Aside.

_Cur._ Here's your Purse of broad Gold, Sir, that your Grandmother gave you to go a wooing withal, I mean to shew, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Ay, for she charg'd me never to part with it;--so, now for the Ladies.

[Shakes his Ribbons.

Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ _Leander_, what mak'st thou here, like a Holy-day Fool gazing at a Monster?

_Lean._ Yes; And one I hope I have no great reason to fear.

_Lod._ I am of thy opinion; away, my Mother's coming; take this opportunity with my Sister, she's i'th' Garden, and let me alone with this Fool, for an Entertainment that shall shew him all at once: away-- [Exit _Lean._ [_Lod._ goes in to Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ _Lodwick_, my dear Friend! and little Spark of Ingenuity--Zoz, Man, I'm but just come to Town.

[Embrace.

_Lod._ 'Tis a joyful hearing, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Not so joyful neither, Sir, when you shall know poor _Gillian's_ dead, my little grey Mare; thou knew'st her, mun: Zoz, 'thas made me as melancholy as the Drone of a _Lancashire_ Bag-pipe. But let that pa.s.s; and now we talk of my Mare, Zoz, I long to see this Sister of thine.

_Lod._ She'll be with you presently, Sir _Credulous_.

Sir _Cred._ But hark ye, Zoz, I have been so often fob'd off in these matters, that between you and I, _Lodwick_, if I thought I shou'd not have her, Zoz, I'd ne'er lose precious time about her.

_Lod._ Right, Sir; and to say truth, these Women have so much Contradiction in 'em, that 'tis ten to one but a Man fails in the Art of pleasing.

Sir _Cred._ Why, there's it:--therefore prithee, dear _Lodwick_, tell me a few of thy Sister's Humors, and if I fail,--then hang me, Ladies, at your Door, as the Song says.

_Lod._ Why, faith, she has many odd Humors hard enough to hit.

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, let 'em be as hard as _Hercules_ his Labors in the Vale of _Ba.s.se_, I'll not be frighted from attempting her.

_Lod._ Why, she's one of those fantastick Creatures that must be courted her own way.

Sir _Cred._ Why, let's hear her way.

_Lod._ She must be surpriz'd with strange Extravagancies wholly out of the Road and Method of common Courtship.

Sir _Cred._ Shaw, is that all? Zoz, I'm the best in Christendom at your out-of-the-way bus'nesses.--Now do I find the Reason of all my ill Success; for I us'd one and the same method to all I courted, whatever their Humors were; hark ye, prithee give me a hint or two, and let me alone to manage Matters.

_Lod._ I have just now thought of a way that cannot but take--

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, out with it, Man.

_Lod._ Why, what if you should represent a dumb Amba.s.sador from the Blind G.o.d of Love.

Sir _Cred._ How, a dumb Amba.s.sador? Zoz, Man, how shall I deliver my Emba.s.sy then, and tell her how much I love her?--besides, I had a pure Speech or two ready by heart, and that will be quite lost.

[Aside.

_Lod._ Fy, fy! how dull you are! why, you shall do it by Signs, and I'll be your Interpreter.

Sir _Cred._ Why, faith, this will be pure; I understand you now, Zoz, I am old excellent at Signs;--I vow this will be rare.

_Lod._ It will not fail to do your business, if well manag'd--but stay, here's my Sister, on your life not a syllable.

Enter _Lean._ _Lucr._ and _Isab._

Sir _Cred._ I'll be rackt first, Mum budget,--prithee present me, I long to be at it, sure.

[He falls back, making Faces and Grimaces.

_Lod._ Sister, I here present you with a worthy Knight, struck dumb with Admiration of your Beauty; but that's all one, he is employ'd Envoy Extraordinary from the blind G.o.d of Love: and since, like his young Master, he must be defective in one of his Senses, he chose rather to be dumb than blind.

_Lucr._ I hope the small Deity is in good Health, Sir?

_Isab._ And his Mistress _Psyche_, Sir?

[He smiles and bows, and makes Signs.

_Lod._ He says that _Psyche_ has been sick of late, but somewhat recovered, and has sent you for a Token a pair of Jet Bracelets, and a Cambrick Handkerchief of her own spinning, with a Sentence wrought in't, _Heart in hand, at thy command._ [Looking every word upon Sir _Credulous_ as he makes signs.

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, _Lodwick_, what do you mean? I'm the Son of an _Egyptian_ if I understand thee.

[Pulls him, he signs to him to hold his peace.

_Lod._ Come, Sir, the Tokens, produce, produce-- [He falls back making d.a.m.nable signs.

How! Faith, I'm sorry for that with all my heart,--he says, being somewhat put to't on his Journey, he was forced to p.a.w.n the Bracelets for half a Crown, and the Handkerchief he gave his Landlady on the Road for a Kindness received,--this 'tis when People will be fooling--

Sir _Cred._ Why, the Devil's in this _Lodwick_, for mistaking my Signs thus: hang me if ever I thought of Bracelets or a Handkerchief, or ever received a Civility from any Woman Breathing,--is he bewitcht trow?

[Aside.

_Lean._ _Lodwick_, you are mistaken in the Knight's meaning all this while. Look on him, Sir,--do not you guess from that Look, and wrying of his Mouth, that you mistook the Bracelets for Diamond Rings, which he humbly begs, Madam, you would grace with your fair Hand?

_Lod._ Ah, now I perceive it plain.