The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iv Part 12

_Lod._ Where are you, my dearest Creature?

L. _Fan._ Here--give me your Hand, I'll lead you to those Joys we both so long have sigh'd for.

_Lod._ Hah! to Joys; sure she doth but dally with me. [Aside.

L. _Fan._ Why come you not on, my dear?

_Lod._ And yet, why this Admission, and i' th' dark too, if she design'd me none but virtuous Favours?--What d.a.m.n'd Temptation's this?

L. _Fan._ Are you bewitch'd? what is't that frights you?

_Lod._ I'm fix'd: Death, was ever such a Lover?

Just ready for the highest Joys of Love, And like a bashful Girl restrain'd by Fear Of an insuing Infamy--I hate to cuckold my own Expectations.

L. _Fan._ Heavens! what can you mean?

_Lod._ Death, what's this?--sure 'tis not Virtue in me,--Pray Heaven it be not Impotence!--Where got I this d.a.m.n'd Honesty, which I never found my self master of till now!--why shou'd it seize me when I had least need on't?

L. _Fan._ What ails you? are you mad?--we are safe, and free as Winds let loose to ruffle all the Groves; what is't delays you then? Soft.

_Lod._ Pox o' this thought of Wife, the very Name destroys my appet.i.te.

Oh, with what Vigour I could deal my Love To some fair leud unknown, To whom I'd never made a serious Vow!

L. _Fan._ Tell me the Mystery of this sudden Coldness: have I kept my Husband in Town for this? Nay, persuaded him to be very sick to serve our purpose, and am I thus rewarded--ungrateful Man!

_Lod._ Hah,--'tis not _Isabella's_ Voice,--your Husband, say you?

[Takes hold greedily of her Hand.

L. _Fan._ Is safe, from any fear of interrupting us.

Come--these Delays do ill consist with Love And our Desires; at least if they are equal.

_Lod._ Death, 'tis the charming Mother!

What lucky Star directed me to night?

O my fair Dissembler, let us haste To pay the mighty Tributes due to Love.

L. _Fan._ Follow me then with careful Silence,--for _Isabella's_ Chamber joins to this, and she may hear us.

_Lod_. Not Flowers grow, nor smooth Streams glide away, Not absent Lovers sigh, nor breaks the Day, More silently than I'll those Joys receive, Which Love and Darkness do conspire to give.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. Changes again to a Garden.

Enter _Isabella_ and _f.a.n.n.y_ in their Night-gowns.

_Isab._ Well, I have no mind to let this dear mad Devil _Lodwick_ in to night.

_Fan._ Why, Sister, this is not the first Venture you have made of this kind, at this Hour, and in this Place; these Arbours were they tell-tales, cou'd discover many pretty stories of your Loves, and do you think they'll be less faithful now? pray trust them once again. Oh, I do so love to hear Mr. _Lodwick_ protest, and vow, and swear, and dissemble, and when you don't believe him, rail at you,--avads, 'tis the prettiest Man--

_Isab._ I have a strange apprehension of being surpriz'd to night.

_Fan._ I'll warrant you, I'll sit on yon Bank of Pinks, and when I hear a Noise I'll come and tell you; so _Lodwick_ may slip out at the back Gate, and we may be walking up and down as if we meant no harm.

_Isab._ You'll grow very expert in the Arts of Love, _f.a.n.n.y_.

_Fan._ When I am big enough I shall do my Endeavour, for I have heard you say, Women were born to no other end than to love: And 'tis fit I should learn to live and die in my calling.--Come, open the Gate, or you'll repent it, we shall have my Father marry you within a day or two to that ugly Man that speaks hard Words,--avads, I can't abide him.

_Isab._ What Noise is that?

_Fan._ Why, 'tis Mr. _Lodwick_ at the Garden-Door;--let him in whilst I'll to my flowry Bank, and stand Centinel.-- [Runs off. _Isabella_ opens the Gate.

Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Who's there?

_Isab._ Speak low, who shou'd it be but the kind Fool her self, who can deny you nothing but what you dare not take?

_Wit._ Not take! what's that? hast thou reserves in store?

--Oh, come and let me lead thee to thy Bed, Or seat thee on some Bank of softer Flowers, Where I may rifle all thy unknown Store.

_Isab._ How! surely you're not in earnest?--Do you love me?

_Wit._ Love thee! by thy dear self, all that my Soul adores, I'm all impatient Flame! all over Love!

--You do not use to doubt, but since you do, Come, and I'll satisfy thy obliging Fears, And give thee Proofs how much my Soul is thine, I'll breathe it all anew into thy Bosom.-- Oh, thou art fit for the transporting Play, All loose and wanton, like the Queen of Love When she descends to meet the Youth in Shades.

_Isab._ And are you, Sir, in earnest? can it be?

_Wit._ That question was severe, what means my Love?

What pretty Art is this to blow my Flame?

Are you not mine? did we not meet t'enjoy?

I came not with more vigorous eager Haste, When our first Sacrifice to Love we paid, Than to perform that Ceremony now.

Come do not let the Sacred Fire burn out, Which only was prepar'd for Love's rich Altar, And this is the divine, dark, silent Minute-- [Goes to lead her off.

_Isab._ Hold, Ravisher, and know this saucy Pa.s.sion Has render'd back your Interest. Now I hate ye, And my Obedience to my Father's Will Shall marry me to _Fainlove_, and I'll despise ye.

[Flings from him.

_Wit._ Hah! _Isabella!_ Death, I have made sweet work,--stay, gentle Maid,--she'll ruin all if she go:--stay--she knew me, and cunningly drew me to this Discovery; I'll after her and undeceive her.

[Runs after her.

_A confused Noise of the Serenade, the_

SCENE VI draws off to Lady _Fancy's_ Anti-chamber.

Enter _Isabella_ groping as in the dark.

_Isab._ Pray Heaven I get undiscover'd to my Chamber, where I'll make Vows against this perjured Man; hah, sure he follows still; no Wood-Nymph ever fled before a Satyr, with half that trembling haste I flew from _Lodwick_.--Oh, he has lost his Virtue, and undone me.

[Goes out groping, and the noise of Serenade again.