The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iv Part 75

_Haz._ Rather to receive my Wounds, Madam.

_Sure._ Already, Sir,--whoe'er she be, she made good haste to conquer, we have few here boast that Dexterity.

_Haz._ What think you of _Chrisante_, Madam?

_Sure._ I must confess your Love and your Despair are there plac'd right, of which I am not fond of being made a Confident, since I am a.s.sur'd she can love none but _Friendly_.

[Coldly.

_Haz._ Let her love on as long as Life shall last, let _Friendly_ take her, and the Universe, so I had my next wish-- [Sighs.

Madam, it is yourself that I adore--I should not be so vain to tell you this, but that I know you have found the Secret out already from my Sighs.

_Sure._ Forbear, Sir, and know me for your Kinsman's Wife, and no more.

_Haz._ Be scornful as you please, rail at my Pa.s.sion, and refuse to hear it; yet I'll love on, and hope in spite of you; my Flame shall be so constant and submissive, it shall compel your Heart to some return.

_Sure._ You're very confident of your Power, I perceive; but if you chance to find yourself mistaken, say your Opinion and your Affectation were misapply'd, and not that I was cruel.

[Ex. _Surelove_.

_Haz._ Whate'er denials dwell upon your Tongue, your Eyes a.s.sure me that your Heart is tender.

[Goes out.

Enter the Bagpiper, playing before a great Bowl of Punch, carry'd between two Negroes, a Highlander dancing after it; the Widow _Ranter_ led by _Timorous_; _Chrisante_ by _Dullman_; Mrs. _Flirt_ and _Friendly_, all dancing after it; they place it on the Table.

_Dull._ This is like the n.o.ble Widow all over, i'faith.

_Tim._ Ay, ay, the Widow's Health in a full Ladle, Major.

[Drinks.

--But a Pox on't, what made that young Fellow here, that affronted us yesterday, Major?

[While they drink about.

_Dull._ Some d.a.m.ned Sharper that would lay his Knife aboard your Widow, Cornet.

_Tim._ Zoors, if I thought so, I'd arrest him for Salt and Battery, lay him in Prison for a swinging Fine, and take no Bail.

_Dull._ Nay, had it not been before my Mistress here, Mrs. _Chrisante_, I had swinged him for his Yesterday's Affront;--ah, my sweet Mistress _Chrisante_--if you did but know what a power you have over me--

_Chris._ Oh, you're a great Courtier, Major.

_Dull._ Would I were any thing for your sake, Madam.

_Ran._ Thou art anything, but what thou shouldst be; prithee, Major, leave off being an old Buffoon, that is, a Lover turn'd ridiculous by Age, consider thy self a mere rouling Tun of _Nantz_,--a walking Chimney, ever smoaking with nasty Mundungus, and then thou hast a Countenance like an old worm-eaten Cheese.

_Dull._ Well, Widow, you will joke, ha, ha, ha--

_Tim._ Gad' Zoors, she's pure company, ha, ha--

_Dull._ No matter for my Countenance,--Col. _Downright_ likes my Estate, and is resolved to have it a match.

_Friend._ Dear Widow, take off your d.a.m.ned Major, for if he speak another word to _Chrisante_, I shall be put past all my patience, and fall foul upon him.

_Ran._ S'life, not for the world--Major, I bar Love-making within my Territories, 'tis inconsistent with the Punch-Bowl, if you'l drink, do, if not, be gone.

_Tim._ Nay, Gad's Zooks, if you enter me at the Punch-Bowl you enter me in Politicks--well, 'tis the best Drink in Christendom for a Statesman.

[They drink about, the Bagpipe playing.

_Ran._ Come, now you shall see what my High-land Valet can do.

[A _Scots_ Dance.

_Dull._ So--I see, let the World go which way it will, Widow, you are resolv'd for mirth,--but come--to the conversation of the Times.

_Ran._ The Times! why, what a Devil ails the Times? I see nothing in the Times but a Company of c.o.xcombs that fear without a Cause.

_Tim._ But if these Fears were laid, and _Bacon_ were hanged, I look upon _Virginia_ to be the happiest part of the World, gads zoors,--why, there's _England_--'tis nothing to't,--I was in _England_ about six Years ago, and was shewed the Court of Aldermen, some were nodding, some saying nothing, and others very little to purpose; but how could it be otherwise, for they had neither Bowl of Punch, Bottles of Wine or Tobacco before 'em, to put Life and Soul into 'em as we have here: then for the young Gentlemen--their farthest Travels is to _France_ or _Italy_, they never come hither.

_Dull._ The more's the pity, by my troth. [Drinks.

_Tim._ Where they learn to swear Mor-blew, Mor-dee--

_Friend._ And tell you how much bigger the _Louvre_ is than _Whitehall_; buy a suit a-la-mode, get a swinging Clap of some _French_ Marquise, spend all their Money, and return just as they went.

_Dull._ For the old Fellows, their business is Usury, Extortion, and undermining young Heirs.

_Tim._ Then for young Merchants, their Exchange is the Tavern, their Ware-house the Play-house, and their Bills of Exchange Billet-Douxs, where to sup with their Wenches at the other end of the Town,--now judge you what a condition poor _England_ is in: for my part I look upon it as a lost Nation, gads zoors.

_Dull._ I have considered it, and have found a way to save all yet.

_Tim._ As how, I pray?

_Dull._ As thus: we have Men here of great Experience and Ability--now I would have as many sent into _England_, as would supply all Places and Offices, both Civil and Military, d'ye see; their young Gentry should all travel hither for breeding, and to learn the mysteries of State.

_Friend._ As for the old covetous Fellows, I would have the Tradesmen get in their Debts, break and turn Troopers.

_Tim._ And they'd be soon weary of Extortion, gad zoors.

_Dull._ Then for the young Merchants, there should be a Law made, none should go beyond _Ludgate_.

_Friend._ You have found out the only way to preserve that great Kingdom.

[Drinking all this while sometimes.

_Tim._ Well, gad zoors, 'tis a fine thing to be a good Statesman.

_Friend._ Ay, Cornet, which you had never been had you staid in Old _England_.

_Dull._ Why, Sir, we were somebody in _England_.

_Friend._ So I heard, Major.

_Dull._ You heard, Sir! what have you heard? he's a Kidnapper that says he heard any thing of me--and so my service to you.--I'll sue you, Sir, for spoiling my Marriage here by your Scandals with Mrs. _Chrisante_: but that shan't do, Sir, I'll marry her for all that, and he's a Rascal that denies it.