The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 51

_La Nu._ Will you then be ever kind and true?

_Will._ Ask thy own Charms, and to confirm thee more, yield and disarm me quite.

_La Nu._ Will you not marry then? for tho you never can be mine that way, I cannot think that you should be another's.

_Will._ No more delays, by Heaven, 'twas but a trick.

_La Nu._ And will you never see that Woman neither, whom you're this Night to visit?

_Will._ d.a.m.n all the rest of thy weak s.e.x, when thou look'st thus, and art so soft and charming.

[Offers to lead her out.

_La Nu._ _Sancho_-- my Coach. [Turns in scorn.

_Will._ Take heed, what mean ye?

_La Nu._ Not to be pointed at by all the envying Women of the Town, who'l laugh and cry, Is this the high-priz'd Lady, now fall'n so low, to doat upon a Captain? a poor disbanded Captain? defend me from that Infamy.

_Will._ Now all the Plagues-- but yet I will not curse thee, 'tis lost on thee, for thou art destin'd d.a.m.n'd.

[Going out.

_La Nu._ Whither so fast?

_Will._ Why,-- I am so indifferent grown, that I can tell thee now-- to a Woman, young, fair and honest; she'll be kind and thankful-- farewel, Jilt-- now should'st thou die for one sight more of me, thou should'st not ha't; nay, should'st thou sacrifice all thou hast couzen'd other c.o.xcombs of, to buy one single visit, I am so proud, by Heaven, thou shouldst not have it-- To grieve thee more, see here, insatiate Woman [Shews her a Purse or hands full of Gold] the Charm that makes me lovely in thine Eyes: it had all been thine hadst thou not basely bargain'd with me, now 'tis the Prize of some well-meaning Wh.o.r.e, whose Modesty will trust my Generosity.

[Goes out.

_La Nu._ Now I cou'd rave, t'have lost an opportunity which industry nor chance can give again-- when on the yielding point, a cursed fit of Pride comes cross my Soul, and stops the kind Career-- I'll follow him, yes I'll follow him, even to the Arms of her to whom he's gone.

_Aur._ Madam, 'tis dark, and we may meet with Insolence.

_La Nu._ No matter: _Sancho_, let the Coach go home, and do you follow me--

_Women may boast their Honour and their Pride, But Love soon lays those feebler Powr's aside._ [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. _The Street, or Backside of the Piazza dark._

Enter _Willmore_ alone.

_Will._ A Pox upon this Woman that has jilted me, and I for being a fond believing Puppy to be in earnest with so great a Devil. Where be these c.o.xcombs too? this _Blunt_ and _Fetherfool_? when a Man needs 'em not, they are plaguing him with their unseasonable Jests-- could I but light on them, I would be very drunk to night-- but first I'll try my Fortune with this Woman-- let me see-- hereabouts is the Door.

[Gropes about for the Door.

Enter _Beaumond_, follow'd by _La Nuche_, and _Sancho_.

_La Nu._ 'Tis he, I know it by his often and uneasy pauses--

_Beau._ And shall I home and sleep upon my injury, whilst this more happy Rover takes my right away?-- no, d.a.m.n me then for a cold senseless Coward.

[Pauses and pulls out a Key.

_Will._ This Damsel, by the part o'th' Town she lives in, shou'd be of Quality, and therefore can have no dishonest design on me, it must be right down substantial Love, that's certain.

_Beau._ Yet I'll in and arm my self for the Encounter, for 'twill be rough between us, tho we're Friends.

[Groping about, finds the Door.

_Will._ Oh, 'tis this I'm sure, because the Door is open.

_Beau._ Hah-- who's there?-- [_Beau._ advances to unlock the Door, runs against _Will._ draws.

_Will._ That Voice is of Authority, some Husband, Lover, or a Brother, on my Life-- this is a Nation of a word and a blow, therefore I'll betake me to _Toledo_-- [Draws.

[_Willmore_ in drawing hits his Sword against that of _Beaumond_, who turns and fights, _La Nuche_ runs into the Garden frighted.

_Beau._ Hah, are you there?

_Sanc._ I'll draw in defence of the Captain-- [_Sancho_ fights for _Beau._ and beats out _Will._

_Will._ Hah, two to one? [Turns and goes in.

_Beau._ The Garden Door clapt to; sure he's got in; nay, then I have him sure.

The Scene changes to a Garden, _La Nuche_ in it, to her _Beau._ who takes hold of her sleeve.

_La Nu._ Heavens, where am I?

_Beau._ Hah-- a Woman! and by these Jewels-- should be _Ariadne_.

[feels.] 'Tis so! Death, are all Women false?

[She struggles to get away, he holds her.

--Oh,'tis in vain thou fly'st, thy Infamy will stay behind thee still.

_La Nu._ Hah, 'tis _Beaumond's_ Voice!-- Now for an Art to turn the trick upon him; I must not lose his Friendship.

[Aside.

Enter _Willmore_ softly, peeping behind.

_Will._ What a Devil have we here, more Mischief yet;-- hah-- my Woman with a Man-- I shall spoil all-- I ever had an excellent knack of doing so.

_Beau._ Oh Modesty, where art thou? Is this the effect of all your put on Jealousy, that Mask to hide your own new falshood in? New!-- by Heaven, I believe thou'rt old in cunning, that couldst contrive, so near thy Wedding-night, this, to deprive me of the Rites of Love.

_La Nu._ Hah, what says he? [Aside.

_Will._ How, a Maid, and young, and to be marry'd too! a rare Wench this to contrive Matters so conveniently: Oh, for some Mischief now to send him neatly off.

[Aside.

_Beau._ Now you are silent; but you could talk to day loudly of Virtue, and upbraid my Vice: oh how you hated a young keeping Husband, whom neither Beauty nor Honour in a Wife cou'd oblige to reason-- oh, d.a.m.n your Honour, 'tis that's the sly pretence of all your domineering insolent Wives-- Death-- what didst thou see in me, should make thee think that I would be a tame contented Cuckold?

[Going, she holds him.