The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iv Part 120

_Man._ Yes, Madam.

_Mir._ Then bring _Endimion_ to me.

_Man._ Madam, I wish you'd think no more of him; for I foresee, that this Amour must ruin you. Remember you have left a Husband for the Prince.

_Mir._ A Husband! my Drudge, to toil for me, and save me the Expence of careful Thoughts: My Cloke, my Led-Horse, for Necessity to fill my Train--no more--but _Endimion_ waits.

[Exit _Manage_.

--There is a native Generosity in me, that checks my Inconstancy to this great Man; yet I have so much Woman in my Soul, cannot pain my self to do him Justice--A new desire of humouring my wish, sways all my Interest, and controuls all my Honour. Why should I lose a Pleasure for a Promise? since Time, that gives our Youth so short a Date, may well excuse our needful Perjury.

Enter _Manage_, and _Olivia_, she runs and embraces him.

--Let the young bashful Maid, unskill'd in Love, deny the pressing Swain.

Let wither'd Age, who fondly dreams of Virtue, lose the dear Opportunities of Life.

The coming Hours present themselves to us; and are too nice, not to be s.n.a.t.c.h'd when offer'd.

_Oliv._ So hasty! this disarms me of Excuse. [Aside.

_Mir._ Why are thy Eyes bent down? Why dost thou pause?

_Oliv._ So hot!--I must prepare to shew my s.e.x's Evidence, if nothing else will do.

[Unb.u.t.tons her Coat.

_Mir._ What, not a Word!

Advance, thou bashful Youth--Love in thy Eyes, and Coward in thy Heart!

The one all Fire, the other too much Ice.

_Prince_ and _George_ looking out.

_Prince._ Yet stay me, my _Lejere_, from my hasty Vengeance.

_Oliv._ Ah, Madam, how are you mistaken! 'Tis not Coldness in me--but--

_Mir._ What, Bashfulness!

Oh, Love will lend thee Courage; This Trembling is the soft Effects of it.

_Oliv._ Oh, how vilely she's mistaken!

_Mir._ Come to my Bed, and press the Roses down; and lend more sweetness to 'em than they bring.

[She leading him to her Bed, the _Prince_ enters, with _Lejere_, holding his Sword in Hand; he takes hold of _Olivia_.

_Prince._ Love--thus I fling thy gaudy Fetters off, and am no more a Slave to faithless Beauty.

[The _Prince_ holding _Olivia_ by the Bosom of her Coat, her Breast appears to _Mirtilla_.

_Mir._ Ha! what do I see?--Two Female rising b.r.e.a.s.t.s. By Heav'n, a Woman.--Oh fortunate Mischance!

[This while _George_ is arguing with the _Prince_ not to hurt _Olivia_.

_Prince._ No, I will not hurt thee, cease thy trembling.

_Mir._ Oh, Sir, 'twere Sin to hurt the lovely Youth.

_Prince._ No, Madam, since I have taken back my Heart, I can present you with another Lover.

[Gives _Olivia_ to her.

_Mir._ Ha! another Lover!--What means my Prince?

_Prince._ Eternally to leave you to your Frailty.

_Mir._ Can you so easily cancel all your Vows? Then kill me at your Feet, I do implore it.

[Kneels and weeps.

_Prince._ Away, I do forgive thee, wretched Woman.--But yet be gone--lest Love and Rage return, and I should kill you yet with your young Darling.

_Mir._ Whom mean you, Sir, this lovely Maid?

_Oliv._ Maid!--What means she? Sure she cannot know me.

_Prince._ Talk on, false Woman! till thou hast persuaded my Eyes and Ears out of their native Faculties, I scorn to credit other Evidences.

_Mir._ Try 'em once more, and then repent, and die.

[Opens _Olivia's_ Bosom, shews her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

_Prince._ Ha--By Heav'n, a Woman!

_Mir._ You that wou'd smile at my suppos'd undoing, present yourself no more before my Eyes.

'Twas to perplex you that I feign'd this Pa.s.sion.

I saw you had your Spies to watch for Mischief, [To _George_.

And poison all my Happiness with the Prince.--

And since I am thought so criminal, I'll take an everlasting leave of you.

[To the _Prince_.

When I am dead, may she you honour next repay your Tenderness as I have done--But may she never meet my wretched Fate.

[She s.n.a.t.c.hes _Olivia's_ Sword out.

_Prince._ Hold, thou most valu'd Treasure of the World, or turn the pointed Weapon to my Heart.

_Mir._ No, I'm false, unworthy of your Love.

_Geo._ Yes, by Heaven. But thou hast jilted him so handsomly, thou'st vanquish'd all my Rage.

_Mir._ Yes, I am false; false to this Gallant Man,-- [To _George_.

false to my Husband, to my s.e.x's Fame; for you more charming, I alas am perjur'd.

_Prince._ _Lejere_, have I then injur'd thee?

_Geo._ This is the fatal Beauty, Sir, for whom so often you have seen me languish.