The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 63

_Pet._ Hah, _La Nuche_!

_Blunt._ How! cozen'd again!

_Will._ Look ye, Sir, she's so beautiful, you need no Portion, that alone's sufficient for Wit.

_Feth._ Much good may do you with your rich Lady, _Edward._

_Blunt._ Death, this Fool laugh at me too-- well, I am an errant right-down Loggerhead, a dull conceited cozen'd silly Fool; and he that ever takes me for any other, 'Dshartlikins, I'll beat him. I forgive you all, and will henceforth be good-natur'd; wo't borrow any Money? Pox on't, I'll lend as far as e'er 'twill go, for I am now reclaim'd.

_Guar._ Here is a Necklace of Pearl lost, which, Sir, I lay to your Charge.

[To _Fetherfool_.

_Feth._ Hum, I was bewitcht I did not rub off with it when it was mine-- who, I? if e'er I saw a Necklace of Pearl, I wish 'twere in my Belly.

_Blunt._ How a Necklace! unconscionable Rogue, not to let me share: well, there is no Friendship in the World; I hope they'l hang him.

_Shift._ He'll ne'er confess without the Rack-- come, we'll toss him in a Blanket.

_Feth._ Hah, toss me in a Blanket, that will turn my Stomach most villainously, and I shall disimbogue and discover all.

_Shift._ Come, come, the Blanket. [They lay hold on him.

_Feth._ Hold, hold, I do confess, I do confess--

_Shift._ Restore, and have your Pardon.

_Feth._ That is not in Nature at present, for Gentlemen, I have eat 'em.

_Shift._ 'Sdeath, I'll dissect ye. [Goes to draw.

_Will._ Let me redeem him; here Boy, take him to my Chamber, and let the Doctor glyster him soundly, and I'll warrant you your Pearl again.

_Feth._ If this be the end of travelling, I'll e'en to old _England_ again, take the Covenant, get a Sequestrator's Place, grow rich, and defy all Cavaliering.

_Beau._ 'Tis Morning, let's home, _Ariadne_, and try, if possible, to love so well to be content to marry; if we find that amendment in our Hearts, to say we dare believe and trust each other, then let it be a Match.

_Aria._ With all my Heart.

_Will._ You have a hankering after Marriage still, but I am for Love and Gallantry.

So tho by several ways we gain our End, Love still, like Death, does to one Center tend.

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. _BARRY_.

_Poets are Kings of Wit, and you appear A Parliament, by Play-Bill, summon'd here; When e'er in want, to you for aid they fly, And a new Play's the Speech that begs supply: But now-- The scanted Tribute is so slowly paid, Our Poets must find out another Trade; They've tried all ways th' insatiate Clan to please, Have parted with their old Prerogatives, Their Birth-right Satiring, and their just pretence Of judging even their own Wit and Sense; And write against their Consciences, to show How dull they can be to comply with you.

They've flatter'd all the Mutineers i'th' Nation, Grosser than e'er was done in Dedication; Pleas'd your sick Palates with Fantastick Wit, Such as was ne'er a treat before to th' Pit; Giants, fat Cardinals, Pope Joans and Fryers, To entertain Right Worshipfuls and Squires: Who laugh and cry Ads Nigs, 'tis woundy good, When the fuger's all the Jest that's understood.

And yet you'll come but once, unless by stealth, Except the Author be for Commonwealth; Then half Crown more you n.o.bly throw away, And tho my Lady seldom see a Play, She, with her eldest Daughter, shall be boxt that day.

Then Prologue comes, Ads-lightikins, crys Sir _John_, You shall hear notable Conceits anon: How neatly, Sir, he'll bob the Court and French King, And tickle away-- you know who-- for Wenching.

All this won't do, they e'en may spare their Speeches, For all their greasing will not buy 'em Britches; To get a penny new found ways must take, As forming Popes, and Squibs and Crackers make.

In Coffee-Houses some their talent vent, Rail for the Cause against the Government, And make a pretty thriving living on't, For who would let a useful Member want.

Things being brought to this distressed Estate, 'Twere fit you took the matter in Debate.

There was a time, when Loyally by you, True Wit and Sense received Allegiance due, Our King of Poets had his Tribute pay'd, His Peers secured beneath his Laurel's shade.

What Crimes have they committed, they must be Driven to the last and worst Extremity?

Oh, let it not be said of English Men, Who have to Wit so just and n.o.ble been, They should their Loyal Principles recant, And let the glorious Monarch of it want._

NOTES: The Rover, Part II

[Transcriber's Note:

The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.

Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by the transcriber. Labels such as "Scene IIa" refer to points where the scene description changes without a new scene number.]

NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dramatis Personae+

p. 117 I have added to the Dramatis Personae 'Rag, boy to Willmore', and 'Porter at the English Amba.s.sador's'.

+Act I: Scene i+

p. 118, l. 2 _Scene I._ I have added the locale 'A Street'.

p. 118, l. 4 _Campain._ 4to 1681 'campania'.

p. 120, l. 17 _but cold._ 1724 'and cold'.

p. 120, l. 28 _embracing._ 1724 omits.

p. 120, l. 32 _Philies._ 4to 1681 'Philoes'.

p. 122, l. 30 _Brussels._ 4to 1681 'Bruxels'.

p. 123, l. 21 _But that._ 1724 prints these two lines as prose.

p. 124, l. 3 _Marcy._ 1724 'Mercy'.

p. 126, l. 16 _get 'em ready._ 1724 'get it ready'.

p. 128, l. 33 _pickl'd Pilchard._ 1724. 'pickle Pilchard'.