The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 04

_Enter_ CAMILLO _and_ AURELIAN.

_Cam._ He has smarted sufficiently for this offence. Pr'ythee, dear Aurelian, forgive him. He waits without, and appears penitent; I'll be responsible for his future carriage.

_Aur._ For your sake, then, I receive him into grace.

_Cam._ [_At the door._] Benito, you may appear; your peace is made.

_Enter_ BENITO.

_Aur._ But it must be upon conditions.

_Ben._ Any conditions, that are reasonable; for, as I am a wit, sir, I have not eaten--

_Aur._ You are in the path of perdition already; that's the principal of our conditions, you are to be a wit no more.

_Ben._ Pray, sir, if it be possible, let me be a little wit still.

_Aur._ No, sir; you can make a leg, and dance; those are no talents of a wit: you are cut out for a brisk fool, and can be no other.

_Ben._ Pray, sir, let me think I am a wit, or my heart will break.

_Cam._ That you will naturally do, as you are a fool.

_Aur._ Then no farther meddling with adventures, or contrivances of your own; they are all belonging to the territories of wit, from whence you are banished.

_Ben._ But what if my imagination should really furnish me with some--

_Aur._ Not a plot, I hope?

_Ben._ No, sir, no plot; but some expedient then, to mollify the word, when your invention has failed you?

_Aur._ Think it a temptation of the devil, and believe it not.

_Ben._ Then farewell all the happiness of my life.

_Cam._ You know your doom, Benito; and now you may take your choice, whether you will renounce wit, or eating.

_Ben._ Well, sir, I must continue my body, at what rate soever; and the rather, because now there's no farther need of me in your adventures; for I was assured by Beatrix, this morning, that her two mistresses are to be put in pension, in the nunnery of Benedictines, this afternoon.

_Cam._ Then I am miserable.

_Aur._ And you have deferred the telling it, till it is past time to study for prevention.

_Cam._ Let us run thither immediately, and either perish in't, or free them. You'll assist me with your sword?

_Aur._ Yes, if I cannot do it to more purpose with my counsel. Let us first play the fairest of our game; 'tis time enough to snatch when we have lost it. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_A Chapel._

_The_ DUKE, VALERIO, _Attendants. At the other door,_ LAURA, VIOLETTA, BEATRIX, MARIO. _Instrumental and vocal music; in the time of which, enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO. _After the music, enter_ SOPHRONIA, LUCRETIA, HIPPOLITA, _and other Nuns._

_Duke._ [_To_ VALERIO, _who had whispered to him._] I needed not those marks to know her. She's one continued excellence; she's all over miracle.

_Soph._ [_To the_ DUKE.] We know, sir, we are not capable by our entertainment, of adding any thing to your pleasures; and therefore we must attribute this favour of your presence, to your piety and devotion.

_Duke._ You have treated me with harmony so excellent, that I believed myself among a choir of angels; especially when I beheld so fair a troop behind you.

_Soph._ Their beauty, sir, is wholly dedicated to heaven, and is no way ambitious of a commendation, which, from your mouth, might raise a pride in any other of the sex.

_Cam._ I am impatient, and can bear no longer. Let what will happen--

_Aur._ Do you not see your ruin inevitable? Draw in a holy place! and in the presence of the Duke!

_Mar._ I do not like Camillo's being here: I must cut short the ceremony. [_Whispers_ SOPHRONIA.

_Soph._ [_To_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA.] Come, fair cousins, we hope to make the cloisteral life so pleasing, that it may be an inducement to you to quit the wicked world for ever.

_Vio._ [_Passing by_ CAMILLO.] Take that, and read it at your leisure. [_Conveys a note into his hand._

_Cam._ A ticket, as I live, Aurelian.

_Aur._ Steal off, and be thankful: if that be my Beatrix with Laura, she's most confoundedly ugly. If ever we had come to love-work, and a candle had been brought us, I had fallen back from that face, like a buck-rabbit in coupling. [_Exeunt_ CAMILLO _and_ AURELIAN.

_Soph._ Daughters, the time of our devotion calls us.--All happiness to your highness.

_Luc._ [_To_ HIPPOLITA.] Little thinks my venerable old love there, that his mistress in masquerade is so near him. Now do I even long to abuse that fop-gravity again.

_Hip._ Methinks, he looks on us.

_Luc._ Farewell, poor love; I am she, I am, for all my demure looks, that treated thee so inhumanly last night. [_She is going off, after_ SOPHRONIA.

_Duke._ [_following her._] Stay, lady; I would speak with you.

_Luc._ Ah! [_Shrieking._

_Soph._ How now, daughter? What's the meaning of that indecent noise you make?

_Luc._ [_Aside._] If I speak to him, he will discover my voice, and then I am ruined.

_Duke._ If your name be Lucretia, I have some business of concernment with you.

_Luc._ [_To_ SOPHRONIA.] Dear madam, for heaven's sake make haste into the cloister; the duke pursues me on some ill design.

_Soph._ [_To the_ DUKE.] 'Tis not permitted, sir, for maids, once entered into religion, to hold discourses here of worldly things.

_Duke._ But my discourses are not worldly, madam; I had a vision in the dead of night, Which shewed me this fair virgin in my sleep, And told me, that from her I should be taught Where to bestow large alms, and great endowments, On some near monastery.

_Soph._ Stay, Lucretia; The holy vision's will must be obeyed. [_Exeunt_ SOPHRONIA _and Nuns._

_Luc._ [_Aside._] He does not know me, sure; and yet I fear religion is the least of his business with me.

_Duke._ I see, madam, beauty will be beauty in any habit; Though, I confess, the splendour of a court Were a much fitter scene for yours, than is A cloistered privacy.

_Luc._ [_counterfeiting her voice._] The world has no temptations for a mind So fixed and raised above it; This humble cell contains and bounds my wishes: My charity gives you my prayers, and that's All my converse with human kind.

_Duke._ Since when, madam, have the world and you been upon these equal terms of hostility? Time was, you have been better friends.

_Luc._ No doubt I have been vain, and sinful; but the remembrance of those days cannot be pleasant to me now, and therefore, if you please, do not refresh their memory.

_Duke._ Their memory! you speak as if they were ages past.

_Luc._ You think me still what I was once--a vain, fond, giddy creature: I see, sir, whither your discourses tend, and therefore take my leave.

_Duke._ Yes, madam, I know you see whither my discourses tend, and therefore 'twill not be convenient that you should take your leave. Disguise yourself no farther; you are known, as well as you knew me in masquerade.

_Luc._ I am not used enough to the world to interpret riddles; therefore, once more, heaven keep you.

_Duke._ This will not do; your voice, your mien, your stature, betray you for the same I saw last night: you know the time and place.

_Luc._ You were not in this chapel, and I am bound by vow to stir no farther.

_Duke._ But you had too much wit to keep that vow.

_Luc._ If you persist, sir, in this raving madness, I can bring witness of my innocence. [_Is going._

_Duke._ To save that labour, see if you know that hand, and let that justify you. [_Shows her letter._

_Luc._ What do I see! my ruin is inevitable.

_Duke._ You know you merit it: You used me ill, and now are in my power.

_Luc._ But you, I hope, are much too noble to Destroy the fame of a poor silly woman?

_Duke._ Then, in few words,--for I am bred a soldier, And must speak plain,--it is your love I ask; If you deny, this letter is produced; You know the consequence.

_Luc._ I hope I do not; For though there are appearances against me, Enough to give you hope I durst not shun you, Yet, could you see my heart, 'tis a white virgin-tablet, On which no characters of earthly love Were ever writ: And, 'twixt the prince and me, If there were any criminal affection, May heaven this minute--

_Duke._ Swear not; I believe you: For, could I think my son had e'er enjoyed you, I should not be his rival. Since he has not, I may have so much kindness for myself, To wish that happiness.

_Luc._ You ask me what I must not grant, Nor, if I loved you, would: you know my vow of chastity.

_Duke._ Yet again that senseless argument? The vows of chastity can ne'er be broken, Where vows of secrecy are kept. Those I'll swear with you. But 'tis enough at present, you know my resolution. I would persuade, not force, you to my love; And to that end I give you this night's respite. Consider all, that you may fear or hope; And think that on your grant, or your denial, Depends a double welfare, yours and mine. [_Exit._

_Luc._ A double ruin, rather, if I grant; For what can I expect from such a father, When such a son betrays me! Could I think, Of all mankind, that Frederick would be base? And, with the vanity of vulgar souls, Betray a virgin's fame? One, who esteemed him, And I much fear did more than barely so--

But I dare note examine myself farther, for fear of confessing to my own thoughts, a tenderness of which he is unworthy.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITA.

_Hip._ I watched till your old gallant was gone, to bring you news of your young one. A mischief on these old dry lovers! they are good for nothing but tedious talking; well, yonder's the prince at the grate; I hope I need say no more to you.

_Luc._ I'll come when I've recovered myself a little. I am a wretched creature, Hippolita! the letter I writ to the prince--

_Hip._ I know it,--is fallen into his father's hands by accident. He's as wretched as you too. Well, well, it shall be my part to bring you together; and then, if two young people, that have opportunity, can be wretched and melancholy--I'll go before, and meet Ascanio. [_Exit._

_Luc._ I am half unwilling to go, because I must be accessary to her assignation with Ascanio; but, for once, I'll meet the prince in the garden-walk: I am glad, however, that he is less criminal than I thought him. [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_The Nunnery-Garden._

HIPPOLITA, ASCANIO, _meeting_ LAURA _and_ VIOLETTA.

_Hip._ I hear some walking this way.--Who goes there?

_Lau._ We are the two new pensioners, Laura and Violetta.

_Hip._ Go in, to your devotion: These undue hours of walking savour too much of worldly thoughts.

_Lau._ Let us retire to the arbour, where, by this time, I believe, our friends are.--Good-night, sister.

_Hip._ Good angels guard you. [_Exeunt_ LAU. _and_ VIO.] Now, brother, the coast is clear, and we have the garden to ourselves. Do you remember how you threatened me? But that's all one, how good soever the opportunity may be, so long as we two resolve to be virtuous.

_Asca._ Speak for yourself, sister, for I am wickedly inclined. Yet, I confess, I have some remorse when I consider you are in religion.

_Hip._ We should do very well to consider that, both of us; for, indeed, what should young people do, but think of goodness and religion; especially when they love one another, and are alone too, brother?

_Asca._ A curse on't! here comes my lord, and Lucretia. We might have accomplished all, and been repenting by this time; yet who the devil would have thought they should have come so soon--Ah! [_Sets his teeth._

_Hip._ Who the devil would have put it to the venture? This is always the fault of you raw pages: You, that are too young, never use an opportunity; and we, that are elder, can seldom get one.--Ah! [_Sets her teeth._

_Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ LUCRETIA.

_Luc._ I believe, indeed, it troubled you to lose that letter.

_Fred._ So much, madam, that I can never forgive myself that negligence.

_Luc._ Call it not so, 'twas but a casuality, though, I confess, the consequence is dangerous; and therefore have not both of us reason to defy love, when we see a little gallantry is able to produce so much mischief?

_Fred._ [_Aside._] Now cannot I, for my heart, bring out one word against this love.

_Luc._ Come, you are mute upon a subject, that is both easy and pleasant. A man in love is so ridiculous a creature--

_Fred._ Especially to those that are not.

_Luc._ True; for to those that are, he cannot be so: They are like the citizens of Bethlehem, who never find out one another's madness, because they are all tainted. But for such ancient fops, as, with reverence, your father is, what reason can they have to be in love?

_Fred._ Nay, your old fop's unpardonable, that's certain. But--

_Luc._ But what? Come, laugh at him.

_Fred._ But I consider he is my father, I can't laugh at him.

_Luc._ But, if it were another, we should see how you would insult over him.

_Fred._ Ay, if it were another--And yet I don't know neither, 'tis no part of good nature to insult: A man may be overtaken with a passion, or so; I know it by myself.

_Luc._ How, by yourself! You are not in love, I hope?--Oh that he would confess first now! [_Aside._

_Fred._ But, if I were, I should be loth to be laughed at.

_Luc._ Since you are not in love, you may the better counsel me: What shall we do with this same troublesome father of yours?

_Fred._ Any thing, but love him.

_Luc._ But you know he has me at a bay; my letter is in his possession, and he may produce it to my ruin: Therefore, if I did allow him some little favour, to mollify him--

_Fred._ How, madam? Would you allow him favours? I can never consent to it: Not the least look or smile; they are all too precious, though they were to save his life.

_Luc._ What, not your father? Oh that he would confess he loved me first! [_Aside._

_Fred._ What have I done? I shall betray myself, and confess my love to be laughed at, by this hard-hearted woman. [_Aside._] 'Tis true, madam, I had forgot; he is, indeed, my father, and therefore you may use him as kindly as you please.

_Luc._ He's insensible: Now he enrages me. [_Aside._] What if he proposes to marry me? I am not yet professed, and 'twould be much to my advantage.

_Fred._ Marry you! I had rather die a thousand deaths, than suffer it.

_Luc._ This begins to please me. [_Aside._ But why should you be so much my enemy?

_Fred._ Your enemy, madam! Why, do you desire it?

_Luc._ Perhaps I do.

_Fred._ Do it, madam, since it pleases you so well.

_Luc._ But you had rather die, than suffer it.

_Fred._ No, I have changed my mind: I'll live, and not be concerned at it.

_Luc._ Do you contradict yourself so soon? Then know, sir, I did intend to do it; and I am glad you have given me advice so agreeable to my inclinations.

_Fred._ Heaven! that you should not find it out! I delivered your letter on purpose to my father, and 'twas my business, now, to come and mediate for him.

_Luc._ Pray, then, carry him the news of his good success. Adieu, sweet prince!

_Fred._ Adieu, dear madam.

_Asca._ Hey day! what will this come to? They have cozened one another into a quarrel; just like friends in fencing, a chance thrust comes, and then they fall to it in earnest.

_Hip._ You and I, brother, shall never meet upon even terms, if this be not pieced.--Face about, madam; turn quickly to your man, or, by all that's virtuous, I'll call the abbess.

_Asca._ I must not be so bold with you, sir; but, if you please, you may turn towards the lady: and, I suppose, you would be glad I durst speak to you with more authority, to save the credit of your willingness.

_Fred._ Well, I'll shew her I dare stay, if it be but to confront her malice.

_Luc._ I am sure I have done nothing to be ashamed of, that I should need to run away.

_Asca._ Pray give me leave, sir, to ask you but one question; Why were you so unwilling that she should be married to your father?

_Fred._ Because then her friendship must wholly cease.

_Asca._ But you may have her friendship, when she is married to him.

_Fred._ What! when another has enjoyed her?

Asca. _Victoria, Victoria_! he loves you, madam; let him deny it, if he can.

_Luc._ Fye, fye, loves me, Ascanio! I hope he would not forswear himself, when he has railed so much against it.

_Fred._ I hope I may love your mind, madam; I may love spiritually.

_Hip._ That's enough, that's enough: Let him love the mind without the body, if he can.

_Asca._ Ay, ay, when the love is once come so far, that spiritual mind will never leave pulling, and pulling, till it has drawn the beastly body after it.

_Fred._ Well, madam, since I must confess it,--though I expect to be laughed at, after my railing against love,--I do love you all over, both soul and body.

_Asca._ Lord, sir, what a tigress have you provoked! you may see she takes it to the death, that you have made this declaration.

_Hip._ I thought where all her anger was: Why do you not rail, madam? Why do you not banish him? the prince expects it; he has dealt honestly, he has told you his mind, and you may make your worst on't.

_Luc._ Because he does expect it, I am resolved, I'll neither satisfy him nor you: I will neither rail nor laugh: Let him make his worst of that, now.

_Fred._ If I understand you right, madam, I am happy beyond either my deserts or expectation.

_Luc._ You may give my words what interpretation you please, sir; I shall not envy you their meaning in the kindest sense. But we are near the jessamine walk, there we may talk with greater freedom, because 'tis farther from the house.

_Fred._ I wait you, madam. [_Exeunt._