The Works of Aphra Behn
Chapter 323 : _Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir? [_In scorn_._Bea_. For want of a better-- [_Stands b

_Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir? [_In scorn_.

_Bea_. For want of a better-- [_Stands behind him, pus.h.i.+ng him on_.

_Bred_. An Advocate for Love I am, And bring you such a Message from a Heart--

_Bea_. Meaning mine, dear Madam.

_Bred_. That when you hear it, you will pity it.

_Bea_. Or the Devil's in her--

_Dia_. Sir, I have many Reasons to believe, It is my Fortune you pursue, not Person.

_Bea_. There is something in that, I must confess. [_Behind him_.

But say what you will, _Ned_.

_Bred_. May all the Mischiefs of despairing Love Fall on me if it be.

_Bea_. That's well enough--

_Bred_. No, were you born an humble Village-Maid, That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain; With all that s.h.i.+ning Vertue in your Soul, By Heaven, I wou'd adore you--love you--wed you-- Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial.

[Bear. _looks on him_.

--This--I wou'd do, were I my Friend the Squire [_Recollecting_.

_Bea_. Ay, if you were me--you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of another mind.

_Dia_. Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not Honour; and whatsoever Promises he 'as made you, he means to break 'em all, and I am destin'd to another.

_Bea_. How, another--his Name, his Name, Madam--here's _Ned_ and I fear ne'er a single Man i'th' Nation, What is he--what is he?--

_Dia_. A Fop, a Fool, a beaten a.s.s--a Blockhead.

_Bea_. What a d.a.m.n'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacrificed to Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses--whilst we Men of Wit and Parts dress and dance, and c.o.c.k and travel for nothing but to be tame Keepers.

_Dia_. But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim: But where my Soul is vow'd, 'tis fix'd for ever.

_Bred_. Are you resolv'd, are you confirm'd in this? Oh my _Diana_, speak it o'er again. [_Runs to her, and embraces her_.

Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch.

_Bea_. Hold, hold, dear _Ned_--that's my part, I take it.

_Bred_. Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self.

--But time is short--what's to be done in this?

_Bea_. Done! I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d'ye see, not that I care this--but I'll not be fob'd off--what, do they take me for a Fool--an a.s.s?

_Bred_. Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father's Displeasure, and run away with the Man you love?

_Dia_. With all my Soul--

_Bea_. That's hearty--and we'll do it--_Ned_ and I here--and I love an Amour with an Adventure in't like _Amadis de Gaul_--Harkye, _Ned_, get a Coach and six ready to night when 'tis dark, at the back Gate--

_Bred_. And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key through the Garden, by which we may pa.s.s unseen.

_Bea_. Good--Mun, here's Company--

_Enter_ Gayman _with his Hat and Money in't, Sir_ Cautious _in a rage, Sir_ Feeble, _Lady_ Fulbank, Leticia, _Captain_ Noisey, Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound lost already! Oh c.o.xcomb, old c.o.xcomb, and a wise c.o.xcomb--to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht!

Sir _Feeb_. Shaw, 'twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest-- what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound?

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound! why, 'tis a sum, Sir--a sum--why, what the Devil did I do with a Box and Dice!

L. _Ful_. Why, you made a s.h.i.+ft to lose, Sir? And where's the harm of that? We have lost, and he has won; anon it may be your Fortune.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three hundred Pound! why, how came you to win so unmercifully, Sir?

_Gay_. Oh, the Devil will not lose a Gamester of me, you see, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. The Devil!--mark that, Gentlemen--

_Bea_. The Rogue has d.a.m.n'd luck sure, he has got a Fly--

Sir _Cau_. And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money, Sir?

_Gay_. Most a.s.suredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen?

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way, and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will require all an old Man's stock.

L. _Ful_. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. _Bredwel_.

_Gay_. Well, if no body dare venture on me, I'll send away my Cash--

[_They all go to play at the Table, but Sir_ Cau.

_Sir_ Feeb. _and_ Gay.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--must it all go?--a rare sum, if a Man were but sure the Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now-- [Aside.

--Sir, I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake: three hundred Pound--a fine Sum!

_Gay_. You have Moveables, Sir, Goods--Commodities--

Sir _Cau_. That's all one, Sir; that's Money's worth, Sir: but if I had any thing that were worth nothing--

_Gay_. You wou'd venture it,--I thank you, Sir,--I wou'd your Lady were worth nothing--

Sir _Cau_. Why, so, Sir?

_Gay_. Then I wou'd set all this against that Nothing.