The Works of Aphra Behn
Chapter 304 : _Gay_. I see you're peevish, and you shall be humour'd.--You know my _Julia_

_Gay_. I see you're peevish, and you shall be humour'd.--You know my _Julia_ play'd me e'en such another Prank as your false one is going to play you, and married old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_ here i'th' City; at which you know I storm'd, and rav'd, and swore, as thou wo't now, and to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was cuckolding him.

_Bel_. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon.

_Gay_. And hotly have pursu'd it: Swore, wept, vow'd, wrote, upbraided, prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high--till, between you and I, _Harry_, I have presented the best part of Eight hundred a year into her Husband's hands, in Mortgage.

_Bel_. This is the Course you'd have me steer, I thank you.

_Gay_. No, no, Pox on't, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke i'th' City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say, Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected--but thine too--and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i'th'

Country with a dying Uncle--from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect two thousand a Year.

_Bel_. But what's all this to being here this Morning?

_Gay_. Thus have I lain conceal'd like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some blest Suns.h.i.+ne to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid.

_Bel_. Didst thou?--pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure no Woman, even possest with a new Pa.s.sion, Grown confident even to Prost.i.tution, But when she sees the Man to whom she's sworn so very--very much, will find Remorse and Shame.

_Gay_. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us, And I'm undone, if seen--I'll venture in-- [_Throws his Cloke over_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd, _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest _and_ Noisey. [_Pa.s.s over the Stage, and go in_.

Hah--see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin'd Cuckold, old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_.--Hah, what ail'st thou, Man?

_Bel_. The Bridegroom! Like _Gorgon's_ Head he'as turned me into Stone.

_Gay_. _Gorgon's_ Head--a Cuckold's Head--'twas made to graft upon.

_Bel_. By Heaven, I'll seize her even at the Altar, And bear her thence in Triumph.

_Gay_. Ay, and be borne to _Newgate_ in Triumph, and be hanged in Triumph--'twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the Press-Yard, and be wak'd next Morning, like Mr. _Barnardine_ in the Play--Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir?

_Bel_. What wouldst thou have me do?

_Gay_. As many an honest Man has done before thee--Cuckold him-- cuckold him.

_Bel_. What--and let him marry her! She that's mine by sacred Vows already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her!

_Gay_. She'll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens! _Leticia_ marry him! and lie with him!-- Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman, See if she dares pa.s.s by me to this Wickedness.

_Gay_. Hark ye, _Harry_--in earnest have a care of betraying your self; and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you.

_Bel_. You counsel well--but yet to see her married!

How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!-- But hang it, I'll be resolute and saucy, Despise a Woman who can use me ill, And think my self above her.

_Gay_. Why, now thou art thy self--a Man again.

But see, they're coming forth, now stand your ground.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia _sad_, Diana, Phillis. [_Pa.s.s over the Stage_.

_Bel_. 'Tis she; support me, _Charles_, or I shall sink to Earth, --Methought in pa.s.sing by she cast a scornful glance at me; Such charming Pride I've seen upon her Eyes, When our Love-Quarrels arm'd 'em with Disdain-- I'll after 'em, if I live she shall not 'scape me.

[_Offers to go_, Gay. _holds him_.

_Gay_. Hold, remember you're proscribed, And die if you are taken.

_Bel_. I've done, and I will live, but he shall ne'er enjoy her.

--Who's yonder, _Ralph_, my trusty Confident?

_Enter_ Ralph.

Now though I perish I must speak to him.

--Friend, what Wedding's this?

_Ral_. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir; 'Tis Alderman _Fainwou'd_, and Mrs. _Leticia Bredwel_.

_Bel_. Bredwel--I have heard of her,--she was Mistress--

_Ral_. To fine Mr. _Bellmour_, Sir,--ay, there was a Gentleman --But rest his Soul--he's hang'd, Sir. [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. How! hang'd?

_Ral_. Hang'd, Sir, hang'd--at the _Hague_ in _Holland_.

_Gay_. I heard some such News, but did not credit it.

_Bel_. For what, said they, was he hang'd?

_Ral_. Why, e'en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings.

_Gay_. Holland's a Commonwealth, and is not rul'd by Kings.

_Ral_. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger --they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr.

_Bellmour_ cut his Throat, and was hang'd for't, that's all, Sir.

_Bel_. And did the young Lady believe this?

_Ral_. Yes, and took on most heavily--the Doctors gave her over--and there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage--but her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladys.h.i.+p, and a Gold Chain at the Spittal Sermon, did the Business--and so your Servant, Sir.

[_Ex_. Ralph.

_Bel_. So, here's a hopeful Account of my sweet self now.

_Enter Post-man with Letters_.

_Post_. Pray, Sir, which is Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd's_?

_Bel_. What wou'd you with him, Friend?

_Post_. I have a Letter here from the _Hague_ for him.