The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 10

Sir _Tim_. I, I, 'tis so--Pox on him.

_Sharp_. Well, Boy, I am he--What--Your Master.

_Page_. My Master, Sir--

_Sharp_. Are not you _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Page_. Yes, Sir.

_Sharp_. Well, your News.

_Page_. News, Sir? I know of none, but of my Master's being this Morning--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, there it is--behind _Southampton_ House.

_Page_. Married this Morning.

Sir _Tim_. How! Married! 'Slife, has he serv'd me so?

_Sham_. The Boy is drunk--_Bellmour_ married!

_Page_. Yes, indeed, to the Lady _Diana_.

Sir _Tim_. _Diana!_ Mad, by Fortune; what _Diana_?

_Page_. Niece to the Lord _Plotwell_.

Sir _Tim_. Come hither, Boy--Art thou sure of this?

_Page_. Sir, I am sure of it; and I am going to bespeak Musick for the Ball anon.

Sir _Tim_. What hast thou there--a Letter to the Divine _Celinda_?

A dainty Boy--there's Money for to buy thee Nickers.

_Page_. I humbly thank you.

[_Exit_.

_Sharp_. Well, Sir, if this be true, _Celinda_ will be glad of you again.

Sir. _Tim_. Ay, but I will have none of her--For, look you, _Sham_, there is but two sorts of Love in this World--Now I am sure the Rogue did love her; and since it was not to marry her, it was for the thing you wot on, as appears by his writing to her now--But yet, I will not believe what this Boy said, till I see it.

_Sham_. Faith, Sir, I have thought of a thing, that may both clear your doubt, and give us a little Mirth.

Sir _Tim_. I conceive thee.

_Sham_. I know y'are quick of Apprehension, Sir _Timothy_.

Sir _Tim_. O, your Servant, dear _Sham_--But to let thee see, I am none of the dullest, we are to Jig it in Masquerade this Evening, hah.

_Sham_. Faith, Sir, you have it, and there you may have an Opportunity to court _Bellmour's_ Sister.

Sir _Tim_. 'Tis a good Motion, and we will follow it; send to the Duke's House, and borrow some Habits presently.

_Sham_. I'll about it, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. Make haste to my Lodging--But hark ye--not a word of this to _Betty Flaunt.i.t_, she'll be up in Arms these two Days, if she go not with us; and though I think the fond Devil is true to me, yet it were worse than Wedlock, if I should be so to her too.

_Tho Wh.o.r.es in all things else the Mastery get, In this alone, like Wives, they must submit_.

Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. _A Room in Lord_ Plotwell's _House_.

_Enter Lord_ Plotwell, Bellmour _leading in_ Diana, _follow'd by _Charles Bellmour, Phillis, _and other Ladies and Gentlemen_.

[_Musick plays, till they are all seated_.

_Lord_. Here, Nephew, I resign that Trust, which was repos'd in me by your dead Father; which was, that on your Wedding-Day I should thus-- make you Master of your whole Fortune, you being married to my liking-- And now, _Charles_, and you, my Niece _Phillis_, you may demand your Portions to morrow, if you please, for he is oblig'd to pay you the Day after that of his Marriage.

_Phil_. There's time enough, my Lord.

_Lord_. Come, come, Ladies, in troth you must take but little Rest to Night, in complaisance to the Bride and Bridegroom, who, I believe, will take but little--_Frank_--why, _Frank_--what, hast thou chang'd thy Humour with thy Condition? Thou wert not wont to hear the Musick play in vain.

_Bel_. My Lord, I cannot dance.

_Dia_. Indeed, you're wondrous sad, And I, methinks, do bear thee Company, I know not why; and yet excess of Joy Have had the same Effects with equal Grief.

_Bel_. 'Tis true, and I have now felt the Extremes of both.

_Lord_. Why, Nephew _Charles_--has your Breeding at the Academy instructed your Heels in no Motion?

_Char_. My Lord, I'll make one.

_Phil_. And I another, for Joy that my Brother's made happy in so fair a Bride.

_Bel_. h.e.l.l take your Ignorance, for thinking I am happy,-- Wou'd Heaven wou'd strike me dead, That by the loss of a poor wretched Life I might preserve my Soul--But Oh, my Error!

That has already d.a.m.n'd it self, when it consented To break a Sacred Vow, and Marry here.

_Lord_. Come, come, begin, begin, Musick to your Office.

[_Soft Musick_.

_Bel_. Why does not this hard Heart, this stubborn Fugitive, Break with this Load of Griefs? but like ill Spirits It promis'd fair, till it had drawn me in, And then betray'd me to d.a.m.nation.