The Works of Aphra Behn Volume I Part 7

_Flor._ 'Tis well-- I'll write a Note, and if I chance to see _Belvile_, and want an opportunity to speak to him, that shall let him know what I've resolv'd in favour of him.

_h.e.l.l._ Come, let's in and dress us. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. _A Long Street._

Enter _Belvile_, melancholy, _Blunt_ and _Frederick_.

_Fred._ Why, what the Devil ails the Colonel, in a time when all the World is gay, to look like mere Lent thus? Hadst thou been long enough in _Naples_ to have been in love, I should have sworn some such Judgment had befall'n thee.

_Belv._ No, I have made no new Amours since I came to Naples.

_Fred._ You have left none behind you in Paris.

_Belv._ Neither.

_Fred._ I can't divine the Cause then; unless the old Cause, the want of Mony.

_Blunt._ And another old Cause, the want of a Wench-- Wou'd not that revive you?

_Belv._ You're mistaken, _Ned_.

_Blunt_ Nay, 'Sheartlikins, then thou art past Cure.

_Fred._ I have found it out; thou hast renew'd thy Acquaintance with the Lady that cost thee so many Sighs at the Siege of _Pampelona_-- pox on't, what d'ye call her-- her Brother's a n.o.ble _Spaniard_-- Nephew to the dead General-- _Florinda_-- ay, _Florinda_-- And will nothing serve thy turn but that d.a.m.n'd virtuous Woman, whom on my Conscience thou lov'st in spite too, because thou seest little or no possibility of gaining her?

_Belv._ Thou art mistaken, I have Interest enough in that lovely Virgin's Heart, to make me proud and vain, were it not abated by the Severity of a Brother, who perceiving my Happiness--

_Fred._ Has civilly forbid thee the House?

_Belv._ 'Tis so, to make way for a powerful Rival, the Vice-Roy's Son, who has the advantage of me, in being a Man of Fortune, a _Spaniard_, and her Brother's Friend; which gives him liberty to make his Court, whilst I have recourse only to Letters, and distant Looks from her Window, which are as soft and kind as those which Heav'n sends down on Penitents.

_Blunt._ Hey day! 'Sheartlikins, Simile! by this Light the Man is quite spoil'd-- _Frederick_, what the Devil are we made of, that we cannot be thus concern'd for a Wench?-- 'Sheartlikins, our _Cupids_ are like the Cooks of the Camp, they can roast or boil a Woman, but they have none of the fine Tricks to set 'em off, no Hogoes to make the Sauce pleasant, and the Stomach sharp.

_Fred._ I dare swear I have had a hundred as young, kind and handsom as this _Florinda_; and Dogs eat me, if they were not as troublesom to me i'th' Morning as they were welcome o'er night.

_Blunt._ And yet, I warrant, he wou'd not touch another Woman, if he might have her for nothing.

_Belv._ That's thy Joy, a cheap Wh.o.r.e.

_Blunt._ Why, 'dsheartlikins, I love a frank Soul-- When did you ever hear of an honest Woman that took a Man's Mony? I warrant 'em good ones-- But, Gentlemen, you may be free, you have been kept so poor with Parliaments and Protectors, that the little Stock you have is not worth preserving-- but I thank my Stars, I have more Grace than to forfeit my Estate by Cavaliering.

_Belv._ Methinks only following the Court should be sufficient to ent.i.tle 'em to that.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, they know I follow it to do it no good, unless they pick a hole in my Coat for lending you Mony now and then; which is a greater Crime to my Conscience, Gentlemen, than to the Common-wealth.

Enter _Willmore_.

_Will._ Ha! dear _Belvile_! n.o.ble Colonel!

_Belv._ _Willmore_! welcome ash.o.r.e, my dear Rover!-- what happy Wind blew us this good Fortune?

_Will._ Let me salute you my dear _Fred_, and then command me-- How is't honest Lad?

_Fred._ Faith, Sir, the old Complement, infinitely the better to see my dear mad _Willmore_ again-- Prithee why camest thou ash.o.r.e? and where's the Prince?

_Will._ He's well, and reigns still Lord of the watery Element-- I must aboard again within a Day or two, and my Business ash.o.r.e was only to enjoy my self a little this Carnival.

_Belv._ Pray know our new Friend, Sir, he's but bashful, a raw Traveller, but honest, stout, and one of us.

[Embraces _Blunt_.

_Will._ That you esteem him, gives him an Interest here.

_Blunt._ Your Servant, Sir.

_Will._ But well-- Faith I'm glad to meet you again in a warm Climate, where the kind Sun has its G.o.d-like Power still over the Wine and Woman.-- Love and Mirth are my Business in _Naples_; and if I mistake not the Place, here's an excellent Market for Chapmen of my Humour.

_Belv._ See here be those kind Merchants of Love you look for.

Enter several Men in masquing Habits, some playing on Musick, others dancing after; Women drest like Curtezans, with Papers pinn'd to their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and Baskets of Flowers in their Hands.

_Blunt._ 'Sheartlikins, what have we here!

_Fred._ Now the Game begins.

_Will._ Fine pretty Creatures! may a stranger have leave to look and love?-- What's here-- _Roses for every Month!_ [Reads the Paper.

_Blunt._ Roses for every Month! what means that?

_Belv._ They are, or wou'd have you think they're Curtezans, who herein _Naples_ are to be hir'd by the Month.

_Will._ Kind and obliging to inform us-- Pray where do these Roses grow?

I would fain plant some of 'em in a Bed of mine.

_Wom._ Beware such Roses, Sir.

_Will._ A Pox of fear: I'll be bak'd with thee between a pair of Sheets, and that's thy proper Still, so I might but strow such Roses over me and under me-- Fair one, wou'd you wou'd give me leave to gather at your Bush this idle Month, I wou'd go near to make some Body smell of it all the Year after.

_Belv._ And thou hast need of such a Remedy, for thou stinkest of Tar and Rope-ends, like a Dock or Pesthouse.

[The Woman puts herself into the Hands of a Man, and _Exit_.

_Will._ Nay, nay, you shall not leave me so.

_Belv._ By all means use no Violence here.

_Will._ Death! just as I was going to be d.a.m.nably in love, to have her led off! I could pluck that Rose out-of his Hand, and even kiss the Bed, the Bush it grew in.