The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. II by Aphra Behn

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_Bet_. What? why six thousand Pounds a Year, Mistress. He'll quickly die,
and leave you rich, and then do what you please.

_Dia_. Die! no, he's too temperate--Sure these Whigs, _Betty_, believe
there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this World--No,
he'll out-live me.
[_Sighs_.

_Bet_. In Grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistress--Ha, one knocks,
and I believe 'tis he.
[_She goes to open the Door_.

_Dia_. I cannot bring my Heart to like this Business; One sight of my
dear _Tom_ wou'd turn the Scale.

_Bet_. Who's there?

_Enter Sir_ Tim. _joyful_; Dian. _walks away_.

Sir _Tim_. 'Tis I, impatient I, who with the Sun have welcom'd in the
Day;
This happy Day to be inroll'd
In Rubrick Letters and in Gold.
--Hum, I am profoundly eloquent this Morning. [_Aside_.
--Fair Excellence, I approach--
[_Going toward her_.

_Dia_. Like Physick in a Morning next one's Heart; [_Aside_.
Which, though it be necessary, is most filthy loathsom.
[_Going from him_.

Sir _Tim_. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty?
--Hum, I'm much upon the Suns and Days this Morning.

_Dia_. It will not down.
[_Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away_.

Sir _Tim_. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis'd and scorn'd?
Did I for this ponder upon the Question,
Whether I should be King or Alderman?
[_Heroickly_.

_Dia_. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding,
good Heaven. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?

_Bet_. I think she did, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon
her Wedding-day?

_Dia_. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short
Prayer before Execution.

Sir _Tim_. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we're
abed, that we have nothing else to do.
[_Takes her Hand_.

_Dia_. Not much, I dare swear.

Sir _Tim_. And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays; besides, that
heap of Scandal may prevent us--I mean, my Nephew.

_Dia_. A Pox upon him now for naming _Wilding_.
[_Weeps_.

Sir _Tim_. How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am
provok'd--Look on this Head, this wise and Reverend Head; I'd have ye
know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see.

_Dia_. A Halter rather. [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall
receive Billet-Doux from Infanta's? 'tis most uncivil and impolitick.

_Dia_. I hope he's mad, and then I reign alone. [_Aside_.
Pardon me, Sir, that parting Tear I shed indeed at naming _Wilding_,
Of whom my foolish Heart has now ta'en leave,
And from this Moment is intirely yours.

[_Gives him her Hand, they go out followed by_ Betty.

SCENE IV. _Changes to a Street_.

_Enter_ Charlot, _led by_ Foppington, _follow'd by Mrs_. Clacket.

_Char_. Stay, my Heart misgives me, I shall be undone.
--Ah, whither was I going?
[_Pulls her Hand from_ Fop.

_Fop_. Do, stay till the News arrives that he is married to her that had
his Company to night, my Lady _Galliard_.

_Char_. Oh! Take heed lest you sin doubly, Sir.

_Fop_. By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the Night with her.

_Char_. All night! what cou'd they find to do?

Mrs. _Clack_. A very proper Question; I'll warrant you they were not
idle, Madam.

_Char_. Oh, no; they lookt and lov'd and vow'd and lov'd, and swore
eternal Friendship--Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar;
I'll put it past my Power to love him more.

_Fop_. Oh, how you charm me!
[_Takes her by the Hand_.

_Char_. Yet what art thou? a Stranger to my Heart. Wherefore, ah why, on
what occasion shou'd I?

Mrs. _Clack_. Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my
Word will be taken for a greater matter in the City: In troth you're
beholden to the Gentleman for marrying you, your Reputation's gone.

_Char_. How, am I not honest then?

Mrs. _Clack_. Marry, Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a
single Hour in _Wilding's_ Hands, wou'd not swear you have lost your
Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd
be a fine History to be sung to your eternal Fame in a Ballad.

_Fop_. Right; and you see _Wilding_ has left you for the Widow, to whom
perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married.

_Char_. Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.

[_They going out, meet Sir_ Anthony _with Musick: they return_.

Sir _Anth_. Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the Window
belonging to my Lady's Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat,
soft, brisk, languishing, sprightly Air now.

_Fop_. Old Meriwill--how shall I pass by him!
[_Stand by_.

Sir _Anth_. So, here's Company too; 'tis very well--Not have the Boy?
I'll warrant this does the Business--Come, come, screw up your
Chitterling.
[_They play_.
--Hold, hold a little--Good morrow, my Lady _Galliard_.
--Give your Ladyship Joy.

_Char_. What do I hear, my Lady _Galliard_ joy'd?

_Fop_. How, married her already?

_Char_. Oh, yes, he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith?

Mrs. _Clack_. Oh, Heavens, Mr. _Foppington_, she faints.--ah me!

[_They hold her, Musick plays.
Enter_ Wilding _and_ Dresswell, _disguis'd as before_.

_Wild_. Ah, Musick at _Galliard's_ Door!

Sir _Anth_. Good morrow, Sir _Charles Meriwill_: give your Worship and
your fair Lady Joy.

_Wild_. Hah, Meriwill married the Widow!

_Dres_. No matter; prithee advance, and mind thy own Affairs.

_Wild_. Advance, and not inquire the meaning on't!
Bid me not eat, when Appetite invites me;
Not draw, when branded with the Name of Coward;
Nor love, when Youth and Beauty meet my Eyes--
Hah!--
[_Sees Sir_ Charles _come into the Balcony undrest_.

Sir _Char_. Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen, I thank ye: Here, drink the
King's Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke.
[_Gives 'em Money_.

_Fid_. Heaven bless your Honour, and your virtuous Bride.

_Fop. Wilding_! undone.
[_Shelters_ Charlot, _that she may not see_ Wilding.

_Wild_. Death and the Devil, Meriwill above!

Sir _Anth_. Ah, the Boy's Rival here! By George, here may be breathing
this Morning--No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in.
[_Thrusts the Musick in, and goes in_.

_Dres_. Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?

_Wild_. What then? it comes too suddenly upon me--
E'er my last Kiss was cold upon her Lips,
Before the pantings of her Breast were laid,
Rais'd by her joys with me; Oh, damn'd deluding Woman!

_Dres_. Be wise, and do not ruin where you love.

_Wild_. Nay, if thou com'st to reasoning, thou hast lost me.
[_Breaks from him, and runs in_.

_Char_. I say 'twas _Wilding's_ Voice, and I will follow it.

_Fop_. How, Madam, wou'd you after him?

_Char_. Nay, force me not; by Heaven, I'll cry a Rape,
Unless you let me go--Not after him!
Yes, to the infernal Shades--Unhand me, Sir.

_Fop_. How, Madam, have you then design'd my Ruin?

_Char_. Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour.
[_Runs in after_ Wild.

Mrs. _Clack_. So; a Murrain of your Projects, we're all undone now: For
my part I'll e'en after her, and deny to have any hand in the Business.
[_Goes in_.

_Fop_. Damn all ill Luck, was ever Man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd
cross my Hopes just in the nick? But shall I lose her thus? No, Gad, I'll
after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a
Middlesex Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer.
[_Goes in_.

SCENE V. _Changes to a Chamber_.

_Enter Lady_ Galliard, _pursued by Sir_ Charles, _and Footman_.

L. _Gal_. Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayor's, and require some of his
Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my Doors,
and let none of his mad Crew enter.
[_To the Footman who is going_.

Sir _Char_. William, you may stay, William.

L. _Gal_. I say, obey me, Sirrah.

Sir _Char_. Sirrah, I say--know your Lord and Master.

_Will_. I shall, Sir. [_Goes out_.

L. _Gal_. Was ever Woman teaz'd thus? pursue me not.

Sir _Char_. You are mistaken, I'm disobedient grown,
Since we became one Family; and when
I've us'd you thus a Week or two, you will
Grow weary of this peevish fooling.

L. _Gal_. Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out
merely in spite, to have the better of thee.

Sir _Char_. I'm as resolv'd as you, and do your worst,
For I'm resolv'd never to quit thy House.

L. _Gal_. But, Malice, there are Officers i'th' City, that will not see
me us'd thus, and will be here anon.

Sir _Char_. Magistrates! why, they shall be welcome, if they be honest
and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heaven's good time.

L. _Gal_. Are you resolv'd to be thus obstinate? Fully resolv'd to make
this way your Conquest?

Sir _Char_. Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your Word, my Dear--
I've Witness--

L. _Gal_. You will?

Sir _Char_. You'll find it so.

L. _Gal_. Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be
so reveng'd for all those Tricks thou hast play'd me--
Dost thou not dread the Vengeance Wives can take?

Sir _Char_. Not at all: I'll trust thy Stock of Beauty with thy Wit.

L. _Gal_. Death, I will cuckold thee.

Sir _Char_. Why, then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.

L. _Gal_. Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee.

Sir _Char_. Do, that all the Fops of empty Heads and Pockets may know
where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret,
and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face
to pale and withered Leanness.

L. _Gal_. Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.

Sir _Char_. For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for
new ones every Night.

_Enter_ William.

_Will_. Madam, here's Mr. _Wilding_ at the Door, and will not be deny'd
seeing you.

L. _Gal_. Hah, _Wilding_! Oh, my eternal Shame! Now thou hast done thy
worst.

Sir _Char_. Now for a Struggle 'twixt your Love and Honour!
--Yes, here's the Bar to all my Happiness,
You wou'd be left to the wide World and Love,
To Infamy, to Scandal, and to _Wilding_;
But I have too much Honour in my Passion,
To let you loose to ruin: Consider and be wise.

L. _Gal_. Oh, he has toucht my Heart too sensibly. [_Aside_.

Sir _Anth_. [_within_.] As far as good Manners goes I'm yours;
But when you press indecently to Ladies Chambers, civil
Questions ought to askt, I take it, Sir.

L. _Gal_. To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousy, and in the
Fit he'll utter all he knows: Oh, Guilt, what art thou! [_Aside_.

_Enter Sir_ Anth. Wild, _and_ Dres.

_Dres_. Prithee, dear _Wilding_, moderate thy Passion.

_Wild_. By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the Pleasure to see I am
concern'd--Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive, I see,
you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.

Sir _Char_. Hah, _Wilding_, this that past last Night at Sir Timothy's
for a Man of Quality? Oh, give him way, _Wilding's_ my Friend, my Dear,
and now I'm sure I have the Advantage of him in my Love. I can forgive a
hasty Word or two.

_Wild_. I thank thee, _Charles_--what, you are married then?

L. _Gal_. I hope you've no Exception to my Choice.
[_Scornfully_.

_Wild_. False Woman, dost thou glory in thy Perfidy?
[_To her aside angrily_.
--Yes, Faith, I've many Exceptions to him--
[_Aloud_.
Had you lov'd me, you'd pitcht upon a Blockhead,
Some spruce gay Fool of Fortune, and no more,
Who would have taken so much Care of his own ill-favour'd Person,
He shou'd have had no time to have minded yours,
But left it to the Care of some fond longing Lover.

L. _Gal_. Death, he will tell him all! [_Aside_.] Oh, you are merry, Sir.

_Wild_. No, but thou art wondrous false,
False as the Love and Joys you feign'd last Night.
[_In a soft Tone aside to her_.

L. _Gal_. Oh, Sir, be tender of those treacherous Minutes.
[_Softly to him_.
--If this be all you have to say to me--
[_Walking away, and speaking loud_.

_Wild_. Faith, Madam, you have us'd me scurvily,
To marry, and not give me notice.
[_Aloud_.
--Curse on thee, did I only blow the Fire
To warm another Lover?
[To her softly aside.

L. _Gal_. Perjur'd--was't not by your Advice I married?
--Oh, where was then your Love?
[_Softly to him aside_.

_Wild_. So soon did I advise?
Didst thou invite me to the Feast of Love,
To snatch away my Joys as soon as tasted?
Ah, where was then you Modesty and Sense of Honour?
[_Aside to her in a low Tone_.

L. _Gal_. Ay, where indeed, when you so quickly vanquisht? [_Soft_.
--But you, I find, are come prepared to rail. [_Aloud_.

_Wild_. No, 'twas with thee to make my last Effort against your scorn.
[_Shews her the Writings_.
And this I hop'd, when all my Vows and Love,
When all my Languishments cou'd nought avail,
Had made ye mine for ever.
[_Aloud_.

_Enter Sir_ Anthony, _pulling in Sir_ Tim. _and_ Diana.

Sir _Anth_. Morrow, _Charles_; Morrow to your Ladyship: _Charles_, bid
Sir _Timothy_ welcome; I met him luckily at the Door, and am resolv'd
none of my Friends shall pass this joyful Day without giving thee Joy,
_Charles_, and drinking my Lady's Health.

_Wild_. Hah, my Uncle here so early? [_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. What, has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been
mump'd now, if I had not took Heart of Grace, and shew'd your Ladyship
Trick for Trick? for I have been this Morning about some such Business of
Life too, Gentlemen: I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and
Heiress of Sir _Nicholas Gett-all_, Knight and Alderman.

_Wild_. Ha, married to _Diana_! How fickle is the Faith of common Women!
[_Aside_.

Sir _Tim_. Hum, who's here, my Lord? What, I see your Lordship has found
the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my
Wedding-dinner the Honour to grace it with your Presence.

_Wild_. I shall not fail, Sir. A Pox upon him, he'll discover all.
[_Aside_.

L. _Gal_. I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better Choice.

Sir _Tim_. I cou'd not help my Destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you
know.

_Enter_ Charlot _weeping, and_ Clacket.

_Charl_. Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs,
Which can no more be bounded: Oh, let me face
The perjur'd, false, forsworn!

L. _Gal_. Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much Sorrow?

_Charl_. Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.
[_Weeps_.

_Wild. Charlot_! Nay, then I am discover'd.

L. _Gal_. Alas, what wou'dst thou?

_Charl_. That which I cannot have, thy faithless Husband.
Be Judge, ye everlasting Powers of Love,
Whether he more belongs to her or me.

Sir _Anth_. How, my Nephew claim'd! Why, how now, Sirrah, have you been
dabling here?

Sir _Char_. By Heaven, I know her not.--Hark ye, Widow, this is some
Trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd
find in my Heart to take her at her word.

L. _Gal_. Vile Man, this will not pass your Falshood off.
Sure, 'tis some Art to make me jealous of him,
To find how much I value him.

Sir _Char_. Death, I'll have the Forgery out;--Tell me, thou pretty
weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay a Claim to me?

_Charl_. To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your
Face.

L. _Gal_. Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, ay, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul--Neighbour, pray let her
lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.

Sir _Char_. How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?

_Charl_. With loving, Sir, strongly, with too much loving.
--Will you not let me see the lovely false one? [_To L_. Gal.
For I am told you have his Heart in keeping.

L. Gal_. Who is he? pray describe him.

_Charl_. A thing just like a Man, or rather Angel!
He speaks, and looks, and loves, like any God!
All fine and gay, all manly, and all sweet:
And when he swears he loves, you wou'd swear too
That all his Oaths were true.

Sir _Anth_. Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak--you,
Mistress. [_To_ Clacket.

Mrs. _Clack_. Since I must speak, there comes the Man of Mischief:
'Tis you, I mean, for all your Leering, Sir. [_To_ Wild.

_Wild_. So.

Sir _Tim_. What, my Lord?

Mrs. _Clack_. I never knew your Nephew was a Lord:
Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?

[Charlot. _runs, and catches him in her Arms_.

_Charl_. I have thee, and I'll die thus grasping thee;
Thou art my own, no Power shall take thee from me.

_Wild_. Never; thou truest of thy Sex, and dearest,
Thou soft, thou kind, thou constant Sufferer,
This moment end thy Fears; for I am thine.

_Charl_. May I believe thou art not married then?

_Wild_. How can I, when I'm yours?
How cou'd I, when I love thee more than Life?
Now, Madam, I am reveng'd on all your Scorn, [_To L_. Galliard.
--And, Uncle, all your Cruelty.

Sir _Tim_. Why, what, are you indeed my Nephew Thomas?

_Wild_. I am _Tom Wilding_, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you
discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.

Sir _Tim_. What, and are you no Polish Embassador then incognito?

_Wild_. No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were
ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the
Rabble with your Politicks, then leaves 'em to be hang'd, as they
deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

Sir _Tim_. I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course,
because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have cozen'd him of his rich
Heiress; for I'm married, Sir, to Mrs. _Charlot_.

_Wild_. Rather _Diana_, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's _Charlot_. I was
not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.

_Sir Charl_. How, Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing
an old cast-off Mistress.

Sir _Tim_. How, have I married a Strumpet then?

_Dia_. You give your Nephew's Mistress, Sir, too coarse a Name. 'Tis
true, I lov'd him, only him, and was true to him.

Sir _Tim_. Undone, undone! I shall ne'er make Guildhall-Speech more: but
he shall hang for't, if there be e'er a Witness to be had between this
and Salamanca for Money.

_Wild_. Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks
to your Ignoramus Juries.

Sir _Tim_. Then I'm resolv'd to disinherit him.

_Wild_. See, Sir, that's past your Skill too, thanks to my last Night's
Ingenuity; they're [shews him the Writings.] sign'd, seal'd, and
deliver'd in the presence of, &c.

Sir _Tim_. Bear Witness, 'twas he that rob'd me last night.

Sir _Anth_. We bear witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank
you for that, Sir; wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?

Sir _Tim_. No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay, drawn and
quarter'd.

_Wild_. What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?

Sir _Anth_. Nay, then 'tis a clear Case, you can neither hang him or
blame him.

_Wild_. I'll propose fairly now; if you'll be generous and pardon all,
I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir
Anthony Meriwill's and Sir _Charles_ his Hands--I have a Fortune here
that will maintain me, Without so much as wishing for your Death.

_All_. This is but Reason.

_Sir Charl_. With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any
Mischief to the King and Government.

_All_. Good and Just. [_Sir_ Tim. _pauses_.

Sir _Tim_. Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by
making a Noise.--Well, _Tom_, I pardon all, and will be Friends.
[Gives him his Hand.

_Sir Charl_. See, my dear Creature, even this hard old Man is mollify'd
at last into good Nature; yet you'll still be cruel.

L. _Gal_. No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as
happy as a Wife can make ye--One last look more, and then--be gone, fond
Love.

[_Sighing and looking on_ Wilding, _giving Sir_ Charles _her Hand_.

_Sir Charl_. Come, Sir, you must receive _Diana_ too; she is a cheerful
witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and
bring no Scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid
Age with Business of State.

Let all things in their own due Order move,
Let Caesar be the Kingdom's Care and Love;
Let the hot-headed Mutineers petition,
And meddle in the Rights of just Succession:
But may all honest Hearts as one agree
To bless the King, and Royal Albany.

[_Exeunt_.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality: Spoken by Mrs. _Boteler_.

_My Plot, I fear, will take but with a few,
A rich young Heiress to her first Lover true!
'Tis damn'd unnatural, and past enduring,
Against the fundamental Laws of Whoring.
Marrying's the Mask, which Modesty assures,
Helps to get new, and covers old Amours;
And Husband sounds so dull to a Town-Bride,
Ye now-a-days condemn him e'er he's try'd;
E'er in his Office he's confirmed Possessor,
Like Trincaloes you chuse him a Successor,
In the gay Spring of Love, when free from Doubts,
With early Shoots his Velvet Forehead sprouts,
Like a poor Parson bound to hard Indentures,
You make him pay his First-fruits e'er he enters.
But for short Carnivals of stain good Cheer,
You're after forc'd to keep Lent all the Year;
Till brought at last to a starving Nun's Condition,
You break into our Quarters for Provision;
Invade Fop-corner with your glaring Beauties,
And 'tice our Loyal Subjects from their Duties.
Pray, Ladies, leave that Province to our Care;
A Fool is the Fee-simple of a Player,
In which we Women claim a double share.
In other things the Men are Rulers made;
But catching Woodcocks is our proper Trade.
If by Stage-Fops they a poor Living get,
We can grow rich, thanks to our Mother-Wit,
By the more natural Blockheads of the Pit.
Take then the Wits, and all their useless Prattles;
But as for Fools, they are our Goods and Chattels.
Return, Ingrates, to your first Haunt the Stage;
We taught your Youth, and helped your feeble Age.
What is't you see in Quality we want?
What can they give you which we cannot grant?
We have their Pride, their Frolicks, and their Paint.
We feel the same Touth dancing in our Blood;
Our Dress as gay--All underneath as good.
Most Men have found us hitherto more true,
And if we're not abus'd by some of you,
We're full as fair--perhaps as wholesom too.
But if at best our hopeful Sport and Trade is,
And nothing now will serve you but great Ladies;
May question'd Marriages your Fortune be,
And Lawyers drain your Pockets more than we:
May Judges puzzle a clear Case with Laws,
And Musquetoon at last decide the Cause_.

THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; OR, A NIGHT'S INTRIGUE.

ARGUMENT.

Marcella and Cornelia, nieces to Count Morosini and sisters to Julio, who
is contracted to Laura Lucretia, a lady of quality, sister of Count
Octavio, in order to avoid Marcella's marriage with this nobleman,
secretly leave Viterbo where they live, and accompanied only by their
attendants, Petro and Philippa, come to Rome, and there pass for
courtezans under the names of Euphemia and Silvianetta. Their beauty wins
them great renown in the gay world, and Sir Harry Fillamour, who loves
Marcella, and Frank Galliard, two English travellers, are keenly
attracted by this reputation. Sir Harry, however, is anxious for
matrimony, Galliard for an intrigue. Marcella in her turn is already
enamoured of Fillamour whom she has met at Viterbo. Morosini and Octavio
follow the fugitives to Rome, whilst Laura Lucretia, who loves Galliard,
disguises herself in male attire and takes a house on the Corso next door
to the supposed courtezans. Fillamour and Galliard encounter the two
ladies in the gardens of the Villa Medici, and Fillamour takes Marcella
for a courtezan, whilst Galliard engages with Cornelia. Octavio passing
with his followers spies and attacks his rival. A general mêlée ensues.
Julio, who has not seen his family for seven years, next appears, having
taken Cornelia for a cyprian and followed her from St. Peter's. Marcella,
in boy's attire, then gives Fillamour a letter from herself, signed under
her own name, making an appointment for that night; but at the same time
Galliard, claiming a former promise, drags his friend off to visit
Euphemia. The intrigue is complicated by the ridiculous amours of two
foolish travellers, Sir Signal Buffoon and Mr. Tickletext, a puritan
divine, his tutor. These, unknown to each other, make assignations with
the two bona robas by means of Petro, who dupes them thoroughly by his
clever tricks, and pockets their money. Whilst Galliard and Sir Harry are
serenading the ladies, Octavio, Julio and their bravos attack them. After
the scuffle Laura Lucretia coming from her house leads in Julio,
mistaking him for Galliard, and he her for Silvianetta. Next Sir Harry
and Galliard arrive in safety at the sisters' house, and Marcella, as a
courtezan, tempts her lover, who, however, refuses to yield and leaves
her, to her secret joy. Tickletext has been placed by Petro in bed to
await, as he supposes, Silvianetta, when Galliard in error entering the
room in the dark gropes his way to the bed and finding a man, closes with
him. The tutor escapes, and Cornelia coming in in the course of her
wooing by Galliard informs him she is not really a courtezan as he
supposed. In anger her gallant departs. Whilst he is telling Sir Harry
this tale Cornelia, dressed as a page, follows him and delivers Fillamour
a challenge as from Marcella's brother, Julio, summoning him to the
Piazza di Spagna. Julio himself, newly come from Laura Lucretia, meeting
Galliard relates to him how he passed the night with Silvianetta, which
confirms the opinion the Englishman had already formed of her treachery
and deceit. Laura Lucretia overhears and sends her maid to bring her
Galliard; but whilst he is with her, Cornelia, who has jealously
followed, feigning to be Julio's page, gives the amorous dame a letter as
from her betrothed. The trick fails, Cornelia is laughed at as a saucy
lad, repulsed and obliged to retire. Sir Harry is then met by Marcella
dressed as a man and calling herself Julio. Julio himself happens to be
at the Piazza di Spagna and he interrupts the quarrel. Octavio and
Morosini speedily join him, as Crapine has tracked the runaways to their
lodging. All these hurry into the courtezans' house, where they find
Fillamour and Galliard. Mutual explanations follow. Octavio nobly
renounces Marcella in favour of Fillamour who claims her hand, whilst
Cornelia gives herself to Galliard in sober wedlock. Tickletext and Sir
Signal are then discovered to be concealed in the room, and their mutual
frailties exposed. It is promised that the money of which Petro has
choused them shall be restored, and everything is forgiven, since "'twas
but one night's intrigue, in which all were a little faulty."

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