and bailiffs to arrest Sir John Swallow upon a promise of marriage to Mrs Christian. Lord. Very good. L. Dupe. We'll all swear it. Warn. I never doubted your ladyship in the least, madam-for the rest we will consider hereafter. Lord. Leave this to us. [Ex. Lord, Lady DUPE, and CHR. Warn. Rose, where's thy lady? Mill. [above.] What have you to say to her? Warn. Only to tell you, madam, I am going forward in the great work of projection. Mill. I know not whether you will deserve my thanks when the work's done, Warn. Madam, I hope you are not become indifferent to my master? Mill. If he should prove a fool, after all your crying up his wit, I shall be a miserable woman. Warn. A fool! that were a good jest, i'faith: but how comes your ladyship to suspect it? Rose. I have heard, madam, your greatest wits have ever a touch of madness and extravagance in them, so perhaps has he. Warn. There's nothing more distant than wit and folly; yet, like east and west, they may meet in a point, and produce actions that are but a hair's breadth from one another. Rose. I'll undertake he has wit enough to make one laugh at him a whole day together: He's a most comical person. Mill. For all this, I will not swear he is no fool; he has still discovered all your plots. Warn. O, madam, that's the common fate of your Machiavelians; they draw their designs so subtle, that their very fineness breaks them. Mill. However, I'm resolved to be on the sure side: I will have certain proof of his wit, before I marry him. Warn. Madam, I'll give you one; he wears his clothes like a great sloven, and that's a sure sign of wit; he neglects his outward parts; besides, he speaks French, sings, dances, plays upon the lute. Mill. Does he do all this, say you? Warn. Most divinely, madam. Mill. I ask no more; then let him give me a serenade immediately; but let him stand in view, I'll not be cheated. Warn. He shall do't, madam :-But how, the devil knows; for he sings like a screech-owl, and never touched the lute. [Aside. Mill. You'll see't performed? Warn. Now I think on't, madam, this will but retard our enterprise. Mill. Either let him do't, or see me no more. Warn. Well, it shall be done, madam; but where's your father? will not he overhear it? Mill. As good hap is, he's below stairs, talking with a seaman, that has brought him news from the East Indies. Warn. What concernment can he have there? Mill. He had a bastard son there, whom he loved extremely but not having any news from him these many years, concluded him dead; this son he expects within these three days. Warn. When did he see him last? Mill. Not since he was seven years old. Warn. A sudden thought comes into my head, to make him appear before his time; let my master pass for him, and by that means he may come into the house unsuspected by your father, or his rival. Mill. According as he performs his serenade, I'll talk with you make haste--I must retire a little. [Exit MILL. from above. Rose. I'll instruct him most rarely, he shall never be found out; but, in the mean time, what wilt thou do for a serenade? Warn. Faith, I am a little non-plus'd on the sudden; but a warm consolation from thy lips, Rose, would set my wits a working again. Rose. Adieu, Warner. [Exit. Warn. Inhuman Rose, adieu!-Blockhead Warner, into what a premunire hast thou brought thyself; this 'tis to be so forward to promise for another; but to be godfather to a fool, to promise and vow he should do any thing like a Christian Enter Sir MARTIN MAR-ALL. Sir Mart. Why, how now, bully, in a brown study? For my good, I warrant it; there's five shillings for thee. What! we must encourage good wits sometimes. Warn. Hang your white pelf: Sure, sir, by your largess, you mistake me for Martin Parker, the ballad-maker; your covetousness has offended my muse, and quite dulled her. Sir Mart. How angry the poor devil is! In fine, thou art as choleric as a cook by a fireside. Warn. I am overheated, like a gun, with continual discharging my wit: 'Slife, sir, I have rarified my brains for you, 'till they are evaporated; but come, sir, do something for yourself like a man: I have engaged you shall give to your mistress a serenade in your proper person: I'll borrow a lute for you. Sir Mart. I'll warrant thee I'll do't, man. Warn. You never learned: I do not think you know one stop. Sir Mart. "Tis no matter for that, sir; I'll play as fast as I can, and never stop at all. Warn. Go to, you are an invincible fool, I see. Get up into your window, and set two candles by you; take my landlord's lute in your hand, and fumble on it, and make grimaces with your mouth, as if you sung; in the mean time, I'll play in the next room in the dark, and consequently your mistress, who will come to her balcony over against you, will think it to be you; and at the end of every tune, I'll ring the bell that hangs between your chamber and mine, that you may know when to have done. Sir Mart. Why, this is fair play now, to tell a man beforehand what he must do; gramercy, i'faith, boy, now if I fail thee Warn. About your business, then, your mistress and her maid appear already: I'll give you the sign with the bell when I am prepared, for my lute is at hand in the barber's shop. [Exeunt. Enter Mrs MILLISENT, and Rose, with a candle by them, above. Rose. We shall have rare music. Mill. I wish it prove so; for I suspect the knight can neither play nor sing. Rose. But if he does, you are bound to pay the music, madam. Mill. I'll not believe it, except both my ears and eyes are witnesses. Rose. But 'tis night, madam, and you cannot see him; yet he may play admirably in the dark. Mill. Where's my father? Rose. You need not fear him, he's still employed with that same seaman; and I have set Mrs Christian to watch their discourse, that, betwixt her and me, Warner may have wherewithal to instruct his master. Mill. But yet there's fear my father will find out the plot. Rose. Not in the least; for my old lady has provided two rare disguises for the master and the man. Mill. Peace, I hear them beginning to tune the lute. Rose. And see, madam, where your true knight, Sir Martin, is placed yonder like Apollo, with his lute in his hand, and his rays about his head. [SIR MARTIN appears at the adverse window; a tune is played; when it is done, WARNER rings, and SIR MARTIN holds.] Did he not play most excellently, Madam? Mill. He played well, and yet methinks he held his lute but untowardly. Rose. Dear madam, peace; now for the song, THE SONG*. Blind love, to this hour, Had never, like me, a slave under his power: That he threw at my heart; For nothing can prove A joy so great, as to be wounded with love. My days, and my nights, Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights: And my eyes are ne'er dry; I am to the top of love's happiness raised. This song is translated from Voiture. |