WILD. No more, aunt, we'll come: and if you will give us good meat, we'll bring good humours and good stomachs.
[WIDOW _shuts the curtain_.
CARE. By this day, I'll not dine there: they take a pleasure to raise a spirit that they will not lay. I'll to Banks's.
CAPT. A pox forbid it! you shall not break company, now you know what we are to do after dinner.
CARE. I will consent, upon condition you forbid the spiritual nonsense the age calls Platonic love.
CAPT. I must away too; but I'll be there at dinner. You will join in a plot after dinner?
WILD. Anything, good, bad, or indifferent, for a friend and mirth.
[_Exeunt all but the_ CAPTAIN.
CAPT. I must go and prevent the rogue's mischief with the old lady.
[_Exit_ CAPTAIN.
ACT II., SCENE 1.
_Enter_ JOLLY _and the old lady_ LOVEALL.
LOVE. Away, unworthy, false, ungrateful! with what brow dar'st thou come again into my sight, knowing how unworthy you have been, and how false to love?
JOLLY. No, 'tis you are unworthy, and deserve not those truths of love I have paid here; else you would not believe every report that envy brings, and condemn, without hearing me, whom you have so often tried and found faithful.
LOVE. Yes, till I, too credulous, had pity on your tears; till I had mercy, you durst not be false.
JOLLY. Nor am not yet.
LOVE. What dost thou call false? Is there a treachery beyond what thou hast done? When I had given my fame, my fortune, myself, and my husband's honour, all in one obligation, a sacrifice to that passion which thou seem'dst to labour with despair of, to tell and brag of a conquest o'er a woman, fooled by her passion, and lost in her love to thee? unworthy----
[_She turns away her head._
JOLLY. By this day, 'tis as false as he that said it. Hang him, son of a bachelor! a slave that, envying my fortune in such a happiness as your love and chaste embraces, took this way to ruin it. Come, dry your eyes, and let the guilty weep: if I were guilty, I durst as soon approach a constable drunk, as come here.
You know I am your slave.
LOVE. You swore so, and honour made me leave to triumph over your miseries.
JOLLY. Do you repent that I am happy? if you do, command my death.
LOVE. Nay, never weep, or sit sadly: I am friends, so you will only talk and discourse; for 'tis your company I only covet.
JOLLY. No, you cannot forgive, because you have injur'd me: 'tis right woman's justice, accuse first; and harder to reconcile when they are guilty than when they are innocent; or else you would not turn from me thus.
LOVE. You know your youth hath a strong power over me: turn those bewitching eyes away; I cannot see them with safety of mine honour.
JOLLY. Come, you shall not hide your face: there's a charm in it against those that come burnt with unchaste fires; for let but your eyes or nose drop upon his heart, it would burn it up, or quench it straight.
LOVE. No cogging, you have injured me; and now, though my love plead, I must be deaf; my honour bids me; for you will not fear again to prove unworthy, when you find I am so easy to forgive.
Why, you will not be uncivil?
[JOLLY _kisses her, and she shoves him away with her mouth_.
JOLLY. So, the storm is laid! I must have those pearls. She shoved me away with her mouth! I'll to her again.
[_Aside._]
LOVE. Where are you? what do you take me for? why, you will not be uncivil?
[_Still as he offers to touch her, she starts as if he plucked up her coats._
JOLLY. Uncivil! by thy chaste self I cannot, chick: thou hast such a terror, such a guard in those eyes, I dare not approach thee, nor can I gaze upon so much fire. Prythee, sirrah, let me hide me from their power here.
LOVE. You presume upon the weakness of our sex. What shall I say or do, tyrant love?
JOLLY. There's a charm in those pearls! pull them off: if they have a frost in them, let me wear them, and then we are both safe.
LOVE. I would you had taken them sooner! I had then been innocent, and might with whiteness have worn my love, which I shall ne'er outlive.
JOLLY. Dear, do not too fast pour in my joys, lest I too soon reach my heaven.
LOVE. Begone, then, lest we prove (having gained that height) this sad truth in love, _The first minute after noon is night._
JOLLY. Part now? the gods forbid! take from me first this load of joys you have thrown upon me, for 'tis a burthen harder to bear than sadness. I was not born till now; this my first night, in which I reap true bliss.
LOVE. No, no, I would it had been your first night, then your falsehood had not given argument for these tears; and I hate myself to think I should be such a foolish fly thus again to approach your dangerous flame.
JOLLY. Come, divert these thoughts. I'll go see your closet.
LOVE. No, no, I swear you shall not.
JOLLY. You know I am going out of town for two days.
LOVE. When you return, I'll show it you; you will forget me else when you are gone, and at court.
JOLLY. Can your love endure delays; or shall business thee from thence remove? These were your own arguments. Come, you shall show it me.
LOVE. Nay, then I perceive what unworthy way your love would find. Ye gods, are all men false?
JOLLY. As I live, you shall. Stay: come, you ought to make me amends for slandering of me. Hang me, if ever I told; and he that reports it is the damnedst rogue in a country. Come, I say----
[_He pulls her bodkin, that is tied in a piece of black bobbin._