_Hau._ _Salerimente_, a Sea-phrase too! Why, ye Rascal, I tell you I can indure nothing that puts me in mind of that Element.
[Drinks.
_Gload._ The Sight of _Donna Euphemia_ will-- [_Gload_ drinks between whiles too.
_Hau._ Hold, hold, let me consider whether I can indure to hear her nam'd or not; for I think I am so thorowly mortify'd, I shall hardly relish Woman-kind again this-- two Hours.
[Drinks.
_Gload._ You a Man of Courage, and talk thus!
_Hau._ Courage! Why, what dost thou call Courage?-- _Hector_ himself would not have chang'd his ten Years Siege for our ten Days Storm at Sea-- a Storm-- a hundred thousand fighting Men are nothing to't; Cities sackt by Fire nothing: 'tis a resistless Coward that attacks a Man at disadvantage; an unaccountable Magick, that first conjures down a Man's Courage, and then plays the Devil over him. And in fine, it is a Storm--
_Gload._ Good lack that it should be all these terrible things, and yet that we should outbrave it.
_Hau._ No god-a-mercy to our Courages tho, I tell you that now, _Gload_; but like an angry Wench, when it had huft and bluster'd it self weary, it lay still again.
[Drinks.
_Gload._ Hold, hold, Sir, you know we are to make Visits to Ladies, Sir; and this replenishing of our Spirits, as you call it, Sir, may put us out of Case.
_Hau._ Thou art a Fool, I never made love so well as when I was drunk; it improves my Parts, and makes me witty; that is, it makes me say any thing that comes next, which passes now-a-days for Wit: and when I am very drunk, I'll home and dress me, and the Devil's in't if she resist me so qualify'd and so dress'd.
_Gload._ Truly, Sir, those are things that do not properly belong to you.
_Hau._ Your Reason, your Reason; we shall have thee witty too in thy Drink, hah!
[Laughs.
_Gload._ Why, I say, Sir, none but a Cavalier ought to be soundly drunk, or wear a Sword and Feather; and a Cloke and Band were fitter for a Merchant.
_Hau._ _Salerimente_, I'll beat any _Don_ in _Spain_ that does but think he has more right to any sort of Debauchery, or Gallantry than I, I tell you that now, _Gload_.
_Gload._ Do you remember, Sir, how you were wont to go at home? when instead of a Periwig, you wore a slink, greasy Hair of your own, thro which a pair of large thin Souses appear'd, to support a formal Hat, on end thus-- [Imitates him.
_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, the Rogue improves upon't.
[Gives him Brandy.
_Gload._ A Collar instead of a Cravat twelve inches high; with a blue, stiff, starcht, lawn Band, set in print like your Whiskers; a Doublet with small Skirts hookt to a pair of wide-kneed Breeches, which dangled halfway over a Leg, all to be dash'd and dirty'd as high as the gartering.
_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, very well, proceed. [Drinks.
_Gload._ Your Hands, defil'd with counting of damn'd dirty Money, never made other use of Gloves, than continually to draw them thro-- thus-- till they were dwindled into the scantling of a Cats-gut.
_Hau._ Ha, ha, ha, a pleasant Rascal. [Drinks.
_Gload._ A Cloke, half a yard shorter than the Breeches, not thorow lin'd, but fac'd as far as 'twas turn'd back, with a pair of frugal Butter-hams, which was always manag'd-- thus--
_Hau._ Well, Sir, have you done, that I may show you this Merchant revers'd?
_Gload._ Presently, Sir; only a little touch at your Debauchery, which unless it be in damn'd Brandy, you dare not go to the Expence of.
Perhaps at a Wedding, or some Treat where your Purse is not concern'd, you would most insatiably tipple; otherwise your two Stivers-Club is the highest you dare go, where you will be condemn'd for a Prodigal, (even by your own Conscience) if you add two more extraordinary to the Sum, and at home sit in the Chimney-Corner, cursing the Face of Duke _de Alva_ upon the Jugs, for laying an Imposition on Beer: And now, Sir, I have done.
_Hau._ And dost thou not know, when one of those thou hast described, goes but half a League out of Town, that he is so transform'd from the Merchant to the Gallant in all Points, that his own Parents, nay the Devil himself cannot know him? Not a young English Squire newly come to an Estate, above the management of his Wit, has better Horses, gayer Clothes, swears, drinks, and does every thing with a better grace than he; damns the stingy Cabal of the two Stiver-Club, and puts the young King of _Spain_ and his Mistress together in a Rummer of a Pottle; and in pure Gallantry breaks the Glasses over his Head, scorning to drink twice in the same: and a thousand things full as heroick and brave I cou'd tell you of this same Holy-day Squire. But come, t'other turn, and t'other sope, and then for _Donna Euphemia_. For I find I begin to be reconcil'd to the Sex.
_Gload._ But, Sir, if I might advise, let's e'en sleep first.
_Hau._ Away, you Fool, I hate the sober Spanish way of making Love, that's unattended with Wine and Musick; give me a Wench that will out-drink the Dutch, out-dance the French, and out-- out-- kiss the English.
_Gload._ Sir, that's not the Fashion in _Spain_.
_Hau._ Hang the Fashion; I'll manage her that must be my Wife, as I please, or I'll beat her into Fashion.
_Gload._ What, beat a Woman, Sir?
_Hau._ Sha, all's one for that; if I am provok'd, Anger will have its Effects on whomsoe'er it light; so said _Van Trump_, when he took his Mistress a Cuff o'th' Ear for finding fault with an ill-fashion'd Leg he made her: I lik'd his Humour well, therefore come thy ways.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. _Draws off. A Grove._
Discovers _Antonio_ sleeping on the Ground; _Hippolyta_ sitting by, who sings._
_Ah false _Amyntas_, can that Hour So soon forgotten be, When first I yielded up my Power To be betray'd by thee?
God knows with how much Innocence I did my Heart resign Unto thy faithless Eloquence, And gave thee what was mine._
_I had not one Reserve in store, But at thy Feet I laid Those Arms which conquer'd heretofore, Tho now thy Trophies made.
Thy Eyes in silence told their Tale Of Love in such a way, That 'twas as easy to prevail, As after to betray._ [She comes forth, weeps.
_Hip._ My Grief's too great to be diverted this way.
[Pointing to _Antonio_.
Why should this Villain sleep, this treacherous Man-- Who has for ever robb'd me of my rest?
Had I but kept my Innocence intire, I had out-brav'd my Fate, and broke my Chains, Which now I bear like a poor guilty Slave, Who sadly crys, If I were free from these, I am not from my Crimes; so still lives on, And drags his loathed Fetters after him.
Why should I fear to die, or murder him?
It is but adding one Sin more to th' number.
This-- would soon do't-- but where's the Hand to guide it?
[Draws a Dagger, sighs.
For 'tis an act too horrid for a Woman. [Turns away.
But yet thus sleeping I might take that Soul, [Turns to him.
Which waking all the Charms of Art and Nature Had not the Power t'effect.
Oh were I brave, I could remember that, And this way be the Mistress of his Heart.
But mine forbids it should be that way won; No, I must still love on, in spite of me, And wake him quickly, lest one Moment's thought Upon my Shame should urge me to undo him.
_Antonio_, _Antonio_.
[He wakes, rises, and looks amazedly to see the Dagger in her Hand.
_Ant._ Vile Woman, why that Dagger in that Hand?
_Hip._ To've kill'd thee with, But that my Love o'ercame my juster Passion, And put it in thy Power to save thy self; Thank that, and not my Reason for thy Life.
_Ant._ She's doubly arm'd, with that and Injury, And I am wounded and defenceless. [Aside.
_Hippolyta_, why all this Rage to me? [Kindly smiles.
_Hip._ _Antonio_, thou art perjur'd, false and base.