TO MRS. ELLEN GUIN.
Madam,
'Tis no wonder that hitherto I followed not the good example of the believing Poets, since less faith and zeal then you alone can inspire, had wanted power to have reduc't me to the true worship: Your permission, _Madam_, has inlightened me, and I with shame look back on my past Ignorance, which suffered me not to pay an Adoration long since, where there was so very much due, yet even now though secure in my opinion, I make this Sacrifice with infinite fear and trembling, well knowing that so Excellent and perfect a Creature as your self differs only from the Divine powers in this; the Offerings made to you ought to be worthy of you, whilst they accept the will alone; and how Madam, would your Altars be loaded, if like heaven you gave permission to all that had a will and desire to approach 'em who now at distance can only wish and admire, which all mankinde agree to do; as if Madam, you alone had the pattent from heaven to ingross all hearts and even those distant slaves whom you conquer with your fame, pay an equall tribute to those that have the blessing of being wounded by your Eyes, and boast the happiness of beholding you dayly; insomuch that succeeding ages who shall with joy survey your History shall Envy us who lived in this, and saw those charming wonders which they can only reade of, and whom we ought in charity to pity, since all the Pictures, pens or pencills can draw, will give 'em but a faint Idea of what we have the honour to see in such absolute Perfection; they can only guess She was infinitely fair, witty, and deserving, but to what Vast degrees in all, they can only Judge who liv'd to Gaze and Listen; for besides Madam, all the Charms and attractions and powers of your Sex, you have Beauties peculiar to your self, an eternal sweetness, youth and ayr, which never dwelt in any face but yours, of which not one unimitable Grace could be ever borrow'd, or assumed, though with never so much industry, to adorn another, they cannot steal a look or smile from you to inhance their own beauties price, but all the world will know it yours; so natural and so fitted are all your Charms and Excellencies to one another, so intirely design'd and created to make up in you alone the most perfect lovely thing in the world; you never appear but you glad the hearts of all that have the happy fortune to see you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole world into good Humour, whenever you look abroad, and when you speak, men crowd to listen with that awfull reverence as to Holy Oracles or Divine Prophesies, and bears away the precious words to tell at home to all the attentive family the Graceful things you utter'd and cry, _but oh she spoke with such an Ayr, so gay, that half the beauty's lost in the repetition_. 'Tis this that ought to make your Sex vain enough to despise the malicious world that will allow a woman no wit, and bless our selves for living in an Age that can produce so wondrous an argument as your undeniable self, to shame those boasting talkers who are Judges of nothing but faults.
But how much in vain Madam, I endeavour to tell you the sence of all mankinde with mine, since to the utmost Limits of the Universe your mighty Conquests are made known: And who can doubt the Power of that Illustrious Beauty, the Charms of that tongue, and the greatness of that minde, who has subdu'd the most powerfull and Glorious Monarch of the world: And so well you bear the honours you were born for, with a greatness so unaffected, an affability so easie, an Humour so soft, so far from Pride or Vanity, that the most Envious & most disaffected can finde no cause or reason to wish you less, Nor can Heaven give you more, who has exprest a particular care of you every way, and above all in bestowing on the world and you, two noble Branches, who have all the greatness and sweetness of their Royal and beautiful stock; and who give us too a hopeful Prospect of what their future Braveries will perform, when they shall shoot up and spread themselves to that degree, that all the lesser world may finde repose beneath their shades; and whom you have permitted to wear those glorious Titles which you your self Generously neglected, well knowing with the noble Poet; 'tis better far to merit Titles then to wear 'em.
Can you then blame my Ambition, Madam, that lays this at your feet, and begs a Sanctuary where all pay so great a Veneration? 'twas Dedicated yours before it had a being, and overbusy to render it worthy of the Honour, made it less grateful; and Poetry like Lovers often fares the worse by taking too much pains to please; but under so Gracious an Influence my tender Lawrells may thrive, till they become fit Wreaths to offer to the Rays that improve their Growth: which Madam, I humbly implore, you still permit her ever to do, who is,
Madam, Your most Humble, and most Obedient Servant, _A. Behn_.
THE FEIGN'D CURTEZANS; or, A Night's Intrigue.
PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mrs. _Currer_.
_The Devil take this cursed plotting Age, 'T has ruin'd all our Plots upon the Stage; Suspicions, New Elections, Jealousies, Fresh Informations, New Discoveries, Do so employ the busy fearful Town, Our honest Calling here is useless grown: Each Fool turns Politician now, and wears A formal Face, and talks of State-affairs; Makes Acts, Decrees, and a new Model draws For Regulation both of Church and Laws; Tires out his empty Noddle to invent What Rule and Method's best in Government: But Wit, as if 'twere Jesuitical, Is an Abomination to ye all.
To what a wretched pass will poor Plays come?
This must be damn'd, the Plot is laid in_ Rome; _'Tis hard--yet-- Not one amongst ye all I'll undertake, E'er thought that we should suffer for Religion's sake: Who wou'd have thought that wou'd have been th' occasion Of any contest in our hopeful Nation?
For my own Principles, faith let me tell ye, I'm still of the Religion of my Cully; And till these dangerous times they'd none to fix on, But now are something in mere Contradiction, And piously pretend these are not days, For keeping Mistresses, and seeing Plays: Who says this Age a Reformation wants, When_ Betty Currer's _Lovers all turns Saints?
In vain, alas, I flatter, swear, and vow, You'll scarce do any thing for Charity now: Yet I am handsom still, still young and mad, Can wheedle, lye, dissemble, jilt--egad, As well and artfully as e'er I did; Yet not one Conquest can I gain or hope, No Prentice, not a Foreman of a Shop, So that I want extremely new Supplies; Of my last Coxcomb, faith, these were the Prize; And by the tatter'd Ensigns you may know, These Spoils were of a Victory long ago: Who wou'd have thought such hellish Times to have seen, When I shou'd be neglected at Eighteen?
That Youth and Beauty shou'd be quite undone, A Pox upon the Whore of_ Babylon.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
_ITALIANS_.
_Morosini_, an old Count, Uncle to _Julio_. Mr. _Norris_.
_Julio_, his Nephew, a young Count, contracted to _Laura Lucretia_. Mr. _Crosby_.
_Octavio_ a young Count, contracted to _Marcella_, deformed, revengeful. Mr. _Gillo_.
_Crapine_, _Morosini's_ Man.
_Petro_, supposed Pimp to the two Curtezans. Mr. _Leigh_.
_Silvio_, Page to _Laura Lucretia_.
_Antonio_, an Attendant to _Laura Lucretia_.
Page to _Julio_.
_ENGLISH_.
Sir _Harry Fillamour_, in love with _Marcella. Mr. _Smith_.
Mr. _Galliard_, in love with _Cornelia_. Mr. _Betterton_.
Sir _Signal Buffoon_, a Fool. Mr. _Nokes_.
Mr. _Tickletext_, his Governour. Mr. _Underbill_.
_Jack_, Sir _Signal's_ Man.
Page to _Fillamour_.
WOMEN.
Laura Lucretia_, a young Lady of Quality, contracted to _Julio_, in love with _Galliard_, and Sister to _Octavio_. Mrs. _Lee_.
_Marcella_, Mrs. _Currer_.
and _Cornelia_, Mrs. _Barry_.
Sisters to _Julio_, and Nieces to _Morosini_, and pass for Curtezans by the names of _Euphemia_ and _Silvianetta_.
_Philippa_, their Woman. Mrs. _Norris_.
_Sabina_, Confident to _Laura Lucretia_. Mrs. _Seymour_.
Pages, Musick, Footmen, and Bravos.
SCENE, _Rome_.
ACT I.
SCENE I. _A Street_.
_Enter_ Laura Lucretia, _and_ Silvio _richly drest_; Antonio _attending, coming all in haste_.
_Sil_. Madam, you need not make such haste away, the Stranger that follow'd us from St. _Peter's_ Church pursues us no longer, and we have now lost sight of him: Lord, who wou'd have thought the approach of a handsome Cavalier should have possest _Donna Laura Lucretia_ with fear?
_Lau_. I do not fear, my _Silvio_, but I wou'd have this new Habitation which I have design'd for Love, known to none but him to whom I've destin'd my Heart:--ah, wou'd he knew the Conquest he has made, [_Aside_.]
Nor went I this Evening to Church with any other Devotion, but that which warms my heart for my young _English_ Cavalier, whom I hop'd to have seen there; and I must find some way to let him know my Passion, which is too high for Souls like mine to hide.
_Sil_. Madam, the Cavalier's in view again, and hot in the pursuit.
_Lau_. Let's haste away then; and, _Silvio_, do you lag behind, 'twill give him an opportunity of enquiring, whilst I get out of sight.--Be sure you conceal my Name and Quality, and tell him--any thing but truth--tell him I am _La Silvianetta_, the young Roman Curtezan, or what you please to hide me from his knowledge.
[_Exeunt_ Lau. _and_ Ant.
_Enter_ Julio _and Page in pursuit_.
_Jul_. Boy, fall you into discourse with that Page, and learn his Lady's Name--whilst I pursue her farther.
[_Ex_. Jul.
[_Page salutes_ Silvio, _who returns it; they go out as talking to each other_.
_Enter Sir_ Harry Fillamour _and_ Galliard.