The Fatal Jealousie (1673) Part 4

_Anto._ That cannot be, to Morrow I approve.

_Ger._ Time will flye slow, though Impt with wings of Love.

_Enter _Caelia_ and _Eugenia_._

_Cael._ My Lord, I beg your pardon for a short interruption.

_Ger._ Madam, 'tis I have cause to beg your pardon, Thus to detain your Lord, on's Wedding-day, A Day in Justice should be wholly yours.

_Cael._ My Lord is happy so to be detain'd And I am alwayes happy when he's so.

But good, my Lord, your Ear--

_Whispers _Anto._ he takes a paper privately out of her pocket._

_Ger._ Madam, if you repent not what y'have said, In answer to those Vows of my Affection, I then dare hope I may in time be happy.

_Eugen._ Tho' I ne're thought your words were further means, Then to pa.s.s time away in Raillery; Yet were my Answers such, as if you had Told me a real Story of your Love: And the same Answers I'le again renew; My Will's confin'd; my Fathers last Commands Left me no Choice but anothers will; If I were free, I then durst speak my thoughts: But I, in all, my Brother must obey.

_Ger._ He checks your Actions only, thoughts are free, Suppose him willing, would you favour me?

_Eugen._ But to suppose without his Will's a Crime, If I that supposition should declare.

_Ger._ I do confess I should be loath to own That Blessing which I rate above my Life, If 'twere bestow'd by any hands but yours; Therefore by all your hopes I do conjure you, If you dislike my Love, Command my silence.

_Eugen._ Interpret well my blushes, when I say I cannot find a thought for such Commands.

_Ger._ Then I am happy 'bove the reach of Envy; For I have his consent already granted, He nam'd the day of Marriage as you enter'd.

_Eugen._ You see, my Lord, that I had cause for fear, Since I'm bestow'd, and my consent ne're askt.

Sure my dead Father ne're design'd it so?

_Ger._ Madam, I beg your pardon, for a truth Might well excuse your Brother in this matter; I urg'd to him I doubted not your favour, On which Condition he did grant me his.

_Eugen._ I shall hear further of it from himself, Till when, I beg your pardon.

[Offers to go out.

_Anto._ Sister, pray stay, for I have bus'ness with you.

I know, my Dear, you never Lov'd that Fellow, Which since you do not, though he serves me well, Yet I'm resolv'd for this to part with him, Tho' I could think a Pension for your Nurse, To keep her at a distance, were as well.

_Cael._ Though now her dotage makes her want discretion, Her Love to us was great.

_Anto._ Come, trouble not your self about it, he shall go.

_Cael._ My Lord, I'le trouble you no further.

_Ger._ I'le wait upon you, Madam.

[Ex. _Gerar._ and _Cael._

_Anto._ Sister, you know your Father was my Friend, And was so confident that I was his, He trusted all your Fortunes in my hands, Though he had Brothers Living when he Dy'd, He told you too, and left it in his Will, That what you had was mine, if you did Marry Without my Approbation: Is't not true?

_Eugen._ Sir, 'tis a truth I'm glad of.

_Anto._ These things your Kindred though, did call contrivance, Which made their hatred rise so much against me, It makes a few'd betwixt our Families, Which soon would come to Blood, but for Respect They bear my Wife, their Cozen.

_Eugen._ Brother, I cannot answer for their Actions, My own Respects to you were never wanting.

_Anto._ I do not deny it, Sister; and to prove I never did, nor will deserve worse from you, If you are willing now to change your State, And know a man preferr'd in your Election, Let him have Blood and worth, you and your Fortune I freely will resign into his hands.

Then truly speak your thoughts.

_Eugen._ Surely, my Lord, You'd scarcely think I should be worth your care, If I should choose before you nam'd one to me.

_Anto._ Sister, I see your Kindreds Jealousies Partly infects you too; but to remove them, What think you of _Gerardo_, for a Husband?

My wishes meet with yours, if he's their Object; You know I'm no Dissembler.

_Eugen._ Nor shall you find me so; for I confess In this you prove your Kindness, Care, and Justice; And I must meet it with my greatest thanks.

_Anto._ I'm joyful for it; to morrow is the day, A private Wedding will prevent all Rumour, You'd best withdraw then to provide your self.

[Ex. _Eugen_.

What Paper's this I got out of her Pocket?

Pray Heaven it be the right; it is the same, The very same ---- what makes me tremble!

Is't horror or desire, or both a.s.sault me?

Be it what it will, 'tis h.e.l.l to live in doubt; But stay, my Conscience sayes 'tis Sacriledge-- What's that? A word by cunning Priests invented To keep the Cheats they live by from our knowledge; As the _aegyptian_ did with _Hieroglyfficks_; But be it what it will, a Name, or thing, I'le read it, for't may Cure my Jealousie, And surely that exceeds h.e.l.ls misery.

But to my Closet, where no Eye can see, All are call'd Pious, who live scandal free.

[Exit.

_Enter _Eugenia_ and Nurse._

_Eugen._ Since he has promis'd but to take his leave, And neither then, nor never urge more Sin, I am content to give him this last meeting.

_Nurse._ He'l be a glad man, I'm sure--but what shall poor _Jasper_ do?

_Eugen._ If he will marry you, I'le keep you both.

_Nurse._ Thank you, Madam, I'le tell him your good will.

[Exit.

_Eugen._ What by this cursed Sin am I reduc'd to?

To be a Slave to Slaves; nay, worse, a Bawd, A Name so base, profest ones do detest it, And yet I'm one, this cursed h.e.l.lish Hagg has made me so.

The first did sell, and then betray'd my Honour, Yet thinks she has oblig'd me by the Action.

Nay, I am forc't to say so now to please her; Some heavenly Angel make me Chaste again, Or make me nothing, I am resolv'd to try, Before I'de still live Wh.o.r.e, I'de choose to dye.

_Enter _Jasper_._

_Jasp._ I'm come to thank your Lady-s.h.i.+p for the great care, Nurse sayes, you have of me; but faith, Madam, I Was ne're made to be Steel to a Tinder-Box; she's Meer Touch-wood; no, I'm not for Marrying great Grannums: But if your Lady-s.h.i.+p knows any Young Dame, that wants a strong back to do her drudgery, Though it be in her Lord's absence, I'm content.

_Eugen._ What, is the Fellow mad?