The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Iii Part 41

_Page_. My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here's your Baggage brought from a-board the Gally by your Seamen, who us'd to entertain you with their rustick Sports.

_Guil_. Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolved whether you will or no, to give the Ladies some divertis.e.m.e.nt,--bid 'em come in; nay, Sir, you stir not. [Ex. Page.

'Tis for your delight, Sir, I do't; for, Sir, you must understand, a Man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, for the case, Sir, lies thus, 'tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an Enemy--truth is, every man loves a whole skin;--but 'twas the fault of the best Statesmen in Christendom to be loose in the hilts,--you conceive me.

_Fran_. Very well, my Lord, I'll swear he's a rare spoken man;--why, what a Son-in-law shall I have? I have a little business, my Lord, but I'll wait on you presently.

[Going out.

_Guil_. Sir, there is nothing like your true jest; a thing once well done, is twice done, and I am the happiest Man in the World in your Alliance; for, Sir, a n.o.bleman if he have any tolerable parts,--is a thing much above the Vulgar;--oh,--here comes the Dancers.

_Enter Dancers_.

Come, sit down by me.

_Fran_. 'Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.

_Guil_. Nay, you shall sit.

[They dance.

_Enter_ Antonio.

_Ant_. Good day, Sir, I hope you will not chide my tardiness, I have a little overslept my self, and am ashamed to see my lovely Bride, and all this worthy Company attend.

--But you, fair Creature-- [_To_ Isabella.

_Isa_. No marrying to day, Sir.

_Fran_. No, Sir, no marrying to day.

_Ant_. How, do I dream, or hear this from _Francisco_?

_Guil_. How now, Fellow, what art thou?

_Ant_. The Husband of that proud disdainful Woman.

_Guil_. Another word like that--and thou art--

_Ant_. What, Sir?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! _Antonio_, I must tell you, you're uncivil.

_Guil_. Dost know, dull Mortal, that I am a Lord, And _Isabella_ my adopted Lady.

_Ant_. I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve in silence.

_Guil_. Alas, poor Mortal!

_Ant_. But, for you, _Francisco_.

_Fran_. Ah, dear _Antonio_, I vow and swear I cannot chuse but weep to lose thee; but my Daughter was born for a Lady, and none can help their destiny.

_Ant_. And is it possible thou canst use me thus? [_To_ Isa.

_Isa_. Take away that little Fellow; in pity of your life, I deign to bid you withdraw and be safe.

_Guil_. D'ye hear, hah?--this Lady has beg'd your life.

_Ant_. Beg'd my Life!

_Guil_. Vile Wretch, dar'st thou retort?

[Draws, the Women hold him.

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my n.o.ble Son-in-law, he shall do any thing;-- dear _Antonio_, consider, I was never Father to a Lord all days of my Life before:--my Lord, be pacified, my Daughter shall be a Lady.

_Isa_. For my sake spare him, and be Friends with him, as far as you may deign to be with a little Citizen.

_Guil_. Fellow, I forgive thee,--here's my hand to kiss in sign and token I am appeased.

[_Gives him his hand to kiss, 'tis all black_.

_Ant_. A Pox of his honourable hand, 't had like to have spoiled all, --well, since it must be so, I am content.

_Guil_. So, now Peace is concluded on, on all sides, what shall we do to day besides eating and drinking in abundance; for to morrow I shall get my self in order for my Marriage.

_Cla_. What thinks your Honour of taking the Air upon the Sea, in a Galley, a League or two?

_Guil_. With Fiddles, Drums and Trumpets, Westphalia hams and Pidgeons, and the like: Hey, Rogues, Scoundrels, Dogs.

_Isa_. Ah, how fine is every Action of a great Man!

_Guil_. Command a Galley to attend us presently.

--You shall along, old Boy. [To Fran.

_Fran_. Alas, I must stay at home with my Wife, my Lord.

_Guil_. A Wife! have I a Mother-in-law too?--she must along with us, and take a frisk,--no denial.

_Enter_ Carlos.

--Oh, are you come? [Aside.

_Car_. Yes, and thank thee for the best moment of my Life--Hast thou contrived the Voyage then?

_Guil_. Take no care--come, haste on board--our Honour will not lose the Fresco of the Morning,--Follow me, Pages.

_Page_. At your heels, my Lord--

[_Exeunt_.