The Works of Aphra Behn - LightNovelsOnl.com
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_Fran_. As the Devil take me if I desire.
1st _Turk_. And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your Brother Cuckolds.
_Fran_. Hum, and has the Devil serv'd me thus?--but no matter, I must be gadding, like an old c.o.xcomb, to _Cadiz_,--and then, jaunting to Sea, with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold, to bring my Wife into a strange Land, amongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their Commodities out at Sea; why, what a d.a.m.n'd ransom will the Rogues exact from me, and more for my Wife, because she's handsome; and then, 'tis ten to one, I have her turned upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh, d.a.m.n'd Infidels! no, 'tis resolv'd, I'll live a Slave here, rather than enrich them.
1st _Turk_. Friend, you'll know your Destiny presently; for 'tis the custom of the Great _Turk_ to view the Captives, and consider of their Ransoms and Liberties, according to his pleasure. See, he is coming forth with the _Vizier Ba.s.sa_.
_Enter_ Carlos _and_ Guzman _as_ Turks _with Followers_.
Most mighty Emperor, behold your Captive.
_Fran_. Is this the Great _Turk_?
1st _Turk_. Peace.
_Fran_. Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great _Turk_ had been twice as big; but I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll warrant him.
_Guz_. Of what Nation art thou, Slave? speak to the Emperor, he understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse with Christian Dogs.
_Fran_. Oh fearful!--_Spain_, so please you, Sir.
_Guz_. By _Mahomet_, he'll make a reverend Eunuch.
_Fran_. An Eunuch! oh, Lord!
_Turk_. Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour.
_Fran_. Oh! Mercy, Sir, that honour you may spare, Age has done my business already.
_Guz_. Fellow, what art?
_Fran_. An't please your Wors.h.i.+p, I cannot tell.
_Guz_. How, not tell?
_Fran_. An't please your Lords.h.i.+p, my Fears have so transform'd me, I cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothing.
_Guz_. Thy name, dull Mortal, know'st thou not that?
_Fran_. An't please your Grace, now I remember me, methinks I do.
_Guz_. Dog, how art thou call'd?
_Fran_. An't like your Excellence, Men call'd me Signior Don _Francisco_, but now they will call me c.o.xcomb.
_Guz_. Of what Trade?
_Fran_. An't please your Highness, a Gentleman.
_Guz_. How much dost thou get a day by that Trade? Hah!
_Fran_. An't like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all their lives; that is, when Fathers die, they get good Estates; and when they marry, they get rich Wives: but I know what your Mightiness wou'd get by going into my Country and asking the Question.
_Guz_. What, Fool?
_Fran_. A good Cudgelling, an't please your Ill.u.s.triousness.
_Guz_. Slave! To my Face!--Take him away, and let him have the Strapado.
_Car_. _Baridama, Dermack_.
_Fran_. Heavens, what says he?
_I Turk_. He means to have you castrated.
_Fran_. Castrated! Oh, that's some dreadful thing, I'll warrant,-- Gracious Great Turk, for Mahomet's sake, excuse me; alas, I've lost my wits.
_Car_. _Galero Gardines_?
_Guz_. The Emperor asks if thou art married, Fellow.
_Fran_. Hah--Married--I was, an't like your Monsterousness, but, I doubt, your People have spoiled my Property.
_Guz_. His Wife, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in the Garden, attend your Royal pleasure.
_Car_. Go, fetch her hither presently.
[_Ex_. Guz.
1st _Turk_. This is no common Honour, that the Great Turk deigns to speak your Language; 'tis to sign you'll rise.
_Fran_. Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns.
_Car_. Is she handsom?
_Fran_. Oh, what an Ague shakes my Heart,--handsom! alas, no, dread Sir; what shou'd such a deform'd Polecat as I do with a handsom Wife?
_Car_. Is she young?
_Fran_. Young, what shou'd such an old doting c.o.xcomb as I do with a young Wife? Pox on him for a Heathen Wh.o.r.emaster.
_Car_. Old is she then?
_Fran_. Ay, very old, an't please your Gloriousness.
_Car_. Is she not capable of Love?
_Fran_. Hum, so, so,--like Fire conceal'd in a Tinderbox,--I shall run mad.
