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Z I rZ  Zr  /v:  Zyy/r/y  /u  ///  //yy  y/yZ/yyy  /// 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


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https://archive.org/details/doublefalshoodorOOshak 


A 


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1 


Double  Faliliood  j 

O Rj 

7&?Distrest  Lovers. 


A 

t Price  i s,  and  6 d >} 


GEORGE  R. 


E O RG  E the  Second,  by  the  Grace  of  God,  King  of 
Great-Britain,  Trance  and  Ireland ; Defender  of  "the 
if  Faith,  zrc.  To  all  to  whom  thefe  Prefents  fhall  come. 

Greeting.  Whereas  our  Trufty,  and  Well -beloved 
Lewis  Theobald , of  our  City  of  London,  Gent,  hath,  by 
his  Petition,  humbly  reprefented  to  Us,  That  He  ha- 
ving, at  a confiderable  Expence,  Purchafed  the  Manufcript  Copy  of 
an  Original  Play  of  William  Shakespeare,  called.  Double 
Faljhocd  jOr,  the  Diflreft  Lovers  ; and,  with  great  Labour  and  Pains, 
Revifed,  and  Adapted  the  fame  to  the  Stage  $ has  humbly  befought 
Us,  to  grant  him  Our  Royal  Privilege,  and  Licence,  for  the  foie 
Printing  and  Publifhing  thereof,  for  the  Term  of  Fourteen  Years: 
We,  being  willing  to  give  all  due  Encouragement  to  this  his  Un- 
dertaking, are  gracioufly  pleafed  to  condefcend  to  his  Requeft : and 
do  therefore,  Gy  thefe  Prefents,  fo  far  as  may  be  agreeable  to  the 
Statute  in  that  Behalf  made  and  provided,  for  Us,  Our  Heirs,  and 
Succeffors,  grant  unto  Him,  the  faid  Lewis  Theobald,  his  Executors, 
Adminiftrators,  and  Affigns,  Our  Royal  Licence,  for  the  foie  Print- 
ing and  Publifhing  the  faid  Play,  in  fuch  Size  and  Manner,  as  He 
and  They  fhall  think  fit,  for  the  Term  of  Fourteen  Years,  to  be 
computed  from  the  Date  hereof-,  ftri&ly  forbidding  all  our  Subjects 
within  our  Kingdoms  and  Dominions,  to  Reprint  the  fame,  either 
in  the  like,  or  in  any  other  Size,  or  Manner  whatfoever;  or  to  Im- 
port, Buy,  Vend,  Utter  or  Diflribute  any  Copies  thereof.  Reprint- 
ed beyond  the  Seas,  during  the  aforefaid  Term  of  Fourteen  Years, 
without  the  Confent,  or  Approbation  of  the  faid  Lewis  Theobald , 
Jiis  Heirs,  Executors,  and  Affigns,  under  his,  or  their  Hands  and 
Seals  firft  had,  and  obtained;  as  they  will  anfwer  the  contrary  at 

their  Peril  s Whereof  the  Commifiioners,  and  other  Officers  of 

Our  Cuftoms,  the  Mafter,  Warden,  and  Company  of  Stationers, 
are  to  take.  Notice,  that  the  fame  may  be  entred  in.  the  Regifter  of 
the  faid  Company,  and  that  due  Obedience  be  rend  red  thereunto. 
Given  at  Our  Court  at  St.  james's,  the  Fifth  Day  of  December , 1727-, 
in  the  Firfi  Year  of  Our  Reign, 

By  His  Majefiy's  Command, 

Holles  Newcastle. 


Double  Falfhood; 

O R, 

T^Distre  st  Lovers. 

A 

PLAY* 

As  it  is  Afted  at  the 

THE  ATRE-R  O Y A L 

I N 

D RU  RT-LA  N E. 


W ritten  Originally  by  W.  S HAK ESP EA RE ; 

And  now  Revifed  and  Adapted  to  the  Stage 
By  Mr.  Theobald,  the  Author  of  Sbakefpeare  Reftor'd, 

■■■I  Quod  optanti  Divum  promitt  ere  nemo 

Audtret , 'volvenda  Dies , en ! attuiit  ultro.  Virg, 

— u.... 

LONDON: 

Printed  by  J.  Watts,  at  the  Printing-Office  in 

Wild-Court  near  Lincolns-lnn  Fields. 


M DCG  XXVIII. 


r ' v- 

••:  . -••  '•;  V*’..  ' ■■■  ’ •;•;•■  ' 

. r r 


''"'V 


* 

'*  ■r.’ijV' . •>  ■ 'j  > ' (V 

. - - , - • - -,-V  • • ■ S-- ’ t ■ ' 

O 

/.^7J 


- 'GG  j. 


. I 


I 

■ci- 


'S 


c 


To  the  Right  Honourable 

Georoe  'Dodmgton , Efq; 


SIR, 

j^JigBSOTHINGcan  more 
ftrongly  fecond  the 
Pleafure  I feci,  from 
the  UniverfalApplaufe 
which  crowns  this  Or- 
phan Play,  than  this  Other  which  I 
take  in  prefuming  to  flicker  it  under 
Your  Name.  I bear  fo  dear  an  Af- 
fection to  the  Writings  and  Memory 
of  Shakes  pe  a PvE,  that,  as  it  is 
my  good  Fortune  to  retrieve  this 
Remnant  of  his  Pen  from  Obfcuri- 
ty,  fo  it  is  my  greatefl:  Ambition  that 

A 3 this 


DEDICATION. 
this  Piece  fhould  be  received  into 
the  Protection  of  fuch  a Patron  : 
And,  I hope,  Future  Times,  when 
they  mean  to  pay  Shake fpeare  the  beft 
Compliment,  will  remember  to  fay, 
Mr.  Dodington  was  that  Friend 
to  his  Remains , which  his  own 
Southampton  was  to  hi slivim 
Merit. 

It  is  from  the  fine  Dificernment 
of  our  Patrons , that  we  can  ge- 
nerally belt  promile  Ourfelves  the 
good  Opinion  of  the  Publick. 
You  are  not  only  a diltinguifh’d 
Friend  of  the  Mufies,  but  molt  in- 
timately allied  to  them:  And  from 
hence  it  is  I flatter  Myfelf,  that 
if  You  fhall  think  lit  to  pro- 
nounce this  Piece  genuine,  it  will 
lilence  the  Cenfures  of  thofe  Unbe- 
lievers, who  think  it  impoflible  a 

Ma- 


DEDICATION. 

Manilfcript  of  Shakefpeare  could  f© 

long  have  lain  dormant;  and  who 
are  blindly  paying  Me  a greater 
Compliment  than  either  They  de- 
lign,  or  I can  merit,  while  they  can- 
not but  confefs  Themfelves  p leafed , 
yet  would  fain  inlinuate  that  they 
are  impofed  upon,  i fhould  efteem  it 
fome  Sort  of  Virtue , were  1 able  to 
commit  lb  agreeable  a Cheat. 

But  pardon  Me,  Sir,  for  a Di- 
grefiion  that  perverts  the  very  Rule 
of  Dedications.  I own,  I have  my 
Reafons  for  it.  As,  S i r,  your 
known  Integrity,  and  Honour  en- 
gages the  warmeft  Willies  of  all  good 
Men  for  your  Profperity,  fo  your 
known  Diftindtion  in  polite  Letters, 
and  your  generous  Encouragement 
of  Thofe  who  pretend  to  them,  o- 
bliges  us  to  conlider  your  Advance- 
A 4 merit 


D ED  I CA  T 10  N. 

ment,  as  our  own  perfonal  Intereft, 
and  as  a good  Omen,  at  lead,  if  not 
as  the  fureft  Means  of  the  future 
flouridling  Condition  of  thole  Hu- 
mane Arts  amongft  us,  which  We 
prof  e/s,  and  which  You  adorn.  But 
neither  Your  Modedy , nor  my 
Inability  will  fuffer  me  to  enter  upon 
that  Subject.  Permit  me  therefore, 
SIR,  to  convert  Panegyrick  i,nto  a 
mod:  ardent  Wifil,  that  You  would 
look  with  a Tender  Eye  on  this  dear 
Relick,  and  that  you  would  believe 
me,  with  the  mod  unfeigned  Zeal 
and  Refpecd, 

SIR, 

Tour  moji  Devoted 

and  Obedient  Humble  Servant,, 

Great-  Ruffell-Jireet , 

2i ft  December, 
iyiy. 

Lew.  Theobald. 


PREFACE 

O F T H E 


EDITOR. 


HE  Succefs,  which  this  Play  has  met  with  from 
the  Town  in  the  Reprefentation,  (to  fay  nothing 
of  the  Reception  it  found  from  thofe  Great  Judges, 
to  whom  l have  had  the  Honour  of  communica- 
ting it  in  Manufcript;)  has  almoft  made  the  Pur- 
pofe  of  a Preface  unneceflary  : And  therefore  what 
I have  to  fay,  is  defign’d  rather  to  wipe  out  a flying  Obje&ion 
ro  two,  than  to  labour  at  proving  it  the  Produ&ion  of  Shake- 
fpeare.  It  has  been  alledg’d  as  incredible,  that  fuch  a Curiofity 
ftiould  be  ftifled  and  loft  to  the  World  for  above  a Century. 
To  This  my  Anfwer  is  ftiort;  that  tho’  it  never  till  now  made 
its  Appearance  on  the  Stage,  yet  one  of  the  Manufcript  Copies, 
which  I have,  is  of  above  Sixty  Years  Standing,  in  the  Hand- 
writing of  Mr.  Downes , the  famous  Old  Prompter;  and,  as  [ 
am  credibly  inform’d,  was  early  in  the  Pofleflion  of  the  cele- 
brated Mr.  Betterton , and  by  Him  defign’d  to  have  been  ufher’d 
into  the  World.  What  Accident  prevented  This  Purpofe  of 
his,  I do  not  pretend  to  know:  Or  thro’  what  hands  it  had*fuc- 
ceflively  pafs’d  before  that  Period  of  Time.  There  is  a Tra- 
dition (which  I have  from  the  Noble  Perfon,-  who  fupply’d  me 
with  One  of  my  Copies)  that  it  was  given  by  our  Autnor,  as  a 
Prefent  of  V alue,  to  a Natural  Daughter  of  his,  for  whofe  Sake 
he  wrote  it,  in  the  Time  of  his  Retirement  from  the  Stage. 
Two  other  Copies  I have,  (one  of  which  I was  gladToT  pur- 

chafe 


PREFACE. 

chafe  at  a very  good  Rate,)  which  may  not,  perhaps,  be  quite  fo 
Old  as  the  Former;  but  One  of  Them  is  much  more  perfe&, 
and  has  fewer  Flaws  and  Interruptions  in  the  Senfe. 

Another  Obje&ion  has  beenftarted,  (which  would  carry  much  1 
more  Weight  with  it,  were  it  Fad;)  that  the  Tale  of  this  Play, 
being  built  upon  a Novel  in  Don  Quixot , Chronology  is  againfr 
Us,  and  Shakefpeare  could  not  be  the  Author.  But  it  happens, 
that  Don  Quixot  was  publifh’d  in  the  Year  1611,  and  Shake - 
fpeare  did  not  dye  till  April  1616,  a fufficient  Interval  of  Time 
for  All  that  We  want  granted. 

Others  again,  to  depreciate  the  Affair,  as  they  thought,  have  1 
been  pleafed  to  urge,  that  tho’  the  Play  may  have  fome  Refem* 
blances  of  Shakefpeare , yet  the  Colouring , Dittion , and  Char  a - 
tiers,  come  nearer  to  the  Style  and  Manner  of  Fletcher. 
This,  I think,  is  far  from  deferving  any  Anfwer;  I fubmit  it 
to  the  Determination  of  better  Judgments;  tho’  my  Partiality 
for  Shakefpeare  makes  me  wifh,  that  Every  Thing  which  is 
good,  or  pleating,  in  our  Tongue,  had  been  owing  to  his  Pen. 

As  to  the  Performance  of  the  refpedive  Atiors  concern’d  in 
this  Play,  my  applauding  It  here  would  be  altogether  fuper- 
fluous.  The  Publick  has  diflinguifh’d  and  given  them  a Praife, 
much  beyond  Any  that  can  flow  from  my  Pen.  But  I have 
fome  particular  Acknowledgments  to  make  to  the  Managers  of 
this  Company,  for  which  I am -glad  to  embrace  fo  fair  an  Op- 
portunity. . 

I came  to  Them  at  this  Jundure  as  an  Editor , not  an  Au- 
thor, and  have  met  with  To  much  Candour,  and  handfome 
Treatment  from  Them,  that  I am  willing  to  believe,  the 
Complaint,  which  has  fo  commonly  obtain’d,  of  their  Difre- 
gard  and  ill  Behaviour  to  Writers,  has  been  more  feverely  urg’d, 
than  it  is  juftly  grounded.  They  muft  certainly  be  too  good 
Judges  of  their  own  Intereft,  not  to  know  that  a Theatre 
cannot  always  fubtift  on  old  Stock,  but  that  the  Town 
requires  Novelty  at  their  Hands.  On  the  other  Hand,  they 
mu  ft  be  fo  far  Judges  of  their  own  Art  and  Profeffion,  as 
to  know  that  all  the  Competitions,  which  are  offer’d  them, 
would  never  go  down  with  Audiences  of  fo  nice  and  delin- 
eate a Tafte,  as  in  this  Age  frequent  the  Theatres.  It  would 
be  very  hard  upon  fuch  a Community,  where  fo  many 
Interefts  are  concern’d , and  fo  much  Merit  in  their  Buti- 
nefs  allow’d,  if  they  had  not  a Priviledge  of  refuting  fome 
crude  Pieces,  too  imperfect  for  the  Entertainment  of  the  Pub- 
lick  I would  not  be  thought  to  inferr,  that  they  have  ne- 
ver difeourag’d  what  They  might,  perhaps,  afterwards  wifh  they 
had  receiv’d.  They  do  not,  I believe,  fet  up  for  fuch  a Con- 

ftant 


‘PREFACE. 

flant  Infallibility.  But  if  We  do  but  fairly  confider  out  of  a- 
bovcpour  Thoufand  Plays  extant,  how  fmall  a Number  will 
now  (land  the  Tell:  if  We  do  but  confider  too,  how  often  a 
raw  Performance  has  been  extol  I’d  by  the  Partiality  of  private 
Friendlhip  ; and  what  a Clamour  of  Injury  has  been  rais’d 
from  that  Quarter,  upon  fuch  Performance  meeting  a Repulfc; 
we  may  pretty  ealily  account  for  the  Grounds  upon  which  they 
proceeded  in  difcountenancing  fome  Plays,  and  the  harfh  Things 
that  are  thrown  out  upon  -heir  giving  a Repulfe  to  others. 

But  I fliould  beg  Pardon  for  interfering  in  this  Queftion,  in 
which  I am  properly  neither  Party,  nor  Judge.  1 am  only 
throwing  out  a private  Opinion,  without  Interelt  or  Prejudice, 
and  if  I am  right  in  the  Notion,  Valtat  quantum  valcre poteft. 


P R O- 


PROLOGUE. 

Written  by  T HI  LIT  FROJV'DE,  Efq; 


And  Spoken  by  Mr.  Wilks.  | 

A S in  fome  Region , where  indulgent  Skies 

A Enrich  the  SoiJ^  a riband  plMs  ^ 

Frequent  and  hold  * a tloou [and  Lands  kips  meet 
Our  ravijht  Flew,  irregularly  fweet : 

We  gaze , divided,  now  on  Thefe,  now  Thofe-, 

While  All  one  beauteous  Wildernefs  compoje. 

Such  Shakespeare’.!  Genius  was : Let  Bri-r  ‘ 

tons  boaft  * 

rhe  glorious  Birth,  and,  eager,  ftrive  -who  moft 
Shall  ce'tebh ate  his  Ferfe , Lor  while  we  raije 
Trophies  of  Fame  to  him , our  [elves  we  praife ; 

Difplay  the  Talents  of  a Britiih  Mind, 

Where  All  is  great , free,  open,  unconfin'd. 

Be  it  our  Pride,  to  reach  his  daring  Flighty 
And  relijh  Beauties,  he  alone  could  write. 

Moft  modern  Authors , fearful  to  afpire , 

With  Imitation  cramp  their  genial  Fire  j 
The  well-fchemed  Plan  keep  ftritt  before  their  Eyes,  } 

Dwell  on  Proportions,  trifling  Decencies  •>  ’ C 

While  noble  Nature  all  neglected  lies . J 

Nature,  that  claims  Precedency  of  Place 
Perfection's  Bafts,  and  eftential  Grace  ! 


Nature 


PROLOGUE. 

at  ure  fo  intimately  Shakespeare  knew. 

From  her  firft  Springs  his  Sentiments  he  drew ; 

Moft  greatly  wild  they  flow,  and,  when  mofl  wild,  yet 
true . 

While  Thefe,  fecure  in  what  the  Criticks  teach , 

Of  fervile  Laws  ftill  dread  the  dangerous  Breach  ; 

Fits  vafl,  unbounded.  Soul  d if  darn'd  their  Rule, 

Move  the  Precepts  of  the  Pedant  School ! 

Oh!  could  the  Bard,  revifiting  our  Light , 

Receive  thefe  Honours  done  his  Shade  To-night, 

How  would  he  blefs  the  Scene  this  Age  difplays, 
Tranfcending  his  ElizaV  golden  Days  ! 

When  great  Augustus  fills  the  Britifh  Throne, 
And  his  lov'd  Confort  makes  the  Mufe  her  own . 

How  would  he  joy,  to  fee  fair  Merit's  Claim 
Thus  anfwer'd  in  his  own  reviving  Fame  ! 

How  cry  with  Pride Oblivion  I forgive; 

« This  my  laft  Child  to  lateft  Times  ihall  live: 

« Loft  to  the  World,  well  for  the  Birth  it  ftay’d; 
“ To  this  aufpicious  Mr  a well  delay’d. 


EPI- 


EPILOGUE. 

' < 

Written  by  a Friend,  , 1 

i 

Spoken  by  Mrs.  OLDFIELD . 

\T  7 ELL y Heaven  defend  us  from  thefe  ancient  Plays, 

* * Thefe  Moral  Bards  of  good  Queen  BefsV  Days  / 

They  write  from  Virtue's  Laws,  and  think  no  further  $ 

But  draw  a Rape  as  dreadful  as  a Murther. 

Tou  modern  Wits , more  deeply  vers'd  in  Nature, 

Can  tip  the  wink,  to  tell  us,  you  know  better  % 

As  who  Jhou'd  fay~“  ' Tis  no  fuch  killing  Matter . 
u We've  heard  old  Stories  told,  and  yet  ne'er  wonder'd , 

Of  many  a Prude,  that  has  endur'd  a Hundred: 

6‘  And  Violante  grieves,  or  we're  miftakeny 
u Not,  becaufe  ravijht  \ but  becaufe  —forfakeh. — 

Had  this  been  written  to  the  modern  Stage, 

Her  Manners  had  been  copy'd  from  the  Age . 

Then,  tho'  Jhe  had  been  once  a little  wrong, 

She  fill  had  had  the  Grace  to've  held  her  Tongue •, 

And  after  all,  with  downcaft  Looks,  been  led 
Like  any  Virgin  to  the  Bridal  Bed. 

There , if  the  good  Man  quejlion'd  her.  Mi f doing. 

She'd  flop  him  foort — “ Pray , who  made  you  fo  knowing  f 
u What,  doubt  my  Virtue! — • What's  your  bafe  Intention? 
6(  Sir,  that's  a Point  above  your  Comprehenfion . — - — 

Well, 


EPILOGUE. 

Well)  Heav'n  be  prais'd,  the  Virtue  of  our  "Times 
Secures  us  from  our  Gothick  Grandfires  Crimes . 

Rapes,  Magick , new  Opinions,  which  before 
Have  fill'd  our  Chronicles,  are  now  no  more : 

And  this  reforming  Age  may  juftly  boafl. 

That  dreadful  Sin  Polygamy  is  loft . 

So  far  from  multiplying  Wives,  ' tis  known 
Our  Husbands  find,  they've  Work  enough  with  one.—* 
Then,  as  for  Rapes,  thofe  dangerous  days  are  paft  j 
Our  Dapper  Sparks  are  feldom  in  fuch  hafte. 

In  Shakespeare 's  Age  the  Englilh  Youth  infpir'd, 
Lov'd,  as  they  fought , by  him  and  Beauty  fir'd . 

'Tis  yours  to  crown  the  Bard,  whofe  Magick  Strain 
Cou'd  charm  the  Heroes  of  that  glorious  Reign , 

Which  humbled  to  the  Duft  the  Pride  of  Spain. 


Dra- 


Dramatis  Perfonae. 


M E N; 


Duke  Angelo, 

Mr.  Corey, 

Roderick , his  Elder  Son. 

Mr.  Mills. 

Henriquez , his  Younger  Son. 

Mr.  Wilks. 

Don  Bernard , Father  to  Leonora . 

Mr.  Harper . 

Camilloy  Father  to  Julio. 

Mr.  Griffin. 

Julioy  in  Love  with  Leonora, 

Mr.  Booth. 

Citizen. 

Mr.  Oates. 

Mafter  of  the  Flocks. 

Mr.  Bridgwater 

Firft  Shepherd. 

Mr.  Norris . 

Second  Shepherd. 

Mr.  Ray. 

WOMEN. 


Leonora.  Mrs.  Porter . 

Violante.  Mrs.  Booth. 


SCENE,  the  “Province  of  Andalufia  in  Spain. 


DOUBLE 


DOUBLE  FALSHOOD; 

O R, 

The  Distrest  Lovers. 


A C T I.  SCENE!. 

SCENE,  A Royal  'Palace. 
cDuke  Angelo,  Roderick,  and  Courtiers. 

Roderick. 

Y gracious  Father,  this  unwonted 
Strain 

Vifits  my  Heart  with  Sadnefs. 

Duke.  — — — Why,  my  Son? 
Making  my  Death  familiar  to  my 
Tongue 

Digs  not  my  Grave  one  Jot  before 
the  Date. 

I’ve  worn  the  Garland  of  my  Honours  long, 

And  would  not  leave  it  wither’d  to  thy  Brow, 

But  flourifhing  and  green  > worthy  the  Man, 

B Who, 


t Double  Falshood;  or, 

Who,  with  my  Dukedoms,  heirs  my  better  Glories. 
Roder.  This  Praife,  which  is  my  Pride,  fpreads  me 
with  Blufhes. 

Duke.  Think  not,  that  I can  flatter  thee,  my  Roderick  j 
Or  let  the  Scale  of  Love  o’er-poize  my  Judgment. 
Like  a fair  Glals  of  Retrofpedfcion,  Thou 
Refle&’d  the  Virtues  of  my  early  Youth  $ 

Making  my  old  Blood  mend  its  Pace  with  Tranfport : 
While  fond  Henriquez , thy  irregular  Brother, 

Sets  the  large  Credit  of  his  Name  at  Stake, 

A Truant  to  my  Wifhes,  and  his  Birth. 

His  Taints  of  Wildnels  hurt  our  nicer  Honour, 

And  call  for  fwife  Reclaim. 

Roder . — — • — — I trull,  my  Brother 

Will,  by  the  Vantage  of  his  cooler  Wifdom, 

E’er- while  redeem  the  hot  Efcapes  of  Youth, 

And  court  Opinion  with  a golden  Condudt. 

Duke.  Be  Thou  a Prophet  in  that  kind  Suggeftion! 
But  I,  by  Fears  weighing  his  unweigh’d  Courfe, 
Interpret  for  the  Future  from  the  Pad. 

And  drange  Mifgivings,  why  he  hath  of  late 
By  Importunity,  and  drain’d  Petition, 

Wreded  our  Leave  of  Abfence  from  the  Court, 
Awake  Sufpicion.  Thou  art  inward  with  him  3 
And,  haply,  from  the  bofom’d  Trud  can’d  lhape 
Some  formal  Caufe  to  qualify  my  Doubts. 

Roder.  Why  he  hath  prefs’d  this  Abfence,  Sir,  I 
know  not  \ 

But  have  his  Letters  of  a modern  Date, 

Wherein  by  Julio,  good  Camillo's  Son, 

(Who,  as  he  fays,  fliall  follow  hard  upon  3 
And  whom  I with  the  growing  Hour  expedl:) 

He  doth  follicit  the  Return  of  Gold 
To  purchafe  certain  Horfe,  that  like  him  well. 

This  Julio  he  encounter’d  fird  in  France , 

And  lovingly  commends  him  to  my  Favour  j 
Wilhing,  I would  detain  him  fome  few  Days, 

To  know  the  Value  of  his  well-placed  Trud. 


Duke . 


A Distrest  Lovers.  5 

Duke.  O,  do  it,  Roderick  * and  nffay  to  mould  him 
An  honcft  Spy  upon  thy  Brother’s  Riot?. 

Make  us  acquainted  when  the  Youth  arrives j 
We’ll  fee  this  Julto9  and  he  fhall  from  Us 
Receive  the  fecret  Loan  his  Friend  requires. 

Bring  him  to  Court. 

[ Exeunt . 

SCENE  II.  Tro/peEtof  aVillage  at a'Diftance. 

Enters  Camillo  with  a Letter . 

Cam.  How  comes  the  Duke  to  take  fuch  Notice  of 
my  Son,  that  he  mull  needs  have  him  in  Court,  and  I 
mull  fend  him  upon  the  View  of  his  Letter?  — 
Horfemanfhip ! What  Horfemanfhip  has  Julio  ? I think, 
he  can  no  more  but  gallop  a Hackney,  unleis  he  pra&ifed 
Riding  in  France . it  may  be,  he  did  fo$  for  he  was 
there  a good  Continuance.  But  I have  not  heard  him 
fpeak  much  of  his  Horfemanfhip.  That’s  no  Mat- 
ter : if  he  be  not  a good  Horfeman,  all’s  one  in  fuch 
a Cafe,  he  muft  bear.  Princes  are  abfolute;  they 
may  do  what  they  will  in  any  Thing,  fave  what  they 
cannot  do. 

Enters  Julio. 

O,  come  on,  Sir'j  read  this  Paper:  no  more  Ado,  but 
read  it : It  muft  not  be  anfwer’d  by  my  Hand,  nor 
yours,  but,  in  Grofs,  by  your  Perfon  > your  foie  Per- 
fon.  Read  aloud. 

Jul.  ’Pleafe  you,  to  let  me  fir  ft  o’erlook  it,  Sir. 

Cam.  I was  this  other  day  in  a Spleen  againft  your 
new  Suits:  Ido  now  think,  fomeFate  was  theTaylour 
that  hath  fitted  them:  for,  this  Hour,  they  are  for 
the  Palace  of  the  Duke.  — Your  Father’s  Houfe  is 
too  dufty. 

B z JnL 


4 Double  Falshood;  or, 

Jul.  Hem! — to  Court?  Which  is  the  better,  to 
ferve  a Miftrefs,  or  a Duke?  I am  fued  to  be  his  Slave, 
and  1 fue  to  be  Leonora's.  [ /Ifide . 

Cam.  You  fliali  find  your  Horfemanlhip  much  praifed 
there  3 Are  you  fo  good  aHorfcman? 

Jul.  I have  been, 

E’er  now,  commended  for  my  Seat,  or  mock’d. 

Cam.  Take  one  Commendation  with  another,  every 
Third’s  a Mock. — Affcd:  not  therefore  to  be  praifed. 
Here’s  a deal  of  Command  and  Entreaty  mixt>  there’s 
no  denying  > you  mult  go,  peremptorily  he  inforces 
That 

Jul.  What  Fortune  foever  my  Going  fhall  encoun- 
ter, cannot  be  good  Fortune j What  I part  withal 
unfeafons  any  other  Goodnefs. 

Cam.  You  mult  needs  go  3 he  rather  conjures,  than 
importunes. 

Jul.  No  moving  of  my  Love-Suit  to  him  now?— 

\_Afide . 

Cam . Great  Fortunes  have  grown  out  of  lefs  Grounds. 

Jul.  What  may  her  Father  think  of  me,  who  ex- 
perts to  be  follicited  this  very  Night?  [ Aftde . 

Cam.  Thofe  fcatter’d  Pieces  of  Virtue,  which  are 
in  him,  the  Court  will  folder  together,  varnifh,  and 
re&ify. 

Jul.  He  will  furely  think  I deal  too  {lightly,  or  un- 
mannerly, or  foolifhly,  indeed  \ nay,  dilhoneltly*  to 
bear  him  in  hand  with  my  Father’s  Confenr,  who  yet 
hath  not  been  touch’d  with  fo  much  as  a Rcqueft  to 
it.  [ Afide. 

Cam.  Well,  Sir.  have  you  read  it  over? 

Jul.  Yes,  Sir. 

Cam.  And  conlider’d  it? 

Jul.  As  I can. 

Cam.  If  you  are  courted  by  good  Fortune,  you  muH 
go. 

JuL  So  itpleafeYou,  Sir. 


Cam, 


A Distrest  Lovers.  f 

Cam.  By  any  Menns , and  to  morrow : Is  it  not 
there  the  Limit  of  his  Rcqueft? 

Jul.  It  is,  Sir. 

Cam.  I mull  bethink  me  of  fome  NecefTaries,  with- 
out which  you  might  be  unfurnifh’d  : And  my  Sup- 
plies fhall  at  all  Convenience  follow  You.  Come  to 
my  Clofec  by  and  by  ; I would  there  fpeak  with  You. 

[Exit  Camillo. 

Manet  Julio  jolus. 

Jul.  I do  not  fee  that  Fervour  in  the  Maid, 

Which  Youth  and  Love  ihould  kindle.  She  confents, 
As  ’cwere  to  feed  without  an  Appetite  ; 

Tells  me,  She  is  content  ; and  plays  the  Coy  one. 

Like  Thofe  that  fubtly  make  their  Words  their  Ward, 
Keeping  Addrefs  at  Diflance.  This  Affcdtion 
Is  fuch  a feign’d  One,  as  will  break  untouch’d ; 

Dve  frofly,  e’er  it  can  be  thaw’d;  while  mine, 

Like  to  a Clime  beneath  Hyperion's  Eye, 

Burns  with  one  conftant  Heat.  I’ll  fir  ait  go  to  her  ; 
Pray  her  to  regard  my  Honour : but  She  greets  me.— 

Enter  Leonora,  and  Maid. 

See,  ho\y  her  Beauty  doth  inrich  the  Place! 

O,  add  the  Muflck  of  thy  charming  Tongue, 

Sweet  as  the  Lark  that  wakens  up  the  Morn, 

And  make  me  think  it  Paradife  indeed. 

I was  about  to  feek  thee,  Leonora , 

And  chide  thy  Coldnefs,  Love. 

Leon  What  fays  your  Father  ? 

Jul.  I have  not  mov’d  him  yet. 

Leon. — Then  do  not,  Julio . 

Jul.  Not  move  him  ? Was  it  not  your  own  Command, 
That  his  Confent  fhould  ratify  our  Loves? 

Leon.  Perhaps,  it  was:  but  now  I’ve  chang’d  my 
Mind. 

You  purchafe  at  too  dear  a Rate,  that  puts  You 
To  wooe  me  and  your  Father  too:  Befldes, 

As  He,  perchance,  may  fay,  you  fhall  not  have  me ; 

B 5 You? 


6 Double  Falshood;  or, 

You,  who  are  fo  obedient,  muft  difcharge  me 
Out  of  your  Fancy : Then,  you  know,  ’twill  prove 
My  Shame  and  Sorrow,  meeting  fuch  Repulfe, 

To  wear  the  Willow  in  my  Prime  of  Youth. 

Jul.  Oh!  do  not  rack  me  with  thefe  ill-placed 
Doubts* 

Nor  think,  tho’  Age  has  in  my  Father’s  Breaft 
Put  out  Love’s  Flame,  he  therefore  has  not  Eyes, 

Or  is  in  Judgment  blind.  You  wrong  your  Beauties, 
Venus  will  frown  if  you  difprize  her  Gifts, 

That  have  a Face  would  make  a frozen  Hermit 
Leap  from  his  Cell,  and  burn  his  Beads  to  kifs  it* 
Eyes,  that  are  nothing  but  continual  Births 
Of  new  Defires  in  Thofe  that  view  their  Beams. 

You  cannot  have  a Caufe  to  doubt. 

Leon.  - -Why,  Julio? 

When  you  that  dare  not  chufe  without  your  Father, 
And, where  you  love,  you  dare  not  vouch  it*  mult  nor, 
Though  you  have  Eyes*  fee  with  ’em*  — can  I,  think 
you, 

Somewhat,  perhaps,  inferred  with  your  Suit, 

Sit  down  content  to  fay,  You  would,  but  dare  not  ? 

Jul.  Urge  not  Sufpicions  of  what  cannot  be* 

You  deal  unkindly  * mis-becomingly, 

Pm  loth  to  fay:  For  All  that  waits  on  you, 

Is  graced,  and  graces.  No  Impediment 

Shall  bar  my  Withes,  but  fuch  grave  Delays 
As  Reafon  prefles  Patience  with  * which  blunt  not, 
But  rather  whet  our  Loves.  Be  patient,  Sweet. 

Leon. Patient ! What  elfe  ? iVIy  Flames  are  in  the  Flint. 
Haply,  to  lofe  a Husband  I may  weep* 

Never,  to  get  One:  When  I cry  for  Bondage, 

Let  Freedom  quit  me. 

Jul . — — - From  what  a Spirit  comesThis? 

I now  perceive  too  plain,  you  care  not  for  me. 

Duke,  i obey  thy  Summons,  be  its  Tenour 
Whate’er  it  will:  If  War,  I come  thy  Souldicr: 

Or  if  to  wade  my  Liken  Hours  at  Court, 


The 


7 


The  Distrest  Lovers. 

The  Slave  of  Fafhion,  I with  willing  Soul 
Embrace  the  lazy  Banifhment  for  Lite; 

Since  Leonora  has  pronounc’d  my  Doom. 

Leon.  What  do  you  mean?  Why  talk  you  of  the 
Duke? 

Wherefore  of  War,  or  Court,  or  Banifhment? 

Jul.  How  this  new  Note  is  grown  of  me,  I know 

not* 

But  the  Duke  writes  for  Me.  Coming  to  move 
My  Father  in  our  Bus’nefs,  I did  find  him 
Reading  this  Letter  * whole  Contents  require 
My  inftant  Service,  and  Repair  to  Court. 

Leon.  Now  I perceive  the  Birth  of  thefe  Delays  $ 
Why  Leonora  was  not  worth  your  Suit. 

Repair  to  Court?  Ay,  there  you  fhali,  perhaps, 
(Rather,  paft  Doubt*)  behold  forne  choicer  Beauty, 
Rich  in  her  Charms,  train’d  to  the  Arts  of  Soothing, 
Shall  prompt  you  to  a Spirit  of  Hardinefs, 

To  fay,  So  pleafe  you,  Father,  I have  chofen 

This  Miftrefs  for  my  own. 

Jul. • — Still  you  miftake  me  : 

Ever  your  Servant  I profefs  my  felf* 

And  will  not  blot  me  with  a Change,  for  all 
That  Sea  and  Land  inherit. 

Leon.  But  when  go  you? 

Jul.  To  morrow,  Love*  fo  runs  the  Duke’s  Com- 
mand * 

Stinting  our  Fareweli-kifles,  cutting  off* 

The  Forms  of  Parting,  and  the  Interchange 
Of  thoufand  precious  Vows,  with  Hafte  too  rude. 
Lovers  have  Things  of  Moment  to  debate. 

More  than  a Prince,  or  dreaming  Statefman,  know: 
Such  Ceremonies  wait  on  Cupid' s Throne. 

Why  heav’d  that  Sigh  ? 

Leon.  O Julio , let  me  whifper 
What,  but  for  Parting,  1 fhould  blufb  to  tell  thee: 
My  Heart  beats  thick  with  Fears,  left  the  gay  Scene, 
The  Splendors  of  a Court,  fhould  from  thy  Breaft 

B 4 Banifti 


§ Double  Falshood;  or, 

Banifh  my  Image,  kill  my  Int’refl:  in  thee, 

And  I be  left,  the  Scoff  of  Maids,  to  drop 
A Widow’s  Tear  for  thy  departed  Faith. 

Jul.  O let  Affurance,  flrong  as  Words  can  bind, 
Tell  thy  pleas’d  Soul,  1 will  be  wond’rous  faithful  5 
True,  as  the  Sun  is  to  his  Race  of  Light, 

As  Shade  to  Darknefs,  as  Defire  to  Beauty : 

And  when  I fwerve,  let  Wrctchednefs  o’ertake  me. 
Great  as  e’er  Falfhood  met,  or  Change  can  merit. 

Leon.  Enough  * I’m  fatisEed  : and  will  remain 
Yours,  with  a firm  and  until’d  Conliancy. 

Make  not  your  Abfence  long:  Old  Men  are  wav’ring* 
And  fway’d  by  Int’refl  more  than  Prcmife  giv’n. 
Should  fome  frefli  Offer  ftart,  when  you’re  away, 

I may  be  prefl  to  Something,  which  muff  put 
My  Faith,  or  my  Obedience,  to  the  Rack. 

Jal.  Fear  not,  but  I with  fwiftefl  Wing  of  Time 
Will  labour  my  Return.  And  in  my  Abfence, 

My  noble  Friend,  and  now  our  honour’d  Gueft, 

The  Lord  Henriquez , will  in  my  behalf 
Hang  at  your  Father’s  Ear,  and  with  kind  Hints, 
Pour’d  from  a friendly  Tongue,  fecure  my  Claim* 
And  play  the  Lover  for  thy  abfent  Julio . 

Leon.  Is  there  no  Inftance  of  a Fiicnd  turn’d  falfe? 
Take  Heed  of  That  : No  Love  by  Proxy-  Julio . 

My  Father- — - 

Enters  Don  Bernard. 

D.  Bern.  What,  Julio,  in  puhlick?  This  Wooeing  is 
too  urgent.  Is  your  Father  yet  moved  in  the  Suit, 
who  mufl  be  the  prime  Unfolder  of  this  BuEnefs? 

Jul.  I have  not  yet,  indeed,  at  full  poffefs’d 
My  Father,  whom  it  is  my  Service  follows* 

But  c.Jy  that  I have  a Wife  in  Chafe. 

D.  Bern.  Chafe!  — Let  Chafe  alone:  No  Mat- 

ter for  That. — - — —You  may  halt  after  her,  whom 
you  profefs  to  purfuc,  and  $atch  her  too*  Marry,  not 

unleis 


T^Distrest  Lovers.  9 

unlefs  your  Father  let  you  Hip. ■ — Biiefly,  I defire 

you,  (for  (he  tells  me,  my  I nib  unions  fhall  be  both 
Eyes  and  Feet  to  her*)  no  farther  to  infill  in  your  Re- 
quiring, ’till,  as  I have  formerly  faid,  Camilla  make 
known  to  Me,  that  his  good  Liking  goes  along  with 
Us ^ which  but  once  breath’d,  all  is  done*,  ’till  when, 
the  Bufinefs  has  no  Lite,  and  cannot  find  a Begin- 
ning. 

Jul.  Sir,  I will  know  his  Mind,  e’er  I tafte  Sleep: 
At  Morn,  you  fhall  be  learn’d  in  his  Defire. 

I take  my  Leave. -O  virtuous  Leonora^ 

Repofe,  fweet  as  thy  Beauties,  feal  thy  Eyes; 

Once  more,  adieu.  I have  thy  Promife,  Love; 
Remember,  and  be  faithful.  [£#.  Julio. 

D.  Bern.  His  Father  is  as  unfettled,  as  he  is  way- 
ward, in  his  Difpofition.  If  I thought  young  Julio's 
Temper  were  not  mended  by  the  Mettal  of  his  Mo- 
ther, I fiiould  be  fomething  crazy  in  giving  my  Con- 
fent  to  this  Match : And,  to  tell  you  true,  if  my  Eyes 
might  be  the  Dire&ors  to  your  Mind,  I could  in  this 
Town  look  upon  Twenty  Men  of  more  delicate  Choice. 
I fpeak  not  This  altogether  to  unbend  your  Affe&ions 
to  him:  But  the  Meaning  of  what  I fay  is,  that  you 
fet  fuch  Price  upon  yourfelf  to  him, as  Many,  and  much 
his  Betters,  would  buy  you  at ; (and  reckon  thofe  Vir- 
tues in  you  at  the  rate  of  their  Scarcity ;)  to  which  if 
he  come  not  up,  you  remain  for  a better  Mart. 

Leon . My  Obedience,  Sir,  is  chain’d  to  your  Ad- 
vice. 

D.  Bern.  ’Tis  well  faid,  and  wifely.  I fear,  your 
Lover  is  a little  Folly-tainted  ; which,  fhortly  after  it 
proves  fo,  you  will  repent. 

Leon.  Sir,  J confefs,  I approve  him  of  all  the  Men 
I know; but  that  Approbation  is  nothing,  ’till  fcafon’d 
by  your  Confent. 

D.  Bern.  We  fhall  hear  foon  what  his  Father  will 
do,  and  fo  proceed  accordingly.  I have  no  great  Heart 
to  the  Bufinefs,  neither  will  I with  any  Violence  op- 

pole 


io  Double  Faishood;  or, 

pofe  it:  But  leave  it  to  that  Power  which  rules  in  thcfe 
ConjundHons,  and  there’s  an  End.  Corner  hafte  We 
homeward,  Girl.  [ Exeunt . 

SCENE  III. 

Enter  Henriquez,  and  Servants  with  Lights . 

Henr . Bear  the  Lights  clofe  : Where  is  the 

Mulick,  Sirs? 

Serv.  Coming,  my  Lord. 

Henr.  Let  ’em  not  come  too  near.  This  Maid, 

For  whom  my  Sighs  ride  on  the  Night’s  chill  Vapour, 
Is  born  moft  humbly,  tho’  fhe  be  as  fair 
As  Nature’s  richeft  Mould  and  Skill  can  make  her. 
Mended  with  ttrong  Imagination. 

But  what  of  That?  Th’  Obfcurenefs  of  her  Birth 
Cannot  eclipfe  the  Luttre  of  her  Eyes, 

Which  make  her  all  One  Light.- — Strike  up,  my 

Matters  3 

But  touch  the  Strings  with  a religious  Softnefs* 

Teach  Sound  to  languifh  thro’  the  Night’s  dull  Ear, 
’Till  Melancholy  ftart  from  her  lazy  Couch, 

And  Carelefsnefs  grow  Convert  to  Attention. 

\_Mufick  plays , 

She  drives  me  into  Wonder,  when  I fometimes 
Hear  her  difcourfe3  The  Courr,  whereof  Report, 

And  Guefs  alone  inform  her,  fhe  will  rave  at, 

As  if  fhe  there  fev’n  Reigns  had  Hinder'd  Time. 

Then,  when  fhe  rcafons  on  her  Country  State, 

Health,  Virtue,  Plainnefs,  and  Simplicity, 

On  Beauties  true  in  Title,  fcorning  Art, 

Freedom  as  well  to  do,  as  think,  what’s  good  3 
My  Heart  grows  fick  of  Birth  and  empty  Rank, 

And  I become  a Villager  in  Wifh. 

Play  on  3 She  ileeps  too  found : Be  ttill, 

and  vanitti: 


A 


The  D I S T R E $ T L O V E R S.  If 

A Gleam  of  Day  breaks  fudden  from  her  Window: 

O Taper,  graced  by  that  midnight  Hand ! 

Violante  appears  above  at  her  Window. 

Viol . Who  is’r,that  wooes  at  this  late  Hour?  What 
are  you  ? 

Henr . One,  who  for  your  dear  Sake — 

Viol.  Watches  the  ftarlefs  Night! 

My  Lord  Henriquez , or  my  Ear  deceives  me. 

You’ve  had  my  Anfwer,  and  ’tis  more  than  ftrange 
You’ll  combat  thefe  Rcpuifes.  Good  my  Lord, 

Be  Friend  to  your  own  Elealth  •,  and  give  me  Leave, 
Securing  my  poor  Fame,  nothing  to  pity 
What  Pangs  you  fwear  you  fuffer.  ’Tis  impofilble 
To  plant  your  choice  Affections  in  my  Shade, 

At  leaft,  for  them  to  grow  there. 

Henr . — — — W hy,  Viol  ante? 

Viol . Alas!  Sir,  there  are  Reafons  numberlefs 
To  bar  your  Aims.  Be  warn’d  to  Hours  more  wholefotn$ 
For,  Thefe  you  watch  in  vain.  I have  read  Stories, 
(I  fear,  too  true  ones*)  how  young  Lords,  like  you, 
Have  thus  befung  mean  Windows,  rhymed  their  Suf- 
ferings 

Ev’n  to  th’Abufe  of  Things  Divine,  fet  up 
Plain  Girls,  like  me,  the  Idols  of  their  Worfhip, 
Then  left  them  to  bewail  their  eafte  Faith, 

And  (land  the  World’s  Contempt. 

Henr . * — - — Your  Memory, 

Too  faithful  to  the  Wrongs  of  fe  w loft  Maids, 

Makes  Fear  too  general. 

Viol. Let  us  be  homely, 

And  let  us  too  be  chaft,  doing  you  Lords  no  Wrong 5 
But  crediting  your  Oaths  with  fuch  a Spirit, 

As  you  profefs  them : fo  no  Party  trufted 
Shall  make  a lo ling  Bargain.  Home,  my  Lord, 
What  you  can  fay,  is  moft  unfeafonable  5 what  fing, 
Moft  abfonant  and  harjfh:  Nay,  your  Perfume, 

Which  I fmell  hither,  cheers  not  ray  Senfe 
Like  our  Field* violet’s  Breath, 

Henr . 


j 


it  Double  Falshood;  or, 

Hear. — -Why,  this  Difmiflion 

Does  more  invite  my  Staying. 

Viol. Men  of  your  Temper 

Make  ev’ry  Thing  their  Bramble.  But  F wrong 
That  which  I am  preferving,  my  Maid’s  Name, 

To  hold  fo  long  Difcourfe.  Your  Virtues  guide  you 
T’effeft  fome  nobler  Purpofe ! {Ex,  Violante. 

Henr.  Stay,  bright  Maid  ! 

Come  back,  and  leave  me  with  a fairer  Hope. 

She’s  gone : - — ■ Who  am  I,  that  am  thus  contemn’d? 
Theffecond  Son  to  a Prince  ? — Yes*  well*  What 
then? 

Why,  your  great  Birth  forbids  you  to  defcend 
To  a low  Alliance:— — * Her’s  is  the  felf-fame  Stuff, 
Whereof  we  Dukes  are  made  y but  Clay  more  pure ! 
And  take  away  my  Title,  which  is  acquir’d 
Not  by  my  felf,  but  thrown  by  Fortune  on  Me, 

Or  by  the  Merit  of  fome  Anceftour 
Of  lingular  Quality,  She  doth  inherit 
Deferts  t’out weigh  me. — I muft  (loop  to  gain  her$ 
Throw  all  my  gay  Comparifons  afide, 

And  turn  my  proud  Additions  out  of  Service, 

Rather  than  keep  them  to  become  my  Madcrs. 

The  Dignities  we  wear,  are  Gifts  of  Pride ; 

And  laugh’d  at  by  the  Wife,  as  meer  Out  fide. 

{Exit, 


End  of  the  Firjl  Act. 


ACT 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  15 


ACT  II.  SCENE  I. 

SCENE,  The  Troftect  of  a Village. 


Enter  Fabian  and  Lopez  j Henriquez  on  tbeOppofite  Side . 

Lop . QOFT,  foft  you,  Neighbour j who  comes 
k3  here?  Pray  you,  {link  afide. 

Henr.  Ha ! Is  it  come  to  this  ? Oh  the  Devi),  the 
Devil,  the  Devil ! 

Fab . Lo  you  now!  for  Want  of  the  difereet  Ladle 
of  a cool  Underftanding,  will  this  Fellow’s  Brains 
boil  over. 

Henr.  To  have  enjoy’d  her,  I would  have  given — 1 
What  ? 

All  that  at  prefent  I could  boaft  my  own, 

And  the  Reverfion  of  the  World  to  boot. 

Had  the  Inheritance  been  mine  : And  now, 

(Juft  Doom  of  guilty  Joys !)  I grieve  as  much 
That  I have  rifled  all  the  Stores  of  Beauty, 

Thofe  Charms  of  Innocence  and  artlefs  Love, 

As  juft  before  I was  devour’d  with  Sorrow, 

That  {he  refus’d  my  Vows,  and  fttut  the  Door 
Upon  my  ardent  Longings. 

Lop.  Love!  Love!  — Downright  Love!  I fee  by 
the  Foolifhnefs  of  it. 

Henr.  Now  then  to  Recolle&ion Was’t  not  fo? 

A Promife  firft  of  Marriage Not  a Promife  only, 

for  ’twas  bound  with  Surety  or  a thoufand  Oaths  $ — ■ 
and  thofe  not  light  ones  neither. — — Yet  I remember 
too,  thofe  Oaths  could  not  prevail  * th’  unpra&is’d 
Maid  trembled  to  meet  my  Love : By  Force  alone  I 

fnatch’d 


?4  Double  Falshood;  or, 

fnatch’d  th’  imperfc£l  Joy,  which  now  torments  my 
Memory.  Not  Love,  but  brutal  Violence  prevail’d  5 
to  which  the  Time,  and  Place,  and  Opportunity, 
were  Accefiaries  moll  dilhonourable.  Shame,  Shame 
upon  it! 

Fab.  What  a Heap  of  Stuff’s  this — -I  fancy,  this 
Fellow’s  Head  would  make  a good  Pedlar’s  Pack,  Neigh- 
bour. 

Henr . Hold,  let  me  be  fevere  to  my  Self,  but  not 

unjuft. Was  it  a Rape  then?  No.  Her  Shrieks, 

her  Exclamations  then  had  drove  me  from  her.  True, 
flie  did  not  confentj  as  true,  fhe  did  refill  5 but  Hill 

in  Silence  all. — ’ T was  but  the  Coyncfs  of  a mo- 

dell  Bride,  not  the  Refentment  of  a ravilht  Maid. 
And  is  the  Man  yet  born,  who  would  not  rifque  the 

Guilt,  to  meet  the  Joy?- The  Guilt!  that’s  true 

but  then  the  Danger  j the  Tears,  the  Clamours  of 

the  ruin’d  Maid,  purfuing  me  to  Court.  That,  that, 
1 fear  will  (as  it  already  does  my  Confcience)  fome- 
thing  fhatter  my  Honour.  What’s  to  be  done  ? But 
v now  I have  no  Choice.  Fair  Leonora  reigns  confell  the 
Tyrant  Queen  of  my  revolted  Hearr,  and  Violante 
feems  a fiiort  Uiiirper  there.  — Julio's  already  by  my 

Arts  remoy’d. O Friendihip,  how  wilt  thou  an- 

fwer  That  ? Oh,  that  a Man  could  reafon  down  this 
Feaver  of  the  Blood,  or  footh  with  Words  the  Tu- 
mult in  his  Heart!  Then,  Julio , I might  be,  indeed, 
thy  Friend.  They,  they  only  fhould  condemn  me,  who 
born  devoid  of  Paflion  ne’er  have  prov’d  the  fierce 
Difputes  ’twixt  Virtue  and  Defire.  While  they,  who 
have,  like  me, 

The  loofe  Efcapes  of  youthful  Nature  known. 

Mull  wink  at  mine,  indulgent  to  their  own. 

[Exit  Henriquez. 

Lop.  This  Man  is  certainly  mad,  and  may  be  mif- 
chievous.  Pr’ythee,  Neighbour,  let’s  follow  him} 
but  at  fome  Di fiance,  for  fear  of  the  worft. 

r Exeunt*  after  Henr. 

SCENE 


3 


SCENE  II.  An  Apartment. 


Enters  Violante  alone. 

Viol . Whom  fhall  I look  upon  without  a Blufh? 
There’s  not  a Maid,  whole  Eye  with  Virgin  Gaze 
Pierces  not  to  my  Guilt.  What  will’t  avail  me, 

To  fay  I was  not  willing; 

Nothing;  but  that  I publifh  my  Dilhonour, 

And  wound  my  Fame  anew. O Mifery, 

To  feem  to  all  one’s  Neighbours  rich,  yet  know 
One’s  Self  neceflitous  and  wretched. 

Enter  Maid , and  afterwards  Gerald  with  a Letter. 

Maid . Madam,  here’s  Gerald , Lord  Henriquez ’ Ser- 
vant ; 

He  brings  a Letter  to  you. 

Viol . A Letter  to  me!  How  I tremble  now  ! 

Your  Lord’s  for  Court,  good  Gerald | is  he  not? 

Ger.  Not  fo,  Lady. 

Viol.  O my  prefaging  Heart!  When  goes  he  then? 
Ger.  His  Bufinefs  now  fleers  him  fome  other  Courfe. 
Viol.  Whither,  I pray  you?  — How  my  Fears  tor- 
ment me  ! 

Ger.  Some  two  Months  Progrefs. 

Viol . — — -Whither,  whither,  Sir, 

I do  befeech  you  ? Good  Heav’ns,  I lofe  all  Patience. 
Did  he  deliberate  this?  or  was  the  Bulinefs 
But  then  conceiv’d,  when  it  was  born? 

Ger.  Lady,  I know  not  That ; nor  is  it  in  the  Com- 
mand I have  to  wait  your  Anfwer.  For  the  peruling 
the  Letter  I commend  you  to  your  Leifure. 

[ Exit  Gerald. 

Viol.  To  Hearts  like  mine  Sufpence  is  Mifery. 

Wax,  render  up  thy  Truft:  Be  the  Contents 
Profp’rous,  or  fatal,  they  are  all  my  Due. 


Reads.] 


1 6 Double  FaIshood;  or3 

Reads.]  Our  Prudence  Jloould  now  teach  us  to  forget , 
what  our  Indifcretion  has  committed . / 

have  already  made  one  Step  towards  this 
IVifdom , by  prevailing  on  My  [elf  to  bid  you 

Farewell. 

O,  Wretched  and  betray’d  ! Lofi \Violante! 
Heart-wounded  with  a thoufand  perjur’d  Vows, 
Poifon’d  with  itudied  Language,  and  bequeath’d 
To  Defpcration.  I am  now  become 
The  Tomb  of  my  own  Honour:  a dark  Manfion, 

For  Death  alone  to  dwell  in.  I invite  thee, 
Confuming  Defolation,  to  this  Temple, 

Now  fit  to  be  thy  Spoil:  the  ruin’d  Fabrick, 

Which  cannot  be  repair’d,  at  once  o’er-throw. 

What  mud  I do?  But  That’s  not  worth  my 

Thought: 

I will  commend  to  Hazard  all  the  Time 

That  1 fhali  fpend  hereafter:  Farewel,  my  Father, 

Whom  I’ll  no  more  offend:  and  Men,  adieu, 

Whom  I’ll  no  more  believe:  and  Maids,  adieu, 

Whom  I’ll  no  longer  fhame.  The  Way  I go, 

As  yet  I know  not.  — — Sorrow  be  my  Guide. 

\_Exit  Violante. 

SCENE  III.  Trofpett  of  a Village,  before 
Don  Bernards  Houfe . 

Enters  Henriquez. 

Henr.  Where  were  the  Eyes,  the  Voice,  the  va- 
rious Charms, 

Each  beauteous  Particle,  each  namelefs  Grace, 

Parents  of  glowing  Love?  All  Thefe  in  Her, 

It  feems,  were  not : but  a Difeafe  in  Me, 

That  fancied  Graces  in  her.- Who  ne’er  beheld 

More  than  a Hawthorne,  lhall  have  Caufe  to  fay 
The  Cedar’s  a tall  Treej  and  fcorn  the  Shade, 


The 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  17 

The  lov’d  Bufli  once  had  lent  him.  Soft!  mine  Ho- 
nour 

Begins  to  flcken  in  this  black  Reflc&ion. 

How  can  it  be,  that  with  my  Honour  fafe 
I fhould  purfue  Leonora  for  my  Wife  ? 

That  were  accumulating  Injuries, 

To  Violante  firft,  and  now  to  Julio  ^ 

To  her  a perjur’d  Wretch,  to  him  perfidious. 

And  to  myfelf  in  ftrongeft  Terms  accus’d 
Of  murth’ring  Honour  wilfully,  without  which 

My  Dog’s  the  Creature  of  the  nobler  Kind. - 

But  Pleafure  is  too  ftrong  for  Rcafon’s  Curb  } 

And  Confcience  finks  o’er-power’d  with  Beauty’s 
Sweets. 

Come,  Leonora , Authrefs  of  my  Crime, 

Appear,  and  vindicate  thy  Empire  here} 

Aid  me  to  drive  this  lingering  Honour  hence, 

And  I am  wholly  thine. 

Enter  to  him , Don  Bernard  and  Leonora. 

D.  Bern.  Fye,  my  good  Lord}  why  would  you  wait 
without? 

If  you  fufpedt  your  Welcome,  I have  brought 
My  Leonora  to  aflure  you  of  it.  [Vitnx.  falutes  Leon. 

Hem . O Kifs,  fweet  as  the  Odours  of  the  Spring, 
But  cold  as  Dews  that  dwell  on  Morning  Flow’rs! 
Say,  Leonora , has  your  Father  conquer’d  ? 

Shall  Duty  then  at  lad  obtain  the  Prize, 

Which  you  refus’d  to  Love?  And  fhall  Henriquez 
Owe  all  his  Happinefs  to  good  Bernardo  ? 

Ah ! no}  I read  my  Ruin  in  your  Eyes: 

That  Sorrow,  louder  than  a thoufand  Tongues, 
Pronounces  my  Defpair. 

D.  Bern. Come,  Leonora , 

You  are  not  now  to  learn,  this  noble  Lord, 

(W  horn  but  to  name,  reftores  my  failing  Age,) 

Has  with  a Lover’s  Eye  beheld  your  Beauty  > 

C 


Thro* 


i8  Double  Falshood;  cf, 

Thio’  which  his  Heart  fpeaks  more  than  Language 
can  > 

Jt  offers  Joy  and  Happinefs  to  You, 

And  Honour  to  our  Houfe.  Imagine  then 
The  Birth  and  Qualities  of  him  that  loves  you* 
Which  when  you  know,  you  cannot  rate  too  dear. 

Leon.  My  Father,  on  my  Knees  I do  befeech  you 
To  paufe  one  Moment  on  your  Daughter’s  Ruin. 

I vow,  my  Heart  ev’n  bleeds,  that  I muff  thank  you 
For  your  pall:  Tendernefsj  and  yet  diftruft 
That  which  is  yet  behind.  Confider,  Sir, 

Whoe’er’s  th’  Occafion  of  another’s  Fault, 

Cannot  himfelf  be  innocent.  O,  give  not 
The  cenfuring  World  Occafion  to  reproach 
Your  harfh  Commands  5 or  to  my  Charge  lay  That 
Which  moft  I fear,  the  Fault  of  Difobedience. 

D . Bern.  Pr’ythee,  fear  neither  the  One,  nor  the  O- 
ther:  I tell  thee.  Girl,  there’s  more  Fear  than  Dan- 
ger, For  my  own  part,  as  foon  as  Thou  art  married 
to  this  noble  Lord,  mv  Fears  will  be  over. 

Leon . Sir,  I ffiould  be  the  vaineff  of  my  Sex, 

Not  to  efteem  myfelf  unworthy  far 
Of  this  high  Honour.  Once  there  was  a Time, 
When  to  have  heard  my  Lord  Henriquez ’ Vows, 
Might  have  fuhdued  my  unexperienc’d  Heart, 

And  made  me  wholly  his. But  That’s  now  pail? 

And  my  firm-plighted  Faith  by  your  Confent 
Was  long  fince  given  to  the  injur’d  Julio. 

D.  Bern,  Why  then,  by  my  Confent  e’en  take  it 
back  again.  Thou,  like  a fimple  Wench,  haff  given  thy 
Affections  to  a Fellow,  that  does  not  care  a Farthing 
for  them.  One,  that  has  left  thee  for  a Jaunt  to 
Court ; as  who  ffiould  fay.  I’ll  get  a Place  now  5 ’tis 
Time  enough  to  marry,  when  i’m  turn’d  out  of  it. 

He  nr.  So,  finely,  it  ffiould  feem,  molt  lovely  Maidj 
Julio,  alas,  feels  nothing  of  my  Paffion: 

His  Love  is  but  th’  Amufement  of  an  Hour, 

A ffiort  Relief  from  Bufinefs,  or  Ambition, 


The 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  i p 

The  Sport  of  Youth,  and  Fafhion  of  the  Age. 

0 ! had  he  known  the  Hopes,  the  Doubis,  the  Ar- 

dours, 

Or  half  the  fond  Varieties  of  Paflion, 

That  play  the  Tyrant  with  my  tortur’d  Soul* 

He  had  not  left  Thee  to  purfue  his  Fortune: 

To  pra£tife  Cringes  in  a flavifh  Circle, 

And  barter  real  Blifs  for  unfure  Honour. 

Leon.  Oh,  the  oppofing  Wind, 

Should’ring  the  Tide,  makes  here  a fearful  Billow: 

1 needs  muft  perifh  in  it. Oh,  my  Lord, 

Is  it  then  poflible,  you  can  forget 

What’s  due  to  your  great  Name,  and  princely  Birth, 
To  Friendfhip’s  holy  Law,  to  Faith  repos’d, 

To  Truth,  to  Honour,  and  poor  injur’d  Julio? 

0 think,  my  Lord,  how  much  this  Julio  loves  you* 
Recall  his  Services,  his  well- try ’d  Faith  * 

Think  too,  this  very  Hour,  where -e’er  he  be, 

Your  Favour  is  the  Envy  of  the  Court, 

And  fecret  Triumph  of  his  grateful  Heart. 

Poor  Julio , how  fecurely  thou  depend’!! 

Upon  the  Faith  and  Honour  of  thy  Mafler* 

Miftaken  Youth!  this  very  Hour  he  robs  thee 
Of  all  thy  Heart  holds  dear. — ’Tis  fo  Hemiquez 
Repays  the  Merits  of  unhappy  Julio.  \JVeeps . 

Henr.  My  flumb’ring  Honour  catches  the  Alarm.,? 

1 was  to  blame  to  parky  with  her  thus:  > 

Sh’as  fliown  me  to  myfelf.  It  troubles  me.  {_AfideS± 

D.  Bern . Mad  5 Mad.  Stark  mad,  by  this  Light. 
Leon.  I but  begin  to  be  fo.  — 1 conjure  you, 

By  all  the  tender  Interefls  of  Nature, 

By] the  chafte  Love  ’twixt  you,  and  my  dear  Mother, 
(O  holy  Heav’n,  that  ilie  were  living  now  !) 

Forgive  and  pity  me. — Ob,  Sir,  remember, 

I’ve  heard  my  Mother  fay  a thoufand  Times, 

Her  Father  would  have  forced  her  Virgin  Choice* 
But  when  the  Conflict  was  ’twixt  Love  and  Duty, 
Which  fhould  be  hrft  obey’d,  my  Mother  quick. y 

C z Paid 


20  Double  Falshood;  ory 

Paid  up  her  Vows  to  Love,  and  married  You. 

You  thought  this  well,  and  the  was  praifed  for  This* 
For  this  her  Name  was  honour’d,  Dtfobedience 
Was  ne’er  imputed  to  her,  her  firm  Love 
Conquer’d  whate’er  oppos’d  it,  and  fhe  profper’d 
Long  Time  your  Wife.  My  Cafe  is  now  the  lame  j 
You  are  the  Father,  which  You  then  condemn’d  j 
I,  what  my  Mother  was  *,  but  not  fo  happy.- 

D.  Bern.  Go  to,  you’re  a Fool.  No  doubt,  You 
have  old  Stories  enough  to  undo  you. — What,  you 
can’t  throw  yourfelf  away  but  by  Precedent,  ha  ? — 
You  will  needs  be  married  to  One,  that  will  None  of 
You?  You  will  be  happy  no  Body’s  way  but  your 

own,  forfooth.* But,  d’ye  mark  me,  fpare  your 

Tongue  for  the  future  5 (and  That’s  ufing  you  hardly 
too,  to  bid  you  fpare  what  you  have  a great  deal  too 
much  of:)  Go,  go  your  ways,  and  d’ye  hear,  get 
ready  within  thefe  Two  days  to  be  married  to  a Huf- 
band  you  don’t  deferve^  — Do  ir,  or,  by  my  dead  Fa- 
ther’s Soul,  you  are  no  Acquaintance  of  mine. 

Henr.  She  weeps:  Be  gentler  to  her,  good  Bernardo. 

Leon.  Then  Woe  the  Day. I’m  circled  round 

with  Fire  5 

No  Way  for  my  Efcape,  but  thro’  the  Flames. 

Oh,  can  I e’er  refolve  to  live  without 
A Father’s  Blefilng,  or  abandon  Julio? 

With  other  Maids,  the  Choice  were  not  fo  hard) 
Int’reft,  that  rules  the  World,  has  made  at  latt 
A Merchandize  of  Hearts : and  Virgins  now 
Chufe  as  they’re  bid,  and  wed  without  Efteem. 

By  nobler  Springs  fhall  my  Affe&ions  move) 

Nor  own  a Matter,  but  the  Man  I love. 

{Exit  Leonora. 

D.  Bern.  Go  thy  ways,  Contradiftion.  — Follow 
her,  my  Lord  ) follow  her,  in  the  very  Heat.  This 
Obttinacy  mutt  be  combated  by  Importunity  as  obili- 
nate.  {Exit  Henriquez  after  her . 

The 


2.1 


The  D i s T R e s T Lovers. 

The  Girl  fays  right;  her  Mother  was  juft  fuch  A- 
nother.  I remember,  Two  of  Us  courted  her  at  the 
fame  Time.  She  lov’d  neither  of  Us,  but  She  cholc 
me  purely  to  fpight  that  furly  Old  Blockhead  my  Fa- 
ther-in-Law.  Who  comes  here,  Camillo  ? Now  the 
refilling  Part  will  lie  on  my  Side. 


Enters  Camillo. 


Cam.  My  worthy  Neighbour,  I am  much  in  For- 
tune’s Favour  to  find  You  thus  alone.  I have  a Suit 
to  You. 

D.  Bern . Pleafe  to  name  it,  Sir. 

Cam.  Sir,  I have  long  held  You  in  fingular  Elteem : 
and  what  1 fihall  now  fay,  will  be  a Proot  of  it.  You 
know,  Sir,  I have  but  one  Son. 

D.  Bern . Ay,  Sir. 

Cam . And  theFortune  I am  bleft  withal,  You  pret- 
ty well  know  what  it  is. 

D.  Bern.  ’Tis  a fair  One,  Sir. 

Cam.  Such  as  it  is,  the  whole  Reverfion  is  my  Son’s. 
He  is  now  engaged  in  his  Attendance  on  our  Matter, 
the  Duke.  But  e’er  he  went,  he  lefc  with  me  the 
Secret  of  his  Heart,  his  Love  for  your  fair  Daughter. 
For  your  Confent,  he  faid,  ’twas  ready : I took  a 
Night,  indeed,  to  think  upon  it,  and  now  have  brought 
you  mine;  and  am  come  to  bind  the  Contra6t  with 
half  my  Fortune  in  prefent,  the  Whole  fome  time 
hence,  and,  in  the  mean  while,  my  hearty  Blefling. 
Ha?  What  fay  You  to’t,  Don  Bernard? 

D . Bern.  Why,  really,  Neighbour, — ■ I mutt  own,  l 
have  heard  Something  of  this  Matter. — 

Cam.  Heard  Something  of  it?  No  doubt,  you  have, 

D.  Bern.  Yes,  now  I recolledt  it  well. 

Cam.  Was  it  fo  long  ago  then? 

D.  Bern.  Very  long  ago,  Neighbour.- — On *Tuef- 
day  laft. 


C 3 


Ca?n. 


ii  Double  Falshood;  or, 

Cam.  Whar,  am  I mock’d  in  this  Bufinefs,  Don 

Bernard  ? 

D.  Bern.  Not  mock’d,  good  Camillo , not  mock’d  : 
But  in  Love* matters,  you  know,  there  are  Abundance 
of  Changes  in  half  an  Hour.  Time,  Time,  Neigh- 
bour, plays  Tricks  with  all  of  us. 

Cam.  Time,  Sir!  What  tell  you  me  of  Time? 
Come,  I fee  how  this  goes.  Can  a little  Time  take 
a Man  by  the  Shoulder,  and  diake  off  his  Honour? 
Let  me  tell  you,  Neighbour,  it  mull  either  beaftrong 
Wind,  or  a very  mellow  Honedy  that  drops  fo  eafiiy. 
Time,  quoth’a? 

D.  Bern.  Look’ ee,  Camillo  3 will  you  pleafe  to  put  your 
Indignation  in  your  Pocket  for  half  a Moment,  while 
I tell  you  the  whole  Truth  of  the  Matter.  My  Daugh- 
ter, you  muft  know,  is  fuch  a tender  Soul,  fhe  can- 
not podibly  fee  a Duke’s  younger  Son  without  falling 
defpfefately  in  Love  with  him.  Now,  you  know. 
Neighbour,  when  Greatnefs  rides  Pod  after  a Man 
of  my  Years,  ’tis  both  Prudence,  and  good  Breeding, 
to  let  one’s  felf  be  overtaken  by  it.  And  who  can 
help  all  This?  I profefs,  it  was  not  my  feeking,  Neigh- 
bour. 

Cam.  I profefs,  a Fox  might  earth  in  the  Hollow- 
nefs  of  your  Heart,  Neighbour,  and  there’s  an  End. 
If  I were  to  give  a bad  Confcience  its  true  Likenefs, 
it  diould  be  drawn  after  a very  near  Neighbour  to  a 

certain  poor  Neighbour  of  yours. Neighbour  ! 

with  a Pox. 

D.  Bern.  Nay,  you  are  fo  nimble  with  me,  you 

will  hear  Nothing. 

Cam.  Sir,  if  I mud  fpcak  Nothing,!  will  hear  Nothing. 
As  for  what  you  have  to  fay,  if  it  comes  from  your  Heart, 
’tis  a Lye  before  yot  fpcak  it. — • I’ll  to  Leonora  5 and  if 
) find  her  in  the  fame  Story,  why,  I fhall  believe  your 
Wife  was  true  to  You,  and  your  Daughter  is  your 
own.  Fare  you  well.  [Ex it3  as  into  D.  Bernar d'sHoufe. 

D.  Bern. 


The  Distrest  Lovers,  zj 

D.  Bern.  Ay,  but  two  Words  mud  go  to  that  Bar- 
gain. It  happens,  that  I am  at  prefcnt  of  Opinion, 
my  Daughter  fhall  receive  no  more  Company  to  day  : 
at  kail,  no  fuch  Vifits  as  yours. 

[ Exit  D.  Bernard,  following  him 

SC  E N E IV.  Changes  to  another  Trofpefl 
of  Don  Bernard^  Houfe. 

Leonora,  alove. 

Leon.  How  tedioudy  I’ve  waited  at  the  Window, 
Yet  know  not  One  that  pafles. — Should  I trud 
My  Letter  to  a Stranger,  v/hom  I think 
To  bear  an  honed  Face,  (in  which  fometimes 
We  fancy  we  are  wond’rous  skilful  then 
I might  be  much  deceiv’d.  This  late  Example 
Of  bafe  Henriquez , bleeding  in  me  now, 

From  each  good  Afpcct  takes  away  my  Trud: 

For  his  Face  feem’d  to  promife  Truth  and  Honour. 
Since  Nature’s  Gifts  in  nobled  Forms  deceive, 

Be  happy  You,  that  want  ’em  ! — Here  comes  One  5 
I’ve  feen  him,  tho*  I know  him  not*  He  has 
An  honed  Face  too— that’s  no  Matter.- Sir, 

Enters  Citizen. 

Citiz.  To  me  ? 

Leon.  As  You  were  of  a virtuous  Matron  born, 
(There  is  no  Doubt,  you  are:)  I do  conjure  you 
Grant  me  one  Boon.  Say,  do  you  know  me,  Sir? 

Citiz.  Ay,  Leonora , and  your  worthy  Father. 

Leon.  I have  not  Time  to  prefs  the  Suit  I’ve  to  you 
With  many  Words*  nay,  I fhould  want  the  Words, 
Tho’  I had  Leifure:  but  for  Love  of  Judice, 

And  as  you  pity  Mifery -Ru:  I wander 

Wide  from  my  Subject.  Know  you  Julio,  Sir? 

C 4 Citiz , 


£4  Double  F a l s h o o d ; or] 

Citiz.  Yes,  very  well  5 and  love  him  too,  as  well. 
Leon.  Oh,  there  an  Angel  fpake!  Then  I conjure 
you, 

Convey  this  Paper  to  him  : and  believe  me, 

You  do  Heav’n  Service  in’t,  and  fhall  have  Caufe 

Not  to  repent  your  Pains.- 1 know  not  what 

Your  Fortune  is  5 Pardon  me,  gentle  Sir, 

That  I am  bold  to  offer  This. 

[Throws  down  a Purfe  with  Money. 

D.  Bern,  with  in.  ] Leonora. 

Leon.  I truft  to  you } Heav’n  put  it  in  your  Heart 
To  work  me  fome  Relief. 

Citiz.  Doubt  it  not,  Lady.  You  have  mov’d  me  fo, 
That  tho’  a thoufand  Dangers  barr’d  my  way, 

I’d  dare  ’em  all  to  ferve  you.  [Exit  Citizen. 

Leon.  Thanks  from  a richer  Hand  than  mine  requite 
you ! 

D.  Bern.  withinP\  Why,  Daughter 

Leon.  I come:  — Oh,  Julio , feel  but  half  my  Grief, 
And  Thou  wilt  outfly  Time  to  bring  Relief. 

[Exit  Leonora  from  the  Window . 


End  of  the  Second  Act. 


ACT 


The  Distrest  Lovers. 


ZV 


ACT  III.  SCENE  I. 


SCENE,  The  IProffeB  of  a Village. 

Enter  Julio  with  a Letter , and  Citizen. 

Citiz.  \T7HEN  from  the  Window  file  did  bow 
VV  and  call, 

Her  Paflions  fhook  her  Voice  > and  from  her  Eyes 
Miftemper  and  Diftra&ion,  with  flrange  Wildnefs 
Befpokc  Concern  above  a common  Sorrow. 

JuL  Poor  Leonoral  Treacherous,  damn’d  HenriquezI 
She  bids  me  fill  my  Memory  with  her  Dangers 
I do,  my  Leonora ; yes,  I fill 
The  Region  of  my  Thought  with  nothing  elfej 
Lower,  file  tells  me  here,  that  this  Affair 
Shall  yield  a Teftimony  of  her  Love: 

And  prays,  her  Letter  may  come  fafe  and  hidden. 

This  Prav’r  the  Heav’ns  have  heard,  and  Ibefeech  ’em, 
To  hear  all  Pray’rs  file  makes. 

Citiz. Have  Patience,  Sir. 

JuL  O my  good  Friend,  methinks,  I am  too  patient* 
Js  there  a Treachery,  like  This  in  Bafenefs, 

Recorded  any  where?  It  is  the  deepdfc: 

None  but  Itfelf  can  be  its  Parallel : 

And  from  a Friend,  profefs’d  ! — Friendfhip  ? 

Why,  ’tis 

A Word  for  ever  maim’d  > in  human  Nature 
It  was  a Thing  the  nobleit  j and  ’mong  Bealls, 

It  flood  not  in  mean  Place:  Things  of  fierce  Nature 

Hold 


- C The  Double  Falshoo  D;  or, 

Hold  Amity  and  Concordance. Such  a Villany 

A Writer  could  not  put  down  in  his  Scene, 

Without  Taxation  of  his  Auditory 
For  Fiction  mo  ft  enormous. 

Citiz. — -Thefe  Upbraidings 

Cool  Time,  while  they  are  vented. 

Jul. — I am  counfel’d. 

For  you,  evermore,  Thanks.  You’ve  done  much  for  Us  3 
So  gently  preis’d  to’t,  that  I may  perfwade  me 
You’ll  do  a little  more. 

Citiz.  Put  me  ^Employment 

That’s  honeft,  tho’  not  fafe,  with  my  beft  Spirits 
I’ll  give ’t  Accomplifhment. 

Jul.  No  more  but  This  3 
For  I mull  fee  Leonora : And  to  appear 
Like  Julio,  as  1 am,  might  haply  ipoil 
Some  good  Event  enfuing.  Let  me  crave 
Th’  Exchange  of  Habit  with  you:  fome  Difguife, 
May  bear  Me  to  my  Lqye,  unmark’d,  and  fecret. 
Citiz.  You  fhall  not  want.  Yonder’s  the  Houle  be- 
fore us: 

Make  Hafte  to  reach  it. 

JuL  — ■■ — - — —Still  I thank  you,  Sir. 

0 Leonora!  ftand  but  this  rude  Shock 3 
Hold  cut  thy  Faith  ngainft  the  dread  A (Fault 
Of  this  bafe  Lord,  the  Service  of  my  Life 

Shall  be  devoted  to  repay  thy  Conftancy.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II.  Don  Bernards  Houfe. 

Enters  Leonora. 

Leon.  I’ve  hoped  toth’lateft  Minute  Hope  can  give: 
He  will  not  come:  H’as  not  receiv’d  my  Letter: 
'May  be,  fome  other  View  has  from  our  Home 
Repeal’d  his  chang’d  Eye:  for  w hat  Buhnefs  can 
Excufe  a Tardinefs  thus  willfull?  None. 

Well  then,  it  is  not  Bufrnefs.  — Oh!  that  Let- 

ter,— 

1 fay,  is  not  deliver’d  3 or  He’s  ftck  3 

Or, 


The  Distre st  Lovers.  27 

Or,  O Suggeftion,  wherefore  wilt  Thou  fright  me? 
Julio  does  to  Henriquez  on  meer  Purpofc, 

On  plotted  Purpofe,  yield  me  up*  and  He 
Hath  chofe  another  Miftrefs.  All  Preemptions 
Make  powerful  to  this  Point:  His  own  Protra&ion, 

Henriquez  left  behind  5 That  Strain  lack’d  Jea- 

loufie, 

Therefore  lack’d  Love.  So  fure  as  Life  fhall 

empty 

It  felf  in  Death,  this  new  Surmife  of  mine 
Is  a bold  Certainty.  ’Tis  plain,  and  obvious, 
Henriquez  would  not,  durft  nor,  thus  infringe 
The  Law  of  Friendfhip*  thus  provoke  a Man, 

That  bears  a Sword,  and  wears  his  Flag  of  Youth 
As  frefh  as  He:  He  durft  not:  ’Tis  Contrivance, 

Grofs-dawbing  Twixt  them  Both. But  I’m  o’er- 

heard.  [Going. 

Enters  Julio,  clifguifed. 

Jul  Stay,  Leonora-,  Has  this  outward  Veil 
Quite  loft  me  to  thy  Knowledge? 

Leon.  — * O my  Julio  ! 

Thy  Prefence  ends  the  ftern  Debate  of  Doubt, 

And  cures  me  of  a thoufand  heartfick  Fears, 

Sprung  from  thy  Abfence:  yet  awakes  a Train 
Of  other  (leeping  Terrors.  Do  you  weep? 

Jul.  No,  Leonora-,  when  I weep,  it  muft  be 
The  Subftance  of  mine  Eye.  ’Would  I could  weep  -9 
For  then  mine  Eye  would  drop  upon  my  Heart, 

And  fwage  the  Fire  there. 

Leon. You  are  full  pofiefs’d 

How  things  go  here  Firft,  welcome  heartily  ; 
Welcome  to  th’Ending  of  my  laft  good  Hour: 

Now  Summer  Blifs  and  gawdy  Days  are  gone. 

My  Leafe  in  ’em ’s  expir’d. 

Jul.  « Not  fo,  Leonora. 

Leon.  Yes,  Julio,  yes  5 an  everlafting  Storm 
Is  come  upon  me,  which  I can’t  bear  our. 

I cannot  flay  much  Talk  -}  we  have  loft  Leifurcj 

And 


x 8 The  Dousle  Falshood;  or 

And  thus  it  is:  Your  Abfence  hath  giv’n  Breeding 
To  what  my  Letter  hath  declar’d,  and  is 
This  Inftant  on  th’effedting,  Hark!  the  Mufick 

\_Flourifi  within* 

Is  now  on  tuning,  which  mud  celebrate 

This  Bus’nefs  fo  difcordanr. -Tell  me  then, 

What  you  will  do. 

JitL  1 know  not  what:  Advife  me  : 

I’ll  kill  the  Traytor. 

Leon . O!  take  Heed  : his  Death 

Betters  cur  Caufe  no  whit.  No  killing,  Julio. 

Jul.  My  Blood  hands  Hill  ^ and  all  my  Faculties 
Are  by  Enchantment  dull’d.  You  gracious  Pow’rs, 
The  Guardians  of  fworn  Faith,  and  fufF’ring  Virtue, 
Infpire  Prevention  of  this  dreaded  Mifchief! 

This  Moment  is  our  own*  Let’s  ufe  it,  Love, 

And  fly  o’th’  Inftant  from  this  Houfe  of  Woe, 

Leon.  Alas!  Impoftible  : My  Steps  are  watch’d* 
There’s  no  Efcape  for  Me.  You  niuft  ftay  too. 

Jul.  What ! ftay,  and  fee  thee  ravifh’d  from  my  Arms  ? 
I’ll  force  thy  Paflage.  Wear  I not  a Sword? 

Ne’er  on  Man’s  Thigh  rode  better.  If  I fuffer 

The  Traytor  play  his  Part  5 if  I not  do 
Manhood  and  Juftice,  Honour*  let  me  be  deem’d 
A tame,  pale,  Coward,  whom  the  Night-Owl’s  Hoot 
May  turn  to  Afpen-leaf : Some  Man  take  This, 

Give  Me  a Diftaff  for  it. 

Leon . — Patience,  Julio  * 

And  truft  to  Me : I have  fore-thought  the  Means 
To  difappoint  thefe  Nuptials.— — Hark!  again* 

\_Mufick  within . 

Thefe  are  the  Bells  knoll  for  Us.* See,  the  Lights 

Move  this  Way,  Julio.  Quick,  behind  yon  Arras, 
And  take  thy  fecret Stand. —— Difpute  it  not* 

I have  my  Reafons,  you  anon  fhall  know  them:  — 
There  you  may  mark  the  Paflages  of  the  Night. 

Yet,  more:  — — I charge  you  by  the  deareft  Tyes, 
What-e’er  you  fee,  or  hear,  what-e’er  fhall  hap, 


In 


^Distrest  Lovers.  z <> 

In  your  Concealment  reft  a filent  Statue. 

Nay,  hide  thee  ftrait, — or,  — fee,  I’m  arm’d,  and 
vow  [ Shews  a Dagger. 

To  fall  a bleeding  Sacrifice  before  Thee. 

[fhrufts  him  out , to  the  Arras. 

I dare  not  tell  thee  of  my  Purpofe,  Julio , 

Left  it  fhould  wrap  thee  in  fuch  Agonies, 

Which  my  Love  could  not  look  on. 

SCENE  opens  to  a large  Hall : An  Altar  pre- 
pared with  Tapers . Enter  at  one  "Door  Ser- 
vants with  Light s,  Henriquez,  Don  Bernard, 
and  Churchman . At  another , Attendants  to 
Leonora.  Henriquez  runs  to  her. 

Henr.  Why,  Leonora , wilt  Thou  with  this  Gloom 
Darken  my  Triumph  * fuff’ring  Difcontent, 

And  wan  Difpleafure,  to  fubdue  that  Cheek 
Where  Love  fhould  fit  inthron’d?  Behold  your  Slavey 
Nay,  frown  not*  for  each  Hour  of  growing  Time 
Shall  task  me  to  thy  Service,  ’till  by  Merit 
Of  deareft  Love  I blot  the  low-born  Julio 
From  thy  fair  Mind. 

Leon.  — So  I fhall  make  it  foul* 

This  Counfel  is  corrupt. 

Henr . -Come,  you  will  change. — 

Leon.  Why  would  you  make  a Wife  of  fuch  a One, 
That  is  fo  apt  to  change?  This  foul  Proceeding 
Still  fpeaks  againft  itfelf,  and  vilifies 

The  pureft  of  your  Judgment. For  your  Birth’s 

Sake 

I will  not  dart  my  hoarded  Curfes  at  you, 

Nor  give  my  Meanings  Language:  For  the  Love 
Of  all  good  Things  together,  yet  take  heed, 

And  fpurn  the  Tempter  back. 

D . Bern.  I think,  you’re  mad.  - Perverfe,and 

foop'Ji,  Wretch! 


Leon. 


50  Double  Faishood;  or, 

Leon.  How  may  I be  obedient,  and  wife  too  ? 

Of  my  Obedience,  Sir,  I cannot  ftrip  me  5 
Nor  can  I then  be  wife:  Grace  againft  Grace! 
Ungracious,  if  I not  obey  a Father  j 

Mod  perjur’d,  if  I do. Yet,  Lord,  confider, 

Or  e’er  too  late,  or  e’er  that  Knot  be  ty’d, 

Which  may  with  Violence  damnable  be  broken, 

No  other  way  diflever’d  : Yet  confider, 

You  wed  my  Body,  not  my  Heart,  my  Lord  ^ 

No  Part  of  my  AfFe&ion.  Sounds  it  well, 

That  Julio's  Love  is  Lord  Llenriquez'  Wife  j 
Have  you  an  Ear  for  this  harfh  Sound  ? 

Henr.  No  Shot  of  Reafon  can  come  near  the  Place, 
Where  my  Love’s  fortified.  The  Day  fiiall  come. 
Wherein  you’ll  chide  this  Backwardnefs,  and  blefs 
Our  Fervour  in  this  Courfe. 

Leon.  •— — — No,  no,  Henriquez , 

When  you  (hall  find  what  Prophet  you  arc  prov’d, 
You’ll  prophefic  no  more. 

D.  Bern. — Have  done  this  Talking, 

If  you  will  cleave  to  your  Obedience,  do’tj 
If  not,  unbolt  the  Portal,  and  be  gone* 

My  Bleffing  ftay  behind  you. 

Leon. Sir,  your  Pardon  : 

I will  not  fwerve  a Hair’s  Breadth  from  my  Duty* 

It  fhall  firfi:  coll:  me  dear. 

D.  Bern. -Well  then,  to  th’  Point : 

Give  me  your  Hand. — My  honour’d  Lord,  re- 

ceive 

My  Daughter  of  Me,  (nay,  no  dragging  back, 

But  with  my  Curfesj) whom  I frankly  give  you, 

And  wilh  you  Joy  and  Honour. 

[ As  Don  Bernard  goes  to  give  Leonora  to  Henriquez, 
Julio  advances  from  the  Arras , and  fteps  between . 

JuL  Hold,  Don  Bernard , 

Mine  is  the  elder  Claim. 

D . Bern . 


What  are  you,  Sir? 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  31 

Jul  A Wretch,  that’s  almoft  loft  to  his  own  Know- 
ledge, 

Struck  thro’  with  Injuries. 

Henr. Ha ! Julio  ? Hear  you. 

Were  you  not  Tent  on  our  Commands  to  Court? 
Order’d  to  wait  your  fair  Difmiflion  thence? 

And  have  you  dared,  knowing  you  are  our  Vaflal, 

To  Ileal  away  unpriviledg’d,  and  leave 
My  Eufinefs  and  your  Duty  unaccomplifh’d? 

Jul.  Ungen’rous  Lord!  The  Circumftance  of  Things 
Should  flop  the  Tongue  of  Queftion.  ■ .-You  have 
wrong’d  me* 

Wrong’d  me  fo  bafely,  in  fo  dear  a Point, 

As  ftains  the  Cheek  of  Honour  with  a Blufh  3 
Cancells  the  Bonds  of  Service  3 bids  Allegiance 
Throw  to  the  Wind  all  high  Refpe£ts  of  Birth, 

Title,  and  Eminence  3 and,  in  their  Stead, 

Fills  up  the  panting  Heart  with  juft  Defiance. 

If  you  have  Senfe  of  Shame,  or  Juftice,  Lord, 

Forego  this  bad  Intent  3 or  with  your  Sword 
Anfwer  me  like  a Man,  and  I fhall  thank  you. 

Julio  once  dead,  Leonora  may  be  thine  > 

But,  living,  She’s  a Prize  too  rich  to  part  with, 

Henr . Vain  Man!  the  prefent  Hour  is  fraught  with 
Bufinefs 

Of  richer  Moment.  Love  fhall  firft  be  ferv’d : 

Then,  if  your  Courage  hold  to  claim  it  of  me, 

I may  have  Leifure  to  chaftife  this  Boldnefs. 

Jul  Nay,  then  I’ll  feize  my  Right. 

Henr. W hat,  here,  a Brawl  ? 

My  Servants,  Turn  this  boiiVrous  Sworder forth  3 

And  fee  he  come  not  to  difturb  our  Joys. 

Jul  Hold,  Dogs! Leonora , — Coward,  bale, 

Henriqucz  ! 

[Julio  is  feiz'dj  and  drafd  out  by  the  Servants. 
Henr.  She  dies  upon  Me 3 help! 

(JLeonora  fwoons  3 as  they  endeavour  to  recover  her , 
a Paper  drops  from  her. 


D.  Bern, 


3*  Double  Falshood;  or, 

D.  Bern.  Throng  not  about  her  y 

But  give  her  Air. 

Hem.  - What  Paper’s  That?  let’s  fee  it. 

It  is  her  own  Hand-Writing. 

D.  Bern.  Bow  her  Head  : 

’Tis  but  her  Fright  5 fhe  will  recover  foon. 

What  learn  you  by  that  Paper,  good  my  Lord? 

Hem . That  fhe  would  do  the  Violence  to  herfelf. 
Which  Nature  hath  anticipated  on  her. 

What  Dagger  means  fhe?  Search  her  well,  I pray 
you. 

D.  Bern.  Here  is  the  Dagger.  — — Oh,  the  flub- 
born  Sex, 

Rafli  ev’n  to  Madnefs  ! 

Hem.  — — : — Bear  her  to  her  Chamber: 

Life  flows  in  her  again. Pray,  bear  her  hence; 

And  tend  her,  as  you  would  the  World’s beftTreafure. 

[ Women  carry  Leonora  off. 
Don  Bernard , this  wild  Tumult  foon  will  ceafe, 

The  Caufe  remov’d  * and  all  return  to  Calmnefs. 
Paflions  in  Women  are  as  fhort  in  Working, 

As  ftrong  in  their  EfFc£t.  Let  the  Prieft  wait : 

Come,  go  we  in:  My  Soul  is  all  on  Fire* 

And  burns  impatient  of  this  forc’d  Delay. 

[. Exeunt  5 and  the  Scene  dofe  's . 

SCENE  III.  TroffieEt  of  a Village  at 
a 'Difiance. 

Enters  Roderick. 

Rod.  Julio's  Departure  thus  in  fecret  from  Me, 
With  the  long  doubtful  Abfence  of  my  Brother, 
(Who  cannot  fuffer,  but  my  Father  feels  it  >) 

Have  trufted  me  with  ftrong  Sufpicions, 

And  Dreams,  that  will  not  let  me  fleep,  nor  ear. 

Nor  tafte  thofe Recreations  Health  demands: 

Bur, 


7)^Distrest  Lovers.  33 

But,  like  a Whirlwind,  hither  have  they  fnatch’d  me, 
Perforce,  to  be  refolv’d.  I know  my  Brother 
Had  Julio's  Father  for  his  Hoft:  from  him 
Enquiry  may  befriend  me. 

Enters  Camillo. 

Old  Sir,  I’m  glad 

‘To  Ve  met  you  thus : What  ails  the  Man?  Camillo 
Cam.  Ha? 

Rod.  Is’t  poffible,  you  fhould  forget  your  Friends? 
Cam.  Friends!  What  are  Thofe? 

Rod.  — ■ Why,  Thofe  that  love  you,  Sir. 
Cam.  You’re  None  of  Thofe,  fure,  if  you  be  Lord 
Roderick. 

Rod.  Yes,  I am  that  Lord  Roderick , and  I lie  not, 
If  I proteft,  I love  you  pafling  well. 

Cam.  You  lov’d  my  Son  too  palling  well,  I take  it: 
-One,  that  believ’d  too  fuddenly  his  Court-Creed. 

Rod.  All  is  not  well.  [ afide .] Good  old  Man, 

do  not  rail. 

Cam.  My  Lord,  my  Lord,  you’ve  dealt  dirtio- 
nourably. 

Rod.  Good  Sir,  I am  fo  far  from  doing  Wrongs 
Of  that  bafe  Strain,  I underftand  you  not. 

Cam.  Indeed!  ——You  know  not  neither,  o’  my 
Confcicnce, 

How  your  mod  virtuous  Brother,  noble  Henriquez , 
(You  look  fo  like  him,  Lord,  you  are  the  worfe  for’c; 
Rots  upon  fuch  Diffcmblers!)  under  colour 
Of  buying  Couriers,  and  I know  not  what, 

Bought  my  poor  Boy  out  of  PoflelHon 
Ev’n  of  his  plighted  Faith. —Was  not  this  Ho- 

nour ? 

And  This  a conftant  Friend? 

Rod . — 1 dare  not  fay  fo. 

Cam . Now  you  have  robb’d  him  of  his  Love, 
take  all } 


D 


Make 


3 4 Double  FalshooD;  or. 

Make  up  your  Malice,  and  difparch  his  Life  too. 

Rod.  if  you  would  hear  m**,  Sir, 

Cam.  - — Your  brave  old  Father 

Would  have  been  torn  in  Pieces  with  wild  Horfes, 
E’er  he  had  done  this  Treachery.  On  my  Confcience, 
Had  he  but  dreamt  you  Two  durft  have  committed 

This  bafe,  unmanly  Crime, 

Rod.  Why,  this  is  Madnefs.  • 

Cam.  I’ve  done*  I’ve  eas’d  my  Heart}  now  you  mar 
talk. 

Rod.  Then  as  I am  a Gentleman,  believe  me, 

(For  I will  lie  for  no  Man;)  I’m  fo  far 
From  being  guilty  of  the  lead  Sufpicion 
Of  Sin  that  way,  that  fearing  the  long  Abfence 
Of  Julio  and  my  Brother  might  beget 
Something  to  ftart  at,  hither  have  I traveled 
To  know  the  Truth  of  you. 

Enters  Violante  behind. 

Viol.  My  Servant  loiters;  fure,  he  means  me  well. 
Camillo , and  Granger?  Thefe  may  give  me 
Some  Comfort  trom  their  Talk.  I’ll  ftep  afide  : 

And  hear  what  Fame  is  ftirring.  [Violante  retires , 

Rod.  — Why  this  Wond’ring? 

Cam.  Can  there  be  one  fo  near  in  Blood  as  you  are 
To  that  Henriquez , and  an  honeft  Man? 

Rod.  While  he  was  good,  I do  confefs  my  Near- 

nefs ; 

But,  fince  his  Fall  from  Honour,  he’s  to  me 
As  a ftrange  Face  I faw  but  Yefterday, 

And  as  foon  loft. 

Cam. 1 ask  your  Pardon,  Lord* 

I was  too  ralh  and  bold. 

Rod.  -No  Harm  done,  Sir. 

Cam.  But  is  it  poftible,  you  rtiould  not  hear 
The  Paflage  ’twixt  Leonora  and  your  Brother? 

Rod.  None  of  All  This. 


Enter, 


The  Distrest  Lovers. 


35 


Enters  Citizen. 

Cam . How  now  ? 

Citiz.  1 bear  you  Tidings,  Sir,  which  I could  wifli 
Some  other  Tongue  deliver’d. 

Cam . — Whence,  I pray  you? 

Citiz.  From  your  Son,  Sir. 

Cam.  Pr’ythcc,  where  is  he? 

Citiz . That’s  more  than  I know  now,  Sir. 

But  This  I can  afliirc  you,  he  has  left 
The  City  raging  mad*  Heav’n  comfort  him! 

He  came  to  that  curft  Marriage -The  Fiends 

take  it! 

Cam.  Pr’ythee,  be  gone,  and  bid  the  Bell  knoll 
for  me  : 

I have  had  one  Foot  in  the  Grave  fome  Time. 

Nay,  go,  good  Friend  j thy  News  deferve  no  Thanks, 
How  does  your  Lordihip?  [Exit  Citizen , 

Rod.  ——That’s  well  faid.  Old  Man. 

1 hope,  all  (hall  be  well  yet. 

Cam. — It  had  need 5 

For  ’tis  a crooked  World.  Farewell,  poor  Boy ! — 

i 

Enters  Don  Bernard. 

D.  Bern.  This  comes  of  forcing  Women  where  they 
hate : 

It  was  my  own  Sin*  and  I am  rewarded. 

Now  I am  like  an  aged  Oak,  alone, 

Left  for  all  Tempefts. 1 would  cry,  but  cannot: 

I’m  dry’d  to  Death  almoft  with  thefe  Vexations. 

Lord ! what  a heavy  Load  I have  within  me ! 

My  Heart,  — my  Heart,  — my  Heart  — 

Cam.- Has  this  ill  Weather 

Met  with  Thee  too? 

D.  Bern.  O Wench,  that  I were  with  thee! 

Cam . You  do  not  come  to  mock  at  me  now  ? 

D z D . Bern, 


j 6 Double  Falshood;  w, 

D.  Bern.  Ha? — — 

Cam.  Do  not  difiemble  ; Thou  may’ft  find  a Knave 
As  bad  as  thou  art,  to  undo  thee  too : 

1 hope  to  fee  that  Day  before  I dye  yet. 

D.  Bern.  It  needeth  not,  Camillo ; I am  Knave 
Sufficient  to  my  felf.  If  thou  wilt  rail. 

Do  it  as  bitterly  as  thou  canft  think  of} 

For  I deferve  it.  Draw  thy  Sword,  and  ftrike  me; 
Adi  will  thank  thee  for’t. — I’ve  loft  my  Daughter; 
She’s  ftol’n  away  ; and  whither  gone,  I know  not. 
Cam.  She  has  a fair  Bleffing  in  being  from  you. 
Sir. 

I was  too  poor  a Brother  for  your  Greatnefs; 

You  muft  be  grafted  into  noble  Stocks, 

And  have  your  Titles  rais’d.  My  State  was  laugh’d  at  : 
And  my  Alliance  fcorn’d.  I’ve  loft  a Son  too; 

Which  muft  not  be  put  up  fo.  [ Offers  to  draw. 

Rod.  Hold ; be  counfel’d. 

You’ve  equal  Lofles;  urge  no  farther  Anger. 

Heav’n,  pleas’d  now  at  your  Love,  may  bring  again. 
And,  no  Doubt,  will,  your  Children  to  your  Com- 
forts : 

In  which  Adventure  my  Foot  fliall  be  foremoft. 

And  One  more  will  I add,  my  Honour’d  Father; 
Who  has  a Son  to  grieve  for  too,  tho’  tainted. 

Let  your  joint  Sorrow  be  as  Balm  to  heal 
Thefe  Wounds  of  adverfe  Fortune. 

D . Bern.  Come,  Camillo , 

Do  not  deny  your  Love,  for  Charity; 

I ask  it  of  you.  Let  this  noble  Lord 

Make  Brothers  of  Us,  whom  our  own  crofi  Fates 

Could  never  join.  What  I have  been,  forget; 

What  I intend  to  be,  believe  and  nourilb: 

1 do  confefs  my  Wrongs;  give  me  your  Hand. 

Cam . Heav’n  make  thee  honeft ; — there. 

Rod,  - — ■ ’Tis  done  like  good  Men. 

Nov/  there  refts  Nought,  but  that  wc  part,  and  each 

Take 


J&<?DistrestLovers.  57 

Take  fev’ral  Ways  in  Queft  of  our  loft  Friends : 

Some  of  my  Train  o’er  the  wild  Rocks  {hall  wait 
you. 

Our  beft  Search  ended,  here  we’ll  meet  again, 

And  tell  the  Fortunes  of  our  feparate  Travels.  [ Exeunt . 

Violante  comes  forward . 

Viol.  I would,  your  Brother  had  but  half  your 
Virtue  ! 

Yet  there  remains  a little  Spark  of  Hope 
That  lights  me  to  fome  Comfort.  The  Match  is 
crols’di 

The  Parties  feparate  * and  I again 
May  come  to  fee  this  Man  that  has  betray’d  me  j 
And  wound  his  Conscience  for  it : Home  again 
I will  not  go,  whatever  Fortune  guides  me  * 

Tbo’  ev’ry  Step  I went,  I trod  upon 
Dangers  as  fearful  and  as  pale  as  Death, 

No,  no,  Henriquez\  I will  follow  thee 
Where  there  is  Day,  Time  may  beget  a Wonder. 

Enters  Servant, 

O,  are  you  come?  What  News? 

Serv.  None,  but  the  worft.  Your  Father  makes 
mighty  Offers  yonder  by  a Cryer,  to  any  One  can 
bring  you  home  again. 

Viol.  Art  Thou  corrupted? 

Serv.  No. 

Viol.  Wilt  thou  be  honeft? 

Serv.  I hope,  you  do  not  fear  me. 

Viol.  Indeed,  I do  not.  Thou  haft  an  honeft  Face; 
And  fuch  a Face,  when  it  deceives,  take  heed, 

Is  curft  of  all  Heav’n’s  Creatures. 

Serv.  I’ll  hang  firft. 

Viol.  Heav’n  blefs  thee  from  that  End ! - I’ve  heard 

a Man 


3S  Double  Falshoob;  oc,' 

Say  more  than  This  y and  yet  that  Man  was  falfe. 
Thou’lt  not  be  fo,  I hope. 

Serv.  By  my  Life,  Midrefs,  - — — — 

Viol.  Swear  not*  I credit  Thee.  But  pry’theetho’. 
Take  Heed,  thou  doll  not  fail : I do  not  doubt  Thee; 
Yet  I have  trufted  fuch  a ferious  Face, 

And  been  abufed  too. 

Serv.  If  I fail  your  Trud,-~ 

Viol.  I do  thee  Wrong  to  hold  thy  Honefty 
At  Didance  thus:  Thou  fhalt  know  all  my  Fortunes. 
Get  me  a Shepherd’s  Habit. 

Serv.  Well  5 what  elfe? 

Viol.  And  wait  me  in  the  Evening,  where  I told  thee 
There  Thou  fhalt  know  my  farther  Ends.  Take  Heed — 
Serv.  D’ye  fear  me  dill? 

Viol.  • — - — * No;  This  is  only  Counfel: 

My  Life  and  Death  I have  put  equally 

Into  thy  Hand  : Let  not  Rewards,  nor  Hopes, 

Be  cad  into  the  Scale  to  turn  thy  Faith, 

Be  honed  but  for  Virtue’s  fake,  that’s  all ; 

He,  that  has  fuch  a Treafure,  cannot  fall.  \Exeunt 0 


The  End  of  the  Third  AU* 


ACT 


The  Distrest  Lovers. 


3? 


ACT  IV.  SCENE  I. 


SCENE,  ^ Wide  Tlam,  with  a Trofpefrt  of 
Mountains  at  a cDijia?ice . 

Enter  Mafter  of  the  Flocks , three  or  four  Shepherds , and 
Violance  in  Boy's  C loath s. 

I Shep . \\J ELL,  he’s  as  fweet a Man, Heav’n com- 
VV  fort  him  ! as  ever  thefe  Eyes  look’d  on. 
z Shep.  If  he  have  a Mother,  I believe,  Neigh- 
bours, (he’s  a Woe-woman  for  him  at  this  Hour. 

Maft.  Why  fhould  he  haunt  thefe  wild  unpeopled 
Mountains, 

Where  nothing  dwells  but  Hunger, and  (harp  Winds? 

I Shep.  His  Melancholy,  Sir,  that’s  the  main  De- 
vil does  it.  Go  to,  I fear  he  has  had  too  much  foul 
Play  offer’d  him. 

Maft.  How  gets  he  Meat  ? 

z Shep.  Why,  now  and  then  he  takes  our  Vi&uals 
from  us,  tho’  we  defire  him  to  eat*  and  inflead  of  a 
ihort  Grace,  beats  us  well  and  foundly,and  then  falls  to. 
Maft.  Where  lies  He? 

I Shep.  Ev’n  where  the  Night  o’ertakes  him. 
z Shep.  Now  will  I be  hang’d,  an’fome  fair-fnout- 
ed  skittifh  Woman,  or  other,  be  not  at  the  End  of 
this  Madnefs, 

l Shep.  Well,  if  he  lodg’d  within  the  Sound  of  us, 
I knew  our  Mufick  would  allure  him.  How  atten- 
tively he  flood,  and  how  he  fix’d  his  Eyes,  when  your 
Poy  fiin'g  his  Love-Ditty.  Oh,  here  he  comes  again, 
Maft . Let  him  alone  5 he  wonders  ftrangely  at  us. 

D 4 I Shep 


4o  Double  Falshoop;  or, 

i Sbep.  NotaWord,  Sirs,  to  crofs  him,  as  you  love 
your  Shoulders. 

z Shep.  He  Teems  much  difturb’d : I believe  the  mad 
Fit  is  upon  him. 

Enters  Julio. 

Jul.  Horfemanftip! — Hell— Riding  (hall  be  abo* 
lift’d : 

Turn  the  barb’d  Steed  loofe  to  his  native  Wildnefs  y 
It  is  a Bead  too  noble  to  be  made 
The  Property  of  Man’s  Bafenefs. — What  a Letter 
Wrote  he  to’s  Brother?  What  a Man  was  I? 

Why,  Per  feus  did  not  know  his  Seat  like  me  j 
The  Parthian , that  rides  fwift  without  the  Rein, 
Match’d  not  my  Grace  and  Firmnefs.  — Shall  this  Lord 
Dye,  when  Men  pray  for  him?  Think  you  ’tis  meet? 

1 Shep.  ! don’t  know  what  to  fay : Neither  I,  nor 
all  the  ConfeiTors  in  Spain,  can  unriddle  this  wild  Stuff. 

Jul.  1 mud  to  Court ! be  ufter’d  into  Grace, 

By  a large  Lift  nf  Praifes  ready  penn’d ! 

0 Devil!  What  a venomous  World  is  this, 

When  Commendations  are  the  Baits  to  Ruin! 

All  tbefe  good  Words  were  Gyves  and  Fetters,  Sir, 
To  keep  me  bolted  there:  while  the  falfe  Sender 
Play’d  out  the  Game  of  Treach’ry. — Hold*  come  hi* 
ther  y 

You  have  an  Afpeft,  Sir,  of  wond’rous  Wifdora, 

And,  as  it  Teems,  are  travell’d  deep  in  Knowledge y 
Have  you  e’er  feen  the  Phanix  of  the  Earth, 

The  Bird  of  Paradife? 

2 Shep. In  Troth,  not  I,  Sir. 

Jul.  I have  y and  known  her  Haunts,  and  where  fte 
built 

Her  fpicy  Neft:  ’till,  like  a credulous  Fool, 

1 ftew’d  the  Treafure  to  a Friend  in  Truft, 

And  he  hath  robb’d  me  of  her. — Truft  no  Friend: 
Keep  thy  Heart’s  Counfels  clofe. — Haft  thou  a Miftrefs? 
Give  her  not  out  in  Words  $ nor  let  thy  Pride 
Be  wanton  to  difplay  her  Charms  to  View  y 


Love 


. The  Distre  st  Lovers.'  41 

Love  is  contagious : and  a Breath  of  Praife, 

Or  a (light  Glance,  has  kindled  up  its  Flame, 

And  turn’d  a Friend  a Tray  tor. ’Tis  in  Proof  j 

And  it  has  hurt  my  Brain.  ' 

1 Sbep.  Marry,  now  there  is  fome  Moral  in  his  Madnefs, 
and  we  may  profit  by  it. 

Maft.  See,  he  grows  cool,  and  penfive. 

Go  towards  him.  Boy,  but  do  not  look  that  way. 

Viol.  Alas ! I tremble 

Jul. Oh,  my  pretty  Youth! 

Come  hither,  Child  5 Did  not  your  Song  imply 
Something  of  Love  ? 

1 Shep.  Ha — ha — goes  it  there?  Now  if  the  Boy 
be  witty,  we  (hall  trace  fomething. 

Viol.  Yes,  Sir,  it  was  the  Subjcft. 

Jul.  Sit  here  then : Come,fhake  not, good  pretty  Soul, 
Nor  do  not  fear  me>  I’ll  not  do  thee  Wrong. 

Viol.  Why  do  you  look  fo  on  me  ? 

Jul.  — — * I have  Reafons. 

It  puzzles  my  Philofophy,  to  think 
That  the  rude  Blaft,  hot  Sun,  and  dafhing  Rains 
Have  made  no  fiercer  W ar  upon  thy  Youth  5 
Nor  hurt  the  Bloom  of  that  Vermilion  Cheek. 

You  weep  roo,  do  you  not? 

Viol.  — Somerimes,  I do. 

Jul . I weep  lometimes  too  You’re  extremely  young. 
Viol.  Indeed,  I’ve  feen  more  Sorrows  far  than  Years. 
Jul.  Yet  all  thefe  have  not  broken  your  Complexion. 
You  have  a ftrong  Heart,  and  you  are  the  happier. 

I warrant,  you’re  a very  loving  Woman. 

Viol.  A Woman,  Sir? — I fear,  h’as  found  me  out. 

[A fide. 

z Shep.  He  takes  the  Boy  for  a Woman. — Mad,  again! 
Jul.  You’ve  met  fome  Difappointmenr  * fome  foul  Play 
Has  croh’d  your  Love. — I read  it  in  your  Face. 

Viol.  You  read  a Truth  then. 

Jul.  — Where  can  lie  the  Fault? 

Is’t  in  rhe  Man,  or  fome  diflembling  Knave, 

He  put  in  Truft?  Ho  ! have  I hit  the  Caufc? 

Viol,  You’re  not  far  off. 


42,  Double  Faishood;  or l 

Jul  This  World  is  full  of  Corners,  very  full  $ 

Young  Virgins  mult  be  wary  in  their  Ways. 

I’ve  known  a Duke’s  Son  do  as  great  a Knavery, 

Will  you  be  rul’d  by  me? 

Viol — — -Yes. 

Jul  — — — ^Kill  Yourfelf. 

’Twill  be  a Terror  to  the  Villain’s  Confcience, 

The  longed  Day  he  lives. 

Viol.  — — By  no  Means.  What? 

Commit  Self-murther ! 

Jul  — — Yes;  I’ll  have  it  fo. 

i Shep  I fear,  his  Fit  is  returning.  Take  heed  of 
all  hands.  - — » Sir,- — do  you  want  any  thing? 

Jul  Thouly’d;  thou  can’d  not  hurt  me:  I am  proof 
’Gaind  farther  Wrongs. — Steal clofe  behind  me,  Lady. 

I will  avenge  Thee. 

Viol. — — — —Thank  the  Heav’ns,  I’m  free. 

Jul  O treach’rous,  bafe  Henriquez!  have  I caught 
thee? 

Z Shep.  Help!  help!  good  Neighbours;  he  will  kill 
me  elfe,  [Julio  feizes  on  the  Shepherd  ; 

Violante  rum  out. 

Jul  Here  Thou  fhalt  pay  thy  Heart-blood  for  the 
W rongs 

Thou’d  heap’d  upon  this  Head.  Faith-breaker  ! Villain! 
I’ll  fuck  thy  Life-blood. 

i Shep.  Good  Sir,  have  Patience ; this  is  no  Hen* 
riquez.  [ they  refeue  the  Shepherd,, 

Jul  Well;  let  him  dink  to  Court,  and  hide  a Co- 
ward ; 

Not  all  his  Father’s  Guards  (hall  fhield  him  there. 

Or  if  he  prove  too  drong  for  Mortal  Arm, 

I will  follicit  ev’ry  Saint  in  Heav’n 

To  lend  me  Vengeance. I’ll  about  it  drait.— 

The  wrathful  Elements  fhall  wage  this  War; 

Furies  fhall  haunt  him;  Vultures  gnaw  his  Heart; 

And  Nature  pour  forth  all  her  Stores  of  Plagues, 

To  join  in  Pun  fhment  of  Trud  betray’d.  [Exit  Julio* 
z Shep . Go  thy  Ways,  and  a Vengeance  go  with 

Thee! 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  43 

Thee!  — Pray,  feel  my  Nofej  is  it  fall,  Neighbours? 

1 Shep.  ’Tis  as  well  as  may  be. 
z Shep.  He  pull’d  at  it,  as  he  would  have  drag’d  a 
Bullock  backward  by  the  Tail. — An’c  had  been  fomc 
Men’s  Nofe  that  I know,  Neighbours,  who  knows 
where  it  had  been  now  ? He  has  given  me  fuch  a de- 
vilifh  Dafh  o’er  the  Mouth,  that  I feel,  I fhall  never 
whiffle  to  my  Sheep  again : Then  they’ll  make  Holy-day. 

1 Shep.  Gome,  fhall  we  go  ? for,  I fear,  if  the  Youth 
return,  our  fecond  Courfc  will  be  much  more  againfl 
our  Stomachs. 

Maft.  Walk  you  afore  j I will  but  give  my  Boy 
Some  fhort  Inftrudbions,  and  I’ll  follow  flrait. 

We’ll  crafh  a Cup  together. 

1 Shep.  Pray,  do  not  linger. 

Maft.  I will  not,  Sirs 5 — This  muft  not  be  a Boys 
His  Voice,  Mein,  Gefture,  ev’ry  Thing  he  does, 
Savour  of  foft  and  female  Delicacy. 

He  but  puts  on  this  Seeming,  and  his  Garb 
Speaks  him  of  fuch  a Rank,  as  well  perfwades  me. 

He  plays  the  Swain,  rather  to  cloak  iome  Purpofe, 
Than  forced  to’t  by  a Need:  I’ve  waited  long 
To  mark  the  End  he  has  in  his  Difguife  ; 

But  am  not  perfeft  in’t.  The  Madman’s  Coil 

Has  driv’n  him  (baking  hence.  Thefe  Fears  betray  him. 

If  he  prove  right,  I’m  happy.  O,  he’s  here. 

Enters  Violante. 

Come  hither,  Bov;  where  did  you  leave  the  Flock, 
Child? 

Viol.  Grazing  below,  Sir.  — What  does  he  mean, 
to  ftrokeOne  o’the  Cheek  fo?I  hope,  I’m  not  betray’d. 
Maft.  Have  you  learnt  the  Whiffle  yet,  and  when 
to  Fold  ? 

And  how  to  make  the  Dog  bring  in  the  Strayers  ? 

Viol.  Time,  Sir,  will  furnifh  me  with  all  thefe  Rules; 
My  Will  is  able,  but  my  Knowledge  weak,  Sir. 

Maft  That’s  a good  Child  : Why  dofl  thou  blufh, 
my  Boy? 

’Tis 


44  Double  FalshooD;  w, 

*T is  certainly  a Woman.  [ Afide .]  Speak,  my  Boy. 

Viol.  Heav’n  ! howl  tremble.--*  ’Tis  unufual  to  me 
To  find  fuch  Kindnefs  at  a Matter’s  Hand, 

That  am  a poor  Boy,  ev’ry  way  unable, 

Unlefs  it  be  in  Pray’rs,  to  merit  it. 

Befides,  I’ve  often  heard  old  People  fay, 

Too  much  Indulgence  makes  Boys  rude  and  fawcy. 
Maft . Are  you  fo  cunning 

Viol. — < — *—How  hisEyesfhake  Fire, 

And  meafure  ev’ry  Piece  of  Youth  about  me ! \_AJide. 
The  Ewes  want  Water,  Sir:  Shall  I go  drive  ’em 
Down  to  the  Citterns?  Shall  I make  hafte,  Sir? 
’Would  1 were  five  Miles  from  him — How  he  gripes 
me ! [Afid&* 

Maft.  Come,  come,  all  this  is  not  fufficicnc,  Child, 
To  make  a Fool  of  me.—*  This  is  a fine  Hand, 

A delicate  fine  Hand,-—  Never  change  Colour  $ 

You  under ftand  me,  — and  a Woman’s  Hand. 

Viol.  You’re  ttrangely  out : Yet  if  I were  a Woman, 
I know,  you  are  fo  honeft  and  fo  good, 

That  tho’  I wore  Difguifes  for  fome  Ends, 

You  would  not  wrong  me. 

Maft.  — — Come,  you’re  made  for  Love* 

Will  you  comply?  I’m  madder  with  this  Talk. 

There’s  Nothing  you  can  fay,  can  take  my  Edge  off*. 

Viol.  Oh,  do  but  quench  thefe  foul  Affe&ions  in  yoq. 
That,  like  bale  Thieves,  have  rob’d  you  of  yourReafon, 
And  I will  be  a Woman  j and  begin 
So  fad  a Story,  that  if  there  be  aught 
Of  humane  in  you,  or  a Soul  that’s  gentle, 

You  cannot  chufe  but  pity  my  lott  Youth. 

Maft.  No  Stories  now,— — 

Viol. Kill  me  direftly,  Sir* 

As  you  have  any  Goodnefs,  take  my  Life. 

Rod.  within.  Hoa!  Shepherd,  will  you  hear,  Sir? 
Maft . What  bawling  Rogue  is  that,  i’th’  Devil’s 
Name? 

Viol . Bleffings  upon  him,  whatfoe’erhebe!  [Runs  oat. 

Enters 


The  D is  t rest  Lovers. 

Enters  Roderick. 


4J 


Rod.  Good  Even,  my  Friend  j I thought,  you  Jill 
had  been  afleep  in  this  Country. 

Maft.  You  had  lied  thenj  for  you  were  waking, 
when  you  thought  fo. 

Rod.  I thank  you,  Sir. 

Maft.  I pray,  be  cover’d ; ’tis  not  fo  much  worth,  Sir. 
Rod.  Was  that  thy  Boy  ran  crying? 

Maft . Yes j what  then? 

Rod.  Why  doft  thou  beat  him  fo? 

Maft.  To  make  him  grow. 

Rod.  A pretty  Med’cine!  Thou  can’ll  not  tell  me 

the  Way  to  the  next  Nunnery  ? 

Maft . How  do  you  know  That?  — Yes,  I can  tell 
you 5 but  the  Queftion  is,  whether  I will  or  no*  and, 
indeed,  I will  not.  Fare  you  well.  [ Exit  Mailer. 

Rod.  What  a brute  Fellow’s  this!  Are  they  all  thus? 
My  Brother  Henriquez  tells  me  by  his  Letters, 

The  Millrefs  of  his  Soul  not  far  from  hence 
Hath  taken  Sanftuary;  from  which  he  prays 
My  Aid  to  bring  her  back. — From  what  Camillo 
Hinted,  I wear  fome  Doubts. — Here  ’tis  appointed 
That  we  Ihould  meets  it  mull  be  here*  ’tis  fo. 

He  comes. 

Enters  Henriquez. 

Now,  Brother,  what’s  this  pofl>halte  BuGnefs 

You  hurry  me  about?  Some  wenching  Matter— 

Hern . My  Letter  told  you,  Sir. 

Rod.  ’Tis  true,  it  tells  me,  that  you’ve  loll  a 
Millrels 

Whom  your  Heart  bleeds  for*  but  the  Means  to  win 
her 

From  her  clofe  Life,  I take  it,  is  not  mention’d. 
You’re  ever  in  thefe  Troubles.— *- 

Henr . — — — - Noble  Brother, 

I own,  I have  too  freely  giv’n  a Scope 

To 


Double  Falshood; ^ 

To  Youth’s  intemp’rate  Hear,  and  ra(h  Defires: 

But  think  not,  that  I would  engage  your  Virtues 
To  any  Caufe,  wherein  my  conftant  Heart 
Attended  not  my  Eye.  ’Till  now  my  Paflions 
Reign’d  in  my  Blood ; ne’er  pierc’d  into  my  Mind  5 
But  I’m  a Convert  grown  to  pureft  Thoughts: 

And  muft  in  Anguifh  fpend  my  Days  to  come, 

IF  I pofiefs  not  her:  So  much  I love. 

Rod.Thc  Means?  — She’s  in  a Cloyfter,  is  (he  not? 
Within  whofe  Walls  to  enter  as  We  are, 

Will  never  be:  Few  Men,  but  Fryars,  come  there j 
Which  We  {hall  never  make. 

Henr.  — ■ — - If  That  would  do  it, 

I would  make  Any  thing. 

Rod.  Are  you  fo  hot? 

I’ll  ferve  him,  be  it  but  to  fave  his  Honour.  \_dfide. 
To  feign  a Corpfe  — By  th’Mafs,  it  {hall  be  fo. 
We  muft  pretend,  we  do  tranfport  a Body 
As  ’twere  to’s  Funeral:  and  coming  late  by, 

Crave  a Night’s  Leave  to  reft  the  Herfe  i’th’  Convent. 
That  be  our  Courfe  for  to  fuch  Charity 
Strift  Zeal  and  Cuftom  of  the  Houfc  give  Way. 

Henr.  And,  opportune,  a vacant  Herfe  pafs’d  by 
From  Rites  but  new  perform’d:  This  for  a Price 
We’ll  hire,  to  put  our  Scheme  in  Aft.  Ho!  Gerald — 
[Enter  Gerald,  'whom  Hcnriquez  wbifyers $ then  Ge- 
rald goes  out. 

Rod.  When  we’re  once  lodg’d,  the  Means  of  her 
Conveyance, 

By  fafe  and  fecret  Force,  with  Eafe  we’ll  compafs. 
Bur,  Brother,  know  my  Terms.  — >If  that  your  Miftrefs 
Will  to  the  World  come  back,  and  {he  appear 
An  Objeft  worthy  in  our  Father’s  Eye, 

Wooe  her,  and  win  her*  but  if  his  Confent 

Keep  not  Pace  with  your  Purpofe 

Henr.  Doubt  it  not. 

I’ve  look’d  not  with  a common  Eye  5 but  chofe 
A noble  Virgin,  who  to  make  her  fo, 


Has 


47 


the  Distrest  Lovers. 

Has  all  the  Gifts  of  Heav’n  and  Earth  upon  her. 

If  ever  Woman  yet  could  be  an  Angel, 

She  is  the  nearcft. 

Rbod.  ■■ Well}  a Lover's  Praife 

Fcafts  not  a Common  Ear.  Now  to  our  Plot; 

We  (hall  bring  Night  in  with  Us.  \ Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

Enter  Julio,  and  Two  Gentlemen . 

Gent.  Good  Sir,  compofe  yourfelf. 

Jul.  — ■ — » — O Leonora , 

That  Heav’n  had  made  Thee  ftronger  than  a Woman, 
How  happy  had  I been ! 

Gent . — — — - He’s  calm  again : 

I’ll  take  this  Interval  to  work  upon  Him; 

Thefe  wild  and  folitary  Places,  Sir, 

But  feed  your  Pain ; let  better  Rcafon  guide  you  ; 

And  quit  this  forlcrne  State,  that  yields  no  Comfort. 

\Lute  founds  within . 
Jul.  Ha!  hark, a Sound  from  Heav’n!  Do  you  hear 
Nothing? 

Gent . Yes,  Sir;  the  Touch  offome  fweet  Inftrument: 
Here’s  no  Inhabitant. 

Jul.  -No,  no,  the  better. 

Gent . This  is  a ftrange  Place  to  hear  Mufick  in. 
Jul  I’m  often  vifited  with  thefe  fweet  Airs. 

The  Spirit  of  fome  haplefs  Man  that  dy’d, 

And  left  his  Love  hid  in  a faithlcfs  Woman, 

Sure  haunts  thefe  Mountains.  [Violante  fings  within. 
Fond  Echo/  forego  thy  light  Strain , 

And  heedfully  hear  a loft  Maid ; 

Go,  tell  the  falfe  Ear  of  the  Swain 
How  deeply  his  Vows  have  betray'd. 

Go , tell  him , what  Sorrows  I bear ; 

See9  yet  if  his  Heart  feel  my  Woe: 

9 Tts  now  he  muft  heal  my  Defpair , 

Or  Death  will  make  Pity  too  flow. 


Gent. 


48  Double  F a l s h o o d •>  or, 

Gent.  See,  how  his  Soul  ftrives  in  him!  This  fad 
Strain 

Has  fearch’d  him  to  the  Heart. 

Jul.  Excellent  Sorrow! 

.You  never  lov’d? 

Gent.  No. 

Jul.  Peace)  and  learn  to  grieve  then. 

[Violantc  fwgs  within. 

Go,  tell  him , what  Sorrows  I bear  5 
See,  yet  if  his  Heart  feel  my  IVoei 
9Tis  now  he  mufi  heal  my  Defpair , 

Or  Death  will  make  Pity  too  flow. 

Is  not  this  heav’nly? 

Gent.  I never  beard  the  Like,  Sir. 

Jul.  I’ll  tell  you,  my  good  Friends  j but  pray,  fay 
Nothing) 

I’m  ftrangely  touch’d  with  This.  The  heav’nly  Sound 
Diffufes  a fweet  Peace  thro’  all  my  Soul. 

But  yet  I wonder,  what  new,  fad,  Companion 
Grief  has  brought  hither  to  out-bid  my  Sorrows. 

Stand  off,  (land  off,  ftand  off.  —Friends,  it  appears. 

Enters  Violante. 

Viol.  How  much  more  grateful  are  thefe  craggy 
Mountains, 

And  thefe  wild  Trees,  than  things  of  nobler  Naturesj 
For;  Thefe  receive  my  Plaints,  and  mourn  again 
In  many  Echoes  to  Me.  All  good  People 
Are  fain  afleep  for  ever.  None  are  left. 

That  have  the  Senfe,  and  Touch  of  Tendemefs 
For  Virtue’s  fake : No,  fcarcc  their  Memory : 

From  whom  ! may  expefl:  Counfel  in  Fears, 

Eafe  to  Complainings,  or  Redreft  of  Wrongs. 

Jul . This  is  a moving  Sorrow,  but  fay  nothing. 

Viol.  What  Dangers  have  1 run,  and  to  whatlnfults 
Expos’d  this  Ruin  of  my  feP  ? Oh  I Milchief 
On  that  Soul-footted  Hind,  my  vicious  Matter ! 

Who 


The  Distrhst  Loy  e r s.  45* 

Who  would  have  thought,  that  fuch  poor  Worms  as 

They, 

(Whole  bed  Feed  is  coarfe  Bread  > whofe  Bcv’rage, 
Water}) 

Should  have  fo  much  rank  Blood  ? I fhake  all  over, 
And  blufli  to  think  what  had  become  of  me, 

If  that  good  Man  had  not  reliev’d  me  from  him. 

Jul.  Since  fhe  is  not  Leonora , fhe  is  heav’nly. 

When  £he  {'peaks  next,  liden  as  ferioufly. 

As  Women  do  that  have  their  Loves  at  Sea, 

What  Wind  blows  cv’ry  Morning. 

Viol.  I cannot  get  this  falfe  Man’s  Memory 
Out  of  my  Mind.  You  Maidens,  that  fhall  live 
To  bear  my  mournful  Tale,  when  I am  Afhes, 

Be  wife>  and  to  an  Oath  no  more  give  Credit, 

To  Tears,  to  Vows,  (falfe  Both  !)  or  any  Thing 
A Man  fhall  promife,  than  to  Clouds,  that  now 
Bear  fuch  a pleafing  Shape,  and  now  are  nothing. 

For  they  will  cozen,  (if  They  may  be  cozen’d,) 

The  very  Gods  they  worfhip.  Valour,  judice, 

Difcretion,  Honedy,  and  all  they  covet, 

To  make  them  Teeming  Saints,  are  but  the  Wiles 
By  which  thefe  Syrens  lure  us  to  Deftru&ion. 

Jul.  Do  not  you  weep  now?  I could  drop  myfelf 
Into  a Fountain  for  her. 

Gent.  She  weeps  extremely. 

Jul.  —Let  her  weep}  ’tis  well : 

Her  Heart  will  break  elfe.  Great  Sorrows  live  in  Tears. 

Viol.  O falfe  Henriquez ! 

Jul. Ha! 

Viol. And  Oh,  thou  Fool, 

Forfaken  Violante ! whofe  Belief 

And  childifh  Love  have  made  Thee  fo  go,  dye* 

For  there  is  nothing  left  Thee  now  to  look  for, 

That  can  bring  Comfort,  but  a quiet  Grave. 

There  all  the  Miferies  I long  have  felt, 

And  Thofe  to  come,  {hall  fweetly  deep  together. 
Fortune  may  guide  that  falfe  Henriquez  hither, 

To  weep  Repentance  o’er  my  pale,  dead  Coaffe, 

E And 


\ . 


;o  Double  Falshood*,  or. 

And  cheer  my  wand’ring  Spirit  with  thofe  lov’d  Obfe- 
^ quies.  [Going. 

Jul.  Stay,  Lady,  ftay : Can  it  be  poflible, 

That  you  are  Fiolante? 

Fiol. That  loft  Name* 

Spoken  by  One,  that  needs  muft  know  my  Fortunes, 
Has  taken  much  Fear  from  me.  Who  are  you,  Sir? 
For,  fure,  I am  that  hopeiels  Fiolante. 

Jul.  And  I,  as  far  from  any  earthly  Comfort 
That  I know  yet,  the  much- wrong’d  Julio ! 

Viol,  Julio! 

Jul.  I once  was  thought  fo. If  the  curft 

Henriquez 

Had  Pow’r  to  change  you  to  a Boy,  why,  Lady, 
Should  not  that  Mifchief  make  me  any  thing. 

That  have  an  equal  Share  in  all  the  Miferies 
His  Crimes  have  flung  upon  Us? 

Viol.  Well  I know  it : 

And  pardon  Me,  I could  not  know  your  Virtues, 
Before  your  Griefs.  Methought,  when  laft  we  mer, 
The  Accent  of  your  Voice  ftruck  on  my  Ear 
Like  fomething  i had  known,  but  Floods  of  Sorrow 
Drown’d  the  Remembrance.  If  you’ll  pleafe  to  fir, 
(Since  I have  found  a fuff’ring  true  Companion,) 

And  give  me  Hearing,  I will  tell  you  fomething 
Of  Leonora*  that  may  comfort  you. 

Jul.  Bkfling  upon  Thee ! Henceforth,  I proteft 
Never  to  leave  Thee,  if  Heav’n  fay  Amen. 

But,  foft ! let’s  fhift  our  Ground,  guide  our  fad  Steps 
To  fome  remoter  Gloom,  where,  undifturb’d, 

We  may  compare  our  Woes  \ dwell  on  the  Tale 
Of  mutual  Injuries,  ’till  our  Eyes  run  o’er, 

And  we  infe£fc  each  other,  with  frefti  Sorrows.  — 
Talk’d  you  of  Comfort?  ’Tis  the  Food  of  Fools, 

And  We  will  None  on’tj  but  indulge  Defpair: 

So,  worn  with  Griefs,  fteal  to  the  Cave  of  Death, 
And  in  a Sigh  give  up  our  lateft  Breath.  [Exeunt. 

'The  End  of  the  Fourth  Aft* 


ACT 


DistreJt  Lovers.  / i 


ACT  V.  SCENE  1. 


SCENE,  The  Trofpett  of  the  Moun- 
tains continued . 

Enter  Roderick,  Leonora  veil'd,  Henriquez,  Atten- 
dants as  Mourners . 

Rod.  T>  EST  certain,  Lady,  Nothing  fhall  betide 
l\  you, 

But  fair,  and  noble  Ufage.  Pardon  me. 

That  hitherto  a Courle  of  Violence 

Has  fnatch’d  you  from  that  Seat  of  Contemplation 

To  which  you  gave  your  After-Life. 

Leon.  Where  am  I? 

Rod.  Not  in  the  Nunnery  j never  blufh,  nor  trem- 
ble j 

Your  Honour  has  as  fair  a Guard,  as  when 
Within  a Cloyfter.  Know  then,  what  is  done, 
(Which,  I prefume,  you  underftand  not  truly,) 

Has  this  Ufe,  to  preferve  the  Life  of  One 
Dying  for  Love  of  You  : my  Brother,  and  your 
Friend  : 

Under  which  Colour  we  defir’d  to  reft 
Qur  Herfe  one  Night  within  your  hallow’d  Walls, 
Where  we  furpriz’d  you. 

Leon.  Are  you  that  Lord  Roderick , 

So  fpoken  of  for  Virtue,  and  fair  Life, 

And  dare  you  lofe  thefe  to  be  Advocate 
For  fuch  a Brother,  fuch  a ftnful  Brother, 

E % 


Such 


5 z Double  Falshood;  or , 

Such  an  unfaithful,  treacherous,  brutal  Brother? 

Rod.  This  is  a fearful  Charge. 

[Looks  at  Henriquez. 

Leon.  If  you  would  have  me 

Think,  you  ftill  bear  Refpe£t  for  Virtue’s  Name; 

As  you  would  wifb,  your  Daughters,  thus  diftrefs’d. 
Might  find  a Guard,  proteft  me  from  Henriquez  -9 
And  1 am  happy. 

Rod.  Come,  Sir,  make  your  Anfwer  > 

For  as  I have  a Soul,  1 am  afham’d  on’t. 

Henr.  O Leonora , fie ! thus  felf-condemn’d, 

I throw  me  at  your  Feet,  and  fue  for  Mercy. 

If  I have  err’d,  impute  it  to  my  Love* 

The  Tyrant  God  that  bows  us  to  his  Sway, 
Rebellious  to  the  Laws  of  reas’ning  Men* 

That  will  not  have  his  Votaries  Actions  fcann’d, 

But  calls  it  Juftice,  when  we  mofl  obey  him. 

He  but  commanded,  what  your  Eyes  infpir’dj 
Whofe  facred  Beams,  darted  into  my  Soul, 

Have  purg’d  the  Manfion  from  impure  Defires, 

And  kindled  in  my  Heart  a Veftal’s  Flame. 

Leon.  Rife,  rife,  my  Lord  5 this  well-diflembled 
Paflion 

Has  gain’d  you  nothing  but  a deeper  Hate. 

Should  I imagine,  he  can  truly  love  me, 

That,  like  a Villain,  murthers  my  Defires? 

Or  fhould  I drink  that  Wine,  and  think  it  Cordial, 
When  I fee  Poyfon  in’t  ? 

Rod.  — Draw  this  way,  Ladyj 

1 am  not  perfect  in  your  Story  yet  > 

But  fee  you’ve  had  fome  Wrongs,  that  want  Redrefs. 
Only  you  mull  have  Patience  to  go  with  us 
To  yon  fmall  Lodge,  which  meets  the  Sight  from 
hence. 

Where  your  Diflrefs  (hall  find  the  due  Refpe6t: 

’Till  when,  your  Griefs  fhall  govern  me  as  much, 

As  Nearnefs  and  AfFe&ion  to  my  Brother. 

Call  my  Attendants  yours  5 and  ufe  them  freely  $ 


For 


W*  D i st rest  Lovers.  jj 

For  as  I am  a Gentleman,  no  Pow’r, 

Above  your  own  Will,  (hall  come  near  your  Perfon. 
\_As  they  are  going  out , Violantc  enters , and  plucks 
Roderick  by  the  Sleeve ; the  reft  go  out. ] 

Viol.  Your  Ear  a Moment:  Scorn  not  my  tender 
Youth. 

Roder.  Look  to  the  Lady  there.  — I follow  ftrait. 
What  ails  this  Boy?  Why  doft  thou  (ingle  me? 

Viol.  The  due  Obfcrvance  of  your  noble  Virtue, 
Vow’d  to  this  mourning  Virgin,  makes  me  bold 
To  give  it  more  Employment. 

Rod.  Art  not  Thou 

The  furly  Shepherd’s  Boy,  that,  when  I call’d 
To  know  the  Way,  ran  crying  by  me? 

Viol.  Yes,  Sir. 

And  I thank  Heav’n  and  you  for  helping  me. 

Rod.  How  did  I help  thee,  Boy? 

Viol.  I do  but  feem  fo,  Sir  *,  and  am  indeed 
A Woman;  one  your  Brother  once  has  lov’d ; 

Or,  Heav’n  forgive  him  elfe,  he  ly’d  extremely. 

Rod.  Weep  not,  good  Maid;  O this  licentious 
Brother ! 

But  how  came  you  a Wand’rer  on  thefe  Mountains  ? 

Viol.  That,  as  we  pafs,  an’t  plcafe  you,  I’ll  difeover. 
I will  aflure  you,  Sir,  rhefc  barren  Mountains 
Hold  many  Wonders  of  your  Brother’s  making. 

Here  wanders  haplefs  Julio,  worthy  Man ! 

Befides  himfelf  with  Wrongs — 

Rod.  That  once  again — 

Viol.  Sir,  I faid,  Julio. Sleep  weigh’d  down  his 

Eyelids, 

Opprefs’d  with  Watching,  juft  as  you  approach’d  us. 
Rod.  O Brother!  We  (hall  found  the  Depths  of 
FaKhood. 

If  this  be  true,  no  more  but  guide  me  to  him: 

I hope,  a fair  End  will  fucceed  all  yet. 

If  it  be  He,  by  your  Leave,  gentle  Brother, 

I’ll  fee  him  ferv’d  firft.  — Maid,  you  have  o’erjoy’d  me. 

E i Thou 


54  Double  Falshoodj  or, 

Thou  {halt  have  Right  too:  Make  thy  fair  Appeal 
To  the  good  Duke,  and  doubt  not  but  thy  Tears 
Shall  be  repaid  with  Intereft  from  his  Judice. 

Lead  me  to  Julio . [ Exeunt . 

SCENE  II.  An  Apartment  in  the  Lodge . 

Enter  Duke,  Don  Bernard,  and  Carnillo. 

Cam . Ay,  then  your  Grace  had  had  s Son  more; 
He,  a Daughter;  and  I,  an  Heir:  But  let  it  be  as  ’tis, 
I cannot  mend  it;  one  way  or  other,  I fnail  rub  it  o- 
ver,  with  rubbing  to  my  Grave,  and  there’s  an  End  on’t. 
Duke.  Our  Sorrows  cannot  help  us,  Gentlemen. 
Cam.  Hang  me,  Sir,  if  I fhed  one  Tear  more.  By 
Jove , I’ve  wept  fo  long,  I’m  as  blind  as  Judice.  When 
I come  to  fee  my  Hawks  (which  I held  a Toy  next  to 
my  Son;)  if  they  be  but  Houfe-high,  I mud  Hand 
aiming  at  them  like  a Gunner. 

Duke.  Why,  he  mourns  like  a Man.  Don  Bernard , 
you 

Are  ft  ill  like  Jpril,  full  of  Show’rs  and  Dews: 

And  yer  I blame  you  not:  for  I myfelf 

Feel  the  felf-fame  Affc&ions. Let  them  go  ; 

They’re  difobedient  Children. 

D.  Bern. Ay,  my  Lord  ; 

Yet  they  may  turn  again. 

Cam  Let  them  e’en  have  their  Swing:  they’re  young 
and  wanton;  the  next  Storm  we  fhall  have  them  gal- 
lop homeward,  whining  as  Pigs  do  in  the  Wind. 

D.  Bern  Would  I had  my  Daughter  any  way. 

Cam.  Wculd’ft  thou  have  her  with  Bearn,  Man,  tell 
me  that  ? 

D.  Bern.  I care  not,  if  an  honed  Father  got  it. 
Cam.  You  might  have  had  her  fo  in  this  good  Time, 
Had  my  Son  had  her:  Now  you  may  go  feek 
Your  Fool  to  dop  a Gap  with. 


Duke 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  55 

Duke.  You  fay,  that  Rod  rick  charg’d  you  here  fhould 
wait  him  : 

He  has  o’erflip’d  the  Time,  at  which  his  Letters 
Of  Speed  requeft  that  I fhould  alfo  meet  him, 

1 fear,  fome  bad  Event  is  ufher’d  in 
By  this  Delay : How  now  ? 

Enters  Gentleman. 

Gent.  So  pleafe  your  Grace, 

Lord  Roderick  makes  Approach. 

Duke.  - 1 thank  thee,  Fellow, 

For  thy  fo  timely  News:  Comes  he  alone? 

Gent.  No,  Sir,  attended  well:  and  in  his  Train 
Follows  a Herfe  with  all  due  Rites  of  Mourning. 

[Exit  Gent, 

Duke.  Heav’n  fend,  Henriquez  live ! 

Cam. ’Tis  my  poor  Julio. 

Enters  Roderick,  baflily. 

Duke.  O welcome,  welcome, 

Welcome,  good  Roderick!  Say,  what  News? 

Cam.  Do  you  bring  Joy  or  Grief,  my  Lord  ? For  me, 
Come  what  can  come,  I’ll  live  a Month  or  two 
If  the  Gout  pleafe  5 curfe  my  Phyfician  once  more, 
And  then, 

Under  this  Stone 
Lies  Sev'nty  One. 

Rod.  Signior,  you  do  exprefs  a manly  Patience. 

My  noble  Father,  fomething  I have  brought 
To  eafe  your  Sorrows:  My  Endeavours  have  not 
Been  altogether  barren  in  my  Journey. 

Duke.  It  comes  at  need,  Boy  j but  I hop’d  it  from 
thee. 


Double  Falshood;  or. 

Enter  Leonora  veil'd , Henriquez  behind , and  At- 
tendants. 

Rod.  The  Company  I bring,  will  bear  me  Witnels 
The  bufieft  of  my  Time  has  been  employ’d 
On  this  good  Task.  Don  Bernard  finds  beneath 
This  Veil  his  Daughter:  You,  my  Royal  Father, 
Behind  that  Lady  find  a wand’ring  Son. 

How  I met  with  them,  and  how  brought  them  hither, 
More  Leifure  mutt  unfold. 

Henr.  — — — My  Father  here ! 

And  Julio's  I O Confufion! Low  as  Earth 

I bow  me  for  your  Pardon.  \_To  the  Duke . 

D.  Bern.  O my  Girl ! 

Thou  brirjg’ft  new  Life. \_Embraces  Leonora. 

Duke.  And  you,  my  Son,  re  (tore  me  [To  Roderick. 
One  Comfort  here  that  has  been  miffing  long. 

I hope,  thy  Follies  thou  haft  left  abroad.  [ Lo  Henriq. 

Cam.  Ay,  ay  * you’ve  all  Comforts  but  1 you  have 
ruin’d  me,  kill’d  my  poor  Boy  5 cheated  and  ruin’d  him  j 
and  I have  no  Comfort. 

Rod.  Be  patienr,  Signior*  Time  may  guide  my 
Hand 

To  work  you  Comfort  too. 

Cam.  I thank  your  Lordffiip  j 
’Would  Grand  fire  Time  had  been  fo  kind  to’vedoneitj 
We  might  have^oy’d  together  like  good  Fellows. 

But  he’s  fo  full  of  Bufincfs,  good  Old  Man, 

’Tis  Wonder,  he  could  do  the  Good  he  has  done. 

D.  Bern.  Nay,  Child,  be  comforted.  Thefe  Tears 
diftradt  me. 

Duke.  Hear  your  good  Father,  Lady. 

Leon.  — Willingly. 

Duke.  The  Voice  of  Parents  is  the  Voice  of  Gods: 
For  to  their  Children  they  are  Heav’n’s  Lieutenants: 
Made  Fathers,  not  for  common  Ufes  meerly 
Of  Procreation^  (Beafts  and  Birds  would  be 

As 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  57 

As  noble  then  as  we  are)  but  to  (leer 
The  wanton  Freight  of  Youth  thro’  Storms  and  Dan- 
gers, 

Which  with  full  Sails  they  bearupon:  and  (freighter 
The  moral  Line  of  Life,  they  bend  fo  often. 

For  Thefe  are  We  made  Fathers  $ and  for  Thefe, 

May  challenge  Duty  on  our  Children’s  Part. 
Obedience  is  the  Sacrifice  of  Angels, 

Whofe  Form  you  carry. 

D.  Bern.  Hear  the  Duke,  good  Wench. 

Leon.  I do  mod  heedfully.  My  gracious  Lord, 

[ft  the  Duke . 

Let  me  be  fo  unmanner’d  to  requeft, 

He  would  not  farther  prefs  me  with  Perfuafions 
O’th’  inftant  Hour:  but  have  the  gentle  Patience 
To  bury  this  keen  Suit,  ’till  I (hake  Hands 

With  my  old  Sorrows, 

Cam.  Why  doft  look  at  me? 

Alas!  I cannot  help  thee. 

Leon.  — — And  but  weep 

A Farewell  to  my  murther’d  Julio^ 

Cam.  Blefiing  be  with  thy  Soul,  whene’er  it  leaves 
Thee! 

Leon.  For  fuch  fad  Rites  mull  be  perform’d,  my 
Lord, 

E’er  I can  love  again.  Maids,  that  have  lov’d, 

If  they  be  worth  that  noble  Teftimony, 

Wear  their  Lores  here,  my  Lord*  here,  in  their 
Hearts  > 

Deep,  deep  within*,  not  in  their  Eyes,  or  Accents  $ 
Such  may  be  flip’d  away  $ or  with  two  Tears 
Wafh’d  out  of  all  Remembrance:  Mine,  no  Phyfick, 
But  Time,  or  Death,  can  cure. 

Henr.  You  make  your  own  Conditions,  and  I feal 
them 

Thus  on  your  virtuous  Hand.  \_Jfide. 

Cam.  Well,  Wench,  thy  Equal 
Shall  not  be  found  in  hafte,  I give  thee  That: 

Thou 


5 8 Double  Falshood  - or. 

Thou  art  a right  one,  ev’ry  Inch. Thy  Father 

(For,  without  Doubt,  that  Snuff  never  begot  Thee,) 
Was  Tome  choice  Fellow,  feme  true  Gentleman  5 
I give  thy  Mother  Thanks  for’c there’s  no  Harm 

done.  <-  ■ — 

Would  I were  young  again,  and  had  but  thee, 

A gone,  H fc  under  me,  and  a good  Sword, 

And  ihus  much  for  Inheritance. 

[Violanre  offer j,  once  or  twice , to  Jhew 
herfelff  but  goes  back . 

Duke.  What  Boy’s  That, 

Has  offer’d  twice  or  thnee  to  break  upon  us? 

I’ve  noted  him,  and  itill  he  falls  back  fearful. 

Rod.  A little  Boy,  Sir,  like  a Shepherd? 

Duke.  Yes. 

Rod.  ’Tis  your  Page,  Brother  j One  that 

was  fo,  late. 

Henr.  My  Page!  What  Page? 

Rod  — - Ev’n  fo  he  lays,  your  Page  5 

And  more,  and  worfe,  you  ftole  him  from  his  Friends, 
And  promis’d  him  Preferment. 

Henr.  I,  Preferment! 

Rod.  And  on  fome  flight  Occafion  let  him  flip 
Here  on  thefe  Mountains,  where  he  had  been  ftarv’d. 
Had  not  my  People  found  him,  as  we  travell’d. 

This  was  not  handfome,  Brother.  / 

Henr.  — You  are  merry. 

Rod.  You’ll  find  it  fober  Truth. 

Duke.  - If  fo,  ’tis  ill. 

Henr.  ’Tis  Fidion  all,  Sir  5 — ^ — Brother,  you  muff 
pleafe 

To  look  fome  other  Fool  to  put  thefe  Tricks  on* 

They  are  too  obvious: Pleafe  your  Grace,  give 

Leave 

T’  admit  the  Boy  5 If  he  know  me,  and  fay, 

I ltole  him  from  his  Friends,  and  caff  him  off, 

Know  me  no  more. — -—Brother,  pray  do  not  wrong 
me. 

Enters 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  5? 


Enters  Violante. 

Rod.  Here  is  the  Boy.  If  he  deny  this  to  you. 

Then  I have  wrong’d  you. 

Duke . ■ Hear  me*  What’s  thy  Name,  Boy? 

Viol.  Florio , an’t  like  your  Grace. 

Duke. A pretty  Child. 

Where  wall  thou  born? 

Viol. On  t’other  Side  the  Mountains. 

Duke.  What  are  thy  Friends? 

Viol. -A  Father,  Sir 5 but  poor. 

Duke.  How  earned  thou  hither?  how,  to  leave  thy 
Father  ? 

Viol.  That  noble  Gentleman  pleas’d  once  to  like 
me,  [ Pointing  to  Henriquez. 

And,  not  to  lye,  fo  much  to  doat  upon  me, 

That  with  his  Promifes  he  won  my  Youth, 

And  Duty,  from  my  Father:  Him  1 follow’d. 

Rod.  How  fay  you  now,  Brother? 

Cam.  Ay,  my  Lord,  how  fay  You? 

Hen.  As  I have  Life  and  Soul,  ’tis  all  a Trick,  Sir. 

I never  faw  the  Boy  before. 

Viol. O Sir, 

Call  not  your  Soul  to  witnefs  in  a Wrong: 

And  ’tis  not  noble  in  you,  to  defpife 

What  you  have  made  thus.  If  1 lye,  let  Juftice 

Turn  all  her  Rods  upon  me. 

Duke.  « Fye,  Henriquez  $ 

There  is  no  Trace  of  Cunning  in  this  Boy. 

Cam.  A good  Boy!  Be  not  fearful : Speak  thy 

Mind,  Child. 

Nature,  fure,  meant  thou  (hould’d  have  been  a Wench  \ 
And  then’t  had  been  no  Marvel  he  had  bobb’d  thee. 
Duke.  Why  did  he  put  thee  from  him? 

Viol.  - That  to  me 

Is  yet  unknown,  Sir*,  for  my  Faith,  he  could  not* 

I never  did  deceive  him  : for  my  Service, 

• He 


€o  Double  Falshc-odj  or , 

He  had  no  juft  Caufe*  what  my  Youth  was  able, 

My  Will  ftill  put  in  Aft,  to  plcafe  my  Matter: 

I cannot  fteal  * therefore  that  can  be  nothing 
To  my  Undoing:  no,  nor  lye 5 my  Breeding, 

Tho’  it  be  plain,  is  honeft. 

Duke. Weep  not,  Child. 

Cam.  This  Lord  has  abufed  Men,  Women,  and 
Children  already  : What  farther  Plot  he  has,  the  Devil 
knows. 

Duke.  If  thou  can’ft  bring  a Witnefs  of  thy  Wrong, 
(Elfe  it  would  be  Injuftice  to  believe  thee. 

He  having  fworn  againft  it*)  thou  fhalt  have, 

I bind  it  with  my  Honour,  Satisfaftion 
To  thine  own  Wifhes. 

Viol. I defire  no  more,  Sir. 

I have  a Witnefs,  and  a noble  one, 

For  Truth  and  Honefty. 

Rod. Go,  bring  him  hither.  [Exit  Violante, 

Henr . This  lying  Boy  will  take  him  to  his  Heels, 
And  leave  me  flander’d. 

Rod.— — — — — Mo*  I’ll  be  his  Voucher. 

Henr . Nay  then  ’tis  plain,  this  is  Confederacy. 

Rod.  That  he  has  been  an  Agent  in  your  Service, 
Appears  from  this.  Here  is  a Letter,  Brother, 
(Produc’d,  perforce,  to  give  him  Credit  with  me 5) 
The  Writing,  yours*  the  Matter,  Love*  for  fo, 

He  fays,  he  can  explain  it. 

Cam.  Then,  belike, 

A young  He-bawd. 

Henr . — ThisForgery  confounds  me! 

Duke.  Read  it,  Roderick. 

Rod.  Reads.]  Our  Prudence  Jhould  now  teach  us  to 
forget , what  our  Indifcretion  has  com - 
mitted.  I have  already  made  one  Step 

towards  this  PVifdom 

Henr.  Hold,  Sir.- — My  very  Words  to  Violante! 

[Jfido. 

Duke . Go  on. 


The  Distrest  Lovers.  6 1 

Henri—  My  gracious  Father,  give  me  Pardon; 

I do  confefs,  I fome  fuch  Letter  wrote 
(The  Purport  all  too  trivial  for  your  Ear,) 

But  how  it  reach’d  this  young  DifTembler’s  Hands, 

Is  what  I cannot  folve.  For  on  my  Soul, 

And  by  the  Honours  of  my  Birth  and  Houfe, 

The  Minion’s  Face  ’till  now  I never  faw. 

Rod . Run  not  too  far  in  Debt  on  Protection. — 
Why  fhould  you  do  a Child  this  Wrong? 

Henr.  - - — » Go  to; 

Your  Friendfhips  pad  warrant  not  this  Abufe: 

If  you  provoke  me  thus,  I fhall  forget 
What  you  are  to  me.  This  is  a meer  Pradice, 

And  Villany  to  draw  me  into  Scandal. 

Rod.  No  more;  you  are  a Boy.  — Here  comes  a 
Witnefs, 

Shall  prove  you  To:  No  more.- — 

Enter  Julio,  difguis'd ; Violante,  as  a Woman. 

Henr . ■ — — — — — - Another  Rafcal ! 

Duke.  Hold  : 

Henr.  Ha!  [< Seeing  Violante. 

Duke.  What’s  here? 

Henr.  By  all  my  Sins,  the  injur’d  Violante.  \Afide. 
Rod.  Now,  Sir,  whofe  Practice  breaks? 

Cam.  — — Is  this  a Page?  \Jto  Henr. 

Rod.  One  that  has  done  him  Service, 

And  he  has  paid  her  for’t ; but  broke  his  Covenant. 
Viol.  My  Lord,  I come  not  now  to  wound  your 
Spirit. 

Your  pure  Affedion  dead,  which  firft  betray’d  me, 
My  Claim  dye  with  it ! Only  let  me  not 
Shrink  to  the  Grave  with  Infamy  upon  me: 

Proted  my  Virtue,  tho’  it  hurt  your  Faith ; 

And  my  lad  Breath  (hall  fpeak  Henriquez  noble. 

Henr.  What  a fierce  Conflid  Shame,  and  wounded 
Honour, 


Raife 


62.  Double  Falshood;  q?, 

Raife  in  my  Bread! — but  Honour  fhall  o’ercome. — * 
She  looks  as  beauteous,  and  as  innocent, 

As  when  I wrong’d  her. — Virtuous  Vi olante\ 

Too  good  for  me!  dare  you  dill  love  a Man, 

So  faithlefs  as  I am? — - I know  you  love  me. 

Thus,  thus,  and  thus,  I print  my  vow’d  Repentance  : 
Let  all  Men  read  it  here. — My  gracious  Father, 
Forgive,  and  make  me  rich  with  your  Confent, 

This  is  my  Wife*  no  other  would  I chufe, 

"Were  fhe  a Queen. 

Cam.  Here’s  a new  Change.  BernardXooks  dullupon’r. 
Henr.  And  fair  Leonora , from  whofe  Virgin  Arms 
I forc’d  my  wrong’d  Friend  Julio,  O forgive  me. 

Take  home  your  holy  Vows,  and  let  him  have  ’em 
That  has  deferv’d  them.  O that  he  were  here! 

That  I might  own  the  Bafenefs  of  my  Wrong, 

And  purpos’d  Recompence.  My  Violante , 

You  mud  again  be  widow’d  : for  I vow 
A ceafelefs  Pilgrimage,  ne’er  to  know  Joy,- 
’Till  I can  give  it  to  the  injur’d  Julio. 

Cam.  This  almod  melts  me: But  my  poor  lad 

Boy — * 

Rod.  I’ll  dop  that  Voyage,  Brother. — Gentle  Lady, 
What  think  you  of  this  honed  Man? 

Leon.  Alas ! ^ > 

My  Thoughts,  my  Lord,  were  all  employ’d  within! 
He  has  a Face  makes  me  remember  fomething 
I have  thought  well  of*  how  he  looks  upon  me! 

Poor  Man,  he  weeps. — Ha!  day>  it  cannot  be  — 
He  has  his  Eye,  his  Features,  Shape,  and  Geduve.-^* 
’Would,  he  would  fpeak. 

Jul. Leonora , — [Throws  off  his  Difguife . 

Leon. Yes,  ’tis  He. 

O Ecdacy  of  Joy  ! - — [They  embrace . 

Cam.  Now,  what’s  the  Matter? 

Rod.  Let  ’em  alone*  they’re  almod  darv’d  for 
Rifles. 

Cam.  Stand  forty  Foot  off  * no  Man  trouble  ’em. 

Much 


The  Distrfst  Lovers.  c 5 

Much  Good  may’t  do  your  Hearts ! — W hat  is  he,  Lord, 
What  is  he? 

Rod.  A certain  Son  of  yours. 

Cam The  Devil  he  is. 

Rod.  If  he  be  the  Devil,  that  Devil  mud  call  you 
Father. 

Cam.  By  your  Leave  a little,  ho,  — Are  you  my  Julio? 
Jul.  My  Duty  tells  me  fo,  Sir, 

Still  on  my  Knees. — But  Love  engrofs’d  me  all} 

0 Leonora , do  I once  more  hold  thee  ? 

Cam.  Nay,  to’c  again:  1 will  not  hinder  you  aKifs, 

’Tis  he [Leaps. 

Leon.  The  righteous  Pow’rs  at  length  have  crown’d 
our  Loves. 

Think,  Julio , from  the  Storm  that’s  now  o’erblown, 
Tho’  four  AfHi&ion  combat  Hope  awhile, 

When  Lovers  fwear  true  Faith,  the  lift’ning  Angels 
Stand  on  the  golden  Battlements  of  Heav’n, 

And  waft  their  Vows  to  the  Eternal  Throne. 

Such  were  our  Vows,  and  fo  are  they  repaid. 

Duke.  E’en  as  you  are,  we’ll  join  your  Hands  to- 
gether. 

A Providence  above  our  Pow’r  rules  all. 

Ask  him  Forgivenefs,  Boy.  [To  Henriquez. 

Jul.  — ~ He  has  it,  Sir: 

The  Fault  was  Love’s,  not  his. 

He  nr.  — Brave,  gen’rous  Julio  / 

1 knew  thy  Noblenefs  of  old,  and  priz’d  it, 

’Till  Paffiom  made  me  blind  — Once  more,  my  Friend, 
Share  in  a Heart,  that  ne’er  fhall  wrong  thee  more. 
And,  Brother,  « — 

Rod . This  Embrace  cuts  off  Excufes. 

Duke.  I mud,  in  part,  repair  my  Son’s  Offence: 

At  your  beft  Leifure,  Julio , know  our  Court. 

And,  Violante , (for  I know  you  now*,) 

I have  a Debt  to  pay;  Your  good  old  Father, 

Once,  when  I chas’d  the  Boar,  preferv’d  my  Life: 

For  that  good  Deed',  and  for  your  Virtue’s  Sake, 

Tho’ 


64 


Double  Falshood. 


Tho’  your  Defcent  be  low,  call  me  your  Father. 

A Match  drawn  out  of  Honefty,  and  Goodnefs, 

Is  Pedigree  enough.  * Arc  you  ali  pleas’d  ? 

[Gives  her  to  Heufiquez. 

Camil.  All. 

SJ  — A"> Sir- 

JuL  All. 

Duke.  And  I not  lead.  We’ll  now  return  to  Court: 
(And  that  fhort  Travel,  and  your  Loves  com  pleated, 
Shall,  as  I truft,  for  Life  retrain  thefe  Wand’rings.) 
There,  the  Solemnity,  and  Grace,  I’ll  do 
Your  fev’rai  Nuptials,  fhall  approve  my  Joy; 

And  make  griev’d  Lovers,  that  your  Storv  read, 
Wifh,  true  Love’s  Wanderings  may  like  yours  fucceed. 

[Curtain  fails .