The Rover Act II Chapter II

SCENE II. A Fine Chamber.

Enter WILLMORE, ANGELICA, and MORETTA.

ANG. Insolent Sir, how durst you pull down my Picture?

WILL. Rather, how durst you set it up, to tempt poor amorous Mortals with so much Excellence? which I find you have but too well consulted by the unmerciful price you set upon’t. Is all this Heaven of Beauty shewn to move Despair in those that cannot buy? and can you think the effects of that Despair should be less extravagant than I have shewn?

ANG. I sent for you to ask my Pardon, Sir, not to aggravate your Crime. I thought I should have seen you at my Feet imploring it.

WILL. You are deceived, I came to rail at you, and talk such Truths, too, as shall let you see the Vanity of that Pride, which taught you how to set such a Price on Sin. For such it is, whilst that which is Love’s due is meanly barter’d for.

ANG. Ha, ha, ha, alas, good Captain, what pity ’tis your edifying Doctrine will do no good upon me MORETTA, fetch the Gentleman a Glass, and let him survey himself, to see what Charms he has, and guess my Business.
[Aside in a soft tone.

MORET. He knows himself of old, I believe those Breeches and he have been acquainted ever since he was beaten at Worcester.

ANG. Nay, do not abuse the poor Creature.

MORET. Good Weather beaten Corporal, will you march off? we have no need of your Doctrine, tho you have of our Charity; but at present we have no Scraps, we can afford no kindness for God’s sake; in fine, Sirrah, the Price is too high i’th’ Mouth for you, therefore troop, I say.

WILL. Here, good Fore-Woman of the Shop, serve me, and I’ll be gone.

MORET. Keep it to pay your Landress, your Linen stinks of the Gun Room; for here’s no selling by Retail.

WILL. Thou hast sold plenty of thy stale Ware at a cheap Rate.

MORET. Ay, the more silly kind Heart I, but this is an Age wherein Beauty is at higher Rates. In fine, you know the price of this.

WILL. I grant you ’tis here set down a thousand Crowns a Month Baud, take your black Lead and sum it up, that I may have a Pistole worth of these vain gay things, and I’ll trouble you no more.

MORET. Pox on him, he’ll fret me to Death, abominable Fellow, I tell thee, we only sell by the whole Piece.

WILL. ’Tis very hard, the whole Cargo or nothing Faith, Madam, my Stock will not reach it, I cannot be your Chapman. Yet I have Countrymen, in Town, Merchants of Love, like me; I’ll see if they’l put for a share, we cannot lose much by it, and what we have no use for, we’ll sell upon the Friday’s Mart, at Who gives more? I am studying, Madam, how to purchase you, tho at present I am unprovided of Money.

ANG. Sure, this from any other Man would anger me nor shall he know the Conquest he has made—Poor angry Man, how I despise this railing.

WILL. Yes, I am poor—but I’m a Gentleman, And one that scorns this Baseness which you practice. Poor as I am, I would not sell my self, No, not to gain your charming high prized Person. Tho I admire you strangely for your Beauty, Yet I contemn your Mind. And yet I would at any rate enjoy you; At your own rate but cannot See here The only Sum I can command on Earth; I know not where to eat when this is gone: Yet such a Slave I am to Love and Beauty, This last reserve I’ll sacrifice to enjoy you. Nay, do not frown, I know you are to be bought, And would be bought by me, by me, For a mean trifling Sum, if I could pay it down. Which happy knowledge I will still repeat, And lay it to my Heart, it has a Virtue in’t, And soon will cure those Wounds your Eyes have made. And yet there’s something so divinely powerful there Nay, I will gaze to let you see my Strength
[Holds her, looks on her, and pauses and sighs.

By Heaven, bright Creature I would not for the World Thy Fame were half so fair as is thy Face.                                                             [Turns her away from him.

ANG. His words go thro me to the very Soul.    [Aside.]     If you have nothing else to say to me.

WILL. Yes, you shall hear how infamous you are For which I do not hate thee: But that secures my Heart, and all the Flames it feels Are but so many Lusts, I know it by their sudden bold intrusion. The Fire’s impatient and betrays, ’tis false For had it been the purer Flame of Love, I should have pin’d and languished at your Feet, E’er found the Impudence to have discovered it. I now dare stand your Scorn, and your Denial.

MORET. Sure she’s bewitcht, that she can stand thus tamely, and hear his saucy railing. Sirrah, will you be gone?

ANG. How dare you take this liberty? Withdraw. [To MORET.] Pray, tell me, Sir, are not you guilty of the same mercenary Crime? When a Lady is proposed to you for a Wife, you never ask, how fair, discreet, or virtuous she is; but what’s her Fortune which if but small, you cry She will not do my business and basely leave her, tho she languish for you. Say, is not this as poor?

WILL. It is a barbarous Custom, which I will scorn to defend in our Sex, and do despise in yours.

ANG. Thou art a brave Fellow! put up thy Gold, and know, That were thy Fortune large, as is thy Soul, Thou shouldst not buy my Love, Couldst thou forget those mean Effects of Vanity, Which set me out to sale; and as a Lover, prize My yielding Joys. Canst thou believe they’l be entirely thine, Without considering they were mercenary?

WILL. I cannot tell, I must bethink me first ha, Death, I’m going to believe her.
[Aside.

ANG. Prithee, confirm that Faith or if thou canst not flatter me a little, ’twill please me from thy Mouth.

WILL. Curse on thy charming Tongue! dost thou return My feign’d Contempt with so much subtilty?                                                                                      [Aside.

Thou’st found the easiest way into my Heart, Tho I yet know that all thou say’st is false.                                                                      [Turning from her in a Rage.

ANG. By all that’s good ’tis real, I never loved before, tho oft a Mistress. Shall my first Vows be slighted?

WILL. What can she mean?                                                                        [Aside.

ANG. I find you cannot credit me.                                                 [In angrry tone.

WILL. I know you take me for an errant Ass, An Ass that may be sooth’d into Belief, And then be us’d at pleasure. But, Madam I have been so often cheated By perjured, soft, deluding Hypocrites, That I’ve no Faith left for the cozening Sex, Especially for Women of your Trade.

ANG. The low esteem you have of me, perhaps May bring my Heart again: For I have Pride that yet surmounts my Love.
[She turns with Pride, he holds her.

WILL. Throw off this Pride, this Enemy to Bliss, And shew the Power of Love: ’tis with those Arms I can be only vanquisht, made a Slave.

ANG. Is all my mighty Expectation vanisht? No, I will not hear thee talk, thou hast a Charm In every word, that draws my Heart away. And all the thousand Trophies I designed, Thou hast undone Why art thou soft? Thy Looks are bravely rough, and meant for War. Could thou not storm on still? I then perhaps had been as free as thou.

WILL. Death! how she throws her Fire about my Soul!                                                                                                                       [Aside.

Take heed, fair Creature, how you raise my Hopes, Which once assum’d pretend to all Dominion. There’s not a Joy thou hast in store I shall not then command: For which I’ll pay thee back my Soul, my Life. Come, let’s begin th’ account this happy minute.

ANG. And will you pay me then the Price I ask?

WILL. Oh, why dost thou draw me from an awful Worship, By shewing thou art no Divinity? Conceal the Fiend, and shew me all the angel; Keep me but ignorant, and I’ll be devout, And pay my Vows for ever at this Shrine.
[Kneels, and kisses her Hand.

ANG. The Pay I mean is but thy Love for mine. Can you give that?

WILL. Intirely come, let’s withdraw: where I’ll renew my Vows, and breathe ’em with such Ardour, thou shall not doubt my Zeal.

ANG. Thou hast a Power too strong to be resisted.
[Ex. WILL. and ANGELICA.

MORET. Now my Curse go with you Is all our Project fallen to this? to love the only Enemy to our Trade? Nay, to love such a Shameroon, a very Beggar; nay, a Pirate Beggar, whose Business is to rifle and be gone, a No Purchase, No Pay Tatterdemalion, an English Piccaroon; a Rogue that fights for daily Drink, and takes a Pride in being loyally lousy Oh, I could curse now, if I durst This is the Fate of most Whores.

Trophies, which from believing Fops we win,
Are Spoils to those who cozen us again.