The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume I

Enter Florinda and Hellena.

Flor. What an impertinent thing is a young Girl bred in a Nunnery! How full of Questions! Prithee no more, Hellena; I have told thee more than thou understand’st already.

Hell. The more’s my Grief; I wou’d fain know as much as you, which makes me so inquisitive; nor is’t enough to know you’re a Lover, unless you tell me too, who ’tis you sigh for.

Flor. When you are a Lover, I’ll think you fit for a Secret of that nature.

Hell. ’Tis true, I was never a Lover yet— but I begin to have a shreud Guess, what ’tis to be so, and fancy it very pretty to sigh, and sing, and blush and wish, and dream and wish, and long and wish to see the Man; and when I do, look pale and tremble; just as you did when my Brother brought home the fine English Colonel to see you— what do you call him? Don Belvile.

Flor. Fie, Hellena.

Hell. That Blush betrays you—I am sure ’tis so—or is it Don Antonio the Vice-Roy’s Son?—or perhaps the rich old Don Vincentio, whom my father designs for your Husband?—Why do you blush again?

Flor. With Indignation; and how near soever my Father thinks I am to marrying that hated Object, I shall let him see I understand better what’s due to my Beauty, Birth and Fortune, and more to my Soul, than to obey those unjust Commands.

Hell. Now hang me, if I don’t love thee for that dear Disobedience. I love Mischief strangely, as most of our 11 Sex do, who are come to love nothing else—But tell me, dear Florinda, don’t you love that fine _Anglese?_—for I vow next to loving him my self, ’twill please me most that you do so, for he is so gay and so handsom.

Flor. Hellena, a Maid design’d for a Nun ought not to be so curious in a Discourse of Love.

Hell. And dost thou think that ever I’ll be a Nun? Or at least till I’m so old, I’m fit for nothing else. Faith no, Sister; and that which makes me long to know whether you love Belvile, is because I hope he has some mad Companion or other, that will spoil my Devotion; nay I’m resolv’d to provide my self this Carnival, if there be e’er a handsom Fellow of my Humour above Ground, tho I ask first.

Flor. Prithee be not so wild.

Hell. Now you have provided your self with a Man, you take no Care for poor me—Prithee tell me, what dost thou see about me that is unfit for Love—have not I a world of Youth? a Humour gay? a Beauty passable? a Vigour desirable? well shap’d? clean limb’d? sweet breath’d? and Sense enough to know how all these ought to be employ’d to the best Advantage: yes, I do and will. Therefore lay aside your Hopes of my Fortune, by my being a Devotee, and tell me how you came acquainted with this Belvile; for I perceive you knew him before he came to Naples.

Flor. Yes, I knew him at the Siege of Pampelona, he was then a Colonel of French Horse, who when the Town was ransack’d, nobly treated my Brother and my self, preserving us from all Insolencies; and I must own, (besides great Obligations) I have I know not what, that pleads kindly for him about my Heart, and will suffer no other to enter—But see my Brother.

Enter Don Pedro, Stephano, with a Masquing Habit, and Callis.

Pedro. Good morrow, Sister. Pray, when saw you your Lover Don Vincentio?

12 Flor. I know not, Sir—_Callis_, when was he here? for I consider it so little, I know not when it was.

Pedro. I have a Command from my Father here to tell you, you ought not to despise him, a Man of so vast a Fortune, and such a Passion for you—_Stephano_, my things— [Puts on his Masquing Habit.

Flor. A Passion for me! ’tis more than e’er I saw, or had a desire should be known—I hate Vincentio, and I would not have a Man so dear to me as my Brother follow the ill Customs of our Country, and make a Slave of his Sister—And Sir, my Father’s Will, I’m sure, you may divert.

Pedro. I know not how dear I am to you, but I wish only to be rank’d in your Esteem, equal with the English Colonel _Belvile_—Why do you frown and blush? Is there any Guilt belongs to the Name of that Cavalier?

Flor. I’ll not deny I value Belvile: when I was expos’d to such Dangers as the licens’d Lust of common Soldiers threatned, when Rage and Conquest flew thro the City—then Belvile, this Criminal for my sake, threw himself into all Dangers to save my Honour, and will you not allow him my Esteem?

Pedro. Yes, pay him what you will in Honour—but you must consider Don Vincentio’s Fortune, and the Jointure he’ll make you.

Flor. Let him consider my Youth, Beauty and Fortune; which ought not to be thrown away on his Age and Jointure.

Pedro. ’Tis true, he’s not so young and fine a Gentleman as that _Belvile_—but what Jewels will that Cavalier present you with? those of his Eyes and Heart?

Hell. And are not those better than any Don Vincentio has brought from the Indies?

Pedro. Why how now! Has your Nunnery-breeding taught you to understand the Value of Hearts and Eyes?

Hell. Better than to believe Vincentio deserves Value 13 from any woman—He may perhaps encrease her Bags, but not her Family.

Pedro. This is fine—Go up to your Devotion, you are not design’d for the Conversation of Lovers.

Hell. Nor Saints yet a while I hope. [Aside.] Is’t not enough you make a Nun of me, but you must cast my Sister away too, exposing her to a worse confinement than a religious Life?

Pedro. The Girl’s mad—Is it a Confinement to be carry’d into the Country, to an antient Villa belonging to the Family of the Vincentio’s these five hundred Years, and have no other Prospect than that pleasing one of seeing all her own that meets her Eyes—a fine Air, large Fields and Gardens, where she may walk and gather Flowers?

Hell. When? By Moon-Light? For I’m sure she dares not encounter with the heat of the Sun; that were a Task only for Don Vincentio and his Indian Breeding, who loves it in the Dog-days—And if these be her daily Divertisements, what are those of the Night? to lie in a wide Moth-eaten Bed-Chamber with Furniture in Fashion in the Reign of King Sancho the First; the Bed that which his Forefathers liv’d and dy’d in.

Pedro. Very well.

Hell. This Apartment (new furbisht and fitted out for the young Wife) he (out of Freedom) makes his Dressing-room; and being a frugal and a jealous Coxcomb, instead of a Valet to uncase his feeble Carcase, he desires you to do that Office—Signs of Favour, I’ll assure you, and such as you must not hope for, unless your Woman be out of the way.

Pedro. Have you done yet?

Hell. That Honour being past, the Giant stretches it self, yawns and sighs a Belch or two as loud as a Musket, throws himself into Bed, and expects you in his foul Sheets, and e’er you can get your self undrest, calls you with a Snore or two— And are not these fine Blessings to a young Lady?

14 Pedro. Have you done yet?

Hell. And this man you must kiss, nay, you must kiss none but him too—and nuzle thro his Beard to find his Lips—and this you must submit to for threescore Years, and all for a Jointure.

Pedro. For all your Character of Don Vincentio, she is as like to marry him as she was before.

Hell. Marry Don Vincentio! hang me, such a Wedlock would be worse than Adultery with another Man: I had rather see her in the Hostel de Dieu, to waste her Youth there in Vows, and be a Handmaid to Lazers and Cripples, than to lose it in such a Marriage.

Pedro. You have consider’d, Sister, that Belvile has no Fortune to bring you to, is banisht his Country, despis’d at home, and pity’d abroad.