Restoration Comedy by Aphra Behn

Author:Aphra Behn [R. Griffiths, Trevor and Trussler, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781788502245
Publisher: Nick Hern Books

Scene Two

A fine chamber.

Enter WILLMORE, ANGELLICA, and MORETTA.

ANGELLICA. Insolent sir, how durst you pull down my picture?

WILLMORE. Rather, how durst you set it up, to tempt poor am’rous 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 shown to move despair in those that cannot buy? And can you think th’effects of that despair should be less extravagant than I have shown?

ANGELLICA. 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.

WILLMORE. You are deceived. I came to rail at you, and rail such truths, too, as shall let you see the vanity of that pride, which taught you how to set such price on sin. For such it is, whilst that which is love’s due is meanly bartered for.

ANGELLICA. 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, (Aside, in a soft tone.) – and guess my business.

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

ANGELLICA. Nay, do not abuse the poor creature –

MORETTA. Good weather-beaten Corporal, will you march off? We have no need of your doctrine, though 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.

WILLMORE [giving money to MORETTA]. Here, good forewoman of the shop, serve me, and I’ll be gone.

MORETTA. Keep it to pay your laundress, your linen stinks of the gun-room; for here’s no selling by retail.

WILLMORE. Thou hast sold plenty of thy stale ware at a cheap rate.

MORETTA. 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.

WILLMORE. I grant you ’tis here set down a thousand crowns a month. – Pray, how much may come to my share for a pistole? Bawd, take your black-lead and sum it up, that I may have a pistole’s worth of this vain gay thing, and I’ll trouble you no more.

MORETTA. Pox on him, he’ll fret me to death. Abominable fellow, I tell thee, we only sell by the whole piece.

WILLMORE. ’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’ll put in 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, though at present I am unprovided of money.

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