THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN,

NOW FIRST COLLECTED

IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES.

ILLUSTRATED

WITH NOTES,

HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,

AND

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

BY

WALTER SCOTT, Esq.

VOL. VIII.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,
BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.

1808.

CONTENTS
OF VOLUME EIGHTH.

AMPHITRYON:
OR
THE TWO SOSIAS.
A COMEDY.

Egregiam verò laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,

Una dolo Divûm si fæmina victa duorum est. Virg.

AMPHITRYON.

Plautus, the venerable father of Roman comedy, who flourished during the second Punic war, left us a play on the subject of Amphitryon, which has had the honour to be deemed worthy of imitation by Moliere and Dryden. It cannot be expected, that the plain, blunt, and inartificial stile of so rude an age should bear any comparison with that of authors who enjoyed the highest advantages of the polished times, to which they were an ornament. But the merit of having devised and embodied most of the comic distresses, which have excited laughter throughout so many ages, is to be attributed to the ancient bard, upon whose original conception of the plot his successors have made few and inconsiderable improvements. It is true, that, instead of a formal Prologus, who stepped forth, in the character of Mercury, and gravely detailed to the audience the plot of the play, Moliere and Dryden have introduced it in the modern more artificial method, by the dialogue of the actors in the first scene. It is true, also, that with great contempt of one of the unities, afterwards deemed so indispensible by the ancients, Plautus introduces the birth of Hercules into a play, founded upon the intrigue which occasioned that event. Yet with all these disadvantages, and that of the rude flatness of his dialogue,—resting frequently, for wit, upon the most miserable puns,—the comic device of the two Sosias; the errors into which the malice of Mercury plunges his unlucky original; the quarrel of Alcmena with her real husband, and her reconciliation with Jupiter in his stead; the final confronting of the two Amphitryos; and the astonishment of the unfortunate general, at finding every proof of his identity exhibited by his rival,—are all, however rudely sketched, the inventions of the Roman poet. In one respect it would seem, that the jeu de theatre, necessary to render the piece probable upon the stage, was better managed in the time of Plautus than in that of Dryden and Moliere. Upon a modern stage it is evidently difficult to introduce two pair of characters, so extremely alike as to make it at all probable, or even possible, that the mistakes, depending upon their extreme resemblance, could take place. But, favoured by the masks and costume of the ancient theatre, Plautus contrived to render Jupiter and Mercury so exactly like Amphitryon and Sosia, that they were obliged to retain certain marks, supposed to be invisible to the other persons of the drama, by which the audience themselves might be enabled to distinguish the gods from the mortals, whose forms they had assumed[1].

The modern poets have treated the subject, which they had from Plautus, each according to the fashion of his country; and so far did the correctness of the French stage exceed ours at that period, that the palm of the comic writing must be, at once, awarded to Moliere. For, though Dryden had the advantage of the French author's labours, from which, and from Plautus, he has translated liberally, the wretched taste of the age has induced him to lard the piece with gratuitous indelicacy. He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Moliere is witty; and where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the Englishman always contrives to make it a single one. Yet although inferior to Moliere, and accommodated to the gross taste of the seventeenth century, "Amphitryon" is one of the happiest effusions of Dryden's comic muse. He has enriched the plot by the intrigue of Mercury and Phædra; and the petulant interested "Queen of Gipsies," as her lover terms her, is no bad paramour for the God of Thieves.

In the scenes of a higher cast, Dryden far outstrips both the French and Roman poet. The sensation to be expressed is not that of sentimental affection, which the good father of Olympus was not capable of feeling; but love, of that grosser and subordinate kind which prompted Jupiter in his intrigues, has been by none of the ancient poets expressed in more beautiful verse than that in which Dryden has clothed it, in the scenes between Jupiter and Alcmena. Even Milbourne, who afterwards attacked our author with such malignant asperity, was so sensible of the merit of "Amphitryon," that he addressed to the publisher the following letter and copy of verses, which Mr Malone's industry recovered from among Mr Tonson's papers.

"Mr Tonson, Yarmouth, Novemb. 24.—90.

"You'l wonder perhaps at this from a stranger; but ye reason of it may perhaps abate somewhat of ye miracle, and it's this. On Thursday the twentyth instant, I receiv'd Mr Drydens Amphytrio: I leave out the Greeke termination, as not so proper in my opinion, in English. But to passe that; I liked the play, and read it over with as much of criticisme and ill nature as ye time (being about one in ye morning, and in bed,) would permit. Going to sleep very well pleasd, I could not leave my bed in ye morning without this sacrifice to the authours genius: it was too sudden to be correct, but it was very honestly meant, and is submitted to yours and Mr Ds. disposall.

"Hail, Prince of Witts! thy fumbling Age is past,

Thy youth and witt and art's renewed at last.

So on some rock the Joviall bird assays

Her ore-grown beake, that marke of age, to rayse;

That done, through yield'ing air she cutts her way,

And strongly stoops againe, and breaks the trembling prey.

What though prodigious thunder stripp'd thy brows

Of envy'd bays, and the dull world allows

Shadwell should wear them,—wee'll applaud the change;

Where nations feel it, who can think it strange!

So have I seen the long-ear'd brute aspire

To drest commode with every smallest wire;

With nightrail hung on shoulders, gravely stalke,

Like bawd attendant on Aurelias walke.

Hang't! give the fop ingratefull world its will;

He wears the laurel,—thou deservs't it still.

Still smooth, as when, adorn'd with youthful pride,

For thy dear sake the blushing virgins dyed;

When the kind gods of witt and love combined,

And with large gifts thy yielding soul refined.

"Not Phœbus could with gentler words pursue

His flying Daphne, not the morning dew

Falls softer than the words of amorous Jove,

When melting, dying, for Alcmene's love.

"Yet briske and airy too, thou fill'st the stage,

Unbroke by fortune, undecayed by age.

French wordy witt by thine was long surpast;

Now Rome's thy captive, and by thee wee taste

Of their rich dayntyes; but so finely drest,

Theirs was a country meal, thine a triumphant feast.

"If this to thy necessityes wee ow,

O, may they greater still and greater grow!

Nor blame the wish; Plautus could write in chaines,

Wee'll blesse thy wants, while wee enjoy thy pains.

Wealth makes the poet lazy, nor can fame,

That gay attendant of a spritely flame,

A Dorset or a Wycherly invite,

Because they feel no pinching wants, to write.

"Go on! endenizon the Romane slave;

Let an eternal spring adorne his grave;

His ghost would gladly all his fame submitt

To thy strong judgment and thy piercing witt.

Purged by thy hand, he speaks immortall sense,

And pleases all with modish excellence.

Nor would we have thee live on empty praise

The while, for, though we cann't restore the bays,

While thou writ'st thus,—to pay thy merites due,

Wee'll give the claret and the pension too."

Milbourne concludes, by desiring to be supplied with such of our author's writings, as he had not already, to be sent to Yarmouth in Norfolk, where he probably had then a living.

"Amphitryon" was produced in the same year with "Don Sebastian;" and although it cannot be called altogether an original performance, yet it contains so much original writing as to shew, that our author's vein of poetry was, in his advanced age, distinguished by the same rapid fluency, as when he first began to write for the stage.

This comedy was acted and printed in 1690. It was very favourably received; and continued long to be what is called a stock-play.

TO
THE HONOURABLE
SIR WILLIAM LEVESON GOWER,
BARONET.[2]

There is one kind of virtue which is inborn in the nobility, and indeed in most of the ancient families of this nation; they are not apt to insult on the misfortunes of their countrymen. But you, sir, I may tell it without flattery, have grafted on this natural commiseration, and raised it to a nobler virtue. As you have been pleased to honour me, for a long time, with some part of your esteem, and your good will; so, in particular, since the late Revolution, you have increased the proofs of your kindness to me; and not suffered the difference of opinions, which produce such hatred and enmity in the brutal part of human kind, to remove you from the settled basis of your good nature, and good sense. This nobleness of yours, had it been exercised on an enemy, had certainly been a point of honour, and as such I might have justly recommended it to the world; but that of constancy to your former choice, and the pursuance of your first favours, are virtues not over-common amongst Englishmen. All things of honour have, at best, somewhat of ostentation in them, and self-love; there is a pride of doing more than is expected from us, and more than others would have done. But to proceed in the same track of goodness, favour, and protection, is to shew that a man is acted by a thorough principle: it carries somewhat of tenderness in it, which is humanity in a heroical degree; it is a kind of unmoveable good-nature; a word which is commonly despised, because it is so seldom practised. But, after all, it is the most generous virtue, opposed to the most degenerate vice, which is that of ruggedness and harshness to our fellow-creatures.

It is upon this knowledge of you, sir, that I have chosen you, with your permission, to be the patron of this poem. And as, since this wonderful Revolution, I have begun with the best pattern of humanity, the Earl of Leicester, I shall continue to follow the same method, in all to whom I shall address; and endeavour to pitch on such only, as have been pleased to own me, in this ruin of my small fortune; who, though they are of a contrary opinion themselves, yet blame not me for adhering to a lost cause; and judging for myself, what I cannot chuse but judge, so long as I am a patient sufferer, and no disturber of the government. Which, if it be a severe penance, as a great wit has told the world, it is at least enjoined me by myself: and Sancho Pança, as much fool as I, was observed to discipline his body no farther than he found he could endure the smart.

You see, sir, I am not entertaining you like Ovid, with a lamentable epistle from Pontus: I suffer no more than I can easily undergo; and so long as I enjoy my liberty, which is the birth-right of an Englishman, the rest shall never go near my heart. The merry philosopher is more to my humour than the melancholic; and I find no disposition in myself to cry, while the mad world is daily supplying me with such occasions of laughter. The more reasonable sort of my countrymen have shewn so much favour to this piece, that they give me no doubt of their protection for the future.

As you, sir, have been pleased to follow the example of their goodness, in favouring me; so give me leave to say that I follow yours, in this dedication to a person of a different persuasion. Though I must confess withal, that I have had a former encouragement from you for this address; and the warm remembrance of your noble hospitality to me, at Trentham[3], when some years ago I visited my friends and relations in your country, has ever since given me a violent temptation to this boldness.

It is true, were this comedy wholly mine, I should call it a trifle, and perhaps not think it worth your patronage; but, when the names of Plautus and Moliere are joined in it, that is, the two greatest names of ancient and modern comedy, I must not presume so far on their reputation, to think their best and most unquestioned productions can be termed little. I will not give you the trouble of acquainting you what I have added, or altered, in either of them, so much, it may be, for the worse; but only, that the difference of our stage, from the Roman and the French, did so require it. But I am afraid, for my own interest, the world will too easily discover, that more than half of it is mine; and that the rest is rather a lame imitation of their excellencies, than a just translation. It is enough, that the reader know by you, that I neither deserve nor desire any applause from it: if I have performed any thing, it is the genius of my authors that inspired me; and, if it pleased in representation let the actors share the praise amongst themselves. As for Plautus and Moliere, they are dangerous people; and I am too weak a gamester to put myself into their form of play. But what has been wanting on my part, has been abundantly supplied by the excellent composition of Mr Purcell; in whose person we have at length found an Englishman, equal with the best abroad. At least, my opinion of him has been such, since his happy and judicious performances in the late opera[4], and the experience I have had of him, in the setting my three songs for this "Amphitryon:" to all which, and particularly to the composition of the pastoral dialogue, the numerous choir of fair ladies gave so just an applause on the third day. I am only sorry, for my own sake, that there was one star wanting, as beautiful as any in our hemisphere; that young Berenice[5], who is misemploying all her charms on stupid country souls, that can never know the value of them; and losing the triumphs, which are ready prepared for her, in the court and town. And yet I know not whether I am so much a loser by her absence; for I have reason to apprehend the sharpness of her judgment, if it were not allayed with the sweetness of her nature; and, after all, I fear she may come time enough to discover a thousand imperfections in my play, which might have passed on vulgar understandings. Be pleased to use the authority of a father over her, on my behalf: enjoin her to keep her own thoughts of "Amphitryon" to herself; or at least not to compare him too strictly with Moliere's. It is true, I have an interest in this partiality of hers: but withal, I plead some sort of merit for it, in being so particularly, as I am,

SIR,

Your most obedient,

Humble servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.

October 24th, 1690.

PROLOGUE,
SPOKEN BY MRS BRACEGIRDLE.

The labouring bee, when his sharp sting is gone,

Forgets his golden work, and turns a drone:

Such is a satire, when you take away

That rage, in which his noble vigour lay.

What gain you, by not suffering him to teaze ye?

He neither can offend you now, nor please ye.

}

{ The honey-bag, and venom, lay so near,

{ That both together you resolved to tear;

{ And lost your pleasure, to secure your fear.

How can he show his manhood, if you bind him

To box, like boys, with one hand tied behind him?

This is plain levelling of wit; in which

The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.

The blockhead stands excused, for wanting sense;

And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.

Yet, though the stage's traffic is undone,

Still Julian's[6] interloping trade goes on:

Though satire on the theatre you smother,

Yet, in lampoons, you libel one another.

The first produces, still, a second jig;

You whip them out, like school-boys, till they gig;

And with the same success, our readers guess,

For every one still dwindles to a less[7];

And much good malice is so meanly drest,

That we would laugh, but cannot find the jest.

If no advice your rhyming rage can stay,

Let not the ladies suffer in the fray:

Their tender sex is privileged from war;

'Tis not like knights, to draw upon the fair.

What fame expect you from so mean a prize?

We wear no murdering weapons, but our eyes.

}

{ Our sex, you know, was after yours designed;

{ The last perfection of the Maker's mind:

{ Heaven drew out all the gold for us, and left your dross behind.

Beauty, for valour's best reward, he chose;

Peace, after war; and, after toil, repose.

}

{ Hence, ye profane, excluded from our sights;

{ And, charmed by day with honour's vain delights,

{ Go, make your best of solitary nights.

Recant betimes, 'tis prudence to submit;

Our sex is still your over-match in wit:

We never fail, with new, successful arts,

To make fine fools of you, and all your parts.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Jupiter.
Mercury.
Phœbus.
Amphitryon, the Theban General.
Sosia, his Slave.
Gripus, a Theban Judge.
Polidas, } Officers of the Theban Army.
Tranio, }

Alcmena, Wife to Amphitryon.
Phædra, } Her Slaves.
Bromia, }
Night.

SCENE,—Thebes.

AMPHITRYON,
OR THE
TWO SOSIAS.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Mercury and Phœbus descend in two Machines.

Phœ. Know you the reason of this present summons?

'Tis neither council day, nor is this heaven.

What business has our Jupiter on earth?

Why more at Thebes than any other place?

And why we two, of all the herd of gods,

Are chosen out to meet him in consult?

They call me God of Wisdom;

But Mars and Vulcan, the two fools of heaven,

Whose wit lies in their anvil and their sword,

Know full as much as I.

Merc. And Venus may know more than both of us;

For 'tis some petticoat affair, I guess.

I have discharged my duty, which was, to summon you, Phœbus: we shall know more anon, when the Thunderer comes down. 'Tis our part to obey our father; for, to confess the truth, we two are little better than sons of harlots; and, if Jupiter had not been pleased to take a little pains with our mothers, instead of being gods, we might have been a couple of link-boys.

Phœ. But know you nothing farther, Hermes? What news in court?

Merc. There has been a devilish quarrel, I can tell you, between Jupiter and Juno. She threatened to sue him in the spiritual court for some matrimonial omissions; and he stood upon his prerogative: then she hit him in the teeth of all his bastards; and your name and mine were used with less reverence than became our godships. They were both in their cups; and at last the matter grew so high, that they were ready to have thrown stars at one another's heads.

Phœ. 'Twas happy for me that I was at my vocation, driving day-light about the world. But I had rather stand my father's thunderbolts, than my stepmother's railing.

Merc. When the tongue-battle was over, and the championess had harnessed her peacocks to go for Samos, and hear the prayers that were made to her—

Phœ. By the way, her worshippers had a bad time on't; she was in a damnable humour for receiving petitions.

Merc. Jupiter immediately beckons me aside, and charges me, that, as soon as ever you had set up your horses, you and I should meet him here at Thebes: Now, putting the premises together, as dark as it is, methinks I begin to see day-light.

Phœ. As plain as one of my own beams; she has made him uneasy at home, and he is going to seek his diversion abroad. I see heaven itself is no privileged place for happiness, if a man must carry his wife along with him.

Merc. 'Tis neither better nor worse, upon my conscience. He is weary of hunting in the spacious forest of a wife, and is following his game incognito in some little purlieu here at Thebes: that's many an honest man's case on earth too, Jove help them! as indeed he does, to make them cuckolds.

Phœ. But, if so, Mercury, then I, who am a poet, must indite his love-letter; and you, who are by trade a porter, must convey it.

Merc. No more; he's coming down souse upon us, and hears as far as he can see too. He's plaguy hot upon the business, I know it by his hard driving.

Jupiter descends.

Jup. What, you are descanting upon my actions!

Much good may do you with your politics:

All subjects will be censuring their kings.

Well, I confess I am in love; what then?

Phœ. Some mortal, we presume, of Cadmus' blood;

Some Theban beauty; some new Semele;

Or some Europa.

Merc. I'll say that for my father, he's constant to a handsome family; he knows when they have a good smack with them, and snuff's up incense so savourily when 'tis offered by a fair hand,——

Jup. Well, my familiar sons, this saucy carriage

I have deserved; for he, who trusts a secret,

Makes his own man his master.

I read your thoughts;

Therefore you may as safely speak as think.

Merc. Mine was a very homely thought.—I was considering into what form your almightyship would be pleased to transform yourself to-night: whether you would fornicate in the shape of a bull, or a ram, or an eagle, or a swan; what bird or beast you would please to honour, by transgressing your own laws in his likeness; or, in short, whether you would recreate yourself in feathers, or in leather?

Phœ. Any disguise to hide the king of gods.

Jup. I know your malice, Phœbus; you would say,

That, when a monarch sins, it should be secret,

To keep exterior shew of sanctity,

Maintain respect, and cover bad example:

For kings and priests are in a manner bound,

For reverence sake, to be close hypocrites.

Phœ. But what necessitates you to this love,

Which you confess a crime, and yet commit?

For, to be secret makes not sin the less;

'Tis only hidden from the vulgar view;

Maintains, indeed, the reverence due to princes,

But not absolves the conscience from the crime.

Jup. I love, because 'twas in the fates I should.

Phœ. With reverence be it spoke, a bad excuse:

Thus every wicked act, in heaven or earth,

May make the same defence. But what is fate?

Is it a blind contingence of events,

Or sure necessity of causes linked,

That must produce effects? Or is't a power,

That orders all things by superior will,

Foresees his work, and works in that foresight?

Jup. Fate is, what I,

By virtue of omnipotence, have made it;

And power omnipotent can do no wrong:

Not to myself, because I will it so;

Nor yet to men, for what they are is mine.—

This night I will enjoy Amphitryon's wife;

For, when I made her, I decreed her such

As I should please to love. I wrong not him

Whose wife she is; for I reserved my right,

To have her while she pleased me; that once past,

She shall be his again.

Merc. Here's omnipotence with a vengeance! to make a man a cuckold, and yet not to do him wrong! Then I find, father Jupiter, that when you made fate, you had the wit to contrive a holiday for yourself now and then; for you kings never enact a law, but you have a kind of an eye to your own prerogative.

Phœ. If there be no such thing as right and wrong

Of an eternal being, I have done;

But if there be,——

Jup. Peace, thou disputing fool!—

Learn this; If thou could'st comprehend my ways,

Then thou wert Jove, not I; yet thus far know,

That, for the good of human kind, this night

I shall beget a future Hercules,

Who shall redress the wrongs of injured mortals,

Shall conquer monsters, and reform the world.

Merc. Ay, brother Phœbus; and our father made all those monsters for Hercules to conquer, and contrived all those vices on purpose for him to reform too, there's the jest on't.

Phœ. Since arbitrary power will hear no reason,

'Tis wisdom to be silent.

Merc. Why that's the point; this same arbitrary power is a knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow. Now methinks, our father speaks out like an honest bare-faced god, as he is; he lays the stress in the right place, upon absolute dominion: I confess, if he had been a man, he might have been a tyrant, if his subjects durst have called him to account. But you, brother Phœbus, are but a mere country gentleman, that never comes to court; that are abroad all day on horseback, making visits about the world; are drinking all night; and, in your cups are still railing at the government. O, these patriots, these bumpkin patriots, are a very silly sort of animal!

Jup. My present purpose and design you heard,

To enjoy Amphitryon's wife, the fair Alcmena:

You two must be subservient to my love.

Merc. [To Phœbus.] No more of your grumbletonian morals, brother; there's preferment coming; be advised, and pimp dutifully.

Jup. Amphitryon, the brave Theban general,

Has overcome his country's foes in fight,

And, in a single duel, slain their king:

His conquering troops are eager on their march

Returning home; while their young general,

More eager to review his beauteous wife,

Posts on before, winged with impetuous love,

And, by to-morrow's dawn, will reach this town.

Merc. That's but short warning, father Jupiter; having made no former advances of courtship to her, you have need of your omnipotence, and all your godship, if you mean to be beforehand with him.

Phœ. Then how are we to be employed this evening?

Time's precious, and these summer nights are short;

I must be early up to light the world.

Jup. You shall not rise; there shall be no to-morrow.

Merc. Then the world's to be at an end, I find.

Phœ. Or else a gap in nature of a day.

Jup. A day will be well lost to busy man;

Night shall continue sleep, and care shall cease.

So, many men shall live, and live in peace,

Whom sunshine had betrayed to envious sight,

And sight to sudden rage, and rage to death.

Now, I will have a night for love and me;

A long luxurious night, fit for a god

To quench and empty his immortal heat.

Merc. I'll lay on the woman's side for all that, that she shall love longest to-night, in spite of your omnipotence.

Phœ. I shall be cursed by all the labouring trades,

That early rise; but you must be obeyed.

Jup. No matter for the cheating part of man,

They have a day's sin less to answer for.

Phœ. When would you have me wake?

Jup. Why, when Jove goes to sleep; when I have finished,

Your brother Mercury shall bring you word.—

[Exit Phœbus in his chariot.

Now, Hermes, I must take Amphitryon's form,

To enjoy his wife:

Thou must be Sosia, this Amphitryon's slave;

Who, all this night, is travelling to Thebes,

To tell Alcmena of her lord's approach,

And bring her joyful news of victory.

Merc. But why must I be Sosia?

Jup. Dull god of wit, thou statue of thyself!

Thou must be Sosia, to keep out Sosia;

Who, by his entrance, might discover Jove,

Disturb my pleasures, raise unruly noise,

And so distract Alcmena's tender soul,

She would not meet my warmth, when I dissolve

Into her lap, nor give down half her love.

Merc. Let me alone, I'll cudgel him away;

But I abhor so villainous a shape.

Jup. Take it, I charge thee on thy duty, take it;

Nor dare to lay it down, till I command.

I cannot bear a moment's loss of joy.—

Night appears above in a chariot.

Look up, the Night is in her silent chariot,

And rolling just o'er Thebes: Bid her drive slowly,

Or make a double turn about the world;

While I drop Jove, and take Amphitryon's dress,

To be the greater, while I seem the less.

[Exit Jupiter.

Merc. [To Night.] Madam Night, a good even to you! Fair and softly, I beseech you, madam; I have a word or two to you from no less a god than Jupiter.

Night. O my nimble-fingered god of theft, what makes you here on earth at this unseasonable hour? What banker's shop is to be broke open to-night? or what clippers, and coiners, and conspirators, have been invoking your deity for their assistance?

Merc. Faith, none of those enormities, and yet I am still in my vocation; for you know I am a jack of all trades. At a word, Jupiter is indulging his genius to-night with a certain noble sort of recreation; called wenching; the truth on't is, adultery is its proper name.

Night. Jupiter would do well to stick to his wife, Juno.

Merc. He has been married to her above these hundred years; and that's long enough, in conscience, to stick to one woman.

Night. She's his sister too, as well as his wife; that's a double tie of affection to her.

Merc. Nay, if he made bold with his own flesh and blood, 'tis likely he will not spare his neighbours.

Night. If I were his wife, I would raise a rebellion against him, for the violation of my bed.

Merc. Thou art mistaken, old Night; his wife could raise no faction. All the deities in heaven would take the part of the cuckold-making god, for they are all given to the flesh most damnably. Nay, the very goddesses would stickle in the cause of love; 'tis the way to be popular, to whore and love. For what dost thou think old Saturn was deposed, but that he was cold and impotent, and made no court to the fair ladies? Pallas and Juno themselves, as chaste as they are, cried, Shame on him!—I say unto thee, old Night, woe be to the monarch that has not the women on his side!

Night. Then, by your rule, Mercury, a king who would live happily, must debauch his whole nation of women.

Merc. As far as his ready money will go, I mean; for Jupiter himself can't please all of them.—But this is beside my present commission: He has sent me to will and require you to make a swinging long night for him, for he hates to be stinted in his pleasures.

Night. Tell him plainly, I'll rather lay down my commission. What, would he make a bawd of me?

Merc. Poor ignorant! why he meant thee for a bawd, when he first made thee. What art thou good for, but to be a bawd? Is not day-light better for mankind, I mean as to any other use, but only for love and fornication? Thou hast been a bawd too, a reverend, primitive, original bawd, from the first hour of thy creation; and all the laudable actions of love have been committed under thy mantle. Pr'ythee, for what dost thou think that thou art worshipped?

Night. Why, for my stars and moonshine.

Merc. That is, for holding a candle to iniquity. But if they were put out, thou would'st be doubly worshipped by the willing bashful virgins.

Night. Then, for my quiet, and the sweetness of my sleep.

Merc. No:—For thy sweet waking all the night; for sleep comes not upon lovers, till thou art vanished.

Night. But it will be against nature, to make a long winter's night at midsummer.

Merc. Trouble not yourself for that: Phœbus is ordered to make a short summer's day to-morrow; so, in four-and-twenty hours, all will be at rights again.

Night. Well, I am edified by your discourse; and my comfort is, that, whatever work is made, I see nothing.

Merc. About your business then. Put a spoke into your chariot-wheels, and order the seven stars to halt, while I put myself into the habit of a serving-man, and dress up a false Sosia, to wait upon a false Amphitryon.—Good night, Night.

Night. My service to Jupiter.—Farewell, Mercury.

[Night goes backward. Exit Mercury.

SCENE II.—Amphitryon's Palace.

Enter Alcmena.

Alc. Why was I married to the man I love!

For, had he been indifferent to my choice,

Or had been hated, absence had been pleasure;

But now I fear for my Amphitryon's life:

At home, in private, and secure from war,

I am amidst an host of armed foes,

Sustaining all his cares, pierced with his wounds;

And, if he falls,—which, O ye gods avert!—

Am in Amphitryon slain! Would I were there,

And he were here; so might we change our fates;

That he might grieve for me, and I might die for him.

Enter Phædra, running.

Phæd. Good news, good news, madam; O such admirable news, that, if I kept it in a moment, I should burst with it.

Alc. Is it from the army?

Phæd. No matter.

Alc. From Amphitryon?

Phæd. No matter, neither.

Alc. Answer me, I charge thee, if thy good news be any thing relating to my lord; if it be, assure thyself of a reward.

Phæd. Ay, madam, now you say something to the matter: You know the business of a poor waiting-woman, here upon earth, is to be scraping up something against a rainy day, called the day of marriage; every one in our own vocation:—But what matter is it to me if my lord has routed the enemy, if I get nothing of their spoils?

Alc. Say, is my lord victorious?

Phæd. Why, he is victorious: indeed I prayed devoutly to Jupiter for a victory; by the same token, that you should give me ten pieces of gold if I brought you news of it.

Alc. They are thine, supposing he be safe too.

Phæd. Nay, that's a new bargain, for I vowed to Jupiter, that then you should give me ten pieces more; but I do undertake for my lord's safety, if you will please to discharge his godship Jupiter of the debt, and take it upon you to pay.

Alc. When he returns in safety, Jupiter and I will pay your vow.

Phæd. And I am sure I articled with Jupiter, that, if I brought you news that my lord was upon return, you should grant me one small favour more, that will cost you nothing.

Alc. Make haste, thou torturer; is my Amphitryon upon return?

Phæd. Promise me, that I shall be your bedfellow to-night, as I have been ever since my lord's absence; unless I shall be pleased to release you of your word.

Alc. That's a small request; 'tis granted.

Phæd. But swear by Jupiter.

Alc. But why by Jupiter?

Phæd. Because he's the greatest: I hate to deal with one of your little baffling gods, that can do nothing but by permission; but Jupiter can swinge you off, if you swear by him, and are forsworn.

Alc. I swear by Jupiter.

Phæd. Then—I believe he is victorious, and I know he is safe; for I looked through the key-hole, and saw him knocking at the gate; and I had the conscience to let him cool his heels there.

Alc. And would'st thou not open to him? Oh, thou traitress!

Phæd. No, I was a little wiser: I left Sosia's wife to let him in; for I was resolved to bring the news, and make my pennyworths out of him, as time shall show.

Enter Jupiter, in the shape of Amphitryon, with Sosia's wife, Bromia. He kisses and embraces Alcmena.

Jup. O let me live for ever on those lips!

The nectar of the gods to these is tasteless.

I swear, that, were I Jupiter, this night

I would renounce my heaven, to be Amphitryon.

Alc. Then, not to swear beneath Amphitryon's oath,

(Forgive me, Juno, if I am profane,)

I swear, I would be what I am this night,

And be Alcmena, rather than be Juno.

Brom. Good my lord, what is become of my poor bedfellow, your man Sosia? you keep such a billing and cooing here, to set one's mouth a watering—what I say, though I am a poor woman, I have a husband as well as my lady; and should be as glad as she, of a little honest recreation.

Phæd. And what have you done with your old friend, and my old sweetheart, Judge Gripus? has he brought me home a crammed purse, that swells with bribes? if he be rich, I will make him welcome like an honourable magistrate; but if he has not had the wit to sell justice, he judges no causes in my court, I warrant him.

Alc. My lord, you tell me nothing of the battle?

Is Thebes victorious, are our foes destroyed?

For, now I find you safe, I should be glad

To hear you were in danger.

Jup. [Aside.] A man had need be a god, to stand the fury of three talking women! I think, in my conscience, I made their tongues of thunder.

Brom. [Pulling him on one side.] I asked the first question; answer me, my lord.

Phæd. [Pulling him on the other side.] Peace! mine is a lover, and yours but a husband; and my judge is my lord too; the title shall take place, and I will be answered.

Jup. Sosia is safe; Gripus is rich; both coming;

I rode before them, with a lover's haste.——

Was e'er poor god so worried? but for my love,

I wish I were in heaven again with Juno. [Aside.

Alc. Then I, it seems, am last to be regarded?

Jup. Not so, my love; but these obstreperous tongues

Have snatched their answers first; they will be heard;

And surely Jove would never answer prayer

That woman made, but only to be freed

From their eternal noise. Make haste to bed;

There let me tell my story, in thy arms;

There, in the gentle pauses of our love,

Betwixt our dyings, ere we live again,

Thou shalt be told the battle, and success;

Which I shall oft begin, and then break off;

For love will often interrupt my tale,

And make so sweet confusion in our talk,

That thou shalt ask, and I shall answer things,

That are not of a piece; but patched with kisses,

And sighs, and murmurs, and imperfect speech;

And nonsense shall be eloquent, in love.

Brom. [To Phædha.] My lord is very hot upon it: this absence is a great friend to us poor neglected wives; it makes us new again.

Alc. I am the fool of love; and find within me

The fondness of a bride, without the fear.

My whole desires and wishes are in you.

Phæd. [Aside.] My lady's eyes are pinking to bed-ward too: now is she to look very sleepy, counterfeiting yawning,—but she shall ask me leave first.

Alc. Great Juno, thou, whose holy care presides

Over the nuptial bed, pour all thy blessings

On this auspicious night!

Jup. Juno may grudge; for she may fear a rival

In those bright eyes; but Jupiter will grant,

And doubly bless this night.

Phæd. [Aside.] But Jupiter should ask my leave

first, were he here in person.

Alc. Bromia, prepare the bed:

The tedious journey has disposed my lord

To seek his needful rest. [Exit Bromia.

Phæd. 'Tis very true, madam; the poor gentleman must needs be weary; and, therefore, it was not ill contrived, that he must lie alone to-night, to recruit himself with sleep, and lay in enough for to-morrow night, when you may keep him waking.

Alc. [To Jupiter.] I must confess, I made a kind of promise.——

Phæd. [Almost crying.] A kind of promise, do you call it? I see you would fain be coming off. I am sure you swore to me, by Jupiter, that I should be your bedfellow; and I'll accuse you to him, too, the first prayers I make; and I'll pray o' purpose, too, that I will, though I have not prayed to him this seven years.

Jup. O, the malicious hilding!

Alc. I did swear, indeed, my lord.

Jup. Forswear thyself; for Jupiter but laughs

At lovers' perjuries.

Phæd. The more shame for him, if he does: there would be a fine god, indeed, for us women to worship, if he laughs when our sweethearts cheat us of our maidenheads. No, no, Jupiter is an honester gentleman than you make of him.

Jup. I'm all on fire; and would not lose this night,

To be the master of the universe.

Phæd. Ay, my lord, I see you are on fire; but the devil a bucket shall be brought to quench it, without my leave. You may go to bed, madam; but you shall see how heaven will bless your night's work, if you forswear yourself:—Some fool, some mere elder-brother, or some blockheadly hero, Jove, I beseech thee, send her!

Jup. [Aside.] Now I could call my thunder to revenge me,

But that were to confess myself a god,

And then I lost my love!——Alcmena, come;

By heaven I have a bridegroom's fervour for thee,

As I had ne'er enjoyed.

Alc. She has my oath; [Sighing.

And sure she may release it, if she pleases.

Phæd. Why truly, madam, I am not cruel in my nature, to poor distressed lovers; for it may be my own case another day: and therefore, if my lord pleases to consider me——

Jup. Any thing, any thing! but name thy wish, and have it.

Phæd. Ay, now you say, any thing, any thing; but you would tell me another story to-morrow morning. Look you, my lord, here is a hand open to receive; you know the meaning of it; I am for nothing but the ready——

Jup. Thou shalt have all the treasury of heaven.

Phæd. Yes, when you are Jupiter, to dispose of it.

Jup. [Aside.] I had forgot, and shewed myself a god:

This love can make a fool of Jupiter.

Phæd. You have forgot some part of the enemies' spoil, I warrant you. I see a little trifling diamond upon your finger; and I am proud enough to think it would become mine too.

Jup. Here take it.—[Taking a Ring off his Finger, and giving it.

This is a very woman;

Her sex is avarice, and she, in one,

Is all her sex.

Phæd. Ay, ay, 'tis no matter what you say of us. What, would you have your money out of the treasury, without paying the officers their fees? Go, get you together, you naughty couple, till you are both weary of worrying one another; and then to-morrow morning I shall have another fee for parting you.

[Phædra goes out before Alcmena with a light.

Jup. Why now, I am indeed the lord of all;

For what's to be a god, but to enjoy?

Let human kind their sovereign's leisure wait;

Love is, this night, my great affair of state:

Let this one night of providence be void;

All Jove, for once, is on himself employ'd.

Let unregarded altars smoke in vain;

And let my subjects praise me, or complain:

Yet if, betwixt my intervals of bliss,

Some amorous youth his orisons address,

His prayer is in a happy hour preferred;

And when Jove loves, a lover shall be heard. [Exit.

ACT II.
SCENE I.—A Night Scene of a Palace.

Sosia, with a Dark-Lanthorn; Mercury, in Sosia's shape,
with a Dark-Lanthorn also.

Sos. Was not the devil in my master, to send me out this dreadful dark night, to bring the news of his victory to my lady? and was not I possessed with ten devils, for going on his errand, without a convoy for the safeguard of my person? Lord, how am I melted into sweat with fear! I am diminished of my natural weight, above two stone: I shall not bring half myself home again, to my poor wife and family; I have been in an ague fit, ever since shut of evening; what with the fright of trees by the highway, which looked maliciously, like thieves, by moonshine; and what with bulrushes by the river-side, that shaked like spears and lances at me. Well, the greatest plague of a serving-man, is to be hired to some great lord! They care not what drudgery they put upon us, while they lie lolling at their ease a-bed, and stretch their lazy limbs, in expectation of the whore which we are fetching for them.

Merc. [Aside.] He is but a poor mortal, that suffers this; but I, who am a god, am degraded to a foot-pimp; a waiter without doors! a very civil employment for a deity!

Sos. The better sort of them will say, "Upon my honour," at every word; yet ask them for our wages, and they plead the privilege of their honour, and will not pay us; nor let us take our privilege of the law upon them. These are a very hopeful sort of patriots, to stand up, as they do, for liberty and property of the subject: There's conscience for you!

Merc. [Aside.] This fellow has something of the republican spirit in him.

Sos. [Looking about him.] Stay; this, methinks, should be our house; and I should thank the gods now for bringing me safe home: but, I think, I had as good let my devotions alone, till I have got the reward for my good news, and then thank them once for all; for, if I praise them before I am safe within doors, some damned mastiff dog may come out and worry me; and then my thanks are thrown away upon them.

Merc. [Aside.] Thou art a wicked rogue, and wilt have thy bargain beforehand; therefore thou get'st not into the house this night; and thank me accordingly as I use thee.

Sos. Now am I to give my lady an account of my lord's victory; 'tis good to exercise my parts beforehand, and file my tongue into eloquent expressions, to tickle her ladyship's imagination.

Merc. [Aside.] Good! and here's the god of eloquence to judge of thy oration.

Sos. [Setting down his Lanthorn.] This lanthorn, for once, shall be my lady; because she is the lamp of all beauty and perfection.

Merc. [Aside.] No, rogue! 'tis thy lord is the lanthorn by this time, or Jupiter is turned fumbler.

Sos. Then thus I make my addresses to her:—[Bows.] Madam, my lord has chosen me out, as the most faithful, though the most unworthy, of his followers, to bring your ladyship this following account of our glorious expedition. Then she,—O my poor Sosia, [In a shrill tone.] how am I overjoyed to see thee! She can say no less.—Madam, you do me too much honour, and the world will envy me this glory:—Well answered on my side. And how does my lord Amphitryon?—Madam, he always does like a man of courage, when he is called by honour.—There I think I nicked it.—But when will he return?—As soon as possibly he can; but not so soon as his impatient heart could wish him with your ladyship.

Merc. [Aside.] When Thebes is an university, thou deservest to be their orator.

Sos. But what does he do, and what does he say? Pr'ythee tell me something more of him.—He always says less than he does, madam; and his enemies have found it to their cost.—Where the devil did I learn these elegancies and gallantries!

Merc. So, he has all the natural endowments of a fop, and only wants the education.

Sos. [Staring up to the sky.] What, is the devil in the night! She's as long as two nights. The seven stars are just where they were seven hours ago! high day—high night, I mean, by my favour. What, has Phœbus been playing the good fellow, and overslept himself, that he forgets his duty to us mortals!

Merc. How familiarly the rascal treats us gods! but I shall make him alter his tone immediately.

[Mercury comes nearer, and stands just before him.

Sos. [Seeing him, and starting back, aside.] How now? what, do my eyes dazzle, or is my dark lanthorn false to me! is not that a giant before our door? or a ghost of somebody slain in the late battle? If he be, 'tis unconscionably done, to fright an honest man thus, who never drew weapon wrathfully in all my life. Whatever wight he be, I am devilishly afraid, that's certain; but, 'tis discretion to keep my own counsel; I'll sing, that I may seem valiant.

[Sosia sings; and, as Mercury speaks,
by little and little drops his voice.

Merc. What saucy companion is this, that deafens us with his hoarse voice? What midnight ballad-singer have we here? I shall teach the villain to leave off catterwauling.

Sos. I would I had courage, for his sake, that I might teach him to call my singing catterwauling! an illiterate rogue! an enemy to the muses, and to music.

Merc. There is an ill savour that offends my nostrils and it wafteth this way.

Sos. He has smelt me out; my fear has betrayed me into this savour. I am a dead man: the bloody villain is at his fee, fa, fum, already.

Merc. Stand, who goes there?

Sos. A friend.

Merc. What friend?

Sos. Why, a friend to all the world, that will give me leave to live peaceably.

Merc. I defy peace and all its works; my arms are out of exercise, they have mauled nobody these three days: I long for an honourable occasion to pound a man, and lay him asleep at the first buffet.

Sos. [Aside.] That would almost do me a kindness; for I have been kept waking, without tipping one wink of sleep, these three nights.

Merc. Of what quality are you, fellow?

Sos. Why, I am a man, fellow.—Courage, Sosia!

Merc. What kind of man?

Sos. Why, a two-legged man; what man should I be? [Aside.] I must bear up to him, he may prove as arrant a milksop as myself.

Merc. Thou art a coward, I warrant thee; do not I hear thy teeth chatter in thy head?

Sos. Ay, ay; that's only a sign they would be snapping at thy nose. [Aside.] Bless me, what an arm and fist he has, with great thumbs too; and golls and knuckle-bones of a very butcher!

Merc. Sirrah, from whence came you, and whither go you; answer me directly, upon pain of assassination.

Sos. I am coming from whence I came, and am going whither I go,—that's directly home; though this is somewhat an uncivil manner of proceeding, at the first sight of a man, let me tell you.

Merc. Then, to begin our better acquaintance, let me first make you a small present of this box o' the ear—— [Strikes him.

Sos. If I were as choleric a fool as you are now, here would be fine work betwixt us two; but I am a little better bred, than to disturb the sleeping neighbourhood; and so good-night, friend—— [Is going.

Merc. [Stopping him.] Hold, sir; you and I must not part so easily; once more, whither are you going?

Sos. Why I am going as fast as I can, to get out of the reach of your clutches. Let me but only knock at the door there.

Merc. What business have you at that door, sirrah?

Sos. This is our house; and, when I am got in, I will tell you more.

Merc. Whose house is this, sauciness, that you are so familiar with, to call it ours?

Sos. 'Tis mine, in the first place; and next, my master's; for I lie in the garret, and he lies under me.

Merc. Have your master and you no names, sirrah?

Sos. His name is Amphitryon; hear that, and tremble.

Merc. What, my lord general?

Sos. O, has his name mollified you! I have brought you down a peg lower already, friend.

Merc. And your name is——

Sos. Lord, friend, you are so very troublesome—what should my name be, but Sosia?

Merc. How, Sosia, say you? how long have you taken up that name, sirrah?

Sos. Here's a fine question! Why I never took it up, friend; it was born with me.

Merc. What, was your name born Sosia? take this remembrance for that lie. [Beats him.

Sos. Hold, friend! you are so very flippant with your hands, you won't hear reason: What offence has my name done you, that you should beat me for it? S. O. S. I. A. they are as civil, honest, harmless letters, as any are in the whole alphabet.

Merc. I have no quarrel to the name; but that 'tis e'en too good for you, and 'tis none of yours.

Sos. What, am not I Sosia, say you?

Merc. No.

Sos. I should think you are somewhat merrily disposed, if you had not beaten me in such sober sadness. You would persuade me out of my heathen name, would you?

Merc. Say you are Sosia again, at your peril, sirrah.

Sos. I dare say nothing, but thought is free; but whatever I am called, I am Amphitryon's man, and the first letter of my name is S. too. You had best tell me that my master did not send me home to my lady, with news of his victory?

Merc. I say, he did not.

Sos. Lord, Lord, friend, one of us two is horribly given to lying; but I do not say which of us, to avoid contention.

Merc. I say my name is Sosia, and yours is not.

Sos. I would you could make good your words; for then I should not be beaten, and you should.

Merc. I find you would be Sosia, if you durst; but if I catch you thinking so——

Sos. I hope I may think I was Sosia; and I can find no difference between my former self, and my present self, but that I was plain Sosia before, and now I am laced Sosia.

Merc. Take this, for being so impudent to think so. [Beats him.

Sos. [Kneeling.] Truce a little, I beseech thee! I would be a stock or a stone now by my good will, and would not think at all, for self-preservation. But will you give me leave to argue the matter fairly with you, and promise me to depose that cudgel, if I can prove myself to be that man that I was before I was beaten?

Merc. Well, proceed in safety; I promise you I will not beat you.

Sos. In the first place, then, is not this town called Thebes?

Merc. Undoubtedly.

Sos. And is not this house Amphitryon's?

Merc. Who denies it?

Sos. I thought you would have denied that too; for all hang upon a string. Remember then, that those two preliminary articles are already granted. In the next place, did not the aforesaid Amphitryon beat the Teleboans, kill their king Pterelas, and send a certain servant, meaning somebody, that for sake-sake shall be nameless, to bring a present to his wife, with news of his victory, and of his resolution to return to-morrow?

Merc. This is all true, to a very tittle; but who is that certain servant? there's all the question.

Sos. Is it peace or war betwixt us?

Merc. Peace.

Sos. I dare not wholly trust that abominable cudgel; but 'tis a certain friend of yours and mine, that had a certain name before he was beaten out of it; but if you are a man that depend not altogether upon force and brutality, but somewhat also upon reason, now do you bring better proofs, that you are that same certain man; and, in order to it, answer me to certain questions.

Merc. I say I am Sosia, Amphitryon's man; what reason have you to urge against it?

Sos. What was your father's name?

Merc. Davus; who was an honest husbandman, whose sister's name was Harpage, that was married, and died in a foreign country.

Sos. So far you are right, I must confess; and your wife's name is——

Merc. Bromia, a devilish shrew of her tongue, and a vixen of her hands, that leads me a miserable life; keeps me to hard duty a-bed; and beats me every morning when I have risen from her side, without having first——

Sos. I understand you, by many a sorrowful token;—this must be I. [Aside.

Merc. I was once taken upon suspicion of burglary, and was whipt through Thebes, and branded for my pains.

Sos. Right, me again; but if you are I, as I begin to suspect, that whipping and branding might have been past over in silence, for both our credits. And yet now I think on't, if I am I, (as I am I) he cannot be I. All these circumstances he might have heard; but I will now interrogate him upon some private passages.—What was the present that Amphitryon sent by you or me, no matter which of us, to his wife Alcmena?

Merc. A buckle of diamonds, consisting of five large stones.

Sos. And where are they now?

Merc. In a case, sealed with my master's coat of arms.

Sos. This is prodigious, I confess; but yet 'tis nothing, now I think on't; for some false brother may have revealed it to him. [Aside.] But I have another question to ask you, of somewhat that passed only betwixt myself and me;—if you are Sosia, what were you doing in the heat of battle?

Merc. What a wise man should, that has respect for his own person. I ran into our tent, and hid myself amongst the baggage.

Sos. [Aside.] Such another cutting answer; and I must provide myself of another name.—[To him.] And how did you pass your time in that same tent? You need not answer to every circumstance so exactly now; you must lie a little, that I may think you the more me.

Merc. That cunning shall not serve your turn, to circumvent me out of my name: I am for plain naked truth. There stood a hogshead of old wine, which my lord reserved for his own drinking——

Sos. [Aside.] O the devil! as sure as death, he must have hid himself in that hogshead, or he could never have known that!

Merc. And by that hogshead, upon the ground, there lay the kind inviter and provoker of good drinking——

Sos. Nay, now I have caught you; there was neither inviter, nor provoker, for I was all alone.

Merc. A lusty gammon of——

Sos. [Sighing.] Bacon!—that word has quite made an end of me.—Let me see—this must be I, in spite of me; but let me view him nearer.

[Walks about Mercury with his Dark Lanthorn.

Merc. What are you walking about me for, with your dark lanthorn?

Sos. No harm, friend; I am only surveying a parcel of earth here, that I find we two are about to bargain for:—He's damnable like me, that's certain. Imprimis, there's the patch upon my nose, with a pox to him. Item, A very foolish face, with a long chin at end on't. Item, One pair of shambling legs, with two splay feet belonging to them; and, summa totallis, from head to foot all my bodily apparel. [To Mercury.] Well, you are Sosia; there's no denying it:—but what am I then? for my mind gives me, I am somebody still, if I knew but who I were.

Merc. When I have a mind to be Sosia no more, then thou may'st be Sosia again.

Sos. I have but one request more to thee; that, though not as Sosia, yet as a stranger, I may go into that house, and carry a civil message to my lady.

Merc. No, sirrah; not being Sosia, you have no message to deliver, nor no lady in this house.

Sos. Thou canst not be so barbarous, to let me lie in the streets all night, after such a journey, and such a beating; and therefore I am resolved to knock at the door, in my own defence.

Merc. If you come near the door, I recal my word, and break off the truce, and then expect—— [Holds up his Cudgel.

Sos. No, the devil take me if I do expect; I have felt too well what sour fruit that crab-tree bears: I'll rather beat it back upon the hoof to my lord Amphitryon, to see if he will acknowledge me for Sosia; if he does not, then I am no longer his slave; there's my freedom dearly purchased with a sore drubbing: if he does acknowledge me, then I am Sosia again. So far 'tis tolerably well: but then I shall have a second drubbing for an unfortunate ambassador, as I am; and that's intolerable. [Exit Sosia.

Merc. [Alone.] I have fobbed off his excellency pretty well. Now let him return, and make the best of his credentials. I think, too, I have given Jupiter sufficient time for his consummation.—Oh, he has taken his cue; and here he comes as leisurely, and as lank, as if he had emptied himself of the best part of his almightyship.

SCENE II.

Enter Jupiter, leading Alcmena, followed by Phædra.
Pages with Torches before them.

Jup. [To the Pages.] Those torches are offensive; stand aloof;

For, though they bless me with thy heavenly sight, [To her.

They may disclose the secret I would hide.

The Thebans must not know I have been here;

Detracting crowds would blame me, that I robbed

These happy moments from my public charge,

To consecrate to thy desired embrace;

And I could wish no witness but thyself,

For thou thyself art all I wish to please.

Alcm. So long an absence, and so short a stay!

What, but one night! one night of joy and love

Could only pay one night of cares and fears,

And all the rest are an uncancelled sum!—

Curse on this honour, and this public fame;

Would you had less of both, and more of love!

Jup. Alcmena, I must go.

Alcm. Not yet, my lord.

Jup. Indeed I must.

Alcm. Indeed you shall not go.

Jup. Behold the ruddy streaks o'er yonder hill;

Those are the blushes of the breaking morn,

That kindle day-light to this nether world.

Alcm. No matter for the day; it was but made

To number out the hours of busy men.

Let them be busy still, and still be wretched,

And take their fill of anxious drudging day;

But you and I will draw our curtains close,

Extinguish day-light, and put out the sun.

Come back, my lord; in faith you shall retire;

You have not yet lain long enough in bed,

To warm your widowed side.

Phæd. [Aside.] I find my lord is an excellent school-master, my lady is so willing to repeat her lesson.

Merc. [Aside.] That's a plaguy little devil; what a roguish eye she has! I begin to like her strangely. She's the perquisite of my place too; for my lady's waiting-woman is the proper fees of my lord's chief gentleman. I have the privilege of a god too; I can view her naked through all her clothes. Let me see, let me see;—I have discovered something, that pleases me already.

Jup. Let me not live, but thou art all enjoyment!

So charming and so sweet,

That not a night, but whole eternity,

Were well employed,

To love thy each perfection as it ought.

Alcm. [Kissing him.] I'll bribe you with this kiss, to stay a while.

Jup. [Kissing her.] A bribe indeed that soon will bring me back;

But, to be just, I must restore your bribe.

How I could dwell for ever on those lips!

O, I could kiss them pale with eagerness!

So soft, by heaven! and such a juicy sweet,

That ripened peaches have not half the flavour.

Alcm. Ye niggard gods! you make our lives too long;

You fill them with diseases, wants, and woes,

And only dash them with a little love,

Sprinkled by fits, and with a sparing hand:

Count all our joys, from childhood even to age,

They would but make a day of every year.

Take back your seventy years, the stint of life,

Or else be kind, and cram the quintessence

Of seventy years into sweet seventy days;

For all the rest is flat, insipid being.

Jup. But yet one scruple pains me at my parting:

I love so nicely, that I cannot bear

To owe the sweets of love, which I have tasted,

To the submissive duty of a wife.

Tell me, and sooth my passion ere I go,

That, in the kindest moments of the night,

When you gave up yourself to love and me,

You thought not of a husband, but a lover?

Alcm. But tell me first, why you would raise a blush

Upon my cheeks, by asking such a question?

Jup. I would owe nothing to a name so dull

As husband is, but to a lover all.

Alcm. You should have asked me then, when love and night,

And privacy, had favoured your demand.

Jup. I ask it now, because my tenderness

Surpasses that of husbands for their wives.

O that you loved like me! then you would find

A thousand, thousand niceties in love.

The common love of sex to sex is brutal;

But love refined will fancy to itself

Millions of gentle cares, and sweet disquiets;

The being happy is not half the joy;

The manner of their happiness is all.

In me, my charming mistress, you behold

A lover that disdains a lawful title,

Such as of monarchs to successive thrones;

The generous lover holds by force of arms,

And claims his crown by conquest.

Alcm. Methinks you should be pleased; I give you all

A virtuous and modest wife can give.

Jup. No, no; that very name of wife and marriage

Is poison to the dearest sweets of love;

To please my niceness, you must separate

The lover from his mortal foe—the husband.

Give to the yawning husband your cold virtue;

But all your vigorous warmth, your melting sighs,

Your amorous murmurs, be your lover's part.

Alcm. I comprehend not what you mean, my lord;

But only love me still, and love me thus,

And think me such as best may please your thought.

Jup. There's mystery of love in all I say.—

Farewell; and when you see your husband next,

Think of your lover then.

[Exeunt Jup. and Alcm. severally; Phæd. follows her.

Merc. [Alone.] Now I should follow him; but love has laid a lime-twig for me, and made a lame god of me. Yet why should I love this Phædra? She's interested, and a jilt into the bargain. Three thousand years hence, there will be a whole nation of such women, in a certain country, that will be called France; and there's a neighbour island, too, where the men of that country will be all interest. O what a precious generation will that be, which the men of the island shall propagate out of the women of the continent!—

Phædra re-enters.

And so much for prophecy; for she's here again, and I must love her, in spite of me. And since I must, I have this comfort, that the greatest wits are commonly the greatest cullies; because neither of the sexes can be wiser than some certain parts about them will give them leave.

Phæd. Well, Sosia, and how go matters?

Merc. Our army is victorious.

Phæd. And my servant, judge Gripus?

Merc. A voluptuous gormand.

Phæd. But has he gotten wherewithal to be voluptuous; is he wealthy?

Merc. He sells justice as he uses; fleeces the rich rebels, and hangs up the poor.

Phæd. Then, while he has money, he may make love to me. Has he sent me no token?

Merc. Yes, a kiss; and by the same token I am to give it you, as a remembrance from him.

Phæd. How now, impudence! A beggarly serving-man presume to kiss me?

Merc. Suppose I were a god, and should make love to you?

Phæd. I would first be satisfied, whether you were a poor god, or a rich god.

Merc. Suppose I were Mercury, the god of merchandise?

Phæd. What! the god of small wares, and fripperies, of pedlers and pilferers?

Merc. How the gipsy despises me! [Aside.

Phæd. I had rather you were Plutus, the god of money; or Jupiter, in a golden shower: there was a god for us women! he had the art of making love. Dost thou think that kings, or gods either, get mistresses by their good faces? no, it is the gold, and the presents they can make; there is the prerogative they have over their fair subjects.

Merc. All this notwithstanding, I must tell you, pretty Phædra, I am desperately in love with you.

Phæd. And I must tell thee, ugly Sosia, thou hast not wherewithal to be in love.

Merc. Yes, a poor man may be in love, I hope.

Phæd. I grant a poor rogue may be in love, but he can never make love. Alas, Sosia, thou hast neither face to invite me, nor youth to please me, nor gold to bribe me; and, besides all this, thou hast a wife, poor miserable Sosia!—What, ho, Bromia!

Merc. O thou merciless creature, why dost thou conjure up that sprite of a wife?

Phæd. To rid myself of that devil of a poor lover. Since you are so lovingly disposed, I'll put you together to exercise your fury upon your own wedlock.—What, Bromia, I say, make haste; here is a vessel of yours, full freighted, that is going off without paying duties.

Merc. Since thou wilt not let me steal custom, she shall have all the cargo I have gotten in the wars; but thou mightst have lent me a little creek, to smuggle in.

Phæd. Why, what have you gotten, good gentleman soldier, besides a legion of—— [Snaps her fingers.

Merc. When the enemy was routed, I had the plundering of a tent.

Phæd. That is to say, a house of canvas, with moveables of straw.—Make haste, Bromia!——

Merc. But it was the general's own tent.

Phæd. You durst not fight, I am certain; and therefore came last in, when the rich plunder was gone beforehand.—Will you come, Bromia?

Merc. Pr'ythee, do not call so loud:—A great goblet, that holds a gallon.

Phæd. Of what was that goblet made? answer quickly, for I am just calling very loud——Bro—

Merc. Of beaten gold. Now, call aloud, if thou dost not like the metal.

Phæd. Bromia. [Very softly.

Merc. That struts in this fashion, with his arms a-kimbo, like a city magistrate; and a great bouncing belly, like a hostess with child of a kilderkin of wine. Now, what say you to that present, Phædra?

Phæd. Why, I am considering——

Merc. What, I pr'ythee?

Phæd. Why, how to divide the business equally; to take the gift, and refuse the giver, thou art so damnably ugly, and so old.

Merc. Now the devil take Jupiter, for confining me to this ungodly shape to-day! [Aside.] but Gripus is as old and as ugly too.

Phæd. But Gripus is a person of quality, and my lady's uncle; and if he marries me, I shall take place of my lady.—Hark, your wife! she has sent her tongue before her. I hear the thunderclap already; there is a storm approaching.

Merc. Yes, of thy brewing; I thank thee for it. O how I should hate thee now, if I could leave loving thee!

Phæd. Not a word of the dear golden goblet, as you hope for—you know what, Sosia.

Merc. You give me hope, then——

Phæd. Not absolutely hope neither; but gold is a great cordial in love matters; and the more you apply of it, the better.—[Aside.] I am honest, that is certain; but when I weigh my honesty against the goblet, I am not quite resolved on which side the scale will turn. [Exit Phæd.

Merc. [Aloud.] Farewell, Phædra; remember me to my wife, and tell her——

Enter Bromia.

Brom. Tell her what, traitor? that you are going away without seeing her?

Merc. That I am doing my duty, and following my master.

Brom. 'Umph!—so brisk, too! your master did his duty to my lady before he parted: He could leave his army in the lurch, and come galloping home at midnight to have a lick at the honey-pot; and steal to-bed as quietly as any mouse, I warrant you. My master knew what belonged to a married life; but you, sirrah—you trencher-carrying rascal—you worse than dunghill-cock; that stood clapping your wings, and crowing without doors, when you should have been at roost, you villain—

Merc. Hold your peace, dame Partlet, and leave your cackling; my master charged me to stand centry without doors.

Brom. My master! I dare swear thou beliest him; my master is more a gentleman than to lay such an unreasonable command upon a poor distressed married couple, and after such an absence too. No, there is no comparison between my master and thee, thou sneaksby.

Merc. No more than there is betwixt my lady and you, Bromia. You and I have had our time in a civil way, spouse, and much good love has been betwixt us; but we have been married fifteen years, I take it; and that hoighty toighty business ought, in conscience, to be over.

Brom. Marry come up, my saucy companion! I am neither old nor ugly enough to have that said to me.

Merc. But will you hear reason, Bromia? my lord and my lady are yet in a manner bride and bridegroom; they are in honey-moon still: do but think, in decency, what a jest it would be to the family, to see two venerable old married people lying snug in a bed together, and sighing out fine tender things to one another!

Brom. How now, traitor, darest thou maintain that I am past the age of having fine things said to me?

Merc. Not so, my dear; but certainly I am past the age of saying them.

Brom. Thou deservest not to be yoked with a woman of honour, as I am, thou perjured villain.

Merc. Ay, you are too much a woman of honour, to my sorrow; many a poor husband would be glad to compound for less honour in his wife, and more quiet. Pr'ythee, be but honest and continent in thy tongue, and do thy worst with every thing else about thee.

Brom. Thou wouldst have a woman of the town, wouldst thou! to be always speaking my husband fair, to make him digest his cuckoldom more easily! wouldst thou be a wittol, with a vengeance to thee? I am resolved I'll scour thy hide for that word. [Holds up her ladle at him.

Merc. Thou wilt not strike thy lord and husband, wilt thou?

Brom. Since thou wilt none of the meat, 'tis but justice to give thee the bastings of the ladle. [She courses him about.

Merc. [Running about.] Was ever poor deity so hen-pecked as I am! nay, then 'tis time to charm her asleep with my enchanted rod, before I am disgraced or ravished. [Plucks out his Caduceus, and strikes her upon the shoulder with it.

Brom. What, art thou rebelling against thy anointed wife! I'll make thee—how now—What, has the rogue bewitched me! I grow dull and stupid on the sudden—I can neither stir hand nor foot—I am just like him—I have lost the use of all my—members—[Yawning.]—I can't so much as wag my tongue—neither, and that's the last liv—ing part about a—woman— [Falls down.

Mercury alone.

Lord, what have I suffered for being but a counterfeit married man one day! If ever I come to this house as a husband again—then—and yet that then was a lie too; for, while I am in love with this young gipsy, Phædra, I must return. But lie thou there, thou type of Juno; thou that wantest nothing of her tongue, but the immortality. If Jupiter ever let thee set foot in heaven, Juno will have a rattling second of thee; and there will never be a fair day in heaven or earth after it:

For two such tongues will break the poles asunder;

And, hourly scolding, make perpetual thunder. [Exit Mercury.

ACT III.
SCENE I.—Before Amphitryon's Palace.

Amphitryon and Sosia.

Amph. Now, sirrah, follow me into the house; thou shalt be convinced at thy own cost, villain! What horrible lies hast thou told me! such improbabilities, such stuff, such nonsense!—that the monster, with two long horns, that frighted the great king, and the devil at the stone-cutter's, are truths to these.[8]

Sos. I am but a slave, and you are master; and a poor man is always to lie when a rich man is pleased to contradict him: but, as sure as this is our house—

Amph. So sure 'tis thy place of execution.—Thou art not made for lying neither.

Sos. That's certain; for all my neighbours say I have an honest face; or else they would never call me cuckold, as they do.

Amph. I mean thou hast not wit enough to make a lie that will hang together: thou hast set up a trade that thou hast not stock enough to manage. O that I had but a crab-tree cudgel for thy sake!

Sos. How, a cudgel, said you! the devil take Jupiter for inventing that hard-hearted, merciless, knobby wood.

Amph. The bitterness is yet to come: thou hast had but a half dose of it.

Sos. I was never good at swallowing physic; and my stomach wambles at the very thought of it. But, if I must have a second beating, in conscience let me strip first, that I may show you the black and blue streaks upon my sides and shoulders. I am sure I suffered them in your service.

Amph. To what purpose wouldst thou show them?

Sos. Why, to the purpose that you may not strike me upon the sore places; and that, as he beat me the last night cross-ways, so you would please to beat me long-ways, to make clean work on't, that at least my skin may look like chequer-work.

Amph. This request is too reasonable to be refused. But, that all things may be done in order, tell me over again the same story, with all the circumstances of thy commission, that a blow may follow in due form for every lie. To repetition, rogue; to repetition.

Sos. No; it shall be all a lie, if you please; and I'll eat my words, to save my shoulders.

Amph. Ay, sirrah, now you find you are to be disproved; but 'tis too late. To repetition, rogue; to repetition.

Sos. With all my heart, to any repetition but the cudgel. But would you be pleased to answer me one civil question? Am I to use complaisance to you, as to a great person that will have all things said your own way? or am I to tell you the naked truth alone, without the ceremony of a farther beating?

Amph. Nothing but the truth, and the whole truth; so help thee, cudgel!

Sos. That's a damned conclusion of a sentence: but, since it must be so—back and sides, at your own peril!—I set out from the port in an unlucky hour; the dusky canopy of night enveloping the hemisphere.—

Amph. [Strikes him.] Imprimis, for fustian:—now proceed.

Sos. I stand corrected: In plain prose then,—I went darkling, and whistling to keep myself from being afraid; mumbling curses betwixt my teeth, for being sent at such an unnatural time of night.

Amph. How, sirrah, cursing and swearing against your lord and master! take— [Going to strike.

Sos. Hold, sir—pray, consider if this be not unreasonable to strike me for telling the whole truth, when you commanded me: I'll fall into my old dog-trot of lying again, if this must come of plain dealing.

Amph. To avoid impertinences make an end of your journey, and come to the house;—what found you there, a god's name?

Sos. I came thither in no god's name at all, but in the devil's name; I found before the door a swinging fellow, with all my shapes and features, and accoutred also in my habit.

Amph. Who was that fellow?

Sos. Who should it be, but another Sosia! a certain kind of other me: who knew all my unfortunate commission, precisely to a word, as well as I Sosia; as being sent by yourself from the port upon the same errand to Alcmena.

Amph. What gross absurdities are these?

Sos. O Lord, O Lord, what absurdities!—as plain as any packstaff. That other me had posted himself there before me, me.—You won't give a man leave to speak poetically now; or else I would say, that I was arrived at the door just before I came thither.

Amph. This must either be a dream or drunkenness, or madness in thee. Leave your buffooning and lying; I am not in humour to bear it, sirrah.

Sos. I would you should know I scorn a lie, and am a man of honour in every thing but just fighting. I tell you once again, in plain sincerity and simplicity of heart, that, before last night, I never took myself but for one single individual Sosia; but, coming to our door, I found myself, I know not how, divided, and, as it were, split into two Sosias.

Amph. Leave buffooning: I see you would make me laugh, but you play the fool scurvily.

Sos. That may be; but, if I am a fool, I am not the only fool in this company.

Amph. How now, impudence! I shall——

Sos. Be not in wrath, sir; I meant not you: I cannot possibly be the only fool; for, if I am one fool, I must certainly be two fools; because, as I told you, I am double.

Amph. That one should be two, is very probable!

Sos. Have you not seen a six-pence split into two halves, by some ingenious school-boy, which bore on either side the impression of the monarch's face? Now, as those moieties were two three-pences, and yet in effect but one six-pence——

Amph. No more of your villainous tropes and figures.

Sos. Nay, if an orator must be disarmed of his similitudes——

Amph. A man had need of patience, to endure this gibberish! be brief, and come to a conclusion.

Sos. What would you have, sir? I came thither, but the t'other I was before me; for that there was two I's, is as certain, as that I have two eyes in this head of mine. This I, that am here, was weary: the t'other I was fresh; this I was peaceable, and t'other I was a hectoring bully I.

Amph. And thou expect'st I should believe thee?

Sos. No; I am not so unreasonable; for I could never have believed it myself, if I had not been well beaten into it: but a cudgel, you know, is a convincing argument in a brawny fist. What shall I say, but that I was compelled, at last, to acknowledge myself! I found that he was very I, without fraud, cozen, or deceit. Besides, I viewed myself, as in a mirror, from head to foot; he was handsome of a noble presence, a charming air, loose and free in all his motions; and saw he was so much I, that I should have reason to be better satisfied with my own person, if his hands had not been a little of the heaviest.

Amph. Once again, to a conclusion: Say you passed by him, and entered into the house.

Sos. I am a friend to truth, and say no such thing; he defended the door, and I could not enter.

Amph. How, not enter?

Sos. Why, how should I enter? unless I were a spirit, to glide by him, and shoot myself through locks, and bolts, and two-inch boards.

Amph. O coward! Didst thou not attempt to pass?

Sos. Yes, and was repulsed and beaten for my pains.

Amph. Who beat thee?

Sos. I beat me.

Amph. Didst thou beat thyself?

Sos. I don't mean I, here: but the absent Me beat me here present.

Amph. There's no end of this intricate piece of nonsense.

Sos. 'Tis only nonsense, because I speak it, who am a poor fellow; but it would be sense, and substantial sense, if a great man said it, that was backed with a title, and the eloquence of ten thousand pounds a-year.

Amph. No more; but let us enter:—Hold! my Alcmena is coming out, and has prevented me: how strangely will she be surprised to see me here so unexpectedly!

Enter Alcmena and Phædra.

Alcm. [To Phæd.] Make haste after me to the temple; that we may thank the gods for this glorious success, which Amphitryon has had against the rebels—O heaven! [Seeing him.

Amph. Those heavens, and all the blessed inhabitants, [Saluting her.

Grant, that the sweet rewarder of my pains

May still be kind, as on our nuptial night!

Alcm. So soon returned!

Amph. So soon returned! Is this thy welcome home? [Stepping back.

So soon returned, says I am come unwished.

This is no language of desiring love:

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years;

And every little absence is an age.

Alcm. What says my lord?

Amph. No, my Alcmena, no:

True love by its impatience measures time,

And the dear object never comes too soon.

Alcm. Nor ever came you so, nor ever shall;

But you yourself are changed from what you were,

Palled in desires, and surfeited of bliss.

Not so I met you at your last return;

When yesternight I flew into your arms,

And melted in your warm embrace.

Amph. How's this?

Alcm. Did not my soul even sparkle at my eyes,

And shoot itself into your much-loved bosom?

Did I not tremble with excess of joy?

Nay agonize with pleasure at your sight,

With such inimitable proofs of passion,

As no false love could feign?

Amph. What's this you tell me?

Alcm. Far short of truth, by heaven!

And you returned those proofs with usury;

And left me, with a sigh, at break of day.

Have you forgot?

Amph. Or have you dreamt, Alcmena?

Perhaps some kind, revealing deity

Has whispered, in your sleep, the pleasing news

Of my return, and you believed it real;

Perhaps too, in your dream, you used me kindly;

And my preventing image reaped the joys

You meant, awake, to me.

Alcm. Some melancholy vapour, sure, has seized

Your brain, Amphitryon, and disturbed your sense;

Or yesternight is not so long a time,

But yet you might remember; and not force

An honest blush into my glowing cheeks,

For that which lawful marriage makes no crime.

Amph. I thank you for my melancholy vapour.

Alcm. 'Tis but a just requital for my dream.

Phæd. I find my master took too much of the creature last night, [Aside.] and now is angling for a quarrel, that no more may be expected from him to-night, when he has no assets.

[In the mean time, Amph. and Alc. walk by
themselves, and frown at each other as they meet.

Amph. You dare not justify it to my face.

Alcm. Not what?

Amph. That I returned before this hour.

Alcm. You dare not, sure, deny you came last night,
And staid till break of day?

Amph. O impudence!—Why Sosia!

Sos. Nay, I say nothing; for all things here may go by enchantment, as they did with me, for aught I know.

Alcm. Speak, Phædra,—was he here?

Phæd. You know, madam, I am but a chamber-maid; and, by my place, I am to forget all that was done over night in love-matters,—unless my master please to rub up my memory with another diamond.

Amph. Now, in the name of all the gods, Alcmena,

A little recollect your scattered thoughts,

And weigh what you have said.

Alcm. I weighed it well, Amphitryon, ere I spoke:

And she, and Bromia, all the slaves and servants,

Can witness they beheld you, when you came.

If other proof were wanting, tell me how

I came to know your fight, your victory,

The death of Pterelas in single combat?

And farther, from whose hands I had a jewel,

The spoils of him you slew?

Amph. This is amazing!

Have I already given you those diamonds,

The present I reserved?

Alcm. 'Tis an odd question:

You see I wear them; look.

Amph. Now answer, Sosia.

Sos. Yes, now I can answer with a safe conscience, as to that point; all the rest may be art magic, but, as for the diamonds, here they are, under safe custody.

Alcm. Then what are these upon my arm? [To Sosia.

Sos. Flints, or pebbles, or some such trumpery of enchanted stones.

Phæd. They say, the proof of a true diamond is to glitter in the dark: I think my master had best take my lady into some by-corner, and try whose diamond will sparkle best.

Sos. Yet, now I think on't, madam, did not a certain friend of mine present them to you?

Alcm. What friend?

Sos. Why another Sosia, one that made himself Sosia in my despite, and also unsosiated me.

Amph. Sirrah, leave your nauseous nonsense; break open the seal, and take out the diamonds.

Sos. More words than one to a bargain, sir. I I thank you,—that's no part of prudence for me to commit burglary upon the seals: Do you look first upon the signet, and tell me, in your conscience, whether the seals be not as firm as when you clapt the wax upon them.

Amph. The signature is firm. [Looking.

Sos. Then take the signature into your own custody, and open it; for I will have nothing done at my proper peril. [Giving him the Casket.

Amph. O heavens! here's nothing but an empty space, the nest where they were laid. [Breaking open the Seal.

Sos. Then, if the birds are flown, the fault's not mine. Here has been fine conjuring work; or else the jewel, knowing to whom it should be given, took occasion to steal out, by a natural instinct, and tied itself to that pretty arm.

Amph. Can this be possible?

Sos. Yes, very possible: You, my lord Amphitryon, may have brought forth another. You my lord Amphitryon, as well as I, Sosia, have brought forth another Me, Sosia; and our diamonds may have procreated these diamonds, and so we are all three double.

Phæd. If this be true, I hope my goblet has gigged another golden goblet; and then they may carry double upon all four. [Aside.

Alcm. My lord, I have stood silent, out of wonder

What you could wonder at.

Amph. A chilling sweat, a damp of jealousy,

Hangs on my brows, and clams upon my limbs.

I fear, and yet I must be satisfied;

And, to be satisfied, I must dissemble. [Aside.

Alcm. Why muse you so, and murmur to yourself?

If you repent your bounty, take it back.

Amph. Not so; but, if you please, relate what past

At our last interview.

Alcm. That question would infer you were not here.

Amph. I say not so;

I only would refresh my memory,

And have my reasons to desire the story.

Phæd. So, this is as good sport for me, as an examination of a great belly before a magistrate.

Alcm. The story is not long: you know I met you,

Kissed you, and pressed you close within my arms,

With all the tenderness of wifely love.

Amph. I could have spared that kindness.— [Aside.

And what did I?

Alcm. You strained me with a masculine embrace,

As you would squeeze my soul out.

Amph. Did I so?

Alcm. You did.

Amph. Confound those arms that were so kind!— [Aside.

Proceed, proceed—— [To her.

Alcm. You would not stay to sup; but much complaining of your drowsiness, and want of natural rest——

Amph. Made haste to bed: Ha, was't not so?

Go on—

[Aside.] And stab me with each syllable thou speak'st.

Phæd. So, now 'tis coming, now 'tis coming.

Alcm. I have no more to say.

Amph. Why, went we not to bed?

Alcm. Why not?

Is it a crime for husband and for wife

To go to bed, my lord?

Amph. Perfidious woman!

Alcm. Ungrateful man!

Amph. She justifies it too!

Alcm. I need not justify: Of what am I accused?

Amph. Of all that prodigality of kindness

Given to another, and usurped from me.

So bless me, Heaven, if, since my first departure,

I ever set my foot upon this threshold!

So am I innocent of all those joys,

And dry of those embraces.

Alcm. Then I, it seems, am false!

Amph. As surely false, as what thou say'st is true.

Alcm. I have betrayed my honour, and my love,

And am a foul adultress?

Amph. What thou art,

Thou stand'st condemned to be, by thy relation.

Alcm. Go, thou unworthy man! for ever go:

No more my husband: go, thou base impostor!

Who tak'st a vile pretence to taint my fame,

And, not content to leave, wouldst ruin me.

Enjoy thy wished divorce: I will not plead

My innocence of this pretended crime;

I need not. Spit thy venom; do thy worst;

But know, the more thou wouldst expose my virtue,

Like purest linen laid in open air,

'Twill bleach the more, and whiten to the view.

Amph. 'Tis well thou art prepared for thy divorce:

For, know thou too, that, after this affront,

This foul indignity done to my honour,

Divorcement is but petty reparation.

But, since thou hast, with impudence, affirmed

My false return, and bribed my slaves to vouch it,

The truth shall, in the face of Thebes, be cleared:

Thy uncle, the companion of my voyage,

And all the crew of seamen shall be brought,

Who were embarked, and came with me to land,

Nor parted, till I reached this cursed door:

So shall this vision of my late return

Stand a detected lie; and woe to those,

Who thus betrayed my honour!

Sos. Sir, shall I wait on you?

Amph. No, I will go alone. Expect me here. [Exit Amphitryon.

Phæd. Please you, that I—— [To Alcmena.

Alcm. Oh! nothing now can please me:

Darkness, and solitude, and sighs, and tears,

And all the inseparable train of grief,

Attend my steps for ever.—— [Exit Alcmena.

Sos. What if I should lie now, and say we have been here before? I never saw any good that came of telling truth. [Aside.

Phæd. He makes no more advances to me: I begin a little to suspect, that my gold goblet will prove but copper. [Aside.