[] DAMON AND PHILLIDA.

ACT THE FIRST.

I am told, Corydon, that you want my advice in ſomething that materially concerns you.

My Lord, I have made bold to aſk it.

Then let me hear your ſtory, and whatever power I have to ſerve you, you may freely command.

Ah, my good Lord, you are our general friend—This is my daughter; I have ever ſtudied to make her happy; and to own the trurh, her chearful com⯑pliance with all my commands, from her infancy, has rendered that taſk a great ſatisfaction to me: now, my Lord, leſt I ſhould die, and leave her in an unfriendly world, I would fain ſee her well married; and for that purpoſe have found her out a pair of well-meaning youths to take her choice of, Cymon and Mopſus here; they are brothers; and their manners ſuit her condition: I am well aſſured ſhe might be happy with either of them, for they both love her ſincerely.

Yes, an pleaſe you, we are both cruelly in love.

A little patience, honeſt Cymon.

Theſe lads, I ſay, my Lord, if there was no ob⯑ſtruction in the way, might one or t'other make her a good huſband perhaps—but this ſoppiſh rambling Damon here, has bewitch'd her I think; his ſqueaking pipe has rival'd both Cymon and Mopſus, and they toy and play together all day long.

Ay ſo they do, an pleaſe you.

Nay, nay, Cymon.

Well, well, I have done; I'm ſure 'tis true tho'.

Hoh! hoh! hoh! That fool, my brother, is always in the wrong.

Nay, nay, Mopſus, now you are worſe than he.

Go on with your ſtory.

So nothing now but Damon is thought of, and Damon I fear will ruin her, which would but ill re⯑compence me for all my care and fatherly advice. The favour I would beg of you, my Lord, is to interpoſe your authority in my behalf; and, though you are not our king, 'tis well known you rule our hearts; and the continual good you do us every day, makes it but gratitude that we ſhould yield to whatever is your pleaſure: therefore, if you think my caſe deſerves pity, I hope your wiſdom will point out to me a way to pre⯑vent any ill that may enſue from it.

I take your grief to heart, good Corydon, and wiſh I may have it in my power to make you eaſy; Damon, you hear your accuſation, do you think it honeſt to trifle in an affair like this; or that it will add to your reputation to ſay you purchas'd this unwary maid's af⯑fection at the price of all ſhe poſſeſs'd, for which ſhe could be counted amiable? Think ſeriouſly, and tell me what I ſhall ſay I've done to right this good old man.

My Lord, my profeſſions are ſincere; let the girl pleaſe herſelf: if ſhe has a mind to marry, there's her choice; if ſhe has a mind to make a frolic of life, here's her man.

You ſee, my lord, I did not accuſe him falſly.

'Tis true.—Well, my friends, I hope your hearts are honeſt; endeavour to rival this Damon, you ſhan't want for my protection.

Ah! Sir, I have no heart to ſpeak, an like you: ſhe flouts, and pouts, and glouts at me from morning till night. There, only ſee how ſhe looks now, becauſe ſhe can't abide me.

Take courage, man; pluck up a ſpirit; that's her maiden ſhyneſs.

Do you think ſo, Sir?—Well, if you think ſo, I will take courage; and if an old ſong will win her heart, have at her.

Well, Phillida, has this no effect upon you?

No, no, poor Cymon, thou art never the nearer; not all thy ſongs, nor ſighs, nor ſobs, can move her.

Perhaps ſhe may like Mopſus better; come, my lad, let's hear what you have to ſay; you ſeem chearful.

Yes, I am always ſo; I loves to laugh, for my part, let things go how they will: what do I care for her frowns: it gives a body's mind ſome eaſe to think that Cymon's us'd as ill as I; all my comfort is, that hap⯑pen as it will, I ſhall have him to laugh at.

But now, Corydon, let us enquire into your daugh⯑ter's heart. Phillida, here are three youths who labour to deſerve your love; tell me freely which is the man that's favour'd moſt by you; truſt me with the ſecret of your wiſhes, that I may prove your friend.

Since I am urg'd to ſpeak the truth, I own my heart, my Lord, has been fooliſhly impoſed upon; my father's will I never diſobeyed, and ſincerely wiſh I had it now in my power to pleaſe him; but I can never conſent to lead a ſavage life; and what could I expect better from the company of theſe lads?

Oh! oh! oh! O ſcornful maid! My poor heart will burſt with grief.

Hoh! hoh! hoh! poor Cymon's in a bitter taking.

'Tis hard that I muſt chuſe from ſuch extremes of folly—Damon's infidelity ſhould make me hate him; but I fear he has too many tender advocates in my heart; 'tis true I have try'd a thouſand times to ſhut him from my thoughts, as often found I try'd in vain; my weakneſs will find excuſes for his treatment of me; whenever he ſubmits, he's ſure to be forgiven; and whenever I forgive, I am ſure to be forſaken.

Take comfort, Corydon; your daughter's unreſerved confeſſion of her love, perſuades me of the goodneſs of her heart; and tho' licentious Damon may deſerve ſe⯑vere reproof, yet for her ſake let us not harden him by puniſhment, but rather tempt him by reward to virtue; my favour ſhall be ſhewn to every one who ſeeks by honeſt means to gain it; therefore, if he, or any other ſwain, can win this gentle maid to be his bride, the portion ſhe expected from her father, I'll double on the marriage day.—Come, friends, let's leave theſe lovers.

A double portion! Now, my lads, there's brave en⯑couragement to warm your hearts; now ſhew your ſkill; now ſing, now dance; now try which is the feateſt fellow—Ah! Phillida, let faithleſs Damon ſee what honeſty has gain'd by truth; and what his pranks have loſt by wickedneſs!

Diſhoneſty ſhall never gain me.

A double dow'ry, Cymon, now's our time.

Ah! but I am tender-hearted; my poor hopes will never bloſſom while ſhe looks ſo froſty.

Learn of your brother, lad; you ſee he's all mirth; up with your heart, and at her.

Shall I?—Well, ſince you encourage me, I will.

Well ſaid, my boy; this joyful day makes my heart bound with pleaſure; let me but ſee that graceleſs Damon diſappointed; let me but live to ſee him wear the willow, and I'll jump into my grave with joy.

So, now I ſuppoſe I ſhall have all my work to do over again; this double dowry will turn her brain.

Now, Cymon, now!

I'd rather you ſpeak firſt.

No, you are the elder.

Ah! but my heart miſgives me.

Still ſilent—no kind offer from Damon.

I ſhall never be able to hit the tune alone.

Waunds, you know you can well enough, an you will.

I tell you I can't; do you begin.

Well then, be ſure you back me.

I wull, I wull.

I have heard enough of your odious love; 'tis Da⯑mon's turn to ſpeak now if he chuſes it.

Well, let him ſpeak; mayhap you'll get as little good from him, as we have from you; 'tisn't every man will marry you—'tisn't you—you—don't cry, Cymon, it only makes her prouder.

She has given me ſuch a kick of the heart I ſhall never get over it.

How tedious is the voice of love from any but the object of our wiſhes—Cymon.

Well.

Come here.

Yes.

I like thee by far the better than thy brother.

Do you?

I do.

O the gracious! but you do truly and truly—

I'll convince you on't this moment; take him away, and don't let me ſee him for an hour at leaſt; and then do you come without him.

Give me your hand on't.

Huſh, huſh, not now, they'll ſee us; away with him.

A word's enough; I'll do it. Come, Mopſus, come away, for I have ſuch a thing to tell thee, boy.—

What ails the fool! Thou'rt mad.

Mad! Ay, and ſo would you be too, if you were in my place; but come away.

Nay, not ſo faſt, good Cymon.

Faſter, Mopſus, faſter.

This was kind, my Phillida; was ever any thing ſo well diſſembled?

Yes, I have learnt to diſſemble from you; and I ſuppoſe you'll diſſemble with me again to reward me.

How ſuſpicious you are! Don't I love you? This buſtle at my heart when I touch your hand, my tranſ⯑port when I gaze upon you, may convince you you're miſtaken.

Ah! Damon, you always have decoyed my heart with ſuch language as this; but now 'tis time to end our fooling; conſent to marry me, or never ſee me again.

What then I'm to be ſtarved into marriage I find!

I'll ſtarve myſelf ſooner than ſuffer my heart to be deluded by one whoſe baſeneſs merits my ſcorn.

Mighty well; this double dowry has ſtrangely al⯑tered you: why your brain's turn'd, child; and you would have me as mad as yourſelf: make a huſband of me! No, no, Phillida, I'll never be that fool, to plod on in one dull path of life; to be afraid to ſpeak or look, for fear I ſhould offend; in ſhort, to wear a yoke, that, in ſpite of all I can do to hinder it, will laſt for life:—O what a thought!—You muſt excuſe me, my dear, but you'll never perſuade me to think on't.

Falſe Damon! I begin to hate you.

Ay, there's ſome ſenſe in this; many of your dainty nymphs will fool one on, and teaze one to death; but ſince I know your mind, adieu Phillida; I am for variety.

ACT II. SCENE I.

HOW could the little gipſey carry it off with ſuch an air? I am ſo provoked by her impertinent pride, that I ſhall never reſt in my bed till ſhe lies by me; but let me ſee, are her terms reaſonable? That my heart is ſubdued appears pretty plain; that the object of my love is a worthy one, every ſhepherd confeſſes; that during our laſt converſation, my whole behaviour was diſſimulation, the uneaſineſs I now feel will witneſs for me; what then ſhould I in honor and conſcience do? I have made the appeal, and am ad⯑viſed to call the ſhepherds together, and Arcas at their head, to be witneſſes of my converſion, and my deter⯑mined reſolution to change the libertine to the mar⯑ried man.

Well, well, but I ſay, think no more of him.

If I conſent to ſee him no more, father, is not that enough?

No, no, it is not; you muſt hate him; there is not ſuch a rake among the wenches in all Arcadia, he is worſe than a wolf in a ſheepfold, or a hungry fox among poultry, or a—

Well, but father, ſuppoſe all this to be true, if he could be perſuaded to marry me—

The girl puts me beyond all patience. Why, has not he already refuſed to marry you?

And have not I declared againſt his love on that account?

Ay, but for all that he lurks about your heart, I can't be eaſy till you have quite forgot him.

I ſtrive to forget him; but if you knew what pain it gives me, you would pity me.

Conſider, Phillida, how much it is my deſire to have you married; and you have your choice of Cymon and Mopſus.

I do conſider, father, and I think you ſhould too; is not a ſmall fortune with the man I love, better than to be rich and miſerable?

See yonder Cymon comes: now, dear Phillida, for my ſake ſmile upon him, perhaps in time he may be brought to pleaſe you.

I will, ſince you deſire it; but Mopſus has the ſame right to be heard as Cymon; ſend him too; and till he comes, I'll hear what his brother has to ſay.

Ah, Phillida, you gain my heart, I'll ſend him to you directly.

O cruel falſe hearted Phillida! Why now didn't you ſay to day you loved me a good deal better than my brother Mopſus?

Yes, I own I told you ſo, to get rid of you.

And don't you love me at all?

Once for all, I tell you no; how long muſt I be teazed with you?

And ſo I have been a believing all this for nothing.

See if I don't go and tell your daddy.

Go any where—I am teazed to death with theſe odious wretches—O Damon! how little you deſerve that I ſhould give myſelf ſo much uneaſineſs for you? but I am born to be unhappy, and muſt learn to endure whatever fortune chuſes to inflict.

No, Phillida, you have endured enough; here is your comforter and your convert; convinced of my crimes, lord Arcas and theſe ſhepherds will witneſs for me, with what eagerneſs I have flown to make atone⯑ment for them; I am aſhamed of my treatment of you, and with tranſport confirm it at your feet.

There, didn't I ſay I'd tell your daddy?

Indeed Phillida, 'tis unkind to trifle with me ſo, didn't you promiſe you would receive Cymon and Mopſus civilly; how comes it then that you have af⯑fronted them?

Come, Corydon, I hope you'll approve of all your daughter's conduct, when I tell you that Damon has confeſſed his error, and deſires he may receive from you your Phillida in marriage.

I have not deſerved it, Sir, but my Phillida ſhall be my advocate to you for your bleſſing.

I love my child, but I know you'll make her a bad huſband.

You have reaſon to think ſo, I own, but if you'll venture ſuch a treaſure in my care, as I ſhall ever eſ⯑teem your daughter, I hope my future behaviour will convince you your fears are groundleſs.

Then take her—I am ſorry for poor Cymon and Mopſus.

To ſay the truth Corydon, I thought your daughter a little hardly dealt with, in being peſtered with their courtſhip; but however, Damon who has made her happy, will I hope deſerve her, he ſhall have what I promiſed with her as an addition to her dower, and if I am not very much deceived, will prove, that when a rover becomes a convert to truth, reaſon will com⯑pleat the work, by teaching him to make a good huſ⯑band.