Act the Second
Scene I Before the House of Aquilina
Enter Pierre and Aquilina.
Aquil. By all thy wrongs, thou’rt dearer to my arms
Than all the wealth of Venice: pr’ythee stay,
And let us love to-night.
Pier. No: there’s fool,
There’s fool about thee: when a woman sells
Her flesh to fools, her beauty’s lost to me;
They leave a taint, a sully where they’ve passed;
There’s such a baneful quality about them,
Even spoils complexions with their nauseousness;
They infect all they touch; I cannot think
Of tasting any thing a fool has palled.
Aquil. I loathe and scorn that fool thou mean’st, as much
Or more than thou canst; but the beast has gold,
That makes him necessary; power too,
To qualify my character, and poise me
Equal with peevish virtue, that beholds
My liberty with envy: in their hearts
They’re loose as I am; but an ugly power
Sits in their faces, and frights pleasures from them.
Pier. Much good may’t do you, madam, with your senator!
Aquil. My senator! why, canst thou think that wretch
E’er filled thy Aquilina’s arms with pleasure?
Think’st thou, because I sometimes give him leave
To foil himself at what he is unfit for;
Because I force myself to endure and suffer him,
Think’st thou I love him? No, by all the joys
Thou ever gav’st me, his presence is my penance:
The worst thing an old man can be is a lover,
A mere memento mori to poor woman.
I never lay by his decrepit side,
But all that night I pondered on my grave.
Pier. Would he were well sent thither!
Aquil. That’s my wish too,
For then, my Pierre, I might have cause, with pleasure,
To play the hypocrite. Oh! how I could weep
Over the dying dotard, and kiss him too,
In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the time
Was come to pay my sorrows at his funeral,
(For he has already made me heir to treasures
Would make me out-act a real widow’s whining,)
How could I frame my face to fit my mourning!
With wringing hands attend him to his grave;
Fall swooning on his hearse; take mad possession
Even of the dismal vault where he lay buried;
There, like the Ephesian matron65 dwell, till thou,
My lovely soldier, com’st to my deliverance:
Then throwing up my veil, with open arms
And laughing eyes, run to new dawning joy.
Pier. No more! I’ve friends to meet me here to-night,
And must be private. As you prize my friendship,
Keep up66 your coxcomb: let him not pry nor listen,
Nor frisk about the house as I have seen him,
Like a tame mumping squirrel with a bell on;
Curs will be abroad to bite him, if you do.
Aquil. What friends to meet? mayn’t I be of your council?
Pier. How! a woman ask questions out of bed?
Go to your senator, ask him what passes
Amongst his brethren; he’ll hide nothing from you:
But pump not me for politics. No more!
Give order, that whoever in my name
Comes here, receive admittance: so good-night.
Aquil. Must we ne’er meet again? embrace no more?
Is love so soon and utterly forgotten?
Pier. As you henceforward treat your fool, I’ll think on’t. [Exit.
Aquil. Cursed be all fools, and doubly cursed myself,
The worst of fools! I die if he forsakes me;
And how to keep him, Heaven or hell instruct me. [Exit.