1677 THE ROVER; OR THE BANISH'D CAVALIERS by Aphra Behn THE ROVER; or,
   the Banish'd Cavaliers. PART I. PROLOGUE, Written by a Person of
   Quality. WITS, like Physicians, never can agree, When of a different
   Society; And Rabel's Drops were never more cry'd down By all the
   Learned Doctors of the Town, Than a new Play, whose author is unknown:
   Nor can those Doctors with more Malice sue (And powerful Purses) the
   dissenting Few, Than those with an insulting Pride do rail At all who
   are not of their own Cabal. If a Young Poet hit your Humour right, You
   judge him then out of Revenge and Spite; So amongst Men there are
   ridiculous Elves, Who Monkeys hate for being too like themselves: So
   that the Reason of the Grand Debate, Why Wit so oft is damn'd, when
   good Plays take, Is, that you censure as you love or hate. Thus, like
   a learned Conclave, Poets sit Catholick Judges both of Sense and Wit,
   And damn or save, as they themselves think fit. Yet those who to
   others Faults are so severe, Are not so perfect, but themselves may
   err. Some write correct indeed, but then the whole (Bating their own
   dull Stuff i'th' Play) is stole: As Bees do suck from Flowers their
   Honey-dew, So they rob others, striving to please you. Some write
   their Characters genteel and fine, But then they do so toil for every
   Line, That what to you does easy seem, and plain, Is the hard issue of
   their labouring Brain. And some th' Effects of all their Pains we see,
   Is but to mimick good Extempore. Others by long Converse about the
   Town, Have Wit enough to write a leud Lampoon, But their chief Skill
   lies in a Baudy Song. In short, the only Wit that's now in Fashion Is
   but the Gleanings of good Conversation. As for the Author of this
   coming Play, I ask'd him what he thought fit I should say, In thanks
   for your good Company to day: He call'd me Fool, and said it was well
   known, You came not here for our sakes, but your own. New Plays are
   stuffed with Wits, and with Debauches, That croud and sweat like Cits
   in May-day Coaches. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. MEN. Don Antonio, the
   Vice-Roy's Son, Mr. Jevorne. Don Pedro, a Noble Spainard, his Friend,
   Mr. Medburne. Belvile, an English Colonel in love with Florinda, Mr.
   Betterton. Willmore, the ROVER, Mr. Smith. Frederick, an English
   Gentleman, and Friend to Belvile and Blunt, Mr. Crosbie. Blunt, an
   English Country Gentleman, Mr. Underhill. Stephano, Servant to Don
   Pedro, Mr. Richards. Philippo, Lucetta's Gallant, Mr. Percival.
   Sancho, Pimp to Lucetta, Mr. John Lee. Bisky and Sebastian, two
   Bravoes to Angelica. Diego, Page to Don Antonio. Page to Hellena. Boy,
   Page to Belvile. Blunt's Man. Officers and Soldiers. WOMEN. Florinda,
   Sister to Don Pedro, Mrs. Betterton Hellena, a gay young Woman
   design'd for a Nun, and Sister to Florinda, Mrs. Barrey. Valeria, a
   Kinswoman to Florinda, Mrs. Hughes. Angelica Bianca, a famous
   Curtezan, Mrs. Gwin. Moretta, her Woman, Mrs. Leigh. Callis, Governess
   to Florinda and Hellena, Mrs. Norris. Lucetta, a jilting Wench, Mrs.
   Gillow. Servants, other Masqueraders, Men and Women. SCENE Naples, in
   Carnival-time. ACT I. SCENE 1. A chamber. Enter Florinda and Hellena.
   Flor. What an impertinent thing is a young Girl bred in a Nunnery! How
   full of Questions! Prithee no more, Hellena; I have told thee more
   than thou understand'st already. Hell. The more's my Grief; I wou'd
   fain know as much as you, which makes me so inquisitive; nor is't
   enough to know you're a Lover, unless you tell me too, who 'tis you
   sigh for. Flor. When you are a Lover, I'll think you fit for a Secret
   of that nature. Hell. 'Tis true, I was never a Lover yet- but I begin
   to have a shreud Guess, what 'tis to be so, and fancy it very pretty
   to sigh, and sing, and blush and wish, and dream and wish, and long
   and wish to see the Man; and when I do, look pale and tremble; just as
   you did when my Brother brought home the fine English Colonel to see
   you- what do you call him? Don Belvile. Flor. Fie, Hellena. Hell. That
   Blush betrays you- I am sure 'tis so- or is it Don Antonio the
   Vice-Roy's Son?- or perhaps the rich Don Vincentio, whom my father
   designs for your Husband?- Why do you blush again? Flor. With
   Indignation; and how near soever my Father thinks I am to marrying
   that hated Object, I shall let him see I understand better what's due
   to my beauty Birth and Fortune, and more to my Soul, than to obey
   those unjust Commands. Hell. Now hang me, if I don't love thee for
   that dear Disobedience. I love Mischief strangely, as most of our Sex
   do, who are come to love nothing else- But tell me, dear Florinda,
   don't you love that fine Anglese?- For I vow next to loving him my
   self, 'twill please me most that you do so, for he is so gay and so
   handsom. Flor. Hellena, a Maid design'd for a Nun ought not to be so
   curious in a Discourse of Love. Hell. And dost thou think that ever
   I'll be a Nun? Or at least till I'm so old, I'm fit for nothing else.
   Faith no, Sister; and that which makes me long to know whether you
   love Belvile, is because I hope he has some mad Companion or other,
   that will spoil my Devotion; nay I'm resolv'd to provide my self this
   Carnival, if there be e'er a handsom Fellow of my Humour above Ground,
   tho I ask first. Flor. Prithee be not so wild. Hell. Now you have
   provided your self with a Man, you take no Care for poor me- Prithee
   tell me, what dost thou see about me that is unfit for Love- have not
   I a world of Youth? a Humor gay? a Beauty passable? a Vigour
   desirable? well shap'd? clean limb'd? sweet breath'd? and Sense enough
   to know how all these ought to be employ'd to the best Advantage: yes,
   I do and will. Therefore lay aside your Hopes of my Fortune, by my
   being a Devotee, and tell me how you came acquainted with this
   Belvile; for I perceive you knew Him before he came to Naples. Flor.
   Yes, I knew him at the Siege of Pampelona, he was then a Colonel of
   French Horse, who when the Town was ransack'd, nobly treated my
   Brother and my self, preserving us from all Insolencies; and I must
   own, (besides great Obligations) I have I know not what, that pleads
   kindly for him about my Heart, and will suffer no other to enter- But
   see my Brother. Enter Don Pedro, Stephano, with a Masquing Habit, and
   Callis. Pedro. Good morrow, Sister. Pray, when saw you your Lover Don
   Vincentio? Flor. I know not, Sir- Callis, when was he here? for I
   consider it so little, I know not when it was. Pedro. I have a Command
   from my Father here to tell you, you ought not to despise him, a Man
   of so vast a Fortune, and such a Passion for you- Stephano, my things-
   [Puts on his Masquing Habit. Flor. A Passion for me! 'tis more than
   e'er I saw, or had a desire should be shown- I hate Vincentio, and I
   would not have a Man so dear to me as my Brother follow the ill
   Customs of our Country, and make a Slave of his Sister- And Sir, my