Plays Vol. 2

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Spoken by a Shabby Poet.

[Shewing his crown of laurel.

[Shewing his ragged coat.

[Looking behind the scenes.

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THE
CONFEDERACY.

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SCENE Covent-garden.

Enter Mrs. Amlet and Mrs. Cloggit, meeting.

Amlet.

Good-morrow, neighbour; good-morrow, neighbour Cloggit! How does all at your house this morning?

Clog. Think you kindly, Mrs. Amlet, thank you kindly; how do you do, I pray?

Aml. At the old rate, neighbour, poor and honest; these are hard times, good lack.

Clog. If they are hard with you, what are they with us? You have a good trade going, all the great folks in town help off with your merchandize.

Aml. Yes, they do help us off with 'em indeed; they buy all.

Clog. And pay——

Aml. For some.

Clog. Well, 'tis a thousand pities, Mrs. Amlet, they are not as ready at one, as they are at t'other: For, not to wrong 'em, they give very good rates.

Aml. O for that, let us do them justice, neighbour; they never make two words upon the price, all they haggle about is the day of payment.

Clog. There's all the dispute, as you say.

Aml. But that's a wicked one: For my part, neighbour, I'm just tir'd off my legs with trotting after 'em; beside, it eats out all our profit. Would you believe it, Mrs. Cloggit, I have worn out four pair of pattens, with following my old Lady Youthful, for one set of false teeth, and but three pots of paint.

Clog. Look you there now.

Aml. If they would but once let me get enough by 'em, to keep a coach to carry me a dunning after 'em, there would be some conscience in it.

Clog. Ay, that were something. But now you talk of conscience, Mrs. Amlet, how do you speed among your city customers?

Aml. My city customers! Now by my truth, neighbour, between the city and the court (with reverence be it spoken) there's not a —— to choose. My ladies in the city in times past, were as full of gold as they were of religion, and as punctual in their payments as they were of their prayers; but since they have set their minds upon quality, adieu one, adieu t'other, their money and their conscience are gone, heaven knows where. There is not a goldsmith's wife to be found in town, but's as hard-hearted as an ancient judge, and as poor as a towering dutchess.

Clog. But what the murrain have they to do with quality, why don't their husbands make e'm mind their shops?

Aml. Their husbands! their husbands, say'st thou, woman? alack, alack, they mind their husbands, neighbour, no more than they do a sermon.

Clog. Good lack-a-day, that women born of sober parents, should be prone to follow ill examples! But now we talk of quality, when did you hear of your son Richard, Mrs. Amlet? My daughter Flip. says she met him t'other day in a lac'd coat, with three fine ladies, his footman at his heels, and as gay as a bridegroom.

Aml. Is it possible? Ah the rogue! well, neighbour, all's well that ends well; but Dick will be hang'd.

Clog. That were pity.

Aml. Pity indeed; for he's a hopeful young man to look on; but he leads a life——Well——where he has it, heav'n knows; but they say, he pays his club with the best of 'em. I have seen him but once these three months, neighbour, and then the varlet wanted money; but I bid him march, and march he did to some purpose; for in less than an hour, back comes my gentleman into the house, walks to and fro in the room, with his wig over his shoulder, his hat on one side, whistling a minuet, and tossing a purse of gold from one hand to t'other, with no more respect (heaven bless us!) than if it had been an orange. Sirrah, says I, where have you got that? He answers me never a word, but sets his arms a kimbo, cocks his saucy hat in my face, turns about upon his ungracious heel, as much as to say kiss—and I've never set my eye on him since.

Clog. Look you there now; to see what the youth of this age are come to!

Aml. See what they will come to, neighbour. Heaven shield, I say; but Dick's upon the gallop. Well, I must bid you good-morrow; I'm going where I doubt I shall meet but a sorry welcome.

Clog. To get in some old debt, I'll warrant you?

Aml. Neither better or worse.

Clog. From a lady of quality?

Aml. No, she's but a scrivener's wife; but she lives as well, and pays as ill, as the stateliest countess of 'em all.

[Exeunt several ways.

Enter Brass solus.

Brass. Well, surely thro' the world's wide extent, there never appeared so impudent a fellow as my schoolfellow Dick, pass himself upon the town for a gentleman, drop into all the best company with an easy air, as if his natural element were in the sphere of quality; when the rogue had a kettle-drum to his father, who was hang'd for robbing a church, and has a pedlar to his mother, who carries her shop under her arm. But here he comes.

Enter Dick.

Dick. Well, Brass, what news? Hast thou given my letter to Flippanta?

Brass. I'm but just come; I han't knock'd at the door yet. But I have a damn'd piece of news for you.

Dick. As how?

Brass. We must quit this country.

Dick. We'll be hang'd first.

Brass. So you will if you stay.

Dick. Why, what's the matter?

Brass. There's a storm a coming.

Dick. From whence?

Brass. From the worst point in the compass, the law.

Dick. The law! Why what have I to do with the law?

Brass. Nothing; and therefore it has something to do with you.

Dick. Explain.

Brass. You know you cheated a young fellow at picquet t'other day, of the money he had to raise his company.

Dick. Well, what then?

Brass. Why he's sorry he lost it.

Dick. Who doubts that?

Brass. Ay, but that's not all, he's such a fool to think of complaining on't.

Dick. Then I must be so wise as to stop his mouth.

Brass. How?

Dick. Give him a little back; if that won't do, strangle him.

Brass. You are very quick in your methods.

Dick. Men must be so that will dispatch business.

Brass. Hark you, Colonel, your father dy'd in's bed?

Dick. He might have done if he had not been a fool.

Brass. Why, he robbed a church.

Dick. Ay, but he forgot to make sure of the sexton.

Brass. Are not you a great rogue?

Dick. Or I should wear worse clothes.

Brass. Hark you, I would advise you to change your life.

Dick. And turn ballad-singer.

Brass. Not so neither.

Dick. What then?

Brass. Why, if you can get this young wench, reform, and live honest.

Dick. That's the way to be starv'd.

Brass. No, she has money enough to buy you a good place, and pay me into the bargain for helping her to so good a match. You have but this throw left to save you, for you are not ignorant, youngster, that your morals begin to be pretty well known about town; have a care your noble birth and your honourable relations are not discovered too: there needs but that to have you toss'd in a blanket, for the entertainment of the first company of ladies you intrude into: and then like a dutiful son, you may dangle about with your mother, and sell paint: she's old and weak, and wants somebody to carry her goods after her. How like a dog will you look, with a pair of plod shoes, your hair crop'd up to your ears, and a band-box under your arm?

Dick. Why faith, Brass, I think thou art in the right on't; I must fix my affairs quickly, or Madam Fortune will be playing some of her bitch-tricks with me: therefore I'll tell thee what we'll do; we'll pursue this old rogue's daughter heartily; we'll cheat his family to purpose, and they shall atone for the rest of mankind.

Brass. Have at her then, I'll about your business presently.

Dick. One kiss——and success attend thee.

[Exit Dick.

Brass. A great rogue——Well, I say nothing. But when I have got the thing into a good posture, he shall sign and seal, or I'll have him tumbled out of the house like a cheese. Now for Flippanta.

[He knocks.

Enter Flippanta.

Flip. Who's that? Brass!

Brass. Flippanta!

Flip. What want you, rogue's-face?

Brass. Is your mistress dress'd?

Flip. What, already? Is the fellow drunk?

Brass. Why, with respect to her looking-glass, it's almost two.

Flip. What then, fool?

Brass. Why then it's time for the mistress of the house to come down, and look after her family.

Flip. Pr'ythee don't be an owl. Those that go to bed at night may rise in the morning; we that go to bed in the morning rise in the afternoon.

Brass. When does she make her visits then?

Flip. By candle-light; it helps off a muddy complexion; we women hate inquisitive sun-shine: but do you know that my Lady is going to turn good housewife?

Brass. What, is she going to die?

Flip. Die!

Brass. Why, that's the only way to save money for her family.

Flip. No; but she has thought of a project to save chair-hire.

Brass. As how?

Flip. Why all the company she us'd to keep abroad she now intends shall meet at her own house. Your master has advis'd her to set up a basset-table.

Brass. Nay, if he advis'd her to it, it's right; but has she acquainted her husband with it yet?

Flip. What to do? When the company meet he'll see them.

Brass. Nay, that's true, as you say, he'll know it soon enough.

Flip. Well, I must be gone; have you any business with my Lady?

Brass. Yes; as ambassador from Araminta, I have a letter for her.

Flip. Give it me.

Brass. Hold——and as first minister of state to the Colonel, I have an affair to communicate to thee.

Flip. What is't? quick.

Brass. Why——he's in love.

Flip. With what?

Brass. A woman——and her money together.

Flip. Who is she?

Brass. Corinna.

Flip. What wou'd he be at?

Brass. At her——if she's at leisure.

Flip. Which way?

Brass. Honourably——he has ordered me to demand her of thee in marriage.

Flip. Of me?

Brass. Why, when a man of quality has a mind to a city-fortune, would'st have him apply to her father and mother?

Flip. No.

Brass. No, so I think: men of our end of the town are better bred than to use ceremony. With a long perriwig we strike the lady, with a you-know-what we soften the maid; and when the parson has done his job, we open the affair to the family. Will you slip this letter into her prayer-book, my little queen? It's a very passionate one——It's seal'd with a heart and a dagger; you may see by that what he intends to do with himself.

Flip. Are there any verses in it? If not, I won't touch it.

Brass. Not one word in prose, it's dated in rhyme.

[She takes it.

Flip. Well, but have you brought nothing else?

Brass. Gad forgive me; I'm the forgetfullest dog——I have a letter for you too——here——'tis in a purse, but it's in prose, you won't touch it.

Flip. Yes, hang it, it is not good to be too dainty.

Brass. How useful a virtue is humility! Well, child, we shall have an answer to-morrow, shan't we?

Flip. I can't promise you that; for our young gentlewoman is not so often in my way as she would be. Her father (who is a citizen from the foot to the forehead of him) lets her seldom converse with her mother-in-law and me, for fear she should learn the airs of a woman of quality. But I'll take the first occasion: see, there's my lady, go in and deliver your letter to her.

[Exeunt.

Enter Clarissa, follow'd by Flippanta and Brass.

Clar. No messages this morning from any body, Flippanta? Lard how dull that is! O, there's Brass! I did not see thee, Brass. What news dost thou bring?

Brass. Only a letter from Araminta, Madam.

Clar. Give it me——open it for me, Flippanta, I am so lazy to-day.

[Sitting down.

Brass. [To Flip.] Be sure now you deliver my master's as carefully as I do this.

Flip. Don't trouble thyself, I'm no novice.

Clar. [to Brass.] 'Tis well, there needs no answer, since she'll be here so soon.

Brass. Your ladyship has no farther commands then?

Clar. Not at this time, honest Brass. Flippanta!

[Exit Brass.

Flip. Madam.

Clar. My husband's in love.

Flip. In love?

Clar. With Araminta.

Flip. Impossible!

Clar. This letter from her, is to give me an account of it.

Flip. Methinks you are not very much alarm'd.

Clar. No; thou know'st I'm not much tortur'd with jealousy.

Flip. Nay, you are much in the right on't, Madam, for jealousy's a city passion, 'tis a thing unknown amongst people of quality.

Clar. Fy! A woman must indeed be of a mechanick mould, who is either troubled or pleas'd with any thing her husband can do to her. Pr'ythee mention him no more; 'tis the dullest theme.

Flip. 'Tis splenetick indeed. But when once you open your basset table, I hope that will put him out of your head.

Clar. Alas, Flippanta, I begin to grow weary even of the thoughts of that too.

Flip. How so?

Clar. Why, I have thought on't a day and a night already, and four and twenty hours, thou know'st, is enough to make one weary of any thing.

Flip. Now by my conscience, you have more woman in you than all your sex together: you never know what you would have.

Clar. Thou mistakest the thing quite. I always know what I lack, but I am never pleas'd with what I have. The want of a thing is perplexing enough, but the possession of it is intolerable.

Flip. Well, I don't know what you are made of, but other women would think themselves blest in your case; handsome, witty, lov'd by every body, and of so happy a composure, to care a fig for nobody. You have no one passion, but that of your pleasures, and you have in me a servant devoted to all your desires, let them be as extravagant as they will: yet all this is nothing; you can still be out of humour.

Clar. Alas, I have but too much cause.

Flip. Why, what have you to complain of?

Clar. Alas, I have more subjects for spleen than one: is it not a most horrible thing that I should be but a scrivener's wife?—Come,——don't flatter me, don't you think nature design'd me for something plus elevé?

Flip. Nay, that's certain; but on the other side, methinks, you ought to be in some measure content, since you live like a woman of quality, tho' you are none.

Clar. O fy! the very quintessence of it is wanting.

Flip. What's that?

Clar. Why, I dare abuse nobody: I'm afraid to affront people, tho' I don't like their faces; or to ruin their reputations, tho' they pique me to it, by taking ever so much pains to preserve 'em: I dare not raise a lye of a man, tho' he neglects to make love to me; nor report a woman to be a fool, tho' she's handsomer than I am. In short, I dare not so much as bid my footman kick the people out of doors, tho' they come to ask me for what I owe them.

Flip. All this is very hard indeed.

Clar. Ah, Flippanta, the perquisites of quality are of an unspeakable value.

Flip. They are of some use, I must confess; but we must not expect to have every thing. You have wit and beauty, and a fool to your husband: come come, madam, that's a good portion for one.

Clar. Alas, what signifies beauty and wit, when one dares neither jilt the men nor abuse the women? 'Tis a sad thing, Flippanta, when wit's confin'd, 'tis worse than the rising of the lights; I have been sometimes almost choak'd with scandal, and durst not cough it up for want of being a countess.

Flip. Poor lady!

Clar. O! Liberty is a fine thing, Flippanta; it's a great help in conversation to have leave to say what one will. I have seen a woman of quality, who has not had one grain of wit, entertain a whole company the most agreeably in the world, only with her malice. But 'tis in vain to repine, I can't mend my condition, till my husband dies: so I'll say no more on't, but think of making the most of the state I am in.

Flip. That's your best way, madam; and in order to it, pray consider how you'll get some ready money to set your basset-table a going; for that's necessary.

Clar. Thou say'st true; but what trick I shall play my husband to get some, I don't know: for my pretence of losing my diamond necklace has put the man into such a passion, I'm afraid he won't hear reason.

Flip. No matter; he begins to think 'tis lost in earnest: so I fancy you may venture to sell it, and raise money that way.

Clar. That can't be, for he has left odious notes with all the goldsmiths in town.

Flip. Well, we must pawn it then.

Clar. I'm quite tir'd with dealing with those pawnbrokers.

Flip. I'm afraid you'll continue the trade a great while, for all that.

[Aside.

Enter Jessamin.

Jess. Madam, there's the woman below that sells paint and patches, iron boddice, false teeth, and all sorts of things to the ladies; I can't think of her name.

Flip. 'Tis Mrs. Amlet, she wants money.

Clar. Well, I han't enough for myself, it's an unreasonable thing she should think I have any for her.

Flip. She's a troublesome jade.

Clar. So are all people that come a dunning.

Flip. What will you do with her?

Clar. I have just now thought on't. She's very rich, that woman is, Flippanta, I'll borrow some money of her.

Flip. Borrow! sure you jest, madam.

Clar. No, I'm in earnest; I give thee commission to do it for me.

Flip. Me!

Clar. Why dost thou stare, and look so ungainly? Don't I speak to be understood?

Flip. Yes, I understand you well enough; but Mrs. Amlet——

Clar. But Mrs. Amlet must lend me some money, where shall I have any to pay her else?

Flip. That's true; I never thought of that truly. But here she is.

Enter Mrs. Amlet.

Clar. How d'you do? How d'you do, Mrs. Amlet? I han't seen you these thousand years, and yet I believe I'm down in your books.

Aml. O, Madam, I don't come for that, alack.

Flip. Good-morrow, Mrs. Amlet.

Aml. Good-morrow, Mrs. Flippanta.

Clar. How much am I indebted to you, Mrs. Amlet?

Aml. Nay, if your ladyship desires to see your bill, I believe I may have it about me.—There, Madam, if it ben't too much fatigue to you to look it over.

Clar. Let me see it, for I hate to be in debt, where I am obliged to pay. [Aside.]——Reads.] Imprimis, For bolstering out the Countess of Crump's left hip——O fy, this does not belong to me.

Aml. I beg your Ladyship's pardon. I mistook indeed; 'tis a countess's bill I have writ out to little purpose. I furnish'd her two years ago with three pair of hips, and am not paid for them yet: but some are better customers than some. There's your Ladyship's bill, Madam.

Clar. For the idea of a new invented commode.——Ay, this may be mine, but 'tis of a preposterous length. Do you think I can waste time to read every article, Mrs. Amlet? I'd as lief read a sermon.

Aml. Alack-a-day, there's no need of fatiguing yourself at that rate; cast an eye only, if your honour pleases, upon the sum total.

Clar. Total; fifty-six pounds—and odd things.

Flip. But six and fifty pounds!

Aml. Nay, another body would have made it twice as much; but there's a blessing goes along with a moderate profit.

Clar. Flippanta, go to my cashier, let him give you six and fifty pounds. Make haste: don't you hear me? Six and fifty pounds. Is it so difficult to be comprehended?

Flip. No, Madam, I, I comprehend six and fifty pounds, but——

Clar. But go and fetch it then.

Flip. What she means, I don't know; [Aside.] but I shall, I suppose, before I bring her the money.

[Exit. Flip.

Clar. [Setting her hair in a pocket glass.] The trade you follow gives you a great deal of trouble, Mrs. Amlet.

Aml. Alack-a-day, a world of pain, Madam, and yet there's small profit, as your honour sees by your bill.

Clar. Poor woman! sometimes you have great losses, Mrs. Amlet?

Aml. I have two thousand pounds owing me, of which I shall never get ten shillings.

Clar. Poor woman! You have a great charge of children, Mrs. Amlet?

Aml. Only one wicked rogue, Madam, who I think, will break my heart.

Clar. Poor woman!

Aml. He'll be hang'd, Madam——that will be the end of him. Where he gets it, heav'n knows; but he's always shaking his heels with the ladies, and his elbows with the lords. He's as fine as a prince, and as grim as the best of them; but the ungracious rogue tells all that comes near that his mother is dead, and I am but his nurse.

Clar. Poor woman!

Aml. Alas, Madam, he's like the rest of the world; every body's for appearing to be more than they are, and that ruins all.

Clar. Well, Mrs. Amlet, you'll excuse me, I have a little business, Flippanta will bring you your money presently. Adieu, Mrs. Amlet.

[Exit Clarissa.

Aml. I return your honour many thanks [Sola.] Ah, there's my good lady, not so much as read her bill; if the rest were like her, I should soon have money enough to go as fine as Dick himself.

Enter Dick.

Dick. Sure Flippanta must have given my letter by this time; [Aside.] I long to know how it has been received.

Aml. Misericorde! what do I see!

Dick. Fiends and hags—the witch my mother!

Aml. Nay, 'tis he! ah, my poor Dick, what art thou doing here?

Dick. What a misfortune——

[Aside.

Aml. Good lard! how bravely deck'd art thou. But it's all one, I am thy mother still: and tho' thou art a wicked child, nature will speak, I love thee still, ah, Dick, my poor Dick.

[Embracing him.

Dick. Blood and thunder! will you ruin me?

[Breaking from her.

Aml. Ah the blasphemous rogue, how he swears!

Dick. You destroy all my hopes.

Aml. Will your mother's kiss destroy you, varlet? Thou art an ungracious bird; kneel down, and ask my blessing, sirrah.

Dick. Death and furies!

Aml. Ah, he's a proper young man, see what a shape he has: ah, poor child.

[Running to embrace him, he still avoiding her.

Dick. Oons, keep off, the woman's mad. If any body comes, my fortune's lost.

Aml. What fortune, ah? speak, graceless. Ah Dick, thou'lt be hang'd, Dick.

Dick. Good, dear mother, now don't call me Dick here.

Aml. Not call thee Dick! Is not that thy name? What shall I call thee? Mr. Amlet? ha! Art not thou a presumptuous rascal? Hark you, sirrah, I hear of your tricks; you disown me for your mother, and say I'm but your nurse. Is not this true?

Dick. No, I love you; I respect you; [Taking her hand.] I am all duty. But if you discover me here, you ruin the fairest prospect that man ever had.

Aml. What prospect? ha! come, this is a lie now.

Dick. No, my honour'd parent, what I say is true, I'm about a great fortune, I'll bring you home a daughter-in-law, in a coach and six horses, if you'll but be quiet; I can't tell you more now.

Aml. Is it possible!

Dick. It's true, by Jupiter.

Aml. My dear lad——

Dick. For Heaven's sake——

Aml. But tell me, Dick——

Dick. I'll follow you home in a moment, and tell you all.

Aml. What a shape is there——

Dick. Pray mother go.

Aml. I must receive some money here first, which shall go for thy wedding-dinner.

Dick. Here's somebody coming; s'death, she'll betray me.

Enter Flippanta.

[He makes signs to his Mother.

Dick. Good-morrow, dear Flippanta; how do all the ladies within?

Flip. At your service, Colonel; as far at least as my interest goes.

Aml. Colonel!—Law you now, how Dick's respected!

[Aside.

Dick. Waiting for thee, Flippanta, I was making acquaintance with this old gentlewoman here.

Aml. The pretty lad, he's as impudent as a Page.

[Aside.

Dick. Who is this good woman, Flippanta?

Flip. A gin of all trades; an old daggling cheat, that hobbles about from house to house to bubble the ladies of their money. I have a small business of your's in my pocket, Colonel.

Dick. An answer to my letter?

Flip. So quick indeed! No, it's your letter itself.

Dick. Hast thou not given it then yet?

Flip. I han't had an opportunity; but 'twon't be long first. Won't you go in and see my Lady?

Dick. Yes, I'll go make her a short visit. But dear Flippanta, don't forget: my life and fortune are in your hands.

Flip. Ne'er fear, I'll take care of 'em.

Aml. How he traps 'em; let Dick alone.

[Aside.

Dick. Your servant, good Madam.

[To his Mother.

[Exit Dick.

Aml. Your Honour's most devoted.—A pretty, civil, well-bred gentleman this, Mrs. Flippanta. Pray whom may he be?

Flip. A man of great note; Colonel Shapely.

Aml. Is it possible! I have heard much of him indeed, but never saw him before: one may see quality in every limb of him: he's a fine man truly.

Flip. I think you are in love with him, Mrs. Amlet.

Aml. Alas, those days are done with me; but if I were as fair as I was once, and had as much money as some folks, Colonel Shapely should not catch cold for want of a bed-fellow. I love your men of rank, they have something in their air does so distinguish 'em from the rascality.

Flip. People of Quality are fine things indeed, Mrs. Amlet, if they had but a little more money; but for want of that, they are forced to do things their great souls are asham'd of. For example—here's my Lady—she owes you but six and fifty pounds——

Aml. Well!

Flip. And she has it not by her to pay you.

Aml. How can that be?

Flip. I don't know; her cash-keeper's out of humour, he says he has no money.

Aml. What a presumptuous piece of vermin is a cash-keeper! Tell his Lady he has no money?—Now, Mrs. Flippanta, you may see his bags are full by his being so saucy.

Flip. If they are, there's no help for't; he'll do what he pleases, till he comes to make up his yearly accounts.

Aml. But Madam plays sometimes, so when she has good fortune, she may pay me out of her winnings.

Flip. O ne'er think of that, Mrs. Amlet: if she had won a thousand pounds, she'd rather die in a gaol, than pay off a farthing with it; play money, Mrs. Amlet, amongst people of quality, is a sacred thing, and not to be profan'd. 'Tis consecrated to their pleasures, 'twould be sacrilege to pay their debts with it.

Aml. Why what shall we do then? For I han't one penny to buy bread.

Flip.——I'll tell you——it just now comes in my head: I know my Lady has a little occasion for money at this time; so——if you lend her——a hundred pounds——do you see, then she may pay you your six and fifty out of it.

Aml. Sure, Mrs. Flippanta, you think to make a fool of me.

Flip. No, the Devil fetch me if I do——You shall have a diamond necklace in pawn.

Aml. O ho, a pawn! That's another case. And when must she have this money?

Flip. In a quarter of an hour.

Aml. Say no more. Bring the necklace to my house, it shall be ready for you.

Flip. I'll be with you in a moment.

Aml. Adieu, Mrs. Flippanta.

Flip. Adieu, Mrs. Amlet.

[Exit Amlet.

Flippanta sola.

So——this ready money will make us all happy. This spring will set our basset going, and that's a wheel will turn twenty others. My Lady's young and handsome; she'll have a dozen intrigues upon her hands, before she has been twice at her prayers. So much the better; the more the grist, the richer the miller. Sure never wench got into so hopeful a place: Here's a fortune to be sold, a mistress to be debauched, and a master to be ruin'd. If I don't feather my nest, and get a good husband, I deserve to die both a maid and a beggar.

[Exeunt.

---

Enter Clarissa and Dick.

Clar. What in the name of dulness is the matter with you, Colonel? you are as studious as a crack'd chymist.

Dick. My head, Madam, is full of your husband.

Clar. The worst furniture for a head in the universe.

Dick. I am thinking of his passion for your friend Araminta.

Clar. Passion!—--Dear Colonel, give it a less violent name.

Enter Brass.

Dick. Well, Sir, what want you?

Brass. The affair I told you of goes ill. [To Dick, aside.] There's an action out.

Dick. The Devil there is!

Clar. What news brings Brass?

Dick. Before Gad I cannot tell, Madam; the dog will never speak out. My Lord what-d'ye-call him waits, for me at my lodging: Is not that it?

Brass. Yes, Sir.

Dick. Madam, I ask your pardon.

Clar. Your servant, Sir.

[Exeunt Dick and Brass.

Jessamin!

[She sits down.

Enter Jessamin.

Jes. Madam.

Clar. Where's Corinna? Call her to me, if her father han't lock'd her up: I want her company.

Jes. Madam, her guitar-master is with her.

Clar. Psha! she's taken up with her impertinent Guitar-Man. Flippanta stays an age with that old fool, Mrs. Amlet. And Araminta, before she can come abroad, is so long a placing her coquet-patch, that I must be a year without company. How insupportable is a moment's uneasiness to a woman of spirit and pleasure!

Enter Flippanta.

Clar. O, art thou come at last? Pr'ythee, Flippanta, learn to move a little quicker, thou know'st how impatient I am.

Flip. Yes, when you expect money: If you had sent me to buy a Prayer-Book, you'd have thought I had flown.

Clar. Well, hast thou brought me any, after all?

Flip. Yes, I have brought some. There [Giving her a purse.] the old hag has struck off her bill, the rest is in that purse.

Clar. 'Tis well; but take care, Flippanta, my husband don't suspect any thing of this; 'twould vex him, and I don't love to make him uneasy: So I would spare him these little sort of troubles, by keeping 'em from his knowledge.

Flip. See the tenderness she has for him, and yet he's always complaining of you.

Clar. 'Tis the nature of 'em, Flippanta; a husband is a growling animal.

Flip. How exactly you define 'em!

Clar. O! I know 'em, Flippanta: though I confess my poor wretch diverts me sometimes with his ill-humours. I wish he wou'd quarrel with me to-day a little, to pass away the time, for I find myself in a violent spleen.

Flip. Why, if you please to drop yourself in his way, six to four but he scolds one rubbers with you.

Clar. Ay, but thou know'st he's as uncertain as the wind; and if instead of quarrelling with me, he should chance to be fond, he'd make me as sick as a dog.

Flip. If he's kind, you must provoke him; if he kisses you, spit in his face.

Clar. Alas, when men are in the kissing fit, (like lap-dogs) they take that for a favour.

Flip. Nay, then, I don't know what you'll do with him.

Clar. I'll e'en do nothing at all with him——Flippanta.

[Yawning.

Flip. Madam.

Clar. My hood and scarf, and a coach to the door.

Flip. Why, whither are you going?

Clar. I can't tell yet, but I would go spend some money, since I have it.

Flip. Why, you want nothing that I know of.

Clar. How aukward an objection now is that, as if a woman of education bought things because she wanted 'em. Quality always distinguishes itself; and therefore, as the mechanick people buy things, because they have occasion for 'em, you see women of rank always buy things because they have not occasion for 'em. Now, there, Flippanta, you see the difference between a woman that has breeding, and one that has none. O ho, here's Araminta come at last.

Enter Araminta.

Clar. Lard, what a tedious while you have let me expect you! I was afraid you were not well; how d'ye do to-day?

Aram. As well as a woman can do, that has not slept all night.

Flip. Methinks, Madam, you are pretty well-awake, however.

Aram. O, 'tis not a little thing will make a woman of my vigour look drowsy.

Clar. But, pr'ythee, what was't disturb'd you?

Aram. Not your husband, don't trouble yourself; at least, I am not in love with him yet.

Clar. Well remember'd, I had quite forgot that matter. I wish you much joy, you have made a noble conquest indeed.

Aram. But now I have subdu'd the country, pray is it worth my keeping? You know the ground, you have try'd it.

Clar. A barren soil, heaven can tell.

Aram. Yet if it were well cultivated, it would produce something to my knowledge. Do you know 'tis in my power to ruin this poor thing of yours? His whole Estate is at my Service.

Flip. Cods-fish, strike him, Madam, and let my Lady go your halves. There's no sin in plundering a husband, so his wife has share of the booty.

Aram. Whenever she gives me her orders, I shall be very ready to obey 'em.

Clar. Why, as odd a thing as such a project may seem, Araminta, I believe I shall have a little serious discourse with you about it. But, pr'ythee, tell me how you have pass'd the night? For I am sure your mind has been roving upon some pretty thing or other.

Aram. Why, I have been studying all the ways my brain could produce to plague my husband.

Clar. No wonder indeed you look so fresh this morning, after the satisfaction of such pleasing ideas all night.

Aram. Why, can a woman do less than study mischief, when she has tumbled and toss'd herself into a burning-fever, for want of sleep, and sees a fellow lie snoring by her, stock-still, in a fine breathing sweat?

Clar. Now see the difference of women's tempers: If my dear would make but one nap of his whole life, and only waken to make his will, I shou'd be the happiest wife in the universe. But we'll discourse more of these matters as we go, for I must make a tour among the Shops.

Aram. I have a coach waits at the door, we'll talk of 'em as we rattle along.

Clar. The best place in nature, for you know a hackney-coach is a natural enemy to a husband.

[Exit Clar. and Aram.

Flippanta sola.

What a pretty little pair of amiable persons are there gone to hold a council of war together! Poor birds! What would they do with their time, if the plaguing their husbands did not help 'em to employment! Well, if idleness be the root of all evil, then matrimony's good for something, for it sets many a poor woman to work. But here comes Miss. I hope I shall help her into the Holy State too ere long. And when she's once there, if she don't play her part as well as the best of 'em, I'm mistaken. Han't I lost the letter I'm to give her?——No, here 'tis; so, now we shall see how pure nature will work with her, for art she knows none yet.

Enter Corinna.

Cor. What does my mother-in-law want with me, Flippanta? They tell me, she was asking for me.

Flip. She's just gone out, so I suppose 'twas no great business.

Cor. Then I'll go into my chamber again.

Flip. Nay, hold a little if you please. I have some business with you myself, of more concern than what she had to say to you.

Cor. Make haste then, for you know my father won't let me keep you company; he says, you'll spoil me.

Flip. I spoil you! He's an unworthy man to give you such ill impressions of a woman of my honour.

Cor. Nay, never take it to heart, Flippanta, for I don't believe a word he says. But he does so plague me with his continual scolding, I'm almost weary of my life.

Flip. Why, what is't he finds fault with?

Cor. Nay, I don't know, for I never mind him; when he has babbled for two hours together, methinks I have heard a mill going, that's all. It does not at all change my opinion, Flippanta, it only makes my head ache.

Flip. Nay, if you can bear it so, you are not to be pity'd so much as I thought.

Cor. Not pity'd! Why is it not a miserable thing, such a young creature as I am should be kept in perpetual solitude, with no other company but a parcel of old fumbling masters to teach me geography, arithmetic, philosophy, and a thousand useless things. Fine entertainment, indeed, for a young maid at sixteen! methinks one's time might be better employ'd.

Flip. Those things will improve your wit.

Cor. Fiddle-faddle; han't I wit enough already? My mother-in-law has learn'd none of this trumpery, and is not she as happy as the day is long?

Flip. Then you envy her, I find?

Cor. And well I may. Does she not do what she has a mind to, in spite of her husband's teeth?

Flip. Look you there now [Aside.] if she has not already conceived that, as the supreme blessing of life.

Cor. I'll tell you what, Flippanta, if my mother-in-law would but stand by me a little, and encourage me, and let me keep her company, I'd rebel against my father to-morrow, and throw all my books in the fire. Why, he can't touch a groat of my portion; do you know that, Flippanta?

Flip. So——I shall spoil her. [Aside.] Pray heaven the girl don't debauch me.

Cor. Look you: In short, he may think what he pleases, he may think himself wise: but thoughts are free, and I may think in my turn. I'm but a girl, 'tis true, and a fool too, if you believe him; but let him know, a foolish girl may make a wise man's heart ache; so he had as good be quiet—Now it's out——

Flip. Very well, I love to see a young woman have spirit, it's a sign she'll come to something.

Cor. Ah, Flippanta, if you wou'd but encourage me, you'll find me quite another thing. I'm a devilish girl in the bottom; I wish you'd but let me make one amongst you.

Flip. That never can be, 'till you are marry'd. Come, examine your Strength a little. Do you think, you durst venture upon a husband?

Cor. A husband! Why a—if you wou'd but encourage me. Come, Flippanta, be a true friend now. I'll give you advice, when I have got a little more experience. Do you in your very conscience and soul think I am old enough to be marry'd?

Flip. Old enough! Why you are sixteen, are you not?

Cor. Sixteen! I am sixteen, two months, and odd days, woman. I keep an exact account.

Flip. The duce you are!

Cor. Why do you then truly and sincerely think I am old enough?

Flip. I do, upon my faith, child.

Cor. Why then, to deal as fairly with you, Flippanta, as you do with me, I have thought so any time these three years.

Flip. Now I find you have more wit than ever I thought you had; and to shew you what an opinion I have of your discretion, I'll shew you a thing I thought to have thrown in the fire.

Cor. What is it, for Jupiter's sake?

Flip. Something will make your heart chuck within you.

Cor. My dear Flippanta!

Flip. What do you think it is?

Cor. I don't know, nor I don't care, but I'm mad to have it.

Flip. It's a four corner'd thing.

Cor. What, like a cardinal's cap?

Flip. No, 'tis worth a whole conclave of 'em. How do you like it?

[Shewing the letter.

Car. O Lard, a letter!—--Is there ever a token in it?

Flip. Yes, and a precious one too. There's a handsome young gentleman's heart.

Cor. A handsome young gentleman's heart! [Aside.] Nay, then 'tis time to look grave.

Flip. There.

Cor. I shan't touch it.

Flip. What's the matter now?

Cor. I shan't receive it.

Flip. Sure you jest.

Cor. You'll find I don't. I understand myself better, than to take letters, when I don't know who they are from.

Flip. I am afraid I commended your wit too soon.

Cor. 'Tis all one, I shan't touch it, unless I know who it comes from.

Flip. Hey-day, open it, and you'll see.

Cor. Indeed I shall not.

Flip. Well——then I must return it where I had it.

Cor. That won't serve your turn, madam. My father must have an account of this.

Flip. Sure you are not in earnest?

Cor. You'll find I am.

Flip. So, here's fine work. This 'tis to deal with girls before they come to know the distinction of sexes.

Cor. Confess who you had it from, and perhaps, for this once, I mayn't tell my father.

Flip. Why then, since it must out, 'twas the Colonel: But why are you so scrupulous, madam?

Cor. Because if it had come from any body else——I would not have given a farthing for it.

[Twitching it eagerly out of her hand.

Flip. Ah, my dear little rogue! [Kissing her.] You frighten'd me out of my wits.

Cor. Let me read it, let me read it, let me read it, let me read it, I say. Um, um, um, Cupid's um, um, um, Darts, um, um, um, Beauty, um, Charms, um, um, um, Angel, um, Goddess, um—[Kissing the letter.]—um, um, um, um, truest Lover, hum, um, Eternal Constancy, um, um, um, Cruel, um, um, um, Racks, um, um, Tortures, um, um, fifty Daggers, um, um, bleeding Heart, um, um, dead Man.

Very well, a mighty civil letter, I promise you; not one smutty word in it: I'll go lock it up in my comb-box.

Flip. Well—but what does he say to you?

Cor. Not a word of news, Flippanta, 'tis all about business.

Flip. Does he not tell you he's in love with you?

Cor. Ay, but he told me that before.

Flip. How so? He never spoke to you.

Cor. He sent me word by his eyes.

Flip. Did he so? mighty well. I thought you had been to learn that language.

Cor. O, but you thought wrong, Flippanta. What, because I don't go a visiting, and see the world, you think I know nothing. But you should consider, Flippanta, that the more one's alone, the more one thinks; and 'tis thinking that improves a girl. I'll have you to know, when I was younger than I am now, by more than I'll boast of, I thought of things would have made you stare again.

Flip. Well, since you are so well versed in your business, I suppose I need not inform you, that if you don't write your gallant an answer—he'll die.

Cor. Nay, now, Flippanta, I confess you tell me something I did not know before. Do you speak in serious sadness? Are men given to die, if their mistresses are sour to 'em?

Flip. Um——I can't say they all die——No, I can't say they all do; but truly, I believe it wou'd go very hard with the Colonel.

Cor. Lard, I would not have my hands in blood for thousands; and therefore, Flippanta,——if you'll encourage me——

Flip. O, by all means an answer.

Cor. Well, since you say it then, I'll e'en in and do it, tho' I protest to you (lest you should think me too forward now) he's the only man that wears a beard, I'd ink my fingers for. May be, if I marry him, in a year or two's time I mayn't be so nice.

[Aside.

[Exit Corinna.

Flippanta sola.

Now heaven give him joy: he's like to have a rare wife o'thee. But where there's money, a man has a plaister to his sore. They have a blessed time on't, who marry for love. See!—here comes an example——Araminta's dread lord.

Enter Money-trap.

Mon. Ah, Flippanta! How do you do, good Flippanta! How do you do?

Flip. Thank you, Sir, well, at your service.

Mon. And how does the good family, your master, and your fair mistress? Are they at home?

Flip. Neither of them; my master has been gone out these two hours, and my lady is just gone with your wife.

Mon. Well, I won't say I have lost my labour however, as long as I have met with you, Flippanta. For I have wish'd a great while for an opportunity to talk with you a little. You won't take it amiss, if I should ask you a few questions?

Flip. Provided you leave me to my liberty in my answers. What's this Cot-quean going to pry into now?

[Aside.

Mon. Pr'ythee, good Flippanta, how do your master and mistress live together?

Flip. Live! Why—like man and wife, generally out of humour, quarrel often, seldom agree, complain of one another; and perhaps have both reason. In short, 'tis much as 'tis at your house.

Mon. Good-lack! but whose side are you generally of?

Flip. O' the right side always, my lady's. And if you'll have me give you my opinion of these matters, Sir, I do not think a husband can ever be in the right.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. Little, peeking, creeping, sneaking, stingy, covetous, cowardly, dirty, cuckoldy things.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. Fit for nothing but taylors and dry-nurses.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A dog in a manger, snarling and biting, to starve gentlemen with good stomachs.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A centry upon pleasure, set to be a plague on lovers, and damn poor women before their time.

Mon. A husband is indeed——

Flip. Sir, I say he is nothing——A beetle without wings, a windmill without sails, a ship in a calm.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A bag without money——an empty bottle——dead small beer.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A quack without drugs.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A lawyer without knavery.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A courtier without flattery.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. A king without an army——or a people with one. Have I drawn him, Sir?

Mon. Why truly, Flippanta, I can't deny but there are some general lines of resemblance. But you know there may be exceptions.

Flip. Hark you, Sir, shall I deal plainly with you? Had I got a husband, I wou'd put him in mind, that he was marry'd as well as I.

Tol lol la ra tol lol, &c.—Do you observe that, Sir?

Mon. I do: and think you wou'd be in the right on't. But, pr'ythee, why dost not give this advice to thy mistress?

Flip. For fear it should go round to your wife, Sir, for you know they are play-fellows.

Mon. O, there's no danger of my wife; she knows I'm none of those husbands.

Flip. Are you sure she knows that, Sir?

Mon. I'm sure she ought to know it, Flippanta, for really I have but four faults in the world.

Flip. And, pray what may they be?

Mon. Why I'm a little slovenly, I shift but once a week.

Flip. Fough!

Mon. I am sometimes out of humour.

Flip. Provoking!

Mon. I don't give her so much money as she'd have.

Flip. Insolent!

Mon. And a——perhaps I mayn't be quite so young as I was.

Flip. The devil!

Mon. O, but then consider how 'tis on her side, Flippanta. She ruins me with washing, is always out of humour, ever wanting money, and will never be older.

Flip. That last article, I must confess, is a little hard upon you.

Mon. Ah, Flippanta, didst thou but know the daily provocations I have, thoud'st be the first to excuse my faults. But now I think on't——Thou art none of my friend, thou dost not love me at all; no, not at all.

Flip. And whither is this little reproach going to lead us now?

Mon. You have power over your fair mistress, Flippanta.

Flip. Sir!

Mon. But what then? You hate me.

Flip. I understand you not.

Mon. There's not a moment's trouble her naughty husband gives her, but I feel it too.

Flip. I don't know what you mean.

Mon. If she did but know what part I take in her sufferings——

Flip. Mighty obscure.

Mon. Well, I'll say no more; but——

Flip. All Hebrew.

Mon. If thou wou'dst but tell her on't.

Flip. Still darker and darker.

Mon. I should not be ungrateful.

Flip. Ah, now I begin to understand you.

Mon. Flippanta—there's my purse.

Flip. Say no more; now you explain, indeed——You are in love?

Mon. Bitterly—and I do swear by all the Gods——

Flip. Hold——Spare 'em for another time, you stand in no need of 'em now. A usurer that parts with his purse, gives sufficient proof of his sincerity.

Mon. I hate my wife, Flippanta.

Flip. That we'll take upon your bare word.

Mon. She's the devil, Flippanta.

Flip. You like your neighbour's better.

Mon. Oh!—--an angel.

Flip. What pity it is the law don't allow trucking!

Mon. If it did, Flippanta!

Flip. But since it don't, Sir——keep the reins upon your passion: Don't let your flame rage too high, lest my lady shou'd be cruel, and it should dry you up to a mummy.

Mon. 'Tis impossible she can be so barbarous, to let me die. Alas, Flippanta, a very small matter wou'd save my life.

Flip. Then y'are dead—for we women never grant any thing to a man who will be satisfied with a little.

Mon. Dear Flippanta, that was only my modesty; but since you'll have it out——I am a very dragon; and so your lady'll find——if ever she thinks fit to be——Now I hope you'll stand my friend.

Flip. Well, Sir, as far as my credit goes, it shall be employ'd in your service.

Mon. My best Flippanta—tell her—I'm all hers—tell her—my body's hers—tell her—my soul's hers—and tell her—my estate's hers. Lord have mercy upon me, how I'm in love!

Flip. Poor man! what a sweat he's in! But hark—I hear my master; for heaven's sake compose yourself a little; you are in such a fit, o' my conscience he'll smell you out.

Mon. Ah dear, I'm in such an emotion, I dare not be seen; put me in this closet for a moment.

Flip. Closet, man! it's too little, your love wou'd stifle you. Go air yourself in the garden a little, you have need on't, i'faith.

[She puts him out.

Flippanta sola.

A rare adventure, by my troth. This will be curious news to the wives. Fortune has now put their husbands into their hands, and I think they are too sharp to neglect its favours.

Enter Gripe.

Gripe. O, here's the right hand; the rest of the body can't be far off. Where's my wife, huswife?

Flip. An admirable question!—--Why, she's gone abroad, Sir.

Gripe. Abroad, abroad, abroad already? Why, she uses to be stewing in her bed three hours after this time, as late as 'tis: What makes her gadding so soon?

Flip. Business, I suppose.

Gripe. Business! she has a pretty head for business truly: O ho, let her change her way of living, or I'll make her change a light heart for a heavy one.

Flip. And why would you have her change her way of living, Sir? You see it agrees with her. She never look'd better in her life.

Gripe. Don't tell me of her looks, I have done with her looks long since. But I'll make her change her life, or——

Flip. Indeed. Sir, you won't.

Gripe. Why, what shall hinder me, insolence?

Flip. That which hinders most husbands; contradiction.

Gripe. Suppose I resolve I won't be contradicted?

Flip. Suppose she resolves you shall?

Gripe. A wife's resolution is not good by law.

Flip. Nor a husband's by custom.

Gripe. I tell thee I will not bear it.

Flip. I tell you, Sir, you will bear it.

Gripe. Oons, I have borne it three years already.

Flip. By that you see 'tis but giving your mind to it.

Gripe. My mind to it! Death and the devil! My mind to it!

Flip. Look ye, Sir, you may swear and damn, and call the furies to assist you! but 'till you apply the remedy to the right place, you'll never cure the disease. You fancy you have got an extravagant wife, is't not so?

Gripe. Pr'ythee change me that word fancy, and it is so.

Flip. Why there's it. Men are strangely troubled with the vapours of late. You'll wonder now if I tell you, you have the most reasonable wife in town: And that all the disorders you think you see in her, are only here, here, here, in your own head.

[Thumping his forehead.

Gripe. She is then, in thy opinion, a reasonable woman?

Flip. By my faith, I think so.

Gripe. I shall run mad—Name me an extravagance in the world she is not guilty of.

Flip. Name me an extravagance in the world she is guilty of.

Gripe. Come then: Does not she put the whole house in disorder?

Flip. Not that I know of, for she never comes into it but to sleep.

Gripe. 'Tis very well: Does she employ any one moment of her life in the government of her family?

Flip. She is so submissive a wife, she leaves it entirely to you.

Gripe. Admirable! Does she not spend more money in coach-hire, and chair-hire, than would maintain six children?

Flip. She's too nice of your credit to be seen daggling in the streets.

Gripe. Good! Do I set eye on her sometimes in a week together?

Flip. That, Sir, is because you are never stirring at the same time; you keep odd hours; you are always going to bed when she's rising, and rising just when she's coming to bed.

Gripe. Yes, truly, night into day, and day into night, bawdy-house play, that's her trade; but these are trifles: Has she not lost her diamond necklace? Answer me to that, Trapes.

Flip. Yes; and has sent as many tears after it, as if it had been her husband.

Gripe. Ah——the pox take her; but enough. 'Tis resolv'd, and I will put a stop to the course of her life, or I will put a stop to the course of her blood, and so she shall know, the first time I meet with her; [Aside.] which tho' we are man and wife, and lie under one roof, 'tis very possible may not be this fortnight.

[Exit Gripe.

Flippanta sola.

Nay, thou hast a blessed time on't, that must be confess'd. What a miserable devil is a husband! Insupportable to himself, and a plague to every thing about them. Their wives do by them, as children do by dogs, teaze and provoke 'em, 'till they make them so curs'd, they snarl and bite at every thing that comes in their reach. This wretch here is grown perverse to that degree, he's for his wife's keeping home, and making hell of his house, so he may be the devil in it to torment her. How niggardly soever he is of all things he possesses, he is willing to purchase her misery at the expence of his own peace. But he'd as good be still, for he'll miss of his aim. If I know her (which I think I do) she'll set his blood in such a ferment, it shall bubble out at every pore of him; whilst hers is so quiet in her veins, her pulse shall go like a pendulum.

[Exit.

---

Enter Dick.

Where's this old woman?——A hey. What the devil, nobody at home? Ha! her strong box!—--And the key in't! 'tis so. Now fortune be my friend. What the duce——Not a penny of money in cash!—--Nor a chequer note!—--Nor a Bank bill——[Searching the strong box.]——Nor a crooked stick! Nor a——Mum——here's something——A diamond necklace, by all the Gods! Oons the old woman——Zest.

[Claps the necklace in his pocket, then runs and asks her blessing.]

Enter Mrs. Amlet.

----Pray mother, pray to, &c.

Aml. Is it possible!—--Dick upon his humble knee! Ah my dear child!—--May heaven be good unto thee.

Dick. I'm come, my dear mother, to pay my duty to you, and to ask your consent to——

Aml. What a shape is there!

Dick. To ask your consent, I say, to marry a great fortune; for what is riches in this world without a blessing? And how can there be a blessing without respect and duty to parents?

Aml. What a nose he has!

Dick. And therefore it being the duty of every good child not to dispose of himself in marriage, without the——

Aml. Now the Lord love thee [Kissing him.]——for thou art a goodly young man: Well, Dick——And how goes it with the lady? Are her eyes open to thy charms? Does she see what's for her own good? Is she sensible of the blessings thou hast in store for her? Ha! is all sure? Hast thou broke a piece of money with her? Speak, bird, do: Don't be modest, and hide thy love from thy mother, for I'm an indulgent parent.

Dick. Nothing under heaven can prevent my good fortune, but its being discover'd I'm your son——

Aml. Then thou art still asham'd of thy natural mother.—Graceless! Why, I'm no whore, sirrah.

Dick. I know you are not——A whore! Bless us all——

Aml. No; My reputation's as good as the best of 'em; and tho' I'm old, I'm chaste, you rascal you.

Dick. Lord, that is not the thing we talk of, mother; but——

Aml. I think, as the world goes, they may be proud of marrying their daughter into a vartuous family.

Dick. Oons, vartue is not the case——

Aml. Where she may have a good example before her eyes.

Dick. O Lord! O Lord! O Lord!

Aml. I'm a woman that don't so much as encourage an incontinent look towards me.

Dick. I tell you, 'sdeath, I tell you——

Aml. If a man shou'd make an uncivil motion to me, I'd spit in his lascivious face: And all this you may tell them, sirrah.

Dick. Death and furies! the woman's out of her—

Aml. Don't you swear, you rascal you, don't you swear; we shall have thee damn'd at last, and then I shall be disgrac'd.

Dick. Why then in cold blood hear me speak to you: I tell you it's a city-fortune I'm about, she cares not a fig for your virtue; she'll hear of nothing but quality: She has quarrell'd with one of her friends for having a better complexion, and is resolved she'll marry, to take place of her.

Aml. What a cherry lip is there!

Dick. Therefore, good dear mother, now have a care and don't discover me; for if you do, all's lost.

Aml. Dear, dear, how thy fair bride will be delighted: Go, get thee gone, go: Go fetch her home, go fetch her home; I'll give her a sack-posset, and a pillow of down she shall lay her head upon. Go fetch her home, I say.

Dick. Take care then of the main chance, my dear mother; remember, if you discover me——

Aml. Go, fetch her home, I say.

Dick. You promise me then——

Aml. March.

Dick. But swear to me——

Aml. Be gone, sirrah.

Dick. Well, I'll rely upon you—But one kiss before I go.

[Kisses her heartily, and runs off.

Aml. Now the Lord love thee! for thou art a comfortable young man.

[Exit Mrs. Amlet.

Enter Corinna and Flippanta.

Cor. But hark you, Flippanta, if you don't think he loves me dearly, don't give him my letter, after all.

Flip. Let me alone.

Cor. When he has read it, let him give it you again.

Flip. Don't trouble yourself.

Cor. And not a word of the pudding to my mother-in-law.

Flip. Enough.

Cor. When we come to love one another to the purpose, she shall know all.

Flip. Ay, then 'twill be time.

Cor. But remember 'tis you make me do all this now, so if any mischief comes on't, 'tis you must answer for't.

Flip. I'll be your security.

Cor. I'm young, and know nothing of the matter; but you have experience, so it's your business to conduct me safe.

Flip. Poor innocence!

Cor. But tell me in serious sadness, Flippanta, does he love me with the very soul of him?

Flip. I have told you so an hundred times, and yet you are not satisfied.

Cor. But, methinks, I'd fain have him tell me so himself.

Flip. Have patience, and it shall be done.

Cor. Why, patience is a virtue; that we must all confess——But I fancy, the sooner it's done the better, Flippanta.

Enter Jessamin.

Jess. Madam, yonder's your Geography-Master waiting for you.

[Exit.

Cor. Ah! how I am tir'd with these old fumbling fellows, Flippanta.

Flip. Well, don't let 'em break your heart, you shall be rid of them all ere long.

Cor. Nay, 'tis not the study I'm so weary of, Flippanta, 'tis the odious thing that teaches me. Were the Colonel my master, I fancy I could take pleasure in learning every thing he could shew me.

Flip. And he can shew you a great deal, I can tell you that. But get you gone in, here's somebody coming, we must not be seen together.

Cor. I will, I will, I will——O the dear Colonel.

[Running off.

Enter Mrs. Amlet.

Flip. O ho, it's Mrs. Amlet——What brings you so soon to us again, Mrs. Amlet?

Aml. Ah! my dear Mrs. Flippanta, I'm in a furious fright.

Flip. Why, what's come to you?

Aml. Ah! Mercy on us all——Madam's diamond necklace——

Flip. What of that?

Aml. Are you sure you left it at my house?

Flip. Sure I left it! a very pretty question truly!

Aml. Nay, don't be angry; say nothing to madam of it, I beseech you: It will be found again, if it be heaven's good will. At least 'tis I must bear the loss on't. 'Tis my rogue of a son has laid his birdlime fingers on't.

Flip. Your son, Mrs. Amlet! Do you breed your children up to such tricks as these then?

Aml. What shall I say to you, Mrs. Flippanta? Can I help it? He has been a rogue from his cradle, Dick has. But he has his deserts too. And now it comes in my head, mayhap he may have no ill design in this neither.

Flip. No ill design, woman! He's a pretty fellow if he can steal a diamond necklace with a good one.

Aml. You don't know him, Mrs. Flippanta, so well as I that bore him. Dick's a rogue, 'tis true, but——Mum——

Flip. What does the woman mean?

Aml. Hark you, Mrs. Flippanta, is not here a young gentlewoman in your house that wants a husband?

Flip. Why do you ask?

Aml. By way of conversation only, it does not concern me; but when she marries I may chance to dance at the wedding. Remember I tell you so: I who am but Mrs. Amlet.

Flip. You dance at her wedding! you!

Aml. Yes, I, I; but don't trouble madam about her necklace, perhaps it mayn't go out of the family. Adieu, Mrs. Flippanta.

[Exit Mrs. Amlet.

Flip. What—what—what does the woman mean? Mad! What a capilotade of a story's here? The necklace lost; and her son Dick; and a fortune to marry; and she shall dance at the wedding; and——She does not intend, I hope, to propose a match between her son Dick and Corinna! By my conscience I believe she does. An old beldam!

Enter Brass.

Brass. Well, hussy, how stand our affairs? Has miss writ us an answer yet? My master's very impatient yonder.

Flip. And why the duce does he not come himself? What does he send such idle fellows as thee of his errands? Here I had her alone just now: He won't have such an opportunity again this month, I can tell him that.

Brass. So much the worse for him; 'tis his business——But now, my dear, let thee and I talk a little of our own: I grow most damnably in love with thee; dost hear that?

Flip. Phu! thou art always timeing things wrong; my head is full, at present, of more important things than love.

Brass. Then it's full of important things indeed: Dost want a privy-counsellor?

Flip. I want an assistant.

Brass. To do what?

Flip. Mischief.

Brass. I'm thy man——touch.

Flip. But before I venture to let thee into my project, pr'ythee tell me, whether thou find'st a natural disposition to ruin a husband to oblige his wife?

Brass. Is she handsome?

Flip. Yes.

Brass. Why then my disposition's at her service.

Flip. She's beholden to thee.

Brass. Not she alone neither, therefore don't let her grow vain upon't; for I have three or four affairs of that kind going at this time.

Flip. Well, go carry this epistle from miss to thy master; and when thou com'st back, I'll tell thee thy business.

Brass. I'll know it before I go, if you please.

Flip. Thy master waits for an answer.

Brass. I'd rather he should wait than I.

Flip. Why then, in short, Araminta's husband is in love with my lady.

Brass. Very well, child, we have a Rowland for her Oliver: Thy lady's husband is in love with Araminta.

Flip. Who told you that, sirrah?

Brass. 'Tis a negociation I am charged with, Pert. Did not I tell thee I did business for half the town? I have managed Master Gripe's little affairs for him these ten years, you slut you.

Flip. Hark thee, Brass, the game's in our hands, if we can but play the cards.

Brass. Pique and repique, you jade you, if the wives will fall into a good intelligence.

Flip. Let them alone; I'll answer for them they don't slip the occasion.——See here they come. They little think what a piece of good news we have for 'em.

Enter Clarissa and Araminta.

Clar. Jessamin! here, boy, carry up these things into my dressing-room, and break as many of them by the way as you can, be sure.——O! art thou there, Brass! What news?

Brass. Madam, I only call'd in as I was going by——But some little propositions Mrs. Flippanta has been starting have kept me here to offer your ladyship my humble service.

Clar. What propositions?

Brass. She'll acquaint you, madam.

Aram. Is there any thing new, Flippanta?

Flip. Yes, and pretty too.

Clar. That follows of course, but let's have it quick.

Flip. Why, Madam, you have made a conquest.

Clar. Hussy——But of who? quick.

Flip. Of Mr. Money-trap, that's all.

Aram. My husband?

Flip. Yes, your husband, Madam: You thought fit to corrupt ours, so now we are even with you.

Aram. Sure thou art in jest, Flippanta.

Flip. Serious as my devotions.

Brass. And the cross intrigue, ladies, is what our brains have been at work about.

Aram. My dear!

[To Clarissa.

Clar. My life!

Aram. My angel!

Clar. My soul!

[Hugging one another.

Aram. The stars have done this.

Clar. The pretty little twinklers.

Flip. And what will you do for them now?

Clar. What grateful creatures ought; shew 'em we don't despise their favours.

Aram. But is not this a wager between these two blockheads?

Clar. I would not give a shilling to go the winner's halves.

Aram. Then 'tis the most fortunate thing that ever cou'd have happen'd.

Clar. All your last night's ideas, Araminta, were trifles to it.

Aram. Brass, my dear, will be useful to us.

Brass. At your service, Madam.

Clar. Flippanta will be necessary, my life!

Flip. She waits your commands, Madam.

Aram. For my part then, I recommend my husband to thee, Flippanta, and make it my earnest request thou won't leave him one half-crown.

Flip. I'll do all I can to obey you, Madam.

Brass. [To Clarissa.] If your ladyship wou'd give me the same kind orders for yours.

Clar. O——if thou spar'st him, Brass, I'm thy enemy till I die.

Brass. 'Tis enough, Madam, I'll be sure to give you a reasonable account of him. But how do you intend we shall proceed, ladies? Must we storm the purse at once, or break ground in form, and carry it by little and little?

Clar. Storm, dear Brass, storm: ever whilst you live, storm.

Aram. O by all means; must it not be so, Flippanta?

Flip. In four and twenty hours, two hundred pounds a-piece, that's my sentence.

Brass. Very well. But, ladies, you'll give me leave to put you in mind of some little expence in favours, 'twill be necessary you are at, to these honest gentlemen.

Aram. Favours, Brass!

Brass. Um——a——some small matters, Madam, I doubt must be.

Clar. Now that's a vile article, Araminta; for that thing your husband is so like mine——

Flip. Phu, there's a scruple, indeed. Pray, Madam, don't be so squeamish; tho' the meat be a little flat, we'll find you savoury sauce to it.

Clar. This wench is so mad.

Flip. Why, what in the name of Lucifer, is it you have to do, that's so terrible?

Brass. A civil look only.

Aram. There's no great harm in that.

Flip. An obliging word.

Clar. That one may afford 'em.

Brass. A little smile, a propos.

Aram. That's but giving one's self an air.

Flip. Receive a little letter, perhaps.

Clar. Women of quality do that from fifty odious fellows.

Brass. Suffer, may be, a squeeze by the hand.

Aram. One's so us'd to that, one does not feel it.

Flip. Or if a kiss wou'd do't?

Clar. I'd die first.

Brass. Indeed, ladies, I doubt 'twill be necessary to—

Clar. Get their wretched money without paying so dear for it.

Flip. Well, just as you please for that, my ladies: But I suppose you'll play upon the square with your favours, and not pique yourselves upon being one more grateful than another.

Brass. And state a fair account of receipts and disbursements.

Aram. That I think should be, indeed.

Clar. With all my heart, and Brass shall be our book-keeper. So get thee to work, man, as fast as thou canst: but not a word of all this to my master.

Brass. I'll observe my orders, Madam.

[Exit Brass.

Clar. I'll have the pleasure of telling him myself; he'll be violently delighted with it: 'tis the best man in the world, Araminta; he'll bring us rare company to-morrow, all sorts of gamesters; and thou shalt see my husband will be such a beast to be out of humour at it.

Aram. The monster——But hush, here's my dear approaching; pr'ythee let's leave him to Flippanta.

Flip. Ah, pray do, I'll bring you a good account of him, I'll warrant you.

Clar. Dispatch then, for the basset-table's in haste.

[Exit Clar. and Aram.

Flippanta sola.

So, now have at him; here he comes: We'll try if we can pillage the usurer, as he does other folks.

Enter Money-trap.

Mon. Well, my pretty Flippanta, is thy mistress come home?

Flip. Yes, Sir.

Mon. And where is she, pr'ythee?

Flip. Gone abroad, Sir.

Mon. How dost mean?

Flip. I mean right, Sir; my lady'll come home and go abroad ten times in an hour, when she's either in very good humour, or very bad.

Mon. Good lack! But I'll warrant, in general, 'tis her naughty husband that makes her house uneasy to her. But hast thou said a little something to her, chicken, for an expiring lover? ha!

Flip. Said——yes, I have said, much good may it do me.

Mon. Well! and how?

Flip. And how!—--And how do you think you would have me do't? And you have such a way with you, one can refuse you nothing. But I have brought myself into a fine business by it.

Mon. Good lack:——But, I hope, Flippanta—

Flip. Yes, your hopes will do much, when I am turn'd out of doors.

Mon. Was she then terrible angry?

Flip. Oh! had you seen how she flew, when she saw where I was pointing; for you must know I went round the bush and round the bush, before I came to the matter.

Mon. Nay, 'tis a ticklish point, that must be own'd.

Flip. On my word is it——I mean where a lady's truly virtuous; for that's our case you must know.

Mon. A very dangerous case indeed.

Flip. But I can tell you one thing——she has an inclination to you.

Mon. Is it possible!

Flip. Yes, and I told her so at last.

Mon. Well, and what did she answer thee?

Flip. Slap——and bid me bring it you for a token.

[Giving him a slap on the face.

Mon. And you have lost none on't by the way, with a pox t'ye.

[Aside.

Flip. Now this, I think, looks the best in the world.

Mon. Yea, but really it feels a little oddly.

Flip. Why, you must know, ladies have different ways of expressing their kindness, according to the humour they are in: if she had been in a good one, it had been a kiss; but as long as she sent you something, your affairs go well.

Mon. Why, truly, I am a little ignorant in the mysterious parts of love, so I must be guided by thee. But pr'ythee take her in a good humour next token she sends me.

Flip. Ah——good humour?

Mon. What's the matter?

Flip. Poor lady!

Man. Ha!

Flip. If I durst tell you all——

Mon. What then?

Flip. You would not expect to see her in one a good while.

Mon. Why, I pray?

Flip. I must own I did take an unseasonable time to talk of love-matters to her.

Mon. Why, what's the matter?

Flip. Nothing.

Mon. Nay, pr'ythee tell me.

Flip. I dare not.

Mon. You must indeed.

Flip. Why, when women are in difficulties, how can they think of pleasure?

Mon. Why, what difficulties can she be in?

Flip. Nay, I do but guess after all; for she has that grandeur of soul, she'd die before she'd tell.

Mon. But what dost thou suspect?

Flip. Why, what should one suspect, where a husband loves nothing but getting of money, and a wife nothing but spending on't?

Mon. So she wants that same, then?

Flip. I say no such thing, I know nothing of the matter; pray make no wrong interpretation of what I say, my Lady wants nothing that I know of. 'Tis true——she has had ill luck at cards of late, I believe she has not won once this month: but what of that?

Mon. Ha!

Flip. 'Tis true, I know her spirit's that she'd see her husband hanged before she'd ask him for a farthing.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. And then I know him again, he'd see her drown'd before he'd give her a farthing; but that's a help to your affair, you know.

Mon. 'Tis so, indeed.

Flip. Ah——well, I'll say nothing; but if she had none of these things to fret her——

Mon. Why really, Flippanta——

Flip. I know what you are going to say now; you are going to offer your service, but 'twon't do; you have a mind to play the gallant now, but it must not be; you want to be shewing your liberality, but 'twon't be allowed; you'll be pressing me to offer it, and she'll be in a rage. We shall have the Devil to do.

Mon. You mistake me, Flippanta, I was only going to say——

Flip. Ay, I know what you were going to say well enough; but I tell you it will never do so. If one cou'd find out some way now——ay——let me see——

Mon. Indeed I hope——

Flip. Pray be quiet——no——but I'm thinking——hum——she'll smoke that tho'——let us consider—If one you'd find a way to——'Tis the nicest point in the world to bring about, she'll never touch it, if she knows from whence it comes.

Mon. Shall I try if I can reason her husband out of twenty pounds, to make her easy the rest of her life?

Flip. Twenty pounds, man?——why you shall see her set that upon a card. O——she has a great soul.——Besides, if her husband should oblige her, it might, in time, take off her aversion to him, and by consequence, her inclination to you. No, no, it must never come that way.

Mon. What shall we do then?

Flip. Hold still——I have it. I'll tell you what you shall do.

Mon. Ay.

Flip. You shall make her a restitution of two hundred pounds.

Mon. Ha! Restitution!

Flip. Yes, yes, 'tis the luckiest thought in the world; Madam often plays, you know, and folks who do so, meet now and then with sharpers. Now you shall be a sharper.

Mon. A sharper!

Flip. Ay, ay, a sharper; and having cheated her of two hundred pounds, shall be troubled in mind, and send it her back again. You comprehend me?

Mon. Yes, I comprehend, but a——won't she suspect if it be so much?

Flip. No, no, the more the better.

Mon. Two hundred pounds!

Flip. Yes, two hundred pounds——Or let me see——so even a sum may look a little suspicious——ay——let it be two hundred and thirty; that odd thirty will make it look so natural, the devil won't find it out.

Mon. Ha!

Flip. Pounds, too, look I don't know how; guineas I fancy were better——ay, guineas, it shall be guineas. You are of that mind, are you not?

Mon. Um——a guinea, you know, Flippanta, is—

Flip. A thousand times genteeler, you are certainly in the right on't; it shall be as you say, two hundred and thirty guineas.

Mon. Ho——well, if it must be guineas, let's see, two hundred guineas.

Flip. And thirty; two hundred and thirty: If you mistake the sum, you spoil all. So go put them in a purse, while it's fresh in your head, and send 'em to me with a penitential letter, desiring I'll do you the favour to restore them to her.

Mon. Two hundred and thirty pounds in a bag!

Flip. Guineas, I say, guineas.

Mon. Ay, guineas, that's true. But Flippanta, if she don't know they come from me, then I give my money for nothing, you know.

Flip. Phu, leave that to me, I'll manage the flock for you; I'll make it produce something I'll warrant you.

Mon. Well, Flippanta, 'tis a great sum indeed; but I'll go try what I can do for her. You say, two hundred guineas in a purse?

Flip. And thirty; if the man's in his senses.

Mon. And thirty, 'tis true, I always forget that thirty.

[Exit Money-trap.

Flip. So, get thee gone, thou art a rare fellow, i'faith. Brass!—--it's thee, is't not?

Enter Brass.

Brass. It is, Huswife. How go matters? I staid till thy gentleman was gone. Hast done any thing towards our common purse?

Flip. I think I have; he's going to make us a restitution of two or three hundred pounds.

Brass. A restitution!—--good.

Flip. A new way, sirrah, to make a lady take a present without putting her to the blush.

Brass. 'Tis very well, mighty well indeed. Pr'ythee where's thy master? let me try if I can perswade him to be troubled in mind too.

Flip. Not so hasty; he's gone into his closet to prepare himself for a quarrel, I have advis'd him to——with his wife.

Brass. What to do?

Flip. Why to make her stay at home, now she has resolved to do it beforehand. You must know, sirrah, we intend to make a merit of our basset table, and get a good pretence for the merry companions we intend to fill his house with.

Brass. Very nicely spun, truly, thy husband will be a happy man.

Flip. Hold your tongue, you fool you. See here comes your master.

Brass. He's welcome.

Enter Dick.

Dick. My dear Flippanta! how many thanks have I to pay thee?

Flip. Do you like her style?

Dick. The kindest little rogue! there's nothing but she gives me leave to hope. I am the happiest man the world has in its care.

Flip. Not so happy as you think for neither, perhaps; you have a rival, Sir, I can tell you that.

Dick. A rival!

Flip. Yes, and a dangerous one too.

Dick. Who in the name of terror?

Flip. A devilish fellow, one Mr. Amlet.

Dick. Amlet! I know no such man.

Flip. You know the man's mother tho'; you met her here, and are in her favour, I can tell you. If he worst you, in your mistress, you shall e'en marry her and disinherit him.

Dick. If I have no other rival but Mr. Amlet, I believe I shan't be disturb'd in my amour. But can't I see Corinna?

Flip. I don't know, she has always some of her masters with her: but I'll go and see if she can spare you a moment, and bring you word.

[Exit Flippanta.

Dick. I wish my old hobbling mother han't been blabbing something here she should not do.

Brass. Fear nothing, all's safe on that side yet. But, how speaks young mistress's epistle? soft and tender?

Dick. As pen can write.

Brass. So you think all goes well there?

Dick. As my heart can wish.

Brass. You are sure on't?

Dick. Sure on't!

Brass. Why then, ceremony aside, [Putting on his hat.] You and I must have a little talk, Mr. Amlet.

Dick. Ah, Brass, what art thou going to do? Wou't ruin me?

Brass. Look you, Dick, few words; you are in a smooth way of making your fortune. I hope all will roll on. But how do you intend matters shall pass 'twixt you and me in this business?

Dick. Death and Furies! What a time dost take to talk on't?

Brass. Good words, or I betray you; they have already heard of one Mr. Amlet in the house.

Dick. Here's a son of a whore!

[Aside.

Brass. In short, look smooth, and be a good prince: I am your valet, 'tis true: your footman sometimes, which I'm enrag'd at; but you have always had the ascendant, I confess: when we were school-fellows, you made me carry your books, make your exercise, own your rogueries, and sometimes take a whipping for you. When we were fellow-prentices, tho' I was your senior, you made me open the shop, clean my master's shoes, cut last at dinner, and eat all the crust. In our sins too, I must own you still kept me under; you soar'd up to adultery with our mistress, while I was at humble fornication with the maid. Nay, in our punishments you still made good your post: for when once upon a time I was sentenced but to be whipp'd, I cannot deny but you were condemn'd to be hang'd. So that in all times, I must confess, your inclinations have been greater and nobler than mine; however, I cannot consent that you shou'd at once fix fortune for life, and I dwell in my humilities for the rest of my days.

Dick. Hark thee, Brass, if I do not most nobly by thee, I'm a dog.

Brass. And when?

Dick. As soon as ever I am married.

Brass. Ah, the pox take thee.

Dick. Then you mistrust me?

Brass. I do by my faith. Look you, Sir, some folks we mistrust, because we don't know them; others we mistrust, because we do know them: and for one of these reasons I desire there may be a bargain beforehand: If not [Raising his voice.] look ye Dick Amlet——

Dick. Soft, my dear friend and companion. The dog will ruin me. [Aside.] Say, what is't will content thee?

Brass. O ho!

Dick. But how canst thou be such a barbarian?

Brass. I learnt it at Algiers.

Dick. Come, make thy Turkish demand then.

Brass. You know you gave me a bank-bill this morning to receive for you.

Dick. I did so, of fifty pounds, 'tis thine. So, now thou are satisfy'd, all's fix'd.

Brass. It is not indeed. There's a diamond necklace you robb'd your mother of ev'n now.

Dick. Ah, you Jew.

Brass. No words.

Dick. My dear Brass!

Brass. I insist.

Dick. My old friend.

Brass. Dick Amlet [Raising his voice.] I insist.

Dick. Ah the Cormorant——Well, 'tis thine: but thou'lt never thrive with it.

Brass. When I find it begins to do me mischief, I'll give it you again. But I must have a wedding-suit.

Dick. Well.

Brass. Some good lace.

Dick. Thou shalt.

Brass. A stock of linen.

Dick. Enough.

Brass. Not yet——a silver sword.

Dick. Well, thou shalt have that too. Now thou hast every thing.

Brass. God forgive me, I forgot a ring of remembrance; I wou'd not forget all these favours for the world: a sparkling diamond I will be always playing in my eye, and put me in mind of them.

Dick. This unconscionable rogue! [Aside.] Well, I'll bespeak one for thee.

Brass. Brilliant.

Dick. It shall. But if the thing don't succeed after all?——

Brass. I'm a man of honour, and restore: and so the treaty being finish'd, I strike my flag of defiance, and fall into my respects again.

[Taking off his hat.

Enter Flippanta.

Flip. I have made you wait a little, but I cou'd not help it, her master is but just gone. He has been shewing her Prince Eugene's march into Italy.

Dick. Pr'ythee let me come to her, I'll shew her a part of the world he has never shewn her yet.

Flip. So I told her, you must know; and she said, she cou'd like to travel in good company: so if you'll slip up those back-stairs, you shall try if you can agree upon the journey.

Dick. My dear Flippanta!

Flip. None of your dear acknowledgments, I beseech you, but up stairs as hard as you can drive.

Dick. I'm gone.

[Exit Dick.

Flip. And do you follow him Jack-a-dandy, and see he is not surpriz'd.

Brass. I thought that was your post, Mrs. Useful: But if you'll come and keep me in humour, I don't care if I share the duty with you.

Flip. No words, sirrah, but follow him, I have somewhat else to do.

Brass. The jade's so absolute there's no contesting with her. One kiss tho' to keep the centinel warm. [Gives her a long kiss.]——So.

[Exit Brass.

Flippanta sola.

----A nasty rogue [Wiping her mouth.] But, let me see what have I to do now? This restitution will be here quickly, I suppose; in the mean time I'll go know if my lady's ready for the quarrel yet. Master yonder is so full on't, he's ready to burst; but we'll give him vent by and by with a witness.

[Exit Flip.

---

Enter Corinna, Dick, and Brass.

Brass. Don't fear, I'll give you timely notice.

[Goes to the door.

Dick. Come, you must consent, you shall consent. How can you leave me thus upon the rack? a man who loves you to that excess that I do.

Cor. Nay, that you love me, Sir, that I'm satisfy'd in, for you have sworn you do: And I'm so pleas'd with it, I'd fain have you do so as long as you live, so we must never marry.

Dick. Not marry, my dear! why what's our love good for if we don't marry!

Cor. Ah——I'm afraid 'twill be good for little if we do.

Dick. Why do you think so?

Cor. Because I hear my father and mother, and my uncle and aunt, and Araminta and her husband, and twenty other married folks, say so from morning to night.

Dick. Oh, that's because they are bad husbands and bad wives; but in our case there will be a good husband and a good wife, and so we shall love for ever.

Cor. Why there may be something in that truly; and I'm always willing to hear reason, as a reasonable young woman ought to do. But are you sure, Sir, tho' we are very good now, we shall be so when we come to be better acquainted?

Dick. I can answer for myself, at least.

Cor. I wish you cou'd answer for me too. You see I am a plain-dealer, Sir, I hope you don't like me the worse for it.

Dick. O, by no means, 'tis a sign of admirable morals; and I hope, since you practise it yourself, you'll approve of it in your lover. In one word, therefore, (for 'tis in vain to mince the matter) my resolution's fix'd, and the world can't stagger me, I marry——or I die.

Cor. Indeed, Sir, I have much ado to believe you; the disease of love is seldom so violent.

Dick. Madam, I have two diseases to end my miseries; If the first don't do't, the latter shall; [Drawing his sword.] one's in my heart, t'other's in my scabbard.

Cor. Not for a diadem, [Catching hold of him.] Ah, put it up, put it up.

Dick. How absolute is your command! [Dropping his sword.] A word, you see, disarms me.

Cor. What a power I have over him! [Aside.] The wondrous deeds of love!—--Pray, Sir, let me have no more of these rash doings tho'; perhaps I mayn't be always in the saving humour——I'm sure if I had let him stick himself, I should have been envy'd by all the great ladies in the town.

[Aside.

Dick. Well, madam, have I then your promise? you'll make me the happiest of mankind.

Cor. I don't know what to say to you; but I believe I had as good promise, for I find I shall certainly do't.

Dick. Then let us seal the contract thus.

[Kisses her.

Cor. Um——he has almost taken away my breath: He kisses purely.

[Aside.

Dick. Hark——somebody comes.

[Brass peeping in.

Brass. Gar there, the enemy——no, hold y'are safe, 'tis Flippanta.

Enter Flippanta.

Flip. Come, have you agreed the matter? If not, you must end it another time, for your father's in motion, so pray kiss and part.

Cor. That's sweet and sour. [They kiss.] Adieu t'ye, Sir.

[Exit Dick and Cor.

Enter Clarissa.

Clar. Have you told him I'm at home, Flippanta?

Flip. Yes, Madam.

Clar. And that I'll see him?

Flip. Yes, that too: But here's news for you; I have just now receiv'd the restitution.

Clar. That's killing pleasure: and how much has he restor'd me?

Flip. Two hundred and thirty.

Clar. Wretched rogue! but retreat, your Master's coming to quarrel.

Flip. I'll be within call, if things run high.

[Ex. Flip.

Enter Gripe.

Gripe. O ho!—--are you there, i'faith? Madam, your humble servant, I'm very glad to see you at home. I thought I should never have had that honour again.

Clar. Good-morrow, my dear, how d'ye do? Flippanta says you are out of humour, and that you have a mind to quarrel with me: Is it true? ha!—--I have a terrible pain in my head, I give you notice on't beforehand.

Gripe. And how the pox shou'd it be otherwise? It's a wonder you are not dead [as a' wou'd you were, Aside.] with the life you lead. Are you not ashamed? And do you not blush to——

Clar. My dear child, you crack my brain; soften the harshness of your voice: say what thou wou't, but let it be in an agreeable tone——

Gripe. Tone, Madam, don't tell me of a tone——

Clar. O——if you will quarrel, do it with temperance; let it be all in cool blood, even and smooth, as if you were not moved with what you said; and then I'll hear you as if I were not mov'd with it neither.

Gripe. Had ever man such need of patience? Madam, Madam, I must tell you, Madam——

Clar. Another key, or I'll walk off.

Gripe. Don't provoke me.

Clar. Shall you be long, my dear, in your remonstrances?

Gripe. Yes, Madam, and very long.

Clar. If you would quarrel en abrêgé, I shou'd have a world of obligation to you.

Gripe. What I have to say, forsooth, is not to be expressed en abrêgé, my complaints are too numerous.

Clar. Complaints! of what my dear? have I ever given you subject of complaint, my life?

Gripe. O Pox! my dear and my life! I desire none of your tendres.

Clar. How! find fault with my kindness, and my expressions of affection and respect! the world will guess by this what the rest of your complaints may be. I must tell you, I am scandaliz'd at your procedure.

Gripe. I must tell you I am running mad with yours.

Clar. Ah! how insupportable are the humours of some husbands, so full of fancies, and so ungovernable: What have you in the world to disturb you?

Gripe. What have I to disturb me! I have you, Death and the Devil.

Clar. Ah, merciful heaven! how he swears! You should never accustom yourself to such words as these; indeed, my dear, you shou'd not; your mouth's always full of them.

Gripe. Blood and thunder! Madam——

Clar. Ah, he'll fetch the house down: Do you know you make me tremble for you? Flippanta! who's there? Flippanta!

Gripe. Here's a provoking devil for you!

Enter Flippanta.

Flip. What in the name of Jove's the matter? you raise the neighbourhood.

Clar. Why here's your master in a most violent fuss, and no mortal soul can tell for what.

Gripe. Not tell for what!

Clar. No, my life. I have begged him to tell me his griefs, Flippanta; and then he swears, good Lord! how he does swear.

Gripe. Ah, you wicked jade! Ah, you wicked jade!

Clar. Do you hear him Flippanta! do you hear him!

Flip. Pray, Sir, let's know a little what puts you in all this fury?

Clar. Pr'ythee stand near me, Flippanta, there's an odd froth about his mouth, looks as if his poor head were going wrong, I'm afraid he'll bite.

Gripe. The wicked woman, Flippanta, the wicked woman.

Clar. Can any body wonder I shun my own house, when he treats me at this rate in it?

Gripe. At this rate! why in the devil's name——

Clar. Do you hear him again?

Flip. Come, a little moderation, Sir, and try what that will produce.

Gripe. Hang her, 'tis all a pretence to justify her going abroad.

Clar. A pretence! a pretence! Do you hear how black a charge he loads me with? Charges me with a pretence? Is this the return for all my downright open actions? You know, my dear, I scorn pretences: Whenever I go abroad, it is without pretence.

Gripe. Give me patience.

Flip. You have a great deal, Sir.

Clar. And yet he's never content, Flippanta.

Gripe. What shall I do?

Clar. What a reasonable man wou'd do; own your self in the wrong, and be quiet. Here's Flippanta has understanding, and I have moderation; I'm willing to make her judge of our differences.

Flip. You do me a great deal of honour, Madam: but I tell you beforehand, I shall be a little on Master's side.

Gripe. Right, Flippanta has sense. Come, let her decide. Have I not reason to be in a passion? tell me that.

Clar. You must tell her for what, my life.

Gripe. Why, for the trade you drive, my soul.

Flip. Look you, Sir, pray take things right. I know Madam does fret you a little now and then, that's true; but in the fund, she is the softest, sweetest, gentlest lady breathing: let her but live entirely to her own fancy, and she'll never say a word to you from morning to night.

Gripe. Oons, let her but stay at home, and she shall do what she will: in reason, that is.

Flip. D'ye hear that, Madam? nay, now I must be on master's side; you see how he loves you, he desires only your company, pray give him that satisfaction, or I must pronounce against you.

Clar. Well, I agree. Thou know'st I don't love to grieve him: let him be always in good humour, and I'll be always at home.

Flip. Look you there, Sir, what would you have more?

Gripe. Well, let her keep her word, and I'll have done quarrelling.

Clar. I must not, however, so far lose the merit of my consent, as to let you think I'm weary of going abroad, my dear: what I do is purely to oblige you; which, that I may be able to perform, without a relapse, I'll invent what ways I can to make my prison supportable to me.

Flip. Her prison! pretty bird! her prison! do'nt that word melt you, Sir?

Gripe. I must confess I did not expect to find her so reasonable.

Flip. O, Sir, soon or late wives come into good humour: husbands must only have a little patience to wait for it.

Clar. The innocent little diversions, dear, that I shall content myself with, will be chiefly play and company.

Gripe. O, I'll find you employment, your time shan't lie upon your hands, tho' if you have a mind now for such a companion as a——let me see——Araminta for example, why I shan't be against her being with you from morning till nigh.

Clar. You can't oblige me more, 'tis the best woman in the world.

Gripe. Is not she?

Flip. Ah, the old satyr!

[Aside.

Gripe. Then we'll have, besides her, may be sometimes——her husband; and we shall see my niece that writes verses, and my sister Fidget: with her husband's brother that's always merry; and his little cousin that's to marry the fat curate; and my uncle the apothecary, with his wife and all his children. O we shall divert ourselves rarely.

Flip. Good.

[Aside.

Clar. O, for that, my dear child, I must be plain with you, I'll see none of them but Araminta, who has the manners of the court; for I'll converse with none but women of quality.

Gripe. Ay, ay, they shall all have one quality or other.

Clar. Then, my dear, to make our home pleasant, we'll have consorts of music sometimes.

Gripe. Music in my house!

Clar. Yes, my child, we must have music or the house will be so dull I shall get the spleen, and be going abroad again.

Flip. Nay, she has so much complaisance for you, Sir, you can't dispute such things with her.

Gripe. Ay, but if I have music——

Clar. Ay, but Sir, I must have music——

Flip. Not every day, Madam don't mean.

Clar. No, bless me, no; but three consorts a week: three days more we'll play after dinner at Ombre, Picquet, Basset, and so forth, and close the evening with a handsome supper and a ball.

Gripe. A ball!

Clar. Then, my love, you know there is but one day more upon our hands, and that shall be the day of conversation, we'll read verses, talk of books, invent modes, tell lyes, scandalize our friends, be pert upon religion; and in short, employ every moment of it in some pretty witty exercise or other.

Flip. What order you see 'tis she proposes to live in! A most wonderful regularity!

Gripe. Regularity with a pox——

[Aside.

Clar. And as this kind of life, so soft, so smooth, so agreeable, must needs invite a vast deal of company to partake of it, 'twill be necessary to have the decency of a porter at our door, you know.

Gripe. A porter——A scrivener have a porter, Madam!

Clar. Positively a porter.

Gripe. Why no scrivener since Adam ever had a porter, woman!

Clar. You will therefore be renown'd in story, for having the first, my life.

Gripe. Flippanta.

Flip. Hang it, Sir, never dispute a trifle; if you vex her, perhaps she'll insist upon a Swiss.

[Aside to Gripe.

Gripe. But, Madam——

Clar. But, Sir, a porter, positively a porter; without that the treaty's null, and I go abroad this moment.

Flip. Come, Sir, never lose so advantageous a peace for a pitiful porter.

Gripe. Why, I shall be hooted at, the boys will throw stones at my porter. Besides, where shall I have money for all this expence?

Clar. My dear, who asks you for any? Don't be in a fright, chicken.

Gripe. Don't be in a fright, Madam! But where I say——

Flip. Madam plays, Sir, think on that; women that play have inexhaustible mines, and wives who receive least money from their husbands, are many times those who spend the most.

Clar. So, my dear, let what Flippanta says content you. Go, my life, trouble yourself with nothing, but let me do just as I please, and all will be well. I'm going into my closet, to consider of some more things to enable me to give you the pleasure of my company at home, without making it too great a misery to a yielding wife.

[Exit Clarissa.

Flip. Mirror of goodness! Pattern to all wives! well sure, Sir, you are the happiest of all husbands.

Gripe. Yes——and a miserable dog for all that too, perhaps.

Flip. Why, what can you ask more, than this matchless complaisance?

Gripe. I don't know what I can ask, and yet I'm not satisfy'd with what I have neither, the devil mixes in it all, I think; complaisant or perverse, it feels just as it did.

Flip. Why then your uneasiness is only a disease, Sir, perhaps a little bleeding and purging wou'd relieve you.

Clar. Flippanta?

[Clarissa calls within.

Flip. Madam calls. I come, Madam. Come, be merry, be merry, Sir, you have cause, take my word for't. Poor devil.

[Aside.]

[Exit Flippanta.

Gripe. I don't know that, I don't know that: But this I do know, that an honest man, who has marry'd a jade, whether she's pleas'd to spend her time at home or abroad, had better have liv'd a batchelor.

Enter Brass.

Brass. O, Sir, I'm mighty glad I have found you.

Gripe. Why, what's the matter, pr'ythee?

Brass. Can no body hear us?

Gripe. No, no, speak quickly.

Brass. You han't seen Araminta, since the last letter I carry'd her from you?

Gripe. Not I, I go prudently; I don't press things like your young firebrand lovers.

Brass. But seriously, Sir, are you very much in love with her?

Gripe. As mortal man has been.

Brass. I'm sorry for't.

Gripe. Why so, dear Brass?

Brass. If you were never to see her more now? Suppose such a thing, d'ye think 'twou'd break your heart?

Gripe. Oh!

Brass. Nay, now I see you love her; wou'd you did not.

Gripe. My dear friend.

Brass. I'm in your interest deep: you see it.

Gripe. I do: but speak, what miserable story hast thou for me?

Brass. I had rather the devil had, phu——flown away with you quick, than to see you so much in love, as I perceive you are, since——

Gripe. Since what?——ho.

Brass. Araminta, Sir.

Gripe. Dead?

Brass. No.

Gripe. How then?

Brass. Worse.

Gripe. Out with't.

Brass. Broke.

Gripe. Broke!

Brass. She is, poor lady, in a most unfortunate situation of affairs. But I have said too much.

Gripe. No, no, 'tis very sad, but let's hear it.

Brass. Sir, she charg'd me on my life never to mention it to you, of all men living.

Gripe. Why, who should'st thou tell it to, but to the best of her friends?

Brass. Ay, why there's it now, it's going just as I fancy'd. Now will I be hang'd if you are not enough in love to be engaging in this matter. But I must tell you, Sir, that as much concern as I have for that most excellent, beautiful, agreeable, distress'd, unfortunate lady, I'm too much your friend and servant, ever to let it be said, 'twas the means of your being ruin'd for a woman——by letting you know she esteem'd you more than any other man upon earth.

Gripe. Ruin'd! what dost thou mean?

Brass. Mean! Why! I mean that women always ruin those that love 'em, that's the rule.

Gripe. The rule!

Brass. Yes, the rule; why wou'd you have them ruin those that don't? How shall they bring that about?

Gripe. But is there a necessity then, they shou'd ruin somebody?

Brass. Yes, marry is there; how wou'd you have 'em support their expence else? Why, Sir, you can't conceive now——you can't conceive what Araminta's privy-purse requires. Only her privy purse, Sir! Why, what do you imagine now she gave me for the last letter I carry'd her from you? 'Tis true, 'twas from a man she lik'd, else, perhaps, I had had my bones broke. But what do you think she gave me?

Gripe. Why, mayhap——a shilling.

Brass. A guinea, Sir, a guinea. You see by that how fond she was on't, by the bye. But then, Sir, her coach-hire; her chair-hire, her pin-money, her play-money, her china, and her charity——wou'd consume peers: A great soul, a very great soul! but what's the end of all this?

Gripe. Ha!

Brass. Why, I'll tell you what the end is——a nunnery.

Gripe. A nunnery!

Brass. A nunnery.——In short she is at last reduc'd to that extremity, and attack'd with such a battalion of duns, that rather than tell her husband (who you know is such a dog, he'd let her go if she did) she has e'en determin'd to turn papist, and bid the world adieu for life.

Gripe. O terrible! a papist!

Brass. Yes, when a handsome woman has brought herself into difficulties, the devil can't help her out of——To a nunnery, that's another rule, Sir.

Gripe. But, but, but, pr'ythee Brass, but——

Brass. But all the buts in the world, Sir, won't stop her: she's a woman of a noble resolution. So, Sir, your humble servant; I pity her, I pity you. Turtle and mate; but the Fates will have it so, all's packt up, and I'm now going to call her a coach, for she resolves to slip off without saying a word: and the next visit she receives from her friends, will be through a melancholy grate, with a veil instead of a top-knot.

[Going.

Gripe. It must not be, by the Powers it must not; she was made for the world, and the world was made for her.

Brass. And yet you see, Sir, how small a share she has on't.

Gripe. Poor woman! Is there no way to save her?

Brass. Save her! No, how can she be saved? why she owes above five hundred pounds.

Gripe. Oh!

Brass. Five hundred pounds, Sir; she's like to be sav'd indeed.——Not but that I know them in this town wou'd give me one of the five, if I wou'd persuade her to accept of th' other four: but she has forbid me mentioning it to any soul living; and I have disobey'd her only to you; and so—I'll go and call a coach.

Gripe. Hold!—--dost think, my poor Brass, one might not order it so, as to compound those debts for——for——twelve pence in the pound?

Brass. Sir, d'ye hear? I have already try'd 'em with ten shillings, and not a rogue will prick up his ear at it. Tho' after all, for three hundred pounds all in glittering gold, I could set their chaps a watering. But where's that to be had with honour? there's the thing, Sir,——I'll go and call a coach.

Gripe. Hold, once more: I have a note in my closet of two hundred, ay——and fifty, I'll go and give it her myself.

Brass. You will; very genteel, truly. Go slap-dash, and offer a woman of her scruples, money! bolt in her face: Why, you might as well offer her a scorpion, and she'd as soon touch it.

Gripe. Shall I carry it to her creditors then, and treat with them?

Brass. Ay, that's a rare thought.

Gripe. Is not it, Brass?

Brass. Only one little inconvenience by the way.

Gripe. As how?

Brass. That they are your wife's creditors as well as hers; and perhaps it might not be altogether so well to see you clearing the debts of your neighbour's wife, and leaving those of your own unpaid.

Gripe. Why that's true now.

Brass. I'm wise you see, Sir.

Gripe. Thou art; and I'm but a young lover: But what shall we do then?

Brass. Why I'm thinking, that if you give me the note, do you see; and that I promise to give you an account of it——

Gripe. Ay, but look you, Brass——

Brass. But look you!—--Why what, d'ye think I'm a pickpocket? D'ye think I intend to run away with your note? your paltry note.

Gripe. I don't say so——I say only that in case——

Brass. Case, Sir, there is no case but the case I have put you; and since you heap cases upon cases, where there is but three hundred rascally pounds in the case——I'll go and call a coach.

Gripe. Pr'ythee don't be so testy; come, no more words, follow me to my closet, and I'll give thee the money.

Brass. A terrible effort you make indeed; you are so much in love, your wits are all upon the wing, just a going; and for three hundred pounds you put a stop to their flight: Sir, your wits are worth that, or your wits are worth nothing. Come away.

Gripe. Well, say no more, thou shalt be satisfy'd. [Exeunt.

Enter Dick.

Dick. S't——Brass! S't——

Re-enter Brass.

Brass. Well, Sir!

Dick. 'Tis not well, Sir, 'tis very ill, Sir; we shall be all blown up.

Brass. What, with pride and plenty?

Dick. No, Sir, with an officious slut that will spoil all. In short, Flippanta has been telling her mistress and Araminta of my passion for the young gentlewoman; and truly to oblige me (supposed no ill match by the bye) they are resolv'd to propose it immediately to her father.

Brass. That's the devil! we shall come to papers and parchments, jointures and settlements, relations meet on both sides; that's the devil.

Dick. I intended this very day to propose to Flippanta, the carrying her off: and I'm sure the young houswife wou'd have tuck'd up her coats, and have march'd.

Brass. Ay, with the body and the soul of her.

Dick. Why then, what damn'd luck is this?

Brass. 'Tis your damn'd luck, not mine: I have always seen it in your ugly phiz, in spite of your powder'd perriwig——pox take ye——he'll be hang'd at last. Why don't you try to get her off yet?

Dick. I have no money, you dog; you know you have stript me of every penny.

Brass. Come, damn it. I'll venture one cargo more upon your rotten bottom: But if ever I see one glance of your hempen fortune again, I'm off of your partnership for ever——I shall never thrive with him.

Dick. An impudent rogue, but he's in possession of my estate, so I must bear with him.

[Aside.

Brass. Well, come, I'll raise a hundred pounds for your use, upon my wife's jewels here; [Pulling out the necklace.] her necklace shall pawn for't.

Dick. Remember tho', that if things fail, I'm to have the necklace again; you know you agreed to that.

Brass. Yes, and if I make it good, you'll be the better for't; if not, I shall: so you see where the cause will pinch.

Dick. Why, you barbarous dog, you won't offer to——

Brass. No words now; about your business, march. Go stay for me at the next tavern: I'll go to Flippanta, and try what I can do for you.

Dick. Well, I'll go, but don't think to——O pox, Sir——

[Exit Dick.

Brass solus.

Brass. Will you be gone? A pretty title you'd have to sue me upon truly, if I shou'd have a mind to stand upon the defensive, as perhaps I may; I have done the rascal service enough to lull my conscience upon't I'm sure: But 'tis time enough for that. Let me see——First I'll go to Flippanta, and put a stop to this family way of match-making, then sell our necklace for what ready money 'twill produce; and by this time to-morrow I hope we shall be in possession of——t'other jewel here; a precious jewel, as she's set in gold: I believe for the stone itself we may part with it again to a friend——for a tester.

[Exit.

---

Enter Brass and Flippanta.

Brass. Well, you agree I'm in the right, don't you?

Flip. I don't know; if your master has the estate he talks of, why not do't all above-board? Well, tho' I am not much of his mind, I'm much in his interest, and will therefore endeavour to serve him in his own way.

Brass. That's kindly said, my child, and I believe I shall reward thee one of these days, with as pretty a fellow to thy husband for't, as——

Flip. Hold your prating, Jack-a-dandy, and leave me to my business.

Brass. I obey—adieu. [Kisses her.]

[Exit Brass.

Flip. Rascal!

Enter Corinna.

Cor. Ah, Flippanta, I'm ready to sink down, my legs tremble under me, my dear Flippy.

Flip. And what's the affair?

Cor. My father's there within, with my mother and Araminta; I never saw him in so good a humour in my life.

Flip. And is that it that frightens you so?

Cor. Ah, Flippanta, they are just going to speak to him, about my marrying the Colonel.

Flip. Are they so? so much the worse; they're too hasty.

Cor. O no, not a bit: I slipt out on purpose, you must know, to give them an opportunity; wou'd 'twere done already.

Flip. I tell you no; get you in again immediately, and prevent it.

Cor. My dear, dear, I am not able; I never was in such a way before.

Flip. Never in a way to be marry'd before, ha? is not that it?

Cor. Ah, Lord, if I'm thus before I come to't, Flippanta, what shall I be upon the very spot? Do but feel with what a thumpaty thump it goes.

[Putting her hand to her heart.

Flip. Nay it does make a filthy bustle, that's the truth on't, child. But I believe I shall make it leap another way, when I tell you, I'm cruelly afraid your father won't consent, after all.

Cor. Why, he won't be the death of o'me, will he?

Flip. I don't know, old folk are cruel; but we'll have a trick for him. Brass and I have been consulting upon the matter, and agreed upon a surer way of doing it in spite of his teeth.

Cor. Ay, marry, Sir, that were something.

Flip. But then he must not know a word of any thing towards it.

Cor. No, no.

Flip. So, get you in immediately.

Cor. One, two, three and away.

[Running off.

Flip. And prevent your mother's speaking on't.

Cor. But is t'other way sure, Flippanta?

Flip. Fear nothing, 'twill only depend upon you.

Cor. Nay then——O ho, ho, ho, how pure that is!

[Exit Corinna.

Flippanta sola.

Poor child! we may do what we will with her, as far as marrying her goes; when that's over, 'tis possible she mayn't prove altogether so tractable. But who's here? my sharper, I think: yes.

Enter Money-trap.

Mon. Well, my best friend, how go matters? Has the restitution been received, ha? Was she pleas'd with it?

Flip. Yes, truly; that is, she was pleas'd to see there was so honest a man in this immoral age.

Mon. Well, but a——does she know that 'twas I that——

Flip. Why, you must know I begun to give her a little sort of a hint, and——and so——why, and so she begun to put on a sort of a severe, haughty, reserv'd, angry, forgiving air. But soft; here she comes: you'll see how you stand with her presently: but don't be afraid. Courage.

Mon. He, hem.

Enter Clarissa.

'Tis no small piece of good fortune, Madam, to find you at home: I have often endeavour'd it in vain.

Clar. 'Twas then unknown to me, for if I cou'd often receive the visits of so good a friend at home, I shou'd be more reasonably blam'd for being so much abroad.

Mon. Madam, you make me——

Clar. You are the man of the world whose company I think is most to be desir'd. I don't compliment you when I tell you so, I assure you.

Mon. Alas, Madam, your poor humble servant——

Clar. My poor humble servant however (with all the esteem I have for him) stands suspected with me for a vile trick, I doubt he has play'd me, which if I could prove upon him, I'm afraid I should punish him very severely.

Mon. I hope, Madam, you'll believe I am not capable of——

Clar. Look you, look you, you are capable of whatever you please, you have a great deal of wit, and know how to give a nice and gallant turn to every thing; but if you will have me continue your friend, you must leave me in some uncertainty in this matter.

Mon. Madam, I do then protest to you——

Clar. Come protest nothing about it, I am but too penetrating, as you may perceive; but we sometimes shut our eyes, rather than break with our friends; for a thorough knowledge of the truth of this business, wou'd make me very seriously angry.

Mon. 'Tis very certain, Madam, that——

Clar. Come, say no more on't, I beseech you, for I'm in a good deal of heat while I but think on't; if you'll walk in, I'll follow you presently.

Mon. Your goodness, Madam, is——

Flip. War, horse.

[Aside to Money-trap.

No fine speeches, you'll spoil all.

Mon. Thou art a most incomparable person.

Flip. Nay, it goes rarely; but get you in, and I'll say a little something to my Lady for you, while she's warm.

Mon. But S't, Flippanta, how long do'st think she may hold out?

Flip. Phu, not a Twelvemonth.

Mon. Boo.

Flip. Away, I say.

[Pushing him out.

Clar. Is he gone? What a wretch it is! he never was quite such a beast before.

Flip. Poor mortal, his money's finely laid out truly.

Clar. I suppose there may have been much such another scene within between Araminta and my dear: but I left him so insupportably brisk, 'tis impossible he can have parted with any money: I'm afraid Brass has not succeeded as thou hast done, Flippanta.

Flip. By my faith but he has, and better too; he presents his humble duty to Araminta, and has sent her——this.

[Shewing the note.

Clar. A bill for my love for two hundred and fifty pounds. The monster! he wou'd not part with ten to save his lawful wife from everlasting torment.

Flip. Never complain of his avarice, Madam, as long as you have his money.

Clar. But is not he a beast, Flippanta? methinks the restitution look'd better by half.

Flip. Madam, the man's beast enough, that's certain; but which way will you go to receive his beastly money, for I must not appear with his note?

Clar. That's true; why send for Mrs. Amlet; that's a mighty useful woman, that Mrs. Amlet.

Flip. Marry is she; we shou'd have been basely puzzled how to dispose of the necklace without her, 'twould have been dangerous offering it to sale.

Clar. It wou'd so, for I know your master has been laying out for't amongst the goldsmiths. But I stay here too long. I must in and coquet it a little more to my lover, Araminta will get ground on me else.

[Exit Clarissa.

Flip. And I'll go send for Mrs. Amlet.

[Exit Flip.

Araminta, Corinna, Gripe, and Money-trap at a tea-table, very gay and laughing. Clarissa comes in to 'em.

Omnes. Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Mon. Mighty well, O mighty well indeed!

Clar. Save you, save you good folks, you are all in rare humour methinks.

Gripe. Why, what shou'd we be otherwise for, Madam?

Clar. Nay, I don't know, not I, my dear; but I han't had the happiness of seeing you since our honey-moon was over, I think.

Gripe. Why to tell you the truth, my dear, 'tis the joy of seeing you at home; [Kisses her.] You see what charms you have, when you are pleased to make use of 'em.

Aram. Very gallant truly.

Clar. Nay, and what's more, you must know, he's never to be otherwise henceforwards; we have come to an agreement about it.

Mon. Why, here's my love and I have been upon just such another treaty too.

Aram. Well, sure there's some very peaceful star rules at present. Pray heaven continue its reign.

Mon. Pray do you continue its reign, you ladies; for 'tis all in your power.

[Leering at Clarissa.

Gripe. My neighbour Money-trap says true at least I'll confess frankly [Ogling Araminta.] 'tis in one lady's power to make me the best-humour'd man on earth.

Mon. And I'll answer for another, that has the same over me.

[Ogling Clarissa.

Clar. 'Tis mighty fine, gentlemen, mighty civil husbands indeed.

Gripe. Nay, what I say's true, and so true, that all quarrels being now at an end, I am willing, if you please, to dispense with all that fine company we talk'd of to-day, be content with the friendly conversation of our two good neighbours here, and spend all my toying hours alone with my sweet wife.

Mon. Why, truly, I think now, if these good women pleas'd, we might make up the prettiest little neighbourly company between our two families, and set a defiance to all the impertinent people in the world.

[Aside.

Clar. The rascals!

Aram. Indeed I doubt you'd soon grow weary, if we grew fond.

Gripe. Never, never, for our wives have wit, neighbour, and that never palls.

Clar. And our husbands have generosity, Araminta, and that seldom palls.

Gripe. So that's a wipe for me now, because I did not give her a new-year's gift last time; but be good, and I'll think of some tea-cups for you, next year.

Mon. And perhaps I mayn't forget a fan, or as good a thing——hum, hussy.

Clar. Well, upon these encouragements, Araminta, we'll try how good we can be.

Gripe. Well, this goes most rarely: poor Money-trap, he little thinks what makes his wife so easy in his company.

[Aside.

Mon. I can but pity poor neighbour Gripe. Lard, Lard, what a fool does his wife and I make of him?

[Aside.

Clar. Are not these two wretched rogues, Araminta?

[Aside to Araminta.

Aram. They are indeed.

[Aside to Clarissa.

Enter Jessamin.

Jess. Sir, here's Mr. Clip, the goldsmith, desires to speak with you.

Gripe. Cods so, perhaps some news of your necklace, my dear.

Clar. That would be news indeed.

Gripe. Let him come in.

Enter Mr. Clip.

Gripe. Mr. Clip, your servant, I'm glad to see you: how do you do?

Clip. At your service, Sir, very well. Your servant, Madam Gripe.

Clar. Horrid fellow!

[Aside.

Gripe. Well, Mr. Clip, no news yet of my wife's necklace?

Clip. If you please to let me speak with you in the next room, I have something to say to you.

Gripe. Ay, with all my heart. Shut the door after us. [They come forward, and the Scene shuts behind them.] Well, any news?

Clip. Look you, Sir, here's a necklace brought me to sell, at least very like that you describ'd to me.

Gripe. Let's see't——Victoria! the very same. Ah my dear Mr. Clip——[Kisses him.] But who brought it you? you should have seiz'd him.

Clip. 'Twas a young fellow that I know: I can't tell whether he may be guilty, tho' its like enough. But he has only left it me now, to shew a brother of our trade, and will call upon me again presently.

Gripe. Wheedle him hither, dear Mr. Clip. Here's my neighbour Money-trap in the house; he's a justice, and will commit him presently.

Clip. 'Tis enough.

Enter Brass.

Gripe. O, my friend Brass!

Brass. Hold, Sir, I think that's a gentleman I'm looking for. Mr. Clip, O your servant; what, are you acquainted here? I have just been at your shop.

Clip. I only stept here to shew Mr. Gripe the necklace you left.

Brass. Why, Sir, you understand jewels? [To Gripe.] I thought you had dealt only in gold. But I smoak the matter; hark you——a word in your ear——you are going to play the gallant again, and make a purchase on't for Araminta; ha, ha?

Gripe. Where had you the necklace?

Brass. Look you, don't trouble yourself about that; it's in commission with me, and I can help you to a pennyworth on't.

Gripe. A pennyworth on't, villain?

[Strikes at him.

Brass. Villain! a hey, a hey. Is't you or me, Mr. Clip, he's pleas'd to compliment?

Clip. What do you think on't, Sir?

Brass. Think on't, now the devil fetch me if I know what to think on't.

Gripe. You'll sell a pennyworth, rogue! of a thing you have stol'n from me.

Brass. Stol'n! pray, Sir——what wine have you drank to-day? It has a very merry effect upon you.

Gripe. You villain; either give me an account how you stole it, or——

Brass. O ho, Sir, if you please, don't carry your jest too far, I don't understand hard words, I give you warning on't: if you han't a mind to buy the necklace, you may let it alone, I know how to dispose on't. What a pox!——

Gripe. O, you shan't have that trouble, Sir. Dear Mr. Clip, you may leave the necklace here. I'll call at your shop, and thank you for your care.

Clip. Sir, your humble servant.

[Going.

Brass. O ho, Mr. Clip, if you please, Sir, this won't do, [Stopping him.] I don't understand rallery in such matters.

Clip. I leave it with Mr Gripe, do you and he dispute it.

[Exit Clip.

Brass. Ay, but 'tis from you, by your leave, Sir, that I expect it.

[Going after him.

Gripe. You expect, you rogue, to make your escape, do you? But I have other accounts besides this, to make up with you. To be sure the dog has cheated me of two hundred and fifty pounds. Come, villain, give me an account of——

Brass. Account of!—--Sir, give me an account of my necklace, or I'll make such a noise in your house, I'll raise the devil in't.

Gripe. Well said, courage.

Brass. Blood and thunder, give it me, or——

Gripe. Come, hush, be wise, and I'll make no noise of this affair.

Brass. You'll make no noise! But I'll make a noise; and a damn'd noise too. O, don't think to——

Gripe. I tell thee I will not hang thee.

Brass. But I tell you I will hang you, if you don't give me my necklace, I will, rot me.

Gripe. Speak softly, be wise; how came it thine? who gave it thee?

Brass. A gentleman, a friend of mine.

Gripe. What's his name?

Brass. His name!—--I'm in such a passion I have forgot it.

Gripe. Ah, brazen rogue——thou hast stole it from my wife: 'tis the same she lost six weeks ago.

Brass. This has not been in England a month.

Gripe. You are a son of a whore.

Brass. Give me my necklace.

Gripe. Give me my two hundred and fifty pound note.

Brass. Yet I offer peace: one word without passion. The case stands thus, either I'm out of my wits, or you are out of yours: now 'tis plain I am not out of my wits, Ergo——

Gripe. My bill, hang-dog, or I'll strangle thee.

[They struggle.

Brass. Murder, murder!

Enter Clarissa, Araminta, Corinna, Flippanta, and Money-trap.

Flip. What's the matter? What's the matter here?

Gripe. I'll matter him.

Clar. Who makes thee cry out thus, poor Brass?

Brass. Why, your husband, Madam, he's in his altitudes here.

Gripe. Robber.

Brass. Here, he has cheated me of a diamond necklace.

Cor. Who, Papa? Ah dear me!

Clar. Pr'ythee what's the meaning of this great emotion, my dear?

Gripe. The meaning is that——I'm quite out of breath——this son of a whore has got our necklace, that's all.

Clar. My necklace!

Gripe. That birdlime there—stole it.

Clar. Impossible!

Brass. Madam, you see master's a little——touch'd, that's all. Twenty ounces of blood let loose, wou'd set all right again.

Gripe. Here, call a constable presently. Neighbour Money-trap, you'll commit him.

Brass. D'ye hear? d'ye hear? See how wild he looks: how his eyes roll in his head: tye him down, or he'll do some mischief or other.

Gripe. Let me come at him.

Clar. Hold——pr'ythee, my dear, reduce things to a little temperance, and let us coolly into the secret of this disagreeable rupture.

Gripe. Well then, without passion; why, you must know, (but I'll have him hang'd) you must know that he came to Mr. Clip, to Mr. Clip the dog did——with a necklace to sell; so Mr. Clip having notice before that (can you deny this, Sirrah?) that you had lost yours, brings it to me: Look at it here, do you know it again? Ah, you traitor.

[To Brass.

Brass. He makes me mad. Here's an appearance of something now to the company, and yet nothing in't in the bottom.

Enter Constable.

Clar. Flippanta!

[Aside to Flippanta, shewing the necklace.

Flip. 'Tis it, faith; here's some mystery in this, we must look about us.

Clar. The safest way is point blank to disown the necklace.

Flip. Right, stick to that.

Gripe. Well, Madam, do you know your old acquaintance, ha?

Clar. Why, truly, my dear, tho' (as you may all imagine) I shou'd be very glad to recover so valuable a thing as my necklace, yet I must be just to all the world, this necklace is not mine.

Brass. Huzza——here constable do your duty; Mr. Justice, I demand my necklace, and satisfaction of him.

Gripe. I'll die before I part with it, I'll keep it, and have him hang'd.

Clar. But be a little calm, my dear, do my bird, and then thou'lt be able to judge rightly of things.

Gripe. O good lack, O good lack.

Clar. No, but don't give way to fury and interest both, either of 'em are passions strong enough to lead a wise man out of the way. The necklace not being really mine, give it the man again, and come drink a dish of tea.

Brass. Ay, Madam says right.

Gripe. Oons, if you with your addle head don't know your own jewels, I with my solid one do. And if I part with it, may famine be my portion.

Clar. But don't swear and curse thyself at this fearful rate; don't, my dove: Be temperate in your words, and just in all your actions, 'twill bring a blessing upon you and all your family.

Gripe. Bring thunder and lightning upon me and my family, if I part with my necklace.

Clar. Why, you'll have the lightning burn your house about your ears, my dear, it you go on in these practices.

Mon. A most excellent woman this!

[Aside.

Enter Mrs. Amlet.

Gripe. I'll keep my necklace.

Brass. Will you so? then here comes one has a title to it, if I han't; let Dick bring himself off with her as he can. Mrs. Amlet, you are come in very good time, you lost a necklace t'other day, and who do you think has got it?

Aml. Marry, that I know not, I wish I did.

Brass. Why then here's Mr. Gripe has it, and swears 'tis his wife's.

Gripe. And so I do, sirrah——look here, Mistress, do you pretend this is yours?

Aml. Not for the round world I wou'd not say it; I only kept it to do Madam a small courtesy? that's all.

Clar. Ah, Flippanta, all will out now.

[Aside to Flip.

Gripe. Courtesy! what courtesy?

Aml. A little money only that madam had present need of, please to pay me that, and I demand no more.

Brass. So here's fresh game, I have started a new hare, I find.

[Aside.

Gripe. How forsooth, is this true?

[To Clarissa.

Clar. You are in a humour at present, love, to believe any thing, so I won't take the pains to contradict it.

Brass. This damn'd necklace will spoil all our affairs, this is Dick's luck again.

[Aside.

Gripe. Are you not asham'd of these ways? Do you see how you are expos'd before your best friends here? don't you blush at it?

Clar. I do blush, my dear, but 'tis for you, that here it shou'd appear to the world, you keep me so bare of money, I'm forc'd to pawn my jewels.

Gripe. Impudent houswife!

[Raising his hand to strike her.

Clar. Softly, chicken: you might have prevented all this by giving me the two hundred and fifty pounds you sent to Araminta e'en now.

Brass. You see, Sir, I deliver'd your note: how I have been abus'd to-day!

Gripe. I'm betray'd——jades on both sides, I see that.

[Aside.

Mon. But, Madam, Madam, is this true I hear? Have you taken a present of two hundred and fifty pounds? Pray what were you to return for these pounds, Madam, ha?

Aram. Nothing, my dear, I only took 'em to reimburse you of about the same sum you sent to Clarissa.

Mon. Hum, hum, hum.

Gripe. How, gentlewoman, did you receive money from him?

Clar. O, my dear, 'twas only in jest, I knew you'd give it again to his wife.

Aml. But amongst all this tintamar, I don't hear a word of my hundred pounds. Is it Madam will pay me, or Master?

Gripe. I pay, the Devil shall pay.

Clar. Look you, my dear, malice apart, pay Mrs. Amlet her money, and I'll forgive you the wrong you intended my bed with Araminta: Am not I a good wife now?

Gripe. I burst with rage, and will get rid of this noose, tho' I tuck myself up in another.

Mon. Nay, pray, e'en tuck me up with you.

[Exit Mon. and Gripe.

Clar. & Aram. B'ye, dearies.

Enter Dick.

Cor. Look, look, Flippanta, here's the colonel come at last.

Dick. Ladies, I ask your pardon, I have stay'd so long, but——

Aml. Ah rogue's face, have I got thee, old Good-for-nought? sirrah, sirrah, do you think to amuse me with your marriages, and your great fortunes? Thou hast play'd me a rare prank by my conscience. Why you ungracious rascal, what do you think will be the end of all this? Now Heaven forgive me, but I have a great mind to hang thee for't.

Cor. She talks to him very familiarly, Flippanta.

Flip. So methinks, by my faith.

Brass. Now the rogue's star is making an end of him.

[Aside.

Dick. What shall I do with her?

[Aside.

Aml. Do but look at him, my dames, he has the countenance of a cherubim, but he's a rogue in his heart.

Clar. What is the meaning of all this, Mrs. Amlet?

Aml. The meaning, good lack! Why this all-to-be powder'd rascal here, is my son, an't please you; ha, graceless? Now I'll make you own your mother, vermine.

Clar. What, the colonel your son?

Aml. 'Tis Dick, Madam, that rogue Dick, I have so often told you of, with tears trickling down my old cheeks.

Aram. The woman's mad, it can never be.

Aml. Speak, rogue, am I not thy mother, ha? Did I not bring thee forth? say then.

Dick. What will you have me say? you had a mind to ruin me, and you have done't; wou'd you do any more?

Clar. Then, sir, you are son to good Mrs. Amlet?

Aram. And have had the assurance to put upon us all this while?

Flip. And the confidence to think of marrying Corinna.

Brass. And the impudence to hire me for your servant, who am as well born as yourself.

Clar. Indeed I think he shou'd be corrected.

Aram. Indeed I think he deserves to be cudgell'd.

Flip. Indeed I think he might be pumpt.

Brass. Indeed I think he will be hang'd.

Aml. Good lack-a-day, good lack-a-day! there's no need to be so smart upon him neither: if he is not a gentleman, he's a gentleman's fellow. Come hither, Dick, they shan't run thee down neither: cock up thy hat, Dick, and tell them tho' Mrs. Amlet is thy mother, she can make thee amends, with ten thousand good pounds to buy thee some lands, and build thee a house in the midst on't.

Omnes. How!

Clar. Ten thousand pounds, Mrs. Amlet?

Aml. Yes, forsooth; tho' I shou'd lose the hundred, you pawn'd your necklace for. Tell 'em that, Dick.

Cor. Look you, Flippanta, I can hold no longer, and I hate to see the young man abus'd. And so, Sir, if you please, I'm your friend and servant, and what's mine is yours; and when our estates are put together, I don't doubt but we shall do as well as the best of 'em.

Dick. Say'st thou so, my little queen? Why then if dear mother will give us her blessing, the parson shall give us a tack. We'll get her a score of grand-children, and a merry house we'll make her.

[They kneel to Mrs. Amlet.

Aml. Ah——ha, ha, ha, the pretty pair, the pretty pair! rise my chickens, rise, rise and face the proudest of them. And if Madam does not deign to give her consent, a fig for her Dick——Why how now?

Clar. Pray, Mrs. Amlet, don't be in a passion, the girl is my husband's girl, and if you can have his consent, upon my word you shall have mine, for any thing that belongs to him.

Flip. Then all is peace again, but we have been more lucky than wise.

Aram. And I suppose, for us, Clarissa, we are to go on with our dears, as we us'd to do.

Clar. Just in the same track, for this late treaty of agreement with 'em, was so unnatural, you see it cou'd not hold. But 'tis just as well with us, as if it had. Well, 'tis a strange fate, good folks. But while you live, every thing gets well out of a broil, but a husband.

---

Spoken by Mrs. Barry.

---

Written by Mr. STEELE.

Spoken by Mr. Booth.

---

THE
MISTAKE.

---

SCENE, the Street.

Enter Carlos and Sancho.

Car. I Tell thee, I am satisfy'd, I'm in love enough to be suspicious of every body.

San. And yet methinks, Sir, you shou'd leave me out.

Car. It may be so; I can't tell: but I'm not at ease. If they don't make a knave, at least they will make a fool of thee.

San. I don't believe a word on't: but good faith, Master, your love makes somewhat of you; I don't know what 'tis; but methinks when you suspect me, you don't seem a man of half those parts I us'd to take you for. Look in my face, 'tis round and comely, not one hollow line of a villain in it: men of my fabrick don't use to be suspected for knaves; and when you take us for fools, we never take you for wise men. For my part, in this present case, I take myself to be mighty deep. A stander-by, Sir, sees more than a gamester. You are pleased to be jealous of your poor Mistress without a cause, she uses you but too well, in my humble opinion; she sees you, and talks with you, till I'm quite tir'd on't sometimes; and your rival that you are so scar'd about, forces a visit upon her about once in a fortnight.

Car. Alas, thou art ignorant of these affairs, he that's the civilest received is often the least car'd for: women appear warm to one, to hide a flame for another. Lorenzo in short appears too compos'd of late to be a rejected lover, and the indifference he shews upon the favours I seem to receive from her, poisons the pleasure I else shou'd taste in them, and keeps me upon a perpetual rack. No——I would fain see some of his jealous transports, have him fire at the sight of me, contradict me whenever I speak, affront me wherever he meets me, challenge me, fight me——

San. ——Run you through the guts.

Car. But he's too calm, his heart's too much at ease, to leave me mine at rest.

San. But, Sir, you forget that there are two ways for our hearts to get at ease; when our mistresses come to be very fond of us, or we—not to care a fig for them. Now suppose upon the rebukes you know he has had, it shou'd chance to be the latter.

Car. Again thy ignorance appears; alas, a lover who has broke his chain, will shun the tyrant that enslaved him. Indifference never is his lot; he loves or hates for ever; and if his mistress proves another's prize, he cannot calmly see her in his arms.

San. For my part, Master, I am not so great a philosopher as you be, nor (thank my stars) so bitter a lover, but what I see——that I generally believe; and when Jacinta tells me she loves me dearly, I have good thoughts enough of my person never to doubt the truth on't. See here the baggage comes.

Enter Jacinta with a letter.

Hist! Jacinta! my dear.

Jacin. Who's that? Blunderbuss! Where's your Master?

San. Hard by.

[Shewing him.

Jacin. O, Sir, I'm glad I have found you at last; I believe I have travel'd five miles after you, and could neither find you at home, nor in the walks, nor at church, nor at the opera nor——

San. Nor any where else, where he was not to be found: if you had look'd for him where he was, 'twas ten to one but you had met with him.

Jacin. I had, Jack-a-dandy!

Car. But pr'ythee what's the matter? Who sent you after me?

Jacin. One who's never well but when she sees you, I think; 'twas my Lady.

Car. Dear Jacinta, I fain would flatter myself, but am not able; the blessing's too great to be my lot: yet 'tis not well to trifle with me; how short soe'er I am in other merit, the tenderness I have for Leonora claims something from her generosity. I should not be deluded.

Jacin. And why do you think you are? methinks she's pretty well above board with you: what must be done more to satisfy you?

San. Why Lorenzo must hang himself, and then we are content.

Jacin. How! Lorenzo?

San. If less will do, he'll tell you.

Jacin. Why, you are not mad, Sir, are you? Jealous of him! Pray which way may this have got into your head? I took you for a man of sense before——Is this your doings, dog?

[To Sancho.

San. No, forsooth Pert, I'm not much given to suspicion, as you can tell, Mrs. Forward——if I were, I might find more cause I guess, than your Mistress has given our Master here. But I have so many pretty thoughts of my own person, hussy, more than I have of yours, that I stand in dread of no man.

Jacin. That's the way to prosper; however, so far I'll confess the truth to thee; at least if that don't do, nothing else will. Men are mighty simple in love-matters, Sir: when you suspect woman's a falling off, you fall a plaguing her to bring her on again, attack her with reason and a sour face: udslife, Sir, attack her with a fiddle, double your good humour——give her a ball——powder your perriwig at her——let her cheat you at cards a little, and I'll warrant all's right again. But to come upon a poor woman with the gloomy face of jealousy, before she gives the least occasion for't, is to set a complaisant rival in too favourable a light. Sir, Sir, I must tell you, I have seen those have ow'd their success to nothing else.

Car. Say no more; I have been to blame, but there shall be no more on't.

Jac. I should punish you but justly however for what's past, if I carried back what I have brought you; but I'm good-natur'd, so here 'tis; open it, and see how wrong you tim'd your jealousy.

Car. [Reads.] If you love me with that tenderness you have made me long believe you do, this letter will be welcome; 'tis to tell you, you have leave to plead a daughter's weakness to a father's indulgence: and if you prevail with him to lay his commands upon me, you shall be as happy as my obedience to them can make you. Leonora.

Then I shall be what man was never yet [Kissing the Letter.] Ten thousand blessings on thee for thy news, I could adore thee as a Deity.

[Embracing Jacin.

Jacin. True flesh and blood, every inch of her, for all that.

Car. [Reads again.] And if you prevail with him to lay his commands upon me, you shall be as happy as my obedience to them can make you.

O happy, happy Carlos! But what shall I say to thee for this welcome message? [To Jacinta.] Alas! I want words——But let this speak for me, and this, and this, and——

[Giving her his ring, watch, and purse.

San. Hold, Sir; pray leave a little something for our board-wages. You can't carry 'em all, I believe: [To Jacinta.] shall I ease thee of this?

[Offering to take the purse.

Jacin. No; but you may carry——That, sirrah.

[Giving him a box o' th' ear.

San. The jade's grown purse-proud already.

Car. Well, dear Jacinta, say something to your charming mistress, that I am not able to say myself: But, above all, excuse my late unpardonable folly, and offer her my life to expiate my crime.

Jacin. The best plea for pardon will be never to repeat the fault.

Car. If that will do 'tis seal'd for ever.

Jacin. Enough; but I must be gone; success attend you with the old gentleman. Good-by t'ye, Sir.

[Exit Jacin.

Car. Eternal blessings follow thee.

San. I think she has taken them all with her; the jade has got her apron full.

Car. Is not that Lorenzo coming this way?

San. Yes, 'tis he; for my part now I pity the poor gentleman.

Enter Lorenzo.

Car. I'll let him see at last I can be chearful too. Your servant, Don Lorenzo; how do you do this morning?

Lor. I thank you, Don Carlos, perfectly well both in body and mind.

Car. What! cur'd of your love, then?

Lor. No, nor I hope I never shall. May I ask you how 'tis with yours?

Car. Increasing every hour; we are very constant both.

Lor. I find so much delight in being so, I hope I never shall be otherwise.

Car. Those joys I am well acquainted with. But should lose them soon, were I to meet a cool reception.

Lor. That's every generous lover's case, no doubt; an angel could not fire my heart but with an equal flame.

Car. And yet you said you still lov'd Leonora.

Lor. And yet I said I lov'd her.

Car. Does she then return you——

Lor. Everything my passion can require.

Car. Its wants are small, I find.

Lor. Extended as the Heavens.

Car. I pity you.

Lor. He must be a Deity that does so.

Car. Yet I'm a mortal, and once more can pity you. Alas, Lorenzo, 'tis a poor cordial to an aching heart, to have the tongue alone announce it happy; besides 'tis mean, you should be more a man.

Lor. I find I have made you an unhappy one, so can forgive the boilings of your spleen.

Car. This seeming calmness might have the effect your vanity proposes by it; had I not a testimony of her love would (should I shew it) sink you to the center.

Lor. Yet still I'm calm as ever.

Car. Nay then have at your peace. Read that, and end the farce.

[Gives him Leonora's letter.

Lor. [Reads.] I have read it.

Car. And know the hand?

Lor. 'Tis Leonora's; I have often seen it.

Car. I hope you then at last are satisfied.

Lor. I am, [Smiling.] Good-morrow, Carlos.

[Exit Lor.

San. Sure he's mad, Master.

Car. Mad! say'st thou?

San. And yet by'r lady, that was a sort of a dry sober smile at going off.

Car. A very sober one! Had he shewn me such a letter, I had put on another countenance.

San. Ay, o' my conscience had you.

Car. Here's mystery in this——I like it not.

San. I see his man and confidant there, Lopez. Shall I draw on a Scotch pair of boots, Master, and make him tell all?

Car. Some questions I must ask him; call him hither.

San. Hem, Lopez, hem!

Enter Lopez.

Lop. Who calls?

San. I, and my master.

Lop. I can't stay.

San. You can indeed, Sir.

[Laying hold on him.

Car. Whither in such haste, honest Lopez! What! upon some love errand?

Lop. Sir, your servant; I ask your pardon, but I was going——

Car. I guess where; but you need not be shy of me any more, thy master and I are no longer rivals; I have yielded up the cause; the lady will have it so, so I submit.

Lop. Is it possible, Sir, shall I then live to see my master and you friends again?

San. Yes; and what's better, thou and I shall be friends too. There will be no more fear of Christian bloodshed. I give thee up Jacinta; she's a slippery hussy, so master and I are going to match ourselves elsewhere.

Lop. But is it possible, Sir, your honour should be in earnest? I'm afraid you are pleased to be merry with your poor humble servant.

Car. I'm not at present much dispos'd to mirth, my indifference in this matter is not so thoroughly form'd; but my reason has so far master'd my passion, to shew me 'tis in vain to pursue a woman whose heart already is another's. 'Tis what I have so plainly seen of late, I have rous'd my resolution to my aid, and broke my chains for ever.

Lop. Well, Sir, to be plain with you, this is the joyfullest news I have heard this long time; for I always knew you to be a mighty honest gentleman, and good faith it often went to the heart o' me to see you so abused. Dear, dear have I often said to myself (when they have had a private meeting just after you have been gone)——

Car. Ha!

San. Hold, Master, don't kill him yet.

[To Car. aside.

Lop. I say I have said to myself, what wicked things are women, and what pity it is they should be suffer'd in a Christian country; what a shame they should be allow'd to play Will-in-the-wisp with men of honour, and lead them thro' thorns and briars, and rocks, and rugged ways, 'till their hearts are all torn to pieces, like an old coat in a fox-chace; I say, I have said to myself——

Car. Thou hast said enough to thyself, but say a little more to me: Where were these secret meetings thou talk'st of?

Lop. In sundry places, and by divers ways; sometimes in the cellar, sometimes in the garret, sometimes in the court, sometimes in the gutter; but the place where the kiss of kisses was given was——

Car. In Hell.

Lop. Sir!

Car. Speak, fury, what dost thou mean by the kiss of kisses?

Lop. The kiss of peace, Sir, the kiss of union; the kiss of consummation.

Car. Thou ly'st, villain.

Lop. I don't know but I may, Sir,——What the Devil's the matter now?

[Aside.

Car. There's not a word of truth in all thy cursed tongue has utter'd.

Lop. No, Sir, I——I——believe there is not.

Car. Why then didst thou say it, wretch?

Lop. O——only in jest. Sir.

Car. I am not in a jesting condition.

Lop. Nor I at present, Sir.

Car. Speak then the truth, as thou wouldst do it at the hour of death.

Lop. Yes, at the gallows, and be turn'd off as soon as I've done.

[Aside.

Car. What's that you murmur?

Lop. Nothing but a short prayer.

Car. I am distracted, and fright the wretch from telling me what I am upon the rack to know. [Aside.] Forgive me, Lopez, I am to blame to speak thus harshly to thee: let this obtain thy pardon. [Gives him money.] Thou see'st I am disturb'd.

Lop. Yes, Sir, I see I have been led into a snare; I have said too much.

Car. And yet you must say more; nothing can lessen my torment, but a farther knowledge of what causes my misery. Speak then! Have I any thing to hope?

Lop. Nothing; but that you may be a happier bachelor, than my master may probably be a married man.

Car. Married, say'st thou?

Lop. I did, Sir, and believe he'll say so too in a twelvemonth.

Car. O torment!—--But give me more on't: When, how, to whom, where?

Lop. Yesterday, to Leonora, by the parson, in the pantry.

Car. Look to't, if this be false, thy life shall pay the torment thou hast given me: be gone.

Lop. With the body and the soul o'me.

[Ex. Lopez.

San. Base news, Master.

Car. Now my insulting rival's smile speaks out: O cursed, cursed woman!

Enter Jacinta.

Jacin. I'm come in haste to tell you, Sir, that as soon as the moon's up, my lady will give you a meeting in the close-walk by the back-door of the garden; she thinks she has something to propose to you will certainly get her father's consent to marry you.

Car. Past sufferance! this aggravation is not to be borne: go, thank her—with my curses: fly——and let them blast her, while their venom is strong.

[Exit Car.

Jacin.——Won't thou explain? What's this storm for?

San. And dar'st thou ask me questions, smooth-faced iniquity, crocodile of Nile, syren of the rocks? Go carry back the too gentle answer thou hast received: only let me add with the poet:

[Exit Sancho.

Jacinta sola.

Am I awake!—--I fancy not; a very idle dream this. Well: I'll go talk in my sleep to my lady about it; and when I awake, we'll try what interpretation we can make on't.

[Exit.

---

Enter Camillo and Isabella.

Isabella.

How can you doubt my secrecy? Have you not proofs of it?

Cam. Nay I am determin'd to trust you; but are we safe here? can no body over-hear us?

Isab. Much safer than in a room. No body can come within hearing, before we see them.

Cam. And yet how hard 'tis for me to break silence!

Isab. Your secret sure must be of great importance.

Cam. You may be sure it is, when I confess 'tis with regret I own it e'en to you; and were it possible, you should not know it.

Isab. 'Tis frankly own'd, indeed; but 'tis not kind, perhaps not prudent; after what you know I already am acquainted with. Have not I been bred up with you? And am I ignorant of a secret, which were it known——

Cam. Would be my ruin; I confess it would. I own you know why both my birth and sex are thus disguised; you know how I was taken from my cradle to secure the estate, which had else been lost by young Camillo's death; but which is now safe in my supposed father's hands, by my passing for his son; and 'tis because you know all this, I have resolved to open farther wonders to you. But before I say any more, you must resolve one doubt, which often gives me great disturbance; whether Don Alvarez ever was himself privy to the Mystery which has disguised my sex, and made me pass for his son?

Isab. What you ask me, is a thing has often perplex'd my thoughts, as well as yours, nor could my mother ever resolve the doubt. You know when that young child Camillo dy'd, in whom was wrapt up so much expectation, from the great estate his uncle's will (even before he came into the world) had left him; his mother made a secret of his death to her husband Alvarez, and readily fell in with a proposal made her to take you (who then was just Camillo's Age) and bring you up in his room. You have heard how you were then at nurse with my mother, and how your own was privy and consenting to the plot; but Don Alvarez was never led into it by 'em.

Cam. Don't you then think it probable his wife might after tell him?

Isab. 'Twas ever thought nothing but a death-bed repentance cou'd draw it from her to any one; and that was prevented by the suddenness of her exit to t'other world, which did not give her even time to call Heaven's mercy on her. And yet now I have said all this, I own the correspondence and friendship I observe he holds with your real mother, gives me some suspicion, and the presents he often makes her (which people seldom do for nothing) confirm it. But since this is all I can say to you on that point, pray let us come to the secret, which you have made me impatient to hear.

Cam. Know then, that tho' Cupid is blind, he is not to be deceived: I can hide my sex from the world but not from him; his dart has found the way thro' the manly garb I wear to pierce a virgin's tender heart——I love——

Isab. How!

Cam. Nay be'nt surpriz'd at that, I have other wonders for you.

Isab. Quick, let me hear 'em.

Cam. I love Lorenzo.

Isab. Lorenzo! Most nicely hit. The very man from whom your imposture keeps this vast estate; and who on the first knowledge of your being a woman wou'd enter into possession of it. This is indeed a wonder.

Cam. Then wonder still, I am his wife.

Isab. Ha! his wife!

Cam. His wife, Isabella; and yet thou hast not all my wonders, I am his wife without his knowledge: he does not even know I am a woman.

Isab. Madam, your humble servant; if you please to go on, I won't interrupt you, indeed I won't.

Cam. Then hear how these strange things have past; Lorenzo, bound unregarded in my sister's chains, seem'd in my eyes a conquest worth her care. Nor cou'd I see him treated with contempt, without growing warm in his interest: I blam'd Leonora for not being touch'd with his merit; I blam'd her so long, 'till I grew touch'd with it myself: and the reasons I urg'd to vanquish her heart, insensibly made a conquest of my own: 'Twas thus, my friend, I fell. What was next to be done my passion pointed out; my heart I felt was warm'd to a noble enterprize, I gave it way, and boldly on it led me. Leonora's name and voice, in the dark shades of night, I borrow'd, to engage the object of my wishes. I met him, Isabella, and so deceived him; he cannot blame me sure, for much I blest him. But to finish this strange story: in short I own, I long had lov'd, but finding my father most averse to my desires, I at last had forc'd myself to this secret correspondence; I urg'd the mischiefs would attend the knowledge on't, I urg'd them so, he thought them full of weight, so yielded to observe what rules I gave him: they were, to pass the day in cold indifference, to avoid even signs or looks of intimacy, but gather for the still, the secret night, a flood of love to recompence the losses of the day. I will not trouble you with lovers cares, nor what contrivances we form'd to bring this toying to a solid bliss. Know only, when three nights we thus had pass'd, the fourth it was agreed should make us one for ever; each kept their promise, and last night has join'd us.

Isab. Indeed your talents pass my poor extent; you serious ladies are well form'd for business: What wretched work a poor coquet had made on't! But still there's that remains will try your skill; you have your man, but——

Cam. Lovers think no farther, the object of that passion possesses all desire; however I have open'd to you my wond'rous situation. If you can advise me in my difficulties to come, you will. But see——My husband!

Enter Lorenzo.

Lor. You look as if you were busy, pray tell me if I interrupt you, I'll retire.

Cam. No, no, you have a right to interrupt us, since you were the subject of our discourse.

Lor. Was I?

Cam. You were; nay, I'll tell you how you entertain'd us too.

Lor. Perhaps I had as good avoid hearing that.

Cam. You need not fear, it was not to your disadvantage; I was commending you and saying, if I had been a woman I had been in danger; nay I think I said I shou'd infallibly have been in love with you.

Lor. While such an If is in the way, you run no great risque in declaring; but you'd be finely catch'd now, shou'd some wonderful transformation give me a claim to your heart.

Cam. Not sorry for't at all, for I ne'er expect to find a mistress please me half so well as you would do if I were yours.

Lor. Since you are so well inclin'd to me in your wishes, Sir, I suppose (as the fates have ordain'd it) you wou'd have some pleasure in helping me to a mistress, since you can't be mine yourself.

Cam. Indeed I shou'd not.

Lor. Then my obligation is but small to you.

Cam. Why, wou'd you have a woman, that is in love with you herself, employ her interest to help you to another?

Lor. No, but you being no woman might.

Cam. Sir, 'tis as a woman I say what I do, and I suppose myself a woman when I design all these favours to you: therefore out of that supposition, I have no other good intentions to you than you may expect from one that says he's——Sir, your humble servant.

Lor. So unless Heaven is pleas'd to work a miracle, and from a sturdy young fellow, make you a kind-hearted young lady, I'm to get little by your good opinion of me.

Cam. Yes; there is one means yet left (on this side a miracle) that wou'd perhaps engage me, if with an honest oath you could declare, were I woman, I might dispute your heart even with the first of my pretending sex.

Lor. Then solemnly and honestly I swear, that had you been a woman, and I the master of the world, I think I should have laid it at your feet.

Cam. Then honestly and solemnly I swear, henceforwards all your interest shall be mine.

Lor. I have a secret to impart to you will quickly try your friendship.

Cam. I've a secret to unfold to you will put you even to a fiery trial.

Lor. What do you mean, Camillo?

Cam. I mean that I love, where I never durst yet own it, yet where 'tis in your power to make me the happiest of——

Lor. Explain, Camillo; and be assur'd if your happiness is in my power, 'tis in your own.

Cam. Alas! you promise me you know not what.

Lor. I promise nothing but what I will perform; name the person.

Cam. 'Tis one who is very near to you.

Lor. If 'tis my sister, why all this pain in bringing forth the secret?

Cam. Alas! it is your——

Lor. Speak!

Cam. I cannot yet; farewel.

Lor. Hold! Pray speak it now.

Cam. I must not: but when you tell me your secret, you shall know mine.

Lor. Mine is not in my power, without the consent of another.

Cam. Get that consent, and then we'll try who best will keep their oaths.

Lor. I am content.

Cam. And I. Adieu.

Lor. Farewel.

[Exit Lorenzo.

Enter Leonora and Jacinta.

Leo. 'Tis enough: I will revenge myself this way; if it does but torment him, I shall be content to find no other pleasure in it. Brother, you'll wonder at my change; after all my ill usage of Lorenzo, I am determined to be his wife.

Cam. How, sister! so sudden a turn? This inequality of temper indeed is not commendable.

Leo. Your change, brother, is much more justly surprizing; you hitherto have pleaded for him strongly, accus'd me of blindness, cruelty, and pride; and now I yield to your reasons, and resolve in his favour, you blame my compliance, and appear against his interest.

Cam. I quit his service for what's dearer to me, yours. I have learn'd from sure intelligence, the attack he made on you was but a feint, and that his heart is in another's chain; I would not therefore see you expos'd, to offer up yourself to one who must refuse you.

Leo. If that be all, leave me my honour to take care of; I am no stranger to his wishes, he won't refuse me, brother, nor I hope will you, to tell him of my resolution: if you do, this moment with my own tongue (thro' all the virgin's blushes) I'll own to him I am determin'd in his favour——You pause as if you'd let the task lie on me.

Cam. Neither on you, nor me; I have a reason you are yet a stranger to: know then there is a virgin young and tender, whose peace and happiness so much are mine, I cannot see her miserable; she loves him with that torrent of desire, that were the world resign'd her in his stead, she'd still be wretched: I will not pique you to a female strife, by saying you have not charms to tear him from her; but I would move you to a female softness, by telling you her death wou'd wait your conquest. What I have more to plead is as a brother, I hope that gives me some small interest in you; whate'er it is, you see how I'd employ it.

Leo. You ne'er cou'd put it to a harder service. I beg a little time to think: pray leave me to myself a while.

Cam. I shall; I only ask that you wou'd think, and then you won't refuse me.

[Exit Cam.

Jacin. Indeed, Madam, I'm of your brother's mind, tho' for another cause; but sure 'tis worth thinking twice on for your own sake: you are too violent.

Leo. A slighted woman knows no bounds. Vengeance is all the cordial she can have, so snatches at the nearest. Ungrateful wretch! to use me with such insolence.

Jacin. You see me as much enrag'd at it, as you are yourself, yet my brain is roving after the cause, for something there must be: never letter was receiv'd by man with more passion and transport; I was almost as charming a goddess as yourself, only for bringing it. Yet when in a moment after I come with a message worth a dozen on't, never was witch so handled; something must have pass'd between one and t'other, that's sure.

Leo. Nothing cou'd pass worth my enquiring after, since nothing cou'd happen that can excuse his usage of me; he had a letter under my hand which own'd him master of my heart; and till I contradicted it with my mouth, he ought not to doubt the truth on't.

Jacin. Nay I confess, madam, I han't a word to say for him, I'm afraid he's a rogue at bottom, as well as my shameless that attends him; we are bit, by my troth, and haply well enough serv'd, for list'ning to the glib tongues of the rascals: but be comforted, Madam; they'll fall into the hands of some foul sluts or other, before they die, that will set our account even with e'm.

Leo. Well: let him laugh; let him glory in what he has done: he shall see I have a spirit can use him as I ought.

Jacin. And let one thing be your comfort by the way, Madam, that in spite of all your dear affections to him, you have had the grace to keep him at arms length. You han't thank'd me for't; but good faith 'twas well I did not stir out of the chamber that fond night. For there are times the stoutest of us are in danger, the rascals wheedle so.

Leo. In short, my very soul is fir'd with his treatment: and if ever that perfidious monster should relent, though he should crawl like a poor worm beneath my feet, nay plunge a dagger in his heart, to bleed for pardon; I charge thee strictly, charge thee on thy life, thou do not urge a look to melt me toward him, but strongly buoy me up in brave resentment; and if thou see'st (which heav'ns avert) a glance of weakness in me, rouse to my memory the vile wrongs I've borne, and blazon them with skill in all their glaring colours.

Jacin. Madam, never doubt me; I'm charged to the mouth with fury, and if ever I meet that fat traitor of mine, such a volley will I pour about his ears——Now heav'n prevent all hasty vows; but in the humour I am, methinks I'd carry my maiden-head to my cold grave with me, before I'd let it simper at the rascal. But soft; here comes your father.

Enter Alvarez.

Alv. Leonora, I'd have you retire a little, and send your brother's tutor to me, Metaphrastus.

[Exit Leo. and Jacin.

Solus.

I'll try if I can discover, by his tutor, what it is that seems so much to work his brain of late; for something more than common there plainly does appear, yet nothing sure that can disturb his soul, like what I have to torture mine upon his account. Sure nothing in this world is worth a troubled mind: what racks has avarice stretch'd me on! I wanted nothing, kind heav'n had given me a plenteous lot, and seated me in great abundance; why then approve I of this imposture? What have I gain'd by it? Wealth and misery. I have barter'd peaceful days for restless nights; a wretched bargain! and he that merchandises thus, must be undone at last.

Enter Metaphrastus.

Metaph. Mandatum tuum curo diligenter.

Alv. Master, I had a mind to ask you——

Metaph. The title, master, comes from Magis and Ter, which is as much, to say, thrice worthy.

Alv. I never heard so much before, but it may be true for ought I know: but, master——

Metaph. Go on.

Alv. Why so I will if you'll let me, but don't interrupt me then.

Metaph. Enough, proceed.

Alv. Why then, master, for a third time, my son Camillo gives me much uneasiness of late; you know I love him, and have many careful thoughts about him.

Metaph. 'Tis true. Filio non potest præferri nisi filius.

Alv. Master, when one has business to talk on, these scholastic expressions are not of use; I believe you a great Latinist; possibly you may understand Greek: those who recommended you to me, said so, and I am willing it should be true: but the thing I want to discourse you about at present, does not properly give you an occasion to display your learning. Besides, to tell you truth, 'twill at all times be lost upon me; my father was a wise man, but he taught me nothing beyond common sense; I know but one tongue in the world, which luckily being understood by you as well as me, I fancy whatever thoughts we have to communicate to one another, may reasonably be convey'd in that, without having recourse to the language of Julius Cæsar.

Metaph. You are wrong, but may proceed.

Alv. I thank you: what is the matter, I do not know; but tho' it is of the utmost consequence to me to marry my son, what match soever I propose to him, he still finds some pretence or other to decline it.

Metaph. He is, perhaps, of the humour of a brother of Marcus Tullius, who——

Alv. Dear master, leave the Greeks, and the Latins, and the Scotch, and the Welsh, and let me go on in my business; what have those people to do with my son's marriage?

Metaph. Again you are wrong; but go on.

Alv. I say then, that I have strong apprehensions from his refusing all my proposals, that he may have some secret inclination of his own; and to confirm me in this fear, I yesterday observed him (without his knowing it) in a corner of the grove, where nobody comes——

Metaph. A place out of the way, you would say; a place of retreat.

Alv. Why, the corner of the grove, where nobody comes, is a place of retreat, is it not?

Metaph. In Latin, secessus.

Alv. Ha!

Metaph. As Virgil has it. Est in secessu locus.

Alv. How could Virgil have it, when I tell you no soul was there but he and I?

Metaph. Virgil is a famous author, I quote his saying as a phrase more proper to the occasion than that you use, and not as one who was in the wood with you.

Alv. And I tell you, I hope to be as famous as any Virgil of 'em all, when I have been dead as long, and have no need of a better phrase than my own to tell you my meaning.

Metaph. You ought however to make choice of the words most us'd by the best authors. Tu vivendo bonos, as they say, scribendo sequare peritos.

Alv. Again!

Metaph. 'Tis Quintilian's own precept.

Alv. Oons——

Metaph. And he hath something very learned upon it, that may be of service to you to hear.

Alv. You son of a whore, will you hear me speak?

Metaph. What may be the occasion of this unmanly passion? What is it you would have with me?

Alv. What you might have known an hour ago, if you had pleas'd.

Metaph. You would then have me hold my peace.——I shall.

Alv. You will do very well.

Metaph. You see I do; well, go on.

Alv. Why then, to begin once again, I say my son Camillo——

Metaph. Proceed; I shan't interrupt you.

Alv. I say, my son Camillo——

Metaph. What is it you say of your son Camillo?

Alv. That he has got a dog of a tutor, whose brains I'll beat out, if he won't hear me speak.

Metaph. That dog is a philosopher, contemns passion, and yet will hear you.

Alv. I don't believe a word on't, but I'll try once again; I have a mind to know from you, whether you have observ'd any thing in my son——

Metaph. Nothing that is like his father. Go on.

Alv. Have a care.

Metaph. I do not interrupt you; but you are long in coming to a conclusion.

Alv. Why, thou hast not let me begin yet.

Metaph. And yet 'tis high time to have made an end.

Alv. Dost thou know thy danger? I have not——thus much patience left.

[Shewing the end of his finger.

Metaph. Mine is already consum'd. I do not use to be thus treated; my profession is to teach, and not to hear, yet I have hearken'd like a school-boy, and am not heard, altho' a master.

Alv. Get out of the room.

Metaph. I will not. If the mouth of a wise man be shut, he is, as it were, a fool; for who shall know his understanding? Therefore a certain philosopher said well, Speak, that thou may'st be known; great talkers, without knowledge, are as the winds that whistle; but they who have learning, should speak aloud. If this be not permitted, we may expect to see the whole order of nature o'erthrown; hens devour foxes, and lambs destroy wolves, nurses suck children, and children give suck; generals mend stockings, and chambermaids take towns; we may expect, I say——

Alv. That, and that, and that, and——

[Strikes him, and kicks him; and then follows him off with a bell at his ear.

Metaph. O tempora! O mores!

---

SCENE, the Street.

Enter Lopez.

Lop. Sometimes fortune seconds a bold design, and when folly has brought us into a trap, impudence brings us out on't. I have been caught by this hot-headed lover here, and have told like a puppy what I shall be beaten for like a dog. Come! courage, my dear Lopez; fire will fetch out fire: thou hast told one body thy master's secret, e'en tell it to half a dozen more, and try how that will thrive; go tell it to the two old Dons, the lovers fathers. The thing's done, and can't be retriev'd; perhaps they'll lay their two ancient heads together, club a pennyworth of wisdom a-piece, and with great penetration at last find out, that 'tis best to submit, where 'tis not in their power to do otherwise. This being resolv'd, there's no time to be lost.

[Knocks at Alvarez's door.

Alv. Who knocks?

[Within.

Lop. Lopez.

Alv. What dost want?

[Looking out.

Lop. To bid you good-morrow, Sir.

Alv. Well, good-morrow to thee again.

[Retires.

Lop. What a——I think he does not care for my company.

[Knocks again.

Alv. Who knocks?

Lop. Lopez.

Alv. What would'st have?

[Looking out.

Lop. My old master, Sir, gives his service to you, and desires to know how you do.

Alv. How I do? Why well: how shou'd I do? Service to him again.

[Retires.

Lop. Sir.

Alv. [Returning.] What the deuce wouldst thou have with me, with thy good-morrows, and thy services?

Lop. This man does not understand good breeding, I find. [Aside.] Why, Sir, my master has some very earnest business with you.

Alv. Business! About what? What business can he have with me?

Lop. I don't know, truly; but 'tis some very important matter: he has just now (as I hear) discover'd some great secret, which he must needs talk with you about.

Alv. Ha! a secret, say'st thou?

Lop. Yes; and bid me bring him word, if you were at home, he'd be with you presently. Sir, your humble servant.

[Exit Lopez.

Alvarez solus.

A secret: and must speak with me about it! Heav'ns, how I tremble! What can this message mean? I have very little acquaintance with him, what business can he have with me? An important secret 'twas, he said, and that he had just discover'd it. Alas, I have in the world but one, if it be that——I'm lost; an eternal blot must fix upon me. How unfortunate am I, that I have not follow'd the honest counsels of my heart, which have often urg'd me to set my conscience at ease, by rendering to him the estate that is his due, and which by a foul imposture I keep from him. But 'tis now too late; my villainy is out, and I shall not only be forc'd with shame to restore him what is his, but shall be perhaps condemned to make him reparation with my own. O terrible view!

Enter Don Felix.

Don Fel. My son to go and marry her, without her father's knowledge? This can never end well. I don't know what to do, he'll conclude I was privy to it, and his power and interest are so great at court, he may with ease contrive my ruin: I tremble at his sending to speak with me——Mercy on me, there he is.

[Aside.

Alv. Ah! Shield me, kind heaven! There's Don Felix come: how I am struck with the sight of him! O the torment of a guilty mind!

[Aside.

Don Fel. What shall I say to soften him?

[Aside.

Alv. How shall I look him in the face?

[Aside.

Don Fel. 'Tis impossible he can forgive it.

[Aside.

Alv. To be sure he'll expose me to the whole world.

[Aside.

Don Fel. I see his countenance change.

[Aside.

Alv. With what contempt he looks upon me!

[Aside.

Don Fel. I see, Don Alvarez, by the disorder of your face, you are but too well inform'd of what brings me here.

Alv. 'Tis true.

Don Fel. The news may well surprize you, 'tis what I have been far from apprehending.

Alv. Wrong, very wrong, indeed.

Don Fel. This action is certainly to the last point to be condemn'd, and I think nobody should pretend to excuse the guilty.

Alv. They are not to be excus'd, tho' heaven may have mercy.

Don Fel. That's what I hope you will consider.

Alv. We should act as Christians.

Don Fel. Most certainly.

Alv. Let mercy then prevail.

Don Fel. It is indeed of heavenly birth.

Alv. Generous Don Felix!

Don Fel. Too indulgent Alvarez!

Alv. I thank you on my knee.

Don Fel. 'Tis I ought to have been there first.

[They kneel.

Alv. Is it then possible we are friends?

Don Fel. Embrace me to confirm it.

[They embrace.

Alv. Thou best of men!

Don Fel. Unlook'd-for bounty!

Alv. Did you know the torment [Rising.] this unhappy action has given me——

Don. Fel. 'Tis impossible it could do otherwise; nor has my trouble been less.

Alv. But let my misfortune be kept secret.

Don Fel. Most willingly; my advantage is sufficient by it, without the vanity of making it publick to the world.

Alv. Incomparable goodness! That I should thus have wronged a man so worthy! [Aside.] My honour then, is safe?

Don Fel. For ever, even for ever let it be a secret, I am content.

Alv. Noble gentleman! [Aside.] As to what advantages ought to accrue to you by it, it shall be all to your entire satisfaction.

Don Fel. Wonderful bounty! [Aside.] As to that, Don Alvarez, I leave it entirely to you, and shall be content with whatever you think reasonable.

Alv. I thank you, from my soul I must, you know I must.——This must be an angel, not a man.

[Aside.

Don Fel. The thanks lie on my side, Alvarez, for this unexpected generosity, but may all faults be forgot, and heav'n ever prosper you.

Alv. The same prayer I, with a double fervour, offer up for you.

Don Fel. Let us then once more embrace, and be forgiveness seal'd for ever.

Alv. Agreed; thou best of men, agreed.

[They embrace.

Don Fel. This thing then being thus happily terminated, let me own to you, Don Alvarez, I was in extreme apprehensions of your utmost resentment on this occasion; for I could not doubt but you had form'd more happy views in the disposal of so fair a daughter as Leonora, than my poor son's inferior fortune e'er can answer; but since they are join'd, and that——

Alv. Ha!

Don Fel. Nay, 'tis very likely to discourse of it may not be very pleasing to you, tho' your christianity and natural goodness have prevail'd on you so generously to forgive it. But to do justice to Leonora, and skreen her from your too harsh opinion in this unlucky action, 'twas that cunning wicked creature that attends her, who by unusual arts wrought her to this breach of duty, for her own inclinations were dispos'd to all the modesty and resignation a father could ask from a daughter; my son I can't excuse, but since your bounty does so, I hope you'll quite forget the fault of the less guilty Leonora.

Alv. What a mistake have I lain under here! And from a groundless apprehension of one misfortune, find myself in the certainty of another.

[Aside.

Don Fel. He looks disturb'd; what can this mean?

[Aside.

Alv. My daughter marry'd to his son!—--Confusion. But I find myself in such unruly agitation, something wrong may happen if I continue with him; I'll therefore leave him.

[Aside.

Don Fel. You seem thoughtful, Sir, I hope there's no——

Alv. A sudden disorder I am seiz'd with; you'll pardon me, I must retire.

[Exit Alvarez.

Don Felix solus.

I don't like this: He went oddly off—I doubt he finds this bounty difficult to go through with. His natural resentment is making an attack upon his acquir'd generosity: pray heaven it ben't too strong for't. The misfortune is a great one, and can't but touch him nearly. It was not natural to be so calm; I wish it don't yet drive him to my ruin. But here comes this young hot-brain'd coxcomb, who with his midnight amours has been the cause of all this mischief to me.

Enter Lorenzo.

So, Sir, you are come to receive my thanks for your noble exploit? You think you have done bravely now, ungracious offspring, to bring perpetual troubles on me. Must there never pass a day, but I must drink some bitter potion or other of your preparation for me?

Lor. I am amaz'd, Sir; pray what have I done to deserve your anger?

Don Fel. Nothing; no manner of thing in the world; nor never do. I am an old testy fellow, and am always scolding, and finding fault for nothing; complaining that I have got a coxcomb of a son, that makes me weary of my life, fancying he perverts the order of nature, turning day into night, and night into day; getting whims in my brain, that he consumes his life in idleness, unless he rouses now and then to do some noble stroke of mischief; and having an impertinent dream at this time, that he has been making the fortune of the family, by an underhand marriage with the daughter of a man who will crush us all to powder for it. Ah——ungracious wretch; to bring an old man into all this trouble! The pain thou gav'st thy mother to bring thee into the world, and the plague thou hast given me to keep thee here, make the getting thee (tho' 'twas in our honey-moon) a bitter remembrance to us both.

[Exit Don Felix.

Lorenzo solus.

So——all's out——Here's a noble storm arising, and I'm at sea in a cock-boat. But which way could this business reach him? By this traitor Lopez——it must be so; it could be no other way; for only he, and the priest that marry'd us, knew of it. The villain will never confess tho'. I must try a little address with him, and conceal my anger. O, here he comes.

Enter Lopez.

Lor. Lopez.

Lop. Do you call, Sir?

Lor. I find all's discover'd to my father, the secret's out; he knows my marriage.

Lop. He knows your marriage. How the pest should that happen? Sir, 'tis impossible; that's all.

Lor. I tell thee 'tis true; he knows every particular of it.

Lop. He does!—--Why then, Sir, all I can say is, that Satan and he are better acquainted than the devil and a good Christian ought to be.

Lor. Which way he has discover'd it I can't tell, nor am I much concern'd to know, since beyond all my expectations, I find him perfectly easy at it, and ready to excuse my fault with better reasons than I can find to do it myself.

Lop. Say you so?——I am very glad to hear that, then all's safe.

[Aside.

Lor. 'Tis unexpected good fortune; but it could never proceed purely from his own temper, there must have been pains taken with him to bring him to this calm; I'm sure I owe much to the bounty of some friend or other; I wish I knew where my obligation lay, that I might acknowledge it as I ought.

Lop. Are you thereabout's, I'faith? Then sharp's the word; I'gad I'll own the thing, and receive his bounty for't. [Aside.] Why, Sir——not that I pretend to make a merit o'the matter, for alas, I am but your poor hireling, and therefore bound in duty to render you all the service I can——But——'tis I have don't.

Lor. What hast thou done?

Lop. What no man else could have done; the job, Sir, told him the secret, and then talk'd him into a liking on't.

Lor. 'Tis impossible; thou dost not tell me true.

Lop. Sir, I scorn to reap any thing from another man's labours, but if this poor piece of service carries any merit with it, you now know where to reward it.

Lor. Thou art not serious!

Lop. I am; or may hunger be my mess-mate.

Lor. And may famine be mine, if I don't reward thee for't, as thou deserv'st——Dead.

[Making a pass at him.

Lop. Have a care there [Leaping on one side.] What do you mean, Sir? I bar all surprise.

Lor. Traitor, is this the fruit of the trust I plac'd in thee, villain?

[Making another thrust at him.

Lop. Take heed, Sir; you'll do one a mischief before you're aware.

Lop. What recompence can'st thou make me, wretch, for this piece of treachery? Thy sordid blood can't expiate the thousandth——But I'll have it however.

[Thrusts again.

Lop. Look you there again: pray, Sir, be quiet; is the devil in you? 'Tis bad jesting with edg'd tools. I'gad that last push was within an inch o' me. I don't know what you make all this bustle about, but I'm sure I've done all for the best, and I believe it will prove for the best too at last, if you'll have but a little patience. But if gentlemen will be in their airs in a moment—Why, what the deuce——I'm sure I have been as eloquent as Cicero, in your behalf; and I don't doubt to good purpose too, if you'll give things time to work. But nothing but foul language, and naked swords about the house, sa, sa; run you through you dog; why, nobody can do business at this rate.

Lor. And suppose your project fails, and I'm ruin'd by it, Sir.

Lop. Why, 'twill be time enough to kill me then, Sir? won't it? What should you do it for now? Besides, I an't ready, I'm not prepar'd, I might be undone by't.

Lor. But what will Leonora say to her marriage being known, wretch?

Lop. Why may be she'll draw——her sword too. [Shewing his tongue.] But all shall be well with you both, if you will but let me alone.

Lor. Peace; here's her father.

Lop. That's well: we shall see how things go presently.

Enter Don Alvarez.

Alv. The more I recover from the disorder this discourse has put me in, the more strange the whole adventure appears to me. Leonora maintains there is not a word of truth in what I have heard; that she knows nothing of marriage: and indeed she tells me this, with such a naked air of sincerity, that for my part I believe her. What then must be their project? Some villainous intention, to be sure; tho' which way, I yet am ignorant. But here's the bridegroom; I'll accost him——I am told, Sir, you take upon you to scandalize my daughter, and tell idle tales of what can never happen.

Lop. Now methinks, Sir, if you treated your son-in-law with a little more civility, things might go just as well in the main.

Alv. What means this insolent fellow by my son-in-law! I suppose 'tis you, villain, are the author of this impudent story.

Lop. You seem angry, Sir——perhaps without cause.

Alv. Cause, traitor! Is a cause wanting where a daughter's defam'd, and a noble family scandaliz'd?

Lop. There he is, let him answer you.

Alv. I shou'd be glad, he'd answer me, why, if he had any desires to my daughter, he did not make his approaches like a man of honour.

Lop. Yes; and so have had the doors bolted against him like a house-breaker.

[Aside.

Lor. Sir to justify my proceeding, I have little to say; but to excuse it, I have much; if any allowance may be made to a passion, which in your youth you have yourself been sway'd by: I love your daughter to that excess——

Alv. You would undo her for a night's lodging.

Lor. Undo her, Sir?

Alv. Yes, that's the word; you knew it was against her interest to marry you, therefore you endeavour'd to win her to't in private; you knew her friends would make a better bargain for her, therefore you kept your designs from their knowledge, and yet you love her to that excess——

Lor. I'd readily lay down my life to serve her.

Alv. Could you readily lay down fifty thousand pistoles to serve her, your excessive love would come with better credentials; an offer of life is very proper for the attack of a counterscarp, but a thousand ducats will sooner carry a lady's heart; you are a young man, but will learn this when you are older.

Lop. But since things have succeeded better this once, Sir, and that my master will prove a most incomparable good husband (for that he'll do, I'll answer for him) and that 'tis too late to recall what's already done, Sir——

Alv. What's done, villain?

Lop. Sir, I mean, that since my master and my lady are marry'd, and——

Alv. Thou ly'st; they are not marry'd.

Lop. Sir!—--I say, that since they are marry'd, and that they love each other so passing dearly, indeed I fancy that——

Alv. Why, this impudence is beyond all bearing; Sir, do you put your rascal upon this?

Lor. Sir, I am in a wood; I don't know what it is you mean.

Alv. And I am in a plain, Sir, and think I may be understood; do you pretend you are marry'd to my daughter?

Lor. Sir, 'tis my happiness on one side, as it is my misfortune on another.

Alv. And do you think this idle project can succeed? do you believe your affirming you are marry'd to her, will induce both her and me to consent it shall be so?

Lop. Sir, I see you make my master almost out of his wits to hear you talk so: but I, who am but a stande-by now, as I was at the wedding, have mine about me, and desire to know, whether you think this project can succeed? Do you believe your affirming they are not marry'd, will induce both him and I to give up the lady? One short question to bring this matter to an issue, Why do you think they are not marry'd?

Alv. Because she utterly renounces it.

Lop. And so she will her religion, if you attack it with that dreadful face. D'ye hear, Sir? the poor lady is in love heartily, and I wish all poor ladies that are so, would dispose of themselves so well as she has done; but you scare her out of her senses: bring her here into the room, speak gently to her, tell her you know the thing is done, that you have it from a man of honour, Me. That may be you wish it had been otherwise, but are a Christian, and profess mercy, and therefore have resolved to pardon her: say this, and I shall appear a man of reputation, and have satisfaction made me.

Alv. Or an impudent rogue, and have all your bones broke.

Lop. Content.

Alv. Agreed, Leonora! who's there? call Leonora.

Lop. All will go rarely, Sir; we shall have shot the gulf in a moment.

[Aside to Lorenzo.

Enter Leonora.

Alv. Come hither, Leonora.

Lop. So, now we shall see.

Alv. I call'd you to answer for yourself; here's a strong claim upon you; if there be any thing in the pretended title, conceal it no farther, it must be known at last, it may as well be so now. Nothing is so uneasy as uncertainty, I would therefore be gladly freed from it: if you have done what I am told you have, 'tis a great fault indeed; but as I fear 'twill carry much of its punishment along with it, I shall rather reduce my resentment into mourning your misfortune, than suffer it to add to your affliction; therefore speak the truth.

Lop. Well, this is fair play; now I speak, Sir: you see, fair lady, the goodness of a tender father, nothing need therefore hinder you from owning a most loving husband. We had like to have been altogether by the ears about this business, and pails of blood were ready to run about the house: but, thank heaven, the sun shines out again, and one word from your sweet mouth makes fair weather for ever. My master has been forc'd to own your marriage, he begs you'll do so too.

Leo. What does this impudent rascal mean?

Lop. Ha!—--Madam!

Leo. Sir, I should be very glad to know [To Lorenzo.] what can have been the occasion of this wild report; sure you cannot be yourself a party in it.

Lop. He, he——

Lor. Forgive me, dear Leonora, I know you had strong reasons for the secret being longer kept; but 'tis not my fault our marriage is disclos'd.

Leo. Our marriage, Sir!——

Lor. 'Tis known, my dear, tho' much against my will; but since it is so, 'twou'd be in vain for us to deny it longer.

Leo. Then, Sir, I am your wife? I fell in love with you, and married you without my father's knowledge?

Lor. I dare not be so vain to think 'twas love; I humbly am content to owe the blessing to your generosity; you saw the pains I suffer'd for your sake, and in compassion eas'd 'em.

Leo. I did, Sir! Sure this exceeds all human impudence.

Lop. Truly, I think it does. She'd make an incomparable actress.

[Aside.

Lor. I begin to be surpris'd, Madam, at you carrying this thing so far; you see there's no occasion for it; and for the discovery, I have already told you, 'twas not my fault.

Lop. My master's! no, 'twas I did it: why, what a bustle's here! I knew things would go well, and so they do, if folks would let 'em. But if ladies will be in their merriments, when gentlemen are upon serious business, why what a deuce can one say to 'em?

Leo. I see this fellow is to be an evidence in your plot; where you hope to drive, it is hard to guess; for if any thing can exceed its impudence, it is its folly. A noble stratagem indeed to win a lady by! I could be diverted with it, but that I see a face of villainy requires a rougher treatment; I could almost, methinks, forget my sex, and be my own avenger.

Lor. Madam, I am surpris'd beyond all——

Lop. Pray, Sir, let me come to her; you are so surpris'd, you'll make nothing on't: she wants a little snubbing. Look you, madam, I have seen many a pleasant humour amongst ladies, but you out-cut them all. Here's contradiction, with a vengeance: you han't been married eight-and-forty hours, and you are slap——at your husband's beard already: why, do you consider who he is?——Who this gentleman is? And what he can do——by law? Why, he can lock you up——knock you down——tie you neck and heels——

Lor. Forbear, you insolent villain, you.

[Offering to strike him.

Leo. That——for what's past, however.

[Giving him a box o' th' ear.

Lop. I think——she gave me a box o' the ear; ha!

[Exit Leonora.

Sir, will you suffer your old servants to be us'd thus by new comers? It's a shame, a mere shame: Sir, will you take a poor dog's advice for once? She denies she's married to you: take her at her word; you have seen some of her humours,——let her go.

Alv. Well, gentlemen, thus far you see I have heard all with patience; have you content? Or how much farther do you design to go with this business?

Lop. Why truly, Sir, I think we are near at a stand.

Alv. 'Tis time, you villain you.

Lop. Why, and I am a villain now, if every word I've spoke be not as true as——as the Gazette: and your daughter's no better than a——a——a whimsical young woman, for making disputes among gentlemen. And if every body had their deserts, she'd have a good——I won't speak out to inflame reckonings; but let her go, master.

Alv. Sir, I don't think it well to spend any more words with your impudent and villainous servant here.

Lop. Thank you, Sir: but I'd let her go.

Alv. Nor have I more to say to you than this, that you must not think so daring an affront to my family can go long unresented. Farewel.

[Exit Alv.

Lor. Well, Sir, what have you to say for yourself now?

Lop. Why, Sir, I have only to say, that I am a very unfortunate——middle-ag'd man; and that I believe all the stars upon heaven and earth have been concern'd in my destiny. Children now unborn will hereafter sing my downfal in mournful lines, and notes of doleful tune: I am at present troubled in mind, despair around me, signify'd in appearing gibbets, with a great bundle of dog-whips by way of preparation.

Farewel.

[Aside.

Lor. No, sirrah, I'll see your wretched end myself. Die here, villain.

[Drawing his sword.

Lop. I can't, Sir, if any body looks upon me.

Lor. Away, you trifling wretch; but think not to escape, for thou shalt have thy recompence.

[Exit Lorenzo.

Lopez solus.

Why, what a mischievous jade is this, to make such an uproar in a family the first day of her marriage! Why my master won't so much as get a honey-moon out of her; I'gad let her go. If she be thus in her soft and tender youth, she'll be rare company at threescore: well, he may do as he pleases, but were she my dear, I'd let her go——Such a foot at her tail, I'd make the truth bounce out at her mouth, like a pellet out of a pot-gun.

[Exit.

---

Enter Camillo and Isabella.

Isab. 'Tis an unlucky accident indeed.

Cam. Ah Isabella! Fate has now determin'd my undoing. This thing can ne'er end here, Leonora and Lorenzo must soon come to some explanation; the dispute is too monstrous to pass over, without further enquiry, which must discover all, and what will be the consequence, I tremble at: for whether Don Alvarez knows of the imposture, or whether he is deceiv'd, with the rest of the world, when once it breaks out, and the consequence is the loss of that great wealth he now enjoys by it, what must become of me? All paternal affections then must cease, and regarding me as an unhappy instrument in the trouble which will then o'erload him, he will return me to my humble birth, and then I'm lost for ever. For what, alas! will the deceiv'd Lorenzo say? A wife with neither fortune, birth, nor beauty, instead of one most plenteously endow'd with all. O heavens! what a sea of misery I have before me!

Isab. Indeed you reason right, but these reflections are ill-tim'd; why did you not employ them sooner?

Cam. Because I lov'd.

Isab. And don't you do so now?

Cam. I do, and therefore 'tis I make these cruel just reflections.

Isab. So that love, I find, can do any thing.

Cam. Indeed it can: its powers are wondrous great, its pains no tongue can tell, its bliss no heart conceive, crowns cannot recompense its torments, heaven scarce supplies its joys. My stake is of this value: oh counsel me how I shall save it.

Isab. Alas! that counsel's much beyond my wisdom's force, I see no way to help you.

Cam. And yet 'tis sure there's one.

Isab. What?

Cam. Death.

Isab. There possibly may be another; I have thought this moment——perhaps there's nothing in it; yet a small passage comes to my remembrance, that I regarded little when it happen'd——I'll go and search for one may be of service. But hold; I see Don Carlos: he'll but disturb us now, let us avoid him.

[Exeunt Camillo and Isabella.

Enter Don Carlos and Sancho.

Car. Repuls'd again! this is not to be borne. What tho' this villain's story be a falshood, was I to blame to hearken to it? This usage cannot be supported: how was it she treated thee?

San. Never was ambassador worse receiv'd. Madam, my master asks ten thousand pardons, and humbly begs one moment's interview:——Begone, you rascal you. Madam, what answer shall I give my Master?——Tell him he's a villain. Indeed, fair lady, I think this is hasty treatment—Here, my footmen, toss me this fellow out at the window; and away she went to her devotions.

Car. Did you see Jacinta?

San. Yes; she saluted me with half a score rogues and rascals too. I think our destinies are much alike, Sir; and o'my conscience, a couple of scurvy jades we are hamper'd with.

Car. Ungrateful woman, to receive with such contempt so quick a return of a heart so justly alarm'd.

San. Ha, ha, ha.

Car. What, no allowance to be made to the first transports of a lover's fury, when rous'd by so dreadful an appearance? as just as my suspicions were, have I long suffer'd them to arraign her?

San. No.

Car. Have I waited for oaths or imprecations to clear her?

San. No.

Car. Nay, even now is not the whole world still in suspense about her? whilst I alone conclude her innocent.

San. 'Tis very true.

Car. She might, methinks, thro' this profound respect, observe a flame another would have cherish'd: she might support me against groundless fears, and save me from a rival's tyranny; she might release me from these cruel racks, and would, no doubt, if she cou'd love as I do.

San. Ha, ha, ha.

Car. But since she don't, what do I whining here? Curse on the base humilities of love.

San. Right.

Car. Let children kiss the rod that fleas them, let dogs lie down and lick the shoe that spurns them.

San. Ay.

Car. I am a man by nature meant for power; the scepter's given us to wield, and we betray our trust whenever we meanly lay it at a woman's feet.

San. True, we are men, boo——Come, Master, let us both be in a passion; here's my scepter, [Shewing a cudgel.] Subject Jacinta, look about you. Sir, was you ever in Muscovy? the women there love the men dearly; why? because——[Shaking his stick.] there's your love-powder for you. Ah, Sir, were we but wise and stout, what work should we make with them! But this humble love-making, spoils them all. A rare way indeed to bring matters about with them; we are persuading them all day they are angels and Goddesses, in order to use them at night like human creatures; we are like to succeed truly.

Car. For my part I never yet could bear a slight from any thing, nor will I now. There's but one way however to resent it from a woman: and that's to drive her bravely from your heart, and place a worthier in her vacant throne.

San. Now, with submission to my betters, I have another way, Sir, I'll drive my tyrant from my heart, and place myself in her throne. Yes; I will be lord of my own tenement, and keep my household in order. Wou'd you wou'd do so too, Master; for look you, I have been servitor in a college at Salamanca, and read philosophy with the doctors; where I found that a woman, in all times, has been observed to be an animal hard to understand, and much inclined to mischief. Now as an animal is always an animal, and a captain always a captain, so a woman is always a woman: whence it is, that a certain Greek says, her head is like a bank of sand; or, as another, a solid rock; or, according to a third, a dark lanthorn. Pray, Sir, observe, for this is close reasoning; and so as the head is the head of the body; and that the body without a head, is like a head without a tail; and that where there is neither head nor tail, 'tis a very strange body: so I say a woman is by comparison, do you see, (for nothing explains things like comparisons) I say by comparison, as Aristotle has often said before me, one may compare her to the raging sea; for as the sea, when the wind rises, knits its brows like an angry bull, and that waves mount upon rocks, and rocks mount upon waves: that porpusses leap like trouts, and whales skip about like gudgeons; that ships roll like beer-barrels, and mariners pray like saints; just so, I say a woman——A woman, I say, just so, when her reason is ship-wreck'd upon her passion, and the hulk of her understanding lies thumping against the rock of her fury; then it is, I say, that by certain immotions, which——um cause, as one may suppose, a sort of convulsive——yes——hurricanious——um——like——in short, a woman is like the Devil.

Car. Admirably reason'd indeed, Sancho.

San. Pretty well, I thank Heaven; but here come the crocodiles to weep us into mercy.

Enter Leonora and Jacinta.

Master, let us shew ourselves men, and leave their briny tears to wash their dirty faces.

Car. It is not in the power of charms to move me.

San. Nor me, I hope; and yet I fear those eyes will look out sharp to snatch up such a prize.

[Pointing to Jacinta.

Jacin. He's coming to us, Madam, to beg pardon; but sure you'll never grant it him?

Leo. If I do may heaven never grant me mine.

Jacin. That's brave.

Car. You look, Madam, upon me, as if you thought I came to trouble you with my usual importunities; I'll ease you of that pain, by telling you my business now is calmly to assure you, but I assure it you with Heaven and hell for seconds; for may the joys of one fly from me, whilst the pains of t'other overtake me, if all your charms display'd e'er shake my resolution; I'll never see you more.

San. Bon.

Leo. You are a man of that nice honour, Sir, I know you'll keep your word: I expected this assurance from you, and came this way only to thank you for't.

Jacin. Very well.

Car. You did, imperious dame, you did: how base is woman's pride! How wretched are the ingredients it is form'd of! If you saw cause for just disdain, why did you not at first repulse me? Why lead a slave in chains, that could not grace your triumphs? If I am thus to be contemn'd, think on the favours you have done the wretch, and hide your face for ever.

San. Well argued.

Leo. I own you have hit the only fault the world can charge me with: the favours I have done to you, I am indeed asham'd of; but since women have their frailties, you'll allow me mine.

Car. 'Tis well, extremely well, Madam. I'm happy however, you at last speak frankly. I thank you for it: from my soul I thank you: but don't expect me groveling at your feet again; don't, for if I do——

Leo. You will be treated as you deserve; trod upon.

Car. Give me patience;——but I don't want it; I am calm: Madam, farewel;——be happy if you can; by heavens I wish you so, but never spread your net for me again; for if you do——

Leo. You'll be running into it.

Car. Rather run headlong into fire and flames; rather be torn with pincers bit from bit; rather be broil'd like martyrs upon gridirons——But I am wrong; this sounds like passion, and heaven can tell I am not angry: Madam, I think we have no farther business together; your most humble servant.

Leo. Farewel t'ye, Sir.

Car. Come along.

[To Sancho.

[Goes to the scene and returns.

Yet once more before I go (lest you should doubt my resolution) may I starve, perish, rot, be blasted, dead, damn'd, or any other thing that men or gods can think of, if on any occasion whatever, civil or military, pleasure or business, love or hate, or any other accident of life, I, from this moment, change one word or look with you.

[Going off, Sancho claps him on the back.

Leo. Content: come away, Jacinta.

Carlos returns.

Car. Yet one word, Madam, if you please; I have a little thing here belongs to you, a foolish bawble I once was fond of. [Twitching her picture from his breast.] Will you accept a trifle from your servant?

Leo. Willingly, Sir; I have a bawble too I think you have some claim to; you'll wear it for my sake.

[Breaks a bracelet from her arm, and gives it him.

Car. Most thankfully; this too I shou'd restore you, it once was yours——[Giving her a table-book.] By your favour madam——there is a line or two in it, I think you did me once the honour to write with your own fair hand. Here it is.

[Reads.

Thus you have encouraged me, and thus you have deceived me.

San. Very true.

Leo. I have some faithful lines too; I think I can produce 'em,

[Pulls out a table-book; reads, and then gives it him.

There, Sir, take your poetry again.

[Throwing it at his feet.

'Tis not much the worse for my wearing: 'twill serve again upon a fresh occasion.

Jacin. Well done.

Car. I believe I can return the present, Madam, with——a pocket full of your prose——There——

[Throwing a handful of letters at her feet.

Leo. Jacinta, give me his letters. There, Sir, not to be behind-hand with you.

[Takes a handful of his letters out of a box, and throws them in his face.

Jacin. And there, and there, and there, Sir.

[Jacinta throws the rest at him.

San. 'Cods my life, we want ammunition: but for a shift——There, and there, you saucy slut you.

[Sancho pulls a pack of dirty cards out of his pocket, and throws 'em at her; then they close; he pulls off her headclothes, and she his wig, and then part, she running to her mistress, he to his master.

Jacin. I think, Madam, we have clearly the better on't.

Leo. For a proof, I resolve to keep the field.

Jacin. Have a care he don't rally and beat you yet though: pray walk off.

Leo. Fear nothing.

San. How the armies stand and gaze at one another after the battle! What think you, Sir, of shewing yourself a great general, by making an honourable retreat?

Car. I scorn it: Oh Leonora! Leonora! A heart like mine should not be treated thus.

Leo. Carlos! Carlos! I have not deserv'd this usage.

Car. Barbarous Leonora! but 'tis useless to reproach you; she that is capable of what you have done, is form'd too cruel ever to repent of it. Go on then, tyrant; make your bliss compleat; torment me still, for still, alas! I love enough to be tormented.

Leo. Ah Carlos! little do you know the tender movements of that thing you name: the heart where love presides, admits no thoughts against the honour of its ruler.

Car. 'Tis not to call that honour into doubt, if conscious of our own unworthiness, we interpret every frown to our destruction.

Leo. When jealousy proceeds from such humble apprehensions, it shews itself with more respect than yours has done.

Car. And where a heart is guiltless, it easily forgives a greater crime.

Leo. Forgiveness is not now in our debate; if both have been in fault, 'tis fit that both should suffer for it; our separation will do justice on us.

Car. But since we are ourselves the judges of our crimes, what if we should inflict a gentler punishment?

Leo. 'Twould but encourage us to sin again.

Car. And if it shou'd?

Leo. 'Twould give a fresh occasion for the pleasing exercise of mercy.

Car. Right: and so we act the part of earth and heaven together, of men and gods, and taste of both their pleasures.

Leo. The banquet's too inviting to refuse it.

Car. Then thus let's fall on, and feed upon't for ever.

[Carries her off, embracing her, and kissing her hand.

Leo. Ah woman! foolish, foolish woman!

San. Very foolish indeed.

Jacin. But don't expect I'll follow her example.

San. You wou'd, Mopsy, if I'd let you.

Jacin. I'd sooner tear my eyes out! ah——that she had a little of my spirit in her.

San. I believe I shall find thou hast a great deal of her flesh, my charmer; but 'twon't do; I am all rock, hard rock, very marble.

Jacin. A very pumice stone, you rascal you, if one would try thee; but to prevent thy humilities, and shew thee all submission would be vain; to convince thee thou hast nothing but misery and despair before thee; here——take back thy paltry thimble, and be in my debt for the shirts I have made thee with it.

San. Nay, if y'are at that sport, Mistress, I believe I shall lose nothing by the balance of thy presents. There, take thy tobacco-stopper, and stop thy——

Jacin. Here, take thy sattin pincushion, with thy curious half hundred of pins in't, thou mad'st such a vapouring about yesterday: tell them carefully, there's not one wanting.

San. There's thy ivory-hafted knife again, whet it well; 'tis so blunt 'twill cut nothing but love.

Jacin. And there's thy pretty pocket scissars thou hast honour'd me with, they'll cut off a leg or an arm; heaven bless them.

San. Here's the inchanted handkerchief you were pleased to indear with your precious blood, when the violence of your love at dinner, t'other day, made you cut your fingers——There.

[Blows his nose in it, and gives it her.

Jacin. The rascal so provokes me, I won't even keep his paltry garters from him. D'ye see these? You pitiful beggarly scoundrel you:——There, take 'em, there.

[She takes her garters off, and flaps them about his face.

San. I have but one thing more of thine. [Shewing his cudgel.] I own 'tis the top of all thy presents, and might be useful to me; but that thou may'st have nothing to upbraid me with, even take it again with the rest of them.

[Lifting it up to strike her, she leaps about his neck.

Jacin. Ah cruel Sancho!—Now beat me, Sancho, do.

San. Rather, like Indian beggars, beat my precious self.

[Throws away his stick, and embraces her.

Jacin. And I my Sancho with Jacinta's charms.

[Exeunt.

---

SCENE, the Street.

Enter Lopez.

As soon as it is night, says my master to me, tho' it cost me my life, I'll enter Leonora's lodgings; therefore make haste, Lopez, prepare every thing necessary, three pair of pocket pistols, two wide-mouth'd blunderbusses, some six ells of sword-blade and a couple of dark lanthorns. When my Master said this to me; Sir, said I to my master, (that is, I would have said it, if I had not been in such a fright, I could say nothing, however I'll say it to him now, and shall probably have a quiet hearing;) look you, Sir, by dint of reason I intend to confound you: you are resolv'd, you say, to get into Leonora's lodgings, tho' the Devil stand in the door-way?——Yes, Lopez, that's my resolution——Very well, and what do you intend to do when you are there?——Why, what an injur'd man shou'd do; make her sensible of——Make her sensible of a pudding, don't you see she's a jade? She'll raise the house about your ears, arm the whole family, set the great dog at you.——Were there legions of Devils to repulse me, in such a cause I could disperse them all——Why then you have no occasion for help, Sir, you may leave me at home to lay the cloth.——No; thou art my ancient friend, my fellow-traveller, and to reward thy faithful services, this night thou shalt partake my danger and my glory.——Sir, I have got glory enough under you already, to content any reasonable servant for his life——Thy modesty makes me willing to double my bounty; this night may bring eternal honour to thee and thy family.——Eternal honour, Sir, is too much in conscience for a serving-man; besides ambition has been many a great soul's undoing——I doubt thou art afraid, my Lopez, thou shalt be arm'd with back, with breast and headpiece——They will encumber me in my retreat.——Retreat! my hero! Thou never shalt retreat.——Then by my troth I'll never go, Sir.——But here he comes.

Enter Lorenzo.

Lor. Will it never be night? sure 'tis the longest day the sun e'er travell'd.

Lop. Would 'twere as long as those in Greenland, Sir, that you might spin out your life t'other half year. I don't like these nightly projects; a man can't see what he does: we shall have some scurvy mistake or other happen; a brace of bullets blunder thro' your head in the dark perhaps, and spoil all your intrigue.

Lor. Away, you trembling wretch, away.

Lop. Nay, Sir, what I say is purely for your safety: for as to myself——Uds-death, I no more value the losing a quart of blood, than I do drinking a quart of wine. Besides, my veins are too full, my physician advis'd me yesterday to let go twenty ounces for my health. So you see, Sir, there's nothing of that in the case.

Lor. Then let me hear no other objections: for 'till I see Leonora I must lie upon the rack. I cannot bear her resentment, and will pacify her this night, or not live to see to-morrow.

Lop. Well, Sir, since you are so determin'd, I shan't be impertinent with any farther advice; but I think you have laid your design to——[He coughs.] (I have got such a cold to-day) to get in privately, have you not?

Lor. Yes; and have taken care to be introduced as far as her chamber-door with all secrecy.

Lop. [He coughs.]——This unlucky cough, I had rather have had a fever at another time. Sir, I should be sorry to do you more harm than good upon this occasion: if this cough shou'd come upon me in the midst of the action, [Coughs.] and give the alarm to the family, I shou'd not forgive myself as long as I liv'd.

Lor. I have greater ventures than that to take my chance for, and can't dispense with your attendance, Sir.

Lop. This 'tis to be a good servant, and make one's self necessary.

Enter Toledo.

Tol. Sir,——I am glad I have found you. I am a man of honour, you know, and do always profess losing my life upon a handsome occasion: sir, I come to offer you my service. I am inform'd from unquestionable hands, that Don Carlos is enrag'd against you to a dangerous degree; and that old Alvarez has given positive directions to break the legs and arms of your servant Lopez.

Lop. Look you there, now, I thought what 'twou'd come to; what do they meddle with me for? What have I to do in my Master's amours? The old Don's got out of his senses, I think, have I married his daughter?

Lor. Fear nothing, we'll take care o'thee——Sir, I thank you for the favour of your intelligence, 'tis nothing however but what I have expected and am provided for.

Tol. Sir, I wou'd advise you to provide yourself with good friends, I desire the honour to keep your back hand myself.

Lop. 'Tis very kind indeed. Pray, Sir, have you never a servant with you cou'd hold a racket for me too?

Tol. I have two friends fit to head two armies; and yet——a word in your ear, they shan't cost you above a ducat a-piece.

Lop. Take 'em by all means, Sir, you were never offer'd a better pennyworth in your life.

Tol. Ah, Sir,——little Diego——you have heard of him; he'd have been worth a legion upon this occasion: you know, I suppose, how they have serv'd him——They have hang'd him, but he made a noble execution; they clapp'd the rack and the priest to him at once, but cou'd neither get a word of confession, nor a groan of repentance; he died mighty well truly.

Lor. Such a man is indeed much to be regretted: As for the rest of your escorte, captain, I thank you for 'em, but shall not use 'em.

Tol. I'm sorry for't, Sir, because I think you go in very great danger; I'm much afraid your rival won't give you fair play.

Lop. If he does, I'll be hang'd; he's a damn'd passionate fellow, and cares not what mischief he does.

Lor. I shall give him a very good opportunity: for I'll have no other guards about me but you, Sir. So come along.

Lop. Why, Sir, this is the sin of presumption; setting heaven at defiance, making a Jack-pudding of a blunderbuss.

Lor. No more, but follow. Hold! turn this way; I see Camillo there. I wou'd avoid him, 'till I see what part he takes in this odd affair of his sister's. For I wou'd not have the quarrel fix'd with him, if it be possible to avoid it.

[Exit Lorenzo.

Lop. Sir——Captain Toledo, one word if you please, Sir; I'm mighty sorry to see my Master won't accept of your friendly offer; look ye, I'm not very rich; but as far as the expences of a dollar went, if you'd be so kind to take a little care of me, it shou'd be at your service.

Tol. Let me see:——A dollar you say? but suppose I'm wounded?

Lop. Why you shall be put to no extraordinary charge upon that: I have been 'prentice to a barber; and will be your surgeon myself.

Tol. 'Tis too cheap in conscience; but my land estate is ill paid this war-time——

Lop. That a little industry may be commendable; so say no more, that matter's fix'd.

[Exeunt Lop. and Tol.

Enter Camillo.

Cam. How miserable a perplexity have I brought myself into! Yet why do I complain? since with all the dreadful torture I endure, I can't repent of one wild step I've made. O Love! what tempests canst thou raise, what storms canst thou assuage! To all thy cruelties I am resign'd: Long years thro' seas of torment I'm content to roll, so thou wilt guide me to the happy port of my Lorenzo's arms, and bless me there with one calm day at last.

Enter Isabella.

Cam. What news, dear Isabella? methinks there's something chearful in your looks may give a trembling lover hopes. If you have comfort for me, speak, for I indeed have need of it.

Isab. Were your wants yet still greater than they are, I bring a plentiful supply.

Cam. O Heav'ns! is it possible?

Isab. New mysteries are out, and if you can find charms to wean Lorenzo from your sister, no other obstacle is in the way to all your wish.

Cam. Kind messenger from Heaven, speak on.

Isab. Know then, that you are daughter to Alvarez.

Cam. How! daughter to Alvarez?

Isab. You are: The truth this moment's come to light; and till this moment he, altho' your father, was a stranger to it; nay, did not even know you were a woman. In short, the great estate, which has occasion'd these uncommon accidents, was left but on condition of a son; great hopes of one there was, when you destroy'd 'em, and to your parents came a most unwelcome guest: To repair the disappointment, you were exchang'd for that young Camillo, who few months after dy'd. Your father then was absent, but your mother quick in contrivance, bold in execution, during that infant's sickness, had resolv'd his death shou'd not deprive her family of those advantages his life had given it; so order'd things with such dexterity, that once again there past a change between you: of this (for reasons yet unknown to me) she made a secret to her husband, and took such wise precautions, that 'till this hour 'twas so to all the world, except the person from whom I now have heard it.

Cam. This news indeed affords a view of no unhappy termination; yet there are difficulties still may be of fatal hindrance.

Isab. None, except that one I just now nam'd to you; for to remove the last, know I have already unfolded all, both to Alvarez and Don Felix.

Cam. And how have they receiv'd it?

Isab. To your wishes both. As for Lorenzo, he is yet a stranger to all has past, and the two old fathers desire he may some moments longer continue so. They have agreed to be a little merry with the heat he is in, and engage you in a family-quarrel with him.

Cam. I doubt, Isabella, I shall act that part but faintly.

Isab. No matter, you'll make amends for it in the scene of reconciliation.

Cam. Pray heaven it be my lot to act it with him.

Isab. Here comes Don Felix to wish you joy.

Enter Don Felix.

Don Fel. Come near, my daughter, and with extended arms of great affection let me receive thee. [Kisses her.] Thou art a dainty wench, good faith thou art, and 'tis a mettled action thou hast done; if Lorenzo don't like thee the better for't, Cods my life, he's a pitiful fellow, and I shan't believe the bonny old man had the getting of him.

Cam. I'm so encourag'd by your forgiveness, Sir, methinks I have some flattering hopes of his.

Don Fel. Of his! I'gad, and he had best, I believe he'll meet with his match if he don't. What dost think of trying his courage a little, by way of a joke or so?

Isab. I was just telling her your design, Sir.

Don Fel. Why I'm in a mighty witty way upon this whimsical occasion; but I see him coming. You must not appear yet; go your way in to the rest of the people there, and I'll inform him what a squabble he has work'd himself into here.

[Exeunt Camillo and Isabella.

Enter Lorenzo and Lopez.

Lop. Pray, Sir, don't be so obstinate now, don't affront Heaven at this rate. I had a vision last night about this business on purpose to forwarn you; I dreamt of goose-eggs, a blunt knife, and the snuff of a candle; I'm sure there's mischief towards.

Lor. You cowardly rascal, hold your tongue.

Don Fel. Lorenzo, come hither, my boy, I was just going to send for thee. The honour of our ancient family lies in thy hands; there is a combat preparing, thou must fight, my son.

Lop. Look you there, now, did not I tell you? O dreams are wond'rous things, I never knew that snuff of a candle fail yet.

Lor. Sir, I do not doubt but Carlos seeks my life, I hope he'll do it fairly.

Lop. Fairly, do you hear, fairly! Give me leave to tell you, Sir, folks are not fit to be trusted with lives, that don't know how to look better after them. Sir, you gave it him, I hope you'll make him take a little more care on't.

Don Fel. My care shall be to make him do as a man of honour ought to do.

Lop. What, will you let him fight, then? let your own flesh and blood fight?

Don Fel. In a good cause, as this is.

Lop. O monstrum horrendum! Now I have that humanity about me, that if a man but talks to me of fighting, I shiver at the name on't.

Lor. What you do, on this occasion Sir, is worthy of you: And had I been wanting to you, in my due regards before, this noble action wou'd have stamp'd that impression, which a grateful son ought to have for so generous a father.

Lop. Very generous, truly! gives him leave to be run thro' the guts, for his posterity to brag on a hundred years hence.

[Aside.

Lor. I think, Sir, as things now stand, it won't be right for me to wait for Carlos's call; I'll, if you please, prevent him.

Lop. Ay, pray, Sir, do prevent him by all means, 'tis better made up, as you say, a thousand times.

Don Fel. Hold your tongue, you impertinent Jackanapes, I will have him fight, and fight like a fury too; If he don't, he'll be worsted, I can tell him that. For know, son, your antagonist is not the person you name, it is an enemy of twice his force.

Lop. O dear, O dear, O dear! and will nobody keep 'em asunder?

Lor. Nobody shall keep us asunder, if once I know the man I have to deal with.

Don Fel. Thy man then is——Camillo.

Lor. Camillo!

Don Fel. 'Tis he, he'll suffer no body to decide this quarrel but himself.

Lop. Then there are no seconds, Sir.

Don Fel. None.

Lop. He's a brave man.

Don Fel. No, he says nobody's blood shall be spilt upon this occasion, but theirs who have a title to it.

Lop. I believe he'll scarce have a law-suit upon the claim.

Don Fel. In short, he accuses thee of a shameful falshood, in pretending his sister Leonora was thy wife; and has upon it prevailed with his father, as thou has done with thine, to let the debate be ended by the sword 'twixt him and thee.

Lop. And pray, Sir, with submission, one short question if you please; what may the gentle Leonora say of this business?

Don Fel. She approves of the combat, and marries Carlos.

Lop. Why, God a-mercy.

Lor. Is it possible? Sure she's a devil, not a woman.

Lop. I——cod, Sir, the Devil and a woman both, I think.

Don Fel. Well, thou sha't have satisfaction of some of 'em. Here they all come.

Enter Alvarez, Leonora, Carlos, Sancho, and Jacinta.

Alv. Well, Don Felix, have you prepared your son? for mine, he's ready to engage.

Lor. And so is his. My wrongs prepare me for a thousand combats. My hand has hitherto been held by the regard I've had to every thing of kin to Leonora; but since the monstrous part she acts has driven her from my heart, I call for reparation from her family.

Alv. You'll have it, Sir; Camillo will attend you instantly.

Lop. O lack! O lack! will no body do a little something to prevent bloodshed? Why, Madam, have you no pity, no bowels? [To Leonora.] stand and see one of your husbands stoter'd before your face? 'Tis an arrant shame.

Leo. If widowhood be my fate, I must bear it as I can.

Lop. Why, did you ever hear the like?

Lor. Talk to her no more. Her monstrous impudence is no otherwise to be replied to, than by a dagger in her brother's heart.

Leo. Yonder he's coming to receive it. But have a care, brave Sir, he does not place it in another's.

Lor. It is not in his power. He has a rotten cause upon his sword, I'm sorry he's engag'd in't; but since he is, he must take his fate. For you, my bravo, expect me in your turn.

[To Carlos.

Car. You'll find Camillo, Sir, will set your hand out.

Lor. A beardless boy. You might have match'd me better, Sir: but prudence is a virtue.

Don Fel. Nay, son, I wou'd not have thee despise thy adversary neither; thou'lt find Camillo will put thee hardly to't.

Lor. I wish we were come to the trial. Why does he not appear?

Jacin. Now do I hate to hear people brag thus. Sir, with my lady's leave, I'll hold a ducat he disarms you.

[They laugh.

Lor. Why, what!—I think I'm sported with. Take heed, I warn you all; I am not to be trifled with.

Enter Camillo and Isabella.

Leo. You shan't, Sir, here's one will be in earnest with you.

Lor. He's welcome: tho' I had rather have drawn my sword against another. I'm sorry, Camillo, we should meet on such bad terms as these; yet more sorry your sister should be the wicked cause on't: but since nothing will serve her but the blood either of a husband or brother, she shall be glutted with't. Draw.

Lop. Ah Lard, ah Lard, ah Lard!

Lor. And yet before I take this instrument of death into my fatal hand, hear me, Camillo; hear Alvarez; all! I imprecate the utmost powers of heaven to shower upon my head the deadliest of its wrath; I ask that all hell's torments may unite to round my soul with one eternal anguish, if wicked Leonora ben't my wife.

Omnes. O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!

Leo. Why then may all those curses pass him by, and wrap me in their everlasting pains, if ever once I had a fleeting thought of making him my husband.

Lop. O Lord, O Lord, O Lord!

Leo. Nay more; to strike him dumb at once, and shew what men with honest looks can practise, know he's married to another.

Alv. and Fel. How!

Leo. The truth of this is known to some here.

Jacin. Nay, 'tis certainly so.

Isab. 'Tis to a friend of mine.

Car. I know the person.

Lor. 'Tis false, and thou art a villain for thy testimony.

Cam. Then let me speak; what they aver is true, and I myself was in disguise, a witness of its doing.

Lor. Death and confusion! he a villain too! have at thy heart.

[He draws.

Lop. Ah!—--I can't bear the sight on't.

Cam. Put up that furious thing, there's no business for't.

Lor. There's business for a dagger, strippling; 'tis that should be thy recompence.

Cam. Why then to shew thee naked to the world, and close thy mouth for ever——I am myself thy wife.——

Lor. What does the dog mean?

Cam. To fall upon the earth and sue for mercy.

[Kneels and lets her perriwig fall off.

Lor. A woman!

Lop. Ay——cod, and a pretty one too; you wags you.

Lor. I'm all amazement. Rise, Camillo, (if I am still to call you by that name) and let me hear the wonders you have for me.

Isab. That part her modesty will ask from me: I'm to inform you then, that this disguise hides other mysteries besides a woman; a large and fair estate was cover'd by it, which with the lady now will be resigned to you. 'Tis true, in justice it was yours before; but 'tis the God of Love has done you right. To him you owe this strange discovery, thro' him you are to know the true Camillo's dead, and that this fair adventurer is daughter to Alvarez.

Lor. Incredible! but go on; let me hear more.

Don Fel. She'll tell thee the rest herself, the next dark night she meets thee in the garden.

Lor. Ha!—Was it Camillo then, that I——

Isab. It was Camillo who there made you happy: And who has virtue, beauty, wit and love——enough to make you so, while life shall last you.

Lor. The proof she gives me of her love, deserves a large acknowledgment indeed. Forgive me therefore, Leonora, if what I owe this goodness and these charms, I with my utmost care, my life, my soul, endeavour to repay.

Cam. Is it then possible you can forgive me?

Lor. Indeed I can; few crimes have such a claim to mercy; but join with me then, dear Camillo, (for still I know you by no other name) join with me to obtain your father's pardon: yours, Leonora, too, I must implore; and yours, my friend, for now we may be such. [To Carlos.] Of all I ask forgiveness. And since there is so fair a cause of all my wild mistakes, I hope I by her interest shall obtain it.

Alv. You have a claim to mine, Lorenzo, I wish I had so strong a one to yours; but if by future services, (tho' I lay down my life amongst 'em) I may blot out of your remembrance a fault (I cannot name) I then shall leave the world in peace.

Lor. In peace then, Sir, enjoy it; for from this very hour, whate'er is past with me, is gone for ever. Your daughter is too fair a mediatrix to be refus'd his pardon, to whom she owes the charms she pleads with for it.

[Exeunt.

---

Written by Mr. Motteux.

---

The SCENE is laid in Normandy in France.

THE
COUNTRY HOUSE.

---

Enter Erastus and his man, with Lisetta, Mariamne's maid.

Lis. Once more I tell ye, Sir, if you have any consideration in the world for her, you must be gone this minute.

Er. My dear Lisetta, let me but speak to her, let me but see her only.

Lis. You may do what you will; but not here, whilst you are in our house. I do believe she's as impatient to see you, as you can be to see her; but——

Er. But why won't you give us that satisfaction then?

Lis. Because I know the consequence; for when you once get together, the Devil himself is not able to part you; you will stay so long 'till you are surpriz'd, and what will become of us then?

Serv. Why, then we shall be thrown out at the window, I suppose.

Lis. No, but I shall be turn'd out of doors.

Er. How unfortunate am I! these doors are open to all the world, and only shut to me.

Lis. Because you come for a wife, and at our house we do not care for people that come for wives.

Serv. What would you have us come for, child?

Lis. Any thing but wives; because they cannot be put off without portions.

Serv. Portions! No, no, never talk of portions; my Master nor I neither don't want portions; and if he'd follow my advice, a regiment of fathers shou'd not guard her.

Lis. What say you?

Serv. Why, if you'll contrive that my Master may run away with your Mistress, I don't much care, faith, if I run away with you.

Lis. Don't you so, rogue's face? but I hope to be better provided for.

Er. Hold your tongues. But where is Mariamne's brother? He is my bosom friend, and would be willing to serve me.

Lis. I told you before, that he has been abroad a hunting, and we han't seen him these three days; he seldom lies at home, to avoid his father's ill humour; so that it is not your Mistress only that our old covetous cuff teizes——there's nobody in the family but feels the effects of his ill humour——by his good will he would not suffer a creature to come within his doors, or eat at his table——and if there be but a rabbit extraordinary for dinner, he thinks himself ruin'd for ever.

Er. Then I find you pass your time comfortably in this family.

Lis. Not so bad as you imagine neither, perhaps; for, thank Heaven, we have a Mistress that's as bountiful as he is stingy, one that will let him say what he will, and yet does what she will. But hark, here's somebody coming; it is certainly he.

Er. Can't you hide us somewhere?

Lis. Here, here, get you in here as fast as you can.

Serv. Thrust me in too.

[Puts 'em into the closet.

Enter Mariamne.

Lis. O, is it you?

Mar. So, Lisetta, where have you been? I've been looking for you all over the house: who are those people in the garden with my mother-in-law? I believe my father won't be very well pleas'd to see 'em there.

Lis. And here's somebody else not afar off, that I believe your father won't be very well pleas'd with neither. Come, Sir, Sir.

[Calls.

[Erastus and his servant come out.

Mar. O Heavens!

[Cries out.

Lis. Come, lovers, I can allow you but a short bout on't this time; you must do your work with a jirk——one whisper, two sighs and, a kiss; make haste, I say, and I'll stand centry for you in the mean time.

[Exit Lisetta.

Mar. Do you know what you expose me to, Erastus? What do you mean?

Er. To die, Madam, since you receive me with so little pleasure.

Mar. Consider what wou'd become of me, if my father shou'd see you here.

Er. What wou'd you have me do?

Mar. Expect with patience some happy turn of affairs; my mother-in-law is kind and indulgent to a miracle, and her favour, if well managed, may turn to our advantage; and cou'd I prevail upon myself to declare my passion to her, I don't doubt but she'd join in our interest.

Er. Well, since we've nothing to fear from her, and your brother, you know is my intimate friend; you may therefore conceal me somewhere about the house for a few days. I'll creep into any hole.

Serv. Ay, but who must have the care of bringing us victuals?

[Aside.

Er. Thrust us into the cellar, or up into the garret: I don't care where it is, so that it be but under the same roof with you.

Serv. But I don't say so, for that jade Lisetta will have the feeding of us, and I know what kind of diet she keeps——I believe we shan't be like the fox in the fable, our bellies won't be so full but we shall be able to creep out at the same hole we got in at.

Er. Must I then be gone? must I return to Paris?

Enter Lisetta.

Lis. Yes, that you must, and immediately too, for here's my master coming in upon ye.

Er. What shall I do?

Lis. Begone this minute.

Mar. Stay in the village 'till you hear from me, none of our family know that you are in it.

Er. Shall I see you sometimes?

Mar. I han't time to answer you now.

Lis. Make haste, I say; are you bewitch'd?

Er. Will you write to me?

Mar. I will if can.

Lis. Begone, I say, is the Devil in you?

[Thrusting Erastus and his servant out.

Come this way, your father's just stepping in upon us.

[Exeunt.

Enter Mr. Barnard beating Colin.

Mr. Barn. Rogue! rascal! did not I command you? Did not I give you my orders, sirrah?

Col. Why, you gave me orders to let no body in; and Madam, her gives me orders to let every body in——why the Devil himself can't please you boath, I think.

Mr. Barn. But, sirrah, you must obey my orders, not hers.

Col. Why the gentlefolks asked for her, they did not ask for you—what do you make such a noise about?

Mr. Barn. For that reason, sirrah, you shou'd not have let 'em in.

Col. Hold, Sir, I'd rather see you angry than her, that's true; for when you're angry you have only the devil in ye, but when Madam's in a passion she has the devil and his dam both in her belly.

Mr. Barn. You must mind what I say to you, sirrah, and obey my orders.

Col. Ay, ay, Measter——but let's not quarrel with one another—you're always in such a plaguy humour.

Mr. Barn. What are these people that are just come?

Col. Nay, that know not I——but as fine volk they are as ever eye beheld, heaven bless 'em.

Mr. Barn. Did you hear their names?

Col. Noa, noa, but in a coach they keam all besmeared with gould, with six breave horses, the like on 'em ne'er did I set eyes on——'twou'd do a man's heart good to look on sike fine beast, Measter.

Mr. Barn. How many persons are there?

Col. Vour——two as fine men as ever women bore, and two as dainty deames as a man wou'd desire to lay his lips to.

Mr. Barn. And all this crew sets up at my house.

Col. Noa, noa, Measter, the coachman is gone into the village to set up his coach at some inn, for I told him our coach-house was vull of vaggots, but he'll bring back the six horses, for I told him we had a rear good stable.

Mr. Barn. Did you so, rascal? Did you so?

[Beats him.

Col. Doant, doant, Sir, it wou'd do you good to see sike cattle, i'faith they look as if they had ne'er kept Lent.

Mr. Barn. Then they shall learn religion at my house——Sirrah, do you take care they sup without oats to-night——What will become of me? Since I bought this damn'd country house, I spend more in a summer than wou'd maintain me seven years.

Col. Why, if you do spend money, han't you good things for it? Come they not to see you the whole country raund? Mind how you're belov'd, Measter.

Mr. Barn. Pox take such love——How now, what do you want?

Enter Lisetta.

Lis. Sir, there's some company in the garden with my mistress, who desire to see you.

Mr. Barn. The devil take 'em, what business have they here? But who are they?

Lis. Why, Sir, there's the fat Abbot that always sits so long at dinner, and drinks his two bottles by way of whet.

Mr. Barn. I wish his church was in his belly, that his guts might be half full before he came——and who else?

Lis. Then there's the young Marquis that won all my Lady's money at cards.

Mr. Barn. Pox take him too.

Lis. Then there's the merry Lady that's always in a good humour.

Mr. Barn. Very well.

Lis. Then there's she that threw down all my Lady's china t'other day, and laugh'd at it for a jest.

Mr. Barn. Which I paid above fifty pounds for in earnest—very well, and pray how did Madam receive all this fine company?——With a hearty welcome, and a courtsy with her bum down to the ground, ha.

Lis. No indeed, Sir, she was very angry with 'em.

Mr. Barn. How, angry with 'em, say you?

Lis. Yes indeed, Sir, for she expected they wou'd have staid here a fortnight, but it seems things happen so unluckily that they can't stay here above ten days.

Mr. Barn. Ten days! How! what! four persons with a coach and six, and a kennel of hungry hounds in liveries, to live upon me ten days.

[Exit Lisetta.

Enter a soldier.

So, what do you want?

Sol. Sir, I come from your nephew, Captain Hungry.

Mr. Barn. Well, what does he want?

Sol. He gives his service to you, Sir, and sends you word that he'll come and dine with you to-morrow.

Mr. Barn. Dine with me! no, no, friend, tell him I don't dine at all to-morrow, it is my fast-day, my wife died on't.

Sol. And he has sent you here a pheasant and a couple of partridges.

Mr. Barn. How's that, a pheasant and partridges, say you?——let's see——very fine birds, truly——let me consider—To-morrow is not my fast-day, I mistook, tell my nephew he shall be welcome——And d'ye hear? [To Colin.] do you take these fowls and hang them up in a cool place——and take this soldier in, and make him drink—make him drink, d'ye see——a cup,——ay, a cup of small beer——d'ye hear?

Col. Yes, Sir——Come along; our small beer is reare good.

Sol. But, Sir, he bade me tell you that he'll bring two or three of his brother officers along with him.

Mr. Barn. How's that! Officers with him——here, come back——take the fowls again; I don't dine to-morrow, and so tell him [Gives him the basket.] Go, go.

[Thrusts him out.

Sol. Sir, Sir, that won't hinder them from coming, for they retir'd a little distance off the camp, and because your house is near 'em, Sir, they resolve to come.

Mr. Barn. Go, begone, Sirrah,

[Thrusts him out.

There's a rogue now, that sends me three lean carrion birds, and brings half a dozen varlets to eat them.

Enter Mr. Griffard.

Griff. Brother, what is the meaning of these doings? If you don't order your affairs better, you'll have your fowls taken out of your very yard, and carried away before your face.

Mr. Barn. Can I help it, brother? But what's the matter now?

Griff. There's a parcel of fellows have been hunting about your grounds all this morning, broke down your hedges, and are now coming into your house——don't you hear them?

Mr. Barn. No, no, I don't hear them: who are they?

Griff. Three or four rake-helly officers, with your nephew at the head of 'em.

Mr. Barn. O the rogue! he might well send me fowls——but is it not a vexatious thing, that I must stand still and see myself plunder'd at this rate, and have a carrion of a wife who thinks I ought to thank all these rogues that come to devour me! but can't you advise me what's to be done in this case?

Griff. I wish I cou'd; for it goes to my heart to see you thus treated by a crew of vermin, who think they do you a great deal of honour in ruining of you.

Mr. Barn. Can there be no way found to redress this?

Griff. If I were you, I'd leave this house quite, and go to town.

Mr. Barn. What, and leave my wife behind me? ay that wou'd be mending the matter indeed!

Griff. Why don't you sell it then?

Mr. Barn. Because nobody will buy it; it has got as bad a name as if the plague were in't; it has been sold over and over, and every family that has liv'd in it has been ruin'd.

Griff. Then send away all your beds and furniture; except what is absolutely necessary for your own family, you'll save something by that, for then your guests can't stay with you all night, however.

Mr. Barn. I've try'd that already, and it signified nothing——For they all got drunk and lay in the barn, and next morning laugh'd it off for a frolick.

Griff. Then there is but one remedy left that I can think of.

Mr. Barn. What's that?

Griff. You must e'en do what's done when a town's on fire, blow up your house that the mischief may run no farther——But who is this gentleman?

Mr. Barn. I never saw him in my life before, but for all that, I'll hold fifty pound he comes to dine with me.

Enter the Marquis.

Marq. My dear Mr. Barnard, I'm your most humble servant.

Mr. Barn. I don't doubt it, Sir.

Marq. What is the meaning of this, Mr. Barnard? You look as coldly upon me as if I were a stranger.

Mr. Barn. Why truly, Sir, I'm very apt to do so by persons I never saw in my life before.

Marq. You must know, Mr. Barnard, I'm come on purpose to drink a bottle with you.

Mr. Barn. That may be, Sir; but it happens that at this time I am not at all dry.

Marq. I left the ladies at cards waiting for supper; for my part, I never play; so I came to see my dear Mr. Barnard; and I'll assure you I undertook this journey only to have the honour of your acquaintance.

Mr. Barn. You might have spared yourself that trouble, Sir.

Marq. Don't you know, Mr. Barnard, that this house of yours is a little paradise?

Mr. Barn. Then rot me if it be, Sir.

Marq. For my part, I think a pretty retreat in the country is one of the greatest comforts of life; I suppose you never want good company, Mr. Barnard?

Mr. Barn. No, Sir, I never want company; for you must know I love very much to be alone.

Marq. Good wine you must keep above all things, without good wine and good cheer I would not give a fig for the country.

Mr. Barn. Really, Sir, my wine is the worst you ever drank in your life, and you'll find my cheer but very indifferent.

Marq. No matter, no matter, Mr. Barnard; I've heard much of your hospitality, there's a plentiful table in your looks——and your wife is certainly one of the best women in the world.

Mr. Barn. Rot me if she be, Sir.

Enter Colin.

Col. Sir, Sir, yonder's the Baron de Messy has lost his hawk in our garden; he says it is pearch'd upon one of the trees; may we let him have'n again, Sir?

Mr. Barn. Go tell him that——

Col. Nay, you may tell him yourself, for here he comes.

Enter the Baron de Messy.

Sir, I'm your most humble Servant, and ask you a thousand pardons that I should live so long in your neighbourhood, and come upon such an occasion as this to pay you my first respects.

Mr. Barn. It is very well, Sir; but I think people may be very good neighbours without visiting one another.

Baron. Pray how do you like our country?

Mr. Barn. Not at all, I'm quite tired on't.

Marq. Is it not the Baron? [Aside.] it is certainly he.

Baron. How; my dear Marquis! let me embrace you.

Marq. My dear Baron, let me kiss you.

[They run and embrace.

Baron. We have not seen one another since we were school-fellows, before.

Marq. The happiest Rencontré!

Bro. These gentlemen seem to be very well acquainted.

Mr. Barn. Yes, but I know neither one nor t'other of them.

Marq. Baron, let me present to you one of the best-natur'd men in the world, Mr. Barnard here, the flower of hospitality——I congratulate you upon having so good a neighbour.

Mr. Barn. Sir!

Baron. It is an advantage I am proud of.

Mr. Barn. Sir!

Marq. Come, gentlemen, you must be very intimate; let me have the honour of bringing you better acquainted.

Mr. Barn. Sir!

Baron. Dear Marquis, I shall take it as a favour, if you'll do me that honour.

Mr. Barn. Sir!

Marq. With all my heart——Come, Baron, now you are here we can make up the most agreeable company in the world——Faith you shall stay and pass a few days with us.

Mr. Barn. Methinks now, this son of a whore does the honour of my house to a miracle.

Baron. I don't know what to say, but I shou'd be very glad you'd excuse me.

Marq. Faith, I can't.

Baron. Dear Marquis.

Marq. Egad I won't.

Baron. Well, since it must be so——But here comes the Lady of the family.

Enter Mrs. Barnard.

Marq. Madam, let me present you to the flower of France.

Baron. Madam, I shall think myself the happiest person in the world in your Ladyship's acquaintance; and the little estate I have in this country I esteem more than all the rest, because it lies so near your Ladyship.

Mrs. Barn. Sir, your most humble servant.

Marq. Madam, the Baron de Messy is the best humour'd man in the world. I've prevail'd with him to give us his company a few days.

Mrs. Barn. I'm sure you could not oblige Mr. Barnard or me more.

Mr. Barn. That's a damn'd lye, I'm sure.

[Aside.

Baron. I'm sorry, Madam, I can't accept of the honour——for it falls out so unluckily, that I've some ladies at my house that I can't possibly leave.

Marq. No matter, no matter, Baron; you have ladies at your house, we have ladies at our house—let's join companies——come, let's send for them immediately; the more the merrier.

Mr. Barn. An admirable expedient, truly!

Baron. Well, since it must be so, I'll go for them myself.

Marq. Make haste, dear Baron, for we shall be impatient for your return.

Baron. Madam, your most humble servant——But I won't take my leave of you——I shall be back again immediately——Monsieur Barnard, I'm your most humble servant; since you will have it so, I'll return as soon as possible.

Mr. Barn. I have it so! 'sbud, Sir, you may stay as long as you please; I'm in no haste for ye.

[Exeunt Baron and Marquis.

Mr. Barn. Madam, you are the cause that I am not master of my own house.

Mrs. Barn. Will you never learn to be reasonable, husband?

The Marquis returns.

Marq. The Baron is the best humour'd man in the world, only a little too ceremonious, that's all——I love to be free and generous; since I came to Paris I've reform'd half the court.

Mrs. Barn. You are of the most agreeable humour in the world, Marquis.

Marq. Always merry——But what have you done with the ladies?

Mrs. Barn. I left them at cards.

Marq. Well, I'll wait upon 'em——but, Madam, let me desire you not to put yourself to any extraordinary expence upon our accounts——You must consider we have more than one day to live together.

Mrs. Barn. You are pleased to be merry, Marquis.

Marq. Treat us without ceremony; good wine and poultry you have of your own; wild-fowl and fish are brought to your door——You need not send abroad for any thing but a piece of butcher's meat, or so——Let us have no extraordinaries.

[Exit.

Mr. Barn. If I had the feeding of you, a thunder bolt should be your supper.

Mrs. Barn. Husband, will you never change your humour? If you go on at this rate, it will be impossible to live with ye.

Mr. Barn. Very true; for in a little time I shall have nothing to live upon.

Mrs. Barn. Do you know what a ridiculous figure you make?

Mr. Barn. You'll make a great deal worse, when you han't money enough to pay for the washing of your shifts.

Mrs. Barn. It seems you married me only to dishonour me; how horrible this is!

Mr. Barn. I tell ye, you'll ruin me. Do you know how much money you spend in a year?

Mrs. Barn. Not I truly, I don't understand arithmetic.

Mr. Barn. Arithmetic, O lud! O lud! Is it so hard to comprehend, that he who receives but sixpence and spends a shilling, must be ruin'd in the end?

Mrs. Barn. I never troubled my head with accompts, nor never will; but if you did but know what ridiculous things the world says of ye——

Mr. Barn. Rot the world——'Twill say worse of me when I'm in a jail.

Mrs. Barn. A very Christian-like saying, truly.

Mr. Barn. Don't tell me of Christian——Adsbud, I'll turn Jew, and nobody shall eat at my table that is not circumcised.

Enter Lisetta.

Lis. Madam, there's the Dutchess of Twangdillo just fell down near our door, her coach was overturn'd.

Mrs. Barn. I hope her Grace has received no hurt.

Lis. No, Madam, but her coach is broke.

Mr. Barn. Then there's a smith in town may mend it.

Lis. They say, 'twill require two or three days to fit it up again.

Mrs. Barn. I'm glad on't with all my heart, for then I shall enjoy the pleasure of her Grace's good company.——I'll wait upon her.

Mr. Barn. Very fine doings this!

[Exeunt severally.

---

Enter Mr. Barnard.

Heaven be now my comfort, for my house is hell: [Starts.] Who's there, what do you want? who are you?

Enter servant with a portmanteau.

Serv. Sir, here's your cousin Janno and cousin Mawkin come from Paris.

Mr. Barn. What a plague do they want?

Enter Janno leading in Mawkin.

Jan. Come, sister, come along——O here's cousin Barnard——Cousin Barnard, your servant——Here's my sister Mawkin and I are come to see you.

Mawk. Ay, cousin, here's brother Janno and I are come from Paris to see you: pray how does cousin Mariamne do?

Jan. My sister and I waunt well at Paris; so my father sent us here for two or three weeks to take a little country air.

Mr. Barn. You cou'd not come to a worse place; for this is the worst air in the whole county.

Mawk. Nay, I'm sure, my father says it is the best.

Mr. Barn. Your father's a fool; I tell ye, 'tis the worst.

Jan. Nay, cousin, I fancy you're mistaken now; for I begin to find my stomach come to me already; in a fortnight's time you shall see how I'll lay about me.

Mr. Barn. I don't at all doubt it.

Mawk. Father wou'd have sent sister Flip. and little brother Humphrey, but the calash would not hold us all, and so they don't come till to-morrow with mother.

Jan. Come, sister, let's put up our things in our chamber; and after you have washed my face, and put me on a clean neckcloth, we'll go in and see how our cousins do.

Mawk. Ay, come along, we'll go and see cousin Mariamne.

Jan. Cousin, we shan't give you much trouble, one bed will serve us; for sister Mawkin and I always lie together.

Mawk. But, cousin; mother prays you that you'd order a little cock-broth for brother Janno and I, to be got ready as soon as may be.

Jan. Ay, a propos, cousin Barnard, that's true; my mother desires, that we may have some cock-broth to drink two or three times a-day between meals, for my sister and I are sick folks.

Mawk. And some young chickens, too, the doctor said would bring us to our stomachs very soon.

Jan. You fib now, sister, it waunt young chickens, so it waunt, it was plump partridges sure, the doctor said so.

Mawk. Ay, so it was brother,—come, let's go in, and see our cousins.

Jan. Ay, come along, sister—cousin Barnard, don't forget the cock-broth.

[Exeunt Janno and Mawkin.

Mr. Barn. What the Devil does all this mean——mother, and sister Flip., and little brother Humphrey, and chickens, and partridges, and cock-broth, and fire from hell to dress 'em all.

Enter Colin.

Col. O measter, O measter——you'll not chide to-day, as you are usen to do, no marry will you not; see now what it is to be wiser than one's measter.

Mr. Barn. What wou'd this fool have?

Col. Why thanks and money to boot, an folk were grateful.

Mr. Barn. What's the matter?

Col. Why the matter is, if you have good store of company in your house, you have good store of meat to put in their bellies.

Mr. Barn. How so? how so?

Col. Why a large and stately stag, with a pair of horns on his head, heavens bless you, your worship might be seen to wear 'em, comes towards our Geat a puffing and blawing like a cow in hard labour——Now says I to myself, says I, if my measter refuse to let this fine youth come in, why then he's a fool, d'ye see—So I opens him the geat, pulls off my hat with both my honds, and said you're welcome, kind Sir, to our house.

Mr. Barn. Well, well!

Col. Well, well, ay, and so it is well, as you shall straightway find——So in he trots, and makes directly towards our barn, and goes bounce, bounce, against the door, as boldly as if he had been measter on't——he turns'en about and thwacks'n down in the stra, as who would say, here will I lay me till to-morrow morning—But he had no fool to deal with——for to the kitchen goes I, and takes me down a musquet, and with a breace of balls, I hits'n such a slap in the feace, that he ne'er spoke a word more to me——Have I done well or no measter?

Mr. Barn. Yes, you have done very well for once.

Col. But this was not all, for a parcel of dogs came yelping after their companion, as I suppose; so I goes to the back yard-door, and as many as came by, shu, says I, and drove them into the gearden, so there they are as safe as in a pawnd——ha, ha,——but I can but think what a power of pasties we shall have at our house, ha, ha.

[Exit Colin.

Mr. Barn. I see Providence takes some care of me: this cou'd never have happened in a better time.

Enter Cook.

Cook. Sir, sir, in the name of wonder, what do you mean? is it by your orders that all those dogs were let into the garden?

Mr. Barn. How!

Cook. I believe there's forty or fifty dogs tearing up the lettice and cabbage by the root. I believe before they have done, they'll rout up the whole garden.

Mr. Barn. This is that rogue's doings.

Cook. This was not all, Sir, for three or four of 'em came into the kitchen, and tore half the meat off the spit that was for your worship's supper.

Mr. Barn. The very dogs plague me.

Cook. And then there's a crew of hungry footmen who devour'd what the dogs left, so that there's not a bit left for your worship's supper, not a scrap, not one morsel, Sir.

[Exit Cook.

Mr. Barn. Sure I shall hit on some way to get rid of this crew.

Enter Colin.

Col. Sir, Sir, here's the devil to do without yonder; a parcel of fellows swear they'll have our venison, and s'blead I swear they shall have none on't, so stand to your arms, measter.

Mr. Barn. Ay, you've done finely, rogue, rascal, have you not?

[Beating him.

Col. 'Sblead, I say they shan't have our venison. I'll die before I'll part with it.

[Exit.

Enter Griffard.

Griff. Brother, there's some gentlemen within ask for you.

Mr. Barn. What gentlemen? who are they?

Griff. The gentlemen that have been hunting all this morning, they're now gone up to your wife's chamber.

Mr. Barn. The Devil go with 'em.

Griff. There is but one way to get rid of this plague, and that is, as I told you before, to set your house on fire.

Mr. Barn. That's doing myself an injury, not them.

Griff. There's dogs, horses, masters and servants, all intend to stay here 'till to-morrow morning, that they may be near the woods to hunt the earlier—besides (I overheard them) they're in a kind of plot against you.

Mr. Barn. What did they say?

Griff. You'll be angry if I tell ye.

Mr. Barn. Can I be more angry than I am?

Griff. They said then that it was the greatest pleasure in the world to ruin an old lawyer in the country, who had got an estate by ruining honest people in town.

Mr. Barn. There's rogues for ye!

Griff. I'm mistaken if they don't play you some trick or other.

Mr. Barn. Hold, let me consider.

Griff. What are you doing?

Griff. I'm conceiving, I shall bring forth presently——oh, I have it, it comes from hence, wit was its father, and invention its mother; if I had thought on't sooner, I shou'd have been happy.

Griff. What is it?

Mr. Barn. Come, come along, I say; you must help me to put it in execution.

Enter Lisetta.

Lis. Sir, my mistress desires you to walk up, she is not able, by herself, to pay the civilities due to so much good company.

Mr. Barn. O the carrion! what does she play her jests upon me too?——but mum, he laughs best that laughs last.

Lis. What shall I tell her, Sir, will you come?

Mr. Barn. Yes, yes, tell her I'll come with a pox to her.

[Exeunt Mr. Barnard and Griffard.

Lis. Nay, I don't wonder he shou'd be angry—they do try his patience, that's the truth on't.

Enter Mariamne.

What, Madam, have you left your mother and the company?

Mar. So much tittle tattle makes my head ake; I don't wonder my father shou'd not love the country, for besides the expence he's at, he never enjoys a minute's quiet.

Lis. But let's talk of our own affairs—have you writ to your lover?

Mar. No, for I have not had time since I saw him.

Lis. Now you have time then, about it immediately, for he's a sort of desperate spark, and a body does not know what he may do, if he shou'd not hear from you; besides you promised him, and you must behave yourself like a woman of honour, and keep your word.

Mar. I'll about it this minute.

Enter Charly.

Char. Cousin, cousin, cousin, where are you going? Come back, I have something to say to you.

Lis. What does this troublesome boy want?

Char. What's that to you what I want? perhaps I have something to say to her that will make her laugh——why sure! what need you care?

Mar. Don't snub my cousin Charly——well, what is't?

Char. Who do you think I met, as I was coming here, but that handsome gentleman I've seen at church ogle you like any devil?

Mar. Hush, softly, cousin.

Lis. Not a word of that for your life.

Char. O I know I shou'd not speak on't before folks; you know I made signs to you above, that I wanted to speak to you in private, didn't I, cousin?

Mar. Yes, yes, I saw you.

Char. You see I can keep a secret.——I am no girl, mun——I believe I cou'd tell you fifty and fifty to that, of my sister Cicely——O she's the devil of a girl——but she gives me money and sugar-plumbs——and those that are kind to me fare the better for it, you see cousin.

Mar. I always said my cousin Charly was a good-natur'd boy.

Lis. Well, and did he know you?

Char. Yes, I think he did know me—for he took me in his arms, and did so hug and kiss me——between you and I, cousin, I believe he is one of the best friends I have in the world.

Mar. Well, but what did he say to you?

Char. Why, he ask'd me where I was going; I told him I was coming to see you; you're a lying young rogue, says he, I'm sure you dare not go see your cousin—for you must know my sister was with me, and it seems he took her for a crack, and I being a forward boy, he fancied I was going to make love to her under a hedge, ha, ha.

Mar. So.

Char. So he offer'd to lay me a Lewis d'Or that I was not coming to you; so done, says I——Done, says he,——and so 'twas a bett, you know.

Mar. Certainly.

Char. So my sister's honour being concern'd, and having a mind to win his Lewis d'Or, d'ye see——I bid him follow me, that he might see whether I came in or no—but he said he'd wait for me at the little garden gate that opens into the fields, and if I would come thro' the house and meet him there, he should know by that whether I had been in or no.

Mar. Very well.

Char. So I went there, open'd the gate and let him in—

Mar. What then?

Char. Why then he paid me the Lewis d'Or, that's all.

Mar. Why, that was honestly done.

Char. And then he talk'd to me of you, and said you had the charmingest bubbies, and every time he nam'd 'em, ha! says he, as if he had been sipping hot tea.

Mar. But was this all?

Char. No, for he had a mind, you must know, to win his Lewis d'Or back again; so he laid me another, that I dare not come back, and tell you that he was there; so cousin, I hope you won't let me lose, for if you don't go to him and tell him that I've won, he won't pay me.

Mar. What, wou'd you have me go and speak to a man?

Char. Not for any harm, but to win your poor cousin a Lewis d'Or. I'm sure you will—for you're a modest young woman, and may go without danger——Well, cousin, I'll swear you look very handsome to-day, and have the prettiest bubbies there; do let me feel 'em, I'll swear you must.

Mar. What does the young rogue mean? I swear I'll have you whipt.

[Exeunt Charly and Mariamne.

Enter Colin.

Col. Ha, ha, ha! our old gentleman's a wag efaith, he'll be even with 'em for all this, ha, ha, ha——

Lis. What's the matter? what does the fool laugh at?

Col. We an't in our house now, Lisetta, we're in an inn: ha, ha!

Lis. How in an inn?

Col. Yes, in an inn, my measter has gotten an old rusty sword, and hung it up at our geat, and writ underneath with a piece of charcoal with his own fair hand, At the Sword Royal; entertainment for man and horse: ha, ha——

Lis. What whim is this?

Col. Thou, and I, live at the Sword Royal, ha, ha—

Lis. I'll go tell my mistress of her father's extravagance.

[Exit Lisetta.

Enter Mr. Barnard and Griffard.

Mr. Barn. Ha, ha! yes I think this will do. Sirrah, Colin, you may now let in all the world; the more the better.

Colin. Yes, Sir——Ods-flesh! we shall break all the inns in the country——For we have a brave handsome landlady, and a curious young lass to her daughter——O, here comes my young measter——We'll make him chamberlain——ha, ha——

Enter Dorant.

Mr. Barn. What's the matter, son? How comes it that you are all alone? You used to do me the favour to bring some of your friends along with ye.

Dor. Sir, there are some of 'em coming; I only rid before, to beg you to give them a favourable reception.

Mr. Barn. Ay why not? it is both for your honour and mine; you shall be master.

Dor. Sir, we have now an opportunity of making all the gentlemen in the country our friends.

Mr Barn. I'm glad on't with all my heart; pray how so?

Dor. There's an old quarrel to be made up between two families, and all the company are to meet at our house.

Mr. Barn. Ay, with all my heart; but pray, what is the quarrel?

Dor. O, Sir, a very ancient quarrel; It happened between their great grandfathers about a duck.

Mr. Barn. A quarrel of consequence truly.

Dor. And 'twill be a great honour to us, if this shou'd be accommodated at our house.

Mr. Barn. Without doubt.

Dor. Dear Sir, you astonish me with this goodness; how shall I express this obligation? I was afraid, Sir, you would not like it.

Mr. Barn. Why so?

Dor. I thought, Sir, you did not care for the expence.

Mr. Barn. O Lord, I am the most alter'd man in the world from what I was, I'm quite another thing, mun; but how many are there of 'em?

Dor. Not above nine or ten of a side, Sir.

Mr. Barn. O, we shall dispose of them easily enough.

Dor. Some of 'em will be here present'y, the rest I don't expect 'till to-morrow morning.

Mr. Barn. I hope they're good companions, jolly fellows, that love to eat and drink well.

Dor. The merriest, best-natur'd creatures in the world, Sir.

Mr. Barn. I'm very glad on't, for 'tis such men I want. Come, brother, you and I will go and prepare for their reception.

[Exeunt Mr. Barnard and his brother.

Dor. Bless me, what an alteration is here! How my father's temper is chang'd within these two or three days! Do you know the meaning of it?

Col. Why the meaning on't is, ha, ha——

Dor. Can you tell me the cause of this sudden change, I say?

Col. Why the cause on't is, ha, ha.——

Dor. What do you laugh at, sirrah? do you know?

Col. Ha——because the old gentleman's a drole, that's all.

Dor. Sirrah, if I take the cudgel——

Col. Nay, Sir, don't be angry for a little harmless mirth——But here are your friends.

Enter three gentlemen.

Dor. Gentlemen you are welcome to Pasty-Hall; see that these gentlemens horses are taken care of.

1 Gen. A very fine dwelling this.

Dor. Yes, the house is tolerable.

2 Gen. And a very fine lordship belongs to it.

Dor. The land is good.

3 Gen. This house ought to have been mine, for my grandfather sold it to his father, from whom your father purchased it.

Dor. Yes, the house has gone thro' a great many hands.

1 Gen. A sign there has always been good house-keeping in it.

Dor. And I hope there ever will.

Enter Mr. Barnard, and Griffard, drest like drawers.

Mr. Barn. Gentlemen, do you call? will you please to see a room, gentlemen? somebody take off the gentlemens boots there?

Dor. Father! uncle! what is the meaning of this?

Mr. Barn. Here, shew a room——or will you please to walk into the kitchen first, gentlemen, and see what you like for dinner.

1 Gen. Make no preparations, Sir, your own dinner is sufficient.

Mr. Barn. Very well, I understand ye; let's see, how many are there of ye? [Tells 'em.] One, two, three, four: well, gentlemen, 'tis but half a crown a-piece for yourselves, and sixpence a-head for your servants; your dinner shall be ready in half an hour; here, shew the gentlemen into the Apollo.

2 Gen. What, Sir, does your father keep an inn?

Mr. Barn. The Sword Royal; at your service, Sir.

Dor. But father let me speak to you; would you disgrace me?

Mr. Barn. My wine is very good, gentlemen, but to be very plain with ye, it is dear.

Dor. O, I shall run distracted.

Mr. Barn. You seem not to like my house, gentlemen; you may try all the inns in the county, and not be better entertained; but I own my bills run high.

Dor. Gentlemen, let me beg the favour of ye.

1 Gen. Ay, my young 'Squire of the Sword Royal', you shall receive some favours from us.

Dor. Dear Monsieur le Guarantiere.

1 Gen. Here, my horse there.

Dor. Monsieur la Rose.

2 Gen. Damn ye, ye prig.

Dor. Monsieur Trofignac.

3 Gen. Go to the devil.

[Exeunt Gentlemen.

Dor. O, I'm disgrac'd for ever.

Mr. Barn. Now, son, this will teach you how to live.

Dor. Your son? I deny the kindred; I'm the son of a whore, and I'll burn your house about your ears, you old rogue you.

[Exit.

Mr. Barn. Ha, ha——

Griff. The young gentleman's in a passion.

Mr. Barn. They're all gone for all that, and the Sword Royal's the best general in Christendom.

Enter Erastus's servant, talking with Lisetta.

Lis. What, that tall gentleman I saw in the garden with ye?

Serv. The same, he's my master's uncle, and ranger of the king's forests——He intends to leave my master all he has.

Mr. Barn. Don't I know this scoundrel? What, is his master here? What do you do here, rascal?

Serv. I was asking which must be my master's chamber.

Mr. Barn. Where is your master?

Serv. Above stairs with your wife and daughter; and I want to know where he's to lie that I may put up his things.

Mr. Barn. Do you so, rascal?

Serv. A very handsome inn this—Here, drawer, fetch me a pint of wine.

Mr. Barn. Take that, rascal, do you banter us?

[Kicks him out.

Enter Mrs. Barnard.

Mrs. Barn. What is the meaning of this, husband? Are not you asham'd to turn your house into an inn——and is this a dress for my spouse, and a man of your character?

Mr. Barn. I'd rather wear this dress than be ruin'd.

Mrs. Barn. You're nearer being so than you imagine: for there are some persons within, who have it in their power to punish you for your ridiculous folly.

Enter Erastus, leading in Mariamne.

Mr. Barn. How, Sir, what means this? who sent you here?

Er. It was the luckiest star in your firmament that sent me here.

Mr. Barn. Then I doubt, at my birth, the planets were but in a scurvy disposition.

Er. Killing one of the king's stags, that run hither for refuge, is enough to overturn a fortune much better established than yours——However, Sir, if you will consent to give me your daughter, for her sake I will bear you harmless.

Mr. Barn. No, Sir, no man shall have my daughter, that won't take my house too.

Er. Sir, I will take your house; pay you the full value of it, and you shall remain as much master of it as ever.

Mr. Barn. No, Sir, that won't do neither; you must be master yourself, and from this minute begin to do the honours of it in your own person.

Er. Sir, I readily consent.

Mr. Barn. Upon that condition, and in order to get rid of my house, here, take my daughter——And now, Sir, if you think you've a hard bargain, I don't care if I toss you in my wife to make you amends.

Written by

Sir John Vanbrugh.

---

A
Journey to London.

---

SCENE Uncle Richard's House.

Uncle Richard solus.

What prudent cares does this deep foreseeing nation take, for the support of its worshipful families! In order to which, and that they may not fail to be always significant and useful in their country, it is a settled foundation-point that every child that is born shall be a beggar——except one; and that he——shall be a fool——My grandfather was bred a fool, as the country report: my father was a fool,——as my mother used to say; my brother was a fool, to my own knowledge, though a great justice of the peace; and he has left a son, that will make his son a fool, or I am mistaken. The lad is now fourteen years old, and but just out of his Psalter. As to his honour'd father, my much esteem'd nephew, here I have him. [Shewing a letter.] In this proprofound epistle (which I have just now received) there is the top and bottom of him. Forty years and two is the age of him; in which it is computed by his butler, his own person has drank two and thirty ton of ale. The rest of his time has been employed in persecuting all the poor four-legg'd creatures round, that wou'd but run away fast enough from him, to give him the high-mettled pleasure of running after them. In this noble employ he has broke his right arm, his left leg, and both his collar-bones——Once he broke his neck, but that did him no harm: A nimble hedge leaper, a brother of the stirrup that was by, whipt off his horse and mended it. His estate being left him with two jointures, and three weighty mortgages upon it, he to make all easy, and pay his brother's and sister's portions, married a profuse young housewife for love, with never a penny of money. Having done all this, like his brave ancestors, for the support of the family, he now finds children and interest money make such a bawling about his ears, that he has taken the friendly advice of his neighbour, the good Lord Courtlove, to run his estate two thousand pounds more in debt, that he may retrieve his affairs by being a parliament-man, and bringing his wife to London, to play off an hundred pounds at dice with ladies of quality, before breakfast.

But let me read this wiseacre's letter once over again.

Most Honoured Uncle,

I do not doubt but you have much rejoiced at my success, in my election; it has cost me some money, I own: but what of all that! I am a parliament-man, and that will set all to rights. I have lived in the country all my days, 'tis true; but what then! I have made speeches at the sessions, and in the vestry too, and can elsewhere perhaps, as well as some others that do; and I have a noble friend hard by, who has let me into some small knowledge of what's what at Westminster. And so that I may always be at hand to serve my country, I have consulted with my wife, about taking a house at London, and bringing her and my family up to town; which, her opinion is, will be the rightest thing in the world.

My wife's opinion about bringing her to London! I'll read no more of thee——Beast.

[Strikes the letter down with his stick.

Enter James hastily.

James. Sir, Sir, do you hear the news? they are all a-coming.

Unc. Rich. Ay, sirrah, I hear it with a pox to it.

James. Sir, here's John Moody arriv'd already; he's stumping about the streets in his dirty boots, and asking every man he meets, if they can tell where he may have a good lodging for a parliament-man, 'till he can hire such a house as becomes him; he tells them his lady and all the family are coming too, and that they are so nobly attended, they care not a fig for any body. Sir, they have added two cart-horses to the four old geldings, because my lady will have it said, she came to town in her coach and six, and (ha, ha,) heavy George the plowman rides postillion.

Unc. Rich. Very well; the journey begins as it shou'd do——James.

James. Sir.

Unc. Rich. Dost know whether they bring all the children with them?

James. Only 'Squire Humphry, and Miss Betty, Sir; the other six are put to board at half a crown a week a head, with Joan Growse, at Smoke-Dunghill farm.

Unc. Rich. The Lord have mercy upon all good folks! what work will these people make! dost know when they'll be here?

James. John says, Sir, they'd have been here last night, but that the old wheezy-belly horse tir'd, and the two fore-wheels came crash down at once in Waggonrut-lane. Sir, they were cruelly loaden, as I understand; my lady herself, he says, laid on four mail trunks, besides the great deal-box, which fat Tom sat upon behind.

Unc. Rich. Soh!

James. Then within the coach there was Sir Francis, my Lady, and the great fat lap-dog, 'Squire Humphry, Miss Betty, my Lady's maid Mrs. Handy, and Doll Tripe the cook; but she puked with sitting backward, so they mounted her into the coach-box.

Unc. Rich. Very well.

James. Then, Sir, for fear of a famine, before they should get to the baiting-place, there was such baskets of plumb-cake, Dutch-gingerbread, Cheshire-cheese, Naples-biscuits, Macaroons, Neats-tongues, and cold boil'd beef——and in case of sickness, such bottles of usquebaugh, black cherry-brandy, cinamon-water, sack, tent, and strong beer, as made the old coach crack again.

Unc. Rich. Well said!

James. And for defence of this good cheer, and my Lady's little pearl necklace, there was the family basket-hilt sword, the great Turkish cimiter, the old blunderbuss, a good bag of bullets, and a great horn of gunpowder.

Unc. Rich. Admirable!

James. Then for band-boxes, they were so bepiled up to Sir Francis's nose, that he could only peep out at a chance hole with one eye, as if he were viewing the country thro' a perspective glass. But, Sir, if you please, I'll go look after John Moody a little for fear of accidents: For he never was in London before, you know, but one week, and then he was kidnapp'd into a house of ill repute, where he exchang'd all his money and clothes for a——um. So I'll go look after him, Sir.

[Exit.

Unc. Rich. Nay, I don't doubt but this wise expedition will be attended with more adventures than one.——This noble head, and supporter of his family, will, as an honest country gentleman, get credit enough amongst the tradesmen, to run so far in debt in one session, as will make him just fit for a gaol, when he's drop'd at the next election. He will make his speeches in the house to shew the government of what importance he can be to them, by which they will see, he can be of no importance at all; and he will find in time, that he stands valued at (if he votes right) being sometimes——invited to dinner. Then his wife (who has ten times more of a jade about her than he yet knows of) will so improve in this rich soil, she will, in one month, learn every vice the finest lady in the town can teach her. She will be extremely courteous to the fops who make love to her in jest, and she will be extremely grateful to those who do it in earnest. She will visit all ladies that will let her into their houses, and she will run in debt to all the shopkeepers that will let her into their books. In short, before her husband has got five pound by a speech at Westminster, she will have lost five hundred at cards and dice in the parish of St. James's. Wife and family to London with a pox!

[Going off.

Enter James and John Moody.

James. Dear John Moody, I'm so glad to see you in London once more.

John Moody. And I you, my dear James: Give me a kiss——Why that's friendly.

James. I wish they had been so, John, that you met with when you were here before.

John Moody. Ah——Murrain upon all rogues and whores, I say: But I am grown so cunning now, the de'el himself can't handle me. I have made a notable bargain for these lodgings here, we are to pay but five pounds a week, and have all the house to ourselves.

James. Where are the people that belong to it to be then?

John Moody. O! there's only the gentlewoman, her two maids, and a cousin, a very pretty civil young woman truly, and the maids are the merriest griggs——

James. Have a care, John.

John Moody. O, fear nothing, we did so play together last night.

James. Hush, here comes my master.

Enter Uncle Richard.

Unc. Rich. What! John has taken these lodgings, has he?

James. Yes, Sir, he has taken 'em.

Unc. Rich. Oh John! how dost do, honest John? I am glad to see thee with all my heart.

John Moody. I humbly thank your worship. I'm staut still, and a faithful awd servant to th' family. Heaven prosper aw that belong to't.

Unc. Rich. What, they are all upon the road?

John Moody. As mony as the awd coach wou'd hauld, Sir: the Lord send 'em well to tawn.

Unc. Rich. And well out on't again, John, ha!

John Moody. Ah, Sir! you are a wise man, so am I: home's home, I say. I wish we get any good here. I's sure we got little upo' the road. Some mischief or other aw the day long. Slap goes one thing, crack goes another; my Lady cries out for driving fast: The awd cattle are for going slow; Roger whips, they stand still and kick; nothing but a sort of a contradiction aw the journey long. My Lady wou'd gladly have been here last night, Sir, tho' there was no lodging got; but her Ladyship said, she did naw care for that, she'd lie in the inn where the horses stood, as long as it was in London.

Unc. Rich. These ladies, these ladies, John——

John Moody. Ah, Sir, I have seen a little of 'em, tho' not so much as my betters. Your worship is naw married yet?

Unc. Rich. No, John no; I am an old batchelor still.

John Moody. Heav'ns bless you and preserve you, Sir.

Unc. Rich. I think you have lost your good woman, John!

John Moody. No, sir, that I have not; Bridget sticks to me still, Sir, she was for coming to London too, but, no, says I, there may be mischief enough done without you.

Unc. Rich. Why that was bravely spoken, John, and like a man.

John Moody. Sir, were my measter but haf the mon that I am, Gadswookers——tho' he'll speak stautly too sometimes, but then he canno hawd it; no, he canno hawd it.

Enter Maid.

Maid. Mr. Moody, Mr. Moody, here's the coach come.

John Moody. Already? no, sure.

Maid. Yes, yes, it's at the door, they are getting out; my mistress is run to receive them.

John Moody. And so will I as in duty bound.

[Exeunt John and maid.

Unc. Rich. And I will stay here, not being in duty bound to do the honours of this house.

Enter Sir Francis, Lady, 'Squire Humphry, Mrs. Betty, Mrs. Handy, Doll Tripe, John Moody, and Mrs. Motherly.

Lady Head. Do you hear, Moody, let all the things be first laid down here, and then carried where they'll be used.

John Moody. They shall, an't please your ladyship.

Lady Head. What, my uncle Richard here to receive us! this is kind indeed: Sir, I am extremely glad to see you.

Unc. Rich. Niece, your servant. [Salutes her.] I am extremely sorry to see you, in the worst place I know in the world for a good woman to grow better in. Nephew, I am your servant too; but I don't know how to bid you welcome.

Sir Fran. I am sorry for that, Sir.

Unc. Rich. Nay, 'tis for your own sake: I'm not concern'd.

Sir Fran. I hope, uncle, I shall give you such weighty reasons for what I've done, as shall convince you I'm a prudent man.

Unc. Rich. That wilt thou never convince me of, whilst thou shalt live.

[Aside.

Sir Fran. Here, Humphry, come up to your uncle——Sir, this is your godson.

Squire Humph. Honour'd uncle and godfather; I creave leave to ask your blessing.

[Kneels.

Unc. Rich. Thou art a numbscull I see already.

[Aside.

There thou hast it. [Puts his hand on his head.] And if it will do thee any good, may it be, to make thee, at least, as wise a man as thy father.

Lady Head. Miss Betty, don't you see your uncle?

Unc. Rich. And for thee, my dear, may'st thou be, at least, as good a woman as thy mother.

Miss Betty. I wish I may ever be so handsome, Sir.

Unc. Rich. Ha! Miss Pert! now that's a thought that seems to have been hatch'd in the girl on this side Highgate.

[Aside.

Sir Fran. Her tongue is a little nimble, Sir.

Lady Head. That's only from her country education, Sir Francis, she has been kept there too long; I therefore brought her to London, Sir, to learn more reserve and modesty.

Unc. Rich. O! the best place in the world for it. Every woman she meets, will teach her something of it. There's the good gentlewoman of the house, looks like a knowing person, ev'n she perhaps will be so good to read her a lesson, now and then, upon that subject. An arrant bawd, or I have no skill in physiognomy.

[Aside.

Mrs. Moth. Alas, Sir, Miss won't stand long in need of my poor instructions; if she does, they'll be always at her service.

Lady Head. Very obliging, indeed, Mrs. Motherly.

Sir Fran. Very kind and civil truly; I believe we are got into a mighty good house here.

Unc. Rich. For good business, very probable.

[Aside.

Well, niece, your servant for to-night; you have a great deal of affairs upon your hands here, so I won't hinder you.

Lady Head. I believe, Sir, I shan't have much less every day, while I stay in this town, of one sort or other.

Unc. Rich. Why, 'tis a town of much action indeed.

Miss Betty. And my mother did not come to it to be idle, Sir.

Unc. Rich. Nor you neither, I dare say, young mistress.

Miss Betty. I hope not, Sir.

Unc. Rich. Um! Miss Mettle.

[Going, Sir Francis following him.

Where are you going, nephew?

Sir Fran. Only to attend you to the door, Sir.

Unc. Rich. Phu! no ceremony with me; you'll find I shall use none with you, or your family.

[Exit.

Sir Fran. I must do as you command me, Sir.

Miss Petty. This uncle Richard, papa, seems but a crusty sort of an old fellow.

Sir Fran. He is a little odd, child, but you must be very civil to him, for he has a great deal of money, and nobody knows who he may give it to.

Lady Head. Phu, a fig for his money; you have so many projects of late about money, since you are a parliament man, we must make ourselves slaves to his testy humours, seven years, perhaps, in hopes to be his heirs; and then, he'll be just old enough to marry his maid. But pray let us take care of our things here: Are they all brought in yet?

Mrs. Han. Almost, my lady, there are only some of the band-boxes behind, and a few odd things.

Lady Head. Let 'em be fetcht in presently.

Mrs. Han. They are here; come bring the things in: Is there all yet?

Serv. All but the great basket of apples and the goose-pye.

Enter Cookmaid.

Cook. Ah my Lady! we're aw undone, the goose-pye's gwon.

All. Gone?

Sir Fran. The goose-pye gone? how?

Cook. Why, Sir, I had got it fast under my arm to bring it in, but being almost dark, up comes two of these thin starv'd London rogues, one gives me a great kick o' the——here; [Laying her hand upon her backside.] while t'other hungry varlet twitch'd the dear pye out of my hands, and away they run dawn street like two grayhounds. I cry'd out fire! but heavy George and fat Tom are after 'em with a vengeance; they'll sauce their jackets for 'em, I'll warrant 'em.

Enter George with a bloody face, and Tom.

So, have you catch'd 'em?

Geo. Catch'd 'em! the gallows catch 'em for me. I had naw run half the length of our beam, before somewhat fetch me such a wherry across the shins, that dawn came I flop o' my face all along in the channel, and thought I shou'd ne'er ha gotten up again; but Tom has skawar'd after them, and cried murder as he'd been stuck.

Tom. Yes, and straight upo' that, swap comes somewhat across my forehead, with such a force, that dawn came I like an ox.

Squire Humph. So, the poor pye's quite gone then.

Tom. Gone, young measter, yeaten, I believe by this time. These, I suppose, are what they call sharpers in this country.

Squire Humph. It was a rare good pye.

Cook. As e'er these hands put pepper to.

Lady Head. Pray, Mrs. Motherly, do they make a practice of these things often here?

Mrs. Moth. Madam, they'll twitch a rump of beef out of a boiling copper: and for a silver tankard, they make no more conscience of than if it were a Tunbridge sugar box.

Sir Fran. I wish the coach and horses, George, were safe got to the inn. Do you and Roger take special care that nobody runs away with them, as you go thither.

Geo. I believe, Sir, our cattle won't yeasily be run away with to-night; but wee'st take best care we con of them, poor sauls!

[Exit.

Sir Fran. Do so, pray now.

Squire Humph. Feather, I had rather they had run away with heavy George than the goose-pye; a slice of it before supper to-night would have been pure.

Lady Head. This boy is always thinking of his belly.

Sir Fran. But, my dear, you may allow him to be a little hungry after a journey.

Lady Head. Pray, good Sir Francis, he has been constantly eating in the coach, and out of the coach, above seven hours this day. I wish my poor girl could eat a quarter as much.

Miss Betty. Mama, I could eat a good deal more than I do, but then I should grow fat mayhap, like him, and spoil my shape.

Lady Head. Mrs. Motherly will you be so kind to tell them where they shall carry the things.

Mrs. Moth. Madam I'll do the best I can: I doubt our closets will scarce hold 'em all, but we have garrets and cellars, which, with the help of hiring a store-room, I hope may do. Sir, will you be so good to help my maids a little in carrying away the things.

[To Tom.

Tom. With all my heart, forsooth, if I con but see my way; but these whoresons have awmost knockt my eyen awt.

[They carry off the things.

Mrs. Moth. Will your ladyship please to refresh yourself with a dish of tea, after your fatigue? I think I have pretty good.

Lady Head. If you please, Mrs. Motherly.

Squire Humph. Would not a good tankard of strong beer, nutmeg and sugar, do better, feather, with a toast and some cheese?

Sir Fran. I think it would, son: Here, John Moody, get us a tankard of good heavy stuff presently.

John Moody. Sir, here's Norfolk Nog to be had next door.

Squire Humph. That's best of all, feather; but make haste with it, John.

[Exit Moody.

Lady Head. Well, I wonder, Sir Francis, you will encourage that lad to swill his guts thus with such beastly lubberly liquor; if it were Burgundy or Champain, something might be said for't; they'd perhaps give him some wit and spirit; but such heavy, muddy stuff as this, will make him quite stupid.

Sir Fran. Why you know, my dear, I have drank good ale, and strong beer these thirty years, and by your permission I don't know, that I want wit.

Miss Betty. But I think you might have more papa, if you'd have been govern'd by my mother.

Enter John Moody with a tankard.

Sir Fran. Daughter, he that is govern'd by his wife, has no wit at all.

Miss Betty. Then I hope I shall marry a fool, father, for I shall love to govern dearly.

Sir Fran. Here, Humphry, here's to thee.

[Drinks.

You are too pert, child it don't do well in a young woman.

Lady Head. Pray, Sir Francis, don't snub her; she has a fine growing spirit, and if you check her so, you'll make her as dull as her brother there.

Squire Humph. Indeed Mother, I think my sister is too forward.

[After drinking a long draught.

Miss Betty. You? you think I'm too forward? what have you to do to think, brother Heavy? you are too fat to think of any thing but your belly.

Lady Head. Well said, Miss; he's none of your master, tho' he's your elder brother.

Enter George.

Geo. Sir, I have no good opinion of this tawn, it's made up of mischief, I think.

Sir Fran. Why, what's the matter now?

Geo. I'se tell your worship; before we were gotten to the street-end, a great lugger-headed cart, with wheels as thick as a good brick wall, layd hawld of the coach, and has pood it aw to bits: an this be London, wo'd we were all weel i' th' country again.

Miss Betty. What have you to do, Sir, to wish us all in the country again, lubber? I hope we shan't go into the country again these seven years, Mama, let twenty coaches be pull'd to pieces.

Sir Fran. Hold your tongue, Betty. Was Roger in no fault of this?

Geo. No, Sir, nor I neither. Are you not asham'd, says Roger to the carter, to do such an unkind thing to strangers? No, says he, you bumkin. Sir, he did the thing on very purpose, and so the folks said that stood by; but they said your worship need na be concerned, for you might have a law-suit with him when you pleas'd, that wou'd not cost you above a hundred pounds, and mayhap you might get the better of him.

Sir Fran. I'll try what I can do with him, I'gad, I'll make such——

Squire Humph. Feather, have him before the parliament.

Sir Fran. And so I will: I'll make him know who I am. Where does he live?

Geo. I believe in London, Sir.

Sir Fran. What's the villain's name?

Geo. I think I heard somebody call him Dick.

Sir Fran. Where did he go?

Geo. Sir, he went home.

Sir Fran. Where's that?

Geo. By my troth I do naw knaw. I heard him say he had nothing more to do with us to-night, and so he'd go home and smoke a pipe.

Lady Head. Come, Sir Francis, don't put yourself in a heat; accidents will happen to people in travelling abroad to see the world. Eat your supper heartily, go to bed, sleep quietly, and to-morrow see if you can buy a handsome second-hand coach for the present use, bespeak a new one, and then all's easy.

[Exeunt.

Enter Colonel Courtly.

Col. Who's that, Deborah?

Deb. At your service, Sir.

Col. What, do you keep open house here? I found the street door as wide as it could gape.

Deb. Sir, we are all in a bustle, we have lodgers come to-night, the house full.

Col. Where's your mistress?

Deb. Prodigious busy with her company, but I'll tell Mrs. Martilla you are here, I believe she'll come to you.

[Exit.

Col. That will do as well. Poor Martilla! she's a very good girl, and I have lov'd her a great while. I think six months it is, since like a merciless highwayman, I made her deliver all she had about her; she begg'd hard, poor thing, I'd leave her one small bauble. Had I let her keep it, I believe she had still kept me. Cou'd women but refuse their ravenous lovers that one dear destructive moment, how long might they reign over them! But for a bane to both their joys and ours, when they have indulg'd us with such favours as make us adore them, they are not able to refuse us that one, which puts an end to our devotion.

Enter Martilla.

Col. Martilla, how dost thou do, my child?

Mart. As well as a losing gamester can.

Col. Why, what have you lost?

Mart. I have lost you.

Col. How came you to lose me?

Mart. By losing myself.

Col. We can be friends still.

Mart. Dull ones.

Col. Useful ones, perhaps. Shall I help thee to a good husband?

Mart. Not if I were rich enough to live without one.

Col. I'm sorry I'm not rich enough to make thee so; but we won't talk of melancholy things. Who are these folks your aunt has got in her house?

Mart. One Sir Francis Headpiece and his Lady, with a son and daughter.

Col. Headpiece! Cotso, I know 'em a little. I met with 'em at a race in the country two years since; a sort of blockhead, is not he?

Mart. So they say.

Col. His wife seem'd a mettlesome gentlewoman, if she had but a fair field to range in.

Mart. That she won't want now, for they stay in town the whole winter.

Col. Oh that will do to shew all her parts in.

Enter Mrs. Motherly.

How do you do, my old acquaintance?

Mrs. Moth. At your service, you know, always colonel.

Col. I hear you have got good company in the house.

Mrs. Moth. I hope it will prove so; he's a parliament man only, colonel, you know there's some danger in that.

Col. O, never fear, he'll pay his landlady, tho' he don't pay his butcher.

Mrs. Moth. His wife's a clever woman.

Col. So she is.

Mrs. Moth. How do you know?

Col. I have seen her in the country, and begin to think I'll visit her in town.

Mrs. Moth. You begin to look like a rogue.

Col. What, your wicked fancies are stirring already?

Mrs. Moth. Yours are, or I'm mistaken. But I'll have none of your pranks play'd upon her.

Col. Why, she's no girl, she can defend herself.

Mrs. Moth. But what if she won't?

Col. Why then she can blame neither you nor me.

Mrs. Moth. You'll never be quiet till you get my windows broke; but I must go and attend my lodgers, so good night.

Col. Do so, and give my service to my lady, and tell her, if she'll give me leave, I'll do myself the honour to-morrow to come and tender my services to her, as long as she stays in town. If it ben't too long.

[Aside.

Mrs. Moth. I'll tell her what a devil you are, and advise her to take care of you.

[Exit.

Col. Do, that will make her every time she sees me think what I'd be at. Dear Martilla, good night; I know you won't be my hindrance; I'll do you as good a turn some time or other. Well, I'm so glad, you don't love me too much.

Mart. When that's our fate, as too, too oft we prove, How bitterly we pay the past delights of love.