SCENE I.

WHat Frank alive! mad Frank alive!

Even so, sober Tom, and glad to see you here in Town, which cannot have been long: Pray when?

Not yet a full week: But Frank, I shou'd chide thee; for tho thou'rt a Rakehelly Non-resident fellow to any particular place, our Father old Sir William's House stands where it did; and a slight directi­on wou'd have secur'd a Letter to your Loving Brother. Tho the old man has forsaken thee, I never did Frank.

Brother, I never write, 'tis my aversion: A man that writes must think and be serious, which I never was, nor never will be. Talk as much as you will, but Writing's my Abomination.

Why Frank, 'tis the only way of Conversation with absent Friends.

Ay, but there's great charge in Paper, and one Letter begets another; besides the expence of saying fine things. And then end with a damn'd Hypocritical Conclusion, of your Faithful Friend and Servant, to a Rogue it may be you wish hang'd.

Well, I find thou keep'st thy humour still, never to constrain [Page 2] thy self to please thy friends. But why have you not ask'd how my Father does? What brought us to Town, or where you might see us?

Why first, I suppos'd he was well, or dead or alive, there's nothing to be got by him. Next, I suppose you came to Town for the same reason I stay in Town, to Whore and Drink. Lastly, I thought I might meet you in a Bawdy-house.

Well judg'd, dear Frank, but I'll inform you better; my Fa­ther is well, and we came to Town upon the Condition of a match be­tween the Beautiful Daughter of my Lord Lovewit deceased, and your then happy Brother Tom Wealthy.

Joy, Sir.

Abate a little, Sir; for tho the Lady's Consent and Inclinati­on intitle me the man, even since we came to Town, in that short time, a brace of Fops at Covent-Garden Church, have so far insinuated themselves, upon a slight acquaintance with my Father, that every hour almost in every day they are paying their Devoirs. I'll not disturb my Soul so far to think I am wrong'd, but one, and to my face, she so far favours, as wou'd provoke a man of a less Jealous temper than my self: If this be the effects of going to Church, they Church it by them­selves for her or Tom.

Nay, nay, Tom, rail not against the Church, but down on thy knees, and thank Heav'n thou brought'st her safe off: Why man, they are the very Heart-hunters in Christendom: if thy Lady be not proof against Eye-shot and Ear-shot, thou'rt undone: Such nice surprizes, at so sweet a Face, such amorous glances of half Zeal half Love, such cock­ing of Cravat-strings and of Noses, with Perriwiggs so exquisitely set, that happy is the Woman looks and lives.

This is terrible News for a poor Country Gentleman: but I'll dispatch my Marriage instantly, or cut the Throat of him that hinders it. And Frank, she has a Cousin worth 10000 l. And faith, thou'rt a young fellow Worthy, wou'dst thou but leave these Courses—

Thus speaks the Elder Brother. Leave these Courses! Pox Course you; what wou'dst thou have me do? You have the Estate, and yet I wear as good Cloaths as you do; Eat and Drink as well as you do; keep as good Company as you do; and you'll allow I'm the better Gentleman, by being the Younger Brother. Well, prethee tell me where you lodge, for I'm resolv'd to make a visit to my Father, not forgetting this 10000 l. you speak of.

Why, at this very House.

[Page 3]

What, the Widdow Sly's?

The same.

'Sdeath, my Widdow! I had a Note from her but just now, which was not unwelcome; for I had damn'd ill luck at the Groom-Porters last night. Well, my Duty to my Father, and tell him I must pay him a visit; I have some small acquaintance with the Widdow, and I shall gain Admittance.

By the way, Frank, I doubt you have a Rival of the old Gen­tleman: But more of that when I see you next; I'll find that out. You are in haste, and I a truant to my Mistress. Adieu: Don't fail Frank, for she is so much of thy temper, I dare almost promise thee suc­cess.

SCENE II.

Well Cousin, this London's a delicate place; oh foh upon Sir William's old nasty House in the Country: If e're you catch me there agen! I did pennance enough in my Dads days: I'll no more of your Baing, Cackling and Crowing in a morning; if I must be wak'd out of my sleep, it shall be with the dear Rattling of Coaches, that, if I look out, I may see some gay thing fit to divert my eyes; without that eternal prospect of Beasts, and bare Fields.

Thou art a mad Girl, and this mad fancy will soon be cloy'd; but if you are resolv'd to stay after our return to the Country, with what Reputation will you live here, a single young Woman expos'd to the malice of this Rascally Town.

Not so fast good Cousin: A single young Woman may be otherwise if she please; and I am under no Vows that I know, unless this now; That the first young Gentleman that I like, (if he has good manners enough to like me) shall have the spending of this ten thousand pounds of mine, rather than I'll dye of the Pip, to leave it to you and your Heirs.

Well then, if you are upon choice, what think you of the two fine dress'd Gentlemen we came acquainted with at Church. There's danger indeed in looking on them.

Oh foh! filthy old Effeminate Fools. Danger in them? none on my Conscience, I dare swear it, if they were to be try'd; though [Page 4] indeed, my dear Cousen, I observ'd you a little over civil to Mr. Sham­town, who receiv'd it with all the good manners in the World.

Well Girl, since you are resolv'd to Marry, I'll give you some advice; this Gentleman, this Mr. Wealthy, is the man on Earth, bait but his sin of Jealousie I'd choose, which I am resolv'd to cure (if possible) e're I resign my self to what I wish: For after that Maria, the Salique Law's in force against us all, and then adieu to Government for ever: Our frowns no more can kill, nor smiles revive: The humblest Lover makes a Lordlike Husband.

I apprehend you, then you mean to write the folly of his Jea­lousie so plain, in the two faces of these Amorous fools, that he may Read it there.

Right Girl, but you must joyn in this great Plot; for sure you must discern what Love and Languishment my Lovers friend exprest to you.

To me! upon my life he hardly ever spoke, and then so soft­ly, I cou'd hardly hear; he lookt indeed and sight, and set his Cravat-string, and sight agen, and Comb'd his Perriwig: sight a third time, and then took snuff, I guess to show the whiteness of his Hand. And all the speech he made to all this Action, was, Renounce me, Madam, but you are very handsome; expecting, I suppose, the same return.

Well, this is making Love, the very newest way of making Love, and yet that Wealthy can so slightly weigh my Judgment, or my Love; to think me fond of such a nauseous Fop; but I'll Revenge my self this very way; I'll point my whole discourse to him, like every thing he does, praise him to Wealthy's face, and ask his Judgment of him; and as I find the ill-natur'd Fit work in him, I'll treat my new ac­quaintance.

And I must sigh, I judge too with my Lover: Well, I do hate a sneaking, whining, crying, lying, dying Fellow, of all things in Nature: Give me the airy, sprightly free Gallant, such a one as they report young Wealthy to be. I long to see him, but this old Sir William will not suf­fer him, they say, to come into the House; yet as ill-natur'd as he is to his own flesh, he has a great inclination for mine, for he can hardly ever keep his hands from my bosome. And what way shou'd he take to make love to me, but by railing at youth, especially his Son Frank, who shall starve he says, e're he get a Groat from him.

And you may believe him, for he's the gripingst old Jew living: Frank too made bold with five hundred pounds of his, which he can [Page 5] never forgive. But see here comes my Lord and Master. Ah Tom, wou'dst thou but quit that Jealous humour, tho 'tis bred of Love, 'tis nurs'd by Folly; Love, Honour and Obey, shou'd be my Song for ever.

Ladies, good day to you; what, not for Church this morning, Ladies? Methinks, tho your Zeal may be somewhat allay'd, so much good Company as meet there might invite you to Prayers.

O, goes it there? teaze him Cousen.

Well, Mr. Wealthy, I'll swear you are in the Right, there is the finest Company, the finest Ladies, and the finest Gentlemen! 'twou'd do a bodies heart good to look upon them. Upon my life they spoil'd all my Devotion; 'twas well for you, my Cousen made her choice before she saw these fine things, had you been in Love with me you had been undone.

You speak but your own Opinion on that Maria, though truly Mr. Shamtown, and Mr. Littlegad, are the civilest, best bred men I ever saw; especially Mr. Shamtown, he is the pleasantest Creature, so good humour'd, and so Witty, he is three in Company at any time.

Nay, Madam, I will allow him a fine Person, and a pleasant Creature, and three in Company; but for Wit, indeed Madam, 'tis much more your goodness than his desert.

Well, I won't answer for Mr. Shamtown, but I'll swear Mr. Lit­tlegad has Wit, and more than that he is in Love with me.

I doubt not that Madam; but has he told you so?

No, but he has sigh't, and that's all one; besides he set his Perri­wig and Cravat-string, for fear I shou'd not like them. Pho, I know he is in Love with me, and for ought I know, I am in Love with him too.

Very fortunate fellows these, a poor Country Lover shall ride you twenty miles a day, only to play a Game at Lantrelew, and go every Night home in the dirt and the dark, and shall hardly be believ'd to be in Love, though he break a Limb by the way; whilst one of these pleasant Creatures, by a new fancy'd Dress, or nice ty'd Knot, shall conquer a young Lady in a trice.

But then you must consider Invention is the labour of the brain, and exceeds that of the body.

And what signifies your Country Fools twenty mile a day to please his Mistress, when one of these shall sit you twenty hours toge­ther, almost distracting his dear Head, to find new fashions out, to de­light us Ladies.

[Page 6]

And should not we be grateful, Mr. Wealthy, to these, who as if they were of a Religious Order, abandoning and renouncing all your lewd Debaucheries of Wine, wholly devote themselves to us, and our diversion.

Present his Duty to me, wait upon me, he's a Bastard, no Son of mine, and if he comes here I'll send him to Newgate, a Rogue!

Nay, good Sir William, who has offended you?

What makes you so angry, good Sir William?

Pray be pacify'd, Sir.

No, Sir, I'll not be pacify'd, Sir, with you, nor your Bro­ther Rogue neither; he'll visit me to rob me agen, ha! What have you seen him, and advis'd him to it, ha? The other five hundred pounds. I'll lay him close an I catch him, a Thief.

Nay, good Sir, consider, he's my Brother, and your Son.

Sirrah, you lye.

I have done, e're long you'll say the same by me.

No, no, Tom, never; thou art my Son, my eldest Son, my best Son, I have no Son but thee, Tom.

Nay, Sir, you must pardon me, my Mother was Vertuous. You must forgive poor Frank, he is your Son.

Sirrah.

Your own flesh and blood, Sir William.

My flesh and blood, no Madam, but he robb'd me of my flesh and blood, my money.

Egad, and I am glad on't with all my heart.

Fye, fye, you little Thief you, glad that a Son should rob his Father. But I'll tell you that you may judge the grief of a Parent, against you have Children, Tom or you, you little Rogue, for you will have Children; I'gad, I cou'd get you with Child my self. But as I was saying, I bred him at School, and it was a forward dirty Boy; from thence I sent him to the University; from the University to the Inns of Court, where in two years time, from a sober, grave, discreet youth, he grew the Debauch of the Town; roaring, drinking, who­ring, fighting, were his daily Diversions: and because I wou'd not supply the Rogue with Moneys to maintain his Villanies, he comes down with a formal Recantation to me in the Country, where like a Rogue, a Cut-throat Thief in the Night, he robb'd me of five hundred pounds, and now he sends me word, he'll make such an other Visit.

[Page 7]

Why, Sir William, methinks he has not wrong'd you in the least, you have sav'd Money by him, for sure 500 l. is but a small por­tion for a young Gentleman, and your Son.

And wou'd still deserve the name, wou'd my Father but forgive him as a Son.

Sirrah, Son me no Sons, he was my Son, but is not, nor any that plead for him.

Come, come, Sir William, you were young once, and no doubt had your frollicks, and your share of that whoring, roaring and fighting you speak of, I warrant you.

Fye, fye, or if I had, I never robb'd my Father of five hun­dred pounds at a time, Girl, Girl: Consider the summ of five hundred pounds, before you plead for such a Rogue.

Good Cousen leave off, for the thoughts of five hundred pounds will put him so out of humour, we shall have no peace with him.

Sir, Mr. Puzlecause the Lawyer is without, and desires to speak with you.

Cods so, I, Tom, Tom, you must go with me, 'tis about drawing them Writings, about your Ladies Joynture. Well, God bless you both, and give you happiness.

The man she likes needs not mistrust the blessing.

The man she likes must not mistrust at all.

I cannot imagine what I have to do among all these sober, bu­sie people; wou'd I cou'd find this mad young Wealthy, I fancy he and I shou'd be better Company than all these. VVell, if this Town of Lon­don will not afford me one young Fellow, after my own heart, 'tis very hard.

Sir William, when must the VVedding be, you keep me in expectation, I long to see the manner, though my Cousen by her gravity, I see, does not wish for it at all.

O very suddenly, you little wagg you; what think you now of your own VVedding; what think you of an old fellow of sixty now; hold, hold, I mean fifty: a good hearty old fellow with abun­dance of Love and Money?

VVhat think I of him! I had rather Marry your roaring, whoring Son with never a farthing, tho I never saw him yet.

O fye, fye Child; why there's no safety with such lewd young fellows, you must think better; but come Tom, come Tom, Mr. Puzlecause will think it long. Good morrow Children, good morrow.

[Page 8]

Adieu, dear Madam.

Come Cousin, shall we visit the Widdow this morning? and engage her to the Exchange this afternoon. We'll have all our Fancies in your dress. Bless us, you deserve a Husband indeed, to be married within these two days, and not a Ribbond bought.

Upon my life Maria, I begin to be affraid: The beginning, and your Courtship indeed is diverting enough, but this Marriage i'll swear when it draws so nigh is a terrible thing. I pretend not to that ridiculous over-affected Modesty of being affraid of a man-bedfellow I like, but seriously it shocks me, when I consider I stake upon one cast, my good or my ill fortune for my life.

Well Cousin, there is a hazard you know in all Games, and since we must be playing, faith I had as lieve lose at this as any Game.

SCENE III.

I just receiv'd a message by Mr. Wealthy's man, Madam, that he will answer the Contents of your Letter, for he has earnest business with your Ladiship, and begs you not to fail at three exactly, at Mr. Spruce's Shop in the Exchange.

I don't approve of his so often being there, though certainly had he any Intrigue with her, he wou'd not have the Impudence to ap­point to meet me there. Well, 'tis a barbarous case that a Lady can't secure one man to her self, though she pay a very good price for him, and maintain him as her own Goods and Chattels; which is a great mis­fortune to us Widdows. For upon my life, your young fellows now a days, are scare-crow'd with the name of a Widdow, that we must either [Page 9] marry old musty Batchelours, or secure some younger Brother by the magnetick Vertue of our Money. Betty, are the young Ladies up, think you?

Yes Madam, and I believe I hear 'em coming to visit you this morning.

Run, run, and wait 'em up stairs: Upon my life I had forgot my Complexion this morning; but they are Country Ladies, and may not miss it.

O dear, Ladies, I design'd this kindness to you, as soon as I cou'd possi­bly have drest my self.

Madam, your humble Servant; we made bold to wait on you; I hope we have not hindred your Devotions.

O good Madam, I have been up these five hours. Betty, some Chairs; Ladies, pray sit down.

Madam, we came to desire your good Company to the Ex­change this afternoon, to buy two or three suits of Ribbond for my Cousins Wedding. Your good Fancy will much improve her dress. Alas, we Country Ladies that so seldome come to Town, are the awk­ward'st Creatures: Dear Madam, you must assist us.

Alas Madam, since my unfortunate Widdowhood, dress has been the least of my thoughts: Nor cou'd I indeed ever boast of more than being clean, in the height of my prosperity; for the gaudy part of Dressing was still my Aversion: And I hope Ladies you will pardon me, if I must deny my self the satisfaction of waiting on you to a place that will so ill become my Condition to appear in, as the Exchange. Where I must meet my Wealthy, and with them 'twill be impossible.

Learn Sister, learn to Cant against you are a Widdow. If this be'nt a Hypocrite i'll be hang'd.

Madam, you are Mistress of your self and time; but I thought the Exchange had been one of the innocent diversions of the Town, and might as well help out an afternoon, as the Play-house, or the Park, without incurring the danger of Censure in the least.

Ah Madam! 'tis a base malicious Town, and whoever will live with Reputation in it, must as nigh as possible avoid all those places.

If all these are to be avoided, what difference is there between the Town and a Nunnery? Or what diversion does your Ladiship pro­pose in Living.

In Visits, Madam. 'Tis the grand affair of all Ladies of Qua­lity, [Page 10] to be exact in their days of giving and receiving Visits; high days of State; your Ladies Coller days as 'twere.— Betty, bring my Table-book, where you shall see how exact we are in our method, Madam, which is a mighty satisfaction to know ev'ry Ladies particu­lar day of giving or receiving; so that consulting your Tables, you can never err. Let me see, Thursday last was my day of State; I think I had a great Court, Betty.

Twenty at least, Madam.

O Ridiculous! But certainly, Madam, so much Company shou'd rather be uneasie than diverting.

O Madam, the Grandeur of the thing takes off all sort of un­easiness, tho you hated ev'ry one in the Company; nor are you ob­lig'd to talk to ev'ry one, no more than your rising acknowledgments at first. Now Madam, as thus, Alphabetically: Madam Attall on Monday; Madam Bareman on Tuesday; and so in the round, Madam Willdrink, Madam Willfull, Madam Wouldhaveit, Madam Wellenough, and my Lady Worstofall.

Your method, Madam, is extraordinary fine, but for my part, I'd sooner choose to walk by my self in the Fields, than be troubled with all this Company in their finest Apartments.

Is your Ladiship for one in the Garden this morning?

We'll wait upon you, Madam.

No, pray Madam, indeed the Morning is inviting.

Ah, Mr. Wealthy!

Well met, my dear Cuckold, and particular Friend.

Good Mr. Wealthy, if I may be so bold, whether intend you?

Why, faith, to the Ordinary to Dinner.

Shall I prevent you, and perhaps to your satisfaction. If you will Dine with me and my Wife at home, I will entertain you with the Oddest and Idlest Resentment of a Brother Shop-keeper of mine, about his Wise, that can be.

With all my heart.

This fellow is the happiest Cuckold living, so satisfy'd with himself, that he cannot believe there lives that Woman wou'd condescend to touch an other man, after the taste of his dear person.

Well, I am contented to Dine with you, Mr. Spruce, but if you design not to take off the edge of my Appetite by suspence, let me know the business immediately.

You know, Mr. Topknot, in the same row with me, you must [Page 11] know the blockhead, ha, ha, ha. When Mr. Horner was the other day at his Shop, he heard him talk of a Journey he design'd on Sunday to Epsom, upon this Mr. Horner, as you or any man might do in my ab­sence to my Wife, appointed a Visit to his Wife; as you, I say, might do to mine, a Gentleman and Customer to the Shop, to comfort her. I cannot tell you the occasion well, but this Blockhead coming home late a Sunday night, goes up directly to his Wives Chamber, where finding Mr. Horner laughing and playing with his Wife, no matter how, takes a ridiculous freak of Jealousie in his Noddle, falls into the violentest passion that could be, calling his Wife Whore; and Heaven knows what. The Gentleman seeing this, thought the fellow mad, and putting out the Candle, made his escape down Stairs, leaving the Blockhead railing and cursing, ha, ha, ha.

But pray, Mr. Spruce, how has he dealt by his VVife?

How! By my Conscience and Soul, Sir, he has turn'd her out of doors, like a Jealous Coxcomb as he is.

O Barbarous!

Now, Mr. Wealthy, this is amazement to me, I can't but be­lieve these fellows have some Imperfection they are sensible of in them­selves; Lord, if I were such a Coxcomb, how often must you and I have fallen out; though really, when I met my VVife and you, the other day, in a Coach alone, it did at first surprize me.

Faith, and so did you us; but I satisfy'd you that was an accident.

No more words, dear Mr. VVealthy, I don't mistrust my Wives Vertue, or my own Merit; but we are just at the door: Nan, is my Wife come home from the Change?

Yes, Sir, she expects you at Dinner, but not so good Com­pany with you.

Pretty Mrs. Nanny.

Sir, shall I lead you in?

Your Servant Spruce. I have waited for you this half Hour: Mr. Wealthy, your humble Servant; you are a Stranger indeed.

Child, entertain Mr. Wealthy, till I go wash my Hands, and send up Dinner.

Must we attribute this Visit to Chance, or good Nature? I doubt, if to good Nature, 'tis my Husbands.

[Page 12]

Faith, my Dear, you are in the right; but I design'd to have pleas'd my self at least with seeing you at three a Clock this Afternoon in the Change.

If Mr. Spruce were as jealous as Mr. Topknot, indeed you might avoid seeing me any where, but there; But Heaven be prais'd he is of another Mould, and much more fit for my use.

O he told me that Story. Shall I see you then to Night at home?

With all my heart; but you'll fail, this is his Club Night, and ten to one but he's fuddl'd, but how open soever his Eyes are, I cast a Mist before 'em as easily as his understanding. At Nine the Garden gate shall be open, but don't fail; let me believe you think on me sometimes, by your not forgetting this.

By this, and this, I will not.

Ha, ha, ha, My Friend Topknot wou'd have been at the Top of the House with half this. Jealous Coxcomb. Come, my Dear, will you come to Dinner. Another Fool wou'd have been Jealous of this now, I warrant; a civil Salute, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

But what makes you laugh so, Prithee tell me?

Why, this was your VVifes own Contrivance to try to make you Jealous; you rail'd so at Mr. Topknot: VVe have been Kissing ever since you went out, for fear we shou'd not be Kissing as you came in.

Have you so? ha, ha, ha.

'Tis true Spouse, faith.

VVell, do if you can; but the Dinner cools: Mr. Wealthy—

SCENE I.

'TIs vain, I fear, to urge you further for your good Compa­pany to the Exchange, Madam, since your Reasons as well as Inclinations seem so averse to it.

[Page 13]

Alas, Madam, I hope you'll excuse my incivility in not wait­ing on you; since really, Madam, I am so terrify'd at any thing may touch my Reputation, and the gravity of my Habit, I dare not appear there, tho in so very good Company.

VVell, Heaven forgive me, I can't think Charitably of thee. Cousin, since we must venture by our selves into this bug-bear place among Men, Monsters, and Scandals: If we must suffer, Heaven have Mercy on our better part, I hope we shall have your Ladyship's Prayers; and for Mr. Wealthy, I declare, if we are Ravisht he deserves no better: a Lover, and go about Business with an old doating fellow of a Father, rather than wait upon his Mistress. VVere he to be mine, I wou'd not Marry him this Fortnight, tho' I gnaw'd my Sheets to pieces.

Indeed, Madam, I doubt you wou'd relent, for Mr. Wealthy is really a very fine Gentleman, and the better he settles his Affairs now, tho' he robs himself of the Satisfaction of his Ladies Conversation, the more Enjoyment he proposes to himself afterwards; as all wise men do in so grand an Affair as Marriage.

Indeed Madam, I am not come to those years of Discretion to like a wise man; for on the contrary, he is naturally my Aversion: and I dare avow for young Mr. VVealthy, whom I never yet saw, has more VVit in one of his Mad Frollicks, than his Brother's Spanish Gravity can be capable of.

Heaven send you may meet, for if what be true I have heard of him, by what I know of you, you might be excellent Company, and very fit for each others humours. Pray have you never heard of him, Madam.

Yes, Madam, and seen him at a distance; a handsome young Gentleman indeed he is, but very Debauch'd, or very much wrong'd.

Madam, the Coach is at the Door.

Madam, your humble Servant, we'll try our Fancies by your Judgment, when we come back.

Ladies, your Servant.

Your Ladiships humble Servant; no farther, adieu Madam.

Betty, make haste, and lay me out the Mantua and Petticoat I wore the other day, and take care to get a Hackney Coach to the Door when the Ladies are gone.

Yes, Madam.

Certainly if I should meet them in the Change; they can never [Page 14] know me, my greatest fear is lest young Wealthy, who is fond of every new face, should meet them, and then I am undone, for 'twill be hard to lure him from so tempting a quarry, to a game I fear he is already cloy'd with: yet he knows the sign, and in good manners must obey it, tho against his Inclination.

SCENE II. The Exchange.

I doubt I have over-stay'd my time; 'tis past Three, and the Widdow is not here, or else gone, which wou'd be a curst misfor­tune at this time: For to morrow I must make a visit to the old Gentle­man, whatever comes of it: And his house of late has always been to me like a Tavern or a Baudy-house, bring but Ready Money, and you shall be well lookt after: Besides, the 10000 l. runs strangely in my head. There sits this nights diversion; a Cordial of the Widdows will make it much more agreeable. Ha! she's here. I think, by this light a brace of handsome Women.

Ribbonds or Gloves, Madam; Gloves or Ribbonds.

Ha! they go to Mrs. Spruce's? have among you I faith La­dies: If the Widdow catch me, these are Cousins, nigh Relations.

Show us some of your newest fashion Ribbonds.

Mrs. Spruce your Servant; are the things I bespoke done Madam.

What things does he mean? O the Devil fetch him!

No Sir, not yet, but if you'll send your man in the morning, or to night, to my house, he shall have 'em. Here Ladies, do you like this Ribbond, or this?

Cousin what say you? you don't mind 'em.

Cousin, what's the matter with my heart? Certainly the De­vil's in that young fellow, or in me.

Ha, ha, ha, have you met with your man think you?

I have a strange Romantick thought in my head; what if I should fall in love with this young Creature at first sight, a pretty ac­count I should give of my self to my Friends: I must find some oppor­tunity to speak to her.

O fye, these are too grave for our occasion, they must be for a young Ladies Wedding favours, the gayest thing you have.

[Page 15]

If a stranger may so far presume, not for your own I hope, Madam.

Why Sir, wou'd you forbid the Banes?

Had I the same Interest as Inclination to it, Madam, you wou'd be in danger of it indeed.

O Lord, Sir, why are you in Love with me already?

Quick as her eyes I'gad: Why look you, Madam, plain Dealing's a Jewel: Let me first know what hopes my heart may have to build upon; whether you are a Predestinated Wife or not; and accord­ingly expect an answer from your humble Servant.

No, no, no; Demonstration's no direct answer to any thing. I am resolv'd to be a Riddle to all my Lovers. They that can find the meaning of me take me. I must talk with this young fellow: Cousin take your own Fancy, as you have done already: I like none of 'em.

As you have done already, O then she's the Bride, your Servant for that; 'tis kind and cunningly told, ha! I'gad these may be the two Ladies my Brother spoke of; I'll try. Well, Madam, to show you that I have an art that goes beyond unriddling any thing, I do po­sitively know by the Stars, those Propitious Stars to me, that you are not Married nor engag'd: That you have not been in Town above six days: That the Gentleman's Name, your Cousin is to Marry, begins with a W. and that you lodge now—

Tell me that, and you're a Conjurer.

That you lodge now—Let me fee—At the Lady Sly's in Covent Garden; ha! do you start, I'gad I am right.

And pray Sir, how came you to know this?

Art, Black Art, Madam, therefore at your own Propo­sals I claim you; or at least, the honour of being further acquainted.

Why Sir, if you are Master of your Art, 'twill be in vain to deny you that, after having seen me, when you were so well acquainted with me, before I saw you.

That's true, indeed Madam, but granted favours are much sweeter than stolen Fruits. Besides, Madam, there is really a necessity I should see you again, for should I at the first sight tell you a Romantick Tale of Flames and Darts, (tho you may well suspect your eyes,) yet you would not be apt to believe me.

You are in the right, indeed Sir; ha, ha, ha.

Therefore Madam, since you are prejudic'd against my first Essay, you ought in honour to allow a second, unless you mistrust the Justice of my Cause may prevail upon you.

[Page 16]

Nay, if you grow serious upon business, adieu.

And dare you venture to leave me thus, after avowing this passion, then I declare open War against you, and all those little dancing Cupids in your eyes. Assisted by the Spirits I command, those that inform'd me where you live, when you came, shall dance eternally Attendance; and wheresoe're among the numerous train of Fops your fancy settles, him they shall Plague. By one of these the nice shap'd youth that dances with you at Balls, shall have his Legs broke. The Sonniteer that chants his Amorous Notes, shall have his pretty mouth drawn to his Ears, whilst every Fop that levels dressing at you, shall certainly be tumbled in the Mire.

Till at the last, for want of better choice, I must take up with you. Bless us! a Conjurer! certainly I am a most unfortunate Crea­ture, tho London I was told was a lewd place, to light upon the Devil at the first dash.

Therefore keep friends with him whilst you may.

'Sdeath the Widdow. I know the sign, that curst Handkerchief; a plague on the Flag of Truce. When I was just giving Battel to the dear little Creature. Ay, ay, shake on; I can't see it yet.

Cousin will you go? I have bought what I design.

I wait you. Sir, your Servant.

The honour, Madam, to wait you to your Coach.

Madam, your Handkerchief.

Not to trouble you Sir.

Jack, here take these things, and put 'em in the Coach.

Upon my life this is an Appointment; she's jealous by her an­swer: O that I were alone with her, I might disappoint her. Sir, the Lady's going.

Not whilest you are here Madam, or till I see you in the Coach.

'Twill be a trouble Sir, and our Coach is just at the Door.

You shall be obey'd; when I see you next, I may challenge the honour of your acquaintance on other terms. Till then, fair one, Cross your self ev'ry Night, or my Spirits will play tricks with you.

None that can fright me, I'll watrant you.

Now for my Widdow, by that time I have appeased her, it will [Page 17] be time to meet Mrs. Spruce, and by that time I have appear'd Mrs. Spruce, it will be time to take a Bottle, and by that time I have that in my head, I shall think I have manag'd my time very well. For tho on my Conscience I cou'd forsake Whoring to gain that dear little Creature, 'tis not like a wise man to leave off one Trade, without a certainty of living better on another. Your Servant Mrs. Spruce.

SCENE III.

Jack, has it Rung at Convent-Garden yet?

Sir, 'tis past five.

Pox on this Drinking! 'tis no matter tho, for I look so filthily puddled, I durst not have gone out. Lord, I am extravagantly hot; Jack, step where you know, tell 'em I keep my Chamber this afternoon, and shou'd be glad to see 'em.

This is one of my masters high Intreagues; if Don Quixot's Dulcinea did not come of a better Family, I'll be hang'd.

I shou'd be very loth the Town shou'd know half what I am forc'd to trust this Rascal with: I have been now these 25 years (a damn'd long time to own) the chief Intreaguer of the Town, made such a figure, rais'd such emulation, I have been still the peak of every Poet, down from Sir Foplin to Sir Nice the Beau: There's not one Beauty fam'd in all the Town, to whom I have not paid some Gallan­try; and thus much I must own, I never made address in all my life, where I was yet refus'd, to make the address indeed, but that was all. The speculative part has still been mine, and my misfortunes have been gaily drest; Celia indeed no sooner broke her Vow, but Cloe entertain'd me as her own, and married with my Rival in a month. Yet still I kept my Reputation up, and wheresoe're I came, fresh Billett Deux on Billet Deux receiv'd; sent by my self, Heav'n knows, unto my self, on my own Charges: yet now my Fate gives me a fairer prospect, and beautiful Sophia will be kind. I have been well receiv'd, and will go on: And tho I fight for once, once and no more, I'll venture Mr. Weal­thy's surly temper. But wou'd my man wou'd come, for this is all but Speculative too, and I must Practise.

Sir, Mr. Littlegad's below, and bid me tell you he is come to wait on your Coushee.

[Page 18]

'Sdeath, my Brother Beau, and in the Intrigue with me, I must speak with him, tho he must not stay to see my Paramour. Wait on him up, I must maintain my Character with him.

Sir, your Servant; good Night to you, were now the pro­perest. What, reading of a Secret?

No, a Trifle; you may read it if you please, I just receiv'd it from a teazing poor Romantick Girl I promis'd Marriage to. I pity her, she writes a pretty stile.

Dear faithless man, Poor fool! For still you must be dear, dear to my Eyes, dear to my longing Heart; ah, why wou'd you betray me into Love? Why wou'd you promise me a Heaven in you, and take that Heaven away? Curse of her Eyes who have estrang'd your Heart! but O in vain, in vain I Curse the happiest Woman living. Pardon this trouble, Sir, it is the last. Boast you have broke a fond young Woman's heart, that lov'd too well to live, and live without you. Adieu. A very sad story. What no Superscription, no Direction?

'Sdeath, I had forgot to write it.

No, it came in­clos'd; I am pester'd strangely with these idle things. I'm glad you're come, for tho I must beg your leave to receive a visit from a Lady of Quality that will be here presently, I must acquaint you with my de­sign: I can prevail easily with the Widdow (who loves Dancing) to have a Ball at her House to morrow: 'Twill give us fresh opportunity to talk with the Ladies; and no small occasion to please them in our Dancing. You'll pardon, if I beg your leave a while: at night I'll meet at Wills, and order all. I'm much asham'd of this, but—

O Sir, the reason's Irresistible, no Complement, at Will's.

At eight.

Sir, she—

Rascal—

Sir, she says 'tis Washing day, and she cann't come.

Damn her, go down.

What, disappointed?

She begs my pardon, 'tis her day of receiving Visits. A Pox of all Quality, 'sdeath I'll Marry and oblige no more, Sophia shall engross my heart for ever; and now we have time, Mr. Littlegad, tell me your mind, our time is short, our Reception has been extraordinary. Will you resolve at this Ball to slip Notes into their hands, that shall declare our honourable intentions.

[Page 19]

I wou'd do much for beautiful Maria, but Love has so much awe upon my Soul; besides, if they refuse we're undone, if they be­tray us worse, a Quarrel follows.

Sir, you're my friend, I'll trust you with my temper. By others want of manners in the Town, I have suffer'd in my Reputation, and therefore wou'd prevail upon my self to venture once: The Cause I'm sure deserves it, and Mr. Wealthy, I have oft discern'd, forces his tem­per to be Civil to me.

Well Sir, you've been open with your friend: show me the Note you write, I'll show you mine.

SCENE the Back-Garden.

My matters go swimmingly faith, I have appeas'd my Widdow, made my self half drunk, and fill'd my Pockets with money. To morrow will I rise with the Sun, and out-shine the Sun, wait on my Father like a Son; and if I can but set like the Sun in that dear little Thetis's lap, I shou'd make a very good day on't. However, since I am resolv'd to make honourable Love, I'll take my leave of Whoring to Night. This is Mrs. Spruce's back-door, and the fatal hour draws on, in which I must graft a fresh Branch on my friends Forehead. Ha! the Door shut! It us'd always to be open upon such occasions: I'll venture three gentle taps however, there may be a Scout nigh.

Who's that, Mr. Wealthy?

Dear Mrs. Nanny: A Maidenhead I'gad; a pox of her mistress.

My mistress has expected you this half hour; she's alone in the Parlour.

With all my heart: But have you waited all this while in the Cold.

Indeed I thought it long before you came.

But you'd have thought it longer, had you staid for one you Love.

Yes, if they came on purpose to see me.

[Page 20]

Pretty little Rogue. The Child comes rarely on.

O fye Sir, what do you mean? Nay, pray Sir.

What do I mean? To kiss those pretty little lips.

O dear Sir, my mistress.

O Madam, now I hope you'll own I am as good as my word.

Somewhat better methinks. Nanny go in. So Terma­gant, Mr. Wealthy, that you cou'd not have patience to walk in; I suppose my Maid told you I expected you in the Parlour.

Yes, yes, you'l cool my Courage: Fye, Madam, I was only Coaxing her for fear when you vex'd her at any time, she shou'd tell your Husband.

You know, Mr. Wealthy, my Husband is not so easily per­swaded; but however, you boast of being as good as your word, I find, without a Bottle, you durst not have ventur'd.

Durst not; that word was never spoke to Spaniard yet, but forfeited a kiss that gave him it. Now Madam, since our time is short, and consequently very precious, pray let me have the honour to lead you into your own House.

No, I'll swear you'll be Rude.

No, I'll Swear I wont, but I'll be very Civil; when do you expect your Husband?

Not these two hours. O Lord, indeed I am afraid I shall catch cold, the Night's very raw.

I'gad you're in the right. Come along my dear.

Whereabouts are we Tom? 'tis somewhat dark.

Very nigh Covent Garden, Sir; we shall be at home pre­sently.

This Lawyer is a smart fellow, Tom, he has drawn up these Writings concisely, and full. Ah, that Rogue Frank, he might have done this, if he had follow'd his Studies, an idle Rogue, and sav'd me this Charge: But he must be fine, he must be a Wit, a Beau, Pox on him.

Sir, I believe it is yet in your power to reclaim him; he has seen the Vices of the Town, and no doubt is sick of them: Cou'd he but get a Competence to live.

Well Sir, and you'll have me settle an Estate upon him; I'll settle him in Newgate first, a Vagabond.

Nay, pray Sir, hear me.

[Page 21]

No, Sir, thank God I've taken care of you. I've settled you, I'll part with no more money.

Sir, you shall not part with a Groat.

How's that?

Upon my word you shant, and yet make him happy.

He has been a Rebellious Boy, but the tenderness of a Fa­ther—Well, tell me how, for I wou'd do him all the kindness I cou'd without Charges.

Sir, give him the liberty of your House, Countenance him as your Son, and let him address himself to young Maria.

Here's a Snake in my bosom; what, throw away my little pretty Maria with 10000 l. too. No, thank you Sir, I'll find a better match; what, betray my trust: Marry her to a Ranting, Roaring Bully. What, give her the Pox? Ah, Sirrah! What if I have a mind to marry her my self?

Sir, you'll pardon me if I say, methinks you are too old to think of marriage.

No, Sirrah, not so old as the young debauch'd Rascals of the Town, rotten before they are ripe. Sirrah, provoke me any more, speak of this match any more, I'll Marry, get a Child, and disinherit you both; and so come along.

Sir, I'll follow you, and shall watch you too, for shou'd he marry, a Child may be got without his help.

What Sirrah, do you mutter?

Mutter, no Sir.

No Sir, come along.

Adieu, dear Mrs. Spruce, you'll send that Linnen I be­spoke, to morrow early.

Yes, but not by my Maid.

My Husband, if ever he is Jealous 'tis in his Drink. Dear Mr. Wealthy adieu, how will you escape him?

How the Devil do I know: 'Sdeath, I'll stand against this Pump.

Whereabouts am I? Is not this my back door? I am some­what Drunk; 'tis a beastly thing above once a month, and that's my stint; but I'll please her with the Song I learnt: Tell me no more of Glory or Story. She loves a soft Song. Tell me no more of Glory. No Canary, pox of that slip; I have all dirted my face.

[Page 22]

'Sdeath I think I had best run for it now. Pox of his Agi­lity, he's up already: if he comes to the Pump, i'm undone.

Let me see, here's a Pump hereabouts.

Wou'd it were in your Guts.

I must clean my self, that I may not disgust my Wife, and make her think indifferently of my Person. Pox on't, they have taken away the handle: O here it is.

If he discovers me i'll knock him down, and then I shall pass for a Thief. The Dog will pull my Arm off.

Zounds the Pump's dry.

'Sdeath I have a Bottle of Orange Flower Water his Wife presented me.

O does it come; delicate Water faith: So now for my Wife: Let me see, where's the Key. Tell me no more of Glory, too to Court—

A sensless drunken Dog, not know a man from a Pump; this was a good scape, I shou'd have been loth to have Convinc'd him that he was a Cuckold. Let him doat on, 'tis late; shall I go home so sober, I shall Dream of the Devil all Night? no, the other Bottle.

SCENE I.

WHat would I give to know whether I am really in Love with that young fellow or not; let me examine my self. I am very angry with that Woman that came to meet him; methinks I could beat her, yet I could not beat him. I long to see him again too; and I am afraid I should be loth to part with him. Mercy upon me, these are very ill Signs.

What Musing Maria? Good morning to your serious Medita­tions: Pray your Thought?

If you'll promise not to laugh at me.

What, the pretty young fellow reigns still in your fancy: What, four and twenty hours together? On my Conscience you are constant; ha! ha!

Laugh on, laugh on! Who was caught first?

But fye upon you, I thought you would have reserved your heart for young Mr. Wealthy; and this Gentleman you saw was engag'd.

Would I knew where, I'd plague her however; but if he should be in Love with her I'm undone.

To clear that doubt Girl, I'll tell thee News shall make thee bless me for it: That Lady your Rival, Madam, is our Individual, Grave, Formal, Hippocritical Widdow.

Impossible, or how should you know it?

Walking last Night in the Balcony-room, somewhat impatient of Mr. Wealthys return, I heard a Hackney-Coach stop, whence bolted out the very Figure we saw in the Change, and my Curiosity found af­terwards to be the Widdow.

O this Ephesian Dame, shall she devour my Souldier; no, I'll vex every vein of her Heart. I'll Dog her every day, that when she meets him next, I'll meet him too, and turn her to her proper use, Pro­curing; I'll trace the old Fox till I find out her Young ones.

[Page 24]

Poor Girl, she's sar gone.

A Witch: Pardon me Ladies, if I dare not go to a place that so ill becomes the Gravity of my Habit.

VVhat Serenading Fools are these?

You're strangely out of humour, what if it should be a morning Serenade from our two Church-men, in order to the Ball we are to have this Evening? You remember the Part you are to Act.

Iudeed you must pardon me, I shall be out.

I grow sick of mine too; but heark, a Song.

Mr. Wealthy do we owe our thanks to you.

This Madam, as the gentlest way I cou'd, I chose to let you know my bold request; Musick and Beauty seem so nigh a kin; such equal charmers sure what one desires, the other can't deny; to morrow be the day; joyn to that natural goodness of your Soul; your kind endearing Promises and Vows, put on the Deity you are to me, descend and perfect all my hopes to morrow.

Sir, I confess it is a fault to blush, in answering what I have so often promised; but you must pardon both, since I must confess, so soon you have surpriz'd me, I own you Conquerour o're all my heart, but beg as yet you would not use your power; allow my Virgin fears some time to fly, I shall in honour yield without surprize.

Allow for all my Wracks of Passion; for all my broken hours and nights of rest. Allow for the Impatience of my Love, that counts all hours Ages till to morrow, and put this in the ballance with your fears: If it be yet too light, I'll kneel to beg a blessing great as this.

Sir—

What a Pox, is the fellow going to Prayers, or to say Grace to to morrows Feast? Child, Child, time is short, all things settled, and London's a Wicked Place, therefore prepare to look the Parson boldly in the face, and in grace of peace, i'll see you married, and then—

But Sir William.

Stop her mouth Boy, she'll cry 'tis too soon, or some mis­chief or other: Where's my little Maggot this morning? she'd put off such a business I warrant you; uh 'tis a parlous Quean.

Well, I will plague the Widdow and this old fellow. Good morning to you Sir William, you see they're got together with a vil­lanous [Page 25] design to make you a Grandfather, and then you'll look so old, Sir William, 'tis a pity; for now you look brisk enough for the young­est Maid in Town; methinks I could fall in Love with you my self.

Think you so, my little Maggot, not so old but I can play at creep Mouse yet; creep Mouse, creep, catch her, catch her.

Nay, nay, nay, Sir William.

Why, you little Eyes, you little Nose, you little Mouth, you little—No, no, you're for young Rogues; we old wholsome fel­lows, with good Hearts, sound Lungs, hum, hum: no, no, we can't pass now a days. Tom, I heard Musick here just now, was it yours Tom? Prithee, let's have a Song there; gad, I'm very merry this morning. Adsbodkins, I'll sing thee a Song my self, Girl. Now you shall hear, now Huswife, an old fellow; adslid, hum, hum.

O brave, Sir William.

Ah, you little Rogue! Creep Mouse creep, catch her.

Fye, fye, Sir William, you'll make me angry.

Why then be pleas'd again, you little baggage, ah.

Come, Sir William, let's see if you're as good at Dancing as you are at Singing; come Sir, I'll Dance with you.

Art thou for a Hoy tite Rogue? Come, strike up then.

Margery Crey.

Oh, fye, fye.

Come, come.

O this unmerciful Jade.

No matter, Madam, he likes it.

About, about, Sir William.

Hold, hold, Merry and Wise; Wise Child, Merry and Wise Puh.

Sir William, you grow young again; you trip it like any Fairy.

Oh fye upon him, he has put me so out of breath, I shant be able to Dance this Evening.

And yet I am old, I warrant you, ha? You had rather marry my Wicked Debauch'd Son Frank, you little Eyes, you little Nose, creep Mouse creep.

No, I yield Sir William now, but I'll try your Courage at the Ball.

But what the Devils the meaning of these Balls? What a [Page 26] Pox do these fellows do here? Here they tell me a Story of the Honour of my former acquaintance, when I never saw them but once, when I was last in Town, at a Coffee-house, and now at Church.

And think you not that enough, Sir, to take hold of, when it will introduce them into so good Company as these fair Ladies?

Still there Tom?—Cousin.

Good Sir William, and you Mr. Wealthy, do not quarrel at our good Fortune what e're you think; if I were sure of meeting such good Company, I'd go to Church every hour in the day; besides they're the Widdows acquaintance; we are oblig'd to her as well as you for their Company and the Ball we are to have; where, for all this, you must Dance to night.

Dance! you little Eyes you; ay, and Dance forty such Limberhamm'd fellows as these dead still: What, because this great fel­low here makes me look a little old, and the Cares of the World makes me look somewhat grey before my time, do you think I'll be laid aside; adsbodikins if you will Dance, Dance me a good round Country frisk: Pox o your Minutes and Bore's (what d'ye call'em) Dances only invented for your smooth pac'd pocky French fellows: Ounds, a good round Country Jigg would shake em all to pieces.

True Sir; but as brittle ware as they are, they crack ma­ny a Ladies reputation, without ever hazzarding their own; and ought no more to be suffer'd in Families than Eunuchs, who, however unmann'd, can both divert and disgrace their Ladies if they please.

Nay, sure Mr. Wealthy now you're too severe.

Not a bit, faith Tom, I hate these young old fellows mortally.

On my Conscience 'tis Scandalum Magnatum, were I a man so wrong'd, I'd Cuckold you to disprove you; but here comes the Wid­dow, I'll swear I'll tell.

Oh Madam, would you believe it? This Mr. VVealthy is the vilest man, he says he believes Mr. Shamtown and Mr. Littlegad are Eunuchs, as if that your Ladiship, that has known what a real man is, would keep such Company, or suffer them to come into your House.

Ha, ha, why you little eyes you, what spare no body? She's a Wag Madam, she's a Wag.

I like her humour the better; but Mr. VVealthy, indeed you must give me leave to take the part of this young Lady, in behalf of the young Gentlemen who are men of extraordinary Parts, upon my word.

[Page 27]

I doubt it not Madam, since your Ladiship is so well acquainted with them and their Parts.

Nay, nay, the men may pass; but what a Pox is that young old fellow, that peeps out of his Perriwig like an Owl out of a Bush.

O Damn him, an Antiquated Beau, aiming to be, but never in the fashion; saucy enough to Ape the Noblest man, but wrongs him as much as a damn'd Country sign did King Charles the Second; would make you believe he is a Linguist, but really pickt up the bits of Languages, by begging his way home when he was abroad. In short, to be Pawn Broker to a Basset Table, is the Top of his Pretensions.

Upon my word, Mr. VVealthy, 'tis malice, for I receiv'd just now a very pretty Epistle from them, and am in Love with the design of changing our Ball, among our selves, into a harmless Masquerade, where every one may please their fancy in expressing either their hu­mours or desires, by their dress; and so, though we know our full Company, be puzled to find out each other.

Troth, that's pretty indeed.

'Twill help the merriment, no doubt; I like the humour.

This is a Trick by Heav'n! I beg your Pardon, Madam; I confess, since we are so few, and we know all the Company, I cant find out the Jest of Masquerading; to drive on an Intrigue or so, I grant you.

Or to express our humours, by our dress, is full as well.

Nay, Madam, I have done.

Sir VVilliam, what say you?

With all my heart, i'faith, I'll Masquerade you; and if I find you out, you little eyes you, I will so creep mouse you. But what a Pox, we an't enough, we shall want Company.

If you are all agreed, I'll send them word; and by the way, desire Mr. Spruce and his fair Lady's Company, and so please you.

Agreed, agreed; come, be brisk Tom, let us be merry to Night, and please Heav'n, to morrow I'll settle the best part of my Estate upon thee, and thee upon her, i'faith Tom; and the rest my little eyes shall have if she will, and there's my care over.

Indeed Sir VVilliam, I must—

I know it my dear Child, I know it, all Women must; take her aside Tom, and walk with her in the Garden, and tell her some fine things. Tell her she must, and where she must, and when she must, and how she must; go, go Tom, tell her all. What are you running away, you little eyes you? What, you must too, ha?

[Page 28]

So must you too, Sir William, when you can; I must go to my Chamber and study my dress for the Masquerade, and some mischief against that black Devil, for I hate the sight of her.

Get you gone you little Maggot, you little; um I could. The Devil's in her I think, I never come nigh her but I fancy, my self twenty again.

I have observ'd this old fellow is in Love with her; I'll try him, and help too if I can, for if young Wealthy should as he has threat­ned, their humours will so hit, I shall certainly lose him. Sir William, if you'll pardon me, I'll tell you something I have observ'd; and I be­lieve I may serve you in it with that young Lady.

What says my Widdow, with that young Lady, ha?

What think you Sir? would she not be a comfort to your Age? would not a Bedfellow so sweet, so free, so gay, so witty, lovely, and so young, renew your life, and give you a fresh Lease? What think you Sir, be ye open?

Think Widdow? Gad, I know not what to think, what her little Eyes mine, her little Nose mine, her little Mouth mine, nay, her little all mine. Ah, Widdow, I'll give thee five hundred pound let me live to see that day, I'll Article immediately Widdow; there, there's my hand on't; by the Lord Harry—but the Money's returnable if not.

Agreed, and I accept your Generosity. But then, unless you follow my advice, you ruin all my measures. In the first place, you must resolve to stay in Town; in the next, your youngest Son, whom every body Loves, they say that sees him, must be banish'd, if e're he pays his Duty as he threatned.—

Banish'd! Ounds, I'll hang him Widdow, a Rogue. I have enough to hang him when e're I please: Why, he robb'd me of five hundred pounds, Widdow.

What then, you would not hang your Son.

Let him keep off then, let him keep off then, a Dog; but my dear Widdow, at her, my dear VViddow, tell her fine things, my dear VViddow. VVhat a fine thing it is to have a great Estate, my dear VViddow, and to reign Mistress of a House and Family, my dear VViddow: Tickle her my dear VViddow, and I'll tickle her, my dear VViddow; hum. Methinks I have got her already; but VViddow, VViddow, rail damnably at all young fellows.

I'll warrant you Sir; how his old bones dance. Well, Sir William, I'll sound her presently, she's gone to her Chamber, and I'll to her instantly, and after Dinner I'll tell you more.

[Page 29]

Go, go, go, five hundred pound Widdow go; go Widdow, rail at all young Rogues.

Pox on them rotten Rogues, that can neither Drink nor Whore, and yet set up for both, with weak Hams, slackned Nerves, shaking Hands, and flannel Shirts, before they're five and twenty. I'll shew them what an old fellow can do.

SCENE II.

So, this Letter will I show or drop before the Widdow: No, I'll shew it her, make her my Confident, as if it came from the Gentle­man I met in the Exchange. There needs no Name; and though she knows his Hand, if she be Jealous, she'll believe that Counterseit for fear of her. It begs I'de meet him there: I'll ask her Counsel, and observe her looks; if she be mov'd, my Cousin's in the right. Then if she goes to meet him in my stead, I'll Masque my self, and dog her to the place, and let him Judge whatever he thinks fit. I'll tell him that I came to vex them both.

Madam, the Widdow.

Wait upon her up, she leaps into my Net; I'll plague her very Heart.

Your Servant, Madam, still thinking on your Dress? I see you'll surprize us all with your fancy.

No Madam, I was otherwise employed; for being a perfect stranger to this Town, I was something troubled in my self to know whether I have met with a Civility or an Affront.

Explain your self, good Madam; not from me I hope, nor any of my Servants.

Not in the least; so far from that, dear Madam, you are the only person in the World I'll trust, or ask advice of.

You make me wonder.

You know how earnestly my Cousin and I entreated your good Company last night, till you convinc'd us how unfit it was for one so much afflicted, to be seen in naughty places, like the New Exchange.

What means she?

Well Madam.

However after begging of your Prayers, and saying of our own, with aking hearts, you know we went; nay, and are come off alive.

[Page 30]

Good Madam on.

Indeed there was much Company and fine, and had your Ladyship been there, I'm sure you'd say the same.

I doubt it not Madam. The Devil, what does she mean?

But grief you know Madam, however it may lull it self at home with Balls, or harmless Musick to divert, ought not to appear in publick, but in tears; that robb'd us of your company, dear Madam.

And is it that disturbs her?—'Tis that I fear's the incivility which you suspect.

No, on my Life; swear to be secret and I'll tell you all.

I vow: I would she would begin.

There was a young and really handsome Gentleman.

Ha, goes it there?

VVhat says your Ladiship?

Nothing Madam, a handsom Gentleman you said.

Nay, Madam, you'd have said so had you seen him.

Very likely; but what of him?

VVaiting, as afterwards, I found too plain, for better company, to pass the time, began to talk with me.

Not rudely, I hope—This Devil could not know me.

She's stirr'd—so far from that, even at first sight, nay, the first words he spoke, were Raptures, Flames and Darts; I know not what, but mixt with much Civility and VVit.

These are the common Gallantries you meet; the young and beautiful must bear with this.

More Madam, he told me where I lodg'd, when I came hither, my Cousins Marriage, and the first letter of her Husbands Name.

And not his own.

No, but he'd wait on me he said, and I believe him, for I just received this Letter by his Servant to my Maid, which I can construe nothing but affront; for sure he thinks me such another Prize as the Lewd Minx he met.

Impossible; pray let me see it. By Heav'ns, this is none of his Hand! But that was Jealousie of me, a trick I scorn him for.

She srets: Nay, Madam, let not your Zeal for me disorder you so much, it is not worth your Anger, nor my Notice.

But Madam, such a Villain, at the first sight, without the least acquaintance, to offer to request a second meeting of a young Lady in that open place, is so much impudence, such an affront, it shocks a modest VVoman but to think it.

[Page 31]

And then so basely too, to rail at her; I know he came tomeet, and curse her too. If you read on Madam, you'll find he curses; curses her, the occasion of our parting, and rails at her impertinence and love.

Oh base, base, Madam, monstrous base. This they are all, but he the basest living.

Nay, dear Madam.

Indeed I am too blame to wonder at it; I'll curb the just resent­ments of my heart, and strike at this to speak for old Sir William.

Hang her, I'm vext to see her fret so much, for I shall love him more now out of spight; but if I ne're should see him—oh that's sad, would he would write indeed.

Madam, you ask'd advice, if you'll accept it, judge but of this; you are young, and in a place so pester'd with Intrigues, may un­awares your inclination, fix on one may seem deserving in your eye: But, believe me Madam, among the vain young flatterers o'th' Age

Among them all.

She mocks me certainly, but I'll observe her. No, for their Folly, Vanity and Pride, exceed the most ridioulous of us; and for their Vows, their Conscience, or their Honour, a man on this side forty, is markt a fool, that ever meant a true word to a Woman.

Indeed.

By Sympathy the young affect the young, and she's the hap­py Woman whose kind Lot directs her where those Vanities are past, and Marries with the Anoient and Discreet. Were I to choose, I beg your Cousins pardon, I should prefer Sir William 'fore the Son.

Madam, I sent your Letters, and had answer they will be here.

I come, Madam, you'll be ready immediately.

I'll wait on you, you have the Letter.

Yes, Madam, at your Service.

No, pray, keep it Madam; I fear I shall be troubled still with more; if it be so, i'll beg your Ladyship so far as in a Mask, to venture with me, and find out who it is, you can't deny me.

You shall command me Madam, to my wish. I'll ruine this and him. Your Servant Madam.

[Page 22]

So, 'twas her he met, her folly and her jealousie betray'd it; by her grave counsel and railing at young men surely Sir William taught her, I'll find that out: Wou'd I as easily cou'd find a way to meet with him; he talkt of visiting, which with a formal shew as to the Widdow, if he has good nature, may be meant to me; I'd thank him for't: However, since I am resolv'd to see him, I'll trace and haunt the Widdow every hour, bribe every Maid she has, know all she does, read all her Notes, if Gold will break the Seals.

SCENE a Chamber.

How, Mr. Shamtown not yet equipt? Impossible your fancy should be pall'd: I never yet in my whole half years travel, met an Ita­lian could for humour match you. What can it mean, the Product must be wonderful.

A trifle Sir to yours, Judge when you see it; 'tis odd indeed, but strikes upon a string, that will declare my Love and Sufferings. You're for the Camp, methinks 'tis very fine, and I believe will take Maria's humour.

Do you sincerely think 'twill please the Ladies? Sir, 'tis the composition of my Travels, more than three Kingdoms claim a right to it: My Perriwig I bought in Paris, my Cravat at Venice, my other Linnen in Flanders, my Gloves at Rome, my Wastcoat at Naples, and my Sword is a Milanese.

You give a good account, Sir, of your Travels.

If you'll believe me Sir, I went on purpose, that being at each place, what was their Pride, I might compare with the most nicely drest.

Sir, the Taylor is come with your Habit.

Bid him wait without.

What, shant I see you dress'd; how shall I know you at the Ball?

O never fear, by the discription I gave you'll know me. We must not go together; pray for our Success; I'll meet you there imme­diately.

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Adieu.

Upon my life I go with an aking heart, for should I be em­barass'd with a confounded accident as I was at the last Ball, concerning that damn'd China Jar, I do not believe I should be able to sustain it. Pox on't, I've renounc'd back Capers ever since.

SCENE Covent-Garden.

So, now for my Mistriss and my Father, methinks I am a very pretty fellow; certainly this old fellow wont have the heart to turn me out of doors, and disgrace a Gentleman in his new Cloaths. But plague of his Country breeding, he'll swear I stole them, or at least come to steal money of him to pay for them, and then sans ceremony out goes the Reprobate Son, if not tost in a Blanket; and egad if he does, I have often promis'd the Widdow, I'll marry her, make the House my own, and turn him out in the dead of a damn'd thundring Rainy Night, and nothing but Lightning to guide him to another Lodging; or deli­ver him to the Watch for a House-breaker; and there's trick for tricks. What a Pox is it to him. Ha, what's here Fiddles?

Gad, I believe they are married to day; that's well, the Devils in him if he be'nt civil at such a time. Well, since I must have a pluck at the Golden Fruit, I must venture waking the Old Dragon.

Is Sir William Wealthy within Sir?

Yes Sir, but there's a great deal of Company, I believe he's not to be spoke with.

What means the Musick I heard, is his Son married?

No, Sir, 'tis a Ball.

Well Sir, I know them all, if you please to shew me up—

Sir, they are all in Masquerade.

So much the better; canst thou lend me a Masque, here's a Crown for thee good Lad.

Yes Sir, please to walk in, I believe I can.

SCENE a Hall.

Methinks faith, this is a pretty Frollick, my Wise came in one Coach and I in another, and egad, among all this good Company, I know not which is she. Ah, there's many a Jealous fool in our Change, would be hang'd before he'd trust his Wife thus, for fear of being a Cuckold, forsooth: However, I'll look out for her, sure this is she, pray Madam, What is your inclination by your Dress.

This must be my Husband, by that ingenious fancy; he would be an Alderman I find; if he were Knighted 'twould be well enough, for I would be a Lady, ride in an Aldermans great Iron-workt ratling guilt Coach, and laugh at every body on foot.

Which of these three's Sophia? I can't guess but that in the Nuns Habit, by her Stature, must be Maria; on and prosper, my dress may plead for me. Oh my sad heart.

Which of the Coxcombs is this? a pretty way to tell his Passion, and I must witness to't. Pox of all their Masking to this dumb piece of Courtship, and may be to my Mistriss. I shall make that heart bleed afresh, if it aim there; and he goes right, for that I'm sure is she.

Was ever so ridiculous a sight? this must be my Lover, and sure that Jealous Spaniard must be Tom. Good Sir, how many hearts have you left whole, if a young Country Virgin should unfortunately Love you? Or is your Mistriss Cruel, you look so pale on it?

Ah! Fair one! Let this Emblem of grief speak what I dare but think.

Madam, the man's in Love, can you not guess.

Good, churlish Sir, who are you? And why in this Spanish Ha­bit.

It suits my temper best, Madam; I hate ridiculous Fops that change their fashions, to Court their Mistress, in variety: I am still the same, constant and ever loving; but if provok'd, as Jealous as Usurpers. I'de stab more hearts than Cupid has of his, and lay them bleeding at my Mistriss Feet. Nor is't unjust, to think the man that Loves like me beyond a man, should, if once wrong'd, do things be­yond [Page 35] his reason. This Madam, whosoe're you are's my Character, and yet there lives not such a Slave as I am.

'Tis a good one, less Jealousie tho' were better, for I would choose a life wholly retired from all the World, but that dear man I lov'd, where there were left no room for Jealousie, or groundless fears to interrupt our Love, but live long and happy days, and dye together.

Good bloody Bones keep off.

Fye, Spaniard, do not over Act your Part.

This must be VVealthy, i'll take a fitter time.

Cruel Devotress, will you rob the World of the but one sweet Angel they have left, to add to those vast Millions are above? Let me prevail, throw off this Garb of sorrow; shine out the Glorious Prin­cess of the Earth; in every Princes Court i'll sing your Praise, and with my Sword immortalize your Name: The stubborn'st Knight alive shall own your Beauty, Transcendent o're the Mistriss of his heart.

Oh Vanity! Be gone, you Court that Honour which your Sword must win, more than the Mistriss you pretend to fight for; and I have bid adieu to all the World.

That Nun must be Maria, and she, i'll swear, belys her incli­nations; that Villain VVealthy knows it. That Phantastick thing must be Mr. Shamtown, but which of them is VVealthy, which Mr. Littlegad, I cannot guess; that must be Spruce, but where is Old Sir William?

Ye, la, ho, ho, hey, Jouler, oux ther, oux hey, Ranter hey.

Sir William, Sir William.

Ha ha ha.

Who are you? what my little eyes, little Nose, little mouth. What a Pox a Nun, is that thy Choice then, i'll build Churches.

How came it your Dogs are not in Masquerade too?

What a Pox is here with all these bloody hearts? Oux, oux, there, ye la ho.

I wonder a man of your years should Hunt in Ladies Cham­bers.

Ye la ho oux, there oux too.

He may follow the scent, but can never keep up with his Game.

What, all upon me, nay then, take off your Dogs.

What the Devil's the meaning of this, are they all mad, Nuns, Aldermen, Huntsmen, Heroes, Milk-maids, Ladies? And what a Pox, the man in the Almanack? I'll mix in the Crowd, and look out for my little one.

Ladies, if you'll be pleas'd to seat your selves, here's one will entertain you with a Song.

With all our Hearts.

Nay, Sir, Sir, you spoil the Song.

Pox o'th' Song, there's more Musick in this; let us Dance.

Agreed, agreed; but what Dance?

Why, the Frier upon the Nun: Where's my little Nun? Who are you Sir?

Your Servant Sir.

My Servant, Sir?

Bless me, who is it?—I never saw him before. Let us reckon our number, how many should we be?

Mind.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.—The Devil, the Devil; this fellow will run away with half the House. Ounds, Sir, who are you? If you are the Devil tell us so, that we may open the Doors and Windows, and give you free passage; it must needs be the Devil, I have heard of such a business. Ay, ay, 'tis the Devil.

No Sir, I am no Devil, but your Son.

You lye you Dog, you're worse than the Devil. Thieves, Murder, Rogues, I am undone, Lock up my Doors, call a Constable, I am undone.

Nay, nay, Father, for shame; before all this Company.

Sir William, fye, consider.

A Rogue, he's come to rob me; what the Devil does he here else?

With your leave you do me wrong, I am neither come to beg, borrow, nor steal, as you may see; for your five hundred pounds I'am able to pay you, and then I owe you nothing but your begetting me, and may be I repent that as much as you; and so Sir good b'y. I came to have ask'd your blessing had you pleas'd.—Now will he call me back.

Who's that, my Son Frank?

[Page 37]

Yes, yes, this is your Son Frank.

Frank, why come hither you Rascal you.

O the blessing of a kind Father.—Your blessing Sir.

Ah, thou hast been a Rogue Frank, but I forgive thee.

Then the Debt's paid.

What say you?

I thank you Sir.

But where didst thou get this money Frank, is it all Cur­rent? Let's see Frank.

Brother, I am heartily glad to see you, I hear you are to be married. Pray which of all these fair Ladies will honour me with the Name of Brother?

This; and she does indeed.

Joy to you both.

This is her Cousin Brother.

All lovely kindred, faith, with your leave, sweet one.

Cousin.

Nay, I pity you.

Madam, I hope you'll pardon this Intrusion.

On any account but this.

Your Servant Mrs. Spruce.

Ah smack her Mr. VVealthy.

Ay, ay, smack; he'll smack her; ah 'tis a Dog, a hand­som Dog, and a strong Dog. But he's a Rogue, a damn'd Rogue, I must look to him, he'll rob me again else when his money's gone.

An extraordinary fancy this of yours Sir.

To Divert the Ladies Sir.

A Hero too. Mr. Littlegad you've wondrous fancy; Ladies, you were talking of a Dance, let me not hinder you.—By your leave Mr. Hero, if I beg this Lady as a Relation for my Partner.

Damn him, I shall miss my opportunity.

Why Sirrah, Sirrah, robbing me already, ha.

No, no, Sir VVilliam, I danc'd with you in the morning.

Gad a mercy Nuns flesh, i'll creep mouse you for this; and for that i'll send my Rogue Frank packing, well I'll sit by and see you. Tom, Tom, to the Widdow: Strike up there, who leads?

Mr. Spruce, sure none but Mr. Spruce.

Your Servant Ladies.

[Page 38]

This must be the time.

What Insolence is this.

Death and Hell.

Treason Tom, Treason! Ounds, a Plot upon your Mistriss; a Plague of these bleeding Hearts.

Do you own this?

What if I did Sir?

I'de pay the Postage.

God a mercy Tom: Sir, you are a Son of a Whore; well said Tom.

For Heav'ns sake, Gentlemen, consider where you are; you have frighted all the Ladies.

Monsieur.

Damn you, speak English.

Monsieur.

What said he Frank,

Very well. Madam, I beg your pardon if I have gone beyond the Rules of Civility, impute it to the ill manners of your friends.

Yes faith, Widdow, I beg your Pardon, but that fellow is a Son of a Whore, that's certain. But where's my little Nun? 'sbud, they han't run away with her too?

They are within Sir VVilliam, but half dead with the fright.

I'll go comfort her, but that fellow, Widdow, is a Son of a VVhore. Let us in, let us in, a damn'd Son of a VVhore.

Behind Southampton-house you say, at six exactly.

So their fury tells us if it hold.

Brother, you must not be engag'd in this, but of that more anon. I'll not stay here to Night, we shall be prevented. Boy, call a Coach to the back door; make haste and fetch my Cloak and other Cloaths immediately. This business gives me double satisfaction. Pardon me, dear Sophia, for the mean mistrust I had of thee, and if this insolence go unrewarded, debar me of the blessing of thy Love; come Frank.

Gad a mercy Tom; now if this surly Country fellow should give this Beau a curst uncouth thrust in the Guts, 'twill disgrace his Shape most damnably.

Gads me, Tom, Tom, your Mistriss is in a swound there. Tom, Tom, what a Pox is he gone? the Devil, where is he gone? Horse, Horse there, Ounds, Murder, where is he gone?

VVhat's the matter Sir VVilliam, the matter?

Nothing at all Child; but where are they all gone?

Sir, they took Coach, and drove away as fast as the Horses could lay Legs to ground.

So!

Look to the Lady, carry her in.

Ah me; and poor Mr. Spruce too gone?

No, my dear, I am safe enough, but damnably frighted.

What, under the Table? The Devil haunt you; come out here, and run along with me to the Constable, and to my Lord Chief Justices, and the Kings Guards. Oh Lord, I shall have my Son Tom kill'd; kill my Son Frank no great matter, but my Son Tom kill'd would break my heart. Come along, you Cowardly, Sneaking.—Oh my Son Tom.

SCENE the Fields.

BRother, your extraordinary Generosity has drawn you in­to a business, in which, of all Mankind you ought to have been the last I should have chosen; if I would have followed the bar­barous custome of our Country, in making use of a Second, and under that abus'd phrase bring in a Friend, as if that were sit business to em­ploy a real friend in: Therefore, Frank, however high your blood may work you, unless I am unequally oppos'd, draw not your Sword, but let me right my self.

Faith Tom, I shall not much uphold that custome, but as you are a Brother and a Friend, a Stranger too, in all these Noble [Page 40] Feats, I must exchange a Thrust or two to back you: besides, I sancy I am a Principal; for when these nice-chap't Grey-hounds hunt in cou­ples, 'tis no single Booty that they aim at: My pretty one was mark't for Slaughter too. And Faith Sir, he shall win her e're he wear her, with your good leave.

Make that appear, curse him that bars your hand: A Mi­stress is a glorious Cause to fight for. Pray Heavens the Villain be but brave enough to meet, and Rival me with equal fury, and not disgrace the beauty of my Cause.

Faith if he does he's strangely alter'd Sir: For I have heard of him in several Quarrels, where he would trust his Honour with a man that never yet gave him a good account of't: But such a Cause may work a Miracle. And mine I judge just such a noble person.

I'm sorry for't: But certainly they'll come. And Bro­ther, since you will be your own Master, I beg you be not rash, think what you do.

Faith Tom, and that's well thought on; so I will. Let me consider, I am going now to sight for my Mistriss: That is, She must be my Mistriss: Poor Soul, she knows nothing of the matter yet. And I am to Fight with a Gentleman, that for ought I know, knows nothing of the matter neither. Now I know I love her with all my heart, and perhaps against her will. And I'd fight for her with all my heart, but should she love me, that's against her will too: Then I'de marry her with all my Soul too. But pox on't, if she don't love me, that's against her will again; so the Lords will be done. I venture my Carkass upon an ill lay, there's an end on't. Brother, I have settled my Conscience; wou'd they wou'd come.

However Fate designs you Frank, your Treasure must not be exhausted upon this account; there's Fifty Guineas, put them up safely, they'll prove good Friends, howe're the matter goes.

What, Smart-money, Tom! Well, if I light upon a Sur­geon that has any grace, a man may get a small Clap cur'd into the bargain.

You'll find if I should fall a hundred more in this Right Fob. Don't let those Rascals plunder me: For should they lay my Money out in Perriwigs and Cravat-strings 'twould grieve my Ghost worse than my Death. I have order'd Horses for us not far off. Damn 'um, the morning wastes, what mean these Loyterers; prethee look out.

[Page 41]

Stand to your Arms Tom, your Enemy draws on.

Sir, you're something late in doing your self Justice; un­less you're sensible you deserv'd the blow I gave you. But this is no place for Parley. Draw.

By your leave, but 'tis Dear Tom; a moments Temper. Sir, since these Gentlemen know what they fight for, 'twere something fit that you and I did too; for I suppose, if you dare own it, Sir, that you were charg'd with a damn'd white-powder'd Bullet-Deux, to have shot the other Lady, without any Report.

I scorn to disavow a passion, Sir, for beautiful Maria: But—

But your Servant Sir. Draw: Draw, both Traytors: Tom, fall on.

Your Life.

I own it.

Your Sword Sir.

Take it.

Then take it as my gift. Whene're I see you where this Quarrel arose, I'll take the forfeiture.

Art thou hurt Tom.

No Frank, nor in danger of it.

There Sir, your Sword again. The Lady's mine. Your Servant Gentlemen. You know on what conditions you live. Fare­wel.

Come let's be drest. Pox on the Ladies: We have done enough to talk of in the Coffee-house this month, and there's some comfort still. I'm glad 'tis over.

Ha, who's here! 'tis they: One of them bleed.

Bloody too: Son Toms blood: Zounds Son Toms blood: Draw Dog, draw; where's my Son Tom, you Son of a Whore. Fall on, fall on.

For Heavens sake, Gentlemen, he's just there; just yonder unhurt: just gave us both our lives.

Say you so: Hold them fast tho. Runs to the side of the Stage. So ho Tomme, Son Tomme.

My Dear Tomme. There's Frank: Was Frank hurt at all.

[Page 42]

No Sir.

No, Pox on him, he fights every day.

Ah, my dear Son Tom:

Here they come, here they come: Oh my dear Son Tommy. Ah my poor Tommy.

Good Sir, how came you hither with all this Rabble and Guards about you.

'Sdeath Brother, the Old fellow has seiz'd upon the Gen­tlemen.

Gentlemen, you may go, we are sorry for this mistake.

Ay, ay, you may go, and the Devil go with you.

But good Sir, how came you hither?

O Pox Tom, I could not sleep a wink—I have been at all the Slaughtering Fields I could name about the Town, at Barn-Elms, and at Putney-Common, and Chelsey-Fields, and Red-Lyon-Fields; at all the Golgatha's about the Town. And Mr. Spruce, I thank him, went along with me before it was quite Day; he's a damn'd Coward, but he's a very Honest Man.

Indeed, Mr. Wealthy, my heart ak'd for you. And if my young Mr. Wealthy had been kill'd, 'twou'd have broke my Molly's Heart, she has such a tenderness for him.

Faith, he speaks true, I dare swear his heart ak'd, for he started at every Bush he came nigh; but I am glad to see thee my dear Tom and Frank; Frank's a good Boy too.

Sir, I thank you for your Tenderness, but would not for a thousand Worlds you had prevented us. Frank! Sir, this is your Son, my Brother and my Friend. I beg you would entertain him in your Heart.

Who, Frank? Frank's one' I always lov'd till he play'd the Rogue and Robb'd me. Frank, Frank, that was a filthy business: But no matter, I'm so o're-joy'd, I will give thee—let me see, what shall I give thee?

Ay, wou'd I cou'd see it.

I will give thee now, I will give thee. I will forgive thee now Frank; and there's a Gift for thee.

That all: I thank you Sir, I thought to have paid you now.

What say'st thou Boy?

[Page 43]

I thank you Sir.

O Tom, my joy to see thee has been so great, I forget to tell thee sad News; your Mistress Tom.

What of her Sir?

O she's blind by this time.

What mean you Sir?

She has cry'd her Eyes out Man. The little naughty Girl too, that never cry'd but just when she was born, has been shuffling ever since.

Now if that were for me, agad I'd cry too. No, no, it must be for me.

I'll fly to comfort her, my dear Sophia.

Fly? Yes Tom you may fly; fly your Country if you please. Ounds, she swears she'll never see you more: You have betray'd her Honour, lost her Reputation, undone her quite, and fixt her in the Rank of loose-tail'd Ladies, whose good Name must be fought for, or be lost.

Cou'd she say this?

More, more man; she'll go into the Country too night, but if you were kill'd, she swore she'd not out-live you.

There's love and life in that: Curse on my Temper, what wrong could such a Dog have done to me? What Honour too to fight so poor a Creature? Did she not slight and scorn him to my face? O my Sophia, Pardon this last ill-natur'd Tempest here: Receive me with the Arms of Tenderness, and there becalm my Soul and thine for ever. Come, Sir Brother.

I wait on you.

There, there's Money for you; thank you Friends, thank you. My dear Tomme.

Thank you Sir.

Well, I'll tell her what a kindness you have for her: And I'll assure you, Mr. Wealthy, there's no Love lost; I have heard her speak as kind things of you as of any body except me, and me you know—

O 'tis impossible she should love, that is love so far as to lye with any body but you.

Indeed Mr. Wealthy, I must say I believe I have been no small satisfaction to her since I marry'd her: she knows when she's well: I warrant you she wou'd not change me for any man. I won't keep you, Sir, I'll tell her how you love her.

[Page 44]

So do, Mr. Spruce: You need not fear Rivals.

Adieu.

Now for my Prize, I think I won her fairly.

Rival! ha, ha. No faith, I have not sold Perfumes, Rib­bonds, Gloves, White-washes, and other sorts so long, but I know how to make my self agreeable as well as any of my Customers: Nor have I follow'd Tunbridge and Epsom, and sometimes Islington Wells so long, but that I know how to gain more hearts, as well as secure a perfect inclination, even I believe to the loathing of any other person. There­fore, when I am perswaded, like my Friend Topknot, into that ridicu­lous Opinion of being a Cuckold; the Lord have mercy upon my Head, my Wits are far gone indeed.

SCENE II.

We have a sad distracted House: All our Servants are run af­ter Sir William; all the Maids are crying o're their Mistriss.—I pity poor Sophia, but that young Devil, however she seems mov'd with her Cousins grief, mourns her fear'd loss of my perfidious Wretch. They must be gone to fight, wou'd he were kill'd.—I had rather see him dead than see him hers. She knows I love him, I'm sure she must; and by that Letter try'd me unprovided; knows that I met him there, but I'll watch her, and try her to the quick: Betty.

Madam.

I charge you when Sir William returns, call me immediately; let me first see him on your life; take heed be not from the way. I know the Old fool loves her, he told me so himself, and ask'd my judg­ment, as being a Grave Person fit to advise. I'll tell him how she dotes upon his Son, and if he's suffer'd here he must not hope. And to con­vince him more, however the business goes, he shall report him dead, to try her, and if she stands that test, she does out-wit me. At least, Sir William's Jealousie I know will soon forbid the Rebrobate his House. And 'tis some pleasure to remove the Scene, and not be Nos'd by a Girl in my own House.

O Madam, Madam, Sir William.

What ails my Woman's Heart, sure I can't pitty him. Well, what News?

[Page 45]

Sir William and his two Sons are below: I am sure by Sir VVilliam's talk, they have been fighting, but neither of them seem hurt.

Away, I'll meet with him.

SCENE III.

No Answer yet? No News?

None Madam.

Is not Sir VVilliam come neither, 'sure 'tis almost Noon. They must have fought, and the dear rash Man's kill'd. O Grief, O Insup­portable Misfortune. Is't not enough my Reputation's stain'd, my Ho­nour question'd, my Fame, that stood as fair as Day disputed, but must my Love dye in so ill a Cause? Was't not enough I swore to quit him ever, punish his Faults with everlasting absence, but must he dye, dye, upon my Account? Dye in my Quarrel?

Patience, dear Cousin, Patience, we shall hear better News than Death; I hope they're both together wheresoe're they are; Brothers, and Valiant both, ne're doubt their safety, those fellows dare not look them in the Face.

Is't not still worse, ingage a Family at once? Nay, I've wrong'd thee Maria, for though his Brother has been counted loose, he looks a Noble Gentleman; and now perhaps I have robb'd thee of thy choice.

Indeed, I shou'd be loath to hear his Death, though he is a per­fect Stranger yet to me; but would I had never seen him, I know not what I feel; fear of the Widdow, fear of losing him, has made me love too soon, before I know whether he has the least good thought of me.

Madam, I hear some body:

Run to the Door immediately; see who 'tis.

Sir William Madam, and the VViddow.

She weeps; oh speak, Sir VVilliam speak, where's your Sons?

Sons? Son Tom's very well, but there has been the Devil to do; I have been forty mile about to find them, though Tom, he'll be with you presently.

But where's that other Son, Sir VVilliam? My heart akes.

Who, Frank?

[Page 46]

Yes, Sir.

Who Pop he was always Disobedient; there never comes better of Disobedience.

He's Dead, and I could tear her Eyes out for crying; I'll weep it all my self.

What mean you Sir, he is not kill'd?

So Sir William told me; Mark, Mark, Sir William, a fresh Flood.

Then as I hope ever to dye in Peace, I'll never see or Wed to Mr. Wealthy.

So, so, Widdow, there's fine work—How shall we get off this business?

Have Patience, time enough.

Not see him Child, he's just at the Door almost, how could he help it, he loves thee Child, and is sorry he has angred you.

Whether is she going? Zounds, here will be more mischief. But how now little Eyes, what makes you cry? Look up.

Look up and Curse such a remorsless Father.

Now Sir be judge, is't fit that he stay here? if he goes, you yet might hope to win upon her.

No, no, stay, Pox on him, I'll send him packing: But here comes Tom.

What News Sir? How does my angry Love? Have you inform'd her all? Will she forgive?

Yes: I told her thou wert well. But on her Knees, she vow'd she'd never see you; have but a little patience she'll forget it.

Which way went she?

She's lock'd her self into that Room within; but where's your Brother?

I left him in the Garden; he's a coming.

'Sdeath, he'll meet Maria; I'll go watch them.

Run, run, he follows you.

Take Heart Tom, take Heart, I warrant we bring matters about again, have but patience. Pox on this young Dog, he's met her and spoil'd all the Plot. To her Tom, to her; beg her Pardon, and all will be well.

SCENE discovers Maria on a Bank, in Tears.

A Pritty Garden this; ha, whose that, the purchase of my Sword? My Love in Tears? Mistrust of my Sickness! I'll Court her in Heroicks. So, when the God of War sets out for Fights and Ranges through the Fields in Blood and Dust, the sweet-ey'd Venus takes a lonely flight, and in some soft Retirement of Heaven, bemoans the vast Fatigues the Hero bears. So, so, this will do in Tears. My Goddess.

Bless me!

'Sdeath, I han't wash'd my face to Day, and she takes me for Vulcan. Mars, by the Gods, come flusht with Honour from the Bloody Field, ready to lay them all beneath your seet.

Alive!

Yes, live to tell you how I fought; to tell you how I'd dye for my Delight, so that you'd let me tast this lovely Fruit, and make live again.

By Heaven no Ghost; true solid Flesh and Blood.

Such as it is Madam; 'tis blood that flutters now about my Heart, and Dances to the Musick of your Eyes. Oh, Fair one, since I saw you Fate has been abroad, and angry Rivals threatned in the Fields, yet nought cou'd take that Object from my mind.

'Twas frankly fought; and Sir, I give welcome from your Wars, but grieve I cannot recompence your Valour.

That and a little more is all I ask, and Virgins have them both.

But sure you would not rob me of my All, my most Uncourte­ous Knight?

No, I'd be thy All, thy All in All; thy All in ev'ry part. [Page 48] And you shall have all me with all my heart. And know now I've be­gun, I'll fight Mankind to keep thee to my self.

Whether I give incouragement or no?

I'll win you as a Hero should his Mistriss, kill Monsters, Dragons, do Herculean Labours; I hate a snivling, tedious, seven years Courtship, losing our Youth and time: Put me to Action, let me convince you early of my Love, that I may neither lose my time nor you.

For a small Tryal; answer me quick; tell me. Know I the Lady which you went to meet in the Exchange. Do you boggle? Good b'y Sir.

'Tis a Rascally Trick; but in short, it was my Lady Sly, and there's quirk for your quirk. Now, Madam, will you stand me a question?

With all my heart.

What made your Ladiship in Tears just now?

I'll give you leave to guess it was for you.

And give me leave thus then to pay my thanks, since I have own'd this early kindness for you; you must expect i'll be convinc'd of yours.

Rogue, Dog, Traytor; I'll fight with him my self.

I shall be turned out of Doors, and lose my opportunities with my dear one; gad, I've a Trick left for that still.

Draw Rival draw, I—

Good Dad put up, O Se Defendendo's a Damn'd business.

Why look you now! The Rogue would murder me; I'll swear the Peace against him.

Are you mad Sir VVilliam? Nay then fight it out.

Sir William, hear me.

Hear you? No you Dog, but I'll hang you.

Then Sir I resign my self to you, will you yet hear me?

What's the matter, Madam?

Only Sir VVilliam is bewitch'd. I'll watch him if he turns him out of Doors, I have a Game to play, for I must plague him; and if I find he loves me, let him take me.

[Page 49]

Good Sir, what is't that disorders you?

What's that to you Sir; and now I think on't, you advised me to it; you were the Match-maker.

Sir you mistake, why wont you hear me?

'Sdeath, you undo my Brother; he has no thoughts of Maria.

What made him with her then?

Meer accident; he's promis'd to the Widdow, Sir, to my knowledge, tho' she will not own it.

How! she's Rich; she's a Miserable Woman then: The Dog will undo her. Come hither Sirrah, do you make love to the Widdow here?

Sir, here are Letters under her Hand, that would have convinc'd you as much, would you have been patient; yet should she ever know I own'd it Sir, 'twou'd break the Match, and ruin my De­signs.

This may be true, the Widdow's Jealous of him with Maria; so much the better, 'twill make her earnester in my Affair. Well Sir, if she be fool enough, go on, I'll keep your Counsel.

Faith Tom, thou cam'st in a lucky hour, we were just a going to take a fair Tilt, the old Gentlemans Jealousie was up; how fairs your Mistriss? When is your happy day?

She utterly at first deny'd me seeing her, and so Resents the Rashness of my Quarrel, such an Affront done to her Reputation, by Heav'n, I fear'd she'd never pardon it. But so far I have prosper'd, only pardon'd.

That's all the effect of love; a day or two will soften her again, write to her first; Maria will attend and plead thy cause.

How goes the Cause with her?

It thrives; she gives me a free Stage, and if I can convince her of my Love, which must be done, she gives me reasonable hopes of hers, but swears she'll try me first.

Success to you in all: My task is hard, but I'll about it.

Never fear Tom; she's born to be thy Wife: And as sure

SCENE I.

A Comfortable Being this! Snapp'd last Night like a Dog by a parcel of Rascally Bailiffs, and Mew'd up here for 500 l. Lost my Mistriss, lost my Liberty, lost my Widdow too, I fear, for I can get no answer of my Letter. The Devil! This must be ma­lice: I owe 500 l. but to no one, and how the Devil they should all agree to confound me, I can't tell.

Tom, this is kind indeed, to visit a Brother in affliction.

Dear Frank, I come to beg thou'lt let me know which is the best and readiest way to serve you? What's the Action?

Five hundred Pound. I owe the Town indeed 500 l. and I believe the whole Town is the Plaintiff: Therefore the readiest way, dear Tom, will be to search the Offices, that I may know at whose suit I am here; my Father knows of it, I guess he's strangely troubled.

Strangely indeed, for he wou'd let thee starve; but I'll away and search the Offices.—Be not dejected Frank, for shortly I shall have command of Money, and if no way but paying of the Debt will give you freedom, I'll lay down the Money, and thou shalt laugh at the Old Man's ill Nature.

Does Maria know it?

Yes, and pitties you extreamly, rails at my Father for his Cruelty, and speaks most tenderly of your Misfortune.

There's some comfort still; if I can get out no other way, tell her I'll break through the Stone Walls to thank her.

Never fear, I'll bring you News immediately.

I wonder how this Old Rogue my Father, could get two such honest fellows for his Sons; this is a Brother. But wou'd my Wid­dow wou'd come, she's Rich, and I'm engag'd to her already, an't 'twou'd be even a pain to be oblig'd so much by one who is to me a stranger, though my Brother. How like a Counter-Rat I look.—I'll lay me down to sleep, and dream of Liberty.

My dear Widdow! This is kind indeed.

Good Sir, why did you send for me?

For the same Reason which I hope you came. Why all this Coldness? What have you learnt this lesson of my Father, and come to preach, or practise it upon me? My Constancy and Love's but ill repaid, if this must be the time you chuse for parting.

Constancy! Thou Devil!

In Hell, Madam, you might have said, but no Devil.

Yes Devil, to wrong the woman, that ne'r yet wrong'd you, but sacrific'd my Fortunes and my Honour to make you easie, and main­tain your Pride.

Did I e're yet disown it, Madam?

Most basely in your Actions, though your Words (that natu­ral deceit in all your Sex) flatter'd me still to keep me still your Fool; but I'm convinc'd; and now 'tis all the pleasure I have left, that I came here in scorn, to let you know I've seen your baseness punish'd. So fare­well.

Madam, though I can meet your scorn with scorn, and Perish as indifferently as you wish it, you shall in Justice let me know what grounds for this; or is it a Pretence? Own it true Woman, own it, find out a Lustier Fellow for your use, you've nick'd your time; laugh at your Quondam Servant, and be Damn'd.

This wo'not do, your Pride won't carry't off, or make me think of you in any terms, but as the most ungrateful of Mankind.

For what? 'Sdeath, how? Be plain.

You cannot guess: O Impudence!

You Scold well, indeed Madam; but I remember a bit of a Song very proper; I'll Sing it if you please, Madam.

Sing! The Devil choak him.

Good Mr. True Merit; thou Monster, look upon this Letter, you don't know it, though the hand be Counterfeit; a shallow Cheat.

O Impudence!

Perdition seize me if I ever saw it.

Monstrous!

[Page 52]

If I did Madam, may I never be bless'd with the Light of the Sun.

Curs'd Lye.

But be shut up in Eternal Darkness in this Dungeon.

Unparellell'd Villany!

May I be Rooted here a Spectacle to your Ladiship.

Woud'st thou go to the Devil directly?

Nor be ever more in your good Grace.

Be Hang'd.

If I know one word of the matter; therefore, good Madam, tell me how you came by this.

You did not write this to Mrs. Maria?

Why, did she give it you?

What's that to you: By Heaven! I ne're thought of this: Upon my Soul it was a Trick; but by his haste to know I find his Thoughts, yet he is better than I thought of him, and I must use him better.

'Twas my pretty little Rogues Letter; dull Dog, she's Jealous of me. Ah, wou'd I were out.

Shall I believe you did not write this Letter?

Shall I curse any more?

No.

How came you by it?

'Twas sent me as a Copy stole from you of one you, writ.

A likely Story; and you soon believ'd it, to shake me off, just now starving in Goal; I thank you Madam.

No, my dear VVealthy, never, wou'd you love me.

Cou'd I have spoke such barbarous things to you?

No, but you'd do worse shou'd you ever leave me.

Leave you, Child! I can neither leave you, nor be with you while I am here.

What is your Debt?

Only five hundred Pound.

A good round Summ! By times he'll certainly have all I have; I'll break a right Widdows Rule for once, and Marry him, he has osten proffer'd at it. Mr. Wealthy, the Summ's no Trifle to the best Estate; you have oft propos'd, take me and all I have, i'll give you Li­berty to Night.

I must lye to get out; agreed—but in the mean time, my [Page 53] dear, 'tis no Novelty to you and I, we'll Seal this business in the other Room.

Fye, Mr. Wealthy, not till I'm all your own.

She's been all my own these two years. Nay, Childish, why so unwilling?

Lord! What do you mean? Fye, in a Prison?

In a Palace Child, with good Company; the place indeed is homely, but the Entertainment shall be the heartier. Nay, come.

Lord, I'll swear there is no dealing with you.

How bears the Gentleman his Confinement Gaoler?

Very well.

You know by the Bailiffs on what account he is here, they told you, I suppose; there's Money for you, when I release him ask him for no Fees, he must go with me. There's no Company with him, is there?

Yes, a Lady.

What, in the inner Room? Run, run, run in immediately, tell him a Gentleman would speak with him: No, stay, here he comes—how like a Rogue he looks.

Madam, your Servant, you'll not forget; adieu.

I have seen this Youth somewhere; Sir, would you speak with me?

Yes Sir, I come from the Gentleman my Brother, you fought with t'other day, upon a Ladies account.

Well, Sir.

I am to tell you 'tis in his Power, and only his, to take this Action off, and give you Inlargement.

In his?

Wonder not Sir; you are Rivals, and he took this way, this surer than his Sword, to Ruine you. He had a Catalogue of all your Debts, and from each Creditor, whom he has paid, full force to lay his Action, which he'll take off upon no other Terms than a perfect Resig­nation of your Mistriss.

Child, you may go, I'll bring my Answers back my self, and tell him next time I have his Sword, I'll spoil his neat Proposals. Go, Lad, go.

But Sir, she loves him.

[Page 54]

Therefore I'll cut his Throat.

She'll hate and curse you for't.

Not when he's dead Child, she may like me then.

But how will you get out Sir?

What's that to thee Impertinence; prithee go tell thy Bro­ther, I'd Perish if I were within his Power, rather than yield him up a thought of her.

But why are you so stubborn, when to my Face I see you were ingag'd to cross his just desires?

Why, how now Child, though that pretty face does plead for thee, be gone, or I shall use the scurvily.

You'll not Resign her then?

I'll rip his heart, thine and my own too, up first: there­fore be gone.

Then Sir, to shew he does as much deserve her as your self, I have Orders here to give you Liberty; if you dare meet him behind Southampton-House, within this half hour alone, where he declares no Quarter must be given, but one of you must dye upon the Spot.

Sir, this obligation's great, and i'll return it to your Bro­thers heart.

Guard your own Sir—If you please—

Sans Ceremony, faith Sir; from a Prison.

Mr. Littlegad, my Friend and Champion, how do you?

Wholly Devoted still to Mr. Shamtown, and if there be no dangerous Deaths Wound lyes beneath that Noble Escutheon of your Honour, I wish you Joy of such a Manly mark; and by my faith, I could have wish'd the like to have signaliz'd my self. You are for the Coffee-house no doubt, I'm sorry I am engag'd: The first surprizes, the many questions, how, when, and with whom, where; at Southampton-house.

With this short Sword.

And how bravely t'other fought you too; be sure mark that, that adds to you, you know; then you disarm'd him.

Accident in fight, where the brave draw their Swords, the Combat's doubtful.

If they ask who were Seconds?

Fester my Wound Sir, if I do you wrong; will you go with me?

[Page 55]

Damn it, how Love and Honour wrack my mind: Why for a Woman should I rob my self of all I fought for? Pox of Visiting, and yet I must. Said each, there's no danger now to second you, and yet there's real Honour to be got. But early in the morning I'll be there; farewel Sir.

SCENE the Fields.

Not come yet? this is the place; surely this Villain does design to Murder me, or else fought booty with me the last time. No Seconds to so furious a Challenge; I shall have my Throat Cut here in the Woods, and be Buried, like the Children in the Ballad, by the Robin Red-breasts.

Sir, your Servant, you're as good as your word.

That's more than your Brother dare; why is he not here? And why are you, Sir?

Sir, the hurt he receiv'd in his Arm, has unexpectedly disabled him, but he has sent his Sword by me.

Give it me Child; indeed I should have took it had he come.

What mean you Sir? I came to do him Justice, maintain his Merit, is to be preferr'd to yours.

'Sdeath, does he take my Mistriss for a Prize for Boys to Box for?

Boys Sir? Draw.

Ha, ha.

Flout not Sir, we'll try who is the strongest.

Ay, this is something, you young White-liver'd Dog.

Will you resign your Mistriss, or dye upon the Spot?

Not till I've ript thy little Guts up. Fight me but one by one.

No, thank you Sir, we can Murder you a better way.

Speak, or we strike.

[Page 56]

Hold.

Stand this, and take me quick.

Smooth-face stand off, though thou'rt the very'st Rascal I e're saw, methinks I'd save thy Life to tell my Story. Thou'st such a lying, wheedling face, thou canst not fail to work upon a Woman, when at this time methinks I could forgive thee.

I speak for you.

Yes, tell her how I fought, or if I perish, tell her how I fell; tell her how much beyond my life I lov'd her, without the least security of hers. The Name, the Pride, the Honour of my Love, thou shalt in softning Eloquence relate; and though thou art a very Villain, look as thou dost speak as thou wou'dst for him, and win her to my Bed, or to my Grave.

I must try him further yet, though my heart akes with love and tenderness. Am I so much oblig'd to Nature, Sir? Look then, despair and dye: 'Twas my own Jealousie that drew me here, the other was a meer Pretension. I love Maria too above my life, and therefore dare not, at an equal hazard, expose my life. I follow'd her to Town, abandoning my Family and Friends: Mad with my Love, and Reso­lute to win her. Tho' for your Generosity, which thus far in a Rival I can pitty, since you believe I cou'd prevail for you, with looking, speak­ing, flattering, any thing. You cannot doubt the Conqnest, for my self, yet still Renounce her and I'll spare thy life.

I'll not return that Complement to you, there is no safety if I let you live; therefore prepare, and if thou hast one grain of Ho­nour left, venture me one fair thrust among the Crowd, and I'll forgive thee yet.

Hold, for i'll Rival you in Honour too. Be gone, there's your Reward. You'll bate the Murder. I'll thrust my single Arm in such a Cause, and dye or else deserve her.

Dye or deserve her; 'Sdeath, thou'lt win her from me. Prithee contrive some way we may be friends, I wou'd not nip such Honour in the bud; thou art too young to think of Marrying—Gad thou shalt be her Page: I'll give thee leave to own thy Passion, Ogle thy Heart out, tell her pritty Tales, she'll listen to the Musick of thy Voice, and give thee sigh for sigh. Put up thy Sword, 'Sdeath thou holds it like a Girl.

Ha! ha!

By Heaven! and look'st like one—Where were my Eyes?

[Page 57]

Pox on your Eyes Sir: Damme, will you fight?

Yes, Damme, thus, thus, and thus.

Now where's that cruel Creature upon Earth, that cou'd deny so Generous a Lover?

If there be such, she lives among the Bears, and never came in Christian Company. She never said her Prayers, sigh'd, shed a Tear, or play'd with Boys, or Babys, in her Life.

Then I am won.

By Heav'n, and fairly too.

What will you do with me now?

E'ne Marry thee, my Dear.

And beat me?

No, live and dye with thee, by Jove. Put up thy Sword, and trust thy Eyes alone.

Nay, but you shall my dear, or I'll swear I wont let you go.

Indeed Molly but I wont; I must go Child, there's no body at the Shop this Morning.

Nay, but consider he's your Friend, a fine young Gentle­man, and one you love:

Very well; Madam, and what am I?

Oh, thou art the sweetest Creature Living, but you don't love me.

Yes, Molly, but I do, and my self too; and therefore, tho' I love Mr. VVealthy as well as you do, I'll be bound for no body.

Then I'm sure you don't love him half so well as I do, for I'd be bound Body for Body for him. Poor Gentleman, so I wou'd; but you don't love him because I do.

Not if you love him better than me, Molly.

Yes, yes, very likely, as if I did not know when I was well; but you know how handsom you are, and that makes you as Proud as the Devil. This is like all the rest, your running to Epsom and Tunbridge; so it is.

Poor Rogue, now I have vext her. Why, my dear, I al­ways take you with me.

Yes, yes, to show me I don't deserve you, to see a hun­dred Women Dancing after you, and pulling you as if they'd eat you from me.

[Page 58]

Poor Fool, nay, I must confess they do reaze me: But how can I help all this, Molly.

You might stay at home, like an honest man: Wou'd I had married the ugliest fellow in England, then I might have had him to my self; or at least I might have rhelish'd another after him; but to be Marry'd as I am; I shall be poyson'd one of these days, and then you'll be rid of me.

Nay, prethee Molly.

Don't I see it; han't we a hundred Ladies for one Gen­tleman, that comes to our Shop?

Gad, and that's true, and I never minded it.

Lord Mistress you're the happiest Woman, says one; you must certainly have delicate Children, says another; pray how long have you been Married, says a third.

Womens talk Child: prethee Molly, I love thee, let 'em say what they will.

Yes, I know 'tis Womens talk: Lord, says another, that can never be his own Hair: Bless me, he has delicate Teeth; how strangely that French's Beard becomes some sort of Faces: Nay more, I'll swear, I've heard them say they believed you were Painted, you had such a delicate Complexion.

Nay, prithee Molly, you make me smile; for the Devil take me, if I han't been told the same a thousand times.

Have you so? Very well, who should I love better than you then? And but that you have a mind to be cross, I have heard you say a thousand times, you would do any thing to serve Mr. Wealthy, and yet refuse me to bail him out of Prison only for five hundred pounds.

I tell thee Moll, I forswore it when I was Apprentice, or I vow thou woud'st tempt me to Ruine my self; his Father and Brother will take care of him.

But they must not know it; and I'm sure if they do, we shall so oblige that Family, we shall get thrice as much by it.

Gad Molly do not tempt me; I love you so, I shall play the Fool, i'll run away from you.

I'll swear i'll follow you to the Change.

Wife keep the House, remember your Lord commands you; I must be gone.

And i'll be with you, for my dear VVealthy must be freed to Night; 'tis a great blessing to know a Husbands blind side; what a [Page 59] good humour he's run away with for my praising his Beauty. Bless me! how unreasonably we are accus'd for Cuckolding our Husbands, when certainly, either by Vanity, Folly, Pride, or ill Nature, they draw it upon themselves, and yet they have the impudence to believe we must love all these faults, honour all these faults, and obey all these faults, that obeys the Devil, and yet without this, we are the Vipers that de­file your Beds, Plant Hieroglyphick Figures on their Heads, when alas,

SOPHIA alone.

Nay, Madam, stay and hear me first; why so unjust? Will you not let me plead in such a Cause, where Love and Life, my Heaven to come, and here, which all's at stake?

What wou'd you Plead for, Sir? Have I not pardon'd you at the first word? Even in the midst of Tears, believing your offence the effect of Love? And yet you will not grant me one Request.

Not grant it: What Madam?

Me to my self; you grudge me sure my Grief, or else have ve­ry little of your own, that can at this time covet Company.

That Tears and Pray'rs, Pity and Love in you, (which once I did ex­pect) cannot wipe off▪

Bless me! that you can ask what you have done: Are you as Merciless as your Father, Sir? Pray give me way, you'd make me hate you, to see you Master of no more Compassion; pray give me way.

Not till you're torn from me. Dear Madam, do but hear me speak.

No, you've already made me break my Oath, which was so strict, never to have seen you more; I must be gone.

Dear Tom; what, flying of him, Madam?

Alive! Blest be my Eyes, blest be the day, and be for ever blest thou best of Men.

What means this Extasie?

Thy Father told me he was kill'd.; kill'd in thy Quarrel, upon my account. Or think you I cou'd e're have parted with you, but Tears of Joy flow on so fast upon me, I cannot speak the fulness of my Soul.

By Heaven, nor I, but thus.

My dear Cousin, let me but recover the fright you put me in. Dear Cousin and Sir, I beg your Pardons, for indeed I might have pre­vented this mistake, but that my head ran too much upon this Gentle­man; for in short, the Report of it at first, was a Plot of the Old Fool your Father, Sir, and that Exquisite Hypocrite my Lady Sly: For as I went down into the Garden, as he has the Impudence since to believe, to lament his loss, I met this living thing there, who has since, upon some small tryals of his Faith, own'd his Intrigue with the Widdow, con­fess'd himself a Rogue, and I have forgiven him.

Surely, your Ladiship wou'd summ up an Evidence well: But Madam, shou'd I begin the Story, which shortly you will hear, how like a Rogue she has us'd me, how like a Gaol-Bird she has treated me, and all, as she terms it, for a small tryal of my Faith. You wou'd wonder how I cou'd ever forgive her, yet, like a good natur'd fool, I have done it, and she has the Grace to thank me for't.

And must we wish you Joy, Frank? You play sure.

Faith, Tom, I'm in a Whimsical Dilemma, for I have oft forswore the Marriage-knot, and yet it is some way we must be joyn'd, for we have made an Oath we'll never part.

'Tis a sad Truth; but yet Mr. Wealthy, who knows, a good Example may prevail upon the Churl.

Say you so? Then Tom, I Challenge you; first, to joyn with us in a Plot we have laid, for the two Fools, my Father and the Widdow; next, you must meet no Denials. Now, Madam, with your fair Lady in your hand to morrow, at the dread hour which we call Canonical. Whereas you came into the World before me, so quit it, Sir; dye to your Lady first, and though my heart akes even to think upon it, since this young Niggard will be paid her price before she parts with any of her Goods, let the black fellow thunder in my Ears.

I take your silence for consent, my dear; and Frank i'll meet you; as to your Plot, we leave it wholly to you, act as you please, and we'll obey your Orders; here comes the Widdow, Frank.

Be gone every one.

What, must I trust you with her?

Go, go, you Fool, I must make love a little to help the Plot; mind yours too with my Father.

I'll to Sir William for my part, and be with you in a minute.

My dear VVealthy at Liberty, and here; what can this mean?

Two Miracles, my dear.

As how, my Love?

My Delivery and my Constancy; i'll swear I was deli­ver'd by Miracle; and for my Constancy, you may judge of that, who rail'd against me so lately without Reason. But Widdow, thy Gene­rosity has so prevail'd upon me, and so much I esteem you my Delive­rer:

No, Mr. Wealthy, though I own your kindnesses, on second thoughts I dare not be so rash.

Why, how now Widdow, what repent your bargain?

Only for fear you shou'd.

Ridiculous!

Ah Wealthy, thou'rt too much a Libertine to use a Woman well thou hast enjoy'd; Maria, that untainted fruit, may please. A Marriage-Bed requires a Maiden-head.

Why Widdow, dost thou think i'll be a Cuckold, at least, to any Man but to my self? Marry a Girl! No, faith Madam, I leave her to Sir William, and but that thou art an Infidel, I could tell thee such a Story of my Constancy, such a Tryal of my Faith, such a Mi­raculous Preservation of thy Honour, that wou'd I were choak'd if I thought I had been half so honest; you saw that young Gentleman that came to speak with me just as we parted.

Yes, what then?

Only he dogg'd you thither.

Me, by whose Orders?

He said he was the Brother of my Rival; and that un­less [Page 62] I wou'd resign Maria, I shou'd lye there and rot, but if I wou'd, he had orders to release me.

On this I begg'd he'd show me to the door, Maria might be his Wife with all my heart; the Lady that he saw was my first choice, and for her sake, no threatning of his Brother, I did accept my freedome at his hands.

I own 'twas more than I can e're deserve. But why dog me, did he take me for her?

No Child, but I took her for him.

Her sor him! Bless me, Sir, what mean you?

Maria, by the Gods, that Devil her self, was sole contri­ver of that hellish Plot; in that disguise discover'd our intrigues, own'd some small kindness formerly for me, bid me repent my folly, and my loss, swore that to morrow morning she'd be Married, and ruine me for ever with my Father; then with a Curse she wish'd me Joy with you, and bid me hug my Monumental Widdow.

A Curse for her again. But my Dear Wealthy:

My dear Widdow.

How can I requite you?

We'll be married to Night.

Impossible!

Then with my Brother Tom, in your private little Chap­pel, at the end of the Hall, by six in the Morning; by Heav'n I'll stay no longer. Here comes my Father and she with him, i'm sure this Match must please him, and i'll scorn her: Besides, I have already laid a Scene of mirth, which you must joyn in; Shamtown and Littlegad shall pay the Fiddlers; the Old Fool hates them, and will joyn in it. Be gone, i'll meet you presently i'th' Garden, and then inform you all.

Adieu, my dear.

She smiles and winks, it thrives; Gads so, the Old fellow Dances as he goes: Yes, yes, you shall be married.

Who's that? Why, Sirrah, who are you? Why, how now Frank, and my Boy Frank: And a Franky, Franky, Franky, Frank; Sirrah, down on your knees.

Sir.

Down on your knees, Sirrah.

Yes, Sir.

And a Franky, Franky, &c.

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What the Devil ails the Old Fellow?

Sirrah, you are to be Married, I hear.

Yes, Sir.

To whom, Sir.

To the discreet Lady of the House.

To the discreet Lady of the House; i'm glad on't you Dog.

Yes Sir, and beg your blessing in't.

Yes, Sirrah, I have blest you Sirrah; rise up and say i've set you upon your Legs, Sirrah. I have, given you three hundred a year, Sirrah. Franky, you Dog, and a Franky, Franky, &c.

Sir, I thank you, and am doubly oblig'd that you are so over joy'd at my good Fortune.

No, Sirrah, not altogether so neither, I have Joy of my own too, and Joy for other people, as time shall try, as old as I am: Sirrah, there's your Mother-in-law.

Possible!

Ay, you Dog, it e'nt impossible, is it?

No, Sir.

No, Sir? What then, Sir?

Nay, Sir, I wish you Joy, I was just going to ask the Lady Blessing.

No, Sir, you shant ask her Blessing, she shall have enow of her own to ask her Blessing, Sirrah; I will get upon her Body such a parcel of Gray-headed Cupids, it shall be the Worlds Wonder.

Nay, faith, Sir William, we'll do our best, for since Mr. Wealthy is ingag'd to the Widdow, and his Brother to my Cousin, I swear I will not be out of the Family; and let me alone to make you young again.

Why, Sirrah, why do'nt you rejoyce to see your Old Dad so happy.

Sir, I do so much rejoyce, that if the Lady will be rul'd by me, we'll make this the Merriest pair Royal of Weddings, as e're were heard of.

As how, dear Mr. VVealthy; if there be any mischief in it, I am for you.

I must own, Madam, I have an implacable malice to the two Fools, that occasioned the mistake between Tom and his Mistriss. I have prevail'd with my Sister that shall be, who has writ a Note inviting them hither in a disguise; Mr. Shamtown, who expects to carry off the Prize, to morrow morning, no less than to be Married [Page 64] here, even in this House: And Madam, if you'd joyn, and write to Mr. Littlegad as I told you.—

We'll toss 'em in a Blanket, Fops, Fools.

Agreed, I write this minute.

Go, go, you Rogue: I shall so tickle you: Sirrah, am not I a lucky old Toad: But you don't rejoyce, Pox on you don't re­joyce at your Fathers fortune. Pish you an't over-joy'd, for my own part Frank, it comes upon me so of a sudden, I have such a preturbati­on of Spirit, and such a consternation of joy, on my conscience, I can hardly tell where I am.

Upon my life, if the surprize be so great, you had best let blood.

No, thank you Sirrah, an old fellow to be Married to a a young Woman and let blood, wou'd I had as much as when I got your Brother Tom, then I wou'd so rumble her, and so tumble her, and so jumble her, and so fumble her Frank; and a Frank, &c. But Sir­rah, I'll to my Daughter-in-law, and manage her to the last penny for you: She's a parlous Slut, and Franky, Frank, &c.

Not so very close, but now our Plot is sure, I'm satisfied our Letters took the effect;

Are they come, are the Fools come?

'Sdeath out with the Lights, they're just got into the lit­tle Chappel, their Ladies wait 'em impatiently; be sure Sir, you do not speak till you see 'em fast bound, and then—

Ay, and then my little Eyes.

Hist.

Your hand, your hand, I hear the Widdow; that's just where I appointed her.

So, I see the Unfortunate Lovers are come, my dear.

Hist, they are at it: This is the Hall: This happy dark­ness doubles my Disguise. Friend, did you see any of the Family to day?

No, Sir, but I saw a Chair go in about half an hour ago.

Punctual Creature; for fear I should not bring one. In the Passage, from the surther corner of the Hall, we shall find that Chair, and in it the Treasure of my Soul, which we must carry off; such are [Page 65] my kind directions; and then I think I have conquer'd you Mr. Weal­thy. Follow me close, and now the coast is clear, be sure you mind the charge. This is the only secret I ever kept from Littlegad: ah would he were as happy.

Ha, ha, ha; wish you joy, Gentlemen, wish you joy; you are met with I'faith; Lights there Lights: Now for me, my Dear, Pox of their hugger mugger work: we'll be married in state.

The Devil, is this Sir William! that was just where Wealthy appointed me. You mistake Sir William.

Widdow, where's my little Devil? What ho?

Coming, coming Sir William

Gad they have it, Fops, Fools, Cuckolds, Rogues, didst thou see 'em?

See 'em! I think I provided well for my Maids.

Come, come, I'll Maid you: Where's Frank? why Sirrah.

Here Sir.

Sirrah, to your Wife, you ill-natur'd Dog, this was your contrivance. Where's Tom?

Just coming Sir, our turn's next: Where's this Parson; if he be not out of breath, he may do our work too.

Pox on him, and his sneaking bit of Wax Candle; I could hardly discern a Man from a Post; and the two Sluts stood with their backs to us.

I swear Mr. Wealthy, you're an unmerciful man; I am sorry to see you have so much ill nature; what have you done with the poor Gentleman?

When they have serv'd our mirth a little further, we'll dispatch em with their Ladies. Pox where's this Parson, we'll fetch him by the Ears.

I suppose, Madam, I need not wish your Ladyship Joy, since you have made choice of a young man so able to give it as Mr. Weal­thy; for my part, I confess you may wonder at this Match, but upon my word, Madam, I am altogether satisfied with these poor Remains of Sir William, since he will put me in a way to return your many obli­gations upon your dear Mr. Wealthy.

I understand her, but since Wealthy is mine, can laugh at her.

Your Ladiship is highly obliging, and though indeed, Madam, I may seem to have the better of you in this business, yet I cannot tell [Page 66] how wild Mr: Wealthy may prove; and at least, you may live at quiet with Sir William, an old Gentleman that is tam'd to your hands.

Now cou'd I fall out with her in earnest, for her impudence, though I am sure of my Man.

If I may be so bold, pray Ma­dam, how long was handsome Mr. Wealthy an admirer of you, before he gain'd the mighty Conquest over you?

If Madam, without blushing I might tell you, I think too long. However, since to Night he must be mine, i'll reap that lost years Har­vest in this Night; sure of my bliss, i'll seize my Vigorous Swain, free from the Curse of disappointing Age: Blind with my Love, give loose to my desires, and in continued Trances cheat the Night.

Oh, Impudence: By Heaven, she's lying with him to my face, I can hold no longer.

And is your Gravity come to this? Sure, Madam, you will not ravish Mr. Wealthy.

Sure, Madam, but I may, before Sir William can your Ladi­ship.

Poor cheated Fool.

Poor angry Girl.

Yes, Madam, value your self upon your Age, Wealthy admires it, Madam; an Old Lady, and a Cast Widdow, must be Honourable.

Ha, ha, ha, have you lost your longing, Madam?

Nay then, take the Reverse of all thy promis'd Joys, which in malicious eagerness you drest. On Wealthy's breast you'll find but poor support; upon thy buried Honour lean thy head; Bath in the tears shed for that satal loss; Curse my dear VVealthy's Eyes; cry out thy own. Blind with thy miseries, renounce the Day, and in eternal howlings waste the Night. By Heaven, thou art betray'd, VVealthy's my Hus­band; Married just now, before thy cheated Eyes. Poor fool, thou art a witness to the Match, and hall Contriver of thy own Destruction.

So, so, the Rival Queens have been at it, i'faith.

Speak VVealthy, e're my heart breaks with my wrongs: Have you betray'd me? Are you such a Villain?

Faith, Widdow, not to keep you in suspence, on second thoughts I could not be so rash; therefore to save your Reputation still, own you were in th' design, and laugh with us. Here comes the old Man and the Parson; now the Plot thick'ns, or the Devils in't.

Come my Girl, answer before this man of God. Wilt thou be my Lawful Wife?

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As Lawsul as that Gentleman can make me.

God a mercy: Come, Sir, to work, to work.

Indeed, and that's not very Lawful, Madam.

What a Pox ails the Fellow? Why, what Sir, 'tis not against the Law, for an Old Man to marry a young VVoman, is it?

No, Sir, but sure 'tis to Marry your Daughter.

He's mad: My Daughter, Sir.

Yes, if that Gentleman's your Son.

Good faith, Sir, even so.

I'll hang you, i'll drown you, i'll murder you, i'll poyson you, i'll blow you up, i'll bury you alive; i'll Cuckold you, you Dog.

I'll hold you a Guinea on't.

Ah, you Devil.

I should have Cuckolded you, Sir VVilliam; 'tis better as 'tis, I shall love now my none dear Daddy.

Come, come, be patient, Sir VVilliam, you're happy in your Sons match, though I am curst; and though I burst must bear it.

My Son, he's a Son of a Whore, i'll prove it, and i'll fight him.

Hark you Sir, if I am not your Son, it follows natu­rally you're not my Father: And gad, Sir, if you abuse my Mother, I shall—

Murder me: Very well, i'll have you hang'd.

Think better, Sir VVilliam: How could you think that I, with that disparity of years, could ever love you? I do love your Son, and in your Son love you.

Come, you're a baggage.

I'm your Daughter, Sir VVilliam; i'll be tender of you.

I'm your Son, and Dutiful: i'll renounce the follies of the Town; i've tasted them, and weigh them all at this. VVe will for­sake this hole of Sin and Sea-coal, and make you merry in a better Air. Come Spouse. Your blessing, Sir.

Pox take him, he talks as if he had some Grace; he made a long Speech too without swearing, but I can't say Amen to it.

Indeed Sir William, I think you're Happy, if you knew when.

Zoons, but I've lost a Wife.

No, no, Sir William, if we had been married, you'd have made no more on't.

There's your Obligation of five hundred pound to me, and truly, I think, Wisely sav'd.

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Five hundred pound on second thoughts is a round summ: Hum! you're a Rogue; but rise, rise, and take my blessing, since I can't help it. But pox on't, where's Tom? Has no body stole his Wife? And where are these fellows, that I may see if any thing can make me laugh?

O Sir, I warrant you.

What a Pox, it was not you and your Brother Tom I saw Marry'd, was it?

Even so, faith Sir; but here comes our Fortune-Hunters:

Hey day, what's here? Who's in this Chair? Another damn'd Plot.

Set down the Chair, friends; who would you speak with, ha?

We were call'd Sir, to carry this Lady; she lives in this house.

Ha! Shou'd not I know that Face: Mr. Shamtown. In­deed, I always mistrusted your Shapes, but never yet really knew you were a Chair-man. This, I suppose, is a Plot for my Brothers Lady; pray Heaven it be not her, Sir.

So, so, more Plots here; Tom shall deal with you.

Gentlemen, I beg you would not Murder me; and Madam, I hope you'll stand to your Note, and own me, and my love.

Ay, me, i'm undone, and shall be laugh'd to Death.

'Sdeath, who is this? Betray'd, oh Hell and the Devil; where shall I run?

Hey day; what, here and there too? Tom, you're obli­ged to this Gentleman, he only came to steal your Lady.

I shan't be backward in my thanks.

I shall be kick'd to Death.

But, who are you? Come, unmask Lady; nay, by Heaven you must, pritty Mrs. Littlegad.

Mr. Littlegad.

Two Fools well met, i'faith.

Upon my Faith, I meant it purely for your diversion; pray Pardon me. I wou'd give a hundred Pound for a Whirlwind to remove me.

Sir, this is a base return for giving you your life; but here, call up my Footmen.

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Gentlemen, do not mistake, I am a Gentleman, and since I am betray'd into your House defenceless, which was cruel of the La­dies, I beg I may be safe, when next I am in my Primitive Equipments.

What, Sir, without a Shirt?

No, Sir, I'll give your Brother satisfaction.

Shut up the Doors: Poor Fool, he Pardons any thing he scorns, and you shall share the Graces. And Gentlemen, if you lov'd these Ladies, you cannot but stay Dinner, and after Dance at their Weddings, I am sure, Mr. Spruce.

Name but a Dance, and up starts Mr. Spruce.

Mr. VVealthy, I am glad you are inlarg'd; and faith; Sir, I came only to have serv'd you.

I must thank your Lady for that, I presume.

Gad, she loves you dearly.

I can't deny't, indeed, Mr. VVealthy, though before my Husbands face.

I thank you, Madam.

Frank, I begin to love you already. Sirrah, you are a lucky Dog, make much of her and I forgive you: and God bless you all four.

Fairly spoken, Sir William.

We'll deserve it; but come, I have provided an Enter­tainment.