THE Feign'd Astrologer. A COMEDIE.

Horat. Ep. 2. Lib. 2.
—Magicos terrores, somnia, sagas,
Nocturnos Lemures, portentaque Thessala rides?

LONDON, Printed for Thomas Thornycroft, at the Eagle and Child, near Worcester-house in the Strand. 1668.

The Actors

  • SIr Christopher Credulous—A Rich old Knight, father to Clarinda.
  • Bellamy—In Love with Clarinda, and belov'd by Celia.
  • Endimion—Once a Pretender to Clarinda.
  • Gratian—In love with Celia.
  • Lewis Bernard— Friends to Endimion, and Gratian.
  • Clarinda—Mistress to Bellamy.
  • Celia—In Love with Bellamy, and belov'd by Gratian.
  • Fannie—A little Cosen of Celia's.
  • Beatrix—Clarinda's Chambermaid.
  • Luce—Celia's Chambermaid.
  • La-gripe—An old French man, a servant of S r Christopher's.
  • Rudeman—Bellamy's Man.
  • Shift Rawman—Two wittie Knaves servants to Endimion.

The Scene LONDON.

[Page 1]THE ASTROLOGER

ACT. I.
The SCENE, Lincolns-Inn-fields.

Enter Endimion, Bernard, Shift.
End.
HOw strangely does thy News perplexme, Shift?
Art sure 'tis true?
Sh.

Beatrix tells me so, and then I must believe it.

Bern.
Is she your Oracle then?
End.
But is it possible that my Clarinda should—
Sh.
No, that it is not, she should ever love,
You I mean; for there may be perhaps—
End.
Nay, nay, I guess the reason of her scorn,
She loves else where.
Bern.
E'en like enough.
She'd ne'r hold her self at so high a rate to you,
Had she not other Chapmen.
Sh.

I smelt some such thing in a certain Conference, I had with my Princess to'ther day; and had not her doting old Master come by i'th nick and spoilt our sport, I was within two kisses of all her Mistresses secrets.

Bern.
Is Beatrix such a tell-tale?
Sh.
[Page 2]

Tell-tale, and Wag-tail. Why, is she not a Woman? and is that Sex made for Privy Councellors? 'tis true, Chambermaids, I think take an oath of Secresie as they do; and might do well to keep it too, as some of the others do: but alas!—

End.
Saving your mock-Morals and mongrel-Comments
On the whole Tribe, tell me of Beatrix, Sir,
What of her? what says she?
Sh.

What says she? why she says any thing; she can no more keep a secret than another woman, she is no more able to digest it; 'twill up Sir, 'twill up when occasion serves.

Bern.
Let Shift alone to mannage her Evidence,
He'l pump her drie, I warrant you.
Sh.

Sure enough: for whether it be my Person, my nimble dapper Person; or my Wit, my fooling Wit she's taken with, or talking humour, in which we most Sympathize, I know not: but I'm sure, I taste more of her kindness then you do of her Mistresses:

However, our way of Love is nothing troublesome, tis free, and without any tye, we aim not at Hymen, we; as long as we like one another, so; when we are weary; so.

Bern.
A pretty modern Method.

But prethee tell me Endiminion, art not thou sick of thy Con­stancy? hast not lov'd Clarinda long enough? to every fair one you were wont to cry, I love you; and scarce a whole day lov'd the same.

Sh.
And yet Clarinda now with all her scorn
Has held him to't a Month;
'Tis a strange Metamorphose in your Worships humour.
End.
I break custome, I confess it, for Clarinda's sake:
Yet let it not amaze thee, Bernard,
To see me burn so long in the same flames;
For if Love at first made me her Servant,
That Love is now to a Gaprichio vanisht,
A meer peevish obstinacie:
Her want of complaisance for my Amours
Is th' only reason why I haunt her now:
Not that I value her person, but I take
A pleasure in displeasing her; nor but
By vexing her can I wipe off the shame
[Page 3] This seeming Constancy would blast me with.
Sh.
What a wrong sense I took you in all this while?
Bern.
Why, you love her not then?
End.
Not I, I thank my Starrs.
Bern.
Why do you visit her then? why write? why send?
Sh.
What in the name of Madness maketh you
That you are not in Love, play the fool, as those do that are?
Bern.
Peevishness, I tell thee, meer peevishness;
Had she, when first I courted her,
With less severity welcom'd my Affection,
The fit had soon been over;
And in my way of making love, to another
E're this I had made offer of my heart;
But to knit one's brow, and look wise so out of season,
To fume and fret at every merry word,
And pay with frowns instead of smiles
A whole day together;
Then do I make love in despight.
Bern
Marry, y'are a terrible Lover indeed!
Sh.

I see 'tis dangerous for a Woman to have to do with you; why? would you have 'em love you whether they can or no?

Bern.

Is it so unpard'nable a Crime not to make much of you, that the punishment must never have end?

Sh.

But when will your Inconstance-ship get a new Mistriss, and think of this no more?

End.
As soon as thy dexterity has sifted out
VVho I am slighted for?
Sh.
Why, for Bellamy perhaps
End.
For Bellamy?
Sh.
Yes, for that very Bellamy
That has Courted her, you know, these Twelve Moneths
D'ee laugh?
End.
That were a fine Match indeed!
Of all the gay men that frequent her
I ne'r was jealous of him yet.
Sh.
Why, he's a proper Gentleman, though but a poor one.
End.
Clarinda is too proud to look so low
A mind like hers on state and bravery sett,
[Page 4] Is with a Fortune not a Person taken;
This Bellamy too has ever been her scorn.
Sh.
What, if that were but a trick?
A meer dissembling trick, to cousen the old Man?
End.
They have more tricks then one then; for Bellamy
A week since left the Town;
Nay's shipt for France e'r this,
And yet you'd have 'em smitten still.
Sh.
There may be a trick in the Journey too, for—
Enter Beatrix.
End.
Peace, yonder's Beatrix, feel her pulse a little,
Enquire, enquire how matters go; we'l step aside.
Sh.
'Tis enough, I have my kue.
End.
Let's give him opportunity.—
Ex. End. Bern.
Beat.
What art thou thinking of now?
In a melancholly po­sture, his Cloak a­bout his face.
Sh.
Who I? I'm thinking of nothing.
Beat.

What? in your dumps, when I come? when your Love comes?

Sh.
My Love? I have no Love, not I;
My Master loves no more, and I love no more neither.
Beat.
In earnest, Shift?
Sh.
Yes in good earnest, Beatrix.
Beat.
What, wilt thou forsake me now?
Thou canst not be so hard hearted sure?
Sh.
But I can, and will.
Beat.
This is but to try the constitution of my heart,
And peradventure to morrow.
Sh.
Nay, there is no peradventure, nor no to morrow;
Is it not always like Master, like Man?
Make thy Mistriss love him, and then—
Beat.
Thou must not request impossibilities at my hands,
Likely things I would do.
Sh.
Why? is Clarinda such a Love-hater?—
Is she so inflexible?
Beat.
Not so much; but—
Sh.
[Page 5]
But? but what?
Beat.
My poor Shift, thou hast so often promis'd me.
Sh.
Let us come to the But; go on with your storie.
Beat.
What should I tell thee?
Sh.
Why Clarinda uses Endimion with such base neglect?
And whether or no to love her still
Be operam & oleum perdere?
Thou maist smell my meaning, for Lamp-oyl has a strong sent.
Beat.
I could tell thee all this and more; but—
Sh.
But what again?
Beat.
I'm forbidden.
Sh.
I'm glad o'that; she'l tell therefore.
aside.
Beat.
Yet if thou wouldst swear not to tell again—
Sh.
Why I can be as silent as the silent woman;
I'le be a dumb shew; or the Chorus to't at least,
aside.
I'le tell but all I see: judge by my taciturn aspect.
I never tell but one thing at a time.
Beat.
Thou wilt not tell then?
Sh.
Not I; what I do not know.
aside.
Beat.
But swear to keep counsel.
Sh.
By my shifting faith, I will. Is not that well sworn?
Beat.
Shifting faith? heyday! what faith's that?
This is an oath of a new fabrick sure,
What anvil came it off? prythee did'st thou forge it?
Sh.
The faith of Shift is a shifting faith:
But let not that stick with thee;
Men shift their faith now-a-days, as often
As they did their Trenchers, when this old Cap was new.
But to the point.
Beat.
You must know then that Clarinda, my Mistress—
But you must not tell your Master, Shift.
Sh.
You would fain shift by your storie,

But 'twill not be: let me have it then, and quickly; for now I observe you better, I find by your simpring, and by the fumbling of your apron (that's a main sign) that if I long to hear it, thou dost e'en twitter to tell; leave your halting then before as very a Cripple as your self, and come roundly to the business.

Beat.
Why, I must tell thee then—
Sh.
[Page 6]
No Prefaces, nor Preambles.
Beat.
That if thy Master be unkindly dealt with,
The reason is Clarinda
Sh.
Has another Love.
Beat.
Th'art e'en i'th right on▪t.
Sh.
Well, his name, his name? go on.
Beat.
Must you know more yet?
Y'are very inquisitive into Women's matters.
Sh.
I do not talk like a man-midwife? do I?
His name, I say, his name?
Beat.
Bellamy.
Sh.
That poor Cavalier?
Beat.
'Tis a noble compleat Gentleman.
Sh.
And with his compleat Gentility
Thy Mistress will send thee to market? yes, she may;
But then must thou pawn thy coif and pinner,
Or come home without Eggs and Butter.
Beat.
She dot's on him, who can help it?
Sh.
All the dotage is on her side belike,
Hee'd nere leave her sure to go for France,
Did he dote too.
Beat.
That Journey on design is given out;
But to speak truth, should he fall into the free-booters hands
We were in some danger.
Sh.
He's safe then, and on this side the sea?
Beat.
Yea, and in London too, as I may tell you.
Sh.
In London?
Beat.
And nere was out on't.
Sh.
Who the devil taught him to Romance so finely?
To delude all the town, but Clarinda,
And you their confiding Mopse,
He has taken as solemn a leave
As he had been going to Tangler, or to Tyburn.
Beat.

By this means he sees Clarinda every night, by her ap­pointment too, and has done this week: and while his friends pity him, and think him sea-sick, he's Land-sick, and Love-sick, good Gentleman. There's but small hopes, thou see st, for thy Master.

Sh.
[Page 7]
So me thinks.
But is not your Ladie afraid of the Lampon-makers?
Has she a mind to be in a Ballad?
There are some Women have had whole bundles made of'em
Upon less occasion, (as they say themselves.)
Hoard up smooth faces, keep 'em leiger in a garret all day
To play at bopeep by night.
Beat.
Alas! thou art too severe, to young Ladies especially;
The nights the onely time for their recreation:
But we have a care of our ways,
And make a Conscience of being taken in 'em,
I'd have you know.
Sh.
Just as the Lacedemonians did of pilfering.
Beat.
Why 'tis not a blot till it be hit, Man.
This night-work is so contriv'd.
That Bellamy steals into the garden by a back-door,
Which I leave open for him, and so to an arbour,
Where she waits his coming.
Sh.
An excellent Rendez-vous for a midsummer Moon,
But this hot weather won't last always.
Where shelters he all day?
Beat.
At Gratian'S, as close as he that fears an Execution,
And that's the reason too perhaps he gives his friend
Of this concealment, for he's not of the Councel,
Nor should I have been, I think;
Could they have carried businesses without me:
But I am right necessary Woman sometimes.
Fare thee well, give me thy hand;
Sh.
Farewel, farewel.
Beat.
Thou dost promise me, Shift?
Sh.
Promise thee? what?
Beat.
Marriage, and't shall please thee.
Sh.
Go thy ways, I do; when we are at age.
Ex. Beatrix.
Is this the honour they vapour with?
This the reputation they are so shie of?
How many are there of this deceitful sex,
That wear Vertue enough all day,
And lay it by at night with their black patche;
[Page 8] And the rest of their superfluous ornaments?
Has Clarinda her Love-qualms too? well, the
Best of 'em have their failings, that I see.
But now am I as over-loaden with this secret;
Oh, how heavie it is? I shall shrink under the burthen
An I carrie it any further; I'm sure I'm sick on't alreadie.
To him again Endimion, Bernard.
O here's my Master, he'l cure me.
End.
Hast thou found out the reason of my disgrace?
Is Clarinda engag'd else-where?
Is it pride, is it hate makes her so coy?
What other Gallants has she? why dost not speak?
Art deaf? or hast thou lost thy tongue?
Bern.
Why standst thou making faces thus, and clutching thy fist?
End
Why doest thou squeeze thy fingers so? speak.
Sh.
O good Sir, let me alone.
End.
Let thee alone? why what art doing?
Sh.
You'l put me out now;
End.
Put thee out? of what? th' art out of thy wits already sure.
Sh.
Now was I striving all this while to hold my peace;
I was bid; but the truth is, I am so farre
From doing as I was bid,
That I'm e'en weary of striving already: heark you then
That Spruce, Compleat out-sided Gallant, he that of all
Her gay frequenters nere gave you Jealous pang,
That very Bellamy, I told you of before,
That gives out he's gone for France,
By Clarinda's own contrivance is conceal'd at Gratian's.
End.
Bellamy in town still?
Sh.
As sure as you are; and see's her every night.
Alas, he had no arrant into France,
But to make an ass of your Worship,
And that it seems he can do better at home.
End.
One of 'em shall dearly pay for't though.
Sh.
Why, what d'you mean to do?
End.
Nay, I'm resolv'd, I'le to Clarinda again.
Sh.
[Page 9]
Oh poor Beatrix, you'll tell Sir now,
And then is she undone for ever.
End.
No, no, ne'r fear it.
Sh.
What good will it do you to see her then?
End.
I mean to laugh at her, and for a full revenge
With deep protests will I renew my suit
If slighted, i'th same coin I'll pay her instantly,
And give her scorn for scorn;
A biting jeast or two, and I am even with her.
When she peceives my Vows were raileries,
Which meerly to divert my self I pass'd upon her,
'T will shrewdly pinch her, that I'm sure of,
For she that thinks she's fair indeed,
VVill ne'r endure to have been told so but in jest.
But prethee the whole story of this fine Amouretta,
Bellamy sees her every night, it seems.
I cannot wish 'em joy yet heartily,
aside.
There are some dregs of Love still lurking under my anger.
Enter Rawman.
Raw.
Lewis sir is here. End. 'tis well.
Sh.
You shall know more anon.
End.
Go thou, and warily sift out
Of some Neighbour or so, if I may see Clarinda.
That is whether—
Sh.
I understand, you are afraid of the old Man,
You would have him safe.
End.
smiling. Th' art i' th' right
That's a stumbling block must be remov'd.
Ex. Shift
To them Lewis.
Lewis.
May a friend be partaker of your Mirth?
Or know but whence it springs?
Clarinda without doubt
Has better thoughts of Love then she was wont,
'Tis not an unbecomming weakness now, I hope,
Y' have wrought a cure upon her, I see it in your looks.
End.
[Page 10]
Nothing less; she never was more avers'd, nor I
More lost to all hopes of ever being favour'd by her.
Lewis.
In what tearms then must one condole your loss?
Or with what Arguments.—
Bern.
Nay, never set your Rhetorick o' th' Tenterhooks for the matter,
Not quicken your invention with your nails,
He can live without her.
End.
I praise my manly temper.
The loss Lewis I do not much regret;
And wert thou fit for such a secret now—
Lewis.
You do me wrong to doubt my keeping it.
End.
I would acquaint thee with my whole Adventure:
I have discover'd how the Market goes,
And see why I am not thought to bid fair,
The scorns Clarinda heapt on me
Were favours she oblig'd a Rival with;
She's in love man, desperately in love
See how the World's mistaken in her,
And how groundless my pretensions are.
Lewis.
Clarinda in love? vers'd with that subtilty too
In his dissembling Maxims to carry it thus?
End.
Nay, 'tis a wonder; she that stood upon her guard
And kept us at such distance, to be taken?
Bern.
She that set Love and Lovers at defiance,
And seem'd so scrupulously modest, that to name
I ut Venus to her or Cupid, was talking bawdy.
Lew.
But who's the luckie Woodman has struck this fair Doe?
End.
That's the wonder of all wonders, Bellamy.
Lew.
Away, away, now I see you jest.
End.
It is a serious and a sober Truth, sir,
A sad one too it might prove for some body,
Had not I more discretion then all Lovers have.
Bern.
The French journey's but a fiction, Man,
A meer slight to make their meetings
Private and unsuspected.
End.
But see what a goodly choice she has made,
What a happiness she refuses me for;
[Page 11] A Man of no Fortune, Estate I mean,
For luck he has enough to fool me;
If 'twere wit he out-did me at,
He'd do't above board, and by day-light.
Lew.
Y'are misinform'd, I'm sure on't;
I know Clarinda better then so, besides Bellamy
For another Beauty burns, though't flame not out.
End.
For who?
Lew.
For Celia.
End.
Have you acquaintance with her?
Lew.
Not much; this I know, she's a great Gallant,
L [...]ves in the Fields here, with a Widow-Aunt
And is Courted by him; 'tis true, Gratitude
As much perhaps as Love, may draw that Courtship
For his engagements to the Lady are great,
His bosome friend has told me all,
One that were happy could your surmize prove true.
End.
I go upon sure grounds, Beatrix is my Author,
And not to tell you a secret by the halfes
He keeps close at a friends house of yours all day,
At Gratian's-
Enter Gratian.
Lew.
See where he comes; give me leave, and Ile know all;
He'l make no secret of't to me, I'm confident,
Nor will I to you of what I learn from him.
Ex. End. Bern. Raw.
What pensive still?
Grat.
And miserable still.
Lew.
What new misfortune causes this complaint?
Grat.
'Tis an old grief mine, Lewis; how often
Have I told you with what passion
I burn for Celia, and with what violence
Done to my self I do forbear all words
That might disclose that passion a friend
Is Rival in? judge of my miserie then,
[Page 12] For sure no torments equallize his pain,
That dyes for love, yet dares not once complain.
Lew.
How out of season these respects are now?
When Bellamy's absence gives you place;
Take th' opportunity,
Grat.
I'm ne're the happier for a Rivals absence.
Lew.
No? that's strange; but I hear, let me tell you,
His French Journey's laid aside, nay, was ne're intended.
Grat.
Who tells you so?
Lew.
Nay more, 'tis whisper'd he lies private at your house,
Nere seem amaz'd, but deal ingenuously.
Grat.
I did not think it had been known abroad.
Lew.
Not is it generally; but what is his design?
Or what can he aim at by this stealth?
Grat.
I never div'd so farr into his breast:
I onely understood it did concern his life,
Or what was dearer then his life, his Love,
To disappear some time:
All I can guess besides, (and that
But by some words he does drop forth by chance)
Is, that some jealous thoughts disturb his mind,
And that to trie his Celia's real kindness,
He spreads this fain'd report of travel,
That as his absence proves to this fair one
Irksom or indifferent,
He may see the power of Rivalling Pretensions.
Lew.
'Tis hotly rumour'd though he loves Clarinda.
Grat.
That's the town-trick:
Because he's young and courtly, Clarinda handsom,
He cannot visit her, but straight
He's thought in love; nay, though she be not
Beyond common Civility regarded by him,
Yet People need's will have him her Adorer.
The news with Celia too has wrought so farre,
'Thas cost her tears; but he in such persuasive terms
Still vindicates his constancie,
She cannot long believe him false.
Lew.
Is she so much his then still?
Grat.
[Page 13]
Too faithful to him ever, too fond indeed:
Though without taking leave he stole away,
She seeks her self pretences to excuse him,
And with such care does palliate his neglects,
As stops my mouth, and frustrates all my hopes.
While I (and that's my height of miserie)
To make him happy, court my own ruine,
Visit her at his request, wooe her for him,
And improve each minute to discourse his Love,
Fanning their heats thus, and childishly
Playing in a flame that must consume me.
She, with the very name of Bellamy ravisht,
To sit and chat of him intreats my visits:
I must comply.
Lew.
'Tis something a severe compliance.
Grat.
Thus keep I still some interest in the family,
And have access to her; and if by some
Capriciousness of fate, which oft breaks kindest leagues,
They chance to jarre, she may perhaps reflect
A faithful friend seldom proves faithless Lover.
Lew.
I wish it may be so.
But you'ld be visiting this cruel fair one.
May she with justice ballance both your services,
And then yours will be crown'd.
Ex. Lewis.
To him Celia, Fannie, Luce.
Grat.
See where she comes the fair Cause of all my grief;
No more then let the fear of displeasing her keep it in,
For though I should fall under her disdain,
Her beauty is concern'd I make it known
Her eyes have captiv'd her more slaves then one:
Cel.
How happily do I meet you?
Sure Bellamy is landed long ere this?
A letter from Callis now me thinks, to make his peace.
Grat.
Madam, I expect some by the French post.
Cel.
Why writ he not from Dover? nay,
From Canterbury, from Rochester, from Graves-end?
[Page 14] Are they not all post-towns?
Oh! I could have found twenty ways to send to him.
Fan.
How well my Cozen knows the road?
Yet I dare swear she ne're was further
That way, then Southwark-fair.
Lu.
Oh this Love is a subtle teacher, M ris Fannie.
Fan.
Has it taught you any thing, Luce?
Cel.
Nay, I have reason to be angry with him,
To steal away thus, and never bid adieu.
Grat.
Thence you may judge how great his passion is,
That fatal word, Adieu, had he but spoke it,
Must have been his last; of so much beauty,
So much kindness too, who without dying
Could have taken leave?
Cel.
I'm easily won, Gratian,
To a favourable construction of all he does;
My love indeed pleads for him still: and yet
What ere the reason of his absence be,
I might, me thinks, have been acquainted with it.
Grat.
Nay, Madam, I excuse him not, he is too guilty;
I know what courtesies he is indebted to you,
With what a liberal hand you ever pour'd them on him,
And that when—
Cel.
No more of that, I pray;
A Courtesie looses its merit if publisht once;
Would I be minded oft, I did deserve
He should forget it. Besides if I may
Freely own the motive of those actions
I pleasur'd my self most in obliging him,
I did but justice to his fair desert:
And yet I'le not acquit him neither, I'le think
As you would have me more deservingly
Of what I did; there's no gift though he's bound
To me for, saving that of my heart, my
Love I'ld have requited, then all is paid.
Grat.
That is the gift too he does value most:
And that he might not all Ungrateful seem
To the fair giver, when a necessity
[Page 15] Sudden as unwelcome forc'd him from what he lov'd,
He sought to leave you one half of himself
Gratian, to fill his room.
And friendship now making but one of us,
If 'mong your discontents you reckon his absence,
It shall be my care to supply his place;
With tears and sighs I'le figure you his grief,
And will (to act your Bellamy to th' life,)
Forget I am not he; from the same Eyes
I'le draw my warmth, with the same passions burn,
And in this personated Love outvie—
Cel.
Enough, enough: for I begin to fear
Least the pretence of speaking for another
Should urge you further then a friends interest
Usually does, friendship transports you, Gratian;
Temper its heat a little.
Fan.
A forward Proxie! hee'ld wed, and bed her
For his friend, would she but let him.
Lu.
But shee's not so comming; though he
Would fain take himself for Bellamy,
She'll not mistake him so too.
Ex. Cel. Fan. Luce.
Grat.
My silence argued me remiss and slack,
And venture at a word, I'm beaten back.
Exit.

ACT. II.
The SCENE, Lincolns-Inn-fields.

Enter Clarinda, Beatrix.
Beat.
BY my modesty, Madam, I'le keep your Counsel: Alas
I stand in need of the like good office my self sometimes,
And they that tell deserve to be told of, I say.
Yet could I but understand what you drive at
I might be more serviceable.
Clar.
What account can I give thee?
[Page 16] In such perplexitie my mind's involv'd,
I know not what I would my self.
Beat.
You love Bellamy though,
Clar.
Oh Wench I do.
Beat.
And that's it puzzles me now, to see so high an affection
Mushrom-like sprung up o'th sudden, Bellamy
Has courted you, and recourted you sigh'd & sob'd, again & again,
Yet all would not do, you were as coy still and as calm,
As nothing had been; nothing but frumps
Could he get of you in a whole years time,
Nothing but No's, and I wo' not's, and I cannot's,
And now in one week y'are so strangely alter'd,
As you were turn'd the wrongside outward;
Y'are got into the loving extream now.
Clar.
Alas! I lov'd him all that while;
Though knowing how much a Wealthy fathers bent
Against Pretenders of so small a fortune,
Set cold neglect and rigour in my eyes,
While my heart e'en melted with hot love.
This seeming cruelty had driven him into France,
Could I have worn it still, but thou saw'st me
Beaten from that ward; and yield, though he
Gave out he went, he should not go indeed.
Beat.
Truly y'are to be pitied: but what good
Can this counterfeiting of a Journey do you?
Clar.
His intentions for travel were too well known abroad,
To have the Journey broken thus o'th sudden;
And sifting out the cause, perhaps
Something o'th' truth of it might have been found.
'Tis safer to keep close by day awhile,
And then pretend some reason for's return.
To them Endimion, Shift.
Beat.
Endimion, Madam.
Clar.
His importunity will nere have end.
End.
Is it not just I quarrel with my Starrs
That I can never see you? will you keep home always?
[Page 17] Must none enjoy you, but your self?
I shall grow jealous of yourself at last.
Cla.
Home is most pleasing to me, and retired thus
I see but what I like, and will my self;
What moves you to press on my retirement?
End.
Will you never take pity of my sufferings?
Clar.
Bewail your self some where else, I'm ignorant of your griefs.
End.
Love.— Clar. Never name a Tyrant I abhor.
End.
But a Lover that suffers.—
Clar.
Leave out that name of Lover,
There is such a discord in the sound, I hate it.
End.
Unjustly though, methinks;
For sure with fewer charms Nature does frame
What she means not the object of our Loves.
Clar.
Will you never leave this odious talk?
End.
Will you be lovely thus, and cruel still?
Oh what Flames do those Eyes kindle in my breast!
Clar.
What aversion does this discourse beget in mine!
End.
Heavens! how they sparkle? how many deaths
They shoot, those Star-like twins?
Clar.
Oh, I could hate the Sun, whose light I see you by.
End.
The Moon indeed is something kinder to you,
No doubt, but to her light
You are beholding for a lovelier sight.
Clar.
I understand you not.
End.
You will not.
Clar.
You think to fright me with this obscure discourse.
End.
I can clear it, if I am put to't.
Clar.
Nay, 'tis time to be gone then;
I see y'are angry, and might use me worse,
End.
staying her Without hearing my reasons?
Clar.
I care not for 'em:
End.
But you must hear 'em though; 'tis a Love-suit
I am concern'd in, you shall be judge i' th' case;
Y'have heard my Adversary at leisure,
And tane perhaps some prejudice against my right;
'Tis my turn now to have an Audience of you,
[Page 18] Since he has it by night, I may well
Claim one by day; not that I do expect
A Garden door should be left jarr'd
For me to slip in, nor Beatrix there
Confidingly to watch, none interrupt my story;
Much less that you your self should wait
My comming in an Arbour.
Were I suppos'd in France, and yet in spight of Seas
Could meet you at an hours warning, then indeed
I might deserve a kin [...] welcome.
Sh.
A pox on's memory! he has not left out a tittle,
to him­self.
What a speech has he made here?
Could I find no body else to tattle too?
Cla.
What have I heard?
Sh.
Oh Sir! what have you done?
End.
'Tis but a just revenge of her unjust
And undeserved scorn.
Clar.
to Be. Thou hast betrayed me,
Beat.
Believe me, Madam.—
Clar.
Away thou faithless wretch, thou hast sold me;
Unhappy she, that trusts such mercenary souls.
Sh.
to End. Now will poor Beatrix be turn'd away.
Beat.
I would to Heaven you did not with your anger
Avow your self what I had still conceal'd,
And this reproaching me did not confirm.—
Clar.
Peace Impudence: justifying yourself?
Sh.
to End. I had need of a good back now,
'Twill all fall upon me.
End.
'Tis past now, who can help it? but for my interest,
For thine own, for Beatrix sake, for all; prethee Shift
And thou canst, peece it up again; make any shift.
Invent, Frame, Lye, Swear, anything, I'le second it.
Clar.
Nay, 'tis resolv'd, ne'r speak on't more:
Beat.
Well, I must pack then, since you'l have it so
But may I now before your face, if ever I told tale.—
Clar.
Oh, 'tis an innocent piece!
Sh.
I have much adoe sir, to make a good lie o'th' sudden;
But this shall serve for want of a better.
End.
[Page 19]
Good or bad, let's have it; I'le help thee out.
Sh.
And you turn me away to morrow sir, I will tell
I'le speak the Truth in spight of all Masters, I:
To Clar.
Madam, put up your anger, or turn it the right way:
To End.
Nay, never wink on me, nor frown,
Nor make me signs to hold my peace;
Truth must be heard, and shall.
To Clar.
Beatrix never betray'd your secrets,
Nor does she prattle of your Love,
The Stars, the Stars themselves discover'd all.
Clar.
What means the Fellow?
Sh.
You don't believe me now?
But I must tell you though, and you'l find it true too,
That this Master of mine (as out of countenance as you see him)
Has not stowage for his great Capacity,
Nor the World his fellow in Astrology,
The Man i' th' Strand was an Ass to him, when he was at best,
He can make the Brazen head speak at this hour,
Spirits he could raise Sans nombre
And make them talk too,
Till we were all weary of their company.
If ever an Endimion slept in the Moon's lap,
This is he, for he has as much familiarity with her,
To my knowledge, as that comes to.
Beat.
Thy Master an Astrologer?
Sh.
I, Twenty.
Beat.
What Twenty Astrologers, and but one Man?
Thou wilt tell a lie anon.
aside.
Sh.
I mean, he casts Figures, and raises Appearances
As fast as Twenty;
End.
This story'll cry me up for a fine fellow.
aside.
To Sh.
What sirrah? Sh. Yes sir.
Beat.
aside.
If she would but believe him now!
Sh.
Nay, you are an Astrologer if ever man was:
I know I loose my place, and forfeit my no small
Arrears of wages too in discovering it,
But I love Beatrix, Queen of Beatrixes.
[Page 20] And ought to free her from the suspicion
To Clar.
Her Mistress has conceiv'd; he has made me mad
This week with his Ovals and his Circles,
He contemplates the Stars in nights so dark
They dare not appear, and is staring abroad,
When the dogs will not peep out.
End.
Well said, Bull-dog!
aside.
Sh.
By Moon-light, by Owl-light, by any light,
By no light; and in his Chamber
Continually poaring on a great black Book
Full of pot-hooks of all sorts and sizes,
The Inventory o' th' Devils Kitchin, 'tis I think:
And thus has he discover'd your Amours
But in what Devils name, or which leaf of the Book
Y'are written in, truly that I cannot tell you yet.
Clar.
This is a jesting Knave, and yet
aside.
There may be some Truth in what he says too;
Stranger things have been found out by that Art.
End.
Why, thou everlasting prittle prattle!
Will't never have done? who has hired thee here
To tell a story of a Cock and a Bull?
Sh.
I▪ I, Cocks and Bulls; those are some of your Familiars.
Madam, I have not said a word, but what is true.
I'le justify't, let him raise as many devils as he will,
What I have said will shame 'em all.
Beat.
Meaning, 'tis truth he has spoke;
aside.
Which is not the least of his lies.
Sh.
Did not you shew me a Garden.
To End.
Last night, in one of your enchanted Glasses,
And bid me mark an Arbour to the West of that Garden?
I know not West from East, not I;
But I perceiv'd it stood in one corner of the Garden,
And mark'd it so well, I can tell you
To Clar.
What 'twas made of too, of Lauretine.
Clar.
There is such an Arbor i'th' Garden.
Beat.
Yes Madam, there is indeed:
God-a-mercy though, that he saw it once,
aside.
When I took him into th' Garden,
[Page 21] His Master's glasses had nere shew'd it him else.
Sh.
But that you chiefly bade me observe,
And were your self so vext at heart to see,
Was the Lady Clarinda here sitting in that arbour;
In a melancholy posture you were, I'le assure you, Madam,
Thus with your hand supporting of your head,
And look'd, in my eye, as you had waited
For something, made you think the time long ere it came;
And so it prov'd indeed; for casting by command my eye
To another side of the Mirrour, I spied a Gallant
Enter'd the Garden make straight up to the arbour,
And saw your first salute; 'tis true, I could not
Hear him what he said, (and by that I guess
The devil's not so great with th' ears as with the eyes.)
But I suppose he did excuse his coming late,
And took such special notice of his garbe,
I'd know him in a croud of Courtiers,
Amongst clowns any one might discern him,
I could describe his habit too for need—
End.
Oh! you have said enough, Sir, you have said enough;
And more then will stand with my credit, Madam,
To have believ'd, I'm worse then an Astrologer then,
He makes me conjure too: but since it is not
For my honour now to hide the truth from you;
I must confess that in my travels
'Twas my fortune to grow intimate with a learned Man,
Sometime a Scholar to the fam'd Nostredamus,
Who took some pains with me, my aptness
To his impressions making him with pleasure, as he said,
Impart his secrets, nor knew he ought
In Physiognomy, Palmistry, Astronomy,
Nor hardly in all the Mathematicks
He read not to me; what ere belongs, I'm sure,
To th' Opticks or Mechanicks he did disclose.
Thus came my skill.
Sh.
I never heard this so perfectly before.
Beat.
I don't think thou didst.
End.
But to own it publickly
[Page 22] I know too well the disrepute 'tis in
Amongst the Vulgar, too apt to give events
(Whose cause their dull capacity cannot reach)
To the black Art, and think the devil author
Of all subtleties above 'em; which makes my man
Talk of familiars, and take (dull brain!)
Our Optick glasses for enchanted one's.
Sh.
Besides the wrong some late Professors too
Have done that art, by prostituting it
To men in power.
End.
A servile flatterie!
Sh.
Made him more cautious in such times as those,
When it was dangerous not to be base,
How he seem'd knowing.
End.
But tired out at last with
Your too rigorous usage, your servants all
Too trusty, or too ignorant to betray me
Beat. Curt'sies.
The cause on't;
I was resolv'd to find it out my self
In that great book, where truth's so fairly writ
For those have studied the bright Character:
I did consult the stars,
I found the garden, and the arbour too,
Bellamy's real happiness, and suppos'd absence.
But let not this discovery trouble you,
For my own interest I must keep your Counsel,
Our fortune is the same, 'tis but one secret for another,
My Man has told you mine, I found out yours,
Keep you but one of 'em, and I warrant you for the other.
Beat.
'Tis an able Man, I promise you!
Sh.
You'l believe me another time, I hope,
to Clar.
I was i'th right, you see.
Beat.
The truth, I trow, does justifie me now, Madam.
I had heard it mutter'd indeed, he took upon him
To tell fortunes, interpret dreams, or so;
And could have made Almanacks too, for his skill,
But that he thought it a discredit to his youth,
To grow weather-wise so soon: but I had sold you,
[Page 23] I had betrayed you, I; he knew all from me.
Clar.
Truth, I was loath to suspect thee,
I had no former grounds for't;
Had it not been for his Astrologie though,
What could he have known, unless I had been betray'd.
Beat.
You may, remember too, if any Incredulity remain,
How much my old Master talks of Astrologie,
And what feats he was wont to do in's youth,
As he tells us, by the Vertue of Mars and Venus.
Clar.
My father talks much of Astrologie indeed,
What I have heard from him, helps to perswade,
End.
Thou could'st not pitch upon a quainter fancie.
aloud ha­ving whisper'd
Sh.
Twas extempore, Sir, remember that,
And may give some small hint of my faculty;
A little premeditation had afforded you a better.
End.
It needs not, this fable is as currant with her.
Sh.
Nay, she is finely fool'd; you shall
Have her in such a suppliant Style now,
She's sore afraid of you, I see by her eyes.
Clar.
Noble Endymion, whose clear-sighted mind
Is onely paralel to your generous heart.
Sh.
Did I not tell you?
End.
Hear her Apologie.
Clar.
A slighted Lover's anger I should fear,
Were the excuse I am now to make you,
Due to any other, but you that know
The Influence of the stars, and force of destiny,
Will not deem it a Crime in me, to act
What they decree: when great ones can't eschew
What they portend her, what should weak women do?
Beat.
Peace, peace, your father's coming,
Your father's coming; 'tis his hem.
End.
Would he would hem some where else,
We did not want him here.
To them S r Christopher Credulous.
S r Chr.
Now, what's the business with this young Gallant?
Clar.
[Page 24]
'Tis Curiosity, Sir, I must confess;
I heard not long since by a friend of mine,
He was most knowing in Astrologie,
And having by her means wrought his acquaintance,
A Maiden-longing, which I blush to own,
Made me now question him 'bout my husband's name,
And when I should be married.
I'le try your skill though for once good M r Astrologer.
aside.
Beat.
The old man wil have him into the Star-chamber presently.
aside.
End.
She doubts my science, & sets him on to make trial of't to Sh.
I le bear up bravely, and 't shall go hard,
But I'le beat that old tired Cock out o'th' pit.
S r Chr.
Are you a fortune-teller? do'e make Almanacks? hah!
Sh.
Montelions perhaps, or so.
S r Chr.
He's the sprucest truly o'th trade, I ere yet saw.
Enter to them Lewis, Bernard.
They stand aside with Shift, who tells them what has past between his Master and Clarinda.
End.
How rudely the man begins? this is no fair disputant.
S r Chr.
What does he tell thee troubles thee thus?
End.
I told her, Sir, of some hard fortune, which
By th' malign aspect of an inauspicious Planet
I find her threatned with.
She takes it somewhat to heart, as you see.
S r Chr.
Thou art too blame, thou art too blame
To be so much concern'd.
In so short a time what could you discover?
End.
That shee's decree'd
To make the fortunes of a younger Brother,
Or some such wanting Gentleman;
For he whom she's to marrie
Is rich in person onely, and a comely mine.
Beat.
Who would not think he spoke truth now,
aside.
He delivers himself with such confidence?
[Page 25] The good Gentleman out-lies his man,
Foils him at his own weapon, Impudence.
S r Chr.
Fear it not upon such slight grounds,
'Tis but one Doctors, opinion, I warrant you.
Clar.
I would I had not heard it though;
The Prediction has made strong impressions on me.
Would it did so on you too, that you might be perswaded
aside.
There were no remedy, but I must have Bellamy,
The fine wanting Gentleman he points at.
S r Chr
My Daughter meat for younger Brothers?
Fear 'em not I say again, let me alone
To stave them off, and wanting Heirs are as bad to me
As a poor Cadet, I'le beware of them too.
Clar.
Endimion, though that reads my destiny thus,
Is a knowing Man, Father, one never yet mistaken,
Nor ever saw he, as he protests
The Stars on any one Event six'd so unanimous;
This would work, I think, on any one,
It falling so right with my own desires.
aside.
End.
She takes more pains to delude her Father,
aside,
Then I did to gull her: I shall be an Astrologer
At this rate, whether I will or no.
S r Chr.
Many Men have employ'd all their Lives
In this Study, and yet died short
O' th' excellence of it too; and how this Man
Should arrive at the height of it so young,
I wonder much, I promise you.
Beat.
It is with Schollars, I have heard, Sir,
As with Travellers; not always he that first sets forth,
But he that takes the nearest way, gets soonest home.
Bern.
And what of him that's best hors'd?
Lew.
He out-rides his fellows.
Bern.
Why, thou art a parcel wise Man too.
Sr Chr.
Certes Astrologie is a noble Science,
Worth th' application of ingenious minds!
If you are such a Master of her secrets,
Few that pretend to th' name come near
[Page 26] Deserving it so well; all men
Are not fit for speculation now a-dayes,
Youth especially, is all on Action bent;
So young therefore, and so learned, deserves
All Honour and Applause; and I am heartily yours.
I ever was affected to Men of merit,
A lover of Learning always, I:
And to speak truth, in my younger days
I was a dabler this way too, my self;
But marrying too soon, marr'd my Study,
My Wife burnt all my Books, and I soon fell
From casting Figures, to cast up accounts;
Domestick care, Law-suits,
Beat.
And good-fellowship too a little.
S r Chr.
Kept me from excelling▪ but tell me Sir, I pray;
Are not those Planets (Mars and Saturn excepted)
Of the happiest influence, whose Paralels are the greatest?
How like you Mercury beholding Venus,
With a trine Aspect? or, what think you,
Of the same Mercury in conjunction with Hecate?
End.
The Man speaks Hebrew sure;
And he would take his answer in Gibberish now,
'Twere some thing:
Lew.
Here are words as able to fright away an Ague,
As Voiture's Abracadabra
Sh.
He had need be an Astrologer now indeed
End.
I'le have one push for't.
Bern.
Heark, he has provided an answer
End.
to S r Chr. Those Planets I account the happiest, none excepted,
Whose influence on Man and Woman pour down
What each desireth most.
Lew.
Learnedly answered!
End.
Venus, you know your self, (but that y'are pleas'd
To try my younger skill;) to Lovers does presage all bliss,
As Mars has a kindness for the Men of War;
Saturn is powerful with the Saturnians:
Marry, if Mercury eye Venus once,
[Page 27] There are Cuckolds made i'th' City:
Some false Dice▪ may be abroad too,
For he was a wag both ways, you know.
S r Chr.
But what if with a trine Aspect, what then, Sir?
End.
That's worst of all, Sir; then are the Cuckold-makers at work
In City, Court, and Countrey: if with a trine Aspect,
Then let all Men look to their Wives,
Their handsome Wives especially.
Oh, 'tis a Cornuting Constellation!
Sh.
And governs this Cornuting age.
Beat.
I never heard why we had so many Cuckolds before.
S r Chr.
Indeed, indeed, law-Daughter, I would
He had told thee thou should'st have
A rich old Knight, or some Alderman;
For sure enough he had reason for what he said,
Beat.
No question but he had, though neither she,
aside.
Nor you, know what reason
Sr Chr.
But what of the Conjunction, Sir,
End.
Of Mercury with Hecate?
I have much adoe to speak the Goblin-words after him,
aside.
It is a very critical one.
S r Chr.
Is it so? is it so? indeed?
End.
Have at him now with down right non-sence.
aside.
To S r Chr.
The Triplicity of it, as well as the Union
Of Hecate with Mercury, being Retrograde,
Or in combin'd Aspects, in the Horizon
Of a cross Ascendant, on such weak brains
Might paralax at last.—
Sr Chr.
Y'are too high for me, I promise you;
This is all out of my reach; if you would descend
To somewhat a more vulgar and intelligible phrase.
End.
These are terms of Art, Sir.
I thought I should pose you.
aside.
S r Chr.
Pardon my age, Sir; 'tis so long since I
Broak Correspondence with the Art, the tearms
Are as strange to me now, as I ne'r had heard 'em;
And methinks too, they hardly were in use
[Page 28] When I was at the University:
But time that alters us, will alter Science too,
It has a daily increase, though we decay,
And other Countreys may have other Methods.
End.
Of late years, Sir, in the Mathematicks
There are great alterations, they erect Schemes
A new way now, and have new names
Belonging to the Horoscope, Nostradamus him self,
Whom my Master follow'd, had his tearms
And rules apart, wherefore the phrase
I'm studied in, may well seem strange to you.
But School-men are like Carriers-horses; We plod on
In our old pad; like us, or understand us, who will.
Sr Chr.
Do you so? do you so? That's something strange me­thinks,
Yet amongst friends, you might vouchsafe, Sir, to be understood.
To them La-gripe.
La-gripe.
To S r Chr. A vord vis your Vorship.
They whisper.
S r Chr.
How now? what's the matter, Lagripe?
Sh.
You claw it away with hard words.
End.
Thou seest, I sweat for't;
But for a friend now at need, relieve me
With an errand, or find some trick or other
To take off this old Lover, of he knows not what
S r Chr.
Your Pardon, Sir, it is an earnest business,
I should not leave you else, I'm e'en full loath as, 'tis,
For I did long to understand those new tearms,
That I did: but we shall meet again
And discourse these learned Misteries, we'l try
Some Mathematical experiments too;
Nay, I have some Secrets worth your knowing:
But farewel farewel for this time.
Ex. Sir Chr. Clar. Beat. Lagripe.
End.
[Page 29]
I had rather believe you, then stand to sift 'em out.
I'm rid of him without thy help at last.
to Sh.
Lewis, Bernard, I have had the finest adventure,
The prettiest part put upon me.
Lew.
Shift has made us laugh at it alreadie,
Bern.
We stood aloof off all the while, and heard
How astrologically the old man question'd you:
End.
And as Astrologically I answer'd him, I hope:
But he could not follow through the houses of the Sun
The pace I led him, he lost sight of me presently.
Bern.
You did not vanquish him fairly, he understood you not.
End.
It had been much he should,
When I did not understand my self.
Lew.
'Tis fit you take some pains in both,
He'l expect an expounding visit.
End.
Bless me from undesign'd Encounters,
Such as this day's; and if by my good will
I visit him, let him plague me with non-sense;
Let him retaliate, and spare not.
Bern.
D'ee mean to trade in non-sense still?
A great Astronomer, or one taken for such—
End.
Hee'l quickly find how I played upon him,
For what questions did he put to a Man,
That knows neither Signs nor Planets?
Lew.
With your bold answers you so mall'd him though,
He's yet well stunnied, and with as much ease
I durst wager, you'l foil him next encounter.
Bern.
Give him t'other fall, compleat your Victorie,
'Tis for the credit of learning
The work be not left imperfect.
Lew.
We'l be the trumpet of your fame,
And sound your skill throughout the town.
Bern.
What think you of posting up bills?
As others of the profession do.
Sh.
And give some at the Play-house doors
As they do for a match at the Bear-garden.
Bern.
Or get him put into the Gazette
By way of Advertisement for the publick good
[Page 30] Of what a Mine of Learning is discover'd.
Lew.
Either will convince the old knight,
to Bern.
And if besides, by strangers we shall have prepar'd,
to End.
Th' amazing rumour of your daily wonders
But reach his ear, as I'le be sure it shall;
Being full already of this first enterview,
He'l be so gull'd, as nere old dotard was.
End.
That I believe; but this fine pastime
Venture's me a little too farre;
You consider not the danger may ensue,
Engaging thus my credit, and my quiet too; for 'twill
Draw all the curious fools o'th' town about my ears.
Bern.
So we shall know how full the town is of fools,
And should they find, y'are but a counterfeit,
'Twill pass but for a trick of youth at worst.
End.
What sport soever we may fancie thus,
It cannot last long; for if it be
So generally bruited, I shall have questi ns
Put me hourly, and then my answers.
Must doubtless get me great repute.
Bern.
What matter? you'l answer as other Pretenders do,
Sometimes I, sometimes no; be it favourably,
Or fatally; have some respect to age and sex,
And for the rest, happy be lucky.
Sh.
A fortune-teller never warrants any thing;
You answer not upon oath, Sir; and then you know,
One may strain a little, without venturing ears.
Lew.
In Astrologie the best of 'em does as much
By chance as skill: 'tis meer hab-nab.
Sh.
What if you throw Cross or Pile, whether you say,
I, or no. or tell your buttons, I, no; I, no:
End
There are ways indeed.
Sh.
Why, 'tis an even lay, you hit right either way,
When there is but a right and a wrong in the case.
Bern.
Have I not read of a judge was swayed by
Cast of Dice in trials of Life and death?
Sh.
The high fulloms sav'd some, the low hang'd the rest.
Bern.
Right.
Lew.
[Page 31]
This remember; never to affirm any thing
With certainty, with what is past or present
Be very cautious how you meddle,
'Tis as dangerous in this Profession
As speaking treason; o'th' future it self
Speak but obscurely neither, to your Consulters
'Twill pass for learnedly, they must
Allow you to be i'th' clouds a little.
Bern.
Let your Answers be like Oracles, wonder'd at,
Not understood, foretel more good fortune
For the most part then bad,
That will send 'em away pleas'd at least:
Sh.
And in that good humour they'l remember
Your poor servants; our Wages may be earn'd this way.
End.
Thou Mercenary fool.
To them Gratian.
Lew.
Here's Gratian; be gone,
Wee'l begin with him, he's credulous.
End.
I leave it t'ee, Gentlemen;
Manage the device as you will your selves,
Come Shift.
Ex. End. Sh.
Lew.
Who would have thought it?
taking no no­tice of Grat.
Bern.
Who can well believe it yet?
Lew.
'Tis strange.
Bern.
'Tis beyond imagination.
Grat.
How is it with you, Gentlemen?
Lew.
We hardly know our selves;
We are wrapt in such a cloud of Wonders;
Bern.
Most miraculous!
Grat.
May not I know what? I would fain wonder too.
Lew.
I fear least—
looking about him.
Grat.
You need not; here's none to over-hear us.
Lew.
But it requires a secrecy.
Grat.
Trust me.
Lew.
Endimion declar'd even now,
Grat.
Declar'd? what?
Bern.
[Page 32]
And did before our face things so incredible
Almost to eye-witnesses, I'm loth to speak 'em.
Grat.
What did he do?
Lew.
I never met with, nor indeed heard of his fellow.
He is so highly knowing in Astrologie,
And shews his skill in practises so admirable,
I could suspect he conjur'd.
Bern.
He told me passages of my life, and almost in an instant,
Which without Enchantment, I know not
How he should discover: yet all he did,
Was by Conjectures from my palm and face,
And certain figures drawn o'th' sudden;
For he is also a Chiromancer, and a Physiognomist.
Who could imagine, seeing him so spruce, so gay?—
Grat.
Is it not Endimion the Wit, that travell'd Monsieur,
Whose Gallantry and Conversation are so much cried up:
He's of the Society too, I think.
Lew.
Yes, yes, an eminent member: he has some rare secret sure
Which other Artists are not yet arriv'd at.
Grat.
I ever took him for a well-willer
To the Mathematicks indeed; Some twice or thrice,
I think, I have convers'd with him,
And found him then, both by his Countenance and discours
An Astrologer, I will not say,
For that great knowledge he took care, belike,
To hide from all, but bosome friends;
But a person of sharp wit and excellent understanding
I clearly saw he was;
A Man addicted too to curious sciences.
Lew.
What will you say, if I carry you with me
Some day, that he has undertaken
To shew me a Beautie, had some kindness for me
In Paris? the French Mistress y'have heard me speak of.
Grat.
Is't possible he can?—
Bern.
That's nothing to what he can do.
He made a Picture speak before us,
And that's the Cause of this astonishment.
Grat.
May I believe this?
Lew.
[Page 33]
You have both Eyes an Ears, will you believe them?
Grat.
Dear Lewis, make me better acquainted
With this rare Man; he▪l tell me
Whether Bellamy be jealous, or no; and why.—
Lew.
I have enquir'd that out for you already:
He meets Clarinda by night, and abuses Celia.
Grat.
He does go out by night indeed
Lew.
And to that purpose; never doubt it.
Grat.
I'm overjoy'd, if it be so.
Lew.
But not a word, dear Gratian, as you love me,
Of Endimion; he would be Lamm'd
If what we know were spread abroad.
Bern.
Here's one i'th snare already.
Ex. Lewis, Bern.
Grat.
Endymion an Astronomer, and Bellamy faithless!
Love give thee thanks, th' opportunity's a fair one;
I le straight to Celia, there I'le boast his Art,
By which, (if Love and I can make her bold enough)
She may discover how she is abus'd.
Then dispossest
Of the fair thoughts she holds of this false Man,
Her heart for me becomes an easie prize.
Nor can he tax me with a breach of trust
That to his Mistriss is much more unjust,

ACT. III.

The First SCENE, Endimion 's Lodgings.

Enter Endimion, Lewis, Bernard, Rawman, Shift with a Satchel at his back.
Lewis.
FAmous Astronomer, most admired Genius,
You that are now the only Town-talk grown,
As never plot was half so well contriv'd,
So never any yet took as this does▪
Bern.
No Man, but is perswaded of your skill,
No Man, but with respect does gaze upon you;
And it some cross accident spoil not the sport,
You will be taken for a Prophet shortly.
End.
And to preserve that good opinion, Sir,
With a Book in's hand.
See, I loose no time.
Sh.
Witness my burthen here.
Setting down his Satchel.
Lew.
Why, what hast thou got there?
Raw.
His Worships Library.
Sh.
I think I may be worthy to carry
Gives 'em two or three Books.
Books after him, as famous a Man as he is.
Lew.
A Lillie's Almanack.
Bern.
And a Whartons.
Sh.
There's the Pro and Con
That will make him a good Disputant.
Lew.
Wings Ephemerides! I marry Sir,
Here's an Airy Author indeed.
Sh.
My Master soars as high as the loftiest of 'em.
Bern.
You know the houses of the Sun, I hope, by this.
Sh.
As well as any man here does Coffee-houses or Bawdy-houses.
End.
Peace Scurrility; that he had houses I knew before:
Raw.
I ever held him a mighty Prince,
And did believe he was well lodg'd.
End.

But now I know his Risings and his Settings too, Heliack, [Page 35] Cosmick, and Acronick; the number of the Spheres, both Tropicks, that of Cancer, and of Capricorn, the Artick and Antartick-Poles, the Paralels, Ecliptick-line, the Climate, Point-Vertical: and what not.

Sh.
Nay then, I'le lay aside this superfluous Learning,
He has enough without book.
Carrys in the Satchel and returns.
End.
Alas Sir, Mercury in conjunction with Hecate.
Or beholding Venus with a trine Aspect,
Thanks to my Almanack here, is not Hebtew now,
'Tis but a labour, though of memorie yet,
My Judgement is not much improv'd,
And I must shun Sir Christopher a while;
But what progress have you made with the Pageant?
Lew.
A fair one, I think, for the time,
Bern.
Such as you'ld laugh to trace us thorow.
Lew.
My first station was to a house where I
Was sure I should meet company, and of
The best; a kind of Lady-ordinary,
Where they were beasting it, for that game's in
Fashion still, though Hombre be more Courtly.
To th' standers by, I whisper'd first my news,
Then 'mongst the Bettors it began to spread,
At last it wrought the Gamesters too, and found
Even amongst the loosers such concern,
They could sit still, and question me about you;
They must play on though, but they were so full
of Signs and Planets, that in stead of Play
A Madam cried out Venus, and a Man
Of War for Counter, straight cried Mars.
End.
I fear 'twas I beasted her.
Lewis.
When I saw t work so well, I left 'em, and to th' play;
Where to disseminate my story best,
I'th' pit, I whisper'd it from ear to ear;
And thus confidingly it spread so well,
That by the end it was in every mouth:
Going out, (I laugh still at the conceit)
A friend rounds me i'th ear with my own lye,
[Page 36] Which with so many oaths he vouch'd for truth,
I made some scruple not to believe him.
End.
A most excellent progress!
Lew.
Is it not?
End.
But prethee Bernard, where hast thou preacht me up?
Bern.
To Court, I; for that's the staple of news.
Raw.
I'le see what they say of my Master at the Bake-house,
For that's my staple of news.
Ex. with Shift.
Bern.
But peeping by the way into th' Exchange,
I met with one did lye for you the heartiliest,
Relating twenty monstrous things y' had done,
To which he swore himself a witness too:
Some five or six had hemm'd him in,
And hung upon his tongue, his lying tongue,
With an attention great as his impudence;
I hearkened too a while, (then to try his mettle)
Took on me to contest some points he had averr'd:
But he, full fraught with wrath and indignation;
I speak but what I' ve seen, and you perhaps
Gain-say't for want of knowledge of the person,
Or else you envie men of worth and parts.
When I, seeing him so fierce, for fear of being beaten,
E'en sneak'd away to laugh at him at leisure.
End.
What impudent fellows there are about this Town?
Travellers and Falk oners are modest to this vap'ring, Sir,
'Twere an excellent Genius to write Diurnals;
Is he not something a kin to old Politicus, think you?
Lew.
He would out-lye him some furlongs
Bern.
Novelty has its Sectators every where
As gross lies pass for currant truth daily.
Lew.
They did indeed.
End.
But why baulk'd you Grays-Inn-walks, the Coffee-(houses or some sage Club.
There your grand News-mongers conferre.
Lew.
Retailers of grave, serious lies, they:
But mine was for the young, the gamesome ones.
End.
And with what credit they receive it!
Bern.
Were I sure, lying would always thrive thus,
[Page 37] I'ld make a vow never to speak truth more.
End.
But at Court, Bernard.
Enter Shift, Rawman.
Sh.
A Lady, Sir, a handsome Lady too,
though her hoods hide part of her beautie,
Would fain have you to her self a while.
End.
To her self? why, what would she doe with me?
Sh.
Was that a fit question for me to ask?
As if they would tell servants,
What they do with their Masters;
They are not so immodest, I hope.
Raw.
Some of their stories would make me blush.
But this Lady looks with some honesty,
And desires to speak with you in private.
End.
Wait on her in.
Ex. Sh. Raw.
Step you two into that drawing room a little.
If there were some Astrologie i'th' visit now.
Lew.
I hope 'tis the Astrologer the Ladie makes it to.
You want such Visitants.
Bern.
You must wittily and boldly chiause two or three,
And then you'l be in Vogue indeed.
End.
What ere it be from hence you may observe us.
Ex. Lewis & Bernard.
Enter Celia, Fannie, Luce, Shift, Rawman.
Cel.
Are you not surpriz'd at the confidence of such a visit?
End.
I'm honour'd with it, Madam, beyond measure honour'd.
Beshrew me 'tis a fair Lady indeed, a very fair one.
to Sh.
Sh.
I hope, Sir, I han't so little skill in beautie,
But you may take my word for a good face.
End.
Trust me, I do not see a better.
How may I serve you, Ladie? how may I deserve
The pains y'have taken thus, to find me out?
Cel.
To see Endimion I would have done more;
With such impatience did I long to be
[Page 38] Acquainted with the Genius of the age;
The learned'st Man our England ever bred.
Oh Luce! I tremble; I shall never have courage
To utter what I come about.
Lu.
What need you speak at all? he can understand you
By signs and tokens, as well as he were deaf and dumb.
End.
Madam, I want expressions to return
A Complement so ill-deserv'd, 'tis true
I have some slight tincture of knowledge, but—
Cel.
Nay, nay, your modesty is fruitless, I know your abilities.
End.
This esteem is too obliging, Ladie; but could I serve you,
I should value my self too.
Cel.
Oh Endimion!
End.
What means that sigh?
Cel.
You might save me the shame of being truch-man to't.
Sh.
She's in love w'ee.
End.
By my Astrologie I would she were,
On condition I had forfeited all my Interest in the stars.
Cel.
The knowledge y'are so envied for
Of my desires cannot leave you ignorant.
Sh.
S'lid, would you have her make love t'ee down-right?
And she'd say but half as much to me,
I'd understand her, I warrant you:
Y'are the strangest Man.
Raw.
So you would have had her-a-told us her errand too:
Yes, I warrant you.
Women love to do that they won't say;
Some pretty things have but course names.
End.
By that very reason, Lady, that you give
For your silence, you ought to speak your mind;
If I know a'ready what brings you hither,
Your free declaring it to me ought not
Add any thing to your confusion.
Sh.
Excellently well argued! what fending & proving here is?
He's cried up for a wit, and the Wench
Will laugh at him for a fool, a dull one.
Raw.
I had best talk to her for the credit o'th' house.
That she may see there's some quickness
[Page 39] Of apprehension i'th' family, some feeling left.
Cel.
What can the hearing of my weakness avail you?
You know the languishing desires I'm prest withall,
My coming t'ee, my standing thus before you,
Thus blushing and discountenanc'd, does speak my mind;
Use me not then with so much cruelty, but since
Bashfulness hinders me naming my request,
Do what I would have you, without my saying what.
Sh.
Pray do, Sir, without more bidding.
Cel.
I see, you are not free to strangers, Sir,
I could have made an Interest you would not have refus'd
Any courtesie the stars make you Master of.
End.
'Tis clear now; some Astrologicall question
She has to put me.
Sh.
Y'are e'en well enough serv'd, and't be,
That would not understand her other meaning.
Ram.
She'I shift her arrant now, and invent something
To plague you with, I hope.
Sh.
Would she had made Shift her arrant,
She had sped better.
Raw.
Very likely.
End.
Is she mad, to expect I should know her thought?
Am I a Magician, or am I the devil himself to do't?
Sh.
If it be Astrologie, some bombast words
She cannot understand, will quickly put her out of play,
Fan.
Unmannerly fellows, they are these Conjurers,
They will not satisfie a Ladie without so much intreatie.
Lu.
I'Id e'en leave him, Madam, and go to another▪
What little pyed devil's that, whispers with him?
Cel.
'Tis his Man.
Lu.
His Zanie, his Jack-Pudding;
Fan.
'Tis some quack this, I warrant you, some Mountebank.
Cel.
Peace, he comes towards us.
Raw.
Wrap your Answer in Fustian, Sir, 'tis a warm wear,
And will look gravely.
End.
Not to belye my science, Madam, or uncivilly pretend
An ignorance, you'l not believe me guilty of,
I must confess, 'tis easie scrutiny for me
[Page 40] To dive to th' bottom of your heart, and read
What's most abstruse.
Cel.
D'ee see now? I knew he could tell.
to Luce & Fan.
End.
Yet 'twere in vain I should Endeavour ought
For you, unless by a Declaration
Free and sincere, you testify
Your sull consent to what I go about;
You would try my skill first; but take heed this
Diffidence you shrowd with modesty,
Do not impede the compassing your wish;
A Frank confidence, a strong credulity
Is required in those apply themselves
To such as I am for relief; my art's
Beyond the Vulgar of Judiciary Astrologers:
Which clearly to evince, I will (if you
Desire it) tell you what your thought is, now,
This very minute; what brought you hither,
Whether your heart be free, or if engag'd,
To whom, how long y'have liv'd so; or what else
You think or wish most secret: but this done,
No more; I can do nothing for you then.
Cel.
How I shall blush at this recital, you
Condemn me to?
Fan.
I'ld tell him nothing, and 'twere to me;
Are you sure he'I keep your counsel?
Cel.
What do I save by that, when he can know't however?
I love, Endimion; and he that captives me,
Having by Amorous duties won my heart,
Forsakes me then to travel into France,
So scornfully, he never takes his leave;
This Letter though I have just now receiv'd,
As kind as he was wont to be himself,
Which new assurance of his love, makes me
Passionately now wish his return;
I burn to see him, and though what I long for
Seem impossible, yet am I well assur'd
To you 'tis so facile, you may this night
Feast my sad Eyes with that beloved sight.
[Page 41] If ever Love then warm'd your youthful heart,
As your own flames may kindle mutual fire,
Deny not my request.
End.
Here's a request with a vengeance,
Would gravel all the Conjurers of the Realm.
Sh.
It had been as easie, I should think now,
Taking her up at her first weapon,
End.
I hou dost run on still with thy own conceit,
And never thinkst of helping me out of the mire.
Sh.
Shall I fetch Charles his Wain to draw you out?
Raw.
And yoak Phaebus's horses to't,
That the Teem may be strong enough.
Sh.
Call upon Nostradamus, Sir, he was your Master, [...] (remov'd
He's bound to help you for his own credit.
End.
The old Man with his hard words was not half so terrible.
Raw.
Tell her, she must make a pact with the Devil,
That will skare her.
End.
I know not, Madam, who you take me for,
Nor what you may imagine of my Art,
For where is't like that I this night should find
A Man, that you your self tell me's in France?
Cel.
That's a matter of nothing to you,
You do things more prodigious howerly,
I know that, to make one long since depriv'd
Of life, both speak and move, is slight
And easie t'ee; I have it, from good hands.
Raw.
No doubt but you have; and I durst have sworn.
aside.
Y'had bin an eye witness yourself too
Of some of these Miracles.
End.
I had rather talk to her o'th influence
Of her Eyes now, then of that o'th Stars.
Sh.
Oh, had you so?
But you are not to chuse your own Text by
Your favour, Sir, she has set you a Theam.
End.
Th' impossibility of your request pleads my excuse,
There is no power in all my Art to serve you,
If you command the presence of an absent person.
[Page 42] Such things are not done by pure Astrologie,
Spectres and Phantasms move by Magick only,
Which black and dismal study, as it lies,
Within the compass of the Law, ne'r is th' application
Of a noble mind; besides a Ghost or Vision
Cloath'd in a fantastick body, is too melancholly
For your Sex and Age, such dire Apparitions,
As they are full of horror in themselves,
Strike pale with it, the stoutest looker on,
Your courage would fail you too at such a sight,
And you'ld repent the courtesie obtain'd.
Cel.
Oh never, Sir, if the kind Specter have
My beloved's shape; be it but like him,
And the sweet vision will more please then fright,
But you mistrust me still, and think a Woman
Unfit for such a secret.
Raw.
He has been very cautious hitherto
aside.
Of trusting the Sex with any of that Nature,
And I think he has not many of 'em for you neither.
End.
Nothing less, Madam, and since you urge me to't,
I have, perhaps, skill enough for what you desire.
Cel.
Oh Luce, 'twill come at last.
Lu.
Hang him, Wizzard, I'ld see him swim to th' Devil
With a Milstone about his neck, e're I would Court him thus,
Or be beholding to him indeed.
End.
If I did at first plead an impossibility
To obey you, 'tis for a certain obstacle
I find in't, a main one too, your Lover, you tell me,
Is in France, and there's the mischief on't,
The Sea divides us, and I have no power
Beyond my own district, the wild Element
So uncontrouledly opposes all my charms
My hands are tyed; and that's the true
And only cause, I've dallied we'e thus long.
Cel.
Nay, if that be all, th'impossibilitie's none,
That obstacle of the sea is easily remov'd,
So the fresh water hinder not, and if it do,
We'l cross the River, this Letter here
[Page 43] Is dated from Dover, see.
End.
Nay, I believe you, Madam. worse and worse.
Cel.
From whence he writes, he'l not stir of some days,
He wav'd the Packet-boat, and waits a Man of War;
He has some business too in Kent, some friends to see.
End.
I am gone; this bold Wench with her mettle
Has conjur'd that Devil out of me, others
Think I have at my fingers ends.
Raw.
Does my Master think they take him for a Taylor?
Cel.
I know he's not ship'd yet;
End.
Would she were sunk some Fathoms with her fellow,
To cool her courage, 'tis such a Virago.
Sh.
Bellamy's suppos'd on's way for France,
What if 'twere he now she long'd for a sight of?
End.
That's not unlikely, this may be Celia too;
I'le sift it out, e're I engage too far.
If he be yet on English ground, let me
But know his name, for in that Circumstance
Your Confession's yet defective, not that
I'm ignorant of't, for let me tell you,
Though his Birth be good, his Name as ancient,
The Familie's decay'd in Means, his personal
Gallantry making good the worth of Ancestors
Whose I and he ne'r inherited.
Cel.
That is his Character.
End.
Nor do we differ much in age, though he
Perhaps, be something of the fairer stature.
Cel.
It is most true.
End.
Nay, then I'm well enough.
to Sh.
You'l think it strange now, when I know the Man,
to Cel.
I should ask you his name, but I have reasons for't;
Such, as unless I have it from your mouth,
I can't comply with your desires; 'tis an Essential
Ceremony, a kind of deference our Art expects.
Cel.
How pleasing 'tis to me to speak that name!
Bellamy, now you have it; what else
Must I do, or say to obtain my suit?
End.
The sea not awing then my charms▪
[Page 44] There's no pretence left to deny you now;
And were the Task yet harder then it is,
Your Confidence would win me to't,
So daring a Spirit, that seeks what hardiest Men
Durst not attempt, would ever make me try
My utmost, look me full i' th' face.
Cel.
Oh happy Celia!
End.
Let me see your hand, what day were you born on?
Cel.
The Tenth of May.
End.
What day of the week?
Cel.
On a Saturday.
Fan.
She does not look, Luce, as she had bin made up
On a Saturday in the afternoon.
End.
You must see your Sweet-heart then,
Cel.
To night, if it be possible,
The very thoughts of it transport me so.—
End.
You must make me a Covenant with his Idea now.
Fan.
Oh Cosen! will you turn Covenanter now?
Lu.
When they that set the Idol up
Have pull'd it down themselves.
Fan.
Nay, 'Tis burnt, they say, 'tis burnt.
He'I make you a Phanatick i' th' end
And you hearken to him, with his idle Idea's.
Lu
As I am here, this is one of the Devils Trapanners,
And has a standing Fee of so many fresh
Familiars per annum from the Prince of darkness.
To wheedle young ones in.
Cel.
This malepert tongue will draw a vengeance on't,
If you beware not, Minion.
Fan.
You must excuse her▪ Sir, 'tis a mad Wench,
She will talk thus of her Mistress, or my
Mother, or any one sometimes.
Cel.
Your tongue's but little better govern'd neither
For all your excuses.
End.
Let em talk their fill here among friends,
But not a word of Conjuring abroad▪
D'ee mark me, Gentlewoman, not a word,
Or by my Jacob's-staff—but go to.
[Page 45] The Covenant I desire is wholly harmless,
to Cel.
An innocent Charm, and I must needs have
A ticket written with your own hand.
Cel.
In bloud, Sir? End. No, no.
Cel.
Can I refuse any thing that may contribute
To what I so much long for?
End.
My figure once made, and the Mystery finish'd,
I'le tear your note, indeed I will;
My Standish here, and some Paper.
they set a table with Lights and Paper—
Fan.
What think you now, Luce?
Lu.
I think he's a Conjurer still, as I may tell you,
Amongst our selves, for I dare call him so
Aloud no more, he swears by such a strange thing,
The Prime Minister of State to the subterranean Monark.
Cel.
But what sayst thou to my note?
Lu.
This very night will he carry it to the
Meeting-house, and pin it to the goat's tayl.
Fan.
You are sure i'th' next Lampoons to be coupled
With Lucifer, you shall be the sole couple in hell
For me, I'le nere write to him.
Lu.
Flat and plain, Mistress, he should have
Nothing under my hand, I say.
Cel.
Away, away, thou art too scrupulous.
End.
Write, as I'le dictate t'ee.
takes her aside toth' table where she sits to write
Sh.
Shall you & I chop a little Logick now,
My blowing bud of beauty.
Fan.
E'en as little as you please, Sir.
Raw.
My most undelicate Chambermaid.
Sh.

On further acquaintance, you'I say, the more the better; for though I serve such a terrible Master, I can be as familiar, as impudently familiar as any little Rogue of 'em all.

Fan.
Thou hast thy sinful extream too, I see.
Lu.
Yet their Talent lies the more natural way,
I should like it the better of the two,
But thy Master is so dreadfully learn'd.
Raw.
Beyond all thou seest yet;
Lu.
One must carry their body swimming
With him that knows the heart By looking in the face.
Sh.
[Page 46]
If he hear but one's name, 'tis enough.
Lu.
That's stranger yet.
Know people's thoughts, and hear but their names?
Raw.
He never goes without a little devil in's pocket
For that purpose, which he calls his Vade mecum:
Fan.
A devil always about him, and you serve this man?
Sh.
Why not? the devil's no ill company sometimes,
I mean a familiar one:
Raw.
Alas, we have whole Covies of tame fiends;
Why there's the devil of Mascon,
Would you wish a more sociable Goblin?
You have heard of him, the storie's in English.
Lu.
I have not seen it.
Raw.
Why, then I'le tell thee, 'tis a smug young fiend
Made love to a Parson's daughter.
Sh.
Or his Maid,
Raw.
True, for in that particular Authors disagree.
Sh.

As they do about Statira the Wife of Alexander, whether she were the Daughter, or Widow of King Darius.

Lu.
Thou art read in History too.
Sh.
Not much.
Lu.
But prythee how did the devil court his Mistress,
Fan.
Would he do her work for her, as the tales
Go of sprights and fairies?
Raw.

That I have forgot, but I'le give you the book to satis­fie your Curiosity: This I remember, he had a damnable mind to a certain red ribbon she wore somewhere; but the niggardly old Parson would not let her give it him, for which don devil most zealously reprov'd his want of Charity.

Fan.

But what if thy Master's devil should creep to my Cousin now?

Lu.
How should we be troubled with her at home?
Raw.
That need's not.
A handsome Woman's devil enough of her self,
Besides by her sharp look I guess her a shrew,
She needs no devil to teach her to scold.
Sh.
She did so jet it too as she came in,
So eye her self, I see she's proud;
[Page 47] There's another o'th' devils good qualities,
She's not beholding to my Master for.
Lu.
Why, thou studiest the black art too then?
Sh.
Physiognomie a little, 'tis Physiognomie tells all this.
End.
Your name is wanting still, subscribe it, and I've done.
Cel.
And is this all?
End.
All, Madam.
Cel.
I leave it w'ee: think on me, Endimion;
End.
I never yet broke promise to handsome Lady,
Nor will I now begin with you, fair one.
Ex. Celia.
Fan.

Pray, Sir, don't tell my Cosen, 'twas I had her Apricocks; and I'le steal you some to morrow, and sing you a fine song too.

End.
Nay, without a bribe I can keep counsel, pretty one.
Ex. Fannie.
Lu.
I'm undone, if he look me i'th' face now;
I have anger'd him, and these Witches are
holds her Apron before her face.
So revengeful.
End.
You hide your face from me now, and I see your heart.
Lu.
Oh, Sir, I'le never call you Conjurer more,
Nor speak true word of you again, but if
You know what I now think, as you are frail
Your self, keep it from my Mistress, she'd turn
Away Ralph infallibly, and she knew it.
Ex. Luce.
Enter Lewis, Bernard.
End.
How much ado have I had to shake her off?
Lew.
You have been something long about it indeed.
Bern.
This bold cheat will fame you straight
For eminently skill'd;
And your renown will every where increase.
End.
I never suffer'd so hot a persecution.
Lew.
Nor I so tedious an Expectation.
End.
I'm sure I sweat for't again.
Lew.
I durst not laugh neither.
Bern.

How modestly he declin'd her commendations? and yet the very carelesness you received 'em with, perswaded her, you thought you well deserv'd 'em.

Lew.
[Page 48]
Why harp'd you not on the Ceremonious string still?
End.
I saw she came not for a Compliment.
Bern.
Why struck you not in, in your advisor's way?
End.
Less on that account too.
Bern.
That was the Common road.
End.
It was not hers, you see.
Lew.
I never was so put to't contein my self,
As when she prov'd her Lover was on English ground,
And whip'd off the salt water.
End.
I confess, I was put to't my self then;
I was almost non-plust.
Bern.
I hearkned still when she'd bespeak a bridge
Over to Callice; but what if we had
Not been in an Island now? what if there
Had been some way over Land into France.
End.
If there had, 'tis odds she'd not find it out;
For 'twere I think another wonder, she
Should be more knowing in Cosmographie,
Then I am in Astrologie:
At worst I had found out some other Evasion,
Pleaded the difference of Religion—
Bern.
Marry, and a good plea too.
End.
Or I know not what my self now.
Lew.
I think so; but the letter, what's that?
End.
No secret; but prythee
Who should this Mother be the young one mention'd once,
Lew.
Oh the Widow Aunt, I told you Celia liv'd with.
Reads
Bellamy I know where you are,
Pretence of travels, vain and light.
And you are not yet got so farre,
But I may see you here this night.
Celia.
A most elaborate Epistle, full of rithme and reason:
And much you can do with it no doubt.
End.
We must convey it into Bellamy's hands,
Who suspecting by 't he has been dogg'd, or
Is found out indeed, will hast to Celia
[Page 49] For his vindication, and so betray
Himself; I am reveng'd by this means of
Clarinda, whose night-works I destroy: and
If it happen that Celia full of spirits still
And apparitions, take him for one, and
Dare not give him hearing, no trick, no plot
We could contrive, will add more credit to
What's of my Astrologie already spread.
All the business is to deliver this note.
Raw.
Leave that, Sir to my care
Sh.
Your care? is that a fit Province
For a Raw-man? I'le take charge on't my self.
End.
Nay, no Vying; I must use you another way,
But it must be delivered to his own hands.
Sh.
So I intend it shall. End. But how?
Sh.
Without much cunning thus: Clarinda waits
Him in her garden to night, tis near the
Hour too, in's road I'le lye perdu, and if
I do not make lam change his Rendezvous.
Lew.
No better way could be imagin'd.
gives him the letter.
End.
Dispatch then, and bring us tydings on't.
Sh.
That I shall speedily, and good one's too, nere fear it.
Exeunt severally.

SCENE II. The Fields.

Enter Bellamy, Rudeman.
Rud.
GOod Sir, nay, but consider.
Bell.

The more I do, the more I find you a trouble some fellow.

Rud.
But I always was of your midnight Counsels,
Bell.
And that blazes 'em abroad at noon-day.
Rud.

Was I ever heard to say, my Master has left such a La­die, such a one's his Mistriss now; he treated this Madam at that place, and t'other Madam at t'other place?—

Bell.
If you had, sirrah, I had been seen to beat you.
Rud.
[Page 50]

Nay, nay, I don't talk o'that; there's no bodie questions your aptness that way.

Bell.
Will you get you home?
Rud.
After you is manners, Sir.
Bell.
I shall beat you home.
Rud.

What again beating? some other time, some other time may serve, you have business of more concern in hand now to my Knowledge.

Bell.
Your Knowledge?
Rud.
You sleep not all day, to ramble all night for nothing.
Bell.
Ramble, sirrah?
Rud.

Nay, I observe you, when I don't follow you? 'tis for no good you hide your self from Madam Celia thus. She has deserv'd Better of you; who did I bring you the Two hundred pounds from, when you were snapt at M r Grogram's suit of Pater-Noster-Row? Or who fills your Pockets again when your Dice run the children of lee, or Deuce ace is your Comfort? Many a Ladie has more comfort of a cheaper Gallant.

Bell.
Are you that Ladie's Dun, Sir?
Rud.

Her kindness will soon ha▪ done, and 't be no better re­quited, then are we undone.

Bell.
Excellent! quibbles too.
Rud.

You may get preferment however i'th' next forlorn ex­pedition: 'twill be sad reducing your Coach, Horses, and Lacqueys to a sixty pound per annum Equipage.

Bell.
Thou art my Pedagogue sure, my Tutour.
Rud.

I am your poor Valet de Chambre, Sir; one that would gladly have his Master wise enough to grow rich, that he may thrive under him: refuse a handsome Ladie, and a good fortune, when they are offer'd, to ferret after Je we scay quoy's?

Bell.

Thou hast not thy name for nothing, I see; th' art e▪en the Rude Serving-man, it speaks thee.

Rud.

I am honest, Sir, if I am bold, I do not flatter and cheat you.

Bell.

One of 'em I'le swear thou do'st not; but for the other, Rud, I'le swear,

Bell.
[Page 51]

I shan't be rid of this fellow now, and

aside. Looks on's watch.

my hour draws near. I know him close and secret as the night, however I seem shie of him. Come, I will trust thee for once; as we go, I'le tell thee whither; but fol­low me, d'ee hear, and direct me not.

Rud.
Oh any thing, Sir, to make one.
Bell.

This fellow's one of those are scandaliz'd at all wicked­ness they have not a hand in, and cannot abide any Man should Drink or Wench without 'em.

Rud.
And some such exploit, I suspect you bound for now.
Bell.
I should guess you do by your earnestness to make one.
Nay, this way, this way.
Exeunt.

SCENE III. The back-side of S r Christopher's Garden.

Enter Shift.

I Long to have done my arrant now, to see how heartily, how gamester like, he'll fret to loose the kisses he thinks himself so fair for to night? how many ten groats will he swear himself out of, if any of the godly be but within hearing? I must pack as soon as I have deliver'd the Letter, for coming in Celia's name, the thanks he'd give, won't be worth staying for. I cannot be far from the Garden now, here will I stand sentinel: he knows me not, and so there is no danger of an after-beating.

To him Bellamy, Rudeman▪

I hear some bodie, 'tis he certainly.

Rud.

Nay, if Clarinda love you too, I'm satisfied, she's rich enough to do our business, but here's a father's good will to get; the other's at her own dispose.

Bell.
Time may work him▪ who's there?
runs against Sh. as going into the garden
Sh.
A friend, Sir, that waited your coming:
This note from Celia speaks my business,
[Page 52] She earnestly desires your Company to night:
And I am your Worship's servant.
Ex.
Rud.
An unserviceable one, he thinks, at this time.
Bell.

What curst Encounters this? honest fellow, Friend, pry­thee a word. Rudeman, stay the fellow.

Rud.

He's gone, he's out of my reach; but that's no hard matter indeed, for I never had any great reach with me.

Bell.
Venturing at wit, when I am thus perplext.
Rud.

The night's so dark too, he's as soon out of sight.

Bell.
Again?
Rud.
What devil has discover'd you were in town?
Bell.
Or what faithless confident rather betrays
My secret? 'tis Gratian, it can be none
But he, I trusted none else, and he loves
Celia too,
In whose affection to supplant me now,
He has betray'd my privacie:
I have deserv'd no less to trust a Rival;
That title once succeeding dissolves
All former tyes of friendship.
Rud.
To be snap'd here too at the garden door
Brings Clarinda in question.
Bell.
That's meer accident; Gratian, though he knew
having muz'd a little
I conceal'd my self, knew not wherefore,
And she would nere betray me.
Some speedy balsome though I must apply
Where he has us'd such Corrosives: I will
To Celia, she loves me, with ease I can
Pacifie her, and destroy those rash hopes
A false friend has conceiv'd.
Rud.
But what is this note were not from Celia now?
stayes him as he was going off.
Bell.
The Messenger I know not,
Nor had he any mind I should.
Rud.
So farre it smells knavishly.
Bell.
First let me see, if't be her hand, and then
With all the kind words, Credulous Maids lend
Greedy ear unto, I will make my peace.
If light discover it a mistake, or trick,
[Page 53] I'le forward to Clarinda, where
A thousand kisses shall make amends
For staying thus beyond my hour?
Rud.
Marry, would I were to do the penance for you.
Exeunt.

SCENE IV. Celia 's Chamber. A Table and Lights set forth, a Chair by't.

Enter Celia, Fannie, Luce.
Lu.

CAn you imagine this star-wright with all his hard words, should bring Bellamy so far on such a sudden?

Cel.
Silly wretch! thy shallow understanding
Cannot reach the bottom of his Capacity,
Which, (so the sea lye not in's way) will do
A thousand things harder and stranger, he'll
Come then, never doubt it, not he himself
'Tis true, but his similitude,
Something resembling him so perfectly,
Love it self could not make a distinction.
Lu.
What good will that Copy of his Countenance do you?
Cel.
Ask Love if thou be'st ignorant, for he is
The reason of all he forces us to,
Nor is the Curiosity so strange,
In me, nor so particular;
I've heard of many Women use the like.
sits down.
Fan.

'Twere a strange thing indeed Women in this town would not venture upon. I have heard too of the Woman of Billeter-Lane, and of her of Grub-street.

Lu.

And of Ladies that go into Chancery-Lane to know when their husbands will die, whether their next will be kinder.

Fan.

And what day o'th' week is best to be married on: but bless me from such pranks, they are no hand­some

leans melancholy on the table.

one's, I'm sure, though the handsome Ladies use 'em.

Lu.
[Page 54]
But, Madam, you are heavie, the very thought
Of this apparition, works upon you
Like th' expectation of an ague-fit.
Fan.
Shall I sing you a song, Cosen, to divert sad thoughts?
Cel.
I prythee, Fannie, 'twill chear thee,
However it work on me.
Fannie sings
What strange disguises Lovers wear?
Mishapen shapes they still affect,
Thus the white bull that does Europa bear
Shrouding Jove's person does his Love defect:
Thus the same overruling power
Send him to Danae in a shower.
Bis.
If 'mong the gods he bear this sway,
What can he not o're Mortals doe?
He that with Deities thus dares to play,
Will govern sure Mankind as strangely too:
Nor is the fairer sex more free
From Metamorphoses then we.
Bis.
For women once:—
Cel.
I'le hear no more; there's none so strange as mine,
rising
As that my Bellamy's expected in,
Others had the substances they lov'd, though
Cloath'd with accidents they were not us'd to,
But I must be content with th'outward shape
Of what I love, shrouding I know not what
Substance or reality.
Lu.
But if it be a Phantasm, a bodie
Patch'd up of air or grosser Vapours,
Will not you be afraid, think you?
Cel.
Not in the least.
sits down again
Fan.
I'm sure but I shall then.
Cel.
Heark, some bodie knocks at door.
starting off the table she lean'd on.
Lu.
Some bodie, quoth you?
We neither look for bodies nor souls here,
[Page 55] What if 'twere the I know not what now?
The strange thing you'l call Bellamy?
You grow pale already, you sigh too.
Fan.
Is this the Courage love puts into his?
I think he's a Coward himself for my part
And he back you with no better mettle now in time of need.
Lu.
You think 'tis he now.
Cel.
I am not certain, but see who ere it be.
I'm strangely chang'd o'th' sudden, I feel not
That firm resolution now, my soul is
Seiz'd with horrour, that strikes a shivering cold
All o're my body, something there is in
Nature still repugns against these Visions,
Maugre the love or humour sets one on.
But what need I fear?
she rises.
To them Bellamy.
Lu.
Oh Madam, Madam, 'tis he, 'tis Bellamy,
drops the candle out of her hand and runs away.
But that he's twice as tall as he was wont to be.
Ex.
Cel. Fan.
Ay me! Ay me!
Bell.
What means this shreeking and this running about?
Cel.

Now am I well paid for my Curiosity, I have

at the far side of the stage.

my wish, and 't proves my own undoing, 'tis Bella­my's Voice, but I han't power to answer him.

Fan.
I'm nothing mistaken in my self,
from under the table, where she had hid her self.
I knew I should be afraid, and my Cosen
For all her cracking proves as very a Coward.
Cel.
When I besought th' Astrologer to send him to me,
I wisht to see him onely, not to speak with him.
Bell.
Send for me, Celia, and use me thus. 'tis something strange?
Fan.
If the thing should find me under the table now.
I'le pray hard.
B. com. towards the table
Bell.
Could you find no body else to practise
These Exotick fits upon? must I be
Your ridiculous mirth, that bring my Celia
New assurances, 'tis she alone
[Page 56] Has power in Bellamy's heart?
Cel.
I'le ha none of thee, nor thy heart,
I abhor the power, 'tis the true Bellamy I had a mind to see.
Bell.
She suspects my inconstancy;
I am to Celia the same Bellamy still,
My thoughts of thee are nothing chang'd, I vow.
Cel.

Fiend keep off, avant Phantasm; get

runs into her closet, and shuts her self in.

thee to France again, or into Lapland, from whence thou camest, I think.

Exit.
Bell.
Hear but my reasons. is't rallerie this?
Or some trick devis'd on purpose to make
spies her un­der the table
Trial of me? Fannie, what doe'st thou there?
Fan.
Help, help, I'm kill'd, I'm done to death
getting hastily from under it.
with fear.
Ex.
Bell.
Was ever Gallant thus gallantiz'd?
throws it down candle and all, runs away and leaves him i'th' dark.
The devil o-love, and this be it, I say.
Fiend, and Phantasm, and Lapland! I am not
Mad sure, though they be; I'le try'em again;
Luce, Celia, why Luce, prythee prevail with
goes from Corner to Corner.
Thy Mistress to hear me. Celia, Fannie,
Pretty, Sweet Fannie: 'tis labour lost;
I shan't be answer'd, unless there be an
Eccho within hearing, the dumb devil
Possesses 'em, and I am left i'th' dark
To grope out the meaning of this frolick.
Well, let her have her humour, I must to
Clarinda, and prevent what ill offices may be
There intended too, I am discovered
In town, and need not now keep out of sight,
Pray heaven the morn prove kinder then the night.

ACT IV.

The first SCENE, S r Christopher 's house.

Enter Bellamy, Clarinda, Beatrix, Rudeman.
Bell.
SO deep a melancholy does both surprize,
And grieve me, Sweet; what makes these sighs so fre­quent?
Can you doubt my fidelity?
Clar.
I'm full of fears, I must confess it, Bellamy;
Nor can I, when I think what enemies we have,
Though you are present, force a chearfulness.
What will not Endimion, knowing all
We thought most secret, attempt to ruine us:
Bell.
He can do nothing, if you love me still.
Clar.
Would I could say so of Celia too!
Bell.
Oh Madam! you are too injurious—
Clar.
Our first affections nere loose all their power;
Call your kindness for her a civil devoir,
A gratitude if you will; she is lovely still,
And Civility forces you to see her:
Then smother'd flames too-easily break out.
Bell.
Wrong not your own charms, and my affection
With so unjust a Jealousie:
If you can so much slight Clarinda's power
To fear Celia; I'le not see her at all.
But I am not without my fears neither,
For who loves tenderly, and thinks himself secure?
What will your father say, when once he knows
You suffer Bellamy's love, or what will
He not do to ruine a happiness
He thinks me not rich enough to deserve?
He'll chide, he'll school Clarinda, he'll threaten her,
If she neglect his lessons, will she not
Fear his anger? and in that fear, in that
[Page 58] Fear perhaps she will forsake me,
And wrought of his own mind, hold it
A madness where an Estate is wanting,
To value Birth, descent, or Breeding—
Clar.
Think better of me, then so. Know that the
Vertue of the belov'd object alone
Is enough to make me constant, that worth
Which first made me love, makes me persever.
Nor is my heart so much a slave to fear,
That Menaces can blot out an Image,
A noble affection had drawn in't.
No Bellamy, I shall wear yours here still.
Bell.
I am too happy then.
Clar.
Accept this pledge of my fidelity,
gives him a ring.
And be assur'd I'm yours;
Let friends, let fortune smile or frown,
Never shall Celia's constancy equal mine.
Bell.
My Joy is now so great, I am lost in't.
Unable to speak, unable to keep silence—
To them S r Christopher.
Clar.
You must keep it a while; here's my father—
S r Chr.
Is not that Bellamy? what return'd alreadie?
Bell.
An unexpected Law-suit forces me back,
I am sub-pena'd up again, and must
Till after term at least lay by all thoughts
Of seeing France; I was at Canterbury.
S r Chr.
And how does my Nephew Manly?
Reat.
He may as well ask me.
aside.
Bell.
He entertain'd me nobly at his house.
S r Chr.
Has not the young-squire written to me? ha?
Bell.
He had, and gave me his letter, but a
French Lacquey I took here for the Journey,
When he saw me turn back, run away with
My Vallize, and your letter was in it.
Beat.
That Lacquey saves thy credit now,
It must have been said to thee else.
S r Chr.
[Page 59]
You have made but an ill journey on't then.
Bell.
Thus are my stars still inauspicious to me.
Beat.
Endimion Madam at your request would
Tell him to his Vallize again.
Clar.
Away thou cruel Wench, thou seest the pangs
This discourse gives me, and canst raise mirth out of it?
Bell.
My ownloss I should not value,
Rud.
'Twas not so great indeed.
aside.
Bell.
But the Letter was meerly writ on my behalf,
And did implore your aid in my affairs.
S r Chr.
You may command me, and my interest.
Clar.
If you Espouse his Cause, he need not fear being cast.
Beat.
If the old Man Espouse his Cause,
The young one will Espouse you.
Rud.
And that's it she would be at.
Beat.
Would 'twere come to't once for me,
That I might have some quiet among 'em.
Bell.
On your favour then I build my hopes, but this
Law-business draws me uncivilly away,
Pleaders are not Masters of their own time.
Your pardon, Sir.
S r Chr.
Business must be waited on;
Bell.
May I presume you'I mind your father
Of my suit, Madam, and contribute
To the continuance of his favours?
Clar.
Ile do my best, Sir, to possess him with
The justice of your cause; his Example
Authorizes me to own your interest too.
Ex. Bell. Rud.
S r Chr.
But wilt thou be thus melancholy still?
What is the cause? tell me, good Clarinda.
Clar.
I know no reason for't.
Beat.
She dreamt of a younger brother, Sir, to night,
Which, reflecting on Endimions prediction,
Seems ominous.
S r Chr.
Your bolt is soon shoot still.
Art indispos'd in health?
Clar.
I feel no alteration;
And yet it may be some natural overslow
[Page 60] Of a dull humour in the bodie causes this heaviness.
S r Chr.
Ah Clarinda! my tenderness of thee
weeps.
Is ill requited with this sullen reserve
Of thy sick thoughts..
Clar.
To speak truth, I have lost some toyes, and that's
The onely reason I can give for this damp
My mirth is struck withall.
S r Chr.
Why, what hast lost?
Clar.
That which does vex me much.
S r Chr.
But what?
Clar.
The Rose-diamond you gave me.
S r Chr.
Let not that trouble thee, it may be found again.
Clar.
I have small hopes on't, I have sought every where.
S r Chr.
I was carelesly laid by perhaps,
And opportunity makes a true man a thief:

But the loss is easily repair'd, there are fairer rings in town, I'le go buy thee one presently.

Clar.
That were a slight reparation of my loss;
I fancied this.
S r Chr.
What a fondness is here? though I give her
A better ring, she'l loose by the bargain:
Well, set thy heart at rest,
Thou shalt have thy own again, for I will
Just now to Endimion about it.
Beat.
Now you are in a fine Pickle!
To excuse these dumps y'are faln into,
Y'have gone and spoilt all.
Clar.
So I have indeed.
Beat.
Peace, peace; he's coming back.
S r Chr.
Tell me, when was this ring lost?
Clar.
I mist it but to day.
S r Chr.
So, so, 'tis not gone farre, I warrant you.
Clar.
Further I hope, then your discoverie will reach.
Beat.
The old man's here again.
S r Chr.

But about what a clock was it lost? for I shall be askt all these questions, that I shall; therefore I must be prepar'd.

Clar.
Between eight and nine.
S r Chr.
Oh 'tis well, 'tis well, eight and nine, eight and nine;
[Page 61] Let me not forget eight and nine.
Exit.
Beat.

How he maunders it, eight and nine, eight and nine; he'l Con his lesson nine times over, but he'l have it perfect.

Clar.
What shall I do, Beatrix? advise me, good Beatrix.
Beat.
'Twere well and you would be adviz d, before▪
You do it, then Beatrix could say something,
But to be put still to an after-game,
You are so wilfully fore-handed:
This scurvy Astrologer now will tell him all.
Clar.
Endimion is the Man indeed undoes me▪
But let him do his worst, my love stands not
In awe now of a father's check, 'tis of
So fair a growth his frowns cannot nip it,
My heart is Bellamy's, nothing can force it from him,
Endimion and his Stars are all too weak?
Exit.
Beat.

The devil is not so head-strong as these young Wenches, when they have got a bit of a Man; but 'tis I must lay the storm for all her vapouring; I must let Shift know how things go, least his Master be put to't beyond his skill, and shaking hands with Astrologie, be forced to tell our old man the plot.

Exit.

SCENE II. Endimion 's Lodgings.

Enter Endimion, Bernard, Lewis, Rawman.
End.
WHat a perpleity am I reduc'd to?
Lew.
Why, 'twas with your consent,
Bern.
Nay, by your own order we rais'd the report.
End.
Yes of Astrologie, but of nothing else,
And yet they think abroad, I have all hell
At command: They point at me i'th streets,
So noted a person I am.
There goes the learned Man, saies one; oh the
Astrologer, saies another, that comes
And peeps me in my face to know me again.
[Page 62] In some places they stare at me,
Raw.
As they would have done at the hairy woman,
Had she not cas'd her beard up as she went about.
Bern.

Right—or as they did at the Hermophrodite T'other day at the play.

End.
The Prophet, saies a precise one, and lifts
His hands and eyes to Heaven in admiration,
That one so young should be so knowing.
Raw.

Children run away, and cry the Witch, the Witch, the Witch; because at home their Mothers fright them with him.

Lew.
Thou boy, Rawman!
End.
Some understanding ones there are, (and those
I forgive, because they are i'th' right)
Believe me guilty of no Magick, but
A meer Impostor, for such contemn me,
Laugh at me, and those that think me other.
Thus am I entertain'd i'th' streets;
Or thus at least I interpret their looks
And actions that I meet i'th' streets.
Lew.
Some skill you have in Physiognomy,
It seems, (if you have none in Astrologie)
That can read all this in Men's faces.
But fame, you know, loves to augment every thing.
Bern.
Nothing toth' People is a little rare,
They will hyperbolize, and skrue all novelties
To the highest Key: a lye with them
Snow-ball-like rowles about, and gets in every place,
Each teller of't adds something of his own,
To shape it to his fancie.
Lew.
If you are thus plagu'd abroad, you must keep
Home a while; the Wonder will be over.
Raw.
We cannot do that neither in quiet,
So many have found his Lodging out;
And now Moll Cut-purse that Oracle of felonie
Is dead, there's not a pocket pickt,
But hee's acquainted with it.
Lew.
That's much indeed.
Raw.
Nor a silver hilt pincht away, but they come
[Page 63] To the figure-flinger for it.

He hears of every Wedding, Christning, City-feast, by th' Butlers recourse to him for Plate and Linnen they lost at 'em.

Bern.
That's more yet.
End.

Alas, I am a kind of grandissime Jurie, and have all thefts brought before me, before they go to Hicks-hall, or the Old Baily; marry, could I help the Man to his Mare again, they would never go thither, and I might take much of the matter out of the Lawyers hands: but all Trades must live, I'le not spoil theirs. I shall have the Country-fellows too with the sa­voury questions that poz'd old Noll's star-peeper, then am I in a sweet condition.

Bern.

The World is satisfied with your skill, 'tis grown a full and general persuasion.

Lew.
I see nothing but mirth the stratagem has yet produc'd.
End.

What? to have Sir, and Madam; Cut and Long-tail put me a hundred several questions, as if I were Jupiter ham­mon, or Diana's spokes-man at Ephesus? you reckon this no­thing? I never had too much of nothing till now.

Lew.
Your Mistress by this fiction's aw'd,
Your Rival fears you too,
Their pleasures are disturb'd,
And all succeeds as you could wish it should.
End.
Believe it Lewis, 'tis without regret
That I give Bellamy place, the disturbance
I bring his pleasures, yeilds me no content;
My own flames extinct, it concerns not me
Whether Clarinda meet his love, or no.
Lew.
Here's an indifferencie I look'd not for.
End.

In affairs of love I measure ever the Esteem I make of Women, by that they make of me; where they incline to kind­ness, I can love too: if they withdraw once, or refuse their favours, my flexible and obedient heart, Lewis, can soon imitate: nor ever need I fower and twenty howers to cure my self of that disease.

Lew.

I did mistake your temper; but since 'tis so convenient, why own'd you not the truth of all at first, without taking the Astrologer upon you?

End.
[Page 64]
You'l wonder at my stupiditie;
Nor can I now my self conceive, why I
Run my neck into this nooze, when all the danger
That threatned, was but the turning away
Of a Chamber-maid.
Bern.
Nere let it trouble you now, we bear our
Share of all, and owe a helping hand to
Bring you out, We help'd to plunge you in, and
Half the shame will fall on the divulgers.
To them Celia, Fannie, Luce.
Cel.
I have a quarrel to you, Endimion.
End.
Here's my Virago again, 'tis th' importunest
aside.
Wench this, she'l never be answered. How can
to Cel.
I since last night have deserved your anger?
Cel.
If Bellamy has not been absent, why
Would you, whose rare knowledge extends it self
To secrets more remote, make me one of
His being in town?
Why dealing with that candor you seem'd to
Promise, did you not tell me where he was?
End.
What reason shall I give her? oh! I knew
aside muzing
It not my self till I made my figure;
to Cel.
Yet what if I had known it sooner? I
Promis'd but a sight of Bellamy, and
Did you not see him? consider but with
Equal Eyes the whole adventure,
No part of it but to my credit turns;
For if in lieu of an illusion, Madam,
A shade, a Phantasm you expected,
Spight of the care he took to hide himself,
I forc'd him though in person to appear,
Does it not prove the certain influence
Of an art.
You cannot now with want of power tax?
Cel.
It does, I must confess, it does; this reason
Destroyes all Jealousies I had of it.
Bern.
[Page 65]
You may be sure 'tis the best
aside.
He could find out for you oth' sudden.
Cel.
But give my passion yet some further ease;
This Bellamy, this fair friend playes me fowl,
Those Vows forgot, I too much credited,
Pays a new Mistress what is due to me.
I have the storie of their close Amours,
And know the stars alone, which you command,
Witness their meetings and their kindnesses:
Lewis and Bern smils
Break me this league then learned Endimion,
You that nere meet with obstacle to your will
But what your art orecomes;
Cancel the bonds she has my faithless in,
I'th' midst of her Caresses force him from
Her eyes; restore him to his true Mistress.
End.
No evasion does the Learning she so much admires
Inspire me now, but to perswade her she's mistaken.
Lew.
Something from the learned Endimion will
smiling.
Be expected, but that I think may serve
End.
Take better thoughts of your Lover, Madam:
Though in his carriage he may be too blame,
Yet are you misinform'd of what keeps him
In town, you are the cause of it your self,
To cure his Jealousie he thus plays least in sight,
And to observe you does pretend this Journey;
But since you are thus constant to him still,
Fear not his leaving you:
And should you of his Love want other proofs,
Let this suffice, that he is Jealous grown,
With a seeming coldness,
Or neglect perhaps he may dissemble
A while, but let it not disquiet you,
For 'tis you he loves, I say again,
And passionately.
Cel.
Pleasing hopes! comfortable assurance?
Pardon dear Bellamy if without Cause
I question'd thus thy faith; if Jealousie
Must prove thy Love, let my fears assure thee of mine,
[Page 66] I fear'd to loose but what I love to keep.
The heavens, kind Endimion, powre as many
Blessings on you, as y'have assur'd me of.
Ex. Celia, Fannie, Luce.
Lew.
She payes you in your own coin; as you have
Pleas'd her with an assurance of nothing,
She requites you with a wish of as much.
Raw.
'Tis as believing a good Soul
As you'ld wish to preach to.
Bern.
And as well satisfied y'have sent her away,
Her heart I dare swear's as light as her head.
End.
Her request did not much fright me this bout,
I knew that for a few fair words I should
Be rid of her credulous Ladieship.
Lew.
But how intend you to make good your word
To Gratian? it seems alreadie broke by
The hopes y'have given Celia.
End.
Why perceive you not those hopes are airie
Nothings with which I flatter her forwardness
To be fool'd? I know Clarinda
Has Bellamy too fast, to think
He ever will be Celia's, and this knowledge
Made me speak my own belief to Gratian.
Lew.
Nay, he believes you too, and looks on me
His Introducer t'ee, as bound in honour for your performance,
Yet how you will, or can, I'm still to seek.
End.
In Love you are indeed.
Would you not judge else, that Celia
Needs must see at last how Bellamy fools her,
That she'l grow wearie of being thus abus'd?
If your friend then prove constant and persever;
Will not his services reach her heart i'th end?
Now if he give my art th' honour of an
Event, is due to his own industry
And the common Course of things,
The stars be prais'd for it,
But now we are free from these fortune seekers,
Let's breath a while, and talk of something else.
[Page 67] To them S r Christopher.
Lew.
Not so free as you think neither; here's one—
End.
Is worse then twenty Celia's.
S r Chr.
Master Endimion.
End.
Oh Sir! what wind blows you hither?
S r Chr.
An ill wind sure.
End.
I thought so.
S r Chr.
But you will make it take about, and blow
Every one their own again, I must entreat
One Curtesie of you, kind Gentleman.
End.
What is it?
S r Chr.

Excuse my boldness if I deal thus freely with you, and come to the point without any further compliment or pre­amble, I use no Ceremonie amongst friends?

End.
I commend you for it, a civil freedom is much better.
S r Chr.

The loss of a certain Diamond has caused great dis­order at home, my servants are suspected, and the whole family being in disturbance about it, my humble request is, you'l help me to set the saddle on the right ho [...]se, that is you'l cast a figure for't, and tell who has it.

Bern.

The old Man comes in very good time to

to End.

break the truce you would have made with Astrologie.

End.
I must break all commerce with it,
The chear s too gross to last above a day;
I ever told you so.
S r Chr.
He's musing on my request now.
to Lew.
Lew.

The trade he drives requires great recollection, 'tis a speculative trade, and I have often seen him on such occasions in so deep a study, you'ld think the soul did quite forsake the body, 'tis lest so void of action.

S r Chr.

He had more need to set all wheels awork, he must climb up to th' heavens for my ring, he'l nere find it here be­low else.

End.

I am not quit now for gulling an Amorous Maid,

to Lew.

or a more ignorant Lover, I must fool a man, who in that very toy I fool him with pretends to be as skill'd, as I am unac­quainted, [Page 68] and will discover my ignorance as soon as I pretend to knowledg. No, no, 'tis my own undoing to

aside Lew and B. slighting him.

play upon him any longer. I must deal freely, 'tis the onely way to get out of this plunge.

S r Chr.
See but what pains he takes.
to Lew.
Lew.
He's about your business all this while.
S r Chr.

He begins to look something seriously upon the matter.

to Lew.
End.
Having no Interest to delude you, Sir;
I must confess there is much more believ'd,
Or said of me, then I deserve: 'tis true,
I have read something of Astrologie,
And view'd the grounds your Artists work upon,
Which makes some talking friends boast they have seen
Experiments beyond the common, though indeed
I ne're gave the least sign of a skill, they
Needs will force upon me, unless in words
Sometimes, yet sparingly, when their Example
Forc'd a compliance: but with you
I protest again, the reputation
This fiction gets me, nor all the merry
Consequences of it, can ne're force me
To such forgery; as for your Diamond then,
In vain expect you tydings of't from me,
'Tis out of my reach believe it, Sir.
Lew.
He will fall to his natural Level
Of ignorance, I see, do what we can.
Bern.
And yet he cannot resolve to confess himself
An Impostor neither; he minces it a little.
S r Chr.

Did I not know by the report of others, you are this day the Phoenix of Astrologers; this very humility with which you depress you abilities, would raise you in my Esteem above the common rank of Scholars.

End.
Leave an opinion, I m not so happy
To deserve, I know nothing in the stars.
Raw.

Who could forbear laughing at this old fellow,

aside.

that makes him take more pains to perswade his ignorance, then others do to get knowledge.

S r Chr.
[Page 69]
This very earnestness with which you decline
The title of a knowing Man, tells me
Tis your due, and confirms me more and more
In the belief of your capacity.
Thus modest, thus discreet are they always
Who know much, nor will they, by assuming
Worth unto themselves, derogate from what
They do deserve, or by such gross Vanity
Eclypse the Lustre of their rare Endowments.
Lew.
Our Astrologer has a fine time on't.
Bern.
You wish your self in his place, I warrant.
Lew.
No, no, I have my share of the pass-time,
Where I am.
End.
Were I indeed the Man you take me for,
Though I had reason to conceal my self from others,
Here I would yield my interest up to yours,
And with candour lay open all my skill,
But I have none, none at all to merit
The honour you doe me.
S r Chr.

I tell you again, that this humility alone is more com­mendable in you, then all your learning; he that knows most knows himself too well to be proud of what he knows, he sees too much daily to learn, to think that much he has alreadie learnt: and thus what art soever one pretend to, he that dares boast him­self a Master of it, knows nothing in't at all.

End.

Lyars, they say, loose credit even for the few truths they utter; but mine is a stranger punishment, when I lyed I was cre­dited; and now I speak truth, I cannot win belief.

aside.
S r Chr.

But to come to my ring again, I must tell you (if that be a necessary Circumstance▪ 'twas a gift of my poor Wife's, for whose sake I long kept it, till at last Clarinda got it of me, and she bas lost it this morning, as she thinks, 'twixt eight and nine.

To them Shift.
Sh.
You shall have the other too at night, Sir.
gives him a Paper
Heark hither, this is but a pretext.
they whisper
S r Chr.
Why makes he so fine of it?
Lew.
[Page 70]

Hee's affraid perhaps of being suspected of Witchcraft; 'tis a detracting age, and he had need be cautious.

S r Chr.

He's over-nice with me, I can keep Counsel, and would conceal what were not fit for every Ear.

Sh.
This did Beatrix tell me just now.
to End.
End.
Th' intelligence comes luckily, I was caught else.
Pardon the freedom, Sir, I take, to leave you
to Sir Chr.
For an account of business I had sent
My man about, I should not trespass thus,
But that it did require some hast.
S r Chr.

Would you had trespass'd, that you might expiate it With the Curtesy I request.

End.
I am provided for him now,
aside.
And since he has a mind to 't, have at him;
Had I but skill enough.
to Sir Chr.
S r Chr.
Skill enough for a ring? away, away;

There's nothing easier, then to help one again to such a toy as that, I could have don't my self at your years:

End.
I must yield by degrees, he'l suspect me,
aside.
If I pass suddenly from one extream
To another. Sir, I protest again
Without dissimulation—
S r Chr.
Without dissimulation, or procrastination,
Good Sir, tell me to my ring again;
For I know you can, if you list now?
End.
I did but spare you some trouble, declining
Thus to tell you what I find;
But since you needs will have it,
S r Chr.

Tell me, tell me, 'tshall ne're trouble me, I warrant you.

End.
He that this morning saluted you in
A riding garb, is the Man; he has it.
S r Chr.

Who would have suspected him of all the world? that a Man of his birth and breeding should play such pranks, Necessity perhaps drives him to't;

And that We know having no Law it self, makes those that feel it, Lawless too. You see Endimion, how much in vain you go about to hide that, which in your very looks I read; when [Page 71] once, I say, That Man's a Wit, a Scholar, he's one indeed. But fare you well Sir, I'le go after my ring.

Exit.
Lew.
You stuck scurvily, till Shift helpt you out.
End.
Never more, I swear; I knew not what shift to make.
Sh.
'Twas well for you there was one made to your hand.
Bern.
Marry, was it.
End.
But what if he fall out with Bellamy now,
As having stoln his ring?
Bern.
Nay, what if he charge him with felonie?
Lew.
And the Constable with him?
End.
That were a jest indeed.
Sh.

What matter whether he take him for a son-in-law, or a thief, 'tis much at one; both lye at the catch for the old Man's Money, both (if 'tis not otherways to be had) watch his death for it.

End.
Though hitherto the sport does mainly thrive;
Checkt by no obstacle but such, as the
Removal of, turns to increase of mirth,
I'm wearie of a trade I nere was 'prentice to;
To leave it then with credit as I drive
It on, since the persuasion of my
Knowledge makes this old Man believe
What e're I say, I'le work on his facility
To a noble end, and farre from Jealous
Of a Rivall's fortune, will crown his Love
With the good Knight's allowance of Clarinda's.
Sh.
Hey day! all this busle for a Willow Garland?
End.

If I must wear one, I will have added to't, both Groom and Bride's free and grateful acknowledgment, 'tis I unite them, and that to my pretended skill i'th' stars they owe their happi­ness.

Enter La-gripe.

But who have we here? a new Consulter?

Bern
An old one, I think.
Sh.

Nay! We have more Chamber-practice then half the Lawyers in town; yet the devil a fee or feeling I get amongst all our Clients:

Raw.

This 'tis to serve a Generous Gentleman.

Sh.

That does all for God-a-mercy, and the credit of doing it, [Page 72] and cries a good deed carries its own reward along with it.

End.

Peace Preacher.

Bern.

Prythee what old Don is it?

End.

'Tis a Monsieur, Man, has serv'd S r Christopher Credulous ever since his travels, he brought him a young fellow out of France with him, Monsieur La-gripe.

Bern.
A griping Sir, I warrant him,
La-gr.
Ah Monsieur de Astrologue.
Sh. and Raw.
Monsieur La-gripe.
La-g.

For Clarinda sake, Clarinda our common Mi­stress

they smile.

—dat is te Mistres of us bote, serve for Love, serve for Money, for de Vages, Vat you call? it is all one, it ise serve still.

End.
Has he not made it good?
Lew.
Not good English, Sir.
Raw.
Good Pedlar's French, Sir, and that's better for Variety.
Bern.
Hear out his storie.
La-g.
If I didde dare praye you of one faueur.
End.
What is it?
La-g.
Very small petite chose, de no tingue.
End.
But what? I'le do any thing for thee, honest Monsieur,
La-g.
Doe that den, I pray youe.
End.
That? what? I will and I can.
La-g.
Oh if you can; Vraiment it is no if's nor Ans.
End.
Can I unless you tell me what you would have done?
La-g.

No laugh at me, one poor old French man, pour­quoy demande Vat, Ven you can as Vell tell, Var I say have done, as you can doe.

Lew.
May be so too.
La-g.

Vat you tinke me no knoe Vat you can doe? as if me no hear my old Master, my fellow Beatrige, and all te town besides talk of you.

End.
But doe you hear I can know another's
Thought without his intimation?
La-g.
I hear no intimation; Vat I hear, I know;
I no know dat.
End.
Can a man deuine your meaning?
La-g.

Devine my mean? you look in my visage, you knoe [Page 73] all, and yet I tell you notingue; you be no man to tell long storie to; derefore no aske me Vat I uould, but doe vat I uoude.

End.
I shall be hard enough for thee yet, old fox.
aside
'Tis not with thee Monsieur I would dissemble
having thought.
My knowledge or my power; such palliations
Of an unkind repulse derogate—
La-g.

Ah Monsieur! no hard vords, I pray you, Pallashons! de gros cat! Vat te divell is dat to me? Plain English is hard enough for me, I promise you. How you think I entend dose sayings? I have no devell but thirty years in dis Contry.

End.

Why, plainly thus then; I know what brought thee hither, and what thou wilt request of me!

La-g.

Oh, oh! look you dere den! me know very vell vat I say, I varrant's you; me no drunk.

End.

But soft: though I doe, I must not tell, nor use that knowledge for ought thou seekst of me, the reason's this; I can do but one thing for thee at a time: if then to read or tell thy thought be it, never expect me serviceable to the procure­ment of that wish, that is a second act, my hands are tied from at this t me.

La-g.
Nay den, me tell you.
Sh.

Discover his wish to day, and help him to't to morrow. Where were you now Sir, if my Monsieur should come upon you thus?

End.

A French man, and stay till to morrow? That's a thing was never heard of; delayes are not for them, they nere got by 'em.

La-g.

I be quite tired out uitte service here in England, tired as one Jade, uerefore me have a great mind, to return to me own poor Contry agen, to lay it my bones at home, and te money me scrape up in dis; but begare it be one uery Long Journie, and uery dangerous too, danger upon te Sea, danger upon te Eaise; I be rob here or dere, no like dat uery uell, be kill'd, assassined, or drown in te sea, begare like that uery uorse: an dat is te reason I come pray you, to secure my personne, and my purse, by some Enshantement, I no know how, to transporte me at my home in one minute.

Lew.
Oh Excellent Monsieur!
End.
[Page 74]

You see by this what they think of me

Sh. and Raw. whisper.

abroad. Pray heaven I don't take my self at last for that I'm given out for, these are strong temptations.

Bern.

And so become a wise man by fancying

Sh. whispers with End.

your self one;

Lew.

As, they say, they do Witches, by strongly conceiting themselves Witches,

Sh.

I ha' skill enough for this feat without my Master's med­dling in't, I'le convey thee into France.

End.

Prepare your self against night, Monsieur for the Journey; Shift shall be readie too with what on our part is necessarie.

La-g.
I no dare truste him, littell Coquin delny,
Play me some tricque or toder.
End.
No, no; his fellow Rawman there shall go
Along too, and see fair play. Let's leave 'em
To their work, and laugh at him a little.
Exeunt End. Lew. and Bern.
La-g.
Mister sirrah, doe for me vat must be done
Fair and honest, your Master command;
You meddell in dis business de juggle too den.
Raw.
I'm half a Conjurer, since I serve him,
And yet I came to him but a Rawman t'other day.
La-g.
An he parboil your Coxecombe?
Sh.
Pickle him a little in the black art, or so.
La-g.
Indeed? but is he so knoing, tey say?
Sh.
Hear him talk of a Man
You'ld think he had bin in his belley,
He's so acquainted with every cranie of his heart.
La-g.
I no please me serve souche Master, a
Valet no pass vell his time vit him.
Sh.
Why? I have a good place on't.
La-g.
Place Vat you Vill, I no be bound serve one,
I no dare tell lye to sometime.
Raw.
'Tis somewhat a hard case, but it must be so here.
La-g.

If he send you of arrant, you stay a great vile, you no dare make excuse; extend what I mean by excuse? Sh. Ouy, ouy.

La-g.

I meet a friend by de Vay, I stay trink vit him a littell, one, two, three, fower howers (dat I learn in England tough) [Page 75] one no dare tell souche Man, Monsieur, make me stay for one an­swer, yet Company come, no can write; or I cherche him in severall places, 'fore I find: call at te tailleur's, see your sute be make. An oder Man satisfie vit one of tese, he know te contrary, he no satisfie vit 'tis nor notingue else, Vich de fear of put away, or re­ceive distribution—you understand.

Raw.

Ouy, ouy. La-g. on te head and shoulders put in one Mouse; you no dare go to de Cabaret, Ven he at the Come­die, nor make good shear vit the Maids at home; no, nor goe to one bordell, Vile he at an oder.

Sh.

Unless I knew he had such great business in hand, as lest him no leasure to think of me.

La-g

And so I say agen, me rader beg, steal, doe any harde­ship, ten serve one Master, I no dare tell lye to.

Sh.

This necessity of speaking truth was something hard to me too at first, but I was forc'd to betake my self to't, and use, thou know'st, brings perfectness.

La-g.

Dou dare not, (tough among discreet bodies, dat vill keep Counsell) tell tales of him, or recount his secrets.

Sh.

No marry, dare I not; secrecy is that he chiefly requires of a servant.

La-g.

And vat is vorse, if loosing his money, or some todre ill humeur, make him Colerick, an he Vell-come you home Vit Coups de pied.

Sh.
How now? La-g. or one good soufflet, or two.
Raw.
Nay, nay; one's enough.
La-g.

Dere is no complaining, 'tis so mouche for you; and fear of more, you must bite your tongue, and swallow your choler, as they say in my Countrie.

Sh.
I, sure enough.
La-g.

Vat Consolation 'tis Monsieur Sift to swear and curse at souche Master? my bones no ake more▪ Ven mong my Cama­rades, I can give him heartily to all te divels.

Sh.
I ha' got the length of his foot now,
And seldome am in this predicament.
Raw.
Besides he's good condition'd.
La-g.
Good or bad, one fair morning I vould
Pack up my nawles and be gone for all date.
Raw.
[Page 76]

Would not he know my mind, and so prevent me, had I any such intention?

La-g.

Vhy dere's todre ting I no speak. You no dare runne vaye neider, no dare tink of it, nor find one oder Master in se­cret, if dis fall out vis you.

Raw.

'Tis a common trick indeed of servants, that grow wearie of one Master, to have another in reserve:

Sh.

Like Women who (for fear of wanting) provide a se­cond husband, before the first be dead; but that Providence We are debarr'd of too.

La-g.

An odre incommodite I no reckon, an te gran incom­modite of all; how you pick up money in 'tis service? a Man gett no more but bare vages? Pewh! it is no Vorth Vile, I should be sorrie to rob any bodie; begarre I make conscience of dat: but if Largent go torow my hands, 'tis like meal, flower, Vat you call? someting stick, stick still to de fingers.

Sh.

Ah sirrah! you go snip i' your Master's money then, you take toll, you black Miller, you, you more Vnavoidable thief then his Worship's tailour.

Raw.

You make a Conscience of robbing, but you filch, you pilfer▪ you purloin unmercifully.

Sh.

Thou hast a fine time on't, that we want; and Enjoy'st a revenue, We dare not pretend to.

Raw.

My Master hates theft beyond imagination, and I think that for a Tester (merciless as he is) he could find in's heart to have us taught to dance in a rope.

Sh.

I'm sorrie for thy sake thou camest to him, since thou art given that way; for finding it out (as doubtless he would by thy looks) he may very well tell thy Master.

La-g.
Tell my Master? oh me lost, me lost! vat I doe?
Raw.
Why, thy worst is but to be hang'd.
La-g.
And is no dat bad enofe, my friend?
Sh.
Perhaps thou mayst be quit for a singing
Or so: thou canst read?
La-g.

Yes, yes; if he did need to know one name, to tell one's fortune, or doings, denne me attrappe him very vell, for La-gripe no me true name, me take datte, because me Vould gripe vell good moneys here, and leave my own name Vit my Countrie, [Page 77] for one blow I doe, how you call? a ting, Vich make me leave France; I no come into England, no, vitte S r Christophore else.

Sh.

Though he could not; yet knowing our names y'have told all this to, he cannot when his list but know what has past amongst us.

Raw.

How could he else discover to the full what concerns him, or me: thou shalt find no ease on that side neither.

aside.
Sh.
No, no; We'l keep his fears up to the height still.
La-g.

Dat very true too; but my goode Sift, if it be possible, make he no tell.

Sh.
Hast thou filcht soundly?
La g.
Not mouch at a time.
Sh.
But often?
La-g.

Teuenty or tirty a monts, but littell, littell everie one, dat he no find: you call at Sessions Pettie Larcenie.

Raw.
Then a whipping perchance may serve.
La-g.

A Vippingue? vhy many littell tefts no amount to a great teft.

Raw.
But they make thee a great thief;
And may mount thee to the gallows.
Sh.
Saving that, I know no way but one.
La-g.
Oh goode Sifte, tell dat toder vay, I take dat rader.
Sh.

My Master's head's so full now thou mayest get out of town, and he ne're mind thee; go thy wayes then presently, and pack up; if the old Knight should hear of thy pranks, he'l not send into France after thee.

La-g.

If I be dere once, I no care dis for him; but I no dere yet.

Raw.
Fetch but thy things, We'l set thee going.
La-g.
'Tis great vay.
Raw.
Were't further yet, We'l have thee thither to day.
Sh.

But thou must be well provided against the cold; there blow certain winds at Sea, thou wilt not like.

La-g.
Vat? at Mid-summer?
Sh.
I; as hot as 'tis at Land.
Raw.
That's the onely inconvenience of the Journey,
But thou'lt be over in a hower or two.
La-g.

I feare no Vindes nor Veader; I feare my Master [Page 78] more, and dine too: but how I be carried?

Raw.
At ease, as e're thou wert.
Sh.
Meet me in thy Master's garden,
I'le be there presently.
La-g.
Let it be no long present, nor no perhaps.
Raw.
Be you but ready.
La-g.
If you no come, me very angry.
Sh.
I will come, I tell thee.
Exit La-gripe.
Raw.
He's o'th' house of the Credulous too:
Sh.
I'th' Lime alreadie, boy.
Raw.
There let him flutter.

ACT V.

The first SCENE, Lincoln's-Inne-Fields.

Enter S r Christopher, Bellamy severally.
S r Chr.
BEllamy, I have been seeking you;
Bell.
Me Sir? I have my wish if I can serve you;
Lay your commands upon me.
S r Chr.
A Courteous Gentleman, and a handsome one!
aside.
Who would take him for a Pick-pocket now
By his looks? but fronti nulla sides.
Bell.
What means he talking to himself to eye
aside.
Me thus? has he already discover'd
Our Love, the art We us'd to hide it too?
Cruel fates! so speedie in your malice?
S r Chr.

Foolish man that I am! I can scarce find in my

aside.

heart to speak to him now, I would not shame him quite; I must dissemble, and pretend that some other way my ring is faln into his hands. To be brief with you, there is a certain Jewel wanting, a small toy a ring, or so, and I am told, you have it.

Bell
How soon are all my hopes blasted?
aside.
S r Chr.
How he is struck? his very Countenance pleads guilty.
aside.
Bellamy.
[Page 79]
This the fair success I flatter'd my self with?
aside.
S r Chr.
I do not say, Bellamy, you are faulty,
But the party you have it by.
Bellamy,
With what obstinacy are we persecuted?
aside.
S r Chr.
Trouble not your self; 'tis the hand alone
You have it from is guilty;
You are otherwise justifiable enough.
Bell.
I have the Diamond, Sir, I can't denie't,
Gives him his Ring.
And here am ready to restore it you.
Y'are prepossest, I fear, by some, with a
False story of the meanes I wrought it by;
But if truth may be heard, as sure it ought
In spight of their insinuations, the guilt
Is all mine, I have no Complices;
Rather die, then Peach Clarinda.
aside.
S r Chr.
I seek to excuse him, and he fondly accuses himself
aside
Bellamy.
Let's clear her, all we can. I tell you, Sir,
What e're y'have heard, I am in all the fault,
Nor do I plead ought to attenuate.—
S r Chr.
How strangely does a guilty Conscience wring him?
I palliate his fault, he exaggerates it.
aside.
Bellamy.
I seek not therefore to attenuate
A Crime, which when I first design'd.—
S r Chr.

I am not ignorant of the Fact, Bellamy, set no mis­seeming gloss upon't, I know the naked truth; but though I do, the knowledge of it shall not hurt you.

Bellamy.
There's no dissembling with you then;
Plain-dealing, now is best I do confess.—
S r Chr.

Oh, Do you so, Sir? Do you so? but look to't another time; for, Confess and be hang'd, D'ee mark? that's the Word.

aside.
Bellamy.
I do confess my furtive actions then,
My Stealth, my Clandestine approaches, and
The surprizal▪ of a Jewel, which I see,
I am in your opinion too
Unworthy of: 'tis true, I am too bold,
Nor can I ought in my defence now plead:
'Twas the predominance of some ill Star
I'le say, since it brings your displeasure,
[Page 80] Forc'd me to what is past.
S r Chr.
I am not so severe a Judge neither;
I have been young my self, and can not now
Be ignorant what youth is subject to;
And some occasions seem to force our will,
Such powerful allurements they tempt it with.
Bellamy.
Yet though my indesert seem to forbid
All hope of pardon, by your own goodness
Sir, I dare Conjure you.—
S r Chr.
Yes, yes, I am merciful, I tell you,
And can excuse: having my Ring too, I
aside.
May hold my peace; 'tis an ordinary course
When a Man has his Good's again,
To wave the prosecution.
aside.
Bellamy.
I must not lose this opportunity,
I shall not take him in the mood agen.
Since you with so much goodness can excuse,
To him.
Be good still, Sir, and to justifie me
Thoroughly, Authorize my crime,
And give Clarinda leave
To crown my passion with approv'd consent;
Permit me, Sir, to Marry her.
S r Chr.
Marry my Daughter? for what acquaintance troe?
The Man's mad sure, or I am mad my self;
aside.
He thinks me so at least, he'd ne're talk thus else.
Bellamy.
Though my meanes are small, I have a heart yet,
No frowning fortune, no adversity
Can bring under; and am of a Family
From which some richer ones may receive no
Small lust [...]e; look on me then, Sir, with eyes
Not inte [...]ss'd, or greedy of more wealth;
And you will see no cause to scorn th' alliance.
S Chr.
I [...] cannot be in earnest sure all this,
aside.
Or with the least thought of perswading me:
Finding some danger in the Trade of Cut-Purse,
He's now fall'n to, he will grow wise, and take
I [...]p [...]a [...] my cost for which purpose he must
Needs marry my Daughter forsooth; this is
[Page 81] One of the finest Fooles.
Laughes.
Bell.
He's something long-a-considering on't.
aside.
S r Chr.

Let him steal, let him pick, let him cut, as many

aside

Purses, or Pockets, as he please; let him be hang'd too, and he will, he'l not disoblige me in't at all: but for Marrying my Daughter, Pardonnez moy, Monsieur; well, Bellamy, I promise you, what ever you have said.

Bell.
Your Daughter, Sir?
Sr Chr.
Secresie, Sir, secresie; I'le keep your Counsel,
And that's no small curtesie, I hope.
Exit.
Bellamy.
Was ever Man in such a maze as I?
His fav'rable construction of what's past,
Seemes to invite a full Confession:
And when he knowes my passion for his daughter,
He promises secresie, and cries, he
Will keep Counsel. 'Tis the crossest this of
All my cross fortunes.
To him Celia, Fannie, Luce.
This importune Woman is another;
Let's give her the slip.
Cel.
Stay, Bellamy, and be civil at least,
If you cannot be kind.
Is that heart then I have so long thought mine
An others Captive now?
Inconstancie and breach of Faith, it seemes,
Are pleasing grown to him, so often Vow'd
The Vertues contrary; the change it self
Is ordinary enough, nor am I
The first forsaken she.
But yet to shun a sight, you once
Swore, pleas'd you 'bove all others, is too strong
An effect, methinks, of a new passion;
'Tis past indifferencie this, even to scorn;
You might remember that you lov'd me once.
Bellamy.
Say, I esteem'd you, Madam: Love
In the respects I paied you, had least share;
[Page 82] My obligations t'ee were great,
And so I strove to bear a mind
Full of resentments for your noble favours,
A grateful, though not passionate heart.
But 'tis no time for such disguises now,
'Tis fit each action wear it's proper name,
Own it's true motive;
Lay your credulity then aside,
For love has bound me in those fetters now,
Must ne're be cut but with my thread of life.
Cel.
With what art this studied declaration
In such ambiguous tearmes is couch'd,
To Lu.
It may be made for me as for another?
He neither nam'd Celia, nor Clarinda.
Lu.
'Tis as plain though, he meanes her, as if he had.
Fan.
But you are so credulous, as he tells you.
Bell.

This night I waited on you by your own appoinment, what my reception was, you cannot have forgot, th' affront was to premeditate; you could not afford me one serious word, no, nor your eare a minute: think not the return I make you strange then, nor wonder, that I shun you now, as you did me; t'was your command I should, and I obey you, Madam.

Exit.
Lu.
He's in love w'ee, you will believe it still?
Cel.
He does, he does love me, I tell thee, strangely.
Fan.
'Tis strangely indeed, if he loves at all;
And as strangely he shewes it.
Cel.
'Tis but a triall when he slights me thus,
'Tis then he loves me passionately;
This sense of my odd carriage in the night
Is most becoming, and I take it kindly:
We're indifferent to him, he would mind it less,
Loving me, as he does, he must resent it thus.
Lu.
With an other, you see, he does himself
Confess he is in love.
Cel.
For tryal still, I tell thee, he affects
Inconstancie, as he does scorn;
And for revenge perphaps a little too
He seekes to vex me thus; all's dissembling,
[Page 83] Nor does he strive to make me Jealous, but
To discover at full the kindness I have
For him; 'tis that, I see, he aimes at,
Endimion told me 'twould be so.
Fan.

Nay, for him, he's a cheat, I'm sure, what ever the o­ther be.

Lu.
He has abus'd you, Madam, all-a-long,
His predictions are meere fictions,
Meere impostures.

You might (but that you were before you spoke with him, strange­ly perswaded of his skill) have seen it in his whole proceed­ing.

Fan.
He but deludes you with vain hopes,
Bellamy does forsake you.
Lu.
Can you be ignorant he adores Clarinda?
Fan.
Gratian assures you of it too.
Cel.
I trust not to what Gratian sayes; he has
Cast off all thoughts of friendship, and without
The least regard to Bellamy, or his love,
Is hourely troubling me with his own,
You see he is.
I give no credit to a Rivall's story.
To them Gratian, Lewis.
For whatso're of Bellamy he sayes,
I've cause to fear, but reason still to doubt.
Ler.
Rather believe him, Madam; for you'l find
Gratians Story is a true one. His love
Though violent, can hear some reason yet,
And keep within the bounds of honour; think
Not then, he seekes by treachery to win you,
By base suggestions to supplant his friend.
Grat.
While I thought him worthy of you,
Or could on any grounds believe him yours,
What did I, Madam, or what said I, to
Cross your fair affections?
I was all friend then, mov'd not one step
[Page 84] Out of my Confident's path, for him was
All I spoke, my own cause I pleaded but
With silence, allow'd it not the least complaint,
But what was fair from reaching him, or you;
Or if some time a sudden sigh broke through
The care I us'd to keep 'em in, how soon
Like to some blusht-at, or unlawful issue,
Did I disavow it, nay, lay it to
Another? but the concealment
Of my sufferings and his injuries t'ee,
Would not a kindness now to Bellamy prove
That false Bellamy?
Cel.
How loth am I yet to believe him such?
aside.
Can he be false to Celia, that thought so
To them.
Well of him? She that so truely lov'd him?
Grat.
'Tis strange a heart once yours, should ever own
An other Conqueror: but he is false, false
To the fairest Celia, false, as miserable
In this Exchange.
Cel.
Bellamy forsakes me?
Grat.
Perhaps 'tis with regret, a sharp remorse
Perhaps poysons all the sweets he leaves you Sir
Yet he forsakes you still; and with his own
Consent I tell you so.
Cel.
And 'tis Clarinda
Robs me of this beloved Perjurer?
Ler.
But now We left him at S r Christopher's.
Grat.
And least we should mistake him any longer
Gratian, (cryed he to me, as he went in)
I know your passion, and cease t'oppose it,
I quit all claim to Celia; for if love
Have happiness for me, 'tis in Clarinda's Armes.
Cel.
May I believe all this?
Ler.
A greater truth ne're challeng'd your beliefe.
Grat.
Alas! he never left the town, but lurk'd
At my house for private meetings
With Clarinda, whom he saw night by night.
A truth though, no Interest of my own
[Page 85] Had e're extorted, did not yours claim it,
And his allowance Manumize the secret.
Cel.
No more; my doubt is over, and the mist
Love cast before my eyes thus vanisht, more
Hatesul, as more hated does he appear,
Then ever he seem'd lovely, nor was my
Affection ever half so strong, as now
My anger is▪ Gratian, do you love me?
Grat.
Oh Madam!
kiss her hand, sighing.
Cel.
How can I ever believe Man agen,
When Bellamy is false? yet follow me,
If your affection be sincere, as you
Protest; Celia is yours; but bring me to
kiss it again passionately.
Clarinda's, and make my own eyes witness
His crime, that I may do you Justice there
Before his face; serve my anger so farre,
And second the revenge I do intend,
That he may see himself forsaken, as he
Forsakes, and there (if I may have my wish)
Shall he repent his perjurie,
Lu.
That I believe too.
Cel.
Yet all in vain.
Lost to all hopes of e're recovering
What he so basely does renounce; there let
Him pine to find me in another's arms,
And without hopes of either Mistress, see
Clarinda scorn him, as he now does me.
Fan.
A fine humour this, Luce;
Lu.
An 'twould hold.
Lew.
Oh, it must hold.
Fan.
Whether Love will or no?
Exeunt.

SCENE II. Sir Christopher 's Garden.

Enter La-gripe in a travelling habit.

A Dieu, London, adieu; I goe see my own naturall Contree agen: an France be ne're so bad, or England so good, better be alive dere, den hang here.

To him Shift, Rawman.
Raw.
How now, art readie?
La-g.

Dou seest, te good Capotte, Vit my bottes ala Candalle

Sh.

'Tis well, 'tis well, thou hast clad thy self warm; the Jour­ney's something bleak, as I told thee.

La-g.

I putt tis hood over my face, for fear te cold, and some todre ting make me loose my nose quite.

Raw.
I think indeed 'tis something loose set on.
Sh.
Zymar, Haly, Behemoth, Albenzera.
Get into this Circle.
La-g.
Vat dou Mumble, mumble in te teeths?
Say te divells Pater noster, I tinke.
Sh.

Words of art, words of art: but 'tis done alreadie. Thou must be hoodwink'd now.

La-g.
Pourquoy?
Sh.
There are reasons for't, I warrant you.
La-g.
Your Jockeys, I hear say, ride temself blind,
But for uate I be make blinde, before I ride.
Sh.

With the great light, and that prodigious height thou wilt be mounted to thy eyes would be dazled, and thou giddily come tumbling down.

Raw.

Who knows too how near thou mayest come to the Sun, thy Lids would not save 'em from scorching then, nor the distilla­tions still overflowing quench the fire.

Sh.
That brinie dew would add more furie to't.
Raw.
Then thy nose would melt off indeed,
[Page 87] But this muffler saves all.
La-g.

Indeed me have grand distraction, to see all te Vorld at one time, I can no hinder my self from be peeping in every corner; I tinkue I mind me business better, and see notinge, dere­sore blinde me, I am content: but how I ride? Vat be carried on? uere dat?

Raw.
I need but whistle, and 'tis here.
La-g.
Is it a saddel horse, or one Coche?
Raw.
No, no; a pad-nag.
La-g.

A bad nag? begare me uill have a good nag, or no goe at all your Vay.

Raw.
Thou shalt have a good one;
I say, a pad-nag, a fine gentle pacer.
La-g.

Oh crie you mercie, Vnderstand now; my Master ride souche one himself, 'tis very easie for us olde Men: but Vho be my guide? Vat if I loose my vaie? it very like; for I no tra­vell dat rode before.

Sh.

There's a question indeed! thou shalt have a little Orenge­tawny devill to lacquey by thy side.

La-g.

A divell lacquey? I no hear of souch before.

Sh.

Why, half the lacqueys about the town are devils, Man, and in thy Country they are ten times worse.

La-g.

Dat's true indeed; but I always hear say, te divell uery proud, and tink he no take so mean place.

Sh.

Some of 'em I grant are above it, but there are enow to supply all places, and he will put on any shape, rather then not make one.

Raw.

Which is to play at small game, rather then sit out.

Sh.

Shall I tell thee? there are devils of all functions and qualities, trades and callings whatsoever.

Raw.
Alas, the Mysterie of every trade is knavery,
And that leads directly to him.
There are Sergeants, and Bailiff-divils.
Sh.

And divillishly are they us'd, when they meddle with a guard-man, or any of the Boulley Rocks indeed.

Raw.

Some neat, dapper, well-handed fiends are cut out into Barbers, Tire-women, and Valets de chambre;

Sh.
Of which there come such shoules out of thy Country:
Raw.
[Page 88]
Your nimbler handed ones make Tailors, and Weavers.
Sh.
Thieving devils: he devils, and she devils.
La-g.
Vat Voman divels?
Sh.
Oh sans nombre: and they make cuckolds.
La-g.
Te divell Cuckold too?
Sh.
How should he come by his horns else?
Raw.

And for more fiendly variety, there are sage devils, and mad devils; hectoring devils, and cowardly devills; quaking devils—

La-g.

Yes, in frost and snoe; I have bin such one my self, be­fore I come to good Anglish Cole fires.

Raw.
But these quake now, at Midsummer.
La-g.
Begare trowe 'em in te river, and make
Quake for some ting.
Sh.
Come, thou stay'st a devilish while here,
'Tis time thou wert goue.
hood-winkt him.
Raw.
There are water-devils too; but those we call dippers.
Sh.
Rumpers and thumpers. Raw. Zealous and impious.
Sh.
Precise and prophane.
Raw.

Merry devils, and very devils, commonly known by the name of Phanaticks.

Sh.

But thine's come; get up, get up.

La-g.

Oh undoe, undoe; I see if mine be a horned divell; your men Cuckolds hide teir horn so, you no see a great manies; I long to see how te divell wear his.

Sh.

'Twere worth seeing indeed: but let everie Cuckold wear his own horns, and as he pleas himself: this is a batchelor devil; one though that having no apes to lead in hell, comes to lead a baboon into France.

La-g.
Vat's dat? Vat's dat? I have great Curiosity
To look him in face.
Raw.

Take heed, 'tis dangerous; he has a more dreadful coun­tenance ten times then thy old Master.

holding his hands.
La-g.
Gare, and he one I no mouche care for see now.
Raw.
' [...]is sufficient he conduct thee into France;
Then see him, and spare not.
La-g.
I look him out of Countenance, Ven I am dere.
Sh.
Come, get up, get up.
horses him on a rail or hedge with a cushion under him.
La-g.
[Page 89]

Vell Monsieur te divell, do not quitte me, Ven you get me in one strange place, bring me safe in my countree, and den I can doe vell enof vit oute you.

Sh.
Ne're fear him, he'l not leave thee so,
ties him to't.
Thou art too good a bit for him.
La-g.
For Vat you tie so hard, Master Sift?
is it you, or te divell?
Sh.
He's afraid thou wilt slip from him.
La-g.
No, no, I varrant's you, if he no run
Way from me.
Raw.
If he does, ride after him;
Thou art damnably well mounted.
Sh.
Is't easier now?
Let's him a little looser.
La-g.

I, I, now 'tis vell; but vho vntie me, Vhen I come home, I can no doe't my self, I no see.

Sh.
It shall be done to thy hand,
When thou art at thy Journey's end.
La-g.

O Sift, Sift, I forgot; Vill tis Jade carrie in crouper, Vat you call in England? double, double, carrie double?

Sh.

Why doe'st ask?

La-g.

I take my felloe Beatrige along Vit me, she ride behind; very good companie for te divell, and for me too, very good in te vay.

Sh.

Yes, too good for thee, old Jew; what ride double?

aside. to him.

No, no, ride post to th' devil, the old saying is; I could have order'd it so, she might have gone too; but 'tis too late now, and thou must take the Journey single, as thou art.

La-g.

Vell, vell, 'tis no matter; I get an odre in France.

Sh.

By this token know thou art within ken; a doleful Voyce thou shalt first hear; at thy arrival, wrangling or confused talk, then lowder Lamentations; but fare thee well, set forward.

Raw.
Commend us to our friends in Paris.
La-g.
Yes, yes; dat I vill.
in a hollow tone as from a farre
Sh.
Adieu, Monsieur La-gripe, adieu.
Raw.
Adieu, La-gripe, adieu; with what speed thou flyest?
Sh.
How he cleaves the air? he's gone, hes gone;
I can scarce discern him now.
La-g.

I doe perceive I fly very fast indeed, for now I hardly [Page 90] hear teir Voice, my Eares take but te last Accents, as of one very remote.

Raw.
A right Frenchman! bread in's pocket;
Sh.
Where's the Cheeze?
Raw.
Oh, that's at his Toes to haut-goust.
Sh.
Which he calls refining.
La-g.

I be in France presant, I drink good Claret Vine, pure, pure; no mingle mangle, red and white, as here in England.

Sh.

Do, fuddle thy Nose, and if they pick thy pocket I'le pay the reckoning.

Having pickt his Pocket.
La-g.
I take Sift for one little Quenave,
And he prove honest little Fellow.
Sh.
Yes, I warrant you.
La-g.
Rawman too, very well vers'd, experienc'd—
Raw.
In thy Pockets.
La-g.
Te beast tey set me upon, go as easie
Too, as no stir at all.
Sh.
If it does, they are mistaken.
La-g.
No shake, shake me; need no spur neider.
Raw.
The ill manner'd Jade would hardly answer to't.
La-g.

I be as still as in me Bed, sure I very good Horse­man.

Sh.
For the Woodden-Horse.
La-g.
I no loose in te Saddel.
Sh.
Nor in the Hilts?
La-g.
'Tis very holesome air, I grow very hungry.
Sh.

You stuff'd your Pockets, as if y'had known you should—

La-g.
But Vat Vind tis? stinking Vind too,
R. Biows in's face with a pair of bellows.
Tell me dere blow,
One Vind very cold, and so 'tis indeed,
I see he know all tings in te vay, as
He go it himself.
Sh.
An other gale, an other gale.
La-g.

Te Vind turn; sure my Beard freeze wit tis blow, blow. I fear my Nose too for all tis good Capotte, I no dare feel how tis neider.

blowes on t'other side.
Sh.
There's company come in to th' garden,
[Page 91] We must away.
Raw.
Jog on, jog on good Antiquity.
Sh.
Y'are almost at your Journeyes end.
Exit. Sh. Raw.
Enter Bellamy, Clarinda with a thin hood on.
Clar.
Discover'd already? So soon betray'd
Unto my Fathers knowledge?
What hard fates, Bellamy, attend our Loves?
Bell.
You stand yet▪ blameless in your Father's eye;
I wholly drew the Crime upon my self,
And rather chose to pass for a suborner,
Then you should forward seem, in the disposal
Of that he claimes it is his right to give.
Clar.
No, no; We do but fool our selves with hopes,
There is no ground left for that self-flatterie.
Bell.
Soon as he tax'd me with the Ring, I rendred it,
That precious pledge of thy unmatch'd affection:
Let not thy griefe precede our misery though,
He neither shew'd, nor threatned any rigour,
He spoke but in his wonted tone, rather
Amaz'd then angry, and us'd me (trust me
Sweet he did) with much mildness still; and seem'd
(By arguing the business with himself)
Something irresolute what course to take;
And I dare hope, if from thy self he hear
Thou doest affect me, it may incline him
To allow thy choice.
Clar.
I that will doe't, I'le dry my eyes agen,
We'l nere be wretched sure, when speaking truth
Can make us happy. If this may win him,
Clarinda's yours; once more I tell you so.
Bell.
VVhat grief is proofe against this joy?
Or what misery has a name, which these words
Clarinda's mine, would not charm into happiness?
Clar.

I'm yours for ever, or no Man's; he that can debarr me of this felicitie, shall not add to my affliction, being an others.

Bell.
[Page 92]
Such bliss in silence still is best receiv'd,
I want words to give full thankes.
La-g.

I understand some noise of Tongues, some People talk­ing a great way of, sure I ride over some great City; Is it Can­terbury? no, no, I hope I be pass te Seas.

To them Beatrix running in.
Clar.

How now? Is there any body come in?

Beat.

Oh yes, Sir Christopher, and the Astrologer forsooth; he's no body without him now: he was wont to dote upon wealth, and then our House was nothing but Aldermen, and Citizens, that write themselves Esquire, and Country Knights, that never came to Town, but for a new Purchase: but that fit's over now, and learning is his bable.

Clar.
They interupt us too soon, I would not
Have him see you yet, Endimion being with him too.
Bell.
Can I not slip out?
Clar.

No, I know his walkes, he uses at his entrance to take that, should now lead you out; but step aside, ith' close walk he'l not discover you: and there, if boldly speaking in our cause may carry it, you'l hear me plead for you as you were here your self.

Bell.
You are all goodness, Madam.
Exit.
La-g.

Good Devil, look to me, if I be at Sea, for I can no swimme.

To them Sr Christopher Credulous, Endimion, Bernard, Shift.
End.
A most delicious garden this!
S r Chr.
'Tis my Whore, Sir, 'tis my Whore;
Here I delight, and consume my self.
Sh.
That's e'en a Whore's trick indeed
S r Chr.
Here, Clarinda, here's thy Ring again.
Clar.
Must I endure that object in my Eye?
To B. pulling down her hood. Turning it up.
S r Chr.

What so coy, Mistress? Will you not parley unveil'd?

Clar.
[Page 93]
The Sun's too hot, Sir, I never walk in't
Pulling it down again.
Without my Hood, I shall be tann'd.
S • Chr.

And you be, and you be, 'tis but one

Takes it quite off.

lick more, you have that in your Closet, I know, can fetch it off again; here Gentlewoman,

Throwes it Beat.

that belongs to your care.

End.

I long'd to see how Clarinda did behave her

To Bern.

self after all these odd accidents, and how she'ld look upon me.

Bern.
She's too much discompos'd;
End.
She is, and I too well reveng'd; I pity her.
S r Chr.

'Tis not a civil wellcome this, of a person thou art so lately, and so much oblig'd too; 'tis to him thou art engag'd for the recovery of thy Ring; I thought thou would'st have slown into his armes, had help'd thee to't again, thou wert so lost for want of it.

Beat.
Gladly into his, that had it.
To Sh.
End.

Your Father, Madam, is pleas'd to name an Obligation So slight, I dare not think it one.

Sh.
'Tis one indeed, she con's you little thanks.
aside.
End.
But if kind Heaven prosper what I intend,
A solid and important service shall
Prove the Zeal I have to please you.
Clar.
You have already, Sir, oblig'd me, more
Then I can thank you for.
La-g.

By te different noises I find I pass from place to place; and now I tink I am at Callais; gare te Steeples, if I be.

To them Gratian, Lewis, Celia, Fannie, Luce,
S r Chr.
Here's more Company, What Ladie's that? or what would she?
She lookes with an earnest, and a busie face.
Beat.
With an angry one, methinks.
Sh.
'Tis a pretty little angry Rogue,
Would I had the pleasing of her.
Beat.
You please her? please me? and hear the Lady.
Cel.
Wonder not Sir, at so abrupt a visit,
[Page 94] I come for Justice t'ee; We are both wrong'd,
Both abus'd by one unconstant Man; one
That when a thousand Oathes had made him mine,
Your Daughter has stoln from me; nay, start not,
He seemes a­maz'd▪
She loves him infinitely; he nere had left
Me for an unkind one, no, no they burn
In mutual flames; and in your house, or Garden
Is he now conceal'd, now, this very minute:
Do me reason then, and your self Justice.
Grat.
I wish he be here, for I begin to fear,
aside
Finding Clarinda without him.
La g.

Sure tis is te doleful Voice, te lamentation; good sign, good sign, I be almost come home.

S r Chr.

How! a man hidden in my house? a plot, a plot; fetch me my rapier there, I'le poak him out of his hole; a plot upon my daughter.

Beat.
Your daughter's plot upon you rather.
aside.
Clar.
'Tis an increase of miserie this, I never fear'd;
aside.
She's very handsome; what then? nay, I think
eying Cel.
Bellamy did love her once; no matter:
Coming just i'th' nick too, when he is here,
Silence my Jealousie,
I've trouble enough without thee.
Sh.
Pox of this bussle, 'twill land our Travellour too soon.
aside
Clar.
My father, I hope, suspects not me
In any close contrivance—
S r Chr.

Nay, nay, 'tis best for you be clear; I will think well o' thee so long as I may; but if thou bee'st faulty, th hast lost a f iend of me: I le rage no higher, till I see th'accusation prov'd.

Bell.
Poor Clarinda!
peeping out.
With what increase of trouble I see thine?
Lew.
They are all to pieces now indeed.
End.
I have a soder for em yet.
La-g.

I am come home sure, I hear such confused tones, and lamentable voices.

S r Chr.
Come, Madam, first let's make the garden sure,
This way—hah! what have we here?
This is a skare-crow—
La-g.
[Page 95]

Tis is te very noise, Sift tell me of; divell, divell, Vere be you, my Lacquey-divell? untie, untie me.

S r Chr.
What Pageant's this: 'tis La-gripe's dialect.
Sh.
'Tis our Travellour, Sir.
to End.
He thinks himself in France alreadie.
End.
A hasty Monsieur indeed; but
'Tis no time for this mirth now: help him down.
La-g.

Now I be come, now I be come; never make

being got off.

Journey vit so much ease. O my Moder Earth, I must kiss dee for Joy.

S r Chr.

Why how now?

La-g.

You be got into my Country too? but ease me of one scruple, how you come? he lend you one pad-nag too? vat co▪lour your Vorship's divell? mine Orenge-tawny, dat his colour [...] of old, you know: I dare swear now my Master's be one

aside.

horned fiend and dat I fear is horn to horn.

S r Chr.
He's mad sure; see where thou art, in London,
In my garden; see thy young Mistress too, Beatrix.—
La-g.

Begare I be so indeed. I be base besheat,

stares about him gets up, searches his pockets.

my purse gone into France, or some Vere else ah dou dog-rogue Sift, I have thee by the ears present.

Sh.
If the devil pick thy pocket, can I help it?
Ex. La-g. running after Shift.
S r Chr.
This is not the conceal'd Lover, you mean, Madam;
'Tis a disguiz'd one rather I think this.
Cel.
I look after no such mouldy ware, Sir.
'T was not this. I hope, you brought me to see.
to Grat.
Grat.
Madam you'l find things yet, as I gave 'em out t'ee.
Clar.
If they would search no further now.
End.
You'l pardon, Sir, my Man's boldness, I hope,
to S r Chr.
That plays the knave thus with yours.
S r Chr.
'Tis easily pardon'd to preserve your friendship:
But to our other business, our serious trouble.
Bell.
They turn this way; better shew my self,
peeping out again
Then be found sneaking here.
Cel
Let's seek this way.
Bell.
Seek him no further, Madam, here he is.
steps forth.
Cel.
[Page 96]
Ungrateful, faithless Man!
S r Chr.
Hah! Is it he?
Fan.
You perjur'd man, you; have we found you?
Bell.
Nay, never rail, nor throw at me those undeserv'd
Reproaches; there is a Ladie here, can vouch my constancie.
S r Chr.
What Planet was my Girl born under troe?
I seek her Lover, and find a thief, a Pick-pocket.

You lay perdu upon some new design now, there are more Jewels in the house, Cabinets unrifled; I pray God there be.

Ent. Shift again.

This is their trick to a hair; slip in th' dusk of the Evening, and when we are all fast, open the doors to an inunda­tion of Vermin. A pox on this thieve's handsel, I knew there was worse to follow.

Cel.

The Man's beside himself sure, to wrong a Gentleman thus barbarously; though I have reason not to think him innocent, yet I dare pawn my life, the base guilt you charge him with, is none of's crime. What mean you then by this abusive Language?

S r Chr.
Alas! he understands me, Madam.
Bell.
Not very well, Sir.
What draws this scandalous reproach?
I am no thief, my Enemie, I dare swear,
If I have any, will answer for me:
My mind is set on nobler objects farre,
My name and family free from the least stain
Of such ignoble ways; nor have you ought
In all your vast possessions I value,
But your daughter.
'Tis her I love, this year and more she has
Bin Mistress of my life and hopes; the Ring
You tax'd me with, from her hand I newly
Had receiv'd: and if the sternness of a
Father's brow fright not a timerous Maid from
Free discoverie of such thoughts, ask her, and
What she makes not good of all my storie,
Repute me lyer in; a name
I would not for your wealth deserve.
S r Chr.
Speak, Clarinda, saies he true? do'st love him?
Speak boldly, and the truth, what ere it be,
[Page 97] It shall be welcome to a father's ear.
Clar.
Heaven knows I need not blush to own it,
And yet I doe, I love him, Sir,
And have done this—
S r Chr.
Nay, nay, then the rest is plain enough: well
We must make the best of a bad market.
S r Chr. and End whisper
Endimion your advice.
Fan.
Nere advise with him, he's a mere impostor.
Clar.
Now will he raise a new storm.
Beat.
Never fear him, his Astrologie's well worn out by this.
Bell.
Let my Ponyard prevent his malice.
Sh.

He's born to be hang'd I see; because he proves no thief, he'l commit murder.

Bern.
Celia's yours, I tell you; Endimion
Has no love for Clarinda, I know he has not.
Grat.
That assurance revives me.
End.
Assist me now, kind Stars,
To put a period to these Lovers paines,
aside.
And I'le nere trouble you with an other Suit.
S Chr.
My honour lies at state; what shall I doe?
To End.
End.
A fatal chain these several accidents
Are link'd together in, no breaking;
Yeild, yeild to what heaven has decreed, and
Is indeed above halfe done to your hands;
These Lovers were made for one another,
I almost told you so before, in the
Description of the Man she is ordain'd for;
And since one rich in Vertue, not in Land,
Must be your Son in Law, where could you better choose,
Frank Bellamy is nobly bred, as born:
Give free consent then to their happiness,
Let it a fruit of your indulgence to 'em,
And not a forc'd allowance now appear;
That mingled with the joyes we shall wish them,
Our thankes to you on their behalf may flow.
S r Chr.

Well, what must be, must be; I cannot fail however in following that path Heaven has trac'd out for me. Bellamy, I embrace you as my Son, my Daughter's yours.

Bell.
[Page 98]
And I for ever to your goodness bound.
Oh my Clarinda, now y'are mine indeed.
Cel.
Is it thus you keep your promise, Sir Christopher?
This the Justice I look'd for?
My honour suffers still.
S r Chr.

There was no other salve for mine; and Charity be­gins at home, good Lady; remember that still. As much rea­son, for ought I know, to Marry, as to Christen my own Child first.

Cel. to Bell.
to goe, follow that misleading light,
Triumph in thy inconstancy, and let
Thy now-Mistress taste of it in time too;
'Tis that, 'tis that will do me right.
Come, Gratian, I'le keep my word with you;
We'l streight to Church.
Grat.
Most willingly; sweet Lady, I must take her i'th' fit.
Fan.
'T would soon be over else.
End.
Nay, let's not part in anger, Madam; there
Staying her, She slights him.
Are Weddings towards, We should be friends,
And merry then; Lewis call Gratian back.
Lew.
Stay.
Bell.
A Woman's anger is soon over.
Fan.
And a Lad's Love as soon out.
Bell.
Or let it last, who cares?
Fan.
Or the other, who's the better for't?
Cel.

Come, let's hear now, what fine new device you stay me for; Oh! you are a sweet Gentleman, to pass for an Astrologer, and have no more skill then my Chambermaid, or Fannie there.

Fan.
Truely nor so much, for we began to smell him out.
Clar.
When the fit takes you next to make love, Sir,
Jeer­ingly.
Trust to your merit, and not your science,
That you see has deceiv'd you; the match is made now
You set all your Engines a work to break.
How shallow is this art you brag'd of?
Or, How little are you vers'd in't?
Cel.
You told me 'twas but to make trial of me,
Bellamy courted Clarinda, and that
'Twas I he lov'd, when the first sight of him
[Page 99] Proves the contrary; the Stars lend you but
A dimme light, it seemes, that can no better
Read our destiny by it.
Grat.
Did you not perswade me too, that Celia
Ceas'd to love Bellamy? when Heaven knowes
What torture the continued expressions
Of her kindness to him, have put me to.
Burn your bookes, Sir, burn your bookes for shame,
Your lying bookes.
Bell.
'Tis well for him now, I nere was curious
Enough to peep into my destiny,
Nor given that inquisitive way;
I must have had a fling at him too,
Which needes not; there are male-contents enow
To worrie him without me.
To them Lagripe, Rawman.
La-g.

If te Damoisells have done vit teir tale, please you have mine, It is a foul tale, I assure you, of accusation against tis Astrolog too, Did you no promise send me into France fine new way, and me be here in London still? I be Judge by all te Company, if me no here: and vat is very worse, you say I go wit out Robbing, and begare me loose my Purse.

End.

Your grievance is of weight indeed.

La-g.

Of veight? gare my grievance be, you make me lighter by all my Money.

End.
That's easily redress'd, give him his Purse agen;
And no more of these slippery trickes.
Sh.
'Twas but a trick of wit, Sir;
I hope you'l remember the Ensurer, Monsieur.
Giving it him.
La-g.

Yes, I assure you one halter, if you play more such trick of vit.

End.
Now to my pretty chiders:
For even in that, Ladies, you upbraid me with,
Have I matter enough to make my peace.
Cel.
With help of some strange hard non sence,
Your Worship's tearmes of Art.
End.
[Page 100]
In plain English, but first your pardon, Sir,
That I durst play the Astrologer with you,
When nere in all my Studies, nor my Travells
I spent a serious minute to become one.
Sr Chr.
You are no Astrologer then?
End.
None, in good sooth, Sir.
Sr Chr.
You told me so before indeed;
Though my itch of Learning would not let me
Credit it: but now I do believe you▪
He'd nere degrade himself in publick thus,
Could he maintain the height
My credulity had rais'd him to.
End.
And thus may you the better now forgive
The error y'have been in, that still were deaf
To whatsoere I said to disabuse you.
If sooner, Madam, then you durst expect,
To Clar.
A Father's liking crown your Love, and his,
You may thank me for't; your ma [...]ch had nere been
Clapt up thus o'th' sudden, had he not on my
Insinuation believ'd it made in Heaven.
S r Chr.
Truth, I think it had not.
End.
Nor have I done less for you, if well consider'd,
Was it fit so fair a stock of beauty
To Cel.
Should lie begging of a beggar still?
I ve plac'd you where you'l brightest shine,
VVhere love with interest will be paid you back,
Kiss for kiss were poor retaliation.
Bellamy, whom I saw adore Clarinda,
VVas not an Idol fit for you to worship;
While Gratian's heart became a burning sacrifice
VVith fire shot from your killing eyes.
Bern.
Now he tickle's her.
Lew.
She'l forgive all her enemies
For such another clawing speech.
Bell.
Let them complain that suffer, I have my wish;
Nor is your share, I see, so small in the
Procurement of't, but it has made me yours.
I might have percht in Gratian's Cock-loft still,
[Page 101] But for Astrologie.
Grat.
As you have made me no less happie, with
As sincere affection, I vow my self
Your servant: yet let me tell you,
I began to think there was not
Much Astrologie i'th' business neither,
What ever we conceited of you.
End.
Happiness, Gentlemen, is happiness still,
I take it, which way so ere arriv d at.
Something in every design we stalk with
To take the Vulgar eye, when that which does
The work indeed, being unperceiv'd,
It often is ascrib'd to a wrong Cause.
I design'd both these matches, Lewis and
Bernard there can witness for me,
And to your joyes and mine I see 'em made,
Be it with real or fained skill in
What I took upon me, that matter's not.
The pleasures you reap from it are no fictions,
That we all see.
And I expect my thanks accordingly.
Sh.

And you, Sir travellour, that were promis'd you should not be robb'd by the way; prythee, how couldst, if thou hadst gone thy Journey, when I had secur'd thy money here before?

La-g.

Vell, vell, vit one bottle or two de Vine, tis shall be sa­tisfaction; and sirrahs, keark you, no tell my master, you know vat.

Raw.

No, no; we would not hang thee.

Glar.

Bellamy might think that were not my felicitie, he has acknowledged you a furtherer of, did I not pay my thanks too; you have oblig'd us both, Sir.

Cel.

If my Compliment be somewhat colder, Sir, then others you have had from this thankful Companie, impute it to a certain blindness, allows me not yet a full view o'th' happiness y'have plac'd me in; but as my sense of it increases, so shall my Gratitude.

Fan.

I would fain thank you too, Sir; but truly I m beholding t'ee for nothing, but frighting me with the vision of Bellamy.

Sh.

Now for our squeakers.

Ex. Raw.
End.

Why I pass'd for an Astrologer, or how, without being one, [Page 102] I knew enough of your adventures to make th' opinion good a while, Beatrix can partly tell.

Bell.
The distaff was of Counsel.
End.

The rest may better come from Lewis there, or Bernard; and be part of their Apologie.

Bell.
They in th' Intrigue too?
End.
Grand Intriguers.
S r Chr.

All this we'l hear at leasure; 'twill make an excellent storie, when we have it all together: but now let's in, the air grows cold, though love and youth keep you from feeling it—what fidlers?

Musick
Sh.

Yes in truth, Sir; I saw there would be a Wedding or two, and made bold to invite 'em in; there's no mirth without Musick, Sir.

S r Chr.
Why God-a-mercy; come, strike up there,
A kissing dance to please these Wenches.
Sh.
A kissing dance! nay then, I will make one,
I'm resolv'd on't. Come Beatrix.
Fan.
You may dance, Sir; but we'l have no kissing,
'Tis not come to that yet.
Sh.
You are not quite come to 't indeed;
But here are riper lips.
Cel.
She tells you true, Sir; 'tis not come to that yet.
Fan.
Play my delight.
Sh.
Thy Mistress forbids no kissing.
Beat.
No, I warrant her.
Raw.
She goes to't with a better stomack.
Sh.
And they wont kiss
They shall dance by themselves for Shift.
Beat.
And for Beatrix too.
Dance.
S r Chr.

Brisk youths on my credit: come, to supper; nothing but welcome can I promise though o'th' sudden; but when my Girl is married

I'le feast you all, and nobly, that are here;
So your dislike blast not our Wedding cheare.
FINIS.

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