SCENE I. Walks near the Court.

BEliza, bring the Lute into this Arbor, the Walks are empty: I would try the Song the Princess Amalthea bad me learn.

Madam, a Stranger.

I did not think to have had witnesses of my bad sing­ing.

If I have err'd, Madam, I hope you'l pardon the curi­osity of a Stranger; for I may well call my self so, after five years absence from the Court: But you have freed me from one error.

What's that, I beseech you?

I thought good voices, and ill faces, had been insepa­rable; and that to be fair and sing well, had been onely the priviledge of Angels.

And how many more of these fine things can you say to me?

Very few, Madam, for if I should continue to see you some hours longer: You look so killingly, that I should be mute with wonder.

This will not give you the reputation of a Wit with me: you travelling Monsieurs live upon the stock you have got a­broad, for the first day or two: to repeat with a good memo­ry, and apply with a good grace, is all your wit. And, com­monly, [Page 3] your Gullets are sew'd up, like Cormorants: When you have regorg'd what you have taken in, you are the leanest things in Nature.

Then, Madam, I think you had best make that use of me; let me wait on you for two or three days together, and you shall hear all I have learnt of extraordinary, in other Coun­treys: And one thing which I never saw till I came home, that is, a Lady of a better voice, better face, and better wit, than any I have seen abroad. And, after this, if I should not declare my self most passionately in love with you, I should have less wit than yet you think I have.

A very plain, and pithy Declaration. I see, Sir, you have been travelling in Spain or Italy, or some of the hot Coun­treys, where men come to the point immediately. But are you sure these are not words of course? For I would not give my poor heart an occasion of complaint against me, that I engag'd it too rashly, and then could not bring it off.

Your heart may trust it self with me safely; I shall use it very civilly while it stays, and never turn it away, without fair warning to provide for it self.

First, then, I do receive your passion with as little con­sideration, on my part, as ever you gave it me, on yours. And now see what a miserable wretch you have made your self.

Who, I miserable? Thank you for that. Give me love enough, and life enough, and I defie Fortune.

Know then, thou man of vain imagination, know, to thy utter confusion, that I am vertuous.

Such another word, and I give up the ghost.

Then, to strike you quite dead, know, that I am marry'd too.

Art thou marry'd; O thou damnable vertuous Wo­man?

Yes, marry'd to a Gentleman; young, handsome, rich, valiant, and with all the good qualities that will make you de­spair, and hang your self.

Well, in spight of all that, I'll love you: Fortune has cut us out for one another; for I am to be marry'd within these three days. Marry'd past redemption, to a young, fair, rich, and [Page 4] vertuous Lady: And, it shall go hard, but I will love my Wife as little, as I perceive you do your Husband.

Remember I invade no propriety: My servant you are onely till you are marry'd.

In the mean time, you are to forget you have a Hus­band.

And you, that you are to have a Wife.

O Madam, my Lord's just at the end of the Walks; and, if you make not haste, will discover you.

Some other time, new Servant, we'll talk further of the premisses; in the mean while, break not my first commandment, that is, not to follow me.

But where, then, shall I find you again?

At Court. Yours for two days, Sir.

And nights, I beseech you, Madam.

Well, I'll say that for thee, thou art a very dextrous Executioner; thou hast done my business at one stroke: Yet I must marry another— and yet I must love this; and if it lead me into some little inconveniencies, as jealousies, and duels, and death, and so forth; yet while sweet love is in the case, Fortune do thy worst, and avant Mortality.

Leave 'em with my Lieutenant, while I fetch new Or­ders from the King. How? Palamede!

Rhodophil!

Who thought to have seen you in Sicily?

Who thought to have found the Court so far from Syracuse?

The King best knows the reason of the progress. But answer me, I beseech you, what brought you home from travel?

The commands of an old rich Father.

And the hopes of burying him?

Both together, as you see, have prevail'd on my good [Page 5] nature. In few words, My old man has already marry'd me; for he has agreed with another old man, as rich and as covetous as himself; the Articles are drawn, and I have given my con­sent, for fear of being dis-inherited; and yet know not what kind of woman I am to marry.

Sure your Father intends you some very ugly wife; and has a mind to keep you in ignorance, till you have shot the gulf.

I know not that; but obey I will, and must.

Then, I cannot chuse but grieve for all the good Girls and Curtizans of France and Italy: They have lost the most kind-hearted, doting, prodigal, humble servant, in Europe.

All I could do in these three years, I stay'd behind you, was to comfort the poor Creatures, for the loss of you. But what's the reason that in all this time, a friend could never hear from you?

Alass, dear Palamede, I have had no joy to write, nor indeed to do any thing in the World to please me: The greatest misfortune imaginable is faln upon me.

Prithee, what's the matter?

In one word, I am marry'd; wretchedly marry'd; and have been above these two years. Yes, faith, the Devil has had power over me, in spight of my Vows and Resolutions to the contrary.

I find you have sold your self for filthy lucre; she's old, or ill-condition'd.

No, none of these: I'm sure she's young; and, for her humor, she laughs, sings, and dances eternally; and, which is more, we never quarrel about it, for I do the same.

You're very unfortunate indeed: Then the case is plain, she is not handsome.

A great beauty too, as people say.

As people say? Why, you should know that best your self.

Ask those, who have smelt to a strong perfume two years together, what's the scent.

But here are good qualities enough for one wo­man

[Page 6]

Ay, too many, Palamede, if I could put 'em into three or four women, I should be content.

O, now I have found it, you dislike her for no other reason, but because she's your wife.

And is not that enough? All that I know of her per­fections now, is only by memory; I remember, indeed, that about two years ago I lov'd her passionately; but those golden days are gone, Palamede: Yet I lov'd her a whole half year, double the natural term of any Mistress, and think in my con­science I could have held out another quarter; but then the World began to laugh at me, and a certain shame of being out of fashion, seiz'd me: At last, we arriv'd at that point, that there was nothing left in us to make us new to one another: yet still I set a good face upon the matter, and am infinite fond of her before company; but, when we are alone, we walk like Lions in a room, she one way, and I another: and we lie with our backs to each other so far distant, as if the fashion of great Beds was onely invented to keep Husband and Wife sufficiently asunder.

The truth is, your disease is very desperate; but, though you cannot be cur'd, you may be patch'd up a little; you must get you a Mistress, Rhodophil: that, indeed, is living upon Cordials; but, as fast as one fails, you must supply it with another. You're like a Gamester, who has lost his estate; yet, in doing that, you have learn'd the advantages of Play, and can arrive to live upon't.

Truth is, I have been thinking on't, and have just re­solv'd to take your counsel; and, faith, considering the damn'd disadvantages of a marry'd man, I have provided well enough, for a poor humble sinner, that is not ambitious of great matters.

What is she, for a Woman?

One of the Stars of Syracuse, I assure you: Young enough, fair enough, and, but, for one quality, Just such a woman as I would wish.

O Friend, this is not an age to be critical in Beauty: when we had good store of handsome women, and but few Chapmen, you might have been more curious in your choice; [Page 7] but now the price is enhanc'd upon us, and all Mankind set up for Mistresses, so that poor little creatures, without beauty, birth, or breeding, but onely impudence, go off at unreasonable rates: and a man, in these hard times, snaps at 'em, as he does at Broad-gold, never examines the weight, but takes light, or heavy, as he can get it.

But my Mistris has one fault that's almost unpardonable; for, being a Town-Lady, without any relation to the Court, yet she thinks her self undone, if she be not seen there three or four times a day, with the Princess Amalthea. And for the King, she haunts, and watches him so narrowly in a morning, that she pre­vents even the Chymists who beset his Chamber, to turn their Mercury into his Gold.

Yet, hitherto, me-thinks, you are no very unhappy man.

With all this, she's the greatest Gossip in Nature; for, besides the Court, she's the most eternal Visiter of the Town: and yet manages her time so well, that she seems ubiquitary. For my part, I can compare her to nothing but the Sun; for, like him, she takes no rest, nor ever sets in one place, but to rise in another.

I confess she had need be handsome with these qualities.

No Lady can be so curious of a new Fashion, as she is of a new French-word; she's the very Mint of the Nation; and as fast as any Bullion comes out of France, coins it immediately into our Language.

And her name is—

No naming; that's not like a Cavalier: Find her, if you can, by my description; and I am not so ill a painter, that I need write the name beneath the Picture.

Well, then, how far have you proceeded in your love?

'Tis yet in the bud, and what fruit it may bear I cannot tell; for this insufferable humour, of haunting the Court, is so predominant, that she has hitherto broken all her assignations with me, for fear of missing her visits there.

That's the hardest part of your adventure: but, for ought I see, Fortune has us'd us both alike; I have a strange kind of Mistris too in Court, besides her I am to marry.

You have made haste to be in love then; for, if I am [Page 8] not mistaken, you are but this day arriv'd.

That's all one, I have seen the Lady already, who has charm'd me, seen her in these Walks, courted her, and receiv'd, for the first time, an answer that does not put me into despair.

I'll tell you at more leisure my adventures. The Walks fill apace, I see. Stay, is not that the young Lord Argaleon, the Kings Favourite?

Yes, and as proud as ever, as ambitious, and as revengeful.

How keeps he the Kings favour with these qualities?

Argaleon's father help'd him to the Crown: besides, he gilds over all his vices to the King, and, standing in the dark to him, sees all his inclinations, interests and humours, which he so times and sooths, that, in effect, he reigns.

His sister Amalthea, who, I ghess, stands by him, seems not to be of his temper.

O, she's all goodness and generosity.

Rhodophil, the King expects you earnestly.

'Tis done, my Lord, what he commanded: I onely wait­ed his return from Hunting. Shall I attend your Lordship to him?

No; I go first another way.

He seems in haste, and discompos'd.

Your friend? then he must needs be of much merit.

When he has kis'd the King's hand, I know he'll beg the honour to kiss yours. Come, Palamede.

Madam, you tell me most surprising news.

[Page 9] [Page 15]

SCENE I.

COunt Rhodophil's a fine Gentleman indeed, Madam; and I think deserves your affection.

Let me die but he's a fine man; he sings, and dances [Page 16] en Francois, and writes the Billets doux to a miracle.

And those are no small tallents, to a Lady that under­stands, and values the French ayr, as your Ladiship does.

How charming is the French ayr! and what an etourdy bete is one of our untravel'd Islanders! when he would make his Court to me, let me die, but he is just Aesop's Ass, that would imitate the courtly French in his addresses; but, in stead of those, comes pawing upon me, and doing all things so mal a droitly.

'Tis great pity Rhodophil's a married man, that you may not have an honourable Intrigue with him.

Intrigue, Philotis! that's an old phrase; I have laid that word by: Amour sounds better. But thou art heir to all my cast words, as thou art to my old Wardrobe. Oh Count Rhodophil! Ah mon cher! I could live and die with him.

Sir, this is my Lady.

Then this is she that is to be Divine, and Nymph, and Goddess, and with whom I am to be desperately in love.

This Letter, Madam, which I present you from your father, has given me both the happy opportunity, and the boldness, to kiss the fairest hands in Sicily.

Came you lately from Palermo, Sir?

But yesterday, Madam.

Sir, my Father, for whom I have a blind obe­dience, [Page 17] has commanded me to receive your passionate addresses; but you must also give me leave to avow, that I cannot merit 'em, from so accomplish'd a Cavalier.

I want many things, Madam, to render me accomplish'd; and the first and greatest of 'em, is your favour.

Let me die, Philotis, but this is extremely French; but yet Count Rhodophil— A Gentleman, Sir, that un­derstands the Grand mond so well, who has hanted the best con­versations, and who (in short) has voyag'd, may pretend to the good graces of any Lady.

Hay day! Grand mond! conversation! voyag'd! and good graces! I find my Mistris is one of those that run mad in new French words.

I suppose, Sir, you have made the Tour of France; and having seen all that's fine there, will make a considerable re­formation in the rudeness of our Court: for, let me die, but an unfashion'd, untravel'd, meer Sicilian, is a Bete; and has no­thing in the world of an honete homme.

I must confess, Madam, that—

And what new Minouets have you brought over with you! their Minouets are to a miracle! and our Sicilian Iigs are so dull and fad to 'em!

For Minouets, Madam—

And what new Plays are there in vogue? and who danc'd best in the last Grand Ballet? Come, sweet Servant, you shall tell me all.

Tell her all? why, she asks all, and will hear nothing— To answer in order, Madam, to your demands—

I am thinking what a happy couple we shall be! for you shall keep up your correspondence abroad, and every thing that's new writ, in France, and fine, I mean all that's delicate, and bien tourné, we will have first.

But, Madam, our fortune—

I understand you, Sir; you'l leave that to me: for the mennage of a family, I know it better then any Lady in Sicily.

Alas, Madam, we—

Then, we will never make visits together, nor see a Play, but always apart; you shall be every day at the King's [Page 18] Levé, and I at the Queen's; and we will never meet, but in the Drawing-room.

Madam, the new Prince is just pass'd by the end of the Walk.

The new Prince, say'st thou? Adieu, dear Servant; I have not made my court to him these two long hours. O, 'tis the sweetest Prince! so obligeant, charmant, ravissant, that— Well, I'll make haste to kiss his hands; and then make half a score visits more, and be with you again in a twinkling.

Now heaven, of thy mercy, bless me from this tongue; it may keep the field against a whole Army of Lawyers, and that in their own language, French Gibberish. 'Tis true, in the day-time, 'tis tolerable, when a man has field-room to run from it; but, to be shut up in a bed with her, like two Cocks in a pit; humanity cannot support it: I must kiss all night, in my own defence, and hold her down, like a Boy at cuffs, nay, and give her the rising blow every time she begins to speak.

But here comes Rhodophil. 'Tis pretty odd that my Mistris should so much resemble his: the same News-monger, the same passionate lover of a Court, the same —. But Basta, since I must marry her, I'll say nothing, because he shall not laugh at my misfortune.

Well, Palamede, how go the affairs of love? You've seen your Mistris?

I have so.

And how, and how? has the old Cupid, your Father, chosen well for you? is he a good Woodman?

She's much handsomer then I could have imagin'd: In short, I love her, and will marry her.

Then you are quite off from your other Mistris?

You are mistaken, I intend to love 'em both, as a rea­sonable man ought to do. For, since all women have their faults, and imperfections, 'tis fit that one of 'em should help out t'other.

[Page 19]

This were a blessed Doctrine, indeed, if our Wives would hear it; but, they're their own enemies: if they would suffer us but now and then to make excursions, the benefit of our variety would be theirs; instead of one continu'd, lazy, tyr'd love, they would, in their turns, have twenty vigorous, fresh, and active loves.

And I would ask any of 'em, whether a poor narrow Brook, half dry the best part of the year, and running ever one way, be to be compar'd to a lusty Stream, that has Ebbs and Flows?

Ay; or is half so profitable for Navigation?

Ods my life, Rhodophil, will you keep my counsel?

Yes: where's the secret?

There 'tis.

I may tell you, as my friend, sub sigillo, &c. this is that very nu­merical Lady, with whom I am in love.

By all that's vertuous, my Wife!

You look strangely: how do you like her? is she not very handsome?

You are so dogged now, you think no man's Mistris handsome, but your own. Come, you shall hear her talk too; she has wit, I assure you.

This is too much, Palamede.

Prethee do not hang back so: of an old

try'd Lover, thou art the most bashful fellow!

Were you so near, and would not

speak, dear Husband?

Husband, quoth a! I have cut out a fine piece of work for my self.

Pray, Spouse, how long have you been acquainted with this Gentleman?

Thanks, Fortune, thou hast help'd me.

Palamede, this must not pass so: I must know your Mi­stris a little better.

It shall be your own fault else. Come, I'll introduce you.

Introduce me! where?

There. To my Mistris.

I find he has wit, he has got off so readily; but it would anger me, if he should love Melantha.

Now I could e'en wish it were my Wife he lov'd: I find he's to be marri'd to my Mistris.

Shall I run after, and fetch her back again, to present you to her?

No, you need not; I have the honour to have some small acquaintance with her.

O Iupiter! what a blockhead was I not to find it out! My Wife that must be, is his Mistris. I did a little suspect it before; well, I must marry her, because she's handsome, and because I hate to be dis-inherited for a younger Brother, which I am sure I shall be if I disobey; and yet I must keep in with Rhodophil, because I love his Wife.

I must desire you to make my excuse to your Lady, if I have been so unfortunate to cause any mistake; and, withall, to beg the honour of being known to her.

O, that's but reason. Hark you, Spouse, pray look up­on this Gentleman as my friend; whom, to my knowledge, you have never seen before this hour.

I'm so obedient a Wife, Sir, that my Husbands com­mands shall ever be a Law to me.

O, my dear, I was just going to pay my devoirs to you; I had not time this morning, for making my Court to the King, and our new Prince. Well never Nation was so happy, and all that, in a young Prince; and he's the kindest person in the World to me, let me die, if he is not.

He has been bred up far from Court, and therefore—

That imports not: Though he has not seen the Grand mond, and all that, let me die but he has the air of the Court, most absolutely.

But yet, Madam, he—

O, Servant, you can testifie that I am in his good Graces. Well, I cannot stay long with you, because I have promis'd him this Afternoon to— But hark you, my dear, I'll tell you a Secret.

The Devil's in me, that I must love this Woman.

The Devil's in me, that I must marry this Woman.

So the Prince and I— But you must make a Secret of this, my dear, for I would not for the World your Husband should hear it, or my Tyrant, there, that must be.

Well, fair impertinent, your whisper is not lost, we hear you.

I understand then, that —

I'll tell you, my dear, the Prince took me by the hand, and press'd it al a derobbée, because the King was near, made the doux yeux to me, and, in suitte, said a thousand, Gallanteries, or let me die, my dear.

Then I am sure you —

You are mistaken, my dear.

What, before I speak?

But I know your meaning; you think, my dear, that I assum'd something of fierté into my Countenance, to rebute him; but, quite contrary, I regarded him, I know not how to express it in our dull Sicilian Language, d'un ayr enjonné; and said no­thing [Page 22] but ad auire, ad autre, and that it was all grimace, and would not pass upon me.

My dear, I must beg your pardon, I was just making a loose from Doralice, to pay my respects to you: Let me die, if I ever pass time so agreeably as in your company, and if I would leave it for any Lady's in Sicily.

The Princess Amalthea is coming this way.

O dear Madam! I have been at your Lodgings, in my new Galeche, so often, to tell you of a new Amour, betwixt two persons whom you would little suspect for it; that, let me die, if one of my Coach-horses be not dead, and another quite tyr'd, and sunk under the fatigue.

O, Melantha, I can tell you news, the Prince is coming this way.

The Prince, O sweet Prince! He and I are to— and I forgot it. — Your pardon, sweet Madam, for my ab­ruptness. Adieu, my dears. Servant, Rodophil; Servant, Ser­vant, Servant All.

Rodophil, a word with you.

Why do you not follow your Mistress, Sir?

Follow her? Why, at this rate she'll be at the Indies within this half hour.

However, if you can't follow her all day, you'll meet her at night, I hope?

But can you, in charity, suffer me to be so mortify'd, without affording me some relief? If it be but to punish that sign of a Husband there; that lazy matrimony, that dull insipid taste, who leaves such delicious fare at home▪ to dine abroad, on worse meat, and to pay dear for't into the bargain.

All this is in vain: Assure your self, I will never admit of any visit from you in private.

[Page 23]

That is to tell me, in other words, my condition is desperate.

I think you in so ill a condition, that I am resolved to pray for you, this very evening, in the close Walk, behind the Terras; for that's a private place, and there I am sure no body will disturb my devotions. And so, good-night, Sir.

This is the newest way of making an appointment, I ever heard of: let women alone to contrive the means; I find we are but dunces to 'em. Well, I will not be so prophane a wretch as to interrupt her devotions; but to make 'em more effectual, I'll down upon my knees, and endeavour to joyn my own with 'em.

I know already they do not love each other; and that my Brother acts but a forc'd obedience to the Kings commands; so that, if a quarrel should arise betwixt the Prince and him, I were most miserable on both sides.

There shall be nothing wanting in me, Madam, to pre­vent so sad a consequence.

I begin to hate this Palamede, because he is to marry my Mistris: yet break with him I dare not, for fear of being quite excluded from her company. 'Tis a hard case when a man must go by his Rival to his Mistris: but 'tis at worst but using him like a pair of heavy Boots in a dirty jour­ney; after I have foul'd him all day, I'll throw him off at night.

This honour is too great for me to hope.

[Page 27]

SCENE I.

MY own dear heart!

My own true love!

I had forgot my self to be so kind; indeed I am very angry with you, dear; you are come home an hour after you ap­pointed: If you had staid a minute longer, I was just consider­ing, whether I should stab, hang, or drown my self.

Nothing but the King's business could have hinder'd me; and I was so vext, that I was just laying down my Com­mission, [Page 31] rather then have fail'd my Dear.

Why, this is love as it should be, betwixt Man and Wife: such another Couple would bring Marriage into fashi­on again. But is it always thus betwixt you?

Always thus! this is nothing. I tell you there is not such a pair of Turtles in all Sicily; there is such an eternal Cooing and kissing betwixt us, that indeed it is scandalous be­fore civil company.

Well, if I had imagin'd, I should have been this fond fool, I would never have marri'd the man I lov'd: I marri'd to be happy; and have made my self miserable, by over-loving. Nay, and now, my case is desperate; for I have been marry'd above these two years, and find my self every day worse and worse in love: nothing but madness can be the end on't.

Doat on, to the extremity, and you are happy.

He deserves so infinitely much, that, the truth is, there can be no doating in the matter; but to love well, I confess, is a work that pays it self: 'tis telling gold, and after taking it for ones pains.

By that I should be a very covetous person; for I am ever pulling out my money, and putting it into my pocket again.

O dear Rhodophil!

O sweet Doralice!

Nay, I am resolv'd, I'll never interrupt Lovers: I'll leave 'em as happy as I found 'em.

What, is she gone?

Yes; and without taking leave.

Then there's enough for this time

Yes sure, the Scene's done, I take it.

Pox o' your dull tune, a man can't think for you.

Pox o' your damn'd whistling; you can neither be com­pany to me your self, nor leave me to the freedom of my own fancy.

[Page 32]

Well, thou art the most provoking Wife!

Well, thou art the dullest Husband, thou art never to be provok'd,

I was never thought dull, till I marry'd thee; and now thou hast made an old knife of me, thou hast whetted me so long, till I have no edge left.

I see you are in the Husbands fashion; you reserve all your good humours for your Mistresses, and keep your ill for your wives.

Prethee leave me to my own cogitations; I am think­ing over all my sins, to find for which of them it was I marry'd thee.

Whatever your sin was, mine's the punishment.

My comfort is, thou art not immortal; and when that blessed, that divine day comes, of thy departure, I'm resolv'd I'll make one Holy-day more in the Almanack, for thy sake.

Ay, you had need make a Holy-day for me, for I am sure you have made me a Martyr.

Then, setting my victorious foot upon thy head, in the first hour of thy silence, (that is, the first hour thou art dead, for I despair of it before) I will swear by thy Ghost, an oath as terrible to me, as Styx is to the Gods, never more to be in dan­ger of the Banes of Matrimony.

And I am resolv'd to marry the very same day thou dy'st, if it be but to show how little I'm concern'd for thee.

Prethee, Doralice, why do we quarrel thus a-days? ha? this is but a kind of Heathenish life, and does not answer the ends of marriage. If I have err'd, propound what reasonable atonement may be made, before we sleep, and I shall not be refractory: but withall consider, I have been marry'd these three years, and be not too tyrannical.

What should you talk of a peace abed, when you can give no security for performance of Articles?

Then, since we must live together, and both of us stand upon our terms, as to matter of dying first, let us make our selves as merry as we can with our misfortunes.

[Page 33]Why there's the devil on't! if thou couldst make my enjoy­ing thee but a little less easie, or a little more unlawful, thou shouldst see, what a Termagant Lover I would prove. I have taken such pains to enjoy thee, Doralice, that I have fanci'd thee all the fine women in the Town, to help me out. But now there's none left for me to think on, my imagination is quite jaded. Thou art a Wife, and thou wilt be a Wife, and I can make thee another no longer.

Well, since thou art a Husband, and wilt be a Husband, I'll try if I can find out another! 'Tis a pretty time we Women have on't, to be made Widows, while we are marry'd. Our Husbands think it reasonable to complain, that we are the same, and the same to them, when we have more reason to com­plain, that they are not the same to us. Because they cannot feed on one dish, therefore we must be starv'd. 'Tis enough that they have a sufficient Ordinary provided, and a Table ready spread for 'em: if they cannot fall too and eat heartily, the fault is theirs; and 'tis pity, me-thinks, that the good crea­ture should be lost, when many a poor sinner would be glad on't.

Dear, my dear, pity me; I am so chagrin to day, and have had the most signal affront at Court! I went this after­noon to do my devoir to Princess Amalthea, found her, con­vers'd with her, and help'd to make her court some half an hour; after which, she went to take the ayr, chose out two Ladies to go with her, that came in after me, and left me most barbarously behind her.

You are the less to be piti'd, Melantha, because you sub­ject your self to these affronts, by coming perpetually to Court, where you have no business nor employment.

I declare, I had rather of the two, be railly'd, nay, mal traittée at Court, then be Deifi'd in the Town: for, assuredly, nothing can be so ridicule, as a meer Town-Lady.

Especially at Court. How I have seen 'em crowd and sweat in the Drawing-room, on a Holiday-night! for that's [Page 34] their time to swarm, and invade the Presence. O, how they catch at a bow, or any little salute from a Courtier, to make show of their acquaintance! and rather then be thought to be quite unknown, they court'sie to one another; but they take true pains to come near the Circle, and press and peep upon the Princess, to write Letters into the Countrey how she was dress'd, while the Ladies that stand about make their court to her with abusing them.

These are sad truths, Melantha; and therefore I would e'en advise you to quit the Court, and live either wholly in the Town; or, if you like not that, in the Countrey.

In the Countrey! nay, that's to fall beneath the Town; for they live there upon our offals here: their entertainment of wit, is onely the remembrance of what they had when they were last in Town; they live this year upon the last years knowledge, as their Cattel do all night, by chewing the Cud of what they eat in the afternoon.

And they tell, for news, such unlikely stories; a letter from one of us is such a present to 'em, that the poor souls wait for the Carriers-day with such devotion, that they cannot sleep the night before.

No more then I can, the night before I am to go a journey.

Or I, before I am to try on a new Gown.

A Song that's stale here, will be new there a twelve-moneth hence; and if a man of the Town by chance come amongst 'em, he's reverenced for teaching 'em the Tune.

A friend of mine, who makes Songs sometimes, came lately out of the West, and vow'd he was so put out of coun­t'nance with a Song of his; for at the first Countrey-Gentle­man's he visited, he saw three Tailors cross-leg'd upon the Ta­ble in the Hall, who were tearing out as loud as ever they could sing,

and all that day he heard nothing else, but the Daughters of the house and the Maids, humming it over in every corner, and the Father whistling it.

[Page 35]

Indeed I have observ'd of my self, that when I am out of Town but a fortnight, I am so humble, that I would receive a Letter from my Tailor or Mercer for a favour.

When I have been at grass in the Summer, and am new come up again, methinks I'm to be turn'd into ridicule by all that see me; but when I have been once or twice at Court, I begin to value my self again, and to despise my Countrey-acquaintance.

There are places where all people may be ador'd, and we ought to know our selves so well as to chuse 'em.

That's very true; your little Courtiers wife, who speaks to the King but once a moneth, need but go to a Town-Lady; and there she may vapour, and cry, The King and I, at every word. Your Town-Lady, who is laugh'd at in the Circle, takes her Coach into the City, and there she's call'd your Honour, and has a Banquet from the Merchants Wife, whom she laughs at for her kindness. And, as for my finical Cit, she removes but to her Countrey-house, and there insults over the Coun­trey Gentlewoman that never comes up; who treats her with Frumity and Custard, and opens her dear bottle of Mirabilis beside, for a Jill-glass of it at parting.

At last, I see, we shall leave Melantha where we found her; for, by your description of the Town and Countrey, they are become more dreadful to her, then the Court, where she was affronted. But you forget we are to wait on the Princess Amalthea. Come, Doralice.

Farewell, Melantha.

Adieu, my dear.

You are out of charity with her, and therefore I shall not give your service.

Do not omit it, I beseech you; for I have such a ten­der for the Court, that I love it ev'n from the Drawing-room to the Lobby, and can never be rebutée by any usage. But, hark you, my Dears, one thing I had forgot of great con­cernment.

Quickly then, we are in haste.

Do not call it my service, that's too vulgar; but do my baise mains to the Princess Amalthea; that is Spirituelle!

[Page 36]

To do you service then, we will prendre the Carrosse to Court, and do your Baise mains to the Princess Amalthea, in your phrase Spirituellé.

O, are you there, Minion? And, well, are not you a most precious damsel, to retard all my visits for want of lan­guage, when you know you are paid so well for furnishing me with new words for my daily conversation? Let me die, if I have not run the risque already, to speak like one of the vul­gar; and if I have one phrase left in all my store that is not thrid-bare & usè, and fit for nothing but to be thrown to Peasants.

Indeed, Madam, I have been very diligent in my vo­cation; but you have so drain'd all the French Plays and Ro­mances, that they are not able to supply you with words for your daily expences.

'Tis here, Madam.

O, my Venus! fourteen or fifteen words to serve me a whole day! Let me die, at this rate I cannot last till night. Come, read your works: twenty to one half of 'em will not pass muster neither.

Sottises.

Sottises: bon. That's an excellent word to begin with­all: as for example; He, or she said a thousand Sottises to me. Proceed.

Naive! as how?

Speaking of a thing that was naturally said; It was so naive: or such an innocent piece of simplicity; 'twas such a naivetè.

Truce with your interpretations: make haste.

Foible, Chagrin, Grimace, Embarrasse, Double entendre, Equivoque, Esclaircissement, Suittè, Beveue, Facòn, Panchant, Coup d' etourdy, and Ridicule.

[Page 37]

Hold, hold; how did they begin?

They began at Sottises, and ended en Ridicule.

Now give me your Paper in my hand, and hold you my Glass, while I practise my postures for the day.

How does that laugh become my face?

Sovereignly well, Madam.

Sovereignly! Let me die, that's not amiss. That word shall not be yours; I'll invent it, and bring it up my self: my new Point Gorget shall be yours upon't: not a word of the word, I charge you.

I am dumb, Madam.

That glance, how sutes it with my face?

'Tis so languissant.

Languissant! that word shall be mine too, and my last Indian-Gown thine for't.

That sigh?

'Twill make many a man sigh, Madam. 'Tis a meer In­cendiary.

Take my Guimp Petticoat for that truth. If thou hast more of these phrases, let me die but I could give away all my Wardrobe, and go naked for 'em.

Go naked? then you would be a Venus, Madam. O Iu­piter! what had I forgot? this Paper was given me by Rhodo­phil's Page.

Rhodophil, you'll wonder at my assurance to meet you here; let me die, I am so out of breath with coming, that I can ren­der you no reason of it. Then he will make this repartee; [Page 38] Madam, I have no reason to accuse you for that which is so great a favour to me. Then I reply, But why have you drawn me to this solitary place? let me die but I am apprehensive of some violence from you. Then, says he; Solitude, Madam, is most fit for Lovers; but by this fair hand—Nay, now I vow you're rude. Sir. O fie, fie, fie; I hope you'l be honourable? — You'd laugh at me if I should, Madam— What do you mean to throw me down thus? Ah me! ah, ah, ah.

O Venus! the King and Court. Let me die but I fear they have found my foible, and will turn me into ridicule.

[Page 41]

SCENE II.

'TIs a strange thing that no warning will serve your turn; and that no retirement will secure me from your impertinent addresses! Did not I tell you, that I was to be private here at my devotions?

Yes; and you see I have observ'd my Cue exactly: I am come to releive you from them. Come, shut up, shut up your Book; the man's come who is to supply all your necessities.

[Page 45]

Then, it seems, you are so impudent to think it was an assignation? this, I warrant, was your lewd interpretation of my innocent meaning.

Venus forbid that I should harbour so unreasonable a thought of a fair young Lady, that you should lead me hither into temptation. I confess I might think indeed it was a kind of honourable challenge, to meet privately without Seconds, and decide the difference betwixt the two Sexes; but heaven forgive me if I thought amiss.

You thought too, I'll lay my life on't, that you might as well make love to me, as my Husband does to your Mistris.

I was so unreasonable to think so too.

And then you wickedly inferr'd, that there was some justice in the revenge of it: or at least but little injury; for a man to endeavour to enjoy that, which he accounts a blessing, and which is not valu'd as it ought by the dull possessour. Con­fess your wickedness, did you not think so?

I confess I was thinking so, as fast as I could; but you think so much before me, that you will let me think nothing.

'Tis the very thing that I design'd: I have forestall'd all your arguments, and left you without a word more, to plead for mercy. If you have any thing farther to offer, ere Sentence pass— Poor Animal, I brought you hither onely for my diversion.

That you may have, if you'll make use of me the right way; but I tell thee, woman, I am now past talking.

But it may be, I came hither to hear what fine things you could say for your self.

You would be very angry, to my knowledge, if I should lose so much time to say many of 'em— By this hand you would—

Fie, Palamede, I am a woman of honour.

I see you are; you have kept touch with your assigna­tion: and before we part, you shall find that I am a man of ho­nour— yet I have one scruple of conscience—

I warrant you will not want some naughty argument or other to satisfie your self— I hope you are afraid of be­traying your friend?

[Page 46]

Of betraying my friend! I am more afraid of being betray'd by you to my friend. You women now are got into the way of telling first your selves: a man who has any care of his reputation will be loath to trust it with you.

O you charge your faults upon our Sex: you men are like Cocks, you never make love, but you clap your wings, and crow when you have done.

Nay, rather you women are like Hens; you never lay, but you cackle an hour after, to discover your Nest— But I'll venture it for once.

To convince you that you are in the wrong, I'll retire into the dark Grotto, to my devotion, and make so little noise, that it shall be impossible for you to find me.

But if I find you—

Ay, if you find me— But I'll put you to search in more corners then you imagine.

Let me die, but this solitude, and that Grotto are scan­dalous; I'll go no further; besides, you have a sweet Lady of your own.

But a sweet Mistris, now and then, makes my sweet La­dy so much more sweet.

I hope you will not force me?

But I will, if you desire it.

Where the devil are you, Madam? S'death, I begin to be weary of this hide and seek: if you stay a little longer, till the fit's over, I'll hide in my turn, and put you to the finding me.

How! Rhodophil and my Mistris!

My servant to apprehend me! this is Surprenant au der­nièr.

I must on; there's nothing but impudence can help me out.

Rhodophil, How came you hither in so good com­pany?

[Page 47]

As you see, Palamede; an effect of pure friendship; I was not able to live without you.

But what makes my Mistris with you?

Why, I heard you were here alone, and could not in ci­vility but bring her to you.

You'll pardon the effects of a passion which I may now avow for you, if it transported me beyond the rules of bien seance.

But who told you I was here? they that told you that, may tell you more, for ought I know.

O, for that matter, we had intelligence.

But let me tell you, we came hither so very privately, that you could not trace us.

Us? what us? you are alone.

Us! the devil's in me for mistaking: me, I meant. Or us; that is, you are me, or I you, as we are friends: that's us.

Palamede, Palamede.

I should know that voice? who's within there, that calls you?

Faith I can't imagine; I believe the place is haunted.

Palamede, Palamede, All-cocks hidden.

Lord, lord, what shall I do? Well, dear friend, to let you see I scorn to be jealous, and that I dare trust my Mistris with you, take her back, for I would not willingly have her frighted, and I am resolv'd to see who's there; I'll not be danted with a Bug-bear, that's certain: prethee dispute it not, it shall be so; nay, do not put me to swear, but go quickly: there's an effect of pure friendship for you now.

Doralice! I am thunder-struck to see you here.

So am I! quite thunder-struck. Was it you that call [...]d me within? (I must be impudent.)

How came you hither, Spouse?

Ay, how came you hither? And, which is more, how could you be here without my knowledge?

O, Gentleman, have I caught you i'faith! [Page 48] have I broke forth in ambush upon you! I thought my suspi­cions would prove true.

O, you feign ignorance: why, of you and Melantha; here have I staid these two hours, waiting with all the rage of a passionate, loving wife, but infinitely jealous, to take you two in the manner; for hither I was certain you would come.

But you are mistaken, Spouse, in the occasion; for we came hither on purpose to find Palamede, on intelligence he was gone before.

I'll be hang'd then if the same party who gave you in­telligence, I was here, did not tell your wife you would come hither: now I smell the malice on't on both sides.

Was it so, think you? nay, then, I'll confess my part of the malice too. As soon as ever I spi'd my husband and Me­lantha come together, I had a strange temptation to make him jealous in revenge; and that made me call Palamede, Pala­mede, as though there had been an Intrigue between us.

Nay, I avow, there was an apparence of an Intrigue be­tween us too.

To see how things will come about!

And was it onely thus, my dear Doralice?

And did I wrong none, Rhodophil, with a false suspi­cion?

Now am I confident we had all four the same design: 'tis a pretty odd kind of game this, where each of us plays for double stakes: this is just thrust and parry with the same motion; I am to get his Wife, and yet to guard my own Mistris. But I am vilely suspitious, that, while I conquer in the Right Wing, I shall be routed in the Left: for both our women will certainly betray their party, because they are each of them for gaining of two, as well as we; and I much fear,

SCENE I.

We shall have noble sport to night, Rhodophil; this Masquerading is a most glorious invention.

I believe it was invented first by some jealous Lover, to discover the haunts of his Jilting Mistris; or, perhaps, by some distressed servant, to gain an opportunity with a jealous man's wife.

[Page 53]

No, it must be the invention of a woman, it has so much of subtilty and love in it.

I am sure 'tis extremely pleasant; for to go unknown, is the next degree to going invisible.

What with our antique habits, and feign'd voices, do you know me? and I know you? Methinks we move and talk just like so many over-grown Puppets.

Masquerade is onely Vizor-masque improv'd, a height­ning of the same fashion.

No; Masquerade is Vizor-masque in debauch; and I like it the better for't: for, with a Vizor-masque, we fool our selves into courtship, for the sake of an eye that glanc'd; or a hand that stole it self out of the glove sometimes, to give us a sample of the skin: but in Masquerade there is nothing to be known, she's all Terra incognita, and the bold discoverer leaps ashoar, and takes his lot among the wild Indians and Salvages, without the vile consideration of safety to his person, or of beauty, or wholesomeness in his Mistris.

Beliza, what make you here?

Sir, my Lady sent me after you, to let you know, she finds her self a little indispos'd, so that she cannot be at Court, but is retir'd to rest, in her own appartment, where she shall want the happiness of your dear embraces to night.

A very fine phrase, Beliza, to let me know my wife de­sires to lie alone.

I doubt, Rhodophil, you take the pains sometimes to in­struct your wife's Woman in these elegancies.

Tell my dear Lady, that since I must be so unhappy as not to wait on her to night, I will lament bitterly for her ab­sence. 'Tis true, I shall be at Court, but I will take no diver­tisement there; and when I return to my solitary bed, if I am so forgetful of my passion as to sleep, I will dream of her; and betwixt sleep and waking, put out my foot towards her side, for mid-night consolation; and not finding her, I will [...] imagine my self a most desolate widower.

[Page 54]

I shall do your commands, Sir.

She's sick as aptly for my purpose, as if she had contriv'd it so: well, if ever woman was a help-meet for man, my Spouse is so; for within this hour I receiv'd a Note from Melantha, that she would meet me this evening in Masquerade in Boys habit, to rejoyce with me before she entred into fet­ters; for I find she loves me better then Palamede, onely because he's to be her husband. There's something of antipathy in the word Marriage to the nature of love; marriage is the meer Ladle of affection, that cools it when 'tis never so fiercely boil­ing over.

Dear Rhodophil, I must needs beg your pardon; there is an occasion fall'n out which I had forgot: I cannot be at Court to night.

Dear Palamede, I am sorry we shall not have one course together at the herd; but I find your Game lies single: good fortune to you with your Mistris.

He has wish'd me good fortune with his Wife: there's no sin in this then, there's fair leave given. Well, I must go visit the sick; I cannot resist the temptations of my charity. O what a difference will she find betwixt a dull resty Husband, and a quick vigorous Lover! he sets out like a Carrier's Horse, plod­ding on, because he knows he must, with the Bells of Matri­mony chiming so melancholly about his neck, in pain till he's at his journeys end, and dispairing to get thither, he is fain to for­tifie imagination with the thoughts of another woman: I, take heat after heat, like a well-breath'd Courser, and— But hark, what noise is that? swords!

Nay, then have with you.

Friend, your relief was very timely, otherwise I had been oppress'd.

What was the quarrel?

What I did, was in rescue of this Youth.

What cause could he give 'em?

The cause was nothing but onely the common cause [Page 55] of fighting in Masquerades: they were drunk, and I was sober.

Have they not hurt you?

No; but I am exceeding ill, with the fright on't.

Let's lead him to some place where he may refresh himself.

Do you conduct him then.

How cross this happens to my design of going to Doralice! for I am confident she was sick on purpose that I should visit her. Hark you, Rhodophil, could not you take care of the stripling? I am partly engag'd to night.

You know I have business: but come, Youth, if it must be so.

No, good Sir, do not give your self that trouble; I shall be safer, and better pleas'd with your friend here.

Farewell then; once more I wish you a good adven­ture.

Damn this kindness! now must I be troubled with this young Rogue, and miss my opportunity with Doralice.

SCENE II.

[Page 57]

SCENE III.

Now cannot I find in my heart to discover my self, though I long he should know me.

I tell thee, Boy, now I have seen thee safe, I must be gone: I have no leisure to throw away on thy raw conversa­tion: I am a person that understand better things, I.

Were I a woman, Oh how you'd admire me! cry up every word I said, and scrue your face into a submissive smile; as I have seen a dull Gallant act Wit, and counterfeit pleasantness, when he whispers to a great Person in a Play-house; smile, and look briskly, when the other answers, as if something of extraordinary had past betwixt 'em, when, heaven knows, there was nothing else but, What a clock does your Lordship think it is? and my Lord's repertee is, 'Tis almost Park-time: or, at most, Shall we out of the Pit, and go behind the Scenes for an Act or two? And yet such fine things as these, would be wit in a Mistris's mouth.

Ay, Boy; there's Dame Nature in the case: he who cannot find wit in a Mistris, deserves to find nothing else, Boy. But these are riddles to thee, child, and I have not leisure to in­struct thee; I have affairs to dispatch, great affairs; I am a man of business.

Come, you shall not go: you have no affairs but what you may dispatch here, to my knowledge.

I find now, thou art a Boy of more understanding then I thought thee; a very lewd wicked Boy: o' my conscience thou wouldst debauch me, and hast some evil designs upon my person.

You are mistaken, Sir; I would onely have you show me a more lawful reason why you would leave me, then I can why you should not, and I'll not stay you; for I am not so young, but I understand the necessities of flesh and bloud, [Page 60] and the pressing occasions of mankind, as well as you.

A very forward and understanding Boy! Thou art in great danger of a Pages wit, to be brisk at 14, and dull at 20. But I'll give thee no further account; I must, and will go.

My life on't, your Mistris is not at home.

This Imp will make me very angry. I tell thee, young Sir, she is at home; and at home for me; and, which is more, she is abed for me, and sick for me.

For you onely?

Ay, for me onely.

But how do you know she's sick abed?

She sent her Husband word so.

And are you such a novice in Love, to believe a Wife's message to her Husband?

Why, what the devil should be her meaning else?

It may be, to go in Masquerade as well as you; to ob­serve your haunts, and keep you company without your know­ledge.

Nay, I'll trust her for that: she loves me too well, to disguise her self from me.

If I were she, I would disguise on purpose to try your wit; and come to my servant like a Riddle, Read me, and take me.

I could know her in any shape: my good Genius would prompt me to find out a handsome woman: there's something in her, that would attract me to her without my knowledge.

Then you make a Load-stone of your Mistris?

Yes, and I carry Steel about me, which has been so of­ten touch'd, that it never fails to point to the North Pole.

Yet still my mind gives me that you have met her dis­guis'd to night, and have not known her.

This is the most pragmatical conceited little fellow, he will needs understand my business better then my self. I tell thee, once more, thou dost not know my Mistris.

And I tell you, once more, that I know her better then you do.

The Boy's resolv'd to have the last word, [Page 61] I find I must go without reply.

Ah mischief, I have lost him with my fooling. Palamede, Palamede.

O Heavens! is it you, Madam?

Now, where was your good Genius, that would prompt you to find me out?

Why, you see I was not deceiv'd; you, your self, were my good Genius.

But where was the Steel, that knew the Load-stone? ha?

The truth is, Madam, the Steel has lost its vertue; and therefore, if you please, we'll new touch it.

Palamede again! am I fall'n into your quarters? What? ingaging with a Boy? is all honourable?

O, very honourable on my side. I was just chastising this young Villain; he was running away, without paying his share of the reckoning.

Then I find I was deceiv'd in him.

Yes, you are deceiv'd in him: 'tis the archest rogue, if you did but know him.

Good Rhodophil, let us get off al-a derobbée, for fear I should be discover'd.

There's no retiring now; I warrant you for discovery: now have I the oddest thought, to entertain you before your Servants face, and he never the wiser; 'twill be the prettiest jug­ling trick to cheat him when he looks upon us.

This is the strangest caprice in you.

This Rhodophil's the unluckiest fellow to me! this is now the second time he has bar'd the Dice when we were just ready to have nick'd him; but if ever I get the Box again—

[Page 62]

No more then a Picture in the Hangings.

Nay, then he can never discover me, now the wrong side of the Arras is turn'd towards him.

At least, 'twill be some pleasure to me, to enjoy what freedom I can while he looks on; I will storm the Out-works of Matrimony even before his face.

What Wine have you there, Palamede?

Old Chios, or the rogue's damn'd that drew it.

Come, to the most constant of Mistresses, that I believe is yours, Palamede.

Pray spare your Seconds; for my part I am but a weak Brother.

Now, to the truest of Turtles; that is your Wife, Rho­dophil, that lies sick at home in the bed of honour.

Now let's have one common health, and so have done.

Then, for once, I'll begin it. Here's to him that has the fairest Lady of Sicily in Masquerade to night.

This is such an obliging health, I'll kiss thee, dear Rogue, for thy invention

He who has this Lady, is a happy man, without dispute. —I'm most concern'd in this, I am sure.

Was it not well found out, Rhodophil?

Ay, this was bien trouvée indeed.

I suppose I shall do you a kindness to en­quire if you have not been in France, Sir?

To do you service, Sir.

O, Monsieur, vot valet bien humble.

Votrè esclaue, Monsieur, de tout Mon Coeur.

I suppose, sweet Sir, you are the hope and joy of some thriving Citizen, who has pinch'd himself at home, to breed you abroad, where you have learnt your Exercises, as it ap­pears most aukwardly, and are returned with the addition of a new-lac'd bosom and a Clap, to your good old father, who looks at you with his mouth, while you spout French with your Man Monsieur.

[Page 63]

Let me kiss thee again for that, dear Rogue.

And you, I imagine, are my young Master, whom your Mother durst not trust upon salt water, but left you to be your own Tutour at fourteen, to be very brisk and entreprenant, to endeavour to be debauch'd ere you have learnt the knack on't, to value your self upon a Clap before you can get it, and to make it the height of your ambition to get a Player for your Mistris.

O dear young Bully, thou hast tickled him with a repertee i'faith.

You are one of those that applaud our Countrey Plays, where drums, and trumpets, and bloud, and wounds, are wit.

Again, my Boy? let me kiss thee most abundantly.

You are an admirer of the dull French Poetry, which is so thin, that it is the very Leaf-gold of Wit, the very Wa­fers and whip'd Cream of sense, for which a man opens his mouth and gapes, to swallow nothing: and to be an admirer of such profound dulness, one must be endow'd with a great perfection of impudence and ignorance.

Let me embrace thee most vehemently.

I'll sacrifice my life for French Poetry.

I'll die upon the spot for our Countrey Wit.

Hold, hold, young Mars: Palamede, draw back your Hero.

'Tis time; I shall be drawn in for a Second else at the wrong weapon.

O that I were a man for thy sake!

You'll be a man as soon as I shall.

[Page 64]

Yes, yes, I will go; but the devil take me if ever I was less in humour. Why, the pox, could they not have staid their tumult till to morrow? then I had done my business, and been ready for 'em. Truth is, I had a little transitory crime to have committed first; and I am the worst man in the world at repent­ing, till a sin be throughly done: but what shall we do with the two Boys?

Let them take a lodging in the house till the business be over.

What, lie with a Boy? for my part, I own it, I cannot endure to lie with a Boy.

The more's my sorrow, I cannot accommodate you with a better bed-fellow.

Let me die, if I enter into a pair of sheets with him that hates the French.

Pish, take no care for us, but leave us in the streets; I warrant you, as late as it is, I'll find my lodging as well as any drunken Bully of 'em all.

I'll fight in meer revenge, and wreak my passion

On all that spoil this hopeful assignation.

SCENE IV.

SCENE I.

THis evening, say'st thou? will they both be here?

Yes Sir; both my old Master, and your Mi­stris's Father: the old Gentlemen ride hard this journey; they say, it shall be the last time they will see the Town; and both of 'em are so pleas'd with this marriage, which they have con­cluded for you, that I am afraid they will live some years long­er to trouble you, with the joy of it.

But this is such an unreasonable thing, to impose upon me to be marri'd to morrow; 'tis hurrying a man to execution, without giving him time to say his pray'rs.

Yet, if I might advise you, Sir, you should not delay it: for your younger Brother comes up with 'em, and is got alrea­dy into their favours. He has gain'd much upon my old Ma­ster, by finding fault with Inn-keepers Bills, and by starving us, and our Horses, to show his frugality; and he is very well with your Mistris's Father, by giving him Receipts for the Splene, Gout, and Scurvy, and other infirmities of old age.

I'll rout him, and his Countrey education: Pox on him, [Page 70] I remember him before I travell'd, he had nothing in him but meer Jocky; us'd to talk loud, and make matches, and was all for the crack of the field: sense and wit were as much banish'd from his discourse, as they are when the Court goes out of Town to a Horse-race. Go now and provide your Master's Lodgings.

I go, Sir.

It vexes me to the heart, to leave all my designs with Doralice unfinish'd; to have flown her so often to a mark, and still to be bob'd at retrieve: if I had but once enjoy'd her, though I could not have satisfi'd my stomach, with the feast, at least I should have relish'd my mouth a little; but now—

Oh, Sir, you are happily met; I was coming to find you.

From your Lady, I hope.

Partly from her; but more especially from my self: she has just now receiv'd a Letter from her Fathet, with an abso­lute command to dispose her self to marry you to morrow.

And she takes it to the death?

Quite contrary: the Letter could never have come in a more lucky minute; for it found her in an ill humour with a Rival of yours, that shall be nameless, about the pronuncia­tion of a French word.

Count Rhodophil; never disguise it, I know the Amour: but I hope you took the occasion to strike in for me?

It was my good fortune to do you some small service in it; for your sake I discommended him all over: cloaths, per­son, humour, behaviour, every thing; and to sum up all, told her, It was impossible to find a marri'd man that was otherwise; for they were all so mortifi'd at home with their wives ill humours, that they could never recover themselves to be com­pany abroad.

Most divinely urg'd!

Then I took occasion to commend your good quali­ties: as, the sweetness of your humour, the comeliness of your [Page 71] person, your good Meene, your valour; but, above all, your liberality.

I vow to Gad I had like to have forgot that good qua­lity in my self, if thou had'st not remember'd me on't: here are five Pieces for thee.

Lord, you have the softest hand, Sir! it would do a woman good to touch it: Count Rhodophil's is not half so soft; for I remember I felt it once, when he gave me ten Pieces for my New-years gift.

O, I understand you, Madam; you shall find my hand as soft again as Count Rhodophil's: there are twenty Pieces for you. The former was but a Retaining Fee; now I hope you'l plead for me.

Your own merits speak enough. Be sure onely to ply her with French words, and I'll warrant you'll do your bu­siness. Here are a list of her phrases for this day: use 'em to her upon all occasions, and foil her at her own weapon; for she's like one of the old Amazons, she'l never marry, except it be the man who has first conquer'd her.

I'll be sure to follow your advice: but you'll forget to further my design.

What, do you think I'll be ungrateful? —But, however, if you distrust my memory, put some to­ken on my finger to remember it by: that Diamond there would do admirably.

There 'tis; and I ask your pardon heartily for calling your memory into question: I assure you I'll trust it another time, without putting you to the trouble of another token.

O, here's her Highness! Now is my time to introduce my self, and to make my court to her, in my new French phrases. Stay let me read my catalogue— suitte, figure, chagrin, naivete, and let me die for the Parenthesis of all.

Do, persecute her; and I'll persecute thee as fast in thy own dialect.

Madam the Princess! let me die▪ but this is a most hor­rid spectacle, to see a person who makes so grand a figure in the Court, without the Suitte of a Princess, and entertaining your Chagrin all alone; ( Naivete should have been there, but the dis­obedient word would not come in.)

What is she, Artemis?

An impertinent Lady, Madam; very ambitious of being known to your Highness.

Let me die. Madam, if I have not waited you here these two long hours▪ without so much as the Suitte of a single Servant to attend me; entertaining my self with my own Chagrin, till I had the honour to see your Ladiship, who are a person that makes so considerable a figure in the Court.

Truce with your douceurs, good servant; you see I am addressing to the Princess; pray do not embarrass me— embarrass me! what a delicious French word do you make me lose upon you too!

Your Highness, Madam, will please to par­don the B [...]vene which I made, in not sooner finding you out to be a Princess: but let me die if this Eclaircissement which is made this day of your quality, does not ravish me; and give me leave to tell you—

But first give me leave to tell you, Madam, that I have so great a tender for your person, and such a panchant to do you service, that—

What▪ must I still be troubled with your Sottises? (There's another word lost, that I meant for the Princess, with a mischief to you) But your Highness, Madam—

But your Ladiship, Madam—

Out upon him, how he looks, Madam! now he's found no Prince, he is the strangest figure of a man; how could I make that Coup d' etourdy to think him one?

Away, impertinent— My dear Leonidas!

My dear Palmyra!

Impertinent! Oh I am the most unfortunate person this day breathing: that the Princess should thus rompre en visiere, without occasion. Let me die but I [...]ll follow her to death, till I make my peace.

And let me die, but I'll follow you to the Infernals till you pity me.

Ay, 'tis long of you that this Malheur is fall'n upon me; your impertinence has put me out of the good graces of the Princess, and all that, which has ruin'd me and all that, and therefore let me die but I'll be re­veng'd, and all that.

Façon, façon, you must and shall love me, and all that; for my old man is coming up, and all that; and I am desesperé au dernier, and will not be disinherited, and all that.

How durst you interrupt me so mal a propos, when you knew I was addressing to the Princess?

But why would you address your self so much a contre­temps then?

Ah mal peste!

Ah I'enrage!

Radoucissez vous, de grace, Madame; vous êtes bien en cole­re pour pen de chose. Vous n' entendez pas la raillerie gallante.

Ad' autres, ad' autres: he mocks himself of me, he abuses me: ah me unfortunate!

You mistake him, Madam, he does but accommodate his phrase to your refin'd language. Ah, qu'il est un Cavalier ac­comply! pursue your point, Sir —

Let me die now, but this singing is fine, and extremely French in him:

But then, that he should use my own words, as it were in con­tempt of me, I cannot bear it.

Ces beaux sejours, ces doux ramages—

Ces beaux Sejours, ces doux ramages,

Ces beaux sejours, nous invitent a l'amour! Let me die but he sings en Cavalier, and so humours the Cadence.

Voy, ma Clymene, voy soubs ce chesne,

S'entrebaiser ces oiseaux amoreux! Let me die now, but that was fine. Ah, now, for three or four brisk Frenchmen, to be put into Masquing habits, and to sing it on a Theatre, how witty it would be! and then to dance helter skelter to a Chanson a boire: toute la terre, toute la terre est a moy! what's matter though it were made, and sung, two or three years ago in Ca­barets, how it would attract the admiration, especially of every one that's an eveille!

Well; I begin to have a tender for you; but yet, up­on condition, that — when we are marri'd, you —

You must drown her voice: if she makes her French conditions, you are a slave for ever.

First, will you engage — that

Fa, la, la, la, &c.

Will you hear the conditions?

No; I will hear no conditions! I am resolv'd to win you en Francois: to be very aiery, with abundance of noise, and no sense: Fa, la, la, la, &c.

Hold, hold: I am vanquish'd with your gayeté d' esprit. I am yours, and will be yours, sans nulle reserve, ny condition: and let me die, if I do not think my self the happiest Nymph in Sicily — My dear French Dear, stay but a minuite, till I rac­commode my self with the Princess; and then I am yours, jusq' a la mort.

Allons done—

I never thought be­fore [Page 75] that wooing was so laborious an exercise; if she were worth a million, I have deserv'd her; and now, me-thinks too, with taking all this pains for her, I begin to like her. 'Tis so; I have known many, who never car'd for Hare nor Par­tridge, but those they caught themselves would eat heartily: the pains, and the story a man tells of the taking of 'em, makes the meat go down more pleasantly. Besides, last night I had a sweet dream of her, and, Gad, she I have once dream'd of, I am stark mad till I enjoy her, let her be never so ugly.

Who's that you are so mad to enjoy, Palamede?

You may easily imagine that, sweet Doralice.

More easily then you think I can: I met just now with a certain man, who came to you with Letters, from a certain old Gentleman, yclipped your father; whereby I am given to understand, that to morrow you are to take an Oath in the Church to be grave henceforward, to go ill-dress'd and slovenly, to get heirs for your estate, and to dandle 'em for your diver­sion; and, in short, that Love and Courtship are to be no more.

Now have I so much shame to be thus apprehended in the manner, that I can neither speak nor look upon you; I have abundance of grace in me, that I find: But if you have any spark of true friendship in you, retire a little with me to the next room, that has a couch or bed in't, and bestow your cha­rity upon a poor dying man: a little comfort from a Mistris, before a man is going to give himself in Marriage, is as good as a lusty dose of Strong-water to a dying Malefactour; it takes away the sense of hell, and hanging from him.

No, good Palamede, I must not be so injurious to your Bride: 'tis ill drawing from the Bank to day, when all your ready money is payable to morrow.

A Wife is onely to have the ripe fruit, that falls of it self; but a wise man will always preserve a shaking for a Mistris.

But a Wife for the first quarter is a Mistris.

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But when the second comes.

When it does come, you are so given to variety, that y [...] would make a Wife of me in another quarter.

No, never, except I were married to you: marri'd peo­ple can never oblige one another; for all they do is duty, and consequently there can be no thanks: but love is more frank and generous then he is honest; he's a liberal giver, but a cursed pay-master.

I declare I will have no Gallant; but, if I would, he should never be a marri'd man; a marri'd man is but a Mistris's half-servant, as a Clergy-man is but the King's half-subject: for a man to come to me that smells o' th' Wife! 's life, I wou'd as soon wear her old Gown after her, as her Husband.

Yet 'tis a kind of fashion to wear a Princess cast shoes, you see the Countrey Ladies buy 'em to be fine in them.

Yes, a Princess shoes may be worn after her, because they keep their fashion, by being so very little us'd; but gene­rally a marri'd man is the creature of the world the most out of fashion; his behaviour is dumpish, his discourse his wife and family, his habit so much neglected, it looks as if that were marri'd too; his Hat is marri'd, his Perruke is marri'd, his Breeches are marri'd, and if we could look within his Breeches, we should find him marri'd there too.

Am I then to be discarded for ever? pray do but mark how terrible that word sounds; For ever! it has a very damn'd sound, Doralice.

Ay, for ever! it sounds as hellishly to me, as it can do to you, but there's no help for't.

Yet if we had but once enjoy'd one another; but then once onely, is worse then not at all: it leaves a man with such a lingring after it.

For ought I know 'tis better that we have not; we might upon trial have lik'd each other less, as many a man and woman, that have lov'd as desperately as we, and yet when they came to possession, have sigh'd, and cri'd to themselves, Is this all?

That is onely, if the Servant were not found a man of this world; but if, upon trial, we had not lik'd each other, we [Page 77] had certainly left loving; and faith, that's the greater happi­ness of the two.

'Tis better as 'tis; we have drawn off already as much of our Love as would run clear; after possessing, the rest is but jealousies, and disquiets, and quarrelling, and piecing.

Nay, after one great quarrel, there's never any sound piecing; the love is apt to break in the same place again.

I declare I would never renew a love; that's like him who trims an old Coach for ten years together, he might buy a new one better cheap.

Well, Madam, I am convinc'd, that 'tis best for us not to have enjoy'd; but Gad, the strongest reason is, because I cann't help it.

The onely way to keep us new to one another, is never to enjoy, as they keep grapes by hanging 'em upon a line, they must touch nothing if you would preserve 'em fresh.

But then they wither, and grow dry in the very keeping; however I shall have a warmth for you, and an eagerness, every time I see you; and if I chance to out-live Melantha—

And if I chance to out-live Rhodophil—

Well, I'll cherish my body as much as I can upon that hope. 'Tis true, I would not directly murder the wife of my bosome; but to kill her civilly, by the way of kindness, I'll put as fair as another man: I'll begin to morrow night, and be very wrathful with her, that's resolv'd on.

Well, Palamede, here's my hand, I'll venture to be your second Wife, for all your threatnings.

In the mean time I'll watch you hourly, as I would the ripeness of a Melon, and I hope you'll give me leave now and then to look on you, and to see if you are not ready to be cut yet.

No, no, that must not be, Palamede, for fear the Gardener should come and catch you taking up the glass.

Billing so sweetly! now I am confirm'd in my suspicions; I must put an end to this, ere it go further.

[Page 78]

Cry you mercy, Spouse; I fear I have inter­rupted your recreations.

What recreations?

Nay, no excuses, good Spouse; I saw fair hand convey'd to lip, and prest, as though you had been squeezing soft wax together for an Indenture. Palamede, you and I must clear this reckoning; why would you have seduc'd my wife?

Why would you have debauch'd my Mistris?

What do you think of that civil couple, that play'd at a Game call'd, Hide and Seek, last evening, in the Grotto?

What do you think of that innocent pair, who made it their pretence to seek for others, but came, indeed, to hide themselves there?

All things consider'd, I begin vehemently to suspect, that the young Gentleman I found in your company last night, was a certain youth of my acquaintance.

And I have an odd imagination, that you could never have suspected my small Gallant, if your little villanous French­man had not been a false Brother.

Farther Arguments are needless; Draw off; I shall speak to you now by the way of Bilbo.

And I shall answer you by the way of Danger-field.

Hold, hold; are not you two a couple of mad fighting fools, to cut one another's throats for nothing?

How for nothing? he courts the woman I must marry.

And he courts you whom I have marri'd.

But you can neither of you be jealous of what you love not.

Faith I am jealous, and that makes me partly suspect that I love you better then I thought.

Pish! a meer jealousie of honour.

Gad I am afraid there's something else in't; for Pala­mede has wit and if he loves you, there's something more in ye [...] have found: some rich Mine, for ought I know, that I [...] discovered.

[...], what's this? here's an argument for me to love [Page 79] Melantha; for he has lov'd her, and he has wit too, and, for ought I know, there may be a Mine: but, if there be, I am re­solv'd I'll dig for 't.

Then I have found my account in raising your jealousie: O! 'tis the most delicate sharp sawce to a cloy'd stomach; it will give you a new edge, Rhodophil.

And a new point too, Doralice, if I could be sure thou art honest.

If you are wise, believe me for your own sake: Love and Religion have but one thing to trust to; that's a good sound faith. Consider, if I have play'd false, you can never find it out by any experiment you can make upon me.

No? Why, suppose I had a delicate screw'd Gun, if I left her clean, and found her foul, I should discover, to my cost, she had been shot in.

But if you left her clean, and found her onely rusty, you would discover, to your shame, she was onely so for want of shooting.

Rhodophil, you know me too well, to imagine I speak for fear; and therefore in consideration of our past friendship, I will tell you, and bind it by all things holy, that Doralice is innocent.

Friend, I will believe you, and vow the same for your Melantha; but the devil on't is, how we shall keep 'em so.

What dost think of a blessed community betwixt us four, for the solace of the women, and relief of the men? Methinks it would be a pleasant kind of life: Wife and Husband for the standing Dish and Mistris and Gallant for the Desert.

But suppose the Wife and the Mistris should both long for the standing Dish, how should they be satisfi'd together?

In such a case they must draw lots: and yet that would not do neither; for they would both be wishing for the long­est out?

Then I think, Palamede, we had as good make a firm League, not to invade each others propriety.

Content, say I. From henceforth let all acts of hostility cease betwixt us; and that in the usual form of Treaties, as well by Sea as by Land, and in all Fresh waters.

[Page 80]

I will adde but one Proviso, That who ever breaks the League, either by war abroad, or by neglect at home, both the Women shall revenge themselves, by the help of the other party.

That's but reasonable. Come away, Doralice; I have a great temptation to be sealing Articles in private.

[Page 82]

How? does it become him already? 'twas but just now you said, he was such a figure of a man.

True, my dear, when he was a private man he was a figure; but since he is a King, methinks he has assum'd another figure: he looks so grand, and so August.

Stay, stay; I'll present you when it is more convenient. I find I must get her a place at Court; and when she is once there, she can be no longer ridiculous; for she is young enough, and pretty enough, and fool enough, and French enough, to bring up a fashion there to be affected.