ACT. I.

WHere the Devil is this Master of mine? he is ever out of the way when he should do himself good. This 'tis to serve a Coxcomb, one that has no more brains than just those I carry for him. Well! of all Fopps commend me to him for the greatest; he's so opinion'd of his own Abilities, that he is ever designing some­what, and yet he sows his Stratagems so shallow, that every Daw can pick'em up: from a plotting Fool the Lord deliver me. Here he comes, O! it seems his Cousin's with him, then it is not so bad as I imagin'd.

I think 'twas well contriv'd for your access to lodge her in the same house with you.

'Tis pretty well I must confess.

Had he plotted it himself, it had been admirable

For when her Father Moody writ to me to take him Lodgings, I so order'd it, the choice seem'd his, not mine.

I have hit of a thing my self sometimes, when wiser Heads have miss'd it—But that might be meer luck.

Fortune does more than Wisdom.

A minute's stay may lose your business.

Well, go then,—but you must grant, if he had stay'd, I could have found a better way,—you grant it.

Let me alone for plotting.

Sure! you think you have to deal with a Fool, Cou­sin?

O my dear Neice, I have some business with you.

Go thy wayes for a most conceited Fool.—But to our business, Cousin: you are young, but I am old, and have had all the Love-experience that a discreet Lady ought to have; and therefore let me instruct you about the Love this rich Lord makes to you.

You know, Madam, he's Marry'd, so that we cannot work upon that ground of Matrimony.

But there are advantages enough for you, if you will be wise and follow my advice.

[Page 3]

Madam, my Friends left me to your care, therefore I will wholly follow your Counsel with secrecy and obedience.

Sweet-heare, it shall be the better for you another day: well then, this Lord that pretends to you is crafty and false, as most men are, especially in Love;—therefore we must be subtle to meet with all his Plots, and have Countermines against his Workes to blow him up.

As how, Madam?

Why, Girl, hee'l make fierce Love to you, but you must not suffer him to ruffle you, or steal a kiss: but you must weep and sigh, and say you'l tell me on't, and that you will not be us'd so; and play the innocent just like a Child, and seem ig­norant of all.

I warrant you 'Ile be very ignorant, Madam.

And be sure when he has tows'd you, not to appear at Supper that night, that you may fright him.

No, Madam.

That he may think you have told me.

I Madam.

And keep your Chamber, and say your head akes:

O, most extreamly, Madam.

And lock the door, and admit of no night-visits: at Supper I'l ask where's my Cousin, and being told you are not well, I'l start from the Table to visit you, desiring his Lordship not to incommode himself; for I will presently wait on him agen.

But how, when you are return'd, Madam?

Then somewhat discompos'd, I'l say, I doubt the Meazles or Small-pox will seize on you, and then the Girl is spoil'd; saying, Poor thing, her Portion is her Beauty and her Vertue; and often send to see how you do, by whispers in my Servants ears, and have those whispers of your health return'd to mine: if his Lord­ship thereupon askes how you do, I will pretend it was some other thing.

Right, Madam, for that will bring him further in sus­pence.

A hopeful Girl! Then will I eate nothing that night, feigning my grief for you; but keep his Lordship Company at Meal, and seem to strive to put my passion off, yet shew it still by small mistakes.

[Page 4]

And broken Sentences.

A dainty Girl! and after Supper visit you again, with promise to return strait to his Lordship: but after I am gone send an Excuse, that I have given you a Cordial, and mean to watch that night in person with you.

His Lordship then will find the Prologue of his trouble, doubting I have told you of his ruffling.

And more than that, fearing his Father should know of it, and his Wife, who is a Termagant Lady: but when he finds the Coast is clear, and his late ruffling known to none but you, he will be drunk with joy.

Finding my simple Innocence, which will inflame him more.

Then what the Lyon's skin has fail'd him in, the Foxes subtlety must next supply, and that is just, Sweet-heart, as I would have it; for crafty Folks treaties are their advantage: especially when his passion must be satisfi'd at any rate, and you keep shop to set the price of Love: so now you see the Market is your own.

Truly, Madam, this is very rational; and by the blessing of Heav'n upon my poor endeavours, I do not doubt to play my part.

My blessing and my pray'rs go along with thee.

I believe, Madam, here is the young Heiress you expect, and with her he who is to marry her.

Howe're I am Sir Martins Friend, I must not seem his Enemy.

Madam, this fair young Lady begs the honour to be known to you.

My Father made me hope it, Madam.

Sweet Lady, I believe you have brought all the Freshness of the Country up to Town with you.

I came up, Madam, as we Country-Gentlewomen use, at an Easter-Term, to the destruction of Tarts and Cheese-cakes, to see a New Play, buy a new Gown, take a Turn in the Park, and so down agen to sleep with my Fore-fathers.

[Page 5]

Rather, Madam, you are come up to the breaking of many a poor Heart, that like mine will languish for you.

I doubt, Madam, you are indispos'd with your Voyage; will you please to see the Lodgings your Father has provided for you?

To wait upon you, Madam.

This is the door,—there is a Gentleman will wait you immediately in your Lodging, if he might presume on your Commands.

You mean Sir Martin Marrall: I am glad he has entrusted his passion with so discreet a person.

Sir John, let me intreat you to stay here, that my Father may have intelligence where to find us.

I shall obey you, Madam.

Sir Martin Marrall! most happily encounter'd! how long have you been come to Town?

Some three dayes since, or thereabouts: but I thank God I am very weary on't already.

Why, what's the matter, man?

My villainous old luck still follows me in gaming, I never throw the Dice out of my hand, but my Gold goes after 'em: if I go to Picquet, though it be but with a Novice in't, he will picque and repicque, and Capot me twenty times together: and which most mads me, I lose all my Sets when I want but one of up.

The pleasure of play is lost, when one loses at that unreasonable rate.

But I have sworn not to touch either Cards or Dice this half year.

The Oaths of losing Gamesters are most minded; they foreswear play as an angry Servant does his Mistress, because he loves her but too well.

But I am now taken up with thoughts of another nature; I am in love, Sir.

That's the worst Game you could have play'd at, scarce one Woman in an hundred will play with you upon the [Page 6] Square: you venture at more uncertainty than at a Lottery: for you set your heart to a whole Sex of Blanks. But is your Mistress Widow, Wife, or Maid?

Does she accept your service?

I am the only person in her favour.

Is she of Town or Country?

How's this?

She is of Kent, near Canterbury.

What does he mean? this is his Rival—

Near Canterbury say you? I have a small Estate lies thereabouts, and more concernments than one besides.

What do you mean, Sir, to intrust this man with your Affair thus?—

Trust him? why, he's a friend of mine.

No matter for that; hark you a Word Sir.—

Prethee leave fooling:—and as I was saying—I was in the Church when I first saw this fair one.

Her Name, Sir, I beseech you.

For Heaven's sake, Sir, have a care?

Thou art such a Coxcomb.—Her name's Millisent.

Now, the Pox take you Sir, what do you mean?

Millisent say you? that's the name of my Mistress.

Lord! what luck is that now! well Sir, it happen'd, one of her Gloves fell down, I stoop'd to take it up; And in the stooping made her a Complement.—

The Devil cannot hold him, now will this thick-skull'd Master of mine tell the whole story to his Rival—

You'l say, 'twas strange Sir; but at the first glance we cast on one another, both our hearts leap'd within us, our Souls met at our Eyes, and with a tickling kind of pain slid to each others breast, and in one moment setled as close and warm, as if they long had been acquainted with their lodging. I follow'd her somewhat at a distance, because her Father was with her.

[Page 7]

Yet hold Sir——

Sawcy Rascal, avoid my sight; Must you tutor me? So Sir, not to trouble you, I enquir'd out her Father's House, with­out whose knowledge I did Court the Daughter, and both then and often since coming to Canterbury, I receiv'd many proofs of her kindness to me.

You had best tell him too, that I am acquainted with her Maid, and manage your love under-hand with her.

Well remember'd i'faith, I thank thee for that, I had forgot it I protest! my Valet de Chambre, whom you see here with me, grows me acquainted with her Woman—

O the Devil.—

In fine Sir, this Maid being much in her Mistresses favour, so well sollicited my Cause, that in fine I gain'd from fair Mistress Millisent an assurance of her kindness, and an ingagement to marry none but me.

'Tis very well! you've made a fair discovery!—

A most pleasant Relation I assure you: you are a hap­py man Sir! but, What occasion brought you now to Lon­don?

That was in expectation to meet my Mistress here; she writ me word from Canterbury, she and her Father shortly would be here.

She and her Father, said you Sir?

Tell him Sir, for Heavens sake tell him all—

So I will Sir, without your bidding: her Father and she are come up already, that's the truth on't, and are to lodge by my Contrivance in you House; the Master of which is a cunning Rascal as any in Town—him I have made my own, for I lodge there.

You do ill, Sir, to speak so scandalously of my Land­lord.

Peace, or I'l break your Fool's head,—So that by his means I shall have free egress and regress when I please Sir—without her Fathers knowledge.

I am out of patience to hear this.—

Methinks you might do well, Sir, to speak openly to her Father.

[Page 8]

Thank you for that i'faith, in speaking to old Moody I may soon spoil all.

So now he has told her Father's name, 'tis past recovery.

Is her Fathers name Moody say you?

Is he of your acquaintance?

No Sir, I'le give you better; trouble not your self about this Lady; her affections are otherwise engaged to my knowledge—hark in your Ear—her Father hates a Gamester like a Devil: I'le keep your Counsel for that too.

Nay but this is not all dear Sir John.

Your Affairs are now put into an excellent posture, Thank your incomparable discretion—this was a Stratagem my shallow wit could ne're have reach'd, to make a Confident of my Rival.

I hope thou art not in earnest man! is he my Rival?

To the first of your Devil's I answer, her Maid Rose told me on't: to the second I wish a thousand Devils take him that would not hear me.

O unparallell'd Misfortune!

O unparrellell'd ignorance! why he left her Father at the water-side, while he lead the Daughter to her Lodging, whi­ther I directed him; so that if you had not laboured to the con­trary, Fortune had plac'd you in the same House with your Mistress, without the least suspicion of your Rival or of her Fa­ther: [Page 9] but, 'tis well, you have satisfi'd your talkative humour: I hope you have some new project of your own to set all right agen: for my part I confess all my designs, for you are wholly ruin'd; the very foundations of 'em are blown up.

Prethee insult not over the Destiny of a poor undone Lover, I am punish'd enough for my indiscretion in my despair, and have nothing to hope for now but death.

Death is a Bug-word, things are not brought to that extremity, I [...]l cast about to save all yet.

O, Sir Martin! yonder has been such a stir within, Sir John, I fear, smoaks your design, and by all means would have the old man remove his Lodging; pray God your man has not play'd false.

Like enough I have: I am Coxcomb sufficient to do it, my Master knows that none but such a great Calf as I could have done it, such an over-grown Ass, a self-conceited Ideot as I.—

Nay, Warner,—

Pray, Sir, let me alone:—what is it to you if I rail upon my self? now could I break my own Loggar-head.

Nay, sweet Warner.

What a good Master have I, and I to ruine him: O Beast!—

Not to discourage you wholly, Sir Martin, this storm is partly over.

As how, dear Cousin.

When I heard Sir John complain of the Landlord, I took the first hint of it, and joyn'd with him, saying, if she were such an one, I would have nothing to do with him: in short I ratled him so well, that Sir John was the first who did desire they might be lodg'd with me, not knowing that I was your Kinswoman.

Pox on't, now I think on't, I could have found out this my self.—

Are you there agen, Sir?—now as I have a Soul—

Mum, good Warner, I did but forget my self a little, I leave my self wholly to you, and my Cousin; get but my Mi­stress for me and claim what e'r reward you can desire.

ACT. II.

So much that Moody and his Daughter, our new Guests, took notice of the trouble, but the Cause was kept too close for Strangers to divine.

A poor weak innocent Creature as I am, Heav'n of his mercy, how I quake and tremble! I have not yet claw'd off your last ill usage, and now I feel my old fit come again, my Ears tingle already, and my back shuts and opens; I, just so it began be­fore.

Methought I would not have mine Aunt angry with you for all this earthly good;

[Page 11] But yet I'l never be alone with you agen.

Nay, now you speak high words—I cannot understand you.

The business of my life shall be but how to make your Fortune, and my care and study to advance and see you settled in the World.

But I am for fair Wars, an Enemy must first be search'd for privy Armour e'r we do ingage.

My Aunt charg'd me not to pull off my Glove for fear of Sun-burning my hand.

She did well to keep it from your eyes, but I will thus preserve it.

Why do you crush it so? nay, now you hurt me, nay—if you squeeze it ne'r so hard—there's nothing to come out on't—fye—is this loving one—What makes you take your breath so short?

Then I must stop your mouth—this Ruby for a Kiss— [Page 12] that is but one Ruby for another.

Do you hear, my Aunt calls? I shall be hang'd for stay­ing with you—let me go my Lord.

I was just wishing for you Madam, your Neece and I have been so laughing at the blunt humour of your Country-Gen­tleman,— I must go pass an hour with him.

And that your Daughters are so envious, that they would raise a false report to ruine me.

Why, if the worst come to the worst, he leaves you an honest woman, and there's an end on't: but fear not that, hold out his messages, and then he'll write, and that is it my Bird which you must drive it to: then all his Letters will be such Extacies, such Vows and Promises, which you must answer short and simply, yet still ply out of 'em your advantages.

You Fool—he'll write from the next Chamber to you. And rather than fail, send his Page-Post with it upon a Hobby­horse:—then grant a Meeting, but tell me of it, and I'le I re­vent [Page 13] him by my being there, he'l curse me, but I care not.

When you are alone, he'l urge his lust, which answer you with sorn and anger.——

Now fair Mrs. Millisent, you see your Chamber, Your Father will be busie a few minutes, and in the mean time permits me the happiness to wait on you.—

But you love none besides him: Can you deny your affection to him?

Then I perceive I am not likely to be so much ob­lig'd to you as I was to him.

Indeed he has a rare way of acting a Fool, and does it so naturally, it can be scarce distinguish'd.

They went but to the next street; ten to one but they return and catch you here.

What says that Fellow to you? what business can he have here?

Lord, that your Ladiship should ask that question, Knowing whom I serve!

Never breathe, but this anger becomes your Ladiship most admirably; but though you'l hear nothing from him, I hope I may speak a word or two to you from my self, Madam.

'T was a sweet Prank your Master play'd us: a Lady's well helpt up that trusts her Honour in such a persons hands: to tell all so,—and to his Rival too.

Excuse him if thou canst.

How the Devil should I excuse him? thou knowest he is the greatest Fop in Nature—

[Page 15]

We have done nothing, Madam, our Man of Law was not within,——but I must look some Writings.

He must pass just by me; and if he sees me, I am but a dead man.

Now would I had a good Bag of Gun-pow­der at my Breech to ram me into some hole.

'Tis so design'd, Fate cannot hinder it.

[Page 17] Our Landlord where we lie, vex'd that his Lodgings should be so left by Sir John, is resolv'd to be reveng'd, and I have found the way.

You'l see th' effect on't presently.

O Heavens! the door opens agen, and Sir John is re­turn'd once more.

Half my business was forgot; you did not tell me when you were to meet him. Ho! What makes this Rascal here?

'Tis well you're come, Sir, else I must have left un­told a Message I have for you.

When you know all, I shall deserve it, Sir;

I came to sound the Vertue of your Mistress; which I have done so cunningly, I have at last obtain'd the promise of a meeting. But my good Master, whom I must confess more generous than wise, knowing you had a passion for her, is resolv'd to quit: And, Sir, that you may see how much he loves you, sent me in private to advise you still to have an eye upon her actions.

Thus the World goes, my Masters, he that will cozen you, commonly gets your good will into the bargain.

Madam, I am now satisfi'd of all sides; first of your truth, then of Sir Martins friendship.

In short, I find you two cheated each other,

Both to be true to me.

[Page 18]

This is our Landlord whom I told you of; but keep your Countenance.—

I was looking here-away for one Sir John Swallow; they told me I might hear news of him in this House.

Friend, I am the man: What have you to say to me?

I'l puck out my Spectacles and see first.

To Mr. Paul Grimbard—Apprentice to—

No, that's not for you, Sir,—that's for the Son of the Brother of the Nephew of the Cousin of my Gossip Dobson.

Prithee dispatch; do'st thou not know the Con­tents on't?

Nay, no great business; 'tis but only that your Wor­ships Father's dead.

Well, I must of necessity take orders for my Father's Funeral, and my estate; Heaven knows with what regret I leave you, Madam.

But are you in such haste, Sir? I see you take all occasi­ons to be from me.

Dear Madam, say not so, a few days will, I hope, re­ [...]n me to you.

Noble Sir Martin, the welcomest man alive!

Let me embrace my Friend.

How untowardly he returns the salute! Warner will be found out.

How have I oblig'd you, Sir? I would have you to know I scorn your words; and I would I were hang'd, if it be not the farthest of my thoughts.

Your plot to try my Mistress for me—you under­stand me, concerning your appointment.

This impertinent Rascal, when I am most busie, I am ever troubled with him.

That's a good one i'faith, thou know'st breeding well, that I should whisper with a Serving-man before com­pany.

Peace, or I'le make you feel my double Fists; If I don't fright him, the sawcy Rogue will call me fool before the Company.

Pray, Sir, remember your self; did not you send me of a message to Sir John, that for his friendship you had left Mi­stress Millisent.

That was all: say, Yes good Sir John—or I'le swinge you.

Heigh, Heigh, what makes my Landlord here? he has put on a Fools Coat I think to make us laugh.

The Devil's in him; he's at it again; his folly's like a sore in a surfeited Horse; cure it in one place, and it breaks out in another.

Take heed what I say, Sir, why? who should I be afraid of? of you, Sir? I say, Sir, I know him, Sir; and I have reason to know him, Sir, for I am sure I lodge in his House, Sir,—nay never think to terrifie me, Sir; 'tis my Landlord here in Charles Street, Sir.

Is in very good health, for ought I know, Sir; I beseech you to trouble your self no farther concerning him.

[Page 21]

I, who set you on Sirrah? this was a Rogue that would cozen us both; he thought I did not know him: down on your marribones and confess the truth: have you no tongue you Rascal?

Sure 'tis some silenc'd Minister: he's grown so sat he cannot speak.

Why, Sir, if you would know, 'twas for your sake I did it.

For my Masters sake! why you impudent Varlet, do you think to 'scape us with alye?

'Twas for his own, Sir; he heard you were th'occasion the Lady lodg'd not at his House, and so he invented this lye; partly [...]o revenge himself of you; and partly, I believe, in hope to get her once again when you were gone.

O good Sir! if you beat me I shall run into oyl imme­diately,

Hang him Rogue; he's below your anger: I'le maul him for you—the Rogue's so big, I think 'twill ask two days to beat him all over.

Get you gone without replying: must such as you be prating?

Friend will you go along, and take part of a bad Repast?

Now he might fit with his Mistress, and has not the wit to find it out.

Get you in with a vengeance: you have a better stomack than you think you have.

Now we are alone; han't I carry'd matters bravely, Srrah.

O yes, yes, you deserve Sugar Plums; first for Your quarrelling with Sir John; then for discovering your Land­lord, and lastly for refusing to dine with your Mistress: All this is since the last reckoning was wip'd out.

Then why did my Landlord disguise himself, to make a Fool of us?

You have so little Brains, that a Penn'orth of Butter melted under 'um, would set 'um afloat: he put on that disguise to rid you of your Rival.

It had been much at one: you would but have drunk the secret down; and piss'd it out to the next company.

Well, I find I am a miserable man: I have lost my Mistress, and may thank my self for't.

O yes, much the nearer; for now Fortune's bound to provide for you; As Hospita's are built for lame people, because they cannot help themselves.

Well; I have yet a project in my pate.

If you will not tell me, my mind gives me I shall dis­cover it again.

ACT. III.

Cry you mercy, Mistress Rose, I'l not dispute your an­cient priviledges of talking.

My Mistress, knowing Sir John was to be abroad upon business this Afternoon, has asked leave to see a Play: and Sir John has so great a confidence of your Master, that he will trust no­body with her, but him.

If my Master gets her out, I warrant her, he shall show her a better Play than any is at either of the Houses—here they are: I'le run and prepare him to wait upon her.

But what kind of man is this Sir Martin, with whom you are to go?

[Page 24]

I confess, Sir, a Woman's in a sad condition, that has nothing to trust to, but a Perriwig above, and a well-trim'd shoe below.

This, Sir, is Sir John's friend, he is for your humour, Sir, He is no man o'th 'Town, but bred up in the old Elizabeth way of plainness.

I, Madam, your Ladiship may say your pleasure of me.

How the Devil got he here before me! 'Tis very un­lucky I could not see him first—

But, as for Painting, Musick, Poetry, and the like, I'l say this of my self—

I'l say that for him, my Master understands none of 'um, I assure you, Sir.

You impudent Rascal, hold your Tongue: I must rid my hands of this fellow; the Rogue is ever discrediting me before Company.

Never trouble yourself about it, Sir, for I like a man that—

I know you do, Sir, and therefore I hope you'll think never the worse of me for his prating: for, though I do not boast of my own good parts—

Give him not the hearing, Sir; for, if I may believe my friends, they have flatter'd me with an opinion of more—

Of more than their flattery can make good, Sir;—'tis true he tells you, they have flatter'd him; but, in my Conscience he is the most downright simple natur'd creature in the world.

I shall consider you here after Sirrah; but I am sure in all Companies I pass for a Vertuoso.

Vertuoso! What's that too? is not Vertue enough with­out O so?

There he is again too; the Town Phrase, a great Com­pliment I wiss; you have Reason, Sir; that is, you are no beast, Sir.

[Page 25]

A word in private: Sir; you mistake this old man; he loves neither Painting, Musick, nor Poetry; yet recover your self, if you have any brains.

Say you so? I'le bring all about again I warrant you—I beg your pardon a thousand times Sir; I vow to Gad I am not Master of any of those perfections; for in fine. Sir, I am wholly ignorant of Painting, Musick, and Poetry; Only some rude escapes——but, in fine, they are such, that, In fine, Sir—

By Coxbones one word more of all this Gibberish, and old Madge shall fly about your ears: What is this in fine he keeps such a coil with too?

'Tis a Phrase a-la-mode, Sir, and is us'd in conversation now, as a whiff of Tobacco was formerly, in the midst of a dis­course, for a thinking while.

But by Coxbones there is no end on't me thinks: If thou wilt have a foolish word to lard thy lean discourse with, take an English one when thou speakest English; as So Sir, and Then Sir, and so forth; 'tis a more manly kind of nonsence: and a Pox of In fine, for I'l hear no more on't.

There was an ill Play set up, Sir, on the Posts, but I can assure you the Bills are altered since you saw 'um, and now there are two ad­mirable Comedies at both Houses.

[Page 26]

What not at Canterbury, in the Cathedral Church there? this is the impudentest Rascal—

Ah Lord, what have I done! as I hope to be sav'd, Sir, it was before I was aware; for if ever I set eyes on her be­fore this day—I wish—

This fellow is not so much fool, as he makes one be­lieve he is.

I thought he would be discovered for a wit: this 'tis to over act ones part!

Come away Daughter I will not trust you in his hands; there's more in't than I imagin'd.

Why do you frown upon me so, when you know your looks go to the heart of me; what have I done besides a little lapsus linguae?

Why, who sayes you have done any thing? you, a meer Innocent.

As the Child's that be born in my intentions, If I know how I have offended my self any more than in one word.—

But don't follow me however—I have nothing to say to you.

The Rogue has no mercy in him, but I must mollifie him with money.

Truly my little Cousin's the aptest Scholar, and takes our loves lessons so exactly that I joy to see it: she has got already the Bond of two thousand pounds seal'd for her Portion, which I keep for her; a pretty good beginning: 'tis true, I believe he has enjoy'd her, and so let him; Mark Anthony wooed not at so dear a price.

O Madam, I fear I am breeding!

I have been venturing upon your foundations, a little to dissemble.

That's a good Child, I hope it will thrive with thee, as it has with me: Heaven has a blessing in store upon our endeavours.

[Page 27]

I feign'd my self sick, and kept my bed; my Lord, he came to visit me, and in the end I disclos'd it to him in the saddest passion.

This frighted him, I hope, into a study how to cloak your disgrace, lest it should have vent to his Lady.

'Tis true; but all the while I subt'ly drove it, that he should name you to me as the fittest instrument of the conceal­ment; but how to break it to you, strangely does perplex him: he has been seeking you all o'r the house; therefore I'l leave your Ladiship, for fear we should be seen together.

Some scruple of Conscience, I warrrant; my Chaplain shall resolve you.

Madam, there is no Medicine for this siekness, but only you; your friendship's my safe Haven, else I am lost and ship­wrack'd.

Then in obedience to your Commands; your Cousin is with Child.

[Page 28]

Alass then she has stoln a Marriage, and undone her self: Some young Fellow, on my Conscience, that's a Beggar; Youth will not be advis'd; well, I'l never meddle more with Girls; One is no more assur'd of 'um than Grooms of Mules, they'l strike when least one thinks on't: but pray your Lordship, what is her choice then for an Husband?

Not married! 'tis impossible, the Girl does sure abuse you. I know her Education has been such, the flesh could not prevail; therefore she does abuse you, it must be so.

Madam, not to abuse you longer, she is with Child, and I the unfortunate man who did this most unlucky act.

Madam, 'tis too true; believe it, and be serious how to hide her shame; I beg it here upon my knees.

I say, run to the Cabinet of Quintessence; Gilberts Water, Gilberts Water.

She stirs, she revives, merciful to us all, what a thing was this! speak, Lady, speak.

[Page 29]

Go, go, I'm pretty well; withdraw into the next Room but be near I pray, for fear of the worst.

—My Lord, sit down near me I pray, I'le strive to speak a few words to you, and then to Bed,—nearer, my voice is faint.—My Lord, Heaven knows how I have ever lov'd you; and, Is this my reward? Had you none to abuse but me in that unfortu­nate fond Girl that you know was dearer to me than my life? this was not love to her, but an inveterate malice to poor me. Oh, oh.—

No no, the Chymistry Oyl of Rosemary: hold her up, and give her Air.

Feel whether she breathes, with your hand before her Mouth.

Look up, dear Madam, if you have any hope of Sal­vation!

Hold up your finger, Madam, if you have any hope of Fraternity. O the blessed Saints that hear me not, take her Mor­tality to them.

Enough, so, 'tis well,—withdraw, and let me rest a while; only my dear Lord remain.

Here humbly once again, I beg your pardon and your help.

Heaven forgive you, and I do: stand up, my Lord, and sit close by me: O this naughty Girl! but did your Lordship win her soon?

I'm glad on't; it shew'd the Girl had some Religion in her, all my Precepts were not in vain: but you men are strange tempt­ers; good my Lord, where was this wicked act then first commit­ted?

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Poor Heart, what shift Love makes! Oh she does love you dearly, though to her ruine! and then what place, my Lord?

Out upon that dark Room for deeds of darkness! and that rotten Bed! I wonder it did hold your Lordships vigour: but you dealt gently with the Girl. Well, you shall see I love you: for I will manage this business to both your advantages, by the assistance of Heaven I will; good my Lord help, lead me out.

• Warner,
• Rose.

A mischief upon all Fools! do you think your Master has not done wisely? first to mistake our old mans humour, then to dispraise the Plays; and lastly, to discover his Acquaintance with my Mistress: my old Master has taken such a Jealousie of him, that he will never admit him into his sight again.

Thou mak'st thy self a greater Fool than he by be­ing angry at what he cannot help—I have been angry with him too; but these friends have taken up the quarrel.—

Look you he has sent these Mediators to mitigate your wrath: here are twenty of 'um have made a long Voyage from Guinny to kiss your hands: and when the Match is made, there are an hun­dred more in readiness to be your humble Servants.

Rather then fall out with you, I'l take u'm; but I con­fess it troubles me to see so loyal a Lover have the heart of an Emperour, and yet scarce the brains of a Cobler.

Well, what device can we two beget betwixt us, to separate Sir John Swallow and thy Mistress?

I cannot on the sudden tell; but I hate him worse than foul weather without a Coach.

Then I'l see if my project will be luckier than thine. Where are the Papers concerning the Joynture I have heard you speak of?

They lie within in three great Bags, some twenty Reams of Paper in each Bundle, with six lines in a sheet: but there is a little Paper where all the business lies.

By good chance he gave it to my custody before he set out for London. You came in good time, here it is, I was carry­ing it to him; just now he sent for it.

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So, this I will secure in my Pocket: when thou art ask'd for it, make two or three bad faces, and say, 'twas left behind: by this means he must of necessity leave the Town, to see for it in Kent.

'Tis no matter, though the old man be suspicious; I knew the story all before-hand; and since then you have fully satisfi'd me of your true friendship to me—Where are the Writings?

I beg your pardon; I thought I had put 'um up amongst my Ladies things, and it seems in my haste I quite for­got 'um, and left 'um at Canterbury.

This is horribly unlucky! Where do you think you left 'um?

Upon the great Box in my Ladies Chamber; they are safe enough I'm sure.

If you lov'd me, you would not take all occasions to leave me thus!

Do, go to Kent, and when you come again, Here they are ready for you.

Sometimes you've tongue enough, what, are you si­lent?

'Tis an Accompt, Sir, of what Money you have lost since you came to Town.

I'm very glad on't: now I'l make you all see the severity of my Fortune,—give me the Paper.

Heaven! What does he mean to do? it is not fair writ out, Sir;

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Pray, oblige me, Sir,——'tis but one minute: all peo­ple love to be pitty'd in their Misfortunes, and so do I: will you produce it, Sirrah?

Hold yet, Sir, and let me read it:—you cannot read my hand.

This is ever his way to be disparaging me,—but I'le let you see, Sirrah, that I can read your hand better than you your self can.

Is there so, Sirrah? but I'le bring you out of all your Tricks with a Vengeance to you.—

How now! What's this? A true particular of the Estate of Sir John Swallow Knight, lying and scituate in, &c.

This is the very Paper I had lost: I'm very

glad on't, it has sav'd me a most unwelcome journey,—

but I will not thank you for the Courtesie, which now I find you never did intend me—this is Confederacy, I smoak it now—Come, Madam, let me wait on you to your Father.

Well, of a witty man, this was the foolishest part that ever I beheld.

I am a Fool, I must confess it, and I am the most mi­serable one without thy help,—but yet it was such a mistake as any man might have made.

Prethee chide me! this indifference of thine wounds me to the heart.

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At your pleasure, as the Devil and you can agree about it.

D'ye see the points ready? Will you do nothing to save my life?

Why don't you dispatch, Sir? Why all these Pream­bles?

I'l see thee hang'd first: I know thou won'dst have me kill'd, to get my Cloaths.

I knew it was but a Copy of your Countenance; peo­ple in this Age are not so apt to kill themselves.

Here are yet ten Pieces in my Pocket, take 'em, and let's be friends.

You know the Eas'ness of my Nature, and that makes you work upon it so. Well, Sir,—for this once I cast an Eye of pity on you,—but I must have ten more in hand, before I can stir a foot.

As I am a true Gamester, I have lost all but these,—but if thou'lt lend me them, I'l give 'em thee agen.

ACT. IV.

BUT are they to be married this day in private, say you?

So soon to prevent the designs upon her; and in private, to save the effusion of Christian Money.

It strikes to my heart already; in fine, I am a dead man.— Warner.

Well, go your ways, I'le try what may be done. Look if he will stir now; your Rival and the Old man will see us toge­ther, we are just below the Window.

But I have found a way to help thee out, trust to my wit but once.

Name your wit, or think you have the least grain of wit once more, and I'le lay it down for ever.

You are a sawcy masterly Companion, and so I leave you.

It was for telling him he lost too much at Play; I [Page 35] meant him nothing but well, Heaven knows, and he in a cursed damn'd humour would needs revenge his losses upon me: A' kick'd me, took away my money, and turn'd me off; but if I take it at his hands—

By Cox nowns it was an ill-natur'd part, nay, I thought no better could come on't, when I heard him at his Vow to Gads, and in fines.

But if I live I'll cry quittance with him: he had engag'd me to get Mrs. Millisent your Daughter for him; but if I do not all that ever I can to make her hate him, a great Booby, an over­grown Oafe, a conceited Bartlemew.—

Prithee leave off thy Choler, and hear me a little: I have had a great mind to thee a long time, if thou think'st my Service better than his, from this minute I entertain thee.

With all my heart, Sir, and so much the rather, that I may spight him with it.—This was the most propitious Fate.—

Propitious! and Fate! what a damn'd Scander-bag-Rogue art thou to talk at this rate! hark you, Sirrah, one word more of this Gibberish, and I'll set you packing from your new Service; I'll have neither Propitious nor Fate come within my doors.——

Good old Sir be pacified I was pouring out a little of the dregs that I had left in me of my former Service, and now they are gone, my stomachs clear of 'em.

This Fellow is come in a happy hour; for now, Sir, you and I may go to prepare the Licence, and in the mean time he may have an Eye upon your Daughter.

If you please I'll wait upon her till she's ready, and then bring her to what Church you shall appoint.

But, Friend, you'l find she'l hang an Arse, and be very loth to come along with you, and therefore I had best stay be­hind, and bring her my self.

I warrant you I have a trick for that, Sir, she knows nothing of my being turn'd away: So I'll come to her as from Sir Martin, and under pretence of carrying her to him, conduct her to you,

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By th' mess 'twas well thought on; well Son, go you before, I'l speak but one word for a Dish or two at Dinner, and follow you to the Licence-Office. Sirrah—stay you here—till my return.

solus. Was there ever such a lucky Rogue as I! I had alwayes a good opinion of my wit, but could never think I had so much as now I find. I have now gain'd an opportunity to carry away Mistress Millisent for my Master, to get his Mistress by means of his Rival, to receive all his happiness, where he could expect nothing but misery: after this exploit I will have Lilly draw me in the Habit of a Hero, with a Lawrel on my Temples, and an Inscription below it, This is Warner the flower of Serving­men.

Pray do me the favour to help me to the speech of Mr. Moody.

Sir, a Gentleman met me at the Corner of the next Street, and bid me give this into your own hands.

Sir, permit me, though a stranger, to give you coun­sel; some young Gallants have had intelligence, that this day you in­tend privately to Marry your Daughter, the rich Heiress; and in fine, above twenty of them have dispersed themselves to watch her going out: therefore put it off, if you will avoid mischief, and be advi­sed by

Your unknown Servant.

By the Mackings, I thought there was no good in't, when I saw in fine there; there are some Papishes, I'l warrant, that lie in wait for my Daughter, or else they are no Englishmen, but some of your French Outalion-Rogues; I owe him Thanks [Page] however, this unknown Friend of mine, that [...]old me on't. Warner, no Wedding to day, Warner.

I say no more, but some wiser than some, I'l keep my Daughter at home this Afternoon, and a fig for all these Outali­ans.

So, here's another Trick of Fortune as unexpected for bad, as the other was for good. Nothing vexes me, but that I had made my Game Cock-sure, and then to be back-gammon'd: it must needs be the Devil that writ this Letter, he ow'd my Master a spight, and has paid him to the purpose: and here he comes as merry too, he little thinks what mis­fortune has befal'n him, and for my part I am a­sham'd to tell him.

Let me laugh out my langh, and I'l tell thee.

Hereafter, Warner, be it known unto thee, I will en­dure no more to be thy May game: thou shal't no more dare to tell me, I spoil thy projects, and discover thy designs; for I have play'd such a Prize, without thy help, of my own Mother­wit ('tis true I am hasty sometimes, and so do harm; but when I have a mind to shew my self, there's no man in England, though I say't, comes near me as to point of imagination) I'l make thee acknowledge I have laid a Plot that has a Soul in't.

Pray, Sir, keep me no longer in ignorance of this rare Invention.

Know then, Warner, that when I left thee, I was pos­sest with a terrible fear, that my Mistress should be married: well, thought I to my self, and must'ring up all the Forces of my Wit, I did produce such a stratagem.

I feign'd a Letter as from an unknown Friend to Moody, wherein I gave him to understand, that if his Daughter went out this Afternoon, she would infallibly be snapt by some [Page 38] young Fellows that lay in wait for her.

Very good.

That which follows is yet better; for he I fent as­sures me, that in that very nick of time my Letter came, her Fa­ther was just sending her abroad with a very foolish rascally fel­low that was with him.

And did you perform all this a'gods name? could you do this wonderful miracle without your soul to the Devil for his help?

I tell thee man I did it, and it was done by the help of no Devil, but this familiar of my own brain; how long would it have been e're thou couldest have thought of such a project? Martin said to his man, Who's the Fool now?

Who's the fool? why who use to be the fool? he that ever was since I knew him, and ever will be so!

What a Pox? I think thou art grown envious, not one word in my commendations?

Faith Sir, my skill is too little to praise you as you de­serve; but if you would have it according to my poor ability, you are one that had a knock in your Cradle, a conceited lack­wit, a designing Ass, a hair-brain'd Fop, a confounded busi [...] brain, with an eternal Wind mill in it; this in short, Sir, is the Contents of your Panegyrick.

But what the Devil have I done, to set you thus a­gainst me?

Only this, Sir, I was the foolish rascally fellow that was with Moody, and your Worship was he to whom I was to bring his Daughter.

But how could I know this? I am no Witch.

Will you hear my justifications?

Shall I see the back of you? speak not a word in your defence.

This is the strangest luck now—

I'am resolv'd this Devil of his shall never weary me, I will overcome him, I will invent something that shall stand good in spight of his folly. Let me see—

Here he is— I must venture on him, for the tyranny of this old Lady is unsupportable, since I have made her my confi­dent, there passes not an hour but she passes a pull at my Purse­strings; I sha'l be ruin'd if I do not quit my self of her suddenly: I find now, by sad experience, that a Mistress is much more chargeable than a Wife, and after a little time too, grows full as dull and insignificant. Mr. VVarner! have you a mind to do your self a courtesie, and me another?

I think, my Lord, the Question need not be much dis­sputed, for I have alwayes had a great service for your Lordship, and some little kindness for my self.

What, if you should propose Mistress Christian as a Wife to your Master? you know he's never like to compass t'other.

I cannot tell that my Lord—

500 l. are yours at the day of marriage.

500 l. 'tis true, the temptation is very sweet, and pow­erful; the Devil I confess has done his parr, and many a good Murder and Treason have been committed at a cheaper rate; but yet—

What yet—

To confess the truth, I am resolv'd to bestow my Ma­ster upon that other Lady (as difficult as your Lordship thinks it) for the honour of my wit is engag'd in it: will it not be the same to your Lordship were she marred to any other?

The very same.

Come my Lord, not to dissemble with you any longer, I know where it is that your Shoe wrings you: I have observ'd something in the House, betwixt some parties that shall be name­less: and know that you have been taking up Linnen at a much dearer rate, than you might have had it at any Drapers in Town.

I see I have not danc'd in a Net before you.

As for that old Lady, whom Hell confound, she is the greatest Jill in Nature, cheat is her study, all her joy to cosen, she loves nothing but her self, and draws all lines to that corrupt­ed centre.

I have found her out, though late: first, I'll undertake [Page 40] I n'er enjoy'd her Neice under the rate of 500 l. a time; never was Womans flesh held up so high: every night I find out for a new Maiden-head, and she has sold it me as often as ever Mother Temple, Bennet, or Gifford, have put off boil'd Capons for Quails and Partridges.

This is nothing to what Bills you'l have when she's brought to Bed, after her hard bargain, as they call it; then cram'd Capons, Pea-hens, Chickens in the grease, Pottages, and Frigacies, Wine from Shatling, and La-fronds, with New-River, clearer by six pence the pound than ever God Almighty made it; then Midwife—Dry-Nurse—Wet-Nurse—and all the rest of their Accomplices, with Cradle, Baby-Clouts, and Bearing-Cloaths—Possets, Cawdels, Broth, Jellies, and Gravies; and behind all these, Glisters, Suppositers, and a barbarous Potheca­ries Bi [...]l, more inhumane than a Tailors.

I sweat to think on't.

Well, my Lord! chear up! I have found a way to rid you of it all, within a short time you shall know more; yonder appears a young Lady whom I must needs speak with, please you go in and prepare the old Lady and your Mistress.

Good luck, and 500 l. attend thee.

I am resolv'd I'l never marry him!

So far you are right, Madam.

But, how to hinder it, I cannot possibly tell? for my Fa­ther presses me to it, and will take no denial: wou'd I knew some way—

Madam, I'l teach you the very nearest, for I have just now found it out,

Are you there, Mr. Littleplot?

Studying to deserve thee, Rose, by my diligence for thy Lady; I stand here, methinks, just like a wooden Mercury, to point her out the way to Matrimony.

Or, Serving-man-like, ready to carry up the hot meat for your Master, and then to fall upon the cold your self.

I know not what you call the cold, but I believe I shall [Page 41] find warm work on't: in the first place then I must acquaint you, that I have seemingly put off my Master, and entred my self into Sir John's service.

Most excellent!

And thereupon, but base—

Something he would tell us, but see what luck's here!

How now, Sirrah? are you so great there already?

I find my Father's jealous of him still!

Sir, I was only teaching my young Lady a new Song, and if you please you shall hear it.

Ods bobs this is very pretty.

I, so is the Lady's Answer too, if I could but hit on't.

Bodikins I like not that so well, to cosen her old Fa­ther; it may be my own case another time.

Oh Madam! yonder's your Persecutor return'd.

I'll into my Chamber to avoid the sight of him as long as I can; Lord! that my old doting Father should throw me away upon such an Ignoramus, and deny me to such a Wit as Sir Martin.

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O Son! here has been the most villainous Tragedy against you.

What Tragedy? has there been any blood shed since I went?

No blood shed, but, as I told you, a most damnable Tragedy.

A Tragedy! I'll be hang'd if he does not mean a Stra­tagem.

Jack Sawce! if I say it is a Tragedy, it shall be a Tra­gedy in spight of you, teach your Grandam how to piss—what—I hope I am old enough how to spout English with you Sir?

But what was the reason you came not after me?

'T was well I did not, I'll promise you, there were those would have made bold with Mistress Bride; an' if she had stir'd out of doors, there were Whipsters abroad i'faith, Padders of Maiden-heads, that would have truss'd her up, and pick'd the lock of her affections, e'r a man could have said, what's this: but by good luck I had warning of it by a friends Letter.

The remedy for all such dangers is easie, you may send for a Parson, and have the business dispatch'd at home.

A match, i'faith, do you provide a Domine, and I'll go tell her our resolutions, and hearten her up against the day of battel.

Now I think on't, this Letter must needs come from Sir Martin; a Plot of his, upon my life, to hinder our marriage.

I see, Sir, you'l still mistake him for a Wit; but I am much deceiv'd, if that Letter came not from another hand.

From whom I prithee?

Nay, for that you shall excuse me, Sir, I do not love to make a breach betwixt persons that are to be so near related.

Thou seem'st to imply that my Mistress was in the Plot,

Can you make a doubt on't? do you not know she ever lov'd him, and can you hope she has so soon forsaken him? you may make your self miserable, if you please, by such a mar­riage.

When she is once mine, her Vertue will secure me.

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Her Vertue!

What, do you make a mock on't?

Not I, I assure you, Sir, I think it no such jesting mat­ter.

Why, is she not honest?

Yes in my conscience is she, for Sir Martin's Tongue's no slander.

But does she say to the contrary?

If one would believe him, which for my part I do not, he has in a manner confess'd it to me.

Hell and Damnation!

Courage, Sir, never vex your self, I'll warrant you 'tis all a Lye.

But how shall I be 'sut'd 'tis so?

When you are married you'l soon make tryal, whether she be a Maid or no?

I do not love to make that Experiment at my own cost.

Then you must never marry.

I, but they have so many tricks to cheat a man, which are entay'ld from Mother to Daughter through all Generations, there's no keeping a Lock for that Door for which every one has a Key.

As for Example, their drawing up their breaths with Oh! you hurt me, can you be so cruel? then the next day she steals a Visit to her Lover, that did you the Courtesie before­hand, and in private tells him how she cozened you; twenty to one but she takes out another Lesson with him to practise the next night.

All this while miserable I must be their May-game.

'Tis well if you escape so; for commonly he strikes in with you, and becomes your friend.

Deliver me from such a friend that stays behind with my Wife, When I gird on my Sword to go abroad.

I, there's your man, Sir; besides he will be sure to watch your haunts, and tell her of them, that if occasion be, she may have wherewithall to recriminate: at least she will seem to be jealous of you, and who would suspect a jealous Wife?

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All manner of ways I am most miserable.

But if she be not a Maid when you marry her, she may make a good Wife afterwards, 'tis but imagining you have taken such a mans Widow.

If there were all; but the Man will come and claim her again.

Examples have been frequent of those that have been wanton, and yet afterwards take up.

I, the same thing they took up before.

The truth is, an honest simple Girl that's ignorant of all things, maketh the best Matrimony: There is such pleasure in instructing her, the best is, there's not one Dunce in all the Sex; such a one with a good Fortune—

I, but where is she, Warner?

Near enough, but that you are too far engag'd.

Engag'd to one that hath given me the earnest of Cuckoldom before-hand?

What think you then of Mrs Christian here in the house? There's 5000 l. and a better penny.

I, but is she Fool enough?

She's none of the wise Virgins, I can assure you.

Dear Warner, step into the next Room, and in­veigle her out this way, that I may speak to her.

Remember above all things, you keep this Wooing se­cret; if he takes the least wind, old Moody will be sure to hinder it.

Do'st thou think I shall get her Aunts Consent?

Leave that to me.

How happy a man shall I be, if I can but compass this! and what a Precipice have I avoided! then the revenge too is so sweet to steal a Wife under her Fathers nose, and leave 'um in the lurch who has abus'd me; well, such a Servant as this, Warner, is a Jewel.

There she is, Sir, now I'll go to prepare her Aunt.

Sweet Mistress, I am come to wait upon you.

Truly you are too good to wait on me.

[Page 45]

And in the Condition of a Suitor.

As how, forsooth?

To be so happy as to marry you.

O Lord, I would not marry for any thing!

Why? 'tis the honest end of Woman-kind.

Twenty years hence, forsooth: I would not lye in bed with a man for a world, their beards it will so prickle one.

Pah,—What an innocent Girl it is, and very child! I like a Colt that never yet was back'd; for so I shall make her what I list, and mould her as I will; Lord! her innocency makes me laugh my Cheeks all wet.—Sweet Lady—

I'm but a Gentlew man, forsooth.

Well then, sweet Mistress, if I get your Friends con­sent sha'l I have yours?

My old Lady may do what she will, forsooth, but by my truly, I hope she will have more care of me, then to marry me yet; Lord bless me, what should I do with a Husband?

Well, Sweet-heart, then instead of wooing you, I must wooe my old Lady.

Indeed, Gentleman, my old Lady is married already: cry you mercy forsooth, I think you are a Knight.

Happy in that Title only to make you Lady.

Believe me, Mr. Knight, I would not be a Lady, it makes Folks proud, and so humerous, and so ill Huswifes, forsooth.

Pah,—she's a Baby, the simplest thing that ever yet I knew; the happiest man I shall be in the world; for should I have my wish, it should be to keep School, and teach the bigger Girls, and here in one my wish it is absolv'd.

By your leave, Sir: I hope this noble Knight will make you happy, and you make him.

What should I make him?

Marry, you shall make him happy in a good Wife.

I will not marry, Madam.

You Fool!

Pray, Madam, let me speak with you, on my Soul 'tis the pretti'st innocent'st thing in the world.

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Indeed, Sir, she knows little besides her work and her Prayers; but I'll talk with the Fool.

Deal gently with her, dear Madam.

Come, Christian, will not you marry this noble Knight?

Yes, yes, yes.—

Sir, it shall be to night.

This Innocence is a Dowry beyond all price.

You are very melancholy methinks, Sir.

You are mistaken, Sir.

You may dissemble as you please, but Mrs. Millisent lyes at the bottom of your Heart.

My Heart, I assure you, has no room for so poor a Trifle.

Sure you think to wheadle me, would you have me imagine you do not love her?

Love her! why should you think me such a Sot? love a Prostitute, and infamous person!

Fair and soft, good Sir John.

You see I am no very obstinate Rival, I leave the field free to you: go on, Sir, and pursue your good Fortune, and be as happy as such a common Creature can make thee.

This is Hebrew-Greek to me; but I must tell you, Sir, I will not suffer my Divinity to be prophan'd by such a Tongue as yours.

Believe it; what'er I say I can quote my Author for.

Then, Sir, whoever told it you, ly'd in his Throat, d'you see, and deeper than that d'ye see, in his stomach, and his guts d'ye see: tell me she's a common person! he's a Son of a Whore that said it, and make him eat his words, though he spoke 'em in a pr [...]vy-house.

What if Warner told me so? I hope you'l grant him to be a competent Judge in such a business.

Did that precious Rascal say it?—Now I think on't I'll not believe you: in fine, Sir, I'll hold you an even Wager he denies it.

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I'll lay you ten to one, he justifies it to your face.

I'll make him give up the Ghost under my fist, if he does not deny it.

I'll cut off his Ears upon the Spot, if he does not stand to't.

Enter Warner.

Here he comes in Pudding-time to resolve the que­stion: come hither, you lying Varlet, hold up your hand at the Bar of Justice, and answer me to what I shall demand.

What a Goodier is the matter, Sir?

Thou Spawn of the old Serpent, fruitful in nothing but in lyes!

A very fair beginning this.

Didst thou dare to cast thy Venom upon such a Saint as Mrs. Millisent, to traduce her Vertue, and say it was adulterate?

Not guilty my Lord.

I told you so.

How, Mr. Rascal! have you forgot what you said but now concerning Sir Martin and Mrs. Millisent? I'll stop the Lye down your Throat, if you dare deny't.

Say you so! are you there agen i'faith?

Pray pacifie your self, Sir, 'twas a Plot of my own de­vising.

Leave off your winking and your pinking, with a Horse-pox t'ye, I'll understand none of it; tell me in plain Eng­lish the truth of the business: for an'you were my own Brother, you should pay for it: belye my Mistress! what a Pox d'ye think I have no sense of Honour?

What the Devil's the matter w'ye? either be at quiet, or I'll resolve to take my heels, and be gone.

Stop Thief there! what did you think to scape the hand of Justice?

The best on't is, Sirrah, your heels are not altogether so nimble as your tongue,

He p! Murder! Murder!

Confess, you Rogue, then.

Hold your hands, I think the Devil's in you,—I tell you 'tis a device of mine.

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And have you no body to devise it on but my Mi­stress, the very Map of Innocence?

Moderate your anger, good Sir Martin.

By your patience, Sir, I'll chastise him abundantly.

That's a little too much, Sir, by your favour, to beat him in my presence.

That's a good one i'faith, your presence shall hinder me from beating my own Servant.

O Traytor to all sense and reason! he's going to dis­cover that too.

An'I had a mind to beat him to Mummy, he's my own, I hope.

At present I must tell you he's mine, Sir.

Hey-day! here's fine jugling!

Stop yet, Sir, you are just upon the brink of a Precipice.

What is't thou meanest now?——a Lord! my mind mis-gives me I have done some fault, but would I were hang'd if I can find it out.

There's no making him understand me.

Pox on't, come what will, I'll not be fac'd down with a Lye; I say he is my man.

Pray remember your self better; did not you turn him away for some fault lately, and laid a Livery of black and blue on his back before he went?

The Devil of any fault, or any black and blue that I remember: either the Rascal put some Trick upon you, or you would upon me.

O, ho, then it seems the cudgelling and turning away were pure invention; I am glad I undestand it.

In fine, it's all so damn'd a Lye.——

Alas! he has forgot it, Sir, good Wits, you know, have bad Memories.

No, no, Sir, that shall not serve your turn, you may return when you please to your old Master, I give you a fair dis­charge, and a glad man I am to be so rid of you: were you there­abouts i'faith? what a Snake I had enterta [...]n'd into my bosom? fare you well, Sir, and lay your next Plot better between you, I advise you.

[Page 49]

Lord, Sir, how you stand! as you were nip'd i'th'head: have you done any new piece of Folly, that makes you look so like an Ass?

Here's three pices of Gold yet, if I had the heart to offer it thee.

Noble Sir, what have I done to deserve so great a Li­berality; I confess if you had beaten me for my own fault, if you had utterly destroyed all my projects, then it might ha'bin expected that ten or twenty pieces should have been offer'd by way of recompence or satisfaction.——

Nay, on'you be so full o'your Flowts, your Friend and Servant; who the Devil could tell the meaning of your signs and tokens, an'you go to that?

You are no Ass then?

Well, Sir, to do you service, d'ye see, I am an Ass in a fair way; will that satisfie you?

For this once produce those three pieces, I am content­ed to receive that inconsiderable tribute, or make'em six and I'll take the fault upon my self.

Are we Friends then? if we are, let me advise you.—

Yet advising.—

For no harm, good Warner: but pray next time make me of your Council, let me enter into the business, instruct me in every point, and then if I discover all, I am resolv'd to give over affairs, and retire from the world.

ACT. V.

YOur promise is admirably made good to me, that Sir John Swallow should be this night married to Mrs. Christian; instead of that, he is more deeply engag'd than ever with old Moody.

I cannot help these ebbs and flows of fortune.

I am sure my Niece suffers most in't, he's come off to her with a cold Complement of a mistake in his Mistress's Vir­tue, which he has now found out, by your Masters folly, to be a Plot of yours to separate them.

To be forsaken when a woman has given her consent!

'Tis the same scorn, as to have a Town render'd up, and afterwards slighted.

You are a sweet youth, Sir, to use my Lady so, when she depended on you; is this the faith of Valet de Chambre? I would be asham'd to be such a dishonour to my pro [...]ession; it will reflect upon us in time, we shall be ruin'd by your good ex­ample.

As how my dear Lady Embassadress?

Why, they say the Women govern their Ladies, and you govern us: so if you play fast and loose, not a Gallant will bribe us for our good wills; the gentle Guiny will now go to the Or­dinary, which us'd as duly to steal into our hands at the stair-foot as into Mr. Docto [...]s at parting.

Night's come, and I expect your promise.

Fail with me if you think good, Sir.

I give no more time.

And if my Mistress go to bed a Maid to night.

Hey dey! you are dealing with me, as they do with the Banquers, c [...]ll in all your debts together; there's no possibi­lity of payment at this rate, but I'll coin for you all as fast as I [Page 51] can, I assure you.

But you must not think to pay us with false Money, as you have done hitherto.

Leave off your Mountebank tricks with us, and fall to your business in good earnest.

Faith, and I will Rose; for to confess the truth, I am a kind of a Mountebank, I have but one Cure for all your Diseases, that is, that my Master may marry Mrs. Millisent, for then Sir John Swallow will of himself return to Mrs. Christian.

He says true, and therefore we must all be helping to that design.

I'll put you upon something, give me but a thinking time. In the first place, get a Warrant and Bailifs to arrest Sir John Swallow upon a promise of marriage to Mrs. Christian.

Very good.

We'll all swear it.

I never doubted your Ladiship in the least, Madam—for the rest we will consider hereafter.

Leave this to us

Rose where's thy Lady?

What have you to say to her?

Only to tell you, Madam, I am going forward in the great work of projection.

I know not whether you will deserve my thanks when the work's done.

Madam, I hope you are not become indifferent to my Master.

If he should prove a fool after all your crying up his wit, I shall be a miserable woman.

A fool! that were a good jest i'faith: but how comes your Ladiship to suspect it?

I have heard, Madam, your greatest Wits have ever a touch of madness and extravagance in them, so perhaps has he.

There's nothing more distant than wit and folly, yet like East and West, they may meet in a point, and produce acti­ons that are but a hairs breadth from one another.

I'll undertake he has wit enough to make one laugh at him a whole day together: He's a most Comical person,

[Page 52]

For all this I will not swear he is no fool, he has still dis­covered all your plots.

O Madam, that's the common fate of your Machivili­ans, they draw their Designs so subtile, that their very fineness breaks them.

However I'm resolv'd to be on the sure side, I will have certain proof of his wit before I marry him.

Madam, I'll give you one, he wears his cloaths like a great Sloven, and that's a sure sign of wit, he neglects his out­ward parts; besides, he speaks French, sings, dances, plays upon the Lute.

Does he do all this, say you?

Most divinely, Madam.

I ask no more, then let him give me a Serenade immedi­ately; but let him stand in the view, I'll not be cheated,

He shall do't Madam: but how, the Devil knows—for he sings like a Scritch-Owle, and never touch'd the Lute.

You'll see't perform'd?

Now I think on't, Madam, this will but retard our en­terprise.

Either let him do't, or see me no more.

Well, it shall be done, Madam; but where's your Fa­ther? will not he over hear it?

As good hap is, he's below stairs, talking with a Seaman, that has brought him news from the East Indies.

What concernment can he have there?

He had a Bastard-Son there, whom he loved extremely: but not having any news from him these many year's concluded him dead; this Son he expects within these three dayes.

When did he see him last?

Not since he was seven years old.

A sudden thought comes into my head to make him appear before his time; let my Master pass for him, and by that means he may come into the House unsuspected by her Father, or his Rival.

According as he performs his Serenade, I'll talk with you—make haste—I must retire a little,

I'll instruct him most rarely, he shall never be found [Page] out; but in the mean time, what wilt thou do with a Serenade?

Faith, I am little non-plus'd on the sudden, but a warm consolation from thy lips, Rose, would set my wits a work­ing again.

Adieu, Warner.

Inhumane Rose, adieu. Blockhead Warner, into what a Premunire hast thou brought thy self; this 'tis to be so forward to promise for another—but to be Godfather to a Fool, to promise and vow he should do any thing like a Christian.—

Why, how now Bu [...]ly, in a Brown Study? for my good I warrant it; there's five shillings for thee, what, we must encourage good wits sometimes.

Hang your white pelf: sure, Sir, by your largess you mistake me for Martin Parker, the Ballad-Maker; your covetous­ness has offended my Muse, and quite dull'd her.

How angry the poor Devil is? in fine thou art as chollerick as a Cook by a Fire-side.

I am over-heated, like a Gun, with continual dischar­ging my wit: 'slife, Sir, I have rarifi'd my brains for you, till they are evaporated; but come, Sir, do something for your self like a man, I have engag'd you shall give to your Mistress a Serenade in your proper person: I'll borrow a Lute for you.

I'll warrant thee I'll do't man.

You never learn't, I do not think you know one stop.

'Tis no matter for that, Sir, I'll play as fast as I can, and never stop at all.

Go to, you are an invincible Fool I see; get up into your Window, and set two Candles by you, take my Land-lords Lute in your hand, and fumble on't, and make grimmaces with your mouth, as if you sung; in the mean time. I'll play in the next Room in the dark, and consequently your Mistress, who will come to her Balcone over against you, will think it to be you; and at the end of every Tune, I'll ring the Bell that hangs be­tween your Chamber and mine, that you may know when to have done.

[Page 54]

Why, this is fair Play now, to tell a man before­hand what he must do; Gramercy i'faith, Boy, now if I fail thee—

About your business then, your Mistress and her M [...]id appear already: I'll give you the sign with the Bell when I am prepar'd, for my Lute is at hand in the Barbers Shop.

We shall have rare Musick.

I wish it prove so; for I suspect the Knight can neither p'ay nor sing.

But if he does, you're bound to pay the Musick, Madam.

I'll not believe it, except both my Ears and Eyes are Witnesses.

But 'tis night, Madam, and you cannot see'em; yet he may play admirably in the dark.

Where's my Father?

You need not fear him, he's still employ'd with that same Sea-man, and I have set Mrs. Christian to watch their dis­course, that betwixt her and me Warner may have wherewithal to instruct his Master.

But yet there's fear my Father will find out the Plot.

Not in the least, for my old Lady has provided two rare disguises for the Master and the Man.

Peace, I hear them beginning to tune the Lute.

And see, Madam, where your true Knight Sir Martin is plac'd yonder like Apollo, with his Lute in his hand and his Rays about his head.

Did he not play most excellently, Madam?

He play'd well, and yet methinks he held his Lute but untowardly.

Dear Madam, peace; now for the Song.

A prety humour'd Song—but stay, methinks he plays and sings still, and yet we cannot hear him.—Play louder. Sir Martin, that we may have the fruits on't.

D ath! this abominable Fool will spoil all agen. Dam him, he stands making his Grimaces yonder, and he looks so earnestly upon his Mistress, that he hears me not.

Ah, ah! have I found you out, Sir? now as I live and breathe, this is pleasant, Rose,—his man play'd and sung for him, and he, it seems, did not know when he should give over.

They have found him out, and laugh yonder as if they would split their sides. Why Mr. Fool, Oaf, Coxcomb, will you hear none of your names?

Sir Martin, Sir Martin, take your Mans counsel, and keep time with your Musick.

Hah! what do you say. Madam? how does your Ladiship like my Musick?

O most heavenly! just like the Harmony of the Spheres that is to be admired, and never heard.

You have ruin'd all by your not leaving off in time.

What the Devil wou [...]d you have a man do when my hand is in! well o'my conscience I think there is a fate upon me.

Look, Rose, what's the matter.

'Tis Sir John Swallow pursu'd by the Bailiffs, Madam, according to our Plot; it seems they have dogg'd him thus late to his Lodging.

That's well! for though I begin not to love this Fool; yet I am glad I shall be rid on him.

Now I'll redeem all agen, my Mistress shall see my Va our, I m resolv'd on't, Villains, Rogues, Poultroons! what? [Page 57] three upon one? in fine, I'll be with you immediately.

Why, Sir, are you stark mad? have you no grain of sense left? he's gone! now is he as earnest in the quarrel as Cokes among the Puppets; 'tis to no purpose whatever I do for him.

Victoria! Victoria! what heart, Sir John, you have received no harm, I hope?

Not the least, I thank you Sir for your timely assi­stance, which I will requite with any thing but the resigning of my Mrs—Dear Sir Martin, a good night.

Pray let me wait upon you in Sir John.

I can find my way to Mrs. Millcsent without you, Sir, I thank you.

But pray, what were you to be arrested for?

I know no more than you; some little debts per­haps I left unpaid by my negligence: once more good night, Sir.

He's an ungrateful Fellow; and so in fine, I shall tell him when I see him next—Monsieur—

Warner, A propos! I hope you'l applaud me now, I have de­feated the Enemy, and that in sight of my Mistress; Boy, I have charm'd her i'faith with my Valour.

I, just as much as you did e'n now with your Musick; go, you are so beastly a fool, that a Chiding is thrown away upon you.

Fool in your face, Sir; call a man of Honour, Fool, when I have just atchieved such an Enterprise—Gad now my blood's up, I am a dangerous person, I can tell you that, Warner.

Poor Animal, I pity thee.

I grant I am no Musician, but you must allow me for a Sword-man, I have beat 'em bravely; and in fine, I am come off unhurt, save only a little scratch i'th'head.

That's impossible, thou hast a Scull so thick, no Sword can pierce it; but much good may 't d'ye, Sir, with the fruits of [Page 58] your Valour: you rescu'd your Rival when he was to be arrested on purpose to take him off from your Mistress.

Why, this is ever the Fate of ingenuous men; no­thing thrives they take in hand.

Sir Martin, you have done your business with my Lady, she'l never look upon you more; she says, she's so well satisfied of your Wit and Courage, that she will not put you to any further tryal.

Warner, is there no hopes, Warner?

None that I know.

Let's have but one civil Plot more before we part.

'Tis to no purpose.

Yet if he had some golden Friends that would engage for him the next time—

Here's a Jacobus and a Carolus will enter into Bonds for me.

I'll take their Royal words for once.

The meaning of this, Dear Rose.

'Tis in pursuance of thy own invention, Warner; a child which thy wit hath begot upon me: but let us lose no time, Help! help! dress thy Master, that he may be Anthony, old Moo­dy's Bastard, and thou his, come from the East-Indies.

Hey-tarock it—now we shall have Roses device too, I long to be at it, pray let's hear more on't.

Old Moody you must know in his younger years, when he was a Cambridge-Scholar, made bold with a Towns-mans Daughter there, by whom he had a Bastard whose name was An­thony, whom you Sir Martin, are to represent.

I warrant you, let me alone for Tony: but pray go on, Rose.

This Child in his Fathers time he durst not own, but bred him privately in the Isle of Ely, till he was seven years old, and from thence sent him with one Bonaventure a Merchant for the East-Indies:

But will not this over-burden your memory, Sir?

There's no answering thee any thing, thou think'st I am good for nothing.

Bonaventure dy'd at Surat within two years, and this An­thony [Page 59] has liv'd up and down in the Moguls Country unheard of by his Father till this night, and is expected within these three days: now if you can pass for him, you may have admittance into the house, and make an end of all the business before the other Anthony arrives.

But hold, Rose, there's one considerable point omitted; what was his Mother's name?

That indeed I had forgot; her name was Dorothy, Daugh­ter to one Draw-water a Vintner at the Rose.

Come, Sir, are you perfect in your Lesson? Anthony Moody born in Cambridge, bred in the Isle of Ely, sent into the Moguls Country at seven years old with one Bonaventure a Mer­chant, who dyed within two years; your Mothers name Do­rothy Draw-water, the Vintners Daughter at the Rose.

I have it all ad unguem—what do'st think I'm a Sot? but stay a little, how have I liv'd all this while in that same Country?

What Country?—Pox, he has forgot already—

The Moguls Country.

I, I, the Moguls Country! what the Devil, any man may mistake a little; but now I have it perfect: but what have I been doing all this while in the Moguls Country? He's a Hea­then Rogue, I am afraid I shall never hit upon his name.

Why, you have been passing your time there, no mat­ter how.

Well, if this passes upon the Old man, I'll bring your business about agen with my Mistress, never fear it; stay you here at the door, I'll go tell the Old man of your arrival.

Well, Sir, now play your part exactly, and I'll forgive all your former errors.—

Hang'em, they were only slips of Youth—how peremptory and domineering this Rogue is! now he see's I have need of his service: would I were out of his power agen, I would make him lye at my feet like any Spaniel.

Is he here already, say'st thou? which is he?

That Sun-burn'd Gentleman.

My dear Boy Anthony, do I see thee agen before I dye? welcome, welcome.

My dear Father, I know it is you by instinct; for methinks I am as like you as if I were spit out of your mouth.

Keep it up I beseech your Lordship.

He's wond'rous like indeed.

The very image of him.

Anthony, you must salute all this Company: this is my Lord Dartmouth, this my Lady Dupe, this her Niece Mrs. Christian.

And that's my Sister, methinks I have a good resem­blance of her too: honest Sister, I must need kiss you Sister.

This fool will discover himself, I foresee it already by his carriage to her.

And now Anthony, pray tell's a little of your Travels.

Time enough for that, forsooth Father, but I have such a natural affection for my Sister, that methinks I could live and dye with her: give me thy hand sweet Sister.

She's beholding to you, Sir.

What if she be Sir, what's that to you Sir?

I hope, Sir, I have not offended you?

It may be you have, and it may be you have not, Sir; you see I have no mind to satisfie you, Sir: what a Devil! a man cannot talk a little to his own flesh and blood, but you must be interposing with a murrain to you.

Enough of this, good Anthony, this Gentleman is to marry your Sister.

He marry my Sister: ods foot, Sir, there are some Bastards, that shall be nameless, that are as well worthy to marry her, as any man; and have as good blood in their veins.

I do not question it in the least, Sir.

'Tis not your best course, Sir; you marry my Sister! [Page 61] what have you seen of the world, Sir? I have seen your Hurri­canos, and your Calentures, and your Eclipticks, and your Tro­pick Lines, Sir, an'you go to that, Sir.

You must excuse my Master, the Sea's a little working in his brain, Sir.

And your Prester Johns o'th' East-Indies, and your Great Turk of Rome and Persia,

Lord, what a thing it is to be Learned, and a Traveller! Bodikins it makes me weep for joy; but, Anthony, you must not bear your self too much upon your Learning, Child.

Pray Brother be civil to this Gentleman for my sake.

For your sake, Sister Millisent, much may be done, and here I kiss your hand on't.

Yet again stupidity?

Nay, pray Brother hands off, now you are too rude.

Dear Sister, as I am a true East-India Gentleman—

But pray Son Anthony, let us talk of other matters and tell me truly, had you not quite forgot me? and yet I made woundy much of you when you were young.

I remember you as well as if I saw you but yester­day: A fine grey-headed—grey-bearded old Gentleman as ever I saw in all my life.

Grey-bearded old Gentleman! when he was a Scholar at Cambridge.

But do you remember where you were bred up?

O yes, Sir, most perfectly, in the Isle—stay—let me see, oh—now I have it—in the Isle of Silly.

In the Isle of Ely, sure you mean?

Without doubt he did, Sir, but this dam'd Isle of Silly runs in's head ever since his Sea-Voyage.

And your Mothers name was—come pray let me ex­amine you—for that I'm sure you cannot forget.

Warner! what was it Warner?

Poor Mrs. Dorothy Draw water, if she were now alive, what a joyful day would this be to her?

Who the Devil bid you speak, Sirrah?

Her name, Sir, was Mrs. Dorothy Draw-water.

I'll be hang'd if this be not some Cheat.

[Page 62]

He makes so many stumbles, he must needs fall at last.

But you remember I hope where you were born?

Well, they may talk what they will of Oxford for an Vniversity, but Cambridge for my money.

Hold your tongue you Scanderbag Rogue you, this is the second time you have been talking when you should not.

I was born at Cambridge, I remember it as perfectly as if it were but yesterday.

How I sweat for him! he's remembring ever since he was born.

And who did you go over with to the East-Indies?

Warner!

'T was a happy thing, Sir, you lighted upon so honest a Merchant as Mr. Bonaventure, to take care of him.

Sawcy Rascal! this is past all sufferance.

We are undone Warner, if this discourse go on any fur­ther.

Pray, Sir, take pity o'th' poor Gentleman, he has more need of a good Supper, than to be ask'd so many Questions.

These are Rogues, Sir, I plainly perceive it; pray let me ask him one question—which way did you come home, Sir?

We came home by Land, Sir.

That is, from India to Persia, from Persia to Turky, from Turky to Germany, from Germany to France.

And from thence, over the narrow Seas on Horse­back.

'Tis so, I discern it now, but some shall smoke for't. Stay a little Anthony, I'll be with you presently.

That wicked old man is gone for no good, I'm afraid, would I were fairly quit of him.

Tell me no more of Sir Martin, Rose, he wants na­tural sence, to talk after this rate; but for this Warner, I am strangely taken with him, how handsomely he brought him off?

Among half a score tough Cudgels I had in my Cham­ber, I have made choice of these two as best able to hold out.

[Page 63]

Alas! poor Warner must be beaten now for all his wit, would I could bear it for him.

But to what end is all this preparation, Sir?

In the first place, for your Worship, and in the next, for this East-India Apostle, that will needs be my Son Anthony.

Why d'ye think he is not?

No, thou wicked Accomplice in his designs, I know he is not

Who, I his Accomplice? I beseech you, Sir, what is it to me, if he should prove a Counterfeit; I assure you he has co­zen'd me in the first place.

That's likely, i'faith, cozen his own Servant?

As I hope for mercy, Sir, I am an utter stranger to him, he took me up but yesterday, and told me the story word for word as he told it you.

What will become of us two now? I trust to the Rogues wit to bring me off.

If thou woud'st have me believe thee, take one of these two Cudgels, and help me to lay it on soundly.

With all my heart.

Out you Cheat, you Hypocrite, you Imposter! do you come hither to cozen an honest man?

Hold, hold, Sir.

Do you come hither with a lye to get a Father, Mr. Anthony of East-India?

Hold you inhumane Butcher.

I'll teach you to counterfeit again, Sir.

The Rogue will murder me.

A fair riddance of 'em both: let's in and laugh at 'em

Was there ever such an affront put upon a man, to be beaten by his Servant?

After my hearty salutations upon your back-side, Sir, may a man have leave to ask you, what news from the Moguls Country?

[Page 64]

I wonder where thou hadst the impudence to move such a question to me, knowing how thou hast us'd me.

Now, Sir, you may see what comes of your indiscre­tion and stupidity: I alwayes gave you warning of it, but for this time I am content to pass it by without more words, partly, be­cause I have already corrected you, though not so much as you deserve.

Do'st thou think to carry it off at this rate, after such an injury?

You may thank your self for't; nay 'twas very well I found out that way, otherwise I had been suspected as your Ac­complice.

But you laid it on with such a vengeance, as if you were bearing of a Stock-fish.

To confess the truth on't, you had anger'd me, and I was willing to evaporate my choler; if you will pass it by so, I may chance to help you to your Mistress: no more words of this business, I advise you, but go home and grease your back.

In fine, I must suffer it at his hands; for if my shoul­ders had not paid for this fault, my purse must have sweat blood for't: the Rogue has got such a hank upon me—

So, so, here's another of our Vessels come

in after the storm that parted us: what comfort, Rose, no Har­bour near?

My Lady, as you may well imagine, is most extreamly incens'd against Sir Martin; but she applauds your ingenuity to the Skies. I'll say no more, but thereby hangs a Tale.

I am considering with my self about a Plot, to bring all about agen.

Yet again plotting! if you have such a mind to't, I know no way so proper for you as to turn Poet to Pugenello.

Hark! is not that Musick in your house?

Yes Sir John has given my Mistress the Fiddles, and our Old-man is as jocund yonder, and does so hug himself to think how he has been reveng'd upon you.

Why, he does not know 'twas we, I hope?

'Tis all one for that.

I have such a Plot; I care not, I will speak an'I were [Page] to be hang'd for't—shall I speak, dear Warner? let me now, it does so wamble within me, just like a Clyster, i'faith law, and I can keep it no longer for my heart.

Well, I am indulgent to you; out with it boldly in the name of Non-sense.

We two will put on Vizards, and with the help of my Lordland, who shall be of the party, go a Mumming there, and by some device of dancing, get my Mistress away unsuspect­ed by 'em all.

What if this should hit now, when all your projects have fail'd, Warner?

Would I were hang'd if it be not somewhat probable: nay, now I consider better on't—exceeding probable, it must take, 'tis not in Nature to be avoided.

O must it so, Sir! and who may you thank for't?

Now am I so mad he should be the Author of this device. How the Devil, Sir, came you to stumble on't?

Why should not my brains be as fruitful as yours or any mans?

This is so good, it shall not be your Plot, Sir, either disown it, or I will proceed no further.

I would not lose the credit of my Plot to gain my Mistress: the Plot's a good one, and I'll justifie it upon any ground of England; an'you will not work upon't, it shall be done without you.

I think the Knight has reason.

Well, I'll order it however to the best advantage: hark you, Rose.

If it miscarry by your ordering, take notice 'tis your fault, 'tis well invented I'll take my Oath on't.

I must in to 'em, for fear I should be suspected; but I'll acquaint my Lord, my old Lady, and all the rest who ought to know it, with your design.

We'll be with you in a twinkling: you and I, Rose, are to follow our Leaders, and be pair'd to night—

To have, and to hold, are dreadful words, Warner; but for your sake I'll venture on 'em.

Nay! good my Lord be patient.

Does he think to give Fiddles and Treatments in a house where he has wrong'd a Lady? I'll never suffer it.

But upon what ground will you raise your quarrel?

A very just one, as I am her Kinsman.

He does not know yet why he was to be arrested; try that way agen.

I'll hear of nothing but revenge.

Yes, pray hear me one word, my Lord, Sir Martin him­self has made a Plot.

That's like to be a good one.

A Fool's Plot may be as lucky as a Fools's Handsel; 'tis a very likely one, and requires nothing for your part, but to get a Parson in the next room, we'll find work for him.

That shall be done immediately; Christian, make haste, and send for Mr. Ball the Non-conformist, tell him here are two or three Angels to be earn'd.

And two or three Possets to be eaten: may I not put in that, Madam?

Surely you may.

Then for the rest—'tis only this—Oh! they are here! pray take it in a whisper: my Lady knows of it already.

Strike up agen, Fiddle, I'll have a French Dance.

Let's have the Brawls.

No, good Sir John, no quarrelling among Friends.

Your Company is like to be increas'd, Sir; some Neighbours that heard your Fiddles are come a mumming to you.

Let 'em come in, and we'l be Jovy; an' I had but my Hobby-horse at home——

What, are they Men or Women?

I believe some Prentices broke loose.

[Page 67]

Rose! go and fetch me down two Indian gowns and Vizard-masks—you and I will disguise too, and be as good a Mummery to them as they to us.

That will be most rare.

O here they come! Gentlemen Maskers you are welcome—He signs for a Dance I believe; you are welcome, Mr. Musick, strike up, I'll make one as old as I am.

And I'll not be out.

Gentlemen Maskers, you have had the Frolick, the next turn is mine; bring two Flute-glasses and some stools, Ho, we'll have the Ladies health.

But why stools, my Lord?

That you shall see: the humour is, that two men at a time are hoysted up; when they are above, they name their La­dies, and the rest of the Company dance about them while they drink: this they call the Frolick of the Altitudes.

Some High-lander's invention, I'll warrant it.

Gentlemen-maskers, you shall begin.

Name the Ladies.

They point to Mrs. Millisent and Mrs. Christian, A Lou's Touche! Touche!

A rare toping health this: come Sir John, now you and I will be in our altitudes.

What new device is this tro?

I know not what to make on't.

Pray, Mr. Fool, where's the rest o'your Company? I would fain see 'em a­gain.

Come down and tell 'em so, Cudden:

I'll be hang'd if there be not some Plot in't, and this Fool is set here to spin out the time.

Like enough! undone! undone! my Daughters's gone, let me down, Sirrah.

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Yes, Cudden.

My Mistress is gone, let me down first.

This is the quickest way, Cudden.

Hold! hold! or thou wilt break my neck.

And you will not come down, you may stay there, Cudden.

O Scanderbag Villains!

Is there no getting down?

All this was long of you Sir Jack.

'Twas long of your self to invite them hither.

O you young Coxcombs, to be drawn in thus!

You old Sot you, to be caught so sillily!

Come but an inch nearer, and I'll so claw thee.

I hope I shall reach to thee.

And 'twere not for thy wooden breast-work there.

I hope to push thee down from Babylon.

How, Gentlemen! what quarrelling among your selves!

Coxnowns! help me down, and let me have fair play, he shall never marry my Daughter.

No I'll be sworn that he shall not, there­fore never repine, Sir, for Marriages you know are made in Hea­ven: in fine, Sir, we are joyn'd together in spig't of Fortune.

That we are indeed, Sir Martin, and these are Witnesses; therefore in fine never repine, Sir, for Mar­riages you know are made in Heaven.

Rose!

What, is Rose split in two? sure I ha' got one Rose!

I, the best Rose you ever got in all your life.

This amazeth me so much, I know not what to say or think.

My Daughter married to Warner!

Well, I thought it impossible any man in England [Page 69] should have over reach'd me: sure Warner there was some mi­stake in this: prithee Billy let's go to the Parson to set all right again, that every man may have his own before the matter go 100 far.

Well, Sir! for my part I will have nothing farther to do with these Women, for I find they will be too hard for us, but e'n sit down by the loss, and content my self with my hard for­tune: But, Madam, do you ever think I will forgive you this, to cheat me into an Estate of 2000 l. a year?

And I were as thee, I would not be so serv'd Warner!

I have serv'd him but right for the cheat he put upon me, when he perswaded me you were a Wit—now there's a trick for your trick, Sir.

Nay, I confess you have out-witted me.

Let me down, and I'll forgive all freely.

What am I kept here for?

I might in policy keep you there, till your Daughter and I had been in private, for a little consummation: But for once, Sir, I'll trust your good nature.

And thou wert a Gentleman it would not grieve me!

That I was assur'd of before I married him, by my Lord here.

I cannot refuse to own him for my Kinsman, though his Father's sufferings in the late times hath ruin'd his Fortunes.

But yet he has been a Serving-man.

You are mistaken, Sir, I have been a Master, and be­sides there's an Estate of 800 l. a year, only it is mortgaged for 6000 l.

Well, we'll bring it off, and for my part, I am glad my Daughter has miss'd in fine, there.

I will not be the only man that must sleep without a Bedfellow to night, if this Lady will once again receive me.

She's yours, Sir.

And the sam Parson, that did the former execution, is still in the next Chamber; what with Cawdels Wine, and Quid­ding, which he has taken in abundance, I think he will be able to wheadle two more of you into matrimony.

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Poor Sir Martin looks melancholly! I am half afraid he is in love.

Not with the Lady that took him for a Wit, I hope.

At least, Sir Martin can do more than you Mr. Warner, for he can make me a Lady, which you cannot my Mistress.

I have lost nothing but my Man, and in fine, I shall get another.

You'll do very well, Sir Martin, for you'll never be your own Man, I assure you.

For my part I had lov'd you before if I had follow'd my inclination.

But now I am afraid you begin of the latest, except your love can grow up like a Mushrome at a nights warning.

For that matter never trouble your self, I can love as fast as any man, when I am nigh possession; my love falls heavy, and never moves quick till it comes near the Centre; he's an ill Falconer that will unhood before the quarry be in sight.

Love's an high mettal'd Hawk that beats the Air,

But soon grows weary when the Game's not near.