SCENE I. The Town.

INDEED, Gentlemen, I have been a long time rumi­nating upon this Matter; but at last an Ingenious Lady put it into my Head, to set up this Lottery for Wives.

It shou'd therefore, methinks, have been call'd, the Ladies Invention.

Right; for 'tis an excellent Contrivance indeed, especially, at such a time as this, when Lotteries are Al-a-mode.

Al-a-mode d'you call it? Ay, and an Old Mode too: For I'm sure Marriage has been a Lottery ever since I can remember.

And what's the Reason of that, Sir, but because the Law does not allow a Month's tryal before hand? So that we are forc'd to take Pigs in Pokes, contrary to the Custom of all Markets.

Well, to the point.—I knew there were a World of poor Gentlemen in and about this City, who had Daughters that stuck upon their Hands for want of Portions.

Very true, Sir.

So, I sent for a good many of 'em, and told 'em, That I had a great number of extraordinary Rarities, which I intended to put off by way of Lottery, (as many others do, now a days, Books and Cakes) and if they would venture their Daughters, I'de venture my Goods; for I intend­ed [Page 2] that every Female shou'd have a Lot of Price and Value to carry her off, for Male encouragement.

For I never knew Self-Interest, and publick Charity so carnally coupl'd be­fore.

Nay, more than this, Gentlemen, I'le have no Blanks—But a Lot and a Woman; a Woman and a Lot quite through; 'till all be drawn.

By the Temptation of Womankind, this Contrivance must take, Gentlemen.

Ay, ay—This Lottery must hit; it must, it must!

But hold a little—How shall we know, Master of mine, whe­ther these same Rarities of yours are worth the ready Money we are to lay down?

There's a Question indeed—Worth, quoth a? Why, I'le tell you what, Friend, there's one Woman will have a strange Fish, with no less than Twenty Feet between the Head and Tail. As I hope to be Knighted, Gentlemen, I fetch'd it my self out of the Zodiack, not many Leagues from the North Pole, where 'tis well known, That the Sun stands still a whole Fortnight together.

And that's the Reason, I believe, that we have wanted one Month in the Summer these several Years past.

Not unlikely, truly—But, Sir, there's one thing more—I desire you, if you have any Woman fairer than the rest, pray let me have her—for I don't care how simple she is.

And let me have the blackest in the whole Pack, for I have heard, That a Woman's Pride is many times the Guardian of her Ho­nour.

I gad, Sir, if I have a Red-hair'd Woman, I'll turn her upon your Hands again; for I hate to have Fire in the upper Tire.

Pray, Sir, let me have a very genteel Woman; That will sit and simper in the Bar, and draw Customers.

A Tapster, Sir, at the Colchester-Inn in Bishop's-gate-street; I am very well known, Sir, all about that end of the Town; and a pretty Woman will be the making of me.

Well, Gentlemen, what d'ye think on't?

Why? very well for my part; but then d'ye hear, Gentlemen, we must be sure to take the right way, or we are all spoil'd.

And how's that?

Why if we have to do with Fortune, we must renounce our Sen­ses and Understandings, and turn meer Fools.

And what then?

Why then if we han't good luck, I'le ne're trust Proverb more.

SCENE 2.

I tell thee, Fool, I don't wonder to see thee look with scorn on all those noble Pieces I have shown thee; for thou art young, and conse­quently, the contempt of every thing that bears the resemblance of Antiqui­ty, is natural to thee.

Not always, Sir, for I have known a handsome young Lady of Sixteen, throw her self into the gouty Arms of Threescore and Ten, when his Medals have been of the right stamp—But, Sir, that which vex­es me, is to see you ruin your Estate and Fortune, by purchasing the rub­bish of sack'd Cities, and so disable your self of providing for a Figure of your own erecting, a young handsom Daughter; yet not so young neither, but, I promise you, 'tis more than time she were well dispos'd of.

What a walking Statue of Ignorance thou art! Why I tell thee, that any one of those exquisite Pieces which I have shewn thee, is of worth sufficient to Marry her to an Earl.

Yes, if she wanted only a gilded Frame for a Husband: But, alas! the Custom now a-days is, no Money, no Matrimony—You may talk of Cupid, and his Quiver, but 'tis the God of Riches makes the Match.

I'le put no constraint upon thee, Child, yet 'tis something that will please thee, and thou may'st tell it to all the World if thou wilt.

Well, well, what is't?

Why you must know, that I have set up a Lottery.

How! a Lottery! why I hope you are not mad, that you are go­ing thus to expose all that y'are worth, to the figgaries of Fortune.

No, no, Child, only a few Trifles that lie dead upon my Hands, that's all.

And what's your highest Lot?

Thy Mistress and my Daughter, with Five Thousand Pounds in ready Money, which I will raise by some hundreds of other Curiosities which I have, at Three Guinea's a Lot—Nay, and I intend to tack a Woman for a Wife to every one of my Lots; some Handsome, and some so so; some Wise, and some otherwise—'Tis no matter for their Conditions, nor their Honesty, for that's Hab-nab, as if the Choice were their own—I le take care indeed, that they be Water-tite, and Wind-tite, and able of Body, and that's all I need to care for.

Now the Devil take you for putting my Mistress among your Old Trumpery—By this means, the next Scoundrel of a Drawer, or Foot-man that ventures his Three Guinea's, shall run away with her—Od's­flesh! would any Cannibal of a Father but you, commit the well-being of an only Daughter, to be broke upon the Wheel of Fortune?

Ne're trouble thy Head, Girl; I have taken that care, and gi­ven such Power to Clitander's Man Trick-well, that I have made all cock-sure, I warrant thee—but I lose time, bid thy Mistress, since she has such a mind to marry, prepare to be a Bride, while I go in and get every thing ready for drawing the Lottery.

Hold, yonder comes Trick-well; I'le hear what he says—

Why faith, Isbell, I can't tell, for Love without Money is like a Summer Pippin, 'twill never last.

Oh, but Mr. Maggot's Lottery will soon supply all those Defects.

I tell thee, once again, Isbell, That Love is hot in the Fourth Degree, but cold in the Fifti'th; so that 'tis rank Poison, take it which way you will.

Well, but what dost think of the Lottery it self, I hear thou art to be the chief Manager of it?

That is to say, thou art plotting some cursed piece of Knavery and Roguery or other.

Alas, Isbell! Roguery and Knavery reign'd powerfully in the World before I came into it; but indeed I got a terrible itch of it when I [Page 5] was young; and then as I grew up in Years, I became so desperately infect­ed with it, that I was all over like a Leaper, by that time I was One-and-Twenty.

Methinks a Quick-silver Girdle might have cur'd thee.

Alas! I tri'd, but I'gad it wrought a contrary effect in me, for the Mercury got into my Head, and made me ten times worse.

But hast thou no sense of Reputation or Conscience, when Trust and Confidence rely on thy Engagements?

Why truly, Isbell, now I think on't, I left my Conscience, one Night drunk, behind me in a Hackney Coach, and could never hear of it since.

Well, but I hope you don't intend to shark any of your Tricks upon me; thou know'st I'm to be flesh of thy flesh, and bone of thy bone, Man.

No, no, Isbell, never fear: We Serving-Men have all our lucid intervals of Honesty.

Pray then have a care of the grand Lot, that it may fall right without Coz ning and Deceit.

Set thy Heart at rest, Girl, and bid thy Mistress depend upon me. In the mean time, I'le read thee a List of some of my Lotts, for I fore­see that we shall tumble in Gold, Child.

Come on—Let's hear a little.

A general List of Mr. Maggot's Lottery, carry'd on, and ma­nag'd by Squire Trick-well.

Squire Trick-well! Marry come up.

Yes, why not, as well as the Hang-man—Well, but to the purpose—

Here is first, and Imprimis, a Camphire Shirt, with a Woman's Shift of the same; the one to mortify rampant Lust in young Fops and Fluttering Beau's, and the other to keep poor Maids honest whether they will or no.

Thou should'st have a Million of the hirts, but make Tinder of the Shift; for a Woman has no thanks that's Honest against her will. But come, go on.

An Enchanted Crystal, which, if look't into by a pure Virgin, or a Woman with Child, will resolve all Questions touching either Physick, Love, or News.

As for the Women with Child, they may look in your Crystal as long as they please, but let the Maids have a care what they do, for I war­rant you here are a great many that pass muster in the Rolls of Honesty, but I'm afraid your Crystal wou d put some of em to the blush.

Next, here's a Pint of that singular Ladies Milk, that never knew any Man but her own Husband, which perfectly Cur'd an Aegyptian King of his Blindness, when all the Women besides, in his Kingdom could not do it.

Pray send some of that Milk to those Princes that can't see their own Interest, that they may Wash and clear their Eyes—

Why another Venetian Looking-glass, made by the only Artist of the World.

I'le tell you—In the first place, if a debauch'd Chamber-maid dres­ses her self by this Looking-glass, she'll dream the Night following of Kissing her Lord, and making her Lady a She Cuckold; then to sodder her crackt Virginity, her kind Lord shall Marry her to his Chaplain, and he have the next Living that falls.

If a stale antiquated Court Lady looks on this Reflexion, she'll see her Old Face thro' her new Complexion.

If a Citizen chance to peep into't, his Brow-Antlers will spread and fill the Glass—And lastly, if a Blind-man see his Face in't, 'tis a sign he'll recover his sight again.

Why an indifferent large Viol of the Quintessence of Skull, Chi mically drawn from Aristotle's Pericranium.

Oh! it has admirable Virtues, and very strange Operations, assure you.

Why if you pour but four drops into a Country Attorny's Ear, they'l make him write true Latin—Three drops will fill the Capital of an Universi­ty Gander—Indeed ha [...]f a Dram's enough for the terrestrial Head of a High Constable; and three Scruples and a half will more than fill the empty Num­scull of a Biggotted- Banbury Brother.

Yes, several sorts of Nonparelio Italian Gloves—There is one pair that will almost sit any Lawyer—They are made of an entire Load-stone, and have a very strange and powerful Vertue to draw Gold unto 'em—They were perfum'd with the Lavender Conscience of a damn'd Usurer, and will keep their Scent 'till wrangling and bawling have left Westwinster-Hall; they are seam'd with Indentures, by the Needle-work of Mortgage, and both topp'd and stiffn'd with a Noverint Universi, & caetera—I would wil­lingly describe the Vertues of several other pair, but that 'tis against the Sta­tute—Besides, few or none now a days need Gloves, by reason all our Beau's have Cordivant Hands—But do'st hear, Isbell, I dare not be too busie, for Truth oftentimes offends.

I wonder where Mr. Maggot pick'd up all these Antiquities and Ra­rities? In my mind he had better have laid out his Money upon new Gowns for my Mistress.

As good go naked behind as before, the Temptation's the same, and a Woman's never more acceptable to us Men, than when she's out of her Cloaths—But here comes my Master with Joy in his Eyes.

Has your Worship found either the Philosopher's Stone, or a Phoenix's Nest?

Nay, then good News say I—I have been a long time starv­ing upon single Tiff, and mouldy Cheese, but now I hope I shall revel in Frycassees and Marrow-Puddings—Troath, Master, when you have got your Estate, take my Advice; don't spend it in Whoring and Gameing, as most of our young Sparks do now a-days, but keep a good House, Master; let the Chimnies smoak.

Thou art too hasty, Trick-well—Tho' the Treasure is found, yet 'tis all contain'd in this Letter.

Oh Sir! an Estate in a Letter, is like a Marchant's Cargo floating upon some distant Sea—I wish no Pyrate of a new forg'd Will may meet with it.

That's nothing; if another sets up a new Title, and gives but double Fees, there are those that will toss your Estate in a Noncupative Blan­ket from the Common-Pleas to the King's Bench, and thence to the Chancery, 'till they have shook it into a Consumption.

Or somewhere else—But that's no matter to you: I'm sure you young Heirs do so rejoice at the death of your Parents, and Rich Re­lations, that 'tis no wonder your Estates are no better blest when you have 'em.

Prithee, good Trick-well, no more of thy Morality—I say that being thus assur'd as I am of my Uncle's Death, I am going to shew Mr. Maggot my Letter, and demand Amaranta for my Lot.

Oh Trick-well, where is that Name of Faithful Servant, thou hast so oft pro­tested to me in this days Adventure?

Why faith, Sir, I found it worn so thread bare in the Subscri­ptions of damn'd complementing nonsensical Letters, that for my part, I was quite asham'd on't, and therefore flung it in the Fire—However I may chance to prove a Man of Honour for all this, still.

But didst thou not assure both Isbell and me, that Amaranta shou'd depend upon thee? Oh, most unfortunate of Men! or rather, most accurst of Fools, to trust the happiness of my Life with such a Bull-rush of Iniquity as this!

Pray, Sir, lay not too much upon your poor Servant neither—Am I Lord of the Stars, that hardly understand an Almanack? You know, Sir, Wedlock and Hanging go by Destiny—How then can I prevent the Influences of the Seven Planets?

Oh Trick-well! Thy mean Soul was never yet acquainted with the noble Passion of Love.

Yes, yes, I have been in Love up to the Ears; but my woo­ing (thanks to Heav'n!) ne're cost me so much as one single blast; no, nor a Pearl of Salt-Water—She was as coming, as I was forward.

Was she so, Mr. Malapert? But she's quite off of you now again, I assure you—No Flesh-pots of Egypt, unless you prove as good as your word.

SCENE 1.

Troth, Madam, you are like the Man that believ'd himself no Cuck­old, because his Wife said so—But were my Case as yours, I'de trust neither Father nor Mother, Brother nor Sister, Uncle nor Aunt; no, nor ne're a Trick-well, or Lottery in the World—I'de make sure of the main chance, Marry the Man I like, and take my pleasure, and then trust Fortune, as Usurers do their Debtors—Poor Souls! 'tis a hard case when two Lo­vers lie Parent-bound—But I'le e'en leave 'em together; perhaps, when they're alone they may take one another's Word.

Well, Clitander, I have discours'd my Father since I saw you, and he's mightily pleas'd to hear your Uncle lies a dying.

Ay, ay: Your Father's like all the rest of the World; now he smells an Estate, he's willing I shou'd have his Daughter—As if 'twere not better to Marry his Daughter to an honest reclaim'd Gentleman with a small Estate, rather than to a Wild extravagant Spark with a great one; that is resolv'd to sell all he has; and so the poor Wife comes home again to earn her living by stitching to the Sempstresses shops. The remembrance of a short plenty, is but a light weight to ballance the suffering of a long Life in penury and want.

'Tis your modesty, Sir, to say so; for I assure you, the whole Town rings of you, as if you were the unknown Author of the whole Duty of Man.

Pshaw, Pshaw, Madam, naw, naw, 'tis your pleasure to say so, Ma­dam, but let that pass—

Aerial, to denote the variety and sublimity of their Inclinations; and Aethe­rial, to signifie the Beauty and Graces, both of their Minds and Bodies.

And was it not a most stupendious Invention, to make a Saddle amble upon the back of a trotting Horse? And was it not, moreover, most transcendent­ly found out, to tap both sides of a Man's Ribbs, and whilst his own Blood spun out of one side, to infuse a Rivolet of sheeps Blood into the other? A miraculous supply of Natures vacuum! And all this, that a Man might never want any other Cloathing, than the Wool of his own growth.

I my self, by computing the Mites in the Liver of a Cod-fish, found out the full number of all the Men, Women, and Children, alive at one time in the World.

I never measure things by Inches and Feet as the vulgar, but by something ex­traordinary! as the skips of a Flea—

As for Example, instead of saying England is so many Miles long or broad, I only say, England is so many skips of a Flea broad or long.

He sets up, and pretends to be a Licens'd Physician, but is, at the best, but an Impudent Mountebank—You'l hear presently by his Rodomontades, what he is.

Gentlemen, I find you don't know me—'Tis very strange ye shou'd not have heard of the Never born Doctor—Nay, 'tis very true, I assure ye; for I was dissected from my Mother's Womb, and commenced Do­ctor before I came into the World—My Art and Experience, since that, has stretch'd my Fame throughout the wide Universe, especially in China, where I perform'd a very strange and wonderful Operation indeed—Which was this, a certain Emperour that was newly dead when I came there—What d'ye call him? Let me see—. Pugh, I can't think of his Name now—. He that I did the great Cure on that I told you of just now—Ye have all hear'd on't I'me sure.

Why I took his Head that had been sever'd from his Body, and buryed a whole Fortnight, and set it on his Shoulders again, and made him as brisk and lively, as e're I saw him in all my life—

Ay, ay, a Pox on't, Prester John, 'twas he i'faith— I might have had his Daughter, if I had not been a Fool, and have liv d like a Prince all the Days of my Life—Nay, perhaps I might have inherited the Crown after his Death—But a pox on't, her Lips were too thick for me—And that I should n't think of Prester John!

Ay, ay, Gentlemen, I have done Cures beyond Sea that won't be believ'd in England.

Very likely, Sir, and Cures in England that won't be believ'd beyond Sea, nor here perhaps neither; for, in this respect, half the World are Insidels.

The Great Turk can witness the truth of what I say, tho'; for I'm sure the Eyes that he has in his Head, are of my making.

Why, you won't believe it, but I'le tell you, Gentlemen, and 'tis matter of fact, I cur'd the late King of Poland's Uncle of a Wart on his Nose, as big as a Turky-Egg; and Bethlem Gaber of a Ring-worm.

The one with raw Beef, and the other with some of Harbins's Roy­al shining Ink, I suppose.

Pox of your Old Wives Receipts and Medicins; the worst of my Ingredients is an Unicorn's Horn, or a Bezar's stone—

No, no, such a wonderful, a wonderful Cure, cou'd not have been done without Green sawce, or an Oat-meal Poultice at least.

In the last Siege of Namur, I gave a certain French Lady that the Governour had a particular kindness for, an admirable Receipt, to keep her Linnen from being Animated, tho' she didn't shift her self for a whole Twelve-month.

Why, Sir, there was never a Man in all the Kingdom of Fez, or Morocco, either French, Spanish, or Italian Doctors, but my self, that wou'd, or durst undertake to cure that Emperour of his Corns; but I did, and after that, I drank a Health to him.

As I was travelling with a dear Friend of mine in the Canibal's Country, un­fortunately one Day we lost Company—Well, a while after I happen'd to fall into the hands of about Threescore or Fourscore devouring Monsters, that were feeding on my Friends Body; in short, they had eaten the better half of him—Well, you must needs imagine that I was not a little con­cern'd at his misfortune (or rather mine) having lost so dear and worthy a Companion—Now, what did me I, but immediately bethought me of a Powder that I had about me— I put it into their Wine, which they had no sooner drunk of, but they presently disgorg'd their Stomachs, and fell asleep— I watched my opportunity, and with all dexterity, gather'd up the miserable morsels of my Friend, and plac'd 'em together—And upon my word, in less than half an hour, I restor'd him to as perfect Life, Health and Strength, as e're I saw him since I was born, and if he were here now, he'd tell ye the same.

Madam, my Master desires the Company to come into the Hall, where they are beginning to draw the Lottery.

SCENE 1. The Town.

Keep your Friendship and your Distance to your self, Sir——you're a little too familiar with one of my gravity.

Oh Sir! I know you now, your Name is Scribble—You are one of those serious Triflers, whose Works are very serviceable for every thing else, but what they were intended for; and whose worth is never known 'till they come to the Pastry-Cooks, or Trunk-makers—Good for nothing while living in the Book-sellers Shops, but many ways useful when pull'd to pieces.

But d'you hear, Sir, my Works are more estimable— I am now writing a Book, which I intend to call the Mirror of the Age.

Then as a Friend, let me advise you to dedicate it to some Noble, Generous Patron or other, such as my Lord Rattle-brains, Sir Philip Whim­sey, or that eternal Blockhead of a Beau, Tom Starch. I assure you, Sir, one of these noble Patrons, gave a Friend of mine no less than a whole round Guinea for the Dedication of one of his Plays; therefore you may judge by that, what your Reward will be.

SCENE 2.

My passionate Amour for Amaranta, and the uncertainty of en­joying her, drives me almost to despair.

Truly, Sir, I am sorry for't—but there's no remedy—My Old Master indeed might have prevented all this, if he had pleas'd—There­fore I wish the Devil had made Pot-guns of his dry Bones Ten Years ago, for not doing it.

Thank you, Mrs. Isbell, thank you kindly,—I have always your good word, it seems.

No, by my Troth, but you han't; I'de fain know for what—Wou'd any Father—

Why so inhumane, Master, to expose your only Daughter to some Monster, for ought I know?

No Sir? But Men as cruel as Monsters, as ugly as Monsters, nay, and as beastly as Monsters do—And what if such a one shou'd chance to have her?

Vile Man! Thus to wrong the poor Gentleman's Love, abuse your only Daughter's Affection, and then laugh at 'em.

I must confess, Sir, Isbell's Zeal has carried her a little too far, thus to provoke you, but yet she speaks nothing but reason.

What think'st thou now, Isbell? I'me afraid, as things stand, that between an Old Fool, and a young Rogue, I shall be left in Erasmus's Paradise.

I can't tell that, Sir, for I have one Project still in my Head, which is to make the Rogue drunk— Scrape has promis'd to assist me, and then I shall dive into the Secrets of his Heart—Farewell, Sir; I'm in la­bour to be deliver'd of my Plot.

Here's now a Tryal of skill—a Woman's Wit against a Man's; and 'tis a Cock-pit lay oth' Woman's side for an Amorous Intreague—she'l not be the first, I'le warrant her, that will disgrace her Sex at a pinch of ne­cessity.

Yes, Madam, I was just a coming to wait upon you; and to let you know that I am quite weary of these lingring dependencies upon Chance; therefore what think you, Madam, of descending (like a Goddess in a Machine) from your Window to Night, when your Father's fast asleep; the lawless Churches are always open for a matrimonial Fee.

I know, Sir, you'd not desire me to transcend the bounds of modesty so far, to give the World occasion of censuring my Love, as this rash Act wou'd do—No, my Clitander, I hope you value my Reputation more than to expose it thus—Besides, I'me unwilling to give my Father that advantage over us; therefore pray be satisfi'd, for let the Lot fall which way it will, you may be assur'd of my Resolution.

Round—Round, Sir,—Hickup—And the Sun stands still, for I think 'twill ne're be Night—Hickup.

No, no, Hickup—Only one of Madam Maintenon's Weddings—A Conscience Marriage, only for brevity's sake.

Why that Rogue Trick-well, Madam, has stole my Gold-Ring from off my Finger—Oh! Are you here, Sirrah? Give me my Ring, you Villain, give me my Ring, I say.

Hickup—As I'me an honest Man, Isbell, I ha' none of thy Ring, not I.

Sirrah, Let me feel your Pockets then—Slife I wou'd not lose my Ring for a Hundred Pounds; twas given me by my Grandmother, with a Charm in't—I never fell backward since I had it; therefore give it me quietly, or I'le call the Constable.

Why you silly drunken Jade, I tell you, I ha' none on't; if you won't believe me, you may try—

Hey day! What's here, a tip of a Neats-Tongue, Bread and Cheese, and a Brandy-Bottle! The Rogue's mortally afraid of Hunger I find—Here's Provision for another Siege of Vienna!

Help, help, good Folks: Murder, Murder! Bear witness, Gentlemen and Ladies, how she ravishes me!

Look ye here, Gentlemen, here 'tis; and yet this Rogue had the confidence to out-face me, and say he had it not.

Well, well, Isbell, come, 'tis almost dark; will you be as good as your word, hickup—and go to Bed?

Ay ay, do you go first——When People are lawfully Married, then indeed the Woman goes to Bed first, but when they only take one ano­thers Word, then, you know, the Man goes first.

I believe the Rogue wou'd live i'th' water, he drinks so like a Fish— I assure you, if we had not ply'd him briskly with Wine, we had never conquer'd him.

Oh, here 'tis—Take it, Sir, and may ye both for ever live, and love like Angels.

Dear Isbell, thou hast brought me the Indies: I would not part with this Treasure, for all the Great Mogul's Territories.

Yes, and I think it very requisite too, that he shou'd open it himself

Well then; now I hope you're both pleas'd—you blam'd me for taking this course, but I look'd upon it the best way—I consider'd how few people married for Love, how many in a frolick and humour, how ma­ny by accident; and all to their continual plague and discomfort—so that I was willing Fortune should dispose of my Daughter, believing that if she had a hand in t, that she'd be kind to a Match of her own making.

But i'faith, Sir, had I not been too cunning for Fortune and you too; I'me afraid your Daughter wou'd have had but a bad Bargain—Come, come Sir, I tell you there were Rogues abroad, that—

The Devil's in these Appendixes to the Dressing Box—If any thing be well design'd for their Mistresses, they'l be sure to assume the praise of it—But I say, and say't again, that if Clitander's Uncle had not dy'd, and left him his Estate, I know Fortune's Mind so well, she wou'd have been hang'd before she wou'd have given the grand Lot to him.

No doubt but Fortune and you were agreed upon the Smith-field Maxim, you wou d have made an excellent No penny, no Pater-Noster Man.

Well Mrs. Manners, you will have the last word, I find, and so take it—But come, where's this good luck in a Box, let me see't?

Why faith, as you say, Clitander, it wou'd have troubl'd any [Page 27] young Man to have lost Five Thousand Pounds, and a handsome Bed-fellow to boot—Well, but who must open it?

Not I, by my Maiden-head, Sir; Men were always better at it than Women, therefore pray excuse me.

Come then, to end all contention, I'le open it—So, now let me pull out my Spectacles and read—

'Sdeath, this is the wrong Ticket—Oh, Sir! it is Pandora's Box, for it has let loose upon me, all the Plagues and Miseries upon Earth.

Come, Sir, let you and I go instantly and find the Villain out, and if I catch him, I'le pound him to an Electuary in a Drugsters Mortar, but I'le be reveng'd.

How are my Hopes deceiv'd, that am thus fall'n from a high imagin'd happiness, into a Gulph of endless sorrow!

I over-hear'd them as hot as Bell-Founders; but I did'nt think it safe to make my personal appearance, out of the tender Affection I bear to my Bones—Hold, yonder comes sweet Mrs. Isbell—Had a Man Gyges's Ring, he cou'd ne're be invisible, I believe, from a Chamber-Maid—Now will this my Iuno Elect, raise a most strange and hideous storm about my Ears, for I see soul weather gathering from her Looks.

Now Sirrah, give me the right Box and Ticket, or I'le pull your Ears off, you Impostor, Cheating Rogue.

Here am I studying to make thee a great Lady, and for the blood of me, I can't make thy mean Soul mount higher than a Chandler's Shop.

I'de have the turn with the Weather-Cock of the World, Interest; and steer thy Course as the general Magnet of all Mankind; thy own Profit directs thee.

Why l'de have thee Cozen, Lye, Swear, and Forswear; betray thy Friend, only keep out of the Clutches of the Law—The Law in­deed pinches a little too close, and like another Hercules, choaks a Man, as he did the Gyant, by lifting too high from his Mother Earth.

No Doctrine, Child, but the daily practice of all Professions, even from the zealous Sect without Hat-bands, to the unbounded Atheistical Li­bertine.

I tell thee I will; I know where a Barronet's Patent lies to be bought at second hand—'Tis no matter for Merit, bought Honour will serve our turn well enough.

I tell thee what, Trick-well, thou art such a Faithless Politician, that one knows not how to Article with thee—

Thou shalt be a Lady with all thy appurtenances, a Waiting-Woman, a lit­tle Black, a Parrot, and a Monkey—Thou sha't have a leetle, leetle Dog too, if thou wilt, to play with while the Child's at Nurse.

But leave me, my dear, at present, for I have business: My Head's as full as a General's before a Battel—So, there's one Convert quickly made; and truly I find no difference; for Men will go to the

Devil himself for Preferment and Honour, and Women to his Damm for their pleasure and satisfaction—However, the Jade will serve for a help­meet, and that's all I care for—

I can't find him high nor low— I have visited all his Haunts, but the Villain's under a total Eclipse. Had I met him, I had certainly put him to the charge of a Dog and a Bell.

Nay, Sir, you might have prevented all this, if you had pleas'd, but you wou'd trust to Fortune, and see what comes on't.

Dear Isbell, what shall we do? Can'st thou contrive no means? Methinks thou shoud'st make thy last effort, to repair the scandal of such a gross disappointment.

Truly, Madam, I wou'd willingly try another Experiment, but that I believe the Rogue has made a solemn League and Covenant with the Devil, to keep him out of the way; it must be some Negromancer or other, that must break the Charm—Now what a Jade am I

to betray this poor, loving and unfortunate Couple—But the Hopes and Title of being a Lady, strangely allures—

Good your good Worships give a poor Cripple a farthing, or a halfpenny, and the Laud to bless ye, and restore it ye in Heaven!

How now! What more torments to perplex us? Prithee be gone, poor fellow, we have crosses enow of our own.

Alas, Master, I am but a young Beggar! my Father was as eminent a Merchant as any in all London, that dealt and traded for Scotch-Eggs, Irish Potatoes, and Spanish- Chess-nuts—But Losses, and his own good nature, ruin'd both himself and all his Children.

An't like your Worship, the Church-Wardens, and Over­seers of the Poor, have so many natural Children of their own at Nurse, that there's no room for us.

Then prithee be gone, and make the best of thy Calling some­where else—I tell thee here's nothing for thee.

An't please your Worship, I hope otherwise, or I'm an undone Beggar.

Why an't please you, Sir, I laid out a whole Week's Earnings at your Lottery, and here I have got a Ticket—They say 'tis worth some­thing, but I must confess, I can't read very well.

Oh! yes, Sir, that's nothing; for Charity, since she's turn d Chri­stian, is like a Birch-Tree, especially to the Poor—'Twill bleed freely, if it be well tapp'd.

Well, Friend, come, let me see your Ticket—Here, Isbell, do you read it.

Oh! Oh! unlace me—unlace me, I say, or I shall swoon—quickly, Oh! quickly—The Vapours begin to rise already—My Head swims, and my Eyes grow dim—Oh! Oh!

How now! what ails the Wench? I'm sure there's ne're a Gor­gon's Head in the Ticket.

I know not what you mean by a Gorgon's Head, but I'm sure there's an Ass's Head in the Ticket, to dispose of your only Daughter to a Beggar.

Nay, 'tis too true—This—Oh, I saint—This—Oh my heart! How it beats and pants—This Raw head and Bloody­bones, has got the Grand Lott.

Curst be my Stars, and doubly curst those Fools that trust to Fortune!

Yes, yes, Sir: I'le but wipe my Eyes, that I may see the better—Hem! Hem!

Well, Clitander, you must have patience, there's no resisting the Decrees of Fate! And for you, my dearest Daughter, you must now learn to make a good Nurse, as well as a good Wife—Come, come, leave off crying, Mony hides all deformities.

Hold, Sir, you may submit to Fortune, if you please, I never made her my Umpress; therefore touch her Villain, if you dare.

Hold, Sir, let not Folly and Passion over sway you thus—The poor Man has done you no wrong—Had he drawn a meaner Trifle, he must have been contented.

Besides, Sir, 'tis ungenerous to kill a poor Cripple—The Law will certainly revenge his quarrel every way.

Why first, if you kill him, you'l undoubtedly be hang'd—Or if you force my Mistress from him, being his Wife, then he admits himself pre­sently in Forma Pauperis—And I know so much of the Matter, that y'are gone both at Common Law, and Doctors Commons, if it comes to, that—Therefore pray be rul'd by me; I have thought of an expedient.

Come then, Friend, you see I have sav'd your Life, therefore pray do something more than ordinary for my sake, and remember the gratitude of the Blind Beggar of Bednal Green.

Well then, for your sake, Mistress, let the Gentleman take the Young Lady, and let me have the Mony—Agreed, i'faith, let it be so.

Nay, nay Sir, I must have my whole Lott one way or other, a Wise, I mean, as well as Mony.

And so thou sha't—What think'st thou then of this Girl; I'le warrant thee, she'l serve a Cripple well enough—Or if she chance to be too many for thee, thou may'st call in thy Neighbours to help thee.

Dear Isbell, thou hast always made high protestations of thy Love to me—Show it now, by laying hold of this opportunity.

Lord, Madam, what d'you mean? Wou d you have me marry a Beggar, and disgrace my Parentage?

A Beggar, Isbell! Thou'rt mistaken—He's no Beggar, that has Five Thousand Pounds by him—I'le warrant thee in a little time, this Beggar, as thou call'st him, when 'tis known how rich he is, will be made a Justice of Peace in Quorum.

Say you so? Well then, Madam, for your good, and to oblige you, Sir, I'le venture on him—What say you, Friend, is it a Match or no?

Why yes truly, I think thou mayst serve my turn— I desire but one lawfully begotten Son to inherit my Estate, and keep up my Family? [Page 32] as for the rest, I hope thou hast wit enough to contract beforehand, that their several Fathers shall keep them, or else thou art no true Chambermaid—And thus I have got the first and worst part of my Lot—But how shall I come by my Mony, Gentlemen, let me know that?

Why, we'l give thee a Note upon a Gold-smith, to be paid upon demand.

Pray let him be a very sufficient Man then; for since the late general Reformation of our Coin, we are as much plagu'd with clipt Credit, as we were before with Clipt Mony: Besides, I hate to go a Hunting in the Mint, of all the Parks in England.

And both of ye promise me all this upon your Words, and Honours, and as ye are Gentlemen, and Sons of Gentlemen.

Therefore do'st hear, Isbell, sweet Spouse that art to be, prithee step in and fetch me my Gown, that I may appear like a Man of Gravity, and Honour—Come, come, my Girl, a Doctor's Wife may take place of a Squire's at any time.

[Page 33] Ha! 'sdeath, what noise is that—Quickly, dear Isbell, quickly, or I shall be torn in pieces.

Where is he, I say, where is he?—Oh, here he is—seize him Neighbour Lack-wit, and Master Ninny—we'll Lottery him, i'faith, as he was never so Lottery'd in all his Life—We'll teach him to put Tricks upon Travellers, and honest Tradesmen, I'le warrant ye.

The matter, say you? Why the matter's plain enough—We have all been trick't and cheated most abominably, as a Man may say; but now we have found him, we'll either make him pay us our Mony again, or we'll sirk him up up with a Ciserari.

Alas, good Gentlemen, I pity ye—But what wou'd you have of a poor Snake, why he's not worth a groat.

Hold, hold, honest People—pray be pacifi'd a little, and let's hear what he has done

Why, Sir, you-must know that I'm troubled with a Wife (the Lord help me) that makes more noise with the Clapper of her Tongue, than Bow-Bells do on my Lord-Mayor's day or London-Bridge at low Water—Now, Sir, I bought a House of this Villain, which he told me had that pe­culiar Vertue belonging to it, that Women never scolded in it, so that I was in hopes to have spent the rest of my days in peace and quiet—Now, what did me this impudent Rogue, think you, but bring me a Cossin, which made my Wife ten times madder than before.

Come, Sir, I think 'tis best for us to make off, lest we be brought in as Accessaries.

Here, Neighbour Bull-finch, here's the very Halter he sold me, to cure all Diseases.

SCENE the Last.