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                   THE WORKS

                       of

                   APHRA BEHN


                   Edited by
                MONTAGUE SUMMERS

                    VOL. IV

  Sir Patient Fancy
  The Amorous Prince--The Widow Ranter
  The Younger Brother


       [Illustration: (Publisher’s Device)]

           LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
        STRATFORD-ON-AVON: A. H. BULLEN
                     MCMXV




CONTENTS.
                                                        Page

  Sir Patient Fancy                                        1
  The Amorous Prince                                     117
  The Widow Ranter                                       215
  The Younger Brother; Or, The Amorous Jilt              311
  Notes                                                  401




SIR PATIENT FANCY.


[Transcriber’s Note:

Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in _italics_,
with proper names in roman type. The overall _italic_ markup has been
omitted for readability.]




ARGUMENT.


Sir Patient Fancy, a hypochondriacal old alderman, has taken a second
wife, Lucia, a young and beautiful woman who, although feigning great
affection and the strictest conjugal fidelity, intrigues with a gallant,
Charles Wittmore, the only obstacle to their having long since married
being mutual poverty. However, the jealousy and uxoriousness of the
doting husband give the lovers few opportunities; on one occasion,
indeed, as Lady Fancy is entertaining Wittmore in the garden they are
surprised by Sir Patient, and she is obliged to pass her visitor off
under the name of Fainlove as a suitor to her step-daughter, Isabella,
in which rôle he is accepted by Sir Patient. But Isabella has betrothed
herself to Lodwick, a son of the pedantic Lady Knowell: whilst Lucretia
Knowell loves Leander, the alderman’s nephew, in spite of the fact that
she is promised by her mother to Sir Credulous Easy, a bumpkinly knight
from Devonshire. Lodwick, who is a close friend of Leander, has been
previously known to Sir Credulous, and resolving to trick and befool the
coxcomb warmly welcomes him on his arrival in town. He persuades him, in
fine, to give a ridiculous serenade, or, rather, a hideous hubbub, of
noisy instruments under his mistress’ window. A little before this Lady
Knowell with a party of friends has visited Sir Patient, who is her next
neighbour, and the loud laughter, talking, singing and foppery so enrage
the precise old valetudinarian that he resolves to leave London
immediately for his country house, a circumstance which would be fatal
to his wife’s amours. Wittmore and she, however, persuade him that he is
very ill, and on being shown his face in a looking-glass that magnifies
instead of in his ordinary mirror, he imagines that he is suddenly
swollen and puffed with disease, and so is led lamenting to bed, leaving
the coast clear for the nonce. Isabella, however, has made an
assignation with Lodwick at the same time that her stepmother eagerly
awaits her own gallant, and in the dark young Knowell is by mistake
escorted to Lucia’s chamber, whilst Wittmore encountering Isabella, and
thinking her Lady Fancy, proceeds to act so amorously that the error is
soon discovered and the girl flies from his ardour. In her hurry,
however, she rushes blundering into Lucia’s bedchamber, where she finds
Knowell. It is just at this moment that Sir Credulous Easy’s deafening
fanfare re-echoes in the street, and Sir Patient, awakened and
half-stunned by the pandemonium, is led grouty and bawling into his
wife’s room, where he discovers Knowell, whom Lucia has all this time
taken for Wittmore; but her obvious confusion and dismay thereon are
such that Sir Patient does not suspect the real happenings, which she
glozes over with a tale concerning Isabella. Meantime the serenaders are
dispersed and routed by a band of the alderman’s servants and clerks.
Sir Credulous courting Lucretia, who loathes him, meets Knowell bringing
a tale of a jealous rival able to poison at a distance by means of some
strangely subtle venom, upon which the Devonshire knight conceals
himself in a basket, hoping to be conveyed away to his old uncle in
Essex, whereas he is merely transported next door. Sir Patient, who
surprises his lady writing a love-letter, which she turns off by
appending Isabella’s name thereto, is so overwhelmed with her seeming
affection and care for his family that he presents her with eight
thousand pounds in gold and silver, and resolves to marry his daughter
to Fainlove (Wittmore) without any further delay. But whilst he is gone
down to prayers and Lucia is entertaining her lover, the old nurse
informs him that his little daughter Fanny has long been privy to an
intrigue between Knowell and Isabella, whereupon, in great perturbation,
he rushes upstairs again to consult with his wife, who hurries Wittmore
under the bed. Sir Patient, however, warmed with cordials which he
quaffs to revive his drooping spirits, does not offer to quit the
chamber, but lies down on the bed, and the gallant is only enabled to
slip out unobserved after several accidents each of which nearly betrays
his presence. Upon the marriage morning Isabella in a private interview
rejects her pseudo-suitor with scorn and contumely, whereat Knowell, who
has of intent been listening, reveals to her that it is his friend
Wittmore and no real lover who is seemingly courting her, and with his
help, whilst Sir Patient is occupied with a consultation of doctors
(amongst whom Sir Credulous appears disguised as a learned member of the
faculty), Isabella and Knowell are securely married. Lady Knowell, who
has feigned a liking for Leander, generously gives him to Lucretia, Sir
Patient’s attention being still engrossed by the physicians who assemble
in great force. Soon after, at Leander’s instigation, in order to test
his wife, Sir Patient feigns to be dead of a sudden apoplexy, and for a
few moments, whilst others are present, Lucia laments him with many
plaints and tears, but immediately changes when she is left alone with
Wittmore. The lovers’ plans, however, are overheard by the husband, who
promptly confronts his wife with her duplicity. Amazed and confounded
indeed, he forgives Leander and his daughter for marrying contrary to
his former wishes; and when Lucia coolly announces her intention to play
the hypocrite and puritan no more, but simply to enjoy herself with the
moneys he has settled on her without let or proviso, he humorously
declares he will for his part also drop the prig and canter, and turn
town gallant and spark.




SOURCE.


In spite of Mrs. Behn’s placid assertion in her address ‘To the Reader’
that she has only taken ‘but a very bare hint’ from a foreign source,
_Le Malade Imaginaire_, the critics who cried out that _Sir Patient
Fancy_ ‘was made out of at least four French plays’ are patently right.
Sir Patient is, of course, Argan throughout and in detail; moreover, in
the scene where the old alderman feigns death, there is very copious and
obvious borrowing from Act III of _Le Malade Imaginaire_. Some of the
doctors’ lingo also comes from the third and final interlude of
Molière’s comedy, whilst the idea of the medical consultation is
pilfered from _L’Amour Médecin_, Act II, ii. Sir Credulous Easy is
Monsieur de Porceaugnac, but his first entrance is taken wholesale from
Brome’s _The Damoiselle; or, The New Ordinary_ (8vo, 1653), Act II, i,
where Amphilus and Trebasco discourse exactly as do Curry and his
master. The pedantic Lady Knowell is a mixture of Philaminte and Bélise
from _Les Femmes Savantes_. The circumstance in Act IV, ii, when Lucia,
to deceive her husband, appends Isabella’s name to the love-letter she
has herself just written, had already been used by Wycherley at the
commencement of Act V of that masterpiece of comedy, _The Country Wife_
(4to, 1675, produced in 1672), where Mrs. Pinchwife, by writing ‘your
slighted Alithea’ as the subscription of a letter, completely befools
her churlish spouse.

Molière’s comedies, which were so largely conveyed in _Sir Patient
Fancy_, have been a gold mine for many of our dramatists. From _Le
Malade Imaginaire_ Miller took his _Mother-in-Law; or, The Doctor the
Disease_, produced at the Haymarket, 12 February, 1734, and Isaac
Bickerstaffe, _Dr. Last in his Chariot_, produced at the same theatre 25
August, 1769. In this farce Bickerstaffe further introduces the famous
consultation scene from _L’Amour Médecin_, a play which had been made
use of by Lacy, _The Dumb Lady; or, The Farrier made a Physician_
(1672); by Owen Swiney, _The Quacks; or, Love’s the Physician_, produced
at Drury Lane, 18 March, 1705; by Miller, _Art and Nature_, produced at
the same theatre 16 February, 1738; and in an anonymous one act piece,
which is little more than a bare translation under the title _Love is
the Doctor_, performed once only at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 4 April, 1734.

_Monsieur de Pourceaugnac_ supplied Ravenscroft with material no less
than three times. In _Mamamouchi; or, The Citizen turn’d Gentleman_,
acted early in 1672, we have Sir Simon Softhead, who is Pourceaugnac in
detail; in _The Careless Lovers_, produced at the Duke’s House in 1673,
and again in _The Canterbury Guests; or, A Bargain Broken_, played at
the Theatre Royal in 1694, we have _in extenso_ Act II, Scenes viii, ix,
x, of the French comedy. Crowne’s Sir Mannerley Shallow (_The Country
Wit_, 1675) comes from the same source. _Squire Trelooby_, produced at
Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 20 March, 1704, and revived as _The Cornish
Squire_ at Drury Lane, 3 January, 1734, is ascribed to Vanbrugh,
Congreve, and Walsh; but this, as well as a farce produced at Dublin in
1720 by Charles Shadwell and entitled _The Plotting Lovers; or, The
Dismal Squire_, cannot claim to be anything but translations. Miller’s
_Mother-in-Law_, again, includes much of _Monsieur de Pourceaugnac_; and
Thomas Sheridan’s _Captain O’Blunder; or, The Brave Irishman_, produced
at Goodman’s Fields, 31 January, 1746, is a poor adaptation. Mrs.
Parsons abbreviated Molière to _The Intrigues of a Morning_, played at
Covent Garden, 18 April, 1792, a jejune effort. _Les Femmes Savantes_
was rather racily transformed by Thomas Wright into _The Female
Virtuosoes_, and produced at Drury Lane in 1693. It was revived as _No
Fools like Wits_ at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 10 January, 1721, to
anticipate Cibber’s _The Refusal; or, The Ladies’ Philosophy_, which had
a run of six nights. Miller, in his _The Man of Taste_, once more had
resource to Molière. His play was produced at Drury Lane, 6 March, 1735.
It has no value.

Of all these borrowers Mrs. Behn is infinitely the best. _Sir Patient
Fancy_ is, indeed, an excellent comedy, and had she used more leisure
might have been improved to become quite first rate. Perhaps she
plagiarized so largely owing to the haste with which her play was
written and staged, but yet everything she touched has been invested
with an irresistible humour. A glaring example of her hurry remains in
the fact that the ‘precise clerk’ of Sir Patient has a double
nomenclature. In Act III he appears as Abel; in Act IV, iii, he is
referred to as Bartholomew, and under this last name has an exit marked
in Act V. This character is only on the stage twice and is given but
some three or four lines to speak. Obviously, when writing her fourth
act, Aphra forgot she had already christened him.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_Sir Patient Fancy_ was produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset Garden,
in January, 1678, with an exceptionally strong cast which included both
Betterton and his wife. It met with the great success it fully deserved.
The critics, indeed, were not slow to detect Mrs. Behn’s plagiarisms,
but the only real opposition was negligible disapproval of a modest
clique, who a few years later vainly tried to damn _The Lucky Chance_.
After the death of the two famous comedians Antony Leigh and James Nokes
in December, 1692, _Sir Patient Fancy_, owing to the inability of
succeeding actors to sustain the two rôles, Sir Patient and Sir
Credulous, which had been created by this gifted pair, completely
dropped out of the repertory of the theatre. It was not singular in its
fate, for Cibber expressly tells us that D’Urfey’s excellent comedy _The
Fond Husband_, and Crowne’s satirical _City Politics_, ‘lived only by
the extraordinary performance of Nokes and Leigh.’




TO THE READER.


I Printed this Play with all the impatient haste one ought to do, who
would be vindicated from the most unjust and silly aspersion, Woman
could invent to cast on Woman; and which only my being a Woman has
procured me; _That it was Baudy_, the least and most Excusable fault in
the Men writers, to whose Plays they all crowd, as if they came to no
other end than to hear what they condemn in this: _but from a Woman it
was unnaturall_: but how so Cruell an unkindness came into their
imaginations I can by no means guess; unless by those whose Lovers by
long absence, or those whom Age or Ugliness have rendered a little
distant from those things they would fain imagin here--But if such as
these durst profane their Chast ears with hearing it over again, or
taking it into their serious Consideration in their Cabinets; they would
find nothing that the most innocent Virgins can have cause to blush at:
but confess with me that no Play either Ancient or Modern has less of
that Bug-bear Bawdry in it. Others to show their breeding (as _Bays_
sayes) cryed it was made out of at least four _French_ Plays, when I had
but a very bare hint from one, the _Malad Imagenere_, which was given me
translated by a Gentleman infinitely to advantage; but how much of the
_French_ is in this, I leave to those who do indeed understand it and
have seen it at the Court. The play had no other Misfortune but that of
coming out for a Womans: had it been owned by a Man, though the most
Dull Unthinking Rascally Scribler in Town, it had been a most admirable
Play. Nor does it’s loss of Fame with the Ladies do it much hurt, though
they ought to have had good Nature and justice enough to have attributed
all its faults to the Authours unhappiness, who is forced to write for
Bread and not ashamed to owne it, and consequently ought to write to
please (if she can) an Age which has given severall proofs it was by
this way of writing to be obliged, though it is a way too cheap for men
of wit to pursue who write for Glory, and a way which even I despise as
much below me.




SIR PATIENT FANCY.




PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. _Betterton_.


  We write not now, as th’ antient Poets writ,
  For your Applause of Nature, Sense and Wit;
  But, like good Tradesmen, what’s in fashion vent,
  And cozen you, to give ye all content.
  True Comedy, writ even in _Dryden’s_ Style,
  Will hardly raise your Humours to a Smile.
  Long did his Sovereign Muse the Scepter sway,
  And long with Joy you did true Homage pay:
  But now, like happy States, luxurious grown,
  The Monarch Wit unjustly you dethrone,
  And a Tyrannick Commonwealth prefer,
  Where each small Wit starts up and claims his share;
  And all those Laurels are in pieces torn,
  Which did e’er while one sacred Head adorn.
  Nay, even the Women now pretend to reign;
  Defend us from a Poet _Joan_ again!
  That Congregation’s in a hopeful way
  To Heaven, where the Lay-Sisters teach and pray.
  Oh the great Blessing of a little Wit!
  I’ve seen an elevated Poet sit,
  And hear the Audience laugh and clap, yet say,
  Gad after all, ‘tis a damn’d silly Play:
  He unconcern’d, cries only--Is it so?
  No matter, these unwitty things will do,
  When your fine fustian useless Eloquence
  Serves but to chime asleep a drousy Audience.
  Who at the vast expence of Wit would treat,
  That might so cheaply please the Appetite?
  Such homely Fare you’re like to find to night:
  Our Author
  Knows better how to juggle than to write:
  Alas! a Poet’s good for nothing now,
  Unless he have the knack of conjuring too;
  For ‘tis beyond all natural Sense to guess
  How their strange Miracles are brought to pass.
  Your Presto Jack be gone, and come again,
  With all the Hocus Art of Legerdemain;
  Your dancing Tester, Nut-meg, and your Cups,
  Out-does your Heroes and your amorous Fops.
  And if this chance to please you, by that rule,
  He that writes Wit is much the greater Fool.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  MEN.

  Sir _Patient Fancy_, an old rich Alderman,
    and one that fancies himself always sick,   Mr. _Anthony Leigh_.
  _Leander Fancy_, his Nephew,
    in love with _Lucretia_,                    Mr. _Crosby_.
  _Wittmore_, Gallant to the Lady _Fancy_,
    a wild young Fellow of a small Fortune,     Mr. _Betterton_.
  _Lodwick Knowell_, Son to the Lady
    _Knowell_, in love with _Isabella_,         Mr. _Smith_.
  Sir _Credulous Easy_, a foolish _Devonshire_
    Knight, design’d to marry _Lucretia_,       Mr. _Nokes_.
  _Curry_, his Groom,                           Mr. _Richards_.
  _Roger_, Footman to the Lady _Fancy_.
  _Abel (Bartholomew)_,
    Clerk to Sir _Patient Fancy_.
  _Brunswick_, a friend to _Lodwick Knowell_.
  Monsieur _Turboon_, a French Doctor.
  A Fat Doctor.
  An Amsterdam Doctor.
  A Leyden Doctor.
  Page to the Lady _Knowell_.

    Guests, Six Servants to Sir _Patient_, Ballad-Singers
    and Serenaders.


  WOMEN.

  The Lady _Fancy_, Young Wife
    to Sir _Patient_,                           Mrs. _Currer_.
  The Lady _Knowell_, an affected learned
    Woman, Mother to _Lodwick_ and _Lucretia_,  Mrs. _Gwin_.
  _Lucretia_, Daughter to the L. _Knowell_,     Mrs. _Price_.
  _Isabella_, Daughter to Sir _Patient Fancy_,  Mrs. _Betterton_.
  _Fanny_, a Child of seven Years old,
    Daughter to Sir _Patient Fancy_.
  _Maundy_, the Lady _Fancy’s_ Woman,           Mrs. _Gibbs_.
  _Betty_, Waiting-woman to _Isabella_.
  _Antic_, Waiting-woman to _Lucretia_.
  Nurse.


  SCENE _London_, in two Houses.




ACT I.


SCENE I. A Room in Lady _Knowell’s_ House.

    Enter _Lucretia_ with _Isabella_.

_Isab._ ‘Tis much I owe to Fortune, my dear _Lucretia_, for being so
kind to make us Neighbours, where with Ease we may continually exchange
our Souls and Thoughts without the attendance of a Coach, and those
other little Formalities that make a Business of a Visit; it looks so
like a Journey, I hate it.

_Lucr._ Attendance is that Curse to Greatness that confines the Soul,
and spoils good Humour; we are free whilst thus alone, and can laugh at
the abominable Fopperies of this Town.

_Isab._ And lament the numberless Impertinences wherewith they
continually plague all young Women of Quality.

_Lucr._ Yet these are the precious things our grave Parents still chuse
out to make us happy with, and all for a filthy Jointure, the undeniable
argument for our Slavery to Fools.

_Isab._ Custom is unkind to our Sex, not to allow us free Choice; but we
above all Creatures must be forced to endure the formal Recommendations
of a Parent, and the more insupportable Addresses of an odious Fop;
whilst the Obedient Daughter stands--thus--with her Hands pinn’d before
her, a set Look, few Words, and a Mein that cries--Come marry me: out
upon’t.

_Lucr._ I perceive then, whatever your Father designs, you are resolv’d
to love your own way.

_Isab._ Thou mayst lay thy Maidenhead upon’t, and be sure of the
Misfortune to win.

_Lucr._ My Brother _Lodwick’s_ like to be a happy Man then.

_Isab._ Faith, my dear _Lodwick_ or no body in my heart, and I hope thou
art as well resolv’d for my Cousin _Leander_.

_Lucr._ Here’s my Hand upon’t, I am; yet there’s something sticks upon
my stomach, which you must know.

_Isab._ Spare the Relation, for I have observ’d of late your Mother to
have order’d her Eyes with some softness, her Mouth endeavouring to
sweeten it self into Smiles and Dimples, as if she meant to recal
Fifteen again, and gave it all to _Leander_, for at him she throws her
Darts.

_Lucr._ Is’t possible thou should’st have perceived it already?

_Isab._ Long since.

_Lucr._ And now I begin to love him, ‘twould vex me to see my Mother
marry him--well, I shall never call him Father.

_Isab._ He’ll take care to give himself a better Title.

_Lucr._ This _Devonshire_ Knight too, who is recommended to my Mother as
a fit Husband for me, I shall be so tormented with--My Brother swears
he’s the pertest, most unsufferable Fool he ever saw; when he was at my
Uncle’s last Summer, he made all his Diversion.

_Isab._ Prithee let him make ours now, for of all Fops your Country Fop
is the most tolerable Animal; those of the Town are the most unmanagable
Beasts in Nature.

_Lucr._ And are the most noisy, keeping Fops.

_Isab._ Keeping begins to be as ridiculous as Matrimony, and is a
greater Imposition upon the Liberty of Man; the Insolence and Expence of
their Mistresses has almost tir’d out all but the Old and Doting part of
Mankind: The rest begin to know their value, and set a price upon a good
Shape, a tolerable Face and Mein:--and some there are who have made
excellent Bargains for themselves that way, and will flatter ye and jilt
ye an Antiquated Lady as artfully as the most experienc’d Miss of ‘em
all.

_Lucr._ Lord, Lord! what will this World come to?--but this Mother of
mine--_Isabella_.
    [Sighs.

_Isab._ Is discreet and virtuous enough, a little too affected, as being
the most learned of her Sex.

_Lucr._ Methinks to be read in the Arts, as they call ‘em, is the
peculiar Province of the other Sex.

_Isab._ Indeed the Men would have us think so, and boast their Learning
and Languages; but if they can find any of our Sex fuller of Words, and
to so little purpose as some of their Gownmen, I’ll be content to change
my Petticoats for Pantaloons, and go to a Grammar-school.

_Lucr._ Oh, they’re the greatest Babelards in Nature.

_Isab._ They call us easy and fond, and charge us with all weakness; but
look into their Actions of Love, State or War, their roughest business,
and you shall find ‘em sway’d by some who have the luck to find their
Foibles; witness my Father, a Man reasonable enough, till drawn away by
doting Love and Religion: what a Monster my young Mother makes of him!
flatter’d him first into Matrimony, and now into what sort of Fool or
Beast she pleases to make him.

_Lucr._ I wonder she does not turn him to Christianity; methinks a
Conventicle should ill agree with her Humour.

_Isab._ Oh, she finds it the only way to secure her from his Suspicion,
which if she do not e’er long give him cause for, I am mistaken in her
Humour.--

    Enter L. _Knowell_ and _Leander_.

But see your Mother and my Cousin _Leander_, who seems, poor man, under
some great Consternation, for he looks as gravely as a Lay-Elder
conducting his Spouse from a Sermon.

L. _Kno._ Oh, fy upon’t. See, Mr. _Fancy_, where your Cousin and my
_Lucretia_ are idling: _Dii boni_, what an insupportable loss of time’s
this?

_Lean._ Which might be better imploy’d, if I might instruct ‘em, Madam.

L. _Kno._ Ay, Mr. _Fancy_, in Consultation with the Antients.--Oh the
delight of Books! when I was of their age, I always imploy’d my looser
Hours in reading--if serious, ‘twas _Tacitus_, _Seneca_, _Plutarch’s
Morals_, or some such useful Author; if in an Humour gay, I was for
Poetry, _Virgil_, _Homer_ or _Tasso_. Oh that Love between _Renaldo_ and
_Armida_, Mr. _Fancy_! Ah the Caresses that fair _Corcereis_ gave, and
received from the young Warrior, ah how soft, delicate and tender! Upon
my Honour I cannot read them in the Excellence of their Original
Language, without I know not what Emotions.

_Lean._ Methinks ‘tis very well in our Mother Tongue, Madam.

L. _Kno._ O, Faugh, Mr. _Fancy_, what have you said, Mother Tongue! Can
any thing that’s great or moving be express’d in filthy _English_?--I’ll
give you an Energetical proof, Mr. _Fancy_; observe but divine _Homer_
in the _Grecian_ Language--_Ton d’ apamibominous prosiphe podas ochus
Achilleus!_ Ah how it sounds! which English’t dwindles into the most
grating stuff:--Then the swift-foot _Achilles_ made reply: oh, faugh.

_Lucr._ So now my Mother’s in her right Sphere.

L. _Kno._ Come, Mr. _Fancy_, we’ll pursue our first design of retiring
into my Cabinet, and reading a leaf or two in _Martial_; I am a little
dull, and wou’d fain laugh.

_Lean._ Methinks, Madam, Discourse were much better with these young
Ladies. Dear Lucretia, find some way to release me.
    [Aside.

L. _Kno._ Oh, how I hate the impertinence of Women, who for the
generality have no other knowledge than that of dressing; I am uneasy
with the unthinking Creatures.

_Lucr._ Indeed ‘tis much better to be entertaining a young Lover alone;
but I’ll prevent her, if possible.
    [Aside.

L. _Kno._ No, I am for the substantial pleasure of an Author.
_Philosophemur!_ is my Motto,--I’m strangely fond of you, Mr. _Fancy_,
for being a Scholar.

_Lean._ Who, Madam, I a Scholar? the greatest Dunce in Nature--Malicious
Creatures, will you leave me to her mercy?
    [To them aside.

_Lucr._ Prithee assist him in his misery, for I am Mudd, and can do
nothing towards it.
    [Aside.

_Isab._ Who, my Cousin _Leander_ a Scholar, Madam?

_Lucr._ Sure he’s too much a Gentleman to be a Scholar.

_Isab._ I vow, Madam, he spells worse than a Country Farrier when he
prescribes a Drench.

_Lean._ Then, Madam, I write the leudest hand.

_Isab._ Worse than a Politician or a States-man.

_Lucr._ He cannot read it himself when he has done.

_Lean._ Not a word on’t, Madam.

_L. Kno._ This agreement to abuse him, I understand--    [Aside.
  --Well, then, Mr. _Fancy_, let’s to my Cabinet--your hand.

_Lean._ Now shall I be teas’d unmercifully,--I’ll wait on you, Madam.
    [Exit Lady.
  --Find some means to redeem me, or I shall be mad.
    [Exit _Lean._

    Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Hah, my dear Isabella here, and without a Spy! what a blessed
opportunity must I be forc’d to lose, for there is just now arriv’d my
Sister’s Lover, whom I am oblig’d to receive: but if you have a mind to
laugh a little--

_Isab._ Laugh! why, are you turn’d Buffoon, Tumbler, or Presbyterian
Preacher?

_Lod._ No, but there’s a Creature below more ridiculous than either of
these.

_Lucr._ For love’s sake, what sort of Beast is that?

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous Easy_, your new Lover just come to town Bag and
Baggage, and I was going to acquaint my Mother with it.

_Isab._ You’ll find her well employ’d with my Cousin _Leander_.

_Lucr._ A happy opportunity to free him: but what shall I do now,
Brother?

_Lod._ Oh, let me alone to ruin him with my Mother: get you gone,
I think I hear him coming, and this Apartment is appointed for him.

_Lucr._ Prithee haste then, and free _Leander_, we’ll into the Garden.

    [Exeunt _Luc._ and _Isab._

    A Chair and a Table. Enter Sir_ Credulous _in a riding habit.
    _Curry_ his Groom carrying a Portmantle._

_Lod._ Yes--’tis the Right Worshipful, I’ll to my Mother with the News.
    [Ex. _Lod._

Sir _Cred._ Come undo my Portmantle, and equip me, that I may look like
some body before I see the Ladies--_Curry_, thou shalt e’en remove now,
_Curry_, from Groom to Footman; for I’ll ne’er keep Horse more, no, nor
Mare neither, since my poor _Gillian’s_ departed this Life.

_Cur._ ‘Ds diggers, Sir, you have griev’d enough for your Mare in all
Conscience; think of your Mistress now, Sir, and think of her no more.

Sir _Cred._ Not think of her! I shall think of her whilst I live, poor
Fool, that I shall, though I had forty Mistresses.

_Cur._ Nay, to say truth, Sir, ‘twas a good-natur’d civil beast, and so
she remain’d to her last gasp, for she cou’d never have left this World
in a better time, as the saying is, so near her Journey’s End.

Sir _Cred._ A civil Beast! Why, was it civilly done of her, thinkest
thou, to die at _Branford_, when had she liv’d till to morrow, she had
been converted into Money and have been in my Pocket? for now I am to
marry and live in Town, I’ll sell off all my Pads; poor Fool, I think
she e’en died for grief I wou’d have sold her.

_Cur._ ‘Twas unlucky to refuse Parson _Cuffet’s_ Wife’s Money for her,
Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Ay, and to refuse her another kindness too, that shall be
nameless which she offer’d me, and which wou’d have given me good luck
in Horse-flesh too; Zoz, I was a modest fool, that’s truth on’t.

_Cur._ Well, well, Sir, her time was come you must think, and we are all
Mortal as the saying is.

Sir _Cred._ Well, ‘twas the lovingst Tit:--but Grass and Hay, she’s
gone--where be her Shoes, _Curry_?

_Cur._ Here, Sir, her Skin went for good Ale at _Branford_.
    [Gives him the Shoes.

Sir _Cred._ Ah, how often has she carry’d me upon these Shoes to Mother
_Jumbles_; thou remember’st her handsome Daughter, and what pure Ale she
brew’d; between one and t’other my Rent came short home there; but let
that pass too, and hang sorrow, as thou sayst, I have something else to
think on.
    [Takes his things out, lays them upon the Table.
  And, _Curry_, as soon as I am drest, go you away to St. _Clement’s
Church-yard_, to _Jackson_ the Cobler there.

_Cur._ What, your Dog-tutor, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Yes, and see how my Whelp proves, I put to him last
Parliament.

_Cur._ Yes, Sir.

    Enter _Leander_, and starts back seeing Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ And ask him what Gamesters come to the Ponds now adays, and
what good Dogs.

_Cur._ Yes, Sir.

_Lean._ This is the Beast _Lodwick_ spoke of; how could I laugh were he
design’d for any but _Lucretia!_
    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ And dost hear, ask him if he have not sold his own Dog
_Diver_ with the white Ear; if I can purchase him, and my own Dog prove
right, I’ll be Duke of Ducking-Pond, ads zoz.
    [Sir _Cred._ dresses himself.
  Well, I think I shall be fine anon, he.

_Cur._ But zo, zo, Sir, as the saying is, this Suit’s a little out of
fashion, ‘twas made that very year I came to your Worship, which is five
Winters, and as many Summers.

Sir _Cred._ What then Mun, I never wear it, but when I go to be drunk,
and give my Voice for a Knight o’th’ Shire, and here at _London_ in Term
time, and that but eight times in Eight Visits to Eight several Ladies
to whom I was recommended.

_Cur._ I wonder that amongst eight you got not one, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Eight! Zoz, I had Eight score, Mun; but the Devil was in
’.m, they were all so forward, that before I cou’d seal and deliver,
whip, quoth _Jethro_, they were either all married to some body else,
or run quite away; so that I am resolv’d if this same _Lucretia_ proves
not right, I’ll e’en forswear this Town and all their false Wares,
amongst which, zoz, I believe they vent as many false Wives as any
_Metropolitan_ in Christendom, I’ll say that for’t, and a Fiddle for’t,
i’faith:--come give me my Watch out,--so, my Diamond Rings too: so,
I think I shall appear pretty well all together, _Curry_, hah?

_Lean._ Like some thing monstrously ridiculous, I’ll be sworn.
    [Aside.

_Cur._ Here’s your Purse of broad Gold, Sir, that your Grandmother gave
you to go a wooing withal, I mean to shew, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Ay, for she charg’d me never to part with it;--so, now for
the Ladies.
    [Shakes his Ribbons.

    Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ _Leander_, what mak’st thou here, like a Holy-day Fool gazing at
a Monster?

_Lean._ Yes; And one I hope I have no great reason to fear.

_Lod._ I am of thy opinion; away, my Mother’s coming; take this
opportunity with my Sister, she’s i’th’ Garden, and let me alone with
this Fool, for an Entertainment that shall shew him all at once: away--
    [Exit _Lean._
    [_Lod._ goes in to Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ _Lodwick_, my dear Friend! and little Spark of
Ingenuity--Zoz, Man, I’m but just come to Town.
    [Embrace.

_Lod._ ‘Tis a joyful hearing, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Not so joyful neither, Sir, when you shall know poor
_Gillian’s_ dead, my little grey Mare; thou knew’st her, mun: Zoz, ‘thas
made me as melancholy as the Drone of a _Lancashire_ Bag-pipe. But let
that pass; and now we talk of my Mare, Zoz, I long to see this Sister of
thine.

_Lod._ She’ll be with you presently, Sir _Credulous_.

Sir _Cred._ But hark ye, Zoz, I have been so often fob’d off in these
matters, that between you and I, _Lodwick_, if I thought I shou’d not
have her, Zoz, I’d ne’er lose precious time about her.

_Lod._ Right, Sir; and to say truth, these Women have so much
Contradiction in ‘em, that ‘tis ten to one but a Man fails in the Art of
pleasing.

Sir _Cred._ Why, there’s it:--therefore prithee, dear _Lodwick_, tell me
a few of thy Sister’s Humors, and if I fail,--then hang me, Ladies, at
your Door, as the Song says.

_Lod._ Why, faith, she has many odd Humors hard enough to hit.

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, let ‘em be as hard as _Hercules_ his Labors in the Vale
of _Basse_, I’ll not be frighted from attempting her.

_Lod._ Why, she’s one of those fantastick Creatures that must be courted
her own way.

Sir _Cred._ Why, let’s hear her way.

_Lod._ She must be surpriz’d with strange Extravagancies wholly out of
the Road and Method of common Courtship.

Sir _Cred._ Shaw, is that all? Zoz, I’m the best in Christendom at your
out-of-the-way bus’nesses.--Now do I find the Reason of all my ill
Success; for I us’d one and the same method to all I courted, whatever
their Humors were; hark ye, prithee give me a hint or two, and let me
alone to manage Matters.

_Lod._ I have just now thought of a way that cannot but take--

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, out with it, Man.

_Lod._ Why, what if you should represent a dumb Ambassador from the
Blind God of Love.

Sir _Cred._ How, a dumb Ambassador? Zoz, Man, how shall I deliver my
Embassy then, and tell her how much I love her?--besides, I had a pure
Speech or two ready by heart, and that will be quite lost.
    [Aside.

_Lod._ Fy, fy! how dull you are! why, you shall do it by Signs, and I’ll
be your Interpreter.

Sir _Cred._ Why, faith, this will be pure; I understand you now, Zoz,
I am old excellent at Signs;--I vow this will be rare.

_Lod._ It will not fail to do your business, if well manag’d--but stay,
here’s my Sister, on your life not a syllable.

    Enter _Lean._ _Lucr._ and _Isab._

Sir _Cred._ I’ll be rackt first, Mum budget,--prithee present me, I long
to be at it, sure.
    [He falls back, making Faces and Grimaces.

_Lod._ Sister, I here present you with a worthy Knight, struck dumb with
Admiration of your Beauty; but that’s all one, he is employ’d Envoy
Extraordinary from the blind God of Love: and since, like his young
Master, he must be defective in one of his Senses, he chose rather to be
dumb than blind.

_Lucr._ I hope the small Deity is in good Health, Sir?

_Isab._ And his Mistress _Psyche_, Sir?
    [He smiles and bows, and makes Signs.

_Lod._ He says that _Psyche_ has been sick of late, but somewhat
recovered, and has sent you for a Token a pair of Jet Bracelets, and a
Cambrick Handkerchief of her own spinning, with a Sentence wrought in’t,
_Heart in hand, at thy command._
    [Looking every word upon Sir _Credulous_ as he makes signs.

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, _Lodwick_, what do you mean? I’m the Son of an
_Egyptian_ if I understand thee.
    [Pulls him, he signs to him to hold his peace.

_Lod._ Come, Sir, the Tokens, produce, produce--
    [He falls back making damnable signs.
  How! Faith, I’m sorry for that with all my heart,--he says, being
somewhat put to’t on his Journey, he was forced to pawn the Bracelets
for half a Crown, and the Handkerchief he gave his Landlady on the Road
for a Kindness received,--this ‘tis when People will be fooling--

Sir _Cred._ Why, the Devil’s in this _Lodwick_, for mistaking my Signs
thus: hang me if ever I thought of Bracelets or a Handkerchief, or ever
received a Civility from any Woman Breathing,--is he bewitcht trow?
    [Aside.

_Lean._ _Lodwick_, you are mistaken in the Knight’s meaning all this
while. Look on him, Sir,--do not you guess from that Look, and wrying of
his Mouth, that you mistook the Bracelets for Diamond Rings, which he
humbly begs, Madam, you would grace with your fair Hand?

_Lod._ Ah, now I perceive it plain.

Sir _Cred._ A Pox of his Compliment. Why, this is worse than
t’other.--What shall I do in this case?--should I speak and undeceive
them, they would swear ‘twere to save my Jems: and to part with
’.m--Zoz, how simply should I look!--but hang’t, when I have married
her, they are my own again.
    [Gives the Rings, and falls back into Grimaces. _Leander_ whispers
    to _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Enough--Then, Sister, she has sent you a Purse of her own
knitting full of Broad Gold.

Sir. _Cred._ Broad Gold! why, what a Pox does the Man conjure?

_Lod._ Which, Sister, faith, you must accept of, you see by that Grimace
how much ‘twill grieve him else.

Sir _Cred._ A pretty civil way this to rob a Man.--Why, _Lodwick_,--why,
what a Pox, will they have no mercy?--Zoz, I’ll see how far they’ll
drive the Jest.
    [Gives the Gold and bows, and scrapes and screws.

_Lod._ Say you so, Sir? well I’ll see what may be done.--Sister, behold
him, and take pity on him; he has but one more humble request to make
you, ‘tis to receive a Gold Watch which he designs you from himself.

Sir _Cred._ Why, how long has this Fellow been a Conjurer? for he does
deal with the Devil, that’s certain,--_Lodwick_--
    [Pulls him.

_Lod._ Ay do, speak and spoil all, do.

Sir _Cred._ Speak and spoil all, quoth he! and the Duce take me if I am
not provok’d to’t; why, how the Devil should he light slap-dash, as they
say, upon every thing thus? Well, Zoz, I’m resolv’d to give it her, and
shame her if she have any Conscience in her.
    [Gives his Watch with pitiful Grimaces.

_Lod._ Now, Sister, you must know there’s a Mystery in this Watch, ‘tis
a kind of Hieroglyphick that will instruct you how a Married Woman of
your Quality ought to live.

Sir _Cred._ How, my Watch Mysteries and Hieroglyphicks! the Devil take
me, if I knew of any such Virtues it had.
    [They are all looking on the Watch.

_Lod._ Beginning at Eight, from which down to Twelve you ought to imploy
in dressing, till Two at Dinner, till Five in Visits, till Seven at the
Play, till Nine i’th’ Park, Ten at Supper with your Lover, if your
Husband be not at home, or keep his distance, which he’s too well bred
not to do; then from Ten to Twelve are the happy Hours the Bergere,
those of intire Enjoyment.--

Sir _Cred._ Say you so? hang me if I shall not go near to think I may
chance to be a Cuckold by the shift.

_Isab._ Well, Sir, what must she do from Twelve till Eight again?

_Lod._ Oh! those are the dull Conjugal Hours for sleeping with her own
Husband, and dreaming of Joys her absent Lover alone can give her.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, an she be for Sleeping, Zoz, I am as good at that as
she can be for her Heart; or Snoring either.

_Lod._ But I have done; Sir _Credulous_ has a dumb Oration to make you
by way of farther Explanation.

Sir _Cred._ A dumb Oration! now do I know no more how to speak a dumb
Speech than a Dog.

_Luc._ Oh, I love that sort of Eloquence extremely.

_Lod._ I told you this would take her.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, I know your silent Speeches are incomparable, and I
have such a Speech in my Head.

_Lod._ Your Postures, your Postures, begin, Sir.
    [He puts himself into a ready Posture as if he would speak, but
    only makes Faces.

    Enter _Page_.

_Pag._ Sir, my Lady desires to speak with you.    [To _Lean._

_Lean._ I’ll wait on her,--a Devil on’t.--

_Pag._ I have command to bring you, Sir, instantly.

_Lean._ This is ill luck, Madam, I cannot see the Farce out; I’ll wait
on you as soon as my good Fortune will permit me.
    [Exit with _Page_.

_Luc._ He’s going to my Mother, dear _Isabella_, let’s go and hinder
their Discourse: Farewel, Sir Ambassador, pray remember us to _Psyche_,
not forgetting the little blind Archer, ha, ha, ha.--

    [Ex. _Lucr._ and _Isab._ laughing.

Sir _Cred._ So, I have undone all, they are both gone, flown I protest;
why, what a Devil ail’d em? Now have I been dumb all this while to no
purpose, you too never told her my meaning right; as I hope to breathe,
had any but yourself done this, I should have sworn by _Helicon_ and all
the rest of the Devils, you had had a design to have abus’d me, and
cheated me of all my Moveables too.

_Lod._ What a hopeful Project was here defeated by my mistake! but
courage, Sir _Credulous_, I’ll put you in a way shall fetch all about
again.

Sir _Cred._ Say you so? ah, dear _Lodwick_, let me hear it.

_Lod._ Why, you shall this Night give your Mistress a Serenade.

Sir _Cred._ How! a Serenade!

_Lod._ Yes, but it must be perform’d after an Extravagant manner, none
of your dull amorous Night-walking Noises so familiar in this Town;
_Lucretia_ loves nothing but what’s great and extravagant, and passes
the reach of vulgar practice.

Sir _Cred._ What think you of a silent Serenade? Zoz, say but the word
and it shall be done, Man, let me alone for Frolicks, i’faith.

_Lod._ A silent one! no, that’s to wear a good humour to the Stumps;
I wou’d have this want for no Noise; the extremes of these two Addresses
will set off one another.

Sir _Cred._ Say you so? what think you then of the Bagpipe, Tongs, and
Gridiron, Cat-calls, and loud-sounding Cymbals?

_Lod._ Naught, naught, and of known use; you might as well treat her
with Viols and Flute-doux, which were enough to disoblige her for ever.

Sir _Cred._ Why, what think you then of the King of _Bantam’s_ own
Musick.

_Lod._ How! the King of _Bantam’s_ Musick?

Sir _Cred._ Ay, Sir, the King of _Bantam’s_: a Friend of mine had a
Present sent him from thence, a most unheard of curiosity I’ll assure
you.

_Lod._ That, that by all means, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Well, I’ll go borrow ‘em presently.

_Lod._ You must provide your self of a Song.

Sir _Cred._ A Song! hang’t, ‘tis but rummaging the Play-Books, stealing
thence is lawful Prize--Well, Sir, your Servant.
    [Exit.

    Enter _Leander_.

_Lod._ I hope ‘twill be ridiculous enough, and then the Devil’s in’t if
it do not do his Business with my Mother, for she hates all impertinent
Noises but what she makes herself. She’s now going to make a Visit to
your Uncle, purposely to give me an opportunity to _Isabella_.

_Lean._ And I’m ingag’d to wait on her thither, she designs to carry the
Fiddles too; he’s mad enough already, but such a Visit will fit him for
Bedlam.

_Lod._ No matter, for you have all a leud Hand with him; between his
continual imaginary Sickness, and perpetual Physic, a Man might take
more Pleasure in an Hospital. What the Devil did he marry a young Wife
for? and they say a handsome Creature too.

_Lean._ To keep up his Title of Cuckold I think, for she has Beauty
enough for Temptation, and no doubt makes the right use on’t: wou’d I
cou’d know it, that I might prevent her cheating my Uncle longer to my
undoing.

_Lod._ She’ll be cunning enough for that, if she have Wit: but now thou
talk’st of Intrigues, when didst see _Wittmore_? that Rogue has some
lucky Haunt which we must find out.--But my Mother expects your
attendance; I’ll go seek my Sister, and make all the Interest there I
can for you, whilst you pay me in the same Coin to _Isabella_. _Adieu._

_Lean._ Trust my Friendship.--

    [Ex. severally.




ACT II.


SCENE I. A Garden to Sir _Patient Fancy’s_ House.

    Enter Lady _Fancy_, _Wittmore_, and _Maundy_.

_Wit._ Enough, my charming Mistress, you’ve set my Soul at Peace, and
chas’d away those Fears and Doubts my Jealousy created there.

_Maun._ Mr. _Wittmore’s_ satisfy’d of your Constancy, Madam; though had
I been your Ladyship, I should have given him a more substantial Proof,
which you might yet do, if you wou’d make handsome use of your time.

_Wit._ _Maundy_ advises well; my dearest, let’s withdraw to yonder
Covert Arbour, whose kind Shades will secure us a Happiness that Gods
might envy.
    [Offers to lead her out.

L. _Fan._ I dare not for the world, Sir _Patient_ is now asleep, and
’.is to those few Minutes we are oblig’d for this Enjoyment, which
shou’d Love make us transgress, and he shou’d wake and surprize us, we
are undone for ever: no, let us employ this little time we have in
consulting how we may be often happy, and securely so: Oh, how I
languish for the dear opportunity!

_Wit._ And cou’d you guess what Torments I have suffer’d in these few
fatal Months that have divided us, thou wou’dst pity me.

L. _Fan._ --But to our Business; for though I am yet unsuspected by my
Husband, I am eternally plagu’d with his Company; he’s so fond of me, he
scarce gives me time to write to thee, he waits on me from room to room,
hands me in the Garden, shoulders me in the Balcony, nay, does the
office of my Women, dresses and undresses me, and does so smirk at his
handywork: In fine, dear _Wittmore_, I am impatient till I can have less
of his Company, and more of thine.

_Wit._ Does he never go out of Town?

L. _Fan._ Never without me.

_Wit._ Nor to Chuch?

L. _Fan._ To a Meeting-house you mean, and then too carries me, and is
as vainly proud of me as of his rebellious Opinion, for his Religion
means nothing but that, and Contradiction; which I seem to like too,
since ‘tis the best Cloke I can put on to cheat him with.

_Wit._ Right, my fair Hypocrite.

L. _Fan._ But, dear _Wittmore_, there’s nothing so comical as to hear me
cant, and even cheat those Knaves, the Preachers themselves, that delude
the ignorant Rabble.

_Wit._ What Miracles cannot your Eyes and Tongue perform!

L. _Fan._ Judge what a fine Life I lead the while, to be set up with an
old formal doting sick Husband, and a Herd of snivelling grinning
Hypocrites, that call themselves the teaching Saints; who under pretence
of securing me to the number of their Flock, do so sneer upon me, pat my
Breasts, and cry fie, fie upon this fashion of tempting Nakedness.
    [Through the Nose.

_Wit._ Dear Creature, how cou’d we laugh at thy new way of living, had
we but some Minutes allow’d us to enjoy that Pleasure alone.

L. _Fan._ Think, dear _Wittmore_, think, _Maundy_ and I have thought
over all our Devices to no purpose.

_Wit._ Pox on’t, I’m the dullest dog at plotting, thinking, in the
world; I should have made a damnable ill Town Poet: Has he quite left
off going to the Change?

L. _Fan._ Oh, he’s grown cautiously rich, and will venture none of his
substantial Stock in transitory Traffick.

_Wit._ Has he no mutinous Cabal, nor Coffee-houses, where he goes
religiously to consult the Welfare of the Nation?

L. _Fan._ His imagin’d Sickness has made this their Rendesvouz.

_Wit._ When he goes to his blind Devotion, cannot you pretend to be
sick? that may give us at least two or three opportunities to begin
with.

L. _Fan._ Oh! then I should be plagu’d with continual Physick and
Extempore Prayer till I were sick indeed.

_Wit._ Damn the humorous Coxcomb and all his Family, what shall we do?

L. _Fan._ Not all, for he has a Daughter that has good Humour, Wit, and
Beauty enough to save her,--stay--that has jogg’d a Thought, as the
Learned say, which must jog on, till the motion have produc’d something
worth my thinking.--

    Enter _Roger_ running.

_Maun._ Ad’s me, here’s danger near, our Scout comes in such haste.

L. _Fan._ _Roger_, what’s the matter?

_Rog._ My Master, Madam, is risen from sleep, and is come in to the
Garden.--See, Madam, he’s here.

L. _Fan._ What an unlucky Accident was this?

_Wit._ What shall I do, ‘tis too late to obscure my self?

L. _Fan._ He sees you already, through the Trees,--here--keep your
distance, your Hat under your Arm; so, be very ceremonious, whilst I
settle a demure Countenance.--

_Maun._ Well, there never came good of Lovers that were given to too
much talking; had you been silently kind all this while, you had been
willing to have parted by this time.

    Enter Sir _Patient_ in a Night-Gown, reading a Bill.

Sir _Pat._ Hum,--Twelve Purges for this present _January_--as I take it,
good Mr. Doctor, I took but Ten in all _December._--By this Rule I am
sicker this Month, than I was the last.--And, good Master Apothecary,
methinks your Prizes are somewhat too high: at this rate no body wou’d
be sick.--Here, _Roger_, see it paid however,--Ha, hum. [Sees ‘em, and
starts back.] What’s here, my Lady Wife entertaining a leud Fellow of
the Town? a flaunting Cap and Feather Blade.

L. _Fan._ Sir _Patient_ cannot now be spoken with. But, Sir, that which
I was going just now to say to you, was, that it would be very
convenient in my opinion to make your Addresses to _Isabella_,--’twill
give us opportunities. [Aside.] We Ladies love no Imposition; this is
Counsel my Husband perhaps will not like, but I would have all Women
chuse their Man, as I have done,--my dear _Wittmore_.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ I profess ingenuously an excellent good Lady this of mine,
though I do not like her Counsel to the young Man, who I perceive would
be a Suitor to my Daughter _Isabella_.

_Wit._ Madam, should I follow my inclinations, I should pay my Vows no
where but there,--but I am inform’d Sir _Patient_ is a Man so positively
resolv’d.--

L. _Fan._ That you should love his Wife.    [Aside.

_Wit._ And I’ll comply with that Resolve of his, and neither love nor
marry _Isabella_, without his Permission; and I doubt not but I shall by
my Respects to him gain his Consent,--to cuckold him.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ I profess ingenuously, a very discreet young Man.

_Wit._ But, Madam, when may I promise my self the satisfaction of coming
again? For I’m impatient for the Sight and Enjoyment of the fair Person
I love.

L. _Fan._ Sir, you may come at night, and something I will do by that
time shall certainly give you that access you wish for.

_Wit._ May I depend upon that Happiness?

L. _Fan._ Oh, doubt not my power over Sir _Patient_.

Sir _Pat._ My Lady _Fancy_, you promise largely.

L. _Fan._ Sir _Patient_ here!

_Wit._ A Devil on him, wou’d I were well off: now must I dissemble,
profess, and lye most confoundedly.

Sir _Pat._ Your Servant, Sir, your Servant.--My Lady _Fancy_, your
Ladyship, is well entertain’d I see; have a care you make me not
jealous, my Lady _Fancy_.

L. _Fan._ Indeed I have given you cause, Sir _Patient_, for I have been
entertaining a Lover, and one you must admit of too.

Sir _Pat._ Say you so, my Lady _Fancy_?--Well, Sir, I am a Man of
Reason, and if you shew me good causes why, can bid you welcome, for I
do nothing without Reason and Precaution.

_Wit._ Sir, I have--

Sir _Pat._ I know what you wou’d say, Sir; few Words denoteth a Wise
Head,--you wou’d say that you have an Ambition to be my Son-in-Law.

_Wit._ You guess most right, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Nay, Sir, I’ll warrant I’ll read a Man as well as the best,
I have studied it.

_Wit._ Now, Invention, help me or never.

Sir _Pat._ Your Name, I pray?
    [Putting off his Hat gravely at every Word.

_Wit._ _Fainlove_, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Good Mr. _Fainlove_, your Country?

_Wit._ _Yorkshire_, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ What, not Mr. _Fainlove’s_ Son of _Yorkshire_, who was
knighted in the good days of the late Lord Protector?
    [Off his Hat.

_Wit._ The same, Sir.--I am in, but how to come off again the Devil take
me if I know.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ He was a Man of admirable parts, believe me, a notable Head
piece, a publick-spirited Person, and a good Commonwealths-man, that he
was, on my word.--Your Estate, Sir, I pray?
    [Hat off.

_Wit._ I have not impair’d it, Sir, and I presume you know its
value:--For I am a Dog if I do.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ O’ my Word, ‘tis then considerable, Sir; for he left but one
Son, and fourteen hundred Pounds _per Annum_, as I take it: which Son,
I hear, is lately come from _Geneva_, whither he was sent for virtuous
Education. I am glad of your Arrival, Sir.--Your Religion, I pray?

_Wit._ You cannot doubt my Principles, Sir, since educated at _Geneva_.

Sir _Pat._ Your Father was a discreet Man: ah, Mr. _Fainlove_, he and I
have seen better days, and wish we cou’d have foreseen these that are
arriv’d.

_Wit._ That he might have turn’d honest in time, he means, before he had
purchas’d Bishops Lands.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, you have no Place, Office, Dependance or Attendance at
Court, I hope?

_Wit._ None, Sir,--Wou’d I had--so you were hang’d.    [Aside.

L. _Fan._ Nay, Sir, you may believe, I knew his Capacities and Abilities
before I would encourage his Addresses.

Sir _Pat._ My Lady _Fancy_, you are a discreet Lady;--Well, I’ll marry
her out of hand, to prevent Mr. _Lodwick’s_ hopes: for though the young
man may deserve well, that Mother of his I’ll have nothing to do with,
since she refused to marry my Nephew.
    [Aside.

    Enter _Fanny_.

_Fan._ Sir Father, here’s my Lady _Knowell_, and her Family come to see
you.

Sir _Pat._ How! her whole Family! I am come to keep open House; very
fine, her whole Family! she’s Plague enough to mortify any good
Christian,--Tell her, my Lady and I am gone forth; tell her any thing to
keep her away.

_Fan._ Shou’d I tell a lye, Sir Father, and to a Lady of her Quality?

Sir _Pat._ Her Quality and she are a Couple of Impertinent things, which
are very troublesome, and not to be indur’d I take it.

_Fan._ Sir, we shou’d bear with things we do not love sometimes, ‘tis a
sort of Trial, Sir, a kind of Mortification fit for a good Christian.

Sir _Pat._ Why, what a notable talking Baggage is this! How came you by
this Doctrine?

_Fan._ I remember, Sir, you preach’d it once to my Sister, when the old
Alderman was the Text, whom you exhorted her to marry, but the wicked
Creature made ill use on’t.

Sir _Pat._ Go your way for a prating Huswife, go, and call your Sister
hither. [Exit _Fanny_.] --Well, I’m resolv’d to leave this Town, nay,
and the World too, rather than be tormented thus.

L. _Fan._ What’s the matter, Dear, thou dost so fret thy self?

Sir _Pat._ The matter! my House, my House is besieged with Impertinence;
the intolerable Lady, Madam _Romance_, that walking Library of profane
Books is come to visit me.

L. _Fan._ My Lady _Knowell_?

Sir _Pat._ Yes, that Lady of eternal Noise and hard Words.

L. _Fan._ Indeed ‘tis with pain I am oblig’d to be civil to her, but I
consider her Quality, her Husband was too an Alderman, your Friend, and
a great Ay and No Man i’ th’ City, and a painful Promoter of the good
Cause.

Sir _Pat._ But she’s a Fop, my Lady _Fancy_, and ever was so, an idle
conceited she Fop; and has Vanity and Tongue enough to debauch any
Nation under civil Government: but, Patience, thou art a Virtue, and
Affliction will come.--Ah, I’m very sick, alas, I have not long to dwell
amongst the Wicked, Oh, oh.--_Roger_, is the Doctor come?

    Enter _Roger_.

_Rog._ No, Sir, but he has sent you a small draught of a Pint, which you
are to take, and move upon’t.

Sir _Pat._ Ah,--Well, I’ll in and take it;--Ah--Sir, I crave your
Patience for a moment, for I design you shall see my Daughter, I’ll not
make long work on’t, Sir: alas, I would dispose of her before I die:
Ah,--I’ll bring her to you, Sir, Ah, Ah.--
    [Goes out with _Roger_.

L. _Fan._ He’s always thus when visited, to save Charges,--But how, dear
_Wittmore_, cam’st thou to think of a Name and Country so readily?

_Wit._ Egad, I was at the height of my Invention, and the Alderman
civilly and kindly assisted me with the rest; but how to undeceive him--

L. _Fan._ Take no care for that, in the mean time you’ll be shreudly
hurt to have the way laid open to our Enjoyment, and that by my
Husband’s procurement too: But take heed, dear _Wittmore_, whilst you
only design to feign a Courtship, you do it not in good earnest.

_Wit._ Unkind Creature!

L. _Fan._ I would not have you endanger her Heart neither: for thou hast
Charms will do’t.--Prithee do not put on thy best Looks, nor speak thy
softest Language; for if thou dost, thou canst not fail to undo her.

_Wit._ Well, my pretty Flatterer, to free her Heart and thy Suspicions,
I’ll make such aukward Love as shall persuade her, however she chance to
like my Person, to think most leudly of my Parts.--But ‘tis fit I take
my leave, for if _Lodwick_ or _Leander_ see me here, all will be ruin’d;
death, I had forgot that.

L. _Fan._ _Leander’s_ seldom at home, and you must time your Visits: but
see Sir _Patient’s_ return’d, and with him your new Mistress.

    Enter Sir _Patient_ and _Isabella_.

Sir _Pat._ Here’s my Daughter _Isabella_, Mr. _Fainlove_: she’ll serve
for a Wife, Sir, as times go; but I hope you are none of
those.--Sweet-heart, this Gentleman I have design’d you, he’s rich and
young, and I am old and sickly, and just going out of the World, and
would gladly see thee in safe Hands.

_Maun._ He has been just going this twenty Years.    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Therefore I command you to receive the tenders of his
Affection.

    Enter _Fanny_.

_Fan._ Sir Father, my Lady _Knowell’s_ in the Garden.

L. _Fan._ My Dear, we must go meet her in decency.

Sir _Pat._ A hard case, a Man cannot be sick in quiet.
    [Exit with L. _Fan._

_Isab._ A Husband, and that not _Lodwick_! Heaven forbid.    [Aside.

_Wit._ Now Foppery assist to make me very ridiculous,--Death, she’s very
pretty and inviting; what an insensible Dog shall I be counted to refuse
the Enjoyment of so fair, so new a Creature, and who is like to be
thrown into my Arms too whether I will or not?--but Conscience and my
Vows to the fair Mother: No, I will be honest.--Madam,--as Gad shall
save me, I’m the Son of a Whore, if you are not the most Belle Person I
ever saw, and if I be not damnably in love with you; but a pox take all
tedious Courtship, I have a free-born and generous Spirit; and as I hate
being confin’d to dull Cringing, Whining, Flattering, and the Devil and
all of Foppery, so when I give an Heart, I’m an Infidel, Madam, if I do
not love to do’t frankly and quickly, that thereby I may oblige the
beautiful Receiver of my Vows, Protestations, Passions, and Inclination.

_Isab._ You’re wonderful ingaging, Sir, and I were an Ingrate not to
facilitate a return for the Honour you are pleas’d to do me.

_Wit._ Upon my Reputation, Madam, you’re a civil well-bred Person, you
have all the Agreemony of your Sex, _la belle Taille_, _la bonne Mine_,
& _Reparteeé bien_, and are _tout oure toore_, as I’m a Gentleman, _fort
agreeable_.--If this do not please your Lady, and nauseate her, the
Devil’s in ‘em both for unreasonable Women.--
    [To _Maun._

_Fan._ Gemini, Sister, does the Gentleman conjurer?

_Isab._ I know not, but I’m sure I never saw a more affected Fop.

_Maun._ O, a damnable impertinent Fop! ‘tis pity, for he’s a proper
Gentleman.

_Wit._ Well, if I do hold out, Egad, I shall be the bravest young Fellow
in Christendom: But, Madam, I must kiss your Hand at present, I have
some Visits to make, Devoirs to pay, necessities of Gallantry only, no
Love Engagements, by _Jove_, Madam; it is sufficient I have given my
Parole to your Father, to do him the honour of my Alliance; and an
unnecessary Jealousy will but disoblige, Madam, your Slave.--Death,
these Rogues see me, and I’m undone.--
    [Exit.

    Enter Lady _Fancy_, Lady _Knowell_, Sir _Credulous_ and
    _Lucretia_, with other Women and Men, _Roger_ attending.

L. _Kno._ _Isabella_, your Servant, Madam: being sensible of the
insociable and solitary Life you lead, I have brought my whole Family to
wait on your Ladyship, and this my Son _in Futuro_, to kiss your Hands,
I beseech your Ladyship to know him for your humble Servant: my Son and
your Nephew, Madam, are coming with the Musick too, we mean to pass the
whole Day with your Ladyship:--and see they are here.

    Enter _Lodwick_ pulling in _Wittmore_, _Leander_ with them.

_Lod._ Nay, since we have met thee so luckily, you must back with us.

_Wit._ You must excuse me, Gentlemen.

_Lod._ We’ll shew you two or three fine Women.

_Wit._ Death, these Rogues will ruin me--but I have Business, Gentlemen,
that--

_Lean._ That must not hinder you from doing Deeds of Charity: we are all
come to teeze my Uncle, and you must assist at so good a Work;--come,
gad, thou shall make love to my Aunt.--I wou’d he wou’d effectually.
    [Aside.

_Lod._ Now I think on’t, what the Devil dost thou make here?

_Wit._ Here!--oh, Sir--a--I have a design upon the Alderman.

_Lod._ Upon his handsome Wife thou meanest; ah, Rogue!

_Wit._ Faith, no,--a--’tis to--borrow Mony of him; and as I take it,
Gentlemen, you are not fit Persons for a Man of Credit to be seen with,
I pass for a graver Man.

_Lod._ Well, Sir, take your Course--but, egad, he’ll sooner lend thee
his Wife than his Money.
    [Exit _Wittmore_, they come in.

_Lean._ Aunt, I have taken the boldness to bring a Gentleman of my
Acquaintance to kiss your Ladyship’s Hands.

_Lod._ Thy Aunt!--death, she’s very handsome.--Madam, your most humble
Servant.
    [Kisses the L. _Fan._

_Lean._ Prithee imploy this Fool, that I may have an opportunity to
entertain thy Sister.

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, what, not a Word? not a Compliment? Hah,--be
brisk, Man, be gay and witty, talk to the Ladies.

Sir _Cred._ Talk to ‘em! why, what shall I say to ‘em?

_Lod._ Any thing, so it be to little purpose.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, Sir, let me alone for that matter--but who are they,
prithee?

_Lod._ Why, that’s my Lady _Fancy_, and that’s her Daughter-in-Law,
salute ‘em, Man.--

Sir _Cred._ Fair Lady,--I do protest and vow, you are the most beautiful
of all Mothers-in-Law, and the World cannot produce your equal.

_Lod._ The Rogue has but one method for all Addresses.    [They laugh.

L. _Kno._ Oh, absurd! this, Sir, is the beautiful Mother-in-Law.
    [To L. _Fan._

    Enter Sir _Patient_.

Sir _Cred._ Most noble Lady, I cry your mercy. Then, Madam, as the Sun
amongst the Stars, or rather as the Moon not in conjunction with the
Sun, but in her opposition, when one rises the other sets, or as the
Vulgar call it, Full Moon--I say, as the Moon is the most beautiful of
all the sparkling Lights, even so are you the most accomplish’d Lady
under the Moon--and, Madam, I am extremely sensible of your Charms and
celestial Graces.
    [To _Isabella_.

Sir _Pat._ Why, this is abominable and insupportable.

_Lucr._ I find, Sir, you can talk to purpose when you begin once.

Sir _Cred._ You are pleased to say so, noble Lady: but I must needs say,
I am not the worst bred Gentleman for a Country Gentleman that ever you
saw; for you must know, incomparable Lady, that I was at the University
three Years, and there I learnt my Logick and Rhetorick, whereby I
became excellent at Repartee, sweet Lady. As for my Estate, my Father
died since I came of Age, and left me a small younger Brother’s Portion,
dear Lady.

_Lucr._ A younger Brother’s, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Ha, ha, I know what you would infer from that now: but you
must know, delicious Lady, that I am all the Children my Father had.

_Lucr._ Witty, I protest.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, Madam, when I set on’t I can be witty.

_Lean._ Cruel _Lucretia_, leave ‘em, and let us snatch this opportunity
to talk of our own Affairs.

Sir _Cred._ For you must know, bright Lady, though I was pleas’d to
railly my self, I have a pretty competent Estate of about 3000_l._ a
Year, and am to marry Madam _Lucretia_.

L. _Fan._ You are a happy Man, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Not so happy neither, inestimable Lady, for I lost the
finest Mare yesterday,--but let that pass: were you never in
_Devonshire_, Madam?

L. _Fan._ Never, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ In troth, and that’s pity, sweet Lady; for if you lov’d
Hawking, Drinking, and Whoring,--oh, Lord, I mean Hunting; i’faith,
there be good Fellows would keep you Company, Madam.

Sir _Pat._ This is a Plot upon me, a mere Plot.--My Lady _Fancy_, be
tender of my Reputation, Foppery’s catching, and I had as lieve be a
Cuckold as Husband to a vain Woman.

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, and that may be as you say, noble Sir. Lady, pray what
Gentleman’s this?--Noble Sir, I am your most humble Servant.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, cry your mercy, Sir.    [Walks away.

Sir _Cred._ No Offence, dear Sir, I protest: ‘slife, I believe ‘tis the
Master of the House, he look’d with such Authority;--why, who cares, let
him look as big as the four Winds, East, West, North and South, I care
not this,--therefore I beg your Pardon, noble Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Pray spare your Hat and Legs, Sir, till you come to Court,
they are thrown away i’th’ City.

Sir _Cred._ O Lord! dear Sir, ‘tis all one for that, I value not a Leg
nor an Arm amongst Friends, I am a _Devonshire_ Knight, Sir, all the
World knows, a kind of Country Gentleman, as they say, and am come to
Town, to marry my Lady _Knowell’s_ Daughter.

Sir _Pat._ I’m glad on’t, Sir.    [Walks away, he follows.

Sir _Cred._ She’s a deserving Lady, Sir, if I have any Judgment; and I
think I understand a Lady, Sir, in the Right Honourable way of
Matrimony.

Sir _Pat._ Well, Sir, that is to say, you have been married before, Sir;
and what’s all this to me, good Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Married before! incomparable, Sir! not so neither, for
there’s difference in Men, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Right, Sir, for some are Wits, and some are Fools.

Sir _Cred._ As I hope to breathe, ‘twas a saying of my Grandmother’s,
who us’d to tell me, Sir, that bought Wit was best. I have brought Money
to Town for a small purchase of that kind; for, Sir, I wou’d fain set up
for a Country Wit.--Pray, Sir, where live the Poets, for I wou’d fain be
acquainted with some of them.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, I do not know, nor do I care for Wits and Poets. Oh,
this will kill me quite; I’ll out of Town immediately.

Sir _Cred._ But, Sir, I mean your fine railing Bully Wits, that have
Vinegar, Gall and Arsenick in ‘em, as well as Salt and Flame, and Fire,
and the Devil and all.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, defend me! and what is all this to me, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Oh, Sir, they are the very Soul of Entertainment; and, Sir,
it is the prettiest sport to hear ‘em rail and haul at one another--Zoz,
wou’d I were a Poet.

Sir _Pat._ I wish you were, since you are so fond of being rail’d
at.--If I were able to beat him, I would be much angry,--but Patience is
a Virtue, and I will into the Country.
    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ ‘Tis all one case to me, dear Sir,--but I should have the
pleasure of railing again, _cum privilegio_; I love fighting with those
pointless Weapons.--Zoz, Sir, you know if we Men of Quality fall out--
(for you are a Knight I take it) why, there comes a Challenge upon it,
and ten to one some body or other is run through the Gills; why, a Pox
on’t, I say, this is very damnable, give me Poet’s Licence.--

L. _Fan._ Take him off in pity.    [To _Leander_.

_Lod._ Indeed Railing is a Coin only current among the Poets, Sir
_Credulous_.

Sir _Pat._ Oh blest Deliverance!--what a profane Wretch is here, and
what a leud World we live in--Oh _London_, _London_, how thou aboundest
in Iniquity! thy young Men are debauch’d, thy Virgins defloured, and thy
Matrons all turn’d Bauds! My Lady _Fancy_, this is not Company for you,
I take it, let us fly from this vexation of Spirit, on the never-failing
Wings of Discretion.--
    [Going to lead Lady _Fancy_ off,--the Lady _Knowell_ speaking to
    _Isabella_ all this while.

L. _Kno._ How! marry thee to such a Fop, say’st thou? Oh egregious!--as
thou lovest _Lodwick_, let him not know his Name, it will be dangerous,
let me alone to evade it.

_Isab._ I know his fiery Temper too well to trust him with the secret.

L. _Kno._ Hark ye, Sir, and do you intend to do this horrible thing?--

Sir _Pat._ What thing, my Lady _Knowell_?

L. _Kno._ Why, to marry your Daughter, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Yes, Madam.

L. _Kno._ To a beastly Town Fool? _Monstrum horrendum!_

Sir _Pat._ To any Fool, except a Fool of your Race, of your
Generation.--

L. _Kno._ How! a Fool of my Race, my Generation! I know thou meanest my
Son, thou contumelious Knight, who, let me tell thee, shall marry thy
Daughter _invito te_, that is, (to inform thy obtuse Understanding) in
spite of thee; yes, shall marry her, though she inherits nothing but thy
dull Enthusiasms, which had she been legitimate she had been possest
with.

Sir _Pat._ Oh abominable! you had best say she is none of my Daughter,
and that I was a Cuckold.--

L. _Kno._ If I should, Sir, it would not amount to _Scandalum Magnatum_:
I’ll tell thee more, thy whole Pedigree,--and yet for all this,
_Lodwick_ shall marry your Daughter, and yet I’ll have none of your
Nephew.

Sir _Pat._ Shall he so, my Lady _Knowell_? I shall go near to out-trick
your Ladyship, for all your politick Learning. ‘Tis past the Canonical
Hour, as they call it, or I wou’d marry my Daughter instantly; I profess
we ne’er had good days since these Canonical Fopperies came up again,
mere Popish Tricks to give our Children time for Disobedience,--the next
Justice wou’d ha’ serv’d turn, and have done the Business at any Hour:
but Patience is a Virtue--_Roger_, go after Mr. _Fainlove_, and tell him
I wou’d speak with him instantly.
    [Exit _Roger_.

L. _Kno._ Come, come, Ladies, we lose fleeting time, upon my Honour, we
do; for, Madam, as I said, I have brought the Fiddles, and design to
sacrifice the intire Evening to your Ladyship’s Diversion.

Sir _Cred._ Incomparable Lady, that was well thought on; Zoz, I long to
be jigging.

Sir _Pat._ Fiddles, good Lord! why, what am I come to?--Madam, I take
it, Sir _Patient Fancy’s_ Lady is not a proper Person to make one at
immodest Revellings, and profane Masqueradings.

L. _Fan._ Why; ah, ‘tis very true, Sir, but we ought not to offend a
Brother that is weak, and consequently, a Sister.

Sir _Pat._ An excellent Lady this, but she may be corrupted, ah, she may
fall; I will therefore without delay, carry her from this wicked Town.

L. _Kno._ Come, come, Gentlemen, let’s in; Mr. _Fancy_, you must be my
Man;--Sir _Credulous_, come, and you, sweet Sir, come, Ladies,--_Nunc
est saltandum_, &c.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. Changes to a Chamber.

    Enter Sir _Patient_ as before, Lady _Fancy_, _Wittmore_, _Maundy_,
    and _Roger_ with things.

Sir _Pat._ _Maundy_, fetch my Clothes, I’ll dress me and out of Town
instantly,--persuade me not.
    [To _Wit._
  _Roger_, is the Coach ready, _Roger_?

_Rog._ Yes, Sir, with four Horses.

L. _Fan._ Out of Town! Oh, I’m undone then, there will be no hopes of
ever seeing _Wittmore_. [Aside.] --_Maundy_, oh, help me to contrive my
stay, or I’m a dead Woman.--Sir, sure you cannot go and leave your
Affairs in Town.

Sir _Pat._ Affairs! what Affairs?

L. _Fan._ Why, your Daughter’s Marriage, Sir:--and--Sir,--not, Sir, but
that I desire of all things in the World the Blessing of being alone
with you, far from the Noise and leud Disorders of this filthy Town.

Sir _Pat._ Most excellent Woman! ah, thou art too good for sinful Man,
and I will therefore remove thee from the Temptations of it.--_Maundy_,
my Clothes--Mr. _Fainlove_, I will leave _Isabella_ with my Lady
_Fidget_, my Sister, who shall to morrow see you married, to prevent
farther Inconveniences.

L. _Fan._ What shall I do?

_Maun._ Madam, I have a Design, which considering his Spleen, must this
time do our Business,--’tis--
    [Whispers.

L. _Fan._ I like it well, about it instantly, hah--
    [Ex. _Maundy_.
   Alas, Sir, what ails your Face? good Heaven,--look, _Roger_.

Sir _Pat._ My Face! why, what ails my Face? hah!

L. _Fan._ See, Mr. _Fainlove_, oh, look on my Dear, is he not strangely
alter’d?

_Wit._ Most wonderfully.

Sir _Pat._ Alter’d, hah--why, where, why, how alter’d?--hah, alter’d say
you?

_Wit._ Lord, how wildly he stares!

Sir _Pat._ Hah, stare wildly!

_Rog._ Are you not very sick, Sir?

L. _Fan._ Sick! oh, Heavens forbid!--How does my dearest Love?

Sir _Pat._ Methinks I feel myself not well o’th’ sudden--ah--a kind of
shivering seizes all my Limbs,--and am I so much chang’d?

_Wit._ All over, Sir, as big again as you were.

L. _Fan._ Your Face is frightfully blown up, and your dear Eyes just
starting from your Head; oh, I shall sound with the apprehension on’t.
    [Falls into _Wittmore’s_ Arms.

Sir _Pat._ My Head and Eyes so big, say you: oh, I’m wondrous sick o’th’
sudden,--all over say you--oh, oh--Ay, I perceive it now, my Senses fail
me too.

L. _Fan._ How, Sir, your Senses fail you?

_Wit._ That’s a very bad sign, believe me.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, ay, for I can neither feel nor see this mighty growth you
speak of.
    [Falls into a Chair, with great signs of Disorder.

_Wit._ Alas, I’m sorry for that, Sir.

_Rog._ Sure, ‘tis impossible, I’ll run and fetch a Glass, Sir.
    [Offers to go.

L. _Fan._ Oh, stay, I wou’d not for the world he should see what a
Monster he is,--and is like to be before to morrow.
    [Aside.

_Rog._ I’ll fit him with a Glass,--I’ll warrant ye, it shall advance our
Design.
    [Exit _Roger_.

    Enter _Maundy_ with the Clothes, she starts.

_Maun._ Good Heaven, what ails you, Sir?

Sir _Pat._ Oh--oh--’tis so.

_Maun._ Lord, how he’s swoln! see how his Stomach struts.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, ‘tis true, though I perceive it not.

_Maun._ Not perceive it, Sir! put on your Clothes and be convinc’d,--try
’.m, Sir.
    [She pulls off his Gown, and puts on his Doublet and Coat, which
    come not near by a handful or more.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, it needs not,--mercy upon me!--    [Falls back.
  I’m lost, I’m gone! Oh Man, what art thou but a Flower? I am poison’d,
this talking Lady’s Breath’s infectious; methought I felt the Contagion
steal into my Heart; send for my Physicians, and if I die I’ll swear
she’s my Murderer: oh, see, see, how my trembling increases, oh, hold my
Limbs, I die.--

    Enter _Roger_ with a magnifying Glass, shews him the Glass; he
    looks in it.

_Rog._ I’ll warrant I’ll shew his Face as big as a Bushel.    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh,--I’m a dead Man, have me to Bed, I die away, undress
me instantly, send for my Physicians, I’m poison’d, my Bowels burn,
I have within an _Ætna_, my Brains run round, Nature within me reels.
    [They carry him out in a Chair.

_Wit._ And all the drunken Universe does run on Wheels, ha, ha, ha.

Ah, my dear Creature, how finely thou hast brought him to his Journy’s
end!

L. _Fan._ There was no other way but this to have secur’d my Happiness
with thee; there needs no more than that you come anon to the Garden
Back-gate, where you shall find admittance;--Sir _Patient_ is like to
lie alone to night.

_Wit._ Till then ‘twill be a thousand Ages.

  L. _Fan._ At Games of Love Husbands to cheat is fair,
  ‘Tis the Gallant we play with on the square.

    [Exeunt severally.




ACT III.


SCENE I.

_Scene draws off to a room in Sir _Patient Fancy’s_ house, and discovers
Lady _Knowell_, _Isabella_, _Lucretia_, _Lodwick_, _Leander_,
_Wittmore_, Sir _Credulous_, other Men and Women, as going to dance._

L. _Kno._ Come, one Dance more, and then I think we shall have
sufficiently teaz’d the Alderman, and ‘twill be time to part.--Sir
_Credulous_, where’s your Mistress?

Sir _Cred._ Within a Mile of an Oak, dear Madam, I’ll warrant
you.--Well, I protest and vow, sweet Lady, you dance most nobly,--Why,
you dance--like--like a--like a hasty Pudding, before _Jove_.
    [They dance some Antick, or Rustick Antick. _Lodwick_ speaking to
    _Isabella_.

  SONG made by a Gentleman.

      _Sitting by yonder River side,
    _Parthenia_ thus to _Cloe_ cry’d,
    Whilst from the fair Nymph’s Eyes apace
  Another Stream o’er-flow’d her beauteous Face;
    Ah happy Nymph, said she, that can
    So little value that false Creature, Man._

  _Oft the perfidious things will cry,
    Alas they burn, they bleed, they die;
    But if they’re absent half a Day,
  Nay, let ‘em be but one poor Hour away,
    No more they die, no more complain,
    But like unconstant Wretches live again._

_Lod._ Well, have you consider’d of that Business yet, _Isabella_?

_Isab._ What business?

_Lod._ Of giving me admittance to night.

_Isab._ And may I trust your honesty?

_Lod._ Oh, doubt me not, my mother’s resolv’d it shall be a match
between you and I, and that very consideration will secure thee:
besides, who would first sully the Linen they mean to put on?

_Isab._ Away, here’s my Mother.

    Enter Lady _Fancy_ and _Maundy_.

L. _Fan._ Madam, I beg your pardon for my absence, the effects of my
Obedience, not Will; but Sir _Patient_ is taken very ill o’th’ sudden,
and I must humbly intreat your Ladyship to retire, for Rest is only
essential to his Recovery.

L. _Kno._ Congruously spoken, upon my Honour. Oh, the impudence of this
Fellow your Ladyship’s Husband, to espouse so fair a Person only to make
a Nurse of!

L. _Fan._ Alas, Madam!--

L. _Kno._ A Slave, a very Houshold Drudge.--Oh, faugh, come never
grieve;--for, Madam, his Disease is nothing but Imagination,
a Melancholy which arises from the Liver, Spleen, and Membrane call’d
_Mesenterium_; the _Arabians_ name the Distemper _Myrathial_, and we
here in _England_, _Hypochondriacal Melancholy_; I cou’d prescribe a
most potent Remedy, but that I am loth to stir the Envy of the College.

L. _Fan._ Really, Madam, I believe--

L. _Kno._ But as you say, Madam, we’ll leave him to his Repose; pray do
not grieve too much.

_Lod._ Death! wou’d I had the consoling her, ‘tis a charming Woman!

L. _Kno._ Mr. _Fancy_, your Hand; Madam, your most faithful
Servant.--_Lucretia_, come, _Lucretia_.--Your Servant, Ladies and
Gentleman.

L. _Fan._ A Devil on her, wou’d the Nimbleness of her Ladyship’s Tongue
were in her Heels, she wou’d make more haste away: oh, I long for the
blest minute.

_Lod._ _Isabella_, shall I find admittance anon?

_Isab._ On fair Conditions.

_Lod._ Trust my Generosity.--Madam, your Slave.    [Ex.
    [To L. _Fan._ gazing on her, goes out.

Sir _Cred._ Madam, I wou’d say something of your Charms and celestial
Graces, but that all Praises are as far below you, as the Moon in her
Opposition is below the Sun;--and so, luscious Lady, I am yours: Now for
my Serenade--

    [Ex. all but L. _Fan._ and _Maundy_.

L. _Fan._ _Maundy_, have you commanded all the Servants to bed?

_Maun._ Yes, Madam, not a Mouse shall stir, and I have made ready the
Chamber next the Garden for your Ladyship.

L. _Fan._ Then there needs no more but that you wait for _Wittmore’s_
coming to the Garden-Gate, and take care no Lights be in the House for
fear of Eyes.

_Maun._ Madam, I understand Lovers are best by dark, and shall be
diligent: the Doctor has secur’d Sir _Patient_ by a sleeping Pill, and
you are only to expect your approaching Happiness.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. Lady _Knowell’s_ Chamber.

    Enter Lady _Knowell_ and _Leander_.

L. _Kno._ _Leander_, raise your Soul above that little trifle
_Lucretia_;--cannot you guess what better Fate attends you? fy, how dull
you are! must I instruct you in plain right-down Terms? and tell you,
that I propose you Master of my Fortune.--Now possibly you understand
me.

    Enter _Lucretia_, and peeps.

  _Lean._ I wish I did not, Madam,
  Unless I’d Virtue to deserve the Bounty;
  I have a thousand Faults Dissimulation hides,
  Inconstant, wild, debauch’d as Youth can make me.

_Lucr._ All that will not do your Business.    [Aside.

L. _Kno._ Yet you wou’d have my Daughter take you with all these Faults;
they’re Virtues there, but to the name of Mother, they all turn
retrograde: I can endure a Man
  As wild and as inconstant as she can;
  I have a Fortune too that can support that Humour,
  That of _Lucretia_ does depend on me,
  And when I please is nothing;
  I’m far from Age or Wrinkles, can be courted
  By Men, as gay and youthful as a new Summer’s Morn,
  Beauteous as the first Blossoms of the Spring,
  Before the common Sun has kiss’d their Sweets away,
  If with salacious Appetites I lov’d.

_Lean._ Faith, Madam, I cou’d wish--

L. _Kno._ That I were but Fifteen: but
  If there be inequality in Years,
  There is so too in Fortunes, that might add
  A Lustre to my Eyes, Charms to my Person,
  And make me fair as _Venus_, young as _Hebe_.

_Lean._ Madam, you have enough to engage any unconquer’d Heart; but
’.was, I thought, with your allowance I dispos’d of mine, and ‘tis a
Heart that knows not how to change.

L. _Kno._ Then ‘tis a foolish unambitious Heart, unworthy of the
Elevation it has not glorious Pride enough to aim at:--Farewel,
Sir,--when you are wiser, you may find admittance.
    [Goes out.

_Lean._ Stay, Madam--

    Enter _Lucretia_.

_Lucr._ For what? to hear your Penitence! Forgive me, Madam, I will be a
Villain, forget my Vows of Love, made to _Lucretia_.
  And sacrifice both her, and those to Interest.
  Oh, how I hate this whining and dissembling!

_Lean._ Do, triumph o’er a wretched Man, _Lucretia_.

_Lucr._ How! wretched in loving me so entirely, or that you cannot marry
my Mother, and be Master of her mighty Fortune? ‘Tis a Temptation indeed
so between Love and Interest, hang me if ever I saw so simple a Look as
you put on when my Mother made love to you.

_Lean._ You may easily guess the Confusion of a Man in my Circumstances,
to be languishing for the lov’d Daughter, and pursu’d by the hated
Mother, whom if I refuse will ruin all my hopes of thee.

_Lucr._ Refuse her! I hope you have more Wit.

_Lean._ _Lucretia_, cou’d she make a Monarch of me, I cou’d not marry
her.

_Lucr._ And you wou’d be so wise to tell her so?

_Lean._ I wou’d no more abuse her, than I cou’d love her.

_Lucr._ Yet that last must be done.

_Lean._ How!

_Lucr._ Dost believe me so wicked to think I mean in earnest? No, tell
her a fine Story of Love and Liking, gaze on her, kiss her Hands, and
sigh, commend her Face and Shape, swear she’s the Miracle of the Age for
Wit, cry up her Learning, vow you were an Ass not to be sensible of her
Perfections all this while; what a Coxcomb, to doat upon the Daughter
when such Charms were so visible in the Mother? Faith, she’ll believe
all this.

_Lean._ It may be so, but what will all this serve for?

_Lucr._ To give us time and opportunity to deceive her, or I’m mistaken.

_Lean._ I cannot teach my Tongue so much Deceit.

_Lucr._ You may be a Fool, and cry, Indeed forsooth I cannot love, for
alas I have lost my Heart, and am unworthy of your proffer’d
Blessings--do, and see her marry me in spite to this Fop _Easy_, this
Knight of Nonsense: no, no, dissemble me handsomely and like a
Gentleman, and then expect your good Fortune.

    Enter _Antick_.

_Ant._ Madam, your Mother’s coming.

_Lucr._ Away then, she must not see us together, she thinks you gone.

_Lean._ But must I carry off no Comfort with me?

_Lucr._ Will you expose me to the incens’d Jealousy of a Parent? go, or
I shall hate ye.
    [Thrusts him out.


SCENE III. A Garden.

    Enter _Maundy_ by dark: Opens the Garden-Door.

_Maun._ Now am I return’d to my old Trade again, fetch and carry my
Lady’s Lovers; I was afraid when she had been married, these Night-works
wou’d have ended; but to say truth, there’s a Conscience to be used in
all things, and there’s no reason she should languish with an old Man
when a Young Man may be had.--The Door opens, he’s come.--

    Enter _Lodwick_.

I see you’re a punctual Lover, Sir, pray follow me as softly as you can.

_Lod._ This is some one whom I perceive _Isabella_ has made the
Confident to our Amours.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE IV. _Draws off, and discovers L. _Fancy_ in her Night-gown, in a
Chamber as by the dark._

L. _Fan._ Oh, the agreeable Confusion of a Lover high with expectation
of the approaching Bliss! What Tremblings between Joy and Fear possess
me? All my whole Soul is taken up with _Wittmore_; I’ve no Ideas, no
Thoughts but of _Wittmore_, and sure my Tongue can speak no other
Language, but his Name.--Who’s there?

    Enter _Maundy_ leading _Lodwick_.

_Maun._ Madam, ‘tis I, and your expected Lover here--I put him into your
hands, and will wait your Commands in the next Chamber.
    [Exit _Maun._

_Lod._ Where are you, my dearest Creature?

L. _Fan._ Here--give me your Hand, I’ll lead you to those Joys we both
so long have sigh’d for.

_Lod._ Hah! to Joys; sure she doth but dally with me.    [Aside.

L. _Fan._ Why come you not on, my dear?

_Lod._ And yet, why this Admission, and i’ th’ dark too, if she design’d
me none but virtuous Favours?--What damn’d Temptation’s this?

L. _Fan._ Are you bewitch’d? what is’t that frights you?

_Lod._ I’m fix’d: Death, was ever such a Lover?
  Just ready for the highest Joys of Love,
  And like a bashful Girl restrain’d by Fear
  Of an insuing Infamy--I hate to cuckold my own Expectations.

L. _Fan._ Heavens! what can you mean?

_Lod._ Death, what’s this?--sure ‘tis not Virtue in me,--Pray Heaven it
be not Impotence!--Where got I this damn’d Honesty, which I never found
my self master of till now!--why shou’d it seize me when I had least
need on’t?

L. _Fan._ What ails you? are you mad?--we are safe, and free as Winds
let loose to ruffle all the Groves; what is’t delays you then? Soft.

_Lod._ Pox o’ this thought of Wife, the very Name destroys my appetite.
  Oh, with what Vigour I could deal my Love
  To some fair leud unknown,
  To whom I’d never made a serious Vow!

L. _Fan._ Tell me the Mystery of this sudden Coldness: have I kept my
Husband in Town for this? Nay, persuaded him to be very sick to serve
our purpose, and am I thus rewarded--ungrateful Man!

_Lod._ Hah,--’tis not _Isabella’s_ Voice,--your Husband, say you?
    [Takes hold greedily of her Hand.

L. _Fan._ Is safe, from any fear of interrupting us.
  Come--these Delays do ill consist with Love
  And our Desires; at least if they are equal.

  _Lod._ Death, ‘tis the charming Mother!
  What lucky Star directed me to night?
  O my fair Dissembler, let us haste
  To pay the mighty Tributes due to Love.

L. _Fan._ Follow me then with careful Silence,--for _Isabella’s_ Chamber
joins to this, and she may hear us.

  _Lod_. Not Flowers grow, nor smooth Streams glide away,
  Not absent Lovers sigh, nor breaks the Day,
  More silently than I’ll those Joys receive,
  Which Love and Darkness do conspire to give.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE V. Changes again to a Garden.

    Enter _Isabella_ and _Fanny_ in their Night-gowns.

_Isab._ Well, I have no mind to let this dear mad Devil _Lodwick_ in to
night.

_Fan._ Why, Sister, this is not the first Venture you have made of this
kind, at this Hour, and in this Place; these Arbours were they
tell-tales, cou’d discover many pretty stories of your Loves, and do you
think they’ll be less faithful now? pray trust them once again. Oh, I do
so love to hear Mr. _Lodwick_ protest, and vow, and swear, and
dissemble, and when you don’t believe him, rail at you,--avads, ‘tis the
prettiest Man--

_Isab._ I have a strange apprehension of being surpriz’d to night.

_Fan._ I’ll warrant you, I’ll sit on yon Bank of Pinks, and when I hear
a Noise I’ll come and tell you; so _Lodwick_ may slip out at the back
Gate, and we may be walking up and down as if we meant no harm.

_Isab._ You’ll grow very expert in the Arts of Love, _Fanny_.

_Fan._ When I am big enough I shall do my Endeavour, for I have heard
you say, Women were born to no other end than to love: And ‘tis fit I
should learn to live and die in my calling.--Come, open the Gate, or
you’ll repent it, we shall have my Father marry you within a day or two
to that ugly Man that speaks hard Words,--avads, I can’t abide him.

_Isab._ What Noise is that?

_Fan._ Why, ‘tis Mr. _Lodwick_ at the Garden-Door;--let him in whilst
I’ll to my flowry Bank, and stand Centinel.--
    [Runs off. _Isabella_ opens the Gate.

    Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Who’s there?

_Isab._ Speak low, who shou’d it be but the kind Fool her self, who can
deny you nothing but what you dare not take?

  _Wit._ Not take! what’s that? hast thou reserves in store?
  --Oh, come and let me lead thee to thy Bed,
  Or seat thee on some Bank of softer Flowers,
  Where I may rifle all thy unknown Store.

_Isab._ How! surely you’re not in earnest?--Do you love me?

  _Wit._ Love thee! by thy dear self, all that my Soul adores,
  I’m all impatient Flame! all over Love!
  --You do not use to doubt, but since you do,
  Come, and I’ll satisfy thy obliging Fears,
  And give thee Proofs how much my Soul is thine,
  I’ll breathe it all anew into thy Bosom.--
  Oh, thou art fit for the transporting Play,
  All loose and wanton, like the Queen of Love
  When she descends to meet the Youth in Shades.

_Isab._ And are you, Sir, in earnest? can it be?

  _Wit._ That question was severe, what means my Love?
  What pretty Art is this to blow my Flame?
  Are you not mine? did we not meet t’enjoy?
  I came not with more vigorous eager Haste,
  When our first Sacrifice to Love we paid,
  Than to perform that Ceremony now.
  Come do not let the Sacred Fire burn out,
  Which only was prepar’d for Love’s rich Altar,
  And this is the divine, dark, silent Minute--
    [Goes to lead her off.

  _Isab._ Hold, Ravisher, and know this saucy Passion
  Has render’d back your Interest. Now I hate ye,
  And my Obedience to my Father’s Will
  Shall marry me to _Fainlove_, and I’ll despise ye.
    [Flings from him.

_Wit._ Hah! _Isabella!_ Death, I have made sweet work,--stay, gentle
Maid,--she’ll ruin all if she go:--stay--she knew me, and cunningly drew
me to this Discovery; I’ll after her and undeceive her.
    [Runs after her.


_A confused Noise of the Serenade, the_

SCENE VI draws off to Lady _Fancy’s_ Anti-chamber.

    Enter _Isabella_ groping as in the dark.

_Isab._ Pray Heaven I get undiscover’d to my Chamber, where I’ll make
Vows against this perjured Man; hah, sure he follows still; no
Wood-Nymph ever fled before a Satyr, with half that trembling haste I
flew from _Lodwick_.--Oh, he has lost his Virtue, and undone me.
    [Goes out groping, and the noise of Serenade again.


SCENE VII. _Changes to Lady _Fancy’s_ Bed-chamber, discovers her as
before; _Lodwick_ as just risen in Disorder from the Bed, buttoning
himself, and setting himself in order; and Noise at the Door of
unlatching it._

    Enter _Isabella_ groping, Sir _Patient_ without.

L. _Fan._ It is this Door that open’d, and which I thought I had
secur’d.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, insupportable, abominable, and not to be
indur’d!

_Isab._ Hah, my Father! I’m discover’d and pursu’d,--grant me to find
the Bed.

L. _Fan._ Heavens! ‘twas my Husband’s Voice, sure we’re betray’d. It
must be so, for what Devil but that of Jealousy cou’d raise him at this
late hour?

_Isab._ Hah, where am I, and who is’t that speaks--    [To her self.

_Lod._ So, he must know that I have made a Cuckold of him.    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Call up my Men, the Coachman, Groom, and Butler,
the Footmen, Cook, and Gardiner; bid ‘em all rise and arm, with long
Staff, Spade and Pitchfork, and sally out upon the Wicked.

_Lod._ S’heart! what a Death shall I die:--is there no place of safety
hereabouts--for there is no resisting these unmerciful Weapons.

_Isab._ A Man’s Voice!

L. _Fan._ I know of none, nor how to prevent your Discovery.

Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, oh, lead me forward, I’ll lie here on the
Garden-side, out of the hearing of this Hellish Noise.

L. _Fan._ Hah, Noise!--what means he?

_Lod._ Nay, I know not, is there no escaping?--

_Isab._ Who can they be that talk thus? sure I have mistook my Chamber.

L. _Fan._ Oh, he’s coming in--I’m ruin’d; what shall we do? here--get
into the Bed--and cover your self with the Clothes--quickly--oh, my
Confusion will betray me.
    [_Lodwick_ gets into the Bed, _Isabella_ hides behind the Curtain
    very near to him.

    Enter Sir _Patient_, led by _Nurse_ and _Maundy_, with Lights.

_Maun._ Pray go back, Sir, my poor Lady will be frighted out of her Wits
at this danger you put your self into, the Noise shall be still’d.

L. _Fan._ Oh, what’s the matter with my Love? what, do you mean to
murder him? oh, lead him instantly back to his Bed.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh, no, I’ll lie here,--put me to bed, oh, I faint,--my
Chamber’s possest with twenty thousand Evil Spirits.

L. _Fan._ Possest! what sickly Fancy’s this?

Sir _Pat._ Ah, the House is beset, surrounded and confounded with
profane tinkling, with Popish Horn-Pipes, and Jesuitical Cymbals, more
Antichristian and Abominable than Organs, or Anthems.

_Nurse._ Yea verily, and surely it is the spawn of Cathedral Instruments
plaid on by Babylonish Minstrels, only to disturb the Brethren.

Sir _Pat._ Ay, ‘tis so, call up my Servants, and let them be first
chastiz’d and then hang’d; accuse ‘em for _French_ Papishes, that had a
design to fire the City, or any thing:--oh, I shall die--lead me gently
to this Bed.

L. _Fan._ To hinder him will discover all:--stay, Sir.--

Sir _Pat._ Hah, my Lady turn’d rebellious!--put me to Bed I say;--
[Throws himself forward to the Bed.] --hah--what’s here?--what are
thou,--a Man,--hah, a Man, Treason! betray’d! my Bed’s defil’d, my Lady
polluted, and I am cornuted; oh thou vile Serpent of my Bosom!
    [She stands with her Face towards the Stage in signs of fear.

_Isab._ A Man, and in my virtuous Lady Mother’s Chamber! how fortunate
was I to light on this discovery!

L. _Fan._ Well, Sir, since you have seen him, I beseech you for my sake,
Dear, pardon him this one time.
    [Coakesing him.

Sir _Pat._ Thou beg his Pardon! Oh, was ever heard such Impudence!

L. _Fan._ Indeed, my Love, he is to blame; but we that are judicious
should bear with the Frailities of Youth.

Sir _Pat._ Oh insupportable Audacity!--what canst thou say, false Woman?

L. _Fan._ Truly not much in his Defence, my Dear.

_Isab._ Oh cunning Devil!--

L. _Fan._ But, Sir, to hide the weakness of your Daughter, I have a
little strain’d my Modesty.--

_Isab._ Heavens! what says she?--

L. _Fan._ ‘Tis _Isabella’s_ Lover, Sir, whom I’ve conceal’d.

_Lod._ A good hint to save both our Credits.

Sir _Pat._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_ mean you?

    [_Lodwick_ rises and comes a little more forward, _Isabella_ does
    the like, till both meet at the feet of the Bed, and start,
    _Lodwick_ looking simply.

L. _Fan._ Ay, my dear, Mr. _Fainlove_.

_Lod._ _Isabella_ here! must she know too what a fine inconstant Dog I
am?--

_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ and in my Mother’s Chamber! may I believe my Eyes!

Sir _Pat._ But how got he hither?--tell me that: oh Youth, Youth, to
what degree of Wickedness art thou arriv’d?

L. _Fan._ She appointed him to come this Night, Sir, and he going to her
Chamber, by mistake came into mine, it being the next to her’s.

_Maun._ But, Lord, Sir, had you heard how my Lady school’d him, whilst I
ran down to fetch a Light!

_Lod._ Now does my Conscience tell me, I am a damn’d Villain.--
    [Aside, looking pitifully on _Isabella_.

L. _Fan._ But the poor Man presently perceiv’d his mistake, and beg’d my
pardon in such feeling Terms--that I vow I had not the heart to deny it
him.

_Isab._ Oh Traytor! wou’d thou hadst been that Ravisher I took thee for,
rather than such a Villain--false! and with my Mother too!

L. _Fan._ And just then, Sir, you came to the Door, and lest you shou’d
see him, intreated me to hide him from your Anger,--the Offence is not
so heinous, Sir, considering he is so soon to marry her.

Sir _Pat._ Well, Sir, and what have you to say in your Defence?--hah,
how, Mr. _Knowell_,--worse and worse,--why, how came you hither, Sir?
hah.--

L. _Fan._ Not _Wittmore_! oh, I am ruin’d and betray’d.
    [Falls almost in a swoon.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, _Isabella_ here too!

_Isab._ Yes, Sir, to justify her Innocence.

Sir _Pat._ Hah! Innocence! and justify! take her away; go out of my
sight, thou Limb of Satan,--take her away, I say, I’ll talk with you to
morrow, Lady Finetricks--I will.--

_Isab._ --And I’ll know before I sleep, the mystery of all this, and who
’.was this faithless Man sent in his room to deceive me in the Garden.
    [Goes out.

_Lod._ A plague of all ill-luck--how the Devil came she hither? I must
follow and reconcile her.
    [Going out, Sir _Patient_ stays him.

Sir _Pat._ Nay, Sir, we must not part so till I have known the truth of
this Business, I take it.

_Lod._ Truth, Sir! oh, all that your fair Lady has said, Sir; I must
confess her Eyes have wounded me enough with Anger, you need not add
more to my Shame.--

L. _Fan._ Some little comfort yet, that he prov’d indeed to be
_Isabella’s_ Lover: Oh, that I should mistake so unluckily!
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Why, I thought it had been Mr. _Fainlove_.

L. _Fan._ By all that’s good, and so did I.

_Lod._ I know you did, Madam, or you had not been so kind to me: Your
Servant, dear Madam.--
    [Going, Sir _Patient_ stays him.

L. _Fan._ Pray, Sir, let him go; oh, how I abominate the sight of a Man
that cou’d be so wicked as he has been!

Sir _Pat._ Ha,--good Lady, excellent Woman: well, Sir, for my Lady’s
sake I’ll let you pass with this, but if I catch you here again, I shall
spoil your Intrigues, Sir, marry, shall I, and so rest ye satisfied,
Sir.--

_Lod._ At this time, I am, Sir--Madam, a thousand Blessings on you for
this Goodness.

L. _Fan._ Ten thousand Curses upon thee,--go, boast the Ruin you have
made.
    [Aside to _Lod._

Sir _Pat._ Come, no more Anger now, my Lady; the Gentleman’s sorry you
see, I’ll marry my pert Huswife to morrow for this.--_Maundy_, see the
Gentleman safe out:--ah, put me to Bed; ah, this Night’s Work will kill
me, ah, ah.

    [Exeunt _Lodwick_ and _Maundy_.


_The Scene draws over Sir _Patient_ and Lady: draws again and discovers_

SCENE VIII. The Garden, _Wittmore_, _Fanny_, and _Isabella_.

_Isab._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_, it cannot be.

_Fan._ Indeed, Sister, ‘tis the same, for all he talks so; and he told
me his coming was but to try your Virtue only.

    Enter _Lodwick_ and _Maundy_ as passing over, but stand.

_Isab._ That _Fainlove_! whom I am so soon to marry! and but this day
courted me in another Dialect!

_Wit._ That was my Policy, Madam, to pass upon your Father with. But I’m
a Man that knows the value of the Fair, and saw Charms of Beauty and of
Wit in you, that taught me to know the way to your Heart was to appear
my self, which now I do. Why did you leave me so unkindly but now?

_Lod._ Hah, what’s this? whilst I was grafting Horns on another’s Head,
some kind Friend was doing that good Office for me.

_Maun._ Sure ‘tis _Wittmore_!--oh that Dissembler--this was his Plot
upon my Lady, to gain time with _Isabella_.
    [Aside.

_Wit._ And being so near my Happiness, can you blame me, if I made a
trial whether your Virtue were agreeable to your Beauty, great, and to
be equally ador’d?

_Lod._ Death, I’ve heard enough to forfeit all my Patience!--Draw, Sir,
and make a trial of your Courage too.--

_Wit._ Hah, what desperate Fool art thou?    [Draws.

_Lod._ One that will see thee fairly damn’d, e’er yield his Interest up
in _Isabella_--oh thou false Woman!
    [They fight out, _Isabella_, _Fanny_, and _Maundy_ run off.


SCENE IX. _Changes to the long Street, a Pageant of an Elephant coming
from the farther end with Sir _Credulous_ on it, and several others
playing on strange confused Instruments._

Sir _Cred._ This sure is extraordinary, or the Devil’s in’t, and I’ll
ne’er trust Serenade more.
    [Come forward, and all play again.
  --Hold, hold, now for the Song, which because I wou’d have most
deliciously and melodiously sung, I’ll sing my self; look
ye,--hum--hum.--

Sir _Credulous_ should have sung.

    _Thou Grief of my Heart, and thou Pearl of my Eyes,
    D’on thy Flannel Petticoat quickly, and rise;
    And from thy resplendent Window discover
    A Face that wou’d mortify any young Lover:
    For I, like great _Jove_ transformed, do wooe,
  And am amorous Owl, to wit to wooe, to wit to wooe.

    A Lover, Ads Zoz, is a sort of a Tool
    That of all Things you best may compare to an Owl:
    For in some dark Shades he delights still to sit,
    And all the Night long he crys wo to wit.
    Then rise, my bright _Cloris_, and d’on on slip shoe:
  And hear thy amorous Owl chant, wit to wooe, wit to wooe._

--Well, this won’t do, for I perceive no Window open, nor Lady bright
appear, to talk obligingly:--perhaps the Song does not please her: you
Ballad-singers, have you no good Songs of another fashion?

_1 Man._ Yes, Sir, Several, _Robin--Hark how the Waters fall, fall,
fall!_

Sir _Cred._ How, Man! Zoz, remove us farther off, for fear of wetting.

_1 Man._ No, no, Sir, I only gave my Fellow a hint of an excellent
Ballad that begins--_Ill-wedded Joys, how quickly do you fade!_
    [Sings.

Sir _Cred._ Ay, ay, that, we’ll have that,--_Ill-wedded Joys, how
quickly do you fade_,-- [Sings.] That’s excellent! Oh, now the Windows
open, now, now shew your capering Tricks.      [Vaulting.
    [They all play again.

    Enter _Roger_ and a Company of Fellows as out of Sir _Patient’s_
    House, led on by _Abel_ a precise Clerk, all armed with odd
    Weapons.

_Abel._ Verily, verily, here be these Babes of Perdition, these Children
of Iniquity.

_Rog._ A pox of your Babes and Children, they are Men, and Sons of
Whores, whom we must bang confoundedly, for not letting honest godly
People rest quietly in their Beds at Midnight.

Sir _Cred._ Who’s there?

_Rog._ There, with a Pox to you; cannot a Right-worshipful Knight, that
has been sick these Twenty Years with taking Physick, sleep quietly in
his own House for you; and must we be rais’d out of our Beds to quiet
your Hell-pipes, in the Devil’s name?

_Abel._ Down with _Gog_ and _Magog_, there; there’s the rotten Bell
weather that leads the rest astray, and defiles the whole Flock.

_Rog._ Hang your preaching, and let’s come to him, we’ll maul him.
    [Beat Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ Oh, Quarter, Quarter, Murder, Help, Murder, Murder!

    Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Damn these Rascals, who e’er they were, that so unluckily
redeem’d a Rival from my Fury,--Hah, they are here,--Egad, I’ll have one
touch more with ‘em,--the Dogs are spoiling my design’d Serenade
too--have amongst ye.-- [Fights and beats ‘em off.] Sir _Credulous_, how
is’t?

Sir _Cred._ Who’s there? _Lodwick?_ Oh dear Lad, is’t thou that hast
redeem’d me from the inchanted Cudgels that demolish’d my triumphant
Pageant, and confounded my Serenade? Zoz, I’m half kill’d, Man,--I have
never a whole Bone about me sure.

_Lod._ Come in with me--a plague upon the Rascal that escap’d me.

    [Exeunt.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. Lady _Knowell’s_ House.

    Enter _Lucretia_, followed by Sir _Credulous_.

_Lucr._ Marry’d to morrow! and leave my Mother the possession of
_Leander_! I’ll die a thousand Deaths first.--How the Fool haunts me!
    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, delicious Lady, you may say your Pleasure; but I will
justify the Serenade to be as high a piece of Gallantry as was ever
practised in our Age, though not comparable to your Charms and celestial
Graces, which shou’d I praise as I ought, ‘twou’d require more time than
the Sun employs in his natural Motion between the Tropicks; that is to
say, a whole Year, (for by the way, I am no _Copernican_) for, Dear
Madam, you must know, my Rhetorick Master,--I say, my Rhetorick Master,
who was--

_Lucr._ As great a Coxcomb as your self;--pray leave me, I am
serious--I must go seek out _Lodwick_.

Sir _Cred._ Leave ye! I thank you for that, i’faith, before I have spoke
out my Speech; therefore I say, Divine Lady--because my Rhetorick Master
commanded the frequent use of _Hypallages_, _Allegories_, and the
richest Figures of that beauteous Art,--because my Rhetorick--

_Lucr._ I must leave the Fool, follow if you dare, for I have no leisure
to attend your Nonsense.
    [Goes out.

    Enter Lady _Knowell_.

L. _Kno._ What, alone, Sir _Credulous_? I left you with _Lucretia_.

Sir _Cred._ _Lucretia!_ I’m sure she makes a very _Tarquinius Sextus_ of
me, and all about this Serenade,--I protest and vow, incomparable Lady,
I had begun the sweetest Speech to her--though I say’t, such Flowers of
Rhetorick--’twou’d have been the very Nosegay of Eloquence, so it wou’d;
and like an ungrateful illiterate Woman as she is, she left me in the
very middle on’t, so snuffy I’ll warrant.

L. _Kno._ Be not discourag’d, Sir, I’ll adapt her to a reconciliation:
Lovers must sometimes expect these little _Belli fugaces_; the
_Grecians_ therefore truly named Love _Glucupicros Eros_.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, bright Lady, I am as little discourag’d as another, but
I’m sorry I gave so extraordinary a Serenade to so little purpose.

L. _Kno._ Name it no more, ‘twas only a Gallantry mistaken; but I’ll
accelerate your Felicity, and to morrow shall conclude the great
dispute, since there is such Volubility and Vicissitude in mundane
Affairs.
    [Goes out.

    Enter _Lodwick_, stays Sir _Credulous_ as he is going out the
    other way.

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, whither away so fast?

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, what a Question’s there? dost not know I am to unty the
Virgin Zone to morrow, that is, barter Maiden-heads with thy Sister,
that is, to be married to her, Man, and I must to _Lincolns-Inn_ to my
Counsel about it?

_Lod._ My Sister just now told me of it; but, Sir, you must not stir.

Sir _Cred._ Why, what’s the matter?

_Lod._ Have you made your Will?

Sir _Cred._ My Will! no, why my Will, Man?

_Lod._ Then, for the good of your Friends and Posterity, stir not from
this place.

Sir _Cred._ Good Lord, _Lodwick_, thou art the strangest Man,--what do
you mean to fright a body thus?

_Lod._ You remember the Serenade last night?

Sir _Cred._ Remember it? Zoz, I think I do, here be the marks on’t
sure.--
    [Pulls off his Peruke, and shews his Head broke.

_Lod._ Ads me, your Head’s broke.

Sir _Cred._ My Head broke! why, ‘twas a hundred to one but my Neck had
been broke.

_Lod._ Faith, not unlikely,--you know the next House is Sir _Patient
Fancy’s_; _Isabella_ too, you know, is his Daughter.

Sir _Cred._ Yes, yes, she was by when I made my dumb Oration.

_Lod._ The same,--this Lady has a Lover, a mad, furious, fighting,
killing Hector, (as you know there are enough about this Town) this
Monsieur supposing you to be a Rival, and that your Serenade was
address’d to her--

Sir _Cred._ Enough, I understand you, set those Rogues on to murder me.

_Lod._ Wou’d ‘twere no worse.

Sir _Cred._ Worse! Zoz, Man, what the Devil can be worse?

_Lod._ Why, he has vow’d to kill you himself wherever he meets you, and
now waits below to that purpose.

Sir _Cred._ Sha, sha, if that be all, I’ll to him immediately, and make
Affidavit I never had any such design. Madam _Isabella_! ha, ha, alas,
poor man, I have some body else to think on.

_Lod._ Affidavit! why, he’ll not believe you, should you swear your
Heart out: some body has possess’d him that you are a damn’d Fool, and a
most egregious Coward, a Fellow that to save your Life will swear any
thing.

Sir _Cred._ What cursed Luck’s this!--why, how came he to know I liv’d
here?

_Lod._ I believe he might have it from _Leander_, who is his Friend.

Sir _Cred._ _Leander!_ I must confess I never lik’d that _Leander_ since
yesterday.

_Lod._ He has deceiv’d us all, that’s the truth on’t; for I have lately
found out too, that he’s your Rival, and has a kind of a--

Sir _Cred._ Smattering to my Mistress, hah, and therefore wou’d not be
wanting to give me a lift out of this World; but I shall give her such a
go-by--my Lady _Knowell_ understands the difference between three
Thousand a Year, and--prithee what’s his Estate?

_Lod._ Shaw--not sufficient to pay Surgeons Bills.

Sir _Cred._ Alas, poor Rat, how does he live then?

_Lod._ Hang him, the Ladies keep him; ‘tis a good handsome Fellow, and
has a pretty Town-Wit.

Sir _Cred._ He a Wit! what, I’ll warrant he writes Lampoons, rails at
Plays, curses all Poetry but his own, and mimicks the Players--ha.

_Lod._ Some such common Notions he has that deceives the ignorant
Rabble, amongst whom he passes for a very smart Fellow,--’life, he’s
here.

    Enter _Leander_.

Sir _Cred._ Why, what shall I do, he will not affront me before Company?
hah!

_Lod._ Not in our House, Sir,--bear up and take no notice on’t.
    [_Lod._ whispers _Lean._

Sir _Cred._ No notice, quoth he? why, my very Fears will betray me.

_Lean._ Let me alone--_Lodwick_, I met just now with an _Italian_
Merchant, who has made me such a Present!

_Lod._ What is’t prithee?

_Lean._ A Sort of specifick Poison for all the Senses, especially for
that of smelling; so that had I a Rival, and I should see him at any
reasonable distance, I could direct a little of this Scent up to his
Brain so subtlely, that it shall not fail of Execution in a day or two.

Sir _Cred._ How--Poison!
    [Shewing great Signs of Fear, and holding his Nose.

_Lean._ Nay, shou’d I see him in the midst of a thousand People, I can
so direct it, that it shall assault my Enemy’s Nostrils only, without
any effects on the rest of the Company.

Sir _Cred._ Oh,--I’m a dead Man!

_Lod._ Is’t possible?

_Lean._ Perhaps some little sneezing or so, no harm; but my Enemy’s a
dead Man, Sir, kill’d.

Sir _Cred._ Why, this is the most damn’d _Italian_ Trick I ever heard
of; why, this outdoes the famous Poisoner Madam _Brenvilliers_; well,
here’s no jesting, I perceive that, _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Fear nothing, I’ll secure you.    [Aside to him.

    Enter _Wittmore_.

--_Wittmore!_ how is’t, Friend! thou lookest cloudy.

_Wit._ You’ll hardly blame me, Gentlemen, when you shall know what a
damn’d unfortunate Rascal I am.

_Lod._ Prithee what’s the matter?

_Wit._ Why, I am to be marry’d, Gentlemen, marry’d to day.

_Lod._ How, marry’d! nay, Gad, then thou’st reason; but to whom prithee?

_Wit._ There’s the Devil on’t again, to a fine young fair, brisk Woman,
that has all the Temptations Heaven can give her.

_Lod._ What pity ‘tis they shou’d be bestow’d to so wicked an end! Is
this your Intrigue, that has been so long conceal’d from your Friends?

_Lean._ We thought it had been some kind Amour, something of Love and
Honour.

_Lod._ Is she rich? if she be wondrous rich, we’ll excuse thee.

_Wit._ Her Fortune will be suitable to the Jointure I shall make her.

_Lod._ Nay then ‘tis like to prove a hopeful Match; what a Pox can
provoke thee to this, dost love her?

_Wit._ No, there’s another Plague, I am cursedly in love elsewhere; and
this was but a false Address, to hide that real one.

_Lod._ How, love another? in what quality and manner?

_Wit._ As a Man ought to love, with a good substantial Passion, without
any design but that of right-down honest Injoyment.

_Lod._ Ay, now we understand thee, this is something. Ah Friend, I had
such an Adventure last Night.--You may talk of your Intrigues and
substantial Pleasures, but if any of you can match mine,--Egad, I’ll
forswear Womankind.

_Lean._ An Adventure! prithee where?

Sir _Cred._ What, last Night, when you rescued me from the Bilbo-Blades!
indeed ye look’d a little furiously.

_Lod._ I had reason, I was just then come out of a Garden from fighting
with a Man whom I found with my Mistress; and I had at least known who’t
had been, but for the coming of those Rascals that set on you, who
parted us, whilst he made his escape in the Croud.

_Wit._ Death! that was I, who for fear of being known got away: was’t he
then that I fought with, and whom I learnt lov’d _Isabella_?
    [Aside.

_Lod._ You must know, Gentlemen, I have a sort of a matrimonial Kindness
for a very pretty Woman, she whom I tell you I disturb’d in the Garden,
and last night she made me an Assignation in her Chamber: when I came to
the Garden-door by which I was to have admittance, I found a kind of
Necessary call’d a Baudy Waiting-Woman, whom I follow’d, and thought she
wou’d have conducted me to the right Woman; but I was luckily and in the
dark led into a Lady’s Chamber, who took me for a Lover she expected:
I found my happy mistake, and wou’d not undeceive her.

_Wit._ This could be none but _Lucia_.    [Aside.
  --Well, Sir, and what did you do there?

_Lod._ Do! why, what dost think? all that a Man inspir’d by Love cou’d
do, I followed all the dictates of Nature, Youth, and Vigor.

_Wit._ Oh, hold, my Heart--or I shall kill the Traitor.    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ Follow’d all the dictates of Nature, Youth and Vigor!
prithee what’s that?

_Lod._ I kiss’d a thousand times her balmy Lips, and greedily took in
the nimble Sighs she breath’d into my Soul.

_Wit._ Oh, I can scarce contain my self.    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ Pshaw, is that all, Man?

  _Lod._ I clasp’d her lovely Body in my Arms,
  And laid my Bosom to her panting Breast.
  Trembling she seem’d all Love and soft Desire,
  And I all Burnings in a youthful Fire.

Sir _Cred._ Bless us, the Man’s in a Rapture!

_Wit._ Damnation on them both.

Sir _Cred._ Well, to the point, Man: what didst do all this while?

_Lean._ Faith, I fancy he did not sleep, Sir _Credulous_.

_Lod._ No, Friend, she had too many Charms to keep me waking.

Sir _Cred._ Had she so? I shou’d have beg’d her Charms pardon, I tell
her that though.

_Wit._ Curse on my Sloth, Oh, how shall I dissemble?    [Aside.

_Lean._ Thy Adventure was pretty lucky--but, _Wittmore_, thou dost not
relish it.

_Wit._ My Mind’s upon my Marriage, Sir; if I thought he lov’d
_Isabella_, I wou’d marry her to be reveng’d on him, at least I’ll vex
his Soul, as he has tortur’d mine.--Well, Gentlemen, you’ll dine with
me,--and give me your opinion of my Wife.

_Lod._ Where dost thou keep the Ceremony?

_Wit._ At Sir _Patient Fancy’s_, my Father-in-law.

_Lod._ How! Sir _Patient Fancy_ to be your Father-in-law?

_Lean._ My Uncle?

_Wit._ He’s fir’d,--’tis his Daughter, Sir, I am to marry.--

_Lod._ _Isabella!_ _Leander_, can it be? can she consent to this? and
can she love you?

_Wit._ Why, Sir, what do you see in me, shou’d render me unfit to be
belov’d?
    [Angry.

_Lod._ Marry’d to day! by Heaven, it must not be, Sir.
    [Draws him aside.

_Wit._ Why, Sir, I hope this is not the kind Lady who was so soft, so
sweet and charming last night.

_Lod._ Hold, Sir,--we yet are Friends.--

_Wit._ And might have still been so, hadst thou not basely rob’d me of
my Interest.

_Lod._ Death, do you speak my Language?    [Ready to draw.

_Wit._ No, take a secret from my angry Heart, which all its Friendship
to thee cou’d not make me utter;--it was my Mistress you surpriz’d last
night.

_Lod._ Hah, my Lady _Fancy_ his Mistress? Curse on my prating Tongue.
    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ What a Devil’s all this, hard Words, Heart-burnings,
Resentments, and all that?

_Lean._ You are not quarrelling, I hope, my Friends?

_Lod._ All this, Sir, we suspected, and smok’d your borrowing Money last
night; and what I said was to gain the mighty secret that had been so
long kept from your Friends:--but thou hast done a baseness--
    [Lays his Hand on his Sword.

_Lean._ Hold, what’s the matter?

_Wit._ Did you not rob me of the Victory then I’ve been so long a
toiling for?

_Lod._ If I had, ‘twould not have made her guilty, nor me a Criminal;
she taking me for one she lov’d, and I her for one that had no Interest
in my Friend: and who the Devil wou’d have refus’d so fine a Woman? Nor
had I but that I was prevented by her Husband.--But _Isabella_, Sir, you
must resign.

_Wit._ I will, provided that our Friendship’s safe; I am this day to
marry her, and if you can find a means to do’t in my room, I shall
resign my Interest to my Friend; for ‘tis the lovely Mother I adore.

_Lod._ And was it you I fought with in the Garden?

_Wit._ Yes, and thereby hangs a tale of a mistake almost equal to thine,
which I’ll at leisure tell you.
    [Talks to _Lod._ and _Lean._

Sir _Cred._ I’m glad they’re Friends; Zoz, here was like to have been a
pretty Business; what damnable work this same Womankind makes in a
Nation of Fools that are Lovers?

_Wit._ Look ye, I am a damn’d dull Fellow at Invention, I’ll therefore
leave you to contrive matters by your selves, whilst I’ll go try how
kind Fortune will be to me this Morning, and see in what readiness my
Bride is. What you do must be thought on suddenly; I’ll wait on you
anon, and let you know how matters go.--I’m as impatient to know the
truth of this, as for an opportunity to enjoy _Lucia_.
    [Goes out.

_Lod._ _Leander_, what shall I do?

_Lean._ You were best consult your Mother and Sister; Women are best at
Intrigues of this kind: But what becomes of me?

_Lod._ Let me alone to dispatch this Fool, I long to have him out of the
way, he begins to grow troublesome:--but now my Mother expects you.

_Lean._ Prithee be careful of me.--    [Exit _Lean._

Sir _Cred._ What was this long Whisper, something about me?

_Lod._ Why, yes, faith, I was persuading him to speak to his Friend
about this Business; but he swears there’s no hopes of a Reconciliation:
you are a dead Man, unless some cleanly conveyance of you be soon
thought on.

Sir _Cred._ Why, I’ll keep within doors, and defy Malice and foul
Weather.

_Lod._ Oh, he means to get a Warrant, and search for stolen Goods,
prohibited Commodities or Conventicles; there’s a thousand Civil
Pretences in this Town to commit Outrages--let me see.--
    [They both pause a while.

Sir _Cred._ Well, I have thought,--and of such a Business, that the
Devil’s in’t if you don’t say I am a man of Intrigue.

_Lod._ What is’t?

Sir _Cred._ Ha, ha, ha, I must have leave to laugh to think how neatly I
shall defeat this Son of a Whore of a thunder thumping Hector.

_Lod._ Be serious, Sir, this is no laughing matter; if I might advise,
you should steal into the Country, for two or three days, till the
Business be blown over.

Sir _Cred._ Lord, thou art so hasty and conceited of thy own Invention,
thou wilt not give a Man leave to think in thy company: why, these were
my very thoughts; nay more, I have found a way to get off clever, though
he watch me as narrowly as an enraged Serjeant upon an Escape.

_Lod._ That indeed wou’d be a Master-piece.

Sir _Cred._ Why, look ye, do you see that great Basket there?

_Lod._ I do,--this you mean.--    [Pulls in a Basket.

Sir _Cred._ Very well, put me into this Basket, and cord me down, send
for a couple of Porters, hoist me away with a Direction, to an old Uncle
of mine, one Sir _Anthony Bubleton_ at _Bubleton-Hall_ in _Essex_; and
then whip slap-dash, as _Nokes_ says in the Play, I’m gone, and who’s
the wiser?

_Lod._ I like it well.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, lose no time in applauding, I’ll in, the Carrier goes
this Morning; farewel, _Lodwick_.--
    [Goes Into the Basket.
  I’ll be here again on _Thursday_.    [_Lod._ writes a Direction.

    Enter Boy.

_Lod._ By all means, Sir,--Who’s there,--call a couple of Porters.
    [Exit Boy.

Sir _Cred._ One word more, the Carrier lies at the _Bell_ in
_Friday-street_, pray take care they set me not on my Head.--
    [Pops in again.

    Enter Boy and two Porters.

_Lod._ Come hither, cord up this Basket, and carry it where he shall
direct.--_Leander_ will never think he’s free from a Rival, till he have
him in his possession--To Mr. _Leander Fancy’s_ at the next door; say
’.is things for him out of the Country.--Write a Direction to him on the
Basket-lid.    [Aside to the Boy.
    [Porters going to carry off the Basket on a long Pole between ‘em.

    Enter Lady _Knowell_.

L. _Kno._ What’s this? whither goes this Basket?

Sir _Cred._ Ah Lord! they are come with the Warrant.
    [Peeps out of the Basket.

_Lod._ Only Books, Madam, offer’d me to buy, but they do not please me.

L. _Kno._ Books! nay then set down the Basket, Fellows, and let me
peruse ‘em; who are their Authors, and what their Language?

Sir _Cred._ A pox of all Learning, I say,--’tis my Mother-in-law.
    [Porters going to set down the Basket.

_Lod._ Hold, hold, Madam, they are only _English_ and some Law-_French_.

L. _Kno._ Oh, faugh, how I hate that vile sort of Reading! up with ‘em
again, Fellows, and away.
    [The Porters take up and go out.

_Lod._ God-a-mercy, Law-_French_.    [Aside.

L. _Kno._ Law-_French_! out upon’t, I cou’d find in my heart to have the
Porters bring it back, and have it burnt for a Heresy to Learning.

_Lod._ Or thrown into the _Thames_, that it may float back to
_Normandy_, to have the Language new modell’d.

L. _Kno._ You say well; but what’s all this _ad Iphicli bonis_, where’s
Sir _Credulous_ all this while? his Affairs expect him.

_Lod._ So does _Leander_ your Ladyship within.

L. _Kno._ _Leander!_ _Hymen, Hymenæ_, I’ll wait on him, _Lodwick_; I am
resolv’d you shall marry _Isabella_ too; I have a design in my head that
cannot fail to give you the possession of her within this two or three
hours.

_Lod._ Such an Indulgence will make me the happiest of Men, and I have
something to say to your Ladyship that will oblige you to hasten the
design.

L. _Kno._ Come in, and let me know it.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. _A Chamber in Sir _Patient Fancy’s_ House. A Table and
Chairs._

    Enter Lady _Fancy_ in a Morning-dress, _Maundy_ with Pen, Ink and
    Paper.

L. _Fan._ _Wittmore_ in the Garden, sayst thou, with _Isabella_! Oh
perjur’d Man! it was by his contrivance then I was betray’d last night.

_Maun._ I thought so too at first, Madam, till going to conduct Mr.
_Knowell_ through the Garden, he finding Mr. _Wittmore_ there with
_Isabella_ drew on him, and they both fought out of the Garden: what
mischief’s done I know not.--But, Madam, I hope Mr. _Knowell_ was not
uncivil to your Ladyship. I had no time to ask what pass’d between you.

L. _Fan._ Oh, name it not: I gave him all I had reserv’d for _Wittmore_.
I was so possess’d with the thoughts of that dear false one, I had no
sense free to perceive the cheat:--but I will be reveng’d.--Come let me
end my Letter, we are safe from interruption.

_Maun._ Yes, Madam, Sir _Patient_ is not yet up, the Doctors have been
with him, and tell him he is not so bad as we persuaded him.

L. _Fan._ And was he soft and kind?--By all that’s good, she loves him,
and they contriv’d this meeting.--My Pen and Ink--I am impatient to
unload my Soul of this great weight of Jealousy.--
    [Sits down, and writes.

    Enter Sir _Patient_, looking over her Shoulder a tip-toe.

_Maun._ Heaven! here’s Sir _Patient_, Madam.

L. _Fan._ Hah,--and ‘tis too late to hide the Paper; I was just going to
subscribe my Name.

Sir _Pat._ Good morrow, my Lady _Fancy_, your Ladyship is well employ’d,
I see.

L. _Fan._ Indeed I was, and pleasantly too: I am writing a Love-letter,
Sir.--But, my Dear, what makes you so soon up?

Sir _Pat._ A Love-letter!--let me see’t.    [Goes to take it.

L. _Fan._ I’ll read it to you, Sir.

_Maun._ What mean you, Madam?    [Aside.

    Lady _Fancy_ reads.

    It was but yesterday you swore you lov’d me, and I poor easy Fool
    believ’d; but your last Night’s Infidelity has undeceiv’d my Heart,
    and render’d you the falsest Man that ever Woman sigh’d for. Tell
    me, how durst you, when I had prepared all things for our Enjoyment,
    be so great a Devil to deceive my languishing Expectations? and in
    your room send one that has undone

      Your--

_Maun._ Sure she’s mad to read this to him.

Sir _Pat._ Hum,--I profess ingenuously--I think it is indeed a
Love-letter. My Lady _Fancy_, what means all this? as I take it, here
are Riddles and Mysteries in this Business.

L. _Fan._ Which thus, Sir, I’ll unfold.--
    [Takes the Pen, and writes _Isabella_.

Sir _Pat._ How! undone--Your--_Isabella_, meaning my Daughter?

L. _Fan._ Yes, my Dear, going this morning into her Chamber, she not
being there, I took up a Letter that lay open on her Table, and out of
curiosity read it; as near as I can remember ‘twas to this purpose:
I writ it out now, because I had a mind thou shou’dst see’t; for I can
hide nothing from thee.

Sir _Pat._ A very good Lady, I profess! to whom is it directed?

L. _Fan._ Why,--Sir--What shall I say, I cannot lay it now on
_Lodwick_--
    [Aside.
  I believe she meant it to Mr. _Fainlove_, for whom else cou’d it be
design’d? she being so soon to marry him.

Sir _Pat._ Hah,--Mr. _Fainlove_! so soon so fond and amorous!

L. _Fan._ Alas, ‘tis the excusable fault of all young Women, thou knowst
I was just such another Fool to thee, so fond--and so in love.--

Sir _Pat._ Ha,--thou wert indeed, my Lady _Fancy_, indeed thou
wert.--But I will keep the Letter however, that this idle Baggage may
know I understand her Tricks and Intrigues.
    [Puts up the Letter.

L. _Fan._ Nay then ‘twill out: No, I beseech you, Sir, give me the
Letter, I wou’d not for the World _Isabella_ shou’d know of my theft,
’.wou’d appear malicious in me:--Besides, Sir, it does not befit your
Gravity to be concern’d in the little Quarrels of Lovers.

Sir _Pat._ Lovers! Tell me not of Lovers, my Lady _Fancy_; with
Reverence to your good Ladyship, I value not whether there be Love
between ‘em or not. Pious Wedlock is my Business,--nay, I will let him
know his own too, that I will, with your Ladyship’s permission.

L. _Fan._ How unlucky I am!--Sir, as to his Chastisement, use your own
discretion, in which you do abound most plentifully. But pray let not
_Isabella_ hear of it; for as I wou’d preserve my Duty to thee, by
communicating all things to thee, so I wou’d conserve my good Opinion
with her.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, what a Blessing I possess in so excellent a Wife! and in
regard I am every day descending to my Grave.--ah--I will no longer hide
from thee the Provision I have made for thee, in case I die.--

L. _Fan._ This is the Musick that I long’d to hear.--Die!--Oh, that
fatal Word will kill me--
    [Weeps.
  Name it no more, if you’d preserve my Life.

Sir _Pat._ Hah--now cannot I refrain joining with her in affectionate
Tears.--No, but do not weep for me, my excellent Lady, for I have made a
pretty competent Estate for thee. Eight thousand Pounds, which I have
conceal’d in my Study behind the Wainscot on the left hand as you come
in.

L. _Fan._ Oh, tell me not of transitory Wealth, for I’m resolv’d not to
survive thee. Eight thousand Pound say you?--Oh, I cannot endure the
thoughts on’t.
    [Weeps.

Sir _Pat._ Eight thousand Pounds just, my dearest Lady.

L. _Fan._ Oh, you’ll make me desperate in naming it,--is it in Gold or
Silver?

Sir _Pat._ In Gold, my dearest, the most part, the rest in Silver.

L. _Fan._ Good Heavens! why should you take such pleasure in afflicting
me? [Weeps.] --Behind the Wainscot say you?

Sir _Pat._ Behind the Wainscot, prithee be pacified,--thou makest me
lose my greatest Virtue, Moderation, to see thee thus: alas, we’re all
born to die.--

L. _Fan._ Again of dying! Uncharitable Man, why do you delight in
tormenting me?--On the left hand, say you as you go in?

Sir _Pat._ On the left hand, my Love: had ever Man such a Wife?

L. _Fan._ Oh, my Spirits fail me--lead me, or I shall faint,--lead me to
the Study, and shew me where ‘tis,--for I am able to hear no more of it.

Sir _Pat._ I will, if you will promise indeed and indeed, not to grieve
too much.
    [Going to lead her out.

    Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Heaven grant me some kind opportunity to speak with _Lucia_! hah,
she’s here,--and with her the fond Cuckold her Husband.--Death, he has
spy’d me, there’s no avoiding him.--

Sir _Pat._ Oh, are you there, Sir?--_Maundy_, look to my Lady,--I take
it, Sir, you have not dealt well with a Person of my Authority and
Gravity.
    [Gropes for the Letter in his pocket.

_Wit._ So this can be nothing less than my being found out to be no
_Yorkshire_ Esq; a Pox of my _Geneva_ Breeding; it must be so, what the
Devil shall I say now?

Sir _Pat._ And this disingenuous dealing does ill become the Person you
have represented, I take it.

_Wit._ Represented! ay, there ‘tis, wou’d I were handsomely off o’ this
Business; neither _Lucia_ nor _Maundy_ have any intelligence in their
demure looks that can instruct a Man.--Why, faith, Sir,--I must
confess,--I am to blame--and that I have--a--

L. _Fan._ Oh, _Maundy_, he’ll discover all, what shall we do?

Sir _Pat._ Have what, Sir?

_Wit._ From my violent Passion for your Daughter--

L. _Fan._ Oh, I’m all Confusion.--

_Wit._ Egad, I am i’th wrong, I see by _Lucia’s_ Looks.

Sir _Pat._ That you have, Sir, you wou’d say, made a Sport and May-game
of the Ingagement of your Word; I take it, Mr. _Fainlove_, ‘tis not like
the Stock you come from.

_Wit._ Yes, I was like to have spoil’d all, ‘sheart, what fine work I
had made--but most certainly he has discover’d my Passion for his
Wife.--Well, Impudence assist me--I made, Sir, a trifle of my Word, Sir!
from whom have you this Intelligence?

Sir _Pat._ From whom shou’d I, Sir, but from my Daughter _Isabella_?

_Wit._ _Isabella!_ The malicious Baggage understood to whom my first
Courtship was address’d last Night, and has betray’d me.

Sir _Pat._ And, Sir, to let you see I utter nothing without Precaution,
pray read that Letter.

_Wit._ Hah--a Letter! what can this mean,--’tis _Lucia’s_ Hand, with
_Isabella’s_ Name to’t.--Oh, the dear cunning Creature, to make her
Husband the Messenger too.--How, I send one in my room!
    [He reads.

L. _Fan._ Yes, Sir, you think we do not know of the Appointment you made
last Night; but having other Affairs in hand than to keep your Promise,
you sent Mr. _Knowell_ in your room,--false Man.

_Wit._ I send him, Madam! I wou’d have sooner died.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, as I take it, he cou’d not have known of your Designs
and Rendezvous without your Informations.--Were not you to have met my
Daughter here to night, Sir?

_Wit._ Yes, Sir, and I hope ‘tis no such great Crime, to desire a little
Conversation with the fair Person one loves, and is so soon to marry,
which I was hinder’d from doing by the greatest and most unlucky
Misfortune that ever arriv’d: but for my sending him, Madam, credit me,
nothing so much amazes me and afflicts me, as to know he was here.

Sir _Pat._ He speaks well, ingenuously, he does.--Well, Sir, for your
Father’s sake, whose Memory I reverence, I will for once forgive you.
But let’s have no more Night-works, no more Gambols, I beseech you, good
Mr. _Fainlove_.

_Wit._ I humbly thank ye, Sir, and do beseech you to tell the dear
Creature that writ this, that I love her more than Life or Fortune, and
that I wou’d sooner have kill’d the Man that usurp’d my place last
Night, than have assisted him.

L. _Fan._ Were you not false, then?--Now hang me if I do not credit him.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Alas, good Lady! how she’s concern’d for my Interest, she’s
even jealous for my Daughter.
    [Aside.

_Wit._ False! charge me not with unprofitable Sins; wou’d I refuse a
Blessing, or blaspheme a Power that might undo me? wou’d I die in my
full vigorous Health, or live in constant Pain? All this I cou’d, sooner
than be untrue.

Sir _Pat._ Ingenuously, my Lady _Fancy_, he speaks discreetly, and to
purpose.

L. _Fan._ Indeed, my Dear, he does, and like an honest Gentleman: and I
shou’d think my self very unreasonable not to believe him.--And, Sir,
I’ll undertake your Peace shall be made with your Mistress.

Sir _Pat._ Well, I am the most fortunate Man in a Wife, that ever had
the blessing of a good one.

_Wit._ Madam, let me fall at your Feet, and thank you for this
Bounty.--Make it your own case, and then consider what returns ought to
be made to the most passionate and faithful of Lovers.
    [Kneels.

Sir _Pat._ I profess a wonderful good natur’d Youth, this; rise, Sir, my
Lady _Fancy_ shall do you all the kind Offices she can, o’ my word, she
shall.

L. _Fan._ I’m all Obedience, Sir, and doubtless shall obey you.

Sir _Pat._ You must, indeed you must; and, Sir, I’ll defer your
Happiness no longer, this Day you shall be marry’d.

_Wit._ This Day, Sir!--why, the Writings are not made.

Sir _Pat._ No matter, Mr. _Fainlove_; her Portion shall be equivalent to
the Jointure you shall make her, I take it, that’s sufficient.

_Wit._ A Jointure, quoth he! it must be in new _Eutopian_ Land
then.--And must I depart thus, without a kind Word, a Look, or a Billet,
to signify what I am to expect.
    [Looking on her slily.

Sir _Pat._ Come, my Lady _Fancy_, shall I wait on you down to Prayer!
Sir, you will get your self in order for your Marriage, the great Affair
of human Life; I must to my Morning’s Devotion: Come, Madam.
    [She endeavours to make Signs to _Wittmore_.

L. _Fan._ Alas, Sir, the sad Discourse you lately made me, has so
disorder’d me, and given me such a Pain in my Head, I am not able to
endure the Psalm-singing.

Sir _Pat._ This comes of your Weeping; but we’ll omit that part of th’
Exercise, and have no Psalm sung.

L. _Fan._ Oh, by no means, Sir, ‘twill scandalize the Brethren; for you
know a Psalm is not sung so much out of Devotion, as ‘tis to give notice
of our Zeal and pious Intentions: ‘tis a kind of Proclamation to the
Neighbourhood, and cannot be omitted.--Oh, how my Head aches!

_Wit._ He were a damn’d dull Lover, that cou’d not guess what she meant
by this.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Well, my Lady _Fancy_, your Ladyship shall be obey’d,--come,
Sir, we’ll leave her to her Women.    [Exit Sir _Pat._
    [As _Wittmore_ goes out, he bows and looks on her; she gives him
    a Sign.

_Wit._ That kind Look is a sufficient Invitation.    [Exit.

L. _Fan._ _Maundy_, follow ‘em down, and bring _Wittmore_ back again.--
[Exit _Maun._] There’s now a necessity of our contriving to avoid this
Marriage handsomly,--and we shall at least make two Hours our own;
I never wish’d well to long Prayers till this Minute.

    Enter _Wittmore_.

_Wit._ Oh my dear _Lucia_!

L. _Fan._ Oh _Wittmore_! I long to tell thee what a fatal Mistake had
like to have happened last Night.

_Wit._ My Friend has told me all, and how he was prevented by the coming
of your Husband from robbing me of those sacred Delights I languish for.
Oh, let us not lose inestimable Time in dull talking; but haste to give
each other the only Confirmation we can give, how little we are our own.

L. _Fan._ I see _Lodwick’s_ a Man of Honour, and deserves a Heart if I
had one to give him.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. A Hall.

    Enter Sir _Patient_ and _Roger_.

Sir _Pat._ _Roger_, is Prayer ready, _Roger_?

_Rog._ Truly nay, Sir, for Mr. _Gogle_ has taken too much of the
Creature this Morning, and is not in case, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ How mean you, Sirrah, that Mr. _Gogle_ is overtaken with
Drink?

_Rog._ Nay, Sir, he hath over-eaten himself at Breakfast only.

Sir _Pat._ Alas, and that’s soon done, for he hath a sickly Stomach as
well as I, poor Man. Where is _Bartholomew_ the Clerk? he must hold
forth then to day.

_Rog._ Verily he is also disabled: for going forth last Night by your
Commandment to smite the Wicked, he received a blow over the
_Pericranium_.--

Sir _Pat._ Why, how now, Sirrah, Latin! the Language of the Beast!
hah--and what then, Sir?

_Rog._ Which Blow, I doubt, Sir, hath spoil’d both his Praying and his
Eating.

Sir _Pat._ Hah! What a Family’s here? no Prayer to day!

    Enter _Nurse_ and _Fanny_.

_Nurs._ Nay verily it shall all out, I will be no more the dark Lanthorn
to the deeds of Darkness.

Sir _Pat._ What’s the matter here?    [Exit _Roger_.

_Nurs._ Sir, this young Sinner has long been privy to all the daily and
nightly meetings between Mr. _Lodwick_ and _Isabella_; and just now I
took her tying a Letter to a String in the Garden, which he drew up to
his Window: and I have born it till my Conscience will bear it no
longer.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, so young a Baud!--Tell me, Minion--private meeting! tell
me truth, I charge ye, when? where? how? and how often? Oh, she’s
debauch’d!--her Reputation ruin’d, and she’ll need a double Portion.
Come, tell me truth, for this little Finger here has told me all.

_Fan._ Oh Geminy, Sir, then that little Finger’s the hougesest great
Lyer as ever was.

Sir _Pat._ Huzzy, huzzy--I will have thee whip’d most unmercifully:
Nurse, fetch me the Rod.

_Fan._ Oh, pardon me, Sir, this one time, and I’ll tell all.
    [Kneels.
  --Sir--I have seen him in the Garden, but not very often.

Sir _Pat._ Often! Oh, my Family’s dishonoured. Tell me truly what he
us’d to do there, or I will have thee whipt without cessation. Oh, I’m
in a cold Sweat; there’s my fine Maid, was he with her long?

_Fan._ Long enough.

Sir _Pat._ Long enough!--oh, ‘tis so, long enough,--for what, hah? my
dainty Miss, tell me, and didst thou leave ‘em?

_Fan._ They us’d to send me to gather Flowers to make Nosegays, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, Demonstration; ‘tis evident if they were left alone that
they were naught, I know’t.--And where were they the while? in the close
Arbour?--Ay, ay--I will have it cut down, it is the Pent-house of
Iniquity, the very Coverlid of Sin.

_Fan._ No, Sir, they sat on the Primrose Bank.

Sir _Pat._ What, did they sit all the while, or stand--or--lie--or--oh,
how was’t?

_Fan._ They only sat indeed, Sir Father.

Sir _Pat._ And thou didst not hear a Word they said all the while?

_Fan._ Yes, I did, Sir, and the Man talk’d a great deal of this, and of
that, and of t’other, and all the while threw Jessamine in her Bosom.

Sir _Pat._ Well said, and did he nothing else?

_Fan._ No, indeed, Sir Father, nothing.

Sir _Pat._ But what did she say to the Man again?

_Fan._ She said, let me see.--Ay, she said, Lord, you’ll forget your
self, and stay till somebody catch us.

Sir _Pat._ Ah, very fine,--then what said he?

_Fan._ Then he said, Well if I must be gone, let me leave thee with this
hearty Curse, A Pox take thee all over for making me love thee so
confoundedly.

Sir _Pat._ Oh horrible!

_Fan._ --Oh, I cou’d live here for ever,--that was when he kist her--her
Hand only. Are you not a damn’d Woman for making so fond a Puppy of me?

Sir _Pat._ Oh unheard-of Wickedness!

_Fan._ Wou’d the Devil had thee, and all thy Family, e’er I had seen thy
cursed Face.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, I’ll hear no more, I’ll hear no more!--why, what a
blasphemous Wretch is this?

_Fan._ Pray, Sir Father, do not tell my Sister of this, she’ll be
horribly angry with me.

Sir _Pat._ No, no, get you gone.--Oh, I am Heart-sick--I’ll up and
consult with my Lady what’s fit to be done in this Affair. Oh, never was
the like heard of.--
    [Goes out, _Fanny_ and _Nurse_ go the other way.


SCENE IV. _The Lady _Fancy’s_ Bed-Chamber; she’s discover’d with
_Wittmore_ in disorder. A Table, Sword, and Hat._

_Maun._ [Entering.] O Madam, Sir _Patient’s_ coming up.

L. _Fan._ Coming up, say you!

_Maun._ He’s almost on the top of the Stairs, Madam.

_Wit._ What shall I do?

L. _Fan._ Oh, damn him, I know not; if he see thee here after my
pretended Illness, he must needs discover why I feign’d.--I have no
excuse ready,--this Chamber’s unlucky, there’s no avoiding him;
here--step behind the Bed; perhaps he has only forgot his Psalm-Book and
will not stay long.
    [_Wittmore_ runs behind the Bed.

    Enter Sir _Patient_.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh, pardon this Interruption, my Lady _Fancy_--Oh, I am
half killed, my Daughter, my Honour--my Daughter, my Reputation.

L. _Fan._ Good Heavens, Sir, is she dead?

Sir _Pat._ I wou’d she were, her Portion and her Honour would then be
sav’d. But oh, I’m sick at Heart, _Maundy_, fetch me the Bottle of
_Mirabilis_ in the Closet,--she’s wanton, unchaste.

    Enter _Maundy_ with the Bottle.

Oh, I cannot speak it; oh, the Bottle-- [Drinks.] she has lost her Fame,
her Shame, her Name.--Oh, [Drinks.] that is not the right Bottle, that
with the red Cork [Drinks.]

    [Exit _Maundy_.

and is grown a very t’other-end-of-the-Town Creature, a very Apple of
_Sodom_, fair without and filthy within, what shall we do with her?
she’s lost, undone; hah!

    Enter _Maundy_.

let me see, [Drinks.] this is [Drinks.] not as I take it-- [Drinks.]
--no, ‘tis not the right,--she’s naught, she’s leud, [Drinks.] --oh, how
you vex me-- [Drinks.] This is not the right Bottle yet,-- [Drinks.] No,
no, here.
    [Gives her the Bottle.

_Maun._ You said that with the red Cork, Sir.    [Goes out.

Sir _Pat._ I meant the blue;--I know not what I say.-- In fine, my Lady,
let’s marry her out of hand, for she is fall’n, fall’n to Perdition; she
understands more Wickedness than had she been bred in a profane Nunnery,
a Court,

    Enter _Maundy_.

or a Play-house, [Drinks.] --therefore let’s marry her instantly, out of
hand [Drinks.] Misfortune on Misfortune. [Drinks.] --But Patience is a
wonderful Virtue, [Drinks.] --Ha--this is very comfortable,--very
consoling--I profess if it were not for these Creatures, ravishing
Comforts, sometimes, a Man were a very odd sort of an Animal [Drinks.]
But ah--see how all things were ordain’d for the use and comfort of Man.
    [Drinks.]

L. _Fan._ I like this well: Ah, Sir, ‘tis very true, therefore receive
it plentifully and thankfully.

Sir _Pat._ [Drinks.] Ingenuously--it hath made me marvellous lightsome;
I profess it hath a very notable Faculty,--very knavish--and as it were,
waggish,--but hah, what have we there on the Table? a Sword and Hat?
    [Sees _Wittmore’s_ Sword and Hat on the Table, which he had
    forgot.

L. _Fan._ Curse on my Dulness.--Oh, these, Sir, they are Mr.
_Fainlove’s_--he being so soon to be marry’d and being straitned for
time, sent these to _Maundy_ to be new trim’d with Ribbon, Sir--that’s
all. Take ‘em away, you naughty Baggage, must I have Mens things seen in
my Chamber?

Sir _Pat._ Nay, nay, be not angry, my little Rogue; I like the young
Man’s Frugality well. Go, go your ways, get you gone, and finefy your
Knacks and Tranghams, and do your Business--go.
    [Smiling on _Maundy_, gently beating her with his Hand: she goes
    out, he bolts the Door after her, and sits down on the Bed’s feet.

L. _Fan._ Heavens, what means he!

Sir _Pat._ Come hither to me, my little Ape’s Face,--Come, come I
say--what, must I come fetch you?--Catch her, catch her--catch her,
catch her, catch her.
    [Running after her.

L. _Fan._ Oh, Sir, I am so ill I can hardly stir.

Sir _Pat._ I’ll make ye well, come hither, ye Monky-face, did it, did
it, did it? alas for it, a poor silly Fool’s Face, dive it a blow, and
I’ll beat it.

L. _Fan._ You neglect your Devotion, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ No, no, no Prayer to day, my little Rascal,--no Prayer to
day--poor _Gogle’s_ sick.--Come hither, why, you refractory Baggage you,
come or I shall touze you, ingenuously I shall; tom, tom, or I’ll whip
it.

L. _Fan._ Have you forgot your Daughter, Sir, and your Disgrace?

Sir _Pat._ A fiddle on my Daughter, she’s a Chick of the old Cock I
profess; I was just such another Wag when young.--But she shall be
marry’d to morrow, a good Cloke for her Knavery; therefore come your
ways, ye Wag, we’ll take a nap together: good faith, my little Harlot,
I mean thee no harm.

L. _Fan._ No, o’ my Conscience.

Sir _Pat._ Why then, why then, you little Mungrel?

L. _Fan._ His precise Worship is as it were disguis’d, the outward Man
is over-taken--pray, Sir, lie down, and I’ll come to you presently.

Sir _Pat._ Away, you Wag, will you? will you?--Catch her there, catch
her.

L. _Fan._ I will indeed,--Death, there’s no getting from him,--pray lie
down--and I’ll cover thee close enough I’ll warrant thee.-- [Aside.
    [He lies down, she covers him.
  Had ever Lovers such spiteful luck! hah--surely he sleeps, bless the
mistaken Bottle.--Ay, he sleeps,--whilst, _Wittmore_--
    [He coming out falls; pulls the Chair down, Sir _Patient_ flings
    open the Curtain.

_Wit._ Plague of my over-care, what shall I do?

Sir _Pat._ What’s that, what Noise is that? let me see, we are not safe;
lock up the Doors, what’s the matter? What Thunder-Clap was that?
    [_Wittmore_ runs under the Bed; she runs to Sir _Patient_, and
    holds him in his Bed.

L. _Fan._ Pray, Sir, lie still, ‘twas I was only going to sit down, and
a sudden Giddiness took me in my Head, which made me fall, and with me
the Chair; there is no danger near ye, Sir--I was just coming to sleep
by you.

Sir _Pat._ Go, you’re a flattering Huswife; go, catch her, catch her,
catch her.
    [Lies down, she covers him.

L. _Fan._ Oh, how I tremble at the dismal apprehension of being
discover’d! Had I secur’d my self of the eight thousand Pound, I wou’d
not value _Wittmore’s_ being seen. But now to be found out, wou’d call
my Wit in question, for ‘tis the Fortunate alone are wise.--
    [_Wittmore_ peeps from under the Bed; she goes softly to the Door
    to open it.

_Wit._ Was ever Man so plagu’d?--hah--what’s this?--confound my
tell-tale Watch, the Larum goes, and there’s no getting to’t to silence
it.--Damn’d Misfortune!
    [Sir _Patient_ rises, and flings open the Curtains.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, what’s that?

L. _Fan._ Heavens! what’s the matter? we are destin’d to discovery.
    [She runs to Sir _Patient_, and leaves the Door still fast.

Sir _Pat._ What’s that I say, what’s that? let me see, let me see, what
ringing’s that, Oh, let me see what ‘tis.
    [Strives to get up, she holds him down.

L. _Fan._ Oh, now I see my Fate’s inevitable! Alas, that ever I was born
to see’t.
    [Weeps.

_Wit._ Death, she’ll tell him I am here: Nay, he must know’t, a Pox of
all Invention and Mechanicks, and he were damn’d that first contriv’d a
Watch.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, dost weep?--why dost weep? I say, what Noise is that?
what ringing? hah.--

L. _Fan._ ‘Tis that, ‘tis that, my Dear, that makes me weep. Alas,
I never hear this fatal Noise, but some dear Friend dies.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, dies! Oh, that must be I, ay, ay, Oh.

L. _Fan._ I’ve heard it, Sir, this two Days, but wou’d not tell you of
it.

Sir _Pat._ Hah! heard it these two Days! Oh, what is’t a
Death-watch?--hah.--

L. _Fan._ Ay, Sir, a Death-watch, a certain Larum Death-watch, a thing
that has warn’d our Family this hundred Years, oh,--I’m the most undone
Woman!

_Wit._ A Blessing on her for a dear dissembling Jilt--Death and the
Devil, will it never cease?

Sir _Pat._ A Death-watch! ah, ‘tis so, I’ve often heard of these
things--methinks it sounds as if ‘twere under the Bed.--
    [Offers to look, she holds him.

L. _Fan._ You think so, Sir, but that ‘tis about the Bed is my Grief; it
therefore threatens you: Oh wretched Woman!

Sir _Pat._ Ay, ay, I’m too happy in a Wife to live long: Well, I will
settle my House at _Hogsdowne_, with the Land about it, which is 500_l._
a Year upon thee, live or die,--do not grieve.--
    [Lays himself down.

L. _Fan._ Oh, I never had more Cause; come try to sleep, your Fate may
be diverted--whilst I’ll to Prayers for your dear Health.-- [Covers him,
draws the Curtains.] I have almost run out all my stock of Hypocrisy,
and that hated Art now fails me.--Oh all ye Powers that favour distrest
Lovers, assist us now, and I’ll provide against your future Malice.
    [She makes Signs to _Wittmore_, he peeps.

_Wit._ I’m impatient of Freedom, yet so much Happiness as I but now
injoy’d without this part of Suffering had made me too blest.--Death and
Damnation! what curst luck have I?

    [Makes Signs to her to open the Door: whilst he creeps softly from
    under the Bed to the Table, by which going to raise himself, he
    pulls down all the Dressing-things: at the same instant Sir
    _Patient_ leaps from the Bed, and she returns from the Door, and
    sits on _Wittmore’s_ Back as he lies on his Hands and Knees, and
    makes as if she swooned.

Sir _Pat._ What’s the matter? what’s the matter? has Satan broke his
everlasting Chain, and got loose abroad to plague poor Mortals?
hah--what’s the matter?
    [Runs to his Lady.

L. _Fan._ Oh, help, I die--I faint--run down, and call for help.

Sir _Pat._ My Lady dying? oh, she’s gone, she faints,--what ho, who
waits?
    [Cries and bauls.

L. _Fan._ Oh, go down and bring me help, the Door is lock’d,--they
cannot hear ye,--oh--I go--I die.--
    [He opens the Door, and calls help, help.

_Wit._ Damn him! there’s no escaping without I kill the Dog.
    [From under her, peeping.

L. _Fan._ Lie still, or we are undone.--

    Sir _Patient_ returns with _Maundy_.

_Maun._ Hah, discover’d!

Sir _Pat._ Help, help, my Lady dies.

_Maun._ Oh, I perceive how’tis.--Alas, she’s dead, quite gone; oh, rub
her Temples, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, I’m undone then,-- [Weeps.] Oh my Dear, my virtuous Lady!

L. _Fan._ Oh, where’s my Husband, my dearest Husband--Oh, bring him near
me.

Sir _Pat._ I’m here, my excellent Lady.--
    [She takes him about the Neck, and raises her self up, gives
    _Wittmore_ a little kick behind.

_Wit._ Oh the dear lovely Hypocrite, was ever Man so near discovery?--
    [Goes out.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, how hard she presses my Head to her Bosom!

_Maun._ Ah, that grasping hard, Sir, is a very bad Sign.

Sir _Pat._ How does my good, my dearest Lady _Fancy_?

L. _Fan._ Something better now, give me more Air,--that dismal Larum
Death-watch had almost kill’d me.

Sir _Pat._ Ah precious Creature, how she afflicts her self for
me.--Come, let’s walk into the Dining-room, ‘tis more airy, from thence
into my Study, and make thy self Mistress of that Fortune I have
design’d thee, thou best of Women.

    [Exeunt, leading her.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _A Room in Sir _Patient Fancy’s_ House. A Table, and six
Chairs._

    Enter _Isabella_ reading a Letter, _Betty_ tricking her.

_Isab._ How came you by this Letter?

_Bet._ Miss _Fanny_ receiv’d it by a String from his Window, by which he
took up that you writ to him this Morning.

_Isab._ What means this nicety? forbear I say.--
    [Puts _Betty_ from her.

_Bet._ You cannot be too fine upon your Wedding-day.

_Isab._ Thou art mistaken, leave me,--whatever he says here to satisfy
my Jealousy, I am confirm’d that he was false: yet this assurance to
free me from this intended Marriage, makes me resolve to pardon him,
however guilty.--

    Enter _Wittmore_.

How now! what means this Insolence? How dare you, having so lately made
your guilty approaches, venture again into my presence?

_Wit._ Why? Is there any danger, but what’s so visible in those fair
Eyes?

_Isab._ And there may lie enough, Sir, when they’re angry. By what
Authority do you make this saucy Visit?

_Wit._ That of a Husband, Madam; I come to congratulate the mighty Joy
this Day will bring you.

_Isab._ Thou darst not marry me, there will be danger in’t.

_Wit._ Why, sure you do not carry Death in your Embraces, I find no
Terror in that lovely Shape, no Daggers in that pretty scornful Look;
that Breath that utters so much Anger now, last night was sweet as
new-blown Roses are,--and spoke such Words, so tender and so kind.

_Isab._ And canst thou think they were address’d to thee?

_Wit._ No, nor cou’d the Shade of Night hide the Confusion which
disorder’d you, at the discovery that I was not he, the blessed he you
look’d for.

_Isab._ Leave me, thou hated Object of my Soul.

_Wit._ This will not serve your turn, for I must marry you.

_Isab._ Then thou art a Fool, and drawest thy Ruin on; why, I will hate
thee,--hate thee most extremely.

_Wit._ That will not anger me.

_Isab._ Why, I will never let thee touch me, nor kiss my Hand, nor come
into my sight.

_Wit._ Are there no other Women kind, fair, and to be purchas’d? he
cannot starve for Beauty in this Age, that has a stock to buy.

_Isab._ Why, I will cuckold thee, look to’t, I will most damnably.

_Wit._ So wou’d you, had you lov’d me, in a year or two; therefore like
a kind civil Husband, I’ve made provision for you, a Friend, and one I
dare trust my Honour with,--’tis Mr. _Knowell_, Madam.

_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ What Devil brought that Name to his knowledge?--Canst
thou know him, and yet dare hope to marry me?

_Wit._ We have agreed it, and on these conditions.

_Isab._ Thou basely injurest him, he cannot do a Deed he ought to blush
for: _Lodwick_ do this! Oh, do not credit it,--prithee be just and kind
for thy own Honour’s sake; be quickly so, the hasty minutes fly, and
will anon make up the fatal Hour that will undo me.

_Wit._ ‘Tis true, within an hour you must submit to _Hymen_, there’s no
avoiding it.

_Isab._ Nay, then be gone, my poor submissive Prayers, and all that dull
Obedience Custom has made us Slaves to.--Do sacrifice me, lead me to the
Altar, and see if all the holy mystick Words can conjure from me the
consenting Syllable: No, I will not add one word to make the Charm
complete, but stand as silent in the inchanting Circle, as if the
Priests were raising Devils there.

    Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Enough, enough, my charming _Isabella_, I am confirm’d.

_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ what good Angel conducted thee hither?

_Lod._ E’en honest _Charles Wittmore_ here, thy Friend and mine, no
Bug-bear Lover he.

_Isab._ _Wittmore!_ that Friend I’ve often heard thee name? Now some
kind mischief on him, he has so frighted me, I scarce can bring my Sense
to so much order, to thank him that he loves me not.

_Lod._ Thou shalt defer that payment to more leisure; we’re Men of
business now. My Mother, knowing of a Consultation of Physicians which
your Father has this day appointed to meet at his House, has bribed
Monsieur _Turboone_ his _French_ Doctor in Pension, to admit of a Doctor
or two of her recommending, who shall amuse him with discourse till we
get ourselves married; and to make it the more ridiculous, I will
release Sir _Credulous_ from the Basket, I saw it in the Hall as I came
through, we shall have need of the Fool.
    [Exit _Wittmore_.

    Enter _Wittmore_, pulling in the Basket.

_Wit._ ‘Twill do well.

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, how is’t, Man?    [Opens the Basket.

Sir _Cred._ What, am I not at the Carrier’s yet?--Oh _Lodwick_, thy
Hand, I’m almost poison’d--This Basket wants airing extremely, it smells
like an old Lady’s Wedding Gown of my acquaintance.--But what’s the
danger past, Man?

_Lod._ No, but there’s a necessity of your being for some time disguis’d
to act a Physician.

Sir _Cred._ How! a Physician! that I can easily do, for I understand
Simples.

_Lod._ That’s not material, so you can but banter well, be very grave,
and put on a starch’d Countenance.

Sir _Cred._ Banter! what’s that, Man?

_Lod._ Why, Sir, talking very much, and meaning just nothing; be full of
Words without any connection, sense or conclusion. Come in with me, and
I’ll instruct you farther.

Sir _Cred._ Pshaw, is that all? say no more on’t, I’ll do’t, let me
alone for Bantering--But this same damn’d Rival--

_Lod._ He’s now watching for you without and means to souse upon you;
but trust to me for your security; come away, I have your Habit ready.
[Goes out.] --This day shall make thee mine, dear _Isabella_.--

    [Exit _Lodwick_ and _Wittmore_.

    Enter Sir _Patient_, _Leander_, and _Roger_.

Sir _Pat._ Marry _Lucretia_! is there no Woman in the City fit for you,
but the Daughter of the most notorious fantastical Lady within the
Walls?

_Lean._ Yet that fantastical Lady you thought fit for a Wife for me,
Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Yes, Sir, Foppery with Money had been something; but a poor
Fop, hang’t, ‘tis abominable.

_Lean._ Pray hear me, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Sirrah, Sirrah, you’re a Jackanapes, ingenuously you are,
Sir: marry _Lucretia_, quoth he?

_Lean._ If it were so, Sir, where’s her fault?

Sir _Pat._ Why, Mr. Coxcomb, all over. Did I with so much care endeavour
to marry thee to the Mother, only to give thee opportunity with
_Lucretia_?

    Enter Lady _Knowell_.

_Lean._ This Anger shews your great Concern for me.

Sir _Pat._ For my Name I am, but ‘twere no matter if thou wert hang’d,
and thou deservest it for thy leud cavaliering Opinion.--They say thou
art a Papist too, or at least a Church-of-_England_ Man, and I profess
there’s not a Pin to chuse.--Marry _Lucretia_!

L. _Kno._ Were I querimonious, I shou’d resent the Affront this
_Balatroon_ has offer’d me.

_Isab._ Dear Madam, for my sake do not anger him now.    [Aside to her.

L. _Kno._ Upon my Honour, you are very free with my Daughter, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ How! she here! now for a Peal from her eternal Clapper; I had
rather be confin’d to an Iron-mill.

L. _Kno._ Sure _Lucretia_ merits a Husband of as much worth as your
Nephew, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ A better, Madam, for he’s the leudest Hector in the Town; he
has all the Vices of Youth, Whoring, Swearing, Drinking, Damning,
Fighting,--and a thousand more, numberless and nameless.

L. _Kno._ Time, Sir, may make him more abstemious.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, never, Madam! ‘tis in’s Nature, he was born with it, he’s
given over to Reprobation, ‘tis bred i’th’ bone,--he’s lost.

_Lean._ This is the first good Office that ever he did me.

L. _Kno._ What think you, Sir, if in defiance of your Inurbanity, I take
him with all these Faults my self?

Sir _Pat._ How, Madam!

L. _Kno._ Without more Ambages, Sir, I have consider’d your former
Desires, and have consented to marry him, notwithstanding your
Exprobrations.

Sir _Pat._ May I believe this, Madam? and has your Ladyship that
Goodness?--and hast thou, my Boy, so much Wit? Why, this is something
now.--Well, he was ever the best and sweetest-natur’d Youth.--Why, what
a notable Wag’s this? and is it true, my Boy, hah?

_Lean._ Yes, Sir, I had told you so before, had you permitted me to
speak.

Sir _Pat._ Well, Madam, he is only fit for your excellent Ladyship, he
is the prettiest civillest Lad.--Well, go thy ways; I shall never see
the like of thee; no--Ingenuously, the Boy’s made for ever; two thousand
Pounds a Year, besides Money, Plate and Jewels; made for ever.--Well,
Madam, the satisfaction I take in this Alliance, has made me resolve to
give him immediately my Writings of all my Land in _Berkshire_, five
hundred Pounds a year, Madam: and I wou’d have you married this Morning
with my Daughter, so one Dinner and one Rejoicing will serve both.

L. _Kno._ That, Sir, we have already agreed upon.

Sir _Pat._ Well, I’ll fetch the Writings. Come, _Isabella_, I’ll not
trust you out of my sight to day.

    [Ex. Sir _Pat._ and _Isab._

_Lean._ Well then, Madam, you are resolv’d upon this business of
Matrimony.

L. _Kno._ Was it not concluded between us, Sir, this Morning? and at the
near approach do you begin to fear?

_Lean._ Nothing, Madam, since I’m convinc’d of your Goodness.

L. _Kno._ You flatter, Sir, this is mere Adulation.

_Lean._ No, I am that wild Extravagant my Uncle render’d me, and cannot
live confin’d.

L. _Kno._ To one Woman you mean? I shall not stand with you for a
Mistress or two; I hate a dull morose unfashionable Blockhead to my
Husband; nor shall I be the first example of a suffering Wife, Sir.
Women were created poor obedient things.

_Lean._ And can you be content to spare me five or six nights in a week?

L. _Kno._ Oh, you’re too reasonable.

_Lean._ And for the rest, if I get drunk, perhaps I’ll give to you: yet
in my drink I’m damn’d ill-natur’d too, and may neglect my Duty; perhaps
shall be so wicked, to call you cunning, deceitful, jilting, base, and
swear you have undone me, swear you have ravish’d from my faithful Heart
all that cou’d make it bless’d or happy.

    Enter _Lucretia_ weeping.

L. _Kno._ How now, _Lucretia_!

_Lucr._ Oh Madam, give me leave to kneel before, and tell you, if you
pursue the Cruelty I hear you’re going to commit, I am the most lost,
most wretched Maid that breathes; we two have plighted Faiths, and
shou’d you marry him, ‘twere so to sin as Heaven would never pardon.

L. _Kno._ Rise, Fool.

_Lucr._ Never till you have given me back _Leander_, or leave to live no
more.--Pray kill me, Madam; and the same Flowers that deck your nuptial
Bed,
  Shall serve to strow my Herse, when I shall lie
  A dead cold Witness of your Tyranny.

L. _Kno._ Rise; I still design’d him yours.--I saw with pleasure, Sir,
your reclination from my Addresses.--I have proved both your Passions,
and ‘twere unkind not to crown ‘em with the due Præmium of each others
Merits.
    [Gives her to _Lean._

_Lean._ Can Heaven and you agree to be so bountiful?

L. _Kno._ Be not amaz’d at this turn, _Rotat omne fatum_.--But no
more,--keep still that mask of Love we first put on, till you have
gain’d the Writings: for I have no Joy beyond cheating that filthy Uncle
of thine.--_Lucretia_, wipe your Eyes, and prepare for _Hymen_, the Hour
draws near. _Thalessio_, _Thalessio_, as the _Romans_ cry’d.

_Lucr._ May you still be admir’d as you deserve!

    Enter Sir _Patient_ with Writings, and _Isabella_.

Sir _Pat._ How, Madam _Lucretia_, and in Tears?

L. _Kno._ A little disgusted, Sir, with her Father-in-law, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, is that all? hold up thy Head, Sweet-heart, thy turn’s
next.--Here, Madam, I surrender my Title, with these Writings, and with
’.m my Joy, my Life, my Darling, my _Leander_.--Now let’s away, where’s
Mr. _Fainlove_?

_Isab._ He’s but stept into _Cheapside_, to fit the Ring, Sir, and will
be here immediately.

Sir _Pat._ I have Business anon about eleven of the Clock,
a Consultation of Physicians, to confer about this Carcase of mine.

_Lean._ Physicians, Sir, what to do?

Sir _Pat._ To do! why, to take their advice, Sir, and to follow it.

_Lean._ For what, I beseech you, Sir?

Sir _Pat._ Why, Sir, for my Health.

_Lean._ I believe you are not sick, Sir, unless they make you so.

Sir _Pat._ They make me so!--Do you hear him, Madam--Am not I sick, Sir?
not I, Sir _Patient Fancy_, sick?

L. _Kno._ He’ll destroy my Design.--How, Mr. _Fancy_, not Sir _Patient_
sick? or must he be incinerated before you’ll credit it?

Sir _Pat._ Ay, Madam, I want but dying to undeceive him, and yet I am
not sick!

_Lean._ Sir, I love your Life, and wou’d not have you die with Fancy and
Conceit.--

Sir _Pat._ Fancy and Conceit! do but observe him, Madam,--what do you
mean, Sir, by Fancy and Conceit?

L. _Kno._ He’ll ruin all;--why, Sir,--he means--

Sir _Pat._ Nay, let him alone, let him alone, (with your Ladyship’s
pardon)--Come, Sir,--Fancy and Conceit, I take it, was the Question in
debate.--

_Lean._ I cannot prove this to you, Sir, by force of Argument, but by
Demonstration I will, if you will banish all your cozening Quacks, and
take my wholesome Advice.

Sir _Pat._ Do but hear him, Madam: not prove it!

L. _Kno._ Sir, he means nothing.--Not sick! alas, Sir, you’re very sick.

Sir _Pat._ Ay, ay, your Ladyship is a Lady of profound Knowledge.--Why,
have I not had the advice of all the Doctors in _England_, and have I
not been in continual Physick this twenty Years:--and yet I am not sick!
Ask my dear Lady, Sir, how sick I am, she can inform you.
    [L. _Kno._ goes and talks to _Isab._

_Lean._ She does her endeavour, Sir, to keep up the Humour.

Sir _Pat._ How, Sir?

_Lean._ She wishes you dead, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ What said the Rascal? wishes me dead!

_Lean._ Sir, she hates you.

Sir _Pat._ How! hate me! what, my Lady hate me?

_Lean._ She abuses your Love, plays tricks with ye, and cheats ye, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Was ever so profane a Wretch! What, you will not prove this
neither?

_Lean._ Yes, by demonstration too.

Sir _Pat._ Why, thou saucy Varlet, Sirrah, Sirrah, thank my Lady here I
do not cudgel thee.--Well, I will settle the rest of my Estate upon her
to morrow, I will, Sir; and thank God you have what you have, Sir, make
much on’t.

_Lean._ Pardon me, Sir, ‘tis not my single Opinion, but the whole City
takes notice on’t: that I tell it you, Sir, is the Effect of my Duty,
not Interest. Pray give me leave to prove this to you, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ What, you are at your Demonstration again?--come--let’s hear.

_Lean._ Why, Sir, give her frequent opportunities,--and then surprize
her;--or, by pretending to settle all upon her,--give her your Power,
and see if she do not turn you out of Doors;--or--by feigning you are
sick to death--or indeed by dying.

Sir _Pat._ I thank you, Sir,--this indeed is Demonstration, I take it.
    [Pulls off his Hat.

_Lean._ I mean but feigning, Sir; and be a witness your self of her
Sorrow, or Contempt.

Sir _Pat._ [Pauses.] Hah--hum,--why, ingenuously, this may be a very
pretty Project.--Well, Sir, suppose I follow your advice?--nay,
I profess I will do so, not to try her Faith, but to have the pleasure
to hear her conjugal Lamentations, feel her Tears bedew my Face, and her
sweet Mouth kissing my Cheeks a thousand times; verily a wonderful
Comfort.--And then, Sir, what becomes of your Demonstration?--

    Enter _Wittmore_ with the Ring.

Oh--Mr. _Fainlove_, come, come, you’re tardy, let’s away to Church.

    Enter _Roger_.

_Rog._ Sir, here is Doctor _Turboon_, and those other Doctors your
Worship expected.

    Enter Lady _Fancy_ and _Bartholomew_.

Sir _Pat._ The Doctors already!--well, bring ‘em up; come, Madam, we
have waited for your Ladyship,--bring up the Doctors, _Roger_.
    [Exit _Roger_.

L. _Fan._ _Wittmore_, I have now brought that design to a happy
Conclusion, for which I married this formal Ass; I’ll tell thee more
anon,--we are observ’d.

L. _Kno._ Oh, _Lodwick’s_ come!

    Enter _Lodwick_, Monsieur _Turboon_, Fat Doctor, _Amsterdam_,
    _Leyden_, Sir _Credulous_.

Sir _Pat._ Doctor _Turboon_, your Servant, I expected you not this two
hours.

_Turb._ Nor had ee com, Sir, bot for dese wordy Gentlemen, whos Affairs
wode not permit dem to come at your hoar.

Sir _Pat._ Are they English pray?

_Turb._ Dis is, Sir,-- [Pointing to _Lod._] an admirable Physician, and
a rare Astrologer.--Dis speaks good _English_, bot a _Collender_ born.
    [Points to Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ What a pox, does the Fellow call me a Cullender?

_Lod._ He means a _High-Dutch-man_ of the Town of _Collen_, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, I have heard of your Fame.--Doctor, pray entertain these
Gentlemen till my return, I’ll be with you presently.

_Lod._ Sir, I hope you go not forth to day.    [Gazing on his Face.

Sir _Pat._ Not far, Sir.

_Lod._ There is a certain Star has rul’d this two days, Sir, of a very
malignant Influence to Persons of your Complection and
Constitution.--Let me see--within this two hours and six minutes, its
Malice will be spent, till then it will be fatal.

Sir _Pat._ Hum, reign’d this two Days?--I profess and things have gone
very cross with me this two Days,--a notable Man this.

L. _Kno._ Oh, a very profound Astrologer, Sir, upon my Honour, I know
him.

Sir _Pat._ But this is an Affair of that Importance, Sir,--

_Lod._ If it be more than Health or Life, I beg your pardon, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Nay, no Offence, Sir, I beseech you, I’ll stay, Sir.

L. _Kno._ How! Sir _Patient_ not see us married?

Sir _Pat._ You shall excuse me, Madam.

L. _Fan._ This was lucky; Oh Madam, wou’d you have my Dear venture out,
when a malignant Star reigns! not for the World.

Sir _Pat._ No, I’ll not stir; had it been any Star but a malignant Star,
I had waited on your Ladyship: but these malignant Stars are very
pernicious Stars. Nephew, take my Lady _Knowell_, Mr. _Fainlove_ my
Daughter; and _Bartholomew_ do you conduct my Lady, the Parson stays for
you, and the Coaches are at the Door.

    [Exeunt L. _Kno._ _Lean._ _Wit._ and _Isab._ L. _Fancy_ and
    _Bartholomew_.

    Enter _Boy_.

_Boy._ Sir, my Lady has sent for you.    [Exit.

_Lod._ Sir, I’ll be with you presently; Sir _Credulous_, be sure you lug
him by the Ears with any sort of Stuff till my return. I’ll send you a
Friend to keep you in countenance.

Sir _Pat._ Please you to sit, Gentlemen?    [Exit _Lod._

_Amst._ Please you, Sir.    [To Sir _Cred._ who bows and runs back.

Sir _Cred._ Oh Lord, sweet Sir, I hope you do not take me--Nay,
I beseech you, Noble Sir--Reverend Sir.
    [Turning from one to t’other.

_Leyd._ By no means, Sir, a Stranger.

Sir _Cred._ I beseech you--_Scavantissimi Doctores_,--incomparable
Sir,--and you--or you.

_Fat_ D. In troth, Sir, these Compliments are needless, I am something
corpulent, and love my ease.
    [Sits.

Sir _Cred._ Generous Sir, you say well; therefore _Conlicentia_, as the
_Grecians_ have it.
    [Sits.

_Amst._ --Brother.--

_Leyd._ Nay, good Brother,--Sir _Patient_--

Sir _Pat._ Ingenuously, not before you, Mr. Doctor.

_Leyd._ Excuse me, Sir, an Alderman, and a Knight.--

Sir _Pat._ Both below the least of the learned Society.

_Leyd._ Since you will have it so.
    [All sit and cry hum,--and look gravely.

Sir _Cred._ Hum--hum, most Worthy, and most Renowned--_Medicinæ
Professores, qui hic assemblati estis, & vos altri Messiores_; I am now
going to make a Motion for the publick Good of us all, but will do
nothing without your Doctorships Approbation.

Sir _Pat._ Judiciously concluded.

Sir _Cred._ The question then is, _Reverentissimi Doctores_,
whether--for mark me, I come to the matter in hand, hating long
Circumstances of Words; there being no necessity, as our learned Brother
_Rabelais_ observes in that most notorious Treatise of his call’d
_Garagantua_; there is, says he, no necessity of going over the Hedge
when the Path lies fair before ye: therefore, as I said before, I now
say again, coming to my Question; for as that admirable _Welch_ Divine
says, in that so famous Sermon of his, upon her Creat Cranfather _Hadam_
and her Creat Cranmother _Heeve_ concerning the Happell,--and her will,
warrant her, her will keep her to her Text still,--so I stick close to
my question, which is, _Illustrissimi Doctores_, whether it be not
necessary to the Affair in hand--to take--a Bottle; and if your
Doctorships are of my opinion--hold up your Thumbs.
    [All hold up their Thumbs.
  --Look, Sir, you observe the Votes of the learned _Cabalists_.

Sir _Pat._ Which shall be put in Act forthwith--I like this Man well, he
does nothing without mature Deliberation.

    Enter _Brunswick_.

_Brun._ By your leaves, Gentlemen--Sir _Credulous_--    [Whispers.

Sir _Cred._ Oh--’tis _Lodwick’s_ Friend, the Rascal’s dress’d like
_Vanderbergen_ in the _Strand_:--Sir _Patient_, pray know this glorious
Doctor, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ A Doctor, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ A Doctor, Sir! yes, and as eloquent a Doctor, Sir, as ever
set Bill to Post: why, ‘tis--the incomparable--_Brunswick_, _High-Dutch_
Doctor.

Sir _Pat._ You’re welcome, Sir,--Pray sit; ah.--Well, Sir, you are come
to visit a very crazy sickly Person, Sir.

_Brun._ Pray let me feel your Pulse, Sir;--what think you, Gentlemen, is
he not very far gone?--
    [Feels his Pulse, they all feel.

Sir _Cred._ Ah, far, far.--Pray, Sir, have you not a certain wambling
Pain in your Stomach, Sir, as it were, Sir, a--a pain, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, very great, Sir, especially in a Morning fasting.

Sir _Cred._ I knew it by your stinking Breath, Sir--and are you not
troubled with a Pain in your Head, Sir?

Sir _Pat._ In my Head, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ I mean a--kind of a--Pain,--a kind of a _Vertigo_, as the
_Latins_ call it; and a _Whirligigoustiphon_, as the _Greeks_ have it,
which signifies in _English_, Sir, a Dizzie-swimming kind--of a do ye
see--a thing--that--a--you understand me.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, intolerable, intolerable!--why, this is a rare Man!

_Fat_ D. Your Reason, Sir, for that?    [To Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ My Reason, Sir? why, my Reason, Sir, is this, _Haly_ the
_Moore_, and _Rabbi Isaac_, and some thousands more of learned
_Dutchmen_, observe your dull Wall Eye and your
Whir--_Whirligigoustiphon_, to be inseparable.

_Brun._ A most learned Reason!

_Fat_ D. Oh, Sir, inseparable.

Sir _Cred._ And have you not a kind of a--something--do ye mark me, when
you make Water, a kind of a stopping--and--a--do ye conceive me, I have
forgot the _English_ Term, Sir, but in Latin ‘tis a _Stronggullionibus_.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, Sir, most extremely, ‘tis that which makes me desperate,
Sir.

Sir _Cred._ Your ugly Face is an infallible Sign; your _Dysurie_, as the
_Arabicks_ call it, and your ill-favour’d Countenance, are constant
Relatives.

_All._ Constant, constant.

Sir _Cred._ Pray how do you eat, Sir?

Sir _Pat._ Ah, Sir, there’s my distraction. Alas, Sir, I have the
weakest Stomach--I do not make above four Meals a-day, and then indeed I
eat heartily--but alas, what’s that to eating to live?--nothing, Sir,
nothing.--

Sir _Cred._ Poor Heart, I pity him.

Sir _Pat._ And between Meals, good Wine, Sweet-meats, Caudles,--Cordials
and Mirabilises, to keep up my fainting Spirits.

Sir _Cred._ A Pox of his Aldermanship: an the whole Bench were such
notable Swingers, ‘twould famish the City sooner than a Siege.

_Amst._ Brothers, what do you think of this Man?

_Leyd._ Think, Sir? I think his Case is desperate.

Sir _Cred._ Shaw, Sir, we shall soon rectify the quiblets and quillities
of his Blood, if he observes our Directions and Diet, which is to eat
but once in four or five days.

Sir _Pat._ How, Sir, eat but once in four or five days? such a Diet,
Sir, would kill me; alas, Sir, kill me.

Sir _Cred._ Oh no, Sir, no; for look ye, Sir, the Case is thus, do you
mind me--so that the Business lying so obvious, do ye see, there is a
certain Method, do ye mark me--in a--Now, Sir, when a Man goes about to
alter the course of Nature,--the case is very plain, you may as well
arrest the Chariot of the Sun, or alter the Eclipses of the Moon; for,
Sir, this being of another Nature, the Nature of it is to be unnatural,
you conceive me, Sir?--therefore we must crave your absence, Sir, for a
few Minutes, till we have debated this great Affair.

Sir _Pat._ With all my heart, Sir, since my Case is so desperate, a few
hours were not too much.
    [Ex. Sir _Pat._

Sir _Cred._ Now, Sir, my service to you.    [Drinks.

    Enter _Fanny_.

_Fan._ Oh living heart! what do all these Men do in our House? sure they
are a sort of new-fashion’d Conventiclers:--I’ll hear ‘em preach.
    [They drink round the while.

_Amst._ Sir, my service to you, and to your good Lady, Sir.

_Leyd._ Again to you, Sir, not forgetting your Daughters: they are fine
Women, Sir, let Scandal do its worst.
    [Drinks.

_Turb._ To our better trading, Sir.

_Brun._ Faith, it goes but badly on, I had the weekly Bill, and ‘twas a
very thin Mortality; some of the better sort die indeed, that have good
round Fees to give.

_Turb._ Verily, I have not kill’d above my five or six this Week.

_Brun._ How, Sir, kill’d?

_Turb._ Kill’d, Sir! ever whilst you live, especially those who have the
grand _Verole_; for ‘tis not for a Man’s Credit to let the Patient want
an Eye or a Nose, or some other thing. I have kill’d ye my five or six
dozen a Week--but times are hard.

_Brun._ I grant ye, Sir, your Poor for Experiment and Improvement of
Knowledge: and to say truth, there ought to be such Scavengers as we to
sweep away the Rubbish of the Nation.
    [Sir _Cred._ and _Fat_ seeming in Discourse.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, an you talk of a Beast, my service to you, Sir--
[Drinks.] Ay, I lost the finest Beast of a Mare in all _Devonshire_.

_Fat_ D. And I the finest Spaniel, Sir.
    [Here they all talk together till you come to--_purpose, Sir_.

_Turb._ Pray, what News is there stirring?

_Brun._ Faith, Sir, I am one of those Fools that never regard whether
_Lewis_ or _Philip_ have the better or the worst.

_Turb._ Peace is a great Blessing, Sir, a very great Blessing.

_Brun._ You are i’th right, Sir, and so my service to you, Sir.

_Leyd._ Well, Sir, _Stetin_ held out nobly, though the Gazettes are
various.

_Amst._ There’s a world of Men kill’d they say; why, what a shame ‘tis
so many thousands should die without the help of a Physician.

_Leyd._ Hang ‘em, they were poor Rogues, and not worth our killing; my
service to you, Sir, they’ll serve to fill up Trenches.

Sir _Cred._ Spaniel, Sir! no Man breathing understands Dogs and Horses
better than my self.

_Fat_ D. Your pardon for that, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ For look ye, Sir, I’ll tell you the Nature of Dogs and
Horses.

_Fat_ D. So can my Groom and Dog-keeper; but what’s this to th’ purpose,
Sir?
    [Here they leave off.

Sir _Cred._ To th’ purpose, Sir! good Mr. _Hedleburgh_, do you
understand what’s to th’ purpose? you’re a _Dutch_ Butter-ferkin,
a Kilderkin, a Double Jug.

_Fat_ D. You’re an ignorant Blockhead, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ You lye, Sir, and there I was with you again.

_Amst._ What, quarrelling, Men of your Gravity and Profession.

Sir _Cred._ That is to say, Fools and Knaves: pray, how long is’t since
you left Toping and Napping, for Quacking, good Brother Cater-tray?--but
let that pass, for I’ll have my Humour, and therefore will quarrel with
no Man, and so I drink.--
    [Goes to fill again.

_Brun._ --But, what’s all this to the Patient, Gentlemen?

Sir _Cred._ Ay,--the Wine’s all out,--and Quarrels apart, Gentlemen, as
you say, what do you think of our Patient? for something I conceive
necessary to be said for our Fees.

_Fat_ D. I think that unless he follows our Prescriptions he’s a dead
Man.

Sir _Cred._ Ay, Sir, a dead Man.

_Fat_ D. Please you to write, Sir, you seem the youngest Doctor.
    [To _Amst._

_Amst._ Your Pardon, Sir, I conceive there maybe younger Doctors than I
at the Board.

Sir _Cred._ A fine Punctilio this, when a Man lies a dying [Aside.]
--Sir, you shall excuse me, I have been a Doctor this 7 Years.
    [They shove the Pen and Paper from one to the other.

_Amst._ I commenc’d at _Paris_ twenty years ago.

_Leyd._ And I at _Leyden_, almost as long since.

_Fat_ D. And I at _Barcelona_ thirty.

Sir _Cred._ And I at _Padua_, Sir.

_Fat_ D. You at _Padua?_

Sir _Cred._ Yes, Sir, I at _Padua_; why, what a pox, do ye think I never
was beyond Sea?

_Brun._ However, Sir, you are the youngest Doctor, and must write.

Sir _Cred._ I will not lose an inch of my Dignity.

_Fat_ D. Nor I.

_Amst._ Nor I.

_Leyd._ Nor I.    [Put the Paper from each other.

_Brun._ Death, what Rascals are these?

Sir _Cred._ Give me the Pen--here’s ado about your _Paduas_ and
Punctilioes.
    [Sets himself to write.

_Amst._ Every morning a Dose of my Pills _Merda queorusticon_, or the
Amicable Pill.

Sir _Cred._ Fasting?

_Leyd._ Every Hour sixscore drops of _Adminicula Vitæ_.

Sir _Cred._ Fasting too?    [Sir _Cred._ writes still.

_Fat_ D. At Night twelve Cordial Pills, _Gallimofriticus_.

_Turb._ Let Blood once a Week, a Glister once a day.

_Brun._ Cry Mercy, Sir, you’re a _French_ Man.--After his first Sleep,
threescore restorative Pills, call’d _Cheatus Redivivus_.

Sir _Cred._ And lastly, fifteen Spoonfuls of my _Aqua Tetrachymagogon_,
as often as ‘tis necessary; little or no Breakfast, less Dinner, and go
supperless to Bed.

_Fat_ D. Hum, your _Aqua Tetrachymagogon_?

Sir _Cred._ Yes, Sir, my _Tetrachymagogon_; for look ye, do you see,
Sir, I cur’d the Arch-Duke of _Strumbulo_ of a _Gondileero_, of which he
dy’d, with this very _Aqua Tetrachymagogon_.

    Enter Sir _Patient_.

Sir _Pat._ Well, Gentlemen, am I not an intruder?

_Fat_ D. Sir, we have duly consider’d the state of your Body; and are
now about the Order and Method you are to observe.

_Brun._ Ay, this Distemper will be the occasion of his Death.

Sir _Cred._ Hold, Brothers, I do not say the occasion of his Death; but
the occasional Cause of his Death.
    [Sir _Pat._ reads the Bill.

Sir _Pat._ Why, here’s no time allow’d for eating, Gentlemen.

_Amst._ Sir, we’ll justify this Prescription to the whole College.

_Leyd._ If he will not follow it, let him die.

_All._ Ay, let him die.

    Enter _Lodwick_ and _Leander_.

_Lod._ What, have you consulted without me, Gentlemen?
    [_Lod._ reads the Bill.

Sir _Pat._ Yes, Sir, and find it absolutely necessary for my Health,
Sir, I shou’d be starv’d: and yet you say I am not sick, Sir.
    [To _Lean._

_Lod._ Very well, very well.

Sir _Pat._ No Breakfast, no Dinner, no Supper?

Sir _Cred._ Little or none, but none’s best.

Sir _Pat._ But, Gentlemen, consider, no small thing?

_All._ Nothing, nothing.

Sir _Cred._ Sir, you must write for your Fee.    [To _Lod._

_Lod._ Now I think on’t, Sir, you may eat    [Writes.
  a roasted Pippin cold upon a Vine-leaf, at night.

_Lean._ Do you see, Sir, what damn’d canting Rascals these Doctors are?

Sir _Pat._ Ay, ay, if all Doctors were such, ingenuously, I shou’d soon
be weary of Physick.

_Lean._ Give ‘em their Fees, Sir, and send ‘em to the Devil for a
Company of Cheats.

Sir _Pat._ Truth is, there is no faith in ‘em,--well, I thank you for
your Care and Pains.
    [Gives ‘em Fees.

Sir _Cred._ Sir, if you have any occasion for me, I live at the
red-colour’d Lanthorn, with eleven Candles in’t, in the _Strand_; where
you may come in privately, and need not be ashamed, I having no Creature
in my House but my self, and my whole Family.--

  _Ick quam Van Neder Landt te spreken
  End helpen Van Pocken end ander gebreken._

That’s a top of my Bill, sweet Sir.

    [Exeunt Doctors.

_Fan._ Lord, Sir Father, why do you give ‘em Money?

_Lean._ For talking Nonsense this Hour or two upon his Distemper.

_Fan._ Oh lemini, Sir, they did not talk one word of you, but of Dogs
and Horses, and of killing Folks, and of their Wives and Daughters; and
when the Wine was all out, they said they wou’d say something for their
Fees.

Sir _Pat._ Say you so!--Knaves, Rogues, Cheats, Murderers! I’ll be
reveng’d on ‘em all,--I’ll ne’er be sick again,--or if I be, I’ll die
honestly of my self without the assistance of such Rascals,--go, get you
gone.--
    [To _Fan._ who goes out.

_Lean._ A happy resolution! wou’d you wou’d be so kind to your self as
to make a trial of your Lady too; and if she prove true, ‘twill make
some kind of amends for your so long being cozen’d this way.

Sir _Pat._ I’ll about it, this very minute about it,--give me a Chair.--
    [He sits.

_Lean._ So, settle your self well, disorder your Hair,--throw away your
Cane, Hat and Gloves,--stare, and rowl your Eyes, squeeze your Face into
Convulsions,--clutch your Hands, make your Stomach heave, so, very
well,--now let me alone for the rest--Oh, help, help, my Lady, my Aunt,
for Heavens sake, help,--come all and see him die.
    [Weeps.

    Enter _Wittmore_, Lady _Fancy_, _Isabella_, _Lucretia_, Lady
    _Knowell_, _Roger_, and _Nurse_.

_Wit._ _Leander_, what’s the matter?

_Lean._ See, Madam, see my Uncle in the Agonies of Death.

L. _Fan._ My dearest Husband dying, Oh!    [Weeps.

_Lean._ How hard he struggles with departing Life!

_Isab._ Father, dear Father, must I in one day receive a Blessing with
so great a Curse? Oh,--he’s just going, Madam.--
    [Weeps.

L. _Fan._ Let me o’ertake him in the Shades below, why do you hold me,
can I live without him? do I dissemble well?--
    [Aside to _Wit._

Sir _Pat._ Not live without me!--do you hear that, Sirrah?
    [Aside to _Lean._

_Lean._ Pray mark the end on’t, Sir,--feign,--feign.--

L. _Kno._ We left him well, how came he thus o’th’ sudden?

_Lean._ I fear ‘tis an Apoplexy, Madam.

L. _Fan._ Run, run for his Physician; but do not stir a foot.
    [Aside to _Roger_.
  Look up, and speak but one kind word to me.

Sir _Pat._ What crys are these that stop me on my way?

L. _Fan._ They’re mine,--your Lady’s--oh, surely he’ll recover.
    [Aside.
  Your most obedient Wife’s.

Sir _Pat._ My Wife’s, my Heir, my sole Executrix.

L. _Fan._ Hah, is he in’s Senses?    [Aside to _Wit._
  Oh my dear Love, my Life, my Joy, my All,    [Crys.
  Oh, let me go; I will not live without him.
    [Seems to faint in _Wittmore’s_ Arms. All run about her.

Sir _Pat._ Do ye hear that, Sirrah?

_Lean._ Have yet a little Patience, die away,--very well--Oh, he’s
gone,--quite gone.
    [L. _Fan._ swoons.

L. _Kno._ Look to my Lady there,    [Swoons again.
  --Sure she can but counterfeit.    [Aside.    [They all go about her.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, my Lady dying!

_Lean._ Sir, I beseech you wait the event. Death! the cunning Devil will
dissemble too long and spoil all,--here--carry the dead Corps of my
dearest Uncle to his Chamber. Nurse, to your Care I commit him now.

    [Exeunt with Sir _Pat._ in a Chair.
    [All follow but _Wittmore_; who going the other way, meets Sir
    _Credulous_ and _Lodwick_, as before.

_Wit._ _Lodwick!_ the strangest unexpected News, Sir _Patient’s_ dead!

Sir _Cred._ How, dead! we have play’d the Physicians to good purpose,
i’faith, and kill’d the Man before we administer’d our Physick.

_Wit._ Egad, I fear so indeed.

_Lod._ Dead!

_Wit._ As a Herring, and ‘twill be dangerous to keep these habits
longer.

Sir _Cred._ Dangerous! Zoz, Man, we shall all be hang’d, why, our very
Bill dispatch’d him, and our Hands are to’t,--Oh, I’ll confess all.--
    [Offers to go.

_Lod._ Death, Sir, I’ll cut your Throat if you stir.

Sir _Cred._ Wou’d you have me hang’d for Company, Gentlemen? Oh, where
shall I hide my self, or how come at my Clothes?

_Lod._ We have no time for that; go get you into your Basket again, and
lie snug, till I have convey’d you safe away,--or I’ll abandon you.--
    [Aside to him.
  ‘Tis not necessary he shou’d be seen yet, he may spoil _Leander’s_
Plot.
    [Aside.

Sir _Cred._ Oh, thank ye, dear _Lodwick_,--let me escape this bout, and
if ever the Fool turn Physician again, may he be choak’d with his own
_Tetrachymagogon_.

_Wit._ Go, haste and undress you, whilst I’ll to _Lucia_.

    [Exeunt _Lod._ and Sir _Cred._

    As _Wittmore_ is going out at one Door, enter Sir _Patient_ and
    _Leander_ at the other Door.

_Lean._ Hah, _Wittmore_ there! he must not see my Uncle yet.
    [Puts Sir _Pat._ back.
    [Exit _Wit._

Sir _Pat._ Nay, Sir, never detain me, I’ll to my Lady, is this your
Demonstration?--Was ever so virtuous a Lady--Well, I’ll to her, and
console her poor Heart; ah, the Joy ‘twill bring her to see my
Resurrection!--I long to surprize her.
    [Going off cross the Stage.

_Lean._ Hold, Sir, I think she’s coming,--blest sight, and with her
_Wittmore_!
    [Puts Sir _Pat._ back to the Door.

    Enter Lady _Fancy_ and _Wittmore_.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, what’s this?

L. _Fan._ Now, my dear _Wittmore_, claim thy Rites of Love without
controul, without the contradiction of wretched Poverty or Jealousy: Now
undisguised thou mayst approach my Bed, and reign o’er all my Pleasures
and my Fortunes, of which this Minute I create thee Lord, And thus begin
my Homage.--
    [Kisses him.

Sir _Pat._ Sure ‘tis some Fiend! this cannot be my Lady.

_Lean._ ‘Tis something uncivil before your face, Sir, to do this.

_Wit._ Thou wondrous kind, and wondrous beautiful; that Power that made
thee with so many Charms, gave me a Soul fit only to adore ‘em; nor wert
thou destin’d to another’s Arms, but to be render’d still more fit for
mine.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, is not that _Fainlove_, _Isabella’s_ Husband? Oh
Villain! Villain! I will renounce my Sense and my Religion.
    [Aside.

  L. _Fan._ Another’s Arms! Oh, call not those hated
  Thoughts to my remembrance,
  Lest it destroy that kindly Heat within me,
  Which thou canst only raise and still maintain.

Sir _Pat._ Oh Woman! Woman! damn’d dissembling Woman.    [Aside.

L. _Fan._ Come, let me lead thee to that Mass of Gold he gave me to be
despis’d;
  And which I render thee, my lovely Conqueror,
  As the first Tribute of my glorious Servitude.

Draw in the Basket which I told you of, and is amongst the Rubbish in
the Hall. [Exit _Wittmore_.] That which the Slave so many Years was
toiling for, I in one moment barter for a Kiss, as Earnest of our future
Joys.

Sir _Pat._ Was ever so prodigal a Harlot? was this the Saint? was this
the most tender Consort that ever Man had?

_Lean._ No, in good faith, Sir.

    Enter _Wittmore_ pulling in the Basket.

L. _Fan._ This is it, with a direction on’t to thee, whither I design’d
to send it.

  _Wit._ Good morrow to the Day, and next the Gold;
  Open the Shrine, that I may see my Saint--
  Hail the World’s Soul,--    [Opens the Basket, Sir _Cred._ starts up.

L. _Fan._ O Heavens! what thing art thou?

Sir _Cred._ O, Pardon, Pardon, sweet Lady, I confess I had a hand in’t.

L. _Fan._ In what, thou Slave?--

Sir _Cred._ Killing the good believing Alderman;--but ‘twas against my
Will.

L. _Fan._ Then I’m not so much oblig’d to thee,--but where’s the Money,
the 8000_l._ the Plate and Jewels, Sirrah?

_Wit._ Death, the Dog has eat it.

Sir _Cred._ Eat it! Oh Lord, eat 8000_l._ Wou’d I might never come out
of this Basket alive, if ever I made such a Meal in my Life.

_Wit._ Ye Dog, you have eat it; and I’ll make ye swallow all the Doses
you writ in your Bill, but I’ll have it upward or downward.
    [Aside.

Sir _Pat._ Hah, one of the Rogues my Doctors.

Sir _Cred._ Oh, dear Sir, hang me out of the way rather.

    Enter _Maundy_.

_Maun._ Madam, I have sent away the Basket to Mr. _Wittmore’s_ Lodgings.

L. _Fan._ You might have sav’d your self that Labour, I now having no
more to do, but to bury the stinking Corps of my quandom Cuckold,
dismiss his Daughters, and give thee quiet possession of all.
    [To _Wit._

Sir _Pat._ Fair Lady, you’ll take me along with you?
    [Snaps, pulls off his Hat, and comes up to her.

L. _Fan._ My Husband!--I’m betray’d--

Sir _Pat._ Husband! I do defy thee, Satan, thou greater Whore than she
of _Babylon_; thou Shame, thou Abomination to thy Sex.

L. _Fan._ Rail on, whilst I dispose my self to laugh at thee.

Sir _Pat._ _Leander_, call all the House in to be a Witness of our
Divorce.
    [Exit _Lean._

L. _Fan._ Do, and all the World, and let ‘em know the Reason.

Sir _Pat._ Methinks I find an Inclination to swear,--to curse my self
and thee, that I cou’d no better discern thee; nay, I’m so chang’d from
what I was, that I think I cou’d even approve of Monarchy and
Church-Discipline, I’m so truly convinc’d I have been a Beast and an Ass
all my Life.

    Enter Lady _Knowell_, _Isabella_, _Lucretia_, _Leander_,
    _Lodwick_, _Fanny_, &c.

L. _Kno._ Hah, Sir _Patient_ not dead?

Sir _Pat._ Ladies and Gentlemen, take notice that I am a Cuckold,
a crop-ear’d snivelling Cuckold.

Sir _Cred._ A Cuckold! sweet Sir, shaw, that’s a small matter in a Man
of your Quality.

Sir _Pat._ And I beg your pardon, Madam, for being angry that you call’d
me so. [To L. _Kno._] And yours, dear _Isabella_, for desiring you to
marry my good Friend there [Points to _Wit._] whose name I perceive I
was mistaken in:--and yours, _Leander_, that I wou’d not take your
Advice long since: and yours, fair Lady, for believing you
honest,--’twas done like a credulous Coxcomb:--and yours, Sir, for
taking any of your Tribe for wise, learned or honest.
    [To Sir _Credulous_.

_Wit._ Faith, Sir, I deceiv’d ye only to serve my Friend; and, Sir, your
Daughter is married to Mr _Knowell_: your Wife had all my stock of Love
before, Sir.
    [_Lod._ and _Isab._ kneel.

Sir _Pat._ Why, God-a-mercy--some comfort that,--God bless ye.--I shall
love Disobedience while I live for’t.

_Lod._ I am glad on’t, Sir, for then I hope you will forgive _Leander_,
who has married my Sister, and not my Mother.

Sir _Pat._ How! has he served me so?--I’ll make him my Heir for’t, thou
hast made a Man of me, my Boy, and, faith, we will be merry,--Fair Lady,
you may depart in peace, fair Lady, restoring my Money, my Plate, my
Jewels and my Writings, fair Lady.--

L. _Fan._ You gave me no Money, Sir, prove it if you can; and for your
Land, ‘twas not settled with this Proviso, if she be honest?

Sir _Pat._ ‘Tis well thou dost confess I am a Cuckold, for I wou’d have
it known, fair Lady.

L. _Fan._ ‘Twas to that end I married you, good Alderman.

Sir _Pat._ I’faith, I think thou didst, Sweet-heart, i’faith, I think
thou didst.

_Wit._ Right, Sir, we have long been Lovers, but want of Fortune made us
contrive how to marry her to your good Worship. Many a wealthy Citizen,
Sir, has contributed to the maintenance of a younger Brother’s Mistress;
and you are not the first Man in Office that has been a Cuckold, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Some comfort that too, the Brethren of the Chain cannot laugh
at me.

Sir _Cred._ A very pleasant old Fellow this: faith, I cou’d be very
merry with him now, but that I am damnable sad.--Madam, I shall desire
to lay the Saddle on the right Horse.
    [To L. _Kno._

L. _Kno._ What mean you, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Only, Madam, if I were as some Men are, I should not be as I
am.

L. _Kno._ It may be so, Sir.

Sir _Cred._ I say no more, but matters are not carried so swimmingly,
but I can dive into the meaning on’t.
    [Sir _Patient_ talks this while to _Lodwick_.

L. _Kno._ I hate this hypothetical way of arguing, answer me
categorically.

Sir _Cred._ Hypothetical and Categorical! what does she mean now?
[Aside.] --Madam, in plain _English_, I am made a _John-a-Nokes_ of,
_Jack-hold-my-staff_, a _Merry Andrew_ Doctor, to give _Leander_ time to
marry your Daughter; and ‘twas therefore I was hoisted up in the
Basket;--but as the play says, ‘tis well ‘tis no worse: I’d rather lose
my Mistress than my Life.

Sir _Pat._ But how came this Rascal _Turboon_ to admit you?

_Lod._ For the Lucre of our Fees, Sir, which was his recompence.

Sir _Pat._ I forgive it you, and will turn Spark, they live the merriest
Lives--keep some City Mistress, go to Court, and hate all Conventicles.

  _You see what a fine City-Wife can do
  Of the true-breed; instruct her Husband too:
  I wish all civil Cuckolds in the Nation
  Would take example by my Reformation._




EPILOGUE,

Spoken by Mrs. _Gwin_.


  I here and there o’erheard a Coxcomb cry,    [Looking about.
  Ah, Rot it--’tis a Woman’s Comedy,
  One, who because she lately chanc’d to please us,
  With her damn’d Stuff, will never cease to teeze us.
  What has poor Woman done, that she must be
  Debar’d from Sense, and sacred Poetry?
  Why in this Age has Heaven allow’d you more,
  And Women less of Wit than heretofore?
  We once were fam’d in story, and could write
  Equal to Men; cou’d govern, nay, cou’d fight.
  We still have passive Valour, and can show, }
  Wou’d Custom give us leave, the active too, }
  Since we no Provocations want from you.     }
  For who but we cou’d your dull Fopperies bear,
  Your saucy Love, and your brisk Nonsense hear;
  Indure your worse than womanish Affectation,
  Which renders you the Nusance of the Nation;
  Scorn’d even by all the Misses of the Town,
  A Jest to Vizard Mask, the _Pit-Buffoon_;
  A Glass by which the admiring Country Fool
  May learn to dress himself _en Ridicule:_
  Both striving who shall most ingenious grow
  In Leudness, Foppery, Nonsense, Noise and Show.
  And yet to these fine things we must submit
  Our Reason, Arms, our Laurels, and our Wit.
  Because we do not laugh at you, when leud,
  And scorn and cudgel ye when you are rude.
  That we have nobler Souls than you, we prove,
  By how much more we’re sensible of Love;
  Quickest in finding all the subtlest ways
  To make your Joys, why not to make you Plays?
  We best can find your Foibles, know our own,     }
  And Jilts and Cuckolds now best please the Town; }
  Your way of Writing’s out of fashion grown.      }
  Method, and Rule--you only understand;
  Pursue that way of Fooling, and be damn’d.
  Your learned Cant of Action, Time and Place,
  Must all give way to the unlabour’d Farce.
  To all the Men of Wit we will subscribe:
  But for your half Wits, you unthinking Tribe,
  We’ll let you see, whate’er besides we do,
  How artfully we copy some of you:
  And if you’re drawn to th’ Life, pray tell me then,
  Why Women should not write as well as Men.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: Sir Patient Fancy


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+To the Reader+

  p. 7, l. 1 _To the Reader._ Only in 4to 1678.

+Dramatis Personæ+

  p. 10 _Dramatis Personæ._ I have added ‘_Abel_ (_Bartholmew_), Clerk
  to _Sir Patient Fancy_; _Brunswick_, a friend to _Lodwick Knowell_;
  _Antic_, Waiting-woman to _Lucretia_; Nurse; Guests.’ In former
  editions the physicians are grouped together as ‘Five Doctors’, and
  The Lady _Knowell_ is mistakenly termed ‘Mother to _Lodwick_ and
  _Isabella_’, which I have corrected to ‘and _Lucretia_’. I have noted
  the confusion of ‘Abel’ and ‘Bartholmew’ in the introduction, pp. 5-6.


+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 11, l. 2 I have added ‘in Lady Knowell’s House.’

  p. 13, l. 14 _Foibles._ 4to 1678 ‘feables’.

  p. 14, l. 17 _apamibominous ... podas._ 4to 1678 ‘apamibominus ...
  Podis’.

  p. 15, l. 3 _Mudd._ 1724 ‘mad’.

+ACT I: Scene ia+

  p. 16, l. 12 _now, Curry, from._ 1724 omits ‘Curry’.

  p. 16, l. 25 _Branford._ 1724 here and _infra_ ‘Brentford’.

  p. 16, l. 30 _Cuffet’s._ 1724 ‘Cusset’s’.

  p. 22, l. 22 _not._ Erroneously omitted by 4to 1678.

  p. 23, l. 2 _a Dog._ 4to 1678 ‘the Dog.’

  p. 23, l. 16 _with Page._ I have added the Page’s exit.

  p. 25, l. 20 _Ex. severally._ 4to 1678 adds ‘The End of the First
  Act.’

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 25, l. 22 _to Sir Patient Fancy’s House._ I have added these words.


  p. 33, l. 27 _Exit with L. Fan._ I have added the necessary ‘with
  L. Fan.’ 4to 1678 reads ‘Goes out.’

  p. 35, l. 2 _Roger attending._ I have added this entrance of Roger
  here.

  p. 36, l. 21 _Enter Sir Patient._ 4to 1678 gives this entrance after
  ‘mercy’, l. 22.

  p. 40, l. 25 _Exit Roger._ I have added this exit here, and at p. 43,
  l. 2.

+ACT II: Scene ii+

  p. 44, l. 6 _Exeunt severally._ 4to 1678 adds ‘The End of the Second
  Act.’

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 44, l. 9 _to a room in Sir Patient Fancy’s house._ I have supplied
  this locale.

  p. 45, l. 11 _and Maundy._ I have supplied Maundy’s entrance here.

+ACT III: Scene ii+

  p. 47, l. 1 _a thousand Faults._ 1724 mistakenly reads ‘a thousand
  hidden Faults’.

  p. 48, l. 34 _in spite to._ 1724 ‘in spite of’ which makes nonsense
  of the passage.

+ACT III: Scene iii+

  p. 49, l. 8 _Scene III._ I have numbered this and all the succeeding
  scenes of Act III.

+ACT III: Scene vii+

  p. 53, l. 32 _Within._ Not in any previous edition.

  p. 54, l. 10 _Within._ All previous editions print this stage
  direction as part of Sir Patient’s speech.

  p. 54, l. 19 _Discovery._ All previous editions here have ‘Enter Sir
  Patient’, which is a very patent error. I have supplied ‘Within’ as
  stage direction.

+ACT III: Scene viii+

  p. 59, l. 6 _Isabella, Fanny._ I have supplied ‘Fanny’ to this stage
  direction.

+ACT III: Scene ix+

  p. 59, l. 19 _D’on._ 4to 1678 misprints ‘D’on on Flannel’.

  p. 60, l. 13 _Enter Roger._ I have supplied the names ‘Roger’ and
  ‘Abel’ to this stage direction.

  p. 61, l. 13 _Exeunt._ 4to 1678 adds ‘The End of the Third Act.’

+ACT IV: Scene i+

  p. 71, l. 27 _are._ 4to 1678, not so well, ‘were’.

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 72, l. 19 _A Chamber in Sir Patient Fancy’s House._ I have
  supplied this locale.

  p. 77, l. 2 _come._ 4to 1678 ‘came’.

  p. 77, l. 33 _but for my sending him, Madam, credit me._ 1724 omits
  this sentence.

  p. 79, l. 13 _sad._ 1724 ‘said’.

  p. 79, l. 31 _Exit._ I have supplied this stage direction.

+ACT IV: Scene iii+

  p. 81, l. 1 _Exit Roger._ I have supplied this.

  p. 81, l. 11 _little._ 1724 misprints ‘letter’.

  p. 82, l. 30 _Fanny and Nurse go._ All previous editions have ‘Fanny
  goes’.

+ACT IV: Scene iv+

  p. 82, l. 31 _Scene IV._ I have numbered this scene.

  p. 82, l. 33 _Entering._ I have supplied this necessary stage
  direction.

  p. 87, l. 15 _Hogsdowne._ 1724 ‘Hogsdon’.

+ACT V: Scene i+

  p. 89, l. 3 _leading her._ Omitted in 1724. 4to 1678 here has ‘The End
  of the Fourth Act.’

  p. 89, l. 5 _Scene I. A Room._ All previous editions have ‘Scene I.
  A Table and Six Chairs.’

  p. 89, l. 28 _come._ 4to 1678 ‘came’.

  p. 95, l. 20 _fatum._ 4to 1678 ‘facum.’

  p. 96, l. 2 _and will._ 1724, very erroneously, ‘and I will’.

  p. 98, l. 13 _and Bartholomew._ I have added this entrance, unmarked
  in former editions, as later in the scene (p. 99, l. 30) he is
  addressed.

  p. 98, l. 16 _Exit Roger._ I have supplied this.

  p. 99, l. 35 _Exit._ I have added this stage direction.

  p. 100, l. 4 _Exit Lod._ This is unmarked in previous editions.

  p. 100, l. 25 _Medicinæ Professores._ 1724 ‘Medicina Presessores, qui
  hic assemblati esti, & vos altra Mesioris’.

  p. 101, l. 12 _Deliberation._ 4to 1678 here has ‘[Goes out.’ which
  must obviously be a mistake.

  p. 102, l. 2 _Whirligigoustiphon._ 1724 ‘Whirligigousticon’.

  p. 107, l. 36 _Exeunt Doctors._ All previous editions faultily have
  ‘Exeunt.’ after ‘whole Family.--’ I have added ‘Doctors.’

  p. 108, l. 27 _and Nurse._ I have added these words as she is
  addressed later in the scene (p. 109, l. 31.)

  p. 110, l. 24 _and Sir Cred._ I have added these words.

  p. 111, l. 34 _Consort._ 1724 ‘Comfort’.


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+To the Reader+

  p. 7 _to show their breeding (as Bays sayes)._ cf. _The Rehearsal_,
  II, ii:--

    _1 King._ You must begin, _Mon foy_.
    _2 King._ Sweet, Sir, _Pardonnes moy_.
    _Bayes._ Mark that: I makes ‘em both speak _French_ to shew their
      breeding.

+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 14 _Armida._ cf. Tasso’s _La Gerusalemme Liberata_, canto xiv, &c.
  Armida is called Corcereis owing to the beauty and wonder of her
  enchanted garden. Corcyra was the abode of King Alcinous, of whose
  court, parks and orchards a famous description is to be found in the
  seventh _Odyssey_. Martial (xiii, 37), speaks of ‘Corcyraei horti’,
  a proverbial phrase.

+ACT I: Scene ia+

  p. 20 _Mum budget._ ‘Mum budget’, meaning ‘hush’, was originally the
  name of a children’s game which required silence, cf. _Merry Wives
  of Windsor_, V, iv: ‘I ... cried _mum_ and she cried _budget_.’ cf.
  also the term ‘Whist’.

  p. 22 _Beginning at Eight._ The idea of this little speech is, of
  course, from Bonnecorse’s _La Montre_, Mrs. Behn’s translation of
  which will be found with an introduction in Vol. VI, p. 1.

  p. 22 _the Bergere._ cf. _The Feign’d Curtezans_ (Vol. II, p. 346):
  ‘The hour of the Berjere’. and the note on that passage (p. 441).

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 32 _Ay and No Man._ cf. Prologue to _The False Count_ (Vol. III,
  p. 100): ‘By Yea and Nay’. and note on that passage (p. 480).

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 44 _Within a Mile of an Oak._ A proverbial saw. cf. D’Urfey’s _Don
  Quixote_ (1696), III, Act V, i, where Teresa cries: ‘The Ass was lost
  yesterday, and Master _Carasco_ tells us your Worship can tell within
  a mile of an Oak where he is.’

  p. 44 _Rustick Antick._ A quaint country dance.

+ACT IV: Scene i+

  p. 62 _Hypallages._ A figure of speech by which attributes are
  transferred from their proper subjects to others.

  p. 62 _Belli fugaces._ Ovid, _Amorum_, I, 9, has ‘Militat omnis amans
  et habet sua castra Cupido’, and the idea is common. I have made no
  attempt to correct the tags of Latinity in this play. Mrs. Behn
  openly confessed she knew no Latin, and she was ill supplied here.
  I do not conceive that the words are intentionally faulty and
  grotesque. Lady Knowell is a pedant, but not ignorant.

  p. 65 _Madame Brenvilliers._ Marie-Marguerite d’.ubray, Marquise de
  Brinvilliers, was executed at Paris 16 July, 1676.

  p. 66 _Bilbo-Blades!_ Or oftener ‘bilbo-lords’, = swash-bucklers,
  cf. _The Pilgrim_ (folio, 1647), V, vi, where Juletta calls the old
  angry Alphonso ‘My Bilbo Master’.

  p. 70 _whip slap-dash._ These nonsensical bywords, which were very
  popular, are continually in the mouth of Sir Samuel Harty, a silly
  coxcomb in Shadwell’s _The Virtuoso_ (1676). Nokes, who was acting
  Sir Credulous, had created Sir Samuel Harty.

  p. 71 _The Bell in Friday-street._ The Bell was an inn of note in
  Friday Street, Cheapside. cf. _Cal. State Papers_ (1603-10, p. 455):
  ‘Sir Thomas Estcourt ... to Thomas Wilson. Is about to leave London
  and proffers his services. If he has occasion to write to him he may
  have weekly messengers ... at the Bell, Friday Street.’

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 79 _th’ Exercise._ The puritanical term for private worship, cf.
  1663 _Flagellum; or, O. Cromwell_ (1672), 21. ‘The Family was called
  together to prayers; at which Exercise ... they continued long.’ cf.
  _The Roundheads_ (Vol. I), Act II, i: ‘his Prayers; from which
  long-winded Exercise I have of late withdrawn my self.’

+ACT IV: Scene iv+

  p. 83 _Mirabilis._ Aqua mirabilis, a well-known invigorating cordial,
  cf. Dryden’s _Marriage à la Mode_ (1672), III, i: ‘The country
  gentlewoman ... who ... opens her dear bottle of Mirabilis beside, for
  a gill glass of it at parting.’

  p. 84 _Tranghams._ Nick-nacks, toys, trinkets, cf. Arbuthnot, _History
  of John Ball_ (1712-3), Pt. II, c. vi: ‘What’s the meaning of all
  these trangrams and gimcracks?’

+ACT V: Scene i+

  p. 92 _to souse._ cf. _Florio_ (ed. 1611): ‘to leape or seaze greedily
  upon, to souze downe as a hauke.’

  p. 93 _this Balatroon._ A rogue. The word is very rare. cf. Cockeram
  (1623): ‘_Ballatron_, a rascally base knave.’

  p. 95 _Rotat omne fatum._ This would be an exceptionally rare use of
  rotare = rotari, intransitive. But Mrs. Behn, as Dryden tells us in
  his preface to the translation of Ovid’s _Heroides_ (1680) ‘by many
  hands’, insisted upon the fact that she knew no Latin.

  p. 100 _Medicinæ Professores._ This is from the _Troisième Intermède_
  of _Le Malade Imaginaire_ which commences:--

    Savantissimi doctores,
    Medicinæ professores,
    Qui hic assemblati estis;
    Et vos, altri messiores,
    Sententiarum facultatis.

  p. 101 _Vanderbergen._ A well-known empiric of the day.

  p. 102 _Haly the Moore, and Rabbi Isaac._ Ali Bey (Bobrowski),
  a Polish scholar, died at Constantinople 1675. He wrote, amongst
  other treatises, _De Circumcisione_; _De Aegrotorum Visitatione_.
  These were published at Oxford in 1691. Isaac Levita or Jean Isaac
  Levi was a celebrated rabbi of the sixteenth century. A professor at
  Cologne, he practised medicine and astrology.

  p. 104 _Stetin._ Stettin, the capital of Pomerania, was one of the
  chief towns of the Hanseatic league. Occupied by Sweden 1637-1713,
  it was the centre of continual military operations.

  p. 105 _A Dutch Butter-ferkin, a Kilderkin._ These terms are common
  abuse as applied to a corpulent person. A firkin (Mid. Dut.,
  vierdekijn) = a small cask for holding liquids or butter; originally
  half-a-kilderkin. _Dictionary of the Canting Crew_ (1700) has ‘Firkin
  of foul Stuff; a ... Coarse, Corpulent Woman’. cf. Dryden’s _Mac
  Flecknoe_ (1682):--

    A Tun of Man in thy large Bulk is writ,
    But sure thou’rt but a Kilderkin of wit.

  Shadwell was extremely gross in habit and of an unwieldy size.

  p. 105 _Toping and Napping._ ‘To top’ and ‘to nap’ are slang terms
  signifying to cheat, especially with dice. cf. R. Head, _Canting
  Academy_ (1673), ‘What chance of the dye is soonest thrown in topping,
  shoring, palming, napping.’ Both words occur very frequently, and are
  amply explained in the Slang Dictionaries.

  p. 105 _Cater-Tray._ Quatre-trois; a cast at dice.

  p. 112 _Good morrow._ Wittmore quotes the opening lines of _Volpone_,
  Act I, i:

    Good morning to the day; and next my gold!
    Open the shrine that I may see my saint.
    Hail the world’s soul and mine!

  p. 115 _John-a-Nokes._ The fictitious name for the one party in a
  legal action. The term came to have the same meaning as
  ‘Jack-hold-my-staff’ = any fool or nincompoop.

+Epilogue+

  p. 116 _Vizard Mask._ The commonest Restoration synonym for a ‘bona
  roba’, especially as plying the theatre.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Cross-References from Critical Notes: _Sir Patient Fancy_

p. 22 _the Bergere._ cf. _The Feign’d Curtezans_ (Vol. II, p. 346):
’.he hour of the Berjere’. and the note on that passage (p. 441).

  _Feign’d Curtezans_ note:

  _The hour of the Berjere._ L’heure du berger ou l’amant trouve
  celle qu’il aime favorable à ses voeux. cf. La Fontaine, _Contes. La
  Coupe Enchantée_. ‘Il y fait bon, l’heure du berger sonne.’ It is a
  favourite expression of Mrs. Behn. cf. _Sir Patient Fancy_, Act I, i.
  ‘From Ten to Twelve are the happy hours of the Bergere, those of
  intire enjoyment.’ Also the charming conclusion of _The Lover’s
  Watch_:--

    Damon, my watch is just and new:
    And all a Lover ought to do,
    My Cupid faithfully will show.
    And ev’ry hour he renders there
    Except _l’heure du Bergère_.

p. 32 _Ay and No Man._ cf. Prologue to _The False Count_ (Vol. III,
p. 100): ‘By Yea and Nay’. and note on that passage (p. 480).

  _False Count_ note:

  _By Yea and Nay._ ‘Yea and Nay’ was often derisively applied to
  the Puritans, and hence to their lineal descendants the Whigs, in
  allusion to the Scriptural injunction, _S. Matthew_ v, 33-7, which
  they feigned exactly to follow. Timothy Thin-beard, a rascally
  Puritan, in Heywood’s _If you Know Not Me, You Know Nobody_, Part II
  (4to, 1606), is continually asseverating ‘By yea and nay’, cf.
  Fletcher’s _Monsieur Thomas_, Act II, iii, where Thomas says:--

    Do not ye see me alter’d? ‘Yea and Nay,’ gentlemen;
    A much-converted man.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: Sir Patient Fancy

In the Notes, alternation between .’ and ‘. at paragraph-end is as
printed. The abbreviation “cf.” is always lower-case.

Editor’s Introduction

  but yet everything she touched  [eveything]

Sir Patient Fancy

  And a Tyrannick Commonwealth prefer  [Tryannick]
  Ton d’ apamibominous prosiphe podas ochus Achilleus
    [_in standard transliteration:_
      Ton d’ apameibomenos prosephê podas ôkus Achilleus
    _Each element (“Ton ... prosephê” and “podas ôkus Achilleus”)
    is used several dozen times in the _Iliad_; the complete line
    occurs at least ten times._]
  a _Lancashire_ Bag-pipe  [_anomalous hyphen in original_]
  _Wit._ Nor to Chuch?  [_spelling unchanged_]
  & _Reparteeé bien_  [_spelling unchanged_]
  and d’on on slip shoe:
    [_text unchanged: compare Note on III.ix_]
  _Wit._ At Sir _Patient Fancy’s_, my Father-in-law.  [? for .]
  for the use and comfort of Man  [. missing]
  Sir _Pat._ How does my good, my dearest Lady _Fancy_?
    [_speaker name not italicized_]
  [Puts Sir _Pat._ back. / [Exit _Wit._
    [_bracket before “Exit” added for consistency in e-text_]
  Enter Lady _Fancy_ and _Wittmore_.
    [_“and” non-Italic (emphatic)_]
  _Wit._ Go, haste and ... [Exeunt _Lod._ and Sir _Cred._
    [Exeuut]

Notes on Text

  p. 10 _Dramatis Personæ._ ... in the introduction  [in the the]
  p. 13, l. 14  [p. 13 l. 14]
  p. 98, l. 16  [p. 98, l. 16.]

Critical Notes

  p. 65 _Madame Brenvilliers._  [_body text has “Madam”_]


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE AMOROUS PRINCE.


[Transcriber’s Note:

Entrances and bracketed stage directions were printed in _italics_,
with proper names in roman type. The overall _italic_ markup has been
omitted for readability.]




ARGUMENT.


Frederick, ‘the Amorous Prince,’ a mercurial young gallant, son to the
Duke of Florence, under a solemn promise of marriage debauches Cloris,
sister to his friend and confidant, Curtius. The girl has always led a
secluded country life, and this relationship is unknown to the Prince,
who upon hearing the praises of Laura, beloved by Curtius, straightway
resolves to win this lady also. Laura’s brother Lorenzo, a wanton madcap
favourite of Frederick’s, gladly effects the required introduction, and
when Curtius interrupts and forbids, Salvator, father to Laura and
Lorenzo, promptly turns the quondam lover out of the house. Lorenzo
himself is idly pursuing Clarina, wife to a certain Antonio, an abortive
intrigue carried on to his own impoverishment, but the enrichment of
Isabella, Clarina’s woman, a wench who fleeces him unmercifully. Antonio
being of a quaint and jealous humour would have his friend Alberto make
fervent love to Clarina, in order that by her refusals and chill denials
her spotless conjugal fidelity may be proved. However, Ismena, Clarina’s
sister, appears in a change of clothes as the wife, and manifold
complications ensue, but eventually all is cleared and Ismena accepts
Alberto, whom she has long loved; not before Isabella, having by a trick
compelled Lorenzo to declare himself her husband, enforces the bargain.
Cloris, meanwhile, disguised as a boy under the name of Philibert,
attaches herself to Frederick, first succouring him when he is wounded
in a duel by Curtius. Curtius to avenge his wrongs disguises himself,
and as a pandar entices Frederick into a snare by promises of supplying
the amorous Prince with lovely cyprians. Bravos, however, are in
waiting, but these prove to be in the service of Antonio, who appears
with Alberto and their friends, completely frustrating the plot, whilst
Clarina, Ismena, and other ladies have acted the courtezans to deceive
Curtius, and at the same time read the Prince a salutary lesson. He
profits so much by this experience that he takes Cloris, whose sex is
discovered, to be his bride, whilst Laura bestows her hand on the
repentant and forgiven Curtius.




SOURCE.


Mrs. Behn has taken her episode of Antonio’s persuading Alberto to woo
Clarina from Robert Davenport’s fine play, _The City Night-Cap_ (4to
1661, but licensed 24 October, 1624) where Lorenzo induces Philippo to
test Abstemia in the same way. Astrea, however, has considerably altered
the conduct of the intrigue. Bullen (_The Works of Robert Davenport_,
1890) conclusively and exhaustively demonstrates that Davenport made use
of Greene’s popular _Philomela; the Lady Fitzwater’s Nightingale_ (1592,
1615, and 1631), wherein Count Philippo employs Giovanni Lutesio to
’.ake experience of his wife’s [Philomela’s] honesty’, rather than was
under any obligation to Cervantes’ _Curioso Impertinente, Don Quixote_,
Book IV, ch. vi-viii. Read, Dunlop, and Hazlitt all had express’d the
same opinion. The Spanish tale turns upon the fact of Anselmo, the
Curious Impertinent, enforcing his friend Lothario to tempt his wife
Camilla. Such a theme, however, is common, and with variations is to be
found in Italian novelle. Recent authorities are inclined to suggest
that the plot of Beaumont and Fletcher’s _The Coxcomb_ (1610), much of
which runs on similar lines, is not founded on Cervantes. Southerne, in
his comedy, _The Disappointment; or, The Mother in Fashion_ (1684) and
’.tarch Johnny Crowne’ in _The Married Beau_ (1694), both comedies of no
little wit and merit, are patently indebted to _The Curious
Impertinent_. Cervantes had also been used three quarters of a century
before by Nat Field in his _Amends for Ladies_ (4to, 1618), where Sir
John Loveall tries his wife in an exactly similar manner to Lorenzo,
Count Philippo and Anselmo.

The amours of the Florentine court are Mrs. Behn’s own invention; but
the device by which Curtius ensnares Frederick is not unlike Vendice and
Hippolito’s trapping of the lecherous old Duke in _The Revenger’s
Tragedy_ (4to, 1607), albeit the saturnine Tourneur gives the whole
scene a far more terrible and tragic catastrophe.

In January, 1537, Lorenzino de Medici having enticed Duke Alessandro of
Florence to his house under pretext of an assignation with a certain
Caterina Ginori, after a terrible struggle assassinated him with the aid
of a notorious bravo. Several plays have been founded upon this history.
Notable amongst them are Shirley’s admirable tragedy, _The Traitor_
(licensed May, 1631, 4to 1635) and in later days de Musset’s
_Lorenzaccio_ (1834).

The Mask in Act V of _The Amorous Prince_ is in its purport most
palpably akin to the Elizabethans.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


_The Amorous Prince_ was produced by the Duke’s Company in the spring of
1671 at their Lincoln’s Inn Fields theatre, whence they migrated in
November of the same year to the magnificent new house in Dorset Garden.
No performers’ names are given to the comedy, which met with a very good
reception. It seems to have kept the boards awhile, but there is no
record of any particular revival.




THE AMOROUS PRINCE.




PROLOGUE.


  Well! you expect a _Prologue_ to the Play,
  And you expect it too Petition-way;
  With _Chapeau bas_ beseeching you t’ excuse
  A damn’d Intrigue of an unpractis’d Muse;
  Tell you it’s Fortune waits upon your Smiles,
  And when you frown, Lord, how you kill the whiles!
  Or else to rally up the Sins of th’ Age,
  And bring each Fop in Town upon the Stage;
  And in one Prologue run more Vices o’er,
  Than either Court or City knew before:
  Ah! that’s a Wonder which will please you too,
  But my Commission’s not to please you now.
  First then for you grave _Dons_, who love no Play
  But what is regular, Great _Johnson’s_ way;
  Who hate the _Monsieur_ with the Farce and Droll,
  But are for things well said with Spirit and Soul;
  ‘Tis you I mean, whose Judgments will admit
  No Interludes of fooling with your Wit;
  You’re here defeated, and anon will cry,
  ‘Sdeath! wou’d ‘twere Treason to write Comedy.
  So! there’s a Party lost; now for the rest,
  Who swear they’d rather hear a smutty Jest
  Spoken by _Nokes_ or _Angel_, than a Scene
  Of the admir’d and well penn’d _Cataline_;
  Who love the comick Hat, the Jig and Dance,
  Things that are fitted to their Ignorance:
  You too are quite undone, for here’s no Farce
  Damn me! you’ll cry, this Play will be mine A----
  Not serious, nor yet comick, what is’t then?
  Th’ imperfect issue of a lukewarm Brain:
  ‘Twas born before its time, and such a Whelp;
  As all the after-lickings could not help.
  Bait it then as ye please, we’ll not defend it,
  But he that dis-approves it, let him mend it._




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ


MEN.

  _Frederick_, Son to the Duke.
  _Curtius_, his Friend.
  _Lorenzo_, a rich extravagant Lord,
    a kind of Favourite to _Frederick_.
  _Salvator_, Father to _Lorenzo_ and _Laura_.
  _Antonio_, a Nobleman of _Florence_.
  _Alberto_, his dear Friend, a Nobleman also.
  _Pietro_, Man to _Curtius_.
  _Galliard_, Servant to the Prince.
  _Guilliam_, Man to _Cloris_, a Country-fellow.
  Valet to _Antonio_.


WOMEN.

  _Clarina_, Wife to _Antonio_.
  _Ismena_, Sister to _Antonio_, in love with _Alberto_.
  _Laura_, Sister to _Lorenzo_, in love with _Curtius_.
  _Cloris_, Sister to _Curtius_, disguis’d like a Country Maid,
    in love with _Frederick_.
  _Isabella_, Woman to _Clarina_.
  _Lucia_, Maid to _Cloris_.
  Pages and Musick.


  SCENE, The Court of _Florence_.




ACT I.


SCENE I. The Chamber of _Cloris_.

    Enter _Cloris_ drest in her Night Attire, with _Frederick_
    dressing himself.

  _Clo._ And will you leave me now to Fears,
  Which Love it self can hardly satisfy?
  But those, and that together sure will kill me,
  If you stay long away.

  _Fred._ My Dear, ‘tis almost day, and we must part;
  Should those rude Eyes ‘mongst whom thou dwell’st perceive us,
  ‘Twould prove unhappy both to thee and me.

  _Clo._ And will you, Sir, be constant to your Vows?

  _Fred._ Ah Cloris! do not question what I’ve sworn;
  If thou would’st have it once again repeated,
  I’ll do’t. By all that’s good, I’ll marry thee;
  By that most Holy Altar, before which we kneel’d,
  When first I saw the brightest Saint that e’er ador’d it;
  I’ll marry none but thee, my dearest _Cloris_.

  _Clo._ Sir, you have said enough to gain a credit
  With any Maid, though she had been deceiv’d
  By some such Flatteries as these before.
  I never knew the pains of Fear till now;    [Sighs.
  And you must needs forgive the Faults you make,
  For had I still remain’d in Innocence,
  I should have still believ’d you.

  _Fred._ Why, dost thou not, my Love?

  _Clo._ Some doubts I have, but when I look on you,
  Though I must blush to do so, they all vanish;
  But I provide against your absence, Sir.

  _Fred._ Make no provision, _Cloris_, but of Hope,
  Prepare thy self against a Wedding day,
  When thou shalt be a little Deity on Earth.

  _Clo._ I know not what it is to dwell in Courts,
  But sure it must be fine, since you are there;
  Yet I could wish you were an humble Shepherd,
  And knew no other Palace than this Cottage;
  Where I would weave you Crowns, of Pinks and Daisies,
  And you should be a Monarch every _May_.

  _Fred._ And, _Cloris_, I could be content to sit
  With thee, upon some shady River’s Bank,
  To hear thee sing, and tell a Tale of Love.
  For these, alas! I could do any thing;
  A Sheep-hook I could prize above a Sword;
  An Army I would quit to lead a Flock,
  And more esteem that Chaplet wreath’d by thee,
  Than the victorious Bays:
  All this I could, but, Dear, I have a Father,
  Whom for thy sake, to make thee great and glorious,
  I would not lose my Int’rest with.
  But, _Cloris_, see, the unkind day approaches,
  And we must kiss and part.

  _Clo._ Unkind it is indeed, may it prove so
  To all that wish its presence,
  And pass as soon away,
  That welcome Night may re-assume its place,
  And bring you quickly back.

  _Fred._ With great impatience I’ll expect that Hour,
  That shall conduct me in its Shades to thee;
  Farewel.

  _Clo._ Farewel, Sir, if you must be gone.    [Sighs.

  _Fred._ One Kiss, and then indeed I will be gone.    [Kisses her.
    A new blown Rose kist by the Morning Dew,
  Has not more natural Sweetness.
  Ah _Cloris_! can you doubt that Heart,
  To whom such Blessings you impart?
  Unjustly you suspect that Prize,
  Won by such Touches and such Eyes.
  My Fairest, turn that Face away,
  Unless I could for ever stay;
  Turn but a little while I go.

  _Clo._ Sir, I must see the last of you.

  _Fred._ I dare not disobey; adieu till Evening.    [Exit.

    Enter _Lucia_.

  _Clo._ How now, _Lucia_; is my Father up?

  _Luc._ No, not a Mouse stirs yet; I have kept a true
  Watch all this Night, for I was cruelly afraid
  Lest we should have been surpriz’d--
  Is the Prince gone? but why do I ask,
  That may read it in your sad Looks?

  _Clo._ Yes, he is gone, and with him too has taken--    [Sighs.

_Luc._ What has he taken? I’ll swear you frighten me.

_Clo._ My heart, _Lucia_.

_Luc._ Your Heart, I am glad ‘tis no worse.

_Clo._ Why, what dost think he should have taken?

  _Luc._ A thing more hard to have been
  Recovered again.

  _Clo._ What thing, prithee?

  _Luc._ Your Maiden-head.

  _Clo._ What’s that?

  _Luc._ A thing young Gallants long extremely for,
  And when they have it too, they say
  They care not a Daisy for the Giver.

  _Clo._ How comest thou so wise, _Lucia_?

  _Luc._ Oh, the fine Gentleman that comes a-nights
  With the Prince, told me so much, and bid me
  Be sure never to part with it for fine Words;
  For Men would lye as often as they swore;
  And so bid me tell you too.

  _Clo._ Oh _Lucia_!

  _Luc._ Why do you sigh?

  _Clo._ To think if Princes were like common Men,
  How I should be undone,
  Since I have given him all I had to give;
  And who that looks on him can blame my Faith?

  _Luc._ Indeed he surpasses _Damon_ far;
  But I’ad forgot my self, you are the Prince’s Wife;
  He said you should be kneel’d to, and ador’d,
  And never look’d on but on Holy-days:
  That many Maids should wait upon your call,
  And strow fine Flowers for you to tread upon.
  Musick and Love should daily fill your Ears,
  And all your other Senses should be ravish’d
  With wonders of each kind great as your Beauty.

  _Clo._ _Lucia_, methinks you have learnt to speak fine things.

  _Luc._ I have a thousand more I’ve heard him say;
  Oh, I could listen a whole Night to hear him talk:
  But hark, I hear a Noise, the House is up,
  And must not find us here.

  _Clo._ Lock up this Box of Jewels for me.

  _Luc._ Oh rare! what, did these come to night?

  _Clo._ Yes, yes, away.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. A Grove.

    Enter _Curtius_ and _Pietro_.

  _Cur._ I wonder the Prince stays so long;
  I do not like these Night-works;
  Were I not confident of _Cloris’s_ Virtue,
  --Which shall no more be tempted.
  I hear some coming, and hope ‘tis he--
  _Pietro_, are the Horses ready?    [Exit _Pietro_.

    Enter _Frederick_.

_Cur._ Sir, you are welcome from _Cloris’s_ Arms.

  _Fred._ With much ado, I am got loose from those fair
  Fetters, but not from those of her Beauty;
  By these she still inflames me,
  In spite of all my humours of Inconstancy;
  So soft and young, so fair and innocent,
  So full of Air, and yet of Languishment;
  So much of Nature in her Heart and Eyes,
  So timorous and so kind without disguise:
  Such untaught Sweets in every part do move,
  As ‘gainst my Reason does compel my Love;
  Such artless smiles, look so unorder’d too,
  Gains more than all the charms of Courts can do;
  From Head to Foot, a spotless Statue seems,
  As Art, not Nature, had compos’d her Limbs;
  So white, and so unblemish’d, oh _Curtius_!
  I’m ravisht beyond Sense when I but think on’t;
  How much more must my Surprize be,
  When I behold these Wonders.

  _Cur._ And have you seen her, Sir, in all this Beauty?
  Oh Hell!    [Aside.

  _Fred._ _Curtius_, I will not hide my Soul from thee;
  I have seen all the marvels of that Maid.

  _Cur._ My Soul, learn now the Art of being disguis’d;    [Aside.
  --’Tis much, my Lord, that one
  Bred in such simple Innocence,
  Should learn so soon so much of Confidence:
  Pray, Sir, what Arts and Cunning do you use?

  _Fred._ Faith, time and importunity refuse no body.

  _Cur._ Is that the way? had you no other Aids?
  Made you no promise to her, Sir, of Marriage?

  _Fred._ Oh, yes, in abundance, that’s your only bait,
  And though they cannot hope we will perform it,
  Yet it secures their Honour and my Pleasure.

  _Cur._ Then, Sir, you have enjoy’d her?

  _Fred._ Oh, yes, and gather’d Sweets
  Would make an Anchoret neglect his Vow,
  And think he had mistook his way to future bliss,
  Which only can be found in such Embraces;
  ‘Twas hard to gain, but, _Curtius_, when once Victor,
  Oh, how the joys of Conquest did enslave me!

  _Cur._ But, Sir, methinks ‘tis much that she should yield,
  With only a bare promise that you’d marry her.

  _Fred._ Yes, there was something more--but--

  _Cur._ But, what, Sir, you are not married.

  _Fred._ Faith, yes, I’ve made a Vow,
  And that you know would go as far with any other Man.

  _Cur._ But she it seems forgot you were the Prince?

  _Fred._ No, she urg’d that too,
  And left no Arguments unus’d
  Might make me sensible of what I did;
  But I was fixt, and overcame them all,
  Repeating still my Vows and Passions for her,
  Till in the presence of her Maid and Heaven
  We solemnly contracted.

  _Cur._ But, Sir, by your permission, was it well?

  _Fred._ What wouldst thou have him do
  That’s all on fire, and dies for an Enjoyment?

  _Cur._ But having gain’d it, do you love her still?

  _Fred._ Yes, yes, extremely,
  And would be constant to the Vows I’ve made,
  Were I a Man, as thou art of thy self;
  But with the aid of Counsels I must chuse,
  And what my Soul adores I must refuse.

  _Cur._ This Passion, Sir, Possession will destroy,
  And you’l love less, the more you do enjoy.

  _Fred._ That’s all my hope of cure; I’ll ply that game,
  And slacken by degrees th’ unworthy flame.

  _Cur._ Methinks, my Lord, it had more generous been
  To’ve check’d that flame when first it did begin,
  E’er you the slighted Victory had won,
  And a poor harmless Virgin quite undone:
  And what is worse, you’ve made her love you too.

  _Fred._ Faith, that’s the greater mischief of the two;
  I know to such nice virtuous Souls as thine,
  My juster Inclination is a Crime:
  But I love Pleasures which thou canst not prize,
  Beyond dull gazing on thy Mistress Eyes,
  The lovely Object which enslaves my Heart,
  Must yet more certain Cures than Smiles impart:
  --And you on _Laura_ have the same design.

  _Cur._ Yes, Sir, when justify’d by Laws Divine.

  _Fred._ Divine! a pleasant Warrant for your Sin,
  Which being not made, we ne’er had guilty been.
  But now we speak of _Laura_,
  Prithee, when is’t that I shall see that Beauty?

  _Cur._ Never, I hope. [Aside.] I know not, Sir,
  Her Father still is cruel, and denies me,
  What she and I have long made suit in vain for:
  But, Sir, your Interest might prevail with him,
  When he shall know I’m one whom you esteem;
  He will allow my flame, and my address,
  He whom you favour cannot doubt Success.

  _Fred._ This day I will begin to serve thee in it.

  _Cur._ Sir, ‘twill be difficult to get access to her,
  Her Father is an humorous old Man,
  And has his fits of Pride and Kindness too.

  _Fred._ Well, after Dinner I will try my Power,
  And will not quit his Lodgings till I’ve won him.

  _Cur._ I humbly thank you, Sir.

  _Fred._ Come let us haste, the Day comes on apace.    [Ex. _Fred._

  _Cur._ I’ll wait upon you, Sir.
  Oh _Cloris_, thou’rt undone, false amorous Girl;
  Was it for this I bred thee in obscurity,
  Without permitting thee to know what Courts meant,
  Lest their too powerful Temptation
  Might have betray’d thy Soul?
  Not suffering thee to know thy Name or Parents,
  Thinking an humble Life might have secur’d thy Virtue:
  And yet I should not hate thee for this Sin,
  Since thou art bred in so much Innocence,
  Thou couldst not dream of Falsity in Men:
  Oh, that it were permitted me to kill this Prince,
  This false perfidious Prince;
  And yet he knows not that he has abus’d me.
  When did I know a Man of so much Virtue,
  That would refuse so sweet and soft a Maid?
  --No, he is just and good, only too much misled
  By Youth and Flattery;
  And one to whom my Soul is ty’d by Friendship;
  --Yet what’s a Friend, a name above a Sister?
  Is not her Honour mine?
  And shall not I revenge the loss of it?
  It is but common Justice.
  But first I’ll try all gentle means I may,
  And let him know that _Cloris_ is my Sister;
  And if he then persevere in his Crime,
  I’ll lay my Interest and my Duty by,
  And punish him, or with my Honour die.    [Exit.


SCENE III. The Apartment of _Antonio_.

    Enter _Lorenzo_ pulling in of _Isabella_.

  _Lor._ Nay, nay, _Isabella_, there’s no avoiding me now,
  You and I must come to a parley.
  Pray what’s the reason
  You took no notice of me,
  When I came with so civil an address too?

  _Isab._ Can you ever think to thrive in an Amour,
  When you take notice of your Mistress,
  Or any that belongs to her, in publick,
  And when she’s a married Woman too?

  _Lor._ Good _Isabella_, the loser may have leave to speak,
  I am sure it has been a plaguy dear Amour to me.

  _Isab._ Let me hear you name that again,
  And you shall miss of my Assistance.

  _Lor._ Nay, do but hear me a little;
  I vow ‘tis the strangest thing in the World,
  A Man must part from so much Money as I have done,
  And be confin’d to Signs and Grimaces only,
  To declare his Mind in:
  If a Man has a Tongue, let him exercise it, I say,
  As long as he pays for speaking.

  _Isab._ Again with your paying for’t? I see you are not
  To be reclaim’d; farewel--

  _Lor._ Stay, good _Isabella_, stay,
  And thou shalt hear not one word of that more,
  Though I am soundly urg’d to’t.

  _Isab._ Yes, yes, pray count them, do;
  I know you long to be at it,
  And I am sure you will find you are in Arrears to us.

  _Lor._ Say you so, I am not of that opinion: but well,
  --Let me see--here ‘tis, here ‘tis--
  My Bill of Charge for courting _Clarina_.
    [Draws out his Table Book, and reads.

  _Isab._ And here’s mine for the returns that have been
  Made you; begin, begin.    [Pulls out her Book.

  _Lor._ _Item_, two hundred Crowns to _Isabella_ for undertaking.

  _Isab_. _Item_, I have promis’d _Lorenzo_ to serve him
  In his Amour with all Fidelity.

  _Lor._ Well, I own that Debt paid, if you keep
  Your word--out with it then--    [He crosses that out.
  _Item_, two thousand Crowns in a Bracelet for _Clarina_;
  What say you to that now, _Isabella_?

  _Isab._ _Item_, the day after they were presented,
  She saluted you with a smile at the Chappel.

  _Lor._ And dost thou think it was not dearly bought?

  _Isab._ No Man in _Florence_ should have had it
  A Souce cheaper.

  _Lor._ Say you so, _Isabella_? out with it then.    [Crosses it out.
  _Item_, one hundred more to thee for presenting them.

  _Isab._ Which I did with six lyes in your Commendation,
  Worth ten Pistoles a piece for the exactness of a Lye;
  Write there indebted to me--

  _Lor._ Nay then thou dost deserve it:
  Rest due to _Isabella_.    [Writes.
  _Item_, Innumerable Serenades, Night-walks, Affronts
  And Fears; and lastly, to the Poets for Songs, and the like.

  _Isab._ All which was recompensed in the excessive
  Laughing on you that Day you praunc’d under our
  Window on Horse-back, when you made such a
  Deal of Capriol and Curvet.

  _Lor._ Yes, where I ventur’d my Neck to shew my
  Activity, and therefore may be well accompted
  Amongst my Losses.

  _Isab._ Then she receiv’d your Presents,
  Suffer’d your Serenades, without sending her Foot-men
  To break your Pate with the Fiddles.

  _Lor._ Indeed that was one of the best Signs;
  For I have been a great Sufferer in that kind
  Upon the like occasions: but dost thou think
  In Conscience that this should satisfy?

  _Isab._ Yes, any reasonable Man in the World, for the
  First Month at least; and yet you are still up
  With your Expences, as if a Lady of her Quality
  Were to be gain’d without them.
  --Let me hear of your Expences more, and I’ll--

  _Lor._ Oh sweet _Isabella_! upon my Knees
  I beg thou wilt take no fatal Resolution;
  For I protest, as I am a Man of Honour,
  And adore thy Sex, thou shalt only see,
  Not hear of my Expences more;
  And for a small testimony of it, here take this;
  There’s twenty Pistoles upon Reputation.    [Gives her Money.

  _Isab._ Fy, fy, ‘tis not brave, nor generous to name
  The Sum, you should have slid it into my Coat,
  Without saying what you had done.

  _Lor._ What signifies that, mun, as long as ‘tis current,
  And you have it sure?

  _Isab._ Well, leave the management of your Affairs to me--
  What shall we do? here’s _Alberto_.

    Enter _Alberto_.

_Lor._ Well, who can help it? I cannot walk invisible.

_Alb._ _Lorenzo_, what, making Love to _Isabella_?

_Lor._ She’l serve, my Lord, for want of a better.

_Isab._ That’s but a coarse Complement.

_Lor._ ‘Twill serve to disguise a Truth however.    [Aside to her.
    [Ex. _Isab._
  Faith, I’ll tell you, Sir, ‘twas such another Damsel
  As this, that sav’d me five hundred Pound once upon a time;
  And I have lov’d the whole Tribe of Waiting-women
  The better ever since.

_Alb._ You have reason; how was it?

  _Lor._ Why, look you, Sir,
  I had made Love a long time to a Lady;
  But she shall be nameless,
  Since she was of a quality not to be gain’d under
  The aforesaid Sum: well, I brought it,
  Came pouder’d and perfum’d, and high in expectation.

_Alb._ Well, Sir.

  _Lor._ And she had a very pretty Wench, who was to
  Conduct me, and in the dark too;
  And, on my Conscience, I e’en fell aboard of her,
  And was as well accommodated for my five,
  As five Hundred Pounds, and so return’d.

  _Alb._ A great defeat to the Lady the while, a my word.

  _Lor._ Ay, she smelt the Plot, and made a Vow to follow
  The _Italian_ mode for the future;
  And be serv’d in Affairs of that kind by none
  But an old Woman.

  _Alb._ ‘Twas wittily resolv’d.

  _Lor._ Are you for the Presence this Morning?

  _Alb._ No, I have business here with _Antonio_.

  _Lor._ Your Servant, my Lord.    [Exit.

  _Alb._ I do not like this Fellow’s being here,
  The most notorious Pimp and Rascal in _Italy_;
  ‘Tis a vile shame that such as he should live,
  Who have the form and sense of Man about them,
  And in their Action Beast;
  And that he thrives by too.

    Enter _Isabella_.

  --_Isabella_, is _Antonio_ stirring?

  _Isab._ He is, please your Lordship to walk in.

  _Alb._ You may tell him I wait here:
  For I would avoid all opportunity of seeing _Clarina_.    [Aside.

_Isab._ My Lord, you need not stand upon Ceremonies.    [Exit _Alberto_.

    Enter _Clarina_ and _Ismena_, dress’d like one another in every
    thing, laughing and beholding one another.

  --Dress’d already! now on my conscience
  I know not which is which:
  Pray God _Antonio_ be not mistaken at night,
  For I’ll be sworn I am by day-light.

  _Ism._ Dost think I may pass thus for _Clarina_?

  _Isab._ Madam, you are the same to a hair;
  Wou’d I might never stir
  If I can do any thing but wonder.

  _Clar._ But hark, _Isabella_, if thou shou’dst have
  Heard amiss, and that thy information should not be good,
  Thou hast defeated us of a design,
  Wherein we promise our selves no little pleasure.

  _Ism._ Yes, I vow, all the Jest is lost if it be so.

  _Isab._ I doubt ‘twill be a true Jest on your side.    [Aside.
  --I warrant you, Madam, my Intelligence is good;
  And to assure you of what I have said,
  I dare undertake you shall hear the same over again:
  For just now _Alberto_ is come to visit my Lord,
  Who I am sure will entertain him with no other stories,
  But those of his Jealousy,
  And to persuade him to court you.

  _Clar._ ‘Tis strange, since he set him that Task so long ago,
  He would not begin before.

  _Ism._ Nay, pray God he begin now;
  Sister, he has hitherto took me for thee,
  And sometimes his Eyes give me hope of a secret
  Fire within, but ‘twill not out;
  And I am so impatient till he declares himself,
  That if he do not do it soon,
  I shall e’en tell him who I am;
  For perhaps the Wife takes off the appetite,
  Which would sharpen upon knowledge of the Virgin.

  _Clar._ What then, you’ll have all the sport to your self?
  --But, _Ismena_, remember my little Revenge on _Antonio_
  Must accompany your Love to _Alberto_.    [Aside.

  _Isab._ But why this resemblance?
  For, Madam, since he never saw you,
  And takes _Ismena_ to be you;
  Might you not still pass so, without this likeness?

  _Clar._ Didst thou not say _Antonio_ left the Court
  And City, on purpose to give _Alberto_ the more freedom
  To Court me?--Whilst he was away, I needed but retire,
  And _Ismena_ appear, and ‘twould suffice;
  But now he is return’d,
  He may chance to see them together, _en passant_, or so,
  And this dress will abuse him as well as _Alberto_;
  For without that, this Plot of ours signifies little.

  _Ism._ Ay, truly, for my part, I have no other design
  Than doing my Sister a service.

  _Isab._ The Plot is very likely to thrive I see,
  Since you are so good at dissembling.

  _Ism._ Fie, _Isabella_, what an ill opinion you have of me?
  --But, Sister, ‘tis much _Alberto_ being so intimate
  With _Antonio_, should never see you all this whole
  Six Months of your being married.

  _Clar._ Had you been bred any where
  But in a Monastery, you would have known
  ‘Tis not the custom here for Men to expose their
  Wives to the view of any.

  _Isab._ I hear them coming, let’s away,
  And pray listen to the Truths I have already told you.
    [They retire.


SCENE IV. The Same.

    Enter _Antonio_ and _Alberto_. _Clarina_ and _Ismena_ listen.

  _Alb._ Once more, _Antonio_, welcome back to Court.

  _Ant._ Oh my dear Friend, I long’d for thy Embraces;
  --How goes the Game I left with thee to play?
  What says my Wife, my beautiful _Clarina_?

  _Alb._ _Clarina!_--

  _Ant._ Yes, _Clarina_, have you not seen her yet?
  I left the Court on purpose, for ‘twas not handsome
  For me to introduce you,
  Lest she had look’d upon’t as some design.

  _Alb._ Seen her--yes--

  _Ant._ And I conjur’d her too, to give you freedoms
  Even equal to _Antonio_;
  As far as I durst press with modesty,
  And with pretence of Friendship;
  And have you not attempted her?

  _Alb._ Yes--but ‘tis in vain.

  _Ant._ Oh villanous Dissembler!    [Aside.

  _Alb._ She’s cruel, strangely cruel,
  And I’m resolv’d to give the Courtship o’er.

  _Ant._ Sure, Friend, thou hast not us’d thy wonted power.

  _Alb._ Yes, all that I know I’m master of, I us’d.

  _Ant._ But didst thou urge it home? did she not see
  Thy Words and Actions did not well agree?
  Canst thou dissemble well? didst cry and melt,
  As if the pain you but express’d, you felt?
  Didst kneel, and swear, and urge thy Quality,
  Heightning it too with some Disgrace on me?
  And didst thou too assail her feeble side?
  For the best bait to Woman is her Pride;
  Which some mis-call her Guard:
  Didst thou present her with the set of Jewels?
  For Women naturally are more inclin’d
  To Avarice, than Men: pray tell me, Friend.
  --Vile Woman! did she take them--

  _Alb._ I never ask’d her that.

  _Clar._ Poor _Antonio_, how I pity him.    [Aside.

  _Ant._ No!

  _Alb_. No, I’ve done enough to satisfy thy Jealousy.
  Here, take your set of Jewels back again;    [Gives a Box.
  Upon my Life _Clarina_ is all Chastity.

  _Ant._ I were the happiest Man on Earth, were this but true;
  But what are single Courtships?--give her these,
  Which will assist thy Tongue to win her Heart;
  And that once got, the other soon will follow;
  There’s far more Women won by Gold than Industry:
  Try that, my dear _Alberto_,
  And save thy Eyes the trouble of dissembling.

  _Alb._ Content thee here, and do not tempt thy Fate,
  I have regard unto thy Honour, Friend;
  And should she yield, as Women are no Gods,
  Where were thy future Joys?
  What is’t could make thee happy, or restore
  That true Contentment which thou hadst before?
  Alas! thou tempt’st me too, for I am frail,
  And Love above my Friendship may prevail.

  _Ant._ This will not do;
  No, as thou art my Friend, and lov’st my Honour,
  Pursue _Clarina_ further;
  Rally afresh, and charge her with this Present,
  Disturb her every night with Serenades;
  Make Love-Songs to her, and then sing them too;
  Thou hast a Voice enough alone to conquer.

  _Alb._ Fool, _Antonio_!    [Aside.

  _Ant._ Come, wilt thou undertake it once again?

  _Alb._ I would not.

  _Ant._ I am resolv’d to get this tryal made,
  And if thou dost refuse thy Amity,
  I’ll try a Friend more willing, though less faithful;
  With thee my Wife and Honour too are safe,
  For should she yield, and I by that were lost,
  ‘Twere yet some ease,
  That none but thou wert witness to’t.

  _Alb._ Well, if it must be done, I’ad rather do’t,
  Than you should be expos’d to th’ scorn of others.

  _Ant._ Spoke like my noble Friend;
  Come dine with her to day, for I must leave you,
  And give you all the opportunity
  A real Lover wishes with a Mistress.

  _Ism._ So we have heard enough.

    [Ex. _Clar._ and _Ism._

  _Ant._ Oh, were _Clarina_ chaste, as on my Soul
  I cannot doubt, more than that I believe
  All Womankind may be seduc’d from Virtue;
  I were the Man of all the World most bless’d
  In such a Wife, and such a Friend as thou.

  _Alb._ But what if I prevail, _Antonio_?

  _Ant._ Then I’ll renounce my faith in Womankind,
  And place my satisfaction in thy Amity.
  --But see, she comes, I’ll leave you to your task.

    Enter _Ismena_ and _Isabella_.

  _Ism._ Antonio not yet gone--
  This must secure me.    [Pulls down her Veil.

  _Ant._ _Clarina_, why thus clouded?

  _Isab._ I see he has most happily mistaken.

  _Ism._ I was going, Sir, to visit _Laura_--

  _Ant._ You must not go, I’ve business to the Duke,
  And you must entertain my Friend till my return;
  It is a freedom not usual here amongst Ladies,
  But I will have it so;
  Whom I esteem, I’ll have you do so too.

  _Ism._ Sir, I am all obedience.
    [Exit _Antonio_, she pulls off her Veil; _Alberto_ salutes her
    with seeming lowness.

  _Alb._ Oh, how my Soul’s divided
  Between my Adoration and my Amity!    [Aside.
  Friendship, thou sacred band, hold fast thy Interest;
  For yonder Beauty has a subtle power,
  And can undo that knot, which other Arts
  Could ne’er invent a way for.

    Enter _Antonio_, and listens at the Door.

  _Ant._ I’ll see a little how he behaves himself.    [Aside.

  _Alb._ But she’s _Antonio’s_ Wife; my Friend _Antonio_.    [Aside.
  A Youth that made an Interest in my Soul,
  When I had Language scarce to express my sense of it.

  _Ant._ Death! he speaks not to her.    [Aside.

  _Alb._ So grew we up to Man, and still more fixt;
  And shall a gaudy Beauty,
  A thing which t’other day I never saw,
  Deprive my Heart of that kind Heat,
  And place a new and unknown Fire within?    [Aside.
  _Clarina_, ‘tis unjust.

  _Ism._ Sir, did you speak to me?

  _Alb._ I have betray’d my self--    [Aside.
  Madam, I was saying how unjust it was
  _Antonio_ should leave me alone with a Lady,
  Being certainly the worst to entertain them in the World.

  _Ant._ His Face assures me he speaks of no Love to her now.

  _Ism._ Alas, he speaks not to me.
  Sure _Isabella_ was mistaken, who told me that he lov’d me.
  --_Alberto_, if thou art oblig’d to me,    [Aside.
  For what I have not yet observ’d in thee,
  Oh, do not say my Heart was easily won,
  But blame your Eyes, whose forces none can shun.

  _Ant._ Not a word, what can he mean by this?

  _Ism._ Sir, will you please to sit a while?

  _Isab._ Madam, the inner Chamber is much better,
  For there he may repose upon the Cushions
  Till my Lord’s return; I see he is not well--
  --And you are both sick of one Disease.    [Aside.

  _Alb._ I thank you, here’s more Air,
  --And that I need, for I am all on fire,    [Aside.
  And every Look adds fuel to my flame.
  --I must avoid those Eyes, whose Light misguides me:
  --Madam, I have some business calls me hence,
  And cannot wait my Friend’s return.

  _Ism._ _Antonio_, Sir, will think ‘tis my neglect
  That drove you hence; pray stay a little longer.

  _Alb._ You shall command me, if you can dispense
  With so dull Company.

  _Ism._ I can with any thing _Antonio_ loves.

  _Alb_. Madam, it is a Virtue that becomes you;
  For though your Husband should not merit this,
  Your Goodness is not less to be admir’d;
  But he’s a Man so truly worth your Kindness,
  That ‘twere a Sin to doubt
  Your Passion for him were not justly paid.

  _Ism._ Sir, I believe you, and I hope he thinks
  That my opinion of him equals yours;
  ‘Tis plain he loves me not;    [Aside.
  Perhaps his Virtue, thinking me _Clarina_,
  May hide the real Passion of his Soul.
  Oh Love, what dangerous Paths thou mak’st us tread!

  _Ant._ Cold, cold as Devotion, oh inhuman Friendship!    [Aside.

  _Alb._ What shall I do next? I must either be rude,
  And say nothing, or speak of Love to her;
  And then, my Friend, thou’rt lost should I prevail,
  And I’m undone should she not hear my Tale,
  Which for the World I would not have her hear;
  And yet I fear my Eyes too much declare.

  _Ism._ Since he’s in so ill an Humour, let’s leave him,
  I’m satisfy’d now that thou’rt mistaken.
    [Ex. _Ismena_ and _Isabella_ unseen.

  _Alb._ But they shall gaze no more on hers,
  Nor stray beyond the limits of a just Salute.
  --I will my Honour to my Love prefer,
  And my _Antonio_ shall out-rival her.
    [Looks about, and misses them.
  --Ah, am I left alone! how frail is Man!
  That which last Moment I resolv’d upon,
  I find my Heart already disapprove,
  And grieve her loss; can this be ought but Love?
  My Soul’s dissatisfy’d now she is gone,
  And yet but now I wish’d to be alone.
  --Inform me, Love, who shares the better part,
  Friendship, or thee, in my divided Heart.    [Offers to go.

    Enter _Antonio_, and stays him.

  _Ant._ Whither in such haste?
  Thou look’st e’en as sad as a Lover repuls’d,
  I fear that Fate’s not thine.

  _Alb._ Now for a lye to satisfy him.    [Aside.
  Prithee discharge me of this toil of dissembling,
  Of which I grow as weary as she’s of hearing it.

  _Ant._ Indeed!

  _Alb._ Sure thou hast a design to make her hate me.

  _Ant._ Do you think so in earnest, why, was she angry?

  _Alb._ Oh! hadst thou seen her pretty blushing Scorn,
  Which she would fain have hid,
  Thou wouldst have pitied what I made her suffer.

  _Ant._ Is’t possible!
  And didst present her with the Box of Jewels?

  _Alb._ Yes.

  _Ant._ And kneel, and cry and swear, and--

  _Alb._ All, all.

  _Ant._ I hardly gave thee time for so much Courtship,
  --But you are sure she was displeased with it?

  _Alb._ Extremely.

  _Ant._ Enough, _Alberto_; adieu to thee and Friendship.

  _Alb._ What mean you?

  _Ant._ Ask your own Guilt, it will inform thee best.

  _Alb._ Thou canst not think _Clarina_ has abus’d thee.

  _Ant._ I do not think she has, nor have you try’d her;
  In that you have not only disoblig’d me,
  But now you would impose upon my Weakness
  --Did I not see how unconcern’d you were,
  And hardly paying her a due respect;
  And when she even invited thee to speak,
  Most rudely thou wert silent?

  _Alb._ Be calm, _Antonio_, I confess my error,
  And hate that Virtue taught me to deceive thee;
  --Here, take my Hand,--
  I’ll serve you in good earnest.

  _Ant._ And now I do believe thee,
  Go--thou shalt lose no time, I must away,
  My Soul’s in torment, till I am confirm’d
  Of my _Clarina’s_ Virtue;
  I do believe thou hast a generous Shame,
  For what thou’st said and done to me thy Friend.
  For could I doubt thy Love, oh, how ridiculous
  This act of mine would seem!
  But ‘tis to thee, as to my Soul I come,
  Disputing every petty Crime and Doubt.

  _Alb._ _Antonio_, if there need an Oath between us--

  _Ant._ No, I credit thee; go in,
  And prithee dress thy Eyes in all their Charms;
  For this uncertainty disturbs me more,
  Than if I knew _Clarina_ were a--Whore.

    [Exeunt severally.




ACT II.


SCENE I. The Apartment of _Frederick_.

    Enter _Frederick_ with a Letter, and _Galliard_.

  _Fred._ Not allow me to speak to her, say ye, ‘tis strange;
  Didst say it was the Prince that sent thee?

  _Gal._ My Lord, I did, but he says, he cares not for
  A thousand Princes.

  _Fred._ I am resolv’d I will see this Woman;
  --Harkye, go back again and say--    [Whispers.

    Enter _Lorenzo_ drunk.

  _Lor._ Hah, the Prince--he must not see me
  In this pickle; for I would not lose my Reputation
  Of Wenching for this of Drinking;
  And I am sure I cannot be excellent at both,
  They are inconsistent.

  _Gal._ I shall, my Lord.    [Exit.

  _Lor._ Your Highness’s humble Servant.

  _Fred._ Ha, ha, what, _Lorenzo_ in debauch?

  _Lor._ Now my Tongue will betray me:--
  Faith, my Lord, I have took six, but am come briskly off;
  By this hand, my Lord, I am Cock over five
  Stout Rogues too, I can tell you, at this sport.

  _Fred._ I did not think thou hadst had that Virtue.

  _Lor._ I’ll tell you, Sir, ‘tis necessary those of my
  Office and Quality should have more Virtues
  Than one to recommend them;
  But to tell you truth, for now I am most apt for that,
  I was drunk in mere Malice to day.

  _Fred._ Malice, against whom, prithee?

  _Lor._ Why, why, Sir, the humorous old Fellow,
  My Father,
  He will not hear reason from me when I am sober.
  My Lord, you know _Curtius_ is an honest Fellow,
  And one of us too;
  My Sister _Laura_ is a good pretty Wench,
  He loves her, and she likes him;
  And because this testy old Blade has done himself,
  Do you think I can bring him to consider?
  No, not for my Life, he won’t consider, Sir;
  And now am I got drunk to see how that will edify him.

  _Fred._ How! is _Laura_, the Mistress of _Curtius_, your Sister?

  _Lor._ Yes, marry is she, Sir, at least by the Mother’s side;
  And to tell you truth,
  We are too good-natur’d to believe
  _Salvator_ our Father.

  _Fred._ Thy Sister, and Daughter to _Salvator_?

  _Lor._ So said my Mother, but she was handsome;
  And on my conscience liv’d e’en in such another
  Debauch’d World as ‘tis now, let them say
  What they will of their primitive Virtue.

  _Fred._ May not I see this Sister of thine, _Lorenzo_?

  _Lor._ Yes, by _Venus_, shall you, Sir,
  An she were my Mother.

  _Fred._ But art sure thy Father will permit us?

  _Lor._ My Father permit us!
  He may do what he will when I am sober,
  But being thus fortify’d with potent Wine,
  He must yield obedience to my Will.
  Why, my Lord, I’ll tell you,
  I’ll make him ask me blessing when I am in this
  Almighty Power.

  _Fred._ And is thy Sister so very fine?

  _Lor._ The Girl is well, and if she were not my Sister,
  I would give you a more certain Proof of my
  Opinion of her;
  She has excellent good Hair, fine Teeth,
  And good Hands, and the best natur’d Fool--
  Come, come, Sir, I’ll bring you to her,
  And then I’ll leave you;
  For I have a small Affair of Love to dispatch.

  _Fred._ This is a freedom that sutes not with the
  Humour of an _Italian_.

  _Lor._ No, faith, my Lord; I believe my Mother play’d
  Foul play with some _Englishman_;
  I am so willing to do you a good office to my Sister.
  And if by her Humour you become of that opinion too,
  I shall hope to render myself more acceptable
  To you by that Franchise.

    Enter _Galliard_, whispers.

  _Fred._ Thou knowest my grateful Temper,
  --No matter; here, carry this Letter to _Cloris_,
  And make some excuse for my not coming this Evening.
    [Gives him a Letter, and goes out with _Lorenzo_.

  _Gal._ So, poor Lass, ‘tis a hundred to one if she be not
  Lay’d by now, and _Laura_ must succeed her:
  Well, even _Frederick_, I see, is but a Man,
  But his Youth and Quality will excuse him;
  And ‘twill be call’d Gallantry in him,
  When in one of us, ‘tis Ill-nature and Inconstancy.    [Exit.


SCENE II. _Antonio’s_ House.

    Enter _Ismena_ and _Isabella_.

  _Isab._ Nay, Madam, ‘tis in vain to deny it;
  Do you think I have liv’d to these years,
  And cannot interpret cross Arms, imperfect Replies,
  Your sudden Weepings, your often Sighing,
  Your melancholy Walks, and making Verses too?
  And yet I must not say that this is Love.

  _Ism._ Art thou so notable a Judge of it?

  _Isab._ I should be, or I am a very dull Scholar,
  For I have lost the foolish Boy as many Darts,
  As any Woman of my age in _Florence_.

  _Ism._ Thou hast paid dear for thy knowledge then.

  _Isab._ No, the hurt ones did, the other still made good, with very
little
  Pain on either side.

  _Ism._ I must confess, I think it is not so hard to get
  Wounds, as ‘tis to get them cur’d again.

  _Isab._ I am not of your opinion, nor ever saw that
  Man who had not Faults to Cure,
  As well as Charms to kill.

  _Ism._ Since thou’rt so good a Judge of Men,
  Prithee tell me how thou lik’st _Alberto_.

  _Isab._ I knew ‘twould come to this--    [Aside.
  Why, well, Madam.

  _Ism._ No more than so?

  _Isab._ Yes, wondrous well, since I am sure he loves you,
  And that indeed raises a Man’s Value.

  _Ism._ Thou art deceiv’d, I do not think he loves me.

  _Isab._ Madam, you cannot but see a thousand Marks on’t.

  _Ism._ Thou hast more Skill than I;
  But prithee why does he not tell me so himself?

  _Isab._ Oh Madam, whilst he takes you for _Clarina_,
  ‘Twould shew his disrespect to tell his Love?
  But when he knows _Ismena_ is the Object,
  He’ll tire you with the wish’d for story.

  _Ism._ Ah, thou art a pleasing Flatterer.

    Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Madam, _Alberto_ is without.

  _Ism._ Tell him I’m indispos’d, and cannot see him now.

  _Isab._ Nay, good Madam, see him now by all means,
  For I am sure my Lord _Antonio_ is absent on purpose.
  --Bid him come in, Boy.    [Exit _Page_.

    Enter _Alberto_.

  _Ism._ _Antonio_, Sir, is not return’d.

  _Alb._ Madam, this Visit was not meant to him,
  But by a Cause more pressing I am brought,
  Such as my Passion, not My Friendship taught;
  A Passion which my Sighs have only shewn,
  And now beg leave my bashful Tongue may own.
  The knowledge, Madam, will not much surprise,
  Which you have gain’d already from mine Eyes;
  My timorous Heart that way my Tongue would spare,
  And tells you of the Flames you’ve kindled there:
  ‘Tis long I’ve suffered under this Constraint,
  Have always suffer’d, but ne’er made Complaint;
  And now against my will I must reveal
  What Love and my Respect would fain conceal.

  _Ism._ What mean you, Sir? what have you seen in me,
  That should encourage this temerity?

  _Alb._ A world of Beauties, and a world of Charms,
  And every Smile and Frown begets new harms;
  In vain I strove my Passion to subdue,
  Which still increas’d the more I look’d on you;
  Nor will my Heart permit me to retire,
  But makes my Eyes the convoys to my Fire,
  And not one Glance you send is cast away.

  _Ism._ Enough, my Lord, have you nought else to say?
  The Plot’s betray’d, and can no further go;    [Smiles.
  The Stratagem’s discover’d to the Foe;
  I find _Antonio_ has more Love than Wit,
  And I’ll endeavour too to merit it.

  _Alb._ What you have said, I do confess is true,
  _Antonio_ beg’d I would make love to you;
  But, Madam, whilst my heart was unconfin’d,
  A thousand ways the Treachery I declin’d--
  But now, _Clarina_, by my Life I swear,
  It is my own concern that brings me here:
  Had he been just to you, I had suppress’d
  The Flames your Eyes have kindled in my Breast;
  But his Suspicion rais’d my Passion more,
  And his Injustice taught me to adore:
  But ‘tis a Passion which you may allow,
  Since its effects shall never injure you.

  _Ism._ You have oblig’d me, Sir, by your Confession,
  And I shall own it too at such a rate,
  As both becomes my Duty to _Antonio_,
  And my Respect to you; but I must beg
  You’ll never name your Passion to me more,
  That guilty Language, Sir, I must not hear:
  --And yet your silence kills me.    [Aside.

  _Isab._ Very well dissembled.    [Aside.

  _Alb._ I can obey you, Madam, though I cannot live,
  Whilst you command me silence;
  For ‘tis a Flame that dares not look abroad
  To seek for pity from another’s Eyes.

  _Ism._ How he moves me! if this were real now,
  Or that he knew to whom he made this Courtship--    [Aside.

  _Alb._ Oh, do not turn away as if displeas’d.

  _Ism._ No more, you’ve discompos’d my thoughts;
  Be gone, and never let me see thy Face again.

  _Alb._ Madam, I go, and will no more offend you,
  --But I will look my last--farewel.    [Offers to go.

  _Isab._ Pray, Madam, call him back, he may be desperate.
  --My Lord, return--

  _Ism._ _Alberto_, tell me what you’d have me do.

  _Alb._ Ah, Madam, do not put me to my choice,
  For Lovers are unreasonable;
  If I might name it, I would have you love me.

  _Ism._ Love you, and what would be the end of that?

  _Alb._ I cannot tell, but wish you were inclin’d
  To make a tryal, Madam;
  I have no thought or wish beyond that Blessing,
  And that once gain’d, sure I should ask no more.

  _Ism._ Were I inclin’d to this, have you consider’d
  The fatal Consequences which attend
  The breach of Vows and Friendship?

  _Alb._ Madam, _Antonio_ first was false to you,
  And not to punish that were such a Virtue
  As he would never thank you for;
  By all that’s good, till he prov’d so to you,
  He had my Soul in keeping;
  But this act makes me resolve
  To recompense his Folly.

  _Ism._ You’ve found the easiest Passage to my Heart,
  You’ve took it on the weakest side;
  --But I must beg you will pretend no further.

  _Alb._ Divine _Clarina_, let me pay my thanks
  In this submissive Posture, and never rise,    [Kneels.
  Till I can gain so much upon your Credit,
  As to believe my Passion tends no farther
  Than to adore you thus--and thus possess you.
    [Kisses her hand, and bows.

  _Ism._ Have not I dissembled finely, _Isabella_?    [Aside.

  _Isab._ Yes, if you could make me believe ‘tis so.    [Aside.

  _Ism._ Rise, Sir, and leave me, that I may blush alone
  For what I’ve parted with so easily;
  Pray do not visit me again too soon,
  --But use your own discretion, and be secret.

  _Alb._ Madam, the blessed Secret here is lodg’d,
  Which Time shall ne’er reveal to human Knowledge.    [Ex. _Alb._

  _Ism._ I’m glad he’s gone before _Antonio’s_ return.

    Enter _Laura_ weeping.

  --What, _Laura_, all in Tears! the reason, pray.

  _Lau._ Madam, the Prince, conducted by my Brother,
  About an Hour since made me a Visit;
  The Man of all the World I would have shun’d,
  Knowing his amorous and inconstant Temper.
  --At his approach he blusht and started back,
  And I with great amazement did the like.
  With fear I lost all power of going from him.
  As he had done of making his Address;
  He gaz’d and wonder’d, and I gaz’d on him,
  And from his silence I became amaz’d.
  --My Brother stood confounded at our Postures,
  And only by the motion of his Head
  (Which now he turn’d to me, then on the Prince)
  We knew that he had Life.

  _Ism._ Well, how recover’d ye?

  _Lau._ The Prince then kneel’d, but could approach no nearer;
  And then as if he’d taken me for some Deity,
  He made a long disorder’d amorous Speech,
  Which brought me back to Sense again:
  But _Lorenzo_ told him that I was a Mortal,
  And brought him nearer to me,
  Where he began to make such Vows of Love--

  _Ism._ What then?

  _Lau._ Then I am ruin’d--
  To all I said he found a contradiction,
  And my denials did but more inflame him;
  I told him of the Vows I’ad made to _Curtius_,
  But he reply’d that _Curtius_ was a Subject.
  But sure at last I’d won upon his Goodness,
  Had not my Father enter’d,
  To whom the Prince addrest himself;
  And with his moving tale so won upon him,
  Or rather by his Quality,
  That he has gain’d his leave to visit me,
  And quite forbids me e’er to speak to _Curtius_.

  _Ism._ Alas the day, is this all?

  _Lau._ All! can there be more to make me miserable?

  _Ism._ I see no reason thou hast to complain:
  Come, wipe your Eyes, and take a good Heart;
  For I’ll tell thee a Story of my own,
  That will let thee see I have much more cause to weep;
  And yet I have a thousand little Stratagems
  In my Head, which give me as many hopes:
  This unlucky restraint upon our Sex,
  Makes us all cunning; and that shall assist thee now
  With my help, I warrant thee;
  Come in with me, and know the rest.

    [Exeunt.

  _Isab._ So, so, disguise it how you will,
  I know you are a real Lover;
  And that secret shall advance my Love-design.
  Yes, Madam, now I will be serv’d by you,
  Or you shall fail to find a Friend of me.    [Ex. _Isab._


SCENE III. The Street.

    Enter _Lorenzo_ drunk, with a _Page_, and Musick, as in the dark.

  _Lor._ Here’s the Door, begin and play your best,
  But let them be soft low Notes, do you hear?    [They play.

    Enter _Antonio_.

  _Ant._ Musick at my Lodgings! it is _Alberto_;
  Oh, how I love him for’t--if _Clarina_ stand his
  Courtship, I am made;
  I languish between Hope and Fear.

  _Lor._ Stay, Friend, I hear somebody.    [Musick ceases.

  _Pag._ ‘Tis nobody, Sir.

    Enter _Isabella_.

_Isab._ ‘Tis _Lorenzo_, and my Plot’s ripe;       [Aside.
    [_Lorenzo_ being retir’d the while a little further.

  ‘Twill not sure be hard to get him, under pretence
  Of seeing _Clarina_, into my Chamber,
  And then I’ll order him at my pleasure;
  _Ismena_ is on my side, for I know all her Secrets,
  And she must wink at mine therefore.    [She retires.

  _Lor._ Thou art in the right, Boy,
  I think indeed ‘twas nothing.    [Plays again.

    Enter _Alberto_.

  _Alb._ She yields, bad Woman!
  Why so easily won?
  By me too, who am thy Husband’s Friend:
  Oh dangerous Boldness! unconsidering Woman!
  I lov’d thee, whilst I thought thou couldst not yield;
  But now that Easiness has undone thy Interest in my Heart,
  I’ll back, and tell thee that it was to try thee.

  _Lor._ No, no, ‘twas my Fears, away with the Song,
  I’ll take it on your word that ‘tis fit for my purpose.

  _Fid._ I’ll warrant you, my Lord.


SONG.

  _In vain I have labour’d the Victor to prove
  Of a Heart that can ne’er give attendance to Love;
          So hard to be done.
          That nothing so young
  Could e’er have resisted a Passion so long.

  Yet nothing I left unattempted or said,
  That might soften the Heart of this pitiless Maid;
          But still she was shy,
          And would blushing deny,
  Whilst her willinger Eyes gave her Language the lye.

  Since, _Phillis_, my Passion you vow to despise,
  Withdraw the false Hopes from your flattering Eyes:
          For whilst they inspire
          A resistless vain Fire,
  We shall grow to abhor, what we now do admire._    [Ex. _Musick_.

  _Alb._ What’s this, and at _Clarina’s_ Lodgings too?
  Sure ‘tis _Antonio_, impatient of delay,
  Gives her a Serenade for me.

    Enter _Isabella_.

  _Isab._ ‘Tis the Fool himself--
  My Lord, where are you?

_Alb._ How! a Woman’s Voice! ‘tis dark, I’ll advance.

_Lor._ Thou Simpleton, I told thee there was somebody.

_Pag._ Lord, Sir, ‘tis only _Isabella_ that calls you.

_Lor._ Away, Sirrah, I find by my fears ‘tis no Woman.
    [Goes out with the _Page_.

_Isab._ Why don’t you come? here’s nobody.

_Alb._ Here I am.

_Isab._ Where?

_Alb._ Here.    [Gives her his Hand.

  _Isab._ My Lord, you may venture, _Clarina_ will be
  Alone within this Hour, where you shall entertain
  Her at your freedom: but you must stay awhile in my
  Chamber till my Lord’s a bed;
  For none but I must know of the favour she designs you.

  _Alb._ Oh Gods! what Language do I hear--
  False and Perfidious Woman, I might have thought,
  Since thou wert gain’d so easily by me,
  Thou wouldst with equal haste yield to another.

_Isab._ It is not _Lorenzo_, what shall I do?    [She steals in.

    Enter _Lorenzo_ and _Page_.

  _Lor._ A Pox of all damn’d cowardly fear!
  Now did I think I had drunk Nature up to Resolution:
  I have heard of those that could have dar’d in their Drink;
  But I find, drunk or sober, ‘tis all one in me.

  _Alb._ The Traitor’s here,
  Whom I will kill whoe’er he be.

  _Lor._ Boy, go see for _Isabella_.

  _Pag._ I see a Man should not be a Coward and a Lover
  At once--_Isabella_, _Isabella_, she’s gone, Sir.    [Calls.

  _Alb._ Yes, Villain, she’s gone, and in her room
  Is one that will chastise thy Boldness.

  _Lor._ That’s a proud word though, whoe’er thou be;
  But how I shall avoid it, is past my Understanding.

  _Alb._ Where art thou, Slave?
    [_Alberto_ gropes for him, he avoids him.

  _Pag._ Take heart, Sir, here’s company which I will
  Get to assist you--

    Enter _Antonio_.

  Sir, as you are a Gentleman, assist a stranger set upon by Thieves.
    [They fight, _Antonio_ with _Alberto_, _Alberto_ falls, is
    wounded. _Lor._ and _Page_ run away the while.

  _Alb._ Whoe’er thou be’st that takes the Traitor’s part,
  Commend me to the wrong’d _Antonio_.

  _Ant._ _Alberto_! dear _Alberto_, is it thee?

  _Alb._ _Antonio!_

  _Ant._ I am asham’d to say I am _Antonio_;
  Oh Gods, why would you suffer this mistake?

  _Alb._ I am not wounded much,
  My greatest pain is my concern for thee;
  Friend, thou art wrong’d, falsely and basely wrong’d;
  _Clarina_, whom you lov’d and fear’d,
  Has now betray’d thy Honour with her own.

  _Ant._ Without that sad addition to my Grief,
  I should not long have born the weight of Life,
  Having destroy’d thine by a dire mistake.

  _Alb._ Thou art deceiv’d.

  _Ant._ Alas, why was it not permitted me
  To lose my Friend, or Wife? had one surviv’d,
  I might have dy’d in silence for the other;
  Oh my _Alberto_! oh _Clarina_ too!--    [Weeps.

  _Alb._ Come, do not grieve for me, I shall be well,
  I yet find strength enough to get away;
  And then I’ll let thee know my Fate and thine.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE IV. _Antonio’s_ House.

    Enter _Clarina_, _Ismena_, and _Isabella_ weeping.

  _Isab._ For Heaven sake, Madam, pardon me.

  _Clar._ Be dumb for ever, false and treacherous Woman,
  Was there no way but this to mask your Cheat?
  A Lye which has undone us all.

  _Isab._ Alas, ‘twas in the dark, how could I know him?
  Pray forgive it me, and try my future Service.

  _Clar._ I never will forgive thee, naughty Girl;
  _Alberto_ now incens’d will tell _Antonio_ all.

  _Isab._ What need you care, Madam?
  You are secure enough.

  _Clar._ Thou salv’st an Error with a greater still;
  Dost thou not know _Antonio’s_ Jealousy,
  Which yet is moderate, rais’d to a higher pitch,
  May ruin me, _Ismena_, and thy self?

  _Ism._ Sister, there cannot be much harm in this;
  ‘Tis an ill chance, ‘tis true, for by it we have lost
  The pleasure of an innocent Revenge
  Upon _Antonio_; but if understood,
  We have but miss’d that end.

  _Clar._ Oh _Ismena!_
  This Jealousy is an unapprehensive madness,
  A non-sense which does still abandon Reason.

  _Isab._ Madam, early in the Morning
  I’ll to _Alberto’s_ Lodgings, and tell him the mistake.

  _Clar._ ‘Twill be too late.

  _Ism._ Sister, what think you if I go myself?

  _Clar._ You should not be so daring;
  Besides, I blush to think what strange opinion
  He’ll entertain of me the while.

  _Ism._ Do not let that afflict you.
  Fetch my Veil, and if _Antonio_ chance to ask for me,
  Tell him I’m gone to _Laura_.    [Ex. _Isab._
  Believe me, I will set all strait again.

    Enter _Isabella_ with the Veil.

  _Clar._ Thou hast more Courage, Girl, than I.

  _Ism._ What need is there of much of that,
  To encounter a gay young Lover,
  Where I am sure there cannot be much danger?

  _Clar._ Well, take your chance, I wish you luck, Sir,
  For I am e’en as much bent upon Revenge,
  As thou art upon Marriage.

  _Ism._ Come, my Veil, this and the Night
  Will enough secure me.    [Puts on the Veil and goes out.

    [Ex. _Clar._ and _Isab._


SCENE V. A Chamber in _Alberto’s_ House.

    Discovers _Alberto_ and _Antonio_.

  _Alb._ Nay, thou shalt see’t before thou dost revenge it;
  In such a case, thy self should be the Witness,
  She knows not what has past to night between us,
  Nor should she, if thou couldst contain thy Rage;
  And that, _Antonio_, you shall promise me:
  To morrow place thy self behind the Arras,
  And from thy Eyes thy own Misfortunes know.
  --What will not disobliged Passion do?    [Aside.

  _Ant._ I’ll hide my Anger in a seeming calm,
  And what I have to do consult the while,
  And mask my Vengeance underneath a Smile.    [Ex. _Ant._

    Enter _Page_.

  _Pag._ My Lord, there is without a Lady
  Desires to speak with you.

  _Alb._ Who is’t?

  _Pag._ I know not, Sir, she’s veiled.    [Exit _Page_.

    Enter _Ismena_ weeping.

  _Alb._ Conduct her in.

  _Ism._ Oh _Alberto_, _Isabella_ has undone us all!

  _Alb._ She weeps, and looks as innocent!
  --What mean you, false dissembling _Clarina_?
  What, have you borrow’d from Deceit new Charms,
  And think’st to fool me to a new belief?

  _Ism._ How, Sir, can you too be unkind?
  Nay then ‘tis time to die; alas, there wanted but your credit
  To this mistake, to make me truly miserable.

  _Alb._ What Credit? What Mistake? oh, undeceive me,
  For I have done thee Injuries past Forgiveness,
  If thou be’st truly innocent.

  _Ism._ If _Isabella_, under pretence of courting me
  For _Lorenzo_, whom she designs to
  Make a Husband,
  Has given him freedoms will undo my Honour,
  If not prevented soon.

  _Alb._ May I credit this, and that it was not by thy
  Command she did it?

  _Ism._ Be witness, Heaven, my Innocence in this,
  Which if you will believe, I’m safe again.

  _Alb._ I do believe thee, but thou art not safe,
  Here, take this Poyniard, and revenge thy Wrongs,
  Wrongs which I dare not beg a Pardon for.    [He gives her a Dagger.

  _Ism._ Why, Sir, what have you done? have you
  Deceiv’d me, and do you not indeed love me?

  _Alb._ Oh _Clarina!_ do not ask that Question,
  Too much of that has made me ruin thee;
  It made me jealous, drunk with Jealousy,
  And then I did unravel all my Secrets.

  _Ism._ What Secrets, Sir? you have then seen _Antonio_.

  _Alb._ Yes.

  _Ism._ Hah--Now, Wit, if e’er thou did’st possess
  A Woman, assist her at her need.    [Aside.
  --Well, Sir, rise and tell me all.

  _Alb._ I will not rise till you have pardoned me,
  Or punished my Misfortune.

  _Ism._ Be what it will, I do forgive it thee.

  _Alb._ _Antonio_, Madam, knows my Happiness,
  For in my Rage I told him that you lov’d me;
  --What shall I do?

  _Ism._ I cannot blame you though it were unkind.

  _Alb._ This I could help, but I have promis’d him,
  That he shall be a witness of this Truth;
  What say you, Madam, do I not merit Death?
  Oh speak, and let me know my doom whate’er it be.

  _Ism._ Make good your Word.

  _Alb._ What mean you?

  _Ism._ What you have promised him, perform as you intended.

  _Alb._ What then?

  _Ism._ Then come as you design’d to visit me.

  _Alb._ But let me know what ‘tis you mean to do,
  That I may act accordingly.

  _Ism._ No. Answer me to every Question ask’d,
  And I perhaps may set all strait again;
  It is now late, and I must not be missing:
  But if you love me, be no more jealous of me,
  --Farewel.

  _Alb._ Must I be ignorant then of your Design?

  _Ism._ Yes, _Alberto_;
  And you shall see what Love will make a Woman do.
    [He leads her out.

  _Alb._ Now am I caught again, inconstant Nature.
  --Would she had less of Beauty or of Wit,
  Or that _Antonio_ did but less deserve her;
  Or that she were not married,
  Or I’ad less Virtue, for ‘tis that which awes me.
  That tender sense of nothing,
  And makes the other Reasons seem as Bugbears.
  --I love _Clarina_ more than he can do.
  And yet this Virtue doth oppose that Love,
  Tells me there lurks a Treason there
  Against _Antonio’s_ and _Clarina’s_ Virtue.
  --’Tis but too true indeed, and I’m not safe,
  Whilst I conceal the Criminal within:
  I must reveal it, for whilst I hide the Traitor,
  I seem to love the Treason too;
  I will resign it then, since ‘tis less blame
  To perish by my Pain, than live with Shame.    [Exit.




ACT III.


SCENE I. A Room in _Salvator’s_ House.

    Enter _Frederick_ and _Laura_.

  _Fred._ _Laura_, consider well my Quality,
  And be not angry with your Father’s Confidence,
  Who left us here alone.

  _Lau._ He will repent that Freedom when he knows
  What use you’ve made on’t, Sir.

  _Fred._ Fy, fy, _Laura_, a Lady bred at Court, and
  Yet want complaisance enough to entertain
  A Gallant in private! this coy Humour
  Is not _à-la-mode_.--Be not so peevish with a Heart that dies for you.

  _Lau._ Pray tell me, Sir, what is’t in me that can
  Encourage this?

  _Fred._ That which is in all lovely Women, _Laura_;
  A thousand Blushes play about your Cheeks,
  Which shows the briskness of the Blood that warms them.
  --If I but tell you how I do adore you,
  You strait decline your Eyes;
  Which does declare you understand my meaning,
  And every Smile or Frown betrays your thoughts,
  And yet you cry, you do not give me cause.

    Enter _Maid_.

  _Maid._ _Curtius_, Madam, waits without.

  _Fred._ I do not like his haste,
  --Tell him he cannot be admitted now.

  _Lau._ Sir, he is one that merits better treatment from you;
  How can you injure thus the Man you love?

  _Fred._ Oh Madam, ask your Eyes, those powerful Attracts.
  And do not call their Forces so in question,
  As to believe they kindle feeble Fires,
  Such as a Friendship can surmount. No, _Laura_,
  They’ve done far greater Miracles.

  _Lau._ Sir, ‘tis in vain you tell me of their Power,
  Unless they could have made a nobler Conquest
  Than Hearts that yield to every petty Victor.
  --Look on me well,
  Can nothing here inform you of my Soul,
  And how it scorns to treat on these Conditions?
    [Looks on him, he gazes with a half Smile.

  _Fred._ Faith, no, _Laura_.
  I see nothing there but wondrous Beauty,
  And a deal of needless Pride and Scorn,
  And such as may be humbled.

  _Lau._ Sir, you mistake, that never can abate.
  But yet I know your Power may do me injuries;
  But I believe you’re guilty of no Sin,
  Save your Inconstancy, which is sufficient;
  And, Sir, I beg I may not be the first    [Kneels and weeps.
  May find new Crimes about you.

  _Fred._ Rise, _Laura_, thou hast but too many Beauties,
  Which pray be careful that you keep conceal’d.    [Offers to go.

  _Lau._ I humbly thank you, Sir.

  _Fred._--But why should this interposing Virtue check me?
  --Stay, _Laura_, tell me; must you marry _Curtius_?

  _Lau._ Yes, Sir, I must.

  _Fred._ _Laura_, you must not.

  _Lau._ How, Sir!

  _Fred._ I say you shall not marry him,
  Unless you offer up a Victim,
  That may appease the Anger you have rais’d in me.

  _Lau._ I’ll offer up a thousand Prayers and Tears.

  _Fred._ That will not do.
  Since thou’st deny’d my just Pretensions to thee,
  No less than what I told you of shall satisfy me.

  _Lau._ Oh, where is all your Honour and your Virtue?

  _Fred_. Just where it was, there’s no such real thing.
  I know that thou wert made to be possest,
  And he that does refuse it, loves thee least.
  --There’s danger in my Love, and your Delay,
  And you are most secure whilst you obey.    [He pulls her gently.

  _Lau._ Then this shall be my safety, hold off,    [She draws a Dagger.
  Or I’ll forget you are my Prince.    [He laughs.

  _Fred._ Pretty _Virago_, how you raise my Love?
  --I have a Dagger too; what will you do?    [Shows her a Dagger.

    Enter _Curtius_.

  _Cur._ How! the Prince! arm’d against _Laura_ too!    [Draws.

  _Fred._ Traitor, dost draw upon thy Prince?

  _Cur._ Your Pardon, Sir, I meant it on a Ravisher,
  A foul misguided Villain,    [Bows.
  One that scarce merits the brave name of Man;
  One that betrays his Friend, forsakes his Wife,
  And would commit a Rape upon my Mistress.

  _Fred._ Her Presence is thy Safety, be gone and leave me.

  _Cur._ By no means, Sir; the Villain may return,
  To which fair _Laura_, should not be expos’d.

  _Fred._ Slave, dar’st thou disobey?    [Offers to fight.

  _Cur._ Hold, Sir, and do not make me guilty of a Sin,
  Greater than that of yours.

    Enter _Salvator_.

  _Salv._ Gods pity me; here’s fine doings!--Why, how
  Came this roistring Youngster into my House? Sir,
  Who sent for you, hah?

  _Cur._ Love.

  _Salv._ Love, with a Witness to whom? my Daughter?
  --No, Sir, she’s otherwise dispos’d of I can assure
  You. Be gone and leave my House, and that quickly
  Too; and thank me that I do not secure
  Thee for a Traitor.

  _Cur._ Will you not hear me speak?

  _Salv._ Not a word, Sir, go, be gone; unless your
  Highness will have him apprehended.    [To _Fred._

  _Fred._ No, Sir, it shall not need--_Curtius_, look
  To hear from me.--
    [Comes up to him, and tells him so in a menacing Tone, and go out
    severally.

_Salv._ Go, Mrs. _Minks_, get you in.

    [Ex. _Salv._ and _Lau._


SCENE II. A Street.

    Enter _Frederick_ passing in Anger over the Stage, meets
    _Lorenzo_.

  _Lor._ O Sir, I’m glad I’ve found you; for
  I have the rarest News for you.

  _Fred._ What News?

  _Lor._ Oh the Devil, he’s angry;--Why, Sir, the prettiest young--

  _Fred._ There’s for your Intelligence.    [Strikes him, and goes out.

  _Lor._ So, very well; how mortal is the favour of
  Princes! these be turns of State now; what the
  Devil ails he trow; sure he could not be
  Offended with the News I have brought him;
  If he be, he’s strangely out of tune:
  And sure he has too much Wit to grow virtuous at these
  Years. No, no, he has had some repulse from a
  Lady; and that’s a wonder; for he has a Tongue and a
  Purse that seldom fails: if Youth and Vigour would
  Stretch as far, he were the wonder of the Age.

    Enter _Curtius_.

  _Cur._ _Lorenzo_, didst thou see the Prince?

  _Lor._ Marry, did I, and feel him too.

  _Cur._ Why, did he strike you?

  _Lor._ I’m no true Subject if he did not; and that
  Only for doing that Service which once was most acceptable
  To him.--Prithee what’s the matter with him, hah?

  _Cur._ I know not, leave me.

  _Lor._ Leave thee, what, art thou out of humour too?
  Let me but know who ‘tis has disoblig’d thee, and I’ll--

  _Cur._ What wilt thou?

  _Lor._ Never see his Face more, if a Man.

  _Cur._ And what if a Woman?

  _Lor._ Then she’s an idle peevish Slut, I’ll warrant her.

  _Cur._ Conclude it so, and leave me.

  _Lor._ Nay, now thou hast said the only thing that could
  Keep me with thee, thou mayst be desperate; I’ll
  Tell you, _Curtius_, these female Mischiefs make Men
  Take dangerous Resolutions sometimes.

    Enter _Alberto_.

_Alb._ _Curtius_, I’ve something to deliver to your Ear.
    [Whispers.

_Cur._ Any thing from _Alberto_ is welcome.

  _Lor._ Well, I will be hang’d if there be not some
  Mischief in agitation; it cannot be wenching;
  They look all too dull and sober for that;
  And besides, then I should have been a party concern’d.

  _Cur._ The place and time.

  _Alb._ An hour hence i’th’ Grove by the River-side.

  _Cur._ Alone, thou say’st?

  _Alb._ Alone, the Prince will have it so.

  _Cur._ I will not fail a moment.    [Ex. _Alb._
  --So this has eas’d my heart of half its Load.

  _Lor._ I’ll sneak away, for this is some fighting
  Business, and I may perhaps be invited a Second,
  A Compliment I care not for.    [Offers to go.

  _Cur._ _Lorenzo_, a word with you.

  _Lor._ ‘Tis so, what shall I do now?    [Aside.

  _Cur._ Stay.

  _Lor._ I am a little in haste, my Lord.

  _Cur._ I shall soon dispatch you.

  _Lor._ I believe so, for I am half dead already
  With Fear. [Aside.] --Sir, I have promis’d to make a visit
  To a Lady, and--

  _Cur._ What I’ve to say will not detain you long.

  _Lor._ What a Dog was I, I went not
  When he first desir’d me to go!
  Oh Impertinency, thou art justly rewarded!

  _Cur._ _Lorenzo_, may I believe you love me?

  _Lor._ Now what shall I say, Ay or no?    [Aside.
  The Devil take me if I know.

  _Cur._ Will you do me a favour?

  _Lor._ There ‘tis again.    [Aside.

  _Cur._ I know I may trust thee with a secret.

  _Lor._ Truly, _Curtius_, I cannot tell.
  In some cases I am not very retentive.

  _Cur._ I am going about a business, that perhaps
  May take up all the time I have to live,
  And I may never see thy Sister more;
  Will you oblige me in a Message to her?

  _Lor._ You know you may command me;
  --I’m glad ‘tis no worse.    [Aside.

  _Cur._ Come, go with me into my Cabinet,
  And there I’ll write to _Laura_;
  And prithee if thou hear’st that I am dead,
  Tell her I fell a Sacrifice to her,
  And that’s enough, she understands the rest.

_Lor._ But harkye, _Curtius_, by your favour, this is but a Scurvy Tale
to carry to your Mistress;
  I hope you are not in earnest.

_Cur._ Yes.

_Lor._ Yes! why, what a foolish idle humour’s this in you? I vow ‘twill
go near to break the poor Girl’s Heart;--
  Come, be advis’d, Man.

  _Cur._ Perhaps I may consider on’t for that reason.

  _Lor._ There are few that go about such businesses,
  But have one thing or other to consider in favour of Life;
  I find that even in the most magnanimous:--
  Prithee who is’t with?

  _Cur._ That’s counsel: and pray let this too which I have
  Told you be a Secret, for ‘twill concern your Life.

  _Lor._ Good _Curtius_, take it back again then;
  For a hundred to one but my over-care of keeping it
  Will betray it.

  _Cur._ Thou lovest thy self better.

  _Lor._ Well, that’s a comfort yet.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. A Wood.

    Enter _Cloris_ dressed like a Country-Boy, follow’d by _Guilliam_
    a Clown; _Cloris_ comes reading a Letter.

  _Clo._ [Reads.] Cloris, _beware of Men; for though I my self be one,_
  _Yet I have the Frailties of my Sex, and can dissemble too;_
  _Trust none of us, for if thou dost, thou art undone;_
  _We make Vows to all alike we see,_
  _And even the best of Men, the Prince,_
  _Is not to be credited in an affair of Love._
  --Oh _Curtius_, thy advice was very kind;
  Had it arriv’d before I’ad been undone!
  --Can _Frederick_ too be false!
  A Prince, and be unjust to her that loves him too?
  --Surely it is impossible--
  Perhaps thou lov’st me too, and this may be
    [Pointing to the Letter.
  Some Plot of thine to try my Constancy:
  --Howe’er it be, since he could fail last night
  Of seeing me, I have at least a cause to justify
  This shameful change; and sure in this Disguise,
  I shall not soon be known, dost think I shall?    [Looks on herself.

  _Guil._ Why, forsooth, what do you intend to pass for,
  A Maid or a Boy?

  _Clo._ Why, what I seem to be, will it not do?

  _Guil._ Yes, yes, it may do, but I know not what;
  I would Love would transmography me to a Maid now,
  --We should be the prettiest Couple:
  Don’t you remember when you dress’d me up the last
  Carnival, was I not the woundiest handsome Lass
  A body could see in a Summer’s day?
  There was _Claud_ the Shepherd as freakish after me,
  I’ll warrant you, and simper’d and tript it like any thing.

  _Clo._ Ay, but they say ‘tis dangerous for young
  Maids to live at Court.

  _Guil._ Nay, then I should be loth to give temptation.
  --Pray, forsooth, what’s that you read so often there?

  _Clo._ An advice to young Maids that are in love.

  _Guil._ Ay, ay, that same Love is a very vengeance thing,
  Wou’d I were in love too; I see it makes a body valiant;
  One neither feels Hunger nor Cold that is possest with it.

  _Clo._ Thou art i’th’ right, it can do Miracles.

  _Guil._ So it seems, for without a Miracle you and I could never
  Have rambled about these Woods all night without either Bottle or
Wallet:
  I could e’en cry for hunger now.

  _Clo._ What a dull Soul this Fellow hath?
  Sure it can never feel the generous Pains
  Of Love, as mine does now; oh, how I glory
  To find my Heart above the common rate!
  Were not my Prince inconstant,
  I would not envy what the Blessed do above:
  But he is false, good Heaven!--    [Weeps. _Guil._ howls.
  --What dost thou feel, that thou shouldst weep with me?

  _Guil._ Nothing but Hunger, sharp Hunger, forsooth.

  _Clo._ Leave calling me forsooth, it will betray us.

  _Guil._ What shall I call you then?

  _Clo._ Call me, _Philibert_, or any thing;
  And be familiar with me: put on thy Hat, lest any come and see us.

  _Guil._ ‘Tis a hard name, but I’ll learn it by heart.
  --Well, _Philibert_--What shall we do when we come to Court?
    [Puts on his Hat.
  Besides eating and drinking, which I shall do in abundance.

  _Clo._ We must get each of us a Service:
  --But thou art such a Clown.

  _Guil._ Nay, say not so, honest _Philibert_: for look ye,
  I am much the properer Fellow of the two.    [Walks.

  _Clo._ Well, try thy fortune; but be sure you never discover
  Me, whatever Questions may chance to be asked thee.

  _Guil._ I warrant thee, honest Lad, I am true and trusty;
  But I must be very familiar with you, you say.

  _Clo._ Yes, before Company.

  _Guil._ Pray let me begin and practise a little now,
  An’t please you, for fear I should not be saucy enough,
  When we arrive at Court.

  _Clo._ I’ll warrant you you’ll soon learn there.

  _Guil._ Oh Lord, _Philibert!_ _Philibert!_ I see a Man a coming
  Most deadly fine, let’s run away.

  _Clo._ Thus thou hast serv’d me all this night,
  There’s not a Bush we come at, but thou start’st thus.

  _Guil._ ‘Tis true you are a Lover, and may stay the danger on’t;
  But I’ll make sure for one.

  _Clo._ It is the Prince, oh Gods! what makes he here?
  With Looks disorder’d too; this Place is fit for Death and sad
  Despair; the melancholy Spring a sleepy murmur makes,
  A proper Consort for departing Souls,
  When mix’d with dying Groans, and the thick Boughs
  Compose a dismal Roof;
  Dark as the gloomy Shades of Death or Graves.
  --He comes this way, I’ll hide my self awhile.    [Goes behind a Bush.

    Enter _Frederick_.

  _Fred._ But yet not this, nor my despight to _Laura_,
  Shall make me out of love with Life,
  Whilst I have youthful Fires about my Heart:
  --Yet I must fight with _Curtius_,
  And so chastise the Pride of that fond Maid,
  Whose saucy Virtue durst controul my Flame.
  --And yet I love her not as I do _Cloris_;
  But fain I would have overcome that Chastity,
  Of which the foolish Beauty boasts so.

  _Clo._ _Curtius_, I thank thee, now I do believe thee.
  _Guilliam_, if thou seest any fighting anon,    [The Prince walks.
  Be sure you run out and call some body.

  _Guil._ You need not bid me run away, when I once
  See them go to that.

    Enter _Curtius_.

  _Cur._ Sir, I am come as you commanded me.

  _Fred._ When you consider what you’ve lately done,
  You will not wonder why I sent for you;
  And when I mean to fight, I do not use to parly:
  Come draw.

  _Cur._ Shew me my Enemy, and then if I am slow--

  _Fred._ I am he, needst thou one more powerful?

  _Cur._ You, Sir! what have I done to make you so?

  _Fred._ If yet thou want’st a further proof of it,
  Know I’ll dispute my Claim to _Laura_.

  _Cur._ That must not be with me, Sir;
  God forbid that I should raise my Arm against my Prince.
  --If _Laura_ have so little Faith and Virtue,
  To render up that Right belongs to me,
  With all my heart I yield her
  To any but to you:
  And, Sir, for your own sake you must not have her.

  _Fred._ Your Reason?

  _Cur._ Sir, you’re already married.

  _Fred._ Thou lyest, and seek’st excuses for thy Cowardice.

  _Cur._ I wish you would recal that hasty Injury;
  Yet this I’ll bear from you, who know ‘tis false.

  _Fred._ Will nothing move thee?

  _Cur._ You would believe so, Sir, if I should tell you,
  That besides all this, I have a juster Cause.

  _Fred._ Juster than that of _Laura_? call it up, then,
  And let it save thee from a further shame.

  _Cur._ Yes, so I will, ‘tis that of _Cloris_,
  Who needs my aids much more;
  Do you remember such a Virgin, Sir?
  For so she was till she knew _Frederick_,
  The sweetest Innocent that ever Nature made.

  _Fred._ Not thy own Honour, nor thy Love to _Laura_,
  Would make thee draw, and now at _Cloris’. Name
  Thou art incens’d, thy Eyes all red with Rage:
  --Oh, thou hast rouz’d my Soul!
  Nor would I justify my Wrongs to her,
  Unless it were to satisfy my Jealousy,
  Which thou hast rais’d in me by this concern.
  --Draw, or I’ll kill thee.

  _Cur._ Stay, Sir, and hear me out.

  _Fred._ I will not stay, now I reflect on all
  Thy former kindness to her--

  _Cur._ I will not fight, but I’ll defend my self.    [They fight.

  _Fred._ We are betray’d.

  _Cur._ Yes, Sir, and you are wounded.
    [_Guil._ runs bawling out, they are both wounded.

  _Clo._ Oh Heaven defend the Prince!    [She peeps.

  _Fred._ I hear some coming, go, be gone,
  And save thy self by flight.
    [_Frederick_ stands leaning on his Sword.

  _Cur._ Sir, give me leave to stay, my flight will look like Guilt.

  _Fred._ By no means, _Curtius_, thou wilt be taken here,
  And thou shalt never charge me with that Crime of betraying
  Thee: when we meet next, we’ll end it.

  _Cur._ I must obey you then.    [Exit.

    Enter _Cloris_.

  _Clo._ Sir, has the Villain hurt you?    [She supports him.
  --Pray Heaven my Sorrows do not betray me now;
  For since he’s false, I fain would die conceal’d.    [Aside.
  --Shew me your Wound, and I will tie it up.
  Alas, you bleed extremely.--

  _Fred._ Kind Youth, thy Succours are in vain, though welcome;
  For though I bleed, I am not wounded much.

  _Clo._ No? why did you let him pass unpunish’d then,
  Who would have hurt you more?

    Enter _Guilliam_ with _Galliard_.

  _Gal._ Where was’t?

  _Guil._ Look ye, Sir, there, don’t you see them?

  _Gal._ How does your Highness? This Fellow told me
  Of a quarrel here, which made me haste.

  _Fred._ Be silent, and carry me to my own apartment.

  _Gal._ Alas, Sir, is it you that fought?

  _Fred._ No more Questions.--
  Kind Boy, pray leave me not till I have found
  A way to recompense thy pretty care of me.

  _Clo._ I will wait on you, Sir.

    [Exeunt all but _Guil._

    Enter _Lorenzo_ and his _Page_. Peeps first.

  _Lor._ What’s the matter here? the Prince is wounded too.
  Oh, what a Dog was I to know of some such thing,
  And not secure them all?
    [_Lor._ stands gazing at _Guil._ _Guil._ stands tabering his Hat,
    and scruing his Face.
  --What’s here? Ha, ha, ha, this is the pleasantest
  Fellow that e’er I saw in my Life.
  Prithee, Friend, what’s thy Name?

  _Guil._ My Name, an’t shall like ye.
  My Name, it is _Guilliam_.

  _Lor._ From whence comest thou?

  _Guil._ From a Village a great huge way off.

  _Lor._ And what’s thy business here, hah?

  _Guil._ Truly, Sir, not to tell a Lye;
  I come to get a Service here at Court.

  _Lor._ A Service at Court! ha, ha, that’s a pleasant
  Humour, i’faith. Why, Fellow, what canst thou do?

  _Guil._ Do, Sir! I can do any thing.

  _Lor._ Why, what canst thou do? canst thou dress well?
  --Set a Peruke to advantage, tie a Crevat,
  And Cuffs? put on a Belt with dexterity, hah?
  These be the Parts that must recommend you.

  _Guil._ I know not what you mean,
  But I am sure I can do them all.

  _Lor._ Thou art confident it seems, and I can tell
  You, Sirrah, that’s a great step to Preferment;
  --But well, go on then, canst ride the great Horse?

  _Guil._ The biggest in all our Town
  I have rid a thousand times.

  _Lor._ That’s well; canst fence?

  _Guil._ Fence, Sir, what’s that?

  _Lor._ A Term we use for the Art and Skill of handling a Weapon.

  _Guil._ I can thrash, Sir.

  _Lor._ What’s that, Man?

  _Guil._ Why, Sir, it is--it is--thrashing.

  _Lor._ An Artist, I vow; canst play on any Musick?

  _Guil._ Oh, most rogically, Sir, I have a Bagpipe that
  Every Breath sets the whole Village a dancing.

  _Lor._ Better still; and thou canst dance, I’ll warrant?

  _Guil._ Dance, he, he, he, I vow you’ve light on
  My Master-piece, y’fegs.

  _Lor_. And I’ll try thee: Boy, go fetch some of the    [To the _Page_.
  Musick hither which I keep in pay.    [Ex. _Page_.
  --But hark you, Friend, though I love Dancing very well,
  And that may recommend thee in a great degree;
  Yet ‘tis wholly necessary that you should be valiant too:
  We Great ones ought to be serv’d by Men of Valour,
  For we are very liable to be affronted by many here
  To our Faces, which we would gladly have beaten behind
  Our Backs.--But Pox on’t, thou hast not the Huff
  And Grimace of a Man of Prowess.

  _Guil._ As for fighting, though I do not care for it,
  Yet I can do’t if any body angers me, or so.

  _Lor._ But I must have you learn to do’t when
  Any body angers me too.

  _Guil._ Sir, they told me I should have no need on’t
  Here; but I shall learn.

  _Lor._ Why, you Fool, that’s not a thing to be learn’d,
  --That’s a brave Inclination born with Man,
  A brave undaunted something, a thing that,
  That comes from, from, I know not what,
  For I was born without it.

    Enter _Page_ and Musick.

  Oh, are you come? let’s see, Sirrah, your Activity,
  For I must tell you that’s another step to Preferment.
    [He dances a Jig _en Paisant_.
  ‘Tis well perform’d; well, hadst thou but Wit,
  Valour, _Bone Mine_, good Garb, a Peruke,
  Conduct and Secrecy in Love-Affairs, and half
  A dozen more good Qualities, thou wert
  Fit for something; but I will try thee.
  Boy, let him have better Clothes; as for his Documents,
  I’ll give him those my self.

  _Guil._ Hah, I don’t like that word, it sounds terribly.
    [Aside.

    [Ex. _Page_ and _Guil._ with Musick.

  _Lor._ This Fellow may be of use to me; being
  Doubtless very honest, because he is so very simple:
  For to say truth, we Men of Parts are sometimes
  Over-wise, witness my last night’s retreat
  From but a supposed Danger, and returning to fall
  Into a real one. Well, I’ll now to _Isabella_,
  And know her final Resolution; if _Clarina_ will
  Be kind, so; if not, there be those that will.
  --And though I cannot any Conquest boast
  For all the Time and Money I have lost,
  At least of _Isabel_ I’ll be reveng’d,
  And have the flattering Baggage soundly swing’d;
  And rather than she shall escape my Anger,
  My self shall be the Hero that shall bang her.    [Exit.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _Antonio’s_ House.

    Enter _Ismena_ and _Isabella_.

  _Isab._ Madam, turn your back to that side,
  For there _Antonio_ is hid; he must not see your
  Face: now raise your Voice, that he may hear what ‘tis you say.

  _Ism._ I’ll warrant you, _Isabella_:
  Was ever wretched Woman’s Fate like mine,
  Forc’d to obey the rigid Laws of Parents,
  And marry with a Man I did not love?

  _Ant._ Oh, there’s my cause of Fear.    [_Ant._ peeps.

  _Ism._ Though since I had him, thou know’st I have endeavour’d
  To make his Will my Law,
  Till by degrees and Custom, which makes things natural,
  I found this Heart, which ne’er had been engag’d
  To any other, grow more soft to him;
  And still the more he lov’d, the more I was oblig’d,
  And made returns still kinder; till I became
  Not only to allow, but to repay his Tenderness.

  _Isab._ She counterfeits rarely.    [Aside.
  Madam, indeed I have observ’d this truth.

  _Ism._ See who ‘tis knocks.    [One knocks.

  _Ant._ What will this come to?    [Aside.

  _Isab._ Madam, ‘tis _Alberto_.

    Enter _Alberto_. Bows.

  _Ism._ My Lord, you’ve often told me that you lov’d me,
  Which I with Womens usual Pride believ’d;
  And now, encourag’d by my hopeful Promises,
  You look for some Returns: Sir, is it so?

  _Alb._ What means she?
  Pray Heaven I answer right.    [Aside.
  --Madam, if I have err’d in that belief,
  To know I do so, is sufficient punishment.
  --Lovers, Madam, though they have no returns,
  Like sinking Men, still catch at all they meet with;
  And whilst they live, though in the midst of Storms,
  Because they wish, they also hope for Calms.

  _Ism._ And did you, Sir, consider who I was?

  _Alb._ Yes, Madam, Wife unto my Friend _Antonio_,
  The only Man that has an Interest here:
  --But, Madam, that must still submit to Love.

  _Ism._ Canst thou at once be true to him and me?

  _Alb._ Madam, I know not that;
  But since I must lose one,
  My Friendship I can better lay aside.

  _Ism._ Hast thou forgot how dear thou art to him?

  _Alb._ No, I do believe I am, and that his Life
  Were but a worthless trifle, if I needed it.
  Yet, Madam, you are dearer to him still
  Than his _Alberto_; and ‘tis so with me:
  --Him I esteem, but you I do adore;
  And he whose Soul’s insensible of Love,
  Can never grateful to his Friendship prove.

  _Ism._ By your example, Sir, I’ll still retain
  My Love for him; and what I had for you,
  Which was but Friendship, I’ll abandon too.

  _Ant._ Happy _Antonio_.--    [Aside.

  _Ism._ Pray what have you _Antonio_ cannot own?
  Has he not equal Beauty, if not exceeding thine?
  Has he not equal Vigour, Wit, and Valour?
  And all that even raises Men to Gods,
  Wert not for poor Mortality?
  --Vain Man, couldst thou believe
  That I would quit my Duty to this Husband,
  And sacrifice his Right to thee?
  --Couldst thou believe me yesterday?
  When from thy Importunity and Impudence,
  To send thee from me,
  I promised thee to love thee.
  --Nay, rather, treacherous Man,
  Couldst thou believe I did not hate thee then,
  Who basely would betray thy Friend and me?

  _Alb._ Sure this is earnest.    [Aside.

  _Ant._ Oh brave _Clarina_!    [Aside.

  _Ism._ Speak, Traitor to my Fame and Honour;
  Was there no Woman, but _Antonio’s_ Wife,
  With whom thou couldst commit so foul a Crime?
  And none but he to bring to publick Shame?
  A Man who trusted thee, and lov’d thee too?
  --Speak--and if yet thou hast a sense of Virtue,
  Call to the Saints for pardon, or thou dy’st.
    [She draws a Poniard, and runs at him; he steps back to avoid it.

  _Alb._ Hold, _Clarina_!--I am amaz’d.

  _Ism._ But stay.
  Thou say’st my Beauty forc’d thee to this Wickedness,
  And that’s the cause you have abus’d _Antonio_.
  --Nor is it all the Power I have with him,
  Can make him credit what I tell him of thee;
  And should I live, I still must be pursu’d by thee,
  And unbeliev’d by him:
  --_Alberto_, thou shalt ne’er be guilty more,
  Whilst this--and this may meet.
    [Offering to wound her self, is stay’d by _Alb._ and _Isab._ They
    set _Ism._ in a Chair; _Alb._ kneels weeping.

  _Alb._ Hold, my divine _Clarina_.--

  _Ant._ Shall I discover my self, or steal away?    [Aside.
  And all asham’d of Life after this Action,
  Go where the Sun or Day may never find me?
  Oh! what Virtue I’ve abus’d--
  Curse on my little Faith;
  And all the Curses Madness can invent,
  Light on my groundless Jealousy.    [Ex. _Antonio_.

  _Alb._ _Clarina_, why so cruel to my Heart?
  ‘Tis true, I love you, but with as chaste an Ardour,
  As Souls departing pay the Deities,
  When with incessant Sighs they haste away,
  And leave Humanity behind. Oh! so did I
  Abandon all the lesser Joys of Life,
  For that of being permitted but t’adore ye.
  Alas, if ‘twere displeasing to you,
  Why did your self encourage it?
  I might have languish’d, as I did before,
  And hid those Crimes which make you hate me now.
  --Oh, I am lost? _Antonio_, thou’st undone me;    [He rises in Rage.
  --Hear me, Ungrate; I swear by all that’s good,
  I’ll wash away my Mischief with thy Blood.

  _Isab._ _Antonio_ hears you not, Sir, for he’s departed.

  _Ism._ Is _Antonio_ gone?
    [She looks pertly up, who before lay half dead.

  _Alb._ How’s this, has she but feign’d?

  _Ism._ Know it was but feign’d; I hope this proof
  Of what I’ve promis’d you, does not displease you.

  _Alb._ Am I thus fortunate, thus strangely happy?

  _Ism._ Time will confirm it to you--go, do not
  Now thank me for’t, but seek _Antonio_ out;
  Perhaps he may have too great a Sense of the
  Mischiefs his Jealousies had like to have caus’d:
  But conjure him to take no notice of what’s past to me;
  This easy slight of mine secures our Fears,
  And serves to make _Antonio_ confident,
  Who now will unbelieve his Eyes and Ears;
  And since before, when I was innocent,
  He could suspect my Love and Duty too,
  I’ll try what my dissembling it will do.
  --Go haste.--

  _Alb._ Madam, I go, surpriz’d with Love and Wonder.    [Ex. _Alb._

  _Ism._ You’ll be more surpriz’d, when you know    [Aside.
  That you are cheated too as well as _Antonio_.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. A Street.

    Enter _Curtius_ disguis’d in a black Peruke and Beard, with
    _Pietro_ disguised also.

  _Cur._ Well, what hast thou learn’d?

  _Piet._ News enough, Sir, but none good;
  That the Prince’s Wounds are small,
  So that he intends to take the Air this Evening;
  That he sollicits _Laura_ hard;
  And, Sir, that you are proclaim’d Traitor.

  _Cur._ So, what says the Messenger you sent to _Cloris_?

  _Piet._ Sir, he brings sad tidings back.

  _Cur._ What tidings? is she dead?
  That would revive my Soul,
  And fortify my easy Nature with some wicked Notions,
  As deep as those this flattering Prince made use of,
  When he betray’d my Sister, pretty _Cloris_:
  --Come, speak it boldly, for nothing else
  Will make me do her Justice.

  _Piet._ No, Sir, she is not dead,
  But fled, and none knows whither;
  Only _Guilliam_ attends her.

  _Cur._ Worse and worse; but what of _Laura_?

  _Piet._ She, Sir, is kept a Prisoner by her Father,
  And speaks with none but those that come from _Frederick_.

  _Cur._ _Laura_ confin’d too! ‘tis time to hasten then,
  With my, till now, almost disarmed Revenge:
  --Thus I may pass unknown the Streets of _Florence_,
  And find an opportunity to reach this Prince’s Heart,
  --Oh, Vengeance! luxurious Vengeance!
  Thy Pleasures turn a Rival to my Love,
  And make the mightier Conquest o’er my Heart.
  --_Cloris_, I will revenge thy Tears and Sufferings;
  And to secure the Doom of him that wrong’d thee,
  I’ll call on injur’d _Laura_ too.
  --Here take these Pictures--and where thou see’st    [Gives him Boxes.
  A knot of Gallants, open one or two, as if by stealth,
  To gaze upon the Beauties, and then straight close them--
  But stay, here comes the only Man
  I could have wish’d for; he’ll proclaim my Business
  Better than a Picture or a Trumpet.    [They stand by.
    [_Curtius_ takes back the Pictures.

    Enter _Lorenzo_ and _Guilliam_ dressed in fineish Clothes, but
    the same high-crown’d Hat.

  _Lor._ Did, ha, ha, ha, did, ha, ha; did ever any
  Mortal Man behold such a Figure as thou art now?
  Well, I see ‘tis a damnable thing not to
  Be born a Gentleman; the Devil himself
  Can never make thee truly jantee now.
  --Come, come, come forward; these Clothes become
  Thee, as a Saddle does a Sow; why com’st thou not?
  --Why--ha, ha, I hope thou hast not
  Hansel’d thy new Breeches,
  Thou look’st so filthily on’t.    [He advances, looking sourly.

  _Guil._ No, Sir, I hope I have more manners than so;
  But if I should, ‘tis not my fault;
  For the necessary Houses are hard
  To be met withal here at Court.

  _Lor._ Very well, Sirrah; you begin already to be
  Witty with the Court: but I can tell you, it has as
  Many necessary Places in’t, as any Court in Christendom
  --But what a Hat thou hast?

  _Guil._ Why, Sir, though I say’t, this is accounted of
  In our Village; but I had another but now,
  Which I blew off in a high Wind; and I never mist it,
  Till I had an occasion to pluck it off to a young
  Squire, they call a Lacquey; and, Fegs,
  I had none at all: and because I would not lose
  My Leg for want of a Hat, I fetch’d this;
  And I can tell you, Sir, it has a fashionable Brim.

  _Lor._ A Fool’s head of your own, has it not?
  The Boys will hoot at us as we pass--hah,
  Who be these, who be these--    [Goes towards _Cur._ and _Piet._

  _Cur._ Here--this to _Don Alonso_--this to the
  _English_ Count; and this you may shew to the
  Young _German_ Prince--and this--
  I will reserve for higher Prices.    [Gives _Piet._ Pictures.

  _Piet._ Will you shew none to the Courtiers, Sir?

  _Cur._ Away, you Fool, I deal in no such Trash.

  _Lor._ How, Sir, how was that? pray how came we to
  Gain your dis-favour?

  _Cur._ I cry you mercy, Sir, pray what are you;

  _Lor._ A Courtier, Sir, I can assure you,
  And one of the best Rank too;
  I have the Prince’s ear, Sir.
  --What have you there, hah?--Pictures? let me see--
  What, are they to be bought?

  _Cur._ Sir, they are Copies of most fair Originals,
  Not to be bought but hired.

  _Lor._ Say you so, Friend? the Price, the Price.

  _Cur._ Five thousand Crowns a Month, Sir.

  _Lor._ The Price is somewhat saucy.

  _Cur._ Sir, they be curious Pieces, were never blown upon,
  Have never been in Courts, nor hardly Cities.

  _Lor._ Upon my word, that’s considerable;
  Friend, pray where do they live?

  _Cur._ In the _Piazzo_, near the Palace.

  _Lor._ Well, put up your Ware, shew not a face of them
  Till I return! for I will bring you
  The best Chapman in all _Florence_,
  Except the Duke himself.

  _Cur._ You must be speedy then,
  For I to morrow shall be going towards _Rome_.

  _Lor._ A subtle Rascal this: thou think’st, I warrant,
  To make a better Market amongst the Cardinals.
  --But take my word, ne’er a Cardinal of them all
  Comes near this Man, I mean, to bring you in
  Matters of Beauty--so, this will infallibly make
  My Peace again: [Aside.] Look ye, Friend
  --Be ready, for ‘tis the Prince, the noble generous _Frederick_,
  That I design your Merchant.    [Goes out.

  _Cur._ Your Servant, Sir,--that is _Guilliam_;
  I cannot be mistaken in him, go call him back.
    [_Pietro_ fetches him back, who puts on a surly Face.
  --Friend, what art thou?

  _Guil._ What am I? why, what am I? dost thou not see
  What I am? a Courtier, Friend.

  _Cur._ But what’s thy Name?

  _Guil._ My Name, I have not yet considered.

  _Cur._ What was thy Name?

  _Guil._ What was my Name?

  _Cur._ Yes, Friend, thou hadst one.

  _Guil._ Yes, Friend, thou hadst one.

  _Cur._ Dog, do’st eccho me? do’st thou repeat?
  I say again, what is thy Name?    [Shakes him.

  _Guil._ Oh horrible!--why, Sir, it was _Guilliam_
  When I was a silly Swain.

  _Cur._ _Guilliam_--the same;
  Didst thou not know a Maid whose name was _Cloris_?

  _Guil._ Yes, there was such a Maid,
  But now she’s none!

  _Cur._ Was such a Maid, but now she’s none!
  --The Slave upbraids my Griefs.    [Aside.

  _Guil._ Yes, Sir, so I said.

  _Cur._ So you said!

  _Guil._ Why, yes, Sir, what, do you repeat?

  _Cur._ What mean you, Sirrah? have you a mind to
  Have your Throat cut? tell me where she is.

  _Guil._ I dare as well be hang’d.
  Now must I devise a lye, or never look _Cloris_
  In the Face more.    [Aside.

  _Cur._ Here’s Gold for thee; I will be secret too.

  _Guil._ Oh, Sir, the poor Maid you speak of is dead.

  _Cur._ Dead! where dy’d she? and how?

  _Guil._ Now am I put to my wits; this ‘tis to begin
  In Sin, as our Curate said: I must go on:    [Aside.
  --Why, Sir, she came into the Wood--and hard by a
  River-side--she sigh’d, and she wept full sore;
  And cry’d two or three times out upon _Curtius_,
  --And--then--    [Howls.

  _Cur._ Poor _Cloris_, thy Fate was too severe.

  _Guil._ And then as I was saying, Sir,
  She leapt into the River, and swam up the Stream.    [_Cur._ weeps.

  _Piet._ And why up the Stream, Friend?

  _Guil._ Because she was a Woman--and that’s all.    [Ex. _Guil._

  _Cur._ Farewel, and thank thee.
  --Poor _Cloris_ dead, and banish’d too from _Laura_!
  Was ever wretched Lover’s Fate like mine!
  --And he who injures me, has power to do so;
  --But why, where lies this Power about this Man?
  Is it his Charms of Beauty, or of Wit?
  Or that great Name he has acquir’d in War?
  Is it the Majesty, that holy something,
  That guards the Person of this Demi-god?
  This awes not me, there must be something more.
  For ever, when I call upon my Wrongs,
  Something within me pleads so kindly for him,
  As would persuade me that he could not err.
  --Ah, what is this? where lies this Power divine,
  That can so easily make a Slave of mine?

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. _Frederick’s_ Chamber.

    Enter _Frederick_, and _Cloris_ finely dress’d.

  _Fred._ ‘Tis much methinks, a Boy of so dejected,
  Humble Birth, should have so much of Sense
  And Soul about him.

  _Clo._ I know not that; but if I have a thought
  Above that humble Birth or Education,
  It was inspir’d by Love.

  _Fred._ Still you raise my Wonder greater;
  --Thou a Lover?

  _Clo._ Yes, my Lord, though I am young,
  I’ve felt the power of Beauty;
  And should you look upon the Object, Sir,
  Your Wonders soon would cease;
  Each Look does even animate Insensibles,
  And strikes a reverend Awe upon the Soul:
  Nothing is found so lovely.

  _Fred._ Thou speak’st prettily, I think Love
  Indeed has inspir’d thee.

  _Clo._ These were the Flatteries, Sir, she us’d to me;
  Of her it was I learn’d to speak, and sigh,
  And look, as oft you say, I do on you.

  _Fred._ Why then, it seems she made returns?

  _Clo._ Ah! Sir, ‘twas I that first was blest,
  I first the happy Object was belov’d;
  For, ‘twas a Person, Sir, so much above me,--
  It had been Sin to’ve rais’d my Eyes to her;
  Or by a glance, or sigh, betray my Pain.
  But Oh! when with a thousand soft Expressions,
  She did encourage me to speak of Love!
  --My God! how soon extravagant I grew,
  And told so oft the story of my Passion,
  That she grew weary of the repeated Tale,
  And punish’d my presumption with a strange neglect.    [Weeps.

  _Fred._ How, my good _Philibert_?

  _Clo._ Would suffer me to see her Face no more.

  _Fred._ That was pity; without a Fault?

  _Clo._ Alas, Sir, I was guilty of no Crime,
  But that of having told her how I lov’d her;
  For all I had I sacrific’d to her;
  --Poor worthless Treasures to any but a Lover;
  And such you know accept the meanest things,
  Which Love and a true Devotion do present.
  When she was present, I found a thousand ways
  To let her know how much I was her Slave;
  And absent, still invented new ones,
  And quite neglected all my little Business;
  Counting the tedious Moments of the Day
  By Sighs and Tears; thought it an Age to night,
  Whose Darkness might secure our happy meeting:
  But we shall meet no more on these kind Terms.    [Sighs.

  _Fred._ Come, do not weep, sweet Youth, thou art too young,
  To have thy blooming Cheeks blasted with sorrow;
  Thou wilt out-grow this childish Inclination,
  And shalt see Beauties here, whose every glance
  Kindle new Fires, and quite expel the old.

  _Clo._ Oh, never, Sir.

  _Fred._ When I was first in love, I thought so too,
  But now with equal ardour
  I doat upon each new and beauteous Object.

  _Clo._ And quite forget the old?

  _Fred._ Not so; but when I see them o’er again,
  I find I love them as I did before.

  _Clo._ Oh God forbid, I should be so inconstant!
  No, Sir, though she be false, she has my Heart,
  And I can die, but not redeem the Victim.

  _Fred._ Away, you little Fool, you make me sad
  By this resolve: but I’ll instruct you better.

  _Clo._ I would not make you sad for all the World.
  Sir, I will sing, or dance, do any thing
  That may divert you.

  _Fred._ I thank thee, _Philibert_, and will accept
  Thy Bounty; perhaps it may allay thy Griefs awhile too.

  _Clo._ I’ll call the Musick, Sir.    [She goes out.

  _Fred._ This Boy has strange agreements in him.

    Enter _Cloris_ with Musick.

  _She bids them play, and dances a Jig._

  This was wondrous kind, my pretty _Philibert_.

    [Exeunt Musick.

    Enter _Page_.

  _Page_. _Lorenzo_, my Lord, begs admittance.

  _Fred._ He may come in.    [Exit _Page_.

    Enter _Lorenzo_.

  --Well, _Lorenzo_, what’s the News with thee?
  --How goes the price of Beauty, hah?

  _Lor._ My Lord, that question is _a propos_ to
  What I have to say; this Paper will answer your
  Question, Sir--    [Gives him a Paper, he reads.
  --Hah, I vow to gad a lovely Youth;    [_Lor._ gazes on _Phil._
  But what makes he here with _Frederick_?
  This Stripling may chance to mar my market of Women now--
  ‘Tis a fine Lad, how plump and white he is;    [Aside.
  Would I could meet him somewhere i’th’ dark,
  I’d have a fling at him, and try whether I
  Were right _Florentine_.

  _Fred._ Well, Sir, where be these Beauties?

  _Lor._ I’ll conduct you to them.

  _Fred._ What’s the Fellow that brings them?

  _Lor._ A _Grecian_, I think, or something.

  _Fred._ Beauties from _Greece_, Man!

  _Lor._ Why, let them be from the Devil,
  So they be new and fine, what need we care?
  --But you must go to night.

  _Fred._ I am not in a very good condition
  To make Visits of that kind.

  _Lor._ However, see them, and if you like them,
  You may oblige the Fellow to a longer stay,
  For I know they are handsome.

  _Fred._ That’s the only thing thou art judge of;
  --Well, go you and prepare them;
  And _Philibert_, thou shalt along with me;
  I’ll have thy Judgment too.

  _Clo._ Good Heaven, how false he is!    [Aside.

  _Lor._ What time will your Highness come?

  _Fred._ Two Hours hence.    [Ex. _Fred._

  _Lor._ So then I shall have time to have a bout
  With this jilting Huswife _Isabella_,
  For my Fingers itch to be at her.    [Aside.    [Ex. _Lorenzo_.

  _Clo._ Not know me yet? cannot this Face inform him?
  My Sighs, nor Eyes, my Accent, nor my Tale?
  Had he one thought of me, he must have found me out.
  --Yes, yes, ‘tis certain I am miserable;
  He’s going now to see some fresher Beauties,
  And I, he says, must be a witness of it;
  This gives me Wounds, painful as those of Love:
  Some Women now would find a thousand Plots
  From so much Grief as I have, but I’m dull;
  Yet I’ll to _Laura_, and advise with her,
  Where I will tell her such a heavy Tale,
  As shall oblige her to a kind concern:
  --This may do; I’ll tell her of this Thought,
  This is the first of Art I ever thought on;
  And if this proves a fruitless Remedy,
  The next, I need not study, how to die.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE IV. A Street.

    Enter _Lorenzo_, meets _Guilliam_, who passes by him, and takes
    no notice of him.

_Lor._ How now, Manners a few?

_Guil._ I cry you heartily, Sir, I did not see you.

_Lor._ Well, Sirrah, the News.

_Guil._ Sir, the Gentlewoman whom you sent me to says That she’ll meet
you here.

_Lor._ That’s well, thou mayst come to be a States-man In time, thou art
a fellow of so quick dispatch: But hark ye, Sirrah, there are a few
Lessons I must learn you, Concerning Offices of this nature; But another
time for that: but--
    [Whispers.

    Enter _Isabella_, and _Antonio’s Valet_.

_Isab._ Here he is; and prithee, when thou seest him in My Chamber, go
and tell my Lord, Under pretence of the care you have of the Honour of
his House.

_Val._ I warrant you, let me alone for a Tale, And a Lye at the end
on’t; which shall not over-much Incense him, nor yet make him neglect
coming.
    [Ex. _Val._

_Lor._ Oh, are you there, Mistress? what have you now To say for your
last Night’s Roguery? Are not you a Baggage? confess.

_Isab._ You have a mind to lose your opportunity again, As you did last
Night, have ye not? Pray God your own Shadow scare you not, As it did
then; and you will possibly believe No body meant you harm then, nor
now.

_Lor._ Art thou in earnest?

_Isab._ Are you in earnest?

_Lor._ Yes, that I am, and that _Clarina_ shall find, If I once come to
her.

_Isab._ Come, leave your frippery Jests, and come in.

_Lor._ _Guilliam_, be sure you attend me here, And whoever you see, say
nothing; the best on’t is, Thou art not much known.
    [_Isab._ and _Lor._ go in.

_Guil._ Well, I see there is nothing but foutering In this Town; wou’d
our _Lucia_ were here too for me, For all the Maids I meet with are so
giglish And scornful, that a Man, as I am, Gets nothing but flouts and
flings from them. Oh, for the little kind Lass that lives Under the
Hill, of whom the Song was made; Which because I have nothing else to
do, I will sing over now; hum, hum.


  The Song for _Guilliam_.    [To some Tune like him.

  _In a Cottage by the Mountain
  Lives a very pretty Maid,
  Who lay sleeping by a Fountain,
  Underneath a Myrtle shade;
  Her Petticoat of wanton Sarcenet,
  The amorous Wind about did move,
  And quite unveil’d,
  And quite unveil’d the Throne of Love,
  And quite unveil’d the Throne of Love._

’.is something cold, I’ll go take a Niperkin of Wine,
    [Goes out.

    Enter _Isab._ and _Lor._ above, as frighted into the Balcony.

  _Lor._ This was some trick of thine, I will be hang’d else.

  _Isab._ Oh, I’ll be sworn you wrong me;
  Alas, I’m undone by’t.    [_Ant._ at the Door knocks.

  _Ant._ Open the Door, thou naughty Woman.

  _Lor._ Oh, oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?

  _Ant._ Open the Door, I say.

  _Lor._ Oh, ‘tis a damnable leap out at this Balcony.

  _Isab._ And yet you are a dead Man, if you see him.

  _Ant._ Impudence, will you open the Door?

  _Isab._ I will, Sir, immediately.

  _Lor._ Devise some way to let me down,
  Or I will throw thee out; no Ladder of Ropes, no Device?
  --If a Man would not forswear Whoring for the future
  That is in my condition, I am no true Gentleman.

  _Ant._ Open, or I will break the Door.

  _Isab._ Hold the Door, and swear lustily that you
  Are my Husband, and I will in the mean time
  Provide for your safety,
  Though I can think of none but the Sheets from the Bed.
    [He holds the Door.

  _Lor._ Any thing to save my Life;
  --Sir, you may believe me upon my Honour,
  I am lawful Husband to _Isabella_,
  And have no designs upon your House or Honour.
    [_Isab._ this while fastens the Sheets, which are to be suppos’d
    from the Bed, to the Balcony.

  _Ant._ Thou art some Villain.

  _Lor._ No, Sir, I am an honest Man, and married lawfully.

  _Ant._ Who art thou?

  _Lor._ Hast thou done?

  _Isab._ Yes, but you must venture hard.

  _Isab._ ‘Tis _Lorenzo_, Sir.

  _Lor._ A Pox on her, now am I asham’d to all eternity.

  _Isab._ Sir, let me beg you’l take his Word and Oath to night,
  And to morrow I will satisfy you.    [_Lor._ gets down by the Sheets.

  _Ant._ Look you make this good,
  Or you shall both dearly pay for’t.

  _Lor._ I am alive, yes, yes, all’s whole and sound,
  Which is a mercy, I can tell you;
  This is whoring now: may I turn _Franciscan_,
  If I could not find in my heart to do penance
  In Camphire Posset, this Month, for this.
  --Well, I must to this Merchant of Love,
  And I would gladly be there before the Prince:
  For since I have mist here,
  I shall be amorous enough,
  And then I’ll provide for _Frederick_;
  For ‘tis but just, although he be my Master,
  That I in these Ragousts should be his Taster.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE V. Antonio’s House.

    Enter _Ismena_ with a Veil.

  _Ism._ _Alberto_ is not come yet, sure he loves me;
  But ‘tis not Tears, and Knees, that can confirm me;
  No, I must be convinc’d by better Argument.
  --Deceit, if ever thou a Guide wert made
  To amorous Hearts, assist a Love-sick Maid.

    Enter _Alberto_.

  _Alb._ Your pleasure, Madam?
  --Oh that she would be brief,
  And send me quickly from her,
  For her Eyes will overthrow my purpose.    [Aside.

  _Ism._ _Alberto_, do you love me?

  _Alb._ No.

  _Ism._ No! have you deceiv’d me then?

  _Alb._ Neither, _Clarina_; when I told you so,
  By Heaven, ‘twas perfect Truth.

  _Ism._ And what have I done since should
  Merit your Dis-esteem?

  _Alb._ Nothing but what has rais’d it.

  _Ism._ To raise your Esteem, then it seems, is
  To lessen your Love; or, as most Gallants are,
  You’re but pleas’d with what you have not;
  And love a Mistress with great Passion, till you find
  Your self belov’d again, and then you hate her.

  _Alb._ You wrong my Soul extremely,
  ‘Tis not of that ungrateful nature;
  To love me is to me a greater Charm
  Than that of Wit or Beauty.

  _Ism._ I’m glad on’t, Sir; then I have pleasant News for you,
  I know a Lady, and a Virgin too,
  That loves you with such Passion,
  As has oblig’d me to become her Advocate.

  _Alb._ I am very much oblig’d to her,
  If there be any such.

  _Ism._ Upon my Life, there is; I am in earnest,
  The Lady is my Sister too.

  _Alb._ How, _Clarina_, this from you?

  _Ism._ Nay, I have promis’d her, that you shall love her too,
  Since both her Birth and Beauty merits you.

  _Alb._ Away, false Woman: I love your Sister!
  No, I will hate ye both.

  _Ism._ Why so Angry?
  Alas, it is against my Will I do it.

  _Alb._ Did you betray my Faith, when ‘twas so easy
  To give a credit to your tale of Love?
  --Oh Woman, faithless Woman!

  _Ism._ _Alberto_, with a world of shame I own
  That I then lov’d you, and must do so still:
  But since that Love must be accounted criminal,
  And that a world of danger does attend it;
  I am resolv’d, though I can never quit it,
  To change it into kind Esteem for you;
  And would ally you, Sir, as near to me,
  As our unkind Stars will permit me.

  _Alb._ I thank you, Madam: Oh, what a shame it is,
  To be out-done in Virtue, as in Love!

  _Ism._ Another favour I must beg of you,
  That you will tell _Antonio_ what is past.

  _Alb._ How mean you, Madam?

  _Ism._ Why, that I love you, Sir,
  And how I have deceiv’d him into confidence.

  _Alb._ This is strange; you cannot mean it sure.

  _Ism._ When I intend to be extremely good,
  I would not have a secret Sin within,
  Though old, and yet repented too: no, Sir,
  Confession always goes with Penitence.

  _Alb._ Do you repent you that you lov’d me then?

  _Ism._ Not so; but that I did abuse _Antonio_.

  _Alb._ And can you think that this will cure his Jealousy?

  _Ism._ Doubtless it will, when he knows how needless ‘tis;
  For when they’re most secure, they’re most betray’d:
  Besides, I did but act the part he made;
  And Ills he forces, sure he’ll not upbraid.
  Go seek out _Antonio_.

  _Alb._ You have o’ercome me, Madam, every way,
  And this your last Command I can obey;
  Your Sister too I’ll see, and will esteem,
  But you’ve my Heart, which I can ne’er redeem.

    [Exeunt severally.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _Laura’s_ Chamber.

    Enter _Laura_ and _Cloris_ like a Boy, as before.

  _Lau._ Forward, dear _Cloris_.

  _Clo._ And, Madam, ‘twas upon a Holyday,
  It chanc’d Prince _Frederick_ came into our Village,
  On some reports were made him of my Beauty,
  Attended only by the noble _Curtius_:
  They found me in the Church at my Devotion,
  Whom _Frederick_ soon distinguished from the rest;
  He kneel’d down by me, and instead of Prayer,
  He fell to praise--but ‘twas my Beauty only;
  --That I could tell you, of my strange surprize!
  My Zeal was all disordered, and my Eyes
  Fed on the false, not real Sacrifice.
  --I wanted Art my Sentiments to hide,
  Which from my Eyes and Blushes soon he spy’d.

  _Lau._ And did you know him then?

  _Clo._ Not till he left me:
  --But, to be short, Madam, we parted there;
  But e’er he went he whisper’d in my ear,
  And sigh’d, Ah, _Cloris_! e’er you do depart,
  Tell me, where ‘tis you will dispose my Heart?
  --Pray give me leave to visit it again,
  Your Eyes that gave can only ease my Pain.
  I, only blushing, gave him my consent;
  He paid his Thanks in Sighs, and from me went.
  That night, alas, I took but little rest; }
  The new and strange Disorder in my Breast }
  Can, Madam, only by your self be guest.   }

  _Lau._ I’ll not deny that I’m a Lover too,
  And can imagine what was felt by you.

  _Clo._ No sooner did the welcome Day appear,
  But _Lucia_ brought me word the Prince was there;
  His very Name disorder’d me much more,
  Than did his Sight or Touch the day before;
  So soon my rising Love grew up to power,
  So soon he did become my Conqueror.
  --How pale and trembling, when he did appear,
  I grew, he too had marks of Love and Fear.
  --But I’ll omit the many visits paid,
  Th’ unvalued Presents, and the Oaths he made,
  My kind Disputes on all his Letters writ,
  How all my Doubts were answer’d by his Wit;
  How oft he vow’d to marry me, whilst I
  Durst not believe the pleasing Perjury:
  --And only tell you, that one night he came,
  Led by designs of an impatient Flame;
  When all the House was silently asleep,
  Except my self, who Love’s sad Watch did keep;
  Arm’d with his Ponyard, and his Breast all bare,
  His Face all pale with restless Love and Fear;
  So many wild and frantick things he said,
  And so much Grief and Passion too betray’d,
  So often vow’d he’d finish there his Life,
  If I refus’d him to become his Wife;
  That I half-dying, said it should be so;
  Which though I fear’d, Oh, how I wish’d it too!
  Both prostrate on the Ground i’th’ face of Heaven,
  His Vows to me, and mine to him were given:
  --And then, oh, then, what did I not resign!
  With the assurance that the Prince was mine.    [Weeps.

  _Lau._ Poor _Cloris_, how I pity thee!
  Since Fate has treated me with equal rigor;
  --_Curtius_ is banish’d, _Frederick_ still pursues me,
  And by a cruel Father I’m confin’d,
  And cannot go to serve my self or thee.    [One knocks.

  _Lor._ [Without.] Sister _Laura_, Sister.

  _Lau._ It is my Brother, would he would be kind,
  And set us free; he shall not see thee,
  And I’ll persuade him.
    [As she puts _Cloris_ into her Closet, enter _Lorenzo_ with a
    Letter.

  _Lor._ Hah, locking her Closet! now, were I a right
  _Italian_, should I grow jealous, and enrag’d at
  I know not what: hah, Sister!
  What are you doing here?
  Open your Cabinet, and let me see’t.

  _Lau._ Sir, ‘tis in disorder, and not worth your seeing now.

  _Lor._ ‘Tis so, I care not for that, I’ll see’t.

  _Lau._ Pray do not, Brother.

  _Lor._ Your denial makes me the more inquisitive.

  _Lau._ ‘Tis but my saying, he came from the Prince,
  And he dares not take it ill.    [Aside.
  --Here, Sir,    [Gives him the Key.

  _Lor._ And here’s for you too; a Letter from _Curtius_,
  And therefore I would not open it: I took it up
  At the Post-house.    [She reads, and seems pleas’d.
  Now if this should prove some surly Gallant of hers,
  And give me a slash o’er the Face for peeping
  I were but rightly serv’d;
  And why the Devil should I expect my Sister should
  Have more Virtue than my self?
  She’s the same flesh and blood: or why, because
  She’s the weaker Vessel,
  Should all the unreasonable burden of the Honour
  Of our House, as they call it,
  Be laid on her Shoulders, whilst we may commit
  A thousand Villanies? but ‘tis so--
  Here, open the Door;
  I’ll put her before me, however.
    [She opens the Door, and brings out _Cloris_.

  _Lau._ Sir, ‘tis _Philibert_ from the Prince.

  _Lor._ Why, how now, Youngster, I see you intend
  To thrive by your many Trades;
  So soon, so soon, i’faith? but, Sirrah,
  This is my Sister, and your Prince’s Mistress;
  Take notice of that.

  _Clo._ I know not what you mean.

  _Lor._ Sir, you cannot deceive me so;
  And you were right serv’d, you would be made fit
  For nothing but the great _Turk’s Seraglio_.

  _Clo._ You mistake my business, Sir.

  _Lor._ Your Blushes give you the lye, Sirrah;
  But for the Prince’s sake, and another reason I have,
  I will pardon you for once.

  _Lau._ He has not done a fault, and needs it not.

  _Lor._ Was he not alone with thee?
  And is not that enough? Well, I see I am no _Italian_
  In Punctillio’s of honourable Revenge.
  There is but one experiment left to prove my self so;
  And if that fail, I’ll e’en renounce my Country.
  --Boy, harkye,--there is a certain kindness
  You may do me, and get your pardon for being found here.

  _Clo._ You shall command me any thing.

  _Lor._ Prithee how long hast thou been set up for thy self, Hah?

  _Clo._ As how, Sir?

  _Lor._ Poh, thou understand’st me.

  _Clo._ Indeed I do not, Sir; what is’t you mean?

  _Lor._ A smooth-fac’d Boy, and ask such a Question?
  Fy, fy, this Ignorance was ill counterfeited
  To me that understand the World.

  _Clo._ Explain your self, Sir.

  _Lor._ Lookye, ten or twenty Pistoles will do you
  No hurt, will it?

  _Clo._ Not any, Sir.

  _Lor._ Why, so, ‘tis well any thing will make thee
  Apprehend.

  _Clo._ I shall be glad to serve you, Sir, without that fee.

  _Lor._ That’s kindly said--
  I see a Man must not be too easy of belief: had I been so,
  This Boy would have been at, what d’ye mean, Sir?
  And, Lord, I understand you not.
  Well, _Philibert_, here’s earnest to bind the Bargain;
  I am now in haste; when I see thee next,
  I’ll tell thee more.    [_Lorenzo_ whispers to _Laura_.

  _Clo._ This ‘tis to be a Favourite now;
  I warrant you I must do him some good office to the Prince,
  Which I’ll be sure to do.

  _Lor._ Nay, it must be done, for she has us’d me basely;
  Oh, ‘tis a Baggage.

  _Lau._ Let me alone to revenge you on _Isabella_,
  Get me but from this Imprisonment.

  _Lor._ I will: whilst I hold the old Man in a dispute,
  Do you two get away; but be sure thou pay’st her home.

  _Lau._ I warrant you, Sir, this was happy;
  Now shall I see _Curtius_.

  _Lor._ _Philibert_, I advise you to have a care of
  Wenching: ‘twill spoil a good Face,
  And mar your better market of the two.    [Ex. _Lor._

  _Lau._ Come, let us haste, and by the way, I’ll tell thee
  Of a means that may make us all happy.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. A Grove.

    Enter _Alberto_ melancholy.

  _Alb._ _Antonio_ said he would be here,
  I’m impatient till he come--

    Enter _Antonio_.

  _Ant._ _Alberto_, I have such a Project for thee!

  _Alb._ Hah--    [Gazes.

  _Ant._ What ails thee, art thou well?

  _Alb._ No.

  _Ant._ Where art thou sick?

  _Alb._ At Heart, _Antonio_, poison’d by thy Jealousy;
  --Oh, thou hast ruin’d me, undone my Quiet,
  And from a Man of reasonable Virtue,
  Hast brought me to a wild distracted Lover.

  _Ant._ Explain your self.

  _Alb._ Thou’st taught me, Friend, to love _Clarina_;
  Not, as I promis’d thee, to feign, but so,
  That I, unless I do possess that Object,
  I think must die; at best be miserable.

  _Ant._ How, Sir, have I done this?

  _Alb._ Yes, Antonio, thou hast done this.

  _Ant._ My dear _Alberto_, said you that you lov’d her?

  _Alb._ Yes, _Antonio_, against my will I do;
  As much against my will, as when I told her so;
  Urg’d by thy needless Stratagem.

  _Ant._ Name it no more, it was an idle Fault,
  Which I do so repent me,
  That if you find I should relapse again,
  Kill me, and let me perish with my Weakness:
  And were that true you tell me of your Passion,
  Sure I should wish to die, to make you happy.

  _Alb._ That’s kindly said, and I submit to you,
  And am content to be out-done in Amity.

  _Ant._ Yes, I’ll resign my Claims, and leave the World;
  _Alberto_, ‘tis unkind to think I would be happy
  By ways must ruin you:
  But sure you tell me this, but only to afflict me.

  _Alb._ ‘Tis truth, _Antonio_, I do love _Clarina;_
  And, what is yet far worse for thy repose,
  Believe my self so bless’d to be belov’d.

  _Ant._ How, to be belov’d by her!
  --Oh dire effects of Jealousy!

  _Alb._ All that you saw to day was only feign’d,
  To let you see, that even your Eyes and Ears
  Might be impos’d upon.

  _Ant._ Can it be possible!

  _Alb._ And now she thinks she is enough reveng’d;
  And lets you know, in her feign’d Scorn to me,
  That all your Sleights and Cunnings are but vain:
  She has deceiv’d them all, and by that Art,
  Gives you a Confidence, and me a Heart.

  _Ant._ I must confess, it is but just in her
  To punish thus the Errors of my Fear;
  I do forgive her, from my Soul I do.
  --But, Sir, what satisfaction’s this to you?

  _Alb._ _Clarina_ happy, I’ll from Court retire,
  And by that Absence quench my Hopeless Fire:
  War I will make my Mistress, who may be,
  Perhaps, more kind than she has been to me;
  Where though I cannot conquer, ‘twill allow
  That I may die; that’s more than this will do.

  _Ant._--Why did you, Sir, betray my Weakness to her?
  Though ‘twas but what I did deserve from you.

  _Alb._ By all that’s good, she knew the Plot before,
  From _Isabella_, who it seems o’erheard us,
  When you once press’d me to’t:
  And had we wanted Virtue, thoud’st been lost.

  _Ant._ I own the Crime;
  And first I beg thy Pardon,
  And after that will get it from _Clarina_;
  Which done, I’ll wait upon thee to the Camp,
  And suffer one year’s Penance for this Sin,
  Unless I could divert this Resolution,
  By a Proposal _Clarina_ bid me make you.

  _Alb._ What was it, Sir?

  _Ant._ I have a Sister, Friend, a handsome Virgin,
  Rich, witty, and I think she’s virtuous too;
  Return’d last Week from St. _Teresia’s_ Monastery.

  _Alb._ Sure any thing that is to thee ally’d,
  Must find a more than bare Respect from me;
  But certain ‘tis I ne’er shall love again,
  And have resolv’d never to marry any,
  Where Interest, and not Love, must join our hands.

  _Ant._ You cannot tell what Power there lies in Beauty;
  Come, you shall see her, and if after that,
  You find you cannot love her,
  We’ll both to _Candia_, where we both will prove
  Rivals in Honour, as we’re now in Love.
  --But I’ad forgot to tell thee what I came for;
  I must this Evening beg your Company,
  Nay, and perhaps your Sword: come along with me,
  And by the way I’ll tell you the Adventure.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. The Lodgings of _Curtius_.

    Enter _Curtius_ and _Pietro_, disguis’d as before.

  _Cur._ I wonder we hear no news yet of the Prince,
  I hope he’ll come; _Pietro_, be the Bravoes ready,
  And the Curtezans?

  _Piet._ My Lord, they’ll be here immediately, all well dress’d too.

  _Cur._ They be those Bravoes that belong to me?

  _Piet._ Yes, Sir, the same;
  But _Antonio_ is their Patron.

  _Cur._ They be stout and secret; ‘tis well,
  Is the Music and all things ready?
  For I’ll not be seen till my Part is to be play’d.
  What Arms have they?

  _Piet._ Pistols, Sir, would you have other?

  _Cur._ No, I have not yet consider’d how to kill him,
  Nor scarce resolv’d to do so any way.
  What makes this strange Irresolution in me?
  --Sure ‘tis the force of sacred Amity,
  Which but too strictly was observ’d by me.
  --My Prince, and Friend, my Wife, and Sister too;
  Shall not those last, the powerful first out-do?
  My Honour, and my Love, are there ingag’d,
  And here, by ties of Duty, I’m oblig’d:
  I satisfy but these, if he must bleed;
  But ruin the whole Dukedom in the Deed,
  The hopeful Heir of all their noble Spoils,
  And Joy and Recompence of all their Toils.
  --Why, so was _Cloris_, _Laura_ too, to me,
  Which both were ravish’d from me, Prince, by thee.    [Knocks within.

  _Piet._ Sir, they be the Bravoes and Curtezans.    [_Pietro_ goes out.

  _Cur._ ‘Tis well, I need not talk with them,
  They understand their work.

  _Piet._ They do, my Lord, and shall be ready at your stamp;
  They are all _Neapolitans_, you know, Sir.

  _Cur._ Are they the better for that?

  _Piet._ Much, Sir, a _Venetian_ will turn to your Enemy,
  If he will give him but a Souse more than you have done;
  And your _Millanoise_ are fit for nothing but to
  Rob the Post or Carrier; a _Genovese_ too
  Will sooner kill by Usury than Sword or Pistol;
  A _Roman_ fit for nothing but a Spy.

  _Cur._ Well, Sir, you are pleasant with my Countrymen.

  _Piet._ I’ll be so with my own too, Sir; and tell you,
  That a _Maltan_, who pretends to so much Honour
  And Gravity, are fit only to rob their Neighbours
  With pretence of Piety,
  --And a _Cicilian_ so taken up with Plots,
  How to kill his Vice-Roy, that it keeps them
  From being Rogues to a less degree.
  But I have done, Sir, and beg your pardon.

  _Cur._ Didst leave the Letter, I commanded thee,
  For _Laura_?

  _Piet._ I did, my Lord.

    Enter _Lorenzo_.

  _Lor._ Well, here’s the Prince just coming.

  _Cor._ Pray, Sir, conduct him in,
  I’m ready for him.

    [Ex. _Cur._ and _Piet._

    Enter the Prince, conducted by two Women in Masquerade, with
    Lights, he endeavouring to take off their Masks.
    [Ex. two Women.
    [He walks about while this Song is singing.

  _What is the recompence of War,
    But soft and wanton Peace?
  What the best Balsam to our Scars,
    But that which _Venus_ gave to _Mars_,
  When he was circled in a kind Embrace?_

  _Behold a Prince, who never yet
    Was vanquished in the Field;
  Awhile his Glories must forget,
    And lay his Laurels at the feet
  Of some fair Female Power, to whom he’ll yield._

  _Fred._ What’s this the Preparation?

  _Lor._ Yes, so it should seem; but had you met
  With so many defeats as I have done to night,
  You would willingly excuse this Ceremony.

    Musick for the Dance.

    Enter _Antonio_ with _Ismena_, _Alberto_ with _Clarina_, _Laura_
    and _Cloris_ with two Men more, and all dress’d in Masquerade,
    with Vizards; they dance. The Prince sets down: the Dance being
    done, they retire to one side; and _Alberto_ comes and presents
    him _Clarina_, and bows and retires; who puts off her Mask, and
    puts it on again, and retires.

  _Fred._ She’s wondrous fair;
  Sure in his whole Cabal he cannot show a fairer--

  _Lor._ She resembles _Clarina_; I wish your Highness
  Would see further, and then perhaps this would
  Fall to my lot, for I love her for likeness sake.
    [_Antonio_ presents _Ismena_, and retires as the other.

  _Fred._ This I confess out-does the others;
  An Innocency dwells upon her Face,
  That’s strangely taking, is it not, _Lorenzo_?

  _Lor._ To say truth, she is very fine indeed.
    [They present _Laura_.

  _Fred._ Hah! I am amaz’d; see, _Lorenzo_,
  Dost thou not know that Face?

  _Lor._ O’ my Conscience and Soul, ‘tis my own Sister _Laura_;
  Why, how now, Mistress,
  Do things go thus with you, i’faith?
    [She shakes her Hand, as not understanding him.

  _Ant._ Sir, she understands you not.

  _Lor._ Is it not _Laura_ then?

  _Ant._ No, Sir, it is a Stranger.

  _Fred._ Let her be what she will, I’ll have her.
    [_Fred._ seems to talk, when she answers in Grimaces.

  _Lor._ There have been Examples in the World
  Of the good Offices done by a Brother to a Sister;
  But they are very rare here,
  And therefore will surely be the more acceptable.
  Well, Sir, have you fix’d, that I may chuse?

  _Fred._ I have, and had he thousands more,    [_Lor._ goes to _Clar._
  I would refuse them all for this fair Creature.

    Enter _Pietro_.

  _Piet._ Sir, all things are ready as you desire,
  But my Master must first speak with you alone.

  _Fred._ About the Price, I’ll warrant you;
  Let him come in:    [All go out but _Fred_, to him _Cur._
  --Are you the Master of the Ceremony?

  _Cur._ I am.

  _Fred._ Be speedy then, and by my Impatiency
  To be with that agreeable Stranger,
  Guess at my Approbation of the Ladies, and which I chuse.

  _Cur._ Your mighty Heat, Sir, will be soon allay’d.

  _Fred._ Shall it?

  _Cur._ Yes, Sir, it shall, for you must die.

  _Fred._ Sure thou art mad to tell me so, whoe’er thou be’st,
  Whilst I have this about me.    [Draws.

  _Cur._ That, Sir, you draw in vain; stand off--    [Offers a Pistol.

  _Fred._ What new conceited Preparation’s this?

  _Cur._ Sir, when you know this Face, it will inform you.
    [Pulls off his false Beard.

  _Fred._ _Curtius_! I am betray’d, oh Villain!    [Offers to fight.

  _Cur._ Ho, within there--
    [He calls, and all the masked Men come out, and offer their
    Pistols at _Frederick_.

  _Fred._ Hold, I am the Prince of _Florence_.

  _Cur._ These, Sir, are Rogues, and have no sense of ought,
  But Mischief in their Souls;
  Gold is their Prince and God,--go, be gone--    [They withdraw.
  --See, Sir, I can command them.

  _Fred._ _Curtius_, why dost thou deal thus treacherously with me?
  Did I not offer thee to fight thee fairly?

  _Cur._ ‘Tis like the Injuries, Sir, that you have done me;
  Pardon me if my Griefs make me too rude,
  And in coarse terms lay all your Sins before you.
  --First, Sir, you have debauch’d my lovely Sister,
  The only one I had;
  The Hope and Care of all our noble Family:
  Thou, Prince, didst ravish all her Virtue from her,
  And left her nothing but a desperate sense of Shame,
  Which only serv’d to do her self that Justice,
  Which I had executed, had she not prevented me.

  _Fred._ In this, upon my Soul, you do me wrong.

  _Cur._ Next, (Oh, how unlike a brave and generous Man!)
  Without a Cause, you cast me from your Bosom;
  Withdrew the Honour of your promis’d Friendship,
  And made me partner in my Sister’s Fate;
  Only with this difference, that she
  You left to act a Murder on her self;
  And mine you would have been so kind to’ve done
  With your own hand, but my respect prevented it.
  --Next, Sir, you ravish’d _Laura_ from me,
  And under a pretence of sacred Friendship,
  You prov’d your self the worst of Enemies;
  And that’s a Crime you dare not say was Ignorance,
  As you perhaps will plead your Sin to _Cloris_ was.

  _Fred._ _Cloris_, why, what hast thou to do with _Cloris_?

  _Cur._ She was my Sister, _Frederick_.

  _Fred._ Thy Sister!

  _Cur._ Yes, think of it well,
  A Lady of as pure and noble Blood,
  As that of the great Duke thy Father,
  Till you, bad Man, infected it.
  --Say, should I murder you for this base Action,
  Would you not call it a true Sacrifice?
  And would not Heaven and Earth forgive it too?

  _Fred._ No, had I known that she had been thy Sister,
  I had receiv’d her as a Gift from Heaven;
  And so I would do still.

  _Cur._ She must be sent indeed from Heaven,
  If you receive her now.

  _Fred._ Is _Cloris_ dead? Oh, how I was to blame!    [Weeps.
  --Here thou mayst finish now the Life thou threaten’st.

  _Cur._ Now, Sir, you know my Justice and my Power;
  Yet since my Prince can shed a Tear for _Cloris_,
  I can forgive him; here, Sir,--send me to _Cloris_,
    [Kneels, and offers his Sword.
  That Mercy possibly will redeem the rest
  Of all the Wrongs you’ve done me;
  And you shall find nothing but Sorrow here,
  And a poor broken Heart that did adore you.

  _Fred._ Rise, _Curtius_, and divide my Dukedom with me;
  Do any thing that may preserve thy Life,
  And gain my Pardon; alas, thy Honour’s safe,
  Since yet none knows that _Cloris_ was thy Sister,
  Or if they do, I must proclaim this truth;
  She dy’d thy Prince’s Wife.

  _Cur._ These Tidings would be welcome to my Sister,
  And I the fitting’st Man to bear that News.

    [Offers to stab himself; is held by _Frederick_, _Laura_, and
    _Cloris_, who come in with _Isabella_, dress’d like _Philibert_,
    and the rest.

  _Lau._ Stay, _Curtius_, and take me with thee in the way.

  _Cur._ _Laura_, my dearest _Laura_! how came you hither?

  _Lau._ Commanded by your Letter; have you forgot it?

  _Fred._ _Curtius_, look here, is this not _Cloris’. Face?

  _Cur._ The same; Oh my sweet Sister, is it thee?
    [_Curtius_ goes to embrace her, she goes back.

  _Fred._ Do not be shy, my Soul, it is thy Brother.

  _Cur._ Yes, a Brother who despis’d his Life,
  When he believ’d yours lost or sham’d:
  But now the Prince will take a care of it.

  _Clo._ May I believe my Soul so truly bless’d?

  _Fred._ Yes, _Cloris_, and thus low I beg thy pardon    [Kneels.
  For all the Fears that I have made thee suffer.

    Enter all the rest, first _Antonio_ and _Alberto_, without their
    Vizors.

  _Clo._ Rise, Sir, it is my Duty and my Glory.

  _Alb._ Sir, we have Pardons too to beg of you.

  _Fred._ _Antonio_ and _Alberto_, what, turn’d Bravoes?

  _Cur._ I am amaz’d.

  _Ant._ You’ll cease your Wonder, Sir, when you shall know,
  --Those Braves which formerly belong’d to you,
  Are now maintain’d by me; which _Pietro_ hir’d
  For this night’s service; and from them we learnt
  What was to be done, (though not on whom)
  But that we guess’d, and thought it but our duty
  To put this Cheat on _Curtius_;
  Which had we seen had been resolv’d to kill you,
  Had been by us prevented:
  The Ladies too would needs be Curtezans
  To serve your Highness.

  _Fred._ I’m much oblig’d to them, as you.
  --_Cloris_, a while I’ll leave thee with thy Brother,
  Till I have reconcil’d thee to my Father:
  To marry me, is what he long has wish’d for,
  And will, I know, receive this News with Joy.    [Exit Prince.

  _Lor._ Here’s fine doings; what am I like to come to if he
  Turn honest now? This is the worst piece of Inconstancy
  He ever was guilty of; to change ones Humour, or so,
  Sometimes, is nothing: but to change Nature,
  To turn good on a sudden, and never give a Man
  Civil warning, is a Defeat not be endur’d;
  I’ll see the end on’t though.    [Goes out.

  _Alb._ Here, _Antonio_--imagine how I love thee,
  Who make thee such a Present.
    [Gives him _Clarina_, who is dressed just as _Ismena_ was, and
    _Ismena_ in a Masquing Habit.

  _Ant._ _Clarina_, can you pardon my Offence,
  And bless me with that Love,
  You have but justly taken from me?

  _Clar._ You wrong me, Sir, I ne’er withdrew my Heart,
  Though you, but too unkindly, did your Confidence.

  _Ant._ Do not upbraid me; that I was so to blame,
  Is shame enough: pray pardon, and forget it.

  _Clar._ I do.

  _Ant._ _Alberto_, to shew my Gratitude in what I may,
  I beg you would receive _Ismena_ from me.

  _Alb._ Who’s this?

  _Ant._ Ismena, whom I promis’d thee.

  _Alb._ It is _Clarina_; do you mock my Pain?    [Shows _Ismena_.

  _Ant._ By Heaven, not I; this is _Clarina_, Sir.

  _Alb._ That thy Wife _Clarina!_
  A Beauty which till now I never saw.

  _Ant._ Sure thou art mad, didst thou not give her me but now,
  And hast not entertain’d her all this night?

  _Alb._ Her Habit and her Vizard did deceive me;
  I took her for this lady,--Oh bless’d Mistake!

  _Ism._ I see you’re in the dark, but I’ll unfold the Riddle,
  --Sir, in the Passage from the Monastery,
  Attended only by my Confessor,
  A Gentleman, a Passenger, in the same Boat,
  Address’d himself to me;
  And made a many little Courtships to me:
  I being veil’d, he knew not who receiv’d them,
  Nor what Confusion they begot in me.
  At the first sight, I grew to great esteems of him,
  But when I heard him speak--
  I’m not asham’d to say he was my Conqueror.

  _Alb._ Oh, Madam, was it you?
  Who by your Conversation in that Voyage,
  Gave me Disquiets,
  Which nothing but your Eyes could reconcile again?

  _Ism._ ‘Twas I whom you deceiv’d with some such Language.
  --After my coming home I grew more melancholy,
  And by my silence did increase my Pain;
  And soon _Clarina_ found I was a Lover,
  Which I confess’d at last, and nam’d the Object.
  She told me of your Friendship with _Antonio_,
  And gave me hopes that I again should see you:
  --But _Isabella_ over-heard the Plot,
  Which, Sir, _Antonio_ did contrive with you,
  To make a feigned Courtship to _Clarina_,
  And told us all the story.

  _Alb._ Oh, how I’m ravish’d with my Happiness!

  _Ism._ _Clarina_, Sir, at first was much inrag’d,
  And vow’d she would revenge her on _Antonio_;
  But I besought her to be pleas’d again,
  And said I would contrive a Counter-Plot,
  Should satisfy her Honour and Revenge.
  Thus, Sir, I got a Garment like to hers;
  And to be courted, though but in jest, by you,
  I run all hazards of my Brother’s Anger,
  And your opinion of my Lightness too.

  _Clar._ ‘Twas a Temptation, Sir, I would not venture on,
  Lest from the reasons of a just Revenge,
  And so much Beauty as _Alberto_ own’d,
  My Virtue should not well secure your Interest.

  _Ant._ But why, _Ismena_, was that killing Plot,
  When I was hid behind the Arras? for now I confess all.

  _Ism._ To make _Alberto_ confident of my Love,
  And try his Friendship to the utmost point.
  --_Alberto_ too I found had some reserves,
  Which I believ’d his Amity to you.

  _Alb._ Yes, Madam, whilst I took you for his Wife,
  I thought it crime enough but to adore you;
  But now I may with honour own my Passion:
  I will, _Ismena_, confidently assure you,
  That I will die, unless you pity me.

  _Ism._ She that durst tell you, Sir, how much she lov’d,
  When you believ’d it was a Sin to do so,
  Will now make good that Promise with _Antonio’s_ leave.

  _Ant._ With perfect Joy, _Ismena_, I resign thee,
    [_Ant._ gives him _Ism._

  _Alb._ By double Ties you now unite our Souls;
  Though I can hardly credit what I see,
  The Happiness so newly is arriv’d.    [To _Ant._

    Enter _Prince_, _Lorenzo_, and _Guilliam_, who comes up scraping
    to _Cloris_.

  _Fred._ My Father is the kindest Man on Earth,
  And _Cloris_ shall be welcome to his Bosom;
  Who’ll make him happy in my Reformation.
  --Here, _Curtius_, take _Laura_, who, I find,
  Had rather be my Sister than my Mistress:
  The Duke commands it so.

  _Cur._ Till you have pardon’d me my late Offences,
  I must deny myself so great a Happiness.    [_Cur._ kneels.

  _Fred._ Rise, you have it.

    Enter _Salvator_.

  _Sal._ Is here not a Runegado belongs to me?

  _Lau._ No, Sir, my Faith’s entire,
  And _Curtius_ has the keeping of it.

  _Sal._ Who made him Master of it, hau?

  _Lau._ Heaven, my Inclinations and the Prince.

  _Sal._ Three powerful Opposers;
  Take her, since it must be so,
  And mayst thou be happy with her.

  _Fred._ _Alberto_, would this Court afforded
  A Lady worthy thee.

  _Alb._ Sir, I’m already sped, I humbly thank you.

  _Lor._ Sped, quoth ye? Heaven defend
  Me from such Fortune.

  _Fred._ _Lorenzo_, I had forgot thee; thou shalt e’en marry too.

  _Lor._ You may command me any thing but marrying.

  _Isab._ What think you then of a smooth-fac’d Boy?

  _Lor._ A Pox on him, sure he will not tell now, will he?

  _Isab._ My Lord, I beg your leave to challenge _Lorenzo_.

  _Fred._ What, to a Duel, _Philibert_?

  _Lor._ _Phil._ _Phil._ hold, do not ruin the Reputation
  Of a Man that has acquir’d Fame amongst the female Sex;
  I protest I did but jest.

  _Isab._ But, Sir, I’m in earnest with you.

  _Fred._ This is not _Philibert_.

  _Isab._ No, Sir, but _Isabella_--that was _Philibert_.
    [Pointing to _Cloris_.

  _Clo._ Yes, Sir, I was the happy Boy to be belov’d,
  When _Cloris_ was forgotten.

  _Fred._ Oh, how you raise my Love and Shame!
  But why did _Isabella_ change her Habit?

  _Clo._ Only to take my place, lest you should miss me,
  Who being with _Laura_, at the Lodgings of _Clarina_,
  And comparing the Words of her Letter
  With what the Bravoes had confess’d to _Antonio_,
  We found the Plot which was laid for you,
  And join’d all to prevent it.

  _Fred._ ‘Twas sure the work of Heaven.

  _Isab._ And now, Sir, I come to claim a Husband here.

  _Fred._ Name him, and take him.

  _Isab._ _Lorenzo_, Sir.

  _Lor._ Of all Cheats, commend me to a Waiting-Gentlewoman;
  I her Husband?

  _Ant._ I am a Witness to that Truth.

  _Fred._ ‘Tis plain against you; come, you must be honest.

  _Lor._ Will you compel me to’t against my will?
  Oh Tyranny, consider, I am a Man of Quality and Fortune.

  _Isab._ As for my Qualities, you know I have sufficient,
  And Fortune, thanks to your Bounty, considerable too.

  _Fred._ No matter, he has enough for both.

  _Lor._ Nay, Sir, an you be against me,
  ‘Tis time to reform in my own defence;
  But ‘tis a thing I never consider’d, or thought on.

  _Fred._ Marry first, and consider afterwards.

  _Lor._ That’s the usual way, I confess;
  Come, _Isabella_, since the Prince commands it,
  I do not love thee, but yet I’ll not forswear it;
  Since a greater Miracle than that is wrought,
  And that’s my marrying thee;
  Well, ‘tis well thou art none of the most beautiful,
  I should swear the Prince had some designs on thee else.

  _Clo._ Yes, _Guilliam_, since thou hast been so faithful,
  I dare assure thee _Lucia_ shall be thine.
    [_Clo._ speaks aside to _Guil._ _Guil._ bows.

  _Fred._ Come, my fair _Cloris_, and invest thy self
  In all the Glories which I lately promis’d:
  --And, Ladies, you’ll attend her to the Court,
  And share the Welcomes which the Duke provides her;
  Where all the Sallies of my flattering Youth
  Shall be no more remember’d, but as past.
  Since ‘tis a Race that must by Man be run,
  I’m happy in my Youth it was begun;
  It serves my future Manhood to improve,
  Which shall be sacrific’d to War and Love.

_Curtain Falls._




EPILOGUE,

Spoken by _Cloris_.


  Ladies, the Prince was kind at last,
  But all the Danger is not past;
  I cannot happy be till you approve
  My hasty condescension to his Love.
  ‘Twas want of Art, not Virtue, was my Crime;
  And that’s, I vow, the Author’s Fault, not mine.
  She might have made the Women pitiless,
  But that had harder been to me than this:
  She might have made our Lovers constant too,
  A Work which Heaven it self can scarcely do;
  But simple Nature never taught the way
  To hide those Passions which she must obey.
  E’en humble Cottages and Cells,
  Where Innocence and Virtue dwells,
  Than Courts no more secure can be
  From Love and dangerous Flattery.
  Love in rural Triumph reigns,
  As much a God amongst the Swains,
  As if the Sacrifices paid
  Were wounded Hearts by Monarchs made:
  And this might well excuse th’ Offence,
  If it be so to love a Prince.
  But, Ladies, ‘tis your Hands alone,
  And not his Power, can raise me to a Throne;
  Without that Aid I cannot reign,
  But will return back to my Flocks again.

    _Guilliam_ advances.

  _Guil._ How, go from Court! nay, zay not zo.
  Hear me but speak before you go:
  Whoy zay the Leadies should refuse ye,
  The Bleads I’m sure would better use ye--
  So long as ye are kind and young,
  I know they’ll clap ye right or wrong.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: The Amorous Prince


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dramatis Personæ+

  p. 123 _Dramatis Personæ._ I have added to the list ‘_Salvator_,
  Father to _Lorenzo_ and _Laura_.’ ‘Ismena’ is spelled ‘Ismenia’
  throughout by 1724.

+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 124, l. 10 _Should those._ 4to 1671 reads ‘Dwell’st perceive us’
  as a separate line. Throughout the play, except in lines as this
  specially noted, I carefully follow the metrical division of 4to 1671.
  1724 prints many speeches and whole scenes as prose which the quarto
  gives as verse. It is noticeable that the edition of 1711 follows the
  quarto.

  p. 125, l. 17 _Bays._ 1724 ‘Bay’.

+ACT I: Scene ii+

  p. 127, l. 31 _Exit Pietro._ 1724 ‘Exit.’ which would tend to a
  confusion here.

  p. 131, l. 1 _Thinking._ 4to 1671 ends this line at ‘Life’ and makes
  ‘Might ... Virtue’ a second line.

+ACT I: Scene iii+

  p. 133, l. 15 _accompted._ 1724 ‘accounted’.

  p. 134, l. 34 _a my._ 1724 ‘on my’.

  p. 137, l. 15 _They retire._ 4to 1671 ‘Exeunt.’

+ACT I: Scene iv+

  p. 137, l. 16 _Scene IV. The Same._ All previous editions ‘Scene IV.’


  p. 140, l. 28 _fixt._ 1724 ‘fit’.

  p. 141, l. 2 _me alone._ 1724 ‘me all alone’.

  p. 141, l. 28 _Ism. I can._ 1724 wrongly gives this speech to
  Isabella.

  p. 144, l. 4 _if there need an Oath between us--_ 1724 ‘is there need
  of Oaths between us?’

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 144, l. 15 _Gal. My Lord._ All previous editions give Galliard’s
  lines with speech-prefix ‘Ser.’

  p. 145, l. 30 _An._ 4to 1671 ‘And’.

  p. 146, l. 30 _Exit._ I have supplied this stage direction.

+ACT II: Scene ii+

  p. 146, l. 31 _Antonio’s House._ I have added the locale.

  p. 147, l. 10 _hurt ones._ 4to 1671 ‘hurts one’. 1724 ‘hurt one’.

  p. 147, l. 16 _Cure._ 1724 ‘spare’.

+ACT II: Scene iii+

  p. 152, l. 18 _The Street._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 152, l. 32 _being retir’d._ 1724 ‘retires’.

  p. 154, l. 34 _Pag._ All previous editions here give speech-prefix
  ‘Boy’. The alteration from ‘Page’ to ‘Boy’ is quite unnecessary.

  p. 155, l. 13 _Lor. and Page run._ All previous editions ‘Lor. runs
  away’, but obviously the Page accompanies his master.

+ACT II: Scene iv+

  p. 156, l. 1 _Antonio’s House._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 157, l. 10 _Puts on the Veil._ 1724 merely reads ‘Exeunt.’

+ACT II: Scene v+

  p. 157, l. 12 _A Chamber._ I have supplied the locale.

  p. 157, l. 29 _Exit Page._ I have added this stage direction.

  p. 158, l. 17 _you will believe._ 1724 omits ‘will’.

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 160, l. 7 _A Room._ I have supplied the locale.

  p. 161, l. 23 _you’re._ 1671 ‘your’.

+ACT III: Scene ii+

  p. 163, l. 19 _A Street._ I have supplied this locale.

+ACT III: Scene iii+

  p. 171, l. 30 _Galliard._ 4to 1671 has ‘with a Galliard’, and to
  Galliard’s lines gives speech-prefix ‘Serv.’

  p. 172, l. 6 _and his Page._ I have marked the Page’s entrance here.
  It is not noted by previous editions.

  p. 173, l. 16 _Ex. Page._ 4to 1671 ‘Ex. Boy.’

  p. 174, l. 6 _Bone Mine._ 4to 1671 ‘Bon Meen’.

  p. 174, l. 13 _with Musick._ I have added these words.

+ACT IV: Scene i+

  p. 176, l. 30 _did not hate._ 1724 omits ‘not’.

  p. 177, l. 22 _never._ 4to 1671 ‘ever’.

  p. 177, l. 32 _Joys._ 4to 1671 ‘Joy’.

  p. 178, l. 10 _Ism. Know it was._ Both 4to 1671, and 1724 read ‘No,
  it was’, which does not give sense. There can be little doubt ‘Know’
  is the correct reading.

  p. 178, l. 18 _slight._ 1724 ‘flight’.

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 178, l. 29 _A Street._ I have added this locale, which no previous
  edition marks.

+ACT IV: Scene iii+

  p. 183, l. 25 _Frederick’s Chamber._ I have added this locale.

  p. 184, l. 22 _oft._ 1724 ‘soft’.

  p. 185, l. 35 _Exeunt Musick._ I have inserted this stage direction.

  p. 186, l. 3 _Exit Page._ I have supplied this.

+ACT IV: Scene iv+

  p. 187, l. 23 _A Street._ I have added this locale.

  p. 188, l. 3 _Antonio’s Valet._ 4to 1671 simply ‘Vallet.’ 1724
  ‘Valet.’ The servant is obviously Antonio’s man.

  p. 188, l. 27 _foutering._ 1724 ‘soutering’.

  p. 189, l. 2 _To some Tune like him._ Only in 4to 1671.

  p. 189, l. 9 _And quite unveil’d._ Only 4to 1671 gives this line.

+ACT IV: Scene v+

  p. 190, l. 31 _Antonio’s House._ I have supplied the locale.

+ACT V: Scene i+

  p. 193, l. 10 _Laura’s Chamber._ I have added the locale.

+ACT V: Scene ii+

  p. 197, l. 30 _A Grove._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 199, l. 36 _Teresia’s._ 4to 1671 ‘_Teretia’s_’.

  p. 200, l. 3 _certain ‘tis._ 4to 1671 ‘it is certain’.

+ACT V: Scene iii+

  p. 200, l. 28 _What Arms._ 4to 1671 gives this line to Pietro.

  p. 201, l. 21 _Millanoise._ 1724 ‘Milanese’.

  p. 201, l. 22 _Genovese._ 1724 ‘Genoese’.

  p. 201, l. 27 _a Maltan who pretends._ 1724 ‘the Maltese, who
  pretend’.

  p. 201, l. 30 _a Cicilian._ 1724 ‘the Sicilians’.

  p. 201, l. 31 _his._ 1724 ‘their’. The alterations made by 1724 and
  the confusion of plurals and singular in this passage, which I have
  left untouched, are noticeable.

  p. 202, l. 27 _sets._ 1724 ‘_sits_’.

  p. 203, l. 5 _others._ 1724 ‘other’.

  p. 203, l. 12 _O’._ 4to 1671 ‘A’.’

  p. 204, l. 20 _their._ 4to 1671 ‘_the_’.

  p. 206, l. 33 _Visors._ 1724 ‘_Vizards_’.

  p. 207, l. 5 _Braves._ 1724 ‘Bravoes’.

  p. 209, l. 19 _’.was a Temptation._ 1724 quite erroneously gives this
  speech to Cloris.

  p. 212, l. 13 _Clo. speaks aside to Guil._ 1724 ‘Aside to Guil.’

  p. 212, l. 24 _Curtain Falls._ Only in 4to 1671.

+Epilogue+

  p. 213, l. 5 _E’en humble._ 4to 1671 omits ‘E’en’.

  p. 213, l. 22 _Leadies._ 1724 ‘Ladies’.


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Prologue+

  p. 121 _Great Johnson’s way._ cf. what Mrs. Behn says in her ‘Epistle
  to the Reader’ prefacing _The Dutch Lover_ (Vol. I, p. 224), of the
  Jonsonian enthusiast: ‘a man the most severe of Johnson’s Sect.’

  p. 121 _Nokes and Angel._ The two celebrated low comedians. Angel
  died in the spring of 1673. He was a great farceur, but gagged
  unmercifully, to the no small annoyance of the poets.

  p. 121 _Cataline._ Jonson’s tragedy was revived with great splendour
  at the King’s House, Friday, 18 December, 1668, and remained a stock
  play until the retirement of Hart (who excelled in Catiline) at the
  Union in 1682. Michael Mohun was famous in Cethegus, and Mrs. Corey
  in Sempronia. Pepys found the play itself rather dull as a whole
  ‘though most fine in clothes, and a fine Scene of the Senate, and of
  a fight, as ever I saw in my life.’ A year before its actual
  production his crony, Harry Harris, a member of the rival theatre
  had ‘talked of _Catiline_ which is to be suddenly acted at the King’s
  House; and there all agree that it cannot be well done at that house,
  there not being good actors enough; and Burt acts Cicero, which they
  all conclude he will not be able to do well. The King gives them £500
  for robes, there being, as they say, to be sixteen scarlet robes.’
  (11 December, 1667.) In the first quarto (1672), of Buckingham’s _The
  Rehearsal_, Bayes refers to _Catiline_ saying that his design in a
  certain scene is ‘_Roman_ cloaths, guilded Truncheons, forc’d
  conceipt, smooth Verse, and a Rant.’ The words ‘Roman cloaths’ are
  omitted in all subsequent editions.

  p. 121 _the Comick Hat._ In 1670 there was produced at the Theatre
  Royal, Dryden’s _The Conquest of Granada_, Part I. The witty prologue
  was ‘spoken by Mrs. Ellen Gwyn’ (who acted Almahide) ‘in a
  Broad-Brimm’d Hat, and Waist Belt’. It commences thus:--

    This jest was first of t’other house’s making,
    And five times tried, has never fail’d of taking;
    For ‘twere a shame a poet should be kill’d
    Under the shelter of so broad a shield.
    This is the hat, whose very sight did win ye
    To laugh and clap as tho’ the devil were in ye.
    As then, for Nokes, so now I hope you’ll be
    So dull, to laugh, once more, for love of me.

  Two slightly different explanations are given of the jest. Theatrical
  tradition has it that Dryden supplied Nell Gwynne, who was plump and
  petite, with this hat of the circumference of a cart wheel, in
  ridicule of a hat worn by Nokes of the Duke’s company whilst playing
  Ancient Pistol. It is again said that in May, 1670, whilst the Court
  was at Dover to receive the Duchess of Orleans, the Duke’s Company
  played there Shadwell’s _The Sullen Lovers_, and Caryl’s _Sir Salomon;
  or, The Cautious Coxcomb_, in which latter comedy Nokes acted Sir
  Arthur Addle, a bawling fop. The dress of the French gallants
  attending the Duchess was characterised by an excessively short laced
  scarlet or blue coat, a very broad waist-belt and a wide-leaved hat.
  Nokes appeared on the stage in a still shorter coat, a huger
  waist-belt, and a hat of preposterous dimensions. The Duke of Monmouth
  buckled his own sword to the actor’s side, and, according to old
  Downes, our comedian looked more like a dressed-up ape or a quiz on
  the French than Sir Arthur Addle. The English Court was straightway
  convulsed with laughter at this mimicry, which seems, to say the
  least, in highly questionable taste. When Nell Gwynne appeared and
  burlesqued the biter, Charles II, who was present at the first
  performance of _The Conquest of Granada_, well nigh died of merriment,
  and her verve in delivering Dryden’s witty lines wholly completed her
  conquest of the King. Nell Gwynne did not appear on the boards after
  1670.

  p. 121 _The Jig and Dance._ cf. note (on p. 43), Vol. III, p. 477:
  _A Jigg_ (_The Town Fop_). The Jig is in this prologue clearly
  distinct from a dance. Act IV, sc. iii (p. 185): ‘Cloris dances a
  Jig’-- (i.e. the simple dance).

+ACT I: Scene iii+

  p. 133 _Capriol._ Capriole (French) signifies a leap made by a horse
  without advancing.

+ACT I: Scene iv+

  p. 140 _Clarina why thus clouded?_ Similar expressions in Davenant’s
  _The Siege of Rhodes_ (4to 1663), Part 1, the Second Entry:--

    _Mustapha._ I bring the morning pictur’d in a cloud.

  And in Sir William Barclay’s _The Lost Lady_ (folio, 1639), Act II:--

      Enter _Phillida_ veiled who talks to _Ergasto_ aside and then
      goes out.
    _Cleon._ From what part of the town comes this fair day
    In a cloud that makes you look so cheerfully?

  are burlesqued in _The Rehearsal_, III, v:--

    _Vols._ Can vulgar vestments high-born beauty shroud?
    Thou bring’st the Morning pictur’d in a Cloud.

+ACT III: Scene ii+

  p. 164 _... is welcome._ Buckingham parodies this in _The Rehearsal_,
  IV, iii:--

    _Cordelia._ My lieges, news from _Volscius_ the prince.
    _Usher._ His news is welcome, whatso’er it be.
    _Smith._ How, sir, do you mean that? Whether it be good or bad?

+ACT III: Scene iii+

  p. 172 _tabering._ Beating on; tapping; drumming. This rare word
  occurs in _Nahum_, II, vii: ‘Her maids shall lead her as with the
  voice of doves tabering upon their breasts.’

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 180 _Hansel’d._ To handsel is to inaugurate with some ceremony of
  an auspicious kind, e.g. to begin the New Year by presenting a new
  comer with a gift.

  p. 183 _She leapt into the River._ _The Rehearsal_, Act V, burlesques
  this:-- ‘_The Argument of the Fifth Act_ ... _Cloris_ in despair,
  drowns herself: and Prince _Pretty-man_, discontentedly, walks by the
  River side.’

+ACT IV: Scene iv+

  p. 188 _foutering._ Fouter (Fr. foutre; Lat. futuere), _verbum
  obscaenum_. cf. the noun in phrase ‘to care not a fouter’ (footra,
  footre, foutre), _2 Henry IV_, V, iii. To ‘fouter’ is also used
  (a vulgarism and a provincialism) in a much mitigated sense = to
  meddle about aimlessly, to waste time and tongue doing nothing, as
  of a busybody.

  p. 189 _Niperkin._ This would seem to be a slang expression, as Grose
  gives it meaning ‘a small measure’. It was also used for the actual
  stone jug. cf. D’Urfey, _Pills to Purge Melancholy_ (1719):
  ‘Quart-pot, Pint-pot, nipperkin.’ _N.E.D._, quoting this passage,
  explains as ‘a small quantity of wine, ale, or spirits.’

  p. 190 _Camphire Posset._ Camphor had a high reputation as an
  antaphrodisiac. cf. Dryden, _The Spanish Friar_ (1681), Act I, where
  Gomez says of his wife: ‘I’ll get a physician that shall prescribe
  her an ounce of camphire every morning, for her breakfast, to abate
  incontinency’. also Congreve, _The Way of the World_ (1700), IV, xii:
  ‘You are all camphire and frankincense, all chastity and odour.’


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Cross-References from Critical Notes: _The Amorous Prince_

p. 121 _The Jig and Dance._ cf. note (on p. 43), Vol. III, p. 477:
_A Jigg (The Town Fop)_.

  _Town Fop_ note:

  p. 43 _A Jigg._ There were, in Post-Restoration times, two
  interpretations of the word Jig. Commonly speaking it was taken to
  mean exactly what it would now, a simple dance. Nell Gwynne and Moll
  Davis were noted for the dancing of Jigs. cf. Epilogue to Buckingham’s
  _The Chances_ (1682):--

                 The Author dreads the strut and meen
    Of new prais’d Poets, having often seen
    Some of his Fellows, who have writ before,
    When Nel has danc’d her Jig, steal to the Door,
    Hear the Pit clap, and with conceit of that
    Swell, and believe themselves the Lord knows what.

  Thus at the end of Lacy’s _The Old Troop_ (31 July, 1668), we have
  ‘a dance of two hobby horses in armour, and a Jig.’ Also shortly
  before the epilogue in Shadwell’s _The Sullen Lovers_ (1668) we read,
  ‘Enter a Boy in the habit of Pugenello and traverses the stage, takes
  his chair and sits down, then dances a Jig.’

  But it must be remembered that beside the common meaning there was a
  gloss upon the word derived from Elizabethan stage practice. In the
  prologue to _The Fair Maid of the Inn_ (licensed 1626), good plays are
  spoken of as often scurvily treated, whilst

    A Jigge shall be clapt at, and every rhime
    Prais’d and applauded by a clam’rous chyme.

  The Pre-Restoration Jig was little other indeed than a ballad opera in
  embryo lasting about twenty-five minutes and given as an after-piece.
  It was a rhymed farce in which the dialogue was sung or chanted by the
  characters to popular ballad tunes. But after the Restoration the Jig
  assumed a new and more serious complexion, and came eventually to be
  dovetailed with the play itself, instead of being given at the fag end
  of the entertainment. Mr. W. J. Lawrence, the well-known theatrical
  authority to whom I owe much valuable information contained in this
  note, would (doubtless correctly) attribute the innovation to
  Stapylton and Edward Howard, both of whom dealt pretty freely in these
  Jigs. Stapylton has in Act V of _The Slighted Maid_ (1663) a ‘Song in
  Dialogue’ between Aurora and Phoebus with a chorus of Cyclops, which
  met with some terrible parody in _The Rehearsal_ (cf. the present
  editor’s edition of _The Rehearsal_, p. 145). Indeed all extrinsic
  songs in dialogue, however serious the theme, were considered ‘Jigs’.
  A striking example would be the Song of the Spirits in Dryden’s
  _Tyrannic Love_, Act IV.

  In Post-Restoration days a ballad sung in the streets by two persons
  was frequently called a Jig, presumably because it was a ‘song in
  dialogue’. Numerous examples are to be found amongst the Roxburgh
  Ballads.

  The Jig introduced in _Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ would seem to have been
  the simple dance although not improbably an epithalamium was also
  sung.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: The Amorous Prince

In the Notes, alternation between .’ and ‘. at paragraph-end is as
printed. The abbreviation “cf.” is always lower-case.

  _Cur._ Never, I hope.  [. missing]
  Enter _Curtius_. / _Cur._ How! the Prince!  [Enter _Curtuis_.]
  _Cur._ I cry you mercy, Sir, pray what are you;  [; unchanged]
  [Aside to her. / [Ex. _Isab._
  [Aside. / [Ex. _Page_ and _Guil._ with Musick.
    [_brackets before “Exit” added for consistency in e-text_]
  They set _Ism._ in a Chair  [they]
  _Cur._ _Guilliam_--the same  [Gulliam]
  ‘Tis something cold, I’ll go take a Niperkin of Wine, [, as shown]
  _Lau._ Forward, dear _Cloris_.  [, for .]
  [She shakes her Hand, as not understanding him.
    [_text unchanged: error for Head?_]
  But my Master must first speak with you alone,  [, for .]

Notes on Text

  p. 180 ... an auspicious kind, e.g. to begin  [kind.]


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE WIDOW RANTER.




ARGUMENT.


Bacon, General of the English in Virginia, has fought with great success
against the Indians and repeatedly beaten back their tribes, although
the Supreme Council, by whom the Colony is governed, have refused him a
commission, and, in spite of his victories, persist in treating him as a
rebel and a traitor. This Council indeed is composed of a number of
cowards and rogues, who through sheer malice and carping jealousy
attribute Bacon’s prowess to his known passion for Semernia, the Indian
Queen, and who feign to think that he fights merely with the hope of
slaying her husband, the King Cavernio. These rascals are none the less
mightily afraid of the general’s valour and spirit, so they determine to
entice him from his camp under various specious pretexts, and then, once
he is completely in their power, to have him executed or assassinated.
With this object in view they send a friendly letter asking him to
attend the Council, to accept a regular commission, and to raise new
forces. On his way to the town Bacon is attacked by an ambush of
soldiers, whom he beats off with the help of one of his lieutenants,
Fearless, backed by Lieutenant Daring and a troop of his own men, who
capture Whimsey and Whiff, two very prominent justices, instigators of
the plot. He accordingly appears before the Council with a couple of
prisoners. The populace, who are all for their hero, realizing the
treachery, raise a riot, and throw the Councillors into a state of the
utmost confusion and alarm. They spur themselves to action, however, and
under the leadership of Colonel Wellman, Deputy Governor, proceed to
take the field against Bacon, who is declared an open and lawless rebel.
When he appears the soldiers, none the less, join themselves to their
hero, and as at the same moment news is brought that the Indians have
risen and are attacking the town, Bacon is induced to lead the troops
against the foe; and in a pitched battle Cavernio is slain. That night
whilst his army is revelling after their victory the Council and their
party with infamous treachery suddenly attack the camp. There are
further skirmishes with a remnant of the Indian fugitives, and in one of
these frays Bacon accidentally wounds Semernia, who is flying disguised
in man’s attire. He recognizes her voice, and she sinks into his arms to
die. As he is weeping over her body Fearless rushes in with drawn sword
shouting that the day is all but lost. Bacon, his mistress dead, deeming
that his men are overcome by the attack from the town and that he will
himself be captured, takes poison which he carries concealed in the
pommel of his sword, whilst Daring and his soldiers are heard shouting
’.ictory! Victory!’ The hero, however, expires at the moment his men
have conquered, but the Council speedily come to terms, naming with a
commission Daring as General, whilst Colonel Wellman announces his
intention of weeding this body of rogues and cowards against the arrival
of the new Governor who is expected from England.

Daring, upon his commission, is wedded to the Widow Ranter, first
mistress and then wife of old Colonel Ranter, recently deceased,
a wealthy, buxom virago who has followed her soldier during the fighting
in man’s attire and even allowed herself to be taken prisoner by a young
gallant, Hazard, just landed from England, and who has occupied his time
in an amour with a certain Mrs. Surelove. Hazard, upon his arrival,
meets an old acquaintance, Friendly, who loves and is eventually united
to Crisante, daughter to Colonel Downright; whilst Parson Dunce, the
Governor’s chaplain, is made to marry Mrs. Flirt, the keeper of a
hostelry, a good dame with whom he has been a little too familiar on a
promise of matrimony.




SOURCE.


The admirable comic scenes and characters of _The Widow Ranter_ are
original invention, but Mrs. Behn has founded the serious and historical
portion of her play upon a contemporary pamphlet, _Strange News from
Virginia being a full and true account of the Life and Death of
Nathaniel Bacon esq. London: printed for Wm. Harris, 1677_. With regard
to the catastrophe and Bacon’s love for the Indian Queen, Mrs. Behn has
quite legitimately departed from the narrative, but otherwise she keeps
fairly closely to her sources. There is also a _History of Bacon and
Ingram’s Rebellion in Virginia in 1675-76_, written at the time but
first published in 1867.

The _Dictionary of National Biography_ gives a very ample yet concise
account of Bacon, with valuable references to original documents. He
was the son of Sir Thomas Bacon of Friston Hall, Suffolk. Born in 1642,
about 1673 he married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Duke, Bart.,
and shortly afterwards in a spirit of roving adventure emigrated to
Virginia. Here he was elected a member of the Council, and his estates
being especially exposed to Indian raids the volunteer colonists chose
him General. The Governor, however, delayed to send the necessary
commission, and Bacon having in this interval attacked a band of Indian
marauders was promptly declared a rebel. The Governor was thereupon
forced to yield by a general revolt, and in a second expedition Bacon
defeated the Indians with terrific slaughter. A little later when
reinforcements had arrived the Governor again declared him an outlaw,
but after a brief struggle was himself obliged to take refuge at sea,
whilst Jamestown fell into the hands of the victorious General, who not
being able to garrison the houses, burned it to the ground. In the midst
of his success, whilst he was busied with new plans for the welfare and
protection of the colonists, Bacon died suddenly, 1676. He left one
daughter, Mary, who married Hugh Chamberlain, M.D., physician to Queen
Anne. Mrs. Behn has drawn his character with remarkable accuracy. Even
his enemies were obliged to allow he possessed extraordinary ability,
and he won all by the grace and charm of his manner. Oldys, in a MS.
note on Langbaine (Mrs. Behn), attributes to the colonist _A Historical
Discourse of the Government of England_ (1647), but the date of
publication sufficiently shows that the antiquary is palpably in error.

Langbaine in his note on _The Widow Ranter_ abruptly and sweepingly
remarks ‘Plot from the known story of Cassius,’ which the _Biographia
Dramatica_ yet more erroneously expands as follows: ‘The tragedy part
of it, particularly the catastrophe of Bacon, is borrowed from the
well-known story of Cassius, who, on the supposition of his friend
Brutus being defeated, caused himself to be put to death by the hand of
his freedman Dandarus.’ C. Cassius Longinus was defeated at Philippi
(B.C. 42), by Antony, and ignorant that the left wing commanded by
Brutus had conquered Octavius, he straightway commanded his freedman
Pindarus to put an end to his life. It is strange that both authorities
should have made this mistake, the more so as Bacon expressly alludes to
the fate of Hannibal, from whose history, and not that of Cassius, Mrs
Behn doubtless borrowed the idea of her hero’s suicide. Cassius is
indeed alluded to but casually, and not by Bacon’s self. Hannibal had
fled to the court of Prusias, King of Bithynia, who, unable to resist
the demands of the Romans, eventually sent troops to arrest his guest.
The great Carthaginian, however, having provided himself with poison in
case of such an event, swallowed the venomed drug to prevent himself
falling into the hands of his enemies. Dullman, Timorous Cornet,
Whimsey, Whiff, and the other Justices of the Peace who appear in this
play are aptly described in _Oroonoko_, where Mrs. Behn speaks of the
Governor’s Council ‘who (not to disgrace them, or burlesque the
Government there) consisted of such notorious villains as Newgate ever
transported; and, possibly, originally were such who understood neither
the laws of God or man, and had no sort of principles to make them
worthy of the name of men; but at the very council-table would
contradict and fight with one another, and swear so bloodily, that it
was terrible to hear and see them. (Some of them were afterwards hanged,
when the Dutch took possession of the place, others sent off in
chains.)’




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


When _The Widow Ranter; or, The History of Bacon in Virginia_ was
produced at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, in 1690--the year after Mrs.
Behn’s death--owing to the slipshod and slovenly way in which it was put
on, or rather, ‘murdered’, to use the phrase of the dedication, it did
not meet with the success so capital a piece fully deserved. Such ample
and needless omissions were made that the intrigue soon became
hopelessly fogged, many incidents seeming absolutely disjointed and
superfluous. For not only were heavier scenes, including the apparition
of Cavernio, cut, but the essential comic relief was woefully
maltreated. The Court House opening of Act III was expunged in its
entirety, whilst other episodes were so mangled and the speeches so
pruned that they proved practically unintelligible. Again, the play was
badly cast. Indifferent performers such as Barnes, Baker, Cudworth, were
entrusted with rôles they were incapable of acting, whilst Daring, the
dashing, gallant, and handsome young officer, who is loved by the Widow,
was alloted to Sanford, of all men most supremely unfitted for the part.
Indeed, it would seem that the casting was done on purpose perversely
and malignly to damn the play. Samuel Sanford, who had joined Davenant’s
company within a year of their opening, had been forced by nature, being
low of stature and crooked of person, rather than by choice, into a line
denoted by such characters as Iago, Creon in Dryden and Lee’s _Oedipus_,
Malignii, Osmund the wizard in _King Arthur_. ‘An excellent actor in
disagreeable characters’ Cibber terms him, and old Aston sums him up
thus: ‘Mr. _Sanford_, although not usually deem’d an Actor of the first
Rank, yet the Characters allotted him were such, that none besides,
then, or since, ever topp’d; for his Figure, which was diminutive and
mean, (being Round-shoulder’d, Meagre-fac’d, Spindle-shank’d,
Splay-footed, with a sour Countenance and long lean Arms) render’d him a
proper Person to discharge _Jago_, _Foresight_ and _Ma’lignij_, in the
_Villain_.--This Person acted strongly with his Face,--and (as King
_Charles_ said) was the best _Villain_ in the World.’ The performance of
an actor with such a marked personality and unpleasantly peculiar
talents as are thus enumerated, in the rôle of Daring must been
grotesque and distasteful to a degree. In such an accumulation of
unfortunate circumstances there could have been no other event than the
failure of the play, which was so complete as effectually to bar any
chance of subsequent revival. Indeed, there seems to have been only one
feature of any merit: Betty Currer, the original Aquilina in _Venice
Preserv’d_, acted the name part with the greatest spirit and abandon.




To the much Honoured

MADAM WELLDON.


Madam

Knowing Mrs. _Behn_ in her Life-time design’d to Dedicate some of her
Works to you, you have a Naturall Title, and claim to this and I could
not without being unjust to her Memory, but fix your Name to it, who
have not only a Wit above that of most of your Sex; but a goodness and
Affability Extreamly Charming, and Engaging beyond Measure, and perhaps
there are few to be found like you, that are so Eminent for
Hospitallity, and a Ready and Generous Assistance to the distress’d and
Indigent, which are Quallities that carry much more of Divinity with
them, than a Puritannicall outward Zeal for Virtue and Religion.

Our Author, Madam, who was so true a Judge of Wit, was (no doubt of it)
satisfyed in the Patroness she had pitcht upon: If ever she had occasion
for a Wit and Sense like yours ‘tis now, to Defend this (one of the last
of her Works) from the Malice of her Enemies, and the ill Nature of the
Critticks, who have had Ingratitude enough not to Consider the
Obligations they had to her when Living; but to do those Gentlemen
Justice, ‘tis not (altogether) to be Imputed to their Critticism, that
the Play had not that Success which it deserv’d, and was expected by her
Friends; The main fault ought to lye on those who had the management of
it. Had our Authour been alive she would have Committed it to the Flames
rather than have suffer’d it to have been Acted with such Omissions as
was made, and on which the Foundation of the Play Depended: For Example,
they thought fit to leave out a Whole Scene of the _Virginian Court of
Judicature_, which was a lively resemblance of that Country-Justice; and
on which depended a great part of the Plot, and wherein were many
unusuall and very Naturall Jests which would at least have made some
sort of People laugh: In another Part of the Play is Omitted the
appearance of the Ghost of the _Indian King_, kill’d by _Bacon_, and
tho’ the like may have been Represented in other Plays, yet I never
heard or found but that the sight was very agreeable to an Audience, and
very Awfull: besides the Apparition of the Ghost was necessary, for it
was that which struck a Terror in the Queen, and frighten’d her from
heark’ning to the Love of _Bacon_, believing it a horrid thing to
receive the Caresses and Embraces of her Husbands Murderer: And Lastly,
many of the Parts being false Cast, and given to those whose Tallants
and Genius’s suited not our Author’s Intention: These, Madam, are some
of the Reasons that this Play was unsuccessfull, and the best Play that
ever was writ must prove so: if it have the Fate to be Murder’d like
this.

However, Madam, I can’t but believe you will find an hours diversion in
the reading, and will meet with not only Wit, but true Comedy, (tho’
low) by reason many of the Characters are such only as our _Newgate_
afforded, being Criminals Transported.

This play, Madam, being left in my hands by the Author to Introduce to
the Publick, I thought my self oblig’d to say thus much in its defence,
and that it was also a Duty upon me to choose a Patroness proper for it,
and the Author having pitcht upon your Name to do Honour to some of her
Works, I thought your Protection, could be so usefull to none, as to
this, whose owning it may Silence the Malice of its Enemies; Your Wit
and Judgment being to be Submitted to in all Cases; Besides your Natural
Tenderness and Compassion for the Unfortunate, gives you in a manner
another Title to it: The Preference which is due to you upon so many
Accounts is therefore the Reason of this present Address, for at the
Worst, if this Play should be so Unfortunate as not to be thought worthy
of your Acceptance; Yet it is certain, that its worth any Man’s while to
have the Honour of subscribing himself,

  Madam,
  Your Most Obedient Humble,
  Servant,
  G. J.




THE WIDOW RANTER:

Or, the History of Bacon in _Virginia_.




PROLOGUE,

By Mr. _Dryden_.


  Heaven save ye, Gallants; and this hopeful Age,
  Y’ are welcome to the downfal of the Stage:
  The Fools have laboured long in their Vocation;
  And Vice (the Manufacture of the Nation)
  O’er-stocks the Town so much, and thrives so well,
  That Fops and Knaves grow Drugs, and will not sell.
  In vain our Wares on Theaters are shown,
  When each has a Plantation of his own.
  His Cruse ne’er fails; for whatsoe’er he spends,
  There’s still God’s plenty for himself and Friends.
  Shou’d Men be rated by Poetick Rules,
  Lord, what a Poll would there be rais’d from Fools!
  Mean time poor Wit prohibited must lie,
  As if ‘twere made some _French_ Commodity.
  Fools you will have, and rais’d at vast expence;
  And yet as soon as seen, they give offence.
  Time was, when none would cry that Oaf was me,
  But now you strive about your Pedigree:
  Bauble and Cap no sooner are thrown down,
  But there’s a Muss of more than half the Town.
  Each one will challenge a Child’s part at least,
  A sign the Family is well increas’d.
  Of Foreign Cattle there’s no longer need,
  When we’re supply’d so fast with _English_ Breed,
  Well! Flourish, Countrymen; drink, swear and roar,
  Let every free-born Subject keep his Whore;
  And wandring in the Wilderness about,
  At end of Forty Years not wear her out.
  But when you see these Pictures, let none dare
  To own beyond a Limb or single share:
  For where the Punk is common, he’s a Sot,
  Who needs will father what the Parish got.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  MEN.

  _Indian King_ called _Cavernio_,                Mr. _Bowman_.
  _Bacon_, General of the _English_,              Mr. _Williams_.
  Colonel _Wellman_, Deputy Governor,             Mr. _Freeman_.
  Col. _Downright_, a loyal honest Colonel,       Mr. _Harris_.
  _Hazard_   } Two Friends known to one another   Mr. _Alexander_,
  _Friendly_ }    many Years in _England_,        Mr. _Powell_.
  _Daring_   }  Lieutenant Generals to _Bacon_    Mr. _Sandford_,
  _Fearless_ }                                    Mr. _Cudworth_.
  _Dullman_, a Captain,                           Mr. _Bright_.
  _Timorous Cornet_, }                            Mr. _Underhill_,
  _Whimsey_,         } Justices of the Peace,     Mr. _Trefuse_,
  _Whiff_,           } and very great Cowards,    Mr. _Bowen_,
  _Boozer_,          }                            Mr. _Barns_.
  _Brag_, a Captain.
  _Grubb_, One complain’d of by Capt. _Whiff_,
    for calling his Wife Whore.
  A Petitioner against _Brag_,                    Mr. _Blunt_.
  Parson _Dunce_, formerly a Farrier, fled from
    _England_, and Chaplain to the Governour,     Mr. _Baker_.
  _Jeffery_, Coachman to _Widow Ranter_.
  _Cavaro_, an _Indian_, Confidant to the
    _Indian King_.
  _Jack_, a Sea-Boy.

  Clerk; Boy; An Officer; Messenger; Seaman; 2nd Seaman;
    A Highlander.


  WOMEN.

  _Indian Queen_, call’d _Semernia_,
    belov’d by _Bacon_,                           Mrs. _Bracegirdle_.
  Madam _Surelove_, belov’d by _Hazard_,          Mrs. _Knight_.
  Mrs. _Chrisante_, Daughter to Colonel
    _Downright_,                                  Mrs. _Jordan_.
  _Widow Ranter_, in love with _Daring_,          Mrs. _Currer_.
  Mrs. _Flirt_, a Tapstress,                      Mrs. _Cory_.
  Mrs. _Whimsey_.
  Mrs. _Whiff_.
  _Jenny_, Maid to _Widow Ranter_.
  _Nell_, Maid at the Inn.
  _Anaria_, Confidante to the _Indian Queen_.
  Maid to Madam _Surelove_.

  Priests, Indians, Bailiffs, Soldiers, Rabble, Negroes,
    with other Attendants.


  SCENE, _Virginia_: in _Bacon’s_ Camp, _James-Town_ and the
    surrounding Country.




ACT I.


SCENE I. A Room with several Tables.

    Enter _Hazard_ in a travelling Habit, and _Jack_, a Sea-Boy,
    carrying his Portmantle.

_Haz._ What Town’s this, Boy?

_Boy._ _James-Town_, Master.

_Haz._ Take care my Trunk be brought ashore to night, and there’s for
your Pains.

_Boy._ God bless you, Master.

_Haz._ What do you call this House?

_Boy._ Mrs. _Flirt’s_, Master, the best House for Commendation in all
_Virginia_.

_Haz._ That’s well, has she any handsome Ladies, Sirrah?

_Boy._ Oh! she’s woundy handsome her self, Master, and the kindest
Gentlewoman--look, here she comes, Master.--

    Enter _Flirt_ and _Nell_.

God bless you, Mistress, I have brought you a young Gentleman here.

_Flirt._ That’s well, honest _Jack_.--Sir, you are most heartily
welcome.

_Haz._ Madam, your Servant.    [Salutes her.

_Flirt._ Please you walk into a Chamber, Sir?

_Haz._ By and by, Madam; but I’ll repose here awhile for the coolness of
the Air.

_Flirt._ This is a Publick Room, Sir, but ‘tis at your service.

_Haz._ Madam, you oblige me.

_Flirt._ A fine spoken Person. A Gentleman, I’ll warrant him: come,
_Jack_, I’ll give thee a Cogue of Brandy for old acquaintance.

    [Exeunt Landlady and Boy.
    [_Hazard_ pulls out Pen, Ink and Paper, and goes to write.

    Enter _Friendly_.

_Friend._ Here, _Nell_, a Tankard of cool Drink, quickly.

_Nell._ You shall have it, Sir.

_Friend._ Hah! who’s that Stranger? he seems to be a Gentleman.

_Haz._ If I should give credit to mine Eyes, that should be _Friendly_.

_Friend._ Sir, you seem a Stranger; may I take the liberty to present my
Service to you?
    [Exit _Nell_.

_Haz._ If I am not mistaken, Sir, you are the only Man in the World whom
I would soonest pledge; you’ll credit me, if three Year’s absence has
not made you forget _Hazard_.

_Friend._ _Hazard_, my Friend! come to my Arms and Heart.

_Haz._ This unexpected Happiness o’erjoys me. Who could have imagin’d to
have found thee in _Virginia_? I thought thou hadst been in _Spain_ with
thy Brother.

_Friend._ I was so till ten Months since, when my Uncle Colonel
_Friendly_ dying here, left me a considerable Plantation; and, faith,
I find Diversions not altogether to be despis’d; the God of Love reigns
here with as much power as in Courts or popular Cities. But prithee what
Chance (fortunate to me) drove thee to this part of the new World.

_Haz._ Why, faith, ill Company, and that common Vice of the Town,
Gaming, soon run out my younger Brother’s Fortune: for imagining, like
some of the luckier Gamesters, to improve my Stock at the Groom
Porter’s, I ventur’d on, and lost all. My elder Brother, an errant Jew,
had neither Friendship nor Honour enough to support me; but at last
being mollified by Persuasions, and the hopes of being for ever rid of
me, sent me hither with a small Cargo to seek my Fortune--

_Friend._ And begin the World withal.

_Haz._ I thought this a better Venture than to turn sharping Bully,
Cully in Prentices and Country Squires, with my Pocket full of false
Dice, your high and low Flats and Bars; or turn Broker to young Heirs;
take up Goods to pay tenfold at the Death of their Fathers, and take
Fees on both sides; or set up all night at the Groom-Porter’s, begging
his Honour to go a Guinea the better of the lay. No, _Friendly_, I had
rather starve abroad, than live pity’d and despis’d at home.

_Friend._ Thou art in the right, and art come just in the nick of time
to make thy Fortune.--Wilt thou follow my Advice?

_Haz._ Thou art too honest to command any thing that I shall refuse.

_Friend._ You must know then, there is about a Mile from _James-Town_ a
young Gentlewoman--no matter for her Birth, her Breeding’s the best this
World affords, she is married to one of the richest Merchants here; he
is old and sick, and now gone into _England_ for the recovery of his
Health, where he’ll e’en give up the Ghost: he has writ her word he
finds no Amendment, and resolves to stay another Year. The letter I
accidentally took up, and have about me; ‘tis easily counterfeited, and
will be of great use to us.

_Haz._ Now do I fancy I conceive thee.

_Friend._ Well, hear me first, you shall get another Letter writ like
this Character, which shall say, you are his Kinsman, that is come to
traffick in this Country, and ‘tis his will you should be received into
his House as such.

_Haz._ Well, and what will come of this?

_Friend._ Why, thou art young and handsome, she young and desiring;
’.were easy to make her love thee; and if the old Gentleman chance to
die, you guess the rest, you are no Fool.

_Haz._ Ay, but if he shou’d return--

_Friend._ If--Why, if she love you, that other will be but a slender Bar
to thy Happiness; for if thou canst not marry her, thou mayst lie with
her: and, Gad, a younger Brother may pick out a pretty Livelihood here
that way, as well as in _England_. Or if this fail, thou wilt find a
perpetual Visiter, the Widow _Ranter_, a Woman bought from the ship by
old Colonel _Ranter_; she served him half a Year, and then he marry’d
her, and dying in a Year more, left her worth fifty thousand Pounds
Sterling, besides Plate and Jewels: She’s a great Gallant, but assuming
the humour of the Country Gentry, her Extravagancy is very pleasant, she
retains something of her primitive Quality still, but is good-natur’d
and generous.

_Haz._ I like all this well.

_Friend._ But I have a further End in this matter; you must know there
is in the same House a young Heiress, one Colonel _Downright’s_
Daughter, whom I love, I think not in vain: her Father indeed has an
implacable Hatred to me, for which reason I can but seldom visit her,
and in this Affair I have need of a Friend in that House.

_Haz._ Me you’re sure of.

_Friend._ And thus you’ll have an opportunity to manage both our Amours:
Here you will find occasion to shew your Courage, as well as express
your Love; for at this time the _Indians_, by our ill Management of
Trade, whom we have armed against our selves, very frequently make War
upon us with our own Weapons; though often coming by the worst, they are
forced to make Peace with us again, but so, as upon every turn they fall
to massacring us wherever we lie exposed to them.

_Haz._ I heard the News of this in _England_, which hastens the new
Governour’s arrival here, who brings you fresh Supplies.

_Friend._ Would he were landed, we hear he is a noble Gentleman.

_Haz._ He has all the Qualities of a Gallant Man: besides, he is nobly
born.

_Friend._ This Country wants nothing but to be peopled with a well-born
Race, to make it one of the best Colonies in the World; but for want of
a Governour we are ruled by a Council, some of whom have been perhaps
transported Criminals, who having acquired great Estates, are now become
your Honour and Right Worshipful, and possess all Places of Authority;
there are amongst them some honest Gentlemen, who now begin to take upon
’.m, and manage Affairs as they ought to be.

_Haz._ _Bacon_ I think was one of the Council.

_Friend._ Now you have named a Man indeed above the common Rank, by
Nature generous, brave, resolv’d and daring; who studying the Lives of
the _Romans_ and great Men, that have raised themselves to the most
elevated Fortunes, fancies it easy for ambitious Men to aim at any pitch
of Glory. I’ve heard him often say, Why cannot I conquer the Universe as
well as _Alexander_? or like another _Romulus_, form a new _Rome_, and
make my self ador’d?

_Haz._ Why might he not? Great Souls are born in common Men sometimes,
as well as Princes.

_Friend._ This Thirst of Glory cherish’d by sullen Melancholy,
I believe, was the first motive that made him in love with the young
_Indian_ Queen, fancying no Hero ought to be without his Princess. And
this was the reason why he so earnestly press’d for a Commission, to be
made General against the _Indians_, which long was promis’d him; but
they fearing his Ambition, still put him off, till the Grievances grew
so high, that the whole Country flock’d to him, and beg’d he would
redress them.--He took the opportunity, and led them forth to fight, and
vanquishing brought the Enemy to fair Terms; but now instead of
receiving him as a Conqueror, we treat him as a Traitor.

_Haz._ Then it seems all the Crime this brave Fellow has committed, is
serving his Country without Authority.

_Friend._ ‘Tis so, and however I admire the Man, I am resolv’d to be of
the contrary Party, that I may make an Interest in our new Governor.
Thus stand Affairs, so that after you have seen Madam _Surelove_, I’ll
present you to the Council for a Commission.

_Haz._ But my Kinsman’s Character--

_Friend._ He was a _Leicestershire_ younger Brother, came over with a
small Fortune, which his Industry has increas’d to a thousand Pounds a
year; and he is now Colonel _John Surelove_, and one of the Council.

_Haz._ Enough.

_Friend._ About it then, Madam _Flirt_ to direct you.

_Haz._ You are full of your Madams here.

_Friend._ Oh! ‘tis the greatest Affront imaginable to call a Woman
Mistress, though but a retail Brandy-monger. Adieu.--One thing more, to
morrow is our Country-Court, pray do not fail to be there, for the
rarity of the Entertainment: but I shall see you anon at _Surelove’s_,
where I’ll salute thee as my first meeting, and as an old Acquaintance
in _England_--here’s Company, farewel.
    [Exit _Friend_.

    Enter _Dullman_, _Timorous_ and _Boozer_. _Hazard_ sits
    at a Table and writes.

_Dull._ Here, _Nell_--Well, Lieutenant _Boozer_, what are you for?

    Enter _Nell_.

_Booz._ I am for cooling _Nants_, Major.

_Dull._ Here, _Nell_, a Quart of _Nants_, and some Pipes and Smoke.

_Tim._ And do ye hear, _Nell_, bid your Mistress come in to joke a
little with us; for, adzoors, I was damnable drunk last Night, and I am
better at the Petticoat than the Bottle to day.
    [Exit _Nell_.

_Dull._ Drunk last Night, and sick to Day! how comes that about, Mr.
Justice? you use to bear your Brandy well enough.

_Tim._ Ay, your shier Brandy I’ll grant you; but I was drunk at Col.
_Downright’s_ with your high Burgundy Claret.

_Dull._ A Pox of that paulter Liquor, your _English French_ Wine,
I wonder how the Gentlemen do to drink it.

_Tim._ Ay, so do I, ‘tis for want of a little _Virginia_ Breeding: how
much more like a Gentleman ‘tis, to drink as we do, brave edifying Punch
and Brandy.--But they say, the young Noblemen now, and Sparks in
_England_, begin to reform, and take it for their Mornings draught, get
drunk by Noon, and despise the lousy Juice of the Grape.

    Enter Mrs. _Flirt_, and _Nell_, with drink, pipes, etc.

_Dull._ Come, Landlady, come, you are so taken up with Parson _Dunce_,
that your old Friends can’t drink a Dram with you.--What, no smutty
Catch now, no Gibe or Joke to make the Punch go down merrily, and
advance Trading? Nay, they say, Gad forgive ye, you never miss going to
Church when Mr. _Dunce_ preaches,--but here’s to you.
    [Drinks.

_Flirt._ Lords, your Honours are pleas’d to be merry-- but my service to
your Honour.
    [Drinks.

_Haz._ Honours! who the Devil have we here? some of the wise Council at
least, I’d sooner take ‘em for Hoggerds.
    [Aside.

_Flirt._ Say what you please of the Doctor, but I’ll swear he’s a fine
Gentleman, he makes the prettiest Sonnets, nay, and sings ‘em himself to
the rarest Tunes.

_Tim._ Nay, the Man will serve for both Soul and Body; for they say he
was a Farrier in _England_, but breaking, turn’d Life-guard-man, and his
Horse dying, he counterfeited a Deputation from the Bishop, and came
over here a substantial Orthodox. But come, where stands the Cup? Here,
my service to you, Major.

_Flirt._ Your Honours are pleased,--but methinks Doctor _Dunce_ is a
very edifying Person, and a Gentleman, and I pretend to know a
Gentleman; for I my self am a Gentlewoman: my Father was a Baronet, but
undone in the late Rebellion, and I am fain to keep an Ordinary now,
Heaven help me.

_Tim._ Good lack, why, see how Virtue may be bely’d. We heard your
Father was a Taylor, but trusting for old _Oliver’s_ Funeral broke, and
so came hither to hide his Head.--But my service to you; what, you are
never the worse?

_Flirt._ Your Honour knows this is a scandalous place, for they say your
Honour was but a broken Excise-Man, who spent the King’s Money to buy
your Wife fine Petticoats; and at last not worth a Groat, you came over
a poor Servant, though now a Justice of the Peace, and of the Honourable
Council.

_Tim._ Adz zoors, if I knew who ‘twas said so, I’d sue him for
_Scandalum Magnatum_.

_Dull._ Hang ‘em, Scoundrels, hang ‘em, they live upon Scandal, and we
are Scandal-proof.--They say too, that I was a Tinker, and running the
Country, robb’d a Gentleman’s House there, was put into _Newgate_, got a
Reprieve after Condemnation, and was transported hither; --and that you,
_Boozer_, was a common Pick-pocket, and being often flogg’d at the
Carts-tale, afterwards turn’d Evidence, and when the Times grew honest
was fain to flie.

_Booz._ Ay, ay, Major, if Scandal would have broke our Hearts, we had
not arriv’d to the Honour of being Privy-Counsellors.--But come, Mrs.
_Flirt_, what, never a Song to entertain us?

_Flirt._ Yes, and a Singer too newly come ashore.

_Tim._ Adz zoors, let’s have it then.

    Enter a Girl who sings, they bear the Bob.

_Haz._ Here, Maid, a Tankard of your Drink.

_Flirt._ Quickly, _Nell_, wait upon the Gentleman.

_Dull._ Please you, Sir, to taste of our Liquor.--My service to you.
I see you are a Stranger, and alone; please you to come to our Table?
    [He rises and comes.

_Flirt._ Come, Sir, pray sit down here; these are very honourable
Persons, I assure you: This is Major _Dullman_, Major of his
Excellency’s own Regiment, when he arrives; this Mr. _Timorous_, Justice
a Peace in _Corum_; this Captain _Boozer_, all of the honourable
Council.

_Haz._ With your leave, Gentlemen.    [Sits.

_Tim._ My service to you, Sir.    [Drinks.
  What, have you brought over any Cargo, Sir? I’ll be your Customer.

_Booz._ Ay, and cheat him too, I’ll warrant him.    [Aside.

_Haz._ I was not bred to Merchandizing, Sir, nor do intend to follow the
drudgery of Trading.

_Dull._ Men of Fortune seldom travel hither, Sir, to see Fashions.

_Tim._ Why, Brother, it may be the Gentleman has a mind to be a Planter;
will you hire your self to make a Crop of Tobacco this Year?

_Haz._ I was not born to work, Sir.

_Tim._ Not work, Sir! Zoors, your Betters have workt, Sir. I have workt
my self, Sir, both set and stript Tobacco, for all I am of the
honourable Council. Not work, quoth a!--I suppose, Sir, you wear your
Fortune upon your Back, Sir?

_Haz._ Is it your Custom here, Sir, to affront Strangers? I shall expect
Satisfaction.
    [Rises.

_Tim._ Why, does any body here owe you any thing?

_Dull._ No, unless he means to be paid for drinking with us,--ha, ha,
ha.

_Haz._ No, Sir, I have money to pay for what I drink: here’s my Club, my
Guinea,
    [Flings down a Guinea.
  I scorn to be oblig’d to such Scoundrels.

_Booz._ Hum--call Men of Honour Scoundrels.    [Rise in huff.

_Tim._ Let him alone, let him alone, Brother; how should he learn
Manners? he never was in _Virginia_ before.

_Dull._ He’s some Covent-Garden Bully.

_Tim._ Or some broken Citizen turned Factor.

_Haz._ Sir, you lye, and you are a Rascal.
    [Flings the Brandy in his Face.

_Tim._ Adz zoors, he has spil’d all the Brandy.
    [_Tim._ runs behind the Door, _Dull_, and _Booz._ strike _Hazard_.

_Haz._ I understand no Cudgel-play, but wear a Sword to right myself.
    [Draws, they run off.

_Flirt._ Good Heavens! what, quarelling in my House?

_Haz._ Do the Persons of Quality in this Country treat Strangers thus?

_Flirt._ Alas, Sir, ‘tis a familiar way they have, Sir.

_Haz._ I’m glad I know it.--Pray, Madam, can you inform one how I may be
furnish’d with a Horse and a Guide to Madam _Surelove’s_?

_Flirt._ A most accomplish’d Lady, and my very good Friend, you shall be
immediately--

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. The Council-Table.

    Enter _Wellman_, _Downright_, _Dunce_, _Whimsey_, _Whiff_, and
    others.

_Well._ Come, Mr. _Dunce_, though you are no Counsellor, yet your
Counsel may be good in time of Necessity, as now.

_Dun._ If I may give worthy Advice, I do not look upon our Danger to be
so great from the _Indians_, as from young _Bacon_, whom the People have
nick-nam’d _Fright-all_.

_Whim._ Ay, ay, that same _Bacon_, I would he were well hang’d: I am
afraid that under pretence of killing all the _Indians_ he means to
murder us, lie with our Wives, and hang up our little Children, and make
himself Lord and King.

_Whiff._ Brother _Whimsey_, not so hot; with leave of the honourable
Board, my Wife is of opinion, that _Bacon_ came seasonably to our Aid,
and what he has done was for our Defence, the _Indians_ came down upon
us, and ravish’d us all, Men, Women, and Children.

_Well._ If these Grievances were not redrest, we had our Reasons for it;
it was not that we were insensible, Captain _Whiff_, of what we suffer’d
from the Insolence of the _Indians_; but all knew what we must expect
from _Bacon_, if that by lawful Authority he had arrived to so great a
Command as General; nor would we be hufft out of our Commissions.

_Down._ ‘Tis most certain that _Bacon_ did not demand a Commission out
of a design of serving us, but to satisfy his Ambition and his Love; it
being no secret that he passionately admires the _Indian_ Queen, and
under the pretext of a War, intends to kill the King her Husband,
establish himself in her Heart, and on all occasions make himself a more
formidable Enemy than the Indians are.

_Whim._ Nay, nay, I ever foresaw he would prove a Villain.

_Whiff._ Nay, and he be thereabout, my _Nancy_ shall have no more to do
with him.

_Well._ But, Gentlemen, the People daily flock to him, so that his Army
is too considerable for us to oppose by any thing but Policy.

_Down._ We are sensible, Gentlemen, that our Fortunes, our Honours, and
our Lives are at stake; and therefore you are call’d together to consult
what’s to be done in this Grand Affair, till our Governour and Forces
arrive from _England_: the Truce he made with the _Indians_ will be out
to morrow.

_Whiff._ Ay, and then he intends to have another bout with the
_Indians_. Let’s have patience, I say, till he has thrumb’d their
Jackets, and then to work with your Politicks as soon as you please.

_Down._ Colonel _Wellman_ has answer’d that point, good Captain _Whiff_;
’.is the Event of this Battel we ought to dread; and if won or lost,
will be equally fatal for us, either from the _Indians_ or from _Bacon_.

_Dun._ With the Permission of the honourable Board, I think I have hit
upon an Expedient that may prevent this Battel: your Honours shall write
a Letter to _Bacon_, where you shall acknowledge his Services, invite
him kindly home, and offer him a Commission for General--

_Whiff._ Just my _Nancy’s_ Counsel--Dr. _Dunce_ has spoken like a
Cherubin, he shall have my Voice for General; what say you, Brother
_Whimsey_?

_Down._ I say he is a Noble Fellow, and fit for a General.

_Dun._ But conceive me right, Gentlemen; as soon as he shall have
render’d himself, seize him, and strike off his Head at the Fort.

_Whiff._ Hum! his Head--Brother.

_Whim._ Ay, ay, Dr. _Dunce_ speaks like a Cherubin.

_Well._ Mr. _Dunce_, your Counsel in extremity, I confess, is not amiss;
but I should be loth to deal dishonourably with any Man.

_Down._ His Crimes deserve Death, his Life is forfeited by Law, but
shall never be taken by my consent by Treachery: If by any Stratagem we
could take him alive, and either send him for _England_ to receive there
his Punishment, or keep him Prisoner here till the Governour arrive,
I should agree to it; but I question his coming in upon our Invitation.

_Dun._ Leave that to me.

_Whim._ Come, I’ll warrant him, the Rogue’s as stout as _Hector_, he
fears neither Heaven nor Hell.

_Down._ He’s too brave and bold to refuse our Summons, and I am for
sending him for _England_, and leaving him to the King’s Mercy.

_Dun._ In that you’ll find more difficulty, Sir; to take him off here
will be more quick and sudden: for the People worship him.

_Well._ I’ll never yield to so ungenerous an Expedient. The seizing him
I am content in the Extremity wherein we are to follow. What say you,
Colonel _Downright_? shall we send him a Letter now, while this two days
Truce lasts, between him and the _Indians_?

_Down._ I approve it.

_All._ And I, and I, and I.

_Dun._ If your Honours please to make me the Messenger, I’ll use some
Arguments of my own to prevail with him.

_Well._ You say well, Mr. _Dunce_, and we’ll dispatch you presently.

    [Ex. _Well._ _Down._ and all but _Whim._ _Whiff._ and _Dunce_.

_Whiff._ Ah, Doctor, if you could but have persuaded Colonel _Wellman_
and Colonel _Downright_ to have hanged him--

_Whim._ Why, Brother _Whiff_, you were for making him a General but now.

_Whiff._ The Counsels of wise States-men, Brother _Whimsey_, must change
as Causes do, d’ye see.

_Dun._ Your Honours are in the right; and whatever those two leading
Counsellors say, they would be glad if _Bacon_ were dispatch’d: but the
punctilio of Honour is such a thing.

_Whim._ Honour, a Pox on’t; what is that Honour that keeps such a bustle
in the World, yet never did good as I heard of?

_Dun._ Why, ‘tis a foolish word only, taken up by great Men, but rarely
practis’d.--But if you wou’d be great Men indeed--

_Whiff._ If we wou’d, Doctor, name, name the way.

_Dun._ Why, you command each of you a Company--when _Bacon_ comes from
the Camp, as I am sure he will, (and full of this silly thing call’d
Honour, will come unguarded too) lay some of your Men in Ambush along
those Ditches by the _Sevana_, about a Mile from the Town; and as he
comes by, seize him, and hang him up upon the next Tree.

_Whiff._ Hum--hang him! a rare Plot.

_Whim._ Hang him!--we’ll do’t, we’ll do’t, Sir, and I doubt not but to
be made General for the Action--I’ll take it all upon my self.
    [Aside.

_Dun._ If you resolve upon this, you must about instantly--Thus I shall
at once serve my Country, and revenge my self on the Rascal for
affronting my Dignity once at the Council-Table, by calling me Farrier.
    [Ex. _Dr._

_Whiff._ Do you know, Brother, what we are to do?

_Whim._ To do! yes, to hang a General, Brother, that’s all.

_Whiff._ All! but is it lawful to hang any General?

_Whim._ Lawful, yes, that ‘tis lawful to hang any General that fights
against Law.

_Whiff._ But in what he has done, he has serv’d the King and our
Country, and preserv’d our Lives and Fortunes.

_Whim._ That’s all one, Brother; if there be but a Quirk in the Law
offended in this Case, though he fought like _Alexander_, and preserv’d
the whole World from Perdition, yet if he did it against Law, ‘tis
lawful to hang him; why, what, Brother, is it fit that every impudent
Fellow that pretends to a little Honour, Loyalty, and Courage, should
serve his King and Country against the Law? no, no, Brother, these
things are not to be suffer’d in a civil Government by Law
establish’d,--wherefore let’s about it.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. _Surelove’s_ House.

    Enter _Ranter_ and _Jeffery_ her Coachman.

_Ran._ Here, _Jeffery_, ye drunken Dog, set your Coach and Horses up,
I’ll not go till the cool of the Evening, I love to ride in _Fresco_.

    Enter a _Boy_.

_Coach._ Yes, after hard drinking-- [Aside.] It shall be done, Madam.
    [Exit.

_Ran._ How now, Boy, is Madam _Surelove_ at home?

_Boy._ Yes, Madam.

_Ran._ Go tell her I am here, Sirrah.

_Boy._ Who are you pray forsooth?

_Ran._ Why, you Son of a Baboon, don’t you know me?

_Boy._ No, Madam, I came over but in the last Ship.

_Ran._ What, from _Newgate_ or _Bridewell_? from shoveing the Tumbler,
Sirrah, lifting or filing the Cly?

_Boy._ I don’t understand this Country Language, forsooth, yet.

_Ran._ You Rogue, ‘tis what we transport from _England_ first--go, ye
Dog, go tell your Lady the Widow _Ranter_ is come to dine with her--
[Exit _Boy_.] I hope I shall not find that Rogue _Daring_ here sniveling
after Mrs. _Chrisante_: If I do, by the Lord, I’ll lay him thick. Pox on
him, why shou’d I love the Dog, unless it be a Judgment upon me.

    Enter _Surelove_ and _Chrisante_.

--My dear Jewel, how do’st do?--as for you, Gentlewoman, you are my
Rival, and I am in Rancour against you till you have renounc’d my
_Daring_.

_Chris._ All the Interest I have in him, Madam, I resign to you.

_Ran._ Ay, but your House lying so near the Camp, gives me mortal
Fears--but prithee how thrives thy Amour with honest _Friendly_?

_Chris._ As well as an Amour can that is absolutely forbid by a Father
on one side, and pursued by a good Resolution on the other.

_Ran._ Hay Gad, I’ll warrant for _Friendly’s_ Resolution, what though
his Fortune be not answerable to yours, we are bound to help one
another.--Here, Boy, some Pipes and a Bowl of Punch; you know my Humour,
Madam, I must smoak and drink in a Morning, or I am maukish all day.

_Sure._ But will you drink Punch in a Morning?

_Ran._ Punch! ‘tis my Morning’s Draught, my Table-drink, my Treat, my
Regalio, my every thing; ah, my dear _Surelove_, if thou wou’d but
refresh and cheer thy Heart with Punch in a Morning, thou wou’dst not
look thus cloudy all the day.

    Enter Pipes and a great Bowl, she falls to smoaking.

_Sure._ I have reason, Madam, to be melancholy, I have receiv’d a Letter
from my Husband, who gives me an account that he is worse in _England_
than when he was here, so that I fear I shall see him no more, the
Doctors can do no good on him.

_Ran._ A very good hearing. I wonder what the Devil thou hast done with
him so long? an old fusty weatherbeaten Skeleton, as dried as
Stock-fish, and much of the Hue.--Come, come, here’s to the next, may he
be young, Heaven, I beseech thee.
    [Drinks.

_Sure._ You have reason to praise an old Man, who dy’d and left you
worth fifty thousand Pound.

_Ran._ Ay, Gad--and what’s better, Sweetheart, dy’d in good time too,
and left me young enough to spend this fifty thousand Pound in better
Company--rest his Soul for that too.

_Chris._ I doubt ‘twill be all laid out in _Bacon’s_ mad Lieutenant
General _Daring_.

_Ran._ Faith, I think I could lend it the Rogue on good Security.

_Chris._ What’s that, to be bound Body for Body?

_Ran._ Rather that he should love no body’s Body besides my own; but my
fortune is too good to trust the Rogue, my Money makes me an Infidel.

_Chris._ You think they all love you for that.

_Ran._ For that, ay, what else? if it were not for that, I might sit
still and sigh, and cry out, a Miracle! a Miracle! at sight of a Man
within my Doors.

    Enter _Maid_.

_Maid._ Madam, here’s a young Gentleman without wou’d speak with you.

_Sure._ With me? sure thou’rt mistaken; is it not _Friendly_?

_Maid._ No, Madam, ‘tis a Stranger.

_Ran._ ‘Tis not _Daring_, that Rogue, is it?

_Maid._ No, Madam.

_Ran._ Is he handsome? does he look like a Gentleman?

_Maid._ He’s handsome, and seems a Gentleman.

_Ran._ Bring him in then, I hate a Conversation without a
Fellow,--hah,--a good handsome Lad indeed.

    Enter _Hazard_ with a Letter.

_Sure._ With me, Sir, would you speak?

_Haz._ If you are Madam _Surelove_.

_Sure._ So I am call’d.

_Haz._ Madam, I am newly arriv’d from _England_, and from your Husband
my Kinsman bring you this.--
    [Gives a Letter.

_Ran._ Please you to sit, Sir.

_Haz._ She’s extremely handsome.    [Aside--sits down.

_Ran._ Come, Sir, will you smoke a Pipe?

_Haz._ I never do, Madam.

_Ran._ Oh, fie upon’t, you must learn then, we all smoke here, ‘tis a
part of good Breeding.--Well, well, what Cargo, what Goods have ye? any
Points, Lace, rich Stuffs, Jewels; if you have, I’ll be your Chafferer,
I live hard by, any body will direct you to the Widow _Ranter’s_.

_Haz._ I have already heard of you, Madam.

_Ran._ What, you are like all the young Fellows, the first thing they do
when they come to a strange Place, is to enquire what Fortunes there
are.

_Haz._ Madam, I had no such Ambition.

_Ran._ Gad, then you’re a Fool, Sir; but come, my service to you; we
rich Widows are the best Commodity this Country affords, I’ll tell you
that.
    [This while _Sure._ reads the Letter.

_Sure._ Sir, my Husband has recommended you here in a most particular
manner, by which I do not only find the esteem he has for you, but the
desire he has of gaining you mine, which on a double score I render you,
first for his sake, next for those Merits that appear in your self.

_Haz._ Madam, the endeavours of my Life shall be to express my Gratitude
for this great Bounty.

    Enter _Maid_.

_Maid._ Madam, Mr. _Friendly’s_ here.

_Sure._ Bring him in.

_Haz._ _Friendly!_--I had a dear Friend of that name, who I hear is in
these Parts.--Pray Heaven it may be he.

_Ran._ How now, _Charles_.

    Enter _Friendly_.

_Friend._ Madam, your Servant--Hah! should not I know you for my dear
friend _Hazard_.
    [Embracing him.

_Haz._ Or you’re to blame, my _Friendly_.

_Friend._ Prithee what calm brought thee ashore?

_Haz._ Fortune _de la guerre_, but prithee ask me no Questions in so
good Company, where a Minute lost from this Conversation is a Misfortune
not to be retriev’d.

_Friend._ Dost like her, Rogue--    [Softly aside.

_Haz._ Like her! have I sight, or sense?--Why, I adore her.

_Friend._ Mrs. _Chrisante_, I heard your Father would not be here to
day, which made me snatch this opportunity of seeing you.

_Ran._ Come, come, a Pox of this whining Love, it spoils good Company.

_Friend._ You know, my dear Friend, these Opportunities come but seldom,
and therefore I must make use of them.

_Ran._ Come, come, I’ll give you a better Opportunity at my House to
morrow, we are to eat a Buffalo there, and I’ll secure the old Gentleman
from coming.

_Friend._ Then I shall see _Chrisante_ once more before I go.

_Chris._ Go--Heavens--whither, my _Friendly_?

_Friend._ I have received a Commission to go against the _Indians_,
_Bacon_ being sent for home.

_Ran._ But will he come when sent for?

_Friend._ If he refuse we are to endeavour to force him.

_Chris._ I do not think he will be forc’d, not even by _Friendly_.

_Friend._ And, faith, it goes against my Conscience to lift my Sword
against him, for he is truly brave, and what he has done, a Service to
the Country, had it but been by Authority.

_Chris._ What pity ‘tis there should be such false Maxims in the World,
that noble Actions, however great, must be criminal for want of a Law to
authorise ‘em.

_Friend._ Indeed ‘tis pity that when Laws are faulty they should not be
mended or abolish’d.

_Ran._ Hark ye, _Charles_, by Heaven, if you kill my _Daring_ I’ll
pistol you.

_Friend._ No, Widow, I’ll spare him for your sake.
    [They join with _Surelove_.

_Haz._ Oh, she’s all divine, and all the Breath she utters serves but to
blow my Flame.

    Enter _Maid_.

_Maid._ Madam, Dinner’s on the Table--

_Sure._ Please you, Sir, to walk in--come, Mr. _Friendly_.
    [She takes _Hazard_.

_Ran._ Prithee, good Wench, bring in the Punch-Bowl.

    [Exeunt.




ACT II.


SCENE I. A Pavilion.

    Discovers the _Indian King_ and _Queen_ sitting in State, with
    Guards of _Indians_, Men and Women attending: To them _Bacon_
    richly dress’d, attended by _Daring_, _Fearless_ and other
    Officers; he bows to the _King_ and _Queen_, who rise to receive
    him_.

_King._ I am sorry, Sir, we meet upon these Terms, we who so often have
embrac’d as Friends.

_Bac._ How charming is the Queen! [Aside.] War, Sir, is not my Business
nor my Pleasure: Nor was I bred in Arms, my Country’s Good has forc’d me
to assume a Soldier’s Life; and ‘tis with much regret that I employ the
first Effects of it against my Friends: yet whilst I may--whilst this
Cessation lasts, I beg we may exchange those Friendships, Sir, we have
so often paid in happier Peace.

_King._ For your part, Sir, you’ve been so noble, that I repent the
fatal Difference that makes us meet in Arms. Yet though I’m young, I’m
sensible of Injuries; and oft have heard my Grandsire say, That we were
Monarchs once of all this spacious World, till you, an unknown People,
landing here, distress’d and ruin’d by destructive Storms, abusing all
our charitable Hospitality, usurp’d our Right, and made your Friends
your Slaves.

_Bac._ I will not justify the Ingratitude of my Forefathers, but finding
here my Inheritance, I am resolv’d still to maintain it so, and by my
Sword which first cut out my Portion, defend each Inch of Land, with my
last drop of Blood.

_Queen._ Even his Threats have Charms that please the Heart.
    [Aside.

_King._ Come, Sir, let this ungrateful Theme alone, which is better
disputed in the Field.

_Queen._ Is it impossible there might be wrought an understanding
betwixt my Lord and you? ‘Twas to that end I first desired this Truce,
my self proposing to be Mediator, to which my Lord _Cavernio_ shall
agree, could you but condescend--I know you are noble: And I have heard
you say our tender Sex could never plead in vain.

_Bac._ Alas! I dare not trust your pleading, Madam: a few soft Words
from such a charming Mouth would make me lay the Conqueror at your Feet,
as a Sacrifice for all the Ills he has done you.

_Queen._ How strangely am I pleas’d to hear him talk.    [Aside.

  _King._ _Semernia_, see, the Dancers do appear;
  Sir, will you take your Seat?    [To _Bacon_.
    [He leads the _Queen_ to a Seat, they sit and talk.

_Bac._ Curse on his Sports that interrupted me, my very Soul was
hovering at my Lip, ready to have discover’d all its Secrets. But oh!
I dread to tell her of my pain, and when I wou’d an awful trembling
seizes me, and she can only from my dying Eyes read all the Sentiments
of my captive Heart.
    [Sits down, the rest wait.

    Enter _Indians_ that dance Anticks: after the Dance the _King_
    seems in discourse with _Bacon_, the _Queen_ rises and comes
    forth.

_Queen._ The more I gaze upon this _English_ Stranger, the more
Confusion struggles in my Soul: Oft I have heard of Love, and oft this
Gallant Man (when Peace had made him pay his idle Visits) has told a
thousand Tales of dying Maids; and ever when he spoke, my panting Heart,
with a prophetick Fear in Sighs reply’d, I shall fall a Victim to his
Eyes.

    Enter an _Indian_.

_Indian._ Sir, here’s a Messenger from the _English_ Council desires
admittance to the General.
    [To the _King_.

_Bac._ With your Permission he may advance.    [To the _King_.

    Re-enter _Indian_ with _Dunce_. A Letter.

_Dun._ All Health and Happiness attend your Honour, this from the
honourable Council.
    [Gives him a Letter.

_King._ I’ll leave you till you have dispatch’d the Messenger, and then
expect your presence in the Royal Tent.

    [Exeunt _King_, _Queen_, and _Indians_.

_Bac._ Lieutenant, read the Letter.    [To _Daring_.

    _Daring_ reads.

    SIR, the necessity of what you have acted makes it pardonable, and
    we could wish we had done the Country and our selves so much Justice
    as to have given you that Commission you desired.--We now find it
    reasonable to raise more Forces, to oppose these Insolences, which
    possibly yours may be too weak to accomplish, to which end the
    Council is ordered to meet this Evening, and desiring you will come
    and take your place there, and be pleas’d to accept from us a
    Commission to command in Chief in this War.--Therefore send those
    Soldiers under your Command to their respective Houses, and haste,
    Sir, to your affectionate Friends--

_Fear._ Sir, I fear the Hearts and Pen did not agree when this was writ.

_Dar._ A plague upon their shallow Politicks! Do they think to play the
old Game twice with us?

_Bac._ Away, you wrong the Council, who of themselves are honourable
Gentlemen; but the base coward Fear of some of them, puts the rest on
tricks that suit not with their Nature.

_Dun._ Sir, ‘tis for noble ends you are sent for, and for your safety
I’ll engage my Life.

_Dar._ By Heaven, and so you shall;--and pay it too with all the rest of
your wise-headed Council.

_Bac._ Your Zeal is too officious now; I see no Treachery, and can fear
no Danger.

_Dun._ Treachery! now Heavens forbid, are we not Christians, Sir, all
Friends and Countrymen? believe me, Sir, ‘tis Honour calls you to
increase your Fame, and he who would dissuade you is your Enemy.

_Dar._ Go cant, Sir, to the Rabble--for us, we know you.

_Bac._ You wrong me when you but suspect for me; let him that acts
dishonourably fear. My innocence and my good Sword’s my Guard.

_Dar._ If you resolve to go, we will attend you.

_Bac._ What, go like an invader! No, _Daring_, the Invitation’s
friendly, and as a Friend attended only by my menial Servants, I’ll wait
upon the Council, that they may see that when I could command it, I came
an humble Suppliant for their Favour.--You may return, and tell ‘em I’ll
attend.

_Dun._ I kiss your Honour’s Hands--    [Goes out.

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, will you trust the faithless Council, Sir, who have so
long held you in hand with Promises, that Curse of States-men, that
unlucky Vice that renders even Nobility despis’d?

_Bac._ Perhaps the Council thought me too aspiring, and would not add
Wings to my ambitious Flight.

_Dar._ A pox of their considering Caps, and now they find that you can
soar alone, they send for you to knip your spreading Wings. Now, by my
Soul, you shall not go alone.

_Bac._ Forbear, lest I suspect you for a Mutineer; I am resolv’d to go.

_Fear._ What, and send your Army home; a pretty fetch.

_Dar._ By Heaven, we’ll not disband, not till we see how fairly you are
dealt with: If you have a Commission to be General, here we are ready to
receive new Orders: If not, we’ll ring them such a thundring Peal shall
beat the Town about their treacherous Ears.

_Bac._ I do command you not to stir a Man, till you’re inform’d how I am
treated by ‘em.--leave me, all.

    [Exeunt Officers.
    [While _Bacon_ reads the Letter again, to him the _Indian Queen_
    with Women waiting.

_Queen._ Now while my Lord’s asleep in his Pavilion, I’ll try my Power
with the General for an Accommodation of a Peace: The very dreams of War
fright my soft Slumbers that us’d to be employ’d in kinder Business.

_Bac._ Ha!--the Queen--what Happiness is this presents it self which all
my Industry could never gain?

_Queen._ Sir--    [Approaching him.

_Bac._ Prest with the great extremes of Joy and Fear, I trembling stand,
unable to approach her.

_Queen._ I hope you will not think it Fear in me, though timorous as a
Dove by nature fram’d: Nor that my Lord, whose Youth’s unskill’d in War,
can either doubt his Courage, or his Forces, that makes me seek a
Reconciliation on any honourable Terms of Peace.

_Bac._ Ah Madam! if you knew how absolutely you command my Fate, I fear
but little Honour would be left me, since whatsoe’er you ask me I should
grant.

_Queen._ Indeed I would not ask your Honour, Sir, that renders you too
brave in my esteem. Nor can I think that you would part with that. No,
not to save your Life.

_Bac._ I would do more to serve your least commands than part with
trivial Life.

_Queen._ Bless me, Sir, how came I by such a Power?

_Bac._ The Gods and Nature gave it you in your Creation, form’d with all
the Charms that ever grac’d your Sex.

_Queen._ Is’t possible? am I so beautiful?

_Bac._ As Heaven, or Angels there.

_Queen._ Supposing this, how can my Beauty make you so obliging?

_Bac._ Beauty has still a Power over great Souls, and from the moment I
beheld your Eyes, my stubborn Heart melted to compliance, and from a
nature rough and turbulent, grew soft and gentle as the God of Love.

_Queen._ The God of Love! what is the God of Love?

_Bac._ ‘Tis a resistless Fire, that’s kindled thus--at every
    [Takes her by the Hand and gazes on her.
  gaze we take from such fine Eyes, from such bashful Looks, and such
soft Touches--it makes us sigh,--and pant as I do now, and stops the
breath when e’er we speak of Pain.

_Queen._ Alas for me if this should be Love!    [Aside.

_Bac._ It makes us tremble when we touch the fair one; and all the Blood
runs shivering through the Veins, the Heart’s surrounded with a feeble
Languishment, the Eyes are dying, and the Cheeks are pale, the Tongue is
faltring, and the Body fainting.

_Queen._ Then I’m undone, and all I feel is Love.    [Aside.
  If Love be catching, Sir, by Looks and Touches, let us at distance
parley--or rather let me fly, for within view is too near--
    [Aside.

_Bac._ Ah! she retires--displeas’d I fear with my presumptuous
Love,--Oh, pardon, fairest Creature.
    [Kneels.

_Queen._ I’ll talk no more, our Words exchange our Souls, and every Look
fades all my blooming Honour, like Sun-beams on unguarded Roses--Take
all our Kingdoms --make our People Slaves, and let me fall beneath your
conquering Sword: but never let me hear you talk again, or gaze upon
your Eyes.--
    [Goes out.

_Bac._ She loves! by Heaven, she loves! and has not Art enough to hide
her Flame, though she have cruel Honour to suppress it. However, I’ll
pursue her to the Banquet.
    [Exit.


SCENE II. The Widow _Ranter’s_ Hall.

    Enter _Surelove_ fan’d by two Negroes, followed by _Hazard_.

_Sure._ This Madam _Ranter_ is so prodigious a Treater --oh! I hate a
Room that smells of a great Dinner, and what’s worse, a desert of Punch
and Tobacco--what! are you taking leave so soon, Cousin?

_Haz._ Yes, Madam, but ‘tis not fit I should let you know with what
regret I go,--but Business will be obey’d.

_Sure._ Some Letters to dispatch to _English_ Ladies you have left
behind--come, Cousin, confess.

_Haz._ I own I much admire the _English_ Beauties but never yet have put
their Fetters on.

_Sure._ Never in love! oh, then you have pleasure to come.

_Haz._ Rather a Pain when there’s no Hope attends it.

_Sure._ Oh, such Diseases quickly cure themselves.

_Haz._ I do not wish to find it so; for even in Pain I find a Pleasure
too.

_Sure._ You are infected then, and come abroad for Cure.

_Haz._ Rather to receive my Wounds, Madam.

_Sure._ Already, Sir,--whoe’er she be, she made good haste to conquer,
we have few here boast that Dexterity.

_Haz._ What think you of _Chrisante_, Madam?

_Sure._ I must confess your Love and your Despair are there plac’d
right, of which I am not fond of being made a Confident, since I am
assur’d she can love none but _Friendly_.
    [Coldly.

_Haz._ Let her love on as long as Life shall last, let _Friendly_ take
her, and the Universe, so I had my next wish--
    [Sighs.
  Madam, it is yourself that I adore--I should not be so vain to tell
you this, but that I know you have found the Secret out already from my
Sighs.

_Sure._ Forbear, Sir, and know me for your Kinsman’s Wife, and no more.

_Haz._ Be scornful as you please, rail at my Passion, and refuse to hear
it; yet I’ll love on, and hope in spite of you; my Flame shall be so
constant and submissive, it shall compel your Heart to some return.

_Sure._ You’re very confident of your Power, I perceive; but if you
chance to find yourself mistaken, say your Opinion and your Affectation
were misapply’d, and not that I was cruel.
    [Ex. _Surelove_.

_Haz._ Whate’er denials dwell upon your Tongue, your Eyes assure me that
your Heart is tender.
    [Goes out.

    Enter the Bagpiper, playing before a great Bowl of Punch, carry’d
    between two Negroes, a Highlander dancing after it; the Widow
    _Ranter_ led by _Timorous_; _Chrisante_ by _Dullman_; Mrs. _Flirt_
    and _Friendly_, all dancing after it; they place it on the Table.

_Dull._ This is like the noble Widow all over, i’faith.

_Tim._ Ay, ay, the Widow’s Health in a full Ladle, Major.
    [Drinks.
 --But a Pox on’t, what made that young Fellow here, that affronted us
yesterday, Major?
    [While they drink about.

_Dull._ Some damned Sharper that would lay his Knife aboard your Widow,
Cornet.

_Tim._ Zoors, if I thought so, I’d arrest him for Salt and Battery, lay
him in Prison for a swinging Fine, and take no Bail.

_Dull._ Nay, had it not been before my Mistress here, Mrs. _Chrisante_,
I had swinged him for his Yesterday’s Affront;--ah, my sweet Mistress
_Chrisante_--if you did but know what a power you have over me--

_Chris._ Oh, you’re a great Courtier, Major.

_Dull._ Would I were any thing for your sake, Madam.

_Ran._ Thou art anything, but what thou shouldst be; prithee, Major,
leave off being an old Buffoon, that is, a Lover turn’d ridiculous by
Age, consider thy self a mere rouling Tun of _Nantz_,--a walking
Chimney, ever smoaking with nasty Mundungus, and then thou hast a
Countenance like an old worm-eaten Cheese.

_Dull._ Well, Widow, you will joke, ha, ha, ha--

_Tim._ Gad’ Zoors, she’s pure company, ha, ha--

_Dull._ No matter for my Countenance,--Col. _Downright_ likes my Estate,
and is resolved to have it a match.

_Friend._ Dear Widow, take off your damned Major, for if he speak
another word to _Chrisante_, I shall be put past all my patience, and
fall foul upon him.

_Ran._ S’life, not for the world--Major, I bar Love-making within my
Territories, ‘tis inconsistent with the Punch-Bowl, if you’l drink, do,
if not, be gone.

_Tim._ Nay, Gad’s Zooks, if you enter me at the Punch-Bowl you enter me
in Politicks--well, ‘tis the best Drink in Christendom for a Statesman.
    [They drink about, the Bagpipe playing.

_Ran._ Come, now you shall see what my High-land Valet can do.
    [A _Scots_ Dance.

_Dull._ So--I see, let the World go which way it will, Widow, you are
resolv’d for mirth,--but come--to the conversation of the Times.

_Ran._ The Times! why, what a Devil ails the Times? I see nothing in the
Times but a Company of Coxcombs that fear without a Cause.

_Tim._ But if these Fears were laid, and _Bacon_ were hanged, I look
upon _Virginia_ to be the happiest part of the World, gads zoors,--why,
there’s _England_--’tis nothing to’t,--I was in _England_ about six
Years ago, and was shewed the Court of Aldermen, some were nodding, some
saying nothing, and others very little to purpose; but how could it be
otherwise, for they had neither Bowl of Punch, Bottles of Wine or
Tobacco before ‘em, to put Life and Soul into ‘em as we have here: then
for the young Gentlemen--their farthest Travels is to _France_ or
_Italy_, they never come hither.

_Dull._ The more’s the pity, by my troth.    [Drinks.

_Tim._ Where they learn to swear Mor-blew, Mor-dee--

_Friend._ And tell you how much bigger the _Louvre_ is than _Whitehall_;
buy a suit a-la-mode, get a swinging Clap of some _French_ Marquise,
spend all their Money, and return just as they went.

_Dull._ For the old Fellows, their business is Usury, Extortion, and
undermining young Heirs.

_Tim._ Then for young Merchants, their Exchange is the Tavern, their
Ware-house the Play-house, and their Bills of Exchange Billet-Douxs,
where to sup with their Wenches at the other end of the Town,--now judge
you what a condition poor _England_ is in: for my part I look upon it as
a lost Nation, gads zoors.

_Dull._ I have considered it, and have found a way to save all yet.

_Tim._ As how, I pray?

_Dull._ As thus: we have Men here of great Experience and Ability--now I
would have as many sent into _England_, as would supply all Places and
Offices, both Civil and Military, d’ye see; their young Gentry should
all travel hither for breeding, and to learn the mysteries of State.

_Friend._ As for the old covetous Fellows, I would have the Tradesmen
get in their Debts, break and turn Troopers.

_Tim._ And they’d be soon weary of Extortion, gad zoors.

_Dull._ Then for the young Merchants, there should be a Law made, none
should go beyond _Ludgate_.

_Friend._ You have found out the only way to preserve that great
Kingdom.
    [Drinking all this while sometimes.

_Tim._ Well, gad zoors, ‘tis a fine thing to be a good Statesman.

_Friend._ Ay, Cornet, which you had never been had you staid in Old
_England_.

_Dull._ Why, Sir, we were somebody in _England_.

_Friend._ So I heard, Major.

_Dull._ You heard, Sir! what have you heard? he’s a Kidnapper that says
he heard any thing of me--and so my service to you.--I’ll sue you, Sir,
for spoiling my Marriage here by your Scandals with Mrs. _Chrisante_:
but that shan’t do, Sir, I’ll marry her for all that, and he’s a Rascal
that denies it.

_Friend._ S’death, you lye, Sir--I do.

_Tim._ Gad zoors, Sir, lye to a Privy-Counsellor, a Major of Horse!
Brother, this is an Affront to our Dignities: draw and I’ll side with
you.
    [They both draw on _Friendly_, the Ladies run off.

_Friend._ If I disdain to draw, ‘tis not that I fear your base and
cowardly Force, but for the respect I bear you as Magistrates, and so I
leave you.
    [Goes out.

_Tim._ An arrant Coward, gad zoors.

_Dull._ A mere Paultroon, and I scorn to drink in his Company.

    [Exeunt, putting up their Swords.


SCENE III. A _Sevana_, or large Heath.

    Enter _Whimsey_, _Whiff_, and _Boozer_, with some Soldiers arm’d.

_Whim._ Stand--stand--and hear the word of Command--do ye see yon Cops,
and that Ditch that runs along Major _Dullman’s_ Plantation?

_Booz._ We do.

_Whim._ Place your Men there, and lie flat on your Bellies, and when
_Bacon_ comes, (if alone) seize him, d’ye see.

_Whiff._ Observe the Command now (if alone) for we are not for
blood-shed.

_Booz._ I’ll warrant you for our parts.

    [Exeunt all but _Whim._ and _Whiff_.

_Whim._ Now we have ambusht our Men, let’s light our Pipes, and sit down
and take an encouraging dram of the Bottle.
    [Pulls a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket--they sit.

_Whiff._ Thou art a Knave, and hast emptied half the Bottle in thy
Leathern Pockets; but come, here’s young _Frightall’s_ Health.

_Whim._ What, wilt drink a Man’s Health thou’rt going to hang?

_Whiff._ ‘Tis all one for that, we’ll drink his Health first, and hang
him afterwards, and thou shalt pledge me, d’ye see, and though ‘twere
under the Gallows.

_Whim._ Thou’rt a Traitor for saying so, and I defy thee.

_Whiff._ Nay, since we are come out like loving Brothers to hang the
General, let’s not fall out among our selves; and so here’s to you,
[Drinks.] though I have no great Maw to this Business.

_Whim._ Prithee, Brother _Whiff_, do not be so villainous a Coward, for
I hate a Coward.

_Whiff._ Nay, ‘tis not that--but, my _Whiff_, my _Nancy_ dreamt to night
she saw me hanged.

_Whim._ ‘Twas a cowardly Dream, think no more on’t; but as Dreams are
expounded by contraries, thou shalt hang the General.

_Whiff._ Ay--but he was my Friend, and I owe him at this time a hundred
Pounds of Tobacco.

_Whim._ Nay, then I am sure thou’dst hang him if he were thy Brother.

_Whiff._ But hark--I think I hear the Neighing of Horses, where shall we
hide our selves? for if we stay here, we shall be mawled damnably.

    [Exeunt both behind a Bush, peeping.

    Enter _Bacon_, _Fearless_, and 3 or 4 Footmen.

_Bac._ Let the Groom lead the Horses o’er the _Sevana_; we’ll walk it on
Foot, ‘tis not a quarter of a Mile to the Town; and here the Air is
cool.

_Fear._ The Breezes about this time of the Day begin to take wing, and
fan refreshment to the Trees and Flowers.

_Bac._ And at these Hours how fragrant are the Groves!

_Fear._ The Country’s well, were but the people so.

_Bac._ But come, lets on--    [They pass to the Entrance.

_Whim._ There, Boys--    [The Soldiers come forth and fall on _Bacon_.

_Bac._ Hah! Ambush--

    [Draws, _Fearless_ and Footmen draw, the Soldiers after a while
    fighting, take _Bacon_ and _Fearless_, they having laid 3 or 4
    dead.

_Whiff._ So, so, he’s taken; now we may venture out.

_Whim._ But are you sure he’s taken?

_Whiff._ Sure! can’t you believe your Eyes, come forth; I hate a
Coward--Oh, Sir, have we caught your Mightiness.

_Bac._ Are you the Authors of this valiant Act? None but such villainous
Cowards durst have attempted it.

_Whim._ Stop his railing Tongue.

_Whiff._ No, no, let him rail, let him rail now his Hands are ty’d, ha,
ha. Why, good General _Frightall_, what, was no body able d’ye think to
tame the roaring Lyon?

_Bac._ You’ll be hanged for this.

_Whim._ Come, come, away with him to the next Tree.

_Bac._ What mean you, Villains?

_Whiff._ Only to hang your Honour a little, that’s all. We’ll teach you,
Sir, to serve your Country against Law.

    As they go off, enter _Daring_ with Soldiers.

_Dar._ Hah--my General betray’d!--this I suspected.

    [His Men come in, they fall on, release _Bacon_ and _Fearless_,
    and his Man, and get Swords. _Whimsey’s_ Party put _Whim._ and
    _Whiff_ before ‘em striking ‘em as they endeavour to run on this
    side or that, and forcing ‘em to bear up, they are taken after
    some fighting.

_Fear._ Did not the General tell you Rogues, you’d be all hang’d?

_Whiff._ Oh, _Nancy_, _Nancy_, how prophetick are thy Dreams!

_Bac._ Come, lets on--

_Dar._ S’death, what mean you, Sir?

_Bac._ As I designed--to present my self to the Council.

_Dar._ By Heavens, we’ll follow then to save you from their Treachery,
’.was this that has befallen you that I feared, which made me at a
distance follow you.

_Bac._ Follow me still, but still at such a distance as your Aids may be
assisting on all occasions.--_Fearless_, go back and bring your Regiment
down; and _Daring_, let your Sergeant with his Party guard these
Villains to the Council.

    [Ex. _Bac._ _Dar._ and _Fearless_.

_Whiff._ A Pox on your Worship’s Plot.

_Whim._ A Pox of your forwardness to come out of the Hedge.

    [Ex. Officers, with _Whim._ and _Whiff_.


SCENE IV. _The Council-Table_.

    Enter Col. _Wellman_, Col. _Downright_, _Dullman_, _Timorous_, and
    about seven or eight more seat themselves.

_Well._ You heard Mr. _Dunce’s_ opinion, Gentlemen, concerning _Bacon’s_
coming upon our Invitation. He believes he will come, but I rather
think, though he be himself undaunted, yet the persuasions of his two
Lieutenant-Generals, _Daring_ and _Fearless_, may prevent him--Colonel,
have you order’d our Men to be in Arms?

    Enter a _Soldier_.

_Down._ I have, and they’l attend further order on the _Sevana_.

_Sold._ May it please your Honours, _Bacon_ is on his way, he comes
unattended by any but his Footmen, and Col. _Fearless_.

_Down._ Who is this Fellow?

_Well._ A Spy I sent to watch _Bacon’s_ Motions.

_Sold._ But there is a Company of Soldiers in Ambush on this side of the
_Sevana_ to seize him as he passes by.

_Well._ That’s by no order of the Council.

_Omnes._ No, no, no order.

_Well._ Nay, ‘twere a good design if true.

_Tim._ Gad zoors, wou’d I had thought on’t for my Troop.

_Down._ I am for no unfair dealing in any extremity.

    Enter _Brag_ in haste.

_Brag._ An’t please your Honours, the saddest News--an Ambush being laid
for _Bacon_, they rush’d out upon him on the _Sevana_, and after some
fighting took him and _Fearless_--

_Tim._ Is this your sad News--zoors, wou’d I had had a hand in’t.

_Brag._ When on a sudden, _Daring_ and his Party fell in upon us, turn’d
the tide--kill’d our Men, and took Captain _Whimsey_, and Captain
_Whiff_ Pris’ners; the rest run away, but _Bacon_ fought like fury.

_Tim._ A bloody Fellow!

_Down._ _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_? they deserve Death for acting without
order.

_Tim._ I’m of the Colonel’s Opinion, they deserve to hang for’t.

_Dull._ Why, Brother, I thought you had wish’d that the Plot had been
yours but now.

_Tim._ Ay, but the Case is alter’d since that, good Brother.

_Well._ Now he’s exasperated past all hopes of a Reconciliation.

_Dull._ You must make use of the Statesman’s Refuge, wise Dissimulation.

_Brag._ For all this, Sir, he will not believe but that you mean
honourably, and no Persuasions could hinder him from coming, so he has
dismiss’d all his Soldiers, and is entring the Town on foot.

_Well._ What pity ‘tis a brave Man should be guilty of an ill Action.

_Brag._ But the noise of his danger has so won the Hearts of the Mobile,
that they increase his Train as he goes, and follow him in the Town like
a Victor.

_Well._ Go wait his coming.    [Exit _Brag_.
  He grows too popular and must be humbled.

_Tim._ I was ever of your mind, Colonel.

_Well._ Ay, right or wrong--but what’s your Counsel now?

_Tim._ E’en as it used to be, I leave it to wiser Heads.

    Enter _Brag_.

_Brag._ _Bacon_, Sir, is entring.

_Tim._ Gad zoors, wou’d I were safe in bed.

_Dull._ Colonel, keep in your Heat, and treat calmly with him.

_Well._ I rather wish you would all follow me, I’d meet him at the head
of all his noisy Rabble, and seize him from the Rout.

_Down._ What, Men of Authority dispute with Rake-hells! ‘tis below us,
Sir.

_Tim._ To stake our Lives and Fortunes against their nothing.

    Enter _Bacon_, after him the Rabble with Staves and Clubs,
    bringing in _Whim._ and _Whiff_ bound.

_Well._ What means this Insolence?--What, Mr. _Bacon_, do you come in
Arms?

_Bac._ I’d need, Sir, come in Arms, when Men that should be honourable
can have so poor Designs to take my Life.

_Well._ Thrust out his following Rabble.

_1st Rab._ We’ll not stir till we have the General safe back again.

_Bac._ Let not your Loves be too officious--but retire--

_1st Rab._ At your Command we vanish.--    [The Rabble retire.

_Bac._ I hope you’ll pardon me, if in my own defence I seized on these
two Murderers.

_Down._ You did well, Sir, ‘twas by no order they acted--stand forth and
hear your Sentence--in time of War we need no formal Tryals to hang
Knaves that act without order.

_Whiff._ Oh, Mercy, Mercy, Colonel--’twas Parson _Dunce’s_ Plot.

_Down._ Issue out a Warrant to seize _Dunce_ immediately--you shall be
carry’d to the Fort to pray.

_Whim._ Oh, good your Honour, I never pray’d in all my Life.

_Down._ From thence drawn upon a Sledge to the place of Execution--where
you shall hang till you are dead--and then be cut down and--

_Whim._ Oh, hold--hold--we shall never be able to endure half this.
    [Kneeling.

_Well._ I think the Offence needs not so great Punishment; their Crime,
Sir, is but equal to your own, acting without Commission.

_Bac._ ‘Tis very well explained, Sir,--had I been murder’d by Commission
then, the Deed had been approved, and now perhaps I am beholding to the
Rabble for my Life.

_Well._ A fine Pretence to hide a popular Fault, but for this once we
pardon them and you.

_Bac._ Pardon! for what? by Heaven, I scorn your Pardon, I’ve not
offended Honour nor Religion.

_Well._ You have offended both in taking Arms.

_Bac._ Should I stand by and see my Country ruin’d, my King dishonour’d,
and his Subjects murder’d, hear the sad Crys of Widows and of Orphans?
you heard it loud, but gave no pitying care to’t, and till the War and
Massacre was brought to my own door, my Flocks and Herds surprized,
I bore it all with Patience. Is it unlawful to defend my self against a
Thief that breaks into my Doors?

_Well._ And call you this defending of your self?

_Bac._ I call it doing of my self that right, which upon just demand the
Council did refuse me; if my Ambition, as you’re pleased to call it,
made me demand too much, I left my self to you.

_Well._ Perhaps we thought it did.

_Bac._ Sir, you affront my Birth--I am a Gentleman, and yet my Thoughts
were humble--I would have fought under the meanest of your Parasites.

_Tim._ There’s a Bob for us, Brother.    [To _Dull._

_Bac._ But still you put me off with Promises--and when compell’d to
stir in my Defence I call’d none to my aid, and those that came, ‘twas
their own Wrongs that urg’d them.

_Down._ ‘Tis fear’d, Sir, under this Pretence, you aim at Government.

_Bac._ I scorn to answer to so base an Accusation; the height of my
Ambition is to be an honest Subject.

_Well._ An honest Rebel, Sir--

_Bac._ You know you wrong me, and ‘tis basely urg’d--but this is
trifling--here are my Commissions.
    [Throws down Papers, _Down._ reads.

_Down._ To be General of the Forces against the _Indians_, and blank
Commissions for his Friends.

_Well._ Tear them in pieces--are we to be imposed upon? Do ye come in
hostile manner to compel us?

_Down._ Be not too rough, Sir, let us argue with him.

_Well._ I am resolv’d I will not.

_Tim._ Then we are all dead Men, Gudzoors! he will not give us time to
say our Prayers.

_Well._ We every day expect fresh force from _England_, till then, we of
our selves shall be sufficient to make defence against a sturdy Traitor.

_Bac._ Traitor! S’death, Traitor--I defy ye, but that my Honour’s yet
above my Anger, I’d make you answer me that Traitor dearly.
    [Rises.

_Well._ Hah--am I threatned--Guards, secure the Rebel.
    [Guards seize him.

_Bac._ Is this your honourable Invitation? Go--triumph in your
short-liv’d Victory, the next turn shall be mine.

    [Exeunt Guards with _Bac._

_A Noise of Fighting--Enter _Bacon_, _Wellman’s_ Guards beat back by the
Rabble, _Bacon_ snatches a Sword from one, and keeps back the Rabble,
_Tim._ gets under the Table._

_Down._ What means this Insolence?

_Rab._ We’ll have our General, and knock that Fellow’s Brains out, and
hang up Colonel _Wellman_.

_All._ Ay, ay, hang up _Wellman_.
    [The Rabble seize _Well._ and _Dull._ and the rest.

_Dull._ Hold, hold, Gentlemen, I was always for the General.

_Rab._ Let’s barbicu this fat Rogue.

_Bac._ Be gone, and know your distance to the Council.
    [The Rabble let ‘em go.

_Well._ I’d rather perish by the meanest Hand, than owe my safety poorly
thus to _Bacon_.
    [In Rage.

_Bac._ If you persist still in that mind I’ll leave you, and conquering
make you happy ‘gainst your will.

    [Ex. _Bacon_ and Rabble, hollowing a _Bacon_, a _Bacon_.

_Well._ Oh villanous Cowards! who will trust his Honour with Sycophants
so base? Let us to Arms--by Heaven, I will not give my Body rest, till
I’ve chastised the boldness of this Rebel.

    [Exeunt _Well._ _Down._ and the rest, all but _Dull._ _Tim._ peeps
    from under the Table.

_Tim._ What, is the roistering Hector gone, Brother?

_Dull._ Ay, ay, and the Devil go with him.
    [Looking sadly, _Tim._ comes out.

_Tim._ Was there ever such a Bull of _Bashan_! Why, what if he should
come down upon us and kill us all for Traitors.

_Dull._ I rather think the Council will hang us all for
Cowards--ah--oh--a Drum--a Drum--oh.
    [He goes out.

  _Tim._ This is the Misery of being great.
  We’re sacrific’d to every turn of State.    [Exit.




ACT III.


SCENE I. The Country Court, a great Table, with Papers, a _Clerk
writing._

    Enter a great many People of all sorts, then _Friendly_, after him
    _Dullman_.

_Friend._ How now, Major; what, they say _Bacon_ scar’d you all out of
the Council yesterday; What say the People?

_Dull._ Say? they curse us all, and drink young _Frightall’s_ Health,
and swear they’ll fight through Fire and Brimstone for him.

_Friend._ And to morrow will hollow him to the Gallows, if it were his
chance to come there.

_Dull._ ‘Tis very likely: Why, I am forced to be guarded to the Court
now, the Rabble swore they would _De-Wit_ me, but I shall hamper some of
’.m. Wou’d the Governour were here to bear the brunt on’t, for they call
us the evil Counsellors.

    Enter _Hazard_, goes to _Friendly_.

Here’s the young Rogue that drew upon us too, we have Rods in Piss for
him, i’faith.

    Enter _Timorous_ with _Bailiffs_, whispers to _Dullman_, after
    which to the _Bailiffs_.

_Tim._ Gadzoors, that’s he, do your Office.

_Bail._ We arrest you, Sir, in the King’s Name, at the suit of the
honourable Justice _Timorous_.

_Haz._ Justice _Timorous_! who the Devil’s he?

_Tim._ I am the man, Sir, d’ye see, for want of a better; you shall
repent, Guds zoors, your putting of tricks upon Persons of my Rank and
Quality.
    [After he has spoke, he runs back as afraid of him.

_Haz._ Your Rank and Quality!

_Tim._ Ay, Sir, my Rank and Quality; first I am one of the honourable
Council, next, a Justice of Peace in _Quorum_, Cornet of a Troop of
Horse, d’ye see, and Church-warden.

_Friend._ From whence proceeds this, Mr. Justice? you said nothing of
this at Madam _Ranter’s_ yesterday; you saw him there, then you were
good Friends.

_Tim._ Ay, however I have carried my Body swimmingly before my Mistress,
d’ye see, I had Rancour in my Heart, Gads zoors.

_Friend._ Why, this Gentleman’s a Stranger, and but lately come ashore.

_Haz._ At my first landing I was in company with this Fellow and two or
three of his cruel Brethren, where I was affronted by them, some Words
pass’d, and I drew--

_Tim._ Ay, ay, Sir, you shall pay for’t,--why--what, Sir, cannot a civil
Magistrate affront a Man, but he must be drawn upon presently?

_Friend._ Well, Sir, the Gentleman shall answer your Suit, and I hope
you’ll take my Bail for him.

_Tim._ ‘Tis enough--I know you to be a civil Person.

    _Timorous_ and _Dullman_ take their Places on a long Bench placed
    behind the Table, to them _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_, they seat
    themselves, then _Boozer_ and two or three more; who seat
    themselves: Then enter two, bearing a Bowl of Punch and a great
    Ladle or two in it; the rest of the Stage being fill’d with
    People.

_Whiff._ Brothers, it hath often been mov’d at the Bench, that a new
Punch-Bowl shou’d be provided, and one of a larger Circumference; when
the Bench sits late about weighty Affairs, oftentimes the Bowl is
emptied before we end.

_Whim._ A good Motion; Clerk, set it down.

_Clerk._ Mr. Justice _Boozer_, the Council has order’d you a Writ of
Ease, and dismiss your Worship from the Bench.

_Booz._ Me from the Bench, for what?

_Whim._ The Complaint is, Brother _Boozer_, for drinking too much Punch
in the time of hearing Tryals.

_Whiff._ And that you can neither write nor read, nor say the Lord’s
Prayer.

_Tim._ That your Warrants are like a Brewer’s Tally, a Notch on a Stick;
if a special Warrant, then a couple. Gods zoors, when his Excellency
comes he will have no such Justices.

_Booz._ Why, Brother, though I can’t read my self, I have had _Dalton’s_
Country-Justice read over to me two or three times, and understand the
Law. This is your Malice, Brother _Whiff_, because my Wife does not come
to your Warehouse to buy her Commodities,--but no matter, to show I have
no Malice in my Heart, I drink your Health.--I care not this, I can turn
Lawyer, and plead at the Board.
    [Drinks, all pledge him, and hum.

_Dull._ Mr. Clerk, come to the Tryals on the Dockett.
    [_Clerk_ reads.

_Cler._ The first is between his Worship Justice _Whiff_ and one
_Grubb_.

_Dull._ Ay, that _Grubb’s_ a common Disturber, Brother, your Cause is a
good Cause if well manag’d, here’s to’t.
    [Drinks.

_Whiff._ I thank you, Brother _Dullman_--read my Petition.
    [Drinks.

_Cler._ The Petition of Captain _Thomas Whiff_, sheweth, That whereas
_Gilbert Grubb_ calls his Worship’s Wife _Ann Whiff_ Whore, and said he
would prove it; your Petitioner desires the Worshipful Bench to take it
into Consideration, and your Petitioner shall ever pray, _&c._-- Here’s
two Witnesses have made Affidavit _viva voce_, an’t like your Worships.

_Dull._ Call _Grubb_.

_Cler._ _Gilbert Grubb_, come into the Court.

_Grub._ Here.

_Whim._ Well, what can you say for your self, Mr. _Grubb_.

_Grub._ Why, an’t like your Worship, my Wife invited some Neighbours
Wives to drink a Cagg of Syder; now your Worship’s Wife, Madam _Whiff_,
being there fuddled, would have thrust me out of doors, and bid me go to
my old Whore Madam _Whimsey_, meaning your Worship’s Wife.
    [To _Whimsey_.

_Whim._ Hah! My Wife called Whore, she’s a Jade, and I’ll arrest her
Husband here--in an Action of Debts.

_Tim._ Gad zoors, she’s no better than she should be, I’ll warrant her.

_Whiff._ Look ye, Brother _Whimsey_, be patient; you know the humour of
my _Nancy_, when she’s drunk; but when she’s sober, she’s a civil
Person, and shall ask your pardon.

_Whim._ Let this be done, and I am satisfied. And so here’s to you.
    [Drinks.

_Dull._ Go on to the Trial.

_Grub._ I being very angry, said indeed, I would prove her a greater
Whore than Madam _Whimsey_.

_Cler._ An’t like your Worships, he confesses the Words in open Court.

_Grub._ Why, an’t like your Worships, she has had two Bastards, I’ll
prove it.

_Whiff._ Sirrah, Sirrah, that was when she was a Maid, not since I
marry’d her; my marrying her made her honest.

_Dull._ Let there be an order of Court to sue him for _Scandalum
magnatum_.

_Tim._ Mr. Clerk, let my Cause come next.

_Cler._ The Defendant’s ready, Sir.    [_Hazard_ comes to the Board.

_Tim._ Brothers of the Bench, take notice, that this Hector here coming
into Mrs. _Flirt’s_ Ordinary, where I was with my Brother _Dullman_ and
Lieutenant _Boozer_; we gave him good Counsel to fall to work: Now my
Gentleman here was affronted at this, forsooth, and makes no more to do
but calls us Scoundrels, and drew his Sword on us; and had I not
defended my self by running away, he had murdered me, and assassinated
my two Brothers.

_Whiff._ What Witness have you, Brother?

_Tim._ Here’s Mrs. _Flirt_ and her Maid _Nell_,--besides, we may be
Witness for one another, I hope, our Words may be taken.

_Cler._ Mrs. _Flirt_ and _Nell_ are sworn.    [They stand forth.

_Whim._ By the Oaths that you have taken, speak nothing but the truth.

_Flirt._ An’t please your Worships, your Honours came to my House, where
you found this young Gentleman: and your Honours invited him to drink
with your Honours; Where after some opprobrious Words given him, Justice
_Dullman_, and Justice _Boozer_ struck him over the Head; and after that
indeed the Gentleman drew.

_Tim._ Mark that, Brother, he drew.

_Haz._ If I did, it was _se defendendo_.

_Tim._ Do you hear that, Brothers, he did it in defiance.

_Haz._ Sir, you ought not to sit Judge and Accuser too.

_Whiff._ The Gentleman’s i’th’ right, Brother, you cannot do’t according
to Law.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, what new tricks, new querks?

_Haz._ Gentlemen, take notice, he swears in Court.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, what’s that to you, Sir?

_Haz._ This is the second time of his swearing.

_Whim._ What, do you think we are deaf, Sir? Come, come, proceed.

_Tim._ I desire he may be bound to his Good Behaviour, fin’d, and
deliver up his Sword, what say you, Brother?
    [Jogs _Dull._ who nods.

_Whim._ He’s asleep, drink to him and waken him,-- you have miss’d the
Cause by sleeping, Brother.
    [Drinks.

_Dull._ Justice may nod, but never sleeps, Brother-- you were
at--Deliver his Sword--a good Motion, let it be done.
    [Drinks.

_Haz._ No, Gentlemen, I wear a Sword to right my self.

_Tim._ That’s fine, i’faith, Gads zoors, I’ve worn a Sword this dozen
Year, and never cou’d right my self.

_Whiff._ Ay, ‘twou’d be a fine World if Men should wear Swords to right
themselves; he that’s bound to the Peace shall wear no Sword.

_Whim._ I say, he that’s bound to the Peace ought to wear no Peruke,
they may change ‘em for black or white, and then who can know them.

_Haz._ I hope, Gentlemen, I may be allowed to speak for my self.

_Whiff._ Ay, what can you say for your self, did you not draw your
Sword, Sirrah?

_Haz._ I did.

_Tim._ ‘Tis sufficient, he confesses the Fact, and we’ll hear no more.

_Haz._ You will not hear the Provocation given.

_Dull._ ‘Tis enough, Sir, you drew--

_Whim._ Ay, ay, ‘tis enough, he drew--let him be fin’d.

_Friend._ The Gentleman should be heard, he’s Kinsman too to Colonel
_John Surelove_.

_Tim._ Hum--Colonel _Surelove’s_ Kinsman.

_Whiff._ Is he so? nay, then all the reason in the World he should be
heard, Brothers.

_Whim._ Come, come, Cornet, you shall be Friends with the Gentleman;
this was some drunken bout, I’ll warrant you.

_Tim._ Ha, ha, ha, so it was, Gads zoors.

_Whiff._ Come, drink to the Gentleman, and put it up.

_Tim._ Sir, my service to you, I am heartily sorry for what’s pass’d,
but it was in my drink.
    [Drinks.

_Whim._ You hear his Acknowledgments, Sir, and when he’s sober he never
quarrels. Come, Sir, sit down, my Service to you.

_Haz._ I beg your excuse, Gentlemen--I have earnest business.

_Dull._ Let us adjourn the Court, and prepare to meet the Regiments on
the _Sevana_.
    [All go but _Friend._ and _Hazard_.

_Haz._ Is this the best Court of Judicature your Country affords?

_Friend._ To give it its due, it is not. But how does thy Amour thrive?

_Haz._ As well as I can wish in so short a time.

_Friend._ I see she regards thee with kind Eyes, Sighs and Blushes.

_Haz._ Yes, and tells me I am so like a Brother she had --to excuse her
kind concern,--then blushes so prettily, that, Gad, I cou’d not forbear
making a discovery of my Heart.

_Friend._ Have a care of that, come upon her by slow degrees, for I know
she is virtuous;--but come, let’s to the _Sevana_, where I’ll present
you to the two Colonels, _Wellman_ and _Downright_, the Men that manage
all till the arrival of the Governour.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. The _Sevana_ or Heath.

    Enter _Wellman_, _Downright_, _Boozer_, and Officers.

_Well._ Have you dispatch’d the Scouts, to watch the Motions of the
Enemies? I know that _Bacon_ is violent and haughty, and will resent our
vain Attempts upon him; therefore we must be speedy in prevention.

_Down._ What Forces have you raised since our last order?

_Booz._ Here’s a List of ‘em, they came but slowly in, till we promised
every one a Bottle of Brandy.

    Enter _Officer_ and _Dunce_.

_Offi._ We have brought Mr. _Dunce_ here, as your Honour commanded us;
after strict search we found him this Morning in bed with Madam _Flirt_.

_Down._ No matter, he’ll exclaim no less against the Vices of the Flesh
the next Sunday.

_Dun._ I hope, Sir, you will not credit the Malice of my Enemies.

_Well._ No more, you are free, and what you counsell’d about the Ambush,
was both prudent and seasonable, and perhaps I now wish it had taken
effect.

    Enter _Friendly_ and _Hazard_.

_Friend._ I have brought an _English_ Gentleman to kiss your Hands, Sir,
and offer you his Service, he is young and brave, and Kinsman to Colonel
_Surelove_.

_Well._ Sir, you are welcome; and to let you see you are so, we will
give you your Kinsman’s Command, Captain of a Troop of Horse-Guards, and
which I’m sure will be continued to you when the Governour arrives.

_Haz._ I shall endeavour to deserve the Honour, Sir.

    Enter _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_, all in Buff, Scarf, and
    Feather.

_Down._ So, Gentlemen, I see you’re in a readiness.

_Tim._ Readiness! What means he, I hope we are not to be drawn out to go
against the Enemy, Major.

_Dull._ If we are, they shall look a new Major for me.

_Well._ We were debating, Gentlemen, what course were best to pursue
against this powerful Rebel.

_Friend._ Why, Sir, we have Forces enough, let’s charge him instantly,
Delays are dangerous.

_Tim._ Why, what a damn’d fiery Fellow is this?

_Down._ But if we drive him to extremities, we fear his siding with the
_Indians_.

_Dull._ Colonel _Downright_ has hit it; why should we endanger our Men
against a desperate Termagant; If he love Wounds and Scars so well, let
him exercise on our Enemies--but if he will needs fall upon us, ‘tis
then time enough for us to venture our Lives and Fortunes.

_Tim._ How, we go to _Bacon_! under favour, I think ‘tis his duty to
come to us, an you go to that, Gads zoors.

_Friend._ If he do, ‘twill cost you dear, I doubt, Cornet.--I find by
our List, Sir, we are four thousand Men.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, not enough for a Breakfast for that insatiate
_Bacon_, and his two Lieutenant Generals, _Fearless_ and _Daring_.
    [_Whiff_ sits on the Ground with a Bottle of Brandy.

_Whim._ A Morsel, a Morsel.

_Well._ I am for an attack, what say you, Gentlemen, to an
attack?--What, silent all? What say you, Major?

_Dull._ I say, Sir, I hope my Courage was never in dispute. But, Sir,
I am going to marry Colonel _Downright’s_ Daughter here--and should I be
slain in this Battle ‘twould break her Heart;--besides, Sir, I should
lose her Fortune.
    [Speaks big.

_Well._ I’m sure here’s a Captain will never flinch.    [To _Whim._

_Whim._ Who, I, an’t like your Honour?

_Well._ Ay, you.

_Whim._ Who, I? ha, ha, ha: Why, did your Honour think that I would
fight?

_Well._ Fight! yes; why else do you take Commissions?

_Whim._ Commissions! Oh Lord, O Lord, take Commissions to fight! ha, ha,
ha; that’s a jest, if all that take Commissions should fight--

_Well._ Why do you bear Arms then?

_Whim._ Why, for the Pay; to be called Captain, noble Captain, to show,
to cock and look big, and bluff as I do: to be bow’d to thus as we pass,
to domineer and beat our Soldiers: Fight, quoth a, ha, ha, ha.

_Friend._ But what makes you look so simply, Cornet?

_Tim._ Why, a thing that I have quite forgot, all my Accounts for
_England_ are to be made up, and I’m undone if they be neglected--else I
wou’d not flinch for the stoutest he that wears a Sword--
    [Looking big.

_Down._ What say you, Captain _Whiff_?    [_Whiff_ almost drunk.

_Whiff._ I am trying, Colonel, what Mettle I’m made on; I think I am
valiant, I suppose I have Courage, but I confess ‘tis a little of the
D---- breed, but a little inspiration from the Bottle, and the leave of
my _Nancy_, may do wonders.

    Enter a _Seaman_ in haste.

_Sea._ An’t please your Honours, _Frightall’s_ Officers have seiz’d all
the Ships in the River, and rid now round the Shore, and had by this
time secur’d the sandy Beach, and landed Men to fire the Town, but that
they are high in drink aboard the Ship call’d the Good-Subject; the
Master of her sent me to let your Honours know, that a few Men sent to
his assistance will surprize them and retake the Ships.

_Well._ Now, Gentlemen, here is a brave occasion for Emulation--why writ
not the Master?

_Dull._ Ay, had he writ, I had soon been amongst them, i’faith; but this
is some Plot to betray us.

_Sea._ Keep me here, and kill me if it be not true.

_Down._ He says well--there’s a Brigantine and a Shallop ready, I’ll
embark immediately.

_Friend._ No, Sir, your Presence is here more necessary, let me have the
Honour of this Expedition.

_Haz._ I’ll go your Volunteer, _Charles_.

_Well._ Who else offers to go?

_Whim._ A mere Trick to kidnap us, by _Bacon_,--if the Captain had writ.

_Tim._ Ay, ay, if he had writ--

_Well._ I see you’re all base Cowards, and here cashier ye from all
Commands and Offices.

_Whim._ Look ye, Colonel, you may do what you please, but you lose one
of the best dress’d Officers in your whole Camp, Sir.

_Tim._ And in me, such a Head-piece.

_Whiff._ I’ll say nothing, but let the State want me.

_Dull._ For my part I am weary of weighty Affairs.
    [In this while _Well._ _Down._ _Friend._ and _Haz._ talk.

_Well._ Command what Men you please, but Expedition makes you half a
Conqueror.

    [Ex. _Friend._ and _Haz._

    Enter another _Seaman_ with a Letter, gives it to _Downright_, he
    and _Wellman_ read it.

_Down._ Look ye now, Gentlemen, the Master has writ.

_Dull._ Has he--he might have writ sooner, while I was in Command,--if
he had--

_Whim._ Ay, Major--if he had--but let them miss us.

_Well._ Colonel, haste with your Men, and reinforce the Beach, while I
follow with the Horse;--Mr. _Dunce_, pray let that Proclamation be read
concerning _Bacon_, to the Soldiers.

    [Ex. _Down._ and _Well._

_Dun._ It shall be done, Sir. Gentlemen, how simply you look now.

_The Scene opens and discovers a Body of Soldiers._

_Tim._ Why, Mr. Parson, I have a scruple of Conscience upon me, I am
considering whether it be lawful to kill, though it be in War; I have a
great aversion to’t, and hope it proceeds from Religion.

_Whiff._ I remember the Fit took you just so when the _Dutch_ besieged
us, for you cou’d not then be persuaded to strike a stroke.

_Tim._ Ay, that was because they were Protestants as we are; but, Gads
zoors, had they been _Dutch_ Papists I had maul’d them: but Conscience--

_Whim._ I have been a Justice of Peace this six Years, and never had a
Conscience in my Life.

_Tim._ Nor I neither, but in this damn’d thing of fighting.

_Dun._ Gentlemen, I am commanded to read the Declaration of the
honourable Council to you.
    [To the Soldiers.

_All._ Hum, hum, hum--

_Booz._ Silence--silence--    [_Dunce_ reads.

_Dun._ By an order of Council, dated _May_ the 10th, 1670. To all
Gentlemen Soldiers, Merchants, Planters, and whom else it may concern.
Whereas _Bacon_, contrary to Law and Equity, has, to satisfy his own
Ambition, taken up Arms with a pretence to fight the _Indians_, but
indeed to molest and enslave the whole Colony, and to take away their
Liberties and Properties; this is to declare, that whoever shall bring
this Traitor dead or alive to the Council, shall have three hundred
pounds Reward. And so God save the King.

_All._ A Council, a Council! Hah--    [Hollow.

    Enter a _Soldier_ hastily.

_Sold._ Stand to your Arms, Gentlemen, stand to your Arms, _Bacon_ is
marching this way.

_Dun._ Hah--what Numbers has he?

_Sold._ About a hundred Horse, in his march he has surpriz’d Colonel
_Downright_, and taken him Prisoner.

_All._ Let’s fall on _Bacon_--let’s fall on _Bacon_, hay.    [Hollow.

_Booz._ We’ll hear him speak first--and see what he can say for himself.

_All._ Ay, ay, we’ll hear _Bacon_ speak.    [_Dunce_ pleads with them.

_Tim._ Well, Major, I have found a Stratagem shall make us Four the
greatest Men in the Colony, we’ll surrender our selves to _Bacon_, and
say we disbanded on purpose.

_Dull._ Good--

_Whiff._ Why, I had no other design in the World in refusing to fight.

_Whim._ Nor I, d’ye think I wou’d have excus’d it with the fear of
disordering my Cravat-String else.

_Dun._ Why, Gentlemen, he designs to fire _James_ Town, murder you all,
and then lie with your Wives; and will you slip this opportunity of
seizing him?

_Booz._ Here’s a termagant Rogue, Neighbours--we’ll hang the Dog.

_All._ Ay, ay, hang _Bacon_, hang _Bacon_.

    Enter _Bacon_ and _Fearless_, some Soldiers leading in _Downright_
    bound; _Bacon_ stands and stares a while on the Regiments, who are
    silent all.

_Bac._ Well, Gentlemen, in order to your fine Declaration, you see I
come to render my self.

_Dun._ How came he to know of our Declaration?

_Whiff._ Rogues, Rogues among our selves, that inform.

_Bac._ What, are ye silent all,--not a Man to lift his Hand in Obedience
to the Council, to murder this Traytor that has exposed his Life so
often for you? Hah, what, not for three hundred Pound?--You see I’ve
left my Troops behind, and come all wearied with the Toils of War, worn
out by Summers heats, and Winters cold, march’d tedious Days and Nights
through Bogs and Fens as dangerous as your Clamours, and as
faithless,--what though ‘twas to preserve you all in Safety, no matter,
you shou’d obey the grateful Council, and kill this honest Man that has
defended you.

_All._ Hum, hum, hum.

_Whiff._ The General speaks like a Gorgon.

_Tim._ Like a Cherubin, Man.

_Bac._ All silent yet--where’s that mighty Courage, that cried so loud
but now, A Council, a Council? where is your Resolution? cannot three
hundred Pound excite your Valour to seize that Traitor _Bacon_ who has
bled for you?

_All._ A _Bacon_, a _Bacon_, a _Bacon_.    [Hollow.

_Down._ Oh villainous Cowards!--Oh the faithless Multitude!

_Bac._ What say you, Parson?--you have a forward Zeal.

_Dun._ I wish my Coat, Sir, did not hinder me from acting as becomes my
Zeal and Duty.

_Whim._ A plaguy rugged Dog,--that Parson--

_Bac._ _Fearless_, seize me that canting Knave from out the Herd, and
next those honourable Officers.

    [Points to _Dull._ _Whim._ _Whiff_, and _Tim._ _Fearless_ seizes
    them, and gives them to the Soldiers, and takes the Proclamation
    from _Dunce_, and shews _Bacon_; they read it.

_Dull._ Seize us, Sir, you shall not need, we laid down our Commissions
on purpose to come over to your Honour.

_Whiff._ We ever lov’d and honour’d your Honour.

_Tim._ So intirely, Sir--that I wish I were safe in _James_ Town for
your sake, and your Honour were hang’d.
    [Aside.

_Bac._ This fine Piece is of your penning, Parson,--though it be
countenanc’d by the Council’s Names.--Oh Ingratitude! Burn, burn the
treacherous Town, fire it immediately.--

_Whim._ We’ll obey you, Sir.

_Whiff._ Ay, ay, we’ll make a Bonfire on’t, and drink your Honour’s
health round about it.
    [They offer to go.

_Bac._ Yet hold, my Revenge shall be more merciful, I ordered that all
the Women of Rank shall be seiz’d and brought to my Camp. I’ll make
their Husbands pay their Ransoms dearly; they’d rather have their Hearts
bleed than their Purses.

_Fear._ Dear General, let me have the seizing of Colonel _Downright’s_
Daughter; I would fain be plundering for a Trifle call’d a Maiden-head.

_Bac._ On pain of Death treat them with all respect; assure them of the
safety of their Honour. Now, all that will follow me, shall find a
welcome, and those that will not, may depart in Peace.

_All._ Hay, a General, a General, a General.
    [Some Soldiers go off: Some go to the side of _Bacon_.

    Enter _Daring_ and Soldiers, with _Chrisante_, _Surelove_, Mrs.
    _Whim._ and Mrs. _Whiff_, and several other Women.

_Bac._ Successful _Daring_, welcome, what Prizes have ye?

_Dar._ The fairest in the World, Sir; I’m not for common Plunder.

_Down._ Hah, my Daughter and my Kinswoman!--

_Bac._ ‘Tis not with Women, Sir, nor honest men like you, that I intend
to combat; not their own Parents shall be more indulgent, nor better
Safe-guard to their Honours, Sir: But ‘tis to save the expence of Blood
I seize on their most valued Prizes.

_Down._ But, Sir, I know your wild Lieutenant General has long lov’d my
_Chrisante_, and perhaps, will take this time to force her to consent.

_Dar._ I own I have a Passion for _Chrisante_, yet by my General’s Life,
or her fair self, what now I act is on the score of War, I scorn to
force the Maid I do adore.

_Bac._ Believe me, Ladies, you shall have honourable Treatment here.

_Chris._ We do not doubt it, Sir, either from you or _Daring_; if he
love me, that will secure my Honour; or if he do not, he’s too brave to
injure me.

_Dar._ I thank you for your just opinion of me, Madam.

_Chris._ But, Sir, ‘tis for my Father I must plead; to see his reverend
Hands in servile Chains; and then perhaps, if stubborn to your Will, his
Head must fall a Victim to your Anger.

_Down._ No, my good pious Girl, I cannot fear ignoble usage from the
General; and if thy Beauty can preserve thy Fame, I shall not mourn in
my Captivity.

_Bac._ I’ll ne’er deceive your kind opinion of me--Ladies, I hope you’re
all of that Opinion too.

_Sure._ If seizing us, Sir, can advance your Honour, or be of any use
considerable to you, I shall be proud of such a Slavery.

Mrs. _Whim._ I hope, Sir, we shan’t be ravish’d in your Camp.

_Dar._ Fie, Mrs. _Whimsey_, do Soldiers use to ravish?

Mrs. _Whiff._ Ravish! marry, I fear ‘em not, I’d have ‘em know, I scorn
to be ravish’d by any Man.

_Fear._ Ay, o’ my Conscience, Mrs. _Whiff_, you are too good-natur’d.

_Dar._ Madam, I hope you’ll give me leave to name Love to you, and try
by all submissive ways to win your Heart.

_Chris._ Do your worst, Sir: I give you leave, if you assail me only
with your Tongue.

_Dar._ That’s generous and brave, and I’ll requite it.

    Enter _Soldier_ in haste.

_Sold._ The Truce being ended, Sir, the _Indians_ grow so insolent as to
attack us even in our Camp, and have killed several of our Men.

_Bac._ ‘Tis time to check their Boldness; _Daring_, haste, draw up our
Men in order to give ‘em Battel, I rather had expected their submission.

  _The Country now may see what they’re to fear,
  Since we that are in Arms are not secure._

    [Exeunt, leading the Ladies.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _A Temple, with an _Indian_ God placed upon it, Priests and
Priestesses attending: Enter _Indian King_ on one side attended by
_Indian_ Men; the _Queen_ enters on the other with Women. All bow to the
Idol, and divide on each side of the Stage. Then the Musick playing
louder, the Priests and Priestesses dance about the Idol with ridiculous
Postures, and crying (as for Incantations) thrice repeated, _Agah
Yerkin, Agah Boah, Sulen Tawarapah, Sulen Tawarapah_._

_After this soft Musick plays again: then they sing something fine:
after which the Priests lead the _King_ to the Altar, and the
Priestesses the _Queen_; they take off little Crowns from their Heads,
and offer them at the Altar._

_King._ Invoke the God of our Quiocto to declare what the Event shall be
of this our last War against the _English_ General.

    [Soft Musick ceases.

    [The Musick changes to confused Tunes, to which the Priests and
    Priestesses dance, antickly singing between, the same Incantation
    as before; and then dance again, and so invoke again alternately:
    Which Dance ended, a Voice behind the Altar cries, while soft
    Musick plays,

  The _English_ General shall be
  A Captive to his Enemy;
  And you from all your Toils be freed,
  When by your Hand the Foe shall bleed:
  And e’er the Sun’s swift course be run,
  This mighty Conquest shall be won.

_King._ I thank the Gods for taking care of us; prepare new Sacrifice
against the Evening, when I return a Conqueror, I will my self perform
the Office of a Priest.

_Queen._ Oh, Sir, I fear you’ll fall a Victim first.

_King._ What means _Semernia_? why are thy Looks so pale?

_Queen._ Alas, the Oracles have double meanings, their Sense is
doubtful, and their Words Enigmas: I fear, Sir, I cou’d make a truer
Interpretation.

_King._ How, _Semernia_! by all thy Love I charge thee, as you respect
my Life, to let me know your Thoughts.

_Queen._ Last Night I dream’d a Lyon fell with hunger, spite of your
Guards, slew you, and bore you hence.

_King._ This is thy Sex’s fear, and no Interpretation of the Oracle.

_Queen._ I cou’d convince you farther.

_King._ Hast thou a Secret thou canst keep from me? thy Soul a Thought
that I must be a Stranger to? This is not like the Justice of
_Semernia_: Come unriddle me the Oracle.

_Queen._ The _English_ General shall be a Captive to his Enemy; he is
so, Sir, already, to my Beauty, he says he languishes for Love of me.

_King._ Hah! the General my Rival--but go on--

_Queen._ And you from all your War be freed: Oh, let me not explain that
fatal Line, for fear it mean, you shall be freed by Death.

_King._ What, when by my Hand the Foe shall bleed?--away--it cannot be--

_Queen._ No doubt, my Lord, you’ll bravely sell your Life, and deal some
Wounds where you’ll receive so many.

_King._ ‘Tis Love, _Semernia_, makes thee dream while waking:

I’ll trust the Gods, and am resolv’d for Battel.

    Enter an _Indian_.

_Ind._ Haste, haste, great Sir, to Arms; _Bacon_ with all his Forces is
prepar’d, and both the Armies ready to engage.

_King._ Haste to my General, bid him charge ‘em instantly; I’ll bring up
the Supplies of stout _Teroomians_, those so well skill’d in the
envenom’d Arrow.
    [Ex. _Indian_.
  --_Semernia_--Words but poorly do express the Griefs of parting
Lovers--’tis with dying Eyes, and a Heart trembling--thus--
    [Puts her Hand on his Heart.
  they take a heavy leave;--one parting Kiss, and one Love pressing
sigh, and then farewel:--but not a long farewel; I shall return
victorious to thy Arms--commend me to the Gods, and still remember me.
    [Exit.

_Queen._ Alas! What pity ‘tis I saw the General, before my Fate had
given me to the King--But now--like those that change their Gods, my
faithless Mind betwixt my two Opinions wavers; while to the Gods my
Monarch I commend; my wandring Thoughts in pity of the General makes
that Zeal cold, declin’d--ineffectual.--If for the General I implore the
Deities, methinks my Prayers should not ascend the Skies, since Honour
tells me ‘tis an impious Zeal.

  _Which way soever my Devotions move,
  I am too wretched to be heard above._    [Goes in.

    [All exeunt.


SCENE II. _Shows a Field of Tents, seen at some distance through the
Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with
hollowing. The _Indians_ are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting
from the _English_, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately
beating back the _English_, the _Indian King_ at the head of his Men,
with Bows and Arrows; _Daring_ being at the head of the _English_: They
fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance._

    Enter _Bacon_ with his Sword drawn, meets _Fearless_ with his
    Sword drawn.

_Fear._ Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, _Daring’s_
engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe;
the King in Ambush, with his poison’d Archers, fell on, and now we are
dangerously distrest.

_Bac._ _Daring_ is brave, but he’s withal too rash, come on and follow
me to his Assistance--    [Go out.

    [A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the _Indians_ beaten
    back by _Bacon_, _Daring_ and _Fearless_; they fight off; the
    noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.

    Enter _Indians_ flying over the Stage, pursued by the _King_.

_King._ Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains,
Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and
aim’d at nothing but my conquering him--now like a Coward I must fly
with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the
numbers.
    [Follows the _Indians_.

    Enter _Bacon_ inraged with his Sword drawn, _Fearless_ and
    _Daring_ following him.

_Bac._ --Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid
him from my just Revenge?--search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the
Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.

_Dar._ We cannot do wonders, Sir.

_Bac._ But you can run away.--

_Dar._ Yes, when we see occasion--yet--shou’d any but my General tell me
so--by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.

_Bac._ Forgive me, I’m mad--the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling
Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it
out.

    Re-enter _Indians_ running over the Stage, pursued by the _King_,
    who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.

_King._ All’s lost--the Day is lost--and I’m betray’d;--Oh Slaves, that
even Wounds can’t animate.
    [In Rage.

_Bac._ The King!

_King._ The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!

_Bac._ Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall
have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has
brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot
of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I
have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.

_King._ That’s nobly said!--the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir,
first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with
Success: But now--’tis for _Semernia_ that it draws, a Prize more valued
than my Kingdom, Sir--

_Bac._ Hah, _Semernia_!

_King._ Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the
conquer’d Foe?

_Fear._ What, fight a single Man--our Prize already.

_King._ Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.

_Bac._ Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that
interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let
the King pass freely to his Tents.

_Dar._ The Devil’s in the General.

_Fear._ ‘Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us.
    [They fight and pause.

_King._ You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done
in Generosity.

_Bac._ You’re not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here’s to
set us even--
    [Fight again.

_King._ You bleed apace.

_Bac._ You’ve only breath’d a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour
by it.
    [They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the _King_ staggers;
    _Bacon_ takes him in his Arms; the _King_ drops his Sword.
  How do you, Sir?

_King._ Like one--that’s hovering between Heaven and Earth;
I’m--mounting--somewhere--upwards--but giddy with my flight,--I know not
where.

  _Bac._ Command my Surgeons,--instantly--make haste;
  Honour returns, and Love all bleeding’s fled.    [Ex. _Fearless_.

_King._ Oh, _Semernia_, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the
Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her--I know
you’ll--visit--your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her--oh--but Death
prevents the rest.
    [Dies.

    Enter _Fearless_.

_Bac._ He’s gone--and now, like _Cæsar_, I could weep over the Hero I my
self destroyed.

_Fear._ I’m glad for your repose I see him there--’twas a mad
hot-brain’d Youth, and so he died.

_Bac._ Come bear him on your Shoulders to my Tent, from whence with all
the solemn State we can, we will convey him to his own Pavilion.

    Enter a _Soldier_.

_Sold._ Some of our Troops pursuing of the Enemy even to their Temples,
which they made their Sanctuary, finding the Queen at her Devotion there
with all her _Indian_ Ladies, I’d much ado to stop their violent Rage
from setting fire to the holy Pile.

_Bac._ Hang ‘em immediately that durst attempt it, while I my self will
fly to rescue her.
    [Goes out, they bear off the _King’s_ Body; Ex. all.

    Enter _Whimsey_, pulling in _Whiff_, with a Halter about his Neck.

_Whim._ Nay, I’m resolved to keep thee here till his Honour the General
comes.--What, to call him Traitor, and run away after he had so
generously given us our freedom, and listed us Cadees for the next
Command that fell in his Army--I’m resolved to hang thee--

_Whiff._ Wilt thou betray and peach thy Friend? thy Friend that kept
thee Company all the while thou wert a Prisoner--drinking at my own
charge--

_Whim._ No matter for that, I scorn Ingratitude, and therefore will hang
thee--but as for thy drinking with me--I scorn to be behind-hand with
thee in Civility, and therefore here’s to thee.
    [Takes a Bottle of Brandy out of his Pocket, Drinks.

_Whiff._ I can’t drink.

_Whim._ A certain sign thou wo’t be hang’d.

_Whiff._ You us’d to be o’ my side when a Justice, let the Cause be how
it wou’d.
    [Weeps.

_Whim._ Ay--when I was a Justice I never minded Honesty, but now I’ll be
true to my General, and hang thee to be a great Man.--

_Whiff._ If I might but have a fair Trial for my Life--

_Whim._ A fair Trial!--come, I’ll be thy Judge--and if thou canst clear
thy self by Law, I’ll acquit thee: Sirrah, Sirrah, what canst thou say
for thy self for calling his Honour Rebel?
    [Sits on a Drum-head.

_Whiff._ ‘T was when I was drunk, an’t like your Honour.

_Whim._ That’s no Plea; for if you kill a Man when you are sober, you
must be hanged when you are drunk. Hast thou any thing else to say for
thy self why Sentence may not pass upon thee?

_Whiff._ I desire the Benefit of the Clergy.

_Whim._ The Clergy! I never knew any body that ever did benefit by ‘em;
why, thou canst not read a word.

_Whiff._ Transportation then--

_Whim._ It shall be to _England_ then--but hold--who’s this?
    [_Dullman_ creeping from a Bush.

_Dull._ So the Danger’s over, I may venture out--Pox on’t, I wou’d not
be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how
now, Cornet?--what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with
Bow and Arrows.

    Enter _Timorous_ with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on
    his Head.

_Tim._ I’m in the posture of the times, Major--I cou’d not be idle where
so much Action was; I’m going to present my self to the General, with
these Trophies of my Victory here--

_Dull._ Victory--what Victory--did not I see thee creeping out of yonder
Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight--stumble on a dead _Indian_, and
take away his Arms?

_Tim._ Why, didst thou see me?

_Dull._ See thee, ay--and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert
sure he was dead.

_Tim._ Well, well, that’s all one--Gads zoors, if every Man that passes
for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his
Reputation, the World wou’d be but thinly stock’d with Heroes; I’ll say
he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill’d him hand to hand, and who
can disprove me?

_Dull._ Disprove thee--why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of
the Coward in’t.

_Tim._ Shaw, that’s with loss of Blood--Hah, I am overheard I
doubt--who’s yonder-- [Sees _Whim._ and _Whiff_.] how, Brother _Whiff_
in a Hempen Cravat-string?

_Whim._ He call’d the General Traitor, and was running away, and I’m
resolv’d to peach.

_Dull._ Hum--and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of
Treason--

_Tim._ Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he’ll be hang’d if it be proved
against him, were there ne’er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by
a Council of War, Man--Come, come, let’s disarm him--
    [They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his
    Pocket.

_Whiff._ What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my
last comfort.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, it’s come in good time--we’ll drink it off, here,
Major--
    [Drinks, _Whiff_ takes him aside.

_Whiff._ Hark ye, Cornet--you are my good Friend, get this matter made
up before it come to the General.

_Tim._ But this is Treason, Neighbour.

_Whiff._ If I hang--I’ll declare upon the Ladder how you kill’d your
War-Captain.

_Tim._ Come, Brother _Whimsey_--we have been all Friends and loving
Magistrates together, let’s drink about, and think no more of this
Business.

_Dull._ Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to
account of the Treason he speaks in’s Drink, the Lord have mercy upon us
all.--Put it up--and let us, like loving Brothers, take an honest
Resolution to run away together; for this same _Frightall_ minds nothing
but Fighting.

_Whim._ I’m content, provided we go all to the Council, and tell them
(to make our Peace) we went in obedience to the Proclamation, to kill
_Bacon_, but the Traitor was so strongly guarded we could not effect it:
but mum--who’s here?--

    To them, enter _Ranter_ and _Jenny_, as Man and Footman.

_Ran._ Hah, our four reverend Justices--I hope the Blockheads will not
know me--Gentlemen, can you direct me to Lieutenant General _Daring’s_
Tents?

_Whiff._ Hum, who the Devil’s this?--that’s he you see coming this way.
’.death, yonder’s _Daring_--let’s slip away before he advances.

    [Exeunt all but _Ran._ and _Jen._

_Jen._ I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s
sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming.

_Ran._ Why, now I tell thee--my damn’d mad Fellow _Daring_, who has my
Heart and Soul, loves _Chrisante_, has stolen her, and carried her away
to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him.

_Jem._ Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy.

_Ran._ Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an
Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved--

_Jen._ What, Madam?

_Ran._ Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off _Chrisante_.

_Jen._ Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General?

_Ran._ Hang ‘em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but
how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one
end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced
to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with;
and got a Name, and a great Commission.

_Jen._ But if he should kill you, Madam.

_Ran._ I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ‘em;
as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr.

    Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_.

_Fear._ Have you seen _Chrisante_ since the Fight?

_Dar._ Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when
she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she
keeps my Love still in its humble Calm.

_Ran._ Can you direct me, Sir, to one _Daring’s_ Tent?    [Sullenly.

_Dar._ One _Daring!_--he has another Epithet to his Name.

_Ran._ What’s that, Rascal, or Coward?

_Dar._ Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find
that certain Fate they have decreed?

_Ran._ I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if
they have ordain’d me to fight with _Daring_:--by thy concern thou
shou’dst be he?

_Dar._ I am, prithee who art thou?

_Ran._ Thy Rival, though newly arrived from _England_, and came to marry
fair _Chrisante_, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady
dies.

_Dar._ Dies for me?

_Ran._ Therefore resign her fairly--or fight me fairly--

_Dar._ Come on, Sir--but hold--before I kill thee, prithee inform me who
this dying Lady is?

_Ran._ Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by
telling you--come, Sir, for _Chrisante_--draw.
    [They offer to fight, _Fearless_ steps in.

_Fear._ Hold--what mad Frolick’s this?--Sir, you fight for one you never
saw [to _Ranter_.] and you for one that loves you not.
    [To _Dar._

_Dar._ Perhaps she’ll love him as little.

_Ran._ Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare--if thou be’st generous,
bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place.

_Dar._ That’s fair, put up thy Sword--I’ll bring thee to her instantly.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. A Tent.

    Enter _Chrisante_ and _Surelove_.

_Chris._ I’m not so much afflicted for my Confinement, as I am that I
cannot hear of _Friendly_.

_Sure._ Art not persecuted with _Daring_?

_Chris._ Not at all; though he tells me daily of his Passion, I rally
him, and give him neither Hope nor Despair,--he’s here.

    Enter _Daring_, _Fear._ _Rant._ and _Jenny_.

_Dar._ Madam, the Complaisance I show in bringing you my Rival, will let
you see how glad I am to oblige you every way.

_Ran._ I hope the Danger I have exposed my self to for the Honour of
kissing your Hand, Madam, will render me something acceptable--here are
my Credentials--
    [Gives her a Letter.

    _Chrisante_ reads.

    Dear Creature, I have taken this Habit to free you from an
    impertinent Lover, and to secure the damn’d Rogue _Daring_ to my
    self: receive me as sent by Colonel _Surelove_ from _England_ to
    marry you--favour me--no more--

    Yours, _Ranter_.

--Hah, _Ranter_? [Aside.] --Sir, you have too good a Character from my
Cousin Colonel Surelove, not to receive my Welcome.
    [Gives _Surelove_ the Letter.

_Ran._ Stand by, General--
    [Pushes away _Daring_, looks big, and takes _Chrisante_ by the
    Hand, and kisses it.

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, there’s room enough--at first sight so kind! Oh
Youth, Youth and Impudence, what Temptations are you to Villanous Woman?

_Chris._ I confess, Sir, we Women do not love these rough fighting
Fellows, they’re always scaring us with one Broil or other.

_Dar._ Much good may it do you with your tame Coxcomb.

_Ran._ Well, Sir, then you yield the Prize?

_Dar._ Ay, Gad, were she an Angel, that can prefer such a callow Fop as
thou before a Man--take her and domineer.
    [They all laugh.
  --’Sdeath, am I grown ridiculous?

_Fear._ Why hast thou not found the Jest? by Heaven, ‘tis _Ranter_, ‘tis
she that loves you; carry on the humour.
    [Aside.
  Faith, Sir, if I were you, I wou’d devote my self to Madam _Ranter_.

_Chris._ Ay, she’s the fittest Wife for you, she’ll fit your Humour.

_Dar._ _Ranter_--Gad, I’d sooner marry a she-Bear, unless for a Penance
for some horrid Sin; we should be eternally challenging one another to
the Field, and ten to one she beats me there; or if I should escape
there, she wou’d kill me with drinking.

_Ran._ Here’s a Rogue--does your Country abound with such Ladies?

_Dar._ The Lord forbid, half a dozen wou’d ruin the Land, debauch all
the Men, and scandalize all the Women.

_Fear._ No matter, she’s rich.

_Dar._ Ay, that will make her insolent.

_Fear._ Nay, she’s generous too.

_Dar._ Yes, when she’s drunk, and then she’ll lavish all.

_Ran._ A pox on him, how he vexes me.

_Dar._ Then such a Tongue--she’ll rail and smoke till she choke again;
then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she
good-natur’d.

_Ran._ I must lay him on--

_Dar._ There’s not a Blockhead in the Country that has not--

_Ran._ What--

_Dar._ Been drunk with her.

_Ran._ I thought you had meant something else, Sir.    [In huff.

_Dar._ Nay--as for that--I suppose there is no great difficulty.

_Ran._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, you lye--and you are a Son of a Whore.
    [Draws and fences with him, and he runs back round the Stage.

_Dar._ Hold--hold, Virago--dear Widow, hold, and give me thy hand.

_Ran._ Widow!

_Dar._ ‘Sdeath, I knew thee by instinct, Widow, though I seemed not to
do so, in Revenge for the Trick you put on me in telling me a Lady dy’d
for me.

_Ran._ Why, such an one there is, perhaps she may dwindle forty or fifty
years--or so--but will never be her own Woman again, that’s certain.

_Sure._ This we are all ready to testify, we know her.

_Chris._ Upon my Life, ‘tis true.

_Dar._ Widow, I have a shreud Suspicion, that you your self may be this
dying Lady.

_Ran._ Why so, Coxcomb?

_Dar._ Because you took such Pains to put your self into my hands.

_Ran._ Gad, if your Heart were but half so true as your Guess, we should
conclude a Peace before _Bacon_ and the Council will--besides, this
thing whines for _Friendly_, and there’s no hopes.
    [To _Chrisante_.

_Dar._ Give me thy Hand, Widow, I am thine--and so entirely, I will
never--be drunk out of thy Company:--_Dunce_ is in my Tent,--prithee
let’s in and bind the Bargain.

_Ran._ Nay, faith, let’s see the Wars at an end first.

_Dar._ Nay, prithee take me in the humour, while thy Breeches are
on--for I never lik’d thee half so well in Petticoats.

_Ran._ Lead on, General, you give me good incouragement to wear them.

    [Exeunt.




ACT V.


SCENE I. The _Sevana_ in sight of the Camp; the Moon rises.

    Enter _Friendly_, _Hazard_ and _Boozer_, and a Party of Men.

_Friend._ We are now in sight of the Tents.

_Booz._ Is not this a rash Attempt, Gentlemen, with so small Force to
set upon _Bacon’s_ whole Army?

_Haz._ Oh, they are drunk with Victory and Wine; there will be nought
but revelling to night.

_Friend._ Would we could learn in what Quarter the Ladies are lodg’d,
for we have no other business but to release them--But hark--who comes
here?

_Booz._ Some Scouts, I fear, from the Enemy.

    Enter _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_, creeping as in the dark.

_Friend._ Let’s shelter ourselves behind yonder Trees--lest we be
surpriz’d.

_Tim._ Wou’d I were well at home-Gad zoors, if e’er you catch me a
Cadeeing again, I’ll be content to be set in the fore-front of the
Battle for Hawks-Meat.

_Whim._ Thou’rt afraid of every Bush.

_Tim._ Ay, and good reason too: Gad zoors, there may be Rogues
hid--prithee, Major, do thou advance.

_Dull._ No, no, go on--no matter of Ceremony in these cases of running
away.
    [They advance.

_Friend._ They approach directly to us, we cannot escape them--their
numbers are not great--let us advance.
    [They come up to them.

_Tim._ Oh! I am annihilated.

_Whiff._ Some of _Frightall’s_ Scouts, we are lost Men.
    [They push each other foremost.

_Friend._ Who goes there?

_Whim._ Oh, they’ll give us no Quarter; ‘twas long of you, Cornet, that
we ran away from our Colours.

_Tim._ Me--’twas the Major’s Ambition here--to make himself a great Man
with the Council again.

_Dull._ Pox o’ this Ambition, it has been the ruin of many a gallant
Fellow.

_Whiff._ If I get home again, the height of mine shall be to top
Tobacco; would I’d some Brandy.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, would we had, ‘tis the best Armour against
Fear--hum--I hear no body now--prithee advance a little.

_Whim._ What, before a Horse-Officer?

_Friend._ Stand, on your Lives--

_Tim._ Oh, ‘tis impossible--I’m dead already.

_Friend._ What are ye?--speak--or I’ll shoot.

_Whim._ Friends to thee,--who the Devil are we Friends to?

_Tim._ E’en who please you, Gad zoors.

_Friend._ Hah--Gad zoors--who’s there, _Timorous_?

_Tim._ Hum--I know no such Scoundrel--    [Gets behind.

_Dull._ Hah--that’s _Friendly’s_ Voice.

_Friend._ Right--thine’s that of _Dullman_--who’s with you?

_Dull._ Only _Timorous_, _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_, all valiantly running
away from the Arch-Rebel that took us Prisoners.

_Haz._ Can you inform us where the Ladies are lodg’d?

_Dull._ In the hither Quarter, in _Daring’s_ Tent; you’ll know them by
Lanthorns on every corner--there was never better time to surprize
them--for this day _Daring’s_ married, and there’s nothing but Dancing
and Drinking.

_Haz._ Married! to whom?

_Dull._ That I ne’er enquir’d.

_Friend._ ‘Tis to _Chrisante_, Friend--and the Reward of my Attempt is
lost. Oh, I am mad, I’ll fight away my Life, and my Despair shall yet do
greater Wonders, than even my Love could animate me to. Let’s part our
Men, and beset his Tents on both sides.
    [_Friendly_ goes out with a Party.

_Haz._ Come, Gentlemen, let’s on--

_Whiff._ On, Sir,--we on, Sir?--

_Haz._ Ay, you on, Sir--to redeem the Ladies.

_Whiff._ Oh, Sir, I am going home for Money to redeem my _Nancy_.

_Whim._ So am I, Sir.

_Tim._ I thank my Stars I am a Batchelor.--Why, what a Plague is a Wife?

_Haz._ Will you march forward?

_Dull._ We have atchiev’d Honour enough already, in having made our
Campaign here--
    [Looking big.

_Haz._ ‘Sdeath, but you shall go--put them in the front, and prick them
on--if they offer to turn back, run them thro.

_Tim._ Oh, horrid--    [The Soldiers prick them on with their Swords.

_Whiff._ Oh, _Nancy_, thy Dream will yet come to pass.

_Haz._ Will you advance, Sir?    [Pricks _Whiff_.

_Whiff._ Why, so we do, Sir; the Devil’s in these fighting Fellows.

    [Exeunt.

    An Alarm at a distance.

_Within._ To Arms, to Arms, the Enemy’s upon us.

    [A Noise of Fighting, after which enters _Friendly_ with his
    Party, retreating and fighting from _Daring_ and some Soldiers,
    _Ranter_ fighting like a Fury by his side, he putting her back in
    vain; they fight out. Re-enter _Daring_ and _Friendly_ all bloody.
    Several Soldiers enter with Flambeaux.

_Dar._ Now, Sir--what Injury have I ever done you, that you should use
this Treachery against me?

_Friend._ To take advantage any way in War, was never counted
Treachery--and had I murder’d thee, I had not paid thee half the Debt I
owe thee.

_Dar._ You bleed too much to hold too long a Parley-- come to my Tent,
I’ll take a charitable care of thee.

_Friend._ I scorn thy Courtesy, who against all the Laws of Honour and
of Justice, hast ravish’d innocent Ladies.

_Dar._ Sir, your upbraiding of my Honour shall never make me forfeit it,
or esteem you less--Is there a Lady here you have a Passion for?

_Friend._ Yes, on a nobler score than thou darest own.

_Dar._ To let you see how you’re mistaken, Sir, whoe’er that Lady be
whom you affect, I will resign, and give you both your Freedoms.

_Friend._ Why, for this Courtesy, which shews thee brave, in the next
fight I’ll save thy Life to quit the Obligation.

_Dar._ I thank you, Sir;--come to my Tent,--and when we’ve dress’d your
Wounds, and yielded up the Ladies, I’ll give you my Pass-port for your
Safe-Conduct back, and tell your Friends i’th’ Town, we’ll visit them
i’th’ Morning.

_Friend._ They’ll meet you on your way, Sir--

_Dar._ Come, my young Soldier, now thou’st won my Soul.

    [Exeunt.

    [An Alarm beats: Enter at another Passage _Boozer_ with all the
    Ladies; they pass over the Stage, while _Hazard_ and _Downright_
    beat back a Party of Soldiers. _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_,
    prick’d on by their Party to fight, lay about them like Madmen.
    _Bacon_, _Fearless_ and _Daring_ come in, rescue their Men, and
    fight out the other Party, some falling dead. _Bacon_, _Fearless_
    and _Daring_ return tired, with their Swords drawn. Enter
    _Soldier_ running.

_Sold._ Return, Sir, where your Sword will be more useful--a Party of
_Indians_, taking advantage of the Night, have set fire on your Tents,
and borne away the Queen.

_Bac._ Hah, the Queen! By Heaven, this Victory shall cost them dear;
come, let us fly to rescue her.

    [All go out.


SCENE II. Changes to _Wellman’s_ Tent.

    Enter _Wellman_, _Brag_, _Grubb_, and Officers.

_Well._ I cannot sleep, my Impatience is so great to engage this haughty
Enemy, before they have reposed their weary Limbs--Is not yon ruddy
Light the Morning’s dawn?

_Brag._ ‘Tis, and please your Honour.

_Well._ Is there no News of _Friendly_ yet, and _Hazard_?

_Brag._ Not yet--’tis thought they left the Camp to night, with some
design against the Enemy.

_Well._ What Men have they?

_Brag._ Only _Boozer’s_ Party, Sir.

_Well._ I know they are brave, and mean to surprize me with some
handsome Action.

    Enter _Friendly_.

_Friend._ I ask a thousand Pardons, Sir, for quitting the Camp without
your leave.

_Well._ Your conduct and your Courage cannot err; I see thou’st been in
action by thy Blood.

_Friend._ Sir, I’m ashamed to own these slender Wounds, since without
more my luck was to be taken, while _Hazard_ did alone effect the
Business, the rescuing of the Ladies.

_Well._ How got ye Liberty?

_Friend._ By _Daring’s_ Generosity, who sends ye word he’ll visit you
this Morning.

_Well._ We are prepared to meet him.

    Enter _Down._ _Hazard_, _Ladies_, _Whim._ _Whiff_, _Dullman_,
    _Tim._ looking big. _Well._ embraces _Down._

_Well._ My worthy Friend, how am I joyed to see you?

_Down._ We owe our Liberties to these brave Youths, who can do Wonders
when they fight for Ladies.

_Tim._ With our assistance, Ladies.

_Whim._ For my part I’ll not take it as I have done; Gad, I find, when I
am damnable angry, I can beat both Friend and Foe.

_Whiff._ When I fight for my _Nancy_ here--adsfish, I’m a Dragon.

Mrs. _Whiff._ Lord, you need not have been so hasty.

_Friend._ Do not upbraid me with your Eyes, _Chrisante_; but let these
Wounds assure you I endeavour’d to serve you, though _Hazard_ had the
Honour on’t.

_Well._ But, Ladies, we’ll not expose you in the Camp,--a Party of our
Men shall see you safely conducted to Madam _Surelove’s_; ‘tis but a
little Mile from our Camp.

_Friend._ Let me have that honour, Sir.

_Chris._ No, I conjure you let your Wounds be dress’d; obey me if you
love me, and _Hazard_ shall conduct us home.

_Well._ He had the Toil, ‘tis fit he have the Recompence.

_Whiff._ He the Toil, Sir! what, did we stand for Cyphers?

_Whim._ The very appearance I made in the front of the Battel, aw’d the
Enemy.

_Tim._ Ay, ay, let the Enemy say how I maul’d ‘em--but Gads zoors,
I scorn to brag.

_Well._ Since you’ve regain’d your Honour so gloriously, I restore you
to your Commands you lost by your seeming Cowardice.

_Dull._ Valour is not always in humour, Sir.

_Well._ Come, Gentlemen, since they’ve resolv’d to engage us, let’s set
our Men in order to receive ‘em.

    [Exeunt all but the four Justices.

_Tim._ Our Commissions again--you must be bragging, and see what comes
on’t; I was modest ye see, and said nothing of my Prowess.

_Whiff._ What a Devil does the Colonel think we are made of Iron,
continually to be beat on the Anvil?

_Whim._ Look, Gentlemen, here’s two Evils--if we go we are dead Men; if
we stay we are hang’d--and that will disorder my
Cravat-string:--therefore the least Evil is to go--and set a good Face
on the Matter, as I do--

    [Goes out singing. All exeunt.


SCENE III. A thick Wood.

    Enter _Queen_ dress’d like an _Indian_ Man, with a Bow in her
    Hand, and Quiver at her Back; _Anaria_ her Confident disguis’d so
    too; and about a dozen _Indians_ led by _Cavaro_.

_Queen._ I tremble yet, dost think we’re safe, _Cavaro_?

_Cav._ Madam, these Woods are intricate and vast, and ‘twill be
difficult to find us out--or if they do, this Habit will secure you from
the fear of being taken.

_Queen._ Dost think if _Bacon_ find us, he will not know me? Alas, my
Fears and Blushes will betray me.

_Ana._ ‘Tis certain, Madam, if we stay we perish; for all the Wood’s
surrounded by the Conqueror.

_Queen._ Alas, ‘tis better we should perish here, than stay to expect
the Violence of his Passion, to which my Heart’s too sensibly inclin’d.

_Ana._ Why do you not obey its Dictates then? why do you fly the
Conqueror?

_Queen._ Not fly--not fly the Murderer of my Lord?

_Ana._ What World, what Resolution can preserve you? and what he cannot
gain by soft submission, Force will at last o’ercome.

_Queen._ I wish there were in Nature one excuse, either by Force or
Reason to compel me:--For Oh, _Anaria_--I adore this General;--take from
my Soul a Truth--till now conceal’d--at twelve Years old--at the
_Pauwomungian_ Court, I saw this Conqueror. I saw him young and gay as
new-born Spring, glorious and charming as the Mid-day’s Sun; I watch’d
his Looks, and listned when he spoke, and thought him more than mortal.

_Ana._ He has a graceful Form.

_Queen._ At last a fatal Match concluded was between my Lord and me;
I gave my Hand, but oh, how far my Heart was from consenting, the angry
Gods are Witness.

_Ana._ ‘Twas pity.

_Queen._ Twelve tedious Moons I pass’d in silent Languishment; Honour
endeavouring to destroy my Love, but all in vain; for still my Pain
return’d whenever I beheld my Conqueror; but now when I consider him as
Murderer of my Lord-- [Fiercely.] I sigh and wish--some other fatal Hand
had given him his Death.--But now there’s a necessity, I must be brave
and overcome my Heart; What if I do? ah, whither shall I fly? I have no
_Amazonian_ Fire about me, all my Artillery is Sighs and Tears, the
Earth my Bed, and Heaven my Canopy.    [Weeps.
    [After Noise of Fighting.
  Hah, we are surpriz’d; Oh, whither shall I fly? And yet methinks a
certain trembling Joy, spite of my Soul, spite of my boasted Honour,
runs shivering round my Heart.

    Enter an _Indian_.

_Ind._ Madam, your Out-guards are surpriz’d by _Bacon_, who hews down
all before him, and demands the Queen with such a Voice, and Eyes so
fierce and angry, he kills us with his Looks.

_Cav._ Draw up your poison’d Arrows to the head, and aim them at his
Heart, sure some will hit.

_Queen._ Cruel _Cavaro_,--wou’d ‘twere fit for me to contradict thy
Justice.
    [Aside.

_Bac._ [Within.] The Queen, ye Slaves, give me the Queen, and live!

    He enters furiously, beating back some _Indians_; _Cavaro’s_ Party
    going to shoot, the _Queen_ runs in.

_Queen._ Hold, hold, I do command ye.
    [_Bacon_ flies on ‘em as they shoot and miss him, fights like a
    Fury, and wounds the _Queen_ in the Disorder; beats them all out.
  --hold thy commanding Hand, and do not kill me, who wou’d not hurt
thee to regain my Kingdom--
    [He snatches her in his Arms, she reels.

_Bac._ Hah--a Woman’s Voice,--what art thou? Oh my Fears!

_Queen._ Thy Hand has been too cruel to a Heart--whose Crime was only
tender Thoughts for thee.

_Bac._ The Queen! What is’t my sacrilegious Hand has done!

_Queen._ The noblest Office of a gallant Friend, thou’st sav’d my
Honour, and hast given me Death.

_Bac._ Is’t possible! ye unregarding Gods, is’t possible?

_Queen._ Now I may love you without Infamy, and please my dying Heart by
gazing on you.

_Bac._ Oh, I am lost--for ever lost--I find my Brain turn with the wild
confusion.

_Queen._ I faint--oh, lay me gently on the Earth.    [Lays her down.

_Bac._ Who waits--    [Turns in Rage to his Men.
  Make of the Trophies of the War a Pile, and set it all on fire, that I
may leap into consuming Flames--while all my Tents are burning round
about me.
    [Wildly.
  Oh thou dear Prize, for which alone I toil’d!
    [Weeps, and lies down by her.

    Enter _Fearless_ with his Sword drawn.

_Fear._ Hah, on the Earth--how do you, Sir?

_Bac._ What wou’dst thou?

_Fear._ _Wellman_ with all the Forces he can gather, attacks us even in
our very Camp; assist us, Sir, or all is lost.

_Bac._ Why, prithee let him make the World his Prize, I have no business
with the Trifle now; it contains nothing that’s worth my care, since my
fair Queen--is dead--and by my hand.

_Queen._ So charming and obliging is thy Moan, that I cou’d wish for
Life to recompense it; but oh, Death falls--all cold upon my Heart, like
Mildews on the Blossoms.

_Fear._ By Heaven, Sir, this Love will ruin all--rise, rise, and save us
yet.

_Bac._ Leave me, what e’er becomes of me--lose not thy share of
Glory--prithee leave me.

_Queen._ Alas, I fear thy Fate is drawing on, and I shall shortly meet
thee in the Clouds; till then--farewel--even Death is pleasing to me,
while thus--I find it in thy Arms--
    [Dies.

_Bac._ There ends my Race of Glory and of Life.
    [An Alarm at distance--continues a while.

_Bac._ Hah--Why should I idly whine away my Life, since there are nobler
ways to meet with Death? Up, up, and face him then--Hark--there’s the
Soldier’s Knell--and all the Joys of Life--with thee I bid farewel--
    [Goes out. The _Indians_ bear off the Body of the _Queen_.

    The Alarm continues: Enter _Downright_, _Wellman_, and others,
    Swords drawn.

_Well._ They fight like Men possest--I did not think to have found them
so prepar’d.

_Down._ They’ve good Intelligence--but where’s the Rebel?

_Well._ Sure he’s not in the Fight; Oh, that it were my happy chance to
meet him, that while our Men look on, we might dispatch the business of
the War--Come, let’s fall in again, now we have taken breath.
    [They go out.

    Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_ hastily, with their Swords drawn;
    meet _Whim._ _Whiff_, with their Swords drawn, running away.

_Dar._ How now, whither away?    [In anger.

_Whim._ Hah, _Daring_ here--we are pursuing of the Enemy, Sir; stop us
not in the pursuit of Glory.
    [Offers to go.

_Dar._ Stay!--I have not seen you in my Ranks to day.

_Whiff._ Lord, does your Honour take us for Starters?

_Fear._ Yes, Sirrah, and believe you are now rubbing off--confess, or
I’ll run you through.

_Whiff._ Oh, mercy, Sir, mercy, we’ll confess.

_Whim._ What will you confess? we were only going behind yon Hedge to
untruss a point; that’s all.

_Whiff._ Ay, your Honours will smell out the truth, if you keep us here
long.

_Dar._ Here, carry them Prisoners to my Tent.

    [Ex. Soldiers with _Whim._ and _Whiff_.

    Enter _Ranter_ without a Hat, and Sword drawn, _Daring_ angrily
    goes the other way.

_Ran._ A pox of all ill luck, how came I to lose _Daring_ in the fight?
Ha--who’s here? _Dullman_ and _Timorous_ dead--the Rogues are
Counterfeits.--I’ll see what Moveables they have about them, all’s
lawful Prize in War.
    [Takes their Money, Watches and Rings; goes out.

_Tim._ What, rob the dead?--why, what will this villanous World come to?
    [Clashing of Swords, just as they were going to rise.

    Enter _Hazard_ bringing in _Ranter_.

_Haz._ Thou cou’dst expect no other Fate, young Man; thy Hands are yet
too tender for a Sword.

_Ran._ Thou look’st like a good-natur’d Fellow, use me civilly, and
_Daring_ shall ransom me.

_Haz._ Doubt not a generous Treatment.    [They go out.

_Dull._ So the Coast is clear, I desire to move my Quarters to some
place of more safety--
    [They rise and go off.

    Enter _Wellman_ and Soldiers hastily.

_Well._ ‘Twas this way _Bacon_ fled. Five hundred Pound for him who
finds the Rebel.

    [Go out.


SCENE IV. Changes to another part of the Wood.

    Enter _Bacon_ and _Fearless_ with their Swords drawn, all bloody.

_Bac._ ‘Tis just, ye Gods! that when ye took the Prize for which I
fought, Fortune and you should all abandon me.

_Fear._ Oh, fly, Sir, to some place of safe retreat, for there’s no
mercy to be hop’d if taken. What will you do? I know we are pursu’d, by
Heaven, I will not die a shameful Death.

_Bac._ Oh, they’ll have pity on thy Youth and Bravery, but I’m above
their Pardon.
    [A noise is heard.

_Within._ This way--this way--hay halloo.

_Fear._ Alas, Sir, we’re undone--I’ll see which way they take.
    [Exit.

  _Bac._ So near! Nay, then to my last shift.
    [Undoes the Pomel of his Sword.
  Come, my good Poison, like that of _Hannibal_; long I have born a
noble Remedy for all the Ills of Life.
    [Takes Poison.
  I have too long surviv’d my Queen and Glory, those two bright Stars
that influenc’d my Life are set to all Eternity.
    [Lies down.

    Enter _Fearless_, runs to _Bacon_, and looks on his Sword.

_Fear._ --Hah--what have ye done?

_Bac._ Secur’d my self from being a publick Spectacle upon the common
Theatre of Death.

    Enter _Daring_ and Soldiers.

_Dar._ Victory, Victory! they fly, they fly, where’s the victorious
General?

_Fear._ Here,--taking his last Adieu.

_Dar._ Dying! Then wither all the Laurels on my Brows, for I shall never
triumph more in War; where are the Wounds?

_Fear._ From his own Hand, by what he carried here, believing we had
lost the Victory.

_Bac._ And is the Enemy put to flight, my Hero?    [Grasps his Neck.

_Dar._ All routed Horse and Foot; I plac’d an Ambush, and while they
were pursuing you, my Men fell on behind, and won the day.

_Bac._ Thou almost makest me wish to live again, if I cou’d live now
fair _Semernia’s_ dead.--But oh--the baneful Drug is just and kind, and
hastens me away--Now while you are Victors, make a Peace--with the
_English_ Council, and never let Ambition,--Love,--or Interest, make you
forget, as I have done, your Duty and Allegiance--Farewel--a long
Farewel--
    [Dies embracing their Necks.

_Dar._ So fell the _Roman Cassius_, by mistake--

    Enter Soldiers with _Dunce_, _Tim._ and _Dullman_.

_Sold._ An’t please your Honour, we took these Men running away.

_Dar._ Let ‘em loose--the Wars are at an end, see where the General
lies--that great-soul’d Man, no private Body e’er contain’d a nobler;
and he that cou’d have conquered all _America_, finds only here his
scanty length of Earth. Go, bear the Body to his own Pavilion--
    [Soldiers go out with the Body.
  though we are Conquerors we submit to treat, and yield upon Condition:
You, Mr. _Dunce_, shall bear our Articles to the Council.

_Dun._ With Joy I will obey you.

_Tim._ Good General, let us be put in the Agreement.

_Dar._ You shall be obliged--

    [Ex. _Dar._ _Dun._ _Dull._ and _Tim._ as _Fear._ goes out a
    Soldier meets him.

_Sold._ What does your Honour intend to do with _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_,
who are condemn’d by a Council of War?

    Enter _Daring_, _Dullman_, _Tim._ _Fearless_, and Officers.

_Dar._ You come too late, Gentlemen, to be put into the Articles; nor am
I satisfy’d you’re worthy of it.

_Dull._ Why, did not you, Sir, see us lie dead in the Field?

_Dar._ Yes, but I see no Wound about you.

_Tim._ We were stun’d with being knock’d down; Gads zoors, a Man may be
kill’d with the but-end of a Musquet, as soon as with the point of a
Sword.

    Enter _Dunce_.

_Dun._ The Council, Sir, wishes you Health and Happiness, and sends you
these sign’d by their Hands--
    [Gives Papers.

_Dar._ reads.

    That you shall have a general Pardon for your self and Friends;
    that you shall have all new Commissions, and _Daring_ to command as
    General; that you shall have free leave to inter your dead General
    in _James_ Town. And to ratify this, we will meet you at Madam
    _Surelove’s_ House, which stands between the Armies, attended only
    by our Officers.

The Council’s noble, and I’ll wait upon them.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE V. A Grove near Madam _Surelove’s_.

    Enter _Surelove_ weeping, _Well._ _Chrisante_, Mrs. _Flirt_,
    _Ranter_ as before, _Down._ _Haz._ _Friend._ _Booz._ _Brag_.

_Well._ How long, Madam, have you heard the News of Col. _Surelove’s_
Death?

_Sure._ By a Vessel last Night arriv’d.

_Well._ You shou’d not grieve when Men so old pay their debt to Nature;
you are too fair not to have been reserved for some young Lover’s Arms.

_Haz._ I dare not speak,--but give me leave to hope.

_Sure._ The way to oblige me to’t, is never more to speak to me of Love
till I shall think it fit--
    [_Wellman_ speaks to _Down._

_Well._ Come, you shan’t grant it--’tis a hopeful Youth.

_Down._ You are too much my Friend to be denied--_Chrisante_, do you
love _Friendly_? nay, do not blush--till you have done a fault, your
loving him is none--Here, take her, young Man, and with her all my
Fortune--when I am dead, Sirrah--not a Groat before--unless to buy ye
Baby-Clouts.

_Friend._ He merits not this Treasure, Sir, can wish for more.

    Enter _Daring_, _Fearless_, _Dunce_, Officers, and the rest, they
    meet _Well._ and _Down._ who embrace ‘em. _Dull._ and _Tim._
    stand.

_Dar._ Can you forgive us, Sir, our Disobedience?

_Well._ Your offering Peace while yet you might command it, has made
such kind impressions on us, that now you may command your Propositions;
your Pardons are all seal’d and new Commissions.

_Dar._ I’m not ambitious of that Honour, Sir, but in obedience will
accept your Goodness; but, Sir, I hear I have a young Friend taken
Prisoner by Captain _Hazard_, whom I intreat you will render me.

_Haz._ Sir--here I resign him to you.    [Gives him _Ran._

_Ran._ Faith, General, you left me but scurvily in Battle.

_Dar._ That was to see how well you cou’d shift for your self; now I
find you can bear the brunt of a Campaign, you are a fit Wife for a
Soldier.

_All._ A Woman--_Ranter_--

_Haz._ Faith, Madam, I should have given you kinder Quarter, if I had
known my happiness.

_Flirt._ I have an humble Petition to you, Sir.

_Sure._ In which we all join.

_Flirt._ An’t please you, Sir, Mr. _Dunce_ has long made Love to me, and
on promise of Marriage has--
    [Simpers.

_Down._ What has he, Mistress? What has he, Mrs. _Flirt_?

_Flirt._ Only been a little familiar with my Person, Sir--

_Well._ Do you hear, Parson--you must marry Mrs. _Flirt_.

_Dun._ How, Sir, a Man of my Coat, Sir, marry a Brandy-monger?

_Well._ Of your Calling you mean, a Farrier and no Parson--
    [Aside to him.
  She’ll leave her Trade, and spark it above all the Ladies at Church:
No more--take her, and make her honest.

    Enter _Whim._ and _Whiff_ stript.

_Chris._ Bless me, what have we here?

_Whim._ Why, an’t like your Honours, we were taken by the Enemy--hah,
_Daring_ here, and _Fearless_?

_Fear._ How now, Gentlemen, were not you two condemn’d to be shot for
running from your Colours.

_Down._ From your Colours!

_Fear._ Yes, Sir, they were both listed in my Regiment.

_Down._ Then we must hang them for deserting us.

_Whim._ So, out of the Frying Pan--you know where, Brother--

_Whiff._ Ay, he that’s born to be hang’d--you know the rest; a Pox of
these Proverbs.

_Well._ I know ye well--you’re all rank Cowards; but once more we
forgive ye; your Places in the Council shall be supplied by these
Gentlemen of Sense and Honour. The Governor when he comes, shall find
the Country in better hands than he expects to find it.

_Whim._ A very fair Discharge.

_Whiff._ I’m glad ‘tis no worse, I’ll home to my _Nancy_.

_Dull._ Have we expos’d our Lives and Fortunes for this?

_Tim._ Gad zoors, I never thriv’d since I was a Statesman, left
Planting, and fell to promising and lying; I’ll to my old Trade again,
bask under the shade of my own Tobacco, and drink my Punch in Peace.

  _Well._ _Come, my brave Youths, let all our Forces meet,
  To make this Country happy, rich and great;
  Let scanted _Europe_ see that we enjoy
  Safer Repose, and larger Worlds, than they._




EPILOGUE.


  Gallants, you have so long been absent hence,
  That you have almost cool’d your Diligence:
  For while we study or revive a Play,
  You like good Husbands in the Country stay,
  There frugally wear out your Summer-Suit, }
  And in Frize Jerkin after Beagles toot,   }
  Or in Mountero Caps at Fel-fares shoot:   }
  Nay, some are so obdurate in their Sin,
  That they swear never to come up again;
  But all their charge of Clothes and Treat retrench.
  To Gloves and Stockings for some Country-Wench.
  Even they who in the Summer had Mishaps,
  Send up to Town for Physick, for their Claps.
  The Ladies too, are as resolv’d as they,     }
  And having Debts unknown to them, they stay, }
  And with the gain of Cheese and Poultry pay. }
  Even in their Visits, they from Banquets fall,
  To entertain with Nuts and Bottle-Ale;
  And in Discourse with secrecy report
  Stale News that past a Twelve-month since at Court.
  Those of them who are most refin’d and gay,
  Now learn the Songs of the last Summer’s Play:
  While the young Daughter does in private mourn
  Her Love’s in Town, and hopes not to return.
  These Country-Grievances too great appear;
  But, cruel Ladies, we have greater here;
  You come not sharp, as you were wont, to Plays;
  But only on the first and second Days:
  This made our Poet in his Visits look
  What new strange Courses for your Time you took;
  And to his great regret he found too soon,
  _Basset_ and _Ombre_ spent the Afternoon:
  So that we cannot hope to see you here
  Before the little Net-work Purse be clear.
  Suppose you should have luck:--
  Yet sitting up so late as I am told,
  You’ll lose in Beauty what you win in Gold;
  And what each Lady of another says,
  Will make you new Lampoons, and us new Plays.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: The Widow Ranter

[Transcriber’s Note:

The Notes in the printed text give only page and line numbers.
Act-and-scene designations shown between +marks+ have been added by
the transcriber. Labels such as “Scene IIa” refer to points where the
scene description changes without a new scene number.]


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dedication+

  p. 221, l. 1 _To the much Honoured._ This Dedicatory Epistle is only
  found in the 4to 1690.

+Prologue+

  p. 223, l. 13 _Cruse._ Misprinted ‘Cause’ in 4to 1690 and in 1724.
  _The True Widow_ (4to 1679), and the edition of 1720 (Shadwell’s
  collected works) give ‘Cruse.’ All editions of Dryden until Christie
  misread ‘Cause’.

  p. 223, l. 16 _Poll._ 4to 1690 _Pole_. 1724 _Pool_. _The True Widow_
  (4to 1679) and edition of 1720 both give ‘Poll’.

+Dramatis Personæ+

  p. 225 _Dramatis Personæ._ I have added to the list ‘_Cavaro_, an
  _Indian_, Confidant to the _Indian King_. _Jack_, a Sea-Boy. An
  Officer; Messenger; Seaman; 2nd Seaman; A Highlander. _Jenny_, Maid
  to _Widow Ranter_. _Nell_, Maid at the Inn. _Anaria_, Confidante to
  the _Indian Queen_. Maid to Madam _Surelove_. Bailiffs, Rabble,
  Negroes. I have supplied the name _Jeffery_ to the Coachman from I,
  iii (p. 239), and also designated Mrs. _Flirt_ ‘a Tapstress’.
  _Daring_, which name is indifferently spelt in the 4to 1690 _Dareing_
  or _Daring_, I have given consistently throughout. For _Chrisante_
  1724 sometimes has _Crisante_. To the Scene I have added
  ‘_James-Town_, and the surrounding Country.’

+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 226, l. 3 _Jack._ I have inserted this name from _infra_ l. 20.

  p. 226, l. 17 _Enter Flirt and Nell._ I have supplied this necessary
  entrance.

  p. 227, l. 9 _Exit Nell._ I have inserted this exit. Nell’s entrance
  is marked later and she is certainly not on the stage during the
  ensuing scene.

  p. 227, l. 27 _I._ Omitted in 4to 1690.

  p. 227, l. 30 _being._ ‘was’ 4to 1690.

  p. 227, l. 35 _Cully in._ ‘Cully’ as a verb. 1724 ‘Cully to’. ‘Cully’
  as a substantive.

  p. 228, l. 10 _any thing._ 4to 1690 ‘any thing any thing’.

  p. 229, l. 1 _fail, thou._ 4to 1690 ‘fail, there thou’. This
  insertion of ‘there’ interrupts the sense.

  p. 229, l. 26 _wherever._ 1724 ‘whenever’.

  p. 230, l. 1 _whom._ 4to 1690 ‘_which_’.

  p. 230, l. 34 _stand._ 4to 1690 ‘_stands_’.

  p. 231, l. 24 _Smoke._ 1724 ‘Tobacco’.

  p. 231, l. 28 _Exit Nell._ I have supplied this stage direction.

  p. 231, l. 34 _paulter._ 1724 ‘paultry’. _Vide_ critical note on this
  passage.

  p. 232, l. 8 _and Nell with drink, pipes, etc._ I have supplied these
  words.

  p. 232, l. 19 _take._ 4to 1690 ‘took’.

  p. 232, l. 34 _an._ 4to 1690 ‘on’.

  p. 233, l. 28 _the Bob._ 1724 ‘a Bob’.

  p. 234, l. 28 _Guinea._ 4to 1690 ‘Guinia’.

+ACT I: Scene ii+

  p. 235, l. 17 _The Council-Table._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 235, l. 22 _give._ My own emendation: previous editions ‘be’.

  p. 236, l. 12 _make._ 4to 1690 ‘have’.

  p. 237, l. 6 _Down. I say._ 4to 1690 wrongly gives this speech to
  Dunce.

  p. 238, l. 25 _If we wou’d._ 1724 ‘If he wou’d’.

+ACT I: Scene iii+

  p. 239, l. 25 _Jeffery._ I have supplied the name here from the
  following line.

  p. 239, l. 31 _Exit._ Not noted in former editions.

  p. 240, l. 2 _of a Baboon._ 4to 1690 ‘of Baboone’.

  p. 240, l. 5 _Tumbler._ 4to 1690 misprints ‘Fumbler’.

  p. 241, ll. 15, 18 _Pound._ 1724 ‘Pounds’.

  p. 242, l. 32 _Sure. reads._ 4to 1690 and 1724 ‘she reads’, which is
  ambiguous.

  p. 243, l. 16 _de la guerre._ 4to 1690 ‘de la gare’.

  p. 244, l. 17 _They join with Surelove._ Only in 4to 1690.

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 245, l. 21 _have Charms._ 1724 ‘have those Charms’.

  p. 245, l. 28 _Mediator._ 1724 ‘Meditator’.

  p. 245, l. 32 _would make me lay the Conqueror._ 1724 ‘would lay me
  a Conqueror’.

  p. 248, l. 12 _knip._ 1724 mis-spells this rare word ‘nip’.

+ACT II: Scene ii+

  p. 252, l. 36 _A Scots Dance._ 1724 ‘A Scotch Dance.’

  p. 253, l. 28 _Billet-Douxs._ 4to 1690 ‘Billet-Deaxs’.

  p. 254, l. 12 _Drinking all this while sometimes._ Only in 4to 1690.

+ACT II: Scene iii+

  p. 255, l. 16 _Pulls a Bottle._ 4to 1690 ‘Pulls out a Bottle’.

  p. 255, l. 28 _Drinks._ Only in 4to 1690.

  p. 256, l. 31 _durst._ 4to 1690 ‘darst’.

+ACT II: Scene iv+

  p. 258, l. 26 _Enter Brag._ Both 4to 1690 and 1724 have ‘Enter a
  Messenger’, and give l. 27 speech-prefix ‘Mes.’ Both, however, give
  the next speech he speaks (l. 33) to Brag and have later ‘Exit Brag.’

  p. 259, l. 5 _Whimsey._ Both 4to 1690 and 1724 here and elsewhere cut
  the name down to ‘Whim.’

  p. 259, l. 9 _wish’d that the Plot._ 4to 1690 ‘wish’d the Plot’.

  p. 261, l. 17 _care._ 1724 ‘ear’.

  p. 262, l. 25 _Wellman’s Guards._ 4to 1690 ‘Wellman, his Guards’. But
  Wellman has not left the stage. The comma printed by 1690 is probably
  a mistake and we should read ‘Wellman his Guards’.

  p. 263, l. 24 _Exit._ 4to 1690 gives no direction. 1724 has ‘Exeunt.’
  But Timorous is left alone on the stage.

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 264, l. 1 _hollow._ 4to 1690 ‘hallow’.

  p. 266, l. 15 _That._ Omitted in 4to 1690.

  p. 270, l. 8 _Exeunt._ 4to 1690 gives no stage direction here.

+ACT III: Scene ii+

  p. 272, l. 28 _’.is a tittle of the D-- breed._ [sic] 4to 1690. 1724
  ‘’.is little of the D-- breed’.

  p. 274, l. 1 _haste with._ 1724 ‘haste you with’.

+ACT III: Scene iia+

  p. 275, l. 28 _stands and stares a while._ 1724 ‘stands a while and
  stares’.

  p. 277, l. 28 _shall be._ 4to 1690 ‘shall not be’.

+ACT IV: Scene i+

  p. 279, l. 12 _Priests._ 4to 1690 ‘Priest.’

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 289. l. 10 _draw._ 4to 1690 ‘draws’, but not as a stage direction.

+ACT IV: Scene iii+

  p. 289, l. 21 _Scene III._ I have numbered this scene.

  p. 290, l. 14 _Daring, looks._ 4to 1690 ‘Daring, and looks’.

  p. 290, l. 31 _devote._ 1724 ‘divorce’, a bad error.

  p. 290, l. 33 _the fittest._ 1724 ‘a fit’.

+ACT V: Scene i+

  p. 295, l. 9 _Exeunt._ 4to 1690 ‘Ex.’ 1724 ‘Exit’.

  p. 296, l. 8 _Exeunt._ I have supplied this necessary stage direction.

  p. 296, l. 11 _beat._ 4to 1690 ‘beating’.

  p. 296, l. 13 _fight, lay._ 4to 1690 ‘fight, so that they lay’.

  p. 296, l. 22 _All go out._ Previous editions ‘Goes out.’

+ACT V: Scene ii+

  p. 296, l. 23 _Scene II._ I have numbered this scene.

  p. 298, l. 26 _All Exeunt._ I have added this direction.

+ACT V: Scene iii+

  p. 298, l. 27 _Scene III._ I have numbered this scene.

  p. 299, l. 12 _submission._ 1724 ‘Admission’.

  p. 299, l. 17 _Pauwomungian._ 4to 1690 ‘Pauwmungian’.

  p. 300, l. 2 _After Noise._ 1724 omits ‘After’.

  p. 303, l. 16 _They go out._ Previous editions ‘Goes out.’

+ACT V: Scene iv+

  p. 303, l. 23 _Scene IV. Changes to another part of the Wood._ All
  previous editions ‘Scene changes to a Wood.’

  p. 304, l. 21 _are._ 4to 1690 ‘is’.

  p. 305, l. 12 _go out._ 4to 1690 ‘goes out’.

  p. 305, l. 21 _Whimsey._ In former editions abbreviated to ‘Whim.’

  p. 306, l. 9 _Exeunt._ Former editions ‘Exit Dunce.’

+ACT V: Scene v+

  p. 306, l. 10 _Scene V._ I have numbered this scene.

  p. 306, l. 18 _Lover’s._ 4to 1690 ‘Love’s’.

  p. 306, l. 20 _more._ 1724 omits.

  p. 306, l. 32 _and the rest._ Previous editions ‘and officers’, but
  plainly all the characters of the preceding scene assemble.

  p. 307, l. 21 _What has he, Mistress?_ 4to 1690 omits.

+Epilogue+

  p. 309, l. 1 _Epilogue._ It will be noted that with some trifling
  alterations this is the Prologue to _Abdelazar_.


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Dedication+

  p. 221 _Madam Welldon._ This Dedicatory Epistle only appears in 4to
  1690. The lady doubtless belonged to a branch of the famous Weldons,
  of Swanscombe, Kent, and is probably to be identified with Madam Lucy
  Weldon, _née_ Necton, the wife of Colonel George Weldon.

  p. 222 _G. J._ Almost certainly George Jenkins, of whom we have two
  copies of complimentary verse prefixed to _La Montre, or The Lover’s
  Watch_. _vide_ Vol. VI, pp. 9-11.

+Prologue+

  p. 223 _Prologue._ This prologue was first spoken to Shadwell’s
  comedy, _The True Widow_, produced at the Duke’s Theatre, Dorset
  Garden, 21 March, 1678, and it is printed with all copies of that
  play. It was, no doubt, used on the present occasion by permission
  of Dryden. It will be noticed that the Epilogue to _The Widow Ranter_
  is the Prologue to _Abdelazar_.

  p. 223 _Muss._ A scramble. cf. _Antony and Cleopatra_, iii, 13:--

              ... of late, when I cried ‘Ho!’
    Like boys unto a muss, Kings would start forth,
    And cry ‘Your will?’

+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 226 _a Cogue of Brandy._ ‘Cogue’ is a Kentish word. _Kent Glossary_
  (1887), has ‘cogue; a dram of brandy’. and Wright, _Eng. Dial. Dic._,
  who gives ‘cogue’ as exclusively Kentish, assigns precisely the same
  meaning. D’Urfey, however, _Pills to Purge Melancholy_ (1719), vi,
  p. 351, has ‘a cogue of good ale’.

  p. 227 _Groom Porter’s._ The Groom Porter was an officer of the Royal
  Household. This post was abolished in the reign of George III. From
  the sixteenth century he regulated all matters connected with card
  playing, gambling, and dicing within the precincts of the court. He
  even furnished cards and dice, and settled disputes concerning the
  game.

  p. 227 _high and low Flats and Bars._ i.e. Doctored dice. cf.
  _Chamber’s Cycl. Supp._ (1753), ‘Barr Dice, a species of false dice
  so formed that they will not easily lie on certain sides.’ This cant
  term is found as early as 1545. cf. Ascham’s _Toxophilus_. Flats are
  also cards. --(Grose, and J. H. Vaux, _Flash Dic._)

  p. 231 _shier._ Schire = clear; pure. A Gaelic word. cf. Herd,
  _Scotch Songs_ (2nd ed. 1776), 11, _Gloss._--’We call clear liquor
  shire’.

  p. 231 _paulter._ Mean; worthless. This rare form is perhaps found
  only here. The _N.E.D._ does not give it. But we have ‘paltering’
  and ‘palterly’.

  p. 232 _Hoggerds._ A rare word, being obsolete for Hogherd. cf. De
  Parc’s _Francion_, iv, 3 (tr. 1655): ‘Our Regent (who had in him no
  more humanity than a Hoggard).’

  p. 233 _trusting for old Oliver’s Funeral broke._ The obsequies of
  Oliver Cromwell, originally fixed for 9 November, 1658, owing to the
  extraordinary magnificence of the preparations were not performed
  until 23 November. For many days his waxen effigy, dressed in robes
  of state, was exhibited at Somerset House. The expenses totalled
  £60,000, and it was a public scandal that a great part of this wanton
  and wasteful extravagance remained unpaid, to the undoing of the
  undertakers. On 25 August, 1659, in the _Kalendar of State Affairs
  (Domestic)_, the following occurs: ‘Report by the Committee appointed
  by Parliament to examine what is due for mourning for the late General
  Cromwell, that on perusal of the bills signed by Cromwell’s servants,
  and of the account of Abr. Barrington, his auditor, it appears that
  £19,303 0_s._ 11_d._ is still due and unpaid for mourning. Also that
  Nath. Waterhouse, servant to Rich. Cromwell, should be authorized to
  see the persons in a list [missing] annexed for that mourning. Col.
  Rich to make this report. Schedule of debts due to 11 mercers and
  drapers for the funeral of the late General Cromwell. Total £19,303
  0_s._ 11_d._’

  p. 233 _they bear the Bob._ i.e. They join in the chorus or refrain.

+ACT I: Scene iii+

  p. 240 _shoveing the Tumbler._ ‘Thieves’ cant for being whipped at the
  cart’s tail.’ --(Grose). Tumbler, perhaps = tumbril.

  p. 240 _lifting._ Filching. This slang term is very old and common.

  p. 240 _filing the Cly._ ‘Thieves’ cant for picking a pocket.’
  --(Grose). ‘Cly,’ a pocket.

  p. 240 _Regalio._ An obsolete and, indeed, erroneous form of ‘regalo’,
  an elegant repast; choice food or drink. The word is very common,
  and the spelling, ‘Regalio’, is frequent in the second half of the
  seventeenth century.

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 246 _Anticks._ Quaint fantastic measures. A favourite word with
  Mrs. Behn.

  p. 248 _to knip._ To clip. (Dutch ‘knippen’, to cut, snip.) _N.E.D._
  neglecting this passage, only gives the meaning as to bite or crop
  (grass) of cattle. It appends two quotations having this sense--the
  one from Dunbar’s _Poems_ (1500-20), the second from Douglas,
  _Aeneis_ (1513).

+ACT II: Scene ii+

  p. 252 _Mundungus._ Shag, or rank tobacco. cf. Sir R. Howard, _The
  Committee_ (folio, 1665), ii: ‘A Pipe of the worst Mundungus.’
  Shadwell, _The Humourists_ (1671), iii, speaks with contempt of
  ‘bottle ale ... and a pipe of Mundungus.’ Johnson in his _Dictionary_
  (1755) has: ‘Mundungus. Stinking tobacco. A cant word.’

+ACT II: Scene iv+

  p. 261 _a Bob._ cf. Prologue, _The False Count_ (Vol. III, p. 100),
  ‘dry bobs,’ and note on that passage, pp. 479-80.

  p. 263 _barbicu._ Better ‘barbecu’. An Americanism meaning to broil
  over live coals. Beverley, _Virginia_, III, xii (1705), thus explains
  it: ‘Broyling ... at some distance above the live coals [the Indians]
  & we from them call Barbecuing.’ cf. Pope, _Imitations of Horace_,
  Sat. ii, 25, 26:--

    _Oldfield_ with more than Harpy throat endued
    Cries, ‘Send me, Gods, a whole hog barbecued!’

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 264 _De-Wit._ ‘To De-Wit’ = to lynch. The word often occurs; it is
  derived from the deaths of John and Cornelius De Wit, opponents of
  William III (when stadt-holder). They were murdered by a mob in 1672.
  cf. ‘to godfrey’ = to strangle, from the alleged murder of Sir Edmond
  Bury Godfrey[1] in 1678. Crowne, _Sir Courtly Nice_ (1685), II, ii,
  has: ‘Don’t throttle me, don’t _Godfrey_ me.’ The _N.E.D._ fails to
  include ‘to godfrey’.

    [Footnote 1: It is now pretty certainly established that this
    melancholist committed suicide.]

  p. 265 _Dalton’s Country-Justice._ A well-known work by the celebrated
  lawyer Michael Dalton (1554-1620). It was long held in great repute
  and regarded as supremely authoritative. On a page of advertisements
  (Some Books printed this Year 1677. For _John Amery_, at the
  _Peacock_, against St. _Dunstan’s Church_ in _Fleet-street_) in the
  _Rover I_ (4to 1677), occurs ‘_The Country Justice_, Containing the
  practice of the Justices of the Peace, in and out of their Sessions,
  with an Abridgment of all Statutes relating thereunto to this present
  Year 1677. By _Michael Dalton_ Esq; _Fol._ price bound 12s.’ cf. _The
  Plain Dealer_ (4to 1676), III, i:

    _Widow Blackacre._ Let’s see Dalton, Hughs, Shepherd, Wingate.
    _Bookseller’s Boy._ We have no law books.

  p. 266 _a Cagg._ Now corrupted to ‘Keg’, a small cask. cf. _Cotgrave_
  (1611), ‘Encacquer’ to put in to a little barrell or cag. _N.E.D._
  quotes this present passage.

+ACT IV: Scene i+

  p. 279 _Agah Yerkin._ The various dictionaries and vocabularies of
  the Indian languages I have had resource to give none of these words.
  There is, however, so great a confusion of Indian jargons and dialects
  that they cannot be pronounced fictitious. Yet Mrs. Behn would hardly,
  even if she had learned the language, have retained any exact
  knowledge of such barbaric tongues, and one may almost certainly say
  that these cries and incantations are her own composition. Amongst
  other authorities I have consulted _The Voyage of Robert Dudley ...
  to the West Indies_, 1594-5, edited by G. F. Warner for the Hakluyt
  Society (1889). Dr. Brinton’s _Arawack Language of Guiana_, an
  exhaustive monograph, (Philadelphia, 1871.) M. M. Crevaux, Sagot,
  L. Adam, _Grammaires et Vocabulaires roucouyenne, arrouague, piapoco,
  et d’autres Langues de la Région des Guyanes_ (Paris, 1882). _Relation
  des Missions ... dans les Isles et dans la terre ferme de l’.merique
  Meridionale ... avec une introduction à la langue des Gabilis
  Sauvages_ (Paris, 1655), by Father Pierre Pelleprat, S.J.

  p. 279 _Quiocto._ Mrs. Behn probably meant to spell this word
  ‘Quiyoughcto’, the sound being identical. There is in Virginia a
  river which in the seventeenth century was called the ‘Quiyough’.
  The inhabitants of the banks of this river had mysterious or
  supernatural properties ascribed to them. _In the Voyages &
  Discoveries of Capt. John Smith_ (1606), we have: ‘They thinke that
  their Werowanees and Priests, which they also esteeme
  Quiyoughcosughes, when they are dead, doe goe beyond the mountaines
  towards the setting of the sun.’ No doubt Mrs. Behn knew this
  passage. I owe the above interesting note to the kindness of my
  friend Mr. Gosse.

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 284 _Cadees._ The original form of ‘cadets’ from the French
  pronunciation. _N.E.D._ cites this passage as the earliest occurence
  of the word.

+ACT V: Scene i+

  p. 293 _Cadeeing._ The verb ‘to cadee’ is only found here and may be
  a nonce phrase. _N.E.D._ does not include it.

  p. 293 _to top Tobacco._ i.e. to cultivate our tobacco plantations.

  p. 295 _Flambeaux._ Mrs. Behn (or, haply, George Jenkins, the first
  editor of _The Widow Ranter_), here uses the ordinary form ‘flambeaux’
  as a plural. In _The Emperor of the Moon_ (Vol. III, p. 418), she
  writes ‘a Flambeaux’. In addition to the example from Herbert which I
  give in my note (Vol. III, p. 475), I find a plural ‘Flambeaux’s’ used
  by Mrs. Manley. cf. _Secret Memoirs & Manners of Several Persons of
  Quality of Both Sexes from the New Atalantis_ (1709, the Second
  Edition), Vol. I, p. 88: ‘She but thinks of an expensive Funeral,
  white Flambeaux’s, Chariots, Horses, Streamers, and a Train of
  Mourners.’

+ACT V: Scene iii+

  p. 302 _Starters._ i.e. cowards. cf. _The Double Marriage_ (Fletcher
  and Massinger, folio 1647), II, i:--

    _Master._ We’ll spare her our main-top-sail;
    She shall not look us long, we are no starters.
    Down with the fore-sail too! we’ll spoom before her.

  cf. also _The Lucky Chance_, I, i: ‘I am no Starter.’ (Vol. III,
  p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485.

  p. 302 _rubbing off._ Very common slang still in use for ‘making off’,
  ‘clearing out’, cf. Shadwell’s _The Virtuoso_ (1676), Act V, sc. iii,
  the Masquerade, where Sir Samuel Harty says: ‘Who held my sword while
  I danc’d? ... A curse on him! he’s rubb’d off with it!’

  p. 303 _Dullman and Timorous._ No entrance has been marked for these
  two characters, and I have not ventured to insert one owing to the
  fact that this fifth Act has been so cut (e.g. the omission of the
  Indian King’s ghost, as noted by Jenkins in the Dedication) and
  mutilated that it would be perilous to make any insertion or
  alteration here as the copy now stands. We may suppose these two
  coward justices to have rushed on in one of the many mêlées.

+ACT V: Scene iv+

  p. 304 _Hannibal._ Hannibal, when betrayed by Prusias, King of
  Bithynia, at whose court he had taken refuge, poisoned himself
  rather than fall into the hands of the Romans.

+Epilogue+

  p. 309 _Epilogue._ This Epilogue is, it will be noted, almost
  precisely the same as the Prologue to _Abdelazer_. In line 32 we have
  ‘Basset’ in place of the obsolescent game, ‘Beasts’ (damn’d Beasts).
  Basset, which resembled Faro, was first played at Venice. cf. Evelyn’s
  _Diary_, 1645 (Ascension Week at Venice): ‘We went to the Chetto de
  San Felice, to see the noblemen and their ladies at basset, a game at
  cards which is much used.’ It became immensely popular in England.
  Evelyn, in his famous description of ‘the inexpressible luxury and
  profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness’ on the Sunday se’nnight
  before the death of Charles II, specially noted that ‘about twenty of
  the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round
  a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.’

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Cross-References from Critical Notes: _The Widow Ranter_

p. 261 _a Bob._ cf. Prologue, _The False Count_ (Vol. III, p. 100),
’.ry bobs,’ and note on that passage, pp. 479-80.

  _False Count_ text:

                --who will desert me,
  Because they find no dry bobs on your Party

  _False Count_ note:

  _dry bobs._ A bob was a sarcastic jest or jibe. cf. _Sir Giles
  Goosecappe_ (1606), Act V, i. ‘Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his
  bitter Bob,’ and Buckingham’s _The Rehearsal_ (1671), Act III, i,
  where Bayes cries: ‘There’s a bob for the Court.’ A dry bob (literally
  = a blow or fillip that does not break the skin) is an intensely
  bitter taunt, cf. _Cotgrave_ (1611), _Ruade seiche_, a drie bob, jeast
  or nip. _Bailey_ (1731) has ‘_Dry Bob_. a Taunt or Scoff’.

p. 302 _Starters._ .... cf. also _The Lucky Chance_, I, i: ‘I am no
Starter.’ (Vol. III, p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485.

  _Lucky Chance_ note:

  _Starter._ This slang word usually means a milksop, but here it
  is equivalent to ‘a butterfly’, ‘a weathercock’--a man of changeable
  disposition. A rare use.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

Errors and Irregularities: The Widow Ranter

In the Notes, alternation between .’ and ‘. at paragraph-end is as
printed. The abbreviation “cf.” is always lower-case.

Editor’s Introduction

  and she sinks into his arms to die  [his ams]

The Widow Ranter

  [Points to _Dull._ _Whim._ _Whiff_, and _Tim._  [_Dull,_ _Whim,_]
    [_correction based on ordinary punctuation of this text_]
  thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while  [taht]
  [Goes in. / [All exeunt.
    [_bracket before “All exeunt” added for consistency in e-text_]

Critical Notes

  p. 261 _a Bob._  [p 261]


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *


THE YOUNGER BROTHER;

OR, THE AMOROUS JILT.




ARGUMENT.


Mirtilla, the Amorous Jilt, who had once been attached to George
Marteen, the Younger Brother, married for a convenience the clownish Sir
Morgan Blunder. Prince Frederick, who had seen and fallen in love with
her during a religious ceremony in a Ghent convent, follows her to
England. They meet accidentally and she promises him a private
interview. George Marteen had recommended a page to Mirtilla, and the
lad is his sister Olivia in disguise. Mirtilla, although she falls in
love with her ‘smooth-chin’d boy’, receives Prince Frederick, but the
house wherein she lodges catches fire that night, and it is George
Marteen who, in spite of the fact that he knows his friend the Prince is
with her, procures a ladder and rescues the lady at some danger to
himself. The Prince is able to escape by the same way, and he then
carries Mirtilla to his own lodgings, where feigning to be ill with
fatigue and terror she begs her lover to leave her to repose. This is
done with the idea of entertaining her page, and on Frederick’s approach
she conceals Olivia, who thus creeps off unseen, beneath the train of
her gown, whilst she herself retires with the amorous Prince. None the
less, Mirtilla still pursues Olivia, and eventually Frederick discovers
she is a wanton jilt, as he surprises her leading the page to her bed.
He is, however, reconciled when Mirtilla discovering to her amaze that
the lad is a woman reveals this fact to the Prince to confound him, but
afterwards avowing her frailty, throws herself on Frederick’s
generosity. Olivia has been promised by her old father, Sir Rowland
Marteen, to Welborn, whom she has never seen. On meeting Welborn she
falls in love with him, without knowing who he is, and he, also, whilst
ignorant of her name, is soon enamoured of her in turn. Prince Frederick
lodges in the same house as Welborn and it is hither that after the fire
she attends Mirtilla. Welborn, supposing her to be Mirtilla’s page, out
of kindness offers her half his bed, which for fear of arousing
suspicion she is bound to accept. She slips away, however, before
daybreak, leaving a letter for her companion, by which he learns that
the page is none other than the lady whom he had seen in the Mall.
Welborn and Olivia are eventually married. George Marteen’s elder
brother, Sir Merlin, a boon companion of Sir Morgan Blunder, is a
rakehelly dog, who leads a wild town life to the great anger of old Sir
Rowland. George, who whilst secretly leading a gay life under the name
of Lejere, appears before his father as a demure and sober young
prentice, is designed for Lady Youthly, an ancient, toothless crone,
palsied and blind with extreme old age, whose grand-daughter, Teresia,
is to be married to Sir Rowland himself. George, however, falls in love
with Teresia, who is also pursued by Sir Merlin, and finally weds her in
despite of his father, brother and the beldame. But Sir Rowland shortly
relents and even forgives his eldest son, who has married Diana, the
cast off mistress of a gambler, whilst Lady Youthly is left to the
tender consolations of her chaplain.




SOURCE.


_The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt_ was written (in great part
at least) by Mrs. Behn a good many years before her death, after which
it was brought on the stage under the auspices of Gildon, in 1696; and
in the Epistle Dedicatory he expressly says ‘all the Alterations which
I made were in the first Act, in removing that old bustle about _Whigg_
and _Tory_ (which was the subject of most of the Second Scene) and
placing the Character of a _Rake-hell_ in its room.’ Mrs. Behn probably
wrote the first Act sometime about the years 1681-3, when there was a
continual ‘rout with Whigging and with Torying’, and afterwards
completed the remainder at her leisure. In his notice of this comedy
Langbaine’s editor (Gildon), who finds Mirtilla ‘genteel’, says that
Astrea took a portion of the plot ‘from a true story of the brother of
Col. Henry Martin, and a Lady that must be nameless. See the Novel
call’d _Hatige_.’ _Hattige: or, the Amours of the King of Tamaran.
A Novel_, by Gabriel de Brémond, was translated in 1680. (12mo. For
Simon the African: Amsterdam, [R. Bentley? London.]) A biting satire on
Charles II and Lady Castlemaine, the tale is told with considerable
spirit and attained great vogue. Another edition was issued in 1683, and
under the title _The Beautiful Turk_ it is to be found in _A Select
Collection of Novels_ (1720 and 1729), Vol. III. This novel had first
appeared anonymously at Cologne in 1676--_Hattigé ou la Belle Turque,
qui contient ses amours avec le roi Tamaran_--and Nodier in his
_Mélanges d’une petite Bibliothèque_ describes a ‘clef’. Hattigé is, of
course, Lady Castlemaine; Tamaran, Charles II; and the handsome Rajeb
with whom the lady deceives the monarch, Jack Churchill. It is a wanton
little book, and at the time must have been irresistibly piquant. Beyond
the likeness between the characters of Mirtilla and Hattigé the novel
has, however, little in common with Mrs. Behn’s play. Gildon’s comment
is, of course, founded upon the passage in _Oroonoko_ which says: ‘We
met on the river with Colonel Martin, a man of great gallantry, wit and
goodness, and whom I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy by
his own name in memory of so brave a man.’

In D’Urfey’s _The Royalist_, an excellent comedy produced at Dorset
Garden, 1682 (4to, 1682), the author introduces a certain damsel
Philippa, who, disguised as a page, follows the loyal Sir Charles
Kinglove with whom she is enamoured. At the end of the second Act her
boy’s clothes involve her in the same predicament as befalls Olivia in
Act IV of _The Younger Brother_. Although Genest prefers Mrs. Behn’s
treatment of the situation, it must, I think, be allowed that D’Urfey
has managed the jest with far greater verve and spirit. Honest Tom
D’Urfey is in fact one of the least read and most maligned of all our
dramatists. He had the merriest comic gifts, and perhaps when the
critics and literary historians deign to read his plays he will attain a
higher position in our theatrical libraries.

Some critics have suggested that D’Urfey, in his _The Intrigues at
Versailles_, produced at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 1697, may have taken a
hint from Mrs. Behn’s Mirtilla, and Wycherley’s Olivia (_The Plain
Dealer_) for his ‘Madame de Vandosme a right jilt in all humours’,
a rôle created by Mrs. Barry. There is indeed some resemblance between
all these three characters, base heartless coquettes; and D’Urfey, in
making his jilt prefer Sir Blunder Bosse, ‘a dull sordid brute and
mongrel, whose humour is to call everybody by clownish names’, to all
her other gallants, seems not to have forgotten Mirtilla’s marriage with
Sir Morgan Blunder. The very names call attention to the plagiarism.
_The Intrigues at Versailles_ is none the less a clever and witty
comedy, but a little overcrowded with incident and business.




THEATRICAL HISTORY.


As sufficiently explained by Gildon, under whose auspices this
posthumous play was produced at Drury Lane in 1696, _The Younger
Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt_ met with brutal treatment from the
audience. There appears to have been a faction, particularly in evidence
at its first performance and on the third day, who were steadfastly
resolved to damn the comedy, and in spite of fine acting and every
advantage it was hissed from the boards. Gildon attributes the failure
to ‘the tedious Scenes in Blank Verse betwixt Mirtilla and Prince
Frederick’ which he thinks demanded ‘another more easy Dress,’ but, in
truth, it can only be attributed to the most verjuiced spite and
personal malice. The plot, though somewhat complicated with perhaps a
press of crowding incidents, is none the less highly interesting, and
the characters are most of them excellently, all well, drawn and
sustained. The fact that certain episodes had to be cut in
representation in order to bring the comedy within a reasonable time
limit, though it may have tended to obscure the connection of the
intrigue, could not have insured in spite of its many real merits so
absolute a doom for the much maltreated play, a sentence which seems to
have wantonly precluded any revival.




THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY

TO

Collonel Codrington.


The unjust Sentence this Play met with before very partial Judges in the
Acting, will, I’m pretty sure, be revers’d by the more unprejudiced
Readers, and it’s evident, Merit will exert itself so far, as to justify
my Presumption in Dedicating it, notwithstanding its small success, to
you, Sir, for whom I must always profess the highest Esteem and Value,
sprung from that Nobleness of your Nature that takes a God-like Delight
in redressing the Misfortunes of ‘em, more than fly to you for their
unhappiness; a generous Soul indeed, never gives a greater Proof of her
Excellence, than in her Protection of the Unfortunate; for tho suffering
Merit challenges a Regard from all, yet it meets with it from none but
such as you, Sir, who are so Eminent for that Vertue, which more than
all the rest, commands the Esteem and Veneration of the Thinking World,
your Generosity I mean, Sir, which gives the most Perfect Touches of
that likeness, man can have to his Almighty Original; for those are but
scurvey awkard Copies of Him that want it. ‘Tis, I may say, the very
Essence of God, Who with our _Beings_, dispenses the grateful Knowledge
of Himself in the Benefits He bestows.

The narrow Virtues of the Old Philosophers, [which] were rather Vices,
if winnow’d well, form’d to gratify their Proud, Lazy, Superiority, at
the Expence of all the Publick Duties incumbent on mankind, whom they
pretend to Purge from his Passions, to make him happy, by that means to
amuse our Curiosity with Chymera’s, whilst we lost our real Good, will
still naturally flow from those Springs of Pleasure, Honour, Glory, and
Noble Actions, the Passions given us by Heaven for our common Good. But
their own Practice generally shew’d the Vanity of their Emperic Boasts,
when they Buried all the Nobler Pleasures of the Mind in Avarice, and
Pedantick Pride, as _Lucian_ has pleasantly made out in _Hermotimus_.

Those Notional Excellencies that divert us from, or weaken a Publick
Spirit, are always False and Hypocritical, that under a gaudy out-side
conceals a rotten Carcass, full of Infectious Distempers that destroy
the noblest end of our Being, _The doing good to one another_. Vanity
has always been the Refuge of little Souls, that place their Value in a
False Greatness, Hyppocrisie, and great Titles. What a seeming Holiness
does for the Avaritious, Designing Saint; Titles do for the proud
Avarice of the meer Man of Quality, cheaply Purchasing a Respect from
the many; but ‘tis the Generous man only that fixes himself in the
Hearts of the most valuable part of mankind, when proper Merit only is
esteem’d, and the Man, not his Equipage, and Accidental Appurtenances
respected.

The Application of this, I shall leave to all that know you, Sir, who
are all sensible what Virtues you make your Darlings, and choice of
Virtue shews the Nobleness of our Temper, as much as Choice of Friends,
the degrees of our Understandings; and if that be true that most Men
choose those Virtues which are nearest a-kin to their Darling Vices, I’m
sure ‘twill be a strong proof, that ev’n your Failings (for ev’ry Man
has his share of them too) are more Beneficial to the world than the
Vertues of a numerous part of Mankind. In Collonel _Codrington_ indeed,
we find the true Spirit and Bravery of old _Rome_, that despises all
dangers, that in the Race of Glory thou art the Noble Chace. Nor can the
manly Roughness of your Martial Temper (Fierce to none but your
Countries Foes) destroy that ingaging sweetness your agreeable
Conversation abounds with, which heightened with so large a share of
Wit, Learning, and Judgment, improves as well as delights; so that to
have known you any way, must give us some advantage or other. This it
was that encourag’d me to dedicate this Play, Sir, to you, of which I
may venture to say more, and with more assurance, than if it had been my
own.

Mrs. BEHN was a Woman so Accomplish’d, and of so Established a Fame
among the Men of Sense, that I cou’d not suppose a very severe treatment
from the Town, which has been very indulgent to the Performances of
others; especially when, besides the Reputation of the _Author_, the
Play itself had an Intrinsic Merit; for we find it full of Humour, Wit,
and Variety; the Conversation Gay and Genteel, the Love Soft and
Pathetic, the incidents Natural, and Easy, and the Conduct of the Plot
very Justifiable. So that I may reasonably impute its miscarriage to
some Faction that was made against it, which indeed was very Evident on
the First day, and more on the endeavours employed, to render the
Profits of the Third, as small as could be.

It suffer’d not, I’m sure, in the Action, nor in Mr. _Verbruggen’s_
reading of some of his Part, since he lost nothing of the Force of
Elocution, nor Gracefulness of Action; nor indeed can I, with Justice to
my self, impute it to any part that I ventur’d to add to the Original;
for all the Alterations which I made were in the first Act, in removing
that old bustle about _Whigg_ and _Tory_, (which was the Subject of most
of the Second Scene) and placing the Character of a _Rake-hell_ in its
room, which was so little, that it could not Influence a more Capricious
Audience, to the Damning of the whole. There might indeed be some
objections about the Plot, but not very Rational, I think; I’m sure, at
least, ‘tis the first Play, for some Years, could be quarrell’d at for
having too much Plot. In the Edition however I have put in a great deal,
which the length of the Play oblig’d me to cut out for the Action.

Here, Sir, if the Play had been my own, I should have complain’d that
the Town had its favourite Fools, as well as favourite Wits, and that
Comedy or Farce from any other hand wou’d no more go down with them,
than their favourites will with true Judges that read, not see ‘em.
I should have had indignation enough, perhaps, to’ve rail’d at the
Criticks of all Degrees, and Denominations of Box and Pit, nay,
Galleries too, and told ‘em that they were so conceited of their own
Wit, that they cou’d take no pleasure in hearing that of another, or
that Wit in a Play seeming to affront the Parts of the Audience, they
suffer’d their Resentment to destroy their Satisfaction. This, and a
great many other Satyrical Reflections, which are natural for a
Disappointed Poet to make, I shou’d then have vented; but being
satisfy’d, that the Reputation of Mrs. BEHN is not affected by the
malicious Endeavours of some of my Enemies, I now present it under your
Patronage, Sir, to the more competent Judges; Proud of the Opportunity
of Offering you an occasion of so agreeable a Province, as the
Protection of the unfortunate, and letting the World know how much I am,
Sir,

  Your Humble Servant,

    _CH. GILDON._




THE YOUNGER BROTHER;

or, The Amorous Jilt.




PROLOGUE,

By an unknown Hand.

Spoke by Mr. _Powell_.


  As Rivals of each other jealous prove,
  And both strive which shall gain the Lady’s Love,
  So we for your Affections daily vie:
  Not an Intriguer in the Gallery
  (Who squeezes hand of _Phillis_ mask’d, that stood
  Ogling for Sale, in Velvet Scarf and Hood)
  Can with more Passion his dear Nymph pursue,
  Than we to make Diversion fit for you.
  Grant we may please, and we’ve our utmost Aim,
  ‘Tis to your Favour only we lay claim.
  In what can we oblige? Cou’d we present you
  With Mistress young, and safe, it wou’d content you;
  Then Husbands, weary’d out with Spouse alone,
  And hen-peck’d Keepers that drudge on with one,
  I fancy hither wou’d in Crouds resort,
  As thick as Men for Offices to Court:
  Who’d stay behind? the Beau above Threescore,
  Wou’d hobble on, and gape for one bit more;
  Men of all Stations, from the Nobles, down
  To grave Sir _Roger_ in his Cap and Gown,
  Wou’d hither come. But we some time must take,
  E’er we a Project of such moment make;
  Since that’s laid by, for your Diversion then,
  We do invite the Brothers of the Pen;
  The Courtier, Lawyer, Soldier, Player too,
  Wit n’er had more Encouragement than now;
  Though free, or Aliens to our Stage, we take ‘em,
  Not kick ‘em out, but native Subjects make ‘em.
  The Ladies too are always welcome here,
  Let ‘em in Writing or in Box appear.
  To that fair Sex we are oblig’d to day,
  Oh! then be kind to a poor Orphan-Play,
  Whose Parent while she liv’d oblig’d you all;
  You prais’d her living, and you mourn’d her Fall.
  Who cou’d, like her, our softer Passions move,
  The Life of Humour, and the Soul of Love?
  Wit’s eldest Sister; thro-out every Line,
  You might perceive some Female Graces shine.
  For poor _Astrea’s_ Infant we implore,
  Let it then live, though she is now no more.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.


  MEN.

  Prince _Frederick_,         Mr. _Verbruggen_.
  Sir _Rowland Marteen_,      Mr. _Johnson_.
  _George Marteen_,           Mr. _Powell_.
  Mr. _Welborn_,              Mr. _Horden_.
  Sir _Merlin Marteen_,       Mr. _Pinkethman_.
  Sir _Morgan Blunder_,       Mr. _Bullock_.
  Mr. _Twang_,                Mr. _Smeaton_.
  _Britton_,                  Mr. _Kent_.
  _Philip_.


  WOMEN.

  _Mirtilla_,                 Mrs. _Knight_.
  _Olivia_,                   Mrs. _Verbruggen_.
  _Teresia_,                  Mrs. _Temple_.
  Lady _Blunder_,             Mrs. _Powell_.
  Mrs. _Manage_,              Mrs. _Willis_.
  Lady _Youthley_,            Mrs. _Harris_.
  _Diana_.

  Constable and Watch, Pages, Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants,
    Rakehells, &c.




ACT I.


SCENE I. A Chamber.

    Enter _George Marteen_, in a rich Riding Habit, with his Valet
    _Britton_.

_Geo._ Were you with Mrs. _Manage_, _Britton_?

_Britt._ Yes, Sir; and she cries as much for her wanting room for you in
her House, as she would have done some forty Years ago for a
Disappointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has
taken for you, is the best in all _Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.

_Geo._ And did you charge her to send _Mirtilla’s_ Page to me?

_Britt._ I did, Sir; and he’ll be with you instantly.

_Geo._ ‘Tis well--Then shall I hear some News of my _Mirtilla_.
    [Aside.
  _Britton_, haste thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach,
rich Liveries, and more Footmen: for ‘tis Appearance only passes in the
World--And d’ye hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that
of _Lejere_.

_Britt._ I shall, Sir.    [Exit.

_Geo._ I came not from _Paris_ into _England_, as my old Father thinks,
to reform into a dull wretched Life in _Wales._ No, I’ll rather trust my
kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than
purchase a younger Brother’s narrow Stipend, at the expence of my
Pleasure and Happiness.

    Enter _Olivia_ in a Page’s Habit. She runs and embraces _George_.

_Oliv._ My ever charming Brother!

_Geo._ My best, my dear _Olivia_!

_Oliv._ The same lovely Man still! Thy Gallantry and Beauty’s all thy
own; _Paris_ could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into
Affectation.

_Geo._ Spare me, and tell me how _Mirtilla_ fares.

_Oliv._ I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage
concluded betwixt me and _Welborn_?

_Geo._ That Letter I receiv’d: but from the dear _Mirtilla_, not one
soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has eas’d my panting
Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the
weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me
notice when my Rivals press’d, and when she waver’d in her Faith to me,
even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.

_Oliv._ Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a
Book of Words, of heavy Sighs, dying Languishments, and all that huddle
of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.

_Geo._ _Welborn’s_ my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.

_Oliv._ I never saw him yet; and to be sold unseen, and unsigh’d for, in
the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the
Match.

_Geo._ Oh! you’ll like him when you see him--But my _Mirtilla_.--

_Oliv._ Like him--no, no, I never shall--what, come a Stranger to my
Husband’s Bed? ‘Tis Prostitution in the leudest manner, without the
Satisfaction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make
a lame excuse for Whores, who change their Cullies, and quit their
nauseous Fools--No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow arbitrary, ‘tis
time we look into our Rights and Privileges; therefore, my dear
_George_, if e’er thou hope for Happiness in Love, assist my
Disobedience.

_Geo._ In any worthy Choice be sure of me; but canst thou wish Happiness
in Love, and not inform me something of _Mirtilla_?

_Oliv._ I’ll tell you better News--our hopeful elder Brother, Sir
_Merlin_, is like to be disinherited; for he is, Heaven be thanked--

_Geo._ Marry’d to some Town-Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.

_Oliv._ Not so, my dear _George_, but sets up for a celebrated
Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou’d not have found out a more
dextrous way to have made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year.

_Geo._ What’s that without _Mirtilla_?

_Oliv._ Prithee no more of her--Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming,
Whoring and Fighting may qualify a Man for Conversation; but Love
perverts all one’s Thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but one’s
self; for even a Mistress can scarce dispense with a fighting, whining
Lover’s Company long, though all he says flatters her Pride.

_Geo._ Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of
my Love?

_Oliv._ I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would
not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.

_Geo._ _Mirtilla_ false! What, my _Mirtilla_ false!

_Oliv._ Even your _Mirtilla’s_ false, and married to another.

_Geo._ Married! _Mirtilla_ married! ‘Tis impossible.

_Oliv._ Nay, married to that bawling, drinking Fool, Sir _Morgan
Blunder_.

_Geo._ Married, and married to Sir _Morgan Blunder_! a Sot, an ill-bred
senseless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?

_Oliv._ No doubt, she had her Aims in’t, he’s a very convenient Husband,
I’ll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly
enough, and she has Youth and Wantonness enough to match ‘em.

_Geo._ Her Choice gives me some Comfort, and some Hopes; for I’ll pursue
her, but for Revenge, not Love.

_Oliv._ Forget her rather, for she’s not worth Revenge, and that way
’.will be none; prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in
Breeches.

_Geo._ On thee, her Page? doat on thee, a Youth! she knew thee not as
Woman.

_Oliv._ No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.--At first she
said she lov’d me for your sake, because you recommended me; and when I
sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou’d kiss my Cheek, and sigh, and often
(when alone) wou’d send for me, and smile, and talk, and set my Hair in
Curls, to make me saucy and familiar with her. One Day she said,
_Endimion_, thy Name-sake was thus caress’d by _Cynthia_: A Goddess did
not scorn the humble Swain, whom by her Love she equal’d to her Deity.
She found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back
with equal Ardour.

_Geo._ Oh, Curse! where learnt she all this Wickedness?    [Aside.

_Oliv._ But she being oblig’d to go for _Flanders_, to see her Sister
take the holy Habit, I feign’d a Sickness to be left behind, hoping that
Absence might abate her Flame; yet she return’d more amorous, and
fearing the Thefts of Love might wound her Honour, she thought a Husband
would secure that Shame; and luckily my Aunt arriv’d from _Wales_, and
brought Sir _Morgan_ with her, who lodging where we did, at Mrs.
_Manage’s_, my Aunt (that doats on Quality in either Sex) made up this
hasty Match, unknown to me, though for my sake.

_Geo._ What will not faithless Woman do, when she is raging?

_Oliv._ And now having so well prepar’d the way, she grows impatient for
an Opportunity; and thou art arriv’d, most happily to succour me.

_Geo._ No, for some days keep this habit on, it may be useful to us; but
I must see this faithless perjur’d Woman, which I must contrive with
Mrs. _Manage_.

_Oliv._ Yet pray resolve to see my Father first; for now’s the critical
time to make thy Fortune: he came to Town last night, and lodges here at
Mrs. _Manage’s_, with my Aunt _Blunder_.

_Geo._ What, in the House with thee, and not know thee?

_Oliv._ No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at _Hackney_,
making Wax Babies, where he intends to visit me within these three
days,--But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir _Merlin_, lodges in
this House with you; and shou’d he know you--

_Geo._ ‘Tis impossible--I’ve not see him, or my Father, these five
Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be
penetrated by his Capacity.

_Oliv._ True, he’ll never look for his Brother _George_, in the
Gallantry and Person of Monsieur _Lejere_--My good Father expects you
home, like the prodigal Son, all torn and tatter’d, and as penitent too.

_Geo._ To plod on here, in a laborious Cheating, all my Youth and
Vigour, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I’m old; or else go with him
into _Wales_, and there lead a thoughtless Life, hunt, and drink, and
make love to none but Chamber-maids. No, my _Olivia_, I’ll use the
sprightly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its
Dregs.

_Oliv._ For that, use your Discretion; now equip your self to your
present Business; the more simply you are clad and look, the better.
I’ll home and expect you.
    [Exit.

_Geo._ Do so, my good Sister; a little formal Hypocrisy may do, ‘twill
relish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well tasted, as when
it’s season’d with some Opposition.

    Enter _Britton_.

_Britt._ Sir, I’ve News to tell you, will surprize you; Prince
_Frederick_ is arriv’d.

_Geo._ Is’t possible? I left him going for _Flanders_.

_Britt._ Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, he enquir’d for
you; and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he’s here.

    Enter Prince _Frederick_; they meet and embrace.

_Geo._ My Life’s Preserver, welcome to my Arms as Health to sick Men.

_Prince._ And thou to mine as the kind Mistress to the longing Lover; my
Soul’s Delight, and Darling of the Fair.

_Geo._ Ah Prince! you touch my bleeding Wound.

_Prince._ Ha, _Lejere_! leave to unhappy Lovers those Sighs, those
folded Arms, and down-cast Eyes.

_Geo._ Then they are fit for me; my Mistress, Sir, that Treasure of my
Life, for whom you’ve heard me sigh, is perjur’d, false, and married to
another. Yet what is worse, I find my Prince, my Friend, here in my
native Country, and am not able to pay him what his Greatness merits.

_Prince._ You pain me when you compliment my Friendship.    [Embracing.

_Geo._ Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour, when you shall
hear my Story.

_Prince._ Thou canst say nothing I can value less.

_Geo._ Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv’d you, being still
receiv’d by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and
Divertisements; where ev’n you did me the Honour to esteem, and call me
Friend.

_Prince._ Whate’er thou art, I’m sure thy Mind’s illustrious.

_Geo._ My Family, I must confess, is honourable; but, Sir, my Father was
the younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin’d to be last: I’m
a _Cadet_, that Out-cast of my Family, and born to that curse of our old
_English_ Custom. Whereas in other Countries, younger Brothers are
train’d up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the
Brave; we basely bind our youngest out to Slavery, to lazy Trades, idly
confin’d to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean
Cunning, how to cheat and chaffer.

_Prince._ A Custom insupportable!--

_Geo._ To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant, Sir--was
destin’d by his Parents, and am yet this bound indentur’d Slave.

_Prince._ Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Virtue is
most valu’d when opprest--Are all your Merchants Apprentices thus gay?

_Geo._ Not all--but, Sir, I could not bow my Mind to this so necessary
Drudgery; and yet however, I assum’d my native Temper, when out o’th’
Trading City; in it, I forc’d my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity,
which well enough deceiv’d the busy Block-heads; my Clothes and Equipage
I lodg’d at this End of the Town, where I still pass’d for something
better than I was, whene’er I pleas’d to change the Trader for the
Gentleman.

_Prince._ And liv’d thus undiscover’d--

_Geo._ With Ease, still lov’d and courted by the Great, ever play’d high
with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where’er my Fancy
lik’d: but sometimes running out my Master’s Cash, (which was supply’d
still by my Father) they sent me, to reform my expensive Life, a Factor,
into _France_--still I essay’d to be a plodding Thriver, but found my
Parts not form’d for dirty Business.

_Prince._ There’s not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not
tend to something far more glorious.

_Geo._ If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life you
have so oft preserv’d.

_Prince._ No more;--Thou hast increas’d my Value for thee.--Oh! take my
Heart, and see how’t has been us’d by a fair Charmer, since I saw thee
last--That sullen day we parted, you for _England_, you may remember I
design’d for _Flanders_.

_Geo._ I do, with Melancholy, Sir, remember it.

_Prince._ Arriv’d at _Ghent_, I went to see an _English_ Nun initiated,
where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver’d up a Victim to foolish
Chastity; but among the Relations, then attending the Sacrifice, was a
fair Sister of the young Votress, but so surpassing all I’ad seen
before, that I neglecting the dull holy Business, paid my Devotion to
that kneeling Saint.

_Geo._ That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.

_Prince._ Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was heighten’d
with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow dwelt upon her Eyes, that
taught my new-born-Passion Awe and Reverence.

_Geo._ This Description of her fires me.--    [Aside.

_Prince._ Her dimpl’d Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Majesty and
Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav’d, I burnt,
I languish’d with Desire, the holy Place cou’d scarce contain my
Madness: with Pain, with Torture, I restrain’d my Passion when she
retir’d, led sadly from the Altar. I, mixing with the Croud, enquir’d
her Name and Country; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and
liv’d in _England_, nay, in this very Town: this gave me Anguish not to
be conceiv’d, till I resolv’d to follow her, which is the cause you find
me here so soon. Thy Aid, thy Aid, _Lejere_, or I am lost.

_Geo._ I wish to live no longer than to serve your Highness: if she be,
Sir, a Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you’ll
easily conquer. You’ve all the Youth, and Beauty, that can charm; and
what gains most upon a Woman’s Heart, you’ve a powerful Title, Sir,
a sort of Philter, that ne’er fails to win. But you’ve not told me yet
the Lady’s Name.

_Prince._ I had forgot that;--’Tis in these Tablets written:
    [Gives him the Tablets.
  I’m now in haste, going to receive some Bills: I lodge at _Welborn’s_,
who came over with me, being sent for to be marry’d.

_Geo._ I know the House, ‘tis in _Southampton-Square_: I’ll wait upon
your Highness--
    [Exit _Prince_.
  Let me see--Daughter to a deceas’d Lord; a Maid, and no Dowry, but
Beauty; living in _Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields_.
    [Opening the Tablets, reads.
  --Ha!--her Name _Mirtilla_! _Mirtilla_!    [Pauses.
  Prince, thou hast paid thyself for all the Favours done me.
_Mirtilla!_
    [Pauses.
  Why, yes, _Mirtilla_! He takes but what she has given away already.--

Oh! damn her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer
mine--And thou’rt my Friend.
    [Pauses again.

_Mirtilla’s_ but my Mistress, and has taken all the Repose of my poor
Life away--Yes, let him take her, I’ll resign her to him; and therefore
shut my Eyes against her Charms: fix her Inconstancy about my Heart, and
scorn whatever she can give me.
    [Exit.


SCENE II. A Chamber.

    Enter Sir _Morgan Blunder_ in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him
    _Manage_ with a Caudle.

_Man._ Your Lady Mother has sent you a Caudle, Sir.

Sir _Morg._ Good Mrs. _Manage_, remember my kind Love to my Lady Mother,
and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but never eat in a Morning
after hard drinking over night.

_Man._ Ah, Sir, but now you’re marry’d to a fine Lady, you ought to make
much of your self.

Sir _Morg._ Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Caudle;
my Stomach is plaguy squeamish, and a hair of the old Dog’s worth both
of ‘em. Oh! sick! sick!

    Enter Sir _Merlin_, singing a Song in praise of a Rake-hell’s
    Life.

  A SONG.

  The _Town-Rake_; written by Mr. _Motteux_.

  I.

  _What Life can compare with the jolly Town-Rake’s,
  When in Youth his full Swing of all Pleasure he takes?
  At Noon, he gets up, for a Whet, and to dine,
  And wings the dull Hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine;
  Then jogs to the _Play-house_, and chats with the Masks,
  And thence to the _Rose_, where he takes his three Flasks.
  There, great as a _Cæsar_, he revels, when drunk,
  And scours all he meets, as he reels to his Punk;
  Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes.
  What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?_

  II.

  _He, like the _Great Turk_, has his Favourite She;
  But the Town’s his _Seraglio_, and still he lives free.
  Sometimes she’s a Lady; but as he must range,
  _Black-Betty_, or _Oyster-Doll_, serves for a Change.
  As he varies his Sports, his whole Life is a Feast;
  He thinks him that’s soberest the most like a Beast.
  At Houses of Pleasure breaks Windows and Doors;
  Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores.
  Rare work for the Surgeon, and Midwife he makes.
  What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?_

  III.

  _Thus in _Covent-Garden_ he makes his Campaign,
  And no Coffee-house haunts, but to settle his Brain.
  He laughs at dry Morals, and never does think,
  Unless ‘tis to get the best Wenches and Drink.
  He dwells in a Tavern, and lies ev’ry where,
  And improving his hours, lives an Age in a Tear:
  For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste;
  And thus he lives longest, because he lives fast:
  Then a Leap in the dark to the Devil he takes.
  What Death can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake’s?_

Sir _Mer._ Why, how now, Sir _Morgan_, I see you’ll make a Husband of
the right Town-Mode: What, married but four Days, and at your separate
Apartment already?

Sir _Morg._ A Plague of your what d’ye call ums.

Sir _Mer._ Rakehells you would say, Cousin, an honourable Appellation
for Men of Bravery.

Sir _Morg._ Ay, ay, your Rakehells--I was never so muddled with Treason,
Tierce Claret, Oaths and Dice, all the Days of my Life--Was I in case to
do Family duty? S’life, you drank down all my Love, all my Prudence too;
Gad forgive me for it.

Sir _Mer._ Why, how the Devil cam’st thou to bear thy Liquor so ill? Ods
my Life, you drunk like a _Frenchman_ new come to the University.

Sir _Morg._ Pox, I can bear their drinking as well as any Man; but your
_London_ way of Bousing and Politics does not agree with my
Constitution. Look ye, Cousin, set quietly to’t, and I’ll stand my
ground; but to have screaming Whores, noisy Bullies, rattling Dice,
swearing and cursing Gamesters, Couz. turns the Head of a
Country-Drinker, more than the Wine.

Sir _Mer._ Oh! Use, Cousin, will make an able Man.

Sir _Morg._ Use, Cousin! Use me no Uses; for if ever you catch me at
your damn’d Clubs again, I’ll give you my Mother for a Maid: Why, you
talk downright Treason.

Sir _Mer._ Treason, ay--

Sir _Morg._ Ah Cousin, why, we talk’d enough to--hang us all.

Sir _Mer._ My honest Country-Couz. when wilt thou understand the
_Guelphs_, and the _Gibelins_, and learn to talk Treason o’ this side
the Law? bilk a Whore without remorse; break Windows, and not pay for
’.m; drink your Bottle without asking Questions; kill your Man without
letting him draw; play away your Money without fear of your Spouse, and
stop her Mouth by undermining her Nose?

Sir _Morg._ Come, come, look you, Cousin, one word of Advice now I’m
sober; what the Devil should provoke thee and me to put ourselves on our
twelve Godfathers for a Frolick? We who have Estates. I shou’d be loth
to leave the World with a scurvy Song, composed by the Poet _Sternhold_.

    Enter at the Door Sir _Rowland_, hearkning.

Or why, d’ye see, shou’d I expose my Noddle to the Billmen in Flannel,
and lie in the _Roundhouse_, when I may go to bed in a whole skin with
my Lady Wife?

Sir _Mer._ Gad, Sir _Morgan_, thou hast sometimes pretty smart satirical
Touches with thee; use but _Will’s_ Coffee-house a little, and with thy
Estate, and that Talent, thou mayst set up for a Wit.

Sir _Morg._ Mercy upon me, Sir _Merlin_, thou art stark mad: What, I a
Wit! I had rather be one of your Rakehells: for, look ye, a Man may
swear and stare, or so; break Windows, and Drawers Heads, or so; unrig a
needy Whore, and yet keep one’s Estate: but should I turn Wit, ‘twere
impossible; for a Wit with an Estate is like a Prisoner among the
Cannibals.

Sir _Mer._ How so, good Sir _Morgan_?

Sir _Morg._ Why, the needy Rogues only feed him with Praise, to fatten
him for their Palates, and then devour him.

Sir _Mer._ I applaud your choice, Cousin; for what Man of Bravery wou’d
not prefer a Rake to a Wit? The one enjoys the Pleasures the other can
only rail at; and that not out of Conscience, but Impotence: for alas!
a Wit has no quarrel to Vice in Perfection, but what the Fox had to the
Grapes; he can’t play away his hundred Pound at sight; his Third Day
won’t afford it; and therefore he rails at Gamesters; Whores shun him,
as much as Noblemen, and for the same cause, Money; those care not to
sell their Carcases for a Sonnet, nor these to scatter their Guineas, to
be told an old Tale of a Tub, they were so well acquainted with before.

Sir _Morg._ What’s that, Sir _Merlin_?

Sir _Mer._ Why, their Praise;--for the Poet’s Flattery seldom reaches
the Patron’s Vanity; and what’s too strong season’d for the rest of the
World, is too weak for their Palates.

Sir _Morg._ Why, look ye, Cousin, you’re a shreud Fellow: Whence learn’d
you this Satire? for I’m sure ‘tis none of thy own; for I shou’d as soon
suspect thee guilty of good Nature, as Wit.

Sir _Mer._ I scorn it; and therefore I confess I stole the Observation
from a Poet; but the Devil pick his Bones for diverting me from the
noble Theme of Rakehells.

Sir _Morg._ Noble Theme, Sir _Merlin_! look ye, d’ye see: Don’t mistake
me, I think ‘tis a very scurvy one; and I wou’d not have your Father
know that you set up for such a Reprobate; for Sir _Rowland_ would
certainly disinherit thee.

Sir _Mer._ O, keep your musty Morals to your self, good Country Couz;
they’ll do you service to your _Welch_ Criminals, for stealing an Hen,
or breaking up a Wenches Inclosure, or so, Sir _Morgan_; but for me,
I despise ‘em: I have not been admitted into the Family of the
_Rakehellorums_ for this, Sir: Let my Father drink old _Adam_, read the
_Pilgrim’s Progress_, _The Country Justice’s Calling_, or for a Regale,
drink the dull Manufacture of Malt and Water; I defy him; he can’t cut
off the Entail of what is settled on me: and for the rest, I’l trust
Dame _Fortune_; and pray to the Three Fatal Sisters to cut his rotten
Thred in two, before he thinks of any such Wickedness.

    Enter Sir _Rowland_ in a great Rage.

Sir _Row._ Will you so, Sir? Why, how now, Sirrah! get you out of my
House, Rogue; get out of my Doors, Rascal.
    [Beats him.

    Enter Lady _Blunder_.

L. _Blun._ Upon my Honour now, Brother, what’s the matter? Whence this
ungenerous Disturbance?

Sir _Row._ What’s the matter! the disturbance! Why, Sister, this Rogue
here--this unintelligible graceless Rascal here, will needs set up for a
Rakehell, when there’s scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an
Ale-draper’s Son; and chuses to be aukardly out of fashion, merely for
the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless,
profane, lazy, idle, noisy, groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of
spending his Estate like a notorious Blockhead: But I’ll take care he
shall not have what I can dispose of--You’ll be a Rake-hell, will you?

L. _Blun._ How, Cousin! Sure you’ll not be such a filthy beastly thing,
will you?

Sir _Mer._ Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my
self in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fine Gentleman.

Sir _Row._ A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb!    [Beats him.

Sir _Morg._ Hold, hold, good Uncle; my Cousin has been only drawn in,
a little or so, d’ye see, being Heir to a good Estate; and that’s what
his Club wants, to pay off old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for
Whores in Fashion.

Sir _Row._ My Estate sold to pay Tavern-Scores, and keep nasty Whores!

L. _Blun._ Whores! ay, filthy Creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray,
Cousin, what’s a Rake-hell?

Sir _Row._ A Rake-hell is a Man that defies Law and good Manners, nay,
and good Sense too; hates both Morality and Religion, and that not for
any Reason (for he never thinks) but merely because he don’t understand
’.m: He’s the Whore’s Protection and Punishment, the Baud’s Tool, the
Sharper’s Bubble, the Vintner’s Property, the Drawer’s Terror, the
Glasier’s Benefactor; in short, a roaring, thoughtless, heedless,
ridiculous, universal Coxcomb.

Sir _Mer._ O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney’s like an
honest Man. Why, a Rake-hell is--

Sir _Row._ What, Sirrah! what, you Rebel?    [Strikes him.

L. _Blun._ Nay, good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his Notion.

Sir _Mer._ Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Bravery; he
slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard--plays away
his hundred Pounds at sight, pays a Lady’s Bill at sight, drinks his
Bottle without equivocation, and fights his Man without any Provocation.

Sir _Row._ Nay then, Mr. Rogue, I’ll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir,
will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha!
    [Draws his Sword.

Sir _Mer._ Fight, Sir! fight, Sir!

Sir _Row._ Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the three Fatal
Sisters, and cut my Thred thy self, thou graceless reprobate
Rascal--Come, come on, you Man of Bravery.
    [Runs at Sir _Merlin_, who retires before him: Sir _Morgan_ holds
    Sir _Rowland_.

Sir _Mer._ Oh, good Sir, hold: I recant, Sir, I recant.

Sir _Row._ [Putting up.] Well, I’m satisfy’d thou’lt make no good
Rake-hell in this Point, whatever you will in the others. And since
Nature has made thee a Coward, Inclination a Coxcomb, I’ll take care to
make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will, I’ll
disinherit thee, I will, Villain.

L. _Blun._ What, disinherit your eldest Son, Brother?

Sir _Mer._ Ay, Aunt, his very Heir apparent? Aunt, to show you how the
old Gentleman has misrepresented us, give me leave to present you a
Dance I provided to entertain your Son with, in which is represented all
the Beauties of our Lives.

L. _Blun._ Oh! by all means, Cousin, by all means.

Sir _Mer._ What hoa! _Roger_, bring in the Dancers.

_Here the Dance, representing Rake-hells, Constable, Watch, &c._

    Enter _Philip_.

_Phil._ Sir, who do’s your Worship think is arriv’d?

Sir _Row._ My Son _George_, I hope, come in the Nick.

_Phil._ Even so, Sir, from _Paris_--    [Exit.

Sir _Row._ The Prodigal return’d! then kill the fatted Calf.

    Enter _George_ drest like a Prentice.

--My own dear Boy, thou art welcome to my Arms, as e’er thy Mother was;
for whose dear sake I pardon all thy Follies.
    [_George_ Kneels.

Sir _Mer._ Ay, Sir, I had a Mother too, or I’m bely’d--    [Weeping.
  Pox take him that he should come just in the nick, as the old Fellow
says--
    [Aside.

Sir _Row._ Yes, you had a Mother, whom in my Youth I was compel’d to
marry; and, Gad, I think, I got thee with as ill a Will; but _George_
and my _Olivia_ in heat of Love, when my desire was new. But harkye, Boy
_George_, you have cost me a damn’d deal of Money, Sirrah; but you shall
marry, and redeem all, _George_.

_Geo._ What you please, Sir; to study Virtue, Duty and Allegiance, shall
be my future Business.

Sir _Row._ Well said, _George_, here’s a Boy now.

Sir _Mer._ Virtue and Allegiance! Lord, Lord, how came so sneaking a
fellow to spend five thousand Pounds of his Master’s Cash?

Sir _Row._ She’s rich, _George_, but something homely.

_Geo._ She’ll not be proud then, Sir.

Sir _Row._ Not much of her Beauty--she’s of a good staid Age too, about
some fourscore.

_Geo._ Better still, Sir, I shall not fear Cuckoldom.

Sir _Row._ For that I cannot answer; but she has two thousand a year.
I mean to settle my Family, and then--marry my self, _George_.

L. _Blun._ What, to this old Lady’s Grand-daughter? Methinks she’s more
fit for your Son, Sir _Rowland_, and the old Lady for you.

Sir _Row._ No, no, the young Rogues can help themselves with Mistresses;
but ‘tis well if an old Man can keep his Wife to himself--I’ve invited
’.m to Dinner to day, and see, they are come.

    Enter Lady _Youthly_, led by her Chaplain [Mr. _Twang_], and
    leaning on a Staff, and _Teresia_.

L. _Youth._ Where’s Sir _Rowland Marteen_? Oh, your Servant, Sir, I am
come.
    [Runs against _George_.

_Twang._ Your Ladyship is mistaken, this is not Sir _Rowland_, but a
handsome proper young Man.

L. _Youth._ A young Man! I cry your mercy heartily--Young Man,
I alighted in the Sun, and am almost blind.

_Geo._ With wondrous old Age.    [Aside.

L. _Youth._ Good lack, Sir _Rowland_, that I should mistake a young Man
so!

Sir _Row._ Ay, Madam, and such a young Man too.

L. _Youth._ Ay, ay, I see him now.    [Puts on her Spectacles.

_Geo._ S’death, what a Sepulcher is here to bury a Husband in? How came
she to escape the Flood? for sure she was not born since.
    [Aside.

Sir _Row._ This is the lusty Lad, my Son _George_, I told your Ladyship
of.

L. _Youth._ Cot so, cot so, is it so, Sir? I ask your Pardon, Sir. Mr.
_Twang_, take a survey of him, and give me your Opinion of his Person
and his Parts.

_Twang._ Truly, Madam, the young Man is of a comely Personage and
Lineaments.

L. _Youth._ Of what, Sir?--Lord, I have such a Cold.    [Coughs.

_Geo._ Which she got when the _Picts_ went naked.

L. _Blun._ Madam, you have a Power over Sir _Rowland_; pray intreat him
to take his Son, Sir _Merlin_, into Grace again.
    [To _Teresia_.

_Ter._ That, Sir, you must grant me; pray let me know the Quarrel.
    [Sir _Rowland_ seems to tell.

_Geo._ By Heaven, she’s fair as the first ruddy Streaks of opening Day.
    [Looking on _Teresia_.
  Young as the budding Rose, soft as a _Cupid_, but never felt his Dart,
she is so full of Life and Gaiety. Pray, Madam, who is that Lady?
    [To Lady _Blun._

L. _Blun._ The Grandchild of your Mistress, and your Mother that must
be.

_Geo._ Then I shall cuckold my Father, that’s certain.    [Aside.

Sir _Row._ For your sake, Madam, once again I re-establish him in my
family; but the first Fault cashiers him--Come, let’s in--Here, my Lady
_Youthly_, take _George_ by the hand; but have a care of the young
Rogue, if he comes once to touch so brisk a Widow, he sets her Heart on
fire.

_Geo._ Which will burn like a snuff of a Candle; no body will be able to
endure it.
    [Aside.
  --So Fortune, I see, provides for me:
  On this hand Wealth, on that young Pleasures lie;
  He ne’er wants these, who has that kind Supply.

    [Exeunt.

  _The End of the First Act._




ACT II.


SCENE I. Sir _Rowland’s_ Lodging.

    Enter Sir _Rowland_, _Teresia_, and Lady _Youthly_, &c.

L. _Youth._ Well, Sir _Rowland_, if I should be inclin’d to cast away my
self on your Son _George_, what wou’d you settle?

Sir _Row._ Settle! not a Souse, Madam; he carries the best younger
Brother’s Fortune in _Christendom_ about him.

L. _Youth._ Why, the young Man’s deserving, I confess. But he’s your
Son, Sir _Rowland_, and something ought to be settled upon the Heirs of
our Bodies, lawfully begotten.

Sir _Row._ All _Hercules_ his Labours were a Jig to his that shall beget
’.m.
    [Aside.
  If you like him upon these terms, to make him Master of your Fortune--

L. _Youth._ For that, let him trust to me, and his own deservings.

Sir _Row._ No trusting in these fickle Times, Madam--Why, I’ll let the
young sturdy Rogue out to hire; he’ll make a pretty Livelihood at
Journey-Work; and shall a Master-Workman, a Husband, deserve nothing?

L. _Youth._ Ay, these Husbands that know their own Strength, as they
say, set so high a value on their conjugal Virtues. And if he be
disloyal, again o’t’.ther side he gives a Wife so ill an Example--for we
are all liable to Temptations.

Sir _Row._ Well said; if thou beest so, it must be the old Tempter
himself.
    [Aside.
  Look ye, Madam, I’ll propose a fair Swap; if you’ll consent that I
shall marry _Teresia_, I’ll consent that you shall marry _George_.

L. _Youth._ How, my Grand-daughter? Why, I design’d her for your eldest
Son, Sir _Merlin_; and she has a good Fortune of five hundred a year
that I cannot hinder her of; and is too young for you.

Sir _Row._ So is _George_ for your Ladyship; and as for his Fortune,
’.is more than likely I shall make him my eldest Son.

L. _Youth._ Say you so, Sir, well, I’ll consider, and take Advice of my
Friends.

Sir _Row._ Consider! alas, Madam, my House will be besieged by all the
Widows in Town; I shall get more by shewing him, than the _Rhinoceros_.
Gad, I’ll sell the young Rogue by Inch of Candle, before he’s debauch’d
and spoil’d in this leud Town.

L. _Youth._ Well, suppose--

Sir _Row._ Nothing under _Teresia_--Gad, I think some old Dog-Star
reigns to Day, that so many old Hearts are burning in their Sockets--I’m
in love with this young Tittymouse here, most damnably--Well, what say
you, Widow? Speak now, or you know the Proverb.

L. _Youth._ Well, Sir _Rowland_, you are too hard for me.

    [Ex. all but _Teresia_.

    Enter _Olivia_, runs to her and embraces her.

_Ter._ ‘Tis as you said, _Olivia_, I am destin’d to your Father.

_Oliv._ What, the Sentence is past then?

_Ter._ Ay, but the Devil is in us, if we stay till Execution Day: Why,
this is worse than being mew’d up at _Hackney-School_--my Fortune’s my
own, without my Grandmother, and with that Stock I’ll set up for my
self, and see what Traffick this wide World affords a young beginner.

_Oliv._ That’s well resolv’d; I am of the same mind, rather than marry
Mr. _Welborn_, whom I never saw.--But prithee let’s see what we have in
Stock, besides ready Money--What Toys and Knick-nacks to invite.

_Ter._ Faith, my Inventory is but small--Let me see--First, one pretty
well made Machine, call’d a Body, of a very good Motion, fit for several
uses--one pretty conceited Head-Piece, that will fit any body’s
Coxcomb,--when ‘tis grave and dull, ‘twill fit an Alderman; when
politick and busy, a Statesman; turn it to Intrigue, ‘twill fit a City
Wife; and to Invention, it will set up an Evidence.

_Oliv._ Very well!

_Ter._ _Item_, One Tongue, that will prattle Love, if you put the Heart
in time (for they are Commodities I resolve shall go together) I have
Youth enough to please a Lover, and Wit enough to please my self.

_Oliv._ Most excellent Trifles all! As for my out-side, I leave to the
Discretion of the Chafferer; but I have a rare Device, call’d an
Invention, that can do many Feats; a Courage that wou’d stock a Coward;
and a pretty Implement, call’d a Heart, that will strike fire with any
convenient force: I have eight thousand Pounds to let out on any able
Security, but not a Groat unless I like the Man.

_Ter._ Thus furnish’d, we shall ruin all the _Jews_, and undo the
_India_ Houses--But where shall we show? where meet with the
Love-Merchants?

_Oliv._ What think you of the Gallery at the Play in Masks?

_Ter._ Shu, a State-Trick, first taken up by Women of Quality, and now
run into Ridicule, by all the little common Devils of the Town; and is
only a Trap for a Termer, a small new rais’d Officer, or a City Cully,
where they baul out their eighteen Pence in Baudy, and filthy Nonsense,
to the disturbance of the whole House, and the King’s Peace: the Men of
Quality have forsaken it.

_Oliv._ What think you of the _Mall_?

_Ter._ As too publick to end an Intrigue; our Affairs require a Conquest
as sudden as that of _Cæsar_, who came, saw and overcame.

_Oliv._ ‘Tis true, besides there’s so many Cruisers, we shall never
board a Prize. What think you of the Church?

_Ter._ An hypocritical Shift; of all Masks I hate that of Religion; and
it shou’d be the last place I’d wish to meet a Lover in, unless to marry
him.

_Oliv._ And, Faith, that’s the last thing a Lover shou’d do, but we are
compell’d to haste, ‘tis our last Refuge; if we cou’d but see and like
our Men, the business were soon dispatcht.--Let me see--Faith, e’en put
on Breeches too, and thus disguis’d seek our Fortune--I am within these
three days to be fetch’d from _Hackney School_, where my Father believes
me still to be, and thou in that time to be marry’d to the old
Gentleman; Faith, resolve--and let’s in and dress thee--away, here’s my
Lady--

    [They run out.


SCENE II. A Chamber.

    Enter _Mirtilla_ and Mrs. _Manage_.

_Mir._ Ah, let me have that Song again.

  A Song by Mr. _Gildon_.

  I.

  _No, _Delia_, no: What Man can range
  From such Seraphic Pleasure?
  ‘Tis want of Charms that make us change,
  To grasp the Fury, Treasure.
  What Man of Sense wou’d quit a certain Bliss,
  For Hopes and empty Possibilities?_

  II.

  _Vain Fools! that sure Possessions spend,
  In hopes of Chymic Treasure,
  But for their fancy’d Riches find
  Both want of Gold and Pleasure.
  Rich in my Delia, I can wish no more;
  The Wanderer, like the Chymist, must be poor._

_Man._ Not see him, Madam--I protest he’s handsomer, and handsomer,
_Paris_ has given him such an Air:--Lord, he’s all over Monsieur--Not
see him, Madam--Why? I hope you do not, like the foolish sort of Wives,
design a strict Obedience to your Husband.

_Mir._ Away, a Husband!--when Absence, that sure Remedy of Love, had
heal’d the bleeding Wound _Lejere_ had made, by Heaven, I thought I
ne’er shou’d love again--but since _Endymion_ has inspir’d my Soul, and
for that Youth I burn, I pine, I languish.

    Enter _George_ richly drest, stands at a distance gazing on
    _Mirtilla_.

_Man._ See, Madam, there’s an Object may put out that Flame, and may
revive the old one.

_Mir._ Shame and Confusion.--_Lejere._    [Turns and walks away.

_Geo._ Yonder she is, that Mien and Shape I know, though the false Face
be turn’d with shame away.
    [Offers to advance, and stops.
 --’Sdeath,--I tremble! yet came well fortify’d with Pride and Anger.
I see thou’st in thy Eyes a little Modesty.
    [Goes to her nearer.
  That wou’d conceal the Treasons of thy Heart.

_Mir._ Perhaps it is their Scorn that you mistake.

_Geo._ It may be so; she that sets up for Jilting, shou’d go on; ‘Twere
mean to find remorse, so young, and soon: Oh, this gay Town has
gloriously improv’d you amongst the rest; that taught you Perjury.

_Mir._ Alas! when was it sworn?

_Geo._ In the blest Age of Love, When every Power look’d down, and heard
thy Vows.

_Mir._ I was a Lover then; shou’d Heaven concern it self with Lovers
Perjuries, ‘twould find no leisure to preserve the Universe.

_Geo._ And was the Woman so strong in thee, thou couldst not wait a
little? Were you so raving mad for Fool and Husband, you must take up
with the next ready Coxcomb. Death, and the Devil, a dull clumsey
Boor!--What was it charm’d you? The beastly quantity of Man about him?

_Mir._ Faith, a much better thing, five thousand Pounds a Year, his
Coach and Six, it shews well in the _Park_.

_Geo._ Did I want Coach, or Equipage, and Shew?

_Mir._ But still there wanted Fool, and Fortune to’t; He does not play
at the Groom-Porter’s for it; nor do the Drudgery of some worn-out Lady.

_Geo._ If I did this, thou hadst the spoils of all my Nation’s
Conquests, while all the whole World was wondering whence it came; for
Heav’n had left thee nothing but thy Beauty, that dear Reward of my
industrious Love.

_Mir._ I do confess--

_Geo._ Till time had made me certain of a Fortune, which now was hasting
on.--

And is that store of Love and wondrous Joys I had been hoarding up so
many tender Hours, all lavish’d on a Brute, who never lusted ‘bove my
Lady’s Woman? for Love he understands no more than Sense.

_Mir._ Prithee reproach me on--    [Sighs.

_Geo._ ‘Sdeath, I cou’d rave! Is this soft tender Bosom to be prest by
such a Load of Fool? Damnation on thee--Where got’st thou this coarse
Appetite? Take back the Powers, those Charms she’s sworn adorn’d me,
since a dull, fat-fac’d, noisy, taudry Blockhead, can serve her turn as
well.
    [Offers to go.

_Mir._ You shall not go away with that Opinion of me.--

_Geo._ Oh, that false Tongue can now no more deceive--Art thou not
marry’d? Tell me that, false Charmer.

_Mir._ Yes.--    [Holding him.

_Geo._ Curse on that word: wou’d thou hadst never learnt it--it gave thy
Heart, and my Repose away.

_Mir._ Dost think I marry’d with that dull design? Canst thou believe I
gave my Heart away, because I gave my Hand?--Fond Ceremony
that--A necessary trick, devis’d by wary Age, to traffick ‘twixt a
Portion and a Jointure; him whom I lov’d, is marry’d to my Soul.

_Geo._ Art thou then mine? And wilt thou make Atonement, by such a
charming way?--Come to my clasping Arms.

    Enter Lady _Blunder_ at the Door. Sees ‘em, and offers to go out
    again.

L. _Blun._ Oh, Heavens! How rude am I?--Cry Mercy, Madam, I protest I
thought you’d been alone.

_Geo._ ‘Sdeath! my Aunt _Blunder_!    [Aside.

_Mir._ Only this Gentleman, Madam--

L. _Blun._ Sir, I beg your Pardon--and am really sorry--

_Geo._ That you find me with your Daughter, Madam.

L. _Blun._ I hope you take me to be better bred, Sir: Nor had I
interrupted you, but for an Accident that has happen’d to Sir _Morgan_,
coming out of the City in a beastly Hackney-Coach, he was turn’d over in
_Cheap-side_, and striking the filthy Coach-man, the nasty Mob came out,
and had almost kill’d him, but for a young Gentleman, a Stranger, that
came to his Rescue, and whom he has brought to kiss your Ladyship’s
Hands--But I’ll instruct him in his Duty, he shall wait till your
Ladyship is more at leisure--alas! he’s already on the Stairs.
    [Exit.

_Mir._ Let him wait there--_Lejere_, ‘tis necessary you depart, sure of
my Heart, you cannot fear the rest; the Night is hasting on; trust me
but some few Hours, and then, _Lejere_, I’ll pay you back with Interest.

_Geo._ All Blessings light on thee. But will your Lady Mother make no
Discovery of my being here?

_Mir._ She’d sooner pimp for me, and believe it a part of good
Breeding:--away, I hear ‘em coming.
    [She puts him out at a back-Door.

    Enter Lady _Blunder_ peeping.

L. _Blun._ He’s gone--Sir _Morgan_, you may approach.

    Enter Sir _Morgan_, pulling in the _Prince_, Sir _Merlin_, and a
    _Page_ to the _Prince_.

Sir _Morg._ Nay, as Gat shall save me, Sir, you shall see my Lady, or
so, d’ye see, and receive the Thanks of the House.

_Prince._ As Gat shall save me, Sir, I am sorry for it--another time,
Sir: I have earnest business. Now, I am sure nothing worth seeing can
belong to this litter of Fools.

L. _Blun._ My Daughter is a Person of Quality, I assure you, Sir.

_Prince._ I doubt it not, Madam--If she be of the same Piece--Send me a
fair Deliverance.
    [Sir _Morgan_ leads him to _Mirtilla_, he starts.
  --Ha! What bright Vision’s that?

_Mir._ Heav’n! ‘Tis the lovely Prince I saw in _Flanders_.    [Aside.

Sir _Mer._ Look how he stares--why, what the Devil ails he?

Sir _Morg._ To her, Sir, or so, d’ye see, what a Pox, are you afraid of
her?

L. _Blun._ He’s in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.

_Prince._ By Heav’n, the very Woman I adore!    [Aside.

Sir _Morg._ How d’ye, see, Sir, how do ye, ha, ha, ha?

_Prince._ I cannot be mistaken; for Heav’n made nothing but young Angels
like her!

Sir _Morg._ Look ye, Page, is your Master in his right Wits?

Sir _Mer._ Sure he’s in love, and Love’s a devilish thing.

Sir _Morg._ Sa, ho, ho, ho, where are you, Sir, where are you?

_Prince._ In Heav’n!    [Puts him away.
  Oh! do not rouse me from this charming Slumber, lest I shou’d wake,
and find it but a Dream.

Sir _Mer._ A plaguy dull Fellow this, that can sleep in so good Company
as we are.

Sir _Morg._ Dream--A Fiddle-stick; to her, Man, to her, and kiss her
soundly, or so, d’ye see.

Sir _Mer._ Ay, ay; kiss her, Sir, kiss her--ha, ha, ha, he’s very
simple.

_Prince._ Kiss her,--there’s universal Ruin in her Lips.

_Mir._ I never knew ‘em guilty of such Mischiefs.

Sir _Morg._ No, I’ll be sworn, I have kist ‘em twenty times, and they
never did me harm.

_Prince._ Thou kiss those Lips? impossible, and false; they ne’er were
prest but by soft _Southern_ Winds.

Sir _Morg._ _Southern_ Winds--ha, ha, lookye, d’ye see, Boy, thy
Master’s mad, or so, d’ye see--why, what a Pox, d’ye think I never kiss
my Wife, or so, d’ye see.

_Prince._ Thy Wife!--

_Mir._ He will betray his Passion to these Fools: Alas, he’s mad--and
will undo my Hopes.
    [Aside.

_Prince._ Thou mayst as well claim Kindred to the Gods; she’s mine,
a Kingdom shall not buy her from me.

Sir _Morg._ Hay day, my Wife yours! look ye, as d’ye see, what, is it
_Midsummer-moon_ with you, Sir, or so, d’ye see?

_Mir._ In pity give him way, he’s madder than a Storm.

_Prince._ Thou know’st thou art, and thy dear Eyes confess
it--a numerous Train attended our Nuptials, witness the Priest, witness
the sacred Altar where we kneel’d--when the blest silent Ceremony was
perform’d.

_Mir._ Alas! he’s mad, past all recovery mad.

Sir _Mer._ Mad, say, poor Soul--Friend, how long has your Master been
thus intoxicated?

_Page._ He’s mad indeed to make this Discovery.    [Aside.
  Alas, Sir, he’s thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he
lost a Mistress, who dy’d in _Flanders_ to whom he was contracted.

Sir _Mer._ Good lack--ay, ay, he’s distracted, it seems.

_Page._ See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.

_Mir._ Rise, Sir,--you’l ruin me--dissemble if you love--or you can
ne’er be happy.
    [In a low Voice, and raising him.

_Prince._ My Transport is too high for a Disguise--give me some hope,
promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I’ll pierce a wounded Heart.

_Mir._ Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints--
    [She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.

_Page._ Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he’ll recover
presently. Stand all away.--

_Prince._ Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear,
lest thou shouldst break--for Women wou’d be Gods, but for Inconstancy.

_Page._ See, he begins to come to himself again--keep off--

_Mir._ You have a thousand Charms that may secure you--The Ceremony of
my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all
the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I’ll contrive it so, that
you shall speak with me this Night alone.

_Prince._ So, now let my Soul take Air--

L. _Blun._ What pity ‘tis so fine a Gentleman shou’d be thus.

_Mir._ You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of
it.
    [As she passes out.

Sir _Morg._ Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural
Cousin here.
    [Ex. _Mir._ in Scorn.

_Prince._ Where am I?    [The _Page_ has whispered him.

Sir _Mer._ Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir _Morgan Blunder’s_ Lodging in
_Lincolns-Inn-Fields_.

_Prince._ That’s well, he has told me--Where have I been this long half
hour, and more?

Sir _Mer._ Nay, the Lord knows.

_Prince._ I fancy’d I saw a lovely Woman.

Sir _Mer._ Fancy’d--why, so you did, Man, my Lady _Mirtilla Blunder_.

_Prince._ Methought I slept upon her snowy Bosom, and dreamt I was in
Heaven, where I claim’d her.

Sir _Mer._ Good lack aday--why, so you did, Sir, ha, ha, ha.

_Prince._ And rav’d on Love; and talk’d abundance of Nonsense.

Sir _Morg._ Ha, ha, ha, by my Troth, and so you did, Sir.

_Prince._ I ask your Pardon, Sir, ‘tis an infirmity I have that ever
takes me at the approach of a fine Woman, which made me so unwilling to
see your Lady.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye, I ask your Pardon heartily, or so, d’ye see--and am
sorry you are not in a Condition to visit her often.

_Prince._ I shall be better when I am us’d to her; ‘tis the first time
only affects me.

Sir _Morg._ Pray, Sir, be pleas’d to use your self to her, or so, d’ye
see--she’s a civil Person, and a Person of Quality before I marry’d her,
d’ye see.

L. _Blun._ My Son tells you Truth, Sir.

_Prince._ Madam, I doubt it not, pray beg her Pardon, and do you give me
yours.
    [Bows and kisses her Hand and goes out.

L. _Blun._ A most accomplish’d Person--

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. Another Chamber.

    Enter _Olivia_ and _Teresia_, in Mens Clothes.

_Oliv._ Well, the Ball does not begin these three Hours, and we’ll
divert our selves at my Aunt’s Basset-Table, which you see is preparing;
her natural Propensity to oblige both Sexes makes her keep a Bank on
purpose to bring ‘em together. There we shall see the old and the young,
the ugly and the handsome, Fools that have Money, and Wits that have
none; and if the Table affords nothing to please the Appetite, we’ll
abroad for Forage.

    Enter Sir _Merlin_ pulling in _George_, follow’d by Sir _Morgan_,
    Page and Footmen to _George_.

Sir _Mer._ Nay, Sir, I am resolv’d you shall honour my Aunt’s
Basset-Table--

_Geo._ My Aunt’s Basset-Table? There may be Money stirring among these
Fools, and Fortune may befriend me.
    [Aside.

Sir _Mer._ Sir _Morgan_, pray know this worthy Gentleman, I have the
honour to lodge in the House with him.
    [They salute one another.
  Sir, this is Sir _Morgan Blunder_, a Person of Quality in _Wales_,
I assure you.

_Geo._ I question it not, Sir, and am proud of the Honour of kissing
your Hands.

_Ter._ Yonder’s a handsom Gentleman.

_Oliv._ My Brother _George_, as I live, ‘tis as I cou’d wish.
    [Aside.

    Enter _Welborn_.

_Wel._ _Lejere!_

_Geo._ _Welborn!_ Welcome from _Paris_, I heard of your arrival from
Prince _Frederick_.

_Wel._ Yes, I am come to my Destruction, Friend.

_Geo._ Ay, thou’rt to be marry’d, I hear, to a _Welch_ Fortune.

_Wel._ Though Matrimony be a sufficient Curse, yet that’s not the
worst--I am fall’n most damnably in love, since I arriv’d, with a young
Creature I saw in the _Mall_ t’other Night; of Quality she was, I dare
swear, by all that was about her; but such a Shape! a Face! a Wit!
a Mind, as in a moment quite subdu’d my Heart: she had another Lady with
her, whom (dogging her Coach) I found to be a Neighbour of mine, and
Grand-Daughter to the Lady _Youthly_; but who my Conqueror was I never
since could learn.

_Oliv._ ‘Slife, _Teresia_, yonder’s the handsom Fellow that entertain’d
us with so much Wit, on _Thursday_ last in the _Mall_.

_Ter._ What, when you chang’d your Breeches for Petticoats at my
Lodgings.

_Oliv._ That Night, and ever since, I have felt a sort of a Tendre for
him.

_Ter._ As I do for his Friend--Pray Heav’n he be not marry’d! I fear he
has laid an Imbargo on my Heart, before it puts out of the Port.

_Geo._ Are you not for the Basset?

_Wel._ No, I’ve business at the Ball to night; besides, my Lady
_Blunder_ has a Quarrel to me for last Night’s Debauch; I’ll wait on you
in the Morning.
    [Exit _Welborn_.

_Geo._ Well, you to your Business, and I to mine.
    [Speaks as the rest go out.
  Let the dull trading Fool by Business live,
  Statesmen by Plots; the Courtier cringe to thrive;
  The Fop of Noise and Wealth be cullied on,
  And purchase no one Joy by being undone,
  Whilst I by nobler careless ways advance,
  Since Love and Fortune are acquir’d by Chance.

    [Exeunt Omnes.

_The End of the Second Act._


A Song, sung by Sir _Rowland_ in the second Act.

  To _TERESIA_.

  _Though the Young prize _Cupid’s_ Fire,
  ‘Tis more valu’d by the Old;
  The Sun’s Warmth we now admire,
  More than when the Season’s cold._

  _Dialogues in the Masque, at the beginning of the third Act._

  _He._ Time and Place you see conspire,
  With tender Wishes, fierce Desire;
  See the willing Victim stands
  To be offer’d by your Hands:
  Ah! Let me on Love’s Altars lying,
  Clasp my Goddess whilst I’m dying.

  _She._ Oh Lord! what hard words, and strange things d’ye say;
  Your Eyes too seem closing, and just dying away:
  Ah! pray what d’ye want? Explain but your mind,
  Which did I but know, perhaps I’d be kind.

  _He._ My pretty soft Maid, full of innocent Charms,
  I languish to sigh out my Soul in thy Arms;
  Oh! then, if I’m lov’d, deny not the Bliss,
  But tell me I’m happy, with a ravishing Kiss.

  _She._ Oh! Fy, Sir, I vow I cannot endure you;
  Be civil, or else I’ll cry out I assure you;
  I will not be kiss’d so, nor tumbled, not I,
  I’ll tell all your tricks, that I will, if I die.

  _He._ Nay, never dissemble, nor smother that Fire;
  Your Blushes, and Eyes betray your Desire.
  The Practis’d, not Innocent, dally with Bliss,
  Then prithee be kind, and taste what it is.

  _She._ Let me die now, you’re grown a strange sort of a Man,
  To force a young Maid, let her do what she can;
  I fear now I blush to think what we’re doing,
  And is this the end of all you Men’s wooing?

  _He._ At this Pleasure all aim, both Godly and Sinners,
  And none of ‘em blush for’t but poor young Beginners.
  In Pleasure both Sexes, all Ages agree,
  And those that take most, most happy will be.

  _Chorus_. In Pleasure both Sexes, &c.




ACT III.


SCENE I. A rich Chamber.

    Enter _Olivia_ as a Man, _Teresia_ in Masquerade; the Scene
    opens, and discovers Lady _Youthly_, Lady _Blunder_, _Mirtilla_,
    _Manage_, Prince _Frederick_ in a rich Habi, _Welborn_ in one like
    his, with a Cloke over him, stands aside, and several others of
    both Sexes.

_Oliv._ Oh, my dear _Teresia_, I’m lost in Love! I’ve seen a Man,--or
rather ‘tis an Angel! so gay, so soft, so charming, and so witty; so
dress’d! so shap’d! and danc’d with such an Air!

_Ter._ Hey day! Prithee where’s this Wonder to be seen?

_Oliv._ Why dost thou ask? Hast thou not seen a Man of Dress, and
Movement of uncommon Fashion?

_Ter._ A great many, very odd, and fantastick, I’m sure my dear Man is
none of ‘em.
    [Sighs.

_Oliv._ Thy Heart when fir’d burns easily, and soft, but I am all
impatient, Darts, and Flames, and all the effects of Love are panting in
my Heart, yet never saw his Face: but see, he comes, and I must find a
way to let him know the mischiefs he has done.

_Mir._ _Endimion_, where’s Sir _Morgan_?

_Oliv._ At his usual Diversion, Madam, drinking.

_Mir._ Do you wait near me to Night, I may perhaps have kinder Business
for you e’er the Morning.

_Oliv._ You heap too many Blessings on me, Madam.

_Prince._ Oh, turn thy lovely Eyes upon thy Slave, that waits and
watches for a tender Look.

_Mir._ Oh, Sir, why do you press a yielding Heart too much, undone by
what you’ve said already?

_Oliv._ Those soft Addresses must be those of Love.    [Aside.

_Mir._ My Honour was in danger when I promis’d--and yet I blush to tell
you I was pleas’d, and blest the dear necessity that forc’d me.

_Oliv._ Ha! ‘tis the Man I love--and courts _Mirtilla_, and she receives
him with inviting Looks. ‘Sdeath, she’s a common Lover! already I’m
arriv’d to Jealousy!

    Enter _George_ in Masquerade, with a Paper on his Back and Breast,
    goes to _Mirtilla_, sees one courting her.

_Geo._ What gilded thing is that?--I must disturb ‘em--’Tis I,
_Mirtilla_, languishing for the appointed Happiness, while you, perhaps,
are taken up with different Thoughts--

_Mir._ _Lejere!_ How very feeble do old Lovers charm! Only the new and
gay have pow’r to warm--How shall I put him off? For now my ambitious
Love declares for _Frederick_; ‘tis great to enslave a Prince.
    [Aside.
  --_Lejere_--wait till I give the word--perhaps it may be late--go mix
your self i’th’ Crowd, you may be else suspected--
    [Goes from him.

_Ter._ I have a shreud guess that this should be my Man by his Shape,
and Mein.
    [Looking round about _George_.
  Let me see--What’s this written on his Back?--To be lett ready
furnish’d--
    [Reading it.
  A very good hearing: So ho, ho, ho, who’s within here?
    [Claps him on the Back.

_Geo._ Who’s there?    [Exit _Olivia_.

_Ter._ Love and Fortune.

_Geo._ Two very good Friends of mine, prithee who art thou that bring’st
’.m?

_Ter._ A wandring Nymph, that has had a swinging Character of your
Person and Parts--if thou be’st the Man, prithee, dear Stranger, let me
see thy Face; and if I’m not mistaken, ‘tis ten to one, but we may go
near to strike up some odd Bargain or other.

_Geo._ And I am as likely a Fellow for some odd Bargain or other, as
ever you met with--Look ye, am I the Man?

_Ter._ Let me see--a very handsome Face, inclining to round; fine wanton
Eyes, with a plaguy Roguish Lear; plump, round, red Lips; not tall, nor
low, and extremely well fashion’d.
    [Reads all this in her Tablets.
  --Ay, ay, you are the Man--

_Geo._ I am glad on’t, and prithee, dear Creature, let me see if thou
art not the Woman--

_Ter._ Heav’n! what Woman, Sir?

_Geo._ Why, any Woman that’s pretty, witty, young, and good-natur’d.

_Ter._ I had rather shew anything almost than my Face.

_Geo._ Faith, and that’s kind; but every thing in its due time: I love
to arrive at Happiness by degrees, there’s as much Pleasure in the
Journey of Love, as in the Arrival to’t, and the first Stage is a
handsom Face.

_Ter._ Where you bait a while, take a short Survey, and away.

_Geo._ To Wit, and good Humour; where a Man finds Pleasure enough to
engage him a long while.

_Ter._ Then to all the small Villages, call’d little Freedoms, Kissing,
Playing, Fooling, Sighing, Dying--and so on to the last Stage, where
Whip and Spur laid by, all tir’d and dull, you lazily lie down and
sleep.

_Geo._ No, I’m a more vigorous Lover: And since in the Country of True
Love there remains a _Terra Incognita_, I shall always be making new
Discoveries.

_Ter._ True Love! is there such a thing in the whole Map of Nature?

_Geo._ Yes, I once discover’d it in my Voyage round the World.

_Ter._ Sure ‘tis some enchanted Place, and vanishes as soon as ‘tis
approach’d.

    Enter Sir _Rowland_.

_Geo._ Faith, let’s set out for it, and try; if we lose our Labour, we
shall, like Searchers for the Philosophers Stone, find something that
will recompense our pains.--
    [Lady _Youthly_ sees her, and sends her Woman to take her from
    him.
  Ha, gone--I must not part so with you--I’ll have you in my Eye.
    [The _Spanish_ Dance: Whilst they dance, the _Prince_ talks to
    _Mirtilla_.

_Mir._ This Night gives you an Assignation--I tremble at the
thought--Ah, why will you pursue me thus to Ruin? Why with resistless
Charms invade my Heart, that cannot stand their Force--alone--without my
Woman?--the Enterprize with you would be too dangerous.

_Prince._ Dangerous to be ador’d! and at your Feet behold your Slave
making eternal Vows?

_Mir._ If I were sure that you would pass no further--

_Prince._ Let the fond God of Love be my Security--will you not trust a
Deity?

_Mir._ Whom should she trust, that dares not trust her self?

_Geo._ That is some Lover, whom I must observe.    [Aside.

_Mir._ Alas, the Foe’s within that will betray me, Ambition, and our
Sex’s Vanity--Sir, you must prevail--

_Prince._ And in return, for ever take my Soul.

_Mir._ Anon I’ll feign an Illness, and retire to my Apartment, whither
this faithful Friend shall bring you, Sir.
    [Pointing to _Manage_.

_Geo._ Hum!--that looks like some Love Bargain, and _Manage_ call’d to
Witness. By Heav’n, gay Sir, I’ll watch you.

_Ter._ But hark ye, my Fellow-Adventurer, are you not marry’d?

_Geo._ Marry’d--that’s a Bug-word--prithee if thou hast any such Design,
keep on thy Mask, lest I be tempted to Wickedness.

_Ter._ Nay, truth is, ‘tis a thousand pities to spoil a handsom man, to
make a dull Husband of: I have known an old batter’d Bully of Seventy,
unmarry’d, more agreeable for a Gallant, than any scurvy,
out-of-humour’d Husband at Eight and Twenty.

_Geo._ Gad, a thousand times.

_Ter._ Know, I have Five Hundred Pounds a Year.

_Geo._ Good.

_Ter._ And the Devil and all of Expectations from an old Woman.

_Geo._ Very good.

_Ter._ And this Youth, and little Beauty to lay out in love.
    [Pulls off her Mask.

_Geo._ _Teresia!_ the lovely Maid design’d for my Mother! now, what a
Dog am I? that gives me the greater Gust to her, and wou’d fain cuckold
my Father.
    [Talks to her aside. _Mirtilla_ seems to faint.

_Man._ My Lady faints--help, help.

_Mir._ Only the Heat oppresses me--but let it not disturb the Company,
I’ll take the Air a little, and return.
    [Goes out with _Manage_.

_Geo._ Is this design’d or real?--perhaps she is retir’d for me--Mrs.
_Manage_.--
    [_Manage_ re-enters, he pulls her by the Sleeve.

_Man._ Hah! Monsieur _Lejere_! what shall I feign to put him off withal.
    [Aside.

_Geo._ Why dost thou start? How does my dear _Mirtilla_?

_Man._ Reposing, Sir, awhile, but anon I’ll wait on her for your
admittance.
    [Prince _Frederick_ puts on _Welborn’s_ Cloke, goes out, and
    _Welborn_ enters into the Company dress’d like the _Prince_.

_Geo._ Ha, she spoke in passing by that gay thing--What means it, but
I’ll trace the Mystery.

Sir _Row._ The young People are lazy, and here’s nothing but gaping and
peeping in one another’s Vizards; come, Madam, let you and I shame ‘em
into Action.
    [Sir _Rowland_ and Lady _Youthly_ dance. After the Dance, _Olivia_
    enters with a Letter, and gives it to _Welborn_.

_Wel._ Ha! what’s this, Sir, a Challenge?

_Oliv._ A soft one, Sir.

_Wel._ A Billet--whoever the Lady be,    [Reads.
  She merits something for but believing I am worth her Mirth.

_Oliv._ I know not, Sir, how great a Jest you may make of it; but I
assure you the Lady is in earnest, and if you be at leisure to hear
Reason from her--

_Wel._ Fair and softly, my dear Love-Messenger, I am for no hasty
Bargains; not but I shou’d be glad to hear Reason from any of the
Sex--But I have been so damnably jilted--Is she of Quality?

_Oliv._ Yes.

_Wel._ Then I’ll not hear any thing from her: they are troublesome, and
insolent; and if she have a Husband, to hide her Intrigues she has
recourse to all the little Arts and Cunnings of her Sex; and she that
jilts her Husband, will her Lover.

_Oliv._ She is not troubled with a Husband, Sir.

_Wel._ What, she’s parted from the Fool! then she’s expensive, and for
want of Alimony, jilts all the believing Block-heads that she meets
with.

_Oliv._ But this is a Maid, Sir.

_Wel._ Worse still! At every turn she’s raving on her Honour; then if
she have a Kinsman, or a Brother, I must be challeng’d.

_Oliv._ Sir, you mistake, my Lady is for Matrimony.

_Wel._ How!

_Oliv._ You have not forsworn it, I hope.

_Wel._ Not so--but--

_Oliv._ If a Lady, young and handsom, and Ten Thousand Pounds--

_Wel._ Nay, I am not positive--

    Enter Sir _Morgan_, and Sir _Merlin_, drunk, singing.

  _Wise Coxcombs be damn’d, here’s a health to the Man,
  That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can._

Sir _Morg._ Where is my Lady _Mirtilla_, Rogues?

Sir _Mer._ And my Mistress, Rascals? For we are resolv’d to shew our
selves in Triumph to our Wives and Mistresses.

L. _Youth._ Your Mistress, Sir _Merlin_? mistake not your Mark.

Sir _Mer._ Ha! Art thou there, old Cathedral? Why, thou look’st as
magnificiently as old Queen _Bess_ in the _Westminster_-Cupboard.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye as de see, when _Adam_ wore a Beard, she was in her
Prime, or so, de see.
    [Sings.

L. _Youth._ Sir, you are a saucy _Jack_, and your Father shall correct
you.

Sir _Mer._ My Father! my Father’s an old Toast, de see; and I hope to
see him hang’d.

Sir _Row._ Here’s a Heathen-Christian! see his Father hang’d!

Sir _Mer._ Ay, hang’d, and all the old Fathers in _Christendom_. Why,
what a Pox shou’d Fathers trouble the World for? when I come to reign in
Parliament, I will enact it Felony, for any Father to have so little
Grace to live, that has a Son at Years of Discretion.

Sir _Row._ A damn’d Rogue, I’ll disinherit him immediately.

L. _Blun._ Is it so great a Crime, Brother, for a Gentleman to be drunk?

Sir _Mer._ You lye like a Son of a Whore--I have been drinking Confusion
to all the Fathers and Husbands in _England_.

Sir _Morg._ How, Sir, Confusion to Husbands! Look ye, de see, Sir,
swallow me that Word, or I’ll make you deposit all the conjugal Wine you
have drunk.

Sir _Mer._ I deposit all your Wine! Sirrah, you’re a Blunderbuss.

Sir _Morg._ Sirrah, you are a diminutive Bully.

Sir _Mer._ Sirrah, you’re the Whore of _Babylon_, and I defy you.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye, de see, I scorn to draw upon a drunken Man, or so,
I being sober; but I boldly challenge you into the Cellar, where thou
shalt drink till thou renounce thy Character, or talk Treason enough to
hang thee, and that’s fair and civil.

Sir _Mer._ Agreed; and when I’m drunk enough to ravish, I’ll cuckold my
old Dad, and fight him for his Mistress.

Sir _Row._ I have no Patience; I’ll kill the Dog, because I’ll have the
Law on my side--Come on, Sir.
    [Draws, the Ladies run out. Sir _Merlin_ draws. _George_ runs in
    and parts ‘em.

_Geo._ Villain! Rascal! What, draw upon thy Father!

Sir _Row._ Pray, Sir, who are you? that I may thank you for my Life.

_Geo._ One, Sir, whose Duty ‘twas.    [Pulls off his Vizard.

Sir _Row._ What, my dear _George_!--I’ll go and cut off the Intail of my
Estate presently, and thou shalt have it all, Boy, thou shalt--

    [Exeunt all but _George_.

_Geo._ Fortune is still my Friend: Had but Mirtilla been so! I wonder
that she sends not to me: my Love’s impatient, and I cannot wait--while
the dull Sot is boozing with his Brother-Fools in the Cellar, I’ll
softly to the Chamber of my Love--Perhaps she waits me there--
    [Exit.


SCENE II. _A Chamber, and Alcove, discovers _Mirtilla_ and Prince
_Frederick_._

_Prince._ Oh! I am ravish’d with excess of Joy.

_Mir._ Enough, my charming Prince! Oh, you have said enough.

_Prince._ Never, my _Mirtilla_!

The Sun that views the World, nor the bright Moon, that favours Lovers
Stealths, shall ever see that Hour. Vast, as thy Beauties, are my young
Desires; and every new Possession kindles new Flames, soft as thy Eyes,
soft as thy tender Touches; and e’er the Pantings of my Heart are laid,
new Transports, from new Wishes, dance about it, and still remain in
Love’s harmonious Order.
    [Kisses and embraces her.

    Enter _George_, softly.

_Geo._ This House I know, and this should be her Bed-Chamber, because
the best; and yet methought I heard another Voice--but I may be
mistaken.

_Prince._ I faint with Pleasure of each tender Clasp; I sigh, and
languish, gazing on thy Eyes! and die upon thy Lips, with every Kiss.

_Geo._ Surely I know that Voice! Torments, and Hell!--but ‘tis
impossible.
    [Aside.

_Prince._ Oh! satisfy my Doubt, my trembling Doubt! Am I belov’d? Have I
about me ought engaging to thee, Charmer of my Soul?

_Geo._ It is the Prince.    [Aside.

_Mir._ Ah, Prince! Can you such needless Questions ask, after the
Sacrifice which I have made?

_Geo._ Hell take thee for that Falshood.    [Draws.

_Mir._ Think not the mighty Present of your Jewels, enough to purchase
Provinces, has bought one single Sigh, or Wish: No, my dear Prince, you
owe ‘em all to Love, and your own Charms.

_Geo._ Oh, damn’d, dissembling Jilt!    [Aside.

_Prince._ No more, no more, my Soul’s opprest with Joy: let me unload it
in thy tender Arms, and sigh it out into thy ravishing Bosom.

_Geo._ Death, and Damnation!--

I shall forget his Quality and Virtue, forget he was my Friend, or sav’d
this Life; and like a River, swell’d with angry Tides, o’erflow those
Banks that made the Stream so gay.

_Mir._ Who’s there?--I heard a Voice--_Manage_?

_Geo._ Yes.    [Softly.

_Prince._ Approach, thou Confident of all my Joys; approach, and be
rewarded--
    [_Prince_ takes his Jewel from his Hat.

_Geo._ Yes, for my excellent Bauding--By Heav’n, I dare not touch his
princely Person.

_Prince._ Where art thou? take this Jewel and retire.
    [Gropes for his Hand, gives it him.

_Geo._ E’en my Misfortunes have a sort of Luck; but I’ll withdraw, for
fear this Devil about me shou’d raise my too rash Hand against his Life.
    [Exit.

_Prince._ Come, my eternal Pleasure--each Moment of the happy Lover’s
Hour, is worth an Age of dull, and common Life.

    [Exeunt into the Alcove, the Scene shuts.


SCENE III. A Garden by Night still.

    Enter _George_ with his Sword in his Hand, as before.

_Geo._ Why do I vainly call for Vengeance down, and have it in my
Hand?--By Heav’n, I’ll back--Whither? To kill a Woman, a young perjur’d
Woman!--Oh, ye false Fair Ones! shou’d we do you Justice, a universal
Ruin wou’d ensue; not one wou’d live to stock the World anew. Who is’t
among ye All, ye Fair Deceivers, ye charming Mischiefs to the noble
Race, can swear she’s Innocent, without Damnation? No, no, go on--be
false--be fickle still: You act but Nature--But, my faithless
Friend--where I repose the secrets of my Soul--except this one--Alas! he
knew not this:--Why do I blame him then?

    Enter _Olivia_, dress’d as before.

_Oliv._ Fire! Fire! Fire!

_Geo._ _Olivia’s_ Voice!--Ha! what art thou? Thy Voice shou’d be
_Olivia’s_, but thy Shape--and yet a Woman is all o’er Disguise.

    Enter Lady _Blunder_ in her Night-Gown.

L. _Blun._ Fire! Fire! Fire! My Son, my dear Sir _Morgan._

    Enter Sir _Rowland_, and Servants.

Sir _Row._ A Pox on your Son, and mine to boot; they have set all the
Sack-Butts a Flaming in the Cellar, thence the Mischief began.
_Timothy_, _Roger_, _Jeffrey_, my Money-Trunks, ye Rogues! my
money-Trunks!

L. _Blun._ My Son, good _Roger_! my own Sir _Moggy_!

Sir _Row._ The ten thousand Pounds, ye Rascal, in the Iron Trunk, that
was to be paid Mr. _Welborn_ for _Olivia’s_ Portion.
    [Exit.

L. _Blun._ Oh my Son! my Son!--run to the Parson, _Sam_, and let him
send the Church-Buckets. Oh, some help! some help!

    Enter _Manage_.

_Man._ Oh, Heavens! my Lady _Mirtilla’s_ Chamber’s all on Flame.

    Enter _Britton_.

_Geo._ Ha,--the Prince! I had forgot his Danger.

_Man._ Ah! look up, and see how it burns.

_Geo._ _Britton_, a Million for a Ladder!

_Man._ Blessing on you, Sir, if you dare venture through the House;
there lies one in the Fore-Garden.

_Britt._ The Passage is on fire, Sir, you cannot go.

_Geo._ Revenge is vanish’d, and Love takes its place: Soft Love, and
mightier Friendship seizes all. I’ll save him, though I perish in the
Attempt.
    [Runs out, _Britton_ after him.

    Enter at another Door, Sir _Rowland_.

L. _Blun._ A thousand Pound for him that saves Sir _Morgan_!

Sir _Row._ And, do ye hear, let my Rogue lie; I’d rather he should be
burnt, than hang’d on _Tyburn_ Road, for murdering his Father.--But
where’s Boy _George_?

    Enter Men with Trunks.

_Rog._ Safe, Sir, I hope; he was not in the House.

Sir _Row._ So, so, away with these Trunks to my Lady _Youthly’s_ in
_Southampton_-Square, and tell her we must trouble her to night. Come,
Sister, let’s away.

    [Ex. Lady _Blunder_, and Sir _Rowland_.

    Prince _Frederick_ and _Mirtilla_, appear at the Window, the
    Flame behind ‘em.

_Prince._ Help, help, and save _Mirtilla_! Ask any Price, my Life, my
Fortune! All!

_Mir._ Oh, Heav’ns, the Flame pursues us as we fly.

_Prince._ No help! Oh Gods, I shall prevent the Flame, and perish by my
Fears to see you die!

_Mir._ Alas! Sir, you with ease may save your Life! This Window you may
leap, but I want Courage.

_Prince._ No, my _Mirtilla_, if it be thy Fate, I’ll grasp thee, ev’n in
Flames, and die with thee.

_Mir._ We die! we die! the Flame takes hold of us.

    Enter _George_ with a Ladder, and puts it to the Window.

_Prince._ Ha! some pitying God takes care of us. Haste, haste, my
Charmer; Heav’n has sent us Aid.

    [Puts her on the Ladder, she descends into _George’s_ Arms; after
    her, the _Prince_. _George_ puts her into _Manage’s_ Arms, she
    faints; he runs up to receive the _Prince_.

_Prince._ _Lejere!_ dear Man of Luck--Some happy Star reign’d at thy
glorious Birth; every thing is prosperous thou espousest.--How fares my
Love, the Treasure of my Soul?

_Man._ Only fainting with the Fright, but she recovers.

_Prince._ My Chair there, quickly, that waits for me.--

    Enter Chair; he puts her, and _Manage_ into it.

    Enter _Olivia_.

Carry ‘em to Mr. _Welborn’s_, to my Lodgings there, and then return to
me; for I am wondrous faint, and cannot walk.

_Oliv._ Ha! by my Life, my Man!

_Prince._ But if I might impose so much, _Lejere_, upon thy Friendship,
I beg thou wouldst see her safely carry’d to my Lodgings at _Welborn’s_.

_Geo._ You shall command me, Sir.

    [Exeunt Chair, _George_ and _Britton_.

_Oliv._ You seem not well, Sir, pray repose upon my Arm a while.

_Prince._ I thank you, Sir, indeed I am not well.

_Oliv._ Methinks I find a Pleasure but in touching him--Wou’d I cou’d
see his Face by all this fatal Light.

    Enter _Constable_ and Watch.

_Const._ So, so, the Fire abates, the Engines play’d rarely, and we have
Ten Guineas here, Neighbours, to watch about the House; for where
there’s Fire, there’s Rogues--Hum, who have we here?--How now, Mr.--Hum,
what have you got under your Arm there, ha? Take away this Box of
Jewels.
    [Sir _Morgan_, and Sir _Merlin_, creeping out of the Cellar
    Window.
  Ha, who have we here creeping out of the Cellar-Window? more Rogues!

Sir _Mer._ Sirrah! you’re a Baud, Sirrah! and for a Tester will wink at
the Vices of the Nation, Sirrah! Call men of the best Quality Rogues!
that have stood for Knights of the Shire, and made the Mobile drunk,
Sirrah!

_Const._ We cry you Mercy, Sir, we did not know your Worships.

Sir _Morg._ Lookye, de see, here’s a Crown for you; carry us to the next
Tavern, and we’ll make thee, and all thy Mirmidons, as drunk as a Boat
in a Storm.

_Oliv._ Sir, I find you have Interest with these arbitrary Tyrants of
the Parish; pray will you bail me, and this Gentleman?

Sir _Mer._ What, _Endimion_! my Lady _Mirtilla’s_ Page? He lent me Money
to Night at the Basset-Table; I’ll be bound Hand and Foot for him, Mr.
Constable, and, gad, we’ll all to the Tavern, and drink up the Sun,
Boys.

_Oliv._ Yonder Gentleman too has receiv’d some hurt by the Fire, and
must go home, Sir; but you must restore him the Box, Mr. Constable.

Sir _Morg._ Ay, ay, lookye, de see, return the Gentleman all; they’re
Gentlemen, and our intimate Friends, d’ye see.

    [Exeunt _Prince_, and _Olivia_.

    Enter a _Servant_.

_Const._ Stand: Who goes there?

Sir _Morg._ _Philip_--Lookye, d’ye see, he shall along with us to the
Tavern.

_Serv._ Sir _Morgan_, I came to seek you: your Lady Mother sent me back
on purpose; she has spoil’d her Beauty with crying for you.

Sir _Morg._ And wash’d off all her Paint?--Or so, de see! Gad sa’ me,
_Philip_, this is ill Luck. Come, let us go drink down Sorrow.

_Serv._ Being sent of such an Errand, as your Safety, Sir, I dare not
stay and drink now, before I’ve satisfy’d your Mother.

Sir _Mer._ Not drink! I charge you in the King’s Name, Mr. Constable,
bring him along.
    [The _Constable_ and Watch seize him.

Sings.

  _Wise Coxcombs be damn’d, here’s a Health to the Man,
  That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can._

    [Exeunt.




ACT IV.


SCENE I. _The _Prince’s_ Lodgings_.

  Enter Page with Lights, sets ‘em on the Table.    [Ex.

    Enter _Mirtilla_, led by Mrs. _Manage_.

_Mir._ Ha! where am I, _Manage_?

_Man._ Heav’n be thanked, Madam, at the Prince’s Lodgings.

_Mir._ What happy Star conducted us, and sav’d us from the Fury of the
Flames?

_Man._ Those whose Influence are always gracious to your Ladyship.

_Mir._ But where’s the Prince? where’s my illustrious Lover?

_Man._ Waiting the Return of the Chair, Madam.

_Mir._ But my _Endimion_?--Is _Endimion_ safe?

_Man._ Madam, he is: I saw him in the Garden.

_Mir._ Then perish all the rest--Go send to search him out, and let him
instantly be brought to me--Hah--_Lejere_.

    Enter _George_.

_Geo._ Baud, stand aside--and do your Office yonder--
    [Puts away _Manage_.
  Why are you frighted, Madam, because I’m not the Lover you expected?

_Mir._ What Lover! be witness, Heaven--

_Geo._ That thou art false, false as the insatiate Seas, that smiling
tempt the vain Adventurer, whom flattering, far from any saving there,
swell their false Waves to a destructive Storm.

_Mir._ Why all this mighty Rage?--Because I disappointed you to night?

_Geo._ No, by Heaven, I dully cou’d have waited for the Hour; have
hop’d, and wish’d, and languish’d out an Age. But, oh _Mirtilla_! Oh
thou perjur’d Fair!--But vanish all the Softness of my Soul, I will be
satirical.

  _A Plague, a Torment, to your fickle Sex,_
  _Those smiling, sighing, weeping Hypocrites._

_Mir._ And can you think my Flight is criminal? because I sav’d this
worthless Life--for you--

_Geo._ What Innocence adorns her Tongue, and Eyes! while Hell and Furies
give her Heart its motion. You know not where you are?

_Mir._ Perhaps I do not.

_Geo._ Swear, for thou’rt damn’d already, and by what black Degrees I
will unfold: When first I saw this gay, this glorious Mischief, though
nobly born, ‘twas hid in mean Obscurity; the shining Viper lay half dead
with Poverty, I took it up, and laid it next my Heart, fed it, and
call’d its faded Beauties back.

_Mir._ Confess’d; And what of this?

_Geo._ Confirm’d you mine, by all the Obligations Profuseness cou’d
invent, or Love inspire.

_Mir._ And yet at your Return you found me marry’d to another.

_Geo._ Death and Hell! that was not yet the worst: You flatter’d me with
some Pretence of Penitence; but on the Night, the dear destructive
Night, you rais’d my Hopes to all distracting Love cou’d wish--that very
Night--Oh, let me rave and die, and never think that Disappointment
o’er!

_Mir._ What, you saw me courted at the Ball, perhaps.

_Geo._ Perhaps I saw it in your Chamber too. Breathless and panting,
with new-acted Joys, the happy Lover lay--Oh _Mirtilla_!

_Mir._ Nay, if he knows it, I’ll deny’t no more.    [Aside.

_Geo._ There is no Honesty in all thy Kind.

_Mir._ Or if there be, those that deal in’t are weary of their Trade.
But where’s the mighty Crime?

_Geo._ No, I expect thou shouldst out-face my Eyes, out-swear my
Hearing, and out-lye my Senses.--The Prince! the Prince! thou faithless
dear destruction.

_Mir._ The Prince! good Heaven! Is all this Heat for him?

_Geo._ Thou own’st the Conquest then?

_Mir._ With as much Vanity as thou wouldst do, if thou hadst won his
Sword: Hast thou took care wisely to teach me all the Arts of Life, and
dost thou now upbraid my Industry? Look round the World, and thou shalt
see, _Lejere_, Ambition still supplies the place of Love. The worn-out
Lady, that can serve your Interest, you swear has Beauties that
out-charms Fifteen; and for the Vanity of Quality, you feign and
languish, lye, protest, and flatter--All Things in Nature cheat, or else
are cheated.

_Geo._ Well said; take off thy Veil, and shew the Jilt.

_Mir._ You never knew a Woman thrive so well by real Love, as by
Dissimulation: This has a thousand Arts and Tricks to conquer; appears
in any Shape, in any Humour; can laugh or weep, be coy or play, by
turns, as suits the Lover best, while simple Love has only one Road of
Sighs and Softness; these to _Lejere_ are due: But all my Charms, and
Arts of gay dissembling, are for the credulous Prince.--Ha--he’s
here!--and with him the dear Youth that has enslav’d me, who triumphs
o’er the rest.
    [Aside.

    Enter Prince _Frederick_, _Olivia_ following, sees _Mirtilla_, and
    withdraws.

_Oliv._ Ha! _Mirtilla_, and my Brother here? Oh, how I long to see that
Stranger’s Face.
    [Aside.

_Prince._ _Mirtilla_, thou Charmer of Life’s dull and tedious Hours, how
fares thy Heart? Dwells any Pantings there, but those that Love, and his
dear Joys create?

_Mir._ Or if there do, you shou’d excuse it now.

_Geo._ How many Devils reign in beauteous Woman!

_Prince._ My dear _Lejere_, congratulate my Joys; take all my Friendship
thou--but thou my Soul. Come, come, my Friend, let us retire together;
I’ll give thee leave to gaze upon my Heaven, and feed on all the Sweets
that Friendship may: But all the rest of the vast Store is mine.

_Man._ Madam, _Endimion_ is already here.    [Aside to her.

_Mir._ Thou hast reviv’d me--Let him wait my Call.
    [Exit _Prince_ with _Mirtilla_, _George_ goes out, and peeps at
    the Door. _Olivia_ comes forward.

_Oliv._ Spite, Spite, and dire Revenge seize my fond Soul!--Oh, that I
were a Man, a loose leud Man; how easily wou’d I rob him of her Heart,
and leave him but the shadow of Enjoyment!

    Re-enter _George_.

_Geo._ Now, my dear Sister, if thou ever lov’dst me, revenge thy Brother
on this perjur’d Woman, and snatch her from this gallant Rival’s Arms.
She loves thee--Dissemble thou to love again; meet her Advances with an
equal Ardour, and when thou hast wound her up to dalliance, I’ll bring
the Prince a witness of her Shame.

_Oliv._ But what if he shou’d kill me--

_Geo._ I’ll take care of that.

_Oliv._ Then e’er the morning dawns, you shall behold it: She languishes
to see me, and I wait on purpose for her Commands.

_Geo._ As I cou’d wish: Be sure to act the Lover well.    [Exit.

_Oliv._ As well as I can act it.

    Enter _Welborn_, habited as last.

That all Mankind are damn’d, I’m positive; at least all Lovers are.

_Wel._ What have we here? the Spark that rally’d me about a Woman at the
Ball to night? Who is it, Sir, you curse so heartily.

_Oliv._ Ha, how beautiful he is--how many Charms dwell in that lovely
Face--
    [Aside.
  ‘Tis you I curse.

_Wel._ Gad, I thank you for that, you were kinder to night, when you
told me of a fine Woman that was in love with me.

_Oliv._ Why, what have you to do with Woman-kind?

_Wel._ A pretty civil Question; has the Lady that sent you a mind to be
inform’d.

_Oliv._ Or if she had, you’re not at leisure now, you are taken up, Sir,
with another Beauty. Did not you swear, never to speak to Woman-kind,
till I had brought her, I told you, sigh’d for you?

_Wel._ Right, and I have kept my word religiously.

_Oliv._ The Devil you have, witness the Joy _Mirtilla_ gave your Soul:
Even now you were all Transport, all Extasy of Love; by Heaven, you had
forgot you brought me in, and past triumphant in _Mirtilla’s_ Arms, Love
in your Heart, and Pleasure in your Eyes.

_Wel._ Ay, sure he mistakes me for the amorous Prince, and thus,
perhaps, has mistook me all the Night: I must not undeceive him.
    [Aside.
  Whate’er you saw, I have a Heart unwounded, a Heart that never soundly
loved, a little scratch it got the other day by a young Beauty in the
_Mall_, her Name I know not, but I wish’d to know it, and dogg’d her
Coach, I sigh’d a little after her, but since ne’er saw the lovely
Vision.

_Oliv._ Sure this was I.    [Aside.
  What Livery had she, Sir?

_Wel._ That I took notice of, ‘twas Green and Gold--Since that, I trifle
now and then with Love, to chase away this Image, and that’s all.

_Oliv._ Ha, now I view him well, ‘tis the same handsome Fellow that
entertain’d us in the _Mall_ last Thursday.

_Wel._ Come, Sir, ‘tis late, please you to take a Bed with me to Night,
where we’ll beget a better Understanding.

_Oliv._ A better than you imagine--’Sdeath, to bed with him, I tremble
at the thought--Sir, I do not love a Bedfellow.

_Wel._ Sir, I have lent my Lodgings to a Stranger of Quality, or I wou’d
offer you a single Bed--but for once you may dispense with a Bedfellow.

_Oliv._ I will not put you to that trouble, Sir.

_Wel._ Do you design to make me your Friend, and use me with Ceremony?
Who waits there?

    Enter Footman.

_Oliv._ ‘Slife, what shall I do? I cou’d even consent, to prevent his
going to _Mirtilla_--besides, I have no home to go to--

_Wel._ Come, no more Scruples--here--a Night-Gown and a Cap for the
Gentleman.

_Oliv._ What shall I do?--I have a little urgent Business, Sir.

_Wel._ If there be absolute necessity, I’ll see you to your Lodgings.

_Oliv._ Oh, by no means, Sir. ‘Sdeath, whither can I go?

_Wel._ Why do you pause? Deal freely with me, Sir, I hope you do not
take me for a Lover of my own Sex-- Come, come to bed.

_Oliv._ Go you, Sir, I’ll sit and read by you till Day.

_Wel._ ‘Sdeath, Sir, d’ye think my bed’s infectious?

_Oliv._ I shall betray my Sex in my denial, and that at last I can but
do if Necessity compel me to’t.
    [Aside.
  Go on, Sir, you have shamed me.

    [Exeunt.

    Enter _Prince_ and _George_.

_Prince._ And thus thou hast my whole Adventure out, short was the
Conquest, but the Joys are lasting.

_Geo._ I am glad on’t, Sir.

_Prince._ Why dost wear a Cloud upon thy brows, when Love’s gay Sunshine
dances in my Eyes? If thou’rt her Lover too, I pity thee; her solemn
Vows breath’d in the height of Love, disarm me of thy hopes, if
Friendship wou’d permit thee.

_Geo._ I do not think it, Sir--

_Prince._ Not think it, not think that she has sworn!

_Geo._ Yes, doubtless, Sir--she’s prodigal of Vows, and I dare swear, by
all she’s sworn by, she’ll break ‘em all: She has less Faith than all
the fickle Sex, uncertain and more wanton than the Winds, that spare no
Births of Nature in their wild course, from the tall Cedar to the
Flowers beneath, but ruffle, ravish, and ruin all.

_Prince._ I speak of my _Mirtilla_.

_Geo._ Why, so do I--of yours, of mine, or any Man’s _Mirtilla._

_Prince._ Away, she that with force of Love can sigh and weep--

_Geo._ This very she, has all the while dissembled! Such Love she deals
to every gaudy Coxcomb, how will she practice then upon a Hero?

_Prince._ Away, it cannot be.

_Geo._ By all your Friendship to me, Sir, ‘tis truth.

_Prince._ Racks and Tortures!--let her have made of me a mere Example,
by whom the cozen’d World might have grown wise: No matter, then I had
been pleas’d, though cullyed--Why hast thou ruined my Repose with Truths
that carry more Damnation than a Lye? But Oh--thou art my Friend, and I
forgive thee.

_Geo._ Sir, I have done, and humbly ask your Pardon.    [Offers to go.

_Prince._ Stay, stay, _Lejere_,--if she be false, thou’rt all the World
has left me; and I believe--but canst thou prove this to me?

_Geo._ Perhaps I may before the Morning’s dawn.

_Prince._ Ha, prove it here--here, in this very House!

_Geo._ Ay, here, Sir.

_Prince._ What, in my Lodgings will she receive her Spark--by Heaven,
were he the darling Son of a Monarch, an Empire’s Hope, and Joy of all
the Fair, he shou’d not live to rifle me of Peace.--Come, shew me this
destin’d Victim to my Rage.

_Geo._ No, my Revenge is only comical--If you wou’d see how Woman can
dissemble, come on, and follow me.

_Prince._ What, disturb her Rest! Didst thou not see her fainting with
the Fatigues this Night had given her, and begg’d me I would leave her
to Repose?

_Geo._ Yes, and wonder’d at her Art; and when you begg’d to watch by her
Bed-side, with what dear Promises she put you off; while every word fell
feebly from her Tongue, as if’t had been her last, so very sick she
was--till you were gone--Hark--a Door opens--I will obscure the Lights.
    [Puts away the Lights.

    Enter _Olivia._ They retire a little.

_Oliv._ Was ever Maid so near to being undone? Oh Heavens! in bed with
the dear Man I love, ready to be betray’d by every Sigh.
    [_George_ peeps.

_Geo._ ‘Tis _Olivia_.

    Enter _Manage_ groping.

_Man._ I left him here--what, by dark? _Endimion_, young, handsome Sir,
where are you?
    [Calls _Olivia_.

_Geo._ Do you hear that, Sir?

_Man._ Oh, are you here?--    [Runs against _Olivia_.

_Oliv._ ‘Slife, ‘tis _Manage_--how shall I escape?--    [Aside.

_Man._ Come, Sir, my Lady _Mirtilla_ has dismiss’d her troublesome
Lovers, for your more agreeable Company.

_Geo._ D’ye hear that, Sir?

_Man._ Come softly on, Sir, and follow me.

_Oliv._ I’m all Obedience--

She cannot ravish me, and that’s a Comfort.    [Aside, going out.

_Prince._ Oh, _Lejere_--can this be possible? Can there be such a Woman?

_Geo._ Follow him, Sir, and see--

_Prince._ See what!--be witness of her Infamy? Hell! Hell, and all the
Fires of Lust possess her! when she’s so old and leud, all Mankind shun
her.--I’ll be a Coward in my own dire Revenge, and use no manly
Mercy.--But oh, I faint, I faint with Rage and Love, which like two
meeting Tides, swell into Storms.--Bear me a minute to my Couch within.

_Geo._ What have I done! now I repent my Rashness.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE II. Draws off, discovers _Mirtilla_ at her Toylet, dress’d.

    Enter _Manage_, leading _Olivia_ in as _Endymion_, who falls at
    _Mirtilla’s_ Feet, whilst she’s there, sings a Song; she takes him
    up.

_Mir._ Rise,--When Lovers are alone they pardon Ceremony.--I sent for
you to end the Night with me; say--how shall we employ it?

_Oliv._ I’ll sigh, and gaze upon your lovely Face.

_Mir._ Nothing but sigh, and gaze; we shall grow dull.

_Oliv._ I’ll tell you Tales of Love, and sing you Songs.

_Mir._ Thy Voice, ‘tis true, can charm a thousand ways; but Lovers time
their Joys, these for the Day, those for the lovely Night. And when they
would be silently in love, have Musick of soft Sighs and gentler
Whispers.

_Oliv._ Oh, Love inspires all this--What shall I do?    [Aside.

_Mir._ Nay, think not because I sent for you alone, while Night and
Silence favour Lovers Stealths, to take advantage of my yielding Heart.

_Oliv._ I wou’d to Heaven she were in earnest now.

    A Noise. Enter _Manage_.

_Man._ Oh, hide your Favourite, Madam--do you hear.

_Mir._ A jealous Lover only, comes in such a Storm--Dear, to my Heart,
whose Safety is my Life. Submit to be conceal’d--but where--Oh Heavens,
he comes--’Tis for you I fear--
    [They search for a place.

_Man._ He comes--

_Mir._ Here, let my Train secure you--Till now I never found the right
Use of long Trains and Farthingals.
    [She kneels, _Man._ puts her Train over _Olivia_.

    Enter _Prince_ and _George_, at the Door.

_Geo._ ‘Sdeath, you have made these Pauses and Alarms to give her time
to jilt you.

_Prince._ Pray Heaven she do--I’d not be undeceiv’d for all the Sun
surveys.
    [Enters.

_Mir._ My Lord the Prince! now you are kind indeed.
    [Goes and embraces him.
  --hah! what means this Unconcern?

_Prince._ I thought I’ad left you sick, extremely sick.

_Mir._ And are you griev’d to find my Health return?

_Prince._ No, wondrous glad of it. You’re mighty gay, _Mirtilla_, much
in Glory.

_Mir._ Can he, who lays his Fortune at my Feet, think me too glorious
for his Arms and Eyes?

_Geo._ Fifty to one the Gipsy jilts him yet.    [Aside.

_Prince._ Pray Heaven she lyes but handsomly--    [Aside.
  --for mine, _Mirtilla_! Ha--ha--

_Mir._ Am I not yours? You cannot doubt my Vows.

_Geo._ She’ll do’t, and make me love her anew for her rare dexterity at
dissembling.

_Prince._ I left you wearied, going to your Bed, but find you at your
Toylet gayly dress’d, as if some Conquest you design’d e’er morning.

_Mir._ _Manage_, Sir, from the Fire, secur’d these Trifles, and I was
trying several Dresses on; that this slight Beauty that you say has
charm’d you, might, when you saw it next, complete the Conquest.

_Geo._ And that thou wilt, if Flattery can do’t.

_Prince._ Now, were she guilty, as I’m sure she’s not, this Softness
would undo me, and appease me.

_Mir._ You seem as if you doubted what I say.
    [This while, _Olivia_ gets off unseen.
  By all the Powers--

_Prince._ Hold, I scorn to need an Oath to fix my Faith; Oh! thou art
all divine, and canst not err.
    [Embraces her.
  Curs’d be the Tongue that dares profane thy Virtue, and curs’d the
listning Fool that dares believe it.

_Geo._ What a poor, wretched, baffled thing is Man, by feebler Woman
aw’d and made a Coxcomb!

_Mir._ Durst any one traduce my Virtue, Sir, and is it possible that you
could hear it?--Then perish all the Beauties you have flatter’d.
    [Tears her Head-things.

_Prince._ Come to my Arms, thou Charmer of my Soul! and if one spark of
Jealousy remain, one of those precious Tears shall quench the Crime--Oh,
come, and let me lead thee to thy Bed, and breathe new Vows into thy
panting Bosom.
    [Leads her off, she looks back on _George_ and smiles.

_Geo._ Now all the Plagues of injur’d Lovers wreck thee; ‘Sdeath, where
has she hid _Olivia_? or how am I deceiv’d?--’Tis Day, and with it new
Invention rise to damn this Woman to the sin of Shame; break all the
Chains that hold the princely Youth, and sink her with her fancy’d Power
and Vanity.
    [Exit.


SCENE III. Changes to Lady _Youthly’s_.

    Enter Sir _Rowland_ half dress’d, Lady _Blunder_ in an Undress,
    Lady _Youthly_ in her morning-dress, _Teresia_ and Mr. _Twang_.

Sir _Row._ Morrow, my Lady _Youthly_, and thank you for my Night’s
Lodging--You are as early up as if it had been your Wedding-day.

L. _Youth._ Truly, Sir _Rowland_, that I intend.

Sir _Row._ But where’s the Bride-groom, Madam?

    Enter _Roger_.

How now, _Roger_, what, no news yet of _George_?

_Rog._ Alas! none, Sir, none, till the Rubbish be removed.

Sir _Row._ Rubbish--What--what, is _George_ become the Rubbish of the
World then?
    [Weeps.

_Twang._ Why, Man is but Dust, as a Man may say, Sir.

L. _Blun._ But are you sure, _Roger_, my Jewel, my Sir _Moggy_ escap’d?

_Rog._ The Watch drew him out of the Cellar-window, Madam.

L. _Youth._ How, Mr. _Twang_, the young Gentleman burnt--Oh--
    [Falls in a Chair.

_Ter._ Alas! my Grandmother faints with your ill News.--Good Sir
_Rowland_, comfort her, and dry your Eyes.

Sir _Row._ Burnt, Madam! No, no, only the House fell on him, or so--
    [Feigns Chearfulness, and speaks to Lady _Youthly_.

L. _Youth._ How! the House fell on him--Oh!

Sir _Row._ Ah, Madam, that’s all; why, the young Rogue has a Back like
an Elephant--’twill bear a Castle, Madam.

L. _Youth._ Alas, good Man: What a Mercy ‘tis, Mr. _Twang_, to have a
Back like an Elephant!

L. _Blun._ Of what wonderful Use it is upon occasion--

Sir _Row._ Ay--but--but I shall never see him more, Back nor Breast.
    [Weeps.

_Twang._ Good Sir, discomfort not my Lady--Consider Man’s a Flower--

Sir _Row._ Ay, but _George_ was such a Flower! He was, Mr. _Twang_, he
was the very Pink of Prentices. Ah! what a rare rampant Lord Mayor he
wou’d have made! And what a swinging Sheriff--
    [Cries.

_Ter._ What, cry, so near your Wedding-day, Sir Rowland?

Sir _Row._ Well, if he be gone--Peace be with him: and, ‘Ifaks,
Sweet-heart, we’ll marry, and beget new Sons and Daughters--but--but I
shall ne’er beget another _George_.
    [Cries.

_Ter._ This is but a Scurvy Tune for your hymenical Song, Sir.

Sir _Row._ Alas! Mrs. _Teresia_, my Instrument is untun’d, and good for
nothing now but to be hung upon the Willows.

_Cry within._ Murder, Murder, Murder!

    Enter Footman. Sir _Merlin_ with his Sword drawn, and Sir
    _Morgan_.

Sir _Row._ What’s here, my Rogue?

_Twang._ What’s the matter, Gentlemen, that ye enter the House in this
hostile manner?

Sir _Morg._ What, Mr. _Twang_, de see!

Sir _Mer._ Ay, ay--stand by Divinity--and know, that we, the Pillars of
the Nation, are come, de see--to ravish.

L. _Blun._ Oh, my dear Sir Morgan.    [Embraces him.

Sir _Morg._ I do not intend to ravish, like a _Jew_, in my own Tribe--

L. _Youth._ What say they, Mr. _Twang_, ravish? Oh, save my Honour--lead
me to my Bed-Chamber, where, if they dare venture to come, they come
upon their Peril.
    [_Twang_ leads her out. Sir _Morgan_ goes to _Ter._

Sir _Mer._ Old Fellow, do’st hear? Sir _Pandarus_ of _Troy_, deliver me
my _Cressida_, de see, peacefully, or I am resolved to bear her off _Vi
& Armis_.

L. _Blun._ Sweet Nephew, retire, we are just upon making your Peace.

Sir _Mer._ Ha--Old Queen _Gwiniver_, without her Ruff on?

    [Sir _Merlin_ takes hold of her to bear her off; she cries out:
    Sir _Rowland_ draws upon him. As they are going to fight, _George_
    enters.

_Geo._ Is there a Man in Nature’s Race so vile, dares lift a guilty Hand
against his Father?

Sir _Mer._ Father me no Fathers; I fight for _Teresia_, my lawfully
begotten Spouse.

_Geo._ That I once called you Brother, saves your Life; therefore resign
your Sword here at his reverend Feet.

Sir _Mer._ Sirrah, you lye, Sirrah--

_Geo._ There, drag away this Brute.    [Disarms him. To the Footman.

Sir _Mer._ Rogues, Dogs, bring Mrs. _Teresia_ along with you.

_Ter._ Sure this is my fine Fellow--and yet the very same that’s to be
married to my Grandmother; nor can that City Habit hide the Gentleman.
    [_George_ speaks this while with his Father, who embraces him.

Sir _Morg._ Burnt, say you, Mrs. _Teresia_, de see--my Lady _Mirtilla_
burnt! Nay, then, ‘tis time to go to sleep, get sober, and marry again.
    [Goes out.

Sir _Row._ Enough, my Boy, enough; thou deserv’st my whole Estate, and
thou shalt have it, Boy--This day thou shalt marry the Widow, and I her
Grand-child. I’ll to my Lawyers, and settle all upon thee instantly.
    [Goes out.

_Geo._ How, marry to day--Old Gentleman, you must be cozen’d; and,
Faith, that goes against my Conscience--Ha, the Fair, the Young
_Teresia_ there--When a man’s bent upon Wickedness, the Devil never
wants an Opportunity to present him with, that she shou’d be in my way
now--Fair Creature, are you resolv’d to be my Mother-in-law?

_Ter._ As sure as you to be my Grandfather, Sir--And see--the News of
your being come, has rais’d my Grandmother.

    Enter _Lettice_, my Lady’s maid, and Lady _Youthly_.

_Geo._ A Pox upon her, her Ghost had been less frightful.

_Ter._ I cou’d have spar’d her now too; but see she advances as swift as
Time.

_Geo._ And as old: What shall I do? I dye to speak with you--

L. _Youth._ Where--where’s this Young Welcome Gentleman--Oh, are you
here, Sir--
    [She sees him not, but runs upon him.
  _Lettice_, take _Teresia_, and get you to your Chamber, she has her
Trinkets to get ready against the Wedding anon, for we’ll make but one
work of both.

_Ter._ Ay, ‘twill save Charges, Madam--

L. _Youth._ Ay, ay, get you gone, Lovers sometimes wou’d be private.

_Geo._ Heark ye--leave me not to her mercy, by Love, if you do, I’ll
follow you to your Chamber.

_Ter._ Leave you! No, hang me if I do, till I have told you a piece of
my mind, for I find there’s no dallying.

L. _Youth._ Well, Sir, I have finish’d the Great Work.

_Geo._ I wish you had--_Teresia_, once you made me hope you did not hate
me.

L. _Youth._ What says he, _Teresia_?

_Ter._ He says, he hopes you do not hate him, Madam.

L. _Youth._ No, by my Troth, Sir; I feel something for you, I have not
felt before.

_Geo._ Not these Threescore Years, I dare swear--You have too much Wit,
_Teresia_, to have been only pleas’d with the Embroider’d Coat, and
Gawdy Plume, when still the man’s the same.

L. _Youth._ What says he, Embroider’d Coat and Plume?

_Ter._ He hopes your Ladyship likes him ne’er the worse, for being
without those Fopperies.

L. _Youth._ Marry do I not, I love not this over-finery in a Husband;
those Fellows that dress, think so well of themselves, they never mind
their Wives.

_Geo._ Are you so dull, _Teresia_, not to see, this Habit was put on,
only to get an Opportunity to tell you my Passion?

L. _Youth._ Tell me of his Passion! was it so, alas, good Young
Man--Well, well, I’ll defer your Joys no longer, this Night shall make
you happy, Mr. _Twang_ shall join us, Sir.

_Geo._ A blessed hearing--You see, Charming Maid, how very short a space
there is between this and the hast’ning hour; stand not on Virgin
Niceties, but answer me, our time admits of no Consideration.

_Ter._ I have not been this Four and Twenty hours a Lover, to need
Considering; as soon as you had my Heart, you had my Consent, and that
was the first moment I saw you at the _Basset-Table_.

_Geo._ Ha! at the Basset-Table!

_Ter._ Yes, I was the frank Youth that lent you Money--but no more--your
Time and Place.

L. _Youth._ What are you prating to him there?

_Ter._ He doubts your Love, Madam, and I’m confirming it.

L. _Youth._ Alas, good Gentleman!--anon I’ll convince him--for in the
Ev’ning, Sir, the Priest shall make us one.

_Geo._ Ah, Madam, I cou’d wish ‘twere not so long defer’d, for sure I
love you like a sighing Swain, and as a Proof of it, I have here
prepar’d an Emblem of my Love in a Dance of Country Lovers, when Passion
is sincere.

L. _Youth._ Good-lack-a-day, indeed you’re so obliging: But pray let us
have the Dance.
    [Dance.

L. _Youth._ Very pretty indeed. Come, good Gentleman, don’t droop, don’t
droop; come, hold up your Head--you may be allow’d one kiss beforehand.

_Geo._ [Kisses her.] Oh, what a pestilential Blast was there!
    [Aside.

L. _Youth._ Come, come, _Teresia_, come with me.

_Geo._ [to _Teresia_.] I’ll send a Chair to your Back-gate anon, that
shall wait you on the Field-side, and bring you whither I shall appoint.
Get ready instantly.

_Ter._ And if I fail, may I be eternally damn’d to the Embraces of old
Age.

    [Exeunt all but _George_.

_Geo._ _Mirtilla_, thus thy Scorn I will out-brave, And let my Father
the kind Cheat forgive;
  _If I with dexterous charitable care_
  _Ease him of Burdens he wants strength to bear._    [Exit.




ACT V.


SCENE I. _Welborn’s_ Chamber.

    Enter _Welborn_ dressing himself; to him a Footman with a Letter.

_Wel._ Prithee what became of the Spark that lay with me last Night?

_Foot._ I know not, Sir, he ‘rose before day--What Letter’s this, Sir?
It lay upon your Toylet.
    [Gives _Welborn_ a Letter.

_Wel._ _To the dear Man whose Name I would be glad to know_--
    [Reads.
  Hum--a Woman’s Hand--    [Opens it.

  _The Lady you saw last _Thursday_ in the _Mall_, you had in Bed with
you last Night. _Adieu_._

Oh! dull Divinity of Love! that by no Instinct, no sympathizing Pains or
Pleasure, could instruct my Sense, how near I was to Happiness!

    Enter _George_, fine.

--_Lejere_, behold me here the most unlucky Fellow breathing. Thou
know’st I told thee how I was in love with a young Woman in the _Mall_:
And this very Night I had this very Woman in my Arms.

_Geo._ Is this your ill Luck, Sir?

_Wel._ ‘Sdeath, all the while I took her for a Man: But finding me
asleep, she softly rose; and, by a Light yet burning in my Chamber, she
writ this Billet, and left it on my Table.
    [Gives it _George_, he reads it.

_Geo._ By all that’s good, _Olivia_!--And were you very honest, Sir?

_Wel._ To my eternal Shame, as chaste as Ice.

_Geo._ What will you say now, _Charles_, if I bring this Woman to you
again?

_Wel._ Canst thou? Oh, let me kiss thy Lips away.

_Geo._ For all her Frolick, _Charles_, she’s very honest, a Fortune, and
of Quality--and were’t not for _Olivia_, thou shouldst marry her.

_Wel._ _Olivia_ I ne’er saw, and now ‘twill be too late.

_Geo._ Nay then, Sir, I must fight in her Defence.

_Wel._ You fight in her defence! Why, dost thou love her?--By all that’s
good, I will resign her to thee.

_Geo._ You shall not, Sir; and know she is my Sister.

_Wel._ _Olivia_ thy Sister!--

_Geo._ Ask no more Questions, but defend your self, if you refuse to
marry her; for her Honour’s mine.

_Wel._ Were she an Angel, I must love this Woman.

_Geo._ Then thou shall have her--Haste, and get a Licence--no
more--trust my Friendship--Go.
    [Exit _Welborn_.

    Enter _Olivia_.

_Olivia_, where did you lie last Night?--Nay do not blush, for you may
yet be virtuous.

_Oliv._ Virtuous! Not the young Roses in the bud secur’d, nor breaking
Morn ungaz’d at by the Sun, nor falling Snow has more of Purity.

_Geo._ I do believe you; but your dangerous Frolicks will make the World
talk shamefully.

_Oliv._ Let him talk on, I will not humour Fools.

_Geo._ No more--here’s _Manage_--Contrive an Assignation with
_Mirtilla_; but do not hide again where none may find you. This done,
I’ll tell you more, and make you happy. How now, _Manage_, is the Prince
stirring?

_Man._ He’s in his Dressing-Room, Sir.--This from my Lady, Sir.
    [Slides the Letter into _Olivia’s_ Hand as she passes out.

_Geo._ What have you there, Olivia?    [Takes the Billet.

_Oliv._ An Assignation from your perjur’d Mistress, Sir.

_Geo._ ‘Tis well--you must obey the Summons; and wind her up to all the
height of Love; then let her loose to Shame. I’ll bring her Lover in the
height of Dalliance, who, when he sees her Perfidy, will hate her.

_Oliv._ And then the lovely Man stands fair for me.    [Aside.

_Geo._ Go write an Answer back--and wait her hour.

    [Exeunt severally.


SCENE II. _The Dressing-Room. Discovers the _Prince_ at his Toylet,
dressing. Musick and a Song._

    Enter _George_, waits till the Song is ended. The _Prince_ sees
    him, comes to him with Joy, and falls about his Neck.


  SONG, by Mr. _Gildon_.

  I.

  _Ah _Charmion!_ shroud those killing Eyes,
  That dart th’ extremes of Pleasure,
  Else _Celidon_, though favour’d, dies
  As well as him that you despise,
  Though with this diff’rent measure:
  While lingring Pains drag on his Fate,        }
  Dispatch is all th’ Advantage of my State;    }
  For ah! you hill with Love, as well as Hate._ }

  II.

  _Abate thy Luxury of Charms,
  And only Part discover;
  Your Tongue, as well as Eyes, has Arms
  To give a Thousand fatal Harms
  To the poor listening Lover:
  Thy Beams, like Glorys veil’d shou’d be,
  And like the Front of Heav’n, unseen, pass by;
  For to behold ‘em, in full force, we die._

_Prince._ _Mirtilla_, O! I faint, I die with thy Beauty’s Luxury! by
Heaven, I’m all Rapture, Love, and Joy: Such a dear Night,
_Lejere_!--Poets may fancy pressing Goddesses, on downy Beds of
Clouds--But oh, _Lejere_!--Those Gods were never half so blest as I!

_Geo._ What pity ‘twere to wake you from this Dream.

_Prince._ It is not in the power of Time nor Age: For even then
_Mirtilla_ will have Charms! Oh, how she speaks! how well she’ll grace a
Story!

_Geo._ How gay her Wit! how movingly she writes!

_Prince._ I do believe she does.    [A little seriously.

_Geo._ Would it displease you, should you see a Billet from her?

_Prince._ That’s as it were directed.    [Gravely.

_Geo._ You would not credit what you saw last Night.

_Prince._ Nor wou’d have lost that Night for all the Treasure the vast
Ocean hides.

_Geo._ I wou’d not have a Man, so good and great, be made a Woman’s
Property--There, Sir.
    [Gives him the Billet.

_Prince._ I’ll not believe it her’s; there are a thousand ways to ruin
Innocence; if she be false--she’s damn’d. Confirm me, and of course I
shall despise her. You cure me, when you shew her worth my Scorn.

_Geo._ Will you be rul’d then, and believe it Friendship in me?

_Prince._ I will.

_Geo._ Give her, by Absence, but an Opportunity; feign some Excuse to
leave the Town to day.

_Prince._ See where she comes--

    Enter _Mirtilla_.

Adorn’d with all the beauteous Wonders of her Sex. The Gods of Love are
playing in her Eyes, and give us Wounds from ev’ry graceful Motion. Ah,
my _Mirtilla_! how shall I support the Absence of a many coming Hours,
that languish, being from thee but a Moment?

_Mir._ I hope, my Lord, Fate is not so unkind, to let me live without
you many Hours.

_Prince._ Can all this be dissembl’d?    [Aside to _George_.

_Geo._ How much more have I heard? yet all was false.

_Prince._ I must this Day--this tedious live-long Day, be absent from
thy Sight--but shall be back i’th’ Evening: I’ll leave _Lejere_ to wait
on your Commands.

_Mir._ _Lejere_ shall ever, Sir, be dear to me--But I’ll retire, and
sigh till your Return--that World affords no Pleasure where you are not.

_Prince._ Do you hear that, Sir?    [Aside to _George_.
  Till Night, thou dearest Blessing of my Life--Adieu.
    [_Mirtilla_ going out, pulls _Lejere_ by the Sleeve.

_Mir._ Thou little, mischievous informing Thing, how vainly hast thou
lavish’d out Invention!
    [Smiling.    [Exit.

_Prince._ By Heaven, methinks ‘twere Sin but to suspect her.

_Geo._ Think so; I’ll trouble your Repose no more: I’ve done my Duty,
and I wou’d not see you made a--

_Prince._ Property--Ha--A loath’d convenient Tool--A Woman’s
Implement--’Sdeath! she that off--Loose to the nasty Love of every Fool,
that will be flatter’d, cozen’d, jilted, cuckolded--No more--I will,
unseen, convey my self into the Closet in my Dressing-Room; ‘tis near
her Bed--and if I find her wanton--

_Geo._ If you find her--the Youth is waiting now that shall convince
you.

_Prince._ Where?--Oh, set the happy Slave but in my View, and--

_Geo._ No, faith, Sir, be convinc’d before you strike, for fear she jilt
you out of Sense and Reason--

_Prince._ Come to my Closet, from thence we may observe all that passes
in her Chamber; from whence I’ll break upon the perjur’d Fair, like
Thunder from a Cloud, and more destructive.

    [Exeunt.


SCENE III. A Chamber. Draws and discovers _Mirtilla_ and _Manage_.

_Mir._ Is the Prince gone?

_Man._ Yes, Madam.

_Mir._ Then bring _Endimion_ to me.

_Man._ Madam, I wish you’d think no more of him; for I foresee, that
this Amour must ruin you. Remember you have left a Husband for the
Prince.

_Mir._ A Husband! my Drudge, to toil for me, and save me the Expence of
careful Thoughts: My Cloke, my Led-Horse, for Necessity to fill my
Train--no more--but _Endimion_ waits.
    [Exit _Manage_.
  --There is a native Generosity in me, that checks my Inconstancy to
this great Man; yet I have so much Woman in my Soul, cannot pain my self
to do him Justice--A new desire of humouring my wish, sways all my
Interest, and controuls all my Honour. Why should I lose a Pleasure for
a Promise? since Time, that gives our Youth so short a Date, may well
excuse our needful Perjury.

    Enter _Manage_, and _Olivia_, she runs and embraces him.

--Let the young bashful Maid, unskill’d in Love, deny the pressing
Swain.

Let wither’d Age, who fondly dreams of Virtue, lose the dear
Opportunities of Life.

The coming Hours present themselves to us; and are too nice, not to be
snatch’d when offer’d.

_Oliv._ So hasty! this disarms me of Excuse.    [Aside.

_Mir._ Why are thy Eyes bent down? Why dost thou pause?

_Oliv._ So hot!--I must prepare to shew my Sex’s Evidence, if nothing
else will do.
    [Unbuttons her Coat.

_Mir._ What, not a Word!

Advance, thou bashful Youth--Love in thy Eyes, and Coward in thy Heart!
The one all Fire, the other too much Ice.

    _Prince_ and _George_ looking out.

_Prince._ Yet stay me, my _Lejere_, from my hasty Vengeance.

_Oliv._ Ah, Madam, how are you mistaken! ‘Tis not Coldness in me--but--

_Mir._ What, Bashfulness!
  Oh, Love will lend thee Courage;
  This Trembling is the soft Effects of it.

_Oliv._ Oh, how vilely she’s mistaken!

_Mir._ Come to my Bed, and press the Roses down; and lend more sweetness
to ‘em than they bring.
    [She leading him to her Bed, the _Prince_ enters, with _Lejere_,
    holding his Sword in Hand; he takes hold of _Olivia_.

_Prince._ Love--thus I fling thy gaudy Fetters off, and am no more a
Slave to faithless Beauty.
    [The _Prince_ holding _Olivia_ by the Bosom of her Coat, her
    Breast appears to _Mirtilla_.

_Mir._ Ha! what do I see?--Two Female rising Breasts. By Heav’n,
a Woman.--Oh fortunate Mischance!
    [This while _George_ is arguing with the _Prince_ not to hurt
    _Olivia_.

_Prince._ No, I will not hurt thee, cease thy trembling.

_Mir._ Oh, Sir, ‘twere Sin to hurt the lovely Youth.

_Prince._ No, Madam, since I have taken back my Heart, I can present you
with another Lover.
    [Gives _Olivia_ to her.

_Mir._ Ha! another Lover!--What means my Prince?

_Prince._ Eternally to leave you to your Frailty.

_Mir._ Can you so easily cancel all your Vows? Then kill me at your
Feet, I do implore it.
    [Kneels and weeps.

_Prince._ Away, I do forgive thee, wretched Woman.--But yet be
gone--lest Love and Rage return, and I should kill you yet with your
young Darling.

_Mir._ Whom mean you, Sir, this lovely Maid?

_Oliv._ Maid!--What means she? Sure she cannot know me.

_Prince._ Talk on, false Woman! till thou hast persuaded my Eyes and
Ears out of their native Faculties, I scorn to credit other Evidences.

_Mir._ Try ‘em once more, and then repent, and die.
    [Opens _Olivia’s_ Bosom, shews her Breasts.

_Prince._ Ha--By Heav’n, a Woman!

_Mir._ You that wou’d smile at my suppos’d undoing, present yourself no
more before my Eyes.
  ‘Twas to perplex you that I feign’d this Passion.
  I saw you had your Spies to watch for Mischief,    [To _George_.
  And poison all my Happiness with the Prince.--

And since I am thought so criminal, I’ll take an everlasting leave of
you.
    [To the _Prince_.
  When I am dead, may she you honour next repay your Tenderness as I
have done--But may she never meet my wretched Fate.
    [She snatches _Olivia’s_ Sword out.

_Prince._ Hold, thou most valu’d Treasure of the World, or turn the
pointed Weapon to my Heart.

_Mir._ No, I’m false, unworthy of your Love.

_Geo._ Yes, by Heaven. But thou hast jilted him so handsomly, thou’st
vanquish’d all my Rage.

_Mir._ Yes, I am false; false to this Gallant Man,--    [To _George_.
  false to my Husband, to my Sex’s Fame; for you more charming, I alas
am perjur’d.

_Prince._ _Lejere_, have I then injur’d thee?

_Geo._ This is the fatal Beauty, Sir, for whom so often you have seen me
languish.

_Prince._ Ah! wouldst thou see me on a Precipice, and not prevent my
Danger?

_Geo._ To mightier Friendship I cou’d all surrender, and silently have
born her Perjuries; but those to you, awaken’d all my Rage: but she has
out-trick’d me, and I beg her Pardon--And to secure her yours, have
lov’d anew, and beg Protection in your Lodgings, Sir, for a young Maid
whom I design to marry.

_Prince._ Command my Life, my Fortune, and my Sword, for the unwilling
Injury I have done thee--And is this the charming, perjur’d Fair,
_Mirtilla_?

_Geo._ It is, Sir.

_Prince._ Since it is possible that you cou’d cease to love this Gallant
Man, whom I have heard with so much tender Passion tell your Loves, what
sacred Vows had past, and what Endearments, how can I hope from thee a
lasting Faith?--Yet on the Oaths that thou hast sworn to me--by all thy
Hopes of Pardon for thy Perjuries, to ease my panting Heart--once speak
the Truth--Didst thou not take this Woman for a Man?

_Mir._ I did--and were she so, I wou’d with Pride own all the Vows I’ve
broke.

_Prince._ Why, this is fair--and though I buy this Knowledge at the vast
Price of all my Repose; yet I must own, ‘tis a better Bargain than
chaff’ring of a Heart for feign’d Embraces--Thou hast undone me--yet
must have my Friendship; and ‘twill be still some Ease in this Extreme,
to see thee yet repent, and love _Lejere_.

_Mir._ No, Sir, this Beauty must be first declining, to make me take up
with a former Lover.

_Geo._ No, Sir, I have dispos’d my Heart another way; and the first
knowledge of her Falshood cur’d me: Her Marriage I forgave--that thing
of Form--but never could her Fondness to this Youth.

_Prince._ Who’s this Lady, Sir, whose Pardon I must beg?

_Geo._ My Sister, Sir, who I disguis’d on purpose to be a Guard to this
suspected Fair One.

    Enter _Welborn_.

_Wel._ Ha, she’s there!

Now every Feature points me out my Conqueress.--Nay, start not--I have
found Thee, thou malicious Charmer, to bring me so near to Bliss, and
not afford me one kind hint.

_Oliv._ And are not you a very dull Fellow, that lov’d and long’d, and
had the Maid so near you, and yet needed a Hint?

_Wel._ Nay, if you conceal’d your precious Talent, how shou’d it profit
any body?

_Oliv._ Conceal’d it!--No, Faith, I made a very fair Tender; but you
refus’d it, as not being current Coin.

_Wel._ But if you most feloniously, and unlawfully deface our
Sovereign’s Image, so as it may be as soon taken for the Grand
Signior’s, I may suspect the Metal too.

_Oliv._ What say you if I tender it before these lawful Witnesses?

_Wel._ I’ll take it for good Payment--I _Charles Welborn_--

_Oliv._ Ha, _Welborn_!    [Aside.

_Wel._ Take thee--whom?--Gad, if the Parson of the Parish knew your Name
no better than I--’twill be but a blind Bargain.

_Geo._ _Olivia Marteen_--

_Wel._ My destin’d Wife!

_Geo._ The very same: Have you the Parson ready?

_Wel._ He waits in my Chamber.

_Oliv._ Madam, I beg you’ll lend me something more becoming my Sex.

_Mir._ _Manage_ will furnish you from my Wardrobe.
    [Exit _Olivia_ with _Manage_.

    Enter _Teresia_.

_Geo._ And see my good Genius appears too.

_Ter._ See, Sir, I am resolv’d to be welcome to your Arms; look, here
are the Writings of the Estate my Grandfather left me, and here’s three
thousand Pound my Grandmother has settled on me, upon her Marriage with
you.
    [Gives him the Writings.

_Geo._ And here’s my Father’s Estate settled on me--Come, let’s put them
together--and go in, and let the Parson do as much for us.
    [Puts ‘em in her Case.

_Ter._ But have you very well considered this Matter?

_Geo._ Teresia, we’ll do like most Couples, marry first, and consider
afterwards--
    [Leads her in.

    Enter a Footman.

_Foot._ Sir, here’s Sir _Merlin_, with a Lady mask’d, wou’d speak with
you.

_Wel._ Carry ‘em into the Dining-Room, I’ll wait on ‘em anon.

    [Exeunt _Omnes_.


SCENE IV. _My Lady _Youthly’s_; Discovers her, and _Lettice_ dressing
her._

L. _Youth._ Hold the Glass higher, _Lettice_; is not this Tour too
brown?--Methinks it does not give a youthful Aire to my Face.

_Lett._ That’s not in Nature.

L. _Youth._ Like Nature! Ay, but Nature’s self wants Art, nor does this
Fontange suit with my Complexion--put on a little more red, _Lettice_,
on my Cheeks, and Lips.
    [She does so.

_Lett._ Ay, for they are but a little too much upon the
_Coventry_-Blue--This Tour must come more forward, Madam, to hide the
Wrinkles at the corners of your Eyes--
    [Pulls it.

L. _Youth._ Ay, _Lettice_, but there are others, that neither Tours, nor
Paint, nor Patches will hide, I fear--yet altogether, _Lettice_--
    [Puts on her Spectacles, and looks in the Glass.

    Enter _Sir Rowland_.

Sir _Row._ What, no Bride yet, nor Bridegroom?

L. _Youth._ Ay, what can be the meaning of this?

Sir _Row._ But _Teresia_, Madam, where can she be gadding?

L. _Youth._ Why, _Lettice_ tells me, she went to buy some Trifles to
adorn her this Night--Her Governante is with her, and my Steward.

    Enter Mr. _Twang_.

_Twang._ Alas, what pity ‘tis; the Supper is quite spoil’d, and no
Bridegroom come!

_A Noise of hallowing without, and Musick._

    Enter Lady _Blunder_.

L. _Blun._ Bless us! Here’s a whole Regiment of Liveries, Coaches, and
Flambeaux at the Door! the Fops of the Town have heard of a Wedding, and
are come in Masquerade.

    Enter Musick playing; after them, Prince _Frederick_, leading
    _Mirtilla_, _George_ leading _Teresia_; Sir _Merlin_, _Diana_;
    Mrs. _Manage_, _Britton_; Pages, and Footmen, all in Masquerade.
    Sir _Morgan_ comes in, all in Mourning; _Welborn_, and _Olivia_.

Sir _Mer._ Hearing of a high Wedding, Sir, we made bold (as the saying
is) to give you Joy. Sir, are not you the Bridegroom?

_Ter._ Where’s your Bride, Sir? Ha! ha! ha!

Sir _Mer._ Ay, ay, where’s your Bride?

Sir _Row._ What’s that to you, _Sir_ Coxcomb?

Sir _Mer._ Hum--how the devil came he to know me now?--Is this reverend
Gentlewoman your Lady, Sir?

Sir _Row._ Ounds, they come to mock us!--Hark ye, hark ye, Tawdrums, if
you are Men, shew your Faces; if Apes, play over your Monkey-Tricks and
be gone, d’ye hear.--We are not at leisure for Fooling.

_Geo._ Be but at leisure, Sir, to pardon    [_George_ kneels.
  this one Disobedience of my Life, and all the rest I’ll dedicate to
please and humour you. Sir, I am marry’d.
    [Pulls off his Mask.

Sir _Row._ What the Devil’s that to me, Sir?

_Geo._ Do not you know me, Sir?

Sir _Row._ No, Sir, nor don’t care to know any such flaunting Coxcombs.

_Geo._ Look on me, Sir.
    [Looks on him, knows him, goes away, and returns.

Sir _Row._ Hum, hum, hum--

_Ter._ It is your Son, Sir, your darling Son, who has sav’d your Life
from Insolence.

Sir _Row._ Hum--_Teresia_!

L. _Youth._ How, _Teresia_! what, robb’d me of my intended Husband? Oh,
undone! undone!
    [Falls into a Chair.

Sir _Row._ And hast thou, after all, served me such a Rogue’s Trick,
thou ungracious Varlet? What, cuckold thine own Father!

_Geo._ Oh, do not frown, I cannot bear your Anger! Here will I hang for
ever till you Pardon me.
    [Clasps his Knees.

Sir _Row._ Look--look--now cannot I be angry with the good-natur’d young
Rogue.
    [Weeps.
  Well, _George_--But hark ye, Sirrah, this is a damn’d Trick of yours.

_Geo._ Sir, I found my Youth was fitter for her than your Age, and
you’ll be as fond of a Grand-Child of my begetting as you would of a Son
of another Man’s perhaps.

Sir _Row._ Thou’rt in the Right on’t.

Sir _Mer._ Ha! Is Monsieur _Lejere_ then my Brother _George_?

_Geo._ Sir, Here’s another Couple wants your Pardon; my Brother
_Merlin_, and my Lady _Diana_.

L. _Blun._ _Diana_! What, Sir _Harry Modish’s_ Mistress?

_Dia._ Yes, he pawn’d me at the _Basset-Table_; and, in Revenge,
I resolv’d to marry the next Man of Fortune I met with.

Sir _Row._ The Fool had more Wit than I thought he had; for which I’ll
give him a Thousand Pound a Year.

_Geo._ I humbly thank you, Sir.

_Mir._ Pray, Melancholy Sir, who are you in Mourning for?

Sir _Morg._ Alas, Madam, for a Person of Quality that was my Wife; but
rest her Soul, she’s burnt.
    [Weeps.
  And I shall never see any thing again like her.

_Mir._ No! What think you of this Face, Sir?

Sir _Morg._ As Gad shall sa’ me, as like as if the same.

L. _Blun._ In troth, and so she is.

_Prince._ ‘Tis true, she was once your Wife; but I have preserv’d her
from the Flames, and I have most Right to her.

Sir _Morg._ That’s a hard Case, Sir, that a Man must lose his Wife,
because another has more Right to her than himself; Is that Law, Sir?

_Prince._ Lover’s Law, Sir.

L. _Blun._ Ay, ay, Son, ‘tis the Fashion to marry one Week, and separate
the next. I’ll set you a President for it my self.
    [In this time _Welborn_ kneels with _Olivia_; _Sir Rowland_ takes
    ‘em up, and kisses ‘em.

Sir _Morg._ Nay, if it be the Fashion, I’ll e’en into the Country, and
be merry with my Tenants, and Hawk, and Hunt, and Horse-match.

_Prince._ But now, Sir, I’ll resign my Right to you, and content myself
with the Honour to have preserv’d her from the Fire.
    [_Prince_ delivers _Mirtilla_ to Sir _Morgan_, who receives her.

Sir _Morg._ As gad shall sa’ me, Sir, you’re a civil Person; and now I
find you can endure a Woman, Sir, I’ll give you leave to visit her.

Sir _Row._ Well, since we’re all agreed, and that the Fiddles are here,
adsnigs, we’ll have a Dance, Sweet-heart, though thou hast out-witted
me.
    [Takes _Teresia_, _George_ takes Lady _Youthly_, &c. After the
    Dance, Lady _Youthly_ weeps.

_Geo._ What, weeping yet? Here, Mr. _Twang_, take the Lady to your Care;
in these Cases, there’s nothing like the Consolation of your young
Chaplain.

  The Widow, with young Jointure, and old Face,
  Affected Mein, and Amorous Grimace,
  Uses to fall to th’ younger Brother’s share;      }
  But I by Fortune, and Industrious Care,           }
  Have got one that’s Rich, Witty, Young, and Fair. }


    _FINIS._




EPILOGUE.

  Spoken by Mr. _Horden_.


  We’ve grown Impatient to be out of pain,
  And fain wou’d know our fortune, loss, or gain:
  The Merchants phrase mayn’t be Improper now,
  If ye our City Character allow.
  But some Spruse Criticks, I hear, swears ‘tis strange,
  To take a powder’d Beau off from the Exchange;
  A place more fam’d for Band, and dress precise,
  For greasy Cuckholds, Stockjobbers, and lies,
  Than for a Spark o’ th’ town, but now a days
  The Cit sets up in box, puffs, perfumes, plays,
  And tho’ he passes for a Man of Trade,
  Is the chief squeaker at the Masquerade,
  Let him his Sister, or his wife beware,
  ‘Tis not for nothing Courtiers go so far;
  Thus for a while he holds, till Cash is found
  To be a Dr. many a woful Pound,
  Then off he moves, and in another year,
  Turns true Alsatian, or Solicitor.
  For we (except o’ th’ stage) shall seldom find
  To a poor broken Beau, a Lady kind,
  Whilst pow’rful _Guinea_ last, he’s wondrous pretty,
  And much the finest Gentlemen o’ th’ City,
  But when fob’s empty, he’s an odious Creature.
  Fough, how he stinks! h’as not one taking feature,
  Then such an Awkard mein, and vulgar sence,
  I vow, I wonder at his Impudence!
  ‘Tis well _Lejere_ appear’d, _George_ owes the prize
  To the Gay Monsieur, Footmen and Disguise,
  Charms which few English Women can withstand,
  What can’t a Man of Quality command?
  As to the faults, or Merits of the Play }
  We leave ye to be judges of, yet say,   }
  Ye ought in justice to be kind to day.  }
  For to our Cost alas, we soon shall find, }
  Perhaps not half the money ye design’d,   }
  Consider, Sirs, it goes to be refin’d.    }
  And since in all Exchanges ‘tis a notion,
  For what ye take to be in due proportion,
  So may we justly hope no wrong is done ye
  If ye have _par of Wit for par of Money_.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *

NOTES: The Younger Brother


NOTES ON THE TEXT.

+Dedication+

  p. 316, l. 1 _The Epistle Dedicatory._ This only appears in 4to 1696.
  It is there followed by _An Account of the Life of the Incomparable
  Mrs. BEHN_, an entirely worthless composition of some three pages,
  afterwards vastly expanded into _Memoirs_ ‘by one of the Fair Sex’.

  p. 316, l. 21 _The narrow Virtues ... [which] were._ 4to 1696 omits
  ‘which’ but it is necessary that this or some similar word be inserted
  to make the paragraph sufficiently grammatical.

+Prologue+

  p. 319, l. 9 _an Intriguer._ 4to 1696 ‘the intrigues’.

  p. 319, l. 17 _Mistress young._ 4to 1696 erroneously gives ‘young’ as
  a proper name ‘Mistress Young’.

+Dramatis Personæ+

  p. 321 _Dramatis Personæ._ I have added ‘Philip; Diana; Pages,
  Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants, Rakehells, &c.’ 4to 1696 spells
  Britton ‘Brittone’. Mr. Pinketham ‘Mr. Pinkerman.’ Powell is
  indifferently spelt ‘Powell’ or ‘Powel’.

+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 327, l. 2 _he._ 4to 1696 omits.

  p. 327, l. 7 _Prince._ Here and in ll. 11 and 19 all former editions
  give speech-prefix ‘Fred’, but afterwards uniformly ‘Prince’
  throughout the play.

  p. 329, l. 31 _a._ 4to 1696 omits.

  p. 329, l. 34 _Tablets_: 4to 1696 gives ‘Tablets write:’ which is
  obviously a misprint for ‘Tablets written:’ or, perhaps, ‘Tablets
  writ’.

+ACT I: Scene ii+

  p. 330, l. 23 _Caudle._ Here, and in the following line, 4to 1696
  misprints ‘Candle’.

  p. 332, l. 22 _set._ 1724 ‘sit’.

  p. 337, l. 7 _Sir Mer._ 4to 1696 misprints ‘Sir Mark.’

  p. 337, l. 19 _George Kneels._ I have inserted ‘George’.

  p. 337, l. 20 _Ay, Sir._ 4to 1696 marks this line ‘Aside.’ An obvious
  error.

  p. 338, l. 10 _Sir Rowland._ 4to 1696 ‘Sir Merlin’.

  p. 338, l. 16 _Chaplain [Mr. Twang], and leaning._ 4to 1696 ‘her
  Chaplain, and leaning’. I have inserted Twang’s name and given in
  l. 19 speech-prefix ‘Twang’ which all former editions mark ‘Chap.’,
  altering, however, to ‘Twang’ later in this scene at ‘Truly, Madam’.

  p. 339, l. 20 _cuckold._ 4to 1696 ‘Cuckhold’.

  p. 339, l. 34 _The End of the First Act._ Only in 4to 1696.

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 340, l. 2 _Sir Rowland’s Lodging._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 340, l. 29 _Lookye._ 4to 1696 has ‘(Alone.) Lookye’--an obvious
  error. ‘(Alone.)’ is probably a misprint for ‘(Aloud.)’ which is of
  itself quite unnecessary.

  p. 341, l. 13 _Hearts._ 4to 1696 ‘Heats’.

  p. 342, l. 3 _’.will._ 4to 1696 ‘will’.

  p. 342, l. 19 _India._ 4to 1696 ‘Indian’.

+ACT II: Scene ii+

  p. 343, l. 13 _A Chamber._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 346, l. 17 _Hackney-Coach._ 4to 1696 ‘Hackney’.

  p. 346, l. 31 _pimp._ 4to 1696 misprints ‘Pump’.

  p. 348, l. 8 _they._ 4to 1696 omits.

  p. 349, l. 29 _Sir Morgan Blunder’s._ 4to 1696 ‘Sir M. Blun.’

+ACT II: Scene iii+

  p. 350, l. 24 _Another Chamber._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 351, l. 10 _another._ 4to 1696 adds to this stage direction ‘Sir
  Mer. together.’

  p. 352, l. 7 _a Tendre._ 1724 omits ‘a’.

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 353, l. 11 _too._ 4to 1696 ‘to’.

  p. 354, l. 2 _A rich Chamber._ I have supplied this locale.

  p. 358, l. 4 _Expectations._ 1724 ‘Expectation’.

  p. 358, l. 34 _Olivia enters._ 4to 1696 reads ‘Enter Olivia with a
  letter. Olivia gives Welborn the letter.’

  p. 359, l. 33 _Enter Sir Morgan._ Before the couplet 4to 1696
  repeats ‘Sir Morg. and Sir Merl. singing.’

  p. 360, l. 10 _de._ 1724 here and elsewhere ‘d’ye’.

+ACT III: Scene ii+

  p. 362, l. 18 _you._ 4to 1696 ‘thou’.

+ACT III: Scene iii+

  p. 363, l. 17 _Whither?_ 4to 1696 ‘Whether?’

  p. 367, l. 26 _Exeunt._ I have added this stage direction.

+ACT IV: Scene i+

  p. 370, l. 30 _Exit Prince with Mirtilla._ Former editions ‘and
  Mirtilla’.

  p. 371, l. 14 _Exit._ 4to 1696 ‘Exit George.’

  p. 373, l. 15 _Exeunt._ 4to 1696 ‘Exit both.’

  p. 373, l. 23 _of thy hopes._ 4to 1696 omits ‘of’.

  p. 373, l. 32 _ruffle, ravish, and ruin._ 4to 1696 ‘Ruffles, Ravishes,
  and Ruines’.

  p. 374, l. 8 _Racks._ 4to 1696 ‘Wrecks’.

  p. 374, l. 35 _feebly._ 1724 ‘freely’. A patent error.

  p. 375, l. 4 _near to being._ 1724 ‘near being’.

  p. 375, l. 33 _Exeunt._ Not in 4to 1696.

+ACT IV: Scene ii+

  p. 376, l. 1 _Scene II._ I have numbered this scene, and the
  following (p. 378, l. 16.) Scene III.

+ACT IV: Scene iii+

  p. 379, l. 33 _Sir Merlin with his Sword._ 4to 1696 ‘Sir Merlin his
  Sword’.

  p. 380, l. 19 _she cries out._ 1724 omits ‘out’.

  p. 381, l. 17 _My Lady’s maid._ I have inserted these words.

+ACT V: Scene i+

  p. 383, l. 27 _Welborn’s Chamber._ I have marked this locale.

  p. 385, l. 13 _him._ 1724 ‘them’.

+ACT V: Scene ii+

  p. 386, l. 18 _has._ 4to 1696 ‘had’.

  p. 386, l. 24 _Mirtilla._ All previous editions here have ‘Lydia’,
  which makes no sense. It is probable that the original name of
  Mirtilla was Lydia, and Mrs. Behn, or Gildon, neglected to alter it
  in this passage.

+ACT V: Scene iii+

  p. 388, l. 28 _Scene III._ All previous editions have ‘Scene
  discovers Mirtilla and Manage.’

  p. 388, l. 35 _you have left._ 1724 ‘you left’.

  p. 393, l. 17 _Exit Olivia with Manage._ I have added Manage’s name
  here.

+ACT V: Scene iv+

  p. 394, l. 1 _Scene IV._ I have numbered this scene.

+Epilogue+

  p. 398, l. 26 _Fough, how he stinks!_ 4to 1696 ‘Fough, he how he
  stinks?’


NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

+Dedication+

  p. 316 _Collonel Codrington._ Christopher Codrington (1668-1710) was
  born at Barbadoes, and thence sent to England to be educated. In 1685
  he passed as a gentleman commoner to Christ Church, Oxford. Five years
  later he was elected as a probationer fellow to All Souls. Here he
  speedily became known for the catholicity and thoroughness of his
  studies, and ‘soon acquir’d the deserv’d character of an accomplished,
  well-bred gentleman, and an universal scholar’. He was already an
  enthusiastic bibliophile. In 1694 he followed William III to Flanders,
  and having fought with great gallantry at Hay and Namur in 1695,
  received various military distinctions. In the same year he attended
  the King to Oxford, and pronounced the university oration on this
  royal visit. There are dedications to him by Creech, Dennis, and
  others, but it has been pertinently remarked that ‘his fame is rather
  to be inferred’ hence ‘than from actually existent performances on his
  part’, albeit we have copies of complimentary verses (e.g. prefixed to
  Garth’s _Dispensary_) from his pen. In 1697 he succeeded his father as
  commander-in-chief of the Leeward Isles. He does not seem to have been
  popular, and resigned in 1703, retiring to a life of seclusion and
  study on his Barbadoes estate. He died 7 April, 1710, and his body was
  brought back to England to be buried in All Souls’ chapel. To this
  college he left £10,000, and £6,000 worth of books, a legacy which
  built, furnished and endowed the magnificent Codrington library there.

  p. 317 _Mr. Verbruggen’s reading some of his part._ One may remember
  the incident recorded by Pepys (2 February, 1669), how, after Kynaston
  had been assaulted by Sedley’s bravos, and was too ill to appear, the
  young actor’s rôle was ‘done by Beeston, who is fain to read it out of
  a book all the while and thereby spoils the part, and almost the play,
  it being one of the best parts in it.... But it was pleasant to see
  Beeston come in with others, supposing it to be dark, and yet he is
  forced to read his part by the light of the candles: and this I
  observing to a gentleman that sat by me, he was mightily pleased
  therewith, and spread it up and down.’

+Prologue+

  p. 319 _grave Sir Roger._ ‘Sir Roger’ was a common nickname for any
  clergyman from the well-known comic character ‘Sir Roger, Curate to
  the Lady’, in Beaumont and Fletcher’s popular _The Scornful Lady_.
  This excellent play, a rare favourite with Restoration audiences, kept
  the boards until the death of Mrs. Oldfield in 1730. After the great
  actress’ demise it would seem that none of her successors ventured
  to attempt the title-rôle, hence the piece soon fell out of the
  repertory. In 1783, however, an alteration, made by Cooke the
  barrister for Mrs. Abington, was produced with great success at
  Covent Garden. In this meagre adaptation the Curate disappears. Shanks
  originally acted this part, but Lacy was the acknowledged ‘Sir Roger’
  in Restoration days.

+ACT I: Scene i+

  p. 326 _making Wax Babies._ Playing at dolls.

  p. 330 _Southampton Square._ The original name of Bloomsbury Square,
  so called from the Earl of Southampton’s town residence, afterwards
  Bedford House. Southampton Square was at this period, and for long
  afterwards, the headquarters of fashion in the metropolis: _vide_
  further, Vol. III, _The Town Fop_, p. 22, ‘Southampton House,’ and
  note on that passage (p. 476).

+ACT I: Scene ii+

  p. 331 _Mr. Motteux._ Peter Anthony Motteux was a French Hugenot who
  came to England upon the restoration of the Edict of Nantes (1685).
  He soon mixed with the gayest society, and became well known as a
  prolific writer of songs, prologues, epilogues, masques, and the
  lighter dramatic fare. Much of this work is not lacking in wit and
  volatile smartness, but it is all far too ephemeral to have any
  permanent value as literature. He edited _The Gentleman’s Journal_,
  but is perhaps best remembered for his translation of _Don Quixote_,
  and his concluding Urquhart’s version of Rabelais.

  p. 331 _the Rose._ This celebrated house stood in Russell Street,
  Covent Garden, and adjoined Drury Lane. There are innumerable
  references to it. The greater portion of the ‘Rose’ was demolished
  in 1776, when a new front was being built to the theatre.

  p. 331 _scours._ i.e. violently assaults. ‘To scour’ was to rampage
  the streets, breaking windows, fighting with passers-by, beating the
  watch, &c. Shadwell has an excellent comedy, _The Scowrers_ (1691),
  which, giving a vivid picture of the times, show these drunken and
  blackguardly gentry in a very unamiable light. Several plays treat
  of their exploits. Vanbrugh’s _The Provoked Wife_ (1696), Act III,
  ii, and IV, ii and iv, is perhaps the locus classical for mohocking.

  p. 333 _the Poet Sternhold._ Thomas Sternhold (_ob._ 1549), was the
  author with John Hopkins (_ob._ 1570), of a metrical version of the
  Psalms, which became a bye-word for doggerel. Sir Morgan is, of
  course, alluding to some pious rhymes groaned on the way to the
  triple tree. cf. Shadwell, _The Miser_ (1672), I, i, ‘She would be
  more welcome to thee than a reprieve would, if thou wert just now
  trolling out Hopkins and Sternhold upon a ladder.’

  p. 333 _Billmen in Flannel._ Bills were the common weapon of the
  watch. cf. _The Coxcomb_ (folio 1647), Act I, where Ricardo says
  to the constable of the watch, ‘Give me the bill, for I’ll be the
  sergeant.’ Doctor Johnson tells us that the Lichfield watchmen carried
  bills as late as 1778.

  p. 333 _Wills’ Coffee-house._ _vide_ Vol. III, Preface, _The Lucky
  Chance_, p. 187, and note on that passage (p. 484).

  p. 334 _his Third Day._ _vide_ Vol. III, Preface, _The Lucky Chance_,
  p. 187, and note on that passage (p. 484).

  p. 334 _old Adam._ _vide_ Vol. I, _The Rover_, Part II, p. 133, and
  note on that passage (p. 446).

  p. 334 _The Country Justice’s Calling._ _vide supra_, _The Widow
  Ranter_, p. 265. _Dalton’s Country Justice_, and note on that passage.

+ACT II: Scene i+

  p. 341 _by Inch of Candle._ An auction where bids are taken so long
  as an inch of candle burns, the last bid before the flame expires
  obtaining the lot.

  p. 342 _a Termer._ Originally a frequenter of the law courts, and as
  many came up from the country to London during term time on legal
  business, it occasionally (as here) signified an unsophisticated
  stranger. In Dryden’s _Sir Martin Mar-All_ (1667), I, Mrs. Millicent,
  newly arrived from Canterbury, replies to Lady Dupe’s greeting,
  ‘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 again to sleep with my
  forefathers.’ In Mountford’s farce, _Dr. Faustus_ (4to 1697, but
  produced at the Theatre Royal November-December, 1685, or very early
  in 1686), we have Scaramouch asking what practice the Doctor has, and
  Harlequin replies: ‘Why his Business is to patch up rotten Whores
  against the Term for Country Lawyers and Attorneys Clerks; and against
  _Christmas_, _Easter_, and _Whitsun_ Holidays, for City Apprentices.’
  cf. Southerne’s _Oroonoko_ (1696), I, i, when Charlot Welldon says to
  her sister Lucia, ‘Nay, the young Inns-of-Court beaus, of but one
  Term’s standing in the fashion, who knew nobody but as they were shown
  ‘em by the orange-women, had nicknames for us.’ More often a Termer
  meant ‘A person, whether male or female, who resorted to London in
  term time only, for the sake of tricks to be practised, or intrigues
  to be carried on at that period.’ --(Nares.)

+ACT II: Scene ii+

  p. 347 _Sa._ i.e. Save us! Sir Morgan has a frequent exclamation ‘God
  sa me!’ God save me! The abbreviation is early and frequent.

+ACT III: Scene i+

  p. 356 _the Country of True Love._ Mrs. Behn, an omnivorous reader
  of romances, was thinking of the celebrated _Carte de Tendre_
  (Loveland), to be found in Mlle. de Scudéri’s _Clélie_ (1654, Vol. I,
  p. 399), and reproduced in the English folio edition of 1678. This
  fantastic map, which is said to have been suggested by Chapelain,
  aroused unbounded ridicule. In scene iv of Molière’s _Les Précieuses
  Ridicules_ (1659), Cathos cries, ‘Je m’en vais gager qu’ils n’ont
  jamais vu la carte de Tendre, et que Billets-Doux, Petits-Soins,
  Billets-Galante, et Jolis-Vers sont des terres inconnues pour eux.’
  This imaginary land is divided by the River of Inclination: on the
  one side are the towns of Respect, Generosity, A Great Heart, and the
  like; on the other Constant Friendship, Assiduity, Submission, &c.
  Across the Dangerous Sea another continent is marked, ‘Countreys
  undiscovered.’ _Terra Incognita._

  The extravagant penchant for romances of the Scudéri _Parthenissa_
  school was amply satirized by Steele in his clever comedy _The Tender
  Husband_ (1705), and as late as 1752 by Mrs. Charlotte Lennox in _The
  Female Quixote_, an amusing novel.

  p. 360 _old Queen Bess in the Westminster-Cupboard._ The waxen
  effigies which yet remain at Westminster are preserved in the wainscot
  presses over the Islip Chapel. Queen Elizabeth, in her tattered velvet
  robes, is still one of the most famous. They were formerly far more
  numerous. A waxen figure of the deceased, dressed in the habit worn
  whilst living, was, in the case of any royal or notable personage,
  very frequently carried as part of the torchlight funeral procession
  and, after the obsequies, left over the grave to serve as a kind of
  temporary monument.

+ACT III: Scene iii+

  p. 366 _drink up the Sun._ i.e. carouse till dawn.

+ACT IV: Scene iii+

  p. 379 _a Back like an Elephant--’twill bear a Castle._ Dr. Aldis
  Wright, in his notes on _Twelfth Night_, draws attention to the fact
  that the celebrated ‘Elephant and Castle,’ at Newington, in the south
  suburbs of London, can be traced back to the middle of the seventeenth
  century.

  p. 380 _Old Queen Gwiniver._ For ‘Queen Gwiniver’ applied as a term of
  abuse to an old woman cf. Dekker’s _Satiromastix, or, The Untrussing
  of the Humorous Poet_ (4to 1602), III, i, where Tucca rallying
  Mistress Miniver cries: ‘Now, now, mother Bunch, how dost thou? what,
  dost frowne, Queen Gwyniver, dost wrinckle?’ The reference is, of
  course, to Arthur’s queen.

+ACT V: Scene iii+

  p. 390 _Ha! what do I see?_ cf. The incident in _The Plain Dealer_,
  IV, ii, of which there are obvious reminiscences here. Olivia, making
  love to Fidelia, who is dressed as a boy, is surprised by Vernish.
  Olivia runs out, and he discovering the supposed lad to be a woman
  proceeds to turn the tables on his spouse.

+ACT V: Scene iv+

  p. 394 _this Tour._ cf. ‘your false Towers’, _The False Count_, I, ii
  (Vol. III, p. 116), and note on that passage (p. 480).

  p. 394 _Fontange._ A ‘fontange’ was a bow of ribbons, so called from
  the celebrated Madame de Fontanges. Her hair coming down during a
  hunting-party at Vincennes, she tied it up hastily with one of her
  garters. Louis XIV, whose mistress she was, so admired the result that
  he begged her to continue to wear her hair in the same way. This set
  the fashion, which soon spread into England and long remained popular.
  cf. Shadwell’s _Bury Fair_ (1689), II, ii: ‘_Milliner._ What d’ye
  lack, Ladies? fine Mazarine hoods, fontanges, girdles, sable tippets?’

  p. 394 _Coventry-Blue._ A kind of blue thread manufactured at Coventry
  and formerly much used for embroidery, &c. cf. Greene’s _James IV_
  (1592), IV, iii, where Slipper ordering a doublet cries: ‘Edge me the
  sleeves with Coventry blue.’ Ben Jonson, _Gipsies Metamorph._ (1621),
  speaks of ‘A skein of Coventry blue’.

  p. 395 _Tawdrums._ Fal-lals. cf. Marston’s _Dutch Courtezan_ (4to
  1605), v, ‘no matter for lace and tawdrums’.

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Cross-References from Critical Notes: _The Younger Brother_

p. 330 _Southampton Square._ .... _vide_ further, Vol. III, _The Town
Fop_, p. 22, ‘Southampton House,’ and note on that passage (p. 476).

  _Town Fop_ text:

  meet me to morrow Morning about five, with your Sword in your Hand,
  behind _Southampton_ House

  _Town Fop_ note:

  _Southampton House._ Southampton House, Bloomsbury, occupied the whole
  of the north side of the present Bloomsbury Square. It had ‘a curious
  garden behind, which lieth open to the fields,’--_Strype_. A great
  rendezvous for duellists, cf. Epilogue to Mountfort’s _Greenwich Park_
  (Drury Lane, 1691) spoken by Mrs. Mountfort:--

    If you’re displeased with what you’ve seen to-night
    Behind Southampton House we’ll do you right;
    Who is’t dares draw ‘gainst me and Mrs. Knight?

p. 333 _Wills’ Coffee-house._ _vide_ Vol. III, Preface, _The Lucky
Chance_, p. 187, and note on that passage (p. 484).

  _Lucky Chance_ text:

  a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at Wills Coffee House

  _Lucky Chance_ note:

  _Wills Coffee House._ This famous coffee-house was No. 1 Bow Street,
  Covent Garden, on the west side corner of Russell Street. It derived
  its name from Will Unwin who kept it. The wits’ room was upstairs on
  the first floor. Some of its reputation was due to the fact that it
  was a favourite resort of Dryden.

p. 334 _his Third Day._ _vide_ Vol. III, Preface, _The Lucky Chance_,
p. 187, and note on that passage (p. 484).

  _Lucky Chance_ text:

  I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than they have been to a
  defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for a Third day only.

  _Lucky Chance_ note:

  _write for a Third day only._ The whole profits of the third day’s
  performance went to the author of the play; and upon these occasions
  his friends and patrons would naturally rally to support him. There
  are numberless allusions to this custom, especially in Prefaces,
  Prologues and Epilogues.

p. 334 _old Adam._ _vide_ Vol. I, _The Rover_, Part II, p. 133, and
note on that passage (p. 446).

  _Rover II_ text:

  For your parts, who are the poor dependent, brown Bread and old
  Adam’s Ale is only current amongst ye

  _Rover II_ note:

  _old Adam’s Ale._ A very ancient colloquialism for water. In
  Scotland ‘Adam’s wine’ and frequently merely ‘Adam’. Prynne in his
  _Sovereign Power of Parliament_ (1648), speaks of prisoners
  ‘allowed only a poor pittance of Adam’s ale.’ cf. Peter Pindar (John
  Wolcot), _The Lousiad_, Canto ii, ll. 453-4:--

    Old Adam’s beverage flows with pride
    From wide-mouthed pitchers in a plenteous tide.]

p. 394 _this Tour._ cf. ‘your false Towers’, _The False Count_, I, ii
(Vol. III, p. 116), and note on that passage (p. 480).

  _False Count_ text:

  you must be a Lady, and have your Petticoats lac’d four Stories high;
  wear your false Towers, and cool your self with your _Spanish_ Fan

  _False Count_ note:

  _Towers._ The tower at this time was a curled frontlet of false
  hair. cf. Crowne’s _The Country Wit_ (1675), Act II, ii, where Lady
  Faddle cries to her maid, ‘run to my milliner’s for my gloves and
  essences ... run for my new towre.’ Shadwell, _The Virtuoso_ (1676),
  Act III, mentions ‘Tires for the head, locks, tours, frouzes, and so
  forth’. _The Debauchee_ (1677), Act II, i: Mrs. Saleware speaks of
  buying ‘fine clothes, and tours, and Points and knots.’ _The Younger
  Brother_ (1696), Act V, the last scene, old Lady Youthly anxiously
  asks her maid, ‘is not this Tour too brown?’ During the reign of
  Mary II and particularly in the time of Anne a Tower meant almost
  exclusively the high starched head-dress in vogue at that period.

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Errors and Irregularities: The Younger Brother

In the Notes, alternation between .’ and ‘. at paragraph-end is as
printed. The abbreviation “cf.” is always lower-case.

Dedication

  for tho suffering Merit  [_elsewhere tho’ with apostrophe_]

The Younger Brother

  a fighting, whining Lover’s Company  [fighing]
  Sir _Morgan_, and Sir _Merlin_  [_“and” non-Italic (emphatic)_]
  _Geo._ [to _Teresia_.]  [_italics/roman reversed in stage direction_]
  [Smiling.    [Exit.
    [_bracket before “Exit” added for consistency in e-text_]

Notes on the Text

  p. 338, l. 10  [p. 331]

Critical Notes

  is perhaps the locus classical for mohocking
    [_text unchanged: usual term is “locus classicus”_]
  Wills’ Coffee-house  [_body text has Will’s_]

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_Printed by_ A. H. BULLEN, _at the Shakespeare Head Press,
Stratford-upon-Avon._