Scoen. 1.

Follow, follow, follow.

Ay me,'tis sure mine Vncle. Deare Love.

Dost thou forsake me Worthgood?

Follow, follow, follow.

Follow, follow, follow.

Follow, follow, follow.

Scoene. 2.

'Tis so farre off, that I cannot see it.

The day will soone discover it.

Come, follow me this way.

Yes, we will follow; but at some wiser distance: Stay neighbour let him goe. Shall wee rob our carcasses of sleepe all night, that have beene sufficiently tyr'd with the dayes toyles, for his reward? what will that be thinke you? a Christmas dinner; with a Chine of his great Oxe that dy'd at watering of the blayne.

And the discourse of his Worships hunting her: how many doubles shee made, and mock't his Wor [...]hips hope of a better dinner so long, till hee thought in his con­ference she was a Lancashire Witch.

Yes neighbour, and a choller of Brawne that was fatten'd with stale porredge.

And a goose that broke her necke, creeping through the hedge into the Parsons stubble.

No neighbour, let the young couple goe, and much joy go with them. Let us take up our rests in this thic­ket, or the next house; for I am as sleepy as if I had eaten a Puppie.

How, eat a Puppie▪

Yes, a Puppie; I heard our Landlords Carter speake it last Whitsontide in a Play.

And I am as drousie as a Constable at midnight.

Why then resolv'd: 'twill be day presently: let's put ont the candle, and go to bed, and farewel Landlord.

The third Scoene.

The fourth Scoene.
To her CICELEY, as going to milking.

Ha! what silken butterfly's yonder! Shee looks not like one that had kept her selfe warme all night at the Brick-kils: yet silke petticoates many times are glad with worse lodging.

Good morrow maid.

Should I salute you so, 'twould bring my wit in question. Pray you what are you?

A distrest maid.

A maid at your years, and so neere London; where the [...]tate of one at 15. is as rate a [...] a light wenches conversion. Never an early walking gallant to take you up this morning! The Parke here hath fine conveniences: or Totenham Court's close by: Tis suspected that fine Citie Ladies give away fine things to Court Lords for a Countrey Banquet there.

I cannot const [...]ue it; my innocenc [...] makes under­standing uselesse. Good mayd, wife or widdow (for sure you are a woman) doe a courteous office to your sexe in me, and guide me to London.

It seems you are a kinde Countrey Gentlewoman, that have bestow'd your Maidenhead on your Fathers ser­vingman, and are come up to have a Citizen foder your brok [...]n ware. The pollicie is growne stale: 'twould hardly take ever since the Ballad curst the Carrier that brought her [...]o towne.

Y'are a bad woman sure: and from th'aboun­dance of you owne foule ils suspect all others.

The to, is angry, it would faine counterfeit some­thing: perhaps to insinuate her selfe, and make me her a­gent. But you are deceiv'd my pretty morfell of wanton­nesse; my selfe and my Milke-paile are both honest: I have no disguis'd tone of Come, or three penny thrip to cloake a procure [...]se. I am not the Blades intelligence whether Franke or Moll remove their lodgings to scape the Constables search and Bridewell. I will to my Cowes, and leave you to the fate of the morning: despaire not of a customer; but be sure I catch you not napping; for if I doe, I have lesse mer­cy then Prentices at Shrovetide. I hate hedge-coupling worse then fasting at Christmas, or a Puritans long Grace over short Commons.

Why let but an honest [...] in Middlesex) finde you not guilty of any thing that may make compassion deafe — [...]las, she sownes; poo [...]e gen­tlewoman, bee comforted. Should shee miscarry, I were in danger, having no witnesse to purge the suspition of being her murderesse.

Worthgood farewell.

Ha! what said she? Worthgood! I have heard my Father often speake that name, and sigh after it. Alas, she is dead; her breath scarce moves.

The fifth Scoene.
To them Keeper and Slip.

Oh Father, you are come in time to see me undone: I met this Gentlewoman as I was going to milking, and shee is fallen dead. I shall be questioned.

Why what is she?

Nay that's as hard to tell, as the successe of my danger. She nam'd one Worthgood.

That word strike's deepe amazement. Is shee quite dead!

Dead as a herring Sir.

And are not you in a pickle Cicely? She is not dead Sir; she breathes.

She may be recover'd. Pull her by the nose.

Pull it off: no matter for spoyling her face if shee be dead.

Wring her by the little finger.

Her little finger is ring'd; and I will wring it [...]rom her.

No robbing the dead Slip.

Why should the dead partake of living ceremonies?

Cast water on her face.

Blow winde in her face. Can water make one alive that's dead? unlesse it be hot water.

Her spirits are return'd; give her more ayre.

A womans spirits? they are divellish sure: I had best conjure them backe againe.

What meane you gentlewoman?

Pray sir, let mee conjure downe this Divell in her tongue; 'twill raise tempests else. Murderers, and base! Pray Gentlewoman, to whom speake you all this?

Goe home with her daughter; use your best care in administring to her: we know not what fate depends upon it. When I have walkt the round I'le returne.

But pray Ciceley, withall, neglect not my break­fast. Rising early and walking gets us good stomacks: yet I could be content to fast with such lac'd mutton and a good cullice more then hal [...]e a morning.

Yes, sir.

And how fed they?

With their mouthes.

You'l not leave your sawcie wit, untill it be bea­ten out of you.

'T would be but sawcily done of it to leave me so: but if it wil not keepe me from beating, I'le keepe it no lon­ger; but be mannerly. The deare fed well sir, onely a mis­chance. Some Cuckolds curre (for I saw him run towards London) had pull'd downe two or three young deare.

And what did you with them?

I sent a Fawne to a wanting poet, a friend of mine; who I presume will make profitable use of it. Dresse it in [Page 10] some lamentable [...]pitaph and dedicate to his ningle: whose c [...]mp [...]ssion to [...]ounty must redeeme his lavender'd plush, and commend him againe to converse with s [...]cke and good company.

You have surely glean'd from that Poet.

Somthing to make people laugh at me.

Wh [...]t did you with the rest?

A longing Lady in the strand had a pricket. Then I s [...]nt a soare to Ba [...]ber-Surgeons Hall. A little soare makes them a great feast.

Well sirrah, round you the s [...]uth side oth'Parke; and meet me at the great Oake. I'le this way.

The sixth Scoene.

Pray stay sir, who comes yonder?

Hee seemes a discontented Gentl [...]man. S [...]me dueller perhaps.

Some hot spur'd Gallant, that got a drunken fea­ver last night, and must bleed this morning.

Perhaps to revenge an affront done his Mistris.

His common Mistris you m [...]ane sir.

It needs no adjective the sense is common enough.

So is the creature; a Cart take them. They have infected more honest Alehouses with bad names, then Cakes and Creame will ever restore againe. A wench is growne a necessary appendix to two pots at Totenham Court.

To your walke sirrah. I'le observe him.

And I'le home to observe how I can sleepe after early rising. If my master should catch me napping, 'tis but dreaming a lie to excuse it. I'le perswade him 'tis as true Prophecie as Bookers Almanacke.

Scoen. 1.

You swell her praise too high; so meane a subject fits not these raptures.

Still be confident.

The second Scoene.
To them CHANGLOVE, STITCHVVELL, and his WIFE.

But who comes yonder?

Some Citie loving couple.

What's that Gallant?

You'd be nibbling.

Changlove is my acquaintance. If they come this way (as 'tis most likely Tottenham-Court's the end of their early walking) I'le be thy introdu [...]tion. Let's walke softly.

Whilst I doe ruminate some policie.

Besides the recreation Sir, tis he althfull.

But me thinks a nap in a morning's good.

But stirring and exercise, I say.

I would you would vse it in bed then.

I tell you Mr. Changelove though I am a Taylor I keepe servants that are stout knaves. I love them well, and they looke well to my businesse. On holydayes I give them leave to use exercise.

Yes husband, your finisher is a pretty a fellow as ever did tradesman or his wife service. He pitcheth the barr, and throws the stone; it doth me good to think of it.

I have a Cornish-Lad that wrastles well, and hath brought home Rabbets every Bartholmew-tide these five yeares. At stoole ball I have a North-west strippling shall deale with ever a boy in the strand.

Now you speake of a ball, I would wee had one here; tis a commendable exercise: the great Physi­tian Galen wrote a booke, de exercitations parvae pilae.

What's that, pray sir?

Concerning the exercise of the little ball.

It seems great Physitians will busie themselves a­bout small things: but they are not of my mind.

How lik'st the project?

As the end proves it; howsoever, it promiseth fairely.

They are arriv'd: let us prepare our selves.

Mr. Changelove; a happy day follow this plea­sant morning.

Worthy friend, I returne your salute with double wishes: pray know this Gentleman and his bed­fellow.

The day must needs bee fortunate, that begins with such faire Omens.

I pray sir, why doth that Gentleman shun your company? I hope we fright him not. It had beene man­ners to salute me.

He alwayes doth that by Attourney Mistris.

Then I must pay the fees.

The truth is, he is a great woman-hater.

Now out upon him. I thought he was gelt, hee is so fat. Beast that I was to be so unmercifull to a dumb thing; I had a dog serv'd so for the same purpose.

How said you sir? cannot that Gentleman in­dure women?

A strange unmanly humour: I love not that.

May all the curses our injur'd sexe can study, fall upon him for it: and I thinke we can curse.

I beseech you kind sir leave us not.

I should love some witty plot upon him.

Let's get him arraign'd as one was in a play. Let me alone to aggravate his inditement to the Jury; which shall be twelve Midwives of my acquaintance: yet Ile be sworne I never us'd any of them.

I have it.

Pray first heare mine: let's run to T [...]tenham-Court for a wager.

Right: or if he stay behind, let my wife alone [...]o vexe him.

Let us not be foot-men.

Forwards then.

The wager?

Every man his dozen.

Why sweetheart; why husband; why Iohn; doe you leave your Wife behind, to bee taken up by every body? Now the love of mans society defend mee from this abuser of creation. Come not neere mee thou man of clouts; thou maulkin of virilitie; thou halfe wo­man, and all beast: or with these nayles I will teare out thine eyes, and all the double things are left about thee.

There's nothing in you indeed sir; your friend hath given me your character. You pretend to hate wo­men, because women have reason to hate you.

Yes sir; you may take delight in them, but they little in you. Come not too neere, there's infection in it: my blood desires no freezing. The Summer of my youth is not yet halfe spent; or if it were Autumne with mee, high feeding and ease requires something.

Why, I am a woman sir.

I need no instructions for secrecie. Trust mee a handsome Gentleman. The wickednesse of his friend to beleeve him so. Dare you kisse me sir?

A pledge for what should follow.

You shall doe what you will with me, but ma­king my husband Cuckold.

No more of that. Nay, this way.

What, back againe! No by my Strand-honesty. Ile to Totenham-court after my husband. If there be that necessity at any time that I must make my husband a Cuc­kold, I'le doe it before his face: any Citizens Wife can doe it behind her husbands backe.

The third Scoene.

I hope y'are satisfied: but to what end this change should serve, I would faine be instructed.

I'le tell you. When we fear'd pursuit, we left our horses, and the high way. The horses a [...]e surely found; and by them my being hereabouts may bee conjectur'd. Now this disguise shall helpe me to scape their search.

Now out upon't. Had I no better an opinion of your honestie, then of your wit (both which smell all toge­ther of the countrey) I would againe-leave you to seeke out your owne dang [...]r. You have gentle-side mee with your clothe [...]; and you are handsome enough in mine: for though I am but a milke-wench, I ever lov'd neatnesse. Now you shall personate my maid, and wait upon me to London; I'le perso­nate you, and if any thing [...]ise from the mistake, wee'l turne it to the best use. If I finde not out your sweet-heart, let me never be counted a Prophetesse: and I am sure I have fore­told weather from the turning up of my Cowes tayle.

In this disguise Ile meet the Gallant courts me every morning at Tottenham-Court, and sound the depth of his pretended honest meaning. My condition is to low to win upon his desires to marry me: and the other thing without it, he shall never have.

Why Ciceley, Ciceley, I say my breakfast A quick supply of meat, drinke and sleepe, or I rage presently.

Blesse me, who's that?

My fathers man.

Hee'l spoyle all.

Be you confident.

Where's this Maggoti-pie of Marrowbone? Come you cleane wash't chitterling, and give mee my breakfast. How now Ciceley, where hath your face beene? at the pain­ters? Hay-day; Ciceley's owne face, and this Mistris dye for love Ciceley- [...]ide. Now I sweare by hunger (and that's a strong oath) I thinke women have more fegaries then the Divel would hav [...] Clients, if he were a Lawyer and pleaded without fees.

Keepe counsell sirrah you had best; and if my fa­ther aske for mee, tell him I will not bee lost long. So fare you well.

You will not bee lost long: hee is likely to have a sweet match of it that finds you. Yet I could be content my seaven ye [...]res service might bee so rewarded. But the bag­gage is as coy as an Alde [...]mans eldest daughter: shee hath beaten me a hundred times (coward as I was for suffering it) for attempting to kisse her. But now I will revenge it upon her Creame-bowles; over whose sweets I will triumph.

The fourth Scoene.
To him KEEPER, WORTHGOOD.

New mischiefe; I am againe delayd. If I forbeare my break­fast but two minutes longer, my guts will shrinke into mi­nikins: which I bequeath the poore Fidlers at Totenham-Court, for a May-dayes Legacie.

Slip, call my daughter.

Which daughter sir? your daughter gentlewoman, or your gentlewoman daughter?

Your trifling's unseasonable sirrah.

Why sir, Ciceley's no more plaine Ciceley, but Cice­ley in lac't sattin. The gentlewoman and she are run out of themselves one into another.

But where are they?

For ought I know, run away one with another.

Run you after, and call them back.

'Tis impossible: who knowes which way they are gone. Besides, 'tis a mist would choake a brewers horse; I cannot see one hand for the other.

Follow you sirrah.

A kil [...]ing command. The best is, it will breake my heart, no matter then for my belly. Hunger, I defie thee; revenge I hugg thee. I will lead you a wild-goose chase, till we come to Toten-ham Court: where I will score two dozen, and reckon with mine hostesse maid, whose belly I hav [...] rais'd with umbles.

The fifth Scoene.

You are the Olympian, Sir.

Doe you thinke Gentlemen I'd let you out-strip me at exercise? I'le jump with ye for a dozen more.

Pray Sir let's jump: I love it mightily.

My breaths not yet recover'd. By this time sir. your Wife hath converted my f [...]iend to a civilleer dis­position.

Let her alone. If she doe it not, I durst forsweare exercise; and that would be the greatest vexation.

Greater then if your maid should drop the candle on your festivall sattin doublet?

Or the Cats pisse upon your Military feather?

Or an inferiour neighbour be prefer'd for a com­mon counsell man?

Meere tri [...]les to the [...]orbearing of exercise.

Or if a gallant should deale with your wife in your absence for body covering, and give her Court pay­ment.

A very likely matter. She that goe's thrice a weeke to morning exercise, and will make rep [...]tition over sweet meates at a gossipping. I tell ye gentlemen, I have trusted her to a Maske, and the Innes a Court revelling: she knew the way home agen without a Cryer. She hath converted a hundred of her purer neighbours, by her example.

Heere's more then Citie confidence. But shall we enter?

Y'are welcome Gentlemen.

A handsome roome sirrah.

The best in the house sir.

Your Wife's come, sir.

Welcome sweet-heart.

Kinde gentlemen, hold my heart, oh. Nay one at once: pray hold it hard, oh▪

Whats the matter chucke?

Oh my breath: there's not so much wind left in me, as would make a noise to bee excus'd with the creaking of ones shoo: oh▪ You are a kinde husband to leave mee [Page 25] behind. Had it beene with one that had lov'd a woman, shew'd her the neerest way, or laid her down upon his cloake when she had beene weary. But I thinke I fitted him.

And beshrew him if he fitted not you.

Here he is likewise.

You blow hard George.

Come Gentlemen, shall we walke in.

I would enjoy my friend a little heere.

You shall enjoy your friend sir.

And what successe?

Would'st have me Pandarize?

The sixth Scoene.
To them CICELEY and BELLAMIE.

What are these?

What place is this? a common Ale-house?

Feare you nothing, but put on confidence.

Scoen. 1.

Y'Are welcome Gentlemen.

Now my parrat of froth, whose mouth is lin'd with tapestry; what company is in the house?

None of your acquaintance but Mr. Changelove.

Will Changelove? prethee call him hither.

I shall sir; By and by. Some stew'd pruines for the two costive Citiz [...]ns in the Buls head; and more rowles for the three Taylors in the Smithfield-Lyon.

How shall we spend the day Sam?

Let's home to our studies and put cases.

Hang cases and bookes that are spoyl'd with them. Give me Iohnson and Shakespeare; there's learning for a gen­tleman. I tell thee Sam, were it not for the dancing-schoole and Play-houses, I would not stay at the Innes of Court for the h [...]pes of a chiefe Iustice-ship.

Formalitie; a grave youth in a gowne. Thou think'st 'tis becomming to walke thus to Totenham-Court, and at [Page 28] home so punctuall in confo [...]mitie. I had rather a French con­sumption should weare my hayre off then a round cap.

Hang state: I tooke no paines to get, why then should I take any to keep it? if it will stay, so 'tis: if not, Shop-keepers that will trust, shall be paid when they can get it. A law of necessity Sam, and alwayes in force with Gallants.

I had rather heare another resolution.

The third Scoene.

The company of halfe a man: expound my Rid­dle, and be a whole Oedipus.

It must be more then thy Taylor.

Right, his Wife; who being halfe of himselfe, makes up the third part a halfe man. I love his company man, and pay him with nothing but courtesies: a Totenham-Courts kindnesse is principall, interest and security.

What shall we drinke? Ale?

I love it best ; the old English naturall drinke. But can this gentleman study a [...]ter Ale?

If I avoid the excesse.

Ale's muddy : what thinke you of Beere?

I love Beere best. The planting of hoppes was a rare projection in the Dutch; it hath taught some of them English naturally.

Shall wee hunt to day Will? I heard the common crye abroad.

Is there Musique with the company you left?

And good too: 'tis company of that curiositie, or­dinary stuffe will not please them.

Would thou wouldst enter mee into their acquain­tance; we might have a dance.

The third Scoene.
To them FRANKE, CICELEY, STITCHVVELL, WIFE, BELLAMIE, and GEORGE behind the women.

They have prevented me.

The room's posse [...]t.

You may command a resignation.

Your friends Will Changelove?

Yes, noble sir.

No indeed sir.

Is not your name Bellamuel?

Neither sir.

Your Aunt or Cousin?

Meanes she in the mysticall sense of ill?

Shall we dance gentlemen? Musicknesse, and let activenesse freeze! Shall I use you sweet Mistris?

Kindly sir, or I am waspish. A waspe you know hath a sting.

Please that grosse gentleman?

By no meanes sir : dancing will hurt his Sciati [...]a.

Doe you know him then?

You see Mistris I am for their comp [...]ny any way.

Pray sir let's goe neerer the women.

My wife shall vexe you then.

I'le dance with you Mr. Changelove.

One cup more, Ile be for the exercise.

You'l have more anon husband, then your head will well carry.

Why how now husband? you'l be tippled presently.

Hold good wife, before strangers? T'other dozen, and then I'm gone.

I would you were gone once for me.

So would I.

Gentlemen, a health to—

Whom sir?

All the Cuckolds in the strand.

Fye husband, you forget your selfe. Nay, gentlemen hee is such another man; when hee hath got a cup or two hee'l not stick to abu [...]e his betters. I beseech you beare with him, I shall be ready to beare with any of you.

Wife, you shall drinke a health to all the Cuckold-maker in Cornwall.

You meane wrestlers sweet-heart; you are so ta­ken with your Cornish P [...]entice. I tell yee gentlemen, hea­ring him talke the other day of the hugge, I wisht him to shew me what 'twas: the stiffe knave presently gives me a fall: but it was upon a soft bed.

Otherwise there had beene danger.

Come sweet Mistris, the other dance.

Will you make one sir?

But you can move sir?

Bestir your stumps a little sir. Are women such bug­bears, especially handsome ones? for I have been flatter'd.

Well said Wife; to him Wife.

I durst undertake yet, had you one of us in a corner.

How she instructs me! nay then.

Will you be gone George?

After him Wife, put him too't, and tickle him home.

Ile warrant husband Ile bring him into play.

It seemes this gentleman loves not the company of women.

T'other health, and then farewell,

Mr. Stitchwell is your name?

A Taylor in the Strand; and I am as good a man there as Deputy Tagg in the City, though he thinke him­selfe an Aldermans fellow, and no Cuckold.

You mind Cuckolds much: good sir remember your selfe.

By your leave then; I must, and I will, I will and I must.

What must you sir?

Why, you may doe what you will; and I will doe what I list.

The Taylor's paid.

By your favor, 'tis alye.

And his Wife too by this. Follow mee gentle­men, [Page 34] and if hee prevent it not, wee'l share some pastime. Sweet, I'le returne presently.

With convenience Mistris.

For a retirement.

This way Mistris. I smell the reward of a knaves office: howsoever sinne thrives by wickednesse. Froth­fill'd Cans and over-reckonings will hardly raise a stock to set up with. Now will I informe the Gallants.

The fourth Scoene.

Pray sir, forbeare. Is this a place to make ones husband a Cuckold in?

Pray sir, talke not to me of weaknesse. The ser­vants of the house will suspect us presently.

Indeed sir I durst ee'n venture to make him cuc­hold, might I be sure you would get a boy.

That's doubtles, sweet.

And shall he be like the father?

As ever Citizens sonne was.

I meane my husband.

I am a Courtier.

Kind sir, you even deserve it for your policie. But I am so affraid.

Mischiefe on these delayes.

Sweet-heart, Wife.

Ay me.

Come Chuck and hold my head.

Pray sir, hide your selfe:

Where?

Happily, here's an empty tub.

My head akes Wife; where art chicken?

Here husband. You must presse upon womens retirement.

Oh my stomacke; 'tis very sick.

Emptie it in the fields then; let not the servants take notice you are such a sloven.

Why not in that rub?

Fie beast: defile a necessary implement of house-wifry? This 'tis to drink healths to Cuckolds. You might have beene one your selfe, were not I the honester wo­man; which is more then many of your neighbours can say for themselves.

The fifth Scoene.

Whet's Mr. Stitchw [...]ll? Fie, give out man, and steale away.

Oh gentlemen my head, my head; oh gentlemen.

Me thinks your forehead's swolne sir.

Truly no sir. There's no more then what hath beene ever since I was his wife; fifteene yeeres and up­wards, a long time of barrennesse.

What the Divell make all these gentlemen in my Dames wash-house? Get yee up to your chambers with a vengeance.

I wonder where my friend is.

Hold, hold; I am drown'd.

George, what made you there?

Mischiefe on you sir: you have spoild mee a paile of conduit water cost mee many a weary step the [Page 37] fetching; beside the falls my sweet-heart Slip gave me.

Alas good gentleman; he hid himselfe from my Wife, and see what's hapned.

Fye George, scold presently after your cucking.

Diogenes in dolio.

And lamentation.

Come forth George: now the Comedie is ended, away with the disguise.

You seeme to compassionat the mischance:

I thinke it would grieve any woman. I came hi­ther for somthing else then to be rail'd at.

There will be a safe opportunitie for me. I love this Cuckold-making.

The Gentlewoman hath withdrawne her selfe.

What Gentlewoman?

Shee in the sattin gowne. You know my mea­ning sir, shee's as right—

Thanks honest Robin. Here's for thee.

I must thanke you sir.

I'le take the first opportunity.

The gentlewoman is retir'd sir.

What gentlewoman?

You know my meaning. Shee's as right—

Poxe on your Pandarising.

How now sir? I wonder what quantity of mai­den modesty went to your making up. Few gentlemen of your complexion would have beene angry with an honest Tapster for such intelligence.

The gentlewoman's gone into another cham­ber Sir.

What gentlewoman?

Shee in the sattin gowne. There's a bed: you know my meaning. Shee's as right—

You are a rogue sirrah.

Good sir, what meane you?

Mutter that thought agen: I'le cut thy tongue out▪

And kill anon, anon sir. But cold rewards. Had none any better; Pandars would never purchase.

I'le take the Tapsters word, and trye.

Come gentlemen, let's up agen. By this time George your sorrow's drye.

The sixth Scoene.

And why should you thinke so Slip?

If I finde them not, count me no wiser then an A­pothecary, that lookt for Iewes eares on an old Pillory; When the dead wood bore none but Scriveners.

Enquire diligently, sirrah.

I will sir, and arme my selfe like a country Iuror: I can­not hold out too fast till I have given up my verdict.

Very bad Sir. My incredulous hostesse will not trust: therefore pray sir make hast; for without some supply [Page 40] of drinke I faint in the halfe way of my message.

Hast found them?

Ther's hopes or so: I he [...]rd an inckling. The house swarmes with gallants; some of which have surely taken up Ciceley, paltry Baggage, she p [...]ayes the Lady at least, and makes mincing faces like a countrey Bride at the upper end of the table.

Pray Sir let's in: we may perhaps find them heere.

Scoen. 1.

FEare not Mistris any of their attempts in my house: you have your instructions and my ayde. Make use of any thing I owne for your honest ends, and if you need my per­son, I am ready in my barre at your call.

Love my Brother?

The second Scoene.
To them IAMES, presently after GEORGE.

How now maide? why left you the doore open?

'Tis shut agen sweet Mistris. If it offend you, I will buy my pardon at your owne rate.

What would you have sir?

A little pleasure Sweete. Come, come, what's your price?

You sure mistake me sir.

As if I had not practis'd wenching su [...]iciently to understand a dissembled modesty: because I am a stranger, I'le come to your lodging when I know where 'tis. But say your price? halfe a crowne?

Have I found you gallant? I am dearer Sir; that's my maids rate. The truth is I have my Maiden-head yet, and have bargain'd with a gentleman below for it.

Let me have it; I'le double his reward.

I love to be as good as my word. Sure sir hee'd kill you if he knew of your attempt. That's he sir.

And my young valour dare not encounter him.

Your Citie-borne coward never make's fortunate whoremaster.

Would I were safe.

Best hide your selfe in this sir.

A handsome convenience. When hee's gone, re­lease me.

Feare it not sir, but be sure you lie still. Open the dore maid; and doe you heare? get the key of the truncke.

What may this come to?

The third Scoene.

No more; I thanke thee.

What doe I heare?

Will not the feathers choake him?

The fourth Scoene.
To her GEORGE, TAPSTER, PORTER.

Heere's the Gentleman.

Now wench, is all ready?

I have pack't her up in't, like a Bartholmew-babie in a boxe. I warrant you for hurting her.

'Tis a good wench. I'le give thee a new gowne for it.

I thanke you sir. When you are weary of my mi­stris, and cast her o [...]f (as I know you must have change) you shall have my maiden-head at the same rate if you please: I'le keepe it for you.

'Tis a bargaine.

But two words to it. Pray sir use her nere the w [...]rse for my promise.

The better. I'le turne her off within this fortnight, and send for thee.

Oh sir, 'tis not fit a servant should shift her Mi­stris trencher before the bones are cleane pick't. You have flesh enough to hold out a moneth.

It shall be a moneth then?

Be carefull Porter of your carriage.

Married? that I am to a freemans widdow, and I weare the Citie-Armes by her first husbands copie.

The Porter is deafe sure.

Pray sir let me aske you one ques [...]ion.

Quickly then.

How many maiden-heads have you bought thus?

Some nineteene with thy mistrisses.

Pray sir, let mine make up the score: an even reckoning.

It shall, it shall: heere's for thee Robin.

The trunck is worth more sir, besides the feathers that are in it. But to doe you a pleasure.

Helpe him downe stayres with it.

Heer's a Totenham-Court project translated over the water from Holland.

Farewell wench.

The fifth Scoene.
To them, SAM.

Alas, my Brother.

Now must I practise unaccustom'd impudence. By your leave gentle creatures: may I have my turne now for a little sport! Nay, nay, sweetheart, thou shalt serve: thy Mistris is too deare; and I am loth to pay over-much for repentance. 'Tis but changing offices: let her hold the dore for thee.

Pray sir, speake and meane civilly; you'l not be welcome else.

Good Lady light-heele; give your servant leave to practise the trade you have taught her. That such per­fections as appeare in this woman should be sold to every base desire. Come wench, thy browne complexion plea­seth mee better then thy Mistrisses: thou dost not paint, and art the likelier to be wholsome.

Good gentleman, hee is jealous, and would cir­cumvent her.

He [...]re's halfe a crowne wench; me thinks 'tis a faire rate. Ha! singer in the eye? Keepe thy teares for pennance in Bride well. Crye when money's offer'd thee?

Oh Brother.

Ha! are you my Sister?

Your S [...]ster Bellamie.

Then you are my Sister?

Dissemble not those doubts; but heare me.

Guard me innocence.

Good gentleman, hee's troubled.

You seeme disturb'd sir.

Ay me, what have you done sir? helpe, helpe.

Good gentlewoman she faints. Helpe, helpe.

The sixth Scoene.

The cry came from this Chamber.

'Sfoot sir, 'tis Mistris Ci [...]eley, and Ciceley Mi­stris. Ha, ha, sir; did you put her to the squeake? I'le put you—

Hold sirrah.

What are you sir, that seeme thus tender of her?

Goe your wayes and quarrell no more, lest I bee stickler with this terrible Embleme of a Butchers cruelty.

The seventh Scoene.

The effects of drinking, Mr. Changelove: his head should be troubled with something else, were he rul'd by me. But he cares not for my counsell, nor mee. I could eene curse mine own kindnes, that am ready still to make more of him then he doth of me.

Why doe you not then—

What sir? I warrant you meane make him a Cuckold.

That's a grosse construction. Give a friend leave to do you a pleasure, or so. The truth is Mistris I love you.

You were ever kind Mr. Changelove.

S [...]cresie, Mr. Changelove? I would have you know I will be open to all the world. I'le doe no more in the darke, then in this very place, were my husbands eyes open.

Here then. He sleeps s [...]curely, never dreaming Of any foreheads arming.

Fie Mr. Changelove, you are such a tempter. Pray [...] many a woman would not hold out so long.

Consent then sweet; wee' [...] to it.

Ware hornes there.

Mischiefe, what noise hath wak't him?

An infirmitie hee hath to talke in's sleepe. Nay I assure you hee will rise sometimes and doe the office of a waking man in his dreame, and not know of it in the Morning.

Rome for one of the headmen in his Parish: a monster of his wifes making.

Wicked man; hee dreames now that I would make him a Cuckold.

Send it be no counterfeit.

And have I tane you sir Lancelot? would you be billing with my Gumiver?

Helpe me Mistris Stitchwell.

Take it patiently Sir: his sit will bee over pre­sently.

For this attempt King Arthur doth here degrade thee from a Knight of his round Table, to bee a Squire of his Wifes body. So conduct me to her bed; where I will beget a race of warriours shall cage thy great Turkship a­gaine, and restore Constantinople to the Emperour.

You mistake: oh. My Perriwig is not a Turbant.

Peace follows victory, let us now to rest.

Pray sir, forgive him: I dare undertake hee'l be sorry for it when he wakes. If any thing I can may make amends.

Prove his dreame true. When the smart's over I shall forget it.

A quest of inquiry is sent all the house over to looke you Mistris. The gentlewomans maid was in a swound: they wanted your assistance.

Who wants assistance? who breaks the Kings peace? fetch me my Constables staffe.

Hee'l dreame againe: had I best stay?

Now drunkard, are you recoverd yet?

Wife and Mr. Changelove, wheres the company?

Gone, being weary of such a sot as you make your selfe. Pretend a walke for health and recreation, to bee drunke so early? I had done well to have served you in your kinde: here were gentlemen enough that would have brought me home; and some not farre off that used me kindly, whilst you snorted to fright sl [...]as, and dream't perhaps some wickednesse of me.

Prethee peace sweet wife: Ile mend all.

I promise you, you shall never mend me, till you doe better your selfe.

I'le buy my pardon for it with a new gowne, and a journey into the Countrey next vacation.

You know Iohn I am easie to be wrought upon.

Will you discharge the reckoning Mr. Changelove?

Not willingly: I doe not love it. No revenge upon this dreaming tyrant over unpaid for gallantry? A protection to defraud him is long since provided. What is your reckoning, Robin?

Nine and three-pence sir.

The particulars.

Cakes two shillings. Ale as much. A quart of mortify'd Claret eight pence. Stewd pruins twelve pence.

They were deare.

Truely, they cost a penny the pound of the one-handed Coster-monger, out of his wifes fish-basket. A quart of Creame, twelve-pence.

That's too excessive.

Not if you consider how many Carriers egges miscarried in the making of it; and the charge of Ising-glasse and other ingredients to cremifie the soure milke.

All this is but a Noble.

Pray marke me sir, I'le make it more. Twelve-pence Sugar. You had bread sir.

And we had drinke sir.

'Tis granted sir. A pound of sausedges, and other things, nine shillings and three-pence. Our Barre never erres.

I'le talke with your Mistris. You know my mea­ning Robin.

Oh the extortion of Tottenham-Court!

No matter Wife: kinde Mr. Changelove will pay for all. Ha! where is hee?

Gone Sir.

Then give me my Cloake.

The reckoning first Sir.

How! must Taylors pay Gallants reckonings?

Sure husband, he intends this a satisfaction for his beating.

Have you such tricks? No great matter: 'tis but adding it to his bill in my debt-booke, and presently arre­sting him with a fat Martiallist. Here sirrah.

Scoen. 1.

A Heavy burthen I assure you Sir.

That's strange: a light Wench, and feathers.

You say true Sir; 'tis enough to break a mans back.

In the high way neere yonder houses. The place is called TOTENHAN-COURT.

Our intelligence hath something Landlord.

What's That?

The truth is being weary—

O [...]d men Landlord, old men. Labour agrees worse with us then wrangling with a leane Parson that hath a fat Benefice.

P [...]ay' interrupt him not: Forwards Neighbour.

At a house yonder we prevail'd to be let in: [Page 58] where the little time that remain'd 'till morning we slept soundly.

And dreamt we were in Cranborne Church at a drowsie Sermon.

On good Neighbour.

Day no [...]oon r [...]peet, but noyse wak't us. The house was presently full of Gallants with Musicke, and to dauncing they went. We a [...]kt the reason, they of the house told us 'twas customary for Gentlemen to have early re­vels and rendevous there. At length we heard one speake of a Gentlewoman in a sitten gowne: which we conceiving to be Mistres Bellamie, made haste to London to your Son to info [...]me your worship.

Might I advise your worship then let them alone 'till night: when they are in bed together, they are the like­lier to be catcht napping.

If these question the Porter, I must answer for him.

Good speed f [...]iend. Didst see a Gentleman and a Gentlewoman abroad in the Fields?

Betwixt nine and ten.

Indeed 'tis a heavy burthen: I fetcht it from TOTENHAM-COURT.

Didst see a Gentlewoman?

A Gentlewoman in a Trunck of Feathers! that were very pretty.

Oh villaine.

A Gentlewoman at TOTENHAM-COURT!

I saw many there Sir, and one in satten: but they are all upon parting.

I thanke you Sir. Come let's hasten.

What may this be! It hath begot new jealousies.

The second Scoene.
To them FRANKE.

The Porter waits upon me.

With stuffing for your bed.

A light commodity I bought at Totenham-Court. Didst ever thinke I should have been so thrifty to buy fea­thers at the best hand? When I have us'd them through­ly, there are Suburb Upholsters will give me my money agen.

Me thinks they are very heavy.

Let them alone.

Have not you stolne mine Hostes great brasse Pot she boyled old marrow-bones in, for the fat to make her [Page 60] Cakes with when Butter is scarce? Porter you shall carry it along with me.

Prethee goe backe to thy milke Mayde.

Dost thou deride me? Nay then Porter up with it, or h [...]re's a goud to force you, and let out some of your Goats blood.

Thou dar'st not strike a friend basely.

The third Scoene.
To them CHANG [...]LOVE, STITCHVVELL, WIFE.

Lie still a little, here's company.

Let me ruminate.

I payd the reckoning M^r Changelove, and am sorry for it, I meane the wrong I did you.

It may passe indeed for a merry one by a good [Page 61] fire in Winter, which I love dearely.

A good fire Mistresse Stitchwell is Winters artifi­ciall Sun, that renewes Summer within doores. I love it.

With two or three good companions, and a gossips feast.

'Tis a good exercise to rise in a frosty morning, and kill Birds.

I have it. Doe you know these Franke?

Mischiefe, I must prevent them.

You may if please you, suffer the Porter to passe, and stay yourselfe. Credit is pretious: let me enjoy my sport, yours may be preserv'd. Otherwise your trull and you shall both su [...]fer. I am desperately resolute, and will reveale all.

And I as desperate. Up with it Porter.

Any thing: will you suffer this Gentleman?

Nay then Franke.

Helpe helpe.

If he be gone sweet heart, let me out. I am almost stifled.

Whence that voyce?

The Gentlemen that were in our company! Let us prevent them. Be not afraid Wife.

Alas I cannot endure such naked weapons.

What will this come to?

I beseech ye Gentlemen kill me not, I have beene sufficiently mortified; and I beleeve you may smell, the effects of my feare.

Pray' Sir how came you hither?

I thinke upon that Porte [...]s shoulders.

But how into this Trunk?

Ile tell you sir. Bargaining for a little sport with the Gentlewoman, whom I thought to be a wanton, she possest me with scare, (to which cowardize is alwaies apt, and I must acknowl [...]dge in my selfe) that a Gentleman (one of you two I take it) had dealt with her for her Mayden-head, and that shee expected him. He came: and I fearing lust as well as love would brooke no rivall, made use of this for my safety. Wh [...]re being heavy headed with Ale, I have slept til [...] your noyse wak't me.

An excellent conceit; how like you it Wife? This Gentleman cannot endure the company of Women.

I knew before he did but dissemble: that made me so desir [...]us to try him. There was a Tub at Totenham; you I now the successe of it.

I ever thought Mistresse Stitchwell that was your owne plot; and I love you dearely for it.

Love me M^r Changelove? Take heed my Husband doe not dreame of it.

That was her plot too. Now doe I see, some Wo­men can counterfeit wickednesse, aswell as many dissemble hones [...]y. Come Sir, let you and I drowne the memory of our disasters in a cup of Sack.

The fourth Scoene.

But prethee tell me, what's her condition?

Womanish. She'l cry when shee's angry; laugh when she's tickled, and be sick when she cannot have her owne will.

I meane her calling.

She is call'd Cicily.

Her profession then.

Not very honest, and yet very honest. She cheats all the world that thinks she is wanton: but you may find by the late stories, that neither your Aunts nor Cousins can keep their legs so close.

Here's money for thee.

You are as bountifull as a new made Knight, that [Page 64] cou [...]ts a City Widdow by Atturney for the officers fees.

P [...]et [...]ee te [...]l me how was she borne?

You had b [...]d a [...]k [...] the Midwife.

This fellow trifles. Is the Keeper thy Master her own [...] Fath [...]r?

Should you conjure th [...] Devill into her dead Mo­ther, he might chance to t [...]ll you [...]lye.

Is she a Gentlewoman or not?

She is▪ and she is not. She is a Gentlewoman as she loves pride: which makes Gentlewomen apt to fall; espe­cially those of the wayting forme. Then she is no Gentle­woman because—because—

Prithee no more.

'Tis well you interrupted me, for I had no reason: But Sir I will bring her to the barre of your presence, where she may answere for her selfe, whilst I convert your boun­ty into wholesome nourishment from a black Pot, and have a bout with mine own sweet Turneup.

The fifth Scoene.
To him, CICELEY.

The sixth Scoene.

And here are witnesses.

My Vncle! what makes he here? new doubts arise.

See, see; my thoughts were prophesie: both here.

You are welcome to Totenham Court Uncle.

Why sir, this is not Mistris Bellamie but ano­ther in her clothes.

How's that knave? hay day wife how came you by these? wher [...]

I am your Neece.

You my Neece?

Shee's my Wife, Vncle.

Yet more plots I sure the Parson of [...] has beene here.

Indeed I have heard he is a notable joyner.

Is shee married Sir?

Alas mine Vncle.

Threaten your fill Sir, so my Neece forsake you.

Shee's richer then the Indies.

And the Divell your Executor.

Sir, this concernes not me.

Oh Sir, never was endeavour so tir'd. But I am glad I have found you. Your Vncle's dead, and hath made you his heyre.

Ha, ha! is't come about! nay then; are you mar­ried neece? if not, about it presently whilst 'tis morning. Thou shalt be mine heire likewise: love him; lye with him; Getboyes, and any thing now; you have my consent.

And now I owe you duty.

Hee's one of those that—

Most opportunely Widdow. I have sollicited long; and if you will now consent, let's beare these company.

With all my heart.