SCENE I. The Street.

And old Francisco, without the expence of an hours Courtship, a Billet Doux, or scarce a Sight of her, could gain her in a day; and yet 'tis wonder, your Fortune and your Qua­lity, should be refus'd by Don Baltazer, her Father.

A Pox upon't, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the Daughter, but indeed my Father, the late Gover­nor of Cadez, whose Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would not consent to my Passion, I endeavor'd to keep it secret, though sacred Vows had past be­tween us two.

Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old Francisco?

The night before, she did; but onely by a Letter from her window dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lantern, [...] had read, I was struck dead with Grief.

Expect to morrow night to hear I'm dead, since the next Sun will guide me to a fatall Marriage with old Francisco. Your Julia.

And she accordingly next day was married.

She was,—and I have since endeavor'd all the Arts and Ways I can, to Cuckold him; 'tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make him.—She hitherto has been ab­sent at Sivil, but Expectation of her Daughter-in-law's Wedding with you has brought 'em hither,—and, I ask your Pardon, Antonio, for rallying your Father-in-law that shall be, old [...]rancisco.

I hope you are mistaken, Sir.

How, Are not you to marry his Daughter Isabella?

Not, if I can help it, Sir,—the Honour you have done me in your friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,—Know then this Isabella, daughter to old [Page 3] Francisco, and your Cuckold that shall be, I hope, is, though fair most ridiculously proud, vain and fantasticall; as all of her Birth and Education, grown Rich, are;

Prethee, What was her Birth?

Why, her Father, old Francisco, was in his youth an English Cordwinder, that is to say, a Shoo-maker, Which he improv'd in time to a Merchant, and, the Devil and his Kna­very helping him to a considerable Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey, hide bound Rascall, and in the Humour of jealousie even out-doing the most rigid of us Spaniards, he came over into Spain, to settle with his whole Family, where, his Wife dying, to heighten the vice, marries this young Julia, your Mistress, Sir;—and now this Daughter of his having wholly forgot her originall Dunghill, setts up for a Vicountess at least, though her father has design'd me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart and Eyes elsewhere, Clara, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir, commands my Liberty.

Clara, I've seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a conquest any where,—but, Does she know your Love?

She does; and makes me think my Love return'd.

Then know, Antonio, I must be your Rival.

How, Sir!

I listen, Sir, impatiently.

Then thus; Before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv'd upon Adresses to her, in order to't, have treated with her Father about a Marriage.

How! and wou'd the false, forsworn, receive your Vows!

No; but with Tears implores her Father dayly, when e'er he speaks to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but Feign'd a Love, (she living in the same house with Julia whilst here at Cadez) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature; for, coming as a Brother, sure they'll admit me kindly; nor will Francisco, who has heard of what has past 'twixt me and Julia, suspect me any more.

I knew I had a Rivall, Sir, which Clara lov'd not; but nere cou'd get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief—I have often the Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of Isabella's Lover.

And I Visit her onely to get a sight of Julia, which hi­therto has been impossible, though I have oft indeavor'd it—I beg you'll not be jealous, for this, by Heav'n, is onely my De­sign.

I'll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress, in so good hands at any time.

You obliege me; but though I find your Clara, cold and cruel, Isabella would invite me to her Love, And makes so many kind advances to me.—

So would she for your Title were you deform'd, and had no shape of man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant—she so reviles, Calling me base Mechanick, Sawcy Fellow; and wonders where I got the Impudence to speak of Love to her,—in fine I am resolved to be reveng'd on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav'n, I will invent some dire Revenge;—I'm bent upon't, and will about it instantly.

—and would you do it home and hansomly—and have a good occasion of being disingag'd from her, and make her self the Instrument?

Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution.

And such a one I have in my head, Guzman, my servant, knows a Fellow here in Cadez, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft observ'd, as I have past the streets, but too mean to be converst with, by almost any humane thing, by Trade, a Chim­ney Sweeper.

On, Sir, I beseech you.

This Fellow's of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the best part of our young Gallants, now a days, he shall not want; that is, good Cloaths, Money, and an Equipage,—and a little Instruction will serve turn.

I'm ravisht with the Fancy;—let me see—he shall be an English Lord, or a French Count.

Either, we'll furnish him with Bills on Seigniour Don Francisco,—men and bagage, and the business is done—he shall make Love to her.

Most Excellent.

Guzman, have you not observ'd this Fellow I am speak­ing off?

Observ'd him, Sir; I know him particulary, I'll fetch him [Page 5] to you now, Sir; he alwaies stands for new employment with the rest of his Gang under Saint Jago's Church-wall.

Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we'll prepare him for the Adventure.

And if the Proud Isabella bite not at so gay a Bait, I'll be bound to marry her.

And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate—but, in return, you must let Clara know the Design I have, and, undeceiving her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party.

Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management, I'll to her instantly, that is, make a Visit to Isabella, and get an opportunity to speak with Clara.

And I must write a Letter to Julia, to undeceive her Fears too, cou'd I but get it to her.

For that, let me alone—

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot.

And can you blame me, Jacinta, have I not many Reasons to be sad; sirst, have I not lost the onely man on earth in Don Carlos, that I cou'd love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit onely for his Tombe; a Brute, who wanting sense to Value me, treats me more like a Prisoner than a Wife,—and his Pretence is, because I should not see, nor hear from Don Carlos.

Wou'd I were in your room, Madam, I'd cut him out work enough I'd warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i'faith I'd transform both his Shape and his manners; in short, I'd try what Woman-hood cou'd doe. And indeed, the revenge wou'd be so pleasant, I wou'd not be without a jealous Husband for all the world, and really, Madam, Don Carlos is so sweet a Gentleman.

Ay, but the Sin, Jacinta!

A' my Conscience Heav'n wou'd forgive it, for this match of yours, with old Francisco, was never made there.

Then if I wou'd, alas what oportunities have I, for I con­fess since his first Vows made him mine.—

—right—that lying with old Francisco is flat Adultery.

I might, with some Excuse, give my self away to Carlos—but oh, he's false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, And gives 'em to my Sister Clara now.

Indeed, that's something uncivil, Madam, if it be true.

True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave, to visit her; and can I Live to see't? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love's too high, too Nicely true to brook Affronts like that.

Yet you sirst broke with him.

Not I, be witness heav'n with what reluctancy I fore't my breaking heart; and can I see, that charming Body in my Sisters Armes! that Mouth that has so oft sworn love to me, kist by anothers Lips! no, Jacinta, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him dead between the Charmers Armes. My life I hate, and when I live no more for Carlos, I'll cease to be at all, it is resolv'd.

Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more Comicall end of your Amours—but see where your Amiable Spouse comes with Don Baltazer your Father!

So—you two are damnable Close together, 'tis for no goodness I'll warrant, you have your trade betimes.

Meaning me, Sir?

Yes you, one of my Wives evil Counsellors,—go, get you up both to your respective Chambers, go—

Barring your Complyments, good Son, give me leave to speak.

Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou'd say now; you wou'd assure me I am Sole Master of your house, and may command; that you are heartily glad to see me at Cadez, and that you desire I wou'd resolve upon a weeks stay, or so; that you'll spare nothing for my entertainment, why I know all this, and therefore pray take my word, good Father in-Law, without any more adoe.

Well Sir, pray answer me one Question, What drew you to Cadez?

Why, I'll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lo­vers, I say; for my Daughter Isabella is to be married, as you [Page 7] know, to Antonio, a young rich merchant of this Town; in the second place, my Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gading to vi­sit you and her sister, whom we heard was also to be married to the young Governor Don Carlos; 'tis shrewdly against my will, heav'n knows, for my witts are in an uprore already about this business—your Gallant's, Father, your young Gallant's,—I wish my Wife were secure at home again.

Pray why so?

Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a meer Trick put upon a man, a married man, and a married man to a hansom young woman,—you apprehend me.

Not I, Sir.

Not, you Sir; why look ye; your young Governor who now is, made most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d'ye mind me?—but you, being a man of an exact Judg­ment, to her great grief, gave her to me, who best deserv'd her, both for my civil Behaviour, and Comly Personage, d'ye un­derstand me? but now this Carlos, by his Fathers death being made Governor, d'ye see? is to marry your other Daughter Clara, and to exasperate me, wou'd never let me be at quiet till he had got both of us hither to Cadez, to Grace his Wedding; a Pox of his Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine?

If this be your Affliction, you may avoyd it.

No, no, I'll try to sorce Nature a little, and be Civil, or so, but as soon as the Ceremony's over, I'll steal out of Town, whip a way, presto, i'faith.

But sh'oud you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife wou'd think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech you, 'twill make you odious to her and all the world, when 'tis needless; 'tis naturall for women to hate what they fear.

Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can dissemble too upon occasion.

Let her remain awhile amongst us.

The Devil a bit shee shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more years than you, Sir Father, and understand what women are, especially when married to ancient men, and have the Conversation of young men—whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on 'em; the very thought on't has rais'd a Bump in my forehead already.

I am sorry you shou'd suspect my Daughter's Vertue.

May be you are, Sir,—but youth you know—oppor­tunity—occasion—or so—there are Winks, and Nods, and Signes, and Twires—and—well in short I am satisfi'd, and they that are not may go whistle, and so I'll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil thoughts will grow upon her—Wife, Love—Duckling—

Wou'd I had never marryed her to this Sott.

Your pleasure, Sir.

Onely to see thee, Love.

I have a Sute to you.

What i'st, my Chicken.

I Wou'd go make a Visit to my Aunt, my sister Clara's there, and I'll go setch her home.

Hum—perhaps the Governor's there too?

What if he be? we ought to make him a Visit too who so kindly sent for us to Cadez.

How! Make a Visit to the Governor? What have I to doe with the Governor, or what have you to doe with the Governor? you are no Souldier, Love! as for a Visit to your Aunt there's some reason in't, but for the Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more.

Since he's to marry my Sister, why shou'd you refuse him that Civility.

Your Sister, so much the worse.

So much the worse?

I, so much the worse, I tell you, for, mark me, you have been Lovers lately; and old storyes may arise that are not yet forgotten; and haveing under the Cloak of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a Wife, t'other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work i'faith; What a Mixture of Bro­ther by the Fathers side, and Uncle by the Mothers side there will be; Aunt by the Mothers side, and Sister by the fathers side; a man may sind as good kindred amongst a kenell of Beagles.—No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam.

So, you are at your jealousie again.

Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she Nam'd the Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain.

I spoke in reference to his Quality.

A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be Civil. Why, what a Coyle's here about a Governor? I'll stand to't, a man had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and 'twere easilyer govern'd.

But, hear reason, Son.

What, from a Woman, and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Witts, good Father-i'-law? Why, what, a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a Coxcombe, Cuckold, to show my Wife? No, no, there's no Necessity of your Civility, Mistress; Leave that to me who understand the due Punctillio's of it.

Harkey Son, harkey!

Father mine, every man to his business, I say, therefore say no more of this; For I'll give my Mother's Soul to the Devil, when any Wife of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there's an end on't. Was ever so horrid a Plot Contriv'd against her own Lawfull Husband? Visit the Governor, with a Pox.

'Tis an honour due to all men of his Rank.

I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife's my slave, and let him keep his Rank to himself.

He's here, and with his Wife; How shall I doe to de­liver my Letter to her?—Sir, by the order of my Master, Don Carlos, the Governor, I am commanded to come hither, to the end that, going from hence, and returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him—

—That I am in health,—very well, I was afraid he wou'd have been harping upon my Wife in the first place—the Devil take her, she looks for't.

Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than or­dinary Friendship.

A Pox of his complyments,—

But he charg'd me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service to your Lady.

Yes, yes; I thought as much.

—In a more particular manner.

Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his service in a more particular manner, and so you may return it.

Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular manner.

Sir, I ment no hurt, but 'tis all wayes the fashion of your true bred Courtier, to be more Ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladyes than Men;—and he desires to know how she does.

How strong this Carlos smells of the Devil—friend, tell your Master she's very well, but since she was Married she has forgot her Gentile Civility and good manners, and never returns any Complements to men.

—How shall I get it to her?—Sir, the Governor hopes he shall havethe Honour of entertaining you both at his house. He's impatient of your coming, and waits at home on purpose.

Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters already, and he does us both too much Honour; and that if we have notice of the Wedding-day; and I have nothing else to doe, we'll Certainly wait on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send him word of before­hand to prevent surprise.

But Sir,—

Go, Sir, and deliver your message.

But I have order, Sir,—

There's no such thing in this world.

I'm resolv'd to Teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in revenge;—But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair Lady in his own house,

Yes, yes; I know he does; But I'll give him to the Devil first.—Troth, Sir, this Cadez Aire does not agree with my fair Lady, she has ventur'd out but once, and has got an Ague already.

Agues, Sir, are kind diseases, they allow of Truces and Cessations.

No, no; She has no Cessation friend, her Ague takes her nigh [...] and day, it shakes her most unmercyfully, and it shall shake her till the Wedding-day.

Were this Fellow to be try'd by a Jury of women, I would not be in's Coat to lye with his Lady.—What shall I doe to deliver this Letter,—Well Sir since I see you are so averse to what the Governor desires, I'll return—but, Sir, I must tell you, as a friend, a Secret; that to a man of your temper may concern you;—Sir,—he's—resolv'd when he Comes next to Visit his Mistress, to make another Visit to your Apartment, to your Lady too.

Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there's no occasion for't; besides 'twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have prescrib'd her Silence and Lonelyness,—tis good against the Fit; How this damn'd Fellow of a Rival torments me; Honest Friend, adieu.

Now is this Fellow so affraid of being made a Cuckold that he fears his own shadow, and dares not go into his Wive's Chamber if the Son do but shine into the room.—

So, your Mercury's gon; Lord, how, simply you look now, as if you knew nothing of the matter!

Matter, what matter, I heard the Civil Message the Go­vernor sent, and the uncivil answer you return'd back.

Very good; Did that grieve your heart, alass what pitty 'twas I carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg'd him to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah.—

And there's need enough, and the truth were known.

Well said, Madam.

Peace thou wicked Limbe of Satan—but for you, Gentle Woman, since you are so tarmagant, that your own Na­tural Husband cannot please you; who though I say it am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as sweetly, for one of my years, as any in Spain—I'll keep you to hard meat i'faith.

I find no fault with your Sleeping, 'tis the best quality you have a-Bed.

Why, so then, is the Devil in an unmercyfull woman? Come come, 'tis a good Tenant that payes once a quarter.

Of an hour do ye mean Sir.—

Peace, I say,—thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you preach to your Mistress, but you shall do't in private, for I am resolv'd to lock ye both up, and carry the keys in my Pocket.

Well, I'm a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I'll doe what thou wilt; Come, come, be friends, I Vow, I care not for the Governor, not I, no more then I do for my—own soule.

Why so, this is somthing; Come, come your way's in,—who have we here a man, ad's my life away, away.

Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter.

No, 'tis not a man, but my daughter Isabella.

Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Doatard, wou'd I cou'd teaze him to death, that my Mistiess might be rid of him.

How now, what makes you look so Scurvily to day? Sure the Devil rides once a day through a woman, that she may be sure to be inspir'd with some Ill qualities—what wou'd you have now?

Somthing.

Somthing; what thing; have I not provided you a Husband whom you are to marry within a day or too?

There's a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you please; I'll marry none of him, I'll see him hang'd first.

Hay-day;—what is he not young and hansom enough forsooth?

Young and hansom; is there no more than that goes to the making up of a Husband?—Yes, there's Quality.

Quality;—Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his standing in all Cadez?

Merchant, a prety Character, a Woman of my Beauty, and 5. Thousand pound, marry a Merchant—a little, pety, dirty­heeld Merchant; faugh I'd rather live a Maid all dayes of my life, or be sent to a Nunnery, and that's Plague enough I'm sure.

Have a care of a Nunnery, least he take you at your word.

I wou'd not for the World, no, Jacinta, when ever thou [...] me in Holy orders, the World will be at an end.

Merchant, why, What Husband do you expect!

A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.

A Noble man, mar [...]y come-up; your Father, Huswife, meaning my self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a Merchant, and left that Mechanick trade; and since turn'd Gentleman; and heav'n blest my endeavours so as I have an estate for a Spanish Grandee; and, Are you so proud, for­sooth, that a Merchant wont down with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a silver Sword with a more dred­full Ribon at the hilt? Come, come, I fear me, Huswife, you are one that pusss her up with pride thus;—but lay, thy hand upon thy Conscience now.—

Who, I Sir; No no, Sir, I am for Marrying her out of hand to any reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will Long, and that's Probatum est against the pervailing Distem­per of Longing; Hitherto I dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be alwayes responsable for frail Mor­tality.

Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so squemish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.

Dear Father.

Dear me no Deares: Wou'd your old Mother were a­live, she wou'd a Strapt your Iusticore, for puleing after Cava­liers and Noble men, i'faith, that wou'd shee; A Citizen's Daugh­ter and wou'd be a Madona, in good time.

Why, Father; the Gentry and Nobility now adayes frequently marry Citizen's Daughters.

Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour the City; I confess 'tis the fashion now adayes, if a Citizen get but a little money, one goes to building houses, and brick walls; another must buy an Office for his Son; a third hoysts up his Daughter's Topsail, and flaunts it a way, much a­bove her Breeding; and these things make so many break, and Cause the decay of Trading; but I'm for the honest Dutch way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.

That's very hard, because you are a Laborious, Ill-bread Trades-man, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen's Wife.

Why, what are you better then I, forsooth, that you must be a Lady, and have your Peticoats lac'd four Storyes high; wear your false Towers, and Coole your self with your Spanish Fan? Come, come, Baggage, wear me your best Cloaths a Sun­days, and brush 'em up a Munday Mornings, and follow your needle all the week after, that was your good old Mother's way, and your Grand-mother's before her; and as for the Hus­band, take no care about it, I have design'd it, Antonio, and Antonio you are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentle wo­man, or turn poor Clare, and die a Begging-Nun, and there's an end on't—see where he comes—I'll leave you to ponder upon the business.

what, in Tears, Isabella, what is't can force that tribute from your Eyes?

A Trifle, hardly worth the nam [...]ing, your self—

Do I, pray, for what sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punisht?

For the sin of your Odious Addresses to me, I have told you my mind often enough, methinks your Equals shou'd be sitter for you, and sute more with your Plebean Humour.

My Equals, 'Tis True, you're fair, but if there be any inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.

Sawcie Impertinent, you show your City breeding, you understand what's due to Ladys, you understand your Pen and Ink how to count your dirty money, trudg to and fro chasfering of base commodities, and cuzening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an o're heated Cook; faugh, I smell him hither.

I must confess I'm not perfum'd as you are, to stifle Stinks you commonly have by Nature; but I have wholsom, [...]lenly Linen on; and for my Habit, wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and me, onely, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.

Ah, Name not a Don, the very sound from the mouth of a little Cit is disagreeable—Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are words become you better.

Well-said, use him scurvily, that Mrs. Clara may have him.

The best of those you think I shou'd not name, dare hardly tell me this.

Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and finicall your self up to be thought so, but there's as much difference between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier.—

As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.

Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may, long enough, before you rail me out of my Opinion, whilest there are Dons with Coa­ches and fine Lackey's, and I have Youth and Beauty, with a For­tune able to merit one, so farewell Cit.

Farewell, proud Fool.

Sir, be this evening at the door, Dona Clara has som­thing to say to you.

Bless thee for this Tidings, dear Jacinta.

SCENE I. A Chamber.

WELL, Madam, have you writ to Don Carlos?

No, nor is it possible I shou'd, this Devil haunts me so from room to room, Like my evil Genius to prevent that good; oh, for an opportunity of one kind Minute, to return Acknowledgments for this kind Letter he has sent me.

I'm glad you find me a Sybill; Madam, I ever proficy'd a happier end of that Amour than your ill fortune has hitherto promised,—but what said the Lovely Cavalier?

All that a man inspir'd with Love cou'd say, All that was soft and Charming.

Nay, I believe his Art.

Judge then what my Heart Feels, who, like a fire but lightly cover'd o're with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast, breaks out into a flame; I burn, I burn, Jacinta, and onely Charming Carlos can alay my Pain—but how, Ay there's the question?

Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his old wont if he traverse not the street where you live, but see Dona Clara.—

Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be reconcil'd to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there,—so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with Carlos?

'Tis pity she that thinks it so, shou'd want him; the Blessing's thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be [Page 16] matcht to those we cannot love; Carlos, though young, gay, hansome, witty, rich; I hate as much as you the old Fran­cisco; for since I cannot Marry my Antonio, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, And Age decrepid wou'd be equal torment.

Wou'd Carlos knew your heart, sure he'd decline, for he has too much Honor, to compell a Maid to yeild that loves him not.

'Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon' [...]; but I have given my Vows to young Antonio.

And young Antonio you are like to have, for any thing that Carlos cares; for know, to thy eternall joy, my Clara, he has but feign'd to thee, as much as thy Antonio to Isabella.

But are you sure of this?

Most certain, this Night if you can let Antonio see you, he'll tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon.

Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can render him, in your behalf, he shall not want.

Antonio will engage you they are friends.

You amaze me.

I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I wou'd get him a Minutes time with you.

Dear Jacinta, thou art the kindest Maid.—

Hang't, why shou'd we young Women pine and Lan­guish for what our own Natural invention may procure us; let us three lay our heads together, and if Machavil, with all his Politicks, can out-witt us, 'tis pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and dy'd without the Jewish blessing of consolation.

No more, here comes the Dragon.—

So; together Consulting and Contriving.—

What, are you jealous of the Peticoat?

Peticoat, Come, come, Mistress Pert, I have known as Much danger hid under a Peticoat, as a Pair of Breeches. I have heard of two Women that Married each other—oh abominable, as if there were so Prodigious a Scarcity of Christ­ian Man's Flesh.

No, the market's well enough stor'd, thanks be praised, [Page 17] might every woman be afforded a reasonable Alowance.

Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou'd thou hadst thy Bellyfull, that I might be fairly rid of thee—go get you up to your Chamber, and, d'ye hear, stirr n [...]t from thence, on pain of our severe displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste to signior Don Sebastians, 'tis but hard by, I shall soon return;—what are you here—

I have a high commendations of your fine behaviour, Gentle­woman, to Antonio; his Father has sent for me, and I shall know all anon, this shall but hasten your Wedding, Huswife, I tell you that, and so Farewell to you,—

Say you so, then tis time for me to look about me.

But will you go out so late Love! indeed, some hurt will come to thee.

No, look ye, I go Arm'd

Go get you to your Chambers.

I wonder where this man of mine shou'd be, whom I sent this evening with my letter to Julia, what art thou?

My Lord, 'tis I, your trusty Trojan, Guzman,—what makes you here, Sir, so near the dore of your Mistress?

To wait my doom; what Tidings hast thou Guzman!

Why, Sir, I went as you directed me, to Don Baltazer's.

And didst thou deliver it?

And the first thing I mett with was old Francisco.

So.

To whom I civily adrest my self—told him, you presen ted your Service to him,—sent to know how his Lady and he did. Which word Lady I no sooner nam'd, but I thought he wou'd have saluted me with a Cudgell,—in sine, observing her behind him, whom he shelter'd all he cou'd with his Cloke, I, taking an occa sion to wisper him, gave it her over his shoulder, [Page 18] whilst she return'd some smiles and looks of joy,—but for an answer, 'twas impossible to get the least sign of one.

No matter, that joy was evident, she wisht me one, and by the first opportunity my diligent waiting will be recompenc'd; but, where hast thou been all this while?

Finding out the Chimney-sweeper, you spoke of Sir, and whom you order'd me to bring this Evening.

And hast thou found him?

He's here, at the corner of the Street, I'll call him.

I have, Antonio, besides your particular Revenge, one of my own to Act by this deceit, since all my Industry to see the charming Julia has hitherto been vain, I have resolv'd upon a new project, if this False Count pass upon 'em, as I doubt not but he will, and that he gets admittance into the House, I'll pass for one of his Domestiques.

Here's the fellow, Sir.

Fellow, he may be the Devil's fellow by his counte­nance.

Come nearer Friend; dost think thou canst manage a Plot well?

As any man in Cadez, Sir, with good instructions.

That thou shalt have, thou art apprehensive.

So, so, I have a pretty memory for mischief.

Hast thou Assurance and Courage?

To kill the honestest man in Spain, if I be well paid.

That thou shalt be.

I ll doe't, say no more, I'll doe't.

But canst thou swear stoutly, & lye handsomly?

Prettily, by Nature Sir, but with good instructions I shall improve; I thank Heav'n I have Dossety, or so.

Thou want'st not confidence.

No, nor impudence neither; how should a man live in this wicked world without that Talent.

Then know our Design is onely Comical, though if you manage not matters well, it may prove Tragical to you; in fine dost think thou canst personate a Lord?

A Lord, marry that's a hard question, but what sort of a Lord?

Why any Lord.

That I cannot doe, but I can doe some sort of a Lord, as some Lords are wiser than other-some; there is your witty Lord,—him I defie; your wise Lord, that is to say, your knavish Lord, him I renounce; then there's your [...]olitique Lord, him I wou'd have hang'd;—then th [...]re's your foolish Lord, let him follow the Polititian; then there's your [...], Pert, Noysey Lord, and such a small insignificant [...] I care not if I am possest with; I shall deal well enough wi [...]h a Devil of his capacity.

Very well, then there needs no more but that you go along with my man to my house, my authority shall secure you from all the injuries that shall accrue from a discovery, but I hope none will happen: Equipage, cloaths and money we'll fur­nish you with,—go home with him and dress, and practise the Don, till we come, who will give you ample instructions what to doe.

And if I do not fit you with a Don better than Don De'll, Phobos, or Don Quixote, let me be hang'd up for the Sign of the Black Boy on my own Poles at a Spanish Inn dore.

We'll be with you presently.

And if you find me not en Cavalier, say Cloaths, Gar­niture, Points and Feathers have lost their Power of making one.

Hah, the dore opens, and surely 'tis a Woman that ad­vances, dear Antonio, wait a little farther;—who's there?

Hah, if it shou'd be old Francisco now.

Let it be who it will, I'll tell my name, it cannot injure either;—I'm Carlos, who are you?

A thing that looks for him you name—Jacinta;—are you alone?

Never since Julia did possess my heart; what news my dearest messenger of Love? what may I hope?—

What wouldst thou have me doe?

Oh Heavens! what mean you? I shall dye with fear.

When then, my Julia shall we meet again?

You Spaniards are a jealous Nation, But in this English Sp [...]niard old Francisco, That mad passion's doubled; wholly deprives him of his Sense, and [...] his Nature Brute; wou'd he but trust me onely with my Woman, I wou'd contrive some way to see my Carlos.

[...] certain, Julia, that thou must be mine.

[...] I must dye, my Carlos.

Now Love and wild desire prompt me to kill this happy Rival,—he's old, and can't be long in his arrears to Nature.—What if I paid the debt?

One single push wou'd do't, and Julia's mine;—but hang't Adultery is a less sin than Murther, and I will wait my For­tune—

Where are you,—Don Carlos?

Who's there, Antonio? I took thee for my Rival, and ten to one but I had done thy business.

I heard ye talking, and believ'd you safe, and came in hopes to get a little time to speak to Clara in;—hah!—Jacinta—

Who's there, Antonio?

The same; may I not speak with Clar [...]?

Come in, she's here.—

And prethee, dear Jacinta, let me have one word with Julia more, she need not fear surprise; just at the dore let me but kiss her hand.

I'll see if I can bring her.—

A proud ungracious Flurt,—a Lord with a Pox, here's a fine business i'faith, that she should be her own Car­ver,—well I'll home, and thunder her together with a vengeance.

Who's here? sure this is he indeed; I'll step aside, least my being seen give him an occasion of jealousie, and make him affront his Wife.

Hum, what have we here, a woman?

Heavens! what, not gone yet, my Dear?

So, so, 'tis my confounded wife, who expecting some body wou'd have me gone now.

Yes, yes, you can promise fair, but hang him that trusts ye.

Go, go, and pray be satisfied of my eternal love.—

How fain she'd have me gone now; ah subtil Serpent, is not this plain demonstration,—I shall murther her, I [...]ind the Devil great with me.

—What is't thou pawsest on?

The wicked dissimulation of villainous woman.

Francisco.

Oh thou monster of Ingratitude, have I caught thee? You'd have me gone, wou'd ye? ay, to Heaven, I believe, like a wicked woman as you are, so you were rid of me.—go,—and be satisfied of my eternal love,—ah, Gipsey,—no, Gentlewoman, I am a [...] bit, and will hold you tugging till your heart ake.

Why, was there such hurt in desireing you to go, that you might make hast back again,—oh my fears!

That you might receive a lover,—'tis plain—and my indignation's high.—

Heav'n knows I meant—

Onely to Cuckold me a little,—get you in,—where I will swear thee by Bell, Book and Candle,—get you in, I say,—go, go,—I'll watch for your Lover, and tell him how unkind he was to stay so long, I will.—

I hear no noise, sure 'twas he,—and he's gone in—To reap those joys he knows not how to value, And I must languish for; I'll stay a little—perhaps Jacinta may return again, for any thing belonging to my Julia is dear, even to my Soul.

who's there?—what wou'd you have?—who wou'd you speak to?—who do you come from?—and what's your business?

Hah, 'tis the Sot himself;—my name is Carlos.

Carlos, what father of Belzibub sent him hither,—a plain case;—I'll murther her out of hand.

—And I wou'd speak to any body, Friend, that be­longs to the fair Clara,—if you are any of this house.

Onely the Cuckold of the house, that's all;—my [Page 23] name, Sir, is Francisco; but you, perhaps, are better acquaint­ed with my Wife.

Francisco, let me imbrace you, my Noble Brother, And chide you, that you wou'd not Visit me.

And bring my Wife along with me.

Both had been wellcome—and all I have, you shou'd Command.

For my Wife's sake—what if I shou'd Pistoll him now;—and I am damnably provokt to [...]t, had I but Courage to shoot off one.

—Methinks you make not so kind returns as my Friend­ship to you, and the Alliance shall be between us, deserves.

I am somthing Ill-bred I confess, Sir;—'tis dark, and if I [...] do't no body wou'd know 'twas I.

I fear there's some misunderstanding between us, pray let us go in a while, I'll talk you from your error.

Between us, Sir, oh Lord, not in the least, Sir, I love and Honour you, so heartily—I'd be content to give you to the Devil; but the noyse of the Pistoll wou'd discover the business.

—Come let's in, and talk a while.

I'm sorry I cannot do't, Sir, we are something incom­moded being not at our own house.

Brother, I am afraid you are a little inclin'd to be jealous, that will destroy all friendship.—

So, how finely the Devil begins to insinuate?

—that makes a Hell of the Heav'n of Love, and [...] very pains you fear, are less tormenting than that fear; what say you, Brother, is't not so with you?

—I find you wou'd have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine convenient Tool, one of the Modern humour, a Civil person, that understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou'd be as Modish a Gallant.

Ha, ha, ha.

What, doe you Laugh, Sir?

Who can chuse; to hear your suspicions, your needless Fears. Come, come, trust your Wives discretion, and Mo­desty—and I doubt not but you will find your self.—

—In the Rode to Heaven, whither they say all Cuckolds goe—I thank you for your advice; I perceive [Page 24] you wou'd willingly help me onwards of my Journey.—

I'm glad I know you, Sir,—farewell to you.—

No matter for that, so you know not my Wife—and so, farewell to you, Sir, and, the Devil take all Cuckold­makers.

He has seen Don Carlos, and they have been in great discourse together, I cou'd not hear one word, but you'll have it at both ears anon, I'll warrant you.

Ha, he's coming.—

Heavens, he must not see you here.—

Here, step in to Clara's Bed-chamber.—

So, the Plot's at last discover'd,—he was a Cava­lier of his Parole.

Who speak you of?

Onely the Governour, the fine young Governour, I deliver'd him the message, told him my mind, and the like.

So kind to visit us, and have you sent him away already?

Ah, Witch; already,—why, have I any lodging for him?

But I am glad you brought him not in, I being so unready.

But you are always ready for him, my dear victorious Man-slayer.

What means he, sure he has a Gad-bee in his brain.

Satan's shee Advocate—peace I say;—so,—you look as innocently now, as a little Devil of two years old, I'll warrant;—come, come,—look me full in the face—thus,—turn your nose just to mine—so—now tell me whose damnable Plot this was, to send your Gallant with his Eloquence, Querks and Conundrums, to tutour me into better manners?

Send him; I'll answer no such idle questions.—

He has taken a world of pains about your particular [Page 25] Chapter, and no doubt but he preacht according to [...] ­ons;—what say you [...]or your self, that Judgment may not pass?

I say, you're an old jealous Fool; have I seen Don Car­los, or heard from Don Carlos, or sent to Don Carlos? [...] a doe indeed.

What made you at the dore against my positive com­mands,—the very street dore,—in the [...]ight,—a­lone,—and undrest,—this is matter of Fact, Gentle­woman; you hastned me away,—a plain case,—and presently after Don Carlos comes to the dore,—positive proof,—sees me and falls right down upon my jealousie,—clear conviction,—'twas pity but I had followed his counsel, yes, when the Devil turns student in Divinity;—but no matter, I'll see your back fairly turn'd upon this Town to morrow; I'll marry my Daughter in the morning to Antonio, and a fai [...] wind or not, we'll home; the Gally lies ready in the Harbour—there­fore prepare, pack up your tooles, for you are no woman of this world.

How? marry me to morrow to his daughter;—and carry his Wife from my friend; this misfortune must be preven­ted.

And so, Mistress, come your ways to your Chamber.

And study how to prevent this cruel separation.

Ah Antonio, I find by that sad look of yours, you have over heard our hasty Doom.

I have, and am a little surpris'd at the suddainness of it; and I my self am the unlucky occasion of it,—to break it off; I told my father how scurvily Isabella treated me,—he thereupon sends for old Francisco, tells him of my complaint, and instead of disingaging my self, I find my self more undone.

What shall we doe? I'm sure thou wilt not marry her, thou canst not do't and hope to go to Heaven.

No, I have one prevention left, and if that fail, I'll ut­terly refuse to marry her, a thing so vainly proud; no Laws of Nature or Religion, sure, can bind me to say yes; and for my Fortune, 'tis my own, no Father can command it.

I know thou wilt be true, and I'll not doubt it.

Ah! Madam, the saddest news—

Hah! what?

Poor Gentle-man, I pity you of all things in the world,—you must be forc'd—how can I utter it,—to the most lamentable torment that ever Lover endur'd—to remain all night in your Mistress's Chamber.

Alas, how shall I indure so great an affliction?

And I.

Ha, ha, ha, how I am griev'd to think on't; ha, ha, ha, that you shou'd both be so hardly put to't; ha, ha, ha, for the old Gentle [...] man has lockt all the dores, and took the keys to bed to him,—go get you in,—ha, ha, ha,—

Oh, my dear Clara, this is a blessing, I cou'd not hope.

SCENE I.

ALL night with Clara say'st thou? that was lucky; but was she kind, my friend?

A very moderate Lover.

For some part of my Vertue, Sir, I owe to you, in midst of all my Love, even in the kindest moments of delight, my joys were broken by concern for you.

—Julia this day, or very suddainly, leaves Cadez.

By Heaven, and so will Carlos then, for I'm so resolutely bent to possess that dear creature,

And how wou'd you reward that politique head, that shou'd contrive the means to bring this hansomly about; not for an hour, or a night, but even as long as you please, with freedom; without the danger of venturing your honourable neck, in showing feats of activitie three stories high, with a Dagger in one hand and a Pistol in t'other, like a Rope-dancer?

But how? thou talkest of impossibilities.

Dost think she'll e'er consent to quit her Husband?

No, Heaven forbid, I am too good a Christian to par: man and wife; but being naturally inclin'd to works of Charity, I will with one project I have in this noddle of mine,—make old Francisco a Cuckold, accommodate my Lord and Julia, serve you, Sir,—and give our selves a good Scene of mirth.

Thou amazests me.

If I doe't not, send me to the Galleys, nay, and so far cure the jealousie of the old Fellow, that from a rigid suspici­ous troublesome Fool, he shall become so tame and gentle a Husband,—that he shall desire you to favour him so much as to lie with his dear Wife.

By what strange Witchcraft shall this be brought to pass?

E'n honest invention, Sir, good Faith, listen and believe:——When he goes, he certainly [...] by Sea, to save the charges of Mules.

Right, I heard him say so; in the [...] that lies in the Port.

Good, there is a Galley also, in the Harbour, you lately took from the Turks; habits too were taken in her e­nough to furnish out some forty or fifty as convenient Turks as a man wou'd wish at the Devil.

Ah Rogue, I begin to apprehend already.

Our Turkish Galley thus man'd, I'll put to Sea, and a­bout a League from Land, with a sham-fight, set on that of old Francisco, take it, make 'em all slaves, clap the old Fellow under hatches, and then you may deal with the fair slave his Wife, as Adam did with Eve.

I'm ravisht with the thought.

But what will be the event of this?

I will not look so far, but stop at the dear Joys, and Fear no Fate beyond 'em.

Nay, with a little Cudgelling this dull Brain of mine, I shall advance it Farther for the Jest sake;—as I take it, Seignior Don Antonio, you have a fine Villa, within a Bow shot of this City belonging to your self.

I have, with pleasant Gardens, Grotto's, Water-works.—

A most admirable Scene for Love and our designs.

'Tis yours, Sir.

Then, Sir, when we have taken this old Fool, on whom the grosest cheat wou'd pass, much more this, which shall carry so seeming a Truth in't, he being clapt under hatches in the Dark, we'll wind round a league or two at Sea, turn in, and Land at this Garden, Sir, of yours, which we'll pretend to be a Seraglio belonging to the Grand Seignior; whither, in this hot part o'th year, he goes to Regale himself with his She Slaves.

But the Distance of Place and Time allow not such a Falacie.

Why, he never read in's life; knows neither Longitude nor Latitude, and Constantinople may be in the midst of Spain for any thing he knows; besides, his Fear will give him little Leasure for thinking.

But how shall we doe with the Seamen of this other Gally?

There's not above a Dozen, besides the Slaves that are chain'd to the Oar, and those Dozen, a Pistoll a piece wou'd not onely make 'em assist in the Design, but betray it in earnest to the Grand Seignior;—for them I'll undertake, the Master of it being Pier de [...] your Fathers Old Servant, Sir.

But possibly his mind may alter upon the Arrival of this false Count of ours?

No matter, make sure of those Seamen however; that they may be ready upon occasion.

'Tis high time for me, that your Count were arriv'd, for this Morning is destin'd the last of my Liberty.

This Morning—Come haste and dress me—

—Guzman, where's our Count?

Coming to give you the good Morrow, Sir. And shew you how well he looks the Part.

Good day to your Lordship—

Morrow, morrow friend.

My Lord, your most humble servant.

Thank you friend, thank you; Page, Boy—what'st a Clock Sirrah?

About Eight, my Lord.

Your Lordship's early up?

My stomach was up before me, friend; and I'm dam­nable hungry; 'tis strange how a man's Appetite increases with his Greatness; I'll swinge it away now I'm a Lord,—then I will wench without mercy; I'm Resolv'd to spare neither man, Woman, nor Child, not I; hey Rogues, Rascalls, Boys, my Breakfast, quickly Dogs—let me see what shall I have now that's Rare?

What will your Honour please to have?

A small rasher of delicate Bacon, Sirrah—of about a Pound, or two, with a small Morcel of bread—round the Loaf, d'ye hear, quickly Slaves.

That's grose meat, Sir, a pair of Quails—or—

I thank you for that i'faith, take your Don again, an you, please, I'll not be starv'd for nere a Don in Christiandom.

But you must study to refine your manners a little.

Manners, you shall pardon me for that, as if a Lord had not more privilege to be more sawey, more rude, imper­tinent, slovenly and foolish than the rest of his Neighbours, or man-kind.

Ay, ay 'tis great.

Your sawey Rudeness, in a Grandee, is Freedom; your Impertinence, Wit; your Sloven, Careless; and your Fool, good Natur'd, at least they shall pass so in me, I'll warrant yee.

Well, you have your full instructions; your Baggage, Bills and Letters, from Octavio the Sivilian Merchant.

All, all, Sir, are ready, and his Lordship's breakfast waits.

Hey Rogues, Rascalls, Boys, follow me just behind.

SCENE II.

Nay I kn [...]w he wou'd be Civil, Madam, or I wou'd have born you company, but neither my Mistress nor I, Cou'd sleep one wink all night, for fear of a Discovery in the Morn­ing, and, to save the poor Gentleman a tumbling Cast from the window, my Mistress, just at day break, fain'd her self won­drous sick,—I was call'd, desir'd to goe to Seignior Spadillio's the Apothecary's, at Next door, for a Cordial; and so he slipt out;—but the Story of this False Count pleases me extream­ly, and, if it shou'd take, Lord, what mirth we shall have. Ha, ha, ha, I can't forbear with the thoughts on't.

And to see the Governor his man?

Ah, what a Jest will that be too,—Ha ha ha; but here Comes Isabella; lets [...] up her Pride with Flatteries on her Beauty—

Ah, Heavens, those Eyes,—that Look;—that pretty Lear,—that my Father shou'd be so Doting an old Fool, to think these Beauties fit for a little Merchandize [...]—a Marchi­oness wou'd so much better become me.

—ah what a smile's there—and then that scornfull look—tis great—heav'ns who's here?—

Onely those Friends that wish you better Fortune than this day promises.

Look on that Face; Are there not lines that foretell a world of greatness, and promise much Honour?

Her Face, her Shape, her Mien, her every Part, declares her Lady—or something more.—

Why so, and yet this little creature of a Father, ridicu­lous and unambitious, wou'd spoile this Lady, to make up a simple Citizen's Wife—in good time.

That very look had some presageing Grandure.

Do you think so, [...], Ha, ha, ha.—

That laugh again, oh heav'ns, how it Charmes?

Ah how Gracefull 'tis.

Ah, nothing but a great Gilt Coach will become it.

—With Six Spanish Mares.—

—And embroider'd Trapings.—

—With four Lackeys.

—And a Page at the taile on't.

She's evidently design'd for a Person of quality.

Besides I have so Natural an inclination for a Don, that if my Father do force me to marry this small Creature of a Merchant, I shall make an intreague with some body of quality.

Cou'd you but manage it well and keep it from Anto­nio.

Keep it from Antonio,—is it think you for a little, silly Cit, to complain [...] when a Don does him the Honour to Visit his Lady! Marry that were pretty.

How, a Count, to speak with me; With me, I say,—here at Cadez?

A Count, Sir, and to speak with you.

Art sure 'tis not the Governour?—I'll goe lock up my Wife.

Governour, Sir, No, no, 'tis a mear stranger, Sir, a rare Count whom I never saw all dayes of my life before.

And, with me, wou'd he speak? I hope he comes not to my Wife.

Oh Husband, the delicatest sine Person of Quality, just alight [...]d at the door, Husband.

What, have you seen him then, the Devil's in these Women, and there be but a loop hole to peep out off they'll spy a man,—I'm resolv'd to see this thing.—goe, retire you women, here's men coming up.

And will men eat us?

No, but they may doe worse, they may look on ye, and Looking breeds Likeing; and Likeing, Love; and Love, a damn'd thing, call'd Desire; and Desire begets the Devil and all of Mischief to young wenches.—G [...]t ye gon in, I say,—here's a Lord coming—and Lords are plaguie things to women.

How, a Lord! oh, heav'ns! Jacinta, my Fan, and set my Hair in order, Oh the Gods! I wou'd not but see a Lord for all the world! how my Heart beats already—keep your Distance behind, Jacinta,—Bless me, how I tremble—a little farther, Jacinta.

Come, come Husewife, you shall be Marry'd anon, and then let your Husband have the Plague of you—but for my Gentlewoman,—Oh Lord—they're here.

How now, Fellow, where's this old. Don Francisco?

I'm the Person, Sir?

Heav'ns, what an Ayr he has?

Art thou he? Old Lad, how dost thou doe? Hah!

I don't know.

Thou knowest me not it seems, old Fellow, hah!

Know you—no, nor desire to doe,—on what acquaintance pray?

By Instinct, such as you ought to know a Person of Quality, and pay your Civilities naturally; in France, where I have travell'd, so much good Manners is us'd, your Cittizen puls of his hat, thus—to every Horse of quality, and every Coach of quality; and doe you pay my proper Person, no more respect hah!

What a dishonour's this, to me, to have so Dull a Fa­ther, that needs to be instructed in his Duty.

But, Sir, to open the eyes of your understanding—here's a Letter to you, from your Correspondant a Merchant of Sivil.

Cry Mercy, my Lord, and yet I wou'd he were a thou­sand Leagues off.

I have bills of Exchange too, directed to thee, old Fel­low, at Sivil; but, finding thee not there, and, I (as most persons of my Quality are) being something idle, and ne­v [...]r out of my way, came to this Town, to seek th [...]e, Fel­low,—being recommended as thou seest here, old Vermin,—here.—

Ah what a gracefull Mien he has? how sine his conver­sation? ah, the difference between him and a filthy Citizen.

—Clara has told me all.—

That's she in the middle; stand looking on her langui­shingly,—your head a little a one side,—so,—fold your arms,—good,—now and then heave your breast with a sigh,—most [...].—

Bills [...] [...] [...] thousands.

He has you [...] his eye already.—

Ah, Jacinta thou flatterest me.

Return him some kind looks in pity.

That other's my Mistress,— [...] thou but keep this old Fellow in discourse whilst I give her the sign to [...] a little.—

I'll warrant you I'll banter him till you have Cuckold him, If you manage matters as well as I.

My Lord, I ask your pardon for my rudeness in not knowing you before, which I ought to have done in good manners, I confess;—who the Devil does he stare at so?—Wise, I command you to withdraw, upon pain of our high displeasure.—my Lord, I shall dispatch your affairs,—he minds me not,—Ay,—'tis my Wife,—I say, Minion, begon,—your Bills, my Lord, are good, and I accept

em;—why, what a Devil he minds me not yet,—and though I am not at my proper home—I am where I can command Money,—hum,—sure 'tis my daughter,—Ay, ay,—'tis so, how [...] he shou'd be [...] [Page 34] now; the plaguie jade had sure the spirit of Prophesie in her; 'tis so,—'tis she,—my Lord.—

Prethee, old Fellow, peace,—I am in Love.—

In Love,—what, shall I be the Father of a Lord, wou'd it become me, think ye?—he's mighty full of Cogitabund;—my Lord,—my Lord,—sure his Soul has left the Tene­ment of his Body,—I have his Bills here, and care not if it never return more.

Dear Julia, let's retire, our time's but short.

I dare not with you, the venture wou'd be too bold in a young beginner in the Thefts of Love.

—Her Eyes are Suns, by Jove.—

Oh, nothing is so ventrous as Love, if it be true.

But shou'd my husband—

He's safe for one dear half hour, I'll warrant you, come.

Um—my Wife here still,—must I begin to thun­der?—

Lord, and you be so froward, I'll be gone.—

So, her Husband kind heart lest she should be cruel, has himself given me the dear opportunity.—

—Be sure you keep the old Fellow in discourse a while.

Be you as sure to Cuckold him.—

—Old Fellow,—prethee what person of quality's that?

Person of quality,—alas, my Lord, 'tis a silly Citizen's daughter.

A Citizen's; what clod of earth cou'd bring forth such a [...]?

Alas, my Lord, I am that clod of Earth, and to Earth if you call it so, she must return again, for she's to be married to a Citizen this Morning.

Oh! I am doubly wounded, first with her harmonious eyes,

Fair Lady,—suffer the Broom of my Affection to sweep all other Lovers from your heart.

Ah, my Lord, name it not, I'm this day to be married.

To day;—name me the Man, Man, did I say, the Monster that dares lay claim to her, I dain to love,—none [Page 35] answer me,—I'll make him smoak by Vulcan—and all the rest of the Goddesses.

Bless me, what a furious thing this Love is?

By this bright sword, that is so us'd to slaughter, he dies; old Fellow, say—the Poltroons name.

Oh fearful—alas, dread Sir!—

Ah! sheath your Sword, and calm your generous Rage.

I cannot brook a Rival in my Love, the rustling Pole of my af­fection is too strong to be resisted.—

I cannot think, my Lord, so mean a Beauty, can so sud­denly charm a heart so great as yours.

Oh! you're mistaken, as soon as I cast my eyes upon the full moon of your countenance, I was struck blind and dumb.—

Ay, and deaf too, I'll be sworn, he cou'd neither hear, see nor understand; this Love's a miraculous thing.

And that minute, the most renoun'd Don Guilelmo Ro­derigo de Chimeny-swiperio, became your Galley slave,—I say no more, [...] that I do Love,—and I will Love, and that if you are but half so willing as I, I will dub you, Vicountess de Chimeny Swiperio.

I'll doe't, say no more, I'll doe't.

Doe't, but my Lord, how, and with what face can I put off Signior Antonio, hum?

Antonio,—hay, Pages, give order that Antonio be instantly run through the Lunges—d'ye hear?

Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lunges [...]

It shall be done, my Lord, but, what Antonio?

Why any Antonio; all the Antonio's that you find in [...].

Oh, what bloody minded Monsters these Lords are!—But, my Lord, I'll ne'r give you the trouble of killing him, I'll put him off with a handsome compliment; as thus,—Why, look ye, Friend Antonio, the business is this, my Daugh­ter Isabella may marry a Lord, and you may go fiddle.—

Ay, that's civil,—and if he do not desist, I'll un­people Spain but I'll kill him; for, Madam, I'll tell you what happened to me in the Court of France—there was a Lady in [Page 36] the Court in love with me,—she took a liking to my Person which,—I think,—you will confess.—

To be th [...] most accomplisht in the World.

—I had some sixscore Rivals, they all took snuff; that i [...], were angry,—at which I smil'd;—they were incensed, at which I laught, ha, ha, ha,—i'faith; they rag'd, I—when I met ' [...]m,—Cockt, thus—en passant—justled [...]— [...],—

They turn'd and frown'd,—thus,—I—drew.—

What, on all the sixscore, my Lord?

All, all; sa sa, quoth I, sa sa sa, sa sa sa.

Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore.

—and run [...]em all through the body—

Oh Heavens! and kild 'em all.

Not a man,—onely run 'em through the Body a little, that's all; my two boys were by, my Pages here.

Is it the fashion, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big?

Pages of honou [...] always;—these were stinted at nurse, or they had been good proper fellows.

I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my Wifes Chamber for a little of that stong Cordial that reco­ver'd her this morning.—

Why, I'll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a wound I received in a duel the other day,—nay, Ladies, I'll show it you; in a very odd place—in my back parts.

Ah!

Show a wound behind, Sir, the Ladies will think you are a Coward.

Peace Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as my self;—but, since you are so tender-hearted, La­dies, I'll not show my wound; but faith, it spoil'd my dancing.

My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here's your bag­gage brought from a-board the Gally by your Sea-men, who us'd to entertain you with their rustick sports.

Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolv'd whether you will, or no, to give the Ladies some divertisement, [Page 37] —bid 'em come in; nay, Sir, you stirr not,

'Tis for your delight, Sir, I doe't; for, Sir, you must under­stand, a man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, fo [...] the case, Sir, lies thus, 'tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an Enemy,—truth is, every man loves a whole skin;—but, 'twas the fault of the best States [...]man in Christendome to be loose in the hilts;—you conceive me.

Very well, my Lord, I'll swear he's a rare spoken man;—why, what a Son-in-law shall I have? I have a little business my Lord, but I'll wait on you presently.

—Sir, there is nothing like your true Jest, a thing once well done, is twice done, and I am the happiest man in the World in your alliance;—for, Sir, a Noble-man if he have any tollerable parts,—is a thing above the Vulgar;—oh,—here come the Dancers;

Come, sit down by me.

'Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.

Nay, you shall sit.—

Good day, Sir, I hope you will not chide my tardiness, I have a little overslept my self, and am asham'd to see my love­ly Bride, and all this worthy company attend;—But you, fair Creature.—

No marrying to day, Sir.

No, Sir, no marrying to day.—

How, do I dream, or hear this from Fran [...]isco?

How now, Fellow, what art [...]?

The Husband of that proud disdainfull Woman.

Another word like that,—and thou art—

—What, Sir?—

—Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! Antonio, I must tell you, you're uncivil.

I beg your pardon, Sir, if it be so, poor Mortals can but grieve in silence.

Alas poor Mortal!

But, for you, Francisco.

Ah, dear Antonio, I vow and swear I cannot chuse but weep to lose thee; but my Daughter was born for a Lady and none can help their destinie.

And is it possible thou canst use me thus?

Take away that little Fellow, in pity of your life, I dain to bid you withdraw and be safe.

D'ye hear, hah?—this Lady has beg'd your life.

Beg'd my life.

Vile wretch, darest thou retort?

Oh! hold, hold my noble son-in-law, he shall doe a­ny thing;—dear Antonio, consider,—I was never Father to a Lord all daies of my life before:—my Lord, be pacified, my Daughter shall be a Lady.—

For my sake, spare him, and be Friends with him, as far as you may dain to be with a little Citizen.

Fellow, I forgive thee,—here's my hand to kiss in sign and token I am appeas'd

A Pox of his honourable hand, 't had like to have spoil'd all,—well,—since it must be so,—I am content—

So, now peace is concluded on, on all sides, what shall we do to day besides eating and drinking in abundance; for to morrow I shall get my self in order for my marriage?

What thinks your Honour of taking the air upon the Sea, in a Gally, a League or two?

With Fiddles, Drums and Trumpets, West-Phalia hams and Pigeons and the like: Hey Rogues, Scoundrels, Dogs.

Ah, how fine is every action of a great man!

Alas, I must stay at home with my Wife, my Lord.

A Wife! have I a Mother-in-law too?—she must along with us, and take a frisk,—no denial:

—Oh, are you come?

Yes and thank thee for the best moment of my life:—hast thou contriv'd the Voyage then?

Take no care—come haste on board—our honour will not lose the Fresco of the morning,—Follow me—Pages.

At your heels, my Lord,—

SCENE I.

LAdyes and Gentlemen, you are wellcome aboard,—Come, put off to sea, Rogues, Scoundrells, Tarpaul­ins, to your business, and then, every man his Bottle,—hey Page, Rogues, where are my men? Come, spread the Table—for we are very hungry.

Heav'ns, what a peculiar Grace there is in every word that comes from the Mouth of a Cavalier!

By Mars, the God of Love!

By Cupid, Sir.

Cupid, Sirrah, I say, I'll have it Mars, there's more Thunder in the sound! I say, by Mars, these Gallies are pretty neat convenient Teniments—but a—I see ne'r a Chimney in 'em;—Pox on't, what have I to doe with a Chimney now?

He is a delicate, fine person, Jacinta, but, methinks, he does not make Love enough to me.

Oh, Madam, Persons of his Quality never make Love in words, the greatness of their Actions show their Passion.

Ay, tis true all the little Fellows talk of love.

Come, Ladyes, s [...]t; Come Isabella, you are Melan­choly,—Page—Fill my Lady a Beer-glass.

Ah, Heav'ns, a Beer-glass.

O your Vicountess never drinks under your Beer-glass, your Citizens Wives simper and sip, and will be drunk with­out doing Credit to the Treater; but in their Closets, they [Page 40] swinge it away, whole Slashes i'faith, and egad, when a wo­man drinks by her self, Glasses Come thick about? your Gen­tle woman, or your little Lady, drinks half way, and thinks in point of good manners, she must leave some at the bottom, but your true-bred Woman of Honour drinks all, Supernaculum, by [...].

What a misfortune it was, that I shou'd not know this be [...]ore, but shou'd discover my want of so necessary a piece of grandure.

And nothing, but being Fudled, will redeem her Credit.

Come— [...] to, old Boy,—thou art not merry; what have we none that can give us a song?

Oh, Sir, we have an Artist aboard I'll assure you; Seignior [...], shall I beg the favour of you to show your Skill?

Sir, my Wife and I'm at your service.

Friend, what Language can you Sing?

Oh, Sir, your Singers speak all Languages.

Sayst thou so, prethee then let's have a touch of Hea­then Greek.

That you shall, Sir, Sol la me fa sol, &c.

Hum, I think this is indeed Heathen Greek. I'm sure tis so to me.

Ay, that may be, but I understand every word on't.

Good lack, these Lords are very Learned men.

Now, Sir, you shall hear one of an other Language from my Wife and I.

Well Gentlemen though the news be somthing unpleas­ant that I bring, yet to Noble minds 'tis sport and pastime.

Hah Fellow! Whats that thats sport and pastime to Noble minds?

Oh Lord, no goodness I'll warrant.

But, Gentlemen, pluck up your spirits, be bold and resolute.

Oh Lord, bold and resolute, why what's the matter, Captain?

You are old, Seignior, and we expect no good from you but prayers to Heav'n?

Oh Lord, Prayers to Heav'n! Why I hope, Captain, we have no need to think of Heav'n.

At your own Peril be it then, Seignior, for the Turks are coming upon us.

Oh Lord, Turks, Turks!

Turks, oh, is that all?

All—why they'll make Eunuchs of us, my Lord, Eunuchs of us poor men, and ly with all our Wives!

Shaw, that's nothing, 'tis good for the Voice,—how sweetly we shall sing, ta, la, ta la la, ta la, &c.

Ay, 'twill make you sing another note, I ll warrant you.

For Heav'ns sake, Sirs, doe not stand Idle here; Gentle­men, if you wou'd save your lives,—draw, and defend 'em.

Draw, I never drew any thing in my life, but my Purse, and that most damnably against my will; oh, what shall I doe?

Ah, my Lord, they bear up briskly to us, with a Fresh Gale and full Sails.

Oh, dear Captain, let's tack-about and goe home again.

'Tis impossible to scape, we must fight it out.

Fight it out, oh I'm not able to indure it,—why, what the Devil made me a ship [...] board?

Why, where be these Turks! Set me to 'em, I'll make 'em smoke, dogs, to dare attack a man of Quality.

Oh, the insolence of these Turks? do they know who's A­board? For Heav'ns sake, my Lord, do not expose your Noble Person.

What, not fight!—Not fight! A Lord, and not fight? Shall I submit to Fetters, and see my Mistress ravisht by any great Turk in Christiandom, and not fight?

I'd rather be ravisht a thousand times, then you shou'd Venture your Person.

Ay I dare swear.

Ah, Sirs, what mean you, come on the Deck for shame.

My Lord, let us not tamely fall, there's danger near.

Ay, Ay, there's never smoake but there's some fire—come let's away—ta la, tan ta la, la la, &c.

A Pox of all Lords, I say, you must be Janting in [...] [...]-name, and Gods dry Ground wou'd not serve your [...],

Oh how they Thunder! What shall I do—oh for some Au­ [...] hole to thrust my Head into, for I could never [...] [...] Noise [...] Cannons,—oh 'tis insupportable,—intoller. [...] and not to be [...].

Dear Father, be not so frighted!

Ah, Crocodile, wou'd thou hadst wept thy Eyes out [...] a [...] that thou hadst never seen this Count; then he [...] [...] lovd thee, and then we had never been invited [...] [...].

Ah, Sir, the Turks have boarded us, we re lost we re lost

Oh, I am slain, I'm slain.

Hold,—hold, I say, you are now in the presence of [...], and 'tis uncivil to fight before Ladies.

Yield then, you are our slaves.

Slaves, no Sir, we're slaves to none but the Ladies.—

Oh, hold, rude man—D'ye know whom you encounter?

Whats here—one dead—

Oh, Lord!

Or, if he be not, he's old, and past service, we'll kill the Christian Dog out of the way.

Oh, hold, hold, I'm no Christian, Gentlemen; but as [...] a Heathen as your selves.

Bind him Streight neck and [...], and Clap him un­der [...].

Oh, [...] him, Sir, look on his [...] Age.

For your sake, Lady, much may be done, we've need [...] [...] women.

[...],—my Wife! My Wife Ravisht—oh I'm dead.

Fear not, my Dear, I'll rather dye than doe thee wrong.

Wou'd she wou'd, quickly,—then there's her ho­nour sav'd, and her ransome, which is better.

Down with the [...] Dog.

—And take the Ladies to several Cabins.

Must we be parted then,—ah, cruel [...]!

Alas! this separation's worse than death.

You possibly may see some Turkish Ladies, that may in­snare your heart, and make you faithless;— [...] I, ah Hea­vens! if ever I change my Love, may I become [...], and lose all hopes of Title or of Grandure.

But thou'd the [...] Signior behold thy Beauty, [...] wou'dst dispise thine own dear hony Vicount to be a Sultana.

A Sultana, what's that?

Why, 'tis a she great [...]; a Queen of Turkey.

These dear expressions go to my heart.—

And yet a Sultana is a tempting thing—

—And you shall find your [...] true,—though the Grand Signior wou'd lay his Crown at my [...],—wou'd he wou'd try me though,—Heavens! to be Queen of Turkey.

May I b [...]lieve thee,—but when thou seest the dif­ference, alas, I am but a Chimney—hum, nothing to a great Turk.

Is he so [...] a thing—oh that I [...] a [...] Great Turk.

Come, come, we can't attend your [...] [...].

Alas, and what shall we poor women doe?

We must e'en have patience, Madam, and be [...].

Ravisht! Heavens forbid.

An please the Lord, I'll let my nails grow against [...] direfull day.

And so will I, for I'm resolv'd none shall ravish me but the Great Turk.

Come, Ladies, you are Dishes to be serv'd up to the board of the Grand Signior.

Why, will he eat us all?

A slice of each, perhaps, as he finds [...] [...] [...].

A slice, uncivil Fellow,—as if this Beauty were for a bit and away;—Sir, a word,—if you will do me the favour to recommend me to be first serv'd up to the Grand Signior, I shall remember the civility when I am great.

Lady, he is his own Carver, a good word by the by, or so, will doe well, and I am,—a Favorite—

Are you so, here, take this Jew [...],—in earnest of [...] Favou [...]—

SCENE II. A Garden.

But, why so near the Land? by Heaven I saw each action [...] the Fight, from yonder grove of Jesemine, And doubtless all beheld it from the Town.

The Captain, Sir, design'd it so, and at the Harbour [...] it out those two Galleys were purposely prepar'd to enter­tain the Count and the Ladies with the representation of a [...] lest the noise of the Guns should Alarm the Town, and, taking [...] for a real Fight, shoud have sent out supplies, and so have [...]in'd our designs.

Well, have we all things in readiness?

All, Sir, al [...]

My Lord, a Ba [...]ge from the Gally is just arriv'd at the Garden Stairs.

I'll [...]tire then, and fit me for my part of this [...].

My Lord, you must retire, they're just bringing the old Gentleman a shore.

[...] how does he take his Captivity?

Take it, Sir, he has cast himself into a fit, and has lain like one in a Trance this half hour; tis impossible for him to [...]ak Sense this fortnight; Ill secure his Reason a play-day for [...] long at least; your servants, in Turkish habits, are now his [...], who will keep him safe enough from hindering your [...] [...]ith [...].

What ever you doe have a care you do not overfright the Coxcomb, and make a Tragedy of our Comedy.

I'll warrant you, Sir, mind you your Love affairs;—he's coming in,—retire, Sir.—

Christian, so ho ho, Slave awake.—

—Hah!—where am I?—my Wife,—my Wife,—where am I?—hah!—what are you?—Ghosts,—Devils,—Mutes,—no answer,—hah,—bound in chains,—Slaves, where am I?

They understand not your Language, but I, who am a Renigado Spaniard, understand you when you speak civily, which I advise you to doe.

Do you know me, Friend?

I know you to be a Slave, and the Great Turk's Slave too.

The Great Turk,—the Great Devil, why where am I, Friend?

Within the Territories of the Grand Signior, and this, a Palace of Pleasure, where he recreates himself with his Mistres­ses.

And how far is that from Cadez;—but what care I, my Wife, Friend, my own Wife.

Your own,—a true [...] [...] have said [...]o more; but take no care for her, she s [...] for.

Is she dead, that would be some comfort,—

No, she's alive and in good hands.

And in good hands; oh, my head! and, oh, my heart! ten thousand tempests burst the b [...]lly of this day wherein old Francisco ventur'd Life and Limb,—Liberty and Wife to the mercy of these Heathen Turks.

Friend, you need not thus complain;—a good round ransom redeems ye.

A round ransom, I'll rot in my chains first, [...] [...]ll part with a round ransom.

You have a fair Wife, and need not fear good usage if she knows how to be kind;—you apprehend me.

Patience, good Lord.

Perhaps the Grand Signior may like her, and to be fa­vour'd by him is such a Glory.—

As the Devil take me if I desire.—

—And then you may in triumph laugh at all the rest of your Brother Cuckolds.

Hum,—and has the Devil serv'd me thus,—but no matter, I must be gadding, like an old Coxcombe, to Cad [...],—and then, jan [...]ing to Sea, with a Pox, to take pains to be a Cuckold,—to bring my Wife into a strange Land, a­mongst Unbelievers, with a vengeance, as if we had not honest Christian Cuckold-makers enough at home; Sot that I was, not to consider how many Merchants have been undone by trusting their Commodities out at Sea;—why, what a damn'd ran­som will the Rogues exact from me, and more for my Wife be­cause she's hansome, and then, 'tis ten to one, I have her turn d upon my hands the worse for wearing; oh, damn'd Infidels!—no, tis resolv'd, I'll live a slave here, rather than enrich them.

Friend, you'll know your destiny presantly;—for, tis the custom of the Great Turk to view the Captives, and consider of their ransoms and liberties according to his pleasure,—see he is coming forth with the Vizer Bassa;

Most mighty Emperour, behold your Captive.

Is this the Great Turk?

Peace.

Bless me! as we at home describe him, I thought the Great Turk had been twice as big, but, I shall find him Tyrant big enough, I'll warrant him.

Of what Nation art thou, Slave, speak to the Emperour he understands thee, though he deign not to hold discourse to Christians, Dogs.

Oh fearfull!—Spain so please you, Sir.

By Mahomet, he'll make a reverend Eunuch.

An Eunuch,—oh, Lord!—

Ay, Sir, to guard his Mistresses, 'tis an honour.

Oh! Mercy,—Sir, that honour you may spare, [Page 47] Age has done my business as well already.

Fellow what art?

An't please your worship, I cannot tell.

How, not tell?

An't please your Lordship, my Fears have so [...] ­form'd me, I cannot tell whether I'm any thing or nothi [...]

Thy Name, Dull mortall, know'st thou not that?

An't please your Grace, now I remember me, [...] I doe.

Dog, how art thou Call'd?

An't like your Excellence, men Call'd me Seignior Don Francisco but now they will call me Coxcomb.

Of what Trade?

An't please your Highness, a Gentleman.

How much dost thou get a day by that Trade?—Hah!

An't like your Majesty, our Gentlemen never get but twice in all their Lives; that is, when Fathers [...], they get good Estates; and when they Marry, they g [...]t rich Wives; but I know what your Mightyness wou'd get by going into [...]ny Country and asking the Question.

What, Fool?

A good Cudgelling, an't please your Illustriousness.

Slave! To my Face!—Take him away and let [...]im have the Strapado.

Baridama, [...].

Heav'ns, what sayes he?

He means to have you [...]riated.

Castriated! Oh that s some dreadfull thing I'll warrant—Gracious Great Turk, for M [...]homet's sake, excuse me; a­las, I've lost my wits.

Galero Gardines?

The Emperor asks it thou art Marri [...]d, Fellow.

Ha [...]—Married—I was ant like your Monsterousness, but, I doubt your people have spoyl'd my Property.

His Wise, with other Ladies, in a Pavillion in [...] [...]arden, attend your Royall pleasure.

Go, setch her hither presently—

This is no common honour, that the Great Turk degns to speak your Language; tis a sign you ll [...].

Yes, by the height of a pair of Horns.

Is she hansom?

Oh, what an Ague shakes my heart,—hansom, [...], no, d [...]ead Sir; what shou'd such a deform'd Poulcat as I do [...] a hansom Wife?

Is she young?

Young—what shou'd such an old doting Coxcomb as I do with a young-Wife—Pox on him for a Heathen Whor [...] master.

Old is she then?

[...], very old, an't please your Gloriousness.

Is [...] not Capable of Love?

Hum,—so so, like sire conceald in a Tinder-box,—I shall run Mad.

Is she witty?

I'm no Competent Judge, an't like your Holyness,—this Catechism was certainly of the D [...]vil's own making.

These, Sir, are all the Slaves of Note are taken.

Dost think, Jacinta, he'll chuse me?

I'll warrant you, Madam, if he look with my Eyes.

Stand forth—

Stand sorth, Sir, why, so I can, Sir: I dare show my Face, Sir, before any Great Turk in Christiandom.

What are you, Sir?

What am I, Sir? Why, I'm a Lord, a Lord.

Are you mad to own your quality, he'll ask th [...] Devil an all of a ransom.

No matter for that, I'll not lose an Inch of my Quality for a King's Ra [...]som, disgrace my self before my fai [...] Mistress.

That's as the Great Turk and I shall agree.

What are you, Sir?

A Citizen of Cadez.

Set 'em by, we'll Consider of their Ransoms—now [...] the Ladies.

Oh, dear Wife, now or never show thy Love, make a [Page 49] Damnable face upon the silthy Ravisher,—glout thy Eyes thus—and thrust out thy upper lip, thus—

Oh, dear Isabella, do thee look like a Dog too.

No, Sir, I'm resolv'd I'll not loose an Inch of my Beau­ty, to save so trifling a thing as a Maiden head.

Very agreeable, pretty and Chearfull—a most divine Bud of Beauty—all natures Excellence—drawn to the life in Little,—what are you, fair one?

Sir, I'm a Maid.

So, I hope, he will pitch upon her.

Onely, by promise, Sir, I've given my s [...]lf away.

What happy man cou'd claim a title in thee, And trust thee to such danger?

Heav'ns, shall I be defeated by this little Creature! What pity 'twas he saw not me first?

I dare not name him, Sir, least this small Beauty which you say adornes me, shou'd gain him your displeasure; he's in your Presence, Sir, and is your slave.

Such innocence this plain Confession shows, Name me the man, and I'll r [...]sign thee back to him.

A Pox of his Civility.

This mercy makes me bold to claim my right.

Take [...], Young man, and with it both your Ransoms.

Hum—hum—very noble i'faith, we'll e'en confess our loves too, Isabella.

Slife he'l spoil all,—hold—pray let your betters be serv'd before you.

How! Is the Honour of my Love despised?—wer't not i'th presence of the Great Turk, for whom I have a re­verence because he's a man of quality—by Jove I'd draw upon you.

Because you were my Lover once, when I am Queen I'll Pardon you;—

What Akward—fond—Conceited Thing art thou? Veile her and take the Taudry Creature hence.

Hum—your Majesty's humble servant—

How! refuse my Daughter too; I see the Lot of a Cuckold will fall to my share.

This is the Wife, Great Sir, of this old Slave.

Hah! what do I see, by Mahomet, she's fair.

So, so, she's condemn'd, oh, damn'd Mahomet [...] [...] [...]! will nothing but raw flesh serve his turn?

I'll see no more,—here I have fix'd my heart.

Oh, Monster of a Grand Signior!

Have you a mind to be [...], Sir?

Receive my Handkerchief.—

His Handkerchief; bless me what does he mean?

To doe her the honour to lie with her to night.—

Oh, hold, most mighty Turk.

Slave, darest thou interrupt 'em,—dye, Dog.

Hold, hold, I'm silent.

I Love you fair one, and design to make you—

A most notorious Strumpet,—a Pox of his courtesie.

—What Eyes you have like Heaven-blew and charming, a pretty Mouth, Neck, round and white as polisht A­ [...]baster, and a complexion, beauteous as an Angel,—a ha [...] sit to make Bonds to insnare the God of Love,—a sprightl [...] Air,—a hand like Lillies white, and Lips, no Roses opening in a Morning are half so sweet and soft.

Oh, damn'd circumcifed Turk.

Sure I shall bu [...]st with vengeance.

Sir, let your Vertue regulate your passions; For I can [...] love any but my husband.

Ah, dis mbling Witch!

—And wou'd not break my marriage Vows to him, [...]or all the honour you can heap upon me.

Say, and hold; but, Sultana and pretious Stones, are [...] temptations,—besides, the Rogue's young and han­some,—What a scornfull look she casts at me; wou'd they [...] both hansomly at the Devil together.

Dog,—do you mutter?

Oh! nothing, nothing, but the Palsey shook my Lip a little.

Slave, go, and, on your knees, resign your Wife.

Sh [...] of years of discretion,—and may dispose of [...] [Page 51] self; but I can hold no longer,—and, is this your Maho­metan Conscience, to take other mens Wives, as if there were not single Harlots enough in the world?

Peace, thou diminutive Christian.

I say, peace, thou over-grown Turk,

Thou Spanish Cur.

Why, you're a Mahometan Bitch, and you go to that.

Death, I'll dissect the bald pated Slave.

I defie thee, thou foul filthy Cabbage head, for I am mad, and will be valiant.

What Insolence is this?—Mutes—strangle him.—

Mercy, dread Sir, I beg my Husband's life.

No more,—this fair one bids you live,—hence forth, Francisco, I pronounce you a Widower, and shall regard you, for the time to come, as the deceased Husband of the Great Sultana, murmer not upon pain of being made an Eunuch—take him away—

Go, and be satisfied, I'll die before I'll vield.

Is this my going to Sea?—the [...] of losing Bat­tels light on thee.

Command our Slaves to give us some diversion; Dismiss his Chains, and use him with respect, b [...]use he was the Husband of our beloved Sultana.

I see, your Cuckold might have a life good enough if he cou'd be contented—

What wou [...]d the Great Sultana?

Ah! do not pierce my heart with this unkindness.

Ha, ha, ha,—Pages,—give order, I have Letters writ to Sivil, to my Merchant,—I will be ransom'd instantly.

Ah, cruel Count!

Meaning me, Lady; ah, fie! no, I am a Scoundrel; I a Count, no, not I, a Dog, a very Chim—hum,—a son of a Whore, I, not worthy your notice.

Oh, Heavens! must I lose you then? no, I'll die first.

Die, die, then, for, your betters must be serv'd be­fore you.

Oh! I shall rave; false and lovely, as you are, did you not swear to marry me, and make me a Vicountess.

Ay, that was once when I was a Lover, but, now you are a Queen,—you're too high i'th' mouth for me.

Ah! name it not; will you be still hard-hearted?

As a Flint, by Jove.

Have you forgot your Love?

I've a bad memory.

And will you let me die?

I know nothing of the matter.

Oh, Heavens! and shall I be no Vicountess?

Not, for me, Fair Lady, by Jupiter,—no, no,—Queen's much better,—Death, affront a man of Honour, a Vicount tha [...] wou'd have took you to his Bed,—after half the Town had blown upon you,—without examining either Portion or Honesty, and wou'd have took you for better for worse—Death, I'll untile houses, and demolish Chimneys, But I'll be reveng'd.

Ah, hold! your anger's just, I must confess, yet pardon the frailty of my Sexes vanity; behold my tears, that sue for pi­ty to you.

—My Rage dissolves.—

I ask but death or pity.

—I cannot hold,—but, if I shou'd forgive, and marry you, you wou'd be gadding after honour still, longing to be a she Great Turk again.—

Break not my heart with such suspicions of me.

And, is it pure and tender Love for my Person, And not for my glorious Titles?

SCENE I. A Garden.

NOW am I afraid to walk in this Garden, l [...]st I shou [...] spie my own natural Wife lying with the Great Turk in Fresco upon some of these fine [...]owry Banks, and learning how to make Cuckolds in Turkey.

Nay, dear [...], cast an eye of pity on me. What, deny the Vizer Bassa.

When you are honest Guzman again, I'll tell you a pie [...] of my mind.

But, opportunity will not be so kind to Guzman, as to the Grand [...]; therefore, dear Rogue, let's retire into these kind shades, or, if foolish Vertue be so squeamish, and needless R [...]ation so nice, that Mr. Vicar must say Amen to the bargain, there is an old lousey Fryer, belonging to this Villa, that will give us a cast of his office, for I am a little impatient about this busi­ness, Greatness, having infus'd a certain itch in my blood, which I f [...]lt not, whilst a common man.

Um, Why, what have we here, [...] Mrs. [...], and the [...]? I hope the Jade will be Turkey [...] with a vengeance, and have Circumcision in abundance; and the Devil shall ran­som her for old Fr [...]ncisco.

Hah, the old Gentleman.

What? the Frolick is to go [...]ound, I see, you women have a happy time on't.

Men that have kind Wives may be as happy; you'll [...] the honour of being made a Cuckold, Heaven be prais'd.

Ay, Sir, I thank ye,—pray under the Rose, how [...] my Wi [...]e please his Grace the Great Turk?

Murmuring again, thou Slave.

Who, I? O Lord, Sir! no, not I, why, what hurt [...] there in being a Cuckold?

Hurt, Sirrah, you shall be swing'd into a belief, that it is an honour for the Great Turk to borrow your wife.

But, for the Lender to pay Use-money, is somewhat severe;—but, see, he comes,—bless me, how grim he looks!

Come hither, Slave,—why was it that I gave you Life dismist the fetters from your aged limbs?

For love of my Wife, and [...] please your Barbarousness.

—Gave you fr [...] leave to range the Palace round, ex­cepting my apartment onely?

Still, for my Wives sake, I say, and [...] like your Hide­ousness.

And yet, this Wife, this most ungratefull Wife of [...] again wou'd put your chains on, expose your li [...]e to dangers and new torments by a too stubborn vertue, she do [...] refuse my courtship, and foolish is chast.

Alas! what pity's that?

Good lack! that she shou'd have no more Grace be­fore her eyes.

But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal instrument of death behold too, and in 'em read thy doom, if this coy Wi [...] of yours be not made flexible to my addresses.

Oh, Heavens! I make her.

No more, thy Fate is fix'd—and, here attend, till he himself deliver his willing Wife into my arms: [...], attend and see it, see it be [...]—

Go, one of you, and fetch the fair slave hither.

I Pimp for my own Wife, I hold the dore to my own Flesh and Blood, O monstrum horrendum!

Nay, doe't, and doe't hansomly too, not with a snivel­ling countenance, as if you were compell'd to't;—but, with the face of authority, and the awfull command of a Husband—or—thou dyest—

My dear Julia, you are a Fool, my Love.—

For what, dear Husband?

I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the love of so Great a Turk; why, what a Pox makes you so coy?

How! this from you, Francisco.

—Now does my heart begin to fail me;—and y [...]t, I shall ne'er indure strangling neither;—why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?

Heavens! Husband, what wou'd you have me doe?

Have you doe;—why, I wou'd have ye—d'ye see,—twill not out;—why, I wou'd have ye—lie with the Sul­tan, huswife; I wonder how, the Devil, you have the face to refuse him, so hansom—so young a Lover; come, come, let me hear no more of your coyness, Mistress, for, if I do—I shall be hang'd;—

The Great Turk's a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you to doe as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both.—

This from my Husband, old Francisco! he advise me to part with my dear Honou [...]!

Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye.—

Have you consider'd the Vertue of a Wife?

No, but I have consider'd the neck of a Husband.

—Which Vertue, before I'll lose, I'll die a thousand deaths.

So will not I, one; a Pox of her Vertue,—these wo­men are always vertuous in the wrong place.

—I say, you shall be kind to the sweet Sultan.

And rob my Husband of his right!

Shaw, exchange is no robbery.

And forsake my Vertue, and make none Dear a Cuckold.

Shaw, most of the Heroes of the world were so;—go prethee Hony go—do me the favour to Cuckold me a little, if not for Love, for Charity.—

Are you in earnest?—

I am.—

And, wou'd it not diplease you?

I say, no;—had it been Aquinius his Case, to have sav'd the pinching of his Gullet he wou'd have been a Cuckold—

Oh, Gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; I am not mad, no, nor no mo [...]e bewitcht than I have been these forty years; 'tis you're be witcht to refuse so hansom—so young, and so—a Pox on him, she'll ne'er re­lish me again, after him.

Since you've lost your honour with your wits, I'll try what mine will doe.

Oh! I am lost,—I'm lost—dear Wife,—most mighty Sir, I've brought her finely to't;—do not make me lose my credit with his Mahometan Grace,—my wife has a monstrous affection for your [...], but, she's something bashsull; but, when alone your [...] will find her a swinger.

—Fair [...]—

Do you believe my Husband, Sir, he's m [...]d.

Dog.—

Hold mighty Emperor; as I hope to be sav'd 'tis but a copy of her countenance—inhumane Wife—lead [...]er to your apartment Sir;——barbarous honest woman,—to your chamber, Sir,—wou'd I had [...] thee an errand Strumpet; nay, to your Royal bed, Sir, I'll warrant you she gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her.

Ha [...]k you, Sir, are you possest, or, is it real reformati­onin you? what mov'd this kind fit?

E'en Love to sweet Life; and, I shall think my self ever oblieged, to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;—had she been cruel—I had been strangled or hung in the Air like our Prophets Tomb.

Sir, boast the honour of the news I bring you.

Oh, my head! how my brows [...]!

The mighty Sultan, to doe you honour, has set your Daughter and her Lover free, ransomless;—and, this day, gives 'em liberty to solemnize the Nuptials in the Court;—but, Christian Cerimonies must be private; but you're to [...]e admitted, and, I'll conduct you to 'em.

Some comfort, I shall be Father to a Vicount, and for the rest—Patience—

Madam, the rarest sport—Ha ha ha.

You need not tell us, we have been witn [...]ss to all,

Nay, hang me if it be Antonio, Charge it to the Num­ber of your own sins; it shall not ly at my door.

'Tis generously said, and take notice, my little dear [...], [...] has a Priest ready to tye you to your word.

As fast us you please; hang her that [...]ears the Conjur­ing knot for me: But what will our Fathers say,—mine, who Expects me to be the Governor's Lady; and yours, who designs Isabella for a Daughter-in-law?

Mine will be glad of the Change, and, for yours, if he be not pleas'd, let him keep his Portion to himself—that's the greatest mischeife he can do us: and for my friend, the Go­vernour, he s above their anger.

Why do we lose precious time; I long to be at,— [...] Clara, take thee Antonio,—the very ceremony will be tedi­ous, so much I wish thee mine; and each delay gives me a fea [...] something will snatch me from thee.

No power of man can do't, thou art so Guarded; but now the Priest is employd in Clapping up the honourable marrige between the False Count and Isabella.

Lord, what a jest 'twill be to see 'em Coupled, ha, ha.

Unmercyfull Antonio, to drive the jest so far; 'tis too unconscionable!

By Heav'n, I'm so proud I cannot think my Revenge sufficient [...] affionts, nor does her Birth, her Breeding and her Vanity— [...] a better Fortune; besides,—he has enough to set up for a Modern Spark—the Fool has just wit and good­manners sufficient to pass for a Fop of fashion; and, where he is not known, will gain the Reputation of a fine accomplisht Gentle­man, [Page 59] —yet I'm resolv'd she shall see him in his geers, in his original Filthiness, that my Revenge may be home upon the foolish Gilt.

Cruel Antonio,—come let's go give 'em joy.

And finish our asfair with Mr Vicar.—

—Joy to my Noble Lord, and you, fair Isabella!

Thank thee, Fellow,—but, surely, I deserv'd my Titles from thee.

Your Honour, I hope, will Pardon him.

How now Clara—

I give your Honour joy.

Thank thee, poor Creature.—

My Lord,—this Honour you have done my Daughter is so signall, that whereas, I d [...]sign'd her but Five Thousand pound, I will this happy day—settle on her ten.—

Damn dirty trash your Beauty is sufficient—hum—Seignior Don Antonio, get the Writings ready,—Money—hang money.

How generous these Lords are; nay, my Lord, you must not refuse a Fathers love—if I may presume to call you son—I shall find enough besides for my [...], if the Tyrant be so unmercyfull to ask more than my Wife payes him.

Nay, if you—will force it upon me.

Ay, take it, the trifling some will serve to buy our Honour Pins.

Well, Sir, since you will force it on him, my Cashier shall draw the Writings.

And have 'em sign'd by a publick Notary,—

With all my Soul, Sir, I'll go give him ord [...]r, and subscribe.

Let him make 'em strong and sure—you shall go halves.

No, you will deserve it dearely, who have the Plague of such a Wife with it;—but harkye, Count—these goods of Fortune are not to be afforded you, without conditions.

Shaw, conditions, any conditions, Noble Antonio.

You must disrobe anon, and do'n your Native habilia­ments—and in the Equipage give that fair Vicountess to understand the true quality of her Husband.

Hum—I'm afraid, 'tis a harder task to leap from a Lord to a Rogue, then tis from a Rogue to a Lord.

Not at all, we have Examples of both dayly.

Well, Sir, I'll show you my agility—but, Sir,—I desire—I may Consummate, d'ye see,—Consummate,—a little like Lord, to make the marriage sure.

You have the Freedom to doe so—the Writings I'll provide.—

I'll about it then, the Priest waites within sor you, and Guzman for you Jacinta,—haste, for he is to arrive anon Am­bassador from Cadez.

I know not, this noise of Weddings has set me a gog, and I'll e'en in, and try what 'tis.

Come, Madam, your Honour and I have something else to doe—before I have fully dub'd you a Vicountess.

Ah Heav'ns, my Lord, what's that?

Why, a Certain Ceremony, which must be perform'd between a pair of Sheets,—but we'll let it a lone till Night.

Till night, no; whate'er it be, I wou'd not be with­out an Inch of that Ceremony, that may Compleat my Ho­nour, for the World; no for Heav'ns sake let's retire, and Dub me presently.

Time enough, time enough.

You love me not; that can deny me this.

Love—no—we are Married now, and people of our Quality never love after Marriage 'tis not great.—

Nay, let's retire, and Compleat my Quality, and you will find me Wife a of the Mode I'll warrant you.

For once you have prevail'd.

Whither away.—

Onely to Consummate a little, pray keep your distance.

Consummate.—

Ay, Sir, that is to make me an absolute Vicountess—we cannot stay—farewell—

Hum—this Turkey Air has a notable Faculty, where the women are all plaguie kind.—

By Heav'n each Moment makes me more your slave—

The business is done.

My husband.

—And all this constant love to old Francisco, has but ingag'd me more.

Ha, Love to me?

Sir, if this vertue, be but reall in you, how happy I shou'd be; but you'll relaps again and Tempt my vertue—which if you doe—

I'll warrant she wou'd kill her self.

—I shou'd be sure to yield—

No, thou hast made an absolute Conquest o'er me—and if that Beauty tempt me every hour, I shall be still the same I was the last.

Pray Heav'n he be John.

Most Mighty Emperor, a Messenger from Cadez has Letters for your Highness.

Conduct him in; in this retreat of ours we use no State.

Don Carlos, Governour of Cadez greets your High­ness.

High and Mighty,

For seven Christian Slaves, taken lately by a Gally of yours, we offer you twice the Number of Mahometans taken from you by us,—if this suffice not,—propose your Ransoms, and they shall be paid by

Don Carlos Governour of Cadez.—Know you this Carlos offers so fair for you?

Most Potent Lord, I do, and wonder at the Comple­ment,—and yet I am not jealous—I have so over act'd the Complesant Husband, that I shall never fall into the other Extreme again.

Go, let the Christian Governour understand his Request is granted.

The slaves are ready, Sir, and a Gally to carry [...] the Christians.

How shall we make this Governour amends?

I do even weep for joy; alas, I must leave it to [...] Love!

To me, Sir, do you mock me?

Mock thee, no; I know thy vertue, and will no [...] be jealous, beleive me Chickin I was an old Fool.

Your Wife is Chaste—she overcame my unruly passion with her Prayers and Tears.

Rare News,—we are all free and ransom'd! All [...] well and the man has his Mare again.

You still forget your Duty and your distance.

A Pox of your troublesom Honour; a man can't be overjoy'd in quiet for't.

Sure I am not Mistaken, this is the House of my Son Antonio.

Let it be whose house 'twill; I think the Devil's broke loose in't.

—Or the Turks; for I have yet met with ne'er a Chris­tian thing in't.

Hah,—Do I dream, or is that my Father-in-law, and Seignior Sebastian?

My Father here.—

Baltazer—

Son, [...], why do you gaze on me so?

Bless me, Sir, are you taken by the great Turk too?

Taken,—Great Turk,—what do you mean!

Mean, Sir; why, how the Devil came you into Turkey?

Sure [...] has Crackt his Brains.

Crack me no Cracks, good Father mine;—am not [...] a Slave in Turkey? and is not this the Grand Seigniors Palace?

So,—all will come out, there's no prevention.

Some that are wiser answer us: You Son,—are you infected too?—was not yesterday to abeen your Wedding day?

To day has done as well, Sir, I have onely chang'd Isabella for Clara.

How, Francisco, have you juggled with me?

My Daughter's a Lady, Sir.

And you Mistress; you have Marry'd Antonio, and [...] the Governour.

I thought him the fitter Match, Sir, and hope your Pardon.

We cannot scape.

But how came you hither, Gentlemen, and how durst you venture?

Whither, Sir, to my own Son's house; is there such danger in coming a mile or two out of Cadez?

Is the Devil in you, or me, or both? Am not I in the Possession of Turks and Insidels?

No, Sir; safe in Antonio Villa; within a League of Cadez.

Why, what a Pox, is not this the Great Turk himself?

This, Sir;—cry mercy, my Lord—'tis Don Carlos, Sir, the Governor.

The Governor; the worst Great Turk of all; so, I am cozen'd,—most [...] cheated; why, what a horrid Plot's here carryed o [...], to [...] in Heretical Cuckoldom?

[...], Sir, si [...]ce you have found it out. I'll own my Passion.

[...], i [...] I have been kind you [...] me [...], nay Beg'd on your knees, to give my self away.

Guilty, guilty! I confess,—but 'twas to the Great Turk, Mistress, not Don Carlos.

And was the sin the greater?

No, but the Honour was less.

Oh, horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?

Sir, your mistaken, she was my Wife in [...] of Heav'n before; and I but Seiz'd my own.

Oh,—Sir, she's at your Service still.

I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.

Hold, my Honour's concern'd.

Not at all, Father mine, she's my Wife, my Lumber now, and, I hope, I may dispose of my Goods and Chattels:—if he takes her we are upon equal terms, for he makes himself my Cuckold, as he has already made me his;—for, if my memory fail me not, we did once upon a time con­summate, as my Daughter has it.

Chimney-sweep,—by your leave, Gentlemen.

Whither away, Sirrah?

What's that to you, Sir?—

Not to me, Sirrah;—who wou'd you speak with?

What's that to you, Sir? why, what a Pox may not a man speak with his own Lady and Wife?

Heavens! his Wife! to look for his Wife amongst Persons of Quality!

Kick out the Rascal.

As soon as you please, my Lord; but, let me take my Wife along with me.

Faugh!—what means the Devil?

Devil;—'twas not long since you found me a hu­mane creature, within there.—

Villain, Dog; help me to tear his eyes out.

What, those eyes, those lovely eyes, that wounded you so deeply?

What's the meaning of all this?—why, what, am I cozen'd? and is my Daughter cozen'd?

Cozen'd! why? I'm a man, Sir.—

The Devil you are, Sir, how shall I know that?

Your Daughter does, Sir; and, that's all one.

Oh! I'm undone; am I no Vicountess then?

Hang Titles; 'twas my self you lov'd, my amiable sweet and charming self: in sine, sweet heart, I am your Husband; no Vi­count, but honest Guilion the Chimney sweeper.—I heard your Father design'd to marry you to a Tradesman, and you were for a Don; and to please you both, you see how well I have manag'd matters.

I'll not give her a farthing.

No matter, her love's worth a million; and, that's so great, that I'm sure she'll be content to carry my Soot-basket after me.

Ah! I dye, I dye.

What, and I so kind?

Help; murther, murther!

Well, Gentlemen, I am something a better fortune than you believe me, by some thousands.

Substantial and good, faith, Sir, I know not where you'll [...]nd a better fortune for your Daughter as cases stand.

And, for the Vicount, Sir; gay Cloths, Money and Confidence will set me up for one, in any ground in Christiandom.

Faith, Sir, he's i'th' right; take him home to Sivil, your neighbours know him not, and he may pass for what you please to make him; the Fellow's honest, witty and hansom.

—Well, I have consider'd the matter;—I was but a Leather-seller my self, and am grown up to a Gentleman; and, who knows but he, being a Chimney-sweeper, may, in time, grow up to a Lord; Faith, I'll trust to Fortune, for once—here—take her, and rid me of one Plague, as you, I thank you, Sir, have done of another.—

Prethee, be pacified, thou shalt see me within this hour, as pretty a fluttering Spark as any's in Town.—my [...]oble Lord,—I give you thanks and joy; for, you are happy too.

As Love and Beauty can make me.

And I, as no damn'd Wife, proud Daughter or tor­menting Chamber-maid can make me.

—And, all such Husbands as the Count Guiliome.