SCENE I. The Street at Break of Day.

But hark ye Mr. Gingle, is it proper to play before the Wedding.

Ever while you live, for many a time in playing after the first Night, the Bride's sleepy, the Bridegroom tir'd, and both so out of Humour, that perhaps they hate any thing that puts 'em in mind they are married.

Fie Mrs. Phillis, do ye take us for Fidlers that play for Hire? I came to compliment Mrs. Leticia on her Wedding Morning because she is my Scholar.

I am sorry for't, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve it: put up your Sword—an honest man wou'd say how he's offended, before he rashly draws.

No Sir, as long as any man in London is so, that has but a handsom Wife Sir.

Most damnably,—and would fain lye with the dear jilt­ing Gypsy.

You catechise me roundly—'tis not fair to name, but I am no Starter, Harry; just as you left me you find me, I am for the faithless Julia still, the Old Alderman's Wife.—'Twas high time the City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: but pray Sir answer me a Question or two?

Faith to do you Service. Your Damn'd little Jade of a Mistress has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in abundance, and is—

Even so, God save the Mark; and she'l be a fair one for ma­ny an Arrow besides her Husbands, tho he an old Finsbury Hero this threescore Years.

Why an old Knight, and Alderman, here o'th' City, Sir Feeble Fain-wou'd, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind his Dugion to an Edge.

Why your Mistress Leticia—your contracted Wife, is this Morning to be married to old Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, induc'd to't I suppose by the great Joynture he makes her, and the Improba­bility of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel—Do I speak English now Sir?

Now I being the Consident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between—the civil Pimp, or so—you left her in charge with me at your Departure—

I saw her every day—and every day she paid the Tribute of a Shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows,

Now must I afflict you and my self with a long Tale of Causes why;

Play'd me e'en such another Prank as your salse one is going to play you, and married old Sir Cautious Fulbank here i'th' City; at which you know I storm'd, and rav'd, aud swore, as thou wo't now, and to as little purpose. There was but one Way loft, and that was Cuckolding him.

And hotly have pursu'd it. Swore—Wept—Vow'd—Wrote, upbraided, pray'd and rail'd; then treated lavish­ly—and presented high—till between you and I Harry, I have presented the best part of Eight hundred a year into her Husbands hands, in Mortgage.

No no, Pox on't, all Women are not [...]ilts. Some are honest, and will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke i'th' City.—In fine Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say, Money-less, for six tedious Weeks, without either Cloaths—or Equipage to appear withal; and so not only my own Love affair lay neglected—but thine too—and I am forc'd to pretend to my Lady, that I am i'th' Country with a Dying Uncle—from whom if he were indeed dead, I expect Two thou­sand a year.

Thus have I lain conceal'd like a winter Fly, hoping for some blest Sun-Shine to warm me into Life again, and make me hover my flagging Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me crawl out this silent Hour—to upbraid the fickle Maid.

Didst thou?—pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her, and sure no Woman even possest with a new Passion,

But when she sees the Man to whom she'as sworn so very—very much, will find Remorse and Shame.

Gorgon's Head—a Cuckolds Head—'twas made to graft upon—

Ay, and be born to Newgate in Triumph, and be hang'd in Triumph—'twill be cold Comfort celebrating your Nuptials in the Press Yard, and be wak'd next Morning like Mr. Bar­nardine in the Play—Will you please to Rise and be hang'd a little Sir?

—She'l learn the Trick, and practise it the better with thee.

Hark ye Harry—in earnest have a care of betraying your self—and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you.

Why e'en for High Treason Sir, he kill'd one of their Kings.

Not by one Sir, but by a great many; this was a Chees­monger—they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee,—Mr. Belmour cut his Throat, and was hang'd for't, that's all Sir.—

Yes,—and took on most heavily,—the Doctors gave her over—and there w [...]s the Divel to do to get her to consent to this Marriage—but her Fortune was small, and the Hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at the Spittle Sermon [Page 7] did the Business,—and so your Servant Sir.—

Dear Brother, according to your Desire I have sent for my Son from St. Omers, whom I have sent to wait on you in England, he is a very good Accountant and fit for Business, and much pleas'd he shall see that Vncle to whom he's so obliged, and which is so gratefully ac­knowledged by—

Dear Brother, your affectionat Brother

Francis Fainwoud.

I am d'ye see Charles, this very individual, numerical young Mr.—what ye call um Fainwoud, just come from Saint Omers into England—to my Uncle the Alderman.

Ah Rogue—but prethee what care have you taken about your Pardon? [...]'twere good you should seeure that.

There's the Divel Charles,—had I but that—but I have had a very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet in Vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling.

SCENE II. Sir Cautious Fulbank's House.

Did my Julia know how I Languish in this cruel Separation, she would afford me her Pity, and write oftner. If only the Expectation of two thou­sand a Year kept me from you, ah! Julia how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more valued Sight, but that I know a Fortune will render me more agreable to the charming Julia, I should quit all my Inte­rest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her sensible how am I intirely her Adorer,

Charles Gayman.

That Madam is a Noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be declining, 'tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship.

I must confess, such Jewels, Rings, and Presents as he made me must needs decay his Fortune.

Ay Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for your Ladyship.

As Drinking and Gaming to divert the Thought of your marrying my old Master.

Of that I would be better satisfied—and you too must assist me as e're you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you Diana

My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. Crap his Scrivener, to send to one Mr. Wastall, to tell him his first Mortgage was out, which is two hundred pounds a Year—and who has since in­gaged five or six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem'd he'll take the Forfeit on't, as he says a Wise Man ought.

That is to say, a Knave according to his Notion of a Wise Man.

Mr Crap being busie with a Borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr. Wastall; whose Lodging is in a nasty Place, called Alsatia, at a Black-Smiths.

Yes Madam; and at the Door encounter'd the beastly thing he calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she'ad been of her own Husband's making, compos'd of moulded Smith's Dust. I ask'd for Mr. Wastall, and she began to open—and did so rail at him, that what with her Billingsgate, and her Husband's Hammers, I was both Deaf and Dumb—at last the Hammers ceas'd, and she grew weary, and call'd down Mr. Wastall; but he not answering—I was sent up a Ladder rather than a pair of Stairs; at last I scal'd the top, and enter'd the incharted Castle; there did I find him, spight of the Noise below, drowning his Cares in Sleep.

Then beg'd I wou'd be secr [...]t: for he vow'd, his whole Repose and Life, depended on my Silence. Nor had I told it now,

But that your Ladyship, may find some speedy means to draw him from this desperate Condition.

'Tis a pretty convenient Tub Madam. He may lie along in't, there's just room for an old Joyn'd Stool besides the Bed, which one cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer's Trunk, there had been Dor [...]ex Curtains to't in the Days of Yore; but they were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light, but my Land-ladies Blew Apron, ty'd by the strings before the Window, in which stood a broken six­penny Looking-Glass, that show'd as many Faces, as the Scene in Henry the Eighth, which could but just stand upright, and then the Comb-Case fill'd it.

What a lewd Description hast thou made of his Cham­ber!

Then for his Equipage, 'tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who (sawcy with his Master's Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Foot-man.

Enough—you shall, in some Disguise convey this Money to him, as from an unknown hand: I wou'd not have him think it comes from me, for all the World;

If I were your Ladyship, I wou'd make use of Sir Cautious his Cash: Pay him in his own Coyn.

Your Ladyship wou'd make no Scruple of it, if you knew how this poor Gentleman has been us'd by my unmerciful Master.

I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he had another made, and this I found and kept.

Madam, this is an excellent time for't, my Master being gone to give my Sister Leticia at Church.

'Tis so, I'll go and commit the Theft, whilst you pre­pare to carry it, and then we'll to Dinner with your Sister the Bride.

SCENE III. The House of Sir Feeble.

Ay, Ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus up­on their Wedding-day.

Here Ralph, the Bottle Rogue, of Sack ye Rascal, hadst thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou'dst have met us at the door with it—Ods bobs Sweet-Heart thy Health.

Gots so, go to Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that shall be, by the Morrow Morning; he—ods bobs, we'll do't Sweet-Heart; here's to't—

Hah—hum—how's this? Tears upon your Wedding-day? Why—why—you Baggage you, ye lit­tle Ting, Fools-face—away you Rogue, you'r naughty, you'r naughty,

Look—look—look now,—buss it—buss it—and Friends, did'ums, did'ums, beat its none silly Baby—away you little Hussey, away, and pledge me—

A wise discreet Lady, I'll warrant her, my Lady wou'd prodigally have took it off all—

Dear's its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, away—ods bobs, I long for Night—look—look Sir Cautious; what an Eye's there—

Adad, I love her more and more, Ralph—call old Susan hither—Come Mr. Bearjest, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was a young Fellow, I wou'd not let the young Wenches look pale and wan—but wou'd rouse 'em, and touse 'em, and blowze 'em, 'till I put a Colour in their Cheeks, like an Apple John affacks—Nay, I can make a shift still, and Pupsey shall not be Jealous—

A most Judicious Lady; wou'd my Julia had a little of her Modesty; but my Lady's a Wit.

Look here my little Puskin, here's fine Play-things for its n'own little Coxcomb—go—get ye gone—get ye gone and off with this Saint Martins Trumpery, these Play­house Glass Baubles, this Necklace, and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs I'll have no counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See—these are right as the Blushes on thy Cheeks and these—as true as my Heart my Girl. Go—put 'em on and be fine—

Go to—More of your Love, and less of your Ce­remony—give the old Fool a hearty Buss and pay him that Way—he ye little wanton Tit, I'll steal up—and catch ye and love ye—adod I will—get ye gone—get ye gone—

How steal up Sir Feeble—I hope not so; I hold it most indecent before the lawful Hour.

Lawful Hour! Why I hope all Hours are Lawful with a Mans own Wife.

Wise young Men Sir Cautious, but wise old Men must nick their Inclinations, for it is not as 'twas wont to be, for it is not as 'twas wont to be—

Sir here's a young Gentleman without wou'd speak with you.

Hum—I hope it is not that same Belmour come to forbid the Banes—if it be, he comes too late—there­fore [Page 13] bring me first my long Sword, and then the Gentleman.

Pray Sir use mine it is a travell'd Blade I can assure you Sir.

Sir Cautious know my Nephew—'tis a young Saint Omers Scholar—but none of the Witnesses.

A very proper young Fellow, and as like old Frank Fainwood as the Devil to the Collier; but Francis you are come into a very lewd Town Francis for whoring and plotting and roaring and drinking, but you must go to Church Francis, and avoid ill Com­pany, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash Fran­cis—what you can keep Merchants Books?

And you will not be proud but will be commanded by me Francis?

I desire not to be favour'd as a Kinsman Sir, but as your humblest Servant.

Why thou't an honest Fellow Francis—and thou'rt heartily welcome—and I'll make thee Fortunate! But come Sir Cautious let you and I take a Turn i'th'Garden, and beget a right Understanding between your Nephew Mr. Bearjest and my Daugh­ter Dye.

So have I Sir I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my Travels on Foot Sir.

No Sir, it was for my Diversion indeed; but I assure you I travell'd into Ireland a-foot Sir.

That's all one Sir, I was still a-foot—ever walking on the Deck—

Farthest—why that's the End of the World—and sure a Man can go no further.

This is a swinging Wonder—but are there Store of Mad Men there Sir—?

None Sir since that of the Wonderful Salamanca Doctor, who was both here and there, at the same Instant of time.

Enough, enough, Sir Cautious we apprehend one ano­ther, Mr. Bearjest, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench is yours with three thousand Pound present, and some­thing more after Death: Which your Uncle likes well.

Does he so Sir, I'm beholding to him, then 'tis not a Pin matter whether I like or not, Sir.

Oh Lord Sir—dye or live 'tis all one for that Sir—I'll stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes.

Give you Joy my dear Leticia! I find Sir you were re­solved for Youth Wit and Beauty.

Ay Madam to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb but Lette—Rogue Lette—thou wo't not make me free o'th'Ci­ty [Page 15] a second time, wo't thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and wanton Leere—the Amorous Simper that crys come kiss me—then the pretty round Lips are pouted out—he Rogue how I long to be at'em!—well she shall never go to Church more—that she shall not.

How Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City Lady?

That's all one Madam, that tricking and dressing and prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young Knaves that are lick't and comb'd—and are minding you more than the Parson—ods bobs there are more Guckolds dest­in'd at Church than are made out of it.

There's something in his Face, so like my Belmour it calls my Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless—

SCENE I. Gayman's Lodging.

Why you gormandizing Vermine you, what have you done with the Three-pence I gave you a Fortnight ago.

You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I have known some industrious Foot-men, that have not only gotten their own Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.

Very well Sirrah, t [...]se'y dy'd in an honourable Calling—but hark'y' Rag—I have Business—very earnest Business abroad this Evening, now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou'd invent a way—to get home my last Suit that was laid in La­vender—with the Appurtenances thereunto belonging, as Per­riwig, Cravat—and—so forth—

Faith Master I must deal in the black Art then, for no Hu­mane Means will do't—and now I talk of the black Art Master, try your Power once more with my Land-lady—

Oh! Name her not, the thought on't turns my Stomach—a Sight of her is a Vomit, but he's a bold Hero that dares [Page 17] venture on her for a Kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self—yet there's my last, last Refuge—and I must to this Wedding—I know not what—but something whispers me—this Night I shall be happy—and without Julia 'tis impossible!—

Peace Sirrah—and call—a—no—Pox on't come back—and yet—yes—call my full­some Landlady.

More of your Money and less of your Civility good Mr. Wastall.

Dear me no Dears Sir, but let me have my Money—Eight Weeks Rent last Friday. Besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chand­lers, Landeresses, Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it Sir.

My Husband! What do you think to fright me with my Husband—I'd have you to know I am an honest Woman and care not this—for my Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my Kindness, for patching, borrowing, and shifting for you; 'twas but last Week I pawn'd my best Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again it cost me six and twenty Shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new Norwich Mantue follow'd, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole Dozen when you came first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only Judas left for my Husband.

Then [...]'ve past my Word at the George-Tavern for forty Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour Squabs for Ale; besides seven Shillings to Mother Suds for washing, and do you fob me off with my Husband?—

Here Rag—run and fetch her a Pint of Sack—there's no other way of quenching the Fire in her flaber Chops;—but my dear Landlady have a little Patience.

Patience? I scorn your Words Sir—is this a place to trust in, tell me of Patience that us'd to have my Money before Hand; come, come pay me quickly—or old Gregory Grimes House shall be too hot to hold you.

No Sir, you had good Cloaths when you came first, but they dwind'ld dayly, till they dwindl'd to this old Campaign—with tan'd-colour'd Lining—once red—but now all Co­lours of the Rain-bow, a Cloak to sculk in a-Nights, and a pair of Piss-burn'd shammy Breeches. Nay your very Badg of Manhood's gone too

How Landlady, nay then i-Faith no Wonder if you rail so.

Your Silver Sword I mean—transmogrified to this two­handed Basket Hilt—this old Sir Guy of Warwick—which will sell for nothing but old Iron. In fine I'll have my Money Sir, or i­faith Alsatia shall not shelter you.

Well Landlady—if we must part—let's drink at parting, here Landlady, here's to the Fool—that shall love you better then I have done.

Rot your Wine—d'e think to pacifie me with Wine Sir.

—What will you force me—no—give me ano­ther Glass, I scorn to be so uncivill to be forc'd, my Service to you Sir—but this shan't do Sir—

Well Sir you have no Reason to complain of my Eyes nor my Tongue neither, if rightly understood.

—But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation—fie—'tis not done like a Woman of Honour, a Man that loves you too.

I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature

Wou'd this Wine might ne'er go through me, if I wou'd not go as they say through Fire and Water—by Night or by Day for you.

Well—you have no Money in your Pocket now I'll warrant you—here—here's ten Shillings for you old Greg'ry knows not of.

I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith I cannot—besides the next Quarrel you'll hit me in the Teeth with it.

Nay pray no more of that, forget it, forget it. I own I was to blame—here—Sir you shall take it.

Ay—but what shou'd I do with Money in—these—damn'd Breeches?—No put it up—I can't appear a­broad thus—no I'll stay at home and loose my business.

Dye—marry Heavens forbid—I would not for the World—let me see—hum—what does it lie for?

Husband—marry come up, Husbands know Wives Secrets? No sure the Worlds not so bad yet—where do your things lie? and sor what?

Five pound equips me—Rag can conduct you—but I say you shall not go—I've sworn—

Meddle with your Matters—let me see, the Caudle Cup that Molly's Grandmother left her will pawn for about that Sum—I'll sneak it out—well Sir you shall have your things presently—trouble not your Head, but expect me.

Was ever Man put to such beastly Shifts? 'Sdeath, how she stunk—my Senses are most luxuriously regall'd—there's my perpetual Musick too—

The Devil, shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on him up with Ceremony.

Now dare not I ask one civil Question for fear it vanish all—

Hum, Shades below?—I am not prepar'd for such a Journey Sir.

SCENE II. Sir Feeble's House.

Sir Feeble at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his new Chariot.

And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage—did it?

Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy:

But how 'twixt this and that can I defend my self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard, that I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

Gone—whither is she gone?—it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her—

Alas poor Pupsey—was it sick—look here—here's a fine thing to make it well again. Come buss, and it shall have it—oh how I long for Night.

That's well, they know my mind. I hate than same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then serue goe the Pins, till a man's Teeth are on Edge; then snap says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in Bed—with a hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle—with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo—

A prudent Man would reserve himself—Good­facks I danc'd so on my Wedding Day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

Odshobs, that's Wormwood, that's Wormwood—I shall have my young Hussy set a-gog too; she'l hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they'l ha't, adod they will, Sir Cautious. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

A wise Man will keep 'em from bawdy Christnings then, and Gossipings.

Christnings, and Gossipings; why they are the very [Page 24] Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Ay, when the over-joy'd good Man invites 'em all a­gainst that time twelve Month: Oh he's a dear Man, cry's one—I marry cry's another, here's a Man indeed—my Husband—God help him—

Then she falls to telling of her Grievance till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition cry's a third, so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz'd, and turn'd the right sides outwards; adsbobs we are Sir Cautious.

Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest Sir Feeble, the grave and sober Part o th' Nation are hereby ridicul'd,—Ay, and cuckol'd too, for ought I know.

Wise men, knowing this, should not expose their Infir­mities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instru­ction, find how we are impos'd upon.

Who I, my dear Lady Aunt, I never knew but one Way to a Womans Heart, and that Road I have not yet travell'd; For my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a—kind of a—as it were d'e see of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other—and Madam—I am as it were—a bold Adventurer.

Sure?—I thank you for that—as if I could not believe my Uncle: For in this Case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely—keep a Serag [...] [...] Women, and let my bastard Issue inherit: Be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several Ways in the gilt Coach like Janus, or a Spread-Eagle.

Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.

Except my Lady Aunt—Nay as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family—you shall pardon me, here—Cuff me, Cuff me soundly.

This Love's a damn'd bewitching thing—now tho I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing [...]uia to Night: hah—there, and with a Fop at her Feet—Oh Vanity of Woman!

But why the Devil do I ask—Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crowds of Fops; had rather be publickly, tho dully, flatter'd, than privately ador'd; you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.

Rail on! 'till you have made me think my Vertue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.

'Tis so, Ay, Ay, 'tis so—and Wise men will perceive it; 'tis here—here in my Forehead, it more than Buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.

So, that young Gentleman has nettl'd him, stung him toth' quick: I hope he'll chain her up—the Gad Bee's in his Qunnundrum—in Charity I'll relieve him—come my Lady Fulbank, the Night grows old upon our hands, to dancing, to jigget­ing—Come shall I lead your Ladyship?

Very well, very well, now the Posset, and then—ods bobs, and then—

Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the todious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches—ods bobs, a man's couzen'd of half his Night: Come Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then—we'll toss the Stocken.

Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.

Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull Kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met—no Madam, besides I have Business—

Away; you cannot think me such a Traytor; 'tis most important Business.

—But Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously— [Page 27] sick—and should he die—

Ay—a—he goes—in a Litter—'tis his Fancy Madam—Change of Air may recover him.

So may your change of Mistress do me Sir—fare­wel.

Stay Julia—Devll be damn'd—for you shall tempt no more, I'll love and be undone—but she is gone—

SCENE I. Sir Feeble's House.

SO, so; the'r gone—Cme Francis, you shall have the Honour of Undressing me for the Encounter, but 'twill be a Sweet one, Francis.

But is the young Rogue laid Francis—is she stoln to Bed? What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man's Appetite?

Ay Sir—Pox on him—he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I shall kill him, to prevent his going to Bed to her.

A pise of those Bandstrings—the more Hast the less Speed.

Thy Aid a little Francis—oh—oh—thou choakst me. 'Sbobs, what dost mean—

You had so hamper'd 'em Sir—the Devil's very mis­chievous in me.

Come, come quick, good Francis, adod I'm as yare as a Hawk at the young Wanton—nimbly good Francis, untruss, untruss—

Cramps seize ye—what shall I do—the near Approach distracts me!

So, so, my Breeches, good Francis. But well Francis, how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

No, that wou'd not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with a young Fellow, they call Belmour, a handsom young Ras­cal he was they say, that's truth on't, and a pretty Estate, but hapning to kill a Man, he was forc'd to flye.

Pity, hang him Rogue, 'sbobs, and all the young Fel­lows in the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst 'em, under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what dost think I did, being damnably in Love—I feign'd a Letter as from the Hague, wherein was a Relation of this same Belmour's being hang'd.

Possible man? I did it, I did it; she swoonded at the [Page 29] News, shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I pre­sented high; she sight and wept, and swore she'd never marry. Still I presented, she hated, loathed, spit upon me, still adod I pre­sented! till I presented my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered her Vows were cancell'd since Belmour was hang'd.

Faith Sir, this was very cruel to take away his Fame, and then his Mistress.

Cruel, thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk Rogues, for they take away our Fame, Cuckold us, and take away our Wives.—So, so, my Cap Francis.

Lawful; it shall be when I've had Livery and Sei­sin of her Body—and that shall be presently Rogue—quick—besides this, Belmour dares as well be hang'd as come into England.

Pardon, no, no, I have took care for that, for I have you must know got his Pardon already.

How Sir, got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of his Wife.

Hold honest Francis; what dost think 'twas in Kind­ness to him? no you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any Body to speak to his Ma­jesty for it, his Majesty crys he has granted it; but for want of my Appearance, he's defunct, trust up, hang'd Francis.

I've don't, I've don't; Pox on him, it cost me five hun­dred pounds tho! here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Eve­ning.

This was a lucky Hit—and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a Trick indeed.

My Gown, quick, quick—t'other Sleeve, man—so now my Night-Cap; well I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women; and jump into her Arms.

Sir, my Master Sir Cautious Fulbank left his Watch on the [Page 30] little Parlor-Table to Night, and bid me call for't.

Hah—the Bridegroom has it Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it shall be sent him in the Morning.

Let me see—here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him—but his sending has inspir'd me with a slidden Stra­tagem, that will do better than Force, to secure the poor trembling Leticia—who I am sure is dying with her Fears.

WHat's here? what's here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs, what not in Bed yet? for shame of Love Leticia.

For shame of Modesty Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before all this Company.

What the Women; why they must see you laid, 'tis the Fashion.

Ods bobs, here's a Compact amongst the Women—High Treason against the Bridegroom—therefore Ladies withdraw or adod Ill lock you all in.

So, so, now we're alone Letioia—off with this foolish Modesty, and Night-Gown, and slide into my Arms,

This Watch—why prethee, why dost tell me of a Watch, [...] Sir Cautio [...] Fulbank's Watch, what then, what a Pox dost trouble me with Watches.

'Tis indeed his Watch Sh [...], and by this Token he has sent for you, to come immediately to his House Sir.

What a Devil art Mad Francis, or is his Worship Mad, or does he think me Mad—go prethee tell him I'll come to him to Morrow.

To Morrow Sir, why all our Throats may be cut before to Morrow.

Why, the City's up in Arms Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at Guild-Hall; some damnable Plot Sir.

Hah—Plot—the Aldermen met at Guild-Hall?—hum—why let 'em meet, Vll not lose this Night to save the Nation.

Wou'd you to bed Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require your Presence.

—Hum—met at Guild hall?—my Cloaths, my Gown a­gain Francis, I'll out—out, what upon my Wedding night? no—I'll in.

For shame Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City de­bate without you?

Ay, that's true, that's true, come truss again Francis, truss again—yet now I think on't Francis, prethee run thee to the Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-Night, d'ye see Francis; and let fome body give my Voice for—

Adod I cannot tell; up in Arms say you, why, let 'em sight Dog, fight Bean; mun, I'll to Bed—go—

And shall his Majesty's Service and his Safety lie unregard­ed for a slight Woman Sir?

Hum, his Majesty!—come, hast Francis, I'll away, and call Ralph, and the Footmen, and bid 'em Arm; each man shoulder his Musket; and advance his Pike—and bring my Ar­tillery Implements quick—and let's away: Pupsey—b [...]u'y Pupsey, I'll bring it a fine thing yet before Morning, it may be—let's away; I shall grow fond, and forget the Business of the Nation—come follow me Francis—

I must be gone, lest he suspect us—I'll loose him, and return to thee immediately—get thy self ready—

Kind Light, a little of your Aid—now must I be peeping tho my Curiosity should lose me all—hah—Zouns, what's here—a Hovel or a Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to Swear in, but just when I'm in the Devils Clutches.

Ha—desend me! if this be she, I must rival the De­vil, that's certain.

He must be as hot as Vesuvius, that do's—I shall never earn my Morning's Present.

The Devil I do—this is a damn'd Preparation to Love.

Why stand you gazing Sir, a Womans Passion is like the Tide, it stays for no man when the Hour is come—

This is the first thing in Peticoats that ever dar'd me in vain. Were I but sure she were but Humane now—for sundry [Page 33] Considerations she might down—but I will on—

What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the Case—Sure I have not liv'd so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Ho­nour?—that cannot be—this Age afford none so nice: nor Fiend, nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw were mortal! No—'tis a Woman—I am positive. Not young nor handsome, for then Vanity had made her Glory to 'ave been seen. No—sinee 'tis resolved a Woman—she must be old and ugly, and will not bauk my Fancy with her Sight. But baits me more with this essential Beauty.

Matter, what is my Lady's innocent Intrigue found out?—Heav'n's Sir what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends. Where's Sir Cautious? where's Sir Cautious?

This last Nights Misfortune of mine Dick, has kept me waking and methought all Night I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am still afraid of Thieves, mercy upon me to loose five hundred Ginneys at one clap Dick.—Hah—bless me! What's yonder! Blow the great Horn Dick—Thieves—Murder, Murder.

How, Sir Feeble! At this late Hour, and on his Wedding Night—why what's the matter Sir—is it Peace or War with you?

A Mistake—a Mistake—proceed to the Business good Brother, for time you know is precious.

Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his Wife to Night, that makes him disturb me thus—come sit good Brother, and to the Business as you say—

How strangely he stares and gapes—some deep Concern!

A very distracted Countenance—pray Heaven he be [...]ot mad, and a young Wife is able to make any old Fellow mad, that's the Truth on't.

Sure 'tis something of his Lady—he's so loath to bring it out—I am sorry you are thus disturb'd Sir.

I think I am your Friend indeed Sir Cautious, or I wou'd not have been here upon my Wedding Night.

Done—hum—come out with it Brother—what troubles you to Night.

The Rest, why have I lost more since? Why know you then who did it? Oh how I'll be revenged upon the Rascal?

Alas I know not whom to suspect, I wou'd I did; but if you cou'd discover him—I wou'd so swinge him.—

I know him—what do you take me for a Pinip Sir? I know him—there's your Watch again Sir, I'm your Friend, but no Pimp Sir—

Oh a very thriving Calling Sir—and I have a young Wife to practice with. I know your Rogues?

A young Wife—'tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he's Horn mad upon't. I suspected her being so close in with his Nephew—in a Fit with a Pox—

Hah—Sir Feeble—and Sir Cautious there—what shall I do? For this Way we must pass, and to carry him back wou'd discover my Lady to him, betray all and spoil the Jest—retire Sir, your Life depends upon your being unseen.

Very good Sir, and very well Sir—why then what the Devil do I make here Sir!

Forward—lend me your Hand good Brother—lets feel your Pulse—how has this Night gone with you?

Ha, ha, ha—this is the oddest Quonundrum—sure he's mad—and yet now I think on't, I have not slept to Night, nor shall I ever sleep again till I have found the Villain that rob'd me.

So—now he weeps—far gone—this laughing [Page 38] and weeping is a very bad Sign! Come let me lead you to your Bed.

Mad—stark Mad—no—now I'm up 'tis no Matter—pray ease your troubled Mind—I am your Friend—out with it—wllat was it acted? O [...] but design'd?

Be not asham'd—I'm under the same Prema [...]ire I doubt, little better than a—but let that pass—

Of what, why that you'r a Cuckold—Sir a Cuc­kold if you'll ha't.

Ay Sir—if you say it and cannot make it out—you're a—

A Cuckold as well as my self Sh [...], and I'll sue you for Scandalum Magnatum, I shall recover swinging Damages with a Ci­ty Jury.

Ha, ha, ha—why this is the strangest thing—to see an old Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he's mar­ryed forsake his Bride and Bed, and come arm'd Cap-a-pee, like Garga [...]ta, to disturb another old Fellow and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all to be-cuckold him here—in plain Eng­lish what's your Business?

With me Sir, with me, what a Pox de ye think I do here.

Here Dick, remember I've brought back your Masters Watch, next time he sends for me o'er Night I'll come to him in the Morning.

Ha, ha, ha—I send for you? Go home and sleep [Page 39] Sir—ad and yo [...] keep your Wife wijubg ti si Alittle purpose you'd go near to be [...] with [...] of Horns

Now Sir we are two [...]o two, for this Way you must pass or be taken in the Ladys Lodgings—I'll-first adventure out to make you pass the fafer. And that he may not, if possible, fee Sir Cautious, whom I shall fright into a Trance I am sure.

Hah—old Sir Feeble Fain [...]ood—why where the Devil am I?—'Tis he—and be it where it will I'll fright the old Dotard for couzening my Friend of his Mistress—

Heav'ns what Noise is this?—So he's got safe out I see—hah what thing art thou—

Sir Feeble Fa [...]ood—rise—are you both mad?—

With Eyes like a Beacon—and a Mouth—Heav'n bless us like London Bridge at a full Tide.

Oh! that's the Business of another Day, a Mistake on­ly Madam.

Away, I'm asham'd to see wise Men so weak, the Fan­toms of the Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest, or perhaps Bredwell your Man—who being wiser than his Master play'd you this Trick to fright you both to Bed.

Hum—adod and that may be, for the young Knave when he let me in to Night, was drest up for some Waggery—

Ads bobs but they frighted me at first basely—but I'll home to Pupsey, there may be Roguery, as well as here—Madam I ask your Pardon, I see we're all mistaken.

Oh haste, the Minutes fly—leave all behind. And bring Leticia only to my Arms.

—Hah—what Noise is that? 'Tis coming this Way—I tremble with my Fears—hah—Death and the Devil—'Tis he—

Ay 'tis he—and I'm undone—what shall I do to kill him now? besides the Sin wou'd put me past all Hopes of pardon­ing.

Where are you my best Wishes? Lord of my Vows—and Charmer of my Soul? Where are you?

Hum, who's here? My Gentlewoman—she's monstrous kind of the sudden. But whom is't meant to?

Hum—no, no, this is not to me—I am jilted, couzen'd, Cuckol'd, and so forth—

Oh are you here, indeed you frighted me with your Si­lence—here take these Jewels and let us hast away.

Hum—are you thereabouts Mistress, was I sent away with a Sharn-Plot for this!—She can not mean it to me.

Will you not speak—will you not answer me?—do you re­pent already?—before Injoyment are you cold and false?

Hum—before Injoyment—that must be me? Before In­joyment—Ay ay 'tis I—I see a little

Hast away? there 'tis again—no—'tis not me she means what at your Tricks and Intrigues already—yes yes I am destin'd a Cuckold—

Hah! Sir Feeble!—he would not, Sir, have us'd me thus unkindly.

Oh—I'm glad 'tis no worse—Belmour quoth a; I thought the Ghost was come again.

Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while—my Lady weeps with your Unkindness.

I did but hold my peace to hear how prettily she prat­tled Love: But fags you are nought to think of a young Fellow—adsbobs you are now.

But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels?

Alas Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and pack't up our things to secure 'em, if there had been a Necessity for Flight. For had they come to Plundring once, they wou'd have begun with the rich Aldermen's Wives, you know Sir.

Here Sir—why what a Story you made of a Meet­ing in the Hall and—Arms and—a—the Divel of any thing was stirring, but a couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and wait­ing for one anothers Business—

Brought, thou'rt an Ass Francis—but no more—come, come, lets to Bed.—

To Bed Sir? what by Day-light—fot that's hasting on—I wou'd not for the World—the Night wou'd hide my Blushes—but the Day—wou'd let me see my self in your Em­braces.

'Tis true Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but yet my virgin Modesty forbids it. I'le to Diana's Cham­ber, the Night will come again.

For once you shall prevail; and this Damn'd Jant has pretty well mortified me:—a Pox of your Mutiny Francis—Come I'le conduct thee to Diana, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe Rogue.—

SCENE I. Sir Feeble's House.

HOw now Ralph—Let your Lady know I am come to wait on her.

I am sorry that it does not, since to maintain this Gal­lantry, 'tis said you use base means, below a Gentleman.

Who dares but to imagine it's a Rascal, a Slave, below a Beating—what means my Julia?

No more dissembling, I know your Land is gone—I know each Circumstance of all your wants, therefore—as e'er you hope that I should love you ever, tell me—where 'twas you got this Jewel Sir.

Where had you Money Sir? you see I am no Stranger to your Poverty.

Not a Word! Heaven be prais'd, she was a silent Devil—but she was laid in a Pavillion, all form'd of gilded Clouds, which hung by Geometry, whither I was convey'd, after much Ceremony, and laid in Bed with her; where much ado, and trembling with my Fears—I forc'd my Arms about her.

But such a Carcase 'twas—deliver me—so rivell'd, lean, and rough—a Canvass Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed fellow.

Now tho I know that nothing is more distant than I from such a Monster—yet this angers me.

—How, what's here—my Lady with the Spark that courted her last Night—hum—with her a­gain so soon—well this Impudence and Importunity undoes more City Wives than all their unmerciful Finery.

Oh here's my Husband—you'd best tell him your Story—what makes him here so soon—

Me his Story—I hope he will not tell me he's a mind to Cuckold me!

What—so Excellent at Intrigues, and so Dull at an Excuse?

Plain Fulbank, me thinks you might have had a Sir­reverence under your Girdle Sir, I am Honour'd with another Ti­tle Sir—

So, I'll be hang'd if he do not tell me, I'm a Cuc­kold now. I see it in his Eyes; my Ear Sir, I'd have you to know I scorn any man's Secrets Sir—for ought I know you may whisper Treason to me Sir. Pox on him, how handsom he is, I hate the sight of the young Stallion.

Uncivil—Ay, Ay, 'tis so, he cannot be content to Cuckold me, but he must tell me so too.

But since you'll have it Sir—you are—a Ras­cal—a most notorious Villain Sir, d'e hear—

Yes, yes, I do—hear—and am glad 'tis no worse.

Griping as Hell—and as insatiable—worse than a Brokering Jew, not all the twelve Tribes harbours such a damn'd Extortioner.

Wastall—ha, ha, ha—if you are any Friend to that poor Fellow—you may return and tell him Sir—d'e hear—that the Mortgage of two hundred pound a Year is this Day out, and I'll not bate him an Hour Sir—ha, ha, ha—what do you think to hector civil Magistrates?

Conscience—what do you tell me of Conscience? Why what a Noise's here—as if the undoing a young Heir were such a Wonder; ods so l've undone a hundred without half this ado.

I do believe thee—and am come to tell you—I'll be none of that Number—for this Minute I'll go and redeem it—and free my Self from the Hell of your Indentures.

How redeem it, sure the Devil must help him then!—Stay Sir—stay—Lord Sir what need you put your self to that trouble, your Land is in safe Hands Sir, come come sit down—and let us take a Glass of Wine together Sir—

Your Servant Sir. Wou'd I cou'd come to speak to Belmour which I dare not do in Publick, least I betray him. I long to be re­solv'd where 'twas Sir Feeble was last Night—if it were he—by which I might find out my invisible Mistress.

I have a little Business Sir—but anon I'll wait on you—your Servant Gentlemen—I'll to Crap the Scriveners.

The Worlds well amended with him Captain, since I lost my Money to him and you at the George in White Fryars.

Ay poor Fellow—he's sometimes up and sometimes down, as the Dice favour him—

We are not all one Man [...] Children; faith Sir, we are here to Day and gone to Morrow—

A very Rascal Sir, and a most dangerous Fellow—he cullye in your Prent [...] and Cashiers to play—which ruins so many o'th'young Fry i'th'City—

Then he keeps a private Press and prints your Amsterdam and Leyden Libels.

Ay and makes em too I'll warrant him; a dangerous Fellow—

Tells Fortunes too—nay I thought he dealt with the Devil—well Gentlemen you are all wide o'this Matter—for to tell you the Truth—he deals with the Devil Gentlemen—otherwise he could never have redeem'd his Land.

I say the Devil. Heav'n bless every wise Man from the Devil.

The Devil, sha! there's no such Animal in Nature. I rather think he pads.

Oh Sir he has not Courage for that—but he's an ad­mirable Fellow at your Lock.

I saw him once open a Lock with the Bone of a Breast of Mutton, and break an Iron [...]ar asunder with the Eye of a needle.

Who's this talks of the Devil—a Pox of the Devil I say, this last Nights Devil has so haunted me—

If 'twere a Fancy, 'twas a strong one, and Ghosts and Fancys are all one, if they can deceive. I tell you—if ever I thought in my Life—I thought I saw a Ghost—Ay and a damnable impudent Ghost too; he said he was a—a Fellow here—they call Belmour.

Well I wou'd give the World to see the Devil, provided he were a civil affable Devil, such an one as Wastalls Acquaintance is—

He can show him too soon, it may be. I'm sure as civil as he is, he helps him to steal my Gold I doubt—and to be sure—Gentlemen you say he's a Gamester—I desire when he comes anon, that you wou'd propose to sport a Dye or so—and we'll sall to play for a Teaster, or the like—and if he sets any Money—I shall go near to know my own Gold, by some re­markable Pieces amongst it; and if he have it, I'll hang him, and then all his six hundred a Year will be my own which I have in Mortgage.

Let the Captain and I alone to top upon him—mean time Sir I have brought my Musick—to entertain my Mistress with a Song.

Take your own Methods Sir—they are at Lei­sure—while we go drink their Healths within. Adod I long for Night, we are not half in kelter, this damn'd Ghost will not out of my Head yet.

I was sick to know with what Christian Patience you bore the Martyrdom of this Night.

—So—as Trincolo says wou'd you were both hang'd for me, for putting me in mind of my Husband. For I have [...]'en no better Luck than either of you—

How now Cousin! Is this high piece of Gallantry from you?

I find my Cos [...]en is resolv'd to conquer, he affails with all his Artillery of Charms; we'll leave him to his Success Ma­dam—

Oh Lord Madam you oblige me—look Ned you had a mind to have a full View of my Mistress, Sir, and—here she is

Go—salute her—look how he stands now, what a sneak­ing thing is a Fellow who has never travell'd and seen the World!—Madam—this is a very honest Friend of mine, for all he looks so simply.

He Madam, tho he be but a Bankers Prentice Madam; he's as pretty a Fellow of his Inches as any i'th' City—he has made Love in Dancing Schools, and to Ladys of Quality in the middle Gallery, and shall joke ye—and repartee with any Fore­man within the Walls—prethee to her—and commend me, I'll give thee a new Point Cravat.

Not speak to you?—yes Gad Madam and do any thing to you too.

Ay if you were me—you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of another Mind.

Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways not Honour, and whatsoever Promises he'as made you, he means to break 'em all, and I am destin'd to another.

How another—his Name, his Name Madam—here's Ned and I fear ne'er a single Man i'th'Nation. What is he?—what is he?—

What a damn'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacri­fic'd to Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses—whilst we Men of Wit and Parts—dress and dance, and cock, and travel, for nothing but to be ta me Keepers.

Done, I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword d'e see, not that I care this—but I'll not be fob'd off—what do they take me for a Fool—an Ass?

Madam, dare you run the Risk of your Father's Displeasure, and run away with the Man you love?

That's hearty—and we'll do't—Ned and I here—and I love an Amour with an Adventure in't like Amadis de Gaul—har­ky Ned—get a Coach and six ready to Night when 'tis dark at the back Gate—

And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key through the Garden by which we may pass unseen.

A hundred Pound lost already! Oh Coxcomb, old Cox­comb, and a wise Coxcomb—to turn Prodigal at my Years, whe' I was bewitch'd!

Sho, 'twas a Frolick Sir, I have lost a hundred pound as well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest—what old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound?

A hundred Pound, why 'tis a Sum Sir—a Sum—why what the Devil did I do with a Box and Dice?—

Why you made a shift to loose Sir? And where's the harm of that? We have lost, and he has won, anon it may be your Fortune.

Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three hundred Pound! why how came you to win so ummercifully Sir?

Oh the Devil will not loose a Gamester of me—you see Sir.

And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money Sir?

Ods bobs you young Fellows are too hard for us every Way, and I am engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here—who will require all an old Mans Stock.

Come Cousin will you venture a Guinny—Come Mr. Bredwel—

Well if no Body dare venture on me I'll send away my Cash—

Hum—must it all go?—a rare Sum, if a Man were but sure the Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now—

—Sir I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake—three hundred Pound—a fine Sum!

That's all one Sir; that's Moneys worth Sir; but if I had any thing that were worth nothing—

You wou'd venture it,—I thank Iyou Sir,—I wou'd your Lady were worth nothing—

All your Wife. Why Sir, some part of her wou'd serve my turn.

Hum—my Wife—why, if I shou'd loose, he cou'd not have the Impudence to take her—

Well, I find you are not for the Bargain, and so I put up—

Hold Sir—why so hasty—my Wife? no—put up your Money Sir—what loose my Wife, for three hundred pounds!—

Loose her Sir—why she shall be never the worse for my wearing Sir—the old covetous Rogue is considering on't I think—what say you to a Night? I'll set it to a Night—there's none need know it Sir.

Hum—a Night!—three hundred pounds for a Night! why what a lavish Whore-master's this: we take Money to marry our Wives, but very seldom part with 'em, and by the Bargain get Money—for a Night say you?—gad if I shou'd take the Rogue at his word, 'twou'd be a pure Jest.

No, but I'm wise—and that's as good; let me consider—

Or loose three hundred pounds—consider that; a Cuckold—why, 'tis a Word—an empty Sound—'tis Breath—'tis Air—'tis nothing—but three hundred pounds—Lord, what will not three hundred pounds do! You may chance to be a Cuc­kold for nothing, Sir—

It may be so—but she shall do't discreetly then.

Under favour, you'r an Ass Brother, this is the discreet­est way of doing it, I take it.

Why, Cato was a wiser man than I, and he lent his Wife to a young Fellow they call'd Hontens [...], as S [...]ory says; and can a wise man have a better President than C [...]o

I say Cato was an Asa Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of 'em all.

But I am of Cato's Mi [...]l; wel, a sugle Night you say.

A [...] Night—to have—to hold—pos­ [...]—and so forth at discretion.

And for Non-performance, you mast pay me Three hundred puunds, I'll forseit as much it I tell—

Tell?—why make your Three hundred pounds six hundred, and let it be put into the Gazet, if you will man—but is't a Bargain?—

Done—Sir Feeble shall be witness—and there stands my Hat.

Nothing, nothing—but a Trial of Skill between on Old man and a Young—and your Lady sli [...]p is to be Judge.

Now if he wins it, I'll [...]wear he has a Fly indeed—'tis impossible without Doubles of sixes—

How now? what's the Matter you look so like an Ass, what have you lost?

A Bauble—a Bauble—'tis not for what I've lost—but because I have not won—

You look very [...] Sir—what think you of Ca­to now?

Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands, Sweet-heart.

Well Sir—but my Lady you must know Sir, has the common Frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if perswaded to't by me.

I'is not in my Bargain to folicit her Sir, you are to pro­cure her—or three hundred pounds Sir; chuse you whe­ther.

Procure her? with all my Soul Sir; alas, you mistake my honest Meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part—in order to this Sir—get you but your self conveyed in a Chest to my House, with a Direction upon't for me, and for the rest—

Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady—but if she should be refractory now—and make me pay Three hundred pounds—why sure she won't have so little Grace—Three hundred pounds sav'd, is Three hundred pounds got—by our account—Cou'd All—

SCENE I. Sir Cautious his House.

Well Sir, remember you have promis'd to grant me my diabolical Request, in shewing me the Devil—

Madam, your Servant; I hope you'll see no more Ghosts, Sir Feeble.

No more of that, I beseech you Madam: Prethee Sir Cautious take away your Wife—Madam your Servant—

—Come Lette, Lette; hasten Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber, away, here be the young Wenches coming—

Why what art doing there—fidle fadling—adod you young Wenches are so loath to come to—but [Page 56] when your hands in, you have no [...].

Was it an anger'd, at the [...] tum-a-me, I'll undress it, [...]

No bargaining my little Hussey—what you'll tye my hands behind me, will you?

No whispering Gentle woman—and putting Tricks into her Head, that shall not cheat me of another Night—Look on that silly little round Chity-face—look on those smiling roguish [...] loving Eyes there—look—look how they laugh, [...]wire and tempt—he rogue—I'll buss 'em there, and here and every where—Ods bobs—away, this is fooling and spoyling of a ma [...] Stomach, with a Bi [...]here, and a Bit there—to Bed—to Bed—

Go you first Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers, which are that Heaven wou'd deliver me.

Say thy Prayers?—what art thou mad, Pray­ers upon thy Wedding-night? a short Thanksgiving or so—but Prayers quoth a—'Sbobs you'll have time enough for that—I doubt—

What was it asham'd to shew its little white Foots, and its little round Bubbys—well I'll go, I'll go—I cannot think on't, no, I cannot—

and Phil. squeak—Oh Heavons—why is it Bel­mour?

Oh—why do I shake—sure I'm a Man? what art thou?

O Lord! it is the same, I saw last Night—oh!—hold thy dread Vengeance—pity me; and hear me—oh! a Parson—a Parson—what shall I do—oh! where shall I hide my self.

Oh! I am dead, I'm dead, will no Repentance save me—'twas that young Eye that tempted me to sin; oh!—

Oh hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight so horrid!

So she'll clear her self and leave me in the Devil's Clutches.

Ah—I do confess I was an old Fool—be­witcht with Beauty, besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily.

Oh, not for the World Sir: I am convinc'd and morti­fi'd.

Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be Cuckol'd on—believe her—trust her, and be Cuc­kold still.

I see my Folly—and my Ages Dotage—and find the Devil was in me—yet spare my Age—ah! spare me to repent.

Fly—be gone—depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe and innocent Apartment.

Blest be this kind Release, and yet me-thinks it grieves me to consider how the poor Old man is frighted.

SCENE II. Sir Cautious his Garden.

SEt down the Chest behind yon' Hedge of Roses—and then put on those Shapes I have appointed you—and be sure you well-favourd'ly bang both Bearjest and Noysey; since they have a Mind to see the Devil.

Oh Sir leave 'em to us for that, and if we do not play the Devil with 'em, we deserve they shou'd beat us. But Sir we are in Sir Cautious his Garden, will not he sue us for a Trespass?

—Let me see—I have got no ready Stuff to banter with—but no Matter any Giberish will ferve the Fools—'tis now about the Hour of ten—but Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul cou'd wish Shall be resign'd to me.

Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abu­sing me behind my Back so basely.

'Twas most unmanly Sir, and they deserve it—I wonder that they come not?

Whose that, Ned?—Well I have brought my Mistress—hast thou got a Parson ready—and a License?

In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came be­fore to see if the Coast be clear.

Ay Sir—but what shall we do—here's Mr. Gayman come on purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir'd.

Shoh! a Pox of the Devil Man—I can't intend to speak with him now.

How Sir? d'ye think my Devil of so little Quality to suffer an Affront unreveng'd?

Sir I cry his Devilships Pardon: I did not know his Qua­lity—I protest Sir I love and honour him, but I am now just going to be married Sir, and when that Ceremony's past, I'm ready to go to the Devil as soon as you please.

I have told him your Desire of seeing him, and shou'd you baffle him?

Who I Sir? Pray let his Worship know, I shall be proud of the Honour of his Acquaintance; but Sir my Mistress and the Par­son waits in Neds Chamber.

If all the World wait Sir, the Prince of Hell will stay for no Man.

Oh Sir rather then the Prince of the Infernals shall be af­fronted, I'll conduct the Lady up, and entertain her till you come Sir.

Nay I have a great Mind to kiss his—Paw Sir, but I cou'd wish you'd shew him me by Day-light Sir.

The Prince of Darkness does abhor the Light. But Sir I will for once allow your Friend the Captain to keep you Company.

Pray, Sir? I dare say neither of us were ever that Way gif­ted.

Oh enough, enough! Good Sir lay 'em and I'll pay the Mu­sick—

I wonder at it—these Spirits are in their Nature kind, and peaceable—and you have basely injur'd some body—and then they will be satisfi'd—

Oh good Sir take your Cerberuses off—I do confess the Captain here and I have violated your Fame.

Abus'd you—and traduc'd you,—and thus we beg your Pardon—

Why I don't know—a Wedding is a sort of an Alarm to Love; it calls up every Mans Courage.

—But I think 'tis all one to thee, thou car'st not for my Com­plement; no, thou'dst rather have a young Fellow.

I am not us'd to flatter much; if forty Years were taken from your Age, 'twou'd render you something more agreable to my Bed, I must confess.

Yet you may take my Word without an Oath, were you as old as Time, and I were young and gay as April Flow'rs,

Ay but you're wondrous free methinks—sometimes, which gives shrewd Suspicions.

What, because I can not simper—look demure, and justifiy my Honour when none questions it.

But being so, if I shou'd be good-natur'd and give thee leave to love discreetly?—

Why in Consideration of my Age and your Youth, I'd bear a Conscience—provided you do things wisely.

Ay, ay—I did but try your Vertue, mun—dost [Page 62] think I was in earnest?

Hum—'tis Wastall—now does my Heart sail me—a Chest say you?—to me?—so late—I'll war­rant it comes from Sir Nicholas Smuggle—some prohibited Goods that he has stoln the Custom of, and cheated his Majesty—well he's an honest Man, bring it in—

By all Means—for if the Searchers come—they'l never be so uncivil to ransack thy Lodgings—and we are bound in Christian Charity to do for one another—Some rich Commo­dities I am sure—and some fine Knick-knack will fall to thy share I'll warrant thee—Pox on him for a young Rogue, how punctu­al he is!—

—Go my Dear, go to Bed—I'll send Sir Nicholas a Receit for the Chest, and be with thee presently—

Hah, where am I? By Heaven my last Nights Vision—'Tis that inchanted Room and yonder the Alcove! Sure 'twas indeed some Witch, who knowing of my Infidelity—has by Inchantment brought me [...]her—'tis so—I am betray'd—

Hah! or was it Julia! That last Night gave me that lone Oppor­unity—but hark I hear some coming—

Hah—he here, nay then I was deceiv'd, and it was Julia that last Night gave me the dear Assignation.

Within. Come Sir Cautious—I shall fall asleep and then you'll waken me—

Ay my Dear I'm coming—she's in Bed—I'll go put out the Candle, and then—

Ay—but you may over-act your Part and spoil all—but Sir I hope you'll use a Christian Conscience in this Business.

Good Sir no more Cautions, you unlike a fair Gamester will [...]ook me out of half my Night—I am impatient—

Good Lord are you so hasty; if I please you shan't'go at all.

Lord Sir you mistake my candid Meaning still. I am content to be a Cuckold Sir—but I wou'd have things done decent­ly, d'ye mind me?

I'm gone—I'm gone—but harky Sir—you'll rise before Day?

I vanish Sir—but harky—you'll not speak a Word? But let her think 'tis I?

Where shou'd I be—in Bed, what are you by Dark?

I'll swear Mrs. Pert you look very prettily in my Cloaths; and since you Sir have convinc'd me that this innocent Deceit is not unlawful, I am glad to be the Instrument of advancing Mrs. Pert to a Husband, she already has so just a Claim to.

Pull your Hoods down—and keep your Face from the Light.

Madam I beg your Pardon—I met with a most divellish Adventure,—your Pardon too Mr. Doctor, for making you wait—but the Business is this Sir,—I have a great Mind to lye with this young Gentlewoman to Night, but she swears if I do, the Parson of the Parish shall know it—

NOw cannot I sleep! But am as restless as a Merchant in stormy Weather, that has ventur'd all his Wealth in one Bottom.—Woman is a leakey Vessel—if she should like the Young Rogue now, and they shou'd come to a right Understanding—why then am I a—Wital—that's all, and shall be put in Print at Snow-hill with my Effigies o'th'top like the Sign of Cuckolds Haven—hum—they'r damnable silent—pray Heaven he have not murder'd her, and rob'd her—hum—hark, what s that?—a Noise—he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall forfeit the Money—how loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plots discover'd, what shall I do—Why­the [Page 65] Devil is not in her sure to be refractory now and peevish, if she be I must pay my Money yet—and that wou d be a damn'd thing—sure they're coming out—I'll retire and harken how 'tis with them.

Made her do?—so, so—'tis done—I'm glad of that—

No—I'll never rise again—Alas! Madam I was meerly drawn in, I only thought to sport a Dye or so—I had only an innocent Design to have discover'd whether this Gentleman had stol'n my Gold—that so I might have hang'd him—

—Madam, a Gentleman, and a Lady below in a Coach knock [...] me up, and say they must speak with your Ladyship.

Madam, your Vertue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me trespass on you for my Lives Security, and beg you will protect me—and my Husband—

I'm glad thou hast her Harry—but doubt thou durst not own her; nay, dar'st not own thy self.

Hell shall not hold thee—nor vast Moun­tains cover thee, but I will find thee out—and lash thy silthy and Adulterous Carcase.

How—lash my silthy Carcase?—I desie [...] thee Satan—

—How! the Ghostly—hush—have a care—for 'twas the Ghost of Belmour—oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!—

What bleeding Wound?—Heav'ns are you frantick Sir?

—But let her go—so I may never see that dreadful Vision—harky Sir—a Word in your Ear—have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Hast thou? Divorce her—flye her, quick—depart—be gone, she'll Cuckold thee—and still she'll Cuckold thee—

Mum—no Words on't, unless you'll have the Ghost about your Ears; Part with your Wife I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall ly alone; [Weeps. Ah Fool, old dull besotted Fool—to think she'd love me—'twas by base means I gain'd her—couzened an honest Gen­tleman—of Fame and Life—

You did so Sir, but 'tis not past Redress—you may [Page 68] make that honest Gentleman amends.

Belmour—or Francis—chuse you which you like, and I am either.

Where be the Minstrels, we'll have a Dance—adod we will—ah—art thou there thou couzening little C [...]its­face?—a Vengeance on thee—thou madest me an old Dot­ing loving Coxcomb—but I forgive thee—and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon Sir, so you'll give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

You are so generous Sir, that 'tis almost with grief I re­ceive the Blessing of Leticia.

No, no, thou deserv'st her, she wou'd have made an old fond Blockhead of me—and one way or other you wou'd have had her—ods bobs you wou'd—

Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. Dy, and brought her to Nea's Chamber here—to marry her.

But I being to go to the Devil a little Sir; whip—what does he, but marrys her himself Sir; and fob'd me off here with my Ladys cast Petticoat—

Madam, 'twas a pious Fraud, if it were one, for I was contracted to him before—see here it is—

Hark'y' Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter Sir?

You will ha't, whether I will or not—rise—you are still too hard for us, Come Sir forgive your Nephew—

Well Sir, I will—but all this while you little think the Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Ay, you show'd her the Difference Sir, you'r a wise man. Come dry your Eyes—and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs: d'e hear Sir Coxcombs.

I grant it Sir, and if I dye Sir—I bequeath my Lady to you—with my whole Estate—my Nephew has too much already for a Fool.

No Sir—you do not like me—a canvass Bag of wooden Ladies were a better Bed-fellow.

Cruel Tormentor! oh I cou'd kill my self with Shame and Anger!

Come hither Bredwel—witness for my Honour—that I had no Design upon his Person, but that of trying of his Constancy.

Believe me Sir, 'tis true—I feigned a danger near—just as you got to Bed—and I was the kind Devil Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain here Sir?

No truly Sir, those were some I hired—to beat you for abusing me to day—

To make you 'mends Sir, I bring you the certain News of the Death of Sir Thomas Gayman your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand pounds a year.—

How's this; Mr Gayman, my Lady's first Lover? I find Sir Feeble we were a Couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to couzen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; 'tis no wonder that both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us, we are not fit Matches for either, that's the truth on't.