SCENE, Sir Thomas Rash's House.

MArry to morrow Sir!

Ay, to morrow Sir; why not to morrow Sir? what great affairs have you to do that you cannot marry to morrow, as well as to morrow come twelve-month?

What a rash giddy old man is this; he will

compell my Lady to marry one she never saw, and to a marriage he has not thought on above these ten days.

If I must marry Sir, I think marriage is a great affair; and so great a one, that I ought to consider of it more weeks and months, then there are hours betwixt this and to morrow.

Oh pray do you throw Considering-caps aside, they are not for your wear: No Considering-cap was ever made fit for a womans head yet.

How! no Considering-cap fit a womans—

Why hussey who bid you prate?—I say the Marrying, Loving, Imbracing part is yours;

the Considering part is mine: I have Consider'd enough of it.

I doubt not, Sir, but you have prudently co [...] it: but whether enough or no, perhaps may be a que [...] [Page 2] please to remember Sir, but few days are past since you first thought of it; and almost the same hour you first thought of it, you resolv'd of it; and though I doubt not but you consider'd of it as well as possible for so short a time, yet certainly you did not allow your self time enough for so weighty an affair.

Not time enough! why what had I to consider of that requir'd time? Here's my daughter Christina and 5000, l. Portion; there's Sir Mannerly Shallow, a young Baronet, and 2000 l. a year. In short, I'le have no more Considering; the affair is concluded, Articles are drawn up betwixt the Lady Faddle and me, by the consent of her Nephew Sir Mannerly Shallow, and Sir Mannerly will be in Town to morrow; and to morrow he shall marry you, before he sleeps, nay before his Boots are off, nay before he lights off his Horse, he shall marry you a Horse-back but he shall marry you to morrow.

And he shall bed her a Horse-back too, shall he?

Why hussey will you be interrupting still?—get you out of doors.

I ha' done Sir.

I say, get you out of doors.

Prethee Isabella let him alone.

What flesh and bloud can endure to see such a Fools match?—by a Fool, to a Fool; if reports be true.

Your flesh and bloud, Sawce-box,—or I'le set you out of the Room.

Give o're, Isabella, when I forbid you. Well Sir, but suppose Sir Mannerly upon his arrival should not like me.

Not like you! he shall like you, or I'le try it out at Law with him: I have it under black and white, and my black and white, shall make him like your red and white, in spight on's teeth; No, no, there's no such clause in our Articles, there's no such proviso, he's to marry you absolutely Bona fide, and with a Notwithstanding.

Marry her with a Bona fide, and a Notwithstanding!

[...]ff's this? what's his Bona fide?

[...] What's that to you, hussey? will you ne're ha' done?

[...]y Cane o're your Bona fide, I'le make you repent [...]ng.

Have you no respect, Isabella, to my Commands? don't you see that your talking does but inrage him?

Who can indure to have you thus rashly thrown away on a Fool, as all the world says Sir Mannerly is?

Let me alone with the management of my own affairs. Well Sir, but supposing Fortune should flatter me with inclina­tions to Sir Mannerly.

A worthy piece of flattery!—I ha' done.

If I should be so unfortunate, not to have the same in­clinations for him; I hope Sir you will not compell me to marry one I cannot love, and consequently to be the most mise­rable of women.

One you cannot love! Maid, you shall love him, I'le make you love him; what cannot you love 2000 l. a year, and a fair Mansion-house, and all conveniences as fine as any in all Cumberland?

No doubt Sir but I shall like his Estate, and his House, and his Movables well enough.—

But the main Movable, the Man, there's the que­stion!

Well, sawciness; you talk very boldly, pretty box of a Baronet of 2000 l. a year, to call him a Movable:—but I will make her love the main Movable.—

I there's the thing:—if she will like the main Mova­ble; if the main Movable will please her.

Well, well, it shall please her: I'le make it please her.

Pray Sir lay aside Passion, and let us Reason the case a little.

Isabella, don't you see that you provoke my Father?

How, would you Reason? Come then, have at you; let her alone, I'le give her free leave to plead what she can: since she would Reason, I will Reason with her: come.

You will own Sir, that Sir Mannerly Shallow is a Coun­try Gentleman.

And so I would have him.

One that never so much as saw London.

As I would have him.

One that never had any thing but Country breeding.

As I would have him.

One that knows nothing but what belongs to Dogs and Horses; that never saw a better Assembly, then what meet at Fairs, Cock-fights, and Horse-races.

Just as I would have him.

Well then, is it possible for a Lady (such a one as my Lady) that has never breath'd out of the Air of the Town;

And by consequence never in wholesom Air.

Who has always liv'd to the height and Gallantry of it;

To the height of the Foppery of it.

And convers'd with the most Refin'd Wits of the times;

With the most debauch'd Rascals of the times.

Should ever endure a dull Country Clown, and a me­lancholy Country life?

Ay hussey, better then a leud, fantastical, debauch'd Town-Fop, and a scandalous Town-life.

You are scandaliz'd at debauchery Sir: I will prove the Country-Gentlemen are full as debauch'd, as the very lewdest men of the Town: Nay their debaucheries are the more rude, and brutish of the two, and are only thought innocent, because they are insipid.

How! more debauch'd then the Town-Rascals! the very Rake-hells and scum of Iniquity! that run up and down from Tavern to Tavern, and from Bawdy-house to Bawdy-house, and get so many Poxes, and Claps, that half their Estates scarce pay for the Cure of them.

And is that worse then running from Ale-house to Ale­house, and Farm to Farm, and getting so many Bastards, that half their Estates will scarce pay for the maintaining of them?

Men that are always quarrelling, and fighting, and duelling.

Men that are always quarrelling, and never fighting nor duelling.

Men that turn away their Wives, and keep Whores in their houses.

Men that beat their Wives, and keep Whores in their houses to boot.

Do Country Gentlemen keep Whores in their houses?

Yes, what are their House-keepers, and Nurses, and Ser­vants, I'de fain know?—

Are they their Whores? You lye, hussey, you lye.

You lye.

Pray Father.

Sir Thomas—to beat her, but is held by Christina. Oh Sir Thomas, I do but argue; did you not give me free le [...]ve to say what I could in Argument?

Is giving the lye an Argument? hussey, you sawcy—

I ha' done, I ha' done Sir; I'le dispute no more.

You had not best, hussey.—And for you, Madam, who began the Argument, that are at your Likes, and your Not Likes; and your Inclinations, and your Compulsions, and I know not what; know that I expect an entire submission to my Commands: prepare without more Logick, and Syllogism, to marry Sir Mannerly the minute he comes to Town, or in plain terms to get out of my doors: If you refuse him for your Hus­band, know I will disown you for my Daughter; and see how you'l live to the height and Gallantry of the Town then: see if the Refin'd Wits will maintain you; go to the Refin'd Wits, go;—Refin'd Wits with a Pox! Unrefin'd, leud, debauch'd Fops, that scarce ever read a Book in their lives, except it were a Play; that understand nothing but writing Lampoons upon civil people; breaking of Jests on all things, turning all things Civil and Sacred into Ridicule, as they call it; Ridicule, there's a pretty Bastard word; a Son of a whore of the Times, Ridicule: No more ado but prepare to marry Sir Mannerly, or I'le turn you into Ridicule.

Good Sir, what need all this Tempest of Passion? I do not refuse your Commands.

Tempest of Passion; Oh, you are at your Metaphors are you?—Tempest of Passion;—Virgin my Tempest of Passion is, to drive you a Ground upon the Shallows; there's a Trope, for your Trope: to shew you a broad Jacobus or a Ca­rolus Wit of the last age, is (I take it) of as much value, as a little Guiney Wit of this.—But you forsooth, and your Re­fin'd [Page 6] Wits, think there were never any Wits but your selves; that your Fathers were all a Pack of honest marrying Fools, that had no more wit then to bestow all their Love upon their Wives, and all their Estates upon their Children; to starve them­selves of all pleasure, in a Conjugal Pound, that so the young Filleys may wince, and neigh, amongst the Mares in the fat Mea­dows: I must confess we were all Fools in the event; for had we known we should have gotten such an age of Rake­shames as we have, we should rather have conspir'd together to have unpeopled the Land; we have a great deal to Answer for lying with our Wives:—But though we were Wits, we were no Prophets, we could not foresee what the age would prove; for if we had, I'faith we had mump'd your Refin'd Wits; they should ne're have known what Lampoon and Ri­dicule was.

Dear Sir, what need you continue in this anger, and discompose your self? I shall endeavour to submit to your Commands.—But pray Sir give me leave to say one thing, and be not angry.

Well, come, come.

Nay but promise me not to be angry.

Well, come, come.

Have you forgot already, Sir, you have as good as en­gag'd me to Mr. Ramble; that all his Friends daily expect when the Match shall be concluded.

Oh are you there about! I thought it would break out at last:—I have pumpt you now I'faith:—And have you so little wit, or honour in you, so little of the pride of the House of Rash, to love a wild, leud, debauch'd Fellow, who never sought any thing but to abuse you; who pretended ho­nourable Articles, on no design but to get within your Sconces and Half-moons, and then seize on your Garrison, and de­ceive you.

How do you know, Sir, his purposes were ill? did he ever reveal 'em to you? I am sure he never did, nor durst to me.

How do I know! do not I see how he behaves him­self to all women? he has not been come from France above [Page 7] three months, and here he has debauch'd four Women, and fought five Duels; not a Keeper in the Town can preserve his Doe from him; and does not he come every Night here in the Pall-mall, under our own Noses, Serenading with his Fiddles, and Fools, and at every Bush, where he thinks there is a Hare for his Game, setting up a hollow?—

Nay indeed Madam there is too much truth in this; I must needs say, I do not think him a man worthy of you: and though I would not have you married to a Fool you cannot love, neither would I have you married to a false man, that does not love you, at least, not half so much as you merit.

Dost thou conspire with my Father too, to make me wretched?

I cannot but joyn with him in the truth.

O ho! are you convinc'd? then I perceive, hussey, you disputed only for the sake of disputing.

All is not truth that is reported; he may love the con­versation of women, out of the Ayriness and Gayetie of his tem­per, and yet have no ill design.

Ayriness and Gayetie of his temper! Leudness and Debauchery of his temper; and, Maid, I know what you mean by your pleading for him: you mean to run away with him, do you?

I scorn the thought Sir.

I shall not trust your scorn; I will have better secu­rity:—I will make you fast enough to Sir Mannerly, as soon as ever he comes, I assure you: and for Ramble, if ever he ap­proaches my doors, I will fight him, nay I'le fight him where e're I meet him: and so get you to your Chamber, and prepare all things for to morrow.—A light here, a light; who waits there?—no body; where are my people?

I see Sir Thomas is resolv'd—

There's no avoiding, Madam.

What shall I do? I am almost distracted.

There is nothing to be done, but to call in your heart as soon as you can; you see it is in a publick Banquers hands that deals with so many, that it is impossible but he must break [Page 8] with some: some will scarce ever get their Interest, and few the Principal.

Ah Isabella, what would I give to be assur'd of that? Oh how much ease it would afford my heart: I then could with as much delight and pleasure hate him, as now I love him.

Heaven!—Assurance!—what assurance Madam do you expect? would you fain see him a bed with some woman? will no assurance serve you but that? to be plain, he is false to you, and I dare swear you make but one of the fifty in the Ca­talogue of women he makes Love to: To satisfie your self, do but inquire.

Inquire! was I till now never inform'd of this? have I not oft been vex'd with these Reports? and have I not as oft accus'd him too?—and has he not deny'd 'em still with Oaths, such Oaths that if he thinks he has a Soul, he must believe it damn'd, if he be false: Do you not know that all I say is truth?

I do: and do you not as well remember, I told you all was falshood he affirm'd? he think he has a Soul! alass good man, he seldom sets his thoughts on those affairs: he loves his Soul, but as he loves his Bawd, only to Pimp for pleasures for the Body, and then Bawd-like it may be damn'd, he cares not.

He is beholding to you for this Character.

The scurvy Picture is too like the Life.

He gives me too much cause to fear it is.

What an unheard-of Curse have you invented?

Come, come, to your Chamber Maiden,—

And fit your accoutrements against to morrow.

Sir, my Lady Faddle is coming to speak with you.

My Lady Faddle! news I warrant from her Nephew Sir Mannerly;—her Ladiship is welcome:—where is she?—wait on her in.—

Now we shall have a mess of fine stuff: bragging and praising her self and her Nephew, in conceited fantastical lan­guage; making Court to her self, in such an absurd manner, that it would make Pride humble, to see it self appear so ridi­culous.

Ay; and still railing against the bad women of the Town; only because they get all the men from her: because she can get no Lovers, she would fain have Love out of fashion.

Ay;—and still most severely censuring all that are young, and handsome, to be naught: though she at the same time does all she can to seem handsome, that she may be naught.

That is like her railing against Painted women, at the same minute she is Painting her self:—But—'st, she's a coming.

My Lady Faddle! your Ladiships very humble Ser­vant: what kind occasion gives me the honour of your Ladi­ships visit thus late?

Sir Thomas, how dost thou do? dear Sir Thomas, I have receiv'd a Letter this instant, which tells me news which I am perswaded will not be undelightfull:—Chritty, how dost thou do sweet Chritty? Thou hast a very passionate Adorer posting to thy Altars: Thy Lover is flying to thee on the wings of Love and Honour, as the Poets say in their Plays.

What stuff's here?

News I warrant from your Nephew Sir Mannerly.

Exactly conjectur'd, I'le assure thee Sir Thomas: he writes me word he intends, out of a piece of Gallantry, to ride Post all night, that he may visit his Mistress by break of day; he is unwilling the Sun should see her before him.

A very fine expression; I'le give him a thousand pound more with her for that expression:—He's unwilling the Sun should see her before him.—I protest I have not heard a wittier and a finer passage.

Oh most delicate! here's one glimpse of the Fool's Picture I am to marry already: I shall see it more at large pre­sently.

Nay, I assure you Sirs you'l find him a notable youth:—Chritty, thou must look over thy Academy of Com­plements to night, Chritty, against he comes; or on my Honour he will be too hard for thee: he'l run thee down: he puts the Country Gentlemen to such Non-plusses, that they do not know what to say to him: he is call'd the very wit and spark of Cumberland; and is indeed the very flower and ornament of the North.

I'le warrant you his wit and sparkship lies in being an infinite babler, and a most expert fool at Questions and Com­mands, Carrying of Counsel, Cross-purposes, and some such in­genious sports.

Ay; and I warrant writes Anagrams, and Acrosticks.

Is it possible that one can be so finely bred in Cum­berland?

Oh you will wonder at it, when you see him, to see how finely bred he is, how Juntee and Complaisant.

Marvel!—what and has never seen the Town!

Never seen any Town, almost: you must know his Father the old Baronet was a man that had mortal enmities to the Town, and to all sorts of Town-vanity; and would never suffer him to wear a Gentile Suit, to read any Book, except a Law-Book, nor to stir from home, but in his Company; and that was seldom any whither but to his Farms, and Tenants, to see his Grounds, and Woods, or over-look his Quarries, and Cole-mines: and then his Mother, my Sister Shallow, on the other side, was the fondest creature of him, and would never suffer him to be out of sight, except when he was with his Fa­ther: and both these having not been dead above a Twelve­month, and the affairs of his Estate imploying him much at home, I am perswaded the bounds of his Land have been the utmost extents of his travel; except since his Parents death, he has given himself a swinge to some Race, or Fair.

He is like to be a most accomplish'd person.

Your Ladiship puts me in admiration:—Good Madam, which way could he come by this fine breeding?

Oh Sir Thomas, you will put me on a piece of vanity.

And that needs not, on my word.

Oh your Ladiships humble servant.

If I must answer you the truth, Sir Thomas, I must say in spight of my modesty, he is indebted to me for the most of his accomplishments.

Then they are most accomplish'd accomplish­ments.

Oh I beg your Ladisips pardon, I did not conceive that before.

Oh good Sir Thomas, it is easily granted; you must know I accustomed my self in my Sisters life-time, to bestow my company on her every Summer.

Indeed if I had been she, I would never have thanked you for the Gift: I would rather you had bestowed your ab­sence on me.

And you may imagine for the Honour of my Fami­ly neglect [...] occasion of instructing my Nephew, in all things tha [...] to a well-bred Gentlemen; and truly I found hi [...] docible Scholer.

[...] if your Ladiship had the forming of him, he is the most perfe [...] of Gentlemen; the Pattern of breeding and vertue: for no Common Excellencies could be deriv'd from such a noble Instructress.

Oh Sir Thomas, you over-run me with too great a floud of language.

Oh 'tis your Ladiship only is the Governess of that Province.

Oh Sir Thomas, it is you are the Inheritor, 'tis you have the learning, and the parts.

Oh 'tis your Ladiship has the Phrase, and the Mine.

Oh Sir Thomas, it is you have all.

Oh the Soveraignty is your Ladiships.

Oh Sir Thomas, you depose your self from your Rights.

Oh 'tis your Ladiship dethrones your self.

Oh Sir Thomas.

Oh Madam.

Intollerable presumption it were—

I beseech your Ladiship.

I protest Sir Thomas—

Oh how seasonably this Cough comes to deliver my poor Father.

Fye upon this tickling rhume.

Oh your Ladiship strains your self too much, to be obliging.

Oh Sir Thomas.

Oh no more, I beseech your Ladiship: I will not presume to enter any more into the Lists and Turnaments of the Tongue with your Ladiship: I yield the Laurel to your La­diship.—But to return to the discourse from which we wan­dred, [Page 13] of Sir Mannerly: I am infinitely glad to hear of his ac­complishments and perfections; for now I hope I shall convince my Daughter, when he appears, that there grow finer things in the Country then Pinks and Daisies:—the Country is able al­so to produce a fine Gentleman; yes Daughter, and (I hope) as fine a man as your ador'd Ramble too: she thinks him, Madam, the very top of the Creation, the flower and quintessence of Gallantry, the wit of Nature, a meer Poem.

Oh fie upon thee, Chritty; dost thou debauch thy affections with that le [...] still?

Ay, Madam; [...] [...]hide her.

Strange! did I never tell you how he courts a young wench that lives over against my Lodging in the Pall-mall, one Betty Frisque?

This is the wench I told you of.

I give never the more credit to the story from her Au­thority.

This wench you must know is kept by that filthy old fellow my Lord Drybone, an old harass'd fellow of the Town; one that has been an eminent sinner these 30 years; was a great Comrade of Prince Griffins in the beginning of the War.

I am more happy then to know him.

If the truth were known, he was some quondam Gallant of her Ladiships.

And she being exceeding pretty, (as I must needs say she is) some say she bears some little resemblance of me? I think indeed she has a little of the Ayre of my face.

Then she wants for no beauty.

Oh Sir Thomas, I did not lay a plot for that Com­plement.

Oh Madam.

Ridiculous!

She being, as I said, wonderfull pretty, he is fond of her to distraction; and so jealous, that he locks her up closer then a Nun, will scarce let her stir so far as the Bal­cony; will not let her see any man, though but through the Casement.

And to be brief, this wild fellow Ramble plays tricks to deceive the Lord Drybone of his beloved Prize.

Most certain.

And your Ladiship has seen these passages.

Not I: I know not the fellow when I see him: I hate fellows that run after such Creatures.—I know such fellows!—Foh:—I have 'em from the Wenches own mouth: You must know, out of pity to her, because I know her Friends, I give my self the trouble to sit with her sometimes, to endeavour to draw her from that vile course of life, and to return to Vertue, of which she has yet some few sparks remaining.

Well, I heartily thank your Ladiship for this story; now I am confirm'd what a fellow this Ramble is: and does he rank my Daughter with his Betty Frisques, and his Trulls? let him but come near my doors if he dares.—Now Maid, you will importune me for Ramble again, will you? yes, Betty Frisque and you shall try a Frisquin for him,—you shall Duel it, you shall.—Well Madam, Sir Mannerly will be in Town to morrow you say.

Before the Sun's up.

My money is ready, Madam; we must not delay this business, lest any inconveniency should arise, if Ramble comes to have any intelligence of it.

They shall marry on sight.

I could wish Sir Mannerly had kept to the letter of the Articles, and been in Town as he was oblig'd, four days ago.

You know I gave you the reason, and two or three days can break no square: I know, Sir Thomas, you are a person of that Honour, as not to take any advantage.

Not in case no damage arises by delay.

There shall none, I warrant thee, Sir Thomas.

Well, it grows late: I am your Ladiships most hum­ble servant:—I beseech you let me wait on your Ladiship to your Chair.

It needs [...], Sir Thomas.

I love my Father for this;—he very civilly and [Page 15] Complementally turns her out of doors.

Oh Madam, what do you take me to be? do you think I will be so rude? Take Lights here;—Christina, pay your duty to your Lady-Aunt that must be,—and see her in her Chair.

Oh now I am alone, my heart would break, But that I scorn to let so false a man, Plant Trophies on my Grave.—

Oh Madam, Madam, Mr. Rambles Fiddles are just now going by the door; your Father in a rage calls for his Sword, and will go fight him: if you please I will dog him, and disco­ver his Intrigue.

Where are they? which way went they? My Scarf, and my Vizard Masque, quickly.

SCENE, The Pall-mall.

Fear not, Madam, there shall no mischief come of it.

At my request, Sir Thomas.

Your Authority over me is so absolute:—I will pawn my Honour to your Ladiship there shall no mischief be done, I will only send him further from my doors.

The Musick goes near your Ladiships door.

Near my door! he will not have the impudence to Serenade me sure.

[Page 16] I am affraid the Fellow will pester me with his Amours:—Go home quickly.

Sir Thomas, Good-night.

Boy, my Buff-Coat and my Tuck.

SCENE, The Street.

SO, stand here, this is the place; it will not be long e're my Master comes.

This is as my Lady Faddle said, my Lord Drybone's house.

That foolish woman was in the right I see.

Oh I will believe her Intelligence about these matters, as soon as any ones: she that plies in all places so diligently as she does, to get the reversion of some Intrigue, never fails of true Intelligence in these affairs.

And yet railing against Love is the perpetual subject of her eternal Tongue.

Oh she has reason, for Love uses her very scurvily, con­sidering how much she Courts it.

Heark,—I think I hear babling in her Balcony.

I warrant she's lending her foolish ear to the Musick.

Not Ramble's Fiddles!

No, Madam;—I saw the Gentleman's face as a Link pass'd by.

Then the Serenade is to me; and I will know who dares be so bold.

To your Ladiship! why should you think 'tis to you, Madam? 'tis over at my Lord Drybone's house.

What if it be? why may it not be directed to me? is my Person secure from the trouble of Amours? thou speak'st this out of contempt to me; I take it for an affront.

I beseech your Ladiship think not so.

I do not think so; my Person is not yet—

I do not talk of your Person, Madam:—Lord what diligent watching and scouting have we to

get a forlorn Lover into our weak ambush, and cannot!—Madam, I only say 'tis over the way at my Lord Drybone's.

Still continue in contradiction to me! dispute no more, but go and command the person from me, whoe're he is, to come over to me; and if he has a passion, let him express it in a decent manner: in such a manner as I may with honour receive it.

If he has a passion,—that is the thing she would be at.

And let all my Servants appear, that he may know of what quality she is whom he pretends to Serenade.

That he may know what a kind Coming Lady she is who would fain be Serenaded.

It was her voice.

She was standing there I warrant in a fit of envy; re­pining at the plenteous feasts of other Beauties, whilst she would be glad of the Crums that fall from their Table.

What's the reason Ramble's Fiddles are so long silent? I am resolv'd I'le stay here till I see the event: whether the thing he Serenades will come to him or no.

'Tis a very dark night, there's not light enough to shew [Page 18] me the end of my Nose: what stays this Master of mine so long? some new Love-adventure, I'le lay my life on't; for nothing else could stay him I'm sure: Oh 'tis a brave Universal Lover! what pity 'tis such a large spacious soul, that holds such vast prodigi­ous quantities of Love, should have but one body to vent it at: the vent is too narrow: all the convenience is, that it is never empty.—But see here's a pretty woman coming out of that house.

Here's my Lady Faddles woman coming.

Like Master, like Man: my Master is a Leviathan in Love, and I am a very Grampois; all but my Master are Por­pusses to me: some neighbouring She-vessel afraid of me, has thrown this Vessel over-board for me to play withall: and see she swims towards me.

They meet.

'Tis Merry, Mr. Ramble's man.

What design should they have together.

To me, Madam!

Yes Sir, a Lady of quality over the way has something of concern to discourse with you, and desires you will oblige her so far as to come over.

A Lady of quality have concerns with me!—

Some blessing thrown on me from Love, I hope, to reward my diligent labours in his service: No adventure with a woman can be ill: I'le hazard my person:—wait you at that cor­ner;—(to the Fiddles.) That way my Master will come: if he ask for me, tell him I am call'd out in the service.

Gone in with my Lady Faddles woman! does Ramble hold secret correspondence with his publick enemy my Lady Faddle? is he come to that piece of treachery?

Only secret love; correspondence between Merry and Bridget: my Lady Faddle cannot be guilty of so cunning a plot: you honour her understanding too much, to accuse her of it.

Well, why do I submit to such baseness, to creep after a false fellow who deserves not my meanest thought?— [Page 19] Mr. Ramble, farewell; your Fiddles have cur'd me of the Taran­tula of Love, and the paltry Animal shall set his little venomous teeth in me no more, I warrant it.

Come, come, hang it, forgive a little extravagance for once; he loves you well in the main, I think in my Conscience: besides, all men are as bad; the whole Nation is infected with the same disease: there is not a sound-hearted wholesome Lover in it, except it be such a one as your Country fool; and a thou­sand to one but he brings to Town some Country Itch too; a passion for a Dairy Maid:—Oh the invincible charms of a Sillibub!

Dispute not:—I hate him, and the hour when first I saw him, and my self that ever I lov'd him: Nay, I hate the Passion of Love for his sake, and with this blast of Rage goes out that flame which his false fires enkindled: and now I will never spend one thought more of him: all my vexation is, that I must suffer for his crimes; because he has been false, I must be con­demn'd to pine away my life in the embraces of a Clown:—a reasonable piece of Justice.

Come, Madam, never conspire to your own unhappi­ness: hearken not to pride; pride is a huffing vapouring Ass, pretends to conquer Love, and do greater matters then he is able: Love is not to be Hector'd by such a Coxcomb: hearken to Love, and make your self as happy as you can, if you cannot be as happy as you would, or as you deserve.

Leave thy Politiques, and thy idle discourse, or leave me: my Resolution is fix'd: I know when I do examine Ramble about it, he will have the impudence to deny it all; but I will circumvent him:—have you borrow'd my Cosens Lodgings. for our plot.

Yes, Madam, the whole House is at your service.

I'le go thither with speed: do thou watch thy oppor­tunity to speak to Ramble.

What sport have I had!—Now the amorous Star whom my Lady has so long Courted, has shed his Influence: [Page 20] she has gain'd a Lover, now her heart will be at rest; and her tongue too will have many a minutes repose, which was before continually railing against Intrigues, and wanton women, and lewd men, and I know not what: But the way of gaining him was pleasant; she plainly frighted the man into Love, fac'd him down he Serenaded her, and she would right her Honour, that the poor man is forc'd to pretend an extraordinary Passion for fear of being Cudgell'd:—But see he was coming away already, I believe he suspects a beating still.

Oh Madam, what do you mean to give your sweet beauteous self this trouble?

What should I mean Sir, but to express my civilities.

The air is damp, Madam, and you may catch one of these scurvie reigning Colds, that possess almost all the Lungs and Noses of the Town; and you are now in more danger then any, because a Cold will be ambitious to inhabit your fair person.

Oh Sir, you are very ingenious: I may well endure a minutes cold air for you, who have sigh'd so many cold Even­ings (as you say you have) under my window.

That I have indeed, Madam.

Well Sir, to tell you truth, I dare not be unkind to you: for as some men have unlucky hands, where they strike they kill; so I have unlucky eyes, where I wound I swear I very often kill: I swear so many have dy'd for me, that I began to have a little regret in my mind, and resolve to bring no more Innocent blood on my head.

Oh blest be that pious Resolution!—but for this com­fort my fate had been the same: my soul might have gone to the Musick of the Spheres, but never to the Fiddles that wait for me in the Street.

Where is he?—Jack, Jack Merry, your Master is come; come away quickly.

You sawcy Rascal, whither do you press.

How now, you puppy, what's this for? I'le make your Master Cudgel you.

Dog, I'le run him through.

Hold, hold Sir, what's the meaning of this?

A rude fellow to press into a Ladies presence; because we Jest with one another in the Streets, he must come and play his Horse-play here.

What does the fellow mean, Sir?

You must know there is a Gentleman in this Town, one Mr. Ramble, that is a great Comrade of mine; we live together, and are sworn Brothers, and call one another out of Railery Master and Man; sometimes I am his Man, and sometimes he is my Man: and indeed we are inseparable; joyn hearts, joyn secrets, joyn Fiddles together; he knows of my Love, and I know of his Love; and both our Mistresses living so directly op­posite one to the other, we bring our Fiddles and Serenade both under one: and this wild fellow you saw, is a Gentleman that we admit in our Company, because he plays his part on the Violin:—and he has no more Manners then to press after me into a Lady of Quality's presence, like an ill-bred Scraper as he is:—I swear I'le—

Oh Sir, let there be no quarrels.—

No, no, Madam, I'le warrant you.

Nay, but promise me; it will make me publick, and dishonour me.

I will engage my Honour there shall not:—Well, most dear, dear Madam, we are now each others for ever; to mor­row the formalities of the Church shall conclude what is so happily begun.

Farewell, dear Sir.

Farewell, most dear Madam: Oh happy night! Oh happy hour! Oh happy me!

Well, I swear this was unexpected.

Who's there, Merry?

Who should it be else? who walks the Streets o'this time of nights but you or I, Sir?

I have been staid by the bravest adventure.

I have not been idle, Sir; I dare compare adventures with you for what you please.

I'le tell thee mine anon.

And I'le tell you mine, when you have a mind to laugh: Well, Sir, my comfort is you nor I shall not have much to an­swer for, for neglecting the talents Nature has given us: we have no loss of time lies on our Consciences: while other lazie people sleep and take their ease, we are conscientiously labour­ing in the Cause; and yet these wicked people censure us, and say we turn day into night, and night into day, and invert the order of Nature.

The order of Nature! the order of Coxcombs; the order of Nature is to follow my appetite: am I to eat at Noon, because it is Noon, or because I am a hungry? to eat because a Clock strikes, were to feed a Clock, or the Sun, and not my self: let dull grave Rogues observe distinction of seasons; eat because the Sun shines, and when he departs lye drown'd some nine hours in their own Flegm; I will pay no such homage to the Sun, and time, which are things below me: I am a Superiour being to them, and will make 'em attend my pleasure.

Most nobly resolv'd: how proud shall I be to have the Sun my fellow Servant.

The World is Nature's house of entertainment, where men of wit and pleasure are her free Guests, ty'd to no rules, and orders; Fools indeed are her Houshold-stuff, which she locks up and brings forth at seasons; handsome Fools are her Pictures; studious, plotting, engineering Fools, are her Mecha­nick Implements; strong laborious Fools, are her Common Utensils; valiant bold Fools, are her Armoury; and dull in­significant [Page 23] Fools, are her Lumber: which by Wars, Plagues, and other conveniencies, she often throws and sweeps out of the World.

Very well, Sir:—and pray what Fool am I?

An amphibious Creature, that livest in both Elements of Wit and Fool: the major part of thee is Fool; but that part of thee that is Wit, is true Wit; and so thou art a nobler Ani­mal then many of those poor Creatures that thou seest swim after men of wit and sense, for the scraps and orts of wit that fall from them: they leap and play out of the water, as high as they can, but they are but Fish still: Folly is their Element, and there they must stay: I pity the poor Poets; these Creatures do but spoil our mirth, but they ruine the Poets labours; they are to them, as the Fox is to the Badger, when the Badger has with great pains scratch'd himself a hole, the Fox comes and stinks him out of it: But enough of this.—Come, to the busi­ness in hand; however 'tis in other affairs, I am for reducing Love to the state of Nature: I am for no propriety, but every man get what he can: however Invasion in this case I am sure is lawfull; when a pretty young woman lies in the possession of an old Fellow, like a fair fertile Province under the Dominion of the Turk, uncultivated and unenjoy'd, no good Christian but ought to make War upon him:—that mine is a kind of Holy War, and I deserve a Benediction: And so my Musical Pilgrims, to your Arms.

Sir, you will make the jealous old Lord cut the pretty Creatures throat.

Oh Sir, he loves his divertisement too well for that: like an old Cat that has been a good Mouser in his time, he loves his prey, though it be but to Mew over it:—but look, I see a light.

I here her voice too;—I am sure 'tis hers.

She's coming to the window:—

Rogues, run and light your Flambaux, or call

a Link, that she may see me.

Up so late!

Ay, poor creature, she like the rest of her Sex can have no rest in this world, neither with a man, nor without a man; [Page 24] not with a man, for if he be young, he lets her have no rest; if he be old, she lets him have no rest: and without a man, to rest is impossible: So poor souls they have no rest in this life:—Heark, they are loud; let's listen.

What do you come to the window for? come to bed, I say.

I will not come to bed.

Will you still be thus humoursome?

Yes that I will.

Come, you are a proud, silly, whimsical, inconside­rable, fantastical Jilt.

Come, you are a weak trifling old no-man.

Oh admirable! this is a Serenade to me.

How dare you talk thus to a man of my Quality?

What care I for your Quality: do you think I am in love with a Patent? 'tis a man, and not a piece of Parchment, that I value.

A very wit, as I live.

Pray Madam do not anger my Lord so.

Do you know who I am, that you dare say this?

Yes, I know you to be a thing with a Title; or rather nothing with a Title: your Lordship is Titular, your Manhood is Titular, and every thing Titular but you Money; and your substantial Money compounds for your Titular Person.

Do you twit me ith' teeth with my bounty to you? forgive the fault, Mrs. Elizabeth Frisque, I shall be penitent and reform.

I doubt not your penitence and reformation: I shall have some Ambassadors from Guiney to morrow to treat of a Peace; the Kings Image in Gold, must make satisfaction for the faults committed by the Image of a Subject.

The most admirable Tongue-fencer I have heard, he cannot get a hit of her.

You are very civil, Mrs. Elizabeth:— [Page 25] To shew how damnably I shall frustrate your expectations, I this night put an end to your reign: your way of livelihood is much after the mode of the Tartars; when you have graz'd all you can in one Province, you seek out a new one: and so prepare to morrow for fresh Forrage.

My way of living with you has been much after the mode of the Tartars, for I have tasted since I came nothing but Horse-flesh; and fresh Forrage I will seek to morrow.

And so you shall.

Do you hear, Sir? the fair Faulcon will have her Hood and her Bells pull'd off tomorrow, and set to fly at liberty.

I hear: I want but a light to Lure her down on my fist: where stay my loytering Rogues?

I am afraid 'tis so late there's not a light to be got.

Come Sis, I'le go lie with thee.

Why do you vex my Lord so, Madam?

This is the discipline I keep him under: not a syllable he speaks to night, but shall cost him dearer than printing a Book in Folio: he shall be glad tomorrow to tye me and all my things in my Chamber with Point de Venice, and barricado me with Stones as rich as the Philosophers-Stone, and Mortar of Amber­greese.

Well, I swear 'tis a rare thing to be an absolute Prince, and have rich Subjects; Oh how one may Pill 'em and Poll 'em.

Oh dull Rogue that I am! I have staid till she's gone; gone, as I live, the window is shut and all dark: strike up, you Rogues, and retrieve her; never stay for Tuning.—She does not come yet:—scrape as loud as you can, make your Cat­guts squeek as loud as a Consort of Catterwaulers would at the roasting of one:—she's gone to bed, I'm ruin'd:—Sing, joyn all your throats and bawl; beat a Travalley on the Drums of their ears.—I hear some body at the window, 'tis she I hope: now be more melodious, lest you fright her hence.

Musick at my door at this time o' night! Now I shall discover my Gentlewomans Intrigues: 'twas for this she came to the window: I'le listen to try if I can find out any [Page 26] mystery by their Song, and then steal to the door, and see who they are.

Where is this Ramble and his Fiddles?

I heard 'em, an't like your worship, but just now hereabouts.

How shall I know they are his?—a company of Rogues, to lay my Buff-coat out of the way, that I have lost Ramble while I have been looking my Coat:—and you, Sirrah, to let your Torch go out.

What an unlucky Puppy am I? she does not look out yet.

Sir, Sir, an't like your worship I see a heap of men at yonder door, I believe they are they.

How shall I know that, Sirrah?—come along, I'le listen, and hear what they talk of: if it be Ramble, I'le Ramble [Page 27] him, I'le teach him to come Rambling and Rumbling after my daughter.

O'my conscience 'tis he, Sir; for I heard the Fiddles hereabout.

Hold your tongue, you Puppy.

So, they are here still: I was afraid they were gone: now shall I discover who they are.

She is gone to bed, Sir; she will not come out no more to night.

How unlucky was this?

I have found him, I'faith;—that's Ramble's voice, and that's my daughter they talk of: she has promis'd to come out to him, it seems:—here's brave doings, I'le make some body smart:—Rogues, be ready when I give the word:—Let me peep whereabouts he is.

So, so, they expect her to streal out:—Oh brave whore!—who can this be?—let me peep:—a fellow in a Buff-coat;—and by what I can per-ceive and old fellow too:—What has she Intrigues with Hectors, and old Hectors! me­thinks an old Rich Lord, should be as good as an old poor Hector.

Ha! in his Night-Gown! just ready to chop to bed to her when she comes: they have made a match to lie toge­ther here to Night: Oh sweet virtuous Madam Christina! I have bred you up to fine purpose! I'le stay till you come, to give my blessing on you both together.

Come, Sir, you had as good go to your repose; the jealous old Coxcomb does so watch her water, that she cannot get out.

The jealous old Coxcomb! Oh brave! what Rogue is this?

The jealous old Coxcomb! Sirrah, your throat shall be cut for this.

Pox on him for me, he has made me lose a Night-fatigue.

Pox on him!

Pox on him! yes, I'le give you five thousand pound with my daughter to bid a Pox on me,—I will.

Sir, Sir, whate're the business is, the door is open: if you will I'le enter softly, and see what it means.

Do, oh do, prethee dear Merry! Oh Heav'n grant—

Stealing to the door!

Who's there?

A Friend.

Ho, Peter, George, ho, my people, ho!

Are you quarrelling amongst your selves? I'le make one among you:—Ramble,—where are you, Ramble? I'le Ramble you:—Fall on.

Sir Thomas Rash's voice, I'm ruin'd, Retreat, Retreat.

Rash's men: the Fidlers run several ways.

Ramble is my man:—and here he is:—are you running into your Castle, Sir?

George, Peter, George!

Oh, you change your voice, Sir, now I am come, do you? 'tis not George, not St. George shall help you now, Sir: I'le teach you to make a whore of my daughter, Sir.

How! her Father here! is this old Hector her Fa­ther!—make a whore of your daughter, Sir! your daughter was a whore before I had any thing to do with her.

Oh horrid, she's Common! however I will have my penny worths out of you.

Murder, murder; George, Peter, Thomas, Rogues, come help me!

My Lord assaulted!

Murder, murder; Andrew, Nicholas, Will, Rogues, come help me!

Sir Thomas calls out murder.

My Master thereabouts!

Ho, the Watch! a Constable, a Constable!

Knock 'em down, knock 'em down;—

Seize that man, and that man, and bring 'em before me.

Who are you? what are you? come before me:—Sir Thomas Rash! and Squire Ramble!—I know you both: What's the meaning of this, Gentlemen? a man of your worship, Sir Thomas, to be a fighting in the Streets o' this time o' night! fie upon it: and Squire, you use to be more civil.

Sir Thomas, I am glad to see you so well: I hope you have got no hurt:—who was it quarrell'd with you?

Oh fine fellow! he has got his Cloaths on already, to put a cheat upon me; and the better to promote it, pretends he knows nothing of the quarrel:—No, Sir, no, I have got no hurt.

I am glad of it with all my heart.

To make a whore of my daughter, is no hurt to me.

I was very fortunate to pass by.

And so was I to discover this Roguery.

This is like Gentlemen; now I commend you: Come Gentlemen, you are both my Friends; I will convey you safe home with my Fleet of Lanthorns, and let's be merry as we go: the man in the Moon and I are Dukes of Midnight: give a spill to my Watch, and my Grace shall drink your health in Claret.

Less of your wit, and more of your office, Mr. Con­stable; [Page 30] I will have Revenge, though I put my daughter in Bride­well: seize that Gentleman, Mr. Constable.

Me, Sir, for what? you are in some mistake: I came to your assistance.

Seize him, I say.

What's the meaning of this?

You shall know the meaning presently.

Come, come Gentlemen, pray let us make you Friends.

Sir, there was never any enmity betwixt us: there is no man in the world that I am more Servant to then Sir Tho­mas Rash.

Yes, Sir, I know what service you do me: and you shall have your wages: seize us both, I say, and carry us before the next Justice of Peace.

I am sorry for this, I'faith Gentlemen.

Sir Thomas, there need be no seizing, I'le wait upon you: Mr. Constable, if you please you may let me walk at liber­ty, I will engage my Honour to you, I will wait on Sir Thomas Rash wherever he pleases to command me.

No thanks to you, Sir, I'le make you do it: I'le try if there be Law against such lewd doings as these are: bring him along here.

What have you done, Squire, to Sir Thomas? he is a hasty cholerick man.

I have only hindred him from having his throat cut; if he be angry at that, I cannot help it.

What Devil brought this old Fellow hit her? and what ayls him?

Hay, hay, scour! scour!

An honest Gentleman going to prison.

Rogues, Rogues.

SCENE, The Street.

I Am beholden to the honest drunken Bullies, that pro­cur'd my liberty from these Night-Corsairs and Al­gerines call'd the Watch, that Pickaroon up and down in the Streets, and will not let an honest Christian Vessel, laden with Burgundy, sail by: but I was little beholden to Fortune, to stand in need of their help: I do not like the adventure with this cholerick old Father-in-law of mine; a Pox of the formal Cox­combs for me, that invented the Rules of Manners and Civility, and Foolery:—I must endure the humours of this old fellow, only because he club'd to the Production of the fair Christina; as if a man were bound in civility to stand under the droppings of a Conduit all days on's life, because once at a Coronation it ran Claret, and he was drunk with it.

Sir, Sir, I have the most glorious news for you!

Ha! quick, quick; thou fir'st me,—what is it?

A most delicate young Lady, wife to a person of very great Quality, has been sick for you these six months; and her Husband happening this night to be out of Town, she has sent her woman for you.

O why did you say so, Sir? I told you I stole out o' my own head, out of pity to her: she knows nothing of it.

No, no, she knows nothing of it to my knowledge.

I know when I bring him she will kill me: but I had ra­ther she should kill me, then Love should kill her.

I will save both your lives, dear creature, lead me quickly to her before her disease grows desperate.

Well Sir, you must send your man away; nor must you know whither you go:—dear, what am I going to do?

Come along, sweet Rogue:—Merry, to your own affairs.

I have a cursed itch to be following 'em, and see whi­ther they go:—they are gotten into Chairs, and the Rogues are in their Trot:—Now they have turn'd the corner:—Let 'em go, I'le to my own honest conscientious Matrimonial affairs.

I have brought you thus far, Sir; but Heaven knows how to lead you any further: my wit is here at an end: I dare not for my life introduce you:—Cannot you pretend some mistake or other?

A thousand, a thousand:—I will pretend some Mistress of mine had newly chang'd her Lodging, and I mistook this for it.

That will be excellent: I see you want no wit upon these occasions:—But will you be faithful to my Ladies ho­nour, Sir, and not trust your Man, nor any Friend you have, with a secret of such importance?

I will cut out my tongue if I talk of it but in a dream.

Dear Sir, do: well, stay but a little bit of a minute, whilst I run in and see in what humour my Lady is, and I will come back and shew her Chamber.

Ten thousand thanks, my dear, dear Providore.—Sent for by a young handsome Lady, (so her Instrument says she is) to supply not only the absence, but defects of a Husband: Let me see, what ready Love have I about me? I should come off blewly now, if I should not have enough, but be forc'd to cheat her of one half of the reckoning:—No matter, she is rightly serv'd to surprize me so; she ought to have given me fair warning, and not have drawn so great a Bill as this on me, to be paid at sight: she might well think, I that am such a con­stant Trader, cannot have much money in Bank: Ay, but she is [Page 33] in Love; and Love is blind, one may put a false piece of Coin on him now and then, especially after I have paid him a great sum, he will not be so scrupulous.—Well, I am a Catholick man of strange universal use, I ought to have a Pension for the publick service I do the State; but though I am an excellent Subject, I am a trayterous Lover; how like a barbarous villain do I use that divine Creature Mrs. Christina? if I were fifty Rambles bound together, I had not merit enough for her Love; and I, though I am but one, yet parcel my self out every minute to fifty women: yet 'tis not for want of love to her, for the en­joyment of other women, give me not so much delight as a smile from her: and yet, I gad, the enjoyment of her would not keep me from the chase of other women:—Here am I raving mad after a woman, only tickled with an Image in my own fancy, of a young, pretty, melting, twining, burning Creature, who for ought I know may be only an old, ugly, leacherous Succuba, like a burning Hill, with snow on her top, and fire in her guts; and has inchanted me to her imbraces with a delicate young amorous Picture, put in my head: No, no, it cannot be; if she were ugly, she would not have the impudence to send for me; nay she would not have the impudence to Love: No, no, she must be handsome, ay and extremely handsome too:—Let me see, what kind of woman may she be? she has a large rouling smiling black eye, full of fire; a round sweet juicy melting lip, full of blood; even small Ivory teeth; full, round, white, hard breasts; a small straight delicate shape; a white little hand, in­clining to be moist; a little neat foot; her stature middling:—Ay, this is she, I know her as well as if I were married to her; I am sure 'tis she,—I gad I am passionately in Love with her.—Oh my dear Envoy, come back quickly with full Commission from thy Lady, or I shall fall into a Feaver:—Come, come, come:—here she is, here she is;—my dear, let's go, let's go, let's go;—shew me the way, shew me the way, my dear Scout, for my forces are all up in arms, and they will charge in spight of my teeth, I cannot hold 'em in.

Ah Sir, be gone, be gone, or I shall be ruin'd, be kill'd; I gave my Lady (to try what she would say) but a little hint, not of your being here, but only said, what if I could bring you hither? or so; and she ran distracted:—I thought she would have dy'd: I never saw one in such a passion in my life: Oh Sir, there is no hope; she is so tender of her honour, that it is im­possible to come at her.

What dost thou say? thou tortur'st me! wrack'st me! kill'st me!—'tis impossible to come at her!—'tis im­possible not to come at her:—I am all o' fire; and I must go, will go.—

Oh Sir, what do you mean? do you bear me malice? have you a mind I should be killd?

I love thee, next thy Lady, above all the creatures in the world:—I will take all upon my self, and pretend I came in by mistake; and no creature shall know any thing.

Oh Sir, she will know it all to be a meer invented story, a flam, for I have the keys of all the doors, and no body can come in but by my consent.

Oh but you left open the door to night by accident.

Oh no, no, Sir, I shut 'em, and told her I shut 'em; and was more carefull then ord'nary to night, because of his Lord­ships being abroad, and few Servants in the house.

A Pox o [...] the doors—I must go in,—I will go in,—I cannot but go in.

Have you a mind I should be kill'd?—do you thirst after my blood?

I will protect both thy life and honour.

But Sir, you cannot, my Lady will call up all the Foot­men in the house.

Then I will call up one of my seet, and kick 'em all down stairs.

Oh I beseech you,—I intreat you.

Dear creature, I cannot forbear: I am a certain Steed that am us'd to leap in­to [Page 35] other mens grounds; and I must leap, though with a Clog at my foot.

Oh Sir, Sir, let me but go in and settle my countenance, that I may appear as if I knew nothing of the Plot; do but do that for me.

Ay with all my heart, dear Rogue:—I will do any thing that's Reason:—

In what a heat am I! this looks like a trick in this Slut to make me so fierce and ravenous, that like a hungry Lion I shall prey at last on her my keeper.

Now, my dear!

Oh Sir, ruin'd, ruin'd, my Lady has over-heard all our talk, and is ready to fall into fits: I am undone, undone.

Is she in fits?—I am the only man at fits in the world.

Oh Sir, you cannot get to her, she has lock'd her self in her Chamber; and if you offer any violence, she will call out to the Neighbours.

A Pox on her for falling in Love with me, and o' thee for telling me: find out some way of making an Interview be­twixt us, or open wars will break out, and I will march to her Frontiers.

I cannot find out one, though I should break my brain with study.

Then keep thy brain whole, and I will break the door.

Hold Sir, hold Sir, since it must be so, I have thought of one: say after me as loud as she may hear you, for her Cham­ber is but hard by, and we will see what that will do:—Excuse me, Mrs. Andrews, for forcing my self so rudely into your Ladies house.

Excuse me, Mrs. Andrews, for for­cing my self so rudely into your Ladies house.

It is an invincible passion which I have for your Lady.

It is an invincible passion which I have for your Lady.

I must speak with her now my Lord's abroad.

I must speak with her now my Lord's abroad.

If she will ruine her reputation and be obstinate she may.

If she will ruine her reputation and be obstinate she may.

For I dye if I do not see her.

For I dye if I do not see her.

Now let me run and see how this has wrought: I must call to her through the key-hole.

This Jade has heated me till I am all in a foam.

This has done good:—since her Honour would be wholly ruin'd if there should be any hubbub made, to preserve her Honour, my Lady consents to admit you.

Oh sweet Rogue!

Not so fast, Sir; you must swear not to divulge any thing.

Ay, ay, I swear! what else?

I must run and tell her:—

And you must swear not to see her, or call for a light, or draw the windows or Curtains.

I swear, I swear.

I'le run and tell her:—

And you must swear not to talk to her, or at least compell her to talk, to guess who she is by her voice.

I swear I will not give her leisure to talk; I will imploy her tongue otherwise.

And you must swear not to touch her.

Nay then I shall be articl'd out of all: I will keep my past Articles, but I will not make one Article more.

Well then, since it must be so, follow me,—follow me softly;—softly, that none of the Servants may hear.—Hold Sir, to let you see what an extraordinary esteem my Lady [Page 37] has of you, she will trust you with her Honour, and discover the beautiful Empire which your victorious charms have con­quer'd:—See, Sir, this is the wounded Lady.

Christina! am I betray'd? Oh for an art to walk away invisible.

Whither, whither, cruel Sir, are you conveying my fe­licity away, now I have taken such pains to attain it? Oh use not that Empire Nature has given you over poor womens hearts too tyrannically! consider we are poor soft loving things, and a little cruelty will kill us; have pity on a poor Lady that dyes for you, and is forc'd to descend from the modesty of her Sex, to Court you to a minutes conversation, at an hour when the rest of the happy world enjoy some their Loves, some their Re­pose, and all are at ease but poor me.

Jade, you will pay for this:—

Nothing can help me now but impudence:—So, Madam, you think you have put a fine trick on me now, you think you have catch'd me.

I warrant you knew of the plot.

I warrant you think I did not.

Why did you?

Did I! a likely matter that I should not know Isa­bella's voice.

Why thou prodigy of impudence, dar'st thou impose such a falshood as this on me? I believ'd thee against the Re­ports of the whole world, which long since assur'd me of thy baseness; but dost thou think I will believe thee against the testi­mony of my eyes too? know I this minute tear thee out o' my heart, and after this never see me more.

Ha, ha, what shall we jeast till we quarrel?

Madam, Madam, here's your Father a coming; it seems he miss'd you out of your Lodging, and is coming in a great rage to see if you be here.

Ah what will he say if he catch me here? let me be gone, make room, make room.

So, Maid, have I found you out o'doors? go.

Who do you speak to, Sir?

To the corruption of my blood, to the disease of my soul, to the filth of my house, to the putrefaction of my honour; a blot which my Sword should this instant scrape out of being, if the rent could be hid from the eyes of the world, or all the dust of the Grave conceal thee.

Oh heaven!

Speak not, thy voice is more horrid to me then the groans of a Mandrake; thy sight more odious then a Mon­ster; no sence of mine will endure to hold communication with thee.

Hey, hey! all this for an innocent frolick.

For a Frolick! and an innocent Frolick! Oh the in­comprehensible Impudence of the Age! Lewdness is a Frolick, and abomination Innocence! Oh sweet world, how art thou set with thy heels upwards since I knew thee!—Virtue and ho­nesty were Innocence, when I first came into thee; but now fil­thiness is Innocence, and Hell and the Devil a Frolick! Oh that the Gout or a Greenland Frost had seiz'd the fingers of the Destinies, e're they had spun out my thread to such a Frolick­some Age.

Good Sir, why do you disorder your self, and afflict me, with these causeless transports? I know not the sence of your discourse; your language has to me no meaning; they are words never enter'd into my ears before; 'tis all distraction to me.

Oh you are for the substance, and not the Picture in words and phrases:—I'le tell you my meaning more plainly: Then know, Mrs. Innocence, you are naught, you have been naught with Ramble; he own'd it, confess'd it, boasted it to me, to my face, to my throat, with his tongue, with his Sword; he said you had been lewd with him, and that you had been lewd before ever he touch'd you.

Oh—

She swounds, she swounds, help, help!

Let her dye; would she had dy'd in the Cradle, in the womb, that she might never have brought this shame and vexation to me.

She has not, she did not; none can say it, none did say it, none dare say it; or if they did, they lie, Ramble lies, and you lie, and you are all liars, and should an Angel from Heaven say it, I would say he were a liar, and that she has more Inno­cence then he.

You are her procurer, and now will be her main­tainer, will you?—out o'doors.

In this condition!—you are a natural Father.

She's none of my daughter; her whole mass o'blood, her whole body, her whole soul is chang'd.

She is thy honour, thy glory.

Then Infamy follow me henceforward!—Go, I say.

She shall not go, I will defend her whilst I have a nail, or a tooth.

Nay then drag 'em hence; he that

refuses I'le drag to the Devil:—Go, to

Ramble with her,—and after six months iniquity, when his beastly Appetite is gallop'd to his Journeys end, and is tired with whipping and spurring so long in the dirt, then to the Bawdy-houses, and Common shops of Lewdness with her, and so to the Pox and Beggery, and so to Rottenness and the Grave, and so to the Devil;—an admirable Journey,—go.—Now will I with all speed to the Writ-office, and take a Writ to arrest my Lady Faddle in an Action of a Thousand Pound, for breach of Articles: Sir Mannerly was by Covenant to be in Town, and the Marriage to be compleated, four days ago; he is not come, my daughter is debauch'd, my Family dishonour'd, and all by means of their breach of Articles: it is not a Thou­sand Pound can make me Reparation, I will not abate one far­thing of what the Law will give me; and I will also have a pluck with that worthy Gentleman Mr. Ramble, I will try if there be no Law against inveigling young women to lewdness and naughtiness: 'tis more then break of day; I'le go get the [Page 40] Writ and Bailiffs, and see it serv'd my self in person, before she is up, my Bummers shall have her in bed.

SCENE, Lord Drybone's House.

Get my Coach ready, quickly.

How now, what rumbling's that?—Sis.

My Lord.

What's the rumbling within?

Nothing, my Lord, but my Ladie's packing up her things to be gone, as you warn'd her last night.

I had forgot it; is she so capricious with me? I'le stay her, if it be but to cross her.

Sirrah, set down the Trunk.

Sirrah, carry down the Trunk.

Sirrah, set it down, or I'le kick you down stairs.

Sirrah, carry it down, or I'le break your neck down stairs.

Sirrah, stay a while, or I'le run my Sword into you:—since you are so humoursome, Gentlewoman, take your choice, your Trunks shall go and you shall stay, or you shall go and your Trunks shall stay: if I have not paid dear enough for you to have you be mine, I am sure I have bought and paid enough for all that is in the Trunks, to dispose of them.

Well, and I think I have paid dear enough for those things, in enduring all your cross jealous peevish humours.

What jealous humours? I love you too well, that's my fault.

Yes, indeed you love me very well, not to let me [Page 41] breathe so much as a mouthfull of fresh air once in a month, and at home not to injoy an hour of quiet.

Yes indeed, I should do wisely to let you take the fresh air, as you call it; you never go to a Play, but you fall in Love with some young fellow; you never go to Hide-Park, but you are enamour'd with some rich gilt Coach; you never go to the Exchange, but you have a violent passion for some rich Point of fourty or fifty pounds value; that the Air is a dear Element to me: your fresh Air costs me all my Earth almost.

I fall in Love with some young fellow! I deny your words, I defie you or any one in England to prove the least falshood in me to you, since I have known you: and for the gilt Coaches and Points, I have no more then what is conveni­ent and necessary; I am sure other women cost other men twice as much as I cost you: here are some that I can name, come to visit me in a morning sometimes with the richest Points, and the gloriousest Petticoats, would dazle ones eyes to see 'em: I am sure the faces of some of 'em, had need of 'em; their beauties are like those of a Peacock, all in their shining tails.

Well, there's none of 'em all should outshine you, if you would be good-humour'd.

I do not know what you call good-humour'd; if I had not the patience of a Saint, I am sure I could not bear with your humours.

Well, well, say no more, I hate this wrangling: have you any business at the Exchange this morning? I am send­ing George thither.

No, not I.

Prithee give over these frumps, and fooleries; now I think on't, that Point you was offer'd for fourty pound was a good penniworth, I'le send for it.

You may and you will, but I'le ha' none on't.

Shall he call at the Jewelers as he goes by, for the Locket you had a mind to.

What you will: not for me.

And well remembred, I will make him bring Mr. Draw-well the Limner along with him; I take it ill of him, he [Page] has promis'd me to come any time this fortnight, and put me off from time to time, and yesterday he promis'd to be here this morning: I will make him come and draw thee in these frumpish humours, that thou mayst see how ill they be­come thee.

He may come if he will, but I won't sit.

Nor have any occasion for the Point, or the Jewels.

No.

Then George may spare his labour:—well, good morrow.

Good morrow.

Well, the duce take you, what ails me to be so fond of nine and fifty? what have you done to bewitch me?

Ah Cokes!

You have given me some Love potion, I am sure.

Yes, yes, Assa-fotida,—and Garlick.

Confess, confess,—I could never be thus fond thus—

Ah—

Blind! I am perfectly blind! I don't see a wrinkle; you appear a very Boy to me, a very Cupid.

Oh thou notorious wheedling slut, shall I still put up such impudent abuses as these?

Yes, and be glad of 'em too.

Well, Age is an abominable thing, it makes one pay dearer for the Lees, the dregs, the Vinegar of Love, then Youth does for the sweetest, briskest Juice of the Grape: Well hussey, George shall go:—I will pay the Tax you lay upon me; but 'tis hard a man should pay such devilish high Chimney­money, and never have any fire.

That's none of my fault, I am sure I blow oft enough.

SCENE, The Street.

Well, did one ever see the like? what a brave place is this London? it is, as the Song says, the finest City-Town that ever I saw in my life.

Oh 'tis a brave place!—'tis not a City, 'tis a great Country, all o' houses.—

It is, as the Poet says, the habitation of the Gods, Hominumque Deumque.

What is that numque umque, an't like your worship?

Hominumque Deumque, Deumque for Deorumque, that is, of Gods and men.

I never heard London call'd numque dumque before: 'tis a brave thing to be a Schollard; how chance your worship never came to numque dumque till now, but live in the Country all this while?

Thou talk'st like an Ignoramus; but I shall not trou­ble my self to instruct thee:—Well, if I had known what a Gentile, what a Gallant place London was, my honourable Fa­ther should not have stay'd me in the Country, though he would have married me to the finest Gentlewoman all round about, given me his Mannor-house, his Park, his Fox-dogs, and the best Hunting-Nags in the Stable: neither Dogs nor Nags, no nor my Lady Mother, should have perswaded me to stay.

Both his and her worship were too blame, an't like your worship, for staying your worship.

For that trick as soon as ever I have married the fine Gentlewoman I come to Town to marry, for she is but a Gen­tlewoman till I have married her, and then she is a Lady; I say, as soon as ever I have married her, I'le stay here as long as I live, and never go into the Country again.

I thought your worship said you would go into the Country to sell Lubbertown Woods.

Yes, I do intend to go into the Country for that; but I'le stay here as long as I live.

What a brave life shall we live here in this brave place, where all the houses are as big as your worships Mannor, and all over nothing but folks!

Ay, and all Gentlefolks!—and the civil'st Gentle­folks that ever I saw in my life: I no sooner came into Town, and ask'd for an Inne, but an ancient grave Gentleman, that I am sure must be an Officer in the Militia, Mayor of some Town, or a Knight, for he had a long great linen Scarf ty'd over cross his shoulders, by that I thought him a Major, or a Colonel in the Militia; but he had over that a great Silver Chain, like our Mayors Chain, by that he should be the Mayor of some Town.

May be he is Mayor of a part of this City, an't like your worship, for this is too big to have but one Mayor.

Ay, but then he had on his breast a great round Silver thing, as big as the bottom of our great Silver Sugar­dish, with his Coat of Arms upon it, by that he should be some London Knight:—but one of these three I am sure he must be; and of his own accord he came to my very horse-side, shew'd me an Inne, and held my Stirrup in spight of my teeth whilst I lighted; I never saw such a civil person since I was born:—he made me so asham'd, that all I could say was to intreat him to do me the honour to accept of a poor Supper with me at my Inne: and Anthony Boody, do you see to find him.

I spoke to his worship, and he promis'd he would come without fail.

See that the Mutton-broath have white-bread Sip­pets in it, and all things be order'd handsome, as our Cook-Maid us'd.

I shall, an't like your worship.

But this was not all: I had no sooner taken my leave of the ancient Gentleman, and gone to the Street-gate, but a Coach-man of his own accord came and civilly tender'd me a Coach to carry me.

The Horses were something lean, an't like your wor­ship.

I suppose 'tis some Complementing-Coach kept o' [Page 45] purpose to Complement Strangers; and abundance of Strangers coming to Town, the Horses might be worn out with much Complementing: for I perceive it is the custom here to Com­plement Strangers so; for I had no sooner thank'd the Coach­man, given him something for his civility, and presented my ser­vice to his Master, but at least half a dozen more Complementing Coaches came up to me as hard as they could drive, to proffer their services.

I believe the Gentry has been told how ready your worship is at any time to lend your best Team to any Neigh­bour.

No, no, I saw 'em do the same to twenty more as well as my self:—well, 'tis the civil'st place that ever I came in days of my birth: for I'le tell thee more, Booby, after I had gone a little way in a great broad Street, I turn'd into a Tavern, hard by a place they call a Park; and just as our Park is all Trees, that Park is all Houses, you cannot see so far as you can spit:—and I ask'd if they had any Deer in it; and they told me, Yes, but not half so many as they us'd to have; they us'd to have the best Deer in all the Town, and scarce a Venison Pasty was formerly made, that had not the Venison out of their Park: But they said the Park was now quite spoil'd, and the best Deer were all gone to the other end of the Town, and those that stay'd were poor Rascal Deer, not worth baking.

I don't wonder they are poor, an't like your worship, for I did not see a bit of Grass, except some sprinklings among the Stones, and a little mouthfull here and there on the tops of houses.

I warrant the Deer here a kind of Goats, and climb on houses to brouse: I had a great mind to tast 'em, and spoke for a Pasty; and they told me the strangest thing, they said their Rooms were full of cold Pasties, so big two people might sleep in one; and that if I had a mind to a Doe, they would put me in a Pasty, and put a Doe to me.

Oh strange! and did your worship go into a Pasty!

No, I'le tell you what happen'd: just as I ask'd for the Doe, in comes a couple of young Gentlewomen, the hand­somest, [Page 46] finest Gentlewomen that ever I beheld, Mrs. Anne Lack­wit the great Beauty of Lubbertown is nothing to 'em; and they were all over Lace, and had the finest, reddest Cheeks and Lips, that ever I saw: no ripe Cherry is so red; they were so red, that the blood came off the very out-side of their Lips, and as I kiss'd 'em left a redness on mine.

Is't possible! I warrant your worship kiss'd 'em too hard, you made their teeth bleed, and that was the business.

No, no, it was the very blood of their Lips, that was dry'd on.

Well, I never saw the like!

No, nor I neither; for I had no sooner saluted 'em, to shew my breeding, but they of their own accord took me about the neck, and kiss'd me as if they had been my Sisters, or as if they had known me these twenty years, that I fell so in Love with them, that i' my conscience if I had not been ingag'd already, I had married the handsomest of 'em before I came away.

Is't possible! but did not your worship ask for the great Pasty.

I should ask for victuals before Gentlewomen, should I? that were fine breeding: No, but they of their own accord were so civil as to invite me up stairs to a Pasty; and just as I was going up with them, I chanc'd to put my hands in my pockets, and as if the Devil had been there, my mo­ney was all flown out of my pocket, I know not how, nor whither.

Flown out of your worships pocket!

I, flown out o' my pocket.

What of it self!

I, of it self.

And no body to help it!

There was no body near to help it.

What all!

Sir Man All but one Six-pence, that was in a corner of my pocket.

There must be witchcraft in this, and if I was your wor­ship I would make that Six-pence find out all the rest.

How like a fool thou talk'st; how can that Six-pence find it out, when I could not find it my self, though I look'd up and down in every corner oth' house; nay the Gen­tlewomen were so very civil as to help me, nay would have come out to help me look it in the Streets, if I would have let them.

Well, this was old Goody Wrinkle-noses doings, that lives on the side of your worships Woods by Lubbertown; if I were your worship I would write down into the Country, and have her hang'd.

Nay I am sure it was the Devil, for I remember as the Gentlewomen were kissing me, I felt a thing scratch in my pocket just like a Rat.

Nay then it was Goody Wrinkle-nose, and the Devil has brought her to Town before us: if I were your worship I would make her an example.

Nay I do intend to trounce her, for this is demon­stration:—Well, but now what shall I do to find my Aunt, my Lady Faddle, for I have lost my directions; all I can remember is, that she lives in a place they call the Pall-Mall: and the Pall-Mall I find, but cannot find my Aunts house: and she is to help me to find out my Baronet Father-in-Law, Sir Thomas Rash; where I shall find his daughter Mrs. Christina, whom I am bound in a Bond of a Thousand Pounds, with my Aunt my Lady Faddle, to marry four days ago: and my Lady Aunt writ me word, that my Baronet Father-in-Law was very angry for my not coming; and if I did not marry Mrs. Christina, and come up to day, he would take the forfeiture of the Bond.

See, an't like your worship, here comes the ancient Gen­tleman that you invited to Supper, that held your Horse; if he be Mayor of any part of the Town, as he looks to be, it may be he can tell whereabout your Lady Aunt lives.

Bud, here are the Complementing people, let me get away from them.

Hold, worthy Sir; noble Sir, I do not know how [Page] to return the great favours and honours you were pleas'd to confer on me, who am but a Peregrine: I commanded my man Booby to intreat you to accept of a small Supper with me, not as a return, for I know you have a better Supper at home, but as it were to shew how much I am oblig'd for all your Noble fa­vours: Now, worthy Sir, I make bold to request you to adde one favour more to all your past favours, to acquaint me if you have any acquaintance with a Lady and Aunt of mine, by name Lady Faddle.

Well, I have ply'd here these fourty years, and never met with such an odd sort of a Blade in my life:—who is it you ask for?

An Aunt of his worships, one Lady Faddle.

I do not know her, Master, I cannot direct you.

This is strange, that no body can tell where my Lady Aunt should be.

I think in my conscience, an't like your worship, I have asked above a hundred folks for her, and not one knows where she should be; no nor so much as knows her worship: nay I ask'd all about the Neighbourhood, and the very Neighbour­hood did not so much as know her worship.

You must not think you are in the Country: People do not know one another here, that live in the same Street, nay in the same House, nay sometimes that lie in the same Bed to­gether.

Hey day! why I know all the Gentry round me in the Country, for above Twenty mile.

Ay, but 'tis not so here.

How do they do not to know one another? do they do it on purpose?

People never mind one another here, unless they have business together; but let them go as they come, and come as they go.

Hey day! why I know all the Dogs and Horses in the Country that are eminent, whether I have any business with them or no.

Ay, but you may be a Dog, or a Horse, or a Man here, no body will mind you, unless they have some concern or other with you.

Hey day, I never heard the like!

Nor I in my life.

Then if I ask a thousand people for my Lady Aunt, there's no body knows her.

You may ask ten thousand before you meet with one that knows her.

Hey day! then I shall forfeit my Bond, for. I shall not find her to help me to find Mrs. Christina, before the Sun is set; what shall I do?

Your worship can prove you were come to Town, and so if you cannot find 'em, the fault is none of your worships.

Ay, but I did not think I could not find 'em, and so there is no such clause in the Bond; for I am bound to marry Mrs. Christina whether I can find her or no.

Then I'le tell you what your worship shall do; send for a Vicar, and say over your worships part, and then you can prove you have done all that belongs to your worship.

I swear that's very well thought of; for now I think on't, I seal'd and deliver'd the Bond in the Country to my Ba­ronet Father-in-law's use, without his being present, or ever see­ing of him in my life: so I will send for a Parson, and marry my self to one of you two, for Mrs. Christina's use, and this will be as good in Law as if she were present.

Right; for if the Marriage be not good, then how is the Bond, since they are both made after the same manner?

Right.

Do these men Jest, or are they as errant Fools as they seem? I believe they are Fools; for I never heard such a deal of simple stuff and complementing, as I have had with them to day, since I was born.

I swear this was the best thing that ever was thought on: now do not I care whether I find my Aunt or no.

This old Gentleman's worship having been with you ever since your coming to Town, your worship had best ask his wor­ship to be a witness, and see you married to me.

I can have no better witness, for he can prove all: Noble and obliging Sir,—

Now he falls a Complementing again: I wonder he stayd so long from it: I would the Devil had his Complements, he has made my head ake:—Hold, hold, Master, spare me for Heaven's sake; I remember my Lady Faddle, she once sent me of an Errand; your Complements buzzl'd me, and put it out of my head: I know where she lives, I'le lead you to her house.

Oh Sir, what favours do you confer upon me!—But Sir, you shall not go a' foot; Booby, fetch my horses.

Horses! my feet are my Pad-nags.

Oh Sir, you will swell your high obligations to such a—

Swell my thighs with hobbling! no, no, hobbling is my Trade.

Well, to Cumberland commend me for Gentility, But to London for good Breeding and Civility.

SCENE I. The Street.

LOok you, Sir? you are now at the door?

Oh Sir, why do you condescend to give your self the trouble of knocking.

Is my Lady Faddle within?

Who would speak with her?

Her Nephews-Worship, Sir Mannerly Shallow and I, are come to Town, tell her.

Presume to speak before me? where's your Man­ners? Sir, I am her humble Servant, Nephew, and Baronet, Sir Mannerly Shallow.

Oh dear Sir? are you Sir Mannerly Shallow? my Lady expected you this morning early; she will be mighty glad you are come: she is within, please to walk in, Sir, whilst I run in, and acquaint her of your coming?

This is good luck? Noble Sir, I beseech you, ho­nour me so far, as to walk in with me.

Oh Master what do you mean?

I beseech you, Sir.

Come, pray your Worship, walk in.

What do these People mean?

Nay, but Sir, I am to be married to night, and I swear I will not Marry, if you will not Grace my Nuptials with your Presence; therefore, Sir, if your affairs call you away now, yet promise me, on your Honour, that the joys of my Marriage, shall be increas'd with the happiness of your company; your Presence will be the Principal Dish at my Feast.

He means to dish me up, well Master, if you want any body to wait, and go of Errands, Ile promise you Ile come.

Your most humble Servant, I will not rest, till I requite your Civilities.

What odd kind of contriv'd Men are these.

Booby, Do you carry your self well now, before my Lady Aunt, and do not disparage me, observe what I do, and then you'll do finely.

My Nephew come? this is good news, where is he? introduce him speedily.

Sweet Nephew:

Honourable Aunt! The extream Joys and Feli­cities of your Society, which a long Parenthesis of time has interrupted, but now Time, as it were penitent—

Why dost not salute me, Nephew?

Yes Madam, as soon as ever I have done my Com­pliments.

Oh, thou shouldst salute the first thing thou dost.

Yes Madam, but a Salute being a kind of a Pre­sent, or rather Tribute to a Lady, and as one would not pre­sent an empty Purse for Tribute to a Princess, so neither an empty Mouth to a Lady, but as full of Rich and Golden Com­pliments, as it could hold.

This is witty to extremity, I swear; Salute me, that I may be at leisure to praise thee.

Your most Humble Servant, Aunt.

Your Worships most Humble Servant.

How now Saucebox, kiss my Aunt?

Did not your Worship bid me observe what you did?

Did I bid you kiss Ladies of quality?

What rude fellow's this?

Forgive him Aunt—'tis his want of breeding.

Well, Bridget.

Madam?

Bid John run with all speed, to Sir Thomas Rash; and acquaint him my Nephew is come, and run to my Milleners, for my Gloves, and Essences, and run to the Exchange, and run to my Coach-makers for my new Harness, and run for my new Towre, and run—

I shall run, Madam, to bid him run, or otherwise the poor fellow will be made to run all over the Town.

Well Nephew, thou wilt enjoy to night, a delicate Lady, I have so exalted thee to her, with exuberant praises, that it will require a great expence of Wit and Breeding, to maintain the Glorious Character I have given thee: Come, give me an account how thou hast spent thy time? how hast thou improv'd those Documents, and Rudiments of good Breeding, which I instill'd into thee.—

Oh Madam, I have improv'd every Document, not a slip of a Rudiment your Ladiship Set, but is grown up to a Flower. Indeed, my Father did all he could to spoil me; he would let me read nothing in his life-time, but Law-Books, Cook upon Littleton, and Books of Reports, and Judges Reports, and I read Reports and Reports so long, till it was reported I was a Fool.

Ay, but your Worship now reads Comedy Books, and Prodigy Books.

Tragedy Books thou meanst, ay, and Songs, and Verses, and Drolleries, Covent-Garden Drollery, Westminster Drollery, and Windsor Drollery.

Very well, This is as to the accomplishment of the Mind; but now to the External Ornaments of the Body, as Dancing, Singing.

Oh, I have had Dancing-Masters, Fencing-Ma­sters, and Singing-Masters.

Ay, those Masters must make thee fit to be a Ser­vant to Lady's.

I can Dance Corantoes and Jiggs, and Sarabands.

And Hornpipes.

Canst thou Rise well?

In a morning, Madam.

His Worship gets up by break of day.

No, Rise high in Dancing, if you will rise high in Ladies favours here, you must rise high in Dancing, that is to say, Dance loftily.

Oh, I can Dance very loftily.

The countrey says, his worship carries himself too loftily.

Make an Essay of a lofty Dance.

[Page 52] Very Graceful, I swear, and very lofty.

Oh; his Worship will jump like any Jack-Daw, that has but one wing cut.

Jack-Daw, firrah? don't you make such saucy comparisons.

Well Nephew, thou wilt kill a great many Ladies this Winter, those Heels will advance thee, thou wilt jump into Preferment; I see a witty Man is good for any thing; one would wonder thou shouldst jump so high, with such a weighty Brain in thy Head.

As heavy as a Pail of Milk.

Thou art ingenious at both ends, both thy Head and thy Heels; its rare for one to be witty, more than at one end; well Nephew, thou wilt dance away all thy Countrey Elesh this Winter; thy Heels will be invited to shew their parts to Dance, in every fine Entry, in the Masques and Plays, and—

Why do they Dance in Entries here? we Dance in the Countrey in our Halls and Dining Rooms, because the Entries are too narrow:

Oh fy, thou dost not understand the terms of thy own Art yet; to Dance in an Entry, that is to say, in an Entry, an Entry of any thing—

Of Freestone or Brick?

Your Worship's are all Free-Stone.

No, no, fy fy, expert in the Science, and igno­rant in the Terms, in an Entry of Shepherds or Gods, and Goddesses.

I can Dance in any Entry in England.

Strange, that thou shouldst not apprehend me; but to let that pass—well, but how is thy singing?

Oh, his Worship out-sings all our Parish, at Church, the Clark is asham'd to set the Psalm before him.

Sing a Psalm, I have sung my part in a Recitattivo (as they call it) I had a Recitattivo acted at my own House: and I acted in it, and sung, I was London, or Augusta, and I had a high crown'd Hat, to signify Pauls Steeple, and I had one acted the River Thames I had a great Nose made on purpose to signi­fy London Bridge, and the River Thames swom under my Nose, I have my Nose in my Portmantua, if I had it on, you should see Booby, and I would Act.

Then thou canst Act Nephew.

And so can I too.

Oh, I have all the new Comedy Books, and Tra­gedy Books, sent me, as fast as ever they are made; oh, I love them that huffe the gods, they make no more of a god, then we do of a Constable.

Your Worship and I acted a Tragedy Book, you know.

Yes, and I was an Hero, and I remember two of the bravest lines.

There's ramping for you.

Saucy Jove, that's very great, that took mightily here.

Oh that Rumm-Dumm, Derry Dumm, oh, but the two Knocking Verses, an't like your Worship.

Oh, ay, you must know, my Part, Aunt, was to beat an Army, and so when I had beaten an Army, and two Armies more that came to their relief, and won four King­doms in three hours; I cry'd, Let me see, it's a little out of my Head; I cry'd, Ile, Ile, Booby, thou canst think of it.

O yes, an't like your Worship, I can remember it per­fectly, Ile, Ile, Mackings, I ha forgot it, I ha dropt it upon the Road somewhere.

What a Noddle hast thou, thou actedst with me.

Ay, but your Worship kill'd me, before you spoke the Speech: the Butler, the Ploughman, and I, was the Ar­my.

I did not kill thee in earnest did I? Let me see, Ile.

Oh, now I remember, single, it begins with single—

Oh but the next is the bravest.

Oh, they have a brave ingenious way of Writing now.

Oh, but then the fine tender things that would make one cry, you must know, Aunt, my Part, was to be in Love with my Dary-Maid, and her name was Celemena, and mine was Philaster, and I cry'd.

And she cry'd

Very natural and soft.

Oh, the Dary-Maid is very soft.

Oh, but then the two next are tender,—I cry'd,

And she cry'd,

Very Tender.

Oh, Mary is a very tender good natur'd Maid.

Tender as an over-boil'd Chick.

Very wittily comparison'd, the Sence is ready to drop in pieces, 'tis very fit for Womens weak Stomachs.

Oh, but when my Maid and I came to dy, I don't know why we were to dye, but we dy'd mighty mournfully, and then I having learnt to sing, I groan'd so Musically, I dy'd in effaut flat, Oh, cry'd I!

Oh, that was sweet.

Oh, but then the Similies, I love the Similies dear­ly, to see two Heroes, or two Armies go to it as formerly, with Sword and Buckler, so now with Sword and Simile, Simele and Sword; Hack-slash, Slash-hack, for you must know, a Simile serves instead of a Buckler, for if a Man be ready to strike another, if t'other up's with a Simile, he can't strike till the Simile's gone.

Oh, they have a fine way.

Ay, and then they have such plenty of Similies you shall have a Play stuck as full of Similies, as a Countrey Garden, of Flowers, you may gather Posies o'Similies.

Wittily said again, stuck full o'Similes, and Poesies of Similies: I swear, thy Head is as full of Similies, as the Plays are.

Oh Sir, a witty man's Head is a Similies Bed, and breeds Similies as fast as an Oysterbed breeds Oysters.

Witty again, he has strange parts.

And then they have the finest odd, out of the way Similies, Similies that are most commonly no Similies at all, as now, speaking of a Ladies bright Eyes, says one,

There's a fine comparison, to compare a Ladies Eye to a Horse.

Ay, and Nimble is a fine odd, out of the way, Epi­thete for Glories, Nimble Glories. Well, dear Chuck, how camest thou by all this admirable, and, as I may say, Nimble Knowledge.

You must know, I had a couple of gallant Gen­tile Blades lay at my House, that were Great Men in London, here they are call'd Critwiques, and they taught me the finest things.

Oh, the Critiques are Great Men indeed, they make Poets as fraid of them, as a Lion is of a Cock.

Some say, that is not at all.

An old Lion, it may be, is not, nor an old Poet, of a Critique, but your new Poets are so afraid of them, that if a Critique Crows, they are ready to faint away.

Is't possible? could not one buy a Criticks Place?

Pray your Worship do, and let me be your Clark.

Buy, alass thou mayst Judge and Critick for thy half Crown, as much as thou wilt.

That's a pittiful Place, if one can buy it for half a Crown.

Oh, but the Clark may get Money though.

'Tis not Money, but Wit makes a Man a Critique.

Then I am a Critique already.

Oh brave, then I am a Clark?

Well, dear Flesh and Bloud o'mine, let me im­brace thee, that I may say, I have my Arm full of Wit, thou art a Bridgroom for a Princess; how wilt thou honour my Education? well, hast thou brought up any Clothes to be Mar­ried in?

My Portmantle full.

Go and adorn thy self with all speed, whilst I pre­pare for the same affair, for I am to be Married, as well as thy self.

Is't possible?

Andrew, Madam, has been at Sir Thomas Rash's, and can hear no tidings, neither of Sir Thomas, nor Madam Christina; Madam Christina lay out all night, and is not come home since; Sir Thomas is gone somewhere in a great combustion, and the Servants can give no account of either of 'em.

That's strange, oh, Ile warrant you, they'l be heard on, Nephew, go and dress thy self, mean while Ile step to the Exchange, for some things I want, and after that, Ile go over and invite Betty Frisque to my Wedding, I have much kind­ness for that poor Creature.

So you see, Madam.

I bring to Town, a Mind, and Wit in fashion,

And doubt not but to grace your Education.

Into what a villanous Trap am I fall'n, dull Rogue that I was, not to know Isabella's voice, where were my Ears, my Sences? they were all in my Pocket, I was tickled with my ravishing expectations, into a perfect numness to death, now am I discover'd in all my Rogueries, and Intrigues, and Falshoods; and must never hope to enjoy the sweet pleasure of Lying and Forswearing any more; I must now either re­pent, and become a down right plodding Lover to Christina, or in plain terms lose her: I must either forsake all the World for her, or her for all the World: well, if I do forsake her, she has this to boast, I do not forsake her for any one Woman, I forsake her for Ten thousand. But what do I talk of for­saking her, will not she forsake me, after this discovery? and besides her own Anger, will not Sir Thomas compell her? for he is horribly provok'd against me, what ever the matter is. Well, I cannot bear the loss of Mrs. Christina, I had rather en­dure Marriage with her, than injoy any other Woman at plea­sure—I must, and wil [...] Repent, and Reform, and now should an Angel appear in Female shape, he should not tempt me to revolt any mor [...].

Oh Merry I am ruin'd

O [...], Sir, you are a happy Man, I have not time to ask [Page 57] you the success of your last Adventure, I am so transported with the pleasure of the Present; cannot you Limne, Sir?

Limne, what dost thou mean?

Why Limne, Sir, draw Pictures in little.

I, draw Pictures?

Yes, Sir you can, Sir.

But I cannot, Sir.

But you can, Sir; you can Limne, and you must Limne, and you shall Limne, Sir. Coming along by Charing-Cross, who should it be my fortune to meet with, but Mr. Draw-well the Limner, going in all haste to my Lord Dry-bones, to draw Mrs. Frisques Picture—and what comes into my Head, Sir, but to beg of him to write an Apology for not coming, and send you with it, to perform the Work in his stead; and to prevail with him, I promised him the gain of the Picture, with­out the trouble.

Thou hast undone me, seduc'd me from the ways of Virtue and Constancy. Just as I was entring into 'em, I am not able to resist the temptation of this Plot, but how shall I manage it? for I can no more make the Picture of a Face, than I can make a Face; I have not so much skill, as a Man may learn out of The Compleat Gentleman, and other elaborate Pieces that teach that Faculty.

No, Sir, Did not I hear you the other day in a Mer­cers Shop, promise his Wife her Picture, in the Presence of se­veral Ladies, and the Good Man scrap'd you many Legs, to express his extraordinary Sence of so great a favour, and said, he would wait upon you, with his Wife, at your Cham­ber.

Thou sayst right, glowing with extream appetite to her, my Tongue and Brain over-heated with Motion, in the Stream and Whirlpool of thought and babble, I very im­pudently invited her to sit to me for her Picture, and the fool­ish Cuckold her Husband did accordingly bring her, and leave her with me; where, when I had squeez'd his Orange, I gave him the Rin'd again; and requited him with the shadow of it, Drawn by one that could perform it.

Can you not draw then, Sir, what shall we do? our Plot is spoil'd.

Not at all, Sir, I can Draw well enough for my pur­pose, by this Plot, I may Draw her, as I did the Mercers Wife, that is, I may Draw her to my Chamber, that's enough.

That's very well thought on, and to continue the quibble, this Plot will give you a colour to visit her.

Well quibled again, where's the Apology, is that as witty.

A good honest, plain Countrey Apology.

Come along Merry, thou must help in this business; well, I must turn thee away, before thy wicked Councils have undone me.

Indeed Sir, it is ill done of me, but it is done out of pure pity, like a good Natur'd Nurse, that cannot forbear gi­ving a Feavorish Creature, that is ready to dye of Thirst, what Drink they crave; I cannot for my life, hear you groan aft era Wench, night and day, so pittifully, and not help you.

Go, go, Hussey, you are an unkind naughty Girl, to make me pay thus dear for every smile and smirk I get from you; I dare safely say, not a dimple you make, when you smile, that does not cost me, one with another, Forty pound a Dimple.

'Tis your own fault, my dear Lord, you will be chi­ding o' one, and quarrelling with one.

Chiding o' one, and quarrelling with one; ay, and I had better quarrel on, I am a fool to buy Peace so dear, con­sidering what a poor Trade I have, and how little I get by it.

People that cannot barter Commodity for Commo­dity, must send Money in specie, you know they do it all the World over.

But that's a very ruinous Trade, one had better War with such a Countrey, and forbid all traffique with it, my dear Frisky.

Ay, if one can live without it, my dear Lord, you.

Come, no more of this, prepare to sit, Mr. Draw-well's a coming, I am glad you like your Point, and Jewel, it puts you in good humour, and makes you the fitter to sit.

There's one below from Mr. Draw-well, desires to speak with your Lordship.

How, has he fail'd me again? what an unworthy fellow it is, he shall never draw it now, though he will do it for nothing.

May be he has not fail'd you, my Lord, send for the Man up, and know his Message.

Let the Man come up:

These sort of Fellows, if they grow any thing famous, they grow so saucy with it, that they are not to be indured.

I come from Mr. Draw-well, my Lord—he sends this Letter by me to your Lordship.

This Gentleman come to Draw my Picture? I know him, I love him for this Piece of Ingenuity, I swear.

Sir, this is a great favour, indeed, I will aslure you, Sir, I take it for a great Honor, see, Sir, This is the Person whom I recommend to your skill

I receive this favour, with a great deal of satisfaction, this is an honour beyond expectation, I could not hope for such an Illustrious Limner.

If I had no skill at all, so beautiful a Person would in­spire me.

Oh Sir, I rather need all the Favour your Pencil can afford; your excellent Skill must hide the faults and defects of Nature.

Nature, Madam, has not committed one, the Pencil must for ever despair of.

Come, enough of this, if you please, Sir, let alone these Compliments, and to your business, this is not at all to the purpose.

If pour Pencil, Sir, flatters, as much as your Tongue, the Picture you will draw, will not at all resemble me.

Heaven that made the Original, has taken away all means of Flattery.

Heaven that made?—

I say, I will have no more Compliments, come, Sir, if you please, begin your Work.

I am ready.

Where shall I place my self, Sir.

Here Madam, this place receives the Light, best of any we shall find.

Do I sit right?

Indifferent, Madam, a little more upright, if you please, a little more this way, your Body turn'd thus, lift up your Head, that the Beauty of your Neck may appear—your Breast bare, thus—

very well, a little more—more yet—

What a Pudder is here? I do not like all this, can­not you sit as you should.

This is all new to me, I never sate before, 'tis the Gen­tlemans business to place me, let him set me how he will.

You sit admirable well, Madam, keep your self thus.

So, Sir, pray to your Seat.

A little more towards me, Madam? your Eye's al­ways on me, I beseech you, Madam, your Looks fixt to me.

Now, Sir, pray do not flatter me, I am none of those Women, who, if Pictures be but handsome, they care not whether they be like or no; one fine handsom Picture might serve 'em all, for all demand the same things, fine Features, and delicate Complexion; for my part, I desire no Charity at all, let my Picture be but like, and I desire no more.

You are so rich in Beauty, that the Pencil can add nothing to you, it may possibly detract, it cannot flatter; ah, what sweetness is there? what Charms, I undertake a bold Work, to represent those Perfections.

I remember a story of Apelles, Apelles once drew the Picture of a Mistriss of Alexander the Great, and as he was Painting her, [Page 61] fell so passionately in Love with her, that he was ready to dye Alexander, out of pure Generosity, bestowed her upon him; I could not do as Apelles did, but ay, my Lord, I am afraid your Lordship will not prove an Alexander the Great.

Come, Sir, I pray proceed in your Painting, we have neither of us any business with Alexander the Great, that I know of.

If Alexander the Great were by, he should not hin­der me from saying, I never saw any thing so charming, so—

Sir, in plain terms, you talk too much, in my opi­nion, and do not at all mind your Pencil.

My Lord, on the contrary, I discourse out of regard to my Pencil? to quicken the Spirits, and put a Briskness and Gaiety in the Face.

How now, what would this fellow have? who let him in without my acquaintance?

I beg your Lordships pardon for my rude pressing in, I am unknown to your Lordship, but I have business of extraordinary concern, to your Lordship, which I must ac­quaint you of, with all speed.

Business of extraordinary concern to me, what is it?

I must impart it to your Lordship in private.

We are private enough here, I wont go out of the Room, for I don't like this Picture-Drawer.

Look you my Lord; ay, this

is it, no; this is not it; ay, this is it, no, no, ay, now I come to it.

I would thou wert come to it once.

Oh, charming Creature, if you have any pity in your Soul, save the life of a poor languishing Lover, that has been dying for you these two moneths, I have expressed my Love to you by Signs, and you have regarded them, and now I have studied this way, to tell you in more intelligible man­ner; how much I Love, Admire, Adore you, above all the Creatures of the World above all I can express, and shall, as [Page 62] long as I live; but that life will not exceed this minute, if you put me not instantly out of dispair.

I know you, Sir, I have observ'd you, (I confess) and do further acknowledge, your Love is not unpleasing to me, but it is impossible for me to give you any satisfaction.

If you say the word, it is, and shall be possible, nay, it shall be impossible to hinder it.

But, Sir, I am a close Prisoner: and cannot stir out to save my own life, and much less yours.

Now you speak unkindly for I have seen you abroad.

It may be so, but like a Prisoner in the Kings Bench, never without my Keeper.

You can shake off your Keeper, if you please.

My Lord and I now, are upon pretty good terms; where do you lodge?

At the Braziers in the Mall.

Be within about Two in the afternoon.

Divine Creature.

But hope for nothing but a Visit, for there will be more words to a bargain, than these; I will have a farther try­al of Love, and I will have a better Love, than perhaps you intend.

Oh, Heavenly Creature, you shall have as much as you can hold.

How now Mr. Painter, what are you doing there?

Is this a Mole, Madam, or a litle speck of Dirt.

A Mole, Madam, I Gad, this same Picture-Drawer.

Now my Lord, if the Conveighances be Drawn thus.

Prethee ha done with thy Conveighances, for I do not understand one word thou sayst.

No my Lord, look you, I'll make it plain.

Well, if thou makest it never so plain, what is all this to me?

Not to you, my Lord, why are not you my Lord Buck?

No, nor my Lord Doe neither.

What a Raskal was the Porter, to tell me, this wa [...] the Lord Bucks.

What a Raskal was you, sirrah, to come to troubl [...]

Begone, my Lord's jealous.

and grows into Choller; if he grows out of humour, our Plot's spoil'd.

Well Madam, enough for once.

Yes Sir, and too much.

To morrow I will wait on you again.

I shall desire your Pardon, you have done enough, too much at this time, to come here any more.

How, no more; what shall he not finish my Picture?

You mean my Picture, 'tis you that sit, but 'tis my Picture that must be Drawn, and in an ugly shape too.

How now, what is this noise, fye, my Lord Dry­bone, out upon thee, wilt thou never let this poor Creature have any rest; I swear, I wonder she will live with thee; what's the matter, Frisky?

Here's a noble Gentleman, has done me the honor to begin my Picture, and my Lord turns him away uncivilly, and won't let him compleat his Work.

I know what Work you would have him compleat; stay, let me see; I will make an experiment, shew me your Work before you go, let me see how I like it.

Alass, my Lord, at present it is but rude, you can see nothing; four days hence, something will appear.

Let me see it as it is, Sir;

what a Devil of a Face is this?

Alass, it is but—but—a Pox on me for not looking on some Book, to get the terms—

it is but departed Colours.

Departed Colours, what are those? dead Colours, you would say, I believe.

Ay, dead Colours, the other is a term Gentlemen use.

Ay, such a Gentleman as you are; but Sir, can this ever be a Face?

A most beautiful one, when my Pencil has lickt it.

Lickt it, ay indeed, it is more like a Bears Cubb, than a Face.

It is a way of Drawing I have.

Is it, Sir, pray if you please, let that door be your [Page 64] way at present, and pray let my House be never in your way of Drawing any more;—come in Betty, I'le talk with Draw-well for this trick.

This Gentleman a Picture-Drawer? I swear he is the handsomest Picture-Drawer that ever I saw. Hold, Sir, pray, a word with you.

Madam, I am commanded hence.

Sir, I have Empire enough here, to Reprieve you, at least for a moment, and you shall stay, Sir, I understand, you Draw Pictures, and so handsome a Picture-Drawer, must needs draw very handsome Pictures, what ever my Lord Dry­bone says.

When I Draw yours, Madam, I cannot do other­wise.

I swear, an incomparable well bred Man; Noble Sir, you have Drawn your own Portraicture, in most Gen­tile Colours, that I am extreamly ambitious; to have mine Drawn, by so delicate a hand.

Madam, my Hand is unworthy of that Honor, your Picture deserves rather, to be Drawn in a Coach and Six Horses, in Triumph round the Town.

I swear, that is very witty, and surprizing—Sir, you now more and more inflame me, with an Ardent desire to taste of your skill; I will not rest, till obtain the Felicity.

My Pencil will be proud of the Glory—how shall I be rid of this impertinent Woman?

Sir, my Lady is extreamly troubled, and ashamed, my Lord has Treated you thus uncivilly; by good luck, my Lord is just now call'd out, about an extraordinary affair, and will not be back these three hours: she so extreamly desires to have her Picture drawn. by you, that if you will step down, she will meet you at the door, and go and sit for an hour in any place, you shall think convenient.

Most excellent Creature, I adore thee for thy Mes­sage, were I on a Precipiece, I would leap down to such an in­vitation; I will disintangle my self, from Madam Impertinence, that hooks her self to me, and be at the door in an instant, Madam, an affair of consequence calls me away,

my Pencils, my Oistershells, my brightest Colours, the ex­actest [Page 65] motion of my Hand, and the best of my skill, shall al­ways attend your fair Phisiognomy; Your Ladyships most hum­ble Servant, and Picture-Drawer.

The Top, the Cream, the Flower, the Quintescence, of Wit and Ingenuity; his harmonious Tongue, has left a tang, a relish of a Passion behind it; I swear, I feel a little Palpitati­on, I shall not be at repose, till I commence my Intrigue; and oh my brutish and obtuse memory, I have forgot to ask him, what happy place he honours with his abode; but now I think on't, Frisky can lend me the knowledge, I will run with speed, and borrow it of her.

Heaven be prais'd, we are safe at the place of Bat­tle; this is my Lodging, in, in my Dear—my Sweet—

Hold, Sir, I have honourably walk'd with you into the Field, but now I'le Article with you.

I abhor the word, it has been lately mischievous to me, and I will not hear it.

Oh, Mr. Ramble; are you come, I have been wait­ing for my Picture this hour.

Oh curse on my memory, I forgot this Assignation; I have such bundles of Billets, Doux, that I must keep a Clark to enter them in a Journal, Dear Madam, I beg your par­don, I was pre-ingag'd to a Person of Honor, and I quite for­got, come an hour hence, and I will not fail you.

So Mr. Ramble, you serve me finely, I have been staying for my Picture these two hours, and here you pro­mise 'em to Flirts, here is a Flirt newly gone out, has kept me prisoner in a Closet this hour, I was so fraid to be seen, for fear of my Honour.

Oh, dear Madam.

No, Sir, I scorn to fit, if you draw the Pictures of every Flirt.

So, Sir, but oh, I am ruin'd, my Lady Faddle's co­ming, whither shall I run, she will know me by my Clothes.

In—in—dear Madam,

this Disease has fasten'd on me; how shall I be cur'd of her? what an unlucky Rogue am I in my Amours?

Have I found you, Sir? this is fortunate, I will not part with you, till I obtain the Glory to be decipher'd by your ingenious hand.

Oh, Madam, what Apelles is fit for so great a Work? you are so admirably Painted.

Not at all, Sir, you are misinform'd, I onely use a little Red, Fo, Painted, I swear, I hate a Painted Woman in my heart, I suspect their Virtue, besides, 'tis nasty! Painted Fo.

I mean, by Natures Hand.

I beg your Pardon, I misunderstood you.

That Art were saucy to contend.

Oh, Sir, you put me in a longing expectation; I be­seech you, let us to some convenient place, where you may be­gin your Work; put me in any posture you please, sweet Sir, and let me taste plentifully of your skill.

Madam, I want some Poet to assist my Fancy, you shall be Drawn in a Triumphant Posture, with all the Gods and Goddesses attending, Venus crying for not being so hand­some, Juno scolding for jealousie of you; blind Cupid borrow­ing Glass-Eyes, to stare on you; Jupiter transforming himself into a Lap-Dog, to kiss you; Mars lying naked under your Feet, in the shape of a Backsword.

Oh, admirable, when shall this most rare Peece be begun?

That, Madam, I do not know.

Not know, Sir, Why? Sir, is it not your own No­ble Hand performs it?

My Hand will not have the Glory.

Whose then, Sir?

I do not know, Madam.

Fie, fie, Sir, this is Superlative Modesty; Come, come, Sir.

Master, Sir—how, my Wife that must be, here?

Oh, dear, my Servant here, I shall be dishonoured, this is unfortunate!

Does my Master deal with stale Flesh too? and is he making me a Cuckold before I am married? I do not much care, he cannot cuckold me of her Money, how shall I do to out-face him now—how now, Jack Ramble, engross all the Ladies.

What shall I Reply, what shall I Invent? this is Infernal

How now, sirrah, how came you and I so familiar? what, is this thy Rogues Plot?

So Madam, this is fine.

I swear, Sir,—I swear—I don't know what to swear I am, in such confusion.

Very well, Madam; this is a good beginning.

This Rogue is intimate with her.—This is some Plot, that I cannot discover. But ha, here is Sir Thomas coming this way in haste.

Sir Thomas Rash catch me here? this is dishonour upon dishonour.

So, have I found you? that is the Lady, I Com­mand you, take her.

Lady Faddle, I Arrest you in the Kings name, in an Action of a Thousand pounds, at the Suit of Sir Thomas Rash, here present.

Come, put in substantial Bayl, or go to Jayl.

An Arrest at my Lodging?

My Wife that must be, Arrested?

Arrested?

Hold, Sir, be not too forward, your turn will come soon enough.

Is this done, Sir Thomas, like a Civil Person, and a Person of Honour?

What is the business, Madam?

I will declare before all these Gentlemen; Know then, that a Nephew of mine; a Baronet in the Countrey, was bound in a Bond of a thousand pounds to come up to Town, and Marry Mrs. Christina, Sir Thomas's Daughter, four days ago, and I was bound in the same Bond.

What's this?

And my Nephw failing to come up, Sir Thomas, like an uncivil person, takes the forfeiture of the Bond.

How, Sir Thomas, have you ingag'd your Daughter to any one, after you have promis'd her to me.

I promis'd her to you, to be your Strumpet, did I?

My Strumpet! sure, Sir Thomas you are craz'd, I know not what you mean, nor do you know your own mean­ing.

That shall be try'd.

Is this all the business?

Come Bayliffs, with your Prisoner to the Jayl.

Hold, hold, Sir, I'll release her; Madam, we will have a trick for his trick, say you are my Wife, and plead Covert-Bearn.

Was this the Rogues Plot? he has gull'd this sim­ple Lady into Matrimony.

Yes, Sir, she is the Wife of me, John Merry, Esq, of Merry-Hall, now, meddle with her, Sir, if you dare.

Say you so, Sir, are you come over me so? very well; then I shall speedily take out a Writ to Arrest John Merry, Esq, in an Action of a Thousand pounds, and he shall pay it me every farthing, if all the Estate, the said John Merry and his Wife, the late Dame Faddle, have in the World, can pay it.

Sir Thomas, I would have you to know that, do your worst, my Estate is able to pay twice that sum, yet I have enough remaining.

I am glad to hear of that, 3 or 4 thousand pounds will be good Sauce to make the old Goose go down.

Hold! before this noble Company part I have some­thing of great importance to say to Mr. Ramble, in the Pre­sence of you all, Sir, do you know me?

Madam?

Sir, I am your unfortunate Daughter.

who, in obedience to your Commands, am going to remove so great a misfortune as my self, for ever from your Fami­ly; but e'r I depart, I beg of you, by all your past Fatherly Love, by the secret remains of it still in your Breast; by the Remembrance of my dear Mother, in Heaven, to give me leave to vindicate my self, and challenge this base Villain, in the Presence of Heaven, who knows my Innocence in your own Presence, to whom he has wrong'd me, in the Presence of all these, to affirm, if he dares, if there be any truth, or shaddow of truth, in any Word or Tittle, of what he spoke, in pre­judice of my Honour.

Hey, what Mistery? what Riddle? what Dream is this?

Yes, Sir, now affirm to her face, what you said of her last night; that she had been naught with you before, that she had made an appointment then to be naught with you, and that she had been naught before ever you touch'd her.

Oh horrid! what Devil has forg'd such an abomi­nable falshood, of me; May Heaven strike me dead with Thunder; may the Earth sink and swallow me; may all the Curses of injured Innocence pursue me; if ever such an im­pious thought came into my soul.

Oh Impudence, Impudence.

And to show my Words and Thoughts are the same, I here declare her, as pure and spotless, as a Soul in Heaven. I desire no greater happiness in the World, than to possess her with all those misfortunes; which I am accus'd to have brought upon her.

Was ever the like impudence heard? he said all this, I charge him with, to my face, and fought with me to maintain his words.

Very well, I shall have nothing to do with you, or your disputes; know my Nephew is come to Town; but he shall go back again, and break off the Match, and so take your course.

Sir Mannerly, come? hold, Madam, one word more with your Ladyship, and I'll end all controversies: Well, Mr. Ramble, you declare in the Presence of my Lady Faddle, and us all, that you never meant the words you said.

That I never said or thought any thing of this La­dy, but what a Votary might say of the Saint he prays to.

That you acknowledge her intirely innocent of—

That her Innocence is equal with her Beauty; and that her Beauty can be equall'd by nothing, but her own In­nocence; and that she can be compar'd with none, but her self.

And that you will marry her, when ever I please. and leave her Fortune to my discretion.

That I will marry her, without any consideration of a Fortune, rather than any other Woman in the World, with a Kingdom.

Very well, then take notice, I will marry her to Sir Mannerly Shallow; and so my Lady Faddle, I release your Ladyship, and now our Contest is ended.

What's this?

Hold, Mr. Ramble, do not dare to interpose, my Fa­ther has declar'd his Pleasure, and I declare my ready obe­dience; however, I will never have you of all Men.

Oh my torment!

Well, Sir Thomas, you have dealt (let me tell you) ungentilely with me; but however, to put an end to con­troversies, I forgive you, and so let the Match proceed.

Merry, a word, is this Lady your Wife?

Yes, in earnest, Sir.

Then, sirrah, make her break off this Match, or I'll cut your Throat, how dear soever I pay for it.

Well, Sir, a word to the wise is enough, you may be sure, I'll do what—lies in my power.—

So so, Mr. Ramble, you are a very fine Man, some Wo­men come to you for their Pictures, and others for promise of Marriage; I have heard all passages, this is you that Lov'd, Admir'd, Adored me above all Creatures in the World; above all you could express; that you could have no Rest, day nor night, for thinking and sighing after me: poor loving Man; I had been sweetly serv'd, if I had been such a fool, as to have believ'd you, and fall'n a loving you, as hard as ever I could drive: well, I thank you, you have done me a kindness, I shall endure my confinement a little better after this: nay, I shall thank my old Lord, for keeping me out of the Temp­tations of such false dissembling insinuating Men.

So, so, forsaken, and hated by every one, all Af­flictions come together; I am justly serv'd for my liquorish, greedy, insatiable, ridiculous Temper; that like Adam, could not be contented in Paradise, but must be tasting all sorts of Fruit, lawful or unlawful, though I had pleasures enow in Christinas Love, to satisfy a Demy-God, and more than any meer creature could merit; well, dispair shall be damn'd, be­fore he shall have the fingering of me yet,—opportunity has not so turn'd his bald Crown on me; but I can have hold enough of his Ears yet, at least, I will have hold of my Ri­val's Ears, who e'r he be; this shall give him to understand; (Shows his Sword.) what Portion he shall have with his Lady; nay, what Lady he shall have, for this fair slender Creature shall injoy his Body, and speedily

SCENE The Street, Sir Mannerly drest in a fine Countrey-fashion'd Suit.

HOW do my Cloaths become me, Booby.

Bravely, an't like your Worship.

And am I pretty handsome.

I never see a handsomer Man peep out of a Suit of Cloaths.

Well, I long for my Bride, oh how gentilely could I salute her now? Madam, what a Spring, a Source, a Foun­tain, a River of Love and Beauty flows from your eyes; a Ni­lus of Beauty overflows the Aegypt of your Face.

Sir Thomas Rash, nor Madam Christina, are no where to be found, Sir.

Hey, not to be found? well, then there is knavery in this, they do it on purpose to make me forfeit my Bond. Oh dear, here comes the person of Quality

I invited to my Wedding, what shall I say to excuse my self to him?—Noble Sir, I swear I am so out of Aspect—I know not how to demean my self, I was so bold as to crave the honor of your company, at my Wedding Supper to night, and I swear, Sir, I cannot find my Bride—

Not find your Bride, Sir? that's strange; it's a common thing here in London for Women to run away from their Hus­bands after they'r Married, but I never knew a Woman run from her Husband before she was Married, till now, well Sir, there's no hurt done.

Hold, noble Sir, I have receiv'd so many noble Favours from you to day, that I will not let you stir, till I know to whom I am so much oblig'd—that I may know to whom to repay; I beseech you, Sir, to let me know your [Page 73] Honourable name, for I am sure you are of Noble Quality.

Ay, Sir, I am a Knight,—I was dubbed [...] Lord Mayors shew.—

Look you there, Booby, did not I say he was a Knight? I beseech you, Sir, of what Order? for by your Sil­ver Chain, and noble Silver Plate, you must be of some Or­der, that I have not read of in Heraldry.

I am of a very old Order, Sir, of the Order of Isacher. I stoop under my burden, and my Crest is an Ass Couchant.

Look you there, Booby; I beseech you, Sir, your Name.

My Name is Rash, Sir, at your service.

What—not Sir Thomas Rash?

Old Tom Rash,—Sir Thomas, if you will have it so.

Oh strange, Booby.

Sir Thomas Rash's Worship.

Did one ever see the like? here have I been Ang­ling and Trowling for my Father-in-law, and have had him at my Hook all day.

This is just as your Worship and I, lookt up and down for your Boots one day, and you had 'em on your Legs.

Just so for all the World.

What have I done now, I am afraid I have brought more Compliments on my Head—they come—they come full swinge—oh, what will become of me? oh, Sir, have mer­cy on me.

Noble Father-in-law.

His Worships Father-in-law's Worship.

What do they call me Father-in-law?

Your Worship, Sir Thomas, I believe, does not know my Masters Worship; my Masters Worship, is Sir Mannerly Shallow; that is come to Town, according to his Bond, to marry your Daughter.

Come to Town to marry my Daughter? I begin to think 'em merry Men again; let me be hang'd if I can guess, whether they be fools, or no, for my life;—I facks, I rather think they make a fool of me.

I am the same Sir Mannerly Shallow, on my Honor Sir.

Sir Mannerly Shallow, ha-ha, what comes in my Head

I heard my Master, and Name-sake, Sir Thomas Rash, talk of one Sir Mannerly Shallow; that is to Marry my young Lady, and I warrant, this simple Gentleman is he; and he hearing my name to be Thomas Rash, and calling my self in waggery, Sir Thomas,—he takes me to be my Master: ha—ha—ha.—

Hark you Master, are not you Sir Mannerly Shallow?

I am, on my Honor, Sir Thomas.

Ha-ha-ha.—

Ay, the same; ha-ha-ha.—

It is his Worship.—

I have laugh'd my Heart sore; what a knavish prank could I play now, to pass for Sir Thomas Rash, and pop my Daughter on this silly Knight: well, Sir, I will not cheat you, I am honest Tom Rash, a poor Porter, and Servant, to that ve­ry Sir Thomas Rash you want, and come along, I'le lead you to him.

Come, Father-in-Law, this is not gentile; now you have owned your self, to deny your self again; you do it, now you see who I am, to make me forfeit my Bond—but what have I discover'd? Let me compare the very same Coat of Arms: I swear, this was well thought

on; Ile take my Oath; now if you de­ny your self, Ile go to Law with you, for I know you by your Arms.

This is better and better, ha-ha-ha,—

My Father-in-Law, I see is a merry Man—

Sir Thomas, his Worship did but jest.

Well, I [...]ll own my self to be Sir Thomas Rash, carry him to my Cellar, and there let my Wife look to him, whilst I call my Master—Come, Son-in-Law, I am your Father-in-Law; and I am heartily glad to see you; I'll conduct you to my Off-Spring, and your Bed-Mate, that must be—what sport is here?

Did not I say 'twas he?

What luck was this to find him, just as your Bond was forfeited.

Ay, and by the Coat of Arms,—you must know, I am very well skill'd in Coats of Arms—I can tell all our own Coats, and all the Quarterings, ever since King Cadwallader. Oh, but Booby, was it not pretty, that I should invite my Fa­ther-in-law, to his own Daughters Wedding.

I warrant, that made his Worship laugh so heartily.

Well thought on, I swear, now run to my Cloak­bag, and fetch my bag of Money, to pay for my Wedding Dinner.

I shall, an't like your Worship.—

Sir, am not I a loving Servant, that forsake the Wife of my Bosom; now Love has Cook'd, and Dish'd her up, and leave her piping hot, to run after your Appetite.

Thou art an honest fellow, Merry; but all things con­sider'd, the kindness is as great to thy self, as me, however, I accept it—but hast thou hunted out my Rival?

I saw him here about, not a quarter of an hour ago.

What a kind of fellow is he.

Oh, 'tis such a Cumberland Piece, he is much farther from understanding, than his Countrey is from London; and has such a living Log follows him, as you never saw:—many a wiser Block has suffer'd Martyrdom for Christmas, in his Ma­sters Hall Chimney.

Prethee lets inquire here about for them, by thy de­scription, they are so Remarkable, every body that has seen 'em, will inform us of them.

The SCENE, An Apple Shop.

How, are you mad, Thomas, loose such a Fortune for my Daughter?

What, shall I play the knave o'that fashion?

Is it knavery to own your Christendom? is not your name Rash? and were not you Christned Thomas?

But I was not Christned Sir Thomas, was I?

Well, if the Knight will Christen you Sir Thomas, what's that to any one?

What, I shall ha my Master, Sir Thomas, ha me up, coram nobis, for Forgery.

Well let him him coram nobis you as much as he dares; there's no Law against owning ones own name; let him take his Silver Badge again, and he will, we can live without his Chain, we shall be as good as he now.

I tell you, I wont do it.

Won't you? then let my Goods rot and they will, I'll ne'r sell penny-worth of Apples or Gingerbread more, whilst I live.

These Women will rule the Roast—well, I'll be Sir Thomas then, but if I look through a Scotch Casement for this, that is to say, a Pillory; I'll lodge a Cudgel in your middle Story backward.

Let them do what they dare, they shall find a Mess of hot Codlings o'me, I warrant them; give me my clean Ker­cher, and my Hat, and run quickly, an fetch Winny from School.

There, there, Don 'em quickly, our Son-in-Law comes.

Well, I never saw such a fine street in my life.

Pray your Worship, give a poor Woman some­thing.

Begone, Beggar-woman.

Son-in-law, you are heartily welcome; see, this is your Mother-in-law.

For want of a better, Sir.

Madam, your most humble Servant.

Well, Son, I'll run and fetch your Bride, she is but two doors off, at a Boarding-School, where I keep her for good [Page 77] Breeding; you wonder to see so many Apples here; my Wife and I, you must know, are great lovers of Apples, and we are laying in our Winter Store, into our Cellar; that's my Cellar, but that great House is my Habitation.

Oh Stately, that's like the Palace of Sol-sublimibus, Alta Columnis:—And Gold on the top too, Clara micante Auro.

I, to show I love Apples, I have a Golden Apple, a Golden Pippin on the top; well, I'll leave you with my Wife, I'll be back presently:—

Is your Ladyship so great a lover of Apples? I shall agree with you then mightily in Diet, for I love Apples, as well as ever Adam did, and here are as many fine Apples, as ever I saw in all my life.

Curious Apples indeed.

Pray Son-in-law, be pleas'd to eat one, there's a Pip­pin as good a one, as ever Tooth was put in—and as sound as my self.

A pure Pippin.

Your Ladyships most humble Servant; my Lady's a plain Woman, Booby.

She seems a very hearty Woman, an't like your Wor­ship.

See, Son, here's your young Yoke-fellow, that must into the Noose with you.

A most transcendent Beauty?

A plain Girl.

Not at all, she's the Epitome of Perfection; I am enamour'd above the capacity of expression; I deserve to for­feit a thousand Bonds of a thousand pound, for staying the thousandth part of a minute, from her Imbraces; I will pay the forfeiture of my Bond in Love and Kisses;—I will num­ber up:

Pray good your Worship.

What a troublesome Woman art thou? dost not see I am busy a Complimenting?—I say, I will number up by Art Arithmetical

Pray your Worship,

Did one ever see the like?

Woman, do not trouble his Worship.

Begone, or I'll send for the Beadle.

I say, I will number up—I will number up—this scurvy Beggar-Woman has broke off my Speech, that I vow and swear, I do not know what I was going to say—I had bet­ter ha given her a shilling, than have lost such a Speech.

I could find in my heart, Beggar-Woman to kick you, for spoiling his Worships Speech—no matter—your Worship—has twenty more as good.

No matter for Compliments, come Son-in-law, to Church, if you please, and there let the Parson complement you both into Man and Wife, and that's the Compliment of Compliments.

With all my heart, and may a thousand Cupids hover over every Pue, to fill your heart as full of Love, as mine is of Love and Admiration.

Did you ever hear such pure Compliments?

Never in all my days.

That's he.

Is that he, 'tis so ridiculous a fellow, I cannot be an­gry with him?

Go, Sir, Manage him—whilst I handle Log, the Se­cond King of Frogs, that follows him.

Sir, one word with you in private.—To Sir Man.

Sir, one word with you in private.—To Booby.

With me, Sir?

With me forfooth?

Ay, Sir, it must be very private.

Ay, Sir.

Is not your name Sir Mannerly Shallow?

It is, Sir, what then, Sir?

Are not you come to Town to marry Sir Thomas Rash's Daughter?

I am, Sir, what then, Sir?

Four Oxen to run for a Wager, Sir, do you say?

From Tweed to Newcastle.

Then you must not have her, Sir.

How, not have her, Sir?

No stirring, Sir, if you do, this runs into your Guts.

Into my Guts, Sir?

Ay, into your Guts, Sir.

My Masters Py'd Ox to be one.

For a wager of Fourscore Load of Hay—

Booby.—

No Booby, Sir—

No Booby, Sir?—

No Booby, Sir.—

To be eat all with Mustard.

All with Mustard?

An Ox eat Mustard!

All with Mustard!

I shall be very brief with you, I shall propound but two things to you, take your choise, either to go out imme­diately, and fight me, and he of us too, that comes alive out of the Field, shall have the Lady; or else this minute to take Post for Cumberland, and not to come up, till I am married to her.

To go out and fight with you, Sir!

Ay, Sir, till one of us fall dead, or ride Post for Cum­berland; take your choice.

Ride Post for Cumberland, Sir?

Ay, Sir, chuse instantly, or this goes into your Guts, Sir.

My Guts, Sir?

Ay, Sir.

Booby.—

No Booby, Sir; speak quickly what you'll do:

And the Ox that wins, to be Knighted.

To be Knighted?

I never heard the like; let me tell his Worship—

Presently, when I ha done:—I have not half done.

Say what you'll do, and that instantly.

Sir, I'll.—

What will you do, Sir?

Sir, I'll.—

Dispatch, Sir.

Sir, I'll—Sir, I will not, Sir! What ha you to do to make me fight? or ride Post either? whether I will or no, Sir?

No questioning my Authority, speak instantly, I say instantly.

I never met with such a fellow in my life.

You will not speak, Sir.

Sir, I'll.—

What, Sir?—

Sir, I'll ride Post, Sir.

Then come along, Sir;—I'll see you mounted—and attend you, or one shall for me; one forty or fifty miles on the way, no looking o'r your Shoulder, Sir.

Mr. Booby, Mr. Booby. there's a Gentleman runs away with your Master, call a Constable, Thomas, a Constable, come along with me Winny to call a Constable.

Is the Woman mad to make a Hubbub?—hold your tongue.

I will not, he carries away our Son-in-law by force.

One steal my Master!

No stirring, Sir.

No stirring—What you help to steal him, do you? here Beggar-woman, hold my Bag of Money a little, and I'll try a friskin with him, thou shalt not come at thy Sword, Man.

This is good, the Constable and the Rabble have seiz'd our Foes; and we the Aggressors have escap'd, whilst the two Clowns stick fast in the Mudd of the dirty Crowd; Let's pursue our fortunes, overtake Sir Thomas, and the com­pany, be very impudent and obstinate, and see what that will do.

With all my heart, Sir,—for I do not care for coming within the reach of that heavy fisted fool any more.

You have let go the Thieves that would have stolen me, and here you hold my Man and me.

Stolen you, Sir? I found this man in actual Battery.

He batter'd me as much.

Come, come, Son-in-law, never make a bustle on your Wedding-day, give the Constable a spill.

There's a spill, but I take my Oath he would have stolen me.

No more words on't, come—there, go about your business.

Come, Madam, as the Poet says—Per varios ca­sus per tot discrimina rerum. Exeunt. Sir Man. Rash, Wife, and Win.

I think I plough'd his chops for him; an he had cuff'd a little longer, I would ha pull'd up his Nose by the Roots—but where's the Beggar-woman with my bag of Money? look if she has not laid it in the Street, like a baggage, a thou­sand to one, but it might have been stolen—hey, my bag of Money is alive? a Bastard, a Bastard,

stop Thief, stop Thief? a Beggar-woman has run away with a bag of Money, and has left a Bastard in the room; stop Thief, Thief.

Mr. Constable, Mr. Constable, here's a fellow has lain a Child in the Street.

Stop him, stop him, knock him down; how now, sirrah, lay a Bastard in the Street!

Is it my Bastard? is it not the Beggar-womans Ba­stard, that was a begging here? and has run away with all my Money?

She was your Whore, was she, sirrah? here's a fine Plot of a Rogue, neighbors; to make a bustle in the Streets, that his Whore might have an opportunity to lay a Bastard to the Parish: yes, sirrah, the Parish shall maintain such a lusty Rogue as you in Lechery?—come, sirrah, to the House of Cor­rection.

Ay, Mr. Constable, whip him, whip him, this way the Parish-money goes; I have been sess'd above Fifteen shillings this year, for such Rogues unlawful Lecheries.

Whip me! I never saw the Woman before in my life.

Then you lay with her in the dark, did you sirrah?

I am but newly come to Town.

Then you shall be whipt assoon as you come; a Whip­ping-Post shall be your welcome.

Whip me if you dare, since you go to that, for I be­long to a Critique.

A Critique, What's that?

A great Judge, that was he that was here just now.

He a Judge? he looks like a Man fit to hold the Scale of Justice indeed; he is more fit to hold a Grocers Scale; and weigh Plums and Comfits, then Causes.

Come, sirrah, I'll let out your hot Bloud, I'll Plant a Grove o'Birch in your Arse o'peak.

Oh, Mr. Constable, my Master is a Northern Judge, indeed, and a Baronet, I can prove it.

I care not what he is, sirrah; will he put in security to keep the Child, and buy off your Whipping?

Why must he? or must I be whipt?

That, Time shall try.

Oh, Mr. Constable, come along; my Masters Worship shall be bound, and give you any content.

Well, let's see what he will do.

Where have you been Mr. Merry?

Onely setling some things about my Estate.

Do not follow, and Tantany us, Mr. Ramble, for I declare positively, thou shalt never have my Daughter.

Mr. Ramble, my Father is ingag'd to another, but whe­ther he was, or no, the words you said, are never to be for­given, neither Extravagance, Railery, Drink, nor nothing can excuse 'em, they have fix'd you in my Eternal Hatred; and you are the onely thing of all Heavens Creatures, I abhor.

Then I am the onely wretched thing of the whole Creation, and the more wretched, since I suffer Innocently; for what ever have been my other sins, from that unpardona­ble one, of Blaspheming your Honor, I am wholly innocent, consider why I should say it, what should move me to it; what did provoke me; and what should I gain by it, when said?

That foppish vain Glory, which possesses all your Sex, of defaming those Women, whose Honours you cannot other­wise abuse.

Why, Sir, what should move me? what provoke me? and what should I gain by telling a lye, Sir?

I swear, Madam, I begin to pitty him, and think there's some mistake.

I dare not interpose, for fear of discovering the affair, about my Picture—

Come, Sweet-heart, you are the chief Person con­cern'd; you must resign your claim to this Lady—for Jack Ramble is my friend, and though I know nothing of the bu­siness, I know he is Innocent, because I know him to be an honest fellow; but whether innocent or no, I will have Mat­ters made up; for in plain terms, if my friend may not Bed the Woman, he loves, I will not Bed the Woman I love; I will never be happy, while my friend is miserable.

How, Mr. Merry?

Let me alone with him, Madam; Sir, what have you to do to intermeddle in my affairs; Bed who you will, Sir, and what you will, Sir; but if you say, he did not say these words, I give you the Lye, and there's my Glove.

Take your Glove, Sir, your Hand is old, and will catch cold.

Some Devil has appear'd to him in my shape, and said this.

Oh dear, have I met with your Ladyship? (To La. Fad.) this is lucky, if ever you will be kind to me in your life, Ma­dam, take me into your company—I have been abroad but two hours, and my Lord has been to seek me in such a rage, that if you do not excuse me, it will be a parting quarrel.

Betty Frisque here? how do my sins follow me? what shall I do? now I think on't, she dares no more own the know­ledge of me, then I dare of her: my standing vertue, Impu­dence, must aid me

Why dost thou do this, Betty?

So Gentlewoman, are you hearded?—ha, what do I see here, her Father? that's he I saw last night; I'm sure on't; I remember his Face again, though I saw him in the dark, very well, Sir, take your Daughter again, I am very glad 'tis you she runs to, I thought to have found her in worse com­pany; there, Sir, take her, take her, and make the best of her.

My Daughter, Sir; to whom do you speak, Sir?

What, more mistakes?

To you, Sir?

To me, Sir? I am as good a man as your self, Sir.

As good a man, Sir.

Hold, hold, Gentlemen.

Sir, I am a person of Honour, Sir.

And I am a person of Quality, Sir.

Well, Sir, be of what quality you will, Sir, you came last night to my door with Fiddles, and challeng'd me for debauching your Daughter, Sir, then you could own her [Page 85] in the dark, for your own pleasure, Sir; and now I will make you own her for mine; and as I told you last night, she had been debauch'd, before I touch'd her; so I tell you again, if she had not, perhaps I would have consider'd her.

The mistake comes out.

Hold, my Lord, was not you in your Night-gown and Drawers?

Yes, Sir, and you was in a Buff Coat.

Mr. Ramble, where art thou, wilt thou forgive me? canst thou forgive me? honest Mr. Ramble forgive me.

Now Madam.

My Lord, I thank you heartily for this discovery, you have clear'd up a mistake, in which I persisted to the in­jury of an honest Gentleman; but now I will do my self and him right; know then, this Gentleman is a Servant to my Daughter, and this is my Daughter I challeng'd you about, and finding him something Airy and Wild, was desirous to hinder the Match and he passing by my door with Fiddles last night I, in a rage, pursu'd him to your Lordships, and mista­king your Lordship for him, in the dark, I challeng'd you with intentions of debauching my Daughter, and your Reply in­tangled us in difficulties, which now are vanish'd.

Then this is the Lady, it seems, was Serenaded.

The same, my Lord, the Playing at your door was but a blind.—

No, no, 'twas to me.

He brings himself off wittily.

But hold, Sir, now I remember, you came to draw her Picture to day.

Has he that trick too?

I did so.

Ay, ay, I have an Intrigue with him.

But it was onely for divertisement, I never saw her before in my life.

Why do you say so? 'twas an appointment, well, my Lord, you and I must part, you see how false I am.

Dear Betty, forgive me, I see thou hast more Vertue and Goodness, than I have Estate to Reward; live with me again, and I will become a new Creature.

That must be by some very strange miracle indeed, that an old Man should become a new Creature—but howe­ver, mend as much as you will, I shall never mend, I shall con­tinue my Intrigues with Picture-Drawers, and Pages, and Hack­ney-Coachmen—and every Man I can come near.—

Oh, do not Treat me thus severely, I have injur'd thy Vertue, but I will make thee recompence for my life, and all the pleasure of it lies in thy Favour.

No, no, this keeping of old Women, by you old Sinners, is but done out of a scurvy custom, not any need you have: like old Snuff-takers, that cannot live without Snuff, though it never makes 'em sneeze; do but break your self of the custom for one month, and you will find no want: but come, since you are humbled, I make a proposal; Promise be­fore all this noble Company, to make a settlement of 500 l. a year, on me for life, that if we ever quarrel, I may have something to trust to, and I will return to my Dominion a­gain, and govern you as formerly.

I engage it, and you shall have it drawn by what Lawyers you please.

Then I am yours in the new-fashion'd Matrimony for ever.

I am as formerly, your most obsequious Keeper.

Oh, these are fine doings, but I say nothing.

Now Madam, it is my turn to quarrel, and be unkind.

Yes indeed, you had need boast of your Innocence; witness the Importunate Temptations of a young Lady, which you manfully resisted last night, and could by no means be brought to her imbraces, witness this Creature, whose Picture it seems you drew, an Excellence I never knew you had till now.

Oh, forgive me, I acknowledge my faults with grief and penitence, I am amazed, how it was possible for me to think of any thing but you, but hopes of Love, are like the prospect of a fair Street, a great way off, and you cannot [Page 87] blame a poor thirsty Traveller, if he takes a sip here and there by the way—

How on thy Knees Mr. Ramble? I swear, we rather ought to kneel to thee. Rise, rise, Man, were I not to forfeit a thousand pound Bond, thou shouldst have my Daughter be­fore any Man.

Say you so, Sir, Dirt shall never be laid in the Scale with Beauty, I will pay the forfeiture.

This is brave, I swear, now Madam, you are bound in Honor and Gratitude to forgive him.

Mr, Ramble, this is so generous a Proposition, that I will pay the forfeiture of the Bond, give thee my Daugh­ter, and a Thousand pound more, with her, than ever I de­sign'd for her Portion, with any Man—take her—she's thine.

Well, Sir, I hope you will give over your Picture-Draw­ing.

Now I am in Heaven, and all my sins forgiven, up­braid me not with them; I will Draw no Pictures but my own, and those never without your help.

How, Sir Thomas, will you use my Nephew thus scurvily?

How, will you oppose my desire? Resist my Vir­gin authority.

Mr. Merry, I will not have my Nephew thus a­bus'd:

See, he has found us.

My Lady Aunt, wish me joy.

Wish thee joy, Sweet-heart, for what? for loosing thy Bride? here is Sir Thomas Rash, after all our Articles, is going unworthily, to bestow his Daughter upon another.

How, Aunt? you do not know Sir Thomas Rash when you see him, nor his Daughter neither—sure I have her fast enough, I am married to her already, and here she is.

This the Creature that was design'd for me? bless me! what a deliverance have I had?

This Sir Mannerly.

What dost thou say; art thou Married to that Girl?

Married to my Porters Daughter? this fellow is my Porter, Madam, and his Wife is my Apple-woman.

Your Porter, What's that?

He goes of Errands for Groats and Testors, and Pence, this is Sir Thomas Rash, and this is his Daughter.

How! am I couzen'd so? is this Sir Thomas Rash? and is this his Daughter?—are you no Sir Thomas, and you no my Lady, and do you go of Errands for Groats, and Pence? and do you sell Apples?

Faith Son, 'tis a folly to disown it, now all is done; these are our Occupations, I am no Knight, but of your dub­bing; you would dubb me a Knight, whether I would or no—I was not ambitious of the Honor.

Well, though we are poor folks, we are Honest and True.

Honest and True; sirrah come back and Un-marry me again.

Hold, hold, Sir Mannerly, now 'tis too late; how came this mistake, Tom?

My being your worships Namesake, caus'd it, he would needs bear me down, I was your Honor, and Marry my Daughter, in spight of my Teeth.

Oh, how hast thou dishonour'd our Family?

Fear not, Aunt, I'll Feague 'em; Porter, I'll make it a scurvy Errand to you; and Apple-woman, your Daugh­ter shall be a costly Pippin to you.

Do your worst.

Here's his Worship; oh an't like your Worship, shall if you won't be bound to maintain this Child for me, I to prison, and be whipt presently.

Maintain that Child? what ha you got a Bastard since you came to Town already?

'Tis a Beggar-womans Bastard, I never saw in my days before.

Get a Bastard of a Beggar-woman in a days time? do they breed so fast in London? that's faster than our tame Coneys do; no wonder, London is so full of People.

An't like your Worsh [...]p, I never saw, or touch'd the Woman, or any Woman I never lay with any Woman in my life; give me a Book, I'll kiss it upon it.

How could you come by this Bastard then?

I did not come by it, it came by me; I gave a Beggar-woman the bag of Money to hold, whilst I cufft with the Thief's Man that would have stole you, and she lays down the Bastard, and runs away with the bag of Money.

How, lost my bag o' Money; then be whipt, I'll keep none o' the Bastard.

Then come along, Sir.

Have pitty on the poor fellow.

No, since he would not keep my bag o' Money, I won't keep his Bastard.

Oh, an't like your Worship, be but bound for me; I'll keep it my self—I'll serve it out.

Well then Applewoman, since I am Married, do you keep my Man Booby's Bastard for nothing; that shall be for a Portion with your Daughter.

I don't care if I do, the Child is a fine likely Child.

Well, I scorn to be beholden to you, I will pay for the keeping of it; but Booby, I will send you down quick­ly into the Countrey, if you get Bastards thus fast,

Mr. Constable, discharge the Man, I'll see that the Gentleman, his Master, perform his word.

Well then, o' your word, Sir Thomas, I release him.

So, I have come up to London to a very fine pur­pose; I ha lost my Mistriss, lost my Money, am Married to an Apple-womans Daughter, and must keep a Beggar-womans Bastard; whereas, I thought to have liv'd in London, and ne­ver seen the Countrey more: I will now do down into the Countrey, and spend all my time in rayling against London: I will never see London more, so much as in a Map, I will burn my Map of London that hangs in my Parlour-

A very Honest, and as the times are, Pious and Wholsome Resolution, Sir Mannerly; better live in the Coun­trey, and burn your Map of London, than live in London, and spoil your Map of Humanity, with Drinking and Wenching.

I, Son-in-Law, better go into the Countrey, and live lovingly with my Daughter, than stay in Town, and turn her away, and keep a Wench in her stead, as Gentry do that Mar­ry, and live here.

Why, do they?

Ay, the more shame for 'em.

Then I'm resolv'd I'll stay in London, and Booby, you can find Bastards; do you find a Wench for me.

Keep a Wench under my Winny's Nose, I'll tear her Eyes out.

I will disswade him, well, Sir Mannerly, I am very sorry for the misfortune you have met with in coming to Town for my Alliance; I will cancel the Bond to make you some re­compence; and since my Daughter is not so happy to injoy you, let my House have the Honor to entertain you; whither I also invite the rest of this Noble Company: my Lady Faddle and her Husband, my Lord Drybone, and his Settlement; and Tom Rash, and thy Wife, be of our Society now; this Noble Alliance has advanc'd thee; be a Knight to day, and Prince of Porters for ever, and thy Wife, Lady of Apple-women: I will have both your Statues made in Ginger-bread, and set up in Costermongers-Hall, and Noble Brides and Bridegrooms all walk in,