Trick for Trick: OR, The Debauch'd Hypocrite.

A COMEDY, As it is ACTED at the Theatre-Royal, By His MAJESTIE'S Servants.

Written by Tho. Durfey, Gent.

Licensed, April 30th. 1678.

Roger L'Estrange.

LONDON, Printed for Langley Curtiss, in Goat-Court upon Ludgate-Hill, 1678.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. Haines in a Red Coat like a Common Souldier.
SInce there's a Dearth of Witt, and that to Play,
Is hardly worth one poor Brown George a Day;
I from the Poet, and our Friends within,
Am sent t'intreat, and your last Favours win,
E're we go hence and shall no more be seen.
For my part,—
I'le to the French Campaigne, where one may get
A certain Wholsome though a Homely Treat;
Good Oyl and Cooling Sallads, though no meat:
Good Campany, good honest Lowste Currs.
There's Honour to be got too—Honour, Sirs;
Honour that makes the General's Voice sound loud,
And serves instead of Brandy to the Crowd.
My Spirits are reviv'd; Methinks I hear
A Crew of Fire-fac'd Rogues embattled there,
Whose Motly Noses carry Hope and Fear:
Cry out, Fall on, we shall be Kings, Great Men,
Nay Emperours, the Devil knowes how, and when.
Then Shouting all, advance they to the Siege,
And to the Plunder fall with Priviledge.
Pray tell me then, is it not better farr,
To live abroad when other Nations Iarr,
Then 'mongst our selves to make a Civil Warr?
Are not these Bandaliers, this Sword, this Coat,
Better than Tipstaves, or a Baily's Note?
To day we Play Great Kings, strutt, bounce and fly,
But e're next Morn the Shop's shut up—God buy.
This by your great Unkindness is our Lott,
We share and share, 'tis true—but nothing's got.
[Page]Like lab'ring Bees we toyle for Witt, though poor,
Which you like Drones suck up, and hum for more,
But bring in nothing to the Winter-Store.
Witt is forgot; for with you Men of Miss,
Sence is unnatural as Marriage is—
Knowledge of this has made me what you see,
And if your tempers change not instantly,
Comedian Haines a man of Sword shall be.
'Tis true, my Loyalty is not preserv'd,
But that in many has for Profit swerv'd;
Besides, 'tis better to be hang'd than starv'd.

Dramatis Personae.

SIR Wilding Frollick
Major Mohun.
Monsieur Thomas
Mr. Hart.
Valentine
Mr. Griffin.
Franck
Mr. Clark.
Hylas
Mr. Goodman.
Sir Peregreen
Mr. Powell.
Launce
Mr. Haynes.
3 Physicians.
Mr. Watson. Mr. Coysh. Mr. Perin.
Servants
Cellida
Mrs. Bowtell.
Sabina
Mrs. Corbett.
Lucilla.
Mrs. Merchant.
A Whore
Mrs. Farlee.
Mrs. Dorothy
Mrs. Knepp.
4 Women.

Trick for Trick: OR, The Debauch'd Hypocrite.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Enter Valentine and Franck.
Val.

COme prithee leave this Melancholick humour, Franck; Don't disguise thy temper: For if it be Love that causes it, as I shrewdly guess it is—thou dost so richly deserve to be laugh'd at.

Fra.

I am not of your mind, Sir, but I wish you'd tell me why.

Val.

Why, suppose it be for a Beautiful Woman—a smiling Rosie Charming melting Woman; one that kisses with Art, but uses none—that often sighs to add more grace to her speech; and speaks never, but to show the perfection of her Mind; that Sings with Skill, and Prayes with Zeal; And never Jilts a Man but to prove her own Innocency. In fine, One that is indeed the Jewel among Women. Do'st thou not know, O Man, O Mortal, dost thou not perceive that she has all this onely for Men—showes all her Beauties onely to please Men—ha! do'st thou not know this?

Fra.

Not I 'faith; but I find my self very willing to be Instructed.

Val.

Well said, and 'faith thou sha't be instructed to some purpose before I leave thee.

Fra.

But prithee how shall I know when a Woman loves me, that does, and won't tell it me? my greatest Ignorance lyes in that.

Val.

Oh—well remembred 'faith—why Franck—if she loves thee, when thou art in company with her, thou sha't see her leer upon thee—like a crafty Shop-keeper after a fellow that has bid him money.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.

Sir, Mr. Hylas is below, and come to visit ye.

Val.
[Page 2]

Hylas? Is he return'd to England so soon? Well, desire him to walk up.

Fra.

Hylas! I believe I know him—if it be he I mean, he's a shallow fellow, much pleas'd with his own Inconstancy.

Val.

You have hit him, Sir—he now were a fitter Person to give thee a Lecture about Women than I; he has been the most Inconstant, and the most adventurous Fool in the Town, been abus'd by all sorts of Women—and yet dares love a fresh.

Fra.

A very modish Character.

Val.

I believe Mad Tom's come back with him, Monsieur Thomas as we call him here, for they two have ever yet been Inseparable; but here he comes.

Enter Hylas.

Ah Iack! welcome home 'faith—I am glad to see thee with all my heart; how do'st thou, ha?

Hyl.

'Faith, very well, the better to see my dear Val in so good a humour—well, and prithee how fare all our Friends, and among the rest, all the Bona Roba's of the Age, ha? Any new faces of late worth a mans observance? Come, I know thou art generally acquainted, and thou art sure thou can'st not oblige me more, than by such a relation, what say'st thou?

Val.

Why only this, That to thy boundless comfort, the Town's full of e'm; But, for my part, thou know'st I want the faculty of Address—I am no Womans Man, Iack.

Hyl.

How? no Womans Man—ye lie Val. d'ee hear? (and give me thy hand) I cannot oblige thee more than to tell thee so: But heark ye, is not that Frank Wellbred, there?

Val.

The same; one that I can assure you, will be proud to be listed among your Friends.

Hyl.

Will he? and 'faith—I'll do him that honour instantly. Franck, thy humble Servant,—'faith—I hardly knew thee at first—why sure, thou art plaguily alter'd, or else I am: Thou look'st quite another Man, than thou wert formerly.

Fra.

Sir—Time blots the nearest Friends out of our Memories, And that's the reason that makes you think I am alter'd: But, though I am so, I see you hold your old humour still, You are the same. That is, as much a fool as ever.

Aside.
Hyl.

'Faith thou art in the right, I am so, I am as mad an Inconstant Debauch'd Son of a Whore as ever I was. Why what a Pox shou'd a [Page 3] man do poreing, and dreaming out his time for, when he can spend it to better advantage, I am for a short life, and a merry, I.

Val.

'Faith, I believe thee, thou art a Latitudinarian in Debauchery; and for Hectring, Bilking, Drinking, and for Wenching, let thee alone.

Hyl.

Ah Rogue, for Wenching let me alone, as thou say'st; For, if any Female scapes me, she must be a copy of my Grandame Eve; for from Fifteen to Five and fifty, I have try'd already.

Fra.

Why, well said—what an impudent damn'd lying Rogue is this?

Aside.
Hyl.

But now we are talking of Debauchees—Prithee Val, Who do'st thou think is come over with me?

Val.

Why, it may be, he that went with thee, the Bully of Covent-Garden, Mad Tom of Covent-Garden.

Hyl.

Why, what a Plaguy guess hast thou?—'faith, thou art in the right, Mad Tom, Mounsieur Thomas is return'd, 'gad I believe thou art a Conjurer.

Val.

No, no, I have only a small Familiar—well—I hope he has brought the same Virtues home with him, that he carried out?

Hyl.

Ah, more, Val, more—he was but a Puny before he went, But now he's grown Arts Master—'tis strange he has not been here; told me the first thing he did, shou'd be to Visit thee.

Val.

I have not seen him yet, but I hear he has a Father in Town, I suppose, duty carries him thither first.

Hyl.

He has so; why do'st thou not know him? Sir Wilding Frollick his own Father to a hair; didst thou never hear his Character?

Val.

No; prithee, what is't?

Hyl.

'Faith, a pleasant one—why Sir, the Old Knight is three times more debauch't than he, encourages him in it, and provides him Tu­tors, to teach him the Arts of Playing, Drinking, and Wenching, sent him to Travel, to learn Experience, he had like to have dis inherited him t'other day, for breaking his assignation with—an Old Whore, that was rotten seven years before, and was then under the Surgeon's hands; ha, ha.

Fra.

A very hopeful Family.

Enter Sabina, and Cellide.
Hyl.

By St. Christopher, rare Creatures! ah! ye little fleering Quean you—Pox on her, what an Eye she has.

Sabin.

Brother, pray let me desire you to receive my Cousin, Sir Pe­regrine Goodall's Daughter, a worthy person, and one that is pleas'd to [Page 4] give me the honour of her Love, and Acquaintance.

Val.

She shall command here as my self—Madam, your humble Servant.

Salutes her.
Hyl.

I must have a touch too—fair Saint your most—devoted—ah, how it hangs about my Lips.

Aside.
Val.

I hope your Father's well, Madam.

Cell.

He was three dayes since—I have his Letter for ye, will give you full satisfaction.

Val.

This Favour makes me much his Debtor.

Reads.

Lor'd, Madam—what does Sir Peregreene mean by all these Ceremo­nies, he desires you may lodge here with my Sister, till he comes to Town; and does it here with so many reiterated expressions of Obli­gations receiv'd, that it far exceeds the poorness of the courtesie—I thought he had known, Madam, that his Commands, rather than In­treaties, had been honours to me—Sister, pray see all things provided for my Cousin, and once more welcome to my house.

Cell.

You'l find me a bold Guest, Sir—but I am no stranger to your generous temper.

Sabin.

For my part, I am glad for my own sake, for now I shall have some Company to go and see a Play now and then.

Fra.

Your Friend Val. is struck dumb, prithee speak to him, he's in a fit sure.

Val.

Heark ye Iack—Prithee what think'st thou of this Lady, Is she not tight, cleanly shap'd, and well rigg'd, ha?

Hyl.

Ay, ay,—wou'd I had her in a Sack at my Lodging, I desire no better Company.

Val.

But which of e'm do'st like best? deal faithfully.

Hyl.

Why 'faith, to be free with thee, I like e'm both best; I tell ye, I'm a right Rover, I never bestow all my passion upon one: Woman, if there be another in the Company; I don't hold it for good manners.

Val.

Why merry be thy heart—what now, Sirrah?

Enter Servant.
Servant.

Sir, Monsieur Thomas is below, and desires to kiss your hands.

Val.

Wait on him up; so, now for the Entertainment.

Sabin.

Heark there, Madam, does not that Sound rejoyce your heart? Monsieur Thomas, your old Gallant—that us'd to Court ye with [Page 5] Songs; Serenades, Masques, Fiddles, Fa-la's, and the Devil and all, is re­turn'd from Travel, full of the same Virtues he carried with him, and has found you out already.

Cell.

I know it—for I unluckily met him, just as I was coming out of the Coach, and he wou'd not let me go till I told him where I was to lodge; I know I shall be troubled with his former Impertinencies; but if I do not fit him—

Sabin.

Heark! he's coming up—if you han't a mind to see him, 'Tis but stepping here to this Closet, and you may, unknown to him, hear what he sayes.

Cell.

With all my heart.

Hyl.

Madam, will my company breed your diversion, 'faith I'm in Earnest, desire to appear serviceable to your Ladyship.

Cell.

Your Wit, Sir, will be better imploy'd another way; Come Cousin, let's go listen to the Gentleman, no doubt, we shall find a great reformation.

Hyl.

Why, look ye Gentlemen, this is alwayes my damn'd luck, Pox on't, they won't allow me so much as a Leere; but hush—here comes the Monsieur.

Enter Monsieur Thomas and Launce.
Tho.

Dear Val, let me have thee in my arms, and there give me leave to tell thee, thou art my best of Friends—What Iack, my Noble Friend, and fellow-Traveller, art thou here too? and my dear Franck? nay then, let us incorporate and make one body, our hearts I know are united already—and let me boldly now confess I'm proud to mingle with such worth and honour.

Val.

Here's your Courtier, Gentlemen—but prithee Friend, let's have no more of this; Ceremony among Friends, betrayes as little Love, as Jesting among 'em—thou know'st I love thee.

Tho.

'Faith, I believe thou dost—Well Gentlemen, what news then, You that live here in this free thriving Climate, I'm sure you can never want that.

Fra.

I hear, the King of Poland has receiv'd a considerable loss in a Pitch't Battel—but new Succours lately coming in, 'tis thought he will adventure once more.

Hyl.

The Grand Signior, they say, is sick too.

Tho.

Is he? why, let him be damn'd too—prithee, what a Devil have thou and I to do with the Grand Signior, or with the King of [Page 6] Poland's fighting. Why Gentlemen, you mistake me; when I spoke of News, I did not mean what Accidents, or what Battels have been fought; but what Wine, what merry Songs, what good Company, what Women are abroad? there lyes my Province; T'other is fitter for a Grocer, and stinks so of a Coffee-house I hate it.

Val.

Mad Tom still I see—heark ye, Iack Hylas there can help thee to Twenty Women, he's one of their Counsel.

Hyl.

I saw two not long ago that—

Val.

Hush—Pox on thee thou wilt discover all — but my dear mad Rogue, prithee, what exploits hast thou perform'd since thou hast been absent—I'm sure that story must needs be divertive—come, impart.

Tho.

Not I'faith, I have more modesty than to speak things so much in my own praise, I thank ye-but if thou knew'st all Val—Cou'd I but infuse into thee, the Intrigues, the Rambles, the Serenades, the Quar­rels—and the punishment attending 'em, which most valiantly—and 'faith I think much like a Gentleman, I have undergone, and attempt­ed, 'twere enough to put thee into a Feaver; therefore, in pity to thee I'll desist.

Val.

Nay, prithee, if thou dost not care to speak it thy self, Let thy Man relate it for thee.

Tho.

My Man—why he's the dullest Rogue in the World; We shall have it from him, in a Gallamafry of Languages; prithee observe him, See, how he looks, he's the most Impudent, and withal, the most Ignorant Son of a Whore, that ever I met with. A pox on him, he sticks on me like a Burr, not to be shaken off.

Launce.

Vat is dis—Vat is de Matra dat they stare upon me, Begar, he be telling some dam Lye now.

Fra.

Come, prithee, let's hear it from him however, It must needs be very divertive.

Tho.

Well, for your sake, I'll try him—You shall hear one of my last Frollicks at Paris.—Come Sirrah, you sneaking Dog, advance before me, put your face in a Posture, And then tell it.

Launce.

Yes,—with all my heart—Serviteur Gentlemen.

Tho.

Come, Sirrah, begin.

Launce.

Vell, Vell—presantly, presantly—hum—but what must me tell—'tis requisite I shou'd know dat.

Tho.

Sirrah, Declare, and with rhetorick, tropes, figures, and such like; for if you pronounce it in your every dayes language, I will make your face plainer by a Nose, Rascal—I say, Declare to my Friends here my last Frollick at Paris.

Launce.
[Page 7]

Oh—de Frollick at Par [...]—well—now I know what to tell, Let me alone—hum—Gentlemen, the Noble Monsieur my Matra here, going out of his Lodging one Moon-shiné Night, with intent to diverta himself, with the various Object, he very fortunately met in the Street—Who was it you met in the Street—Jernie I have for­got that.

Tho.

A Whore, ye Dog; who shou'd a man meet at that time of Night; I told ye what a dull Rogue he was.

Launce.

A Whore; right, a Whore—my Membra be a little short, but that's all one—Vel, dis Whore give him the Jogg—as the damn'd Bitch did to me here in Covent-Garden—t'other Night. He, as a well-bred Gentleman shou'd—followes her, and to say truth, the Woman had a great many divertive, Inscrutable, unintelligable, abominable, Intrinsickable postures with her.

Tho.

What, what's that, Sirrah—Inscrutable, Intrinsickable; bless me, what stuff's this ye Dog?

Launce.

Vat is it—why do you not know—why, 'tis Rhetorick as you bid me speak; Jernie—you do not know tropes, and figure, when you hear 'em.

Tho.

What think you now—was there ever such an Insipid Rogue-? you will speak more to the purpose, Rascal, will you not?

Fra.

Prithee speak it in another language, or in English, if thou can'st, that we may understand the better.

Launce.

Speak it in an odra Language?

Hyl.

Ay, Plainer, in English.

Launce.

Why, so I can Sir, as plain as you if you go to that. Whoo, what a Pox, dee think I can't speak English?

Tho.

Why, ye Impertinent Dog, must I be play'd with all this while, speak quickly, or I will so—

Launce.

Well, well, Lord you are very Cholerick; so as I was saying Gentlemen, my Master going along with this Gentlewoman—

Tho.

This Gentlewoman—what Gentlewoman—? this Whore—Rogue, this Whore—Sirrah, let me have no corruption of Notions—But speak every thing in its Nature—by this Light, Gentlemen, a scur­vy Suburb Whore, that smelt of nothing but Tobacco, and Brandy.

Launce.

Well, to be short, going farther, we met a Company of fel­lowes attended by a blind Harper, and a Taber and Pipe, they were bringing along 3 or 4 Bears that were the next day to be baited, my Master presently bargains with 'em for a Pistol to carry this Gentle­woman—this Whore I mean, in triumph home to her Lodging upon [Page 8] one of the Bears, ha, ha—she was easily perswaded; for the truth is, she was a little too Maudlin to be refractory; my Office was to be Mar­shal, to keep the Boyes from throwing Eggs, and Tirnups, and he was the Orator to declare her quality—and Virtues—but had you seen the Rabble shouting, the noise that the blind Harper, and Taber and Pipe made, my Master bawling, the Whore singing, and I quarelling among the Boyes, you wou'd have blest your self. Heark ye Sir, shall I tell now how you were beaten, and thrown into a Ditch coming home too?

Val.

Ha! what's that, thrown into a Ditch?

Tho.

Ay, ay—a sawcy fellow. I threw him into a Ditch, for taking the Wall of me—Sirrah, not a word more of that, as you expect to eat agen—

Aside.
Launce.

Mum, I have done—O Lord, not eat agen?

Sabin.

Dee hear this Cousin? here's your reform'd Gentleman.

Cell.

He has Travell'd to fine purpose, if this be all he has learnt; I'm glad I've heard this, I might have been mistaken else.

Tho.

Sirrah, go you instantly to my Father, and tell him I'm return'd, And sift his Inclination handsomely, that I may know whether his old humour hold, or no; away, by that time you have prepar'd him a lit­tle, I ll come, and prosecute; I must have a trick upon him, or I shall get no money.

Launce.

I am gone Sir—his Father if he be not chang'd since I saw him last, is ten times madder than he; 'tis a strange World this! in a Young Man 'tis Natural, but that an Old Fellow shou'd be so de­bauch'd—mercy on us, how can he hope to be sav'd?

Exit Launce.
Tho.

Well Gentlemen, what think you of my Frollick?

Fran.

'Faith, 'twas very extravagant, yet gave occasion for Mirth enough.

Tho.

Ah, I have a thousand of 'em, and as many Mistresses to play upon; but now I talk of Mistresses, I thought I shou'd have seen one of 'em here before now, my Old Love, Val. Madam Cellide, I met her yesterday, and she told me, she was to lodge here.

Val.

She will not be long from hence, Sir.

Enter Cellide and Sabina.
Cell.

They have my name in question, and I'll hear what he sayes of me a little nearer.

Hyl.

I have the honour to have some little knowledge of her; But prithee Tom, how has she entertain'd thee since thy return? for I remember you were alwayes quarrelling together formerly.

Tho.
[Page 9]

Ay, that's true, but let me tell you Friend, the case is alter'd now; Why, though we were fallen out, and I have not seen her these six Moneths, yet I prevail'd with her yesterday to go to the Tavern with me.

Val.

How, to th' Tavern?

Cell.

Heaven! what a ly's this! was ever such Impudence!

Sabin.

Hush, hear more.

Tho.

To th' Tavern? Ay, to th' Tavern—and 'faith, between you & I, took off her Bumper as roundly and heartily as one of us cou'd; And believe me, I had a great deal of Joy to see't.

Val.

Ha, ha, ha—why then I see she cou'd dispence with her Modesty, to give compliance to your Love.

Tho.

Modesty, what's that, prithee?

Val.

Why a Virtue that is as necessary for young Ladies as their Beauty.

Tho.

Is it, well, I thank Fortune, and her Education, she understands nothing of it—No, no, she's all free and charming—ah! had'st thou but seen her Eyes sparkling, her Breast panting, her Sighs flowing, her Body trembling, and her Arms twining about me—Ah Rogue—what a Pox, that is not she I hope!

Throwes his Arms upon Val, sees Cellide, and starts.
Val.

By my faith it is, now I think on't, the very she, the same Obliging, Loving, Flexible Creature you spoke of.

Tho.

Umph—I am in a fine Condition.

Playes with his Hat.
Cell.

Impudent Detractor! how dare you blast a Ladyes Reputation thus! I at the Tavern? I Kiss ye, and Clasp ye in my Arms? No, I'd sooner do't to my Footman; and were I not certain that these Gentle­men know me better, than to believe a word thou hast said, I wou'd not sleep, till I were reveng'd.

Tho.

So,—will the Devil never leave these tricks?

Cell.

It seems, 'tis now your custome to abuse Ladies, but let me tell ye Sir, and with an anger just, and warranted, I am none of those easie Creatures that will suffer such affronts, My Education and Modesty are both proofs against that, I assure ye.

Sabin.

She carries it well—but if he knew how well she lov'd him, We shou'd have better sport.

Tho.

Why, Hang me, Madam, if I meant any hurt, Tis onely a damn'd way of expressing my self, which I have got.

Cell.

Curse on your debauch'd Phrases—must my defamation be your way to express your self, you Impudent, base fellow?

Tho.
[Page 10]

Why faith, the truth is, I am a very Impudent fellow, This debauch'd World leads us all astray.

Cell.

This was certainly a very new way of Courtship, or cou'd you Imagine I wou'd be taken with the Wit on't, when I shou'd happen to hear your Character of me? whatever you think, I know my own mind, and 'tis a question, whether any of your future services will ever be strong enough to blot this affront out of my memory.

Exeunt Cellide and Sabina.
Tho.

Bounce—there goes the Cannon—ha, ha—She was in a plaguy heat Gentlemen, ha, was she not?

Val.

It seems so—but what a damn'd lying Rogue art thou, To say thou had'st her at a Tavern?

Hyl.

Ay, and that she kiss'd him—and claspt him in her Arms, and drank a Bumper to his health at her first coming in.

Fra.

'Twas well she came in, and hinder'd ye before you cou'd go further, Certainly you must needs have been founder'd, else your lye wou'd have been discover'd.

Tho.

No 'faith, all on't was no lye—but I must confess t'ee, under the Rose here, I did stretch a little, as a good teller of a Story shou'd;—for a man can no more tell a good Story; without enlarging upon his Jest—than a Poet can make a good Play, without enlarging upon his Plot.

Val.

Nay, let thee alone to bring it off, be it what it will; But come, if thou wilt go in with me, I'll give thee thy Welcome to Town.

Tho.

No, I have business elsewhere; Nor must this angry Beauty sleep in her displeasure—but first to my Father—and whatever you hear of my Actions, Gentlemen, Not a word of my Humour; for though to you I appear a Mad, Wild, Monsieur; To him I must be Ananias—Walk thus—Look thus—Spit thus—I have a Plot in't, and you'l find it your diversion, if you think it worth your patience; for the present, Adieu.

Val.

Farewell Wild Oates.

Tho.

Now to my Sober Look; thus oft we see, The Plodding Fool's the greatest Debauchee.

Exit.
The End of the First Act.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Enter Sir Wilding and Launce.
Sir Wild.

SIrrah, no more of your French shruggs, I advise you. If you are Lowsie, shift your self.

Launce.

Loosie—Vat a diable—me Loosie—why Monsieur—do you understand who you speak too—me Loosie? Jernie, that is fine indeed.

Sir Wild.

Let me have no more of your French Grimaces, Rogue, But fetch your Master, your Master, and my Son, body o'me Sir, No money, No more money, Monsieur Launce, not a deneer Sweet, Signior, but bring me instantly my Boy, my mad Tom, Monsieur Thomas, or get you gone agen; Du gat a Whee Sir, Basa mi cu, good Launcelot, Valetote, my Boy, or Nothing.

Launce.

Why so you shall, Sir—but you won'not hear me, because you speak all your self—what a damn'd dull Old fellow this is!

Sir Wild.

Why then Sirrah be facetious, and speak quickly, and do not mop, nor mow, nor draw your mouth into a damn'd Posture; Sirrah, I hate all postures; I say be facetious, and quick.

Launce.

Jernie, why so I will be facetious and quick, if you wou'd holda your Tongue; begar Monsieur, you have the most Eternal Clack—You will let no body speaka but your self.

Sir Wild.

Be brief Rogue, be brief.

Launce.

Why then—because your Worships Vulgar Judgment shall meeta me at the nearest—Your Son, my Matra, or Mounsieur Thomas, is at last arriv'd to ask your (as the worthy French man call it) Bene­diction de jour en jour.

Sir Wild.

Sirrah, do not conjure me with your French Furies.

Launce.

Che dit a vou, Monsieur.

Sir Wild.

Che doga vou rascal, leave your damn'd rotten language, and tell me plainly where your Master is, and why he does not come—or—shall I crack your French Crown? Sirrah—I have maintain'd you and your Monsieur these two years at your Ditty vous, your Iours, Jour me no more; for not another penny shall pass my purse till Thomas comes himself; then, if I find him profited, the Wild, the Wanton, the Mad Tom I wish him—he shall not want the means, whilst I have any; do not answer me, unless in English, Sirrah.

Launce.

English—Well, and so I will, and let me tell ye, that 'faith hee'l fit you to a hair—Sir, he was the most debauch'd Fellow in Paris [Page 12] when he was there such Rearing, such Revelling, such Serenading, and such Whoring; Oh he's a fine man.

Sir Wild.

Why this is comfort now—there's for thy News; why now I like thee—but Sirrah, is he such a mad Rogue still? Is he my blood, and bones, ha?

Launce.

I and other Peoples blood and bones too Sir, let me tell you, that—heark ye Sir—give me a Crown to make my self drunk With drinking your health to Night, and I'll tell you—something of him shall make you merry at heart,

Sir Wild.

Wilt thou? by Bacchus I'll do't then—there—Come, I stand on thorns to hear it, what is't, what is't?

Launce.

Why Sir—he has had since we left England by Citizens Wives, and their Daughters, private Ladies, and Night Adventurers—Another half Crown Sir— or I can't in conscience tell it else.

Sir Wild.

Nay, prithee Launce—'faith, now thou'rt too hard—

Launce.

Too hard—why, 'tis worth a Pound Sir; 'Faith you shou'd not have it so cheap, but that ye are my Friend.

Sir Wild.

Pox on thee for a Rogue—there 'tis—come be brief now, What new Prank has the Rogue plaid, ha?

Launce.

Why Sir—by these Women, which I have already mention'd to you, he has had since you saw him last— 4 Bastards, ha, ha.

Sir Wild.

Four? has he 'faith? ha, ha, ha; by Bacchus, a brave Boy. Four? ha, ha—I am overjoy'd to hear this; But how Launce, how?

Launce.

Why Sir, one of 'em was begot in a Cobler's Stall, Which he broke open for the purpose.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha—So—

Launce.

Another Sir, upon the Back-Stairs at the Louvre, And the other two in a Church.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha—better and better—I am grown young agen at this News—four?—Cock of four—ha, ha,—a Rascal ifaith.

Iumps about.
Launce.

Hush Sir, here he comes—Mum, not a word of this I have told ye.

Enter Monsieur Thomas.
Sir Wild.

What, my Boy—mad Tom—Monsieur Thomas, I am glad ifaith to see thee, I have wisht for thee, Tom, for you wild ThomasTom, I thank thee heartily for coming home.

Tho.

Be pleas'd to give me your Blessing Sir—

Sighs.
Sir Wild.

Thou hast it, Tom, may'st thou live, and multiply [Page 13] till thou art a hundred and ten; and as thou art now Cock of four, may'st thou be Cock of Fifty, and sound ones.

I have pray'd for thee, and hope thou art the better for't.

Tho.

Sir, I do find your Prayers have much prevail'd above my Sins.

Sir Wild.

How's this, Sins!—what Sins, Tom?

Tho.

Else surely I had perisht with my rudeness.

Sir Wild.

Ha.—

Tho.

E're I had won my self to that discretion, I hope you shall hereafter find—

Sir Wild.

What—discretion, oons is it come to that, Sirrah? Launce—Dog—is this the reformation, is this your Cock of four?

Launce.

Lord Sir, what dee mean, why you mistake your Father clearly; Why, he's as debauch't as you Sir, he likes it in ye, and will cherish it, good Sir, ùnmask, unmask.

Tho.

Sirrah you Rogue—look for't, for I will make thee ten times more miserable than thou thought'st thy self before thy Travel; Thou hast told my Father, I know it, and I find it, all my Rogueries by meer way of prevention, to undo me.

Launce.

Sir, as I speak Eight Languages, I onely told him you came to ask his Benediction—de jour en jour.

Tho.

But that 'tis my duty to be civil now—I wou'd beat thee like a Dog.

Launce.

The Devil's in him—this is another Whim now, but I'll be gone, for I'm sure the Old Man's Fingers itch at me, and I think, 'tis not fit that Learning shou'd be beaten.

Exit.
Tho.

However, Sir, the time I have mis-spent, may make you doubtful, Nay harden your belief gainst my Conversion.

Sir Wild.

Forgive me!—Conversion!—this is worst of all—O Pox on Travel, I say.

Tho.

Yet, dear Father, your own experience in my after-courses, and observation of my Life and Carriage, may yield some satisfaction; for I'll reform my self in every thing: I won'not be drunk, nor swear, nor Wench, Pray forgive me Sir, Indeed I will no more be so forget­ful, hah.

Sighs.
Sir Wild.

Ha—the Devil ha ye, and the Pox too—spoyl'd, quite spoyl'd, for ever lost; a Plague of Travel, If this be the fruits on't.

Tho.

Let not your Ears be open to my Enemies, he leads an ill life Sir, that never mends—there are a sort of sober Men i'th Town, [Page 14] which the Rabble call Phanaticks; these I will follow to instruct my self—and you shall see me mount the losty Hogshead, and teach, and preach, and sing, and say, and pray,—

Sir Wild.

And ha, and Yea, and Nay, and Fool, and Ass, and Cox­comb.

Mocks him.
Tho.

Ay, ay Sir—you have reason to be angry, but let Religion tell ye I am your Son, Sir.

Sir Wild.

Ye lye Sir, and get you out of my doores—I disclaim ye; Undone, without redemption! hang him, he'l drink by Thimbles full—like a sneaking Rascal—how the Devil have I sinn'd, that this affliction shou'd light so heavy on me? Well, I'll go seek an Heir—I am resolv'd on't, for my Inheritance must not turn Secretary; my Name and Quality has kept my Land three hundred years in Madness—and if it slip now, may it sink for ever—But first, I'll find out this lying Rogue, this Dog, this Launce, that took my money, and then fool'd me—I'll find him, and I'll cudgel him to Mummy.

Exit.
Tho.

Ha ha ha, this verifies the Old Proverb, No Impudence like that hid under the Vizor of Zeal. A sudden compliance will now make him part from his Estate more willingly, but the time is not come yet—I must amuse him a little longer—my dear Sister—I am glad to to see thee, did'st thou meet my Father?

Enter Mrs. Dorothy.
Dor.

Yes, but very angry to my thinking.

Tho.

'Faith, he does ill in't, for I was uttering a handsome speech or two—I have been studying e're since I come from Paris; but how do'st thou, ha?

Doro.

Very well, and gladder to see you, and with more Love, I dare affirm it, than my Father's sorry, to see, as he supposes, your Con­version; I am sure he is vext to'th' Heart.

Tho.

Pish.

Doro.

Nay, I know it, He has pray'd against it strongly.

Tho.

I warrant thee, let me alone—I can bring all off when I list, and yet be mad too; ah Doll, ever take a Traveller for a Plot—but heark ye, I have a little business for thee.

Doro.

Yours, is my business, speak, and be obey'd; You know I can deny you nothing.

Tho.

Ah poor Soul! 'Faith, thou art a dear Rogue to me; Well, you partly may guess this; 'tis concerning my Old Mistress, Madam Cellide.

Doro.
[Page 15]

Oh Sir, are you there already—what, some small affront to her I'll lay my life—and I'm to be Arbitrator.

Tho.

'Faith thou art in the right—and 'tis but a small matter—but you know she's so pettish—

Doro.

Some lye—or defamation of her, I'll lay my life.

Tho.

No, faith, no, a petty business, a flight matter; but however, to make all well agen— I have writ her a Letter here, and my Suit to thee, is to be Emissary—thou canst hit her humour right, and I'm sure will put in a Word or two (by the by) for me, for old acquaintance sake.

Doro.

Well Sir, I'll do what I can, but I assure ye, she has heard of all your mad Tricks, the Gambols you have play'd since your departure, in every Town you came, your several Mischiefs, your Rowses, and your Wenches; all your Quarrels too, and the no causes of 'em—Your fame came over before ye.

Tho.

Whoo Pox—lyes, damn'd lyes—prithee tell her I am conver­ted now; Not like the man I was: Thou had'st a pretty faculty of swearing once, Prithee try—Pox, what's an Oath or two to oblige a Brother—Pshaw, pshaw, 'tis nothing—I'll swear an hour together for thee at any time.

Doro.

A very friendly offer; Well Sir, though I will not promise ye to swear as you request—yet perhaps I may do your business as well.

Tho.

Wilt thou?—why a blessing on thy heart, and 'faith to requite thee, if there be e're a tall, handsome, Well sett brisk Fellow—better than ordinary about Town, I'll get him for thee, that thy business may be done too.

Enter Boy.

How now Sirrah, what News?

Boy.

Madam, there's two Ladies below come to Visit ye.

Doro.

Ten to one 'tis they, and my trouble of going is sav'd; Tell her I'll come.

Tho.

I'll not be seen—'twill look like modesty in me, and play but thy part now dear Rogue, and command me for ever.

Exit.
Enter Cellide and Sabina.
Cellid.

What, still this mopeing alone my dear—why sure you have forgot what diversion or good Company means, or do ye intend to turn Nun, and exclude your self from the World, and now practising Austerity?

Doro.

Neither of these assure your self; for first, I love Company too well, to take my self from 'em, that am or desire to be a Considerable Subject; and secondly, I love my self too well to exclude it from plea­sing [Page 16] Society, through any aversion I have for the World, or any passion for the Nunnery you speak of.

Cellide.

I am very glad I am mistaken; but hearkee, do'st thou want e're a Trick, a Design, a Plott, to bubble thy Servant, or so?

Doro.

Not I indeed—but how dee mean to Bubble him?

Cell.

Why, cause him to stand in the Snow at thy Chamber Window all Night long, to make him temperate—or make him Jump over thy Turky Chairs in the Parlour, and break his Shins, to try his Activity—or tye his hands behind him, and then break his head with the Hilt of his own Sword, to try his Valour, and Patience;—or hast thou occa­sion for a Lye—a Womans Lye? that is, a loud, malitious—swinging lye—a lye that has stuff enough, and is not spoil'd in the making—if thou hast, speak, and if I do not fit thee.

Dor.

Well, when I want, I'll not fail to make use of your offer. But I am now imploy'd upon a business—and though you think me so retir'd a Person, to say truth, I was just going out before you came, and coming to you, I have a Letter for ye.

Cell.

A Letter?

Sabin.

A Billet Doux—from some unknown Gallant I warrant that was surpriz'd in the Country.

Doro.

No, he was surpriz'd in Town, I can assure you that, and he's a Relation of mine.

Cell.

Oh, are ye thereabouts—nay then I begin to smell the Jest, There is a Wild Monsieur, a Brother of yours—that's newly return'd from Travel, one that I confess has a better faculty at lying, than I have; and for defaming Ladies, debauching their Women, beating Constables, breaking Glass Windows—the most accomplish'd that ever came from Paris.

Doro.

For what he has done, I have nothing to say, but onely for what he is now; and though I am his Sister, I dare assure you, never was man so much alter'd in so short a time; he is grown the most sober, civil, well behav'd, courteous Man you ever saw—Prithee read the Letter, there you'l find more of him.

Sabin.

'Tis a riddle to me he shou'd be so, he was yesterday quite another thing to my knowledge; and to leap in an instant from an ex­cess of Wildness, to the extream of Temperance, is to me a Miracle.

Cell.

Ha, ha, ha, I thought as much—his Letter speaks a very civil, reform'd Creature indeed; read it, ha, ha.

Sabin.

What, Complement, I warrant, some Wretched piece of Poetry.

Cell.

Oh, an Excellent piece—ha, ha, ha.

Mrs. Dor.
[Page 17]
Reads.

Dammee Madam—If I were a Poet, I wou'd be more Elegant; But confound me, you know I am not; Was ever such a thing writ?—is this his modesly in the devils name?

Cell.

Well, what think ye now, is not the Gentleman a great Con­vert?—ha, ha, ha,—there is an Old Proverb, What is bred in the Bone, will never—you understand me, and therefore prithee trouble thy self with no more Embassies, but next time, let him make his Address himself—Come, put on thy Scarf, and let us take a pair of Oars to Fox-Hall, 'Tis a fine Evening, and I know we shall be merry.

Sabin.

Well, what you please—but in my opinion the Park is the better place of the two: What thinkest thou, my Dear?—hey day, why thou art not grown Melancholick about this simple Letter, art?—Come, prithee sing us a Scotch Song, I know thou art good at it.

Scotch Song.
ABroad as I was walking upon a Summer Day,
There I met with a Beggar-woman cloathed all in gray;
Her Clothes they were so torn, you might have seen her skin.
She was the first that taught me to see the Golin.
Ah see the Golin, my Io, see the Golin.
2.
You Youngsters of delight, pray take it not in scorn,
She came of Adam's Seed, though she was basely born:
And though her Cloathes were torn, yet she had a Milk-white skin,
She was the first, &c.
3.
She had a pretty little Foot, and a moyst Hand,
With which she might compare to any Lady in the Land;
Ruby Lips, Cherry Cheeks, and a Dimpled Chin,
She was the, &c.
4.
Whan that ay had wooed her, and wad her twa my will,
Ay could not then devise the way to keep her Baby still.
She bid me be at quiet, for she valued it not a Pin,
She was, &c.
5.
Then she takes her Bearn up, and wraps it weel in Clothes,
And then she takes a Golin and stuck between her Toes;
[Page 18]And ever as the Lurden cry'd, or made any Din,
She shook her Foot and cry'd my Jo, see the Golin.
Ah see the Golin my Jo, see the Golin.
Cell.

Heark! what's the matter?

A noise within.
Sir Wild.

Rogue—Dog, Lying Rascal.

within.
Dor.

Tis my Father's voice, he's angry with some body, Come, let's be gone; for if he sees me, I shall not get out these two hours.

Exit.
Enter Sir Wilding, beating Launce.
Sir Wild.

Sirrah, am I to be baffled?—must I give Money to give your Dogship occasion to laugh at me in a Corner: What, I am a Fool, am I? fit to be bubbled?—no Rogue, Instead of tutoring your Master, I find you have spoil'd him.

Launce.

Ay, spoila him—make a dat out—Jernie, I can bring sufficient Evidence, he did spoila me the first week I came to him—You don't remember when he made the Ten Whores in Whetstones Park stand every one on their heads upon Quart-Pots, you are Ignorant of that, but I'm sure I remember it; for I got a damn'd clap dat time, which I cou'd never claw off since: besides, how cou'd I spoila him?

Sir Wild.

Oh, I'll tell you how, Sirrah—first, thou hast taught him, like an Insipid Rascal, to read perfectly, which, on my blessing I warn'd him from; for I knew, if he came to read once, he was a lost Man. Secondly, Sir Launcelot, Sir Lowsie Launcelot—You have suffer'd him against my power, first then—against my Precept—to keep that sort of People company, which sober Men call civil, mark ye that Sir.

Launce.

Why then, the Divla fetch me, if to my knowledge he does not hate all Civil Company; he never was civil in his life, nor never will be—Oons I saw him break a Parson's head t'other day but for praying him to be Civil to his Wife, whom he was going to be uncivill to before his face.

Sir Wild.

Nay, nay, I know you have your come offs and your lyes, But it shant do, this is like your Cock of Four, Sirrah, I remember that your Cock—but I'll make you Cock of Five before we part; I'll teach you to play your Tricks with me.

Launce.

Vat trick?—me play no trick—begar 'tis he dat do play all the trick—is dere no hole, or Corner?

Sir Wild.

Thirdly, and lastly Sirrah—which if the Law were here I'd hang thee for—(however I will lame thee) Like a Rascal thou [Page 19] hast wrought him—clean to forget what 'tis to do a mischief—a handsome mischief, and such as thou know'st I love well; my Ser­vants are all sound now, my Drink sower'd, not a Horse pawn'd, or plaid away; no Warrants come for the breach of Peace; Men Travel with their Money, Nothing meets 'em: I was accurs'd to send thee with him, thou wer't ever leaning to Laziness, and loss of spirits, and sleep'st still like a Cork upon the Water.

Launce.

O Lord, O Lord, I sleep—why Sir, all the Town knowes that next to him—there is not such a debauch'd—Lew'd Fellow in Christendom as I am—I may thank him for't, if I am damn'd. Why Sir, did you never hear of my Astrology?

Sir Wild.

Thy Astrology?—dull Rogue, thou wou'dst make a rare Astrologer!

Launce.

Vat—you mock me then—a cursed simple old fellow this, Yes Sir, I tell ye I am fam'd for Astrology—I can tell any Woman her fortune, and her constitution too, whether hot, or dry; or cold, or moyst; or whether she is honest, or dishonest—Jernie, if I can get her alone with me, I'll quickly tell her, whether she is a Whore, or no.

Sir Wild.

I tell ye, I know you can prate well enough, but that she-shan't save ye—ha—is that Tom—No, that—

Enter Thomas.

sneaking, snivelling Puppy can ne're be Monsieur Thomas, sure: Turn you yonder, Sirrah—and see who's there; there's your Reformer—does he look like a Cock of four, ye Dog?

Tho.

What sweet content dwells here?

Launce.

Oons, put up your Book Sir! What, what's this Baxters Call? Baxter's Coxcomb—here, here—give't me, and here's Aratine's Book of Postures for ye—take it, We are all Undone else.

Tho.

Oh profane Rogue—there Sirrah, for ye.

Strikes him.
Launce.

Oh! what shall I do, I shall be murder'd at this rate.

Sir Wild.

Tom, When is the Horse-Race?

Tho.

I know not, Sir.

Sir Wild.

No— why, you'l be there I hope?

Tho.

Not I—I have forgot those Journeys, thank my Fortune:

Sir Wild.

Undone, without redemption—the Cocking holds at Derby too, Tom, and there will be Iack Hylas, and Will. Purser.

Tho.

Hah—I am sorry, Sir, They shou'd employ their precious time so vainly, Their Understandings will bear better courses.

Sir Wild.

Yes, I will marry agen, I am resolv'd on't; but Son Thomas, [Page 20] what say ye to the Gentleman that challeng'd ye before ye went about your Mistress?

Tho.

Oh good Sir—remember not those Follies where I have done wrong—so much I now have learn't to discern my Self, my Means, and my Repentance shall make even Sir; Nor do I think it any Imputation to let the Law perswade me.

Sir Wild.

Very well, Sir, the Law? the Law's an Ass as thou art; Did ever such affliction light on Man? Well, any Woman, I care not of what colour or constitution, if she can but bear Children, 'faith I'll have her.

Exit Sir Wild.
Launce.

Oh I am glad he's gone—I have had such an Ague upon me—but good Sir, what dee mean by this? You have utterly undone me, I shall be for the Ragged Regiment within these two dayes.

Tho.

Ha, ha, ha, he fiets to some purpose; but art thou such an Insipid Rascal to mind it? What, Eight Languages, and tremble at an Old Man's Threats?

Launce.

Not at his Threats, but his Blowes, Sir, I know them too well to be mistaken; 'tis not Eight, nor Eightscore can keep me from beating, if not killing; I'll give him leave to break a Legg, and thank him, pull off my Hatt, and cry, God bless his Worship. You might have sav'd all this, and but sworn a little—What a Pox had an Oath or two been to you when your hand was in, or a head broke—though it had been mine, to have satisfi'd the Old Gent. a little.

Tho.

Come, faith, to do thee a kindness, I'll break it yet.

Launce.

Phoo, Pox now 'tis too late—but Sir, will you do me one favour, will you be drunk to night?—a less intreaty has serv'd your turn to my knowledge—do it, and save all yet: Yet do not be mad­drunk, for then you are the Devil; Yet the Drunker, the better for your Father still. Your State is desperate Sir, and with a desperate Cure we must recover it—good Sir, do something, some debauch't drunken thing, some mad thing, or some any thing to help us.

Tho.

Well, go, for a Fidler then—the blind Old Fidler, under the Church Wall—he that saves his Songs—and dee hear, get me a Whore or two — a good, full, fat Whore, One that is fleshy; let her be an Old Bawd, so she be fat enough—I care not.

Launce.

Why I—this is well sed now, Sir I thank ye heartily, and I'll about it presently.

Knock within.
Tho.

Ha! Somebody knocks—go, let 'em in, who ere it be, and then make haste.

Exit Launce.

My Father's mad now—and ten to one, will dis-inherit me; [Page 21] I'll put him to plunge once more, and by that time my Design will be full ripe—how now, how do'st thou Iack?

Enter Hylas and Valentine.
Hyl.

Why 'faith, at the same pitch still — I neither wane not thrive.

Enter a Boy of Valentines.
Boy.

O Sir, I have been with the Physitians, and they are all ready below here.

To Valentine.
Val.

Go, direct 'em to my house, and desire 'em to take all possible Care in the Recovery of the Gentleman.

Tho.

Physitians! for what prithee—whose Dog lyes sick of the Mulligrubs?

Val.

Whoo, prithee, leave thy vile Phrases,—'tis a Friend of yours, I assure you, Franck Welbred—he was taken extreamly ill of a Fever yesterday, and lyes very weak at my house.

Tho.

Who young Franck? the onely temper'd, Spirit, Scholar, Soul­dier, Courtier, and all in one piece, 'tis impossible.

Val.

You'l find it true—but who's this?

Enter Mrs. Dorothy.
Dor.

Heark ye, Sir, a word wee'.

Tho.

Oh, Dear Rogue, art thou come already—well, of all Women, thou for dispatch sha't be most fam'd; and what success, prithee?—how did she like my Letter?

Dor.

Like it, infamous Man!—do you not blush at your Ingratitude? had you no one to abuse with the carriage of your debauch'd Epistle, but your Sister? must I be your Property? because you found my easie Nature, willing to oblige—wou'd you affront me so? this baseness is hardly to be parallel'd.

Val.

By her vehemence in action, this shou'd be something of Moment, Iack.

Hyl.

I know not what her action is—but she has a fine Buttock I'm sure, I have been looking at that.

Tho.

Hey-day, I affront thee? prithee what do'st thou mean, Sister?

Doro.

You wou'd be told, wou'd you? You have forgot, I warrant. But come, to refresh your memory, I'll read your worthy piece to you, Your Letter of Address to a Lady, whom you have abus'd—Your sweet Ticket of Repentance, and Reconciliation—Pray observe, Sir.

Tho.

Ay, with all my heart,

(Doro. Reads.)

Zoux Madam, if I were a Poet, the Devil take me if I wou'd not be more Elegant. A very fine beginning, Is it not?

Tho.
[Page 22]

'Faith I think so—without I shou'd have begun with—After my hearty Commendations; or, Surely; and, By my truly Mrs.—but go on—

Doro.

But, Confound me, You know I am none; and by the Beard of Iupiter, I am the less able to pen my excuse. 'S' Death, Madam, You know like a Devil as you are, I love you dearly. There, there, what occasion for that Oath, that Culverin there?

Tho.

Why, to tell thee the truth▪ I swore in that place, because I wou'd have her su [...]e to believe me.

Doro.

Very well; and by the Sun, the Moon, the Planets, the Stars, the Meteors—and such like, I am sorry for my last fault—And sinck me, am thy Devoted Servant both in this World—and in t'other. Oh horrible, is not that now monstrous lewd and wicked?

Tho.

No 'faith— Methinks 'tis very pretty—I have given her occasion there to see my Wit, and Learning.

Therefore, by the Eternal Blazing-Starr, that is to Convert the whole World into a Snuff-box, either instantly pardon me, or expect to be hourly molested, by the most passionate, and most resolute of his Sex; and so I leave ye to enter into consideration, and retire my self to my place of residence, the Devil-Tavern.

Doro.

What think you now? speak, In your Conscience, Is not this a Rare Piece?

Tho.

Ay, the Devil take me if it be not the fairest, noblest and most lofty style that ever was writ—Well—Doll—I will pardon thy Igno­rance, and hers too; but in troth you are both very silly Creatures.

Dor.

What you please Sir, let me have no more such Messages, and then you'l favour me—I'll instantly to my Father, and tell him to his great Joy of heart—You are his true Son still—the same for lying, Swearing, Drinking, Wenching, you ever was: And now I talk of Wenching—give me leave to inform ye—Your Young Rear-Admiral—I mean your last Bastard, Don Iohn, ye had by Lady Blanch, the Dairy-Maid—is by an Academy of Learn'd Gypsies stolne from the Nurse, and wanders with these Prophets. This in conclusion, I thought good to tell ye, and so your humble Servant, Sir.

Exit Dorothy.
Tho.

A Plaguy smart Jilt—but this is her Minute, the next is mine, and I have a design in my head, if follow'd well, shall bring all about yet. Come Iack.

Hyl.

Where, where's the Lady?—what, thou hast not let her go, hast?

Tho.

Let her go? why 'twas my Sister.

Hyl.
[Page 23]

Ah, is she thy Sister? nay then e'en let her go.

Val.

Well, Gentlemen—I must beg your pardon—I must go see Franck.

Tho.

Stay Val, a word first; heark ye—I'll go with thee; To Visit him, will be an excellent pretence of Introducing me into my Mistresses sight—and if I can but once more see her.—

Val.

Nay 'faith, I am so much thy Friend, I'll hinder thee nothing—Come then wee'l all go.

Hyl.

With all my heart.

Tho.

You shall see me cut upon her Heart, like a Diamond on Glass—I know her humour to a thought.

With brisk behaviour, loud Impertinence
I'll Court her, her own way, much noise, small sence;
For I've observ'd 'tis not the Man of Parts,
But your fine Talker, gets the Ladies hearts.
The End of the Second Act.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Franck Sick in a Chaire, a Bed standing by.
Enter 3 Physitians with a Urinal.
1. Phys.

A Pleurisie, I see it.

2. Phys.

I rather hold it for Tremor Cordis.

3. Phys.

Dee' mark the Foeces? 'tis a most pestilent Contagious Fe­ver—a Surfeit, a Plaguy Surfeit, he must bleed.

1. Phys.

By no means—

3. Phys.

I say Bleed.

1. Phys.

I say 'tis dangerous, the person being so much spent before­hand, Hypocondriaque humours being now in full Power, and Nature drawn so low—No, I rather think Clysters, cool Clysters.

2. Phys.

Now, with your favours—I shou'd think a Vomit; for, take away the Cause, the Effect will follow; his Stomach's foul, and the Intellect inflam'd.

3. Phys.

No, no, wee'l rectifie that part by milder means.

1. Phys.
[Page 24]

Come Sir, you must have patience; Brother, I think we had best first clap on the Cataplasme.

Fra.

Good Gentlemen, good Learned Gentlemen.

2. Phys.

And see those Broaths made ready within this hour; Come Sir, pray be rul'd.

Fra.

Pray Sir will you leave me; I beseech you leave me: Convey your Cataplasmes to those that need 'em, your Vomits, and your Clysters.

3. Phys.

Bring in the Lettuce Caps—You must be shav'd Sir, and then wee'l make you sleep.

Fra.

Ay, till Dooms-day—What unnecessary Nothings are these?

2. Phys.

How do ye Sir?

Fra.

What Questions they propound too—how do you Sir, I'm glad to see you well.

1. Phys.

Open your Mouth, I pray Sir.

Fra.

Aw—well, can you tell me now how old I am?—There's my hand, pray shew how many broken shins I shall have within these two year—'S'Death, who wou'd be thus in Fetters, good Mr. Doctor, and you Dear Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor, and pre­cious Master Pothecary, I beseech ye to give me leave to live a little longer—You stand before me like my Mourners.

3. Phys.

A great Distemper, his fancy now begins to turn too.

Enter Monsieur Thomas, Valentine, and Hylas Kew.

Pish, what more hindrance still?—Sir—'tis not our Custome to be rude—but dismiss your Company with what haste you can; for we must minister within this half hour.

Exeunt.
Fra.

Oh,—a fair riddance, my learned Horse-leeches.

Val.

Be not uncivil, Tom,—and use your pleasure—I know she will be here to visit him within this half hour: Do what you can to win her, but use no violence.

Tho.

I will not 'faith.

Val.

Where, where's this Sick Man?

Hyl.

Where are the Women, Man? there's my Province. Methinks these Women—

Tho.

Thou think'st nothing else.—

Val.

See Franck—here's two of thy Friends come to visit thee; Prithee look up—and bid 'em welcome—I'll go and see if they have got any thing for thee to eat—Come, sit up, and be merry, Man.

Exit Val.
Tho.
[Page 25]

How do'st thou, Franck, ha?

Come, give me thy hand, and bear up boldly—what, shrinck ith' Sinews for a little Sickness? a petty, puny, paultry Fever—Pox upon't, sing it away, Man.

Fra.

I am on the mending hand, I thank ye.

Tho.

How like a Flute thou speak'st, on the mending hand? Gogs boars I'm well—Speak like a Man of honour.

Fra.

Thou art a Mad Fellow; what, never staid. Tom?

Tho.

Let Rogues be stai'd that have no habitation, a Gentleman may wander—turn thee round, Franck—and see what I have brought thee—Sirrah, open the Scene and let the Work appear—Francis, a Friend at need is worth a Million.

Boy discovers a Bottle.
Fra.

What hast thou there, a Julip?

Hyl.

He must not touch it, 'tis present Death.

Tho.

Ye are an Ass—

Thou minister? thou mend a Pack-Saddle-You must pardon him—my Friend Franck—but a plaguy simple Fellow.

Do'st thou see this Bottle?—Prithee view it well; Agen observe it.

Fra.

Well, I do, Tom.

Tho.

There are as many Lives in't as a Cat carries; It refines the Spirit, revives the Person, removes the Disease, Restores the blood; heats, nourishes, fills the Veins, Cures, comforts, warms, purges—hey—in fine, 'tis everlasting Liquor—and shou'd be spoken of with reverence.

Fra.

Prithee what is't?

Tho.

Why 'faith—Old Sack.

Old Spirit stirring Oyly, reverend Sack—which, maugre any thing I can read yet, was the Philosopher's Stone The Wife King Ptolomy did all his Wonders by.

Fra.

Nay, I see no harm Sir—if drunk with moderation.

Tho.

Moderation!—Drink with Walnuts, Man, which I have ready here, and a Glass too; take me

Sits down on the Stage, and pulls out Walnuts—and a Glass.

without my tools, and hang me.

Hyl.

Pray, Sir, use temperance, You know your own state best.

Tho.

Temperance!—ugh, ugh—Pox on him, I had like to bin choak't with a Wall-nut-shell—by giving ear to his damn'd temperance.

Fra.

I thank thee, Iack—I shall be careful—Yet a Glass or two can do no harm, your Friend Tom is grown very sober.

Tho.
[Page 26]

A fool, a fool, he minds nothing now

Speaks this as he is Cracking the Nuts.

but Jelly-broth a mornings, and Bulking Whores at Night—Never cares for good Company, Fiddles, nor Glasses now—a very Coxcomb, that's the truth on't.

Hyl.

Where the Devil are these Women all this while?

Tho.
No, no, take my Counsel, Franck,

Hang up your Julips, and your Portugal Possets, Your Barly Broths—and Sorrel Sops; I hate 'em—they are mangy and breed the scratches onely—I wonder she does not come all this while—Come Franck, here's to thee.

Fra.

With all my heart—and methinks I feel a strange alteration on the sudden—my pulse beats quick, and lively.

Hyl.

So long, and yet no bolting.

Peeping about.
Tho.

Ay, I knew 'twou'd come to that— my presence is a Never-failing Cordial to both Sexes; here, take this off thrice, and then cry Heigh, like a Huntsman, with a clear heart, and no more fits I warrant thee.

Enter Physitians, and Servants.
1. Phys.

Are the things ready? and is the Barber come?

Servant.

An hour ago, Sir?

2. Phys.

Bring out the Oyles, then.

Fra.

S'death—here agen!—Now, or never, Tom, do me a kindness, and deliver me.

Tho.

Deliver thee,—from whom?

Fra.

From these things that talk there, Physitians, Tom, Scouring-sticks, they mean to read upon me.

Tho.

I'll do't,—Come hither, Iack.

1 Phys.

We desire all to depart the Room, and no longer disturb the Patient.

Tho.

Strike in with me for your part, and let us play upon these Rogues a little—for Look ye Doctor, suppose the Devil were sick now—his horns saw'd off, and his head bound with a Biggen—sick of a Calenture taken by a Surfeit of stincking Soules at his Ne­phews, and St. Dunstans, what wou'd you minister upon the sudden? Your Judgment short, and sound.

1. Phys.

A Fool's head.

Tho.

No, Sir,—it must be a Physitian, for three causes; the first, because it is a ball'd head likely—which will down easily without Apple pap.

3. Phys.

A main cause.

Tho.
[Page 27]

So 'tis, and well consider'd,

The second Cause, 'tis fill'd with broken Greek, Sir,

Which will so tumble in his stomach, Doctor, and Jumble and work upon the Crudities, the Faeces, and the Fiddle-strings, conceive me Doctor, that of meer reason they must dis-imbogue.

Hyl.

Or meeting with the Stygian humour.

Tho.

Right, Sir.

Hyl.

Forc'd with a Cataplasme of Crackers.

Tho.

Ever.

Hyl.

Scour all before him, like a Scavenger.

Tho.

Satis fecisti Domine—my last Cause.

My last, and not my least, most Learned Doctors,

Because in most Physitians heads—I mean those that are most excel­lent—and Old withal—and angry; I say, because in most Doctors heads, there is a kind of Toadstone Bread and Crust, Sir, — whose virtue—the Doctor being stript and laid upon a Grid-iron

2. Phys.

What's that, Sir!—a Grid-iron?

Tho.

A Grid-iron, Sir! the Learned hold it necessary, then by an Instrument of his own Barber, his Nose being slit, incis'd, his Mouth gagg'd open, and his most bawdy excremental Tongue—bray'd in a Mortar—to Powder—the Cure's infallible, Not to be question'd.

3. Phys.

Bless me! what stuff's here? Mad Sir! what mean you?

Tho.

Onely a Question—Nothing else—for say the belly ake caus'd by an Inundation of Pease Porridge.

1. Phys.

This is not civil.

Tho.

I think not—that's all one: Or grant the Diaphragma by a Rupture—

Hyl.

The Sign being then in the head of Capricorne.

Tho.

Meet with the Passion Hypocondriaca, and so cause a Carnosity in the Kidneys, must not the Brains being butter'd with this humour cause a Cathartique Motion? answer me that.

3. Phys.

What shall we answer ye? what shall I say? Ye are an Ass, will that satisfie ye?

Tho.

Out still—for the Ass is yours by your long Ears, your Nose too which I will pull thus into form, and take possession of a Sattin Cap to give your thick Skull, and your Brains more aire.

2. Phys.

Come, come, let's be gone Sirs, we are abus'd.

Tho.

No 'faith, not yet, but shall be in good time—then if my Ladies Dog be laxative, troubled with qualms, grumblings, Windy Cholicks, Doctor; are ye therefore to open the Port Vein, or the Port Esquiline? your answer quickly.

3. Phys.
[Page 28]

I'll answer no more—farewel, Sir, the next Fit you have, Bedlam shall find a Salve for; we came to do you good, But these young Roarers it seems have bor'd our Noses.

1. Phys.

Drink hard, and get unwholsome Wenches, 'tis ten to one then we shall hear further from your note alter'd.

Exeunt.
Tho.

And wilt thou be gone, sayes one?

Hyl.

And wilt thou be gone, sayes t'other?

Tho.

Then take the odd Crown, to mend thy old Gown, And wee'l be all gone together.

Fra.

Ha, ha, ha,—most excellent Rogue, I love thee heartily for this.

Enter a Servant.
Servant.

Sir, the Young Ladie—sent me to see what Company ye had with ye—and whether they may make a Visit?

Fra.

Pray tell 'em, with all my heart—they'l much honour me in't—You see my Company.

Tho.

Come hither Crab—is not my Mistress one of 'em?

Servant.

Yes Sir.

Hyl.

And who else?

Servant.

Madam Sabina

Tho.

Oh—heark Sirrah, not a word of my being here; Take that, and Mum.

Servant.

You have ty'd my Tongue up, Sir.

Enter Valentine.
Val.

Ah—nay if you look so brisk, farewel the Fever, Friend.

Fra.

Nay, I am much better, thank my Dear Tom here.

Val.

The Game is ready to begin, your Mistress is coming.

Tho.

I know it, therefore sit still good Franck, and not a word of me till you hear from me—then as you find my humour, follow it. You two come with me, and let us stand close, unseen—I warrant thee I catch her.

Exeunt.
Enter Cellide and Sabina.
Sab.

How dee' Sir?

Fra.

The favour of this Visit from you, Madam, gives me strength to tell ye, That my Enemy has done his worst; I am growing well agen.

Cell.

I am glad to hear it—Were you ever sick before, Sir?

Fra.

Of Love, Madam, not else.

Cell.

Of Love? Alas! for ye—but you had good hopes of your side▪ You know 'twas no Epidemick distemper; for 'tis as impossible, a man shou'd dye by Love, as that he shou'd live by it—and either of these are Miracles this Climate never produces.

Tho.
[Page 29]
within.

No, no—I have no hope, nor is it fit Friend—my life has been so lewd, my loose condition, which I repent too late, so abo­minable, That nothing but despair stands now before me.

Cell.

Who's that, Sir—another Sick Man?

Tho.

In all my Courses shameless—disobedience.

Sabin.

Sure, I shou'd know his voice—Pray, Sir, who is't?

Fra.

One that you little thought to have seen in such a condition; 'Tis the Wild Monsieur.

Cell.

Who my Monsieur?—Monsieur Thomas? ha, ha, ha, this is some trick.

Fra.

You'l think better, when you see him—he was seiz'd yesterday with a strange distraction—a perfect madness.

Cell.

That's like enough—he has been seiz'd with that, ever since I knew him.

Fra.

Not in this Nature, Madam; he is now, since he came to himself, much afflicted in's mind—he came hither to ask pardon of me for some things done long since, which his distemper made to appear like wrongs; but 'twas not so.

Cell.

Sure that is not possible.

Fra.

Here he comes—Pray observe him.

Enter Thomas as distracted, Valentine, Hylas.
Hyl.

Come, Sir, be comforted.

Tho.

To what end, Gentlemen—when all is perish't upon a wrack. Is there a hope remaining, the Sea, that never knew sorrow shou'd be pitiful—my Comfort's gone, my Life has made me Wretched—Nor is it possible, were I to live Ten Ages, Ever to recall the least part of my Follies.

Val.

Oh you despair too much. Madam, you see his condition, One word from you may yet recover him.

Cell.

I know not what to do, nor what to think—I am amaz'd 'twixt pity and admiration.

Sabin.

If it be real, 'tis no Jesting matter; a Man is not so soon made, Cousin.

Tho.

What are these Ladyes?—I had a Sister once, a Virtuous Sister, But I abus'd her—poor Soul, I wrong'd her—a Mistress too, a Kind sweet Beauteous Mistress.

Val.

Now, Madam, now's your time; now he's talking of ye.

Cell.

I'll do any thing, rather than see him thus.

Tho.

I wrong'd her too—I sent her a damn'd Letter full of Oaths, Wrack't her poor Innocent Ears with Damms and Devils, Wo worth the time I did so.

Val.

Now, Madam, speak, or never.

Cell.
[Page 30]

By Heaven, I will; ah little do you know how my heart bleeds for him.

Hyl.

Ha, ha, ha—she comes apace—the Rogue counterfeits rarely.

Tho.

Oh my fortune. But 'tis but Just I be despis'd and hated.

Val.

Despair not, 'tis not Manly—Now Madam.

Cell.

How dee' Sir? pray be comforted—give me your hand—you us'd to meet this kindness with more haste; I swear I pity ye.

Tho.

By Heaven 'tis she—oh goodness! not to be equall'd—let me thus low implore thy pardon; I have been wild and wicked, I con­fess it, but ah dear Saint, consider on our frailties; Youth often wanders from the way, and—

Cell.

Indeed Sir, you shan' not kneel.

Tho.

Not kneel? oh name it not, my Crimes are many, and nothing but repentance, low repentance—Iack.

Hyl.

I, I mind ye—proceed and she's thy own, Boy.

Cell.

Nay then I'll kneel too—for I have faults too many, I shou'd beg your pardon too, all things consider'd.

Tho.

Precious—Dearest, Lovely—Charming—Ah,

Kisses her.

all my whole lifes service—cannot merit half, half this blessing.

Enter Launce, running.
Launce.

Where, where's my Master?—oh Sir—the Fidler, Sir, is not at leisure yet, but he will be about half an hour hence. But I have got Sir, according to your order, a couple of the finest Black fat Whores yonder—'gad the Jades do so tumble about—ha, ha—

both start.
Tho.

Damn'd Dogg—

Kicks him.
Cell.

How's this?

Hyl.

'S'death—this damn'd dull Rogue will spoil all—what, what's that you say, Sirrah? who wou'd you speak with, ha?

Tho.

Ay, an Impudent Dog, who wou'd he speak with?—here's no body here knowes him—Kick him out o' doors there.

Launce.

What, not know Launce?—I am Launce, Sir, and a Pox take me, if I have not two of as fine fat Whores as a man wou'd desire to lay his Leg over.

Cell.

Oh Heaven! I'm betray'd! and this was onely a design upon me. I find it now 'tis so, Cousin—oh I cou'd curse my self now for being so credulous—this was a Plot betwixt 'em, and now by chance discover'd; stand off, and touch me not, Base Fellow—Come, let's away—Farewel Sir, and when you are mad next—let your fat Whores administer.

Sab.
[Page 31]

Ha, ha, ha—this was a pleasant Jest.

Exeunt.
Tho.

Come ye hither, Sirrah, and lay your head down on this Chair, I'll be merciful to ye—I'll onely cut your Ears and Nose off; Your head shall scape—doo't quickly, Rogue, or I will hew thee into Mammocks.

Launce.

Oh for Heavens sake, Sir, what mean ye? You know I did nothing but what you bid me.

Tho.

Ah—Insipid Whelp.

Fra.

Hang him, let him wear his Nose a little longer—'Twill spoyl the fashion of his face else.

Val.

Though 'twas unluckily, 'twas Ignorantly done, and let him live to make amends.

Tho.

Pox on't—when I had bent her like a twigg—brought her to my hand—made her quite sure, my own, with art and Industry, and to be bubbled of her in the very last moment, by the negligence of a Dog, a Hound, a Son of a Whore, a plague—Prithee Val, let me have but one pass through his Guts, and I'll forgive him.

Launce.

Oh Gentlemen, for heavens sake hold him—for my guts are so empty, that he may easily rip 'em open.

Hyl.

Come forgive him—the Rogue I dare swear did it out of meer Kindness.

Launce.

By my Eight Languages, and so I did—I was so overjoy'd to bring him the good News, that I never minded who was with him▪

Tho.

A Devil on't—this is alwayes my damn'd fortune, and I have still observ'd if a Fool be in a Family—where any Person has a design—if his Ignorance does not discover it, his ill fortune will—and that's as bad—Well, I am resolv'd she shan'not scape thus—I will have one more bout with her. You will not leave me, Gentlemen?

Val.

Not I 'faith; I will not miss the sport.

Hyl.

Nor I—but when shall it be?

Tho.

To Night at her Window in a Serenade.

Val.

With all our hearts—Franck, wou'd thou wer't well to go too.

Fra.

I know not, 'tis as I feel my self—but it may be I may venture, For I can walk I find.

Tho.

Go Dog, get you to my Father, and tell him my last Nights Ramble, I'll come and second ye; away—I shall get the Rogue this way a beating at the second hand.

Launce.

Yes, Sir. I am glad I'm got off so well; for I was damnably afraid of losing my Ears, and Nose. Well Sir, I'll go and carry the Whores to the same Bulk, where I found 'em, and then let 'em seek their fortune.

Exit.
Tho.
[Page 32]

Sirrah, that shall be my task.

Come Friends, let's prepare for the business; till Night I am employ'd—but then I am for ye.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Sir Wilding with a Whore, Boy with a Candle.
Sir Wild.

Now to the business of Matrimony—I think I have got one here will fit me—I pickt her up in the Piazza's, what she is I know not, nor do I care—so she be fruitful and sound—Set down the Candle, Sirrah, and get you gone—Come hither Mistress—Let me see your Face—those Eye-browes are your own, I hope?

Whore.

Yes, I assure you, Sir— I counterfeit nothing.

Sir Wild.

Very well—now walk before me—let me see you pace a little. ah—trip—trip—thus, thus—I wou'd have my Woman do so.

Whore.

Sir, I shall quickly learn to please ye, there shall be nothing wanting in my duty, to act, or to observe.

Sir Wild.

Prettily said—as to your age, Madam, I guess you to be about Five and twenty—something over—a good ripe age, I like that well enough—Pray open your Mouth; I think you have all your teeth.

Whore.

I hope so, Sir—they have had easie service.

Sir Wild.

And wilt thou sing?

Whore.

Pleasantly, Sir.

Sir Wild.

And drink?

Whore.

Profoundly.

Sir Wild.

And swear—and tell a Story after Supper?

Whore.

As you think fit, Sir — by the way of rellish, or so.

Sir Wild.

Give me thy hand then, she's honest, I know by that; for she that simpers, and talks of Religion alwayes, proves to be the greatest Jilt—who waits there?

Enter Servant.
Servant.

Your pleasure, Sir?

Sir Wild.

Bid my Daughter come hither—now I think I shall be even with my Monsieur— my sneaking Ananias: For I will get upon her Body▪ Demi-Gyant that shall play the Hector at his Nurses Breast, and beat a Constable in his swadling Cloathes.

Enter Mrs Dorothy.

Come hither Mistress—pray respect the Lady whom I intend to make my Wife, your Mother.

Doro.

How Sir!

Sir Wild.
[Page 33]

Now you shall find me so then—what a pox, d'ee think I'll leave my Inheritance to Pins, and Bodkins, to Towers, Jesamine Gloves, and Trimmings—to a leaky Vessel—that cannot keep my name up when I dye to thee?

Doro.

You have a Son, Sir.

Sir Wild.

Who?—where is he? who is he like?

Doro.

Your self.

Sir Wild.

Thou ly'st—thou hast spoyl'd him, Thou, and thy Prayer-Books;—he my Son? No, I disclaim him, And all that speaks of him. Why, did not I catch him singing yesterday a godly Ballad, to a godly tune too, and in one of his Pockets a Cata­chisme with the Creed in great Letters at the beginning?—No, Damsel of the dark—I know he's one of your Disciples, he wou'd be rul'd else.

Doro.

Mine?—'tis a sign then you know little of his humour, That can believe I have power to turn him any way.

Sir Wild.

Huswife I know it, and expect to be rewarded, what Ta­vern has he us'd since he came over? what things done, that showes a Man and Mettle? when was my house at such a shame before, to creep to bed at ten and twelve for want of Company? No singing, nor no dancing, nor no drinking?—thou think'st not of these scandals—thou can'st snore, and sleep, and Chatter bawdy in thy Dreams,—and the next morning wake and go to breakfast, and nothing else—but his life shou'd be otherwise.

Doro.

So it is, Sir—believe me, for I speak it to my knowledge, he's as mad as heart can wish; as debauch't a Fellow as any in the Suburbs.

Whore.

Women, Sir, will talk, but you know we must bear with that sometimes.

Sir Wild.

Well, now I think on't, I will try the Boy once more, it may be he does but counterfeit, and then I'm happy—go, get you in, I'll keep you close enough, lest you break loose, and do more mis­chief to him—Within there.

Exit Dorothy.
Enter a Servant.
Servant.

Dee' call, Sir?

Sir Wild.

Go presently, and seek the Boy, and bid him wait my pleasure in the morning—d'ee hear, Mark what house he's in, and what he does—and tell me truth.

Servant.

I will not fail, Sir.

Exit Servant.
Sir Wild.

If ye do, I'll hang ye. Come, Madam—I must desire you to stay here, till he comes, and [Page 34] then wee'l settle all—there's your apartment, there you'l find all necessaries—Now if he prove but right, he has all yet; If not, this other way shall make an end on't.

Youth may delight to boast of Act or Skill,
But the pleasure of an Old Man—is his Will.
Exeunt.
The End of the Third Act.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Sir Wilding and Servant.
Sir Wild.

AT Valentine's house so merry?

Servant.

As a Lark, Sir.

Sir Wild.

So frollicksome, do'st say?

Servant.

I'm sure I heard it.

Sir Wild.

Ballads, and Fiddles too?

Servant.

No, but one Fiddle, but twenty noises.

Sir Wild.

Did he do Tricks?

Servant.

Ah, the rarest Tricks, Sir—here's my Fellow Launce, he can Inform ye all, he was among 'em, and as mad as any there; I stood up in a Corner.

Enter Launce.
Sir Wild.

Come, Sir—what can you say?—Is there any hope yet your Master may return?

Launce.

Put your hand into your Purse—and give me an Angel, Then perhaps I may tell you more.

Sir Wild.

How, how? an Angel?

Launce.

An Angel, Sir—'Faith not a Farthing under, such things, such roaring things—an Angel, Sir, quickly, come.

Sir Wild.

There 'tis, damn'd Rogue, thou hast found my blind side.

Launce.

Ay, ay, Sir, that's all one—so—well now Sir, by the Virtue of 8: Languages, by the Faith of a Traveller and a Gentleman, Your Son is found agen, the Son—the Tom.

Sir Wild.

Is he the Old Tom?

Launce.

The Old Tom.

Sir Wild.

Proceed then.

Launce.
[Page 35]

Next to consider how he is the Old Tom.

Sir Wild.

Ay, handle me that.

Launce.

I wou'd you had seen it handled last night, as we handled it—Cap-a-pe, i'faith—oh the noise, the noise we made!

Sir Wild.

Good, good, i'faith, ha, ha, ha.

Launce.

The house beset around—the Windowes Clatt'ring, and all the Chamber-Maids in such a hurrey, one with her Smock half off, Another in haste with a Hose upon her head.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha.

Launce.

A Fellow railing there out of a Loupe-hole, and his Mouth stopt with dirt.

Sir Wild.

Ha, hah, ye Rogue.

Strikes him.
Launce.

Another peeping out with his greasie Night-Cap on, and a Torch popt in's face to clear his eye-sight.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha—Dog.

Beats Launce, and is so — eager at laughing, he minds it not.
Launce.

The Gentleman himself, young Monsieur Thomas, environ'd with his furious Mermydons, the fiery Fidler and my self, Now singing, now beating at the Doore, there parlying—Courting at the Window, at the other, scaling.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha.

Launce.

And all these several Noises to two Trenchers strung with a Clew of Brown Thred—which show'd rarely.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha,—rarely well—rarely well.

Beats him still.
Launce.

Well, well—what d'ee mean, Sir—Your blowes are not well I'm sure, nor will my shoulders long, if you hold on at this rate.

Sir Wild.

I'faith I beg thy pardon—I was so transported, I did not know what I did—there's money for thee to make thee amends—eat, and grow fat agen.

Launce.

Nor here, Sir, gave we the Frollick over.

Sir Wild.

What, more yet? why this is admirable.

Launce.

More, ay, and the best too, Sir—for at last we quit the Ladies house on composition—and to the silent Street turn'd all our furies. A sleeping Watchman here we stole the shooes from; there make a noise, at which he wakes and followes—then cryes out Theeves, and throwes his Bilboe at us— and Wades the Kennel in no footed stockings.

Sir Wild.

Oons—this is the rarest Boy, ha, ha—

Launce.

Windowes and Signs we sent to Erebus—a cry of Butchers Currs we entertain'd last, and having let the Pigs loose in out-Parishes, made every Street look like a Bear-Garden.

Sir Wild.
[Page 36]

Instead of Bears, and Bulls, a Rogue, a Rogue.

Launce.

Down—comes a Constable—and the Sow his Sister, most villainously tramples upon authority—there a whole Stand of Rug Gowns routed Manly, and the King's Peace put to flight—the Constable rallyes again—when, Sir, a Purblind Pigg—runs me his dirty Snout into his Lanthorn—out goes the light, and all turns to confusion.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha.

Launce.

But, Sir, the best Jest was, a foolish Potter needs wou'd know the matter—opens his door, when, mark the Fate of Cuckolds, a Boare imbost takes sanctuary in his Shop, and Twenty Dogs rush after—We still cheering, down goes the Pots, and Pipkins—down the Pud­ding-Paus—the Cream-Bowles cry revenge here; There the Candle­sticks; oh such a noise.

Sir Wild.
Ha, ha, ha,—
If this be true, thou little Tyny Page,
This tale thou tell'st to me,
Then on thy Back will i presently hang.
A handsome new Livery.
Enter Servant.
Sir Wild.

How now, where's my Son?

Servant,

He's here, Sir.

Enter Monsieur Thomas.
Launce.

Now Sir—you shall hear all—and laugh abundantly, he has such a grace in telling it, Sir.

Sir Wild.

Son Thomas—I am glad to see ye, and to hear of ye; You may be now my Son agen, if you please, and enjoy the blessings attending it—but come, because I feel a scruple in my Conscience, concerning your late carriage—and therefore like Father wou'd be satisfied; To clear all, Thomas, get you upon this Table.

Tho.

This Table, Sir? Lord, how you are misled!—what strange fancies are these? fitter for Fools and Mad-men.

Sir Wild.

What, what?—come, come, I say, get you on this Table. and Instantly, I'll have it so.

Tho.

Well, Sir, you must be obey'd.

Gets on the Table.
Sir Wild.

So—now Thomas, like a most compleat Gentleman come from Tripoly—relate your last Night's Frollicks, mince at nothing—but let me have it freely as 'twas acted—'twill please me best.

Tho.

Verily, Sir—though Age and Youth, and Youth and Age are different, different I mean divided 'twixt themselvs in point of reason; Nay, though our eyes are blinded, that is, though we cannot see. [Page 37] I say—yet I say agen—or 'tis no matter whether I say it agen or no, That Reason, and Religion, shou'd Instruct Age to better courses than Blindness guides them to. Reason, and Religion are two worthy per­sons, and shou'd Instruct a wandring Mortal—Ah, Sir, remember—remember, I say, Take notice, place it in your Bosome—in your Heart, in your—I say, remember—that is, do not forget—but remember.

Sir Wild.

Hey day, he's preaching—you Rogue Launce, You lying Rascal.

Launce.

Gad forgive me, will ye spoyl all agen, Sir?—What a Devil d'ee mean?

Tho.

Away, Sirrah, and summon the rest of the Family hither, that I may edifie them all. Sir, you keep a Company of sawcy Fellowes, debauch'd, and daily Drunkards, that devour ye. Things, whose Souls tend to the Cellar onely.

Sir Wild.

Sirrah, give me my Money agen, or—

Launce.

Why Sir, let me never eat agen—or feel the Blessing of another new Livery, if he be not the very Devil in Debauchery, Sir: And what I have told you of him is all true; ask Robin here.

Servant.

Nay Sir, the truth is, I did see my Young Master pick up two Whores, and put 'em into Pudding-Lane.

Tho.

'Tis strange these Rascals—but Sir, when Folly and Idleness take the upper hand of Reason, and permit when they meet and Inha­bit the Heart, the Mind, the Soul, the Faculties, the—'Tis a hard matter—'tis, I say, a—matter of difficulty, of difficulty—a matter of moment—and all that, Sir, to reform or conform, or direct, or dispute, or disswade—or divine, or dispose, or—

Sir Wild.

Or the Devil and all; come down, I say. Bless me! what stuffs here?

Launce.

Sir, are ye mad? stark mad? did not I see ye beat a Con­stable last Night?

Tho.

I touch authority, ye Rascal? I violate the Law?

Sir Wild.

No, no, he had rather preach to him—Lancelot du Lake, Get ye upon adventures—cast your Coat, and make your Exit.

Launce.

Pur l'amour de Dieu.

Sir Wild.

Pur me no purs—but get you out at that Doore there; Out ye Eight Languages.

Launce.

My blood upon your head Sir—Did not I tell you 'twou'd come to this? What shall I do to live now? if I beg, I shall be Whip't; and if I steal, I shall be hang'd. What shall I do?

Tho.

Heark ye, Sirrah; I'll provide for ye—go instantly and get the Fidler I order'd ye—let him be sure to be ready—and then go and [Page 38] tell Vall and Iack I'll meet 'em within this half hour in the Rounds.

Launce.

Now, now, Sir, dee hear him now?

Tho.

Sirrah, a word, and I'll cut your Throat—away.

Sir Wild.

Out of my doors, Sirrah.

Exit Launce.
Tho.

Ay, ay, purge 'em all Sir.

Sir Wild.

I shall Sir—and you too presently. Go Sirrah, bid my Maids that stand without—come in—I will have one shall please me.

Tho.

'Tis most fit Sir.

Sir Wild.

Bring in the Money there—here Mr. Thomas.

Enter Servant with two Bags. You are no more my Son, now good Gentleman be cover'd.
Tho.

What you please Sir.

Sir Wild.

This money I give you, because heretofore you have been thought my Son—and by my self too—and some things done like me; Ye are now another—here is two hundred pounds, a civil summe Sir, for a young Civil Man: Much Land and Money wou'd (I suppose) now onely prove temptations, to take you from your settled and sweet carriage.

Tho.

How's this? but Sir, I hope—

Sir Wild.

Nay, I beseech ye, cover Sir; ye owe me no respect—I have nothing to do with ye; nor have you with my Estate Sir; Nor with this money neither, now I think on't—you can preach well Sir—Pray get a Tub—and deal about your Hums and Ha's with reverence; some of the Rabble perhaps may have farthings.

Tho.

'S'death, I shall be finely bubbled if this hold—lose all my Fortune for a Frollick—I must wheel about agen, there's no remedy.

Enter four Maids.
Sir Wild.

I have one thing more to say before we part Sir. Behold those females there, pray view 'em well: I want a right Heir to Inherit me, not my Estate alone, but my conditions, from which you are revolted—therefore dead—And I will break my back, but I will get one.

Tho.

Will you chuse there, Sir?

Sir Wild.

There, among those Damsels—in my own Tribe, I know their qualities—which cannot fail to please me, for their Beauties—a matter of three farthings makes all perfect. A little Beer, and Beef-broth—they are sound too—stand all abreast—Now Mr. Thomas, before I choose—You having liv'd long with me, and happily, some­times with some of these too, which fault I never frown'd on—Pray [Page 39] shew me (for fear we confound our Genealogies) which you have laid abroad: Speak your mind freely, Have you had Copulation with that Damsel?

Tho.

I have.

Sighs.
Sir Wild.

Say ye so? Pray how?

Tho.

How, is not seemly here to say, Sir.

Sir Wild.

Stand you aside then—What say you to'th' second, Thomas?

Tho.

With her too, Sir.

Sir Wild.

With her too? ha, ha—the Rogue wins upon me strangely.

Tho.

So, so, he's coming agen.

Aside.
Sir Wild.

Retire you two—speak forward Mr. Thomas.

Tho.

I will, and to the purpose—even with all Sir.

Sir Wild.

How? with all? that's somewhat large, with all Thomas?

Tho.

All, surely Sir.

Enter Whore.
Sir Wild.

A sign thou art my own yet—in agen all, and to your several Functions—Mrs. I pray come hither—

Exeunt Maids.

Tom, here's a Lady—that I found my self,

to the Whore.

What think ye of her? she I'm sure's a stranger to ye.

Whore.

Mercy upon me, He here! nay then, I shall be murder'd.

Sir Wild.

What, what's that? do'st know her Tom?

Tho.

Know her? Why Sir, every Bulk about Town knowes her; I met her drunk i'th' Strand t'other Night, with twenty Boyes about her—I have thrown her into the Fleet Ditch—three several times for my share.

Sir Wild.

Go, get you gone too—and to your Bulk agen, my Marriage fit is over.

Whore.

And thank ye too, rather than stay where He is.

Sir Wild.

Well, but what say ye to Luce, the Merchant's Daughter? she was too young—I think, when you travell'd some twelve years old.

Tho.

Her will was Fifteen, Sir.

Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha—'Faith well answer'd to cut off long discourse, Thomas, for I have many yet to ask ye of, Where I may chuse, and nobly—hold up one finger;—where I may not, two—or more; What think ye of Valeria? whose husband lyes a dying now—why two and in that form.

Holds up his 2 fingers.
Tho.

Her husband is recovered, Sir.

Sir Wild.

A Witty Moral—have at ye once more, Thomas—the Sisters of St. Albans—what all five?—ha, ha, that Boy, that's my own Boy—

Holds up his hand.
Tho.
[Page 40]

Still hoping for your pardon.

Sir Wild.

Pshaw, there needs none—a pox on pardon—I am pleas'd with thy confession, Nor will I think of Marriage any longer; for o'my Conscience I shall be thy Cuckold—there, there's Twenty Guinneys for ye, Sir. Go, and be merry—I see some sparkles which may flame agen; and if they do, thou'rt mine yet—farewel Monsieur.

Exit.
Tho.

So—'tis better thus, than t'other way however—but now to my Serenade—I have such a kind of a Mungril Love for this Woman—that I must, and will enjoy her, come what will on't—Oh Sirrah—well, hast got him?

Enter Lancelot and Fidler.
Launce.

I Sir, I have been here—a rare Rogue—hee'l Fiddle and make a noise, but the Devil a stop he knowes, or when he fiddles in Tune. Good Sir—do something now—some roaring thing, that we may live and eat agen—By my 8. Languages I have had but one poor mouldy Crust this two daies.

Tho.

A Pox on thee for an eating Rogue, Nothing but Famine frights thee—Come hither, Sirrah, what Ballads are you seen in best?—ha? let's hear.

Fidler.

Under your Masterships Correction, I can sing the Merry Ballad of Diverus and Lazarus. The Rose of England. In Creete when Dedimus first began. Ionas his Crying out against Coventry—and a merry Song, how Blind Toby and his Dog fell in Love with a Fair Lady, by seeing her play upon a Cymbal.

Tho.

Very well. What else?

Fidler.

Maudlin the Merchant's Daughter. The Devil, and the Dainty Dames.

Tho.

Rare still!

Fidler.

The Landing of the Spaniards at Bow; With the Bloody Battel at Mile-End.

Tho.

Excellent! Well Sirrah, go, and put him to his Stand, and let my Friends be ready—I'll follow ye.

Exeunt.

I have heard, that sometimes Importunity gets more than Love: And 'Faith, I'll haunt her like a Ghost, but I'll have her. ha, ha, ha—It makes me laugh too, to think how I have Bobb'd my Father—had I been wild at first, he wou'd have been weary by this time; but now all's sure and settled.

All you that would your good Old Fathers Cheat,
And e're his Death, do Covet his Estate;
[Page 41]To all his humours strict Compliance give,
For Age that doates once, has not long to live.
Exit.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Franck, Sabina, and Cellide.
Franck.

Whatever your Nice humour, Madam, seems to declare now, I am sure you must needs sometimes be of a contrary temper—he is my Friend I acknowledge; and the least thing I can do in his absence, is to speak well of him.

Cellid.

Sir, that freedome is of necessity allow'd, and whatever his Merit is, your Generosity cou'd not do less—but my knowledg of him and his temper, is proof against all your assertions; I will allow him for a general Man, and good Company; but let me tell ye—such a one though he makes the best Servant—certainly makes the worst Husband in the World.

Sabin.

Ay, that is, Madam, according as you order him. If you give him liberty, 'tis true, Men are apt to follow the Dictates of their own humours—but when you have the Bridle in your hand, methinks 'tis easie stopping the course.

Fra.

That, Madam, does not so much depend on your own power, as on your husband's temper; for if he be rough and passionate, you have so much Judgment to know your bounds. But, if mild, and soft natur'd—Your Province is the larger. And there are two things which ruine such a man—Fondness and Folly; for a man that is too fond of his Wife, is as certain to be made a Cuckold by her—as that she wou'd if she cou'd do't—were he never so ugly, or Jealous.

Cellid.

If good Phrases, and Reason might pass for Jests, I swear you are the merriest man I know.

Fra.

I shou'd be glad, Madam, I cou'd breed your Diversion any way; though to the rest of the World, 'tis my ambition they shou'd rellish me more in the Philosopher, than the Buffoon.

Sabin.

Fye, fye, a better word than that, Sir,—Call a Witty brisk Fellow, that breaks a Jest onely for the sake of good Company, or so, a Buffoon?—Fye, I swear 'twas ill said.

Cellid.

Ay, 'tis a sign he has been sick lately.

Sabin.

I do but think how you'd look, if Monsieur Thomas shou'd hear of this—you had best call Him Buffoon too.

Fra.

No, He's the General of 'em,—and the onely Person that I know can be allow'd of in that nature; for he has Wit in his Buffoonry—and a graceful action, gives an excellence to his Jest.—If he tells a Lye, [Page 42] he will be sure it shall be a pleasant one: And he never tells a bawdy story for its own sake, but the Companies, and the Mirth that followes after.

Sabin.

What think ye of this, Cousin?

Cellid.

Pish—Prithee what shou'd I think of it?—heark! what noise is this?

Noise of singing and shouting within.
Fra.

But I have seen some dull Rogues Mangle a good Story so barbarously—how now? what's that?

Enter Lucilla.
Lucill.

Was ever the like known?—there is such a rout at your Window yonder—such shouting, such singing, and such a dismal noise—

Sabin.

Noise? what noise? who is it?

Lucill.

The mad Gentleman that us'd to ask for Madam Cellide, and twenty more, fidling, singing like Mad-men.

Cellid.

'Tis he—shall I never be at rest? who can endure this?

Fra.

He's as good as his word I see.

Aside.
Cellid.

Heark ye, Cousin—now if you love me, let's put a trick upon him—I have a rare device in my head.

Sabin.

I know this is against the grain, but come, I'll second ye.

Exeunt.
Fra.

'Tis a mad Rogue—but I know she loves him; I'll go up to my Closet-Window and see the sport.

Exit.
Scene, the Street.
Enter Monsieur Thomas, Hylas, Launce, Fidler, Valentine, and Linck-Boyes.
Tho.

Stand close now, and every one mind his business, Iack keep you that door there—and be sure none of her Servants enter, or go out—if any Woman pass, she is lawful Prize—Cut off all Con­voyes.

Val.

'Tis not fit I am seen—I'll therefore stand at distance and observe ye.

Hyl.

Ay, but heark ye Tom—who shall answer this?

Tho.

Why, I shall answer it, Sir;—You fearful Puppy I shall appear to th' Action.

Hyl.

Well, well, I have done—we may talk too, may we not?

Tho.

With any Woman freely.

Hyl.

And sing too, ha?—for there's my Master-piece.

Tho.
[Page 43]

No, Sir, by no means. I am the Man reserv'd for Aire—'tis my talent, and the Devil's in't if my voice don't charm her; heark ye, You may Record a little—Whistle, or so—to shew you are good at something—but for main singing—let me alone; away, be careful.

Hyl.

But there's another thing; we may be beaten.

Tho.

'Faith, so thou may'st—and well too—for thou deserv'st it richly—Why, what Bug-bears are in thy Brains? Beaten?—why who shou'd beat thee?

Hyl.

Why she may have men enough.

Tho.

Ay, art not thou man enough too?

Hyl.

I warrant thee—there's a low Window—I'll peep in and see what they are doing.

Tho.

Come Sirrah, let's hear some of your Art now—Nay, nay, No tuneing as ye love me—let thy Fiddle speak Welch, or any thing that's out of all tune—the Viler, still the better—like thy self—for I presume thy voice will make no Trees dance.

Fidler.

Nay, truly you shall have it even as homely.

Tho.

With all my heart, keep it to that Key still—I think they are all abed.

Launce.

I think so too, Sir—I can hear no stirring any where, No light in any Window, 'tis a Night for the purpose, Sir.

Tho.

Come, strike up a flourish—and Sirrah, do you sing the Serenading Song I taught ye t'other Night; Wee'l bear the Chorus.

SONG. And Dance.
Enter Servant above.
Servant.

Who's there? what noise is this?—what Rogue at these hours—dares disturb us thus?

Tho.
Sings.
Oh what is that to you ye Fool?
Oh what is that to you?
Pluck in your face—ye bawling Ass,
Or I will break your Nose.
With a hey downe, downe, downe, downa.
Exit Servant.
Hyl.

Tom—here's rare sport—here's one of the Women washing her Legs—Ah Rogue!—'Faith she has a fine plump Calf—ha, ha,—now she is come to her Knee— [Page 44] oh—murder, murder—I'm kill'd.

Tho.

Hah!—his face all bloody?

Maid within shoots a squirt of blood in's face, and lets off a Pistol.

Hold still Iack, let me see, Where's the Wound? this is no jesting matter.

Hyl.

I know not, I feel none—cannot you see it?

Tho.

Ha, ha—I find it now—this was only a trick, a squirt of blood and a Pistol fir'd off—are they so frollicksome? have at 'em once more.

Hyl.

'Troth I'm glad I'm alive for all that—I'll go and get my face wash't, and come agen.

Exit.
Tho.

Come Sirrah, now sing the English Ballad.

Fidler.
There was a Noble Merchant
That lived in a Town,
He had an onely Daughter,
That was both fair and brown;
Sing hey trangdillo, dillo down.
A Noble Knight likewise,
On whom Fortune did frown,
He got her Maidenhead once in thrice,
Sing hey trangdillo down, down, derry down.
Tho.

No stirring yet?—I believe the Devil has charm'd 'em asleep. Come, flourish agen, and the t'other Song—

Fidler.
The Twelfth of April on May-Day,
My House, and Goods were stolne away.
Tho.

Hold, hold—she comes—Sirrah, give me the Address I gave you in writing t'other day.

Enter Cellide and Sabina above.
Launce.

O Lord, Sir, the Mice eat it in my Pocket one Night, but I have the Complement here that you took out of the Book of Com­mon Places.

Tho.

That then, Sirrah, quickly—holdup the light—Madam. Were there no other light but your eyes—the World wou'd need no Sun—And—Conf—conserve me, Madam, if, like a Fly, I can forbear buzzing about that light—though I have burnt my Wings—ha? what think ye of that, Sirrah?

To Launce.
Sabin.

Who wou'd forbear loving a Man that has such several wayes of Gallantry?

Cellid.
[Page 45]
Hush—you shall hear a Dialogue between us.
My Man Thomas did me promise
He wou'd Visit me this Night.
Tho.
What? Musical?—nay, let me alone for answering that.
I am here Love, tell me dear Love,
How I may obtain thy sight.
Cellid.
Come up to the Window my Love,
Come up to the Window my Dear;
Here's a Ladder of Rope,
That will help to guide thee up,
Throwes down a Ladder of Ropes.
And thou sha't be lodged here.
Tho.
sings.

And 'Faith, I'll be with thee strait, she's very kind o'th' sudden, ha Sirrah? — go, all be gone, there's money.

Exeunt Lights.
Launce.

Ay Sir, so she is; you'l have good sport anon, ha?

Cellid.

Now Cousin—the Scuttle quickly.

SONG.
Tho.
Sir Eglamore that Valiant Knight,
Sings going up.
Hey down, down a down;
So bruised was with grievous frights,
Hey down, down, downa down.
For he had been Cuffing so long with the Dragon,
That nothing could quench his thirst but a whole flaggon,
With a hey down, down, downa, &c.
Tho.

How now? what a Devil—is this?

Sabina throws down a Scuttle upon him.

Sirrah, Launce?—what is the matter I'm Inchanted, I cannot stirr—bound hand and foot.

Cellid.

Nay, my Dear—why are you so slow? Prithee make haste.

Tho.

A pox on ye—Launce—what a Devil is this?

Launce.

Come down, Sir, come down—they have plai'd some trick or other with ye—ha, ha—I thought so.

He comes down.
Sabin.

Fye, fye, so slow Sir; is this like a Mercurian?

Tho.

'Faith I'll be even w'you presently—'S'death, a Basket! What Witches are these? — but I'll storm once more, and 'tis not Baskets, nor Chamber-pots, shall hinder me now; Sirrah, now sing.

Cellid.

Lucilla.

Lucill.

I'm ready, Madam.

Fidler.
The Duke, he was a Noble Man, as any in the Town,
Tho.
[Page 46]

Phoo, phoo—what's this? oh!

He climbs up, and Lucilla with a Devil's Vizard frights him.
Fidler.

But climbing to promotion, he suddenly fell down.

She offers to Kiss him, and he falls down.
Lucill.

Ha, ha, ha.

Tho.

Death! this was another Trick upon me, I find by the Queans Mirth.

Cellid.

What hast thou done?—not thrown him down I hope.

Lucill.

Onely a little way, Madam.

Cellid.

A little way?—Oh heaven I'm undone! she has broke his Neck.

Tho.

Ha! is she so pitiful?—I may have a Trick then to recover all yet—oh my leg, my leg—I am spoil'd for ever; both my Legs.

Sits down on the Stage, and holds his Legs.
Cellid.

Heark, heark, d'ee not hear him?

Tho.

Shatter'd in twenty pieces, I'm undone! oh barbarous Woman! howl Sirrah, howl.

Launce.

Oh, his back too! his back!—the bone is out of Joynt.

Cellid.

D'ee hear ye Devil? run to the Surgeon quickly, fly: Or see my face no more. O horrid mischance! I come, I come.

Tho.

Take heed of Women, Friends, take heed of Women; They'l put ye out of Joint—they'l shake your Souls out. Oh, ha, my Legg! my Legg!

Launce.

Your head, your head too, Sir—for your Skull being crack't, Your Brains may happen to catch cold. Ha, ha, ha! The Light's taken away, I believe she's coming.

Tho.

And cry out still—Men believe falsely that think Age makes 'em decrepid—No, 'tis Women, 'tis Women, oh—

Launce.

She comes—she comes, Sir.

Tho.

Sirrah, squeeze out a tear, or two—Now for a swouning fit—ah!—

Lyes as in a swoon.
Enter Cellide.
Cellid.

Where, where are ye, Sir?

Launce.

He's gone—he's gone. Master—sweet Master, here's Launce that calls—oh!—what shall I do?

Cellid.

Oh I am miserable! Sir, Sir—Dear Sir—Oh cursed Accident! help! help to hold up his head!

Launce.

Ah 'tis stiff, Madam—every part of him is stiff; rub him, rub him.

Cellid,

Here, hold this Bottle of Amber to his Nose—Sir, Dear Sir, Open your eyes, and see my sorrow for ye; 'tis I that speak Sir. [Page 47] For Heavens sake open your Eyes—I am here.

Holds him in her Arms.
Tho.

Ay—and—I am here too—and well—thank my Activity; Your Bottle of Amber will be unnecessary, And if thou scap'st me now—

Catches hold of her.
Cellid.

What, catch't agen! oh this subtle Devil!

Tho.

However, I am bound in Conscience to thank you for your kindness—and since 'tis onely Trick for Trick, Madam, we have the more reason to be friends—I must needs own my self oblig'd t'ee; for the Devil take me if I have been kiss'd so heartily this great while.

Launce.

Ha, ha, ha—'tis strange your Legs shou'd be cur'd already Sir; But, Madam—he is such a Wagg—ha, ha—

Cellid.

Well—I have no other way, but seeming to comply.

Tho.

Come 'faith be kind now—I have a convenient Lodging here hard by—and one reconciling here now, will be worth Ages.

Cellid.

Fye! What baseness is this?

Tho.

Ay, that's all one—If I leave my self to a doubt agen—May I be Jilted as I have been—Come Sirrah, and help—

Cellid.

Hold Sir—well, now I see you love me; and believe Sir, this Impatiency has taken me far more than all your Addresses: Violence, will now be unnecessary.

Tho.

Ah, no Tricks, Madam—to be plain with ye, if you will marry me—so—if not, I am resolv'd to enjoy ye before I part, and then marry who you please.

Cellid.

Nay, that shall not need, I swear, if you have a Priest ready—I have try'd thee long enough; and though y'are a little Wild—I know you can love truly—ah my Dear Sweet!

Embraces.
Tho.

Why Ay. this is like something now,—Sirrah, have I not wrought her rarely?

Launce.

Ay, ay, but to her, to her Sir, don't let her cool.

Tho.

Come my Dear, shall we go in here, or to my Lodging?

Cellid.

Your Lodging, no indeed—I'll have the confirmation made here, follow me; but hold, 'tis convenient the Candle be out, for if my Cousin sees me, she'll so laugh at me.

Tho.

'Faith, well consider'd; besides, light in such a case is a little unnecessary—Sirrah, turn the Lanthorne—so.

Cellid.

And will you always love me?

Tho.

This kiss shall confirm it.

Cellid.

What ye Clown—with your Hat on? and to your Mistress too? You cou'd do no more if I were your Wife.

Throwes his Hat away, and whilest he gropes to find it, falls. She runs in; and locks the Door.

So, I am once more Conqueress, Now let him catch me if he can.

Tho.
[Page 48]

Who the Devil wou'd ha' thought, you should expect Cere­mony in the dark?—Where, where is it Sirrah?—Oh here, Come, now let's go—I'm impatient till—S'death what's that?

Runs and stumbles over Launce.
Launce.

Ha! She's gone Sir.

Tho.

How! gone!

Cellide above.
Cellid.

I have only leisure now to bid you good night Sir, and wish your leg well cur'd—to morrow perhaps, you may hear more.

Exit.
Tho.

A Pox fetch thee—that's but the preamble. Still thus bubbled?—Sirrah help me to curse her. May she fall in love with an old man that's bed-rid, Afterwards, consider of it, despair, and then poyson her self with her own Mercury.

Launce.

May she be proud to that degree to scorn all her Sex, Then get the small Pox, and look like a Witch, that all her Sex may scorn her.

Tho.

Well sed; or may—.

Launce.

May she get a great Belly by imagination—and when she hopes to see the precious Off-spring—may it prove Fire and Brim­stone.

Tho.

Well sed agen—Gad thou hast a pretty gift at it—but come, now let's be gone—and plot how to plague her to morrow, for if I leave her thus, may I lose all my Fame and turn Civilian.

Men raile at Whores for Luxury and cost,
But believe me, all you that Iudgment boast,
'Tis your damn'd honest Women Iilt ye most.
Exeunt.
The End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V.

SCNE I.

Sir Peregreene, Valentine and Franck.
Val.

NOble Sir Peregreene, this unexpected favour of honour­ing my house with your Company is so far above my hopes—that I want words to express my sentiments of it.

Sir Per.

Sir, your complements put me in mind of the Debt of [Page 49] gratitude I owe ye—for my Daughters kind Entertainment:—I fear I have too much trespass'd upon your patience.

Val.

Fye Sir Peregreene, I thought you had known me better than to Imagine so poorly of me—your Daughter I assure ye has been a grace to my Family.

Fra.

Any one Sir that has the good fortune to be in her Company will rather think it a blessing, then a trouble, especially if he be of my opinion.

Sir Per.

Sir I thank ye, and 'twas a business of Moment that brought me hither; for yesterday in the afternoon I had a Letter from Sir Wilding Frollick—proposing a Marriage between his Son and my Daughter.

Val.

What, with Monsieur Thomas?

Sir Per.

The same—I am so vext I forgot to bring it with me, 'twou'd have made you laugh heartily—for in my life I never saw so extravagant a style;—now Cousin my business in Town is, to put a stop to this Match, for I hear he comes often to her, and against her Will too,—does he so Cousin?

Val.

Sometimes Sir—by way of visit, or so—but not against her consent, that ever I heard of, and you know Sir, 'twou'd not be civil in me to deny her visitants.

Sir Per.

Cousin, you say well—but we Fathers perhaps have bet­ter eyes to pry into these matters—then your Youngsters have; she's a good Girl Sir, and I think a Fathers Indulgence shou'd be carefully imploy'd in bestowing a good Girl upon a good Man.

Fra.

Oh all the reason in the World Sir.

Sir Per.

Why very well—then to be plain, his fame is none of the cleerest—for in troth we hear in the Country, he is ten times more mad, and debauch'd since he came from Paris, then he was before—they say, he never says his Prayers.

Val.

Not publiquely I think Sir—but he may be the better for that.

Sir Per.

Oh no—and between you and I, I don't relish him—not like him I mean, and my Judgment▪ and good liking have gone hand in hand these 50 years—and think I am not crazy now Sir; there is an Imposition laid upon us Fathers—by the Law of Nature—to be Ela­borate, and Zealous in our care for our Children; and though I profess t'ee Cousin, I entertaine no ill sentiments as to matter of his estate, I do as to the matter of his manners; mark me, I say his manners, for, believe me, however corrupt affections—put a false gloss upon a Fa­thers charge, yet it is certainly requir'd of him to be very circumspect [Page 50] in his consideration, when it tends to the disposal of his Children; —but come, pray let me see her.

Val.

Sir, Im afraid she's hardly stirring yet—but she'll soon be rea­dy—I'll wait on ye Sir.

Sir Per.

Cousin, your very Servant.

Exeunt.
Fra.

This Knight is as much affected with his formal Oratory as a Judge at the Sessions House, and if his humour hold, I fear may lose▪ his Mistress in spight of all his Intrigues.

Enter Hylas.
Iack.

how do'st thou?

Hylas

'Faith, better to see thee so well agen Franck, but prithee hast thou seen Tom today?

Fra.

No—what mad Rogues you were last night to make such a noise.

Hyl.

Did'st thou hear us? we were very frollicksome, that's the truth on't—for my part I thought he was mad.

Fra.

Ay, but here's one come to Town, that will spoil his mad frollicks (her Father, Iack) he came early this Morning—and with in­tent to stop all proceedings.

Hyl.

Her Father! S'death what luck's this—where is he?

Fra.

Gone in with Val. to see her—come, go with me, I'll help thee to the sight of him.

Hyl.

With all my heart, it may be I may do him a kindness by it—Pox on him, has he smelt the business out already?

Exit.
Enter Monsieur Thomas, Lucilla, and Launce.
Tho.

Sirrah, stay you there and watch—

Exit Launce.

Her Father in Town say'st thou?

Lucill.

Yes Sir, he came this morning; and since your bounty Sir has made me your Creature—I cannot but inform you that he is much incens'd against you—and if he sees you—he may perhaps fly into more Passion.

Tho.

I'll be gone then. Damn'd Rogue, that he did not give me warning!

Lucill.

Sir, There's no going out there, if you do you'l meet him, You must have a little patience—come hither—here's a standing Press—that my Master uses to hang Cloathes in, Get in here and you are safe, I'm sure they will not stay long.

Tho.

Pox, mew'd like a Cat in a Cupboard—what damn'd luck's this!

Gets into the Press.
[Page 51] Enter Sir Peregreene, Valentine, Franck, Hylas, Cellide, and Sabina.
Sir Per.

Cousin, it has been longer my study—therefore I shou'd know more of Men and Manners than you—Mum, mum—I say to you once more she shall not have him.

Val.

Sir, I am sorry he has the ill fortune to be no better known to ye; but 'tis fit your Judgment shou'd have precedency, especially, as to this affair.

Cellid.

Ha, ha, ha—there in that Press say'st thou?

Lucill.

Yes, Madam, and I warrant in an Ague by this time.

Cellid.

Hush, not a word on't—I'll plague him for his last nights work; Sir I hope you know my Obedience is so settled, to believe my Youth shall never make me throw my self away upon a Man—you dislike—and one that I confess is the General of all mischief—and the lewdest, and most debauch'd person in Town.

Tho.

So—she has hit me to a hair—

Peeping out.
Sabin.

Her mind is very suddenly alter'd, or else this must be Cunning.

Sir Per.

Child, remember my Caution, my blessing shall follow; and observe this as a Maxime, (which though not in Epithetus, yet is in Aratine—or some such merry Book, which in troth I have forgot) That the Marriage Bed is never happy, except the Father eats part of the Posset—'tis somewhat familiar, but the sence is strong.

Hyl.

Very strong Sir, and in my Judgment extends to many things.

Sir Per.

It does so. Do ye know this Man we speak of Sir?

Hyl.

Some small acquaintance, Sir—his Person, not his humour.

Sir Per.

Your name good Sir.

Hyl.

Hylas—at your Service—Sir Robert Hylas Son of Essex.

Sir Per.

Indeed? let me embrace ye—your Father was my Inti­mate and good Friend; are you Sir Robert Hylas Son, say ye? By my faith, I am glad to see you. Your Father was the best Man of Land we had in Essex, when I knew him.

Hyl.

I think he had enough to keep him warm Sir.

Sir Per.

And you I think are his Heir—let me embrace ye once more—'faith, I shou'd think my Daughter better bestow'd, if—but I'll not begin.

Hyl.

Hum!—his Daughter—Sir I have 15 hundred or so; this wou'd be rare—and she's a delicate Girle—Well—sit fast Monsieur Thomas—I never refuse blessings, I.

Sir. Per.

A man of no Principles; no, I will not have you think of him.

Cellid.
[Page 52]

I will not Sir—but as of a Mad-man.

Sir Per.

A Whirligigg.

Cellid.

A Monster—that on my Conscience—has more Wenches—that take pay of him, than the Grand Signior has.

Tho.

That's a lye, for I never paid a Whore in my life.

Peeps out.
Cellid.

What think ye Sir?—I'm sure you cannot but be more my Friend than his—Pray speak.

Hyl.

'Faith she seems willing too—well, I begin to be damnably in Love—this must be the Twentieth, I find it.

Cellid.

Will you be so unkind to be silent, Sir?—I'm sure this

Aside.

galls him. Is he not the basest fellow in Town?

Hyl.

In Town? nay in Christendome—I think he's the greatest Corrupter of Youth, and Debaucher of Women in the whole World.

Tho.

A Rare Rogue!

Cellid.

I marry him? what, a Fellow that makes it his business to be wicked?

Hyl.

That never considers on his latter end, but Wenches on to perpetuity.

Cellid.

Ay, and that never is out of a course of Physick, but to gain time to get in agen.

Hyl.

Right, Madam—that never will be found—nor I think hardly ever was.

Tho.

Very well, the Rascall's witty now he thinks me absent, But I shall make you smart for this my damn'd Friend, I shall.

Val.

Is this done like a Friend, Iack?

Hyl.

No 'faith; but 'tis like a man in Love, and that hopes to bubble his Friend tho.

Fra.

Be not too confident of your success—there will be some danger in't; for you know he dares fight.

Hyl.

Ay, but he is absent now—why when I see him Man, I'll forswear all agen.

Tho.

The Rogue has a tender Conscience however.

Aside.
Sir Per.

Mr. Hylas—introth I like your humour, and Company so well, That I desire to have you acquainted with my Daughter; she's a good Girle Sir—Pray be familiar with her.

Cellide,

Prithee, look on this Gentleman—'faith he pleases me well.

Cellid.

Sir, I cannot doubt but in a little time his Merit, and Witty conversation—will give me the content you receive in him—Now he frets rarely.

Aside.
Sabin.

Still more strange!—sure 'tis not possible she can be thus flexible.

Sir Per.
[Page 53]

Prithee go, and address—I believe she has a mind to thee.

Hyl.

Your humble Servant, Sir—'tis a happiness too great; 'S'death, this is the Civill'st Old Fellow—I ever met with—Madam, be pleas'd to enroll me among your Vassals.

Cellid.

My Father's pleasure prefers ye Sir—you may command me.

Tho.

Very fine—Faith I have been debauch'd to fine purpose if this last;—but the worst is, that this dull Rogue shou'd bubble me—'S'death I shan'not have patience.

Hyl.

The Devil take me Val. if I can help this, 'tis a Fortune thrown upon me—and you know if it were your own case—

Val.

I'll not be concern'd in't Sir—if you'l venture a Beating, You may do what you please.

Enter Servants, bringing in Launce.
Serv.

Sir, here's a suspitious Fellow, has been prying up and down the house for above this hour; I believe h'has stole something.

Launce.

Jernie, stole something!—I'll be Judg'd by all dis Company, who look most like a the Thief, you or I.

Cellid.

O Rascal, are you here? examine him Sir, here's one Plot or other contriving.

Hyl.

Sir—this is his Rascal, his Procurer—one that he employes to set his Whores for him.

Sir Per.

Oh—is he so—I thought there was more in't than ordinary, Bring him before me.

Val.

Sirrah, bear up boldly, and fear nothing, I'll stand thy Friend.

Launce.

Well, well—and what have you to say to me you Son of a—I say Sir—what have you to say to me?

Hyl.

I say, you are his Pimp, Sir—and by the leave of this Company shall be whipp'd, and toss'd in a Blanket.

Launce.

Ah no!—a Jirk or so, if you please—but no Blanket, That is a little too ungentile—Jernie, when did you ever see a French­man toss'd in a Blanket?—Where the Devil is my Master gone now?

Sir Per.

Stand by, Let me examine him; Friend, it agrees not with the reserv'dness, and solidity of your Countenance, to be so far forget­ful of your self, as to embroile, Or rather Incumber your Wit, about this Criminal Affair.

Launce.

Your Servant, Sir.

Sir Per.

Come, be genuine with me—here's a Protector's half Crown for thee—two shillings five pence sterling—and let it be a Key to unlock thy heart—Do'st thou come upon any Sinister Design?

Launce.

Sir, upon my faith—I stood there only to watch, that was all.

Sir Per.
[Page 54]

To watch us—oh—

Cellid.

Plac'd as a Spy Sir—come deal freely, and I'll entertain thee; What new Pranck is your Master about?

Sir Per.

Tell that, I've another Protector for thee.

Launce.

Why then Sir, to say the truth, my Master is a plaguy—Debauch't Fellow—he never goes to Church—he sayes there's no good Company there; and my business here was to give him warning—if any came to disturb him when he was with this Lady.

Sir Per.

'Tis plain now he wou'd have ravish't her—go fetch me a Cudgel, I'le make you an Example.

Launce.

O Lord, Sir, what d'ee mean?

Opens the Door of the Press, and Tho, is discover'd.
Tho.

There's for your Commendations, Dogg.

Omnes.

How!—in the Press?

Cellid.

Ay, 'tis evident—he came to rob the house.

Tho.

Nothing but confidence can bring me off, therefore have at 'em—well, Gentlemen—have you look't your fill?—pray observe me once agen; 'tis I, I assure ye.

Hyl.

How!—has he heard all then?—what will become of me?

Val.

This is a little uncivil, by your favour, to hide your self in my house without my knowledge.

Sir Per.

Hold Cousin—let me speak—Sir—to lay the Law t'ee, wou'd perhaps be insignificant, you not understanding it; Reason too is lost upon ye, because you are a Mad-man—Yet, though these two fail—anger—has its full power; Nor shall my Daughter want a Champion—whil'st she has a Father—You conceive me Sir—Prepare your self.

Hyl.

Take him at his word—I'll be thy Second.

Tho.

What, in a Game at Tennis?—but now I think on't, thou art too dull for that too—for thy Wit and Courage have been much of a stamp ever since I knew thee. Hush, not a word more—I'll talk with you anon, Sir.

Hyl.

I shall be swing'd—I see there's no remedy.

Tho.

Now for my faculty, I'm resolv'd this Jilt shall not carry it off so—Sir, since I see you are a Man of Honour, and Jealous, and mind­ful of Injuries, and for some reason best known to my self, being now resolv'd that all shall out—know, 'twas by your Daughters contri­vance—that I was shut up here.

Sir Per.

My Daughters?

Cellid.

Very well, he's fetching it off with a lye, but that shan't do; —heark'ee, Sir, what d'ee mean by that?

Tho.
[Page 55]

Nay, Madam—what did you mean by it. Sir, for me to say she is honest

Sabin.

Is a lye?

Cellid.

Oh Heavens!

Tho.

Wou'd not be, I confess, so like a Gentleman, but that she is given to subtlety, and wantonness—give me leave to confirm it; For to be faithful with you, this was the day appointed for a certain business 'twixt she and I. You understand me, to which purpose I was shut up there—'faith I must needs say much against my own good humour and Inclinations.

Sir Per.

Umph—I begin to discern it now, this was a Plot—Huswife—see my face no more.

Cellid.

Oh horrid Impudence! Pray hear me speak, Sir.

Val.

Sir, this must not pass, upon this Lady without better grounds.

Tho.

Sir, you shall have what ground you please, and Where. What Madam, I warrant you are amaz'd at this?

Cellid.

I do confess I am.

Tho.

Heark ye, Sir—d'ee hear that?—she confesses it—after this—sure there's nothing remains to prove the truth of my Story: Madam, I am heartily sorry, it shou'd be my ill fortune to relate this—but you must pardon me—I do it for the discharge of my Conscience, and so your most devoted—heark ye, shall I lye with ye to night?—Be kind—I'll recover all yet—I'll stay half an hour for your answer at the next Tavern; consider on't—Gentlemen your Servant—and You Sir—

To Hylas.

A part of whose Nose I desire to be oblig'd with as a remedy against my Cold—my kind good natur'd civil. Son of a Whore—Your Servant, Sir.

Hyl.

Pox on him—what a plaguy twitch he gave me.

Launce.

I hope he has forgot me, but I must follow him, and if he will be contented with a Limb—I'm happy.

Exit.
Sir Per.

My rage has almost suffocated me—but I'll instantly go and cut off the Intail of my Estate, and leave her as despicable as she has left her honour.

Fra.

Sir, let reason mitigate your passion, this may be all false.

Val.

May be, upon my life it is—Pray Sir, let me speak a word with ye in private.

Exeunt.
Sir Per.

Infamous Creature!

Cellid.

Was ever such an Impudent lye carried so prosperously? By Heaven I was so confounded, I had no power to speak a word: I must have this recover'd, and suddenly, I'm undone else.— [Page 56] He told me when he went — he wou'd stay for my answer at the next Tavern—go you instantly, and tell him I have consider'd, and desire to speak with him privately in my Chamber.

Lucill.

Yes, Madam, and I'll warrant I'll bring him back.

Exit.
Cellid.

I have one Trick more in my head, that if it prospers, is cer­tain to recover all yet; for the Love I had for him is so turn'd in a desire of Revenge—that I cannot rest till it be done.

Enter Mrs. Dorothy.

How, his Sister? she must know nothing.

Doro.

What, alwayes in Contemplation? shall I never find thee otherwise?—Why, thou hast quite deserted thy merry humour; Prithee Cellide, what ayl'st thou?

Cellid.

Now I think on't, her Company may be advantagious to me, If made use of rightly—Come—thou shalt know all, and I must there­fore confess the subject of my thoughts was thy mad Brother.

Doro.

What, are ye reconcil'd? I am glad of that.

Cellid.

In a fair way to't—hee'l be here within this hour, to confirm the bargain—and if I cou'd, I wou'd have his Father be by, and over­hear it.

Doro.

I'm sure hee'l come willingly, for he's very much pleas'd with the Match, tho' our Father be against it.

Cellid.

Do, and I'll Order my Woman to place him conveniently.

Doro.

Ha, ha, ha, we shall have rare sport.

Exit.
Cellid.

Rare sport indeed—as I will order it—for his Father, and Sister to be by—when I put the Trick upon, will be a rare venture—heark, I think he's coming, I'll to my Chamber, and prepare for him.

Enter Launce.
Lucill.

What, Sir, d'ee think I tell ye a lye?—I hope you see more grace in my Physiognomy—than to believe that.

Tho.

Ay gad, if Deformity be a grace in a Woman—thou I confess hast a considerable share on't.

Lucill.

Come, good Sir, spare your Expressions till ye come to my Lady.

Tho.

Away then—Sirrah, for the last business I forgive ye. But if you fail in your charge agen.

Launce.

No Sir, Ill be doubly careful now—I understand my Trade. [Page 57] What a Devil, I have not been a Pimp so long for nothing.

Exeunt.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Cellide, and Servants.
Cellid.

You shall find me bountiful—but be sure to do as I bid ye, and be all ready when I give the Sign, then leave the rest to me.

Servants.

Madam, we will not fail.

Cellid.

Away then, and watch your time.

Enter Lucilla.
Lucill.

Madam, he's come.

Cellid.

So. Is he alone?

Lucill.

No Madam, his Man is with him.

Cell.

Then 'tis as I wou'd have it; for I am resolv'd that Rascall shall partake in my revenge—be sure you are ready with a Rope when I give the word.

Lucill.

Yes, Madam, I warrant ye.

Cellid.

But first, go to my Father, and tell him my Design to prove my Innocence—and when his Father comes, place both the Old Men in that Window there, where they may see all; Away, I hear him coming.

Exit Lucilla.
Enter Thomas and Launce.
Tho.

Ha, ha, ha—have you consider'd then, Madam? Will you allow me a Man of Wit now? ha, ha, ha.

Cellid.

Nay, I confess I deserve you shou'd laugh at me for sending to ye—but I swear I was not able to let you go, till you had ask't my pardon for the affront you put upon me.

Tho.

An affront? not in the least 'faith—a little harmless rallery, that was all—why thou art not such a Fool to think my Father be­liev'd me, Do'st? No, no, he knew I was in Jest.

Launce.

Now is he going about another Swinger—well, I believe I have the lying'st Son of a Whore to my Master that ever was born-fifty an hour is nothing to him.—

Cell.

A Jest?—what your swearing that I shut ye into the Press with Intent to have you lye with me? a Jest?

Tho.

Nothing else upon my Faith.—Come, let all be forgot; and since we have given proof of one another's Wit—let us now [Page 58] come to the tryal of our Persons—Come my Dear—your promise—Pox, must

Enter Lucilla.

This Creature molest us now?—Prithee send the Bawd of an errand.

Cellid.

Promise, or not Sir—you are like to stay till we are married, I'll assure ye—Well, are they come? and have you plac'd 'em as I order'd ye?

Lucill.

Yes, Madam, there in that Window—look up, you may see 'em.

Sir Wilding and Sir Peregreene above in a disguise.
Sir Wild.

Ha, ha, ha,—the Rogue has her there.—Now I shall see if he behaves himself like a Cock of Four, or no.

Sir Per.

And I shall see how she behaves her self—but Mum—

Tho.

Come, prithee leave whispering; These Young Bawds are never good for any thing but mischief.

Cellid.

She shall be gone immediately—but first for the safety of my Honour, confess before her—that what you sed in the Hall before my Father, was a lye.

Tho.

Well, I confess it was—now begone Mistris, be gone I say; and do you, Sirrah, hide your self below till I come, and be sure you are not seen.

Cellid.

Hold, I must have a word with him first—be gone, and get the Rope ready.

To Lucilla.
Tho.

With Him?—Pox, prithee lose none of thy breath with Him, let Him go.

Cellid.

'Tis for your safety, Sir.

Sir Wild.

So, now the Old Woman's gone—now Cock of Four.

Cellid.

Friend, there is a weighty business impos'd upon you, for your Master's good; for Sir Ferdinand had never pull'd him by the Ears—if Pomgranats had been in season. Now you being a Schol­lar, and Homer you know loving Paremains—sent all the Lobsters in the Levant to Massinello the Fisher-man—You understand me?

Launce.

Yes, yes—gads noons not a word—not I—You say, Madam, that I being a Scholar, proceed—pray.

Cellid.

You, I say, having read Aristotle—and knowing Mice to be very destructive to the Common-Wealth, cannot but consider what your Master may suffer; for there is as much difference in Per­rukes, as in Bucklers, and the Cardinal Bobinello loosing one of his Teeth with a Skirmish 'twixt him, and the Pigmies—Your Master's [Page 59] Interest will be left in the hand of Sir Ieoffry, or the Heere Hander van Dander Scopen; D'ee conceive me?

Launce.

Yes, yes, I think I do. Madam, I speak 8. Languages; I assure ye therefore, I think I understand ye.

Enter Lucilla above with a Rope.
Tho.

Come, come, Madam—what business can she have with this dull Rogue?

Cellid.

Oh she is ready I see—Now Sir, I come to ye.

Servant.

Nay Sir, no struggling,

Stamps, and they all come in, and disarm and bind him.

our Power shall master ye.

Tho.

Damn'd, Cowardly Dogs—and damn'd dull Rogue as I was to venture my self here, knowing her so well.

Cellid.

What, you are running away, Sirrah, are ye? come, the Rope, the Rope quickly.

Lucilla throwes a Rope down, and they tye it about Launce his Neck.
Launce.

O mercy, mercy! Why you will not be guilty of such barbarity, will you? to hang up 8 Languages?

Sir Wild.

How, how, Tom? beset, and bound—then 'tis time to discover my self—Courage, Tom—Courage, I am here—I'm here.

Sir Per.

Ay, and I am here too, Sir—nay, sit still—for here's no getting out.

Sir Wild.

How Sir Peregreene—'S'bud, this was a Plot,

Discovers himself.

I find it now.

Cellid.

So, this Service has oblig'd me—but now begone all, and leave him to me.

Exeunt Servants.
Tho.

My Father here too! Pox, this is worst of all—Oh I cou'd curse now! well, he that loves a Woman, loves his Torment—and he that Courts her—

Cellid.

Ha, ha, ha, have you consider'd yet, Sir?—will ye allow me a Woman of Wit now? Ha, ha, ha.

Sir Per.

Ha, ha, ha—a Rare Girle I profess.

Tho.

Ha, ha, ha; well, I was a damn'd Insipid Rogue, that's the truth on't—but Madam, little did I think you cou'd have been thus ungrateful.

Cell.

Ungrateful! why thou shallow inconsiderate unthinking fool, Cou'dst thou Imagine I cou'd sleep—and leave thy last affront unpunish't? No, all my Faculties were turn'd to Thought & Revenge. Nor get ye your Liberty, till I have it throughly.

Launce.

But what harm did I do, Madam? You know I took your part—oh—

Lucill.
[Page 60]

What, Sirrah, are you prating? I'll stop your noise.

Tho.

Well, I shall get loose agen—and then if you persist in this usage, I shall then be implacable—You know, Madam, I have Wit.

Cellid.

What, d'ee threaten me?—I know you have Wit; Where, where is it? for my part, I am blind to it; but I can give ye some, Sir—thus—and thus—

Strikes him.
Tho.

Who' Pox—Prithee forbear—'S'death, this is barbarous.

Cellid.

O, 'tis a blessing you want, Sir—and pray let me infuse it into ye—You cheated me, I remember, with your broken Legg, last Night Sir, and roar'd, and howl'd, and laugh't and fool'd me Sir.

Tho.

Oh Devil, this is past sufferance.

Cellid.

Told a swinging lye this morning to prove me a Whore, Sir, to my Father; for which there is a swinging cuff, Sir.

Tho.

Umph—nay enough, enough—come—I'll reform.

Launce.

And so will I too—I'll never Pimp for him, no—oh—

Lucill.

Still prating, Rascal?

Sir Wild.

Oh that plaguy Quean—that brought me hither.

Sir Per.

You must have patience, Sir—a sweet Girle I profess.

Enter Sabina.
Sabin.

What, is the Monsieur catch't?—the plotting Monsieur? Ha, ha, ha—this is strange I swear Sir—where was all your Wit?

Tho.

Dam her, Is she come too?

Cellid.

Ay, where indeed—ah Cousin, he's so cruel to me, here have I lain languishing this hour,

Throwes her self on a Chair.

and not so much as a kind word from him.

Tho.

Ah Devil!

Sabin.

Ha, ha, ha—what, and his Spaniel here too? What, Sirrah, Cannot your 8 Languages free ye from that Rope?

Launce.

Ah, wou'd they cou'd.

Cellid.

Now I think on't—I shou'd bestow a little Wit on you, Sirrah—my Lying—Pimping—Ugly Impudent Varlet—There's for ye Sir.

Launce.

Oh! wou'd my Master had been hang'd seven years ago, rather than I had come to this—oh—

Lucill.

Again Rogue, agen; ah 'tis gone.

Goes to pull him, and; lets fall the Rope.
Launce.

Oones I am deliver'd by Miracle; Look up, Sir, look up—I am free—Nay, 'faith Madam, I beg your pardon, I must be Porter now.

Runs, and stands in the Door.
Tho.
[Page 61]

How? free? nay then, Fate is mine agen, Sirrah, lock the Door, and take out the Key.

Launce.

'Tis done, Sir.

Tho.

Come then, unbind me quickly.

Cellid.

Cur'st Accident—Catch't agen?—help, help.

Sabin.

Help, help.

Tho.

Ay, Faith—I'll help ye presently, Your humble Servant, and Devoted Lover, Madam, is making what haste he can.

Sir Per.

How! at Liberty?—Nay then 'tis time to help indeed.

Sir Wild.

By Bacchus, Sir, but you shall not—now 'tis my turn to be Porter; Now Son Thomas—now Cock of Four—now Rogue, now.

Tho.

Sirrah, for this piece of Service—there's a Lady for ye;

Sabina.

Take her, be thankful, and multiply.

Launce.

Ha, ha—with all my heart 'faith—come Madam, 'gad I have not had a touch a great while.

Tho.

Ha, ha, ha,—ha, ha, ha, what think ye now, Madam? Wheres your Wit now?—Did I not tell you what a stubborn denyal must come to? 'gad if thou scap'st me now—let me be recorded an Ass, and my Story put into a Ballad.

Goes to undress her.
Cellid.

Nay, do not dishonour me good Sir; if you love me—I'm sure you will not—I confess I have wrong'd ye.

Tho.

Dam Confessions, Madam—do that when the business is done, and then I'll confess with ye.

Launce.

And I must confess too.

Cellid.

Kind, Dear Sweet Sir, help, help!

Sir Wild.

Well sed Tom, Well sed Tom, to her agen Son Thomas, to her agen Boy—ha, ha, ha.

Sir Per.

Rascal, Villain, Debauch'd Villain, thou wilt not ravish her, wilt thou?

Tho.

No, no, Sir, upon my Faith not I; I▪ll onely lye with her, that's all.

Sir Per.

Why, thou wilt not lye with her before my face?

Tho.

Yes but I will tho'—and before my own Father's face too; But for your sake, Sir, I ll use her as kindly as I can.

Launce.

'Gads noones, this is sport.

Knock at the Door.
Sabin.

Savage, Barb'rous Villain—oh Heaven! what sin have I committed, to undergo this punishment? help, help; help—

Cellid.

Rather kill me Sir, than do it. Help, help.

Knock within.
Tho.

Apox on 'em—they have taken the Alarm—I see—'gad I must dispatch—I find I shall be hinder'd else.

Takes her in his Arms, and carries her to the Closet.
Cellid.

Help, help,—I'm undone else—help, help.

[Page 62] Enter Valentine.
Val.

'S'death! What Barbarity is this?—what were you going to do with the Lady, Sir? ha?

Tho.

Why, I was going to teach her a new Dance, Val.

Val.

Ay, I believe 'twas a Dance indeed.

Enter Sir Peregreene, Sir Wilding, Franck, Hylas.
Sir Per,

Kill him, kill him—let him be murder'd—let me come to him.

Val.

Hold, hold Sir—this must not be in my house.

Sir Per.

I ll lay the Statute of Ravishment against him, I'll have him hang'd, I'll take the Law on him.

Sir Wild.

You take a Coxcomb, will you?—Tom, give me thy hand, Fifteen hundred a year is thy own for this dayes work; And now talk of the Law, Sir, if you dare—Tom and I will swinge ye.

Tho.

Now, Madam, cou'd not you have sav'd all this, and been willing?

Cellid.

Impudent Man! cou'd no entreaty prevail with ye? Well, from this instant I'll shun thee as I wou'd the Plague; and if I do speak of thee, it shall be with Scorn, and Derision—to curse thy ill Nature—and Ingratitude—to which purpose I this Moment banish all sparks of Love—and do here solemnly vow—Never to see thee more.

Sabin.

Nor I, unless it be to revenge this baseness.

Exeunt.
Tho.

A Pox on't, this comes of Interruption, if they had but stay'd a little longer, that I might have had earnest of her, all had been sure;—but one Weeks humble Address shall make all well agen, shall it not, Sir?

Sir Per.

No Sir, Not believe I'll put up this affront so tamely: You shall hear from me, assure your self.

Exit.
Sir Wild.

Ah, let him go, Tom—the Old Fool frets—ha, ha.

Launce.

A Pox on't, I have had the greatest Loss—for methought my Nymph began to be willing.

Sir Wild.

Thou wilt?

Tho.

I warrant ye, Sir, And now to you my Friends—first Val. I beg thy pardon for offering this in thy house—Prithee forget all—and from this Minute—assure thy self—I am thy Friend indeed.

Val.

Well Sir—having some Interest in the rest of your Frollicks, I have the more reason to bear with this—especially since 'twas onely a Design—But had you gone through with your Dance—You and I shou'd have made but a kind of a scurvy Salutation.

Tho.

For thy sake onely, I am glad it hapned otherwise—Dear Franck, give me thy hand too.

Fra.
[Page 63]

With all my heart—and believe I share a great deal of con­tent in seeing you two friends; for when I came in first—I guest it wou'd be otherwise—

Tho.

I believe thou did'st.—What Iack art thou behind? here come forth, and give me thy hand too—Come, all is forgot; Thou art a damn'd Inconstant Rogue, I believe thou wilt confess it: but let that pass. We have all our failings.

Hyl.

We have so—but this Kindness in thee has so oblig'd me—that I am resolv'd to desert my Roaring Humour, and turn all into Friendship for thee.

Sir Wild.

Well sed Cock of Four—'gad I like it well—Come Gentlemen—Pray let me Invite ye to my house—I'll provide a Collation, and we'l be heartily merry.

Tho.

Come, you shall go 'faith—for I am resolv'd to give my farewel to Intrigues, with a free and merry heart; and 'tis fit that you that are my Friends, shou'd be now my Witnesses, as you shall be when I go through the t'other Gate, Marriage. And tho' this kind of life is least troublesome; t'other is certainly most safe: especially, if a Man can change his Temper, else 'tis a Plague to him. For Mar­riage to a Debauchee, is a second Purgatory; It gives him onely a Prospect of Joy, or Torment, without knowing which he shall arrive to. But I hope I know my self better, than to venture without great Consideration to such Uncertainties.

Loose Love like a thin Garment serves us ill,
And though wee'r pleas'd with it, we shiver still;
But I'm confirm'd, let th' Age be what it will,
What ever Nature in a Miss design'd,
Wives only are the Blessing of Mankind.

EPILOGUE, By Mr. Mohun.

THat I have been a Mad Old Fool to Night,
I need not tell you; but to set all right,
The Poet now makes me a Parasite.
Sends me to flatter ye, and beg Excuse,
For the Insipid Errors of his Muse:
He bids me say, the less to show his Guilt,
On the Foundation Fletcher laid, he built;
New drest his Modish Spark fit to be shown,
And made him more Debauch'd, t' oblige the Town.
Drink, Rant and Sing, he now takes pains to be
A perf [...]t and accomplish'd Debauchee.
But Criticks, you that never yet were known
To think there could be Sence above your own;
You that do surfet on the Spoyles of Witt,
And still have less to shew, the more you get.
Like barren Ground that swallowes up the Rain,
Yet is by th' Industrious Hand Manur'd in vain,
Will in your Censures your Ill Natures show,
And with your Weeds choak up the Grain we sowe.
I know you'l cry, Confound this tedious Stuff,
He has not made the Spark half mad enough;
He should have been all Air, and th' Mode pursue,
That is, keep Miss, kick Wise, and Run Men through:
Ashore you give good proofs of this each day;
Pray Heav'n you hold and prove as mad at Sea.
But that I think there's none can doubt or fear;
No,—Witt's a greater Plague to you than Warr.
Witt that is now us'd like a Common slave,
Both by those have none, as well as those that have.
Therefore against such to procure defence,
Not doubting th' Aid of all the Men of Sence,
The Poet now the Ladies help do's Crave,
That with a frown or smile can damn or save.
And as the Mighty God of Witt shines clear,
And shines upon his Fav'rites once a Year;
From them that Sacred Influence let him find,
That he may say he Once found Beauty kind.
FINIS.

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