SLaves to London, I'll deceive you.

E'gad I've as good a voice as most Composers! Prethee sing it me once more, that I may have it right.

Mad Sam Gaymood!

Covent-Garden Railmore come to ease his Spleen in Hertfor [...]shire!

What, my thoughtless merry talking old acquain­tance, come to eke out a scanty Income with elemo­sinary Maintenance at an Elder Brothers!

Even so, by Mercury; and I think 'twas high-time to go after my Credit, when my Credit was gone after my last Quarter. Faith I wisely tick'd for the Coach down, resolv'd the Padders should get no more by Sam, than they wou'd by a cast P [...]et, when he steals into the Country after his Damnation in Town.

Sure thou might'st have borrow'd of thy acquaintance?

Of any body sooner I fancy. Why, thou knowest my Conversation is amongst the Wits, and they commonly have too little Money or too much Wit to lend a Brother any thing. Toast me, if I durst so much as ask my man to do it, for fear the Rogue who has formerly carried a Wit's Cloke should ask me Security for his Wages.

Faith I'm come to be your neighbour much for the same Cause; I mean, to recruit, and Dun Te­nants, that I may be Dunn'd less my self; for I am not like most of our fine Sparks, that are asham'd of Dunning, but not at all of being Dunn'd.

Prethee, old Wormwood, when did you leave the Town?

Two days ago, and hearing this morning, my Lord Lovewel wou'd be here to day, I came to see him; but I found him so deep engag'd with your eldest Neice, that, after a moments converse, I e'en left him.

To come to me: ay, he courts her with my Brothers encouragement, but she's so reserv'd, and he so observant that I dare▪ lay my▪ modesty to ▪thy good▪ Nature (which is no very great Wager▪) that you car'd as little for their Company as they for yours.

Or any body for thine, when there's any o­ther to be got.

That's like thee! meer Spleen and Envy, Jack, because my Tinsel out-shines thy Lead. Why, there's your Idol▪ Tom Airy, who's come to pass the Sum­mer near us, and is now yonder with my Cousins; he's a pretty smart Fellow, we own it; but, if you'll be judg'd by our Country Sparks, he shines no more when I am by than some slovenly Wit by your glit­tering Queens of the Stage.

Why, the little Wit he has is his own, Sam; but thine is as false as their Jewels, and as borrow'd as what they speak on the Stage.

Like thee again! 'Tis well thou know'st I ne're take any thing ill from my Friend—Oh here comes my Brother!

Mr. Rail [...]! I long'd to have you at my House: Come▪ let's go take another▪ Glass or two of Hock before Dinner!

No more till then, Sir Thomas.

Why, my neighbour Sir Topewel Clown [...]sh and Squire Ilbred who'll be here after Dinner wou'd have made you T [...]psy before they'd have granted you in Truce.

Ay, they are sonder here of knocking down a Friend, than some of our Bea [...]-Compainers of knock­ing down an Enemy.

A very honourable way of sighting in time of War.

Ay, or in time of Peace either. First, they ply you by Break of Day with a Bumper of Cherry-Brandy to heal you; next two Bumpers of Stingo to to warm you; then as much Mead or Sider▪ to cool you: Stale-Beer and Sugar for Breakfast; a Flood of bad Port for Dinner; an Ocean of worse Punch, for Supper; and a dose of raw Brandy to settle you: Much smoaking, and more drinking; little Eating, and less talking; unless I'm there, e'gad, scarce any thing comes out of their mouths but Smoke.

But pray what News at London? I shou'd want such a friend as you to send down the News; for your News-mongers are such Lyars!

Why, truly, in the land of the Wise, they say little; and write less: News is as partially spread as Religions; so, I'm as careless about it as the credu­lous Croud, or you Country Gentlemen are inquisit [...]v [...].

Yet you may tell one how things go in the City? I hate it as a smoaky Kitchin, but yet good thing [...] come out of it sometimes, tho 'tis bad living in 't.

Why, the the City stands where it did; and that's a wonder to the Godly! But the Sub [...]rbs are like to overtake you in Hertfordshire: As for the Citi­zens they follow their own way, I think.

As how, Pray?

Why, they cheat, to build Alms-houses; break, to get Estates; rail at Courtiers, yet trust 'em, load Ships, for the Privateers; take Prentices, to learn 'em no­thing: Get Money by venturing to lose that of other Folks; take Wives for other Folks, and have Children that are other Folks's. They wear Swords, but n [...]r draw 'em: The Court-end of the Town Extravaganue is getting into the City, and the City Trade [...] to [...]he [Page 6] Court-end of the Town: They play at the Game of Stock jobbing at the old Exchange, and play away their Money, and their health near the New; Pray for Wealth, but damn themselves to get it; spend little, to leave much; turn Insurers when they've nothing to lose; and Gentlemen when there's nothing to get; lower the price of Goods to make it rise; have store of Bank-Bills, and the Banks, store of empty Chests.

Pray tell us something of the Court? you've been a Courtier, and they say, the best way to have a good malicious account of it, is to ask one that has been turn'd out.

Why, there they are plagu'd with imperti­nent Suitors, but plague 'em worse with disappoint­ments. Lords sell-off, and Stewards Purchase; just as Officers set up their Coaches, and you Country Gen­tlemen lay 'em down: Preferments are plenty, but Mo­ney scarce: Acquaintances elbow one another out without Conscience, smile without joy, embrace with­out Friendship, flatter without Moderation, promise without Reflexion, and break their Words without Con­sequence. Beggers grow Courtiers, and Courtiers Beg­gers.

Why, that's no news man; begging was the Courtiers Trade from the Beginning.

But how do thy drink at London now; for there are modes for drinking as well as for other things?

Oh I'll tell you that better than he; first, your Politicians drink Coffee; Wits, Beaux and Women, warm Tea, and some of 'em. cold: We Rakes, drink Red, and then Small-beer; Bawds, Snapdragons; Whores what they can get, but Mead and Rhenish and Sugar to chuse; Stewards the best Champain, and their Masters the worst, Merchants smuggl'd Claret; Wenchers Chocolate, and sometimes Dyetdrink.

And what do Black-Coats drink?

Oh any thing, any thing.

I see our two Lovers moving this way, I wou'd avoid 'em, and find out Airy, and the other Ladies.

My Cousin Single, with her Sister Kitty, and my Daughter Christina are that way with him.

It's a wonder my Lady Single wou'd steal any time from her Books she loves so much, to walk with any of our Sex, she loves so little.

Why, truly there's so little good Society, that Books are often the best Company. It seems the falsness of our Sex has frighted her into an aversion to Mar­riage as much as the Infidelity of Women has deterr'd me from that fatal Noose; but it grieves me to hear, she impairs her health and good humour by too much reading. I'll strive to perswade her at least not to hate us all, that she may converse with some, and so help me to rail at the rest of mankind.

Ah Francelia! shou'd your modesty make you doubt your Power of reconciling Libertines to Truth, sure you've too much Charity, not to believe, but some of these may become Converts to constant Love at last.

At last indeed, and very few I doubt. Some who rov'd in their youth may do at and become constant, but 'tis as most sinners repent, when they grow old, my Lord.

Oh! believe me one of those Few that cou'd repent betimes; I sought in others what I've found in you, and have only known their Falseness to prize your worth the more.

I must confess I wish I cou'd believe you, tho yet I think you mean not to deceive me: But in Love's disease▪ as in others, sometimes Libertines seem con­verted, and make vows, which they then intend to [...]ep▪ but commonly forfeit as soon as they are eas'd.

Even Gratitude alone can secure you a heart, but you have Charms to [...]ix a Rover, tho he should want that Vertue.

Alas! my Lord, Love is a sickle Passion, but Beauty is a transitory Charm, and Gratitude a weak chargeable Vertue, which Men shake off, or wilful­fully forget. No, since we must think of throwing away many Favours before we can expect to place one well, I dare not run the venture.

I swear by all—

Oh do not swear, my Lord; a Lover's Oaths like Confessions on the Rack, are still recanted, when the Pang is over. If you'll accept my friendship, 'tis your own▪ But name not Love, I tremble at the word.

Why, Friendship is Love refin'd! Ah! Madam—

Come, we'll walk on, my Lord: I dare not grant you more; and if you prize that Friendship, ask no more: Oh name not Love, I tremble at the word.

Yonder they're walking!

And will be these four hours if you'll let 'em: He, only to say, I'll love eternally; and she, I'll never love—Both true alike.

I wonder Lovers are never ti [...]'d of each others company.

No wonder at all, Cuz; they always speak of themselves.

As you love to read all day, many love to hunt all day, my Lady Single; now Love they say is a kind of Chace.

A Wild▪goose Chace.

And the Woman the Goose, when 'tis caught the Game is ended. Ay, 'tis well to keep you men at a di­stance; Forms in Love, like Mysteries in Religion, make Reason truckle, but advance your Zeal.

Asses, they say, run the faster under a Load. For my part, I am like the Fireship that scorns to burn, till sure to kindle Flames in something worth burning for.

So that like most of ours you're in no great danger of burning; for the Enemy is not more afraid of ▪em than Women are afraid of Wits, or [...]ond of Beaux.

Beaux! Why, we hear nothing so much rail'd at now as those tame Animals! Pray, what do you properly call a Beau, Mr. Airy?

A Beau is—

Stay, let me tell that—Why, a Beau is a kind of a two-legg'd thing, that talks, and walks, and dances, [Page 10] and sings, and dresses, and looks like something be­tween a Man and a Woman, that seldom keeps a secret better than the latter, and strives to outdo 'em in taking care of the outside, conscious there's little within. It rises to go to Bed, is two hours at the Toilette a dres­sing, dispatching of Duns, and spoiling gilt paper to dispatch it as Billets Doux, sometimes to its sweet self, and all day making Love to its dear Carcass and sweeter Cloths.

Ay, but there are o [...]her sorts of Beaux?

Oh, yes; now Beau is every thing: there's your Town, Court, Camp, Sea, Church, and Country Beau. Sometimes Beau is Mr. Smerk with his diminutive Band and powder'd Bob: sometimes Dash a Lawyers Clerk, that pomatum's his Face, washes it with Milk and Water, and is two hours turning up his hair at night, that it may sit in Curls the next morning. There are dirty Beaux, and Beau Footmen too, and old Beaux in abundance! Nay, now a Man's a Beau if he has but a clean Handkercheif.

Methinks 'tis time the Name were abdicated.

The Name may be laid down, but the thing will continue, as long as Womens Inclinations continue the same.

Nay, if you begin with us, I must put in for the honour of our Sex.

Which is just like the honour of ours, and that's so little I'm asham'd to tell you.

Come, those Wits ought to be fool'd who make their Addresses to Fools; how fine 'tis to see one of you follow some foolish Celia like her Shadow, and go even to St. James's or St. Ann's, for a single look cross a Pew; pelt her with Billets Doux commonly stol'n, Nonsensical, or Romantic, write dull Madrigals on her, and get 'em [Page 11] sung to duller Tunes at your weekly interviews in York­buildings; and lose his rest for her, while Miss Celia all the while either sleeps or laughs at him.

Ten to one but he has his turn to laugh at her: Look you, Madam, one half of the world first banters the other, then one half of the world lies with the o­ther, and at last one half of the world laughs at the o­ther.

Therefore I would not have our Sex trust the other.

Not so fast Cousin; I believe of you and Mr. Rail­more as I do of both Sexes.

What's that, dear Christina?

Why, the one is in the wrong, and the other is not in the right.

Ay, Madam, were the world such as they wou'd both be thought, a married pair wou'd be as great a rari­ty as—

A self-denying Priest, or a couple that never re­pented after the Hony Moon.

Have a care, Sir; all people marry at one time or other.

Ay, Sir, and repent it at one time or other; look you, when two marry, both part with their Free­dom to each other, yet neither of them gets it.

There I agree with you: For my part a Husband's Inconstancy and Ingratitude are no less my aversion than a Wife's lazy subject way of living. I could not waste half my time at my Glass, and the rest on Children, Nurses, and mean houshold affairs; and on a Drunkard, a Gamester, a Debauchee, a jealous Coxcomb, or an ill­natur'd Blockhead, who would look on me only as a means to mend his Fortune, or an Obstacle to his Plea­sures.

Nor would I become a property for the sake of a little Dross or fancied Charms, which like a Will in the Wisp vanish when they've deluded us into a Pit whence there's no getting out; then the seeming Angel proves a real Devil, neglects her self for her Fool, and adorns her self only for others.

Oh, say no more; were not you Men to be caught by meer outside as well as we, we should seldom take such care about it, and were you not so blind when caught, we would not be so careless before you after­wards. But let's talk of something else. What if we shou'd sit down yonder.

With all my heart.

This is young Frankly's little Mistress: I've a mind to try how she bears my Friend's absence—Stay dear pretty creature, I must call you to an accoun [...]

O Laird, Sir! for what?

Why? for making me love you whether I will or no; such an Air, such Eyes, such blooming Beauty, will make more Men run mad than Poetry, Plotting, or Phanaticism.

Nay, as I hope to be sav'd, Sir, I can't help it. Wou'd you have my Eyes put out?

Thy Eyes! why, Child, I had rather the Sun were put out. Oh I wou'd still gaze on those dear damn'd bewitching Eyes, and hear that sweet pretty prattling Tongue.

O Law! the Man's mad indeed!—Yet me­thinks I like this kind of Madness mightily.

Why, don't I tell you you' [...]l make the whole Na­tion a Bedlam, if 't [...]s not one already—Nay, you must not go yet.

Why, Sir, you own you are mad, and I should be mad too should I stay with you—Let me go.

Oh mine's a Madness that will hurt none but my self, dear Creature; come, you must stay, you can ne­ver have an opportunity to appear fully beautiful but a­lone with a Man that loves you.

If you love me, why don't you let me go? Yet methinks I cou'd stay to grow handsomer.

I won't let you go, because I love you. Why, you are grown infinitely more charming in an instant.

Ah! why must we dissemble. Methinks 'tis a pretty innocent thing to be talk'd so to!

Well▪ Sir, tho they tell me I'm too young to be courted, I'm old enough to know I'm flatter'd.

Were you before your Glass you'd find it truth: but a Kiss or two will make you incomparable. Dear lovely Sweetness.

Oh; no, no, no, no; no kissing at all.

Bless me! he's kissing the Girl, and she refuses it as faintly as if she desir'd he should do more!

Kit­ty, is this what I taught you? 'S death, Sir, you ought to pay dear for this presumption.

Why, Sister, the Gentleman is a very civil Gen­tleman; he only try'd to make me handsomer.

I think he has done it indeed; he has put a colour in your face. O my word you shall go into a Nunnery speedily.

Ay, Madam, so she shou'd; for she'll be the Torment of both Sexes if she is not lock'd up.

Why, Mr. Airy, I did not think you would have taken so much pains with a Girl, while so many Women would have thank'd you for the Office?

Truly, Madam, Girls have often more Wit than Women, they seldom refuse what they like. And then while you have Mr. Railmore with you, who is a Master in that Profession, why should you grudge your Sister those innocent Improvements which you deny your self.

He a Master in that Art! he's too surly to have any Scholars.

And your Ladyship too scornful to be taught. But I suppose 'tis because your Charms admit of no in­crease, Madam.

Oh, your Servant, Sir; no more of this, I pray; I would have my Sister, like me, shun such dangerous Instructions.

HEre, take away! Nay, Girls, what need you rise? I've a Dance and some Music for the Company.

How is't, old Boy? how fares it with thy bo­dy? hale and lusty, full of juice, full of gravy, hah?

Sir Topewel Clownish! Adad stand off▪ or I'll beat thee▪ a Peasecods on thy Shoulder of Mutton Fist; why did not you come to dine with me, old Suckface? I have the rarest Hock now! Many a German Prince gets drunk with worse; and as for Red stuff, here's▪ that would make a divided County vote one and all, by old England! here's to you, old Sot!

Thank you Brother: Look you, Mum [...]s the word. I'll tell you what 'tis in the twinkling of a Bum­per. Here, John, John, do you fill me yonder Beer Glass, only for a Taste, John.

Squire Illbred, I'm glad to see you; you're welcome!

The like to you, Sir Thomas! Odsme, I shall ne're be able to break my mind to my Mistress: my Heart beats like any Mill-clapper; 'tis e'n sinking into my Breeches, e' saith.

Cousin, don't hang on Arse: Odsooks, show your head, Man, and go buss the Women, if thou [...]ou'dst.

But hold, here's to thee: Do nothing rashly, as the saying is, soft and fair, as Lawyers go to heaven, drink first.

Mistress Frances, your Health: Sir Thomas here's towards you.

Humh! 'tis so, so; I think 'tis almost as good as our Stale Beer.

Sir Topewel, thou right worshipful Bumkin, thou glorious Phiz painter, thou walking Cellar of March Beer, and Terror of Sippers and Flinchers, egad I'm as glad to see thee sober in this House, as thou art to see a stranger drunk at thine.

Thank you, Squire Prate-apace.

Egad, old Tough-hide, I'm come to have t' other bout with you.

Why, I've only made some, stay, let me see, ay, ay—No, ay, some ninety nine as drunk as Cuckolds (I mean as Londoners) since I knock'd thee down, and thou'rt come just time enough to make up the hundred.

I've a couple of Seconds here, you old Toast, they'll stand by me.

Ay, and full by thee too, before I've done with 'em. I don't know 'em: I never know a man till I've drunk with him—Odsooks I had e'en forgot bussing. Co­zen, follow; methinks I'm a dancing the New Vagaries.

Fye, Sir Topewel, since you Men kiss one ano­ther like Children, to kiss Women grows out of fashion at London.

Then it's a sign 'tis in fashion in the Country. Odsooks, I had rather kiss a Hog's Snout than slabber a bristly fellow who makes a Hen's Breech at you with his Chaps. I'll warrant, that's outlandish.

The Booby kisses like a Nurse; here's a Smack as loud as that of a Carriers Whip

A Dewse take you and your Dutch Buss! Were you to kiss thus at London, 'twould cost some Women half their outward face.

Foh! you stink of Wine.

Odsooks, you young Sucker, you proud Tit­bit of Flesh for your Children, does Wine stink? give me my Buss again. Bir, bir, bir.

I'll owe it you, I'll owe it you.

I've a coming stomach to Kisses, e' faith! By y'r leave, Miss.

By yours, Master!

Thank you; but what's that for, tho?

Why, that's for you: My Lips are bespoke, but my hand's at your service; d'you want another?

No, you young Light-skirts, I have too much by one—Go, munch Oatmeal! What's the Girl afraid of? a Horse Buss? Why, the Parson's Daughters, nay the Ju­stice's Wife, let me smack 'em again and again, and wel­come; and there's our Susa [...] saith, I've a breath like a Cow's 'tis so sweet—Well, if the Mistress won't the Maid shall▪ e'faith.

He's in the right on't; when we can't get into the Town we must e'en take up in the Suburbs.

Now you shall hear a Song set by my Daugh­ter's Music-master.

Pray, how does your Lordship like the compo­sing?

I like it extremely, Madam.

Oh! is that a Lord!

Like it! Why, there's not a word of drinking in't. Odsooks one merry Drinking Catch is worth a hundred on't; as, Oh the little House that lies under the Hill! Thrilo, lilo, lilo, lilo, liloh!

Well, here's something will fit you to a Hair.

Now this is something like a Tanzy: here Friends, there's a couple of Shillings for you to drink.

Sir Topewel, you affront 'em, and us too; they never sing under a couple of Guineas.

Well then, if they'll come to Clownish-hall they shall be drunk for a month together—Here, John, do thou take up the Shillings, and then fill me t' other Brim­mer, you old Cuckold!

Why, this is treating indeed; let the Ladies but be kind, and there will be Chere Entiere.

Pshau, my little H [...]tspur, the whole kind will be kind, if we are not too kind. They are like Fruits, Man; if they're dear e'en thank your impatience, you might have enough else for little or nothing in due season; there's plenty and they won't keep; when the Pears are ripe, do

but shake the Trees, and down they tumble—What say'st thou of this old grind­ing Mill, hah!

Why, I only say, that's old; thou steal'st Trash out of Books, as impudently as Boys do out of Orchards; nay, the worst on't is, that like other Thieves thou [Page 21] spoil'st what thou steal'st, lest thy Roguery be found out.

Pshau, pshau, a meer Poetic License, by Mercury. The God of Wit is the God of Thieves too. Why, Man, every body steals: the Country Levite steals Sermons, nay the very Invectives he uses against stealing: the younger Brother with his pious Dad's abetting steals a Fortune, the Hypocrite steals a good Name, the common Soldier steals Hens and Geese, the Commander Towns and Countries, and both, like the cozening Citt, call that Getting. The busy ignorant steals a Preferment, and the sly Cuckold-maker steals your Wife.

And thou thy Speeches.

I deny the major: I pay for the Books out of which I take 'em, ha, ha, ha!

We'll take a Walk in your Gardens, Sir Thomas.

What are they all a going? A Pox of these peti­coated Implements; they spoil Company worse than Business, Politics, or Religion. Well, I'll be with you; but first let's smoke a Pipe.

These seem clever fellows, Squire? hark you, can they drink?

Just as you talk, Knight.

How's that?

Why, so, so; you only talk to promote drinking, and they only drink to promote talking—Where are they now? They cou'd not say that's stoln!

Now this is lost here; meer Pearl before Swine, by Mercury.

What say'st thou, hah?

Nothing, nothing, I was only thinking o' some of you Country Squires.

Odsooks one Country Fellow of Threescore is worth threescore of your spindle-shankt washy finical Town-whipsters, with scarce a Penny in their Pockets, or any Pith in their Backs, but the Devil and all of Maggots in their Noddles, and of C [...]ent-garden Gout in their Bones.

Can they—

Brother, not [...]ord against the Country. You Town Changelings ar [...] [...] froward Children; you're always biting your Nurse: Can you live without the Country?

Well said, e' faith. Now look you, Neighbor, here's no body too much: You see my Cousin Illbred▪ Is he not a elever sort of a body, for an elder Brother? Here's a Man now! I'll warrant him as sound Wind and Limb as any he of his inches: Odsheart, he'll wear well and live long!

Not live, but last long▪ e' gad, one would swear he were commending his Horse to pack it off to some Fool at a Fair.

He hunts, hawks, or whistles, about his ground three hours in a morning, feeds like a Plough-jobber, and drinks like a Tinker: As silly as he stands he made 14 Lawyers drunk last Assizes.

You've a rare Pupil of him.

In short you have him as true bred a Country­man as my Worship, and wanting nothing but a Wife, by the Pleasure of Drinking: nor shall he want that long, if my Neighbor here is willing to be rid of his eldest Daughter; for that's what we come about.

My Daughter Francelia! There are more words than one to a Bargain, Sir Topewel, my Friend.

An you be not willing to get rid of that Cattle, you're the only Man of your mind in seven Counties. Why, they are meer Rubbish, Father Dry-boots, we must pay those that take 'em away.

Ay, marry, but e'ry Man shan't be the Scaven­ger. What, I must bestow my Jewel upon a Fool, an Ideot, a Booby, a senseless Clown?

Odsbobs, I shall have her, I'll lay five pounds to a Nut Cracker he means me, for every body calls me so.

Thank you, Father-in-law that's to be.

Adad, Sir, you had best keep your Thanks till you have her.

Hark you, Neighbor, Mum's the word. I guess where the Shoo wrings; you grudge to untye your Purse­strings to him, you old Micher; now we want none of your Muck.

Humh! I may save a Portion!

Adad that's more than I thought.

Did I not tell you, you old Hunks, that my Cousin wants nothing but a Wife? See how he sniggers at it! how arch the young Whoreson looks! Whee, Man! he's not the Fool you may take him for.

No more I an't: I'm none of your raking, scraping, sneaking Fools, although I may'nt say so much where I an't acquainted.

Can he be a Fool with three thousand a year, besides eighteen hundred more which shall be his—When they can no longer be mine.

He's a Wit, he's a Wit; I'll bring 18 Dedicating Poets will draw their Pens to vouch it to the last drop of their Ink, by Mercury: But if that won't do, how d' you think I'll make him a Wit?

What you'll beggar him, or you'll—

No, stay, I'll tell you my self. First, he shall read half a score Plays, that is, if he can read: then I'll teach him to make Rebus's, Quibbles, Semiquibbles, Quarter­quibbles, Conundrums, Carwitchets, Longinquopetits, Clinches, Puns—

Heigh day! what's all this?

Do you know what's Cross Purposes, or Questions and Commands.

Yes.

Why Puns, Carwitchets, & coetera, are not at all like that—But they are all the wit in fashion, and as easi­ly learn'd as Fornication; your very Country Parsons are as capable of it as any Men.

I'm sure that must needs be easy then: Susan, Sister's Chambermaid, might teach one that in a quarter of an hour.

Then he shall go to every new Play▪ and when he hears a good sharp Kiss, he shall lug out of his Pocket the Terror of Scriblers, that is, a Musical Instrument call'd a Catcall.

A Catcall!

Ay, a Catcall egad; with a touch of this▪ I'll blow you a poor Devil off the Stage in a trice, after he has been a whole year drudging on a Farce.

Ods my heart, I fancy I could do this my self.

Look you, he's half a Critic already.

Ay, ay, all in good time: but to the point. What say you Sir Thomas?

I must confess you bid fair, but I have given my Lord Lovewell leave to court her; and then, who knows whether she may fancy the Squire?

I'm sure she'll soon like him, he's so good na­tur'd a Lad▪ he has a Lord's Estate, and prithee what's a Title? why, you can no more know some young Lords now from Citizens Heirs, than most of us from Graziers; then they're somewhat apt to outrun the Constable they say.

But my Lord's none of those, and loves her well.

Ay, now perhaps: but hark you me, when did you hear of a Lord that lov'd his Wife six weeks to­gether? Here, John; where's John? Come Sweet-heart

fill me a Streaker of Wine.

Well, you have my leave, Mr. Illbred▪ and I'll do what I can to prevail with my Daughter. I fancy you had best send her a Letter, and come an hour or two after.

So he shall; we're a going to Mother H [...]mp's, he shall write it there, and send it anon—. Here, Huzzy, fill as you love me; fill as 'twere for thy self, and no bo­dy by: Odsooks, fill it full! What's the Brim made for else?

Well, Sir Tho­mas, God be with you.

God by t'you, Sir Thomas! My Love to your Daughter! I long mightily to he in with her. Thank you for your good Company.

I'll see you out, and then I'll go look for her?

And I for Railmore, to tell him what hopeful Bar­gain's a▪ driving to put my Lord's N [...] out of jo [...] ▪nt▪ then heigh for a juicy Country Lass! I'm for easy work [...]ga [...]; and I [...]ancy she that waited now might do; she's some­what raw that's the truth on't: but we're in the Country, where a kind Wench is as scarce as a [...]ound one in Covent­garden: she may mend there like others [...]or [...]ly of no higher rank.

Some, not [...]ar off, as ill became their Cl [...]ths,

Who now set up for Settlement and B [...]a [...]x.

OH! here's the Game! what a buxom Bona Ro­ba she'll make! Well, I may safely venture I hope; yet I have heard of a Town Spark who made a Token of his Kindness go round a whole Country Parish. My young Master pepper'd the Dairy-maid, the Dairy­maid peppered the Groom, the Groom peppered the Chamber-maid, the Chamber-maid peppered his Worship, his Worship peppered my Lady, my Lady peppered the Parson, and the Parson's Wife peppered my young Ma­ster again! And what a circulation of blood was there!

Hark you, Child, come hither; come, dont be bashful, that grows out of fashion now as much as honesty. She blushes; that's a wonder! I thought no­thing but Spanish Wool could make Women red now a days! what's thy Name, my Dear?

Frances Pinngown, Sir.

How long hast thou liv'd here, Child?

But two days, Sir: I came upon liking, and am to go to morrow. I found they were turning me away, so I was resolv'd I would not stay.

Gad those that don't like thee must be more diffi­cult than I.

There's a deal of Linnen to be washt, and I an't si [...] for that work.

Hark you, come and live with me, do; I've work thou'rt sit for; then there will be but little washing, for I wear a [...]hirt a fortnight.

Maids must not live with single Gentlemen, Sir.

Pshau, pshau, that's a mistake, Child. Come, if thou can'st but make a Bed I'll teach thee to unmake it: A days thou shalt be my Maid, but my Mistress a nights, according to the laudable Custom of City VVidowers and Batchelors.

Oh! sye, Sir!

Come and live with me, I say, thou'lt live like a little Queen.

No indeed, Sir, I dare not; I have learnt to know better things: then who'd be so foolish d'you think, as to hearken to one whom his elder Brother talks of marrying out of hand?

Why, Child, he may talk on't, but I mind him as little as most Daughters do their Mothers: but suppose I should marry 'twill be the better for thee; for I'll no sooner have finger'd my VVise's Portion, but I furnish thee state­ly Lodgings in some creditable House, at least a Church­warden's or a Head Constable's; keep thee a Footman and a gilt Chariot, and make thee outshine a Lord's public Mistress, or a Bankers private Friend.

Let me go Sir—You must not—let me alone▪ I can't do as you'd have me—Pish! You shall never make a Harlot of me. Oh fie, Sir! some body sees you.

VVhat need you care? you are not to stay.

Not with you if I wou'd prosper.

Fool! what way have Chambermaids to prosper but that?

Come▪ Girls, now I have thee aside, let me ask thee a question; what think'st thou of a Husband, hah?

As most VVome do, Sir.

Which is as good as to say thou always think'st of it, hah?

I mean, Sir, I think 'tis dangerous venturing on one

Ay, and more dangerous being without one. VVhy▪ 'tis as bad as having arable Land lye [...]allow—In short I have agreed to marry thee speedily.

Sir, there needs no haste; I'm not weary of my condition.

But thy Father's weary of seeing thee so long courted tho; besides I fancy a Husband is a kind of a pretty play thing for a Child of thy size, heh!

My Lord has spoke to him I find.

You are resolved, Sir, to put me to the Blush.

So, she smiles, I think. Adad, these women can as little hide their Joy before Marriage, as we our Sorrow afterwards—VVell, silence gives consent. It must and shall be so.

I must like what you like, Sir; and would even sacrifice my inclinations to your pleasure.

Thou'rt my good Girl! Well, I have settled matters to my mind, and thou shalt be a Bride to morrow.

'Tis very sudden, Sir, but you're absolute.

Look you, you'll have a Letter from him just now; and he'll come and pay you a Visit an hour after. 'Tis Squire Illbred: Oh he'll make a rare Husband!

Illbred! my mistake has undone me.

Prithee what makes thee look so odly of a sudden?

I am thinking, Sir, that Marriage brings many cares.

Prithee, what cares can Wives have, while their Husbands live, unless it be how to cuckold them? C [...]e leave this dissembling.

But indeed, Sir, I do not dissemble.

Humh! Now I understand you: You don't mislike Marriage, Mistress, but the Man you should mar­ry. [Page 29]

I must like what you like, Sir; and wou'd even sacrifice my inclinations to your plea­sure! hah! is't come to that?

I must confess, I fear I should live unhappy with such a Man: I'm afraid he is a Fool.

What then? will he make ever the worse Hus­band?

A meer Clown!

Prithee, who but Clowns love their Wives now a days?—Look you, don't provoke me: you know my hu [...]our that's enough: as for my Lord, as he came, so let him go; he wants Money, now the Squire wants none. Come along, come along.

What pity 'tis I wa'n't bred a Sc [...]olard! I fancys I'd ha' made as good a Man as our Parson▪ I ha'n't forgot one word of my Message: I'll say't now as if Meester's Sweet-heart was by▪

Forsooth▪ Squire Illbred remembers his kind Love to you, and has sent you a Letter.

Od [...]nig [...] ▪ here's my Jade Doll that I lov'd so once, till she took out John the Thresher to dance! I'd as leive ha' met a mad Cow in a narrow Lane.

What d' you want hah?

I don't want you, goody Trollop, I want to come at you [...] betters.

Marry, come up, Looby! I'll know why you come creeping like a Dog under a door for all your haste? You come at my betters? I think you're afore your bet­ters now.

Come, help me to thy Dame's Speech an' thee w [...]d▪st; then go thy ways to John the Thresher, like a so [...]y hollow hearted dirty Slut as thee art.

I care n't an he were hang'd, and you too.

What does this fellow want?

An't please you, forsooth; an't please you, my Meester—

Oh the sight of this Jade has daunted me so, I don't know what I say or do; I've quite and clean forgot my Errand—I have a Letter forsooth

Odsnigs, either I forgot my self, or Meester forgot his self—I'm come away without it—No, stay, I took it of the Parson. I'll look again. Marry▪ I lost it—No, marry, but I han't—Ay, marry, I have—No marry but I han't—Here 'tis;

Meester gave me strict charge to give it Sir Thomas's handsomest Daughter, forsooth.

We seldom think others handsomer than our selves—Let see—'Tis for my Sister; but dear Curio­sity, Woman's favourite Vice, cannot be withstood—I'll open it—heigh day! what stuffs this? o'th my word the Parson's unlawful Issue tho the Booby Squire fathers it.

An you'll send an answer by me, forsooth▪ I'll deliver it safe to Meester (I can deliver a Message passing well, you see) Else he bade me tell you, he'll come for▪t anon, he's somewhat busy at present.

Where is he?

Why, if you must know, [...]orsooth, I left him hard at it, smoaking hi [...] Pipe yonder at Mother Humps.

Nay▪ then he's busy indeed; stay, I'll bring you an answer presently.

Well, and what business had you to stand and state in a body's face, and put a body out? I [...]e're was half so sham'd in my born days, not I.

What did you cast a Sheep's Eye at me for?

Because I was a Fool I think. O' my Con­science you're nothing in the varsal world but mischief: But if e're I set Eyes on thee again while I have breath to draw, may the Crows come and peck 'em out!

And so say I: Goodb'y t'ye.

What dost look at me so for?

What d'you look on me for?

What dost thou cry for? Oh▪ 'tis a peerless Jade!

Oh that I should live to be us'd thus!

Why did you serve me so then with that sneak­ing Whelp John the Thresher, who's no more to compare d' you see (thof I say't, that shou'd not say't) than a Hog's to a Bullock▪—You know I would ha' broken Silver with you once, but that the plaguy Collectors had not left one broad Shilling in the County.

I only took him out to try thee, Humphry.

I'll be hang'd then, and my Horse too.

Nay, prithee don't pout, Humphry; don't spoil that sweet face of thine: if I e're do so again, may I' be churn­ing and churning all days o' my Life, and Butter ne're come.

Ay, marry, hang you; I'll trust you no further than I can hurl you.

Don't be dumpish, Humphry, I'll dance with you now; we've Minstrels hard by.

Not I, e'en dance with somebody else, and thou woud'st.

Well then I will, Humphry; any thing to please poor Humphry Doddipole.

Oh that John the Thresher sticks plaguily in my [...]izzard still.

Oh brave Doll. Hoydon! That wag of the But­to [...]k has won my heart.

Be quiet!

—Here's Mistress

Can't you let a body alone?

I find every body has his own little private busi­ness in this world!

Here, fellow, give thy Ma­ster this.

I will, forsooth: This is a lucky day. Ods me, I warrant this good News will renew Father's Lease for no­thing.

Mr. Railmore, just now this thing▪ in the shape of a Letter, was sent by my Lord's new Rival, the Squire you saw here. I was taken for my Sister, and as the hates him, and I have a respect for your Friend, I sent a short drolling answer, in her Name, as kind as a Billet Doux writ by a Town Beau to himself.

I hope he'll make it as public, be as little be­liev'd and worse us'd: Look you, Madam, you do well; 'tis your interest to disappoint the Squire; for, after all, were my Lord dismist, I guess you must stay for a Hus­band as long as she'll be te [...]z'd with such Fools. Be gene­rous then as all the world is, and be thank'd for obliging your self; but you must do more.

What's to be done?

Write two or three Lines as from your Sister to my Lord, as it were to assure him, that tho she weds the Squire she'll favor his Lordship ne're the less. I'll take c [...]e the Uncle and the Nephew shall see it instantly. I've al­ready set some other Engines at work?

But what if my Sister hears of this? I'm sure she'll not only disown it utterly; but will hardly forgive my Lord.

He must know nothing of it himself, till it has taken▪ Effect▪ then we'll easily reconcile 'em, if she hears on't, and, like other Women, seems angry for being pleas'd.

I ha'n't had an Opporunity to ask you, Why you're so Melancholy, Madam? I love you better than any Body, so nothing could please me more than to see you chearful.

Thank you, good Fanny, but you can't make me so.

You may be mistaken, Madam; come, do but discover the Cause of your Sadness to me, and if I don't serve you effectually, may I never deserve a Lady's good Opinion!

What wou'd you have me say? I protest I don't know why I'm so▪

Oh! that's a Jest; but we Maids are so bashful! Come, I fancy, your Secret will out the more kindly, if I ask you a few Questions. Are you not in Love? Nay, I my self would be one of the first to laugh at you▪ if you did not know what 'tis to love.

Well▪ don't laugh at me, good Fanny, I know what 'tis well enough, but my Sister must not know of it for the World.

Good! I like you now▪ Plain dealing becomes us Maids, when we're among our selves no less than Dissimulation before Men: Come then, be free, and believe I'll keep your Secret as well as your Lover himself.

But why don't you ask me Questions then, F [...] ­ny, that I may answer you?

That's well said! you love some young Gentle­man, do you not?

When I was at London, there us'd to come with my Cousin Will Gaymood a pretty fine drest▪ Gentleman, who came from the College; his Name's Mr. Frankly.

And do you love him very well?

I lov'd him mightily then▪ but I did not tell him so; for, they say, We must not tell Men our Mind till they find it out; yet I fancy he guest it; for, he pro­mis'd me he wou'd come, or let me hear from him: But he has not done it. Now as my Sister threatens me with a Nunnery—

Pray go on, I'm impatient, to know the rest.

I am asham'd; I had rather you wou'd ask▪ me Questions▪ Fanny.

I fear you've got a new Lover in his Absence.

I vow, I could not help it, Fanny▪ But▪ I'm migh­tily concern'd, and don't know what to do; for he is to come to me by and by, and I am afraid my Sister shou'd see him with me. Now, if thou woudst help me a little, good Fanny.

I had rather serve t'other; but what's this new one's Name?

Major Buff; I like him but so so; but he teez'd me, and would not let me alone till I had promis'd to meet him; and any thing is better than a▪ Nunnery, you know. Yet I would not have talk'd to him had Mr. Frank­ly come to me.

The Absent are always in the Wrong, I find.

But, Fanny, there's Doctor Kill- [...]lown too▪ whom I promis'd to meet▪ and I'm mightily afraid they'll come at the same Time.

Another Appointment! a forward Child, truly! But why did▪ you appoint him at the same Time?

What shall I say to you? I did not think on't: I'm so concern'd for Mr. Frankly's not coming, and so afraid of the Nunnery, that I don't know what I do▪ But as I grow older I hope I shall manage things better▪ and have more Wit▪

More Wit▪ why you're a Prodigy already! But, what if Mr. Frankly shou'd come at last? For, I am sure he'll come, since he promis'd▪ I know him.

Oh! let me kiss thee again and again for that dear, dear Fanny

Well is he not a pretty sweet Man? Methinks he favours thee mightily.

He's well enough▪ I think▪ But▪ wou'd you marry him if he cou'd get you out in Page's Cloaths, and had a Parson ready?

Heh! truly, I know nothing to the contrary, Fan­ny. Yet there's another pretty fine Gentleman—

Another yet!

That's all indeed▪ Fanny▪ One Mr. Airy: I'm sure you would like him, Fanny: But yet dear Mr. Frank­ly was my first Love, and if I were but as sure he wou'd come—

As you are sure of a Kiss.

You have lost her, and I my little Chamber-Uten­sil: Well▪ no matter for that▪ I've had her already▪ B [...], tho she seems so skittish now▪ I gad, true Mo [...]es [...]y is as great a Stranger to these Chambermaids▪ as to a Midwife▪ a Hedge-Poet, or a Side-Box Mask, by Mercury.

Well, let's go find out Railmore: You say you'll serve my Lord, Sam, and help us to defeat the Squire his new Rival.

Fear not, I'll do't, tho 'twere but to fret my co­vetous old Brother, be reveng'd of the Unkle, and laugh at the Nephew: I long to do some good generous Action worthy being Chronicled. This shall be the first, Egad; and if the Fool shou'd marry my Neice, to make it more meritorious, I'd drink him dead in Three Months. What a Pox▪ do you think I've no Conscience? I shall save nothing by old Thomas's saving a Portion, and Nephew for Nephew, I'd rather have a witty Lord than a foolish Squire, by Mercury.

A Pox of all such Men of Clay and no Sense! They are the Terror of those who want only to be mar­ry'd to raise Portions and pay Debts. Women shou'd be ob [...]ig'd not to use such rich Fools better than if they had Merit and nothing else: But then

HOw now, Mad Cap, whither so fast?

Not to look for you, my Wi [...]e Unkle, you may be sure. I'm looking for my Lady Single: Do you know which way she went?

Look you, you know the Passage that leads to the Stairs that are on the Right-Hand, near the Back Yard, as you go up to the Gallery, don't you?

Ay, ay, What then?

Why, she did not go that way—that's all

you did not look for that neither, Ha▪ ha, ha!

Dear Unkle, will you never leave this Folly?

Ay, ay, Child, when it leaves me, and thou thy self art wiser: Come, like to like; stay with us, and be Company; hang thinking! Too much Reflexion is the Folly of the Learned.

Ay, and too little Reflexion the Folly of the Ig­norant.

Ignorant! Why, I don't trouble my self with what's past or what's to come. I enjoy the present▪ and let the World rub, and who wiser than Sam?

You do well to praise your self, Sir.

Ay, seeing no Body will do it for me, Madam▪ Pshau, 'tis the Fashion now: Shew me the Man that never talk'd ill of others, nor well of himself, and I'll be bound to shew thee a Plain-dealing Courtier, a Peace-making Lawyer, a silent Woman▪ an honest Taylor▪ a witty Alderman, a—

A what?

Nay▪ Faith, I can't tell what: Help me out if you can▪

Why, you are never out nor in▪ Man: Neither will you give me leave to put in a Word, or be happy in exchanging a Speech or two with this Lady.

Nay, now I think on't, thou hast not had thy share of Talk, this one Time: Well, make thy self amends, if thou canst: Come, let me see you box about a little amorous Non-sense; for 'tis what you would be at▪

Can a Man talk of any thing but Love▪ when there's so strong an Incentive to it before him?

Why, Unkle, would you have me be a Courting-Stock?

You need not, Madam, if you're willing to be in earnest.

That would not be fair, Mr. Airy, for I fancy Love it self is a Jest.

Then give me Leave to pass that Jest upon you; there can be no harm in a little Jesting.

I'm not much inclin'd to find Fault with a Jest, provided it be not carried too far.

What think you of Platoni [...] Love?

That's a Jest indeed, but 'tis a dull one.

Shall I court you like an eldest Son, sold by his Father to redeem a Mortgage?

That Courtship is indeed much in fashion, but there's no Jest in it.

Shall I court you then like some first-rate Spark, between a Rake and a Beau; a pleasant modern Medly, like Punch; for there's the strong and the insipid, with the sweet and the sharp?

That will go down better than the rest, but 'tis a dangerous Mixture, and not fit for common use: How­ever, I'll venture on a Taste to try your Skill.

By the Blessing of Freedom, I'll stay on the Stage, and will see that Scene for nothing.

I bar that, Sir, No Person to stand on the Stage.

The Play-Bill says so, but we'll suppose 'tis the Poet's Day; besides▪ we Beaux will show our selves to the Audience, in spight of the Bill and the Audience.

Ay, tho some of you are as dirty▪ Beaux as your self.

Egad, I'll clap that Jest,

We Wits and Beaux love to be satiriz'd in a Prologue; but if you don't begin, now 'tis over, I'll [...]iss.

Well, Madam, suppose me one of those Sparks just coming to see you, and your self one of those airy Women of Honour they court en passant.

Solyman,

Tell the Coa [...]hman I won't discharge him these eight Hours, let the Dog drive away and lose his Fare, if he will—Demme, Madam, you're a very happy Person; you don't know, perhaps, that I've been peeping into every Coach in the Park for you, ferretting the Boxes at both Houses, refus'd to go to Le Begue's with Three or Four Rakes of Honour, balk'd poor my Lady Love-all, who stay'd for me to hand her out of the King's Box, and Two Masks, who waited for me by the Chocolate-house; I'm sure they're Quality; and at last I've been forc'd to drive hither. Confound me, if I did not break the Coachman's Head for his Fare, because the Rascal did not keep a Lover's Pace.

Oh your Servant

sweet Mr. Airy; I easily believe you've been Side-Glassing in the Park, Side-boxing at the Play-House, Acting in the Pit, nay on the Stage too, but no more for me, I dare swear, than for any Human Thing in Petticoats. Some little forgetful Mask has disappointed the no less forgetful Mr. Airy, and I may thank her for this Visit.

No, demme, Madam, I begin to leave off Masks; they are grown doubly dangerous of late.

But, pray, why han't you a Couch here▪

A Couch! Bless me! A Couch! What for?

Is that a Question to be ask'd a Gentleman? why, for many Uses, my Dear▪ tho 'twere but to loll on.

Spoken en Gallant Homme, as I'm a Christian; re­spectful and civil to amazement! Hark you, Spark▪ are you still as mad as you us'd to be?

I was just going to ask you the same Question. But hark you, han't I forgot to tell you how damnably I love you?

Love me! Bless me! how abruptly you expose a Declaration of Love! This is the first happy Moment I ever heard of it, as I'm a Christian.

Yet I'm confoundedly in Love with you to Day. But we young Fellows are all so full of Mercury, and one Thought drives out another—

Just as one Mistress drives out another.

No, I'm a Dog if I don't think I shall love you, even after▪ I am dead. There's something in you so janty, so j [...]-n [...]-s [...]ay-quoyish! Tho methinks you look worse to Day than ever I saw you look in my Life! Why don't you lay on a little more Red? Stay, is that your Hair or a Tour?

O good Mr. Whatd'you call, for Gad-sake don't look upon me to Day; I'm not a Creature: I should have kept my Bed, as Sir Finical Self-love does, to rest my Features: I've been so sick these Two Nights, that in­stead of causing a Love without Remedy, I'm a meer Re­medy for Love.

's Blood, Madam, what what d'you mean to speak thus of the finest Woman▪ in England, and my Mistress too? I'm only afraid you're fallen in love with some starch'd Fop, in Love with no Body but himself. Well, Woe be to him when I know him! I'll do his Business: Demme, I hate a Fop.

What, are you jealous?

Oh, like a Devil, 'tis the best Quality I have.

'Tis true, a Dose of Jealousie rouses up your sleepy Passion, just for the▪ World, as a Pinch of Snuff revives the Senses: But the Remedy loses its effect when often us'd.

Gad you're witty▪ Never let her be your Wife.

Now you talk of Snuff, do you take any? Here's the best plain Dust ever came from Sevil! I begin to leave it off; I take but Twice or Thrice this little Box full every Day—Look on the Inside, 'tis prettily painted.

O hideous! I look on your filthy obscene Box! I would not touch it for the World.

Look you, 'tis to shew you I love to be free and sans facon. When shall you and I dine at Pontac's or the Rummer?

Ruder than Rudeness it self! what, talk of Ta­verns to a Woman of Condition, Monster!

Pshau▪ I go there every Day, with Twenty that are as Nice as your Ladiship. Let's see that Indian Fan, I fancy it turns two ways, and has as pretty Figures on the Inside as my Box.

You shall no more see it than I wou'd your Box: Fans are as useful to us for Action, and when we've nothing to say, as your Boxes are to you. Fie, Gallant­ing of Fans is as much out of Fashion as Gallantry.

But not tearing of 'em, to get you to some Indian House, on pretence to give you better. Throl lollolol!

What, I suppose you've a Mind I should ask you to Sing?

Why the Devil don't you then? Gad, I fancy you are as fond of being ask'd as I. Why, you sing almost as well as I do. Come, let's sing the last Dialogue our Master set.

Pretty well, pretty well, all but that damn'd Slap on the Face—Well, I shall run mad for you in Two Days, that's certain.

Poor Mr. Airy! what, gone so far of a sudden?

'Tis the Fashion now: What, wou'd you have me court like a formal Cit, or freeze you with dull whi­ning Stuff, and die in Simile like a meer Beau? We brisk Fellows push on in Love as in War, egad. Towns must quickly yield or be insulted with Bombs, that ruine them as Slander does Reputation, Demme.

O fie! the intolerable Presumption of Fellows! Had not you better make the Campaign in Flanders than in Pelmel and at the Wells and Bath?

Pox, I play'd away my Equipage-Mony at Piquet, and that damn'd Bassette—But tell me, dear Creature, how long must I still sigh in vain for you?

Exceeding Pretty, as I'm a Christian! Why, you have not begun yet, that I know of.

What a Pox, do you reckon this Visit nothing?

When you can be constant, perhaps I may think you deserve Encouragement.

's Death, at that rate I might wait long enough, Child! I find I must storm the Out-works, in order to a General Assault—Thus then I invest the Town, my fair Enemy.

Nay then 'tis Time to call for Relief—Who's there? Unkle! What were you asleep?

You may swear it, or how▪ cou'd I have been so long without talking? Pox, this Wine is got into my Head! Well, what's the Matter?

When a Woman begins to cry out, you may be­lieve the Jest is over.

Why, 'twas but just going to begin.

I find we've jested too long, I must leave you.

I fear I have, for I must follow you in earnest.

Jest or Earnest, 'tis all one to Sam: If he's caught let him take it for his Pains: They say there's no fooling with the Devil, but I fancy that Saying will hardly hold good of Women, Egad.

Nay, since you've got your Load elsewhere, and won't stay, prethee tell us here, in good sober Sense?

Then, in no sober Sense, if this Nephew of thine has her, he'll be a Cuckold; 'twou'd be a Shame if he were not, he has the best Qualifications for't, and wants that to be in the Fashion.

Heighday! I'll warrant you then, your Londoners have brought up that Fashion, these dead Times, for want of Trade; a Cuckold!

Ay, or a Husband, that's all one, I think: Look you, you Put, I'll stand to what I say.

Canst thou read Squire? Here's a Letter, I took it up by Chance; from whom and to whom d'you think it is, hah?

Ods me, 'tis from Francelia! 'Tis the same Hand as mine: Let see—

My dear Lord, tho your Francelia is condemned to marry a Fool—(that's me) you may help her to revenge on him the Wrong that's done you—In spight of all slavish Bonds, she vows to be my Lord Lovewel's while she is Francelia—Ods bob [...]! who'd ha' thought it?

May the Curse of small Beer, in an Evening light on me, if I don't go and rattle her to some Tune anon!

Hang her, Man! ne're go to her, 'twill spight her more: Besides, my Lord is a bloody-minded Devil, he makes no more of killing a Man than a Doctor of Physic does.

Odsooks, 'tis all a Case, I'll go—but I'll consider on't first.

Odsbobs, Sirs, why d'you leave us so? you're Three Bumpers behind-hand. There's Justice Dolt swears at you like any Carrier in a Slough. Come, Master of mine, come in; don't stand here holding of a Parley.

Not I; I am not such a Sot; I have enough: I'd as soon go to a County-Feast, or a Punning Club at London.

Why, there are not so many Fools here as at Lon­don, Friend of mine!

There are fewer Fools here indeed, because there are fewer People.

Odsbobs, that Shan't serve turn, you shall drink with us for all that.

I'd sooner go back to London among the Rable for, there tolerable Wine at least is had, in good Rooms, if not in good Company; but here your Room is wretched, your Liquor bad, and your Company abominable; and so fare­wel, Brother Sots.

Well, go thy waies, Nutmeggrater! what pity 'tis, Major Buff, that such a tart witty Knave can't drink!

I tell you your Fortune, you pretty Man; you live well, you be good Fortune.

What Vermin ha'we here? Gipsies! nay then mind your Pockets.

An angry one, an angry one!

Gad, Unkle, they shall tell me my Fortune, for all that, but I'll mind 'em.

Ay, presently; cross you my Hand with one piece of Silver, I tell you all then.

Here 'tis, old Egypt!

Let me see your Head! Oh the good strong Head, fit for the Country Justice!

What! tell a Man's Fortune by his Head?

Yes, we tell the Lawyer the Fortune by both the Hands, the pretty Woman by the Eye, the Lover by the long Nose, the Drunkard by the Copper-Nose, the Dancing-Master by the Foot, the Taylor by the Calves of the Leg, the Alderman by the Forehead, and you by the whole Head together.

Why, what dost thou take me for then?

Let see! You no be the Gentleman.

How! no Gentleman?

No, but you be the Squire.

Oh ho! well, I'll try your Skill e'Faith. Come, when wan't I well last, hah?

You have not been well lately.

Now thou'rt a greater Lyar than Patridge's Alma­nack.

No, I ben't, I see by your Hand that 'twas—the Itch.

The Itch! Thou lyest like the Devil's Tooth-Drawer.

I mean the Itch of Love. You be troubled with it yet. You love the very fine Woman, but you be jea­lous of her, and will not have her for fear—

Hum! if thou canst but tell me how old I am, I'll believe thou knowest whether she wou'd be honest or no.

Let me see your Mouth! How old was you when your Father Dy'd?

Sixteen.

Don't stir! and 'tis now since he dy'd.

Five Years.

Look you, I find that if you marry this Woman [Page 47] that you design to court to Day, you be one very great Cuckold by some great Person; but if you not go to her, and take no notice at all, you soon will have another more to your Mind, with great deal Mony; but this is not to bring you one Cross: And for a Proof of this, I will tell you your Age as you ask me—You be—you be—just One and twenty, as I find by your Mouth.

stops Plot, Ilbred and Major Buff run after the

The Gipsies steal off, having first pick'd Il­bred's Pockets and Sir Topewel's.

Odsooks, the Gipsies ha' pick'd my Pocket—stop 'em, I have one fast—Ah Rogues! You tell For­tunes, but cou'd not tell your own. You shall be trust up next Assizes, hang'd in Chains, and shewn for a right Egyptian Mummy.

Good Sir, hear me! As I'm an honest Man, 'twas not I pickt your Pocket; besides, I'm no Gypsie, an't please you. Oh! Good your Worship, let me go; I'll discover a Plot to you.

A Plot! no more Plots, we've had too many already.

'Tis a Plot against Squire Ilbred to fool him out of his Mistress.

Fool me! The best Lord in the Land make a Fool of me, I won't marry.

The Devil helps th [...]se same Gypsies, they were too nimble for us.

Nay, now I smell a Rat; well, speak Truth and thou shalt go free.

I am my Lord Lovewel's Man, Sir, set on by Mr. Railmore, who e'en now, pretending to be drunk, got you out, and kept you a talking till he saw us, to give me an Opportunity to make the Squire believe he'll be a Cuckold if he marries Mrs. Francelia: He was to [Page 48] shew you a Letter; that's a sham-one, upon my Honour▪ as well as that the Squire receiv'd.

Why, this was no Sham-Plot tho; this was a Plot indeed: Well, I set thee free for this Discovery; but canst thou not tell me more?

I shall be turn'd away, Sir.

Come, fear not; we'll provide for thee.

Well, you are such good natur'd Gentlemen that it goes against my Heart to see you deceiv'd. I will tell you, whatever comes on't.

I'll reward thee to thy own Content; believe me, I am no Courtier.

You must know, my Lord is to marry Mrs. Fran­celia very privately to Night; not that she hates the Squire, but because my Lord is a Lord, I think: I know no other Reason; for I know some Women that have staid Twelve Years for a Lord, and now wou'd be glad to take up with a Squire, or any thing. Now I fancy▪ I could put your Worship in a way to put his Nose out of Joint, but—

Come, but me no Buts! serve him, and I'll do thy Business; thy Lord himself shan't live better than thou shalt. Cousin, give him some of the Broad Pieces thou hast for a Taste.

Odsme! they're all Gipsied away: My Pocket has been gutted already. Well, till anon, take this Ring, and that Tobacco Box.

Pray excuse me, Sir; I hate to take any thing for doing good—won't this look like a Bribe?—These real Gipsies, whom I got to come with me▪ could not for­bear stealing—Your Worship's most humble Servant—Well, I believe I might easily convey you, when 'tis dark, into the Room by the Hall, where my Lord intends to be married to your Mistress, unknown to any Body but my self and the Chaplain; there won't be so much as a Light, and they are to whisper all the while, for fear Sir Thomas should come and spoil all.

O rare! We'll come, we'll come.

'Twill be dark about an Hour hence, Sir, I'll wait for you near the Hall, but then you must be very private: Your Worship's most humble Servant.

Now, Lads, let's go Drink!

Here they are!

A Word with you, Sir.

Make haste then, for we're a dry.

I hear, you raise your Pretences to a Lady, whom I Court with her Father's Consent.

Ay, and he shall Wed her, and Bed her with my Consent, and her Father's Consent. Do you come to be Invited to the Wedding?

No, we come to forbid the Ba [...]es, Sir, and to desire you to desist.

But what if I wont, Sir?

Then I must try to make you.

So, here's like to be otherguess fighting than we have on our Muster-Days: I'll go get a Reinforcement, and then boldly march up—in the Reer of it.

You wear a Sword, Sir!

Nay, 'tis but a Hanger neither. Look you, I a'n't for Single Rapier; we scorn your little Spit-frog Play: That's a French Trick: But for Wrestling, Cudgels, or good downright Backsword slashing, may haps I won't turn my Back to the best Master of the Science in the County.

Why, that's only fit for Butchers and Hedge-Fencers, to fight sham Prizes before a Bear-Garden Rabble.

I'll Drink with you for her then, and Unkle will be my Second.

Sir, if you wou'd show yourself a Gentleman, get a Sword and—

My Bay Gelding shall run▪ with the best Horse in your Stable for her, three Heats, Weight him and Inch him—Methinks I shou'd not want Courage, I drink Stout and Cherry-Brandy [...]'ry Day.

Odssooks, say no more, Cuz, Lug out, we'll make their hollow Blades fly in shatters about their Cox­combs.

Say you so, Sir? Then have at yours.

Odsnigs, Thrash 'em thick and threefold; have among you blind Harpers, fall Back fall Edge.

Hold, hold, Gentlemen, Pax▪ est bona res, says a Learned Father; Peace is a good Thing: Knock 'em down, Humphrey, Peace is a good Thing: Knock 'em down, Humphrey.

Come, my Lord, we've got the Day, as most Ge­nerals do, by Chance▪ You'll scarce be made one, tho' we shou'd win t'other Battle; so, let's away to think of other means to defeat your Rival effectually; for, after all, he's but the more dangerous for being a Block­head.

Oh, why do we complain we live too little! When ev'n the Wise want something more than Wis­dom to fill up the long useless Blanks of Life! Tir'd by our selves, with others soon uneasie, a while with Books we trifle Time away; but ev'n that solitary Pleasure grows insipid, and often wakes the Cares it should be­guile; whereas, he that knows nothing, doubts of no­thing! So, Cowley, thou say'st right, and Life is an in­curable Disease.

Pardon me, Madam, if I am so selfish as to break in upon your Meditations! Hearing that my Lord and Mr. Airy were gone to the Club, I was walking this way till they▪ come back; for I guess they'll hardly be able to stay there longer than I did: Well, I should be sicker yet of the Country than of London, were there no better So­ciety there.

You'll find that scarce enough, I doubt, Mr. Rail­more.

Yes, Madam, yet some few Men and Women of Sence, I hope will make me amends.

Women here! Why, Romances, Chaplains and Simplicity, or rather Rusticity, spoil more of 'em for Con­versation, than Affectation does at London.

Nay, as for Simplicity, Madam, 'tis a Stranger to this Family at least; if 'tis not one in so fair a Lady as your self to be an Enemy to Man.

Not while Man is such an Enemy to Wo­man.

'Tis pity you're so prejudic'd against us all; for some one might have Lov'd you on the Square, and thus have prevented that Rough, Scornful, Melan­cholick Air that frightens away the Love your Face and Sence attract.

What, do you believe Love makes us more agree­able▪ Mr. Railmore?

Certainly, Madam, it wears away gently all our Native Roughness, gives a pleasing Turn to our Ex­pressions, a taking Air to our Person, and winning Gra­ces to all our Actions; nay, I'll maintain it makes a Wo­man more Beautiful.

More Beautiful! Nay, now I doubt you are more a Dissember than I thought you.

Why, Madam, as I speak to a Woman of Sence, I can prove my Assertion: Pray is not the Face the Mir­ror of the Mind?

Without doubt it should be so.

Does not then a Mind given over to cold Indiffe­rence communicate a certain Lethargy to the Face, that makes ev'ry Feature lifeless and unactive, and spreads a chilling unlovely Air over the whole Person?

This is somewhat likely, I think.

Now on the contrary, a single Spark of Love hap­pily kindled in a youthful Heart, makes the Imagination quicker, the Wit more free, the Conversation more live­ly, the Eyes more sparkling, and diffuses o'er the Face that sprightly moving Je-ne-scay-quoy, whose Charms 'tis impossible to resist.

Since I was Born, I never was so strangely temp­ted to make a Tryal of this.—

—But seri­ously do you believe, Mr. Railmore, I should look more tolerably if I shew'd less Averson to your Sex?

Give me leave to convince you now of what I said; but first be pleas'd to let your Woman give us a Song that may divert you from more serious Thoughts: [Page 53] Your Dress too shou'd be artfully loose, and carelesly Genteel; for Love neglects us, when we neglect our selves.

Well, for once I'll humour you in your Frolick: Sing us a Song!

'Sdeath, what I am doing? I like this Woman strangely, but then I—

—hate the Nuptial-Noose as much. She's vastly Rich too, and I have scarce enough left to Live. What shall I do? If I Court her in Earnest, I may be made her Jest, and all the World's. Thus Love begins by Fooling, till we Fool our selves; and what is worse, we know it, yet go on.

Well, Master, am I now as I should be?

You only want seven or eight Patches: They are to Women what Shades are to Pictures, or Stars over the Face of Night; a Beauty's no more compleat with­out 'em, than a Beau is without Pouder.

Fye, they should be as scandalous now as Velvet-Scarfs, or Velvet-Faces those greater Patches: Semp­stresses, Barkeepers, Chambermaids and City Beaux, wear 'em.

There's no harm in a few for all that; but I wou'd not have you like my old Lady Tawdry, whose fat Face looks just like a Gammon of Bacon stuck over▪ with Cloves, with more Patches on than she's Years old, over her double Mask of Hypocrisie and Paint.

Well, how d'you like me now?

Why, you'll soon bid fair for a Place among the First Rates; chiefly now there are so few! Well, be pleas'd to sit, and do but remember to Hear me, Believe me, and Answer me sincerely. I intend to speak to you, as 'tis suppos'd a Person wou'd do, whose Wealth and Merit might embolden him to make his Addresses to your Ladyship.

I set little Value upon Wealth, true Merit af­fects me much more; so Mr. Railmore, pray speak as of your self, and do not personate another.

Since you are so kind, Madam, as to prevent my hopes, and give me leave to profess the Love I have for you, I'll wave all those Hyperboles, so commonly lavish'd in De­clarations of Love, and all the Hell of Pain which whining Fools, and designing Knaves pretend to feel, and really deserve.

All exploded thread-bare Cant, to be cast off, like dull Romances, and only us'd by Pedants and Abi­gails.

I'll neither meanly Cringe nor sawcily Presume; neither magnifie your Worth by Flattery, nor debase my own by affected Dispraise, or Self-Commendation: No, Madam, the only Eloquence, I ought to use to per­swade a Woman of your▪ Sence, is my sincerity in do­ing Justice to your Merit: Thus I only urge the Esteem I have for you, to claim your Ladyship's.

'Tis the surest way to gain it.

And if I ever obtain that Blessing, you'll never find the least Unevenness in my Temper, the least Con­tradiction in my Sentiments, or Decay in my Affecti­ons.

Were this possible, Sir, I must own 'twou'd be as singular, as sweet.

Can you wrong me so much as to doubt it, Madam?

We easily doubt of what we wish.

Think more favourably of a Man whom you have always found to speak his Thoughts, and who being tir'd with long Wandring, a [...]d ripe for a Re­treat, wou'd fix a grateful Heart, and be for ever True.

Sure you forget you are a Man, Mr. Railmore! What, cou'd you Love a Wife, none but a Wife, and that for ever too?

Yes, Madam, cou'd that▪ Wife resemble you so much as to be thought your self: But that's above my hopes: Yet our equal Aversion hitherto to Marriage, to Fools▪ Flattery, and the Hurry of the World, shows two Humours so suited to each other, that they would seem but one, if both were joyn'd: And as each of us at once wou'd Conquer, and be Conquer'd, such an Union of two Marriage-Haters cou'd be but Honoura­ble and Sweet to both. We'd pity wretched Couples, link'd by the poor Sympathy of Interest, or Frenzy; while you and I, clasp'd in each other's Arms, wou'd [Page 56] think we two engross'd all the Delights they forfeit, and Life and Love can give—Oh do not turn that Lovely Face aside; or I shall think you're made of Ice indeed, and hate my self for being not like you.

By Heaven! He has kept his Word: I Blush to think on't, yet almost wish he might be in Earnest.—

—I Vow, Mr. Railmore, you act your Part so well, that Truth it self cou'd scarce have mov'd me more.

By Heav'n, Madam, 'tis real all; and to prove it with a Witness, I'll send for some living Form of Sanctity to confirm it.

What, are you then come to the End of Love al­ready?

No, no, dear Madam, I wou'd only come to the Seal of it. Consider if our Sexes Passion ends before yours; 'tis chiefly through your Coldness at first, and your Fondness at last. We set out too soon, or you too late; and you either Starve Love, or overload it so, that the poor Thing seldom holds out to its Journey's end: But you and I setting out together, our Loves shall keep pace with each other, and their Race, and that of Life be the same.

But will not the whole World laugh at us?

The Thought on't moves me a little, I must con­fess: But what's the World, the Vile Mad World to us? Besides we may be a while as private as you please, and Laugh at those who vainly hope to Laugh at one of us.

Well, I must needs own you're an excellent Ma­ster, since you have in so little a Time made me look less disagreeably, and almost perswaded me, a Man may be worthy of being Lov'd. Cou'd I believe you such——

Oh! I am wild to convince you of it more fee­lingly. Let me seize that fair Hand, and bribe it with fond Kisses, to be a Pledge to mine of a Return. Ah! let me, let me in this sweet, this wise Extravagance of Passion, kindly force you to come and make it lawful now.

WELL, you have made me put on Page's Clothes, but I can't put on Page's Assurance. I tremble, and have not power to go.

What! afraid to go and be married to the man you say you love?

No, rather afraid my Sister should hinder it.

There's a grave Gentleman in black hard by, who'll soon put that out of her Power, and then you may easily get out in this Disguise.

Nay, I was forc'd to tell her a fair Story to get from her: she believ'd me presently, for, I thank Heaven, she never could catch me in a Lye, and yet I tell I don't [Page 58] know how many e'ery day: But what will she say when she finds I have deceiv'd her?

Psha, whom do we not deceive to be married? Think o' the Nunnery.

Well, let's go, I fancy I was not made to be a Nun.

I tell you I have taken care my Daughter shall entertain him as she ought: I have injoyn'd her to think no more of my Lord Lovewel. But see! here she comes.

Daughter, you know what I said to you: Make much of Squire Illbred for my sake, more for his, and more still for your own. Come, Sir Topewell.

Go go, get you gone, I must stay a little to hear­ten him up.

Will you be pleas'd to sit, Sir?

Thank you, Madam, I am well as I am: I love to be in a standing Posture.

What, won't you sit by your Mistress, man?

Now I think on't, I don't much care if I do; nay, and lye by her too.

Mark that! heighboy!

—Say something to her!

We've had a fine day to day.

But an odd one, Sir, in my Opinion.

Speak to her, good Lad!

Why, the Roads are as dry as these Boards.

Ay, and the dryer they are, the dryer they [Page 59] make us: Wou'd I had a Bumper or two of that ▪Hock!

Speak to her, I say.

Pray, Madam, what News d'ye hear?

Truly, Sir, none that's good: A Friend of mine is importun'd to marry a man she does not love.

Is that such ill News? Why, 'tis as common in Marriage to hate at first, and then love, as 'tis to love at first and then hate. Cosen, to her! Odsooks thou'rt at least a quart too low. When first I went a wooing, I made my self half drunk, and then I spoke up as boldly as a Member that either scorns or wants a Pension.

Well, when once we're got acquainted, I'll mend my Hand.—Pray, Madam, how old may you be?

You shou'd never ask a Woman her Age, Mr. Il­bred, lest she answer you false, or disoblige herself.

Cry mercy, I meant no more harm than a man that cheapens a Horse or a Mare does, when he asks how old 'tis: I ask'd, because I fancy you and I are much of an age, and thus may the better be yoak'd together.

'Tis not likeness of Age, but of Inclination, that makes the Yoke easie, Sir.

I've nothing to say as to that; but if Somebody loves Somebody, as well as Somebody loves Somebody, I know what I know.

What's that, Sir?

Why then Somebody will have Somebody, or No­body, inspight of Every body.

'Tis well if any body can understand you.

Look you, that is, if you love him as well as he loves you, 'tis a March; tho' this same Lord we saw here thought to have huff'd him out of you, and forg'd a Let­ter as from you, to make us believe you'll Cuckold my Cosen, yet he dares venture on you, nay, and take you, tho' you had not a Smock to your Back.

My Lord, contrive a Letter as from me.

Ay, that he did; his surly Companion show'd it us. Well, what say you? Nothing? Well! I find there's one Woman in the World has not too much Tongue. Co­sen, say as I tutor'd you.

Look you, Madam, I an't us'd to make Love, and mayn't talk so much like a Courtier (never the worse man for that) I am downright Dunstable, I've for these many Months hoarded up——

A Barnful of good hearty Country Love for you.

Unkle, hold you your prating Tongue, will you; or rather get you gone; John the Butler, your old Pot-Companion wants you: I'm in now, man.

Then push it home, Boy. God b'w'ye.

I fancy I can talk better now the old Sot my Uncle has left us. Faith and troth, I lov'd you this great while, and if you'll be rul'd by a Fool, e'en have me, I dare say you'll be Mother of many Children▪ What say you? Come, as the new Song has it, Here's my Heart, and here's my Hand too; all that's mine shall be thine, Body and Goods at thy Command too.

Odsbobs, now I'm in, you shall see me jig it away: I've got Musicianers just by: Soho Fidlers! play me a Lesson; come, Roger a Coverly, a Jig, any thing, play your May-day Tune, Tom Crowder.

Now go about your business, and leave me to ma­nage mine: O sweet Mistress Frances, I long to be at ano­ther sort of Dancing with you; faith and troth I've lov'd you this great while.

I'm afraid the Clown will prove as impudent at last as he was shamefac'd.

—Sir, you sur­prize me with the News of your Love.

Odsbobs, is it a News to you? Why, I've been at Church, and what business could I have there but to see you, think you? I've hunted by you▪all▪ along to the same intent, and us'd to hollow in a Morning, to wake you, that you might know on't, thus, So-ho!

The noise was the only Instance of your Love that ever disturb'd me to this day; but I'll beg another: 'Tis my first Request, so I hope you'l not deny it.

Nay, to be sure I must do as you'd ha' me, that you may do as I'd have you.

Then, Sir, that first Request is, That you would be so kind as to leave me, and think no more of me.

Look you, Madam, I was told you'd be as shy as a high-metal'd Filly when she's to be back'd first; but troth, you may kick and wince, and stand up an end, but I won't be thrown off the Saddle, I won't budge a Foot as long as my Name's Ilbred.

Now I think better on▪t I must humour you. A good Evening to you; but I'll be with you sooner than you think.

Sir, Sir!

I'll be with you anon; I must go look after my Horses.

You have a mighty Ascendant over this Gentle­man, my Lord; he leaves the Room as soon as he sees you.

You have a greater over me, Madam; nothing▪ could make me leave you.

But my Father, who ought to have the greatest Ascendant over me, commands me to leave you to enter­tain him.

But my Rival is kinder than your Father, and leaves me to entertain you. Ah, Madam! while you stint me to bare Friendship, must he engross the Treasure of your Love, which he wants Sence to value as he ought?

The less Sence a Man has▪ the more he prizes Things whose worth is only imaginary. And after all, my Lord, he gives me no small Proof of his Esteem, in offering to ease my Father of the Charge of my Person, without a Portion to support that Charge. He uses no ill means to obtain me; he did not cause a false immodest Letter, written as by me to himself, to be shown his Rival, to deter him from pursuing his Inten­tions.

I do not know that he did so.

I say he did not, but I know who did.

Tell me who did, that I may punish him.

He needs no other Punishment but Neglect. Farewel.

Going! What can this mean? Stay, Madam, ex­plain your Riddle.

You, who did all this, need no Explanation.

I! by all that's true, I know nothing of this, and blush to think you can suspect me of it.

There's more than Suspicion, I'm assur'd of it.

Hold, Madam, do not persist in thinking me so base as to deny the Truth, or I shall cease to think you what I thought you, and strive to grow indifferent. But tell me, who laid that mean Contrivance to my charge?

You would show your Resentment of the Dis­covery, but I need not tell you.

Nay then, I am convinc'd this is a meer Pre­tence for leaving me. 'Tis kind however to lessen my Sor­row for so [...]n [...]ble a Separation by ill usage. Well, Ma­dam, I am yet too much disorder'd to have power to ex­postulate [Page 63] postulate with you: Farewell. Be as happy as you make wretched; I've nothing now to court but an honoura­ble Death.

Stay, my Lord, let's reason a little more calmly of this business.

Ah! give me more, give me more, &c. Heyday! Gravity has doubled her Guards here to day! O'my word they both look as sullen as a new-married Couple, that find they've cheated one-another.

Perhaps they find they've done so without marry­ing.

What, still sighing, my Lord?

Still sighing, because still unhappy.

And still unhappy, because still in Love.

Gad, if I were in your place, I'd no longer be in Love, that I might no longer be unhappy.

Those that are in Love, and blame others for lo­ving, are like those who are in Health, that blame others for being Sick.

Well, well, have a little Patience, we have been plotting that you may be quickly cur'd.

How! perhaps then you may know something of a Sham Letter! say, do you? Nay, quickly tell me, I'm all Impatience.

Why, perhaps we do, perhaps we don't; I won't tell you.

But the Lady accuses me of showing.

Psha, Psha, showing is necessary sometimes; the Lady is a Fool, My Lord: keep your Breath for her; go, get you gone together, be addressing and redressing, pres­sing and caressing, trying and denying, flying and lying, [Page 64] cooing and shewing; but first be you going, that we may be doing.

But my Innocence—

Shall appear as white as Curds and Cream in nine and twenty minutes. The Grove is a pretty place for cooing Lovers; wou'd you had the Wit to make use on't so long.

But———

Lord, will you ne'r ha' done? I hate a man that makes so many words.

Well, Plot, are all things ready?

Yes Sir, but I fear your Tom will scarce be taken for Mrs. Francelia, tho' the Squire's as dull and credulous as a London Mob: If you could but get one of the Maids to pass for her in the dark, my Comrade can marry 'em by Rote, as well as the best Hedge-Parson between Marybone and Dukes-Place: The Rogue has such a mind to be married, that none can have the Form by Heart better than he; no, not a Maid of eight and twenty, nor a Widow of three Husbands.

What shall we do? Ilbred and his Uncle will be here presently, I suppose.

Catso! we wanted some body to fit a Squire, and who should come in the nick but a Chambermaid! Leave me to manage her: Away.

Plot, listen you Dog, and come in when you judge 'tis time.

Ay, Sir, we Waitingmen need not be bid to listen, we do it as naturally as Drawers, Landladies, Chamber­maids, or Informers.

How now, my skittish piece of Chamber-stuff, have I caught you at last?

Pray Sir, let me alone.

To Morrow Morning.

I vow and protest Sir, I'll call.

Let it be so softly then, that no body may hear thee.

Let me go Sir, what will you get by keeping me here?

Not a Maiden-head, I dare swear.

Come, fear not, I'll be very kind; I swear I love thee.

So do I, as a Politician loves an Informer, for our own Ends.

I assure you Sir. I'm none of those; Pshau, let me go; are there not Citizens Wives, Masks, and other naughty Women enough?

Toast me, if they ben't as scarce of late, as honest Attornies. What for Sea Captains, Land Officers, and City Beaus, there's scarce a Wench to be had for Love or Money.

That's a Lye, as too many can justify.

Have a care, thou' [...]t have the Green-sickness; gad, I love mightily to prevent it, Child, but the Devil shall cure it for me. But I have another Proposal to make to thee.

Pray Sir, don't keep me here; I assure you I am honest.

What will this World come to! O the Impu­dence of a Chamber-maid that wou'd scandalize her Calling!

Hark you, Prethee what woudst thou be honest for? hah! Don't hundreds of batter'd Town Wenches get rich Husbands at last? Don't notorious Rascals jump into good Places, and detected Knaves keep their old ones, or get better? Don't we see cheating Collectors, squinting Bribe-mongers, embezling Pursers, long-winded Pay-ma­sters, saggoting Officers, Brokers and Retailers of Offices [Page 66] and Benefices, Pimps, Stallions, Catamites, and the Devil and all of Rogues look big, ride in Coaches, respected and waited on by the Croud of honest scoundrel Fools, that trudge it on the hoof? honest! ha, ha, hah!

Well, when you can make me live like one of these fine Folks, perhaps I may talk to you.

So, I knew 'twou'd come to that: Upon my ho­nor, we poor Rogues cannot afford to be honest.

Look you Child, I'll put you immediately in a way to do it. Thou shalt marry Squire Ilbred, whom thou saw'st here to day, a Man of 3000 l. a Year; Nay, and a Fool to boot. That is, provided thou' [...]t let me confirm him my Fool, as soon as Marriage has made him thine.

Sure Sir, you jest, 'tis impossible.

To deny me, you mean. Look you, he loves my Neice Francelia; and we have contrived it so, that he be­lieves she's to marry my Lord this Evening in the dark, for fear of my Brother. The Squire is to come in my Lord's stead and wed her. Now you shall be introduced in her Place by my Lord's Man, who manages the Intrigue, and so she'll be secur'd to my Friend, and the Squire to you.

Oh! but Sir.—

Oh! but 3000 l. a year! say no more, it must be so; or—Oh! here comes the Man shall direct you

Well, I can't avoid complying, as things stand; the Consequence cannot be bad, what ever comes on't

Plot, Here's Fanny shall act my Neice, and Wed Squire Ilbred; be sure the Parson and you whisper all the while. As soon as you have done, we'll all come in and be Witnesses But hark you, Sir Pandarus; if you offer to be familiar, take notice, I'll make a Capon of a Craven.

O-law, Sir! upon my honor, I'm not so ill-bred [Page 67] as to offer to be served before my Betters: I'll immedi­ately leave her with the Parson.

Hah, ha, hah! I can but laugh to think how I shall fool both Parties with one Plot, just as all other Match­makers do. The Chamber-maid shall fool the Squire, but I'll fool the Chamber-maid. The Jade was honest just as others are, till a good Bribe came in the way.

What, alone, Squire?

Not till you came, Knight; I was a thinking.

That's a wonder! prethee, thinking o' what?

Why, only of bribing a Woman to cuckold the Fool her Husband on her Wedding Night; for I find nothing but a Bribe will do't. A Love Suite now is like a Law Suite, he that courts without Fees, starves his Cause, and sues in forma pauperis.

Did not you tell me once you ne're gave a Wench any thing?

True, there's the business, I wou'd bribe her at ano­ther Man's cost; for I love as little to f [...]e Wenches, as to bribe Lawyers; dam me, I hate to encourage Vice.

Well, Sam, wil't speak a good word to thy Neice for honest Bob.

Between you and I, honest Bob, 'twill be needless; I fancy my Lord Lovewel will have her before to Morrow Noon, if he has her not by this time, and so I leave you.

I find this same Gypsie-fellow told us true, Cuz. she's to be married in hugger-mugger. I wish he'd come and make good his promise.

Ods bobs, tho' she frumpt me, I fancy she's only strange at first, like other Cattle; but she has a strange way with her, let her say what she will, I cannot but like her. Well, I'd be content to leave off riding hard, and drinking [Page 68] hard, a whole Week, so I might but get her in a Corner, or on a Hay-cock, and no body▪ by.

Oh! Sir, are you come? you're too late▪

Ods lidikins, don't tell us so Man: Why, 'tis not half an hour since I left her. O law! O law! I could weep like any Calf now.

If 'tis done, 'tis done; come away, and drown Sorrow; thou shalt go home as drunk as if thou cam'st from an Election.

Hold, hold Sir, I did but Jest with you; but a Moment later had been too—Well, Mrs▪ Francelia waits for me to take her aside, and my Lord is with her Father, discoursing about you and her. Come▪ now's your time, make no noise.

Come along, I'm as still as a Mouse.

Here my Ʋnkle desir'd us to stay for him; but I can't guess his Design.

Design! Why, he has as seldom any, as our Modern Play-Writers, unless it be to make us talk as he does himself.

To no purpose.

But ' [...]will not be my Fault, if we do not talk to the purpose▪ Madam. Love, Love, Madam! Nothing's to the purpose but that.

Nay, no Love in earnest; good Mr. Airy; don't I know you're a meer Weather-cock?

Yes, Madam, I may be like the Weather-cock; for I never change till that which moves me changes; and all my Motions wait upon your Breath. But here▪ most Women are like our Weather, scorch us and chill us the same day: And others make Love so tedious a Plague—

As if there were not Plagues enough in Life, with­out making one of Loving; but some of you make as much haste to get out of Love, as they do to get in Debt.

I am not for running so fast; for as one said, go­ing to his Wives Funeral; What need we make a Toyl of a Pleasure?

Come, come, most of you serve your Mistresses as all People do their Guests: At first the Entertainment is warm and costly, but soon grows as cold as dull indifference or jaded Matrimony can make it.

But I am for a [...]ove easie and agreeable, like your humor, and that must be lasting. Such a Love, Madam—

Is as indifferent a Love as one can wish, and in Truth, no Love at all▪

No, Madam, 'tis a pretty, sociable Passion, like modern Friendship. It cheers a loving couple when toge­ther; yet is no pain to 'em when asunder. 'Tis like Fire in a Flint, it lyes till 'tis urg'd, but then it never fails to sparkle.

Never Court One of our reserv'd Beauties, Mr. Airy, she wou'd expect a stricter Duty from her Lover.

Yes, First he must be a Slave to Dress as much as she is to her Complexion, and never see her unless he's as Spruce as a Dancing▪ Master at his breaking up, or a poli­tick Beau on a Birth-day at Court.

Ay, for I heard of a Beau that lost a Lady for offer­ing to approach her in a Coat with Pocket-holes an Inch too high, and Button-holes but Three Inches wide.

Now you shall have sport.

To promise Sport, is the way to spoyl it.

What's he going to do?

Hold, hold, Sir, you must not Marry her.

No more he must not; he has Married her already.

Yes, Faith Unkle-in-Law that is now; you come a Day after the Fair; Here's my lawful wedded Wife, and your—

Brothers Maid, Brother-Sterling that shall be.

Ha, ha, ha! You're merry dispos'd Unkle: Why, don't you know your own Neice?

Yes, better then you know your own Bride, it seems: Look on her in the light.

Hah! What art thou?

Even what you said just now, my Dear, your lawful wedded Wife.

The Devil's rather. Ods bobs, do you take me for a Changling? I was Married to Mrs. Frances.

Nay, thy Wife's Name's Frances; She's the Chang­ling: But my Cousin Francelia has not been in the Room this Evening.

I'm in Amaze! Or, I Dream, or, I am Mad, or else I'm Drunk.

You have had my hand ever since the Good Man joyn'd us, and Here's the Ring.

Nay, then I'le hang my self, O-law! O-law!

Oh fye, what a filthy Death you've chosen? Remem­ber you're a Gentleman.

What, cheated! There's Conjuring in't. Hah! is't so, thou young Witch?

Come Knight, speak more kindly to your Niece; he has Married her you know, you're a Witness to't your self.

What's the matter, Gentlemen?

Why, Mr. Ilbred has committed Matrimony with [Page 71] One of the Maids, and wou'd perswade us 'twas my Neice Francelia▪ that's all.

This shan't pass so, d'you see.

No, 'tis past already, d'you see: How will you help your selves? The Gudgeon that's caught in the hook may flounce, and flounder, but that wont do. He hugs it, and tugs it as a Man does his Wife.

Hark you, Sir Topewel, and you Mr. Ilbred, I'le show you I'm not so much your Enemy as you Imagine: I fancy, I have One way to bring you off.

How? ah, wou'd you cou'd▪

If you'l bind your self in a Bond of Twenty Thou­sand Pounds, never to pretend to Mrs. Fran [...]elia, I'le try what I can do for you.

Ay, with all my Spirit, and thank you too.

Here's a Bond ready drawn; look on it, 'tis but Signing and Sealing.

Ay, ay, he shall Sign it and Seal it, and with more joy than any ever Sign'd a Contract of Marriage; here Cuz, Sign, Sign and Seal; but lets see if 'tis right first? heigh ho! how soon care comes upon a Man that's Married! he's no sooner noos'd but he'd give his Ears to get off. Here 'tis Sign'd and Seal'd.

Take off the Seal; you deliver this as your Act and Deed, for the use of the Party therein mentioned.

I do. Well, now, dear Friend of ours, prythee tell us quickly, how shall I get off? Pray put a Body out of pain!

Look you, before this Company, I declare you free to Marry any One that will have you, except Mrs Francelia: For, as we got this Maid to Personate her, we got also One of my Lord's Men to Personate the Chaplain.

O-law! o-law! Is that all you had to say? You're good to help a lame Dog over a Stile.

Where is he? This is not the Man.

That's the Man that married me.

Ods death, this is none of Dick; this is Parson Hum­drum.

Plot, Rogue, Dog, how is this? Why sure you did not let the Gentleman Marry a Serving▪ Wench in earnest?

As I'm an honest Person, Sir, I cou'd not help it. I had got my Comrade ready according to your directions, and told the Squire and his Unkle so, but they wou'd needs have a Parson of their own, whom they had brought: I did all in▪ the World to perswade 'em not to have him (they know it) but they were positive, and for fear of spoyling my Masters Match, I durst not hinder 'em.

Rogue, Villain, Dog, let me come at him.

Nay, then, your humble Servant, tho' I know what I know 'tis time to scamper.

What's the matter Sir Topewel? Mr. Ilbred what ails you?

Why, nothing, he wou'd have taken a Wife with no­thing, and he has One with nothing; so there's nothing lost: Tho' he has mistaken your Maid for your Daughter; sure the Maid will be kept Cheaper than the Mistress.

Not when the Maid comes to be the Mistress.

True; an Usurer's rakish Son, after his Dad's Dam­nation, or a half starv'd Seaman after his Pay-Day, is not more Expensive,

Well if he has Married her, let him make much of his blind Bargain.

What, and is Meester sped already! Wish your Worship Joy! Here's Doll Hoydon and I are Friends again, an't please you, and want but your Worship's Consent to be Marry'd too.

Here's the Consent I give you, with a Horse-pox.

[...]iey day,! What time o'th' Moon is't? What Wasp, or Nettle has stung him?

Why, thy Master ha [...] married thy Mistresses Fellow-Servant thro' a mistake, and he is mad at it.

What, yonder▪ Minx! Odsnigs, I know what I know; now could I help him at a dead lift, but I have a good mind not to do it, for the sake of this same kick o' the breech he gave me.

How! canst thou help thy Master off of this ugly Job, Humphrey?

Mayhaps I can, mayhaps I won't; what then? You'd give me such another Kick as you did e'en now, wou'd you?

Prethee, good Humphrey, don't take it in dudgeon; I'd ha' done as much to mine own mother. Why man, I'm mad. Here, hit me Two Kicks for my One; pray do, pray do; do but bring me off, and kick me till thou'st lost me, an'thee wou'dst.

Well, now you cry pectcavi▪ I'll tell you: I and Do [...] was looking for Sir Thomas's Chaplain, to tell him we shou'd want him to give us a Cast of his Office; when who shou'd we see▪ as Luck wou'd have it, but this same Lass there in the high Topping, and a tidy Skip, a little tiny go-by-ground, not passin thus high. (I'm sure▪ she's no higher than a Horse-block) with the Chaplain mumbling over them out of his book; so we listen'd, and found he was making 'em as fast as a Parson can make Two Folks.

Pshau, pshau, sure this cannot be.

Why, you'd as good tell me a Bailiff's no Knave▪ I know her Face main well; D'you think I'm like your Lon­don-Folks? tell Lies? I'll take the Bibled Oath on't, an [...] so shall Doll; won't you Doll?

Ay, as I'm an honest body, that I will

Ah boys!

Ah boys! Cousin, dance, dance, I say: This brings thee off, boy; and as for you, Mistress Chouse, we'll have you hang'd for marrying Two Husbands.

How! is this true, Sweetheart?

Why, what, shall—as I hope to be sav'd—no—for fear—I can't tell—

You can't tell what to say; I find 'tis true.

Look you, an't please your Worship▪ here's the Young Smock-fac'd Hobberdehoy she had pickt out for a Cloak: I spy'd him now peeping in here▪ See, he's hardly big enough to go a nutting. I wonder how the man could have the conscience to marry'em. But some of 'em don't va­lue a straw whom they cause to rue, so they're grees'd in the fist▪ Tho I fancys too, they Two had been at other sport than Push pin▪ else he durst not ha' don't▪

A beardless boy! Fye, a Husband without a Beard is as unseemly as a VVife with VVhiskers.

He's very Young indeed; but stay—sure▪ I should know that Face▪ It must be my Cousin Kitty! Cousin Kitty!

Mistress Kitty!

What, one Female Marry another! Do you make a Jest of Marriage?

Pray, don't you be Mistress Kitty! Pray don't, pray don't.

O Law! all's spoilt again; undone, undone!

What do I hear, Mr. Illand. Is it possible you've Marryed my Maid for spight?

Only a little by chance▪ I thought to have made sure of you: They have tantaliz'd me twice with the hopes of being my own man again; but that, I fear, I never shall while I live: Yet perhaps you being her Mistress may per­swade her.

Truly, Sir, she's no more my Servant, since you are her Lord and Master; but tho you should never have been mine, I'm sorry for you: E'en take her with you when you will.

What, is she whispering already with another man?

Nay▪ 'be not jealous, Mr. Illbred; our whispering can­not be so fatal to you, as that you had with her, and Doctor Humdrum.

Nay, then 'tis time to be gone! To be thus in­snar'd, and then fool'd over and over again with sham pro­mises of getting free is too much for Flesh and Blood to bear. 'Owns! [...]'ll be reveng'd, if I live; come, come a­way.

Hold▪ you must take care of your Bride, Mr. Bride­groom, for all your huffing.

Nay then if the Bridegroom must take care of the Bride; you and Mr. Illbred must give me leave to take care of this pretty little Partner of mine.

Take care of h [...] and be hang'd; the Devil a bit we'll take care of either.

Well, well, good angry red Nos'd Gentleman, we'll take care of one another.

What, affront my Nose; you little Snipper Snap­per? Odsooks, it cost more a Painting than all the Saffron Faces in a Play-house.

How Sister Kitty, are you mad?

No madder than your Ladiship.

She's only Married▪ Madam, and to a person that will strive to show himself not altogether unworthy that happiness.

How! married in earnest?

Unkle, mind, mind a little!

Dear Madam, be pacified; the Chambermaid is Mr. Frankly, no more a Woman than my self; but a very worthy young Gentleman, whose Wealth and merit in­title him to a young Lady that has both: He discover'd him­self to me now, and told me he was forc'd to use this Dis­guise to secure pretty Mrs. Kitty to himself.

What the Chambermaid prove a man at last!

Huzzah!

Huzzah, Cuz, thou'rt unmarried now: Odsooks let's go and be bloody Drunk for Joy.

Odsbobs I'm more glad now I've miss'd the wrong, than if I had got the right.

I was inform'd your Ladiship wou'd not suffer your Sister to entertain the least thoughts of a Husband; I got admittance here as a Maid-Servant two days ago; and as you threaten'd her with a Nunnery, she consented the more easily to be joyn'd to me in more suitable Bonds.

You mean Spirited wanton Girl! Did you then regard my Admonitions no better? 'Tis true, I threaten'd you with a Nunnery, but 'twas but to deter you from mar­riage, the more fatal Prison of the two. See me no more.

Jeeringly. Come, Madam, we guess your Aversion to Marriage is somewhat abated, pray let your Anger be so too. Mr. Railmore, you'll interceed.

How!

In short, we know that the same Spiritual Execu­tioner that dispatch'd us had done as much for you two just half an hour before: So now 'tis about an hour too late for your Ladiship to use that style.

What, my Lady Single married!

Railmore married!

The two marriage haters married!

Nay, then miracles are not ceas'd!

Why a miracle? I never heard any one rail at the Courtier's Slavish Life, but what would at one time or other Sacrifice his Liberty to it.

The two extreams Love and Hate touch one an­other, like Laughing and Weeping.

You are all Ephesian Matrons one way or other.

What a Pox, are you capping of Sentences? Wish [Page 77] you Joy—of a thousand Pounds a year, Jack; for as for a Wife I know better Things than to wish a Friend Joy of that.

Wish you Joy of your Chambermaid here! Did not you say you had had her already, Sam? hah?

Pshau, Pshau, so I wou'd have had her, man; had she been a Chambermaid.

Cousin, shall I laugh at you two a little, for railing at matrimony?

Pray spare 'em, Madam, they have done well▪ Their Inclinations agreed before, and consequently will now▪ tho a much better way. But now, Madam,

since I hear, my Rival has oblig'd himself never to raise his Ambition to you, let me beg of you to condescend to make me happy. Sure, Sir Thomas will no longer be an obstacle to this; I had his Leave to urge my suit to you.

Ay, But I'm loth to part with so much mony at a Time that there's so little.

While Sir Thomas seem'd dispos'd to part with his mony, as well as with his Daughter, it would have been im­prudence to have bated him the first. But we'll not differ a­bout it: So, Madam, if you will but at last add your con­sent to your Father's, I'll ask no other Treasure but your Person, which is indeed too valuable to need any addition to recommend it.

This so generous Offer, my Lord, convinces me of the reality of your Esteem; but to make the best Return I can, I solemnly declare, That if my Father will not be pleas▪d to part with what he promis'd should be one Consideration of his parting with me to you, I will never consent to marry while I live.

How! Adad, tho I love money, I love Generosi­ty too▪ Here, my Lord, take her, she▪s yours; the money I promis'd shall be yours too. I must confess, I was tamper▪d with, and tempted; but there are few here wou'd not have [Page 78] been tempted to break their word for Ten Thousand Pounds.

I humbly thank you, Sir.

Wish you Joy▪ Squire.

Thankyou; but Joy of what?

Why, of being not married; o [...] rather, of being mar­ried, yet no Husband: I'm sure many would be glad to be greeted thus.

I'm so little afraid of being one of those, Madam, that if I can be so happy as to prevail with you to approve of my Love, as well as I hope your Father will of my Circumstan­ces, I shall have nothing more to wish but to be yours for e­ver.

What, are you making Love in Jest again? To be se­rious is a Jest. First, let us be sure you can continue some time in a mind: Mistresses, they say, are valued by most of you like Plays, only for being New; You hardly come to see 'em after the Third Day, and it must be an extraordinary one, or an extraordinary Favour, if you come to the House Three Days after, tho your Company's wanted there never so much.

Oh▪ I shall still discover New Beauties, Madam, and love you more and more.

Pox, you grow too serious on a sudden, man; had you not better make Love in Jest still? The very Boy and Girl in the House will teach you to keep to that. Oh, here they are. —Come Sing the Dialogue my pretty Rogues!

Very well▪ but I find they are seduced as well as the rest, by the evil Spirit of Matrimony.

What, can't our Example make a Convert of you?

No, saith; I shou'd be afraid of the Matrimonial Curse, [...] [...] without stomach, walk about without [...]ase, sing without [...]i [...]th, go to bed without desire, enjoy without pleasure, lie without Rest, be Cuckolded without mercy, [...]ught at without pity, and plagu'd without end.

What, will you never have better Thoughts of our Sex?

Ay, when you all cease to go to Prayers without De­votion, to fawn without Love, to weep without sorrow, to be chaste without Vertue, and to get Children without your Husbands.

Mr. Frankly, now your Friends may know you; you're your self again.

Dear Airy, help me to obtain Sir Thomas ▪s, and my Lady Single's Pardon for using a Stratagem that may seem somewhat inhospitable to those who never felt the vio­lence of Love. As for Mr. Illbred, he must not only forgive me, but honest Plot also, to whom I had made my self known before I was to wed the Squire; so that there was no danger on either side.

The short and the long of the Stor [...] [...] that between Jest and Earnest I'm fairly chous'd of my Mistress among you, e faith.

Come, come, we'll get thee another▪ Cuz.

Get thee another, Cuz! Odsbobs, 'tis all along of you▪ Gnaw, gnaw, you Old Fool: Before George, I've as good a mind as e're I had in my life, to have Susan, Sisters Cham­bermaid, for spight.

O fie, Sir, no Chambermaid in earnest▪ I beseech you; come, be thankful; those who take our Mistresses from us, improve our Parts; first we love as Learners, but after­wards like Masters.

Hark you, Sir Topewell, let me give you some Counsel which several men in your station should follow; Allow some needy man of Sence a Genteel maintenance to give your Young Squire good Education by degrees. Let him read good books moderately, but chiefly the great book of the world, not to be found with Pedants. It costs so little more to breed a man like a Gentleman, than it does to breed others like Clowns, that I wonder there are so many of the latter with good Paternal Estates.