SCENE I. The Lady Young-Love's House.

I'll stay here till Mr. Wilmore comes in; do you go and see what's to be done at Old Smyrna's; Deliver this Letter to Mrs. Phebe, for her Lady: Ready, thou dost not want Argu­ments to corrupt a Waiting Woman's Fidelity, all the diffi­culty lies in Olivia's nicety, but I should have reason to have an ill Opi­nion of my self if I don't prevail, when I've a Friend in her Bosom that speaks for me, and only an old jealous Husband to oppose me.

Mrs. Phebe says Madam Olivia has the same kindness for you as before she was Married; but her Husband is so Jealous of her, he won't suffer her out of his sight Day nor Night.

Poor Olivia; Thy Beauty nor Merit cou'd not make thee happy, since Fortune was wanting in her favours: Thy Father buried thee in a Rich Old Merchant's arms, and 'tis my part to try to revive thee in mine.

Without repeating further Welcome to you: My Dear Marina, How have you spent your time in the Country?

'Twas rough cast, and hung heavily upon every Spoke; nei­ther Park, Play, nor Basset-Table, to call rugged Time along; some­times indeed, when disburthen'd London, wanted new Air and Com­plection for her Female inhabitants, I had the Diversion of seeing how well they could relish Country Sparks, after being cloyd with Town Beaux.

Nature is no Idler; the Fruitful Dame loves Employment; but pray what cou'd she find out in your part of the World, for nice, well-dress'd distinguishing Town-Ladies.

The thing with all the World, is being pleas'd, not who pleases; my pretty young Lady Made, her Lord leaving her in a Bar­ren, wild unfurnish'd World of Sparks, cast her Eyes upon so near a Relation of his, that she mistook the West Country for Flanders; when undistinguishing Night had reduc'd the Sense of Seeing, into that of Touching.

Doubtless some believe it a Satisfaction, to prove the Difference between Town-Art, and Country-Nature; but how does Mrs. Con­ceit.

I sent a handsome Footman of mine, to make her a Compli­ment, and she interrupted him in the midst, to tell him he had a Pretty Mouth, which cou'd be better employ'd, than in delivering his La­dies Message.

But what of that Ill natur'd, False, pretended piece of Virtue, my Lord Rural's second Daughter.

Married, long since; found a Fool to uphold her ill Nature, in railing at Mankind, and cloak her Pleasure in using them.

She did my Brother the Honour of taking that foolish Toy a Maiden head from him; he courted her for a Wife, and she wantonly ask'd him, if they cou'd not love without Marrying.

Since that, she granted her favours in an open Calash, whilst her Husband drove it.

'Twas the boldest bravest Lover I ever heard of.

The Glory is due to her; for when he objected her Husband, she said his back had been turned a thousand Minutes, and 'twas hard if Fortune wou'd not take care securely to allow her one of them.

Yet none pretends more to Virtue, nor will sooner swear her Neighbours wants in Uncharitableness to others; and count it as a cer­tain [...] of Defect in our selves.

[...]ut all this time I forget; where's my Mother.

[...] to an Indian-House with young Wilmore, her Spouse that [...] for new Furniture, she means every thing [...] Gay and I [...]ng as her Lover.

[...] it enter into a Womans head of fifty, to look back [...] [...]ellow of Twenty, whose first contrivance will be how to ge [...] [...], her Money excepted, and that once secur'd she may [...], what separate maintainance he is pleas'd to allow her, and he contented to starve all her life after, for having once made too la [...]e a [...]ast.

If I mistake not, she intrudes a little upon your right; you have not [...] all your inclination for Mr. Wilmore.

They indeed prepare me towards making him a very Obedient Dutiful Daughter-in-Law.

Well, We'll spare your Modesty a farther Confession, and let you know to morrow is the Wedding day; but there's a Misfortune untold to you, nor cou'd your imagination guess at it, Sir Rustick Goodheart has got my Lady Young Loves consent for Marrying you.

I see absence has not made my Mother better natur'd; but i [...] she plays the Fool, I shall be wiser than to imitate her; besides, mine wou'd be so much worse, as an Old Man is always less inviting than a Young.

Mr. Wilmore has shew'd himself so generous, that till you were sent for he refused to Marry your Mother, and then too but conditio­nally she should secure your Fortune to your self.

'Tis surprising in a Father-in-Law; but is he in Love with her, (for I can wonder at nothing) or the Match imposed by his Father, for his Age scarce allows him to know the Value of Money enough to part with his darling Liberty for it.

She has made advances to him beyond belief; his good breed­ing received them Civily; whereupon she has forgot nothing that cou'd make her less Ugly, though Age did not fail to o'er-top it all; Nature here was so unkind a Mistress, as to prevail in spight of Art.

I shou'd never have guess'd other; for when we are once ar­rived to a certain Point of time, we may e'en lay aside Pig-water, Patches and Curls, and be contented with less Admiration, so we meet but with more Esteem; but if he loves her not, what can provoke him to Marry her.

Gratitude and a Necessitous Fortune; besides, she has almost pucrhased him with rich presents, which has more Eloquence in them than all the Old Womens Tongues in England.

Presents! Sure you forget your self.

I know what I say; besides, where have you liv'd not to know, Money speaks for an Old Woman, when her Eyes no longer can: But to entertain you till my Lady Young-Love comes in, my Page shall sing you the last new Song.

Bid the Coach set up, and let the things be brought in here My Daughter come! God bless you!

I am o'er joy'd to see your Ladiship, and to see you look so well.

Your Ladiships most humble Servant.

Belira, How do you like these figur'd Velvets; this I design for the Bed and Hangings; this Violet colour suits agreeably with this Buff.

Most extreamly well, Madam; does your Ladiship design a Mixture?

I had thoughts of Paining and Bordering it with this Crimson and Green; but that sort of Furniture has been my aversion, ever since I saw my odious Lady Junkers Appartment set forth with Scotch Plad and Damask.

Confusion! How his Eyes are fix'd on her, as if his Soul received her Charms, and wanted pow'r to hide it!

I don't look well to day, Mr. Wilmore.

Your Ladiship can never look other.

Belira, thou won't flatter me; I have not red enough have I?

But from the Eyes to the Chin, and looks like the Raddle upon a Sheep's Back.

Your Ladiship is mistaken, I never saw you look better; there's a Curl indeed out of order with the motion of the Coach; Hold, incline your Head: So, very well, that Pink-colour'd Ri­band suits agreeably with your Complexion.

But do you really think, Mr. Wilmore, I look so well to Day.

He has reason to hope, Madam, that your Ladiship may look better to morrow Night.

Have you catch'd hold of that report, who made you so wise?

Him that is to make your Ladiship so happy.

Indeed, indeed, Mr. Wilmore, it derogates from you to talk with Girls. When I had a Mother, I durst never think of approaching her without Fear and Trembling. Now a Young thing as soon as ever she has bid farewell to Bibs and Aprons, is ready for a Love, and thinks her self with Noise and Impudence, better to be liked, than her Mother with all her Experience.

Sir Rustick Goodheart desires to know if your Ladiship be at leisure.

Always to him; I shall be glad of his Company Daughter, I have taken that care of your Fortune, as deceives not the Trust my late Lord reposed in me, Sir Rustick Good hear: and I, have agreed upon your Marriage; my Authority secures your Consent.

Marriage, Madam, is a thing I have not thought on, y [...] 'tis a Journey for Life, and that once consider'd, we ought to do every thing to make it as easie to us as possible.

Sir Rustick. your Servant; where have you been since dinner?

Be Dad, taking a Glass to this pretty Lady's health, Madam your Servant.

Your most humble Servant.

a very pretty Lady.

I cou'd think so to, if 'twere not of the latest.

Give me thy Hand sweet heart, thou'rt welcome to Town, be Dad with all my heart.

What think you of a Walk in the Garden; the Lovers are engag'd, and we wou'd leave them together.

We wait upon you.

Which dost thou like best, my dear, the Town, or Country.

The Town, Sir, beyond Comparison, all good Judges are of my Opinion, I hope you are one of them.

Before George not I, yet if it had not been for me you had been there still; I persuaded my Lady to send for you up, and have provided a Husband for thee, Girl, what say'st thou to a Husband, heigh.

'Tis a sort of Creature, has not yet fallen under my Conside­ration.

All in good time, Child; I like thee ne'er the worse for that. You don't look like the forward things of the Town, that Marries a Man only to Cuckold him, Ods bobs thou wilt not do that, I hope, Child.

I don't understand you, Sir.

Come, we will be better acquainted, and then thou shale understand me, heigh: to say truth, the way of making Cuckolds is soon understood.

Pray, Sir, at once forgive, and satisfie my curiosity; have you spent your time mostly in the Town or Country.

Be dad, Child, the Country; I never came to London but in times of Parliament, which thank Heaven were not very frequent in our late Reigns; do I look Wine your Sickly Lon­doners, the dregs of nothing but Pox and Wine, Hemh, — Hemb, — shew me any young Fellow of them all, that can match me in Health and Vigour; neither Stone, nor Gout, nor the re­licts of any Distemper, but love of thee, Child.

Love of me, sure you mistake your self, one wou'd have imagin'd it, any other under the Sun at your Age.

Why there, be-dad you'r out, there's none Lovers but us old Fellows, the Young ones don't think it worth their time; shew me such another as Old Sir Fair-Love Fondling; why Child he does nothing but look Babies in her Eyes all day, but bedad I believe he sees but in Imagination, unless he borrows the assistance of Spectacles: He sets her, before George, in a great Chair in the very middle of a Chamber, and himself for hours together at her Feet, upon a Foot-stool, in admiration of her; there's encouragement now.

My Lady Young-Love and her Counsel are in the Parlor, Sir, looking over the Writings, she desires your Company.

I come, I come; Sweet Mistriss your Servant, till I see thee again.

I came Marina to your deliverance, I imagin'd how you were teiz'd.

O hideous! Belira, did I think in Nature, there had been such an ill bred, awkard thing; why he's so great a Mouster al­ready, Horns can't make him worse.

And yet my Lady Young-Love says you must Marry him.

What with twelve thousand Pound, a great deal of Youth, no contemptible stock of Beauty, besides an untainted Re­putation, that out-weighs them all; believe me, Belirs, I'm not so far ignorant of my own worth, to bury it in him.

I wish you don't ruine your self by the Refusal.

That Marriage is the greatest, and you must use all your Interest with my Mother to prevent it; or resolve to make me the most unhappy Creature breathing.

All aids that are in my power you may command: But has not your Journey tir'd you, you will not be for the Park this Evening.

The Name has unweary'd me; I'll but change my Cloahts and be ready for you.

My Lady Young-Lous has tir'd poor Wilmore; he has left her to her Bonds and Conveyances, and is gone to the Park be­fore; wou'd not you wish to meet him there?

Why thy question? He is my Mothers, and never can be mine; but we trifle: will you favour me with your Company, whilst I am Dreffing?

I'll follow you.

Yes, Marina, my Interest pulls too strong against you, to leave you a Moment to your self till I have put it out of Fortunes power to injure me,

SCENE I. St. James's-Park.

PRay, Gentlewoman be pleased to wear your Mask, till we're got out of this Road of Foppery; I had better have gone Ten Miles about.

Lord, Mr. Smyrna, 'tis so hot, my Mask stisles me; but where are you going? I am sure Walking is not your Business, especially in this place.

Yes, Wife, to chuse, that you may have the pleasure of comparing your old damned Jealous Husband, to these Gay fluttering Fops, that sail along by us; Here's your Gallant, Mr. Wildman, coming, put on your Mask, I say; Not for the World, I warrant you.

'Tis too late, he has seen me, Husband, 'twill be un­civil.

Mr. Smyrna, your Servant; The fair Olivia here! Since when is it, Sir, you have been for far reconciled to our Lewd end of the World, to trust this Lady amongst us.

Hum, Sir, not too much of trusting neither, but yet, as you say, 'tis a dangerous place, for an old Fellow, that has an Handsom Wife; Have not you that Opinion of her, Mr. Wild­man?

All the World must allow her that Character, but Faith, my Friendship to you, hinders me to think of her, as I would, if she were not thy Wife.

And you, forsooth, Have not you a just Esteem of Mr. Wildman's Merit?

As I ought, I know my Duty to you, Husband, and never had a thought against it.

Why, very well, since you are both so indifferent, 'twere no great harm, if you never see one another again. As to you, Gentlewoman, 'tis Mortifying you too much, to suffer the Visits of a Man, who has not Sense to know your Worth; And, let me tell you, Mr. Wildman, I Love my Wife, and don't like People that slight her Charms, and prefer my Friendship to her Beauty, therefore till you come better prepared to do her justice, your Visits will be but offensive, and if ever you make another, I shall conclude you have taken a Friends Advice. Come, wife.

Go thy ways, for an old Jealour, I wish be-gad, I could say, Cuckold, but my honest Endeavours shall not be wanting to make thee, that thou believest thy self.

Thank God for my deliverance, I'm got into the open Air again, without the incumbrance of an old Woman, who is not satisfied, unless you confine year Eyes to the Curse of meeting none but hers.

If thou art weary already, what wilt thou be when the Noose is fixt, and no kind relieving Hand can do thee the curtesy of unslipping it.

I confess, I have given the Town reason to believe, I cou'd allow May and December the two ends of time, to meet in our ex­pected Wedlock.

The Opinion of thy Sense was not forfeited by that, we always believed, thou hadst enough to distinguish between the glittering Metal and the Allay; But are you not resolved to Marry my Lady Young-Love.

So far from it, that I wou'd run my self into any other Noose in Christendom, to avoid hers; Marina is the Goddess here; You have doubtless heard her Father left her a Fortune of 12000 l. on Condition she Married with my Lady Young-Love's Consent, else Shame and Beggery to be her Portion.

That any Man shou'd be so far wedded to the Follies of his Wife to desire the entailing of them upon his Posterity.

I have held a long Age of Dissimulation with her Mo­ther to permit her return to Town, and get her Fortune secured, [Page 11]engaged my Father with the hopes of Marrying her, and doubt­less I shou'd prevail over the old Lady, if it were not for ano­ther; but this is the hardest part of my Confession, for I think, whatsoever Custom can persuade, that Man's a Villain, who boasts a Lady's Favour.

Begad if our Town Ladies come to know how well thou art principled, thou may'st e'en make thy own Markets amongst them, 'tis not to be matched in thy green years, which commonly reckons the pleasure of telling as the foremost delight in an Amour.

I am not Beaux enough for that yet. To be short then, Beliria who you know lives with, and governs my Lady Young-Love, did me the honour to like me, and I had reason to believe my self Master of her first Favours, I cou'd not shake off her fond­ness, tho' all mine was secretly addrest to Marina, for whose sake I was forced to dissemble with Belire.

Begad that was slavery enough, for the trouble of getting hand somly rid of a Mistress, is ten times more than what it costs to make her such.

She catch'd the discovery from my Eyes, and unknown to Marina perswaded lier Mother to send her into the Country, then to confound me further, the old Lady grew fond of me, Belira put­ting it into her Head, that it would Marry her, by which means, she constantly secured her self of seeing me, being in the same House, and reasonably thought, the interest she had in my Heart, ran no hazard, by bestowing my Person upon an old Woman.

Then how comes in, she has suffered Marina to return, for I perceive she manages at pleasure,

'Twas conditionally, I Married my Lady Young-Love to morrow, and consented that Marina should be bestowed upon my Father.

And how do you think to evade either.

'Tis for that reason I make this discovery to engage your assistance, Belira will not suffer her to sign for her Daughters Portion, till the moment of Execution, but my present uneasiness is to entertain Marina, I have ordered Musick and Dancing after Supper, if possible engage Belira in your Affairs, that she may not concern her self with mine.

You have ordered your own without considering my applications to Belira may ruine me with Orinda.

Quite contrary, that Coquet never likes a Man so well as when he does not seem to be fond of her, trust my Opinion; besides 'twere no Obligation if you did not run a little hazard for your Friend.

You shall command me, and now I consider, I'le bring Sir Amorous Courtall, who is Fop e [...]ough, to think all Women that have fine Cloaths Beauties; him I design for the old Lady, if she shou'd happen to like him 'twere no ill way of getting rid of her.

That will be admirable, but be sure ply Beliria close, she's handsom enough to reward your pains, and because of her interest with my Lady Young-Love, the only Enemy I can ap­prehend, — They are come into the Walk, we'll meet them at the next turn.

Your Lad'ships most joyful humble Servant, you'r wel­come to Town; how long have you done it the honour to grace it with your presence.

But to day, Madam, I'm pleased at the good fortune of meeting you so soon.

Beliria your Servant, O Gud I've been at the Play-house, where there has been the odiousest Play, so dull, that o' my Conscience, I shan't abide to set my foot in it again this Twelve Month.

I believe there was very little Company there this Wea­ther; how come you to prefer that Diversion to Hide-Park?

O Gud, you may very well ask Beliria, for 'twas no choice of mine, an Alderman's Wife and Daughter did me the displea­sure to Dine with me, and press'd me beyond decency to go with them; O Jesu, what a vexation 'tis to be with those precise sort of People, that wou'd not go out of their Road, tho' to be less odious.

They were famously set out, I warrant you.

O most unsuitably, the very sight of their Trappings wou'd have made you died of heat, of all things I hate Winter Cloaths in Summer; what say you Beliria?

That there are a sort of People that think Finery never out of season.

Lard, Marina, I finish't a Copy of Verses last night, which I have sent to half a score of my Friends for their approbation, I bestow'd the last upon admirable Sir Amorous Courtal, but I'le send you one of them.

You'l not fail.

Lard, Madam, what do you take me for? Beliria must come in too for a Judge.

Pray, what was the Subject?

I know none so Entertaining as her self.

O, Madam, your most grateful Servant, 'twas upon the different Addresses I have had made to me of late; O Jesu, such a glut of Foppery and Mankind; I long to breath a little of the Country Air, that I may get rid of this Town Lumber, and entertain my Muse alone with the reflections of what she has left behind.

But, who is that Sir Amorous Courtall, he's sprung up since my reign.

O Gud, a very pretty Gentleman, Marina, so Airy, so well Drest, so Handsom.

See how Opinions differ, if you'l take mine, Marina, he's the most out-cast Fop in Nature, he once made the Campagne, but all he remembers of it, is running to Breda, which has given him fears enough to keep at home all his life after.

Orinda, Will you favour me with your Company to night, we have Musick and Dancing?

I'le wait upon you anon, 'tis my Lady Junket's Visiting day, and she'l never pardon me, if I omit my Devoir.

O, that old Gossipping thing, she'l never have lost the re­lish of youth, but wishes so well too't, she'l bring young loving things together in spight of their Hearts.

Fye Beliria, Gude I hate you, for being so censorious, because she allows the freedom of her Apartment to Quality of both Sexes; A Lady of her age can't be friendly or so, but presently she is thought procurish.

O, very friendly, and then so grateful, one Treat shall make her yours all her life after.

Ladies, your humble Servant, 'tis a delicate Evening.

Sir, your Servant, see Beliria, Orinda is stealing away, go after, and bring her back.

I have ill Nature enough to break an Appointment, and I fancy here is one.

To Mar. I have that to say which it concerns you to know, favour me but with an opportunity after Supper, and let Beliria know nothing of it.

In the Garden l'le expect you.

Ten thousand ages, till then, O Marina, do not fail me, my Heart will suffer unspeakably if you shou'd.

No more, take my word I'le be there.

O Jesu, sure Beliria you have lost your senses, who wou'd be seized thus.

Together, and so thoughtful, I see the growing evil.

Let me be nothing, Madam, if ever I saw any thing so killing as your Eyes, they have Charms, my Heart never under­stood before.

Yours is a general gallantry to the whole Sex, Sir Amo­rous.

Lard, Sir. Amorous, what a loss shou'd we have had, if you had made the Campagne.

I must confess I staid in pure Charity to the fair Sex, to expose them, by my absence, was an inhumanity my Heart cou'd not agree to.

I fancy, Sir Amorous, you are very fortunate in A­mours.

Let me expire, Madam, if I have any reason to com­plain, but those fair Eyes, makes me forget, every thing but them­selves.

I swear Mrs. Wildman, you talk pleasantly, come Marina, shall we not be going?

When you please; Orinda we must not leave you be­hind.

You'l give me leave to wait on you to your Coach, La­dies.

Sir Amorous, not so fast, come back,

I've a word with you.

Pax on you, let me go, I must wait upon the Ladies, 'tis such an omission, that I shall never be pardon'd, nor deserve the Esteem of a Gentleman amongst them.

You may appologize for that anon, I call'd you back, to give you a little Advice.

Be sudden then, I cannot live, divided from Marina.

The old fire, that flames upon sight of every new Face, but I design you for another, who exceeds her in advantages, as much as you do all the Play-house Beaus in Dress and Gallan­try.

No ill Comparison; who is it? I dye to know.

First then, she's prodigious rich, wears extravagant fine Cloaths, and has the best way of putting them on.

O, of all things, I love a Lady well Drest, let me be nothing, if one that is other, does not look mean, and as if she were to be loved according.

Then she's Amorous, and will no doubt be presently taken with you.

'Pshaw, Pax, so they all tell me, I cou'd have bated her that part of the Character, 'tis surfeiting.

Her Fortune however is enviting, if you apply your self to her, she's rich enough to reward your labour.

Let me expire, if thou dost not talk scandalously, I hope 'tis not Matrimony thou hint'st at.

Why, you're too much a Man of Mode, to make the bur­then uneasie to you; a Civil Husband, and so forth, is all that a Wife can rationally expect from you.

Gad, now I think on't, Cold Civility to a Wife, gives one a good air, let me dye, if I cou'd be fond of an Angel that I was once Married to, but to be seen abroad with her, were an ex­travagance, I shou'd never forgive my self for.

Or if it shou'd happen, once in an Age, I fancy, you you wou'd make just such meen, as my Lord Stately, and his Lady, when they are together in one Coach at Hyde-Park.

Just for all the World, or let me expire, let me never breath, if I have not been passionately in love with her uneasie Frowns, and even ravish't to find during the whole Park time she [Page 16]had not bestow'd one word, nor look, upon her Lord, one wou'd have sworn, but by her Frowns, she had not known him to be so near her.

Gad, I think he matches her, his lolling back in his Coach, without glance or motion, speaks as much mortification as her sulleness, the best we can conclude is, that they'r heartily weary of one another.

Shew me that Married Couple who are not, but then there's good Management in those Affairs, as in all others; Is it reasonable to disgust one self with a Wives Company, only to oblige the Town with Matter for remark, let her take her Coach, and leave me the freedom of my Chariot, I'le give her the Cere­mony of the Glass as we meet, pass on and make no uneasie re­flections of the heavy load intail'd upon Mortal life.

Besides, my Widow will set all uneasiness aside, and re­pair the breach you have made in your Estate.

The Campaign, the Campaign Charles, let me be no­thing, if I did not loose Baggage to the value of 1500 l. all my Dressing Plate, Wardrobe, and Military Accoutrements, and was glad to secure my self at Breda, with only the days Provi­sion upon my Back, thou art my Friend, to whom I may own such a Misfortune, let me expire, if ever I was in such a Conster­nation since I was born into the World.

'Tis now Eight a Clock; do you know my Lady Young-Loves here in the Square, any body will tell you the House, I'll meet you there at Nine.

Adieu; I'll walk over the Park to my Lodgings, write an Excuse to an Expecting Lady, who does my Company the Honour to sigh for it, and then I'll be certain to wait upon you.

SCENE I.

WHy truly Tim. we have had but a sorry Day on't.

Indifferent, Master, besides those that came to inquire after Stolen Goods; the Party that wou'd know the Cause why she did not conceive, paid us no­tably.

Look out some body knocks, Tim.

O Gemini, Master! 'Tis Mr. Smyrna, the Turky Mer­chant, and Madam Olivia his Wife; I am very well acquainted with her Maid, Mrs. Phaebe.

Peace, we must not pretend to know them till the Stars have been consulted: I'll to my Study, mind your hits, Tim. and get what intelligence you can.

Where's your Master, Friend, I hope 'tis not too late to speak with him.

In his Study, Sir; I'll go and acquaint him with your being here; He does not use to appear after Sun.

Lord, Husband, you are the strangest Man in the World, what will People think of you?

What, Mistress, you'r afraid the Devil should speak Truth, and discover your Abominations.

The Devil's the Father of Lyars, how shou'd he speak Truth.

You are the Mother of Lyars, and that Cuckold maker Wild-man, one of your vile Disciples.

Because you heard he courted me before I was Married, you think I must needs be naught with him.

No, no, very Good in your sense, I warrant; Naught, why thou art not a Citizen's Wife for nothing; thou hast more grace I trust in the Lord, than not to think Cuckolding thy Hus­band a good honest practicable Thing; those are naught who do it so awkardly that the World is acquainted with it; nay their very Husbands, who are always the last in knowing the Favours that are done them.

But sure, you don't believe, that an ignorant block-head of a Fortune-teller, should speak any thing like Truth.

I'll tell you what I believe though, Mistriss, in my case of Enquiry your Ladiship can exceed all the Cunning men in Eng­land, and read our Fortunes to a Tittle; but the Devil's in't, you won't make me as wise as your self, but put me here upon unlawful means, the Sin will lye at your door, Wife, you'd as good confess, and save charges into the Bargain.

If I should, I'm sure you wou'd not believe me.

The Devil take me then; Come be quick, before Master Astrologer comes.

Lord, Husband, what do you take me for? Why, if it were so, do you think I'd be such a Fool to confess.

No; Thou'rt wiser o'my Conscience, but be sure you are as trusty to other Folks; you Women have she Friends that you discover your failings to, and that way the Secret comes about; 'tis for your Interest, as well as mine, to keep the matter private, if 'twere but for the sake of preserving your Lovers; they are squeamish amongst such a glut of Womens Flesh, and are disgusted by that which has been blown upon; but see the Devil appears to decide our Controversie.

Is your business with me, Friend.

Yes, Mr. Knowlittle, I've a doubtful Question to be re­solved, therefore there's something by way of Encouragement, only whether my Wife do me Justice, you understand me Friend; I'm plaguily afraid of being a Cuckold, an ignorant Cuckold, Sir, for that's all; Pray consult the Stars, that I may come to the know­ledge of my good Fortune.

We'll erect a Scheme, or as the Vulgar term it, cast a Figure, and give you the Opinion of the Stars thereupon.

He's Conjuring; we shall immediately see the Devil in the Circle.

Are you so silly to believe it, he seems to be a sorry ig­norant Knave, that has more Will than Power to do Evil.

They say a Woman can out-wit the Devil, and I believe out-Face him too — Well, Mr Knowlittle, have you done? What do the Stars say, am I represented with Horns like Capricorn, with a certain Tall-young Gentleman in my Figure, who does my Wife the Honour to Love her, better than she can her Husband.

Your Wife, Sir, looks like a good Virtuous Lady, and your Figure speaks you to be a mighty dissatisfy'd Person, a little troubled in your Brain with Jealousie; but either my Skill deceives me, or you have no occasion for it.

How say you Master Knowlittle, do you like my Wife too? does the Stars denote me for further Cuckoldom, what encourage­ment do they give you, to take her part for she's so bad, not one Devil in Hell dares do it without a Bribe.

Is that one question all you wou'd have resolved.

Ay Friend, and I see 'tis more than thou canst do, thou art going to convince me of the Vanity and Folly of all those who have helped thee to deceive themselves.

How, Sir, do you undervalue my Profession?

O no, Sir, Your Profession is a very Learned Profession; but I much doubt the Skill of the Professor:

Were it not for this Virtuous, Good Lady, I cou'd show you a Proof of my Art wou'd make you tremble; yet verily it may be a means to acquit her; how say you, Sir, if you dare stand it, I'll raise a Familiar to convince you, and protect your Wife near me.

Wou'd you frighten me into an Opinion of your Art, you that can't tell a Man whether, or no, he's a Cuckold; I have no Faith in you, and therefore dare stand the Worst.

Mr. Knowlittle, accept of this Gratuity; my Husband faints! Lord, I wish his fears have not taken away his use of Hear­ing, He'll never remember what the Devil said to him.

Sir, Sir; How fares it with you?

Lord! How do you do, dear Husband? I'm frighted out of my Wits; I'll never venture to the Devil again with you, you shall e'en go by your self, next time for me.

Ay poor Wife; as thou say'st thou wilt, I believe, for sake me in all Perils; but is he gone are you sure.

Gone; Yes, Sir, what do you think; by vertue of my Art I can lay as well as raise— This 'twas to be incredulous, and undervalue the Mysteries of Knowledge; I was sorced to use ex­traordinary means to convince you: O the Blindness snd Stony-heartedness of the Ignorant.

Pray let a Coach be call'd— I'm very ill— but Master Fortune-Teller, your Skill in the Black-Art, shan't make me believe my Wife the Fairer.

'Tis the Capricio of all Old Men, Jealous of every thing that's Younger than themselves.

Ay, poor Lady; Heaven endow you with Patience▪— There's a Coach, Sir.

Is there, come Wife; good Night Friend.

Sir, your Servant; Madam your Servant: Tim. wait upon the Gentry to the Coach.

Verily this Evening has helped the Morning, and both together made a good Day, few better.—

Now, Tim. thou didst it admirably.

Ay, Master, did not I; He little thinks, that from my hiding place, I over-heard all he said; but how did the Habit set upon me.

As like as the Devil cou'd be, every one in there way, Tim. all Trades have their Cheats, and this is to be said for ours, we do it with their own consents.

Ay, Master, better this than worse, every thing wou'd fain live, and we do but our honest endeavours thereto.

Come, let's go in and pray, to morrow may but prove as good a Day.

SCENE II. Lady Young Loves House.

TO Morrow, Sir Rustick is the happy day.

Sir Rus. Be-gad, I long for the Sack-posset, and throw­ing the Stocking; that was the Fashion when I was Married, and a good Sociable one too; I mean to make use of it still. He, he, he! I have bin telling her, how eager all the young Fellows will be of hitting the Bride in the Face; but be-dad, I hope I shall hit her better some­where else; before George, I'll try to get a Nap in this Chair, and Dream of to Morrow, before to Morrow comes.

Sir Rustick is falling asleep over his Wooing. When we force Nature beyond her self, she must return for a recruit.

Be-gad Madam! You don't know what an Insipid Fellow I am this way; I never Love taking fruitless pains: If I had not a real Inclination for you; the Devil take me, I if wou'd pretend it: For where's the satisfaction of dissembling; when that, which shou'd be a reward to our endeavours, disgusts our Inclinations.

You Men of the Town, never value a Woman for her self; 'tis only to increase the Wretched number, tho' your selves are never the better for it.

That's only seen amongst the Loose, Idle part of Mankind; who not setting a value upon their own Reputations, think it no fault to Expose a Lady.

Well, not disputing any further your Talent of Secrecy, what Security can you give of your Sincerity?

Your Charms, and the opinion the World has of my Sense: Be-gad, wou'd you have a more undoubted one? If a Woman be very handsome, and meets with a Man who has Wit enough to know and value it; the Consequence speaks it self, and needs no Corroborating Evidence.

Well, enough of this to Night; I receive you for my Lover, and as such, you must do me what Service I desire. Wilmore and you, are mighty Friends. Has he told you nothing of his concern for Marina?

He's to Marry her Mother — Besides Child! I never care to hear those sort of secrets, for fear they shou'd expect mine in re­turn.

However indifferent your are, I'll tell you one; tho' the Re­port [Page 22]runs of to Morrow. Wilmore, must Marry my Lady Young Love privately this Night, and if you please, you shall have the Honour of bestowing her upon him.

Your Commands wou'd make greater difficulties easie; but Pox, why this haste, to bring a young Fellow into slavery? Does he know the Design?

She carried him hence to tell him: I can't imagine how she'l bring it about; for I fancy, one must be a good deal out of Counte­nance, to let a young Fellow know, one has a mind to lye with him, one Night sooner than he design'd.

Ay, or desired; for if I were to be Mr. Bridgroom, that wou'd be my Case always with an old Woman: But where is he now?

Shut up with her in her Closet; if you'l stay a Moment, I'll go see what's become of 'em.

If we don't take care, this Gipsey will be too cunning for us all; Pox take Sir Amorous; Where can he stay?

Is Madam Belira here? My Lady Enquires for her.

No Child, she's just gone; but here's a Friend of yours, wou'd be glad to see you at my Lodgings.

I assure you Mr. Wildman, you are mistaken in me; I wou'd not be a Whore, if you wou'd keep me a Coach and Six Horses, to tend me all days of my Life.

Nay, now I'm sure you lye.

Pox take all old Amorous Women; I stinck of Petter as bad as her self: I fancy it to be like our Perriwiggs, that retain the scent of Tobacco, after being in a City Coffee-House. Belira has told you.

Yes, yes — Have you seen Marina?

Where shou'd I see her, in her Mother's Closet? Be-gad, you wou'd have laught your self to Death, to hear her break the business to me. She was in so good a Humour, that had I not wanted Witnesses, she wou'd have sign'd, without consulting her Oracle, Belira.

'Tis pity, the Poor Lady shou'd be disappointed of a Husband; Sir Amorous shall Marry her.

But how? I don't think it feasible.

We'll try to turn our Modern Comedy-Plots into good, so­ber, earnest, and make her Marry one for another.

Impossible! Belira is her shadow, and not to be deceived. They stay Supper for us; my appointment holds with Marina; the Musick will amuse the rest of the Company; if possible, don't let Beli­ra follow us.

If she follows you, I'll follow her, I assure you, for I've talked my self, into a kind of liking of her; but we must not leave the old Gentleman behind us. Sir, Sir! How sound he sleeps? He's taking up his Rents before-hand, and providing for to Morrow Night, which he Fancies will be no good one of rest to him: They stay Supper for you Sir Rustick.

Supper, why, what's a Clock?

Near ten, Sir: Shall we wait upon you down?

I had rather you shou'd wait upon me up, Sir, a good Bed in my Country is worth ten Suppers; but be-dad, I must not tell my Mistress so till I am her Master. Come along.

We wait upon you Sir.

SCENE I.

WHere's Sir Rustick, that he has not honoured us with his Company?

I left him taking a Grace-Cup with your Ladyships Chaplain. Mr. Priest-Craft will be too hard for him, they are so used to their Sanctified Wine they can swallow a large share of our unhallowed Juice of the Grape. Be pleased to know my Friend, Sir Amorous Court­all.

As such I must ever value and esteem him.

Your Ladyship's most Obedient Servant; let me Expire, if ever I saw any thing so taking as your Ladyship's Civility.

Lard Sir Amorous! Do you consider whose in the Company? These young Ladies will have reason to Quarrel at your Judgment, or rather I shou'd be displeased at your insincerity.

Let me expire Madam, if ever I saw any thing so ingaging as your Air. O that Dress, that Dress Madam! The Devil take me if the Drawing Room in all its Birth-night finery, can shew us any thing equal to it.

I wish I had but as good a Title to the rest of your Com­mendations; but time was, when they might have passed upon me with less injustice.

Be-gad Madam, no time like the present: The Sun is not in his glory till he is mounted to the Meridian, let me dye; if I can ima­gine your self, cou'd ever exceed your self.

Lard, Sir Amorous, your'e extream Courtly! How unfortunate have I bin till now, in wanting your Acquaintance! I never had so sud­den an esteem for any one. O! I Love a well bred Man, in my Soul — Good Breeding— There's no Charm exceeds it. Pray Sir Amorous have you not bin abroad?

Yes Madam, I have fetch't the Tour of all the Courts in Italy, made some small residence in Spain, but their Gravity disgusted me, and therefore made haste to pass into France, which had every thing that a well bred Gentleman cou'd desire, either to Instruct or Entertain.

Lard, 'tis strange! I durst have sworn that very thing by your Air, your janty, way of Dress, your Perriwig. Oh Jesu! How ra­vishing the Curls fall to cover your Face, and leave us almost nothing besides to Contemplate. Ah! how far you exceed all that ever I saw in the Art of Powdering. Belira, don't you think Sir Amorous Dresses extreamly well?

Undoubtedly, Sir Amorous, I beg your Pardon I did not see you sooner— Heigh, this is Gallantry indeed! What a new Dress!

The Devil take thy Foppery; was it for this, thou madest us stay for thee?

I had a Misfortune, just as I was crossing to my Lodging, a filthy Carman dash't me most intolerably, a just reward for being on foot in the dirty Street; I was forc'd to change my Cloaths before I was fit for this shining Assembly.

Sir Amorous, your most devoted, Admirer— Lard, my Lady Young Love, did you ever see any Steenkirk have that Air? Never cou'd Madam, the Princess de Conty, have hoped a Copy, so transce [...]ng the Original.

'Tis all of a Piece, all Sir Amorous, in a word; all that can be named, the fine Gentleman, the Courtier, the Something beyond all, the Modern expressive word of Beau.

Let me expire, if your Ladyship has not the best Judgment. is not my Sword-knot extreamly fine and just?

O, of a most ravishing length— What is Fashion, for well bred People, If, as Mr. Bays says, we don't top our parts?

Your Ladyship's unacquainted with one Sir of Amorou's Excellen­cies; he Dances to a Miracle, and carried it from all the Quality at the last Court Ball.

A Corant or Minuet, Madam, I am no higher Dancer: Will your Ladyship do me the Honour of a Minuet?

Sir Amorous, I must beg your Pardon, if I share the Dance, I shall lose the entire Prospect of your Person; Belira, if she pleases shall oblige us.

Nay, be-gad Madam, you shan't go till Sir Amorous has done with you.

Eternal Impertinence, they are both missing, and undoubtedly [Page 25]together. Sir Amorous, I'm not in Humour, and shall make but an ill Figure, Orinda will do much better.

Let my be nothing, Madam, if she has not ten times more Chagrin in her Looks than your Ladyship. I must not be refused.

Sir Amorous Dances in Perfection.

I told your Ladyship his Talent, I was sure you wou'd not find me in a mistake.

So slighting, she has Debauch'd him from me. O I can't hold my Muse! Muse go Lament the Misfortune.

O your Ladyship flatters me, or let me dye! But to say what has bin said before, Blows from hands so soft, who wou'd not bear!

Sir Amorous, you are a Judge of Decorum and Decency; what say you to walking in, and seeing the Bridall Bed?

I'll follow your Ladyship through the World; but I shall expire in seeing the place where my Happiness is to be Sacrificed.

O Jesu! 'Tis a thousand pities so pretty a young Gentle­man shou'd have an uneasie Moment.

SCENE Changes to the Garden.

GRant, I dispense with that one Form of our Sex, disbeliev­ing a Lover, when he first tells us he is such; how can you avoid my Mother, or delay her expectations? Belira, whose reasons I could not comprehend before; will do all that's necessary to ruine our intelligence.

If nothing else can secure me, your Denial must.

Twelve Thousand Pounds is a Forfeiture too great to oblige an Enemy with. I hear Belira's voice, she must not see us together.

But why do you follow me?

But why do you fly me?

Marina shot that way. I see VVilmore at the bottom of the Walk, I have business with him; oblige me, and leave us together.

You Command me.

Here so late Belira?

I come in search of you, the Bride expects you.

To Night! It must not be.

The same thing as to Morrow, the sooner 'tis over the better; for in these cases our fears are the worst part of our punishment. Was not Marina with you? she is wanted. Sir Rustick has drank himself in­to a Matrimonial Temper, and Mr. Priest-Craft Swears twelve at Night, is as Canonical as that at Noon.

Belira, have you Loved me!

Has not my Ruin told you?

Then do you Love me?

Yes, to see you happy— But the Mask is off, and thou canst Cheat no more, and I no more believe.

You never Loved, but now abhor me.

You reproach me with what I wou'd be; do not, do not rouze the Woman in me, I wou'd be Calm to Night and see you Married.

Rather see me Buried.

Perhaps so— Cou'd the remembrance of my Wrongs but sleep with thee, I wou'd not Envy thee a quiet Grave.

Farewel, we part for ever, I'll leave the Town this Minute.

At least, Sir, if you will not Marry your self, but unkindly leave your Bride thus in the longing Moment; do your Father the honour to grace his Marriage.

What have I done, that you shou'd wish to make me Wretch'd?

What hast thou left undone to make me such?

Your Reputation yet stands fair, and uless your own Indiscre­tion betrays you the Secret shall be such, with me for ever.

But thy heart, Traytor, thy perjur'd Heart; tell me, how shall I get it back?

Never this way, I assure you.

'Tis given for gone then— Go— Live as Wretch'd as I can make you, I'll think no more upon you.

Where, Madam, are you going?

To a Wedding, Sir, Marina's Wedding; you say we must not Dance at yours.

Rather of the two Belira, but why to Night?

All Bridgrooms are not as backward as your self; your Father has the start of you, in desire as well as years, he is impatient of his Happiness.

You are Peevish Belira; does your Love make you Jealous?

I have none, the Moor has taught me better; no longer doubt­ing, away at once with Love and Jealousie.

Then 'tis Spite disturbs you: In what have I deserved it?

Look in thy false perfidious Heart, and take my Answer thence.

That speaks of nothing you can quarrel with.

Then I will stay and argue with thee, how often hast thou told, thou coud'st for ever Love me?

I told you that I cou'd, not that I wou'd.

Poor Caviller, those who can jest with Oaths, can play with Words— You'l come after and wish the Bride Joy.

We must not part thus, you were not used to fly my Arms.

By all that's good, he has got the sorry cunning of our Sex; just so does a Wife when her Husband has caught her false, the gilting Creature cries, Do you believe it Spouse? you do not use to be so un­kind— Ha, ha, ha— Let me Laugh, tho' 'tis maliciously; go on, I'm in the Vein of Audience; let me hear some disagreeable Truths, and how well thou canst turn Woman; Marina is at stake before you, do it handsomely; I wou'd be fortified in my Aversion, and have my hate implacable.

'Tis Barbarous to insult, where you shou'd rather pity.

I do, let all the World be judge else; nay, do more than Pity, I wou'd prevent your Ruin, and stop the Passage up to your undoing, wou'd save you from the Ills, nay, Scorns of Poverty, keep your Friends such, and put it in your Power to be one by still Preserving you: The Worlds opinion, who judge of Merit but by Fortunes Favours.

We know the Extent of your Generosity: But serve me as I wou'd be serv'd, Belira.

I thought this was your way: I mistook you for him that was to Marry my Lady Young Love— But I'll go look for certainties within.

Come back Belira, 'tis my last Call: I wou'd satisfie thy Wo­manish Revenge, and let thee see me Curst by any other way than Fa­tal Marriage— Take my Sword— Thy Malice can supply thy want of use, despight can furnish strength, and too often thou hast found the way to my unhappy Heart to miss it now.

Ha, ha, ha, in Love to dying! By all that's good, turn'd Hero: Your Mistress, Sir, is much obliged— Keep your Sword, it may be a Fortune better worth than all your Fathers Lands; there's Wars abroad, you may employ it in, 'twill keep your Wife from wanting here at Home.

Am I indeed your Scorn, Proud, Fantastick Woman; thy liking was foul Lust; not Love: That gentle Name brings Happi­ness, but thou— Let me not think upon thee, for fear it force my Tongue to something worse, than shou'd be said of Ladies; I've served it seems, as long as you cou'd like, and now you chuse another.

Wou'd it were come to that, I wou'd exchange thee, for [Page 28]the last of Men, and think the Bargain Cheap, wou'd part with all that goodly Form, for honest Ugliness, and think it fairer; thy Youth for Age, and Doat upon his Doatage— So in return I found but Truth, mark well that word, that word has Charms thou never knewest, and which out-weighs thine.

Belira, thou hast power to read my Soul; thy Magick Spells are irresistable. How hast thou found this Failing in my Vertue, which I not knowing of, my Wants cou'd never miss till now?

Thank my Wit, Natures best Gift— I've seen your shunting poor designing Arts, to wave this Marriage and promote another. Your care too, of Marina's Fortune falsly guilded with the weak pretence of Generosity; 'twas not doubled thick enough for me: But because Doubts never shou'd condemn the Man I Loved, I wou'd not seem to doubt till I was certain; therefore no more dissembling, 'tis vain, Marina never shall be yours; and if you cou'd not think it an unhappiness, I fain wou'd keep you mine.

Give me this Night to think in, I'll promise nothing, but this: I'm Grateful where I am obliged.

To shew your Power, I will; my Lady Young Love through my persuasion designed this the Marriage Night; I'll excuse you to her, but not one word or thought of Marina, for in that Moment she shall be bestowed upon another; I wou'd divide the World, rather than you shou'd meet; I hope to Morrow, we may give you joy; this Night I find but little.

Less thou hast left behind, O the curse of Lewdness! What Wo­man's Fair after we find her Faulty? What Lady Innocent, when no longer Chaste? Or who so vain to hope for Honour, or for Pity from that Soul who wants it for her self?

What I hear 'tis deferrd, there's no hopes of Posset. Be­ [...]ria has dissmiss'd me till to Morrow, she's gone to your Bride; by this time Sir Amorous has supplanted you, he is shut up with her, and has impudence enough to bid fair for it.

They talk of Eating against ones Stomach, but no Sur­feit is so nauseous, as what I'm in danger of, Belira catch'd me in the A [...]ion; and Faith, a sinner must have more impudence than I, who [...] deny matter of Fact.

Be gad, I have Pimpt to a fair end: What to let a Woman out­wit thee? How cou'd you once think of being sincere to one, whose Interest runs counter to yours? I would have dissembled as much Love as I had Aversion; nay Counterfeited my first desires, and suffered her, to believe she had preserved the Conquest of me now, that I might have Triumphed over her all my life after.

Very well, I am railed at on all sides.

Thou hast this Moment in thy Face, all the Mortification of poor Lenten Penitents, and lookst more akin to the Spirit than the Flesh. I believe thou art not in the condition of Wedlock. Confess your Misfortune to my Lady Young-Love, I know no reason, why a Man shou'd pretend false Courage, when by it he runs himself into an inconveniency, he might have otherways avoided.

Faith, if lying, dissembling and flattering, can deserve her, I have done it. After we parted, I underwent the Mortification of an Ar­rest, which has the better fitted me for that of Matrimony; 'twas ne­cessary for me, to have just got out of the Baliffs hands, to be able to go through with her, or else let me expire, if I cou'd have done it.

But what's the Consequence, Sir Amorous?

No more, than deferring the Marriage. The Duce take me if I don't think it Exceeds all Hercules's Labours, to be able to perswade a Widow to lye alone, when she is resolved to have a Bed-fellow.

The next Affair shall be resolv'd in your Chamber, where I'll wait Sir Amorous and you in a Minute.

Nay if you wou'd be private, I'm discreet.

Let me be nothing, if he has not some melting Billet, I know it by his very Air. Good Fortune to thee Charles.

Reads, Hum! to Morrow Morning like a Phisician. Ready, where had you this Letter?

Mrs. Phoebe brought it to your Lodgings. She says her Master has bin at the Fortune-tellers, to Enquire, whether your Honour had made him a Cuckold.

I am sorry, the Devil cou'd not answer him in the Affirma­tive: She writes me word that Symrna's sick with his fright, and that I may pass upon him for a Physician; however, I believe my skill lyes most Olivias way. Ready, go and knock up my Apothecary; borrow his Velvet Coat with the great Gold Buttons. A few hard words, of Plebotomy, Purgative, Laxative, and I shall be set up in my Profession, [Page 30]and look like any Collegiate Doctor of them all— Why then, the Devil take me if I don't go— Now the matter's brought to Perfecti­on, I'll not fall asleep over the Brazen Head, when it shou'd answer me. Yes.

SCENE I.

BY my Troth, Madam, if all Ladies should follow your Exam­ple, Solitude wou'd make them soon turn honest; and then where were the Employment for Wit and Scandal? You need not be in such a Terror of my Master, he sleeps as sound as a Top; and should Mr. Wildman come in the Interim, we might introduce him to your Ladyship without his being the wiser.

I hear knocking at the Gate; go see if your Master be awake. Why do I tremble thus? I neither distrust my Vertue, nor his Care of it. Yet a secret Guilt condemns me, because I exceed in Form. If the Shadow of an Injury gives such Uneasiness, what do they suffer by Remorse who actually offend?

My Life! my charming, bright Olivia!

Alas, Mr. Wildman, these Transports are not my Due; you know I am honest; neither my Husband nor you can make me other­wise: Therefore urged by your Thousand Importunities, I have in­deed sent for you, but 'tis to forbid any more Billet Douxes, not one Love Letter more, as you hope to have all those kindly received which you shall dispatch to your next Mistress.

You amaze me, Madam!

Secondly, no Corrupting Presents to my Woman; no at­tempting her weak Vertue, in hopes to prevail upon her Ladies; for the first moment I suspect it, I shall be offended at you, and send her packing, to carry you the News of it.

I was afraid I should suffer as an Accomplice.

Thirdly, no extravagant Civilities to Mr. Smyrna; no re­turning cold Affronts with fond Caresses; no carrying him to the [Page 31]Tavern, and paying his Club there, as if that were to be the Price of his Wife at home; nor vain Hopes of having the Proverb of your side, That Cuckolds are kind to those who make them so.

'Twas something indeed, he was always so damn'd jealous of me; had he had but the Title, I wou'd not have questioned the Bene­fit of the Proverb, his Horns would have blinded him.

Madam, a good Morning to you.

My Husband's Physician unsent for! What's to be done?

I have been at Mr. Simpler's your Apothecary, who told me Mr. Smyrna was taken dangerously ill; whereupon I thought it my Duty to visit him: But, blessed be God, he's in a fine breathing Sweat: When he has taken what I shall prescribe, I hope he may be better.

Indeed, Dr. Pulse, he has had a very bad Night.

By his Habit, I should guess this Gentleman to be of the Fa­culty. Pray, Sir, if it may be without Offence, what are you call'd? I do not believe you to be of the Colledge; I never saw your Face be­fore, to my knowledge.

My Business, Sir, is with my Patients, and not to answer im­pertinent Questions.

Cry you mercy, good Mr. Mountebank; a Stage, I suppose, is your Occupation. Madam, since you have employed this Quack, e'en make use of him for good and all. A lawful Consultation I should not have refused; and so much good may do you with your Merry Andrew.

I'm glad he's gone. Mr. Wildman, you know your Doom; we must part upon't.

Prithee, dear Olivia, have more good Nature: Do I deserve no Reward for all my unwearied Hours of Love? No soft Compassion due for all I have suffer'd? This is mortifying one beyond any thing.

They say Revenge is natural. For your Comfort then, you have yours upon me, since I can't punish you, but I must share in't my self.

Were that true, Olivia, you cou'd not use me thus. That Kindness you once flatter'd me with, tho' it were but a Name, has now lost that. You tell me, I am to be sacrific'd to your Vertue— but I'm afraid 'tis to some more happy Lover.

Why, I have never enjoy'd you. If Love were my Business, might I not find it with you? I never heard before, that any thing besides Possession brought Satiety.

Did you never stay so long for your Dinner, that your A pe­tite was lost when you came to it? methinks I see you reasoning with it, then surveying me— And crying 'twon't do, it this the Treat I long'd for?

Your comparison might hold indeed, if you cou'd prove I had stay'd my Stomach before I came to Dinner: But my Husband's no such inviting Dish, and I can assure you, too provident, to allow me much variety.

He's a meer Quack, and so you'l say when you see him; if you make use of him, he'l certainly be the Death of you.

Ay Doctor Pulse, not unlikely.

Oh Heavens defend me, here's my Husband! Lord, Mr. Smyr­na you have affrighted me out of my Wits, my very Heart beats in my Body. Doctor Pulse said, you were all in a Sweat, and I'm afraid you'l catch your Death, by rising in the Cold.

'Twill be very well Mistress, if I find your Heart agree with your Tongue. But what Quack have you brought me here— Nay, face about Doctor, I don't doubt your Experience, nor Mur­dering by the Rules of Art— Mercy on us— Ay marry Sir, this is like a Wife indeed—What, Mr. Wildman turned Physician! Friend Pulse, you need never have troubled your head about this business, my Wife meant to keep this able Doctor to her self; this Gentle­mans design lay in supplanting me, not you.

Impudence must carry me through,

Doctor, your Patient is certainly Distracted, a meer Frenzy has seized him— Feel but his Pulse, ay he's fitter for his Bed than any place else; I can't commend your Judgment in suffering him to rise in this desperate Condition, let's force him back to his Chamber.

If I am mad, 'tis horn mad; you'd carry me to my Chamber, that you might Iye with my Wife in hers— Pray Doctor Wild­man be pleas'd to march, I shall be able to wait upon you down, and secure the Doors after you. Be pleas'd to lead the way without fur­ther Ceremony— I must own 'tis uncivil, but I make bold by your own example, for I fear, you have bin more so than welcome, with a certain Acquaintance of yours.

'Tis as I say, Doctor, retrieve your blunder, or I am lost.

Never fear it, Madam.

Brother Doctor, won't you assist me? The Gentlemans unruly, see how he struggles. O Sir, if you did but understand your own good you'd to go Bed, else you're a lost Man.

Pulse, Pulse, Friend Pulse, I say, will you let me be murder'd by this Rogue, this Villain Wildman— I'm almost strangl'd, help, [Page 33]help there, I say, I won't be carried from my Wife— Wife— Wife— Where are you? Pray Sir be satisfied, and think me Cuckold enough for the first time.

O dear Husband, be perswaded and go to Bed, you look strangely wild.

Ay Master, if you did but see your self, what an altered Man your are; bless me one wou'd not know you again.

Thanks to honest Whoring, Mr. Wildman— I always thought Horns wou'd bring a strange Alteration.

Good Lord, what a Frenzy is this, to mistake a Physician for a Lover— To bed with him, by all means, and let him have some Cooling Tysans, and refreshing Juleps to allay the heat of the Distemper, perhaps a little sleep may restore him— Your Hand, Master Doctor.

Nay, if you are in the same Song too, I must be mad indeed— When a man is to be made a Cuckold, nothing can prevent it— But pray, let Master Doctor with the Whoring Countenance be dis­mist.

He has never bin well since that Rogue of a Fortune-teller be­witch'd him.

Nay, if that be his case, it may be beyond our Art, Brother; best send for some godly Divine to Pray over him.

That shall be my Care— God restore him, Doctor Pulse. Phoebe, lend your Hand, he'l struggle: But we must prevail, 'tis for his good.

What's the Devil in you all? I am no more mad than any of you; only a Cuckold, and a little troubled at that Calamity; no further Frantick I profess.

That's enough, of all Conscience. In, in with him.

Murder, help, Murder, Murder.

I have enough of the sport, and had much rather see Olivia return.

My Lady Sir, desires you would please to be gone; she's resol­ved to stay by my Master for the better quieting of him— But don't let this dishearten you, your affairs shall go better than they have done, or I'll lose my Place, and my Reputation too.

No, I'm at length convinc'd, Olivias Virtue shou'd be rather [Page 34]Cherished than Seduced, tho' I see whose ever Title we have to it, we can be no more sure of Love, than Money; 'tis not ours till we have it in Possession.

SCENE II.

They have given us but a Melancholy Song Daughter upon our Wedding day. None here but Sir Amorous! Lord Sir, what can be the reason of this disorder? Jesu forbid, that so handsom a young Gentleman, shou'd have as much despair in his Heart as Person— Marina, go and bid Isabel be sure to mind what I told her.

Yes Madam.

Well done Mother, get as large a share of the Sex as you can, I'll not stay to dispute your Title.

What don't you know me Sir. Amorous— Bless me, what not answer me?

Too well Madam— I know you as the cause of all my ills, the glorious cause of my undoing.

Lord, my mind misgave me when I heard that mournful Song.

I must confess 'twas dull, unfit for Brides, and cou'd but dead your thoughts.

But Sir Amorous, what is the real occasion of this Sadness?

Let me dye, Madam, if your Ladiship does not ridicule my sufferings. Have you forgot what I told you last Night; that and a thou­sand times more lyes heavy on my Heart to day; and unless you re­solve to see me dead, you must not marry Mr. Wilmore—

He Lord, he's the Modestest Gentleman; so Civil he never prest for the least Favour, no not for a Kiss; and that you'l say's but a small one; but when he cou'd not decently avoid it.

A Wretch, is it possible Madam, that the Transports of a Man, when alone, with so fine a Woman — Oh Madam! Were it but permitted me— But why do I vainly meditate on any thing but Death!

Death, Heaven forbid: Indeed I am very sorry, I was not ac­quainted with you, before things came to this extremity — But as to Mr. Wilmore, he is so bashful, and so modest, Lord, you wou'd not believe any thing else in him.

All that a Rival can say, will be suspected: But say I clear'd it to you, what then shall be my reward?

Indeed I shou'd be furiously angry to find him so cold only to me.

If your Ladyship will let me wait upon you to the Garden, I'll clear the matter to you.

SCENE Changes to the Garden.

DO you remember, our last Discourse Belira?

Can I ever forget any thing where you'r concern'd.

Then I must tell you, I'm resolved to Marry where I best can like, not for conveniency alone, 'tis sinful, and you, and I, and all must live to dye.

So godly, one wou'd think your Time were come: You have forgot sure, Marina is to marry your Father.

She never will Belira, therefore if you have Loved, shew it in this only proof, I ever ask't, and let me marry her.

How dare you think the question, much less to ask it? I only live for you, in hopes of you; and when those hopes are gone, I've done with life, the heavy load will not be worth the bearing, the very thought has loosn'd it, and I want pow'r to answer.

No Tears Belira, we will be always Friends, your Honour shall be safe, and you my chiefest care.

What can pay Love, but Love? Marinas Arms will make you cold to mine; nor can I stoop, to share your hurt. O yet consider! e're it be too late, think on the Wreck, the ruin of your Fortune, the flow­ing Tides of Poverty, that ruins all it covers; and lastly, think on an unhappy Wretch, whose only fault is desperate Love of you.

I've thought on all, and nicely weighed the Sense; the conse­quence is this, I Love Marina, and rather than not marry her, wou'd be undone; therefore if you can save me 'twill be Noble, and like the Love you promised.

What Generosity canst thou hope to find, where only injuries are given? what suffering, tame, deluded Monster dost thou think me? My Wrongs have waked that Rage, which Wonder had be-calm'd, and I am now prepared to dash thy hopes, and prove thee Traytor to thy Vows and me.

Be wise Belira! We live not now in those Romantick con­stant days, where their first Mistress was their last. I lik'd you once, and still esteem you, but Vows that are made in Love, are writ in sand: It's impossible to recal a Lovers Heart, when once 'tis made a Present to another; shou'd it return, 'twou'd sooner Love a third.

Thou needst not seek for Arguments to kill my Hopes; thus I blow them from me: Farewel for ever, both to thy Love and them; thou hast Lov'd me little, but thou knowst me less: Vengeance is due to thy mistake; I only live to wish, and hope to see it take your Minion: Love her as long as you are used to Love a Woman, and then let want of Wealth and Liberty pursue you: Be poorly Wretched, and Wretched Poor; and may you hate the cause as bad as I do Curse for her sake, the very name of Woman; yet think on me and sigh for such a Friend — But may no Friend be found, till scorned at home thou seekest abroad, some Wretched Death unknown.

What have I heard and seen Belira? Is it possible it shou'd be you?

Villain, hast thou betray'd me— Madam, I warn you from that Traytor Wilmore,

Mr. Wilmore, I am sorry I was so long your pretence, Sir Amorous. This discovery has done me mighty Service, and I am sorry I cannot express my Gratitude to you.

I have too justly offended your Ladyship, ever to hope Forgiveness: I only beg your Anger may not fall upon Marina, she's an Innocent cause.

The Age is quite Debauch'd, Jesu! who shall we trust after this? Belira naught, and with modest Mr. Wilmore, I am in such amaze, I can't recover my self.

What's the matter? I met Belira in a mighty rage, she ran to this Ladies Chamber with a drawn Sword? 'twas lucky I was in the way, else she had murdered her.

I shan't recover the fright this month! Mr. Wildman has saved my life.

He shall always command mine for it, but what's become of her?

When she saw her self Defeated, she sent for a Chair, and went away in it; I have not yet troubled my self to know where.

No 'tis no matter, since my House is rid of her. I shall take care who I entertain a good opinion of again.

Prithee Wilmore, no Chagrin. This was my Plot, I durst not trust thee with it; and therefore advised thee to meet her in the Garden, I knew thy soft Nature, wou'd not suffer thee, to Expose an ill Wo­man, tho' to make thy self happy in a good.

If you had, 'twou'd never have come to this; my Pity is due to an unhappy Woman, who had never bin such, if She had not known me.

You'l make Marina Jealous,

I hope not, she wou'd not have me Barbarous:

Where are ye all? Before George the Canonical hour will be past; yonders the other Young Gentlewoman gone away Distracted.

Sir Rustick, here's a new Scene of Affairs; Marina Swears, She has more mind to be your Daughter, than your Wife; and that 'tis better to Drink Caudle by a young Fellow, than be oblig'd to make it for an Old.

Be-gad, I don't believe a word of this: You are not of his mind Sweet-heart, Mr. Priest-Craft is ready to spoil your sport Sir, and begin ours.

Indeed Sir Amorous, you have convinc'd me of the reality of your Passion, and were it not for the talk of the Town, you shou'd find me, not so insensible as you imagine.

Let me be nothing Madam, if this unexpected Marriage will not put them all out of Countenance, and baulk their Spleen; they are prepared by Mr. Wilmore's concern for your Daughter, to laugh at your Ladyship. No Wedding— Let me expire, if it wou'd not be a good way, to prevent his refusal by yours, and before he asks you to make him happy with Marina, to make me so in your self.

'Twere a good Jest indeed, I think we must not spoil the Conceit—But then, Sir Amorous, will you be constant?

As your own Charms, which can never admit of a Decay.

Indeed, Sir Amorous, I have Compassion upon your Suffer­ings, and a just Resentment of Mr. Wilmore's Ingratitude: Therefore, Sir Amorous—but Lord! what was I going to say?—Jesu!— will not you think me quickly won?—But indeed, my Charity to you is the chief Inducement; therefore to morrow, Sir Amorous, if you please—

To morrow will not prevent Mr. Wilmore: Give me leave to declare my Happiness, and to hope you will immediately confirm it within.

Lard, Sir Amorous, you overcome me every way; I leave it to your Discretion.

Before George, not I. Good Mr. Son, no coguing nor dis­sembling with me: I love the Lady my self, and have her I will, or some shall smart for it. My Lady Young Love, here's Felony, Conspi­racy, and Treason against you; they would cheat me of my Wife, and you of your Husband.

That they will hardly be able to do; I have made my Choice, Sir Amorous can tell you.

Hey day! Here's fine juggling indeed! Before George, I don't understand these London Contrivances. Shall I have your Daughter?

Sir Amorous, you rule me. Marina, I have too long, won by Bellaria's Pretences, deny'd you the Affection of a Mother; but I'll make amends for all, and leave you the Liberty of your Choice.

Nay then, before George, 'tis still well enough— Give me thy Hand, sweet Mistris, 'tis a Match, Bedad.

I am afraid, Sir, you'll find me good for little, but to bring the Addition of Jealousie to the rest of your Distempers.

That is in plain English, Madam, that you wou'd make me a Cuckold—Wou'd you so?—Nay, like enough Bedad— Your Eyes have a plaguy Lear that way—Hey!

Bid Ralph saddle the Horses, and bring my Boots; I'll not stay to see the end on't.

No matter, let him go; as I take it, he has Sign'd. Wilmore, thou hast nothing to do now, but to make thy Claim.

I have so true a Sense of my Villany to this Lady, that I dare not address for Pardon, much more the unvaluable Blessing of her Daughter.

Sir Amorous has prevail'd for you, Sir. I forgive you, and have left Marina the Liberty of her Choice. But might I perswade her, it shou'd not be Belira's Lover, he has too many Faults.

I'll take them all upon my self; and if your Ladyship would consent, I should not think my self unhappy with Mr. Wilmore.

'Twill be generous, like your self, Madam; and shew the Town, the little Concern you have for Mr. Wilmore.

Let me expire, Madam, if I can cease my Intreaties.

You command me, Sir Amorous. Take her, Mr. Wilmore; and if possible, make amends for your Faults to me.

This Goodness confounds me more—My whole Life shall be one constant Study to deserve your Generosity, and Marina's Kind­ness.

Why so? matters are brought to Perfection. I find I am a Master in the Art. But, Begad, Pimping here, I have ruin'd my own Affairs with Orinda. Will she not be at the Wedding?

She keeps her Bed very ill, and has sent an Excuse; but I be­lieve, Belira's Absence will be the best Spell to draw her thence.

That shall be my business, after the Chaplain has done his: I'll visit, and perswade her to come and wish you Joy.

I am impatient till you have the occasion. Sir Amorous, lead the way with your Bride.

I think Fortune has not one other Trick to disappoint you with; but 'tis best to take her when she's obliging, for such all People that are going to be married think her.