SCENE I.

WEll, Bernardo, thou wilt never leave thy old courses, I see, till Age or Distempers have made thee Impotent. The good old Count at home might, indeed, expect more Sobriety from the Tour thou hast made abroad. But alas! poor Gentleman, he'l be as much deceiv'd in thy Manners, as thou art in following the wickedness of the Flesh.

Prithee, Frederick, no more of this Gravity: I am not so keen a sportsman as you make me. Indeed, if a very handsom Wo­man bolts out upon me unawares, I may, perhaps, course her now and then for a breathing: But I don't love beating the bushes for game.

Well, I see, thou art incorrigible, therefore I have done. Methinks, Bernardo, the Air grows cool: Sure the night must be far advanc'd.

No matter; ee'n let us ramble for once, we shall find some Adventure or other that is diverting I warrant thee.

What, you are again at your old Trade: No, no, I'll home, I assure you. I have no mind to be mistaken for another in the dark, and so have my Throat cut, or, if I escape that way, to be seiz'd up­on by the Watch for a Night-walker, that has some ill design on foot.

You'll excuse me then, for not going with you, since I have some Commands to obey to night, of one that expects a readier Com­pliance than any Grandee of Spain: 'Tis one Don Cupid, Seignor, if you have heard of him.

Don Lucifer, you mean.

Call him what you will. But, Frederick, to be plain with you, the business is this; you must know, Sir, I have had a private Intrigue upon my hands with a very lovely Woman almost ever since we ar­riv'd at Valencia, and this very hour am I to meet her, by Assignati­on [Page 2]in the mean time you are brawling with our old Host at home, 'tis the better Engagement of the two.

'Tis less dangerous, that's certain; besides, you say your In­trigue is private.

It is so, indeed: But I'll tell you what I'll do for you, if I suc­ceed in my Amour to night, and taste of this Circe's Cup, I'll under­take you shall be made the next Swine, Frederick.

A pox of your Swine's Jest: Farewel.

Ha, ha, ha! good night Don Frederick. When I had told him of my Amour, I had no other way to be rid of him, for what­soever he pretends, I know he's stanch, tho' a sly Gamester.

SCENE II. Donna Eleonora's Longings.

Come, Dorila, let us take a walk before the door, this cool Evening.

I'll wait upon you, Madam.

I wonder Don Sebastian is not come yet: Sure somewhat of importance keeps him away, for he doth not use to be so tardy.

He is a Man, Madam, and may forget that he has been kindly used by a fair Lady.

I would not willingly believe any such Ingratitude of him, because I have long entertain'd an opinion of his faithfulness; and tho' the expectation he has given me of being his Wife after the death of his Mother (if the solemnest Oaths and Protestations avail any thing) makes me a little uneasie under a disappointment: yet he has so much Goodness in his Nature, and such Charms about his Per­son, that I can't soon give way to interpret any thing amiss of him.

And so had Don Philip, when you were first acquainted with him at Madrid. He had such another Art of Charming too, that he soon gain'd a passage into your yielding heart, and when he had made the Conquest, left and despis'd you.

And now he shall pay for his Villany; for know, Dorila, that he no sooner left me to night, but I sent some Ruffians after him to dispatch him, lest he should hinder my design upon Sabastian, as well as to punish him for his Ingratitude. I wonder he could have the Impudence to inquire me out here, after the Contempt he us'd me with at Madrid. How do I long to hear the Fact is committed!

For my part I can't pity him.

Pity him, no; but I'll be reveng'd on him, Wench. He goes to Hell this night: There let him scorn a poor deluded Maid, that sacrific'd her Honour to oblige him; trusted to all his flattering promises, and saw her self forsaken, blasted, ruin'd. O Woman! Woman! How eager hast thou always been to know what brings ruin as soon as known! Couldst thou but spare thy Curiosity, and give no Ear to the alluring Tongues of Men, how might'st thou live in Triumph, and see proud Man beneath thee!

But, Madam, you'd soon have the World dispeopled at this rate.

Were it a drowning a second time, 'twere no matter. 'Tis a vile World that is not worth keeping above Water. What is there to be found in it, but specious promises and certain falshood. Two such Contagions, like North-East Winds in the Spring, are enough to blast Mankind, as those do the Fruits of the Earth.

Alas, poor World, what a condition art thou in!

Never in a worse: But however, my meaning at first was, that I would have our Sex hold out, till they could obtain Men by Lawful means; but even then, how much discontent doth often follow!

Why there's the business: You would deprive poor Women of their pleasure every way. Come, come, Madam, Venus has been more indulgent to you, than you imagine, for, tho' one Lover has forsaken you, yet, thanks to fortune, you have found a Friend here that may hereafter be your Husband. Or, if you mistrust him there's the handsom stranger Don Bernardo, who has made some Addresses of Love to you.

'Dslife, Dorila, he was to be here to night, this very hour, by appointment, when I did not think of Sebastian's coming. As I live I had quite forgot it. Dorila, come, let us go and contrive some way to avoid meeting both.

Why, this it is, not to Communicate your Affairs to me. I hope by this time you see how necessary a Confidente is in your Af­fairs; you may have undone your self now, for ought I know.

Come, for Venus sake, let us go. Hark! some body's coming

Ha! Bernardo, as I live. Dorila, make haste in, and after a little while call me, and I'll pretend 'tis my Aunt that calls, and so get away; for I wou'd not be observ'd to shun him neither.

By your leave, Ladies, I hope to find an Acquaintance here. Nay, never strive to conceal your self, Madam. Could the fair Eleonora think to be so disguis'd, that a Lover should not be able to distinguish her?

I might have expected some assistance from the darkness of the night, if I had not been inclin'd to disclose my self to you.

Were the night much darker than it is, and you had kept back the goodness you shew me, yet those Eyes would have disper­sed the darkness, and left me certain of my happiness.

You are skill'd in Complements, I see; but let me intreat you to speak lower, for my Aunt is yet awake, and is apt to hear the least noise.

Let us walk further off then, that it mayn't be in her power either to hear us, or see us.

O no, not for the World: If I should not be within call, she'd certainly rise, and suspect I was away upon some bad account. 'Twould ruin me, Sir, for she's very passionate, and would surely make another Will, and give away Forty Thousand Crowns from me.

Ha! Forty Thousand Crowns: Can it be true?

But, Madam, when will you grant some pity to a Man that so infinite­ly adores you? Were we not by Appointment to meet to night?

Are we not met, Sir?

But not as I cou'd wish: I would convince you of my unspeak­able Affection.

O, Sir, then you and I must meet no more. Is it possible you should entertain any such unlawful hopes?

'Sdeath, she'd hook me into Marriage!

Pray let me go: My Aunt calls within, and I shall be undone for staying.

A pox of this Aunt for me.

Madam, give me leave to assure you, that I have no ill design: All that I intended was to give you most undeniable proofs of my Love. I intreat you to believe my sincerity.

You talk'd just now at such a mad rate, that 'twill be some difficulty to retrieve the good opinion I had of you.

O I shall be ruin'd, if I stay longer.

When shall I have an opportunity to bring you to a better un­derstanding?

O never, never. You sha'n't catch me here again to mor­row night, I warrant you.

A Pox of all Aunts, I say: You sha'n't catch me here again to morrow night I warrant you. A good direction however for to mor­row; but what have I to do with to morrow? I may be less inclin'd for a Woman then, and less at leisure. A Curse on this Accident! Well, I'll take t'other walk, and if the Stars decree me no Adven­ture to night, I'll e'en home, and take Counsel of my Pillow about this last Affair.

Let me see; this must be the House. Well, this Love has a strange power: 'Tis so diffus'd thro' the Composition of Man, that all his other Faculties are like so many useless Wheels, till that spring be put in motion. What is there agreeable in Life, without Love? That Poet had a true taste of the World, who said, Let me die, ye Powers, when I am no longer able to relish the Blessings of Love. But I amuse my self too long.

Who is't that knocks at this late hour?

'Tis I; good Dorila, make no noise, but let me in.

I fly, Seignor, to obey you.

I'm glad they are so cautions whom to admit, tho' it may be nothing but disguise to cheat me, for Women have their Arts, I know.

O Seignor, we have expected you so long, that we began to despair of seeing you to night.

I hope I am not come too soon. Where's my Eleonora?

In her Chamber, impatient for your arrival, to be sure.

Did you not tell her I was at the door?

I thought 'twould be more agreeable for you to surprise her with your coming.

You have oblig'd me. Come, let us go in.

SCENE Changes. The street.

A Plague upon that Sreech-owl that call'd in my Eleonora from me: For besides my ill fortune in losing her, she has presag'd me no luck all this night, I am afraid. Well, if I must go home without any Adventure to boast of, or to justifie my absence to Don Frede­rick, I must e'en be content to bear with his dull Encomiums on Re­gularity and Example; tho' he, like the rest of the Men of Zeal for severity of Manners, is better pleas'd with the formality of advising, than the difficulty of the practice.

By your leave, whoe'er you are, I mean to interrupt your Singing, tho' I like it well. This may prove some lucky check to my rising in­clination to go home. I'll follow the voice, whatever may ensue.

SCENE changes to Don Frederick's Lodgings.

From Alcantara, did he say?

I tell you, Sir, from Alcantara, and when he knew that, I had the Honour to be your Valet de Chambre.

You are pleasant, Sirra.

Why, Sir, I hope 'tis not an Employment above me, for the Heralds have distinguish'd us in France.

So they will a Fidler, if he has mony to purchase a Coat of Arms.

I hope, Sir, you don't speak of that Profession by way of Contempt.

What doth it deserve else?

I am sorry for your Judgment, for we were always esteem­ed in our Country.

O, I find you were your self an Instrument Scraper there once: But no more of this. What request did this stranger make to you?

That I should let you know, upon your coming home, that he was very earnest to speak with you alone.

So privately: Who can it be? Come, lead me to him; I long to know who 'tis.

What a Capricious Deity is Love, and how repugnant of­ten to Nature it self! So true are those Lines of the Divine Eng­lish Poet.

Seignor, my Master, Don Frederick, if you are dispos'd to receive his visit, would wait on you.

With all my heart; I shall esteem his Company as a favour.

Now must I unfold my self to him, and if he has that Generosity the World gives him, he will both secure me from my Brother's indig­nation, and assist me towards the success of my design.

Sir, I was made believe upon my coming home, that you had some Commands for me. I should be glad to have it in my power to obey a Stranger, especially one whose Aspect can even so soon prevail on my Inclinations.

Sir, your Language and Behavour speak you Generous: I did indeed make it my request to your Servant, who had inform'd me of yours and Don Bernardo's Loding here, to give you private notice that a Stranger was earnest to speak with you. Be not sur­pris'd, Sir, but oblige me so far as to sit down, and hear my Story.

Sir, I am ready to give all attention.

I presume, Sir, by the Description you may have had of me, and the Garb you see me in, you take me for one of your own Sex.

Be not amaz'd, Sir, for I am but a Woman, a most unhappy Woman, no other than the Sister of your Friend Don Bernardo.

You astonish me, Donna Gornelia!

The same: Pray how long is it since you and my Brother ar­rived here from Italy?

We have been in Spain about four days, and only wait for the passing of to morrow's Festival, before we go for Alcantara. 'Tis the great Feast of St. Jago, at whose Church to morrow is to be seen all the Magnificence of this Place.

'Tis possible then you may have seen Don Philip de Monasco, in this Town.

I have only heard of him, Madam, I never had the honour to know him.

Alas, Sir, 'tis he that is the cause of this disguise, this Jour­ney to Valencia, and of all the misfortunes that have yet befaln me. [Page 8]Not to detain you, you must know that Don Philip making use of the Acquaintance of our Friends, came frequently to our House, and was always entertain'd with that welcome that was due to the Son of a Man of Quality, and a particular Friend. I must confess, that from the first moment I saw him, I had a more than ordinary Joy to think we were under the same Roof, and an unusual heaviness when he went away. How soon doth Love find entrance into a weak Woman's heart! I fanci'd whene'er he appear'd before me, that there was not a Man in Spain of such Beauty, Grace, and Proportion; but when he spoke, sure Musick hung upon his Tongue, and all he said I thought Oraculous.

Nay, now you are far gone indeed.

You'l excuse my weakness, Sir. After many discourses we had together full of Complaisance and Gallantry, He at last made some advances of Love. You may imagine I was not displeas'd to find a mutual concern. This humour he continued for many days, and at last after a Thousand Solicitations attended with Oaths and Pro­mises of Marriage: I was Fool enough to yield.

Heavens! Can it be?

To an agreement to meet him such a day.

Your discretion may be yet safe. But pray, Madam, why did you not give your Father notice of your mutual Inclinations, that he might have procur'd Don Philip for your Husband?

Because I knew he had given his word to another Gentleman, and had commanded me to prepare to accept him for my Husband, tho' I told him I could never love him.

Well, Madam, when the day came?

I met him at the appointed place, but had the prudence to resolve before-hand not to yield till he should actually have Married me. He used many importunities to perswade me, but, I thank Hea­ven, I had so much reason left, as to consider, that he who refus'd to send for a Priest, when I gave him an opportunity, by being absent from my Father's House, wou'd scarce agree to do it when he had once enjoy'd me.

'Twas wisely reason'd, Madam; so you broke off.

We did from what he propos'd, but not from a Con­tract we had made before.

Ha! Contracted?

A Solemn Contract had pass'd between us.

I am sorry for't. Pray, what has induc'd you to come hi­ther in disguise?

Two days after our Adventure, I was inform'd that Don Philip was privately gone to this Place, in order to take Shipping for Naples, and had carried with him a beautiful young Lady, whom he [Page 9]had newly married, or designed to marry. This News put me into such a fit of melancholy, that I could not conceal it from the Family, which was very earnest to know the Cause, but in vain. After a day or two I took a resolution to disguise my self, and to come direct­ly to Valencia to find out this ungrateful Philip, who is my Husband before Heaven, tho' another has the happiness to live with him. If I can find them, I'll either pull her by force out of his Arms, and let the World know the claim I have to him, or if he refuses to own me for his Wife, he shall experience the Revenge of a Neglected Woman.

Madam, if I might advise you, things being not yet gone so far as to necessitate your pursuit of him at this rate, you should even despise him in your turn, and make choice of another that should be more worthy of your Love.

Alas, Sir, if we could Love whom we would, your Counsel might be chosen: But Love, you know, has Fate in it, and therefore cannot be withstood.

You may be Wedded to a false opinion of Love; there's no such Astrology in the matter.

However, 'tis impossible I can ever forget Don Philip.

Few things are impossible, Madam, they only appear so to us for want of putting them in practice: However, let us refer this business, if you please, till the morning; you must needs want rest after the fatigue of a Journey. To morrow you may Command me as far as I have any Power.

But, Sir, I must intreat one Favour of you, which is, that you give my Brother no Intelligence of my being here, for I fear his Anger as much as the neglect of Philip.

Madam, I shall be careful to obey your Commands. Good rest to the fair Cornelia.

Alas! I can have no rest: This ungrateful Man will keep me for ever waking. To go to Bed is only to toss from side to side, to be tormented with Sighs, and inflam'd with Jealousie.

SCENE the First: The street.

THe relation you have made me, Madam, of this ungrate­ful Philip, as it makes me look upon you with the tenderest Compassion, so it gives me reason to detest the Author of your mis­fortune. You say he promis'd you Marriage first with all the marks of sincerity.

He wish'd a thousand times that Heaven might pour down Vengeance on his head, if he prov'd false.

What a Villain is he then for leaving you thus!

He is so, and yet I love this Villain. O! Bernardo, do but frame to your self the softest delights that ever any Lov'd Woman has yet rais'd in your Soul: Fancy how transported you should be with the full possession of her Charms: Think what a pain 'twould be to live depriv'd of such a happiness; and then conclude what I have lost in Philip.

Amazement! Can there be so much felicity in our Sex? I thought all we had on Earth was to be found in yours.

I find you think me vain, Sir, in giving such a Character of a Man, with whom I have had some understanding: But 'tis my in­firmity, pray pass it by.

Pardon me, Madam, I am well pleas'd than any of our Sex can be so very acceptable. I'll recant the name of Villain I call'd him too, if 'twould oblige you.

His leaving me looks unkind enough, indeed, but could I meet him here, I should not doubt the recovery of his heart, I know it was nothing but a youthful sally to make me sensible of the want of his dear Company, that I might receive him at his return with more than usual Ardour.

How ready the fond thing is to excuse this treacherous Fel­low!

But whatever be the cause, I must intreat you, since the Ac­cident of my voice brought you to discover my passion, that you would give me your assistance, as soon as 'tis day, to find out this Rambler, if he be in Valencia; if not, O misfortune! Whither shall I go to seek him?

You may command my faithfulest service.

Another Request I have to make to you, which is, that you conceal my being here from Don Frederick's knowledge for the present.

I shall obey you. You'll give me leave to wait on you to your Lodging, and, as soon as 'tis day, I shall not fail to send to know your Commands.

You maintain the Character the World is full of.

Sure I must be near Don Sebastian's: Anthony, don't you know the Street?

If 'twere not quite so dark, possibly I might, Sir.

As far as I remember, we should pass by this Church.

Ay, Sir, you were always for passing by the Church, I'll say that for you; but if you live at this rate, the Church won't pass You by very long.

Why how now, Sirra, you are Witty to night: What, you have been punning in Donna Eleonora's Kitchin, servile Rogue!

Faith, Sir, 'tis a mistake, with your pardon; for there was Mrs. Pert, her Maid, who has so unreasonable a Tongue, that set it once a going, 'tis a very Laram for an hour together, so that no body can be heard but she. Will you give me leave, Sir, to tell you something she said?

Barring all Smut, and so forth, which thou canst no more forbear interlarding in thy discourse, than an Old Maid when she is past hopes of Matrimony.

Smut, Sir, I scorn your Words; I'll have you to know we Frenchmen have more good Breeding.

Nay, your Nation has the Character for good Manners.

Ay, and for good Courage, good Politicks, and good Sub­jects, Begar.

How do you make your Courage out, pray, my Understan­ding Valet?

Why, we always get the better of our Enemies by our Numbers, and so our Courage is not disputed. Then as for Poli­ticks, don't you know a Nation, Sir, that has had cunning enough to get a Peace concluded, when 'twas Six to four that it had been un­done in another Campagne.

I'm afraid that condition regarded more than one Nation. Well, and how are you good Subjects?

In troth, I think we are very good, easie Subjects, to suffer all to be restor'd in one Day that we had been getting for half an Age.

Admirable Pasquil! Well, but thou hast rambled all this while from thy Theme: Thou art a true Frenchman in thy Tongue at least, which is ever running a swift Course without any Goal before [Page 12]it. I thought I was to have had a decent Account of your late Con­versation.

Sir, I beg your Pardon, with all my heart: Why, Sir, what do you think this wicked Jade told me?

Come, out with it.

Why, Sir, as sure as you're alive, this Water-wagtail told me, that the whole business of this wicked Town was Love.

Say'st thou so, my little Anthony?

Nay, I knew 'twould please you, for you are such a Hawk at the Sex, that the very name of an Intrigue, tho' you were to cross the Sea for't, would be a Lure to you. But, pray, Sir, let me in­treat you to set me a better Example, that we may both leave this pernicious way; for, to tell you the truth, I have so great a respect for you, that I can no more forbear following all your steps like a true Serving man, than an old Sharper can those of a young Heir.

Leave off your Canting, Sirra, for thou lov'st. Woman's flesh as naturally as Spaniards love Constancy, or Englishmen Change.

But, Sir, how can you so soon forget the Beautiful Cornelia? I dare swear she's pining and languishing for her Contracted Husband.

Let her languish on: A foolish Wench, she might have had what she languish'd for, but Vertue, forsooth, flew in her face, and made her resolve to starve her Love. Now for a Woman, commend me to Olivia, that no sooner lov'd but nourish'd her desire, leaving the dull fantastick notion of Fame and Honour, for the lively substan­tial Enjoyment of Man and Happiness.

And yet you could forsake her too.

Yes, because she began to trouble me, like the other, with my promise of Marriage: They would have had me worn a very strait Shooe that galls and pinches one even to Lameness. To mar­ry is to open Pandora's Box, which is no sooner done, but all kinds of miseries flutter about your Ears.

And have you no qualms of Conscience for these things?

Not I, fool; Pleasure is my Employment, and my Consci­ence is subservient to it.

It must be he by what we have heard: Courage, Friends, prepare.

I'll have his head at the first stroak, an ungrateful Villain.

I hear a noise, Sir: Let us jog on and find the House, if it be possible.

Stay. Who's there? What's your business?

We come to send a Villain to the Devil.

I am Thunderstruck, I'm Dead; did not I tell you, Sir, that the injuries you have done to those Gentlewomen would come home to you, and now you have involv'd me too?

Anthony, stand up close to me, d'ee hear, or, by the Mass, I'll give you into their hands, whoever they are.

I will stand close, Sir. A pox confound them for me.

Well, who is this Villain you talk of? If you expect to find him here, you are deceiv'd.

We know you are a Villain, as sure as you are Don Philip, therefore fall on, Friends.

Nay, then 'tis time to defend our selves: Anthony, keep close to me, or d'ee hear, I shall thrust you before me to be first slain.

Poor Anthony! how hard it is that other Mens sins should fall upon thy head!

Will you hear me? I am not the Man you take me for: I am a stranger here.

No, no; fall on, fall on.

Courage, Lads, remember the Reward: 'Tis to kill a Villain, so 'tis no murder.

If he were an honest Man 'twere all one to me. What, e­very Man must live in his way.

O bloody-minded Rogues! I wish I do not swoon before the fight begins.

Since no intreaties will prevail, come on: I shall send some of you, blood hounds, to Hell, before you murder me, I shall.

Take Courage, Sir; you have one by your side that would stand by you, were the number of your Adversaries double.

Whoe'er you are, you are very generous.

Nay, then I'll e'en steal away, and save my self.

The Watch! The Watch! Let us shift for our selves!

Sir, I am extreamly in your debt for your timely assistance and should be glad to know of whom I have receiv'd so important a service.

I have done no more, Sir, than the duty of a Gentleman ob­lig'd me to; you were over-power'd by Numbers, and Humanity forc'd me to take your part. My name is of little moment to you, since I am a stranger in this Place.

You are my preserver, however: Let me intreat you then to be seen to morrow. The Watch, I find, is alarm'd, and will be e­very where; Their rudeness is to be avoided.

You may Command me any where in the morning.

Let it be then near the great Church, at Ten.

You'l please to give me Your name.

You must excuse me, Sir, for some private reasons, but if you'll please to wear this Sword, whose Hilt is of a remarkable Frame, and of no ordinary Value, I shall have the pleasure of knowing you again at the time and place.

The satisfaction you promise me, makes me willing to ex­change Swords, which I should otherwise be asham'd to do, since mine is of no value.

Good night, Sir.

Fortune ever attend you. Anthony: Where the Devil is he? Sure he is not dropt in the Fray: I ne'er miss'd him till now; but let him be where he will I must avoid this Watch.

Here this way they went. Let's after them.

Follow, follow!

I can go no way but these damn'd Constables, and their guard of Watchmen are upon the hunt. How to escape them, I don't well know.

The dogs are upon full scent, and I shall be finely mumbled if I stay here. Ha! a door open; nay, then there needs no pausing for a resolution what to do.

Here's one of the Rogues.

Come, bring him before our Prince of Darkness here, to be examin'd.

Prince of Darkness, hum! then am I in Hell it seems.

Come, Sir, in the first place, Who are you, that has had the Impudence to disturb the King's Peace, and the Quiet of our Government?

Truly, Sir, the King's Peace, and your Government put together, have made me forget my self in the Wonder.

Sir, I'll have you to know, I am the King's Image, and Viceroy of his Nocturnal hours in Valencia.

Nay, Sir, I beg your pardon now you have explain'd your self, and to give you no further trouble, my name is honest Anthony.

Honest Anthony! here's a Rogue now, when, as I am an Assistant to his Majesty's Image here, I found him cram'd in a Cellar Window.

Nay, 'tis very suspitions, let me tell you, Friends; for if he had not been upon some Wicked Design he would ne'er have hid himself.

Plain, plain: Some House-breaker.

I warrant he's a Cendary in his heart, and came to set fire to the City.

Like enough, truly, for tho' we have a Peace d'ee see, we ought to be upon our guard; else what our Enemies could not bring to pass by the Sword, they may try to do by Fire.

Pauvre Antoine!

D'ee hear, Mr. Constable, what Gibberish the Rogue speaks: I warrant that's Treason, if we knew what 'twas. I say, let him be hang'd without any more a-doe.

What, d'ee talk of hanging only: I humbly move, Mr. Constable, that he may be first hang'd and then drown'd.

Nay, hold a little, my hearts of Steel: The Law takes no­tice of Life and Death, d'ee see. Let us proceed regular, d'ee mind. If upon further Examination, that is — we find him a Vagabond —That is to say—a Fellow, that—you know my meaning.

Ay, ay: One that can't answer for himself.

Ay, that's it, Tom, the very thing I would have said: But as I was saying, if he can give no 'count of himself, that is—We'll put him in the Stocks till morning, d'ee mind, and then carry him before a Magistrate. This is a Constable's duty.

Ay, ay, 'tis so, Mr. Constable: I had forgot my self.

Well, Friend, since the Question of Who are you is answer'd, the next is always, What are you?

Ay, Sir, what are you? ha!

Why truly, Sir, I am a stranger here, I must own. But—

He has Condemn'd himself: A mischievous Rogue, I warrant him. What say you, Gentlemen, shall we proceed to Sentence?

Ay, ay, to Sentence, to Sentence.

And then to Execution with him.

Nay, good Gentlemen, do but hear me: I am not—

Stop his mouth for him; he's Convicted.

Ay, ay; 'tis not the custom for a Criminal to speak after Conviction. Be silent, you had best, and harken to your Sentence.

Well then, since we have, upon a full Hearing and a clear Evidence, found him to be a Rogue, the next thing is, to proceed to Sentence, which I pronounce thus. You are, Sirra, to sit in the Stocks till morning, and then you must expect to go to Prison, and from thence to be hang'd at least, if not impal'd alive.

O malheureux que Je suis!

Come, away with him; away with him.

Away! Away!

What, in the name of wonder, ail'st thou, Frederick, that thou canst not go to sleep? Is it not the time when Men forget their daily cares, and lay themselves to rest? All are at Peace within these [Page 16]Walls, but Thou. As I pass'd by Cornelia's Room, methought I could have crav'd admittance there, but that I recollected she was tir'd with her Journey, and 'twould be barbarous to wake her. Ha! wake her! What pretence have I to wake her? Wake whom, Cornelia, for what? Have a care, Frederick, this Woman runs in thy head so much, that there is no reason either in thy actions, or thy talk. Why then I am in Love, it seems: Speed you, Sir. In Love! with whom? Why, Cornelia. There 'tis again: With one, that has left a kind Father, to run a gadding after an Ungrateful Lover. O well plac'd Affection!

Well, since I can't sleep, I'll e'en walk out, and try if I can meet Don Bernardo.

How fast the Rascal is! Stretch'd upon the Floor he sleeps as hea [...] ­ly as if he had taken Opium. Thou hast no cares to keep thee wa­king, much happier than thy Master. Why Anthony?

Make no noise, but come hither.

What would your Worship have, Sir? you wak'd me out of the most extraordinary Dream.

What was your Dream, you sleepy sot? here, take the Candle.

Why, Sir, methought the World was turn'd Topsie-turvy; Integrity was come in fashion at Court, and Modesty the road to Preferment there. Great Ministers no longer wrack'd Attendance, and advanc'd Men of Worth, without putting them to the blush to ask. Lawyers forbore taking Fees on both sides, and Physicians af­ter their Patients were dead. The Clergy were in esteem for not going from their Text, and Tradesmen were grown Conscientions. Right and Wrong were no more the Subjects of Dispute, and Men of Sence valu'd Things more than Words. Envy and Ostentation were no longer known among Wits and Criticks, nor Controversies among Divines.

Why, this was a Golden Age.

Ay, Sir, would it were more than a Dream. But to pur­sue it, methought all Women were grown Vertuous; Balls and Mas­querades were quite laid aside; Vails and Vizards were out of doors, they were not suffer'd ev'n at the Playhouses; City Ladies no longer affected to out-shine Quality, nor Court Lords joynd issue with the Ci­ty. In a Word, Sir, Honesty, Discretion and good Breeding went hand in hand together.

But how will you Interpret this Dream?

Nay, Sir, if once you come to that, I know what 'twill come to—

What?

Ev'n nothing, Sir; for the rule of interpreting dreams is by their contraries.

Therefore you're out, for if you persue that rule, you have the very World we live in. But no more; I have a mind to walk out to try if I can meet Don Bernardo. Make no answer, but follow me.

SCENE the Street.

Hold, let me see; It must be hereabouts that I was set upon by Ruffians, and reliev'd by a strange Gentleman, when I miss'd my Man Anthony. Pray let us look about for him: 'Tis possible he may have fain in the Encounter; if he did, he shall have a decent Funeral for the Service he has done me. Yet I would not lose the Rogue neither, if I could help it, because he us'd to divert me often with his Country raillery.

You say Don Sebastian is not at home to night.

No, Seignor, begs you would excuse him till morning.

With all my heart.

Ha! who are these that come this way? One of your Lights, that I may view them.

Good Evening, Seignor.

Seignor, the like to you.

Ha! is not that Anthony?

As I live, Anthony risen from the dead.

Yes, Sirs, my name is Anthony, but I was never dead yet, I thank Heaven: If you will not believe me, my Master, who is gone before, will confirm, that I have been alive at least these two years.

How, Slave! have you forsaken me then, and, not only so soon found another Master, but do you banter me too?

Ha! what mean you, Friends? Forsaken whom? Whom has he banter'd? Pray give him leave to do his duty in fol­lowing me.

Hey day! Pray do you give your opinions of him?

Is not this Anthony, that came with me to your Master's House; and has been with me ever since, till within this half hour?

Why, what a Rogue are you, Anthony, to deny your self to your Master?

'Tis either Anthony, or the Devil in his shape, that's certain.

Now, Sir, are you convinc'd yet?

Of your mistake, I am sure you are all bewitch'd to talk thus. I tell you, he has liv'd with me these two years in Italy, and we are newly arriv'd here from thence.

Nay, Sir, since you are so positive, and he's such a Rascal to deny me, I have done: You shall keep your Man, and much good may he do you; only spare me one word, which is this, 'tis very cer­tain, that one and the self-same Person, could not have liv'd with me in Spain, and with you in Italy, at the same time; tho' one of our Modern Virtuosi has boldly undertaken to prove the possibility of such a thing. But, Sir, 'tis as certain, that this very individual Fellow that you have taken into your Service, has been my Man eve­ry day for these six months, or it must be the Devil in his Person.

Sir, we are all subject to be deceiv'd; 'tis likely your Man might bear some resemblance to him; that you are mistaken in him, I'll wager my Estate; for, I repeat it to you again, he has liv'd with me these two years.

Truly, Sir, I should be sorry to offend you, or any Gen­leman, but, upon my honest Word, Sir, I never saw your Face be­fore.

Be damn'd, Sir. Come, let us go: I'm weary of this illusion.

Ay, Sir, pray let us go, for fear it should be the Devil in good earnest.

Speed you, Sir, with your new servant.

What a Whimsical Adventure have I met with? I wonder what time of the Moon 'tis? Sure these Men have lost their Wits, they could ne'er have been so mistaken else. Well, the morning may discover more of this. I'll take t'other walk, and see what I can meet with next.

SCENE the First.

I Believe I surpris'd you, but I had no other way to escape the rude Watch, neither did I know whose door it was I so seasonably found open, tho' at an unseasonable hour.

My Lady was horribly frightned, when I told her first of it, but when she was a little recover'd, she call'd me to her Bedside, and whisp'ring, least her Aunt, whom she lay with, should hear her, charg'd me to beg your Excuse for her not seeing you; and that you might be convinc'd, 'twas nothing but the fear of her Aunt, if she should attempt to rise, that hindred it: She commanded me to present you with this Ring, as a Testimony of her Favour.

Nay then, Mrs. Dorila, you must oblige me so far as to accept of this.

Pray tell your Lady, I'll ever wear it for her sake, and to morrow I hope to acknowledge to her in Person, this generous Favour. In the mean time, pray do you make my Excuse to her for this Accident, and the disturbance I have unhappily caus'd her. Good morrow, Mrs. Dorila.

I shall obey your Commands, Seignor.

I am glad he's gone, for if Don Sebastian and he should have met here, there would have been fine Work. Now doth this Amorist believe he has receiv'd a signal favour from his Mistress, when in truth she knows nothing of the matter. The Ring's but a Trifle, and was given her formerly by Don Philip, and she gave it me: However, as soon as her Lover Sebastian goes, I must acquaint her with it to prepare her against the next time she sees Bernardo. Well, let the Men say what they will, our Wits are quickest, that's certain.

SCENE the Street.

Poor Anthony! This Punishment is certainly a Judgment up­on thee for serving so debauch'd a Master. Well, Don Philip, [Page 20]you have been met with too: If you are slain by those Ruffians I left you engaged with, why then my Cowardice has got the advantage of your Courage. If you have escap'd them, I hope the danger will be a warming for you to reform your Life. O my Legs, my Legs! Now am I just for all the World as if I were Married. Ha! who comes here?

'Tis yet too early to go home for one of my wakeful Consti­tution. I'll e'en saunter about, and if nothing happens worthy my humble attention here below, I'll erect my face, and please my self with the observation of the growing day: Nor is't an unprofitable Amusement to view the separation of Light and Darkness, to see day and night struggle for Empire. For by this reflection may one learn the nature of humane passions, that at first make wild conten­tion with our Reason, which rising by degrees like the Lights force, disperses all their gloom, and brings forth Day to the Understanding.

This must be some Philosopher, or Star-gazer.

Ha! One so near me. Who are you, speak?

No Dancing-master—for I want Legs.

Sure 'tis Anthony's voice.

Why, how now, Anthony, how came you here, and in this humility?

Sir, if you'll vouchsafe to let me know how you came so well acquainted with me, I'll soon answer you.

What, is your Preferment so great, that you have forgot me? I could hardly have expected to have found the Quality of a Great Man in the Stocks.

You are a very pleasant Gentleman. But, Sir, 'tis an un­seasonable time for mirth; and take this from me, I never saw you in my Life before.

Sure he's distracted. Pray, who are you, Friend?

I am a Native of that Country that you scorn, tho' it has made you tremble. I have the honour to be a Subject of the Grand Monarque, who, in time of War, knew how to turn a Skirmish into a great Fight; the reduction of a Village into that of an invincible Castle, and the loss of a Battle into an absolute Victory, and sung Te Deum for them all.

A very Politick Person! And where do you live, my notable States-man?

In the Stocks.

Good. But where, before you were thus exalted?

I serv'd a Spaniard.

All this agrees mighty well. Pray, what's his name?

Personne. Il u'en a point.

Now his fit returns; poor fellow.

Was it not enough I told you that I serv'd a Spaniard. By all my wrongs 'twas too much; 'twas adding to the disgrace I am un­der. Those of our Country should Command, not Serve; at least not serve a thing so stupid as a Spaniard: One that prefers a lazy Luxury before an active Frugality, and would not lose a formal Ceremony, or part with an Inch of his Grandeur to save his Country from Ruin.

This is notorious Truth, tho it come from the mouth of a Madman. Farewel, Anthony. I'll send you relief in the morning.

You'l do more than I expect then.

Who should this Man be? I never saw him in my Life before, and yet he will needs be acquainted with me. Well, if he should send to re­lease me, according to his promise, I shall be oblig'd to him, that's certain. So I were out of this noose, I should not care if I were to be converted into a Spaniard, or an Englishman, tho they are as much ex­treams as Fire and Water: For as one by his Violence always shoots beyond the Mark, so the other by his Laziness ever falls short of his Distance.

Ha! I don't like these Fellows. still as I go on, they follow me. I turn'd down this Street on purpose to avoid them, and yet they are here. I'll make what hast I can homewards, or try to lose them by the way.

It must be Don Philip by the glittering of his Sword-hilt. I took particular notice of that before.

So did I. Sure it must be set with Diamonds.

So much the better still, Boys, 'tis lucky we have found him again. Come, we may dispatch him yet.

Away, away. We lose time.

Nay, if you follow me still, I may well suspect your design. So, I am met with for my Curiosity. But hold, sure I am come round again to Eleonora's. By my surprize I am. I'll strive to get in here before they come up to me. St. Eleonora, Dorila, Hem.

Who calls Eleonora at this early hour?

'Tis I, Bernardo. For Heavens sake, dear Creature, let me in this moment, for I am pursu'd by Ruffians. Use no delay or ob­jection, for if you do I am a Dead Man.

Pho, this is one of the Artifices of you young Fellows, to se­duce a tender Maid. You must excuse me, Seignor. Besides, if I had an inclination, my Aunt is yet stirring, and it concerns my Ho­nour, and Well-being with her not to admit you.

Come you are design'd to preserve me, for let me go which way I will to night, still I meet with your House. 'Twill be now the second time my shelter this night from imminent Danger.

Indeed, Sir! you talk strangely. My doors are never open'd at late hours to any one.

'Sdeath, Madam, what do you mean? the Ring, the Ring.

What of a Ring? I don't know your sign, Sir, 'Tis plain you are mistaken in the House, therefore Adieu.

Mistaken in the House, that's impossible. Neither can I be in that deluding Voice. Is it not cruel to trifle with me thus at such a time? Alas! she's gone indeed. Discourteous Eleonora! Well, if they do assault me, I must e'en defend my self as well as I can.

There he is like a Rat caught in a Trap. He can retire no further.

But hold, hold. Let us be sure 'tis he before we send him to Lucifer's Dominions. I would not kill a wrong man neither.

What d'ee talk of a wrong man? don't you see how his Sword glitters? it must be he by that.

Ay, but if I thought he were not the right-man I would not be concern'd.

Why 'tis he, what a pox d'ee ail? I'll swear it upon any Mass-book in Spain. What do you flinch now? you have forgot the Reward sure.

The reward, let me see. Mass, and so I had. A hundred Crowns, Mass, 'tis enough to slay an Emperor. Come, he dies.

Come on then, let us move towards him.

Ay, ay, it must be he: 'Tis the very Sword he had before.

What's your design, Friends, in following me thus?

Nay, you are mistaken, we are none of your friends, and for our design, that you may guess at by your own Villanys.

Villanys? you amaze me. I am a Stranger here, and have done wrong to none.

We'll soon try if we are mistaken. Know we are reso­lute, and will trifle no longer.

Nay, if you are so bent to murder me, I'll sell my Life as dear as I can.

The noise of Swords brings Don Frederick that way.

Ha! three against one, Cowardly Villains! 'tis Bernardo, as I live.

Courage, my Friend.

You were never more wellcome.

Nay, if you are there abouts, I'll wait here for the Issue of the Engagement.

Dogs, Villains.

Blood-sucking Sons of Whores.

So, here's one of them rewarded.

O spare my Life, and I'll confess all.

Ha! not dead: then we may learn this Mystery.

O Seignor, is not your name Don Philip de Monasco?

No, you are deceiv'd.

Truly, Sir, I was in some doubt of it before, but my Companions said they knew you by the glittering of your Sword.

Ha! Don Philip, by the glittering of my Sword! but sup­pose it had been Philip, how were you induced to commit violence upon him.

We were hired to it by one Donna Eleonora that lives hard by.

My barbarous Mistress, as I live!

Well, what was it for, come, out with all, or the Watch shall have you.

She only told us he had wrong'd her so heinously, that it was not to be forgiven, and we were to have a hundred Crowns for our Reward.

Well, you may go. But, do you hear, if you are wise, This mercy that I shew to you, will be a means to make you change your Life.

Seignor, you have so work't upon me with your generosity, that I here make a solemn protestation to become another Man.

'Twill be the better for you.

Come to my Arms, my much lov'd Frederick. You have preserv'd me. who is that with you, Anthony?

What, my service was taken no notice of. I am sure you had not been alive but for me. My Arm akes plaguely with hacking and hewing your enemies.

Yes, you make vast havock always, when you are half a mile from the Battel.

I have ever your good word. O my Arm!

Don't your Leggs ake too, Anthony?

Nay my Leggs are maul'd too, that's the truth on't, by thrusting in among you.

But I mean by the Fetters I found you in but now.

Fetters, Sir!

How the Devil came he in the Stocks to night, Frederick?

In the Stocks, you amaze me.

I in the Stocks! sure the Danger you have been in has distracted you, Sir.

Sure you are both in a Conspiracy to banter me.

Can you be serious, Bernardo? prethee no more of this.

Nay, by St. Jago I saw him there, fix'd to the Stocks like any Vagabond within this half hour.

Meer Banter. We are but newly come from the Lodging to seek you.

Why then I have seen the Devil to night, that's all. 'Twas one so like him in Voice, Person, and Raillery after his way, that I am amaz'd to hear you thus deny 'twas He.

Sure the Devil doth walk to night, for since I came out I have met with much such another accident, which you shall hear a­non. But prethee what else has thy curiosity discover'd?

This night has been lavish of her Adventures, I'll assure you, For besides this Mystery of Anthony, I have rescu'd a man from Villains, who, I have reason to believe was Don Philip de Mo­nasco, and he has appointed to meet me this morning near the Great Church. Some other things I have met with too, but they are secrets.

Well, Sir, I have a secret for your secret. This night has indeed been lavish of her Adventures.

Keep it close, Don Frederick.

That you may depend on.

Nothing can Wrest it from me, but the obligation of being trusted with yours first.

O Devil, are you thereabouts? but this insinuation will n'er prevail to extort a secret, that I am injoyn'd to keep particularly from thee.

Ha! that I must own, whetts my curiosity. Prithee, Don Bernardo, come, you shall have a secret for your secret. In good faith, I have one in my keeping.

That you are impatient to get rid of, I thank you, Sir. no, no, hold there. I can be trusted with a secret even among the Women. I have not the vanity of most young Fellows of the Town, who think the Pleasure of Telling the principal part of their Hap­piness with Ladys.

Then 'tis with a Lady, it seems.

Nay that doth not directly follow: But, faith, to be inge­nuous with you, there is a Lady in the Case.

Then there are two Ladys in the case, Boy. And One of such a matchless form, so Graceful, so surprizing Fair, so infinitely Charming, that as she can have no equal upon Earth, so she is above all Human Description.

Ha! Where is this Goddess to be seen? wilt thou not tell me, Frederick? shan't your dear friend have a sight of her?

Oh, I knew I should be even with you. A Sight of her! You must excuse me, Sir. Goddesses are invisible to Mortal Eyes.

Well, I see when once a Man has indulg'd the Humour of ban­tering, 'tis as hard for him to leave it, as 'tis for a Poet to cease Writing, when he has once begun.

Or as 'tis for you to avoid wishing to go to Bed to every De­scription of a fine Woman that you hear.

Well, you have surpriz'd me. But prithee, put me in Mind, as we Walk, and I'll disclose something to you that was a Secret, but is no longer worthy to be so.

I knew he could not hold.

Come on then, let us Walk.

First give me leave, Frederick, for my Satisfaction, to order your Man Anthony to place himself near those Lodgings, to bring me Word if any Man comes out, when it grows Lighter.

Heyday, what's to do now!

You shall know as we Walk.

This is some Jealousy about a Wench, I'll lay my Life.

She's a handsome one at least then, and you know Venus is predominant over me.

Yes, yes. 'Tis a Superstition much in fashion with young Fellows. You will be wiser, Don Bernardo.

You shall know presently that I have begun at least already, by throwing off this Woman, near whose Lodgings your Man is to watch. And the Wise say, That a Good Beginning is half a Cure. But come, let us walk homewards. Anthony, be sure you place your self somewhere about that Door, that you may discover who comes out this Morning, and bring an exact account home to us.

I shall do my best, Sir, to satisfy you.

Now, let us walk.

Come on, my trusty Adventurer.

Scene I. The Street near Eleonora's.

WAS there ever such a Cormorant at Whoring as this Don Bernardo? no Place, no Time, nor no Woman almost can be free from his Persecutions. A Pox of these Night-do­ings, and what else can be the end of them! Hark, the Door opens.

Well, and must Nelly part with her dear Don then?

'Tis for your Service I go so soon, my Dear.

For your own rather.

You might have stay'd with me all day, my Love, for once.

How unreasonable a Creature is Woman!

And tho' I have been nicely careful of my Reputation, yet for your Company I could venture all things.

A very civil Person!

Thou know'st, my Eleonora, there is no Ingratitude on my side. Thou know'st the Promises I have made thee, and may'st rely on the Performance of them. Nor should I now want Intreaties to stay with thee, but that I have a Guest at home, whose Goodness, tho' a Friend, I must not trespass on too far. Besides, to leave him any l [...]nger would not only seem like forgetfulness, but ill manners.

I hope the Ruffians too have remembred him before this time.

Madam, good morrow. We may be seen, if I stay longer.

Well, if you must go, Don Sebastian.

Don Sebastian, good!

You are unkind not to understand me.

What dost thou mean, Child?

Psha, you can't tell a Woman's meaning, I warrant you.

What can she drive at?

You keep me in the Dark, my Dear.

I swear I could chide you, you are so dull.

My Angel, thou shalt have twenty of them presently.

A Pox on them, how they make my Chops Water!

Nay now you take my Breath away.

Good morrow to my Joy.

Adieu.

But stay, I had forgot one thing.

When will you come and see poor Nelly again?

You'l send me your Commands.

Well, adieu.

Sebastian goes cross the Stage muffled, and meets Anthony passing.

There goes Anthony Don Philip's Man, but I must not disco­ver my self to him.

Don Sebastian, your Servant. Now will I go home and disclose what I have seen to Don Bernardo. Let me see, their names [Page 27]are Eleonora and Sebastian, and the Scene between them at parting will make Bernardo cursedly jealous, I know. Well, he shall have it all, that's certain; who knows but it may cure him of his frenzy? Especially when 'tis improv'd with some of my heightning Colours. Et bien, allez Monsieur Antoine.

SCENE Eleonora's Lodgings.

Won't you go and lye down, Madam? you must needs want rest, for 'twas morning when Don Sebastian came.

No, no. I have other things to mind, before I can take any true rest. Wee'l Sleep hereafter, Dorila, when we have brought our Designs about.

How stand affairs with him? doth he hold kind?

In all appearance he doth. The same indearments pass'd be­tween us as usual, and when he parted, he gave me more assurances of his Resolution to marry me. But still to be in expectation only is not to be so easie as I could wish: I hope Bernardo got off safe, for if the Men I hir'd to dispatch Philip should have mistaken him in the Dark for the other, there's a part of my Design confounded.

Or grant he be come off, your denying to admit him at such a dangerous time may provoke him to think no more of you.

'Twas very unlucky that he should call again before you had acquainted me with the business of the Ring. But since such an Ac­cident has happen'd, I confess I don't disapprove of the Stratagem you devis'd to get him away. Well, Dorila, you shall be no Loser by the Ring.

I thank you, Madam. We never want invention at a Shift, you know. But how will you do to excuse your self to him?

I'll go and write to him this minute, and endeavour that way to make him forget the usage of last Night, and if I can but insinuate my self into his forgiveness, and find him so much a Lover as I think him, who knows what it may end in?

Articles of Matrimony perchance, if you hold the Fort out well.

I warrant thee, girl. 'Tis not all the Artillery of his Arguments, that can perswade me to another surrender without honourable Terms. I was always averse to this way of Living, and am now resov'd to take up with the first likely Husband I can get, with Schastian, or Ber­narde, or any Body else, I am indifferent who 'tis, so 'tis a Husband. But come, I'll go and Write.

SCENE Don Frederick's Lodgings. A Bed­chamber.

I had not presum'd to disturb you, Madam, but that I heard you were stirring. This Philip, whom you ought to forger, won't let you Sleep, I find.

You rally me, Sir, perhaps justly enough. But alas! when 'tis our Fate, we can no more help. Loving, than we can Dying.

Ay, but when a Man abuses Love, and counterfeits a Passion to delude a Woman, methinks the force of Reason should make her despise him after the Discovery of the Cheat.

You argue very well, Sir, and according to reason: But don't you know that Love and Reason are inconsistent?

But, Sir, is there any News of him in Valencia? your obliging promise makes me hope you have made some enquiry after him.

Madam, I have: and can inform you that I hope to find him in this Town.

Where, Where? O tell me quickly, that I may fly to see him.

Amazement! That so ungrateful a Wretch should be lov'd by so beautiful a Creature, whom he has abus'd beyond all patience!

Don Frederick, my Friend, for I dare call you so. Where is this Rambler to be found?

Madam, you honour me very much, but I had rather be thought to deserve another Name.

What other Name? are not you call'd Don Frederick? Or is Friend too little for you? I thought it comprehended the utmost E­steem.

Esteem alone's a trifle, Madam, to that which I would merit. 'Tis your Love, fair Excellence, that I aspire to raise. You have so wounded me with your resistless Beauty, that nothing but the Posses­sion of those Charms that made the mischief, can effect the Cure.

Sir, I took you to be more generous than to triumph over a distress'd Maid.

By all that's sacred I am sincere. Don Philip may abuse you, but not Frederick. I have a Heart unpractis'd in Deceit: A Heart that ne'er was tortur'd with the pangs of Love, till now.

I do confess I thought you very honest.

I thank my Stars I can boast of it. O do not refuse so passi­onate, and yet so true a Lover.

I do intreat you, Sir, forbear. You know I am engag'd to one I love.

But to one you ought to loath. A Man that has scorn'd and abus'd you.

And yet I love him, Frederick.

The more's the Pity. What can you propose by following such a treacherous Fellow?

To reclaim him, or to be reveng'd.

The first you'l find impracticable. 'Tis like besieging a very strong Town with a small Force. You will but expose your self to Contempt and Ruine.

Why then I'll be reveng'd.

That you may by indulging my Suit. Come, let it not be said that the heavenly Cornelia was inexorable. Give me but Hopes, and you set me in the way to Paradise.

Revenge is so sweet, that upon Condition you let me see Philip, and he denies to own me for his Wife, I could almost be per­swaded to believe you.

I accept the Condition with as much Transport of Bliss, as e're Condemn'd Criminal receiv'd his pardon. Now will I go and search my Doom. Life or Death depends on a few hours. But, Ma­dam, I must intreat you to consent that I may acquaint your Brother with your Circumstance, that we may be the Stronger for the Execu­tion of our Design.

I resign my self to your Conduct.

I'll wait on you again, when I have prepar'd Don Bernardo.

SCENE Changes to another Room.

If I can trust my Eyes, the more I look the more I am amaz'd. This very Ring, or my Sight is not my own, I gave my Sister Corne­lia, when I departed last from Alcamara. That it should be found in Valencia gives me Wonder, but that it should be sent me from Donna Eleonora pats me into Confusion. Well, things have been strangely carried to night in Valencia.

Seignor, a Young Gentleman without desires to be admit­ted.

Admit him. This Ring won't out of my Head. When I con­sider the Accident by which I obtain'd it, and the succeeding one, wherein the same Eleonora that sent it, seem'd to know nothing of the matter, I must own I can't but fancy 'tis all a Dream.

Am I not bold, Sir, to venture within the Roof where an an­gry Brother might be found, that would kill me if he knew me.

You are both safe and welcome here.

I have fasten'd the Door, lest Don Frederick should chance to fall in.

Well, Sir, have you heard any thing of Don Philip, since I saw you?

O, I find I am oblig'd to your Impatience to hear of Him for this Visit.

Good Sir, Torture me not with Supence: If you have not, I am come to claim your Promise to assist me in searching after him.

Sure there is Inchantment in Love, that it can make People thus eager to pursue their Ruine!

Alas! your Reflections are now out of Season. I beseech you answer me to the purpose.

I am deceiv'd, or I sav'd his Life last Night, when he was en­counter'd by Ruffians.

A thousand Blessings attend you for it. But are you sure 'twas he.

By several Circumstances I am almost assur'd. But this Morning at Ten I am to meet the Man I rescu'd. He would not give me his Name, but desir'd me to exchange Swords with him, that he might know me again by that. Here's that I had of him.

O, 'tis he. 'Tis Don Philip. 'Tis the very Sword I have seen him wear. I know it from a thousand.

Well, since 'tis so, if you please, we'll go together to the Great Church, where I have appointed to meet him.

With all my Heart. O lucky Discovery!

But one thing will be necessary first. 'Tis fit Don Frederick should be acquainted with your affairs.

Be it as you please. I trust to you.

In the mean time pray use my Apartment. You'l see no Bo­dy to disturb you.

Ha! either my Eyes deceive me, or there's his Servant Anthony. Hold, Friend, be not in such hast. Where's thy Master?

Seignor, I want to find him.

What, did you expect to find him in this House.

'Tis most likely to find him at home, for He's no Gadder ab [...]ad. I'll assure you.

What, doth Don Philip then lie in this House?

No, Sir, who said he did?

Why, didst not thou this moment?

Not I, by St. Jago.

Prithee leave off thy old fooling.

It seems you know me then.

Alas! but too well.

Truly, Sir, I have not the good Fortune to remember you.

That may very well be. But prithee tell me, how long has Don Philip lodg▪d here?

Why, Sir, he doth not lodge here; nor ever did, that I know of; and more than that, Sir, I know no such Person. Now, Sir▪ I must beg your leave to go through to that Apartment, to see if my Master be there, that I may discharge my Errand.

What▪s the meaning of this?

You seem, Sir, to have been mov'd to some Surprize about that Fellow. Pray, Who do you take him for?

Have I not Reason, Sir, if I'm alive 'tis he.

Pray, who?

Why Don Philip de Monas [...]o's Man.

Do you know that Don Philip, Sir?

I have some Cause, Sir.

Then you know a Villain.

You shock me, Sir; for he's my Friend, and I must not hear him wrong'd.

How long has he been your Friend?

A great while. He is my Bosom-Friend.

Those Bosom-Friends prove often our worst Foes.

But I have try'd him.

He may deeeive you still. If you were a Woman, he wou'd certainly.

Ha! Sure he doth not know me.

Why do you think so?

Because he is a Man.

Your Satyr's too extensive. We are not all false.

I fear all.

You have accus'd your self.

No, I accus'd the Men.

Are not you one?

Yes, yes, Sir; but I meant such Men as Don Philip. Alas! I had like to have discover'd my self.

Sir, I beg you would excuse me. I am a little thoughtful, and know not what I say. If you lodge here, I shall be glad of your Acquain­tance.

I do but visit here, Sir. But if you have any Justice to demand of Philip, I'll let him know it.

The World shall know it soon. This Morning I expect my self to see him.

Pray how long has he he been in Valencia?

That I know not; but that he is here, I have had some In­formation. Good morrow, Sir.

Who can this be? He seems to have some Resentment against Don Philip, therefore it must be my Care to prevent its bursting out into a Flame. I'll enquire about him.

Another Room.

For Don Bernardio. 'Tis a Woman's Hand by the over-spel­ling.

Sure no Jesuit ever confess'd more Women, than thou hast brought to the Altar of Venus. See here

Oh 'tis from Eleonora. She would ex­cuse her Behaviour to me last-Night. But I despise her now as much as e're I lov'd her. I hope her Barbarity will make me forget the whole Sex.

A wholsom Resolution, if you could keep it. I suppose I may read the Letter.

Yes, and visit the Lady if you please.

Nay then you are indifferent indeed.

A Jilt! with what a face she carrys it on! Well, you'l Vi­sit her in the Afternoon, I suppose.

No, Frederick, but you shall in my Room, if you think good. For my part, her usage last night has so provok'd me, that I have not so much as Indifference left for her. Besides, this fawning trick of a Letter perswades me that she's a Jilt.

I am glad you are of my mind. That she is so, I'll venture the reversion of my Father's Estate. What, don't I know their sub­tle, coy, dissembling, fond, alluring, false Designs? Proteus himself had fewer Shapes, than one of these jilting Whores. They are like Aristotle's first matter, capable of any Form.

Let her be what she will, I'll send her an answer, but it shall be an honester Letter: For I'll tell her in plain Terms 'tis my Incli­nation to forget her.

But hold, here's Anthony return'd, whom we left upon the Watch.

Well, Sir, what has your Curiosity discover'd?

No miracle, Seignor, for I have seen a Fornicator come out of a Whore's Lodgings.

Have a care whom you asperse, Sirra.

I hope I may trust my sight; but if that alone won't do, I have another sense to back it. I heard as well as saw.

Well, what was it you heard?

I heard one Eleonora take her leave of one Sebastian.

Sebastian! Are you sure 'twas such a Name?

I think I am not deaf. And when he was going, she came out with him, and there was such Ceremony at parting, such Unwil­lingness to let him go, so many soft things, such Kissing and such Dy­ing [Page 34]on her side, and such a cold Civility and Backwardness to under­stand her on his, that for my part—

You wondred he could leave the Banquet so soon, and wish'd your self in his Place.

What, when the Soup was pall'd, and had lost its Gusto. No, I thank you.

Why could not you have had prtience till it had been cook'd up again?

'Tis somewhat a la Francoise indeed. But truly I have more Nicety. 'Tis not a mon gout.

Enough, enough; leave us.

What, think you now, my Amorist?

That Women are no more to be beleiv'd than Courtiers. They differ only in this, Women deceive us by Nature, Courtiers by Art.

Nay, this imposition doth not want Art, I'll assure you.

Ay, but I mean Women▪s Inclinations to deceive us are born with them Are they not continually forging Plots to make some Traffick or other of us? Sure they are our evil Genius's, for there is scarce a false Path in Life that we are not led into by their foolish Con­duct. And yet we follow on, as if they were the Leading-strings of Fate, and we were doom'd in this World to the punishment of being miguised by the weaker Sex.

Nay, now you are unreasonably severe, but 'tis too much an Extremity to last long. This is only the hot Fit of the Ague.

But you know the Cold one succeeds it, and that is still a greater Mark of Contempt.

'Tis granted. But for my part, I can't commend Extreams in any thing. And yet I am grown since last Night, wilt thou be­leive it, my Friend? A most passionate Lover.

Prithee know thy self a little better.

All other knowledge but that of the unparalell'd Cornelia, is like the Comparison of the Stars with the Sun.

You amaze me, what Cornelia. do you mean!

Don Bernardo, prepare your self for something that will fur­prize you.

Speak out. I am ready.

Should you not wonder to find your Sister in this Place?

Very much, Sir. Pray, what mean you?

Disguis'd too in Man's Cloaths, I saw her.

Are you distracted, Frederick?

No, Don Bernardo, unless it be with Joy. I have hopes, my Friend if Don Philip prove but false.

Don Philip too! What is all this?

I knew you would be surpriz'd. But pray compose your self, and I'll disclose a Secret, which 'tis convenient you should know.

Speak it aloud, if it concern my Honour.

It doth indeed. And to let you know it in a Word, Don Philip, whom you so lately rescu'd, once made pretensions to your Sister, but they were such as Virtue could not hear, and yet she lov'd him.

That is, she had a Mind to be undone, but a little of her Sex's Pride sav'd her.

You shall hear. He soon perceiv'd her seeming Weakness, and laid his Batteries against that part, but bravely she repuls'd him. In short they both engag'd again, till having made Trial of each o­thers Force, they drew off and parred. Some Articles, it seems, had been agreed to on both sides, but he refusing to perform his part your Sister grew incens'd, and in disguise pursu'd him to this Place.

You would imply they were contracted, and after he refus'd to marry her, but sought only to abuse her.

You have it. Yet she loves him.

Base Villain! but you shall do her Justice, you shall, or by Heav'n I'll root out your perfidious Tongue. Now Ring, your My­stery is out. An unlick'd Brute, to throw away a Lady's Favour, which any one else would have esteem'd invaluable.

But hold. Don Frederick, you gave me Caution to be prep ar'd to hear what has indeed astonish'd me.

I beleive so.

Now do you guard your self against a worse Event

Ha! speak out.

Are you prepar'd against surprize?

Speak. I defy surprize.

Why then the same perfidious Dog has whor'd thy Sister, and forsaken her.

Have a care, I charge thee. My Sister, and a Whore by the same Don Philip. Sure you want sleep, Bernardo.

I wonder not at your Amazement, but so it is.

'Tis a rank Falshood. Bernardo, you have suggested this to abuse me. Now by the untainted Honour of our House, Olivia must be honest.

The Contradiction was unmannerly. But Thou art Angry, and I consider Rashness is the Birth of Anger, or by the King of Spain I would not bear it.

I do confess my Fault, and ask your Pardon. But, prithee tell me, What dost thou mean about Olivia?

That I have met with her to Night in Valencia, and have heard her Story, which acquainted me with his villanous Desertion after he had obtain'd her.

If this be so, by all that's Great and Pow'rful, this Day's his Last, if he refuse to Wed her.

Nay there I am for you. But hold, let me see! How shall I do Justice then for Cornelia?

'Tis true; Cornelia must be righted, tho' Olivia suffer.

Not so neither. Let Justice have its Course. It seems, you know her Story.

I do, which you shall have anon.

Which done, we'll refer all to Philip at the time of Appoint­ment this Morning; and if he refuse to marry Her whom it shall ap­pear he has most wrong'd, he must have speedy Punishment.

Agreed; and tho' I love your Sister most passionately, if she appears most wrong'd, I'll force him to receive her for his Wife, or Die in the Attempt.

'Tis generously resolv'd. Tho' for your sake I wish it on Oli­via's side, that we may be more than Friends, Brothers.

If Providence so orders it, I shall be supreamly bless'd on Earth. Such a Wife and such a Brother would set me above a Throne.

We must leave all to Fate. But come, I'll go write to this barbarous Eleonora, and then for our meeting with Don Philip at the Church.

With all my Heart.

Scene I. The Street.

ARe you sure you saw him so early, and alone?

'Twas he, or my Eyes deceiv'd me much. But I am amaz'd to hear how you lost him; sure he is distracted.

Hang him, to deny me to my Face, and to follow another Master without any cause of Disgust—I know not what to think.

'Tis a Riddle indeed beyond my Ability to solve.

And beneath your Care. 'Tis but a Fool lost.

I wonder who 'twas came to your assistance last Night.

'Twas then too dark to distinguish him, but I promis'd to meet him at Ten this Morning near the Great Church. Let me see.

'Tis within half an hour on't.

I believe it may.

Ha! What's that she has dropt?

Me­thought 'twas Dorila, that went into her Mistress's. For Donna Ele­onora. Unseal'd too, then 'twill be no ill Manners to open it.

Now who art thou from? Bernardo. 'Tis from a Man it seems. Let me see.

Nay, nay, you'l let me share in the Accident, I hope.

I begg you would excuse me. It happens to be a Secret where­in I am more than ordinarily concern'd.

Then I am no longer curious.

Now I have a very fair occasion to get rid of an old Mistress, that I have long suspected to play me false. This Letter is convincing▪ The Obligation I was under of my promise to marry her, join'd with the Charms I still found in her, kept me to my usual Complaisance, and Heaven knows how far two such pow'rful Advocates as Honour and Beauty might have prevail'd but for this fortunate Accident. Marry her! Forbid it all ye Powers. Now by St. Jago, I'd sooner Wed Infection. Hateful Eleonora! I'll go to her this Moment, and declare my Resolution

My dear Friend, I begg your Excuse. I have found somwhat of much Import to me, that requires my immediate absence for a few Moments. I'll meet you near the Church forthwith; do you wait up­on Don Philip.

Some Amour of his at bottom, I'll lay my Life. This Love is as infectious as the Plague, and diffuses it self as hastily, but is not quite so mortal, Heav'n be prais'd. Whatever Darts and Flames some People find in it, I thank my Stars I am yet Heart-whole [Page 38]Languishing and Dying for a Woman's Toy is such a Jest with all my Heatt. Sir, pray sing the Song I so much admire.

Here's something for your Trouble. Now towards the Church.

Dorila, where's your Mistress?

She's in her Chamber, Seignor.

Let her know I am here.

I shall, Sir, and she'll be o'erjoy'd to see you here again so soon.

I don't like this sudden return tho'. I wish it doth not presage some extraordinary event.

Her Joy will be soon abated, when she sees me depart again so soon, at least upon such an Occasion. Now must I resolve to be Flint, or she with her damn'd, alluring, female Wiles will melt me to forgiveness. But— I have thought on a Way to counter­mine her.

O my Dear Sebastian.

This is unexpectedly kind to return so soon. Beleive me, I am so full of Joy, I want Words to express it.

Avaunt, thou fawning Strumpet. Thou Spirit of Delusion. See here this Letter. Have I not foster'd thee in my Bosom most tenderly, and Thou, like an ungrateful Viper, hast set thy Teeth against thy Preserver?

You are soon offended, Seignor, at nothing. 'Tis true, I did receive this Letter. But pray, Sir, how am I to blame if Men will be so impertinent as to write to me. Besides, you see he confesses that I us'd him ill.

Yes, you have your Arts to shew your seeming Frowns some­times, to provoke Men to study how to reconcile you. This is your Sex's Method to draw us on to our Ruine. Go, you are perfidious, and remember 'twas your own inconstancy not mine, that caus'd our Se­paration.

Shall it then be said that Don Sebastian did but seem to be a Man of Honour, and good Nature, not easily possess'd with Fancies, slow of Belief, a Lover of his Friend, soon provok'd, but soon return­ing to himself? you see, this is the trick of a malicious Fellow to ruine me. For that's the Consequence, when my Sebastian thinks me false.

So. This I expected.

Madam, You need not be so much concern'd. The World is wide enough, and Fools are plenty.

What, will you go without hearing me? The vilest Criminal is allow'd his Defence. I am not guilty, do but hear me.

No, that's playing at hazard. Why should I attempt to throw again, when I have nick'd you already? Farewel.

and Dorila hold him.] Do but hear us, let us both intreat you.

You are both as false as Hell.

So. Farewel. I▪ll never fee you more.

Devil, you are the cause of all this. Now may I go and hang my self.

I am as much concern'd, Madam, as 'tis possible. You can't believe I dropt the Letter on purpose.

How do I know but you did! I believe you and Bernardo are in a Conspiracy to undo me.

You reward me liberally for all my Services. I thought I had given you sufficient Proofs of my Fidelity.

How couldst thou drop that Letter so unhappily? Or what had you to do to meddle with it?

I thought I had taken more than ordinary Care of it; for I put it into my Bosom when I went to make Enquiry after the Ruffians, and how I dropt it by the way, or where, I can't imagine.

A greater Misfortune sure could not have happen'd to me: For now my Expectations are all cross'd, my springing Hopes are blasted in the Bud, and nought remains but wither'd Disappointment, and a fruitless Wast of Despair.

Have Patience, Madam, they have but serv'd you like Men, which may be a Warning to you hereafter not to trust any of the Sex.

Trusted! No; they shall be despis'd by me for ever. Certain­ly there is not in the Creation so vile a Monster as Man, and yet we Women are such Fools to liken him to an Angel.

That's before we know him. As soon as Curiosity has brought us acquainted with him, we see the Devil lurking under that Angel's Form.

O that I could recover my stoln Honour, and those Golden days of innocence which I enjoy'd, but knew not how to prize, be­fore I listen'd to false Man. Curse upon the Sex, they are all dissem­bling Villains, Curse on my Ears for hearkning to their Arguments, and doubly curs'd be my Credulity for trusting them beyond the bounds of Vertue.

Restrain your passion, Madam.

Yes, I will, you shall see I will.

Trust them no more, forget them, there lies your happiness. Ha! But how forget them to be happy. I have it. I thank you, friendly Powers, that have so soon spread forth your Providence. I'll turn Nun, and spend the remainder of my Days in penitence for my past Offences.

Are you in your Wits? good Venus, how you talk?

Somewhat disagreeably to your Tast, it seems. But, know, I am determin'd, and most fortunately this very Day is the great Festi­val of St. Jago, a proper Day to enter into my year of Probation.

Why then you are another Magdalen. But truly if I might advise you, you are now in the Flower of your Age, and may pro­pose to spend many a happy Year in the enjoyment of the World: Why should you seek Death, when Life is yet so well worth preserv­ing?

Thou art deceiv'd in Life. What is it but a Succession of Trou­bles? A meer Quotidian Ague, which by the constant supply of Hopes and Fears, knows little intermission as long as Nature lasts.

Use your Pleasure, Madam. I thank my Stars, I am not yet weary of the World.

However, let us retire together, that I may take my last leave of you, when I am prepar'd for my Heavenly Journey.

I'll wait on you, Madam, to the Threshold of Death, but you must excuse me from going over it.

I wish your happiness, but can't compell it.

SCENE the Street, near the great Church.

Come, this way with him. This way leads to Don Se­bastian's

Hold, Friends, don't be so very hasty, d'ye see. Pray, let us consider a little, dy'e mind me, what we shall say to the Magistrate.

Why, that's very true, Neighbour. We ought to lay our story well, d'ye see me?

My Man Anthony, as I live! How the Devil came he a­mong that fry of Leaches? But 'tis what he deserves: Yet I'll ask them, to amuse my self, till Don Sebastian's return.

Enough, enough; come away with him.

Hold, Gentlemen. Pray, whither are you conducting that Fellow?

But that you promise for a Person of Note, we should not have time to answer any Man's questions: We are carrying him to Don Sebastian's to be committed for a House-breaker.

O Sir, I'm glad I have found you again. I have been baited, Sir, no Tyger was ever so baited, as I have been by these Spanish Dogs.

You are come in good time, Seignior, to do a peice of justice

What's the matter, Mr. Constable?

Matter, Seignior? An please your Worship, we have brought a Stranger here, that we found hid to Night in a Cellar Window, just ready to set the City a Fire about our Ears, I warrant him.

Is not this your Man, Don Philip?

If I have Eyes 'tis he, pray examine him.

How now, Anthony? How come you under the guard of the Constable and the Watch?

Your Worship knows as well as I. One thing I know, which is, that I have been abus'd most disgracefully.

'Tis no more than you deserve, ungrateful Villain! Did you not forsake me last Night when I was assaulted in the Street, and did I not meet you afterwards following another Master? And more than that, when I claim'd you for my Servant, did you not utterly disown that you knew me, or had ever seen me before.

Sure, this is but a Dream, Sir: For this Life-guard of mine here, (Pox choak them) can answer to my disgrace, that I have sat in the Stocks all Night.

That he has indeed, I'll witness it, for he was put in by my order.

Hey-day! Sure I Dream still, or I'll be sworn I met him Early to Day.

He was safe lockt down from one a Clock till within this half hour, I'll pass my Word.

Nay now I can disprove you; for if I have Eyes, I saw him pass by me very early to Day.

An'please your Worship, what the Watchman said must needs be true, for he stood near him all the time till he was releas'd

Then will I be Sacrific'd: Go, you are all a pack of Rascals, Release him, I'll answer for him.

There's Don Sebastian, and he with him should be Don Philip.

Bernardo, 'twere fit they withdraw a while, till we have prepar'd him for the Interview.

By all means. Ladies, will you oblige us by retiring a step or two, till we have had some conference with those Gentlemen?

Another Woman disguis'd?

We will.

Sir, by that Sword you wear, I should be much your Deb­tor, sure you releiv'd me last Night, when I was assaulted by Villains.

I did indeed attempt a Gentleman's relief last Night, who exchang'd Swords with me, and 'tis very likely you are he.

The same. And believe, Sir, that as I am bound to you for my preservation, so shall I be always ready to serve you with my Life.

Serve your self first, Don Philip, and be honest.

Ha! what means this odd, familiar Counsel?

Have you not abus'd Cornelia, my Sister? Now if thou art a Man, speak truth.

Olivia's wrong'd too, Philip, think of that, and know her Brother's here to do her justice.

You have somewhat surpriz'd me, Gentlemen, with your ac­cusations.

Do you deny the facts?

What if I do?

Then we must try the cause this way, Draw,

You may be sure of that.

Hold, Gentlemen, Don Philip is my Friend, and I must take his part.

With all my Heart. We are two and two.

Come on thou Poison to our Families

Nay then at you, Sir.

Now, Sir, I hope You're satisfied.

But not I, Sir, I have the same advantage o'er your Friend, and you have vvrong'd my Sister.

Take Your satisfaction too, whilst my Sword holds, it shall deny none that ask it.

Your fortune is Superior, whatever your Justice be.

You owe me both your Lives. And now what I have to beg of you is, that you would stifle your Resentments: And if you'l favour me with your company's to Don Sebastian's, I here give you my Honour to do you Justice too, as far as in me lies before we part.

Nay now you'r truly brave.

Ha! What art thou, that in the very shape of Anthony, com'st hither to perplex us!

Why I think my Name is Anthony, by the singu­lar favour of chance both Frenchman and Spaniard, that is to say, a mixture of all the Contrarieties in Nature.

His very Voice, Person, and Raillery.

The Seal and the Print are not more perfectly alike.

'Tis something marvellous, I must own: if this should prove my own Apparition now, which they say People often see a little before their Death, how many Sins hast thou to answer for, pauvre Antoine! What art thou that here usurp'st my Name and Shape?

O Gentlemen. shield me, shield me from this Fiend,—'tis certainly—the Devil, he could n'er be so like me else.

This is surprizing. From hence came the mistakes of last Night, Don Frederick.

And ours, Don Sebastian.

If 'twere not for one cursed Objection, that is not to be got over without a Miracle, I could-soon resolve this Riddle.

Try what you can do.

'Tis impossible Seignior, for the Man I should take him for was drown'd many Years ago.

Examine him however.

Pray, Monsieur Antoine, are you a native of Caen in Normandy?

Yes,— indeed, Seignior Devil.

The Devil you are. Was not Monsieur your Father call'd Pierre le Menetrier, that is to be understood, Peter the Fidler?

He was indeed Sir.

Ha! Sure I Dream.

What will this come to? Did not you follow his Trade after his Death?

I commenc'd Joüeur de Violon that Year the great Turn in England happen'd in 88.

Impossible! Thou art some Magician, and art resolv'd to deceive me into madness.—One thing more. We [...] not you press'd abord Monsieur Tourville with a Twin-Brother, that was so perfectly your likeness, that you were the Amazement of all that saw you?

I was, and should have taken you for him but that he was blown up in one of those Twenty Ships that were Burnt by the English, after the Sea-Fight between the French and the English Fleets.

Then art thou my Brother, Anthony? How I was pre­serv'd and where, after my misfortune you shall know another time.

My Brother restor'd from the Dead! This is such excess of joy to me. Come to my Arms, I will embrace thee, as I would a Woman.

So let them embrace. Now the Mystery is over, and you have your Mares again.

Tho' they are Brothers, so exact a likeness was surely never seen.

'Tis very strange. But come, let us walk. Don Bernardo; we forget our Friends hard by.

With Don Philip's and this Gentleman's leave well' call for them, and take them with us.

With all our Hearts.

With all our Hearts.

Your Friends too are welcome, Gentlemen, to such poor entertainment as my House can afford.

You are very obliging.

SCENE Shifts.

I scorn to deny my self upon such an occasion. I own I am a Woman, and Married to Don Philip before Heav'n, tho' he has left me: Yet will I pursue him, till I have either found the faith­less wanderer, or spent my Days in the vain Search.

You will, you say. Alas! I pity thee, for Thy search will be vain indeed. Know, fond Woman, that he's mine by legal con­tract, not to be revok'd but by mutal consent: So much he's mine, that I'll not spare him a look to throw away upon thee.

Impotent Avarice! I pitty thee, undone as thou art, as well as deserted; for he is mine by yet a stronger tye than any contract

It's false: He never was, nor shall be. If thou dost offer any farther claim, thy Life's in danger.

I Laugh at thy rage, unthinking Creature, and to let you see how much I value Philip, I here renounce the weakness of my Sex, and dare you to the combat for his Love.

Now by great Hymen's Torch, 'twas nobly offer'd, and tho' a Rival spoke it, I applaud it.

Come on. Now for Don Philip.

She who survives is happy.

Ha! at Wars? What new adventure's this? We left you but now unaccquainted with each other, as we thought.

And are return'd too soon. You have hindered the effect of a noble contention. Don Philip there! Then am I satisfy'd, for sure he'l do me justice.

Ha! Do I see my Love again? But hold, fond Heart, keep up thy usual Pride, least the false wretch insult and scorn thy weakness.

Sir, I am yet a stranger to you: How can I do you justice?

'Tis but acknowledging Olivia for your Wife.

Olivia her self. This is beyond my hopes. I will acknowledge thee, thou Miracle of Love.

Villain, hold. See Cornelia too, disguis'd as she is. See your contracted Wife.

Ha!

What, doth he demur upon it?

Die then, ungrateful wretch.

Stop thy mad Hand, or sheath thy Blade within this Breast, so it may save Don Philip.

My dear Olivia, I Blush to see this kindness from thee.

Madam, you might have been less outragious. I must own I have been to blame, but am now resolv'd—

To marry Olivia, I suppose.

I was a going to say Madam—

That thou art perjur'd. Enough, thou hast my consent to be so. Be thy Perjury thy Punishment: For my part I freely discharge thee.

I am oblig'd to your Passion then, for it has made you con­sent to clear me of such an imputation. You have revok'd your contract, and so do I before these witnesses. Donna Olivia, here is my Hand, take it, and my Heart along with it, I doubt not but this Action will restore me to my true happiness. Gentlemen, I hope you own my justice.

I cannot deny your obligation here to be superiour.

This fortunate Event transports me beyond expression.

May I presume, Madam, to remind you of your late con­ditions?

Are you not a Man, Sir?

I hope so, Madam.

How then are you to be trusted? The only one I ever yet confided in has deceiv'd me. But

you have my promise, e'en dispose of me as you will

Madam, you have made me intirely happy. You have not only bless'd me with your self, but made a worthy Friend my Brother.

But hold, one thing more. Cornelia, do you know this Ring?

Yes, sure. 'Twas your gift, which I could have parted with to no one, but Don Philip.

I know it too and Blush. But how came you by it?

Think where you dispos'd of it, then ask no more.

I was mad when I parted with it, but I find where you have been.

I fell in my accident, as you shall know another time. In the mean while we are all satisfied. Joy to you all. I could almost wish my self in the same condition, but not with Eleonora, Don Fredrick.

You once wish'd it with her, Don Bernardo.

Eleonora, and Bernardo! This must be he who writ that Letter.

Sir, I believe we are both deliver'd from the same perfidious Wo­man. Did not you write lately to one Eleonora?

I dare confess it. She us'd me ill, and I let her know it. Possibly your understanding with her brought you to know it.

That she has been of my acquaintance, I don't disown: But 'twas pure accident made me see the Letter. It serv'd to confirm me in what I before suspected, and I have since broke of all correspon­dence with her.

I am glad on't, for she is a very Jilt. But what had Don Philip done to her, that she should hire Ruffians to Murder him?

Was it she then that set those Villains on to Murder me, when I was so seasonably releiv'd by you?

So I afterwards discover'd by one of the same Ruffians, whom I had wounded and seized, after they had attack'd me by mistake of the Sword you gave me at parting, and it seems Eleo­nora had hired them for a hundred Crowns to Murder you.

What a She-Devil is this! I knew her formerly at Madrid, a Woman of a light Character, who would fain have per­swaded me to marry her. When she could not prevail, she re­mov'd from thence hither as I had been inform'd. Wherefore when I came to this Town, I recollected what I had heard, and enquiring her out, I last Night made a visit to her, and it seems by the story, when I went from her, she sent Villains after me to dispatch me.

What, did she entertain You too?

O, she was my old acquaintance, and I suppose would have been reveng'd on me for the slight I had put upon her.

What a rare Wife I should have had! Fortune thou deserv'st all things from me.

Well she is going to be reveng'd upon you all. For I was told but now, that she is resolv'd to leave the seducing World, and end her Days in a Nunnery.

That would be strange.

But the best Action of her Life.

Ay, ay, to a Nunnery let her go. In the mean time let Us think a little of this World, and since you are all agreed, let the Ladies retire, and shift themselves into their own habits, and wee'l see you joyn'd together, before Noon is past.

With all my Soul. Come, my Cornelia, hast to make me happy.

Be it as you please.

Tho' Marriage is accounted by some a kind of servitude, yet I hope, my Olivia, we shall have no repenting before the Year is out at least.

I shall make it my endeavour to give no cause on my side.

Come on then, let us hasten to the Trial: One pleasure at least I am before hand sure of, and that is in the thought of making satisfaction for the wrong I have done.