ACT I.

NAY, fye, dear Aunt, dry up your Eyes, and cheer up your Heart, and once more let me bid you welcom to London.

London, quotha! Well; I never saw such a strange Place in all my born Days. Here's a whole thousand of Houses, and not one Barn among them all.

Oh Cousin; 'tis a melancholy Journey that brings me hither; never had poor Woman such a Loss as I have had. My Eldest, my First-born, my Virgi­nity, Cousin; cropt in the Flow'r, in the Bud of Five and twenty: Oh, Cousin, I have lost such a Boy—

As was not worth keeping.

How, Sirrah!

Why he's dead Mother, he's dead; and what should we do with dead Folks, but make Crows-meat of them?

Oh thou ungracious Boy! Are these your Tears for your poor Bro­thers Death, that dear sweet precious Lamb?

A Word in your Ear.

With me, Cousin!

Between Friends, Cousin Suchee, our Family are none of the wisest.

Nay, why so, Cousin!

All Fools, but my self. Why here's that young Cudden, my Brother, a silly Block-headed Son of a—, had no more Wit than to play the Fool and die: And here's that whining, whimpering old Dunce, my Mother, has no more Wit than to cry for him.

Ay, Cousin, there you are in the Right: She's a little too sorrowful indeed.

In the Right, Cousin; why, I am never in the Wrong.

What's that he prates?

Only telling me, he's the Top-wit of the Family.

Nay, the Child has very good natural Parts: Heav'n send him to make good use of them. Ay, ay, he has Wit enough.

Wit! Ay enough to stock a whole Parish: Enough to give all the young Fellows their Heads full, and the young Wenches their Bellies full.

Well Son, more of your Manners, and less of your Wit. Pray let's see how you'll behave your self before the Squire, my Landlord.

Ay, ay, let me alone for Haviours.

That must be his Livery. Pray Sir, if I may be so bold; don't you belong to Squire Wildblood?

Well, Woman, and what then?

Only I have a little Business with his Worship.

Yonder's his Worship, if you have any thing to say to him.

What a surly Dog's this? Oons Mother, shall I beat him?

Beat him, Rascal?

Noble Squire.

My Buckingham-Widow! My Country Copy-holder!

Your poor Tenant, Sir.

Sweet Mrs. Susan.

My dear Temple-master.

And prithee, Widow, what Wind blows you to Town?

Truly Squire, I am come Forty long Miles to wait upon your Worship.

And I am come Forty long Miles along with her; that's just Fourscore.

You must pardon him, Sir; 'tis a bold Boy, my Son, an't like ye.

And she's my Mother, for want of a better; an't like ye.

Your Son! How old is he?

A poor Suckling, Sir; just turn'd of Twenty.

A very hopeful Boy!

So the Girls tell me, Sir.

Ah Squire, I have lost my Eldest Boy: There's one Life in my Copy-hold gone. But I hope your Worship will be pleas'd to renew my Lease, and put in this young Lamb in his Room. I have made a hard Shift to pick up a few Mill'd Crowns for You, a very scarce Commodity among us poor Country-Folks. But I hope your good Worship will use me as kindly as you can.

Ay prithee Frank use her kindly, for her sweet Niece's sake here.

A very pretty Creature! Of your Acquaintance, Ned?

At your Service.

Your Servant, sweet Lady.

Here Sirrah, take that old Gentlewoman and her Son to my House, and make them welcome for this fair Ladies sake. Prithee what is she, Ned?

My Temple-Sempstress. Oh Frank, this sweet young Lady has the prettiest softest Hand at tying a Crevat: As I hope to be a Judge, I had rather dress my self in those two black Eyes, than in the best Beau Looking-glass in all Covent-garden.

You must pardon his way of Rallery, Sir. He always makes bold with his poor Servant.

If he's no more bold than welcome, he's a happy Man, Madam.

Alas, Sir! I make him happy!

Prithee Frank let me recommend you to this Ladies Acquantance. She shines in the Front of a gay Shop in Fleet-street, and is a fair Dealer in Linnen-Drapery.

Where this Gentleman shall be welcome.

You could not give me a more acceptable Invitation. I assure you, Madam, as far as ready Mony, or Love will go, I shall be your humble Servant; for I declare from my Heart, I can't have a higher Ambition than to be taking up Linnen with so pretty a Lady.

The best in my Shop is at your Service.

That in your Bed-chamber will please me much better.

My Bed-chamber, sweet Sir; nay, now you'll make me blush.

Not in the Dark, Madam! I always put out the Candle.

I vow you talk so strangely—But I beg your Pardon, Sir, I must wait upon my Aunt: She expects my Attendance, and I dare not forfeit her good Graces.

Then must we lose ye? Here Sirrah, Page, pay your Obedience, and usher that Lady.

O fye Frank, almost Seven a Clock: The Play's half done by this time.

Time enough for the last Act. Thou know'st I never take a turn to a Play, but either just pop in my Head before the Curtain rises, or before it drops again.

Then you peep into a Play house, like a Prentice into a Church: Just hear the Text, then take a Ramble, and come back to receive the Blessing: He to hand out his Cheap-side Mistress, and you your Covent-garden Miss.

Nay, there thou hast hit me.

But why are you so unkind to the Play-houses, especially at this Low-water time with them, to take a turn (as you call it) before the Curtain rises?

Out of pure Charity, Ned. I gallop round the Pit, hear the last Musick, pick up a Mask, and carry her off before the Play; and so save the poor Whore her Half Crown.

But why can't you sit out the Play?

Oh Intolerable! I could no more endure to sit out a whole Play, than to Ride out a whole Fox-Chace; especially since I came to my Estate.

And why since you came to your Estate?

Why? Because I so wore out all my Patience in waiting for my Fa­ther's Death, that I have not one single Grain left.

Nay thou had'st an unreasonable Father, that I'll say for him. He had no more Conscience than to Live to see his hopeful First-begotten a reverend Super-annuated old Gentleman of Five and twenty, when thou want'st to have had him in Heaven above Seven Years before, to keep a Coach and a Whore at Eighteen.

A Coach and a Whore, Ned! why 'tis Life and Soul. Punk and Pride, the Flesh and the Spirit; and a Man's not a Man without 'em.

But why do you tell me you never stay out a Play, when you know I have seen you perking behind the Scenes, from the first Musick to the last Candle, [Page 4] to a clear Stage; nay, and to a clear Dressing-room, the very last Man bourn.

Behind the Scenes! Ay, there the Case is altered. There, Ned, I have nothing to say to the Play, but the Players—Oh! I could dance Atten­dance, and dangle at the Train of a High Feather, and a Stage Princess (especially that Phoenix amongst 'em under the reputation of a Virginity) as contentedly and with as much mortal Resignation for Three whole Hours together, as I could lye a whole Night by her.

Then all your Patience is not worn out?

Not in a good Cause, Ned.

Nay, if your Delight lies behind the Scenes, you'll have enough on't to Night; for, after the Play's done, I hear the Actors have a general Practice of the Musick and Machines of some part of their New Opera.

Their New World in the Moon.

Ay, so, I hear, they call it.

But now thou talkest of Plays; prethee, Ned, when didst thou see that serious Tragi-comical Face, that unfashionable Spark, young Palmerin, with the Beard of Twenty six, and the Sanctity of Nine and sixty.

Nay Truly, he's not altogether in the modern Mode: For he sets up for Virtue.

Ay by St. Lucrece, and for Chastity too. I durst to swear it has it's Madenhead still, a pure male Virgin. For tho' the poor Dog has but bare 200 a Year Annuity, and not Heir to one Groat, (for his prodigal Elder Brother took care of all Reversions) yet I warrant he'd no more Feed one of the hungry Birds at the Court-end of Town, though in the Feathers of a Dutchess, were it to plume his own Nest to the Tune of a Coach and Six. I wonder we ha'n't him Star gazing this way, up to thy Sisters Window yonder; for I understand he's her sworn Adorer.

Nay, as you say, He is her true Star-gazer indeed. For my cruel Fa­ther has so abdicated the poor Lover, so Banisht and Barr'd all his Approaches, that he Kneels to my Sister like an Indian to the Sun, almost at the same Di­stance, and yet with the same Warmth.

Nay then I find as cloudy as your Father lours upon him, he has some Dawn of Hopes from her kind Brothers Favour.

Ay faith, Frank, I love the honest Lad so well, that I'd give my Cook upon Littleton, and all my whole Temple-Library, that my Father loved him but half so well.

Will give him my Sister, though I give him half my Estate with her.

A very generous Gentleman. But see yonder he comes. My Man of Morals.

My Man of Mode, Your Servant.

Troth Palmerin, we were just Talking of thee. For my part I was down right pitying of thee.

And why pitying me?

Why, only to consider, how thou hadst an elder Brother made a shift [Page 5] to live to melt the last Acre of a 1000 a Year, and yet thou art a greater Prodi­gal then He

Nay, Why so, Frank?

I'll tell you why▪ Your Brother, he lived a Gentleman, and only dy'd a Beggar. But thou, with that ragged and starving Companion call'd Conscience at thy Heels, art resolv'd both to Live and Dye one! Nay, and of all Mankind too, why a younger Brother and set up for Virtue?

And why not a younger Brother?

Oh fye! Why should he profess Virtue, that has nothing but Vice to Live upon? 'Tis enough for Your fat rich Drones, that have neither Mercury in their Heads, nor Warmth in their Veins, for the Diviner Taste of Pleasures, to Dream and Sleep away a Life in lazy drowzy Morals.

Quite contrary! 'Tis enough for you rich Elder Brothers, that have this World in a String, never to think of the next; whilst we poor Younger Brothers, that have so little share of one, should take care for the other.

Do you hear that, Frank? You had best have a care of him, for he'll be too hard for you else.

Nay he shall never want your good Word at all turns. Oh Palmerin, thou hast a stanch Champion of Ned here. If all Parties were as well agreed as himself, thou shouldst Marry his Sister to Morrow.

To her kind Brothers Goodness, I am an eternal Debtor; and only wish I were more in Debt to Heaven: Blest with those smiles of Fortune, to deserve her.

Smiles of Fortune! Why, thou dost not want 'em. Prethee make me thy Confessor, and tell me ingeniously, couldst not thou be contented to Beg with Jacintha!

And what then, Sir!

And Starve too!

Well, and Starve too.

Here's Raptures for you — Then Poor and Fortuneless as you are, you love her so intirely well, that without Consultation of Parents, Obedience, Portion, or Convenience, you could take her Naked and Friendless to your Arms, and Marry her to Morrow?

No, not so neither.

How: Beg, Starve and Perish for her Sake; and yet not dare to Marry her.

All this and Ten times more, and yet not dare to Marry her. No, tho' I have Love enough to make my self miserable for her sake; I have too much Love to make her miserable for mine.

Here's your School Distinction in Cupids new Philosophy: But Palmerin, considering here's a Father in the Case, that by the Constitution of hs Body, may live these 20 Years; for he has a Son here, of thy own Church; neither in [Page 6] Fee with his Doctor nor Pothecary: That Tyrant-Father, that whilst his Head's above Ground, will no more give thee Jacintha, then he will build Hospitals. Prethee how long then couldst thou be contented to wait for her!

An Age: A Life Sir.

Why truly that's pretty reasonable Attendance. But how wouldst thou live this long long Age of Patience!

With Thinking.

I'd remember there's that dear Face in the World: And for want of the Ori­ginal, wear her Picture at my Heart: Make that one single Thought my whole Cordial of Life: Carry her Memory to my Crutch and my Grave, and tell the Fools of the World, there's one Woman worth dying for.

Here's your Amadis de Gaul; your Lover in Heroicks! Oh Palmerin, Palmerin, how cheaply dost thou furnish out thy Table of Love? Canst Feed upon a Thought; Live upon Hopes; Feast upon a Look; Fatten upon a Smile; and Surfeit and Dye upon a Kiss! What a Cameleon Lover is a Platonick?

Well Sir, as you have spread my Platonick Table: Shall I spread your Libertine one?

With all my Heart.

Did not I tell you he'd be too hard for you?

Ay, Pox on him. But come— to the Play Ned, to the Play.

Ay, Sir, we'll follow you.—Palmerin, I have a little Melancholy News for you; there's a new Rival setting up: You shall have the whole Story as we walk to the Play.

More persecuting Stars! more Enemies to Combat!

ACT II.

Oh, thou'rt all Angel-Goodness!

What can I do to merit all this Love?

Excellent!

What says the Girl?

Are both just at the Door.

Make haste and slip out at the back Gate.

The guardian Pow'rs of Truth and Love protect thee.

I am the happiest Man.

Bless my Eye-sight.

That I'll swear for thee.

Madam!

Sir!

News Sir?

That I am his Daughter?

Sorry, you are his Daughter!

You are pleas'd to be merry, sweet Lady.

Not over-merry, Sir, in such dull Company.

A Wife! A Crutch, a quilted Cap, and Cawdle!

How's this?

Oh my Ears! my Eyes! my Senses!

Oh the Devil!

I can hold no longer—Why Sir—Mr. Deputy—Where are you—Come to my Deliverance—I shall be Murder'd—I shall be Ravish'd. I shall be—

Why, what's the Matter here?

The Matter! Never was poor Man so abused as I have been.

Who has abused you?

Who! that young Proserpine, that Satan in High-toppings, that She-Devil in Petticoats.

Who; my Daughter?

Ay, your Daughter; if she be your Daughter.

If she be my Daughter!

Ay, if she be! For if the great Whore-master General, the old Serpent, did not wriggle himself to Bed to her Mother; and did not get that She-Cockatrice for you; but she is your own true natural Flesh and Blood: Then I do tell you that wicked, that ungodly, that audacious Daughter of yours has used me so barbarously—

How barbarously?

Why she has faln upon me as unmercifully, as a whole Army of bloody Pilgrims and black Bills; has called me as many several old Rogues, as there are hard Names in a Welch Pedigree: And that if I marry her, she swears, That she'll lie with all the young Fellows within the Four Seas, by Land and by Water, till she has grafted me a pair of Horns, udsbud, like the Popes Crown, Three Stories high.

Not one Word of all this—I was a telling him, how some young Husseys would use a reverend old Gentleman to their Husband: A parcel of mad wild Gilflirts, that like nothing but Boys and Beaus, and Powder and Paint, and Fool and Feather. But for me, I that had been bred up in a sober Family, the Daughter of a worthy grave Citizen; I was for no Husband but Sir Dot­trell; a Person of his honourable Years and Character: That his Age might be a Guide to my Youth: His Wisdom to my Folly; his Gravity to my Vanity▪ I told him, how I should love him and cherish him; make his Spoon-meats, su­gar his Caudles, be his Lady, his Maid, and his Nurse: Warm his Bed, creep to his Arms, sleep in his Bosom; and make him the lovingest, the kindest, and the fondest Wife in the whole World.

Oh Impudence! Impudence! Impudence! Why did'st thou say one word of all this Gibberish?

No: But I was going to say it all; only you had not the Patience to stay to hear me.

Patience, in the Devil's Name!

You naughty Man, you! I was just opening my kind Lips with all the sweetest Breath of Love, to say a thousand tenderest kindest Things— But yon—To stop my Mouth, to shut your Ears, and run away from me! To tell my Father all this barbarous Tale, of the poor innocent Jacintha!

Avaunt Satan! Take away thy Cloven Foot, and give me Air: Thy Breath's all Charcoal and Brimstone; and Mercy, Mercy; save me, save me, save me!

Come, my young Gypsey, all this Mask of Innocence shan't serve your turn. I am afraid—

Of nothing but a Shadow.

How! All this hideous Out-cry but a Shadow?

'Tis all a meer Mistake.

Mistake!

Nothing, but a Mistake. Can I find young Ears to his old Head, or mend his crazy Intellects?

Come, my young Minx, as you expect my Blessing, or hope t'enjoy one Rag of my Estate, mend this bad Mornings-work; or—

My old Friend Joe!

Noble Count Hayns!

My worthy Patroons.

Well, how goes the World, honest Fortune-teller?

Dully, heavily, Gentlemen! 'Tis a base World, a poor undone World. In short, betwixt Plots, Wars and Beggary, it has been cramp'd, plagu'd and pox'd; and is now going into a high Course of Phisick, a General Peace, to Flux, grow sober, and live honest.

Nay, now thou talkst like a Cosmographer.

Look ye, Sir, I treat the World as the World treats me; no Love lost between us.

Well, Joe, we'll let the great Stage, the World, alone, to rub on; and talk of the little Stage, the Play-house here: Prithee, when does the, Re­hearsal begin?

Oh presently, Gentlemen; presently.

But what's the Reason we do not see thee in thy Pontifical Robes? Hast thou no Part in this Opera?

A small Tenant of mine—Prithee Joe give him a Cast of thy Rhetorick; a little piece of Banter.

Say you so?—Illustro, grando Seignioro; most noble Squire, I am your most humble Servant.

Squire! what does the Man mean? Zooks, do I look like a Squire? why, I am Tom. Dawkins, the Farmer's Son of Buckingham. The noble Squire, ye Fool, is his Worship my Landlord.

Cry you Mercy, sweet Sir.

Hark ye, Joe: Prithee manage this Country-blockhead a little. Canst not thou mount him into a Machine, or drop him into a Trap?

Ay, Joe; thou hast had a rare Hand at that sort of Management: Some of thy Legerdemain would do rarely. A little Farce to your Opera, will make the Rehearsal better than the Play.

Enough, Gentlemen; I have my Instructions—But h'st, the Mu­sick's just beginning.

Well, Tenant, how dost thou like all this?

Rarely Sir, rarely! Well, I have heard of your Crownations, but never saw one before.

And now you have seen a Crownation, what do you think on't?

Think! Oh Lord, Sir, I never Thought in my Life; but I pay't off with Considering. And, let me tell you, as one wise Man may say to another, Gadsooks, Squire, that Harlotry Countess, that little singing Queen there, were she but two Heads higher, three Quarters more in the Waist, and but half so plump as my Mother, to fill an Elbow-Chair, and crack a Down bed; udsbud she'd make a Wife for a High Constable.

Oh Gentlemen! what have you done?

Why, what's the Matter?

Destroy'd and ruin'd us!

Heav'n forbid, Sir!

Brought this young Stranger here, this lovely Stranger; that Face, those Eyes, to steal our Princess Heart.

Who me!

Oh Gentlemen! our Queen, our poor dear Queen, she sighs, she dies, and all for this sweet Face.

For Tom. Dawkins?

Ay Sir, who are you? say; what Lord? what Hero? what Prince disguised?

I a Prince! my Mother keeps a Garden, Sir, and sells Carrets.

How Sir! no Prince?

Prince, Sir! why I am a Cow-keeper.

Well, if you are no Prince, I must make you one.

O lo!

But quick; uncase, dismantle; and come Dress, Rig, Robe, Sparkle, Shine, Sir.

All this for me?

Oh Landlord! who am I?

ACT III.

CErtainly this young Witch must have some Charm upon me; for now can I no more forbear running to this fair Destruct [...]on, than a Squirrel into the Mouth of a Rattle-snake; for I must see her again. 'Tis true, 'tis a little of the latest to make Visits at this time of Night; and yet who knows but 'tis the best Hour of teaching coy Girls to speak Sense, as young Sterlings to talk English, at sleeping time.

Oh Sir, the rarest Discovery.

Ha! what's the Matter?

Only yonder's your Mistress, all in Darkness, alone in her Closet, upon her Knees, at Pray'rs, Sir.

At Pray's! why has she the Confidence to look Heav'n in the Face, after this Mornings wickedness—But take away the Candle, Sirrah; and slip into the next Room—

Why what are you going to do? I hope your Worship will not be so rude, as to disturb her Devotion.

No; but my Worship will be so rude, as to listen to her Devotion. And so get you gone, you Rascal.

Now will I steal to her Closet-door, and hear what kind of Pray'rs she makes; for by the number of her sins, here will be a swinging Confession—Now, if my old Ears don't fail me—

So merry at her Devotion!

Pray'rs!

I have laugh'd till my Sides ake! Such an old Fool.

Ha!

Such a Cudden of Fourscore?

Death and Goblins! what's here?

Such a Tool of a Husband!

Such an Animal for a City Monster!

Prayr's! in the Devils Name.

And wilt thou make a reverend Dormouse of him, to sleep, and snort and snore; whilst we embrace, and sport and toy—

Sleep, while we embrace; sleep! no, he shall wake and see it all. By this good Night, I'll make him that tame horn'd Beast, that he shall lock the Door, hold the Candle, and light us to Bed.

Shall he so, Gypsey?

Such a contented Monster, he shall buy him a new pair of Spectacles to [Page 18] see how close we Kiss together; nay, hang my whole Bed-chamber like a Beau's Dressing-room, all round with Looking-glasses, to see how his Horns become him.

Jilts, Traytors—But I'll contain my self. One Minutes Patience more; and then, my Brace of Firebrands—

Oh we have melted in ten thousand Raptures, dissolv'd in Bliss, and sur­feited in Pleasure. But come, my Love, come to my Arms once more. Oh, I'll be kinder than the Flow'r o'th' Sun; throw open all my Bosom and my Charms, to thy warm Joys.

My Life, my Soul, my Heaven.

Before my Face! nay then—Whores, Rogues, Witches! have I caught ye?

I am betray'd and ruin'd—Fly, my Dear; leap out oth' Window, climb up the Chimney; save, save my Honour: I would not have my Father see you for ten thousand Worlds.

Help, Murder Treason; stop, stop Thief.

Stop your bawling Throat.

Did you call, Sir?

Call, Rascal! Ay, where were you, you Dog, that you came no sooner?

What's the Noise here?

Oh, Sir, here has been galloping Doings.

What Doings?

What? why, here has been the great Devil, and all the little Devils at Hot-cockles; and Belzebub and his Dam at Barly-break.

Hey day, what's all this?

Here has been the whole Tribe and Generation of Whoredom and Roguedom, and Horndom and Cuckoldom; and so much Impudence, as has almost struck me deaf, blind and dumb.

What do you mean, Sir?

Mean? why here has been a young Belswagger, a great He-Rogue, with your Daughter, Sir.

My Daughter!

With me!

With thee—thou Imp of Satan!

All this to me; to me, thou barbarous Man. Oh Sir, believe him not; all meer wild Distraction. Alas, Sir, I was on my bended Knees to Heaven!

Heav'n! O lo, Heav'n!

With all my kindest Pray'rs, to make me blest in dear Sir Dottrel's Arms; beseeching all the Pow'rs of Love to crown our nuptial Joys, with a fair sweet Fire-side, all pretty Lambs, his own dear Pictures; honourable as their Father, and virtuous as their Mother.

All the true Patterns of my own sweet Innocence—And base, false Man, is this th' unkind Return—

Oh Sir, Sir; never was such a hideous Pack of all Romance, Cheats, Villany; as I am an Alderman, an honourable Merchant of the City, that never told Lie in my whole Life (except at the Change or Custom-house;) I tell you, Sir, once more, here was a Rascal here, a young Rascal, and a Ram­pant Rascal; I heard him, caught him, nay and had seiz'd him too, but that young Traitress flew in my Face, took me by the Throat, stopt my Mouth— Bid her young Ruffain leap out oth' Window, climb the Chimny—

Oh, my chaste Ears!

Sir Dottrel, I am ashamed of you. Leap out oth' Window, climb the Chimny; when my Windows are lock'd and bolted, and I have the Keys in my Pocket. My Chimney's all Iron-grated, scarce room for a Swallow's Nest: My Doors all barr'd and chain'd; and a Man in my House, at this time of Night, without my Knowledge, when I have ten thousand Pound in Gold and Jewels by me? Oy fye, Sir Dottrel, fye; you make me blush for you.

Do you all conspire against me? I have Witnesses; I'll prove what I have said. Here's my Man Shackarel shall swear it all—Come, Sirrah, upon the Oath you have taken, do you know the Prisoner at the Bar?

Yes, very well.

Were not you all the while in the next Room by her?

I was, Sir.

And you heard all?

Heard! what Sir?

Heard what Sir? Why her Prayers, (as she calls 'em) her Witches Litany, that she and her young Mephistophilus were conjuring together.

Conjuring and Mephistophilus! Mercy upon us; what do you mean?

Mean! why did you hear nothing?

Not a Syllable.

How, Sirrah?

I hear! Alas, Sir, what had I to do hear? I was bred more a Gentleman, and have better Manners than to be an Eves-dropper.

A plague o' your Gentility. But Sirrah, Rascal, Hang-dog, where were your Ears, you Scoundrel? 'Twas impossible but you must hear her—

Not one word, Sir.—Alas, Sir, I was at my own Pray'rs; and had more serious Meditations of my own, than to listen to hers.

Ay, now you see my Innocence appears, when his own Witnesses con­front his Falshood. Nay, Sir, just such another false Alarm, was his last hide­ous Out-cry.

All Distraction: Ay, my dear Child, 'tis now too plain.

All I have said is the Truth, and the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth; so help me—

Yet hold, Sir: Do you know the frightful Sin of Perjury— I would not have you Forsworn—

Forsworn!

Not for a thousand Kingdoms.—Oh, Sir Dottrel, though you have used me barbarously, yet still I love you but too well; have a more tender Kindness for you, then to let you hazard your sweet precious Soul.

Syren and Crocadile! Madam, a word with you. Are not you a Monster?

No; but I've taken care to make You a Monster.

Do you hear that, Sir; now she confesses all.

Confesses! 'Las, poor Gentleman, I pity him. I fear he has sat up too late, and want of Sleep makes him talk idly. Go, Sir Dottrel, go home to Bed and Rest. To Morrow Morning you'll come and ask me Pardon for your Folly; and I am that good-natur'd Thing, I vow, I shall forgive you all.

Forgive him! no; 'tis too much Mercy; more than he has de­serv'd.

Nay, Sir, don't you be angry with him too. It is enough I chide him for his Faults.

Daughter and Father; Jezabel and Lucifer! Rogues, Whores, and Jilts; and all your Shams, Plots, Treasons; your Race, your Family, your whole Generation, all to the Devil; and so good Night to you.

Ay, do you hear him now? Is this a Husband for your Ja [...]tntha? True, I could have lov'd him, had he deserv'd it: But such hideous Jealousies, such Dreams, such wild Chimera's; who can bear them?

No more, my Child, I own I've been too blame; I'll be no more a Tyrant, but a Father.

Nay, then you are all Goodness.

Your Doors are lockt, Sir, and we want your Hand.

Yes, honest Shackarel, I'll release your mad Man.

I wish you Joy: You are the happy Man.

Ay, Sir, 'tis you that conquer all the Beauties.

And does this little Foppety Queen so love me, say ye?

Love you! Why, she'll make a little Emperor of you.

An Emperor! O lo!

Pshaw nothing Sir, nothing; an Emperor! she'll make you—let me see what will she make ye?—A Great Mogul, a Crim Tartar, a Lord Mufti: Oh the Devil and all, Sir.

All these great Folks together, and the Devil and all too?

Ay, ay, Sir; all.

Limini! what a swinging great Fellow shall be!

Ay, Sir, you see how Fortune smiles upon ye.

You have the Ladies Hearts.

Squire—don't be daunted, bear a good Heart. I shall be a Great Gull, a Grum Cartar, a Lord Monkey, and the Devil and all: But—you shall find me civil.

Oh Sir, we thank you for this gracious Favour.

We shall be proud to be your humble Servants.

Servants! Now you talk on't, I shall want some such sort of paltry Fellows about me; and—let me see—I'll have—Squires to my Footmen, and Knights for my Pages—And—

What shall we be?

Lords, Gentlemen; Lords. I'll make you two Lords.

This is a Grace too great.

Lords, both Lords. What a swinging great Fellow shall I be?

But see, she comes.

Comes! I gad and so she does.

Gone! Gone! and not said one word!

Oh Lord, Sir, she's only gone to drop off her Company, and will be here again in the turning of a Pancake, all alone, in your Arms. Sir, your Arms.

Sayst thou so, old Boy?

Sir, here's his Mother at the Door,

with a whole Kennel at her Heels, all upon the Hunt for their Booby.

Oh prithee Joe let her in—Here will be such a comical Greeting be­twixt the Cub and the Dam, to see her Baboon so sparkified.

Oh an excellent Scene, no doubt on't. But our Company will spoil all; and therefore we'll march off, give him a clear Stage, and so take the plea­sure of peeping behind the Curtain—Well, noble Prince, our Company will but hinder your Joys in your dear Princess Arms; and therefore we'll hum­bly take our leaves.

Ay, ay, troop Vermine, troop; our Queen and I must be private. A Queen! a Lady! a Princess! Now shall I be the Devil knows what.

Ha! my Cousin Tommy. What do I see? Ay, ay, 'tis he.

What a swinging great Fellow shall I be?

Oh Aunt, Aunt! the rarest sight: Yonder's my Cousin Tommy as fine as a little Prince; so gay, so rich, so pretty; I vow and swear it does me almost as much good as a young Husband, to see him look so sweetly.

Bless me, my Son!

Son! Neighbour! I gad chi may be the Sun in the Firmament, by the shining on't.

My Boy! 'tis impossible.

Nothing impossible in this Town of Londo [...] Why, I was a Princess my self, no longer ago than last Valentine's Day, in my Lord Prettyman's Chamber.

Son; Son Tommy!

A Great Gull, a Grum Cartar, a Lord Monkey.

What says the Boy?

My Queen, my Princess; come to my Arms, my Arms, my little Gypsey.

Oh Aunt, Aunt, I have found it out. May I never be Kiss'd be­tween sleeping and waking, if I don't believe some great Lady is faln in Love with him.

Lady!

And, Blessing of her Heart, has drest him thus Fine, to make a Man of him.

Make a Man of my Infant! Mercy upon us; what says the Wench? Ay, ay, 'tis so: Undone, undone! my Boy, my poor Boy—

Why, what's the matter, Aunt?

Oh Cousin, Cousin; some wicked lewd Jezabel has debauch'd my Lamb, [Page 24] my Infant, my Dilling; debauch'd him, whor'd him, ravish'd him: Ay, ay, they have found him out; but Whores, Jades, Witches, I shall spoil your sport—Why Sirrah, Dog, Puppey.

Will you so, Rascal.

O lo!

Why Varlet, Villain, Scoundrel; who the Devil's your Taylor? who made you this Bully? But I'll thunder you out of your Whore's Livery.

Oh fye, Aunt, do not disparage the Ladies Favours.

Favours! Ay, I'l favour him with a Vengeanee. But come, Neighbour, lend me your Hand. Come, strip Vermin, strip; uncase Rascal, uncase.

Help, murder; Thieves, Thieves; Help, help.

Ay, roar Bull, roar. Did I pay my Landlord Forty good Pounds for you this Morning, ye ungrateful Varlet, to set up for a Bully, a Royster, a Rogue, a Tory! But here's some of my Mony again; I'll carry these to the Brokers, and let your Whores buy you more.

Rob'd, kill'd, murder'd! Thieves, Thieves; stop Thieves.

What's the Matter, here?

My Landlord!

Oh, Sir, she has rob'd me! Call a Judge, and carry her before a Con­stable; I'll have her hang'd.

How, hang your Mother?

Ay, hang her, Sir; she's a Thief and a Witch, and a Crocadile; she has rob'd me, and strip'd me, and bound me and gag'd me, and thrown me into a Ditch: I'll swear it all point blank against her; and if there be ever a Gal­lows in Forty Miles round, I'll hang her my self.

Ay, Sir, do you hear the Rebel? Oh Landlord, never had poor Woman such a graceless Brat. Look ye, Sir, is this Pound of Whore's Hair, and this Load of Foppery, a Garb for honest Barnaby Dawkins's Son? Nay, have I bred him up to his Catechize and Psalter; carried him to Church with me twice a Day, and now to have him debauch'd, defiled? Nay, and a young Rogue too, not full One and twenty. Ah, Sir, had he had the Grace to follow my steps, he would never have stray'd thus wickedly. I am sure his poor Mother was never debauch'd till many a fair Day after his Age. To my sorrow, I saw al­most full Thirty before I could say Black's Black. But a young Rogue, to run after Jades, Sluts, Trulls—

Sluts and Trulls! what my Princess! Do you hear that, Sir: Bear witness, Gentlemen; I'll swear High Treason against her.

Come, no more Noise; all shall be mended.

And. Widow, I'll answer for your Boy, and his Honesty: And so pray give him his Cloaths again: They are only a small Token of my Favour.

Ay, with all my Heart, and Heav'ns bless your Worship. Here Tommy.

Uh! Thief.

And is my Boy honest? And did your Worship give him all these fine [Page 25] Cloaths? Bless your sweet Eyes fort. Nay, my Boy well drest and trimm'd, and spruc'd, has the Countenance of a Gentleman. I assure you, Sir, though I say it, he has very good Blood in his Veins: For I'll tell you, Sir, your Wor­ship's good Father (Heaven rest his Soul) lay at my House, that very Day four Months before I quicken'd of my Tommy. I remember't to an hour. Ah Squire, he was a good Man, and such a very kind Landlord—

Death, Frank! she'll claim Kindred with thee, and make her Booby thy Brother anon.

Gad, I think so too. Well, Widow, if you dare trust me with your Boy; I'll answer for his good Behaviour.

Trust the noble Squire! Ay, with my Virginity. How sweetly my Blossom, my Bud, looks: It beeomes him so prettily, that I vow I must kiss my Kid; I can't forbear.

Kiss! Judas!

Nay, Squire, if you should carry him to a young Girl, of your Wor­ship's Acquaintance, in a civil way; no Disparagement, my Bird, my Cockarel, he's a true Game-breed, Sir; will shame neither Father nor Mother; and I'll turn him loose in any Ground in Christendom. And so Squire, your Servant. Tommy, Day, day; day, day.

My dear hony Queen.

Why, she's gone, Sir.

Gone! gone!

March'd, gone, gallop'd away, as fast as a Coach and six Horses could drive her.

Nay, I hope you do but tell me so.

Why what should she do here? Here was a roaring Billingsgate, bawl­ing Sow—

My Mother!

So frighten'd her out of her Princely Wits, that she's gone, clear gone.

Here's fine Work! Do you see now, do you see what you have done? You wou'd not have her hang'd; no, not you. Oh unfortunate, unfortunate! Here should I have been a Great Gull, and a Lord Monky; and now shall I be nothing but little sneaking Tom. Dawkins.

Nay, this is a little too hard.

Hard! why 'tis Fire and Gun powder! the Devil and Dr. Foster! Mothers! a plague of all sucking Bottles, if these be your Mothers. But you would not have her hang'd. Udsooks, had she been hang'd seven Years before I was born, it had been the happiest Day I had ever seen in my Life.

Come, Spark, not quite to break your Heart; your Princess will be here again to morrow.

Ha: dear hony Boy, to morrow!

You'll be here next Rehearsal, and bring your Fool again?

Ay, ay.

Let me alone to manage him.

Be here again to morrow.

Have her in your Arms; sleep with her, wake with her, dream with her, go to Bed to her; kiss her, love her, lie by her—

How! go to Bed with her?

Hah!

Great Grum Carter.

ACT IV.

AND how do you like your Lodging, noble Prince?

Oh daintily, daintily: But when will she come? when will she come? dear Boy.

Oh in three Minutes: Till then she has commanded me to entertain you with a Dance.

A pox o' Dancing: I want my Queen.

Oh fye, Sir; her Majesty never goes to Bed without a Dance.

Say you so? what a capering young Gipsey shall I have? and how shall we Two Frisk it together!

O Lord!

Oh the Devil, the Devil, the Devil: Help, Murder, Murder.

Stay Prince, and take your Mistress with you.

Your Queen; your Princess!

Ay, Joe, now thou hast entertain'd us—This was a Master-piece.

Nay, as simple as I stand here, this very Machine came over from France.

From France!

Alamode de Paree, I can assure ye. For I'll tell ye; I the Engineer-Royal of the King's House, and my Brother-Engineers of the Duke's House, went over into France together; and this Machine, and a few Clouds of Clouts, was all we brought over for Two Thousand Guineas.

Nay, such an Engineer-General deserves Encouragement. Pray Mr. Hayns, let me present you with Five Guineas.

Well, Miss, this is a particular Favour; and I am a new Gown in your Debt for't.

How! marry her!

Ay, marry her; so I say.

I thought Sir, you had utterly renounced her; thrown out the trea­cherous Serpent from your Bosom, and weaned your Heart from all your childish Follies.

I thought so too.

And are you then relapst, faln sick again of your old doting Frenzy? Pray remember you have forsaken her, left her, scorned her, curst her: Curst her and her whole Race; nay, and her Father—

Is a very honest Gentleman: He and I are such good Friends again.

Friends! 'tis impossible.

Nothing more certain. By the same good Token he has promis'd me his Daughter; and I'll marry her.

Do you you know what you do, Sir? Marry a Creature of her Lewd­ness and Infamy? A Man of your Years to marry a Girl of Nineteen? Why, 'tis cutting a New-River-Head; you lay in Pipes for half the Watercocks in the Town, Sir.

Why, truly, that may be. And yet I have consider'd the whole Bu­siness; and for Thirty three substantial Reasons I am resolved to marry her.

Reasons!

Ay, Reasons: In the first Place, as thou sayst, a thousand to one but she makes me a Cuckold; the more Danger the more Honour, Shackarel.— In the next Place, I am a very old Fellow, and a very little Love will serve my Turn. And if she should take a small Snap abroad, to mend her short Com­ [...]ns at Home; thou know'st Shackarel, that every Thing would live; and I am a Man of more Conscience than to keep a poor Thing to starve it.

Conscience, with a Vengeance!

And then if I am a Cuckold, I have a number of Brothers at this City end of the Town: I am but one of the Crowd, and shall have a great deal of good Company.

And wou'd you go to the Devil for Company?

Go to the Devil! Oh fye no. Cuckolds go to Heav'n, Shackarel;— and Heav'ns a sweet Place. And as our Parson told me t'other Day, 'tis a very difficult Matter to get to Heav'n, especially with Use upon Use, and Bags upon Bags, with rack'd Rents and screw'd Tenants, and Widows Sighs and Orphans Tears: And above all, the lamentable Out-cry of Stock-jobbing and Bank-Bills; Receipts of good Gold, and Payments of Paper, Shackarel. Then what can I do better, than marry a young Wife to send me to Heav'n, when I shall find it so hard to get thither my self. And therefore Nolens volens, Nemine contradicente, I'll marry Jacintha.

Well; if you have the Courage of a second Cataline, and dare play his desperate Game, and meet his desperate Fate, you shall marry Jacintha; and so take what follows.

Take what follows! so I will. I'm sure of the first good Night, and to the Gods belongs to Morrow. And so Shackarel, do thou go to her, tell her a piece of my Mind; and if thou canst get her to take a Walk into my Lord Squanderland's Garden, where I'll meet her, and prepare her for the Day of Ju­bilee: And so speed the Plough.

Speed the Gallows! Thou art full ripe for a Hempen Noose, but too rotten for a Wedlock one—

Now does it puzle my whole City-Politicks to know what to make of this Sir Dottrell. To be a little doating mad, at reverend Fourscore, is but a natural Frenzy: But to be high raving mad, to start into Lunatick Fits, and see Sprights and Goblins, Visions of Whores, and Horns, against all sense and reason; this warm Dog-star at his Cold Christmas tide is some­thing unaccountable. But no matter, though he's a little craz'd in the Brain, he's very sound in the Pocket.—Five thousand a year is worth twice five senses; He has Money to compound for his Wit, and Acres for his Intel­lects; and so nihil obstante he shall marry my Daughter.

Sir, my Young Master is come to wait upon you.

Well Son; what news from your Temple-walks? How do your Rooks and your Lawyers plume their Nests together? what Musick betwixt those Birds of a Feather, this high Issuable Term with them!

Why faith, Sir, I can't tell what Musick our Temple-Rooks make, but your City Ravens croak but scurvily.

Ravens!

Ay, your old Antiquitated Ravens. Fur and Night-cap, Age and Impotence. An old Fusty City-Alderman that has out-lived the Crow; An Egg in Great Hall's Reign, Hatcht in little Ned's, Feather'd in Queen Besses, and Moulted in Old Noll's.

How, Son!

Even so, Sir. And yet this Buzzard, this Craven, this old Bird of Night wants a young Nest again; To Coo and Bill, and Couple and mate in the Devil's name. Well, Sir, if his Old Chops must be mumbling again▪ get him a Beldame; feed him with his own natural Crows meat, Carrion▪ not Chicken and Partridge, my Sister, Sir.

How now; Royster! you are very brisk, Young Sir.

Something younger than Sir Dottrell, my Twenty-two a little short of his Ninety-two.

Do you know where you are, Sir?

In the presence of a Father.

Paid to your Character and Virtues; not to your Weakness and Injustice. In short, Sir, this Sir Dottrell—

Shall never be my Brother-in-law.

He shan't!

No, shall not!

For Worth, and Truth, and Honour.

[Page 31]I'll dispose of her whilst she's mine, and she shall dispose of her self when she's her own. I'll marry Jacintha to Old Sir Dottrel, and she shall marry Sir Dot­trel's Widow to young Palmerin. For, look ye, Son; one Month of Ma­trimony will wheedle her into his whole Estate; three Months of Family-Duty break the Old Fellow's Heart; Six Months of Mourning serve for the Widowhood; and so Nine Months of Patience gets your Young Palmarin a Wife with 5000 l. a Year, to troll, shine, and roar with, dear Boy; worth twenty blind beggarly Bargains, to get Brats and starve with.

I'll hear no more. Get you home to your Temple, read your Littleton, eat your Mutton, draggle ye [...]r Goon, and come again (let me see) to morow Night. By that time I shall have consider'd matters, and will give you full Satisfaction in the Point.

Yes, Son, I'll marry her in the morning, and give thee Satisfacti­on at Night.

WEll, Sir Dottrel, here's honest Shackarell has told me your whole Mind; that you are resolved to marry Jacintha, right or wrong; to take her as blind Men do Money, false or true, Brass or Silver.

And if thou hast the Conscience to cheat that Blind Man with Adulterate for Sterling, be the Sin at thy own Door.

And then you dare venture upon me?

Dare! I must dare; for I can't live without thee.

Say you so, my Heart of Steel. Then let not your Noble Courage be cast down: For to chear up your Heart, know, to the utter Confusion of Fears and Jealousies, I am Virtuous.

Virtuous!

I am transported!

Oh! No more of that.

Was all but a Sham-Plot.

How! A Sham-Plot?

Betwixt your Man and me.

My Man Shakarell.

and was it you, ye young Rogue!

Even I, Sir.

But hadst thou the Heart to put thy poor Master into that wic­ked Fright!

All my young Mistress's Design; she drew me into the Plot, and I had not the Power to refuse a fair Lady.

No, you young Smirker! Well, I am the happiest old Toast in three Kingdoms: Such a Wife, and such a Servant; there are not the Fel­lows of 'em in the whole Town, from one End to th' other; Uds bud, not from Knaves-Acre to Cuckolds-Point.

How! A Masque!

I profess a most delicate Entertainment. But methinks that young Harlotry that pevish Tit of a Bride was a little too Coy when she should go to Bed. I hope, my Dear, thou wilt not serve me so.

No, no, no.

Then come along my little Honey-suckle.

Hold, Stay, Sir Dottrell. — Sir, before I marry, I have a re­quest which you must not deny me.

Deny thee, Child! I can deny thee nothing.

Then you must know I have made a solemn Vow never to marry that Man but he that shall steal me.

Steal thee!

Ay, and this, Sir, you must promise me, I must confess 'twas a rash hasty Vow; but Vows when they are once made, are Sacred Things; and should I break them, Heaven would never bless me.

But why must I steal thee?

Oh fie, Sir Dottrell, what shrink at so small a piece of Knight Errantry, to win a Fair Lady.

Besides, Sir Dottrell, I'll make it very easie; you Sir Dottrell, and your Man Shackarell shall come with a Ladder, to our Back-window, exactly at Twelve a Clock at Night. I'll steal the Keys of the Window, be ready to re­ceive you, run into your Arms, trundle down the Ladder with you, knock up the Parson, slip into the Church, tumble o're the Matrimony, troll home [Page 35] to my Father, tell him the whole story of the Frolick, whilst you sing He smiles, I laugh, and all the Bells of the Town ring Oh be Joyful.

Huzzah! why I'll do't; say no more, I'll do't. Steal thee! why I'll steal thee all; steal thy heart, steal to Bed to thee; steal into thy Bosom, steal into thy—Oh such Raptures! such Delight! How shall I contain me to the Wedding-night.

ACT V.

See, Sir Dottrell, see, the Windows unlockt, the Cloud's opening▪ and your Dear Angel ready for descending. O you're a happy Man, Sir. But come aloft, Sir, mount the Walls, and Scale the Battlements.

But I don't like this Night-work.—But be sure you hold the Ladder fast, for if it should slip, I should fall very heavy, for five thousand a year's a great weight, Shackarell!

Pox on you! you are one thousand a year heavier of my Money.

Now, Sirrah, stay you there, and watch till I come down again.

Ay faith; I shall watch you!—Hst, where are you?

Here, Sir.

Good Morrow my Masters all, Good Morrow: Past Twelve a Clock, and a warm Frosty Morning.—Ha! a Ladder at Mr. Deputies Back-window— Why, Sir, Mr. Deputy.—Your House is broken open. Thieves, Thieves, Thieves.

Thieves, Thieves, Thieves!

Why 'tis I Child, Sir Dottrell.

Sir Devil!

Why, Chicken, I am come to Steal thee.

Steal me, Impudence! Thieves, Thieves, Thieves!

Ay, and your House broke open! your Great Trunk broke open.

My Great Trunk!

And your Cabinet of Diamonds.

My Diamonds!

Why, Madam, what do you mean! What are you going to do! I hope you have more Conscience than to serve me thus?

Just as you deserve, Mr. Thief—Here slip this Casket of Dia­monds into your Pocket.

Rob'd, ruin'd, undone! A Casket of Jewels bought of my Lord Squanderland for 6000 Pound, and worth 10000. Lost, undone! ruin'd.

Ay, Sir, see there the Barbarous Thief.

Sir Dottrell. See there.

Ay, Sir, 'tis I.

You, Sir, Dottrell.

Yes, I Sir? what a Pox is't such a wonderment to see an Old Rat in a young Mouse-trap.

I can't believe my Eyes.

No, nor your Ears neither, if that young Witch has the handling of'em.

Oh, Sir, Sir, yonder's my Lord Chief Justice come from Council at Whitehall, just turn'd the Corner o'th' Street in his Coach; what if I call him to hear the whole Business?

My Lord Chief Justice!

Ay, Sir, let him be call'd, let me have Justice against that Barbarous Riffler of your House. Now you may see how you've betray'd and ruin'd me. Made me dispose my heart to that base Man. That came not hither for the Love of me. 'Twas not the Charms of all my Youth and Beauty; My bloom­ing Virtue, and my Virgin Innocence.

Oh Woman, woman, woman!

No: 'twas the sparkling Luster of your Jewels that dazled in his Eyes.

Was ever such a Traytress! Oh, Sir, believe her not one word; 'tis all Design, Plot, Treason, upon my Honour and my Life, Sir; and she has no mercy than a Weaver at an East-India-House. That wheedling dissembling young Imp there told me she had made a Vow to Marry no Man but he that should steal her; and I like an old blind dunce—

Steal me! Bless my Ears! what says the Man! Steal me! Oh, Sir, Dottrell, Sir Dottrell, this is like the rest of all your Barbarous Usage.

Ay, Child, steal thee!

Ay, you may tell me what you please: You that can do such wicked things, can have the confidence to say any thing.

My Noble Lord! I beg your Lordships pardon for giving you this trouble at this unseasonable time of Night.

Justice is never troublesome nor unseasonable, we are bound to right the injured.

Injur'd! Ay my Lord, I have had

my House broke open. I have been rob'd, my Lord, rob'd of a Casket of Jewels price 6000 l.

Six thousand Pound!

See there the Ladder, and see here the Thief.

Sir Dottrell!

I shall run mad; that's certain.

The Worshipful Sir Dottrell, I am all amazement.

Amaz'd my Lord, Ay and amaz'd, and amaz'd again, when you have heard the whole Roguery. Your Lordship is a Good Man, and an Ho­nourable man, and will do me Justice; I desire you to hear me, my Lord; I'll tell you the whole truth from the Top to the Bottom. I'll confess all my Lord.

Confess! you can't do better Sir Dottrell.

Then in the first place I am a wheizing, grunting, empty-headed old Sot of Fourscore.

Very good.

In the next place, having no more Grace than Brains, and no more Fear before my Eyes than to—

Break open a House.

Break open a House! No my Lord, break a fools head of my own, to run my reverend But-end a tilt at a Gay Petticoat, and play the old Game of hard heads call'd Matrimony.

Very well. Go on, Sir.

An old doating fool to have no more sense at these years than to pretend to make Womans Meat, when I am more fit for Worms-meat, my Lord. To be hankering after Young Flesh, when I am going the way of all flesh; and thus by the wicked instigation of the World, the Devil, and dry Bones, my Lord, with one Leg in my Grave I had no more Conscience than think of slipping the other to Bed to a Girl of Nineteen; and to lay my old Frost and Night-cap by her young Fruze and Top-knot.

And so falling in Love with a young Lady, and having a particular occasion for a Necklace of Pearl, Locket of Diamonds, and some other Toys, to the Value of Six Thousand Pounds, for a Present to your Young Mistress, you made bold with Mr. Deputy.

I know nothing of Mr. Deputy's Lockets and Diamonds. I had no Design but upon that precious Jewel his Daughter there; that young Fury with her Snakes in Powder and Curl; that Cloven-foot in Lac'd Shooes, my Lord.

Ha! What's all this?

A wicked and notorious Jezabel, that has conspir'd the Ruine, Fall and Destruction of the Right Worshipful Sir Dottrel.

Yet hold, Sir.

I cannot hold. I must confess my Sins, and repent, my Lord; and tell your Lordship, I have been galloping Headlong in the fair Road to the Devil, my Lord. For an Old Coxcomb of Eighty Eight, that has no more Wit than to Marry a Young Girl of Eighteen, heaps more Coals upon his Head [Page 38] than another City Conflagration; and ought to be Marry'd on no Day but the Second of September, my Lord. For when the Firebrands of Whoredom and Cuckoldom are once lighted, they are unquencheable; and a Young Gipsie that takes Fire in her Pudding-Lane, is never to be stopt till she burns down to Bridewell, my Lord.

How now! Ill-manner'd, Sir! Do you know where you are? This Insolence before the Bar of Justice! Ha!

I beg your Lordship's Pardon.

Better Language, and more Civility.

I have done, Sir. I know no Harm of the poor Girl. She is a Good Girl, and an Honest Girl, and a Religious Girl— Why, I have heard her at her Prayers, my Lord.

No more trifling, Sir. If you have any thing to say, speak home to the purpose. Has this young Lady done you any Wrong any Injustice, Sir?

Wrong! O Lord, no! She has done me a great deal of Right, my Lord. Alas, Sir, I have been an impertinent Old Fool, and have so tired and teized her, and haunted her, till the poor Thing, in her own Defence, when I would take no Warning, and receive no denial, has only drawn me into a Plot, Sir; to see my Back-side, Sir; to get a fair Riddance of me, by sending me up High Holborn, and please your Lordship: I vow and swear that's all.

And did she draw you into this Plot?

She, Sir; Ay, ay. Why, I broke open her Father's House by her own Special Command.

Ay, Sir.

To rid her of a troublesom old Blockhead.

Right, Sir.

You committed Burglary.

Very true, Sir.

In pure Complaisance to be hang'd out of the way.

Why truly, Sir, if that False Peacher can Swear me or Lie me into a Halter, I shall be hang'd and hang'd, and double hang'd, my Lord.

Oh, I have heard too much a plain Confession: Dead, gone, lost!

Dead, Sir!

The World can't save ye.

How! Not save me!

Impossible! Oh Sir Dottrel, Sir Dottrel! A Man of your Estate, a Person of your Worth, for you to run yourself into this hideous Sin— Oh, 'tis unpardonable! A Common Thief! Poor Rogues, that break a House for want, for Bread for Hunger, those pitied Wretches might find some Beams of Grace: But you, Sir Dottrel; Oh, there's no Hopes, no Mercy!

What do you mean, Sir? I hope you don't intend to hang me.

Had you a Thousand Lives, all, all lost.

Oh, my Dear Lord, don't fright me! Hang an Alderman! Hang a Gold Chain! I shall never be able to bear it. Oh, my dear Lord, upon my Knees I do beseech you.

Kneel, Sir, to Heaven, not me; make your Peace there, Sir Dottrel.

Oh, don't talk of Heaven! I tremble at the Name on't. And, Madam, dear Madam, save me, save me. Dear Honey, sweet Devil, speak Truth but this once in thy whole Life, and tell my Lord the whole Story. Dear Rogue, don't let me be hang'd: Besides, I shall make but a sneaking Dog in a String; and thou'lt get no Credit by Hanging me.

Nay; why do you trouble me?

I'll never trouble thee again: I'll quit thee, resign thee, renounce thee for ever. And therefore, sweet little Tygress, speak a good Word to my Lord: Save but my Life, and I'll give thee half my Estate.

How, Sir!

Half my Estate.

My Lord, do you hear how the poor Man begs for Life? If your Lordship can do any thing for him—

Do you desire it, Madam?

Ay, she does desire it; she must desire it.

O sweet Rogue!

Well, Sir Dottrel, for this fair Lady's sake I'll try what I can do for you. But fie, Sir Dottrel, half your Estate! That's too much: You shall have Mercy at a cheaper Price.

Oh, you're a good Man.

But first, Sir Dottrel, have not you an Estate of young Palmerin Wor­thy's, bought of his Prodigal Brother.

I have, Sir.

And I warrant you, did not give half the Worth sor't.

Not a Quarter.

Then upon Condition that, before all these Witnesses, you'll give it under your Hand and Seal, to return that Estate to young Palmerin, I'll pro­mise you your Life.

With all my Heart, Sir.

Here's my Clark then shall draw up the Agreement.

Ay, my Lord, you shall have it under Hand, Seal, Bill, Bond, Judgment, Statute; any thing for a sweet Life, my Lord.

Well now, Sir Dottrel, I hope I am not that hard hearted Thing; you see I am all Tenderness, all melting Pity; so very kind—

Kind! Ay, Pox on thee, thou'rt damnable kind!

How, Sir!

Heav'ns bless thee, I would say. Kind Chicken! Ay, very kind; a dear sweet Rogue.

Come, Sir Dottrel, your Hand.

Ay, both my Hands.

You deliver this as your Act and Deed to the Use of Palmerin Worthy.

To the Use of Palmerin VVorthy.

So; now to perform my Part. In the first place, Mr. Deputy, to make Peaee with you, Sir Dottrel heartily begs your Pardon, and by my Hand restores your Jewels,

In the next place, to remove all Fears and Jealousies of a Bench and Judges; instead of that ter­rible thing call'd a Lord Chief Justiee, I am that harmless poor Creature, your Honest Man Shackarell.

Shackarell!

No; no Shackarell neither: For instead of your Man Shakarell, I am [Page 40] your Rival Palmarin; no more yours, but this Lady's Humble Servant.

Palmerin!

Palmarin▪ VVorthy!

As kind Fortune has at last removed all Obstacles to my Honourable Pre­tensions to the Fair Jacintha; as this kind Knight has given me one Estate, I hope you'll give me another, your Beautiful Daughter, Sir.

Ay, with all my Heart and Soul. Take her, dear Boy, take her, and Heav'n bless thee with her. Young Palmerin, and a Thousand a Year! Thou art such an ingenious young Rogue, thou deservd'st a Girl with her Weight in Diamonds.

Here's fine Work.

Go, take her to Church, take her to thy Arms, take her to Bed; and get me Grandsons and Great Grandsons. How shall I mend my dull City-Breed with such a Wit for my Son-in-law!

And art not thou a Perjur'd Devil?

Perjur'd! No, not at all.

No, young Deceiver? Where's the Promise you made me?

Honest with a Vengeance!

I can bear no longer.

Yet, stay, Sir.

Stay, Tormenter!

How! Not wrong'd me!

Speak boldly.

Resign me nobly.

Do a generous Deed.

And wilt thou pray for me?

Too poor, indeed.

Yes, I the happiest, you the kindest Father.

Well, Sir; and what think you of our New World in the Moon?

Why, Faith, Jo, I think, as your Painter has dress'd it, 'tis a new World indeed.

And how do you like it?