SCENE, Sir Maurice Meanwell's House:

LOok you, Sister, if you have a Mind we should live civil­ly together, pray not a word more of that monstrous filthy thing Marriage, fough!

Not of Marriage, Sister? you Jest sure.

Oh for Shame forbear! Can Flesh and Blood hear the Word, and keep within Bounds? The very sound of it leaves such an impression of filthiness and obscenity in the Mind, that I have need of all my Morals to silence Na­ture in me: Bless me! What refin'd Soul can bear the impure Consequences of so nauseous a Thing?

Without much Conjuring; when I reflect on Marriage, all I can see in it, is a dear Husband that will love me, pretty Children that will play about me, and a House of my own to manage: and, for my part, I cannot perceive what there is in any of these Things offends Decency, or shocks good Manners.

Jesu! That One born with a Spirit, capable of sublime and lofty Things, should foolishly limit her self to the enjoyment of so mean, and so despicable a Creature as Man!

Believe me, Sister, 'tis not prudence in frail Woman to Huff and Hector; for either she yields in time; and then how insultingly does a Man triumph o'er her conquer'd Pride? Or if, to the last, she can boast of the venerable Title of Virgin, Does not the satirical World ridicule her Wis­dom, and mock her Singularity? Till almost choakt with Vapours, and de­vour'd with Spleen, she makes in Policy a poor shift to rail at Men that scorn [Page 2] her; and grudging to the Young the Joys she has out-lived, she pines away with Envy, and dies a fretting Martyr for a reproachful Cause.

Poor Soul! how deeply is the Spirit in you immersed in the foul Abyss of your Senses. Go on pretty Miss, please your self with fond and airy Notions. But know this, That if there be Fancy in your Choice, there is Judgment in mine. To Philosophy, and not to Man, do I give the Empire of my self; I scorn to yield to common Laws, and to make that Reason a Slave to Mankind, which kind Heav'n imparted free to me.

This is Heroick indeed: but, pray good Sister, with all your Wit, can you answer me this Question? What sort of Figure had you made in the World, had your wise Progenitours always been wrapt up in lofty Speculati­ons, or musing upon musty Books; had they never condescended to talk fami­liar Things, and now and then discoursed plain Nature together? Well, since I cannot be a Wit my self, I'll try to bring Wits, and to stock the World with little Doctors, that shall propagate Learning to all Generations.

I pity you, poor Sister: But pray, since you are so very fond of that Ceremonious Piece of Ruine, let's hear at least, who is the worthy Object of your Inclinations,—I hope, not Clerimont?

Why not Clerimont, pray? Does he want Merit? Is his Estate so mean? or, Is there any Thing in his Person should make one blush at the Choice?

I do not say there is; but you cannot be ignorant that he is mine al­ready by right of Conquest.

Lord, Sister, must then so vast, and so sublime a Genius as yours, li­mit it self to the Enjoyment of so mean a Creature as Man!

Reason, which is my Guide, and not my Tyrant, do's not disapprove of the Courtship of a Man of Vertue; tho' I may hate him for a Husband, yet he may please me well enough, under the Title of an Admirer.

Passionate Speeches, Fond Addresses, Platonick Gallantry, and such Toys, may feed up the Vanity of a Woman: But, Sister, Are you sure Love has nothing more to desire?

Thanks to my Wit, I can answer for One; and I should make a sad Example of the daring Mortal, that should attempt to rifle the precious Ma­gazine of my Chastity.

But after all, What Assurance have you, that Clerimont is yours?

Surely, after a Thousand Declarations of his Love, I think, Sister, I may rely upon his Sincerity in spite of Rivals.

I do not love to boast; but if you have a mind to try it, here comes one shall decide the Quarrel. Come on Clerimont, and without any Fear, or Partiality, disclose your Heart. My Sister chal­lenges your Love, and I flatter my self I have a right to it; let's see in whose Favour you'll declare your self.

I am not so fond, Sister, of a publick Declaration, as to put any Man I value, to the hard Extremity, either of Dissembling, or Disobliging: the One is as unworthy of a Man of Honour, as the other is against the Rules of fine Breeding.

No, Madam; my Heart, incapable of Dissembling, does not scruple to own an Engagement which is the Pride and Happiness of my Life: Fair Mariana's Charms are such as will easily justifie the greatest Passion in the World.

But can those mighty Charms, Sir, be a good Excuse for Baseness and Infidelity?

Do me more Justice, Madam; and impute to your self the blame of my Inconstancy: 'Tis that stiff and imperious Carriage of yours, that cold Indifferency you affected upon all Occasions, and your high boasting of the tyrannical Empire you exercis'd over me, have at last open'd my Eyes, and restor'd me to the Use of my Reason; and can you now complain, or—

I Complain? No Sir, you mistake me; my Resentment would make you proud, and fancy that your Heart was a Conquest worth my keeping.

Now, Sister, here's a Scope for your Philosophy with a vengeance: summ up all your Morals to your Assistance; let's see if you can look upon a happy Rival with a Stoical and Undaunted Mind.

You triumph, Sister, in your pretty Looks, and pleasing Smiles, and think of Insulting, perhaps too soon; feed your easie, deluded Soul, with empty Dreams of Pleasure: Your Happiness is not so great, as to deserve my Envy—

—Nor perhaps so certain yet, as not to leave me some Prospect of a Change.

However she may endeavour to disguise it, I am satisfy'd, she is not a little offended at the Sincerity of my Declaration.

But I am pleas'd with it; and without the laborious Task of two years Love you have bestow'd on her in vain, I give you leave to think me not Ungrateful.

Still as you speak, my Love discerns fresh Wonders; and to that free and generous Temper, so opposite to the little Artifices and Dissimulation of your Sex, do I resign all the Liberty your other Charms have left me.

Mistake me not, Clerimont; I set as high a Value upon the Modesty of our Sex, as the best Moralists of 'em all; but yet I see no reason why we should keep a Lover at such a distance, when we are once satisfy'd of his Worth and Sincerity; since all the Incense after that exacted, serves only to gratifie the two great Idols of our Souls, Pride and Vanity, and gives no real Satisfaction either to Reason or Reputation.

Nay, proves often a piece of Policy very fatal to the Proud and Scornful of your Sex; for their Vanity forcing thus a pining Lover to spend his whole Stock of Love in Courtship, the Consequence of it, is, That he has none left for Marriage.

Oh, Madam, I am quite out of breath!

What's the matter now, Lucy?

The Matter? only Treason, High-Treason plotting against you two within.

I dare lay a Wager, your Sister's Jealousie has been at work.

'Tis e'en so; I never saw her Philosophy so ruffl'd before.

But what was the Result of it, Lucy? How did her Wise, her Witty Mother take it?

You know her Way; she has always more Sentences in her Mouth than Teeth.

But still let's hear a little.

With a furious train of her bombast Expressions, and a flood of Latin, which, for ought I know, was all Swearing or Conjuring, she did just now, in her Tone of Authority, pronounce, That Mariana, the Undutiful Mariana, should have no other Husband but Mr. Timothy Witless.

Don't you tremble, Clerimont, at the Name of your Rival?

No Rival, Madam, can seem dangerous to me, after your last Assurance.

No; on my Conscience, you need not fear him.

But how came you to know that Property, Mrs. Lucy?

I have seen the Coxcomb at Cambridge: he was noted there for a mighty Boaster of pretended Favours; and one could hardly name a Wo­man to him, but he had had the luck to lie with.

A Scholar, on my Word.

Nay, he courted me once most fiercely; but I dreading Matrimony then, a little more than I do now, sent him packing to his Grammar: Upon this, what does my mere Scholar do, Sir, to be revenged of me, but use me just as he do's his Books; for as he quotes every day Passages out of 'em, which he never read, so he boasts of Favours of mine he never enjoy'd: ne'er trust me, if I have not a month's Longing, to serve him a Trick for his Impudence.

We'll joyn with you, Mrs. Lucy, I promise you: But first, Is the Man Easie? May we venture to play upon him?

The Man, Sir, is an exact Tool for our purpose; a good harmless Booby; so very honest, that as he carry'd no Wit to Cambridge, so he has the Conscience to bring none from thence: a dull, lumpish, low-spirited Ninny, who is contented to be a Fool by Nature, and wants the Skill of our modish Sparks to make himself a Fool by Art.

However, he must be removed; for in Matters of Love, a Fool is as troublesome, as a Witty Man is dangerous.

I'll be content to die a Virgin, if I do not accomplish it for you.

Look to your self, pretty Mrs. Lucy: You could not have bound your self by a greater Curse.

Then judge your selves:—My Brother Trap, who waits on him at Cambridge, in the manifold Qualities of Gentleman, Foot-man, and Valet de Chambre, sent me word last Week, That his worthy Master was soon to set out for his Matrimonial Expedition:—He is famous for merry Tricks and Frollicks; and I dare answer for his Zeal, or be bound Body for Body, that he'll be true to the Cause.

I desire no better Security.

This falls out as luckily as we could wish.

I'm inform'd that he is expected to day; I'll send for him, as soon as I hear he is come to Town, to Consult with him, and set his Wits at work.

Then let's ev'ry one to our Tasks immediately: Clerimont, my Uncle Meanwell is your Friend; you may try his Interest for my Father's Con­sent.

Trust, Madam, to my Love for obeying a Command, on which all my Happiness depends; I'll about it presently, only give me leave to wait on you within.

Scene Changes. The Street.

Pox o' the Milk-woman, and my unlucky stumbling on her: she was not Pretty neither: Fough! how she has daub'd me! By the Univer­sity, my Cloaths have dropt as much of her Stuff, as would suckle ten Parish-Bastards.

How the buisie, noisie Rabble began presently to swarm about you! 'Twas a great mercy, Sir, we came to your Rescue, they would have pull'd you a' pieces else; for that untractable Crew, set up of late for Ar­bitrary Avengers of Wrongs, and like greedy Birds of Prey, are always flying to Mischief.

I was almost in a Fury, to see a Person of Quality so abus'd.

Quality! Ay, that I am; and for my Honour let it be spoken, the very First that ever was of my Family.

May I crave your Name, Sir?

My Name, Sir?—My Father is a Knight, and I wou'd have the rascally Mobb to know, that he'll talk Astrology with 'em for their Ears: By the Uni­versity, I'll send a Challenge to the Vermin, and try how much of the Gen­tleman they have in their Doublets.

Challenge the Mobb? You Jest sure: The Mobb never fight; they only butcher, or knock one down, without either Method of Fencing, or Rules of Justice.

I had an itching Mind to have sent half a dozen of those Sons of Whores to their pocky Mothers, to make black Bacon of 'em.

Faith, I hate Blood-shed, and never was fond of Valour; I had rather live Three Days in this pretty sinning World, than a Thousand in History.

I suppose you come, Sir, to make the Town happy with your Company, for some time.

Truly, Gentlemen, my Business in Town, is the Business of any place I live in; Love-Intrigues; nothing else: I have of late so liberally Cuckolded the whole Pody-Politick of Cambridge, Mayor, Aldermen, &c. that I am forced to come up for the relish of Variety.

London is a large Field for Love; you have been here, I don't question, Sir: Pray, how do you like the City?

The City, Sir? Faith, I think the City is well enough; but pox on't, there are so many Buildings in it, they hinder one from seeing it; wou'd they were pull'd down, we might then have a full Prospect of it.

I see, Sir, so honest a Look in your Face, that with an hum­ble Apology for my Freedom, I must give you a seasonable Caution, and that is, To take heed what Company you keep in Town; and have a vigi­lant Eye upon any body that comes near you; for this great City was ne­ver so pester'd with Pick-pockets, and busie Rogues, as it is now.

Say you so? Oh, the Villains, let me alone with them; I'll be cun­ning enough for 'em, I warrant you.

But, Sir, what argues Impudence beyond Example? The offi­cious Cheats will intrude themselves into your Company, upon the specious pretence of Civility: They'll make very free and extravagant Offers to you: But, Oh, the wicked Age we live in! while one of 'em is thus amusing you with some im­pertinent Story, the other is very busie in rifling your Pockets.

Odd'zookers! give me but a List of the Rogues; my Father is a Ju­stice, and I'll see 'em hang'd, every Mother's Son of 'em.

You'll do, Sir, a mighty piece of Service to the Nation: We'll wait on you with a List of their Names, at a more convenient time; till then, your Servant, Sir.

Gentlemen, Yours—Look to your self, Trap, as we walk home; for these kind Gentlemen were pleased to inform me, the Town is full of Cheats and Rogues:—Wou'd I could catch some of 'em with their Hands in my Pockets, I'd presently say to my Sword,—Sword! out of the Scab-board.—O, I am Robb'd! By the Uni­versity, Robb'd!—my Sword:—My Purse!—Nay, the very Speech for my Mistress, is gone too! I am Undone! I shall not be Marry'd this Week! Alack! Alack!

I am safe; that's well: Come, Sir, you are gull'd, I see; but if the Speech be the worst of your Loss, I warrant you there is Learning enough upon my Shoulders to make a new one: Pox o' your [Page 7] Books! how heavy they are!—'tis well for you, you do not load your Memory with 'em: D'Zlife! Cou'd you not, like the rest of the Scholars, leave your Learning behind you?

O sweet, honey Trap, I shall never have so fine a Speech again, there was no less than three Acts of Parliament quoted in it.

But pray now, have you done? Shall we march on? lest your kind Gentlemen return, and ease me of my Burthen.

Ay, Trap; Ay; only this by way of Caution; Be sure to send Word immediately to dear Lucy, Not to take any manner of notice of me, when I come to court her Mistress: I'll be for her again, tell her, as soon as I have got Mrs. Meanwell, that sweet Bird of Love, into the Cage of Matri­mony; till then, Trap, no Syllable, pray, of any Night-Adventures.

Oh, there you are out, Sir; with Submission, I think it your Interest, the thing should be known.

Fie, Trap, Fie; 'twould spoil my Marriage.

'D'Zlife! quite contrary: Believe me, Sir, a Lover is valued by his Mistress, as a Soldier by his General, the better for his Experience.

But for all your fooling, Trap, if Sir Timothy should examine you about my Intrigues, don't you be such a Buzzard, as to own, it was upon some ill Design: Tell him only, That having often heard, that the meeting of two Maiden-heads, begetteth commonly a Fool; I thought it prudence in me, to take care, the Son and Heir of my Family should not be so unlike my self.

Oh! If so, then by all means, your future Spouse should use the same Caution; for then your Children would be wonderful Wise:—But come, Lead on, pray.

Oh, my Speech! 'twas a rare one:—

Oh, my Sword! 'twas a pure Blade.—

SCENE Changes to Sir Maurice's House.

This Mrs. Catchat has a great Influence over the Lady Meanwell, her Sister; and if I can make her our Friend, she'll be a good Advocate for us: I'll try—

Suffer, Madam, a passionate Lover to make use of this Opportunity, to dis­cover to you the sincere—

Hold, Sir, Hold; Not so fast, pray: Don't explain your self too freely yet; there are Rules of Decency to be observ'd in every thing:

That's true, Madam: But my Passion is grown to such a heighth, that—

I know well enough, Sir, that you love me, sigh, and dye for me; yet let me tell you, 'tis both prudent, and discreet, I should pretend Ignorance, at least for a time.

Oh, Madam, give me leave but to open my Heart to you, and you'll be satisfied, that my—

Believe me, Clerimont, an easie Conquest affords but little Glo­ry: You shall value my Heart the better, if I make you pull and tugg hard for it.

But still you mistake my Meaning, Madam; I'll explain my self bet­ter, and make you sensible, that what I wish so impatiently for, is only—

What! Would you come to a Conclusion so very quick? Fye, Cle­rimont, 'tis against the Rules. What had become of the rest of the Ro­mance, had Mandana yielded presently to Grand Cyrus; or, Claelia fled into the Arms of Aronces at the first Intimation of his Love?

Let not your Heart, Madam, be so alarm'd; you have no violence to fear from me: I can assure you, Mariana is the only Object of my Desires; and I want nothing to compleat my Happiness, but Sir Maurice's Consent, with the Favour of your Assistance towards it.

Oh Sir, this Shift I must hugg you for;—'tis the prettiest ever came into a witty Man's Head. I admire your Invention; and vow in all the Ro­mances I ever read, I hardly met with any thing more Ingenious, or better contriv'd.

This is Matter of Fact, Madam, and not of Wit: 'Tis Mariana I love, 'tis Mariana has the sole Empire of my Heart, and to obtain her is my highest Ambition.

Ah, good Sir, D'Autres, I understand, well enough, what it is you mean, under the disguised Name of Mariana. Poor Creature! She is but a Pretence I see; and indeed, as the case stands, 'tis well for you, Cleri­mont, you are not in Earnest with her; for to my knowledge, she is a Man­hater.

Ah, Madam! Why must you so deceive your self, as not to believe what is Truth, and fancy Things that are not?

No more Grimaces, as you love me; pull off the Vizard, Clerimont, and be not asham'd to own a Passion which your Looks cannot conceal.

Madam, I protest—

Nay, protest what you will, you shall sigh a little longer: 'Tis not for the Credit, and Reputation of my Charms, to take pity of a Man so soon;—tho' I confess, were I to break a Rule, there is so must Honesty in that Phy­siognomy of yours, that I could almost be tempted to—

Keep to your Rules, Madam, I entreat you; but do not go on in your Errour.

Adieu Clerimont, let this suffice for once; I have, I fear, discover'd too much Weakness already: 'Tis time for my Modesty to make an honoura­ble Retreat.

What, go undeceived! and still running on in that Extravagant Hu­mour,—Madam, I tell you—

Pray forbear, Sir, and be not so pressing: Surely you don't design to offer Violence to my Honour.

May I perish, Madam, if I have such a Thought.

I'll hear no more, au revoir—

Hang me, Madam, if I love you, your—

I tell you, Sir, 'tis in vain,—au revoir—

Pox of her Fancies: I never met with any thing so impertinent in my Life. When a vain Woman is in Love, she must, for her own Credit, perswade her self she is belov'd.

HIS Steward's Place, sayest thou? Faith, no News in the World could have been more welcome; for besides that I have a na­tural Inclination to Mischief, Sir Timothy was pleas'd, just now, to give me warning to be gone to morrow, only for being at my arrival a little too familiar with that habitual Sin of his, Mrs Heart-ease, his House-keeper, and I was almost mad for an opportunity to be revenged of him.

Hold, Jack, Hold; here comes the Gentleman; make your best Honours to your best Master.—

This Creature you see here, Sir, is that worthy Brother of mine, whose Skill and Zeal to do you Service, I have already commended to you.

He does not look as if he were a Man of Scruples: I dare answer [...] his Physiognomy, That his Conscience can dispense with a little Rogu [...] [...] do a Man a Kindness: But has he the heart to serve his Master's Riva [...] [...]

For a Master, Sir, give me leave to own none but you: [...] Conscience, I am as modish as the Vicar of Brey; and seldom listen [...] there's Preferment in the case.

Then let's to Action immediately: What can you think [...] to give me a taste of your Wit.

For my Probation Trick, I have a Plot in hand, will strangely con­found and perplex the Witlesses: but I must not forestall you with an Account of my Projects; only by way of Prologue to our Comedy, if you have a mind to make your self Sport, and serve your Love at the same time, I can put you in a way.

With all my heart:—Let's hear what you propose?

Mr. Witless has order'd me to find out a Dancing-Master for him: Let me but introduce you in that Quality, and you'll have a good Opportunity to remove his Affections from your Mistress: the Man is as Easie as you can to wish; put any thing upon him, I'll answer, 'twill take.

I long to be acting of that part; for I was impatient to see the Figure of the Man.

Then march about instantly; for behold the Enemy appears.

Adieu, pretty Mrs. Lucy: Remember me a thousand times to Charming Mariana,—You Matchiavel, away to Consultation.

I say, Mr. Witless, that Milk-Sop Babe, my Niece, shall not have on; upon my VVord, she shall not.

She used me scurvily, that's the truth on't.

She does not deserve a Man of VVit.

No more she don't, Faith.

I am really so shagreen, Sir, to see a pretty Gentleman abused in my Brother's House, that to save the Credit of his Family, I am thinking of something to make you amends for his Daughter's Rudeness.

You are exceeding Bounteous, Mrs. Catchat.

Look upon me, Mr. Witless, and tell me freely, Cou'd you love a VVoman that has liv'd just long enough to be VVise, and make a good Choice?

'Tis such a one I long for, I protest.

A Beautiful, Charming Creature.

Faith, you make my Mouth water.

A VVit, a Critick, an Authour?

Odd'zookers! But where shall we find such a Treasure?

Such a Treasure is above the Merit and Ambition of Crowned Heads; and yet at your Service, Mr. Witless.

Oh, you ravish me, Madam! I'm transported! Let me see that Angel! that Goddess! I must adore her! VVhere is she? VVhere is she, pray?

Not far, Mr. Witless:—Here she stands.

VVhere, Madam? VVhere?

Turn this way, Mr. Witless, and fix your Eyes upon me;—'tis my self.

VVhat! You, Mrs. Catchat!—And is that Face you have on now, all the Faces you have in the VVorld, pray?

No doubt on, Sir: And surely, whoever has such a One, need not desire a better.

Faith, Madam, to be plain then, that Face of yours is a very unman­nerly Face, to give the Lye to so fair a Description.

I cannot be angry with One I'm sure loves me:—Besides, I must tell you, Mr. Witless, (though indeed there is little need of any other Charm but my Person,) I am a Fortune, Sir;—I have Thousands, Thou­sands, Sir.

Oddzniggs Madam, you should have mention'd that first of all.

The Mortal I shall bless with the possession of my Personal Goods, extrinsick, or intrinsick, shall have 4000l. down, and a 1000l. when I am first delivered of a Child.

With Submission, that's ill ordered, Mrs. Catchat, it should be a 1000 l. down, and 4000 l. at the fall of the First-Fruit; because the Temp­tation of the Money, is all the Provocation a Husband is like to have with you, to strive for an Heir.

Bless me! the Fellow is a Fool, a perfect Stranger to Wit, and Beauty: I must stick to my Clerimont; he is a Man of Judg­ment.

Come, Sir Maggot, we will not be put off with a Complement; we'll have the Song.

To tell you the Truth, I am a little proud of this Piece; look upon it as a very lucky Hitt of my Muse towards Preferment.—Here it is.—

Next time Sir Maggot favours us with a Visit, I hope our Meetings will be regularly fixed.

Do you know, Sir Maggot, that I discovered last Week, Three Men in the Moon, fighting a Duel in a Church-yard?

Ay, that I know; and I hear since, that he in the Blue Coat was wounded, and drop'd down into a Tub of Yeast, at a Brewer's in Bury.

I saw the poor Creature fall; and I could not but admire at the other Two, who, instead of running away, and making their Escape, fell a gazing on me for an Hour together. The Sparks of that shining World, are of a lo­ving Constitution, I promise you; a few Looks of mine would soon consume 'em all; and then my Charms, like Alexander, must weep for want of Worlds to Conquer.

I cannot boast of prodigious things, Madam: However, I have now a small piece in the Press, will, I hope, appear new to the World; and that's Cook upon Littleton turn'd into Heroick Verse.

Now you talk of Projects, Do you know, Ladies, that my Tutor and I, are setting up a Penny-Post to the West-Indies.

But you, Mrs. Catchat, what's become pray of your dainty Piece of Work as you call it.?

What! my Satyr against Eunuchs? Fough! I left it unfinish'd; the filthy Subject provoked my Spleen, but could not raise my Fancy.

For my part, I love any thing that has a relish of the publick Spi­rit in it: I was yesterday with my Lord Mayor, to communicate to him a Mathematical Engin of my own, to keep the Streets as clean, and as dry as a drawing Room all the Year round.

How's this, Madam, pray?

'Tis only by securing the City from Rain.

From Rain, Madam! that's impossible. How can you compass it?

Oh easily enough, Mr. VVittless: Tell me, Have you seen the glaring Lamps upon the Road to Kensington?

Yes, Madam, that I have, What then?

Well, just so, 'tis only setting up Timber Posts round about the City, and then fixing a pair of Bellows upon every one of 'em, to blow the Clouds away.

Sir Maggot, I have now a huge Limbeck making; guess for what.

Guess say you?—Faith I can't, unless it be to dissolve the Philosophers Stone.

No, no, Sir Maggot; 'tis for a more noble Design, I assure you: You must understand, that I have made an exact Collection of all the Plays that ever came out, which I design to put into my Limbeck; and then extract all the Quintessence of. Wit that is in them, to sell it by drops to the Poets of this Age.

Oh Madam, Let me bespeak a few of your witty Drops for the Poor Gentlemen of the Athenian Mercury.

Surely those Oracles of Learning do not want 'em.

Faith but they do: Look you, I proposed but this to them t'other Day: Suppose we should put the Brains of a Scholar into the Head of a Bull, whether or no that Bull would speak Latin as I do? and never trust me if they knew what to say to it.

But why should you think that so mighty a Miracle. I my self who seldom boast of any thing, am now teaching a Flea to sing: The little Crea­ture understands the Notes already; and if I live, she shall sing a Song in the next Opera that's acted.—

You might have taken t'other Bottle sure; Why in such hast Sir Timothy?

Look you, Neighbour, when I have Business of Importance in my Noddle, I love to be Sober: Where is honest Tim? Come my Boy, you must be marrried to morrow, along along to my Taylor; by the Beard of King Dick, I'll make thee as gay as a Pageant at my Lord Mayor's Show. Ladies your Servant; Sir Maurice your most Humble. On, on Boy.

I go, Ladies, and remain your most obsequious Slave. My future Progenitor in Law, I rest for ever your dutiful Son, that is to be.

I must take my leave too, Ladies; for some Vertuosi are to wait on me this Afternoon, about a Scheme I am preparing for the House, to have all the Cities, Towns, and Villages of England, turn'd into Sea-Ports.

Then Sir Maggot your Servant; but pray remember your Pro­mise, and fail not at the New Play to morrow; for the Author came Yester­day to pay his devoirs to us, and we have engag'd for our selves, and our Friends, to find it a good one, in spite of Rules, and Criticks.

But tell me first, Madam, is the Poet a modest, civil Poet; or is he like one of those, that cannot be VVitty without being Obscene.

VVhat makes you ask Sir Maggot?

'Tis only for the pleasure of observing some nice Ladies of my Acquaintance, who will be sure never to miss the first Acting of a Play, that if there be any thing high season'd in it, they may please their Palates, and tickle their Fancies with it; and then with a turning up of the Nose, and a Jesu had I known the Play was so filthy, I would not have seen it for a Mil­lion: They'll be sure, for their own Reputation, to cry, the Poet's down; and declaim high against those who shew so little Modesty, as to see it the second Day.

I know the Author, Sir Maggot, and dare engage for the Chasti­ty of his Muse.

'Tis enough, Ladies, that the Poet is under your Protection; I'll be at his Play I warrant you, and clap stoutly as soon as the Candles begin to light.

I thought, Witt Paramount, I must have been forced to dismiss my self without Audience.

What! Angry? Sir Maurice; I thought you stood all the while admiring the Famous Sir Maggot Jingle.

Hang him for a scurvy Pimp of Wit, that could never Match Rhime, and Sense together, a Scoundrel of Parnassus, and the very scandal of his Trade.

His Trade! Fough, how Citizen-like is that Expression!

A dull Gossiping, Rhiming Parasite, who Robs the Piazzas of Paper to Write his Madrigals upon, and stands Recorded in Ale-Houses, for the inspiring Liquor that makes him a Wit.

Brother, Brother talk with more Reverence of Sir Maggot Jingle, pray, what if his Loyalty to Oliver has made him Poor, he is still a Knight, and a Poet, and such as he, you know, can Fight, and Lampoon.

Faith, Sister, I fear neither his Sword nor his Satyr, as long as I keep a good Table; for such as he I know, had rather put up an Affront than lose a Meal.

How now, Sir Maurice, is the merry God Dancing a Jigg within the inclosure of your Brains? you forget your self strangely methinks.

'Tis to you, Sister, I speak, what a Devil have you to do with Jingling and Poetry.

Lord, Sister, what a strange compound your Husband is of Vulgar and Clownish Atoms?

A pretty thing indeed, to see those long Spectacles of yours, set on the Top of my House, for you to peep, and tell how many Hackney Coaches are going in the Moon.

Oh the Illiterate Brute! thus to affront a Telescope.

I am no Scholar, not I, and I thank my Stars for it, but with your leave, so much common Sense has taught me, that all the Study and Philosophy of a Wife, should be to please her Husband, instruct her Chil­dren, have a Vigilant Eye over Domestick Affairs, keep a good Order in her Family, and stand as a Living Pattern of Virtue, and Discretion to all about her.

Sir Maurice like another Solon, is now setting up for a Law­giver, Poor Soul!

The Women of Old did not read so much, but lived better, Housewifry was all the Knowledge they aspired to; now adays Wives must Write forsooth, and pretend to Wit with a Pox.

'Tis the partial, and foolish Opinion of Men Brother, and not our Fault has made it ridiculous now adays; for a Woman to pretend to Wit, she was born to it, and can shew it well enough, when occasion serves.

Ay, to our Cost sometimes, Female Wit Triumphs, and Ex­cels in three things, Revenge, Dissembling and Cuckoldom; there I grant we must yield to you for quickness and dexterity.

But for all your Jesting Brother, a Man's Wit is as dull as his Ap­petite, if not set an Edge by ours.

Hang your Edging, a Woman's Wit was always a Pimp to her Pleasures.

I'm tired Sir Maurice with your Nonsense: Satyr does not become a Citizen.

But I tell you Lady, that I will have a Reformation in my House, that this Plague of Wit has infected all my Servants, even my little Boy, forsooth, cannot turn the Spit now without a Pharamond, or a Cassan­dra in his hand; if I call for Drink, the Butler brings me a Spencer, or a Ben Johnson.

If this be all you have to say Sir Maurice; Farewel.

No, Angry Mother of the Muses, give me but Attention, and you shall hear; your Daughters Wit it seems is like to starve her Love: I'm told she designs to keep Hospitality in another World, and Feast the worms with her Maiden-Head.

What strange Jargon's this?

But Mariana being not altogether so Witty, but like a simple Creature, desirous to keep House in this World; 'tis time to think of a Hus­band for her.

'Tis what my preventing Wisdom has already determined; I have engag'd to Sir Timoth, that his Son shall be the Man; he is a Person of deep parts, and that's in my Opinion the only way to infuse the Spirit of Improvement into your Daughter?

Did you not perceive by my Daughters Discourse with Mr. Witless, that she has no great liking to him; why should we force her Incli­nation my Dear.

What now? will you offer to Contradict me; I have past my word, and it must be so.

I am not so much against it my dearest Dear, but only let's do things as they should be done; let's give her a little time at least, to Con­quer her Aversion.

'Tis pity indeed, but my Determinations should wait for the settling of the giddy Thoughts of such an illiterate Creature as your Daugh­ter; I am resolved it shall be as I please, bid her be ready, for to mor­row I'll send to Mr. Engross to bring the Writings this Evening to Seal.

But my Dear in a Case of this importance.

What, again? Hold your Tongue Sir Maurcie, I don't love people should reply.

I see your Lady going Brother, I suppose you have had some Dis­course about the business.

Yes, Brother.

Well, and what's the Result of it pray, shall we have Mariana? Has she given her consent, is the thing agreed on?

Not altogether.

Does she deny?

No.

Is the matter left in suspence?

Not at all.

What then Brother, is it a Mystery never to be Revealed?

I'll tell you Brother, she says that she has engag'd her word for Mr. Witless, and cannot recall it.

And what did you say to it pray, did you accept of him?

I! No; God forbid.

What Answer then did you make?

None at all, and I am glad I did not, for fear she should have disputed me into a consent.

The Reason is admirable Brother; but did you at least propose Clerimont to her?

No Brother, I had more Wit I assure you; look you, when I heard her Name Mr. Witless, I thought my mentioning Clerimont would but Exasperate her the more.

Your Prudence Brother amazes me, an't you ashamed of your soft, and easie temper?

Brother I love Peace, and my Wife is a terrible Dragon when once out of Humout; she makes indeed a High Boast of her Philosophy, but she is not a bit the less Cholerick for it, and her Morals that teach her to look upon all things with an indifferent Eye, have not the least In­fluence upon her Passions; she is still Woman all over Brother.

This is Mockery, perfect Mockery Brother, your VVife Rules because you are faint hearted; take my word 'tis the way of Cunning, and designing VVives as soon as they are Married, Nicely to study the Temper of their Husbands, and thence Usurp Power in proportion to their weakness.

In sober sadness I'm to blame, my Neighbours take Notice of it I hear, and I begin to be weary on't. Faith I do Brother.

For shame, good Brother do not make your self such a Ninny, as to suffer that puny thing woman to lead you by the Nose; pluck up a Spirit, shew your self a Man; and when your wife has the ill manners to Argue with you, tell her in a Tone of Authority such is my VVill and Pleasure.

You are in the right Brother, [Cocking his Hat] come I'm re­solv'd I'll shew more Courage for the future.

VVell said.

'Tis a disgrace for a Man to submit to the Capricious Humour of a wife.

Very well.

She has abused my Patience too long.

Very true.

Too much imposed upon me.

That's certain.

And she shall know to day, that my Daughter is my Daughter, and that it belongs to me, and to no body else, to dispose of her as I please.

Now 'tis as it should be, I am overjoy'd at the change.

You Know Clerimont's Lodgings, pray call upon him, and tell him, I must speak with him instantly.

I am going to the Exchange, to hear what News from Hamburgh, for I had notice this morning that our Ship is safely arrived, and I'll see him as I go.

SCENE Changes. Sir Timothy's Lodgings.

HEre he comes, compose your self a little, and forbear Laughing if you can—Sir, here's Mr. Le Brall,

the best Dancing-master in Town, is come to wait on you.

Sir, your very profound, humble Servant.

Your man informs me, Sir, that you have a desire to learn the grace­ful motions of our Art, I shall be proud of—

But first tell me, Sir, could I learn to Dance by Grammar? I love to do things methodically.

That can't be, Sir; for the Perfection, or End of our Art is chiefly to reform the rude, and clownish Gestures of the Body, which is a thing meerly practical.

Whether you know it or no, I can tell you, Sir, your Art is very ancient, I have read somewhere in Juvenal, that there was a Ball in Noah's Ark.

Oh, Sir, that's but a Trifle, we derive the Pedigree of Dancing much higher.

But now let's see what we have to do, I am soon to marry, and I have sent for you, Mr. Le Brall, to teach me to Dance as curiously as you can, for 'twould be a shame for a Gentleman, and a Scholar as I am, that any body should outdo me at my own Wedding.

Don't you question, Sir, but I shall come off with credit; but pray when is the day?

To night, I hope.

What! so soon, Sir! you confound me.

Don't let that fright you, Mr. Le Brall, my Master is not like other People, his Brains circulate to his very Heels; I'll engage for him, that he'll learn as much in two hours, as he would do in a quarter of a year!

Oh, if so, we are well enough—Come, Sir, your Hat—So:—Your Shoulders—Very well:—Your Arms—To a marvel:—Hold up your Head—So:—Your right Foot forward—So:—Turn out your Toes—So:—Keep your Body streight—Admirable:—Make your Honours—Nothing can be more exact.

Well, what do you think on't, Master? I fancy I do pretty well.

You amaze me, Sir, with your Dexterity.

Don't you think my Mistress will be transported to see me dance so well? You must be at the Wedding, Master, remember I invite you.

He'll be there I don't question, and one of the chief Actors, I hope.

You honour me, Sir; but will you pardon my Curiosity, if I presume to ask the Lady's Name who is to be so happy?

My Mistress, and future Spouse, Sir, is one Mrs. Meanwell.

Which of 'em—Mariana?

The very same.

If so, then I must needs say, some People have better Luck than they deserve.

What can be the meaning of this?

Nothing, nothing, Sir, I have been too rash I see.

Surely there is something of mystery in this; pray, good Mr. Le Brall, inform me.

No, Sir, men of my Profession ought to be secret.

'Dzlife, I can bear no longer! pray, good Master, do not keep me thus in suspence; I swear by the University, your Kindness to me shall do you no disservice.

Upon your word, Sir?

Upon my Word and Honour.

Look you, Sir, Sir Maurice is my Friend, Mrs. Meanwell too is one I value; but surely when a Person of your Character is going to be grossly cheated even by those he least suspects, I cannot, I must not be silent, I'll deal frankly with you, Sir, Do you in the business as you think fit.

Oh sweet Mr. Le Brall, how good you are!

The young Lady, Sir, to my knowledge has an intimate Engagement with a certain Spark, that would make nothing of cutting your Throat, should he by chance discover, that you are resolved to go on in your Amour; she loves him so passionately too, that I heard her once vow to him, she'll have none but him for a Husband.

Say you so? The poor Fool! how I pity her! I have done with her, I warrant her: What, did the silly Creature fancy a Man of my Exploits and Fame can want Women? Bless me! the World to me is like the Seraglio to the Grand Signior.

Besides, I must tell you by the by, that her Humour is too French, and Airy, for a man of your solid Parts; who knows, but that it may in time de­generate into Coqueterie.

A word to the Wise, I understand you, Master; the Spark shan't out my Throat I warrant him, nor the Jipsey make a Cuckold of me I pro­mise her; a Coquet, 'Dzniggers! Let who will take her, the cheating Devil made this morning as if she had been a very reserved Saint.

Woman, Sir, is a Riddle, a meer Compound of Contradictions, whose meaning you'l never find out, but by mistaking her words.

Bless me, Sir, there was a narrow Escape for us now, thank your Stars and M. Le Brall for it.

Oh the subtle Crocodile! how I hate her! Nay, she is Illiterate too, and understands neither Greek nor Latin.

Nay, I fancy she despises Dancing too, for I have often observed her making Faces at her Sister when I was teaching her.

Then you go to Sir Maurice's sometimes, Master?

Ay, that I do three times a week.

Oh! what would I give you were there within this hour! for I'm re­solved to go, and give a parting Lecture to that false, cunning, jilting, profli­gate Minx.

I'll endeavour to be there; but pray not a word from whence you had it, you'd ruine me.

Upon the word of a Batchelor of Arts, not a tittle; be there only, and I'll make you Sport I warrant you for this Kindness, I'll so rattle the little Jade before you—

On my Conscience this is a wicked World; there is no Faith in a Wo­man, who cheats even with her modesty.

Mr. Le Brall, remember within an hour—Oh the Devil!

Oh the Woman!

SCENE Sir Maurice's House.

PRay, good Aunt, what makes you so very earnest to know, if that Clerimont be quite out of my mind?

Kindness to you, Child, nothing else; I know he is Engaged some­where else, and I would not have you love in vain.

But still what makes you fancy it so very difficult a thing for me to hate that man? Have my Words or Looks at any time betrayed such a mighty Passion for him?

He boasted of it once; how far he had reason to do it, you know best.

Presumptuous! And could you that know me, Aunt, believe I should make choice of one, who counts it a scandal in our Sex to pretend to Wit?

No, dear Niece, I could hardly imagine you'd think that man wor­thy of your Esteem, who takes all occasions to Ridicule the excellent Talents the World admires in you.

Unmannerly! he spares no body; I hear even your self, Aunt, don't escape his Satyr.

Stupid! Whatever Approbation your Poetry meets with among the Wits, he is always the last to commend it.

Ignorant! I have twenty times read things of your Composing to him, which he could not forbear calling Stuff and Nonsence to my Face:

Impertinent! I have had a thousand Quarrels with him upon your account.

All this, and more perhaps, I could have dispensed with, but one thing my Philosophy could not forgive him, that he had hardly loved me two Years before he began to talk of Marriage—Fough!

Oh the filthy Beast! Fough! it turns my Stomach I protest.

Lord! what a bold and impudent Creature is man, to dare men­tion the word Marriage to a Woman of Wit and Fortune? For tis no more than with fawning Words, and passionate Speeches, to desire her very civilly to mend his condition, and make her self his Slave.

Faith, Niece, 'tis e'en so.

Out upon those Treacherous Syrens, cruel and bewitching Mon­sters, who charm us into Ruine, and greedily devour our Substance.

But what say you to this, Niece? I know men in Town, who were born with the best Dispositions in the World to make good Husbands, who yet as soon as they came to be married, lest they should be laugh'd at for their Singularity, affected a Peevishness, which was not natural to them; and rather than their Wives should have the Pleasure or Benefit of their good Humour, force themselves into a sullen Temper; they are true Friends, and merry Companions abroad, but very ill Husbands at home, and make it their business to appear Good to every body, but their own Wives.

And must I Caress such an Owl? Must I humour such a Fop in every thing? Must I obey a Fool, who cannot command his Passions, and [Page 32] thinks a Wife was given him as the Brutes of the Creation, only to serve him? No, help me Rea­son, and neither Clerimont, nor any man living, shall ever boast of my Ruine.

Why so angry, Madam? What! a Philosopher, and passionate?

Were I as angry as you pretend, Sir I could perhaps find Reasons to justifie my Resentment; a Heart unfaithful and inconstant, is a Monster in Love, as well as Morality.

Can you call that Infidelity, Madam, which was occasioned by your Slights? 'Tis true, the Sacrifice you disdain'd, I have since offered to another, but still 'tis not I forsook you, 'tis you dismiss'd me.

If I deferred to Crown your Wishes, 'twas only because you were not indifferent to me; I hoped Time would have improved your Love to the Purity and Perfection of mine, but your Thoughts, I find, cannot keep them­selves free from the filthy Commerce of the Flesh, nor your Soul relish the ravishing Pleasure of the Union of two Hearts, when the Body, that nauseous, nasty Thing, does not come in for a Share.

It is my misfortune, Madam, to be sensible that I have a Body as well as a Soul; your refined Love is a piece of Philosophy too high for me to comprehend, and my Senses stick a little too close to me, to leave it in my power to shake 'em off.

Oh! what a strange sort of Love you men are for! Surely 'twas designed for Brutes only, Creatures inspired by a Soul Divine should, me­thinks, raise themselves higher, and not suffer the sweet and fruitful Imagina­tion of Pleasure to be filthily drown'd in an impure and beastly Enjoyment.

Platonick Love, Madam, does not agree with my Constitution; my Body is a Rebel, and will not always keep subject under the Empire of the Mind, I cannot help it.

Well then, since there is no other way, since your brutish Senti­ments must carry it against the Purity of my Reasons, since none but Carnal Fetters will bind you, endeavour to get my Mother's Consent, I'll try if I can prevail with my Philosophy.

No, Madam, it is now too late had this kind Intention of yours—

I told you as much, dear Niece, but you would not believe me.

My Heart, Madam, is no more in my power.

I know that well enough.

If your Heart, Sir, is not in your power, mine is, and I had rather pierce it, than throw it away on one, who does not understand the value of it.

Poor Niece! she might have saved her self all this fretting—I pity the Child with all my Heart——Come, Clerimont, the time of Ceremony is now over, you may speak more freely, I give you leave.

Speak, Madam! I have nothing to say, but only, that I must take my leave of you, I have a little business with Sir Maurice within.

I see you are an exact Lover, afraid of breaking any of your Mi­stress's Commands: 'Tis true, I forbid you this Morning to Express your self too passionately, but your Modesty Conquers me: Speak your Heart; do, I will not be Angry.

I vow, Madam, all your words are riddles to me.

Nay Clerimont, can you think me stupid to that degree, as not to discern your Passion for me; believe me, there can be no shame in Ado­ring such Beauty as mine: you are not the first by a thousand has count­ed it an Honour to die for this Face.

Why all this Fustian to me, Madam? I am neither blind, nor ready to be begg'd for a Fool.

I see you are a bashful Lover; and to give you the greatest Instance of my Condescension that ever Mortal boasted of, I will save you the Cere­mony of a Declaration, and take it for granted, that you die for me; is it not so, Clerimont?

I protest, Madam, I know nothing of it—How shall I get rid of this Devil?

Well, Madam, since nothing else will satisfie you, and a Declaration you must have, give me but time till to morrow, and I'll desire no more.

This is Formality, I'm sure, meer Formality, nothing else. I know he must come to it at last, whether he will or no—But come, so far I must gratifie a Lover.

Adieu, Clerimont; dear Clerimont, adieu till to morrow; I mean, if you can live till then.

Surely angry Heaven could not have plagued Mankind with a greater Curse, than these fawning, greedy, preying Catchats of our Age, fond, and Libidinous Monsters, who, Proud when young, turn Wanton in their declining; and Nature now revenging her self upon 'em, they are at last devoured by that Fire they refused to quench before. But I must in, lest the Fool comes, and surprises me before I have seen my Angel.

O charming Mariana! you are as welcom to me, as the Sun to a Traveller after a Storm; I have been set upon by two loving, persecuting Devils, who, without any mercy, would have robbed you of my Heart, but I'll defend it for you, as long as it affords me Life to do it.

I trust too much to your Honour and Constancy to fear any Rival; but there is a more dangerous Enemy alarms my Love, my Mother-in-Law, who, like a Fury, was just now haunting Sir Maurice, to fret and torment him into Compliance.

As you trust to my Constancy, fair Mariana, trust also to my Care and Diligence, the witty Wife shall not hector long, the Plot is ripe; and the faithful couple, Trap and Lucy, bid me not doubt of success.

But as to the Directions you sent me in your Note.

You know 'tis both to make our selves sport with the Cambridge Ninny, and to remove the Brute; put on for once the Vizard of a Coquet, and you shall see rare play.

Were it not to secure Clerimont to my Wishes, I could never have prevail'd with my self to bestow one kind Word, or smiling Look on his Rival.

This is the only time, Madam, I shall ever ask you to dissemble.

Then let him come when he will, I'll play the Jesuit for once; and while I throw away fond Speeches upon him, direct my Intention to you.

But here comes the Booby—

You see, Sir, I am here beforehand with you; but, I vow, my wait­ing for you did not at all seem tedious to me: Mrs. Meanwell is so transported at the thoughts of her approaching Happiness, that she could not forbear tel­ling me a thousand pretty things of her Love, or boasting pleasantly, how blessed she'd soon be in a Husband.

Perhaps so.

What, you a Lover, Sir! and so long from your Mistress?

Softly, softly, Madam! [To Cler.] She comes on rarely.

Did not I tell you, Sir?

[Looking on Cler.] Oh! how ravish'd, how transported am I! to see the man my Heart adores; I would not change for an Empire the Bles­sing of so charming a sight.

Oddzookers! how brisk she is, she takes fire in a mo­ment.

Stand upon your Guard, Sir; stand upon your Guard, I say.

Oh! I see Love playing in his Eyes, and little Cupids hid in every Smile.

By the University, she is Romantick!

Oh! how impatiently do I live, till I am yours.

'Dslife, she begins to grow uneasie!

No doubt of it, Sir.

to Cler. Defer my Happiness no longer if you love me, you are sure of my Heart; why should you desire any further Tryal of my Con­stancy?

Hold, Lady Pert, hold, not so quick, I pray, I am not the Fool you imagine; thank our Stars, the Witlesses are noted in the World for Brains; I won't be caught, not I.

What means my dear Heart, why so alarm'd?

What do I mean, say you? I mean, that you shan't make a Cuckold of me, by the University you shan't.

Bless me! why such Discourse, my pretty Fool?

Fool your self—That's all, forsooth; I did not know you be­fore; but I am pretty well informed now what you are, I'll not marry a Co­quet, not I—

There I touch'd her Master.

to Cler. Oh! 'tis all in vain, I love none but you, and none but you will I ever have.

Stop there, says Tim, I'll take care of that Miss, the Witlesses shall ne­ver Reproach me for bringing Infamy into their Honourable Family.

[Making as if she were crying.] Oh! I can hold no longer, you are too barbarous, Tygers are not more Unnatural than you are.

Why so severe upon the Lady, Sir?—I am sorry now I was the occasion of this, I protest I am.

Let her cry, what's that to me? Look you, Master, Marcus Tullius Hudibras says, That Women's Tears are like the Crocodile's, shed only to pity Fools into Ruine.

But, Sir, Methinks the tenderness of the Sex—

Sweet Mr. Le Brall, let her blubber out her Venom. Did you never hear the saying of the wise man in Plutarch; When Dogs fall a snarling, Ser­pents a hissing, and Women a crying; the first means to bite, the second to sting, and the third to deceive?

Sir, your Suspicions do me an injury.

I'll take care, Mrs. Liquorish, your Frolicks shall do me none.

But won't you hear me, Mr. Witless?

Hear you! no—I'll have nothing to do with you, my Soul abhors you. Farewel coqueting, cheating, canting, cozening Flirt, farewel to you for ever.

And farewel to you, my dear Fool.

You have acted your part to a miracle, the Coxcomb seems to be pretty well cured of his Love; however, for fear of a Relapse, I'll Encou­rage honest Trap to go on in his Projects.

Oh! are you there?

Well, Sir, have your Arguments prevailed? May I flatter my self with the hopes that your Lady—

Oh! my Wife is a Devil, a very Devil, Sir; she uses Magick on my Conscience, it cannot be otherwise when I am from her, no man has more Courage than I, I fell my self full of Spirit and Resolution, but I am no sooner got to her again, but three of her words, like a Spell, turn me into a Coward; I tried but just now, and as she spoke, I protest, methought I heard Hell roaring, I ran away for fear.

This Devil might be resisted, Sir, if you would.

O dear, Sir! will you then give over? Will you leave your helpless Daughter exposed thus to—

What would you have me do? You would not have me encoun­ter Hell surely, would you? O Citizens, Citizens! how much better for a Wife is a quiet Fool, than a witty Scold!

Alack, alack, the Storm is a coming—Do you but stand in that corner, and you'l see how she plays the Devil.

Be gone, Trapes, be gone, and be never so daring, as to shew your Face in my House again.

Alack, alack! she is come to conjure, I see a Devil before me already.

What's the matter now, Lucy?

You may ask my Lady, for she turns me away, and will not tell me why.

Come, my dear Angel, my Paradise, don't be so severe to Ma­iana's maid, she is a good Servant, you know.

How now, Salomon of the City, will you offer to take her part?

Oh Lord! not at all, my Dear, I only ask what it is she has done.

What? Am I then to give Reasons for what I do?

I do not say you are, my Jewel.

I will not be contradicted, Sir Maurice, you know it well enough.

I find it so, my Honey-suckle, but if you love me, let me hear what's her Fault; has she by chance broken some of your fine China, I can buy more for you.

What a pitiful fancy is there, as if so trivial a thing could discom­pose my morals.

Then 'tis something of great moment I see, has she stolen some of your Plate?

That were but a Trifle.

Oh! Oh! Mrs. Lucy, have you played the Thief, and pawned her Jewels?

A great deal worse still.

Worse still, say you? Then she has desiled my House, it must be so; Oh the Baggage!

All this were nothing in comparison of that horrid, scandalous, and exorbitant Offence she is guilty of; hear it, Sir Maurice, since you have such a mind to it, and excuse her if you can with an Impudence beyond Example, and a shew of Ignorance that cannot be parallell'd in History; she had just now the ill manners to say in my hearing, That Cowley, the wretched Cowley, was as good a Poet, as the incomparable Sir Maggott Jingle.

And is this all? Heaven be thanked; I thought she had at least set my House on fire, or ravish'd my Butler.

What's this mighty Wonder now? Is a Crime of this Nature a slight matter think you?

With submission to the Wits, Madam, I do not conceive such a Fault as this is punishable by the Laws of England; besides, I never knew be­fore, that my Maid was hired to admire Sir Maggot Jingle.

How now, little Mushroom? Are you one of her Advocates too? I shall indeed mind your pretty Reasons.

You'l want your faithful Consident, Sister.

I hope there will be no need of a Consident soon.

I understand your meaning, pretty Miss, but your Business is done. I can assure you—Sir Maurice, I expect Sir Timothy here this Evening to seal the Writings, be you in the way—[To Mariana.] And you that have hitherto controul'd my Will, shew your self Refractory now if you dare.

My Father's Commands shall ever be a supream Law to me.

Then you are to learn, Mrs. Lackwit, that it must be my Hus­band's will, since it is my Pleasure: Hold your impertinent Tongue I say, I am weary of your Nonsence—Sir Maurice, I'll in and give Orders for the Wedding, as I shall think sit in my Wisdom—[To Lovewit.] You Daughter, send immediately to Mr. Engross not to fail at the Hour ap­pointed.

I am sorry, Sister, Fortune proves so cross to your Wishes; this World is full of Disappointments.

Now you see it very plain, I hope, that she is a Witch, my Heart trembled every Word she spoke. What do you think on't? Tell me freely, is she not an Enchantress? A pox of a Philosopher for a Wise, who the Devil would marry Wit.

'Tis more her Noise than her Wit keeps you in awe, Sir; raise but your Voice louder than hers when she offers to speak, and you'l silence her, I warrant you.

Oh, dear Sir! on my Knees let me intreat you, do not abandon me to her unreasonable Humour, make use of your Power, you may do it, 'tis nothing but Goodness, too much Goodness in your makes her thus haughty and imperious.

I vow, Sir, all the Neighbourhood cries shame upon you.

I am as desirous to have her Will opposed in this as any of you can be; but what can I do? How shall I deal with a Devil, that can at her pleasure send a Legion of Evil Spirits to haunt and tear me a-pieces.

With all her Spells, and Magick Art, Sir; take my word, your Lady can't raise but one Evil Spirit, and that's her own; but if you dare to put on a good Resolution, and follow my Directions, we'll conquer that Evil Spirit, I warrant you.

Once more, good Sir, try what you can do, the Happiness of your own Child depends upon it—Take pity of my Love.

Come, Sir, pluck up a Courage, stand upon your Prerogative.

Well—If you'l second me, I'll in, and let her know who is her Master.

Well said.

Tell her that none ought to rule in my Family but I.

Vigorously spoken.

Declare to her that you must be my Son in Law, and no body else.

Kindly and Bravely resolved.

And that if she offers to contradict me, I'll shut her up.

In Bedlam, I hope.

Come then, follow me all, and be sure to stand by me.

Don't you fear it, Sir.

SCENE Changes. Sir Timothy's Lodgings.

LOok you Roger, 50 l. is the Sum, and the task but easie, for the Man is both a Fool and a Coward.

Honest Jack, Let me alone with him; You know I'd hang my Own Father for half the Money, but where's the Woman?

Oh! Leave that part to me; I'll produce her in good time:—But here comes the Property, put on your Bloody Looks.

I tell you Sir, My Master is a Man of Honour.

With all my heart, Sir.

A Man of Courage, Sir.

All the better Sir; all the better.

That has learnt to fence a whole Week; and shewn his Valour a­gainst the boldest Prentices in Cambridge.

His Valour! Blood and Thunder! Let me see him. Ounds would I had him here.—There at his Heart,—There under the Second Rib;—Curse on the ill luck, I han't kill'd a Man these three Days, and my Arm grows stiff for want of Exercise.

Pray Sir, Good Sir, be not so furious if you can help it; My Master is a Gentleman understands Reason as well as any body; He'll give you all the Satisfaction you can desire, I'm sure; but pray put up Sir, put up, let me intreat you.

Well, Sir, Let's hear what is it you have to say?

I say, Sir, That this Gentleman here is my Master, and can give you the best Answer.

Humh, Sir, are you the Man they call Mr. Witless?

At your Service, good Sir, Honourable Sir.

Service! Blood and Thunder! 'Tis Justice I'll have, and no Ser­vice.

Pray, Sir, Moderate your Passion.

Impertinent Varlet! hold thy peace, I charge you—

To be plain Sir, this is my business with you; You have dishonoured my Family, and I must have your Blood for it.

I Sir! I protest I do not know you! I beg your pardon!—Alas, alas, Jack!

Not know me, Blood and Thunder! perhaps so; but you know a Relation of mine, and with a Pox to you, you have known her to good purpose.

Trap, Dear Trap, what's this? Can you guess what it is the Gen­tleman means?

Not I, by Jericho; I am thinking all this while, what can be the meaning of all this stuff.

Blood and Thunder! What must you stand there asking one ano­ther Questions; I tell you Sir, there are two ways and no more, either you must Marry my Cozen, you have after a most felonious manner impregna­ted, or else give me leave to cut your Throat presently.

O Sweet Sir, Gracious Sir, look upon me; I am not the Man you take me for.

Blood and Thunder! don't you think I'll be put off with a Story; I'll have every drop of thy Blood before I'll suffer mine to be stained: Here is a Paper you must Sign, or by Lucifer the next word you speak, for a de­nial, I'll make the whole Firmament shine through your Liver.

But kind honey Sir, is there no way to accommodate—

What more Questions, you Pragmatical Dog, I'll order you.

I mean no harm to you, Good Sir, but methinks—

Impudent Sycophant, I'll nail thy prating Tongue to the Wall.

Good sweet obliging Sir, may I speak two words with my Man.

Be short, Rot you, be short.

Look you Jack, this scurvy Paper is nothing less than a promise of Marriage in Blank; for ought I know I may be Married one of these days to some filthy Sucbubus; He threatens to kill me if I don't Sign it; What must I do Jack, speak, what must I do?

Do? That's a pretty Question indeed; Rather dye a thousand times and more, than consent to such Infamy; This is some Impudent trick I warrant it, the hussing Rascal has some Strumpet or other whom he has a mind to put off; Fight it out for shame—

I'll stand by you Sir.

Then Trap be stout; Come, you Blood and Thunder, here is my Answer for you.

Are you for the sport then? have at you.

Push on brave Jack, push on.

Don't you fear Sir, spare him not—At his Heart directly if you can.

You Pandar, stand off, or by the Bloody Bones of Dagon, this Steel shall make it self a passage to his Heart through yours.

I Scorn your Words Sir, I'll dye upon the spot, rather than forsake my good Master; Thrust on Sir, thrust on, we'll Swindge him I warrant you.

Then Villain, take this—

Now for you Sir—

Oh Sir! Valiant Sir, put up I beseech you, I'll do any thing, I'll sign any Paper, I'll Marry any body.

I am very glad, Sir, to see you come to reason, for I have a great Esteem for you, and 'twould have gone against my Heart, I vow, to kill a Gentleman who is to be my near Relation; here is the Paper, Sir, be pleased to set your hand to it, I love to be Civil.

Ay Sir; But if the Lady—

Blood and Thunder! What more reasoning yet.—

Oh! No Sir, give me, give me—

There Sir—Alas, alas!—

Now dear Cozen Witless, your most humble Servant; I esteem my self very happy in the honour of your Alliance.

Pox of his Honour,—By the University I'm in a fine Pickle, bound to Marry a VVitch for ought I can tell; and my Honest, my Faith­ful, my Fighting Trap murdered.

Bless me, Sir, is the Man gone?

Oh Fortune! Trap alive?

Ay Alive, and Unhurt, I hope.

How! Unhurt, Jack; Did not I see you fall Dead upon the place?

No, on my word, Sir, 'twas only a certain Giddiness takes me at the sight of a Naked Sword; 'tis an infirmity I had from my Youth.

Pray feel Jack if I am wounded; I may be Killed for ought I know.

Nay you are in the right, for in the heat of Fighting 'tis seldom wounds are felt, can you VVhistle, let's hear.—

That's well. Now let me see you Jump three times for the three Kingdoms.

Oh rare! I warrant you Living, and as sound as a Roach; but pray now, what have you done about the Paper, the Cursed Paper.

Oh! The Villain made me set my Hand to it; I thought, Jack, 'twas better doing so, than be butchered by that Turk, and Infidel; His very Looks are enough to fright one out of Life; I vow as he stood thrust­ing at us, methought I saw Death and Massacre peeping out of the Cor­ners of his Eyes; but I'll be even with him, I warrant him, for before Sir Timothy can hear of this, I'll to my Uncle in the Temple, and Hang the Rogue.

Pray while his hand is in, let him dispatch the Lady in Blank too, for if the Jade be once hanged, no Law in England can oblige you to marry her.

VVell considered Faith; follow me Jack, and let's lose no time.

By no means Sir.

Sir Maurice's House.

BUt, Sir, a Coquet, a French Coquet, the word frights me; She'll have too much mettle for me: I shall be a Cuckold by the Uni­versity I shall.

I have known your Mistress from a Child, Tim, and I am satis­fied with my Choice; take this from me, Young Man, there is more Inno­cency in that brisk, pleasant, and free humour of hers, than in the sullen, rigid, and severe temper of many of her Sex, who thinking their Character secures 'em even from the Suspicion of Vice, Blind and deceive the VVorld with a false appearance of Virtue, only to play their Under-game the more securely.

But, Sir, is there no certain compass for a Man to steer by upon the stormy Sea of Matrimony, without splitting against the Rock of Cuckol­dom?

There is no certain rule for it, Tim; however, let me give you this advice, Love your Wise heartily and sincerely, be kind and faithful to her, and do not starve her Longings; This is the best rule I know to keep her honest.

'Dslife! must a Husband then be bound to his good behaviour?

Yes certainly; for 'tis the most Unaccountable thing in the VVorld for a Man to complain that his VVife is not Virtuous, to whom he gives the worst Example for Vice; Her disloyalty cannot be justified that's true; but still his anger is Unreasonable. Look to your self Tim when you come to be Married, for on my conscience 'tis a dangerous thing to provoke a VVise, who has always a revenge at hand.

But, Sir, I may be kind to my VVife, and yet a Cuckold, what then?

Oh! In that case Boy, you must, like a VVise Alderman, put your Hands into your Pockets and VVhistle.

Zookers! and is this all?

No Tim, there is still this comfort left you, that the Horners of the Town make some Conscience of their way, and are not quite so bad as Thieves and Robbers, who plunder and go away with all; No, the Gentle­men are mannerly, I must say that for 'em, for if they by chance break in, they take but just as much as will serve their turn, and always leave enough for a Man.

Mercy, Sir! commend me to good breeding; but still my Honour Sir, my Honour: can your Mannerly Gentlemen take it away by bits and halves too.

Honour Boy is but the Vulgar Error of Jealousie, or the Bugbear of a Sick fancy; make no noise Tim and all may be well, for to my know­ledge many a Man go for Cuckolds in the VVorld, who are not really so, and many are deeply so, who have not the reputation of it.—But here come the Ladies.

Come Mr. Engross, you must change your rude and barbarous Style, and put these Articles of Marriage into more rhetorical Language; try if you can Hourish them a little with a few passages out of Parthenissa, Grand Cyrus, or so.

Our style, Madam, is like the Laws of the Medes and Serpents unalterable.

Your Custom is a strange Tyrant sure, methinks you might at least be so Gentile, as to date after the Roman manner, by Ides and Ca­lends.

This is a contract between English Parties, and no Romans, Madam, You confound me.

But for all you Mr. Engross, when I Marry, which I know will be soon now, I'll have all my VVritings drawn in Hieroglyphicks, and some Egyptian Priest, or Brachman of India to perform the Office.

Faith, Lady, those Gentlemen live a great way off, and if you stay to Marry, till their arrival, your Virginity will deserve a place in the Oxford Nackatory, among the pieces of Antiquity.

Remember, Sir, that your Wife is but a Woman, a meer Woman, and no Devil, no Enchantress.

I'll order her, I warrant you, do but observe me.

Consider, Dear Sir, I'm undone if she prevails.

Don't you fear it, Child.

I cannot but admire at my Sister's fancy; that she should bring in Clerimont, to be a Witness of his Rivals Triumph.

You are mistaken still in Clerimont, Niece, he is carrying on ano­ther Intrigue than People imagine; I say little, but the thing will soon come out.

Are you ready Mr. Engross?

I want only the Names of the Parties; which is the Bride pray?

Here Sir, my Daughter-in-Law.

Very well; her Name is Mariana, Sir.

Now for the Bridegroom.

Here's the Gentleman, Sir, Mr. Timothy Witless.

And I say here's the Gentleman, Sir, Mr. Charles Clerimont.

Hey day! Two Husbands to one Wife, that's more than the Law allows, though perhaps no more than a Woman could very well dispense withal.

VVhy do you regard what other people say, Mr. Engross?

Did I not name Clerimont to you? what makes you stare?

Uddsbudds! agree among your selves if you will, I'll go no further else.

VVhat a Pox, my Dancing Master my Rival; Old Sir Mau­rice sure, has a mind to make himself merry with him.—

There's a Lady and a Gentleman below, Sir, have earnest business with you.

Surely thou art mad, couldst not thou tell 'em I was abroad.

Oh Sir! You never saw such a Man in your Life, 'm sure; I told him a thousand times at least, that you were here about business of great Impor­tance; but he very unmannerly clap'd a Pistol to my Breast, and Swore I was a dead Man, if I did not bring him to you immediately.

VVhat can this mighty business be?—With Sir Maurice's leave bring 'em in.

Come make an end, Mr. Engross, do as I bid you, for I have past my word, and I won't be an Ass.

And so have I, Sir Maurice, and I won't be a Goose, but since there is no remedy, and my will I must have in spite of your Teeth, my Daughter here shall disengage your word, the Gentleman, if he knows how to value VVit, will thank me sure for this piece of Condescension.

Your Daughter, Madam, may be a Miracle of VVit and Beauty, but still I cannot but glory in owning to you, that I had rather dye a thousand times than renounce my Love.

They might have proposed one to him, I know, would have been more acceptable.

There was no need for you, Sir, to put your self to the Expence of so fiery a pro­testation; I am not in so desperate a condition yet, as to rob my Sister of her few Admirers.

I shall never desire, Madam, to put you to the tryal.

An Im­postor! Blood and Thunder! I an Impostor! we shall try that, by Lucifer, we shall.

Pray, Sir, what's the matter? why in such a passion?

Sir I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon; You look like a Gentleman, and though a Stranger to me I'll not scruple to make you a Judge between Sir Timothy, and this disconsolate Lady: Let me but compose my self a little, for his rudeness has strangely disordered me.

O sweet Honey! Cream of my Joys, have I found thee at last, I must Hugg thee; I must Buss thee till my Lips ach.

Away, Satan, away; I know thee not.

O dear pretty smiling Rogue, how I Love thee! How Charmingly thou lookest; I vow thou wert unkind not to write to me, I must Kiss thee for that too.

By the University, the Women of this Town are as hot as Hell-Fire.

I shall not trouble you, Sir, with a long story; the Gentlewoman you see here is a near Relation of mine, who lived in Cambridge; She always had the reputation of as Modest and Virtuous a Lady as ever that Town bred, but her Eyes having the fatal Luck to boyl Mr. Witless's Blood into a Ferment, the young Gentleman would never be satis­fied without a full Enjoyment of her Unfortunate body: She held out a great while, the poor Creature, but the Devil being powerful, and Female Flesh Frail and Willing, she was forced to Capitulate, and surrender the Fort of her Honour upon Articles; to be short Sir, he gave her a promise of Marriage: Now hearing he was to be married to another, I made bold to intrude my self, the business being of such consequence, as will I hope A­pologize for the freedom.

I assure you Sir, 'tis an Impudent Lie, the fel­low has told, examine into the business a little, and you shall see.

Oddslicks! There was no need, Sir, of Apologie for your coming; you are most Welcome I promise you, make the most you can of your business.

Sir, may I speak two words with you?

Ay, Sir, with all my Heart.

You talk of a Promise of Marriage under my Son's hand, where is that Promise, pray, where is it?

Not far Sir,—

Come, Cozen, produce your Title to Mr. Witless his Body.

I have two Sir,—

There is one of 'em,—The other is forth coming.

Tim. is this your hand? Look?

Yes, Sir, so far I own.

'Sdlife! What will come of this pretty Story, there would be a wonder now, Ladies, should a Scholar prove a Fornicator like other Men.

Oh the filthy Monster! Is this your Cambridge breeding with a Pox?

I protest Sir, I am innocent, I never laid with a Woman in my life—Every time Witless goes about to Vindicate himself, Huff lays his Hand upon his Sword, which makes him to recant. but twice.

But twice with a Rope to you! what must you be a thousand times about it?

I Swear by both the Proctors of the University, I never attempted any thing upon the Sex—without their consent.

Now Lady, surely here is a Lawful Impediment with a Venge­ance, why Mr. Witless should not be joyned in Matrimony to my Daughter.

I'll Examine the Woman—

Pray Mistress, where did you first know my Son?

Your Son, Sir, Knew me first at Cambridge.

Did he Visit you often Mistress?

Not often; but when he did, 'twas to some purpose, I assure you, the last time he carried me to Trumpington, there he Feasted me, the good Man, I never saw him so wanton in my Life.

Trumpington! Oh the Damn'd Town! It lies upon the Road to Hell; I lost my Maidenhead there before I knew I had one—But pray how far are you gone Mistress?

My reckoning, Sir, as one may say, is from Sturbitch-Fair, we had a merry meeting there, I assure you, I shall remember it as long as I live.

Oh, 'tis too true! I'll ask no more questions; I remember now I sent him his Quarter about that time, it must be so; Oh the Villain!

Now Witty Females; what have you to say to this? You may bragg of your Scholars indeed.

Brother, this failure of the Flesh is a Natural propensity, against which our Philosophy prescribes no Rules.

Give me leave, Sir, but to speak now in my defence; and I'll war­rant you I'll make it as plain as any thing—

that I have nothing to say against what the Gentleman spoke be­fore.

Hold thy peace then Silly Puppy—

Look you honest Trap, I have given thee Warning, that's true, but thou art a Civil Fellow; I'll keep thee, if thou can'st do me a piece of Service.

Oh Sir! Do you question my Zeal? You wrong me I vow, were I to be dismissed next Minute, I would part with you like a Christian; pray what's the business, Sir?

You see, Trap, this unlucky Wench is like to spoil my Son's match, I would have you take the man to your self, and try what you can do with him. If a Present of 500 Guinea's will satisfie him, I'll give it freely; in the mean while, I'll make Sir Maurice believe 'twas only a mistake.

Do you but look well to your part, Sir, and trust me with mine, and I'll warrant you, things will go swimmingly on our side.

[To Sir Maur.] All this Story, Sir Mau­rice, proves at last nothing but a mistake; the man took my Son for one Jeremy Witless of Bristol, now Listed in Flanders.

I thought indeed, a man of Greek and Latin was above those Infirmities.

Blood and Thunder, 500 Guinea's! I'll hang the whole Generation of 'em before I take 6000 l. What, for pitiful 500 l. sell the Honour of my Family!

Sir Timothy, what's the matter now with the Gentleman? He makes a noise, and talks, I think, of 6000 l.

The poor man is mad I fancy, that he has miss'd his Prey; I suppose he says, he'd give 6000 l. to find him out.

[Breaking off from Trap.] Blood and Thunder, let me go; I'll cut the Throat of Father and Son, or I'll have better satisfaction before I part.

I am sorry, Brother, I must make of this Day of Joy the most melancholy Day of your Life, by imparting to you the saddest News you could expect.

Oh Heavens! Brother, what is it?

Our Hamburgh Ship has brought this dismal Account, that Mynheer Van Punk is broke, and—

Alas! alas! I am undone, undone for ever, 20000 l. at a clap, I shall not be able to shew my Head.

Oh the unseasonable Misfortune!

Why so concern'd, Sir Maurice? What, now your weak and puny Soul must fret, and be disturbed at this! Thanks to Philosophy, mine is firm and unshaken.

My Fortune is safe still; what Love could not do, Interest may—I'll not despair.

Oddszookers! the Case is altered: Hark you, Tim, I have always observed, that a man never thrives in the World that has wrong'd a modest Woman; therefore in point of Interest, as well as Con­science, you must marry this Lady, and as a Pennance for your not Renoun­cing the Flesh, Woman, and the Devil, swallow the bitter Cup of Matrimo­nial Twist.

I marry that Woman! Sir, I beg your Pardon, I should be a Cor­nuto, and you know 'tis the only thing I hate.

Good Boy, a man makes himself ridiculous in the World, that affects Singularity in any thing; you'l be Cuckolded a little before your time, that's true, but tis the fashion now, therefore no Soul living will take notice of it.

Is it so upon your word, Sir? Or do you jest?

Ay, Tim, upon my honest word 'tis e'en so—Cuckoldom is a raging Grievance of the Nation for all my mincing the matter. Just now, believe me, as many men as you see walking in the Streets, are as many Cuckolds.

How so, pray? They are not all married sure.

There is all the difference, Boy; with those that are married their business is done, with those that are not, their business is now doing: It was so with you, and just so 'twill be with 'em, comfort your self with that.

I am as glad as any thing 'tis so, I protest I am, for to tell you the truth, the thing disturbed me a little; but since you say 'tis the Mode, I scorn to be singular.

Besides, Tim, Mrs. Meanwell has now lost her Fortune, and Beg­gar for Beggar, 'tis much better for us you marry this good Lady here, for by this means we avoid a chargeable Suit, the man was talking of no less than 6000 l. Damages; hang him, 6000 l. would undo us—

By the University, I do not think there is one thousand Pounds diffe­rence between an Honest VVoman, and a Common one.

Oh the Brute! what pity 't had been a VVoman of Virtue had fallen to the Lott of such a Fool, who does not understand the Value of so great a Treasure.

By the tip of Plato's Ear, I am of the opinion of that famous Poet Tacitus, who says, He had rather be Cuckolded by a pretty coaksing loving VVife, than escape the Dishonour, either through the Ugliness, or the surly Virtue of one peevishly Honest.

Sir Timothy, I rejoyce to see things run thus in a right Channel, and to make my Joy compleat, I have but one Favour more to beg of you, viz. That Mr. Witless, and my dear Relation here, may be joyned instantly, for I am commanded with my Regiment for Flanders to morrow early, and I should not cross the Sea with a quiet Mind, should I leave this piece of Work unfinish'd.

With all my Heart, Sir, but where shall we find an Execu­tioner?

I have a Levitical Conjurer below, who, with Sir Maurice's leave, will give us a touch of his Black Art.

My House, Sir, is at your service.

What say you to it, Tim? Come hang Consideration, the shortest Follies are best.

Come then, Pig in a Poke, away to the Conjurer, thou art not the first has carried a great Belly to the Parson.

Clerimont, I promised my self a great deal of Happiness in the Honour of your Alliance; but since my Hopes are defeated, and I can­not, in the Circumstances I am in at present, offer poor Mariana to you for a Wife; I must thank you for your Civilities to her, and wish you somewhere else a Fortune answerable to your Merit.

You offend me, Sir Maurice, with this Discourse: As it was not for her Fortune I courted your fair Daughter, so this Loss shall make no change in me; I love her better than ever I did, all I have in the World is hers, and consequently at your service.

Then farewel to my Hopes there, I am put to my last Prayers indeed, but rather than fail I'll make sure of Sir Maggot Jingle, his Wit shall be my Excuse.

No, Clerimont, you are too Generous, and whatever Vio­lence I do to my Inclination in pronouncing the Words, we must part, For­tune has cross'd my Wishes, and placed my Heart beneath you.

Oh killing words! Cruel Mariana! do you, do you oppose my Hap­piness? Who could have suspected it? My Heart was not prepared for so severe a stroke.

'Tis not, Clerimont, because I hate you, or love you less; Heaven, that sees into my Breast, knows how pure and sincere is my Love for you, but I am sensible that your Estate requires a present Fortune to make you easie: I wished to be yours, when I had reason to hope my Father's Kindness would have made us live happily in the World; but since Heaven has decreed other­wise, I must not be so ungrateful to your Love, as to desire to be an Obstacle to your Fortune.

If you have not a mind, Divine Mariana, to see a sad Lover expire at your Feet, forbear talking, any more of Fortune, the whole World without you cannot make me happy, and with you I am richer than the greatest Mo­narch upon Earth.

Fortune, which has robb'd me of all my Hopes, could not rob you of my Heart, it is yours, Clerimont, in spite of her, and if I owed it all before to your Love, what can I give now to your Generosity?

Your self, Madam, and in you all that this World can gratifie my Ambition withal.

I fancy the Sin is worth the owning, the Creature feels as a sound piece of Mortality; 'tis but supposing the first night we lay together, that we have been married 4 or 5 months, and all is well.

Good Tim, my mind is now at ease, to see you a man like my self, and by this Heroick Act of yours do I know you to be of the true Blood of the Witlesses, who for these five Generations have outbraved Cuckoldom: Come, thou art a good Boy, and hast the true notion of the thing.

Nay, I think I am as good a man as I was before; my Leg is as streight now as it was in the morning, and I find not the least alteration in my Health; why should I be melancholy? I see no cause, not I.

This is the Wheel of Fortune, Mr. Witless; when People boast of Favours they never enjoy'd, they come often to father Children they never got:

But see, you have better Luck than you deserve.

Hell and Furies! what have we here?

Honest Lucy, at your service, as pure a Virgin as ever was born—for all your bragging, Mr. Witless—

Trap, you Trap, by the University thy pretty Sister—Oddszooks! 'tis well 'tis no worse.

I had a pretty Match for her in my Eye, but since Destiny throws her upon you, I'll not contend with your Stars; take her and wear her, she is yours, I hope you'l use her civilly.

Surely Sir Timothy will not suffer his witty Son to be thus prosti­tuted to an illiterate Abigail—

Not I, by Hell! This is an impudent Cheat, a Trick of that Rascal there, I smoak it out, but I'll see 'em all hang'd; I'll to Justice imme­diately: Justice! Justice!

You may hang the rest if you please, Father, but I'll take care to hang this little Rogue my self: Come, dear Lucy, thou melting Sugar-loaf of Pleasure, thou art a good Girl, by the University I always loved thee; give me thy Hand, I'll say it once more, thou art my Wife: Let Sir Timothy fume, my Mother's Land is 500 l. per Annum, and that's enough for us: Hocus Pocus, thou art a Maid to day, I'll make thee a Woman to morrow.

So much Justice you owe me, I'm sure for your vain boasting; but look to your self now, I'll be even with you, I warrant you, and turn your Fictions into Real History with a Vengeance.

Now, Lady Grumble, are you convinced that Mr. Witless is not to have my Daughter? Shall we at last have the favour of your Consent for this Gentleman.

No, Sir Maurice, not as long as I breath; what, do you think I'll admit into my Family a Despiser of Wit, one who knows well enough I'm an Author, and never had the manners to ask me to read any of my Works to him?

I am not, Madam, such an Enemy to Wit as your Ladyship makes me, I love it but as a Gentleman, without either Pride or Affectation; I could Entertain the Company with a small Essay of my Poetry, a SONG I made yesterday, if you could promise your selves patience enough to hear it.

Hear it? Ay, with all our Hearts; who is there to sing it?

I protest the man writes well enough for a Fidler.

Oh rare! I hope your Ladyship is satisfied now.

Yes, Sir Maurice, I'm satisfied that that man must be your Son-in-Law; and my Reason for it is, because he is a Ninny, and a Booby.

'Sdeath! what a Babel is here? Where are we now?

Where are we, say you? In the worst place in the World for Manners sure; what for a man to be so hardy, so Effronté, and so destitute of Politeness and Complisance, as to affront Philosophy to my face, is a Crime never to be atoned for, however Philosophers dispute, quoth he: That's as much as to say, we are Fools; my Sister, Daughter, and I, all Fools.

I never heard my Sister draw a more natural Conclusion in my Life.

But I'll revenge Philosophy I'm resolved; and to make an Exam­ple of this Unmannerly Composer of Songs, I'll inflict upon him the Curse of a poor silly Portionless Wife. Sir Mauriee, whether you will or no, that ignorant Songster there shall have your Daughter, his shallow Wit will fit her little Genius, as well as her Hamburgh Fortune his shatter'd Estate.

Please your self, Madam, with your mean Railleries, I am sensible of nothing but my present Happiness.

Did not I tell you, Mariana, we should carry the day? I knew well enough I should bring it to pass. Now we are all pleased, I hope.

Only, poor Sister Catchat, she has reason to take it ill, that in so plentiful a distribution of Human Flesh she can catch nothing, but must at last take up with her Men in the Moon, or her Visions and Chimera's.

Ay, Chimera's; let my Niece look to her self, there reigns one still in Clerimont's Heart will make her live uneasie all her days, let me tell her that, and so Adieu.

Insert this in the Articles, Mr. Engross; I charge you, that this illiterate Couple shall never come into my House, I'll not be pester'd with stupid Creatures, not I.

Not into my House? By my Lord Maylor I'll leave you, Lady Petulant, with your Jingles to make Almanacks and Ballads.

Yes, yes, the World shall see how much I value Wit in spite of Fools; Sir Maggot Jingle shall be my Son-in-Law, and for the future none shall be admitted into my House but Beaux Esprits; therefore, Sir Maurice, think of another Habitation for your self.

You are Master of my House, Sir, and shall Com­mand in it more absolutely than you did in your own.

The Kindness, Sir, will be seasonable.

Then since you are pleased so impertinently to Insult, know, Sister, to your confusion, that the News from Hamburgh is false, that my Niece's Fortune is not lost, but rather improved by a considerable Return. I put this trick upon you to try your Philosophy, and let the World see to the bottom of Female Wits.

Oh, dear Brother, you revive me! How happy am I, that I have still a fortune to make a Return to Clerimont's Generosity—

It is all yours, Sir; give me leave to make the rest of my Life happy in your, and my Daughter's Company, and retire with you into Essex.

This will compleat my Happiness, Heaven be thank'd: I shall have all I could wish for in this World, my Father, and Clerimont.

And blessed be my Stars, say I, that Ignorance and Wit shall dwel no more together; farewel rude and unpolish'd Crowd: You witty Daughter of mine, follow me.

Brother, let this Day be Celebrated as a Day of Joy and Delive­rance to your Family, from the Tyrannical and Arbitrary Power of a Proud, Scolding, Whimsical, Philosophical Wife: You have now got a se­cond that will stand by you, I'm sure. Let not therefore an impertinent Female Wit Usurp again so unreasonable an Empire over you.

I'll make the best of your Advice to be sure; but, good Bro­ther, whatever the Task may seem to one without Experience, take my word all married men find it a difficult one.