ACT I. SCENE I.

SCENE II. A Hall in old Moody's House.

I tell you, Hussie! Squire Noodle's the Man, He must be the Man, and he shall be the Man, or you shall die a Maid.

Die a Maid! what! come into the World for nothing—If she does die a Maid, you're guilty of Murder, and ought to be hang'd for't.

Guilty of Murder, you Slut! how am I guil­ty of Murder?

Why in hindring the getting the Children my Lady might have—'Tis as bad as building a fine House, and letting it stand empty—Taxes must be paid, you know.

Get out of my House, Hussie! or I'll break every Bone in your Skin.

I won't go out of your House.

Blood and Fire! get out of my House! or I'll fetch my great Gun, and pepper ye.

Dear Sir, your Gun is good for nothing—It may flash in the Pan, or so, but there's no Danger of its going off.

Was there ever such a provoking Devil? Hold that damn'd Tongue of thine, or I'll run you through, Hussie!

Alack-a-day! your Point's too blunt, indeed Sir, your Weapon has not been sit for Use these twen­ty Years.

Did ever any one hear such a provoking Minx—'sblood, get out my House this Minute, or I'll—

I tell you, I won't! do your worst! I fear you not.

Lettice, I command you hold your Peace.

I'm all Obedience.

Remember once more, I tell you, 'Squire Noodle's the Man; therefore prepare immediately for the Wedding. I'll go and send him to you, and give him a favourable Reception, or think of the Fate of Jeptha's Daughter.

What shall I do, Lettice? I'd rather lead Apes than marry that Fool, and that's a terrible hard Case you know.

Ah! if I had been in your Lover Cleremont's Place, I'd have put it out of your cross old Father's Power before now.

Why, what wou'd your Wisdom have done, pray?

I'll rell you, Madam.

Leave your Impertinence—my Circumstances won't bear it.

Dear Madam! you don't know how much your Circumstances will bear, till you're put to it.—But see, Madam! who's here.

My dear Caelia! I saw your Father go out, and flew on the Wings of Love to visit you.

Wings of Love! if Cupid had not Darts as well as Wings, his Plumes wou'd signifie nothing—But talking Nonsense is the true Badge of a Lover—But Sir! the Tenement is Lett—Leases are drawn, and they intend to sign and seal to-night—Indeed, Sir, none of your Goods must be sent in here, I'll assure you.

What dost thou mean?

To speak plain English, your Mistress is to mar­ry 'Squire Noodle immediately.

Death! and Fire! I'll cut the Rascal's Throat!

Yes! and so dangle in a String at the Charge of the Sheriff.

Pr'ythee don't distract me! if my dear Caelia proves but constant, I dare the utmost Malice of my Fate.

There was a Whine!

What Work's here! I believe your Rogue Davy and I must lay our Heads together to assist [Page 9] you, for two such helpless Creatures did I never meet with in my Life.—In my Conscience, two Lo­vers are but a couple of Fools.

If thou can'st bring Matters to bear, I'll give thee the Indies.

The Indies! Lard, Lard! Lovers and Poets in their Plays are plaguy generous, they'll give a Wo­man a Fortune of Fifty thousand Pound, tho' they can't pay their Taylor. I'd advise you to keep the Indies to your self; tho' if I accepted 'em, I shou'd find you out in your Geography, and look for my great Fortune near Parnassus.—No, no, Tickledown Farm will content me, at the Skirt of your Estate in the Country.

There's my Hand, thou sha't have it.

And I'll give Davy a Hundred Pounds to stock it.

Ay, this is Right! The Man shou'd reward the Woman, and the Woman the Man.

There, Davy, take my Purse.

And you mine, Lettice.

Ay, this is Encouragement indeed! Gold! thou Sovereign Cure for all Evils! welcome.

Oh! here comes my foolish Lover, with his wise Attendant.

Come along, Doodle, and you shall hear me court my Mistress; and if you can think of any thing, put me in, d'ye hear, Doodle.

Ay, ay, Sir; I have several Compliments rea­dy made.

Very well indeed, Doodle, only the Sow and Joan came in a little odly, tho'.

Very fine, indeed, 'Squire! I suppose they are of your own composing.

Yes, Madam.

I protest you are a very great Poet.

Poet, Madam! why Master has wrote a fine Tragedum.

Yes, so I have, Doodle; and we'll have it play'd at our Wedding: and Madam, You, and I, and Doodle will act Parts in it.—Oh! I love Acting dearly.

Yes, my Master and I play'd two Fools in a Play once, and every Body said my Master play'd finely.

Ay, so I did, to be sure.

And pray what d'ye call your Tragedy?

Oh sad! Oh sad! Or, The Bloody Butcher. With, The Merry Humours of the Princess Trullibub.—Doodle shall play, O sad! I'll play the Bloody Butcher, and you, Madam, shall play the Princess Trullibub.

A fine Piece, I warrant it.

Why so it is! Pray what have you to say to it?—O Lud! this is that foolish Fellow my Ri­val.—What, I warrant you think to get my Mi­stress from me!—Ha!

Pr'ythee don't be impertinent.

Impertinent! I'll bully the Dog! for he'll hardly fight before my Mistress.

—What Business have you here? will you be gone!

Ay! will you be gone?

The silly Dog is devilishly afraid!—Will you be gone?

Ay, I say, will you be gone?

Oh! I'm blind!

And so am I too.

Will you be gone?

Ay, will you be gone?

Why, Master, I an't Will-you-be gone!

You Son of a Whore! you have knock'd my Eyes out.

Yes, Sir, and you have beaten my Teeth down my Throat.

I'll be reveng'd, and see 'em hang'd, if I can but recover my Eye-sight again.

Cry, does she! it is so like Laughing, that I hardly know one from t'other.

Hey day! what's to be done here, tro! Have you been walking up the Chimney, 'Squire?

Oh, Father-in-law! here has been that foo­lish Fellow my Rival, with my Mistress, and he, with that Bitches Puppy his Man, has blinded us.—I'll take the Law of him.—I'll ruin him in four Terms.—I'll—I'll—what shall I do to him, Doodle?

Do to him, Sir! Why, undo him—Hang him up in Chancery for Seven Years.—Put him into the Crown once a Year.—Indict him every Quarter for a Rape, once a Week for a Riot, and every Day for a Trespass; and when his Money's all gone, Transport him for a Thief for his Endeavour to steal other Men's Goods.

Well, I shall soon put an end to his Imper­tinence—for you shall marry my Daughter imme­diately.

And then, Master, if you should take him napping, as Moss did his Mare! Get a Jury of [Page 13] What-d'ye-callums, and you'll recover a swinging Sum.

Ay, so I shall, Doodle.

What shall I do, Lettice? my Ruin now ap­proaches.

I have it—we'll put him upon being made a Mason, and that may gain Time.

The Society will never admit such a Fool a­mong 'em.

Well, but I hope Davy and his Comrades may make him a mock Mason, and that will do every whit as well. Therefore smile upon him, seem to comply, and leave the rest to me.

Well, Mrs. Disobedience! what are you and your Contriver plotting now!—But I shall watch your Waters, I warrant you.

Why, I'll tell you our Plot, Sir—I have been persuading my Mistress to marry the Squire—for since you went I have been inform'd that Mr. Clere­mont keeps three Mistresses, has seven Children by one, five by another, and two by a Blackamoor—and to all this, is one of the greatest Gamesters in the Nation, has three Mortgages upon his Estate, has sold his Place in the Government, spent the Money, and is going to be prosecuted for a Rape; and not having Money enough to, to, to—you know what, is in danger of a Halter.—And tho' I must own I had a Friendship for him, yet I have more Love for my Mi­stress than to see her undone, which she must be if she marries Cleremont, and therefore she consents to marry the Squire.

O Lud! Doodle, that's pure!

Ay, by the Mackins is it!

And is this true, you little—

Yes, Sir.

Why d'ye think I wou'd tell you a Lye?

Adad, I'll get Mopsa with Child for Joy.

Dear Sir, never undertake a Work you can't get through stitch with.

Ah, you're a Wag! Adad, I'm as overjoy'd as a Country Curate at a Wedding or a Christening—and I'll sing you a Song.

Adad! I'm as over-joy'd as—as—as a Par­son when he's made a Bishop.—Well Squire, you'll get your Tackle in Order, you find my Daughter is ready for you, and I'll go fetch the Parson to give you a Stitch.

Harkye Squire, there's one Bar still in the way.

O Lud! what's that?

Your Mistress has made a Vow she'll never marry any Man that is not a Free-Mason, and that was the Reason she preferr'd Mr. Cleremont before you—Therefore by all means get your self made one out of hand.

Ay, but which way must I go about it?

Let me see—now I think on't, my Bro­ther is Master of a Lodge—I'll send him to wait on you presently.

Well, that will be pure!—Doodle! I'm to be made a Mason, and I'll make my Mistress a Mason, and we'll make you a Mason, Doodle, and then my Mistress will have me.

Well, by the Mackins! that's brave—But Master, don't you remember you said you wou'd Serenade your Mistress to-night? pray don't forget that.

Don't you fear that, Mr. Doodle.—I'll Se­renade my Mistress to be sure, for my Barber told me 'twas the Fashion.

Come along, Doodle.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Come along, Doodle!—Now for the Se­renade!—Pray which is my Mistress's Window, Doodle?

That, Sir.

Doodle, ask the Man if he can play The three Children in the Wood.—

Yes Sir, he says he can.

Come, begin then—Why the Devil don't you play? You're as long at Twang, Twang, as a Qua­ker is Humming and Hawing before he holds forth.

Indeed, Master Noodle, this is a sad merry Tune.

A sad merry Tune! that is because a sad Fel­low plays it; you shall hear me sing to it—and you will find it quite another thing.—Come, Mr.—Play agen.

Master, wou'd it not be better to say, stretch your Eyes abroad?

Why sure, Mr. Doodle! did I take you into my Service to teach me? Stretch her Eyes! Yes, I war­rant you! No, I say, Stretch her Legs; Do you think she can come to the Window without stretching her Legs, Mr. Doodle?

It's very true indeed, Master.

Yes, I think it is.—Oh stretch your Eyes a­broad, my Dear. Did you ever see the like!—This Bastardly Rogue, Doodle, has put me quite out.

[Page 19] Is not that very pretty, Doodle?

Beneath your bright Window! Very pretty in­deed, Master.

Boar-Cat! you are a Bull-Bitch to call me Boar-Cat, you are so! od! if I had you here, I'd give you a good Douse on the Chops, I wou'd so. Boar-Cat! Why, Doodle, do I look or sing like a Boar-Cat?

A Boar-Cat! no indeed, Master. But indeed Master—O stretch your Legs abroad, is a very dumpish Tune—have you never a merrier in your Budget?

Well remember'd efackins, Doodle—yes, yes, I have another of my own making to the Tune of the Black Joak—You, Fidler! can you play the Black Joak?

Take care what you say, he's no Fidler, he's a Master of Music.

Oh, I cry your Marcy, Mr. Master of Mu­sic—will you be pleas'd to play me the Black Joak—I made this Song, Doodle, in Praise of my Mistress's Beauty. I show'd it to our Thrasher, and I can assure you he likes it. You know, Doodle, he's a Poet him­self, and Poets never flatter one another.—Why don't you play?

There Doodle! is it not fine Poetry.

Oh! Geminy! how I shou'd stare! very fine indeed, Master.

But why does not my Mistress come and thank me, Ha! Doodle.

Why, may be she is a-sleep still—we must make a greater Noise to wake her.

Ay! come then—Dol, dol dorol.

Oh! Lud, Doodle! I'm half drown'd.

Yes, Sir, and I am t'other half.

What Midnight Caterwawling Rascals are these—I'll teach 'em how to disturb a sleeping Neigh­bourhood.

Oh, Doodle! I'm beaten like Eggs to a Pud­ding.

Yes, Sir, and one of 'em is Addle, for here's and odd sort of a Smell between us.

O lud, Doodle! here he comes again!—Let's be gone! Murder! Fire! Popery, and Sedition!

They'll hardly come a Serenading again in Haste, I believe. But I fear my dear Caelia is gone to Rest—I'll try however.

Oh that I had thee in my longing Arms! with eager Kisses, Caresses, and Embraces, I'd never quit thee till thou wert wholly mine.

Lud! lud! what a Whining's here! Don't you remember the old Proverb, Signior—Faint Heart ne­ver—you understand me.

Ods me! I hear my old Master! away! away as fast as you can—for if he sees you we're undone for ever—while we poor Souls go to Bed, hug our Pillows, and dream of I know not what, and of Force be contented till something better offers.

Cleremont, adieu!

May gentle Sleep those orient Lustres close, And peaceful Dreams attend thy soft Repose.

SCENE II.

Is this the worthy Person that has an Inclina­tion to be made one of our Noble Society?

Yes, I am.—But pray may not my Man Doodle be made one along with me?

Oh fie Sir! no, no; he must wait without 'till the Ceremony be over.

O Lud! what must not Doodle stay in the Room with me?—I shall be frighted out of my Wits!

I tell you, No! therefore be gone, Fellow! when we have done we'll call you.

What adickens are they going to do?—I hope they won't equip my Master for an Opera-Sing­er!—Adad, if they shou'd they'll spoil his Mar­riage.

Sit down in that Chair.

They seem to me to be mighty odd looking Fellows. I wish I get safe out of their Hands.

Bind fast his Arms and Legs.

O Jemminy! What are you going to do?

Only to proceed in our Ceremony.—When were you shav'd last?

O Lud! shav'd! I was never shav'd in my Life.

Well then, Lathering shall serve turn.

I am glad of that, I did not know but they might have Shav'd and Bled all under one.

Pantagruel, fetch the Bason of Antiquity prefently. You must know, this Bason was made out of half the Queen of Egypt's great Pearl, when she treated Mark Antony in the Highlands of Scot­land.

A Pearl! as I hope to sav'd, it looks like a common Bason that may be bought for Three­pence.

A-lack-aday! you'll see with other Eyes when you have gone thro' this Ceremony.—This very Bason was given to our Honourable Society by Alexander the Great, when he turn'd Protestant after conquering North-Wales.

There, Sir, we have done with your Face; now lets see your Nails.—Fetch me the myste­rious Penknife.

A Pen-knife, d'ye call it! adad it looks to me big enough for a Scythe.

A Scythe! why, this is the greatest Piece of Antiquity we have.—This Penknife was made of Eve's Spanish Needle that she sew'd A­dam's Fig Breeches with—when they were stript by the Turks at the Siege of Namur.

Why then, Adam and Eve were a swing­ing Couple—But I know that's a Lye, for I have got their Pictures in our Nursery at Home.

There, Sir! we have done with your Fin­gers.

Done with my Fingers—yes! but what the Devil have you done with my Rings? Ha!

O lud, lud! have but a little Patience—and you'll see 'em all turn'd to Brilliants of the first Water—your Eye-Sight can't be clear'd till you are put in the Queen of Sheba's Petticoat. Pantagruel! fetch her Majesty's Divining Petticoat—Sir, when [Page 28] you are in this Petticoat—you'll see all Things, past, present, and to come—

A Petticoat! why as I hope to be marry'd, it looks like a Sack! a common Sack!

A Lard help you! a Sack! tho' really now I must confess, when I was made a Mason first, I had almost the same Notion of Things as you have, good Sir—But you'll see after another manner when once you're in this wonderful Petticoat—Why, Sir, this Petticoat was made of the Webs of the Feet of the East-Indian Bird of Paradise—and the Whalebone made of one of the Hairs of King Brogdignagian's Beard, brought over by Captain Lemuel Gulliver.

O Lord, Sir! I do believe it—a Lye.

Come, Sir—in with him—when you are in—you'll see such strange Things will amaze you.

See, quotha! od, it is as dark as a narrow Lane in a Winter's Night. But hark, you—Mr.—Mr.—Mr.—a what the Devil is your Name—Oh—Mr. Watergruell—When shall I see these same fine Things—Ha! why what the Devil are you all dumb?—Od! my Mind misgives—Ha! O Lord! Murder! Fire! Brimstone and Gunpowder—Doodle—where's Doodle?

Here, Master—

You Son of a Bitch, you have kick'd my Nose off.

Kick'd your Nose off—why where are you, Master.

Here, here.

Oh lud! Murder! Murder! this can't be my Master?

Ha! what's the matter, Doodle?

The matter! why your Face is as black as a Cole-Miner's, or a Chimney-Sweeper's.

O lud! I am undone!—I'll have the Rogues hang'd for Murder, for I am sure I have Money e­nough to bribe a Jury, and Witnesses to swear they have murder'd me—But now I am talking of Mo­ney, let me feel, if they have not rob'd me as well as murder'd me.

Oh lud, Doodle! They have pick'd my Pocket of a hundred Pound, and stole my Rings off my Fingers—They shall be hang'd to be sure.

ACT III. SCENE I.

O sick, sick! I have sent Doodle for a Doctor, but I believe the Devil's in him, and the Doctor too, for as I live, I shall be dead before he comes, if they don't make haste—Oh Pox take these Masons; if this is being made a Mason, I'd rather ride Post upon a Broomstick, from Scotland to Wales—

Od so! here comes the Doctor at last: Mighty Sir, your Servant.

Salva Domina.

Salve, Dam ye—is that your Breeding—I thought you Doctors never curst or swore—Be­sides, Sir, I don't want any of your Salve—mine is an inward Distemper, d'ye think you can cure me?

Cure you, Sir! why I have cur'd five hundred incurable Diseases within this Twelvemonth—why I cur'd my Grandmother of the Tooth-ach three Weeks after she was dead.

Oh Jeminy! he's a pure Man, Doodle.

So he is indeed, Master.

There's no Distemper comes amiss to me.

Let me feel your Pulse—

Pray, Sir, how long have you to go?

Oh lud! there's a Question, for a Man of your Parts—To go! why these sixty Years, I [Page 36] hope—without I get Lappy, and then Doodle shall carry me.

'Tis in vain to hide your Distemper from me—you are with Child.

With Child! Oh lud, Doodle, what shall I do! this must be those plaguy Rogues doing with their What-d'ye-Callum Petticoat—I shall be disgrac'd for ever—to bring a Bastard into the Family—why my Mistress will never have me, if she hears I am with Child before Marriage.

'Tis a very sad thing, Master—But it's ma­ny an honest Body's Case besides yours—now I think on't, I'll tell you what you shall do.

What! good Doodle?

E'en marry your Mistress to-night, swear she's the Father, and if you shou'd be both brought to Bed at the same Time, why one Lying-in may serve you both.

Egad! and so I will!—But this is a sad thing to be with Child, and not know the Father, Doodle.

Why, Master, let the Parish father it: we'll drop it in a Basket at the Church-Warden's Door, as I was, and then you know, he's oblig'd to take Care of it.

What then, are you a Bastard, Doodle?

Truly, I can't tell, for I don't remember the Day I was born, nor did I ever hear that I had any Father or Mother; and to be sure those that never had any Father or Mother, can't be lawfully begot you know, Master.

Why that's very true, indeed, Doodle—

See who's at the Door, Doodle.

I can hardly keep my Countenance—Their abominable Simplicity will make me laugh in spite of my Teeth—In my Conscience, one may perswade these Fellows, the Moon's made of a Mince-Pye.

O lud! Murder! Murder!

O Jeminy! what's the matter, Doodle?

I'm almost choakt.

How so, Doodle?

Why, a Sow's Face Son of a Bitch clap'd this Letter in my Hand, and when he had done, lug'd the Knocker of the Door so hard with one Hand, and me by the Ear with the other, that I thought verily the Edge of the Door wou'd have serv'd me, as Judith did Holofernes, and have cut off my Head when he had almost choakt me, the Rogue ran away—There—I wish, I had never seen the Face on't.

'Tis di­rected to me, I find.

Ha! why what the Dickens is the matter now?

O Gemini

O Lud! what shall I do—od now I think on't, I'll have him taken up, and hang'd, for this is as bad as the House-firers Letters—is it not, Mr. Doctor?

Why, 'tis a terrible Letter, I must own—but you can't prove any thing against him—you can't swear that's his Hand.

Yes, but I can swear it.

Why did you ever see it, Doodle?

No, but I felt it at the Door, and my Ear will bear me Witness, and we'll both swear, that Let­ter's the same Hand-writing.

Indeed, Gentlemen, that won't [...] go a nearer way to work, and marry the Lady imme­diately.

That's fine Advice truly—why [...] if I cou'd, you may be sure.

Sir, if you'll leave this Affair to me, I'll not only bring you your Mistress, but a Parson to marry you.

Will you! ah dear Sir!

you are the best Friend I ever met with in my Life.

I'll write a Letter to her Father, you shall co­py it, and I'll carry it myself, and I warrant we suc­ceed.

Adod! and I'll make you amends—I have a Cousin of mine Heir to a great Estate, his Father wants a Physician—you shall be recommended to him—you understand your Business—and he'll pay you well.

Sir, I thank you.

But I am sadly afraid my Mistress won't love me, when I am marry'd to her.

But Master, you know the old Saying, lying together makes Pigs love.

Ay, that's true, Doodle—and now I remem­ber a Song of my Father's making.

Come into the next Room, and we'll finish the Mat­ter.

Well, Son-in-Law, is the Parson come? You see I have brought my Daughter, according to your Desire in your Letter.

The Parson! yes, and the Parson's Wife, too.

The Parson's Wife! what a pize does she do here? Oh, I suppose she smells a good Supper.

No, no; my new Friend the Doctor says she plays rarely upon the Pipe and Tabor, so we shall have Musick for nothing.

She has other Business, which you shall know by and by.

Well, Son in-Law, dispatch your Grace as fast as you can, and I'll go hasten Supper.—But don't fall too before I come.

They won't perhaps make a Meal, Sir, but they may have a mind to pick a Bit, or so.

Thou'rt a Wag-tail, Hussy.—But I'll make haste.—And when the Wedding's over, Son, we'll think how to punish that Rogue Claremont.

Ay, pray Sir do, for the Thoughts of him may chance to spoil my Master's Stomach to-night.

Ah, my little Goldfinch! have I caught you at last?

You must throw some Salt upon her Tail first.

Yes, yes! I'll salt her, broil her, and eat her.

Bless me! you're a dangerous Man, Squire.

Don't fear, Madam, his Fury will soon be over.

Come, my Dear, my Stomach's up, and I cou'd seed heartily, if Grace was said.—Od! I [Page 41] fancy it's a pure thing to be marry'd, for Old and Young, Rich and Poor, are fond of the Noose.—Besides, I was always afraid to lye alone.

Ah, Father-in-Law! egad I have don't at last, I have tickled her Toby for her.

Ay, ay, Master has tickled her—

Pray hold your Prating, Mr. Doodle—You must not be so familiar with me as you have been, now I am a marry'd Man.

No, my Dear, I'll take care your Servants sha'nt be impertinent for the future.

Why, what the dickens have I got here! this is the Parson's Wife.

No Sir, you are mistaken—I pass'd for the Parson's Wife, to get into the House indeed, [Page 44] but I'll assure you I am no Body's Wife but thine, Deary.

Deary, with a Pox! Pray who are you? Whence came you? Whither go you? And who d'ye belong to?

Why, in the first Place, She is my Sister.

Is she, is she?

And for the next Question of, Whence came you? I came from Keeping, from one that has turn'd me off.

And in answer to your Where are you going? She is going to be Mistress of your Family.

Fourthly and Lastly, answers for it self, for I am now your Wife.

Well, Jenny, I'm glad of thy good Fortune.—You know I'm to have Five hundred for making the Match, my Dear.

Depend on't, I'll never be worse than my Word, my Dear.

My Dear, and my Dear, with a Pox t'ye—I'll hang my self, be bury'd alive, and walk.

Well, I'll swear I think you are a happy Man, Squire.

Master, if you don't miscarry, lay the Child upon her, swear she's the Father; and have her hang'd for a Witch.

O Lud, Doodle! I have miscarry'd already, I think.

Oons! What is the meaning of this?

Meaning, Sir! why the Meaning's plain—This is my Sister, poor Girl, who keeping Shop, and having nothing but stale Ware to deal with, besides Losses by Fire, was almost ready to starve. So I con­triv'd to marry her to this Gentleman, that she may know where to eat, that's all.

Oons! my Mind misgives me; where's my Daughter, Hussy?

Lawd, don't trouble your self about your Daughter, she is full of Business.—I'm afraid she'll have Work to do all Night.—But here she comes, and your Son too.

Oh, here comes the Doctor!—Did not you tell me I shou'd be marry'd in half an Hour—and here—

Why, is the Devil in the Man! are you not marry'd?

Yes, but I mean to Madam Caelia.

That cou'd hardly be, for I was forc'd to mar­ry her my self.

Was you so! you were devilishly hard put to't. Here, I'll give you my Wife, and Forty Shil­lings to change, and she's a better bred Woman, I can assure you, and can get her own Living if occa­sion be.

I must e'en be contented as I am.

Master, since you are so willing to part with her, give me the Money, and I'll take her. And if I don't like her, you shall have her again—for I believe she will be Wife enough for us both.

Well said, Doodle!

Cleremont! let me come at the Dog; I'll mur­der him, a Dog, a cut-throat Dog—Draw, you Dog, and let me kill you.

No, Sir, it is not his Time to draw yet.—Come, Sir, I'll be his Champion

and whip you thro' the Lungs immediately.—Why don't you make your Thrust? Oh I had forgot—those Days are over with you.—Come, Sir, and Madam, kneel down

Come, old Fellow, give 'em your Blessing, d'ye hear!

I bless 'em! Damn 'em.

What, d'ye dispute? Zounds! do it, or I'll run my Sword thro' your Midriff.

Why, the Devil's in her, sure.—Well, since I can't help it, Bless ye! Bless ye!

Now, my Love, our Joys are compleated.

Since my Father is reconcil'd, my Happiness can't receive Addition.

Well, Lettice, since my Master and your Mi­stress have brought Matters to bear—I hope you'll let me take Possession of your Tenement.

You must be Tenant for Life then—for I don't care to let Lodgings, where People run away [Page 47] and pay no Rent. Yet I have known many an honest Woman pick up a pretty Living by it—and indeed if you can't occupy the Tenement your self, it would be unreasonable it shou'd lie empty.

One thing I had like to have forgot.—There's your Money and Rings again, Squire—I did not intend to cheat you, and it was impossible to make a Fool of you, for I think you were ready made to my Hands, and I am your most humble Trout, Davy Dub-Fool.

Lovers, lead on, the Grace you know is said, The Cloath is laid, but you may Sup—in Bed.

SCENE