SCENE I.

Nay, Madam, I fancy your Passion has little Occasion for Lenitives; it blazes so violently at first, 'tis like to be soon extinguish'd.

Dear Lucy, don't trifle with me; but con­trive, imagine, do any thing, to bless thy Love-sick Mistress with the Sight of that dear Man: And as an Earnest of further Rewards, here, take this—

Madam, I receive your Commands with much Joy, but your Present with more—

I'll try what this projecting Brain can do, and if you step into the next Room, I'll soon give you an Account of my Proceedings.

Sir, Sir, one Word with you.

Your Business—

May one ask you a civil Question, and be resolv'd?

Hum—A civil Question, sayst thou? What's it, prithee, a Night's Lodging? If so, pull off thy Mask, and I'll resolve thee instantly—But I never strike Bargains in the Dark.

I don't know, Sir, but it may tend to that, by way of Proxy, at the long-run: But at present my Com­mission reaches no further than to know your Lodgings; if any Thing comes on't, I fancy 'twill not displease you.

Hum—This is but a Pettifogger in Intrigues, I find—Egad, I'm like to be pretty well employ'd during the Carnival—Well, considering I am a Stranger here, this Hit may be a lucky one, and the Lady handsome—Egad, I'll fancy her so at least, wer't but for the Pleasure of Expectation.

What are you studying, Sir? Are you so long resolving whether you shall accept a Lady's Favour, or no?

No, faith, Child: I am not over-scrupulous in those Matters—Let her be but Woman, and we shan't disagree—And so thou mayst tell her—There's a Direction for thee.

Frank and easy, a la mode de Paris—Well, these indifferent Sparks charm more than all your cring­ing Fops—Now for my Business—Let me see—I'll to my Lady, she'll write; I'll carry the Letter, and the Devil will turn Saint, if I don't bring 'em together, and merit a further Recompence

SCENE II.

SCENE III.

Ha—Alonzo here! I must preven [...] Discovery.

Florella here! she comes opportunely— [...] may inform me of what I yet but fear—G [...] morrow, Florella: How fares my Love, my dear [...] relia?

Signior, Good-morrow; you are an early [...] sitant.

Not for a Man in Love; but answer me, [...] does Aurelia?

Well in Health—Only she's now and [...] in a little Fit of Melancholy, such as usually pro [...] from timorous Doubts about that dreadful State of [...] trimony: You know the Time draws nigh that [...] her to your Arms.

By Heaven! 'Tis an Age, there's six Day [...] to come.

An Age, indeed, if he knew all.

Signior, my Lady is not drest, and I shall dis­please her, in admitting even you, without her Leave.

Oh! Heaven! What shall I say?

Signior, what do you mean?

SCENE IV.

Who waits?

Did you call, Sir?

Mountaine, run to Signiora Ronquilla, and tell her I have done with her for ever, if she does not send this Evening the hundred Ducats she promised to lend me—And harkee, as you come back, acquaint Signiora Cornara I shall be busy To-morrow, and de­sire she will put off her Visit till another Day.

Sir, there's somebody at the Door.

See who 'tis.

Sir, a Gentlewoman desires to speak with you.

This will inform you, Sir.

Hum, hum, a Letter—Tho' it may seem improper for one of my Sex to make the first Step in an Amour, yet you ought to consider, that the rigorous Confine­ment we are under all the Year round, may, in some mea­sure, excuse the Liberties we take during the Carnival. If you have the Courage to meet me, I shall be at four in the Afternoon in the Plazza d' Espagna, invisible to all but yourself.—Well, I believe all Women in Venice are wild for Gallants.

Sir, what Answer shall I return to my Lady?

Egad—I am in doubt whether I shall throw my Time away on this Intrigue or no— [Page 25] Harkee Child, step into the next Chamber, and I'll answer your Message instantly—

Let me see—

Monday, at Two in the Afternoon I am to meet Signiora Belleza at her Nurse's—She's a pretty Rogue, and so I'll go—At Three of the Clock, Signiora Dorinda the Senator's Wife, at the Indian House—Pshaw, she's an old Ac­quaintance,—I shan't go—At half an Hour past Three, the Countess Wrinkle, who presented me with a Gold-hilted Sword—Silly Fool! does she think I'll bestow one of my Visits on an old shrivelled Piece of Antiquity, for a trifling Present, not worth above three-score Pistoles—At a Quarter past Four, my Sem­stress Dorothy Steenkirk, who supplies me with Linen,—Oh! this Visit may be put off for a new Intrigue—And so I'll acquaint the Messenger.

SCENE I.

DID you deliver my Letter to Ludo­vico, Lucy?

Madam, I did; I found him in his Study, reading the Lover's Watch, which he swears does not at all agree with his Constitution. He hates Injunctions of Love, like those of Penance: For the one, says he, is no more pleasurable to the Body, than the other beneficial to the Soul.

What a fine Gallant I'm like to have with these Principles! Well—what did he say to a Sum­mons from a Woman of my Quality? Did it not make him wish the Time of Assignation were sooner than the Appointment in the Letter?

He first hum'd over your Billet; and pausing a while, he desir'd me to stay for an Answer in a next Room; then coming to me, he ask'd me what Coun­trywoman you were? For, said he, if she should prove an old Acquaintance, I would use her damnably—But when I and assur'd him you never saw the Outside of these Walls, he began to have that Desire which all Men have to a new Face

Very well; and what then?

He strait enquir'd whether you were black, brown, fair, old, young, Maid, Wife or Widow? I told him you was a wretched Wise to an old, impotent, [Page 27] rich, covetous, noble Venetian; beautiful, young, gene­rous, and of a fair Complexion. He hugg'd me at these Words, seem'd transported with the News, and swore that in Intrigues, a Wife was most suitable to his Temper; for, said he, there's neither Children to fa­ther, nor Honour to repair: and where his Pocket and Liberty are safe, he is contented to venture his Body and Soul,

Excellent Maxims!

In short, Madam, he says he has had several Bills of this Nature drawn upon him of late, and how much his Stock may be exhausted, he knows not; but however he'll meet you, and if he cannot answer your Expectation, he'll give you Earnest.

You talk merrily, Girl; I hope you did not tell my Name. I should be loath to trust a Man of his Character with my Reputation at first Dash.

No, Madam, I only told your Quality.

That's well: Oh! Reputation, what several Sorts of Slavery do we undergo to preserve thee! for to be thought virtuous, we are forced to be constantly rail­ing against Vice, tho' our Tongues and Maxims seldom agree.

Alas! Madam, that Pretence is grown too common: For the Men now take it for granted, that a Lady is very near surrendring, when once she holds out that Flag of Defiance.

Well—Men use us very barbarously: They will neither suffer us to be honest, nor allow us to be thought so—Here, take this Key, and secure every thing that concerns my Reputation: And if my Husband wakes ere I come back, you may easily find some Excuse to prevent his Enquiries; for the Carnival allows us more Liberty, than at other times we dare pretend to—I know thy Honesty, and will rely upon't.

Yes, indeed, Madam, I am honest at the Bot­tom.

Well, I'll be gone: 'Tis about the Hour

Good Luck attend you, Madam—Oh! Heavens! here's my Lord—Madam, Madam, Madam—Oh! Lord, what shall I say, now she's gone?

Hist, hist, Lucy: Don't, don't, don't call your Lady, for I have a Word or two to say to thee in pri­vate, and have waited for this lucky Opportunity a great while—

Now Venus be prais'd, I hope he has found some Business of his own, that may give my Lady an Opportunity to mind her's.

Well, Lucy, well,—canst thou guess my Business now?

No, indeed, Sir—But I'm certain, an old Man's Business can't be great.

Here, Child, this will tell thee—Look in't, look in't, I say—Ah! ah! thou hast a pretty pouting Lip, a delicate roguish Eye; such an Ogle, such a Cast—Ah! Rogue—Faith, thou'rt very pretty: And, in short, if any one rival thy Lady, it will be thee, Lucy—Egad, I have Fire in me yet.

O' my Conscience, and little too, I be­lieve: Yet I wish he has enough to serve my Ends. I'll make my Fortune—Lord, Sir, what do you mean? I rival my Lady! Heaven forbid; I would not injure so good a Woman for the World—

Pshaw, pshaw—Where's the Injury done to her, Child? Adod, I'll give thee a hundred Crowns.

No Injury, say you, my Lord? Why, I won­der you should be so jealous of my Lady, and preach such religious Maxims to her, when your own Principles are quite opposite.

Look ye, Child, a Man may do that, which would look abominable in a Wife—A Woman's Reputation is a nice Thing.—

'Tis so—and therefore 'tis but Reason I should take Care of mine.

Prithee, no more of that: Thy Reputation shall be safe; I'll marry thee to my Gentleman.

Gentleman—Valet! Faugh—And what Good will a hundred Crowns do me, when my Virginity is gone? Indeed, if you lov'd me as much as you say, and would make my Fortune, (for I should love ex­treamly to be a Lady) I cannot tell how far you might persuade me—I know my Reputation would be safe in your Hands.

Make thy Fortune! Why, I've known some of our Nobles marry a Wife with less than a hundred Crowns—But adod, thou'rt a charming Girl, and therefore I'll make it a hundred Pistoles—What say'st thou now, Lucy? Ah! adod, I must buss thee;

Ah! Rogue, methinks I'm a young, lusty, vigorous Fellow again—Thou shall find I am, Girl.

I believe I shall fail you, old Gentleman. Well, my Lord, make it up a thousand Pistoles, and I am your's, else I'll die a Maid, I'm resolv'd.

A thousand Pistoles, why thour't the most uncon­scionable Wench in Italy: Why, 'tis a Price for a Du­tchess in some Countries▪ Come, come, prithee be rea­sonable, Lucy?

Reasonable! why you don't ask a reasonable Thing—Look you, you know my Mind, I'll not bate a Penny—I'll warrant my Lady will give me two hundred at least for my Discovery

Udslife! she won't tell my Wife, sure, [...]m ruin'd if she does; I'd rather give her two thou­ [...]and—Hold, hold, Lucy, sweet Lucy, prithee [...]ome back—Faith, thou'rt so charming, I can de­ [...]y thee nothing—Come, it shall be what thou wilt—Come now Rogue, let's retire to thy Cham­ [...]er—

Nay, nay, no entring the Premises, till you [...]ave paid the Purchase.—

Adod, thou'rt a Wag—Come in then, and I'll discharge the Debt: Thou art a cunning Gipsy.

You shall have Reason to say so ere I have done with you, old Gentleman—For I am resolv'd to show you a Trick, and preserve my Virtue.

SCENE II.

Nay, nay, Signiora, why this Passion?

You sent me a Challenge, and I, like a Man of Courage am come to answer it—Pray don't let a Quarter [...] [Page 31] an Hour break Squares—I own it was a Fault to make a Lady wait; but Friends, Madam, Friends, and good Wine are the Devil—Come I'll make you amends.

Friends and good Wine! I suppose those Friends were Female ones—

No, Faith: You shall judge of that—But suppose they were—Why should you be angry that I did not fly with the desir'd Haste, as long as I am come time enough to give you Satisfaction—Besides, I han't seen your Face yet, and for aught I know, it mayn't reward my Complement in coming now—Prithee, Child, unmask, and then I'll tell thee more of my Mind.

The Devil take this Fellow—and yet me­thinks I love him for his Indifferency—

You talk as if you were unskill'd in the Art of Love: Don't you know that Expectation feeds more than twenty tasted Pleasures?

Hum—some Sort of Fops it may: But I'm none of those—I never give my Opinion of a Dish till I've tasted; neither do I care to dine often on one Sort of Meat without changing the Sauce—But when that Cloud's withdrawn, how long I shall keep my Re­solution I know not.

Say you so! Why then the only Way to pre­serve your Appetite is to feed you slenderly; or only let you see the Food, but not to taste.

Faith, Madam, I'm no Camelion, but Flesh and Blood—Therefore these Prescriptions are of no Use—One Sight of that dear charming Face of your's, would be more obliging to your humble Servant.

Well, Sir, what think you? Is there any thing in this Face worth your Regard?

Ah! by Heaven, an Angel—Oh! Madam, now blame yourself for my Neglect, for had you sent the Picture of her, in whom all those Beauties center, I had in this Place waited the coming of my Goddess, or ra­ther flown on the Wings of eager Love, to meet my Fair, tho' in the Arms of ten thousand Dangerss— [Page 32] Say, my charming Angel, do you forgive me? But why do I ask? your Eyes assure me you do; at least I'll force a Pardon from these dear, soft, ruby Lips.

Hold, hold! been't so lavish—a sparing Gamester is the likeliest to keep in Stock—whilst a profuse Hand at one Cast throws all he has away.

To fear that, were to doubt your Charms, in which a Lover is sure to find constant Supplies—But we lose Time—Let's retire to my Lodgings, where I'll give thee the best Proofs of my Love I can?

Well! He's a charming Fellow—Oh! how happy are Wives in France and England, where such as he swarm!

Come, Madam, come—Why, what do you mean by this Delay? Consider I'm a Man, a mortal, wishing, amorous Man—

And consider I'm a Woman—

Ay, ay: That I know: At least I hope to find you such—or I would not be in such Haste—

And have a Reputation to preserve.

Oh! Lord, what a damn'd Turn's here? Re­putation, say you? Egad, I find all Women make Pre­tence to that mysterious Word.

What! Are not you married, Madam?

Yes, what then?

Why then you have a Reputation to preserve—that's all.

All, Sir, yes, and all in all to me—Do you consider what Country you're in, Sir?

Yes, Faith, Madam; and what Constitution I am of too. I know Murder is as venial a Sin here, as Adultery is in some Countries; And I am too apprehen­sive of my mortal Part not to avoid Danger—There­fore, Madam, you have an infallible Security—if I should betray you, I bring myself into Jeopardy, and of all Pleasures, Self-Preservation is the dearest.

A very open Speaker, I vow.

Ay, Madam, that's best—Hang your creeping, cringing, whining, sighing, dying, lying Lovers—Pough! Their Flames are not more durable than mine, tho' they make more Noise in the Blaze.

The Duce take me if this Fellow has not charm'd me strangely—Well, the Carnival is almost over, and then must I be shut up like a Nun again—Hey! Hoa! This Time will be so short—

Let's make the better Use on't then, my Dear. We will consider when we have nothing else to do, but at present there's a Matter of the greatest Moment, which I must impart to you—Therefore, come dear Rogue, come—

Hold—I have outstaid my Time, and must return home instantly, to prevent Discoveries.

Faith, Madam, this is not fair—to raise a Man's Expectation, and then disappoint him! Would you be serv'd so yourself now?

I'll endeavour to disingage myself from my jealous Husband, and contrive another Meeting.

But will you be sure to meet me again?

I give you my Hand as a Pledge—

And I this Kiss in Return—Adieu, my Charmer.

Signior, farewel.

SCENE I.

SCENE II.

Well, thou'rt an admirable Girl! What would half the Ladies in Venice give for such a Servant?

Truly you have Reason to say so, for 'tis not the first Intrigue I have manag'd for you—Oh! dear Madam, your Ladyship does me too much Ho­nour—But how do you like your new Servant, Madam?

Oh! above all Men living, Lucy: He has the most bewitching Conversation I ever met with—Say, is there no way to contrive a second Meeting? For I'm impatient till I see the dear Man again—The End of the Carnival draws near, which is indeed the End of Life to me: For then must I be coop'd up with Age: Condemn'd to an eternal Coughing, Spitting, Snoring and Ill-nature—Then let me make the best of Life—since Hell cannot have a worse Plague in Store than I have felt already.

Indeed, Madam, I pity you: And with 'twere in my Power to free you from this old, wither'd Log, but tho' that's impossible, yet I may do you some little Servi­ces to make Life's tedious Journey pleasant—Let me see, I have it—What would you say now, Ma­dam, if I should contrive a Way to have your Lover in your own Chamber?

That were worth a King's Revenue—Speak, quickly, how, how, good Lucy?

Why, thus: He shall put on my Cloaths, and in my Place attend you.

Rare Contrivance; but my Husband, Lucy?

Oh! let me alone, Madam, to manage him: He is defective in Sight, you know; and not mistrusting any thing, will not be over curious: But if he should, I [Page 42] have a way to bring you off—My Life on't—This Plot may be of Use to my Design, I'll manage it with Care.

Oh! the Pleasure of hearing my Husband lie coughing, and calling me to Bed: And my answer­ing him, I'm coming, Dear; and while he imagines me in the next Room undressing, I'm happy in the Arms of my Ludovico. Certainly there's as much Satisfaction in deceivig a dull jealous Husband, as in getting a new Gal­lant; Were it not grown so common—each. Trades­man's Wife must have her Gallant too—and some­times makes a Journey-man of the Apprentice e'er his Indentures be half out—'Tis an unsufferable Fault, that Quality can have no Pleasure above the Vulgar, except it be in paying their Debts. Well, dear Lucy, I admire thy Contrivance—About it instantly—

About it instantly! is that all? I must have my t'other Fee first.—I will, Madam; and you may expect your Lover instantly. But, Madam, what's to be done with your Brocade Night Gown you tore last Night? it can ne'er be mended handsomely.

Nothing to be done without a Bribe I find, in Love as well as Law—Well, Lucy, if you manage this Intrigue with Care and Secresy, the Gown is yours.

Madam, my Lord desires so speak with you.

Madam, I'll go about your Business: Your La­dyship's very humble Servant.

Tell him I'm coming—

Now by way of Mortification, must I go entertain my old, jealous Husband.

SCENE III.

What Singing, Signior! Well, you're a pleasant Gentleman—

Ah! my little Female Mercury, what Message bringst Thou? Ha—will thy Lady bless me with ano­ther Sight—Ha—How—When? where? I am all in a Flame.

Come along with me, Sir, I'll help you to an Extinguisher presently.

If thou meanest thy Lady, with all my Heart—But I can tell thee, she'll rather prove Oyl, than what you speak of—But, say, where am I to see my lovely Charmer?

In her Chamber—

Good! But how the Devil can that be done?

Nay, without the Help of a Conjurer, I assure you; If you dare take me for your Pilot, I'll warrant you Success in your Voyage—I'll set you safe in the Island of Love; 'tis your Business to improve the Soil.

I warrant thee, Girl; do you but bring me there once, and if I play not my Part, may I never more know the Pleasure of an Intrigue.

Which, if I mistake not, is the greatest Curse can fall on you—Well, you must suffer a small Metamor­phosis: What think you of personating me a little? That is dressing in my Cloaths, and waiting on your Mi­stress in her Bed Chamber—Ha—

Egad, I'm afraid I shall make but an awkward Chamber-maid, I'm undisciplin'd in dressing a Lady's Head—

Oh! Sir, your Commission won't reach so high as the Head: I believe my Lady will excuse little Mat­ters: You can undress, I suppose.

Oh! the best and the quickest of any Man in Venice. But a Pox on't—Canst find no other way?—I, I, I,—I like Petticoats in their proper Places, but I don't care to have my Legs in 'em.

And so you resolve against it? Ha—

No, not absolutely resolve, Child: But—a—

But what, Sir!

Nothing—I will follow thy Directions, what­ever comes on't. Now lead the way: For nothing sutes better with my Humour than a Friend, a Bottle, a new Mistress, and a convenient Place.

SCENE IV.

Well—My Wife's a fine Woman! a very fine Woman! But a Pox she's a Wife still, and this young Jade runs in my Head plaguly: Well—here 'tis under my Hand; a Thousand Pistoles—A great Sum for a Maidenhead, as Maidenheads go now-a-days—Ah, had I been young now.

Oh! are you come! Here, here, Lucy: Here's a For­tune for thee, worth Twenty Maidenheads, adod! I have not so much Money by me at present, but there's Secu­rity.

Your Lordship's Bond's sufficient—Well, but that I am satisfied my Reputation is safe with your Lordship, or twice the Sum should not have prevail'd—Go to my Chamber, my Lord, I'll but stop and see if my Lady wants any thing, and I'll be with you instant­ly.

You won't stay, Lucy? Ah Girl, buss thy Lady's Chucky; now do now—

Oh! Lord! not here, we shall be discovered.

Well, thou art a cunning Sinner: make haste, Lucy, dost hear?

You're in mighty Haste, old Gentleman! but I shall deceive you,

SCENE I.

Sir, Count Bassino enquires if you are within.

Oh! Heaven! that I were not!

A Letter! and to Aurelia! now Curiosity prompts me to know the Subject—What's here?

I have dispatch'd Armando to the Court of Sa­voy, and found Pretence to stay behind—

False treacherous Man!

This Night I give a Mask at my Lodgings, which, I hope, will divert Alonzo, till the Priest has joined our Hands; and while all the Company are engaged in Mirth, I'll steal to the dear Arms of my divine Aurelia.

SCENE II.

Why, what makes this young Jade stay so long? Adod, this is to pay before-hand—Ha—methinks I hear a Laughing and Giggling in my Wife's Apart­ment; I must know whence their Mirth proceeds. Ho! here's Lucy coming—Harkee you, pray, why did you make me wait so long? Nay, I'm resolved you shan't 'scape me now—

Oh! Be­nedicite! What have we here? A Man disguis'd in my Wife's Chamber! and I unarm'd! Oh! Curst Mi­nute!—Speak, thou wicked Prophet, thou Son of Ini­quity, what camest thou here for? Ha—Thou Priest [Page 54] of Baal, to offer Sacrifices on the Altar of my Wife? Oh! my Head! my Horns weigh it down to the Ground already—Within there, bring me my Sword and Pistols.

A Pox on all Petticoats—What a Devil shall I say now? Oh! for a Sword! that would be of more Use to me now than my Tongue.

Oh! thou wicked salacious Woman!

What ails my dear Chucky? Why dost thou call for Arms, Deary?

To cut down that vile Creeper which over-runs thy Garden of Virtue—

Now Impudence assist me.

Ah! Heavens! What's here? A Man in Disguise? A Thief it must be—Raise the Servants—Oh! Hea­ven! we might have had all our Throats cut in our Beds—Now for Lucy, for I am at a Loss to come off.

No, no, I warrant, you know he is more gentle in Bed

Oh! the Devil, what does she mean? Death, Hell and Furies! if I come off now, catch me at this Sport again, and hang me—

Oh! are you there, Mistress? How came this Man here in your Cloaths? Ha! Gentlewoman—

How confidently she asks the Question, poor Lady! as if she knew nothing of it! Now must I bring her off—For Reasons you must not know, Madam.

Ah! Thou wicked Pair of Bellows to blow the Fire of Iniquity! Why, thou art the very Casement thro' which thy Mistress sucks the Air of Abomination—Tell me, I say, how he came here, and for what—and be sure it be a substantial Lie, or 'twill not pass.

All my Hopes are in her Impudence.

Harkee, Sir, one Word with you—Do you remember our Agreement To-night?

Why, what of that? ha—

Then imagine what I design'd that Gentleman for: I'm honest, Sir, that's all—

I'm honest, Sir, that's all—

Honest! with a Pox—What! and so you honestly provided a Companion for my Wife in my Absence—ha—

No, Sir, I design'd him for your Companion in my Absence—This is the Business he was drest for: Therefore no more Words, but believe my Lady honest, or all shall out.

Oh! the Devil! this shan't pass, Hussy—Do you think I'll be cuckold, jilted, bubbled, and let it pass for a Christmas Gambol. Adod, give me my Bond again, or—or—

No—hold there, Sir: Women and Lawyers ne'er refund a Fee: But 'tis your best Way to be patient now, I'll not take Blows.

Why all this Whispering? Why mayn't I know the Business?

I am mistaken if you have not known too much Business already: But I am right enough serv'd—I had more Ground before than I could manage; I had no Need of my Neighbour's.

Right, my Lord; Ground that lies fallow will breed Weeds in Time; but your's is clear yet.

Damn your Jests: I shall expect a better Ac­count, do you hear? I'll find a Servant to see you out of Door.

Well, this was an admirable Lift at a Pinch—She has brought me off now—And if e'er they catch me at this Musick again, I'll give 'em Leave to make an Italian Singer of me—No more Intrigues in Disguise—if it had not been for the Waiting-Woman now, I might have been hang'd for a Thief.

What, all amort, Signior, no Courage left?

Faith, not much—I think I have lost my Manhood with my Breeches—This Trans­formation may suit with Gods, but not with Mortals of my Humour—Come, prithee, good Mistress Lucy, help me to my proper Shape again; for tho' I have a natural Inclination to Petticoats, I hate 'em upon my own Back.

Hark! I hear Count Bassino's Musick: He gives a Mask To-night; you are already drest for Masque­rade, won't you stay and take a Dance?

Egad, I'd rather dance a Jig with thee else­where: Faith thou'rt a pretty Girl—and hast a good deal of Wit too—But then, Pox on't, thou'rt ho­nest, thou sayest, thou cannot swallow a Pill, except 'tis gilded o'er with Matrimony.

—And that turns your Stomach, I warrant.

Why, Ay: Faith my Stomach is damn'd squeem­ish in these Matters: Yet, egad, if I could find one with half as much Money as thou hast Wit and Beauty, I'd marry, and live honest.

That is, you'd marry her Money—

One with the other, Child: There's no living upon Love, thou knowest—Tho' Faith I could live well enough too.

Well, suppose I help you to a Lady with a round Sum; you'd keep your Word, and marry her?

I am a Gentleman, I scorn to break my Word.

Well, Sir, come to the Mask, and I'll engage you a Mistress, if you are not over-curious.

SCENE I.

Ah! Mistress Lucy! I'm come thou seest—I expect thou shalt be as good as thy Word, Child—is the Lady here?

The Lady is forthcoming, if you are still in the same Mind?

My Lover here! Harkee, Lucy.

By and by, Madam, I am catering for myself now—Well, Sir, will two thousand Pistoles do?

I must humour her—

Ay Child.

Why then, I take you at your Word, Sir, and can produce the aforesaid Sum—

With a lit­tle of your Assistance, my Lord.

Hum—A pretty Wife I am like to have—Catch me there if you can—

Ha—How's that?

How! Mistress Lucy, worth two thousand Pi­stoles?

Ay: And I have a very good Pay-master for one Half of it two—Do you know this Hand, my Lord?

Confound your jilting Sneer.

Ha, ha, ha—What, a Thousand Pistoles a Dish, my Lord? I hope you don't change often, ha—ha—

Hussy, I'll be reveng'd—'Tis all false, 'tis coun­terfeit.

Ha—ha—But it had been current Coin, if I had suffer'd you to put your Stamp upon't—in my Bed-Chamber, my Lord—

How Mistress, have you trick'd my Husband out of a thousand Pistoles, and never told me of it?

Nay, Madam, don't frown—Remember you have tricked him out of something too, which I ne­ver told him of—Don't urge me to more Discove­ries.

So—Here's Trick upon Trick: But, Faith, you shall never trick me out of my Liberty. I'm not so fond of a Wise to marry a Chamber-maid, tho' with ten Times as much Money: and so, sweet Mistress Abigail, your humble Servant.

The Jade has me upon the Hip—I must be silent.

Ha—What! my Lover gone I With all my Heart: Better now than after; for whilst I have my [Page 59] Fortune in my own Hands, I shall have no Need to sue for a separate Maintenance, and get nothing for it nei­ther.

Come now, Gentlemen and Ladies, be pleas'd to walk into the next Room, and take a small Colla­tion—But where's my Lord Bassino? Come, Gen­tlemen, he's gone before us.

Where we will quickly follow.

Alonzo, a Word with you—

SCENE II.

No, Madam, A young Stranger desires to speak with you: He says you are not acquainted with his Name, but will soon with his Business, which is some­thing of great Import, that can be told to none but your­self.