Ah! ha!—I have not beat my drum in vain—here come two volunteers alrea­dy—Mrs. Tokay, and Mrs. Dimity, I am charm'd to see you.—You are punctual to a mi­nute.

No wonder, when the summons was of such a serious nature.—You must see us it seems on business, which concerns us as near­ly as our lives.

This business is to sup with me here this evening,—where I mean to give you a delicious repast.

But, my dear, what necessity fo such a message?

More than you are aware of.—Are you disengaged?

Yes,—my husband is gone into the country, on some particular business, 'till to­morrow.

And I am also a widow 'till that time.

They told you so, did they?—O men, how many ways do you deceive and cheat us!

What do you mean?

Why, I mean, that both your Husband, Alderman Tokay, the Wine-mer­chant of Portsoken ward, and your Husband, Deputy Dimity the Taylor, of Candlewick, ex­pect the pleasure of supping this evening, in this house.

Here!

With you?

Why your husband is out of town.

How! Ma'am!—And you all alone?

Listen to me:—They have both formally made me a declaration of love, and I confess to you, I thought myself not a little flat­ter'd, at attracting the attention of two men, whose wives are so universally admired.—Says Mr. Alderman, you know his jocular way, Ma'am—

[Page 11] Now, Ma'am, for a specimen of your hus­sband's eloquence in love.—Mr. Dimity.

Well, Ladies, to so much gallantry, I could not but make a most obliging answer.—You shall hear it.

Why you seem thunderstruck.

What a villain!

The Traitor! But I'll give him his own.

And for Mr. Tokay, I'll make him blush with shame—you shall see such a scene.—

I'll expose his infidelity to the whole world.

And my wrongs shall be known all over the town.

And so expose yourselves.—No, no, if you'll be guided by me, we'll be better reveng'd of them than all this.

How?—I'll do any thing.

Speak, dear Mrs. Vermilion!

Time presses, let me therefore tell you my scheme in as few words as possible; I have acquainted Mr. Vermilion with every thing, who is not out of town, but has only had it so reported to favour our design.—Your hus­bands are coming here.—I shall receive them in this painting room, because nothing can pos­sibly pass in these two chambers adjoining, which cannot be over-heard.—And thus—but [Page 13] on my conscience, one of them knocks at the door now—do you slip down these back stairs, and slide out after I have conducted them up.—Then be ready for me at your house, which is but two steps off,—where I shall presently come and fetch you, and tell you every thing you have to do.

Well, well, we'll be guided by you.—Could I have believed it!—

Adieu. We'll hold ourselves in readiness.—Oh! I could tear his eyes out.

You hear, they are impatient, Ma'am!—Come, come, decamp, quick!—

Ah! my charming neighbour!

My dear, Mrs. Vermilion!

Gentlemen! to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you? don't say any thing be­fore him that I asked you to supper:

he has a scandalous tongue.

Scandalous as a tea table, Ma'am!—I don't know what put it in the damn'd fellow's head to come here—Well, neighbour Dimity, I'm glad to see you. We happen'd to meet together, Madam, at your door, just as I was coming to pay my respects to you.

Yes, I came according to instructions to take measure.

Hush, hush! don't say I invited you here—he'd expose us—

O Lord! to the whole world.—I say, Ma'am, the remnant of the evening lay on my hands, and so I thought I could not piece it out better, than in coming to ask you how you did.

Well, Gentlemen, since it happens so, if you have no better engagement, I shall be glad of your company to eat a bit of supper with me.

You are infinitely kind. Could not you send him away?

No, no, 'twould create suspicion.

Vastly kind, indeed—Could not we get rid of him?

'Tis impossible—Come, Gentlemen, I must use you without ceremony—We have the house to ourselves—I gave the maid leave to see her aunt, and the man is gone with my husband—I am a widow for a whole week.

A week! zounds, I shall be elected without a scrutiny.

A week! Damn me, I shall cut out a fine parcel of work here!

Mr. Tokay, help me to fetch the table; and do you, Mr. Dimity, look in that clo­set for the table cloth, and knives and forks—Come, come, stir.

Dispose of me as you please.

Ah, my dear Mr. Tokay, if that fool was not here—

My turtle! let me kiss you for that thought.

Hush! hush! he'll see us!

that's right—

now do you search in that cupboard, and you'll find a sallad ready for dressing—

'Twas very kind of you to come, dear Mr. Dimi­ty. What a pity 'tis we are not alone!

I wish to Heaven he was in one of his buts of Madeira.

Well, one journey more and all will be ready. You see I have nothing but a cold supper, but such as it is—

Oh! Madam! your company is green peas at Christmas.

Oh! truce with compliments, and sit down without ceremony.

How many jealous ones we should make now, if your husband, and our wives, knew of this.

Come, Ma'am, sit.

Hush!

What's the matter?

Surely some one knocks.

Do you expect any body?

Not a soul.

Zounds! I hope 'tis not your hus­band.

Oh! no.

But if by hazard—

I hardly think it—however, in that case, I can hide you in this room—but don't con­cern yourselves—It can't be him; and for any body else, I'll soon send them away—

Heavens! 'tis my husband sure [Page 17] enough; I would not have him see you for the world; get in, get in.

Stuff us in any where.

If I can, I'll send him out—Don't stir for you lives—

Ah! wife; you ought to have a thousand obligations to me—I did not find my man—and tho' it was so late, I was determined not to lose a moment—But I think you receive me coldly.

No love, I don't—I only—

Hey! what the devil's this?—you were going to have good cheer—a patê of partridges! Three covers! why, who the devil have you in­vited to supper?

Zounds! she'll never draw herself out of this scrape.

Hush! hush!

Why, my dear—I—a—I have—asked some ladies to sup with me.

Ay! who?

Why, Mrs. Tokay, and Mrs. Di­mity.

Our wives!

What, our two handsome neighbours?

Yes, love; and I wonder they don't come—I wish you'd go and fetch them.

My soul, there is nothing I would not do sooner for thee, than walk.

Well, 'tis but a step, I'll go my­self.

I would not trouble you, but I am so tired with my journey.

Good Heaven! how fortunate—thou little di­vinest, my sweet wife, what a service thou art go­ing to do me—I shall sup with her I adore.

Do you hear him, Alderman? he says he shall sup with her he adores.

There is not her equal in the world, and my love is like her's, perfect—she is more majestic than Juno.

Ay, that's your wife, for she is the most tallest.

More willing than Io.

That's your's.

More lively than Sappho; but, to my misfortune, too virtuous.

Yes, yes, I fancy he means my wife, indeed!

Heavens! what transport! what tender, delightful extasy, to press her panting, yielding to my bosom—What is there but love makes our lives desirable?

Ah! I am charmed—How d'ye do, La­dies?

How d'ye do, Mr. Vermilion.

How d'ye do, Mr. Vermilion.

Give me leave to embrace you, my dear neighbour, and you, Mrs. Dimity.

Lord! how you kiss one, in­deed!

Why, what a devil of a fellow it is!

Come, wife, we must have another co­ver. Where's the servant?

I have given her leave to go out.

What exquisite pleasure to pass a few hours with you, my dear Mrs. Dimity.

My dear Mrs. Dimity! do you hear him?

Come, wife, let us set at table.—How I am transported to see my sweet Mrs. Tokay!

Sweet Mrs. Tokay.—Alderman, do you hear him?

Never was happiness equal to mine, flatter'd and caress'd by three charming objects, equally amiable.

An admirable thought.—Part, then, my love, between you in the same manner.

Lord, Mr. Vermilion, how you do rattle.

Oh! we forgive him.

Well, wife, what wine do you give us?

I have forgot to fetch it.

Come, get it then, pray, my dear—you seem uneasy—Oh! I know what it is—she has to cross the garden in her way to the cellar, and she is afraid of spirits.

Well, Lord, every one is not so brave as you are.—I confess I'm foolish enough to have this absurd terror sometimes.

Dear Ma'am! I'll go with you.

Why does not he go himself?

I would go myself, if I was not so ex­ceedingly tired.

What a devil of a reason!

Oh! we don't want you—Come, Mrs. Vermilion—

Ah! my charming Mrs. Dimity.

Ah! Mr. Vermilion.

Don't you understand me?

Alas!

What the devil are they going to say to one another?

We are alone.

Well!

Permit me then, heavenly creature, to seize this opportunity,

This is pretty plain, I think, neigh­bour Dimity.

Dim. Pray be quiet.

Cease then the fire of those bewitching eyes, those smiles, those lips like roses, that vo­luptuous carnation in your cheeks, where comely health resides; deprive yourself of these which feed the fire of my tender love.

Flattering creature!

Poor Master Dimity!

Heavens! how beautiful she looks!—Come, charming creature, let us not lose this [Page 24] favourable moment—Believe me, never was love so ardent, or so faithful as mine,—you answer nothing,—you must not deny me.

Dear me you are so pressing—I am all in a flurry—I must take a walk in the garden to recover myself.

Do, my Angel,—I'll conduct you to a delicious retreat, where the soft zephyr alone shall be witness to our love.

You agreeable devil, you!

What do you think of this? He is not tired now?

They are gone out, let me pass you.

Poor neighbour Dimity!

I'll snip the scoundrel's nose off;

they have locked the door.

Ha! ha! this brings to my mind an old song, that I sometimes give 'em at a meet­ing of the livery, I'll sing it you, neighbour.

I could not have believed it—my wife, who I thought the pattern card of virtue!

Women are frail, neighbour! women are frail!

Mr. Alderman, you have the advan­tage, but if it had been your's—

Mine! No, no, Mr. Dimity, Mrs. Tokay is perhaps the most discreet matron in all the ward of Portsoken—But, come, bear your disgrace like a man—let us see—Zounds, I'll seize some of these cakes, if 'tis only to fortify the stomach—And—stay—there is nothing to drink—If the wine was but come, I'd drink the lady and gentleman in the garden.

'Tis cruel in you, Alderman, to rip up the subject in this manner.

Hush! I hear them, let us retire.

Well, I'll sew up my mouth for a lit­tle while—However, I'll trim them yet, before I put the work out of hand.—

Dear me! what shall I do?

Don't cry; believe me, my respect and caution shall ever equal my love.

If my husband should know it—

How can he know it?—No, believe me, he'll carry his honours as contentedly as the best.

My honours! there's a scoundrel for you.

And will you be always constant?

For ever, my angel—Hush! here's my wife, and Mrs. Tokay.

So, have you well employed your time since we have been gone?

If to be wise, is to profit of each mo­ment, we have well employed our time, I assure you.

Yes, yes, that we can witness for them.

Here's the wine.

Come, ladies, take your places.

I fancy we shall be here some time. Come, neighbour Dimity, eat some of this cake.

No, I thank you, Mr. Alderman—I have no appetite.

Come, Mrs. Tokay, take care of your­self—my dear Mrs. Dimity, what makes you so serious?—Here's Mr. Dimity's health; he is a man I like; clever, sensible, well furnished, here.—

Did you ever hear such a villain!

Ladies, let us drink round, and then suppose we sing a little catch to put us in spirits.

With all my heart; what shall it be?

The Wives Revenged.

Ha! ha! ha!

Charming!—ravishing!—my dear Mrs. Dimity, and you, beautiful Mrs. Tokay—how you [Page 29] enchant me—but how's this, wife?—but one bottle?—Heavens! you should have brought half a dozen at least; at such a delightful feast ought any thing to be spared?

Half a dozen!—what the devil are we to stay all night here?

Come, come, one more journey—I am sorry to trouble you, and I confess 'tis not very polite, but I am dead, and can't stir a step.

Oh! the impostor!

Come, ladies, which of you will accompany me?

Mrs. Tokay loves walking.

There, there, she wants to stay with him again—the vixen!

No, Ma'am! you shall have your turn as well as me.

Hang my buttons now if—

With all my heart.—Come, Mrs. Vermilion.

Are you not ashamed, Sir, to look me in the face?

Why, Madam?

Why, Sir?—Do you think if your [Page 30] wife was insensible to your behaviour, it would pass upon me?—No, Sir, not one leer, nor whisper escaped me.

Ha! ha! ha! jealous, by all that's charm­ing.

Jealous!—no, Sir, my love is not alarmed, 'tis my pride that's hurt—Mrs. Dimity, indeed! I'll Mrs. Dimity her; to leave me for such a Gill-slirt,

Why, Alderman, how's this?

Why, really, I don't know.

You know, the first time I was weak enough to listen to you, was at my Lord Mayor's ball—You danced, you enchanted me, and while my dear good Mr. Tokay was getting himself into a state of intoxication, with his own champaign, you looked, and persuaded, and swore yourself into my affections—and now—I could cry my eyes out.

Come, come, no more of this—you are as dear to me as ever. Let us not then lose the moments in frivolous conversation—rather let me lead you where silence and the night shall hide those raptures—

Heavens! you were born to per­suade me—And don't you love that creature at all?

How can you do yourself the injustice to think so? I was piqued at your late coolness, and so put on all this to try if your affection was as strong as ever.

Is it possible?

You know it is—Come, lose no time!

Zounds! I'm struck as dumb as an oister.

Why, Alderman! I thought your wife was the most discreet matron of all the ward of Portsoken.

A dauber of canvas to make a cuckold of an Alderman!

Come, come, 'tis some comfort that you are not out of work any more than me.

A damn'd plaisterer of train oil, and yellow oker!

Stay, have I never a snip of a song now that will suit you?

But women are frail, neighbour!—Women are frail!—Come, Alderman, will you eat any of this cake?—

Here's the Lady and Gentleman in in the garden—but, zounds, I hear them, let us retire—

Heavens! I am undone!—ruin'd!

I tell you, my love, they did not see us.

You are mistaken, and that malici­ous Mrs. Dimity—

Hush! they are here.

Your servant, Madam, I must give up my place to you, I find.

Yes, Madam, you did not slide out of the little summer-house so cunningly, but that we saw you.

What do you mean, Ladies?

I can't conceive what they would be at—This Lady has never stirred from hence, I as­sure you, all the time you have been gone.

All this is mighty well, Sir, but we part to-morrow.

Yes, indeed! I wonder how she has the impudence to look Mrs. Vermilion in the face!

Well, Ladies, since you are determin'd upon quarrelling, you had better wish one another good night. If you'll give me leave, I'll see you home.

No, I won't be seen in her Company.

Madam, whatever your delicacy may be injur'd at, as it is dark, you had better, I think, take this opportunity of guarding yourself from danger.

Well, for the matter of that, since no one will see us together—good night to you, my dear Mrs. Vermilion—I am sure I pity you.

Dear Ma'am! revenge yourself.

Do, Ma'am,

my devil of a wife, for all her demure looks, has tore a hole in my coat, as large as that in the Alderman's.

Upon my knees I entreat of you.

And so do I upon mine—'tis the only way to repair the rent in your reputation.

Ha! ha! ha!

How! this my dearee?

What do I see, the Alderman!

Yes, Ma'am, but not so contented as you may imagine.

And for me, Ma'am, I shall not quietly wear my honours, whatever that gentleman may think of the matter.

I don't understand you.

What, you know nothing of the sum­mer house?

No, I warrant them, pretty creatures, nor of the garden, the jealousy, the carnation in the cheeks, the intoxication, the zephyr, and the Lord Mayor's ball.

Hark ye, Mr. Alderman Tokay, and Mr. Deputy Dimity, never go a poaching again on other peoples grounds, for fear they, in your ab­sence, should take it in their heads to beat up the game about your's.

Come, 'tis I who must explain all this—You have both had the arrogance to make love to me; and the summer house, your coming here to supper, and, in short, all that has passed, was only a laugh at your expence, and you may thank your stars you are no worse off.

Neighbour Dimity, we cut a good figure here.

Yes, for if this is the case, all our work's returned upon our hands.

Come, come, the best thing you can do, is to beg pardon of your wives, to whom I'll be an advocate for you.

To shew you what good creatures we are, they have their pardon, even before they ask it.

Generously done—and now let us sit down, and forget all animosities over a bottle of the Alderman's Tokay.