SCENE the First. The Street.

TRouble me no more: for I am resolv'd, deaf and obdurate, d [...] see, and so forth.

I beseech ye, Uncle, hear me.

No.

Dear Uncle—

No.

You will be mortifi'd—

No.

At least hear me out, Sir.

No, I have heard you out too often, Sir, till you have talkt me out of ma [...] a fair thousand; have had ye out of all the Bayliffs, Serjeants, and Constables clutches bout Town, Sir; have brought ye out of all the Surgeons, Apothecaries, and Po [...] Doctors hands, that ever pretended to cure incurable Diseases; and have crost ye ou [...] the Books of all the Mercers, Silk-men, Exchange-men, Ta [...]lors, Shoemakers, and S [...] strisses; with all the rest of the unconscionable City-tribe of the long Bill, that had Faith enough to trust, and thought me Fool enough to pay.

But, Sir, consider, he's your own Flesh and Bloud.

That's more than I'll swear.

Your onely Heir.

That's more than you or any of his wise Associates can t [...]ll, Sir.

[Page 2]

Why his wise Associates? have you any exception to the Company he keeps? This reflects on me and young Dresswell, Sir, men both of Birth and Fortune.

Why, good Sir Charles Meriwill, let me tell you, since you'll have it out, That you and young Dresswell are able to debauch, destroy, and confound all the young imitating Fops in Town.

How, Sir!

Nay, never huff, Sir; for I have six thousand pound a year, and value no man: Neither do I speak so much for your particular, as for the Company you keep, such Tarmagant Tories as these,

who are the very Vermine of a young Heir, and for one Tickling give him a thousand Bites.

Death! meaning me, Sir?

Yes, you, Sir. Nay, never stare, Sir; I fear you not: no mans hectoring sig [...]ifies this—in the City, but the Constable's; no body dares be sawcy here, except it be in the Kings name.

Sir, I confess he was to blame.

Sir Charles, thanks to Heaven, you may be lewd, you have a plentiful Estate, may whore, drink, game, and play the Devil; your Uncle Sir Anthony Meriwill intends to give you all his Estate too: But for such Sparks as this, and my Fop in fashion here, why with what Face, Conscience, or Religion, can they be lewd and vitious, keep their Wenches, Coaches, rich Liveries, and so forth, who live upon Charity, and the Sins of he Nation?

If he have Youthful Vices, he has Vertues too.

Yes, he had; but I know not, you have bewitcht him amongst ye

[...]efore he fell to Toryism, he was a sober civil Youth, and had some Religion in him, [...]ou'd read ye Prayers night and morning with a laudable voice, and cry Amen to 'em; wou'd have done ones heart good to have heard him:—Wore decent Cloaths; was [...]unk but upon Fasting-nights, and swore but on Sundays and Holy-days: and then I [...]d hopes of him.

Aye, Heaven forgive me.

But, Sir, he's now become a new man, is casting off all his Women, is [...]unk not above five or six times a week, swears not above once in a quarter of an hour, [...]r has not gam'd this two days.—

'Twas because the Devil was in's Pocket then.

—Begins to take up at Coffee-houses, talks gravely in the City, speaks indalous [...]y of the Government, and rails most abominably against the Pope and the ench King.

Aye, aye, this shall not wheedle me out of one English Guinny; and so I told [...]n yesterday.

You did so, Sir.

Yes; by a good token you were witty upon me, and swore I lov'd and ho­ [...]r'd the King nowhere but on his Coin.

Is it possible, Sir?

God forgive me, Sir; I confess I was a little overtaken.

Aye, so it shou'd seem: for he mistook his own Chamber, and went to bed to Maids.

How! to bed to your Maids! Sure, Sir, 'tis scandal on him.

[Page 3]

No, no, he makes his brags on't, Sir. Oh that crying sin of Boasting! Well fare, I say, the days of old Oliver; he by a wholsome Act, made it death to boast; so that then a man might whore his heart out, and no body the wiser.

Right, Sir, and then the men pass'd for sober religious persons, and the women for as demure Saints—

Aye, then there was no scandal; but now they do not onely boast what they do, but what they do not.

I'll take care that fault shall be mended, Sir.

Aye, so will I, if Poverty have any feats of Mortification; and so farewel to you, Sir.

Stay, Sir, are you resolved to be so cruel then, and ruine all my Fortunes now depending?

Most religiously—

You are?

I am.

Death, I'll rob.

Do and be hang'd.

Nay, I'll turn Papist.

Do and be damn'd.

Bless me, Sir, what a scandal would that be to the Family of the Treat­alls!

Hum! I had rather indeed he turn'd Turk or Jew, for his own sake; but as for scandalizing me, I defie it: my Integrity has been known ever since Forty One; I bought three thousand a year in Bishops Lands, as 'tis well known, and lost it at the Kings return; for which I'm honour'd by the City. But for his farther satisfaction, consolation, and distruction, know, That I Sir Timothy Treat-all, Knight and Alderman, do think my self young enough to marry, d'ye see, and will wipe your Nose with a Son and Heir of my own begetting, and so forth.

Death! marry!

Patience, dear Tom, or thou't spoil all.

Damn him, I've lost all Patience, and can dissemble no longer, though I lose all,—Very good, Sir; heark ye, I hope she's young and handsome; or if she be not, amongst the numerous lusty-stomacht Whigs that dayly nose your publick Din­ners, some may be found that either for Money, Charity, or Gratitude, may requite your Treats. You keep open house to all the Party, not for Mirth, Generosity, or good Nature, but for Roguery. You cram the Brethren, the pious City-Gluttons, with good Cheer, good Wine, and Rebellion in abundance, gormandizing all Comers and Goers, of all Sexes, Sorts, Opinions, and Religions, young half-witted Fops, hot-headed Fools, and Malecontents: You guttle and fawn on all, and all in hopes of debauching the Kings Liege-people into Commonwealths-men; and rather than lose a Convert, you'll pimp for him. These are your nightly Debauches.—Nay, rather than you shall want it, I'll cuckold you my self in pure Revenge.

How! Cuckold his own natural Uncle!

Oh, he cannot be so prophane.

Prophane! why he deni'd but now the having any share in me; and there­fore 'tis lawful. I am to live by my wits, you say, and your old rich good-natur'd [Page 4] Cuckold is as sure a Revenue to a handsome young Cadet, as a thousand pound a year. Your tolerable face and shape is an Estate in the City, and a better Bank than your Six per Cent. at any time.

Well, Sir, since Nature has furnisht you so well, you need but up and ride, show and be rich; and so your Servant, witty Mr. Wilding.

Whilst I am labouring anothers good, I quite neglect my own. This cursed, proud, disdainful Lady Galliard, is ever in my head; she's now at Church, I'm sure, not for Devotion, but to shew her Charms, and throw her Darts amongst the gazing Crowd, and grows more vain by Conquest I'm near the Church, and must step in, though it cost me a new Wound.

I am resolv'd—Well, dear Charles, let's sup together to night, and con­trive some way to be reveng'd of this wicked Uncle of mine. I must leave thee now, for I have an assignation here at Church.

Hah! at Church!

Aye, Charles, with the dearest she-Saint, and I hope sinner.

What at Church? Pox, I shall be discovered now in my Amours. That's an odde place for Love-Intrigues.

Oh, I am to pass for a sober discreet person to the Relations; but for my Mistriss, she's made of no such sanctified Materials; she is a Widow, Charles, young, rich, and beautiful.

Hah! if this should prove my Widow now!

And though at her own dispose, yet is much govern'd by Honour, and a rigid Mother, who is ever preaching to her against the Vices of Youth, and t'other end of the Town Sparks; dreads nothing so much as her Daughters marrying a vil­lanous Tory: So the young one is forc'd to dissemble Religion, the best Mask to hide a kind Mistriss in.

This must be my Lady Galliard.

There is at present some ill understanding between us; some damn'd Ho­nourable [...]op lays siege to her, which has made me ill received; and I having a new Intrigue elsewhere, return her cold disdain, but now and then she crosses my Heart too violently to resist her. In one of these hot fits I now am, and must find some occasion to speak to her.

By Heaven, it must be she!—I am studying now, amongst all our she-Acquaintance, who this shou'd be.

Oh, this is of quality to be conceal'd: but the dearest loveliest Hypocrite, white as Lillies, smooth as Rushes, and plump as Grapes after showers, haughty her Meen, her Eyes fu [...]l of disdain, and yet bewitching sweet; but when she loves, soft, witty, wanton, all that charms a Soul, and but for now and then a fit of Honour! Oh, damn the Nonsence, wou'd be all my own.

'Tis she, by Heaven!

Methinks this Widow shou'd prove a good Fortune to you, as things now stand between you and your▪ Uncle.

Ah, Charles, but I am otherways dispos'd of. There is the most charming young thing in nature f [...]llen in love with this person of mine, a rich City-Heiress, Charles; I have her in possession.

How can you love two at once? I've been as wild, and as extravagant, [Page 5] as Youth and Wealth cou'd render me; but ne'er arriv'd to that degree of Lewd­ness, to deal my Heart about: my Hours I might, but Love should be intire.

Ah, Charles, two such bewitching Faces wou'd give thy Heart the lye:— But Love divides us, and I must into Church. Adieu till night.

And I must follow to resolve my heart in what it dreads to learn. Here, my Cloak.

Hah, Church is done! See, they are coming forth!

Hah, my Uncle! He must not see me here.

What my old Friend and Acquaintance, Sir Anthony Meriwill!

Sir Timothy Treat-all!

Whe! How long have you been in Town, Sir?

About three days, Sir.

Three days, and never came to dine with me! 'tis unpardonable! What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice still▪ old Orthodox you: the Times cannot mend you, I see.

No, nor shall they mar me, Sir.

They are discoursing; I'll pass by.

As I take it, you came from Church too.

Aye, needs must, when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon, as they say, once a month, and that too, after the Porrage is serv'd up.

Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I love good wholsome Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to my King and Superiours, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for Sedition, Mutiny, and Rebel­lion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this morning made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are meer Scholars to your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run Divisions upon't! 'twou'd make a man sin with moderation, to hear how he claw'd away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling, with the rest of the deadly number.

Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you'd best carry your Nephew, Sir Charles Meriwill, to Church; he wants a little Documenti­zing that way.

Hum! You keep your old wont still; a man can begin no discourse to you, be it of Prester Iohn, but you still conclude with my Nephew.

Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say, is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and give ill Examples to all young Heirs.

The City! the City's a grumbling, lying, dissatisfi'd City, and no wise or honest man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him, Sir, his own; and you're a Fool or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern your self.

Good lack! I speak but what wiser men discourse.

Wiser men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou'd have me train my Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchants Book, or send him to chop Logick in a University, and have him return an [...]rrant learned Ass, to simper, and look de­mure, [Page 6] and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I fell his Woods, and grant Leases; and lastly, to make good what I have cozen'd him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour'd Daughter of some Right Worshipful.—A Pox of all such Guar­dians.

Do, countenance Sin and Expences, do.

What sin, what expences? He wears good Cloaths, why Trades-men get the more-by him; he keeps his Coach, 'tis for his ease; a Mistriss, 'tis for his pleasure; he games, 'tis for his diversion: And where's the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?

Yes;—a Pox upon him, he's my Rival too.

Why then I'll tell you, Sir, he loves a Lady.

If that be a sin, Heaven help the Wicked!

But I mean honourably.—

Honourably! Why do you know any Infirmity in him, why he shou'd not marry?

Not I, Sir.

Not you, Sir? why then you're an Ass, Sir.—But is the Lady young and handsome?

A [...]e, and rich too, Sir.

No matter for Money, so she love the Boy.

Love him! no, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.

How, Sir, nor shall love him! By George, but she shall, and lie with him too, if I please, Sir.

How, Sir! lie with a rich City-widow, and a Lady, and to be married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?

His name, Sir, his name; I'll dispatch him presently.

How, Sir, dispatch him!—Your Servant, Sir.

Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy's Rival: Come, draw.

How, draw, Sir!

Aye draw, Sir: Not my Nephew have the Widow!

With all my soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his Rival! alas, Sir, I'm not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you and Sir Charles at my house, I may serve him in this business: and so I take my leave, Sir.— Draw quoth a! a Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory.

Who's here? Charles muffled in a Cloak, peering after a woman?—My own Boy to a hair. She's handsome too. I'll step aside: for I must see the mean­ing on't.

Bless me! how unconcern'd he pass'd!

He bow'd low, Madam.

But 'twas in such a fashion, as exprest Indifferency, much worse than Hate from Wilding.

Your Ladyship has us'd him ill of late; yet if your Ladyship please, I'll call him back.

[Page 7]

I'll die first.—Hah, he's going!—Yet now I think on't, I have a Toy of his, which to express my scorn, I'll give him back now:—this Ring.

Shall I carry it, Madam?

You'll not express disdain enough in the delivery; and you may call him back.

By Heaven, she's fond of him.

Oh, Mrs. Closet! is it you?—Madam, your Servant: By this disdain, I fear your Woman, Madam, has mistaken her Man. Wou'd your Ladyship speak with me?

Pox on't, wou'd I'd ne'er seen her; now have I a Legend of small Cupids at Hot-cockles in my heart.

Or like our Stage-smitten Youth, who fall in love with a woman for-Acting finely, and by taking her off the Stage, deprive her of the onely Charm she had,

For, Widow, know, hadst thou more Beauty, yet not all of 'em were half so great a Charm as thy not being mine.

H'as don't!—A Divine Fellow this; just of my Religion. I am stu­dying now whether I was never acquainted with his Mother.

[Page 9]

Hah, my Charles! why well said Charles, he bore up briskly to her.

Ah, Madam, may I presume to tell you—

Ah, Pox, that was stark naught! he begins like a Fore-man o [...] th' Shop▪ to his Masters Daughter.

Hold, hold, let him have fair play, and then curse him that parts ye.

A heavenly Girl!—Well, now she's gone, by George, I am for dispu­ting your Title to her by dint of Sword.

I wo'not fight.

[Page 10]

Another time we will decide it, Sir.

After your whining Prologue, Sir, who the Devil would have expected such a Farce?—Come, Charles, take up thy Sword, Charles;—and, d'ye hear, forget me this Woman.—

Obedience! Was ever such a Blockhead! Why then if I command it, you will not love this Woman?

No, Sir.

No, Sir! But I say, Yes, Sir, love her me; and love her me like a man too, or I'll renounce ye, Sir.

Why there's it now; I thought so: Kneel'd and weept! a Pox upon thee—I took thee for a prettier fellow.—

Strike such a Fiddlestick.—Sirrah, I say, do't; what, you can towse a Wench as handsomly—You can be lewd enough upon occasion. I know not the Lady, nor her Fortune; but I am resolv'd thou shalt have her, with practising a little Courtship of my mode.—Come—

SCENE the First. A Room.

ENough, I've heard enough of Wilding's Vices, to know I am undone.

— Galliard his Mistriss too? I never saw her, but I have heard her fam'd for Beauty, Wit, and Fortune.

Yes, Madam, the fair, the young, the witty Lady Galliard, even in the height of all his love to you; nay, even whilst his Uncle courts her for a Wife, he designes himself for a Gallant.

Wonderous Inconstancy and Impudence!

Nay, Madam, you may rely upon Mr. Fopington's Information: there­fore if you respect your Reputation, retreat in time.

Reputation! that I forfeited when I ran away with your Friend Mr. Wil­ding.

Ah, that ever I should live to see

the sole Daughter and Heir of Sir Nicholas Gettall, run away with one of the lewdest Heathens about town!

How! your Friend Mr. Wilding a Heathen; and with you too, Mrs. Clac­ket! That Friend Mr. Wilding, who thought none so worthy as Mrs. Clacket, to trust with so great a secret as his flight with me; he a Heathen!

Aye, and a poor Heathen too, Madam. 'Slife, if you must marry a man to buy him Breeches, marry an honest man, a religious man, a man that bears a Conscience, and will do a woman some Reason.—Why here's Mr. Fopington, Madam; here's a Shape, here's a Face, a Back as straight as an Arrow, I'll warrant.

How! buy him Breeches! Has Wilding then no Fortune?

Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run: and now and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play, he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up.

How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance?

No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will see the difference between him and a man of Parts, that adores you.

If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value my self and those that love me.

Mistriss, Mr. Wilding's below.

Below! Oh, Heavens, Madam, do not expose me to his lewd fury, for being too zealous in your service.

I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir.

[Page 12]

Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life.

Here, here, step out upon the Sair-case, and slip into my Chamber.

'Owns, he's here! lock the door fast; let him not enter.

Oh, Heavens, I have not the Key! hold it, hold it fast, sweet, sweet Mr. Foping Oh, should there be Murder done, what a scandal wou'd that be to the house of a true Protestant!

Heavens! what will he say and think, to see me shut in with a man?

Oh, I'll say you're sick, asleep, or out of humour.

I'd give the world to see him.

Charlot, Charlot! Am I deny'd an entrance? By Heaven, I'll break the door.

Oh, I'm a dead man, dear Clacket!

Oh, hold, Sir, Mrs. Charlot is very sick.

How, sick, and I kept from her!

She begs you'll come again an hour hence.

Delay'd, by Heaven I will have enterance.

Ruin'd! undone! for if he do not kill me, he may starve me.

Oh, he will break in upon us! Hold, Sir, hold a little; Mrs. Charlot is just-just-shifting her self, Sir: you will not be so uncivil as to press in, I hope, at such a time.

I have a fine time on't between ye, to have him think I am stripping my self before Mr. Fopington—Let go, or I'll call out and tell him all.

How now, Charlot, what means this new unkindness? What, not a word?

There is so little Musick in my Voice, you do not care to hear it; you have been better entertain'd, I find, mightily employ'd, no doubt.

Yes Faith, and so I have, Charlot: Damn'd Business, that Enemy to Love, has made me rude.

Or that other Enemy to Love, damn'd Wenching.

Wenching! how ill hast thou tim'd thy Jealousie!

What Banker, that to morrow is to pay a mighty sum, wou'd venture out his stock to day in little parcels, and lose his Credit by it?

You wou'd, perfidious as you are, though all your Fortune, all your future Health, depended on that Credit.

So: Heark ye, Mrs. Clacket, you have been prating I find in my absence, giving me a handsome character to Charlot.—You hate any good thing should go by your own Nose.

By my Nose, Mr. Wilding! I defie you: I'd have you to know, I scorn any good thing shou'd go by my Nose in an uncivil way.

I believe so.

Have I been the Confident to all your secrets this three years, in sick­ness and in health, for richer, for poorer; concealed the nature of your wicked Diseases, under the honest name of Surfeits; call'd your filthy Surgeons▪ Mr. Doctor, [Page 13] to keep up your Reputation; civily receiv'd your tother end of the [...] Town young Relations at all hours;—

High!

Been up with you and down with you early and late, by night and by day; let you in at all hours, drunk and sober, single and double, and civilly with­drawn, and modestly shut the door after me?

Whir! The storm's up, and the Devil cannot lay it.

And am I thus rewarded for my pain!

So Tempests are allay'd by showers of Rain.

That I shou'd be charg'd with speaking ill of you, so honest, so civil a Gentleman—

No, I have better witness of your falshood.

Hah, 'sdeath, she'll name me!

Go ask my Lady Galliard, she keeps the best account of all your Sighs and Vows,

You cannot hold from being kind to him.

Galliard! How came she by that secret of my life?

Why Aye, 'tis true, I am there sometimes about an Arbitration, about a Suit in Law, about my Uncle.

Death and the Devil, what Rascal has been prating to her!

Whilst I am reserv'd for a dead lift, if Fortune prove unkind, or wicked Uncles refractory,

Nor does your Perjuries rest here; you're equally as false to Galliard, as to me; false for a little Mistriss of the Town, whom you've set up in spight to Quality.

Ah, my dear Charlot! you who know my heart, can you believe me false?

To night, or I will think you love me for my Fortune; which if you find elsewhere to more advantage,

Conceal'd! What dost thou mean, dear Tom? Why I stood as plain as the Nose on thy Face, mun.

Admittance! Why thou'rt stark mad: Did not I come in with you, that is, followed you?

Whither?

Why into the house, up stairs, stood behind you when you swore you wou'd come in, and followed you in.

[Page 15]

All this, and I not see!

Oh, Love's blind; but this Lady saw me, Mrs. Clack [...] saw [...]—Admit­tance quotha!

Why did you not speak?

Speak! I was so amaz'd at what I heard, the villanous Scandals laid on you by some pick-thank Rogue or other, I had no power.

Aye, thou knowst how I am wrong'd.

Oh, most damnably, Sir!

Abuse me to my Mistriss too!

Oh, Villains! Dogs!

Do you think they've wrong'd him, Sir? for I'll believe you.

Do I think, Madam? Aye, I think him a Son of a Whore that said it; and I'll cut's Throat.

That's kind; and if before to morrow I do not shew you I deserve your Heart, kill me at once by quitting me.—Farewel.—

I know both where my Uncle's Will and other Writings lie, by which he made me Heir to his whole Estate.

What if he shou'd not chance to keep his word now?

How if he shou'd not? by all that's good, if he shou'd not, I am resolv'd [...]o marry him however. We two may make a pretty shift with three thousand [...]ound a year: yet I would fain be resolv'd how affairs stand between the old Gen­ [...]leman and him. I wou'd give the world to see that Widow too, that Lady Gal­liard.

If you're bent upon't▪ I'll tell you what we'll do, Madam: There's e­ [...]ery day mighty Feasting here at his Uncles hard by, and you shall disguise your [...]elf as well as you can, and go for a Niece of mine I have coming out of Scotland: [...]here you will not fail of seeing my Lady Galliard, though I doubt, not Mr. Wilding, [...]ho is of late discarded.

Enough; I am resolv'd upon this designe: Let's in and and practise the [...]orthern Dialect.

SCENE the Second. The Street.

But then Diana took the Ring at last?

Greedl [...]y; but rail'd, and swore, [...] and ranted at your late unkindness, and [...]ou'd not be appeas'd.

Dresswell, I was just going to see for thee.

I'm glad, dear Tom, I'm here to serve thee.

And now I've found thee, thou must along with me.

Whither? But I'll not ask, but obey.

To a kind sinner, Frank.

Pox on 'em all: prithee turn out those petty Tyrants of thy Heart, and fit it for a Monarch, Love, dear Widling, of which thou never knewst the pleasure yet, or not above a day.

Not knew the pleasure! Death, the very Essence, the first draughts of Love:

And yet this Diana, for thither thou art going, thou hast been constant to this three or four years.

A constant Keeper thou meanst; which is indeed enough to get the scan­dal of a Coxcomb: But I know not, those sort of Baggages have a kind of Fascination so inticing—and Faith, after the Fatigues of Formal Visits to a mans dull Relations, or what's as bad, to women of Quality; after the busie Afflictions of the Day, and the Debauches of the tedious Night, I tell thee, Frank, a man's best Retirement is with a soft kind Wench. But to say truth, I have a farther designe in my Visit▪ now. Thou knowst how I stand past hope of Grace, excommunicated the Kindness of my Uncle.

True.

My lewd Debauches, and being o'th wrong Party, as he calls it, is now be­come an reconcilable Quarrel; so that I having many and hopeful Intrigues now depending, especially these of my charming Widow, and my City-Heiress, which can by no means be carri'd on without that damn'd Necessary call'd Ready Money, I have stretcht my Credit, as all young Heirs do, till 'tis quite broke. Now Liveries, Coaches, and Cloaths must be had, they must, my Friend.

Why dost thou not in this Extremity clap up a Match with my Lady Gal­liard? or this young Heiress you speak of?

But Marriage, Frank, is such a Bug-bear! And this old Uncle of mine may one day be gathered together, and sleep with his Fathers, and then I shall have six thousand pound a year, and the wide World before me; and who the Devil cou'd relish these Blessings with the clog of a Wife behind him?—But till then, Money must be had, I say.

Aye, but how, Sir?

Why, from the old Fountain, Iack, my Uncle; he has himself decreed it: he tells me I must live upon my Wits, and will, Frank.

Gad, I'm impatient to know how.

I believe thee, for thou art out at Elboes: and when I thrive, you show i' [...]h' Pit, behind the Scenes, and Coffee-houses. Thy Breeches give a better account of my Fortune, than Lilly with all his Schemes and Stars.

I own I thrive by your Influence, Sir.

Well; but to your Project, Friend: to which I'll set a helping Hand, a Heart, a Sword, and Fortune.

[Page 17]

You make good what my Soul conceives of you. Let's to Diana then, and there I'll tell thee all.

— Diana, I was just going to thy Lodgings!

Oh las, you are too much taken up with your rich City-Heiress.

That's no cause of quarrel between you and I, Diana; you were wont to be as impatient for my marrying, as I for the death of my Uncle: for your rich Wife ever obliges her Husbands Mistriss; and women of your sort, Diana, ever thrive better by Adultery than Fornication.

Do, try to appease the easie Fool with these fine Expectations:—No, I have been too often flatter'd with the hopes of your marrying a rich Wife, and then I was to have a Settlement; but instead of that, things go backward with me, my Coach is vanisht, my Servants dwindled into one necessary Woman and a Boy, which to save Charges, is too small for any service; my twenty Guinnies a week, into forty Shillings: a hopeful Reformation!

Patience, Diana, things will m [...]d in time.

When, I wonder? Summer's come, yet I am still in my embroider'd Manto, when I'm drest, lin'd with Velvet; 'twou'd give one a Feavor but to look at me: yet still I am flamm'd off with hopes of a rich Wife, whose Fortune I am to lavish. —But I see you have neither Conscience nor Religion in you; I wonder what a Devil will become of your Soul for thus deluding me!

By Heaven, I love thee!

Love me! what if you do? how far will that go at the Exchange for Poynt? Will the Mercer take it for currant Coin?—But 'tis no matter, I must love a Wit, with a Pox, when I might have had so many Fools of Fortune: But the Devil take me, if you deceive me any longer.

You'll keep your word, no doubt, now you have sworn.

So I will. I never go abroad, but I gain new Conquest. Happy's the man that can approach neerest the side-box where I sit at a Play, to look at me; but if I daign to smile on him, Lord, how the o're-joy'd Creature returns it with a bow low as the very Benches! Then rising, shakes his Ears, looks round, with pride, to see who took notice how much he was in favour with charming Mrs. Dy.

No more: Come, let's be Friends, Diana; for you and I must manage an Uncle of mine.

Damn your Projects, I'll have none of 'em.

Here, here's the best Softner of a womans heart; 'tis [...]ld, two hundred Pieces: Go, lay it on, till you shame Quality, into plain Silk and Fringe.

Lord, you have the strangest power of Perswasion!—Nay, if you buy my Peace, I can afford a penyworth.

So thou canst of any thing about thee.

Well, your Project, my dear Tommy?

Thus then—Thou, dear Frank, shalt to my Uncle, [...]tell him that Sir Ni­cholas Gettall, as he knows, being dead, and having left, as he knows too, one onely Daughter his whole Executrix, Mrs. Charlot, I have by my civil and modest beha­viour, so won upon her heart, that two nights since she left her Fathers Country­house at Lusum in Kent, in spight of all her strict Guards, and run away with me.

[Page 18]

How, wilt thou tell him of it then?

Hear me—That I have hitherto secured her at a Friends house here in the City; but diligent search being now made, dare trust her there no longer. And make it my humble Request by you, my Friend, (who are onely privy to this secret) that he wou'd give me leave to bring her home to his house; whose very Authority will defend her from being fought for there.

Aye, Sir, but what will come of this, I say?

Why a Settlement: You know he has already made me Heir to all he has, after his decease; but for being a wicked Tory, as he calls me, he has, after the Wri­tings were made, sign'd, and seal'd, refus'd to give 'em in trust. Now when he secs I have made my self Master of so vast a Fortune, he will immediately surrender, that reconciles all again.

Very likely; but wo't thou trust him with the woman, Thomas?

No; here's Diana, who as I shall bedizen, shall pass for as substantial an Aldermans Heiress, as ever fell into wicked hands. He never knew the right Char­lot, nor indeed has any body ever seen her but an old Aunt and Nurse, she was so kept up:—And there, Diana, thou shalt have a good opportunity to lye▪ dissem­ble, and jilt in abundance, to keep thy hand in ure.

Faith, I like this well enough; this Project may take, and I'll about it.

Go, get ye home, and trick and betawder your self up like a right City-Lady, rich, but ill-fashion'd; on with all your Jewels, but not a Patch, ye Gipsie, nor no Spanish Paint, d'ye hear.

I'll warrant you for my part.

Then before the old Gentleman, you must behave your self very soberly, simple, and demure, and look as prew as at a Conventicle; and take heed you drink not off your Glass at Table, nor rant, nor swear; one Oath confounds our Plot, and betrays thee to be an errant Drab.

Doubt not my Art of Dissimulation.

Go, haste and dress—

Hah, who's yonder, the Widow! a Pox upon't, now have not I power to stir: she has a damn'd [...]ank upon my Heart, and nothing but right down lying with her, will dissolve the Charm. She has forbid me seeing her, and therefore I am sure will the sooner take notice of me.

What will you put on to night, Madam? you know you are to sup at Sir Timothy Treat-all's.

Time enough for that; prithee let's take a turn in this Balconey, this City-garden, where we walk to take the fresh Air of the Sea-coal-smoak. Did the Footman go back, as I order'd him, to see how Wilding and Sir Charles parted?

He did, Madam; and nothing cou'd provoke Sir Charles to fight after your Ladyships strict Commands. Well, I'll swear he's the sweetest natur'd Gentleman— [...]as all the advantages of Nature and Fortune: I wonder what Exception your La­ [...]yship has to him▪

[Page 19]

Some small Exception to his whining humour; but I think my chiefest dislike is, because my Relations wish it a Match between us.

It is not hate to him, but natural contradiction. Hah, is not that Wilding yonder? he's reading of a Letter sure.

So, she sees me. Now for an Art to make her lure me up: for though I have a greater mind than she, it shall be all her own; the Match she told me of this morning with my Uncle, sticks plaguily upon my stomach; I must break the neck on't, or break the Widows heart, that's certain. If I advance towards the door now, she frowningly retires; if I pass on, 'tis likely she may call me.

He's going! Ah, Closet, my Fan!—

Cry mercy, Sir, I'm sorry I must trouble you to bring it.

Faith, so am I; and you may spare my pains, and send your Woman for't, I am in haste.

Then the quickest way will be to bring it.

I knew I should be drawn in one way or other.

Stay; I hear you're wonderous free of your Tongue, when 'tis let loose on me.

Who I, Widow? I think of no such trifles.

Such Railers never think when they're abusive; but something you have said, a Lye so infamous!

How, can you accuse me for the want of either?

Yes, of both: Had you a grain of Honesty, or intended ever to be thought so, wou'd you have the impudence to marry an old Coxcomb, a Fellow that will not so much as serve you for a Cloak, he is so visibly and undeniably impotent?

Your Uncle you mean.

I do; who has not known the joy of Fornication this thirty year, and now the Devil and you have put it into his head to marry, forsooth. Oh the Felicity of the Wedding-night!

Which you, with all your railing Rhetorick, shall not have power to hinder.

[Page 20]

Not if you can help it: for I perceive you are resolv'd to be a lewd incor­rigible sinner, and marryest this seditious doting fool my Uncle, onely to hang him out for the [...]igne of the Cuckold, to give notice where Beauty is to be purchas'd, for fear otherwise we should mistake, and think thee honest.

So much for my want of Honesty; my Wit is the Part of the Text you are to handle next.

Let the World judge of that, by this one action: This Marriage undispu­tably robs you both of your Reputation and Pleasure. Marry an old Fool, because he's rich! when so many handsome proper younger Brothers wou'd be glad of you!

Of which hopeful number your self are one.

Who, I! Bear witness, Closet; take notice I'm upon my Marriage, Widow, and such a Scandal on my Reputation might ruine me: therefore have a care what you say.

Ha, ha, ha, Marriage! Yes, I hear you give it out, you are to be married to me: for which Defamation, if I be not reveng'd, hang me.

Yes, you are reveng'd: I had the fame of vanquishing where-e're I laid my Siege, till I knew thee, hard-hearted thee; had the honest Reputation of lying with the Magistrates Wives, when their Reverend Husbands were employ'd in the necessary Affairs of the Nation, [...]editiously petitioning; and then I was esteemed; but now they look on me as a monsterous thing, that makes honourable Love to you; Oh hideous, a Husband-Lover! So that now I may protest, and swear, and lye my heart out, I find neither Credit nor Kindness; but when I beg for either, my Lady Galliard's thrown in my Dish: Then they laugh aloud, and cry, Who would think it of gay, of fine Mr. Wilding! Thus the City She-wits are let loose upon me, and all for you, sweet Widow; but I am resolved I will redeem my Reputation again, if never seeing you nor writing to you more, will do it: And so farewel, faithless and scandalous honest woman▪

Stay, Tyrant.

I am engag'd.

You are not.

I am, and am resolv'd to lose no more time on a peevish woman, who va­lues her Honour above her Lover.

Go; this is the noblest way of losing thee.

Must not I call him back?

No: If any honest Lover come, admit him; I will forget this Devil. Fetch me some Jewels; the company to night at Sir Timothy's may divert me.

Madam, one Sir Anthony Meriwill wou'd speak with your Ladyship.

Admit him; sure 'tis Sir Charles his Uncle: if he come to treat a Match with me for his Nephew, he takes me in the critical minute. Wou'd he but leave his whining, I might love him, if 'twere but in revenge.

So, I have tutor'd the young Rogue, I hope he'll learn in time. Good day to your Ladyship; Charles

my Nephew here, Madam— [Page 21] Sirrah—notwithstanding your Ladyships Commands—Look how he stands now, being a mad young Raskal!—Gad, he wou'd wait on your Ladyship—A Devil on him, see if he'll budge now—For he's a brisk Lover, Madam, when he once begins. A Pox on him, he'll spoil all yet.

Please you sit, Sir.

Madam, I beg your Pardon for my Rudeness.

Still whining?—

D'ye hear that, Sirrah? Oh damn it, beg Pardon! The Rogue's quite out of 's part.

Madam, I fear my Visit is unseasonable.

Unseasonable! Damn'd Rogue, unseasonable to a Widow!—Quite out.

There are indeed some Ladies that wou'd be angry at an untimely Visit, before they've put on their best Faces; but I am none of those that wou'd be fair in spight of Nature, Sir.—Put on this Jewel here.

That Beauty needs no Ornament, Heaven has been too bountiful.

Heaven! Oh Lord, Heaven! a Puritanical Rogue, he courts her like her Chaplain.

You are still so full of University-Complements—

D'ye hear that, Sirrah?—Aye so he is, so he is indeed, Madam.—To her like a man, ye Knave.

Ah, Madam, I am come!

To shew your self a Coxcomb.

To tire me with discourses of your Passion.—Fie, how this Curl sits!

No, you shall hear no more of that ungrateful subject.

Son of a Whore, hear no more of Love, damn'd Rogue! Madam, by George he lyes; he does come to speak of Love, and make Love, and to do Love, and all for Love.—Not come to speak of Love, with a Pox! 'Owns, Sir, behave your self like a man; be impudent, be sawcy, forward, bold, towzing, and lewd, d'ye hear, or I'll beat thee before her. Why what a Pox!

Finding my hopes quite lost in your unequal Favours to young Wilding, I'm quitting of the Town.

You will do well to do so.—Lay by that Necklace; I'll wear Pearl to day.

Confounded Blockhead!—By George, he lyes again, Madam. A Dog, I'll dis-inherit him.

He quit the Town, Madam! no, not whilst your Lady­ship is in it, to my knowledge. He'll live in the Town, nay, in the Street where you live; nay, in the House; nay, in the very Bed, by George; I've heard him a thousand times swear it. Swear it now, Sirrah: Look, look, how he stands now! Why dear Charles, good Boy, swear a little, ruffle her, and swear Damn it, she shall have none but thee.

Why you little think, Madam, that this Nephew of mine is one of the maddest Fellows in all Devonshire.

Wou'd I cou'd see't, Sir.

See't! look ye there, ye Rogue.—Why 'tis all his fault, Madam. He's seldom sober; then he has a dozen Wenches in pay, that he may with the more Au­thority [Page 22] break their w [...]dows. There's never a Maid within forty miles of Meriwill-hall to work a Miracle on, but all are Mothers. He's a hopeful Youth, I'll say that for him.

How I have lov'd you, my despairs shall witness: for I will die to pur­chase your content.

Die, a damn'd Rogue! Aye, aye, I'll dis-inherit him: A Dog, die, with a Pox! No, he'll be hang'd first, Madam.

And sure you'll pity me when I am dead.

A Curse on him; pity, with a Pox! I'll give him ne'er a Souse.

Give me that Essence-bottle.

But for a recompence of all my sufferings—

Sprinkle my Handkercher with Tuberuse.

I beg a Favour you'd afford a stranger.

Sooner perhaps. What Jewel's that?

One Sir Charles Meriwill—

I thank you, Madam, for that repromand. Look in that Glass, Sir, and admire that sneaking Coxcomb's Countenance of yours: A Pox on him, he's past Grace, lost, gone, not a Souse, not a Groat; good buy to you, Sir. Madam, I beg your Pardon; the next time I come a wooing, it shall be for my self, Madam, and I have something that will justifie it too; but as for this fellow, if your Lady­ship have e'er a small Page at leisure, I desire he may have order to kick him down stairs. Adamn'd Rogue, to be civil now, when he shou'd have behav'd himself handsomely! Not an Acre, not a Shilling,—buy, Sir Softhead.

Hah, who have we here, hum, the fine mad Fellow? So, so, he'll swindge him I hope; I'll stay to have the pleasure of seeing it done.

I was sure 'twas Meriwill's Coach at door.

Hah, Wilding!

Aye, now Sir, here's one will waken ye, Sir.

How now, Widow, you are always giving Audience to Lovers, I see.

You're very free, Sir.

I'm always so in the widows Lodgings, Sir.

A rare Fellow!

You will not do't elsewhere?

Not with so much Authority.

An admirable Fellow! I must be acquainted with him.

Is this the Respect you pay women of her Quality?

The Widow knows I stand not much on Ceremonies.

Gad, he shall be my Heir.

Pardon him, Sir, this is his Cambridge-breeding.

Aye so 'tis, so 'tis; that two years there quite spoil'd him.

Sir, if you've any farther business with me, speak it; if not, I'm going forth.

[Page 23]

Madam, in short—

In short to a Widow, in short! quite lost.

Sir, I shall be proud of your farther acquaintance; for I like, love, and honour you.

I'll study to deserve it, Sir.

Madam, your Servant. A damn'd sneaking Dog to be civil and modest, with a Pox!

See if my Coach be ready.

Whither are you janting now?

Where you dare not wait on me; to your Uncles to Supper.

Madam, here's Sir Timothy Treat-all come to wait on your Ladyship to Sup­per.

My Uncle! Oh, damn him, he was born to be my Plague: Not dis-inhe­riting me had been so great a disappointment; and if he sees me here, I ruine all the Plots I've laid fo [...] him. Ha [...] he's here!

How now, Sir, what's your business here?

I came to beg a Favour of my Lady Galliard, Sir, knowing her Power and Quality here in the City.

How, a Favour of my Lady Galliard! The Rogue said indeed he wou'd Cuckold me.

Why, Sir, I thought you had been taken up with your rich Heiress?

That was my business now, Sir: Having in my possession the Daughter and Heir of Sir Nicholas Gettall, I would have made use of the Authority of my Lady Galliard's house to have secur'd her, till I got things in order for our Marriage; but my Lady, to put me off, cryes, I have an Uncle.

A well-contriv'd Lye.

Well, I have heard of your good Fortune; and however a Reprobate thou hast been, I'll not shew my self so undutiful an Uncle, as not to give the Gentle­woman a little house-room: I heard indeed she was gone a week ago,

I humbly thank you, Sir. Madam, your Servant. A Pox upon him, and all his Association.

Come, Madam, my Coath waits below.

SCENE the First. A Room.

HEre, take my Sword, Iervice. What have you inquir'd as I directed you concerning the rich Heiress, Sir Nicholas Gettall's Daugher?

Alas, Sir, inquir'd! why 'tis all the City-News, that she's run away with one of the maddest Tories about Town.

Good Lord! Aye, aye, 'tis so; the plaguie Rogue my Nephew has got her. That Heaven shou'd drop such Blessings in the mouths of the Wicked! Well' Iervice, what Company have we in the house, Iervice?

Why truely, Sir, a fine deal, con [...]idering there's no Parliament.

What Lords have we, Iervice?

Lords, Sir! truly none.

None! what ne'er a Lord! Some mishap will befal me, some dire mis­chance: Ne'er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles dayly. What, nor Earl, nor Marquiss, nor Duke, nor ne'er a Lord? Hum, my Wine will lie most vil­lanously upon my hands to night, Iervice. What, have we store of Knights and Gen­tlemen?

I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters.

Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our hands then, Iervice: I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are as tall fellows at a well-charg'd Board as any in Christendom.

Then, Sir, there's Nonconformist-Parsons.

Nay, then we shall have a cleer Board: for your true Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a mans Table credit.

Then, Sir, there's Country-Justices and Grand-Jury-men.

Well enough, well enough, Iervice.

An't like your Worship, Mr. Wilding is come in with a Lady richly drest in Jewels, mask'd, in his hand, and will not be deny'd speaking with your Worship.

Hah, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again, Iervice.— Bring 'em up, Sensure,—Prithee how do I look to night, Iervice?

Oh, most methodically, Sir.

Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel all London can afford, fair Mrs. Charlot Gettall.

Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead—

[Page 25]

If he chastize me much on that point, I shall spoil all. Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do,

I'm sure I cannot answer you one Question.

For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare remembrance of him kills her.

Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she's! I am in love; I find already a tickling kind of I know not what, run frisking through my Veins.

Aye, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelvemonth just, and has lest his Daughter here, my Mistriss, three thousand pound a year.

Three thousand pound a year! Yes, yes, I am in love.

Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels.

I'll marry her out of hand:

Alas, I cou'd even weep too; but 'tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now: for 'tis not necessary you shou'd be seen here, d'ye see.

You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have often told me, Sir, when that was kind, you wou'd be so. Those Writings, Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you said you wou'd put into my possession, whene'er I made it appear to you I cou'd live without 'em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home.

And I will keep my word; 'tis time enough.

I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil ways, e­stablish my self in the religious City, and enter into the Association. There wants but these same Writings, Sir, and your good Character of me.

Thou sha't have both; all in good time, man: Go, go thy ways, and I'll warrant thee for a good Character; go.

Ay, Sir; but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your Heir; nay, forc'd to swear it too, before she wou'd believe me.

Alas, alas, how shrewdly thou wer't put to't!

I told her too, you'd buy a Patent for me: for nothing wooes a City-For­tune like the hopes of a Ladyship.

I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently.

You may please to hint something to her of my Godly Life and Conver­sation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk nowhere but at your true Pro­testant Consults and Clubs, and the like.

Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain.

Go, go, fear not my good word.

But the Writings, Sir.—

Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou sha't have any thing, now I find thee a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.

Wou'd they were hang'd that [...]u [...]t you, that have but the Art of Lejerde­main, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I wou'd a'sworn, this Sham had past upon him.—But, Sir, shall I not have the Writings now?

What not gone yet! for shame, away: Canst thou distrust thy own na­tural Uncle? Fie, away, Tom, away.

[Page 26]

A Plague upon your damn'd Dissimulation, that never-failing [...] of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost you dearer.

An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are askt for.

They know I never sup: I shall come time enough to bid 'em welcome.

You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-maids do seldom hear such Language: in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your-thoughts of what my Beauty merits.

Lord, Lord, how innocent she is!

My Nephew, Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wonderous kind upon his score.

Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he deserves your goodness; so hopeful a young Gentleman.

Wou'd I cou'd see't.

So modest.

Yes, ask my Maids.

So civil.

Yes, to my Neighbours Wives.

But so, Madam, I find by this high Commendations of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while; or else, Madam, with this not disagreeable face and shape of mine, six thousand pound a year, and other Vertues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason why I should not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of a certain victorious person in the world, that shall be nameless.

Meaning me, I am sure: If I shou'd marry him now, and disappoint my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twou'd be a most wicked Re­venge for past Kindnesses.

I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious person shou'd be, whom I dare not name; but let it suffice she is, Madam, within a mile of an Oak.

I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman—

Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration of your love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty, and soforth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as, if Heaven please,—to see him fairly hang'd.

[Page 27]

How, Sir!

He has deserv'd it, Madam; First, for lampooning the Reverend City, with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men; libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and some for Cuckold-ma­kers; charging us with all the seven deadly sins, the sins, of our Forefathers, adding seven score more to the number; the sins of Forty One reviv'd again in Eighty One, with Additions and Amendments: for which, though the Writings were drawn by which I made him my whole Executor, I will dis-inherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for seducing and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.

Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious and true Protestant Knights in the City, that would be proud to dignifie and distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman.

As a Tory-Poet.

Well▪ Madam, take comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you have Estate enough for both.

Aye, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.

Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord have mercy upon't, for he has none.

A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and sworn me out of many a fair thousand: Why he has no more Conscience than a Polititian, nor no more Truth than a Narrative (under the Rose.)

Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World?

Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City, amongst us sober Magi­strates.

Were I a man, how wou'd I be reveng'd!

Your Ladyship might do it better as you are, were I worthy to advise you.

Name it.

Why by marrying your Ladyships most assur'd Friend, and most humble Servant, Timothy Treat-all of London, Alderman.

Aye, this is something, Mistriss; here's Reason!

But I have given my Faith and Troth to Wilding, Betty.

Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew with another, so it stands with our Interest; 'tis Law by Magna Charta. Nay, had you married my un­gracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna Charta have hang'd him for a Rape.

[Page 28]

What, though he had my consent?

That's nothing, he had not ours.

Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the danger wou'd be the same.

No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor Rogues, the Tory Rascals, we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they please, alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.

Sir, there's such calling for your Worship! They are all very merry, the Glasses go briskly about.

Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no Healths.

They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they are all adjour­ning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for that Exercise. I think they're coming, Sir.

Hah, coming! Call Sensure to wait on the Lady to her Apartment.— And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your most judicious consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with all your might, maintain the Rights and Privil dges of the honourable City; and not suffer the force or perswasion of any Arbitrary Lover whatsoever, to subvert their Ancient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam, we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes. —This I learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess.

Sir Timothy, why what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd Puritanical, Schismatical, Phanatical, Small beer-face of thine into good Company? Give Him a full Glass to the Widow's Health.

O lack, Sir Charles, no Healths for me, I pray.

Heark ye, leave that couzening, canting, sanctin'd Sneer of yours and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven soon convert from her lewd designes upon my Body.

A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.

How, the Widow a lewd designe upon his Body! Nay, then I am jea­lous.

I a lewd designe upon your Body! for what, I wonder?

Why, for villanous Matrimony.

Who, I!

How's that, how's that! Charles at his Adorables and Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again else. Come, come, every man his Glass. Sir Timothy, you are six behind. Come, Charles, name 'em all.

—Not [...]ate ye an Ace, Sir: Come, his Majesties Health, and Confusion to his Enemies,

Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very Arbitrary, me­thinks.

And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a Scotch Jig.

This is meer Tyranny.

Sir, there is just alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord.

How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, Iervice.— 'Ods so, he's here!

Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the Renown'd Mester de Hotell?

Meter de Otell! I have not the honour to know any of that name; I am call'd Sir Timothy Treat-all.

The same, Sir: I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons of Qua­lity had spoke French.

Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord.

I'm glad on' [...], Sir: for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all Monarchies.

Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome.

[Page 30]

Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth.

Right, my Lord; where every man may hope to take his turn.—Your Lordship is most singularly welcome.

And though I am a stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame, amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, fames trumpet sounds your praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you.

I'm much oblig'd to the Renowned Mobily.

So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassie. The [...]o [...]anders by me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election, prickt ye down for their succee­ding King.

How, my Lord, prickt me down for a King! Why this is wonderful! Prickt me, unworthy me, down for a King! How cou'd I merit this amazing Glory!

They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native Country, where but a private person, what must he be when Power is on his side?

Aye, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House is yours.

I've brought you, Sir, the measure of the Crown: Hah, it [...]its you to a hair.

You were by Heaven and Nature fram'd that Monarch.

Hah, at it again!

Come, we grow dull, Charles: where stands the Glass? what, balk my Lady Galliard's Health!

Hah, Galliard—and so sweet on Meriwill!

If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw.

Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Heark ye, Lady Galliard, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear your Liquor well, you are so forward to leave good Company and a Bottle.

Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige you, I hope you'll not refuse a Health of my Denomination.

We scorn to be so uncivil.

Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to his Grace the King of Poland.

King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your thoughts ramble!

Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir.

Away with it.

I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so renowned our Ancestors in History.

Aye, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.

Are you not married then? Death, she smiles on him!

I had a Wife, but, rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no Plague left now, but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with Ill Customs, Tantivie-Opinions, and Court-Notions.

Alas, I hav [...] [...]y'd all ways, fair and foul; [...]ay, had settled t'other day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel call'd, A Warning to all good Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a hand in Absolon and Achitophel; a Rogue: But some of our sober Party have claw'd him home, i'faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason.

Most visibly in love!—Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion, plead for so neer a Kinsman.

Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the name of a Pa­triot, who does not for the Publick Good de [...]ie all Laws and Religion.

Death, I must interrupt 'em!—Sir, pray what Lady's that?

I beseech your Lordship, know her, 'tis my Lady Galliard: 'the rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all—Well, my Lord, how do you like my method of doing the Business of the Nation, and carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and soforth.

High feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than your smart Preaching.

Your Lordship has hit it right: A rare man this!

But come, Sir, leave we serious affairs, and oblige these fair ones.

Heavens, Clacket, yonders my false one, and that my lovely Rival.

Dear Mrs. Sensure, this Favour has oblig'd me.

I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.

By her meen, this shou'd be handsome.—

Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the honour of your hand.

Hah, Wilding! Love can discover thee through all disguise.

Hah, Diana! Wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd rather meet it on the Kings Highway with Stand and Deliver, than thus encounter it on the Face of an old Mistriss; and the Cheat were more excusable.—But how—

Nay, never frown nor chide: for thus do I intend to shew my Autho­rity, till I have made thee onely fit for me.

Is't so, my precious Uncle! are you so great a Devil in Hypocrisie! Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right woman.

But do not think, dear Tommy, I wou'd have serv'd thee so; married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birthright.—But see, we're observ'd!

By all that's good, 'tis he! that Voice is his!

Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of Charlot in her face? But sure she durst not venture: 'tis not her dress nor meen. Dear pretty stranger, I must dance with you.

Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, [...]en you please. Tho l's not dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo.

[Page 32]

Nor I: so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wonderous like her.

By th' Mass, not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd dance to guid the other weel.

In any thing that gued is.

I love you extreamly, and wou'd teach you to love.

Ah, wele aday!

A thing I know you do not understand.

Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's often hear ya gay men talk of.

Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it.

Gued deed, and so I have: Ya men make sa mickle ado aboot ens Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Compliments.

Ah, if you give us Wounds, we must complain.

Ya may ene keep out a harms way then.

Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not.

Marry and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir.

Dear Creature, let me beg it.

Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty.

This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless you pity me. This is an excellently Charlot wants, at least I never heard her sing.

Why Charles, where stands the woman, Charles?

I must speak to Galliard, though all my Fortunes depend on the discovery of my self.

[Page 33]

Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Vertue as Conversa­tion can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.

Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good fortune to the Parson of the Parish;

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Oh, why were all the Charms of Speaking given to that false Tongue that makes no better use of 'em?

By all the powers of Love, you'll break your Oath, unless you swear this night to let me see you.

Nay, then she dances by nature. Gentlemen and Ladies, please you to sit, here's a young Neighbour of mine will honour us with a Dance.

So, so; very well, very well. Gentlemen and ladies, I am for Liberty of Consci­ence, and Moderation. There's a Banquet waits the Ladies, and my Cellars are open to the men; but for my self, I must retire: first waiting on your Lordship to shew you your Apartment, then leave you to cher entire; and tomorrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation, and resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders.

We will consider on't. 'tis now just struck Eleven: within this hour is the dear Assignation with Galliard.

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Trivial to a woman, Frank! no more do you make as if you w [...]nt to bed. — Labo [...] do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table; and when I give the signe, let me softly in.

SCENE the First. A Dressing-room.

Your Honour may say your pleasure; but I hope I have not liv'd to these years to be impertinent:—No, Madam, I am none of those that run up and down the Town a Story-hunting, and a Lye-catching, and—

I beg your Ladyships pardon, if my discourse offend you; but all the world knows Mrs. Clacket to be a person—

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You may spare your thanks, Sir, for those that will deserve 'em; I shall give ye no occasion for 'em.

[Page 38]

You're wonderous full of Love and Rapture, Sir; but certainly you mi­stake the person you address 'em to.

Why, are you not my Lady Galliard, that very Lady Galliard, who if one may take her word for't, loves Wilding? Am I not come hither by your own ap­pointment; and can I have any other business here at this time of night, but Love, and Rapture, and—

Scandalous and vain! by my appointment, and for so lewd a purpose! guard me, ye good Angels.

—I must remove her. Heark ve, Mrs. Closet, I had forgot to tell you; As I came up I heard a Kinsman of yours very earnest with the Servants below, and in great haste to speak with you.

Yes, a very neer Kinsman he said he was, your Fathers own Mothers Un­cles Sisters Son; what d'ye call him?

Aye, what d'ye call him indeed; I shou'd be glad to hear his name. Alas, Sir, I have no neer Relation living that I know of, the more's my misfortune, poor helpless Orphan that I am.

Chang'd already from a Kinsman to a Country-man! A plain contri­vance to get my Woman out of the Room. Closet, as you value, my service, stir not from hence.

This Country-man of yours, I say, being left Executor by your Fathers last will and Testament, is come—Dull Waiting-woman, I wou'd be alone with your Lady; know your Que, and retire.

I must own to all the world, you have convinc'd me; I ask a thousand Par­dons for my dulness. Well, I'll be gone, I'll run; you're a most powerful person, the very Spirit of Perswasion.—I'll steal out.—You have such a taking way with you— [Page 39] But I forget my self. Well, your most obedient Servant: Whenever you've occa­sion, Sir, be pleas'd to use me fr [...]ely.

Nay, dear Impertinent, no more Complements, you see I'm busie now; prithee be gone, you see I'm busie.

So, she's gone; Heaven and broad Gold be prais'd for the deliverance: And now, dear Widow, let's lose no more pretious time; we've fool'd away too much already.

This to me?

To you, yes, to whom else shou'd it be? unless being sensible you have not discretion enough to manage your own affairs your self, you resolve, like other Wi­dows, with all you're worth to buy a Governour, commonly called a Husband. I [...]ook ye to be wiser; but if that be your designe, I shall do my best to serve you— though to deal freely with you—

Trouble not your self, Sir, to make Excu [...]s; I'm not so fond of the offer to take you at your word. Marry you! a Rakes [...]e, who have not esteem enough for the Sex to believe your own Mother honest—without Money or Credit, without Land either in present or prospect; and half a dozen hungry Vices, like so many bawling Brats at your back, perpetually craving, and more chargeable to keep than twice the number of Children. Besides, I think you are provided for; are you not married to Mrs. Charlot Gettall?

Married to her? do I know her, you shou'd rather ask. What Fool has forg'd this unlikely Lye? But suppose 'twere true, cou'd you be jealous of a wo­man I marry? do you take me for such an Ass, to suspect I shall love my own Wise? On the other side, I have a great charge of Vices, as you well observe, and I must not be so barbarous to let them starve. Every body in this Age takes care to provide for their Vices, though they send their Children a begging; I should be worse than an In [...]idel to neglect them. No, I must marry some stiff a [...]kward thing or other with an ugly face and a handsome Estate, that's certain: but whoever is ordain'd to make my Fortune, 'tis you onely that can make me happy.—Come, do it then.

[Page 41]

For what? to praise your Night-dress, or make court to your little Dog? No, no, Madam, send for Mr. Flamfull and Mr. Flutterbuz, Mr. Lapp-fool and Mr. Love-all; they'll do it better, and are more at leisure.

Hear me a little: You know I both despise, and hate those civil Cox­combs, as much as Lesteem and love you. But why will you be gone so soon? and why are you so cruel to urge me thus to part either with your good Opinion or your Kindness? I wou'd fain keep 'em both.

Believe it if you will. Yes, let me be false, unjust, ungrateful, any thing but a—Whore—

I have not power to part with you: conceal my shame I doubt I cannot, I fear I wou'd not any more deny you.

Oh, heavenly sound! Oh, charming Creature! speak that word again, a­gen, agen! for ever let me hear it.

But did you not indeed? and will you never, never love Mrs. Charlot, never?

To her Coach! to her Coach! Did not I put her into your hand, fol­low'd you out, winkt, smil'd, and nodded, cry'd, 'buy Charles, 'buy Rogue; which was as much as to say, Go home with her, Charles, home to her Chamber, Charles; nay, as much as to say, Home to her Bed, Charles▪ nay, as much as to say—Hum, hum, a Rogue, a Dog, and yet to be modest too! That I shou'd bring thee up with no more fear of God before my Eyes!

Nay, dear Uncle, don't break my heart now. Why I did proffer, and press, and swear, and ly'd, and—but a Pox on her, she has the damndest wheedling way with her, as, Dear Charles, nay pri [...]hee, he, 'tis late, to morrow, my Honour, which if you lov'd, you wou'd preserve; and such obliging Reasons.

Reasons! Reason! a Lover, and talk of Reason! You lye, Sirrah, you lye. Leave a woman for Reason, when you were so finely drunk too, a Rascal!

Why look ye, d'ye see, Uncle, I du [...]t not trust my self alone with her in this pickle, lest I shou'd a fallen soul on her.

Why there's it; 'tis that you shou'd adone: I am mistaken if she be not one of those Ladies that love to be ravisht of a Kindness. Why, your willing Rape is all the fashion, Charles.

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Why do but hear me, Uncle: Lord you're so hasty! Why look ye, I am a [...] ready, d'ye see, as any man [...] these occasions.

Are you so, Sir? and I'll make you willing, or try Toledo with you, Sir.—Whe, what, I shall have ye whining when you are sober again, traversing your Chamber with Arms across, railing on Love and Women, and at last defeated, turn whipping Tom, to revenge your self on the whole Sex.

—A most admirable good-natur'd Boy this!

Well then, dear Charles, know, I have brought thee now hither to the Widows house with a resolu­tion to have thee order matters so, as before thou quits her, she shall be thy own, Boy.

Gad, Uncle, thou'rt a Che [...]bin! Introduce me, d'ye see, and if I do not so woo the Widow, and so do the Widow, that [...]re morning she shall be content to take me for better for worse.—Renounce me! Egad, I'll make her know the Lord God from Tom Bell, before I have done with her. Nay, ba [...]kt by my noble Uncle, I'll venture on her, had she all Cupid's Arrows, Venus's Beauty, and Ma [...]alina's Fire, d'ye see.

A sweet Boy, a very sweet Boy! Hum, thou art damnable handsome to night, Charles.—Aye, thou wilt do't; I see a kind of a resistless Lewdness about thee, a most triumphant Impudence, loose and wanton.

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Ou [...], Sir! Pri [...]e where's my Rival? where's the Spark, the—Gad, I took thee for an errant Rival: Where, where is he?

A man! merciful, what will this scandalous lying World come to? Here's no man.

Away, I say, thou damn'd Domestick Intelligence, that comest out every half hour with some fresh Sham.—No man!—What, 'twas an appointment onely, hum,—which I shall now make bold to unappoint, render null, void, and of none effect. And if I find him here

I shall very civilly and accidentally, as it were, being in perfect friendship with him—pray mark that—run him through the Lungs.

Mean! why I am obstinately bent to ravish thee, thou hypocritical Wi­dow, make thee mine by force, that so I may have no obligation to thee, and conse­quently use thee scurvily with a good Conscience.

A most delicate Boy! I'll warrant him as lewd as the best of 'em, God grant him life and Health.

'Tis late, and I entreat your absence, Sir: These are my hours of prayer, which this unseasonable Visit has disturb'd.

Prayer! no more of that, Sweetheart: for let me tell you, your Prayers are heard. A Widow of your Youth and Complexion can be praying for nothing so late, but a good Husband; and see, Heaven has sent him just in the crit—critical minute, to supply your occasions.

A Wag, an arch Wag; he'll learn to make Lampoons presently. I'll not give sixpence from him, though to the Poor of the Parish.

He's in a heavenly humour, thanks to good Wine, good Counsel, and good Company.

What mean you, Sir? what can my Woman think to see me treated thus?

No [...]row [...]ing; for by this dear night, 'tis charity, care of your Repu­tation, Widow: and therefore I am resolv'd nobody shall lie with you but my self. [Page 47] You have dangerous [...] buzzing [...]bout your Hive, Widow—mark that—

Nay, no parting but upon terms, which in short, d'ye see, are these: Down on your knees, and swear me heartily as G [...]d shall judge your Soul, d [...]ye see, to marry me to morrow.

So have I. Nay Gad, an you be for the neerest way to wood, the sober discreet way of loving, I am for you, look ye.

Aye do, call up a Jury of your Female Neighbours; they'll be for me, d'ye see, bring in the Bill Ignoramus, though I am no very true blue Protestant nei­ther: Therefore dispatch, or—

Well, well, I'll be content with performance then to night, and trust you for your promise till to morrow.

Ah, Rogue! By George, he out-does my expectations of him.

He shall ne'er drink small Beer more, that's po [...]itive: I'll burn all's Books too, they have helpt to spoil him; and sick or well, found or unsound, Drink­ing shall be his Diet, and Whoring his Study.

Come, come, no pausing; your promise, or I'll to bed.

What shall I do, here is no Witness neer! And to be rid of him, I'll promise him: he'll have forgot it in his sober Passion.

Hold, I do swear I will—

What?

Marry you.

When?

Charles, Joy Charles, give ye Joy: here's two substantial Witnesses.

I deny it, Sir; I heard no such thing.

What, what, Mrs. Closet, a Waiting-woman of Honour, and [...]inch from her Evidence! Gad, I'll damn thy Soul, if thou darest swear what thou sayest.

Nay, Gad you're caught, struggle and [...]lounder as you please, Sweetheart, you'll but intangle more; let me alone to tickle your Gills, [...]aith.

[Page 48]—Uncle, get ye home about your business: I hope you'll give me the Goo [...] mor­row, as becomes me.—I say no more—A word to the Wise—

By George, thou'rt a brave fellow; why I did not think it had been in thee, man. Well, adieu: I'll give thee such a Good morrow, Charles—the Devil's in him!—'Buy, Charles—a plaguie Rogue!—'Night, Boy—a Divine Youth!

SCENE the First. Sir Timothy's House.

NOt yet! a Plague of this damn'd Widow: the Devil ow'd him an un­lucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night.

—Hah, dear Tom, art thou come?

A Pox of nights, Sir, think of this and the day to come▪ which I perceive you were too well employ'd to remember.

And had I not been interrupted by Charles Meriwill, who getting drunk, had cou­rage enough to venture on an untimely Visit▪ I'd had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come—my disguise.

All's still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our designe.

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'Tis well: And heark ye, my Friends, I'll proscribe you no bounds, or [...] for I have considered if we modestly take nothing but the Writings, 'twill be easie to suspect the Thief.

Right; and since 'tis for the securing our Necks, 'tis lawful prise.—Sirrah, leave the Por [...]mantua here.

Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder!

A Plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in's mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle's chief Pimp.—So—

Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, ere they cou'd alarm their Fellows by crying out.

'Tis well: come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried heaps—this door leads to my Uncles Apartment; I know each secred nook contious of Treasure.

Help, help! Murder! Murder!

What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Aldermans Bed?

Ah mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin.

A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great miracles the old Gentle­man can do.

Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the wicked.

That's well.—The sanctifi'd Jilt professes Innocence, yet has the Badge of her Occupation about her neck.

Ah misfortune, I have mistook his Worships Coat for my Gown.

What have we here? A Sermon preacht by Richard Baxter, Divine. Gad a mercy, Sweetheart, thou art a hopeful Member of the true Protestant Cause.

Alack, how the Saints may be scandaliz'd! I went but to tuck his Worship in.

And comment upon the Text a little, which I suppose may be increase and multiply.—Here, gag and bind her.

Hold, hold, I am with Child!

Then you'll go neer to miscarry of a Babe of Grace.

Gentlemen, why Gentlemen, I beseech you use a Conscience in what you do, and have a feeling of what you go about.—Pity my Age.

Damn'd beggarly Conscience, and needless Pity—

Oh fearful!—But, Gentlemen, what is't you designe? is it a genera [...] Massacar, pray, or am I the onely person aim'd at as a Sacrifice for the Nation? know, and all the World knows, how many Plots have been laid against my sel [...] [Page 50] both by men, women, and children, the Diabolical Emissaries of the Pope.

How, Sirrah!

Nay, Gentlemen, not but I love and honour his Holiness with all my Soul; and if his Grace did but know what I have done for him, d'ye see—

You done for the Pope, Sirrah! why what have you done for the Pope?

Why, Sir, an't like ye, I have done you great service, very great service, for I have been, d'ye see, in a small Tryal I had, the cause and occasion of invali­dating the Evidence to that degree, that I suppose no Jury in Christendom will ever have the impudence to believe 'em hereafter, shou'd they swear against his Holiness himself, and all the Conclave of Cardinals.

And yet you plot on still, cabal, treat, and keep open debauch, for all the Renegado-Tories and old Commonwealths-men to carry on the good Cause.

Alas, what signifies that? You know, Gentlemen, that I have such a strange and natural agility in turning,—I shall whip about yet, and leave 'em all in the lurch.

'Tis very likely; but at this time we shall not take your word for that.

Bloody minded men, are you resolv'd to assassinate me then?

You trifle, Sir, and know our business better, than to think we come to take your Life, which wou'd not advantage a Dog, much less any Party or Person,—Come, come, your Keys, your Keys.

Aye, aye, discover, discover your Money, Sir, your ready—

Money, Sir! good lack, is that all?

Why what a Beast was I, not knowing of your coming, to put out all my Money last week to Alderman Draw-tooth! Alack, alack, what shift shall I make now to accom­modate you?—But if you please to come again to morrow—

A shamming Rogue; the right Sneer and Grin of a dissembling Whig. Come, come, deliver, Sir; we are for no Rhetorick, but ready Money.

Hold, I beseech you, Gentlemen, not so loud: for there is a Lord, a most considerable person and a stranger, honours my house to night; I wou'd not for the world his Lordship shou'd be disturb'd.

Take no care for him, he's fast bound, and all his Retinue.

How, bound! my Lord bound, and all his People! Undone, undone, disgrac'd! What will the Polanders say, that I shou'd expose their Embassadour to this disrespect and affront?

Bind him, and take away his Keys.

Aye, aye, what you please, Gentlemen, since my Lord's bound.—Oh what Recompence can I make for so unhospitable usage? I am a most unfortunate Magistrate!—Hah, who's there, Iervice? Alas, art thou here too? What, canst not speak? But 'tis no matter and I were dumb too: for what Speech or Harangue will serve to beg my pardon of my Lord?—And then my Heiress, Iervice, aye, my rich Heiress, why she'll be ravisht, oh Heavens, ravisht! The young Rogues will have no mercy, Iervice; nay, perhaps as thou sayest, they'll carry her away.—Oh that thought! Gad I'd rather the City-Charter were lost.

—Why Gentlemen, rob like Christians, Gentlemen.

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[...], do you mutter, Dog?

Not in the least, Sir, not in the least; onely a Conscience, Sir, in all things does well.—Barbarous Rogues!

Here's you Arbi­trary Power, Iervice; here's the rule of the Sword now for you: These are your Tory Rogues, your Tantivie Roysters; but we shall cry quits with you, Rascals, erelong: and if we do come to our old Trade of Plunder and Sequestration, we will so handle ye— [...] neither Prince, Peer, nor Prelate. Oh, I long to have a [...]ice at your fat Church-men, your Crape-Gown-orums.

A Prize, a Prize, my Lads, in ready Guinies! Contribution, my Beloved.

Nay then 'tis lawful Prize, in spight of Ignoramus and all his Tribe.— What hast thou there?

A whole Bag of Knavery, damn'd Sedition, Libels, Treason, Successions, Rights and Priviledges, with a new-fashion'd Oath of Abjuration, call'd the Associa­tion. —Ah Rogue, what will you say when these shall be made publick?

Say, Sir? why I'll deny it, Sir: for what Jury will believe so wise a Magistrate as I, cou'd communicate such Secrets to such as you? I'll say you forg'd 'em, and put 'em in,—or print ev [...]ry one of 'em, and own 'em, as long as they were writ and publisht in London, Sir.) Come, come, the World is not so bad yet, but a man may speak Treason within the Walls of London, thanks be to God, and honest conscientious Jury-men. And as for the Money, Gentlemen, take notice you rob the Party.

Come, come, carry off the Booty, and prithee remove that Rubbish of the Nation out of the way.—Your Servant, Sir.—So, away with it to Dresswell's Lod­gings, his Coach is at the door ready to receive it.

Well, you are sure you have all you came for?

All's safe, my Lads, the Writings all.—

Come, let's away then.

Away? what meanst thou? is there not a Lord to be found bound in his bed, and all his People? Come, come, dispatch, and each man bind his fellow.

We had better follow the Baggage, Captain.

No, we have not done so ill, but we dare shew our faces. Come, come, to binding.

And who shall bind the last man?

Honest Laboir, d'ye hear, Sirrah? you got drunk and lay in your Clothes under the Hall-table; d'ye conceive me? Look to't, ye Rascal, and carry things discreetly, or you'll all be hang'd, that's certain.

So; now will I i'th morning to Charlot, and give her such a character of her Lover, as if she have resentment, makes her mine.

Ho, Ienkin, Roger, Simon! where are these Rogues? None left alive to come to my assistance? So ho, ho, ho! Rascals, Sluggards, Drones! So ho, ho, ho!

So, now's my Que—and stay, I am not yet sober.

Dogs, Rogues, none hear me? Fire, fire, fire!

[Page 52]

Water, water, I say: for I am damnable dry.

Ha, who's there?

What doleful voice is that?

What art thou, friend or foe?

Very direful—why what the Devil art thou?

If thou'rt a friend, approach, approach the wretched.

Wretched! What art thou, Ghost, Hobgobling, or walking Spirit?

Oh, neither, neither, but meer mortal Sir Timothy Treat-all, robb'd and bound.

How, our generous Host?

How, one of my Lords Servants! Alas, alas, how cam'st thou to escape?

Ene by Miracle, Sir, by being drunk and falling asleep under the Hall-table with your Worships Dog Tory, till just now a Dream of Small-beer wakt me; and crawling from my Kennel to secure the black Jack, I stumb'ed upon this Lanthorn, which I took for one, till I found a Candle in't, which helps me to serve your Wor­ship.

Hold, hold, I say; for I scorn to be so uncivil to be unbound before his Lordship: therefore run, Friend, to his Honours Chamber, for he, alas, is confin'd too.

What, and leave his worthy Friend in distress? by no means, Sir.

Well then, come, let's to my Lord, whom if I be not asham'd to look in the face, I am an errant Sarazan.

Peace, Sirrah, for sure I hear some coming.—Villains, Rogues! I care not for my self, but the good pious Alderman.

Wonderful goodness, for me! alas, my Lord, this sight will break my heart.

Sir Timothy safe! nay then I do forgive 'em.

Alas, my Lord, I've heard of your rigid fate.

It is my custom, Sir, to pray an hour or two in my Chamber, before I go to bed; and having pray'd that drowsie Slave asleep, the Thieves broke in upon us unawares, I having laid my Sword aside.

Oh, Heavens, at his Prayers! damn'd Ruffians, and wou'd they not stay till you had said your Prayers?

By no perswasion.—Can you not guess who they shou'd be, Sir?

Oh, some damn'd Tory-rory Rogues, you may be sure, to rob a▪ man at his Prayers! why what will this world come to?

Let us not talk, Sir, but pursue 'em.

Pursue 'em? alas, they're past our reach by this time.

Oh, Sir, they are neerer than you imagine:

[Page 53] [...] each corner of your house, I'll warrant.

Think ye so, my Lord? Aye, this comes of keeping Open House; which makes so many shut up their doors at Dinner-time.

Good morrow, Gentlemen! what was the Devil broke loose to night?

Onely some of his Imps, Sir, sawcy Varlets, insupportable Rascals.—But well, my Lord, now I have seen your Lordship at liberty, I'll leave you to your rest, and go see what harm this nights work has done.

I have a little business, Sir, and will take this time to dispatch it in; my Servants shall to bed, though 'tis already day.—I'll wait on you at Dinner.

Your time: my House and all I have is yours; and so I take my leave of your Lordship.

Methinks I'm up as early as if I had a mind to what I'm going to do, marry this old rich Coxcomb.

And you do well to lose no time.

Ah, Betty, and cou'd thy prudence prefer an old Husband, because rich, be­fore so young, so handsome, and so soft a Lover as Wilding?

I know not that, Madam; but I verily believe the way to keep your young Lover, is to marry this old one: for what Youth and Beauty cannot purchase, Money and Quality may.

Aye, but to be oblig'd to lie with such a Beast; aye, there's the Devil

Die! no, he's too temperate.—Sure these Whigs, Betty, believe there's no Heaven, they take such care to live so long in this world.—No, he'll out-live me.

[Page 54]

In grace a God he may be hang'd first, Mistriss.—Ha, one knoc [...] lieve 'tis he.

Who's there?

If I must marry him, give him patience to endure the Cuckolding, good Heaven.

Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?

I think she did, Sir.

I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon her Wedding-day?

Marriage is a sort of hanging, Sir; and I was onely making a short Prayer before Execution.

Oh, is that all? Come, come, we'll let that alone till we are abed, that we have nothing else to do.

Not much, I dare swear.

And let us, Fair one, haste; the Parson stays: besides, that heap of Scan­dal may prevent us,—I mean my Nephew.

A Pox upon him now for naming Wilding.

How, weep at naming my ungracious Nephew? Nay, then I am pro­vokt— Look on this Head, this wise and reverend Head; I'd have ye know, it has been taken measure on to fit it to a Crown, d'ye see.

A Halter rather.

Aye, and it fits it too: and am I slighted, I that shall receive Billet Deux from Infantas? 'tis most uncivil and [...]mpolitick.

Stay, my heart misgives me I shall be undone. —Ah, whither was I going?

Do, stay till the news arrives that he is married to her that had his company to night, my Lady Galliard.

Oh take heed, lest you sin doubly, Sir.

By Heaven, 'tis true, he past the night with her.

All night? what cou'd they find to do?

A very proper Question: I'll warrant you they were not idle, Ma­dam.

Oh no; they lookt and lov'd, and vow'd and lov'd, and swore eternal Friendship.—Haste, haste, and lead me to the Church, the Altar; I'll put it past my power to love him more.

Oh, how you charm me!

Acquaintance, 'tis enough, I know him, Madam, and I hope my word will be taken for a greater matter i'th' City: In troth you're beholding to the Gen­tleman for marrying you; your Reputation's gone.

How, am I not honest then?

Marry Heaven forbid! But who that knows you have been a single hour in Wilding's hands, that wou'd not swear you'd lost your Maidenhead? And back again I'm sure you dare not go unmarried; that wou'd be a fine History to be sung to your eternal fame in a Ballad.

Right; and you see Wilding has left you for the Widow, to whom perhaps you'll shortly hear he's married.

Oh, you trifle, Sir; lead on.

Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the House, and this the window belong­ing to my Ladies Bed-chamber: Come, come, let's have some neat, soft, brisk, lan­guishing, sprightly Air now.

Old Meriwill—how shall I pass by him?

So, here's Company too; 'tis very well—Not have the Boy? I'll warrant this does the business.—Come, come, screw up your Chitterling.

What do I hear, my Lady Galliard joy'd?

How, married her already?

Oh, yes he has. Lovely and false, hast thou deceiv'd my Faith?

Oh Heavens, Mr. [...]opington, she faints—ah me!

Ah, Musick at Galliard's door!

Good morrow, Sir Charles Meriwill; give your Worship and your fair Lady joy.

Hah, Meriwill married the Widow?

No matter; prithee advance and mind thy own affairs.

Good morrow, Uncle. Gentlemen I thank ye: Here, drink the Kings Health, with my Royal Master's the Duke.

Heaven bless your Honour, and your vertuous Bride.

Wilding! undone.

Death and the Devil, Meriwill above?

Hah, the Boys Rival here! By George, here may be breathing this morning.—No matter, here's two to two; come, Gentlemen, you must in.

Is't not what you expected? nay, what you wisht?

How, Madam, have you then design'd my ruine?

Oh, trust me, Sir, I am a Maid of Honour.

Damn all ill [...]ck, was ever man thus Fortune-bit, that he shou'd cross my hopes just in the nick?—But shall I lose her thus? No Gad, I'll after her; and come the worst, I have an Impudence shall out-face a Middlesex- Jury, and out-swear a Discoverer.

Sirrah, run to my Lord Mayors and require some of his Officers to assist me instantly; and d'ye hear, Rascal, bar up my doors, and let none of his mad Crew enter.

William, you may stay, William.

Since we became one Family; and when I've us'd you thus a week or two, you will grow weary of this peevish fooling.

Malicious thing, I wo'not, I am resolv'd I'll tire thee out meerly in spight to have the better of thee.

But Malice, there are Officers, Magistrates i'th' City, that will not see me us'd thus, and will be here anon.

Magistrates! why they shall be welcome, if they be honest and loyal; if not, they may be hang'd in Heavens good time.

Most certainly, I'll keep you honest to your word, my Dear, I've Wit­ness—

You will?

You'll find it so.

Then know, if thou darest marry me, I will so plague thee, be so reveng'd for all those tricks thou'st playd me—

Not at all: I'll trust thy stock of Beauty with thy Wit.

Death, I will cuckold thee.

Why then I shall be free o'th' Reverend City.

Then I will game without cessation, till I've undone thee.

Do, that all the Fops of empty heads and pockets, may know where to be sure of a Cully; and may they rook ye till ye lose, and fret, and chafe, and rail those youthful Eyes to sinking; watch your fair Face to pale and withered lean­ness.

Then I will never let thee bed with me, but when I please.

For that, see who'll petition first, and then I'll change for new ones every night.

To find him here, will make him mad with Jealousie, and in the fit he'll utter all he knows; Oh, Guilt, what art thou?

By Heaven, I will; she shall not have the pleasure to see I am concern'd. —Morrow, Widow; you are early up, you mean to thrive I see, you're like a Mill that grinds with every Wind.

Hah, Wilding this, that past last night at Sir Timothy's for a man of Qua­lity? Oh, give him way, Wilding's my Friend, my Dear, and now I'm sure I have the advantage of him in thy love. I can forgive a hasty word or two.

'Morrow, Charles, 'Morrow to your Ladyship: Charles, bid Sir Timothy welcome; I met him luckily at the door, and am resolv'd none of my Friends shall pass this joyful day without giving thee Joy, Charles, and drinking my Ladies Health.

Hah, my Uncle here so early?

What has your Ladyship serv'd me so? How finely I had been mumpt now, if I had not took heart a grace and shew'd your Ladyship trick for trick: for I have been this morning about some such business of Life too, Gentlemen; I am married to this fair Lady, the Daughter and Heiress of Sir Nicholas Gettall, Knight and Alder­man.

Hum, Who's here, my Lord? What, I see you Lordship has found the way already to the fair Ladies; but I hope your Lordship will do my Wedding-din­ner the honour to grace it with your presence.

I must own, Sir Timothy, you have made the better choice.

I cou'd not hel [...] my destiny; Marriages are made in Heaven, you know.

Stand off, and let me loose as are my Griefs, which can no more be boun­ded: Oh let me face the perjur'd, false, forsworn!

Fair Creature, who is't that you seek with so much sorrow?

Thou, thou fatally fair Inchantress.

Charlot! Nay then I am discover'd.

Alas, what wou'dst thou?

How, my Nephew claim'd? Why how now, Sirrah, have you been dab­ling here?

By Heaven, I know her not.—Heark ye, Widow, this is some trick of yours, and 'twas well laid: and Gad, she's so pretty, I cou'd find in my heart to take her at her word.

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—Tell me, thou pretty weeping Hypocrite, who was it set thee on to lay [...] me?

To you! Alas, who are you? for till this moment I never saw your [...] ▪

Mad as the Seas when all the Winds are raging.

Aye, aye, Madam, stark mad! Poor Soul—Neighbour, pray let her lie i'th' dark, d'ye hear.

How came you, pretty one, to lose your Wits thus?

Who is she? some one who knows her and is wiser, speak—you, Mi­striss.

Since I must speak, there comes the man of Mischief: —'Tis you I mean, for all your learing, Sir.

So.

What, my Lord!

I never knew your Nephew was a Lord: Has his Honour made him forget his Honesty?

Why, what are you indeed my Nephew, Thomas?

I am Tom Wilding, Sir, that once bore some such Title, till you discarded me, and left me to live upon my Wits.

What, and are you no Polish Embassadour then incognito?

No, Sir, nor you no King Elect, but must e'en remain as you were ever, Sir, a most seditious pestilent old Knave; one that deludes the Rabble with your Po­liticks, then leave 'em to be hang'd, as they deserve, for silly mutinous Rebels.

I'll peach the Rogue, and then he'll be hang'd in course, because he's a Tory. One comfort is, I have couzen'd him of his rich Heiress; for I am married, Sir, to Mrs. Charlot.

Rather Diana, Sir; I wish you Joy: See here's Charlot! I was not such a Fool to trust such Blessings with the Wicked.

[Page 61]

How Mrs. Dy Ladyfi'd! This is an excellent way of disposing an old [...] ▪

How, have I married a Strumpet then?

You give your Nephews Mistriss, Sir, too coarse a name: 'Tis true, I lov'd him, onely him, and was true to him.

Undone, undone! I shall ne'r make Guildhall-speech more; but he shall hang for't, if there be ere a Witness to be had between this and Salamancha for Money.

Do your worst, Sir; Witnesses are out of fashion now, Sir, thanks to your Ignoramus Juries.

Then I'm resolv'd to dis-inherit him.

See, Sir, that's past your skill too, thanks to my last nights Ingenuity: they're

sign'd, seal'd, and deliver'd in the presence of, &c.

Bear Witness, 'twas he that robb'd me last night.

We bear Witness, Sir, we know of no such matter we. I thank you for that, Sir, wou'd you make Witnesses of Gentlemen?

No matter for that, I'll have him hang'd, nay drawn and quarter'd.

What, for obeying your Commands, and living on my Wits?

Nay, then 'tis a cleer case you can neither hang him nor blame him.

I'll propose fairly now, if you'll be generous and pardon all: I'll render your Estate back during Life, and put the Writings in Sir Anthony Meriwill's and Sir Charles [...] his hands.—

This is but Reason.

With this Proviso, that he makes not use on't to promote any mischief to the King and Government.

Good and just.

Hum, I'd as good quietly agree to't, as lose my Credit by making a noise. —Well, Tom, I pardon all, and will be Friends.

See, my dear Creature, even this hard old man is mollifi'd at last into good nature; yet you'll still be cruel.

No, your unwearied Love at last has vanquisht me. Here, be as happy as a Wife can make ye—One last look more, and then—be gone fond Love.

Come, Sir, you must receive Diana too; she is a cheerful witty Girl, and handsome, one that will be a Comfort to your Age, and bring no scandal home. Live peaceably, and do not trouble your decrepid Age with business of State.