Scena Prima.

FAith Jack I have had ill luck this Month or two.

Prethee, What's the matter?

Why I've parted very friendly with my Religion, and can get nothing for it.

Then there is just nothing for no­thing. The Rogues you deal with are cun­ning, and know how to fit you to an hair: but I have had worse fortune, I have parted with my Mony, and got nothing for it: Now there is Substance for nothing, which accor­ding to my Philosophy is very unnatural.

Well, I must find some other way of thriving; this changing a Man's Religion is a meer drug, 'tis grown too common.

You cannot find a better, if you take the right Way. [...]

The right Way, Jack, why no Man could take a better: First, I applied my self to a Priest, whose Interest I thought to be greatest at Court, and told him that I was a Gentleman of a good Estate, and once a zea­lous Protestant; that I had always led a strict and vertuous Life, but that now I could find no Satisfaction that way, and now I desired to be admitted a Member of their Church.

So, very good.

Then I frequented all publick Masses, the private ones were never any part of my Religion: I confessed to him none but such Vices, as with other Men would pass for Vertues, and indeed greater Vertues than ever I was guilty of; I made him believe that I performed all Penances double, that I had dis­carded all my Friends and Kinsmen upon the account of Difference in Opinion, and a­mongst them a very dear Relation; that I de­sired to serve my Country in some publick Employment Military or Civil, not for Gain, but Advancement of the Catholick Cause, in­somuch that—

Insomuch that he thought thee to be a very zealous and conscientious Catholick.

Yes faith, Jack, as good as any in England.

Why that same is the very reason that he never sought to prefer thee: The Fa­thers know that those that are Catholicks by Perswasion will do them Service without the visible Prospect of a Reward, and therefore they are never eager in preserring them to places of true Profit—but they know those that are led to them by Interest, they must continually feed with the same Bait that brought them on, lest they fly off and scare others from it.

Thinkest thou so, Boy!

Think so, Why? it is most certain­ly true—Canst thou imagine the Fathers are such ill Husbands as to procure a Reward for those that are such Fools as to serve their ends without it. If thou think'st to get any thing considerable by their Intercession, you must let them plainly understand, that you are no puny whi [...]ng Catholick, troubled with Scruples of Conscience, but Rogue enough to serve them in all things.

Well, so much may easily be done.

I know it may, and by these means thou wilt have a double Ti [...]upon them; First, they will fear to lose thee, unless they sup­ply sufficient Nutriment to all thy large Stock of Vices: And some of them I know are not soon satisfied. And in the second place, they will understand that thou art a [...]it Instrument to act a part in any pious Villa­ny; and if that will not make thee, nothing can. Then in the next place

Aye, Prethee, What's in the next place?

You must write a Book in their Desence.

What an unconscionable Dog art thou, thou knowest I can hardly bare the damn'd Fatigue to read one, and—

Phoo, Pox, you will write the bet­ter for that—There are several old Pieces wrote by Campian and others, thou mayst get a Scrivener to transcribe a dozen or two of Pages in the middle of the Book, invent a Title, and publish it in thine own Name, and thou shalt be as great a Champion as St. George on Horseback, and then—

What more Advice s [...]ill?

Aye, Faith, and good Advice too. Thou must be s [...]e to deal with the Fathers as some Gallants do with vicious Women that stand upon their Reputation, thou must pry into all their Secrets, and then they will faithfully serve thee, as the Indians do the Devil, not out of Love but Fear. Whenever they cast out a Devil by Compact with the pretended possessed Person, Do thou be one of the Witnesses, and take care to have an hand in the business. Whenever they make an Image speak, or a Relick cure one that never was sick; do thou be one that stands behind the Curtain, or that applies the Remedy, or subscribes to the truth of the Miracle. When­ever they devise a new way to destroy Here­ticks by the gentle methods of Fire and Sword; do thou be one of their Consederates, and promise to be a principal Acto [...] in the Tragedy. If ever any of the Fathers do tempt or are tempted by a Woman, do—

Phew, say no more of that—I know enough of their Secrets that way.

'Tis well, Jack, if thou dost, for they are the most profitable Secrets of any. For when tho [...] understand that thou art Rogue enough to change sides, and discover all whenever it is for thy advantage, they must get thy Mouth stopp'd by Mony or Pre­ferment for this. In remote Countries they do not much value their Reputation; yet here where they are bound to their good Behaviour (which some of them like worse than to be bound to a Whipping-Post) they must dread them that know their, Secrets, lest the Discovery should hinder their grand Projection.

Thou speakest good Sense, but still I am not satisfied that 'tis my best course; for Mr. Bigot, upon whom I chiefly relie, is a Priest that is truly zealous in his way. He is Master of a good Head, which would be cap [...] ­ble of bearing Learning if it were not appli­ed altogether to the Politicks, which I be­lieve are his only Study, so that now it looks like a good Field, that for want of Tillage is over-run with Briars and Thistles. He is na­turally inclin'd to Honesty, and just in all things wherein his Religion is not concern'd, but then he sticks at nothing. He studies no­thing but the Advancement of the Catho­lick Cause. As for himself, tho he has a sufficient Interest at Court, yet I believe him to be poor and needy: His Zeal is so hot, that it seemes to have burn'd up his Eves, and dry'd up his Brain to the quantity of a N [...]tn [...]e [...], so that I think the Man might have been learned, honest, and wise, if his Religion had not made him a Dunce, a Knave, and a Fool.

But, my Chapman, Father Caution, is of a quite contrary Temper, he is resolv'd to be rich himself, tho the Cause starve to death: He is very mistrust [...]ul of a Change [Page 3] and will not be so much a Fool as to expect the total Conversion of this Nation, tho Bigot does earnestly perswade him to it; nor does he care whether it be so or no any more than as it does pr [...]mote his own private Inte­rest. He makes just so much shew of Religi­on as may serve to make him capable of now and then selling an uncertain Favour at Court to a Friend for certain Mony: But whatever is beyond that, he looks on as superstuous. In fine, he is a covetous insatiable Rascal, en­dued with a large stock of Cunning and Hy­pocrisy, that is grown rich by bubbling Can­didates for new Offices, and wants nothing but a leap beyond Sea to make him compleat­ly happy.

A very fine Character!

Besides, I'le tell thee another Se­cret. He is a libidinous Beast, and that Ser­vant, Jonathan Simple, that attends upon him in Mans Cloaths, is known to be a Wo­man.

Since thou knowest him so well, what a Devil made you deal with him!

I know that he mistrusts that his Reign is not long here, and therefore may sell good Penny-worths, and since I have Mony by me I am willing to improve it to the best, till the old Man dies, who is a Father indul­gent enough in every thing but his living thus long.

This damn'd Hypocrisy is the great­est of all Slaveries, I would never endure it but for the sake of the beautiful Leucasia, thy incomparable Kinswoman.

Leucasia is indeed a Lady of un­doubted Wit and Vertue—One that ties not up her self to the usual Formalities of her Sex, but takes a freedom to her self in all vertuous Pleasures. But what a Devil makes thee resort to the Fathers to gain her, when thou knowest how mortally she does hate 'em, and imploys the best of her Wit against them.

Why, Faith, I'le tell thee the on­ly [...] I found in my Addresses that she [...] but that she [...], as indeed [...] I have taken this course, in which I am resolv'd to continue till I see the Issue.

But here they both come, it is their usual hour, I don't care to see them, now they will expect I should be in another place.

Nay, but, Brother Cautious, that Excuse must not serve your turn: I would fain know what makes those Heretick Clergy­men in black Gowns so croud about your Lodging: Don't you know how that Tribe make it their business to maul us in their Pulpits, to squeeze us as it were to death in Printing-Presses, to disappoint us in Elections, and a thousand Tricks of the like nature—And yet I perceive six or seven of them do wait on you every Morning. I vow I must complain of you to our Superiors as of a suspicious Person.

Good Brother Bigot, be not so suri­ous; those black Coats come for Preferment.

Aye, and so we shall have all Vacan­cies fill'd up with Hereticks before the Penal Laws be taken away, to make room for Catho­licks. I vow, Brother, you injure our Cause.

I vow, Brother, you injure your Brain by this intemperate and unnecessary Zeal. Cannot I get the Rogues turn'd out again for Simony when the time serves, and my self be a Witness against them? Besides, do you rightly consider the Worth and Dig­nity of their Mony—I say again, Do you rightly consider the Worth and Dignity of Mony?

I must confess, Mony is very proper to carry on the Cause, and I am forced to ex­pend a great deal on those that w [...]ll not under­take without it; for the truth is, I find very few, excepting the zealous Mr. Turnabout, of our new Converts that are willing to act with­out Mony; upon whom I have expended great S [...]ms, and I hope you put your Mony to that same pious use.

Can you doubt that?—But in truth he may doubt it long enough before I spend my Mony upon such improba­ble Projects.

I can't doubt it in a true Catholick Priest; Why: we have more hopes now of subduing the Hereticks than ever—

What, because of our good For­tune in the late Trial?

Pshaw, Pshaw, t [...]'s a meer Flea­bite, a Trick of Law. Would to God there were no such thing as Law in the Nation. I was always an Enemy to all Proceedings by Law, they are always destructive to us; but we will have Commissions without Law, and against Law, and above Law, that shall maul the Rogues in spite of all their Law-tricks: But we have now such a number of new Con­verts in all Parts, and such brave Men!

I know not, Brother, how many, or how brave they be, but I'm sure my Trade is sensibly decay'd of late, I have not now one half of the Custom I lately had, and those that do come, give not half the Money they lately did: For my part I cannot stay here to starve among Hereticks.

Phy, Brother Cautious, phy, do not turn thy back upon those Glories that are just now breaking from behind a Cloud, to dazle the Eyes and amaze the Understanding of the British World. Mack-Donnel the fam'd Irish Priest, is now arriv'd at Court with joyful Tydings, with the conversion of a number­less number of our beloved Country-men, who spontaneously relinquishing their long imbib'd Errors, have thrown themselves into the chast embraces of our Mother-Church.

This Fellow would needs gull me with his fair words, but still I suspect the strength of our Cause.

Do you know that Mack-Donnal? Pray, what sort of Man is he?

He is an Irish Priest of much Zeal, tho' not much Learning, yet he is much im­prov'd since he went to St. Omers. He can now read a great part of the Mass, by help of a F [...]scue, and a little conning before­hand. He has been at all the great Towns in England, and is now returned with a List of the new Converts. He is at my Lodgings—

Seeing is believing, I never renounce the testimony of my Senses but in one thing: Pray, Brother, let your Servant step & fetch him.

to Servant.

Go and tell Father Mack-Donnel, that we desire his Company, and a view of the List.

I shall.

to Cau.

But now I think on't, Brother, one of my Sons that was disinherited by his Father for turning Romanist, has borrowed all my Mo­ney; pray accommodate me with a little Gold, or the Cause may suffer if I want it.

Now the Fool has been gull'd of his own Money, he would fain borrow mine; But I shall fail him.

Sure, Brother, you intend to affront me.

Why so?

Why, do you think that I keep Mo­ney by me now the Cause is in this Distress? Phy, phy, I send all away beyond-Sea, I do in earnest,

and am as poor as a Church Mouse.

Dost thou so Man? Embracing him very ea­gerly. O how could I hug thee for it thou best of Men! thou art the very Joy of my Heart, and I love thee better than if thou hadst given me a Million of Millions.

Here ish the Pauper by Shaint Pau­trick, here it ish; Ish had made go one thoshand Miles for thish Pauper, aund so fausht by Shaint Pautrick, that Ish haud come shooner if Ish had not made stay by the way—

Pray, Brother Mack-Donnel, give my Friend an Account of our prodigious Suc­cess in the Country.

reads,

Well then—Firsht of aul in the Shitty of London.

Sir, I say in Country.

Why, Ish not aul the Country in London? Yesh by Shaint Pautrick, aund aul Ireland, aund aul Scotland, Ish do hope to shee aul Eaunsh, aund aul Italy, aund aul Spaine there too—and then by Shaint Pautrick, [Page 5] London will be the finesht Country in the whole World.

But to pass by these Digressions, pray give us an account of the Progress you have made in new Converts without Addition.

Firsht then, in the Shitty of Norwitch, there be four ferry proper Shentlemen dad do live in the great House upon the Hill—

Their Names.

Tom Cutter, Richard Kill-all, Ro­bert Divewell, William Hector.

O I have read of them in some printed Papers, they are four notorious Rascals, that have kept constant Possession of the Jayl there seven Years, as if it had been their own by right of Inheritance: They were all hang'd last Assizes for Murther and other Felonies.

Yesh, by St. Pautrick, the Here­tick Dogs did make hang upon their shweet Bodysh, Ish had no time a Reprive for them; but by my Shoule Man, they did die as good Catholicks as thou and Ish art.

That may be—But, Pray Brother, what Progress do they make in the Universities? Those are the Foun­tains that ought first to be sweetned.

O! in the firsht plaush, in the University of Cambridg there ish one of hish Maj [...]sties mosht grashous Offishers, by my Shoul and St. Pautrick, that do dispash mauny of de Hereticks in the Year.

His Name?

William Cuttrope—He dosh sherve his Majesties grashes Sheriffe—

O, I know him, he is the Common Hangman, I remember I used to tremble at the sight of him when I was last in Jail upon Suspicion.

Brother, I vow you make my Zeal rise against you, to treat a new Convert so rudely, as to call him plain common Hang­man—This shews—

It shews that you have neither Know­ledg or Discretion to reprehend me: What more honourable Name could I give him than that of an Hangman? and by how much the more common, so much the better. We may talk of Books and Conferences, and I know not what, but when all's done, there are thousands in this Nation that can be con­verted by nothing but Gibbets and Halters. They are at least our Journy-men, we cut ou [...] the Work which they finish.

Brother, I beg your Pardon, all this is true, but you know immoderate Zeal may sometimes thrust a Man upon Indecencies.

Will you say there is the Hangma [...] in the first place? and pray who is there in the second?

Why, in the second, in the second, by St. Pautrick, my dear Joy, in the second plaush there ish no body at aul.

Well, one such is as good as many—But how many in the other places?

Then in a little Town hard by there be one thoushand.

What Catholicks or Whores?

Both together, my dear Joy, the Catholicks be the Whores, and the Whores be Catholicks, aund both together do make one thoushand—or one dozen, by St. Pautrick, I know not well whether (pores on the Paper)

Well, is that all?

No Ish have one more—A Gen­leman that do wear the long Robe at Reading. his Name is Henry Shimpleton.

I know him, he is a Fool, a Natu­ral, kept by the Parish.

'Tis true—I my self did conver [...] him by giving two Nickers and a Marble.

Pray, Brother, speak not so contemp­tibly of Fools: I will assure you the Catho­lick Cause is very much beholden to Fools It was invented by Fools, maintain'd by Fools, and carried on in great part by Fools unto this very day. Was not St. Francis [...] Fool? St. Ignatius a Fool? and a thousand other Fools I could mention: Therefore pray, Brother, speak not so contemptibly o [...] Fools.

Why? I said so for that very reason

Well, by St. Pautrick, Ish vil go and carry my Pauper to the great Man in plaist at Court, and beg Plaish for it. St. Pautricl bless you. Farewell.

[Page 6]

O, but stay, I had forgot to make Petishon for one thing, that Father would make pray to the King's Majesties Graush for shome Plaushes for the four Catholick Shentlemen that did live in the great Hou [...]h [...]t Norwish.

Why, did not you say they were hang'd?

O, by my Shoul, and St. Pautrick, I had [...] forgot dad, it ish [...]ue, they be made hauing already, and can have no Plaush at Court. Adieu.

Har [...]ye, Brother, does not our Friend Mackdonnel talk a little like a Fool?

O fy, no, 'tis meer Zeal and Trans­port—you know not the true force of Zeal, it will make a Fool, a Knave, or any thing.

That may be—But if it make me such a Fool as to part with my Mony, I'le be hang'd for it.

Well, I am hastning to the great Spanish Priest, Father Politico, about some publick Business. He is the rarest Contriver in the World, he has ten thousand Plots in his Head, the least of which are sufficient to over­turn a better settled Government than this. He has refin'd the Politicks of all the Courts in Christendom for the use of the English Na­tion: And tho he be a Foreigner by Birth, he is so conversant in the Manners of the English, you would swear he had been born here.

I grant Father Politico is a Man of a curious Frame and fine Contrivance; that he has seen most Foreign Courts, and holds Correspondence with 'em; but to speak plain, there are some things I do not like in him. He seems to be too great an Admirer of him­self, which makes his Conversation nauseous to others by the continual Commendation of himself, and is prejudicial to his Plots, by robbing him of the Advice and the Correcti­ons of his Friends. Besides, he is too bold in making use of Foreign Policies in their Courts, which for the most part, like Trees transplan­ted from far distant Soiles, tho the Fruits there were pleasant, yet here they are harsh and crabbed.

I must confess his noble Friend, my Lord Britain, often tells him so, but I cannot perceive 'tis true—I know indeed some do censure him as too amorous for the Gravity of a Church-man; and I cannot deny but he is too [...]ascivious, and that if he had not such a discree [...] a Procuress as Mrs. Counterfeit, he might i [...]car S [...]andal by his daily Conversati­on wi [...]h Wo [...]en. But still I must adore him as a great Prop of the Catholick Cause, and must [...] all the haste I can to see him imme­dia [...]ely.

And I must find out young Subtle­man for some Private Business of my own, which is more to the purpose than the Publick.

SCENE II.

Come, Mr. Turnabout, don't you think we will be bilk'd so; it is Mony we want, and Mony we will have, or we'll de­tect your Debaucheries.

Come, Mr. Turnabout, I'm ac­quainted with the very best of the Fathers, they come very often to my House, no Dispa­ragement to 'em, and I shall soon make them acquainted what an Hypocrite you are.

Peace, you bauling Bitch you, Peace.

Nay, marry come up, Peace me no Peace: if I had been an Heretick you could not have used me worse than you do. I have want of mony, and if you don't give it me, I shall publish to the World all your Pranks; I saith I shall spoil your new Saintship.

Do, you damn'd Whores, do your worst, the Fathers will not believe any Ill of me.

No Ill of thee! First we will tell 'em of thy Bastard Child at Hogsden.

Ay, do, 'tis a brave witty Boy, they'l make him Captain of the Savoy School.

Then we will tell 'em the Story of the naked Woman in the Strand.

It was a delicate sight, the Fathers will wish they had been there themselves.

Then of the Purse you nym'd at Hackney.

That was to purchase Mony for Ab­solution, the Fathers will thank me for it.

Then we will tell 'em of three Whores you pick'd up th'other Night at the Chappel, and lay with them all Night at the Feathers.

Ay, do, you damn'd Whores, you had best tell that I lay with you there too, you had so, you Jades.

Marry come up indeed, lie with us there, 'tis the very best thing that every thou didst in thy Life, the only sign that I know of thy Conversion from the Pocky Twelve-penny Jades of the Town.

These Whores may spoil my Designs, but I must bare up briskly to them.

No Mony, you Jades you, I say again no Mony.

Why, then in plain terms Mr. Turnabout, my Maidens will instantly repair to Father Bigot, and inform him, that you bragg'd last Night in your Cups, that you were no Catholick, but only made the Fa­thers believe so out of Interest, that you fool'd them all with an Opinion of your Sanctity; and that when your Turn was serv'd for a Treat of a dozen Bottles of Wine, you would turn Heretick again.

This damn'd Jade has hit the Nail on the head, now I dread her.

Why, as for that—Hum—Why—Hum—

O! here I have found the zealous Mr. Turnabout preaching Confession to a Company of Heretical Ladies—O that good Man! I could cry for Joy—but I must speak to him.

Go, you damn'd Jades, there's Mony for you, be gone in silence.

Well, so much shall serve for this time.

Pray, Son, What wast thou doing with those Ladies? What, prea [...]hing Conver­sion to them?

That is a Task fit sor none but your Reverence, whose Eloquence might move the very Stones as well as Men—I was only a distributing a little Charity to some Catho­lick Gentlewomen of known Zeal and Ver­tue—Now must I return to the trade of whining Hypocrisy.

I thought indeed I knew the glimpse of one of their Faces—well, thou art al­ways doing good, and I have good News to tell thee—

What? Does the Holy Cause go on prosperously? Are the Hereticks confounded?

If not yet, they will be shortly—But as I was saying, an Express is arrived at Court, that a Place of great Trust and Value is fallen vacant in the West, and a certain great Statesman, having often heard me speak­ing of your great Zeal and Integrity, was pleased to propound you as a Person most fitted for, and deserving of it.

This is most ravishing News indeed. How much was Subtleman mistaken.

But I seeing the impending Danger, immediately step'd in: My Lord, said I, (with submission to your Lordship's better Understanding) that you do not rightly ap­prehend what a kind of Man Mr. Turnabout is: Alas! said I, he is none of those selfish Worldlings that expect Places and Prefer­ments for Reward, and under pretence of [...]urthering the Catholick Interest, seek the Promotion of their own Ends—No, No;—your Lordship may find enough of such base Creatures to allure with Places. But, said I, as for Mr. Turnabout, his Thoughts a [...]e fix'd upon things of a sublimer Nature: It would be the utmost degree of Savage Bubarity, to rob him of those precious Minntes which he employs in far more noble Exercises. Alas! said I, my Lord, Mr. Turnabout aims at no Honour, but that of being a Saint in the Ro­man Kalendar. He knows no Arithmetick, but that of telling his Beads: He studies no Complements, but those that are given to de­parted Saints in the Missal: He cares for no Employment, but that of advancing the C [...] ­tholick Cause gratis—Now, my L [...]d, said I, What an inhuman thing would it be [...] [Page 8] thrust a Man of his Seraphick Temper, into so great a secular Encumbrance, where he must be loaded with fulsome Titles of Honour, where, instead of telling over his Beads, he must be counting great Sums of Mony, and receive Visits from every Earl and Baron. And which is yet worst of all, where the Glory of his generosity of serving the Cause gratis, will be eclips'd, by receiving a visible Reward. This is such a Cruelty, as ought not to be used to­wards so good and religious a Man—

A Pox take this long-winded Para­phrastical Blockhead, he has made Speech e­nough to ruin all my hopes. But I must for­bear my railing.

And what then, Sir?

Then, said I, my Lord, there is one Mr. Subtleman that is wavering between two Opinions; we had best procure it him, it may perhaps fix him on the right Side—And ac­cordingly it was done this Morning.

What cursed Luck's this, I have over-acted the part of an Hypocrite, and am now sensible of my Error. But I must persist till I can gain my End.

I must confess my Devotion is chiefly my—yet I could wish I had an opportunity to serve the Publick in an higher Station.

Yes, I know that, therefore, said I, my Lord, there are some Gentlemen that have undertaken to serve the Publick Gratis, in an. Honourable Employ, though with great Expence and Charges: Mr. Turnabout, said I, is the fittest Man in the World to make one of those. It is but expending a brace of thousand Pounds and you will gain immortal Honour.

A Pox take this damn'd Rogue, this is worse and worse, I know not what to say or do.

Well, what do you say to this?

Lord, Sir, I am struck with admi­ration of your Goodness, and could not rea­dily find an Answer.

Well then, meet me at Father Politico's Lodgings at Two this Afternoon, and there you shall know farther, and hear there the finest Plots and Contrivance, and know our Secrets: In the mean time adieu.

I must tack about, and let the Fa­thers understand, that I am not that puny whining Fellow that they imagine; but how to do it on a sudden I can't tell, unless For­tune does savour—but I must try.

And art thou sure that Turnabout has been such a Baby to be spirited away by these Priests, that [...]ake up and down after Fools and Knaves, as if they were the only precious Commodity of the Nation.

I should think, Madam, if they thought so, they would do well to transport some of them to foreign Countries; but in­stead of that, they daily import great num­bers of 'em—But I can assure your Lady­ship, Mr. Turnabout has the repute of a very zealous Catholick. The Fathers all adore him, and he can't miss shortly of being a ve­ry great Man.

Then I pity the poor Wretch more than ever a Man that sells his Soul to the Devil in a fair and legal way, where Writings are drawn and seal'd, some valuable Consideration given, and the Forfeiture of the Bond taken, when the Time is fully expir'd, does not act much more irrational than he, that for hopes of Preferment binds himself ever to act an in­definite number of pious Villainies, according to the Directions of the Fathers, especially at a time when they have so much Work to do.

But, pray Madam, how comes your Ladyship to be so much concerned for him now? When he made his Addresses to you, you received him with all the Disdain imaginable.

I begin to love him, because I hate them, and am loth that they should be the better for my Leavings. Tho there is little fear that any Society should be the better for him.

You blame him for his Conversion, and the World blames you, for they say his on­ly Motive was to gain some Preferment, to render himself worthy of your Love.

Therefore I am bound in Honour to make him weary of his Profession till he re­nounce [Page 9] it, and be placed where he was at first.

But if you concern your self so far, the World will conclude for certain, that you are in love with him.

The World's an Ass, or it would never be trampled and tamely rod by a Priest. I care not what the World thinks or does; I go presently to Father Politico's Lodgings, and there give such a Character o [...] Mr. Turnabout, as shall make them drive [...] from their So­ciety: And then the poo [...] [...]etch will be so humble, and look so [...]

Pray, Madam, [...] [...]hat you do.

Pray, Hussy [...] [...]t you say, and never give you [...] [...] w [...]en there is more need. Get [...] Lodgings here ready in the Savoy, and t [...]en shall you see how I will plague these Bald-pated Vermine; Ple make them for ever tremble at the very Name of Leucasia.

I'le do it, but I can perceive no End.

It is End enough to free a Man that has pretended to love me, from Slavery and Confinement. I am sure Turnabout has that antipathy to all Religion, that the very Sha­dow of it (as 'tis said of a certain Tree) is enough to kill the Viper. Whether I love or no, I pity him so far, as I do him that Ser­vice: For

SCENA I.

NAY but good Mrs. Counterfeit tell me, Will not the Fathers suspect that such an old Sinner as I, am but a New Hypocrite.

Hold thy peace, Child, never fear that. If Bigot's Zeal is too blind to see a Fault in a New Convert of his own making, do but give him the sole Honour of your Conver­sion, and you may reap the sole Profit to your self.

Yes, yes, I will seem extreamly averse to Popery, and then he will think the Honour of my Conversion will be the greater.

Thou art an apt Wench, nothing will inflame him more: But be sure not to yield too soon.

Why, Mrs. Counterfeit, what im­pertinence is this; when did you ever know me yield too soon?

Nay prethee, Speedwel, be not Cho­lerick, I think you did yield too soon when Mr. Subtleman took you napping with two Footmen, and withdrew his Maintenance up­on it.

I grant you indeed that a Woman may yield too soon in solicitatious Amours, or the like; but when did you know any of them yield in Disputations, or Religious Discourses—Pray shew me one Precedent for that.

I must confess I cannot; but, good Child, be not so hasty, If I can but bring thee into favour with Bigot and Politico, they will make Mr. Subtleman restore, if not in­crease thy Pension.

And I protest if it is done by your Means, I will serve you half a Year gratis.

Then pull down thy Hood, and look as much dejected as if thou wert inclin'd to a melancholy Madness; they love to deal with mad People.

I warrant you.

Here he comes, be very sad and de­mure—Mr. Bigot, you'r welcome.

Mrs. Counterfeit, your Servant. Pray what is the Business?

Reverend Sir, this is the Gentlewo­man so much disturbed in Mind; I hope you will administer some Comfort to her.

Let me alone for that—Madam, [To Speedwel] Pray let me know the Reason of your disturbed Affections? and what is it makes you look so sad, like the Image of Death?

Bless me! do I look like an Image? all Images are Popish sure: I don't look as if I were popishly affected—

I am sorry to hear you are so averse to your greatest good, it makes my Eyes [weeps] over flow with Water in compassion of you.

O'reflow with Water—Sure, Sir, you don't mean Holy-Water, if you do, I shall immediately fall into a swoon—I have a greater aversion to it than the Devil himself has—fogh— Spits.

And why so? What provocation have you received that should make you thus bitter against your Mother-Church?

Heavens bless me! what mean you to talk to me of a Mother-Church? I know no Mother-Church, my Father was an Ana­baptist, and my Mother never went to Church in her life.—Then how should I have a Mo­ther-Church?

Your Discourse, Lady, is illogically incoherent. If I am thus interrupted, how is it possible to make any farther Procession?

Pray, Sir, forbear to make any fur­ther Popish Procession, they are wicked abo­minable pieces o [...] Superstition: I hate a Pro­cession—

I wish I knew, Lady, how to make my Application to you, to throw of this bur­then of distraction from your Mind—

Alas, Sir, I feel no burthen: I am all Light, there's Light within me, and Light without me; I feel no burthen but in the Flesh—

God forbid, [To Mrs. Count.] sure the Lady is not with Child.

No fear of that, she is the chastest Virgin in the World; it is only her Phanatical way of talking. Pray, Lady, if you have any Doubts, expound them; if you have met with Crosses—

O miserable! what more Popery? Why should you think that I have met with Crosses? I abhor them, they are Popish, and I made my Coachman drive a Mile about, ra­ther than go by Charing-Cross, only for its Popish Name.

Bless me! what blind rage is this? the very Beasts are less savage, whom Nature has arm'd with Claws and Horns.

Aye, I grant you indeed, that the Beast in the Revelation has Claws, and Horns, and Heads, and Tails, and is a very Monster I dreamt of th'other Night; and it put me into such a fright—that I shall never forget it—Bless me, one of the Faces look'd as like yours as e're it could stare, only Horns grew out of the Forehead; and I suppose, Sir, you are not married.

Men of my Order are not so fleshly given as to marry—But, pray Lady, be more sedate, and collect the scattered Relicts of your Reason.

Aye, there you grieve me again: I say, all Relicts are Popish, and I had rather gather Sinders than collect Relicts. I can bear no longer, I must leave you.

Nay, Madam, you must not go a­way in this Discontent. Do but give me leave to speak, and I will be your Beadsman if—

O Heavens desend me! how my Ears are assaulted with a continual noise of Popery. You be my Beadsman; Heaven knows I hate Beads! they are all Popish: In fine, they are my aversion, I must be gone.

Nay, good Lady—

I cannot stay—Oh, oh-Farewel.

Bless me, Mrs. Counterfeit, have you no more wit than to send for me to such a [...]u­rious Beldame as this? She has in her the very quintescense of all Phanaticism.

Is this all the thanks I have for con­sulting your Honour? To convert one that is well inclin'd, is like killing a dead Man; [Page 11] 'tis soon done, but there's no Reputation.—

There I confess you are in the right—But I see not—

Why? first you see she's a little mad—

Aye, that's well.

Then she is foolish—

That gives me more hopes than the other. But how shall I meet with such ano­ther Opportunity?

I will keep her in a dark Room till she recovers part of her Senses: Believe me, Mr. Bigot, if ever you would work upon a Woman, take her into a dark Room till she recovers her Senses! then you may draw forth your Use of Comfort and make close Appli­cation; and partly by insinuating Languag [...]; and partly by force of Reason, you may com­pel her to fall down vanquish'd before you—

Be pleased, Mrs. Counterfeit, to ac­cept a few Guineas as an acknowledgment of— (offers Gold)

I protest I will not receive them; or if I do I will lay them out again for the Encouragement of new Convert [...]—

Nay, then you shall take a few more, (offers more) I profess you shall take 'em, it is all I have; for if I had the Indies in my Pocket, I could freely give them to the— (thrusts 'em into her Pocket.)

I protest you are too bountiful: But I will add six Grains more to them for the same use.

Nay then, I will give thee a Bill for 20 l. more, nay, I protest I will—And thou shalt receive 'em presently— (gives a Bill, pulling out many.

I vow you press too much upon my good Nature, and make me comply meerly out of Complaisance. But will you venture on her again?

Aye, immediately, before her Affecti­ons cool.

I'le go and prepare your way.

Mr. Turnabout, O you've nick'd the time! you shall go in and hear me convert this Phanatick—discontented Lady.

Sir, I thank you, but I do not love the sight of a Woman—They are dangerous things.

Then thou shalt go with me to her in the dark Room—

The Temptation will be the greater—Imagination does provoke more than the real Object—you say she's handsome—

To Admiration—but the most a­verse to our way in the World. She would not hearken to me.

Then you had best send a Lay-man to make the first Impression, and you may strike in to finish the Conquest—

The truth is she is prejudic'd to one of my Order, I think I had best send you—

O fy, by no means, I am Master of no Eloquence.

Aye, but thou art Master of Honesty and Integrity, and that's better—

What a plaguy Rogue is this to scandalize me at this rate—

Well, Son, What dost thou say to it? Wilt thou go and try thy Skill upon her?

Alas! Sir, all Skill is gotten by Ex­perience, I have no experience in Women—

Thou art the best of Men, and if possible better than my self—But be not thus bashful, thou shalt discourse with her in the dark, and there is no fear of blushing—

I had rather go into the Cave of a Lioness.

Poor modest Gentleman; that thou shouldst thus be afraid of Women! We Priests go boldly to their Chambers, to their Closets, to their Beds, to all their Secrets, and matter nothing of it.

So, I have heard you do almost per­swade me to Vertue.

By all means go—she will sooner hearken to you—

I hope she will—I will give her good Counsel.

Go then, and I'le return immediate­ly—Success attend you—

Now will I be damn'd if this be not some She of the Town that pretends to Phanaticism just as I do to Vertue and Ho­nesty—I love Leucasia, but the prospect of [Page 12] enjoying her is at so great distance, that I must bait upon this by the way. I will first bring her into the Light, and if she be handsom I shall wish my self condemn'd to Darkness again.

Nay, good Lady, you must not be angry if I do not suffer you to remain in Darkness—

I have Light within me—

Aye, gad, that thou hast, pretty Innocence, and Light without thee too—

Thou art a prophane young Man, and dost mean something that's ill—

No, faith, I mean nothing but thy two pretty Eyes, those Fountains of Light, 'tis true they vomit Fire too much, and en­flame a Man's Heart, that's their fault—

Thou art very leud and obscene, I fear thou art fleshly given.

How she puts me in mind of it.

You guess right, and since you are all Spirit, and I am all Flesh, we had best make a Match, it will be like the Union of the Body and Soul, full of Life and Vigor.

A pretty Fellow this, my Mouth waters at him, but I must dissemble.

And dost thou think that I will be yok'd with one of the Ungodly. How indecent a thing would it be to see a Saint and a Sinner in the same Bed.

I grant you, Madam, it is an un­decent thing to be seen together, and there­fore we will go into the dark Room where no body can see us. I hate Matrimony, it makes a Man to be gaz'd at.

I must confess, I know no place that forbids going into a dark Room; and there­fore if that were all I can easily consent to it.

Well, I will hear now how my new Convert behaves himself in his Post—

Why, sure Lady, you don't suspect my Honesty, upon Reputation I will be very civil; I hope, Lady, will you give me the favour of a Salute. (kisses her.)

Good, very good, he has almost won her Heart already.

I don't read that kissing is for­bidden; but I fear you have some farther Intention.

If you dare venture your self with me, I shall convince you of your Error—

to himself. That's too much, he ought to leave the fi­nishing Work to me—

I have a Light within me, that shews me clear thou hast a mind to debauch me—and dost thou think I will defile the Bed of my late deceased Husband?—

What's that?

There's no Bed there, nothing but a Couch and few Chairs, that have made guilty so often, that 'tis beyond our Power to make 'em worse.

to himself.

I protest my Son Turnabout is wanton.

I grant you there is no Command against defiling Couches and Chairs—I am almost perswaded to venture—

There is no venture in it; I will certainly give you Content.

Alas! how can you content me? I have had to do with Men of as great Parts and Abilities (tho I say it my self) as any are in Europe, and none could ever content me yet.

Pshaw, Madam, they were Bunglers or Coxcombs, that think to content Women by perplexing their Minds; my Method is always to begin with the Body first— (Embracing her)

Out upon thee Villain! thou dost begin to be uncivil.

Faith, Lady, I am very uncivil, to talk so much and perform so little: Come, let us throw by these Scruples, and retire into a more convenient place; Vertue, you know, fears nothing.

Do thy worst, I fear not thee nor thine. Exeunt.

Aside, I set him to convert her, and he's gone to de­bauch her, I'le rout 'em.

[Page 13]

For Heaven's sake make haste down Stairs before Bigot sees you! A Priest is like a Dog in a Manger, when he can't feast upon a new Convert himself he will suffer none else. (she runs away in haste.)

Mr. Turnabout, I wonder you are not asham'd to be taken in such obscene un­decent Posture with a Woman!

Heavens defend my Innocence! Was ever Man so mistaken? If a Woman fall into a Swoon, may I not take her up? if her Breasts beat high with Passion, may not I innocently lay my hands upon them to keep 'em down? If she is overwhelm'd with Sorrow, may not I give her two or three re­viving Kisses, but you must presently suspect me of Obscenity?

Aye, Sir, but I over-heard your Discourse before that.

What, I warrant, you are zealous because I endeavour'd to convert her in an allegorical way, making use of familiar Fi­gures, that look just like Obscenity. Ah! Ah! that's pretty.

Nay, Son, if that's all I am con­tented. But pray, Son, what Success had you?

Why, I had almost perswaded her, but you interrupted me—

O! thou art the very best of Men—But how could you gain so easy a Conquest?

O, I wrought upon her Affections!

'Tis a thousand pitties that I inter­rupted you—But I'le give you a fitter Op­portunity.—

Aye, pray do, and let it be more private.

As private as you please—I'le ne're disturb you.

Why, then you shall see how soon I'le do her business.

I don't question it; but be sure to do it effectually.

Aye, and perhaps she and I may get two or three.

And so you two may increase and multiply to some purpose—

Nay, I'm resolv'd to mind the work of Propagation, and if the sault is not in her, I don't doubt but I shall answer your Expectation.

But, good Mr. Turnabout, let me come in for some share of the Honour.

Sir, I shall quit all Pretensions to the Honour of this Enterprize, and leave it wholly to you: All I propose to my self is the Pleasure and Satisfaction of doing good to a distressed Lady.

Nay, it is certainly a very delight­ful Work, I wish we could both joyn at the same time—

That's impossible, she would be hard enough for one at a time, but two to­gether will breed Confusion.

Then, prethee, prepare the way for me as soon as may be.

With all my Heart.

How few, but pleasant are the Mi­nutes that I snatch from publick business of the State; 'tis my own, yet scarce can call them so: But now I am engag'd I must pro­ceed. The Land's in sight I need not fear the Sea. Here—where's this Manual—[knocks.

Your Pleasure, Sir.

Bring hither the Intelligence you re­ceived by the last Post.

I shall.

These Hereticks are odd Tools to build up the Catholick Church withal; and I believe that I am the first that ever found out the way to make 'em useful in that Build­ing without hewing them to pieces: If the Spies I employ in the Country give me an exact Character of every particular Man I [Page 13] shall find Work suitable to their various Ge­nius's, and make them all serve our Ends, and yet they shall never know it, which is Delicacy in Policy, which is purely my own, and such as I presume none could ever equal.

Here they are, Sir.

Read the Characters of such Per­sons as may be thought sit to serve their Coun­try in the West.

reads.

The first is Mr. Peaceable; he is rich and so great a Dissenter, that he searce ever saw the inside of a Church in his Life: He is of a calm Temper, provokes none, nor is to be provoked by any; but holds a fair Correspon­dence with Men of all Perswasions: He is much beloved, and has no small Interest in the Country.

Dash out his Name: A peaceable Dissenter can do us no Service. Who's next?

reads.

The next is Mr. Greedy, by Trade a Scrive­ner, a Man of no mean Sense and Abiliries; one that professes great Love and Affection to the Establish'd Church, which he is able to defend with the best of Arguments: He is an acute Dissenter against Popery, indifferent and covetous to the highest degree of Rapacious­ness on one hand, and Sordility on the other.

What, didst say covetous?

reads again.

To the highest, &c.

Then mark him down; that one thing makes Recompence for the rest of his ill Characters—We shall find some Bait to draw a covetous Man to our side.

reads.

The third is Mr. Zealous, of the Congrega­tional Way, a Man of unquestion'd Parts and Subtilty: He is reckon'd amongst the most eminently gifted Brethren, and not without cause; he is much ador'd for his Zeal and pathetick Exclamations against Popery: But those that pretend to know him better, do say, that at most he is but an Atheist, and his whole Religion is Hypocrisy, and his most visible Patrimony is the voluntary Contribu­tion of the Women.

I like that Hypocrisy well enough, it shews that he is able to manage an Intrigue, mark him down, I shall shape him out a way to serve us.

reads.

Then there's Mr. Whyner, by Trade a Weaver; but not being able to live on that, he is turn'd Preacher—.He is a Fellow of a broad Face, and no Brains, the want of which is supply'd by a large stock of Impudence, which enables him to rail against Popery in Billingsgate Lan­guage, without two grains of Sense or Rea­son—He gets a good quantity of Mony in the Year, and preaches in a little Shed at the end of his House.

Then mark him down, and send an hundred Pounds to make his Shed bigger: There are more converted to us by hearing bad Sermons against Popery, than by hearing good ones for it. Who's next?

reads on.

a Romanist by Education; he is accounted a Man of a good Life and Con­versation, but not much inclin'd to Vigor and Activity; He is moderately rich, and well beloved by all Parties.

Dash out's Name, he can do us no good, unless it be in some inferior Station, for the Encouragement of others.

reads.

The next is one Ranter of those peaceable People called Quakers—He—

If he be of that Perswasion you need give no further Character, for we are satisfied in them—the next.

reads.

Mr. Firebrand, a Fifth Monarchy Man, one of an implacable Temper, that in the late Times was very much prosecuted. He is esteemed very rich, but the most violent revengful ill­tempered Man in the whole Country.

A most excellent Person this, and the first in the whole World to serve us—Is there any more of the same Character?

looks,

Yes, five or six.

If there were five or six thousand [Page 14] we could find Work for them all: Mark down their Names.

Sir, here's my Lord Britain would know if it be consistent with your Reverence's Affairs to admit a Visit.

Desire his Lordship to entertain him­self a small time in the Drawing-Room, till I have given some Instructions to some young Gentlemen lately come from St. Omers, how to behave themselves in their Mission—

I shall, Sir, (And thus the Lord must wait upon the Priest)—

Go Manual, bring in the St. Omers Men—

Yes, Sir.

I know this Lord Britain comes on­ly to tell me that I take too violent Measures, and nothing but the Event can convince him of his Error—I wonder so good a Catholick as he can be so stupid—

Gentlemen, I am glad to see your Zeal has brought you hither to the Conversion of so stubborn and head-strong a Nation—But because Zeal without Knowledg may do hurt, I desire you to take some few Instructi­ons from me, and to commit them to Me­mory and Books—For I can assure you they are such as are not very common.

With Gladness, Sir.

A Table here and

Stools: Well Gentlemen, the first thing to be consi­dered, is the End you were sent for, and that is to con­vert so many of this Nation, as shall be able, with some Advantages I will not name on the other side, to reduce the rest by force—Now, according to the strictest Political Ob­servations, I can make the thirtieth part of the Nation—May do that work with diffi­culty, a twentieth without any opposition, and I think that a Notion in Politicks not un­worthy your Observation.

'Tis excellent. [they write]

Now you may expect that I should enquire into your Learning, and the Progress you have made therein in Foreign Universi­ties; but as for Learning I do not much care whether you have it or not; they that have it may do no hurt, provided they make no use of it; but those that have it not are best of all.

That's well, very well. [they write]

For look you, Gentlemen, Learning can at best serve but to correct the great Head­pieces of this Nation, the inferior sort are never won by that: Now we want not the Head but the Hands of the Nation for the fi­nishing our work—for need we care for Heads provided we have Hands enough to dash their Brains out.

A good Observation. [they write]

Besides, to speak the plain truth, the Hereticks are very much better vers'd in Books than our selves; and I think him an Ass of a Politician, that will challenge an Adversary at his own Weapons.

'Tis very true, very true. [they write]

When you come to convert an ig­narant Person, whose Minister or other Friends are learned, then make use of the most im­pertinent of all your Arguments: A num­ber of which you may transprose from our cashier'd Laureat, which presently he will propound to his Parish-Priest, and he dis­daining to answer them by reason of their Impertinence, his Silence will be imputed to Inability, and that Inability will be thought to proceed from the badness of his Cause [...]punc [...] and so your new Convert will be more con­firm'd than ever.

An Excellent contrivance this.

[they write.

Avoid as much as may be all Di­sputes and Conferences, unless it be with one of these three Proviso's. 1. That your Di­sputes be with those that are most eminent of the contrary Party; for whatsoever the Suc­cess is, it will startle the common People to see the greatest of their Leaders thus bold­ly attack'd. 2. Never enter into Dispute but when you are sure that the Person [Page 16] for whose sake you appoint the Conference will declare in favour of your side: for he that carries away the Prize right or wrong, will always be thought to obtain the Victory. And, 3. Above all things, have a care that you tie not up your selves to the strict Rules of Sense and Reason; for that hinders multi­plicity of words, and is extreamly prejudi­dicial to our Cause—observe these three Proviso's, and then dispute as often as you please—

We shall carefully observe 'em.

[they write.]

There are other Directions how to work upon the various Tempers of Men, but those I have reduced to few Heads, and committed to writing in this Paper, of which Manual shall give you Copies—

[gives the Paper]

Disperse your selves into various Parts of the Country, and may Prudence, Success, and the Blessing of Heaven attend you always.

We thank your Reverence, and shall carefully observe your Order.

Reverend Sir, I could stay no longer from your Reverence; I fear you have put the Nation into such a flame, that all the holy Water in the World will not be able to quench it: Your violent Proceedings against the Heretical Clergy has created a general Discontent—Heaven knows how it may end!

I wonder your Lordship can think that any Proceedings against a few obstinate Black-coats should create any disturbance a­mongst either the Gentry or Commons of this Land! Did your Lordship ever perceive that the Gentry were ever better pleas'd with a Play, than when the poor Parson was jeer'd? or the Clowns ever more rejoyce, than when the Vicar was ruin'd? Alas! my Lord, I con­triv'd this violent Persecution of the Black­coats for the general Satisfaction of the whole Kingdom.

I must confess I hate them as much for their Religion, as the Farmers do for taking their Tithes: But yet I have so much of Generosity, as to think it hard that Men of Learning should be forc'd to beg or starve.

Good, my Lord, take no care for that, I have abundance of Charity for the Villains, tho they don't deserve it, and have care of them. Some of them have good Pallates and love their Bellies: We will send for Fr. Men to instruct them in the Art of Cookery, and then they may keep from star­ving, by licking their Fingers. Some of them have good Voices and are very musical, they shall be licens'd to sing Ballads, or cry Fagots, which may be a good Trade if burning of Hereticks come again in fashion. Others have a right habit of cringing, flattering, fawning, bowing, lying for Court-Preferment, and those will be sure to live, provided you don't cut out their Tongues, or thrust a Stake into their back-sides to hinder their Courtesy. O­thers (as a punning Friend of mine was plea­sed to phrase it) in all Changes of Govern­ment have been good Trimmers, and those we will put out to Barbers. And thus your Lord­ship may see that I am very charitably given.

But then the Fathers must have a care how they go to their Shops for fear they cut their Throats.

Phoe—no—they have so tam'd themselves by their Passiveness, that there is now no danger in them.

I grant there is a general Inclina­tion in all Hereticks to insult over their Clergy; but this seems to be grounded rather on an uncertain Humour than solid Reason; and who knows but that their Sufferings may re­concile them to their Love.

No, 'tis impossible—And herein I think I have out-done the finest Policies of all the Courts in Europe; for by this I do our own business, and gratify all sorts of People in the Nation.

But will not this make the Peo­ple jealous of their legal Rights and Privi­ledges—And if they have been so furious in the Vindication of them, when the Dan­ger has been only imaginary, What will they do when the Danger is real?

Less than if the Danger were only [Page 17] imaginary; for that which is imaginary is in­finite, according to the various rovings of Fancy; that which is real has Bounds, and such Bounds as are soon comprehended by common Sense. Besides, I wonder you will talk of the old antiquated Notions of Legal Rights and Priviledges; they are only the Concessions of foolish or weak Kings, which the wise and strong may resume at pleasure—

I am altogether of another Opi­nion—Sir, I am an English-man born, and should be loth to see the Constitution ruin'd, which I think to be the best in the World.

Pshaw, Pshaw, your Lordship has not seen the Policies of Foreign Courts, as I have done, and therefore I the less wonder at you.

It is enough for me that I know the Excellency of our own, I only call'd in to tell you my Apprehensions, you may use them as you please. Farewel.

Sir, there is a Lady mask'd below that would needs speak with you.

A Lady! 'tis unusual—but con­duct her up—there may be something in it extraordinary.

Immediately.

I wonder who this Woman should he—sure she is not sent by Mrs. Counterfeit without my order.

Reverend Sir, you may justly wonder that a Woman—

Good Lady, no Apologies, they are superfluous, as a Preface or promising Title-Page to a good Poem. Nature has done e­nough to make whatever you say to be grace­ful; you disparage her Workmanship by ad­ding more—[By Heaven a gallant Woman!

But you may wonder that a Woman—

I wonder at a Woman! they may, can, or ought to do all things; had I suffi­cient Authority, I would decree them a Di­spensing Power over all Laws and Customs introduc'd by Tyranny and Arbitrary Power—Wherefore, pray Madam, let me know your business, that you may know my readiness to serve you.

Notwithstanding your readiness to forgive an Absurdity, I should blush at it, but that I am conscious that my only design of appearing here, is to do you Servic [...]—which if I can accomplish—

You have accomplished it' already, Madam, your Presence brings its Reward with it—Pray, Lady, let me learn your business? [A charming Creature by my Priesthood!

Then, Sir, I thought my self ob­lig'd to let you understand, that whereas you have receiv'd lately one Mr. Turnabout (as some say) into the very Merits of your Order—

There is indeed such a Person—We who ingage our selves so much in publick Business, cannot know every particular Man that is converted, but I heard my Brother Bigot commend him for a very seraphical Person.

Why that's my only business to un­deceive you. It grieved me to the very Heart to see Men of your Parts and Learning, and that have Policy in your Profession, and pretend to have studied the Arts of all the Courts in Europe; you that have undertaken to root out Heresie, subvert Kingdoms, and enflame the World; you that pretend to baffle Usurers of their Mony, English Men out of their Pri­viledges, and all Mankind out of their Senses; you that have so often out-witted the Devil, and as some say, out-vy'd him too, making him subscribe to Catholick Verities; you that pretend by your Exorcisms to bring an Eject­ment against Beelzebub, and cast him out of Possession, tho it be nine Points of the Law: I say, to see you impos'd upon by such a Person as Turnabout, a Man of desperate Fortunes, and more desperate Principles; one that was so well known, that he could hardly be trusted for a twelve-penny Ordinary, or impose upon the rawest Squire that ever came to Town, tho, the first time after the Death of his Fa­ther, [Page 18] I say again, to see you hugging him in your Bosom for a converted Saint, it seem'd to me as preposterous as to see the Bear ma­king Love to the Gentlewoman with the Bears-face, or the Woman in Shakespeare, kissing the Fellow with the Asses-head—This forced me by the Principles of com­mon Humanity to pity you extreamly, and I am now come, like a true Romantick Lady, to free you from the Enchantment of your Error—

Come, Lady, I perceive you love Mr. Turnabout, and that he has unworthily forsaken you, for nothing but Love and Re­venge could furnish you Matter to so much Railing, and nothing but so much Wit as yours could make such Railing pleasant—Come, Lady, confess, I know it is Re­venge—

I vow, Sir, the Nation reports you to be wiser than Solomon, but herein you are as much mistaken, as if you had been the elder Brother of the three wise Men of Goat­ham.—If I had studied Revenge I should have rather wished his continuance in your Service. It would exceed the Revenge of the fam'd Italians.

What is it Lady you would have us do with him? ['Tis a curious Wench, but her Railery is too sharp.

Why, Sir, for your own good I would propound two ways. 1. Either Ex­communicate him publickly by Bell, Book and Candle. Or, 2. Else tell him plainly that he must expect nothing from you, and then he will of his own accord forsake you, and your Society will be cas'd of that heap of Scandal; for I can assure you he is bloody and revengeful; a Man that will do any thing for his Interest, and nothing against it; and truly I do think it better that he should herd amongst Hereticks, than remain in the number of your choice new Converts, that are pick'd out of the rest of the Nation, just as rotten Plums are cull'd from those that are sound in the Basket—

This would be too sharp if it were not sweetned by her Wit and Beauty.

Besides, if you retain him longer, you? will incur an inevitable danger of ha­ving a greater Proficient in the peculiar Arts of your Order than your selves, which is a Disgrace hitherto unknown to it—

I am well satisfied, Madam, that Mr. Turnabout was once yours, and that you are angry with us for receiving stolen Goods, and perhaps you set a small value upon him for that very reason, because you would have him return so much the sooner and cheaper back again—But as for his Crimes and Blemishes when an Heretick, they are to be look'd upon as the Genuine Fruits of a false Perswasion. But I presume you have nothing to object against him, since he left you and came to us. [An [...]punc [...] excellent Woman this, and of a quick and facetious Invention.

Alas, Sir, you are so much mistaken, that I pity you for nursing such a Viper, that stings you most since you have been kindest to him—There is ne're a Night that he gets six Bottles into his Belly (and there are few Nights he misses 'em) but he draws your Picture, and makes it as publick as that of the seven Bishops: First, says he, as to the Prudence of your Choice, That you are like a Company of greazy Scullions, t [...]nt first put the Nation into a Ferment, and then take off all the Scum to be kept for your own proper Use and Advantage. As for your Invention, he says, you contrive more improbable Plots in the State than ever Poet did on the Stage: And that, like blind Moles, you undermine a stately Building that will fall upon your own Heads, and crush you to Atoms—And as for your Honesty, he says, that if he were sure to be partaker of your evil Demerits, as you tell him he is of your good ones, he would have the Rope put about his Neck, the Psalm set, and be fairly turn'd off to prevent farther Torments—This and a great deal more he says of you in all Companies; for which I am the rather sorry, because I am ve­ry well assur'd 'tis true—But having acted the part of a Friend, I had no more to add, but that I am your humble Servant. Farewel.

But stay, good Lady, after all these Affronts, which I look upon as a little inno­cent Railery, I hope you'le let us taste a little innocent Pleasure.

Nay, good Sir, hold there—If your Gravity is enclin'd to wax rampant, I will send Mrs. Counterfeit and her twenty seven Virgins to cool you. In the mean time adieu.

O, here comes Mr. Turnabout and Mr. Bigot at the expected time. Brother Bigot, I must desire you to walk into the Closet with me, I have something private to communicate—This Lady will enter­tain Mr. Turnabout, she knows him.

What, my dear Leucasia here, and alone too, with a Priest! sure it is not she.

Why sure, Sir, I am not so much changed as you are, you may know me, for methinks I know you better than ever.

Nay, good Madam, tho I have lov'd you to the higest extremity of Passion, do not twit me in the Teeth with changing; for certainly never any underwent a greater Change than your self. To see the vertuous modest Leucasia taken alone in a Priest's Chamber! I vow methinks 'tis pretty.

And to see the Whoring, Drinking, Roaring, Hectoring Mr. Turnabout herded in a Company of bald-pate Friers, mumbling over his Prayers as Witches do their Charms, and playing with his Beads as Boys do with Nuts on a String, I think is at least as odd and pretty a sight as the other.

Nay, faith, Madam, never blush, I am glad of it; for whilst your Honour was untainted, your Pride was so great, that Mr. Turnabout was rejected as a wicked pro­sane Person; and a Man forsooth of Pleasure, but now I hope we may treat upon more equal terms.

Why sure, you that are so fam'd for a new Convert, cannot think the Conversation of a Priest to be scandalous.

Phoo—Pox, I know them too well to trust them with Money, a Secret, or with a Woman: But the truth is, I dare not tell them so to their Faces; but from such a Friend as my dear Leucasia I can conceal no­thing.

Tho your Rudeness in suspecting my Vertue, and affronting me to my Face, might challenge another kind of Return; yet since you are open to me, I will be as open to you, and tell you plainly that I came hither out of meer Love and Compassion to you.

Why I always told you that you would come to that at last, whilst I made my Addresses to you in the Country, and you know my Fortunes were a little impair'd, who more slighted than Mr. Turnabout? But now you see me coming to Preferment—ready to ride in my Coach and six—and be one of the great Managers of the Nation—Now you are a little tempted with the pro­mising prospect.

Nay, hold a little, you do not under­stand the Nature of my Love—I as much contemn your old Thred-bare Fortunes as I do your new gaudy Religion. They are both in Extreams that are most odious to me: But I was mov'd with Pity and Compassion to see so brisk and aiery a Gentleman bound over to the continual Drudgery of a whi­ning Hypocrisy, and came hither on purpose to purchase your Pardon.

Nay, if that be all, I am satisfied. But pray, good Madam, what is it you have done?

Why, I have acquainted Father Po­litico with your true Character, and that you know is bad enough—I have made him sensible, that you came to their Party only for your own Ends, and then when­soever it was, for your own Advantage you would forsake them—I have quite spoil'd the Character of your new Saintship, and expect to see thee turn'd out of the Society and thy new-found Friends, and look as dejected as a discarded Officer, that has neither Pay or Arms—

And are you sure you have done all this effectually?

As effectually as words can do it.

Ha! ha! ha! Then thou art the most obliging Creature in the World: I fancy there's some near relation between thy Genius and mine, thou art so ready to do me a Kind­ness when thou thinkest least of it: I have been studying these two hours to do that for my self which thou hast done for me, and could invent no way so good as this: I was just going to leave my Hopes unfinished, and turn Protestant, but now I will not take a Million for them. Now the Fathers under­stand all my good Qualities, I shall shortly ride in my Coach and Six—with a very great Equipage, and then I shall not fail in gratitude to make you most frequent Visits, in hopes of a kinder reception.

If I have done you any kindness of this nature, it is against my will, When your Coach and Six are ready, I shall expect your Visits; till then adieu.

Nay, Madam, I must wait on you to your Coach.

You may.

This happens ill; but

But is it possible Mr. Turnabout should be such a kind of Man!

I don't think all the Lady said of him was true, but the greatest part is likely.

Then will I presently go to him and tell him how much he is a Rogue and a Ras­cal.

Nay, hold Brother, you run too fast, and leave behind you all the true Rules of Po­licy. It is true indeed, the Lady did throw upon him (as I may say) a whole Dunghil of Reproaches; but (as the Criticks report of Virgil and Ennius) out of that Dunghil I have extracted a great deal of real Gold, and spie a greater Treasure than you imagine: She reports him Bloody, Revengeful; always true to his Interest, never true to his Pro­mises; why these are the Men we do most want. You know, in process of time, we may stand in need of having a great Man re­moved, by Sword, Poison, or an Evidence to destroy a turbulent Heretick. And who more proper than Mr. Turnabout? who has Wit as well as Resolution, in which most of the common Ruffians are deficient. Besides, you have discovered to him many of our Se­crets, and therefore you must treat him with all the kindness imaginable, and oblige him as soon as we can.

I must confess I have told him of some of the violent Courses we did intend to take—But if I ever tell him any more—

Your Zeal blinds your Eyes, and makes you to act imprudently—If you have disco­vered some Secrets, you may with the same, nay greater safety, discover all—for the more you discover, the more you oblige to silence—We must prefer Turnabout as soon as pos­sible—But, pray Brother, have a care how your Zeal makes you mistake Men again.

Mr. Subtleman, I am glad your Busi­ness is done. This is the Gentleman to whom you are most obliged. [Shows him to Politico.

The greatness of the Benefit, and the quickness of the Dispatch, do equally amaze me: I fear you have thrust me into an inevi­table necessity of being ungrateful.

The Place you had conferred on you this Morning, has been valu'd at 4000 l. you have it gratis; but remember this, that much is expected from you.

Not more than I am ready to per­form, when occasion offers.

Mr. Turnabout, I and my Brother Bi­got would gladly speak with you a little more in private.

Most gladly, Sir. [They retire to the corner of the Stage, whilst Cautious and Simper come up to Subtleman.

You see, Mr. Subtleman, how freely this Benefit is conferr'd upon you, without Cost or Charges. I vow, some of our Coat [Page 21] are so covetous, they would expect two or three 1000 Guineas from you: But alas, Cove­tousness, next to a Protestant Successor, is to me the most odious thing in the World. One thousand would be as acceptable to me as an hundred thousand; for what, alas, is Mo­ney?

I do verily believe it will, for (as you well know) some of your Way are so extreamly covetous, they are a disgrace to their Cloth; which you wisely avoid, by taking nothing for kindnesses of this Nature. You do ex­treamly well, I can never sufficiently com­mend you for it.

[Now if I have not a great care, I shall be baffled out of Mony for the sake of a little dissimulation.

Sir, you speak well, I hate Covetousness, as you may well see by my demanding only 1000 l. for that which is worth 4000 l. and who would make two words of so small a Sum?

Ounds, a 1000 l. a small Sum for a Man that has a Father living, and a dozen cost­ly Vices to maintain at his own proper Costs and Charges!

Then I perceive, Mr. Subtleman, that after all you intend to wrong me; and you build upon this false Foundation, that your Business is done, and cannot be revoked. Now, though I don't value the Money, yet I hate Wrong and Injustice; and therefore you shall find, the same Power that set you up, can throw you down: and because you are a Man of Expedition, I may be instrumental in pro­curing you the happiness of saluting and taking leave of your Office the same day—

O my honest Father Calltious, I will deal plainly with you, thou and I are both a­like in one Quality: We love to get and save all we can. Now whereas you demand 1000 l. for Service done for me: I do answer, That I am well assured, that thou didst never speak one word for me. My whole Business was done by my Lord Wiseman and Father Politico, who had heard of my Deserts. And where thou dost threaten me to make me quit my New Preferment, I do threaten thee, That if thou dost so, I will make thee quit Eng­land, or thy Life. And now begin as soon as you please—

Me quit England, or my Li [...]e—Did'st hear that, Jonathan?

Yes, Sir, he threatned you, to make you quit England, or your Life.

'Tis true, I did so.

Then, Sir, that implies some Plot a­gainst the Government, and I will have you hang'd by Information. First, by an Inuen­do, and my Man shall be a Witness against you.

Then pray let me know your Man's Name.

My Name is Jonathan Simper.

Thou liest, thy Name is Betty Whi­ner, Thou art no Youth, but a Strumpet, by Choice and Education. Do not I remember that Face of thine at the Lady Fancyfull's in the Country, ever since I plaid at Cards there in the last great Frost? [Jon. sneaks, and holds down's Head.] You see, Father, I know the whole Intrigue between you and your Man: And I tell you plainly, that if you offer me any Injury, by your self or any other, I will post up more Bills of thy Infamy, than ever Quack did of his Cures; and make thee as lothsome to thy own Party, as thou art al­ready to the rest of Mankind.

Ha! ha! ha! I see you are merrily dispos'd, and would make me believe my Man is a Woman. Come, we won't quarrel about Trifles—Alas, I don't value Mo­ney—[But this Leachery is a plaguy Vice, to cost a Man a 1000 l. at one clap, 'tis a most wicked Abomination.

Then if you will promise not to in­vade the Perritories of my Purse, I will con­clude a strict Peace and Amity. But, first, you must swear that you will not do me any Injury, directly or indirectly.

Since you will have it so, I do swear, by all that's Sacred, I will never do it.

And may I trust you, upon your Ver­bum Sacerdot is?

You may—My Man Jonathan here is Witness.

Man or Woman 'tis sufficient.

Ay to deceive you

to Turn. Then you say the Lady's Name is Leucasia, and that she lodges next door to Mrs. Coun­terfeits, near the Savoy.

So they told me—[But what a Devil makes him to enquire

'Tis well, very well—Not, I care to enquire after Women, who have the Grand Affairs of some Nations lying upon my Hands. But because her adventure hither was a little singular, I had a mind to satisfy my Cu­riosity.

And Lust too I fear.

Go fetch Mrs. Counterfeit a Back-way with expedition.

Gentlemen, I have one little Contrivance to communicate to you, for which I desire the Assistance of you all, I mean, as to the exe­cutive Part, for the Invention is purely and solely my own. Our Friend Mackdonnel came to me this Morning, and told me a la­mentable Story, How some of the Heretick Divines did baffle our Emissaries at a Publick Coffee-House. Wherefore I considering with my self the Casualties of these Spiritual Wars, wherein the Success does not depend upon the Goodness of the Cause, but the Strength and Management of the Combatants, have found out a certain way to Victory, unless you are deficient to your selves.

That we will not I assure you.

Look you—thus it must be—One of you must put on the Habit of an Heretical Clergy-man, and repair to some Coffee-House, at such time as 'tis most usually crowd­ed with Company. Then must he insult and brag in so high a Tone, as may draw the Eyes and Ears of all the Company that way. Then another must put on the Habit of a Mecha­nick, and sit there demurely a good while. Then must the Mechanick enter into Dispute with the Gown and Cassock, the Gown and Cassock must yield, and formally acknowledg his Error▪

I will get the part of the Mechanick, and Mackdonnel that of the Blockhead in the Gown—He does it naturally.

No, he must not do so, if he can Act no other—Feign'd Duncery will do us good, Natural Duncery will be sure to do us Evil. It is best not to make Mackdonnel ac­quainted with it. If Bigot shall put on the Gown and Cassock, Father Cautious the Carpenter's Rule and Apron, and Subtleman shall be there to applaud the Victory.

Aye, but Mr. Subtleman has not yet declared himself to be of our Side.

I hope none here do question my rea­diness to serve you.

to Subt.

Sir, I put you in mind again, That much is expected from you—We have heard much of your good Inclinations—but some farther Declaration would be seasonable to your self and others.

How a Devil shall I come off now. If my Invention would but furnish an Excuse now—Oh, I have it.

Indeed, Mr. Subtleman, it is highly reasonable, that you that have been so largely rewarded, should now declare—

I am ready to do it—But there's one Obstacle, I have it; A Father that is Rich, Old, Peevish, and Decrepit, and he hearing of my good Inclination to your Side, threatens to cut off th' Entail, and settle the best part of his Estate upon some Lectures a­gainst Popery—Now I would gladly know, whether it may not be lawful for me to remove him, provided I settle a good part upon Religious Uses—

[How wretchedly I have bely'd the Man in this Character.

A nice Question this.

What a Rogue is this to make a nice Question of the lawfulness of killing a Father.

I will send you two or three Casuists in the Afternoon to give you Satisfaction in that—But pray go with all speed about the other business.

You need not question our speed or diligence. adieu.

Well, I must enquire after Mrs. Coun­terfeit: for Leucasia she has Wit and Beauty, and I must enjoy her, if it can be done with Decency.

Look you Children, I have chosen out you two for the most profitable Encounter. Father Politico has sent for me in haste—and I can easily guess his business; but because you have traded another way, I will give you three Directions how to manage a Priest to his Content and Satisfaction. First, You must pretend Religion, that you relieve their natu­ral Necessities out of pure and servent Cha­rity, and then you must drop your Beads and mutter your Prayers before and after Enjoy­ment, for about as long a space as a Phanatick is saying Grace before and after Meat, that pleases mightily. Secondly, You must be secret, no boasting of these Amours—Thirdly, You must avoid Coiness, they hate Courtship because they can't arrive to it, and had rather pay in Money than in Words—Observe these Directions, and Success attends you.

We warrant you we'll learn any Lesson.

Mrs. Counterfeit, you are welcome; but how come these Gentlewomen hither.

I thought your Reverence might stand in need of their innocent Conversation.

Phy, phy, Mrs. Counterfeit, you ex­ceed your Order—Pray let them retire—I have business of Secrecy with you.

Then pray Daughters be gone.

Yes—But 'tis a damn'd bauk this—

I hear you know Leucasia, and you may know if you please that I love her—I have found by deep Political Observations, that she has a great store of Wit, and a great hater of our Religion, and my particular Order—If ever I succeed, it must be in Dis­guise of some Officer discarded for sticking to the Protestant Interest—I have drawn up a Model of the Plot—Follow me in—And Manual shall deliver it to you.

Sir, I'le wait on you.

SCENE I.

THere was a brisk Ren­counter they say this Morning.

Aye, and the Priests, they say, sneak'd away very shamefully, I wish I had been here to have heard it.

Hear it, Sir, that is impossible: Alas! at the best you could but have seen it, for the Fathers have nothing to say for themselves when they meet with a Man that can distin­guish a Pike from a Cannon-bullet.

Was you then ever so much engag'd with them?

O, Sir, extreamly—In the Indies I have converted twenty or thirty in a Night, who when they went to Mass the next Mor­ning would—

Did they go to Mass then after their Conversion?

There I was almost out indeed.

Aye, they would for once or so, just to take [...]heir leave of it, and sometimes one Vagary [...] other would change their Minds before Morning: but as I was saying, they would [...]ook so dejectedly and simply after it the [...]ext Morning.

And do you think, Sir, you could gain as easy a Conquest over them here.

aloud.

O easier behalf—Alas! if any of their Emis­saries were here you would see how easily I could manage them; I would so gag their Mouths they should look for ever after like a parcel of Turkish Mutes, never dare to con­verse unless it were by Signs.

This must needs be some ig­norant Pretender, or some fly Knave. ( one to another.)

Sir, I have heard you speak many opprobrious things against the Fathers of the Romish Perswasion; and tho I am a poor Mechanick, I hope you will give me leave to say something in Vindication of those of that way.

Now we shall have Sport.

Pray, Mr. Carpenter don't you pre­tend to engage with me; thou art some piti­ful Fellow allur'd to that Religion out of hopes of having a job of Journey-Work at the building she next Mass-house—Or thou art in hopes of earning Mony from them by making a few Wooden Gods: O this making Wooden Gods is a most excellent Trade! I'le maintain a Man may get more by half a dozen Wooden Gods, than by a dozen Joynt-stooles or Wooden Dishes—

I delight not in Scurrility, and am an utter stranger to Learning; but if you will be pleased to hear what I have to say, like a true Carpenter, I will speak according to Rule, and contract what I have to say into a narrow compass.

Gramercy brave Carpenter, thou shalt see how I will hew all thy Arguments into Chips. Come, begin—

Then the case is this—Do you think your self, your small inconsiderable self, to be wiser than the Council of Lateran, Constance, Trent—consisting of so many grave Prelates met together from all parts of the World? Pray answer that.

Ha! Ha! Ha!—A very fine Que­stion indeed—If your Argument were re­duced to Mood and Figure, your minor Pro­position would be a Foot and half longer than your major, which is as absurd a thing as to see a Dagger longer than a Sword.

How like a Coxcomb this Fellow talks.

I understand no Mood nor Figure, but I understand by the Figure of your Face that you are in an angry Mood, and will not answer my Question; so that the Victory is on my side.

Why, look you, Sir, your Question divides it self into three parts. 1. Whether I am wife? 2. Wiser. 3. Wisest of all: And first, to the first it must needs be acknow­ledged that I am wise, yea very wise, and as wise as most of my Profession.

Surely this Coxcomb banters.

But then the second Question is, Whe­ther I am wiser? now wiser being a degree of Comparison, and we having an old Proverb in England, that Comparisons are odious, I hope the Company will think me wisest of all, if I leave that Point of the Question unde­cided. [Sure this is ridiculous enough.

Ha! Ha! Ha!

How he endeavours to avoid an Answer.

Come, answer directly, are you or not?

O, wiser than they—Hum—wiser, I protest I dare not say it—I must not say it—I cannot, I ought not to do it: I must rather yield my self conquer'd.

Did ever Man

boast so much, and perform so little?

I protest Gentlemen, you ought not to laugh at a Man for being overcome with [Page 25] the force of Truth it curries great Power, tho in the Mouth of a meer Mechanick; I must, dare manus, yield him the Glory of the Con­quest—I am not able to resist the invincible force of Truth—

'Tis odd to see one of his Cloth so soon baffled by a pitiful Mechanick.

I fear 'tis done by Compact, they are so soon agreed—

No, I begin to suspect the strength of our Cause.

O, Gentlemen, why are you not all converted by my Example! I was just now boasting in my Heresy, and fondly amorous of my erroneous Opinions: But now a dazling and an amazing Light has darted through the dark Concerns of my Heart by help of

this ignorant Mechanick—Why are you not mov'd more, Gentlemen? Why don't ye throw your selves into the chast Embraces of your loving Mother? Come, pray, Gentlemen, follow me, and en­ter in apace, the Door may soon be shut—

He talks like a Merry- Andrew at Bartholomew-Fair.

'Tis the oddest Change that ever I saw—

to Turn. If he get into his zealous Rhetorical Strain, he will spoil all—

Who, a Pox, cares whether he does or no.

Come, pray Gentlemen be a little more forward, and accept of my strenuous

and vocal Invitation—What none—None at all declare! None here for Rome—Who's for Rome?—

to Turn. I told you he would over­act his part at last.

O my dear Brother Bigot, the Deel tauke me if Ish haud known thee but by thy Voish—Why whaut dosh my deare Joy mauke weare of aun Heretick Gown aund Caussack for—But by my shoul and Saint Pautrick, I saw thee this Morning in the Haubite of St. Dominick, and now thou dosht look so odly in that—

Hold your Peace or I am discover'd.

No, I will not hold my Peace, I will mauk Speech to the Company, and tell them what a Rauscal thow art to turn Prote­stant Heretick this Afternoon, who wer't a Catholick Priest in the Morning—I say a­gain, thow wast a Catholick Priest this very Morning by Shaint Pautrick, and now thow art turn'd Heretick—Bashe Heretick, Turn­coat Heretick—

O, this is a piece of Roguery then—

Nay but Mack-donnel—dear Mack. dost not know me, prethee hold thy Tongue.

Know thee—why thow art Bro­ther Cautious, the famoush Dominican, what a Deel maukes thee in Carpenter's Clothes—run away from the Cautholick Church in Dis­guise, by Shaint Pautrick I will mauke kill upon you both for your Roguery, bashe Ro­guery Villains! Dogs.

Nay, good Friend, no Irish Massacre here.

to Mack. You cannot see your Friends from Priests—Prethee be quiet—

No, I will not, I

cannot be quiet—I will maule—maule these turn­coat Priests to death.

O now I see the Roguery is come out, they came hither to put a Cheat upon us.

Come let's leave the Knaves to their Devices, this Sham won't take—

We shall take care to spread the Fame-of their Roguery about the City—And so farewel.

S [...] Brother Mack-donnel, now you done bravely and ruin'd all.

Thou hast marr'd the most glorious Victory in the World—All after-Ages will have cause to curse thee—

By Shaint Pautrick—I do not know what hurt I have done—I did speak the truth—and I think I've served you right enough.

Aye, 'tis Truth does ruine us—This is the first time that I ever found any Mischief in Zeal—Come in, we'l make you sensible of your Error—

This is the oddest Letter that ever I received. Let me see—surely my Senses deceive me. ( Pulls out the Letter and reads.)

I can't imagine who this R. C. should be, I expect to find him a mad Man, a Knave, or a Fool; for I have but one Son, and have no reason to suspect him of any Plot against my Life or Estate—How comes this Letter?

By a special Messenger.

'Tis strange! but yet I shan't neg­lect—Dost thou know where my Niece Leucasia lodges?

'Tis near this Place—but where I cannot tell.

Go, find it out, and tell her I in­tend to wait on her.

Yes, Sir.

Art thou sure, Jonathan, that is old Sir Geo. Subtleman.

Yes, I am very sure.

Then will I discover his Son's Inten­tions to kill him, and so compleat my Re­venge on young Subtleman for cheating me of my Money, and perhaps get no small Sum from the old Man for this seasonable Informa­tion—

But did you not promise Subtleman, that you would not, directly or indirectly, do him an Injury.

Pshaw, pshaw, 'tis for grave old Men, and not such young Striplings as your self to understand the Obligation of Promi­ses—Let me alone for that.

Sir, tho' a Stranger, I make bold to ask you if this Paper be subscribed R. C?

Yes, Sir, it is so.

If so, I must acknowledg my self to be the Author of it; and upon good terms can give you farther information.

Your Information I shall hear most gladly. But before you begin, I will tell you my Character, and that perhaps may save you the labour of proceeding further. I am old, but not infected with the usual Humours of Old Age. I am not credulous, for I be­lieve none (especially Priests) upon their bare word. If you bring no further proof than that, you will lose your Cause in my Court of Justice. I am not timerous, and therefore you may spare all flourishing Aggra­vations of Danger, for there is no Danger that I dare not meet, or that can seem greater to me than it really is. I am neither stupid or forgetful; therefore if you have sent this Paper, or come your self to impose upon me, you shall find that I have not forgot the facul­ty of remembring Injuries. I am neither im­moderately Covetous, nor dotingly Prodigal. I requite Courtesies moderately in my Life­time, but shall never (like some old Children) leave an Estate to them that feed me with Su­gar-Plums, or buy me Play-things. But I have one Imperfection of old Age, I am very peevish when I hear Impertinencies; which praying you to avoid, I hope you will begin your Story—

[Page 27]

Well then—Being mov'd by meer Love and Compassion—

Nay, then you must give me leave to interrupt you; Do'nt pretend Love or Compassion to me; For how a De'l shouldst thou love an old Man and a meer Stranger?—Besides, if thou art mov'd to do me good, what a Pox do I care what mov'd thee—'Tis all one to me, whether 'tis meer Friend­ship, or thine own Interest.

I hate Flattery, that is another of my Quali­ties.

My own Interest! Why all the World knows I am not Covetous—But—

Nay, now I must interrupt you again, and tell you plainly, that all the World does not know that thou art not Covetous; for I my self do believe thou art, what else should engage thee to turn Informer? And now I must tell thee of another of my Qua­lities; I hate lying above all things in the World, pray avoid that—

Well—Seeing that you are not wil­ling that I should clear my self from the vile Aspersion of Covetousness—I shall desist—

From what? Do you not now ap­pear in the Person of an Informer? and are you ignorant, that the more you are aspersed, the better you are qualified for that Office?

I perceive, Sir, you are very well qualified to lose all you have, rather than re­ceive a little seasonable Information—And so Adieu.

Nay, remember, Sir, since I per­ceive you begin to avoid the Superfluities and Excressencies of Speech, I must hear what you have to say.

Then you must give me Money in the first Place, and an Oath of Secrecy not to discover your Author in the Second.

This is short, pithy, and to the purpose—Here is Mony in the first place—And my Promise not to discover you in the Second.

Then the Business in short is this: Your Son has propos'd a Question to be re­solv'd by the Fathers; Whether he may not lawfully knock you on the Head, 1. As a useless Person. 2. A peevish and cross-grain'd, And, 3. an obstinate Heretick?—And now I can tell you more—(Tho' I hate Covetous­ness) if you would give me more Money.

What, give thee Money for a no­torious and impudent Forgery? My Son knows me to be so far from being useless, that I do all Business for him; and Eat, Drink, Dance, Wench for my self into the bargain—I am so far from beeing peevish, that I can forbear breaking your Head, not­withstanding this intolerable Provocation. And as for being an obstinate Heretick, 'tis most notoriously false, for I never did trouble my Head so much about Religion as to be one—And now, Sir, I shall tell my Son of your Information, for which he will undoubt­edly reward you.

But did you not promise Secresy?

Yes, if you spoke Truth, but I cannot conceal a Lie—for that is another of my Qualities which I forgot to mention.

To confute you, follow me, and I will carry you to the very Place, where you shall hear your Son propose that Question to my self and others—your Resolution of it?

Gramercy, old Father, now thou speakest to the purpose: Do that, and I shall be grateful.

That is, you'l give me a Gratifica­tion.

Yes, and a good One too—

That's well—For tho' I hate Co­vetousness, yet I love a Gratification, it shews Honesty; Come, follow me—

I will—

Art sure the Story of the Coffee-House Encounter is true?

'Tis the whole Discourse and Laugh­ter of the Town. Mr. Turnabout was one of the Managers.

Ha! ha! ha! Then I hope the poor Creature will be tir'd at last with their Folly, if not with their Wickedness—

Madam—Mr. Turnabout is upon the Stairs, and is very earnest for Admit­tance.

Let him come up—He's no dange­rous Man; Besides, I want Diversion.

Now, good Madam, Tease him.

Lady, your Servant—You see now the force of Love and good Nature—I am come to visit you, notwithstanding the ill Character you gave of me to Father Politico.

I vow, Sir, you [...]ondescend too much—and make your Visits with too great an Equipage. My Lodgings here are small, and cannot receive your numerous Train of Pa­ges, Footmen, and other Attendance. The Street I live in is too narrow, and will be encumbred with your Coach and Six—so that you must not in prudence let your Visits be long, for which I'm exceeding sorry.

Don't let that, Madam, grieve or concern you; I come attended with one only Page, his Name is Cupid, he keeps close to me Day and Night, and is extreamly watch­ful—I hope your Ladyship will not turn him down among the Servants in the Hall, but admit him a little nearer to your Bosom.

If you have a Cupid, 'tis certainly the od­dest that ever was known. He is not only Blind, but Invisible, for let me die if I can see any thing like a Cupid about you: You have the same Face, the same Eyes, the same Nose (abating a little alteration) that you ever had, and which I often told you that I never lik'd. Nay, on my Conscience, thou hast the same Hat, the same Sword, and the same Breeches. I fancy thou hast changed nothing for these three Years but thy Religion, and a few B [...]ass Half-Crowns, and crack'd Nine-pences.

My Cupid, Madam, is never the weaker for being Invisible. All Philosophers agree, that there are occult Qualities in Love, as well as in Nature, that can attract Hearts of Steel or Iron, by an Invisible Chain. It is enough for me that I know you love me, by the care you have taken for my Re-con­version.

You build a greater Superstructure upon that, than the Foundation is able to bear. I wonder how you can think a Wo­man should love a Man the better for his being altered for the worse. Your Com­plexion seems to me to be pale and sick­ly; I fancy you frequent Coffee-Houses to assist the Fathers in the laborious propaga­tion of Non-sense. But, let me advise you to forbear Coffee, 'twill destroy much of the Lustre that is borrowed from the beneficial in­fluence of Claret.

How the Devil came she to hear that?

Madam, if I am pale, as you say, I am pale with Love; and though you often up­braid me with changing, yet I am sure you can't say that ever I chang'd that. Pray, Madam, for once, make trial of my Con­stancy in a Matrimonial way—So you shall see how patiently I will wear that Chain, without one thought of changing.

The Experiment is too costly for me to make, I am not like those Vertuoso's that expend ready Mony, in hopes of extracting Gold out of Pewter-Dishes—Besides, you pretend to me to be in Love; yet I have one infallible Demonstration that you are not so; for if you were, you could not chuse but obtain your Desires, you that are so in­timate with the famous Politico, that has a thousand Plots and Intrigues in his Head, great and small, of all sorts and sizes, for Men and for Women, and (as some say) for Children too. Methinks he might easi­ly teach you a way to circumvent such a weak Woman as I am: He could instruct you how to put on such Disguises, that you and Father Bigot, and Father Cautious might gain half the Women in the Nation, espe­cially if the ingenious Mackdonnel have an hand in the Plot.

Good Madam, tell me no more of Plotting, I hate Plotting above all things, and that makes me to frequent Plays: My Business is plain Love—I have nothing to do with Plotting.

And I must tell you, for your further encouragement, that I can never love a Man of your Persuasion.

Alas, Madam, if that be all, I am of no Persuasion at all but your Ladyships, for you persuade me—to any thing: Cannot a Man frequent Mass, or cokes the Fathers for a little Mony to enable him to keep his Coach and Six—but presently you must think that he is of their Persuasion—I vow, Madam, you are too credulous in all things, but in be­lieving that I love you.

I shall avoid that Imputation for the future, but never give credit to any thing you say hereafter: For since you tell me you dissemble in other Things, how shall I believe you in that.

O, you may know that by a kind of natural Instinct, and by this general Rule, That I never dissemble but when it is for my Interest—

And therefore if it be your Interest to love me, it will be your Interest to dis­semble with me—But to wave that, I wonder what expectation you can have from that designing Gang, that make it their Business to deceive you and all Man­kind—

I must confess at first, whilst they thought me a Man of a good Estate, and over-run with the simplicity of Supersti­tion, I could get nothing from them but Exhortations, to settle my Land upon the Church; to turn Mendicant, or undertake expensive Employments for the good of the Catholick Cause. But after your Lady­ship did give Politico an account of my Designs and Endowments, they treated me with all the Kindness Imaginable.—They promise Mountains of Gold, and tell me, it shall not be long before I ride in my Coach and Six—

But suppo [...] you should find your Coach and Six—to be suddenly trans­form'd to a Cart and four—by a certain un­lucky Spell of Queen B. would it not a­maze you?

Pshaw, pshaw, never fear that; if I can escape dying by Love, I fear no other Death.

Madam, here is a Gentlewoman with a Patch on her Nose, and a great Bead­rol in her Hand, that would gladly have ad­mittance.

I warrant 'tis that Beast of a Woman, Mrs. Counterfeit, that ambitious Animal, 'twixt Bawd and Whore: That Spiritual Caterer for the Flesh, that provides the Ne­cessaries of Nature for the Fathers with great Zeal and Devotion. 'Tis a Load of Scandal, I will not see her.

If you do not, I fancy she manages some private Intrigue with you—Come, Madam, you must see her, I would fain know her Business.

Then you must stay here to take off the Scandal of the Company—She is the only Person in the World that I know more scandalous than your self.

I dare not stay, for she lately serv'd me a damn'd Jade's Trick, and I fear my Passion should make me trans­gress the Rules of Decency in a Lady's Cham­ber—

Then retire into the Closet, and there you may over-hear our Discourse, and be a Witness that I hold no correspondence with you or yours.

With all my Heart—But pray place Mrs. Counterfeit's Chair very near the Closet Door.

Well, it shall—Bid her come up, Boy.

Now we shall have an Intrigue—

O Neighbour—Dear Neigh­bour—sweet [Page 30] innocent Neighbour, why art thou so unkind, as to live so near and never come to see me.

You have so many Ladies fitter for Conversation in your House, that I believe one of the other Sex would be more acceptable if it were only for Varie­ty's sake.

I protest, Madam, you are mista­ken; not but that an abundance of the most religious Ladies in the City do pride them­selves in my Acquaintance, but none to com­pare with your self for Wit and Beauty. I protest, Dearest, I was in some Company, that talk'd so well of thee to day—But there was one Story did a little vex me.

Nay, if you have a Story to tell, you had best sit down.

to Count. Please you to sit there, Madam.

Then I will tell thee, Dearest, they say thou art in love with Mr. Turnabout, a Man of no Parts, Address or Fortune—I protest I wonder that a Lady of your excel­lent Perfections should think of throwing a­way your self upon a Person that is never like­ly to make any Figure in the World.

What's that, Ha! what's that?

I thought he had been the most like­ly of any—He boasts much of his Friendship with Politico, Bigot, Cautious, and others—I thought he might have been one of the greatest Men in the Nation.

Aye, he may boast as long as he pleases, but I can assure you he has lit­tle reason; I know the Minds of the Fathers better than he does, and I heard them say this very Morning, that they never intended to do any thing for him.

How's that—how—damn'd Whore.

What nothing at all?

I beg your Pardon, Madam, some­thing they may do, perhaps get him to be a Serjeant in a Foot Regiment, which they fore­see will shortly be disbanded, and then you may see him sent home with one Shoe on his Foot, and a piece of another in his Snap­sack—Or if he had rather chuse Civil than Military, they may make him Alderman of some Corporation where they fetch Straw, and the Mayor thatches.

Ha, ha, ha, is that all?

O damn'd Whore, come hither to spoil my Fortune!

O, Murther! Murther! I am come here to a Friend's House to be murthered!

No, good Mrs. Counterfeit, I hope there's no hurt yet; here, Betty, help her up.

Was ever an Indignity of this gross nature put upon a Lady in her Friend's House?

You must not, Madam, impute this to my Lady, we have a Servant in the House, the Fathers have caus'd to run mad, by puzling his Head with Controversy, and promising to make him Mayor of a regula­ted Corporation; and whenever he hears talk of Mayor or Aldermen, he is always ready to do Mischief—

Well, I protest, he has disorder'd—He ought to be punish'd severely for it—

Mad Men and Fools have Priviledges of farther extent than the greatest Princes: we cannot be angry at them without becoming like unto them; but I hope you'l pass it by since you have not much harm.

Well, since it is so, I must bear it: But as I was saying before, my dear Neigh­bour, there is a Person of Quality lately fallen in love with you—Well, I'le say no more,—but for Riches, Beauty, Wit, Bravery and every thing that is charming, perhaps all England has not his Fellow; only he has one one fault, for which I needs must hate him.

And perhaps that one fault will out­ballance all his other Vertues: if you would recommend a Man to me, let me know his Faults first, and I will soon find out his Ver­tues after. Men expose their Excellencies, like rich Furniture, to the Eyes of all Be­holders, when their Defects, like Lumber, is thrown into dark Corners where it is hard to find them.

O, but this is a fault exposed to the Eyes of the World, and I am forbid by the Principles of my Religion to intercede for him.

It must needs then be some Filthi­ness that ought not to be named; you had best let it alone and pass to some other Sub­ject.

No, I protest I will not; but I'le tell you plainly what it is. He is such an ob­stinate Heretick, and such a Slave to his pre­tended Honour, that rather than comply with some reasonable Demands, he has quitted one of the most considerable Military Employ­ments in the Army.

That is hard indeed.

And the truth is, he has brought that Mischief upon his own Head by affronting the famous Politico and Bigot, he was always satyrical against them, but they at length re­solv'd to chastise him—And does not your Ladiship now abhor him for this?

So far from that, that I assure you I honour all those worthy Patriots that fall by the hands of those insatiable Canibals; and I wish it lay in my Power to redress any part of his Lordship's Sufferings: I perceive you mistake me for a Catholick, I am of a contrary Perswasion.

I protest I did not know it—well then you are the only Person in the World that can relieve his Melancholy, one glance of yours would turn his Night into Day: He is in Town Incognito, sighing always for you, and repeating the sweet Name of Leucasia: O dear Madam, that you would but afford him the Consolation of a Visit.

I am always a Friend to the Resolute and Brave as far as it consists with the Rules of my Honour. Pray what is his Name?

Let his Name be conceal'd for the present, when you come to know it you will be amaz'd.

That's strange—Then I presume he is asham'd of the Amour below him.

Not so, but there are particular Reasons for it; but I protest, Madam, he is a Man of unbounded Wealth and Generosity; here are some Jewels of his meer trifles in respect of his Riches, which he desires you to accept of.

Sure his Lordship thinks me very Mercenary—I am not used to receive such Offers.

Pray, Madam, accept of them, I will give you a good Reason for it by the by.

Thou art very impertinent—But for once I'le take thy Counsel.

Nay dearest, prethee be not an­gry, he thought them Curiosities your Ladyship might affect—Prethee be so kind as to accept of them.

Tho I am not ignorant that here­by I shall transgress the Rules of Decency; yet because his Lordship is a Sufferer for the Cause I love, and persecuted by the Persons I hate, I can deny him nothing—Pray let me see 'em.

And you will permit him to tell you his Sufferings.

'Tis a thing too small to deny a Per­son of his worth.

This Plot of Politico's does take to Admiration. (Whispers Leu.) the hour 5.

Yes.

Then my dearest Neighbour a­dieu.

Now I shall move nimbly tho my Bones are sore bruised.

But pray Neighbour, let me see you some­times at my House, I have there a Set of as civil devout Gentlewomen as ever Europe bred—But pray don't come at our hours of Prayer—we have Prayers five times a day—After that we take all Liberty imagi­nable—

I believe you.

Your Servant sweet Lady.

Leucasia calls Turnabout out of the Closet.

(Laughing.) Here Mr. Turnabout, Serjeant, Mayor, Alderman—What are you? why don't you slip out of your Hole for Joy to hear such good News from Mrs. Counterfeit.

And methinks, Madam, you might run into yours for shame, to receive Gifts from, and promise Assignations to cashiered Lords and Barons.

Then, I warrant, you pretend to be jealous, and with a design too of making me believe that you are in Love; but that is too common a Sham to impose upon one that is not very proud of her own Perfections. Alas! if you should marry me, you must ex­pect ten times more than this.

I do believe i [...], Madam—Fare­wel.

Nay, stay a little, I have something to say to you.

After the Spark has been here, I'am ready to hear.

Leu to Betty.

So, now I see what it is to take the Ad­vice of Chamber-Maids—You counselled me to take the Jewels, and now the jealous Mr. Turnabout will make a fine Story of it about Town.

Your Fame is so great, and your Innocence greater, that you may well de­spise those Censures that are dreadful on­ly to the Guilty—But, Madam, I had good Reason for my Advice; for I fancy the great Protestant Commander is no o­ther than the famous Politico that Intends to make love in that Disguise.

On my Conscience a shrewd guess! But, prethee, what are thy Reasons for it?

Why, first, your Ladyship told me, that he gloated upon you with lustful Eyes.

'Tis true, I did observe it.

Then you know that Mrs. Coun­terfeit does deal for no other kind of Cattel.

'Tis true, she trades with no o­ther.

Then whereas she pretends, that he is a great Protestant Commander lately cashiered, it is impossible—The publick News gives an Account of no such Person—it must needs be a Fiction.

That's well observ'd.

Then she conceals the Name, and yet can give no reason for it.

All this is true.

Now if your Ladyship would let me see the Jewels, I could discover more from them.

Prithee see them as long as thou wilt.

By heavens the very same!—A Servant of Politico's shew'd some of these very Jewels in a Scrittore of his, by chance left open.

'Tis beyond doubt; and I am as glad of it, as if he had given me half the Indies. If I catch him in the Trap, I shall serve him as I use to do Vermin, make him leave a Limb behind him.—But I will first take a little fresh Air, to quicken my Invention. Do thou stay at home; my Unkle Sir George desir'd the use of my Apartment this after­noon, for the entertainment of some Friends; but I know not what matter of concernment. Pray see my Servants let them want no at­tendance.

to Serv. Is my Niece gone out then?

Just taken Coach, Sir; and left word, That you and your friends should be entertain'd in this Apartment.

'Twas kindly done.— To [...]s [...]rv [...]] You may retire. You see, Mr. Cau­tious, here is a Room for the Consultation, here a Closet for me to over-hear in.—You say, It is in your Power to bring them wheresoe'r you please; if I find your allega­tions against my Son to be true, I have Wri­tings ready to convey the best part of my Estate to my Niece, and a Thousand pound Bond ready to seal to your self: But If false, you may easily guess the consequence.

Ay, One dreadful consequence would be, That I should get no money.

That's true.

Well, retire into the Closet; be pa­tient, and give me leave, according to my custom, to vote with the major part, and I shall convince you.

I am ready to make trial.

Go, Jonathan, tell the Gentlemen walking by the Water-side, that I am ready to attend them.

I shall, Sir.

Now is not this better, to mind my own private Concerns, and get 1000 l. than to mind the Publick, and get nothing but a rap over the head with a Carpenter's Rule, or a kick on the breech, as I lately re­ceiv'd from Mackdonnel? This Notion of Pub­lick Good is a meer Chimaera, fram'd by those men that love to do great things to no pur­pose.—For my part, I can perceive no­thing real in it.—

Gentlemen, ye are welcome to the Apartment I have chosen as most conveni­ent.—A Table here, and Stools.

propound your Case.—These Gentlemen have studied Casuistical Divinity at St. Omers, and can soon resolve you.

Then thus it is:—A young Gen­tleman, willing to turn Catholick, is hin­dred by a Father that is useless, old, peevish, rich, heretical.— Quaere, Whether in this Case it may not be lawful for the young Son to remove by violent courses the ancient Father?

within. Oh Rogue! Rascal! Villain!

Gentlemen, I will open the particu­lar Case of young Mr. Subtleman thus:—In all moral actions, we must consider the Good and Evil that attend them, and cau­tiously consider which does outweigh the other: Let us apply then this Rule to our present Case, and see what Good and what Evil is likely to ensue the removal of this ancient Gentleman.

A good method.

As for the good, that is great and Visible: For, first, hereupon a young Gen­tleman of known Parts and Integrity will immediately, declare for the Catholick [Page 34] Church;—which I esteem to be worth to the Publick at least 1000 l.—Then here's an Estate of 4000 l. per annum plac'd in the hands of one that will bestow it upon Reli­gious Uses:—Valuing which but at twelve years purchase, amounts to 48000 l.—Then here are Lectures against Popery prevented, (for the old Gentleman has threatned to settle part of his Estate for that use), the avoiding which, I suppose, may be valued at 2000 l. more.—This amounts in all to 50000 l.

An exact computation.

Now let us take a brief view of the Evil or Mischief in this action.—First, here is a Gentleman removed out of the way, that was likely to enjoy an Estate of 4000 l. per annum for about three years, and that is worth 12000 l. But because he is decrepit, and cannot have the free use of Women, Wine, and other Diversions, the most it can amount to is 1000 l.

from within. The Rogue belies me, I can use them as well as he.

Then here are some innocent Relati­ons wrong'd of some trifling Legacies;—which we will esteem, tho dearly, at 3000 l. Then there is the Charges of getting the work done, which in Italy I should value but at Half-a-Crown: but such Villains being dearer here than in Catholick Countries, it may cost 20 l. The Penances for expiation of the Crime I value at 100 l. tho there were good times when such things might be done cheaper.—So that the whole damage of such an action amounts but to 5200 l. and what proportion does that bear to 50000 l.?

My Brother speaks well, but not all that may be said on this Subject:—For in Murther two things are to be consi­dered; 1. the Act of killing, and 2. the In­tention. Now it is plain that the Immorality of Murther does not consist in meer killing, for then every Executioner or Soldier would be guilty of Murther: but it is the evil ma­licious intention of the mind that is all in all. Now if Mr. Subtleman bear no malice to his Father, but does that Work in a spirit of Love and Charity for the good of the Catho­lick Cause, there can be no evil in it; pro­vided he gives all the Estate that accrues thereby, to the Church, to shew that therein he was not acted by a spirit of Covetousness.

What an unconscionable Fellow is this! Could not one half serve his turn?

My Brother speaks well, but I must add this:—That as to kill a man (yea a Parent) with a charitable intention is certainly lawful; so to kill an Heretick, an inveterate obstinate Heretick, is more than lawful, it is highly meritorious: They are condemn'd by the Laws Ecclesiastical and Civil, and any man may be their Executio­ner.

What my Reverend Brethren have said in this Case, is undoubtedly true; but, for the Gentleman's satisfaction, I will prove the lawfulness of the Fact by an infallible Demonstration.—Suppose it thus:—Young Mr. Subtleman takes up an Hammer, and knocks out the Brains of his aged Pa­rent:— Quaere, If this Action be in it self unlawful?—I answer, No;—For if there be no unlawfulness in any part of this Action, then there is none in the whole.—But there is no unlawfulness either in taking up the Hammer, or lifting the Hammer, or l [...]tting down the Hammer; Ergo, There is none in knocking out the old man's Brains.

This fellow is more Dunce than Villain.

But what say you to the point, Bro­ther Cautious?

Why look ye, Brethren, ye have lef [...] me little to say, but only this:—If there be any evil in such a Murther, it consists in the Injury that is done to the murdered person; and an Injury, is some part of Injustice done to man against his will, (Volenti non fit inju­ria); If therefore there could be a way found to send the Gentleman into another world with his own consent, there could be no scruple in it.

Then the best way is to knock out's Brains with 100 l. Bag.—If he be a truly covetous man, he can never think that mo­ney can do him any harm.

Or pour down his Throat a spoon­ful of melted Gold, when he sleeps with his mouth open.

Or dispatch him with a good Dose of Quicksilver, he must needs have a venera­tion for That; it is the Mother of Gold, and all other Metals.

What a pleasant Story this will be to tell the old man!

Gentlemen, I understand that I am a dying man, and therefore I beseech ye all to be witnesses to my last Will and Testa­ment.

My Father! what cursed luck brought him hither? If he o'r-heard our dis­course, he will think that I was in earnest.

Come, pray Gentlemen be Wit­nesses to my Will; 'tis soon done, and hu­man life is uncertain.

My honoured Father, what good Genius brought you hither!

O thou best of Sons! I am glad to see thee in so good company.

Nay pray Gentlemen stay.—I have strange presages of my Death, and fear it will be sudden.—I have given 40 s. to my only Son,—So much Vertue should not go un­rewarded.—The rest of my Estate shall be given to my virtuous Niece, Leucasia.—Pray stay and seal presently, for I have a great many Money-bags, and do often sleep with my mouth open.

Sir, we cannot stay.

Sir, you must excuse us, we have business.

Here are witnesses enough beside us. Farewell.

Nay, Sir, you shall stay, and be witness with my Son to a Bond.—A Candle here.

But pray Sir hear me.

Good Son, avoid impertinenci [...]s. What needst thou speak, when the thing is done?

But one word.

There is never a word in the world that can make to thy purpose.—I heard enough.

But, Sir, you are mistaken in me.

But, Son, you are mistaken in me—I know how to keep out of your Clutches.

But by all that's good and sacred!—

That is, by just nothing.—How canst thou think any thing good or sa­cred, that couldst design and contrive the Death of a Parent?

You cannot think so.

Yes, Son, I can, must, and will think so.

But pray, Sir, consider his motive was Zeal, pure, flaming Zeal.—I say you should excuse it.

Mr. Subtleman, I am sorry for your misfortune, but cannot relieve you.

I wish you much joy of living by your Wits.

Hell! Death! and Confusion!—What a damn'd Praemunire have these Rogues, Priests and Casuists brought me in­to!—I am betray'd, else it is impossible my Father should be in Leucasia's Closet.—But the Traytor I know not.—But stay, here's a Paper, I'll read it.

The Condition of this Obligation is such, That if the above-bounden Sir George Subtleman, Knight and Baronet, do pay, or cause to be paid to Robert Cautious, &c. the Sum of 1000 l. in consideration of the discovery of his Son's Vil­lany, &c. Then this Obligation, &c.

So then 'tis out—The revengeful, co­vetous Dog, Cautious, has done me this In­jury, tho contrary to his Oath: But by hea­vens I shall make him and his Punk in man's Cloaths pay dearly for it. And yet it is no wonder; for

SCEN. I.

IF your Lady be at leisure, pre­sent her with this Paper from her Unkle, Sir George Subtleman; and tell her, I have a farther message by word of mouth.

My Lady will wait upon you pre­sently.

Nay, it is vain to cry, for part we must.—Young Subtleman knows your Sex, and will divulge that secret as confident­ly as Grubstreet-News, and as speedily as a false Alarm.

And can you be so cruel as to thrust me from you, who have been so faithful? Did you not often tell me, That simple For­nication was no Sin, and sometimes a Duty? Did not you cite many of your most famous Authors, to prove that it was an Act of Charity, pure and flaming Charity, to re­lieve the natural Necessities of a languishing Brother, excluded from the Joys of Matri­mony? Did you not make me believe all this? else I had been pure and innocent.

I cannot deny, but that several of our Casuistical Authors are, as I told you, of that Opinion; but it has since been con­demned as a scandalous Truth, not fit to be divulg'd, especially in an heretical Country, where the major part are of another Opi­nion.

How often have you call'd me your Spi [...]itual Sister, and told me that that Rela­tion was stronger than a Matrimonial Obli­gation? How often have you made me be­lieve that you had a Papal Dispensation to enjoy me with safety for ever?—And must I now be turn'd away, withou money to provide the necessaries of nature?

Pray talk not of money, you know that I am poor, and have none.

What have I done to deserve this usage from you? Have I not been silent, to gratifie your curs'd Hypocrisie? Have I not quietly laid down two great Bellies in the Country, without so much as crying out, even in Labour? Did not I save the lives of both the Babes, because they were like thee, ungrateful man! when you and the Catho­lick Midwife would have had them both dispatch'd?

To save the credit of an Order, I presume, some such thing might be done; tho, I confess, it is better to let it alone, if it can be let alone without so much charge.

Have not I been as silent as a Turkish Mute, or as Epicaene in the Silent Woman, lest my Voice should betray my Sex; and what greater torment can a Woman suffer than silence? tho sometimes your wanton dalli­ances with other Women might provoke even a stone to speak;—especially one that has lov'd you as I always did.

But, notwithstanding your silence, your Sex is now known to young Subtleman; and if he be once enrag'd, as I fear he will be, he will make my disgrace intollerable: I have already lost 1000 l. would you have me to lose all?

Come, if the truth were known, you have little reason to upbraid me with losing 1000 l. I have sav'd you more than that: Other men that keep Misses, are forc'd to expend the best part of their Estates in Cloaths, Pages, Coaches, Footmen, and a thousand such devices; but you have kept me in the habit of a poor Serving-man, and bought my Cloaths in Long-lane, as you say, to prevent suspicion, but as I believe, to save charges. If Mr. Subtleman does know my Sex, it is no fault of mine; he remembers ever since he plaid at Lancteraloo at my Lady Fanciful's; for I had a face then might be remembred, but now—

Ay now, indeed, it is time to repent, we have enjoy'd our pleasure a long time. She is naturally well inclin'd, this may work on her.

Ay 'tis time to repent; but I can tell you a great many things you ought to repent [Page 37] of before this.—How often have you turn'd away poor honest Catholicks from employ­ment of Trust and Profit, to make room for Atheists and Hereticks, because they had more money and less honesty!

Pray be less obstreporous, and re­member you are in Leucasia's Lodgings.

How often have you given promise of the same place to ten several persons, and employ'd your Interest at Court for none!—Do you think I have forgot these things?

Nay, now you will never have done. I say, Remember again that you are in the Lady Leucasia's Lodgings.

Nay, how should I ever have done, when I remember how often you have made me forswear my self? As in the case of the Gentleman last night, who promis'd you 80 Guinea's for a kindness, and you made me swear it was 100.

And pray what did you lose by that? did not I give you five Guinea's for your Reward?

Ay, but since you talk of repenting, why don't you repent of these things? Come, come, you may be asham'd to use me thus. If Politico deals no better with his Ladies, ask Mrs. Count.

Sir You're dogg'd from your Lodg­ings hither, and the House is beset by Sir George Subtleman, his Son, Father Big [...]t Mack­donnel, with Constables and Watch.—They have lost a golden Chalice, and young Mr. Subtleman affirms he saw something very bulky in your man's bosom, and they are resolv'd to search him very narrowly: my Lady gives them full leave, without the least resentment, and they are now upon the stairs.

Bid 'em come up if they dare.

I will.

Death and Confusion! This is a Plot of young Subtleman's to procure my disgrace and ruin: I must prevent him.

[Kneeling.]

Here's the Key, I'll lock the door, and stifly will maintain you're run away.—By hea­vens don't deny me.

For once I will not, tho you don't deserve that usage from my hands.—But I am tender. [She goes into the Closet, he locks her in.

The work is done, 'tis words must do the [...]est; And those shall not be wanting.

I can assure you, I saw Father Cau­tious's Man come from that place, and some­thing of a large bulk seem'd to be in his bosom, which I believe might be the golden Chalice you have lost.—Pray search for it there, and for the other Ornaments you have lost.

Well, let me alone to search him.—I'll find it, tho he pull his skin over it.

O monstrum horrendum! Pray, Gen­lemen, give me leave a lit [...]le to expatiare upon the Subject; and lest I should be te­dious to so worthy an Assembly, I will con­tract my whole Discourse into these twenty general Heads, with their respective Bran­ches—

Good Father Bigot, omit those twenty general Heads, and let the Fact be proved first, and then you may take time to prove the heinousness of the Crimes after­wards.—It is uncertain whether Father Cautious has stoln the things or no.—

It is uncertain! But what if it be proved, first, That I am a Man, and that Man is a Christian, and that Christian a Catho­lick, and that Catholick one of good Educa­tion, and that Education in the house of a Priest, and that Priest an heavenly devout per­son: I say, To consider that such a Man should be guilty of such a Crime, it sills my mind with admiration!

And it sills your mouth with Nonsence, pure, copious Nonsence. If the [Page 38] Chalice were mine, and as big as a Moun­tain, I would rather chuse voluntarily to lose it, than to hear a long Oration in dis­praise of Thievery.—As if words could make it worse than really it is: If this Fel­low has stoln the Chalice, he's a Rogue and a Thief; if not, we are fools to suspect him.—Now that's to the purpose.

We shall soon be resolv'd.—If you find none of the Goods in his Bosom, pray, to be sure, search his Breeches.

Use all freedom imaginable in my Lodgings,—I would not have them a San­ctuary for any sort of Rogues, either Tem­poral or Spiritual.

Ay, but if the Villain has melted down the golden Chalice into silver Spoons and Thimbles, how a Deel shall we know it again?

O, well enough, there's a Mark upon't.

Deel tauk me, I ne're tought of dat; dere is a Mark upon it, and let him melt it down as soon as he please, we shall know it by de Mark.

to Betty. Did not you say that Cau­tious and his Man were in this Room?

They were here just now; I saw Mr. Cautious walk into the next Room.

to Sir Geo. Sir, I have taken this pains to convince you that that Father Cauti­ous is as base an Hypocrite as ever canted in a Gown; That you shall see now, that his pretended Man, that lies with him, is a Wo­man, a notorious impudent Woman: and why then should you give such credit to so ill a man, as upon his Testimony to disinhe­rit your only Son?

My dear Son, thou art full of Impertinencies; for first you should endea­vour, if you would speak to the purpose, to prove him a Liar; and thou, instead of that, doest endeavour very impertinently to prove him an Whore-master, as if a little prudent Whoring would hinder him from speaking the Truth. Then, in the second place, I made my Will not so much for his Testimo­ny, but because I heard thee with mine own ears contriving my death; so that I being the Evidence, thou must invalidate my Te­stimony, by proving me a Rogue, and a Rascal, and a Thief, or thou canst not speak to the purpose.

Sir, I beg nothing of you, but that you would believe me Innocent of such a Crime, till you have heard my Defence. What I said or did then, was purely to di­vert their importunity in solliciting me to turn presently to their side; and partly to make trial of their honesty, whether they would counsel me to do so black a de [...]d. This Father Cautious discovers to you, tho before he had solemnly swore, That he would not directly or indirectly do me any injury.

Saist thou so, Boy? now thou speakst to the purpose, and I could heartily wish my self fool enough to believe thee innocent.

I protest, Gentlemen and Brethren, I know not what you mean; my Man went from me last night, and I swear by the ho­nour of my Priesthood, that I have not seen him since.

And I'll swear by the honour of my Maidenhead, That I saw him walking with you in this very Room but just now;—and methoughts too I saw him crying.

A likely thing indeed, that a Man should cry!—I tell you again, that I have not seen my Man since last night.—Sure they'll believe without searching.

to Leu. I protest, Madam, I wonder with what confidence he can affirm this, when I saw his Man walking with him just now.

Pray consider, who is most fit to be be believed, one of my Sacred Character, or an ignorant Chambermaid that knows no better?

Sir, I have consider'd of it, and think the ignorant Chambermaid ought to be believ'd before the learned Priest: Nature teaches Truth, when Learning improves a man in all the arts of Falshood.—Pray let the Room be search'd.

What horrid Barbarity is this? Am I Person of so little Credit, and with my own Brethern too?—If you please, I'll [...]epose upon Oath, that I have not seen my Man since last Night.

The horror of the Sacrilegious Fact, does so stupify all my Sences, that I cannot give eat to the reasonable Requests of my Reverend Brother. We must find out the Author of this notorious Impiety, or become Partakers of his Crime.

I wonder you will not give greater Credit to this Reverend Priest, when I can give such an eminent Instance of his Truth and Fidelity. He swore to me, that he would do me no Injury directly or indirect­ly, and yet he has done it, and caus'd me to lose an Estate of 4000 l. per Annum; look there else.—

A notorious Breach!

Nay, good Lady, be not too rash in you [...] Censures.—I did not break my Pro­mise to this Gentleman, as you do vainly imagine, as it will easily appear, if you con­sider the Words of the Promise. For, First, I swore I would do him no Injury, that is no In­justice; [Injuria est quod fit contrajus] no more I have not.—I have only caus'd him to be justly disinherited for contriving the Death of his Father.

That's well, and to the pur­pose.—

So much for the thing.—Now for the Person acting. I, it is a Person in the Singular Number, as every Boy knows that has learn'd his Accidence.—So that the promise obliges me not to do him an Injury alone in my own Person, but it does not hin­der me from doing it in the Person of his Father.

My Brother distinguishes well.—It must needs be so.—

O! by my Shoul, there is abun­dance of Learning in that little head of thine.

Again let us consider the Person suf­fering him.—Man is a compound of Soul and Body. The estate is but an Appendix to the Person, so that the taking away that, is not in the strictness and propriety of Speech an Injury to the Man, but sometimes it is for his greater Advantage.—

A pretty Evasion this.—

It is most profoundly argu'd.—

O, by my Shoul! If ish haud not macke play Trowant, ish might have been as great a Scholar as thish Maun.

Is this all you have to say sor your self?

No: I have something to say that is more material in my own Vindication.—I promised that I would not do him an In­jury, directly or indirectly: No more I have not, for I have accomplish'd my Revenge, partly direct, and partly indirectly, in a middle way between both, and so am no ways guilty of the breach of Promise.—

I vow, this is a very pretty way of performing Promises; the wrong way.—You argue very well, and teach us never to believe you, because we never know how to understand you. Constable do your Office, and break open this Closet-door: I wonder it should be shut, when I left it open.

That is a rudeness, Lady, that ought not to be permitted in your House. It must not be done.

Then I will have it done for that very reason. I love to do things that I ought not.

Look here the Rogue is, this Priest is a confounded Lyer.

O, by my Shoul! Brother you should not make Lie so much. I am sorry for it.

Indeed, I must needs say, this looks like a Scandal;—yet I will still believe that my Brother speaks the truth, tho no Body can perceive it.

Pshaw, pshaw, a lie is a lie.—I say, it is the most impudent notorious lie that ever was told.

I beg your Pardon Uncle.—I no more believe this to be the most impudent, than I believe it to be first.—O! this in­delible Character is an excellent thing.—How simple should one of us look, if taken in so notorious a falshood: and how well it [Page 40] becomes him.—Methinl [...]s he does it with a great deal of Grace and Ornament.

Charge me not with a Crime of that h [...]d Nature. I abhor the very name of [...]g.

And least the thing, dost thou not? Is not the case plain?

Leave this Discourse, and search for the Chalice.

You'll lose your Pains.—I do con­fess my self a wretched, miserable Woman deluded by that Man, and shut up in the Clo­set by him, to prevent the discovery of my Sex.

Ha, ha, ha; a rich Discovery.

Come search no further.—The Chalice is remov'd by a plot of mine, to make this discovery.—Now, if Father Cautious, you have your Revenge, and I mine, I think we may now be Friends.—This Gentleman shall be witness to our new Agreement.

To Cautious. No, I will find a place to hide my shame; farewell▪ And if you hear of me again, 'twill be in Vengeance.

Then we are discharg'd?

You are.

O, by my Shoul, and Shaint Pau­trick! If my Brother Cautious was not a very good Cautholick, whaut a sad Fellow he would be?

Nay, indeed Brother, this seems ve­ry scandalous and prejudicial to the publick Good; and if this Auditory would please to give me leave, I would make it appear to be so in One hundred and ten Particu­lars.—

Good Mr. Bigg [...]t let your Parti­culars alone.—A lie is a lie.—All the Rhe­torick in the World cannot make it a Wind-Mill, or a Hand Granado—

Gentlemen, I do wonder you should charge me with a Crime of that horrid Na­ture.—I abhor Lying, as much as Cove­tousness or Murther. I said, indeed, That I had not seen my Man since last Night, and there is truth you see in that, for the Person that you took for my Man, confesses her self a Woman.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.—

Then again, I said, That I had not seen my Man since last Night▪ that is, I had not seen him with an Intention to tell you of it; so there is no [...]hood in these words, only I did not exp [...] my Mind quite so full as I might have done.—

Well, this Cautious is an excellent Scholar. I never should have thought of this.—

Nay, my Brother is right in that.—His only fault was, that he did not express his mind fully.

Then again,—pray observe the words of my Affirmation.—I told you, that I had not seen my Man since last Night, and pray, how should I? Can I make a Man? Or can a Man be properly said to be mine? A Servant may be mine, but a Man cannot. And now, pray, reflect how unjust­ly ye have charged me with the Crim [...] of Lying, and repent of it.

Nay, indeed, Sir George, you and your Son are apt to be too Censorious: I warrant you are apt to think, that this Gen­tleman kept a She-bed-fellow out of some ill Design, whereas they only aim'd at a Spiri­tual Society, and are as Innocent as the Fa­mily of Love.

I do indeed believe it.

And I will swear it,—provided Mr. Cautious will teach me a little of his Art.

Come, ye are profane Persons.—There is nothing got by such Company.

Ay, they be very dull to think Fa­ther Cautious would mauke lye.

My Zeal will burst forth into some indecent Expressions.—Let us withdraw.

I perceive, dear Uncle, you have been kind to me in prejudice of your Son, whom I beg, now, you would please to re­store to your Favour.

Hold thy Tongue my pritty, wit­ty Neice, or I shall suspect that thy honesty has [Page 41] qut run thy wit I hate a Felo [...]de se; to speak a­gainst your own I [...]terest, is very unnat [...]ral, and for the most part, extreamly impertinent.

I shall not prompt the Lady to it.—The motion does proceed altogether from her spontaneous goodness.

It does, and shall do so: but it must be upon condition that you do not only for­sake that Gang, but revenge the injury re­ceiv'd, u [...] the whole Society.

Gramercy, brave Girl;—now thou speakst to the purpose, and I am incli­ned to hear thee.

Madam, let me know your Com­mands; and if I don't execute them, let me borid by, the Priests all day, and the Hag at night, till I look as simply as Cautious at the discovery of his Punk.

I faith, Son, thou art in the right way.—Revenge the [...]jury to some pur­pose;— [...]nd i [...] [...]ill be one step into my fa­vour?

Look you here are two Letters; one to Mr [...] [...] another to Mr. Turn­about.—Follow me, [...] you shall receive further directions.

With all my heart.

And mine too.—Now I hope to see some mischief.

I wonder your Lordship should insist so much upon Numbers, as if there were any strength in divided and unarmed Num­bers: can uncemented Sand grow into a Wall? or would your Lordship fear your Enemy, when you had his Sword in your own hand?

Your Reverence mistakes me—I am as great a stranger to fear as your self; but still I do not love to extinguish all ratio­nal apprehensions of danger: Divided num­bers are not of the strength that united are, where the quantity is equal; but you do not well conclude from thence, That they are of no strength at all: There are Moun­tains of divided Sand, that can re [...]st the stroke of a Cannon, and overwhelm the best disciplin'd Troop in Europe: And tho I should not fear a single Enemy, if I had his Sword in my hand; yet I should think my self in an ill condition, if I were assaulted by two or three hundred naked men of equal strength and courage with my self.—This is our case;—We have 200 to one against us, and that seems to me to out-ballance all other Advantages—

That is because your Lordship has not considered the Policy of foreign Courts, as I have [...] What vast numbers do they keep in [...], grievous insupportable Sla­very, by little or no fo [...]e at all!—

That is, because the People love to keep themselves so, which our Countrey­men do not: Whether they are born Slaves by some peculiar Influence of the Heavens, or whether Custom has made that Yoke to be easie, or whether that servile disposition is deriv'd from Father to Son, by some un­perceivable manner of Tradition;—the Cause is uncertain, but the Effect is plain.—But to think English-men to be easily kept in subjection, because foreigners can, is as good Logick, as to conclude a Lion dares not fight, because a Sheep is a timorous Creature.

I perceive your Lordship is not skill'd in the Politicks; I can give you several rea­sons why there is no danger in the dreaded number of the Hereticks: For first, they want an Head; and what, alas! is Body without an Head? There's one for you.

Your Argument is Metaphorical, but not conclusive.—It is true, these popu­lar Insurrections that are rais'd by the Power or Interest of one particular Man, are soon quell'd, when the Head is once remov'd; for the Cause taken away, the Effect ceases. But where the cause of discontent is general, an Head is never wanting, for many hands make light work.

Then again'—The Hereticks want Councel and Conduct: Alas! all their Great Men are bred in the English Court, and know nothing of the French and Italian Finesses: There are no men in the world, excepting those of my Order, that under­stand the true Methods and Principles of [Page 42] Government. Alas! your English Lords are troubled with scruples of Conscience, and pretend to tenderness and good nature, and think themselves always oblig'd to stick to the immutable Rules of Honour; and talk of Just and Unjust, and I know not what whimseys: They don't consider, that it is impossible for a States-man to accomplish a­ny great Designs, that boggles at any sort of means that are conducing to his End, tho never so unjust and cruel.—

I wish you do not find those Lords, which you so much despise, to be Masters of more Policy than is consistent with the good of the Catholick Cause.

Pshaw! Pshaw! never fear it.—When all's done, we have an Army to defend us.

An Army sympathizes with the major part of the Nation out of which they are taken; and what raises Jealousies in the One, is sure to raise Discontents in the Other.—Heaven send we may never stand in need of that.

Pshaw! pshaw! your Lordship is too timorous.

angry. No man, but what's de­fended by a Gown, dares tell me so—Once more, farewell. And when you see all England in a flame, you [...] selves pursued to the water-side, and offering all your Trea­sure for a Boat; when Catholicks are driven from their Houses, and made the Object of a publick scorn, remember then I had no hand in this.

And when you see the Triumphs of our Cause, all bending low unto the See of Rome, the Hereti [...]ks or forced to comply, or roving up and down the world for Bread, but finding none: when this you live to see, remember well that mine is the contri­vance; 'tis I propos'd the End, and found the Means; shap'd the Tools, and perfect­ed the Work; and mine's the Honour.—

May it be so.—I leave the Honour and the Danger unto you.—Fare­well, I've done my best.

Well, this Lord is honest, but Master of extreme wrong Notions in Policy, as if he had been bred under some Calvinistical Pedant, that never read Machiavel—But I must now lay aside thoughts of State-affairs, and mind the grand Concerns of softer Love. Leucasid's eyes have shot a [...]re into my breast, which nothing but her self can extinguish: If I can enjoy her in the pe [...]on of a discard­ed Officer, I shall look upon it as my greatest [...]iess.—For as there is greater art in ma­king a Chain for a Flea than an Elephant, so there is something more skill in [...]subduing the heart of a Woman, than in subverting a Kingdom.

O Mrs. Counterfeit, you're welcome, most heartily welcome.—What news?

O, the most obliging News in the World.— Leucas [...]a is yours, your Plots take to admiration.—I vow you don't act fair­ly, to outwit a Woman in her own Professi­on.—Read this [Gives him a Letter he reads.

The account you give of tha [...] Noble Person, and his suffering in so good a Cause, will not permit me to be cruel—I honour such [...]; [...] and if it is his desire to [...] k [...]wn to me any part of his grievances, he shall find an ho [...]rable and kind reception from

Yours, Leucasia.

Why, look you, Mrs. C [...]unterfeit, did not I tell you that nothing could resist my Policy? Here's a Lady that hates our Reli­gion, and in particular my Order and Per­son: Now who but my self could extract good out of so much evil, and make her a­version a step to enjoy her?

If you are as quick in Execution, as fine in Projection, that will soon be done. Or if you should be put to the trouble to ra­vish, or so, if opportunity favours, your dis­guise is your security.

There thou hitt'st the Nail on the head: my disguise is ready, you shall go in and see it fitted.

I wait your Commands; but you must go incognito, without any Equipage.—

Pray, Mrs. Counterfeit, leave the con­triving part to me, I think I am Master of that.

And you must be sure to aggravate the Ingratitude of Priests and Jesuits.

What still moving beyond your sta­tion? must the Spring rise higher than the Fountain-head? have you not learn'd all this from me? and do you pretend to teach?

No, indeed, I have not learn'd all from you; my Mother, and my good Grand­mother, and my Aunt, and my great Aunt, taught me a great deal, and I have had 50 years experience; so that you might trust a little to my Judgment.

Then you will pretend to direct me?

No, an't please your Reverence, I will not pretend to that: You do excel me and all mankind in the mysterious arts of Love; I must most humbly acknowledge it to be so

Then follow me; and remember the contriving part is mine; the executive we must share between us.

You see how far I have condesoend­ed to cure your capricious humour; tho I must confess your carriage to me, and your hair-brain'd Jealousie, does deserve my scorn, or rather is below it.—

I confess my error, and am ready to redeem your lost favour with my Sword. What is it you will command?

A certain pretended Lord is pleas'd to think me a very fit person to be his Whore. Now what would you do in vindication of my Honour?

Oh very little.—Perhaps I might only cut his Throat, or whip him through the Lungs, or some such trifle:—Neither more nor less—

No, that's too much.—But I suppose that if he should refuse to draw, you would grudge him the pains to kick him, or assist my Servants in tossing him in a Blanket.—

No, by heavens I would not. Good Madam, tell me, When, where, and how I shall serve you, you shall see with what zeal I'll do it.

You must retire immediately into this Closet, and not stir till the Signal be given. This is the least Penance I can im­pose for your Jealousie, and other high mis­demeanors; and I suppose herein I am not so rigid as the Fathers.

Fy! Fy! Good Madam tell me no more of the Fathers, they are meer Babies and Children: I care no more for the Fa­thers, than I do for the Indian Bramines, or Tu [...]kish Muf [...], unless it be for my own ends; for tho that Beldame Counterfeit was pleas'd to give your Ladiship an account that they in [...]nded to fool me, yet I can assure you I find as great encouragement as any New Convert of 'em all.

I will tell thy true Character: Thy Love makes thee greedy of Estate and Ho­nour, and the greediness of Estate and Ho­nour make thee love so much the more ea­gerly; now to cure this vicious circulation of humours, I will first make thee weary of poaching after the Fathers, by rendring thee odious to them; and then, as for Love, you know the last remedy for that.

Phu! phu! Politico is so much my Friend, thou canst never render me odious to him.

Yes, I will, in the space of half an hour.

'Tis not an Age and a half can do it. Will you venture your Maidenhead upon that Bett?

Yes, I wou'd, if you had one to stake against it.

Prethee what dost talk of one, I have had an hundred in my time.

Ay, but they are now all vanish'd, and become as invisible as your 20 Mannors.

That's true indeed. But to be seri­ous; if you have a mind to convert me, you may find a nearer way; it is but taking me to your self for ever, and then I will soon bid adieu to all the Gang of pedantical Fathers.

But my resolution is to make thee weary of that Society, without making use of that dangerous Matrimonial Remedy. And if I do it not, then say my wit has fail'd me.

And if you do redeem me from that Gang without paying your self for my Ran­som, then say that I am not Master of Wit, Resolution, Common Sense, or Reason.

Madam, here's a Person of Quality at the door in a Coach.

That's the man, bid him come up.—Now, Mr. Turnabout, if you mean ever to purchase my Love by using him very scurvi­ly, retire into the next Room, and stir not unless he offer force, or I give the signal.

Let me alone for that.

Now this fool Politico will think that I don't know him in his disguise; but hea­ven be prais'd I am ready for his reception.

Madam, I'm come to throw my self at your feet for pardon.—I presume Mrs. Counterfeit has acquainted you with my Per­son and Character.

My Lord, if your intentions are not criminal, it is superfluous to ask a Pardon. Besides, the Character I received of your Person, and the account of your Sufferings in so good a Cause, place you above all for­malities of that nature. I have rather reason to admire at your Lordship's condescension to one so much your Inferior in Quality and Honour.

I must confess, none ever served the Protestant Cause with greater Zeal and In­tegrity; and this drew upon me the envy of Politico, Bigot, and others, which occasion'd my removal from Court; but still my very Ruins are above the pity of the very best of them, and it lies in your Ladiships Power to build up the highest degree of human feli­city.

My Lord, I can never enough reflect upon the baseness and ingratitude of those Priests towards your Lordship and other worthy Patriots: but I am fill'd with horror and amazement, that a Person of your Worth, Courage, Conduct and Fidelity, should be undermin'd by such a raskally Crew of fan­tastical Priests as Politico, Bigot, Cautious, and Mackdonnel! a Gang of whimsical, nonsensi­cal Blockheads, that look as odly in the Court, as a Skull in the Presence-Chamber; whose whole skill lies in Books, and that too no farther than Title-pages; and perhaps, if some special Roguery does require it, they may proceed to the Index, and so begin that, as they do all other things, at the wrong end. And—

Nay, good Lady, proceed no farther; I forgive my Enemies; and you know my business here is Love, and not Revenge.—Now must I hear my-self rail'd at, and say nothing

My Lord, I cannot but admire your Generosity in forgiving your Enemies; but I will take the liberty to tell you, that They, and especially Politico, are of all things my aversion.

But yet, I hope, you will grant that Politico is the very best, the top and flower of them all.

I vow, my Lord, I am of a quite contrary Opinion; for first, as to his per­son—

Nay, good Lady, let his Person alone, it will never hurt you.

I will assure you, the remembrance of his Person does hurt me this very moment, it was such a filthy spectacle, [Spits.]—His Meen and Air so affectedly odd and boy­ish; his Eyes Lustful, and, if I may say it, Goatish; his Hands clumsie; his Head lump­ish; nothing good but his Voice, which did a little resemble with your Lordships, and make an attonement for his other Enormi­ties.—Sure this will sting him.

Come, Madam, be not so Satyrical upon the famous Politico, tho my Enemy: the Habit of an Order does oftentimes dis­figure a most excellent Shape and Meen: but be that what it will, you must needs grant Politico to be the greatest States-man in the World, and a man of the finest Con­trivance in Europe.—All his Enemies confess him to be a wise man.

I know he esteems himself so, but the world has a different Opinion of him. Would a wise man throw off such a worthy gallant Gentleman as your self, that are steddy by a Principle of Duty, to make room for mercenary Slaves, that know, no higher Equity than Interest? Would a wise man encourage Lying, Dissimulation and Hypo­crisy [Page 45] in others, when he knows not how soon they may make use of the same Arts to his own Distruction? Would a wise Man pu­nish or deride others for their Constancy, Loyalty, and Fidelity, to secure a Government which needs must perish without them? Do you think, I say, my Lord, all this to be the part of a wise Man?

Good Lady talk no more of Politico, my business is Love.

And how can I more effectually ex­press my Love to your Person and Merits, than by railing at those Enemies of yours, that have [...]ast such a Cloud upon them? Good, my Lord, join with me in a few in­nocent Curses against Father Politico, and all his Gang, that have done you this insup­portable Injury.—

Pray, Madam, excuse me from Cur­sing; I came hither for the blessing of your Love, and must my self be curs'd without it.

No excuses, my Lord, it will lessen the Opinion I have of the greatness of your Spirit. Come, you shall invent some new Curses with me.

My mind now is so full of Love, that I can invent nothing that has the least relish of hatred. Dear Madam, excuse me.

Then, if you will not invent, you shall leave that to me, and only conclude with an hearty Amen.

I wonder that your Ladiship will of­fer to impose upon me the Office of a Parish-Clerk. How shall I be able to give a tune­able Accent to Amen?

Your Lordship is modest.—I know you have an excellent Base, and can't chuse but do it very well.

What an unconscionable Woman is this, to expect that I should curse my self, and my Brethren.

I'll shew you the way; a little cur­sing will make you relish the sweetness of Love the better.—May they be always contri­ving, and never bring any thing to effect. May they employ none but Knaves and Fools, and may those at last deceive them; may they heap up vast Treasures, and Porters en­joy them; may they fall into an immoderate love of themselves, and into hatred of all Man­kind besides; and if ever any of them have a Mistriss, may she be Beautiful, Rich, Virtuous, and Heretical, and that will be plague e­nough.—Good my Lord say, Amen.

Indeed, Madam, I have a Cold, I can't do it with a Grace.

'Tis no matter for Grace, do but speak it heartily.

Amen.

May all their Plots be too improba­ble to take effect, and not improbable enough to please as a Fiction in a Romance or No­vel. But may they have the happiness to par­take of that vicious Mediocrity, which is good for just nothing.—You must say, Amen.

Amen.

Well, I perceive your supera­bounding Goodness, does make you pro­nounce Amen very faintly.—I will there­fore desist from Cursing; and I have Ten thousand more to utter, and none of them undeserv'd.

A pox of this Amour, I am weary of it.

—Madam, if you would curse my Enemies, the best way is to make me happy with your Love.—It will burst their hearts with envy.

If I had any happiness to confer, your requestwould be reasonable, but I fear you are come out of one misfortune, with intention to fall into a greater. Matrimony, if that be your design, cures no Distempers of the Mind, but by inflicting greater. It is a corrosive, that may deaden the Flesh in order to Am­putation, but it seldom effects a Cure that is better than the Disease.

Tho Matrimony cannot, there is some­thing in your Ladiships power that can. Ma­dam, I am a Soldier, and you know M [...]n of our Profession flie more directly to enjoyment than others do, over all those Forms and Ob­stacles invented by Fools and Platonick Lovers.

Then I perceive at length your Lord­ships meaning; you came hither instead of telling your Sufferings, with a design to Whore me.—Pray, my Lord, speak plain­ly, did you come hither with a design to Whore me?

Madam, you present the most plea­sant thing in the World, in the most hideous Dress. Give it a softer Name, and the busi­ness is half done.

Whilst I thought you Virtuous, and a Sufferer for your Countries Honour, I must confess. I had a profound respect for your Person; but now—

Ay, now you may boast, that you have conquered him whom Sovereign Princes could not.

When Lust has turn'd a Man into a Beast, there can be no great triumph in such a Conquest.—Mrs. Counterfeit, is as much mistaken in her little Policies, as Father Poli­tico in his great ones.

These strugglings of Modesty, choak all true Pleasure in the Birth: It is more ge­nerous to yield without previous Hypocrisy.

I am not us'd to Discourses of this nature; adieu.

Nay, Madam, we must not part so.

Then you intend Violence.

Ay, but the most ravishing,—that e­ver was experienc'd by Woman.

Sure you will not put me to the trou­ble to call my Servants to my aid.

It is in vain; they are as secure as your self.

Sure you are not so much a Villain!

If I am not, you need not fear me. The next Room, Madam, is a more plea­sant scene for Love.

Sure Turnabout will not fail me now,—if he does I'm undone—

She knocks.

'Tis all in vain.

What means this noise? Villain unhand the Lady.

What, my Rival Turnabout!—I'm undone.

How dare you offer violence to a Lady in her own Lodgings?

You call that Violence which was only a little innocent freedom. [Turnabout draws.

You seem to be a Man of Quality, and a Soldier, you have begun an Injury like a Villain, and must defend it like a Man,—Draw.

What shall I do now? I know no more how to Fight than a Girl of Fifteen, that is only skilled in the Innocent use of her Nails.

Come, Sir, stand not amazed; Draw, or you're a Dead Man.

I am not afraid to Draw, nor unable to chastise your sawcy intrusion—But I hope you will not force me to that rude [...]ess in a Ladies Apartment, whose Honour you pre­tend to maintain.

You were not afraid of a greater rudeness than this, and therefore have no reason to scruple a less: Sir, I say—Draw.

All the words in the World shall not make me transgress the Rules of Decency and Order.—

Then shall this do it; (kicks him.) Or this, (again.)

No, Sir, I have more breeding than to incur an absurdity of so high a nature,—But you shall repent of this; Politico is my Friend,—you know his Power.

Damn Politico—Do you wear a Sword, and shelter your self under the Pro­tection of a whimsical Gownman?—Draw, or I have another expedient for you.

If I Draw, I am certainly kill'd, and Ten thousand of the best Plots in the World are most certainly spoil'd.—I must owe pro­tection to Non-resistance, and Passive-obedience.

I will not Draw—for I said I would not.

Then I'le try another experiment on you: I have an Engine shall toss you higher than a flying Chariot in Bartholomew-Fair.

Your pleasure, Sir?

Four of you bring in a Blanket with all Expedition.

Well, Politico will revenge this injury.

I tell thee again, Politico's an Ass and a Fool; I my self have made him a Fool this two months.

Bravely done my Lads—Let's carry that Rascal into the Hall, and mount him.

to Turn. Do you know who I am? Have a care what you do.

I know thee to be a Coward: I believe thou ar [...] a Villain: and I vi [...]ely su­spect thou hast something in thee of the Fool, and that's enough for my purpose. (To Foot.) Carry him away.

You will repent of it—Oh! Mur­ther, Murther▪

Gentlemen, I sent for you hither, to make known the shame of the fam'd Politico, who came hither in disguise to rob me of my Honour; and I hope I have given you such ocular demonstration, as has left no room for doubt.

Thou art a brave Girl, I faith, I love revenge and mischief when it is to the purpose.

Yesh by my shoul, and I do love mischief wid all my heart, when dere is no hearme in in it.

It cannot be that Politico should be guilty of such a crime, who has labour'd so abundantly in the propagation of the Catho­lick Cause; It must be the delusion of some evil spirit, that has put on the shape and habit of Politico, to bring this disgrace on our Cause and Order: Let me come near him with my Exorcisms, and I will make him confess as much.—

If he should confess himself a Devil, he would confess the truth.—

Superstition is incurable; and blind Zeal does seldom recover its sight:—Has not my Neece shewed you the Jewels sent by his own Hand?

A good Man may sometimes be ta­ken in a fault; but to be so very prodigal, as to give away Jewels of that value, is a wick­edness that I think to be unpardonable.—

Come Brother, let's go and comfort Politico under this disgrace.

Ay, that's better than to stay here, to become spectators of our own—Besides I've Money to receive.

Farewell, and remember none ever provok'd our Order unreveng'd.

And don't think the World will be­lieve this scandal; for we will swear it is false.

Yesh, it ish falsh, very falsh.

What is false?

What is falsh,—by my shoul I've forgat vat [...]ish dat vas falsh; but I'm sure it vas someting.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Come let's repair to Politico, it is vain to stay here.

Now, Madam, I hope my business is quite done, I've gain'd my own ends by Po­litico, who seems to be all melted into Love with my charming conversation; and I've helped your Ladiship in distress, which gives me some pretensions unto your favour.

It is natural for Men to err, and I per­ceive you are not altogether free from that human frailty; you build much upon your friendship with Politico, which is now at an end; you must expect nothing from him but Revenge and Malice; for he is the very per­son in disguise, whom you have so plentiful­ly kick'd and toss'd in a Blanket.

A Pox on't, 'tis impossible!

Good Mr. Turnabout, speak not impertinently, I do know it is so.

'Ounds this is a Trick I never thought on.

Since you doubt, follow me, and I'le soon convince you

I'le wait on you—but I am all amaze­ment.

And I will go and try one Plot, as old as I am. Here Jack,

Sir?

Go immediately to Kensington, and turn my Horse loose with Bridle and Saddle, raise a report that I am missing, and, as you believe, Mu [...]thered; and to be sure, you Dog, be secret: Or—

Lord, Sir, How shall I tell such a Lie! I never told a Lie in my Life, an't please your Honour.

You Dog, you can tell nothing else. Do it, or I'll cut your Throat.

Since your Honour will have it so, I'll try.

By this device I hope to under­stand how far my Son is infected with Jesui­tical Principles—For if he is far gone, I shall discard him for ever.

Youth quickly learns the Vices of the Town, Swiftly they come and swiftly pass away; But crimes infus'd by the more sober Gown, Are much more black, and make a longer stay.

ARe ye sure then Leucasia knew me?

She call'd us to be spectators of your shame.

Was ever man thus baffled in Amour, by the sole malignity of Fortune?—for you must needs grant that the Plot was well laid.

Be not dejected, this Blanketting is a lively representation of Great mens Fortunes, sometimes up and sometimes down; There is never any great Exaltation, but there is danger of a sudden Depression; this you knew before to be true by Speculation, and now receive a confirmation from palpable Experience.

Ay, but to be kick'd up and down like a Football, that was rude.

The Poets and Philosophers compare the Life of Man to a Game at Tennis, The World is the Tennis-court, and men are the Balls which the Fates toss up and down with Rackets: But great men, like great Foot­balls, are kicked up and down with greater violence. The s [...]ock was rude, but the em­b [...]em is good and useful.

Alas, I don't value a little Blanket­ing, or Kicking; But to have a Plot disap­pointed—that grieves me.

By my shoul, my dear Joy, de dish­appointment ish not so great; for tho thow didst not get into the Lady's Bed, thou didst get possession of the Blanket, and that is something▪ Ha, ha.—

And do you think that Turnabout knew me?

Not then,—but now I presume he does.

Then will I be reveng'd on him.

But how?

By giving him good words, raising his hopes, making him spend the remainder of his small fortune in expectation of great things; and then doing for him just nothing at all.—And then for Leucasia.—

Ay, prethee what canst contrive a­gainst that pestilent Heretick.

I have one of the finest Plots in the World, if thou wilt but assist me.

To be reveng'd on Leucasia, is to do good to the publick; and I will refuse no labour to accomplish that.

Then this it is,—You hear the Rab­ble are in some violent commotions against the Men of our Persuasion and Order?

So great, that I have hid all my Trunks in your dark Cellar.

You, Bigot, shall put on a Porters Frock, and excite them to all manner of In­dignities.—

Against whom?

Against all Romanists, and especially against my self.

And what then?

Why, I will repair, under pretence of shelter, to Leucasia's Lodgings—And there will scatter Books and Pictures that are pe­culiar to our way; then you shall bring down the Rabble to search for me, precisely at Nine of the Clock; I will be gone before that time, and so you with your wonted Elo­quence, shall make the whole storm light upon Leucasia.

Brother, you must excuse me, it is not for the good of the Cause.

Brother, you are mistaken; I can de­monstrate it to be the surest and securest way to promote it.

You are the Oracle of Policy, I will go about it presently: But let your Servant help me to a disguise.

'Tis ready for you.

Adieu.

Hey day! By my shoul here ish Shaint Pautrick come to shee us.

Salvete fratres venerandi,—Pray which of you bears the venerable name of Politico?

Tu quoque salvus sis venerande Pater, This is the Gentleman.

Is this the famous Politico, whose Fame is spread through all the habitable part of the World!—Is this the Wise, the Learn­ed, the Divine Politico!

I am that Politico of whom the World is pleased undeservedly to speak very great things, and far above my merits. A little feigned modesty does well.

Then blessed are these eyes that see the Man. And blest these ears of mine that hear him speak. And blest these Legs and Feet that brought me hither.—My Vow is now perform'd, I'll shave my Beard, and live at rest: But first, I must have leave to kiss the Hem of your Garment.

By no means—That's too much!

Hinder me not— (Kisses his Coat.) Bless me, what Virtue flows into my Body and mind from hence! Well, now I am happy.

This old fellow is so very conde­scending, that I fear he comes a begging.

Pray reverend Father tell us the rea­son of your transport, and whence you come.

These Fourscore years America has been my constant place of Prayers and Resi­dence; And had been so till now, but that the fame of your great deeds has drawn me from my so far distant Cell, to see a person that the World adores.

I perceive by this, that I am very fa­mous in America.

If you come from America, Father, I presume you bring good store of Gold.

Gold I despise; I came to learn and see the Wisdom of this Man.

But how came you to hear so much of my fame in America?

How should I hear that the Sun shines, or that the Stars bedeck the Canopy of Heaven?—You are known as much as they, and equally admired.

That's much at so great a distance!—

What is more swift than Fame? There's not a Nurse, but prays her tender off-spring may attain the Wisdom of Politico—Not a Father that gives his blessing, but uses this, Love—May thine be great as Politico's.

'Tis wondrous strange!

They build Churches to your Name, and have an Holyday, that they ho­nour your Wisdom with, and is call'd, O Sa­pientia.

All this may be true; But yet to pre­vent all scruples, I desire you to shew some Letters Testimonial from the Provincial of our Order there, or other persons.

Am I suspected then?

Be not angry, Reverend Sir, you are not suspected; but his Reverence must keep close to his Rule, not to admit Strangers without Letters Testimonial.

How should I have Letters Testi­monial, that have liv'd in an uninhabitable Island near the Southern Pole, an Hermeti­cal Life these sixty years.

But then how did you hear of my fame? There I nick'd the Old Gentleman.

We Hermits know all that is done, by Revelation, as well as if we saw it with our eyes; How else could we endure so many years of tedious solitude.

Nay, Brother, it is certain he might know it by Revelation.

Not improbable, being so good a Man.

I have not seen the face of Man or Beast these Fourscore years:—Yet I can tell some secrets of your Life,— [Whispers Pol. Is not that true?

Most certainly true:—Thou art a Divine Person.

And when you liv'd alone so long in America, Good my Dear Joy, tell me what Company did you use to keep?

My Dog my Cat, and sometimes for diversions sake, a Monkey.

And did not you go sometimes [Page 50] to smoak a Pipe at your Neighbours?

How could I, when I had none there?

By my shoul, my Dear Joy, I did quite make forget that.

How long is it since you took this Vow to Visit me?

About Fifty years.

That is strange, I am but 40 years old.

A Pox on his gravity, it made me mistake his Age. (To Pol) O Sir, I know how Great you would be, long before your Con­ception.

By special Revelation?

Yes, by special Revelation.

I'll be Hang'th i [...] this Fellow does not come to Beg, to Cheat, or Steal.

Well, it is joyful news to me, that my poor endeavours do meet with that encou­ragement in the remoter parts of the World: for let me die, if some are not so bruitish here, as to censure me for an Hairbrain'd, Imprudent Statesman.—

They are more stupid than the meanest Animals in our Parts; for the very Parrots are taught to say, Wise Pol, Prudent Pol, A Cup of Sack for Pol.

It is the nature of the English to de­spise all Political Wisdom, because it is a Foreign Commodity: But I perceive the Americans have better Judgment.

Oh! abundantly.

Have you other business?

What greater business than to see your Wisdom?

Since that's your end, I'll make you sensible Fame's no Liar.

Yes, I have one request more, which I hope to obtain by the intercession of these worthy Gentlemen.

Give it a Name, and you shall see our readiness.

The Inhabitants of those Parts, as I partly understand it by Revelation, and partly was told in the Ship, are troubled with a Giddiness in the Head, and other Distem­pers of the Brain, from which they think they can never be delivered, but by the Ap­plication of something taken from your body; which I therefore humbly beg you would bestow upon me, for it will be ex­treamly reverenced in those Parts.

A most Pious request; I [...] must not be denied.

aside to Bigot, I told you this Fellow came to beg.

What is it they would have?

A Glove, a Nightcap, or a pair of Shooes.

My Man shall deliver you the best pair I have.

No: I had rather have a pair your Reverence had worn longest; there is likely to be most Virtue in them.

I don't believe it can do them any good; but yet the Vulgar are to be indulg'd and gratified in such designs, right or wrong.

You shall have what ever you will of that nature.

Then be pleased to Honour your Humble Servant with an old Handkerchief; for the people of those parts have a great Veneration for all Effluviums of your Brain.

By my shoul, my Dear Joy, I have two or three pair of old Shooes, if they will do thy Countrymen any good, they shall have them with all my heart.

But first let's know your Name?

I was born in England of the Fa­mily of the Subtlemans; but when I took upon me the Hermetical Life, I chang'd my Name to Sancto Hermolto de Fulgoso, alias, The Simple Hermit.

Why the Simple Hermit?

I was proud of that Name, be­cause it shew'd my Humility.

Then you were proud of being hum­ble.

Yes, I was very proud of being so very humble.—

Mr. Bigot, you know your business, I will give Orders for the entertainment of this Hermit, and then repair to Leucasia's Lodgings.

I know it, and will execute your Or­ders with all imaginable diligence and fide­lity.

What dost thou say, Is Sir George Murther'd.

So it is conjectur'd; and his Man does confidently reports it.

It cannot be,—they dare not be such Villains.

It seems they dare; the thing is done, and thought to be contriv'd by Father Poli­tico.

A Man might as well expect to see a Mine above Ground, as a deep Plot come from the shallow Head of Politico; If he is Author of this barbarous Murther, I dare pawn my reputation, I discover it in less than half an hours Conversation.

But you hazard your person, in trusting your self in the House with one who would have us'd you so ill.

I hope to find an opportunity to use him worse: Do you observe your cue, and leave the rest to me.

(They are going out, but met by Turnabout.)

I'gad Madam, you are very happily met; Did you appoint me this place, or did I appoint you?

If it had been by your appointment, I should not have been here; but if it had been by mine, it had been likely to succeed better: If you fancy any happiness to your self in this Meeting, it must be ascribed to chance, and not to conduct.

I am like a good Gamester that throw'd well so often, that the ignorant think he has a great deal of good luck, when it really is a great deal of good skill. I am verily persuaded that either you or I did contrive this, tho I don't know when or where.

I have one reason to make me think it is yours, because it is to no purpose.

If it is to no purpose, it is you, Lady, that make it so: I am ready on my part to make it effectual to all intents and purposes whatever.

If I make it so, I will withdraw, and leave you to your self.

If you withdraw, you spoil all, I can do nothing without your assistance.

Suppose I should give you my assist­ance, what then?

Then I would renounce the Devil and all his works, send for a Parson, and Marry you immediately.

That is as much as to say, That if the work were done to your hands, you would do it with a great deal of ease;—But I am not for that lazy way,—you must give me some proof of your diligence

Diligence before Matrimony, is like a rich Feast before an Appetite, it may be good, but not seasonable: [...]o weary me out with Diligence now, is like riding an Horse to death before he begins his Journey.

And how should I know that an Horse can perform his Journey, unless I try him first?

Yes, Madam, you may try me first if you please.

I have tried you, and find you like the rest of your Sex, great in promises, and little in performance: Did not you promise to compleat a revenge upon Politico?

Look you, Madam, I love mischief, but I hate to do it gratis; upon assurance of your love, I will not only sacrifice that [...]alf to your incensed Anger; but Mackdonnel him­self, with an whole Hecatomb of Irish bulls and Blunders.

I came hither to learn some intel­ligence of Sir Geoorge Subtleman's Death; Will you perform that Office for me, and discover the Author of that Villany?

Hang Villany, Death and Murther, It is your Eyes that have Murth [...]red me, and I am glad that I have the opportunity to discover that: What do I care for the death of an Old Man, that made no conscience of living Eighty years? propound any other task, and I'll perform it, tho' difficult enough to puzzle the Devil.

Then bring me a Writing subscrib'd with Politico's own hand, wherein he shall acknowledge himself to be no Politician, but a Pedant, a Sot, and an Ass; and in requi­tal, you shall have of me whatever you will please to ask.

How! make Politico confess that!

Yes, make Politico confess that, or ne're see my face more. I find Politico is la­zy.—I'll to my Coach.

Nay, Madam, now you cannot stir from this house; it is beset by an unruly Rabble; you must endure the fortune of the Siege.

Heavens defend us! what shall I do?

I'll conduct you to a private Apart­ment, where you may remain without dis­covery; if danger comes near you, I will lose my Life in your Defence.—Remain there, and I will bring a Subscription from Politico.

There is nothing I expect less, or desire more,—Do that, and be as happy as I can make you.

A happy Match! I told you our meeting would be to the purpose.

'Sdeath, the Rabble here already! I bid Bigot not bring them hither this half­hour.

They are now unruly, Bigot can per­fuade them to nothing; they threaten to burn your House down.

Then I can't go to Leucasia.

Not without danger of your Life.

Why, then my whole Plot is spoil'd—To see the Malignity of Fortune! Where is Mr. Turnabout and Subtleman?

They are both in the House.

That's well—Engage Mr Turnabout as far as you can in the danger, and leave him in it; Let Mackdonnel command the Ser­vants, and make a vigorous defence, he is apprehensive of few things, perhaps he will not be apprehensive of danger. Prepare the Dark Vault for my reception, where, I think it is impossible for the many-headed Beast, with all its eyes, to find me.—Send the old Hermit to me; but let him know nothing of this disappointment, it will lessen my re­putation extremely with the Americans.—If the Rabble break in, let them take Fa­ther Cautious's Trunk for a Prey, and so I may save my own; which is good modern, Policy.

I shall punctually observe your Or­ders.

I am not a little fearful of this dan­ger; but Sancto Hermoldo de Fulgoso must not perceive it.

Reverend Father, how fare you? Have you read over the Notes and Observa­tions?

Yes, I have read them.

And do they please you?

I wonder your Reverence will condescend to ask that question.—Am I a competent Judge of those Divine Wri­tings?

But is not the Contrivance wonder­ful?

Beyond expression or imita­tion. When I come to tell these things to the Americans, they will think I am a Lyar.

I will assure you, I have thought upon a Thousand things more improba­ble.

If your Reverence did not af­firm it, I could never believe it.

Why look you, Sir, my constant me­thod is to compass my ends by such means as seem most contrary.

So I perceive, with great admi­ration.

To that purpose, I have sent one to excite the Rabble to Insurrection and Sedi­tion against us, on purpose to further our Cause.

But how can that be?

Why thus: In the first place, the English Hereticks stand much in vindication of their own Innocence: but by this means we shall have plenty of Accusations agains [...] them.

Is that all?

No; by these means we shall rende [...] their Subjection more intolerable: for th [...] oftner any Body of Men is subdu'd, so muc [...] heavier is the Yoke the Conquerour impo [...] ­ses.—There's another.—

Bless me, sure there can be no more.

I perceive you want the Politicians Perspective. For in the third place, we shall have the pleasure to see the Hereticks make wry Faces under the Whipping-posts and Gallows, which to me is as Comical a Sigth, as the Posture-master, and all his Motions.

Oh! wonderful! you must give me leave to write this down.

Well, the business is done.

What business?

My Father is dispatch'd.

Phy! never talk of that.

It is certainly true.

Where's the Estate?

Secure to my self; the Will made to Leucasia is lost.

Then you will give it to the Church.

Why so?

Because we have done it for you.

Have you done it then?

I will not answer directly, but you know what the Casuists said.

But I would know how, and where you did it.

Those are Secrets, 'tis enough that 'tis done.

I dare say no more about it; that Old Gentleman will over-hear us.

He may without danger; he is our dearest Friend and Confident, come from America to see me.

Then I may discourse the business before him.

By all means; I would not for 1000 l. that he should be ignorant of our Success. [To Sir Geo.] Look you here, Father, is new matters of wonder. A young Gentlemen was troubled with an Old Peevish Heretical Fa­ther, that kept him from a good Estate, and would not suffer him to turn Catholick; but we have dispatched him for his Pains, with­out more noise and trouble.

Most excellently done.

I must confess my self oblig'd to this Gentleman for that kindness. But, pray let me know by what means you did it?

Trouble not your head with that; is not the work done?

Yes, to my great Satisfaction; but still I would know to whom I am most ob­lig'd.

Is any thing of moment done without me?—I must take the honour of it upon my self, tho I know nothing of it.

I believe not, but still it is done with that dexterity, that methinks I would fain learn it.

That is an height that every Capacity cannot reach.

And do not you find your heart leap for Joy? Are not you a little transport­ed now the work is done?

O! beyond measure! 'Tis the finest thing in the World to jump into an Estate, without expecting tho tedious Course of Na­ture, that seldom gives us variety of Food, before she has pall'd the Appetite.

Well, I perceive now thou art a Villain.

But you must remember half that E­state is due to the Church.

It is all at your Service, if you will but tell me how it was done.

I must not discover that;—but if you will follow me in, I will shew you a Scheme how something may be done that is like it.—Adieu.

There is nothing I desire more.

Well, I am now satisfied, that my Son is a Rogue and Villain.

—

Meet me in the great Hall, a quarter of an hour hence, and I will disco­ver all.

Was you then an Actor in it.

Yes, a principal one.—Do not fail.

By no means.

—So, now my business is done: I will get a Warrant and Indict them all of Wilful Murther, spend the Estate mer­rily, and leave the Fathers in the lurch to be hang'd and damn'd for me.

Look ye Gentlemen, the business about which we meet, and are to consult a­bout, is this, whether we are able to resist the Violence of the Rabble; or whether it be best to come to an honourable Composi­tion?

I am for Composition, if it can be done without Charges.

And I by my Shoul, I am for Fight­ing, if it can be done without danger.

My Master commits his safety to your care. As you discharge that trust, you may expect his favour.

If you think of Fighting, we must know our number of Arms, Men, and Pro­vision.

As for Provisions, we have good store of Alo, Beer, French Wine, Brandy, and Usquebaugh.

All this is good; and what Ser­vants?

We have nine Irish Foot-men; but those, my dear Joy, are all run away.

And three French Valets; but one has not comb'd his Wig; another has not wash'd his Face; and a third is puzzled to set his Crevat-string; so that they cannot be in a Posture of Defence this hour.

And is that all?

No, we have two High- [...]man Por­ters, but they have drunk so much to raise their Courage, that they have thrown their bulky Bodies, and lye wallowing in the Cellar. We had too an English Groom and Skullion, but they prove perfidious, and are gone over to the Enemy.

And where is my man Jonathan?

At the head of the Rabble, exciting them to all manner of Indignities.

O! miserable Wretch! I am undone then for ever.

Well, it is no matter for great num­bers of Men, what Arms have you? The Rabble are like Jack-Daws, they make an hideous noise when they spy Carrion, but will fly at the smell of a little Gunpowder.

O! by my Shoul! Ish have the ve­ry best Guns in the Wor [...]d, b [...]t I have for­got to provide one thing.

Pray, what's that?

A very small thing, 'tis not worth mentioning.

Pray, let's hear it.

By my Shoul, I have forgot to pro­vide a little Gunpowder.

Nay, then we must yield. My Opi­nion, in short, is, that the Place is not Ten­able, we must Surrender upon Discretion.

And leave my Master to have his Brains knock'd out.

Perhaps not.—Go you, and con­vey him to his dark Vault; then let every Man hide himself as conveniently as he can, and leave me, and Mrs. Subtleman, to ma­nage their F [...]y. The rage of the People is l [...]ke the current of a River; let it pass, and it glides away without damage; but stop it, and it overflows all.—What say you, Gen­tlemen, are you agreed?

I cannot agree, it is the way to lose my Trunk.

We must not all perish for your Trunk.

Then I will get into one of my empty Chests, and dye, or perish with them

And ish will creep into an Hogshead, and dye, or perish with it.

That will be the first thing they'll search for.

Well, I will get under the Bed, and lie in Ambush.

be quick in Execution: I'll go to my Master.

Come, Brother Cautious, let us live.

Why, how now Jack, what dost thou do alone in the midst of this Confusion?

Faith Tom, I am contriving a little Mischief against Father Politico, and his Gang, and stand in need of thy assistance.

Thou shalt have it with all my heart.

It is no time for words, follow me to the Street-door, and you shall see it com­pleated.

Agreed, Love and Revenge move swiftly to their end.

Dost thou suspect, then, Turnabout's Fi­delity.

Yes, because he was so ready to Sur­render.

Ay, but you suspect him against the Rules of Policy. For Turnabout has depen­dencies upon me, Expectancies from me; and it is a general Rule, that scarce one Man is true to another, yet every Man is true to his own Interest.—Besides, he hath lately disoblig'd me, therefore will endeavour to regain my favour.

But what does your Reverence think of Mr. Subtleman?

I think 'tis impossible that he should deceive us, wherefore leave them to manage all. Let Sancto Hermolto de Fulgoso be put into the securest place of all the House; if he receive any hurt, 'twill lessen my Reputation in Ame­rica; let Turnabout and Subtleman keep the Key of the Vault, and none have admit­tance to me but them; secure all my Politi­cal Notes and Observations, tho the Vul­gar may not perceive they are taken from Play-books; remove H [...]bbs and Machiavel out of my Study, they are so thumb'd, it will be a shame to see them; hide the Pi­ctures of those pretty Ladies Mrs. Counterfeit sent me: The Rabble will mistake them for Saints, and burn them: As for the Religious Pictures, it is good to leave them to divert the sway of the Mobile from things of grea­ter Value.

I shall observe it.

Turnabout has lately disoblig'd me, 'tho against his will; and if thou couldst con­trive it so, as to excite the Rabble to kick, beat, or toss him in a Blanket, I should ap­plaud and reward the Action.

If I durst appear, I could quickly do it.

Mr. Turnabout, your most Faithful, Humble, and Obedient Servant.—I see you are taking as much pains for my Preservati­on, as I take for your Advancement.

I have no reason to doubt it.

But why in this disguise?

He that will deal with the Rabble, must appear a little like them.—Good Sir, retire with all speed.—I am just going to let them in, and can't stay to give you a particular Account.

Well, thou art a very fool, and so farewell.

You see Gentlemen, ye are admit­ted without Resistance.—Pray, what is your business?

We came to search for Politico.

I am sorry he is fled; I got into the House before you on purpose to surprise him, but he and all his Family are vanished.—The Lord.—

Nay, it is probable he did deal with the Devil.

We came likewise to search for Pro­testant Bridles, Popish Knives and Trinkets. Bear back there, and let four only Enter.

The Bridles are in the Stable, the Knives in the Kitchen, and the Trinkets are Relicks, and pack'd up in three or four great Trunks, and thrust into a Vault in the Cellar.

Let two go and fetch them

—The Treasure is in the two little Boxes, send them to Wapping, and bring up the other.—Pray Gentle­men, let us proceed with Moderation, no Filching, Stealing, Swearing, or Fighting; let us destroy nothing but Popish Trinkets.

Our Captain speaks very discreetly, and we will obey him.

Honourable Captain, there is a Con­troversy in the Cellar, whether Clarret or White wine are not Popish Goods, and ought to be destroy'd?

No question of it. You know the Hugonots are all forbid it in France.

I am glad to hear it.

Clear the House of all Mass-books, and Pictures of Saints.

That's quickly done, we have burnt St. Herculus already.

Make diligent search for Politico, or any of his Gang.

Dog, Rogue, creep under the Bed! thou art an Irish Papish, and we will kill thee.

By my Shoul, my dear Joy, I am no Irish man, ish was born at Cork.

That Cork shant stop our Mouth.—Thou art an Irish-man, and we will knock thy Brains out.

If thou wast born at Cork, thou must needs be light of Foot, and for the Jests sake, I will throw thee out at th' Window.

Nay, if he was born at Cork, he must needs Swim; we will tye a Stone about's Neck, and throw him into the River, and that's a better Jest. [Snatches him away.

Nay, good my dear Joys, do not tie a Stone about my Neck.—I am very tender of my Head, and shall catch Cold immediately.

I tell thee, mine is the best Jest.

I say mine is. [They pull Mackdonnel about, and at last fall a Fighting.

I say mine is.

Nay, when the Hereticks do Fight amongst themselves, the good Catholick al­ways make their escape.

Pray Gentlemen leave Fighting, and mind your business. Look, here is an whole Trunk of Popish Trinkets.—

—Break it open, it belongs to Father Cautious [They break it open.] so in the first place here is an old pair of Breeches:—See with what care they are pre­serv'd, tho there be a thousand Holes in them.—These did belong to Mathusalem.

If they did, they shall be burnt for Popish.

Then here are six Shirts.

They are not Shirts, but Surpli­ces.—They must be burnt too.

But what's this wrap'd up in a P [...]per.

Hang me, if this covetous Dog, Cautious, is not transporting the [...]arcass of a Goose to France.

Pray, Noble Captain, what is it?

It is the Body of that famous Constan­tinopolitan Cock, that was raised from the dead.

Then it was a Pop [...]sh Cock, and we will burn it.

Gentlemen, I desire you to consult your own safety; The Soldiers are marching down with Powder and Ball:—You have seen all in the House you can.

What say ye, shall we march away?

Away, away, away; burn em, burn 'em, away, away.—

So, 'tis well, they are gone,—Mr. Subtleman come out.

Come, Jack, the Coast is clear; The Rabble are hastning away with all expedi­tion; and all Politico's Servants lye secure in holes, from whence they dare not stir till I call 'em.

Then now is the time to work Poli­tico to your end—Have you plac'd Leucasia's Footmen in a Room next to Politico's.

Yes, I have given good store of Claret to carrouse; I taught them a Song that will frighten Politico out of the Vault.

Then let us make haste and free Leu­casia from all apprehension of danger; She is melancholly in the little Parlour: Besides, I have some business with Mrs. Betty.

As quick as thou wouldst have it—My Love moves so fast, I fancy it near the center.

The Seene Draws, and discovers Politico lying on a Couch, in a Dark Vault in a Melancholly Posture.

Well, this last Plot of raising the Rab­ble, is likely to prove dangerous, tho' it wants nothing but success to render it a Master­piece for the best Politician in Europe. [A noise of Singing and Huzzaing behind the Scenes.

But what noise is this! O'my Conscience the Rabble are got into the next Room, I shall be torn in pieces before succours can come.

Bloody Rogues! Villians! they make me tremble, but I shall shortly have the pleasure to see them all hang'd.

Sir.

Who's there?

'Tis I.—

You are welcome, but speak softly; what News?

All's lost.

It is not.—I have prudence enough left to recover all.

I mean all but your Reverence's Prudence.

But, prethee, what's the matter?—Speak softly.

Captain Tom is fully resolv'd.

To do what?

To shut up the Doors, and burn the House down.

Does he know that I am in it?

As well as I do.

Who betray'd me?

'Tis uncertain; he has the best Intel­ligence in Europe; nothing that is done can escape his knowl [...]dg.

I thought he had been an Ignorant Mechanical Fellow.

So the World thinks him; but 'tis certain, (excepting your self) he is the greatest Statesman in Europe.

What then would you have me do?

Resolve to perish nobly in the Flames; your Fame will shine the brighter.

Burning is no fit Death for a States­man, they should dye by Poyson, or the Ax, or the Halter. Burning puts me in mind of a [...] Heretick.

There is no Ax to be got, but if your Reverence is in very urgent necessity, I have a small quantity of Arsenick in one Pocket, and an Halter in the other.

But why so desperate Mr. Turnabout? Can you bring him to no Conditions?

None but what are worse than Death. You can never endure to hear them.

I perceive you don't understand the true Rules of Policy. Let the Conditions be never so bad, we will hearken to them, give Hopes Accommodation, and interpose Delays till Succour come, and he's taken napping.

Alas, Sir, that is too vulgar a Po­licy to impose upon a Man of his understand­ing. He will allow you a quarter of an hours time for Deliberation.

Then, pray, let me hear his Condi­tions.

First, he will have an Instrument un­der your Hand and Seal, wherein you must Renounce and Disclaim all pretences to the Name of a Politician, and acknowledg your self to be a Pedant, an Ass, and a Fool.

Renounce all Pretences to the Name of Politician, &c. A pretty homour this, I will sooner dye than do it.

I will go and tell him so. [Is going.

No, stay, Self-preservation is a Fun­damental Law of Nature. I will submit to it; but why should he impose such an un­reasonable Task upon me?

He is a Rival of your Fame, and envious of your Glory, which he would fain sully, by rendring you Ridiculous in all the Courts in Christendom.

I believe so,—and therefore I will sooner dye than lose my Honour.—Bid him fire the House.

It shall be done in a moment.

But stay, [pauses] necessity has no Law; I must submit, tho I had rather lose ten of my Toes, and six of my Fingers. But what is his two Articles.

It is of near Kin to the other—You must solemnly Promise and Swear, ne­ver to intermeddle with Matters of State, [Page 58] or Haunt the Courts of Princes, or belye the Favours of Great Men, but spend the re­mainder of your time in Study and Devo­tion.

It is an impossible Condition, I can never perform it.

Why so?

Because it is as natural to me to inter­meddle with Affairs of State, as 'tis to a Bird to fly, or a Fish to swim. And how should I give up my self to the Study of Books, or De­votion, who have been disus'd from both these twenty years.

But I say it is not impossible.

But I say it is:—Let him burn the House.

I say it is not; for tho it be impos­sible to perform, yet it is not impossible to promise.

Ay, there you distinguish rightly. It is not impossible for me to promise it.

Then I shall tell him that you con­sent to his Conditions of Peace.

Yes, do; let him insult at present. I shall soon over-reach his Policy, and bring him to the Gallows, and then I will so dis­appoint him of his Fame, that I will not so much as suffer a Ballad to be made in his Commendation.

That will vex him extreamly.—I'll return presently with a Copy of the A­greement.

I'll attend you, but make haste.

Ne're fear it.

This Turnabout is a very Goose.—I hate him mortally, and yet he thinks me his greatest Friend.

Here, you Rogues, lies Politico, fright him to some purpose, but offer no Violence to his Person.

Let us alone for that.

Zooks, Jack, I'll be hang'd if Po­litico is not hid in this dark Cellar. Let's fetch a Light.

Damn a Light, we will grope him out with our Hands.

Now Heavens desend me, Turnabout has lest the Door open and I shall fall into the Hands of the Rabble.

Groping is the best way, but hast got a Knife ready?

For what?

To cut out the Dogs Tongue, and keep the tip in our Pockets.

I have a Ropes end, and a Bulls Pizzle.

They are too gentle Instruments. would I have him Broil'd on a Gridiron.

I say, Boil him in a Caldron.

I say, Roast him.

I say, 'Igad, lets eat him, if the Rogue does not Stink for fear; he will be good fat Meat.

Bloody Rogues! Villains! What would I give to be free from this danger?

The best way to catch him, is to spread our selves over the Room,—and if ye hear him stir.—

Oh! But we Politicians have a trick for that.

Hast found him Tom?

No, but methinks I scent him.

And 'Igad, I have found his Shooes.

Then he must be near.

O me Miserum!

We had best fetch a Light. All, a Light! a Light! a Light!

I am glad the Villains are gone; but if they return with a Light before Turnabout brings Articles of Peace, I am undone.—To save my Life, I will sign any Condition, but keep none, because they are extorted, Me [...] Mortis.

Sir, where are you?

Here, sweet Mr. Turnabout; you did ill to leave the Door open, the Rabble had almost found me: I must now be contented to Seal a Blank.

No, you shall not do it: The Inso­lence of Captain Tom is intollerable, he will have you not only Sign, but make the same acknowledgment before him blindfold.

And why blindfold, prithee?

The ambitious Statesman looks up­on that as an acknowledgment, that you are so much his Inferior, that you are unworthy to look upon him.

I can never do it. You must bid him fire the House; and yet Life is sweet.—Well, proceed.

And not only so, but he will have you renounce all Pretensions to Leucasia, and publickly profess, that you believe her to be Mistriss of neither Wit, Beauty, or Vir­tue.

And why so?

'Tis Envy, Igad, meer Envy.

Right Mr. Turnabout, it is Envy. I have always observ'd, that the greatest Statesmen have been my greatest Enemies. But how could he know any thing of Leucasia.

Did not I tell you, that he knew all things?

So it seems by this.

Then in the last place, you must provide him and his Gang a splendid Sup­per, where your self must wait upon him in Person, drink a Grace-cup of Reconcilement, and be Friends for ever.—Sure you will ne­ver submit to this.

Not submit to it, yes, with all mine heart, Ha, ha, ha, He a Politician, he an Ass. This one false step shall be his Ruin.—I faith, Captain Tom, I am glad I have catch'd thee in a Trap.

But how?

Why, look you Mr. Turnabout, this young Man in his last Demands, is guilty of two [...]otorious Errors. For 1st. He permits his mortal Enemy to fill him Wine at Supper, not considering how easy a matter 'twere for me to mingle him a glass of Arsenick.

Ay, there I protest you catch him.

Then by staying Supper, he gives me opportunity to send for Guards to sur­prise him and his Mermidons; see him fair­ly hang'd, and my self triumphantly survive him; ha, ha. Come, let us make all ima­ginable haste to prevent the return of the Rabble.—You shall introduce me.

I attend your Motion.

Please you Madam, to take your Seat, and we will present you with the most Comical Sight in the World: Mr. Turnabout will presently be here, and lay the mighty Politico at your Feet, humbly acknowledg­ing himself to be a Pedant, an Ass, and a Fool.

'Tis so well known, there's no need of his Testimony to confirm it; but me­thinks we should have more Spectators.

You will see enough presently; I have sent to Sancto Hermolto de Fulgoso, Bi­got, Cautions, and the whole Gang; we shall burst with Laughter. My Lord Brittain will be here too.

That Lord is truly Noble, his Na­tive Generosity too great to be viciated by any Speculative Opinion. I would not have him affronted.

He will not think himself affronted, to see a few turbulent Priests made Ridicu­lous. I rather think 'twill give him great Diversion.

I could be much Merrier, if I were satisfied concerning Sir George's Absence; and I can assure you a great Blemish does from thence reflect on you.

Faith, Madam, I must wipe of that as well as I can; but I am resolved to be Merry this happy minute, whatever hap­pens the next.—Pray, Madam, take your Seat.

Save you Mr. Subtleman, this is an odd Change, to be sent for out of Danger, to see a Play.—I am not us'd to such Di­version in America.

You will see nothing here, but an innocent Representation of some Follies of [Page 60] Human Nature, to dispel those Melancholly Fumes that are the small Relicks of stupify­ing Dangers.

Nay, you do well to rejoyce. You have lost a Father.

I thank the Fates for it, he depart­ed in a very seasonable time.

But are these Circum­stances true, that you told me in the Par­lour.

All very true.

And you, and Politico, Father Cau­tious, and Bigot, concerned in it.

All equally concern'd; sure you'll reward us.

Most bountifully.

Well, then I do perceive thou art a very Villain

My Lord, your very humble Servant, we have prepared a small Interlude, we hope will not be altogether displeasing to your Lordship, tho it reflects a little on the Priests of your Religion.

Never the more for that; I love their Regular, but hate their Excentrick motions; nothing to me is more ridiculously Odious.

Then, pray, take your Seat there.

And how my dear Joy, didst thou come back from Wapping? Or didst thou stay there lock'd up in thy Chest till this time?

You see I am returned, but with an heavy Heart, and a light Purse. The Rab­ble carried me thither in one of my own Chests, and I lay very still. I understood that I was to be clap'd on Board for Sweedland. Then fearing the loss of my natural Treasure, I crept away slily, and am glad to see the Storm is blown over.

Yesh, by my Shoul, dear Joy, we shall have a rare show, and laugh at the He­retical Dogs, till we do make them cry their Eyes out.

Mr. Cautious, why so Pensive?

Alas, Sir, I have cause enough, my Money is all lost. I saw it set sail for Sweed­land with a fair Wind, and sent two or three Sighs after it, which blew it farther from me.

It is well you are not covetous, if you were, you would hang your self.

No, I am not Covetous. But I think your Note did make some mention of Money.

If you had any hand in the Death of the Old Man, I design 500 l. for your Re­ward.

That is some comfort, I could find in my heart to own it.

Well, what say you?

I say you are greatly beholden to me for it. How, want of Money will make a Man lye!

Then take your Seat. As soon as our Play is done, we'll discourse further a­bout it.

There sits the Captain, kneel down as soon as I give the Sign, and repeat your Lesson, Totidem Verbis.

I warrant you; but what Company is here?

None but a confus'd Rabble.

Lead on, I don't value them.

Bless me, what is the meaning of that?

I am struck with Admiration!

Be silent, and attend the issue.

Now you are in the right Place, make your Honour.

Softly to Mr. Turnabout.

Methinks tho, Captain Tom might allow me a Cushion.

Ne're stand upon that, speak out.

Most high and mighty, thrice Illu­strious Hero.

Thrice Illustrious is not Title suffici­ent. I will be stil'd six times Illustrious Hero.

By my Shoul, my dear Joy, thou art out: Thou must say half a dozen times Illustrious Hero.

Most High and Mighty, Six times Illustrious Hero.

That's well.

I do here in the presence of all this Company—

Company is too mean a word—I will have egregious Society.

I do here in the presence of this E­gregious Society.

to Sir Geo. Do you know the mean­ing of this?

Not I: Be silent.

Proceed.

Profess, own, and declare.

That is not compleat enough; I will have it profess, confess, acknowledg, own, declare, denounce, manifest, make known and publick.

Softly to Turn. Bless me! this Capt. Tom. is very hard to please—Pray intercede for me to his Highness, that there may be some abatement.

'Tis impossible; you must perform all.

I do profess, confess, acknowledg, own, declare, denounce, manifest, make known and publick.

That's tolerably well done.

To all Christian people, as well Ca­tholicks as others.

What's that? Speak out.

He dosh shay, my dear Joy—To all Christian people, ash well Infidels ash others.

I will pass that by; Let him proceed.

That I Politico am no Statesman, no Wise man, no Scholar; but a Pedant, an Ass, and a Fool.

That's very right,—I hope, at length you will learn to speak plain truth.

Aside to Turn This Captain Tom has a shrill Voice, I fancy he is but an effeminate Fellow.

Tush—Proceed, or you will raise his fury.

I do also Promise, Vow, and Swear, That I will not for the future meddle with Affairs of State, or haunt the Courts of Princes, or belye the Favours of Great men; but bestow the remainder of my time in study of Books and Learning.

That's well, speak it out.

(Repeats the same words aloud.)

to L. Brit. Is this Politico himself! or one that represents him?

I know not, nor do I care; I like things well enough.

And lastly, whereas I did pretend admiration of the [...]ady Leucasia, I do now Vow, and Declare, that I did but dissemble, and did never think her Handsome, Witty, Wise, or Virtuous.

Ha, ha, The business is done. Sir, your Servant. [Turnabout pulls off the Handkerchief, The Priests grin, and the rest laugh.

Bless me! What is the meaning of this! Here is no Rabble, no Captain Tom, but all Friends, except that pretty Enemy Leucasia.

The meaning is, Sir, that you are gull'd, grosly and palpably gull'd;—The Rabble has been gone these two hours,—Nothing but your own Fears and Follies has betray'd you into this acknowledgment, by the assistance of your Humble Servant Turn­about.

I Vow, Sir, you did ill not to stand upon your Guard better; but suffer your self to be thus surprized by the stratagem of a silly Woman, and one of your own Pupils.

To Turn. Rogue—Villain—Dog, hast thou deceived me?

'Tis in vain to fret your self, you taught me to Deceive; your self encourag'd me to Deceive; And how can you be angry that at last I have deceived you?

I will be reveng'd for this indignity. To my L. Brittain.

My Lord, will you suffer one of my Cha­racter to be thus abus'd.

Sir, I am ready to defend you with my Life, as long as you act in that [Page 62] Sphere which is proper to your station; but when you exceed the bounds of that, and fall into Calamities and Absurdities, I must leave you.

Alas, my Lord, He can be left in no calamity the space of half an hour;—Let him but take a turn or two about the Room, and he will have Plots enough to confound us all.

Art thou mad, Turnabout, to raise up against thy self so powerful an Enemy?

Not in the least: You are made ri­diculous, and your being ridiculous does make you impotent: Nor have you any reason to accuse me of falshood, since I only put in practice the Arts which you taught me.

Confusion seize thee—I will be re­venged.

Let him go, he will soon be brought again.

The last enterprize of stirring up the Rabble, did unfortunately miscarry in my hands: I rais'd 'em with success, but could no more Govern the Rogues, than Command a Whirlwind; Instead of hurting Leucasia, they have done infinite damage to our selves—But I shall recover my credit, by presenting this goodly Company with some new Con­verts of my own making.

Mr. Bigot, you come too late. But what do you do with all these Women?

These are Virtuous Ladies, whom I have converted by my own industry and elo­quence, from their long-imbib'd Errors.

I perceive a new Scence of mirth is opening.

Mrs. Speedwell, pray speak for your self; or if you are asham'd, let me speak for you. [To the Company, This Lady, not full two hours since, was an inveterate Phanatick, infected with the loathsome Scabs of a Vi­cious Error.

What a Spiritual Mountebank this is!

But I, by Application of those Reme­dies that are proper to Diseases of this Na­ture have reduc'd her to perfect Internal Sanity. Mrs. Speedwell, pray speak for your self.

Mr. Subtleman will know me, and then I am disgrac'd for ever.

Be not asham'd of Truth, it needs no Vizor. [Pulls of her Mask, and shews her to Mr. Subtleman.

O! Mrs. Speedwell, Your very hum­ble Servant—This is a cast Mistress of mine, so damn'd unreasonable and perfidious, that like the Wars of our French Monarch, She was never to be satisfied with Men or Mony—If this be your new virtuous Convert, I wish you much joy of her.

Do you jeer me?

If I do, it is your fault; you are so horridly gull'd in this, that to laugh at you is no matter of choice, but of necessity.

I say, again, Mrs. Speedwell, speak for your self, Is this true?

Why, to speak the truth, a Woman must get her livelyhood some way or other: I liv'd honestly on my Trade, and paid every one till stirs and combustion came, and my Trade decay'd, and Mr. Subtleman cast me off; and then I was sent to turn Religious whether I would or no: And, pray, who can blame me for that?

A very ingenuous Confession.

Well, tho' I am mistaken in this one, yet Envy it self can object, I presume, no­thing against the other—Pray let them de­clare their most stupendious Conversion.

You need not, I know them all—They are a parcel of Jilting Queans, pick'd up from Suburb Bawdy-houses; the leavings of Porters and Footmen—Pray Mr. Bigot remove them, they are very offensive.

If I thought so, I would turn them off, they will be a scandal.

Ay, but you promis'd me a new Gown.

And me a Place at Court

And me a Pension.

And me to be Lady Abbess.

You told us you would bring us to Court.

And said we should have Dogs, and Monkeys, and live like Ladies.

And that we should take place of all the Hereticks.

And that we should ride in Coach­es and Chairs—And now do you think to put us off so?

But Mr. Turnabout says you are Whores—And I will have nothing to do with Whores.

Then I'll seize your Crevat for de­fault of payment.

3—And I your Hat.

And I'll have a Pennyworth out of your Eyes—D'ye think an honest Woman can go to Church for nothing? [They all fall upon him, and tear him about.

Murther, murther, Help me, or I shall be destroy'd.

I am sick of these follies, and will retire.

Hold, Hold,— [They interpose, and take 'em off him.

I protest, Mr. Bigot, I can but pity you; you had like to have incurr'd Acteon's fate, and been devour'd by your own Hounds.

Here Mr. Subtleman, This I suppose is the Man.

The very same; and I charge you to seize this, and this and this— [Pointing to Cautious, Bigot, and Hermolto.

What is this part of your Play! [They seize them.

No, Faith I am in earnest; you must all four go before the Justice, where I must accuse you of the wilful murther of my Honoured Father, Sir George Subtleman. [Counterfeit and the Wh [...]res run away.

How dare you attempt one of my Figure?

I shall leave that to the Law, the Judge, and the Hangman—Alas! Sir, I am but a poor Instrument in the Prosecution.

And wilt thou bring these Gray Hairs, and this Reverend Beard to the Gallows?

Faith, Reverend Father, I must con­fess there is some difficulty in Hanging a Man with so long a Beard; but if it be troublesome to you, you may tye it up un­der a Cap, or tuck it under your Girdle;—or use any other method most agreeable to your discretion.

Nay, if you be in earnest—I pro­test I had no hand in it.

I can depose on Oath, you confess'd to me that you had.

It was cleverly done, and I thought it was for my Reputation.

I am Innocent as the Child unborn.

But you confess'd the Fact to me.

That was to recover the loss of my Trunk.

I never did it; but I wish I had.

We have witness against you, and you shall be hang'd for wishing. Constable do your Office. [Constable, &c. offer to drag them away.

Nay, now I am in a fine case; if I should come to be hang'd for killing my my self, it were a pretty Jest, if it were not too much in earnest.

I say, Constable do your Office.

Nay, then 'tis time to discover my self— [Sir George throws off his Dis­guise, and discovers himself.

O! Sir George, Sir George, you are wel­come from the Dead.

Yes faith, Gentlemen, I am honest old hearty Sir George Subtleman, that took this Disguise, and spread abroad the report of my Death, to see how far my Son was de­bauch'd with the Principles of their damn'd Casuistical Divinity; and since I find him pretty honest, as the times go, I will give him all.

O, my dearest Father, How am I surpris'd to see you! [They embrace.

I am transported with joy! The turn is so wonderful, and it had not spoil'd the Hanging of these Sacerdotal Vermin, no­thing could have hapned more delightful.

How damnably am I deceiv'd! I told the whole Court he came from America.

We are all dispos'd for mirth but these Gownmen, who have most reason, as having escap'd the greatest danger.

Since I have lost my Trunk, Hang­ing could be no great affliction.

When I have lost my Reputation, what does my Life signifie?

I see the Catholick Cause is dying, I wish that I could dye with it.

to Leu. Madam, I have now per­form'd my Promise, and expect you to give me my Reward, without fraud or Jesuitical equivocation.

Here, take my Hand, and Assurance with it, That from this time I shall be al­ways yours; I did always Love you, tho' some Courses you took did highly disoblige me, from which I was resolv'd to reclaim you. But your last good service has cancell'd all former miscarriages; and since you have given me this half hour of pleasure, I shall dedicate the remainder of my Life and For­tune to make you happy.

And faith, Madam, since you are so bountiful, I shall leave all this crew of whim­sical Pedants, and the damn'd Vices of this Town, and study only how to make my self happy by pleasing you.

I faith Neece, this is to the purpose, I will be merry at your Wedding, and Dance, and Jump Sing, and Hollow; and for Mr. Turnabout's encouragement, will settle 200 l. per Annum on the first Child, and allow my Son so competent a mainte­nance, that he shall not need to depend on that Gang any longer.

Then all have reason to rejoyce; none but the Fathers are dejected.

I know they are concern'd for their loss of Reputation; Politico shall give us a Supper, as he promis'd, and Captain Tone and we will con [...]al all those disappointments.

Agreed, for Peace sake I will do it; but you must be sure to be very secret, and I will never meddle with business of this na­ture more.

Then all is happily ended: For—