The First Act.

TImothy.

Sir.

Are the Writings ingrost, and ready for Sealing?

Yes Sir; just now I saw the Wax clapt on.

'Tis well. But prethee tell me, What said my Lawyer to this settlement of my Estate?

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In troth I fear your Worship will be displeas'd, should I tell you his sense of it.

No, no: I love to hear Fooles spend their Grave Fopperies: 'Tis the divertisement of my life to laugh at their Folly.

Truly, Sir, he seems to be of opinion, that your settle­ment is not good in Law.

How? not good in Law? That's pleasant; when he himself drew up the Writings.

The defect lies not in them (I only speak his words) but in your Worship: For (sayes he) it will be strongly pre­sum'd, that whenever you Seal such a Conveyance, you are not Compos Mentis (you understand me, Sir:) It being impossible, that any man in his right Sences should throw away his whole Fortune upon an unknown Woman; who, by all signs and to­kens will be deem'd no better then your Concubine; and at the same time disinherit an only Son, who has so fair an esteem in the World.

Let the Fool please himself with his Scrupulous Fan­cies. Timothy, there was a necessity of this Fellows Suspition, and Wonder: For, had I nam'd her in the Deed, as my Wife, and exprest a consideration of Marriage, my whole Design might have taken vent, and so miscarry'd: For 'twere unreasonable to expect, that a Lawyer, whose Trade is Talking, should keep silence: And should my cast-off Son have smelt the design, his Wants and Despair would have left no stone unmov'd to disap­point it. Besides, in setling my Estate on her, I run no hazard of prejudicing my self; For when I Seal the Writings, I'le Seal her too for my Wife; And then, if we have Children—

That is; when your Worship has Seal'd, and she's de­liver'd—

No quibling, good Timothy—Then, I say, who but they, should inherit my Estate: If we have none; at least my Rebel Son is out o' dores, and she, who has my Heart, has my Estate.

I must confess, the secret Conduct of this Design is very admirable; For, Sir, I think, she her self, who to morrow must be your Lady, is hitherto no less kept in ignorance both of [Page 3] your Name and Quality, then all the rest of your nearest Ser­vants, and Relations are of her Person, and your resolution to Marry her.

O Timothy: The Art of Secrecy is the Secret of the World. 'Tis the Rudder, that silently governs the whole Bulk of Human affairs. A Secret well kept, like Powder close ramm'd, does certain execution, when ever you give Fire with a just aime. Therefore have I kept and educated this ten­der Virgin in so private and remote a Quarter of the Town; Therefore have I disguis'd my Person under a borrow'd name to her, and those Servants I plac'd about her, that it should not be in the power of any body to acquaint the World with my Design.

But (with your Worships leave) I am afraid the World will judge hardly of you, for abandoning thus your on­ly Son, and making him an utter stranger to your Blood and Estate.

But, Nature, Sir—

Nature! What's that? 'Tis the blind side of our Reason; the soft place in our Souls. Children owe all to Parents, but there lies no Obligation on the Parents side: on, if there did, when Sons Rebellious prove, those Bonds are Can­cell'd.

I must not doubt your Justice; But, Sir, 'tis your misfortune, to treat him ill, of whom the World speaks well.

You are the very Person I wish'd for; for I have a business of Consequence, which I long to communicate with you.

Then, Sir, we meet upon even termes; for 'tis a mat­ter of no small moment, which brought me hither to find you out.

Mutual satisfaction is a double Joy— Timothy, follow your Orders, and prepare every thing, as I directed.

But, Sir, as to the—

Mr. Wary, I beg your leave to give a short dispatch in a word or two to my Steward.

Pray use your freedom.

Roger, you may now go about your business; for, (as I told you) I have discover'd a secret traffick of Love between my Daugh­ter and this Knights Son: And now must I take my kew from him; and by feeling his Pulse and Temper, fashion my Coun­tenance accordingly on the Proceeding of our young Lovers. If the Father will own his Son in the Match, I have my wishes [Page 5] in having so rich an Heir for my Son in Law. But, if he, who has the Means, and Power in his Hands, prove Resty, my young Gallant must be shuck off—

Now, Mr. Wary, I am at your service.

Faith, Sir, my Business with you is the old Business of Mankind; Love, and Matrimony. For, to tell you truely, though the matter has been closely carry'd, yet I have smelt out the Rat.

I protest, Sir, y'are a man of quick sense, and rare intelligence: For, I thought it impossible, that you, or any man living could have known it so soon.

We have all quick Eyes in things that concern us. Well, Sir; since you need not my instruction in this business, pray deal freely with me: How does it relish with you?

A pleasant question! Sure I am not so much a fool, as to make that my choice, which I' disrelish.

Was it then your Choice▪ Let me embrace my dear Sir Salomon.

You amaze me (Sir) with this excess of kindness: Pray, is she any kin to you?

I'm fouly deceiv'd, if she be not. I see you are merry (Sir) to ask such questions.

Sure the Man is frantick!

But Sir, (Drollery a part) lets come seriously to the business. First, I assure you, she shall not want a Fortune an­swerable to your Estate and Family; Provided, that you make Settlements for Jointure, Maintenance, and other matters pro­portionably.

What is't you say? Shall she not want a Portion equal to my Condition, and Fortune? This is an Extrava­gance of Kindness too mighty for my Faith! she only wanted a Fortune: For in all other Attractives she answers my expecta­tion (which is no common one.) But, pray Sir, satisfie me a lit­tle, how long y'ave known her, and how near she is related to you.

Can any man in his right Wits seriously ask such que­stions? Is she not my Daughter?

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Ha? Your Daughter?—Have I all this while rear'd up a Bastard-Slip of his to graft upon?

Sir Salomon! What's the matter? Have I said any thing to give you disturbance?

Pray, Sir, Was she begot in lawful Wedlock?

Hai! What time of the Moon is this?—

I knew her to be poor, and I thought her Father­less; And I lik'd her the better: But with all this, to Marry a Bastard, is too much.

The Man is certainly Distracted.—Sir, I perceive you are not well; Shall I call some of your People to you?

Pray, Sir, only satisfie me in these two short Questi­ons; Where does this Daughter of yours live? And when did you see her last?

Where should she live but in my House? And I saw her within this half hour.

Say you so? Then, Sir, let me advise you to go home, and the first thing you do, call a Doctor; for, take it from me, your condition is desperate. This is the last degree of Mad­ness! For, to my certain knowledge, you have not seen this Woman, whom you call Daughter, these two years.

In troth, Sir Salomon, it grieves my heart, that you are not in a condition to be discours'd withall; if you were, I could bring your Son, your own Flesh and Blood to convince you, that this very morning he saw her in my House, spoke to her there, and, what is more, (I think) made Love to her.

My Son?—In what a Labrinth of Mistakes have we wandred all this while? And was it his, and your Daughters blind Bargains, that you came to break my head withal?

Had it not been crackt before, 'twould ne'r have been broken now.—Pray do me the Favour to give me some private Marke, whereby I may know when I am to believe you: For did you not tell me just now, that you relish'd this Match as your own Choice?

Still run Counter? Pray take up; and (if it be possi­ble) lets both fall upon the right Sent. You talke of your Daughter, and her Gallant, don't you?

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What else, Sir?

And all this while my Discourse has been of my own Affections: For, to morrow I resolve to be a Married Man.

You a Marry'd Man! Was this the Mistery? VVell, Sir, you have remov'd my mistake; but, you have planted won­der in the roome on't, much greater then it.

VVhy shou'd you wonder? I see you are of your Daughters, and her Lovers Party; and sorry, their Sport is dis­appointed.

Alass, Sir, you misapprehend me every way. I only came to informe you of it; and to take my own measures from your liking, or disliking of it; both which are indifferent to me.

I thought the VVorld had not been ignorant of my resolutions concerning that Prodigal and Rebell of my House, whom you call my Son: He shall have no more share in my Estate, then he has in my affections; and those he has ut­terly forfeited. But, if you think it expedient to take the out-cast of my Family into yours, you may use your discre­tion.

Fear it not, Sir; I shall not purchase your ill-will so much to loss. But, (pray) are you resolv'd so suddenly to thrust your Reverend head into the old Noose of VVed­lock?

To morrow's the day. Iacta est alea.

Faith, Sir, I think your undertaking as bold as his, who first said so; but, (I fear,) not so fortunate. Y'ave a dangerous Rubicon to pass over. Have you thought well upon't? For, in my judgment, To morrow is both too soon, and too late for you to accomplish such a resolution.

You perhaps (like the rest of the VVorld) Judging others by their own scantling) may have reason for this Cauti­on: But (thanks to the bounty of Nature) under these Ashes there wants no Fire; Nor is the Oyle half spent in the Lamp.

You say very well: But, I have found by experience, there are two sorts of People in the VVorld mightily given in their several wayes to boast of their Vallour, and both with [Page 8] cause alike; Cowards, and Old Men. VVe two, (you know) started into the VVorld almost together; and, our eight and Fifty years a piece are now run off: For my own part, I should think it an excess of rashness in my self, if, after so long a Race, I should still presume so much upon my strength, as to venture at the dangerous Leap of Matrimony.

I grant ye, that some Men may be old at Thirty, and others young at Threescore; and what is my Physick, may be your Poison: and there's an end of this Dispute.

But have you forgot, how severe a Critick y'ave al­wayes been upon the Disasters of poor Husbands? Now should the person you Marry, not think you so young, as you think your self, are you not afraid of Circular Justice, of scur­vy Ballats and Lampons?

Had I been guilty of the Folly of other Husbands, in the Choice of their VVives, I might then have fear'd, and de­serv'd their Fate;

Pray, Sir, what lucky Star directed you to the discove­ry of this Treasure?

That (Sir) I owe to Fortune: For in a Country-Farme I first saw her, and read it in her looks, that Heaven had not design'd her for that place: And being informed she was a Merchants Daughter, who had miscarry'd at Sea, and be­fore his Voyage had put her to Nurse there, I easily prevailed with the Old VVoman of the House, who was my Tenant, to resign her Charge to me. I took her, as a Present sent from Heaven to make the rest of my dayes comfortable, and happy. For two years together I have train'd her up my self, making it my business to preserve her in her primitive innocence, and [Page 9] simplicity: And, lest the contagion of ill company should in­fect the original candour of her nature with the least tincture of malice, I have plac'd two Servants about her, the honestest and simplest, I could find out.

But how will so much simplicity be a Match for the wisdom of Sir Salomon? Can such extremes meet with de­light?

I pitty your ignorance; search the Records of Time, and by all Examples, old, and modern, you shall still find it true, that wit in woman is the Bawd of Vice:

Fy, Sir Salomon; y'are too Satyrical; and too singular in your Judgment. For my part, were I to chuse a Wife (be she honest, or be she otherwise) I say, let her have Wit; for that will either protect her Honesty, or conceal her Frailty.

Well, Sir; I have no time at present to prosecute this argument, and make you sensible of the folly, and danger of your Principles; Only, as a friend, I must advise you to have a care of your Daughter; for she (I hear) is a Wit.

I thank you, Sir: And (to return your kindness) let me counsel you to look well to your Wife; for, by your own confession, she wants wit to look to her self.

'Tis my Maxim so to do; and should be yours: In order to your Conversion, pray come to morrow to my Wed­ding: Perhaps, Example may be more prevalent with you, than Precept. However I have done a Friends part; And after all, if a mischance should happen in your Family, there is a Saying, that the Disaster of Fools does reward the Circumspection of the Wise.

I'll not fail you at your Wedding Dinner; And to re­quite your Proverb, take heed, lest to morrow it prove true, That Fools make Feasts, and Wise-men eat 'em. Farewel.

Farewel.

Ah, Madam! How can I hope, that you should be constant in your love to him, to whom Fortune is so constant in her hatred?

I shall not make the Injustice of Fortune my President: But what I have often told you, I now repeat; nothing but your jealous humour has the power to make me inconstant.

Mr. Single; well met.—Nay, be not startled. I am now glad to see you; and to see you in the company of my Daughter.

Sir, you surprise me with a happiness unlook't for in this unusual kindness of your expressions—

Hold, Sir; I would not have you disappointed in your expectation by promising your self too much. My desire of seeing you now was to let you know in her hearing, that I have taken notice of your late frequent resort to my house: And, though according to my inclination, my doores should never be shut to a person of your merit, yet (as matters stand) you must excuse me, if I preferre the Interest of a Child before the Concern of an Acquaintance. Sir, to be short; I know your constant Visits imply your Addresses to my Daughter: And, since your Father is resolv'd to make you a stranger to his E­state, I must entreat you henceforth to be a stranger to my House; for (to deal freely with you) no Deserts (though ne­ver so great) attended with poverty, can satisfie the care of a Parent in the disposal of his Daughter.

Ah Sir! will you be my Father's Second in his unjust cruelties towards me?—

Sir, I will have no Argument in this case; nor put a Father's Right into dispute. Farewel. Daughter, I desire your company.

Dear Mr. Single! have I met you at last? I vow, it has cost me five good shillings in Coach-hire to find you out.

Pray, leave me; I am not at leisure.

Leave my dear Single? Not for a world.

Pray, Sir, forbear: I tell you, I am busie.

Busie? so much the better: Of all men living I love business, and hate idle fellows.

Sir, if you will not release me, I shall be forc'd to make my escape.

What? flie from thy Friend? sure, some me­lancholy Devil does possess thee.

No, Sir; I am not possest, but I find, I am haunted. Pray, let me begg it of you, as a kindness. or an Alms, that you will leave me to my self, and my occasions, which at this pre­sent cannot possibly admit of your company.

No, Sir, no: I see, y'are in trouble; and I must not forsake my friend in Adversitie.

My Stars have condemn'd me to all sorts of Persecu­tion!

Besides, I must propose to you a business of weigh­ty consequence, in which you must needs do me a kindness— I see, you don't minde me. What are you thinking on? Un­bosome your self to a Friend.

'Faith, I am thinking, that the greatest Plague of Egypt was that of Flyes, and Gnatts buzzing about their Eares.

Egypt! Good Lord! How your thoughts ramble? Well; I must put you out of this Fitt of the Spleen. Come, prethee, let's go dine at Chateline's; and there I'le tell you my whole business.

O, no Sir; I'le rather compound with you, and hear it now; provided, I may be quickly releas'd.

Nay, as for brevity, and quickness of dispatch, ther's no man upon the face of the Earth that loves it like me: 'Tis my Mistriss. I hate your prolixe Fellows: Long speeches are death to me: And that's the reason why I never hear a [Page 13] Sermon; nor a Presbyterian-Grace; nor a French Tragedy; nor a—

Hold, hold: Pray make your words good; and he not so long in the commendation of Brevity.

Why, then to the Point. There is a certain La­dy in this Town, with whom I am desperately and damnably in Love; And I want a good opportunity to tell her so. For (look ye) I take a business of this nature to be half done, when 'tis well propos'd. You (Mr. Single) are the only proper Per­son for me to employ in this Treaty; And, if you succeed in it, Sir Arthur Addel is yours for ever.

Well, What's her Name?

Iulia; the fair Daughter of old Wary.

Nay, prethee, dear Single, don't relapse into thy Melancholy Fit.

No, Sir; I am only studying your Case: For (to deale friendly with you) there is much for you to consider in the business, which you take in hand; To my certain know­ledge, there are at least a dozen Pretenders (all men of the Sword) to that Ladies favour: And, before you can have ad­mittance to the place of a Suitor, you must dispute your en­trance with every one of these; And that (you know) will be a long, and hazardous work.

Are there so many of 'em (say you?) Why then they may have fighting work enough amongst themselves, and let others alone: 'Pox take 'em all, my business is not with them, but with the Woman.

But Lovers, Sir Arthur, are (like Argus) all Eyes: And you can no more conceal your self to 'em, then walk in­visible at noon day.

Now, Is not this a damnable Custome, that a Man can no sooner love a pretty Woman, but he must presently be quarrelling and fighting with all that come near him. I won­der, how the Devil they can do't; For I can't be in Love and in Wroth too, all at once, for the heart of me.

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VVere all the VVorld of your benigne temper, I con­fess we should enjoy the Blessings of Peace. But, Sir Arthur, as the case now stands, VVhat is it you wou'd have done?

Hai?

Consider, consider—This Fool well manag'd may prove usefull to me.

'Faith, e'n let her go. VVhat shall a man be the better for a Mistriss, when his Throat is cut?

How? Let her go, by no means, Sir. It shall never be read in Chronicle, that Sir Arthur Addel (my renowned friend) bawk'd a Mistriss for fear of Rivals. Come (Sir;) you shall trust your Love and your Reputation in my hands; And all my Rhetorick shall serve you with your Mistriss, and my Sword against your Rivals.

Dear Single, let me hugg thee, and kiss thee. I vow now, I could be as kind to thee, as to my Mistriss.

O, pray, Sir, reserve your tenderness for her.

Ran, tan, tan. You, and I, (Mr. Single) will fight the proudest of 'em all: Nay, when I have a good second o'my side, I can be as valliant as my betters.

VVhy now, Sir Arthur, you speak like a VVight, that wears not his Knighthood in vain. What a blemish had you cast upon the whole Order, if you had tamely suffer'd your Mi­striss to be snatcht from you by Rivals.

They snatch her from me? They shall eate her as soon. O! that I had but one of those Rivals here now! First would I make him begg his Life, and then kill him.

Brave Sir Arthur! Now your Courage, like a Lion rows'd from sleep, stretches out, and begins to roar: But you must have a great care to moderate this excess of Rage in the presence of your Mistriss: For before her you must be a Lamb.

Why there's the Devil on't again: I tell you, I shall never make both at once, a good Lyon, and a good Lamb too.

I warrant you; 'Tis but giving your mind to't— And, to lose no time (for Lovers, I know, are in hast) you shall [Page 15] presently go about the Work; and, in the first place ask her Fathers consent, who can never refuse a Man of your Parts, and Estate. When this is done, I'le deliver you a Letter of Commendation for the young Lady, which you must put into her hands with all privacy, and circumspection: For, secrecy in Love is as necessary as in Cabinet Counsels.

I know that as well you—

Pox o'this troublesome Fellow, that comes to di­sturb us now. Methinks he has the Countenance of a Rival. My fingers itch to be at him.

No, no.

Dear Single!

Peregreen Woodland! Y'are the most unlookt for Per­son, and the most wellcome to me in the World. I firmly be­liev'd that you had been now in Italy.

Two Months ago I was there; And, 'tis much against my inclination, that I am not there now: But, Fathers must be obey'd.

How long have you been in England?

Some ten days; All which time I have made it my business to find you out; and now I owe that to Fortune, which I could not compass by my Industry.

Assure your self, that nothing, but my ignorance of your being come over, could have depriv'd me so long of your Company.

I have a Letter here for your Father from mine; it contains business of importance, at least, to me: For, it gives me credit for some Mony, which my occasions at present stand in need of.

Though I cannot introduce you to him for some rea­sons, which I shall tell you hereafter, yet I'le direct you to a speedy sight of him: But first I must of necessity have an hours discourse with you.

With all my heart; and let it be over a Glass of Wine.

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Agreed. But before we go, I must needs make you happy in the knowledge of the incomparable Sir Arthur Addel. I can assure you, he is a Rarity, which perhaps all your Travels cannot Match.

I know, so fair a Superscription must needs be extra­ordinary in the Contents.

Sir, for Mr. Single's sake you may command me.

Well, Sir Arthur; you must not neglect your busi­ness. When y'ave dealt with the Father, give me notice of it; and let me alone with the Daughter: You may reckon her your own.

The Second Act.

NOw Timothy, I have fully instructed you in all particulars. You may therefore go back to my own Lodgings: Be sure you forget not the Lisence, and the Parson.

I warrant you, Sir, but may I not have the happiness now to see my young Lady that must be to morrow.

No, Timothy; 'Tis enough for the first time, that I acquaint you with the Lodging where she lies. Time is preci­ous, and not to be spent in seeing sights: Away, make hast.

Who's at Dore there?

Gods so, 'tis Master.

What? our new Master, that gave us Mony?

No, no, our old Master Evans, that never gave us a Farthing. Why don't you open the door?

An't be he, E'en open it your self: I am busie,

Are you so? why then so am I too.

Sure they must needs hear me knock, for I can hear them gabbel: Ho; Whose within there?

Sir, this Slut Alice won't open the dore.

Sir, this lazy Rogue Ralph won't let you in.

Pretious Coxcombes; Open the Door quickly, or I'le make you both fast this se'night from Beef and Pudding.

Stand off; I'le open it;

You open it? You shall be hang'd first.

'Tis I (Sir) that let you in.

You lie: were it not in respect to Master Evan's Wor­ship—

Unmannerly Whelp!

Cry you mercy (Sir) 'twas she was the cause on't.

Was it so? because I open'd the door first.

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Peace, both of you; Will you never arrive to Common sence? Let no body speak till I bid them— Ralph, come hither: What has your Mistriss done, since I saw her last?

Why, Sir, my Mistriss—my Mistriss—God be thanked—

Rude Raskal! Who taught you to speak to me with your Hat on?

Indeed your Worship has Reason; I had forgot my self.

Go, call her down presently.

Well, Allice; and was my Betty much troubled for my ab­sence?

Troubled? No.

No?

O, yes Sir; Now I think on't; she was trou­bled.

Why, this is now, as it should be; with thy work in thy hand: Pretty Rogue; What ar't thou making there?

A Coefe, and a Pinner, Sir. I have made an end of your Shirts, and your Night-caps.

That's very well: For Idleness, Betty, is the Mother of all Evil; Come, give thy work to Alice; for thou and I must talke together. Ralph, fetch me out a Chair, And, Art thou grown perfect in thy Catechisme?

Yes (Sir) I can say it all without Book.

You two go in, and leave us alone—But, Bet­ty, 'tis not enough to say it by Rote; you must print it in your [Page 19] heart; and make it your daily study and exercise; thereby to govern all the actions of your Life.

Betty, come nearer me—hold up thy head a little more— So—Turn your Body a little this way—That's well: And whil'st I talke to thee, look up in my face—That's very well: Now, Betty, I must examine you a little, to see how you have profited in your Catechisme; First tell me, What you were made for?

To be your Wife, forsooth.

And what's the Duty of a Wife?

To honour, and obey her Husband; and love no man but him.

Now, What are the particular duties; which I ex­pect from her, who is to be my Wife?

First, to watch and observe all the motions of your Eyes, and Countenance, and accordingly to stand, go, run, sit still, speak, or be silent: Secondly, To detest and abhor go­ing to Court, Hide-Park, Mulberry-Garden, or the Play-Houses. Thirdly, To Visit, and be visited by none of a remoter degree, then an Uncle, or an Aunt; Fourthly, To write and receive no Letters, to accept and give no Presents, but such as you see, and allow of: Lastly, To warm Napkins, make Cawdles, dress Issues, give Glisters, and the like; still remembring, that the of­fice of a Nurse inseperably belongs to the duty of your Wife.

Incomparable Girle? Thou hast answered to admi­ration in all things concerning the vertues of a Wife; Now tell me, What, and how many are the deadly sins, which she ought carefully to avoid?

They are seven.

Which is the First?

Pride: For, a woman, that thinks too well of her self, is apt to think better of another man, then she does of her Husband.

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Very well. What's the Second?

Covetousness: For she that Loves Mony over­much, will first pick her Husbands pockets, and at last be bought and sold her self.

That's right: Now the Third.

Letchery,—Pray (Sir) What's that? For you have no Annotations upon it in all your Catechisme.

Pretty Simplicity! O, Betty, That's a very Paw­thing, and must not so much as be thought on, proceed to the Fourth.

Anger: For Anger breeds Revenge; and a Wifes Revenge commonly lights upon the Husband's Head, and leaves dreadfull markes behind.

The Fifth?

Gluttony: For the Woman, that feeds high, re­quires more exercise, then is to be had within doors: And modest Wives should seldome rainge abroad.

Admirable well: I see, thou art so perfect in thy Lesson, that I may spare my self, and thee the Labour of a far­ther examination. Well, Betty, thou art my Master-piece; And shortly I intend to set thee forth as an Exact Modell, and Pattern to the World (which too much needs it) of a perfect, obedi­ent Wife; In the mean time, we must repair to our several taskes, and prepare our selves, Thou to be happy, I to make thee so.

Daughter, I had rather your own Reason, then my Justice in punishing you, should make you sensible, how heinous the Crime of Rebellion is in a Child to a Parent; Have you not a fresh Example before your Eyes, in your Beggarly Gal­lant, turn'd out of Doors, and ejected from all Title, and Claime, which Nature gave him to a Fair Inheritance? and now become a mere Vagabond in the wide World? you know, it lies in my power to do, what his Father has done; I can mar­ry again, and bring a second Brood into the World to possess that Fortune, which you undeserve: And, if you persist in [Page 21] your obstinate passion for this Indigent-Lover, I am resolved, You shall ee'n meet him upon equal termes.

Sir, I confess, all is in your power; And, as I need not be brib'd by the hopes of a plentifull fortune to do my duty; so 'tis in vain by frights and terrors to exact that from me, which liess not in my power to performe; the example in Sir Salomons Family is so odious a President of tyranny in the eyes of the whole world, that I am sure you can never make it your Pat­tern. And, Sir, give me leave, for your satisfaction and mine, to make you this solemn protestation, that I never will marry him, whom you like not, nor him, whom I love not.

Gossip, your love should follow my liking, not ramp before it.

These young wenches, when the toy of love once takes them in the head, are like wild ungovern'd Colts, no Curb can hold them, no Fence can stop 'em. This obstinate affection is so wedg'd into her mind, that there is no way to loosen it, but by driving in another.

That (Sir) may do it.

Could I but find a Fortune and a man according to my expectation, I would then make trial, what a Fathers power can do.

Tis he—By your leave, Sir: I have a Paper here in my pocket, which I must beg you to peruse.

With all my heart (Sir) provided there be no thing of Petition, nor of Poetry in it.

No Fiction, I'll assure you: all the contents are true.

A true Particular of the Estate of Sir Arthur Ad­del Knight—What d'ee mean by this Sir? I am not prepared for a purchase.

What a dull old fool this is?—Why (Sir) having a business of importance to negotiate with you, this is my Letter of Recommendation.

It must be so: Heaven has sent him in the nick of time to woo my Daughter— Summa totalis 1432 l. per annum, truly, Sir, your Letter has a very fair Subscription: but still the meaning of the Contents is so mystical, that I know not how to answer it: Pray Sir explain.

Thus 'tis (Sir) in short: your Daughter (d'ee con­ceive me) wants a Husband; and I want a Wife (d'ee conceive me;) Now what are we born for in this world, but to supply one anothers wants? D'ee conceive me?

I marry (Sir) now you speak plain, and to the pur­pose: But this is a matter, which requires deliberation.

Pox on deliberation: I am in haste, and so perhaps is she too.

Not so fast. How do I know, that this is a true par­ticular? And how do you know what Portion I shall give with my Daughter? and how do we both know, whether she'll con­sent to the bargain;

Hang Portion, and Particulars: let our Lawyers wrangle about them; I am a known man of land, and so are you of money. Your business is to give me your consent, and then let me alone with your Daughter.

You speak very home: sure (Sir Arthur) the world has done you a great deal of wrong in representing you, as a [Page 23] man of Parts, much inferior to those, which I discover in you.

And have you lived so long in the world, and do not know that 'tis the arrant'st lyer in nature?

Well Sir; to let you see, how little I believe it, I here give you my consent (provided this be a true particular) to marry my Daughter; win her, and wear her.

Thank you heartily, good Father Wary; for I rec­kon my self now as good, as married: I know she can no more refuse me for a Husband, than you for a Son-in-law.

So (Sir;) I perceive you speak the language of our young men of these times, who exceed all their Ancestors in their good opinion of themselves: The business is done, if my Daughter can think but half so well of your person, as you do.

I vow (Sir) I am afraid of nothing, but that she will be too fond of me: And I take it to be the worst surfeit, that is, to be cloy'd with kindness.

If that be all your apprehension, fear nothing: I dare answer for her.

See you be as good as your word: And (to lose no more time) you may presently let her know, how happy she is in my affection: but let her know it gently, and by de­grees, lest too sudden joy suffocate her spirits.

The danger is not great: however she's beholding to you for your care; But (Sir Arthur) pray let me advise you, as a friend, to touch as little as you can upon this string, when you make your addresses to her: For (perhaps) she's as much infected with this self opinion, as her neighbours; and she'l be apt to tell you, that Pride is a Vice in men, but Vertue in a woman.

You need not tell me, what I am to say, or do; but, if you will needs be tutoring, go teach your Daughter, how to behave her self; for I shall return immediately in a pretend­ers equipage with Drums beating, and Colours flying, and then let her expect a Charge.

[Page 24]

Roger, To say the truth, this Sir Arthur's a very shal­low Knight: But 'tis no matter; he'l prove the kinder Hus­band.

'Tis not possible for me to express how deeply I re­sent your Father's unnatural rigour: But can it be true, that he will be married to morrow, and that no body should know to whom?

My intelligence comes from such hands, that I am sure 'tis authentick: But, neither by my own industrie, nor the help of spies, can I possibly learn out the person of the Bride.

Well, Sir, I am resolved to serve you in that office my self: for I can do it with less suspition, than any body; because your Father dreams so little of our Communication together, that he is yet ignorant of my being in England; and I'le use all my art to win so far upon his favour, and confidence, as that I may put my self in a capacitie of serving you.

Sir, my case is desperate; yet my obligation to you will be as great, as if your endeavors were attended with suc­cess. However your own business (I know) requires a quick dispatch with my Father: There's his Lodging; and fare you well; for I must go hunt out my simple Knight.

But where shall we meet two hours hence?

Where we last met, and then we'll conferre notes to­gether.

Is Sir Salomon Single at home?

Pray what's your business with him?

That's no answer to my question: my business (friend) is with him, not with you: Is he within, or no?

[Page 25]

Why, Sir, unless I may know your business, or your name, he is not within.

This fellow has the right huff, and grimace of a Coxcomb in office—But, Sir, when I have told you my name, Will he then be at home?

Perhaps he may.

Why then (grave Sir) be pleased to tell your Master, that my name is Peregreen Woodland; and that I desire to know of him, whether he be within, or no.

You shall have your answer presently.

Very well Sir, This stiff piece of formality deserves to be cudgell'd, were it only to make him more limber: but 'tis the nature of fools in employment to think such solemn rude­ness to be the badge of their Office.

Mr. Peregreen? had I known it was you, I would have left all business, and a Mistriss too, to fly into your em­braces: your Father is the oldest acquaintance, and best friend I have in England: Lord! how time runs away? I knew you no higher, than this. I protest, you make me an old man.

Not so, Sir, I hope; since I hear, you are to be mar­ried to morrow.

How is it possible you should hear it, unless my Steward told you. But (Mr. Peregreen) I have nothing that I shall make a secret of to you. 'Tis even so; and you are re­turned from your Travels most opportunely, to grace my Wed­ding. O! how glad should I be, that your Father were here too. Pray, when did you hear from him? how does he do? He is so wedded to his estate in the Country, that his friends in Town are quite forgot.

I lately recived a Letter from him with this inclosed; which will give you as good an account of his health, as I can.

I joy to see any thing that comes from him—

Lord! what does he mean?—such ceremonious expressions are injurious to friendship— Timothy.

[Page 26]

Sir.

Bring me fifty pieces in gold presently.

I have reason to believe, that my Father may be in town sooner. than these Letters mention: for I have one from him of a fresher date, which tells me, that an extraordinary oc­casion calls him hither in company of a Merchant, lately arriv'd in England: but what his business is, the Letter mentions not.

Were it not possible, that we might see him here to day, or to morrow? Nothing could heighten more my Nup­tial Joys, then the presence of such a Friend?

For the precise time of his coming, I can answer no­thing: But, Sir; Might I not be so happy, as to kiss the hands of your fair Bride before the Ceremony of Marriage?

In that (Sir) you must excuse me: This Jewel is not to be taken out of the Case, till I wear her.

Here is the Summ you commanded me to bring.

Pray (Sir) take it; and, if you have occasion for more, you may as freely Command My purse, as your Fa­thers.

I humbly thank you: I have no present necessity of more—But, Mr. Steward, if you please to draw a Note of so much receiv'd—

What d'ee mean, Sir? Timothy, Let it alone. I hope you do not imagine, that you deal with a Scrivener.

Sir, you are too generous.

No Complements, good Mr. Peregreen: Well, and, How long have you been in England?

Some ten dayes; in all which time I could not till yesterday, find out your Habitation.

And how does your own Country rellish with you, since your experience of Foraign Parts?

Better, then before.

[Page 27]

I rejoyce to see you make such good use of your Travels; For, the best thing which a man can bring from abroad, is the love of home. And, How have you spent your time, since your coming over? methinks a young man of your Com­plexion should be engaged, ere this, in some Love-adventure: What? Are the Ladies kind to you?

Considering the shortness of the time, I have no reason to Complain.

Pray, make me your Confident; I am Secret, and true to Love. What Exploit? What Success have you had?

Sure (Sir) you want Leisure for such frivolous Nar­rations.

You mistake me; I have Youth enough left to rel­lish affairs of Love.

I shall with less reluctancy obey you, because there is something very extraordinary in my adventure, which may af­ford you Divertisement: And (to tell you truly) the Mony, which you favour'd me with, I chiefly want to prosecute this design,

I long to hear it.

I confess, here is a young Beauty here in Town, which has already gain'd very much upon my heart: She is one, who has received no improvement from Education; Nor does she want it: For, Nature has left her so well finished, that Art has little to do. Perhaps her Ignorance is greater then ordinary; but that's abundantly recompenc'd by her Innocence: An Aire so taking, so free, so modest, I never yet beheld in any Face.

Had you study'd to hit my fancy, you could not have drawn a Copy more like the Original.

It adds much to my satisfaction, that her Caracter is agreeable to your Fancy; I think I may without vanity tell you, that my pretensions and hopes stands very fair, for I am admit­ted, and received by her with such expressions of kindness, as ought to content any reasonable Lover in his first Essays.

Pray, What is her name? and Where does she lodge?

[Page 28]

By those about her she's called Mrs. Betty; and I en­quired no farther of her name; she's lodged in a House on the back-side of Holborn, towards the Fields.

Hell, and Devils, What is't I hear?

But, the pleasant part of this Story is, that all this while she is maintained, and educated in a private cunning way by an old Gentlemen they call Mr. Evans—

I have trod upon a Snake, which stings me to death!

Sure, he's a person so very remarkable in his kind, that you must needs know him; Has he not the reputation of a For­mal Coxcomb?

I have heard of the name,—I burst I die.

'Tis much, you should not know him: Though I ne­ver saw the Man, yet the extravagant economy of his Family, and his exottick way of training up this Lovely Creature sufficiently discovers to me the politick worme in his Pate— But, to my thinking (Sir) you don't rellish this Narrative, as I expected.

O! yes, Sir.

I am afraid, you are of too scrupulous a Conscience for such Relations.

Not at all, Sir.

For my own part, I must acknowledge, that I never embark­ed in a Love-Adventure more to my satisfaction in my life: For, though my Passion for her be very great, yet the pleasure of disappointing the ridiculous Policy of this old jealous Guardi­an, is very near as great as that which I receive in the enjoy­ment of her affection—But (Sir) I perceive my Story growes tedious to you; Nor can I blame your want of Patience, having Love-Concernes of your own, more pressing and urgent; I shall therefore only Conjure you to be a faithful preserver of my se­cret; since the rendring of it publick, would ruine my happi­ness so well begun: Especcially should it come to the Politick Eares of that Mr. Evans. Farewell.

Is there a Torment?—

[Page 29]

As you are my Friend, and a Person of Honour, let nothing of this be discovered to my Father, when he comes to Town; For I know not, how farr such a bu­siness, as this, may work upon him to my prejudice.

So: so,—Oh? let me breath a little: was ever Man so tortur'd, as I am, and yet constrain'd to dissemble his pain, and put a smiling Countenance upon his Torment? False Woman! thy whole Sex is a meere Quicksand, false, and trea­cherous ground for any Man to build his happiness upon! Thy whole Sexe is a Generation of Vipers, that gnaw and eate into the hearts that give them reception: They are born with all their poison about them, which no Art, or Industry, no Educati­on can remove—Unjust Stars? That a vain young Felow, not knowing what he does, but conducted by the hand of blind chance, should thus baffle me in my Love, my Reputation; and in one moment disappoint the whole design of my happiness, which with long study and labour, has been manag'd, by the most exact Rules of Pollicy. That I should furnish him with Mony, to cut my own throat? and he, out of Kindness and Confidence, be the Informer of his own Treason against me?—Yet in all this misfortune I were unjust, not to acknowledge some favour from my Stars, in the miraculous discovery of this Mine, before the fatal Fire was put to it: And now, having warning, and time to repair, fortifie, and countermine, if I fail to blow up, and scatter the Enemy, and to maintain my ground, let me become the scorne of the Wise, and the Laughter of Fools.

You, Mr. Single; and you Mr. Peregreen; are the two dearest Friends I have in the World, And I bespeak you both to my Wedding.

Against what time, Sir Arthur?

Let me see—About some four dayes hence; For by that time the Lawyers, the Taylers, the Semstresses, and riming Poets, with the rest of the Wedding-Mongers, will have all things in readiness.

[Page 30]

But will the Lady be ready so soon?

Will she tarry so long?

Y'are a great Conqueror Sir Arthur, that can make such Forts surrender at first summons: But, Did she ever come to a Par­ly with you?

Hang Parlyes; I never spoke to her in my Life; But her Father beggs me to take her; and I hope, she has more need of me, then he has. Can she resist a man of Estate, and Title, with my Parts?

I must take down the confidence of this Fool a Sto­ry lower; else he'l cast me off, as needless to him— Hark you, Sir Arthur, you make me stark mad, to see how foo­lishly you destroy your own designs, by talking at this rate, be­fore Mr. Peregreen there: To my certain knowledge he's new­ly entred into the List of the Rivals; And is a dangerous one too; for he's a Landed Man, and will fight.

God's so, What an unlucky Fellow am I; Why could not you tell me on't?

I wincked, and wincked upon you, and did all that I could; But, you run on so madly in your Career, that the De­vil cannot stop you, when once y'are going.

Dear Mr. Single, What must I do then?

Nay, you must first know what he'l do: But your on­ly way for the present will be to address your self to the Lady with all secrecy and speed; And if you can but get her of your side, that will be some protection to you.

Well; I'le go immediately and put my self in equi­page; and then have at her; but, let not him know it; I have your Letter of Recommendation in my Pocket; And, if the old man be but at home, I warrant you I shall do well enough with the Daugter—'Faith, Gentlemen, for some reasons, which I have since thought on, I shan't be Marryed so soon as I said: For, this Wedlock is such a damnable Clogg, that I vow, I don't know what to think on't. God be'wy.

This is a pleasant Knight.

O! let him go: The Fool began to grow trouble­some, And I sent him on an Arrand. But, as Blunt as you see [Page 31] him, he's a most admirable Toole for the Work which I have in hand. Now, since we are rid of him, pray let me hear what past between my Father and you.

'Faith, were he not your Father, I should think him as extravagant in his way, as this good Sir Arthur is. For up­on our first interview, he was all sweetness, and kindness; He paid me his mony with the best grace that ever I saw. He own'd his Marriage to me; but, when I asked him to wait upon his Mistriss before the Marriage, there he stuck, and absolutely re­fus'd me: yet still his gracious aspects were the same; and Ila­bouring to improve his Favour, and gain farther upon his Con­fidence, told him the Story (he putting me upon it) of Mrs. Betty), which (you know) is pleasant enough in the Relation: And all on the sudden, when his kindness and good humor were at highest, he sunck in a moment to so flat an ebbe of coldness, and dryness, that he scarce minded what I said, turn'd his head on one side, stood making of Faces, and was so like a man di­stracted, that I cannot attribute this inequallity, in his temper, to any thing else, but some inward disorder in his Brain, which must necessarily in time grow to a direct Frenzy.

I have too much cause to believe, what you appre­hend. But, Sir, much against my Will, I must leave your Com­pany: For my several designes of disappointing my Fathers Mar­riage, and securing my own Love, so hurry me too and fro, that I cannot enjoy a moment of rest.

Farewell, may you prosper in both: To tell you truly, this little Betty is so much in my head, and (I'm afraid) in my heart too, that I am very near as restless as you.

My brace of Monkys, advance, and stand before me, that you may receive in Charge, how to behave your selves in my Service; First, because I am a Martial Man, I will assigne you employments accordingly: You, Sirrah, shall be my Trum­peter; and you my Scout. Your Office, Trumpeter, is, where­ever you goe, and especially in my Mistriss quarters, to sound [Page 32] forth the Praises of me, your Commander in Chief— Rogue! D'e Laugh? Know, Sirrah, 'tis the fashion of us Great Ones to keep Men in pay for no other end, but to Commend us in all places right or wrong—You, Scout, are a necessary Officer in my Service; and I shall put you upon Duty present­ly: You are to watch the motions of the Enemy; and when he draws near, to give me intelligence.

Pray, Sir, Who is the Enemy?

I see. (Boy) thou'rt a Blockhead. I go a Woo­ing Sirrah, and all that pretend to my Mistriss are the Enemy. Go, Sirrah; scout abroad to Mr. Wary's House, and if thou seest any body in the way, that has the Countenance of a Rival, in­stantly retreat to your head-quarters here.

A Rival, Sir? What's that?

Well; there is no such misery in the World, as to be served by Fools; Do'st not know a Rival, when thou seest him? Why, What art thou good for?

If your Worship will give me any Markes to know him by, I'le do my best to find him out.

Find him out? I tell thee (Sirrah) I would not find him out; nor have him find me out: Ignorant Puppy! not know a Rival?

Rival? Sure your Worship means a Serjeant; I know them well enough by the Dirt o'their Cloaths, and the slits o'their noses.

What Rascal? Do'st think that I am afraid of a Serjeant? No, I defie all the Justice of England: For, I have Fifteen Hundred a year, and owe never a Groat. Come hi­ther, Boy; I see I must take paines to instruct thee: A Rival (Sirrah) is a thing compounded of Coller, and Love: One of his Eyes, and half his Face, that looks t'ords his Mistriss, is so mild and sweet, that you would Swear, the Creature had no Gall in it: whil'st t'other side of his Countenance looks on all about him, as if he could eat 'em up. When he speaks, the Clapper in his Mouth strikes double; To his Mistriss Eares it sounds, Sweet Madam, let me kiss your fair hands; and, to the rest it Rings out, Damm Me, What make you here?— Now (Blockhead) I hope, you'l know a Rival, when you see [Page 41] him: Abroad then, quickly, as I bid you, and bring me word if the Coast be clear.

I'le do my best to serve your Worship: And, if I discover any such strange thing, as you talke of, I'le bring you notice instantly.

Now (Sirrah) let me examine you a little, and see, if you have any more wit then your Companion. How long have you been of the Running-Trade?

Ever since I could go.

Why, that's very strange!

Not at all, Sir: I come of a Running Generati­on. My Father (as they tell me) was an over-grown Link-boy; and my Mother was a Woman employed in Errands; who, when she went of me, out of Modesty, and Shamfac'dness, fairly run the Country; so that I was born to my Trade, and have it by kind, as well as by Education.

But, Do'st thou know what belongs to Ser­vice?

Sir, there's not a Boy in all this Town of my Age, that has my experience: For, I have serv'd above a dozen Masters, besides Mistrisses, and am able to do your Worship good Offices in all kinds.

Thou art a Boy worth having.

I am none of those heavy Lobcocks, that are good for nothing, but to hang at the tail of a Coach; I am for all Service, as well by night as by day: If your Worship be a Gamester, I can furnish you with Cards of the newest Marke; Dice, High, or Low; I can—

Well, Boy: These qualities may be useful hereaf­ter: But, for the present, I have appointed thee thy Office al­ready.

For that (Sir) I can Swear and Lye for the Credit of my Master, as well as any Boy, or Man of them all.

O Sir, Sir,—they come, they come!

Who, Boy? Who?—The Rivals?

I Sir, I.

What a Valiant Knight have I for my Ma­ster?

VVell, my Masters; to morrow's the VVedding day, and this is your last time of Tryal; I need not tell you, how much our Credit's ingag'd in the exact performance of this piece of Ingenuity: As for the Speeches in the Masque, those I take upon my self; and as for this Masking Dance, pray take notice, that although the Performance be yours, the Contri­vance was mine—Now Musick, strike up again.

Bravely perform'd! This will do: And let me tell you, There is more VVit in this Dance, then in a dozen of your best Modern Plays: They with their gingle of Rhime, and playing with Words, go just like the Chimes of St. Bart'elmy: and please the Ladies eares, but effect not the un­derstanding at all. This does gratefully Ravish our noblest [Page 43] Sence, the Eye, with an exact contrivance of Figure and Mo­tion, which are the Elements of Beauty:

The Third Act.

ALlice; Shall you and I talke a little wisely together?

I, come; just like our Master Evans.

Our Master Evans? hang him, dry-bones: No, wee'l talke just as our Fine new Master talkes with Mrs. Betty.

O, I: come, do you begin.

O Rogue; now woud'st thou have me make Love to thee, and Kiss thy hands over, and over, and squeeze e'm, and cast Sheeps eyes on thee, just, as the Fine Gentleman does up­on Mrs. Betty.

O pray be quiet; you are not half so Fine a Man, as he; an you were—

Mary come up, Gillen Flurt, is that a Bitt for your greasy Chops? A'n you be so dainty, you may e'n fast long enough.

VVhy so I will for all you, if I have a mind to't.

Nay, but Allice; consider a little; Since the Fine Gen­tleman came amongst us, we have got Fortunes of our own: and Folke, that have means, should think with themselves, how to set up in the VVorld; If I ioyn my Twenty Shillings, with thy Twenty Shillings, and thou joyn thy self with my self, we should begin the VVorld curiously together.

[Page 42] [...] [Page 43] [...] [Page 44]

There are other-guess Men, then you, to begin withal: I'le have neither beginning, nor ending with you—

Peace, peace; here's Master Evans.

O! How he Looks.

Slaves, dispatch quickly: make ready to die.

O pray Sir.

Indeed I shan't be ready a great while.

Peace, Traitors; examine your Conscience; think what y'ave done.

I did nothing; 'twas she open'd the door, and let him in.

But 'twas you, that told him first; he mought come in.

I told him no more, then Mrs. Betty bid me.

Still worse, and worse! quickly Villains, confess, confess: When came he first? How often has he been here? How long did he stay? Did he come by day or by night? What did he say? What did he do? No body speak?

O Sir, I have got the Palsy in my Tongue, I can't speak.

Rascall! Are you stealing away? if you stir an inch, I'le flea you alive.

No, no; Sir: when I have recover'd my Senses, I'le tell you all.

Base, and ungratefull Vermine! that would have starv'd, and stúnck in a Ditch long e're this, had I not taken them under my Roof, nourisht them with my Bread, and raised them from the extremity of want, and impotent folly, to a com­fortable subsistance, and state of living: And after all this (treacherous Wretches!) Could you betray such a Master? let a Man into my House to rifle my happiness, rob me of all my Treasure?—

[Page 45]

No, indeed Sir; he was very honest; we have mist nothing out of the House never since he came.

Hush, brute beast! Come, confess quickly, How came he in? VVhat did he do to Mrs. Betty?

Why Sir, about a week ago—

But 'tis not a week though; nor won't be, till to mor­row night.

'Tis no matter.

There came a man to the door—.

No, no; he's out: there came a woman first.

But she did not come in, Did she?

But I say, she did come first.

VVhy then tell the Story your self: I can never be­gin to speak, but she puts me out still.

What patience can overcome all this?

This blockhead will alwayes be prating, and knowes not what he sayes.

Peace both: Call down your Mistriss: I'le see if she can speak sence—Stay: come back again; Should they give her notice of the business, and my resentment, she will have time to frame a Story, and disguise the truth: I had better mo­derate my anger, and by gentle means draw a plain confession out of her; waite both here till I come out again.

What a dickens is come to our Master?

I alwayes thought the coming of this young Man would make a foule house at last.

As sure as can be some mad Dog has bit him.

No, no: 'tis a what-dee-call thing, like a Fly under a Horse-tayl, that makes him wince, and fling about so: I think they call it Jealousy.

Jealousy? What's that?

Why, that's a Disease, which Folke in Love are trou­bled with. 'Tis Physick, that works the wrong way; in stead of going downwards, it flies up into the head.

Come, Betty, 'tis fine VValking. Go, get you within doores—And a sweet day.

Yes indeed.

VVhat newes d'ee hear?

O Sir, my little Bird dy'd last night.

I'm sorry for't— Betty, the World is grown very Malitious. VVould you think, that some of the spiteful Neigh­bours hereabouts should report, that a certain young Man (a stranger) has several times been seen going in, and out of your Lodging, and that you have receiv'd, and entertain'd him in dis­course whole hours together? But, I am none of those, that are apt to credit the Slanders of bad Tongues: For, I offer'd to lay all I am worth, there was no such thing.

Indeed but you must not; for as sure as can be you'd lose all that you lay.

VVhy? VVas there such a Man then?—

O Lord, I; he was here this very day: Had you but come two houres sooner, you might have seen him here.

At least this confession with so little concern, shews, she's not quite fallen from the state of In­nocence—But Betty, as I remember, I did forewarne, and command you to speak with no man, especially with no young man.

I remember that too; But had you been here, when I spoke first to him, I knew you would have done as I did.

It may be so: But pray, let me hear how 'twas.

With all my heart; I was sitting in the Balcony one evening at work, when this handsome proper young man came by; and just, as I lookt on him, he chan't to look up to me: He presently makes me a low reverence, and I, in civility, rose up and did the like; By and by he turnes back again, and sa­lutes me, as before; and I, as in good manners I ought, did the same: thus he continu'd a great many times together: About [Page 47] two houres after, when 'twas almost darke, there came an Orange-woman to the door, who sent me up word, That she had the finest China-Oranges that ever were seen; and, that if I would not buy e'm with Money, I should have 'em for Love: I presently came down to see her Oranges (for I love 'em mightily:) And whilst I was looking upon 'em, she whisper'd in my Eare, God bless those sweet eyes of yours; but, if you knew how you have wounded a brave Gentleman, who is ready to die for you, your heart could not be so hard to deny him some relief.

Curst Engine of the Devil?

Good Woman (said I) you're mistaken; I never wound­ed any body in my Life: The Man, that you lately saw under the Belcony, I am sure (said she) is so hurt by you, that he is not like to live two dayes to an end, unless you take pitty of him: Sure I did not let fall any thing▪ (said I) down upon his head: No, Ma­dam (said she) 'Tis from your Eyes alone, that he has receiv'd his wound; They have a secret poyson in them, which you are ignorant of, that has seiz'd on his heart, and reduc'd him to this Languishing Condition: I vew (said I) I would not for a World, that the poor Man should miscarry, and I be the cause on't; What would he have me do to help him? Nothing (answer'd she) but give him leave to look upon you again; for, your Eyes, that hurt him, can only cure him: With all my heart, if that will do him good (said I) he may come hither, and see me as much as he pleaseth. And (Would you believe it?) as soon as ever he came, and saw me, he was as well, as ever he was in his life: Now (judge you) could I'm Conscience do less, then relieve a dying Man, when it cost so little the doing?

I fear, we have paid too dearly for the Cure— No; 'twas charitably done. But, when he came in, What did he do? What past between you? Was he not ve­ry kind to you?

Beyond all measure. He presented me the finest Box that ever you saw (I can shew it you above;) besides, he gave whole handfulls of Mony to Ralph and Alice; and he said the sweetest things that did so please me—

Well; but when you were alone together, What did he do then? Now must I search for that, which if I find I die.

[Page 48]

Then he was kindest of all: He took me by the hands, and held them so fast, and kissed them a hundred times over.

And what else?—I am in a cold Sweat!

What else? Why d'ee ask?

Come, 'tis a good Girle, speak freely.

But you'l be angry.

No, no.

Sure you will.

I tell you no—With what a lingring death she torments me?

I vow I'm asham'd to tell you.

Come, come; you may tell me any thing.

He took—

VVhat did he take?

He took my—

Out with't.

Scarlet Ribband, which you gave me, and said, He would wear it for my sake.

'Tis well he took no more—If that be all, let the Ribband go: But, Did he aske no other Re­medy of you, to Cure the Wound, which he so complain'd of?

No: Was there any thing else for him to aske? For sure at that time I should have deny'd him nothing.

Well, Betty; what is past, is past: and you shall hear no more of it from me: but, little think you what a danger y'ave scap'd. Thou hast too much simplicity to understand the mal­lice of these Frizled heads, who with their Flattery and fine words, seek only to dishonour and ruine thee.

O, 'tis impossible, that he should mean me any hurt, for he loves me.

He love thee? he deceives thee; and is kind to thee only for his own wicked ends, which having compast, he will scorn and hate thee.

Sure that can't be; for he Swore to me above a dozen times that he would alwayes love me.

[Page 49]

Thou'rt undone, should'st thou trust to the Pro­mises and Oathes of this Seducer; they are meere Cobwebs to catch silly Flies: Besides, Betty, to admit such Visits, and take Presents, and to delight in the Amorous Conversation, and dal­liance of these Periwig-men, is a Sin (Betty) and a great one.

No sure; A Sin is a black ugly thing: but this is so pleasing, and sweet; And when one means no hurt—

I tell you, 'tis a Sin, unless Marriage take away the offence.

Say you soe? Then pray, Sir, Marry me out of hand.

Yes, Betty, I intend to Marry thee; and I have put all things in readiness for it.

But, When will you do it?

To morrow morning.

To morrow morning?

Without faile: I see you are mightily pleas'd.

Yes indeed: I shall be extreamly obliged to you, and hugely satisfyed in him.

Him? What him?

Why, him, we spoke of.

Very fine; you are mighty forward to chuse your Husband: But, for that him, trouble not your head any fur­ther; let him die of his wounds a-Gods name. I am resolved, when he comes next, you shall give him such a welcome, that the importunate Ghest shall no longer hant you.

Why; What must I doe?

You shall shut the door on the Face of him, and then if he knocks, you shall send that after him out of the Win­dow, which shall coole the heate of his Passion.

How shall I be able to do that? He is so kind and so hand­some—

What? D'ee make a difficulty of it, when I com­mand it? Betty, no more words; before I stirr from hence I'le see you do it my self. I know we shall have him quickly here. Come along with me, I find you want Instruction yet.

Nay, Sarrah; by Martial-Law I'le ha' thee hang'd for giving a false Allarum, and putting me in such a disorder, as I have hardly yet recovered.

Truely (Sir) I took 'em to be the Monsters you spoke of.

Did you so? And where were your Eyes (Pup­py? a Pox o'your fears, that made 'em see double: Of all Men living, I hate these Cowardly Rogues.

Then I'le be sworne, my Masters no self-lo­ver.

This is the time too of Old Waryes Assignation. And I Vow, 'tis all I can do, to rally my Forces against my Onsett on Mrs. Iulia.

This, Sir, was the hour by him appointed to meet you in these walkes.

Go tell him, Boy, that I am here, and stay for him.

Here they are, Sir.

Have you no body, Sir, to offer me, but the most no­torious Fool of the Town?

Peace: Thou art a greater Fool then he, to refuse a man, that has a great deal of Mony, and little Witt; and so lose the opportunity of being sole Mistriss of a large Fortune. See, in what a submissive posture the Amorous Knight begs his admittance into your Favour? Nay, come up to him—Sir Arthur, here's my Daughter, and God send you good luck with her. Perhaps you'l find her a Coy Mistriss; but, let not that dishearten you; farewell; I'le leave you to your selves.

Come, Madam; now we are alone, you need not be ashamed to speak your mind freely to me: Be of good [Page 51] Courage; I am kind-hearted, and can deny you nothing that you ask.

Sure, the Fool expects that I should Court him.

Truly, Sir Arthur, I would fain ask you something; but, I am afraid, you are not good-Natur'd, nor a Man of your Word.

As I am a Gentleman, and a Knight—She's coming already—

But, What if you should deny me? you know, for a Woman to be refused, is the last misery that can befall her.

Alass, poor heart; I vow I take such pity o'thee, that there is no kindness, I would not do instantly for thee.

VVell (Sir) remember your promise: I ask you to forbear all manner of Courtship, or pretention to Marry me.

This is very pretty I faith: I know well enough, you say this now only to try me; I can't but laugh to think, how damnably you'd be mump'd, if I should take you now at your word.

Do it, pray Sir; and take it which way you will; either grant my real desires, according to your promise, or punish my Dissimulation (if so you will have it.)

So, so; y'are very pleasant: But, pray Madam, for a while give over Fooling, and be serious; Alass, I know y'are bashfull (as all young women are, or should be) and loth to come out with't: Therefore I'le take pitty o'you, and speak your mind for you; You'd fain have a Husband (VVould you not? and you'd be marryed to a man of Fortune, and good Parts, and be a Lady, (I know you would:) Then say no more, trouble your self no farther, you shall have all this, here's your Man, take him, and be thankful.

Is there any persecution like that of a

Confident Fool. Sir Arthur, I confess y'are a Man of For­tune; but, I am not of Fortunes mind to dote upon you, as she has done: As for your good Parts, they are past my under­standing; and for the Ladyship you talke of, pray keep it for [Page 52] those, who are disposed to wear it for your sake, which I am resolved never to do.

What a perverse Woman is this?—

Well, well, Madam; for all this, I'le not despair, but that you may come to your wits yet; In order whereunto I have this Letter to deliver you: Perhaps good Counsel may do much, pray persue it well; and afterwards let me know your Mind.

I know the Hand: But; I cannot possibly imagine, how he should come to be the bearer of it—

Madam, if your Fathers severity has stirred in you the same Me­lancholy humor, as in me, this Fool, whom I send for your Di­vertisement, may prove no unseasonable Present: But, there's another use to be made of him, much more important to me, and (I hope) to you; For, he's very proper to amuse your Fathers unquiet Suspitions of our Love, and to fill the Room of a Sui­tor, which might otherwise be taken up by some body of more danger: There can be no fitter Person, then he, to be deceiv'd himself, and to deceive others. I therefore leave him to your discreet management; for, in your Conduct and Affection, lie all the hopes and happiness of your humble Adorer Single.

Well, Single, since thou hast put me upon't, I'le act the part thou gav'st me, so to the Life, that thou shalt tremble at thine own disguise; and so by a wholsome severity I will at once pu­nish thy jealous humour, and secure thy Love—Sir Arthur, come hither; What d'ee think this Letter Con­tains?

A great deal of Truth, I warrant you.

Be you the Judge of that; take it, and read it.

Truly I am a modest man, and don't love to read my own Commendations: but, since you Command it—Hai, What's here?—This Fool—for your Di­vertisement—to be made use on—to amuse your Fathers—discreet Management:—O Traitor! there's not a [Page 53] true word in it. Judge you, (Madam;) Am I a Fool? Am I a fit Person to deceive, or be deceived?

No, Sir Arthur: And, to let you see what part I take in the injury done you, this is the Answer, which (She tears it. I give to so malitious a Libel. 'Tis true, I am none of those, who can fall in love with a Man at first sight (which perhaps you may take unkindly at my hands)—

No indeed, not I.

But I am so much concern'd to see plain-dealing and honest simplicity abus'd, under the colour of Friendship, that I shall always side with the well-meaning-Party against the false underminings of Dissemblers.

What a happy man am I?

You are to know, that this Mr. Single has been a Pre­tender to me himself; and now he makes you his stalking-horse to drive the Game into his own Nets: But, go you immedi­ately to him, and relate what y'ave seen me do, and heard me say; and tell him from me, that I have now taken a better man into his Room.

Let me alone; I'le tell him his own to some tune.

Some way or other I am resolved to find out this wo­man, before your Father is Marryed to her: I must break, or delay the Match.

Your Labour will be fruitless. What can you do in so short a time? his Wedding is to Morrow.

[Page 54]

I have all to day for it: And I'le do nothing, but watch him, and dog him from place to place, till I find out his hant.

Should you compass the seeing her, What will it avail? you may as soon Convert a Iew, as make him alter his Resolu­tion.

But she may be Converted: For if she have Honour or Reason in her, 'twill be enough to tell her only the plain story of your Fathers Humor, and Injustice towards you. If she be void of both, I'le get some Wench or other to swear a Promise of Marriage with your Father: Rather then fail I'le pretend a Contract my self with his Mistriss; and so forbid the Banes. For, What is't I would not do to serve my Friend in such an Exigence?

In all your designs I see much of your kindness, but very little probability of success.

I suppose you come immediately from your Mistriss. Well? Have you deliver'd my Letter?

Yes, Sir; I have deliver'd it.

And, I hope, it produc'd those good effects, which you have cause to thank me for.

O yes, Sir; I thank you most abundantly.

But, Have you not brought me an Answer?

Yes, I have an answer for you, but, 'tis by word of mouth.

How's this? Sure you mistake your self.

No, good Mr. Single; 'Tis you that mistake your self, and me too: For, I am no Fool (d'ee see;) And Mrs. Iu­lia cares not this for you. What say you now, Sir?

Either the Fool's run mad, or I shall—Sir Ar­thur, you are grown very misterious: Pray, tell me plainly, What did she say?

Then, to be plain, Sir, she said no better of you, then you Writ of me.

Was ever Man so cross-bit, and confounded by an Asse.

[Page 55]

Alass, poor Mr. Single! I find you are ex­teamly troubled: But, I scorn to be base; and, one good turn deserves another. Shall I write a Letter of Commendati­on for you to Mrs. Iulia? Ha, ha!

Y'are too sawcy: Give over fooling quickly, or I shall grow in earnest. Come, tell me her Answer; and, if you swerve one tittle from the Truth, I shall be worse to you, then a thousand Rivals.

Lord! Why are you so angry now? If Mrs. Iulia will be kind to me, Can I help it?

That it should be in the power of such a Worme to sting me thus!—Dispatch; What said she?

Good Lord! in what haste you are to hear ill News? I vow now, I can't help it: she read your Letter, and then gave it me to read (I need not tell you what was in't). When I had read it, she took it and tore it (without my bid­ding her) And said, That was the Answer she made to it: Withall, she bid me tell you, That she was now provided with a better Man to fill your room.

'Tis false, She did not; She could not say so.

I thought what 'twould come too—Why, look'ee now, if you won't believe me, ask her.

Sir Arthur, This business must not pass so: I must be farther satisfy'd in the Truth of your relation, or I shall take a course, which I suspect may not be agreeable to your temper. Go instantly back, and let her know from me, that, when she sends such a Message by such an Embassadour, she ought to send her Credentials too: And I shall also advise you, for your own sake, to bring me a speedy account of this business.

Methinks you might take my word for a greater matter then this; But, you shall have your humour, and I'le go strait—Would I were well rid of him.

Where can Faith be found, if Iulia be false? Must Vertue it self degenerate to Trechery, and an Angel turn De­vil to complete my unhappiness?

Come, come; All this may be nothing but a Trial of your Constancy; or some Stratagem of Love to amuse the fro­ward suspicion of her old Father.

[Page 56]

She could not shew that Fool my Letter, and tear it before his face, with any other design, but to abandon, and de­stroy me.

Be not so hasty to conclude her unfaithful, and your self unfortunate: For my part, I hold it impossible, that a Wo­man of Wit, who has always been constant to you, should on the sudden desert you for so despicable a Person, as your pre­tended Rival.

Ah, Peregreen! had but a nobler Object debauch't her from me, it would not have put such scorn upon my sufferings: But now I fall dishonourably by an infamous hand, and am ex­pos'd at once to Ruine, and Contempt.

Now, Sir, I hope I have pleas'd you; I told her all that you said: And, she bid me tell you again, that, since you are so hard of belief, both she, and her Father will meet you in this place within this hour, to give you full satisfaction in the point: And so God b'wy.

Nay, but Sir Arthur; Pray, one word more with you. Come near.

By no means, Sir; I am in haste; And my Mi­striss will be angry, if I stay from her so long. Farewell.

So; Now I think my business is compleatly done: Nature and Love have both declar'd me their Enemy; whilst I am disinherited by my Father, and forsaken by my Mistriss. What have I left me, but to Court an honourable and speedy Death?

At least suspend your judgment, till you speak with Iulia. All this may still be a blind to cover, and secure your Love. You must not expect at first sight, to see the bottom of a Womans Pollicy in matters of this Nature: They manage such Affairs with a subtlety, and address beyond our reach.

Your excess of kindness makes you flatter my Misery with vain hopes.

[Page 57]

You must not antedate your Misery by Despair; That will teach Fortune the way to ruine you: First hear what Iulia sayes; examine well her words, and her eyes; And then you may knowingly make a Judgment of your Case—I shall impatiently waite the success of this Assignation. In the mean time I must beg your leave to dispatch a Visit here close by to my little Betty; That being done, your Concerns shall be my whole Employment. Adieu.

Dear Peregreen, Farewell.

Stand off.

Hai dai! What's the meaning of this? I'le try a little farther; perhaps he mistook me for another.

What would you have?

Here's nothing for you.

They turne me away like a Beggar from the door! Now I am sure they saw me— Ralph, Alice—my pretty Rogues, Don't you know me? 'Tis I.

To all y'ave said, or have to say to me, this is my Answer.

Does that hand persecute me too? she speaks in Thun­der, and vanishes like Lightning—If this

be your Answer, 'tis a weighty one; had it come home to me, 'twould have Silenc'd me for ever. 'Tis impossible that Betty should be so changed all o'the sudden, as to do this of her self; with­out [Page 58] dispute Old Evans has been allarum'd, and is now himself upon the Guard: I must 'een draw off at present from the Enemies Quarters—What have we here? a Letter, For Mr Peregreen Woodland? good, or bad, I'le take it; but, this is no place to read it in.

The Bird is flown.

Most bravely perform'd of all hands; you Ralph, and you Alice did so well execute my Orders, that now I forgive you all your past-faults: And you, my dear Betty, are now re­stored to the place you formerly held in my affections; For know, that I am no less a Rewarder of Vertue, then a Punisher of Vice: I believe my Confident Lover will brag no more of this Adventure; The Brick-bat has dasht in pieces all his De­signes. And now, Betty, learn from hence the necessity of a wise Conducter even for Innocence it self: Thou hadst been quite lost, and undone, had I not miraculously deliver'd thee from the Ambuscade, which was laid to ruine thee; but, for the future I hope, all of you are sufficiently instructed, how to behave your selves, should he renew his attempts again.

We have our Lesson without book now; let him come when he will, and do his worst, I defie him.

But have a care you be not caught with his smooth Words, and fair Promises; What would you say to him now, if he should come to you, and cry, Ralph, honest Ralph, Wilt thou forget thy Friend? take a little pitty of me.

No; y'are a Rogue.

Good: But thou Alice at least art so pretty and sweet, thou canst not be so hard-hearted.

Y'are a Iack-straw.

Excellent! Alass, What hurt is there in the thing which I ask? I intended nothing but Honour and Vertue.

Y'are a Cunning Catching Rascal.

[Page 59]

Rarely well; Nay then, if you no compassion of me, I must die.

The sooner the better.

Most incomparable? You know, I am none of those, who use to forget the Courtesies done 'em: I never leave a Service un­rewarded: And, to give you a taste of my gratefull nature, Ralph, here's for thee to Drink; and Alice, here's to buy thee a laced Han­carcher; This is but a small earnest of what I intend.

Am I a Man to be brib'd? stand off.

That's right.

Get you out.

To the Life.

Get you out.

As it should be.

But presently then.

Mighty well? but now 'tis enough.

Be gone then.

Hold I say.

We won't hold, you come to affront our Master Evans.

I tell you I am in earnest.

So are we too: wee'l do what our Master bid us.

Give over, I say, or I'le break my Staff about your cares.

Must we give over so soon?

How the Slaves have bruised me?

What say you now, Sir? Han't we done as we should do?

Extreamly well; only you were a little too slow of understanding to'rds the Last, and too quick in taking Mony at First.

I Swear, I had quite forgot that part of my Lesson concerning Mony: But, since we were out, Shall we do it over again?

No: 'Tis enough.

Speak but the word, and we are ready.

[Page 60]

Y'ave done very fairly: ye may now withdraw, whil'st I talk a little in private with Betty.

Betty, methinks you are very silent; And yet that's a thing I like very well in a Woman, I know, poor heart, thy mind is troubled for the over-sight thou didst commit, not out of Ma­lice, but through too much Innocence: But, Betty, be not dis­may'd; thy Fault is forgiven, and forgot: and, for a testimony of it, to morrow I'le Marry thee.

To Morrow, Sir? that's very soon.

How comes it to pass, that now 'tis too soon, when two hours ago you thought it hardly soon e­nough.

I am grown more knowing since that time; For, you have given me so many Admonitions concerning the Duty of a Wife, that 'tis impossible for me to have 'em perfect so soon.

Thou shalt get them perfect by the practice of 'em: And, Betty, to let thee see, how my kindness is enlarged to 'rds thee, and to Crown all my other benefits heaped upon thee, take this Writing, and preserve it charily, for in this I make thee Mistriss of my whole Estate. Moreover, Betty, I'le tell thee a Secret, which thou little dream'st on; To morrow thou shalt be a Lady, and shalt have a place much above the Ranck of the Modern ones. And now, Betty, consider well, what gratitude you owe the Author of so much happiness— Did the rest of the World Marry at this prudent rate, we should not hear such loud Complaints of Wedlock-Fetters.

The Fourth Act.

THis I must own to be the Fortunate Moment of my Life: For now the Harvest is come of my long ripening Designs, which call for the Sickle. I touch the very Center of Human Felicity, which lies in that Point, where expectation ends, and fruition begins. I am now beholding to the late Assaults and Dangers I have sustain'd, which add to the fullness of my Joy the Pleasure of Victory. That I could but see the Countenance of my defeated Rival since his Salutation with the Brickbat? What a Change shall I find in the briskness of his Humour?

Sir Salomon; I have been to waite on you at your Lodging; and have sought you farr and neer.

Good Mr. Peregreen, y' are heartily wellcome. Well; and how thrives Love? I suppose by this y' are in a fair possibility of enjoyment.

Faith, Sir, that's the very business I have to conferr with you: I know not how it comes to pass, but (to tell you truly) I have had some Traverses in my Affairs, since I last im­parted them to you.

I protest, I'm extreamly sorry for it. Why What's the matter?

Without dispute, that watchfull Dragon, old Evans, smells the Powder, and stands upon his Guard to countermine all my Designs.

What reason have you to think so?

I know it must so: For, I had absolutely gain'd those [Page 62] two Animals, the Man, and Maid of the Family; and made them as tame, and obedient to all my purposes, as watch't-Hawkes; And now (all on the sudden) they are turn'd Hag­gard again, know me not, and repulse me with such rudeness, as if they had never seen my face, nor taken my Mony.

What ill luck's this? But how in the name of Wonder should this Evans come to the knowledge of your De­sign?

I know not what Devil of Jealousie has inspir'd him; But too sure I am, that he has me in the wind; For (not many houres since) going to visit my Betty, as I use to do, when I came to the House, and had one foot in, they shut the Door with vio­lence upon me; and both Man and Maid cry'd out, VVhat make you here? here's nothing for you—

I vow, this was very hard usage; after they had taken your Mony too.

However, I venter'd to knock once more; and pre­sently Betty her self came to the Belcony, and threw a huge Brick­bat at me, telling me, That was her Answer to all I had to say.

A Brick-bat, say you? That was an odd Favour for a Mistriss to bestow on her Gallant: But, Did it hit you?

No; I had the good fortune to avoid the blow.

VVhat pitty 'tis, so hopeful a Design should be knock't oth' head with a Brick-bat?

Hold, Sir; for all this, ther's some life in't still: and, I believe, old Evans, who was the Engineer, that rais'd this Battery against me, will have no cause at last to brag of his Vi­ctory.

If the young VVench be o'your side, you may easily out-wit the old Man's Vigilance.

I don't question it; And, 'tis no small part of my sa­tisfaction, to think, how this Jealous Coxcomb fooles himself into a security upon this imaginary Rout.

VVell, Sir;—How he frights me?

Now you shall see, that Love is an equal Conqueror of Art, and Nature; First, in baffling all the subtlety, and stra­tagems [Page 63] of that old Fox; And next, in making a cunning Polli­titian of Innocent Betty.

VVhere will this end?

For she, being constrain'd by her Tyrant to give me this unwilling Repulse, at the same time under the shelter of that Brick-bat dropt a Letter at my Feet so full of sweetness, and un­sophisticated-love, exprest with so much Innocence, and Mo­desty, that now I'm no less charm'd with the beauty of her Mind, then with the Loveliness of her Person.

I am relaps'd into Torment!—

Don't you admire this miraculous effect of Love, and readiness of wit in so ignorant, so unpractis'd a Creature? Me­thinks, you are not so affected with the strangeness of it, as the thing deserves.

O, yes; I'm unspeakably surpriz'd.

VVhen the Door was shut against me, and the bawl­ing Servants houted at me, and the hand-granado was flung out to route the poor Lover, VVas not the Pollitick Conducter of this Stratagem all this while in a dainty Fooles-Paradice? Did he not act a pleasant Part in this Tragi-Comedy? VVhy don't you Laugh heartily at it?

I protest, I Laugh as heartily, as I can—How I'm worry'd by him!

But, as you are my Friend, I must needs shew you her Letter; For, I believe, you never saw a more admirable piece in the kind: Do but hear it.

VVhat shall I do? I must write my Thoughts to you, and yet I know not how to chuse words to express them: For I have been bred in such ignorance, that all the knowledge I have, is, that I want it. This makes me fearfull of saying any thing, least I should say, what I ought not. I know not what 'tis y' ave done to me, but I find, it goes to my very heart to use you as I am forc'd to do. Mr. Evans does often Preach to me, That all young men are Deceivers; and, that 'tis their Trade by fair promises to cheat VVomen of their Honour, and then forsake 'em. Pray tell me whether it be so or no. I have no Malice my self; and, should you deceive me, 'twould be ill done, and I'm confident 'twould kill me— [Page 64] Was ever any thing so tender, and so ravishing? How her Wit and her Love flow from the clear Fountain of Nature, with­out the least tincture of Artifice? And, Is not this Evans a most unsufferable Beast to drown in ignorance and stupidity (as much as in him lies) so perfect a Soul, and so capable of the high­est improvement?

Oh!

What ailes you, Sir?

Nothing, but a Cold. Uh, uh, uh.

I must needs beg your assistance a little in this business: For, I am a stranger in Town, and you are the only person I confide in. Could you not acquaint me with some of the Neighbours thereabouts, where I might have access, to watch opportunities of speaking with my Mistriss?

No; I have not any acquaintance in that Quar­ter. Farewell.

Pray Sir, stay a little longer: The kindness of friends should be reciprocal. You have not told me any thing con­cerning the progress of your own Affairs: I suppose the Wed­ding holds for to morrow. I am resolv'd (notwithstanding the urgency of my own occasions) to prepare my self for it. But, Sir, Will you not grant me the favour to kiss the fair hands of your Lady before the Marriage?

It can't be: The time is short. God b'ye.

This good Sir Salomon has a strange Ague in his Na­ture: His Temper never holds the same for half an hour toge­ther. How pleasant, and well humor'd he was, when first we began our discourse; And after a while how sullen, and ill at ease he seem'd to be? Poor Single! I pity thy hard Fortune, in having such a Father.

Is he gone at last?—Could any Devil, but he, be so skilfull in the Art of tormenting? Could any Devil, but she, have so much untaught Mallice born in her Nature? My Pati­ence and my Wits will forsake me! I have publish'd my Wed­ding, [Page 65] nam'd the Day, invited my Friends, and, Am I not finely provided with a Bride? I shall become the Discourse of every Coffy-house, be Libell'd, Lampon'd, Acted; and every Fool will think himself a Wit, when he talkes, and tells Stories of me—

Sir, according to your appointment, all things are in readiness, as becomes your Quality, and the Solemnity of such a Wedding. The Taylor, Milliner, Semstress, and Periwig-Ma­ker, for the setting forth your Person; And the Butcher, Pol­terer, Vintner, Confectioner, and Fruiterer, for setting forth the Feast, have all brought in their Provisions▪ But, there is such a tearing noise of Fidles▪ Drums, and Trumpets at your Lodg­ing, to give your Worship Joy, that your whole Family are like Seamen in a Tempest, all bawling, and none hearing: They are His Majesties Trumpets, and His Grace the Lord Generall's Drums, What will your Worship be pleas'd I shall give them?—

A Halter—How all Mankind conspires to torment me! Where shall I hide my head,

and shelter my Person from the Scorn and Mockery of the World? Have I made it my business all my life to separate my self from the common heard of Fooles, and to laugh at the Di­sasters, which grew from their Principles of Folly? And, am I at last my self betray'd by a Caprichiousness of Fate to a degree of Contempt, and ridiculousness below the most noted Fops, and celebrated Fooles of the Times?—

What will your Worship be pleas'd I shall do?

Hang your self—[Tim. starts back again. Well; if it must be so, at least the World shall see, that I am none of those tame Fools, that can be the Bawds of their own Infamy, and fairly hold intelligence with those, who are the Authors of their Shame and Dishonour. My revenge shall be [Page 66] as loud as my disgrace; It shall be Writ in red Letters upon this insolent Robber, and Ravisher of my Affections, and my Honour; and upon that ungrateful young Viper; whom friend­less, and indigent, cold, and naked, I took into my warm Bosome, nay more, into my Heart—

I beseech your Worship to dispatch me: Your House is so full of all sorts of Tradesmen, and such a Rabble is got together about the Door (the Drums and Trumpets ha­ving proclaim'd a Wedding) that I fear your House and Goods are not safe.

There's your dispatch, impertinent Varlet!

Why, Sir! 'tis I: Who d'ee take me for?

I am to blame. This extravagance of Passion serves only to make my disgrace more visible: And my Re­sentment, making a noise in the World, will but sound a Trum­pet, to draw more Company in to see the Monster—All things duely weigh'd, Why should I lay the blame on others, when here within me lies my worst Enemy? An obstinate Love has taken possession of my heart, which makes an Ass of my Reason, and forceth me, though I know the Treason, to dote still upon the Traitor. Unjustly I condemn the amorous pur­suit of a young Gallant, who is so ignorant of the wrong and affront he does me, that he calls me to Counsell in all his Plots and Contrivance against me! Why do I blame the seduced Ignorance of an Innocent Girle, whose want of knowledge (which causes my Disgrace) is the effect of that Education which I gave her? No: My designs of Revenge are vain, and unjust. I must pull down my Sailes to weather out this storme. My only Course will be, to marry her out of hand: That may open her eyes, to see her Duty; and his, to know the Injury he does me. Heaven! If it may be, make her honest; if not,

VVhat? No Mr. Single appears yet.

Alass, Sir; he dares not shew his Face, when I am here.

Roger, to tell thee truly, my under­standing

is quite pos'd, what judgment to frame of this unex­pected compliance in my Daughter. Methinks there's still a Mist before my Eyes; for I do not like these sudden Conversi­ons; they favour of Artifice and Design.

However, I'm resolv'd to drive it as farr as 'twill go: And therefore I'le immediately give directions to my Lawyer for drawing up the Marriage-VVritings. But, you must stay here, that in case Mr. Single comes, you may observe the passages be­tween them.

I warrant you, Sir; I'le give you an account to a tit­tle of what's said, or done.

Sir Arthur, my business calls me away in order to your Service: But, I leave you in good company. And, Daugh­ter, I expect from you, that when Mr. Single comes, you should give him such a Dismission, as that neither you, nor I, may be any more importun'd by him.

Sir Arthur, I must confess, y' ave already given me a­bundant proof of your VVit; but, in regard I would fain have a thorough Veneration for him, I am to obey during life, Pray afford me some testimony of your Valour too: For that (you know) is as necessary to protect, as VVit is to govern the Sub­ject.

Valour, Madam? why that's the only fault I am guilty of: I'm too rash. I vow, Madam, my courage is so fierce and outragious, when I let it loose, that I dare not stir abroad, nor meet any body, till I have first chain'd it up, like a curst Masty-dog, for fear of doing mischief.

Good Sir, for my satisfaction unchain it now a little: Here's no body in the way, that can take any hurt, but Roger there; and, if you'l venter your Dog, I'le venter my Fathers Devil.

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O sweet Lady! for your own dear sake, I would not do it for a World. Alass, Madam, it flies at all, when 'tis loose, without any distinction of Persons; and where it layes hold, it worryes.

O terrible!—But look'ee; The Gentleman's come at last.—What? Am I grown so out of Credit with you, that when I send my mind by a person so worthy of belief, as Sir Arthur Addel, both my Message, and Messenger are to be slighted?

Madam, in common Justice no man is allow'd for good Evidence, when he speaks in his own Cause.

Take him up short: Don't let him shew his Wit: He has a smooth Tongue of his own, and will draw you in.

I'm come to see, whether I at least may obtain the fa­vour of your belief.

I hope, I shall have no cause given me to think you untrue; and then I must believe you.

O Madam; you give him too much head—

Know then, that Sir Arthur was a person sent, and authoriz'd by me; and all that he told you, is true concerning your Better, and his Admission.

O, well said, sweet young Lady! How my Master's heart will be over-joy'd at it!

Is it I that am to be blam'd now?—

Madam, I submit: For there's no Appeal for him, whom you condemn.

I say still, Have a care of him—

Come, Sir; stand before me. What Woman can do less, that looks upon Sir Arthur Addel, then yield her self up to so fair an Estate, so comely a Person, such a graceful carriage, so excellent a Witt, such modesty in using it, such invincible Courage—

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O Madam, such truths are not to be spoke before my face.

I'm glad she likes him so well: But did she know all.

Now, Sir; What have you to say in your own be­half, to counter-ballance the perfections of such a Competi­tour?

Madam, I am nothing, but what you please to make me.

I would make you understand your self and me; and that I am a person worthy of belief: nor shall all the perswasi­sions of the World ever seduce me from a well taken resolu­tion.

You say right, Madam; especially when your Father directs, and commands it.

Especially, when my Father provides a Person every way so qualify'd for a Husband, as the famous Sir Arthur Ad­del.

I vow, Madam, you ravish me. Shall we be Mar­ry'd to night?

How ambiguous she is? Was ever man so parted in two between Happiness, and Misery?—

To hold you all no longer in suspence, know, that I have now before my eyes the Objects both of my Scorn, and my Esteem: The one by a just title of desert has possession of my Heart; The other by his bold and rude Addresses, has rais'd a just Aversion in me, and contempt of his person. After this Declaration let me see, which is that impudent Man, who dares continue in my presence?

I, let him go: His guilty Conscience makes him fly —But Madam, you forgot your promise of binding him to the Peace: He's a troublesome unruly Fellow.

O, call him again.

Mr. Single, Mr. Single; The Lady has something more to say to you—I protest, Sir, this is all her own doing; I had not the least hand in it: you must not be angry with me.

I have also this command for him of you too, whom I [Page 70] love, that he shall not make the Pretensions of his Rival, any ground of a difference or quarrel.

Madam, your Commands shall bind my hands: Though Rivalship be a hard thing to disgest.

Mr. Single, Y'ave now your liberty to retire.

And, pray Sir, let's see you here no more: It is my old Master's express command as well as my young Mistresse's here.

If he comes again, your Order, Madam, for a Ces­sation of Armes must cease, become void, and of no ef­fect.

I hope, Sir Arthur, he will be so discreet, as not to put you upon desperat courses: But, should the worst happen, 'tis but unchaining your Masty Dogg.

If he makes me do so, he shall ee'n answer himself for all the Mischief that's done.

And so he may, without holding up his hand at the Barr. But, Sir Arthur, the freshness of the Evening warnes me to retire: I know, you'l Gallant me to my Lodging.

O yes, Madam—Poor thing! she can't live a moment without me.

But, Art thou sure my Father will be here to night?

Yes, Sir. He comes in company with one Mr.— ('Faith, Sir, I've forgot his name) a rich Merchant, newly ar­riv'd from the Indies: And, he sent me before to find you out, that he might not fail to speak with you about some very ear­nest business, as soon as he came to Town.

What should this business be?

I believe, Sir, I can tell you something of it, by what I have over-heard.

Prethy what is't?

Your Worship then must promise to keep my Counsel: otherwise I shall gain a great deal of ill will with [Page 71] my old Master, first for over-hearing, and then revealing his private Discourses.

Take my word for thy Security.

That I will for all I'm worth: And, to tell you truly, Sir, I did ee'n long to be the first, that should bring you this good Newes.

Good News? Of what?

Of being Marry'd out of hand to a young Lady, who, (they say) is vastly rich, and hugely handsome.

And do'st thou call this good News? I had rather thou hadst told me, That to Morrow I must have gone to Goale, nay more, to Execution; For in one, a man may hope to be re­least from Misery, and the other is an end of it: But, to be Marry'd so soon, and having newly tasted Liberty, to have it snatcht away from me for ever, is more then I can suffer. No: My Father must excuse me; All other things he may do of himself without me; but, Marriage is a Work, which I must do, not he.

I hope, Sir, you are not in earnest; For, by all that I can perceive, my Master's heart is so set upon this busi­ness—

Well, well; You may go rest your self after your Journy.

But, Where shall I find you, Sir, when your Fa­ther's come?

Either here, or under the Arches in Covent-Gar­den.

Dear Single, Fortune has at last decreed, as we are joyn'd in Friendship, to joyn us in Adversity.

What's the matter?

I have told you many passages of Love between Betty and me; But, I never fully confess'd to you, how deep the impression was she has made upon my heart. Ah Single! she's the very same thing in every respect to me, that the fair Iulia is to you.

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If this declaration of Love be in earnest, I doubt y'are past the Cure of Reason: Otherwise, I should endea­vour to disswade my dear Peregreen from a Passion (if it tend to Marriage) every way so unequal to him.

Ar't thou a Lover thy self, and, Can'st thou talke of inequality in Love.

I've done; You shall hear no more from me: But, pray, give me leave to be sorry.

You misplace your Sorrow; 'Tis not here that I want it: But, what I now shall tell you, will too justly deserve the compassion of a Friend. Whil'st my Affections are thus unal­terably preingag'd, just now my Father comes to Town with a positive determination (as I'm inform'd) of matching me to one of his own providing, whose Person, and Fortune (they say) are such, as to render my disobedience to him unexcusable in the Eyes of the World. Judge then in what condition I am: Uncertain of my Love; for, she's in the hands of my Ene­my, her Goaler Evans; And only certain of my Father's just in­dignation.

Methinks, your Passion for Betty in so short a time should not have taken such deep roots, but that another might be planted in the roome on't, when a Fortune is offer'd by your Father, so much above her in quality and Estate, and per­haps not inferiour in Beauty.

Deal more justly with a Friend: Is it in your power not to love Iulia? Nor is it more in mine to relinquish Betty. No; whatever befalls me; I'm resolv'd this very night to get her into my possession, and then Marry her: Which being done, I shall endeavour to obtain my Fathers Pardon, for what I could not gain his Consent.

Well, Sir; since I cannot serve you with my Coun­sell, at least I offer you my Person, to assist you in the executi­on of your design.

No (dear Single;) I know your own occasions of a like nature require your whole attendance: Besides, I look upon your Father, as a more proper Instrument for me in this Work. He's already acquainted with it; and has promis'd se­crecy; and his Person (being a Man of years) appearing at [Page 73] Bettys Lodging, will be less subject to the suspition of old Evans. Moreover, by employing him, I hope to get a sight of his intend­ed Bride; For, in all my own Distractions, I cannot be un­mindfull of your Concernes.

Your Generosity may teach the World new Lessons of Friendship, whilst even in your own Distress you continue such care for me: Thanks to my Stars, my heart is now at some ease concerning Iulia's constancy: I confess, she frighted me at first with that very Vizard, which I bid her put on; But since, through that Disguise, she has artificially cast such beams of Comfort on me, as have reviv'd my drooping Spirits.

May Fortune continue her smiles upon you. Fare­well; I must to your Father about my business.

And I must find out Sir Arthur, to renew a strict League of Amity with him. May we both prosper!

Betty, Have you said your Prayers to day?

O yes, Sir.

And, D'ee know what 'tis to die?

To die? I remember I saw one of my Nurses Daugh­ters die in the Country.

And, How did you like it?

O, very ill: She was a pretty Girle before; but, when she was dead, I was afraid to look upon her.

Betty, you must die; and die presently.

No sure, Sir; For I'm as well, as ever I was in my life.

How unconcernedly she answers?— apart.—I say again, within this quarter of an hour you must die.

Indeed, Sir, you fright me; and yet I can't see any danger of death.

Wicked Girle! Look upon thy Treason against thy Lord, and Master; thy Ingratitude to thy Benefactor; thy falseness to him, that must be thy Husband: Remember the Letter thou drop'st to day in the Street; and then look upon [Page 74] me, and tell me, Do'st thou see no danger of death?—What, Are you dumb?—Why don't you answer? you can't speak to me; but you can write to your lewd Gallant?

You put me in such a fright, that I am not able to speak.

Hussee, you were not afraid to break my Com­mands, to betray me, to be strumpeted by a wild young Fellow: In all Mischief y'are bold enough; but, when you are to hear your faults, and to answer for your Crimes, then your Fears come upon you!

I can't speak for my life, when you look so terribly upon me: look but as you use to do, and I'le answer you any thing.

How in spight of my teeth she breaks the force of my Anger, and disarmes it with her softness!—Tell me then, Why did you write that Letter, after I had forbid you all Com­munication with him?

I writ it, because it goes against my Nature to hurt any body; And, since you would needs have me throw that great Stone at him, I could not chuse but let him know, I did it against my will.

O, how tender you are in hurting him! whilst at the same time you make nothink of breaking my heart, destroying my happiness, ruining my Reputation, who have been a Nurse, a Father, and would have been a Husband to thee.

Indeed I'm beholding to you for your care of me; And, when I'm able, I'le satisfie you for it.

Satisfie me? How the Gipsy word's it! How canst thou satisfie me for all the good I have done to thee, and all the mischief thou hast done to me?

God forbid I should do you any mischief: I know of none I have done you.

What Devil has taught thee to sin thus without Remorse? Thy Ignorance cannot excuse thee: For, Have I not daily instructed thee for two years together in thy Obedi­ence, and duty of a Wife? Have I not hourly inculcated into thee, That thou ought'st not so much as to look upon a young [Page 75] Man; and that thou wert born and made to no other end, but to love me?

Truly, Sir, I love you as well as I can: And, if I love you no better, 'tis not my fault; you should make your self more lovely.

How innocently she stabb's me with her

Answers! No, Gipsy; you can love well enough when y'ave a mind to't, and where you should not: You can Love an im­pudent Ravisher, who comes to defloure thee, and leave thee a forlorn, prostituted thing, abandon'd to Beggery, and Shame; Him thou canst love: But me, who have rais'd thee from no­thing, bred thee as my Child, made thee Mistress both of my Heart and Fortune; me thou canst not love: I (forsooth) must make my self more Lovely.

What would you ha' me do? I'le do any thing I can, to give you content.

Then I command you to renounce all manner of kindness to this bold Assaulter of your Honour, and mine, and never more to see him, nor so much as think upon him.

That's impossible for me to do: For, now I know him, I must love him, and see him too, when I may.

O impudence! to tell me this to my face? Had she been bred in the most famous Schools of Iniquity? Had she been Prentice all her life to the ablest She-Professors of the Trade? Could she have own'd her Transgression with a more daring Confidence? Since thou art so impenitent, and hardned in thy Sin, expect no Mercy—Behold this.

Art thou not affraid of my Anger? I hope, now th'art to die, thou'lt repent thee of thy Sins; and (above all) of thy abo­minable Love of this wicked Man who has so bewitch'd thee.

Sure you won't kill me: But, if you should, I must not leave the World with a Lie in my Mouth, and say, I don't Love this young Man: For indeed I can't chuse but love him. And, I think, it is no Sin, when I can't help it.

How she argues the Case! Where has she learn't this Cunning, and this undauntedness? Ah! she holds intelli­gence with my heart, and knows the power she has there, which grows stronger and stronger upon me, in spight of all her neg­lect [Page 76] to me, and Love to my Rival—Here, Betty; Do you take this Sword: Take it, and kill me. For all the care I have had of thee, for all that I have done, and meant to do for thee (since thou wilt not love me) I ask thee no other reward.

Indeed, Sir, I would not kill you, though 'twere to save my own life: And I'le endeavour to love you as well as ever I can.

Nay, unless you'l love me better then that young Man, I must die.

No, pray don't: What are you the worse, because I love him? You shant lose a Farthing by it. To content you, I should be glad with all my heart I had never seen him, and did not love him: But, now 'tis done, who can help it?

How immovable she is! Neither Threats, nor Kindness work upon her. Well, Marry her I will; and take my venture— Betty, notwithstanding all your unkindness, I'le be as good as my word, and Marry you.

Marry me? To whom?

Ah, cruel Girle! Why do'st thou stab me with such a question? Love me, or love me not, I'le be your Hus­band to morrow.

Indeed, Sir, that's very short warning.

No more words: I'le have it so. When thou see'st the Bravery, and fine things I've prepar'd for thee, thou'lt be of a better mind.

If it must be so, I can't help it.

Come, get you in; and pray to Heaven, that thou may'st be sensible of the happiness I intend thee.

Sir Salomon, I have been in despair for want of see­ing you; For you are my good Angel—

And you my Devil—

That must direct and assist me, and crown all your [Page 77] past favours with the most important kindness that I am capa­ble of receiving.

What is't, Sir?

Only to deliver this Letter safely to my Betty: On her receipt of it depends no less, then the happiness of my life. I dare not approach the House my self by day-light, because the Servants know me, who are now turn'd of old Evans his Party: Nor can I put my concerns in such trusty hands as yours.

Does it require haste in the delivery?

O, by all means: The Lodging is close by; 'Tis a Corner House, with a Belcony, that looks into the Fields here, next to Swan-Ally: You may see the House from hence. Now, Sir, the way to deliver it, that neither old Evans, nor his Hou­shold-Spies may see it, is to tie it to something, and then toss it up into the Belcony: By the manner of the conveyance Betty will presently know whence it comes, and how to behave her self: And, this is the proper time of doing it; For, at this hour she alwayes comes out in the Belcony, to take a little fresh Air of the Evening; It being all the liberty allow'd her by her Jaylor.

Well, Sir; This is all.

It imports me likewise, that you should know the bu­siness. My passion for Betty is now come to that height, that I'm resolv'd instantly to Marry her. But (most unfortunate­ly to my Designs) my Father comes this night to Town; and with a resolution (as I am certainly inform'd) to strike up a Bargain of Marriage for me of his own driving. In these Streights I have no expedient left to prevent his purpose, and execute my own, but to get possession of Betty, and Marry her out of hand. Though my Fathers present dissatisfaction may be great, yet, I hope, time will mollifie him; And I doubt not but your good Offices will much contribute towards it.

You may be sure of me. But, when d'ee pur­pose to get possession of your Mistriss?

This very Night, as soon as 'tis dark; for, by that time Evans alwayes retires to his own quarters.

But, What place of security have you to lodge her in, when y'ave brought her off?

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There lies my greatest difficulty; And, were it not too bold a Petition, I should think no place so safe and honourable for her reception, as your house, only for a day or two, till I've made her my Wife: But, Sir, I have trespass'd already too farr upon your generosity, and dare transgress no farther.

O Sir, your modesty does me wrong. To mistrust the kindness of a Friend, is the greatest sin in Friendship. Bring her when you will, you shall find, that my House is her Home.

You surpass all Men living in the noble Art of ob­liging a Friend. But upon reflection, since y'are to be Mar­ry'd your self to morrow, I fear her coming at such a time may prove unseasonable.

So farr from it, that I'm resolv'd not to be Mar­ry'd without her.

You are generous to that excess, that you leave me not a possibility of being grateful. And now, Sir, I have no­thing more to begg of you, but the Honour of kissing your La­dies hands before her Marriage; that I may obtain an early place in her favour, by letting her know what my Obligations are to you.

Matters of Complement and Curiosity require no haste: But, since you so much desire it, I give you my word, That, when you bring Mrs. Betty to me, you shall then see my Wife.

You make me happy every way, except in this, that I owe you more then I am worth; And am forc'd, like other Banckrupts, to compound my Debts, begging you to accept those small Services I can pay, in lieu of the vast Summ that's due.

O, Sir, you mistake in the Account between us: I am yet in your Arrears, which I shall endeavour to discharge out of hand, by serving you in this business concerning Mrs. Betty, as I ought.

Dear Sir Salomon, Farewell; And good luck attend you.

The Fifth Act.

WHat? Kick your Steward? The Su­preme Head of the Family under your Worship? 'Tis such an Af­front done to my Office, as I cannot in honour put up: Therefore, as I said before, here are my Keyes, and here are my Accounts; and so I take my leave.

Nay, prethy, Timothy, be pacify'd: Good-natur'd Men (thou know'st) are subject to Passion.

But Stewards, Sir, are not subject to be kick't. Shew me but one President for it amongst all those of my Profes­sion, and I'le be bound to be your Worships Football as long as I live.

Indeed the Case is extraordinary; And so was the Cause; and so shall the Satisfaction be: For, Timothy, I'le give thee in amends a Childes Life in thy Copy-hold.

Well, Sir; since 'tis your seeking, I accept of the Re­paration —Sir, I have two or three Children more yet unprovided for; if your Worship will be pleas'd to kick them into Livings too, I stand ready to have their Fines laid upon me.

So, so; I'm glad wee're friends again. Now call in my Family; For, I have something of consequence, which I must propound to you

all. Come forwards: If any body here thinks his Work too much, or his Wages too little, or his Lodging and Fare too hard; Timothy, I order you to give him all reasonable satis­faction.

God bless your Worship.

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And I doubt not on your parts, but y'are all rea­dy to serve my Person, and vindicate my Honour, as occasion shall require.

Our Lives are at your Service.

Know then, that this very moment I am actually assaulted by an insolent young Fellow, who, to night Plots no less Mischief, then to Ravish my Bride.

What manner of death would your Worship have him die?

No; let not his Punishment be Capitall, nor San­guinary; but loade him with as many Blows, and as much Infa­my, as you can.

Shew us but the Man, and your Worship shall see, that we are as able to serve you in chastising your Enemies, as entertaining your Friends.

Pray, Gentlemen, can you direct me to the Lodg­ing of Sir Salomon Single?

Friend, there's Sir Salomon himself.

Squire Woodland, my Master, commanded me to let you know, that he is newly come to Town upon some business, in which your Worship is concern'd; and desires, he may speak with you before you go to bed.

Friend, tell thy Master, that, if I can possibly, I'le waite upon him: Where's his Lodging?

At a Barbers, next doore to the Fleece-Tavern in Southampton-Buildings.

Very well— apart—In what a seasonable hour this old Man's come to Town, to see the Ini­quity of his Son chastis'd? However, my person shall not ap­pear upon the Stage in this Tragedy; I'le only prompt be­hind the Curtain.

Where shall I find my young Master now, the Lord knows. This was one of the places he appointed—

The time draws near; yet, didst thou know (Single) with what panting expectation I long to be possest of my Trea­sure, thou wouldst pity the Torment, which each Moment brings me, by interposing it self between me and my Happiness.

O, Sir; well met! My old Master's newly come to Town, and by all means must speak with you instantly.

Peace, Screech-Owl! I think that Fellow was born to bring me ill Newes.

In troth, Sir, I think so too: For, if to Marry a rich handsome Lady, and to see your Father after so long an absence, be ill Newes, I'm sure I can bring you none that's good.

Ah, Single! What shall I do? I must not disappoint Betty; and I should not neglect my Father.

None can tell you better, then I, what the danger is of disgusting a Father, though innocently: And yet I'm too much a Lover my self to advise a breach of promise with your Mistriss. To satisfie both, you must deferr your going to Betty for an hour, or thereabouts. Your Father must needs be wea­ry after his Journy; and cannot hold you long: And, that she may not think her self disappointed by you, write a note to her, to let her know the occasion.

But, Who shall deliver it?

Had not I a private summons from Iulia to meet her just at this time, I'de be your Man: But, you may send your Father's Servant there.

Send him? He scarce knows the Town by day; much less by night.

What makes this Fool come to disturb us now?

O, pray bear with him: By a special command from Iulia I am now enter'd into a strict League of Amity with him. Faith, ee'n send him with the Note; and you'l do me a parti­cular [Page 82] kindness in it; for otherwise, hee'l stick upon me like a Burr, and disappoint my meeting with Iulia.

With all my heart.

Why, Gentleman, Where have you been? These two long houres I have done nothing but hunt after you.

Well, Sir, For what?

Faith, I have made a discovery of the rarest Cham­paine-Wine in Town: Prethee, let's go, and fill our Earthen Vessels with it;

O brave Arthur of Bradly! The Motion's good in it self, but not seas'nable for us at this time; for, we have busi­ness, in which you must do a Friends part.

Thou knowst (Man) I love Business: What is't? Quickly.

Only to deliver a note for our Friend Peregreen here: But 'tis of high Concern, for there's a Mistriss in the Case; and therefore we chuse a Man of Ability for the Employ­ment.

Come, give it me; I long to be in Action.

You shall have it immediately.

Faith. Single, never let's break good company▪ Prethy, come along with me, when I deliver this Note.

Could I have gone, you should not have had the trouble on't; But, I am preingag'd.

Prethy, Where?

Why—to tell you, as a Friend, I have an ap­pointment just now to receive a little Mony; and, that's a bu­siness (you know) I must not neglect.

Hang Mony: A Friends Company is better then it, at any time.

Why, there's the difference between us two now: You have too much Mony, and want Company; and I have too much Company, and want Mony.

Well, Gentlemen, I have done. Sir Arthur, Have you a Watch about you?

No, Sir, not I.

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Here, take mine; and precisely at half an hour past eight, deliver this Note to a young Lady at the Corner house that has a Belcony, which looks into Holborn-Fields, next to Swan-Ally.

I know the place.

But you must knock gently at the back-door of the Garden, to'rds the Fields; and, when she appears, give her the Note, and tell her, He who sent it, will be with her about an hour hence, or sooner, if he can.

Take no further care; your business shall be pun­ctually done.

Y'are an obliging person, Sir Arthur—Come, Har­ry; Now I am for my Father.

But hark'ee, Mr. Single; Did not you tell me, that this Peregreen was one of my Rivals? I vow now (upon better consideration) Why should I do such a kindness for an Ene­my? for ought that I know, there may be some trick in't.

'Tis true, I did tell you, that he was then newly en­ter'd the List of your Rivalls: But now (take my word for't) he's so farr from it, that he's engag'd elsewhere: And this kindness which you are now to do for him, relates to his new Amour.

Nay, I'le take your word for't—

O, Father-in-Law?

Sir Arthur, farewell.

God buy, Sir.

I'm glad I've found you at last; for, I sent my Man all the Town over to look you.

And now you have me, What have you to say to me?

You must needs come away immediately with me to my Lawyers Chamber.

Excuse me, Sir; I must not.

[Page 84]

I have appointed a Meeting about the Marriage Wri­tings, and both our Counsell are already there.

There let 'em waite; I'le pay 'em by the hour.

I thought, Sir, you had been more in haste, and more pressing in matters that concern your affection to my Daugh­ter.

Nay, take it not ill, good Sir: your Daughter and I understand one another very well; we don't stand upon such Punctillio's.

I am affraid, she understands you but too well.

Let me see—VVhat a Clock is't now? Some half an hour hence I can be there; till then Mr. Lawyer must have patience.

VVell, Sir, if it must be so, then I'le go before: But first, pray, Sir, let me give you a little good advice.

You need not, Sir; we shall go to Counsell within this half hour.

'Tis the Advise of a Friend, not of a Lawyer, that I would give you. I perceive, that you are very much in the company of this Mr. Single, who, in my judgment, is, for several respects, a person very unfit and dangerous for you to con­verse with: First, he has a great deal of Wit, and no Meanes—

Which is to say, I have a great deal of Means, and no Wit—Go on, Sir.

Not so neither. In the next place, he is, or has been your Rivall to'rds my Daughter: Now judge you, VVhat Friendship you can expect from an indigent Man, whom you have dispossest of all hopes to raise his sunck For­tune?

Hark'ee, Sir, You are Mrs. Iulia's Father, Are you not?

Yes, Sir. VVhat makes you aske such a Question?

'Tis well you are: Otherwise I should be bold to tell you, That I'm already provided of a wiser Governor then your Worship, by name, Sir Arthur Addel. S'liddikins, I have liv'd to a fair Age, if every old Man must take upon him to be my Tutour.

[Page 85]

I'm sorry my good Will's lost upon you. However, pray fail not to come according to your promise.

No, no—

Gods so; whilst I have been talking idely with this old Fellow, I have almost slipt the time of my business—VVhere shall I find this Lodging now?—I was but an Ass (to say the truth) for undertaking this Owle-light employment—How dark 'tis grown all of a sudden?—Let me see; This must be the House.

Oh! oh!

Suffer patiently; y'had best: If you make a Noise, you die for't.

Quickly, quickly; pray take my Mony and my Cloaths, and use me gently.

If he speaks one word more, cut his Throat—No, Sir; your Punishment must not be Pecuniary, but Corporal: your Crime is Letchery; and, the Body must suffer for the Sins of the Flesh.

Murder! murder! murder!

VVhat? Is he dead?

Some unlucky blow has hit him under the Eare.

'Pox take him for a Chicken-hearted Fellow, to die so soon.

Unfortunate men that we are! VVhat will become of us?

The Gallows take the bindmost, I cry.

VVhat's the Matter?—The Rogues have [Page 86] undone me by thus over-doing their Work! This will cover me with shame, and infamy, and bring in question my Life, and Estate! What shall I do? Whither shall I fly—I hear the noise of Justice—

I'm sure I heard a cry of Murder—Look Neighbour, here has been Mischief done. The Man is dead.

Come, let's carry him off.

No, no; let's first call the Coroner; 'Tis dange­rous medling, till he has sate upon the dead Body; after that, he may be buried out of the way.

How? Carry me off, and Bury me, said they? I'le shew' em a trick worth two on't.

'Tis better dying of ones own accord, as I have done, then by compulsion of others, as I must have done.

What? all run away? And the dead Man too? Then I'le 'een run too for Company.

What was this Noise, and out-cry, which we heard? Pray God there be no hurt done.

Yes, but there is hurt done; For, I heard 'em say, he was kill'd?

Kill'd? Tell me quickly, Who's kill'd?

[Page 87]

As long as you are alive, What need you trouble your self?

Thou naughty Wench; I could find in my heart to beate thee: I'ell me, I say, VVho was kill'd?

I did not see him; but, I believe, 'tis the young Man that us'd to come hither, by what I could over-hear.

VVhere are the Rogues that did it? I'le kill 'em with my own hands; or, if I can't, I'le kill my self. Help me, Al­lice, to find them out.

Nay, Pray Mistriss, have patience.

I will not have patience: I'le either be reveng'd on them, or on her, for whose sake he was kill'd.

VVhy Mistriss; now I think on't, if any body had been kill'd, we should have seen him lie here: but, here's no sign of any hurt done.

VVho's there?

O, Mistriss, run away: here are more of the Rogues.

Thou Coward! I'le at 'em, and fly in their Fa­ces.

VVhat? Betty?

Is't you?

I Mistriss; 'tis 'een he, whom you thought to be dead.

O Lord! I was affraid, y'had been kill'd.

No, dear Betty; I was only hinder'd from coming at my hour; And I sent thee word on't—But this is no place for us to stand talking in. Come, Betty; now I have thee in my possession, I'le put thee in a safe place, farr enough out of the reach of thy Jaylor Evans.

But, VVill you Marry me?

Ah Betty! VVhy art thou so cruel, as to make a doubt on't? I'le rather die, then not Marry thee—VVhat hast thou in thy hand there? give me thy Basket; it troubles thee to carry it.

Then (pray) have a great care on't, and let it not [Page 88] go out of your hands; for, there is a VVriting in't, which I'm told, is worth me a great deale.

I warrant you; I'le not part from't.

VVhose that?—Sir Salomon?—Most fortunately met, to relieve me in distress! Here, Sir, I have now my Jew­el to consign into your hands; Pray have a care of her, as of my Life. I broke away with violence from my Father to look after this Treasure: But, I'm oblig'd to return immediately to him. Pray, lose no time; but lodge her safely in your House: For, I apprehend the pursuit of old Evans. VVithin this hour I hope to be with you. Dear Betty, for a little while fare­well.

VVhat? VVill you leave me so soon?

I'le be with thee again immediately: In the mean time I leave thee in a Friends hands, who will have the same care of thee that I have.

Gipsy, D'ee know me?

Keep in your shrill Notes; or I shall stop your VVind-pipe for you. VVhat? Did your Gallant lie stretcht out upon the floor like a Fox, to run away with the Poultry? Once more I have thee in my hands: Let him snap thee again, and I'le for­give him, and thee too—Come away, quickly, y'had best.

Hold your self contented; VVee'l not part with you so: You'r a very suspitious Person; for immediately after the Fact committed, we found you running away.

Pray, Mr. Constable, believe me; Indeed I'm an honest Man.

Clear your self before the Justice, and I'm satis­fy'd: But, thither you must.

[Page 89]

Am not I finely serv'd? Now shall I be hang'd for killing my self.

Neighbour, the Rogues, since we were here, have carry'd away the Body.

Friend, you are mistaken; The Body carry'd away it self.

How the Man talks? Sure he's Mad.

I, Neighbour, they that shed Man's Blood are commonly so: 'Tis a Judgment upon Murtherers.

To what Justice shall we carry him, Mr. Con­stable?

To Justice Wary; He's nighest at hand.

I, he's as like to get him hang'd, as any Justice upon the Bench.

VVhy, Mr. Constable; VVhat d'ee mean to do? Upon my reputation I am the Man that was kill'd.

Away, away with him; he's raving mad: De­rick must be his Doctor.

This is the Justice his House.

Knock then.

What would you have?

We have apprehended a Man here upon suspition of Murder; and we have brought him to be Examin'd and Committed by his Worship.

That's well: I'le call my Master instantly; He's but a little way off, at Grey's-Inn.

Pray make haste.

Friend, friend; 'tis I: Don't you know me?

I know no body, when he's in the hands of Ju­stice. My Master shall be here strait.

I did certainly hear Sir Arthur Addell's voice. Look, where my Knight is in the Constables clutches! Slip you away, [Page 90] whilst I go see, what the meaning is of this Tragy-Come­dy.

Well, Mr. Constable; Who is't, that you have brought hither to my Father?

Madam, A very wicked Man, without doubt: For, here was Murder committed close by; and, presently after we caught him flying away, with as guilty a Countenance as ever I saw: and yet I have seen many in my time.

A very shrew'd presumption indeed.

But, Madam, Don't you know me? All this while 'tis I, your Husband that must be, whom these Rogues abuse thus.

I'm the sorrier for't, Sir Arthur; that a Man of your Quality should run himself into such Enormities: I thought, you had not been so bloody. And yet, 'tis no more then what your self have confest formerly to me; that, when your Cou­rage is let loose, like a fierce Mastiff-Dog, it falls upon all that comes in it's way.

Nay, but pray, Madam, hear me: Will you mistake the Matter too, like these Clod-pated Rascalls here? I am the very Man, on whose Person all this Murder was committed; for I was set upon by Rogues, that would have kill'd me, but that I prevented 'em—

How? By killing 'em?

No, no, Madam; by dying my self; or at least making them believe so: At which the Rogues took such a fright for fear of hanging, that away run they; and away went I: Then come the Clutches of the Parish here, and, accor­ding to their usual Custome, seise me, who was the Person as­saulted, and suffer the Rogues to make their escape.

A very pretty story indeed! No, no; Mr. Iustice, when he comes, won't be fob'd off so.

In troth, Sir Arthur, 'tis so intricate a Case, that I can determine nothing in't, till my Fther comes.

Good Madam, make the Slaves release me: I would not for a World be seen in their Company by your Father.

I vow, Sir, I dare not intrench upon my Fathers Au­thority: Y'are now in the hands of the Law; and that must [Page 91] either, quit you, or condemn you—Neighbours, y'had best bring your Prisoner within doors till my Father comes.

Yes, Madam. Jogge on, Sir.

Ill-natur'd-woman! I'le pay all thy Scores, when once thou art my Wife.

Ah Single! What shall I do? Whil'st I'me happy in the possession of my Mistriss, my Father is so violently bent upon this Match of his own providing, that to oppose him openly in it, would certainly cause as wide a breach in our Fa­mily, as is already (unfortunately) in yours. His impatience is such, that he will needs have me see her to night; to which end he tells me, She will immediately be brought to his Lodg­ing. All, I can hope in this business, is, when I see this young Lady, to let her know my former engagement; (that if she be generous) the Treaty may seem to break of her side.

'Tis your only expedient, as the Case stands.

O, Sir; my Mistriss Betty is stark staring mad: If I had not hindred her, she had thrown her self out at Window; Nor could I have held her hands from doing her self a Mischief, but that I promis'd her to find you out, and let you know, in what condition she is.

For Heaven's sake, What's the matter?

She sayes, y'are the falsest Man living, to betray her thus, and quite undoe her for no other fault, but loving you too much.

Thy words are so many Daggers to my heart! What cause can there be for this?

O Sir, after she had put her self into your hands, why would you deliver her up again to Mr. Evans? who now watches her, as a Cat does a Mouse: Sometimes he threatens her, and sometimes he flatters her; and all won't do; for, she's [Page 92] ready to fly in his Face, and bids him kill her; and sayes, that she hates him for his own sake, and all Mankind for yours.

I am all horrour, and amazement! But, this cannot be; for, I put her into the hands of your Father, Sir Salomon Single.

Why so our Master Evans is now call'd at the New House where we are. He has chang'd his Name.

Chang'd his Name? Are Sir Salomon and Mr. Evans the same Person?

Too sure.

I'm lost, undone, ruin'd for ever! How fatally blind have I been? and now my Eyes are open'd to see nothing, but a vast Abisse of despair!—

But, What shall I say to her? for I dare not stay any longer: I venter'd as much as my life is worth, in coming out now.

Tell her, Allice, That I'le claime her, as my Wife; and that I will not live a day to an end without being possest of her.

See you be as good as your word.

Now help me in this extremity! What shall I do? How shall I keep my word?

I confess, my reason at first was dazled with the sur­prise of such a mistake: But upon reflection, since your Mistriss has the Courage of resist Marrying my Father, the worst, that can happen in this matter, is Delay.

That's too much for a Lover. But alas! I rowe against Wind, and Tide, and the double opposition of both our Fathers.

There being a Promise of Marriage between you and Betty, y'ave the Law o' your side against my Father; and, with your own, I hope, Nature will be your Friend. But, you told me of a certain Writing, which Mrs. Betty gave you to keep: Have you lookt upon't? Perhaps you may find something in't that may be useful to you in this present conjuncture.

Alass; I've had no time to look upon't. Here 'tis.

Forbear. Both our Fathers are here.

Whatever you do, Sir, maintain the Authority of a Father; And, since you have provided so considerable a Match for him, make sure whil'st you may.

Howe you much for your Friendly advice; which I intent to follow; And, in order thereunto, I have now de­sir'd this conference with you.

See, how he still labours to destroy me!

O Son; Are you there? 'Tis very well. Your Mi­striss will be here presently.

But Sir, have a care, that ill Company seduce him not from his Obedience: They'l put a thousand Flams in his head.

Faith, Peregreen, I must take pitty of my Father, and remove: For, I'm too great an eye-sore to him. I must needs see what's become of Sir Arthur, whom I left in a pleasant po­sture, attended by the Constable, and the Watch. But I'le be back immediately.

I protest, Sir, I'm sorry to hear y'are so unfortu­nate in your Son, of whom, in other respects, I've heard a very good Character given.

'Tis as I tell you; Therefore have a care of yours—

Go tell the Constable, that, if he be in haste, he may bring his Pris'ner hither; for I'm engag'd, and cannot come.

Ah Heaven! I did not want

[Page 94] this farther Evidence to let me see from what State of happiness I'm fall'n into the bottom of despair.

Mr. Barter, I must confess, that the health and prospe­rity of my Friend, after so long a despair of his being alive, is the greatest joy of my life.

I owe much to Heaven in my preservation, and not a little to my Friends for their concern in it: But, Sir, the fa­vour I aske at present, is this; I have a business of great impor­tance with one Sir Salomon Single, a person unknown to me: And, because you are my only acquaintance of Credit and Note here in Town, I desire your presence and assistance in it.

You may command me—Very fortunately there is the Party you wish for, Sir Salomon Single.

Therefore, Sir, be not delay'd with Excuses, but dispatch it instantly.

Sir, I thank you; Your Counsel shall be follow'd.

How he persecutes me to death!

Sir, though I'm a stranger to your Person, yet I sup­pose Mr. Woodland may now have inform'd you of a match con­cluded between his Son and my Daughter.

Sir, he has inform'd me of a considerable For­tune, which his Fatherly care has provided for his Son; for which I heartily give him joy; And if your Daughter be the intended Bride, I give you the like; and shall take this, as a happy rise to begin our acquaintance. Methinks, Gentlemen, matters of so happy a Consequence can never be dispatcht too soon: I see no reason why the Wedding should not be to morrow.

How implacable is his Rage!

Agreed.

Agreed.

Then, Sir Salomon, there wants nothing to complete what you in so friendly manner advise, and we so passionatly desire, but your concurrance: For my Daughter, I understand, is in your Custody; who took her out of the Nurses hands, with whom I left her before my Voyage into the Indies.

Ha! What's this?

When you receiv'd her, she might well appear to be [Page 95] an object of your Charity; All my Friends at that time gave me for lost, in regard the Ship, which transported me, foundred at Sea: And the several accidents of my life since have hin­dred me from giving them an account of my safety. But, the bounty of Heaven having now at last restor'd me to my Coun­try, my Estate, and my Child, I shall make you ample compen­sation for the charge of her Breeding, with infinite thanks for your Care of her.

Sir! let me fall down, and ask you the greatest bles­sing that Man can receive! Is that Mrs. Betty, in the Custody of Sir Salomon; your Daughter? And is it she, whom Heaven, and you have design'd for my Wife?

The very same.

Sir, the Story you tell, is no sufficient Evidence for me, to relinquish that right of adoption, which I have in her.

For your fuller satisfaction here is the Nurse her self, who calls you Landlord, from whose hands you receiv'd my Daughter—Pray call her in.

However, she's already my Wife; And, as such, I'le keep her.

The young Lady, Sir, in spight of all our Vigilance, has made an escape in company of the Maid Servant that waits on her: They leap'd out at a lower window into the Street, and took their flight this way.

'Tis in vain to struggle any longer against the Per­verseness of Fate!

False, and hard-hearted Man! Why would'st thou betray her, who did thee no hurt, and meant thee so well? Here, satisfie thy Mallice, and kill me thy self, rather then deliver me over to be tormented by Mr. Evans.

Ah, dear Betty! be not so cruel, to make a Crime of [Page 96] that Error which I have smarted so deeply for. However, if by mistake I put thee into the hands of thy Jaylor (to make thee amends) I now (knowingly) restore thee to the embra­ces of thy Father; That so by his gift I may confirm the Title of my love.

Is this my Father?

Pretty, sweet Mistriss! How glad am I to see you grown so proper a young Woman? God's blessing on my Land­lords heart, Sir Salomon there, for giving you such good keep­ing: And, Mistriss, I hope, now your Fathers Worship is come home again, he'l provide a good Husband for you.

Art thou sure, Nurse, this my Father?

I'm sure he told me so above a dozen years ago.

I do believe it; for methinks, at first sight I lov'd him better, then ever I lov'd any old Man in my life. Pray, Sir, give me your Blessing.

Take it (my only Child) and with it this Gentle­man for thy Husband; who, I perceive, is no unwellcome Pre­sent to you.

Heart, since thou needs must break, go, break alone, And rob'em of the pleasure to look on.

Mistriss, Mistriss! As sure as can be, our Master Evans is gone to die in a Corner, like a poison'd Rat behind the Hangings.

Follow him, Ralph; and take care of him.

No, I thank you, good Mistriss. If he be gone to die, I'le 'een stay with you: The living are better Company then the dead.

Gentlemen, by'r leave; His Majesties business must take place, and be first serv'd. Is Justice Wary here?

[Page 97]

Well, Friend; What would you?

I've brought a dangerous Person before your Worship upon suspition of Murther.

What? Sir Arthur? Is this the Equipage you Woo my Daughter in?

If you don't punish these Rogues for abusing me thus, I'le have nothing to do with the Daughter of a Justice as long as my name is Arthur.

I must punish no body for duly executing his Office. Let me hear the Matter.

Upon an Out-cry of Murder, we presently run to the place; where we found a Man stretcht all along, to our seeming dead: Presently after we met this Sir Arthur (as he calls himself) running away at a very guilty rate. Hereupon we seiz'd him; and now your Worship may do with him as you think best.

Pray, Sir, let me speak a good word for him: I dare swear, Sir Arthur is not guilty of Murder.

Meeting my Friend in distress, I could not chuse but come, and offer to be his Bail.

Not so fast—This smells of a Trick—What say you, Sir Arthur?

Why, I say, I was the Man, that was set upon, that cry'd Murder, that lay dead, and now am apprehended for it.

And were you the Man that run away too after you were dead?

Yes, mary, was I; and so would you have done too, good Mr. Justice, had you been in my place.

It may be so. Constable, you may release your Pris'ner, and go home.

And, Is this all the satisfaction I shall have for the affront done me?

Pray, Sir, let me entreat you to do him all the right you can; for, by some Circumstances in this matter, I have rea­son to fear, these sufferings have befall'n him upon my ac­count.

Yes, marry, have they; a Pox oth' Employ­ment [Page 98] you put me upon. If ever I carry Love Letter more for you, or any man living, you shall write Letters in my Forehead with a hot Iron.

But, Did this Misfortune happen to you at the House, where I directed you?

Just there, as if y'had sent me for that very pur­pose. I had no sooner knockt, but out fly four Men, or De­vils (I can't tell which) and having told me, That my sin was Letchery, (which I vow now I did not know till then) they tormented my Carcass at such a rate, as would have quick­ly mortify'd for ever all concupiscence in me.

Sir Arthur, I am bound in honour to be more then ordi­nary sensible of your disaster; For I was not only the occasion of it (though innocently) but all this Tempest, which fell up­on you, was prepar'd and design'd for me. And, to shew you my resentment of it, I have a Sister at home, a holsome Country Girle, whom, (with my Fathers leave) I here offer you for a Wife.

Thank'ee heartily, Sir; No, I am very well provi­ded already: Look'ee here else.

Pray, Sir, let me prevent your falling into farther mi­stakes, which may prove dangerous to you; I can assure you, this Lady is no Wife for you. She's Town-bred, and after she's marry'd must live in London, which is a place in many respects very inconvenient for you. By the vertue of strong Beer, and Fourteen hundred a year, you may do very well in the Coun­try, and pass for an honest substantial man amongst your Neigh­bours; and stand for Burgess in the next Election.

What can his meaning be in this?

Pish, pish: Keep your good Counsell to your self, and your Sister too. I can't but wonder at the confidence of People; every body now a dayes takes upon him to be my Go­vernour.

Mr. Peregreen (methinks) y'are very forward, and po­sitive in ordering matters, which concern you not. Y'are to know, that a Treaty of Marriage is already fixt between Sir Arthur and my Daughter; The Writings are actually drawing: And will you, that are a Stranger, and not call'd to Counsell, interpose in a Business of this Nature?

[Page 99]

Sir, when you know my reason for it, I hope I shall not deserve your Censure. This Mr. Single, and your Daugh­ter (to my certain knowledge) are mutually engag'd to one another; and there wants nothing but your consent to make 'em both happy.

Yes, Faith, there wants an Estate too.

'Tis true; but, when that want's remov'd, your con­sent must follow. Now, Sir, it has pleas'd Heaven to put the power in my hands of serving my Friend on this important oc­casion. Behold an absolute Gift and Conveiance of his Fa­thers Estate upon my Betty; Here, Sir, I give it you freely: And what in Law shall be farther requir'd for the Confirmati­on of it from Betty and me, shall be done hereafter.

I stand amaz'd at my own happiness! Nor can I de­termine, whether this strange Revolution, or your Generosity, have more of Miracle in it.

Now, Sir, give me leave to own an Engagement to this Gentleman, which the fear of displeasing you has hitherto made me conceal.

I dare not resist the will of Heaven, which shews it self in the wonderfull turne of Affairs, which this day has produc'd. Daughter, enjoy your Love; and my blessing go along with it.

Now have I brought my Hogs to a fair Market: I take other mens beatings upon my self, and they take my Mistriss to themselves.

Sir Arthur, you need not be unprovided, if you please, my Sister is still at your service.

I vow I could find in my heart to Marry her out of spight: then will I be reveng'd by Proxy; and make her bones feel, what mine have suffer'd for you.

For all this, I'le venter her Person, if you'l venter yours.

Say you so? Faith if I like her when I see her (upon the foresaid termes) have at her.

Why so now; here's a Match begins in anger, and who knows but it may end in love; since most of those that I have been acquainted with, begin in Love, and end in Warr.

[Page 90]

All our business being so happily concluded, 'tis time—

No indeed, Sir; My business is yet to do. Methinks, ere the Market break up, some Provision should be made for me too.

In troth, now she talkes of Provision, I begin to grow hungry too. Faith, Mistriss, I see when your belly's full, you care not what becomes of the Waiters.

We stuck close to you all the time of your Wooing; and sure they that tend the Roste, deserve one warme bit off o'th Spit.

I never turn'd the Spit in my Life, but I was allow'd my Sop in the Dripping-pan.

I protest, Betty, thy old Servants here have just cause of Complaint against thee. Come Allice; give me thy hand: And, Betty, do you take Ralph; and let's joyn 'em together. These two were cut out (Bodies and Souls) for one an other.

I shall never love that slobbering Fellow there: An he were but half so handsome, as your Worship—

Pretty sweet Mistriss (to confess the truth) when I look upon you, that greasie Wench turnes my Stomaek.

This must needs be an happy Match; they meet with such equall affection.

At first hunting, like Whelps newly enter'd, they'r apt to change; but, when they'r well flesht, they'l grow stanch.

Honest Ralph, you must not be so squemish: I can as­sure you, Allice there deserves every inch of you.

Come Allice; of all thy kindness to me, I here make a Deed of Gift to Ralph.

What must be, must be. Hunger makes any thing go down.

For my part, I declare, 'tis a Match of my Friends [Page 91] making; and, if it do otherwise then well, let them answer for it.

This being done, we must now consider these Gentle­men, who have been Travellers to day. Wee'l execute to morrow, what this Night has concluded, to the satisfaction of all Parties, except Sir Salomon in Single;