ACT I. SCENE I.

SO, so, Gentlemen, I see you are at it, come let's have a sight of your little Droll.

How, Sir, our Droll?

Eh, your what do you call't, your Pro­logue of Song and Dance.

Ah, ah, ah.

Our Dialogue you mean, well 'tis ready.

I have made you stay a little too long, but as I am a Gentleman, and as I hope to be a Knight, (mark that, for so I mean to be once in my life) my Taylor was in fault.

We wait your leisure with a great deal of willingness.

He brought home this Indian Gown, Cap and Slip­pers,—how do you like 'em?

Extreamly well.

You appear very graceful.

So, so, Iack—Boy.

Here, Sir; what would you please to have?

Nothing, I called to see if you be diligent in your attendance: how do you like my livery?

Very fine and noble.

Jack?

Who do he speak to?

To you.

Begar den let him call me be me name, me be no shauck.

Iack, come hither Iack.

Shauck, me be no shauck, call your Englishman shauck, me be called Maitre Iaques.

Master Iack come hither.

Ho, ho, dat be ver well, here be your tres humble, and tres obeisant vallet.

Hold back my Gown, and you Sarrah hold back the other side,—so, see Gentlemen, here is a little loose morn­ing garb, does it please you?

Wonderfully.

Neat and Gentile.

Stay, pull it off, that they may view me round—How do you like me from top to toe?

Your habit is worthy admiration.

Gallant from head to foot.

My Suit will come home by and by, that will be fine indeed.

The ceremony requires it.

Ha, you mean my Daughter's wedding, but know there is more in the wind than so: this day I am to be­gin to court a Mistress, a Knights Daughter, I'l assure you.

And all our preparations are for her entertainment.

And to render my self more acceptable, I have re­quired your helps to make me an accomplisht Gentleman; if [Page 3] singing and dancing won't win her, the Devil's in her.—Well, I'l see your Dance rehearsed; but first let me hear the Song.

Very well.

But me thinks this Song is a little too doleful, and enough to put a woman into the dumps, if she have any kindness for me.

'Tis a delicate Air, and the words are not amiss.

I learnt a very pretty one t'other day of a friend; stay, how begins it?

Nay, I know not:

There is something of Mutton in it.

Mutton?

Yes,—oh, no, no, no, 'twas Lamb—ah—I have it.

[Page 4]Is it not very sprightly?

As can be.

And you humour it well.

Well, now for my dancing, and because the Morn­ing is far spent, I will only practise over the Minuets: Ah, of all Dances that pleases me most.

Come, Sir, begin; your hat, Sir, so now your honour: La, la, fa, la, la, fa, la, la, (bis)

not too fast, la, la, la, la, keep you leg▪ straight, la, la, la, don't hunch up your shoulders so; la, la, fa, la, la, la, la, you carry your arms as if they were broken, la, la, la, la, la, hold up your head, keep your toes out, la, la, la, don't loll out your tongue, la, la, la, and make such faces, la, la, la, la, as if you were on the close-stool, la, la, la, &c. so, so.

Euh!

very well.

I hope to get credit by him.

Money you mean: Well Mr. Iordan, it is not enough to proceed thus alone, but you would do well once a week to have a Musick Club at your house, and play and sing in consort, it will much benefit you.

And so I will, now you put me in mind on't.

And once a fortnight a Ball, you will have the whole Court with you, and all the fine Ladies of the Town.

'Twill make you known at Court.

And familiar with Noblemen: a Gentleman is known by what company he keeps.

You advise well, sweet-hearts; but are you perfect at your Dialogue and Dance?

We intend you shall see it perform'd.

No, 'tis too late now: look they be perfect against dinner, and I am satisfied.

I'l warrant the Dancers.

And I'l ingage for the Musick.

Well, your servant; stay, shew me with what reve­rence I ought to accost my Mistress, 'twill be the next thing I shall have need off.

To do it with respect, you must first draw [Page 5] your leg behind you and bow, then march up towards her with three Congees forward, and at the last you bow so low as to kiss her hand; try it once over:—Very well; your servant.

Your servant.—Come now to my french lesson.

Vell, Sir, have you got te Catalogue of te French words me give you in your memoire.

Yes, and I find I can bring 'em all in, in discourse with my Mistress; tho I can't talk French to her, 'twill be next to't, she'll think I can.

'Tis be me invention, and judge Maitre Iorden, if it be no ver rational, bevore me teash you te rules, you be inure to our langage, by making it as it vere your own.

Nay, I think to make it our own is a very ready way to learn it.

And 'tis course vill ver much refine te English Land­guage: If you observe all travellers give te ver many littil graces to their discourse vith te tange of te French, you shall no hear speak, one sentence vithout Bon mein, jaunté devoir, efsort, &c.

I have observ'd it. But to our Lesson, I am in haste.

Now proceed we to teash you te right pronunciation of te Vowels, because of Letters tey be te sheif, and no word is or can be vithout one or more of tem.

Vowels, why are there any vowels in our Alphabet?

Yes, Sir, te number be fife, and te same vith yours, these be they, A, E, I, O, U. A be pronounce like a, u, au; As for Example in some English vords, all, fall, and no as in ale, stale.

A, au.

Right, A opening strongly your moush, and drawing your jaws vide asunder.

Au, right.

E, is pronunce by heaving te neather jaw to te upper, A, E.

E, A, E, E, directly.

I be pronounce not as your English man do Latin, Qui mihi, but more like to te second vowel E; and is form by drawing your jaws yet more near den bevore, and drawing the two corners of your moush to te ears, A, E, I.

A, E, I, I, I; Dad, 'tis true, may Learning flourish.

O is form by opening te jaws, closing te lips at the two corner, and opening tem in te middile, O.

Let me see that again.

O, O,

Right, O, O, O, nothing more true, A, E, I, O, O, I, O; ah, 'tis admirable.

Te opening of te moush is a little round representing one O.

What a fine thing is knowledge!

U be form by approashing te teet vithout quite joyn­ing them; trusting your lips at full length from your face, ap­proashing also one te oder vithout closing, and tis vowel re­quires te strongest and te freest expiration of your breat of any Letter vhatsoere.

U, U.

Not as you pronounce it, like You, more like Eu, u, vith a long breating out of our breat.

Like Eu, u.

Right, u, as if you made a moush to mock somebody. To morrow, Sir, we'l proceed to te Dipthongs which be eleven, and te next day ve'l mannage te consonants.

Consonants?

Tey are te oter Letters.

I shall make a shift to learn 'em all at once, I am pret­ty apt because I bend my mind to't.

Noting is hard to a villing mind.

But how many did you say the five vowels were?

You nam'd te number, fife, Sir, fife.

Right, the five vowels are five, I'l note that down in my Table-book: numbers are the worst things can be trusted to my memory. A Lady at Court yesterday morning asked me how many the ten Commandements were, and I protest I had forgot: I have noted this next to that.

Tings ve no oft tink off soon run out of te brain.

Well, what is a good expression to break ones mind to a Lady, and to let her know I love her?

Be you in love den Maitre?

Yes.

Vith whom?

Truly I have never yet seen her, but I shall anon.

Vell, Sir, vou'd you have te expression in Prose or in te Verse?

Not in Verse.

In prose den?

No, nor in Prose: I would have it neither in Prose nor Verse.

Jerne, it must be in one or te oder.

Why so, if I won't have it so?

Because, Sir, all expression be in te one or te oter.

What have we nothing but Prose and Verse? what a mad language is ours? I'l learn French so much the sooner for't.

Dat be te same in all languages, dat vich is no Prose is Verse, and dat vich is no Verse is Prose.

What is it we talk now?

Prose.

Well, if I say to my Mistress, Fair Lady, the lustre of your fair eyes doe wound my heart.

Dat be te Prose: you may add, and their bright flame has burnt it to a Cinder.

Well, I'l study a speech, I warrant you.

The Tayler, Sir, has sent your suit home again.

Ah, the shoulder-knot stands right now: go fetch my Sword and Belt, my Hat and Periwig, that I may dress me presently.

Sir, Here's a servant sent to you from the next house, to inform you that there are some persons sick, and to de­sire they may not be disturbed with your Musick.

The Musick has been gone a good while.

The Neighbours say 'tis fitter for you to exercise your Musick, Dancing and Fencing in the Schools.

A company of fools, they'll teach a Gentleman what to do, will they?

Your gentility is troublesome to the whole Neigh­bourhood: they have often complain'd of the disturbance you make with Musick, Dancing and Fencing.

Pish, a man shan't learn good breeding for them I [Page 8] warrant you, 'tis a sign they want it, they are so rude to talk so: What's a Gentleman but his liberty?

Every body much wonders what you mean by learn­ing to dance at these years.

It's a greater wonder they are not so wise as to know, 'tis never too late to learn.

And to speak French.

It is altogether spoke at Court.

The Court, Sir, is no fit place for you, nor you no fit man for it.

I not fit for the Court! I was born a Courtier, only I was spoil'd in the bringing up.

My Grand-father, Sir, brought you up in his own way.

Your Grand-father! alas poor old silly Citt, I cannot but laugh to think what an Aufe he was to imagine that I would stand sneaking in my Shop all my life with my Cap in my hand, crying, What do you lack, Gentlemen, choice of good Silkes: I'd have you to know Lucia, I have no such Mecha­nick Spirit in me. Now he is dead, I defie Pater-Noster-Row, and all within my Lord Mayor's jurisdiction.

My Grand-father, Sir, was held a wise man.

A wise man, and an Alderman, ha, ha, ha. A rich man you mean.

No, Sir, I mean a wise man.

Alas, Luce, you are a fool, you know not what you say.

Very well.

Very well! ha, ha, ha, why, what is it you say?

That the Court—

I speak not now of the Court, I ask, if you know, what it is you say?

And I tell you, Sir, I say that the Court—

Pish, the Girl's a fool; I say again I talk not now of the Court, but ask you if you know what this is you speak to me and I to you?

What is it? 'tis English.

True, but what else?

Nothing else, 'tis every word English.

Was there ever such a dunce? what are these words?

What are these words?

Yes: What?

Letters make Syllables, syllables words, words senten­ces, and sentences a discourse.

And is this all you know?

Yes.

God help your head, what a fine fellow shou'd I be, were I as ignorant as your self.

Where lies my ignorance? what was it I said, say you?

'Twas Prose you fool.

Prose!

Yes Prose, all that is prose is not verse, and all that is not verse is not prose: La you there now: Do you know what it is you do, when you say U?

I say U.

Pish—but what do you do then? Come, say U.

Well Sir, U.

Well; what did you do then?

I did as you bid me.

Invincible stupidity, you open'd your mouth, thrust your lips out at length forward, let your under jaw fall al­most to meet the upper, and strongly sent out your breath— U—see there— U—as it were make a mouth at one— U—I cou'd puzle you too, with asking you how many the five vow­els are, and tell you as much of every one of them—this 'tis to be a Vertoso.—Hah—this fencing-master comes not yet—Boy, run toth' door, and when you see him coming, bring me word.

These exercises of fencing and dancing in my opinion were fitter for my brother, he is not above twenty years old.

Your Brother—puh—he can ne'r be a Gentleman. I was born a Citizen my self, and his Mother was a Citizen born, he was not allyed to gentility on either side, forty or fifty pounds a year will maintain him in his native quality—but for you daughter, because you are a gentlewoman by your Mothers side, I have provided better; you shall be married to the Suffolk Knight that will be here anon; the Articles of Marriage are agreed upon by your Uncle who is his towns­man. The writings are already drawn and sent up with the settlement of your Joynture, and provision for younger Chil­dren; [Page 10] if he comes time enough you shall be married to day.

To day?

Yes, to day, for I long to have a Gentleman, and a Knight for my Son-in-Law.

I have no ambition to be a Lady.

I have.

Marry him your self then.

If you anger me, I'l make you a Dutchess, a Countess at least.

Truly I have no mind.

Truly I have a mind.

I would not marry yet.

Yet you shall marry.

Not Sir Simon.

Yes Sir Simon.

He is a fool, Father.

Therefore you are a worse fool if you refuse him.

If I marry I'l have none but Master Cleverwit.

But Master Cleverwit will have none of you.

Will you stand to that? shall I have him if he'l have me?

Yes, if you'l marry Sir Simon, if he refuses you.

Agreed.

Oh! here he comes to our purpose. Master Clever­wit, do you love my Daughter?

I did once Sir.

Wou'd you have her still?

You discharged me, and I would not do her that wrong, (since you have provided a Knight, and a richer man for her Husband) to be her hindrance.

La you there; I told you so.

False man!

Besides, Sir, you know I told you I have engag'd my self elsewhere.

Oh heavens! am I then forsaken?

Yes indeed, Sir Simon will down with you anon as much a fool as he is.

Besides, I have so entire a friendship for you, that did I love her still as once I did, I wou'd refuse her tho' you wou'd double her portion, and say take her, if you did not judge it convenient.

I know you are a worthy person, and my good friend; and truly Sir, had you not told me your Father was not a Gen­tleman, but a Citizen, you should have had her before any man.

I thank you Sir.

Now Master Cleverwit pray be you Judge; ought not my Daughter to marry Sir Simon?

Without doubt: he is a Knight?

Yes Sir.

He is a fool too?

A little shallow my Brother writes me word, but that is a blot in many a Knights Escutcheon.

So much the better for her.

Aye Sir, as how?

She that wedds a Fool, marries her self to his Estate—she'l have all, do all, dispose of all, and rule the rost as long as she lives.

Sir, there is one without would speak with you.

I will be with you again presently; in the mean time pray take some pains with the baggage; you have powerful reasons, and can perswade.

I'l labour to serve you—but my self first—

Perfidious man! is it thus you use a Maid that loved you? was it not crime enough to be unconstant to deprive me of your self, but to condemn me with your own mouth to marry one I ne'r can love?

Ah I, Lucia!

Nothing but this proof of your hatred can dispossess my heart of Love. But I will dye rather than let it return tho' you'd be constant.

Now is the time to tell you—

No, to make the wound mortal, I will hear no cause of your infidelity, nor can you have a just pretence: farewel, farewel.

Lucia stay.

Why do you hold me?

Hear me, speak, or if you needs will go, go undeceiv'd.

Speak then what you would say in as few words as you can.

My inconstancy, dearest Lucia, was but feigned, and a disguise to carry on a plot laid to divert your expected Lover, and preserve you mine.

You maintain'd your Rivals cause, and sooth'd my fa­ther in his injustice.

I have, ere since I heard the news of your new Lover, prepar'd him for this revolt: long since I declar'd to him I was engag'd to another, and showed this compliance, that he might not suspect fire hid under the ashes.

If this be true, make use of these few minutes to inform me what inventions you have fram'd to divert this unlucky marriage?

Be not inquisitive to know what tricks we mean to play; you shall as in Comedies have the divertisement of the surprise; let it suffice to tell you, Trickmore is the main engine. I sent him last night to stay at the Inn where the Coach lies, to take a strict view of him and his Retinue, and to make as great a discovery of our Knight Errant as he can, that we may the better know how to manage him.

My Father returns.—

A Daughters reputation is safe no longer than her obe­dience continues, and a Daughter ought not to regard whe­ther her Husband be handsome or wise, when a Parent com­mands: Riches, and Gentility are above Youth and Beauty▪ they fade in the marriage-bed, the other accompany you to the grave, and descend to posterity.

Oh Sir, you are a good man, you speak admirable things.

Sir, I have almost prevailed, and she will be brought with a little more counsel to obey you.

How happy is our Family in such a friend, how pleas'd I am you give me hopes I shall see my Daughter a Lady to night and that I shall have a Knight for my Son-in-Law.

But can it be to night?

Yes, Sir Simon arrived late last night, and sent me word just now, that he will be here within this hour, or a lit­tle more, but I'l immediately take Coach and go to him, for I am impatient to see my Son-in-Law.

Sir Simon arrived, and no news from Trickmore yet?

Sir, here is one come from your Fencing-master to speak with you.

Sir, are you Master Iorden?

Yes Sir, I am Master Iorden.

Your Fencing-master is sick, very sick, and cannot come to day, but has sent me in's place to give you Lesson.

Well, now I don't know whether 'tis best to go or stay.

Oh stay Sir by all means, now the man is come.

Sir, if you please to stay, you shall learn more in one half quarter of an hour, than e're you yet learnt in your whole life.

There's encouragement.

I'l show you a trick to undo all you fence with.

Say you so, come then—Boy take my gown.

Sir, we'l take a walk in the Garden; with a little more pains, I shall perfect her obedience.

Your servant Sir,— Lucie, you'l remember to go to Mistris Manira at the time appointed, and wait on her hither.

Yes Sir.

And when you go, present her with this ring as a to­ken of my love.

Come Sir, your reverence—Your body straight, let your body lay a little more stress on your left thigh, your legs not so stradling, your feet in a direct line, your wrist joint opposite to your hip, the point of your Sword over against your shoulder, your arm not so much extended, your left hand in level with your eye, your left shoulder more turn'd, your [Page 14] head upright, your eye fixed,—Advance. Your body steady; one, two, as you were, redouble, your foot fixt, a leap back—When you make a thrust you must let your sword move before your body: One, two; come Sir, take me in tierce, home, home, advance, your body steady, advance, thrust: one, two, as you were, redouble, a leap back, to your guard Sir, to your guard.

Euh, euh—well now for the trick—

Sir, it is too rare to show to every one, if you please let the Boy depart the room, your man may stay, but he must swear secresie.

Do you hear?—

Begar me be no Englishman, to tell all dat me see or know.

Here, take you my Foile—come, suppose I was to fight against you two, I would kill you both.

Both!

Both.

Oh dat be te brag— Alloon—mort bleu.

To your postures—now—

Begar and so me tink, we two foiles against your sword—no—no—pardonnè moy—

Well, now—'tis in the scabbard.

Kill me now and you can.

To your postures then—so—look to your hits.

Come—

Ah, ah, what art—avant a Ghost—there—

Euh—

Euh—

Now had you bin both kil'd or no?—there's a trick for you.

I, but I warrant you I would not be killed so a se­cond time.

Come to your postures again, each fix his eye on the point of his sword; now suppose your enemy was before you, you a first, and he your second.

Nay, we'l look to our selves, now we know your tricks.

Suppose I was placed by your enemies in a hedge be­hind to make a noyse, that might cause you to look back.

No, no, we no look back.

I wager a crown with you Master Iorden, you look back, tho' you are forewarned.

Done.

Done with me too.

Done: well, prepare—so, ho, ho, ho, not yet—lo, ho—lo, ho—not yet—well, I shall have you anon.

Your Daughter Master Iorden—

Aye, aye, I hear you Sir.

Is so well convinc'd.

No, no, this wont do.

Yes Sir, she'l do any thing, I have so convinc'd her of Sir Simon's good qualities, and your fatherly care,—

Well Sir, I care not, I care not.

That she is now extreamly rejoyced, and will be glad to see him come.

O this trick wo'nt do.

No, no, we no lose te crown, I'l lay one more.

There's some trick in't, they not so much as stir. What mean you, are ye both betwitcht?

Oh, is he so cunning, to set you on to make us look back.

He! what he? here is neither he nor she besides my self, and you two.

Ha, no body!

Yes, here comes Mistris Lucia▪

Oh ho Maitre Iordan you look back, you lose your money—ha, no body here?

Who do you look for?

The Fencing-Master.

He is not here—

Gone!

I saw him go out in great hast.

Sir Simon will be here before you are dressed.

Give me my cloaths and dress me.

Cloaths! here be no cloaths; oh dam English trick, te Rogue steal all your cloaths.

Ha! my Sute gone?—

Gone, Mounsieur, gone—

Did he take 'em?—

Me say▪ nothing, me swear no to tell te secret.

Sir, I am undone.

He told you indeed, he'd teach you a trick to undo all you fenc'd with.

Ha, ha, dere be te jest o' te trick!

I had not car'd a straw had but my Mistris seen't be­fore it went.

Well Sir, let not this put you out of humour.

No Sir, I am more a Gentleman.

I'l after the thief, and see if I can recover your Sute.

If it is gone, farewel it, I have learnt a good trick by the bargain, I'l e'n put on some of my other Sutes, and stay till my Son-in-Law comes. Master Iack get the Sute rea­dy I wore yesterday.

You see Sir what comes of your Fencing.

My fencing I see sticks in your stomach: but I'l con­vince you presently. Take this Foile: now for demonstration;

When you make a thrust in Quart, it is but to do so, when in Tierce, so: see there a sure way never to be kill'd; and is not this something think you, to know what a man has to trust to when he goes to fight his enemy? Come make a thrust now, that you may see the manner on't.

Euh, euh, euh—houh—hold, what's the Devil in the Wench?

Did not you bid me thrust? now Sir what think you of your skill?

Yes, but you made a thrust in tierce, when you should have made a thrust in quart, and was so hasty, you'd not give a man time to purrey.

You see what your fencing signifies.

Go get you to Mrs. Marina's—I see what my pains signifie in indeavouring to make you wiser. It has been well observed,

ACT II. SCENE I.

HOw these visions of gallantry, and capritives of gentility still dance in my fathers fancy!

His madness will undo us; me he'l mar­ry to one I ne'er shall love; you he will disinherit, and mar­ry again to get a Son that shall be a gentleman to succeed him in what will be your right.

I lament not so much he should marry, as that Marina should be his wife; nor that he should deprive me of his estate, as of her.

Do you then love Marina?

I do, and ever shall. She did admit my addresses till my Father's pretensions interrupted the course of my love; her father, poor Knight, is old and decrepid, has but a very slender fortune, and is glad of this occasion to dispose of his daughter to a man of estate.

Does Marina approve of my Fathers suit?

She is yet scarce well acquainted with it; but [Page 18] when she shall, I fear her obedience may dispose her will, for her father will be very urgent, being he can give her but little while he lives.

I pitty your condition: without her you'l be unhappy, and with her you'l be miserable, unless my father would set­tle some part of his estate on you.

Two thousand pounds a year his folly throws a­way, and yet his hand is shut to me.

Yet I observe you have always plenty of money.

I have a revenue coming in you know not of: I keep a Journey-man at work continually. The profits of the last half year came to five hundred pounds, which by gaming at the Groom-porters I have doubled.

How found you out the secret?

Necessity is the Mother of Invention. Love made me sensible of my wants, and wants which whet men wits to do ill, taught me the means.

Is it then an unlawful course?

Strangers when they hear of it may blame me, but all that know my condition, and my fathers humour, will ex­cuse my dealing. But here comes your Lover.

Madam, you have seen the first part of our intreague: this is that Fencer who gave your father so home a thrust this Morning.

What, Mr. Trickmore!

Yes, Madam, out of pitty I have sent him his Suit a­gain, for now the hour of Sir Simons absence being exspired, Mr. Iorden will expect to see him at his own house, and you shall see another tryal of Skill by way of prevention.

Where did you leave him?

At the Inn in bed. I had notice this morning he was sending to advertise your father of his arrival; I dog'd the Messenger to know the result of his message, resolving to act as occasion required. At the door I o'ertook his Fencing­Master: And he being my old acquaintance, I made known to him my design, and obtain'd his consent to go in's place, [Page 19] and pass for his Usher: And this I did to prevent his journey to Sir Simon.

But shou'd Sir Simon get abroad before you return to the Inn.

There is one at his heels will do his work: My fellow Mounteback alias Doctor Cureal.

Pray what manner of man is this Knight for a Lover?

For his Figure it is beyond expression, ridicule e­nough.

What brains has he?

No more than our purpose requires. I'l tell you in what a pleasant posture I found him when I got to the Inn, last night. A servant chanc'd to leave open the door of the Room where he was at supper; looking in, I saw him sit at table with his Hostess, who was a notable fat burley Dame; he not being well after his journey, bespoak a Sack-posset, and invited her to the eating of it.

So, but as to his posture,

Twas thus. One leg with a slipper at the end of it (and that no very cleanly one) was laid upon one corner of the Table, the other in her lap, his left arm about her neck, embracing: in this manner he sat for some time, telling her the occasion of his coming to Town; that it was love▪ that his Mistress was such a one (naming you, Madam). His ho­stess to gratifie the relation he had made her, drank your health to him in the posset, he went to pledge it, but was ta­ken in the middle of his draught with a coughing and sneezing, which broak out with such a violence, that all he had drank flew out at his nose and mouth into his Land-ladies face; she making a start from her chair threw him backward, he keeps his hold, draws her after him; down comes she, the posset between 'em, and her coats over 'em. A terrible out­cry there was, and I ran in amongst the rest to help: when with much ado we had found the way to take her off the right end upward, there we saw Sir Simon lying half drown'd in posset, and half smother'd with Petty coats.

A very pleasant Relation.

At last we got him up, but you wou'd have laugh'd to have seen how like Rogue and Whore they lookt, that had stood i'th' Pillory and been pelted with all the rotten eggs in the Parish.

Alas poor Lover.

You must think the bed was the next place after this. But yonder comes my setter, our game is not far off.

So ho, put your selves into a posture to receive the e­nemy, he's marching towards us.

Where have you left him?

Coming along that street with a clutter of people a­bout him, as if he was some monster newly come from the Desarts of Arabia.

Is he so remarkable to be taken notice off?

You'l see anon with what an air Nature has design'd him.

See, yonder he comes.

Goodness, how he is hung together!

These that haunt him, are some unlucky Prentices, whom I advised of his coming this way, on purpose that their rudeness shou'd give me an occasion to do him some piece of service which might endear me to him.

Madam, I must not yet be seen by him, let us retire, and I'l give you instructions how to demean your self to your father, if in spight of all our endeavours he should come to the sight of him.

Very pretty, as I live; what's the matter? what wou'd you have? in my conscience the Devil's in the Town, and has possess'd all the people: Why, what a Devil ails ye all? cannot a man go along the streets without a Regiment of fools at his heels? What do you laugh at now? ye had more need go look after your wives at home, lest they make ye Monsters to be stared at; I believe I shall laugh at some of you before I leave the Town; and hau, hau, hau, too, the [Page 21] devil take me if I do not give the next I see laugh a douce o'th' chops.

How now, what's the matter here gentlemen? what mean ye? who have ye got here? have ye nothing else to do but run staring and gaping after a gentleman, as if ye were all out of your wits?

Here is a man has some reason in him.

What is your business? what do ye snear at?

Aye, aye; at what, at what?

Do ye see any thing about him that is ridiculous?

Aye, have I?

Is he not like other people?

Aye, have I horns upon my head as some of you? or am I cloven footed?

Go, go home, and learn better breeding.

That's good counsel, and take it y'ad best.

The Gentleman is a Knight.

Aye.

The heir of an honourable Family:

Aye.

His Ancesters deserv'd well of his Country.

Aye.

And he no less.

Aye.

His behaviour challenges respect.

Aye.

He is one of singular, parts.

Aye.

He has been a Traveller.

Aye, marry have I.

He honours the Town with his presence.

An understanding fellow this, I believe he's well bred.

He is not a person to be affronted and laugh'd at.

No, they are mistaken in their man if they think so.

If ye go not about your business, I will handle some of ye without mittens: go, be gone.

Sir, I am most hugeously obliged to you.

I am troubled, Sir, to see such a person as you treated so rudely, and I ask your pardon for the whole Town.

Your servant, Sir.

Sir, I had the honour to lodge in the same Inn with you last night, when I understood by your servant who you was, I had a great presumption to do you some piece of service—

What does this fellow expect now? Money?

And it was my good fortune to pass by the door of your Room where you was at supper, just as the out-cry was, and these hands had the honour to disengage you from being smother'd by the gentlewoman of the house, when you was overthrown by that unlucky accident, and your Hostess whelm'd over you.

Was you there then?

I was, Sir.

I was so blinded with Sack-posset I could not see my deliverers.

I am glad I am again so happy to do you another piece of service.

I must give him something. Sir, pray let me requite your services with a piece of gold.

By no means, Sir, I am not covetous of any thing but to do you service; pray put it up again. I have con­ceived a great inclination to serve you, and the honour shall be the only reward.

An honest fellow this. Well Sir, I remain behind­hand with you in courtesies.

Pray let me kiss your hand.

In my life I never met with such a civil fellow.

Your physiognomy takes me extreamly.

Ah, ha.

I see much gallantry in it.

Ah, ha.

Something very taking.

Ah, ha.

Manly and brave.

Ah ha.

Frank and generous.

Ah, ha.

I swear to you I am wholly engaged to serve you.

I find it.

If I had the honour to be known to you, you'd say I was a man very sincere.

I doubt not.

An utter enemy to knavery.

I believe it.

And one that is not capable to disguise his thoughts.

Plain dealing is a Jewel.

And I use it; yet in spight of the fag end of the Pro­verb am no beggar.

Ha! who is this I see? Sir Simon Softhead! I am ravisht to see you; Oh what a joy I feel at sight of you! What it seems you scarce know me.

Sir Simon is your servant, Sir.

Out of sight out of mind I see: but is't possible six or seven years should blot me out of your memory? It's strange that in so short a time you should forget one that professes him­self the greatest friend and servant to the family of the Soft­heads of any man breathing.

Oh pray pardon me there—Faith I know him not.

There is scarce one of that Family that I do not know as well as I know you, when I lived at Berry, there was no doing without me, I was always amongst 'em, I had the honour to see you there almost every day.

You shall excuse me, Sir, 'twas I received the ho­nour—I never saw his face before.

You cannot call me to mind yet.

Pray excuse me for that.—I know not who it is, not I.

Don't you remember we went often together to drink?

O Yes.—But let me be hang'd if I remember any thing like it.

How do you call the little witty Knave that used to make us so welcome at his house?

Oh, little Iohn.

Right, we went often thither to be merry: but what is become of his pretty daughter?

He had ne'er a daughter.

He ne'er a daughter! What not a witty little baggage you us'd to run after to kiss from one room to another?

Oh, I know where abouts you are now, you mean, I warrant you, little Peggy.

Aye, Peggy, by the same token was her name.

She was George Goodale's Daughter at the Rose. Why, she's marryed.

Is She? Pray how do you call the place at Berry, where they us'd to walk?

Oh, the Green.

Directly, 'twas there I passed so many hours of de­light in your good company: You do not remember this?

I not remember't? Not in the least: if I do, I wish the Devil fetch me.

There are a hundred of these things a man for­gets.

Let us embrace then, and renew our ancient amity.

See now there is a man that loves you cordially.

Pray tell me some news of your family, Sir Simon: how does that Gentleman—your—he that is such an honest good man?

My Brother-in-Law, the Justice of Peace?

The same, the same.

Why, he is very well.

I am very glad, I assure you; and he that's of so good an humour, the Gentleman,—your—

What my cousin Small-brain?

Aye, Mr. Small-brain,—that I should forget his name! to see how quickly things run out of a man's head. But pray how does he do?

He keeps his old humour, always merry and jo­cund.

Troth you tell me good news. And pray Sir Simon how does your Uncle, the—

My Uncle? I have no Uncle.

No? but you had at that time perhaps.

No, only an Aunt.

Oh, 'tis her I mean: The Lady your Aunt, pray how does she?

She has been dead these six years.

Indeed, I heard so, now I think on't, presently after I left the Country: Well, rest her soul, she was as good a Gentlewoman as lived.

We had also a Nephew that dyed of the small Pox.

Oh what pitty it was, he was a hopeful young man.

Did you know him?

Know him? he was a comely proper young Youth.

Not very proper.

Yes, for his age.

Oh yes, for his age.

If he was your Nephew, that I mean, he was the Son of your Sister and Brother.

Right, he was so.

'Twas the same.

He knows all my Relations.

He knows you better than you are aware of.

I hope I shall oblige you to make my house your home while you stay in Town.

I am obliged to be at my Father-in-Laws.

Are you married then, Sir Simon?

No, but all's agreed on.

But however you shall dine with me to day.

I have sent▪ Mr. Iorden word I was coming, and he'l expect me I know at dinner.

Mr. Iorden then is your Father-in-Law: Well, well, that shall not hinder my design, he is my Neigh­bour [Page 26] and intimate friend, we are as it were brothers▪

Indeed!

You shall stay, and I'l send for him to dinner too.

'Twill be a trouble, and—

No excuse Sir Simon, for by my soul you shall; I have sworn it.

Since he so importunes you, accept it; he has sworn it, and 'twill not be courteous to refuse him now.

Where are your Servants, and Portmanteau?

Truly my coming was in great haste▪, and for expedition, I left all but one man behind, and he is at the Inn where the Coach lyes.

Sir Simon, I will, if you please, wait on you to the Inn where your man stays, and then help you to find this Gen­tleman's house. Pray where abouts is it, Sir?

This is the house.

We'l be with you in a trice.

I will in, and give orders for your reception; you shall find me here at your return.

I'l not fail to trouble you.

I'l wait your coming with impatience.

He has the carriage of a fine Gentleman.

Ah, ha, he, a good jest, a good jest i▪faith.

What occcasions your mirth?

Ha, ha, he, why I don't know that I ever saw a­ny such man before in my life.

No?

No, as I live, not I.

Come, Sir, no matter, he knows you.

So, he has trussed his Quarrey: how do you like Sir Si­mon for a womans man?

Sure there is no woman in the world so necessitated to venture on him.

O many.

Not she that wears a stiff Busk to keep down a [Page 27] great belly, and is to pass for a Maid still; or she that is forc'd to come to a Play in a Vizard-Mask to pick up a gallant to give her a Supper.

Ha, ha, ha.

Nay, not she that has lived to be a stale Maid, and is convinc'd by her own imperfections that she shall never know any pleasure, but what her own art and industry can create, but would think her self cast away on him.

O, Sir, a Country Knight will down with many Court and City Ladies, 'tis a great convenience to have a hus­band that is blind in his reason, and is not clear enough sighted in's understanding to see the shadow his horns cast.

Here is the Court Doctor come, I believe for some more of your money.

Speak of him with respect, he is a person of great importance, he talks to the King and Nobles at Court as fa­miliarly as I to you.

Yes, he wants neither confidence nor impudence.

He does me the honour to come often to me; is't not an honour▪ think you, to be visited by one of the Kings Phy­sicians, and a Favourite too as he is?

He is the best paid for his visits to you of any Do­ctor in Town, let him visit Lord, Duke, or King.

He does me the honour to let me lend him a sum of money now and then: Can I do less than lend it to a man that is in favour at Court, and calls me his friend?

What courtesies does he do you?

More than you are aware of.

Yes, he does you the favour to borrow money of you rather than of any body else.

Aye, and more than so, he had rather borrow ten times of me than once of any other man living; and does it so Courtly and Gentleman like.

And pays it so frankly, and with so good a grace.

When I please he will.

What security does he give you?

His word▪ as he is a Gentleman.

You'l have it again without doubt, that is security enough.

He shall command what he will.

No doubt.

Tell your Lady I'l wait on her immediately.

My dear friend Mr. Iorden how do you, Sir?

Well, to do you service.

Y'are very modish and fine in this habit, you exceed all the young Gallants at Court.

Hay, hay.

Turn you—Gallant all over.

Pretty well: e'en as the Taylor pleas'd.

I know not what is the matter Mr. Iorden, I am ne­ver so well as when I am with you, you are the man of all the world I most esteem and love, I was speaking of you this morning to the King as I stood by his bed-side.

To the King! You did me a great honour I vow.

What mean you, Sir? pray put on—

I know my respect to you.

Fie Mr. Iorden, no ceremony among friends.

Nay, Mr. Doctor.

You must, Sir, by all means: you are my friend.

I am your servant, Sir.

I protest I will not, till you are cover'd.

I had rather be uncivil than troublesome.

Well, Sir, as I was saying, I spoke of you to the King▪ and he has given order the Patent be made, and commands me to bring you to him, and he'l confer on you the honour of Knighthood; he shewed much joy and willingness when I told him, and was much pleased when I mentioned you to him.

I am extreamly beholden to him.

Name what day I shall wait on you to kiss his Maje­sties hand, and I'l advise you if he will be at leasure.

Your servant, Sir; as soon as you please: to day I cannot, but to morrow—

To morrow I cannot neither▪ Well▪ let it alone a day or two till the Patent is ready for the Seal.

I wou'd have it so soon as I could.

I might get it done to day peradventure, if I had the money ready to give in fees, and something a little extraor­dinary, and so forth as you know.

What will do?

Let me have two hundred pounds, and for what is o­ver I'l be accountable.

I have that sum here in gold.

It may be, less may do.

Well, Sir, pray take purse and all.

So, leave it to my management, this will hasten the dispatch. But now Mr. Iorden, Sir Ionathan Iorden that shortly will be: As to my affairs, you know I stand indebted to you.

A few dribbling sums, Sir.

And you lent 'em me very frankly, and with a great deal of generosity, and much like a Gentleman.

Y'are pleas'd to say so, Mr. Doctor.

But I know how to receive kindnesses, and to make returns according to the merits of the person that obliges me.

No man better.

Therefore pray let's see how our accounts stand.

They are down here in my Table-book.

I am a man that love to acquit my self of all obligati­ons as soon—

See the Memorandum.

You have set it all down?

All.

Pray read.

Lent the second time I saw you one hundred Guin­neys.

Right.

Another time fifty.

Yes.

Lent for a certain occasion which you did not tell me, one hundred and fifty.

Did I not? that I should conceal any thing from my friend.

No matter, Mr. Doctor.

It looks like mistrust which is a wrong to friendship.

O Lord, Mr. Doctor.

I am so asham'd, for I dare trust my soul with you. I borrowed it, Mr. Iorden, to lend a person of Quality, whom I imployed to introduce me to the King, and recommend me to his particular favour, that I might be able to do you service in your affairs.

O was it so, then that debt is as it were paid, I'l cross it out.

By no means, Mr. Iorden, you shall have it▪ or I vow—

Well, Sir, as you please.

I vow, I wou'd ne'er have borrowed any of you again as long as I had lived. But proceed.

Another time, one hundred.

O that was to send into France to my wife to bring her over; but the Queen wou'd not part with her then, and since she is fallen sick.

Alas.

But pretty well recovered.

These four sums make up four hundred Guinneys.

Just as can be.

A very good account; put down two hundred Guin­neys more, which I will borrow of you now, and then it will be just six hundred; that is, if it will be no inconvenience to you.

Euh, not in the least.

It is to make up a sum of two thousand pounds which I am about to lay out in houses I have bought: but if it will incommode you, I can have it elsewhere.

O by no means.

You need but tell me if it will be any trouble.

Lord, Sir, that you will think so!

I know some will be glad of the occasion to serve me; but these are favours only to be ask'd of special friends: And [Page 31] I thought you being my most esteem'd friend, would take it ill if you should come to hear of it, that I did not ask you first.

It is a great honour, and you much oblige me in so freely giving me occasion to serve you. I'l go fetch it in­stantly.

Is he gone for the money?

You'l be two hundred pieces richer if he live but to come out again.

Did you find him easie?

As a single-soaled-Shooe, he did not want much draw­ing on, the hopes of Knighthood make him as loving.

You baited your hook well.

We'l still keep him in play, that we may have t'other pluck at his purse-strings.

I wish you cou'd as successfully wheadle him out of Marina for me.

If your Mistress had but half so good an opinion of you as he has of me.

She has often admitted my courtship, and by that I guess she does not wish me ill. But could you not invent a way to break off my Fathers correspondence with the old Knight her Father, and especially prevent his treating her to day? his courtship is now but beginning to her▪

By no means▪ to put him by, were to make you lose many opportunities of seeing and discoursing with her: Con­ceal your love, and you'l find, not to discourage his hopes will be to your advantage; Love, in time, will teach her to transgress that blind obedience which keeps her in sub­jection.

I hear him returning, I'l march off.

When we have got the money, we'l consult of your Love.

Look you Mr. Doctor, there are three hundred Guinneys.

Three hundred?

True, you ask'd but for two, but I count the two no courtesie; the other hundred you shall give me leave to lend you without being ask'd, that I may be satisfied, I have done something may express my kindness to you.

Well, Mr. Iorden, you are the most a Gentleman for your time I ever saw in my life; this is the most heroical Act! Indeed I did not think it possible to have found out a way to oblige a friend at such a high rate.

O, Sir, I am behind hand with you as to that.

I am so ashamed, I know not how to imitate your ge­nerosity, and I have such a zeal to do you some piece of ser­vice. When will you and your daughter Mrs. Lucia come to a Ball at Court, and I'l carry you in, and place you among per­sons of Quality?

The next time there is one, we'l both come.

There will be one very suddenly.

Sir, Mrs. Lucia bid me acquaint you she is returned.

Has she brought Mrs. Marina?

There is a Lady with her, Sir.

Tell her I am coming; bid her have her into the dining Room, and let all things be in readiness.

Sir, I will take my leave.

You shall walk in and take part of a Collation.

I am sent for to a Lady of great Quality, who writes me word, I must not fall to visit her.

But Mrs. Marina is come, you must needs go in and see my Mistress first.

I have so natural a kindness for you, I can refuse you nothing.

You oblige me.

Madam, regard my Brothers youth, and sorrow, it is for you he sighs, and languishes; and tho▪ you cannot cure, yet ease his pain.

Were I permitted, dearest Lucia, to pursue my own inclinations, he should not unregarded grieve; but I am not at my one dispose: imagine your self in my condition, and tell me how you wou'd act on this occasion.

Alas! I am subject to the same misfortune, and there­fore already qualified to be your Counsellor, and be assured I give no advice but what I take my self.

Do you then encourage your Lover?

To the utmost of my power.

It will be too difficult for me on the sudden, for I have not yet pass'd my first blushes, tho' I receiv'd from him proofs of his love, I gave him not any acknowledgements of mine.

Nor wou'd I now put you to the trouble of in­venting such nice and wary words as Virgins use, when first they give encouragements to their Lover: let me interpret it from your actions, receive this trifle.

Start not, Madam, he but presents you with a Ring of a small value, if you will not receive it from his hands, take it from mine: but wear it for his sake.

And with it take my heart.

If I do more than I ought, yours, Madam, be the blame.

But fair Marina, if your Father will not give con­sent I marry you—

I will declare to him my real inclinations.

But if he prove averse, and unalterable?

I'l threaten to fly beyond Sea to a Nunnery, and for ever to exclude my self from the world.

But if in spight of all, he will force you to a Mar­riage?

What wou'd you have me say?

That, which I fain would hear you say.

What?

That which one wou'd say, who loves well.

What is that?

That nothing shou'd compel you, and that against [Page 34] all endeavours of your Father to the contrary you wou'd pro­mise to be mine.

Content your self with what I have already said and done, and attempt not to know the future resolutions of my heart, nor trouble your self with apprehensions of ex­tremities which may never happen, or if they do, suffer me to govern my self at all times according to the present state of affairs.

Madam, a little further I pray.

Sir, I?

One step back, and please you.

How Sir? a little retreit to make room for the third.

Mr. Iorden, Madam, understands behaviour, and with what respect to approach a Lady.

Madamoiselle, I beg pardon for my son.

For what, Sir?

I saw him give you a buss les maines.

I confess 'twas a civility too humble.

I beg your pardon, he's not a Gentleman.

In all things.

Excuse moy; his Mother was but a Citizen.

He's well behaved.

His deport is but so, so, his gard is pretty jauntee, and his garniture not much amiss, but he wants a bon mein; and, Madam, I will make it my devoir to retreive what has been amiss.

Nothing pass'd, but what was extream well.

I am ravish'd to hear you say so.

Sir, the Lady will be weary with standing.

Pray repose you at the Table, here's a small Collation to divert you. Mr. Doctor, will you please to sit? Madam, you see how poorly I regaul you,

I ought to make an harrangue to excuse it, but I hope you'l pardon my unpreparedness.

Your treat is noble.

Madam, pray chuse where most you like.

Boy, bid the Musick give us a touch of their Harmo­nie. Is here any thing, Madam, appears agreeable to you.

Every thing, Sir?

Fall too then: Sa, sa.

I do, Sir.

Without sans complement.

I use not any.

Pray taste that Ragoust. Ah, what a pretty bells mains has this Lady, Mr. Doctor.

Admirable white, and well shaped.

Fill me a glass of wine: so the same to this Lady, and to every one round.

Hai, allons: The Hat, chappeaux bas: this Ladies health to you, Mr. Doctor.

Look you, Sir: I do you reason.

So, 'tis gone round; 'tis with you, Lady.

Sir, my service to you.

How do you approve of the frolick, Mr. Doctor?

Very pretty, and apt to the purpose; Love and Wine, Mr. Iorden, should go hand in hand.

Ah, Mr. Doctor, if Mrs. Marina would be as favou­rable to pledge in one as the other.

She is so charming, she can do nothing but oblige, Mr. Iorden, pray give me leave to begin a health.

With all my heart: Fill round.

And let's have t'other Song to encourage us.

Very fine i'faith: Now, Mr. Iorden, to this Ladie's best inclinations, and long may they live in favour of whom this Lady wears this fine Ring.

Courage: so, and long may he live.

Not a word more of the Ring, you'l make a disco­very.

Mum.

Long may he live, Madam.

How, Madam, do you approve their singing?

It was not amiss, Sir.

In my opinion 'tis admirable.

It was indeed most ravishing.

Ah, Madam, cou'd we but as easie ravish your heart.

Sir, my service to you.

Sarrah, give me that Glass as it is.

Observe, Madam; Mr. Iorden drinks just where your lip has been, and all this while eats nothing but what your fingers have touch'd. Oh the little Arts of Lovers.

Sir, I am ignorant of your meaning.

I'l take t'other glass, and then Mr. Doctor—

What, Sir?

I'l tell her my mind more plainly.

But have a care what you do, you must not blurt all out at once, Maids are shie.

But I intend to show my self a man of courage, and boldly to declare my Amour.

Aye, Sir, that is City-courtship; but now you are to make love Ala mode, to act like a Gentleman, Ala negligence, with a certain kind of gallantry that obliges more than words: Entertainments, Songs, Dances and Musick are preparatives.

Must I not speak to her?

Your treat this time speaks enough; this lays an obli­gation; [Page 38] obligations beget respect, respect begets love, love begets marrying, and marrying begets children.

Well, Sir, I have a damnable itching to tell her my mind; but since obligations beget so to the end of the Chap­ter, I'l let her know how much she is beholden to me. That Ring Madam—

Sir?

I shall be disgrac'd.

My Father says, becomes your hand.

Cost a good sum of money.

Pray, Sir, how much do you think it cost?

It cost fifty pounds.

I believe it might.

My Father, Madam, has skill in Jewels.

'Tis well worth your wearing.

I am not much affected with Jewels, but I have a par­ticular reason to wear this.

You shall see how prettily I'l wheadle her to tell me she loves me.] Why, Madam? because it was given you?

Yes Sir, for the sake of the Giver.

Ha, ha, Madam, this small present deserves not so great an honour.

Excuse me, Sir.

You set too great a value on it.

I rate it according to the merit of the person that presented it.

Lo you there.] That person is very much your humble servant, and wishes it was much better for your sake.

I think, Sir, he does not wish me ill.

Look you again.] When you know him bet­ter you will say so; he loves you extreamly.

'Tis likely he may, but men know how to dissemble.

But he, Madam, the least of any one in the world.

I am glad you confirm me in my good opinion; but I wonder to hear this from you.

The Lady wonders to hear you commend your self so.

I beg your pardon, Madam, if my over-forwardness offends you.

On the contrary it pleases me extreamly to hear you speak well of him.

It is my near concern gives me the occasion; but truly I never knew any of the Iordens not Gentlemen in the point of Love, tho' I speak it that should not.

Truly, Sir, I did not think you had known so many as I perceive you do.

Now Sister all comes out.

If I did not, Madam, who shou'd?

Since our Love is no longer a secret as I thought it had been, and you approv't, I hope by your means my Fa­ther may be enclined.

O, I had got his consent before: and this design of my daughters bringing you hither was a plot laid to gain a good opportunity to court you.

Alas, Sir, I was so well inclin'd before, I could not long forbear the acknowledgement, tho' I cannot but blush to own I am so soon o'er-come.

Is not this a rare wheedle Mr. Doctor?] How glad am I to hear this, for in truth I think courtship the most troublesome thing in the world.

Yet, Sir, you must use it with my Father.

Let me alone to deal with him, we'l send for a Par­son, and the marriage shall be concluded to night.

Alas, I know my Father will obstruct our proceed­ings.

Madam, take my word for it.

Well, Sir, if he can be won to consent to it.

Lord! you are so hard of belief.

Nay, Sir, he guessed once at our love, and did not then seem displeas'd; but I believe he has since design'd me for some other; for of late he has strictly charg'd me to the contrary; he told me himself he had provided one wou'd be a sitter match for me.

Well, Madam, to clear all doubts, I'l e'ne wait on you home, and you shall soon hear what he says. Mr. Iack, give me my Sword and belt.

Madam, pray let me set this curle right for you.

I beg your pardon.

A little this way. Ah, Madam, you are unhappily run into a mistake: my Father knows not of my brothers love for you, and himself is the man your Father has found out to be your husband.

I am amaz'd.

What good luck have I to dispatch so great an affair in so short a time: I was wooing my first wife at least a year; But to see how obliging a Gentlewoman is over a Citizen.

You must resolve to stand to the brunt of 't, but con­ceal my Brothers being your Lover.

I'l indeavour't, and frame some excuse for what I said.

Any thing.

Come, Madam. How your hand trembles?

My heart misgives me.

Allons courage, your Father will consent, I warrant you. Lucy, stay you at home to receive Sir Simon: I much wonder he comes not yet; but when he does send me word.

Yes, Sir.

Let the Musick stay till night; and bid them practise their Dialogue; we cannot stay to have it now, but it will serve rarely well at supper, and will be as good for a wedding as an Epithilamium. Mr. Doctor, your servant, Sir.

Sir, I'l wait on you out, for I must be going too. Ma­dam, I am going to meet your Lover. Mr. Iorden take heart, things may yet go well.

And I how unhappy!

All may go well yet, ever hope the best.

I cannot hope my love should not be discovered.

ACT III. SCENE I.

BEsure you look well to him; keep all the doors shut and lock'd.

When he is once in Lobs-pound, he shall not easily escape.

Here he comes.—Sir Simon, you are welcome.

You see I make bold.

You honour my house. But where is the Gentleman that was to show you the way?

He left me but just now, he showed me the house, and begg'd leave for an hour.

I shou'd have been glad he had been here to bear you company till my return: I'l step cross the street and fetch Mr. Iorden to you. But see here a person into whose hands I commend you, he will treat you with all courtesie possible.

My profession obliges me, and 'tis enough you com­mand my care.

This is the Steward of's house: He must be a person of quality.

Yes, I assure you, I'l treat Sir Simon according to the method and rules of Art.

Oh pray make no ceremony, I beseech you, treat me as a friend, let me be no trouble.

Such an imploy is not my trouble but delight.

Here, Sir, is ten pounds advance of what I promis'd you.

I beseech you, Sir, I understand not wherefore you shou'd put your self to charge for me: Pray, Sir, let him not buy any thing extraordinary, but let me partake of the usual entertainment of your Family.

Pray, Sir, give me leave: it is not for what you imagine.

Not for provision, Sir; a spare dyet is wholesome; much meat sends up fumes from the stomach to the head, and that is very hurtful for the brain, especially to one that is a little disordered.

He talks learnedly. But I befeech you, Sir, let me fare like a friend, and not a stranger.

'Tis that I intend: I pray, Sir, excuse the incivility I commit in leaving you.

Oh, Sir, you leave me in good company.

It is a great honour to me, Sir, to be chosen one to do you service.

I am your servant.

See there an able man, my great friend, with whom I will consult the manner how to treat you.

Once more I request you to make no such cere­mony, I am a man content with ordinary usage.

Come, set chairs here. Sir, please you take that place.

Ha, what's the meaning of this? I am fast.

An Italian device, we meant to surprize you with a rarity.

I cannot get up.

We can soon set you at liberty, it may be you don't sit easie.

Oh, very well, I thank you: I shou'd be loth, [Page 43] were it not among friends, to be so engag'd.

Come friend, pray draw your chair nearer. Now to our business. Give me your hand, Sir.

Your hand, Sir, I beseech you.

Oh, your servant, Gentlemen, your servant.

Oh, Sir, I beseech you hold still a little.

What means this?

Have you a good stomach? do you eat well, Sir?

Ay, and drink well too.

So much the worse, this great appetition of cold and humidity is an indication of the heat and driness within. Do you sleep sound▪

Yes, when I have eat a good Supper.

Do you dream, Sir?

Sometimes.

Of what nature are your dreams?

Why, of the nature of dreams. A Devil, what kind of entertainment is this?

How do you go to stool, Sir?

As others do. A plague on't, I know not what they mean by these Questions: pray let me be so bold to call for a glass of wine.

Have patience, Sir: I doubt whether it be good for you; we will begin and discourse of the thing it self, and that you may the better understand we'l dispute in English, and resolve upon your food, what meats and drinks are properest for you, and will do you the least harm.

What needs so much discourse about my eating and drinking?

Patience, Sir, you must be patient.

What a devil wou'd they be at?

I say with your permission, Sir, that our patient here present is very much assaulted, affected, afflicted, possessed, and o'ercome with this sort of folly, which is very well called Hy­pochondriack melancholy.

These are Doctors, now shall I have a lecture read o'er me.

I beseech you, Sir, sit still.

This Hypochondriack Melancholy proceeds from the deprav'd constitution of some part of the neather belly, and in­feriour region: but particularly from the spleen. To be assured that this is his disease, you need but observe this great dul­ness which you see, this heaviness accompanied with fear and diffidence, signs, pathognomiques and individuals of this disease so well observed by the divine Hippocrates; this Physi­ognomy, these eyes, red, heavy and dull; this grisly beard, and grumness; this swarthy, tawney complexion; this con­stitution of body, lean, spare and haggord, rough, black and hairy; all which signs denote him to be very much o'ercome with this disease proceeding from the depravedness of the Hy­pochondria.

Sir, you must sit still.

Now I mean to touch the Therapeia, and remedies which ought to be prescribed to effect a perfect cure. First, then to remedy this Plethora, and this Cacochymia, or general depravation of humours throughout all the body; my advice is for Phlebotomy; that he bleed freely; that is to say, plentifully; first of the Basilick, then of the Cephalick vein; and if the disease prove obstinate and refractory, that a vein be opened in his forehead, and that the orifice be very large, that the thick corrupted bloud may have passage; and at the same time that he purge, deopitulate and evacuate by proper and convenient purgations; that is to say, by Chola­gogues, Melanogogues, &c. But before all these, I find it meet to exhilarate his spirits with harmony resulting from Musick instrumental and vocal, with which it will not be a­miss to joyn some Dancers; to the end that their motions, postures, and agility of bodies, may excite, stirr up, and quicken his spirits stupified with idleness, which occasions the thickness of his bloud, from whence proceeds the Malady: these are the Remedies I prescribe, which may be much ad­vantag'd by some others of yours much better and more effi­cacious, [Page 45] having by your daily practice gain'd great expe­rience, judgement and knowledge in our Art. Dixi.

Amen.

Nay, now, Sir, you must have a little longer pati­ence to hear my Brother Doctor.

There remains nothing for me to say to the Gentle­man, but that he was a luckie man to fall into your hands, and that he is even too happy in being a fool, in that he shall ex­periment the efficacie and admirable virtues of these Reme­dies you have propounded with so much judgement: I ap­prove of all, Manibus & pedibus descendo in tuam sententiam: All that I say is, let the number of his bleedings and purga­tions be odd, Numero Deus impare gaudet: To drink often clarified Whey, to bathe often, to have a strait band made with salt in it to bind upon his forehead, for salt is the em­blem of wisdom; and to new whiten the walls of his cham­ber, to dissipate the darkness of his spirits, Album est disgrega­tivum visùs: A gentle glister to serve for the introduction to these judicious Remedies, with which he is to be cured, and he ought to receive consolation. Heaven grant that these Remedies you mentioned may according to our intention work their effects upon your patient.

Gentlemen, I have listned to ye all this while, and I have no more patience left. What, do you sport with me?

Oh, Sir, we dont sport with you.

What means all this? what wou'd you with your mountebanck canting?

Good, see a Diagnostick which we wanted for the confirmation of his disease, and this may well turn to mad­ness.

A pox on't, who am I left here with?

Another Diagnostick, his frequent spitting.

Let me out here, let me be gone.

Yet another, his unquietness, and desire to change, and shift places.

What's the matter? what a devil ayl ye? what wou'd you do with me?

Cure you, according to order given.

Cure me?

Yes.

What a devil, I am not sick.

A very ill sign, when a sick man perceives not his own disease.

I tell you I am very well.

Oh, we know better than you how you do; we can see into your constitution.

I tell you I was never better since I was born.

Worse and worse, he has been a fool from his Cradle.

Let him be rul'd by us, we'l cure him, I'l warrant you.

I'l be rul'd by none of ye, ye are a couple of knaves.

We are your Physicians, Sir.

Worse and worse, ye are the greater knaves for that. Physicians! what have I to do with Physicians? a fart for you, and your Physick too: a Caudle, Ale-berry, or a good Posset is worth all your damn'd drugs.

A hone, a hone, the man is a greater fool than we thought him.

My Father and Mother never took Physick in their lives, and they are both dead without the help of Phy­sicians.

I wonder no longer then, that they had a son no wiser; come, let us proceed to the cure, and by the sweet exhila­rating of harmony, sweeten, allay, and abate the acrimony of the spirits, which I see ready to inflame him. O here comes my Operators.

What in the Devils name is all this? are all the people in this Town mad? I never saw the like in my days, what should it mean?

What ailest thee thou musing man?

What art thou melancholy?

Come let's cure him if we can.

Sadness is the greatest folly.

Let's cure this wight.

He's a gallant Knight.

'Tis great pit-ty,

That he should dy

We to cure thy sadness come.

Mirth with us we bring along.

Throats let's clear with crying hum.

Then treat this gallant with a Song.

With Song we'l advance,

With Musick and dance;

With these we will clear him.

Then give him glisters half a dozen.

To purge away melancholy and clear him.

Then rinse his body with Canary and Sherrey.

If this will not make him merry,

'Tis we

That be

More fools than he,

And our art will us couzen.

And our art will us couzen.

Come let's have him up to his Chamber, and there give him the remedies per­force, which he refuses to take here.

Help to let him out of his stool of repentance.

Stay, let me take out my handkerchief to blow my nose. The Devil take ye all for Rogues.

He is gone, gone beyond recovery, all my designs are ruin'd.

A pox o'that Pistol.

A pox on you for leaving the Key in the door.

Who'd have thought—

That you shou'd have plaid the Mountebank so long, and have no more brains in your scull.

I have a device to recover all.

He'l find out Mr. Iorden, and then—

I'l to him first, and doubt not but I'l forestal his re­ception for a while: And here comes Mr. Iorden as I could wish.

Hold him in discourse till I come and second you in a new design.

There was juggling in the case, Lucia, for I find it was your brother presented the Ring to her, he was the man for whose sake she wore it, therefore tell me true how he came by it?

It may be she lost it, or laid it down somewhere, and he took it up.

No, Sir.

How was it then? let me know.

My Brother, Sir, desired that he might present it, and I, ignorant of his pretensions to Marina, gave it him.

But that thou art to be a Lady to night I wou'd beat thee for it.

Alas, Sir, I thought no harm, and judg'd it more fit for him to give it, than for me.

Let me heat a reason for that, and I'l forgive thee both this and the next fault.

I imagin'd, Sir, Mrs. Marina would think my brother would be displeased at the match, as most sons are when their Fathers marry again, it being against their interest to have a new brood in the Family, and might from thence have some scruple to match with you, having children so well grown: therefore I gave him the Ring to present, that it might appear by this Act, my Brother did well approve of having her for a Mother-in-Law.

This is very rational.

Well, get you in again; and tell your Brother he has no way to come off with me, but utterly to renounce her, and resign her to me.

Yes, Sir, I hope he will.

I thought Sir Simon would have visited your house with Lovers speed.

Something is the matter he comes not yet, and I am going to see what it is detains him.

Mr. Iorden, have you seen Sir Simon?

No, is he come?

Come! yes, Sir, and gone.

Gone!

He has not been at my house.

He has shown me a light pair of heels.

Is he come for certain to this end of the Town?

And gone for certain?

Both for certain; and if he comes to you, let him not conclude the marriage with your daughter till he be duly prepar'd for it, and reduced to an estate of begetting children, well conditioned both in body and mind.

I understand you not.

Nor do I know what he means.

Your Son-in-Law that is to be, was this morning put into my hands by a near relation of his that endeavours his good, to be my patient, and I must tell my friend, I do not think fit he should marry your daughter till he hath taken the remedies I am to prepare for his disease.

Has he any disease?

A most notorious one, and hard to be cured, 'tis got­ten into his brain.

What is his disease?

Folly.

Ha, ha, he, that's one Reason why I make him my Son-in-Law; for what better husband can I provide for my daughter, than one that has much honour, a great estate, and but little wit.

How, Sir?

I'l assure you, Mr. Doctor, you may spare your drugs and labour too, for his disease is as hereditary to his Family, as his estate, and you may sooner cure him of that than of the other.

But he has another disease I have not told you off.

Another?

One that debilitates his body as much as this his mind.

What is that?

Doctors are bound to secresie.

You may tell Mr. Iorden:

For his Daughters sake, and because he is my friend, I will. But you must both promise to keep it secret.

Doubt not, that Gentleman is my great friend.

Pray out with it.

I'l trust ye for once.

You may.

You know, Mr. Iorden, Sir Simon has been in France.

I have heard so.

There he fell extreamly in love with a Lady. He gave her his Gold, and she as a token of her kindness gave him the Pox.

The Pox!

The Pox said you?

No such great wonder, for most young English Gal­lants that go thither have the like misfortune.

The Pox his disease!

It is indeed the fate of most young Travellers.

Like most of 'em too he fell into the hands of an un­skilful Chirurgeon, who made no perfect cure; and should he marry as he is, he either would have no children; or if he has, they will be peuling, whining, sickly things, scab'd as young Cuckows, and look like Chickens that have got the pipp.

We see the example of it daily.

But that he is both Knight, and Baronet, he should not have my Daughter.

I doubt not, but by the course I intend for him, with­in forty days to put his body in a good condition for procre­ation.

Well then, I'l have him enquir'd out, he shall marry my daughter presently, lest she should hear on't▪ and be averse to the Marriage: And then Mr. Doctor and friend, I will de­liver him again into your hands.

How! let him marry your daughter before he is eured?

Yes, Il make sure of him first; for he may dye un­der your hands, and then she misses the title of Lady, and the honour of having been wife to a Knight Baronet; besides, he makes her a very great joynture.

How his folly frustrates our designs!

Now is the time I must show my self a man of in­trigue▪ or for ever lose the reputation I have gotten.

Gentlemen, can any of you inform me which is Doctor Cureal's house?

That is his house, and this Gentleman is the Doctor.

Yes, Sir, I am Doctor Cureal.

I have a little private business, and beg these Gen­tlemens leave to speak with you.

Mr. Iorden, you have not yet told me how you like your Mistress?

Oh, Sir, 'tis the prettiest charmingst Rogue—

Her eyes are but little.

Oh, but Mr. Cleverwit, so sparkling, so black and so piercing, they strike a man to the heart at first sight.

She has a wide mouth.

She has so, but so many graces about it, such pretty dimples at each corner when she smiles, and such a pair of smacking lips too.

Her stature is but low.

But yet she's well shap'd: Oh, 'tis a pretty snug Rogue, she'l lye as round—

She speaks very little.

Oh, a prattling woman is worse than a Flock of Geese.

And some conclude, a woman that wants tongue wants wit.

And she that has too much, wants Grace.

Well, Sir, I see plain, by your excusing her, that you love her, and will have her from your son.

If her Father order her, as I'l order my son, we shall meet in a pair of sheets.

Well, Sir, I'l acquaint my friends here with the busi­ness; and if you'l engage your word before them I'l do't.

Business of this nature should not be communicated.

They are my special friends.

Well, Sir, if you think good to trust 'em.

Mr. Iorden, whatever you hear, say nothing, till you have made a full discovery; here is villany plotting against you.

Ha, knavery, knavery.

Ye must know friends, one Sir Simon Softhead is my Patient, whom I have to cure of a certain distemper, which will require some considerable time. Well, go you on, Sir.

The said Sir Simon is come to Town to marry the Daughter of one Mr. Iorden, a rich man.

So.

Now this Sir Simon owing much money to me, and five other Merchants of Norwich, we have all his land in mortage; but we being all his Fathers Friends, and having a re­spect for the Son, are willing to do him all the good we can; and therefore do underhand mannage the business so, combining with the said Sir Simon, that the Mortgages and Engagements shall not appear to endamage his Marriage.

Well, Sir.

Now comes the design.

So that Sir Simon may, besides the portion he is to have with his wife, take up of his Father-in-Law (who we hear is a mony'd man) as much money as will pay all his debts, and engage to him his land before engag'd to us.

O dainty Rascals!

And then shall your Mortgage start up and take it from him.

So shall the Son cheat the Father-in-Law, and the Fa­ther have no remedy for it.

Yes, Sir, and this may easily be done, for Mr. Iorden is but a half-witted fellow.

Oh, is he so, Rascal?

The said Land passes already currant for the joyn­ture, tho' mannag'd by his Brother in the Country, who is not much wiser than himself.

Very good.

Now, Gentlemen, this Sir Simon being also a man of a thick scull, and not so sensible of his own good, as he ought to be; I, and the other five Merchants do desire of Mr. Doctor, to perswade Sir Simon to strike up the Match, and be marryed before he enter into his course of Physick, that the design so well laid may not take wind, and miscarry by his folly and want of discretion.

And for this piece of service, your self and those o­ther five Merchants do reward me with an hundred pounds, to be demanded the day after the marriage.

I do here before these Gentlemen promise and en­gage my self for the true and just payment of it, and will moreover treat these Gentlemen with a Dinner of five pound.

How are you call'd?

My name is William Webster, Merchant of Stuffs in Norwich.

Then, I say, William Webster of Norwich, and the rest of his Merchant Combiners are knaves, ha, ha, he, bear wit­ness Gentlemen—ha, ha, he,—

Gentlemen, you'l not discover, I hope.

No, no friend, you have made discovery enough.

Pray tell Sir▪ Simon, my Daughter shall not be a beg­gar to be a Lady; there are more Knights Baronets in the World.

Mr. Doctor, is this Mr. Iorden?

The very man, now, I think on't.

Oh dire mischance!

Come, Sir, pay your hundred pound, Mr. Doctor has done your business for you—ha, ha, he.

Well, Sir Simon is an undone man, and so I'l go tell him.

And when you find him, tell him too he may e'en go like a fool as he came—ha, ha, he..

This after-game was well plaid.

A half-witted fellow! ha, ha, he.

How blank will Sir Simon and the rest look when they hear this news.

I fear he is more knave than fool.

Mr. Iorden, I am glad I have serv'd you in so impor­tant an affair; I must leave my friend to visit a Lady of great Quality that has sent for me.

And I am heartily sorry, I cannot stay till Sir Simon comes, to see the upshot of the business, for come he will if he misses this fellow.

Your servant, Mr. Iorden.

Your servant, Sir.

Your servant, Mr. Doctor: Your servant, Mr. Cle­verwit.

Oh, Sir, are you here? I have found out all your in­trigue with Mrs. Marina, you are the man in her books, are you?

Only in that one thing I am happy.

But you must think no more of her.

Not think of her!

No, Sir.

It is impossible.

You must resign you interest.

To no man living.

To me.

Not, while I have life.

She is to be my wife.

Not with my consent.

I have her Fathers good liking.

And I have the Daughters.

She must submit to her Father's will, and you to mine.

Love is subject to no Laws but its own; when that is in dispute, all respect to power and authority is laid aside.

I shall make you know me.

He that loves well, dares all threats desie.

You will then be medling in my concerns.

No, Sir, 'tis you meddle with mine, I lov'd her first.

And you shall quit her first.

Quit her?—never—

I'l force you, saucy Iack.

You cannot.

I'l try that.

Oh Maitre, Maitre Iorden, vat do you mean?

I laugh at your anger.

You shall cry at my anger.

O maitre, maitre Iorden?

Let me come to him.

O fee, fee, fader beat te great son, vat, vat be te diffe­rence? make me te judge, me pass me parol to make te recon­cilement.

You shall hear Mr. Iack.

But stand you two at more great distance: So now me am to be te judge: so, hum, hum, speak te fader now: Be no dat ver just to bid te fader speak before te son.

I love Mrs. Marina, and have intentions to marry her, and my son here in spight of my teeth says he will love her.

Spit in your teet, no good fashione: he be to blame ver much.

Is't not an insolence in a son to contend with his fa­ther?

A ver great injure.

Ought he not to forbear his pretensions to shew me respect?

You have te grand reason: let me go speak to him, and stand you dere.

Well, since he hath made you judge, I am content to refer the matter to you.

You do me te ver great honour.

I was first in league with Mrs. Marina, she makes kind returns to my affection; and with tenderness receives [Page 58] the offers of my love; and my father comes to disturb our peace with his pretensions.

A ver great injure.

Is it not very unreasonable to desire she should love him against her inclination, ought he not rather to quit his design?

You have te reason, let me now speak to your fader. Have you no more to say, but dat you love te Gentlewo­man?

Yes, I have her Father's consent, and he is utterly against my sons marrying his daughter.

Ver good.

Ought she not to be obedient to her father?

Oh vithout doubt. Let me speak to your son. Your fader do say he has te consent of her fader.

But I have the consent of the Daughter.

Auh dat be 'gen te ver good reazon.

Is it not a great injustice in him to cause her father to force her to marry one she does not love?

Oh vithout doubt, dat be ver injuste. Now let me have te consideration how te do justice, to cause be ver diffi­cult.

Auh, you love te Gentlewoman?

Yes.

And she do you love?

Yes.

And she vill marre you?

Yes.

O vat remedy? vel, stay you dere—

Vell, Sir, your Zon be no so obstinate as you do tink, he do submit to you, and say vat he did tell you, vas in his great in­dignation, and dat he vill give you te Maitress, provide dat you vill treat him ver vell for te future; and let him have some little part of your Estate, dat he may live like te Zon of Monsieur Iordane, and marre some Gentilwoman dat be young, handsome, and rish.

Well, tell him he may have any thing hereafter, and except Marina, he is at liberty to choose whom he will

O, let me mannage te affair—

Your fader have te more discretion den you imagine, he say dat [Page 59] te fashione of your discourse, and your action put him in te grand colore, and dat he vill give te consent to vat you desire, provide dat you give te promise for te future to be te ver good Zon, and render to his person te respect and submissi­on tat one Zon ow to te fader.

You may assure him, that granting Marina, he obliges me for ever to submit my self intirely to him, and henceforward his will shall be a law to all my actions.

Oh so tis affair be dispatch.

As I could wish.

Te league be conclude:

He be con­tent vith vat you do promise.

Oh my kind Stars be thank'd.

Now, ye may make discourse togeader agen; ye se how soon te man of discretion make te accommodation.

I am much oblig'd to you.

Not at all vor vat me do, me be your humble ser­viteur.

You have done well Master Iaques: there is a reward for you.

Me kiss your hand Maitre Iordane.

I am now Trickmore again, and ready to receive Sir Simon if he come this way: I will proceed to sow such jealousies between the Father and the Son-in-Law, that shall make 'em both draw contrary ways. Yonder he comes, be gone.

What mean you by this Sir Simon?

All I see seems Glisters to me.

How!

You know not what has hapned since I parted from you.

No, what is't?

I thought I should have been treated according to my Quality.

And well.—

And I was left by that Gentleman in the hands of two fellows cloathed in black, Physicians I suppose they were, who set me in a trap-chair, felt my pulse, shak'd their noddles, cry'd ah! is't so? he's a fool, he's a fool: then did these two buffle-headed talkative fellows in broad-brim'd hats speak nonsence for an hour, till my patience was wearied; then entered such a consort of Musick, as if they had plaid a flourish for the entry of Devils; but were followed by half a dozen Anticks singing, and dancing with Syringes and Gli­sters in their hands, that they made me almost out of my wits; when with much ado by the help of a Pocket Pistol, I got from 'em, they all discharg'd at me: see, am I not all be­glisterfied?

Indeed you have an odd smell about you.

Oh my imagination is filled with 'em, every thing I see methinks is a Glister.

How deceitful is the out-side! I thought that Gen­tleman the sincerest of your friends.

A very Rascal.

This is one of my wonderments, is't possible there should be such knavery in the world?

I think that is the house.

According to my promise I came, thinking to have found you there, but I have knock'd this half hour, and the De­vil of any body can I make answer, the doors and windows are all shut close, as if no body was in the house.

The Rogues thought it time to be gone. Ever since I made my escape, I have been enquiring to find out Mr. Iorden; I am told he lives in this street, and I am glad I have met with you, that you may help me to find his house.

So, so, I smell you out, Sir Simon.

Smell me? aye so may any body: a pox on these Rogues and their Glisters.

I mean I know your design of enquiring out Mr. Iorden, you have a months mind to his Daughter, I war­rant.

Yes, I come to Town on design to marry her.

To marry her?

Yes.

Indeed to marrry her?

Aye, for what else do you think?

Nay, then 'tis another matter, and I crave your pardon.

What mean you by this?

Nothing, Sir.

Pray tell.

Nothing, not I, I spoak a little too hastily.

Pray let me know what was in your mind.

It is not at all convenient.

Nay, pray out with it.

By no means, indeed you must excuse me.

Then I see you are not the man I took you for, I thought you had been my friend.

No man more.

You ought not then to conceal any thing from me.

It is a matter in which is concern'd the interest of a Neighbour.

To oblige you to open your heart, take this Ring and wear it for my sake.

Let me think a little whether I may do it in con­science. 'Tis a man who seeks his own good, who endeavours to provide for his Daughter, as advantagiously as he can. I ought to injure no man. These things are known truths: And then I go about to discover to a man that is ignorant of them. 'Tis forbidden to speak ill of our Neighbour.

Not to interrupt you, there's Gold, by my soul you shall keep it: Now pray go on.

But on the other side, here is a stranger he would [Page 62] surprise, and one who comes with a good intent to marry his Daughter, whom he knows not, nor ever saw; a Gentle­man free and curteous, for whom I have a kindness, who does me the honour to esteem me his friend; reposes confidence in me, who gives me a Ring to wear for his sake, and Gold. Well, I find I can tell you all without scruple of conscience. But I'l take care to tell you as blamelesly as I can, and to spare the person as much as may be. To tell you then, this daughter of his lives dishonestly would be too harsh; I'l find some milder term to express my meaning; to say she's gallanted is not enough, but I think it will suit well with my meaning, to say she is a naughty pack; and may serve to let you know truly what she is.

Oh, oh, they take me then for a Coaks.

It may be she is not so bad as the talk goes, and since there are some young women that expose themselves to cen­sure by taking too much liberty, not thinking their honour and reputation depends—

I thank you, Sir, I will not be in the Turkish fa­shion, and go with a crescent above my brows, I love to walk without being pointed at.

Well, Sir, but you are resolv'd to give 'em a visit.

On purpose to let 'em see how they are de­ceived.

Well, Sir, I'l wait on you to the door, have a care, she's very handsome, and beauty is a sort of witch­craft.

Let me alone, I warrant you.

At your return you shall find me here about.