SCENE I.

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ACT. 1. SCENE 2.

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ACT. 1. SCENE 3.

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ACT. 1. SCENE 4.

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Are you so sharp set i' faith, then I leave you, I dare not meddle with Edge-tooles.

That's huge pity, you're good flesh, and fit to be cut up, Ile warrant you as tender as a London Pullet, and no less full of juice and gravey.

If you intend to make me your Pullet, and cut me up, you must not be a Capon in performance.

Lady, I'le tread you as well as ever Cock trod Hen, I'le make you quickly big with egge.

Then you must first eat egges your self to make you vigorous and active.

I am a too high mettall'd nag to need such helps and spurs, or want such incitements.

But Gentlemen, the day appears, and (the Suns Har­binger) the morning Star twinckles, and winks upon me to retire unto my Ladies chamber, lest this my absence be disco­ver'd to her, for this time therefore I'le bid you Adieu.

Come my Boys, wee'l scale the Colledge walls, take an hours Nap upon our Beds, and then to Chappel, where

ACT. 1. SCENE 5.

I'M plunged in amazement at th' Relation of my rebellious sons behaviour; he stands eter­nally oblig'd to you for making him a member of that Colledge whereof you're Head and President, what dares he scratch his head? or make it ake, by his ill qualities and corrupted hu­mours? I should extremly doubt whether he were my lawful issue, or some ignoble spurious By-Blow, were I not well as­sur'd of's Mother obstinate and invincible Chastity, who though she was in her yong days, a beautiful and comely Venus, and therefore might excite ill motions in all her Beholders, yet was she too chaste a Diana, and awfully cooled and discoun­tenanc'd 'um; no sooner, were they rais'd, but she standing [Page]i'th circle of her many vertues, conjur'd 'um down again.

To open my mind plainly to you; hee's an use­less, nay a dangerous member, and if he be'n't lopt off, tis to be fear'd hee'l corrupt others of the Body of our Society; hee's turn'd a Rambler; I'm in suspence, whether I shall expel him, or try him further.

Pray' Brother bee'nt so far transported with your Passion, as to proceed to that extremity of rigor.

I summon'd him t' appear in's own defence, & advertis'd him too, that you'd be here; O here he is.

Ha thou ungracious villain! what? turn'd Night-bird? and, when you should be in your nest, or (which I'de rather) at your study, must you be flying after Ladybirds? I'le clip your wings I' faith: I'le put a-ne-plus-ultra to your rambles, I know of 'um all.

I beleeve (Sir) you know of more then I do.

That's very probable; for, your too liberally quafft off bowles of liquor (like Lethe water) have washt their memory out off your head; your un­derstanding's light is clouded and obscur'd by your black deeds, and works of Darkness; you have ecclips'd its wonted splen­dour: on what night I pray' sir, held you your last Rendezvouz?

Tis so long since sir, I have quite forgot it.

What? your Travels and rambles were so long? that (as Sir Francis Drake in's travels lost a day) so you have lost a night? you have forgot it (forsooth?)

Sir, should I steep these words in crocodi­les and a tificial tears scru'd from my eyes, they could not chal­lenge your belief, and so I should be in despair first of your audience, and then of pardon; but (Sir) my innocence, which is as pure as that of Babes, when newly washt from their ori­ginal stain, keeps me from sinking in this deluge of profound misery.

O Sir, you are he that stickl'd not to say, Sweet smells would make my head ake, but I think now, I've made your heart ake for't. These tears of yours I hope will make some seeds of virtue but forth apace, and cause you to grow better as well as bigger, like April showres they may produce those flowers (of Rhetorick) which you lately told me, would [Page]be offensive to me; I hope your tears won't (like those drops of rain which fall near the Line,) leave a corrupt steam behind 'um: now whilst they are in motion, and trickle down your rosy cheekes, they're sweeter then Rose-water to my sense; O that it rain'd thus sweetly all the year! then, then, it may be some seeds of obedience, might grow with your rebellious weeds.

Know sir, that though a fathers awful anger can open all the flood-gates of my eyes, yet I like April can look clear and merrily,

as well as weep; I still can laugh at you, whilst I behold your Rainbow eyes, tis time for me to cease from raining showres of tears.

O horrid! I can't hear this, and bear it, farewel brother for a while

I must be gone, I must avoid the place, [...] But you for your part, never see my face.

Do you see sir, how you have frighted away your fa­ther with your rebellious practises?

No sir, tis rather you have don't; he took you for some savage beast, some mad and furious dog, and thought you'd worry him, as y' have done me.

Sirrah, if you intend to keep still in the Colledge, keep in your tongue.

I will not, can­not do it; should you serve me as th' tyrant Tereus served Phi­lomel, and cut it out, I'de use some other art to vent my fury, I'de write it in your blood; I should be happier, were I out o'th' Colledge, as long as you are in't: If you continue in, out I must go, [...] I can't cohabit with a mortal foe.

Oh! how I burn with raging fury! how sharp a Paroxysm of feaverish Passion does affect me? it can't be cur'd but by (that cooling Remedy) Moderation, which yet has never dwelt within this so hot Climate of my Breast; when Hercules was clad with th' Centaures coat, he could not feel such vehe­ment flames; I have a Hell within me, and the heat of my Passion's as unquenchable; my strong affections have (like Phae­tons wild Coursers) enflam'd my little world of Man, my Mi­crocosm; my soul must change her lodging, and leave this earth­ly Vehicle my Body, to cool her self i'th' blest Elysian shades; [Page]like flame-eructing Aetna, I belch forch fire: well, I'le retire and read a Lecture of Philosophy to conjure down this Devil, Pas­sion.

ACT. I. SCENE 6.

YOu acted indiscreetly (Philos) thus to betray yong Eu­genes rambles to his unckle; you know there ever have been private feuds and discontents betwixt 'um; thorough's unckles meanes, his father has with drawn most of 's allowance, he water'd him before with small and inconsiderable drops, from's gol­den river; and they came from him, like so many drops of blood; and if he should (as certainly he will) hear once of this miscarriage, hee'l utterly discard him.

I acted (I'le assure you) on good an a honest principles, not out of malice to his Nephew; I onely ascertain'd him in ge­neral, that his nephew frequented Ladies company, and was no less brought up in Cupids Academy, then in ours; that he lov'd to tast the Marmala de of a Ladies lips, was equally delighted with the roses of their cheeks, and with the Lillies of their hands, he lov'd to rob the pleasant Garden of a Ladies face, gather the cherries of her lips, the blushing red-cheekt apples of her cheekes, handle her azure veines like violets, or that hee'd walk about with a she-Hawk on's fist, and lov'd to bring her to his lure: what harm was there in this?

If it had been to one, not biass'd with Passion and pre­judice, there had been none; but in betraying it to such a one, as he is, you have betray'd your weakness: had you acquainted me alone with his defects and errours, I would with greater lenity, and to better effect, have attempted to reform 'um.

Well Demosthenes, words have wings, and, as soon as (their Cage) the mouth is open'd, out they fly, and mount beyond our reach and past recovery; like lightning, they can't be stopt, but break their passage th'rough the smallest cranies, and penetrate sometimes the thickest walls; their nature's as expansive as the Light, like Sun beames they are darted many miles from their first source; but I'le assure you, for the future if I obtain more cogni­zance [Page]of his actions, before his unckle I'le be as silent, secret, as the Night, and cloke his actions with obscurity; but to you, Ile open and reveal 'um all, I'le be as clear as day; I'le draw them in a line from the Circumference of my mouth unto your ear, as to their center, where I am sure they'le rest, and go no further. I know old Eugenes is presently incens'd at every petty peccadilio, I'le always therefore make him stranger to my thoughts, in mat­ters of this importance.

Be sure you're constant to your words, in the interim I'le go in and give him some good counsel.

'Tis true, I can't deny, but I love old Eugenes unfeigned­ly; but I shall be a torment to him, if I discover his Nephews vices to him any more; a whisperer, and informer, is an odious crea­ture, I shall abhorre my self, if I don't speedily forsake these pra­ctises, all whispering winds are usually fore-runners of a storm, I'le not (like a Fly) be always buzzing in old Eugenes ears, I shall cor­rupt 'um; I'le seek him out, and unravel all that I have done, I'le make his nephew master again of his affections.

SCENE 1.

BRother, I wonder you should be so importunate in the suit of that same Cock-brain'd fellow Eutrape­lus, he is compos'd of levity, I dare not speak a syllable, but hee'l convert it to his own advantage, hee'l sometimes make such use of all my answers, that I shall seem rather to court his fool-ship, then he to offer's Courtship unto me.

Sister, though he is light himself, yet he has store of heavy gold; which is as sparkling as his wit; Ile warrant, hee'l protract, and certainly produce your lifes small thread to the dura­tion of seven years longer; hee'le tickle your ears with wit, as well as something else with genial pleasures: besides, he does derive his pedigree from many anicent and noble families.

Yes I beleeve he can derive it as far, as from Wil. Som­mers King Henry the 8 ^ths fool, Scoggin the Jester, or the wise men of Goatam, I beleeve his pedigree is ancient, for his coat he wears, [Page]is old, and plain enough, and may be blazon'd with 12 Lice Ram­pant in the field Or of his yellow skin, his crest, is a Cocks-comb, for if there be one in the world, tis he.

Dy' hear how admirably she blazons his Coat?

Hang her jade, because she wears an ugly vizard her self, and frights men from being her servants, and is constrain'd to walk alone, whisp'ring her self away, shee'd draw other prose­lites to her religion, shee'd have all turn Nuns, and be confined to a Cloyster, and (with her Ladyships Apes face) lead apes in hell.

But Brother, I've heard you often talk how the Ro­mans conferred certain dignities on vestal virgins, who kept their virgin fruits pure and [...]ngather'd.

But yet the num­ber of those vestals was but small, the dignities and priviledges which they enjoy'd, were onely these, that they in state were ren­der'd equal to married wives.

But, what if I have solemnely protested to live and dye a virgin?

Then you must as solemnly break that oath; such temerarious and imprudent vows are better broke then kept; for none can by an ordinary way perceive, whether they have that special gift of continency, as to be able to live and die unmarri'd; what woman hath so sail'd about the world of her own heart, sounded each creek, survey'd each corner, but that still there may remain much Terra Incognita to her self; besides concupiscences too much restrain'd, will swell the more, had Danae not been kept b'a brazen door, sh' had dy'd a harmless Virgin, not a whore.

Madam, I hope you'le not be guilty of foul perjury, what you have vow'd, perform; ne're be confin'd to one mans humours. Be still as free as your unlimited thoughts.

Out! you lascivious quean; because you're not your self content to be confined to one man, would you disswade her from it? would you have your mistress like your self? as com­mon as the Sea, as Air, and no less light; would you have her let all Night-birds build their nests in her thick Bush? and make her self a Warehouse for all sorts of Commodities? a Publican to re­ceive all Tribute she can get? you'd have as many men (it may be) to gratify (I can't say) satisfy your lust, as the great Turk has wo­men in's Seraglio; you cannot feed upon one sort of flesh, you must be pamper'd with variety.

You'r mistaken Sir in me; I'm not so weary of my life, or so well prepar'd to die, as to desire yet to be press't to death by any man, I'le first be hanged.

Hang y'u Jade, but then you'l choose your gallows. The door is open and invites you to go out, your absence at this time will be to us more acceptable then your presence, for here comes merry Eutrapelus. You'l spoil his sport if you stay here.

I'le make no longer stay then, but yet I am resolv'd to make my Mistriss ( Penelope-like) unravel all by night Eutrapelus does by day. I'le make men know (let 'um do what they can) A woman can persist to hate a man.

ACT. 2. SCENE 2.

YOu'r welcome to me my Eutrapelus, your company makes me happy.

Thanks Noble Euge­nes; but yet I should be swell'd with bigger, and more large con­ceptions of my worth, if I were thought so by the fair Eugeneia; could I but merit one smile of hers, I'de wracke my braines, and cause each ventricle thereof to be in labour for a jest, and they should first conceive, and then bring forth all their conceits.

Sir, your merits sound so loud in each expression of my brothers, that they require that portion of respect which other­wise I should deny you.

Madam, I should be bless't for ever, if their sound should prove harmonious, and make good musick in your ears; or, like the pleasant layes of Orpheus, attract all things and sexes after 'um, and (more peculiarly) your sacred self.

Sir, now you are a Note too high, you'l over­strain your voice in canting forth your own deserts, this is the way to raise a discord between you, and your best friends.

T'has been observ'd that discord makes the sweetest Harmony: but yet because I may not seem a Schismatick in love, I'me for a perfect union, wee'le (if you please) concorporate, wee'le make up a complete Hermaphrodite, and be inseparably glu'd together, and when we're met we'el stick so close, that no­thing but omnipotence it self shall ever Divorce us from our nup­tial pleasures.

Rome was not built (Sir) in a day, and [Page]things of so great consequence as marriage, are not to be resolv'd on in a minute, this ordinance (like the laws o'th' Medes and Per­sians) is unchangeable, what is once done heer and concluded on, can never be unravell'd or undone.

Fear not undoing Madam, for we'el be always do­ing, when we're marri'd; I'le always be in Action; and if this suite prevaile with you, Ile then clap action upon you after action, Ile first arrest you in your bed, and n'ere be nonsuited in Cupids Court, till my endeavours for an heir obtain a happy issue; pray give your verdict (Madam) in this case.

My verdict sir is this, that you are non-suited in the court of my affections, your plea can't any more be heard, you've lost your suite, your Rights and titles, to make me your Tene­ment, are forfeited.

Then, Madam, I'le renew my suite, and make your Brother my advocate in this cause.

Hee'l take Bribes Sir, and therefore (like a common Barreter) he shall obtain no audience, Ile therefore now adjourn Great Cupids Court, and put a period to your amorous sport;

Don't I look simply Eugenes? and seem in as deplorable a state, as a young heir beset with Serjeants? When the large sails of's Debts are ready to sink and over-whelm the small Bark of his poor estate; Marsy as (after Apollo flead him) ne're look't so simply, if he did, Ile be flead; Ile undertake a whole Nights lodging, and hard Jobb-Journey-workes of darkness, would not have cool'd my courage, as this repulse has done; sh' has made my eyes as hollow as her heart.

I took thee not (Eutrapelus) for so notorious a Co­ward, as to be daunted with the first denial,

I wish I had her in so sure a Lock, as to give her a fall, and then, I'de make her belly rise before her.

Take heed that (like Antaeus) she grow not stronger by her fall, and getting up before you, throw you off for ever. But I must crave your absence for a while, each minute I expect my tutour.

Ile be gone then I faith, least if he finde us here [Page]together, he should read us a Juniper or Crabtree lecture;

ACT. 2. SCENE 3.

ODs' so, here he comes.

Well, now I must be thunder-proof, his brows are clouded, and presage a storm, pray God't be but an April shower, as soon ended as begun, or (if he thunder) God send that (like the air) he be the better clear'd from Angers fumes and fiery exhalations: for otherwise, hee'l blast me with his breath; but (now I think on't) he shall find me reading.

I'm glad to see you thus studiously im­ploy'd, your actions in some measure contradict that flying rumour which proclaim'd you remiss and negligent; you do well to de­feat black-mouth'd obloquy, and vindicate your reputation from those aspersions, with which it has been blended and defac't, I pray continue it in its proper lustre, and suffer't not to be ecclips'd by any spots of a debaucht and vitious conversation.

Pray' God he does not change his tune present­ly, this is too sweet to last long.

Though other men may cherish in their bosoms sinister thoughts of all your actions, yet Ile be charitable in my constructions on 'um, But —

Nay 'faith, if he talks of Butting, then 'war Horns; I'me the But he'el shoot at.

Well, I must display my thoughts unto you, I must not, dare not flatter you too much, for such a fawning spaniel is worse then a dumb dog, Ile bark to fright you, although I bite the less.

I'd rather heat a Dog bark, then him speak now.

I am inform'd that you give frequent visits to your Ladies, and though, (as tis confess't) your stipend and allowance be but small, you spend it vainly in their company; tis now no wonder, your complaints of poverty are so loud; for they who keep such costly and expensive mares as women, (like those that kept Sejanus' horse) will soon de­cay in their estates and fortunes.

Sir, you may easily accusea man, though ne're so innocent; I would request you there­fore to produce that man who dares be so malitiously bold and wic­ked, as to accuse me face to face; there's none I know dare do it, [Page]my looks would prove as fatal to him, as a Basiliskes, or as Medu­saes snaky locks to her Beholders who e're he be, he can as soon with open and undazl'd eyes look on the Sun, as upon me, with this false accusation in his mouth; if there are gods above and di­vine justice, his inquinated breath will rot his teeth, his tongue will leap out of his mouth, before he can give birth to so prodigious an untruth as this; besides, you may be pleas'd sir to consider, how tis improbable that I, who can't disburse enough for Necessaries, and have been always pincht by extream want, should gain admit­tance into Ladies company.

Sometimes a golden tongue may be as prevalent as a golden shower of mony; you have perhaps some winning complements, and they will pass more currant with yong Ladies then the coin of some Gallants, whose heads are empty, though their pockets full.

You can't expect that they should be Great Wits, who have small purses, they usual­ly sympathize together, Wit is expensive, it must be dieted with delicaties, it must be suckl'd with the richest wines, or else it will grow flat and dull.

I don't like these principles in you, I now suspect you more then ever, and be assur'd, my eye shall be always over you: I'le make the friends I have as so many pro­spectives, to take a perfect view of your deportment, and as I am inform'd, I'le act.

I hope then your friends will look th'rough the wrong end o'th' Prospective, and all my faults will seem but Peccadilios and Venial slips. But here comes Pege.

ACT. 2. SCENE 4.

WHat? poor still, Eugenes? are not thy fathers coffers open yet? Ha'st not with th' herb Lunaria pickt his locks? Does he (like Nero) still delight to wallow on his flloores cover'd, and (as 'twere) pav'd with money? wont he allow thy pockets a guard of tutelar angels to keep the devil out?

Not one; the devil has so long possess't 'um, hee'l never be cast out, but by th' omnipotent aid of sacred Gold, of which I'm destitute: I dare not go to Church for fear of being en­counter'd by a Brief, and if I am admitted into company unknown [Page]to me, my first complement is this, Prithee lend me six pence: in summe, my head's as full of care for money, as my pocket's empty of it. Let's put our heads together, and by th' conjunction of our Brains beget a plot, let us endeavour to undermine my father.

Is that your last refuge then? Ha' you no books to sell? can't you live by your learning?

No faith, not one, that's worth the selling, necessity forc'd me to look gold in my Di­ctionary as I us'd to do Latine, and I chose rather to make it yield me mony, then onely give me good words; my Greek Lexicon I parted with for the procuring of one Greek word call'd Krusos (Gold:) Blind Homer, because he was a poor Poet, and brought me nothing, I turn'd out of doors for a small bribe of twelve pence, and as the Song goes.

My Ovids Metamorphosis is Metamorphos'd into silver, and of my Grammar, which should teach me to make true Latine, I have made true and lawful money. My Metaphysicks are abstracted from my study, and 'tis no matter, because they do abitract (all they treat of) from matter; my Astronomy books are all expos'd to sale, for liquor, onely to make experiment of the Earth's motion when my Brains (like my blood) perform their circulation: and now I am so good a Philosopher as to carry all I have about me, and my sole study is how to get more.

I'm big with plot, of which when I am once delivered, I question not but you will be delivered from your poverty for a time, you'l get a truce with it.

Let's hear't I pri'thee.

Thus you must steer your course, step to a Book-sellers, and give him this angel,

which I'le lend you, for the use of (the many-languag'd Bibles late­ly publisht) for a week, their price is 12 pound, when you have once got 'um in your study, invite your father to your chamber, show him your Library, and tell him you are 12 l. out of purse for those large volumes.

But Pege, my shelves which heretofore were cramm'd like Capons, are now empty, I've sold almost all my books.

Ile lend thee as many bookes of mine as shall fill up their room.

Well thought of my politick Head-piece, my Matchiavel, my Richlieu, my Mazarine,

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Unto what sordid and ignoble shift do parents put their children? when they preferre their pelf before 'um, and love it more; they won't allow 'um one small creek of all their wealth to sail in; and therefore (after their long wisht for death) they sail top and top Gallant in the large Ocean of their wealth, till they make Shipwrack of their fortunes, and split against that dange­rous rock of Prodigality; they'l sput out whole cellars of wine, as fast as their old parents could swallow and concoct their gains got by extortoin, or any indirect unlawful means; they won't be-Tantaliz'd; they'l drink their liquour when 'tis at their nose; they'l make their golden apples (like those of Sodom) molter away if they can come to touch 'um; and open all their Locks of golden water so often, till they are quite exhausted. But what's the mat­ter with Aphobos? he comes thus puffing and sweating.

ACT. 2. SCENE 5.

O Pege, I'm undone!

Why, what's the matter?

The matter! why, Ile tell thee, with some others of my acquaintance I've been to night upon the watch.

How upon the watch? I thought you had rather been a peace breaker, then a keeper of the peace.

You'r i'th right; for when I say, we were upon the watch, I mean, we fell upon 'um and beat 'um roundly: and whilest we were deeply engag'd i'th' skirmish, I, that I might bestir my self the nimbler, threw of my gown, and being at length overpower'd, by a fresh supply of their Assistants, I was forc'd to leave my gown behind me, and think a pair of heels worth two pair of hands; the damned rogues persued me closer then my other company, and ob­serving me to scale our Colledge walls, this morning brought my gown to th' president, and hee's resolv'd to make a diligent search after the owner; thou hast (I hear) two gowns, I pri'thee lend me one, and I will ever style thee my grand Deliverer and Protector; fetch it quickly for fear he should surprize me, thus unarm'd and, unprovided.

Ile out, and fetch one for you.

Under what dismal and unfortunate planet was I born? that when (in imitation of the Planets) I wander'd up and down, from sign to sign, from house to house, all my irregular motions should be so perfectly discover'd: one of the watchman, that saw me come from Anaiskuntiaes house, was (as I think) a Black-smith; but yet I hope this Vulcan, will not divulge't abroad, that I, like Mars, was in conjunction with my Venus; if he do's, Ile blame him, and make him a right Vulcan; Ile give him a worse fall, then Jove gave that other Vulcan, whom (as Poets tell us) he flung from heaven to earth. But I wish this Pege were come with's gown, I think though I hear him coming.

You Rogue you, put it on quickly; the President hast call'd a congregation of Fellows, and 's a searching all the stu­dents chambers, to finde which of 'um tis has shed his skin; they'l instantly be here.

I'le on with 't then.

'Tis well tis on, for here they're all.

ACT. 2. SCENE 6.

WHat skabby sheep is't that has dropt this rotten Fleece? who e're he be, he must be taken notice of left he spoil the whole flock: do you know this gown, Aphobos?

A'n't please you sir, I never saw't before; and

if I could help it, I would nere see't again.

What's that you mumble to your self, you would not do?

I said Sir, that I ne're saw't before, and if I had, I would not conceal the owner.

What say you Pege? do you know't?

Not I sir, I never thought so torn a gown as this worth taking notice of: it seems to have been stoln out of a Beggars War­drobe.

The Watchmen took it up i'th street, and brought it to me, assuring me that it was a young Scholar's of our Colledge.

The watch take it up? tis not worth taking up i'th high away; but if we knew the owner, we'd take him down to th' butterie, and give him due correction.

Under correction sir, if you're for the butteries with me, Ile lie as close as Diogenes in Dolio, I'le creep in at the Bung-hole before I'le mount a Barrel, and have my hole bung'd; [Page]if they catch me now, I must expect to be whipt like a brewers horse.

What's that you mutter, sir?

I say sir, if 't be mine I shall desire no more favour then to be whipt like a brewers horse.

Certainly, I've seen this robe worn by some of our Undergraduates, I've seen't on some body's back, that belongs to our Colledge.

I had better (like Hercules) have worn the Centaures poison'd coat, then have it prov'd, that I e're wore it: if it be known this robe was mine, they'l make me wear a scarlet robe; they'l dye my skin in my own blood, and mangle it as bad, as that gown is torn.

Sure Aphobos you're a conjuring, you make such motions with your lips, and yet speak not a word that can be heard; but Aphobos, I won't say absolutely 'tis your gown, but I am confident, I've seen you wear it.

Sir you'le as difficultly make it sit me, as Mercury's garment did the Moor, who was always either waxing or waning, and so the garment was either too little or too big.

You're something like the Moon, your self, you are as pale (with fear) as she is; and wee'l try whether 'twill sit you or no, come put off that gown you wear.

I had rather put you off with an excuse, if I had a good one.

What is't you say?

I say sir, I had rather put it off then not.

Off with't then, and put on this.

It fits him, as if it were his own.

A pox take you, you have fitted me with a witness.

Aphobos, This gown was made for you.

I thank my good wit for't, I have hit upon a pretty excuse now.

What say you sir?

I say sir, that I have no excuse for my self, and must in­geniously confess that once it was my gown, but having another, and urg'd by want of money, I sold it to one of another Colledge, who since has left the Colledge, and (as I conceive) sold it ano­ther, and that other may have left it where 'twas found.

What a brave subtle rogue 'tis; faith, this excuse will stand him in noble stead; 'twill hold water, and keep him from sinking.

What witness can you produce you sold it to that party?

'S'lid I hope that the rogue Pege will be true to me if I cite him.

Who d'you say?

I commend thee for thy wit, Boy; I'le rescue thee now.

Can you witness this Pege?

Yes sir.

This will be try'd (Sir) presently, let one of us exa­mine Pege apart, another, Aphobus, for how many shillings he sold it.

I have the price, Sir, at my fingers ends.

I know his meaning; I must say as many shillings as he has fingers.

Whisper softly, and tell me Aphobos.

I had ten shillings for't sir.

What say you, Pege?

He sold it for an Angel sir.

O my good Angel; well said.

They both concurre, sir, in the same price don't, they?

Yes, they do sir.

Well, Gentlemen, wee'l mak a further search when time permits us; I have urgent occa­sions call me away, let us depart.

Now, my Boy, thou'rt out of gunshot; thou'rt excellent at coining excuses i'th' mintage of thy brain, and by stamping 'um with the counterfeit impress of truth; knowst how to make 'um pass for currant; thou canst hammer out a lie in the forge of thy brain (the best that ever I knew) thou hast a good extempore Wit that way.

I had need then have had my wits a­bout me, for had I been once i'th' Butteries, they'd have their rods about me. But Pege, let us, for joy that I'm escap'd, go to th' three Tuns, and drink a pint of wine, and laugh away our cares.

Come away Boy.

SCENE 1.

I Thank my stars I have recruited my decay'd Libra­ry, and I hope that it will recruit my empty pockets: Twelve pounds! Tis a sum my pockets were never before guilty of, and had not been so now, had not my father prov'd a golden [Page]Ass; now me thinkes I could venture t'other fit of my angry unckle, to see my Morphe; What care I though he frowns, so she but smiles; let him show himself a fierce and angry Mars, so shee'l but prove a smiling Venus; If he thunders, shee's my Daphne, my Lawrel, that can protect me from being thunderstruck; I'le never prove a coward in this my Amorous War; And though my unckle should discharge whole volleys of peircing words against me, he could not change my countenance with pale-fac'd fear, much less my resolutions; but I think I see Anaiskuntia coming.

Pri'thee sweet heart let me detain you a little, how does your Mi­stress, the fair and vertuous Morphe? Is she so much at leasure, as to vouchsafe me a small conference with her; I should be very proud if I could merit the noble title of her servant.

Sir, I presume that she is ne're so much imploy'd, but your company may make her put a period to all her other business.

Now thou transport'st me into a pleasant extasie of joy; thou makest me be all ear, whilst you distil these words which so much savour of blandishment and sweet delights; now I'm as light as Air, and am resolv'd to make all troubles strangers to my breast.

I can't, sir, but admire this your immoveable and un­daunted spirit, that you can (like the Weather) sing in tempests, and those so great ones, which your unckle rais'd, after he heard you did frequent my Mistriss's, house.

Why Anaiskun­tia? Has fame with her swift pinions divulg'd it thus far?

Tis as I tell you sir.

Let me tell thee then Anaiskuntia, that though wave after wave of misery should fall upon me, by those storms my unckle raises; though all adversi­tie's most blustring winds should be united and conspire against me, like AEolus, I'de quell 'um all; or if I could not, I'de laugh at 'um, and dare 'um to do their worst.

I see there's something i'th' wind now, and that he loves my mistress.

They should not put an end unto my voyage, th' at­tractive and magnetick vertue of her beauty's so strong and po­tent; by her as by my Polar Star, I'le so direct my course, that though I were invelop'd with Nights black sable mantle, I'd safe­ly stear my course, till my designs arrive to her as to their wisht for Haven.

Sir, you have now render'd me yours, more then ever; before, I entertain'd but low and abject thoughts of your deserts, now, on the contrary, I am become a great adorer of your worth, and promise you my best assistance, towards the purchase of your desired ends, what e're they be.

Thanks for thy love my Anaiskuntia, Here's a small gratuity, as an acknowledgement that I think my self

much obliged to thee for it, and, if occasion be, I'le make experiment and tryal of it; but is not this your Mistress, the fair Morphe? I think it is: assist me now you Muses.

ACT. 3. SCENE 2.

WHat? are you here Eugenes? I thought you had been barricado'd up in your study, cloysterd up like a Monk, and condemn'd to a twelve months penance by your unckle, to expiate that crime you committed lately in giving me a visit.

Madam, I am confin'd I must confess, but it is onely to your self; I am your vassal, and not a little ambiti­ous to do you any service, that is within the Sphere of my small power: I am not yet, and never will be cloyster'd up, or lead a Monkish life: I am resolv'd (if possible) to enter the sacred bonds of Marriage.

What? then will you be clogg'd to a silly woman? that's the worst sort of confinement, and I believe won't prove agreeable to your nature.

Madam, I'me now a Captive, and am desirous that my thoughts may have the benefit of a Goal-delivery.

How? a Captive Eugenes?

I'me your Captive, Madam, and shall never think my self at liberty, till you binde me i'th' fetters of your arms; that bondage to me will seem liberty.

You speak Riddles, and Mysteries, Eugenes, which are beyond the Sphere of my low capacity; I want an in­terpreter.

We women are such silly Asses, we don't know when we're well offer'd; we won't understand what's good for us, until its too late: any one that is not (like an Ass) void of all Reason, may know that you're the mark he shoots at, and that, if he might, hee'd stick his Arrow in the middle of you.

You sawcy slut, be silent, we must not take your salfe inter pretations on mens words.

What modesty would have forc'd me fondly to con­ceal, she has reveal'd unto you: I'me glad I had so eloquent a speaker to express my vast affections to you: Sh'has made an ex­cellent Commentary on my words.

Truely, Sir, her Commentary seems obscurer to me, then the Text on which she made it.

Then Sir, go to your Application, and (as an Application ought to be) let it be plain and practical.

Madam, I'le now no longer use vain Circumlocutions: I'le not be alwaies conversant about those outward circumstances, of that action Marriage, called Comple­ments; I'le take the shortest Cut, and tell you plainly, that I'me so much enamour'd both to the beauty of your Minde and Body, that I must utterly despair of any happiness, unless you'l please to perfect and compleat my wishes in yielding your consent to Mar­riage.

Now, Sir, you speak (Soldier like) plainly and boldly: I'le warrant you a special Striker in Cupids Camp.

Though, Sir, I am so much a woman, as that I can't conceal those high respects I have reserved for you, yet I'de not have you think, they're prevalent enough to terminate in Nuptial Love; I shall desire you therefore to desist from importuning me with such vain motions.

Vain motions! I should think 'um good motions, were they directed to me, as to their pro­per Center; but we women forsooth, are all for Circular moti­ons: first we will, and then we won't,

Well, Madam, your repulse has kept me off for a time, but it will make me come on again a fresh, with doubled vi­gour: All happiness dwell with you.

Come, Anaiskuntia, Let us go dispatch the business I spake t' you of.

Madam, I'le wait upon you.

ACT. 3. SCENE 3.

I Think I was born to succour and relieve distressed persons: Aphobos, had it not been for me, [Page]had been severly punish't; and young Eugenes would have been in as poor a condition, as a wandring Pilgrim: His pockets would have been sufficient Arguments to prove a Vacuum in Nature: I'me glad that I can be so instrumental to my friends; tis no small satisfaction to me. But here comes Eugenes, I believe, with his heart as light, as his pockets are heavy. What hath my plot thriv'd Eugenes?

Thriv'd! Thou art fit to be Privy Councellor to a King, my Boy; thou hast so many winding Labyrinths in thy brain, that none will ever track thy grand designs: Joves secrets may as easily be discovered, as thine: Omnipotence it self would be fore puzled to dive into the depths of all thy stratagems.

Well, I'me glad I've pleasurd you, and if it lye within the Sphere of my weak power to help you, you may command me. But no more of this; here comes Eutrapelus, he'le make us merry after our plotting.

ACT. 3. SCENE 4.

HOw is't Gentlemen? Jovial, and blith?

How can we be otherwise in your com­pany, Eutrapelus; you are the Genius of the place in which you are, and inspire your company with a spirit of mirth: Your presence (like the Suns) clears us from Melancholy's dismal clouds: you banish Grief (that Traytor to all mirth) from our breasts: you calm the rugged waters of adverse Fortune, and make their surface smooth and even: in short, you are the soul o'th' Company, and animate us with your lively presence.

I could wish, Eugenes, that I might (as it were) ani­mate, and infuse a soul into your sister, by the Act of Propagation.

Fear not, my Eutrapelus, but that thou (like her soul) shalt dwel within her: thou shalt take up the best part in her bo­dy, for thy lodging.

I could dwell there willingly, all my life: I'se swear shee's a Palace for a King to dwell in: shee's such good meat, that, were shee set before a King, hee'd have no taster; hee'd venture on her first himself.

Pri'thee Eutrapelus don't talk off these enamell'd bubbles, these painted pieces of clay call'd women; who, were they not over curiously expensive on themselves, they would resemble that mishapen clay ( Prometheus us'd) before it was inform'd and ani­mated; they have no beauty but what we please either out of poetry'or complement to give 'um, these dim Cynthiaes would be very obscure if they borrow'd not that light they have from the Sun of mens favour.

O Pege, do not say they have no beauty, tis high trea­son, for I have a Lady in chase; of that Royal beauty, that in her cheekes the White and Red Roses of York and Lancaster, and Li­lies of France are combin'd, I prithee then let not thy sharp and thorny words be felt among these Roses.

Suppose Eutrapelus we should be so civil, and ingenuous as to grant them beautiful, yet we may by experience see, that their beauty is like a much desired banquet, which is no sooner tasted, but its delicious luxury is swallow'd up by oblivion: besides, there's no conformation of linements, no composition of features, no sim­metry of parts so well compacted in a woman, but a judicious eye may perceive some imperfection: fair Helena when in a Looking­glass she saw her own deformity, was forc'd to weep: pale Cynthia has her Spots, and Venus her Moles and Warts.

Because fair Ladies have their spots

Will set 'um off with the more glorious Lustre; But here comes Aphobos smiling. What makes you look so merrily about the guils Aphobos? You are very pleasant me thinks.

ACT. 4. SCENE. 5.

I Have had a miraculous deliverance lately, and have rea­son to rejoyce at it, I can't but smile how I cheated the President with Pege's gown.

T'was well thou scapedst his clutches, for hadst thou own'd the gown, he would have made thee ride (like Bacchus) on a barrel, and made you show your fat cheeks; hee'd have made you a Montelions dial, and look't on your backside, what a Clock it was when your gown was found, [Page]and (like the Sun on a Dial) hee'd have dwelt upon't a whole day, and soundly heated it.

But I thank my good fortune, my actions did not come so much to light, and shine so clear, as to let him look what 'twas a Clock in my Postern Dial.

I beleeve had you been taken Aphobos, your clock would have struck above once an hour; the President would have laid about him couragiously; hee'd have struck you every minute, and made use of his time.

Yet he could not have much time to torture me; for he could not have taken time by the fore­lock whilst he was on my backside; time's bald behind.

I, but (like Musicians) he might have kept time with his hands.

That would have been very unpleasant Mu­sick to my senses; 'twould have made me squeek like the small strings of a Treble Viol.

Eutrapelus, if you intend to see my sister, retire quickly, lest she be gone abroad upon a vi­sit; my business calls me away.

I'le use the greatest speed I can to meet with her.

If you go to your wenches, I'l to my study; I shall at last reap the greatest benefie.

ACT. 3. SCENE 6.

I'M glad they're gone, for here's my Anaiskuntia; how does my dearest soul?

Take heed sir, you'l loose presently your sense in this great crowd of words.

Where's the cream o'th' jeast there?

It lies in the milky way betwixt those pleasant fontinels, your breasts.

What? Then your turn'd child? and must be suckl'd with breast-milk?

I could hang upon those snowy Alpes to eternity: if those were the two topt Parnassus, Poets speak off, I'de turn a drol­ling [Page]Poet, and court thee in Rhym that I might lie and sleep there.

Come, let me hear how you'd Rhym?

Well Aphobos. I'm in hast now, and must be gone; but I'le assure you, that if ever I marry any, your are the man de­signed by me.

I've hopes enough now to enjoy her: well, I'le go and contrive how to effect this business with secresie and security.

SCENE I.

TIs true, I once resolved to conceal yong Eugenes's ram­bles from his Unckle, but now they are so frequently Eccho'd and nois'd abroad, I cannot, dare not do it: should I cloud 'um in obscurity for a time, they would (like thunder-bolts too long Imprison'd in a cloud) break forth with more impetuous vio­lence; I therefore am resolv'd t'unload my breast, and make old Eugenes bear his share o'th' news of's Nephews vitiousness: and here he comes most opportunely for it:

Why Philos? What vices has Fame of late proclaim'd him guilty of.

Before, she onely in general declar'd him a notorious Rambler, but now descends to particulars, and dilates her self more largely on his actions; she reports that hee's a continual vi­siter of Morphe, who, though a Gentlewoman, yet of mean fortunes; besides, her maid is noted for a light and wanton slut, she is a com­mon Hackney; and may be hir'd at the same rate as Hackney Horses are; Twelve pence a side makes her y [...]ur own: for that price a man may up, and ride her; She (like the Roman Curti­zan [Page] Sempronia) If men refuse to Court her, will not abstain from Courting them: shee's somewhat fair indeed; but though this beau­tiful Cyren have a womans face, shee ends i'th Serpents Tail; stings to the purpose. Though this unsatiable Harpy has a Vir­gins face, yet has she cruel Talons too under her wings: shee's one, whom neither Argus with his hundred eyes, nor brazen walls, nor the most vigilant Guards, can e [...]re secure from her inconti­nency: she tricks her self up with such variety of gauderies, as if she expos'd her body as a bait to bring the devil to her lure, and tempt the very Tempter to embrace her.

My blood is curdl'd at this dismal news; the Rascal will be here presently, to fetch some Books I promis'd to lend him: me thinks he makes a long and tedious stay. O, here he comes.

ACT. 4. SCENE 3.

I've brought your Brother, Sir.

I thank you Sir; but yet could wish his coming might be welcom'd with better news: I shall disturb, and discompose his thoughts with a Narration of his sons debaucheries.

Speak quickly, Brother, lest by your too long silence, I be induc'd to think his vices are beyond expression, and fancy him a worse Monster, then you'l (it may be) represent him to me: I'me already perswaded, that he's a burden to the earth he treads on: Wracks, I believe, and Halters cannot extort more from him, then's guilty Conscience; he being conscious to him­self, that were his close breast glaz'd and pellucid, (according un­to Momuses desire) twould be a poor and idle sin, of which it had not been a Receptacle. He looks like one surpriz'd in a shameful act of Lust, or Theft: he knows not what to say, or think, or do: his Spirits huddle consusedly together, and would go somewhither, but know not where; do something, but they know not what: were he to be arraigned before a Judge, his countenance would prove his Executioner, and hang him. O! that I should e're give give birth to so Prodigious a Rogue, who's forfeited so far to vice, as that no vertue can redeem him; his heart, when tis be­sieged by a temptation, though ne're so small, (like Rome when t'was besieg'd) is alwaies taken.

Sure, Sir, I could never be such a Monster as you re­present me, unless some of your vices were entail'd upon me; be­cause you (by uncharitableness) have forgot you are my father, I must forget that I'me your son, and speak my minde more plainly.

Nay, now I see he's arriv'd to the height of wick­edness: he that forgets his duty to a father, will not start back from the commission of the most horrid crime: he'l swallow smal­ler Gnats, that does not boggle at a greater matter: his nature's so inur'd to wickedness, that (like poisons to some bodies which are accustom'd to 'um) it does become his food and nourishment.

I beseech you, Brother, send for his Tutor, that we may all consu [...]t how to restrain his wickedness.

Let me intreat you, Philos, to accept of the trouble of fetching Demosthenes; his chamber is not far: desire him to vouchsafe us his presence here.

I shall be proud to serve you, Sir.

But when I'me out, I'le come no more.

Me thinks, Sir, that the sense of your vices should make you tap your eyes, and drop a tear or two, which (as Mercury water does a Rock) might dissolve your hard, your rocky heart, into a penitent confession of your faults:

Tis very true, Brother; the villain is hardned in's wickedness; he assumes confidence from his crimes, and (like your common prostitutes) sinning's become his trade, hee's not a­sham'd to glory of his shame, but his Tutour is come now, he shall hear all, I made bold to trouble you Demosthenes; here's a Pupil of yours has miscarry'd, and I fear, lost for ever.

ACT. 4. SCENE 4.

LOst for ever? I'm almost lost in admiration at this fatal news; I pray deliver me of that Timpany of ex­pectation to hear his vices, with which I'm big.

He has commenc'd an acquaintance with that beggar­ly gentlewoman call'd Morphe, who though she has a little skindeep beauty, yet shee's desperately poor and indigent, her beauties co­lours, [Page]like those in the Rainbow, paesage a barrenness of Rain; no golden showres can come from her; she may (it may be) like the Sun in the warm Summer, guild and refresh him with some few golden rayes, but they're so few and small, that in the Winter of adversity, they'le all be spent and quite exhausted; her estate (I fear) like Tholosanus's gold, will ruine and undo those that enjoy it; tis too small to last long.

I thought yong Eugenes, I had sufficiently Catechis'd you about these idle courses, will you never wear your virile gown, and be a man? Is this a fit qualification for a student in Philosophy, to be a visitant of wenches? If you would exercise your court­ship, do it on that excellent Lady, Philosophy? she is not coy, but with expanded hands, and open arms will entertain you: her dis­courses are not (like other Lady's) onely frothy and pleasing, but profitable too; she's a fit object for your love.

Sir, your so tender, and father-like expressions have melted my before congealed senses into tears,

which all their Winter storms of taunting words, would but have made the harder, but yet (to your and my own grief) I plainly must acknowledge that I respect, and highly honor, and (which is more) entirely love that exquisite piece of beauty, Morphe; in whom nature has out-work't her self, and far transcended her own Idea's; she can't be paralle'ld by any art, much less by nature: shee'd baffle Painters to decypher her exactly, as bad as Agues puzle Doctors; and you must know, that your restraining me from her company will prove as fatal to me, as letting blood does usually to those that are affected with th' small pox, or as th' small pox to a fair face: I love her, and though I loose my fortune, nay, my life for't, I will have her.

Consider, Eugenes, that Cupid's blinde, and be not so imprudent as to follow a blinde guide. Show your self a Phi­losopher: and get the mastery over that fond Pastion, Love.

Whip that fond Boy, Cupid, and that will make him, like a little child, run away from you: then indeed, he'le take's wings, and be gone.

Sir, he is arm'd with arrows, and for each blow, he'l wou [...]d me to the heart, as he has done already.

Well, Sir, if you won't hearken to your Tu­tors safe advice, know, that before this company, I declare you disinherited, and leave you heir to no more then twelve pence of my estate: and so farewel.

And that I may be no small assistant in reclaiming you from your lewd courses, I'le command your chamber door key to be brought to me, your door to be double lock't: your chamber shall serve you both for Banqueting house, and Bog-house; Par­lour, and Privy-house. You shall be fed like a Caged Bird: your victuals shall be given you through Grates, and thus I'le leave you: come let us go Demosthenes.

ACT. 4. SCENE 5.

WEll, Madam, be advis'd by me, ne're marry if you're wise: these men (when once marri'd) are alwaies licking their wives lips, and by too frequent breathing on those Red Roses, make 'um at last as blew as their own noses in a winter morning. Consider, That for a few drams of Bestial plea­sure, you must be wrack't to a confession that you have been at your sport, by the untollerable Pangs of Child-bed: your body, will once in nine months, be unjoynted, after you have been glu'd unto a man: these men (like Tinkers) will stop up one Hole in us, but make three for't, by weakning our bodies: they'l go a­broad and drink o'th best, and vex their wives at home, till they are drunk with their own tears. We women are the ships in which men sail i'th Ocean of this world; they'l leap into us wis­lingly at first, and come aboard, but when we leak, by reason of th'infirmities of age, they'l let us sink and perish, and leap as fast out of us the're trust, 'um Mistriss.

You wan't my brother again to rattle you for these in­vectives against marriage, pray hold your tongue.

Well Madam, I am silent, and tis high time, for Eutra­pelus is coming.

I hope now noble Madam, I have a lience to plead a­gain [Page]gain in Cupids Count, which lately you adjourn'd: 'tis not the long vacation yet; let me request you therefore Madam to end my suit▪ let it not last as long, as Law suites do in Chancery; one word of yours, whereby I may be well assur'd of your affection, will set me out of miseries reach, I shall be more invulnerable then Achilles, for he was wounded in the heel; but I shall be arm'd Cap a Pee a­gainst all danger with one word of encouragement from you.

What power I have over my self, I willingly resign to you Eutrapelus, but yet there wants the main wheele to put your designs in motion, I mean my fathers consent; and he has resolv'd to keep me in my Virgin state these two years: How shall I ex­tricate my self from these great difficulties?

Go but along with me and I'le secure you: I'l tell you what to do.

Well, I'l commit my self unto your trust.

ACT. 4. SCENE 6.

COme my Anaiskuntia, when shall we make a conjunction Copulative? What will't always be nibbling at my fleshly Bait, and never take it in?

Your hook appears too much, Sir, to make me tast the Bait; I'm afraid you come upon the catch, onely to try whether I'le bite or no; and if I do, you'l onely tear open my mouth, make it bleed, and then leave me.

I scarce know how to trust you, you men are so ac­custom'd to make your thoughts strangers unto your words.

Not how to trust me! Why, I'le give thee earnest my girle, I'le make the cock sure.

Come, stay your stomach a little with that kiss, you'l fall too the more heartily presently for it: as soon as the Priest has coupl'd us, do your best and worst.

Well, my Anaiskuntia, accompany me to my chamber, and wee'l contrive the business there, there's another couple will be Married with us.

SCENE 1.

WHat would they have made me live immur'd, and cag'd up in my chamber? This was (like a Nun that has had a Clap) to be buried alive in a Coffin of a larger Volume, must I have walkt up and down in my Chamber like a pale Ghost, and (as't were be Magick Charmes) be limited and confin'd to walk no further? I'le make'um know, that it would prove as easie, to manacle Omnipotence, or confine a Spirit, as me; although I could not, like Dadalus, make me wings, and take my flight out of my cage, yet I could file a Bar, and break my passage out o'th' chamber window; they should not have left me an eye of light, had they intended to secure my person, I can creep th'rough a window, eat Iron Bars thorough like Aquafortis, break th'rough the gaping jaws of danger, for to obtain the sight of my dear Morphe; had they dispersed serpents teeth, and sown 'um in my way, and ( Cadnius like) made them to spring up armed men, I'de have encounter'd with 'um all; my breast already is too much possess't with Love, to harbour slavish fear; I'le presently post to Morphe, and give her the relation of all my travels, but whilst I talk, methinks I see my glorious Sun appear, she comes and shines upon me sweetly, her countenance wears a lovely smile; What makes the fairest Morphe so neatly dress her countenance into a smile? May I presume to know the cause?

ACT. 5. SCENE 2.

TWo things there were that mov'd my laughter, first to see you, who (as I heard) were kept close personer in your Chamber, secondly, that I have lost (the pretious jewel) my maid, some body has robb'd me of her, much good may't do [Page]'um.

Madam, you have sufficient grounds of smiling, but as smiling is but a Prologue to perfect laughter, so coutship is to Marriage joyes, let me desire you therefore to make me leave off all vain Prologues, and fall to th' sport, and let me act Marriag'es merry Comedy with you; Ladies act Plays sometimes as well as men.

But I'm afraid (my dearst Eugenes,) (for now that Epithete thou doest deserve) our Comedy will prove a Tra­gedy to you, 'ith' Epilogue:

Never fear it Madam, but if it do, my straines (like those in Tragedies) shall be high and lofty, I'le not cringe to the best of 'um all, but talk as high as they, till at last, it prove but a Tragi Comedy at most, beginning in sadness and ending in mirth.

Well, my Eugenes, thy constancy has overcome me, I'm now your own; but who shall marry us?

Why thus, my unckle you know is a Clergy-man, wee'l go to him in a disguise, and make him marry us, then, we'el laugh at him, and vex him as much as he has done us.

ACT. 5. SCENE 3.

DEmost henes, how does your Pupil resent his confine­ment? You hear nothing of s repining at it, do you?

Not a word, but I fear 'twil make him more desperate and resolute, his nature will never brook it.

You are too tender of him Demosthenes, he must be curb'd and bridl'd in, if ever you intend he should be stopt i'th full career of his debauchery.

But sir, some horses the more you curb 'um in, will run the faster.

Sir, he's a rebellious Son, and (like Rebels) must undergo a sharp confinement, before hee'l be reduc'd to 's due obedience.

You say true brother, he must have his wings clipt, and be coop'd up, if ever you expect to came him.

Who is't you'd speak with good people? What's your pleasure?

We come an't pleaze your Vorship to be Morried, I con love this fine lass, and zhe provesses, zhe con do zo to me; wil you zir, be pleas'd to yoke us together.

These are right countrey Bump-kins: they talk in a broad language, much like the Dorick Dialect in Greek: they don't clip their words; but give large London measure in their talk: enough for money.

What's your name, I pray, honest man?

I am cleped, Sir, Villip Lovelass.

And do you love this lass?

I, by my vaith Sir, do I.

What's your name, fair Maid?

My name is Mary Allcock, an't please your worship.

That's a fit name for a Maid that's to be Married: here's a couple will make a Philip and Mary coyn.

But who have we here?

Come hither Sir, come hither: What have you under your Gown?

A Saddle, an't please you, which I borrow'd to ride out of Town on.

Sirrah, What? must you be riding upon a Flesh Sad­dle? Are these fit courses for a Scholar?

Well, get you to your Chamber,

Tomorrow we'le take a course with you.

But d'y' hear Maiden, can you love this man?

Yes forzooth can I, and none body else.

Tis a pretty Peat, to do the Feat; she heats my marrow: methinks I could be young again, that I might enjoy her.

You'd best marry 'um quickly, Mr. President, I be­lieve they're impatient of delay.

Well Gentlemen, accompany me to our Chappel to th'marrying these people.

ACT. 5. SCENE 4.

THese women are alwaies wilful; she would not put on the clothes I prepared for her; but tis no matter, we were married before they took us: they can't spoil our sport [Page]now: my name too is cut out o'th' Colledge butteries; and I have now no title to the honour of mounting a Barrel: but I won­der my Anaiskuntia states thus long: sure she is drest in her mans apparel by this time.

What, no appearance yet? 'tis strange!

O, now she's come.

I can't endure to wear mens clothes thus, methinks tis ugly to see a woman wear the Breeches.

I wonder whether Eugeneia and Eutrapelus are married yet or no, they should be by this time, or else the Parson made not so quick dispatch with 'um as he did with us; nay, now I conclude they 're married, for here they come.

How like you marriage joys Eutrapelus?

O, they're an Antepast of Heaven: Mahomet I see was no fool, for making his paradice a place for the fruition of Genial pleasures; He knew what it was to be truly happy: But don't our wives look like fine smooth-fac'd Lads in this man-like habit? I wonder Jupiter comes not from Heaven to make one of 'um his Cup-bearer, as he did Ganymed? come, lets sing a little.

ACT. 5. SCENE 5.

WHat? are you all mad, you make such a distur­bance in the Colledge? as for you two Eutrapelus. and Aphobos, we know you for notorious Rogues, but these two pretty young lads, I believe were seduc't by you.

Were you not Sweet-hearts?

Yes Sir, we were led hither by 'um.

Well, go your ways for this time, and come no more into this leud company.

As for your part Aphobos, you were catcht lately with a wench, [Page]and one (who by report) was light enough either for you to bear her, or her to bear you: she's in plain termes a common whore, and not fit company for a Student.

Sir, either give her a better Character, or I'le give her one written in your warmest blood; she is my lawful wife, and he that blemishes her reputation with the smallest scandal, I'le rip him up alive, and sacrifice him to her honour, which ever was un­tainted and immaculate.

The other also was my wife, although invested in a Scholastick habit.

If you are married, you've forfeited your places.

It is confest, we have; nor do we now desire to keep 'um longer: our names are out o'th Butteries, and our persons out of your dominions.

Here's mad doings: but (I believe) my sons too fast for ever getting out to marry.

But tell me true, were those your wives?

They were Sir, and here they are again in their own habit and attire.

I wish you joy then, O my Neece,

are you married too? You'r well provided for in having marri'd Eutrapelus.

Well, 'twas happy that my son was kept close prisoner; although my daughter has broke loose, he, I believe, is far from thoughts of marriage:

Oh! what a sad object do my eyes behold? I'de rather have been depriv'd o'th' light, then e're have seen this sight: How now, sir? How broke you loose, and got that wench?

ACT. 5. SCENE 6.

I Got her, Sir, by my Unckles means.

How, Sirrah! by my means? I never saw her in my life before; and would sooner have seen you both hang'd to­gether: What? D'you make me your Pimp?

Nay, Sir, we're hang'd together so fast, that there's no cutting the rope now. Marriage can't be dissolved until death.

What wicked wretch was't marri'd you?

My Unckle, Sir.

[Page]

Yes, Sir, but you have: I was the Mary Allcock you married.

And I the Philip Lovelass, whom you askt whether I could love this Lass or no, and then married us.

Well, Brother, I see now we're outwitted, and that young people may see more with their eyes in their heads, then old men with their eyes hanging at their girdle. We'le go in now, and seeing they are married, prepare a feast for'um: I have a living at my disposal that I'le bequeath to Aphobos, be­cause he's poor: And as for you, Eugenes, because you have con­triv'd your Plot so well, I declare you my sole Heir: I'le not vex my self in vain.