SIR, I say, and say again, No Matrimony; I'll not be noos'd. Why, I beseech you, Sir, tell me Plainly and fairly, What have I done, that I deserve to be married!

Why, Sauce-box, I, your old Father, was married before you were born.

Ay, Sir; and I thank you, the next thing you did, was, you begot me; the Consequence of which was as follows: As soon as I was born, you sent me to Nurse, where I suckt two years at the dirty Dugs of a foul-feeding Witch, that liv'd in a thatch't Sty upon the neighb'ring Common; as soon as I was big enough, that you might be rid of me, you sent me to a Place call'd a School, to be slash't and box't by a thick-fisted Blockhead, that could not read himself; where I learnt no Letters, nor got no Meat, but such as the old Succubus his Wife bought at a stinking Price, so over-run with Vermin, that it us'd to crawl home after her.

Sirrah, it was the more nourishing, and made such young, idle Whoresons as you fat, fat, you Rogue. I remember the young Dog at twelve years old had a broad, shining, pufft, Bacon-face, like a Cherubim; and now he won't marry.

My next Removal was home again; and then you did not know what to do with me farther, till after Twelve-months Deliberation, out of abundance of Fatherly Affection and Care of your Posterity, you very civilly and fairly turn'd me out of your Doors.

The impudent, termagant, unruly Varlet rebell'd with too much Plenty, and took up Arms against my Concubine. Turn'd you out of my Doors!

Yes, turn'd me out of Doors, Sir.

Had I not reason, Master Hector?

As I had then, so have I now too, Sir, more Manners than to dispute the Pleasure of a Father.

Nay, the Rogue has Breeding, that's the truth on't; the Dog would be a very pretty Fellow, if I could but perswade him to marry.

Turn'd out of Doors as I was, you may remember, Sir, you gave me not [...] Shilling; my Industry and my Vertue was all I had to trust to.

Bless us all! Industry and Vertue, quoth a! Nay, I have a very vertuous Son and Heir of him, that's the truth on't.

Till at last a good Uncle, who now, Peace be with his Soul, sleeps with his Fathers, bestow'd a Portion of Two hundred pounds upon me, with which I took Shipping, and set Sail for the Coast of Fortune.

That is to say, You went to the Wars, to learn the Liberal Arts of Murder, Whoredom, Burning, Ravishing, and a few other necessary Accomplishments for a young Gentleman to set up a Livelihood withal, in this Civil Government, where, Heav'n be prais'd, none of those Ver­tues need grow rusty.

Sir, I hope I have brought you no Dishonour home with me.

Nay, the Scanderbeg-Monkey has not behav'd himself unhand­somly, that's the truth of the Bus'ness; but the Varlet won't marry: the Dog has got Two thousand pound a year left him by an old curmudgeonly moldy Uncle, and I can't perswade him to marry.

Sir, that curmudgeonly moldy Uncle you speak of, was your El­der Brother, and never married in all his Life: He, dying, bequeaths me Two thousand pound a year: You, Sir, the younger Brother, and my ho­noured Father, have been married, and are not able, for ought I can per­ceive, to leave me a bent Ninepence: So, Sir, I wish you a great deal of Health, Long life, and merry as it has been hitherto; but for Marriage, it has thriven so very ill with my Family already, that I am resolved to have nothing to do with it.

Here's a Rogue! Here's a Villain! Why, Sirrah, you have lost all Grace; you have no Duty left; you are a Rebel: I shall see you hang'd, Sirrah. Come, come, let me examine you a little, while I think on't: What Religion are you of?—hah?—

Sir, I hope you took care, after I was born, to see me Christen'd.

Oh Lord! Christen'd! Here's an Atheistical Rogue, thinks he has Religion enough, if he can but call himself a Christian!

Why, Sir, would you have me disown my Baptism?

No, Sirrah: but I would have you own what sort of Christian you are though

What sort, Sir?

Ay, Sir; what sort, Sir.

Why, of the honestest sort.

As if there were not Knaves of all sorts!

Why then, Sir, if that will satisfie you, I am of your sort.

And that, for ought you know, may be of no sort at all.

But, Sir, to make short of the matter, I am of the Religion of my Country, hate Persecution and Penance, love Conformity, which is go­ing to Church once a Month, well enough; resolve to make this transitory Life as pleasant and delightful as I can; and [...]or some sober Reasons best known to my self, resolve never to marry.

Look me in the Face; stand still, and look me in the Face. So; you won't marry?—

No, Sir.

Oh Lord!

But I'll do something that shall be more for your good, and per­haps may please you as well. Knowing Fortune of late has not been alto­geter so good-natur'd as she might have been, and that your Revenues are something anticipated, be pleas'd, Sir, to go home as well satisfi'd as you can, and my Servant shall not fail to meet you at your Lodgings, with a Hundred smiling Smock-fac't Guinea's, within this half-hour: Now who the Devil would marry?

No Body that has half an ounce of Brains in his Noddle: The ungodly good-natur'd Rogue is in the right on't; damnably, damnably in the right on't.

So, here's your Father for you now!

But look you Iack now, little Iack, Two thousand pounds a year! Why thou wilt be a damnable rich Rogue now, if thou dost not marry; though I know thou wilt live bravely and deliciously, eat and drink nobly, have always half a dozen honest, jolly, true-spirited, spritely Friends about thee, and so forth, hah! Th [...]n for Marriage, to speak the truth on't, it is at the best but a chargeable, vexatious, uneasie sort of Life; it ruin'd me, Iack, utterly ruin'd thy poor old Father, Iack. Thou wilt be sure to re­member the Hundred pound, Iackie-boy, hah?

Most punctually, Sir.

Thou shalt always, ever now and then, that is, lend thy old Fa­ther a Hundred pound, or so, upon a good occasion, Iack, after this man­ner, in a Friendly way: You must make much of your old Daddy, Iack: But if thou hast no mind to't, the truth on't is, I would never have thee marry.

Not marry, Sir?

No.

No?

No. A Hundred Pound, Iack, is a pretty little round Sum.

I'll not fail of sending it.

Then, Iack, it will do as well to let thy Man come to me to Harry the Eighth's Head in the Back Street, behind my Lodgings: There's a Cup of smart Racy Canary, Iack, will make an old Fellow's Heart as light as a Feather. Ah, little Iackie-rogue, it Glorisies through the Glass, and the Nits dance about in't like Attoms in the Sun-shine, you young Dog.

Do you intend to Dine there, Sir?

Ay, Man; I have two or three bonny old Tilbury Roysterers, with delicate red Faces, and bald Crowns, that have obliged me to meet [Page 4] 'em there; they helpt me to spend my Estate when I was young, and the Rogues are grateful, and do not forsake me now I am grown poorish and old,—. Almost Twelve a clock, Iack.

I'll be sure to remember, Sir.

And thou wilt never marry!

Never, I hope, Sir.

Ah, you wicked-hearted Rogue, I know what you will do then, that will be worse, though, I think, not much worse neither. Would I were a young Fellow again, but to keep him Company for one Week or a Fortnight. A hundred Guinea's! eeee! Db'ny Iack. You'l remember? See thee agen to morrow, Iack.—Poor Iack! Dainty Canary—and a delicate Black-ey'd Wench at the Bar! Db'uy Iack.

Adieu, Father.— Fourbine.

Did your Honour call?

Take a hundred Guinea's out of the Cabinet, and carry 'em af­ter the Old Gentleman to his Place of Rendezvous. This Father of mine (Heav'n be thanked) is a very ungodly Father▪ He was in his▪ Youth just such another wicked Fellow as his Son Iohn here; but he had no Estate, there I have the better of him: for out of meer Opinion of my Good-husbandry, my Uncle thought fit to disinherit the extravagant Old Gentle­man, and leave all to me. Then he was married, there I had the better of him again; yet he married a Fortune of Ten thou [...]d pound, and befo [...]e I was Seven years old, had broke my Mothers Heart, and spent three parts of her Portion: Afterwards he was pleas'd to retain a certain Familiar Domestick, call'd a House-keeper, which I one day, to shew my Breeding, call'd Whore, and was fairly turn'd a starving for it. Now he has no way to squeeze me out of Contribution, but by taking up his Fatherly Au­thority, and offering to put the Penal Law call'd Marriage in execution. I must e'en get him a Governour, and send him with a Pension into the Country: Ay, it must be so; For, Wedlock, I deny thee; Father, I'll supply thee; and, Pleasure, I will have thee. Who's there?

Oh, Sir, the most fortunate Tidings!

What's the matter?

Captain Courtine, your old Acquaintance, Friend, and Comrade, is just arrived out of the Country, and desires to see you, Sir.

Courtine! Wait on him up, you Dog, with Reverence and Honour.

Dear Beaugard!

Ah, Friend!—from the very tenderest part of my Heart I was just now wishing for thee. Why thou lookst as like a Married-man alrea­dy, with as grave a Fatherly Famelick Counte [...]ance, as ever I saw.

Ay, Beaugard, I am married, that's my Comfort: But you, I [Page 5] hear, have had worse Luck of late; an old Uncle dropt into the Grave, and Two thousand pound a year into your Pocket, Beaugard.

A small Conveniency, Ned, to make my Happiness hereafter a little more of a piece than it has been hitherto, in the Enjoyment of such hearty, sincere, honest Friends, and good-natur'd Fellows, as thou art.

Sincere, honest Friends! Have a care there, Beaugard.—I am, since I saw thee, in a few words, grown an errant Raskal; and for Good­nature, it is the very thing I have solemnly forsworn: no, I am married, Iack, in the Devil's name, I am married.

Married! That is, thou call'st a Woman thou likest by the name of Wife: Wife and t'other thing begin with a Letter. Thou liest with her when thy Appetite calls thee, keepest the Children thou begettest of her Body; allowest her Meat, Drink, and Garments, fit for her Quality, and thy Fortune; and when she grows heavy upon thy Hands, what a' Pox, 'tis but a Separate-maintenance, kiss and part, and there is an end of the Bus'ness.

Alas, Beaugard, thou art utterly mistaken; Heav'n knows it is quite on the contrary: For I am forced to call a Woman I do not like, by the name of Wife; and lie with her, for the most part, with no Appetite at all; must keep the Children that, for ought I know, any Body else may beget of her Body; and for Food and Rayment, by her good will she would have them both Fr [...]sh three times a day: Then for Kiss and part, I may kiss and kiss my Heart out, but the Devil a bit shall I ever get rid of her.

Alas, poor Husband! But art thou really in this miserable Con­dition?

Ten times worse, if possible: By the vertue of Matrimony, and long Cohabitation, we are grown so really One Flesh, that I have no more Inclination to hers, than to eat a piece of my own. Then her Ladiship is so Jealous, that she does me the Honour to make me Stalion-general to the whole Parish, from the Parson's Importance in Paragon, to the Cobler's scolding Wife, that drinks Brandy, and smoaks loathsom Tobacco. In short, Iack, she has so order'd the Bus'ness, that I am half weary of the World, wish all Mankind hang'd, and have not laugh'd these Six months.

Ha, ha, ha!

Why, thou canst laugh, I see, though.

Ay, Ned, I have Two thousand pound per Annum, Ned, old Rents, and well Tenanted; have no Wife, nor ever will have any, Ned; resolve to make my Days of Mortality all Joyful, and Nights Pleasurable, with some dear, lovesom, young, beautiful, kind, generous She, that every Night shall bring me all the Joys of a New Bride, and none of the Vexa­tions of a worn-out, insipid, troublesom, jealous Wife, Wife, Ned.

But where lies this Treasure? Where is there such a Jewel to be found?

Ah, Rogue! Do you despise your own Manna indeed, and long after Quails? Why, thou unconscionable Hobnail, thou Country Cowl­staff, thou absolute Piece of thy own dry'd Dirt, wouldst thou have the Impudence, with that hideous Beard, and grisly Countenance, to make thy [Page 6] Appearance before the Footstool of a Bona Roba that I delight in? For shame get off that Smithfield Horsecoursers Equipage; Appear once more like Courtine the Gay, the Wit [...]y, and Unbounded, with Joy in thy Face, and Love in thy Blood, Money in thy Pockets, and good Cloaths on thy Back; and then I'll try to give thee a Recipe that may purge away those foul Humours Matrimony has bred in thee, and fit thee to rellish the Sins of thy Youth again. Bless us! What a Beard's there? It puts me in mind of the Blazing Star.

Beard, Beaugard! Why, I wear it on purpose, Man; I have wish't it a Furze-bush a thousand times, when I have been kissing my—

Whom?—

Wife.—Let me never live to bury her, if the word Wife does not stick in my Throat.

Then this Peruque! Why, it makes thee shew like the Sign of a Head looking out at a Barbers Window.

No more, no more; all shall be rectified: For, to deal with thee as honestly as a Fellow in my damn'd Condition can do, e'er I resolv'd ab­solutely to hang my self, I thought there might be some Remedy left; and that was this dear Town, and thy dear Friendship: So that, in short, I am very fairly run away; pretended a short Journey to visit a Friend, but came to London; and, if it be possible, will not see Country, Wife, nor Children agen these seven years. Therefore, prethee, for my better En­couragement, tell me a little what Sins are stirring in this Noble Metro­polis, that I may know my Bus'ness the better, and fall to it as fast as I can.

Why, 'faith, Ned, considering the Plot, the Danger of the Times, and some other Obstructions of Trade and Commerce, Iniquity in the general has not lost much Ground. There's Cheating and Hypocri­sie still in the City; Riot and Murder in the Suburbs; Grinning, Lying, Fawning, Flattery, and False-promising at Court; Assignations at Covent­garden Church; Cuckolds, Whores, Pimps, Panders, Bawds, and their Diseases, all over the Town.

But what Choice Spirits, what Extraordinary Rascals may a Man oblige his Curiosity withal?

I'll tell thee: In the first place, we are over-run with a Race of Vermin they call Wits, a Generation of Insects that are always making a Noise, and buzzing about your Ears, concerning Poets, Plays, Lampoons, Libels, Songs, Tunes, Soft Scenes, Love, Ladies, Peruques, and Crevat­strings, Fre [...]ch Conquests, Duels, Religion, Snuff-boxes, Points, Garni­tures, Mill'd Stockings, Foubert's Academy, Politicks, Parliament-Speeches, and every thing else which they do not understand, or would have the World think they did.

And are all these Wits?

Yes, and be hang'd to 'em, these are the Wits.

I never knew one of these Wits in my Life, that did not deserve to be Pillory'd; twenty to one if half of 'em can read, and yet they will venture at Learning as familiarly, as if they had been bred in the Vatican. [Page 7] One of 'em told me one day, he thought Plutarch well done would make the b [...]st English Heroick Poem in the World. Besides, they will rail, cavil, censure, and, what is worst of all, make Jests; the dull Rogues will Jest, though they do it as awkerdly as a Tarpawlin would ride the Great Horse. I hate a pert, dull, Jesting Rogue from the bottom of my Heart.

But above all, the most abominable is your Witty Squire, your young Heir that is very Witty; who having newly been discharg'd from the Discretion of a Governour, and come to keep his own Money, gets into a Cabal of Coxcombs of the Third Form, who will be sure to cry him up for a Fine Person, that he may think all them so.

Oh, your Asses know one anothers Nature exactly, and are always ready to nabble, because it is the certain way to be nabbled again: But above all the rest, what think you of the Atheist?

By this good Light, thou hast prevented me: I have one for thee of that Kind, the most unimitable Varlet, and th [...] most insufferable Stink­ard living; one that has Doubts enow to turn to all Religions, and yet would fain pretend to be of none: In short, a Cheat, that would have you of opinion that he believes neither Heav'n nor Hell, and yet never feels so much as an Ague-sit, but he's afraid of being damn'd.

That must be a very Noble Champion, and certainly an Original.

The Villain has less Sincerity than a Bawd, less Courage than a Hector, less Good-nature than a Hangman, and lest Charity than a Phana­tique; talks of Religion and Church-Worship as familiarly as a little Courtier does of the Maids of Honour; and swears the King deserves to be Chan'd out of the City, for suffering Zealous Fools to build Pauls again, when it would make so proper a Place for a Citadel.

A very worthy Member of a Christian Commonwealth, that is the truth on't.

I am intimately acquainted with him.

I honour you for't, with all my Heart, Sir.

After all, the Rogue has some other little tiny Vices, that are not very ungrateful.

Very probable.

He makes a very good odd Man at Ballum-rancum, or so; that is, when the rest of the Company is coupled, will take care to see there's good Attendance paid; and when we have a mind to make a Ballum of it indeed, there is no Lewdness so scandalous that he will not be very proud to have the Honour to be put upon.

A very necessary Instrument of Damnation, truly.

Besides, to give the Devil his due, he is seldom Impertinent; but, barring his Darling-Topick, Blasphemy, a Companion pleasant enough. Shall I recommend him to thy Service? I'll enter into Bonds of Five hundred pounds, that he teaches thee as good a way to get rid of that Whip and a Bell, call'd thy Wife, as thy Heart would wish sor.

And that is no small Temptation, I assure you.

Sir!

My Child!

A Pimp, for a Guiny, he speaks so gently to him.

Tell her, she has undone me, she has chosen the only way to en­slave me utterly; tell her, my Soul, my Life, my future Happiness, and present Fortune, are only what she'll make'em.

At Seven, Sir.

Most infallibly.

Ay, ay, 'tis so: Now what a damn'd Country-Itch have I, to dive into the Secret! Beaugard, Beaugard, are all things in a readiness? the Husband out of the way, the Family dispos'd of? Come, come, come, no trisling; be free-hearted and friendly.

You are married, Ned, you are married; that's all I have to say: you are married.

Let a Man do a foolish thing once in his Life-time, and he shall always hear of it.—Married, quoth'a! Prethee be patient: I was mar­ried about a Twelvemonth ago, but that's past and forgotten. Come, come, communicare, communicate, if thou art a Friend, communicate.

Not a Tittle. I have Conscience, Ned, Conscience; tho I must confess 'tis not altogether so Gentleman-like a Companion: But what a Scandal would it be upon a Man of my sober Demeanour and Character, to have the unmerciful Tongue of thy Legitimate Spouse roaring against me, for Debauching her Natural Husband!

It has been otherwise, Sir.

Ay, ay, the time has been, Courtine, when thou wert in possession of thy Natural Freedom, and mightest be trusted with a Secret of this dear nature; when I might have open'd this Billet, and shew'd thee this bewitching Name at the bottom: But wo and alas! O Matrimony, Ma­trimony! what a Blot art thou in an honest Fellows Scutcheon!

No more to be said; I'll into the Country again, like any dis­contented Statesman, get drunk every Night with an adjacent School­master, beat my Wife to a downright Housekeeper, get all my Maid­servants every Year with Bastards, till I can command a Seraglio five Miles round my own Palace, and be beholden to no Man of Two thousand pound a year for a Whore, when I want one.

Good words, Ned, good words, let me advise you; none of your Mariage-qualities of Scolding and Railing, now you are got out of the turbulent Element. Come hither, come; but first let us capitulate: Will you promise me, upon your Conjugal Credit, to be very governable, and very civil?

As any made Spaniel, or hang me up for a Cur.

Then this Note, this very Billet, Ned, comes from a Woman, who, when I was strowling very pensively last Sunday to Church, watch't her Opportunity, and poach'd me up for the Service of Satan.

Is she very handsom, Beaugard?

These Country Squires, when they get up to Town, are as ter­magant after a Wench, as a ty'd-up hungry Cur, got loose from Kennel, is after Crusts. Very handsom, said you? Let me see: No, not very handsom neither; but she'll pass, Ned, she'll pass.

Young?

About Eighteen.

Oh Lord!

Her Complexion fair, with a glowing Blush always ready in her Cheeks, that looks as Nature were watching every Opportunity to seize and run away with her.

Oh the Devil, the Devil! This is intolerable.

Her Eyes black, sparkling, spriteful, hot, and piercing.

The very Description of her shoots me through my Liver.

Her Hair of a delicate light Amber-brown, curling in huge Rings, and of a great Quantity.

So.

Her Forehead large, Majestick, and generous.

Very well.

Her Nose neat, and well-fashioned.

Good.

With a delicious, little, pretty, smiling Mouth.

Oh!

Plump, red, blub Lips.

Ah h—

Teeth whiter than so many little Pearls; a bewitching Neck, and tempting, rising, swelling Breasts.

Ah h h h h—

Then such a Proportion, such a Shape, such a Waste—

Hold: Go no lower, if thou lov'st me.

But, by your leave, Friend, I hope to go something lower, if she loves me.

But art thou certain, Beaugard, she is all this thou hast told me? So fair, so tempting, so lovely, so bewitching?

No; for, you must know, I never saw her Face in my Life: But I love my own Pleasure so well, that I'll imagine all this, and ten times more, if it be possible.

Where lives she?

That I know not ne [...]ther; but my Orders are to meet her fairly and squarely this Evening by Seven, at a certain Civil Persons Shop in the Upper Walk, at the New Exchange, where she promises to be very good natur'd, and let me know more of her Mind.

I'll e'en go home, like a miserable Blockhead as I am, to my Lodg­ing, and sleep.

No, Ned: Thou knowest my good Chances have always been luckie to thee: Who can tell but this Lady [...] errant that has seis'd upon my Person, may have a stragling Companion, or so, not unworthy my Friend's.

'Tis impossible.

Not at all; for, to deal heartily with thee in this Business, tho I never saw her Face, or know who she is, yet thus far I am satis [...]ied, she is a Woman very witty, very well bred, of a pleasant Conversation, with a generous Disposition, and, what is better than all, if I am not ex­tremely misinform'd, of Noble Quality, and damnably Rich. Such a one cannot want good, pretty, little, Under-sinners, Ned, that a Man may fool away an Hour or two withal very comfortably.

Why then I'll be a Man again. Wife, avaunt, and come not near my Memory; Impotence attends the very Thoughts of thee. At Seven, you say, this Evening?

Precisely.

And shall I go along with thee, for a small Venture in this Love-Voyage?

With all my Heart.

But how shall we dispose of the burdensom Time, till the happy Minute smile upon us?

With Love's best Friend, and our own honest old Acquaintance, edifying Champagn, Ned; and for good Company, tho it be a Rarity, I'll carry thee to dine with the best I can meet with, where we'll warm our Blood and Thoughts with generous Glasses, and free-hearted Converse, till we forget the World, and think of nothing but Immortal Beauties, and Eternal Loving.

BUt was that thy Father?

Yes, that civil, sober, old Gentleman, Courtine, is my Father: And, to tell thee the truth, as Wicked and as Poor as ever his Son was. I sent him a Cordial of a hundred [...] this Morning, which [Page 11] he will be sure to lose all before to morrow Morning, and not have a Shil­ling to help himself.

Methoughts, as I look'd into the Room, he ratled the Box with a great deal of Grace, and swore half a dozen Rappers very youthfully.

Prithee no more on't, tis an irreverent Theme; and next to Atheism, I hate making merry with the Frailties of my Father.

But then as to the Lady, Beaugard.

'Tis near the Hour appointed, and that's the Shop we meet at; the Mistress of it, Courtine, is a hearty Well-wisher to the Mathematicks, and her Influence, I hope, may have no ill Effect o're my Adventure.

Methinks this Place looks as it were made for Loving: The Lights on each hand of the Walk look stately; and then the Rusling of Silk Petticoats, the Din and the Chatter of the pretty little party-co­lour'd Parrots, that hop and flutter from one side to t'other, puts every Sense upon its proper Office, and sets the Wheels of Nature finely moving.

Would the Lady of my Motion would make haste, and be pun­ctual; the Wheels of my Nature move so fast else, that the Weight will be down before she comes.

Gloves or Ribbands, Sir? Very good Gloves or Ribbands, Choice of fine Essences. Captain Beaugard, shall I fell you nothing to day?

Truly, Mistress Furnish, I am come to lay out a Heart at your Shop this Evening, if my pretty Merchant-Adventurer don't fail to meet me here.

What she that spoil'd your Devotion o' Sunday last, Captain?

Dost thou know her, my little Furnish?

There is a certain Lady in the World, Sir, that has done me the Honour to let me see her at my poor Shop sometimes.

And is she very lovely?

What think you, Sir?

Faith, charitably enough.

I'll swear she is obliged to you.

And I would very fain be obliged to her too, if 'twere possible. Will she be here to night?

Yes marry will she, Captain.

Are you there indeed, my little Picaroon? What, attaque a Man of War of my Burden in the Stern, Pirate!

Lord, how like a Soldier you are pleas'd to express your self now! I warrant you, to carry on the Metaphor, you have forty more mer­ry-things to say to me upon this Occasion; as, plying your Chase-guns, laying your self athwart my Harser, boarding me upon the Forecastle, clapping all under Hatches, carrying of the Prize to the next Port of Se­curity, and there rummaging and risling her. Alas, poor Captain!

Poor, Madam! He has Two thousand a year, and nothing but an old Father to provide for.

Sir, is this fine, sober, brown-bearded Gentleman to be your Steward, he understands your Affairs so well already?

The truth on't is, Madam, he does wait for an Office under me, and may in time, if he behave himself handsomly, come to Preferment.

This I have got by my Beard already. If she should but know me now.

Well, Madam, are your Commands ready? May I know the Task I am to undertake, before I lay claim to the Happiness of seeing that handsom, homely, fair, black, young, ancient, tempting or frightful Face, which you conceal so maliciously? For hang me, as I have deserved long ago, if I know what to make of this extraordinary Proceeding of yours.

In the first place, Captain, this Face of mine, be it what it will, if you behave your self as you should do, shall never put you out of Coun­tenance.

In troth, and that's said kindly.

For I am young, Captain.

I am glad on't with all my Heart.

And, if the World speaks truth, not very ugly.

So much the better still.

Next, I'm no Hypocrite.

Hah!

But love my Pleasures, and will hold my Liberty.

Noble.

I am rich too.

Better and better.

But what's worst of all—

Out with't.

I doubt I am sillily in Love.

With whom, dear Miracle?

Not with a Married-man, sweet Monsieur Courtine.

Confound her, but she knows me.—Why, good Madam—

Nay, Friend, no ruffling; keep your Articles, and keep your Distance.

Have you then made your Escape, Sir, from your dear Wife, the Lady-Tyrant of your Enchanted Castle in the Country, to run a wan­dring after new Adventures here? Oh all the Windmills about London, beware!

Ay, and the Watermills too, Madam. In the Devil's name, what will become of me!

For the Quixot of the Country is abroad; Murder by his Side, Enterprises in his Head, and Horrour in his Face.

Oh Lord!

Do you know this Friend of mine then, Madam?

I have heard of such a Hero, that was very famous about two years since, for selling himself to a Plantation, the Country, for Five thou­sand pound: Was not that the Price, Sir?

Your Ladiship is pleas'd to be very free, Madam; that's all.

So were you at that time, Sir, or you had ne'er parted with your dear Liberty on such reasonable Terms surely. Bless us! Had you but lookt about you a little, what a Market might have been made of that tall, proper, promising Person of yours! that—

Hell confound thee, heartily, heartily.

That Face, which now, o're-grown with ruful Beard, looks as you had stole it from the Retinue of a Russian Embassie! Fough! I fancy all Fellows that are married smell of Train-oyl and Garlick.

And yet, twenty to one, that is a stinking Condition you'll have a design to seduce some poor doating Monster or another into, one day.

Never, by that Badge of Slavery, his Beard ther [...].

How that dear Protestation has charm'd me!

O'my Conscience I my self could be half reconcil'd to her again too.

In short, to give you one infallible Argument, that I never will marry, I have been married already, that is, sold: for being the Daughter of a very rich Merchant, who dying left me the onely Heiress of an im­mense Fortune, it was my ill luck to fall into the Hands of Guardians, that, to speak properly, were Raskals; for in a short time they conspired amongst themselves, and for base Bribes, betray'd, sold, and married me to a—Husband, that's all.

In troth, and that's enough of all conscience: But where is this Husband?

Heav'n be thanked, dead and buried, Captain.

Amen, with all my Heart.

A Widow, by my Manhood, a downright Bawdy Widow.

What would your Cream-pot in the Country give for that Title, think you?

Not more than I would, that thy Husband were alive agen, to re­venge my Quarrel on thee.

And what's to be done, thou dear One?

Look upon me as a Lady in distress, Captain; and by the Ho­nour of a Soldier consider on some way for my Deliverance.

From what? Where is the Danger?

Every way it threatens me: For into the very Hands my ill For­tune threw me before, has it betray'd me again, Friend.

Hah!

The Principal is an Uncle, old, jealous, tyrannical, and covetous.

Hell confound him for it.

My Fortune lying most in his Hands, obliged me upon my Wi­dowhood to give up my self again there too, where he has secured and con­fin'd me with more Tyranny, than if I had been a Pris'ner for Murder; guards me Day and Night with ill-lookt Rogues, that wear long, broad, terrible Swords, and stand Centinel up and down the House with Musque­toons and Blunderbusses.

So, here's like to be some Mischief going forward, that's one Comfort.

Murder and Marriage are the two dreadful things I seem to be threatned with! Now guess what pity it is that ever either of those Mis­chiefs should fall upon me.

By the gallant Spirit that's in thee, I'll fairly be Gibetted first.

No need of that, Captain, neither: for, to shew you I deserve your Protection, I have had the Courage to break Gaol, run away, and make my Escape hither, purely to keep my Word with you. Deal like a Man of Honour by me; and when the Storm that will follow is a little blown over, here's a white Hand upon't, I'll not be ungrateful.

And in token I believe thee, I'll kiss it most Religiously.

Why the Devil did I marry? Madam, one word with you: Have you never a married Lady of your Acquaintance, that's as good-natur'd as you, and would fain be a Widow as you are, too.

Why do you ask, Sir?

Because I would cut her Husband's Throat, and make her one for my own proper use.

I'll ask your own Lady, Sir, that Question next time I see her, if you please.

Why, dost thou know her then?

Yes.

Then I may chance shortly to have a fine time on't▪ I have made a pretty Evenings Work of this, Heav'ns be prais'd.

Run away lewdly! Damnation!

Look!

By Heav'n, it must be she.

The Men are well Arm'd?

No matter; we must carry her, or all's lost else.

I'll not shrink from you.

That's well said. Sir, if you please, a Word with you.

With me, Sir?

Yes.

Courtine, be civil a little.

Sir, it is my Misfortune to be concerned for the Honour of a Lady that has not been altogether so careful of it her self as she ought to have been.

I am sorry for't, Sir.

You being a Gentleman whose Character I have had an advan­tagious Account of, I would make it my Petition to you, if she be of your Acquaintance, not to engage your self in any thing that may give me occa­sion to b [...] your Enemy.

Sir, I should be highly glad of any brave Man's Friendship, and should be troubled if I appear concern'd in any thing that may hazard the loss of yours.

That Lady, Sir, you talkt withal's—

My Mistress, Sir.

Mistress!

Yes, Mistress, Sir: I love her, doat on her, am damnably in love with her; she is under my Protection too, and when ever there's occasion, as far as this sinful Body of mine will bear me out in it, I'll defend her.

Do you know her?

Not so well as I would do, Sir.

What's her Name?

A Secret.

She must along with me, Sir.

No, that must not be, Sir.

This Lady, Sir—

You lie, Sir—Hah!— Beaugard!

Stand fast, Ned.

Sir, there may come a time—

When you'l learn Manners.

And teach 'em you too.

We are well known.

Confound 'em! This must be a Brother, a Kinsman, or a Rival, he ply'd me so warmly.

'Tis a hard case, that a Man cannot hold Civil Correspondence with a good-natur'd Female, but presently some hot-headed Fellow of the Family or other runs horn-mad with Jealousie, and fancies his Blood smarts as often as the Womans itches.

This Heroick Person's Sister, Kinswoman, his Mistress, or what­e'er she be, is like to get much Reputation by his Hectoring and Quarrel­ling for her; and he as much Honour, by being beaten for her.

Nay, when Cuckolds or Brothers fight for the Reputation of a back-sliding Wife or Sister, it is a very pretty Undertaking, doubtless. As for example; I am a Cuckold now.

All in good time, Ned; do not be too hasty.

And being much troubled in Spirit, meeting with the Spark that has done me the Honour, with a great deal of respect I make my Address,—as thus,— Most Noble Sir, you have done me the Favour to lie with my Wife.

Very well.

All I beg of you, is, that you would do your best endeavour to run me through the Guts to morrow morning, and it will be the greatest Satisfaction in the World.

Which the good-natur'd Whoremaster does very decently; so down falls the Cuckold at Barn-elms, and rises again next day at Hol [...]orn in a Ballad. But all this while, what is become of the Widow, Ned?

Faith she has e'en done very wisely, I think, as soon as she had set us together by the Ears, she very fairly ran for't.

A very noble Account of our first Evenings Enterprise! But a Pox on't, take Courage; and since we have lost this Quarry, let us e'en beat about a little, and see what other Game we can meet with.

Sir, Sir! Captain!

With you again, Beaugard. Agare ho!

With me, my Mistress?

Yes, with you, my Master.

I wonder when, o' the Devil's name, it will come to my turn.

Being a particular Friend of yours, Captain, I am come to tell you, the World begins to talk very scandalously of you, Captain.

Look thee, Sweetheart, the World's an Ass, and Common Fame a Common Strumpet: so long as such pretty good-natur'd Crea­tures as thou seemest to be, think but well of me, let the World be hang'd, as it was once drown'd, if it will.

I must let you know too, Captain, that your Love-Intrigues are not so closely managed, but that they will shortly grow the Subject of all the Satyr and Contempt in Town: Your holding Conversation with a draggle-tail'd Masque, in the Church-Cloysters, on Sunday; your meeting with the very Scandal here again, this Evening; suffering your self to be impos'd upon, and Jilted by her; and at last running the hazard of a damnable Beating, by a couple of plausible Hectors, that made you believe your Mistress had Honour enough to be concern'd for.

Really, my little Wolf in a Sheeps Fleece, this sounds like very good Doctrine; but what Use must I make of it, Child?

Methinks, Captain, that should not be so hard to find out; my setting upon you in a Masque my self, and railing at the last Woman that did so before me, might easily inform you, I have a certain Design of trying whose Heart's hardest, yours or mine.

Then, my little Mischief, you should not enter the Lists upon unequal Terms, with that Black Armour upon your Face, that makes you look as dreadfully as the Black Knight in a Romance.

Good Captain, what's that sober Gentleman's name? For certain­ly I have seen him before now.

His name in the Flesh, my pretty one, is Courtine; a very honest Fellow, good-natur'd, and wicked enough for thy purpose of all conscience.

Courtine! Bless us for ever! What, the Man that's married!

The Man that's married! Yes, the Man that's married. 'Sdeath, though I be weary on't, I am not asham'd of my Condition. Why the De­vil didst thou tell her my name? I shall never thrive with any Woman that knows me. The Man that's married! 'Zounes, I am as scandalous as the Man that's to be hang'd.

But you'll ne'er be thought so handsom. To make few words with you, Sir, I am one that mean you fairer play than such an inconstant, sickle, false-hearted Wanderer as you deserve.

Then why dost thou conceal thy self? Those whose Designs are fair and noble, scorn to hide their Faces: Therefore give me leave to tell thee, Lady, if thou think'st to make [...]se of me only to create some Jealou­sie in another Woman, I am no Instrument to be that way manag'd; no, I am constant, I—but if thou lov'st me—

Have you any more Doubts that trouble you?

None, by this sweet Body of thine.

Know then, Sir, it has been my Misfortune to watch you, haunt you, and dog you these six Months; being, to my eternal torment, jealous of that ravenous Kite your Widow, your Widow, Captain: nay, since I have confest my Weakness, know from this hour I'll defeat all her Am­bushes, all the false Baits she lays to ensnare your Heart, till I obtain the Vi­ctory of it my self, much more my due, in that I'm not beneath her in Beau­ty, Birth, or Fortune, or indeed any thing but her years, Captain; there­fore if you have that Merit the World reports of you, make the best use of this present Advice; and so farewell, till you hear from me further.

Now may I do by my Mistresses as the Boys do by their Farthings, hustle 'em in a Hat together, and go to Heads or Tails for 'em.—Hah! Let me never see day again, if yonder be not coming towards us the very Rascal I told thee of this Morning, our faux Atheist; now will I shew thee as notable a Spirit as ever past upon the ignorant World for a fine Person, and a Philosopher.

What, Daredevil, a good Evening to thee: Why, where hast thou been, old Blasphemy, these Forty Hours? I shall never be converted from Chri­stianity, if thou dost not mind thy Bus'ness better.

Been, quoth a! I have been where I have half lost my honest Senses, Man: Would any body that knows me, believe it? Let me be bu­ried alive, if the Rogues of the Parish I live in have not Indicted me for a Papist.

The Devil! a Papist!

Pox on 'em, a Papist! When the impudent Villains know, as well as I do, that I have no Religion at all.

No Religion, Sir? Are you of no Religion?

Is he an honest Fellow, Beaugard?

Oh, a very honest Fellow; thou mayst trust him with thy Dam­nation, I'll warrant thee: Answer him, answer him.

I never go to Church, Sir.

But what Religion are you of?

Of the Religion of the Inner-Temple, the Common-Law Religi­on; I believe in the Law, trust in the Law, enjoy what I have by the Law: For if such a Religious Gentleman as you are get Fifty pounds into my Debt, I may go to Church and pray till my Heart akes, but the Law must make you pay me at last.

'Tis certainly the fear of Hell, and hopes of Happiness, that makes People live in Honesty, Peace, and Union one towards another.

Fear of Hell! Heark thee, Beaugard; this Companion of thine, [Page 18] as I apprehend, is but a sort of a shallow Monster. Fear of Hell! No, Sir, 'tis fear of Hanging. Who would not steal, or do murder, every time his Fingers itch't at it, were it not for fear of the Gallows? Do not you, with all your Religion, swear almost as often as you speak? break and prophane the Sabbath? lie with your Neighbours Wives? and covet their Estates, if they be better than your own? Yet those things are forbid by Religion, as well as Stealing and Cutting of▪ Throats are. No, had every Commandment but a Gibbet belonging to it, I should not have had Four Kings Evidences to day swore impudently I was a Papist, when I was ne­ver at Mass yet since I was born, nor indeed at any other Worship these Twenty years.

Why then, Sir, between Man and Man, you are really of no Religion?

May be I am, Sir; may be I am not, Sir: When you come to know me better, twenty to one but you'll be better satisfied.

Does your Honour think there may be a Devil?

I never saw him, Sir.

Have you a mind to see him?

I'd go Fifty miles barefoot to see but a Fiend that belong'd to his Family.

That's a damn'd Lie, to my Knowledge: For I saw the Rogue so scar'd, that his Hair stood upright, but at the sight of a poor Black, Water-Spaniel, that met him in the dark once.

What think you of Conscience?

I do not think of it at all, Sir; it never troubles me.

Did you ever do a Murder?

I won't tell you.

Thou art the honester Fellow for it; I love a friendly Rogue, that can keep such a Secret at my Heart.

Do you?

Ay.

So, that's well said; now we'll to work with him presently. Dost thou hear, Daredevil, this honest Friend of mine is something trou­bled in Spirit, and wants a little of thy Ghostly Advice in a Point of Dif­ficulty.

Well, and what is't? I shall be civil, and do him all the good I can.

In few words, he's married; plagu'd, troubled, and Hag-ridden by the eternally-tormenting Witchcraft of a vexatious, jealous Familiar, call'd a Wife.

A Wife! That ever any Fellow that has but two Grains of Brains in his Scull, should give himself the trouble to complain of a Wife, so long as there is Arsenick in the World!

Nay, it is a meer shame, a scandalous shame, when it is so cheap too.

Would you have me poison her?

Poison her! Ay, what would you with her else, if you are wea­ry of her?

But if I should be call'd to a terrible account for such a thing hereafter!

Hereafter!—Cross my Hand with a piece of Silver,—that is to say,—give me Three pence,—Three pence, my Dearest—

Well, and what then?

Why, for that considerable Sum I'll be security for thee, and bear thee harmless for Hereafter; that's all.

'Faith, and cheap enough of all Conscience.

This is the honestest Acquaintance I ever met withal, Beaugard.

Oh, a very honest Fellow, very honest.

Prethee then, Daredevil, if that be thy Title, since we have so happily met this Evening, let us grow more intimate, and eat and drink together.

Faith and troth, with all my Heart: Pox on me, Boy, but I love Drinking mightily; and to tell ye the truth on't, I am never so well satisfied in my out-of-the-way Principles, as when I am drunk, very drunk. Drunkenness is a great Quietter of the Mind, a great Soother of the Spirit.

And shall we be very free, my little Atheistical disbelieving Dog? Wilt thou open thy Heart, and speak very frankly of Matters that shall be nameless?

Much may be done; I seldom hide my Talent, I am no Niggar [...] of my Parts that way.

To tell thee a Secret, then, Daredevil, we two are this Night, for some weighty Considerations, to give a Treat to the People of the Duke's Theatre, after the Play's done, upon their Stage; we are to have the Musick too, and the Ladies, 'tis hoped, will not deny us the Favour of their fair Company. Now, my dear Iniquity, shall we not, thinkest thou, if we give our Minds to it, pass an Evening pleasantly enough?

Rot me, with all my Heart: I love the Project of Treating up­on the Stage extremely too. But will there, will there be none of the Poets there? Some of the Poets are pretty Fellows, very pretty Fellows; they are most of 'em my Disciples in their Hearts, and now and then stand up for the Truth manfully.

Much may happen: But in the next place, after Supper we have resolv'd to storm a certain Enchanted Castle, where I apprehend a fair Lady newly enter'd into League with an honest Friend of thine, call'd my self, is kept a Pris'ner, by an old, ill-natur'd, snarling Dog in a Manger, her Guardian. Thou wilt make one at it, wilt thou not, my little Dare­devil?

Dam' me, we'll burn the House.

Dam' me, Sir? Do you know what you say? You believe no such thing.

Words of course, Child, meer Words of course: We use a hundred of 'em in Conversation, which are indeed but in the nature of Expletives, and signifie nothing: as, Dam' me, Sir; Rot me, Sir; Confound me, Sir; which purport no more than So, Sir; And, Sir; or Then, Sir, at [Page 20] the worst: For my part, I always speak what I think; no Man can help thinking what he does think: So if I speak not well, the fault's not mine.

Distinguish't like a Learned School-Divine.

When meet we at the Play-house then?

Before the Clock strike Nine.

Where we'll have Musick, Women, Mirth.

And very much good Wine.

IS not this Living now? Who that knew the Sweets of Liberty, the uncontroll'd Delights the Free-man tastes of, Lord of his, own Hours, King of his own Pleasures, just as Nature meant him first;

Who'd interrupt his needful Hours of Rest, to rise and yawn in a Shop upon Cornhill? Or, what's as bad, make a sneaking Figure in a Great Man's Chamber, at his Rising in a Morning? Who would play the Rogue, Cheat, Lie, Flatter, Bribe, or Pimp, to raise an Estate for a Blockhead of his own begetting, as he thinks, that shall waste it as scandalously as his Father got it? Or who, Courtine, would marry, to beget such a Blockhead?

No body but such a Blockhead as my self, Beaugard, that's cer­tain; but I will, if possible atone for that Sin of mine in the future Course of my Life, and grow as zealous a Libertine as thou wouldst wish thy Friend to be.

These are Rogues that pretend to be a Religion now! Well, all that I say is, Honest Atheism for my Money.

No, grant me while I live the easie Being I am at present pos­sest of; a kind, fair Shee, to cool my Blood, and pamper my Imagination withal; an honest Friend or two, like thee, Courtine, that I dare trust my Thoughts to; generous Wine, Health, Liberty, and no Dishonour; and when I ask more of Fortune, let her e'en make a Beggar of me. What sayst thou to this, Daredevil? Is not this coming as near thy Doctrine as a young Sinner can conveniently?

Nay, I have very great Hopes of you, that's my Comfort.

But why did we part with the Women so soon?

Oh, Courtine, Reputation, Reputation! I am a young Spark, and must stand upon my Credit, Friend; the Rogues that cheat all the Week, and go to Church in clean Bands o' Sunday, will advance no necessary Sums upon my Revenues else, when there may be an Occasion: Besides, I have a Father in Town, a grave, sober, serious old Gentleman, call'd a Father.

One that will Drink, Rant, Whore, and Game, and is as full of Religion as his Worshipful Son here.

Hah!—

Very well, very noble, truly, Son! This is the Care you are pleased to take of my Family! Sit up all Night, Drink, Whore, spend your Estate, and give your Soul to the Devil! A very fine—Hickup—This Aquamirabilis and the Old Hock does not agree with my Stomach.

Daredevil, stick to me now, and help me out at a dead lift, or I am lost for ever.—Sir, I hope my being here, has not done you, nor any Friend of yours, an Injury.

Injury! No, Sir, 'tis no Injury for you to take your swill in Plen­ty and Voluptuousness—Hickup—while your poor Father, Sirrah, must be contented to drink paltry Sack, with dry-bon'd, old, batter'd Rogues, and be thankful. You must have your fine, jolly, young Fellow, and bonny, buxom, brawny-bum'd Whores, you Dog, to revel with, and be hang'd to you, must you? Sirrah, you Rogue, I ha' lost all my Money.

I am sorry for it, Sir.

Sorry for it, Sir!—Hickup—Is that all?

If thou art very poor, old Fellow, take a swinging Dose of Opi­um, and sleep upon't; 'tis the best thing in the World for old Gentlemen that have no Money. Or wilt thou be good Company? wilt thou sit down and crack a Bottle, old Boy? Hah?

Heh! crack a Bottle!

Ay, crack a Bottle: What sayst thou to that comfortable Pro­position?

Come, Sir, here's your good Health, and to your better Fortune.

A very honest Fellow, Iack: These are very honest Fellows, What is your name, Friend?

My name is Daredevil, Friend; of the ancient Family of the Daredevils in the North, that have not had a Church in their Parish, Chap­lain in their House, Prayers Publick or Private, or Graces at Meals, since the Conquest.

Sir, I have heard much of your Family; it is a very ancient Ho­nourable Family: and I am glad to find my Son has made choice of such Noble Acquaintance.—Sir, my Service to you.—I protest, a Cup of pretty Clarret, very pr [...]tty Clarret.

And he has top't it off as prettily, I'll say that for him.

Iack, I ha' lost all my Money, Iack.

Have you been robb'd, Sir?

Robb'd, Sir! No, Mr. Saucy-face, I ha' not been robb'd, Sir: but I ha' been nickt, Sir, and that's as bad, Sir. You are a worthy Person, and I'll make you my Judge.

Come along then.

The Main was Seven, and the Chance Four; I had just Thirty pound upon it, and my last Stake: The Caster threw, nothing came of it; I chang'd his Dice; he threw again, to as little purpose as before.

Very strange, truly.

I chang'd his Dice again, he threw again: So he threw, and I chang'd; and I chang'd, and he threw, for at least half an Hour; till at last—Do you mark me?—the Dice powd'ring out of the Box—

That's plain.

One of 'em trips against the Foot of a Candlestick, and up comes two Deuces, two Deuces, Sir, do you hear? And so I lost my Money. No, Sir, I was not robb'd, Sir; but I lost it upon two Deuces: and that was so hard Fortune, that I'll hold you, or any Man living, Fifty pound to Ten, that he does not throw two Deuces before Seven again.

Two Deuces afore Seven! Two Deuces are not to be thrown, Sir, not to be thrown.

I am glad to hear you are so rich, Sir.

Rich, quoth 'a! Prethee be quiet, I am not worth a Shilling, Man. But, Sir, here you are a Lord at large, enjoy your Drink and your Drabs, sit up all Night in the fulness of Iniquity, with worthy Esquire Daredevil of the North here, with a Pox to you; whilst I must be kept without a Shilling in my Pocket.—But, Sir,—

Sir, I sent you a Hundred pound yesterday Morning.

Well, Sirrah, and I have had ill Luck, and lost it all: What then?

Sir, to avoid Dispute, shall I make one Proposition to you?

Heh! With all my Heart. Look you, Iackie-boy, I am not a­gainst thy taking thy moderate Diversions, so long as I see thou keepest good Company, neither. But—sneak what Ready-money thou hast in­to my Hand, and send me the rest of t'other Hundred to my Lodging.

Do you think it reasonable, that as often as two Deuces are thrown before Seven, I must advance a Hundred pound to make the Devil's Bones rattle, Sir?

Sirrah, you are a Rebel; and I could find in my Heart to cut your Throat. Sir, have you e'er a Father?

No, Sir.

No, Sir?

No, Sir; I broke his Heart long ago, before I came to be at years of Discretion: I hate all Fathers, and always did.

Oh Lord! Heark you, Sir, What's that Fellow's Profession?

Oh, an Atheist, Sir; he believes neither God nor the Devil.

'Sbud, I'll brustle up to him: Are you an Atheist, Fellow? hoh?

Yes, Sir, I am an Atheist.

And what think you will become of you when you die? hoh?

I shall be buried six Foot under Ground, to prevent stinking, and there grow rotten.

Oh Lord!

If I chance to be hang'd, being a lusty Sinewy Fellow, the Cor­poration of Barber-Chirurgeons, may be, beg me for an Anatomy, to set up in their Hall. I don't take much care of my self while I am living; and when I am dead, whatever happens to me will never trouble me.

No more to be said; my Son's in a very hopeful way to be damn'd, that's one Comfort. Impudent Rogue! You keep Company with the Devil's Resident! You converse with Foreign Ministers, and deny your Father a little dirty Money! Fogh, Poltroon!

This is very hard, Sir: But if Ten Guinea's will do you any Service—

Ten Guinea's? Let me see; Ten Guinea's are a pretty little pid­ling Sum, that's the truth on't: But what will it do, Iackie-boy? Serve, may be, to play at Tick-tack in an Afternoon, three Hits up for a Piece, or so; but when will that recover my Hundred agen? Ten Guinea's! Pox o' thy Ten Guinea's.—Well, let me see the Ten Guinea's though,—let me see 'em a little.— Iackie-boy, Iackle, Iack,—You ha' drunk damnable hard to night, you rogue; you are a drunken Dog, I believe—Han' [...] you had a Whore too, Iackie?—eee—You'll get the Pox, Sir­rah, and then—But if thou dost, I know a very able Fellow, an old Ac­quaintance of mine—Ten Guinea's, Iackie!

There they are, Sir; and long may they last you.

Make 'em Twenty, Iackie-rogue;—you Plump-cheekt, Merry­ey'd Rogue, make 'em Twenty,—Make 'em Fifteen then,— Iackie-boy, Iackie, Iack,—Do faith.

Upon my Duty, you have stript me, Sir.

Then do you hear, Friend, you Atheist, that are so free of your Soul? let us see if you dare venture a litte of your Money now—Come.

Seven's the Main: I'll hold you Ten pounds to Two, two Deuces does not come before Seven.

At him, Daredevil; Beggar him once more, and then we shall be rid of him.

Done, Sir, done; down with your Money.

Here, you Blasphemous Dog.—Dost thou love Hazard?

Dearly, from the bottom of my Heart, Sir.

I love thee the better for't: Come along.—Seven.—

Right.

Seven.

Two Deuces!—You ha' lost, Sir.

Dam' me, Sir, lay your Hand upon my Money!

Dam' me, Sir, 'tis my Money; I won it fairly.

Now, Courtine, now—

Now look to't, Atheist.

Son of a Whore, you lie. Thus to my Hat I sweep the yellow Scoundrels, and draw my Sword in witness th'are my own.

Nay then I'll—

Hold, Sirs, no drawing Swords, no Quarrelling.

I am glad on't, with all my Heart; for though I am not much afraid of the Devil, I hate a drawn Sword mortally.

Good Sir—

Stand off.—Dogs, Atheists win my Money!—Rascal,—Good morrow.

Till next time two Deuces come before Seven, and then I am sure to see or hear from you again infallibly.

How dost thou intend to dispose of this wild, extravagant, old Father of thine, Beaugard?

I hope to find him run so far in Debt within this Fortnight, that to avoid the Calamity, he shall be forced to compound with me for his Free­dom, and be contented with a comfortable Annuity in the Country; that's all my hopes of him.

Which he'll sell in one Quarter of a Year, and return to old London again, for t'other Game at Hazard.

No, like a wise Guardian, I'll take care of the contrary, lay it too far out of his reach, and tie it too fast for him. Why how now, Daredevil? What in the dumps? 'Tis an unruly old Gentleman, but yet he has some Religion in him, Daredevil.

Yes, Pox on him, to cheat me of my Money. 'Tis well he was your Father, Sir.

Why?

Had he been my own, by these Hilts I would have saw'd his old Windpipe asunder upon the Spot. Rob me of my Right!

Does he love Fighting so well then? I thought most of your Atheists had not much car'd for that impertinent Exercise.

'Tis a little impertinent, that I'll grant you, for honest Fellows to fall out, squabble, and cut one anothers Throats, to spoil good Com­pany: But when my Honour's injur'd—

Then, I know, thou art implacable. But for a foolish trifling Sum of Money—

Trash, trash, Dunghil, and Filthiness! I give it away to my Wenches and my Servants; we part with it to every Body, upon all Occa­sions. He that values Money, deserves never to have the Benefit of it.

A very noble Fragment of Philosophy. But, Courtine, the Morning is new risen again, and I have receiv'd Intelligence this Night, by a certain Minister I keep for such Offices, where my poor distressed Widow is held in Durance: If thou thinkest there may be any Hopes for thee upon the Coast I am bound for, let us embarque together, and good Luck attend us.

No, I have other Projects o' foot: Marriage has crackt my Cre­dit so, that no body that knows my Condition cares to deal with me: Therefore I am resolv'd to set out for New Discoveries, and try how [...] can thrive where my Name's a Stranger.

What, this Morning!

This very Morning: Fortified with Burdeaux, as I am, will I issue forth; and let all stragling Wives, Widows, and Virgins have a care of their Cargo's.

Nobly resolv'd, and good Fortune guide thee. Thou, Dare­devil, wilt not part with me; thou art more a Friend than to leave thy Disciple, when there is good substantial Sinning like to go forward. May be we may do a Murder before we part; something that is very wicked we'll not fail of.

With all my Heart; let us fire a House or two, poison a Con­stable and all his Watch, ravish six Cinder-women, and kill a Beadle.

Shall we do all this?

Do't! I'll do't my self.

Thou art the very Spirit of Iniquity.

Sir, Captain Beaugard.

With me, Friend?

Sir, there is a Masqu'd Lady, in a Chair, at the Corner of the Street, desires a Word with you instantly.

Tell her, I'm her Vassal, and will wait on her this Moment. Courtine, good morrow.

Gone, already?

Trading comes in, Friend, and I must mind my Calling, that's all. Allons, Daredevil.

Friend, farewell to thee; if either of us are run through the Lungs, or shot in the Head, before we meet again, let us hear from one another out of the Lower World, how matters go there, and what En­tertainment they give us.

You shall find me a very civil Correspondent, Sir.

Farewell.

The same good Wish to you, Sir. Now will I out into the mid­dle of the Street, play at Blind-mans-buff by my self, turn three times round, and catch who I can.

This should be the Place, and yet I see no Chair.

Then let us fall to Mischief.

Prethee a little Patience, tho it be a Vertue, dear Temptation.

Sir, is your name Captain Beaugard?

Yes, my dear Mercury, I am the happy Man.

Then, Sir, this Letter is for you.

Stay till I read it, Friend.

Sir, it requires no Answer.

What Jilts Trick now!— Sir,—to meet us with your Swords in your Hands this Morning, behind the Corner House of—By my Stars, a Challenge from the termagant Sparks that fell upon us last Night. Why, what a deal of Love and Honour have I upon my Hands now? Daredevil, thou canst fight?

Why, is there any occasion?

Only a Challenge, Daredevil, that's all: See, there's a Breakfast for thee, if thou hast any Stomach to't.

Idle Rogues, Rascals, Hectors! Never mind 'em; hang 'em, these are some hungry Varlets that want Dinners; let us break the next Windows, and never think on't.

These are our Quarry; be sure we seise 'em both. Is the Coach ready?

At the next Corner.

Fall on then. Sir, you are our Prisoner.

Villains! Rogues! Thieves! Murder! Thieves! Rascals, you'll not murder me?

Nay, Sir, no noise, no strugling, as you tender your Safety.

Daredevil, Dog, Coward, draw thy Sword and rescue me.

I am terrified, amaz'd; some Judgment for my Sins is fallen up­on me; alas, I am in Bonds too! Have mercy on my Soul, and don't slay me, Gentlemen.

Damnation! Blinded! Rascals, Villains, Ruffians! Murder!

Oh Daredevil, Daredevil, what will become of thee!

I should be unjust, both to my self, and the dear Mem'ry of thy Noble Brother, whose Friendship was so dear to me, should my true Sword be idle in thy Cause. Besides, the Love which I profess to Porcia, tells me a Rival must not tamely carry her.

Heav'n knows, it is my Curse, spite of her Scorn, to love her even to Madness; nor shall this Man of War, this French-bred Hero, win her with nothing but his Cap and Feather: I wonder he's not come yet.

Oh Lucrece, 'twas the Pangs of Jealousie, curst Jealousie, that brought me hither.

Where lodg'd you then last Night?

Here, in this House, my Cousin Porcia's House: I met her late last Night, just as I alighted, harrast with my Journey, and the Cause of it: Had she not took pity of me, Heav'n knows how my Perplexities would have disposed me!

What, in this House?

Here, in this very House.

I'm glad I know it; I'll take such care, it shall not be long a Secret.

The Garden opening thus upon the Fields, invited me to take the Morning-air here; for Sleep's a Guest that stays but little with me. Why sighest thou, Lucrece?

I'm thinking why my Cousin Porcia should chuse this Residence.

'Tis for a Lover, Lucrece; Beaugard courts her, a Friend and lewd Companion of my false Husband's.

I know him but too well.

Why, dost thou love him?

So much, that I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep in peace, for the tormenting Thoughts of him.

By Heav'ns, I pity thee. Oh have a care of Marriage, Lucrece, Marriage; 'twill be thy Bane, and ruine thee for ever. Marriage spoils Faces; How I look with Marriage!

I see no change.

No change! I have not slept six Nights in peace since the curst Day I wedded.

Will then a Husband spoil ones Sleep so sadly?

Is Courtine such a one?

'Tis pain to tell thee the Life I [...] with him.

He's colder to me, than Adamant to Fire; but let him loose amongst my Kitchen-Furniture, my Maids, never was seen so termagant a Towzer: He loves a nasty, foul-fed, fulsom Drab, and scorns the tender Joys my Arms invite him to. To be despis'd at that rate, so dishonour'd, makes me even curse the Chance that made me Woman: Would I had been any Creature else.—See yonder, yonder he comes: Thy Masque, thy Masque, dear Lucrece.

Farewel; I'll away, and leave ye fairly both together.

What, fly thy ground, faint Soldier! How, another! Nay then 'twas nobly done, two to one had been odds else: Had it not pretty one?

Why, who are you, Sir.

E'en a wandring Knight, that have forsaken my Castle in the Country, and am come up to Town for Preferment truly.

And one would think so proper, lusty, a well-made Fellow as you are should not be long out of Employment.

Dost thou know me, my Dearest?

No.

Then I am sure thou canst have no Exception against me.

But suppose I had a mind to a little farther Acquaintance with you; what then, Sir?

Why, then thou may'st reasonably suppose that I'll make no evil Use of thy good Inclinations; Faith there are very pretty Gardens here­abouts, let us commit a Trespass for once, break into one of 'em, and [...]oll a Camomile-walk together this Morning.

Oh Lord, Sir!

She's coming already.

If I should let you make advantage of my Weakness now, you would be false afterwards, forsake me, and break my heart.

Pretty fool! What innocent scruples she makes!

Have you no other Mistress already? have you no Engagements that will return hereafter upon your heart to my prejudice?

Shall I swear?

But han't you truly?

If I have, may that blew Mountain over our heads there, fall down and crush me like a pelted Toad.

To shew you then that I desere your Faith—

What wilt thou shew me?

A Face which I am not asham'd of, though you'l perhaps be scan­daliz'd when you see it.

The Devil take me if I am though, so it prove not very horri­ble indeed.

What think you then, Sir, is it such a one as you lookt for?

My own Wife!

Death! death and torments! Cut my wretched Throat, don't treat me thus: By Heaven I'le bear't no longer.

No more.

I have done, Sir.

What do you at London!

Is it a fault to follow what I'm fond of!

Can't I enjoy my pleasures, take my freedoms, but you must come, and spoil the high season'd dish with your insipid whining sense­less Jealousie?

Prethee forgive me.—

Where did you lodge last Night?

Dogs! Rascals! Villains! how do you intend to deal with us?

Much better than your language has deserv'd, Sir.

Sirs for this noble usage, had I a Sword or Pistol about me, I would reward ye most amply.

A Plague of your Civility! where the Devil are we?

Where are we quotha! why, we are in a Palace Man, prithee look about thee a little.

By Heav'n here's a Paradise; hark Daredevil! Musick too!

I'le be hang'd if 'tis not a bawdy Dancing-School, some better Whores than ordinary designing a private Ballum rancum, have pitcht up­on our two proper persons for the bus'ness; we are like to have a swing­ing time on't, Beaugard.

A plague o' your Cowardise! you were whining and praying just now, and be hang'd to you.

I praying! prithee be quiet Man, I never pray'd in my life, nor ever will pray: Praying quotha! that's a merry jest with all my Heart.

Impudent Poltroon! he said two dozen of Pater-Nosters with­in this half hour, and every jolt the Coach gave was afraid the Devil would have torn him to pieces.

Odd I like this contrivance very well: Look, Beaugard, what comes yonder? 'sheart two Devils in Petticoats, how my Guts shrink to­gether!

Heyday! Lady Blackamores! nay then we are certainly enchant­ed. What are you two, Maids of Honour to the Queen of Pomonkey? and i [...] this one of her Palaces? Not a Word!—

How I long now to be familiar with one of those Sooty-fac'd Harlots! I would beget a chopping Black Son of a Whore upon her, in defiance to the Prince of Darkness.

What another too of the same Complexion? this must be her Majesties Page.

A Pimp, I'le warrant him; he's so very little, pert, and dapper, the Rogue looks as if he could im [...]ate himself through a Key-hole.

Welcome thou best-lov'd Man of the fair World.

Well, Sir, and what's the Service you have in order to Com­mand me?

My Orders are to lead you to repose in a Rich Bed prepared for Rest and Love.

I said it was a Pimp, what a smooth-tongu'd little Rascal 'tis?

A very pretty sort of an Amusement this: But prithee young Domine, why to Bed? 'tis but now Day, and the Sun newly risen; for I have not been a Bed all Night, my little Monster; I know how the time goes, Child.

Hah!

Drawn by wing'd Horses through the untract Air.

A Pox upon thee for a little black lying well-instructed Rascal, but since it is the Custom of the place, and my last Night Fatigue requires it, I'le accept of the offer, and dispense with an hour or two of sleep to fit me for better exercise when I wake again.

Drawn by Wing'd Horses through the Air, said he! if this should be true now, what would become of us! Methought indeed the Coach whew'd it away a little faster than ordinary.

A very notable Entertainment truly, and your little Black La­dy-ships have tript it most featly.—

What, and must you take charge of me now!—With all my heart. Dare­devil farewel to thee; but that I am in hopes of a better, I'de invite thee for a Bedfellow.

Bedfellow, quotha! would I were a Bed with any Bedfellow that I was sure had but flesh and bones about him.

Come, Sir, you are my charge.

I hope your little Impship will be civil to me: pray, Sir, what place is this?

A Chrystal Castle built by Enchantment in a Land unknown to any but the fair one that Commands it: The Spirits of the Air keep guard about it, and all obey her Charms.

Oh Lord! and what Religion is the Lady off?

That's a secret, you'l know more hereafter.

Lead on then: Now in the lower World whence I come lately, were this but known,

THese are your Men of Honour now: I never knew a blustering, roaring, swashing Spark, that, at the bottom, was good for any thing.

Your faux Braves always put on a shew of more Courage than or­dinary; as your beggarly half-Gentlemen always wear tawdry finer Cloaths than their Fortune will afford 'em.

But, to lye conceal'd in private in the House with her!

Dam' her, she's a Prostitute; has given her self already to his Arms.

Yet, I'll warrant you, she has an excuse for that too, if it be so; as, Alas! you know, Woman is but a weak Vessel.

A Pox o' the weakness of her Vessel! Dam' her! Would my Sword were in her Throat! But will our Friends be ready?

Most punctually. It was an odd old Fellow, that, which we met with. Was he certainly Beaugard's Father?

No body can swear that, for his Mother was a Woman; but that merry conceited old Gentleman has the honour of it: he has the Title, but whose was the Property, that I dare not determine.

I hope he'll be as good as his word with us.

It will not be amiss if it prove so. See, here he comes too.

You lie, you Dog; you Scanderbeg Varlet, you lie. Do not I know that he sate up all Night with a Consort of Whore-masters and Harlots; and have you the impudence to tell me he is not at home? Do not I know, you Vil­lain, that, after a Debauch, he will out-snore a Fleet-street-Cons [...]able and all his Watch, for six hours; and dare you tell me, he is not at home, you Ca­terpillar?

Upon the word of a true Valet de Chambre, Sir, I deal sincer [...]ly and honestly with you.

No more to be said: But, Sirrah, do you take notice in his behalf, and tell him, he shall pay for this; pay for it, do you hear you Mongril? Fob me off with ten stinking Guinnies, when I had lost a hundred! Fiends and Furies, I'll not bear it. Good morrow my little Thunder-bolts! What say you, my tiny brace of Blunderbusses? can I be serviceable? shall we about the business while it is practicable? hah?—

Have you considered of it throughly, Sir?

Trouble thy head no farther; I'll do't, my Darling.

Have you considered, Sir, that she is your Son's Mistress?

So much the better still; I'll swinge her the stoutlier, for allenating his Affections from his natural Father.

But suppose you should meet him too there in her defence, Sir?

Still better and better, and better for that very reason; for I would swinge him too with much fatherly Discipline, and teach him the duty which a Son, with a great deal of Money, ows an honest old Daddy, that has none.

Very piously resolved, this; that's the truth on't. But, Sir, I would have you satisfied, into the bargain, that this will be no trifling matter. No Boys Play, old Tilbury.

Boys Play, Sir; Sir, I can sight, Sir: though I am an old fellow, I have a Fox by my side here, that will snarl upon occasion. Boys Play! I don't understand your Boys Play, Sir—

I would not have you take my plainness ill, Sir: I only hinted it, to deal with you according to an old fashion of sincerity which I profess, Sir. I hope you are not offended at it.

Then, to rectifie all mistakes, let us fairly have a Breakfast, hoc Mo­mento. I have a sort of gnawing Courage, that when it is provok'd, always gives me a Stomack to a savoury Bit, and a cheerful Bottle. I hate to be run through the Guts, with nothing in 'em to keep the Wind out.

Very well propos'd, I think; for we have more Fiends to meet us at a Tavern hard by here, where we Intend to wish our Enterprise well in a bonny Bottle or two, and then about it as cheerfully as we can.

Very well said, that: This is a pretty fellow, I'll warrant him. Now, if my Rebel be run through the Midriff in this business, I am the next Heir at Law, and the two thousand Pounds a year is my own, declaro. Come along my little Spit- [...]res.

Six Bumpers in a hand to him that drills the first Whore-Master through the small Guts.

We'll pledge it heartily, Sir.

You are both my honest Boys, my best Children: march along then, bravely and boldly.—I must borrow Money of these Fellows before I part with 'em. Nous allons, Brave strippons,

Oh the unconscionable Importunity of an unsavoury, plegmatick, cold, insipid Wife! By this good day, she has kiss'd me till I am downright sick; I have had so much of her, that I shall have no stomach to the Sex again this fortnight.

My Dearest, pray [...]y Dearest, don't thus leave me: by this kind kiss I beg is.

Oh, the Devil!

Look kindly on me; speak to me.—

Plague intollerable!—

Indeed, my Dear, I love you with such fondness! Pray speak.

I cannot.

Why? an't you well?

Oh, there's a sudden faintness comes o'er my Spirits! Oh, I'm ve­ry sick! Leave me, if thou lov'st me, stand off, and give me Air; I die else. Ohh!—

I'll kiss thee then to life again.

Stand off, I say; I'll not be stifled! Murder! Help! Murder! Help!

Ill natur'd Tyrant!

Good natur'd Devils! Kiss, i'th' Devil's name!—

Come near me, Husband.

Come not near me, Wife. How am I tortur'd!—

You must be kind; indeed, my dear, you must.

Indeed, my Dear, by your good leave, I sha' not,—Damnation!

You long to be rid of me again.

That I do most mightily; but how to bring it about, if I know, I am a Rascal. Oh! Oh!

What's the matter, Dearee?

Oh, I am sick again of the sudden! Give me the Chair there: Oh! my Heart beats, and my Head swims! Oh! oh!

Alas, I fear y'are very sick indeed! if my poor Lovee should die, what would become of me!

A Plague o' your whining! Would I were well out of the House once!

Shall I fetch thee some Cordial, my dearest Love, my Joy? Speak to me; shall I?—

Ay if thou wilt, my Jewel. Jewel quotha!—what a plagu's this: Hush, is she gone?—Now for a convenient Balcone to venture the breaking of a Neck at.—

Sir, Sir, a word with you.

With me, Sweetheart; thy business?

A Lady, Sir, that dog'd you hither this Morning—

A Lady!—

Yes, a Lady, Sir.

Hist: Get you in, you little Monkey; skip, sculk, or you'll spoil all else.—Here's the blessed comfort of a Wife again now:—Oh, oh!—

How is't, my Blessing? Here, take this: Heaven guard thee.!

Fr [...]m thy confo [...]nded troubl [...]some Company, if it be possible.

How is't, my Dearee?

If I had a little more on't, Dearee.

I'll see what's left, my Joy.

Do, prithee do, my Joy then. Joy in the Devil's name.

Hist, Sirrah Page, come hither.

Is your Lady gone, Sir?

Yes: But what News of the other Lady, my trusty Mercury?

She's now below, Sir; and desires to see you.

Is she young? handsom?

I can't tell that, Sir; but she's rare and fine.

Are her Cloaths rich?

Oh Sir, all Gold and Silver; with a deep Point Thingum Thangum over her Shoulders: and then she smells as sweet as my Ladies Dressing-Box.

Fly little Spright, and tell her, I'm impatient: tell her, I'll wait on her within a moment: tell her—

But Sir—

Be gone, be gone, you Knave, or you'll be caught else. Oh!

Here's all that's left, my Heart.

I am sorry for it, it is very comfortable. [Drinks.] Oh, oh, oh!

What ails my Life?

Oh, I have a horrid [...]emor upon my Heart! 'tis the old Palpitation I us'd to be troubl'd with, return'd again. Oh, if I were but—

Where, Love?

Oh! but in a condition to go abroad, there is an able Fellow of my Acquaintance, that always us'd to relieve me in this extremity.

Where does he live? I'll take a Coach my self, and go to him.

The Devil take me if I know.—Oh! 'tis a vast way off.—Oh! now it kills me again.

I shall not think it so, when it is my duty.

That's but too kind, my Sweetest; though, if I had but one Bottle of his Elixir.—

How is it call'd?

Specimen Vitae.

Specimen Vitae?

Ay, Specimen Vitae: 'tis a damn'd hard name, but it is very good.

Where is't he lives then? Prithee let me go thither.

Oh, 'tis a horrid way off! Besides, it would trouble me now, in this condition, to be so long without thee.

Prithee let me go.

Why, 'tis as far as Grubb-street Child, as Grubb-street?

I'll be back again instantly.

I had rather, indeed, thou shouldst go thy self, than send a Messenger, because the business will be done more carefully.

How's the Direction then?

In Grubb-street Child, at the Sign of the Sun and Phaenix, I think it is, there lives a Chymist; ask for him, and in my name desire a Bottle of his Specimen Vitae. Oh!

Specimen Vitae?

Ay, Specimen Vitae—I'll try in the mean time if I can walk about the Room, and divert the terrour of my Fits.

Heavens bless my dearest Dearee.

Thank you, my only Joy.—Would in the Devil's Name she were gone once, and had her Guts full of that Quack's Specimen Vitae.

You'll be careful of your self, Child?

As careful as I can, Child.

Gud b'w'y Courtee.

Yes, Sir.

Where's the Lady?

Here; just entring up the back Stairs.

Madam, this Honour done your worthless Servant—

Oh, my dear Heart, I had forgot my Wages. Pray Courtee, kiss me before I go.

Confound her, Come again! Oh, my Love! I have made hard shift to crawl to the Door here.

Who's that behind you?

Nothing but a Page, come to know if I wanted any thing. A Plague of her Hawks eyes!—

Gud b'w'y my dearest Love.

Gud b'w'y my Joy.

Nay, give me another. B'w'y Courtee.

B'w'y Sylvee.—So, is she gone again?—The Devil take me, if thou interruptest me any more.

Is that your Lady, Sir?

Yes; but I hope you'll not think the worse of me, pretty One, for keeping a Wife Company now and then, for want of better.

Can you be so kind, Sir, not to forget me? Do you remember me still, Captain?

Remember thee, Child! Is it possible for that Face to be ever blotted out of my Memory!—Though, the Devil eat me, if ever I saw it before, to the best of my knowledge.

Where is your Lady gone Sir?

To Grubb-street, Jewel, for some Specimen Vitae.

Specimen Vitae, Sir! Oh dear, what's that?

Oh, come but quietly into the next Room, and I will shew thee what Specimen vitae is presently.

You may, perhaps think [...] range of this freedom I take with you, Sir.

Not in the least, Child; it shews thy Generosity.—I love her now, for understanding her business, and coming close to the matter quickly.

But, Sir, presuming on your Quondam Favours to me, I am come to beg your Advice in a matter of Law, which I am at present involv'd in: and if you please—

To retire a little in private?—Oh, thou couldst not have pick'd out such another Man for thy purpose: I am, may be, the best Lawyer in the World for Chamber-practice. And if I do not find out the Merits of thy Cause as soon as—

Really, you are so good natur'd—

Grubb-street and Specimen Vitae, quotha! He that has the Palpitation of the Heart, and an Armful of this won't cure him, let him die upon a Dung-hill, and be buried in a Ditch, I say.—This is the rarest Adventure.

Heigho! Heigho! Boy, Imp, where art thou?

Here: Your pleasure? What's your pleasure, Sir?

What is't o'Clock, Boy?

Sir, in your World, by Computation, I guess it may be Afternoon.

A very pretty little Rascal, this; and a very extraordinary way of Proceeding, I am treated withal here: I have been abed, 'tis true, but the De­vil a wink of sound Rest came near my Senses all the while; but broken Slum­bers, Dreams, Starts, and sprawling from one side to the other, in hopes the fair Unknown that keeps this Castle might have been so good natur'd to have given a Stranger a Visi [...]. This can be no less than some Romantick design of the little Fairy, that threatned she would cheat the Widow of me:—Now will I, for once, if she does attempt me, put on that monstrous Vertue, called Self­denial, and be damnably constant.—What, Musick again! This is a merry Region, I'll say that for it, where ever it be, Boy!

Did you call, Sir?

My Cloaths, Monster; my Vestments: I hate a Dis-habiliee mortal­ly: I long to be rigg'd, that I may be fit for Action, if Occasion should pre­sent it self.

Faith, and with all my heart; for I am weary of the lingring Dis­ease, and long to taste my Mortality most mightily. Hah! A Banquet too, usher'd in by a couple of Cupids! Pretty innocent Contri­vance! Well, here's no fear of starving, that's one comfort.

Now, my dear Musicians, would ye be but as good as your word, and shew me the Beauty you have so prepared me for!—But then, my Widow! my Dear, Generous, Noble-hearted Widow [...] She that loves Liberty as I do. She that defies Matrimony as I do too. Shall I turn Recreant, and be false to her? Ah Dardevill, Dardevill! How I want thee to help me out in this Case of Conscience a little!

Beaugard, Where art thou?

Ah dear Damnation! I was just now heartily wishing for thee.

Such News! Such Tidings! Such a Discovery!

Hah! What's the matter, Man?—

Only six and fifty Virgins apiece for us, that's all; pretty little blush­ing opening Buds, you Rogue, that never had so much as a blast of Masculine Breath upon them yet.—What's here? A Banquet ready [...] Nay, then I am satisfied. Never were Heroes so inchanted as we are.

But where are the Virgins, Dardevill? the Virgins!

There's only one of'em, Child [...] only one;—but such a one, my Souldier.—

Is there but one then?

That's no matter, Man; I'll be contented till thou hast done with her: I hate a new Conveniency that was never practised upon; 'tis like a new Shooe that was never worn, wrings and hurts ones Foot basely and scurvily. I love my ease, I.

But is she very Lovely?

Such a Swinger, you Dog! she'll make thy Heart bound like a Ten­nis Ball, at the sight of her: with a Majestick stately Shape and Motion.

Well.

A Lovely, Angelical, Commanding Face.

By Heavens.

With two Triumphant, Rolling, Murdering Eyes, that swear at you ev'ry time you look upon her.

Stand off, stand off, I say; she's mine this Minute. But then again, my Widow!—Hah!—Mask'd too; when the Devil shall I see a Woman with her own natural Face again? Madam—

Be pleas'd, Sir, to repose your self a little; there is a small Account, Sir, to be adjusted betwixt you and I. Where are my Servants? Who is it waits there?

What the Devil can be the meaning of this now? I am not to be murdered, I hope, after all this Ceremony and Preparation.

Murder'd, in the Devil's Name? Here is great fear of being mur­der'd, truly.

Come Sir, sit down Sir.

Madam, I'll obey you.

Swear to her, swear to her a little, Man; pour out a Bushel of Oaths upon her instantly: Swear, swear, if thou wilt do any good upon her.

I know my Rival.

Ay, 'tis so, just so, just as I thought, my poor widow will run a damnable hazard of losing this sweet Person of mine, if I do not take abun­dance of care in the business. Here are Rogues on each hand, with Blunder­busses too: I shall be ravish'd.

Swear to her, I tell thee: That ever a Fellow should lose all this time for an insignificant Oath or two!

Look you, Madam, your Ladyship may do your pleasure; you may command half a dozen of Bullets through my Pericranium, if you have a mind to have your Beauty spoke well of by the Criticks of Holborn, that once a Month swarm at their Windows to spy handsom Faces: Upon that conside­ration you may murder a poor constant Monster if you please, Madam.

Yes, Friend, a Midwife. I am sweetly manag'd, I—I thought I had been in private here, in this House, with a civil Person of good Reputati­on, and it proves a damn'd trappanning Strumpet. Just in the middle of all our good Understanding together, she fetches a great Shreik, and roars out for a Midwife: The Drab is full gone with Bastard, and swears I am the Father of it.

A very great happiness, take my Word for't, Friend; Children bring a great Honour with them, Courtine: It may grow up to be a Comfort to thee in thy old Age, Man.

Oh, Your Olive Branches are unspeakable Blessings, the Gift of Hea­ven. I love to see Posterity go forward, and Families increase, with all my heart.

Let me be hang'd and quarter'd, Gentlemen, if ever I set Eyes on the Harlot in my life before. My sweet Wife, with a Pox to her brought me hither.

Why, Is thy Wife in London?

Yes, Hell confound her! she has hunted me full Cry up to Town; s [...]i [...]'d upon me this Morning, and brought me hither, where it seems she lay all the last night.

Why then, for ought I know, we may be still enchanted.

I am glad to h [...]ar that, with all my heart. Is she in the House?

No; I was forced to c [...]unterfeit sickness, 'till I was [...]' [...]n sick indeed, to get rid of her, upon pretence of going to my Physitian, in the Devil's name, that this confounded Bulker, with her G [...]s full of Bastard, and I might con­sole [Page 51] together for half an hour; and I am sweetly fitted with a Concubin [...] that's the truth on't.

This comes of your Whoring, Courtine; if you had kept me compa­ny, and liv'd vertuously, none of this had happened to you now. But you must be wandring: No reasonable iniquity will serve your turn.

Ha, ha, ha! Well, I'll swear, Captain Courtine, you are the happiest Gen­tleman! Yonder's the finest chopping Boy for you. Why, it will be able to carry a Musquet in your Company within this Fortnight. And then, I am so obli­ged to you for bringing the Lady to lye in at my House, that if your Wife will do me the honour, I'll take it for a favour to stand for Godmother with her.

And, Madam, to return your Complement, I wish with all my heart you were pregnant with a Litter of nine such chopping Boys, upon condition that I were bound to be Godfather to the whole Kennel.—Confound your being witty, with a Plague to you.

That's something course though, Friend, to a Lady that's so civil to you.

See Ienny, Yon's the Man; that, that's the Father.

I'll swear it is a proper person.

Oh Sir, Heavens bless you, you're the happiest Man! Here is my young Master, as like you as if you had bore it your self.

What a pretty little Nose it has!

And just its Father's Eyes for all the World.

It would never grieve a Body to have a Child by such a handsom Gentleman.

Ye Whores! ye Drabs! ye fulsom, slinking Whores! Clusters of Poxes on ye, and no Hospitals pity ye!—Confound ye, leave me.

Fye upon it, Courtine; fye for shame: give something to the Nurse, Man; that's but civil.

A Bastard! Death, a Bastard! Under my Nose too! Where's the vile hateful Monster?

Have patience, Lady.—

False, loathsom Traytor.

Now my Joy's compleated.

Let me come at him, let me go.—

Hold her fast, Friend, if thou lovest me.

Thou Devil!—Thou treach'rous, faithless, perjur'd Wretch [...] Thou Husband! Look in my Face.

Well.—

Like a Dog with a Bottle, &c.

With all my heart, thou dear, dear Wife and Plague.

Methinks a very pitiful Case, this, Madam.

If your Widow were but here, Sir, now, she might fairly see what she is like to trust to.

Oh Madam, Madam! What will become of us all?

Become of us, Woman! Prithee, what's the matter? are we in any danger?

Only your Brother in Law, Madam, and his Friend, with about a do­zen Armed Men more, Madam; that's all the matter, Madam.

My Brother in Law!

Yes, your Brother in Law, Lady, if your Name be Porcia: such a one they ask for.

Porcia!

Yes, Porcia: I could have told you she was Porcia before.

'Tis but too true, Sir; my unhappy Name is Porcia.

Porcia, my Widow! my dear lovely Widow! What an ill natur'd trick was this Concealment!

Those I've provided for you.

I found our Swords in a certain private Corner that shall be nameless, where I was proposing some civil Familiarities to the Lady Governess of the Family, just as the Blusterers entred.

Are they in the House, then?

Yes, and have bound the Servants too; the hungry Rogues were all surpris'd at Dinner; you'll hear more of them presently, I'll warrant you.

Stand to your Arms, Beaugard; the Enemy's upon us.

We have had a Succession of very pretty Adventures here; first we are enchanted, then we are fiddled to sleep, then we are fiddled up again: Then here's a Discovery of a very fair Lady followed by another, of a boun­cing brown Bastard; and when we might have thought all Fortunes Tricks had been over, we are in a very fair way at last of having our Throats cut: But I'll secure one life that shall be my care.—

Dog, stay and fight, or, by Heaven, I'll rip your Heart out.

Well then, if I must fight I must: What a Pox, I have two good Se­conds o' my side; and that has sav'd many a Cowards Credit before now.

Break open the Door there, force the Passage, down with it.

Well Gentlemen, what farther? What means this Violence here?

I hope, Sir, that's no Secret, when you see who we are.

We come, Sir, to demand a Lady, Sir; one Porcia.

How's that, my Father!

Father me no Fathers: I am none of thy Father, Fellow; but I am these Gentlemens Friend here.—Now, Atheist, will I murder thee.

Oh Law'd!

Iack, Iack, Iack! Come hither Iack; a word with thee, Iack: Give me a hundred Pieces now, and I'll be o' thy side Iack; and help thee to beat off these impudent Fellows. Gentlemen, I cannot but own to you that this is my Son.—

Sir, were you nick'd to your Shirt, I would not part with a single Shilling, Sir.

Though, if he were my Son ten thousand times, in such a Cause as yours, I'd draw my Sword against him.

You may remember, Gentlemen, a Challenge.

Which you forgot, Sir.

Hah! A Challenge, Beaugard?

I'll tell thee more hereafter. To shew you I ha' not forgot it, the Lady you thus persecute is now under my Protection, and with my Sword I'll keep her so.

If we don't, may my Wi [...]e get the better of me, and wear mine for a Bodkin.

Come on then, Sir.

For the Lady.

For my Honour.

And for my Friend, Sir.

Old Brimstone-Beard, have at thee.

Base Traytors! Odds!

Confound 'em, thrust.

Oh, I am slain! My Maw runs out: What will become of me! Oh!

Secure that Passage now:—How fares my Friend?

I'm wounded: send for a Chyrurgion quickly, for I bleed much.

Look to your Master, Sirrah; and you, Fellow, be careful of this Beast here.

Oh, a Parson! a Parson! dear Sir, a Parson! Some pious good Di­vine, if you have any Charity.

Here, here she is: I ha' got her for you; let me alone for ferreting a Female's Quarters out.

I'd have you, Sir, take care for your Security: There's mischief done, Sir.

The more mischief the better; thou shalt find me no Flincher, Boy: here, here; make sure of her.

Inhumane Tyrant! Why am I abus'd thus? Help! Murder! Help!

FRom this gay minute farewell Love and Doating: I have shook the lazy, stretching, wishing Folly out of my Blood, and now my wan­dring Heart is at home again. Let me see; I have a hundred and a hundred times wish'd my self a Man; and now, in outward appearance, I am a very Fellow; nay, a very pretty Fellow: for, methinks Foppery, Impertinence, Self-conceit, and other Masculine Qualities grow upon me strangely.—Oh, Mischief, Mischief, Mischief! thou art a very sweet-Employment:—But Op­portunity! Bewitching, Lovely, Omnipotent Opportunity! How shall I come at thee? Chloris!—

Madam.

Give me my Sword.

Here Madam: Bless us, What will your Ladyship do with your self in this Equipage!

Ladyship, Huzzy! take notice from this important Moment, I am no more your Mistress; but that Imperial Creature, your Master: and therefore know too, I will have my Foeminine Habiliments burnt instantly, and an Ope­rator sent for to make me a Beard grow. I will learn to Ride, Fence, Vault, and make Fortifications in Dirt-Pyes: Nay, if the humour hold, I'll go Vo­luntier into Germany against the Turk.

But what will be the end of all this, Madam?

Why, if I go into the War, I shall have the privilege, when I return home, to talk of Marches, Battels and Sieges, which I never was at, nor un­derstand any more than the Fools I tell my story to. If I stay at home, with the privilege of good Cloaths, Pertness and much Simplicity, will I set up for a Spark, grow familiar at White-Hall, and impudent with some great Man there or another; run in Debt with a high Hand, be terrible in eating Houses, and noisy all over the Town.

A very hopeful Resolution.

As thus: When I and another Spark meet; Dam me, Iack, says I▪ What Times are there stirring? What ready to be had? What Caravans have you met with, or what Loose lately managed? You Rogue, you look very high upon the Huckle.

Well Madam; But what will all this Gibberish signifie?

Signifie, you Fool! why what it signifies already; Wit, Courage, Martial Discipline, Interest at Court, Pretence to Preferment, Free Quart [...]r [...] in my Lodgings, and Free Booty in every Cuckold's Shop, who shall trust me against his palpable knowledge, that I'm not worth a Groat; and never have the Impudence to hope to be paid.

And must your Honour have a Mistress too?

Yes Huzzy, and you shall be serviceable to me in the matter: I'll have a Doxy this very Night; I have singled her out already; Courtin's Wife, that jealous, raging, insatiable Help-meet of the Captains shall be my Ducinea del Toboso. She's in Love with me already, that's my comfort: as I passed through the Hall just now, she coming into the House to pay a Visit to the Widow Por­cia, (who, by the way, is as wicked as my self, and my great Councellor in this noble Project) we met: I, you must know, bow'd very respectfully; she [...]aking me for a Stranger, Curt 'sy'd as low; and viewing me strictly leer'd at me, as if that Minute she took Aim at my Heart, and designed me for her Quarry.

But, Madam, she knows, and must discover you.

Thou art a fool: she never saw me till yesterday in her life-time, then too disguised: So that if I do not practise on her frailty, and by that means find a way to revenge my self on that Vizard-monger Beaugard, may I be con­demn'd to wear Breeches as long as I live, and never know more than the pre­sent use I make of them.

Hist Madam, she's returning.

Hush then: now my Cause is coming▪ on, and have at her.

Sweet-heart, pray oblige me so far to shew me the way to the Gar­dens; I come to pay a Visit to Madam Porcia, and am informed she's gone there for the Air.—A very handsom Youth—

Madam, this young Gentleman here is com [...] hither on the same kind Errand with your Ladyship, and waits till her Return.

But, Madam, the good fortune of seeing you is a happiness would re­compence the being disappointed of all the Conversation of your Sex besides.

Indeed, Sir!

Yes indeed, Madam.

Are you a Relation to this Family, Sir?

Madam, the greatest Advantage I hope from the Family is, henceforth to have oftner the Honour of kissing your fair Hands here: It is an Opportunity I should make no Ungentlemanly use of.

Opportunity, Sir?

Yes, Opportunity Madam: I am not ashamed to mention so honest a Friend as Opportunity, to one that, by her Years and Beauty, should not, me­thinks, be a mortal Foe to Opportunity.

Do you know me, Sir?

Why, Madam; do I treat you like a Stranger? Know you, by this good Hour, there has not been a Day or Night since I first saw you, that I have thought or dreamt of any thing else. Are no [...] you the Wi [...]e of a certain swaggering Squire about this Town, who calls himself Captain Courtine?

Yes Sir; such a Friend in a Corner I have, Sir; and what have you to say to him, Sir? I'll swear, a very handsom Youth still.—

What, Madam! what I have to say to you, rather than lose you, I would say to him: which is, that I like you, love you, languish for you; and would, with all my Heart, Blood, Spirit and Flesh, [...]—

I'll swear, Sir, I am mightily obliged to you, and so is Mr. Courtine; ha, ha, ha!—

Mr. Courtine! Take notice, Madam, I receive that Expression as kind­ly as if you had called him what I wish him: for, pretty one, if my Intelli­gence be true, he lives with your Ladyship as much like Mr. Courtine, as much like a Gentleman—

Sir!

Madam!

Oh Gaud! he's very handsom.

Shall we walk in these Gardens anon, for I have the priv [...]lege of a Key that opens into the Fields: The Moon shines too.

Between Ten and Eleven does the Moon shine?

As bright as any thing but your self.

But you'll tell, young Gentleman.

Only you how I love you.

Eleven's a late Hour.

Not too late.

Indeed!

Take this, and my Word for it.

Fye, how you use me, when you mean to forget me.

Hush, no more; Company's coming. Eleven.

Ten if you are kind enough.

Well said, my chast Sex.

Oh Cousin, art thou come! Thou art the welcomest Creature on the Earth; I have expected thee almost to despair for these three Hours. Oh, Sir! your Servant.

I am here, Madam, in order to your Commands.

Her Commands!

Oh, Cousin, the prettiest best natur'd Youth! He is something re­lated to us a great way off; and by that means has the privilege of Visiting, without offence to my jealous Brother in Law, and Tyrannical Guardian. Have you contriv'd that business?

Madam, it is done.

I'll tell thee: Seeing my self here consin'd to the Rules and Limits of a very Prison, I have resolv'd to put as good a face upon the matter as it will bear, and make my misfortune as easie as I can. Wherefore, for a little present diversion, I have contrived a Letter in an unknown name, by this young Agent here, and convey'd it to thy lewd Husband, with another in my own to Beau­gard; and sent for thee, my Dear, to share in the pleasure of the Consequence.

Ha, ha ha! But what will be this Consequence, Cousin?

Twenty to one but it occasions some new Alarm, and Divertisement to my Jaylours; who are so very capricious, they would fancy a Rat behind [Page 58] the Hangings for a concealed Lover. It may too, by chance, produce me some lucky opportunity once more to make my Escape out of their merciless Power. Nay, they are already half disposed to run away themselves; for by my Wo­mans interest in the Chirurgeon, who has care of the swearing Atheistical Fel­low, yesterday hurt in the scuffle, and afterwards conveyed hither, he gives it out, that he fears his Wounds may be mortal. Upon which, my Lover Gra­tian sighs, and turns up his Eyes like a Godly Brother at Exercise. My Bro­ther Theodoret puffs, swells, grinds his Teeth, and stamps as if he would brain himself against the next Wall; while poor Beaugard's ne'er be good Father has, with pure fear, lost a red Nose that has been his fast Friend for these 40 years; and every time he sees his Face in a Glass, fancies every Wrinkle there has the shape of a Gibbet.

Oh, my dear, dear Lady, what will become of us! the most unhap­py Accident!

Hah!

Indeed Madam, I could not possibly help it: I ha' lost it.

Lost it, lost what? What hast thou lost? Would thou hadst lost thy self; lost a Leg or an Arm, or any thing, rather than have put me in this fright. Speak, what is the matter?

Oh, Madam, the Billet; Madam, the Billet.

How's this?

What, the Note I sent to Beaugard?

As I hope to see you happy, Madam, I put it as fast here between these two poor naked Breasts here, as ever it could stick, so I did, when, just as I was going forth, who should meet me but the old, wicked, ranting, roaring Gentleman that lies hid here for fear of hanging, would he had been well hang'd a Twelvemonth since; and there he fell a towzing, and a mowzing, and a meddling with me; I was never so afraid of being ravish'd in my life, Gad he knows: So in the struggle, I guess the Note was lost truly; though, in my heart, I wish I had been ravish'd six times over, rather than such a misfortune had hap­pened. Nevertheless, I ha' done your bus'ness for you, so I have.

Bus'ness! what Bus'ness? Ugliness and ill Reputation light on thee. Thou hast undone and ruin'd me for ever.

Why, I have met with the Captain, and told him the whole matter, as well as if he had read it in the Letter himself. He's but too kind a Man to you, and I too faithful a Servant, so I am, to be thus reviled and cursed by you, for all this.

What then did he say? Fool, Beast and Blockhead; tell me.

Why, he said, he'd die a thousand and a thousand times for you, were it possible, so he did; and that that he will not eat, drink or sleep [...]till he has set you at liberty, so he wo'not; and that he will be in the Garden before Ten.

What's in this Case to be done, Madam?

O dearest Cousin, retire if you love me; for, should the Lords of my Liberty get any notice of this Billet, and find a Man here, notwithstanding [Page 59] your Relation, who knows what ill usage it may aggravate!—To thy Chamber, dear Lucrece, e'er the Storm comes upon us,

I am all Obedience. Sweet Creature, you'll remember!

It is not possible to forget you, surely.

Blessings on you for this Goodness.

Double Bar up all the Doors and Windows: Load all the Arms in the House, and be ready for Execution instantly, all of ye. By those Devils that dance in your gogling Eyes, Madam, I'll try if you have given, your self over to Hell so far, that you can out at a Key-hole.

What means the great He Brute?

To cut off your Intelligence, Lady, and make thee, e'er I have done, to curse thy Father and Mother, that let thee learn to write. Seest thou this! thou irreclamable profligate Wretch! Fogh! Send you the draggle-tail'd Mi­nister of thy lewd Affairs a hunting, full cry about the Town, upon the rank Scent of a Brawny-back'd Hector! By Heavens! the thought of it makes me loath the House, and fancy it stinks of the [...]oul Sins thou hast imagined in it.

Thou barbarous, ill manner'd, worse than Beast! Why am I abus'd thus? Why made a Prisoner too, at your [...]awcy Will? Fetter'd up, and barr'd all Liberty and Converse?

For the same reason other too hot blooded Females are; because, if possible, I would not have a good Breed spoil'd.

What a Load of Dirt is the Thick-Skull cram'd withall, if the Tongue were able to throw it out!

Filthy, filthy, fulsom filthy! What, be a Doll-Common, follow the Camp! How lovelily would your fair Ladyship look, mounted upon a Bag­gage-Cart, presiding over the rest of the Captain's dirty Equipage!

If any thing in the World would make me follow a Camp, it would be a very strong fancy I have, that I should never see you in one, Sir.

Your Ladyship has reason to defend the Souldiers Cause: You have married one, as I take it, Madam. Ha, ha, ha.

He in a Camp! He has not Courage enough to animate half a Tay­lor, no [...] good Nature enough to make a Spaniel of, or Sence enough, if he were that Animal, to learn to fetch and carry.

This will open no Locks, Lady.

But there are Instruments to be had, that will break open Locks, Sir.

Will you please to retire, and consider farther of that in your Chamber.

No, I'll not stir, Sir.

Nay, by Heaven, but you shall, Madam.

Nay, by Heaven, but she shall not, Sir.

How!

By Iove, and that's well said, I'll s [...]and still a little, and see what's the matter.

Do not drive me to use Violence.

How! Violence to a fair Lady! That's not so well, neither.

Heark you, Sir; my Jaylor, or my Hang-man; for which of the two your Office will end in, by your proceedings I cannot imagine: do but touch me, or offer the least force to compel me to a closer Confinement; by this injur'd Heart, I'll fire the House about your Asses Ears: I'll sooner burn with you, to be reveng'd, than endure such Insolence and Torment any longer.

Very well.

I Gad, a brave Girl, a delicate Wench! How my Fingers itch to take her part now! I have a Months mind to espouse her Quarrel, and make Friends with poor Iacky again. Honest Iacky! 'tis the best natur'd Boy in the World, though I was such a Beast to fall out with him.

Inhumane, cruel Theodoret! Why do you afflict me thus? Why do you force the Tears from my poor Eyes, and wrack a tender Heart that never wrong'd you?—

For your Souls Health, Lady; and the Welfare of your wasting Re­putation. A Pox o'your Whining! Come, to your Chamber, to your Prayer-Book and Repentance: Fasting and Humiliation will be good for you. To your Chamber.

To my Grave first.

Nay then—Wha, hoa!

Stand off! Murder! Cramps, Rheums and Palsies, wither thy unmanly Hands.

By Heav'n!

You dare not do't.

Hah!

No Sir, you dare not do't, you dare not.

Avaunt Pass! Confound me, but I shall be scratch'd here presently for my patience.

What an ill bred Camel 'tis!

Nay, and what's more; you shall not do't, you shall not; Sir Hoh! Is this the Issue of your honourable Pretensions?

Et tu Brute!

Brute, Brute! Brute me no Brutes Friend: Oonds I am a Man, Fel­low; Battoons and Bilboes! Brut [...]! a Gentleman!

Your Pardon, Sir!

Don't pardon him, Sir.

Oh, Friend!

Poor Gratian.

If ever we ought to do any thing for our Safety, let us now prepare, and look about us: I have made hard shift to hobble hither, my Wound's grown very troublesom▪—We are all lost.

I can fear nothing when my Friend's so near me.

Now Cousin rebel, and force your Freedom nobly.

Iacky, I hope. Iacky at the Head of Mirmidons, and declaring for his Property. Look you, Gentlemen; I must confess, I have Remorse of Conscience, and am sensible I have been a Rebel: wherefore, if my Liege Son and Heir have recruited his Power, and be once more up in Arms, Loyalty and Natural Affection, Friends, will work, I must pronounce for Prince Iacky; and here I resolve to defend his Territories.

If Prince Iacky have Interest enough to get your Pardon for Murder, Sir, it will be your best way to close with him; for, in short, the Atheist Dar­devill, your Antagonist, is dead Sir.

Hah! Dead!

Dead!

Yes dead, Sir.

So much the better. Porcia, let us run up to the Leads, and cry out Murder to the Streets this Moment.

Then I find that I am but a short liv'd Sinner; farewell for ever old Hock, Sherry, Nutmeg and Sugar, Seven and Eleven; Sink-Tray, and the Doublets! Never comes better of rebleting against one's natural born Children. I shall be hanged one of these Sun-shiny Mornings, and a Ballad come out in the Afternoon to a lamentable Eighty eight Tune of the careful Son, and pro­digal Father. Dead said you, Sir.

Or, at least, cannot survive half an Hour; therefore it is my Opinion that we instantly quit the House, and provide all for our Safety.

Confusion, Devils!

Nay, Sir; stand fast! dare but to open a Door, Sir; by Heav'n, that Moment I'll alarm the Town: you shall not think to escape, reeking with a poor Man's Blood, shed in defence of me.

Lady, no fooling.

No Sir, no fooling: but now, Sir, do you to your Chamber, Sir, to your Chamber; to your Prayer-Book and Repentance; Fasting and Humilia­tion will be good for you: To your Chamber, Sir; as you tender your Neck, Sir.

Damnation! Unhand me!

I'll dye e'er I'll unhold you. Think you so barb'rously to leave me here in the House with a dead Wretch, and have the Punishment of his horrid Murder light on my innocent Head.

What do you resolve to do, Sir?

Do, Sir! What can I resolve to do, Sir? I have no means to hope to escape, Sir: for, in the first place, I have no Money; and a Man that kills another, without Money in his pocket, is in a very hopeful condition. In the next place, for a disguise, I have no Cloaths but these you see on my Back; with this Tripe-Buff Belt here, which there is not a Constable in the whole City but knows, and has had in his Custody, Sword and all. Look you, Gentle­men, I have civilly kill'd a Man for your Service; if you will resolve, fairly and squarely, to hang like Friends together, so: If not, I mutiny; and the word is, Discover the Plot, the old Boy must impeach.

Oh, Sir! where are you?

Well, Rosard; what's the News now?

The Gentleman, Heav'n be thanked, is reviv'd again, Sir; though the Doctors say, such another Fit will certainly carry him off. The poor Crea­ture is very weak, but very penitent.

In troth, and that's a very ill Symptom; therefore my Opinion is still—I am for hanging all together.

Heark you, old Rust; you say you have no Money, wherefore, du­ring the present Interval, in the first place, because I will have no Mutiny up­on this occasion; in order to your Escape, there's Money for you: in the next place, as you want Change of Rayment, here is the Key of a small Wardrobe, at the lower end of the Gallery above, you'll find the Door to it: Equip your self, and provide for your Security, as your best Discretion shall direct you.

Look you, Friend, the sooner the better; for, to tell you the truth, else I shall make but a scurvy matter of it at Tyburn Cross; with a whining, snivling Account of breaking the Sabbath, and keeping ill Company. Where­fore, not being good at making Speeches, I will leave the Opportunity to you, of shewing your politer Rhetorick, and save a Member of the Common­wealth— There's no great harm in Murder, when it brings a Man Money.

And now, my Tyrant Brother, I hope we stand on even Terms.

No, Lady, not yet: There's Life return'd, and therefore hopes still, though, at present, in some measure to comply with you, and ease your Ap­prehensions, within the Limits of the House and Gardens you are at your Li­berty, but no farther this Night: And, for your ampler satisfaction, if I have any Midnight Alarms from your Correspondent abroad, there's Entertain­ment ready for him, which he may not be very fond of; so Good Night, it is almost Ten. Who waits? What hoa, be ready there. Come Gratian, I'll see you to your Repose, and then to my Post of Guard.

Ten! That was the Hour, Phillis, Beaugard mentioned; was it not?

It was, Madam.

Be ready then, all ye propitious Powers, that smile on faithful Love; Wait, like kind Angels, on him; Establish Conquest in his able Hand, and Kindness in his Heart. Oh, Sylvia▪

You are transported, Cousin!

With hopes of Liberty I am indeed: it is an English Woman's natu­ral Right. Do not our Fathers, Brothers and Kinsmen often, upon pretence of it, bid fair for Rebellion against their Soveraign; And why ought not we, by their Example, to rebel as plausibly against them?

Most edifying Doctrine this is, truly.

The Sign! Heark, the Sign! Phillis, heard you nothing?

'Tis there again; he's true, and I am happy. Sylvia, let us retire our selves; you know your old Apartment, for pretious mischief will be soon on foot; and Action worthy Love's great Cause. Thy Husband too, may chance to [Page 63] have his share in the bus'ness; and, as I have order'd Matters, meet some­thing in the Adventure, to mortifie his roving Humour, and reconcile him to his Duty and Allegiance.—Heark:

There, 'tis once more a Summons to the Citadel to surrender. This shall, in after Story, be call'd, Captain Beaugard's besieging of the Widow.

Hold, stand fast; I have just now receiv'd Intelligence over the Gar­den-Wall, that our design has taken air, and there will be no easie Entrance.

Ah Captain; the time has been, when, under your Command, we should have had no need of a Council of War for the attacking such a For­tification as this is.

Peace Plunder, Peace you Rogue; no Moroding now: we'll burn, rob, demolish and murder another time together: This is a Bus'ness must be done with Decency.—Heark.

Some Company coming, Sir, from the Back-Street Ward.

Hold then, Plunder: Do you, with your flying Party, hover at a distance about the Fields; while I, with the rest of the Body, post my self as advantagiously as I can, to watch the Enemies Motions.—

This way the noise was: Be sure keep safe the Garden Gate, and follow me carefully.

So, here I am; and now for my Instructions. Let me see.

Pray come disguised, that if the Design should miscarry, your Retreat may be the ea­sier. Your unknown blushing Servant—Humph! Blushing Servant! Passingly modest, I'll warrant you! Pray come disguised! So I am, or the Devil's in't; for I look more like a Cut-throat, than any thing else. Let me see; Upon this very Spot, the last time I was here, did I meet my damn'd Wife: Avert the Omen, sweet Heaven, I beseech thee. And now, as I am considering, where can my Friend Beaugard be at present too? With a Whore. There's that Question answer'd. Wherefore, would but my unknown blushing Ser­vant appear, or give me a kind Sign; would but my little Partridge call, me­thinks I could so shuckle, and run, and Bill, and clap my Wings about her. Hah!

Stand: Who goes there?

What's the matter now?

Stand, Sir: What are you, Sir?

What am, I, Sir! A Man, Sir.

A Man, Sir, we see you are: But what Man are you, Friend?

A Gentleman, Friend; and you had best use me so.—By Heaven, Theodoret; and if I am but discover'd!

Hands off, unloose him. You are not him we look for, Sir.

I am glad of that with all my Heart.

And therefore I ask your Pardon. But, if you are a Gentleman, you will assist one in me, that have been injured. I have reason to believe, my House is now beset by Villains, who have base designs upon the Honour of my Family. Wherefore, if you are what you pretend, you'll draw your Sword to do a good Cause Justice.

Sir, I wear it for no other end; and you shall command it.—Ay, 'tis so Beaugard; upon new Exploits for the Recovery of his Widow. No­thing but Knight-Errantry stirring this Moon.

Please you then, Sir, to stay here with my Servants, while I walk to the Corner of yon Wall, and try what I can discover.

You may trust me, Sir. Now will I shew my self a true Renegado; take Entertainment in Christian Service, to betray 'em to my Brother Turk, upon the first opportunity. And so, my blushing Unknown, you may e'en stay your Stomach with your Sheets for this Night.

They are here, stand fast; be resolute, and be rewarded.

Now, for a convenient Opportunity to do a mischief: Beaugard, I find, is come, and my kind Mistress punctual to Appointment in the Garden. Now, could I but order the Affair so, as to slur Beaugard upon her, instead of my self; and her upon him, instead of Porcia, my Conscience would be satis­fied; and he, Mr. Courtine, my Rival Widow, and the Wi [...]e serv'd all in their kind.

Hold, Sir; What are you?

Ay; Now, now.

No matter, Sir; this is not a time of Night to answer Questions.

Nay, then.—

Nay, now Sir; and when else you think fitting, Sir: I am the Man you look for; and you are him I wisht to meet here.

Now how the Devil I shall do to tilt Booty; Hang me like a Dog if I can imagine.

Come on there.

You pass upon your death.

Then take thy due; and dye like a midnight Thief. Fall on.

He runs, he runs; the Half-bred Hector runs. False Cards and Diee, and Quart-pot Brothel-Brawles, were [...]itter for his Management, than honou­rable Difference: Heark, Clashing of Swords still, by Heaven I miss our Friend the honourable Stranger, that so generously took our Party; if it [...] him, let's out, and give him succor.

Base Rascal! Coward flie!—

No, Sir, I stand [...]ock still, and won't stir an Inch; but since you are so uncivil, resolve not to [...]ight a stroke more: So there's my Sword, and here's your humble Servant.

Courtine!

The same.

And thou my Enemy too [...]

No, Sir, your Friend, had you been wise enough to have found it; I came hither disguis'd, for a Reason you shall know hereafter; But falling into the hands of the Enemy, was forced to take Party against you, for fear of be­ing beaten for you: Yet with a design of revolting would you have given me leave; but you, when you should have kept at the head of your Friends▪ took a particular fancy to be tickling my small guts, and now you s [...]e what you have got by it.

Then farewel for ever poor Widow.—But stay, it were base and unmanly to give it over so—Let me see—Lend me thy Disguise, Quickly, quickly, quickly, my Imagination's warm.

Ay, with all my heart, and glad to be rid of it so—

Take this, and rally my scatter'd Forces,

They know the sign; and cannot be far off under the conduct of Plunder that was my Serjeant abroad, thou know' [...]t him; make what haste is possible, I'll be hereabouts, and be near me, if any new Disaster should happen.

Well, with all my heart for once, here is a new design in Embrio now, though I fancy when we have got her, we shall never make of this Widow what she has co [...]t us.

No more; I hear Company▪ Vanish.—

This way I think I heard it: Look, Is not that he! Oh my dean ge [...] ­nerous Friend, let me embrace you: I hope you are come off well.

Very well, Sir, I thank you, if I were but well off from this place; I fear the man I had to deal withall is fallen, for I left him stagg'ring. Secu­rity were best for us all, Sir.

My house shall be your Sanctuary, and I'll dye with you but I'll pro­tect you.

I gad, and that's kindly said, as things stand between us, and if he knew all.

Open the Garden-gate there: You shall rest your self in an Arbor, while I dispose of the gross of my Family, and prepare an Apartment for your privacy.

If I had dy'd in your Quarrel, Sir, a Generosity like this had over-rewarded it.

Stand still ye beaten scatter'd Scoundrels, I think that's he, follow me but at a distance.

Open the Gate I say there, come Sir—

The Stratagem succeeds, and Troy at last is taken.

Oh dear Sir, are not you Captain Beaugard?

The same, my dear Child, the same; Hast thou any good tydings for me?

The private door of the Garden on the other side is opened, and you may enter Sir. My poor Lady is dying almost with despair, that she shall never see you more: Could you now tell me news of Captain Courtine?

Hah! Does then my Blushing unknown belong to these Territories? It must be so, Captain Courtine is just gone in before Sweet-heart, therefore if thou art a true Friend to Love, quickly conduct me.

I'll shew you, Sir, into the door where you may conceal your self in one of the Arbors till I go through the House, and bring you farther intelli­gence.

And if my Adventure happen really to be at the end of this business, my Friend and I shall not, I fancy, pass our time very uncomfortably.

Rogues [...]follow me, follow me Rogues.

So, so, thus far I am undiscovered; it is as dark, as if the Devil him­self were abroad a solacing amongst a Company of Northern Witches to Nigh [...]: if [...] be but enter'd with my Mermidons, the Widow's in [...]allibly all my own. [...]! Who comes here?

Sir, Sir, where are you?

Here, here, my Friend, I wait you.

Friend! Is not your Name?—

My Name, what! what can this mean?—

Beaugard, Come, come, I know you: You need not distrust your self, my design is to do you service; your Porcia knows you are here, and expects you with her Arms open, follow me.

Be thou my good or bad Angel, at the charm of that name I must follow thee, though thou lead me to Perdition.

Softly, no noise, this way, give me your hand.

Hold, let me see; Ay, there I think is an Arbor where I will creep in, and lie as close, as a Coward in the Hold at a Sea-fight.

Hereabouts it was I left him, it is wonderfully dark: Friend! Friend! Where are you?

Hah! that's another sort of Voice than the Youngsters I depend on: By Heav'n, Theodoret!

Friend, Friend, I say, where are you?

Ay, but the Devil a word you get of me.

Why, Sir Friend, do not you hear me?

No.

I am sure this must be the Arbor; I'll run and call a Flamb [...]aux.

That may not be so well neither, my affairs will not agree with the light as I take it.

Who's there? What are you?

Hush, make no noise; but come away.

Is it you, Sir?—He mistakes me for Beaugard, I hope.

The same: I wait upon you, follow me.

If he discover me, all again is ruin'd; but Darkness, I hope, and Impudence, will befriend a good Cause.

Oh! oh! oh! my Wounds and my Sins! Conscience, Conscience, Conscience, how shall I quiet thee!

This cowardly Chicken-hearted Rascal will dye, and be damn'd at last. How do you do Sir? How do you find your self?

Oh very ill, Heav'n knows! within few hours of a Grave, and with­out great mercy of a deeper place: Who ever you are, if you have any Chari­ty, procure me some Conscientious Godly Divine to unburden my self of my iniquity to.

This puling, whining, repining Rogue, within these two days was blaspheming: Ought I to be hang'd now for such a Varlet! Shall I send you a Divine, said you Sir?

It would be a great Favour, and a Comfort to me, Sir.

I'll try what I can do for you, since I see your condition so dangerous, a Pox o'yr Queasy Conscience: There is no safety for me in staying here, that's one thing, the House being certainly beset for the apprehending some body: For looking out at the Wardrobe Window as I was dressing my self, I observed six or seven arm'd Rogues with hangmanly Faces, sneaking and sculking about the Garden, that's another thing; wherefore I will hasten and finish my dis­guise, and if there come an Alarum, take the fairest opportunity to get off in it, and that for me will be the best thing.

To what an insignificant purpose have I taken all this pains to night, here have I been put into a Room with a Bed in it, with pray, Sir, will you be pleased to take your rest in the Devil's Name; when my design has not been to take my rest, but my Recreation: I fancy I heard a kind, small com­plaining Voice this way too, and must at present confess my self in a very good natur'd humor, very much inclined to succor any distressed Damsel that wants a Companion to pass away a tedious Night withall.

Oh! oh! Would but this dear Man come now!

Hah! heark! That must certainly be me she means; nay, I am sure on't: I'll on a little farther.

Oh h h!

Where art thou, thou poor Creature? I am come to comfort thee.

I wish you had come a little sooner, I am very ill.

Alas, kind So [...], she's sick with passionate expectation: This must be my blushing, unknown Servant at the least.

Whereabouts are you? Give me your hand hither, will you?

Here, here it is, and my heart too, thou hast 'em both: I'll swear [Page 69] she has a well grown palm, by the Rule of proportion I'll warrant her a Swin­ger: —but no matter 'tis in the dark.

Heart, said you Sir? Alas! my poor heart's breaking.

Breaking, dear Soul! No, no, never fear it, I'll give thee a Re [...]pe to keep it whole. I'll warrant thee: This is the most Romantick Adventure.

Has then Beaugard gotten entrance art thou sure?

Hah!

Madam so sure; that his Valet Fourbine is here in the House, and told me so himself.

What's that?

Then now my part begins: Was there ever such inhumane Cruelty committed, a Wretch barbar [...]usly murder'd and expos'd, without comfort or succor?

Murder, said they? What, Manslaying! when all my thoughts were upon nothing but Manmaking. I gad then 'tis time that I take care for one, and till a better conveniency offer it self, here's my Burrough, murder in the Devil's name. What do they say now?

No, no, my Conscience will not bear it, I must proclaim it to the World: What hoa there, Murder, Murder, Murder.

Oh Lord, here's a comfortable Condition that I am got into.

But does the Chyrurgeon say there is certainly no danger?

Only a thin skin Wound on the outside of his Belly; but that the force of Fear in the Cowardly-hearted Fellow, will let him think of nothing but a Grave and Damnation.

The present advantage of it then must be improv'd: wherefore I say the stinging of my Conscience will not let me rest, I dare not conceal this Murder. Murder, Murder, Murder! Cry Murder you Witch, and alarm the House.

Here is somebody coming already, Madam.

Stand still, and observe then.

I think it was this way, but no matter, for I am sure I reign Lord P [...]amount of this Castle now: The ang [...] jealous Brother is gone to Bed, and all his wa [...] like Family, where he lies as [...], and snores and gapes so wide, one might steal the Widow out of his mouth if she were there: Now could I but find the way to her Ladiship's Chamber, while Plunder is according to Or­ders, with his Crew binding the drowzy Rogues of the Family in their Beds! What an opportunity would that be! For there is but one way of making a slippery Widow sure to you.

No matter, happen how it will, I say again it is a Crying Sin, it is an Abomination, 'tis a—Ah!

Hah! What do Ghosts walk here at this time o'Night, and in Petti­coats too; Nay, then have at you: Ye Airy Forms.

Yes, verily, and indeed it is an Abomination, a burning Shame, and a lewd Abomination.

Hell and the Devil! My Spirit in Petticoats that squeak'd Abomina­tion in Ela, converted to the fleshly [...]imilitude of a Holy Brother, that Cants it in Gamut—Hoh! Speak, what art thou?

A Minister of Peace to wounded Consciences; I come here by ap­pointment with an Olive Branch in my mouth, to visit a mortal Ark toss'd and floating in flouds of its own Tears, for its own Frailties.

And are you really, Sir, a Man? Really the Godly Implement you ap­pear to be, for the scowring of foul Consciences.

Ha! ha! ha! Godly Implement, it has almost made me laugh; that's a merry Gentleman, I'll warrant him: Oh h h!

I am, Friend, I tell thee, an instructer of the Chosen: Thou favour'st of the old Man, stand off, and do not pollute me with too near communicati­on: I come to convert a Sinner to the Truth, it was I that converted—as some say no body; and expounded the groans of the Protestant Board. How fareth our Brother?

Alas, Sir, very weak; upon the point of Dissolution, and tormented with the stings of a terrify'd Conscience.

Lay then one hand upon thy heart.

I do so.

Lend me the other; that in the pouring forth thy sins, thy right hand may not know what thy left hand doth.

A very material Point that is truly.

Thou hast lived in Wickedness long.

From Sixteen to Eight and Forty, without the least Repentance, or a thought of it.

A very dangerous state; but for thy darling Sins, Imprimis, what?

Drunkenness.

A very pernicious sin, and of the Devil's own institution; for it sets our Souls a fire: Nay, it sets our Noses o'fire, and sets Houses o'fire. Drun­ken [...]ss!— Did you ever burn any Houses?

Never but three, and they Houses of pollution too: Bawdy-houses, Sir.

So much the worse: For if Bawdy-houses be burnt, what civil Fa­mily in this City sleeps safe? I never burnt a Bawdy-house in my life, that's my comfort. Item.

Whoredom, Adultery!

For Adultery, I mean corrupting of other mens Wives, let me tell you it is a crying Sin, and a very loud one too; but do you repent?

From the Bottom of my heart.

So, Heav'n be thanked, there's no harm in plain Whoredom.

No more to be said then; be comforted, and I'll absolve thee: But with whom was this Wickedness committed last?

With my Bosom Friend's Wife, and one that deserv'd much better of me.

And that was very friendly done of thee truly.

Impudent Rogue! But was she very young?

Ay, now the feeling, circumstantial Questions are starting.

About Eighteen; and not yet wedded a full year.

Voluptuous Dog! But handsom too? Was she very handsom?

Too beautiful, to have had so little Virtue.

Her Name, her Name! Tell me her Name. Quickly, I say unto thee, let me know her Name.

Well said, well said there, old Fornication!

That I have promised shall for ever be a Secret, Sir.

Then thou art damn'd, and I do not absolve thee. I must know this precious young Harlot.

Once more I say her Name!

But I have sworn, Sir; you'd not have me be forsworn?

A mortal Sin in it self: Swearing is another Sin. Farewel, I'll have no more to do with thee: Thy Sins are of too deep a Dye, and Satan be upon thee, a damn'd Rogue not to tell me her Name.

Oh! oh! dear Sir, come back again, and leave me not in this despe­ràte, desponding, sad condition.

If he has any mercy in this Case but upon his own conditions, he's no Father of mine I am sure on't.

Oh, Sir, I am glad I have met with you, a word with you in private, turn, turn this way into the next Room quickly, Porcia, Porcia, your Widow Porcia, Sir.

Hah! speak, where is she, thou pretty, smiling Mercury!

I am to bring her to you this moment: No more words, but in Sir, in, if you'll be happy.

Porcia, Porcia, said he? Then I am sure it must be Beaugard, a pretty Pimp that I'll warrant him.

And shall I trust thee?

Why should I deceive you?

Be sure thou dost not, as thou lovest the welfare of this soft, tender outside; adi [...]u for a minute.

That minute gives her to your possession, Sir—Hist, Madam, Hist! The Coast is now clear.

Where are you ill nature?

Here, tortur'd with my Longings: Where are you? come, come.

Why do you make me do this?

Is that a Question now? Turn, turn into the dark Chamber: I'll but secure this Door, and then the Night's our own.

Don't stay too long.

How afraid she is, le [...]t he should come again too soon!

Be satisfi'd, I'll fly—that is from you as fast as I can, for I hope I have fitted you.

Nay, faith, if this be the Custom of the House, I'll lu [...]k here no longer: The Devil again!

Trouble me no more, I say I will not be persuaded, I will know the Adultresses Name, that I may admonish her; for it has been of ancient pra­ctice in these our pious Offices, to make our Converts conf [...]ss not only all they know, but all that we have a mind to know.

Not Sir, I hope, if it be improper.

No matter for that, proper or improper, right or wrong true or false, if it be for our use, it must be confessed. Therefore I say, and say again, I do not absolve thee, thou art in the state of Perdition still; tell me her Name, or for thy Drunkenness, and burning of Houses; Thy Whoredoms, and Adulte­ries; Blasphemy, and Profaness; Thy Swearing, and Forswearing; Thy rub­bing out Milk-scores, and lamb-blacking of Signs in Covent-Garden; Thy breaking of Windows, killing Constables and Watchmen, Beadles, Taylors, Hackney-Coachmen and Link-Boys: for all these—

Nay, Madam, if you squeak, and think to alarum the House, I do not behave my self like a true Friend to Love, I am mistaken, and so here I am posted, and thus will maintain the Pass.

Well said, my civil, dear and friendly Cuckold.

Come forth thou Strumpet.

Nay, cruel Theodoret, do not, do not kill me: here on my knees.

How's this? Porcia taken there, and my Friend here in private with Porcia too!

By Heav'n thou dy'st this moment.

By Hell though but she shall not, Sir.

Nay, Madam, then! how's this? My Widow split in twain! My Porcia there, and Porcia here too? Con [...]ound me Courtine's Wife▪ I have done finely.

You'll justifie this usage?

You see, Sir, I am r [...]sponsible.

By Heav'n unhand her, or—Nay, look Sir well, you'll know me.

My faithful Souldier!

My victorious Widow!

Call up my Servants there, raise all the Houshold.

I'l do't Sir—

See, here are those that are ready to wait on you, if you have any service to command them.

And I will find'em service that shall warm'em.

Now, I fancy, by this Lady's concealing her self, she may be a disco­very worth the making. Madam, you see here my Friend is unconstant, but truly nothing could ever wean him from this Widow here— Sylvia! My Wife! my rigid vertuous Wife! my damn'd, confounded, jealous Wife!

Now here are very hopeful matters towards.

It was very courteously done of me, Beaugard, was it not, to keep the door for you, with my own Wife, Sir?

Nay, let us not quarrel Ned: I'll give thee a friendly account of this matter to morrow between our selves, in the mean time be satisfi'd, I have not wrong'd thee.

Will you never leave this Foraging into other Folks Quarters, Captain?

I am afraid, Widow of mine, you had a finger in the Plot, though—

Indeed, my dearest.

Your humble Servant, my Dearest! I am only glad of this fair op­portunity, to be rid of you, my Dearest: henceforth, my Dearest, I shall drink my drink, my Dearest, I shall whore my Dearest; and so long as I can pimp so handsomly for you, my Dearest, I hope if ever we return into the Coun­trey, you'll wink at a small Fault now and then with the Dairy-Wench, or Chamber-Maid, my Dearest.

I always was a Burden to your sight, and you shall be this time eas'd on't.

With all my heart! Heav'n grant it would last for ever.

My Doors lockt up! My Servants gag'd and bound! I am betray'd, undone, and I'll not live to bear it.

Nay, hold, Sir, none of that neither: This Design was not laid for a Tragedy.

How do you intend to deal with me?

Like a Gentleman, Sir, though you hardly deserve it of me: In short, this Lady is in my Charge now, and you in my power, and by her Au­thority, this being her own House, I have made thus bold with it, and will take care to dispose hereafter out of the reach of your merciless Tyranny, nay, if this reverend person will do us the friendly Office, though I have often re­nounc't it, am ready to do it one way this moment. Dardevil, wilt thou lend me thy Chaplain?

Heh!

Rise, Sir! Won't you rise? If your old Friend and I make a match on't, I hope you'll be so kind to dance at the Wedding.

Dance, Madam! I am dying.

That's false, to my knowledge, Madam: for the Surgeon told me last dressing, it was so slight a Wound, he had much ado to keep it from heal­ing.

Yes, by the same token when he had done with me, he began with you, forsooth, and said he would shew you a little of his operation, for hand­ling and tampering with his Box of Instruments, and there's the truth-out now.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Why Gentlemen, Ladies, Friends, Acquaintance, Am not I dying? Am not I wounded? Is not there a Hole in my belly, that you may turn a Coach and six in?

No, no: Prithee leave raving, and get up for shame, man: Thou an Atheist, thou believe neither a God nor a Devil, and be afraid of a hurt no bigger than a Pin-hole! Courtine, lend us thy hand to raise up our old Friend here: Well, how is't now?

Hah! Faith and Troth, I fancy, not so bad as I thought it was. Methinks I begin to find my self pretty hearty; I can stand, I can walk too, I have no pain at all. How dost thou do,

old Orththodox?

Ah! but you repented, Dardevill; thou didst repent, Friend: I am sorry to hear of it with all my heart, it will be a soul blot in thy Escutcheon: But thou didst repent.

A Pox on the Block-head, now I shall be known

Repent! Prithee be quiet, Man: Repent, quotha! Why, dost thou think I did not know my old Customer for two Deuces here, old Anti-Abra­ham, the Father of Unbelievers?

My Iacky! my little Rogue! my dainty Boy! Thou Son of thy nown Father, I can hold no longer; and I must kiss thee, and I will kiss thee, [...] you Dog, you Dog, you Dog, you little dear damn'd Dog.

Huzza, the Widow's our own: There lie Divinity.

A very Cutter, as I live, had he but a Tabith [...], a perfect Cutter.

Now, Iacky Boy; Iacky, you Rogue, shall not I have a little spill out of this Portion now, hah? The jolly Worms that have fatten'd so long in this Malmsey Nose of mine with the Fumes of Sack will die, and drop out of their Sockets else. Couldst thou have the Heart to see this illuminated Nose of mine look like an empty Honey-Comb; Couldst thou be so hard hearted?

Faith, Captain, be mollify'd; the old Gentleman, methinks, pro­poses very moderately.

It shall be so: She shall be my Daughter in Law, though I invert the Order of Duty, and ask her Blessing.

Look you, Sir: Though you have been a very ungratious Father, upon condition that you'll promise to leave off Gaming, and stick to your Who [...]ing and Drinking, I will treat with you.

The truth on't is, I have been too blame, Iack! But thou shalt find me hereafter very obedient; that is, provided I have my Terms: which are these.

Come on, then.

Three Bottles of Sack, Iack, per diem, without Deduction, or false Measure: Two Pound of Tobacco per Month; and that of the best too.

Truly this is but reasonable.

Buttock-Beef and March-Beer at Dinner, you Rogue: A young Wench of my own chusing, to wait on no body but me always: Money in my Pocket: An old Pacing Horse, and an Elbow-Chair.

Agreed. You see, Sir, already, I am beginning to settle my Fami­ly; and all this comes by the Dominion Chance has over us. By Chance you took the Charge of an old Father off from my Hands and made a Chaplain of him. By the same sort of Chance I have taken this Lady off from your Hands, and intend to make her another sort of Domestick. What say you, Sir? Are you contented?

I cannot tell whether I am or no.

Then you are not so wife a Man as I took you for. In the mean time; for your Liberty, you must dispense with the want of it, till I have this Night secured the Safety of my Widow. Your Friend Gratian, because of his Wounds, is only lock'd in his Chamber, and may take his Rest as otherwise. For the other part of the Family, I care not to make Excuses.