SCENE I.

AND is this all her Answer, Ieremy?

All, Sir, I cou'd obtain from her.

Unconscionable Widow! what not one Thousand Pounds more?

A plague upon her, this is to refuse any Courtesie to a Widow. A small slip of frailty now, might have soften'd all this indignation; but Iery, thou shou'dst have told her, the Debts due to me, wou'd, when pay'd, almost redeem my Mortgage.

I did so, Sir.

Well, and what said she then?

She said, 'twas as impossible to know when that time wou'd be, as 'twas for a Navigator to discover the Creeks and Sounds of the North-East, and North-West passages: And tho' you were so unwise, begging your Honour's pardon, to part with your Money, without good assurance of the return on' [...] she was not; no, Sir, she says, she has hook'd in your Estate, and swears she'll quickly have it above water.

The Devil sink her for't; but Ieremy, what says my Mother in Law?

More in a moment, than I cou'd Study in a week; her words crowd so thick on one another, that 'tis impossible for the Art of Man to distinguish 'em [...] Her Tongue's nimbler than the Poet's Mercury, and her Voice lowder than a Demiculverin; I dare Swear, she'd Out-scold ten Carted Bawds when she's sober; [Page 2] and Out-chat fifteen Midwives, tho' fourteen of 'em were half Drunk: But in her confused Chaos of words, I cou'd find this, and this only, that she'll not part with a penny of Mony.

Plague on her Gibship; what course must I take? Mony I have none, Credit I have none, Friends I have none, and Igad, if it continues thus for one week longer, I may safely say, Honestly I have none.

Sir, here comes some of your Debtors, accost them.

For what? I have not Impudence enough to ask, tho' for my own; wou'd I were a Citizen now for one half hour, only to obtain that excellent Art of Dunning; what Face shall I put on? Plague on't, wou'd my Taylor had made me a visit this Morning, I might have taken a pattern from him.

Ha! Noble Mr. Courtwitt! how fares the world with you; by the Ho­nour of Cornwall, the Rose has wither'd, for want of being sprinkled with the Dew of your Wit. Gadzooks we have.

Yes really, Mr. Courtwit, we have been, as the saying is, Like Bees without Stings, or a Whore without Cully, Like Plays without Wit, or a Bawd without Bully, For want of your sweet Society.

Why you impudent, impertinent Dog, how dare you offer to interrupt me? Must that fountain of Nonsence be eternally running?

Why, look you now, I never saw such a Man as this Mr. Bonavent is, since I was Born, he'll allow no Man to have any Wit but himself.

Wit! dost thou pretend to Wit?

Wit! ay, good substantial City Wit; why not? I'me a Scholar, a man of an Estate, and have Wit enough to keep it.

Well, Sir, the better your Estate, the more able you are to do me a Curtesie; I have now an urgent occasion to make use of you, my free Temper has brought me to so low an ebb, that I'm oblig'd to ask for Mony; which is a thing my Nature so abhors, that tho' 'tis for my own, I blush to do it.

'Sdiggers, forgive me for Swearing, I hope he don't design to dunn me.

You know, Mr. Squeezwitt, I lent you 200 Guineas, but my Occasi­ons being urgent, I'le quit you for a Hundred.

Seignior, no, 'tis thought by the malicious, who envy the Wisdom of the City, that I have a tender Pericranium; but they shall find, I have not only Wit enough to keep my own Mony, but other mens too. And for your comfort, Mr. Courtwitt, I'le give you a very Learned saying, I learnt of my Grannum. He that is poor in Appetite, may quickly be Rich in Purse, desire little, covet little, no not so much as your own, and then you'l have enough.

Enough!

Yes marry, little enough. I know, I owe you 200 and odd Pounds, you have need on't, who has not? you have need to have it, I have need to pay it, here's need of all hands, and to prevent any further discourse of the matter, I have great need to be gone: And so farewell.

Mr. Bonavent.

What, does thy Fist gape for Mony from me too?

You know, Sir, I lent you a Hundred Pound upon your single word; I'me sure you are so much a Gentleman, as not to deny me at such a time as this.

You sure? pray, Sir, be not so sure, lest you shou'd be mistaken. What, dost thou take me for a worse Coxcomb, than that General of Fools that just now left us? But however, when I am flush, you may hear from me, so farewel. A Handsome Young Fellow, Marry'd to a Beautiful Wife, (for whom I have no small Affection) and talk of Poverty, be ruled by me, get Mony, do,

A Hundred Pound.

Thou'rt in my Debt, I have given thee Counsel worth a Hundred and Fifty, dog cheap, but I'le bate thee the odd Mony.

Is this the end of unsuspicious Friends; my generous Goodness, and too open Hands, rewarded thus?

Good morrow, Mr. Courtwitt, good morrow, good morrow.

You're very merry, Mr. Hickman.

You're very melancholly, Mr. Courtwitt.

I have Reason for my melancholly.

And I for my mirth.

Sir, I must acknowledge my self a very happy man, for meeting you in this good Humour; and wish the business I have to deliver, may not in the least discommode it; I hope, Sir, you won't deny me a favour?

Not I, what is't? what is't?

You had once a Jewel of me, which you now wear on your Finger, worth a Hundred and Fifty Pound, for which I have your Bond for 300, at your day of Death or Marriage; If you will now, because I want present Mony, give me a Hundred, I'le acquit you.

Why, my good Friend, Mr. Courtwitt, I have no tricks, nor jerks, to come over you, not I; I know a plain Bargain, is a plain Bargain, and that Wit is never good till it be bought, if a Hundred Pound will do you any kindness, you shall have it, Mr. Courtwitt.

I thank you, Sir.

You shall indeed, two if you please.

Agen I thank you, Sir.

Upon good Security, mark me Mr. Courtwitt, otherwise you must ex­cuse me, I am a poor Tradesman, Mr. Courtwitt, keep a Linnen and a Woollen Draper's Shop, Mr. Courtwitt, and wou'd be loath to lend my [Page 4] Mony without Security, to be laugh'd at among my Neighbours, a [...] you are Mr. Courtwit, and so fare you well, good Mr. Courtwit; Mony, no, no.

There's a hundred and 50 pounds worth more, Sir, but see here comes your Mother, now for the noise of 50 Paper-mills.

Oh, Sir, are you here? you have spun a fair thread, here's much ado and little help, we can find neither head nor foot in your business, my Daughter and I may curse the time that e're we saw thee.

Sir, you have the Civil Vertue of Patience in you, good Sir hear me.

He says he does hear thee, and is ashamed to see thee, hast not, un­done our Daughter, spent her Portion, deceived our Hopes, wasted thy For­tune, ha—

All was but my kind heart in trusting, in trusting, Father.

Kind Heart! what shou'd Courtiers do with kind Hearts, or trust­ing in any thing but sure Preferment, and ready Mony.

What wou'd you, dear Father, that I shou'd now?

Marry depart in peace, Sir, vanish in silence, Ill keep my Daughter at home, she shan't Beg with you.

Be you but pleas'd to answer me, dear Sir, may not an honest Man—

Honest man, who the Devil bid thee be an Honest Man? Here's my Worshipful Husband, Mr. Sneaksby, from a poor Ieweller is come to be a Iustice of Peace, and what as An Honest Man! he grew to be able to give Six Thousand Pounds with my Daughter, and what as an honest Man! He bought my Son Aminidab a Place at Court, but not by Honesty; what shou'd any one Man do with Honesty, when 'tis enough to undoe a whole Corporation.

If my uncunning disposition be my only Vice, then Father—

Nay, and thou hast been Marry'd three years to my Daughter, and hast not got her with Child yet.

It may be defect in your Daughter, as probable as in me.

Defect in my Daughter? Oh horrible indignity, defect in my Daughter, Sirrah, Sirrah, 'tis well known before ever thou saw'st her, there was [...]o defect in my Daughter.

Well, if to be Honest, be to be a Fool, my utmost Ambition is a Cox­comb. Sir, I crave your farewell.

Marry and have it, Sir, with all his heart; my Husband's a Man of few words, and has committed his Tongue to me, and I hope I shall use it to his honour, fare you well, Sir.

Now mercy on me, but I had rather end my Life in Poverty, than en­dure the noise of that Larum-Bell one half hour longer; there is a desperate Palsie on her Lips, and an everlasting Feaver on her tongue.

My Life! why thou look'st melancholly.

Faith my Dear, it ought not to seem strange, having so narrowly scaped the loss of one of my Senses.

Prithee what Sense?

The Sense of hearing, Love; thy Mother—

Was she here?

Just parted from me, that Eternal Mil-clack.

What was the matter with her?

Nothing but her old Disease, a fit of noise. My Creditors were with me too this morning, Went in a rage, and swear they'll take their Course. Some of my Debtors too I saw, who laugh'd at me, Made me their sport, and for my ready Mony Gave me their damn'd unseasonable Counsel.

Some of your Debtors too have sent to me. Prithee peruse these Papers.

Hows this! from Bonavent, and Squeezewit?

Even so, did ever Leander write more moving to his Hero?

Plague of their Rogueships, why they proffer highly.

And can you be melancholly, when your Wife has such a brace of Lo­vers to maintain her. I warrant you now, you'd think much to be a Cuckold for all these high Proposals?

Why, faith, my Dear, I'm one of those Courtiers that wou'd not wil­lingly be sent of a Journey to Monte Cornetto, but however, I am of an Opinion she is most Chast, that's left to her own will, Confin [...]nt gives a Woman time to think, And mu [...]r up those wanton Vanities, Which modest Recreation wou'd expell. Were they in Italy, or Spain less Jealous, Their Wives wou'd covet less the things forbidden, For Womens' Souls are bent to Contradiction.

Then you dare trust me, Phil?

That I dare, faith, for if thou art a Sinner, thou'rt a very private one, and that's half as commendable as Vertue.

Then if I do not trick this Brace of Fools, May I live Poor, die Infamous, and be The publick scorn of every Vertuous Wife. But, my Love, has Ieremy brought you any News from my Aunt the Widow?

Yes, he has brought a Message as comfortable to me, as, You must re­turn to the place from whence you came, and so forth, is to a Malefactour at the Bar; I may Hang, Drown, Burn, Poyson, Stab my self, and be Damn'd, before she'll part with a Penny of Mony.

But cannot she be made to part with it, why thou hast wit?

Yes, and the Nation Gibbets, what woud'st thou have me rob her?

No, no, my Dear, I'm not so weary of thee. But will not the Law help?

Yes, to undoe us, the Law, 'tis oftner Debauch'd than Strumpets, and foul Oppression thrust into its room.

Give me thy hand then, Phill, I have a trick without the help of Law, or fear of Gibbits, to over reach this Widow, get thy Mortgage, and make thee out of the Court fashion.

Get my Mortgage from the Widow, Chymeras and Impossibilities.

Impossibilities! Why is there any thing impossible to a Woman's Wit? never despair, by this hand I'll get thee thy Lands releas'd; I tell thee, Phill, this angry Widow shall be so Chuckled, and so wheedled out of her Reason; nay, rather than fail, I'll kiss her out of her little Senses, but thou shalt have thy Mort­gage given up.

Presto Mephistophilous, here's Conjuration in the Name of Beelzebub.

Conjuration indeed, if you knew all; for look you, Phill, to tell thee a Secret, this ill natur'd unconscionable Widow is desperately and damnably falln in Love with the sweet face of thy Annabella.

Love in the Devil's name, prithee what Love?

What Love? why fond Love, doating Love, hot Love, Carnal Love; what Love would'st thou have a Buxome Widow fall into else?

Prithee my little Oedipus in Petticoats, speak English, and tell me the meaning of all this Gibberish?

Then to be plain with you, you remember my Cousin Ienny Fa [...] ­Love and I went to a Masquerade t'other Night together.

What then?

Why, truly in a maggot I borrow'd her Brother's Lac'd Coat, and other Masculine Accoutrements, and who shou'd I meet there but thy Widow, and wou'd you believe it, I made such an absolute Beau, such an impudent Smock­fac'd young Spark, that the Widow grew down-right enamour'd of me; so pas­sionately enamour'd, and I so push'd on the Frolick, that I durst be hang'd if I had not tempted her to Signing and Sealing, without the Ceremony of a Black Coat.

By the Honour of Knight Errantry, a very Comical Adventure.

Nay, and what's the best jest on't, the Amorous Fit has lasted ever since; for by some Spies about her, I'm inform'd, she does so rave after that bewitching Incognito she saw at the Masquerade, that if I don't take a time to mannage such a Plot for thee, as shall retrieve all, may I be the last of my Sex that e're has the honour of wea [...]ng the Breeches.

Well, success and thy kind Stars attend thee, nor will I lead my Life in Idleness, something I'll do, but what, the Fates direct me; my Dear, I would have thee continue at thy Mothers; I have a Plot, which if it take effect, I may break Jests on them that laugh'd at me.

Well, go thy ways, the best of Women, and the truest Wife. Ieremy.

Sir.

Boy, thou hast serv'd me long and faithfully. I'm sorry I'me oblig'd to part with thee, Poverty shall serve it self; yet prithee do one thing for me.

Any thing, Sir, that lies in my poor power.

If ever thou hast it in thy Ability, use thy wit, to abuse all things that have but sence of wrong, for without mercy, all Men have injur'd thy mistrustless Master; Cheat, Cozen, live by thy Wits, 'tis most Man-like, therefore most No­ble. Horses get their living by their Backs, Oxen by their Necks, Swine, and Women by their Flesh, only Man by his Brain. In fine, be a Knave and pros­per, for Honesty has Beggar'd me.

Farewell then Master, and if I do not put tricks on some of 'em, let me live the disgrace of all Pages.

I am resolved upon Revenge, I never provok'd my Brain yet, but now if I clap not fire in the Tails of some of these Sampson's Foxes, it shall be my de­fect of Wit, not Will.

SCENE Sneaksby's House.

Gentlemen, in this Gallery you may walk or sit 'till my Cousin comes.

Or lie down, if we please.

If you do, pray take care of the Ladies Couch, for your Shooes are none of the cleanest.

Peace Baboon, 'sdeath I cou'd find in my heart to Cudgel thee before thy Mistress. I have been acquainted with the Mungrel but two days, and I've found him beating-ripe above a score of times, I con'd find in my heart to bestow one on him now.

Not for a thousand pound.

That's a great deal of Mony, but I cou'd find in my heart to do it, tho'.

We're all undone then.

He sets my teeth an edge every time I see him, he looks so like a wilding Crab, good neither for Drink, nor Sauce.

Come, for my sake forbear.

Let him stand farther then.

Well, this is no time nor place to quarrel in, but—

What says he?

Nothing, you see he whistles t'other way.

But pray what makes your Lady stay so long? if she continue busie, I'll not wait for her if she were ten rich Widows, or one as big as twenty, for all she's my Mistress.

Mr. Bonavent's Complements are as course as his habit, and his Wit as small as his Civility.

How now! what says that Go [...]ing?

Igad, Mr. Bonavent, I beg your pardon, but I can't help letting my Mistress see my Wit, if I were to be Hang'd for't.

Ounds, you Dog-bolt.

Pray, Sir, forbear; but Mr. Wellborn, when will you bring that fine Civil Gentleman, Mr. Venture, that maintains himself so Gallantly by Picture drawing.

Here's a new business, farewell; pray tell your Cousin, I come not from Pensas to grow here.

Nay, pray Sir, stay, there's only the talking Gentlewoman, her Sister, with her, as soon as ever she can get rid of her, she'll wait on you; but will not Mr. Venture be here, Mr. Wellborne.

I expect him presently.

I'le see then if their Conference be ended, or break it if I can, and send my Cousin to you.

A good humour'd sort of a Wench this.

Oh, ay, and Witty to a Miracle, poor Fool she Loves me mightily.

Love thee! for what? to keep her Monky company. But prithee, what Venture is this, she talks of so affectionately?

Faith, a Gentleman that Lives at a good rate, very Civil in Conversati­on, and keeps good Company; yet none of his Companions that I am acquainted with, know either his beginning or his present State.

A Gentleman Born?

I know no more but by his Port and Fashion, you saw him with me last Night.

Was't he?

He was at the Play with us too, don't you remember that?

Yes, I remember I was at the Play, by a sure Token, and a sad one.

He a Gentleman! no, no, I'le tell you what he is.

Now that Ass begins to bray.

He's no Gentleman; marry, a fine headed, and a fine Handed Man he may be, and pretends great Skill in Picture drawing, Watch-making, and such like, only for his Diversion; he says he don't Live on't, but 'sdiggers he does Live on't, or else he has some secret way, as Pimping, or Stealing, for ought I know.

There's another Humour I could beat thee for, with all all my Heart, thou wilt speak scurri [...]ously of all Mankind, behind their backs, and darest not say Ba— to the Face of a Sheep.

Why, if he don't Pimp or Steal, or something worse, his Taylor and Sempstress, must have a woundy stock of Faith, if he can spend so high, and go so fine out of nothing.

Here comes the Gentleman.

Is he here?

Ounds, what a Spaniel's this.

Gentlemen, I beg your pardon, I was staid by the way upon the Receipt of Mony, or I had waited on you sooner; have you seen the Widow yet?

No, but her Cousin was here just now, who informs us, she's a little busie, and withal, was much impatient for the sight of you; she Loves you Ven­ture, Faith, I say no more, but thou'rt a Happy Man, to Love, and be Be­loved.

A Happy Man! Gentlemen, I'le give you the Picture of a Happy Man, I was turning some leaves over this Morning, and found it, an Excellent Italian Painter drew it; if I have it in the right Colours, I'le present it to you.

You will oblige us.

An Excellent Piece indeed, and on my word you have Copy'd it Inge­niously.

I boast no Skill nor Practice, but I have drawn some Pieces, that have been worth my pains in my Reward. But Gentlemen, are you for the Play to Night?

Pox o' the Play, and the Play-House, I was there too lately at my Cost, I lost my Purse there, but hang't, let it go, there was 15 Guineas in't for all that.

'Sdiggers, forgive me for Swearing, my Pocket has been pick'd too of 5 Guineas, and 4 Crown Pieces, I have only this Edward Shilling left.

Sure you have been in some ill Company?

Pox of ill Company, I say, adsniggs, my Watch is gone too.

Were you in no Crowd, nor Quarrel?

Quarrel, not I, prithee, I never was in any Quarrel in my Life, I alwaies run from 'em.

I dare Swear thou dost.

I only stood at the Bookseller's Shop to Read the last great News, and I remember, I was hoop'd in by some that seem'd to wonder as much as I.

Then certainly there was a Pickpocket amongst 'em.

I'le go to honest Drinkwater about it presently.

Drinkwater, prithee what's he?

One that will undertake, if you can get a Pattent, for a Cut-purse Hall, or Office, to help all Men to their own agen, allowing but the Tythes of their Losses, and freeing the offending Parties.

Hold thy Fools Tongue, let every Man be wise enough to look to his Pocket, and there will be no Cut-purses I'le warrant you, nor need of your Pattent.

Why, Sir, as wise a Man as you may lose his Purse, as I have done my self in a crowd.

He puts me in mind of a Crowd I was in to day, of Company I did not like: Ha! by this Light 'tis gone, and I dare not discover it, for fear of being laugh'd at.

Gentlemen, my Cousin cannot get rid of her talking Sister yet: She's now following of her into this Room; pray walk into the next, there you'l find a small Collation, and Servants to Attend you, you know the Custom of the House, Mr. Wellborne.

Come, Gentlemen, let's walk.

Pox o' that Picture-drawer, he's alwaies putting me out of Counte­nance before my Mistress; the Rogue knows I'm a Coward, and can't endure the sight of a Sword. 'Sbud, if there were no more danger in that than Fifty-Cuffs,

SCENE I. The out-parts of Moorfields.

SO, in this Disguise will I accost those of my Debtors which I meet; 'tis neither Theft nor Sin, if I by cunning slights can gain my own; here comes one of'em, now Luck of my side.

So, now I have furnish'd my self with Wit and Mony, I am resolv'd to get introduced to Mrs. Annabella; for tho' I do design to Marry, yet 'sdiggers, I cannot fast till the Bridal Feast, and if she has not a Heart of Stone, here [...]s that will move her, I'me sure.

Well, if this won't take, I'le never trust Poetry more; but say it fail, here's a hundred pieces, and she's a hard hearted Female, will neither be caught with Wit nor Gold.

Who's he that talks of Gold, bring him before me.

Bless me! what's that? in the Name of Sanctity, I conjure you, tell me what you are?

Sings.

Bless us! he's franticle, good day to you, Sir, I never cou'd indure mad Company, since Old Tom bit a piece of my Ear off.

Sings.

Presence, a pox o' presence, wou'd I were in the Lobby.

Come hither, Mortal, place they self before me; I think I heard thee talk of Gold, produce it; thou'rt a Thief, hast Robb'd my Treasury; lay it before me.

A Thief! as I hope to be Saved, Mr. Plutus, I came Honestly by it; I pawn'd my Diamond Ring for it, but just now.

'Tis false, I know thee for a subtle Knave; speak, did I never see thee▪ on Mount Lathmos?

No, as I hope to get rid of your Mightiness; I was never farther from London, than Barnet in my Life; Mount Lathmos quoth a! sdiggers, wou'd I were among the Mountains in Wales, or any where out of sight, from this Mad Rag-Man.

Or, stay a little, shall we Hunt to day, l'th' Woods of Merathon, or Erymanthus?

Sir, I thank you, but I don't care for such long Journies; tho' I'de go ten times as far to get rid of this Lunatick Bellswaggerer.

What's that you mutter, ha! pull forth thy Gold.

And I'le consume the Covetous Race of Mortals.

Oh, mercy on me, there, Sir, there; and I beseech you put up your murdering Weapon.

Why, what a precious damning sight is this! hast any more?

Not a Halfpenny more, on the Faith of a Citizen; the last Shilling I had, I gave to Honest Drinkwater, to give me an account of him that pick'd my Pocket, without my knowledge; but your Greatness has sav'd me the Labour and Charge, I thank you.

Tell me, great Cressus, where hadst thou this Treasure?

Why, an't please thee, great Plutus, I just now receiv'd it, of Old Vermin the Pawn-Broker.

I am mistaken then, thou art not Craesus?

No, no, sure enough, I am not Craesus, for I am not so Rich at pre­sent, as to purchase Oyl enough for a Pickled-Herring.

Then tell me what thou art, speak to me quickly.

Alack, I know not what I am, an't please your fierceness; I was Paul Squeezwitt, the Rich Salter's Son, when I came hither, and well season'd with a Hundred Guineas, but since my Encounter with your Madnessship, I am poor stink­ing Paul, without Wit or Mony.

Ha! without Mony! hence, avant thou Miscreant; dare Poverty appear i'th' Court of Plutus? Nay, do your Office then, my trusty Blade, cut Limb by Limb, this piece of Beggary.

Oh help! Murder, Murder.

Nay, less speed will serve your turn, for I'me in no such haste to follow you; I am resolv'd, I'le rid 'em one after another, till they shall stink worse than Iews; but this is not a time for me to stand prating in, I must be gone, lest my plunder'd Citizen, return with the power of the County upon me.

Prithee Cousin perswade me not, I wou'd not live a week more in the House to gain the Turkish Empire; what tho' she be my Sister, must I for that con­fine my self to a perfect Hell? the noise of Bedlam is still Musick to't; and her continual Visits, are more troublesome, than an unwelcome Suitor.

Well, Madam, I'le not endeavour to dissuade you.

No, prithee do not; but Carrol, I have observed thee melancholly of late; art thou in Love, or hast thou committed any fault?

Do you Read any, Madam, in my looks? I never was in Love much with my Face, nor never hated it; but if I thought it had on it any Trespass, these Nails shou'd scratch it out.

Nay, be not passionate Cousin, I know, you cannot forget the care I have ever had of you.

I am most sensible of your kindness, Madam.

But I am resolved to have a Husband for thee, I have already made my choice of one; what think you of your Lover, Squeezwitt, he makes most Court­ship to you; he has a good Estate, none of the worst Persons, and has Wit enough on Conscience for a Husband?

I find no fault in all these, Madam, but he's so base a Coward, he may soon be beaten out of his Mony and Wit too, if he had any.

But what if he shou'd prove Valiant?

If he were Valliant now, I cou'd say something; but to wait for his growing to't, will be such loss of time!

What think you then of Bonavent, my blunt suitor?

He's as much the other extream; I might seat him perhaps, but I shou'd never love him.

What say you to Mr. Wellborne?

As of a Courtier, Madam, who has tasted so much of all Waters, that when he has a Fountain of his own, he'll be Jealous, and think every man will drink of his Cup, when perhaps none wou'd touch it, were it I.

What say you to Venture then, the Curious Limner?

I wou [...]d not willingly bely my Heart, he is indeed the Man.

Well I'le take this Cause in hand, and thou sha't have him.

Madam, there's Mr. Bonavent, and Mr. Wellborne, below.

Is Mr. Venture there?

No, Madam.

Go, bid 'em walk in.

Gentlemen you're wellcome, I have been troubled with an over-talking Sister, that has quite wound me into melancholly.

I wish you mirth, Madam, with all my heart, but I don't come as one of your Fools to make you any, tho'.

Be not so brief, let me speak with you, tho'.

Ounds do you mock me?

Mistake me not, sweet Sir.

Fie Mr. Bonavent, you are too blunt a Suitor for our City Ladies, they have been us'd to a soft way of Wooing, and cannot brook this harshness.

A soft way of Wooing, 'shud I'de as lieve hear a Monkey chatter, as one of you Courtiers make Love. Madam, believe me, I like you, I have 600 l. a year, and if you will I'll Marry you, if you'll take me so, if not, I must seek out those that will.

Pithy and short; then to be plain, as you are, I neither like, nor will I marry you; why did you ever think I cou'd affect, of all men living, such a thing as thou art?

A thing, why what thing am I?

Nay, faith I know not, I'm sure thou art not any thing for a Woman to delight in, what cou'd she do with thee?

'Ouns, can you find nothing to do with me?

To find my Monkey Spiders, were an Office perhaps you wou'd not execute.

Go, y'are a Gipsy, and none of the 12 Caesars in a Tavern has such a tann [...]d Complexion; tell me of Spiders, 'sbud I'll wring your Monkey's neck off.

And then puzzle your self to make an Elegy, which shall be Sung to the dismal Tune of Squire Wickham and the Baker.

I cou'd find in my heart to tear her Topping; wou'd she were a Whore, then I'de be reveng'd, and bring the Prentices to Arraign her on Shrove-Tuesday. Farewell, a pox upon you.

Come, come, thou hast said enough, dear Widow.

To him. What I warrant you'd come for your part too?

You retain I see your unkind temper, will no thought soften your Soul? Disdain agrees but ill with so much Beauty, if you'd perswade me not to love you, strive to be less Fair, undoe that Beauteous face, shrow'd those bright Eyes, and make those fair Enchanters, those Twins of Light, less Lovely.

Flights, and Raptures, here's Romantick Gibberish for you; thou a Suitor to a young Widow, such a high-flown Romantick Fopling? If it were pos­sible I ever shou'd be so mad to Love; to which I thank my Stars I'm not inclined, I wou'd not hold such a Servant worth my Garters, tho' he wou'd put me in se­curity to hang himself, and ease me of his Visits.

You are a strange Lady; but look you, Widow, as Romantick as you think me, I have no such extravagant Opinion of your good humour, for let me tell you, barbarous Woman, y'are—

Ay, ay, as you hope for any good, Rail now a little.

Rail [...] yes, and you deserve it, so deserve it, that shou'd I tell you truth, I cou'd provoke you.

To laugh, but not lie down, believe me.

Go, y'are a foolish Creature, and not woth the Love I bear you.

Aloud that all may hear, the more merrier, I'll take't as kindly as if you'd gi­ven me the whole Exchange; what all this storm without a shower, my Carido [...] [...]

Y'are most ungrateful.

Good; abominable peevish, and a Wench that shou'd be beaten; beaten black and blue. Come, you can't Scold with confidence, you shou'd look big, strut, and cry damn her, confound the jilting, lying, cozening Sex.

Is she not mad?

To shew I have my Reason, I'll give you some good Counsel. None that have Eyes will follow the Direction of a Blind Guide, and what do you think of Cupid? Women are either Fools, or very wise, take that from me; the foolish Women are not worth your Love, and if a Woman know how to be wise, she will not care for you.

And do you give all this good Counsel without a Fee? Come be less wild, I know you cannot be so hard of Soul.

Oh pray let my Body alone, go, go, go home and say your Prayers, I won't look for thanks 'till seven years hence.

I know not what to say, but home I will go, and think a Satyr against your jilting Sex.

Well, I am a Jade to treat him thus, for I do love the Rogue spight of dissembling; what a strange thing is Woman, who, whilst wooed, teems to shun that she most desires to have;

But, Cousin, as much as you say you love this VVell-born, if your young Masquerader shou'd come across you, I wou'd not swear for your fidelity to him.

O do not name that darling Masquerader, ah Girl, 'twas only a delu­ding Vision, seen but just long enough to Charm my Eyes, and warm my Soul, then disappear'd and vanish'd; that Dear, that Angel Youth.

Where's the high flown Romantick Raptures now?

No, Girl, I wou'd not swear for my own self, shou'd I e're meet that face, but the poor VVell-born

SCENE the Street, Enter Courtwitt like a Physician:

Thus far my Fortune has dealt kindly with me, let my last Scene end with the like success, and I deserve applause. But to my business, these Letters from my Wife, must serve to draw the VVoodcocks Bonavent and Squeezewit in, and since they must be leaping, they shall find it is unsafe to venture in my Pa­sture.

Ha! here comes one, how, earnest in Discourse; I'll step aside, it may be worth my hearing.

A VVidow! what is she, or of whence?

A lusty young wench, they say, able to wrestle down stronger Chines th [...] [...]ither of ours.

But ho [...] is she Purs'd Man? How strong is she that way?

VVhy they say she's worth at least Ten Thousand Pound.

How Man!

Even so, I have Intelligence that never fails; she came to Town but lately, and Lodges at Old Hickman's the Draper.

Plague on him, an Old Amorous Stock-Jobber, he'll go near to aim at her himself

Like enough, he may aim at her, but she will be hit by none but a Gentleman; that I hear too; oh she's a fierce Ambition to be of Quality, tho' her first Husband was but a Tanner.

A Tanner! Plague on't, I shall be loath to venture on her, she'll kill me, or any Man, at her Husband's Occupation, before I shou'd be able to make her Hide gentle.

Nay, thou wilt find a piece of tough Currier's work of her, but how­ever, were not my heart ingaged to the dear Charming Carrol, her Mony wou'd make me aim at her, but I'll help thee all I can.

I thank thee, tho', I have had but small incouragement from Widows, yet I'll have one fling more, but who comes here?

Truly, Mr. Aminadab, I think I find an alteration in my self already.

Nay, I told you if you give your mind to't, you'd be a [...]entleman presently.

How's this! let's stand aside a little.

I believe he's about to turn himself into a Gentleman, to win the Widow.

And what a Tutor he has pick'd out to instruct him!

Methinks I love the name of a Gentleman a great deal better than I did.

But can you find in your heart to lend a Gentleman 20 Pieces upon his word?

Humh, no, no, it is not so far gone upon me yet.

Oh, but it must, I know it; a Citizen, can never be a Gentleman, till he has lent all, or almost all his Mony, to Gentlemen. Why, when I was a Gentleman first, my Mony did so burn in my Pocket, that it cost me all that ever I cou'd borrow or steal from my Mother.

But, Mr. Aminadab, a Man may be a Country Gentleman, and keep his Mony, may he not?

But you see the Widow is removed from the Country into the City, to avoid those Country Gentleman that made their Addresses to her; I tell you, you must be a Courtier.

But I can see no Courtiers, but what are apter to borrow, than lend Mony.

Ay, those that are bred or born Courtiers, I grant you: But to come to't at your Years.

Why, I can the sooner learn then; what is't that makes a Courtier?

Why, I'le tell you in brief, as my Tutors told me. Speak nothing that you mean, perform nothing that you promise, pay nothing that you owe, flatter all above you, scorn all beneath you, deprave all in private, praise all in publick, keep no Truth in your Mouth, no Faith in your Heart, no Health in your Bones, no Friendship in your Mind, no Mo [...]esty in you Face, no Religion in your Con­science, and to be sure, no Mony in your Pocket.

Pish, that last Article spoils all.

Ha, ha, ha—

Mr. Hickman, well met, how does your fair Guest at home? Mrs. Flammum.

How the Devil shou'd he come to the knowledge of her? Some of these Sparks will snatch her up, if I don't prevent 'em speedily.

Why dost not speak, Old Boy, how does the Widow?

Truly not well, whether it be weariness of her Journey, change of Air or Diet, or what else, I know not, something has distemper'd her.

Or Love perhaps of you, Mr. Hickman.

Me! no, no, I look like no such Man.

A word in private, Mr. Hickman. How is't Mr. Aminadab, what are you acquainted with this Rich Widow?

Acquainted! Why man, I design to marry her, she's worth Ten Thou­sand Pound, and is resolv'd she'll have none but a Gentleman, and I think I have beat him off that scent with a false Character, Heaven, and the Court forgive me.

Thou hast, Faith, and on purpose to have her thy self, I perceive it.

Ay, but he does not, he's an Ass.

Mr. Hickman, I wish you had her with all my heart, you shan't want my good word, and best wishes.

Do you speak this in earnest, Sir, or as you are a Courtier?

In earnest, Sir, and as I am a Gentleman.

Why then in earnest, Sir, and as I am an honest Man, I don't believe you; Mr. Aminadab Sneaksby has told me what Gentlemen are too lately.

O here he is. Mr. Hickman, as ever you hope 'to see my Mrs. your Sweet Heart alive, you must go home presently.

My Sweet Heart!

I think she is, and that in death she will be so; I speak but what she says, and others think.

This is the Widows Boy.

Is she Sicker than she was?

Oh she is almost speechless, names nothing but you, I am going to fetch a Doctor to her. Mr. Bombast has made her Will too.

And has she given me any thing?

Quickly go and see, Sir, you'll come too late else.

Fare you well, Gentlemen.

Nay, nay, we'll go with you.

Have you any business with me, Friend?

Is not your Name Bonavent?

It is, what then?

I have a private Message to you, Sir, from a Fair Lady.

You seem by your habit, Sir, to be a Physician, or something that way.

You have hit my Occupation right, I am to a Fair Lady, that bears you no ill will, Physician, Counsellor, Confident, and —

Pimp.

It lights upon me, Sir, some times. You know the Lady Courtwit?

Ha! say'st thou, dost thou belong to her?

This Letter, Sir, will shew what Confidence she reposes in me.

Let me see it, thou dear Bawdy Gravity, that I may know what comes from my utmost hope, the end of my Ambition.

Thou dear Messenger from Paradise, what shall I do? how shall I require thee? I perceive, old Lad, thou art the Draggon that hast charge of this Golden Fruit, accept this and my thanks; nay, nay, do not shame thy Function by Modesty, but take it.

Well, Sir, not to appear Uncourtly or Uncivil; but, Sir, let me advise you; I have heard her Husband was your Friend, therefore of all Men living you shou [...]d not wrong him.

Her Husband, alas poor Fly, only made to be suck'd and forsaken, his Wife has the Life Blood of his Fortunes in her, and I will be her Cupping Glass.

Nay, I have often heard her say, she had the Wit to preserve for her self; tho' I wonder she cou'd have the Conscience to Rob her Husband.

Rob her Husband! why, all things Rob one another, Churches Poul the People, Princes pill the Church, Minions draw from Princes, Whores suck Mini­ons, and the [...]ox undoes Whores; Physicians plague their Patients, Lawyers their Clyents, Courtiers their Suitors, and the Devil plagues 'em all.

You have spoken most Edifyingly, Sir, and I believe she may be com­p [...]st, for she is very Covetous; now, if you wou'd but make shew of a Gift, or present one, when once you have obtain [...]d her, they wou'd be all yours agen, and all she has besides.

Why, do'st thou think she's Rich?

Rich, look you, Sir, here is a Jewel, which I just now fetcht from a [...] Aunt of hers, where it lay hid from her Husband; this, Sir, is worth the Pur­chase, and she's an easie Female, he that has her, has all.

What think you then? if by the way of a little Alamode Gallantry, a genteel Initiation to her good Graces, I should send her a small Present, of a Hun­dred broad pieces of Gold, as a Box of Counters to play at Lantroloo, or so; what say'st thou?

O, Sir, they wou'd be yours agen. This Jewel too, and many more beside. I wou'd not say so much, but that I know she Loves you, and indeed I am glad she has placed her Love on so Generous a Person.

Why then, I'le e'en go home, and rummage up my broad Gold, send 'em, win her, wear her, suck her Purse, recover my own, and laugh at the poor Cuckold her Husband. But how shall I come to her?

This Note will direct you, and for my own part, you have shewn your self so Generous to me, that I shall be alwaies ready to serve you.

Thou art a very Honest Fellow, Faith, commend me to the Angel, with my Life's Blood, and Soul's Service. Farewell.

And what was she the worse for wearing, can you tell, Mr. Doctor?

What art thou?

One, Sir, that can conduct you to as delicious a piece of Womans Flesh, as ever Man laid Lip to.

A young Pimp, a very sucking Pig Pimp, what an Age is this? when Children play at such great Games? So young, and yet so forward?

Sings.

This Infant piece of Impudence amazes me; prithee, what art thou, or whom dost thou serve?

A most admirable Woman! O, she is all Venus, and to come close to you, she wants a Physician, you are one I take it.

'Sdeath I'me discover'd, this Habit will betray me. What is she, I say?

Sings.

For what wants she a Physician?

For what you please, Sir, when you come to her; upon my Life, she's free from any Distemper but the Counterfeits; will you know all, Sir, she wants a Wise Man's Counsel, to assist her in getting of a Husband. I lay hold upon you for that Wiseman, she relies wholy upon your Election; will you go, Sir, 'tis at a very Civil House, Mr. Hickman's the Draper.

At his House?

At his very House.

What dost call thy Mistress?

There she Lies by the Name of Mrs. Flammum, a Rich Cornish Widow; will you along, Sir?

'Tis but a weak ingagement, yet I'le go, Needless are Fears, where Fortunes are so low.

SCENE I: Hickman's House.

WEll, Mr. Doctor, what think you of the Sick Widow? has she done her part hithertoo?

Beyond my Expectation, better than I for a Doctor.

You're in the right, and I am e'en the same for a Widow, as you are for a Doctor, do not I know you? Yes, Sir, and will trust you, because you must trust me. Therefore know, that I the Rich Widow, am no better, than a Lady that must live by what I wear about me, the vulgar Translation you know. I have no Lands, and since I'me Born, must be kept, I may make the best use of my own without any Crime, I hope, Mr. Doctor?

I collected as much, by your young Whiskin that brought me hither.

It was by my direction that he did so, Mr. Courtwitt; nay, startle not, nor muse at my Acquaintance with you, I know all the shifts you are put to, and it you'l comply with me, you can be no loser by it; I am grown weary of my old courses, and wou'd sain be wiser, do my self good, before Age or Diseases make it too late.

I will work close and friendly with thee. But see, here comes your Pigwidgeon.

I wonder Cousin, we have not heard of Wellborne yet, I cou'd hang my self for my Folly, in using him after that barbarous manner.

Indeed, Madam, I pity the poor Gentleman, for I dare swear he Loves you.

I can't tell that, a True Lover must be known by his Patience.

Which he that deals with you, ought to be well stock'd with.

Madam, here's Mr. Wellborne below.

Bid him come up.

Now for a fit of Love, Cousin.

Madam, I am come.

I perceive you are, Sir.

To take my leave.

'Tis granted you. Good buoy.

You must stay yet, and hear a little more. I promise not to trouble you with Courtship, for I'm as weary with't, as you're displeas'd.

On these Conditions I wou'd have patience to hear the brazen Head speak.

How have I labour'd for your good Opinion, I leave the World to judge, and come now only to request, that you would grant in lieu of my true Service, one Boon at parting.

Ferboon, proceed.

But you must swear to perform truly what I shall desire. And that you may not think I come with any cunning to deceive you, you shall except what e're you wou'd deny me, and after that I'le make my Request.

How's this?

Put it concerns my Life, or what can else be nearer, that you Swear.

To what?

When you have made Exceptions, and thought what thing in all the world you wou'd exempt from my Petition, I'le be Confident, and tell you my Desire.

This is fair play.

I wou'd not for an Empire, by a trick, oblige you to perform what wou'd displease you.

This is a very strange Request; e're you begin, shall I except? 'tis odds, but I may include what you have a mind to, then where's your Request.

I'le run that hazard.

You will. Then look you, for a little mirth's sake, and because you shan't say, I am composed of Marble, I do consent.

Swear.

I am not come to that point yet, I'le first set bounds to your Request, and when I have left you nothing worth my grant, I [...]le make a zealous Oath to grant you any thing.

You have me at your mercy.

Well then, in the first place, you shan't desire me to Love you.

Agreed, go on.

No more, but go on? why, do you know what I have said?

Yes, very well, I am not to ask your Love.

And are you contented?

I am obliged to be so.

What in the name of wonder will he ask me?

You shan't desire me to Marry you.

That's the second.

You shan't directly nor indirectly, ask me to Lye with you.

That's the third.

That's the third: Is there any thing a young Man wou'd desire of his Mistress, when he must neither Love, Marry, nor Lye with her?

My Suit is still untoucht.

I am sure if you have any other Suit, 'tis out of fashion; you wou'd not have me spoil my Face, drink Poison, or kill any Body.

Heav'n forbid.

You wou'd not have me Ride Naked thro' the City, as once a Princess did thro' Coventry.

All my Desires are Modest.

You shan't ask me to Fast, nor wear a Hair Smock.

None of these.

I wou'd not be confin'd to be ready at Ten, and pray till Dinner.

You shall not.

Why then I Swear—Hold—you shan't ask me before Company, how Old I am. I won't be confined from Spring-Garden, and the Park, I won't be debarr'd the priviledge of jearing my Suitors, amongst which number, your Worship shall be alwaies remember'd.

To all these I agree.

Why then I Swear.

By what?

For once, a Kiss, it may be a parting blow; by that, I will perform what you desire.

In few words thus receive it, by that Oath I bind you, never to desire my Company, never for any Reason think of Loving me; this I am sure was none of your Exceptions.

What has the Man said?

I am confident, 'tis clear to you. Understanding, and I am sure you will not violate your Oath.

Was all this circumstance for this? I never found much inclination to trouble him; but to be limited and be prescribed, would make a Woman mad. This was a poor Trick in him; but I [...]le go study something to forget him.

Ha! ha! I do perceive 'twill take; I find she retains a relish of her Pre­decessour Eve; and longs to be pidling at the Fruit forbidden.

Sirrah, dare but contradict me, and I'le cut thee into more pieces, than there are Corns of Powder wasted on a Lord Mayor's day.

How now, Gentlemen, what's the matter?

What the Devil do you there? I thought thou hadst been abused enough, by that Widow weathercock, that's alwaies turning▪ plague on her, she had her fling at me too. But, thank my Stars, I am here now on another account.

But, prithee how has Squeezwit angred thee?

Why, Mr. VVellborn, forgive me for Swearing, he will have Mr. Venture talk to Mrs. Carroll, and make Love to her, in spight of my teeth.

Yes, Sirrah, and he shall talk with her his Belly full, and do with her too, her Belly full, for all thee; he's an honest discreet Gentleman, and thou, a Coxcomb, a Coward.

Coward! Pish, that's a common Name, I scorn to answer to't.

Why dost thou wear a Sword, only to hurt Mens feet, that kick thee?

A Sword! why, I wear a Sword to fight, when I see Cause.

What is a Cause to fight for, speak?

I won't tell you, it must be found out, and given me, before I ought to take notice.

You may safely say, for Religion, King, or Country.

Darest thou fight for Religion? ha!

Ha! No; for no man that has any Religion, will fight, I am sure.

I say thou hast none, speak, hast thou any?

Why, truly in this wavering World, I cannot tell what to say.

He'll say he has no King too, rather than Fight.

Why, if he won't fight for him, he's no Subject, and no Subject, no King, you know.

I thank you, Sir, I would have said so.

Oh, thou woud'st make a special Souldier.

Well, Sir, all are not choice Dogs that run, some are taken in to make up the Cry.

And for thy Country, I dare swear thou woud'st rather run it, than fight for't.

Run my Country I can't, for I was born in the City, I am no Clown to run my Country.

Dare you tell me of Clown, you Cockney Chicken-hearted whelp you?

Forbear, good Sir, there are Country Gentlemen, as well as Clowns, and for that Rank, I honour you.

Sirrah you lye. Strike me for that, or I will beat thee most abominably.

Up to him, man, wist thou suffer this?

I, I, I would, but—

You lie agen.

Well, well, I think I do, and why should I maintain an ill Cause?

The Woman you love, and doat upon, is a Whore.

Why, if she be, 'tis none of my fault, nor hers, some body else made her so, I warrant you, but, 'sdiggers, should another Man tell me so!

What then, Sirrah?

Why, I wou'd say as much to him, as I do to you; nor indeed, is any Man's Report of that a sufficient Cause, unless she her self confess it, and then it were no Cause at all.

Here's a true City Wit.

I should have Wit, and am accounted a Wit within the Walls; I'm sure my Father was Master of his Company, and the wisest Company too in the City.

What Company's that?

The Salters, Sir, for sal sapit omnia, you know.

Your Father! your Father was a Cuckold, and you're the Son of a Whore.

Death, fight now, or you'll die infamous, was your Mother a Whore?

Comparatively she might be, in respect of some Holy Women, as the Lady Ramsey, Mrs. Katherine Stubbs, and such, ha, ha, is that a Cause?

What, not to say your Mother was a Whore?

He may say his pleasure, it hurts not her, she's dead; besides, at best, she was but a Woman, and at worst she might have her Frailties like other. Wo­men. And shall I fight for the Dead, when we are forbid to pray for 'em?

But were your Mother living, what wou'd you say?

I wou'd civilly ask her if she were a Whore, or no. If she confest it, then he's i th' right, and [...]ought not to fight with him, because my Cause wou'd be naught. If she deny'd it, then he were in the wrong, and I would not fight, for I had better let him live to repent his Errour, you know.

Nay, now if I don't kill thee, let me be hang'd for idleness.

Hold, I am unprepar'd.

I care not, unless you swear presently, without all Equivocation, upon this Sword.

Scabbard and all, I beseech you, the Cover of the Book is allow'd in all Courts to Swear upon.

Well, Sir, now you must swear to challenge the next Man that wrongs you.

Yes, if the wrong give me sufficient Cause.

Cause agen.

Suppose that Picture Drawer within should take your Mistress from you, as indeed I believe he has already.

How, give me the Book, give me the Book, I'll have her from him, or him from her, tho' I change the Nature of a Citizen, and turn valiant.

I love a Man, whom neither Lye, Kick, Battoon, Friends Scandal, Pa­rents, the wrongs of King, Country, or Religion, can move; that will yet fight for his Mistress.

Oh, a Woman is a very moving Cafe. But I must take my leave; my hour draws on, that I must meet my Charming Isabella.

I have Affairs that call on me too, therefore you have saved me the trou­ble of an Apology [...] Your Servant.

Be sure to observe punctually my Directions, and when he enters, lay him on without mercy.

I warrant you, Madam, we'll have as little compassion for him, as the Fryars would have for a Baily.

I wonder he comes not, 'tis almost near the hour, a true Lover is seldom found tardy at an Appointment.

If Lovers find no better incouragement than he is like to do, 'tis enough to make Men forswear Intriguing.

Away, away into your Chamber quickly, Hanavent's just turning of the Street, and Squeezwit has receiv'd your Letter, who will be here immediately, therefore withdraw.

We will obey you, noble Doctor.

Honest, honest, dear Noble Dr. is the ready for me?

Mr. Bonavent, I am a Fool if I took you not for a real Physician.

As I take it, this comes pretty near the Disguise you ordered me.

Oh, Sir, most admirably. 'Tis impossible you shou'd be suspected; for she has feign'd her self Sick, and lies longing and languishing, 'till you come to Minister to her.

And am I come pat? am I come in the nick?

Your Fortune Sings in the right Cliff, Sir, a Wench as tender as a City Pullet.

But I hope not so rotten.

Oh, Sir, Health itself, a very Restorative.

What are these?

Prepared for your Entertainment.

Will you in, Sir, the way lies open for you.

Here, Dear, Dr. take you these hundred Pieces, let 'em be your Charge

Well, in spight of the Justice that provok'd me, my Conscience a little turns at these vain tricks. But they have all been ungrateful to me. Ingratitude is a sin should have no mercy. 'Tis the Plague Spot, who has it, should not live.

For my poor Lot, I could have sweetly slept in quiet want, had not uncourteous scorn

Out you Villain, do you think to dishonour me!

Hold, good Lady, I am—

A sawcy Rascal thou art, take that in remembrance.

Hold, good Lady.

I thank you, good Mr. Dr.

Oh, 'tis not so much worth, Sir, verily.

Oh, but it is, Sir. Rogue, Dog— Nay, prithee dear Rascal, pox on thee, I meant thee no hurt, my honest Vagabond. But tell me, dear Rogue, tell me who put this Trick upon me, tell me whose Plot was it, at whose suit was I Cudgel'd? Why was I made to feign my self a Physician, 'till I am forced to go to the Surgeons; tell me, if thou darest?

Why then I will tell you, this Beating was procured you by your Com­panion, and Rival, Mr. Squeezewit.

How, by that City Sheep's-face!

Even he; his Gold, and fair Promises wrought upon me.

'Oons, I'll grind the Dog to Powder.

Have patience, I'll put you in a way how you may take your Revenge with more safety.

Tell me then, dear Rogue, and I will not only forgive thee, but Re­ward thee Richly.

Why then, because I would have both your shoulders go in one Livery, I will assist you. Why, Sir, Knavery is as Restorative to me, as Spiders to Monkeys; the Poison of Wit feeds me.

Ay, and soundly; my ambitious blows shall strive which shall go foremost.

You will do well, Sir.

Be sure draw him up but half way.

I warrant you, Sir, but I must up to receive him.

Do so: now will I be so reveng'd, he had better been taken by in Bed with Annabella, than have prevented me thus.

I am sure this is the Window her Letter appointed me to come to, to be drawn up with a Rope. 'Sdiggers, forgive me for Swearing, 'twou'd scarce vex a Man to be hang'd in a Rope for such a delicious Morsel.

But to be bang'd in a Rope, perhaps may somewhat provoke you; wou'd [Page 24] they would begin once, that I might be at work, I don't love to stand idle in the Cold, thus.

Honest, honest, Dr. Pundor [...], Dr.

Here, Sir, here, I watch to do you a good turn, will you mount, Sir?

Mount! ay, I will mount, remount, and furmount; I will dance in a Rope to the Mistress of my affections, and afterwards bequeath it to the Cuckold, her Husband.

Now mount, Sir, I pluck Couragiously. Pray Hercules my strength fail me not.

Up, up, Sir.

Pox, and Pain. Pull, pull, Dr.

Save you, Sir.

I am most sensible of your Sal [...]ation; pluck, Dr.

Alas, the Cord sticks, I'll call some help.

Death, and Devils.

Fists, and Cudgels.

Hearts, Lungs, Lights.

Arms, Shoulders, Sides.

Help, help, Murther.

Passion of me, what's here? a Dr. I'll Dr. You. Away.

Ah, redeem me, redeem me, dear Dr.

Yes, Sir, I come for the same purpose. Alas, me thinks I feel your Blows my self. Are you not sore, Sir?

Sore, Sir, a Pox on thee, cou'dst not thou pluck?

Sure I was Planet-struck, the Rope stuck in a slit, Sir.

A Pox of the slit, I say.

Do you know this mad Dr. or do you owe a Dr. any thing?

I know no Dr. but thy self, and thou hast been a damn'd unlucky Ac­quaintance to me hitherto. Nor did I ever owe any thing to a Dr. only I am indebted to my Barber-Surgeon for a Diet-Drink.

Put your F [...]ce in order, here comes Company.

Ha! Squeezwit, heartily how is't?

As heartily as you please, but not so hard; prithee.

Why, what's the matter, Man?

I run against a Post just now, and bruis'd my sides.

Parmasity is very good for a Bruise, or the Skin of a flead Cat.

A flead Cat!

The Fly-blows of a dead Dog made into Oil, and spread upon the Skin of a measled Hog. Come, Squeezwit, come with me, I have a Remedy shall Cure thee, presently. Farewell, Dr.

Unbruised Bones, and a smooth Forehead, to you, Dr.

Your Servant, Gentlemen.

SCENE Changes.

VVEll Sir, Now to what you have to say to me, His Ma­jesty you say wou'd buy some Jewels, shall I deal plainly with you, my Husband has quite left off his Trade, and disposed so of his Goods, that we have not a Jewel left.

I am very sorry for't. It was your Son's earnest Request to His Majesty that his Father should be sent for.

Shall I tell you Sir, ( pray Husband stand aside) My Son-in-Law Courtwitt, whom I hope wou'd have proved a crafty Courtier, proved an honest Man, by Consequence a Beggar; which when I perceived, and that every Stranger abused him, I having more Wit than he, fell to, and Cozen'd him my self, and pretending to go to a Ball, borrowed of him two Jewels of great Value. Now Sir, I come to you.

Ay! Now you come to the point.

Right Sir, for there is no Woman, though she use never so many By-Words, but yet in the End will come to the point. Now Sir, I having these Jewels will send 'em by my Husband, a poor easie weak Man as you see, but very Obedient in Truth.

Very good.

So you shall present 'em, praise 'em, and raise 'em, the King pays, my Husband returns, and we'll share; d'ye Mark!

Nay I admire.

Away then, no Compllments; my Husband shall come early in the Morning.

Come your ways hither Husband, put off your Hat, make a Leg, Look simply—why so—I have Jewels for you to carry to the King.

Yes forsooth I'le carry 'em.

Look you Sir, you are so quick. I have charg'd you not to shoot your Bolt before you know your Mark. You shall carry 'em, sell 'em at my price; and now cast no farther. You see the Limits of your Commission. Now Sir, how will you behave your self to the King, how will you bear your self at Court.

I hope I am not too wise to Learn.

Why, that's well spoken. Now mark, I will instruct you. When you come at the Court-Gate, neither knock, nor make water. You must go thro' the Hall cover'd, thro? the Presence bare, thro' the Privy Lob­by cover'd, to the King bare.

I'le do't, I warrant you. Let me see; at the Court Gate neither knock nor piss. May not a man break wind!

Yes, but then it must be like the Encbiqu [...]r payment somewhat abated.

Through the Hall bare.

Cover'd.

Cover'd, through the Presence Cover'd.

Bare.

Bare. Well I will put it down in my Table Book, and con it by the way.

Well thought on. Something I see he has in him like my Hus­band. But now you come before the Brow of Royalty. Now for your Carriage there. Suppose me the King. Come in, and present, here sits Royalty.

Yes now I come in, make my three Legs, and then—

Kneel.

Yes and say

What

I can't tell

And please your Majesty, may I have certain Jewels to present liking.

And please your Majesty I have certain Jewels to present to your liking,

Sirrah, you are a Cuckoldy Knave, and have often abused me with false and deceitful Jewels.

I sell none but Right, e'ne please your Majesty.

Why then, that's well, very well, something I see he has in him like my Husband; come I'le Disguise you, and then for the Court [...]

Truly Wife I fear I shall be discover'd among the Gallants pre­sently.

SCENE Changes.

Am I then Cheated; my VVit begins to be out of Counte­nance: Oh the Plague that hangs over her Head who has a Fool to her Husband. But I forget my self. VVell Monsieur your business with me.

Madam, me have here de grand Character of your Vit, and admi­rable understanding. Me have likewise hear of your Jenerosity, and Court­like Behaviour, de which has embolden me to make my Application to you, ma [...]oy.

Monsieur I am very glad that the world conceives that just Opinion of me; for indeed 'tis such a malicious Age we live in, that do what we can to merit Praise, the ingratitude of our Neighbours casts Ca­lumny upon us, which makes us obnoxious to the Eyes of the world.

But your La—ship— [...]

Pardon me Monsieur, if I speak beyond your Capacity of understanding. How happy are the Ladies of France, that continually enjoy the Society of well bred Gentlemen. Have you any Fools in France, pray Sir.

Indeed Madame.

Forgive me if I have ask'd an Improper Question. But pray Sir to your Business.

Madam, I am a decay Gentleman dat now profess Dancing.

Good lack a day, what pity 'tis such an abrodietical Person should want wherewith to accrew. But pray go on Sir.

Now me have by boon Carriage, and modest behaviour won up­on de Affection of a fair Lady, but me no having de convenience of some Friend to Countenance me, and some fit housing to bring her to, she hold off from consummating our Marriage; now if your La—ship—

I apprehend you Sir, bring her to me, Lodge her with me, I'le call you Cozen. Is she very rich!

Garsoon wort ten tousand pound. She be de VVidow, she lye over de way at Monsieur, vat you call him!

Hickman.

VVe Madame, Monsieur Hickman.

By [...] Lady, a Match for my Son and Heir, bear a Brain Mon­sieur Dancer, or I may chance shew you a cross Caper. Sir bring your VVidow, and swear to your self my House is yours.

Madame, me tendra my tank, and am your mush Oblige Vassal, begar.

So, this is some amends for the loss of my Jewels. If I can but obtain this VVidow for my Son, I am a made VVoman.

Sirrah, 'tis in vain to pine, for I must and will take you in hand.

There's most admirable News come from Flanders, they say.

Tell me that I know not, and prepare to answer my Questions.

I believe there will be a rare Army there this Summer.

Leave your By Fly-flams, and speak to the purpose.

Why, I have sworn; don't you know I have sworn.

To live and die a beaten Ass, have you not?

Sdiggers! Forgive me for Swearing. What makes you so angry?

Angry! why, you Sheepshead, is every Schoolmaster angry that gives Discipline with Correction.

Pox on him, wou'd he were at P [...]nsans again.

Didst not thou tell the Widow that I was a Coward in my own Country, and kick'd out of Cornwall.

Comparatively I did, in respect of St. George, that [...] Giant [...], and flew Dragons.

Pox of your comparative Lies. And did you not tell her, that I was pepper'd to full of the Whatd'ecallums, that I was able to poison [...]

Why, that was comparatively too, in respect of a pure Virgin, [...] Chrisom Child, or so.

Incorrigible Coward, I will provoke thee, if it is possible, a So [...]un­drel, nay, I say now, art not thou a Pickpocket, speak.

Why, comparatively it may be said I am to a Church warden, a Collector for the poor, or so.

The Conclusion is, that if ever I hear you mention my Name in any [...]a [...]e whatsoever, I'll beat thee into Mummy.

In my good Wishes and Prayers I may. Heaven forbid else.

No, not in your Prayers, I won't have you mention me, you Dog; you'd better never pray.

Well, Heaven forbid I shou'd then.

And make thy Oath good on that Fellow that has ta'he thy [...] from thee, or—

Why he has not taken her yet, has he?

You have not seen him nor her these two hours. Besides the Widow has call'd for her, and she is not to be found.

True, true, and if I be nor revenged.

Do't then, now whilst thou art hot. See here they come. how mind, or by my Sword.

Believe me' Madam, there is no Danger whatsoever, but I wou'd willingly hazard for the possession of your dear self.

I must confess you have shewn your self in all things a worthy Gentleman, and one that I had never much dislike to. I have been soli­cited by many, especially that Squeezwit, whom I hate for his abomi [...]able Cowardise.

Coward, Madam! you are mistaken. I am no Coward, sdiggers, forgive me for swearing, I am as good a Man, no Dispraise to any one, as he that talked with you last. And [...]gad, for all his fierce Look, I have you, and I'll keep you, and Lucifer himself shan't take you from me.

Heyday, you're valiant of a sudden [...]

Valiant [...] Madam, I have cause to be valiant, and I will be valiant, s [...]iggers, I'll fight to die, and die to fight again.

Death! go take her from him. What, afraid! By this Light he's a [...] Coward than [...]'ot [...]er [...] [...]id, what a terrible Rage he's in that is Vanquisher.

Sir, she is mine by promise.

She's mine by Act and Deed, according to the Flesh, do you deny it, Sir [...]aho if you dare [...]

That shall be tryed by Law.

By Law of Hands and Arms is shall: take that and be sa­ [...]

Bear witness, he struck me.

O pityful Picture drawer.

What, won't he draw, then I am resolved I will.

What would you have, Sir, if she be yours, take her.

No, no, that won't do. I'll make thee fight. Sdiggers, what [...] I [...] but be valiant to be Cesar.

Oh brave [...]

Why dost [...] thou Fellow thou!

She' [...] [...] thy, and she does not deny it; wou'd you have me fight with [...]

I'll make you fight, or cut you into pieces.

By this Light he's turning my Words over to him.

[...] for, Snivel, to hurt Mens Feet tha [...] [...]

Nay, now thou art too severe.

Hold your peace, I'll [...]ou [...] your Heads together else, and so beat t'one with [...]

'Slife! he'll beat me too.

What do you wear a Sword for, I say! speak, or by my terrible Fit of Valour, I'll rip thee up as Ne [...] did his Mother, and hang thee up for a Sign, with a Cord made of thy small Guts.

Some other time, and in a fitter place.

Sirra, you lie, strike me for that, or I'll dig thy Brains out, and make a Punch Bowl of thy Skull.

You see this, Mr. Bonavent.

Ay, and I see it too. Was ever any Woman so cozened in a Man!

Hark, you Sheeps face, the Woman you love and doat upon is a Whore.

How's that?

Hold, hold, that was wrong. Your Father was a Whore— no your Father was a Cuckold though, and you're the Son of a Whore.

Rare! I shall love this Fellow.

Well, Sir, I can take all this upon Account.

You count all this is true then. Go, you're an incorrigible Coward, you're a—what was the last ugly Name you called me, Mr. Bo­nave [...]nt. Oh I remember now. Sirrah, you're a Pickpocket.

[...] I am discouered [...]

What do you start? Nay then I say [...] you're a Pickpoket, and give me my Money, and him his, [...] I'll cut your Body into [...] of Salt, and make a pickle for your Soul, you Dog

Hold, hold, Sir, pray. Gentlemen, [...] you will grant me pardon, and forbear the Law, I'll answer you.

Agreed, agreed.

Why then indeed I am a Pickpocket.

Comparatively or positively? speak positively, or Ill beat thee su­perlatively.

By this Hand, a brave Boy.

Here is your Watch, and Money: and here is yours. Now as you're Gentlemen, use no Extremity.

Beyond all expectation.

Miraculous! Oh the Effects of Valour.

Was ever Woman so mistaken on both sides.

But dost thou think thou'rt really valiant?

You had best try. Sdiggers come both of you, I'll send you into the other World as easily as that Fellow picks a Pocket.

Nay faith, I'll not put thee out of this honour.

Is this your Picture drawing? Are you the King's Picture drawer? A very pretty Denomination for a Curpurse, that draws the Kings Pictures out of Mens Pockets. Come, Sir, come in with us.

Pray use me kindly, Gentlemen.

Yes, we will use you in your kind. Oh that I cou'd meet with that mad God Plutus now that took my Money from me.

'Sbud, I wou'd not be a Coward again to be made Lord May [...]r.

Enter Widow and Maid.

Yes Madam

I must talk with him.

Before he speaks to you!

Ay ay, and better so then lose him.

You're well met Sir; are you not a strange man, what can you mean! Is it because I have dealt justly by you! told you my heart without Flattery, that you take these wicked Courses.

What the Devil, is she run mad since I last talked with her.

Indeed you are to blame; because I can't love you, you'd be des­perate.

And hang my self for Love.

I am much afraid on't. 'T would be a fine Credit for you but it may be you'll go to Hell to be Reveng'd of me. Is this all your Christianity.

[Page 33] But if you have such impious Intentions, why do you send to me to fright me thus! Is this a Letter for a Mistress.

I send a Letter.

You had best deny your' Hand.

My Name is subscribed; who has done this!

There are very short days in Hell.

And drown my self as often, if you say, The word.

Alas, not I.

Ay, is it not. [...] Sir, I wou'd not for the world you should come to any danger for me. I can delight in no mans Ruin. Therefore to pre­vent yours, I'le frame my self so Love you.

You will!

I will.

I thank you Madam. I see then you have Charity for a need.

I might indeed.

And carried News to the distressed Ghosts. But for all this you must believe, that what I do is only to save your Life. There are so many convenient Beams. That you may slip out of the world before any one's aware. Besides you dwell near the River, and if you should be me ancholy, you'd come in after some Tides, and be more talked on than a monstrous [...], which to prevent well Marry instantly.

Come shall we to the Priest.

By your good favour, no, I am in no such humour.

I warrant you, you suspect I am not in earnest; by my troth I am.

To save my Life then, you're content to marry me.

Yes.

To save thy Life I'de not be troubled with the.

How.

Nay, hear me first, upon my Life I Love you.

I hope thou dost, that'l may plague thy Soul out.

It would be Justice.

Come I know you Love me, do not refuse but take me in the Hu­mour. If I go once more back, you ne're recover me.

I am as ticklish as you can be.

Then let's be wise, and clap it up whilst we are both in the mind. Say, is't a Match? Speak quickly, or for ever hereafter hold your Peace.

'Tis done.

Agreed.

Seal and Deliver:

My Hand and Heart:

Should you be false now

Hold me not worth the Hanging.

Stay, stay, thou Cruel fair.

My Masquerader.

But Oh dear Madam.

Dear Coxcomb. Prethee young Impertinence stand off.

Nay, hold my little Whipper Snapper; fair and softly Gossiping Knight Errant. In the Name of Impudence, who the Devil art thou?

Oh! how he talks?

Hark you, Sitrah, hang Dog, one word more of this c [...]ting, and [Page 35] by all the Bones in thy skin, I'le cut thy Ears off; I tell thee young Ras­cal—

How, dost thou threaten! Darest thou think to fright me.

Dear Creature!

Hey my furious Iehu, you drive on at a Galloping Pace— But hark you my Dear, methinks you are very silent in the matter. Pray, do you incourage this young Dandypra [...] to talk at this insolent rate.

Insolent! did you say! nay indeed Sir 'tis a bold Boy.

Bold,

But the Boldness becomes it so prettily.

Death and the Devil.

So Sweet an Air it has and talks so winningly.

Confusion!

VVhy, truly Mr. VVellborne the young, Gentleman speaks a great deal of Reason; for if you should force me to break my Vows and Oaths, and Marry you. And the young lovely Youth should afterwards be so fond, or so indiscreet, as to haunt me up and down, as for Example from St. Ma [...] ­tius Lecture to Covent-Garden Prayers; to this Musick meeting, and that New Play, or to this Ball, or that Masquerade and I shou'd be so weak as to suf­fer him, as indeed I fear I shall; really Mr. VVellborne you wou'd grow Jea­lous, and lead a very uneasie Life.

Say you so Syren!

Nay, Truly Mr. VVellborne, I shou'd be loath he shou'd do all this, but, alass, if he should be importunate in his Addresses, and I should not have the heart to deny him those innocent favours, as really I am but Flesh and Blood, and dare not Swear for my own strength in such a Temptation, indeed Mr. VVellborne, your Life wou'd be strangely unhappy, and therefore might I advise—

You'd have me quit my Claim, Renounce my Right, Give up my Title to a Beardless Boy; and yield you to the Arms of that young Devil. Damnation!

Not that I'de have you do all this—I Vow I wou'd not for the whole World advise you to any such thing, but only for your Peace Mr. VVell­borne.

My Peace, Eternal Furies. Hell and Fire-brands.

Nay Sir, why all this raving. You had better Resign her Galmly.

Calmly, Traytor Impudence! I'de swear that he were not in the Park—