COme back! Prithee Lovell, come back, and let's to the Tavern.

Unconscionable Man! I tell thee I am going to see my Mistress.

Pox o'thy Mistress; if thou wer't going to a Wench, I wou'd excuse thee; But I should think my self Damn'd, shou'd I consent to thy going to sollicit any Woman in the Way of Matrimony.

Wilt thou never leave this lewd wild Humour?

Not upon the score of Matrimony; Why, Iack Lovell, I'le tell thee I'am now like a Colt in the Fenns, that stragles every where, and feed where I like best: But shou'd I Marry, I shou'd be tether'd to my Spot of ground; at best, confin'd to an Inclosure.

But the Horse that is loose often falls into a foul Ditch; or is put in the Pound for 'straying into his Neigh­bours ground: Marriage is honest and safe.

Yes; if all Wives were honest, I'le undertake a Miss shall love thee twice as long as any Wife thou can'st [Page 2] find; nothing choaks Love like the Surety of Possession; Love is an excellent Meat, but Marriage is an ill Sauce; and believe me, it is the worst Estate of Mankind. If I was go­ing to Tyburne, I wou'd cry, Drive on Carman; and choose to Sing my Penitential Psalme at the Gallows, rather than return to say, For Better for Wors [...].

Atheists [...] Love, [...]ke [...] in Religion, are not to be reclaim'd by Argument; yet now and then are converted by some Accident or other. Thou may'st one Day see a Beauty, that like a Burning-Glass, shall draw all thy loose Flames with­in a narrow compass.

Beauty is mo [...] [...]ittle than the Glass thou talk'st of; and Mans Estimation of it less Durable: I may perchance, Love only one at once; but not that one always: And whilst I am in my right Witts, I will not leave Delightful Variety for the Unsavoury Insipid Bitts of Constancy.

Well; Iacinta, has a Kins-woman for her Compani­on, so Beautiful, her Eyes wou'd fix thy wandring [...] Thoughts, and make thee abandon all Women for her [...]

So thinks the Devout young Novic [...] newly enter'd in­to his Cloister; He has no sooner forsaken the World▪ the Flesh, and the Devil, but imagines he is able to persw [...]de the greatest Debauchee, to make himself a Fool in the like manner.

I have not seen my Mistress these three Dayes; and my Mind is not compos'd enough, to return an Answer to every thing▪ You urge But venter thy Body within these Doors, and if ever thou return'st the same Man—

I know myself so well grounded in Sin, and have [...]sted so much the Sweets of Wickedness, that I dare venture my Self into any Temptations to the contrary: And for this once, I will suffer my self to be seduc'd by thee into Civil Company; And if they do debauch me—

Come then—

But I know not how I shall forgive my self the Sin of forsaking Wine, Women, and Dice, for the Conversation of Damn'd Vertuous Women.

Careless, we are undone!

What Fantastick is this?

It is the Vain, Idle, Simple, Conceited, Imperti­nent, Talking, Travelling Lord De Boastado (as he calls him­self.)

He looks like a good Subject for Mirth, let's hear his Character more at large.

I ner'e saw him but twice in my Life; but once is e­nough to know what he is, for like a Word writ in Text, you may Read him all at first sight.

So—

He much values himself upon his Travelling; many Countries have taken Notice of him, and he of a few; he pass'd them o're as some Men do a great Library of Books; who Read the Title-page, then turn to Finis: He carry'd more Money out with him, than he brought Wit home: His Obser­vations are of Modes, Fashions and Women: He speaks some few words in most Languages, but Sence in none: He has Bap­tiz'd himself with the Honourable Titles of most Countries: His Name is as long as a Coach and six Horses.

Let's fall upon him.

Shun him as you would the Plague.

Thou shalt stay, he makes full at us.

He, he has prun'd himself, and comes with a full Swoop.

Mr. Lovell, good Morrow to you.

Good morrow to your Lordship.

What Gentleman is this?

A worthy Friend of mine.

One that has the Ill Fortune to be unknown to your Lordship.

My Friend's Friend must not be a Stranger: I [Page 4] am covetous of your better Acquaintance.

Pray do me the Honour to let me know to whom my Services are owing.

My Name is Mounsieur, Heiro, Signioro Countalto, Donno D'Boastado.

Bless me! De Boastado, what Arms bears that Fa­mily?

Sir, they are very famous, and thus blazon'd; but first imagine the Escutcheon in a Frame of beaten Gold, rich­ly Enamell'd, set with Pearls, Rubies, Diamonds, and other precious Stones of great value and number, Incredible— for such an one have I hangs up in my Dining-Room against my Embroidr'd Hangings, that were presented me by the Emperour; betwixt a Golden Watch in a rich Case, given me by the King of Spaine, and a great Medal, with the Pope's I­mage on't: And underneath all this, hangs the Golden Armour I won in France, at the head of Four Thousand Men; I must confess there was not any one cou'd do the like, tho' they all try'd one by one—But no matter for that, let that pass.

I have heard much of your Fame, but as to your He­raldry.

You do well to put him in mind of his Text, for he was run too far from it, to come to't agen under the turning of an Hour-Glass.

The Griffin and Tyger Couchant, for on their two Backs it is borne up at each Corner: in the middle, by the Flower De less Crescent; on each side, guarded by the Dromadary and Ele­phant Rampant, which stand upon a Castle Guardant; on the Top of the Frame, is the Helmet Militant, held up in the Ta­let of an Eagle Volant, bearing a Crown upon her Head Trium­phant.

The Flourish of all Christendom!

This is a strayn beyond what I ever heard yet.

His Heraldry has run him out of breath.

Then Gallants, in the Escutcheon, is only a Man [Page 5] with a Spade Foclant in a Field Gules.

A Silver Brim to a Wooden Dish.

Or a Leek Enchas'd in Gold.

That wou'd be a fit Armes for him, for by the length of his Name, he shou'd be a Welch-man—But my Lord, these may be said the Armes of Adam.

They are so; ours is a very Ancient Family, and we are lineally Descended from him—And our Motto is

We have trespass'd on you Lordship's Patience.

We beg your Pa [...]don, and take our leaves.

I hope your Friends better Acquaintance.

You honour me much.

How far walk you this Way?

No farther than this House.

Thither I am going too.

Are you acquainted with Mr. Muchworth.

His Daughter will be a great Fortune, and I am in Treaty with him about a Marriage.

About Marriage!

Great Persons of mean Estates choose Wives out of the City; they are covetous of Honour, and we of Money. And here comes the Alderman.

Good morrow to your Lordship.

How does your fair Daughter?

You honour me with enquiring after her—Oh Mr. Lovell, a word with you in private. Sir, you have for some time made Addresses to my Iacinta: But for the future, I desire you wou'd be a stranger to her—To me you shall be always welcome, but she is otherwise engaged?

It is less in my Power not to love her, than to hate you; Tho' she shou'd follow your Example, and turn me off too.

You know my mind, and shortly she'l let you know hers,—your Servant—My Lord, I'le wait you in—my Daugh­ter and my Neece are but gone to buy a few Trifles at the Ex­change; they'l be back soon.

Gentlemen, your Servant.

Iacinta engag'd! false faithless Woman.

Prithee think no more of her. Come now, go with me and be merry; wee'l have Women in abundance.

Hang e'm Jilts.

No; such Women as your Mistress is, are more like Jilts. These are good Conscionable Girles, that will not let you spend your Money for nothing with the others; you waste your Gold and Time, and at last, like young Heifers when they come to be milk'd, they Spurn at you in Defiance, and away they frisk.

Ah Iacinta! Hast thou forgot my Vowes? Unhappy Lover.

Damne this pineing, whineing, puleing, peaking, sneaking, sniveling Love: I'le carry thee where thou shalt see merry, gay, jocund, sprightly Love. Thou shalt have it in Arm-fulls, and Dilate thy self in Pleasure.

My Soul is out of Tune!

Sir, Master, Sir, Madam Iacinta, and her Cousin Hi­laria are just turn'd the Corner of this Street; I suppose they are coming home.

I'le meet her, and tax her with her Inconstancy.

They have both their Masques on, but you'l know e'm by Beatrice; my sweet Beatrice.

These are they. Lovell, accost thy own Natural, and leave me to manage the other Impertinent.

My Heart's my Guide. Iacinta stay, stay Iacinta; Speak, tho' but one word, and tell me the Cause of this sudden [Page 7] Alteration: Pull off your Masque, and let me see if your Face is alter'd as much as I hear your Heart is. Unkind Woman, dost thou flie me! I'le pursue thee as a Ghost does the guilty Murderer.

Now you and I, like Squire and Damsel, will follow Beatrice; if thou hast lost thy Tongue too, you and your Mistress are a Blessed pair; for were it not for your Tongues, you wou'd all be Angels.

Da, da, da—

Nay, nay, Madam! You are not to pass so.

What wou'd the man be at?

The Man's at what he wou'd be; he's at you.

What do you mean?

Faith I can't resolve you till I see your Face; pull off your Masque, and then I'le tell you what I mean.

Suppose I wont.

Nay, if you are good at Suppositions, suppose I am resolv'd to see it off.

Then I shou'd suppose you very Rude.

And if you don't, I shall suppose you very Ugly; for I never knew a Woman that had a handsome Face cou'd endure to hide it.

Yes, if she like not her Company.

Yet, she'd have her Company like her; I trust more to a Woman's Pride, than her Love or good Nature: For tho' they are ugly, they think th [...]mselves handsome, and wou'd be thought so by others.

Why then do they maintain the Humour of Vizard-Masques?

Because under them they Sin conceal'd: I'le engage Vizard-Masques ruine more Womens Virtues than all the Bawds in Towne—

Your Reason for that.

Under the Vizard the Wife goes to the Play, Ball, or Masquerade undiscover'd to her Husband; the Maid unknown to her Mistress; the Daughter or Neece unperceiv'd by her Re­lations: [Page 8] The Masque invites the Gallants: And tho' at first you come but out of Curiosity, to hear what Men will say; Our Alamode Repertees, our Gentile Bawdry, and brisk Raillery tickles your Ears; your Bodies are buxome, your Bloods grow wanton, your Fancies strike firmly on some Man or o­other; the Gallant grows Importunate, and you are Con­quer'd.

Do you find Women then so fraile?

A Womans Ear is the Out-work to her Chastity; get but there, and the Fort is more than half taken. When once a Woman hears what you say, she'l soon do what you'd have her.

Then you take a Parly for a Surrender.

No, but after a Parly they soon yield.

Now have I a mind to stay and talk with you, but must be forc'd to leave you to avoid your ill Opinion.

Nay, if you have a mind to't you 'ido't; let me think what I will. And if you won't pull off your Masque, I'le e'en begone and leave you. Fare you well.

And fare you well.

Nay, if you look o're Shoul­der after me, I'le turn again, for you have no mind I should be gone I am sure.

Why did you look back at me?

To see—

If I wou'd look at you, and so we e'en caught one ano­ther; and what can you say to me of that which I can't Retort on you agen.

But I'le be judg'd by your self, if I have not more rea­son to think, you desire my stay, than I yours; You have a full sight of me, and see what I am, and now whether you like me or not: You are all Vizard, long Scarfe, and Petticoat; for ought I know, you may want a Nose, a Sett of Teeth, be Squint-ey'd, or Blobber lip'd.

I'le tell you that presently—

Nay—

A handsome Legg and a Foot I'le be sworn; and here's a well shap'd Hand and Arme; and what Breasts are here? How round and plump?

Hands off, your enquiry begins to grow troublesome.

If you have a Face and Features answerable to your Limbs, you'r a prime piece of Womans Flesh.

Do you think I have?

Gad do I.

Then to keep you in your good Opinion, I'le begone, and you shan't see't: Nay, nay, no Attempts, hands off.

I have sworn to see't.

And I have sworn you shall; but stand at greater Di­stance: Farther, farther yet—See

Excellent Creature!

Fare you well.

Ha! are you so cunning? She has lock'd the Door against me.

My Master, Sir, is gone out the Back-way, and sent me to give you Notice.

I'le be with him presently.

By her Witt, I did not judge she had so good a Face; for Wit and Beauty seldome go together in a Woman: She has a large stock of both, and I cou'd wish my self in Bed with her: but the Thoughts of her are Momentary.

MOst luckily met, I am sent Embassadress of good News, and was just coming—

Return, and Attempt not to deceive me with fair Words. Return, I bid thee, and tell thy Faithless Mistress her Unhappy Lover will not long be the subject of her Scorne: Bid her practice her Receipt else­where.

My sweet Face, tell me, What Humor is this has pos­sess't thy Master?

Your sweet Face, you Impertinent: Go, do as you'r bidden, Be gone, go.

Hey! Are you in the same Tone?

Be gone Baggage: Speak not a Word more for your Life.

What a Vengeance ayles you both? Well, I'le go in­forme my Mistress how Sq [...]res go.

Thus to treat a Lover, and one that was the most pas­sionate, and most faithful of all Lovers.

Tis strange to me they should treat us so.

I have show'd the greatest Love and Tenderness for her that can be imagin'd; I lov'd Nothing in the World but her; Thought of Nothing but her; and Sleeping, dream't of No­thing but her: She was all my Desire, all my Joy; I spoke not of anything but her: And is such a Love thus Rewarded! These three Dayes I have not seen her, seem'd so many Ages for me: And am I in three Dayes forsaken and forgotten? I meet her, and she will not speak to me, not look at me; but shun me as a Thing she hates.

Ah Sir, I may say the same, for Beatrice will follow her Mistress; Honey or T—as she is.

Can Iacinta be match'd for Ingratitude?

Or that Baggage Beatrice?

To forsake me after so many Sighs and Vows which I have offer'd to her Charmes.

To leave me after so many good Offices and daily Ser­vices I have done for Her.

After so many Tears shed at her Feet.

After so many Payles of Water lugg'd up Stairs for her, to wash her Roomes.

After I had express'd so Ardent an Affection, and so gen'rous a Flame for her.

After I have so often kindl'd a Fire for her in her Mi­stress Chamber, and Scortch'd my self with taking her Hea­ters for her out of the Fire.

Does she after all this, refuse to speak to Me?

Does she for all this turn Cat in Pan?

And flie from my sight.

And turn her Back-side with a Pox to me.

Her Unkindness deserves my severest Resentments.

Her Pettishness merits a hundred Kicks i'th Breech.

I charge thee never speak to me of her, nor for her.

I, Sir! not I by Grandsires Beard.

Never attempt to excuse her Infiedlity.

Never fear't.

I'le be Deaf to all you can say in her behalf.

I think not any thing of't.

I will cherish my Anger, and break off all Intimacy with her.

Agreed: And I'le break off my Intreigue.

Perhaps she's taken with this Foolish Lord, and puff'd up with Hopes of being a Lady—Ambition is the Vice of her Sex; but she shall not boast an absolute Glory; for I'le Aban­don her as she does me.

I much approve your Resolution.

Do thou lend it Aide against all that Love can urge to [Page 12] the Contrary; I conjure thee, find all the Faults in her thou can'st, and Lampoon her to me in a Description—

Shaw waugh;—You may find a thousand prettier Women than she. In the first place, her Hair inclines to Yellow.

That's but the Lustr'e of her Hair.

Her Forehead's low.

But smooth and Delicate.

Her Nose is too bigg.

But well shap'd.

When she speaks, she draws her Mouth from Ear to Ear.—

Which discovers such a fine Sett of Teeth, so white and even; and her Lipps so red.

And keeps her Teeth close, which makes such a Jarring in her Speech.

That breaks the fulness of the Voyce, and makes a pretty kind of Harmony.

Her Face is a White clumsey big-face.

But every Feature is so excellent, the greatest Crittick in Beauty knows not where to take away, or what to add.

Then she has a peaking way of holding down her Head.

But at the same time, appear such a pattern of Modesty and Innocence.

Her Breasts are too bigg.

But are firm and white, and such delicate blew Veyns, Their Bigness seems Graceful.

She's Lanck Buttock'd.

Finely turn'd about the Hipps.

Her Stature is low.

Aug [...]l of a fine middle Size; not so Tall to or'e, [...]p a Man, nor so Low as to be or'e-look'd.

She's of too dull and serious a Humour.

That which you call Dulness, is her Modesty; and her Seriousness, is the Effect of her Sage discreet Behaviour.

But she's very pettish—

Which shews she has a Spirit. But in the Fair nothing [Page 13] seems amiss, and in them we easily pass o're small Faults.

Lord Sir! She's a Book without an Errata; never did such a perfect Impression come from the Press of Nature: I see how things will go. Whom we excuse, we Love—

Love her! I'le rather Die. I'le more disesteem her than ever I priz'd her.

This is not the right course you take.

In this my Revenge will shew it self; the more full of Charms she appears, the more Glorious will the Conquest be: When from my Heart, I drive the Sentiments of Love, and plant in their Room, Contempt and Disdaine.

Here she comes; now stand your Ground.

His behaviour Madam was such, I have nothing to say in his Excuse.

He's here.

I'le not so much as speak to her.

I'le follow your Example.

What makes you so strange?

Why stand you at so great a Distance?

What distrubs your Mind?

What a murren ailes you?

Perfidious Woman.

Hah! Mrs. Iudas.

I see my Company is troublesome to you; was my Si­lence this Morning the ground of your Anger?

Let me tell you, you shall not Triumph in your Infide­lity; I will banish the Love I have for you from my Heart, and leave in it no Impression your Eyes have made.

No nor I neither.

I will acquaint you with the Cause why I held not dis­course with you this Morning.

I'le hear nothing.

I'le tell you why we were Mu [...].

I am deaf.

My Father— Lov. I care not.

My Mistress— Tob. My Master.

Hear me!— Lov. No.

Hark you—

No, hark you—

Mr. Lovell—

Mrs. Iacinta.

Dear Toby—

Sweet Beatrice.

Stay.—

Not I.

Come back—

I won't.

Pray hear me—

Excuse me.

One word—

Not a Syllable.

You'l begon—

Yes.

You wont stay—

No.

Well, since you will not hear me speak, Remain in your Ignorance, and do as you please.

Since you are so frumpish, a Pin for you.

And a Fart for you Mrs. Turd-pie.

Well then, say what you wou'd say.

My Mind is alter'd now.

Come tell your Tale.

No matter now.

What was it?

Nothing.

Begin.

I have done.

Pray speak.

Excuse me.

Come out with it.

Let me alone.

I entreat.

In vain.

I petition.

To no purpose.

I conjure you.

Pray go.

In the name of Iupiter Speak—

Be gone.

Iacinta.

Lovell.

Beatrice.

Toby.

You'r resolved.

I am.

You'l be obstinate.

Yes.

Lay aside your Anger.

Never.

Let your Gizzard leave grumbling.

I'le have nothing to do with you.

Since you are so Averse, to let me know the Cause why you treated me so Ill, and prov'd so false to your Faith, This is the last time you shall ever see me, for I will turn Wan­derer, and spend my dayes in Travel.

Ay, and so will I.

But Lovell.

Your pleasure.

But Toby.

'Say you.

What are your Intentions?

To banish my self from my Country.

What mean you?

To turn Vagabond.

You must not go.

Your Unkindness drives me hence.

You shan't be gone.

You'r grown so Turdy the Devil wou'd not endure your Company.

Lovell, 'tis you are unkind, to condemn me unheard.

You refus'd to speak for your self.

It was not then convenient: My Father both this Morning, and e're since I saw you last, charg'd me never to admit you more in Conversation, nor to see you; cou'd I help it? And sayes his Curses shall be my Portion, if I disobey him.

Will you be so unjust?

Never; tho' you shou'd prove so to me!

By your Father's words, I understood you were as wil­ling to retreat from my Love, as he to have you—

I saw, e're since that Foppish Lord made his Pretenti­ons to me, that my Father was resolv'd to put a Stop to our Proceedings. I seemingly comply'd—for had I urg'd his Anger with my Denyals, he wou'd not only have banish'd you from his house, but have, Immur'd me in my Chamber, till I had been dispos'd of; Then I should have lost the satisfaction of seeing you, which I now may have if things be manag'd dis­creetly.—

You acted prudently—

I durst not speak to you this Morning: when I return'd,

I spy'd my Father at the Window.

Look you now, the Secret is out.

'Twas e'en so, I verily believe.

Ah Iacinta! See what pow'r you have or'e me, that can with one word appease all the Mutinies in my Mind: and with what Facility, we let our selves be perswaded by them we love.

Ah these White Devils have as great power over their Servants, as the Black Devil over Sinners.

Madam, the Door begins to open.

Begone Sir. I fear it is my Father.

Adieu—

Ha, ha, ha.

You have a happy time on't Cozen, you are alwayes merry!

I vow Coz. I have so laugh'd at his Lordship.

How can'st thou laugh at such a Fool?

He's one of the most pleasant Comedies Nature ever brought into the World.

He's but a meer Farce!

His Taylor is come after him with a New Suit, but of the oddest Fashion—he is putting it on, and will soon be here to shew it you; he sayes 'tis of his own Invention.

I wish thee in my place; you wou'd know how to man­nage him.

I wou'd my Uncle had ordain'd him for my Lover.

And do you wish he were to be your Husband too?

There's a certain Reason, Madam, why a woman shou'd wish to have a Fool for her Husband.

Yes Beatrice, but I do'nt; he's not Fool enough for that!

For my part I believe it to be a Vulgar Error.

Some are so skilful, as to judge of those matters from the Features; but Experience is the best Mistress.

Ay Madam!—from thence comes the most certain Knowledg.

You talk so I don't know what you mean.

Alas poor Innocent!

Why Madam, we may talk or mean what we will; we are alone.

I blush at your Answer.

Dear Coz, you are a very Wag at your heart, or you'd not blush at what she said.

Here comes your Animal.

Never let me have your Custome, if it be not exact­ly to your Description!

I think it is; Madam Iacinta, I come to shew you my Gallantry. 'Tis an odd Fancy, but new; 'Tis my own In­vention. How does it please you?

Wonderfully well.

It is well quarter'd.

We want a Herald to blazon it.

I never lik'd Suit better.

I am glad you all like it, for I wou'd not let my Taylor go, till I had got your Approbation. Hark you! How many Artists sat in Consultation about it?

According to your Lordships Appointment, Twelve.

A Jury of Taylors to make up one Fool.

How make you up the Number?

Four French Taylors.

Why four French?

Because they are the best Mathematicians at Cutting out. Go on—

Three Spanish.

Why Spanish?

Auh! Their deliberation in proceeding does much. They set not a Stich without Thought, and their Gravity is a good Allay for the French Mercury. It gives Fixation to their volatile Spirits. Proceed—

Two Italians, one German, and one Polander.

And why those my Lord?

Because I pass'd through their Countries in my [Page 18] Travels, and have here something of the best of all their Garbs.

Good.

In this Suit Ladies, you may read all the Countries of my Travels; I design'd it on purpose, to give the World In­telligence where I have been.

I vow 'twas a pretty Contrivance—

Yes very Ingenious—

And to make the Number, the Twelfth was an English­man, and that my self.

Go thy ways, and carry thy Bill to my Steward, and bid him pay thee thy Money.

I thank your Lordship.

Now do I wish to be well quit of him.

Go you in, and I'le endeavour to detain him.

Going away, 'tis Unkind not to take me with you.

I am going about a small Affair my Maid tells me of.

Accept of my Company till she re­turns.

Oh Madam, 'Tis most agreeable.

I wou'd it were my Lord.

Why sigh you, Madam?

Wou'd I was as handsome as my Cozen.

You are, Lady.

And as good a Fortune too.

Your Fortune is large, your Uncle tells me.

But not answerable to hers. I wou'd it was.

Repine not Fair one.

Hi ho!

Pray why sigh you so?

I wish my Lord.

What pretty one?

That you had never seen my Cozen.

Why?

Because I think she' [...] love you—

And I'le love her—

But I wish you'd love some body else.

And why do you wish it?

Because a Friend of mine loves you.

You mock me. Ha, ha, ha.

No my Lord, 'tis too true—That you may know I do not, I cou'd tell you of more than one that loves you passi­onately.

I must confess it has been my Fortune to be be­lov'd by considerable Persons, in all places where-ever I have travell'd—At Rome the Pope's Neice fell in Love with me, and sent me her Picture richly set in Jewels. In Tuscany the Grand Duke's Sister. I cou'd tell you something of an Intrigue with the Sultana, when I was at Constantinople, but it is some­thing incredible.

Nay, I have reason to believe it, for no Woman sees you without some concern; even in this very Street lyes a young Lady that has Forty thousand Pounds to her Portion, and she but saw you pass along the Street once or twice, as you came hither, and is falne in Love with you: And hearing of your pretensions here, is since falne sick, and has kept her Bed these two' dayes.

I protest I am sorry; but is she so great a For­tune.

My Uncle knows her, and all her Concerns as to those things.

Humh—

I cou'd tell you of some body else too. But 'tis not con­venient.

That's her self—this may be worth enquiry.

My Lord, my Lawyer's within; if you please, we will look o're some Particulars of your Estate, that we may for­ward the Settlement of a Joynter for my Daughter.

I have some reason to think, she and I may not [Page 20] disagree. Your Servant Lady.

I had not return'd to you, but that I saw my Father come this way.

You miss'd the Relation of his forreign Amours: But I have perswaded his Lordship, that you and I are in love with him, and that a great Fortune has kept her Bed this two dayes, hearing he pretends to you—

And is sick for love of him.

Yes! he believes it.

He's a most credulous Coxcomb—But should he find you out to be a Lyar.

Not a greater than himself, he cannot I am sure!

How can'st thou in Conscience make such a Fool of him.

Heav'n ordain'd every thing for some use or another; and he can serve for no other than our Pastime.

Ha! these are they!

Here comes Mr. Lovell's Friend.

Now which of e'm is she that I am in love with?

He's at a stand.

He'd fain know me agen; but prithee take up a Brisk Humor, and let's try to puzzle him.

No! Prithee let's go in.

What, are you upon this Wing? Do you come out a Grazing like Rabbets just at the Burrows mouth; that as soon as any body comes, you may pop into your Holes agen.

We had need be watchful; when such Pochers as you are abroad.

Your watchfulness signifies little: I come now like a Ferret to creep into your Holes, and scare you out of your Bur­rows.

But if instead of a Burrow, you shou'd run into a War­reners Trap.

And that you may easily do; for we are no Out-lying. Conies, we keep within Heart of the Warren.

I, but I know your Musees, your In-lets, and Out­lets, and where-ever the Rabbets pass, the Ferret or Weezel may venture. You see I come just to the same place; 'twas here you pop't in from me before; but now I am got between you and the Hedge.

But how do you know that we are the same Pair?

And which of us is it that was too nimble for you?

You had best have a care on which you adventure, for in such cases, you ought not to spoyl your Friend's Game.

'Tis one of you!

I see you are no good Hound. You can't follow the Scent well.

Many a good-Nos'd Dog is at a loss when Scent is cross'd; but if I catch one, and my Friend another, if we are mistaken, let him say which is his, and wee'l make a change.

But which of us two, do you think, wou'd fall to your share.

I' Gad I do'nt know.

Do'nt you know a woman's Face when you see't a second time—

She show'd it with-such a Leger-De-Maine; her Masque was no sooner off, than on agen; and she was gone.

Observe us well.

Let me see—Faith not I—If you had your Masques on, I should know her from a thousand, at the very sight of her Vizard, my Heart wou'd go Pitty-pat.

If you are so in Love with the complexion of Velvet, you shou'd have a N [...]gra for your Mistress.

There is Beauty in Black; Why else do Ladies put [...] Patches? And some love Black-hair better than Light, and [...] why not Black [...]aces as well.

But you'd be for a White one at this time, if you knew but which was under the Vizard.

'Tis well for us he does not, for then he'd pretend Love to one of us.

Gad but I wou'd not to you, nor ne'r a Woman in the World.

I dare swear you wou'd.

Perhaps I might make you believe I was in Love with you.

No, that you cou'd ne're do.

Why, don't you think your selves handsome enough to be lov'd?

Yes; but we think you have more Wit.

What, then to love one of you.

Yes, or any body else that is never like to love you agen.

Are you an Enemy to me or to Love?

To love. I think it is a very foolish thing.

But 'tis Marriage makes it so. Give me Love as Na­ture made it, Free and Unconfin'd.—Observe but Mistress, and Gallant: How Brisk, how Gay, how Fierce they are in their Amours! Whil'st Marriage-love comes like a Slave loaden with Fetters, dull and out of humour.

For my part, I am rather for a Gallant than a Hus­band.

So am I clearly—

'Tis well dissembl'd on one side; one of you I am sure speaks against her Conscience, but if you are as you say, you'r Girles for me.

What both?

Both, 'I gad both—

Hold, one's enough; and if you'l be a Gallant to one of us, we expect you shou'd be constant.

That Circumstance makes it too like Marriage.

The Constancy is while you pretend; not but that ei­ther Mistress or Gallant may choose elsewhere, but they must love but one at once.

But which of us will you choose?

Faith I'le be for her I talk'd to in the Masque.

Madam! Dinner's on the Table.

Already.

My Master has call'd for't, he's in haste to go out.

We come: Well Sir, when you find which of us two is she; claim her for your Mistress.

Adien.

Come Hilaria.

Ha! Hilaria, i'faith, that's she. But they are gone. Iacinta I remember, is the Name of Lovell's Mistress, till now I fancy'd the other was she, because she was more brisk and airy. Well, I [...]le find out my Friend, and we'l give a visit in the Afternoon.

YOur Joynture is agreed on; and Directions are given for the Drawing of the Writings; there­fore put things in readiness, and dispose your self for Marriage; for it must be within a day or two.

Sure Sir, if you lov'd me, you'd not be so hasty to be rid of me.

It is the great Care and Love I have for thee, makes [Page 24] me solicitous to see thee well-dispos'd. My Lord is a Person of Worth and Honour, and thou wilt be happy in his Love; Iacinta thou'lt be a Lady—

My Lord merits, I question not, a Wife much above me in Desert; But how do you think I can on the sudden, re­solve to leave the Family of him that got me, bred me, and brought me up to what I am.

Your Mother did the same before You; and for this thou hast had all thy Education: This is the last great Act a Father can do for his Child; in this his Care ends, and when we give a Daughter in Marriage, 'tis suppos'd, we give her to more than a Father, for such is a Husband; Husband and Wife are one.

That rule Uncle, won't hold in Arithmetick, for according to the first principle, one and one make two.

Mad-cap Neice, meddle with your own matters. Let me see—

Nay Uncle, ner'e put on your Considering-Cap, for an Answer. What I say is true; and I'le give you a further De­monstration, that Man and Wife are not one: For in this Age they are seldom, or never together; the Man's in one place, and the Wise in another▪ as far asunder as ever they can get. And you know it is impossible for one and the same thing to be at the same time in several places.

She has a very unhappy Wit. I am glad, Daughter, that you are going from her, for she's enough to spoil all the Young Women she meets with; but I hope she'l have a Husband will meet with her.

Never of your Choosing, Uncle.

Likely so, for you'r Hair-brain'd enough, to do things of your own Head. But your Father when he Dy'd, left you to my Care, and bid that you shou'd be Rul'd by me; and if you are not, your Disobedience will come home to you one day or other.

This is but talk. Do you think, Uncle, I han't as much Wit to choose a Husband as you?

Well, well, follow your own Course; but I hope [Page 33] you'l get a Husband one day will Cudgel your Bones for you.—

But Uncle, it is not now as it was in your young dayes, Women then were poor sneaking sleepish Creatures. But in this Age, we know our own strength, and have wit enough to make use of our Talents. If I meet with a Husband makes my Heart ake, I'le make his Head ake I'le warrant him.

Nay, I am apt enough to believe one house will be too not to hold you long. I doubt not but your Husband (who e're has the ill fortune to be so) will in a short time be as weary of you as I am.

If he shou'd prove but half so ill-natur'd as you are (which certainly no Young Man can) I'd swear my self a Vir­gin, and consequently, Sue a Divorce against him for Impo­tency.

I must be gone, this Wen [...]h will never hold her prat­tle; she'd out-talk e'm at a Bake-house.

Well, thou'rt a mad Wench to talk so.

Pish! I'le have Women say and do what they will: Have not we Rational Souls as well as Men; what made Wo­men Mopes in former Ages, but being rul'd by a company of old Men and Women: Dotage then was counted Wisdom, and formerly call'd Gravity and good Behaviour.

What can'st thou advise me to in this extremity. I hate this Foolish Lord.

Let him know your Mind, and if he won't believe you, tell him he's an Unmannerly Fool.

If I break with him, my Father will conclude I affect Mr. Lovell, and to cross me, never consent I shou'd have him; And he's the only Man I can Love.

See! he's here, and our Gallant with him; wee'l con­spute the Bu'sness with them.

Mr. Lovell, how durst you venture here.

This Gentleman told me your Father was to go abroad [Page 34] this Afternoon; and by his perswasion and my own Inclinati­ons, we adventur'd to wait on you, and just as we came into the Street, my Lord and he pass'd by us in a Coach.

And who sent for you Gallant?

I hope, Madam, you'l allow a man to look after his Heart when 'tis gone a'stray.

You cou'd not find it the last time you were here.

You conspir'd to juggle me on't; but I know well e­nough which of you had it.

You are beholding to Mr. Lovell for your Knowledg.

No, Madam, upon my word, but he has told me his Adventures.

Well, Madam; I hope you'l stand to your Bargain.

We are no Flinchers; wee'l not be worse than our words.

Well then, you I challenge for my Mistress; you were the Lady I talk'd to in the Masque.

I am not her I'le assure you—

I am well assur'd it cou'd be none but you; I knew it when I was here before, tho' I did not then own it.

Take nay word Sir.

Lord that you shou'd think to deceive me; why all the while I was in the Company before, my Heart beat all on that side you stood, and my Cheek next you burnt and glo'de.

Ha, ha, 'slife he has not found it out yet.

Ha!

No, I'le be swore Careless han't you.

I'le be sworn Madam, Hilaria was the Person.

Ha, ha, ha: But that's my Cozen Iacinta.

No, no, no, did not you call her Hilaria as you went in.

Ha, ha, ha!

Ha, ha, ha!

I thought how well you know; and did that on purpose to try you—

Ba—

Now Careless thou art caught—

What wou'd I give now to come handsomely off: I must be impudent: Well, Madam, to let you see that I did, go both of you out of the Room, and come in Masqu'd, and if I don't choose the Right, I'le be content to resigne the Hopes of a Mistress.

There is but right and wrong.

To give you a greater Proof on't, I'le make my choice Blind-fold.

'Twill still be an even Wager that you hit on the right.

Careless, thou art Out-witted i'faith.

Servant, our Covenant is voyd for Non-performance of the Conditions.

But calling of me Servant after the Condition is bro­ken, is a Confirmation—and will make it stand good in Law.

No Careless, that Quirk won't do neither.

But Madam, I hope you'l give a man leave to retreat, when he finds his Errour; your self occasion'd the Mistake, 'twas an Errour of my Hand, not of my Heart, for at the same time, I told you Hilaria was she, and you are Hilaria; Therefore 'twas you I meant.

Yes, yes, 'twas me you meant; when your Cheek glo'd, and your Heart beat on the left side!

Ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

Cozen, you are too great a Tyrant.

You pursue your Victory too severely; 'tis generous to give the Vanquish'd quarter.

I do more; I give him Liberty to make his retreat.

Ah Madam, your Father has met with his Lawyers [Page 36] Clark, who told him his Master was not at home, and he's re­turn'd already.

Convey Mr. Lovell out quickly Sir; will you go with him?

'Tis not possible, Madam, he's just coming into the Room.

What shall we do?

Ha! Mr. Lovell—Daughter, I see you observe my Commands well: Sir, I beseech you; What makes you here?

Sir, I come to wait on my Friend.

Yes Sir▪ I had much adoe to perswade him; but considering the bus'ness I came about, requir'd some Body to give you an Account of me, which none cou'd do better than he; he did adventure to trespass on you to serve me.

What Bus'ness, pray Sir!

Ay, what indeed?

It was my Fortune twice or thrice, to have a sight of your fair Niece, as she went abroad.

Sure he's not so mad to tell him.

To whom, Sir, I took so great a liking, that Day nor Night, I cou'd not rest, till I had found who she was, and where she liv'd; which I had no sooner done, but engag'd him to come along with me, to acquaint you who I am, and what my For­tunes are, hoping to gain your leave, to make my Addresses to this fair Lady—

This I hope Sir, will gain me your Pardon.

Do you, Sir, know this Gentleman—

Yes, his Name is Careless; I believe, Sir, you might know his Father.

I did so, he was a worthy Gentleman; 'tis now some eight years since he dy'd.

'Tis so long; peace be with him.

He left some Twelve hundred a Year to his Son, then not at Age.

This Gentleman is that Son.

But has he that Estate?

Every Acre, Sir.

I heard you were a little wild.

I have my Froliques as most young Men have—but I keep my Estate out of the Devil's Clutches; I have yet not sold one Foot of Land, or cut down one Stick of Wood.

Nay Sir, if you were as wild as wild could be, you'd meet with your Match there, my Niece is as wild as you can be, she's Vain, Idle, Careless, and Talkative.

Uncle, you shou'd do in driving Bargains for Marriage as they do in Selling of Horses; tell their good Qualities, and leave it to 'em to find out the ill.

These are Faults will be discover'd in you at first sight.

Sir, I hope you'l like me ne're the worse for what he sayes.

Instead of his getting you for a Wise, you intend to get him for a Husband.

It is more to the humour of the Age; if you won't com­mend me, I'le commend my self; and if I thought but half so well of him as Id' of my self, wee'd soon shake hands fo [...] to have and to hold without your leave.

You see her humour Sir, if after this you dare venture on her, I shall not counsel her against you; provided what Mr. Lovel and your self say be confirm'd by good Authors; for I wish her well Marry'd.

Stay Uncle, now I think on't, you may take him with you. Marriage is quite out of Fashion, and I hate to be out of it, as much as you do to be in't; if he had Ten or Twelve Thousand a year, would keep me a Coach and six Horses, and all things suitable to that Grandeu [...]r, I might admit him as a Gallant, and all that—

I'le leave you to her; at this mad rate she talks all the Year round.

I did not think Careless, thou had'st had a Lye so much at command.

It was to serve my Friend and these Ladies.

But the Jest wou'd be, if your Lye should prove true, and you shou'd play such a Simple trick, as to fall in L'ove with me indeed and indeed.

Make your own words true, and accept me for a Gal­lant, I know not what may follow—

But you know what you must have first—A huge Estate; but because you brought us so handsomely off? There's my Hand to Kiss, and I confer on you the Title of my Ser­vant.

He cur'd a present Evil. I wish he cou'd as easily divert what I fear will follow.

Madam, we must court Fortune as we do a Mistress; never leave her when she's in a good humor. Let's hear your Grievance:

'Tis the Match my Father drives on so eagerly with that Lord.

Will he not be satisfi'd, if you tell him you can't love him.

Hee'l not take that Answer from her, nor ne'r a Wo­man alive.

He thinks we are both in love with him.

Since Dinner I writ a Love-Letter to him; I have made him believe too, that the Rich Heiress that lodges in this street languishes for him.

And he pitties her extreamly.

Hark you Lovel; Let's put him upon courting this Great Fortune.

But it may be he'l not quit his hold here.

For so great an Advantage he may: And it must be your parts, Ladies, to give him sufficient grounds to conclude, that neither of you love him.

Let us alone to give him proof of that.

Then we will contrive to bring him in Disgrace with your Father. Lady of the Bed-chamber, you must act a part in our Comedy, attend us to the Door; you shall receive Instru­ctions as we goe.

Here's my Father; let us retreat and consult about our Affairs.

You know this Lady I suppose.

I have seen her: But I am very well acquainted with her Uncle.

And has she so great a Fortune?

Yes, it lies in the three Banquers hands we were but now speaking of.

I'know it does; for when I parted with you, I made enquiry, and they confirm'd it: She lodges in the middle of this street. Mrs. Rich is her Name.

Right: But my Lord, do you think she has so great a Kindness for you?

I speak not without good Reason; and were I not Engag'd by Love and Honour to your Daughter, I wou'd make an Attempt.

Her Uncle trusts her not out of his sight.

I cou'd find ways to speak to her, but I prize Mrs. Ia­cinta above all Women. Tho' there are others have no small Kindness for my Person, and one you know too [...] but she shall be nameless; yet I'le shew you what a passionate [...] Letter she sent me. You shall hear it.

My Lord:

Your Person is so Taking, and your Obligements so conquering, that no Woman living, and you beholding, can resist Loving: There­fore since of this you are knowing; I doubt not your pardoning her, that with Blushing tells you her Ailing; the Ioy of whose being, is, when you and she is seeing: Your's remaining for Everlast­ing.

This is a very Odd strayne.

Ah, 'tis very Amorous, and I pitty the Lady for your sake.

Is she Related to me!

The first Letter of her Name is Hilaria.

My Niece, this is some Trick of hers; but I dare not [Page 40] tell him he's abus'd, lest he should take it ill, and think my Daughter had a hand in't—But of all that love you, your Lordship can have but one.

True; yet 'twou'd vex a Man to Discard Trumps, but 'tis a forc't Put: This I tell you, to give you a Proof of my Love for your Daughter. I know poor Thing she loves Me.

My Lord! You'r a happy Man, we have over heard your Amours.

I did not think you had been so nigh.

Without Doubt, you were wrapt in your Mothers Smock.

Hey—Ho!

Observe that Sigh, and how she eyes me. Lady you'r Melancholy.

You call'd my Thoughts from a pleasing Contemplation.

I was thinking—

Of what Madam?—

Of you my Lord.

I saw you look wishly on Me.

I was thinking what good Eyes your Lordship has.

O fine Eyes! if they stood but more out, and were not sunck in's head, like Candle-Snuffs in their Sockets.

And did not squint so much.

Mine, mine Ladies.

Why Baggages.

He has a handsome Nose too.

Was it not an Inch too short.

And turn'd up at the end with the Air of a French Dog.

How's this?

Why Girls, what mean you?

Pretty good Cheeks—Were they not so lean and pale!

And fal'n in for want of Side-Teeth.

The Devil's in e'm both.

A handsome Mouth were it not so wide.

And his Lips not so Thin and Blewish—

I am abus'd.

Have done, or I'le lay my Staff about your ears.

His Gums not so worn away.

And his Teeth not so rotten.

His Mouth not so [...]urr [...]d.

His Breath not so scented with the French Hogo.

Disgrace to my Dignity.

They are Mad, Distracted. They know not what they doe.

He's Leather-jaw'd—Chap-falne.

And has a Swarthy, Tawny, Tallow Complexion.

Peace, and have done in the Devil's name.

In fine, was your Lordship but ten times as handsom, you'd be a pretty well-favour'd Man.

And fit to be lov'd by a Woman of Sixty and upwards.

Intolerable, insufferable, insupportable!

Ho! Within there!

What's the matter?

You Huswifes you, say you are Mad, say you are Drunk, or any thing; or I'le swinge you.

No, no, Uncle; We are neither mad nor drunk.

Husie; your Reason for this.

Why does he make his Brags that we are in Love with him, and so fond of his Company?

We have given him Proofs of our Kindness. In Love with him!

Get you up to your Chambers; Go! Husbands;

Halters you deserve—

Have Patience, be pacified, the Baggages shall down on their knees to you.

Ha, ha, ha! This is only to blind you. Ha, ha, ha, 'Twas your Nieces Frolick; they love me as they love their own eyes—and because I told you on't—Ha, ha, ha— See what tricks they play to cozen you, ha, ha, ha.

I'le instantly know the truth on't, or—

Henceforward, I will hate their whole Sex for their sakes, I will defame the Living, revile the Dead, and leave a Curse to the Generation of Females to come.

My Lord, my Lord—

Avoid thou She-Devil; thou art a Satan in Petti­coats.

Ah my Lord; if you knew my Errand, you'd say I was an Angel; I have such News for your Lordship.

News! What is't?

If a Woman might but trust your Lordship with her Secrets.

I hope she's in love with me; she's a Bit will serve to stay a mans stomach when he's hungry. What Secrets Pretty Beatrice? Dost thou love me?

Ah dearly, dearly, my Lord—But—

But you are asham'd to tell me your mind.

I am afraid—

Thou should'st have a great Belly—

No, my Lord, that you shou'd tell—

No: I'le tell no body; go, go up to your Cham­ [...]er, and I'le steal after you—

No my Lord, I can do the Business here—

Art thou a Virgin?

As to Deeds a very Innocent; but in Words and Thoughts, I have been a little waggish.

Come into the next Room.

No, no, I am only to tell you—

No matter for telling, we will talk afterwards,

See this Gold, my Lord here are Twenty pieces.

And you wou'd have as much more.

I shall deserve it.

Wilt thou go then, go.

This Gold my Lord was given me.

For that, that thou hast more mind I should have.

No, my Lord; it was given me to betray my Mi­stress.

Hau—Who has Plots upon her Body?

No body; it was given me to deprive her of you, my Lord.

What mean'st thou?

To tell your Lordship that—But I am so afraid, you shoud tell agen.

I'le be secret on my Honour.

That there is a rich Heiress not far off in love with your Lordship.

Humh—And is not this a Plot laid—

Yes, my Lord, 'tis a Plot laid.

To betray me—

Yes, my Lord—

And you'l discover it.

To none but your Lordship: It is to betray you, but will your Lordship be sure not to speak on't agen?

I will not.

To betray your Lordship into a Marriage with this great Fortune.

How!

I am to tell her Name too, and how you shall come to see her, for all the Dragon her Uncle; and how you shall steal a Marriage and all.

What say'st thou Beatrice?

Nothing but truth: Her Name is Mrs. Rich, she lives in this street, and is sick in Bed for love of you. She sent for me and gave me this Gold, with promise of much more, if I wou'd be true to her, and acquaint you with her Condition; and be instrumental in helping her to see you—

How Beatrice; may I come to the sight of her.

She has brib'd her Physician to joyn in the Conspiracy; he will pretend to bring an able Doctor of his Acquaintance to see her, that with him he may consult of her Disease and Cure. You are to be this Physician, and the Person in the habit of an Apothecary—which you are to provide, for we know none.

Let me alone for that!

Then if your Lordship like her; you may there Marry her.

A very neat Invention! Oh subtile Woman!

This my Lord was my Plot.

'Tis well laid.

She has promis'd I shall live with her when I am Marry'd.

Thou shalt—But Beatrice, thou'lt keep thy Maiden for me, wilt thou not.

If I find you can keep Secrets; I will trust your Lord­ship with any thing.

I know thou did'st love me better than thy Mistress, or her Flirking Cozen—Well, were it not for what thou hast told me, their Affronts wou'd drive me to my Country-House; where I'd live like a Hermit, and leave half the Town languishing.

You wou'd leave my Lady a bleeding. But I hope your Lordship is better Natur'd, and more just, than to revenge the Faults of a few upon the whole Sex. I'le go put my Affairs in a posture for my getting abroad to wait on your Lordship.

And I the mean time, will disengage my self from all concerns here, and to Iacinta's Father resign the Interest he gave me in her.

Go thy ways, Lord Credulous; how greedily he swal­lows the Bait with which he was caught before.

COme Huswife; ask Forgiveness.

I have Sir.

But on your Knees.

Sir.

Quickly down; down on your Knees, Baggage.

Courage Cozen Iacinta, I am come to your aid: Look you Uncle, I have got as Tuff a Cain as your's.

Get you out of my Doors Huswife—So down, down on your Knees.

I do Sir—

Down, my Lord, Come you must down too.

Hold! hold! hold!

Why Niece—

Nay, 'tis very true Uncle, if you lay't on there, I'le lay't on here with a Vengeance: Down on your Marry-Bones—

Why look you Lady to serve you—

Get you out of my Doors; get you out of my House.

Nay Uncle, keep off, I am resolved to stand upon my Guard.

Get you gone I say, and never come near me more.

But don't you think to Domineer when I am gone, if I hear you do, I'le have abo [...]t too with you Uncle, as old a Cock of the Game as you are, I'le have a Sparring Blow too with you.

Here's a Stranger enquires for you my Lord.

Here's a Cavilere to Defend us; Cudgel lye thou there.

I am your Humble my Lord.

Sir, I am yours.

I have had the Honour to see your Lordship in many Countries abroad, and you appear'd so pleasing to me; That returning from Travel, I could not but take England in my way—(Tho' I had formerly liv'd here six years) that I might receive the Honour of Kissing your hand; and making my self Familiar in your Lordships Acquaintance.

Which I covet abundantly. A Traveller cannot but be worthy my Knowledge. I venerate a Pilgrims Shooe as much as they do Saints, whose Shrines they go to visit, because it hath trod the Dust of many Countries; shall I beg Cogni­zance of your Name, Sign [...]or.

My Name is Signior, Simplaio, Folio. Del no no, Wittesso At-Allo.

Bless me!

The Co [...]nts Name is but Monosillable to this.

This is a noble Family as I take it.

And you are a great Fool for your pains.

'Tis a very Noble one in Spain. I was borne at Castile, Christen'd at Rome, Educated in Paris, return'd to Italy, left my Virginity at Venice; Sayl'd from thence to Constantinople; Travell'd to Ierusalem, and there I first Shav'd my Beard.

Uncle, he may well have a long Name, that went as far as Rome to be Christen'd.

He appears to be a great Traveller.

His Face shews it.

He has indeed a right Olive-Complexion; which is a sign he has much in the Sun.

My Lord, I hope you'l command my pardon for this Gentleman, and these Ladies, if my Respects to your Lordship makes me appear uncivil to them.

Not in the least—My Lord merits all—

My Lord, don't you remember to have seen me in your Tra [...]els?

I begin to call you to mind, as I take it, I saw you in the Court of Spain.

Right, you did so; I was then playing a Game at Chess with the King!

And at Vienna, the Emperor's Court.

The Emperor and I, the first Morning I saw you there, were at Tennis: I remember I lost a Sett for a thousand Pistols to satisfie my Curiosity of looking upon your Lordship; that was the second time I had the Honour to see you.

This is a Great Person; behave your selves with Respect.

And as I take it, I saw you as I Ac­company'd Cardinal Palavicina, the Popes Nephew, to the Con­sistory; I was at that time in his Coach.

I think you were; and I well remember, I Rid with his Holiness in His—And your Lordship gave me the Grace of a Bow, which I return'd your Lordship with so great Obeysance, that had not his Holiness caught hold on me behind; I had t [...]m­bl'd out or'e the Boot of the Coach.

You did much Honour my Civilities.

Now we have encreas'd our Acquaintance; I'le obtrude the trouble on you, to go with me to Court some Day, and present me to the King, that I may have the Honour to kiss his Hand.

I swell with the Ambition of waiting on so Noble a Cavaliero; Now I perfectly remember you.

I beg your Pardon—

Sir, pray advance, here's only a Noble stranger, one that's a great Traveller, and of my former Acquaintance: He's worth your knowledge, O Sir Cavilliero; pray receive this Gen­tleman into your Armes.

Ha! sure I know that Habit—Ha—Sirrah—You Rogue, What make you here?

Sir! Your Language is too bold.

You take too great a Liberty to affront any Man in my House; besides, he's a Man of Quality.

I'le fetch his Qualities out of him, with a Pox to him.

Ah good Sir, hold Sir, or you'l make a Discovery.

Ah Sir, I'le make you discover what Tricks you are playing here?

Hold, hold, Sir, hold—

Hold, hold, Sir, hold—

Ah, ah, Good Sir—Nay Sir—Good Sir—Pray good Master.

How!

How!

Ha, ha, ha, he!

Ha, ha, ha, he!

Ha, ha, ha, he!

Ah Sir, I ask you Forgiveness on my Knees.

Sirrah; what makes you loytering here, when I send you about Business?

Ah Lord Sir, I only put on your Masquerading Suit to come to Mrs. Beatrice in, to see if she cou'd know me!

Ha, ha, ha, he! Toby! Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha, he! Toby! Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha, he! Toby! Ha, ha, ha, ha.

I thought I should find you here; go get you home you Rogue, go.

Wou'd I was gone too.

My Lord, won't you follow, and wait on your Cavaliero to Kiss the Kings hand; Ha, ha, ha—

Ha, ha, ha, ha—

Your Lordship saw him in Spain, Germany and Rome; Ha, ha, ha.

And bow'd to him out of the Cardinal' s Coach; Ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

I am amaz'd; Ha, ha, ha—

What mean you, Ladies?

Ladies, Gentlemen; a good Jest—Ha, ha, ha— Laugh at it, Ha, ha—Laugh heartily, Ha, ha, ha.—

Ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

He's a witty Knave, Ha, ha, ha, my sides will burst with Laughing, Ha, ha, ha.

I am afraid the Rogue has play'd some Unlucky Trick—

No, no—Ha, ha, ha, a Jest, a very good Jest, Ha, ha, ha; I protest my Laughing has made me Sick. I'le take my leave, Sir.

Beatrice, fetch in a Bottle of Sack. My Lord, pray drink a Glass of Sack, if you'r not Well.

No matter.

Oh, by all means! my Lord, how came you to be so mistaken in him?

There was a Noble Cavalier, that I often met in my Travels Sir, like this Knave, Ha, ha, ha. I protest, I thought it had been he—Well Sir, Your Man's a Witty Knave—

I am glad he has made you all Merry; I was afraid he had play'd the Rogue—For which, I wou'd have so beat him—My Lord, your Servant; your Servant Sir; Ladies your Servant—

Come Beatrice, Fill my Lord a Glass of Sack. See who Knock's at the Door, Beatrice.

Here's a Woman wou'd Speak with my Lord—

Bid Her come in.

Ha! Have I found you at last? Are you come again, after so many Years Absence? Cou'd you, wicked Man, think to Forsake me for ever?

What means the Woman!

Ah, Hard hearted Lord, You know well enough what I mean! Can you see me, and not Blush? Was it for this, that you pretended Love to me, and caus'd my Poor Parents to break off my Marriage with the Viccar's Son? And did you Marry me your self, only to leave me, and make me Wretched?

How's this?

Marry'd!

Marry'd!

Woman! what in the Devil's name dost thou mean?

I mean, your going away, and leaving of me—Af­ter you had Marry'd me: assoon as you saw me with Child, you pretended Business to London: You left me Money to keep me Six Months, but before the time expir'd, you ran beyond Sea, without letting me know whether you were gone; not sending me any thing to Maintain me in that Condition: And to en­crease my Misfortunes, I had two Children at a Birth.

Does not your Lordship know me?

An impudent Quean! I never saw her before. I know her not.

Not know your own Wife! Shameless Lord! You are a Dishonour to the Womb that bare you: Have my Cares and Mi­series this Seven years so alter'd me, that you don't know me? Yes, You know me, but you won't. Ah that I had never known you, then I shou'd not have known Sorrow: You were in Hopes it would brake my Heart; but I live to plague you.

Alas poor Woman!

Heav'n help us poor Wretche [...], if we must have such hard Fortune! To be forsaken by our Husbands, and left with­out Money in our Pocket, Cloaths to the back, and Meat or Drink for the Belly.

The Womans Distracted; send her to Bedlam.

The Woman talks sensibly.

Ah! How dost think I have maintain'd my self, and these Two poor Children, these six Years and more: E'en with the Work of my own Hands—God help me.

Alas poor Woman!

It g [...]ieves me to see her Weep.

What shou'd this mean?

It appears by the Story, that she's his Wife!

Not my Wife, I protest.

Here's another Woman with Child enquires for my Lord.

Let me come in—Hau, hau—I am almost dead; I am out of Breath—Oh wicked man; it is after you, that I run thus up and down, Hau, hau, hau—But now I have found you, you shall not escape me.

What mean'st thou now?

I mean to cross your Marriage; you thought I was dead, or far enough from England, ne'r to trouble you more, Did you?

What's your Business?

Ah that Wretch of a Husband there; that Unnatural Wretch; he Sold his own Wife, Sold his Child, Sold his own Flesh and Bloud.

This is some Mistake.

Are you his Wife?

Yes Madam, he Marryed me, and carried me from my Friends; he carry'd me with him beyond Sea, and when he got me there, and I began to grow Big with Child, he pretended to send me by Sea to England—To live with my Friends till he return'd—But instead of that, I was carried to Iapan; he had Sold me to the Master of the Ship, who was a Dutch-man: he Sold me, and this poor Child that was in my Belly, to Slavery and Bondage.

Which do you say is your Husband?

E'en this; this is he, let him deny't if he can.

No, 'tis I am his Wife.

You his Wife too! What, has the Wretch two Wives? That will Hang him.

Hang him; no, you'r none of his Wife.

Yes, he is my Husband.

I say, he is my Husband, and I can prove it.

Are ye both possest? I am Husband to neither of Ye.

We have been Marry'd this Seven Years.

It is Six, since he Marry'd me.

Is this true, you wicked Lord?

Yes, yes, one's as true as the other.

Ah shameless Man! Dost thou confess thou hast Two Wives? Come hither little Ienny, come hither Sarah; Look you, these are the Fruits of our Marriage.

And here's my Child too.

Look here upon these Two sweet Babies.

And look here too: here's thy own Flesh and Bloud which thou did'st so Barberously sell.

Never were two such impudent Carrions seen.

They are as like you, my Lord—

Yes Lady, and so they are.

This has the very Eyes and Mouth of him; he is so like his Lordship—

They are sweet Children indeed.

Ye all dream; they are neither Like me, nor Pretty, nor Nothing.

Kneel Ienny, kneel down little Sarah, and ask Fa­ther Blessing; and let's see if he can be so Unnatural to Disowne you.

And do you kneel Tommi [...], ask Blessing; 'tis thy own Daddy.

Father, Father, Father—

The Devil take you for Whore's-Birds—

Father, Father, Father—

Don't you think to be gone, and Leave them; I'le fol­low you, and Proclaime it to all the World.

And I'le haunt you where [...]e're you go; I'le be satisfi'd, if she is your Wife too: and if I find it true, I'le have Recourse to Justice; you shall be hang'd, if all the Law in England will hang you, for having Two Wives.

Father, Father—

Justice, Justice, Justice, &c.

Justice, Justice, Justice, &c.

Father, Father, Father, &c.

Now must I bestir my self.

I am so amaz'd, I know not what to think of all that we have seen, and heard.

They are both his Wives for certain.

This wou'd have been a fine Husband for my Cozen. Now Uncle, Are you not beholden to Fortune, or your Wisdome, for her Deliverance? Cozen, let me choose a Husband for you the next time.

Iacinta, be not rul'd by her, nor hearken to her Coun­sel; but on all occasions, shew all ready Complyance to my Com­mands; for your Niece may stay in my House. I forgive you.

Ah Uncle, and I pardon you—Come Old-Man, Let's shake Hands; you see I am good Natur'd. So now we are all Friends.

Well, I must be gone abroad.

Fare you well, Uncle—

Now he's gone, we'l be gone too. Come Cozen, we'l spend this Afternoon in a Frolique: we'l go see a Play at the Nurse­ry; I'le put on the Boyes Habit I made for a Masquerading Suit.

Let's go in our Scar [...]s, Vizards, and Masques.

You shall; but I'le have my own Humour: I'le Cock, and Strut, and so Hector the young Cits, if they come to disturb us with their Impertinences—

You come luckyly, our Plot succeeds rarely.

Have we Routed the Enemy?

Horse and Foot; he'l ne'r be able to appear in the Feild agen.

Our new Alderman Rich, and his Neice, are ready to re­ceive e'm if he comes—

His Wives follow'd him so close, I am afraid they have scar'd his Lordship out of Town, if not out of's Witts.

We must find out Beatrice, and recover him; for all things are so well prepar'd—

She's after him where er'e he is. But by what means have you compass'd the bus'ness we last spoke of?

I sent a Letter as from an unknown friend to the Alder­man, to let him know there was an appointment made by his Neice, and some Gallants, to steal her away to Night; this he easily be­liev'd, because 'tis but what he always fears and is jealous of; he pre­sently out of pretence to carry her abroad in's coach to take the air, has convey'd her to his Country House, which is but Eight Miles from London.

Good.

This the Landlady told me; for she's my friend, and I have feed her, to let a Lady of my acquaintance have the command of the lodging for this night; and thither I have convey'd our coun­terfeit Heiresse.

And Toby is now a Grave Alderman.

I sent him one of her Uncles old suites, which I borrow'd of the Landlady.

He's at the Tavern here waiting for orders.

Here's Beatrice now—

But where's my Lord?

In my pursuit I saw him give his pursuers the Dodg. I gave e'm the sign to make a fault; he turn'd clear back this way, and they keep at a distance, and I am come a nearer way to meet him here.

We are [...]eady to receive him.

That's well—here he comes, lets slip in there, that he may not see us together.

With much a doe I have at length got clear of e'm. The [Page 47] Jades, and their bawling Bastards—Father, Father, Father— I have run my self almost out of Breath.

I am glad I have found you, my Lord; I have run my self almost off my Legs to o're-take ye.

'Pox o'th Whores; my Shirt sticks to my back.

But my Lord, are you Marry'd to any of e'm?

O the Devil! Not I.

Nor promis'd e'm Marriage neither?

Not I.

If it should appear so hereafter, it would be an injury to the Lady; and I would not have a Hand in doing her any Wrong for the World: I Love her as my Life!

I never saw either of e'm before. Upon my Honour, I did not.

Now I believe your Lordship; but if any thing of this this shou'd come to the Ladies Ear, it wou'd Ruine our De­signe.

But I hope she'l not hear't so soon.

We must out-fly Report: Come, my Lord, let's instant­ly about it, to prevent Danger—

But I have got no Parson yet.

It can't be help't: I hear her Uncle will be abroad all this Afternoon, and we'l perswade her to Counterfeit a Fit of Illness; and the Doctor shall tell the Landlady, and the Ser­vants, that she must presently take the Air, or she'l dye; that she has an Oppression of Spirit about her Heart, and that the Jogging of a Coach will relieve her; and when we get her a­broad, we know what to do.

Yet I wish we had a Parson ready, for fear her Uncle shou'd be at Home, or come in by accident; then we might do't, and he in the House.

At worst, you may contract, and break a piece of Gold betwixt you.

Father, Father, Father—

Hark! The Beagles follow us; they have taken the Scent afresh, and come with a full Cry.

Father, Father, Father—

The Cry comes this way—Follow me with all the hast you can, that they not come within view of us.

So, now the Children are sent home, let's to the place of Rendezvous.

Here's the Tavern; Enter—

Come Lovel, they are gone to the Tavern to look for us.

I am the worst man i'th world, to Converse with this sort of Cattle.

Thou ought'st to be civil to e'm upon Account of the Kindness they have done for thee at my Request.

Will not my Money excuse my Company.

Did not I condescend to visit a Pair of Honest women at your request? Aye, and visit them a second time; and can you in Conscience refuse to Accompany me now—?

Your first Visit was made by my perswasions; but the second, was the Effect of your own Inclinations.

Well; but come along, if you like not your Com­pany, be gone assoon as you will.

'Tis e'en so; your Lover and my Gallant are gone in af­ter e'm: We'l put off our Frollique of going to the Nursery, and I'le adventure into the Tavern; to see after what manner they Treat e'm.

But shou'd they know you—

They know you: they can't in this Disguise; but if they do, 'twill pass for a Frolique—

What Wine do you please to drink, Ladies?

Sack and Claret; Is it good?

We have as good as any is in England.

But you Son of a Whore, shall we have any of it?

I'le bring you that shall please you—

Ha: Merry Lasses!

As Merry as Birds in a fair Morning.

Or Crickets in a warm Chimney.

Fill some Wine Boy—This will encrease your Mirth—

Here Careless, you Son of a Whore, here's to you.

I thank you Mrs. Breedwell.

Lady, my Service to you—

Damn your Complement. My Service to you—You'd have said as much as that to an Honest Woman—

Ladies, I can't talk at your rate; but if you are for down-right Drinking—have at you.

Here Careless, you Damn'd Confounded Dog, give me your Hand.

Pray mind your own Intrigue; we are agreed.

Mrs. Breedwell—What right have you to choose your Man before me?

I have been acquainted with him longer than you—

Mr. Careless, do you like a Woman e're the better for be­ing an Old Acquaintance?

He chose me, and that's a signe he likes me better than you—

I took the first that came to my hand.

Yes, she's so forward.

I am then shut out for a wrangler.

Rot your humour! that you'l be so disobliging to any Gentleman.

He's as Dull as an Alderman.

Madam! there's a young Gentleman at the dore desires to speak with you.

Come Lovel, here's both their Healths to you.

Madam, I had a sight of you as you came up staires, and was extreamly taken with you: pray oblige me so far as to own me for your acquaintance, and introduce me into the Company, which I much desire, for your sak [...].

Sir, you may Command me. Lord 'tis the prettyest man— Nay Sir, you shall come in—here are none but friends.

Sir, you must not refuse a Ladies Invitation.

I fear I shall be uncivil.

That you can hardly be in our Company.

Sir, these Ladies Healths to you—

Come on Sir, Ladies, To your good Healths.

And here's Mr. Lovels Health.

I am ready to pledge it.

And to make it go down the pleasanter, there's That to sweeten your Wine and yours.

Were we but sure such sand lay at the Bottom of the Sea, wee'd drink the Ocean off.

Look you Sir.

And now Ladies, I thank you for the good service you have done for me.

Will you leave us then?

My absence is no Injury, now you have got another Man—

But Sir.—

And I have a little Bus'ness.

Damn Business; when Wine and Women are in the case▪

It is of great Concern—

Sir, can there be affaires of greater Importance than Drink­ing and Wenching?

To tell you true Sir, he's going to see a Lady that he's in Love with.

What sots Love makes of men.

Your servant Gallants—

Your servant.

Your servant.

I hope he'l find Compunction of heart e're he gets there, re­pent of's sin, and so come back agen.

As I live, this is the prettiest youth—Come let's be freely merry—

I love freedom in my Mirth; Come Sir, will you pledg me on that Ladies Lipps? Ten go downs upon Reputation.

Sir! Ile pledge you here, and there, and every where.

I here Musick.

Come in you sons of Melody.

Come my little Squire of the Body, You and I will have a Dance together.

Nay, keep to your own man.

I have as much reason to Dance with him as you—

You Lye—and you take Tobacco, and I am satisfi'd.

What Interest have you in him, I wonder?

To beat you with your own Cudgel: know that I am his old acquaintance, and he chose me.

That was because he thought I had been engag'd elsewhere.

So, now they Quarrel for him. And I am in the Condition my friend was just now.

Ladies, I am ready to serve you in any kind, but then you must take me by turnes.

I'le ease you of half your Burden; Mrs. Breedwell, you and I won't part so.

Strike up you Rogues.

Now Sir, let me oblige you to Dance a Jigg.

Lord, Mrs. Breedwell, you are so forward—I can oblige him to't as well as you.

They are at it agen. A pox of this smock-fac'd Rogue. I must be forc't to kick this fellow out of Company. Some Wine Boy. Mrs. Clappam, you are not so obliging to day as you us'd to be.

Not I Sir, I Swear, I begg your pardon: I'le pledge you Sir.

How your Dancing has made you sweat: Let we wipe your face. How long Sir have you known that Lady?

Some few days.

Have you ever bin concern'd with her?

No, but 'tis my present business.

Have a Care how you venture: I wou'd not say so much but that I have a kindness for you.

Is she not well?

Pretty well agen now: but she's not quite out of the Surgeons hands yet.

I am just now in the humour, but I had rather have your Company.

Take your leave, and I'le follow you to the next Tavern—

You must pledg me now—

That they may not suspect, go you first—

That's not fair play Mris. Breedwel.

If you are Jealous, wipe his face your self Some. Some Wine Boy. To your good Thoughts.—

How do you like Mrs. Breedwell?

Well enough.

On my word you'l not find a finer Woman in Town of her age: How old do you think she is?

Eighteen.

Gemine! I am as much.

I may be mistaken.

Why she lay In a year a goe of her fifth Child, and were't not for some defect in her Teeth which taints her Breath a little, she's not to be dislik'd.

How malicious are Women against one another! Let us a­lone to discover each others faults.

Has she not acquainted you with her Lodging?

You need not be Jealous, let me but know where yours is.

Hark you Sir.

I must be forc't to kick these two out of the Room; I hate whispering, it spoiles good company.

Enough—we have done Sir—slip from the Company and go home. I'le come to you.

Agen.—

What are you for?

There are a Couple of Seamen in the next Room desires to Entertain you with a Dance.

Bid'em come in—Play away, Give e'm what Wine they'l drink, and clap't to our reckoning.

Bid'em come in—Play away, Give e'm what Wine they'l drink, and clap't to our reckoning.

One of you Two Ladies I hope will entertayn us with a Song.

Mrs. Clappam, you have a good Voice.

Before you hear't I'le lay a Wager 'tis either a Drinking, or a Bawdy Song.

Is there not Phillis in't?

No?

Then it may not be Bawdy. Come, let's hear your Old out-of-Fashion Song.

'Tis Call'd the Agreement.

Now I'le steal away.

Sir, a Porter has brought this Letter for you, and stayes for an Answer.

I'le take this occasion to slip away.

I'le o're take you—

Gallant, I know not what's the Cause, but I am very Mellancholly: pray come and spend the rest of this afternoon with me; for I find an Inclination to your company, perhaps the sight of you may cure me:

This 'tis to have the acquaintance of honest Women, they presently grow troublesome.

Why Sir?

Why, if they be of the dull sober sort, a man can hardly get acquainted with them, but they fall flat in Love with him: if [Page 54] they be of a sprightly gay humour; they presently grow impertinent, they will ever be sending such Notes as these to a man, or running af­ter him.

But is she handsome that sends you this Invitation?

Yes: hang her, she's well enough.

Then you shou'd tak't for a kindness—

Yes: just as a Husband does when his Wife jogg'd me by the Elbow, and askes him the Question. I wonder Women han't Wit enough to know when a Man cares for their Love, or their Company: to be sure, when he has a mind to either, he'l be coming or sending to them.

But won't you go?

Dost think I'le leave good sociable Company to go to a dull honest Wench?

She'l take it ill.

I have a better opinion of her Wit, than to think she'd de­sire me if she knew how the case stands. It wou'd be as unreasona­ble in her, as to invite a hungry Man from a well-furnish'd Table, to go & look upon the Picture of a Banquet, where he can only feast his eye, but never allay his appetite. Boy, bid the Porter tell her he can't find me—I'le make such Visits when I can have no better Company.

But where are our Women?

One of e'm went out just before the Song, and bid me tell you—

Speak out you Rogue—

That she was gone to th' place appointed.

Young Squire, you don't play me square play. You ought not to take up another mans Dice—

And where's she that sung?—

Do you know where the Lady is that was here but e'en now?

She's gone Sir.

Whither? Are you going to whisper too? speak out—

I suppose that Gentleman knows. She sent to desire him to make haste?

Get you both down; We'l pay at the Bar—

Sir, you make too bold with me; to take one Mrs. from me, [Page 55] was Ill-manners; to Rob me of both, Malice and Ill-Na­ture—!

I do't by way of Reprizal; you have took one from me, and I have got two from you.

I take one from you—!

Yes; I have had a long Intrigue with the Lady nam'd Hilaria: And I hear you are become her Servant—

Hilaria!

Yes.

I was ignorant of any such pretensions.

I shall spoile your Markets there too: I shall tell her, that she's Impertinent to send after you, and all that—and when you can find no better Company, you'l come to her, and all that—

Nay then; I'le take another course with you. Come Sir.—

Surely, you'l not be so mad to fight for one you don't love?

Look you Sir, tho' I scorn to tell her so, or any of her Sex: yet I do love her, will love her, and must love her: and no Body else shall love her—

But I do—shall, and will love her—better then you—

Come: give me a proof on't then—

Yes Sir, I will give you a proof of 't— ha, ha, ha.—

Hilaria!

Alas poor Gallant—ha ha ha—observe, now you are Chea­ted of three Mrs's. ha ha ha—fare you well—Gallant.

Hark you, stay—

No; Women are so impertinent—Men will come after them, when they love them—adieu—

Gad—she's too unconscionable, to deprive me of two Mrs's. and then to run away her self—and now she knows I love her, she'l insult o're me—and those Damn'd Whores to serve me such a Dog trick—I thought they had some honour in them; But I find that Women are by Nature guilty; For be they Whores, or no Whores, they will jilt ye—

MR. Doctor, I desire no more of your Consultations with my Neice; I say no more, but I smell a Fox.

What do you mean Sir?

I say no more: but some Wiser than some.

That Sir, was the very reason, why the Doctor brought me with him, thinking I might observe some Cir­cumstances which might discover the Nature of your Neices Disease, of which he yet remains doubtful.

And you discover'd, that it was good for her to go A­broad in a Coach, to take the Air.

Yes Sir, and I'le give you a Reason for't; for want of Exercise the Bloud grows thick, and corrupts in the Veins, which are the Channels Nature has design'd for: Sir, does it not stand to reason, that Motion and Exercise which opens the Veins, rarifies the Bloud, and gives it a free Passage; should it not in some measure work it's Effects on your Neice.

Well, Sir, I say no more, but that some are Fools, and some are Physicians.

I will maintain it against the Learned'st Professors in Town, that it will do your Neice more good to Joult about one Hour in a Coach every Morning and Evening for a Month, than to take Ten Purges a day.

I am much of your mind, Mr. Doctor; and I say no more, but that it is not good for Sick Folks to go abroad in the Air.

Her Sickness is for want of Air.

And I say no more, but that some peoples reasons for her going Abroad, is, that she's an Heiress.

I hope you don't think that I am an Instrument in any Designe.

I say no more, but that there are Blades upon the Ran­dan, that would Feel her Pulse, and stir her Bloud to some purpose; and that's one reason why 'tis not good for her to go Abroad.

I beg your Pardon, Sir, I spoke as a Physician in Consideration of her Health, and Mr. Doctor within was part­ly of my mind.

He was of the mind too, that my Cook-maid wou'd not dye yesterday: and I say no more, but that she dyed within two hours after.

Physicians sometimes say what they think will best please their Patients.

And you thought 'twould please her best to be Gadding abroad; I say no more, but that if her Bloud want stirring, I'le get her a Husband.

Yes Sir, that will do best of all.

Sir, Then we agree at last: and I say no more, but that his Lordship shall go without her.

What Lord, Sir?

A Friend, a Neighbour of mine sends me word, that she's in Love with a Foolish Fantastick Lord.

What is this Lord?

I say no more, but that he has been a Traveller, is very conceited, and very ridiculous.

What is his Name?

You may as soon call o're a Troop of Horse as Name him; I know no more, but that he has two Wives already, that he is a very great Fool; and I say no more, but that I'le have my Neice into the Country to Morrow.

Let me tell you Beatrice, this Alderman is an old [Page 58] Rooke, he smells Powder a great way off.

Does he suspect you?

He suspects every body: he has heard the whole Sto­ry of her being in Love with me.

It comes from our House, I warrant you▪ but was it not very Unfortunate for us, that he should come Home just as we had convinc'd the Landlady and Servants, that it was necessary for the Lady to go abroad?

The Coach sent for, and all.

And when he came, he was so earnest for you to be gone, being a Stranger, and kept such a fidling about his Niece, that you could not break a Piece of Gold as we design'd, and make a Contract.

Fate was indeed very malicious.

But how does your Lordship like her?

She's a Miracle! I protest I saw not so great a Rariety in all my Travels.

What a pretty Mouth she has, so Little; and her Neither-Lip so Cherry-like; and then she's such a Pattern of Modesty and Innocence, one wou'd wonder how she got the Confidence to be in Love.

She's a rare Creature!

She loves the very ground you go on.

O Beatrice, if I had her—

She's resolv'd by some Stratagem or another, to get to you to Night; therefore be sure you be not out of the way.

I'le go directly to my Lodgings.

Be careful you are not seen i'th Streets; for if those two Women once get sight of you, their Tongues will blow up your Credit.

I'le be gone, lest they shou'd come and find me here.

You may venture forth, he's gone.

'Twas damn'd ill Luck, that we had ne're a Parson here; The Business had been done.

He fail'd of bringing one with him; and if we had pro­vided a Parson, our Forwardness might have given him Cause of Suspition; but Disappointment does make Men more Eager.

So much for that now, Beatrice; being at Leasure, let us examine how Matters stand 'twixt you and me.

Just as they did, on my part.

But methinks now you have seen how well [...] Acted the Gentleman, Traveller, and the old Alderman, you should love me much better for my Ingenuity.

In the first Shape, you appear'd so much like a Gentle­man; and in this, so like an old Rich Alderman, that I shall never endure to see you your own Man agen.

When I am neither Gentleman, nor Alderman, I shall be Toby still; and I am no more now.

But if we Two shou'd Marry, how shou'd we do to Live?

Live, well enough; we'l live by our Wits.

Then I must maintain you and my self too.

Why Beatrice? do'st think I have not as much Wit as Thee?

No marry han't you.

This day I have given the World sufficient Proofs of my Wit.

I doubt not but e're Night, to give you a better Proof of mine, than any you have, or can give of yours.

P'shaw, p'shaw—Yonder's my Master, go and acquaint him how Matters succeed.

The truth is, she plaid the Tyrant with thee; but you de­serv'd that, and more.

Well, were not the Use and Conversation of Wo­men absolute necessary for Man, I wou'd forswear the whole Sex.

I know by the Constitution of your Body, that you'd not [Page 60] be able to keep that Oath: but, I advise you to Forswear all but one.

That is; you'd have me Marry.

Yes; you'l find more Comfort in a Wife, than in Ten Mistresses.

If what you say, be true, Why do most Husbands in this Age, (which I take to be wiser than any that's past) Turn away their Wives, and keep Wenches? at least, those that are so Civil to keep a Wife, they keep a Mistress besides?

And if it be not true, Why do the great Wenchers at last forsake all their Mistresses for a Wife? for, we find most of them Marry at the Long-run; Nay, generally they prove the best Husbands: And the reason is, they have experimented the Folly of that Lewd Course of Life.

I had never so good an Opinion of Marriage as now; for, this Dog-trick that these two Gilting Jades shew'd me in Leaving me so in the Lurch, has lessen'd e'm in my Esteem, to the degree of Honest Women; and now the Scales are equal, the first of either Party that oblidges me, draws it down on that side.

Then I hope Hilaria will turn the Ballance.

If the Devil is minded to lose a Gamester, let him ven­ture to make her and me Friends.

Sir, We are still Successful in our Designs; it is drawing to a Conclusion, therefore be in a Posture to receive us.

I'le give u'm Notice within: you'l take Care of the rest.

The Parson and the Fidlers, I believe, are Drunk to­geth [...]r, and falne asleep in the Tavern; but I'le Marshal e'm pre­sently.

And I'le back to my Imployment.

How now Gallant.

O Madam.

You are very merry Gallant.

I have no reason to be other­wise. Why do you Josle me?

And why do you Josle me?

You walk in my way.

'Tis you walk in my way.

Get farther off.

Go you farther off.

I was here first.

Then you may be gone first.

I have Business here.

What, to see me?

No—

Yes, in my Conscience, you was coming to see me.

Now I think on't, so I was, on purpose to let you see that I am alive; for I believe you thought I had either hang'd my self (for the Trick you put on me to day) or had broke my Heart with Sighing for your Absence, with whom I am too desperate­ly in Love; but believe me, I have not yet broke so much as a Butten, and may I brake my Neck, when I do, either for Love of you, or any Woman alive.

Yet you love me.

'Tis true, I love you well enough, because you are Un­lucky; and was not Honesty in the case, I should love you better; but as it is, your are in a desperate Condition.

Must I then despair?

You are for Matrimony, and that I hate; I can no more endure a Wife, than a standing Dish of Meat.

You think then I am in Love with you.

Think it, Ha, ha, ha—As though I did not know That by your following me up and down; what came you to the Ta­verne for after me? And for what came you hither now, if you an't in Love with me? And what made you seduce the Ladies [Page 62] from me, but that you had a mind to have me all your self?

I vow, now you put me in mind on't, I may be in Love with you: but you say my Case is desperate; then desperate must be the Cure, and I must e'ne resolve to be your Mistress or Wench; or what you will.

That's your only Remedy. I am a Bird of prey, and flie at all.

Nay, then I'm a dead Woman still; for, you'l s [...]on take a Flight from me, to another.

But when I have catch'd my Prey, I take my Belly full of it; I never leave it till I am Gorg'd.

And will your Stomack come to you agen?

Yes sometimes, but Generally some Ravenous Fowl or another picks up my Leavings, and flies away with't.

But wou'd you have no more care of me?

My Care wou'd signifie but little; for, a man seldom finds either▪ Money or a Woman in the same place he left e'm.

But they say 'tis a Rule amongst you Men, not to leave the Women you Debauch; but if they prove Constant, to pro­vide for e'm.

Provide for u'm! Is it not enough we Teach e'm a Trade, by which they may get their Livings? but you will not want providing for, you have a good Portion: but if I wou'd, you your self, in a short time, would be for Change.

Well Careless, we'l do nothing rashly; I'le in, and consider on't; and some other time I'le tell you more of my mind.

But let me give you this Caution; be not deceived with the vain Considerations of Virtue, Modesty, Honour, Chastity, Reputation, and the like; these are Bugg-Words that aw'd the Women in former Ages, and still fool a great many in this; and if once these idle Notions get into your Thoughts, I shall give you over for a lost Woman.

The common Practice of my Sex may prevail much evil Example makes twenty Sinners to the Devil's one— Adieu.

Adieu.

Here comes Company; I will Retire till they are gone past.

Now Ladies, you may pull off your Masques; you'r no strangers to one another.

Mrs. Clappam.

Mrs. Breedwel.

I know you wonder to see one another here, but both of you came to'th Tavern on the same account.

On what account.

To see what was become of the young Gentleman.

I love you for that—

Nay, Mrs. Breedwel, I was behind you when you ask'd the Drawer what was become of him; it seems he fail'd you both, of your Assignation.

S'life! did she dare to have an Intrigue with my Man?

Your Man!

Yes, my Man, you impudent Hussy; I'le scratch your Eyes out.

Touch me if you dare.

If I dare?

So, so; enough, enough; Brave Girles both—

Dare me!

You, what are you?

A Degree above you, I think.

Yes, to you are; for I am not Whore and Bawd too, as you are.

You han't Wit enough to be a [...]wd; and scarce Beau­ty enough, to Drive on the Vocation of Whoring: And let me advise you to make much of those Cloaths you have on, for that Face will not be able to bring you a New Gowne agen.

And do you make much of the Embroyder'd Bodyes you use to run to Playes in the last Summer; neither your Beau­ty nor your Wit will ever bring you such an other Pair: You may speak French long enough, before you get such agen.

My Back is not my Wardrobe, as your's is; I had a New Gown but a Month agoe.

What, the Mourning [...]Gown you bought at Second Hand. A Woman of the Town needs no Curses, when she once comes to a Black-Cloath-Gown, and Plain Linnen; that is their Last Refuge in point of Cloaths; and when that's worn out, she must on with the Strip't Semar, and turn Bulker: at which Trade I hope to see you suddenly.

And I as suddenly expect to see you so Miserable, as to [Page 65] abuse Charity, to relieve your own necessities, and go up and go up and down with a purse to all your Acquaintance, to gather relief for some pretended poor Woman that is sick, or in Prison.

Enough, enough; bravely perform'd on both sides, you faught well▪ and you scold well.

If you had been here, I would have so tew'd that spawn of a Sempstress—

And I would so have claw'd off that Shooemakers Daugh­ter, that she should have thought it worse than her last Child, or her last Clap, or the scuffle she had with the Sedan-men, when they tore the Cloaths off her back for 4 s. which she ow'd 'em at least half a year.

And you should have scap'd no better than you did when the Coach-man met you at the New Exchange, that you bilk'd off his Faire after five hours Ramble.

No more, come a Truce, a Truce; you serv'd one ano­ther no more than you both serv'd me, I have reason to be angry with you on account of your leaving my Company for that fair, smooth, Chitty-fac'd Stranger, that neither of you ever saw be­fore.

Ah, he was such a pretty Gentleman, and had such a boon Meen—

But the Devil a penny of money in his Pocket: I paid the whole reckoning; I had a good mind to have sent him to you in revenge, that he might have bilked you both, for his jilting me.

And Bilking is so us'd now a days, that 'tis not more hard for a man to find a woman with whom he may safely venture, than 'tis for a woman to meet with a man, who the next morning, or as soon as she has been kind to him, will not say, Y'gad Madam I have got no money about me, I had damn'd ill luck at play, but I am going to receive some this Afternoon, and if you'l let me know where I shall be so happy as to meet you anon in the Evening, you shall find none more a Gentleman—

And if you make an appointment, he meets you no more; then he goes to pay off his Taylors Bill at the day promis'd: hang me if I was not serv'd so three times the last week.

Men are grown so base, that 'tis enough to make any wo­man [Page 66] for swear keeping Company,—but if that young Gentleman had serv'd me so, I Vow, I should not have been vex'd.

And I had rather he should have serv'd me so, than failed of coming, as he promis'd.

I find both of you have a kindness for him; [...] am per­swaded, when you see him agen, that you will not be so fond of him. Come shake hands and be Friends, and I will carry you to him; he shall have his choyce, and I'le be content with the other.

Mrs. Breeder, come Kiss and be Friends.

With all my heart.

Now put on your Masques, and in here with me.

So, they are gone, and in good time: Here comes the Burial, I'le stand close.

Come let's rest a little.

Ay, set down, set down.

Ah poor Betty.

Ay, she was as good a natur'd Maid—

And as pretty a Servant as ever liv'd in the Parish.

She's in Heaven, I hope, poor Wench.

Wake all the Dead, what ho, what ho—

and all the Bear. Hark—

Who's there?

Hark, Hark.

The Windows are op't, the doors unbar'd, come from the Church, and the Church-yard.

The Voyce is this way.

Who's there?

No, 'tis in the Coffin, in the Coffin Neighbour.

Make roome, make roome.

The World's at an end—

And we come, we come.

Look, look, look.

Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,

Away, away, Lovers away.

Why Iacinta, do you fear your love will wrong your duty.

You know my Fathers command; if I marry you, I dis­obey him.

And if you do not, you'r unjust to Love:

I will still be true to Love: I will never Marry any other man for your sake.

But if your Father Command, will you not obey?

Never—

Not to obey his Commands in Marrying, will have the same event, as to disobey him now in Marrying me.

'Twill not then be disobedience, though Parents have power to command us not to Marry.

Ah Iacinta, was your Love like mine, you would not stand upon such nicities; a perfect Love inspires those minds with courage, where it inhabits.

I love you so well, I will not make you unhappy: Till I can bring a Portion with me, I will not be your Wife.

I was discarded to make room for that Pretender, whom we have now defeated; he being removed, your Father will soon be reconciled.

Endeavour then to get his consent.

'Twill be a greater expence of time and labour to get his consent before Marriage, than to reconcile him after: when all things are once done, and not to be recall'd, Men are soon pacifi'd.

It may be more easie, but not so secure; Old Age is very exceptions, wherefore excuse me if I dare not venture to disoblige a Father, whose Love may be considerable, and an Advantage to me.

Come leave off your Sneaking pittiful Love; my Gallant has brought some Company, Let's Dance, and be Merry; here mey come, strike up Musick.

But we want Men—

You'l have more Company presently; the Parson is doing Execution in the next Room.

Here's my Uncle; we'l have him in. Come Uncle, will you make One in a Country-Dance?

What's the matter here? What are you doing here? What, are Candles Lighted in every Room? And what does Mu­sick here?

I believe you are Fudled, Uncle, you are so full of Que­stions.

I say, What is all this for?

Give me leave, Iacinta, to pretend this our Wedding-Night; and that all this is on that Account.

If he resents it ill, I shall soon undeceive him.

What, will no body speak? Daughter, what's the Oc­casion of all this?

The Occasion, Sir, is such, that she is afraid to tell you; and I should be loath to let you know it, but that we hope your Pardon; without which we cannot be truly Merry.

What's the Matter, Mr. Lovel?

From this Posture you may guess.

What mean you by it?

To beg at once, your Pardon and your Blessing.

Ha▪ Is it so—

It will be otherwise with u'm anon, Uncle.

You are Marryed then?

It was their Fate, Sir; the business is done.

Now do I hope my Uncle will take pett at the Marriage, and give Me all his Estate when he dyes, to vex his Daughter.

Rather than you shall see a Groat on't, I would give it to Hospitals, which is the worst use a man can put his money to; be­cause the Poor are always Cheated on't,—Mr. Lovel, rise. If you do well, and prove a good Husband, I have all I can desire; which is, to see my Daughter well dispos'd of; and I shall do well by you: If you prove an ill Husband, she may thank her self, and her Disobedience will be punish'd in the event.

Lord, Uncle, that you should do this on purpose to spight me.

I believe, you was an Instrument in the design.

Nay, Uncle, I must confess you have over-reach'd me clearly.

But, Sir, my being here, is on another account. I come to desire you, to use your Authority with your Niece, and keep her at home; for I can be no where, either about business, or taking my Recreation, but she presently comes and disturbs me; insomuch, that if you don't take some speedy order with her, I must be forced to leave the Town to avoyd her company.

Pray take her along with you, and you'l free me of a greater trouble, for she's my Vexation all the day long.

'Tis true, Uncle, that Gentleman and I have been a little troublesome to one another; for you know, he came to sollicite me in the way of Matrimony, which I don't much approve of; for it makes Folks fall out: The first day of Marriage, is the last day of Love. I lik'd him well enough for a Gallant, and if he would ac­cept [Page 70] of me for a Mistriss or so? but he had a foolish scruple of Con­science, nothing would serve him but Marriage, and so away came I▪ this is all, Uncle.

If you will have my Opinion in the case, you were cut out one for the other, and 'tis pitty two houses should part you; therefore, if she'l agree to your desires, or you conform to hers, 'tis all one to me, you have my consent to either; all that I desire, is, that you'l make an end quickly, that I may be clear of her company.

Then Sir, you may either go into the Country, or stay in Town, if you please, with danger of being troubled with me; for, I absolutely declare against Marriage, and if nothing else will serve your turn, you may go where you will, and do what you please, [...]'le have nothing to do with such an unreasonable man as you are.

To Convince you, Mr. Muchworth, that what she says is not true, but what, on the contrary, I am for having Her for a Mistress, and She is for being my Wife; here are a couple of Ladies, to whom, on or off, I have been Gallant this 7 or 8 years, and they can witness, I have coutinually rail'd against Marrying Mrs. Clapham, Mr. Breeder, what say you?

Yes; Sir.

Yes.

Now Lady, if you are not for what I propos'd, you may e'n keep your Maiden-head till it stinks, and is not fit for man to meddle with.

I except against your Witnesses, they are brib'd, and rather than such a Lying man as you shall have it, i'le keep it still.

What new Masque is this?

Some Masquers, hearing the Musick as they were passing by, are come in to Dance with us.

Do you know me?

Not I Sir.

Do you know me?

You should be a Catt, by your little squeeking voyce.

Iacinta, let us take this occasion to slip into the next Room to the Parson; now with security we may perfect our de­sires.

Do you know me?

When I see your face, i'le tell you.

Look you Sir.

Is't your Lordship?

My Lord:

Has your Lordship (out of a [...]rollick) rob'd the Church­yard for a Companion? If so, you have but a cold Bed-fellow.

No, feel here, she's warm flesh and blood.

Marry Sir, she rellishes well in the hand.

Pray my Lord, who is she?

She is my Wife, Lady, my Wife; I have Married a Lady, a Lady, that has some forty or fifty thousand pounds to her Portion; I took her by way of Cordial, to revive my Spirits, much weaken'd by the grief I had for loosing your Daughter.

Neighbours, here, here she is; Aye, here she is.

Who are these?

You'l see anon.

Keep off the Ministers of Death, this is a living body.

She is my Maid, i'le have her agen, she shall serve her year out.

Good Mr. Alderman, you are deceived, this is your Niece.

My Niece is at home in Chamber.

No, Sir; but your Maid is at home, and as dead as a Herring; it was not a Corps, but a Quick Body, that came out of your house in the Coffin: it was not your Maid you suppose, but your Niece: and now, I think, my Wit hath bin too quick for you all.

Niece, come away from him.

You cannot have Her, she is my Wife.

Are you married then already?

Yes, Sir.

For certain?

The Parson is still in the House.

Then, Sir, see your Alderma [...], your Fellow-T [...]aveller and Toby, all in one.

Ha!

Toby!

Toby!

This's some new Trick.

And now, I think our Wits have been too quick for your Lordship. Who have I married here? I would fain see, but I dare not.

I will inform your Lordship who your Wife is, as yet I know her better than your Lordship. I had here in Town three Mistresses, of which, one of 'em was very young and very pretty, and but newly debauch'd: I thought it great pity, she should drive that Trade: and therefore advis'd her, to get her a Husband before she had quite ruin'd her Credit: to advance her Design, she took the Name of Alderman Rich's Niece, and this morning took the same Lodging too; and, by the Story, I guess, this must be She you have married.

The Alderman and his Niece went this morning out of Town.

O! I am undone—

Ha, ha, ha—if your Lordship has any Grief at your Heart, go to bed, and take a Sup of your Cordial, ha, ha, ha—

Since your Lordship has bin so kind, to take one of my Mistresses of off my Hand, I'le make you some requital in re­leasing you of your Wives. See, My Lord, these are my o­ther two; they shall never trouble your Lordship more, upon the the account of Marriage.

All the right of a Husband, that I have in You, I resign to that Lady.

I do the same.

Now, my Lord, you have got one Wi [...]e, and lost two.

Now Marriage has made us one, our Wishes are com­pleat.

My Lord, now you have drawn your Lot, see whether Fortune has sent you a Blank or a Prize.

Ay, ay, come, Mrs. Grace, you may e'en shew your Face.

Married to a Wench—I am abus'd, cheated—

Yes, my Lord, and so they are all—

Omnes Beatrice!

How, Mrs. Beatrice!

Beatrice I am, but not your Beatrice now.

Are thou married then?

Yes, to a Lord. Who has most Wit now, Toby?

Am I then forsaken? Oh! that the Fates would be so kind, to lend a Dagger, or a Knife, to an incensed Lover.

What wou'd you do?

I would kill my self, to be reveng'd on thee.

There are Knives enough for that Execution in the Table-basket that stands i'th' Hall.

Are there?—

But how came you to surprise us with this new Turn?

Out of pure Kindness to his Lordship; rather than he should marry a Wench, I cast my self away upon him.

My Lord, comfort your self with the old Rule, Since 'tis no better, it's well it is no worse.

Take her to you, My Lord, had She not bin your Friend, you had bin in a much worse condition.

Though my Daughters Servant, she is a good Gen­tlewoman born, and near related to us.

'Tis well your Lordship has light of an honest Woman.

One proof of my Honesty is, I promis'd your Lordship my Maiden-head, and now 'tis at your Service.

Look, look here, ungrateful Beatrice, look how on my Breast thy Perfidiousness revenge.

Ay, I see.

Then, Toby, die, die the Death of a faithful Lover.

Ay.

Ay.

Ay.

Ay, Toby, what hast thou done?—Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha—

What dost laugh at?

Look here, he has mistaken a great Candle for a Case-Knife.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,

He scar'd me: it gave way, and, I thought verily, I had seen it run into his Body.

Rise, Toby, you have only greased your Doublet.

I durst have sworn, I had left a Knife in my Heart.

If you go to the Basket agen, be sure you bring a Knife with you.

No; me thought, Self-Murder was a great Sin; and now I have consider'd on't a little, I'm glad to see my self alive agen: and now, rather than kill my self for You, or any Woman breathing, I would first see the Souls of a hun­dred thousand of 'em ramm'd into a Morter-piece, and shot into a Duth Fire-ship, and so I leave you to his Lordship; and to let you see, I am my own man again; I and my Friends will dance at your Wedding▪ Come, give me my habit.

My Lord, you see I did not any thing for want of an Husband▪ what I have done, was purely out of Kindness to your Lordship.

I have consider'd on't, and I will own thee for my Wife, and as my Wife thou art a Lady, and know your State, and take the upper hand of your two [...]: 'tis some Revenge to see thee take place of those two proud Minxes.

Come, play away for the Dance.

So, Mr. Lovel and Daughter, I wish you much Joy together: the Match is of your own making; and when ei­ther of you repent it, you must blame your selves.

That Marriage can hardly know Repentance, in which both parties had their choice.

My Lord, I intreat you, let my House have the Ho­nour to treat you to night.

I embrace your Kindness: give me your Hand, now no more Beatrice, but my Lady, we will suddainly down to my Country-House, and there fix our selves, and visi [...] Lon­don but seldom; the Town is not a place for Wives to live in, that bring no Portions.

I shall like a Country-life very well, if I have but the Honour of your Lordships good Company; and, I doubt not, but in few years to raise a Portion out of my good Huswi [...]ery.

Come, I'le lead you the way to a better Room, Mr. Careless, Ladies, and all, pray follow.

Hold, hold, Uncle, Sl [...]fe, you are for rising from Ta­ble before Dinner's done, the third Course is yet to come up.

Pray, lead on, Sir; I beseech you, lead on, Sir.

Come, come, Careless, ne're halt before a Cripple.

Good Madam, you are sharp set, I dare not trust my self with you, unless they will all stay.

Niece, wha [...] say you to me?

It come just now in my mind, that I have lost my Bed-fellow; and now my Cousin is gon, I know not what I shall do; for, I vow, I dare not lie alone.

O no, 'tis dangerous, for after seeing Marriages and new Married folks put to bed together, as strange dreams and fancies will be apt to run in your mind, as after seeing bloody Executions and dead people at the Gallows: and who knows what a taking you may be in i'th' night, and what strange fits you may have.

Aye, some e' [...]e rave upon the like occasions, and bite, and gnaw, and tear the very sheets in pieces.

O Madam, aye so they do.

Well Uncle, you may go, I'le e'ne send for one of the Neighbours Daughters from the next door to lye with me.

O Madam, 'tis a hundred to one, but she may fall into the same fits and fancies too, and that will be more dangerous still, to have two mad folks in a bed, and neither able to allay the others [...]ury.

O Sir, do you begin to [...]ome about, wou'd you beat off others, that you may be my Bed-fellow your self? I perceive that you are for having a Wife.

I for a Wife?

Nay, [...]ay, 'tis so, ne'r deny't. Well Sir, give me your hand, rather then lye alone to night, I'le do any thing.

I knew 'twould come to this.

[...] w'll be your Wi [...]e, and since I can't have a Gallant before Marriage, I'le do like other Wives, and have one after; and, now I think on't too, a Husband is very necessary, if it is only to save the trouble of being ask'd questions o're and o're, as who's the Father, who go i [...]? and besides, what Children the Gallant gets, the Hus­band must keep.

I can be even with you there, for you can bring me none to keep, but what are your own at least; and if you expect I should be Father to all your Children, I expect you should be a Nurse to all mine, and I may have 'um brought home to me on all sides, from twenty several women; for I intend to be a great getter and Father of many.

Well, I have but this thing more to say to you; whosoe­ver I choose for my Gallant, you are not to quarrel, or [...]all out with him, but on the contrary, to make him your particular intimate Friend, to be always inviting him home to Dinner, and the like.

And also, whosoever I like for a Mistress, be the Maid, Wi [...]e, or Widdow, you are to get acquainted with her, to Visit her often, to speak [...] my praise, and tell my good qualities, to com­mend my abilities; and in fine, to use the utmost of your power to bring us together, gain us opportunity, and if need be, to watch at the Stair-head, and in case of necessity, to hold the door.

In Company, you shall never call me Wife, or Dear, or Sweet-hear [...], but Madam.

In Company you shall never call me Husband, or by my Christian Name, but Mr. Careless.

In none of these particulars will I ever offend Mr. Careless.

In none of these particulars will I ever offend you, Madam.

This 'tis for Folks to meet that understand themselves; Marriage with these Circumstances▪ I like well enough, and mu [...]t certainly be very pleasant and delightful.

Sir, I beg your pardon, for detayning you and the Com­pany so long; but you'l excuse it, being a business of concern; and each party ought to understand the other before they set their Hands and Seals to the Engagement.

Uncle, pray con o're the Articles, for you are to be sum­mon'd for a Witness upon occasion.

It is like to be a fine Marriage.

Yes, if it go on according to Agreement.

You shall see our Marriage (which you think is clapt up out of a frollick) go on more chearfully than yours, made out of stark Love and desperate Affection; we, like two Birds (though we Roo [...]t together at Night) will have our freedom all Day, and flie Ch [...]rip­ping about, whil'st you like two Domestick Animals, ti'de too close together in a string, shall still be snarling and biting one another.

And we have the trouble every now and than to part you; mark the event on't.

Mrs. Clap. and Mrs. Breedw. you must not think you have quite lost me, because I am Married, and so pray tell the rest of my Acquaintance; I am enter'd into Matrimony, but not in to Bondage.

He has, as it were but one Mistress the more: L ead away Uncle.