ACT I.

THE King, I find, is not expected to⯑day.

My hero is gone to the Olym⯑pic games at Newmarket; nor do I know when he will return.

That is unfortunate; for I un⯑derſtand that Sir Oliver Luke, the formal knight who was created by CROMWELL, is coming here to preſent a petition by the King's appointment.

'Tis very true.

What can we do with this rag⯑ged remnant of the commonwealth?

I intend to keep him till the King returns.

He will be a projecting rock, and break the flowing courſe of our merri⯑ment.

Perhaps not: I have been forming a ſcheme, in the proſecution of which I muſt beg your aſſiſtance. I mean to ſacri⯑fice this Cromwelian calf at the altar of Hymen.

Who is to be the prieſteſs at this altar?

Your maiden aunt, Ann Kil⯑ligrew.

Impoſſible! you cannot be ſe⯑rious.

I beg your attention for a moment:—Ann Killigrew has been invari⯑ably my friend. Long before I was the Infanta's deputy, ſhe was zealous in my ſervice: ſhe en⯑couraged my propenſity to comedy, flattered my feeble talent, and obtained my admiſſion to the ſtage.

But what has this to do with her marrying Sir Oliver?

Suppreſs your impatience:—you ſhall know in a moment. My friend has laughed away 45 years, inattentive to her in⯑tereſt, and careleſs of her income, which, like a glittering bubble, glided down the ſtream ſo faſt, till at length if burſt. I propoſe, that, in this ſhipwreck of her fortune, the Oliverian knight ſhall ſave her from ſinking.—Thus I have an opportunity offered me of repay⯑ing her friendſhip.

This is one of your whimſical flights, an airy child of your creation—a chi⯑mera.

No chimera, I aſſure you: Sir Oliver will moſt certainly apply to the inter⯑vention of my good offices, for the ſucceſs of his memorial: I ſhall freely promiſe him my in⯑tereſt; and ſhall intimate to him, at the ſame time, that a matrimonial connection with ſome royaliſt would ſmooth every obſtacle to his pe⯑tition; as it would be a proof to the king of the truth of his political converſion.

I allow that the avaricious knight will be governed by his intereſt: but how will you induce the lady to connect herſelf with this formal old batchelor? take my word ſhe [4]will never reliſh a ſeaſt compoſed of ſuch obſo⯑lete ingredients.

The perſon, my dear Killigrew, who waits for dinner, till it is very late, without having taken any intervening refreſhment, is not exacting or faſtidious concerning the cookery. Direct the application to Ann Killigrew, and you will not, I think, deſpair of my obtaining her conſent. I hear a carriage; it is moſt likely the knight with his formality and his memorial. I beg you will receive him, and inform him of my royal injunction, to ſtay here till the arrival of his majeſty. As to the matrimonial negocia⯑tion, leave that entirely to me.

Depend upon it you will not ſuc⯑ceed, in aſſimilating ſuch incongruities, as the formal knight and the laughter-loving dame, Ann Killigrew.

If I do not ſucceed, the nego⯑ciating part will divert me: In the comedy of life, as well as of the theatre, I require ſome under plot beſide the main deſign—Adieu.

Though I have nothing to do with the negociation, I may perhaps be able to chiſſel away ſome rough parts of the moving ſtatue.

I am ordered, Sir Oliver, to do the honours of this manſion, and to welcome you to Peckham—My name is Killigrew.

I am proud to form an acquaint⯑ance with ſo celebrated a young gentleman.

I did not expect flattery from the lips of Sir Oliver Luke: but you ſpeak the language of the country you now honour with your preſence.

There, Mr. Killigrew, you touch the difficulty under which I labour. To the language of Peckham, its manners, its uſages, its habits, I am an ignorant foreigner.

Do not be diſheartened on that account; we ſhall be happy to naturaliſe you among us. In the firſt place, I have to inform you, that the beautiful lady of this manſion inſiſts upon your remaining here, till his Majeſty re⯑turns.

Buſineſs of great importance, I preſume, detains him, as his Majeſty appoint⯑ed me to be here this morning.

My good Sir Oliver, as you are not a ſhepherdeſs, you muſt not expect the royal ſhepherd to be ſcrupulouſly exact to his ap⯑pointment with you; and, as you are a going to be a member of the Peckham Club, I will take the liberty of aſking a few preliminary queſtions, which compoſe as it were a qualify⯑ing teſt to your initiation.

I am ready and proud to anſwer any queſtion made me by Mr. Killigrew.

Can you, Sir Oliver, pour down a bumper to the King's health without coughing?

I can aſſure you I am a perfect proſelyte, as to that ceremony?

Can you bear the ſight of a Biſhop.

I muſt confeſs Mr. Killigrew, that my mind ſtill revolts at the lawn ſleeve; but I preſume I ſhall not meet with any of that order in this manſion.

Moſt aſſuredly not: the Queen of Peckham is rather a diffenter in that particular; ſhe has no communication with the epiſcopacy.

I ſhould imagine it would be of uſe to me to ſtudy with ſome attention the royal almanack.

I ſhall beg leave to recommend to your notice a court calendar that I am com⯑piling, in which you will meet with innume⯑rable red letter-days and holy-days; but no ſaints, ſome martyrs, and ſcarce one virgin.

You there gave a ſpecimen of the idiom that obtains under this roof, of which I do not poſſeſs the firſt elements.

The language ſpoken here is the ſame as is uſed at Whitehall; and it is a lan⯑guage acquired without much difficulty, as it is not very copious: for example, we have but two vowels which govern our whole alphabet, and they are U and I: but U is always kept in ſlaviſh ſubjection to I.

I am not ſo dull, but what I can gueſs a little at your meaning, and ſhall avail myſelf of your inſtructions.

Here then concludes our firſt leſſon; but, before we are interrupted, permit me, Sir Oliver, to make you an offer of my intereſt with his Majeſty, with whom I am in the habit of intimacy.

My gratitude binds me to you for ever. I regret it is not in my inſignificant power to make you a return.

Indeed, my dear Sir Oliver, you have it in your power to ſerve me: I am now going to ſpeak in the moſt undiſguiſed manner; and I muſt tell you, that, although I reſide at Whitehall, and baſk as it were in the very rays of royalty, I am ſorry to add, that no ſilver rivulets refreſh the torrid region,—no golden ſhowers deſcend. The pipes and conductors of the royal ſtream ſleep in diſgraceful repoſe—the playful fountains of royal remuneration glitter no more to the gariſh day.

Indeed, my dear Sir Oliver, you have it in your power to ſerve me: I am now going to ſpeak in the moſt undiſguiſed manner; and I muſt tell you, that, although I reſide at Whitehall, and baſk as it were in the very rays of royalty, I am ſorry to add, that no ſilver rivulets refreſh the torrid region,—no golden ſhowers deſcend. The pipes and conductors of the royal ſtream ſleep in diſgraceful repoſe—the playful fountains of royal remuneration glitter no more to the gariſh day.

I beg, Mr. Killigrew, you will indulge me with a commentary; for I do not comprehend one word of your text.

I am at preſent like the reſt of my brethren the courtiers, not in a ſtate of the great⯑eſt affluence; and if I could obtain from your generoſity the ſum of five hundred pounds, you would eſſentially ſerve me: This act of com⯑placency would operate in your regard like a magician; it would immediately mature our commencing friendſhip, and invigorate my zeal for your intereſt.

What muſt I do with this beggarly royaliſt? I muſt not let his inti⯑macy with the king act to my disfavour.

Well, Sir Oliver, have you loſt the powers of ſpeech? I hope his Majeſty will not take up ſo much conſidering time in grant⯑ing the object of your memorial.

I accede to your requeſt, and will in a few days ſupply you with the ſum you demand.

Which ſum I will repay in as many months, upon my honour.

That is ſufficient.

Give me leave, Sir Charles, to preſent you to my worthy friend, Sir Oliver Luke.

The Queen of our ſociety ſent me here on purpoſe to have that honour.

Sir Oliver, this is the gentleman of whom Rocheſter ſays:

I am proud to take Sir Charles Sedley by the hand: I know he is one of the moſt ſplendid ſtars of the court.

I am in doubt whether or no, I ſhall be vain of that compliment; for ſince, Sir Oliver, you denominate us courtiers ſtars, it ſeems as if you thought our whole crowded conſtellation made at moſt a brilliant night, ſince the ſun of the common-wealth is gone down.

Indeed, Sir Charles, I meant no ſuch thing.

Sedley, you are too ſevere with my friend. Sir Oliver acknowledges his paſt errors: He wiſhes to be a convert, and has choſen me for his confeſſor.

Let me alſo put a hand to this good work: I think Killigrew, between you and me, our catechumen will ſoon acquire the neceſſary qualifications.

I am ſure, under ſuch profeſſors, even a ſcholar as dull as myſelf cannot fail of making a rapid progreſs.

And if you ſhould not make a rapid progreſs, it matters not; ſince your maſters take no entrance money.

That is not ſtrictly true: one maſter has made me pay five hundred pounds entrance.

Suppoſe, Sedley, we give our pupil a curſory knowledge of the current expreſſions in our ſociety, which are ſtamped with our peculiar meaning. For example, Sir Oliver, when we ſpeak of a Lady's monſter, we always mean the Lady's huſband.

You will frequently hear us ſay, ſuch a Lady has a ſhort memory; ob⯑ſerve this has nothing to do with the retentive faculty in general, it only ſignifies that the Lady is inadvertent to one ſmall unimportant article of the matrimonial ſtate—that is to ſay, the vow of fidelity.

I am apt to believe the Ladies at Whitehall are not peculiarly gifted with memory.

Bravo, Sir Oliver, you are an apt ſcholar.

If you ſhould hear us, by chance, call a man an unicorn; the meaning we apply to that term is, that the Gentleman is poſſeſſed of a wife, who has only once deviated from the conjugal path, and there⯑fore he is not entitled to the full honours of the fraternity.

I think it is quite ſuperfluous to load Sir Oliver's memory with that term; [12]for I ſmcerely believe, that, among the whole herd of courtiers, there is not one ſingle unicorn.

We have other expreſſions which we admit; though, like bad coin, they ſcarce amount to half the value they pretend to.—When any perſon among us ſays, 'I pro⯑miſe you' ſuch a thing; we interpret that expreſſon into a conditional value: that is to ſay, the perſon intends to keep his promiſe, unleſs ſome intervening objection ſhould ariſe.—Is it not ſo, Killigrew?

Moſt aſſuredly! Promiſes, with us, diſſolve as eaſily as ſnow into water, when the ſun ſhines.

Again: Suppoſe a man bor⯑rows money of you, and he ſolemnly declares that he will repay it upon his honour: we ex⯑plain that affirmative negatively.

How negatively.

That he means never to return the money.

Indeed!

You appear ruffled, Sir, at what I ſay.

Sir Charles, you talk a little at random in the laſt inſtance.

What the devil is the matter? you both ſeem ſo confounded.

I have no reaſon to be diſtrubed, ſince Mr. Killigrew tells me, that a promiſe, in the circle of Whitehail, diſſolves like ſnow before the ſun.

Here comes the fair deity of our temple.

I make no apology, Sir Oliver, for not waiting upon you ſooner, as I knew you was in ſuch agreeable company.

Indeed, madam, theſe young gen⯑tlemen have been extremely entertaining, and have alſo condeſcended to give me ſome inſtruc⯑tions, of which I ſhall avail myſelf.

You are too courteous; any information you may have received from me, is not worth the value of a groat.

I aſk your pardon, Sir Charles; your information is to me worth 500l.

You affix, Sir Oliver, too literal a meaning to what Sedley juſt now advanced.

Gentlemen, you muſt take another time to ſettle your diſpute; I beg you will leave me alone with my new acquaintance, [14]as I have ſomething to communicate to Sir Oliver of a private nature.

We obey your commands.

What would our reverend Elders ſay, if they knew I was tête-a-tète with Nell Gwyn?

I am appriſed of the object of the paper you have to preſent to a certain great perſonage, and you may rely on the influence I may poſſeſs with regard to his Majeſty.

Your affability equals your beauty.

I muſt, however, inform you, that my warm wiſhes for your ſucceſs will not be powerful enough to perſuade his Majeſty to accede to a grant of ſuch magnitude, without ſome ſtrong aſſurance of your being a ſincere and contrite convert to the royal cauſe.

I renounce the Common-wealth.

Yes! like the ſhard-born beetle that creeps out of a ruin. But, to throw off the veil of diſguiſe, I aſſure you, Sir Oliver, that nothing would ſtrengthen your intereſt with the King ſo much, as the entering into a matrimonial con⯑tact with ſome lady of the court.

What young lady of the Court would ſtoop to a knight of the late Com⯑mon-wealth, whoſe age is fifty-eight?

There are ladies who have paſſed their meridian, and whoſe years amount⯑ing to the number (I'll ſuppoſe) of forty-two, would eaſily aſſimilate with the number fifty-eight. The two ſeparate numbers, thus coupled, would ſummed up make exactly 4258, which union carries with it a good omen; for it is the number that came up the firſt prize in the laſt year's lottery.

I am afraid, Madam, you are bantering with your humble ſervant.

I never was more in earneſt in my life: I have a lady in view, who would ſuit you in every reſpect: She is about the age I mentioned; diſplaying a rich ſhew of autum⯑nal beauty; attended by all the charms that affability, courteouſneſs, ſprightlineſs, and in⯑nocence, can beſtow.

You will forgive me, if I inter⯑poſe a doubt concerning the laſt article of the inventory.

Her innocence, I ſuppoſe, you mean?

I do!

The laſt article of the inven⯑tory is as much her property as her other good qualities: and, it is an additional merit to have lived ſo many years in the warm cli⯑mate of Whitehall, without ſingeing the ermine of her innocence. Lord Rocheſter frequently compares her to an iſicle hanging over the mouth of a volcano:—and take notice, Sir Oliver, that Rocheſter is of great authority on a ſubject of this nature.

But this immaculate lady, who⯑ever ſhe may be, knows nothing of your hum⯑ble ſervant.

I will perform the part of Cupid in this buſineſs; I will lay the corner⯑ſtone of this new temple of love.

If it was the firſt day of April, I ſhould be apt to think, Madam, that you intended to—You underſtand what I mean.

Indeed Sir Oliver, if I had a mind to be ſevere, I might ſay that the firſt of April need not take the trouble of coming for the purpoſe you allude to, as it would find the work already done: but I once more aſſure you, that I never was more reſolutely [17]in earneſt. The marrying a lady for whom the King entertains the higheſt regard, will be the means, the only means, of promoting the ſucceſs of your memorial. The coming into a matrimonial contact with a Lady of the Court, will be a paſſport to the royal favour—it will, like the waters of Lethe, waſh out of remembrance your original ſpot of repub⯑licaniſm.

I begin to think you are giving me wholeſome advice—But may I not inquire who the fair Incognita is you intend for my bride?

I am happy to obſserve this youth⯑ful impatience in you—nevertheleſs, you ſhall not know who your bride is, till you are intro⯑duced to her; which will be in the courſe of a few hours.

I confeſs, there is ſomething ro⯑mantic in all this, which does not diſpleaſe me.

You ſhall have reaſon to boaſt the power of your attraction. The iſicle, which did not melt as it hung over the Whitehall vol⯑cano, ſhall diſſolve before the firebrand, of the commonwealth: Don't knit your brow, Sir Oliver, it does not become you—Indulge my [18]frolickſome manner of talking; no reproach, no retroſpective cenſure was intended. Look upon me as your friend—Adieu. I adviſe you, Sir Oliver, to go into the garden, and meditate among the flowers: the perſume of the aromatic tribe ſoſtens the heart and diſpoſes it to love; it ſtimulates the imagination and tinges it with all the bright diverſity of colouring—To the following lines Sir John Davies attempered his lyre, in the days of the Virgin Queen.

ACT II.

It is impoſſible not to laugh at this mad ſcheme of yours.

You ought to laugh, for you are the winner—conſider his immenſe fortune.

How came the knight ſo eaſily into your toils?

I led him to think, that his mar⯑rying a lady of the court would be the only me⯑thod of accompliſhing the object of his petition

But I beg you will give me a ſhort catalogue of the qualities of my bride⯑groom.

In the ſirſt place he has the cha⯑racter of good nature: as for his wit, I have not much to boaſt of; you, my dear, have enough of that commodity to ſerve you both.

How is his perſon?

His perſon obſerves a ſtrict neu⯑trality between invitation and diſguſt.

Well, as long as he is rich, and perfectly good humoured—

I make no doubt, but your dex⯑terity will enable you to mould this republican lump into any form you pleaſe. I muſt, however, not forget to acquaint you, that he made a very penetrating inquiry into your moral character; and, though he heſitated belief, I convinced him at laſt of the purity of your conduct.

Indeed, my dear, I cannot but ſmile at the having you for a witneſs of my virgin innocence.

This witneſs, however, has effec⯑tually ſerved you. My friendſhip in this inſtance triumphed over all my ſuſpicions.

I am obliged to your friend⯑ſhip, but not to your ſuſpicions.

Pretty innocent! are then my ſuſ⯑picions groundleſs?

Though it is impoſſible to re⯑frain from laughing, at the arch look you now aſſume, and the ſignificant tone of voice you gave to the laſt queſtion: yet, the giddy laugh⯑ter-loving Ann Killigrew can, with truth, aſſirm that your ſuſpicions are not founded in fact.

To indulge that eaſy unreſtricted flow of converſation, which peculiarly diſtin⯑guiſhes our friendſhip, I muſt confeſs that I can⯑not eaſily comprehend, how you have eſcaped every ſnare that art and ingenuity prepared for you, in the younger part of your life.

You allude, I ſuppoſe, to the report concerning the Duke of Buckingham.

I do! and alſo to the report relative to Sir John Suckling, St. Evremond, Rocheſter, and even, old Waller.

I muſt own I had ſome felici⯑tous eſcapes from theſe gentlemen: I muſt, how⯑ever, except againſt one perſon on your liſt: I mean Sir John Suckling, with whom I never was a favourite.

There are enough remaining on the liſt, after Sir John is eraſed.

As for Buckingham, he was very aſſiduous, and extremely in earneſt: he [22]called upon me one day, when he was a candi⯑date for my favour, at a time when, in the heat of his canvaſs, he preſumed of his election. He found me reading the poem of Abſalom and Achitophel (then recently publiſhed), in which you know Buckingham is excellently pourtrayed under the denomination of Zimri. I aſked his Grace in what character he paid me the honour of a viſit—whether as a lover, a painter, a chymiſt, a fidler, or a buffoon?—This, I ſuppoſe, enraged him; for he abruptly withdrew, and never returned.—So much for Buckingham—

St. Evremond was alſo very preſſing to obtain my favour. He brought with him that refined civiliſation, that elegance of manners, that play⯑ful converſe, that enamelled wit, ſo character⯑iſtic of his countrymen. He talked a philoſo⯑phical jargon, which I did not comprehend, though it pleaſed me. He laughed at the folly of the reſtrictive virtues, and ſent them all to Milton's paradiſe of fools. But his uglineſs unfaſcinated the powers of his eloquence: my Guardian Angel ſat aſtride on the large wen on his forehead, and ſaved me from ruin—ſo much for St. Evremond.

I think your memoirs exceedingly entertaining; I beg you will con⯑tinue your narrative.

Old Waller uſed alſo to ſhoot at me, but his bullets being nothing more than poetical ſugar-plumbs, no miſchief enſued. But the moſt formidable battle that ever I was en⯑gaged in, was againſt Rocheſter: It was ſome years ago, when he acted the part of a German conjuror in the city: the celebrity of 'the Ger⯑man fortune-teller excited my curioſity, for I had not the ſmalleſt intimation who it was—But I tire you perhaps.

Quite the reverſe, I am impa⯑tience to hear the remainder of your ſtory.

I dreſſed myſelf in the moſt ſimple manner, in the coſtume of a village girl: and ſtole away (at night) into the city, in a hackney coach. As ſoon as I was introduced to the venerable necromancer, he accoſted me in theſe words:—"My beautiful little ruſtic, you will moſt certainly be wedded to the youth you love."—To which gracious prophecy I returned a very humble, aukward, and cottage⯑like curteſey. He added—"I perceive however, my dear girl, that the ſtars will not conſent to the marriage you have ſo much at heart, till [24]you have made ſome other perſon happy firſt; and the ſooner you make ſome perſon happy, the ſooner you will poſſeſs the youth of your affection." He next put a Portugal piece into my hand, then locked the door, threw away his necromantic garment, tore off his whiſkers, diſmiſſed his hoary locks, and ſuddenly the German Doctor was transformed into the gay, the daring, the amorous Rocheſter.

I begin to tremble for you.

In that alarming moment, where was my governeſs? She had run off with a Captain of the Guards the day before. My three maiden aunts, where were they?—the three ſcare-crow guardians of the Heſperian fruit! They were caterwauling round ſome card table. Where was my poor grand⯑mother? She was at reſt with my anceſtors, in the honourable vault of the Killigrews?

Where was your virginity?

Secure in the circle of ſix watchmen, who broke open the door, attended by conſtables who came with a warrant to ſeize the German Doctor, under the notion of his being a ſpy. I applied to the reverend watch⯑men for protection, and they conducted me [25]through Maiden-Alley, to a coach.—So much for Rocheſter.

I have to tell Miſs Ann Killigrew, that her inamorato will wait upon her immediately: He has almoſt finiſhed his toilet: I left him adjuſting his new black perriwig, whoſe virgin curls have never been kiſſed by the amorous gales. He has been ſcent⯑ing his buſhy eye-brows with the eſſence of jeſſamine.

Do you envy his deſtiny?

Upon my ſoul, I think he is a lucky dog, and I rejoice to find you are going to honour the married ſtate: An un⯑married woman is an inſtrument without a muſician.

A raviſhing lute, without a lutiſt.

Or as an old lady obſery⯑ed to me the other day,—'we unmarried women' ſaid ſhe 'are the roſes without a thorn.'

But why, Sir Charles, don't you practiſe the doctrine you recommend? You [26]are a widower, but as you do not appear a diſ⯑conſolate one, why do you not reſume the con⯑jugal yoke?

It is my intention, I look upon myſelf a pierre d'attente, a corner-ſtone left out from a building to be connected with another edifice.

I really am of opinion, the marriage ſtate has ſeveral advantages.

Particularly if the huſband be as rich as Sir Oliver.

I mean independent of that conſideration.

It ſecures one from temptation.

From which one is never ſe⯑cure in a ſtate of celibacy, not even in a nunnery. I have an old aunt a nun at Antwerp, who is frequently troubled with temptations: The Abbeſs propoſed that ſhe ſhould ring the church bell whenever ſhe was tempted, to give notice to the community to pray for her, and ſome⯑times the old lady is ringing the whole day long.

Bravo, Sir Charles! This is a moſt excellent family anecdote.

Sir Oliver, give me leave to preſent you to Miſs Ann Killigrew, my moſt intimate friend, whom I propoſe as an amiable companion for the remainder of your journey through life.

Sir Oliver, I perceive is tongue-tied with extaſy.

I ſuppoſe it is incumbent on me, Sir Oliver, to expreſs my gratitude for the flattering diſtinction with which you are going to honour me.

My dear Ann, I beg you will not be rhetorical, and attempt any flouriſhing ſpeech:—As the converſation of lovers affects ſolitude, let me adviſe you to accompany Sir Oliver in the long ſhady arbour.

I certainly can have no objection to what you propoſe.

I cheriſh the propoſal, and ſhould wiſh to have ſome private confer⯑ence with this lady. Give me leave to attend you.

Miſs Killigrew, I wiſh you a pleaſant walk, I hope my dear, you will not ſtand in need of your friends the watchmen, upon this occaſion.

Well I muſt own I take a pride in having accompliſhed this buſineſs.

This buſineſs is not ſo near being accompliſhed as you imagine. Sir Oliver juſt now aſſured me, that he would defer the cere⯑mony till he had the approbation of the match from the King himſelf.

I am diſpleaſed to hear this: It is quite uncertain when the King will be here: And if the Knight ſhould go from hence before the ceremony has taken place, we ſhall loſe him without hope; for ſhould he return to his round-headed relations—

They would laugh him out of conceit with this marriage.

I aſk your pardon; they never laugh, but they will ſigh and groan him out of conceit with this union, and abſolutely diſſuade him from a courtly monarchical irre⯑ligious connection.

Queen Eleanor, I am the moſt faithful of your ſubjects. I find I am come to aſſiſt at a wedding. Is it poſſible, as I am this inſtant informed, that you are medi⯑tating ſo incongruous an aſſimilation, as to ingraft the ſavage oliverian crab on the luſcious pine-apple?

Even ſo! But there is a diffi⯑culty which has juſt now occurred. The Knight will not accept, it ſeems, of the hand of my friend, without the King's concurrence, or rather his command; and as I do not expect the King, I am afraid the republican bear will break through my toils.

I have a remedy at hand. I will ply him rapidly with the circling bottle after dinner, and make him ſo amorous, that I will charm from him a promiſe to marry the Lady to-morrow morning.

No, no, I have a better inventive head at a criſis that your Lordſhip. As you have performed the part of a conjurer with ſuch ſucceſs; ſuppoſe you try how you can act the King! The Cromwelian Knight has no per⯑ſonal [30]knowledge of you, and has never ſeen his Majeſty; it will conſequently be no difficult matter to impoſe upon him.

I am ready to perform the part you aſſign to me in this new Comedy, as it is for the benefit of Ann Killigrew.

When the Knight is preſented to your Majeſty, you will expreſs to him your full approbation of the match, and then I will attend upon the willing pair to town, and deſire one of the King's Chaplains to tie the knot immediately.

It is a moſt excellent ſtratagem.

Sir Charles! I beg you will run to the King's apartment and bring back with you the garter and the blue ribband.

But will not his Majeſty be diſpleaſed at the liberty I am now going to aſſume.

I will take upon myſelf the whole impropriety of this tranſaction: I am certain it will excite his laughter, and the King will lament that he did not come time enough to be a partaker of the frolick.

Let me inveſt your Majeſty—

Now gird your knee with this little badge, which I am apt to pronounce a whimſical badge of honour, ſince (if Hiſtory ſpeaks the truth) it was invented in memorial of a young ſlovenly Counteſs who did not know how to tie her garters.

May your Majeſty's ſhort reign be a proſperous one!

Go you two, directly, to the lovers: You, Sir Charles, inform the knight of his Majeſty's arrival; and you, Killigrew, whiſ⯑per in the ear of my friend, the ſtratagem that is carrying on, and order the carriage to be got ready immediately.

Do not be offended, if, under the ſanction of my tranſitory royal pre⯑rogative, I addreſs you in a language I never dared utter before—Venus has many Cupids which at once denote her empire and the ex⯑tent of her benevolence.

For ſhame, Rocheſter! is this acting a generous part toward your abſent friend the King. If I had any pretenſions to the title of Venus, my Cupids ſhould not be link-boys to thruſt their torches in every face.

I intended no offence—it was only my libertine way of talking.

The man, who now poſſeſſes my undivided attachment, ſhall ever hold undivided poſſeſſion. He is the final object of my wiſhes, my home, my conſtant reſidence. I beg you will look upon my former frailties as ſtations in my journey to the abode, from which I will never, never depart.

Excellently, moſt excellently ſaid. You have long gained my admiration, you have now conquered my eſteem.

The eſteem of Rocheſter, I fear, is a coin of doubtful value; however, ſuch as it is, I will accept it.

Permit me, Sir Oliver, to preſent you to his Majeſty.

This honour Sire—this accumulated honour, moſt religious Sovereign—owing to her Ladyſhip, I aſk par⯑don, I mean Mrs. Gwyn—I crave forgiveneſs, I ſhould ſay Miſs Eleanor Gwyn.

It is impoſſible for me, Sir Oliver, to do juſtice to your elegant harangue by my own words—ſo I will only ſay that I am happy to commence an acquaintance with you.

Here is the petition which your Majeſty knows I was to deliver into your royal hands.

My royal hands will put the petition into my royal pocket, and ſhall con⯑ſider the contents at ſome other time and in ſome other place: For buſineſs is excluded from this ſpot, and only mirth and love are admitted. And therefore I rejoice to find you are going to add to the feſtivity of Peckham, by eſpouſing my good friend Ann Killigrew.

I am overjoyed to hear my in⯑tended marriage meets with the royal appro⯑bation.

It meets with my moſt deci⯑ded approbation, and will be a ſtrong argument with me in favour of your petition.

I told you ſo, Sir Oliver!

I hope before Apollo re⯑clines on the lap of Thetis, you will conduct the fair nymph to the Hymeneal Temple.

Are your royal words addreſſed to me?

My meaning is, Sir Oliver, that I hope before the cloſe of day, my friend will be entitled to the honourable appellation of Lady Luke.

I am your Majeſty's moſt obedi⯑ent ſubject.

If you pleaſe, Sir Oliver, I will write a note to my worthy friend Juxon, the Archbiſhop, and order him to perform the ceremony.

By no means—by no means—by no means.

An inferior dignitary will anſwer the purpoſe as effectually.

Why did Sir Oliver ſtart at my propoſal.

Sir Oliver is afflicted with an hereditary diſeaſe, called the anti-mitral-anti⯑pathy, which time only can eradicate.

Heyday, what are you maſquer⯑ading in the morning?

I fear I am going to be dethroned.

This ſudden arrival will put an end to the wedding.

I begin to fear I muſt ſtill perform, as you call it, the irkſome function of a veſtal.

I aſk your Majeſty's pardon, I did not at ſirſt perceive you was here.

I am this inſtant arrived!

I little imagined the King would have been at Peckham before me.

Give me leave, Sir Oliver Luke, to preſent this brother knight, Sir Charles Stuart, to you.

I am happy in forming an ac⯑quaintance with Sir Charles Stuart: I preſume [36]you received the honour of knighthood from his preſent Majeſty.

I can't ſay I did.

Then I ſuppoſe your honours flow from the ſame fountain as mine.

You mean the Protector?

Yes! Sir Charles Stuart.

My title does not ſtream from ſo immaculate a fountain; my family is not under any particular obligations to the Protector.

Sir Charles Stuart, you muſt not engroſs your new acquaintance; for as I juſt informed you, he is going to be married. The carriage is at the door. Killigrew and I will attend Sir Oliver and Miſs Killigrew to town, and we will bring them back in the evening bride and bridegroom.

I aſſure you, Sir Oliver, you are going to be united with the moſt amiable woman in England. If I had not been unluckily yoked in marriage with a d—'d Portugal merchant's daughter, I ſhould myſelf have propoſed to her. Give me leave, Miſs Killigrew, to have the honour of handing you to your carriage.

ACT III.

AT your command, I retain the honour of being your Majeſty's uſurper.

I beg the farce may be conti⯑nued till the bride and bridegroom are intro⯑duced. Did not you ſay, Sedley, they were returned?

They are now coming up ſtairs.

Is the reigning monarch or the pretender to ſalute the bride firſt?

The reigning monarch, by all means.

I have the honor of preſenting Lady Luke to your Majeſty.

Allow me to touch theſe virgin lips.—Sir Oliver, I give you joy.

Your Majeſty is incorrect—Lady Luke is the diſpenſer of joy upon this occa⯑ſion. Sir Oliver, you and your amiable con⯑fort have my beſt wiſhes.

Methinks, Sir Charles Stuart, you are too free with his Majeſty.

My dear brother knight, you will perceive preſently that I ſhall take a ſtill greater freedom with his Majeſty.

In what manner?

I ſhall enter into a plot againſt him, and dethrone him.

Dethrone his Majeſty!—what blaſphemy ſtrikes my ear?

A blaſphemy, Sir Oliver, to which your ear is not a virgin.

Sir Charles Stuart, I wear a ſword.

Then draw it in defence of his Majeſty, whoſe reign will not extend to five minutes more.

Good Lady, tell me what all this means?

Don't be alarmed.

I have no intention, Sir Oliver, of involving you in my plot, and of endan⯑gering your life, or of making Lady Luke a diſconſolate widow.

How can you laugh at this indecorous language?

Look round, Sir Oliver—You fee every perſon in the room is laughing.

Damn theſe Peckham jokes, I don't comprehend them.

Sir Charles Sedley, I deſire you to ungarniſh his Majeſty.

Is it poſſible?—is it poſſible?

Now, Sir Oliver, will you kneel and ſalute my hand?

I had rather be cuckolded this very night.

I am much obliged to you Sir Oliver.

I would be obliged to him, Lady Luke, if I was you, and take him at his word.

And comfort me,—a poor dethroned monarch!

It is now time to put an end to this idle merriment. I direct my diſcourſe to you, Sir Oliver, and now inform you that the innocent ſtratagem which has been played upon you was my invention, for the purpoſe of ſecuring to my friend ſo honourable a part⯑ner for life.

'Tis very true!

Are you not Sir, the King?

For the misfortune of Eng⯑land, I am not.

Who, then, is King?

Your brother Knight, Sir Charles Stuart.

Indeed, Sir Oliver, that Gen⯑tleman ſpeaks the truth: he is Lord Rocheſter; [41]and the perſon, whom you imagine to be Sir Charles Stuart, is, upon my word, his moſt gra⯑cious Majeſty, to whoſe protection I now conſign my huſband, Sir Oliver Luke—

Do I dream? or have I loſt my ſenſes to day?

Not more at preſent than any other day: but I truſt you will indulge this Peckham frolic, and I can aſſure you that your brother knight, Sir Charles Stuart, will prompt King Charles to grant to Sir Oliver the object of his petition.

I am your Majeſty's truly devoted ſubject.

As the table is prepared, and ſpread with a ſplendid collation, let us ſit down in har⯑mony and goodhumour: diſmiſs the ſervants, and let the dumb-waiters, who have long had the character of being very diſcreet, have the full benefit of our convivial wit and merriment—

I perfectly concur with his Majeſty, concerning the advantage of dumb⯑waiters. [42]The eaſe and freedom of convivial feſ⯑tivity is thus betrer aſcertained, with all the gay privileges of Commenſality.

I never before heard the word commenſality.

It is an expreſſive word, in⯑vented by my friend, Sir Thomas Browne, the celebrated phyſician at Norwich.

Is it poſſible, Lord Rochefter, that you ſhould call that man your friend? wicked, profane man! he wiſhes, in his Religio Medici, theſe are his very words, "that we might procreate like trees without conjunction!

This is treaſon againſt the enthroned majeſty of nature.

What does Lady Browne ſay to ſuch a contemptuous declaration?

She, like a loving wife, ob⯑tained his pardon from the queen of nature, on condition that he ſhould make an Aménde Hono⯑rable, to which, it ſeems, he has conſented, for he is the father of ten children.

As I am not a diſciple of Sir Thomas Browne, nor conſequently a friend to the arboreal procreation, I propoſe a bumper to the happineſs of the bride and bridegroom.

I ſecond the propoſal.

Now tell me, Rocheſter, what is become of your hebdomadal ſeraglio? I ſaw lately Monday and Saturday walking arm in arm together.

Your Majeſty will ſee them no more.

I beg, Sedley, you will not ſay any thing of this affair,

Now my curioſity is excited, I muſt intreat you, Sedley, to proceed.

I ſhall moſt certainly obey your commands: and ſhall firſt inform my au⯑dience, that Rocheſter, in the plenitude of extra⯑vagance, collected ſeven nymphs, which he de⯑nominated by the days of the week. The beau⯑tiful hours that draw the car in Guido's famous picture, were not to be compared to the days of Rocheſter. They were, however, not halcyon days. Sunday, Monday, Tueſday, and Wed⯑neſday were tempeſtuous: Thurſday was a pee⯑viſh, ungenial day: Friday was ſullen, and cloudy: and Saturday thundered like a ſcold.

Poor Rocheſter!

To conclude my narrative debts were incurred: the treaſury of Rocheſter, not being adequate to the expenditure of the ſeven days. Yeſterday morning,

the whole week was ſent to jail.

Lazy, extravagant gypſies, they deſerve their fate.

Indeed, Lord Rocheſter, the epi⯑thet of lazy is ill applied: it appears to me that it was a very induſtrious week: for I do not meet with one holy day in it.

Bravo, Sir Oliver, I give you credit for that pun.

I am bold to tell your Majeſty. that I ſeldom offer at a ſmart ſaying; but when I do, it is my own:—I do not borrow from others.

You are then, Sir Oliver, like a country ſquire, who lives upon his own farm: who kills his own calf, and plucks his own geeſe.

With your Majeſty's permiſſion, I will call for a ſong—I ſhould wiſh to hear the Soldier's Catch—the words by Sir Charles Sedley.

Moſt excellently performed! ob⯑ſerve, Sir Oliver, as you have been a ſoldier, the moral of the ſong ſeems particularly pointed at you.

I am happy to ſee your Majeſty ſo facetious.

As we have already drank to the bride and bridegroom, I beg leave to pro⯑poſe my favourite toaſt.

Sir Oliver! it is againſt the canon-law of this ſociety to look at a watch.

I think, Sir Oliver ſhould be ex⯑empted from the rule: it denotes no drowſineſs in Sir Oliver—His looking at his watch is the [46]ſame thing as looking at the countenance of Lady Luke; but I give you notice, Sir Oliver, that, if you look again at your watch, I ſhall obey your intimation, and adjourn the court.

I hope I have committed no in⯑decorum: I am now all impatience, madam, for your favourite toaſt.

Every body except his Majeſty muſt ſtand up, while my toaſt is going round.

I drink to the Royal oak, which, when the hell⯑hounds of rebellion were in full chace, ſpread around its hoſpitable arms, and ſheltered from deſtruction the monarch of my heart! hail to the Royal Oak!

Hail to the Royal oak?

It becomes me now to riſe, and make my acknowledgments to the company for the honour they have conferred upon my good friend the oak. Now I will beg leave to offer a toaſt of my own; which the miſtreſs of the houſe can witneſs is the one that I conſtantly give.

Then, Sir, your toaſt is not a woman.

I aſk your pardon, Lord Ro⯑cheſter, it is a woman.

'Tis then a beautiful woman you frequently ſee before your glaſs.

No, Sir! it is a Lady I never ſaw in my life. And, as there is an intereſting circumſtance annex'd to her, I humbly intreat his Majeſty to relate it to the company.

I am very willing to comply with your requeſt—At that eventful period of my life when I was obliged to wander in diſguiſe, it happened that at the cloſe of day, tortured with hunger and overpowered with fatigue, I adven⯑tured to approach the door of a magnificent ſeat, in order to ſolicit the charity of a little food. A young man, who by his emotion appeared to know me, begged he might intro⯑duce me to the reſpectable Lady of the manſion—a widow, whoſe name was Wynd⯑ham, and who was impatient, he ſaid, of the honour of receiving me beneath her roof. He then led me into an antique hall, where ſat, in an oaken richly carved chair, the aged Lady. A pleaſurable air of affability illumed her coun⯑tenance; ſtill did her faded check diſplay a lin⯑gering grace! a winter flower! Then ſlowly [48]riſing from her ſeat, the venerable form advanced, and thus ſhe accoſted me:—"Three ſons! my valiant ſons! were ſlain in battle, fighting in your father's cauſe! and at their ſide my little grandſon, ſcarce fourteen, my lovely, my endearing Henry, fell!—Since that ſad day oppreſſed with the weight of mater⯑nal affliction, I have daily implored the great diſpenſer of events to remove me from this ſcene of miſery: but at this moment, I thank my God, that he decrees I ſtill ſhould linger on this ſide the grave, for the purpoſe of adminiſtering ſome little comfort to your unfor⯑tunate ſituation! The tear that now weeps down my cheek is not the effuſion of parental ſorrow, it is the guſh of wounded affection for my afflicted Sovereign!" She then attempted to ſalute my hand, which I declined; and, yielding to the warm impulſe of nature, with a grateful heart I threw my arms around her neck, and wept.—I now pour a libation to the vener⯑able dame.^*

I preſume it is now my turn to propoſe a toaſt.

I will tell you who you ſhall give.

I accede to your propoſal.

You ſhall give us, the Country Girl, whoſe fortune you told when you was the German Conjurer.

How is it poſſible you ſhould know any thing of that incident?

The confuſion you are in betrays you.

I hope you did not ſeduce the poor ſilly Country Girl?

I ſcorn your idea.

Have you never ſeen her ſince?

Never.

You have often ſeen her, and have frequently ſpoken to her.

Never, never.

Suppoſe I tell you, that you have been ſpeaking to her this moment:—

Good Chriſtian Doctor, tell me when I am to be married.

Confuſion! I recollect that voice. Had I known it had been you—

However, you will bear teſti⯑mony to the innocence of the poor girl.

Yes! But not to her inte⯑grity, for ſhe robbed me of a guinea.

That guinea was well diſtri⯑buted among the watchmen who protected her.

What are you talking of, Lady Luke?

We allude to a diſguiſe her Ladyſhip once aſſumed, to deceive Lord Rocheſter.

I never heard of this frolic.

I will tell you the whole cir⯑cumſtance ſome other time.

Let me aſk you, Rocheſter, if you have lately diſplayed any flaſhes of wit, if you have uttered any bon mot worth being recorded, without raiſing a bluſh on the female cheek?

The latter part of your queſtion is ſuperfluous reſpecting bluſhes; for, though we live among the fair creation, and may very properly denominate them flowers, we cannot ſo properly give them the poetical appellation of Bluſhing Roſes?

Very good!

With regard to your Majeſty's general inquiry, I muſt own I have been dull and melancholy of late.

Rocheſter was delivered of a tolerable bon mot yeſterday. We were walking, Sir, together, and we met Shadwell the poet: He accoſted us, and ſaid,—"Gentlemen, I wonder to ſee you abroad in ſuch bad weather." To which Rocheſter replied. "I believe you and I are walking from different motives; I walk in order to get an appetite to my dinner; and you, perhaps, Mr. Shadwell, to procure a dinner for your appetite: and therefore you ſhall dine with me."

I think there is as much ill⯑nature as wit in that bon mot.

However, the bard drank copiouſly of the viny helicon, till, big with the god, he reeled with poetic majeſty into my carriage, which conveyed him home.

Give me leave to inform your Majeſty that Sir Oliver is ſtealing again a glance at his watch.

Then I'll keep my word, and adjourn the Court.

Are we, Sir, to follow your example?

By no means, I am in this inſtance only, Sir Oliver's taſter! Before we part, I will repeat to the bridegroom four lines, written ſome time ago by Sir Charles Sedley, addreſſed to the bride:—

Now I imagine, Sir Oliver, that you are Apollo: here is Thetis, and the day is ended.—Adieu.

I will now, as your Lady⯑ſhip's bride-maid, attend you to your bed⯑chamber; where, like a poor hare, after various windings, you will be taken on the very ſpot from which you ſat out.

You never can be ſerious.

What has happened? You appear ſuddenly depreſſed.

It is impoſſible for me, in the preſent moment, not to be agitated.

What! does the ſpirited Ann Killigrew yield to viſionary fears?

I beg you will ſuppreſs your jocularity for the preſent.

I will only add a few words more: as we both have gargled our mind with a little ſputtering of the Latin tongue, I will diſperſe your apprehenſions with a line from Martial's Epigrams:—Poete non dolet.