[1]LOVE at a VENTURE.

Sir Paul Cautious's Houſe. Sir William Free⯑love's Apartment.

OH! Sir William, I am ſo tranſported, I cannot ſpeak in the common ſtrain of Mankind.

And prethy, Bellair, What occa⯑ſions this Tranſport?

Had'ſt thou been my profeſt Enemy all thy Life, and done me as much miſchief as the Turk in Hungary, or the French in Flanders; if thou'lt but help me now, thou woud'ſt make amends for all—ſuch a Creature!—ſuch an Angel!

What Viſions! Aparitions?

Cou'd I but hope to ſee her once more, I'd change the happieſt half of my Life for that one moment.

If you pleaſe to deſcend from your high flown Raptures, and walk hand in hand with my Under⯑ſtanding.

You'l lead me to her.

Ha, ha, ha, what, before I know where ſhe is—you wou'd be landed at your Port before you have taken Shipping, or told the place you deſign for.

Pho; you know all my Deſigns.

When a Woman's concern'd

Are Extravagant—you have more Intreagues upon your Hands, than a handſom young Poet on the ſucceſs of his firſt Play—like a Dog in a Herd, you run at all, and catch none, becauſe you run with ſuch un⯑govern'd Heat, you ſpring the Quarry before you can draw your Net.

But if I miſs Sitting, I commonly hit 'em Fly⯑ing—but this is nothing to the purpoſe; the Lady, Man, the Lady—.

Ay, the Lady; what of her?

Which I ſaw laſt Night—Oh, ſuch a Creature!

At what Window?

Such a Charming Air.—

What Houſe was it at?

As much Youth as wou'd ſerve to recover half the decay'd Faces in the Town.

What Street?

Wanton as a Nun, yet look'd demure as a Qua⯑ker—

Z'death, where, where, is this rare Creature to be ſeen?

Then her Features, Sir William! Oh, ſuch Fea⯑tures; ſhe is the moſt perfect Piece in the World—her ſhape clean and eaſy—a profuſe quantity of dark brown Hair—and ſuch a Complexion, as the Gods form when they deſign a Miracle of Beauty.

Nay, ſince you will have your own way, I'll ſtrike in with you—a charming high Forehead.

Ay, and ſuch a Mouth—

Sparkling Black Eyes—

And ſuch a Caſt—

Such Dimples in her Cheeks—

Ay, ay, Rapture, Rapture.

Ah, he's got above the Clouds already—when you have recover'd your Senſes, Bellair, you may be fit for Converſation; I have a little buſineſs to diſpatch—and muſt beg your Pardon.—

Thou wilt not leave me.

Why, what Service can I do you?

You muſt aſſiſt me in the Management of this Affair.

What Affair? Who is ſhe? Where did you ſee her?

Why, when I left you laſt Night, I took a Boat reſolving to go up the River for a little Air, when the luckieſt occaſion preſented to make me the happieſt Man living.

I have known a hundred of theſe lucky Occaſions; in a Months time the moſt unlucky Occaſions, that ever Man had.

What was it?

A Lady deſigning to Land at White-Hall Stairs, ſtepping ſhort from the Boat, fell into the Water, I jumpt in after her, caught her in my Arms, and brought her ſafe a-ſhoar.

Who cou'd have believ'd he ſhou'd be burnt in the middle of the Thames now.

What's her Name?

I know not, ſhe enquir'd mine, and where I liv'd; gave me a thouſand Thanks, and promis'd I ſhou'd hear from her.

Well, and what can I do for you?

I'll tell you, I muſt have Lodgings in this Houſe, for here I directed her; told her my Name was Conſtant, tho', faith, Bellair was at my Tongues end; but you know my Reaſons for concealing my Name, leaſt my Father hear I'm in England, before I'd have him, and force me to marry the Woman he commanded me Home for, which, for ought I know, may be Ugly, Old, Ill-natur'd, Foo⯑liſh, Conceited, Vain, and ſo forth—at leaſt, I ſhall think [4] her ſuch, becauſe of his chuſing—I like no Caterer in Love's Market—

You ſhall have theſe Lodgings to oblige you, good Mr. Conſtant—but what have you done with the other Lady you told me of yeſterday; you was then dying for her?

Faith, I like her ſtill—but t'other, t'other, is a perfect Venus—

Pray, Sir, what is your Name to her? I ſhall cer⯑tainly forget all theſe Names—

Colonel Revel, you Sot.

Juſt come from where, Sir?

From Portugal, Blockhead.

And—are you an—Officer too in t'other Place with your new Amour; Co, co, co, con, pray, Sir, do me the favour to tell me your Name to this Incognita once more?

Conſtant, Coxcomb.

And what are you, Sir, pray, what are you?

An Oxfordſhire Gentleman; remember that, Sirrah, come up to Town about a Law-Suit.

Yes, Sir—Colonel Revell juſt come from Portugal—Mr. Conſtant, an Oxfordſhire Gentleman, come up about a Law-Suit—Very well, I have it now, Sir, I warrant you.

Well, but do you think to manage both theſe Intreagues with Secrecy.

I do; and in order to't, I'll keep my own Lodg⯑ings, that are known to the other, and theſe for my In⯑cognita, and I'll engage to play my part with both.

To what purpoſe?

Why, ſince my old Dad will have me Marry, I would willingly chuſe for my ſelf; now, you muſt know, I deſign to take my ſwing of Love and Liberty—if, in the chaſe, I chance to meet one that can fix me, her I'll Marry; till when I'll, like the Bee, kiſs every Plant, and gather ſweatneſs from every Flower—Youth is the Har⯑veſt of our Lives, Sir William.

Well, in my Conſcience, Travel has given thee a large Aſſurance.

Sir, here is Mr. Wou'dbe to wait on you.

Who's he?

The Projecting Coxcomb, I told you of Ye⯑ſterday.

What, he that Mimicks thee in his Cloaths?

The ſame—now, for hard Words, and ſoft Senſe; bring him up.

I'll not ſtay—I expect a Meſſage from my t'other Miſtreſs at my Lodgings; I'll ſend a Night-Gown, and a ſuit of Cloths hither; and Robin ſhall wait to call me, if my fair Unknown ſends—Oh the Pleaſure of Intreague; it finds Employment for every Senſe, ſharpens the Wit, and gives a life to all our Faculties.

Dear, Sir William, my Stars are ſuperabundantly propitious, in adminiſtring the ſeraphick Felicity of find⯑ing you alone.

Oh, Mr. Wou'dbe—ſpare me, I beſeech you—

My Soul's inhabited; or, rather Canoniz'd, with an Alacrity to ſee you.

I know not how his Soul's inhabited; but his Head might paſs for a Colony, in Greenland, it is ſo thin⯑ly Peopled.

Brother, good Morrow; Mr. Wou'dbe, yours.

Sir, I am moſt obſequiouſly your Servant.

What Gentleman was that I ſaw go out juſt now?

A Friend of mine, who, for ſome reaſons, I have promis'd this Appartment to; I hope Sir Paul won't be [6] alarm'd; I think 'tis beſt not to let him know it, if he does not find it out.

Much the beſt, for he'l ask ſo many impertinent Queſtions about him, and be in ſuch a fright; he'l call in half the Pariſh to watch with him—Who is the Gen⯑tleman?

If you remember, I told you, when I was in Spain, a Gentleman reſcu'd me from the hands of Ruffians, when I was ſet upon in the Night; this is he, and ever ſince we have held a ſtrickt Friendſhip—Perhaps he may have kill'd his Man, I know not; he deſires pri⯑vacy—and I am bound, in honour, to give it.

Doubtleſs—What's his Name?

Conſtant.

Sir, the Taylor has brought home your Cloaths.

Bring him in.

But, Sir William, pray, how do you like my Way of greeting—I never want Words, you ſee—I hate thoſe dull Rogues, that have no better Expreſſions at meeting their Friends than, dear Jack, how is't?

Meer Fuſtin—ha! What do I ſee? Another Suit—and, upon my veracity, a Charming one—I muſt put down the Triming exact⯑ly, I ſhall obliterate half elſe.

Our Engliſh Tongue is much oblig'd to you, Mr. Wou'dbe.

Is it not too ſhort, Mr. Meaſure?

Not at all, Sir.

The Suit my Taylor is making, is the very ſame Colour; I'll ſend, and have it Trim'd exactly like that.

How do you like my fancy in this Suit, Mr. Wou'dbe?

Sir William, I reverence the ſublimity of your Fancy—If mine be not done by Play-time, I'll break my Tayler's Head, and never pay the Bill.

But what new Diſcoveries have you made lately, Mr. Wou'dbe? Never a Project, ha!

Yes, Sir, I am going to erect an Office for Poetry.

How! An Office for Poetry?

Ay, Sir, where all Poets may have free acceſs, paying ſuch a moiety of their Profits, and be furniſh'd with all ſorts of Refin'd Words adapted to their ſeveral Cha⯑racters.

The Poets will be very much oblig'd to you truly, Sir.

I think ſo—hark ye, I'm upon another Pro⯑ject, which you'll not gueſs for a Wager?

No, really, Mr. Wou'dbe; 'tis not in my ſhal⯑low Capacity, to fathom the profundity of your Wit.

Oh, Sir William, ſuch accumulated Kindneſs will Bankrupt my poor Acknowledgments—profundity of your Wit—ſpoke like a Gentleman, and a Scholar—thou art expenſively obliging, therefore I will Communi⯑cate—tho' it is not grown to a full Maturity, yet—'tis this—for the good of the Publick, I am contriving how to ſave the charges of Hackney-Coaches; the Raſcals are ſo ſaucy, eſpecially to Ladies, there's no enduring them; I reſolve to deſtroy their Conſtitution.

As how, prethee?

They are the moſt neceſſary things in the World; a Hackney-Coach carries us from one end of the Town to the other in a trice.

Ay, Sir William—but my Project carries 'em quicker—and without go, ng out of their Houſes.

That's a Stratagem, indeed, beyond my Compre⯑henſion.

If you can do that, Mr. Wou'dbe, you need not fear a Patent; the Ladies will be all of your ſide.

They will have reaſon, Sir, for they may Dreſs, Patch, Paint, drink Tea, or play at Piquet, all the while they are going to the Play-houſe—Is not this an ex⯑cellent Project?

Excellent, indeed; but, prethee, how is it?

Ay, ay, how is it, you muſt deal with the Devil certainly.

No, without his help, I aſſure you, 'tis all my own—this individual Brain contriv'd it—were I known at Court, I ſhou'd be a great Man—a moſt magnificent Man.

Oh, this Project, Sir, will do your buſi⯑neſs.

I know you are impatient for the Secret; you are my Friends, or I'd not impart a matter of this Conſe⯑quence.

I hope you don't doubt our ſecrecy?

Not in the leaſt—to convince you, 'tis this, I'll make the Streets to move.

Ha, ha, the Streets move! Prethee, how will thou do that?

Oh, by Clock-Work, Sir.

By Clock-Work? What, make the ſolid Earth move by Clock-Work?

Ay, Sir—I affirm that's poſſible—You miſtake, the Earth is not ſolid; read but Baker's Chroni⯑cle, and you'll find a whole Field walk'd ten mile in Queen Beſs's days.

But not by Clock-Work, Mr VVou'dbe.

Humph—ha—I can't be poſitive in that, but—if it can walk at all—why can't it be made walk by Clock-work—but in a Months time I ſhall be able to anſwer that, and all other Objections—For, you muſt know, Yeſterday I began my Study, in order to ſearch out the Curioſity of every Country, Lan⯑guage, Art and Science—you ſhall hear how I have Canton'd out the Day—I riſe about Five. my firſt hour is laid out upon Law—'tis fit a Gentleman ſhou'd underſtand the Laws of his Country, tho' I hate the confounded Study, 'tis ſo crabbed—At Six. I read a Leſſon of Greek—at Seven, one of Hebrew—Eight, is for Italian—Nine, for Spaniſh—Ten, [9] for French—Eleven Aſtronomy—Twelve is pro⯑per for Geography, then the Sun Beams are perpendi⯑cular—

Excellent, ha, ha, ha.

At One I Dine—then Repoſe an Hour, for Digeſtion—at Three I Study Phyſick—that, if I'm Poiſon'd by the Vintners, I may not be kill'd by the Doctors—at Four Logick—at Five Phyloſo⯑phy—at Six Husbandry—that when my Father dies, my Steward, and Tenants, may't cheat me—

A Politick thought—

Hawking, Hunting, Fiſhing, Fowling, at Se⯑ven—Architecture at Eight—for to underſtand the Art of Building, is of mighty conſequence towards raiſing of a Man's Fortune, you know—Nine for Poetry, in honour of the Nine Muſes—becauſe I love the Ladies Company towards Bed-time—Thus, in a Month, I hope to become Maſter of all theſe things; how like you my Rules, Gentlemen, ha?

Oh, wonderfully, ha, ha.

Well, Poetry is one of the nobleſt Parts of the Mathematicks—but we have ſuch Factions now on foot, that Muſick has put Poetry quite out of Tune—but that Suit—I muſt to my Taylor immediately—

But, Mr. VVou'dbe, the Town ſay you are much in Beleiza's favour—you won't Rival my Brother, will you?

Not I, upon my Soul—but does the Town really ſay ſo?

Why ſhou'd I tell you ſo elſe?

Nay, the Elegance of my Fabrick, has Ti⯑tulated the Imagination of many a fine Lady, I aſſure you.

Ha, ha, ha, the Fool believes you.

Where do you Dine, Sir VVilliam?

With my Siſter Cautious.

If Beliza likes me—I'm a happy Mortal; I'll make ſome advance, and give her to underſtand I'm not [10] inexorable

I'll Rendezvouſe you at the Portal of her Apartment after Dinner; your moſt Obſequious—

He took particular Notice of your Cloths, Brother; I'll venture a Guinea, the next time he appears, he's Equipt to a Hair, if either Money or Credit be in his Power; ha, ha, ha.

I believe that, but I'll give him enough on't if he is—'tis the moſt Whimſical Coxcomb I ever ſaw—

Well, but how goes it between you and Beliza, Brother?

I begin to doubt a Rival there, but who, I can't find out—She is grown indifferent of late, often abroad, and ſeldom in humour, when at home; if there be a Favourite in reſerve, let her take care to conceal him, for, Faith, I have ſuck'd in the Spaniard's Jealouſy with their Air, and ſhou'd breath a Vain without ſcruple—

Well, if ever I be in Love—of all Paſſions which agitate the mind of Man—grant I may never be infected with Jealouſy.

Thou prayeſt againſt the only thing that gives Love a reliſh.

The Scene Changes to Bellair's Lodgings.

I foreſee this Day, Mrs. Patch, will be a Lucky-day—the ſight of thee—

Will not pleaſe you, I dare be poſitive, my Lady can't ſee you to Day, being oblig'd to go abroad.

Oh, propitious diſingagement—Now, if my Incognita does but ſend—

I'll wait for her return, let it be never ſo late—

Not to day, ſweet Sir—your love runs on Wheels—Pray, more ſoftly, Sir.

This Girl's very Pritty, I never minded her ſo much before—Hark ye, Child, I will come, if I miſs thy Lady, thou ſhalt keep me Company.

You are merry, Sir.

I muſt be ſo, when I'm near any thing—be⯑longing to Beliza—Methinks I entertain her, whilſt thou art near me.

I can't tell how you mean it, Sir—but I aſſure you, as fine Gentlemen as your ſelf, have paid their De⯑votions to me, before now—

Why not? he muſt be Inſenſible, that ſo much Beauty cannot warm.

Why, the Devil's in my Maſter—agad, I ſhall ſtarve with him in Love's Kitchin, for he Engroſſes all ſorts of Fleſh, I find.

Not ſo cloſe, I beſeech you, Sir.

I proteſt my Heart feels a thouſand Emotions for thee—

Pray ſtop your Emotions, Sir—and don't load me with your Heart, for I have ſo many already I don't know where to put 'em, without choaking one another.

She need never fear that, he'l not ſtay ſo long—

I proteſt it is a pleaſure to look on thee—

He does not love to be idle, I'll ſay that for him; but I bring him Imployment, and muſt diſturb him—Sir.

I am not ſurpriz'd at that—for I take pleaſure to look on my ſelf, and generally do it a thouſand times a day.

Sir,—Sir,—Sir.

Ha! has ſhe ſent?

The Maid ſtays for you, Sir.

Oh! Tranſport—run—fly, let every thing be ready for my change of Dreſs, I'll be there in an In⯑ſtant—I wiſh this Girl were gon.

So, the Tide's turn'd already—Why, what a hur⯑rying Life's this I lead

Well, what more fine things, Sir.

Nay, I ſee you don't believe what I have ſaid al⯑ready—and an, an—piſh pox—how ſhall I get rid of her—

You are out of humour, Sir, I hope, I—

No, no, no, no, Child, I, I, I—what the Divel ſhall I ſay—this is the moſt unlucky accident.

What is, Sir?

A good hint—why, my Man tells me there is a Friend of mine wounded in a Duel, and deſires me to bring a Surgeon immediately—ſo dear little Rogue, excuſe me, this kiſs to thy Lady, and tell her Revel Lives not in her abſence—if this don't do't, I ſhall go di⯑ſtracted, that's certain—

Nay, I have done my Meſſage, ſo, your Servant.

So, now for my dear unknown—Let me ſee, what am I?—ho, a Country Gentleman—I muſt reſtrain my humour—a little quantity will be ne⯑ceſſary to adorn that Character—beſides, the Inven⯑tions new, and gives the Intreague the greater Guſto—

Beliza's Lodgings.

AND you are really in Love with this Stranger, Couſin?

I fear ſo, Beliza.

To what purpoſe?

To no purpoſe at all, without thy help.

You are aſſur'd of me—but, prithee, in what can I help thee? You neither know who he is, nor what he is—he may, for ought you know, be a Wretch unwor⯑thy of your Eſteem.

Impoſſible—I tell thee, he's a Country Gentle⯑man, which the Term brought up to Town on Buſineſs.

Then, how are you ſure he is not married in the Country?

Start no Objections, I beſeech you—I am ſure he is not married—he did not look as if he was.

Well, ſuppoſe he is what you'd have him be, you know your Father has diſpos'd of you, and I'm affraid won't be prevail'd upon to alter his Mind.

Ay, there's the only Bar to all my wiſhes; why ſhou'd our Parents impoſe upon our Inclinations, in that one Choice which makes us ever Happy, or ever Miſe⯑rable?

'Tis an unjuſt Prerogative Parents have got, from whence I ſee no deliverance without an Act of Parliament.

If thou art my Friend, Beliza, I may chance to Croſs my Father's Deſign, without the help of the Senate.

I confeſs I am a well-wiſher to Diſobedience in Love Affairs—there's my hand, inſtruct me how I may be ſerviceable.

Thus! I have ſent Flora to give him an Invitation hither—

Hither!—to my Lodgings; 'tis well I ſent Colonel Revel word I ſhou'd not be at home.

Yes, I hope you'l forgive the Liberty I have taken, I was not willing he ſhou'd know mine, till I have your Approbation of him.

But how if my Lover, Sir William, ſhou'd hap⯑pen to come, who is grown a perfect Spaniard ſince his Travels, and has of late been apprehenſive of a Rival, tho' from what cauſe I know not—the Country Gentleman wou'd be in danger, I aſſure you.

To prevent his being ſeen, I have order'd him to be brought in the Back-way—he is yet a ſtranger to every thing that concerns me—he neither knows my Name nor Family—nor ſhall he, if you approve him not; therefore, after I have thank'd him for the Service he did me, I'll give him to underſtand I have a Relation whoſe Judgment I rely on—and from her Mouth he muſt receive his hopes, then I'll call you in and retire.

You have a very good Opinion of me, Couſin.

I have ſo.

He waits your pleaſure, Madam.

Bring him in—Couſin, you'l be at Hand.

In the next Room.

This is an Honour ſo much above my Merit, Madam—that I receive it with Conſuſion, and ſhall be uneaſy till you inform me, how I may return this won⯑derous Favour—I am caught by Venus, what Eyes are there—

Rather inſtruct me, Sir, how I may return the Obligations I have to you; they are no common Ones— [15] you purchas'd my Life at the hazard of your own, and it ſhall be the buſineſs of that Life you ſav'd (if ever ought falls within my Power) to ſerve you. Oh, my Heart.

On that kind Promiſe will I build my hopes; nay, I will rely upon it—and now, Madam, I muſt declare that it is in your Power to over-pay the Hazard you have mention'd; the only Woman I cou'd be content to take, for Better for Worſe, I ever ſaw; egad, I'm upon the very precipice of Matrimony, if ſhe conſents

Gratitude obliges generous Souls—then be aſſur'd, and ask—pray Heaven his Deſigns be Honou⯑rable—that he asks the right.

'Tis done, faith,

your Heart—I fear you'l think I am too bold in my deſires—but you com⯑manded me to ſpeak—and I durſt not tell you a Lye—your ſelf wou'd have diſcover'd it, for your Beauteous Image is drawn ſo lively in my Breaſt, that you are Mi⯑ſtreſs of every Thought, and every Wiſh about it.

My Soul tells him, thro' my Eyes, (I fear) that his requeſt is granted,

I confeſs you have ſurpriz'd me, Sir, and I know not well what to Anſwer you; only this—were I free to diſpoſe of my Perſon, with my Heart, your Services ſhou'd not go unrewarded.

Ha! what ſay you, Madam! your words ſhake me like an Ague Fit—you are not—(forbid it Hea⯑ven) Married?

Not Married.

Nor vow'd againſt it?

Neither—but I've a Father to whom my Duty muſt ſubmit, without his leave I meaſure not a Foot of his Eſtate, tho' I'm his only Child.

Let him keep it then, if Love had any Power o'er your Soul—or had I Charms to Wound like you, this wou'd be no Obſtacle.

You have too many, and I find my Heart but too inclining—were it poſſible, but my Duty—

Oh, extafy, I ſhan't contain my ſelf

it is, it ſhall be poſſible—give me to underſtand your Fa⯑ther, Madam, that I may apply my ſelf to him; if Ava⯑rice affects him, and Wealth be his only aim, I am Heir to an Eſtate, perhaps, as large as he can wiſh.

But, how are your ſure your Father will con⯑ſent; and why wou'd you hazard his Diſpleaſure for a Stranger, Sir?

The Eſtate's intail'd, he cannot hurt me there, and here I muſt be happy, or not at all—may I not know your Family?

Yet, you muſt not.

Why ſhou'd you deny me—Is it not in my power to know—Can I not inquire when I go out, whoſe Houſe this is?

Without any benefit by it—for theſe are a Friend's Lodgings, whoſe Judgment I eſteem, you ſhall conſult her; if ſhe approves it, perhaps, you may know mine before Night—Who's there?

Deſire Beliza to Walk in—

Ha! Did ſhe not name Beliza? I hope it is not that Beliza I know—if it ſhou'd, I'm in a fine condition—

by ill Luck—the very ſhe,—what the Devil ſhall I do?

Couſin, this is the Gentleman I'm ſo much ob⯑lig'd to—Mr. Conſtant, this is a Relation of mine.

What do I ſee? Colonel Revell here—

Ay, 'tis even he.

There is no excuſe to be made now—thou never failing Power of Impudence aſſiſt me.

I muſt Ho⯑nour every thing that's Related to you, Madam.

How grave he is this diſguiſe—picques me, methinks, tho' I had no deſign upon him.

How ſober he looks—

This is the Friend I refer you to, Mr. Conſtant.

Conſtant!—Yes, he is Conſtant with a Witneſs.

What ſhe promiſes I'll confirm.

I'm in a hopeful way, faith—egad, I am ſo con⯑founded, I know not how to look—but I'm reſolv'd to carry it off, and perſwade her I'm not the Man.

Madam, I'm oblig'd to my Stars, however, tho' they con⯑ceal the Family, and Name of her I adore, they g [...] me an opportunity of knowing her ſecond ſelf, you being made ſo by the ſtricteſt bonds of Friendſhip—this is the hardeſt task I ever went thro', by Jupiter.

I don't wonder that you know me—but I am ſurpriz'd at your Impudence.

This is the firſt time I was ever accus'd of that by a fair Lady; Wherein have I incurr'd your diſpleaſure?

Pray, Sir, do you act this part upon a Wager, or do you think I have loſt my Senſes—very pritty, truly—

A Wager—Part—and Senſes—What do you mean, Madam?—Oh, miſchievous encounter.

Colonel Revel can inform Mr. Conſtant of my meaning.

Colonel Revell! who's he?—a Pox of the Name.

So, he don't know himſelf—

You don't know ſuch a Man, as Colonel Revell▪

Not I, upon my word, Madam—

Well, ſuch an Aſſurance, I never ſaw, and do you think this will paſs upon me?

I hope ſo,

I proteſt, Madam, I can't gueſs what you aim at—

Were I in your place, Madam, I'd have him toſt in a Blanket.

Well ſaid, Mrs. Patch; egad, wou'd I were well out of their hands.

Look ye, Sir, your Declaration for my Couſin concerns me not; ſor, from the firſt, to me you appear'd as indifferent as now—But if you think to impoſe upon my Underſtanding, you'l draw my utmoſt Malice on your Head.

And I need no more—for the malice of a Wo⯑man, exceeds the Devils;

Your Rallery is very pleaſant, Madam; but very different from what I expect⯑ed—for, I confeſs, I am a Stranger to your meaning.

Oh, you ſhift your Shape ſo often, you may eaſily forget—an excellent Contrivance, to take as many Names, as you make Miſtreſs's.

Conſult your Pocket-Book, Sir; and you'l find your Name was, Revell, two hours ago—

This is a new way of Treating Strangers, Ma⯑dam; do you call this, telling me the Secrets of the Un⯑known Fair; this will make the prittieſt Novel, in the World—

The Secrets of the Unknown Fair; yes, She ſhall know your Secrets, I'll promiſe you, and who you are—believe me, your Affairs are done with her; you ſhall neither know her Name, nor Quality.

Recal that Sentence, Madam; Or, let me fall a Sacrifice, to your ſuppoſed Reſentments—never to know my Lovely, Dear Incognita, is Death, with all the additional Racks Barbarians e're invented, to ſepa⯑rate Soul and Body. I begin to grow perfect in my double Art, I find.

This is the moſt Bare-fac'd Impoſtor I ever ſaw.

Really now, in my opinion, Colonel, you act the ſame Perſon too long—come, come, pull off the Maſque, and I'll forgive you, ha, ha.

That wheedle ſhan't take, I'm in, and muſt go thro' it,

Mask, Madam! by all the pangs of Love I feel for your Beauteous Friend, I wou'd wear no diſguiſe to any thing that belongs to her—

Well, was I my Lady, I'd have that Tongue pull'd out of your Head.

Pray, Madam, who is that pritty Enemy; is ſhe Friend, or ſome Relation?

Do, do, ſeem Ignorant, poor Devil—you don't know me; not long ſince, you knew me for this Lady's Maid, and lik'd me well enough, to think me worth a Compliment.

Make Love to my Woman! Pray, Sir, what Name wou'd you have taken to her, ha, ha.

You are in a pleaſant humour, Ladies; I hope I ſhall find the benefit of it; to my knowledge, I never ſaw any of you, till this hour—This is a Maſter-piece of Art, to face down two Women at once.

Nay, if I had believ'd all he ſaid to me, I ſhou'd have Regiſtred him amongſt my Lovers. That is not true, neither?

As the reſt—Poor, Gentlewoman, I pitty thee; prithy get Advice, before thy Frenzy increaſe too much.

So, you'l perſwade us we are Mad, by and by—and you don't bear a Colonel's Commiſſion, and have not been in Portugal with Charles the Third?

No, upon my honour, Madam—My Name is, Conſtant, born in Oxfordſhire, and come up about a Suit in Chancery; and know this Colonel no more, than you know me; if you pleaſe, I'll give you my Oath on't—which I can do without Perjury, that's my Comfort.

A pleaſant quibble, ha, ha.

This Story has coſt you ſome Pains—

I wiſh I cou'd ſee this Gentleman which you take me for; can you believe I cou'd be ſo baſe to make Love to ano⯑ther, if once I had preſum'd to mention it to you—your Charms are full ſecurity againſt ſuch Proceedings; I am con⯑cern'd, that Nature has made any reſemblance between us; I ſhall hate my ſelf for being like him.

Well, whether you will, or you will not be him, it is the ſame thing—provided you'l tell him, that I ſuffer'd his Addreſſes only for my Diverſion, and that I never had any Paſſion for him, but loath, deteſt and hate him?

Tell him—where ſhall I find him?

I have done, and deſire you'd know your way out.

I wou'd not willingly diſobey a Lady; but here, Ma⯑dam, you muſt pardon me, ſince my future good or ill de⯑pends on you; I cannot ſtir from hence till I obtain your pro⯑miſe to aſſiſt my Suit, and give me hopes that I, at laſt, may know my Beauteous Fair.

Ha, ha, ha, all that I can ſay, Colonel, is, that you are very unlucky in this Affair, not but you Counterfeit to a Miracle; [...] the Miſchief is, that I have all my Senſes, can ſee Colonel Revel, hear Colonel Revel, and underſtand Co⯑lonel Revel, too well to ſolicit his Cauſe, I aſſure you.

There's your Anſwer, Sir,—and if you pleaſe to follow me, I'll ſhew you a way out better known to you than that you came in by.

Pray, good Mrs. Civility, be not ſo haſty—give me leave, at leaſt, to ſee your Couſin before I go, Madam.

To what end, pray?

To convince you of your Error.

That's the hardeſt task that you ever undertook, Colonel, and not to be effected; therefore, once more I tell you, you have ſeen your laſt of her, and your abſence wou'd oblige me.

'Tis very hard, Madam, that becauſe nature has made me reſemble another Perſon, who may, for ought I know, be a Man of Honour too, tho' unhappily under your Diſ⯑pleaſure, I ſhou'd have the ill Fortune to ſuffer for Nature's Fault.

That wou'd, indeed, be unjuſt—but I ſhall not be prevail'd upon to believe Nature in the fault here; therefore, pray retire, the Scene is long enough, 'tis time to change it; good Colonel, don't oblige one to treat you below your Title.

Don't you underſtand my Lady, Sir.

Yes, yes, Madam, but too well; and if I muſt go without the ſatisfaction I expected, let me implore this fa⯑vour, tell her, I dye hers.

And every bodies, I dare ſwear, in his turn.

This Man, is the very Epitome of his Sex; the com⯑pleateſt Jugler I ever ſaw; I proteſt, his Aſſurance has put me quite out of Countenance.

Well, how do you like him, Couſin; is he not a Charming Fellow?

I think not.

Piſh! I know you do.

Indeed, I don't; and if you knew as much as I, you wou'd think him as ugly as I do.

Ugly! Can any mortal think that Man ugly? But, prithy, what have you diſcover'd—wou'nt you tell me?

Yes, if you promiſe to make right uſe on't.

What do you mean?

That your pretended Lover is a Villain.

How! Pray, Couſin, Explain your Self within the Rules of good Manners.

He deſerves it not.

I don't underſtand you—and the Introduction grows tedious—of what do you accuſe Mr. Conſtant.

In the firſt place, his Name is not Conſtant, but Revel.

How know you that?

From his own Mouth.

When?

A Week ago.

Where?

Here in this Houſe.

In this Houſe, how came he hither?

Upon his Legs, I think.

On what Buſineſs, pray?

Much upon the ſame Errand—Love?

Love! To whom?

To your Friend and Servant.

Ha, ha, ha, now I find your Drift—you like him your ſelf, and this is an Artifice to blaſt my good Opinion—'tis poorly done, Beliza.

No, my Conſtitution is not ſo warm as yours—remember you took Fire in the middle of Water; I diſpiſe him.

We never diſpiſe indifferent things—I little ex⯑pected this from a Friend.

If you'd have the Friend continu'd, don't provoke me to return ſuſpicions, Couſin.

Don't you provoke me, by traducing of the Man I love—he has not been in Town two days, and you'd per⯑ſuade [22] me he has made Overtures of Love to you a Week ago.

If I don't prove this is Colonel Revel, lately come from Portugal, and been in Town this Fortnight, and made me ſeveral Viſits under pretence of Courtſhip A-la-mode, I'm content to forfeit both Friendſhip and Eſtate.

How ſhall it be prov'd? 'Tis ſure impoſſible.

Write to him, and tell him what I have Confirm'd; deſire him to come hither to Juſtify himſelf, if he expects any farther Favours from you—at the ſame time I'll ſend for him by the Name of Revel, and appoint him here alſo, if there appear two Men exactly the ſame, (as I am ſure they are) then I'll own my ſelf in the Wrong, and ask your Par⯑don; if not, you ſhall mine.

Agreed, I'll in and write to him this moment; pray, Heaven, there be two Socia's.

I am pleas'd.

That's more than I am, I aſſure you, Sir William.

To find you alone, I meant, Madam; I am not ſurpriz'd at your being out of Humour, for I have ſeldom found you in it of late, the reaſon of which I'm yet to learn, not being Conſcious of having given you any Cauſe, except the trueſt Paſſion that e'er poſſeſs'd the Heart of Man be one.

Sometimes, and in ſome Perſons it is ſo; but from whence you derive your ſuſpitions, I can't imagine.

From your exceſſive coldneſs—for ſome days paſt, I have beheld ſuch a reſerve in all your Carriage to me, very different from what it us'd to be, and I begun to fear your Heart had entertain'd ſome new Amour.

I hope he has not diſcover'd this Impoſtor, he could not meet him, ſure.

you have no reaſon to doubt my Sincerity, Sir William; I'm not Subject to fall in Love, I may venture to ſay, you hold the greateſt ſhare in my Heart.

That's kind—but this thin airy Dyet of Hope and Expectation, Beliza, ſtarve thoſe which feed on't—will [23] you not admit me to the Banquet of Poſſeſſion—when ſhall I receive from this hand the Confirmation of thoſe Lips.

When I can bring my Heart to a Reſolution, Sir William, of quitting all theſe little innocent Pleaſures, a ſin⯑gle Life permits, you ſhall have timely notice for a Licenſe.

Madam, your Couſin Camilla deſires one Word with you.

Pardon my leaving you in my own Lodgins, Sir William, ſome Affairs of my Couſins, who is lately come to Town, preſs me at preſent; I ſhall come to Cards at Lady Cautious's in the Evening.

I'll not fail being at home—there's ſomething more in this than I can Fathom; I reſolve to watch her nar⯑rowly, if I have a Rival, and ſcapes me, I forgive him.

Sir William's Lodgings.

IN Tears, Siſter? What's the matter?

What ſhou'd be the matter, but my Hus⯑band? that doating, old, diſpounding Wretch, whoſe Fears, Miſtruſts and Jealouſies, is enough to diſtract any Body, ſtill doubting Providence, and fearing every Wind—yet you are ſo far from pittying my Condition, you add to my [24] Misfortunes, by making my Confinement ſtricter, under pre⯑tence of the Honour of our Family—I hope I'm of Age to know how far that concerns me.

Ay, Siſter, but the Wife that is diſpleas'd with the Husband—and the Husband that does not pleaſe the Wife, are always in Danger—ſhe of liking ſome body elſe—and he of being a Cuckold—now, while there is ſuch a probability, the Honour of our Family requires a Guard.

Why was I marry'd then to that I cannot Love?

My Father knew his Reaſons doubtleſs, Siſter.

Yes, and I know 'em too—Sir Paul took me with⯑out a Fortune, by which yours is the greater, yet the conſi⯑deration has no weight with you; it pleaſes you to ſee your Siſter Condemn'd to the idle Fancies, and whimſical Miſtruſts, of this impertinent Doatard; he is ſo apprehenſive of Death, that he allows a Surgeon a Hundred a Year perpetually to attend him, and wou'd not ſet a ſtep without him for a Thou⯑ſand—nay, he lyes in the ſame Chamber—juſt now he fancied himſelf call'd three times, which he takes for an Omen of his Death, pray Heaven it prove ſo—and has ſent for Twenty People to watch by him.

Ridiculous folly—but you muſt bear with it, Siſter; he is Old—

That's the worſt Argument under the Sun, for a young Woman to bear with

pray. Brother, what Gentleman is that which you have oblig'd with theſe Lodg⯑ings?

Ha! has ſhe ſeen him?—Why do you ask?

Is it a Crime. to ask who is in my own Houſe?

Yes, if they are not in your own Appartment—'tis not Modeſty in your Sex to inquire after ours—now I foreſee my Error too late, in letting him have theſe Lodgings—How came you to know there was a Man here?

I muſt not ſay, I have ſeen him—

my Woman brought me word, there was a Stranger dreſing himſelf, when I ſent her this Morning, to ask if you wou'd not drink ſome Chocolate with me.

Then, you did not ſee him your ſelf?

No.

I'm glad to hear that, for he is Libertine enough to engage her.

But ſuppoſe I had, where had been the Crime?

Nay, no Crime, Siſter—only I wou'd not have you affronted; therefore, pray take care, not to come near this Apartment, for he hates the ſight of Women.

That's falſe, to my knowledge—for he ſaid the ſof⯑teſt things to me, that Love cou'd form;

ſay, you ſo, Brother? an Unpoliſhed Brute, I hope, he is not to continue long here?

Only, for two or three Days—

Oh, my heart—ſo ſhort a ſtay.

Ho, here he comes, retire Siſter.

I muſt ſee him again—tho' you prevent me now; if I don't break through this Conſtraint, ſay, Woman wants contrivance.

Why then, this prov'd, a confounded miſtake, Sir, but were it poſſible you cou'd not know the Houſe again?

How cou'd I, when I was convey'd the back way into an Apartment, where I never was before; the cuningeſt Man alive, might have been deceived, as well as I—but the gift of Impudence is a wonderful gift; ha! Sir VVilliam—I did not ſee thee.

I believe not, Love and Variety, clouds thy ſight, but what is the Diſappointment, you ſpeak of?

I am an unlucky Dog, that's all—I fell into the Company of both my Miſtreſſes, at once.

This 'tis, to have more Intreagues, than one can manage, ha, ha, ha; and how did you behave your ſelf?

Faith en'cavalierement—I ſtuck cloſe to the Name of Conſtant, and my Incognita—for I like her beſt.

Till he ſees ſome body he likes better.

And Swore, I never ſaw t'other, in my life, nor never heard of the Name of, Revell—but was as downright [26] a Country Gentleman, and made Love as gravely, as ever a Squire of'em all.

And did the Impoſition paſs?

Not without Scruple—but I'll undertake to make my ſelf two diſtinct perſons, as clear as the Sun at Noon-Day, if thou'lt aſſiſt me.

How? for the Frolicks ſake, I care not I if do—

Then, as I have occaſion, you ſhall receive In⯑ſtructions, I want a Meſſenger in my Intereſt.

That I can procure you—but to what purpoſe.

You ſhall know in time—I ſhall want thy perſonal appearance too.

You ſhall want nothing, in my power—but prithy, do you like either of 'em well enough to Marry?

In my Conſcience I think I cou'd be content with the Nooſe, if my Incognita's Family be anſwerable to her beauty—

Nay, if he grows honourably in Love, I may hope for ſome reſt at laſt.

Why will ye not quit the other then?

T'other is Related, and a Friend—if I deceive her not, ſhe'l maliciouſly ſpoil my intreague; beſides, 'tis a pritty Amuſement, and the deſign ſo Novel, that I muſt purſue it for the pleaſure of Invention, and I think it poſſible to perſorm; we have ſeen two People ſo very like, that when abſent they cou'd not be diſtinguiſh'd from one another.

But if the Faces wore Reſemblance, the Voice Shape diſcover'd it.

But a good Aſſurance ſolves all that.

Why, Sir, if the worſt come to the worſt—that they will both have you—why en'e marry them both, keep one for your ſelf, and t'other to entertain your Friends—or, if you pleaſe, Sir,—to do you a Service, I don't care if I take one of 'em off your hands,

Then you'l venture to rely upon your Maſter's choice, ha, ha, ha.

Ay, Sir, ſooner than ever a Man in England; my Maſter, has taſted ſo many of thoſe Diſhes—that I dare muſt to his Palate.

You are witty, Raſcal, ha! Who have we here, thy Mimick.

Well, I have ſurprized ſome Ladies, ſtrangely, that ſtop'd their Coach, and call'd out Sir VVilliam, Sir VVil⯑liam; and when I turn'd back, and they diſcover'd their Miſ⯑take, they bluſh'd intollerably, ha, ha, ha.

Nay, your Dreſs is exactly the ſame with his; the miſtake was very eaſy.

Mr. VVou'dbe, your Servant.

Surprizing! another Suit!

Ha, ha, ha, what a Conſternation you have put him in?

What's the matter with you, Sir? This minute you look'd as Gay, and Pleaſant, as the Month of June, and now it is December at leaſt—he has diſcover'd you, Brother.

Moſt beatifically expreſt, and worthy of Quo⯑tation.

I preſume, Sir, you are examining, what Aſſignations fall out this hour, that you may not diſappoint the Ladies.

No, Sir, I am taking Cognizance of the Gentle⯑man's Wit.

I hope, you are not one of thoſe Spungy-Brain'd Poets, that ſuck ſomething from all Companies to ſqueeze in⯑to a Comedy, at Acting of which, the Pit and Boxes may laugh at their own Jeſts.

Where each may claim his ſhare of Wit.

And by my conſent, ſhou'd claim a ſhare of the Pro⯑fits too, ha, ha.

This is a Gentleman of an intellectual Sublimity—No, Sir, I contemn the Terrene extraction of thoſe poor A⯑nimals, whoſe Barren-Intellects thruſts ſuch ſpurious Brats abroad; when I write, it ſhall be all my own, I aſſure you.

Oh, Mr. Wou'dbe can never want aſſiſtance of that kind.

What ſhall I do with theſe Cloths! I wou'd not give a Farthing for'em, now he has left 'em off—and that's ten times the prittier Suit in my opinion—Well, he is the moſt genteel Fellow in Europe.

Sir, Sir, the Incognita's Maid, Sir, has brought you this Letter, and ſtays for an Anſwer.

Ha!

My Conſin has a ſtrange opinion of you, and nothing but your Perſonal appearance immediately can pre⯑vent my giving credit to her Story; make haſt, if you ex⯑pect any farther favours from your Incognita—any farther fa⯑vours! Yes, I do expect farther favours, or I'd never take half this pains—Let me ſee

I wiſh'd I cou'd ſell this Coat—I ſhall never indure the ſight of it, that's certain.

Hark ye, Sirrah, do you tell the Maid, I'll not fail the Summons—and do you hear, follow her at a diſtance, till you ſee her Hous'd; if he goes to Belizas, do you ask to ſpeak with Beliza's Couſin, and tell her you left me in the Street talking to ſome body, but that ſhe might not think me long, I ſent you before; beſure you make no blunders, Sirrah.

I warrant you, Sir, Lying is become my Vocation; but, Sir, what Name, Sir!

Conſtant, you forgetful Blockead.

Ha, I have it, the Country Gentleman, Sir—

Ay, ay, away.

What, another Biliet Doux?

'Tis from my unknown—now for thy Aſſiſtance.

What contrivance ſhall I have for ſuch a Dreſs—my Rogue of a Tayler will not truſt, that's certain. Let me think—that won't do—nor that—ho, I have it—

This Meſſenger muſt be had immediately, Sir Wil⯑liam.

I'll procure you one inſtantly.

Then I'm Maſter of my Art.

Sir William, I recommend that to your peruſal

If this Project takes not, I'm un⯑done—

What's this

We whoſe Names are here Subſcrib'd, do promiſe to make our Perſonal Appearance in the Side-Box, the third Day of a new Play, either Tragedy, Comedy, Farce, or Opera, that ſhall be written by Timothy Wou'dbe, Eſq and Play'd at one of the Houſes or both, as the Players can agree about that, on forfeit of a Guinea, which we have depoſited in the hands of the Author.

Ha, ha, ha, a pritty contrivance for another Suit.

This is new, indeed, ha, ha, ha.

I love to encourage Ingenuity, he has flung away many a Guinea after me, now I'll give him one—pray, En⯑ter me down Mr. Wou'dbe.

Let me intreat your own hand, for the Incourage⯑ment of others.

I'll not be out at a Frolick, there's mine, Sir.

There, Brother, enter your Name too—

Ha, ha, with all my heart, there is Belvil, Loveill, and Freewit—you may depend on, Mr. Wou'dbe.

I'll wait on 'em incontinently.

But, when is this Play to be writ, Sir?

That I muſt conſider on, Sir; too many things at once deſtroy the Thought, and dull the Fancy.

But ſuppoſe it ſhou'd not live till the third Day, the Town is very Capricious.

I know it, Sir, for that reaſon, I took this method; when their Gold is at ſtake, they'l bring in their Bodies, to ſave their Bail—egad, I ſhan't have Money enough—Let me ſee—I'll ſell theſe Cloths, to make it up—Gentlemen, I'm your moſt Oblig'd—

Ha, ha, ha, he is upon the wing, with his Subſcrip⯑tion, I'll follow, and ſee if he goes to their Lodgings.

Now, for thy buſineſs, Bellair, where ſhall I find you half an hour hence?

Here, for I muſt now dreſs me.

Very well.

So, thus far I'm right—now for half an hours Reſpit from the fateague of buſineſs—egad, I wiſh the Pritty Creature, I ſaw in the Morning, wou'd fall in my way—who the duce is ſhe, I wonder—no matter who, ſhe's handſome—and that's knowledge enough, to Recommend her—Ha! here ſhe comes, by Jove.

Here he is! a charming handſom Fellow—what Excuſe ſhall I make?—ha—I thought Sir William had been here—Sir, I beg your pardon—

He's juſt gon out, Madam, he's a happy Man, to have ſo much Beauty in queſt of him.

Beauty's an Epithet your Sex never fail to make uſe of to raiſe our Vanity, when preſent, but the Object once remov'd, you ſoon recal your Praiſes.

Sometimes, Madam, good Manners produce Adula⯑tion; but here Flattery dares not ſhow her Face, your Charms are ſo conſpicuous, they need no Art to inform your Know⯑ledge, nor I no Cunning to inſlave my ſelf; I am Chain'd al⯑ready, your Eyes at firſt ſight reduc'd me, and the ſhort mo⯑ments which we paſs'd this day together, made ſuch an Im⯑preſſion on my Heart, that I have thought of nothing ſince but how to ſee you again.

Oh! How his Words run thro' my Soul—alaſs, Sir, to what purpoſe ſhou'd you ſee me, I am Married.

Good—

Wretchedly Married.

Better and better—wretchedly Married, ſay you?

Wretchedly—to an old peviſh diſponding Wretch.

As I cou'd wiſh—her diſlike of her Husband is my firſt ſtep to Poſſeſſion—

Forc'd by my Friends to Wed him, by which all my happineſs in this World is loſt.

Baniſh that thought my charming Creature—'tis a falſe one; there are Joys, ineſtimable Joys in Store, give me but leave, and I'll inform you where they may be reap'd.

Not by me without a Crime.

The Crime be on their Heads that forc'd your Mar⯑riage, Nature ne'er deſign'd theſe Charms ſhou'd wither in the Arms of Age, and deſtin'd only to a Clod—beſides your not conſenting to the Match, makes it invalid, and of no force to hold you—take pity, then, both of yourſelf and me, I languiſh, ſigh, diſpair—nay, e'en die for you.

Help me, Heaven, I have no Power to Speak—

Oh! do not ſtrugle ſo, nor daſh my riſing Hopes, leave me not, except you wiſh my Death, which I reſolve the moment you depart—

Forbid that Thought, I cannot ſee you die—yet muſt not yield; let me go for Virtues ſake—

Love forbids it—Oh! I ſhall faint with Extacy of Pleaſure—no Jeſſemin nor Roſe has half the ſweets that dwell upon theſe Lips, 'tis Eſſence from the Throne of Jove—this Neck, this Breaſt—Oh! every part about thee is Celeſtial, Loadſtone like, thy Breath attracts and draws my Lips to thine.

Oh! the difference between his Kiſſes, and my Hus⯑band's, what ſhall I do.—

Do! Conſent to bleſs the Man that loves you.

But how long will he do ſo?

That's ever the Women's Queſtion—ask not that; can I prove falſe to ſo much Beauty, oh, no, faithful as the Needle to its Pole, or Turtle to his Mate, ſecret as a Prieſt—and loving as the Vine—give me Poſſeſſion once, and bind the trueſt of his Sex for ever—

Baſilicon—

Ah,

my Husband's Voice.

Ah, Thieves, Thieves.

A Curſe of all ill Luck—Juſt in the critical Minute when ſhe was yielding—'Death, what ſhall I do, Madam, can, can, can, can, you put me no where?

Impoſſible, he'll ſearch all the Houſe—now the Duce take me for Shreeking—

Then there's no way—but to cut his Throat.

Now help me, dear, dear Invention.

Baſilicon, why where's my Surgeon there—I ſhall be Murder'd, here's Thieves got into my Houſe.

A lucky hint, improve it.

Improve what?

What's here, a Man, a Thief, a Thief, fall on, fall on.

I ſhall be apprehended for a Rogue, here—make your Mermidons; be civil, Sir, or I ſhall whip you thro' the Guts, by Hercules.

Baſilicon, keep near me Baſilicon—

Oh! Hold, hold, Sir Paul, What do you do? Abuſe a Gentleman that came to ſave your Life.

What the Devil does ſhe mean now—ſome turn to bring me off, if I can but hit her right.

Tell him you ſaw the Houſe beſet with Rogues, tell him, tell him, any thing.

Humph, ha, Oh, witty Rogue—

Ha, how's that?

Yes, Sir, I came to do you Service.

As how, pray, ſweet, Sir? To lye with my Wife, ha!

No, Sir, coming by your Houſe I ſaw four Men, and heard 'em ſay, that's the Door, dog him to ſome Con⯑venient place, and then ſecure him.

Secure me, for what, Sir? I owe no body no⯑thing, I have no employment in the State, Sir.

Your Riches is much talk'd on, Sir, and People ima⯑gine you have got that which we call the Philoſopher's Stone; I believe they deſign to Rob and Murder you, I heard 'em mutter ſomething of Ripping you up, and Defecting you.

Oh! Bloody Villians.

Excellent Fellow—

They talk'd as if you ſwallow'd the Stone every Morning, and kept it in your Body for greater ſecurity all Day.

Monſtrous!

I find their deſign is to ſearch for that Stone, which, if they get it, will make them as Rich as Aldermen ever after.

Barbarous—Sir, if you'l believe me, I don't know what they mean by the Philoſopher's Stone, as I hope for long Life—I have no Stone worth a Groat, except the Stone of this Ring.

Nay, I know nothing of that, Sir, I thought my ſelf bound in Honour, tho' unknown to you, to give you notice of your Danger.

Sir, I heartily thank you—My Coach-man, in⯑deed, told me there was four Men behind my Coach laſt Night, which made me not go abroad to day; theſe muſt be the Rogues.

It paſſes as I wou'd have it—but I wiſh he had been at the bottom of the Sea, when he interrupted us, for that Charming Fellow has got my Heart, I ſind that.

Pox take him, for his unſeaſonable Intruſion.

I thought I heard you Screek out, Wife.

I wiſh I had been Dumb when I did—yes, my Dear, with deſign to raiſe the Houſe, to purſue, and take the Rogues, this Gentleman told me of, at leaſt diſperſe 'em, that my Love might be in no danger.

Oh, was that it, very well—come you, and I, will retire to my Cloſet, and return thanks for this Delive⯑rance, Baſilicon; come you along with us, Sir, I thank you.

I never had leſs Religion about me in my Life.

If thou had'ſt ſtay'd but one quarter of an hour longer, Old Noll, thou ſhou'dſt have had ſomething to have thank'd me for.

Sir William ſends to tell you, that he, and the Gentleman you want, ſtays for you at the Coffee-houſe, Sir.

I come—

was there ever ſuch a pro⯑miſing Project croſt; I muſt have her—and I find ſhe muſt have me too—

HEre ſhe went in!—let me ſee—I am to ſay—what am I to ſay?—pox on't, my Maſter gives me ſo many different Leſſons, one knocks 'tother out of my Head—he is doing—doing, no, no, he did not bid me ſay he was doing—he was ſtopt in the Street—ay, ay, that's right, and his Name—Zads bud, I have forgot his Name now—but here's the Maid, and ſo 'tis no matter.

Ha! Robin! is your Maſter come?

He's coming, Child—a Lawyer, I believe, for he had a ſwinging ſtroke with his Tongue, ſtopt him in the Street, about his Law Suit, I ſuppoſe, ſo he ſent me Expreſs, fraught with his eager Wiſhes, to beg thy Lady's patience for two Minuets only, and then he'l throw himſelf at her Feet—egad, I think I have made as noble a Speech as ever a Cour⯑tier of 'em all.

Why don't you come in, and deliver your Meſſage, then?

Now I have ſeen thee, I dare not.

Why, what do you fear?

Thoſe pinking Ogles of thine—But now I think on't, if my Maſter and your Lady Cupple, thoul't fall to me of Courſe.

To you—I believe not, Sir.

But I believe yes—are not we perquiſites made for one another?—our Station's the ſame—our Imployment alike—you Dreſs your Lady—ſo do I my Maſter—you receive, and deliver Meſſages, ſo do I—and lying is the common Vocation of us both.

You are very familier in your Courtſhip.

'Tis my way—but I know Truth is an out-of-fa⯑ſhon'd Courtſhip, which your Sex is not us'd too. Ha! my Maſter.

Sir, I did your Meſſage.

My Meſſage, Fellow, what Meſſage? This Dog will ſpoil all by his blunders; he do's not ſee that I'm Revel now;

do you know who you ſpeak too?

By my troth, I don't know—and yet methinks I ſhou'd know too.

'Tis very ſtrange if he ſhou'd not know his Maſter.

Why, Sir, pray are not you my Maſter, co, co, co.

I'll tell you, Raſcal.

Egad, I'm in the wrong, but where I can't tell—his Fingers are grown plaguy Flippant of late.

Is Beliza within, my Dear, doſt know?

I believe ſhe is, Sir—I'll let her know you'd ſpeak with her, if you pleaſe to ſignify what Name you'l wear at preſent—

Name! Why, my own Name, Child, Revel; what Name ſhou'd I wear? Thou art pleaſant, ha, ha, ha.

There was my miſtake, now.

Here ſhe comes, Sir.

So Darts the Sun, thro' all the thick wrought Clouds, to Chear the labouring Swain.

Hold, Sir! Who are you, pray? The Colonel, or the Country Gentleman—the Grave, Serious, formal Lover, [36] or the Gay Rakiſh Soldier?—let me know, I beſeech you, that I may ſquare my Converſation to yours.

Ha▪ ha, ha, Why theſe Interrogatories? Madam, do you walk in your Sleep?—now I fancy you are in a Dream; ay, it is ſo, faith—and I cannot reſiſt the Opportunity for Gloves.

Away, thou exquiſite Diſſembler—How can you look me in the Face.

Becauſe I don't know a Face in Europe that pleaſes me half ſo well—but prithy, why this Air of indifference, or rather, reſentment? Look ye, Madam, if you affect this Quar⯑rel by the way of Poignant Sauce—you have no need of thoſe little recourſes of your Sex—Revel Loves as much as ever, and dare promiſe—

More than you perform.—

Accuſe me not before you try me—but why theſe Croſs Purpoſes—ha, my Incognita! now Bellair, play thy part

Here's one will inform you.—

Oh, Mr. Conſtant, are you come?

Conſtant! yes, faith, Madam, I'm as conſtant as any Man—this Lady can witneſs for me.

Not in the Court of Conſcience, Sir.

Then you have no Conſcience at all.

If my Maſter took up lying by the Week, what a Confounded Intereſt 'twou'd come to in a Year.

Do you know why I ſent for you ſo ſoon, Mr. Conſtant.

No, Madam—nor that you-ſent for me at all.

You miſtake, Couſin, this is Colonel Revel, ha, ha▪

Colonel fiddle, is it not?—ſure I know Mr Conſtant.

Conſtant! Who is he, Madam.

Who's he? Why, are not you he?

Not that I know off.

Ha, ha, you ſhall be Revel, Sir, till Conſtant comes, if my Couſin will give you leave—

I'm ſurpriz'd at his Impudence—pray, were not you here two Hours ago, Sir?

Not that I remember—

Impoſſible—did not you ſave me from drowning, Yeſterday.

'Twas in my ſleep, then—for waking I am ſure I did not.

Diſtraction—Nor is not your Name Conſtant? And Oxfordſhire.

Quite wrong—this is a pretty Chriſtmas Game Lady—but, pray let me have ſome Commands, as well as all Queſtions.

Nor you don't know this Footman?

Agen—No, Madam, never scaw him in my Life.

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, who am I now—ſor he has renounc'd me heartily.

What ſay you, Friend, don't you know this Gen⯑tleman neither?

No more than I do the great Mogul; Madam.

Who do you belong to—

Belong to, Madam! why, why, why, a pox of his 'tother Name, now I can't think on't, if I were to be hang'd.

Ay, who do you belong to, I ſay, again?

Why, I belong to my Maſter, Madam.

And what is that Maſter's Name, pray?

Name, Madam—his Name is—ad, now I think on't, I won't tell his Name—why, ſure I'm too big to be Catechiz'd.

This Dog will betray me.

You challeng'd this for your Maſter, juſt now.

What if I did, Miſtreſs, what then? He is not, it ſeems, without his being double, as you pretend—the Devil ſhou'd have doubled me too.

What buſineſs have you here?

Buſineſs! why I brought a Meſſage from my Ma⯑ſter to one of you—and ſo good by—

Hold, ſtay, Sir—pray, what was that Meſſage?

Why, that my Maſter wou'd be here, preſently—

Oh, I ſuppoſe, this is Mr. Conſtant's Man, that you miſtake me for—ah, pox of his Memory.

You have hit it, Sir—Mr. Conſtant is my Maſter, now his Name's out—

I'm aſtoniſh'd! Couſin, did you ever hear the like?

Yes, the very ſame—but I traduc'd Mr. Conſtant then, you know—What ſay you, Revel, did I?

Hey, Ladies! do you deſign to bait me, if ſo, give me fair play, at leaſt—harkye, draw off your Couſin, and confeſs your Plot—or egad I'll humour her Frenzy, take the Name of Conſtant, and make Love to her before your Face.

Withal my heart, 'tis not the firſt time—and I have no further Services for you, ha, ha, ha.

So, he's in a fair way to looſe 'em both

I Arreſt you, Sir, in an Action of High Treaſon.

Treaſon, Sir! Sure you miſtake the Man.

Ha! how's this?

Your Name's Revel, Sir.

My Name is Revel, Sir, but guilty of no ſuch Crime.

Here's a turn now—I muſt ſecond him.

That muſt be prov'd, 'tis no buſineſs of mine, I am only to Execute my Orders.

I am concern'd for him, methinks—won't you take Bail, Sir?

In theſe caſes no Bail is admitted, Madam.

My Mind miſgives me, this is a Trick.

Come, Sir, I can't ſtay—

Hold, hold, Sir, pray Enter my Action too, for a Box of the Ear he gave me juſt now—this is ſome com⯑fort, however, I ſhall ſee him hang'd.

Come, Gentlemen, I can eaſily prove my Innocence—if I ſtand fair in this Lady's Opinion, I cannot fear the World.

I wiſh you a good Deliverance, Colonel—I know not what to think.

I'll ſee him lodg'd, I'm reſolv'd.

Nor I—to what end can a Man affect theſe Diſ⯑guiſes?

Out of Gallantry, Couſin—I ſhall hardly be con⯑vinc'd without I ſaw them both together—I pitty the Co⯑lonel's Unhappy Diſgrace; but, believe me, now he is Ar⯑reſted, Conſtant is no more, his Man following him plainly ſhew'd the Cheat.

Nay, I confeſs they are extreamly alike, but obſer⯑ving very narrowly, I think their Features are not exactly the ſame.

You are of my mind, Madam—for methinks, he is half an Inch taller than Mr. Conſtant.

And ſomething about his Face, I don't know what—

I fancy his Noſe is ſomething longer.

Thou haſt hit it; it is his Noſe, I'm ſure.

You are both mad I'm ſure—ha, ha, ha,—bleſs me! Pray, Heaven it ben't the Devil that thus deludes us.

I am come, Madam, according to your Commands—but if my Reception now prove like the laſt, the pleaſure of ſeeing you, will much abate—I am firſt at the Rendez⯑vous, I perceive.

Now, Couſin, you are convinc'd, I hope.

You are, I ſee.

Now, Madam, I can tell you the very difference, his Eyes are a little-little larger.

Nay, I think they are a great deal larger.

Why do you Survey me ſo, Madam? is it poſſible, that you can be deceiv'd too—Where is this Colonel to be found? Will he not come?

He is juſt gone.

He has Diſingag'd himſelf, Sir, to leave you room, to Act your part.

Why did not you keep him, I ſent my Man before me, to let you know, I would inſtantly be here.

How could we, when the Queen's Authority fa⯑vour'd his Retreat.

How ſay you, Madam? has the Queen ſent for him.

How cunningly you Diſſemble—but that's not new, Diſſimulation, ſeems your natural gift.

Still theſe Reproaches, will nothing, that I ſay con⯑vince you?—Why did you conſent to let him go?

Why, do you really think this is ſtill the ſame?

I do really—the Trap was laid with too much Policy to be prevented, knowing the Meſſenger I never ſuſ⯑pected the truth of the Action—but I may change to Coun⯑ter Plot you yet

So, ſhe is gone to the Priſon—but ſhe'l return as unſatisfied as ſhe went

Why do you take pleaſure to inſult the Man, your Beauty has inſlav'd? If my Viſits be offenſive—tho' I die without you—I prefer your Peace ſo much above my own, I'll never diſturb you with my Pre⯑ſence more.

He looks, methinks, with ſuch an honeſt Face, it can be only Conſtant;

you muſt own, I have reaſon to ſu⯑ſpect you—but you have a powerful Advocate within, which Pleads in your excuſe, and fain wou'd Juſtifie you.

At laſt, I am ſatisfied—the Spark is Cag'd.

Did you follow him?

Do you doubt it?

Whom, ſpeak?

Oh, Sir, are you there?—you'l be hang'd in Ef⯑figie to morrow—

How, Sauſe-box!

Ay, Sir, he did Box me, but I ſhall have a ſwinging Revenge.

Revenge, for what?

Why, Sir, your likeneſs—that here has been ſuch a ſputter about—is taken up for Treaſon, Murder, Robbery, and the Devil and all—

Oh, misfortune! to be like ſuch a Raſcal.

Ay, ſo it is indeed, Sir—I thought he wou'd have been pull'd to pieces in the Street—there were Girls of Fourteen, [41] and Women of Fourſcore, with Actions of Raviſhment a⯑gainſt him—and Tavern, and Eating-houſe Bills in abun⯑dance.

The Rogue has improv'd the hint admirably

'Tis an illbred Scroundrel, he is very like you, Sir, that's the truth on't,) he gave me the damndeſt Box on the Ear, only becauſe I miſtook him for you—he has a ſwing⯑ing Fiſt, Sir, that was all the Diſtinction I cou'd make be⯑tween you—but I ſhall ſee him truſs'd up for it, that's my comfort.

I am extreamly pleas'd to find they are two different Perſons—

Conſtant! I can't believe my Eyes.

Why, what ſurpriſes thee?

I met thy very Likeneſs in Cuſtody of a Meſſen⯑ger, and ſtop'd 'em to examin the reaſon—the Spark ſnapt me up ſhort, and told me 'twas none of my buſineſs, bad 'em paſs on—I admir'd at the meaning, for I cou'd have ſworn it had been thee—ha! that is Beliza's Lodgings, certainly.

Were he Dreſt like me too?

No, that was the only Diſtinction I found about him—I wiſh Beliza ben't the other Woman—

Now, Madam—are you ſtill in ſuſpence?

I'm convinc'd, and over-joy'd, to find you what I wiſh you.

If my Suſpicions be true, I have a pritty kind of an Employment here—ſerving my Rival againſt my ſelf,

Madam, your Father wants you—he talks of ha⯑ving you Married to Night—

How's that, egad, my Maſter will be ſobb'd at laſt, I fear.

Oh, Unfortunate—

If it be ſo, 'tis ſome pleaſure at leaſt to know the Man.

What do I hear? Oh, Madam, if ever pity touch'd your Soul, exert it now—think where you are going, think [42] too, who you leave—give me ſome aſſurance to ſupport my hope, that you will diſobey your Father—or, I am miſerable.

Believe me, my ſurprize is as great as yours, I pro⯑miſe to uſe my utmoſt Arguments againſt it; if I fail, you then ſhall know my Father, and uſe your own Diſcretion.

That's all I ask—unexpected turn of ill Fortune▪ this News has chang'd the very Countenance.

Why, one wou'd ſwear thou wer't really in Love.

And not be forſworn, Sir William; for, faith, I do love her heartily, and am ready to Capitulate for better for worſe, as ſoon as ſhe pleaſes.

I'm glad to hear that—one thing, pray, tell me, without reſerve—

Moſt willingly—

What deſign have you upon the other; for you can't marry 'em both?

Humph—faith, no deſign at all, if I cou'd come off handſomely; tho' ſhe's very pritty, but too well acquainted with my Incognita, to have any Intrigue with.

Does ſhe love you Bellair?

Not that ever I cou'd diſcover, to ſay the Truth.

One thing more—is not her Name Beliza!

Ha! does he know her—I'm afraid my Plot's ſpoil'd again.

Nay, Sir William, don't force me to tell Names, eſpecially after the Stratagem I have made uſe of.

Nay, nay, I am convinc'd 'tis the ſame; had I apprehended it ſooner, Friend, you had not carried your de⯑ſign thus far.

So, I have made my Rival, my Confident; I find I am a lucky Fellow, now, may he, out of pure Revenge diſcover me

If I have committed any fault; Sir William, 'twas a fault of Ignorance; could I devine the Lady was your Ac⯑quaintance—ſo that I am aſſur'd your Friendſhip muſt for⯑give me.

What Friendſhip muſt forgive, Love denies—as I imagin'd, here ſhe comes.

Well, Sir William, whatever ſatisfaction you demand I'm ready to return—this favour let me obtain, as you are a Gentleman betray me not, to my fair Unknown—this is the moſt unfortunate thing.

Quite undone again.

I am confounded! I know not whether there be two or not—the Meſſenger affirms that Revell is in his Cuſtody, but his Orders run ſo ſtrickt, that none muſt be ad⯑mitted to ſee him—ha, Sir William.

Pray, what was the Subject of your Ladyſhip's Comtemplation—Colonel Revell.

He has found it then at laſt—why, do you know Colonel Revell, Sir William?

You do, I find—perſidious Woman—have I diſcovered thy falſhood—all thy turnings and windings of indifference, had their ſource from hence.

The readieſt way to ſtop his Tongue, is to let looſe mine.

Do, do, exalt your Voice, and raiſe your Paſſion hgher—but know! your jealous Rage ſhall extort no Submiſſion from me, tho' I cou'd clear my innocence with eaſe—but the Man that dares ſuſpect my conduct—and ſtart a Quarrel Husband-like, er'e I have confirmed his Title, I ſcorn to diſabuſe—ſo leave him to what method he thinks beſt.

Oh, guilt! What an Aſſurance doſt thou give, Oh, Hell, Hell.

Scene Changes to Sir William's Lodgings.

You Act your part very well, Sir, but there was one thing Superſluous, in that of Revell.

What was that prithy?

The Box o'th' Ear, Sir; 'twas very uncomfortable.

On, there's a Cordial for thee.

'twas only to teach you a good Decorum.

Oh, Sir, your humble Servant, I am ready to be taught, Sir, when ever you pleaſe.

But how are you ſure my Father knows I am in Town.

Sure on't, Sir! why I ſaw him, and told him you came but Two hours ago—and that, you'd wait upon him as ſoon as you had refreſh'd your ſelf with clean Linning—

Z'death, and why did you ſo Sirrah?

Becauſe, Sir, that was the firſt excuſe that came at my Tongues end—and you know there is no humming and hawing with my Old Maſter, Sir.

I am in a bleſſed Condition,—in Love, with I know not who, to be found I know not where—undoubtedly out of Favour with my Father, if I refuſe his Choice, as I moſt certainly ſhall—

Nay, good Sir, ben't over certain—may be ſhe's as handſome as t'other—and you may like her as well.

And, in all probability, in danger of a Duel with my Friend—to rectify all theſe matters, require a Machi⯑vilian Brain—go you wait at t'other Lodgings.

Yes, Sir.—Now has he ſo many Women upon his Hands, he knows not what to do with 'em—the firſt time I ever ſaw him puzzled in theſe matters—

My Charmer! the ſight of thee diſpels my malan⯑choly, and revives the Joy within my Breaſt, which firſt thoſe Eyes inſpired—

Why, were you Malancholy, Sir? impoſſible.

How ſhou'd I be otherwiſe in the abſence of my Love▪

Abundance of Love, but not a grain of Conſtancy I Fear.

As conſtant as the Sun, my faireſt—

What, like him, Court all you meet, and quit as ſoon as taſted—Nature never deſign'd my Sex to feed your Luxery—but for Health, Content and Neceſſaries.

Right, why then can you deny the Man that en⯑deavours to engroſs thoſe Neceſſaries you ſpeak of.

Where they are Lawful—but upon ſecond thoughts, I find I have ſcruples—

Vapors, Vapors, all—Lawful! Why the Mecha⯑nical notion I have of the World, is a rich Banquet, ſet off with all the choiceſt things of the Creation—where Man's the gueſt—and wou'd it not be the height of ill Manners to ſnatch a Diſh, and run away with it, when, perhaps, twenty more had a mind to the ſame Meat—

And wou'd it not be the extremity of Folly to taſt of every Diſh—when your curioſity may bring a Surfci.—

Then there's Phyſicians enough in Town to cure me—

Or kill you.

With all my Heart—becauſe a Houſe may fall on my Head—muſt I therefore lie in the Field—but what have we to do with Philoſophy?

Bleſs me! you'l ſmother me—

Let us not in cold Diſputing waſt the time, leaſt Fortune, angry at our dull delay, ſend another interruption—

Well, you was born to ruin me—but do not, pray, do not—uſe your force—for well I find my weakneſs—

A good hint—ſure fortune will not Jilt me agian—but hold, I'll ſecure the Door—

now ſhow me a Man poſſeſt of half an hour's happineſs above me.

Undone for ever—there's ſome body at the Doo [...] if I'm diſcover'd—Ruin attends me.

Another malicious Devil has croſt me again— [...] why, why—which way ſhall I get out? Is there [...] Stairs, nor Trap Door—I, I, I, I'll Jump out of the Win [...]

By no means—what will come of me—here, here, get into that Cloſet.

Ay, ay, any where—oh, Succeſs, Succeſs, thou haſt forſaken me

Who knocks with that Authority? Brother, is it you! what ſhall I ſay?

What buſineſs have you here—Confuſion, how ſhall I contain my ſelf?

If he has diſcover'd me, I'm a dead Woman

why do you look ſo angry, Brother—Is it a Crime to be in your Lodgings?

Yes, I forbad you—and what was the Door ſhut for, ha?

I ſhall be found out, there's no avoiding it—be⯑cauſe I was afraid the ſtranger which you ſay hates Women ſhou'd ſurprize me—I came hither to be private, and to avoid the Impertinency of Sir Paul—I tremble every Joint.

Ay, ſhe did come to avoid Sir Paul, that's plain enough—Oh, Nature, Nature, why did'ſt thou make a Woman?—I'm ſure I heard his Voice—far off he cannot be—that Cloſet muſt conceal him—I'm glad to find you was ſo Circumſpect, Siſter—I am out of Humour—you'l forgive me—how ſhall I get rid of her.

Better than I expected—

Pray, oblige me with Pen, Ink, and Paper, I have loſt the Key of my Scrutore, and can't come at mine—

With all my heart, Brother—a fortunate eſcape

Let me conſider—ſhall I ſacrifice his Blood to my injur'd honour—no, I owe this Life to him which now I beat—and a ſolemn League of Friendſhip joyn'd our Souls—I Lodg'd him here—and ſhall I break the Laws of Hoſpitality?—no—firſt, let me know how far my Ho⯑nour is concern'd—if my Siſter has betray'd her Virtue—and I prove it—my juſt Reſentment then ſhall fall on both—'tis reſolv'd—

Sir, Sir—

Are they gone, my Life, my Love—

My Life, my Love! Damnation

they are gone, huſh, make no noiſe for your Life, I expect my Husband every Minute, therefore if you Love me retire inſtantly—

Love thee; do I live? But, Oh, I fear theſe curſt mali⯑cious Planets ne're will Crown my wiſhes.

By that I find he has not enjoy'd her—now to know how far ſhe's inclin'd.—

Here's Pen and Ink, Brother—ha, in the dark, Brother—Brother—ha! gonc—lucky opportunity—let me 'ſcape now, and I'll never run the danger more—

you may come out, the Coaſt is clear

Then I'm happy—now let's us loſe no time—but improve the precious Moments—conduct me to ſome more private place, there let me breath my Soul into your Boſom, and pay the hazards which we have both run—

This is no time, except you wiſh my Ruin—my Brother is alarm'd, and may return this Minute, and Sacrifice me to his Jealouſe Fears—have you no regard for my ſafety—yet will you loiter to undo me.

Deſtruction ſeize thee,

I will go, but firſt tell me when, and where, I ſhall be bleſt again.

Preſs me not to further folly—I own the tender Sentiments of my Heart—and fear I love you—

Excellent Confeſſion.—

But my fears grow ſtrong, and repreſent Vice in hideous Forms—twice this day Surprize perſerv'd my Virtue.

Twice! Oh, Traytereſs.

And now by all the Virtuous Stars, I'll never ſee you more.

I'm glad to hear that—but did not ſhe know me? So took her Opportunity to ſtart from my Vengeance? It may be ſo, and this be all a Lye—it muſt be ſo—and now I cou'd rip that Boſome where her Heart, her hot Luſt⯑ful [48] Heart reſides—yes, if thou be'ſt Guilty—theſe Hands ſhall ſtrait let out thy tainted Blood, to waſh the Stains thou haſt thrown upon our Family.

Mercy on me, what a noiſe is here in this Houſe—Zadsbud, it were a Bleſſing to be Deaf—what did I ſay—Heaven forgive me—if I ſhou'd be ſtruck Deaf now, what a lamentable thing 'twou'd be—humph—ha—in my Conſcience, my Ears Sings, I have a ſtrange huming in my Head—pray, Heaven, I grow not Deaf in earneſt—Well, my Wife has ſo many Relations—that Lodge here, and Viſit her together—I ſhall certainly be undone—it coſts me, at leaſt, Five Pound a Week in Coffee—Tea—Chocolate—and Rate⯑fia—Mercy upon me—if I ſhou'd come to want now in my old Age—I may thank Marriage for it—if I ſhou'd come to be maintain'd by the Pariſh now—Oh, ſad—Oh, ſad—or ſhou'd live to be Blind—and led with a Dog and a Bell—what ſhall I do, if I come to that, and who knows but I may—Let me ſee, let me ſee, I'll try how I can walk in the Dark.

The Devil take theſe Diſappointments, I ſay—I have peep'd into every room I cou'd find open, but no ſight of her—well, if my Incognita—falls to my Lot at laſt, 'twill be ſome amends—

What a wretched condition it is to be depriv'd of Sight—the very Apprehenſion puts me in a ſwet all over—ah, ah, within there, Lights, Lights.

I can't imagine into what part of the Houſe I'm got.

What's that? Thieves, Thieves.

Pox take this old Cuff, how came I to ſtumble on him.

Baſilicon, why Baſilicon, I ſay, Murder, Murder.

Sir, I'm glad to ſee you withal my Heart—

That's a lye, I believe—but what's your bu⯑ſineſs here now, Sir? Anſwer me that—do you come to [49] bring me another Information of Rogues, ha! I know you again—either you come, Sirrah, to make me a Cuckold—or to Rob my Houſe—but I'll have you laid by the Heels—I will ſo—

Very fine, faith—my next ſtep will be to Tyburn.

Bind his Hands, there—

Keep off Scoundrils—without you'l have your Guts full of Oylet-holes.

Oh, Baſilicon, ſee, ſee, am I not wounded? Keep cloſe to me.

Not in the leaſt, Sir.

How now, what's the matter here—

Oh, Sir William, you come opportunely, to ſave me from theſe Raſcals.

Sir Paul, why theſe Diſorders? Of what are you Apprehenſive—this Gentleman is a Friend of mine.

But how came he here, Sir, in the Dark—

I miſtook this for Sir VVilliam's Apartment—

Oh, Hippocriſy—but e're you and I have done, you'l own 'twas upon another Score

it muſt be ſo, Sir Paul, I lent my Lodgings to this Gentleman for two or three Days—curſe of my ſhallow reaſon—I did not tell you of it, Sir, not thinking it material enough to trou⯑ble you about.

Say you ſo, Sir—then Cuckoldom is nothing material, you ſhall all out of my Houſe—you ſhall ſo, every Mother's Child of you—

What you pleaſe, Sir Paul—harkye, Bellair, there's ſomething to adjuſt between you and I, which require more privicy—follow me.

So my Affair go ſwimmingly.

What the Devil had I to do with a young Wife?

SCENE is Sir William's Lodgings.

THUS far, Sir, I have had a ſtrict regard to the League we made in Spain—ſerv'd you in the Minuteſt, as well as greateſt things, even beyond the Character of a Gentleman in helping you to impoſe upon a Lady, making good Manners ſubſervient to my Friendſhip.

Prithy, Sir VVilliam, let me know the Sum at once, without this Regular Account.

'Twill be caſt up immediately—at your Requeſt reſign'd my own Lodgings, to oblige you, kept your Se⯑cret, even to the Woman I Lov'd—tho' you abus'd her—

Nay, there's a falſe Tally, Sir William—I never abus'd a Lady in my Life—

Have you not abus'd Beliza?

Which way? I never ask'd a favour that cou'd put her to the Bluſh—or promis'd Marriage, and declin'd my Word.

Have you not paſs'd by a wrong Name to her.

But the Perſon is the ſame, when once a Woman likes the Man—ſhe ſeldom finds fault with the Name.

Lookye, Bellair, you may affect what Air you pleaſe—but ſupplanting my Love, and diſhonouting my Fa⯑mily, are things not to be repair'd with a Smile—

The Diſhonouring of your Family! What mean you, Sir? Such Accuſarions are not like a Friend.

Nor ſuch Actions, therefore Draw—

I never Draw my Sword—till I know the Cauſe you alledge; I endeavour'd to ſupplant you; I deny it—I wou'd not ſupplant my Friend tho' I dy'd for the Woman—but this was only Gallantry—and I ignorant of your Pre⯑tences; and before I knew you Lov'd Beliza, I had fixt upon her Friend—that Point is clear'd with any reaſonable Man—but the other Article it is that ſtings me—How have I diſhonour'd your Family?—for there my Honour, Faith and Friendſhip, are concern'd—

Are they gone, my Life—my Love—

Ha! my own Words!

And ſpoke to my Siſter, Sir—

The Devil they were,

What! are you aſtoniſh'd, Sir? Draw inſtant⯑ly—or by the baſe Aſtront you offer'd me—

Nay, nay, hold, hold, Sir VVilliam, for, faith, I will not Fight thee—one word—were it poſſible that I cou'd know thy Siſter by Inſtinct? Or, deny a fair Lady in Di⯑ſtreſs.

Trifle no longer with my juſt Reſentment—

Hear me out, and if I plead not within the Rules of Reaſon, Juſtice and Probability, paſs Sentence on me freely—ſhe's young and handſome—her Husband old and Impo⯑tent—he full of whimſies, ſhe full of Love; he wrinkled and decay'd—ſhe warm and wiſhing; I young and vigo⯑rous—ſhe Married againſt her Will—I not Married at all—We met by accident—ſhe lamented her Miſ⯑fortune—I pitty'd her—and what return ſhe might have made—no Man—not your ſelf, cou'd have re⯑fus'd, [52] had the caſe been yours—Oh, but then ſhe proves the Siſter of my Friend—but my Friend never told me that—Conſequently he is the Agreſſor—Now, Sir VVil⯑liam, will you put your ſelf upon your Guard, or put up your Sword, ha, ha, ha.

My Friend, again—I confeſs thy Arguments are unanſwerable—thoſe we do not truſt, can ne'er be⯑tray us.

Oh, Sir, your Father, Sir Thomas, has found your Lodgings, and hears you have been in Town this Fortnight—and ſwears if I don't find you out immediately, he'l ſlice me into Haſh-meat; he ſays, he ſhall forfeit a Thouſand Pound if you come not preſently—

What ſhall I conclude on—is he at my Lodgings?

No, Sir, he's upon the hunt like any Blood-hound; I run down twenty by-Ways, leaſt he ſhou'd dog me—for you know, Sir, I am your moſt careful Servant.

That thou art, indeed—you muſt reſolve to ſee him.

And if I ſee him, there will be no avoiding this ha⯑ted Match—

Without, Sir, you ſhou'd take another Name, and perſuade him you are not his Son—I have the ſame ho⯑neſt, lying Face ſtill, Sir, I'll ſwear you are none of my Ma⯑ſter.

No, Sirrah, that won't do with him—ha, ſee who Knocks.

If it be my old Maſter—what ſhall I ſay, Sir, muſt I Lye, or ſpeak Truth.

Which you will, the Condition's deſperate.

Safe, Sir, ſafe, a Letter from your Incognita, Sir:

Thou dear Cordial to my Love-ſick Mind

I have us'd all my Rethorick without Effect; my Fa⯑ther reſolves this Night to give me to thy Rival—therefore if thou haſt any Stratagem to relieve me, be quick in the Execution—We are now coming to Sir Paul Cautious's, who, it ſeems, is an old Friend of my Father's, you being in the ſame Houſe, renders you capable of ſeeing—your Incognita—now, Sir VVilliam, I'll throw off Diſguiſe, confeſs who I am, and ask her of her Father—if he refuſe, my Rival muſt meaſure Blades with me; you'l be my Second, if it come to a puſh, Sir VVil⯑liam.

My Sword is ſtill at my Friend's Service.

Have at him, then—I'll to my Lodgings, Dreſs, and return in an Inſtant—Now all ye Stars, that favour faithful Lovers, prevent my meeting with my Father

And his Cane meeting my Shoulders.

You, troop, troop—there, Sir, take your Si⯑ſter, and get out of my Houſe—do ſo—you ſhan't bring Gallants under my Noſe, and lend your Lodgings to Raſ⯑cals that wou'd Cut my Throat—mercy upon me, 'tis a Miracle the Houſe don't tumble on our Heads—I admire I'm alive—

Thou art alive, indeed, and that's all—

All, Houſewife, why, why, why, you han't poiſon'd me, or wounded me, have you?

Baſilicon

why, where are you, Raſcal? Look, am I hurt—do I Bleed any where?

Not a drop, Sir.

Can you know by my Eyes, or Hands, or any thing, if all be right within me?

Very eaſily, Sir—you are in perfect Health—

You are ſure on't?

I am ſure on't, Sir!

Why then, Miſtreſs, what do you mean, ha!

That thou art an old Doating—Deſpicable Wretch.

Hold, Siſter—better Language to your Husband wou'd become you—and for you, Sir, ſince your ill Man⯑ners proceed from groundleſs Jealouſies, Taxing a Gentleman with Crimes of which I know him Innocent—making that a pretence to traduce the Virtue of your Wife—I adviſe you to recall your Temper, and uſe her like my Siſter—or I ſhall uſe you like my Enemy.

And run me thro' the Guts, I ſuppoſe—was ever man thus plagu'd before!

This is the life I lead—my Vertue ſtill ſuſpected—my Innocence accus'd, and the quiet of my Life deſtroy'd—Did I truly merit his abuſes—Patience and Submiſſion wou'd become me—but I defy, even the Tongue of Malice, to aſperſe my Fame or Conduct—and do you think, Brother, I'll indure this—tamely to Submit and Cringe to what I hate.

One word, Madam,—

Boaſt not of your Conduct, nor your Virtue—Vile Audacious Wo⯑man—the Cloſet, Miſtreſs, think on the Cloſet.—

Does he know that? now, I'm loſt ſor ever.—

Now, Vent your clamorous Virtue—while thoſe in whoſe hands you lodge it, Echo back, you have none.

What ſure Diſgrace attends Unlawful Love; had I really fall'n, I now ſhou'd die with ſhame.

What are they whiſpering about, Now—con⯑triving to make me away, ten to one, Baſilicon.

Oh, Sir, I defy 'em to do that whilſt I am near you.

Oh, Brother, forgive me; 'twas the only ſlip I ever made—methinks I hate my ſelf, for having, but in wiſh, conſented, and grow in love with Virtue.—Since I have not ſtain'd my Family—the moſt was Thought, for ſome good Angel ſtill did interpoſe to prop my Nodding Virtue.

Take heed it nods no more.

I will, for now the Shame and Ruin that muſt have attended me, are ſo conſpicious to my Sight, that I will ſhun [55] even the reſemblance of a Crime like this; if you'l but par⯑don me, I'll vow never to fall again from Duty.

On that condition I do—and now, Siſter, ſince your Marriage-Knot can never be diſſolv'd, till Nature ſlips it—ſhew your ſelf the Pattern of a Virtuous Wife, indulge his Age—and that way preſerve your Eaſe, and by your Meakneſs and Humility, fix your Reputation.

I readily obey—Sir Paul, my Youth has hither⯑to engaged me in a fooliſh Paſſion, Contradictory to your Will, but my Brother's Inſtructions has ſo far inform'd me of my Duty, that my Behaviour, for the future, ſhall give you no cauſe for Complaint.

I'll engage my Honour for the performance of her Promiſe.

Here's a turn; who can find what Plot is going forward—Are you both in earneſt now, or not?

Pray, be leſs Suſpicious, and more a Man—the leſs you ſuſpect, the more you are ſecur'd, Sir Paul.

A generous Confidence, will always oblige your Wife.

Well, for once I will truſt thee—come to my Arms then—hold, hold, let me ſee—you have no Pen-knife nor Piſtole about you, have you?

To what purpoſe, my Dear,—Nay, did you not ſay, you'd truſt me—

Well, ſo I will then

Sir, here's a Gentleman, calls himſelf Poſitive, to wait on you, Mrs. Beliza, and another young Lady, with him.

Bring them in immediately, I have not ſeen him this many a Year—and your Miſtreſs too Will, we'l have a Match before you part, a faith we will, my old Friend—

Wellcome, I'm glad to ſee thee with all my Heart, Ladies, you are Wellcome—

Sir Paul, your Hand—I cou'd not come to Town without ſeeing you, Faith—this is your Lady, I ſuppoſe; by your leave, Madam.

This is my Daughter, Sir Paul, I am come up to Marry her.

Why then, I wiſh her much Joy.

I ſhou'd be proud of being better known to you.

And I of your Acquaintance.

Dear Beliza, how do you expect I ſhou'd forgive your long abſence? Not ſee me in two Days.

I confeſs my fault.

The readieſt way to be pardon'd, is not to perſiſt in the wrong, indeed, Madam.

But who ſhall judge between Right and Wrong?

Our Reaſon, Madam.

That very often deceives us, eſpecially if we put too much truſt in the Perſon.

It requires Judgment therefore, to make a proper choice, for every accident depends on that; but why this indifference, Madam?

Why, that Queſtion?

Becauſe Love requires more freedom.

But Jealouſy forbids it, Sir William.

Only the effect of too much Love; I ask your Pardon for all paſt Offences.

Rather of too much Folly.

Ha, Revell, at liberty again—and here, what can this mean?

Ladies and Gentlemen, your Servant—Sir William,

Ha! the hanſome Stranger—ly ſtill my Heart, and think not of him.

Now am I diſtracted, to know whether this be her Lover, or mine.

Sir, here is a Gentleman begs leave to Unfold a Secret to you—

To me—out with it then.

Has he a Secret for him too—This Spark is full of Secrets.

Sir, I preſume you are the Father of this Lady.

This is Conſtant, that's certain.

So, now the Game's up—as I ſuſpected, all one Man.

And, what then, Sir?

Then, my requeſt is, to be admitted for your Son-in-Law.

For my Son-in-Law—

Yes, Sir, provided I make it appear my Fortune, and Family are equal to yours—

Sir, in one word—if you cou'd prove your Deſcent from the Blood-Royal, and as many Acres of Land as the Po has engroſs'd, 'twou'd not avail you that, do you ſee

my Word's my Word, ſhe's diſpos'd off already, and ſo give you ſelf no farther Trouble.

Heart-breaking Sentence,

Is this your final Reſolution, Sir?

Why, Sir, what reaſon have you to believe I ſhou'd alter it?

Becauſe, Sir, I have ſome Reaſons to believe, your Daughter Loves me—and I hope you'l not force her Incli⯑nations—

You have ſome Reaſons to believe ſhe Loves you—what Reaſons, Sir, what Reaſons? You have not lain with her, have you? for that is the ſureſt reaſon a Man can build upon.

You Surpriſe me, with your Queſtion, Sir,—and make me bluſh, to hear you give utterance to a thought like that—Your Daughter's Virtue needs no guard againſt ſuch foul advances.

I hope not—

I ne're ſhall give you Cauſe, to doubt my Virtue, Sir, and 'tis unkindly urg'd—I own, I Love this Gentle⯑man.

What, this is he, that you have pick'd up ſince you came to Town, is it?

This is he, that ſav'd my Life, Sir—and if I have him not, I ne're can love another; yet your Commands ſhall fix me as you pleaſe.

Well ſaid.

As to your Love, and Liking, that's out of my Power, but your Portion and Perſon are not—ſo whether you conſent or not, 'tis the ſame thing—look ye, my word's my word, ſo never trouble your ſelf about that.

Is it ſo, I'll not leave the ſight of her—till I ſee my Rival—and then the beſt Arm carry her.

And, this is your worthy Friend, you have ſo often mentioned, Sir VVilliam?

The ſame, another time I'll inform you of every thing, and hope to obtain your Pardon for him.

Nay, I'm inclining to be good Natur'd; I like his humour mightily—

But, Sir, have you no regard to the hazards which he run, to ſave my Life; had not his generous Care preſerv'd me, you had now been Childleſs in your Age.

Humph! Why, to ſay truth, I wou'd be grateful, but I want the means—he ſays, his Eſtate is large, ſo that he's above a Preſent—and I know not what to offer him—Sir, I thank you for the Service which you did my Daughter, and had I not given my Word, I might have choſe you, as ſoon as another, but now, there's no help for't—if you'l be one of her Bride-men, you ſhall have a Favour to keep for her ſake.

That's ſomething.

Rude unpoliſhed Monſter,

Inſult me not, Sir,—the Favour I wou'd wear you have refus'd.

Sir, here's your Father will come in, in ſpight of my Teeth—or he Swears he'll have a File of Muſqueteers, and Blow the Houſe up.

What News brings Robin?

That my Father is at the Door, I muſt go and try to appeaſe him.

Give me Enterance, or, I'le knock you down, you Dogs—

Where is this Graceleſs Rogue.

Your Bleſſing, Sir, and with it your Par⯑don, for having thus long conceal'd my ſelf, but when you ſhall know my Reaſons—

Reaſons, Sirrah, what Reaſons have you to ſhun your Father—and a handſom Woman; come along, come along,

the Parſon, and the Bride, has waited this two hours, while I have been hunting you all over the Town, Sirrah.

And now you have found me, Sir, I cannot comply with what you propoſe.

How, how's this?

There ſtands the Lady that deſtroys my Duty—

Ha! What do I ſee?

Now, Sir, ſhew a true Paternal Love, and force me not to Wed againſt my Will; for tho' the Lady you have choſe, ſhou'd have all the Charms that bounteous Nature gave the whole Sex—there I am fixt—and muſt, and will, refuſe her.

Ha! Is not that Sir Thomas Bellair?

Sayſt thou ſo—why, then, take her, my Boy;

for this is ſhe, thy Father did deſign for thee.

Oh, Tranſport, oh, unexpected happineſs!

Oh, exceſs of Pleaſure!

Mr. Poſitive, your Servant; there's my Son—

So I ſee, Sir, and am glad of it, with all my Heart.

Now, Sir, your conſent I hope is free.

Why, this is the prittieſt turn I ever ſaw.

I, I, I, am ſo over-joy'd, I ſhall jump out of my Skin—

Camilla—there take him.

My Love, my Life—my Soul's beſt Com⯑fort—

I am pleas'd to ſee the Event ſo lucky.

So am I, Love is the ſtrongeſt guard to re⯑ſtrain Liberty.

Look up, my Conſtant, and bleſs out Friendly Stars that thus have turned out Diſobedience into Duty.

Oh, I was loſt in Rapture, the powerful Torrent roul'd too faſt, and ſinks me down with pleaſure; now no more that Name, but know thy Husband wears that of Bel⯑lair—and now, Madam, I muſt ask your Pardon too—and you my Friend, I give you a thouſand Thanks, and wiſh you, as happy in Beliza's Love—

I'm glad to ſee you out of Priſon, Sir; but how?

Thoſe Strategems are vaniſh'd now, and I rely on your good Nature to forgive me.

Nay, Niece, I ſeldom ask favours, therefore muſt not be deny'd; you, and my Wife's Brother, muſt make the ſecond Couple.

I muſt ſecond Sir Paul, in that Requeſt.

Compleat my Happineſs, and bear me Com⯑pany.

Augment my Joys, by Crowning of my Friends.

Let not all intreat in vain, Madam,

Well, Sir William, I'll run the dangerous venture of a Jealous Husband, for once; but let me Caution you, aforehand—the more you ſuſpect my Conduct, the leſs I ſhall conſult your Humour; the more you watch me, the more I ſhall ſtudy to deceive you—Leave then, your Spaniſh Airs—and put the true Engliſh Husband on, that is the only way to have a Virtuous Wife.

Your Advice is ſo reaſonable, that you ſhall be Miſtreſs both of your ſelf, and me.

Well ſaid, Brother, thy example ſhall be my Guide, for the future; come, we'll be merry, I'm reſolv'd; who is within there?

Go to the Play-Houſe, and deſire ſome of the Singers and Dancers to come hither; I am not often in this humour, but will be merry while it laſts.

Go in my Name—they'l not refuſe me.

No, thou art a good Benefactor to 'em.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I wiſh you Joy, I over⯑heard the Concluſion of your Happineſs—and to Crown your Mirth, here's a Commical Figure upon Ente⯑rance.

Ha, ha, ha, Mr. Wou'dbe, without his Cloths—what doſt thou deſign this for a Maſquerade, at my Weed⯑ing.

Married, and to Beliza, then the good Opinion Ned ſaid ſhe had of me, is come to nothing. I find

Oh, Sir William, I am undone for ever, Rob'd of my new Coat, that I but juſt put upon my Back, by the moſt Whimſical Strategem you ever hear'd.

Ha, ha, ha, Mr. Wou'dbe out-Ploted.

How was it, prithy?

Why, Sir, you muſt know I had juſt made up ſuch a ſuit of Cloaths as that you have on—and was coming hither, but meeting your Brother Ned, he wou'd needs preſs me to the Tavern to give him Beveridge, ſo in we went, the Fellow that waited on us, told me I had a Cut croſs the Shoulder of my new Coat; I look'd, and found I had—he ſaid there liv'd a Fine Drawer at next Door—he wou'd draw it up in a Minute; Wherefore I gave it him, but my Eyes ne'er Encountred him ſince.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

Is your Subſcription come to this, ha, ha, ha; why did not you Examine the Houſe.

I did, and they ſay he came in with me, and told them he was my Servant.

And that he never ſuffer'd a Drawer to wait on him, and therefore borrow'd an Apron of them to attend us.

To cheat me of my Coat—nothing vexes me ſo much, as that I have not been ſeen in it, had I but made the Tour of St. James's, and both Play-Houſes, my Paſſion for it wou'd have Ebb'd to an indifference—and then—

That was an unparalell'd Grievance, indeed.

Mr. VVou'dbe, might I adviſe you as a Friend, leave off this fooliſh Whim of Mimicking; Sir VVilliam he's a Gentleman of a plentiful Fortune, and can afford change of Cloaths for every Day; but you, whoſe ſlender Allowance from a Father's Hand, admits of no proſuceneſs—to imi⯑tate him is Madneſs.

What a grave piece of Advice is there—well, Mar⯑riage has chang'd my Maſter already, I find.

I heard you was about writing a Play, Mr. VVou'dbe, I'd adviſe you to make your top Character a Sharper—you ſee they can out-wit a Gentleman; he has ſhew'd you Plot for Plot.

With what Courage can I proceed with the Play, when this Raſcal is run away with the Subſcription—Well, I'll into the Country, and never ſee this damn'd Town again.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

The Singers and Dancers are come, Sir.

Bring 'em in, come, Gentlemen, take your Hats; but you forget, Bellair—Robin is unrewarded yet.

Why, he ſhall Chuſe between the two Maids.

Ah, Patch!

Me do you Chuſe?

Thou tempts me, and if I ſhou'd look any longer, perhaps the Devil might be more cunning then I.

You don't like me, then?

Look ye, Marriage is a laſting thing—if it were for ſix Months only, I might venture upon thee—but for all days of my Life—mercy upon me—thy fea⯑tures are too high priz'd, Furniture for Houſe-keeping, eſpe⯑cially where they muſt let Lodgings—therefore, Flora, have at thee—

Why, will you quit her for me?

To ſhow the Extreamity of my Love, I will.

Fool, did'ſt thou think I wou'd have had thee? Doſt thou know that I have had my Nativity Caſt, and am told that I ſhall Marry a Knight, at leaſt, if not a Lord.

Oh, good Night to your Ladyſhip, then.

Well, Patch, ſtay till my Brother Dies, and I'll Marry thee, to make good thy Calculation, ha, ha.

Tho' you ſhou'd make me a Lady, you'd not better my fortune much by being your Wife, our Humours wou'd quickly Conſume our Eſtate;—I love fine Cloths,—fine Coach,—fine Equipage, and fine Houſe;—Your Drink⯑ing, Wenching, Gaming, and, ſoforth—that when I wan⯑ted a New Suit, in the Morning, you have flung off your Money over-Night—

She has hit you home, Brother, for your Jeſting.

Well, ſince we know one another's Infirmities ſo well, we'll keep as we are—

Now, my fair Camilla, I am happy—theſe Arms ſhall fix my rambling Heart.