THE Contrivances, &c.

WELL! tho' Pimping is the moſt honourable and profitable of all Profeſ⯑ſions, it is certainly the moſt dangerous and fa⯑tiguing; but of all Fa⯑tigues, there's none like following a vir⯑tuous Miſtreſs—There's not one Letter I carry, but I run the Riſque of kick⯑ing, caning, or pumping, nay often hang⯑ing—Let me ſee, I have committed three Burglaries already to get one Letter to her—Now if my Maſter ſhou'd not get the Gyp⯑ſy [4] at laſt, I have ventur'd my ſweet Perſon to a fair Purpoſe: He has nothing left but the Name of Captain and his Half Pay; which is as much as to ſay, that I his faith⯑ful Servant, and ſo forth, muſt come off with no Pay, or truſt 'till Dooms-day—My Pockets are ſo empty, that old Nick may ſecurely dance there, for there's not one Croſs left to frighten him away—Ah! it was not ſo in Flanders, when the French Wine and French Mony tumbled a⯑bout as if it wou'd never be Night—But Baſta! here comes my Maſter and his Friend Mr. Hearty—I muſt haſte and get our Diſguiſes—

Why ſo melancholly, Captain? Come, come, a Man of your Gaiety and Courage ſhou'd never take a Diſappointment ſo to Heart.

'Sdeath, to be prevented when I had brought my Deſign ſo near Perfection! an old ſubtle croſs-grain'd Hunks—But have her I muſt and will, or I am reſolv'd [5] to burn the old Drone out of his Hive, and carry the Hony-comb away in Triumph.

A very conſciencious Reſolution truly—But, Captain, wou'd you be leſs open and daring in your Attempts, you might hope to ſucceed—The old Gentleman, you know, is cautious to a Degree; his Daughter is under a ſtrict Confinement; and wou'd you uſe more of the Fox than the Lion, Fortune may perhaps throw an Op⯑portunity in your Way—But you muſt have Patience.

Who can have Patience when Dan⯑ger's ſo near? Read this Letter, and tell me then what Room there is for Patience.

Yes, Arethuſa, I will releaſe thee or dye in the Attempt. Dear Friend, ex⯑cuſe my Rudeneſs, you know the Reaſon.

Well, go thy Ways and get her, for thou deſerv'ſt her—I find a Soldier's never idle—as ſoon as he has done with his Enemy he attacks his Miſtreſs, and ſel⯑dom fails to conquer.

Pray, Daughter, what Linguo is that ſame that you ſputter out at this Rate?

Engliſh, Sir.

Engliſh, quotha'! adad, I took it for Nonſence.

'Tis an Hymn to the Moon.

A Hymn to the Moon! a Hymn to the Devil, you Jade you—I'll have none of your Hymns in my Houſe—Give me the Book, Miſtreſs?

I hope, Sir, there's no harm in reading a harmleſs Poem.

Give me the Book, I ſay, Huſwife—Poems with a Pox, what are they good for? But to blow up the fire of Love, and make young Wenches as hot as the De⯑vil—but I have taken care of you, Miſtreſs, for to Morrow you ſhall have a Husband to ſtay your Stomach, and no leſs a Perſon than Squire Cuckoo.

You will not be ſo cruel to marry me to a Man I cannot love?

But you muſt and ſhall love him, Huſwife: What! you hone after a red Rag, I warrant you: Nothing leſs than a Captain will go down with you, forſooth; a diſ⯑banded Captain—Such a Fellow deſerves Twelve Thouſand Pounds to ſquander away, does he? But I have put a Spoke in his Wheel—for to Morrow you ſhall be bound Apprentice for Life, and then your disbanded Lover may e'en hang himſelf.

For Heav'n's ſake, dear Sir, give me a little time to conſider: Marriage is a Con⯑cern of the utmoſt Conſequence—put it off for one Month, that I may endea⯑vour to make my Duty and Deſires go to⯑gether.

Do you your Duty, and a Fig for Deſires—No, no, Miſtreſs; Delays are dangerous in theſe Caſes—Mr. Cuckoo is a brisk young Fellow, and a little Fea⯑ther-bed Doctrine will ſoon put the Cap⯑tain out of your Head—and to put you out of his Power, you ſhall be given over to the Squire to Morrow.

Pray, Sir, conſider—put it off for a Week, let me have time to make the ne⯑ceſſary Preparations.

What, to run away with the Cap⯑tain, Miſtreſs?—no, no, to Morrow is the Day.

Surely you will at leaſt defer it one Day?

No, nor one Hour—to Mor⯑row Morning at eight of the Clock preciſe⯑ly—In the mean time, take Notice that the Squire's Siſter is hourly expected, a good plain Country Girl, but a great For⯑tune—I believe it will be a Match between her and your Couſin Frank—the old Folks have almoſt agreed about the [9] Matter—ſo pray do you be civil and ſociable with her, and let me have none of your Pouts and Louts, as you tender my Diſpleaſure.

To Morrow is but ſhort Warning—but we may be too cunning for you yet, old Gentleman.

O Betty! welcome a thouſand times over, What News—have you ſeen the Captain, Betty?

Yes, Madam, and if you were to ſee him in his new Rigging, you'd ſplit your Sides with laughing—ſuch a Hoyden, ſuch a piece of Country Stuff, you never ſet your Eyes on—but the Petticoats are ſoon thrown off, and if good Luck at⯑tends us, you may ſoon conjure Miſs Mal⯑kin, the Squire's Siſter, into your own dear Captain.

But when will he come?

Inſtantly, Madam, he only ſtays to ſettle Matters for our Eſcape, he's in deep Conſultation with his privy Counſellor Ro⯑bin, who is to attend him in the Quality of a Country Putt—They'll both be here in a Moment, ſo let's in and pack up the Jew⯑els, that we may be ready at once to leap [10] into the Saddle of Liberty, and ride full ſpeed to your Deſires.

Dear Betty, let's make haſte, I think every Moment an Age 'till I'm free from this Bondage.

There they are—in, in.

You're woundy haſty methinks, to knock at that rate—this is certainly ſome Courtier come to borrow Mony, I know it by the ſawcy rapping of the Foot⯑man—Who's at the Door?

Tummos.

Tummos! who's Tummos? Who wou'd you ſpeak with, Friend?

With young Maſter's Vaather-in-Law that mun be, Mr. Hardguts.

And what's your Buſineſs with Mr. Hardguts?

Why young Miſtreſs is come out o' [11] the Country, to ſee Brother's Wife that mun be, that's all.

Odſo; the Squire's Siſter—I'm ſorry I made 'em wait ſo ſong.

Save you fair Lady, you're welcome to Town:

A very modeſt come⯑ly Maiden truly. How long have you been in Town, Lady?

Why an Hour and a bit, or ſo—we juſt put up our Horſes at King's-Arms yonder, and ſtaid a crum to zee poor things feed or ſo, for your London Oſtlers give lit⯑tle enough to poor Beaſts, and you ſtond not by 'em your zel, and zee 'em fed, they'll cheat you to your Face.

Why how now Clodpate? Are you to ſpeak before your Miſtreſs? With your Hat on too? Is that your Country breed⯑ing?

Why an it's on, it's on, an it's off, it's off—what cares Tummos? for your falſe-hearted London Compliments—an you'd have an anſwer from young Mi⯑ſtreſs, you mun look to Tummos—for ſhe's ſo main baſhful, ſhe never ſpeaks one [12] Word but her Prayers, and thoſen ſo ſoftly that no Body can hear her.

I like her the better—for Si⯑lence is a heav'nly Virtue in a Woman—but very rare to be found in this wicked Place—Have you ſeen your Brother, pretty Lady, ſince you came to Town?

O miraculous Mode⯑ſty! wou'd all Women were thus? Can't you ſpeak, Madam?

An you get a Word from her, 'tis more than ſhe has ſpoken to us theſe four⯑ſcore and ſeven long Miles—but young Miſtreſs will prate faſt enough an you ſet her amongſt your Women Volk, or ſo, when ſhe's once acquainted.

Say'ſt thou ſo, honeſt Fellow, then I'll ſend her to thoſe that have Tongue e⯑nough I'll warrant you—Here Betty.

Take this young Lady to my Daughter, 'tis Squire Cuckoo's Siſter; and d'ye hear? make much of her, I charge you.

Yes, Sir—pleaſe to follow me, Madam.

Well honeſt Friend, and where's the Squire?

Why one cannot find a Mon out in this ſame London, there are ſo many Ta⯑veruns and Chockling-Houſen, you may as well ſeek a Needle in a Hay Fardel, as they ſayn in the Country—I was at Squire's Lodging yonder, and there was no body, but a prate a pace whorſon of a Footboy, and he told me Maiſter was at Chockling-Houſe, and the while the Vixen did nothing but taunt and laugh at me, or ſo—I Cod I cou'd have found in my Heart to have given a good wherrit i'th' Chops, ſo I cou'd—ſo I went to one Chockling-Houſe, and Squire was not there, and ſo I went to t'other Chockling-Houſe, and t'other, 'till I was a weary, and I cou'd ſee nothing but a many People ſupping hot Suppings, and reading your Gazate Papers ſo we came away here and pleaſe you, but we had much ado to find out your Worſhip's Houſe, the vixen Boys ſet us a thick a ſide, and a thack a ſide, that we were almoſt loſt—an it were not for an honeſt Fellow that came and ſhow⯑ed us the right way.

It's a pity they ſhou'd uſe Strangers ſo—but as to your young Miſtreſs, does ſhe never ſpeak?

Adod, Sir, never to a Mon, why ſhe wo'not ſpeak to her own Father, ſhe's ſo main baſhful or ſo—

That's ſtrange indeed—but how does my Friend Sir Roger?—he's well, I hope.

Hearty ſtill, Sir—he has drunk down ſix Fox-hunters ſin laſt Lammas—he holds old courſe ſtill; twenty Pipes a Day, a Cup of Mum in the Morning, a Tankard of Ale at Noon, and three Bot⯑tles of Stingo at Night—the ſame Mon now he was thirty Years ago, or ſo.

Good now, good now! but wou'dſt drink, honeſt Friend?

I don't care an I do a bit or ſo, for to tell you the truth, I'm main dry.

Here, John.

Take this honeſt Fellow down, and make him welcome—when your Miſtreſs is ready to go, we'll call you.

Theſe Country Fellows are very blunt, but very honeſt—I wou'd fain hear his Mi⯑ſtreſs talk—he ſaid ſhe'd find her Tongue when ſhe was amongſt thoſe of her own Sex—I'll go liſten for once, and hear what the young Tits have to ſay to one another.

Dear Arethuſa! delay not the time thus—your Father will certainly come in, and ſurprize us.

Let's make Hay while the Sun ſhines, Madam, I long to be out of this Priſon.

So do I, but not on the Captain's Conditions, to be his Priſoner for Life.

I ſhall run mad if you trifle thus—name your Conditions—I ſign my conſent before-hand

So, ſo, this is as it ſhou'd be—they are as gracious as can be already—how the young Tit ſmuggles her—adod, ſhe kiſſes with a hearty good Will.

O the great Romp, he takes one's Breath away—how cou'd you paſs upon my Father? I never ſaw ſuch a hoyden maſ⯑culine Monſter in my Life.

Let's once get out I'll tell you the whole Story—this is no Time or Place for Particulars—if you lov'd me, or valu'd your own Happineſs, you wou'd not trifle away this Opportunity.

Indeed Captain, I'm afraid to truſt you.

Captain! how's this—bleſs my Eye-ſight—I know the Villain now, but I'll be even with him.

Dear, dear Madam, don't trifle ſo, I long to ſee you both between a pair of Sheets—the Parſon's at the very next Door, you'll be tackt together in the twinkling of a Bedſtaff, and then I'll truſt you to come back to your Cage again, if you can do it with a ſafe Conſcience.

Here's a treacherous Jade! I'll do your Buſineſs for you, Mrs. Jezabel.

Conſider, Madam, what a Life you lead here, what a jealous, ill-natur'd, watch⯑ful, covetous, barbarous, obſtinate old Cuff of a Father you have to deal with—what a glorious Opportunity this is? And what a ſad, ſad, very ſad thing it is, to die a Maid.

A Whore, I cou'd ſlit her Noſe.

In ſhort, Madam, if you ſtay much longer, you may repent it every Vein in your Heart—the old Hunks will undoubt⯑edly pop in upon us, and diſcover all, and then we're undone for ever.

You may be damn'd for ever, Mrs. Impudence.

Well, Captain, if you ſhou'd de⯑ceive me—

If I do, may Heav'n—

Nay, no ſwearing Captain, for fear you ſhou'd break your Oath.

How can you doubt me, Arethuſa, when you know how much I love—

Ah wheedling Dog! but I'll ſpoil his Sport anon.

Come, come away, dear Madam—I have the Jewels—but ſtay, I'll go firſt to ſee if the Coaſt be clear.

Where are you going, pretty Maiden?

Only do—do—down Stairs, Sir.

And what haſt thou got there, Child?

Nothing but Pi—Pi—Pins, Sir.

Here, give me the Pins—and do you go to Hell, Mrs. Minx, d'ye hear? Out of my Houſe this Minute, or expect the dreadful Iſſue of my righteous Indigna⯑tion.

O Tempora! O Mo⯑res! what an Age is this? Get you in for⯑ſooth, I'll talk with you anon—So, Captain, are thoſe your Regimental Cloaths? I'll aſ⯑ſure you they become you mightily, if you did but ſee your ſelf now, how much like a Hero you look.

But, Cap⯑tain, an't you an impudent Dog now, an't [18] you?—muſt no Body ſerve your Turn but my Daughter? nothing leſs than twelve thouſand Pounds? Well, I find you Soldiers rate your ſelves high—but you deſerve it in Truth: you work your Brains, you try Stratagems, you transform into a thouſand Shapes to catch a Fortune—Ecce Signum, ha, ha.

'Sblood and Fury, ſtop your Grin⯑ning, or I'll ſtretch your Mouth with a Vengeance.

Nay, nay, Captain Bellſwagger, if you're ſo paſſionate it's high time to call Aid and Aſſiſtance: Here Richard, Thomas, John, help me to lay hold on this Fellow; you have no Sword now, Captain, no Sword, d'ye mark me, ha, ha, ha.

But I have a Piſtol, Sir, at your Ser⯑vice.

O Lord! O Lord!

And I'll unload it in your Breaſt, if you ſtir one Step after me.

A bloody-minded Dog.

And ſee here, Gentlemen, here are two little Bull-dogs of the ſame Breed, they are wonderful Scowrers of the Brain—So that if you offer to moleſt or follow us— [19] you underſtand me, Gentlemen, you under⯑ſtand me.

Yes, yes, we underſtand you with a Pox.

The Devil go with 'em, I ſay.

O Lord! O Lord!

Indeed, Sir, we did not fol⯑low you, we didn't indeed, Sir.

D'ye hear, old Gentleman, I'll have your Daughter, if I wade to her thro' the Blood of you and your whole Generati⯑on; and ſo good-bye t'ye, old Gooſe-Cap.

Ay, ay, good-bye t'ye in the Devil's Name—a terrible Dog! What a Fright he has put me in! I ſhan't be my ſelf this Month—And you, ye cowardly Ra⯑ſcals, to ſtand by and ſee my Life in Dan⯑ger—Get out, ye Slaves, out of my Houſe I ſay.

What a murthering Son of a Whore is this? but I'll prevent him—he ſhall eat Brick, and Stone, and Iron to get at her again, I'll warrant him—But to Morrow ſhe ſhall be marry'd certainly, and then my furious Gentleman can have no Hopes left—A Jezabel, to love a [20] Red-Coat without any Money—Had he but Money, if he wanted Senſe, Man⯑ners, or even Manhood itſelf, it matter'd not a Pin—but to want Mony is the Devil—Well, I'll ſecure her under Lock and Key 'till to Morrow; and if her Husband can't keep her from Captain⯑hunting, e'en let her bring him home a freſh Pair of Horns every time ſhe goes out up⯑on the Chaſe.

So Lady, you're welcome home—See how the pretty Turtle ſits moaning the Loſs of her Mate—What, not a Word, Thuſy! not a Word, Child! Come, come, don't be in the Dumps ſo, and I'll fetch the Captain, or the Squire's Siſter, perhaps they may make it prattle a bit. Ah, ungracious Huſwife! is all my Care come to this? Is this the Gratitude you ſhew to your Uncle's Memory! to throw away (what he buſtled ſo hardly for) at ſo mad a Rate! Did he leave you twelve thouſand Pounds, think you, to make you no better [21] than a Soldier's Trull, to follow a Camp, to carry a Knapſack? This is what you'd have, Miſtreſs, is it not?

This, or ten thouſand times worſe, were better with the Man I love, than to be chain'd to the nauſeous Embraces of one I hate.

Very well, Mrs. Termagant, very well! this is the way you anſwer your Fa⯑ther, is it?

You never found me guilty of this Language, Sir, 'till now your Uſage forc'd me to it—My Uncle left my Porti⯑on entirely at my own Diſpoſal, knowing your Covetouſneſs wou'd prompt you to force me againſt my Inclinations—Mr. Cuckoo is a Fop, whoſe Affectation and Ignorance I abhor—Captain Rovewell has Merit, Senſe, and Courage—I love him, and can be happy in no other, and no other will I have.

So! ſo! very pretty! very pretty indeed! I tell you, Mrs. Snapdragon, you ſhall have Squire Cuckoo, and no other, or the Devil a Penny ſhall you have of mine; mark that.

My Uncle, Sir, has left me enough to make my ſelf happy; and you are free to diſpoſe of your own as you pleaſe— [22] but me you never ſhall againſt my Inclina⯑tions.

A very dutiful Lady indeed! I'll make you ſing another Song to Morrow, Miſtreſs; and 'till then I'll leave you in Salvâ Cuſtodiâ to conſider—bye Thu⯑ſy.

How barbarous is the Covetouſneſs and Caution of ill-natur'd Parents; they toil for Eſtates to make Poſterity happy, and then by miſtaken Prudence they match us to our Averſion—Thus while they meaſure Happineſs by Riches, they only ſeek to make their Children miſera⯑rable—But I am reſolv'd not to ſuf⯑fer tamely however—They ſhall find, tho' my Body's weak, my Reſolution's ſtrong; and I may yet find Spirit enough to plague 'em.

O' my Conſcience I think this young Fellow will run mad—So many Enterprizes and Diſappointments upon the Back of each other ſhou'd pall him me⯑thinks—but yet he holds out couragiouſly, and is ſtill as vigorous as ever—What he is upon now I know not, but he ſwears he'll carry her—I wiſh he is not balk'd, for the old Fellow is more upon his Guard now than ever.

How have I been deceiv'd in this Boy! I find him the very Reverſe of what his Step⯑mother repreſented him—and am now ſen⯑ſible it was only her ill Uſage that forc'd my Child away—His not having ſeen me ſince he was five Years old renders me a perfect Stranger to him—under that Pre⯑tence I have got into his Acquaintance, and find him all I cou'd wiſh—Here he comes, big with another Plot—but if it fails, I believe my Mony muſt buy him the Girl at laſt.

So, my dear Friend here already; this is kind.

Is your Miſtreſs lock'd up, ſay you?

Yes, Sir, and Betty's turn'd away, and all the Men Servants; and there's no living Soul in the Houſe but our old Cookmaid, and I, and my Maſter, and Mrs. Thuſy, and ſhe cries, and cries, and cries her Eyes out almoſt.

O the tormenting News! If the Garriſon is ſo weak, the Caſtle may be the ſooner ſtorm'd—But how did you get out?

Thro' the Kitchin-Window, Sir.

Shew me the Window preſently.

Alack-a-day, it won't do indeed, Sir, that Plot won't take.

Why, Sirrah?

You are ſomething too big, Sir.

I'll try that however.

Indeed, Sir, you can't get your Leg in, but I cou'd put you in the Way.

How, dear Boy!

I can lend you the Key of Mrs. Thuſy's Chamber—if you can contrive to get in⯑to the Houſe—but you muſt be ſure to let my Miſtreſs out.

How coud'ſt thou get it? This is almoſt a Miracle.

I pick'd it out of my Maſter's Coat-Pocket, Sir, this Morning, when I was a bruſhing him.

That's my Boy—there, there's Mony for you.

My Maſter will miſs me, Sir, I muſt go, but I wiſh you good Luck.

So my Hearts of Oak, are you all ready?

Yes, Sir, yes, and it pleaſe your no⯑ble Honour.

You know your Cue then—Serjeant to your Poſt.

What, are you all aſleep, and dead, in this Houſe, that they can't hear one knock?

You are very haſty, Sir, methinks.

My Buſineſs, Sir, requires haſte!

Your Buſineſs! pray what is your Buſineſs, Sir?

My Buſineſs, Sir, is to borrow a thouſand Pound of you.

Very conciſe indeed! but upon what Security, Sir.

Upon what Security! upon my own, Sir.

Sir, your moſt humble Servant, you muſt excuſe me, I don't lend Mony at that rate—a thouſand Pound upon thy Security, ha, ha, ha, didſt ever ſee a thouſand Pence of thy own—pray, Sir, what Countryman are you?

'Sdeath, Sir, do you mean to affront me?

O by no means, Sir; only to ſhut the Door, and keep the thouſand Pound to my ſelf.

Sir, I muſt have Satisfaction.

Get you gone Fellow, you want to rob me, do you?

'Sblood, and Fire, and Fury!

Thieves, Thieves.

What's the matter, what's the mat⯑ter!

O Neighbours I'm robb'd, and mur⯑ther'd, ruin'd and undone for ever.

Why what's the matter, Maſter?

There's a whole Legion of Thieves in my Houſe, they gagg'd me, and blind⯑folded me, and offer'd forty naked Swords at my Breaſt—I beg of you to aſſiſt me, or they'll ſtrip the Houſe in a Minute.

Forty drawn Swords, ſay you, Sir?

Ay, and more I think on my Con⯑ſcience.

Then look ye, Sir, I am a mar⯑ry'd Man, and have a Family, and I wou'd not venture amongſt ſuch a parcel of Blood⯑thirſty Rogues for the World; but if you pleaſe, I'll run and call a Conſtable.

Ay, ay, call a Conſtable, call a Conſtable.

I ſhan't have a Penny left, if we ſtay for a Conſtable—I am but one Man, and as old as I am, I'll lead the way if you'll follow me.

Ay, ay, in, in, follow, follow, Huzzi!

Prithee Jack do you go in, and ſee what's the matter?

Nay, do you go in, and you come to that.

I go in, what ſhou'd I go in for? I have loſt nothing.

What, no body to help the poor old Gentleman? If I was a Man l'd follow him my ſelf.

Why don't you then? What oc⯑caſion have I to be kill'd for him, or you either, ha!

Here's Mr. Conſtable, here's Mr. Conſtable.

Silence, in the King's Name.

Ay, Silence, Silence!

What's the meaning of this Riot, who makes all this Diſturbance?

I'll tell you, Mr. Conſtable.

And pleaſe your Worſhip, let me ſpeak.

Ay, this Man talks like a Man of Parts—What's the matter, Friend?

And pleaſe your noble Worſhip's Honour, we are his Majeſty's Liege Sub⯑jects, and were terrified out of our Habita⯑tions and dwelling Places by a Cry from a⯑broad; which your noble Worſhip muſt underſtand was occaſionable by the Gentle⯑man of this Houfe, who was ſo unfortuna⯑ble as to be kill'd by Thieves, who are now in his Houſe to the Numbration of above ſorty, and pleaſe your Worſhip, all com⯑pleatly arm'd with Powder and Ball—Backſwords, Piſtols, Bayonets, and Blunder⯑buſſes.

But what is to be done in this Caſe?

Why and pleaſe your Worſhip, knowing your noble Honour to be the King's Majeſty's noble Officer of the Peace—we thought 'twas beſt your Honour ſhou'd come and terrifie theſe Rogues a⯑way with your noble Authority.

Well ſaid, very well ſaid indeed—Gentlemen, I am the King's Officer, and I command you in the King's Name to aid and aſſiſt me to call them Rogues out of the Houſe—Who's within there? I Charge you come out in the King's Name, [30] and ſubmit your ſelves to my Royal Au⯑thority.

This is the Gentleman that was kill'd, and pleaſe your Worſhip.

O Neighbours! I am ruin'd and un⯑done for ever—they have taken away all that's dear to me in the World.

That's his Mony—'tis a ſad covetous Dog.

Why what's the matter? What have they done?

O they have taken my Child from me, my Thuſa.

Good lack!

Marry come up—what Valua⯑tion can ſhe be—but have they taken no⯑thing elſe?

Would they had ſtript my Houſe of every Pennyworth, ſo they had left my Child.

That's a Lie, I believe—for he loves his Mony beyond his Soul, and wou'd ſooner part with that, than a Groat.

This is the Captain's doings—but I'll have him hang'd.

But where are the Thieves?

Gone, gone, beyond all hopes of purſuit.

What, are they gone then—come, Neighbours, let's go in, and kill eve⯑ry Mother's Child of 'em.

Hold, I charge you to commit no Murderation—follow me, and we'll ap⯑prehend 'em.

Go Villains, Cowards, Cuckolds, Scoundrels, or I ſhall ſuſpect you are the Thieves that mean to rob me of what is yet left—how brave you are now the Danger's over—

Bleſs me! who have we got here? O Thuſy! Thuſy! I had rather never have ſeen thee again, than to have found thee in ſuch Company.

Sir, I hope my Husband's Company is not criminal.

Your Husband! who's your Hus⯑band? Huſwife? That Scoundrel, that No-Captain—out of my ſight thou ungracious Wretch—I'll go make my Will this Mi⯑nute—and you you Villain, how dare you look me in the Face after this? I'll have you hang'd; I will, Sirrah.

O fie, Brother Argus, moderate your Paſſion—you don't do well to abuſe your Son-in-Law at this rate—It ill be⯑comes the Friendſhip you owe Ned Worthy, to villifie and affront his only Child, and for no other Crime than improving that Friendſhip which has ever been between us.

Ha! my dear Friend alive! I heard thou wer't dead in the Indies: And is that thy Son! and my Godſon if I am not mi⯑ſtaken!

The very ſame—the laſt and beſt Remains of our Family—forc'd by my Wife's Cruelty and my Abſence to the Army—my Wife is ſince dead, and the Son ſhe had by her firſt Husband, whom ſhe intended to Heir my Eſtate—but Fortune guided me by Chance to my dear Boy, who after twenty Years abſence, and changing my Name, knew me not—'till I juſt now diſcover'd my ſelf to him, and your fair Daughter, whom I will make him deſerve by thirty thouſand Pound, which I brought from India—beſide what Eſtate I may leave him at my Death.

And to match that, old Boy—my Daughter ſhall have every Penny of mine, beſides her Uncle's Legacy. Ah you young Rogue! had I known you before, I wou'd [33] not have us'd you ſo roughly—but now you have won my Girl ſo bravely, take her and welcome—but you muſt excuſe all Faults—the old Man meant all for the beſt—you muſt not be angry.

Sir, on the contrary, we ought to beg your Pardon for the many Diſquiets we have given you—and with your Pardon, we hope for your Bleſſing.

Sir, I hope you'll forgive me too, for truly, Sir, if my Maſter's Neceſſity had not oblig'd me to it, I had never troubled your Worſhip for a thouſand Pound at once, but the next time I do (being you doubted my Word) I'll give you my Bond for the Payment.

And I'll give you my Bond that you ſhall be hang'd if you do. But I'll forgive you, you Rogue, tho' you don't deſerve it, Sir⯑rah—Well, bleſs you both my dear Chil⯑dren—ah the little Rogues, how pretty they look—come, buſs and Friends.

Heavn's bleſs you together—now old School-fellow, what ſay'ſt to a Grand⯑ſon?

Ay, that wou'd be ſomewhat indeed—but who doubts it—the young Rogue looks vigorous, he has it in him, I'll war⯑rant him: But, Brother Worthy, how cam'ſt alive again?—I heard for a Certainty you were dead.

I was very near Death, 'tis true—but Fortune protected me—every Ship in the Fleet was loſt but mine—which tho' it was deeply laden, eſcaped, and brought me Home ſafe with a Cargo, worth thirty thouſand Pounds, which ſhall be ſettled on my Boy to Morrow.

My Thuſy, Sir, ſhan't be behind hand—But Huſſy, what makes you in ſuch a brown Study? Why don't you kiſs your old Father—adod, I am ſo tranſported, I can't tell whether I'm alive or dead.

May your Joy be everlaſting.

It will, you Jade,—Come Son, you muſt make my Houſe your own—for the future: Brother Worthy, you ſhall lodge here too: Come, let's in.