[1] THE Double-Dealer.

ACT I. SCENE I.

NED, Ned, whither ſo faſt? What, turn'd Flincher! Why, you wo'not leave us?

Where are the Women? Pox I'm weary of guzling, and begin to think them the better Company.

Then thy Reaſon ſtaggers, and thou'rt almoſt Drunk.

No Faith, but your Fools grow noiſie—and if a Man muſt endure the Noiſe of Words without Senſe, I think the Women have the more Muſical Voices, and become Nonſenſe better.

Why, they are at the end of the Gallery; retir'd to their Tea, and Scandal; according to their Ancient Cuſtom, after Dinner.—But I made a Pretence of following you, becauſe I had ſomething to ſay to you in private, and I am not like to have many Opportunities this Evening.

And here's this Coxcomb moſt Critically come to inter⯑rupt you.

Boys, Boys, Lads, where are you? What do you give Ground? Mortgage for a Bottle, ha? Careleſs, this is your Trick; you're always ſpoiling Company by leaving it.

And thou art always ſpoiling Company by coming into't.

Pooh, ha, ha, ha, I know you envy me. Spite, proud Spite, by the Gods! and burning Envy—I'll be judged by Mellefont here, who gives and takes Raillery better, you or I. Pox, Man, when I ſay you ſpoil Company by leaving it, I mean you leave no Body for the Company to Laugh at. I think there I was with you, ha? Mellefont.

O' my Word, Brisk, that was a home thruſt, you have ſilenc'd him.

Oh, my Dear Mellefont, let me periſh, if thou art not the Soul of Converſation, the very Eſſence of Wit, and Spirit of Wine,—The Deuce take me if there were three good Things ſaid, or one underſtood, ſince thy Amputation from the body of our Society.—He, I think that's pretty and Metaphorical enough: I'Gad I could not have ſaid it out of thy Company.—Careleſs, ha?

Hum, ay, what is't?

O, Mon Coeur! What is't! Nay gad I'll puniſh you for want of Apprehenſion: The Duce take me if I tell you.

No, no, hang him, he has no Taſte,—But, dear Brisk, excuſe me, I have a little Buſineſs.

Prithee get thee gone; thou ſee'ſt we are ſerious.

We'll come immediately, if you'll but go in, and keep up good Humour and Senſe in the Company, prithee do, they'll fall aſleep elſe.

I'gad ſo they will—Well I will, I will, gad you ſhall Command me from the Zenith to the Nadir.—But the Duce take me if I ſay a good Thing till you come.—But prithee dear Rogue, make haſte, prithee make haſte, I ſhall burſt elſe.—And yonder your Uncle, my Lord Touchwood, ſwears he'll Diſin⯑herit you, and Sir Paul Plyant threatens to diſclaim you for a Son-in-Law, and my Lord Froth won't Dance at your Wedding to Morrow; nor the Duce take me, I won't Write your Epitha⯑lamium—and ſee what a Condition you're like to be brought to.

Well, I'll ſpeak but three Words, and follow you.

Enough, enough, Careleſs, bring your Apprehenſion along with you.

Pert Coxcomb.

Faith 'tis a good natur'd Coxcomb, and has very Enter⯑taining Follies—You muſt be more humane to him; at this Juncture it will do me Service.—I'll tell you, I would have Mirth conti⯑nued this Day at any Rate; tho' Patience purchaſe Folly, and At⯑tention be paid with Noiſe: There are Times when Senſe may be [3] unſeaſonable, as well as Truth. Prithee [...] Day; but allow Brisk to have Wit, that thou may'ſt ſeem a Fool

Why, how now, why this extravagant [...]?

O, I would have no room for [...] Jealous of a Plot. I would have Noiſe and [...] my Lady Touchwood's Head from working: For Hell [...] buſie than her Brain, nor [...] nations.

I thought your Fear of her had been over— [...] to Morrow appointed for your Marriage with Cynthia [...] Father, Sir Paul Plyant, come to ſettle the Writings [...]purpoſe?

True; but you ſhall judge whether I have not Reaſon to be allarm'd. None beſides you, and Maskwell, are acquainted with the Secret of my Aunt Touchwood's violent Paſſion for me. Since my firſt Refuſal of her Addreſſes, ſhe has endeavour'd to do me all ill Offices with my Uncle; yet has manag'd 'em with that Subtilty, that to him they have born the face of Kindneſs; while her Malice, like a Dark Lanthorn, only ſhone upon me, where it was directed. Still it gave me leſs Perplexity to prevent the Succeſs of her Diſpleaſure, than to avoid the Importunities of her Love; and of two Evils, I thought my ſelf favour'd in her Aver⯑ſion. But whether urg'd by her Deſpair, and the ſhort Proſpect of Time ſhe ſaw, to accompliſh her Deſigns; whether the Hopes of Revenge, or of her Love, terminated in the View of this my Marriage with Cynthia, I know not; but this Morning ſhe ſur⯑priz'd me in my Bed.—

Was there ever ſuch a Fury! 'tis well Nature has not put it into her Sexes power to Raviſh.—Well, bleſs us [...] What follow'd?

What at firſt amaz'd me; for I look'd to have ſeen her in all the Tranſports of a ſlighted and revengeful Woman: But when I expected Thunder from her Voice, and Lightning in her Eyes; I ſaw her melted into Tears, and huſh'd into a Sigh. It was long before either of us ſpoke, Paſſion had ty'd her Tongue, and Amazement mine.—In ſhort, the Conſequence was thus, ſhe omitted nothing that the moſt violent Love could urge, or ten⯑der Words expreſs; which when ſhe ſaw had [...] but ſtill I pleaded Honour and Nearneſs of Blood [...] the Storm I fear'd at firſt: For [...] a Fury, ſhe flew to my Sword, and [...] her doing [...] her ſelf a Miſchief: Having [...] her; in a [4] Guſt of Paſſion ſhe left me, and in a Reſolution, confirm'd by a Thouſand Curſes, not to cloſe her Eyes, 'till ſhe had ſeen my Ruin.

Exquiſite Woman! But what the Devil does ſhe think, thou haſt no more Senſe, than to get an Heir upon her Body to diſ⯑inherit thy ſelf: for as I take it this Settlement upon you, is, with a Proviſo, that your Uncle have no Children.

It is ſo. Well, the Service you are to do me, will be a Pleaſure to your ſelf; I muſt get you to engage my Lady Plyant all this Evening, that my Pious Aunt may not work her to her Intereſt. And if you chance to ſecure her to your ſelf, you may incline her to mine. She's handſome, and knows it; is very ſilly, and thinks ſhe has Senſe, and has an old fond Husband.

I confeſs a very fair Foundation, for a Lover to build upon.

For my Lord Froth, he and his Wife will be ſufficiently taken up, with admiring one another, and Brisk's Gallantry, as they call it. I'll obſerve my Uncle my ſelf; and Jack Maskwell has promiſed me, to watch my Aunt narrowly, and give me no⯑tice upon a Suſpicion. As for Sir Paul, my wiſe Father-in-Law that is to be, my Dear Cynthia has ſuch a ſhare in his Fatherly Fondneſs he would ſcarce make her a Moment uneaſie, to have her happy hereafter.

So, you have mann'd your Works: but I wiſh you may not have the weakeſt Guard, where the Enemy is ſtrongeſt.

Maskwell, you mean; prithee why ſhould you ſuſpect him?

Faith I cannot help it, you know I never lik'd him; I am a little Superſtitious in Phyſiognomy.

He has Obligations of Gratitude, to bind him to me; his Dependance upon my Uncle is though my Means.

Upon your Aunt, you mean.

My Aunt!

I'm miſtaken if there be not a Familiarity between them, you do not ſuſpect: For all her Paſſion for you.

Pooh, pooh, nothing in the World but his Deſign to do me Service; and he endeavours to be well in her Eſteem, that he may be able to effect it.

Well, I ſhall be glad to be miſtaken; but, your Aunt's Averſion in her Revenge, cannot be any way ſo effectually ſhown, as in bringing forth a Child to diſinherit you. She is Handſome and Cunning, and naturally wanton. Maskwell is Fleſh and Blood at beſt, and Opportunities between them are frequent. His Af⯑fection to you, you have confeſſed, is grounded upon his Intereſt, that you have tranſplanted; and ſhould it take Root in my Lady, I don't ſee what you can [...]

I confeſs the Conſequence is viſible, were your Suſpicions juſt.—But ſee, the Company is broke up, let's meet 'em.

Out upon't, Nephew—Leave your Father-in⯑Law, and me, to maintain our Ground againſt Young People.

I beg your Lordſhip's Pardon—We were juſt re⯑turning.—

Were you, Son? Gadsbud much better as it is—Good, ſtrange! I ſwear I'm almoſt Tipſie—t'other Bottle would be too powerful for me,—as ſure as can be it would.—We wanted your Company, but Mr. Brisk—Where is he? I ſwear and vow, he's a moſt facetious Perſon—and the beſt Company.—And, my Lord Froth, your Lordſhip is ſo mer⯑ry a Man, he, he, he,

O foy, Sir Paul, what do you mean? Merry! O Barbarous! I'd as lieve you call'd me Fool.

Nay, I proteſt and vow now, 'tis true; when Mr. Brisk Jokes, your Lordſhip's Laugh does ſo become you, he, he, he.

Ridiculous! Sir Paul, you're ſtrangely miſtaken, I find Champagne is powerful. I aſſure you, Sir Paul, I Laugh at no bodies Jeſt but my own, or a Ladies; I aſſure you, Sir Paul.

How? how, my Lord? what affront my Wit! Let me periſh, do I never ſay any thing worthy to be Laugh'd at?

O foy, don't miſapprehend me, I don't ſay ſo, for I often ſmile at your Conceptions. But there is nothing more un⯑becoming a Man of Quality, than to Laugh; 'tis ſuch a Vulgar Expreſſion of the Paſſion! every body can Laugh. Then eſpecially to Laugh at the Jeſt of an Inferior Perſon, or when any body elſe of the ſame Quality does not Laugh with one; Ri⯑diculous! To be pleaſed with what pleaſes the Croud! Now when I Laugh, I always Laugh alone.

I ſuppoſe that's becauſe you Laugh at your own Jeſts, I'gad, ha, ha, ha.

He, he, I ſwear tho', your Raillery provokes me to a Smile.

Ay, my Lord, it's a ſign I hit you in the Teeth, if you ſhow 'em.

He, he, he, I ſwear that's ſo very pretty, I can't forbear.

I find a Quibble bears more ſway in your Lordſhip's Face, than a Jeſt.

Sir Paul, if you pleaſe we'll retire to the Ladies, and drink a Diſh of Tea, to ſettle our Heads.

With all my Heart.—Mr. Brisk you'll come to us,—or call me when you're going to Joke, I'll be ready to Laugh incontinently.

But does your Lordſhip never ſee Comedies?

O yes, ſometimes,—But I never Laugh.

No?

Oh, no,—Never Laugh indeed, Sir.

No! why what d'ye go there for?

To diſtinguiſh my ſelf from the Commonalty, and mortifie the Poets; the Fellows grow ſo Conceited, when any of their fooliſh Wit prevails upon the Side-Boxes.—I ſwear,—he, he, he, I have often conſtrained my Inclinations to Laugh,—he, he, he, to avoid giving them Encouragement.

You are Cruel to your ſelf, my Lord, as well as Malici⯑ous to them.

I confeſs I did my ſelf ſome Violence at firſt, but now I think I have Conquer'd it.

Let me periſh, my Lord, but there is ſomething very particular in the Humour; 'tis true, it makes againſt Wit, and I'm ſorry for ſome Friends of mine that Write, but—I'gad, I love to be malicious.—Nay, Deuce take me there's Wit in't too—And Wit muſt be foil'd by Wit; cut a Diamond with a Diamond; no other way, I'gad.

Oh, I thought you would not be long, before you found out the Wit.

Wit! In what? Where the Devil's the Wit, in not Laugh⯑ing when a Man has a Mind to't.

O Lord, why can't you find it out?—Why there 'tis, in the not Laughing—Don't you Apprehend me?—My Lord, Careleſs is a very honeſt Fellow, but harkee,—you underſtand me, ſomewhat heavy, a little ſhallow, or ſo.—Why I'll tell you now, ſuppoſe now you come up to me—Nay, prithee Careleſs be inſtructed. Suppoſe, as I was ſaying, you come up to me holding your Sides, and Laughing, as if you would bepiſs your ſelf—I look grave, and ask the Cauſe of this Immoderate Mirth.—You Laugh on ſtill, and are not able to tell me—Still I look grave, not ſo much as ſmile.—

Smile, no, what the Devil ſhould you ſmile at, when you ſuppoſe I can't tell you!

Pſhaw, pſhaw, prithee don't interrupt me.—But I tell you, you ſhall tell me—at laſt—But it ſhall be a great while firſt.

Well, but prithee don't let it be a great while, becauſe I long to have it over.

Well then, you tell me ſome good Jeſt, or very witty Thing. Laughing all the while as if you were ready to die—and I hear it, and look thus.—Would not you be diſappointed?

No; for if it were a witty Thing, I ſhould not expect you to underſtand it.

O foy, Mr. Careleſs, all the World allow Mr. Brisk to have Wit; my Wife ſays, he has a great deal. I hope you think her a Judge.

Pooh, my Lord, his Voice goes for nothing.—I can't tell how to make him Apprehend.—Take it t'other Way. Sup⯑poſe I ſay a witty Thing to you?

Then I ſhall be diſappointed indeed.

Let him alone, Brisk, he is obſtinately bent not to be Inſtructed.

I'm ſorry for him, the Duce take me.

Shall we go to the Ladies, my Lord?

With all my Heart, methinks we are a Solitude without 'em.

Or, what ſay you, to another Bottle of Champaign?

O, for the Univerſe, not a Drop more I beſeech you. Oh Intemperate! I have a fluſhing in my Face already.

Let me ſee, let me ſee, my Lord, I broke my Glaſs that was in the Lid of my Snuff-Box. Hum! Deuce take me, I have encourag'd a Pimple here too.

Then you muſt mortifie him with a Patch; my Wife ſhall ſupply you. Come, Gentlemen, allons.

I'll hear no more.—Y'are Falſe and Ungrateful; come, I know you falſe.

I have been frail, I confeſs, Madam, for your Ladyſhip's Service.

That I ſhould truſt a Man, whom I had known be⯑tray his Friend!

What Friend have I betray'd? Or to whom?

Your fond Friend Mellefont, and to me; can you deny it?

I do not.

Have you not wrong'd my Lord, who has been a Father to you in your Wants, and given you Being? Have you not wrong'd him in the higheſt manner, in his Bed?

With your Ladyſhip's Help, and for your Service, as I told you before. I can't deny that neither.—Any thing more, Madam?

More! Audacious Villain. O, what's more, is moſt my Shame,—Have you not diſhonour'd me?

No, that I deny; for I never told in all my Life: So that Accuſation's anſwer'd; on to the next.

Death, do you dally with my Paſſion? Inſolent De⯑vil! But have a care,—Provoke me not; for, by the Eternal Fire, you ſhall not 'ſcape my Vengeance.—Calm Villain! How unconcern'd he ſtands, confeſſing Treachery, and Ingratitude! Is there a Vice more black!—O I have Excuſes, Thouſands for my Faults; Fire in my Temper, Paſſions in my Soul, apt to ev'ry Provocation; oppreſſed at once with Love, and with Deſpair. But a ſedate, a thinking Villain, whoſe Black Blood runs tempe⯑rately bad, what Excuſe can clear? One, who is no more moved with the Reflection of his Crimes, than of his Face; but walks unſtartled from the Mirrour, and ſtraight forgets the hideous Form.

Will you be in Temper, Madam? I would not talk not to be heard. I have been

a very great Rogue for your ſake, and you reproach me with it; I am ready to be a Rogue ſtill, to do you Service; and you are fling⯑ing Conſcience and Honour in my Face, to rebate my Inclinati⯑ons. How am I to behave my ſelf? You know I am your Crea⯑ture, my Life and Fortune i [...] your Power; to diſoblige you, brings me certain Ruin. Allow it, I would betray you, I would not be a Traitor to my ſelf: I don't pretend to Honeſty, becauſe you know I am a Raſcal: But I would convince you, from the Neceſſity of my being firm unto you.

Neceſſity, Impudence! Can no Gratitude incline you, no Obligations touch you? Have not my Fortune, and my Per⯑ſon, been ſubjected to your Pleaſure? Were you not in the na⯑ture of a Servant, and have not I in effect made you Lord of all, of me, and of my Lord? Where is that humble Love, the Lan⯑guiſhing, that Adoration, which once was paid me, and everlaſt⯑ingly engaged?

Fixt, Rooted in my Heart, whence nothing can re⯑ [...] [...]

Nay, Miſconceive me not, Madam, when I ſay I have had a Gen'rous, and a Faithful Paſſion, which you had never fa⯑vour'd, but through Revenge and Policy.

Ha!

Look you, Madam, we are alone,—Pray contain your ſelf, and hear me. You know you lov'd your Nephew, when I firſt ſigh'd for you; I quickly found it an Argument that I Lov'd; for with that Art you veil'd your Paſſion, 'twas imper⯑ceptible to all but Jealous Eyes. This Diſcovery made me bold; I confeſs it; for by it, I thought you in my Power. Your Ne⯑phew's Scorn of you, added to my Hopes; I watch'd the Occaſi⯑on, and took you, juſt Repulſed by him, warm at once with Love and Indignation; your Diſpoſition, my Arguments, and happy Opportunity, accompliſh'd my Deſign; I preſt the yield⯑ing Minute, and was bleſt. How I have lov'd you ſince, Words have not ſhown, then how ſhould Words expreſs.

Well, mollifying Devil!—And have I not met your Love with forward Fire?

Your Zeal I grant was Ardent, but miſplac'd; there was Revenge in view; that Woman's Idol had defil'd the Tem⯑ple of the God, and Love was made a Mock-Worſhip.—A Son and Heir would have edg'd young Mellefont upon the Brink of Ruin, and left him none but you to catch at for Prevention.

Again, provoke me! Do you wind me like a Larum, only to rouſe my own ſtill'd Soul for your Diverſion? Confuſion!

Nay, Madam, I'm gone, if you Relapſe,—Wh [...]t needs this? I ſay nothing but what you your ſelf, in open Hours of Love, have told me. Why ſhould you deny it? Nay, how can you? Is not all this preſent Heat owing to the ſame Fire? Do you not Love him ſtill? How have I this Day offended you, but in not breaking off his Match with Cynthia? Which e'er to Mor⯑row ſhall be done,—had you but Patience.

How, what ſaid you Maskwell,—Another Ca⯑price, to unwind my Temper.

By Heav'n, no; I am your Slave, the Slave of all your Pleaſures; and will not reſt 'till I have given you Peace, would you ſuffer me.

O, Maskwell, in vain I do diſguiſe me from thee, thou know'ſt me, know'ſt the very inmoſt Windings and Receſſes of my Soul.—Oh Mellefont! I burn; Married to Morrow! Deſpair ſtrikes me. Yet my Soul knows I hate him too: Let him but once be mine, and next immediate Ruin ſeize him.

Compoſe your ſelf, You ſhall Enjoy and Ruin him too,—Will that pleaſe you?

How, how? Thou dear, thou precious Villain, how?

You have already been tampering with my Lady Plyant.

I have: She is ready for any Impreſſion I think fit.

She muſt be throughly perſuaded, that Mellefont Loves her.

She is ſo Credulous that way naturally, and likes him ſo well, that ſhe will believe it faſter than I can perſuade her. But I don't ſee what you can propoſe from ſuch a trifling Deſign; for her firſt Converſing with Mellefont, will convince her of the contrary.

I know it.—I don't depend upon it.—But it will prepare ſomething elſe; and gain us Leiſure to lay a ſtrong⯑er Plot: If I gain a little Time, I ſhall not want Contrivance.

ACT II. SCENE I.

INdeed, Madam! Is it poſſible your Ladyſhip could have been ſo much in Love?

I could not ſleep; I did not ſleep one Wink for Three Weeks together.

Prodigious! I wonder, Want of Sleep, and ſo much Love, and ſo much Wit as your Ladyſhip has, did not turn your Brain.

O my Dear Cynthia, you muſt not rally your Friend,—But really, as you ſay, I wonder too,—But then I had a Way.—For between you and I, I had Whimſies and Va⯑pours, but I gave them Vent.

How pray, Madam?

O I Writ. Writ abundantly,—Dovonever Write?

Write, what?

Songs, Elegies, Satires, Encomiums, Panegyricks, Lampoons, Plays, or Heroick Poems.

O Lord, not I, Madam; I'm content to be a Courteous Reader.

O Inconſiſtent! In Love, and not Write! if my Lord and I had been both of your Temper, we had never come toge⯑ther,—O bleſs me! What a ſad thing would that have been, if my Lord and I ſhould never have met!

Then neither my Lord nor you would never have met with your Match, on my Conſcience.

O' my Conſcience no more we ſhould; thou ſay'ſt right—For ſure my Lord Froth is as fine a Gentleman, and as much a Man of Quality! Ah! Nothing at all of the Common Air,—I think I may ſay he wants nothing, but a Blue Ribbon and a Star, to make him ſhine, the very Phoſphorus of our Hemiſphere. Do you underſtand thoſe Two hard Words? If you don't, I'll explain 'em to you.

Yes, yes, Madam, I'm not ſo Ignorant.—At leaſt I won't own it, to be troubled with your Inſtructions.

Nay, I beg your Pardon; but being Deriv'd from the Greek, I thought you might have eſcap'd the Etymology.—But I'm the more amaz'd, to find you a Woman of Letters, and not Write! Bleſs me! how [...] Mellefont believe you Love him?

Why Faith, Ma [...], he that won't take my Word, ſhall never have it under my Ha [...]

I vow Mellefont [...] pretty Gentleman, but methinks he wants a Manner.

A Manner! what's that, Madam?

Some diſtinguiſhing Quality, as for Example, the Belle⯑air or Brillant of Mr. Brisk; the Solemnity, yet Complaiſance of my Lord, or ſomething of his own that ſhould look a little Jene-ſcay-quoyſh; he is too much a Mediocrity, in my Mind.

He does not indeed affect either Pertneſs or Formality; for which I like him: Here he comes.

And my Lord with him: Pray obſerve the Difference.

Impertinent Creature, I could almoſt be angry with her now.

My Lord, I have been telling Cynthia, how much I have been in Love with you; I ſwear I have; I'm not aſham'd to own it now; Ah! it makes my Heart leap, I vow I ſigh when I [12] think on't: My dear Lord! Ha, ha, ha, do you remember, my Lord?

Pleaſant Creature! perfectly well, ah! that Look, ay, there it is; who could reſiſt! 'twas ſo my Heart was made a Captive firſt, and ever ſince t' has been in Love with happy Sla⯑very.

O that Tongue, that dear deceitful Tongue! that Charming Softneſs in your Mien and your Expreſſion, and then your Bow! Good my Lord, bow as you did when I gave you my Picture, here ſuppoſe this my Picture—

Pray mind my Lord; ah! he bows Charmingly; nay, my Lord, you ſhan't kiſs it ſo much; I ſhall grow jealous, I vow now.

I ſaw my ſelf there, and kiſs'd it for your Sake.

Ah! Gallantry to the laſt Degree—Mr. Brisk, you're a Judge; was ever any Thing ſo well bred as my Lord?

Never any thing; but your Ladyſhip, let me periſh.

O prettily turn'd again; let me die but you have a great deal of Wit: Mr. Mellefont, don't you think Mr. Brisk has a World of Wit?

O, yes, Madam.

O dear, Madam—

An infinite deal!

O Heav'ns, Madam—

More Wit than any Body.

I'm everlaſtingly your humble Servant, Duce take me, Madam.

Don't you think us a happy Couple?

I vow, my Lord, I think you the happieſt Couple in the World, for you're not only happy in one another, and when you are together, but happy in your ſelves, and by your ſelves.

I hope Mellefont will make a good Husband too.

'Tis my Intereſt to believe he will, my Lord.

D'e think he'll Love you as well as I do my W [...]? I'm afraid not.

I believe he'll Love me better.

Heav'ns! that can never be; but why do you think ſo?

Becauſe he has not ſo much reaſon to be fond of himſelf.

O your humble Servant for that, dear Madam; well, Mellefont, you'll be a happy Creature.

Ay, my Lord, I ſhall have the ſame Reaſon for my Hap⯑pineſs that your Lordſhip has, I ſhall think my ſelf happy.

Ah, that's all.

Your Ladyſhip is in the right; but I'gad I'm wholly turn'd into Satire. I confeſs I Write but ſeldom, but when I do—keen Iambicks I'gad. But my Lord was tel⯑ling me, your Ladyſhip has made an Eſſay toward an Heroick Poem.

Did my Lord tell you? Yes I vow, and the Subject is my Lord's Love to me. And what do you think I call it? I dare ſwear you won't gueſs—The Sillibub, ha, ha, ha.

Becauſe my Lord's Title's Froth, I'gad, ha, ha, ha, Deuce take me very a Propos and Surprizing, ha, ha, ha.

He, Ay, is not it?—And then I call my Lord Spumoſo; and my ſelf, what d'e think I call my ſelf?

Lactilla may be,—'gad I cannot tell.

Biddy, that's all; juſt my own Name.

Biddy! I'gad very pretty—Deuce take me if your Ladyſhip has not the Art of ſurprizing the moſt Naturally in the World,—I hope you'll make me happy in Communicating the Poem.

O, you muſt be my Confident, I muſt ask your Ad⯑vice.

I'm your humble Servant, let me periſh,—I preſume your Ladyſhip has read Boſſu?

O yes, and Rapine, and Dacier upon Ariſtotle and Horace.—My Lord, you muſt not be Jealous, I'm Communi⯑cating all to Mr. Brisk.

No, no, I'll allow Mr. Briſk; have you nothing about you to ſhew him, my Dear?

Yes, I believe I have.—Mr. Briſk, come will you go into the next Room? and there I'll ſhew you what I have.

I'll walk a Turn in the Garden, and come to you.

You're thoughtful, Cynthia?

I'm thinking, tho' Marriage makes Man and Wife one Fleſh, it leaves 'em ſtill Two Fools; and they become more Con⯑ſpicuous by ſetting off one another.

That's only when Two Fools meet, and their Follies are oppos'd.

[...] [...] ⯑ſition [14]of their Wits, render themſelves as ridiculous as Fools. 'Tis an odd Game we're going to Play at: What think you of drawing Stakes, and giving over in time?

No, hang't, that's not endeavouring to win, becauſe it's poſſible we may looſe; ſince we have Shuffled and Cutt, let's e'en turn up Trump now.

Then I find it's like Cards, if either of us have a good Hand it is an Accident of Fortune.

No, Marriage is rather like a Game at Bowls, Fortune in⯑deed makes the Match, and the Two neareſt, and ſometimes the Two fartheſt are together, but the Game depends intirely upon Judgement.

Still it is a Game, and conſequently one of us muſt be a Loſer.

Not at all; only a Friendly Trial of Skill, and the Win⯑nings to be Shared between us.—What's here, the Muſick [...]—Oh, my Lord has promiſed the Company a new Song, we'll get 'em to give it us by the way.

Pray let us have the Favour of you, to practice the Song, before the Company hear it.

You ſhall have my Thanks below.

Gads bud! I am provok'd into a Fermentation, as my Lady Froth ſays; was ever the like read of in Story?

[...]

Pray your Ladyſhip give me leave to be Angry—I'll rattle him up I warrant you, I'll firk him with a Certiorari.

You firk him, I'll firk him my ſelf; pray Sir Paul hold you contented.

Bleſs me, what makes my Father in ſuch a Paſſion!—I never ſaw him thus before.

Hold your ſelf contented, my Lady Plyant,—I find Paſſion coming upon me by Inſpiration, and I cannot ſubmit as formerly, therefore give way.

How now! will you be pleaſed to retire, and—

No marry will I not be pleaſed, I am pleaſed to be angry, that's my Pleaſure at this time.

What can this mean!

Gads my Life, the Man's diſtracted, why how now, who are you? What am I? Slidikins can't I govern you? What did I Marry you for? Am I not to be abſolute and uncontrola⯑ble? Is it fit a Woman of my Spirit, and Conduct, ſhould be con⯑tradicted in a Matter of this Concern?

It concerns me, and only me;—Beſides, I'm not to be govern'd at all times. When I am in Tranquility, my Lady Plyant ſhall command Sir Paul; but when I am provok'd to Fury, I cannot incorporate with Patience and Reaſon,—as ſoon may Tygers match with Tygers, Lambs with Lambs, and every Creature couple with its Foe, as the Poet ſays.—

He's hot-headed ſtill! 'Tis in vain to talk to you; but remember I have a Curtain-Lecture for you, you diſobedient, head⯑ſtrong Brute.

No, 'tis becauſe I won't be headſtrong, becauſe I won't be a Brute, and have my Head fortify'd, that I am thus exaſperated,—But I will protect my Honour, and yonder is the Violater of my Fame.

'Tis my Honour that is concern'd, and the Violation was intended to me. Your Honour! You have none but what is in my keeping, and I can diſpoſe of it when I pleaſe—there⯑fore don't provoke me.

Hum, gads-bud ſhe ſays true.—Well, my Lady, March on, I will fight under you then: I am convinced, as far as Paſſion will permit.

Inhuman and Treacherous.

Thou Serpent and firſt Tempter of Womankind.—

Bleſs me! Sir; Madam; what mean you?

Thy, Thy, come away Thy, touch him not, come [16] hither Girl, go not near him, there's nothing but Deceit about him; Snakes are in his Peruke, and the Crocodile of Nilus in his Belly, he will eat thee up alive.

Diſhonourable, impudent Creature!

For Heav'ns ſake, Madam, to whom do you direct this Language!

Have I hehav'd my ſelf with all the Decorum and Nicc⯑ty, befitting the Perſon of Sir Paul's Wife? Have I preſerv'd my Honour as it were in a Snow-Houſe for theſe three Years paſt? Have I been white and unſully'd even by Sir Paul himſelf?

Nay, ſhe has been an impenetrable Wife, even to me, that's the truth on't.

Have I, I ſay, preſerv'd my ſelf, like a fair Sheet of Pa⯑per, for you to make a Blot upon?—

And ſhe ſhall make a Simile with any Woman in England.

I am ſo amaz'd, I know not what to ſpeak.

Do you think my Daughter, this pretty Creature; gads-bud ſhe's a Wife for a Cherubin! Do you think her fit for noth⯑ing but to be a ſtalking Horſe, to ſtand before you, while you take Aim at my Wife? Gads-bud I was never angry before in my Life, and I'll never be appeas'd again.

Hell and Damnation! This is my Aunt; ſuch Malice can be engendred no where elſe.

Sir Paul, take Cynthia from his Sight; leave me to ſtrike him with the Remorſe of his intended Crime.

Pray, Sir, ſtay, hear him, I dare affirm he's Innocent.

Innocent! Why hark'ee, come hither Thy, hark'ee, I had it from his Aunt, my Siſter Touchwood,—gads-bud he does not care a Farthing for any Thing of thee, but thy Portion, why he's in love with my Wife; he would have tantaliz'd thee, and made a Cuckold of thy poor Father,—and that would cer⯑tainly have broke my Heart—I'm ſure if ever I ſhould have Horns, they would kill me; they would never come kindly, I ſhould die of 'em, like a Child, that was cutting his Teeth—I ſhould indeed, Thy—therefore come away; but Providence has prevent⯑ed all, therefore come away, when I bid you.

I muſt Obey.

O, ſuch a thing! the Impiety of it ſtartles me—to wrong ſo good, ſo fair a Creature, and one that lov'd you ten⯑derly—'tis a Barbarity of Barbarities, and nothing could be guil⯑ty of it—

But the greateſt Villain Imagination can form, I grant it; [17] and next to the Villany of ſuch a Fact, is the Villany of aſperſing me with the Guilt. How? which way was I to wrong her? For yet I underſtand you not.

Why, gads my Life, Couſin Mellefont, you cannot be ſo peremptory as to deny it; when I tax you with it to your Face; for now Sir Paul's gone, you are Corum Nobus.

By Heav'n, I love her more than Life, or—

Fiddle, faddle, don't tell me of this and that, and ev'ry Thing in the World, but give me Mathemacular Demonſtration, anſwer me directly—But I have not Patience—Oh! The Impiety of it, as I was ſaying, and the unparallell'd Wickedneſs! O Merciful Father! How could you think to reverſe Nature ſo, to make the Daughter the Means of procuring the Mother?

The Daughter to procure the Mother!

Ay, for tho' I am not Cynthia's own Mother, I am her Father's Wife; and that's near enough to make it Inceſt.

Inceſt! O my precious Aunt, and the Devil in Conjunction.

O reflect upon the Horror of that, and then the Guilt of deceiving ev'ry Body; Marrying the Daughter, only to make a Cuckold of the Father; and then ſeducing me, debauching my Purity, and perverting me from the Road of Virtue, in which I have trod thus long, and never made one Trip, not one faux pas; O conſider it, what would you have to anſwer for, if you ſhould provoke me to Frailty? Alas! Humanity is feeble, Heav'n knows! very feeble, and unable to ſupport it ſelf.

Where am I? ſure, is it Day? and am I awake, Madam?

And no Body knows how Circumſtances may happen together,—To my thinking, now I could reſiſt the ſtrongeſt Temptation,—But yet I know, 'tis impoſſible for me to know whether I could or not, there's no certainty in the Things of this Life.

Madam, pray give me leave to ask you one Queſtion.—

O Lord, ask me the Queſtion, I'll ſwear I'll refuſe it; I ſwear I'll deny it.—therefore don't ask me, nay you ſhan't ask me, I ſwear I'll deny it. O Gemini, you have brought all the Blood into my Face; I warrant I am as Red as a Turky-Cock; O fie, Couſin Mellefont!

Nay, Madam, hear me; I mean—

Hear you, no, no; I'll deny you firſt, and hear you af⯑terwards: or one does not know how ones Mind may change up⯑on hearing—Hearing is one of the Senſes, and all the Senſes are fallible; I won't truſt my Honour, I aſſure you; my Honour

For Heav'n's ſake, Madam,—

O name it no more—Bleſs me, how can talk of Heav'n! and have ſo much Wickedneſs in your Heart? May be you don't think it a Sin,—They ſay ſome of you Gentlemen don't think it a Sin,—May be it is no Sin to them that don't think it ſo;—Indeed, if I did not think it a Sin—But ſtill my Honour, if it were no Sin,—But then, to marry my Daughter, for the Conveniency of frequent Opportunities,—I'll never conſent to that, as ſure as can be, I'll break the Match.

Death and Amazement,—Madam, upon my Knees—

Nay, nay, riſe up, come you ſhall ſee my good Nature. I know Love is powerful, and no Body can help his Paſſion: 'Tis not your Fault; nor I ſwear it is not mine,—How can I help it, if I have Charms? And how can you help it, if you are made a Captive? I ſwear it's pity it ſhould be a Fault,—But my Honour—well, but your Honour too—but the Sin!—well but the Neceſſity—O Lord, here's ſome Body coming, I dare not ſtay. Well, you muſt conſider of your Crime; and ſtrive as much as can be againſt it,—ſtrive be ſure—But don't be melancholy, don't deſpair,—But never think that I'll grant you any Thing; O Lord, no;—But be ſure you lay aſide all Thoughts of the Marriage, for tho' I know you don't Love Cynthia, only as a blind for your Paſſion to me; yet it will make me Jealous,—O Lord, what did I ſay? Jealous! no, no, I can't be Jealous, for I muſt not Love you,—therefore don't hope,—But don't deſpair neither,—O, they're coming, I muſt fly.

So then,—ſpight of my Care and Foreſight, I am caught, caught in my Security,—Yet this was but a ſhallow Artifice, unworthy of my Matchiavilian Aunt: There muſt be more behind, this is but the firſt Flaſh, the prim⯑ing of her Engine; Deſtruction follows hard, if not moſt preſent⯑ly prevented.

Maskwell, welcome, thy Preſence is a View of Land, appearing to my ſhipwrack'd Hopes: The Witch has rais'd the Storm, and her Miniſters have done their Work; you ſee the Veſſels are parted.

I know it; I met Sir Paul rowing away Cynthia: Come, trouble not your Head, I'll join you together e'er to Morrow Morning, or drown between you in the Attempt.

There's Comfort in a Hand ſtretch'd out, to one that's ſinking; tho' ne'er ſo far off.

No Sinking, nor no Danger,—Come, cheer up; why you don't know, that while I Plead for you, your Aunt has given me a retaining Fee;—Nay, I am your greateſt Enemy, and ſhe does but Journey-Work under me.

Ha! How's this?

What d'ye think of being employ'd in the Execution of all her Plots? Ha, ha, ha, by Heav'n it's true; I have underta⯑ken to break the Match, I have undertaken to make your Uncle Diſinherit you, to get you turn'd out of Doors; and to—Ha, ha, ha, I can't tell you for Laughing,—Oh ſhe has open'd her Heart to me,—I am to turn you a Grazing, and to—Ha, ha, ha, Marry Cynthia my ſelf; there's a Plot for you.

Ha! O ſee, I ſee my riſing Sun! Light breaks thro' Clouds upon me, and I ſhall live in Day—O my Maskwell! How ſhall I thank or praiſe thee; Thou haſt out-witted Woman.—But tell me, how could'ſt thou thus get into her Confidence?—Ha! How? But was it her Contrivance to perſuade my Lady Plyant to this evtravagant Belief?

It was, and to tell you the Truth, I encourag'd it for your Diverſion: Tho' it made you a little uneaſie for the preſent, yet the Reflection of it muſt needs be entertaining,—I warrant ſhe was very Violent at firſt.

Ha, ha, ha, I, a very Fury; but I was moſt afraid of her Violence at laſt,—If you had not come as you did; I don't know what ſhe might have attempted.

Ha, ha, ha, I know her Temper.—Well, you muſt know then, that all my Contrivances were but Bubbles; 'till at laſt I pretended to have been long ſecretly in Love with Cynthia; that did my Buſineſs; that convinc'd your Aunt, I might be truſt⯑ed; ſince it was as much my Intereſt as hers to break the Match: Then ſhe thought my Jealouſie might qualifie me to aſſiſt her in her Revenge. And, in ſhort, in that Belief, told me the Secrets of her Heart. At length we made this Agreement, if I accompliſh her Deſigns (as I told you before) ſhe has ingag'd to put Cynthia with all her Fortune into my Power.

She is moſt Gracious in her Favour,—Well, and dear Jack, how haſt thou Contrived?

I would not have you ſtay to hear it now; for I don't know, but ſhe may come this Way; I am to meet her anon, after that I'll tell you the whole Matter; be here in this Gallery an Hour hence, by that time I imagine our Conſultation may be over.

I will; 'till then Succeſs attend thee.

'Till then, Succeſs will attend me; for when I meet you, I meet the only Obſtacle to my Fortune. Cynthia, let thy Beauty gild my Crimes; and whatſoever I commit of Treachery or Deceit, ſhall be imputed to me as a Merit—Treachery, what Trea⯑chery? Love cancels all the Bonds of Friendſhip, and ſets Men right upon their firſt Foundations.

Duty to Kings, Piety to Parents, Gratitude to Benefactors, and Fidelity to Friends, are different and particular Ties: But the Name of Rival cuts 'em all aſunder, and is a general Acquit⯑tance—Rival is equal, and Love like Death an univerſal Level⯑ler of Mankind. Ha! But is there not ſuch a Thing as Honeſty? Yes, and whoſoever has it about him, bears an Enemy in his Breaſt: For your Honeſt Man, as I take it, is that nice, ſcrupu⯑lous, conſcientious Perſon, who will cheat no Body but himſelf; ſuch another Coxcomb, as your Wiſe Man, who is too hard for all the World, and will be made a Fool of by no body, but him⯑ſelf: Ha, ha, ha. Well for Wiſdom and Honeſty, give me Cun⯑ning and Hypocriſie; oh, 'tis ſuch a Pleaſure, to angle for fair⯑fac'd Fools! Then that hungry Gudgeon Credulity, will bite at any thing—Why, let me ſee, I have the ſame Face, the ſame Words and Accents, when I ſpeak what I do think; and when I ſpeak what I do not think—the very ſame—and dear Diſſimulation is the only Art, not to be known from Nature.

ACT III. SCENE I.

MY Lord, can you blame my Brother Plyant, if he refuſe his Daughter upon this Provocation? The Contract's void by this unheard of Impiety.

I don't believe it true; he has better Principles—Pho, 'tis Nonſenſe. Come, come, I know my Lady Plyant has a large Eye, and wou'd centre every Thing in her own Circle; 'tis not the firſt time ſhe has miſtaken Reſpect for Love, and made Sir Paul jealous of the Civility of an undeſigning Perſon, the bet⯑ter to beſpeak his Security in her unfeigned Pleaſures.

You cenſure hardly, my Lord; my Siſter's Honour is very well known.

Yes, I believe I know ſome that have been familiarly acquainted with it. This is a little Trick wrought by ſome piti⯑ful Contriver, envious of my Nephew's Merit.

Nay, my Lord, it may be ſo, and I hope it will be found ſo: But that will require ſome time; for in ſuch a Caſe as this, Demonſtration is neceſſary.

There ſhould have been Demonſtration of the contrary too, before it had been believ'd—

So I ſuppoſe there was.

How? Where? When?

That I can't tell; nay I don't ſay there was—I am willing to believe as favourably of my Nephew as I can.

I don't know that.

How? Don't you believe that, ſay you, my Lord?

No, I don't ſay ſo—I confeſs I am troubled to find you ſo cold in his Defence.

His Defence! Bleſs me, wou'd you have me defend an ill Thing.

You believe it then?

I don't know; I am very unwilling to ſpeak my Thoughts in any Thing that may be to my Couſin's Diſadvantage; beſides, I find, my Lord you are prepared to receive an ill Impreſſion from any Opinion of mine which is not conſenting with your own: But ſince I am like to be ſuſpected in the End, and 'tis a Pain any longer to diſſemble, I own it to you; in ſhort I do believe it, nay, and can believe any thing worſe, if it were laid to his Charge—Don't ask me my Reaſons, my Lord, for they are not fit to be told you.

I'm amaz'd, here muſt be ſomething more than ordinary in this.

Not fit to be told me, Madam? You can have no Intereſts, wherein I am not concern'd, and conſequently the ſame Reaſons ought to be convincing to me, which create your Satisſaction or Diſquiet.

But thoſe which cauſe my Diſquiet, I am willing to have remote from your hearing. Good my Lord, don't preſs me.

Don't oblige me to preſs you.

Whatever it was, 'tis paſt: And that is better to be unknown which cannot be prevented; therefore let me beg you reſt ſatisfied—

When you have told me, I will—

You won't.

By my Life, my Dear, I will.

What if you can't.

How? Then I muſt know, nay I will: No more trifling—I charge you tell me—By all our Mutual Peace to come; upon your Duty—

Nay, my Lord, you need ſay no more, to make me lay my Heart before you, but don't be thus tranſported; compoſe your ſelf: It is not of Concern, to make you loſe one Minute's Temper. 'Tis not indeed my Dear. Nay, by this Kiſs you ſhan't be angry. O Lord, I wiſh I had not told you any thing.—Indeed, my Lord, you have frighted me. Nay, look pleas'd, I'll tell you.

Well, well.

Nay, but will you be calm—indeed it's nothing but—

But what?

But will you promiſe me not to angry—Nay you muſt—Not to be angry with Mellefont—I dare ſwear he's ſorry—and were it to do again, would not—

Sorry, for what? 'Death, you rack me with Delay.

Nay, no great Matter, only—Well I have your Promiſe—Pho, why nothing, only your Nephew had a mind to amuſe himſelf, ſometimes with a little Gallantry towards me. Nay, I can't think he meant any thing ſeriouſly, but methought it look'd odly.

Confuſion and Hell, what do I hear!

Or, may be, he thought he was not enough a-kin to me, upon your Account, and had a mind to create a nearer Relation on his own; a Lover you know, my Lord—Ha, ha, ha. Well but that's all—Now you have it; well remember your Pro⯑miſe, my Lord, and don't take any Notice of it to him.

No, no, no—Damnation!

Nay, I ſwear you muſt not—A little harmleſs Mirth—Only miſplac'd, that's all—But if it were more, 'tis over now, and all's well. For my Part I have forgot it; and [23] ſo has he, I hope—for I have not heard any thing from him theſe Two Days.

Theſe Two Days! Is it ſo freſh? Unnatural Villain! Death, I'll have him ſtripp'd and turn'd naked out of my Doors this Moment, and let him rot and periſh, inceſtuous Brute!

O for Heav'ns ſake, my Lord, you'll ruin me if you take ſuch publick Notice of it, it will be a Town-talk: Conſider your own and my Honour—nay, I told you you would not be ſatisfied when you knew it.

Before I've done, I will be ſatisfy'd. Ungrateful Monſter, how long?—

Lord, I don't know: I wiſh my Lips had grown together when I told you—Almoſt a Twelvemonth—Nay, I won't tell you any more, 'till you are your ſelf. Pray, my Lord, don't let the Company ſee you in this Diſorder—Yet, I confeſs, I can't blame you; for I think I was never ſo ſurpriz'd in my Life—Who would have thought my Nephew could have ſo miſ⯑conſtrued my Kindneſs—But will you go into your Cloſet, and recover your Temper. I'll make an Excuſe of ſudden Buſi⯑neſs to the Company, and come to you. Pray, good dear my Lord, let me beg you do now: I'll come immediately, and tell you all; will you, my Lord?

I will—I am mute with Wonder.

Well but go now, here's ſome body coming.

Well I go—You won't ſtay, for I would hear more of this.

I follow inſtantly—So.

This was a Maſter-Piece, and did not need my Help—tho' I ſtood ready for a Cue to come in and confirm all, had ther been Occaſion.

Have you ſeen Mellefont?

I have; and am to meet him here about this time.

How does he bear his Diſappointment?

Secure in my Aſſiſtance, he ſeem'd not much afflicted [...] but rather laugh'd at the ſhallow Artifice, which ſo little tim [...] muſt of neceſſity diſcover. Yet he is apprehenſive of ſome far⯑ther Deſign of yours, and has engaged me to watch you. I be⯑lieve he will hardly be able to prevent your Plot, [...] have you uſe Caution and Expedition.

Expedition indeed; for all we do, [...] the remaining Part of this Ev'ning and before the Company [24] break up, leſt my Lord ſhould cool, and have an Opportunity to talk with him privately—My Lord muſt not ſee him again.

By no Means; therefore you muſt aggravate my Lord's Diſpleaſure to a Degree that will admit of no Conference with him.—What think you of mentioning me?

How?

To my Lord, as having been privy to Mellefont's De⯑ſign upon you, but ſtill uſing my utmoſt Endeavours to diſſuade him: Tho' my Friendſhip and Love to him has made me conceal it; yet you may ſay, I threatned the next time he attempted any thing of that kind, to diſcover it to my Lord.

To what end is this?

It will confirm my Lord's Opinion of my Honour and Honeſty, and create in him a new Confidence in me, which (ſhould this Deſign miſcarry) will be neceſſary to the forming another Plot that I have in my Head—To cheat you, as well as thereſt.

I'll do it—I'll tell him you hindred him once from forcing me.

Excellent! Your Ladyſhip has a moſt improving Fancy. You had beſt go to my Lord, keep him as long as you can in his Cloſet, and I doubt not but you will mould him to what you pleaſe; your Gueſts are ſo engaged in their own Follies and In⯑trigues, they'll miſs neither of you.

When ſhall we meet?—At Eight this Ev'ning in my Chamber; there rejoice at our Succeſs, and toy away an Hour in Mirth.

I will not fail.

I know what ſhe means by toying away an Hour well enough. Pox I have loſt all Appetite to her; yet ſhe's a fine Woman, and I lov'd her once. But I don't know, ſince I have been in a great mea⯑ſure kept by her, the Caſe is alter'd; what was my Pleaſure is be⯑come my Duty: And I have as little Stomach to her now as if I were her Husband. Should ſhe ſmoke my Deſign upon Cynthia, I were in a fine pickle. She has a damn'd penetrating Head, and knows how to interpret a Coldneſs the right Way; therefore I muſt diſſemble Ardour and Ecſtaſie, that's reſolv'd: How eaſily and pleaſantly is that diſſembled before Fruition! Pox on't that a Man can't drink without quenching his Thirſt. Ha! yonder comes Mellefont thoughtful. Let me think: Meet her at Eight—hum—ha! By Heav'n I have it—If I can ſpeak to my Lord before—Was it my Brain or Providence? No matter which—I will deceive 'em all, and yet ſecure my ſelf, 'twas a lucky Thought! Well this Double-Dealing is a Jewel.

Here he comes [...]

Mercy on us, what will the Wickedneſs of this World come to?

How now, Jack? What ſo full of Contemptation that you run over!

I'm glad you're come, for I could not contain my ſelf any longer: And was juſt going to give vent to a Secret, which no Body but you ought to drink down.—Your Aunt's juſt gone from hence.

And having truſted thee with the Secrets of her Soul, thou art villainouſly bent to diſcover 'em all to me, ha?

I'm afraid my Frailty leans that way—But I don't know whether I can in Honour diſcover all.

All, all Man, what you may in Honour betray her as far as ſhe betrays her ſelf. No tragical Deſign upon my Perſon I hope.

No, but it's a Comical Deſign upon mine.

What doſt thou mean?

Liſten, and be Dumb, we have been bargaining about the Rate of your Ruin—

Like any Two Guardians to an Orphan Heireſs—Well.

And whereas Pleaſure is generally paid with Miſchief, what Miſchief I do is to be paid with Pleaſure.

So when you've ſwallow'd the Potion, you ſweeten your Mouth with a Plumb.

You are Merry, Sir, but I ſhall probe your Conſtituti⯑on. In ſhort, the Price of your Baniſhment is to be paid with the Perſon of—

Of Cynthia, and her Fortune—Why you forget you told me this before.

No, no—So far you are right; and I am, as an earneſt of that Bargain, to have full and free Poſſeſſion of the Per⯑ſon of—your Aunt.

Ha!—Pho, you trifle.

By this Light, I'm ſerious; all Raillery apart—I knew 'twould ſtun you: This Evening at Eight ſhe will receive me in her Bed-Chamber.

Hell and the Devil, is ſhe abandon'd of all Grace—Why the Woman is poſſeſs'd—

Well, will you [...]

By Heav'n into a hot [...]

[...] you would not— [...] would not be ſo conve⯑ [...] [...]

What d'ye mean!

Mean? Not to diſappoint the Lady I aſſure you—Ha, ha, ha, how gravely he looks—Come, come, I wont perplex you. 'Tis the only Thing that Providence could have contriv'd to make me capable of ſerving you, either to my Inclination or your own Neceſſity.

How, how, for Heav'ns ſake, dear Maskwell?

Why thus—I'll go according to Appointment; you ſhall have Notice at the critical Minute to come and ſurprize your Aunt and me together: Counterfeit a Rage againſt me, and I'll make my Eſcape through the private Paſſage from her Chamber, which I'll take care to leave open: 'twill be hard, if then you can't bring her to any Conditions. For this Diſcovery will diſ⯑arm her of all Defence, and leave her entirely at your Mercy: Nay, ſhe muſt ever after be in awe of you.

Let me adore thee, my better Genius! By Heav'n I think it is not in the Power of Fate to diſappoint my Hopes—My Hopes, my Certainty!

Well, I'll meet you here, within a Quarter of Eight, and give you notice.

Good Fortune ever go along with thee.

Mellefont, get out o'th' Way, my Lady Plyant's com⯑ing, and I ſhall never ſucceed while thou art in ſight—Tho' ſhe begins to tack about; but I made Love a great while to no purpoſe.

Why, what's the Matter? She's convinc'd that I don't care for her.

'Pox I can't get an Anſwer from her, that does not be⯑gin with her Honour, or her Virtue, her Religion, or ſome ſuch Cant. Then ſhe has told me the whole Hiſtory of Sir Paul's Nine Years Courtſhip; how he has lain for whole Nights toge⯑ther upon the Stairs, before her Chamber-Door; and that the firſt Favour he receiv'd from her, was a Piece of an old Scarlet Pet⯑ticoat for a Stomacher; which ſince the Day of his Marriage, he has, out of a piece of Gallantry, converted into a Night-Cap, and wears it ſtill with much Solemnity on his Anniverſary Wed⯑ding-Night.

That I have ſeen, with the Ceremony thereunto belong⯑ing—For on that Night he creeps in at the Bed's Feet like a gull'd Baſſa that has marry'd a Relation of the Grand Signior's, and that Night he [...] his Arms at Liberty. Did not ſhe tell you [27] at what Diſtance ſhe keeps [...]. He [...] at ſome certain times, that is I ſuppoſe when ſhe apprehends be⯑ing with Child, he never has the Privilege of uſing the Familia⯑rity of a Husband with his Wife. He was once given to ſcram⯑bling with his Hands and ſprawling in his Sleep; and ever ſince ſhe has him ſwaddled up in Blankets, and his Hands and Feet ſwath'd down, and ſo put to Bed; and there he lies with a great Beard, like a Ruſſian Bear upon a drift of Snow. You are very great with him, I wonder he never told you his Grievances, he will I warrant you.

Exceſſively fooliſh—But that which gives me moſt Hopes of her, is her telling me of the many Temptations ſhe has reſiſted.

Nay, then you have her; for a Woman's bragging to a Man that ſhe has overcome Temptations, is an Argument that they were weakly offer'd, and a Challenge to him to engage her more irreſiſtably. 'Tis only an inhancing the Price of the Com⯑modity, by telling you how many Cuſtomers have underbid her.

Nay, I don't deſpair—But ſtill ſhe has a grudging to you—I talk'd to her t'other Night at my Lord Froth's Maſ⯑querade, when I'm ſatisfied ſhe knew me, and I had no reaſon to complain of my Reception; but I find Women are not the ſame bare-faced and in Masks,—and a Vizor diſguiſes their Incli⯑nations as much as their Faces.

'Tis a Miſtake, for Women may moſt properly be ſaid to be unmask'd when they wear Vizors; for that ſecures them from Bluſhing, and being out of Countenance, and next to being in the Dark, or alone, they are moſt truly themſelves in a Vizor Mask. Here they come, I'll leave you. Ply her cloſe, and by and by clap a Billet doux into her Hand: For a Woman never thinks a Man truly in Love with her, 'till he has been Fool enough to think of her out of her Sight, and to loſe ſo much time as to write to her.

Shan't we diſturb your Meditation, Mr. Careleſs: You wou'd be private?

You bring that along with you, Sir Paul, that ſhall be always welcome to my Privacy.

O, ſweet Sir, you load your humble Servants, both me and my Wife, with continual Favours.

Sir Paul, what a Phraſe was there? You will be making Anſwers, and taking that upon you, which ought to lie upon me: [28] That you ſhould have ſo little Breeding to think Mr. Careleſs did not apply himſelf to me. Pray what have you about you to en⯑tertain any Bodies Privacy? I ſwear and declare in the Face of the World I'm ready to bluſh for your Ignorance.

I acquieſce, my Lady; but don't Snub ſo loud.

Mr. Careleſs, If a Perſon that is wholly illiterate might be ſuppoſed to be capable of being qualify'd to make a ſuitable Return to thoſe Obligations which you are pleaſed to confer upon one that is wholly incapable of being qualify'd in all thoſe Cir⯑cumſtances, I'm ſure I ſhou'd rather attempt it than any thing in the World,

for I'm ſure there's nothing in the World that I would rather.

But I know Mr. Care⯑leſs is ſo great a Critick and ſo fine a Gentleman, that it is im⯑poſſible for me—

O Heav'ns! Madam, you confound me.

Gad's-bud, ſhe's a fine Perſon—

O Lord! Sir, pardon me, we Women have not thoſe Advantages: I know my own Imperfections—But at the ſame time you muſt give me leave to declare in the Face of the World that no Body is more ſenſible of Favours and Things; for with the Reſerve of my Honour, I aſſure you, Mr. Careleſs I don't know any thing in the World I would refuſe to a Perſon ſo meritorious—You'll Pardon my want of Expreſſion.—

O your Ladyſhip is abounding in all Excellence, particu⯑larly that of Phraſe.

You are ſo Obliging, Sir.

Your Ladyſhip is ſo Charming.

So, now, now; now, my Lady.

So well bred.

So ſurprizing.

So well dreſt, ſo boon Mein, ſo eloquent, ſo unaffected, ſo eaſie, ſo free, ſo particular, ſo agreeable—

Ay, ſo, ſo, there.

O Lord, I beſeech you, Madam, don't—

So gay, ſo graceful, ſo good Teeth, ſo fine Shape, ſo fine Limbs, ſo fine Linnen, and I don't doubt but you have a very good Skin, Sir,

For, Heav'ns ſake, Madam—I'm quite out of Counte⯑nance.

And my Lady [...]s quite out of Breath; you ſhould hear—Gad's-bud, you may talk of my Lady Froth.

O fie, fie, not to be named of a Day—My Lady Froth is very well in her Accompliſhments—But it is when my Lady Plyant is not thought of—If that can ever be,

O you overcome me—That is ſo exceſſive

Nay, I ſwear and vow that was pretty.

O Sir Paul, you are the happieſt Man alive. Such a Lady! that is the Envy of her Sex, and the Admiration of ours.

Your humble Servant, I am I thank Heav'n in a fine way of living, as I may ſay, peacefully and happily, and I think need not envy any of my Neighbours, bleſſed be Providence—Ay, truly, Mr. Careleſs, my Lady is a great Bleſſing, a fine, di⯑ſcreet, well-ſpoken Woman as you ſhall ſee—If it becomes me to ſay ſo; and we live very comfortably together; ſhe is a little haſty ſometimes, and ſo am I; but mine's ſoon over, and then I'm ſo ſorry—O, Mr. Careleſs, if it were not for one thing—

How often have you been told of that, you Jackanapes?

Gad ſo, gad's-bud—Tim. carry it to my Lady, you ſhould have carry'd it to my Lady firſt.

'Tis directed to your Worſhip.

Well, well, my Lady reads all Letters firſt—Child, do ſo no more; d'ye hear Tim.

No, and pleaſe you.

A Humour of my Wife's, you know Women have little Fancies—But as I was telling you, Mr. Careleſs, if it were not for one thing, I ſhould think my ſelf the happieſt Man in the World; indeed that touches me near, very near.

What can that be, Sir Paul?

Why, I have, I thank Heav'n, a very plentiful For⯑tune, a good Eſtate in the Country, ſome Houſes in Town, and ſome Mony, a pretty tolerable perſonal Eſtate; and it is a great Grief to me, indeed is is, Mr. Careleſs, that I have not a Son to Inherit this—'Tis true, I have a Daughter, and a fine Duti⯑tiful Child ſhe is, though I ſay it, bleſſed be Providence I may ſay; for indeed, Mr. Careleſs, I am mightily beholding to Provi⯑dence—A poor unworthy Sinner—But if I had a Son, ah, that's my Affliction, and my only Affliction; indeed I cannot re⯑frain Tears when it comes to my Mind [...]

Why, methinks th [...] [...] my La⯑dy's a fine likely Woman—

Oh [...] a fine likely Woman as you ſhall ſee in a Sum⯑mer's [30] Day—Indeed ſhe is, Mr. Careleſs, in all Reſpects.

And I ſhould not have taken you to have been ſo old—

Alas, that's not it, Mr. Careleſs; ah! that's not it; no, no, you ſhoot wide of the Mark a Mile; indeed you do, that's not it, Mr. Careleſs; no, no, that's not it.

No, what can be the Matter then?

You'll ſcarcely believe me, when I ſhall tell you my Lady is ſo Nice—It's very ſtrange, but it's true: Too true—ſhe's ſo very Nice, that I don't believe ſhe would touch a Man for the World—At leaſt not above once a Year; I'm ſure I have found it ſo; and alas, what's once a Year to an old Man, who would do good in his Generation? Indeed it's true, Mr. Careleſs, it breaks my Heart—I am her Husband, as I may ſay, though far unworthy of that Honour, yet I am her Husband; but alas-a-day, I have no more Familiarity with her Perſon—as to that Matter—than with my own Mother—no indeed.

Alas-a-day, this is a lamentable Story; my Lady muſt be told on't; ſhe muſt i'faith, Sir Paul; 'tis an Injury to the World.

Ah! would to Heav'n you would, Mr. Careleſs; you are mightily in her Favour.

I warrant you, what we muſt have a Son ſome way or other.

Indeed, I ſhould be mightily bound to you, if you could bring it about, Mr. Careleſs.

Here, Sir Paul, it's from your Steward, here's a Return of 600 Pounds; you may take Fifty of it for your next half Year.

How does my Girl? come hither to thy Father, poor Lamb, thou'rt Melancholy.

Heav'n, Sir Paul, you amaze me, of all things in the World—You are never pleas'd but when we are all upon the broad Grin; all Laugh and no Company; ah, then 'tis ſuch a Sight to ſee ſome Teeth—Sure you're a great Admirer of my Lady Whifler, Mr. Sneer, and Sir Laurence Loud, and that Gang.

I vow and ſwear ſhe's a very merry Woman, but, I think ſhe laughs a little too much.

Merry! O Lord, wh [...] [...] Wo⯑man of Quality—You have [...] Day, Madam?

Yes my Lord—I muſt [...]

O moſt ridiculous, a perpetual Conſort of laughing without any Harmony; for ſure, my Lord, to laugh out of Time, is as diſagreable as to ſing out of Time or out of Tune.

Hee, hee, hee, right; and then, my Lady Whifler is ſo ready—ſhe always comes in three Bars too ſoon—And then, what do they laugh at? For you know laughing without a Jeſt is as impertinent; hee! as, as—

As Dancing without a Fiddle.

Juſt 'ifaith, that was at my Tongue's end.

But that cannot be properly ſaid of them, for I think they are all in good Nature with the World, and only Laugh at one another; and you muſt allow they have all Jeſts in their Per⯑ſons, though they have none in their Converſation.

True, as I'm a Perſon of Honour—For Heav'ns ſake let us ſacriſice 'em to Mirth a little.

'Gads ſo—Wife, Wife, my Lady Plyant, I have a Word.

I'm buſie, Sir Paul, I wonder at your Impertinence—

Sir Paul, harkee, I'm reaſoning the Matter you know; Madam,—if your Ladyſhip pleaſe, we'll diſcourſe of this in the next Room.

O ho, I wiſh you good Succeſs, I wiſh you good Suc⯑ceſs. Boy, tell my Lady, when ſhe has done, I would ſpeak with her below.

Then you think that Epiſode between Suſan, the Dairy-Maid, and our Coach-man is not amiſs; you know, I may ſup⯑poſe the Dairy in Town, as well as in the Country.

Incomparable, let me periſh—But then being an He⯑roick Poem, had not you better call him a Charioteer? Charioteer ſounds great; beſides your Ladyſhip's Coachman having a red Face, and you comparing him to the Sun—And you know the Sun is call'd Heav'ns Charioteer.

Oh, infinitely better; I'm extreamly beholding to you for the Hint; ſtay, we'll read over thoſe half a Score Lines again.

Let me ſee here, you know what goes be⯑fore, the Compariſon, you know.

I'm afraid that Simile won't do in wet Weather—Be⯑cauſe you ſay the Sun ſhines ev'ry Day [...]

No, for the Sun is won't, but it will do for the Coach⯑man, for you know there's moſt Occaſion for a Coach in wet Weather.

Right, right, that ſaves all.

Then I don't ſay the Sun ſhines all the Day, but that he peeps now and then, yet he does ſhine all the Day too, you know, tho' we don't ſee him.

Right, but the Vulgar will never comprehend that.

Well, you ſhall here—Let me ſee.

That's right, all's well, all's well.

Ay, Charioteer does better.

For Suſan, you know, is Thetis, and ſo—

Incomparable well and proper, Igad—But I have one Exception to make—Don't you think Bilk (I know its good Rhime) but don't you think Bilk and Fare too like a Hack⯑ney Coach-man?

I ſwear and vow I'm afraid ſo—And yet our Jehu was a Hackney Coach-man, when my Lord took him.

Was that he then, I'm anſwer'd, if Jehu was a Hackney Coach-man—You may put that in the marginal Notes tho', to prevent Criticiſm—Only mark it with a ſmall Aſteriſm, and ſay,—Jehu was formerly a Hackney Coach-man.

I will; you'd oblige me extremely to write Notes to the whole Poem.

With all my Heart and Soul, and proud of the vaſt Honour, let me periſh.

Hee, hee, hee, my Dear, have you done—won't you join with us, we were laughing at my Lady Whifler, and Mr. Sneer.

—Ay my Dear—Were you? Oh filthy Mr. Sneer; he's a nauſeous Figure, a moſt fulſmick Fop, Foh—He ſpent Two Days together in going about Covent-Garden to ſuit the Li⯑ning of his Coach with his Complexion.

O ſilly! yet his Aunt is as fond of him, as if ſhe had brought the Ape into the World her ſelf.

Who, my Lady Toothleſs; O, ſhe's a mortifying Specta⯑cle; ſhe's always chewing the Cud like an old Yew.

Fie, Mr. Brisk, 'tis Eringo's for her Cough.

I have ſeen her take 'em half chew'd out of her Mouth, to laugh, and then put 'em in again—Foh.

Foh.

Then ſhe's always ready to laugh when Sneer offers to ſpeak—And ſits in Expectation of his no Jeſt, with her Gums bare, and her Mouth open—

Like an Oyſter at low Ebb, I'gad—Ha, ha, ha.

Well, I find there are no Fools ſo inconſidera⯑ble in themſelves, but they can render other People contemptible in expoſing their Infirmities.

Then that t'other great ſtrapping Lady—I can't hit of her Name; the old fat Fool that Paints ſo exorbitantly.

I know whom you mean—But Deuce take me I can't hit of her Name neither—Paints d'ye ſay? Why ſhe lays it on with a Trowel—Then ſhe has a great Beard that briſtles through it, and makes her look as if ſhe were plaiſter'd with Lime and Hair, let me periſh.

Oh you made a Song upon her, Mr. Brisk.

He? e'gad, ſo I did—My Lord can ſing it.

O good my Lord let's hear it.

'Tis not a Song neither—It's a ſort of an Epigram, or rather an Epigrammatick Sonnet; I don't know what to call it, but it's Satire.—Sing it my Lord.

Short, but there's Salt in't; my way of Writing I'gad.

How now?

Your Ladyſhip's Chair is come.

Is Nurſe and the Child in it?

Yes, Madam.

O the dear Creature! Let's go ſee it.

I ſwear, my Dear, you'll ſpoil that Child, with ſend⯑ing it to and again ſo often, this is the Seventh Time the Chair has gone for her to Day.

O-law, I ſwear it's but the Sixth,—and I han't ſeen her theſe two Hours—The poor dear Creature—I ſwear, my Lord, you don't Love poor little Sapho—Come, my dear Cynthia, Mr. Brisk, we'll go ſee Sapho, tho' my Lord won't

I'll wait upon your Ladyſhip.

Pray, Madam, how old is Lady Sapho?

Three Quarters, but I ſwear ſhe has a World of Wit, and can ſing a Tune already? My Lord, won't you go? Won't you? What not to ſee Saph? Pray, my Lord, come ſee little Saph. I knew you cou'd not ſtay.

Tis not ſo hard to counterfeit Joy in the depth of Affli⯑ction, as to diſſemble Mirth in Company of Fools—Why ſhould I call 'em Fools? The World thinks better of 'em; for theſe have Quality and Education, Wit and fine Converſation, are receiv'd and admir'd by the World—If not, they like and admire themſelves—And why is not that true Wiſdom, for 'tis Happineſs: And for ought I know, we have miſapply'd the Name all this while, and miſtaken the Thing: Since

ACT IV. SCENE I.

I Heard him loud as I came by the Cloſet-Door, and my Lady with him, but ſhe ſeem'd to moderate his Paſſion.

Ay, Hell thank her, as gentle Breezes moderate a Fire; but I ſhall counter-work her Spells, and ride the Witch in her own Bridle.

It's impoſſible, ſhe'll caſt beyond you ſtill—I'll lay my Life it will never be a Match.

What?

Between you and me.

Why ſo?

My Mind gives me it won't—becauſe we are both willing; we each of us ſtrive to reach the Gole, and hinder one another in the Race; I ſwear it never do's well when the Parties are ſo agreed—For when People walk Hand in Hand, there's neither overtaking nor meeting: We Hunt in Couples where we both purſue the ſame Game, but forget one another; and 'tis becauſe we are ſo near that we don't think of coming together.

Hum, 'gad I believe there's ſomething in't;—Mar⯑riage is the Game that we Hunt, and while we think that we on⯑ly have it in View, I don't ſee but we have it in our Power,

Within reach; for Example, give me your Hand; why have you look'd through the wrong End of the Perſpective all this while; for nothing has been between us but our Fears.

I don't know why we ſhould not ſteal out of the Houſe this Moment and Marry one another, without Conſideration or the Fear of Repentance. Pox o'Fortune, Portion; Settlements and Jointures.

Ay, ay, what have we to do with 'em; you know we Marry for Love.

Love, Love, down-right very Villainous Love.

And he that can't live upon Love, deſerves to die in a Ditch.—Here then, I give you my Promiſe, in ſpight of Duty, any Temptation of Wealth, your Inconſtancy, or my own Incli⯑nation to change—

To run moſt wilfully and unreaſonably away with me this Moment, and be Married.

Hold—Never to Marry any Body elſe.

That's but a kind of Negative Conſent.—Why, you won't baulk the Frolick?

If you had not been ſo aſſured of your own Conduct I would not—But 'tis but reaſonable that ſince I conſent to like a Man without the vile Conſideration of Mony, he ſhould give me a very evident Demonſtration of his Wit: Therefore let me ſee you undermine my Lady Touchwood, as you boaſted, and force her to give her Conſent, and then—

I'll do't.

And I'll do't.

This very next enſuing Hour of Eight a Clock, is the laſt Minute of her Reign, unleſs the Devil aſſiſt her in propria per⯑ſona.

Well, if the Devil ſhould aſſiſt her, and your Plot miſ⯑carry.—

Ay, what am I to truſt to then?

Why if you give me very clear demonſtration that it was the Devil, I'll allow for irreſiſtable odds. But if I find it to be only Chance, or Deſtiny, or unlucky Stars, or any thing but the very Devil, I'm inexorable: Only ſtill I'll keep my Word, and live a Maid for your ſake.

And you won't die one, for your own, ſo ſtill there's Hope.

Here's my Mother-in-Law, and your Friend Careleſs, I would not have 'em ſee us together yet.

I ſwear, Mr. Careleſs, you are very alluring—And ſo many fine Things, and nothing is ſo moving to me as a fine Thing. Well, I muſt do you this Juſtice, and declare in the Face of the World, never any Body gain'd ſo far upon me as your ſelf; with Bluſhes I muſt own it, you have ſhaken, as I may ſay, the very Foundation of my Honour—Well, ſure if I eſcape your Im⯑portunities, I ſhall value my ſelf as long as I live, I ſwear.

And Deſpiſe me.

The laſt of any Man in the World, by my Purity; now you make me ſwear—O Gratitude forbid, that I ſhould ever be wanting in a reſpectful Acknowledgment of an intire Reſignation of all my beſt Wiſhes, for the Perſon and Parts of ſo accompliſh'd a Perſon, whoſe Merit challenges much more, I'm ſure, than my illiterate Praiſes can deſcription;

Ah Heav'ns, Madam, you ruin me with Kindneſs; your Charming Tongue purſues the Victory of your Eyes, while at your Feet your poor Adorer dies.

Ah! Very fine.

Ah why are you ſo Fair, ſo bewitching Fair? O let me grow to the Ground here, and feaſt upon that Hand; O let me preſs it to my Heart, my trembling Heart, the nimble Movement ſhall inſtruct your Pulſe, and teach it to allarm Deſire.

[Zoons I'm almoſt at the end of my Cant, if ſhe does not yield quickly.

O that's ſo paſſionate and fine, I cannot hear it—I am not ſafe if I ſtay, and muſt leave you.

And muſt you leave me! Rather let me languiſh out a Wretched Life, and breath my Soul beneath your Feet.

[I muſt ſay the ſame Thing over again, and can't help it.

I ſwear I am ready to languiſh too—O my Ho⯑nour! Whither is it going? I proteſt you have given me the Pal⯑pitation of the Heart.

Can you be ſo cruel.—

O riſe I beſeech you, ſay no more 'till you riſe—Why did you kneel ſo long? I ſwear I was ſo tranſported, I did not ſee it.—Well, to ſhew you how far you have gain'd upon me; I aſſure you if Sir Paul ſhould die, of all Mankind there's none I'd ſooner make my ſecond Choice.

O Heav'n! I can't out live this Night without your Fa⯑vour—I feel my Spirits faint, a general Dampneſs over⯑ſpreads my Face, a cold deadly Dew already vents through all my Pores, and will to Morrow waſh me for ever from your Sight, and drown me in my Tomb.

O you have Conquer'd, ſweet, melting, moving Sir, you have Conquer'd—What Heart of Marble can refrain to Weep, and yield to ſuch ſad Sayings.—

I thank Heav'n, they are the ſaddeſt that I ever ſaid—Oh!

[I ſhall never contain Laughter.

Oh, I yield my ſelf all up to your uncontroulable Em⯑braces—Say, thou dear dying Man, when, where, and how.—Ah, there's Sir Paul.

'Slife, yonder's Sir Paul, but if he were not come, I'm ſo tranſported I cannot ſpeak—This Note will inform you.

Thou art my tender Lambkin, and ſhalt do what thou wilt—But endeavour to forget this Mellefont.

I would obey you to my Power, Sir; but if I have not him, I have ſworn never to Marry.

Never to Marry! Heav'ns forbid; muſt I neither have Sons nor Grandſons? muſt the Family of the Plyants be utterly extinct for want of Iſſue Male. Oh Impiety! But did you ſwear, did that ſweet Creature ſwear! ha? How durſt you ſwear without my Conſent, ah? Gads-bud, who am I?

Pray don't be angry, Sir, when I ſwore, I had your Con⯑ſent, and therefore I ſwore.

Why then the revoking my Conſent does annul, or make of none effect your Oath: So you may unſwear it again [...]

Ay, but my Conſcience never will.

Gads-bud no matter for that, Conſcience and Law never go together; you muſt not expect that.

Ay, but Sir Paul, I conceive if ſhe has ſworn, d'ye mark me, if ſhe has once ſworn; it is moſt unchriſtian, inhuman, and obſcene that ſhe ſhou'd break it.—I'll make up the Match again, becauſe Mr. Careleſs ſaid it would oblige him.

Does your Ladyſhip conceive ſo—Why I was of that Opinion once too—Nay if your Ladyſhip conceives ſo, I'm of that Opinion again; but I can neither find my Lord and my Lady to know what they intend.

I'm ſatisfied that my Couſin Mellefont has been much wrong'd.

I'm amazed to find her of our ſide, for I'm ſure ſhe lov'd him.

I know my Lady Touchwood has no Kindneſs for him; and beſides I have been inform'd by Mr. Careleſs, that Mellefont had never any thing more than a profound Reſpect—That he has own'd himſelf to be my Admirer 'tis true, but he was ne⯑ver ſo preſumptuous to entertain any diſhonourable Notions of Things; ſo that if this be made plain—I don't ſee how my Daughter can in Conſcience, or Honour, or any thing in the World—

Indeed if this be made plain, as my Lady your Mother ſays, Child—

Plain! I was inform'd of it by Mr. Careleſs—And I aſſure you Mr. Careleſs is a Perſon—that has a moſt ex⯑traordinary Reſpect and Honour for you, Sir Paul.

And for your Ladyſhip too, I believe, or elſe you had not chang'd Sides ſo ſoon; now I begin to find it.

I am much obliged to Mr. Careleſs really, he is a Per⯑ſon that I have a great Value for, not only for that, but becauſe he has a great Veneration for your Ladyſhip.

O las, no indeed, Sir Paul, 'tis upon your Account.

No I proteſt and vow, I have no Title to his Eſteem, but in having the Honour to appertain in ſome meaſure to your Ladyſhip, that's all.

O law now, I ſwear and declare, it ſhan't be ſo, you're too modeſt, Sir Paul.

It becomes me, when there is any Compariſon made, be⯑tween—

O fy, fy, Sir Paul, you'll put me out of Countenance—Your very obedient and affectionate Wife; that's all—And highly honoured in that Title.

Gads-bud I am tranſported! Give me leave to kiſs your Ladyſhip's Hand.

That my poor Father ſhould be ſo very ſilly!

My Lip indeed, Sir Paul, I ſwear you ſhall.

I humbly thank your Ladyſhip—I don't know whether I fly on Ground, or walk in Air—Gads-bud, ſhe was never thus before—Well, I muſt own my ſelf the moſt behol⯑den to Mr. Careleſs—As ſure as can be this is all his doing,—ſomething that he has ſaid; well, 'tis a rare thing to have an Ingenious Friend. Well, your Ladyſhip is of Opinion that the Match may go forward.

By all means—Mr. Careleſs has ſatisfy'd me of the Matter.

Well, why then Lamb you may keep your Oath, but have a care of making raſh Vows; come hither to me, and kiſs Papa.

I ſwear and declare, I am in ſuch a twitter to read Mr. Careleſs his Letter, that I can't forbear any longer—But though I may read all Letters firſt by Prerogative, yet I'll be ſure to be unſuſpected this time.—Sir Paul.

Did your Ladyſhip call?

Nay, not to interrupt you my Dear—Only lend me your Letter, which you had from your Steward to Day: I would look upon the Account again; and may be increaſe your Allowance.

There it is, Madam; Do you want a Pen and Ink?

No, no, nothing elſe, I thank you, Sir Paul.—So now I can read my own Letter under the cover of his.

He? And wilt thou bring a Grandſon at nine Months end—He? A brave chopping Boy.—I'll ſettle a Thouſand Pound a Year upon the Rogue as ſoon as ever he looks me in the Face, I will Gads-bud. I'm overjoy'd to think I have any of my Fami⯑ly that will bring Children into the World. For I would fain have ſome Reſemblance of my ſelf in my Poſterity, he Thy? Can't you contrive that affair Girl? Do gads-bud, think on thy old Fa⯑ther; Heh? Make the young Rogue as like as you can.

I'm glad to ſee you ſo merry, Sir.

Merry, Gads-bud I'm ſerious, I'll give thee 500l. for every Inch of him that reſembles me; ah this Eye, this Left Eye! [40] A Thouſand Pound for this Left Eye. This has done Execution in its time Girl; why thou haſt my Leer Huſſey, juſt thy Fa⯑ther's Leer.—Let it be tranſmitted to the young Rogue by the help of Imagination; why 'tis the Mark of our Family Thy; our Houſe is diſtinguiſh'd by a languiſhing Eye, as the Houſe of Au⯑ſtria is by a thick Lip.—Ah! when I was of your Age Huſſey, I would have held fifty to one, I could have drawn my own Picture—Gads-bud I could have done—not ſo much as you neither,—but—nay, don't bluſh—

I don't bluſh, Sir, for I vow I don't underſtand.—

Pſhaw, Pſhaw, you fib you Baggage, you do under⯑ſtand, and you ſhall underſtand; come don't be ſo nice, Gads-bud don't learn after your Mother-in-Law my Lady here: Marry Hea⯑ven forbid that you ſhould follow her Example, that would ſpoil all indeed. Bleſs us, if you ſhould take a Vagarie and make a raſh Re⯑ſolution on your Wedding Night, to die a Maid, as ſhe did; all were ruin'd, all my Hopes loſt—My Heart would break, and my Eſtate would be left to the wide World, he? I hope you are a better Chriſtian than to think of living a Nun; he? Anſwer me?

I'm all Obedience, Sir, to your Commands.

O dear Mr. Careleſs, I ſwear he writes charmingly, and he talks charmingly, and he looks charmingly, and he has charm'd me, as much as I have charm'd him; and ſo I'll tell him in the Wardrobe when 'tis Dark. O Crimine! I hope Sir Paul has not ſeen both Letters.

Sir Paul, here's your Letter, to Morrow Morning I'll ſettle the Accounts to your Advantage.

Sir Paul, Gads-bud you're an uncivil Perſon, let me tell you, and all that; and I did not think it had been in you.

O Law, what's the matter now? I hope you are not angry, Mr. Brisk.

Deuce take me I believe you intend to Marry your Daugh⯑ter your ſelf; you're always brooding over her like an old Hen, as if ſhe were not well hatch'd, I'gad, he?

Good ſtrange! Mr. Brisk is ſuch a Merry Facetious Perſon, he, he, he. No, no, I have done with her, I have done with her now.

The Fiddlers have ſtay'd this Hour in the Hall, and my Lord Froth wants a Partner, we can never begin without her.

Go, go Child, go, get you gone and Dance and be Mer⯑ry, I'll come and look at you by and by.—Where's my Son Mellefont?

I'll ſend him to them, I know where he is.—

Sir Paul, will you ſend Careleſs into the Hall if you meet him.

I will, I will, I'll go and look for him on purpoſe.

So now they are all gone, and I have an Opportunity to practiſe.—Ah! My dear Lady Froth! She's a moſt engaging Creature, if ſhe were not ſo fond of that damn'd coxcombly Lord of hers; and yet I am forced to allow him Wit too, to keep in with him—No matter, ſhe's a Woman of Parts, and I'gad Parts will carry her. She ſaid ſhe would follow me into the Gal⯑lery—Now to make my Approaches—Hem hem! Ah Ma-

dam!—Pox on't, why ſhould I diſparage my Parts by thinking what to ſay? None but dull Rogues think; witty Men, like rich Fellows, are always ready for all Expences; while your Blockheads, like poor needy Scoundrels, are forced to examine their Stock, and forecaſt the Charges of the Day. Here ſhe comes, I'll ſeem not to ſee her, and try to win her with a new airy Invention of my own, hem!

I'm ſick with Love, ha, ha, ha, prithee come cure walking about. me. I'm ſick with, &c.

O ye Powers! O my Lady Froth, my Lady Froth! My Lady Froth! Heigho! Break Heart; God's I thank you.

O Heav'ns, Mr. Brisk! What's the matter?

My Lady Froth! Your Ladyſhip's moſt humble Ser⯑vant;—The matter, Madam? Nothing, Madam, nothing at all I'gad. I was fallen into the moſt agreeable Amuſement in the whole Province of Contemplation: That's all—

(I'll ſeem to conceal my Paſſion, and that will look like Reſpect.)

Bleſs me, why did you call out upon me ſo loud?—

O Lord I Madam! I beſeech your Ladyſhip—when?

Juſt now as I came in, bleſs me, why don't you know it?

Not I, let me periſh—But did I! Strange! I confeſs your Ladyſhip was in my Thoughts; and I was in a ſort of Dream that did in a manner repreſent a very pleaſing Object to my Ima⯑gination, but—but did I indeed?—To ſee how Love and Mur⯑der will out. But did I really name my Lady Froth?

Three times aloud, as I love Letters—But did you talk of Love? O Parnaſſus! Who would have thought Mr. Brisk could have been in Love, ha, ha, ha. O Heav'ns I thought you cou'd have no Miſtreſs but the Nine Muſes.

No more I have I'gad, for I adore 'em all in your Lady⯑ſhip—Let me periſh, I don't know whether to be ſplenatick, or Airy upon't; the Deuce take me if I can tell whether I am glad or ſorry that your Ladyſhip has made the Diſcovery.

O be merry by all means—Prince Volſcius in Love! Ha, ha, ha.

O barbarous, to turn me into Ridicule! Yet, ha, ha, ha. The Deuce take me, I can't help Laughing my ſelf, ha, ha, ha; yet by Heav'ns I have a violent Paſſion for your Ladyſhip, ſeriouſly.

Seriouſly? Ha, ha, ha.

Seriouſly, ha, ha, ha. Gad I have, for all I laugh.

Ha, ha, ha! What d'ye think I laugh at? Ha, ha, ha.

Me I'gad, ha, ha.

No the Deuce take me if I don't Laugh at my ſelf; for hang me if I have not a violent Paſſion for Mr. Brisk, ha, ha, ha.

Seriouſly?

Seriouſly, ha, ha, ha.

That's well enough; let me periſh, ha, ha, ha. O Mira⯑culous, what a happy Diſcovery. Ah my dear charming Lady Froth!

Oh my adored Mr. Brisk!

The Company are all ready—How now!

Zoons, Madam, there's my Lord.

Take no notice—but obſerve me—Now caſt off, and meet me at the lower end of the Room, and then join Hands again; I could teach my Lord this Dance purely, but I vow, Mr. Brisk, I can't tell how to come ſo near any other Man. Oh here's my Lord, now you ſhall ſee me do it with him.

—Oh I ſee there's no harm yet—But I don't like this Familiarity

—Shall you and I do our cloſe Dance, to ſhow Mr. Brisk,

No, my Dear, do it with him.

I'll do it with him, my Lord, when you are out of the way.

That's good I'gad, that's good [...] Deuce take me I can [...]

Any other time, my Dear, or we'll dance it below.

With all my Heart.

Come my Lord, I'll wait on you—My charming witty Angel!

We ſhall have whiſpering time enough, you know, ſince we are Partners.

O Mr. Careleſs, Mr. Careleſs, I'm ruin'd, I'm undone.

What's the matter, Madam?

O the unlucky'ſt Accident, I'm afraid I ſhan't live to tell it you.

Heav'n forbid! What is it?

I'm in ſuch a Fright; the ſtrangeſt Quandary and Pre⯑munire! I'm all over in a Univerſal Agitation, I dare ſwear every Circumſtance of me trembles.—O your Letter, your Letter! By an unfortunate Miſtake, I have given Sir Paul your Letter inſtead of his own.

That was unlucky.

O yonder he comes reading of it, for Heav'ns ſake ſtep in here and adviſe me quickly, before he ſees.

—O Providence, what a Conſpiracy have I diſco⯑ver'd—But let me ſee to make an end on't.—

Hum—After Supper in the Wardrobe by the Gallery. If Sir Paul ſhould ſurprize us, I have a Commiſſion from him to treat with you about the very matter of Fact.—Matter of Fact! Very pretty; it ſeems then I am conducing to my own Cuckol⯑dom; why this is the very traiterous Poſition of taking up Arms by my Authority, againſt my Perſon! Well, let me ſee—'Till then I languiſh in expectation of my Adored Charmer.

Gads-bud, would that were matter of Fact too. Die and be Damn'd for a Judas Maccabeus, and Iſcariot both. O Friend⯑ſhip! What art thou but a Name! Henceforward let no Man make a Friend that would not be Cuckold: For whomſoever he receives into his Boſom, will find the Way to his Bed, and there return his Careſſes with Intereſt to his Wife. Have I for this been pinion'd Night after Night for three Years paſt? Have I been ſwath'd in Blankets 'till I have been even depriv'd of Motion, and render'd uncapable of uſing the common Benefits of Nature? Have I approach'd the Marriage Bed with Reverence as to a ſacred Shrine, and deny'd my ſelf the Enjoyment of lawful Domeſtick [44] Pleaſures to preſerve its Purity, and muſt I now find it polluted by foreign Iniquity? O my Lady Plyant, you were chaſte as Ice, but you are melted now, and falſe as Water.—But Provi⯑dence has been conſtant to me in diſcovering this Conſpiracy; ſtill I am beholden to Providence, if it were not for Providence, ſure poor Sir Paul thy Heart would break.

So, Sir, I ſee you have read the Letter,—Well now, Sir Paul, what do you think of your Friend Careleſs? Has he been Treacherous, or did you give his Inſolence a Licenſe to make Trial of your Wife's ſuſpected Virtue? D'ye ſee here?

Look, read it? Gad's my Life if I thought it were ſo, I would this Moment renounce all Communication with you. Ungrate⯑ful Monſter! He? Is it ſo? Ay, I ſee it, a Plot upon my Honour; your guilty Cheeks confeſs it: Oh where ſhall wrong'd Virtue fly for Reparation! I'll be divorced this Inſtant.

Gads-bud, what ſhall I ſay? This is the ſtrangeſt Sur⯑prize! Why I don't know any thing at all, nor I don't know whe⯑ther there be any thing at all in the World, or no,

I thought I ſhould try you, falſe Man. I that never diſ⯑ſembled in my Life: Yet to make trial of you, pretended to like that Monſter of Iniquity, Careleſs, and found out that Contri⯑vance to let you ſee this Letter; which now I find was of your own inditing—I do Heathen, I do; ſee my Face no more; there has hardly been Conſummation between us, and I'll be di⯑vorced preſently.

O ſtrange, what will become of me!—I'm ſo amaz'd, and ſo overjoy'd, ſo afraid, and ſo ſorry.—But did you give me this Letter on purpoſe, he? Did you?

Did I? Do you doubt me, Turk, Sarazen? I have a Couſin that's a Proctor in the Commons, I'll go to him inſtantly.—

Hold, ſtay, I beſeech your Ladyſhip—I'm ſo o⯑verjoy'd, ſtay, I'll confeſs all.

What will you confeſs, Jew?

Why now as I hope to be ſav'd, I had no Hand in this Letter—Nay hear me, I beſeech your Ladyſhip: The Devil take me now if he did not go beyond my Commiſſion—If I deſired him to do any more than ſpeak a good Word only juſt for me; Gads-bud only for poor Sir Paul, I'm an Anabaptiſt, or a Jew, or what you pleaſe to call me.

Why is not here matter of Fact?

Ay, but by your own Virtue and Continency that matter of Fact is all his own doing.—I confeſs I had a great Deſire to have ſome Honours conferr'd upon me, which lye all in your Ladyſhip's Breaſt, and he being a well-ſpoken Man, I deſired him to intercede for me.—

Did you ſo, Preſumption! Well, remember for this, your right Hand ſhall be ſwath'd down again to Night—And I thought to have always allow'd you that Liberty.

Nay but Madam, I ſhall offend again if you do not allow me that to reach—

Drink the leſs you Sot, and do't before you come to Bed.

Sir Paul, I'm glad I've met with you, 'gad I have ſaid all I could, but can't prevail—Then my Friendſhip to you has carried me a little farther in this Matter—

Indeed—Well Sir—I'll diſſemble with him a little.

Why faith I have in my Time known honeſt Gentlemen abuſed by a pretended Coyneſs in their Wives, and I had a mind to try my Lady's Virtue—And when I could not prevail for you, 'gad I pretended to be in Love my ſelf—but all in vain, ſhe would not hear a Word upon that Subject: Then I Writ a Let⯑ter to her; I don't know what Effects that will have, but I'll be ſure to tell you when I do, tho' by this Light I believe her Virtue is impregnable.

O Providence! Providence! What Diſcoveries are here made? Why, this is better and more Miraculous than the reſt.

What do you mean?

I can't tell you, I'm ſo overjoy'd; come along with me to my Lady, I can't contain my ſelf; come my dear Friend.

So, ſo, ſo, this Difficulty's over.

Maskwell! I have been looking for you—'tis within a Quarter of Eight.

My Lady is juſt gone into my Lord's Cloſet, you had beſt ſteal into her Chamber before ſhe comes, and lye concealed there, otherwiſe ſhe may Lock the Door when we are together, and you not eaſily get in to ſurprize us.

He? You ſay true.

You had beſt make haſte, for ſhe's gone to make ſome [...]

I go this Moment: Now Fortune I defie thee.

I confeſs you may be allow'd to be ſecure in your own Opinion; the Appearance is very fair, but I have an After Game to play that ſhall turn the Tables, and here comes the Man that I muſt manage.

Maskwell, you are the Man I wiſh'd to meet.

I am happy to be in the way of your Lordſhip's Com⯑mands.

I have always found you prudent and careful in any thing that has concern'd me or my Family.

I were a Villain elſe—I am bound by Duty and Gratitude, and my own Inclination, to be ever your Lordſhip's Servant.

Enough—You are my Friend; I know it: Yet there has been a thing in your Knowledge, which has concern'd me nearly, that you have conceal'd from me.

My Lord!

Nay, I excuſe your Friendſhip to my unnatural Ne⯑phew thus far—But I know you have been Privy to his im⯑pious Deſigns upon my Wife. This Ev'ning ſhe has told me all: Her good Nature conceal'd it as long as was poſſible; but he per⯑ſeveres ſo in Villany, that ſhe has told me even you were weary of diſſuading him, though you have once actually hindered him from forcing her.

I am ſorry, my Lord, I can't make you an Anſwer; this is an Occaſion in which I would not willingly be ſo ſilent.

I know you would excuſe him—And I know as well that you can't.

Indeed I was in hopes 'thad been a youthful Heat that might have ſoon boil'd over; but—

Say on.

I have nothing more to ſay, my Lord—But to expreſs my Concern; for I think his Frenzy increaſes daily.

How! Give me but Proof of it, Ocular Proof, that I may juſtifie my Dealing with him to the World, and ſhare my For⯑tunes.

O my Lord! conſider that is hard: Beſides, time may work upon him: Then, for me to do it! I have profeſs'd an ever⯑laſting Friendſhip to him.

He is your Friend, and what am I?

I am anſwered.

Fear not his Diſpleaſure; I will put you out of his, and Fortune's Power, and for that thou art ſcrupulouſly honeſt, I will ſecure thy Fidelity to him, and give my Honour never to own any Diſcovery that you ſhall make me. Can you give me a de⯑monſtrative Proof? Speak.

I wiſh I could not—To be plain, my Lord, I intend⯑ed this Ev'ning to have try'd all Arguments to diſſuade him from a Deſign, which I ſuſpect; and if I had not ſucceeded, to have informed your Lordſhip of what I knew.

I thank you. What is the Villain's Purpoſe?

He has own'd nothing to me of late, and what I mean now, is only a bare Suſpicion of my own. If your Lordſhip will meet me a Quarter of an Hour hence there, in that Lobby by my Lady's Bed-Chamber, I ſhall be able to tell you more.

I will.

My Duty to your Lordſhip, makes me do a ſevere Piece of Juſtice.—

I will be ſecret, and reward your Honeſty beyond your Hopes.

Pray Heav'n my Aunt keep touch with her Aſſignation.—Oh that her Lord were but ſweating behind this Hanging, with the Expectation of what I ſhall ſee—Hiſt, ſhe comes—Little does ſhe think what a Mine is juſt ready to ſpring under her Feet. But to my Poſt.

'Tis Eight a Clock: Methinks I ſhould have found him here. Who does not prevent the Hour of Love, outſtays the Time; for to be dully punctual, is too ſlow.—I was accuſing you of Neglect.

I confeſs you do reproach me when I ſee you here be⯑fore me; but 'tis fit I ſhould be ſtill behind hand, ſtill to be more and more indebted to your Goodneſs.

You can excuſe a Fault too well, not to have been to blame—A ready Anſwer ſhews you were prepar'd.

Guilt is ever at a loſs, and Confuſion waits upon it; when Innocence and bold Truth are always ready for Expreſſion—

Not in Love; Words are the weak Support of cold In⯑difference; Love has no Language to be heard.

Exceſs of Joy has made me ſtupid! Thus may my Lips be ever clos'd.

And thus—Oh who would not loſe his Speech, upon Condition to have Joys above it?

Hold, let me lock the Door firſt.

That I believ'd; 'twas well I left the private Paſſage open.

So, that's ſafe.

And ſo may all your Pleaſures be, and ſecret as this Kiſs—

And may all Treachery be thus diſcover'd.

Ah!

Villain!

Nay then, there's but one Way.

Say you ſo, were you provided for an Eſcape? Hold, Ma⯑dam, you have no more Holes to your Burrough, I'll ſtand be⯑tween you and this Sally-Port.

Thunder ſtrike thee dead for this Deceit, immediate Lightning blaſt thee, me and the whole World—Oh! I could rack my ſelf, play the Vulture to my own Heart, and gnaw it piece-meal, for not boding to me this Misfortune.

Be Patient.—

Be Damn'd.

Conſider I have you on the Hook; you will but flounder your ſelf a weary, and be nevertheleſs my Priſoner.

I'll hold my Breath and die, but I'll be free.

O Madam, have a care of dying unprepar'd, I doubt you have ſome unrepented Sins that may hang heavy, and retard your Flight.

O! what ſhall I do? ſay? Whither ſhall I turn? Has Hell no Remedy?

None, Hell has ſerv'd you ev'n as Heav'n has done, left you to your ſelf.—You're in a kind of Eraſmus Paradice; yet if you pleaſe you may make it a Purgatory; and with a little Pe⯑nance and my Abſolution all this may turn to good Account.

Hold in my Paſſion, and fall, fall a little thou ſwelling Heart; let me have ſome intermiſſion of this Rage, and one Minute's Coolneſs to diſſemble.

You have been to blame.—I like thoſe Tears, and hope they are of the pureſt Kind—Penitential Tears.

O the Scene was ſhifted quick before me—I had not time to think—I was ſurpriſed to ſee a Monſter in the Glaſs, and now I find it is my ſelf; Can you have Mercy to forgive the Faults I have imagined, but never put in practice—Oconſider, con⯑ſider [49] how fatal you have been to me, you have already kill'd the Quiet of this Life. The Love of you, was the firſt wand'ring Fire that e'er miſs-led my Steps, and while I had only that in View, I was betray'd into unthought of Ways of Ruin.

May I believe this true?

O be not cruelly incredulous—How can you doubt theſe ſtreaming Eyes? Keep the ſevereſt Eye o'er all my future Conduct; and if I once relapſe, let me not hope Forgiveneſs, 'twill ever be in your Power to ruin me—My Lord ſhall ſign to your Deſires; I will my ſelf create your Happineſs, and Cynthia ſhall be this Night your Bride—Do but conceal my Failings, and forgive.

Upon ſuch Terms I will be ever yours in ev'ry honeſt Way.

I have kept my Word, he's here, but I muſt not be ſeen.

Hell and Amazement, ſhe's in Tears.

Eternal Bleſſings thank you—Ha! My Lord liſt'ning! O Fortune has o'erpaid me all, all! all's my own!

Nay, I beſeech you riſe.

Never, never! I'll grow to the Ground, be buried quick beneath it, e'er I'll be conſenting to ſo damn'd a Sin as Inceſt! unnatural Inceſt!

Ha!

O cruel Man, will you not let me go—I'll forgive all that's paſt—O Heav'n, you will not Raviſh me!

Damnation!

Monſter, Dog! your Life ſhall anſwer this—

O Heav'ns my Lord! Hold, hold, for Heav'ns ſake.

Confuſion, my Uncle! O the damn'd Sorcereſs.

Moderate your Rage, good my Lord! He's mad, alas he's mad—Indeed he is my Lord, and knows not what he does—See how wild he looks.

By Heav'n 'twere ſenſeleſsſs not to be mad, and ſee ſuch Witchcraft.

My Lord, you hear him, he talks idly.

Hence from my Sight, thou living Infamy to my Name; when next I ſee that Face, I'll write Villain in't with my Sword's Point.

Now, by my Soul, I will not go 'till I have made known my Wrongs—Nay, 'till I have made known yours, which (if poſſible) are greater—though ſhe has all the Hoſt of Hell her Servants; though ſhe can wear more Shapes in ſhining Day, then Fear ſhews Cowards in the Dark—

Alas he raves! Talks very Poetry! For Heav'ns ſake a⯑way my Lord, he'll either tempt you to Extravagance, or com⯑mit ſome himſelf.

Death and Furies, will you not hear me—Why by Heav'n ſhe laughs, grins, points to your Back; ſhe forks out Cuckol⯑dom with her Fingers, and you're running Horn-mad after your For⯑tune.

I fear he's mad indeed—Let's ſend Maskwell to him.

Send him to her.

Come, come, good my Lord, my Heart akes ſo, I ſhall faint if I ſtay.

O I could curſe my Stars, Fate, and Chance; all Cauſes and Accidents of Fortune in this Life! But to what purpoſe? Yet, 'ſdeath, for a Man to have the Fruit of all his Induſtry grow full and ripe, ready to drop into his Mouth, and juſt when he holds out his Hand to gather it, to have a ſudden Whirlwind come, tear up Tree and all, and bear away the very Root and Foundation of his Hopes; What Temper can contain? They talk of ſending Maskwell to me; I never had more need of him—But what can he do? Imagination cannot form a fairer and more plauſible Deſign than this of his which has miſcarried.—O my precious Aunt, I ſhall never thrive without I deal with the Devil, or another Woman.

ACT V. SCENE I.

WAſt not Lucky?

Lucky! Fortune is your own, and 'tis her Intereſt ſo to be; By Heav'n I believe you can controul her Pow'r, and ſhe fears it; though Chance brought my Lord, 'twas your own Art that turn'd it to Advantage.

'Tis true it might have been my Ruin—But yonder's my Lord, I believe he's coming to find you, I'll not be ſeen.

So; I durſt not own my introducing my Lord, though it ſucceeded well for her, for ſhe would have ſuſpected a Deſign which I ſhould have been puzzled to excuſe. My Lord is thought⯑ful—I'll be ſo to; yet he ſhall know my Thoughts; or think he does—

What have I done?

Talking to himſelf!

'Twas honeſt—and ſhall I be rewarded for it? No, 'twas honeſt therefore I ſhan't;—Nay, rather therefore I ought not for it rewards it ſelf.

Unequall'd Virtue!

But ſhould it be known! then I have loſt a Friend! He was an ill Man, and I have gain'd for half my ſelf I lent him, and that I have recall'd; ſo I have ſerved my ſelf, and what is yet bet⯑ter, I have ſerved a worthy Lord to whom I owe my ſelf.

Excellent Man!

Yet I am wretched—O there is a Secret burns within this Breaſt, which ſhould it once blaze ſorth, would ruin all, conſume my honeſt Character, and brand me with the name of Villam.

Ha!

Why do I love! Yet Heav'n and my waking Conſcience are my Witneſſes, I never gave one working Thought a vent; which might diſcover that I lov'd, nor ever muſt; no, let it prey upon my Heart; for I would rather die, than ſeem once, barely ſeem, diſhoneſt:—O, ſhould it once be known I love fair Cynthia, all this that I have done would look like Rival's Malice, falſe Friendſhip to my Lord, and baſe Self-intereſt. Let me pe⯑riſh [52] firſt, and from this Hour avoid all Sight and Speech, and, if I can, all Thought of that pernicious Beauty. Ha! But what is my Diſtraction doing? I am wildly talking to my ſelf, and ſome ill Chance might have directed malicious Ears this way.

Start not—let guilty and diſhoneſt Souls ſtart at the Revelation of their Thoughts, but be thou fix'd, as is thy Virtue.

I am confounded and beg your Lordſhip's Pardon for thoſe free Diſcourſes which I have had with my ſelf.

Come, I beg your Pardon that I over-heard you, and yet it ſhall not need—Honeſt Maskwell! thy and my good Genius led me hither—Mine, in that I have diſcover'd ſo much manly Virtue; thine, in that thou ſhalt have due Reward of all thy Worth. Give me thy Hand—my Nephew is the alone remaining Branch of all our ancient Family; him I thus blow a⯑way, and conſtitute thee in his room to be my Heir—

Now Heav'n forbid—

No more—I have reſolv'd—The Writings are ready drawn, and wanted nothing but to be ſign'd, and have his Name inſerted—Yours will fill the Blank as well—I will have no Reply—Let me command this time; for 'tis the laſt, in which I will aſſume Authority—hereafter, you ſhall rule where I have Power.

I humbly would petition—

Is't for your ſelf?—

I'll hear of nought for any body elſe.

Then Witneſs Heav'n for me, this Wealth and Honour was not of my ſeeking, nor would I build my Fortune on ano⯑ther's Ruin: I had but one Deſire—

Thou ſhalt enjoy it—If all I'm worth in Wealth or Intereſt can purchaſe Cynthia, ſhe is thine.—I'm ſure Sir Paul's Conſent will follow Fortune; I'll quickly ſhow him which way that is going.

You oppreſs me with Bounty; my Gratitude is weak, and ſhrinks beneath the Weight, and cannot riſe to thank you—What, enjoy my Love! Forgive the Tranſports of a Bleſſing ſo unexpected, ſo unhop'd for, ſo unthought of!

I will confirm it, and rejoice with thee.

This is proſp'rous indeed—Why let him find me out a Villain ſettled in Poſſeſſion of a fair Eſtate, and full Fruition of my Love, I'll bear the Railings of a loſing Gameſter—But ſhou'd he find me out before! 'tis dangerous to delay—Let me [53] think—ſhou'd my Lord proceed to treat openly of my Marri⯑age with Cynthia, all muſt be diſcover'd, and Mellefont can be no longer blinded.—It muſt not be; nay, ſhou'd my Lady know it—ay, then were fine Work indeed! Her Fury wou'd ſpare nothing, tho' ſhe involv'd her ſelf in Ruin. No, it muſt be by Stratagem—I muſt deceive Mellefont once more, and get my Lord to conſent to my private Management. He comes oppor⯑tunely—Now will I, in my old way, diſcover the whole and real truth of the Matter to him, that he may not ſuſpect one Word on't.

O Maskwell, what Hopes? I am confounded in a maze of Thoughts, each leading into one another, and all ending in Perplexity. My Uncle will not ſee, nor hear me.

No matter, Sir, don't trouble your Head, all's in my Power.

How? For Heav'ns ſake?

Little do you think that your Aunt has kept her Word,—How the Devil ſhe wrought my Lord into this Dotage, I know not; but he's gone to Sir Paul about my Marriage with Cynthia, and has appointed me his Heir.

The Devil he has! What's to be done?

I have it, it muſt be by Stratagem; for it's in vain to make Application to him. I think I have that in my Head that cannot fail: Where's Cynthia?

In the Garden.

Let us go and conſult her, my Life for yours, I cheat my Lord.

Maskwell your Heir, and marry Cynthia!

I cannot do too much, for ſo much Merit.

But this is a thing of too great Moment to be ſo ſudden⯑ly reſolv'd. Why Cynthia? Why muſt he be Married? Is there not Reward enough in raiſing his low Fortune, but he muſt mix his Blood with mine, and wed my Niece? How know you that my Brother will conſent, or ſhe? Nay, he himſelf perhaps may have Affections otherwhere.

No, I am convinc'd he loves her.

Maskwell love Cynthia, impoſſible!

I told you, he confeſs'd it to me.

Confuſion! How's this!

His Humility long ſtifled his Paſſion: And his Love of Mellefont would have made him ſtill conceal it.—But by Encouragement, I wrung the Secret from him; and know he's no way to be rewarded but in her. I'll defer my farther Proceed⯑ings in it, 'till you have conſider'd it; but remember how we are both indebted to him.

Both indebted to him! Yes, we are both indebted to him, if you knew all, damn'd Villain! Oh, I am wild with this Surprize of Treachery: Hell and Fire, it is impoſſible, it cannot be.—He Love Cynthia! What have I been Bawd to his Deſigns, his Property only, a baiting Place to ſtay his Stomach in the Road to her; now I ſee what made him falſe to Mellefont,—Shame and Deſtruction! I cannot bear it, oh! what Woman can bear to be a Property? To be kindled to a Flame, only to light him to another's Arms; oh! that I were Fire indeed, that I might burn the vile Traitor to a Hell of Torments,—But he's Dam⯑nation proof, a Devil already, and Fire is his Element. What ſhall I do? How ſhall I think? I cannot think,—All my De⯑ſigns are loſt, my Love unſated, my Revenge unfiniſh'd, and freſh cauſe of Fury from unthought of Plagues.

Madam, Siſter, my Lady Siſter, did you ſee my La⯑dy my Wife?

Oh! Torture!

Gad's-bud, I can't find her high nor low; where can ſhe be, think you?

Where ſhe's ſerving you, as your Sex ought to be ſerv'd; making you a Beaſt. Don't you know that you're a Fool, Bro⯑ther?

A Fool; he, he, he, you're merry—No, no, not I, I know no ſuch matter.

Why then you don't know half your Happineſs.

That's a Jeſt with all my Heart, faith and troth,—But harkee, my Lord told me ſomething of a Revolution of things; I don't know what to make on't,—Gad's-bud I muſt conſult my Wife,—he talks of diſinheriting his Nephew; and I don't know what,—Look you, Siſter, I muſt know what my Girl has to truſt to; or nor a Syllable of a Wedding, gad's-bud—to ſhew you that I am not a Fool.

Hear me; conſent to the breaking off this Marriage, and the promoting any other, without conſulting me, and I'll re⯑nounce [55] all Blood, all Relation and Concern with you for ever,—nay, I'll be your Enemy, and purſue you to Deſtruction, I'll tear your Eyes out, and tread you under my Feet.—

Why, what's the matter now? Good Lord, what's all this for? Pooh, here's a Joke indeed—Why, where's my Wife?

With Careleſs, in the cloſe Arbour; he may want you by this time, as much as you want her.

O, if ſhe be with Mr. Careleſs, 'tis well enough.

Fool, Sot, inſenſible Ox! But remember what I ſaid to you, or you had better eat your Horns, and pimp for your Living; by this Light you had.

She's a paſſionate Woman, gads-bud,—But to ſay truth, all our Family are Cholerick; I am the only peaceable Perſon amongſt 'em.

I know no other Way but this he has propos'd; if you have Love enough to run the Venture.

I don't know whether I have Love enough,—but I find I have Obſtinacy enough to purſue whatever I have once re⯑ſolv'd; and a true Female Courage to oppoſe any thing that re⯑ſiſts my Will, tho' 'twere Reaſon it ſelf.

That's right,—Well, I'll ſecure the Writings, and run the Hazard along with you.

But how can the Coach and Six Horſes be got ready with⯑out Suſpicion?

Leave it to my Care; that ſhall be ſo far from being ſuſpected, that it ſhall be got ready by my Lord's own Order.

How?

Why, I intend to tell my Lord the whole matter of our Contrivance, that's my way.

I don't underſtand you.

Why, I'll tell my Lord, I laid this Plot with you, on pur⯑poſe to betray you; and that which put me upon it, was, the find⯑ing it impoſſible to gain the Lady any other way, but in the Hopes of her Marrying you.—

So—

So, why ſo, while you're buſied in making your ſelf ready, I'll wheedle her into the Coach; and inſtead of you, bor⯑row my Lord's Chaplain, and ſo run away with her my ſelf.

O I conceive you, you'll tell him ſo?

Tell him ſo! Ay, why you don't think I mean to do ſo?

No, no; ha, ha, I dare ſwear thou wilt not.

You may be deceiv'd.—Therefore for our farther Security, I would have you diſguis'd like a Parſon, that if my Lord ſhould have Curioſity to peep, he may not diſcover you in the Coach, but think the Cheat is carried on as he would have it.

Excellent Maskwell, thou wert certainly meant for a Stateſ⯑man or a Jeſuite, but that thou art too honeſt for one, and too pious for the other.

Well, get your ſelves ready, and meet me in half an Hour, yonder in my Lady's Dreſſing-Room; go by the back Stairs, and ſo we may ſlip down without being obſerv'd.—I'll ſend the Chaplain to you with his Robes; I have made him my own,—and ordered him to meet us to Morrow Morning at St. Albans; there we will ſum up this Account, to all our Satisfactions.

Should I begin to thank or praiſe thee, I ſhould waſte the little time we have.

Madam, you will be ready?

I will be punctual to the Minute.

Stay, I have a doubt—Upon ſecond Thoughts, we had better meet in the Chaplain's Chamber here, the corner Cham⯑ber at this end of the Gallery, there is a back Way into it, ſo that you need not come through this Door—and a Pair of private Stairs leads down to the Stables—It will be more convenient.

I am guided by you,—but Mellefont will miſtake.

No, no, I'll after him immediately, and tell him.

I will not fail.

Why, qui vult decipi decipiatur.—'Tis no Fault of mine, I have told 'em in plain Terms, how eaſie 'tis for me to cheat 'em; and if they will not hear the Serpent's Hiſs, they muſt be ſtung into Experience, and future Caution.—Now to pre⯑pare my Lord to conſent to this.—But firſt I muſt inſtruct my little Levite; there is no Plot, publick or private, that can expect to proſper without one of 'em has a Finger in't, he promiſed me to be within at this Hour,—Mr. Saygrace, Mr. Saygrace.

Sweet Sir, I will but pen the laſt Line of an Acroſtick, and be with you in the twinkling of an E⯑jaculation, in the pronouncing of an Amen, or before you can—

Nay, good Mr. Saygrace do not prolong the Time, by deſcribing to me the ſhortneſs of you Stay; rather if you pleaſe, defer the finiſhing of your Wit, and let us talk about our Buſineſs, it ſhall be [...]

You ſhall prevail, I would break off in the middle of a Sermon to do you pleaſure.

You could not do me a greater,—except—the Buſi⯑neſs in hand—Have you provided a Habit for Mellefont?

I have, they are ready in my Chamber, together with a clean ſtarch'd Band and Cuffs.

Good, let them be carried to him,—have you ſtitch'd the Gown Sleeve, that he may be puzzled, and waſte time in put⯑ting it on?

I have; the Gown will not be indued without Perplexity.

Meet me in half an Hour, here in your own Chamber. When Cynthia comes, let there be no Light, and do not ſpeak, that ſhe may not diſtinguiſh you from Mellefont. I'll urge haſte, to ex⯑cuſe your Silence.

You have no more Commands?

None, your Text is ſhort.

But pithy, and I will handle it with Diſcretion.

It will be the firſt you have ſo ſerv'd.

Sure I was born to be controlled by thoſe I ſhould Command: My very Slaves will ſhortly give me Rules how I ſhall govern them.

I am concern'd to ſee your Lordſhip diſcompos'd.—

Have you ſeen my Wife lately, or diſoblig'd her?

No, my Lord. What can this mean!

Then Mellefont has urg'd ſome body to incenſe her—Something ſhe has heard of you which carries her beyond the Bounds of Patience.

This I fear'd.

Did not your Lordſhip tell her of the Honours you deſign'd me?

Yes.

'Tis that; you know my Lady has a high Spirit, ſhe thinks I am unworthy.

Unworthy! 'Tis an ignorant Pride in her to think ſo—Honeſty to me is true Nobility. However, 'tis my Will it ſhould be ſo, and that ſhou'd be convincing to her as much as Reaſon—By Heav'n, I'll not be Wife-ridden; were it poſſi⯑ble, it ſhould be done this Night.

By Heav'n he meets my Wiſhes.

Few Things are impoſſible to willing Minds.

Inſtruct me how this may be done, you ſhall ſee I want no Inclination.

I had laid a ſmall Deſign for to Morrow (as Love will be inventing) which I thought to communicate to your Lordſhip—But it may be as well done to Night.

Here's Company—Come this way, and tell me.

Is not that he, now gone out with my Lord?

Yes.

By Heav'n there's Treachery—The Confuſion that I ſaw your Father in, my Lady Touchwood's Paſſion, with what imperfectly I over-heard between my Lord and her, confirm me in my Fears. Where's Mellefont?

Here he comes.

Did Maskwell tell you any thing of the Chaplain's Chamber?

No; my Dear, will you get ready—the Things are all in my Chamber; I want nothing but the Habit.

You are betray'd, and Maskwell is the Villain I always thought him.

When you were gone, he ſaid his Mind was chang'd, and bid me meet him in the Chaplain's Room, pretending imme⯑diately to follow you, and give you notice.

How!

There's Saygrace tripping by with a Bundle under his Arm—He cannot be ignorant that Maskwell means to uſe his Chamber; let's follow and examine him.

'Tis loſs of time—I cannot think him falſe.

My Lord muſing!

He has a quick Invention, if this were ſuddenly deſign'd—Yet he ſays he had prepar'd my Chaplain already.

How's this! Now I fear indeed.

Cynthia here! alone, fair Couſin, and melancholy?

Your Lordſhip was thoughtful.

My Thoughts were on ſerious Buſineſs, not worth your Hearing.

Mine were on Treachery concerning you, and may be worth your Hearing.

Treachery concerning me! pray be plain—Hark! What Noiſe!

Will you not hear me?

No, Monſter! Helliſh Traitor! No.

My Lady and Maskwell! this may be lucky—My Lord, let me intreat you to ſtand behind this Skreen, and liſten; perhaps this Chance may give you proof of what you ne'er could have believ'd from my Suſpicions.

You want but Leiſure to invent freſh Falſhood, and ſooth me to a fond Belief of all your Fictions; but I will ſtab the Lie that's forming in your Heart, and ſave a Sin, in pity to your Soul.

Strike then—Since you will have it ſo.

Ha! A ſteady Villain to the laſt!

Come, why do you dally with me thus?

Thy ſtubborn Temper ſhocks me, and you knew it would—By Heav'n, this is Cunning all, and not Courage; no, I know thee well: But thou ſhalt miſs thy Aim.

Ha, ha, ha.

Ha! Do you mock my Rage? Then this ſhall puniſh your fond, raſh Contempt! Again Smile!

And ſuch a Smile as ſpeaks in Ambiguity! Ten thouſand Meanings lurk in each Corner of that various Face. O! That they were written in thy Heart, That I, with this, might lay thee open to my Sight! But then 'twill be too late to know—

Thou haſt, thou haſt found the only way to turn my Rage; Too well thou know'ſt my jealous Soul cou'd never bear Uncertainty. Speak then, and tell me—Yet are you ſilent? Oh, I am wilder'd in all Paſſions! But thus my Anger melts.

Here, take this Ponyard, for my very Spirits faint, and I want Strength to hold it, thou haſt diſarm'd my Soul.

Amazement ſhakes me—Where will this end?

So, 'tis well—let your wild Fury have a Vent; and when you have Temper, tell me.

Now, now now I am calm, and can hear you.

Thanks, my Invention; and now I have it for you.—Firſt tell me what urg'd you to this Violence? For your Paſſion broke in ſuch imperfect Terms, that yet I am to learn the Cauſe.

My Lord himſelf ſurpriz'd me with the News, you were to marry Cynthia—That you had own'd your Love to him, and his Indulgence would aſſiſt you to attain your Ends.

How, my Lord!

Pray forbear all Reſentments for a while, and let us hear the reſt.

I grant you in Appearance all is true; I ſeem'd conſent⯑ing to my Lord; nay, tranſported with the Bleſſing—But could you think that I who had been happy in your lov'd Embra⯑ces, could e'er be fond of an inferior Slavery.

Ha! O Poiſon to my Ears! What do I hear!

Nay, good my Lord, forbear Reſentment, let us hear it out.

Yes, I will contain, tho' I cou'd burſt.

I that had wanton'd in the wide Circle of your World of Love, cou'd be confin'd within the puny Province of a Girl. No—Yet tho' I dote on each laſt Favour more than all the reſt; though I would give a Limb for every Look you cheap⯑ly throw away on any other Object of your Love; yet ſo far I prize your Pleaſures o'er own, that all this ſeeming Plot that I have laid, has been to gratifie your Taſte, and cheat the World, to prove a faithful Rogue to you.

If this were true—But how can it be?

I have ſo contriv'd, that Mellefont will preſently, in the Chaplain's Habit, wait for Cynthia in your Dreſſing-Room: But I have put the Change upon her, that ſhe may be otherwhere em⯑ploy'd—Do you procure her Night-Gown, and with your Hoods tyed over your Face, meet him in her ſtead; you may go privately by the back Stairs, and, unperceiv'd, there you may propoſe to reinſtate him in his Uncle's Favour, if he'll comply with your Deſires; his Caſe is deſperate, and I believe he'll yield to any Conditions,—If not, here take this; you may employ it better, than in the Death of one who is nothing when not yours.

Thou can'ſt deceive every Body,—Nay, thou haſt de⯑ceiv'd me; but 'tis as I would wiſh,—Truſty Villain! I could worſhip thee.—

No more,—There wants but a few Minutes of the time; and Mellefont's Love will carry him there before his Hour.

I go, I fly, incomparable Maskwell!

So, this was a Pinch indeed, my Invention was upon the Rack; and made Diſcovery of her laſt Plot: I hope Cynthia and my Chaplain will be ready, I'll prepare for the Expedition.

Now, my Lord?

Aſtoniſhment binds up my Rage! Villany upon Vil⯑lany! Heav'ns, what a long Track of dark Deceit has this diſcover'd! I am confounded when I look back, and want a Clue to guide [61] me through the various Mazes of unheard of Treachery. My Wife! Damnation! my Hell!

My Lord, have Patience, and be ſenſible how great our Happineſs is, that this Diſcovery was not made too late.

I thank you, yet it may be ſtill too late, if we don't preſently prevent the Execution of their Plots;—Ha, I'll do't. Where's Mellefont, my poor injur'd Nephew,—How ſhall I make him ample Satisfaction?—

I dare anſwer for him.

I do him freſh Wrong to queſtion his Forgiveneſs; for I know him to be all Goodneſs,—Yet my Wife! Dam her,—She'll think to meet him in that Dreſſing-Room,—Was't not ſo? And Maskwell will expect you in the Chaplain's Chamber,—For once, I'll add my Plot too,—let us haſte to find out, and inform my Nephew; and do you, quickly as you can, bring all the Company into this Gallery.—I'll expoſe the Strumpet, and the Villain.

By Heav'ns I have ſlept an Age,—Sir Paul, what a Clock is't? Paſt Eight, on my Conſcience, my Lady's is the moſt inviting Couch; and a Slumber there, is the prettieſt Amuſe⯑ment! But where's all the Company?—

The Company, gads-bud, I don't know, my Lord, but here's the ſtrangeſt Revolution, all turn'd topſie turvy; as I hope for Providence.

O Heav'ns, what's the matter? Where's my Wife?

All turn'd topſie turvy, as ſure as a Gun.

How do you mean? My Wife!

The ſtrangeſt Poſture of Affairs!

What, my Wife?

No, no, I mean the Family,—Your Lady's Affairs may be in a very good Poſture; I ſaw her go into the Garden with Mr. Brisk.

How? where, when, what to do?

I ſuppoſe they have been laying their Heads together.

How?

Nay, only about Poetry, I ſuppoſe, my Lord; making Couplets.

Couplets.

O, here they come.

My Lord, your humble Servant; Sir Paul yours,— [...]

My Dear, Mr. Brisk and I have been Star-gazing, I don't know how long.

Does it not tire your Ladyſhip? are not you weary with looking up?

Oh, no, I love it violently,—My Dear, you're melan⯑cholly.

No, my Dear; I'm but juſt awake.—

Snuff ſome of my Spirit of Hartshorn.

I've ſome of my own, thank you, my Dear.

Well, I ſwear, Mr. Brisk, you underſtood Aſtronomy like an old Egyptian.

Not comparable to your Ladyſhip; you are the very Cyn⯑thia of the Skies, and Queen of Stars.

That's becauſe I have no Light, but what's by Reflecti⯑on from you, who are the Sun.

Madam, you have Eclips'd me quite, let me periſh,—I can't anſwer that.

No matter,—Hark'ee, ſhall you and I make an Al⯑manack together.

With all my Soul,—Your Ladyſhip has made me the Man in't already, I'm ſo full of the Wounds which you have gi⯑ven.

O finely taken! I ſwear now you are even with me, O Parnaſſus, you have an infinite deal of Wit.

So he has, gads-bud, and ſo has your Ladyſhip.

You tell me moſt ſurprizing things; bleſs me, who would ever truſt a Man? O my Heart akes for fear they ſhould be all deceitful alike.

You need not fear, Madam, you have Charms to fix In⯑conſtancy it ſelf.

O dear, you make me bluſh.

Come, my Dear, ſhall we take leave of my Lord and La⯑dy?

They'll wait upon your Lordſhip preſently.

Mr. Brisk, my Coach ſhall ſet you down.

What's the matter?

O I'm betray'd.—Save me, help me.

Now what Evaſion, Strumpet?

Stand off, let me go, and Plagues and Curſes ſeize you all.

Go, and thy own Infamy purſue thee.—You ſtare as you were all amazed,—I don't wonder at it,—but too ſoon you'll know mine, and that Woman's Shame.

Nay, by Heav'n you ſhall be ſeen.—Careleſs, your Hand;—Do you hold down your Head? Yes, I am your Chaplain, look in the Face of your injur'd Friend; thou Wonder of all Falſhood.

Are you ſilent, Monſter?

Good Heav'ns! How I believ'd and lov'd this Man!—Take him hence, for he's a Diſeaſe to my Sight.

Secure that manifold Villain.

Miracle of Ingratitude!

This is all very ſurprizing, let me periſh

You know I told you Saturn look'd a little more angry than uſual.

We'll think of Puniſhment at Leiſure, but let me haſten to do Juſtice, in rewarding Virtue and wrong'd Innocence.—Nephew, I hope I have your Pardon, and Cynthia's.

We are your Lordſhip's Creatures.

And be each others Comfort;—Let me join your Hands.—Unwearied Nights, and wiſhing Days attend you both; mutual Love, laſting Health, and circling Joys, tread round each happy Year of your long Lives.