Sir Tim. Victorious Betty, be merciful, and do not ruin my Reputation amongst my Friends.

Flaunt. Your Whores you mean, you Sot you.

Sir Tim. Nay, triumphant Betty, hear thy poor Timmy.

Flaunt. My poor Ninny, I'm us'd barbarously, and won't endure it.

Sir Tim. I've won Money to Night, Betty, to buy thee Clothes—hum —hum—Well said, Frank, towse the little Jilts, they came for that purpose.

Flaunt. The Devil confound him, what a Prize have I lost by his being here—my Comfort is, he has not found me out though, but thinks I came to look for him, and accordingly I must dissemble.

Bel. What's here? A Lady all in Tears!

Sir Tim. An old Acquaintance of mine, that takes it unkindly that I am for Change—Betty, say so too, you know I can settle nothing till I'm marry'd; and he can do it swingingly, if we can but draw him in.

Flaunt. This mollifies something, do this, and you'll make your Peace; if not, you Rascal, your Ears shall pay for this Night's Transgression.

Sir Tim. Come hither, Frank, is not this a fine Creature?

Bel. By Heaven, a very Devil!

Sir Tim. Come, come, approach her; for if you'll have a Miss, this has all the good Qualities of one—go, go Court her, thou art so bashful—

Bel. I cannot frame my Tongue to so much Blasphemy, as 'tis to say kind things to her—I'll try my Heart though—Fair Lady—Damn her, she is not fair—nor sweet—nor good—nor—something I must say for a beginning. Come, Lady—dry your Eyes: This Man deserves not all the Tears you shed. —So—at last the Devil has got the better of me, And I am enter'd.

Flaunt. You see, Sir, how miserable we Women are that love you Men.

Bel. How, did you love him? Love him against his Will?

Flaunt. So it seems, Sir.

Bel. Oh, thou art wretched then indeed; no wonder if he hate thee— Does he not curse thee? Curse thee till thou art damn'd, as I do lost Diana. [Aside.

Flaunt. Curse me! He were not best in my hearing; Let him do what he will behind my Back. What ails the Gentleman?

Bel. Gods! what an odious thing mere Coupling is! A thing which every sensual Animal Can do as well as we—but prithee tell me, Is there nought else between the nobler Creatures?

Flaunt. Not that I know of, Sir— Lord, he's very silly, or very innocent, I hope he has his Maidenhead; if so, and rich too. Oh, what a booty were this for me! [Aside.

Bel. 'Tis wondrous strange; Why was not I created like the rest, Wild, and insensible, to fancy all?

Flaunt. Come, Sir, you must learn to be gay, to sing, to dance, and talk of any thing, and fancy any thing that's in your way too.

Bel. Oh, I can towse, and ruffle, like any Leviathan, when I begin— Come, prove my Vigor. [Towses her.

Flaunt. Oh, Lord, Sir! You tumble all my Garniture.

Bel. There's Gold to buy thee more—

Flaunt. Oh, sweet Sir—wou'd my Knight were hang'd, so I were well rid of him now—Well, Sir, I swear you are the most agreeable Person—

Bel. Am I?—let us be more familiar then—I'll kiss thy Hand, thy Breast, thy Lips—and—

Flaunt. All—you please, Sir—

Bel. A tractable Sinner! [Offers to kiss her. Faugh—how she smells—had I approach'd so near divine Celinda, what A natural Fragrancy had sent it self through all my ravisht Senses! [Aside.

Flaunt. The Man's extasy'd, sure, I shall take him. Come, Sir, you're sad.

Bel. As Angels fall'n from the Divine Abode, And now am lighted on a very Hell! —But this is not the way to thrive in Wickedness; I must rush on to Ruin—Come, fair Mistress, Will you not shew me some of your Arts of Love? For I am very apt to learn of Beauty—Gods— What is't I negotiate for?—a Woman! Making a Bargain to possess a Woman! Oh, never, never!

Flaunt. The Man is in love, that's certain—as I was saying, Sir—

Bel. Be gone, Repentance! Thou needless Goodness, Which if I follow, canst lead me to no Joys. Come, tell me the Price of all your Pleasures.

Sir Tim. Look you, Mistress, I am but a Country Knight. Yet I shou'd be glad of your farther Acquaintance. —Pray, who may that Lady be—

Driv. Who, Mrs. Flauntit, Sir?

Sir Tim. Ay, she: she's tearing fine, by Fortune.

Driv. I'll assure you, Sir, she's kept, and is a great Rarity, but to a Friend, or so—

Sir Tim. Hum—kept—pray, by whom?

Driv. Why, a silly Knight, Sir, that—

Sir Tim. Ay, ay, silly indeed—a Pox upon her—a silly Knight, you say—

Driv. Ay, Sir, one she makes a very Ass of.

Sir Tim. Ay, so methinks—but she's kind, and will do reason for all him.

Driv. To a Friend, a Man of Quality—or so.

Sir Tim. Ay, she blinds the Knight.

Driv. Alas, Sir, easily—he, poor Cully, thinks her a very Saint—but when he's out of the way, she comes to me to pleasure a Friend.

Sir Tim. But what if the Fool miss her?

Driv. She cries Whore first, brings him upon his Knees for her Fault; and a piece of Plate, or a new Petticoat, makes his Peace again.

Sir _Tim. Why—look you, Mistress, I am that Fop, that very silly Knight, and the rest that you speak of.

Driv. How, Sir? then I'm undone, she's the Upholder of my Calling, the very Grace of my Function.

Sir Tim. Is she so? e'en keep her to your self then, I'll have no more of her, by Fortune—I humbly thank you for your Intelligence, and the rest. Well—I see there's not one honest Whore i'th' Nation, by Fortune.

Enter Charles Bellmour, and Trusty.

Hark ye, Mistress, what was your Bus'ness here?

Flaunt. To meet a Rogue!—

Sir Tim. And I to meet a Whore, and now we are well met.

Flaunt. How, Sir?

Sir Tim. Nay, never be surpriz'd, for your Intrigues are discover'd, the good Matron of the House (against her Will) has done me that kindness—you know how to live without your Keeper, and so I'll leave you.

Flaunt. You're too serviceable a Fool to be lost so. [Aside.

Bel. Who knows this bold Intruder?

Char. How, Sir, am I a Stranger to you? But I shou'd wonder at it, since all your last Night's Actions betray'd a strange depravity of Sense.—Sir, I have sought you long, and wish I had not found you yet, since both the Place and Company declare, how grossly you've dissembled Virtue all this while.

Bel. Take hence that prating Boy.

Char. How, Sir—You are my elder Brother, yet I may be allow'd to do the Business that I came for, and from my Uncle to demand your Wife.

Bel. You may return, and tell him that she's dead.

Char. Dead! sure, Sir, you rave. [Turns him about.

Bel. Indeed I do—but yet she's dead, they say.

Char. How came she dead?

Bel. I kill'd her—ask no more, but leave me. [Turns him about again.

Char. Sir, this is Madman's Language, and not to be believed.

Bel. Go to—y'are a saucy Boy.

Char. Sir, I'm an angry Boy— But yet can bear much from a Brother's Mouth; Y'ave lost your sleep: pray, Sir, go home and seek it.

Bel. Home! I have no Home, unless thou mean'st my Grave, And thither I cou'd wish thou wou'd conduct me. [Weeps.

Flaunt. Pray Heaven this young virtuous Fellow don't spoil all. —Sir, shall I send for a Scrivener to draw the Settlement you promis'd me?

Bel. Do so, and I'll order him to get it ready.

Char. A Settlement! On whom? This Woman, Sir?

Bel. Yes, on this Woman, Sir.

Char. Are you stark mad?—Know you where you are?

Bel. Yes, in a Baudy-house.

Char. And this Woman, Sir.—

Bel. A very Whore—a tawdry mercenary Whore! And what of this?

Char. And can you love her, Sir?

Bel. No, if I did, I wou'd not gratify her.

Char. What, is't in Charity to keep her honest?

Bel. Neither.

Char. Is your Lust grown so high—

Bel. Take that— [Strikes him. For naming but so base a thing to me.

Char. I wear a Sword, but not to draw on Mad-men. But since y'are so free, Sir, I demand that Fortune, which by my Father's Will y'are bound to pay the day after your Wedding-Day; my Sister's too is due.

Bel. Ha, ha, ha,—Sir Timothy, come hither—who dost think this is?

Sir Tim. A Fidler, perhaps—let him play in the next Room.

Bel. No, my Brother—come to demand his Portion of me; he says I am in leud Company, and, like a Boy, he wou'd correct me.

Sir Tim. Why, this comes of Idleness; thou should'st have bound him Prentice in time, the Boy would have made a good saucy Taylor.

Char. Sirrah, y'are a Rascal, whom I must thus chastise. [Kicks him.

[They all draw, and Bellmour stands foremost, and fights with Charles; the Women run squeaking out, Sir Tim. Sham, and Sharp sneak behind; Trusty interposes.

Trust. Hold, hold, I beseech you, my dear Masters! Oh, what a fight is this? Two Brothers fighting with each other! Oh, were my old Master alive, this wou'd break his Heart: Oh, Sir, you've kill'd your Brother!

Bel. Why, then his Portion's paid. [Charles wounded.

Sir Tim. How, kill'd! Nay, 'tis time we departed then, and shifted for ourselves.

[Ex. Sir Tim. Sham and Sharp.

Trust. Oh, Sir, shall I send for a Chyrurgion?

Char. No, for a Coach rather, I am not wounded much.

[Ex. Trusty.

Bel. How dar'st thou trust thy self alone with me?

Char. Why should I fear thee?

Bel. Because I'm mad, Mad as a Tygress rob'd of her dear Young.

Char. What is't that makes you so?

Bel. My Uncle's Politicks, Hell take him for't, Has ruin'd me, thou and my Sister too, By marrying me to a fair hated Maid, When I had plighted all my Faith before.

Enter Trusty.

Trust. Sir, here's a Coach.

Char. Come, Brother, will you go home with me?

Bel. Home!—no, never to that place thou call'st so. If, when I'm dead, thou wouldst behold thy Brother, And take the last Adieu from his cold Lips, (If those so perjur'd can deserve that kindness) Inquire for lost Celinda, at whose Feet Thou shalt behold me fall'n a Sacrifice. Till then, I'll let mistaken Parents know The mischiefs that ensue a broken Vow.

[Ex. severally.



ACT V.

SCENE I. Covent Garden.

Enter Betty Flauntit alone.

Flaunt. Sure I rose the wrong way to day, I have had such damn'd ill luck every way: First, to be sent for to such a Man as this Bellmour, and, as the Devil wou'd have it, to find my Knight there; then to be just upon the Point of making my Fortune, and to be interrupted by that virtuous Brother of his; then to have a Quarrel happen, that (before I could whisper him in the Ear, to say so much as, Meet me here again— anon) forc'd me to quit the House, lest the Constable had done it for me; then that that silly Baud should discover all to my Cully. If this be not ill Luck, the Devil's in't—But Driver must bring matters about, that I may see this liberal Squire again—But here comes my Noddy, I must pretend to be angry.

Enter Sir Timothy.

Sir Tim. Lord, Lord, how ye look now, as if you had committed no Misdemeanour: Alas, good Innocent, what canst thou say for thy self, thou Renegado thou, for being false to my Bosom, say?

Flaunt. False to your Bosom! You silly impudent Sot you—who dares accuse me?

Sir Tim. E'en your trusty and well-beloved Friend, Mrs. Driver the Baud.

Flaunt. She! She's an impudent confounded Lyar—and because she wou'd have your worshipful Custom—scandaliz'd me, to breed a difference between us.

Sir Tim. Ay, if you could make me believe that indeed, when she knew Me not, nor ever saw me all the Days of her Life before.

Flaunt. I know that, Simpleton; but when I went to enquire for you by your Name, and told her my Bus'ness, our Amours are not kept so secret, nor was she so dull, as not to understand how matters went between us.

Sir Tim. Now though I know this to be a damn'd Lye, yet the Devil has assisted her to make it look so like Truth, that I cannot in Honour but forgive her.

Flaunt. Forgive me!—Who shall forgive you your debauch'd Whoring and Drinking?—marry, ye had need so, you are such a Ruffler, at least if y'are every where as you are at home with me—No, Sirrah, I'll never bed with you more; here I live sneaking without a Coach, or any thing to appear withal; when even those that were scandalous two Ages ago, can be seen in Hide-Park in their fine Chariots, as if they had purchas'd it with a Maidenhead; whilst I, who keep myself intirely for you, can get nothing but the Fragments of your Debauches—I'll be damn'd before I'll endure it.

Sir Tim. Just as the Baud said; yet I am mollify'd—nay, dear Betty, forgive me, and I'll be very good for the future.

Flaunt. Will you swear to be so?

Sir Tim. Ay, by Fortune, I will.

Flaunt. Come, what will you give me then to be Friends? for you won Money last Night.

Sir Tim. Ay, that's it that appeases her highest Storms—here, my Jewel, here's a hundred Guineas to buy thee fine things.

Flaunt. Yes, great store of fine things indeed, with this pitiful Sum; let me feel in your Pockets, and see if you have no more. [She feels in his Pockets.

Sir Tim. So, 'twas well I laid by the rest, my Peace had not been Made under every Rag on't else; and what I was painfully cheating for All this Night, would have been laid out at the Mercers and Lacemans in half an Hour. —Well, are you satisfy'd I have no more?

Flaunt. Have you sunk none indeed and indeed, my Timmy?

Sir Tim. No, I need not, you sink mine fast enough, I thank ye. [Aside.

Flaunt. Well, get your self ready to go abroad with me.

[Exit Flaunt.

Sir Tim. I have other Matters in hand—now have I four hundred Guineas in Bank, which I won last Night of Bellmour, which I'll make use of to debauch his Sister, with whom I'm damnably in love, and long for the return of my two Setting-dogs, to bring me News of the Game.

Enter Sham and Sharp.

Oh, are you come?

Sham. Ay, Sir, with News worth the hearing; I have been diligent, Sir, and got my self acquainted with the old Steward of the Family, an avaricious Judas, that will betray for Gold.

Sir Tim. And that we'll furnish him with—his Master's Gold, like all other mortal things, must return from whence it came.

Sharp. Not all, Sir; for Sham and I have dispos'd of part.

Sir Tim. Indeed you are a little shabby.

Sham. Ay, Sir, Fools were made to repair the Breaches of us that have Wit enough to manage 'em.

Sir Tim. What—the Goldsmith paid the Money at sight, without demanding why?

Sharp. Readily, Sir—he's a brave Fellow, and must not be lost so.

Sham. By no means, we must make use of him whilst he is hot; for I doubt the Humour is not natural, and I fear he may cool.

Sir Tim. But to our Business.

Sharp. Ay, Sir, this same Sister of his you must have; if it be but to put this insolent Whore Flauntit out of favour, who manages this Fop intirely. [Aside.

Sir Tim. Ay, but art thou sure there is no danger in this Enterprize? Shall I not have my Throat cut? and the rest.

Sham. We have none of that Italian Humour now-a-days, I can assure ye; they will sooner, with a brotherly kindness, assist the yielding Sister to the willing Gallant.

Sir Tim. A good thriving Inclination, by Fortune.

Sham. And, Sir, you have all Encouragement; her Brother, you heard, refus'd to pay her Portion, and you know the Fate of a handsom young Wench in this Town, that relies on weak Virtue—Then because she is in The House with her Uncle, this same Steward has contriv'd matters so, to bring you in at the Back-door, her Lodgings being in the Garden.

Sir Tim. This is something—Oh, I'm impatient to be with her—Well, I must in, and make some Lye to Betty for my Absence, and be with you presently. [Exit Sir Tim.

Sharp. What Design hast thou in hand? for I suppose there is no such real thing as debauching of this Lady.

Sham. Look ye, Sharp, take to thee an implicit Faith, and believe Impossibilities; for thou and I must cozen this Knight.

Sharp. What, our Patron?

Sham. Ay, Sharp, we are bound to labour in our Callings, but mum— here he comes.

Enter Sir Timothy.

Sir Tim. Come, let's away, my Lyoness begins to roar.—You, Sharp, go seek after Bellmour, watch his Motions, and give us notice.

[Exeunt.

Flaunt. He is gone, and I believe [Betty Flauntit peeping out.] for no Goodness; I'll after him, and watch him.

[Exit cross the Stage.



SCENE II. Lord Plotwell's House.

Enter Lord Plotwell, Charles, Trusty, and two Servants.

Lord. In a Baudy-house, with Whores, Hectors, and Dice! Oh, that I should be so deceiv'd in Mankind, he whom I thought all Virtue and Sobriety! But go some of you immediately, and take Officers along with you, and remove his Quarters from a Baudy-house to a Prison: charge him with the Murder of his Wife.

Char. My Lord, when I demanded her, he said indeed that she was dead, and kill'd by him; but this I guess was the Effects of Madness, which Debauchery, and want of Sleep has brought him to.

Lord. That shall be try'd; go to the Place where Charles has directed you, and do as I command you.

[Ex. Servants.

—Oh, sweet Diana, in whom I had plac'd my absolute Delight, And gave thee to this Villain, because I wish'd thee happy. And are my Expectations fall'n to this? Upon his Wedding Night to abandon thee, And shew his long dissembled natural Leudness!

Char. My Lord, I hope, 'tis not his natural Temper; For e'er we parted, from a brutal Rudeness, He grew to all the Softness Grief could dictate. He talkt of breach of Vows, of Death, and Ruin, And dying at the Feet of a wrong'd Maid; I know not what he meant.

Lord. Ay, there's his Grief; there is some jilting Hussy has drawn him in; but I'll revenge my self on both.

Enter Page.

Page. A Letter for your Lordship.

Lord reads.

My LORD,

As your Goodness has been ever great towards me, so I humbly beseech you to continue it; and the greatest Proofs you can give me of it, is to use all your Interest to undo that tye between Bellmour and my self, which with such Joy you knit. I will say no more, but as you love my Life, and my dearer Honour, get a Divorce, or you will see both ruin'd in Your Diana.

[Gives Charles the Letter.

Lord. A Divorce! yes, if all my Interest or Estate can purchase it— some Joy yet that thou art well.

Char. Doubtless her Reasons must be great for this Request.

Lord. Yes, for she lov'd him passionately; when I first told her of my Designs to marry 'em together, she could not hide her Joy; which was one Motive, I urg'd it to him with such Violence.

Char. Persons so near of Kin do seldom prosper in the Marriage-Bed.

Lord. However 'tis, I now think fit to unmarry 'em; And as for him, I'll use him with what Rigor The utmost Limits of the Law allows me.

Char. Sir, I beseech you—

Lord. You beseech me! You, the Brother of the Villain! that has abus'd the best of all my Hopes!—No, I think—I shall grow (for his sake) to hate all that belong to him.

Char. Sir, how, have I offended?

Lord. Yes, Sir, you have offended me, and Nature has offended me; you are his Brother, and that's an Offence to me.

Char. Is that a Fault, my Lord?

Lord. Yes, Sir, a great one, and I'll have it so; and let me tell you, you nor your Sister (for that reason) must expect no more Friendship at my Hands, than from those that are absolute Strangers to you: Your Brother has refus'd you your Portions, and I'll have as little Mercy As he, and so farewel to you—But where's the Messenger that brought the Letter?

Page. Without, my Lord.

[Ex. Lord and Page.

Trust. Here's like to be a hopeful end of a noble Family. My Comfort is, I shall die with Grief, and not see the last of ye. [Weeps.

Char. No, Trusty, I have not been so meanly educated, but I know how to live, and like a Gentleman: All that afflicts me in this Misfortune, is my dear Sister Phillis, she's young; and to be left poor in this loose Town, will ruin her for ever.

Trust. Sir, I think we were best to marry her out of the way.

Char. Marry her! To whom? who is't regards poor Virtue?

Trust. For that let me alone; and if you dare trust her to my Management, I'll undertake to marry her to a Man of 2000 pounds a Year; and if it fail, I'll be sure to keep her Honour safe.

Char. Prithee how wilt do this?

Trust. Sir, I have serv'd your Family these thirty Years, with Faith and Love; and if I lose my Credit now, I'll never pretend to't more.

Char. Do what thou wilt, for I am sure thou'rt honest, And I'll resign my Sister to thy Conduct, Whilst I endeavour the Conversion of my Brother. [Exit Charles.

Enter Phillis.

Phil. No News yet of my Brother?

Trust. None: The Next you'll hear is, that he's undone, and that you must go without your Portions; and worse than that, I can tell you, your Uncle designs to turn you out of Doors.

Phil. Alas! what shou'd I do, if he shou'd be so cruel? Wou'd I were in Flanders at my Monastery again, if this be true.

Trust. I have better Bus'ness for you, than telling of Beads—No, Mrs. Phillis, you must be married.

Phil. Alas! I am too young, and sad for Love.

Trust. The younger, and the less Love, the better.

Enter Page.

Page. Mr. Trusty, here's a Gentleman would speak with you, he says his Name's Mr. Sham.

Trust. Gud's me, Mistress, put on all your Holiday Looks; for this is the little Merchant of Love by Retail, that brings you the Husband I promis'd you.

Enter Sham.

Sham. Well, Mr. Trusty, I have brought Sir Timothy as I promis'd, he is at the Garden-door.

Trust. The best time in the World, my Lord's out of the way.

Sham. But you know our Conditions.

Trust. Yes, that if he marry her, you are to have all the Money that he offers to debauch her.

Sham. Right.

Trust. Bring him in then, and I'll civilly withdraw. [Exit Trusty.

Enter Sham, bringing in Sir Timothy.

Sir Tim. Well, Sham, thou hast prepar'd all things, and there needs no Ceremony.

Sham. None, none, Sir; you may fall down-right to the Business. [Exit.

Enter Phillis.

Sir Tim. sings.

Come, my Phillis, let us improve Both our Joys of equal Love; Whilst we in yonder shady Grove, Count Minutes by our Kisses.

Phil. What sort of Courtship's this? 'tis very odd!

Sir Tim. Pox on formal Fops; we have high-born and generous Souls, and scorn the common Road—Come, let's enjoy, whilst Youth and Beauty lasts.

Phil. What means this Rudeness? I'll tell my Brother.

Sir Tim. Your Brother! by Fortune, he's so leud, that should I he so unconscionable to leave thee a Virgin but this Night, he wou'd ravish thee himself, and that at cheaper Rates than I design to do it.

Phil. How dare you talk to me at this rate?

Sir Tim. Talk to thee—by Fortune, I'll play the Tarquin with thee, if thou yieldest not quickly—for thou hast set me all on fire.

Phil. Defend me, Heaven, from such a Man.

Sir Tim. Then it must defend you from all the Sex; for all Mankind are like me, nay, and all Womankind are, or wou'd be, what I must make thee.

Phil. What's that, a Wench?

Sir Tim. Fie, fie, that's a gross Name; no, a Miss, that's the Word— a Lady of Delight, a Person of Pleasure and the rest; I'll keep thee, not a Woman of Quality shall be half so fine—Come, dear Phillis, yield. Oh, I am mad for the happy hour—come, say the word, 'tis but inclining thy Head a little thus, thy pretty Eyes down, and thy Cheeks all Blushes, and fetching a long Sigh—thus—with—do—what you please —at the end on't—and I shall take it for granted.

Phil. That, Sir, you'll never hear me say to any thing but a Husband, if I must say it then.

Sir Tim. A Husband! it is enough to spoil a Man's Appetite, the very naming on't—By Fortune, thou hast been bred with thy great Grand-mother, some old Queen Elizabeth Lady, that us'd to preach Warnings to young Maidens; but had she liv'd in this Age, she wou'd have repented her Error, especially had she seen the Sum that I offer thee—Come, let's in, by Fortune, I'm so vigorous, I shall ravish else.

Phil. Unhand me, or I'll call out. I assure you, this is not the way to gain me.

Sir Tim. I know there is a way to gain all mortal Womankind; but how to hit the critical Minute of the Berjere—

Phil. It is past your Politicks at this time, Sir.

Sir Tim. I'll try all ways, and the Devil's in it, if I don't hit upon the right at last. [Aside. All the soft things I've said—

Phil. That a Knight of your Parts ought to say.

Sir Tim. Then I have kneel'd—and cry'd, and swore—and—

Phil. And damn'd your self five hundred times.

Sir Tim. Yet still y'are impregnable—I'll make another Proposition to you, which is both reasonable and modish—if it prove a Boy—I'll marry you—the Devil's in't, if that be not fair.

Phil. You get no earnest of me, Sir, and so farewel to you. [Ex. Phillis.

Enter Sham.

Sir Tim. Oh, Sham, I am all over fire, mad to enjoy. I have done what Man can do (without doing what I wou'd do) and still she's Flint; nothing will down with her but Matrimony—what shall I do? for thou know'st I cannot marry a Wife without a Fortune.

Sham. Sir, you know the old Cheat; hire a Lay Rascal in a Canonical Habit, and put a false Marriage upon her.

Sir Tim. Lord, that this shou'd not enter into my Coxcomb before! haste then and get one—I'll have it done immediately, whilst I go after her to keep up my flame. [Ex. Sir Tim.

Sham. And I will fit you with a Parson presently.

[Ex.



SCENE III. A Street.

Enter Friendlove disguis'd as before.

Friend. I find Diana knows me not; and this Year's absence, since I first made my Addresses to her, has alter'd me much, or she has lost the remembrance of a Man, whom she ever disesteem'd till in this lucky Dress: the price of her Favour is Bellmour's Life. I need not have been brib'd for that, his Breach of Faith both to my Sister and my self, enough incites me to Revenge—He has not yet enjoy'd her, that Blessing is reserv'd for me alone; and though the Priest have joyn'd 'em, that Marriage may be disannull'd, and she has a Fortune sufficient to excuse her other Faults.

Enter Bellmour sad.

—Hah! the Man I seek—so near my Lodgings too—Sir!

Bel. Sir!

Friend. Traitor! thou know'st me, and my bus'ness.— Look on this Face, if thou dar'st look on him Whom thou hast doubly wrong'd—and draw thy Sword.

Bel. Thou should'st be Friendlove, Brother to Celinda.

Friend. And Lover of Diana too—Oh, quickly draw, Or I shall leave thee, like a Coward, dead.

Bel. No, rather like a Sacrifice, [Offers to embrace him. And thou should'st be the Priest should offer it; But that I have yet, For some few moments, business for my Life.

Friend. I can allow no time for business now, My Injuries are in haste, and so am I.

Bel. Shou'dst thou stab here a thousand gaping Wounds, Upon this false, this perjur'd Heart of mine, It wou'd not part with Life, unless 'twere laid Near to the Sacred Altar of my Vows, Low at the Feet of my fair injur'd Wife.

Friend. Ha!—means he his Wife? [Aside. Canst thou repent thy Injuries to her, And leave the rest of all thy Sins neglected?

Bel. Those I have done to thee, though foul and barbarous, May plead the Excuse of Force—but those to her, Not thou, nor I, nor she, or Heav'n can pardon.

Friend. Heav'ns! My Sister's Wrongs, and mine, may plead Excuse, But those to her alone can ne'er be pardon'd. —This place, Sir, is too open—come with me, For I've desir'd, and now resolve to kill thee.

Bel. And so thou shalt; defenceless, I will yield, And leave my Bosom open to thy Sword. —But first conduct me to my Wife; For I will see her—nor can I die unpardon'd.

Friend. See his Wife!—Of whom do you demand her.

Bel. Of thee!—dar'st thou detain me? [Offers to go in.

Friend. Death! how shou'd he know she's here? [Aside. —Stay, Sir, this way our Business lies. [Pulls him back.

Bel. I ask not thine, but mine lies only this way. [Offers to go in again.

Friend. By Heav'n, you shall not enter here.

Bel. I know thou lov'st her. And 'tis with Reason thou deny'st an Entrance To one so much unworthy to approach her.

Friend. Yes, I do love her, and dare own it too; And will defend her from one so base and treacherous.

Bel. Who dares deny thy Reasons?

Friend. Sh'has made me take an Oath, to fight with thee; And every Wound my lucky Sword shou'd make, She bad me say, was sent thee from her Hate.

Bel. Oh, I believe thee: prithee tell on, young Man, That I may die without the aid of Wounds.

Friend. To break thy Heart, know then, she loves another, And has took back the Vows she made to thee, And given 'em to a Man more worthy of 'em.

Bel. Alas! I credit thee—yet—then, by Heav'n, she's false! And I will know, why 'tis she is thus perjur'd. [Offers to go. —Nay, now—nor Heaven, nor Hell, shall hinder me. —Stand off, or to the number I'll add one Sin more, And make my Passage to it through thy Heart.

Friend. And so you shall, Sir.

[_They fight_, Bellmour disarms Friend, and runs in_.

—Disarm'd! by Heav'n, you shall not so escape A Rage that is too just here to give o'er.



SCENE IV. Changes to the Inside of Friendlove's Lodgings.

Enter Celinda, as before, met by Nurse.

Nur. Oh, Madam, here's Mr. Bellmour; he has wounded my young Master, who deny'd him Entrance, and is come into the House, and all in Rage demands his Wife.

Cel. Oh Heav'n! Demands his Wife! Is that sad Curse Added to all the rest?—Does he then love her?

Enter Bellmour with two Swords.

Nur. Whither do you press, Sir? and what's your business?

Bel. To see my Wife, my Wife, Impertinence; And must I meet with nought but Opposition? [Pushes her roughly away.

Cel. Let him come in.

Nur. Marry, he lets himself in, I thank him.

Cel. What Man art thou thus cover'd o'er with Horror?

Bel. One sent from Hell to punish Perjury! —Where's this perfidious Fair? this blushless Maid, That has by my Example broke her Vows? A Precedent that Fiends wou'd shame to follow.

Cel. Who is't you mean, Sir?

Bel. A thing that has no Name, she is so bad; One who so lately gave her self to me, And now is flown into another's Arms: One that attacks my Life, for the same Sins Which she her self commits—and thinks to live too. —Yet still she is my Wife, whom I have injur'd: Till when, she was a Saint—come, lead me to her, Though she be false as I, yet I'll forgive it. [Throws by the Swords.

Cel. Heav'ns! he repents his Cruelty to her, And never mentions me! Ah then 'tis time to die. And that I may be sure of Death— [Aside. Well, Sir, I will conduct this happy Lady to you. [Ex. Cel.

Bel. Gods! Happy!—whilst I am wretched. —Oh, what an Ague chills my shivering Limbs, Turns my hot Rage to softest Love, and Shame! Were I not here to die—here at her Feet, I wou'd not stand the Shock of her Reproaches. —But yet she need not speak, a Look's sufficient To call up all my Sins to my undoing— She comes—Oh Heav'n! she comes—

Enter Celinda and Diana.

—Like penitent Criminals thus—with my Eyes declin'd, I bow my Head down, for the last sad Blow. [Stands bow'd.

Cel. Sir, in Obedience to your Commands, I've brought the Lady.

Dia. How! The perfidious Bellmour! The only Object of my Hate and Scorn.

Bel. Say on, my angry Deity— [Kneels. Whilst I thus trembling hear my fatal Doom, Like Sinners, conscious ne'er to be forgiven, I dare not lift my guilty Eyes towards Heaven.

Cel. Can I hear this, and yet retain my Life?

Dia. Had I but two days since beheld this Youth Thus prostrate at my Feet, I should have thought My self more blest, Than to have been that Deity he calls me.

Enter Friendlove.

Friend. Defend me! The Traitor here! And at Diana's Feet! The fittest Altar for my Sacrifice! —Turn, turn, from what thou lov'st, and meet my Justice.

Cel. Oh, hold, my dearest Brother.

[Bellmour rises, and turns about.

Bel. Nay, now I'm ready for the welcome Sword, Since my Celinda's false, and cannot pardon.

Cel. Oh, do not die with that profane Opinion. Celinda false! or cannot pardon thee!

Dia. Stay, generous Sir, my Pity has forgiven him.

Bel. Thou! Why, who art thou—Diana?

Dia. Yes, that Diana, Whom, maugre all the Penitence thou shew'st, Can scarce forgive the Injuries thou hast done her.

Bel. I shew a Penitence for injuring thee! By Heav'n, I never cou'd do one, or other; All that I am is the divine Celinda's.

Friend. He's stark mad! [Aside.

Bel. But since she cannot pardon, I can die. [Offers to fall on his Sword.

Cel. Canst thou not credit me? She pardons thee. Live—and enjoy—Diana. [Turns her Face from him.

Bel. What art thou, who know'st her Heart so well? Art thou my Rival? the blessed Youth, to whom She has given her Vows?—Live, and enjoy, Diana! —Yes, yes, thou art my Rival, and I'll kill thee.

Cel. Do, whilst I meet thy Sword.

[Opens her Arms, Diana stays him; he lets fall his Sword, and gazes.

Bel, Dull—dull Adorer! Not to know my Saint. Oh, how I have profan'd! To what strange Idol Was that I kneel'd, Mistaking it for a Divinity?

Cel. To your fair Wife Diana.

Bel. Oh cruel Maid! Has Heav'n design'd me any but Celinda?

Dia. Maid! Bless me!—did I then love a Woman? —I am pleas'd thou should'st renounce me; make it good, And set me free from Fetters which I hate.

Bel. If all our Laws can do't, I will—for here Ends all my Claim. [To Celinda.

Friend. Was this the Wife you did demand of me?

Bel. Yes, I had no other.

Dia. Fair Maid! forgive me all my shameful Passion, And charge my Fault upon your Beauty only.

Cel. Excellent Creature! I shou'd sue for that, Which my Deceit will never make me hope.

Bel. And art thou true to Love, and all thy Vows? Whilst I to save my Fortune, (That only which you'd make me merit thee) Gave my unwilling Hand to this fair noble Maid. —Ah, Friendlove, when thou hear'st my Story told, Thou wilt forgive, and pity me.

Dia. What was't you said, Sir? Friendlove!

Friend. Yes, Madam, I hope the Name can make no difference; Or hate that still, so you but love the Man.

Dia. Though I'm again defeated, yet this last Proves least offensive; nor shall an empty Word Alter my fix'd Resolves, to love you still.

Friend. Then I am blest!

Bel. But yet the Office of the Priest has past: What Remedy for that?

Dia. My Uncle's Pow'r, the Nearness of our Blood, The Contradiction of our Circumstances.

Bel. And above all that, my Contract with Celinda. —Methinks I feel a Joy spread o'er my Heart, The blessed Omen of approaching Happiness.

Cel. I do believe thee; for by Sympathy, Mine takes new Fire and Hope.

Dia. I have already writ to my Uncle, and the Messenger assur'd me, he would gratify my Desires; that done, I will be yours. [To Friendlove.

Bel. But why thus drest? it might have led my Rage, Full of Despair and Jealousy to have hurt thee.

Cel. Sir, when the Letter came of your being married, I will not tell you all the Effects it had Upon my desperate Soul; But this I know, I had resolv'd to die, But first to see you. Your Page inform'd the Nurse All that had past, and of the last Night's Ball; And much concern'd, she got this Habit for me, And inform'd me how 'twas I was to act, And that my Brother (describing of his Dress) was gone before. This made me haste, lest e'er I came His Rage had done the Business which it went for.

Friend. And so it had, hadst thou not hinder'd me; For I, Sir, was the Man who drew on you.

Bel. And was it thou that didst defend my Heart, That I might live to pay thy Goodness back?

Cel. It was to save your Life, and to expose my own.

Dia. Come, let's in, and consult what's best for us to do.

Bel. Come, my Celinda. Let us no longer doubt, the Pow'rs above Will be propitious to united Love.

[Ex. Cel.

Enter Servant.

Serv. Sir, my Lord Plotwell is at the Door in his Coach.

Dia. My Uncle come! Sir, we will not doubt our Fortune. But how came he to know of my being here?

Serv. Madam, I fear he follow'd me after I had given him the Letter.

Enter Lord Plotwell, Charles, Trusty.

Lord. Bellmour and Diana kneeling! [Bel. and Diana kneel. —Rise; the Joy I have to see you thus, makes me Resolve to grant you any thing, and pardon All that's past.

Bel. Be not so hasty in your Goodness, Sir, Lest you repent as fast.

Dia. Sir, we have an humble Suit to you.

Lord. What is it ye can jointly ask, I will not grant?

Dia. By all that Love you ever had for me, By all those Infant Charms which us'd to please you, When on your Lap you taught my Tongue that Art Which made those dear Impressions on your Heart, Which ever since to my Advantage grew, I do conjure you hear me now I sue, And grant the mighty Grace I beg of you.

Lord. What is it you wou'd ask?

Bel. Oh, dress your Face and Eyes in gentler Looks, If you wou'd have us hope for any Mercy.

Lord. Rise, and whate'er you ask, I'll freely grant.

Dia. That you'll undo that Knot, that ties us two.

Lord. How! this Request from thee! who lov'd him once, And wish'd no good beyond possessing him.

Dia. Heav'n has not, Sir, decreed us for each other: Something of Fate or Chance Has otherwise dispos'd those first Resolves.

Lord. Too virtuous Maid, I know thou dost but feign, His Wickedness has forc'd thee to this change.

Dia. No, Sir, were he the only Man Of kind and good, I never wou'd be his. —And if you shou'd compel me, I shou'd live The infamous Reproach of my whole Sex.

Lord. Well, and you, Sir, that are the cause of this, What canst thou say to move me for thy Pardon?

Bel. I am so guilty in your Opinion, My Prayers wou'd but make you merciless; I only say Celinda is my Wife, And I shou'd injure this too generous Maid, Not to adore her equal to her Merit.

Lord. I see, Sir, you have found your Wits again. —Well, I see there's no opposing Destiny; And I have still such tenderness for thee, [To Dia. That hadst thou pleaded his Cause to me before, I shou'd have been less cruel to him. —Where is that Lady which you so admire, Whose Beauty does eclipse that of Diana?

[Bellmour goes out, and brings in Celinda.

Dia. This, Sir, is she who merits more than I.

Lord. She's fair indeed; here, Frank, I give thee thy Celinda, whose Beauty Excuses all thy Faults of Disobedience.

Bel. Thus low, I thank you for this Goodness, Sir. [Kneels.

Lord. There only wants the Ceremony of the Law to undo what's between you and Diana, if she remain a Virgin.

Bel. For me, by Heav'n she is; And for the rest, I do not doubt her Virtue.

Dia. You may believe him, Sir; and this alone's the Man, in whom I will, or never will be happy.

Lord. Mr. Friendlove! I give Consent to't, he has a noble Character; and what he wants in Fortune, has in Virtue—take her, young Man.

Friend. 'Tis such an Honour, Sir, that my Gratitude, without the mighty Passion I have for her, would make me ever thankful.

Lord. This Term, we shall make the former Marriage void; till then love on, and fear no Frowns from Fortune—but Nephew—now I hope your Brother shall have his Portion.

Bel. My dearest Charles, forgive me all that's past, And share the Fortune Heaven has given thy Brother.

Char. The Joy I have, Sir, to be undeceived, Is much the greatest Blessing Heav'n can send me.

Enter Sir Timothy, follow'd by Phillis, Sham, Sharp, and Betty Flauntit.

Sir Tim. I am pursu'd by two impertinent Women; prithee, Friendlove, tell 'em I am gone out at the Backdoor, and send 'em away.

Lord. What's the News here?

Sir Tim. How, Celinda here, and Bellmour too! Nay, now wou'd I compound for my Life, at any rate, by Fortune.

Phil. Sir, this Villain here has abus'd me, and with a false Marriage has rob'd me of my Honour.

Bel. How!

Sir Tim. My Lord, I say this young Jilt would have rob'd me of my self; and courting her, and enjoying her only for a Miss, would persuade me I am married to her.

Flaunt. Sir, I say, I am doubly wrong'd; first by this false Knight, who has belong'd to me this three Years, which gives me a right to him, as good as if I were married to him; who has now unlawfully left my Bed, for that of this Gilflurt, who, on the other side, takes away my Knight, and consequently eats the Bread out of my Mouth.

Bel. What means all this? Speak some of ye that know.

Flaunt. Oh Lord! Who's here? The fine Squire? [Aside.

Trust. Sir Timothy Tawdry, Sir, is married to Mrs. Phillis.

Sir Tim. How can that be a Marriage, when he who join'd us, was but a hired Fellow, dress'd like a Parson?

Trust. Sir, 'twas Parson Tickletext that marry'd 'em.

Sir Tim. Oh, what a damn'd lying Pimp is this!—Sham, didst thou not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to marry us, that was no Parson?

Sham. Why, truly, Sir—I did go to hire such a one—

Sir Tim. Look ye there now.

Sham. But you'd meet with none; and because you said you shou'd die if you enjoy'd her not presently, and that she would not yield on any other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e'en brought the Parson that Trusty had provided for you.

Sir Tim. Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward!

Trust. Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my young Mistress's Looking-glass fell to his share.

Sir Tim. What's my Money gone! and I am marry'd too! This 'tis not to use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc'd to know the Parson.

Bel. Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon a Maid of her Quality—How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry that Rascal?

Phil. Sir, you deny'd me my Portion, and my Uncle design'd to turn me out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him.

Flaunt. Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that's the worst part on't—what shall I do?

Bel. Renounce this leud Fool, and I'll make thee a Fortune suitable to thy Quality.

Sir Tim. Say you so?—Renounce me, Sir! I'd have you to know I merit her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, Bellmour—but only some have the Art of hiding it better than I—but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing, and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with your Sister, inspite of you.

Lord. Well, Sir Timothy, since my Niece has done amiss, 'tis too late to mend it—and that you may not repent, I'll take care her Fortune shall be suitable to the Jointure you'll make her.

Bel. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir Timothy—I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you quite out of Fop-road.

Lord. This Day we'll set apart for Mirth, And all must make my House their happy home.

Bel. To thee, Celinda! all my Good I owe, My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too, Since all had perish'd by a broken Vow.

Flaunt. What, am I like to lose my Timmy? Canst thou have the Heart to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you?

Sir Tim. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune—thou art a Fool, dost think I wou'd have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town—go—go home and expect me, thou'lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two:

Since Marriage but a larger Licence is For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss.



EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Sir Timothy Tawdrey.

Sir Timothy, Gallants, at last is come To know his Sentence, and receive his Doom, But pray before you are resolv'd to be Severe, look on your selves, and then on me; Observe me well, I am a Man of Show, Of Noise, and Nonsense, as are most of you. Though all of you don't share with me in Title, In Character you differ very little. Tell me in what you find a Difference? It may be you will say, you're Men of Sense; But Faith— Were one of you o'th' Stage, and I i'th' Pit, He might be thought the Fop, and I the Wit. On equal Grounds you'll scarce know one from t'other; We are as like, as Brother is to Brother. To judge against me then wou'd be Ill-Nature, For Men are kind to those they're like in Feature. For Judges therefore I accept you all; By you, Sir Timothy will stand or fall. He's too faint-hearted that his Sentence fears, Who has the Honour to be try'd by's Peers.

Written by Mr. E.R.



THE FALSE COUNT.



ARGUMENT.

Don Carlos, Governor of Cadiz, who has been contracted to Julia, now married to a rich old churl, Francisco, in order to gain her, mans a galley, which has been captured from the Turks, with some forty or fifty attendants disguised as ferocious Ottomans; and whilst she, her husband and a party of friends are taking a pleasure trip in a yacht, they are suddenly boarded and all made prisoners by the supposed corsairs, who carry them off to a country villa a few miles from the town belonging to Carlos' friend, Antonio, which, however, they are firmly convinc'd is a palace inhabited by the Great Turk himself. Here Carlos appears, dressed as the Sultan, with much pomp, and Francisco, overwhelmed with terror, speedily relinquishes Julia to his captor. In order to punish her for her intolerable arrogance, Isabella, Francisco's daughter by his former wife, who is designed to wed Antonio, is introduced to a chimney-sweep, Guiliom, masquerading as a noble of high degree. She forthwith strikes up a match with the False Count, leaving Antonio free to marry Clara, Julia's sister, whom he loves. No sooner, however, has the knot been securely tied than Guiliom, appearing in his sooty rags and with smutched face, publicly demands and humiliates his haughty bride. The trick of the feigned Turks is discovered by the arrival at the villa of Baltazer, Julia's father. Don Carlos, however, claims his mistress by reason of his former contract, which is perforce allowed.



SOURCE.

Guiliom, masquerading as a Count, is of course directly derived from Les Precieuses Ridicules, first performed 18 November, 1659, and Isabella is a close copy of Cathos and Magdelon. Flecknoe had already adapted Moliere in The Damoiselles a la Mode, unacted (4to 1667); and seven years later than Mrs. Behn, Shadwell, in his fine comedy, Bury Fair (1689), drew largely from the same source. His mock noble is a French peruke-maker, La Roch, who marries Lady Fantast's affected daughter. Miller, in his The Man of Taste; or, The Guardian (1735), blended the same plot with L'Ecole des Maris. The stratagem of the feigned Turkish ship capturing the yacht is a happy extension of a hint from the famous galley scene (Que diable allait-il faire a cette galere?), Act ii, 7, Les Fourberies de Scapin. This, however, is not original with Moliere, being entirely borrowed from Le Pedant Joue, Act ii, 4, of Cyrano de Bergerac (1654). What is practically a translation of Les Fourberies de Scapin by Otway, was produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1677, and in the same year Ravenscroft included a great part of it in his Scaramouch a Philosopher, Harlequin a Schoolboy, Bravo, Merchant, and Magician.

In the Epilogue Mrs. Behn asserts that she wrote The False Count with ease in something less than a week. This may be a pardonable exaggeration; but there are certainly distinct marks of haste in the composition of the play. In Act iii, I, she evidently intended Francisco and his party to be seized as they were returning home by sea, at the end of the act she arranges their sea trip as an excursion on a yacht.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

The False Count; or, A New Way to Play an Old Game was produced at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, in the autumn of 1682, not later than the end of October. An excellent rattling farce, it seems to have kept the stage at intervals for some twenty years. On 11 August, 1715, there was a revival at Lincoln's Inn Fields. It is billed as 'not acted ten years'. Spiller played Guiliom, Mrs. Moor Isabella, and Mrs. Thurmond Julia. There is no further record of its performance.



THE FALSE COUNT: or, A New Way to play an old Game.



PROLOGUE.

Spoken by Mr. Smith.

Know all ye Whigs and Tories of the Pit, (Ye furious Guelphs and Gibelins of Wit, Who for the Cause, and Crimes of Forty One So furiously maintain the Quarrel on) Our Author, as you'll find it writ in Story, Has hitherto been a most wicked Tory; But now, to th'joy o'th' Brethren be it spoken, Our Sister's vain mistaken Eyes are open; And wisely valuing her dear Interest now, All-powerful Whigs, converted is to you. 'Twas long she did maintain the Royal Cause, Argu'd, disputed, rail'd with great Applause; Writ Madrigals and Doggerel on the Times, And charg'd you all with your Fore-fathers Crimes; Nay, confidently swore no Plot was true, But that so slily carried on by you: Raised horrid Scandals on you, hellish Stories, In Conventicles how you eat young Tories; As Jew did heretofore eat Christian Suckling; And brought an Odium on your pious Gutling: When this is all Malice it self can say, You for the good Old Cause devoutly eat and pray. Though this one Text were able to convert ye, Ye needy Tribe of Scriblers to the Party; Yet there are more advantages than these, For write, invent, and make what Plots you please, The wicked Party keep your Witnesses; Like frugal Cuckold-makers you beget Brats that secur'd by others fires shall sit. Your Conventicling Miracles out-do All that the Whore of Babylon e'er knew: By wondrous art you make Rogues honest Men, And when you please transform 'em Rogues again. To day a Saint, if he but hang a Papist, Peach a true Protestant, your Saint's turn'd Atheist: And dying Sacraments do less prevail, Than living ones, though took in Lamb's-Wool-Ale. Who wou'd not then be for a Common-weal, To have the Villain covered with his Zeal? A Zeal, who for Convenience can dispense With Plays provided there's no Wit nor Sense. For Wit's profane, and Jesuitical, And Plotting's Popery, and the Devil and all. We then have fitted you with one to day, 'Tis writ as 'twere a Recantation Play; Renouncing all that has pretence to witty, T'oblige the Reverend Brumighams o'th' City: No smutty Scenes, no Jests to move your Laughter, Nor Love that so debauches all your Daughters. But shou'd the Torys now, who will desert me, Because they find no dry bobs on your Party, Resolve to hiss, as late did Popish Crew, By Yea and Nay, she'll throw her self on you, The grand Inquest of Whigs, to whom she's true. Then let 'em rail and hiss, and damn their fill, Your Verdict will be Ignoramus still.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Don Carlos, Governour of Cadiz, young and rich, in love with Julia, Mr. Smith Antonio, a Merchant, young and rich. Friend to Carlos, in love with Clara, but promis'd to Isabella, Mr. Wiltshire Francisco, old and rich, Husband to Julia, and Father to Isabella, Mr. Nokes. Baltazer, Father to Julia and Clara, Mr. Bright. Sebastian, Father to Antonio, Mr. Freeman. Guzman, Gentlemen to Carlos, Mr. Underhill. Guiliom, a Chimney-Sweeper; the False Count, Mr. Lee. Two overgrown Pages to the False Count, A little Page to the False Count. Petro, Cashier to Antonio. Page to Don Carlos. Captain of a Gally. Two Seamen. Lopez, Servant to Baltazer. Several disguis'd like Turks.

WOMEN.

Julia, Wife to Francisco, young and handsom, in love with Carlos, Mrs. Davis. Clara, Sister to Julia, in love with Antonio, Mrs. Petty. Isabella, Daughter to Francisco; proud, vain and foolish, despising all Men under the degree of Quality, and falls in love with Guiliom, Mrs. Corror. Jacinta, Woman to Julia, Mrs. Osborne. Wife to Petro.

Dancers, Singers, &c.



ACT I.

SCENE I. The Street.

Enter Carlos, Antonio and Guzman.

Car. By all that's good, I'm mad, stark raving mad, To have a Woman young, rich, beautiful, Just on the point of yielding to my Love, Snatcht from my Arms by such a Beast as this; An old ridiculous Buffoon, past Pleasure, Past Love, or any thing that tends that way; Ill-favour'd, ill-bred, and ill-qualify'd, With more Diseases than a Horse past Service; And only blest with Fortune and my Julia; For him, I say, this Miser, to obtain her, After my tedious nights and days of Love, My midnight Watchings, Quarrels, Wounds and Dangers; —My Person not unhandsom too, By Heav'n, 'twas wondrous strange!

Ant. And old Francisco, without the expence of an hour's Courtship, a Billet-Doux, or scarce a sight of her, could gain her in a day; and yet 'tis wonder, your Fortune and your Quality, should be refus'd by Don Baltazer her Father.

Car. A Pox upon't, I went the wrong way to work, and courted the Daughter; but indeed my Father, the late Governour of Cadiz, whose Estate and Honour I now enjoy, was then living; and, fearing he would not consent to my Passion, I endeavoured to keep it secret, though sacred Vows had past between us two.

Ant. Did she not tell you of this Marriage with old Francisco?

Car. The night before, she did; but only by a Letter from her Window dropt; which when by the help of a dark Lanthorn, I had read, I was struck dead with Grief. [Gives him the Letter.

Ant. [reads.]

Expect to morrow night to hear I'm dead, since the next Sun will guide me to a fatal Marriage with old Francisco. Your Julia.

Car. Judge, dear Antonio, my Surprize and Grief; A-while I stood unmov'd, thoughtless, and silent, But soon Rage wak'd me to new Life again; But what I said and did, I leave to raging Lovers, Like disappointed me, to guess and judge; She heard—and only answer'd me in Tears, Nor could I beg one tender Word from her, She sigh'd, and shut the Window too, and vanish'd.

Ant. And she accordingly next day was married.

Car. She was—and I have since endeavoured all the Arts and Ways I can to cuckold him; 'tis now two months since the Wedding, and I hear he keeps her as close as a Relict, jealous as Age and Impotence can make him. She hitherto has been absent at Sevil, but Expectation of her Daughter-in-law's Wedding with you has brought 'em hither,—and, I ask your Pardon, Antonio, for raillying your Father-in-law that shall be, old Francisco.

Ant. I hope you are mistaken, Sir.

Car. How, are you not to marry his Daughter, Isabella?

Ant. Not if I can help it, Sir,—the Honour you have done me in your Friendship to me, a Person so much above me in Title and Birth, makes me think it my Duty to conceal no part of my Heart to you,—Know then this Isabella, Daughter to old Francisco, and your Cuckold that shall be I hope, is, though fair, most ridiculously proud, vain and fantastical; as all of her Birth and Education, grown rich, are.

Car. Prithee, what was her Birth?

Ant. Why, her Father, old Francisco, was in his youth an English Cordwainer, that is to say, a Shoemaker, which he improv'd in time to a Merchant; and the Devil and his Knavery helping him to a considerable Estate, he set up for Gentleman; and being naturally a stingey, hide-bound Rascal, and in the Humour of Jealousy even out-doing the most rigid of us Spaniards, he came over into Spain, to settle with his whole Family, where his Wife dying, to heighten the Vice, marries this young Julia, your Mistress, Sir;—and now this Daughter of his having wholly forgot her original Dunghill, sets up for a Viscountess at least, though her Father has design'd me the Blessing; but I have fixt my Heart and Eyes else-where, Clara, the young Sister of your Mistress, Sir, commands my Liberty.

Car. I've seen her, she has Youth and Beauty capable to make a Conquest any where,—but does she know your Love?

Ant. She does, and makes me think my Love return'd.

Car. Then know, Antonio, I must be your Rival.

Ant. How, Sir!

Car. You said but now you were my Friend, Antonio; If true, you must assist in my design.

Ant. I listen, Sir, impatiently.

Car. Then thus; before I knew she was your Mistress, I had resolv'd upon Addresses to her, in order to't, have treated with her Father about a Marriage.

Ant. How! and wou'd the false, forsworn, receive your Vows?

Car. No; but with Tears implores her Father daily, whene'er he speaks to her about my Passion; nor can I undeceive her, for indeed I have but feign'd a Love, (she living in the same house with Julia whilst here at Cadiz) to get an opportunity with that dear, charming Creature; for, coming as a Brother, sure they'll admit me kindly; nor will Francisco, who has heard of what has past 'twixt me and Julia, suspect me any more.

Ant. I knew I had a Rival, Sir, whom Clara lov'd not; but ne'er cou'd get it from her who he was, for fear of mischief: I have often the Liberty to see her, under the name and pretence of Isabella's Lover.

Car. And I visit her only to get a sight of Julia, which hitherto has been impossible, though I have oft endeavour'd it. I beg you'll not be jealous; for this, by Heav'n, is only my Design.

Ant. I'll trust my Life, my Honour and my Mistress in so good hands at any time.

Car. You oblige me; but though I find your Clara cold and cruel, Isabella would invite me to her Love, and makes so many kind advances to me—

Ant. So would she for your Title, were you deform'd, and had no shape of Man about you; but me, because a little Citizen and Merchant, she so reviles, calling me base Mechanick, saucy Fellow; and wonders where I got the Impudence to speak of Love to her—in fine, I am resolved to be reveng'd on all her Pride and Scorn; by Heav'n, I will invent some dire Revenge:—I'm bent upon't, and will about it instantly.

Car. And would you do it home and handsomly, and have a good occasion of being disengaged from her, and make her self the instrument?

Ant. Ay, such a Plot were worth the Prosecution.

Car. And such a one I have in my head: Guzman, my Servant, knows a fellow here in Cadiz, whom for his pleasant humour I have oft observ'd, as I have past the Streets, but too mean to be convers'd with, by almost any human thing, by Trade a Chimney-Sweeper.

Ant. On, Sir, I beseech you.

Car. This Fellow's of a quick Wit and good Apprehension, though possibly he cannot act the Don so well, yet that which makes up the best part of our young Gallants now a-days, he shall not want; that is, good Clothes, Money, and an Equipage,—and a little Instruction will serve turn.

Ant. I'm ravisht with the Fancy;—let me see—he shall be an English Lord, or a French Count.

Car. Either, we'll furnish him with Bills on Signior Don Francisco, —Men and Baggage, and the business is done—he shall make Love to her.

Ant. Most excellent.

Car. Guzman, have you not observ'd this Fellow I am speaking of.

Guz. Observ'd him, Sir! I know him particularly, I'll fetch him to you now, Sir; he always stands for new Imployment with the rest of his Gang under St. Jago's Church-wall.

Car. Bring him anon to my Lodgings, where we'll prepare him for the Adventure.

Ant. And if the proud Isabella bite not at so gay a bait, I'll be bound to be married to her.

Car. And if she do not, possibly that may be your Fate—but in return, you must let Clara know the Design I have, and, undeceiving her opinion of my Love, make her of our Party.

Ant. Trust my Friendship, Sir, and Management. I'll to her instantly, that is, make a visit to Isabella, and get an opportunity to speak with Clara.

Car. And I must write a Letter to Julia, to undeceive her Fears too, could I but get it to her.

Guz. For that let me alone.

[Exeunt severally, bowing.



SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Julia and Jacinta.

Jac. Lord, Madam, you are as melancholy as a sick Parrot.

Jul. And can you blame me, Jacinta? have I not many Reasons to be sad? first have I not lost the only Man on earth in Don Carlos, that I cou'd love? and worse than that, am married to a Thing, fit only for his Tomb; a Brute, who wanting sense to value me, treats me more like a Prisoner than a Wife?—and his Pretence is, because I should not see nor hear from Don Carlos.

Jac. Wou'd I were in your room, Madam, I'd cut him out work enough, I'd warrant him; and if he durst impose on me, i'faith, I'd transform both his Shape and his Manners; in short, I'd try what Woman-hood cou'd do. And indeed, the Revenge wou'd be so pleasant, I wou'd not be without a jealous Husband for all the World; and really, Madam, Don Carlos is so sweet a Gentleman.

Jul. Ay, but the Sin, Jacinta!

Jac. O' my Conscience, Heav'n wou'd forgive it; for this match of yours, with old Francisco, was never made there.

Jul. Then if I wou'd, alas, what opportunities have I, for I confess since his first Vows made him mine—

Jac. Right—that lying with old Francisco is flat Adultery.

Jul. I might, with some excuse, give my self away to Carlos—But oh, he's false, he takes unjustly all the Vows he paid me, and gives 'em to my Sister Clara now.

Jac. Indeed that's something uncivil, Madam, if it be true.

Jul. True! my Father has with joy consented to it, and he has leave to visit her; and can I live to see't? No, Mischief will ensue, my Love's too high, too nicely true to brook Affronts like that.

Jac. Yet you first broke with him.

Jul. Not I; be witness, Heav'n, with what reluctancy I forc'd my breaking heart; and can I see that charming Body in my Sister's Arms! that Mouth that has so oft sworn Love to me kist by another's Lips! no, Jacinta, that night that gives him to another Woman, shall see him dead between the Charmer's Arms. My Life I hate, and when I live no more for Carlos, I'll cease to be at all; it is resolv'd.

Jac. Faith, Madam, I hope to live to see a more comical end of your Amours—but see where your amiable Spouse comes with Don Baltazer your Father.

Enter Francisco and Baltazer.

Fran. So—you two are damnable close together, 'tis for no goodness I'll warrant, you have your trade betimes.

Jac. Meaning me, Sir?

Fran. Yes, you, one of my Wife's evil Counsellors,—go, get you up both to your respective Chambers, go—

[Ex. both.

Bal. Barring your Compliments, good Son, give me leave to speak.

Fran. Shaw, I know as well as your self what you wou'd say now; you wou'd assure me I am sole Master of your House, and may command; that you are heartily glad to see me at Cadiz, and that you desire I wou'd resolve upon a Week's stay, or so; that you'll spare nothing for my entertainment: why, I know all this, and therefore pray take my word, good Father-in-Law, without any more ado.

Bal. Well, Sir, pray answer me one question, what drew you to Cadiz?

Fran. Why, I'll tell you; in the first place, a Pox of all Lovers, I say; for my Daughter Isabella is to be married, as you know, to Antonio, a young rich Merchant of this Town; in the second place, my Wife, with a Vengeance, must be gadding to visit you and her Sister, whom we heard also was to be married to the young Governor Don Carlos; 'tis shreudly against my will, Heav'n knows, for my Wits are in an uproar already about this business—your Gallants, Father, your young Gallants,—I wish my Wife were secure at home again.

Bal. Pray, why so?

Fran. Alas, I see the Trick, Sir, a mere Trick put upon a Man, a married Man, and a married Man to a handsome young Woman,—you apprehend me.

Bal. Not I, Sir.

Fran. Not you, Sir! why, look ye, your young Governor who now is, made most desperate love to her who is now my Wife, d'ye mind me?—but you, being a Man of an exact Judgment, to her great grief, gave her to me, who best deserv'd her, both for my civil Behaviour, and comely Personage, d'ye understand me? but now this Carlos, by his Father's death, being made Governor, d'ye see? is to marry me your other daughter Clara, and to exasperate me, wou'd never let me be at quiet till he had got both of us hither to Cadiz, to grace his Wedding; a Pox of his Invitation, was I so civil to invite him to mine?

Bal. If this be your Affliction, you may avoid it.

Fran. No, no, I'll try to force Nature a little, and be civil, or so; but as soon as the Ceremony's over, I'll steal out of Town, whip a way, presto, i'faith.

Bal. But shou'd you do so rude a thing to your new Brother, your Wife wou'd think you were jealous of her. No, dissemble that Fault, I beseech you, 'twill make you odious to her and all the world, when 'tis needless, 'tis natural for Women to hate what they fear.

Fran. Say you so, then I will hide it as much as I can in words, I can dissemble too upon occasion.

Bal. Let her remain awhile amongst us.

Fran. The Devil a bit she shall, good Father mine, no, no, I have more years than you, Sir Father, and understand what Women are, especially when married to ancient Men, and have the Conversation of young Men—whose Eyes like Basilisks destroy Modesty with looking on 'em; the very Thought on't has rais'd a Bump in my Forehead already.

Bal. I am sorry you should suspect my Daughter's Virtue.

Fran. May be you are, Sir—but Youth you know— Opportunity—Occasion—or so—there are Winks, and Nods, and Signs, and Twirs—and—well—in short I am satisfied, and they that are not may go whistle: and so I'll to my Wife, whom I have left too long alone, evil thoughts will grow upon her—Wife, Love—Duckling— [Calls her.

Enter Julia and Jacinta.

Bal. Wou'd I had never married her to this Sot.

Jul. Your pleasure, Sir.

Fran. Only to see thee, Love.

Jul. I have a Suit to you.

Fran. What is't, my Chicken.

Jul. I wou'd go make a Visit to my Aunt, my Sister Clara's there, and I'll go fetch her home.

Fran. Hum—perhaps the Governor's there too?

Jul. What if he be? we ought to make him a visit too, who so kindly sent for us to Cadiz.

Fran. How! Make a visit to the Governor? What have I to do with the Governor, or what have you to do with the Governor? you are no Soldier, Love. As for a Visit to your Aunt, there's some reason in't; but for the Governor, think no more upon him, I say no more.

Jul. Since he's to marry my Sister, why shou'd you refuse him that Civility.

Fran. Your Sister, so much the worse.

Jul. So much the worse?

Fran. I, so much the worse, I tell you; for mark me, you have been Lovers lately; and old Stories may arise that are not yet forgotten; and having under the Cloke of a Husband both Sisters at command, one for a Wife, t'other for a Mistress, hoyte toyte, there will be mad work, i'faith; What a mixture of Brother by the Father's side, and Uncle by the Mother's side there will be; Aunt by the Mother's side, and Sister by the Father's side; a man may find as good kindred amongst a kennel of Beagles.—No, no, no Visits to the Governor, I beseech you, fair Madam.

Bal. So, you are at your Jealousy again.

Fran. Come, come, I love plain dealing; besides, when she named the Governor, Flesh and Blood could not contain.

Jul. I spoke in reference to his Quality.

Fran. A Pox of your Civility; I tell you, I scorn my Wife should be civil. Why, what a Coil's here about a Governor! I'll stand to't, a Man had better have a Mule to his Wife than a Woman, and 'twere easier govern'd.

Bal. But hear reason, Son.

Fran. What, from a Woman and a Wife? Lord, Lord, where are your Wits, good Father-in-Law? Why, what a Devil, shall I be made ridiculous, a Coxcomb, Cuckold, to shew my Wife? No, no, there's no Necessity of your Civility, Mistress; leave that to me who understand the due Punctilios of it.

Bal. Harkye, Son, Harkye!

Fran. Father mine, every Man to his business, I say, therefore say no more of this; for I'll give my Mother's Son to the Devil, when any Wife of mine ever makes a Visit to the Governor; and there's an end on't. Was ever so horrid a Plot contriv'd against her own lawful Husband? Visit the Governor with a Pox!

Bal. 'Tis an Honour due to all Men of his Rank.

Fran. I care not for that, my opinion is, my Wife's my Slave, and let him keep his Rank to himself.

Enter Guzman.

[Fran. gets his Wife behind him, and fences her with his Cloke.

Guz. He's here, and with his Wife; how shall I do to deliver my Letter to her;—Sir, by the order of my Master, Don Carlos, the Governour, I am commanded to come hither to the end that, going from hence, and returning to my Master, I may be able to inform him—

Fran. That I am in health,—very well, I was afraid he wou'd have been harping upon my Wife in the first place—the Devil take her, she looks for't. [Makes signs to have her gone.

Guz. Farther, Sir, he kisses your hand, with a more than ordinary friendship.

Fran. A Pox of his Compliments.— [Aside.

Guz. But he charg'd me, Sir, most passionately to present his Service to your Lady.

Fran. Yes, yes; I thought as much.

Guz.—In a more particular manner.

Fran. Friend, my Wife, or Lady, has no need of his Service in a more particular manner, and so you may return it.

Jac. Indeed, but she has great need of his service in a very particular manner.

Guz. Sir, I meant no hurt, but 'tis always the fashion of your true bred Courtier, to be more ceremonious in his Civilities to Ladies than Men;—and he desires to know how she does.

Fran. How strong this Carlos smells of the Devil—Friend, tell your Master she's very well, but since she was married, she has forgot her gentile Civility and good Manners, and never returns any Compliments to Men.

Guz.—How shall I get it to her?—Sir, the Governor hopes he shall have the honour of entertaining you both at his House. He's impatient of your coming, and waits at home on purpose.

Fran. Friend, let your Master know we are here in very good quarters already, and he does us both too much honour; and that if we have notice of the Wedding-day, and I have nothing else to do, we'll certainly wait on him, and the next morning we intend to take our leaves, which I send him word of beforehand to prevent surprize.

Guz. But, Sir—

[Approaching him, he puts his Wife farther.

Fran. Go, Sir, and deliver your Message.

Guz. But I have order, Sir—

Fran. There's no such thing in this World.

Guz. I'm resolv'd to teaze him, if I can do nothing else, in revenge;—But, Sir, he most earnestly desires to entertain your fair Lady in his own house.

Fran. Yes, yes; I know he does; but I'll give him to the Devil first.—Troth, Sir, this Cadiz Air does not agree with my fair Lady, she has ventured out but once, and has got an Ague already.

Guz. Agues, Sir, are kind Diseases, they allow of Truces and Cessations.

Fran. No, no; she has no Cessation, Friend, her Ague takes her night and day, it shakes her most unmercifully, and it shall shake her till the Wedding-day.

Guz. Were this Fellow to be tried by a Jury of Women, I would not be in his Coat to lie with his Lady.—What shall I do to deliver this Letter?—Well, Sir, since I see you are so averse to what the Governor desires, I'll return—but, Sir, I must tell you as a Friend, a Secret; that to a man of your temper may concern you;—Sir,—he's resolv'd when he comes next to visit his Mistress, to make another visit to your Apartment, to your Lady too.

[Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder.

Fran. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there's no occasion for't; besides 'twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, 'tis good against the Fit; how this damn'd Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.

Guz. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife's Chamber if the Sun do but shine into the room— [Ex. Guz.

Fran. So, your Mercury's gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if you knew nothing of the matter!

Jul. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent, and the uncivil Answer you return'd back.

Fran. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity 'twas I carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg'd him to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,—

Jul. And there's need enough, and the truth were known.

Jac. Well said, Madam.

Fran. Peace, thou wicked Limb of Satan—but for you, Gentlewoman, since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as sweetly, for one of my years, as any in Spain—I'll keep you to hard meat, i'faith.

Jul. I find no fault with your sleeping, 'tis the best quality you have a-bed.

Fran. Why so then, is the Devil in an unmerciful Woman? Come, come, 'tis a good Tenant that pays once a quarter.

Jac. Of an hour do you mean, Sir?—

Fran. Peace, I say—thou damnable Tormentor, this is the Doctrine you preach to your Mistress, but you shall do't it private, for I'm resolv'd to lock ye both up, and carry the Keys in my Pocket.

Jul. Well, I am a wicked Creature to teaze thee so, Dear; but I'll do what thou wilt; come, come, be friends, I vow, I care not for the Governor, not I, no more than I do for my—own Soul.

Fran. Why so, this is something; Come, come your ways in,—who have we here? a Man! ad's my life, away, away.

Jul. Yes, up to my Chamber, to write an answer to this dear Letter. [Ex Julia.

Enter Isabella.

Fran. No, 'tis not a Man, but my Daughter Isabella.

Jac. Now will I stay, and set her on to teaze the Dotard: wou'd I could teaze him to Death, that my Mistress might be rid of him.

Fran. How now, what makes you look so scurvily to day? Sure the Devil rides once a day through a Woman, that she may be sure to be inspired with some ill Qualities—what wou'd you have now?

Isa. Something.

Fran. Something? what thing? have I not provided you a Husband whom you are to marry within a day or two.

Isa. There's a Husband indeed, pray keep him to your self, if you please; I'll marry none of him, I'll see him hanged first.

Fran. Hey day;—what, is he not young and handsome enough, forsooth?

Isa. Young and handsome; is there no more than that goes to the making up of a Husband—Yes, there's Quality.

Fran. Quality!—Why, is he not one of the richest Merchants of his standing in all Cadiz.

Isa. Merchant! a pretty Character! a Woman of my Beauty, and five Thousand Pound, marry a Merchant—a little, petty, dirty-heel'd Merchant; faugh, I'd rather live a Maid all the days of my life, or be sent to a Nunnery, and that's Plague enough I'm sure.

Jac. Have a care of a Nunnery, lest he take you at your word.

Isa. I would not for the world; no, Jacinta, when ever thou seest me in holy Orders, the World will be at an end.

Fran. Merchant! why, what Husband do you expect?

Isa. A Cavalier at least, if not a Nobleman.

Fran. A Nobleman, marry come up, your Father, Huswife, meaning my self, was a Leather-seller at first, till, growing rich, I set up for a Merchant, and left that mechanick Trade; and since turned Gentleman; and Heav'n blest my Endeavours so as I have an Estate for a Spanish Grandee; and, are you so proud, forsooth, that a Merchant won't down with you, but you must be gaping after a Cap and Feather, a Silver Sword with a more dreadful Ribbon at the hilt?—Come, come, I fear me, Huswise, you are one that puff's her up with Pride thus;—but lay thy hand upon thy Conscience now.— [To Jacinta.

Jac. Who, I, Sir? No, no, I am for marrying her out of hand to any reasonable Husband, except a Merchant; for Maids will long, and that's Probatum est against the prevailing distemper of Longing. Hitherto I dare answer for her, but Batteries will be made, and I dare not be always responsible for frail Mortality.

Fran. Well, I have provided her one that I like, but if she be so squeamish, let her fast, with a Murrain to her.

Isa. Dear Father.

Fran. Dear me no Dears: wou'd your old Mother were alive, she wou'd have strapt your Just-au-corps, for puleing after Cavaliers and Nobleman, i'faith, that wou'd she; a Citizen's Daughter, and would be a Madona—in good time.

_Isa. Why, Father, the Gentry and Nobility now-a-days frequently marry Citizens Daughters.

Fran. Come, come, Mistress, I got by the City, and I love and honour the City; I confess 'tis the Fashion now-a-days, if a Citizen get but a little Money, one goes to building Houses, and brick Walls; another must buy an Office for his Son, a third hoists up his Daughter's Topsail, and flaunts it away, much above her breeding; and these things make so many break, and cause the decay of Trading: but I am for the honest Dutch way of breeding their Children, according to their Fathers Calling.

Isa. That's very hard, because you are a laborious, ill-bred Tradesman, I must be bound to be a mean Citizen's Wife.

Fran. Why, what are you better than I, forsooth, that you must be a Lady, and have your Petticoats lac'd four Stories high; wear your false Towers, and cool your self with your Spanish Fan? Come, come, Baggage, wear me your best Clothes a Sunday, and brush 'em up a Monday Mornings, and follow your Needle all the Week after; that was your good old Mother's way, and your Grandmother's before her; and as for the Husband, take no care about it, I have designed it Antonio, and Antonio you are like to wed, or beat the hoof, Gentlewoman, or turn poor Clare, and die a begging Nun, and there's an end on't—see where he comes—I'll leave you to ponder upon the business. [Exit.]

Enter Antonio. Isabella weeps.

Ant. What, in Tears, Isabella? what is't can force that tribute from your Eyes?

Isa. A Trifle, hardly worth the naming, your self.—

Ant. Do I? pray, for what Sin of mine must your fair Eyes be punish'd?

Isa. For the Sin of your odious Addresses to me, I have told you my mind often enough, methinks your Equals should be fitter for you, and sute more with your Plebeian Humour.

Ant. My Equals! 'Tis true, you are fair; but if there be any Inequality in our births, the advantage is on my side.

Isa. Saucy Impertinent, you shew your City breeding; you understand what's due to Ladys! you understand your Pen and Ink, how to count your dirty Money, trudge to and fro chaffering of base commodities, and cozening those you deal with, till you sweat and stink again like an o'er heated Cook, faugh, I smell him hither.

Ant. I must confess I am not perfum'd as you are, to stifle Stinks you commonly have by Nature; but I have wholesom, cleanly Linen on; and for my Habit wore I but a Sword, I see no difference between your Don and me, only, perhaps, he knows less how to use it.

Isa. Ah, name not a Don, the very sound from the Mouth of a little Cit is disagreeable—Bargain and Sale, Bills, Money, Traffick, Trade, are words become you better.

Jac. Well said, use him scurvily that Mrs. Clara may have him. [Aside.

Ant. The best of those you think I should not name, dare hardly tell me this.

Isa. Good Lord, you think your self a very fine Fellow now, and finical your self up to be thought so; but there's as much difference between a Citizen and a true bred Cavalier—

Ant. As between you and a true bred Woman of Honour.

Isa. Oh, Sir, you rail, and you may long enough, before you rail me out of my Opinion, whilst there are Dons with Coaches and fine Lackeys, and I have Youth and Beauty, with a Fortune able to merit one, so farewel, Cit. [Ex.

Ant. Farewel, proud Fool.

Jac. Sir, be this Evening at the Door, Donna Clara has something to say to you.

Ant. Bless thee for this Tidings, dear Jacinta.

[Ex. Jacinta.

—I find let Man be brave, or good, or wise, His Virtue gains no Smiles from Woman's Eyes; 'Tis the gay Fool alone that takes the Heart, Foppery and Finery still guide the Dart.

[Ex.



ACT II.

SCENE I. A Chamber.

Enter Jacinta with a Light, and Julia.

Jac. Well, Madam, have you writ to Don Carlos?

Jul. No, nor is it possible I shou'd, this Devil haunts me so from room to room, like my evil Genius to prevent that Good; oh, for an opportunity of one kind Minute to return Acknowledgments for this kind Letter he has sent me.

Jac. I'm glad you find me a Sybil: Madam, I ever prophesy'd a happier end of that Amour than your ill Fortune has hitherto promised,—but what said the lovely Cavalier?

Jul. All that a Man inspir'd with Love cou'd say, all that was soft and charming.

Jac. Nay, I believe his Art.

Jul. Judge then what my Heart feels, which like a Fire but lightly cover'd o'er with the cold Ashes of Despair, with the least blast breaks out into a Flame; I burn, I burn, Jacinta, and only charming Carlos can allay my Pain—but how? Ay, there's the question.

Jac. Some way I will contrive to speak with him, for he has lost his old wont if he traverse not the Street where you live: but see Donna Clara.—

Enter Clara.

Jul. Hah, my Sister, whom yet my jealous heart can scarce be reconciled to; so deeply was my fear of Rivalship fixt there, —so sad, my Sister, and so near the happy day with Carlos?

Cla. 'Tis pity she that thinks it so shou'd want him; the Blessing's thrown away on me, but we are both unhappy to be match'd to those we cannot love. Carlos, though young, gay, handsom, witty, rich, I hate as much as you the old Francisco; for since I cannot marry my Antonio, both Youth and Beauty are but lost on me, and Age decrepid would be equal torment.

Jul. Wou'd Carlos knew your heart, sure he'd decline; for he has too much Honor to compel a Maid to yield that loves him not.

Cla. 'Tis true, he is above me every way, and the Honor my Father thinks to do our Family by this Match, makes him resolve upon't; but I have given my Vows to young Antonio.

Jul. And young Antonio you are like to have, for any thing that Carlos cares; for know, to thy eternal joy, my Clara, he has but feigned to thee, as much as thy Antonio to Isabella.

Cla. But are you sure of this?

Jul. Most certain; this Night if you can let Antonio see you, he'll tell you all the Cheat, and beg your Pardon.

Cla. Which he will soon obtain, and in return, what Service I can render him in your behalf he shall not want.

Jul. Antonio will engage you they are Friends.

Cla. You amaze me.

Jac. I have appointed him this night to wait, and, if possible, I would get him a Minute's time with you.

Cla. Dear Jacinta, thou art the kindest Maid.—

Jac. Hang't, why should we young Women pine and languish for what our own natural Invention may procure us; let us three lay our Heads together, and if Machiavel with all his Politicks can out-wit us, 'tis pity but we all lead Apes in Hell, and die without the Jewish Blessing of Consolation.

Jul. No more, here comes the Dragon.

Enter Francisco.

Fran. So, together consulting and contriving.

Jac. What, are you jealous of the Petticoat?

Fran. Petticoat! Come, come, Mistress Pert, I have known as much danger hid under a Petticoat, as a pair of Breeches. I have heard of two Women that married each other—oh abominable, as if there were so prodigious a scarcity of Christian Mans Flesh.

Jac. No, the Market's well enough stored, thanks be praised, might every Woman be afforded a reasonable Allowance.

Fran. Peace, I say, thou Imp of Lucifer; wou'd thou hadst thy Bellyful, that I might be fairly rid of thee—go get you up to your Chamber, and, d'ye hear, stir not from thence, on pain of our severe displeasure, for I am sent for in all haste, to Signior Don Sebastian's, 'tis but hard by, I shall soon return;—what, are you here?

Enter Isabella.

I have a high commendation of your fine Behaviour, Gentlewoman, to Antonio; his Father has sent for me, and I shall know all anon, this shall but hasten your Wedding, Huswise, I tell you that, and so farewel to you— [Ex. Isabella crying.

Cla. Say you so, then 'tis time for me to look about me.

Jul. But will you go out so late, Love? indeed some hurt will come to thee.

Fran. No, look ye, I go arm'd. [Shews his Girdle round with Pistols. Go, get you to your Chambers.

[He goes out, they go in.



SCENE II. Changes to the Street.

Enter Carlos, Antonio.

Car. I wonder where this Man of mine should be, whom I sent this Evening with my Letter to Julia. What art thou?

Enter Guzman, runs against Carlos.

Guz. My Lord, 'tis I, your trusty Trojan, Guzman.—what makes you here, Sir, so near the Door of your Mistress?

Car. To wait my Doom; what Tidings hast thou, Guzman?

Guz. Why, Sir, I went as you directed me, to Don Baltazer's.

Car. And didst thou deliver it?

Guz. And the first thing I met with was old Francisco.

Car. So.

Guz. To whom I civilly addrest my self—told him, you presented your Service to him,—sent to know how his Lady and he did. Which word Lady I no sooner named, but I thought he would have saluted me with a Cudgel,—in fine, observing her behind him, whom he shelter'd all he could with his Cloke, I taking an occasion to whisper him, gave it her over his shoulder, whilst she return'd some Smiles and Looks of Joy,—but for an answer, 'twas impossible to get the least sign of one.

Car. No matter, that joy was evident she wisht me one, and by the first opportunity my diligent waiting will be recompensed; but where hast thou been all this while?

Guz. Finding out the Chimney-sweeper you spoke of, Sir, and whom you ordered me to bring this Evening.

Car. And hast thou found him?

Guz. He's here, at the corner of the Street, I'll call him. [Ex. Guz.

Car. I have, Antonio, besides your particular Revenge, one of my own to act by this deceit, since all my Industry to see the charming Julia has hitherto been vain, I have resolv'd upon a new project, if this False Count pass upon 'em, as I doubt not but he will, and that he gets admittance into the House, I'll pass for one of his Domesticks.

Enter Guzman and Guiliom. Page holding his lanthorn to his face.

Guz. Here's the Fellow, Sir.

Ant. Fellow! he may be the Devil's Fellow by his countenance.

Car. Come nearer, Friend; dost think thou canst manage a Plot well?

Guil. As any Man in Cadiz, Sir, with good instructions.

Car. That thou shalt have, thou art apprehensive.

Guil. So, so, I have a pretty memory for mischief.

Ant. Hast thou Assurance and Courage?

Guil. To kill the honestest Man in Spain, if I be well paid.

Car. That thou shalt be.

Guil. I'll do't, say no more, I'll do't.

Car. But canst thou swear stoutly, and lye handsomely.

Guil. Prettily, by Nature, Sir, but with good instructions I shall improve; I thank Heaven I have Docity, or so.

Car. Thou want'st not Confidence.

Guil. No, nor Impudence neither; how should a man live in this wicked world without that Talent?

Ant. Then know our Design is only comical, though if you manage not Matters well, it may prove tragical to you; in fine, dost think thou canst personate a Lord?

Guil. A Lord! marry, that's a hard question: but what sort of a Lord?

Car. Why, any Lord.

Guil. That I cannot do, but I can do some sort of a Lord, as some Lords are wiser than other-some; there is your witty Lord,—him I defie; your wise Lord, that is to say, your knavish Lord, him I renounce; then there's your Politick Lord, him I wou'd have hang'd; then there's your Foolish Lord, let him follow the Politician; then there's your brisk, pert, noisy Lord, and such a small insignificant Fiend I care not if I am possest with; I shall deal well enough with a Devil of his capacity.

Car. Very well, then there needs no more but that you go along with my man to my house, my Authority shall secure you from all the injuries that shall accrue from a discovery, but I hope none will happen: Equipage, Clothes and Money we'll furnish you with.—Go home with him, and dress, and practise the Don till we come, who will give you ample instructions what to do.

Guil. And if I do not fit you with a Don better than Don Del Phobos, or Don Quixote, let me be hang'd up for the Sign of the Black Boy on my own Poles at a Spanish Inn door.

Ant. We'll be with you presently.

Guil. And if you find me not en Cavalier, say Clothes, Garniture, Points, and Feathers have lost their Power of making one.

[Ex. Guz. and Page, and Guil.

Enter, opening the door, Jacinta.

Car. Hah, the Door opens, and surely 'tis a Woman that advances: dear Antonio, wait a little farther;—who's there?

Jac. Hah, if it should be old Francisco now.

Car. Let it be who it will, I'll tell my name, it cannot injure either;—I'm Carlos, who are you?

Jac. A thing that looks for him you name—Jacinta;—are you alone?

Car. Never since Julia did possess my heart; what news, my dearest Messenger of Love? what may I hope?—

Enter Julia.

Jul. All that the kindest Mistress can bestow, If Carlos loves, and still will keep his Vows.

Car. Julia, my Life, my Soul, what happy Stars Conspir'd to give me this dear lucky minute?

Jul. Those that conducted old Francisco out, And will too soon return him back again; I dare not stay to hear thy love or chiding, Both which have power to charm, since both proceed From a kind heart, that's mine.