The audience must indeed have been qualmish prudes. Of all plays it is the most harmless. The scene in the fourth Act to which exception was taken seems to have been No. II, after the marriage of Gasper and Antonia, a most trifling and inept business. In Act V, IV, Alexis says to Viola: 'As for you Madam bread and water, and a dark chamber shall be your lot—' but Sebastian (Bannister, jun.), who has married Viola, breaks in crying: 'No, Sir,—I am the arbiter of her lot;—however, I confirm half your punishment; and a dark chamber she shall certainly have.' To this speech in the 4to Mrs. Cowley appends the following note: 'This is the expression, I am told, which had nearly prov'd fatal to the Comedy. I should not have printed it, but from the resolution I have religiously kept, of restoring every thing that was objected to.' Imagination and ingenuity fail to fathom the cryptic indecency. The School for Greybeards is, in fine, a modest and mediocre comedy of little value.

12 December, 1786, Walpole, writing from Berkeley Square to the Countess of Upper Ossary, says: 'To-night ... I am going to Mrs. Cowley's new play, which I suppose is as instructive as the Marriage of Figaro, for I am told it approaches to those of Mrs. Behn in spartan delicacy; but I shall see Miss Farren, who, in my poor opinion, is the first of all actresses.' Writing three days later to the same lady he has: 'The Greybeards have certainly been chastised, for we did not find them at all gross. The piece is farcical and improbable, but has some good things, and is admirably acted.' Those 'good things' are entirely due to Mrs. Behn.



To the Right Honourable Laurence, Lord Hyde, Earl of Rochester, one of his Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, Lord High Treasurer of England, and Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter.

My Lord,

When I consider how Ancient and Honourable a Date Plays have born, how they have been the peculiar Care of the most Illustrious Persons of Greece and Rome, who strove as much to outdoe each other in Magnificence, (when by Turns they manag'd the great Business of the Stage, as if they had contended for the Victory of the Universe;) I say, my Lord, when I consider this, I with the greater Assurance most humbly address this Comedy to your Lordship, since by right of Antient Custom, the Patronage of Plays belong'd only to the great Men, and chiefest Magistrates. Cardinal Richelieu, that great and wise Statesman, said, That there was no surer Testimony to be given of the flourishing Greatness of a State, than publick Pleasures and Divertisements—for they are, says he—the Schools of Vertue, where Vice is always either punish't, or disdain'd. They are secret Instructions to the People, in things that 'tis impossible to insinuate into them any other Way. 'Tis Example that prevails above Reason or DIVINE PRECEPTS. (Philosophy not understood by the Multitude;) 'tis Example alone that inspires Morality, and best establishes Vertue, I have my self known a Man, whom neither Conscience nor Religion cou'd perswade to Loyalty, who with beholding in our Theatre a Modern Politician set forth in all his Colours, was converted, renounc'd his opinion, and quitted the Party.

The Abbot of Aubignac to show that Plays have been ever held most important to the very Political Part of Government, says, The Phylosophy of Greece, and the Majesty and Wisdom of the Romans, did equally concern their Great Men in making them Venerable, Noble, and Magnificent: Venerable, by their Consecration to their Gods: Noble, by being govern'd by their chiefest Men; and their Magnificency was from the publick Treasury, and the liberal Contributions of their Noble Men.

It being undeniable then, that Plays and publick Diversions were thought by the Greatest and Wisest of States, one of the most essential Parts of good Government, and in which so many great Persons were interested; suffer me to beg your Lordships Patronage for this little Endeavour, and believe it not below the Grandure of your Birth and State, the Illustrious Places you so justly hold in the Kingdom, nor your Illustrious Relation to the greatest Monarch of the World, to afford it the Glory of your Protection; since it is the Product of a Heart and Pen, that always faithfully serv'd that Royal Cause, to which your Lordship is by many Tyes so firmly fixt: It approaches you with that absolute Veneration, that all the World is oblig'd to pay you; and has no other Design than to express my sense of those excellent Vertues, that make your Lordship so truly admir'd and lov'd. Amongst which we find those two so rare in a Great Man and a Statesman, those of Gracious Speech and easie Access, and I believe none were ever sent from your Presence dissatisfied. You have an Art to please even when you deny; and something in your Look and Voice has an Air so greatly good, it recompences even for Disappointment, and we never leave your Lordship but with Blessings. It is no less our Admiration, to behold with what Serenity and perfect Conduct, that great Part of the Nations Business is carry'd on, by one single Person; who having to do with so vast Numbers of Men of all Qualitys, Interests, and Humours, nevertheless all are well satisfi'd, and none complain of Oppression, but all is done with Gentleness and Silence, as if (like the first Creator) you cou'd finish all by a Word. You have, my Lord, a Judgment so piercing and solid, a Wisdom so quick and clear, and a Fortitude so truly Noble, that those Fatigues of State, that wou'd even sink a Spirit of less Magnitude, is by yours accomplish't without Toil, or any Appearance of that harsh and crabbed Austerity, that is usually put on by the buisy Great. You, my Lord, support the Globe, as if you did not feel its Weight; nor so much as seem to bend beneath it: Your Zeal for the Glorious Monarch you love and serve, makes all things a Pleasure that advance his Interest, which is so absolutely your Care. You are, my Lord, by your generous Candor, your unbyast Justice, your Sweetness, Affability, and Condescending Goodness (those never-failing Marks of Greatness) above that Envy which reigns in Courts, and is aim'd at the most elevated Fortunes and Noblest Favourites of Princes: And when they consider your Lordship, with all the Abilitys and Wisdom of a great Counsellor, your unblemisht Vertue, your unshaken Loyalty, your constant Industry for the Publick Good, how all things under your Part of Sway have been refin'd and purg'd from those Grossnesses, Frauds, Briberys, and Grievances, beneath which so many of his Majestys Subjects groan'd, when we see Merit establish't and prefer'd, and Vice discourag'd; it imposes Silence upon Malice it self, and compells 'em to bless his Majesty's Choice of such a Pillar of the State, such a Patron of Vertue.

Long may your Lordship live to remain in this most Honourable Station, that his Majesty may be serv'd with an entire Fidelity, and the Nation be render'd perfectly Happy. Since from such Heads and Hearts, the Monarch reaps his Glory, and the Kingdom receives its Safety and Tranquility. This is the unfeign'd Prayer of,

My Lord, Your Lordships most Humble And most Obedient Servant A. Behn



PREFACE.

The little Obligation I have to some of the witty Sparks and Poets of the Town, has put me on a Vindication of this Comedy from those Censures that Malice, and ill Nature have thrown upon it, tho in vain: The Poets I heartily excuse, since there is a sort of Self-Interest in their Malice, which I shou'd rather call a witty Way they have in this Age, of Railing at every thing they find with pain successful, and never to shew good Nature and speak well of any thing; but when they are sure 'tis damn'd, then they afford it that worse Scandal, their Pity. And nothing makes them so thorough-stitcht an Enemy as a full Third Day, that's Crime enough to load it with all manner of Infamy; and when they can no other way prevail with the Town, they charge it with the old never failing Scandal—That 'tis not fit for the Ladys: As if (if it were as they falsly give it out) the Ladys were oblig'd to hear Indecencys only from their Pens and Plays and some of them have ventur'd to treat 'em as Coursely as 'twas possible, without the least Reproach from them; and in some of their most Celebrated Plays have entertained 'em with things, that if I should here strip from their Wit and Occasion that conducts 'em in and makes them proper, their fair Cheeks would perhaps wear a natural Colour at the reading them: yet are never taken Notice of, because a Man writ them, and they may hear that from them they blush at from a Woman—But I make a Challenge to any Person of common Sense and Reason—that is not wilfully bent on ill Nature, and will in spight of Sense wrest a double Entendre from every thing, lying upon the Catch for a Jest or a Quibble, like a Rook for a Cully; but any unprejudic'd Person that knows not the Author, to read any of my Comedys and compare 'em with others of this Age, and if they find one Word that can offend the chastest Ear, I will submit to all their peevish Cavills; but Right or Wrong they must be Criminal because a Woman's; condemning them without having the Christian Charity, to examine whether it be guilty or not, with reading, comparing, or thinking; the Ladies taking up any Scandal on Trust from some conceited Sparks, who will in spight of Nature be Wits and Beaus; then scatter it for Authentick all over the Town and Court, poysoning of others Judgments with their false Notions, condemning it to worse than Death, Loss of Fame. And to fortifie their Detraction, charge me with all the Plays that have ever been offensive; though I wish with all their Faults I had been the Author of some of those they have honour'd me with. For the farther Justification of this Play; it being a Comedy of Intrigue Dr. Davenant out of Respect to the Commands he had from Court, to take great Care that no Indecency should be in Plays, sent for it and nicely look't it over, putting out anything he but imagin'd the Criticks would play with. After that, Sir Roger L'Estrange read it and licens'd it, and found no such Faults as 'tis charg'd with: Then Mr. Killigrew, who more severe than any, from the strict Order he had, perus'd it with great Circumspection; and lastly the Master Players, who you will I hope in some Measure esteem Judges of Decency and their own Interest, having been so many Years Prentice to the Trade of Judging.

I say, after all these Supervisors the Ladys may be convinc'd, they left nothing that could offend, and the Men of their unjust Reflections on so many Judges of Wit and Decencys. When it happens that I challenge any one, to point me out the least Expression of what some have made their Discourse, they cry, That Mr. Leigh opens his Night Gown, when he comes into the Bride-chamber; if he do, which is a Jest of his own making, and which I never saw, I hope he has his Cloaths on underneath? And if so, where is the Indecency? I have seen in that admirable Play of Oedipus, the Gown open'd wide, and the Man shown, in his Drawers and Waist coat, and never thought it an Offence before. Another crys, Why we know not what they mean, when the Man takes a Woman off the Stage, and another is thereby cuckolded; is that any more than you see in the most Celebrated of your Plays? as the City Politicks, the Lady Mayoress, and the Old Lawyers Wife, who goes with a Man she never saw before, and comes out again the joyfull'st Woman alive, for having made her Husband a Cuckold with such Dexterity, and yet I see nothing unnatural nor obscene: 'tis proper for the Characters. So in that lucky Play of the London Cuckolds, not to recite Particulars. And in that good Comedy of Sir Courtly Nice, the Taylor to the young Lady—in the fam'd Sir Fopling Dorimont and Bellinda, see the very Words—in Valentinian, see the Scene between the Court Bawds. And Valentinian all loose and ruffld a Moment after the Rape, and all this you see without Scandal, and a thousand others The Moor of Venice in many places. The Maids Tragedy—see the Scene of undressing the Bride, and between the King and Amintor, and after between the King and Evadne—All these I Name as some of the best Plays I know; If I should repeat the Words exprest in these Scenes I mention, I might justly be charg'd with course ill Manners, and very little Modesty, and yet they so naturally fall into the places they are designed for, and so are proper for the Business, that there is not the least Fault to be found with them; though I say those things in any of mine wou'd damn the whole Peice, and alarm the Town. Had I a Day or two's time, as I have scarce so many Hours to write this in (the Play, being all printed off and the Press waiting,) I would sum up all your Beloved Plays, and all the Things in them that are past with such Silence by; because written by Men: such Masculine Strokes in me, must not be allow'd. I must conclude those Women (if there be any such) greater Critics in that sort of Conversation than my self, who find any of that sort in mine, or any thing that can justly be reproach't. But 'tis in vain by dint of Reason or Comparison to convince the obstinate Criticks, whose Business is to find Fault, if not by a loose and gross Imagination to create them, for they must either find the Jest, or make it; and those of this sort fall to my share, they find Faults of another kind for the Men Writers. And this one thing I will venture to say, though against my Nature, because it has a Vanity in it: That had the Plays I have writ come forth under any Mans Name, and never known to have been mine; I appeal to all unbyast Judges of Sense, if they had not said that Person had made as many good Comedies, as any one Man that has writ in our Age; but a Devil on't the Woman damns the Poet.

Ladies, for its further Justification to you, be pleas'd to know, that the first Copy of this Play was read by several Ladys of very great Quality, and unquestioned Fame, and received their most favourable Opinion, not one charging it with the Crime, that some have been pleas'd to find in the Acting. Other Ladys who saw it more than once, whose Quality and Vertue can sufficiently justifie any thing they design to favour, were pleas'd to say, they found an Entertainment in it very far from scandalous; and for the Generality of the Town, I found by my Receipts it was not thought so Criminal. However, that shall not be an Incouragement to me to trouble the Criticks with new Occasion of affronting me, for endeavouring at least to divert; and at this rate, both the few Poets that are left, and the Players who toil in vain will be weary of their Trade.

I cannot omit to tell you, that a Wit of the Town, a Friend of mine at Wills Coffee House, the first Night of the Play, cry'd it down as much as in him lay, who before had read it and assured me he never 'saw a prettier Comedy. So complaisant one pestilent Wit will be to another, and in the full Cry make his Noise too; but since 'tis to the witty Few I speak, I hope the better Judges will take no Offence, to whom I am oblig'd for better Judgments; and those I hope will be so kind to me, knowing my Conversation not at all addicted to the Indecencys alledged, that I would much less practice it in a Play, that must stand the Test of the censoring World. And I must want common Sense, and all the Degrees of good Manners, renouncing my Fame, all Modesty and Interest for a silly Sawcy fruitless Jest, to make Fools laugh, and Women blush, and wise Men asham'd; My self all the while, if I had been guilty of this Crime charg'd to me, remaining the only stupid, insensible. Is this likely, is this reasonable to be believ'd by any body, but the wilfully blind? All I ask, is the Priviledge for my Masculine Part the Poet in me, (if any such you will allow me) to tread in those successful Paths my Predecessors have so long thriv'd in, to take those Measures that both the Ancient and Modern Writers have set me, and by which they have pleas'd the World so well: If I must not, because of my Sex, have this Freedom, but that you will usurp all to your selves; I lay down my Quill, and you shall hear no more of me, no not so much as to make Comparisons, because I will be kinder to my Brothers of the Pen, than they have been to a defenceless Woman; for I am not content to write for a Third day only. I value Fame as much as if I had been born a Hero; and if you rob me of that, I can retire from the ungrateful World, and scorn its fickle Favours.



THE LUCKY CHANCE;

or, An Alderman's Bargain.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. Jevon.

_Since with old Plays you have so long been cloy'd, As with a Mistress many years enjoy'd, How briskly dear Variety you pursue; Nay, though for worse ye change, ye will have New. Widows take heed some of you in fresh Youth Have been the unpitied Martyrs of this Youth. When for a drunken Sot, that had kind hours, And taking their own freedoms, left you yours; 'Twas your delib'rate choice your days to pass With a damn'd, sober, self-admiring Ass, Who thinks good usage for the Sex unfit, And slights ye out of Sparkishness and Wit. But you can fit him Let a worse Fool come, If he neglect, to officiate in his room. Vain amorous Coxcombs every where are found, Fops for all uses, but the Stage abound. Though you shou'd change them oftener than your Fashions, There still wou'd be enough for your Occasions: But ours are not so easily supplied, All that cou'd e'er quit cost, we have already tried. Nay, dear sometimes have bought the Frippery stuff. This, Widows, you I mean the old and tough Will never think, be they but Fool enough.

Such will with any kind of Puppies play; But we must better know for what we pay: We must not purchase such dull Fools as they. Shou'd we shew each her own partic'lar Dear, What they admire at home, they wou'd loath here. Thus, though the Mall, the Ring, the Pit is full, And every Coffee-House still swarms with Fool; Though still by Fools all other Callings live, Nay our own Women by fresh Cullies thrive, Though your Intrigues which no Lampoon can cure, Promise a long Succession to ensure; And all your Matches plenty do presage: Dire is the Dearth and Famine on the Stage. Our Store's quite wasted, and our Credit's small, Not a Fool left to bless our selves withal. We re forc't at last to rob, (which is great pity, Though 'tis a never-failing Bank) the City.

We show you one to day intirely new, And of all Jests, none relish like the true. Let that the value of our Play inhance, Then it may prove indeed the_ Lucky Chance.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEN.

Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, an old Alderman to be married Mr. Leigh. to Leticia, Sir Cautious Fulbank, an old Banker married to Julia, Mr. Nokes. Mr. Gayman, a Spark of the Town, Lover of Julia, Mr. Betterton. Mr. Bellmour. contracted to Leticia. disguis'd, and passes for Sir Feeble's Nephew, Mr. Kynaston. Mr. Bearjest, Nephew to Sir Cautious, a Fop, Mr. Jevon. Capt. Noisey, his Companion, Mr. Harris. Mr. Bredwel, Prentice to Sir Cautious, and Brother to Leticia, in love with Diana, Mr. Bowman. Rag, Footman to Gayman. Ralph, Footman to Sir Feeble. Dick, Footman to Sir Cautious. Gingle, a Music Master. A Post-man. Two Porters. A Servant.

WOMEN.

Lady _Fulbank_, in love with _Gayman_, honest and generous, Mrs. _Barry_. _Leticia_. contracted to _Bellmour, married to Sir _Feeble_, young and virtuous, Mrs. _Cook_. _Diana_, Daughter to Sir _Feeble_, in love with Bredwel; virtuous, Mrs. _Mountford_. _Pert_, Lady _Fulbank's_ Woman. Gammer _Grime_, Landlady to _Gayman_, a Smith's Wife in _Alsatia_, Mrs. _Powell_. _Susan_, Servant to Sir _Feeble_. _Phillis, Leticia's_ Woman.

A Parson, Fidlers, Dancers and Singers.

The Scene, LONDON.



ACT I.

SCENE I. The Street, at break of Day.

Enter Bellmour disguis'd in a travelling Habit.

Bel. Sure 'tis the day that gleams in yonder East, The day that all but Lovers blest by Shade Pay chearful Homage to: Lovers! and those pursu'd like guilty me By rigid Laws, which put no difference 'Twixt fairly killing in my own Defence, And Murders bred by drunken Arguments, Whores, or the mean Revenges of a Coward. —This is Leticia's Father's House— [Looking about. And that the dear Balcony That has so oft been conscious of our Loves; From whence she has sent me down a thousand Sighs, A thousand looks of Love, a thousand Vows. O thou dear witness of those charming Hours, How do I bless thee, how am I pleas'd to view thee After a tedious Age of Six Months Banishment.

Enter Mr. Gingle and several with Musick.

Fid. But hark ye, Mr. Gingle, is it proper to play before the Wedding?

Gin. Ever while you live, for many a time in playing after the first night, the Bride's sleepy, the Bridegroom tir'd, and both so out of humour, that perhaps they hate any thing that puts 'em in mind they are married.

[They play and sing.

Enter Phillis in the Balcony, throws 'em Money.

_Rise_, Cloris, _charming Maid, arise! And baffle breaking Day, Shew the adoring World thy Eyes Are more surprizing gay;

The Gods of Love are smiling round, And lead the Bridegroom on, And Hymen has the Altar crown'd. While all thy sighing Lovers are undone.

To see thee pass they throng the Plain; The Groves with Flowers are strown, And every young and envying Swain Wishes the hour his own. Rise then, and let the God of Day, When thou dost to the Lover yield, Behold more Treasure given away Than he in his vast Circle e'er beheld_.

Bel. Hah, Phillis, Leticia's Woman!

Ging. Fie, Mrs. Phillis, do you take us for Fiddlers that play for Hire? I came to compliment Mrs. Leticia on her Wedding-Morning because she is my Scholar.

Phil. She sends it only to drink her Health.

Ging. Come, Lads, let's to the Tavern then— [Ex. Musick.

Bel. Hah! said he Leticia? Sure, I shall turn to Marble at this News: I harden, and cold Damps pass through my senseless Pores.—Hah, who's here?

Enter Gayman wrapt in his Cloke.

Gay. 'Tis yet too early, but my Soul's impatient, And I must see Leticia. [Goes to the door.

Bel. Death and the Devil—the Bridegroom! Stay, Sir, by Heaven, you pass not this way. [Goes to the door as he is knocking, pushes him away, and draws.

Gay. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance?—Stand off.

[They fight a little, and closing view each other.

Bel. Gayman!

Gay. My dearest Bellmour!

Bel. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver!

Gay. Hah, this to me, dear Harry?

Bel. Whither is Honour, Truth and Friendship fled?

Gay. Why, there ne'er was such a Virtue, 'Tis all a Poet's Dream.

Bel. I thank you, Sir.

Gay. I'm sorry for't, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve it: put up your Sword—an honest man wou'd say how he's offended, before he rashly draws.

Bel. Are not you going to be married, Sir?

Gay. No, Sir, as long as any Man in London is so, that has but a handsom Wife, Sir.

Bel. Are you not in love, Sir?

Gay. Most damnably,—and wou'd fain lie with the dear jilting Gipsy.

Bel. Hah, who would you lie with, Sir?

Gay. You catechise me roundly—'tis not fair to name, but I am no Starter, Harry; just as you left me, you find me. I am for the faithless Julia still, the old Alderman's Wife.—'Twas high time the City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: But pray, Sir, answer me a Question or two.

Bel. Answer me first, what makes you here this Morning?

Gay. Faith, to do you service. Your damn'd little Jade of a Mistress has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in abundance, and is—

Bel. To be married! [Sighing.

Gay. Even so, God save the Mark; and she'll be a fair one for many an Arrow besides her Husband's, though he an old Finsbury Hero this threescore Years.

Bel. Who mean you?

Gay. Why, thy Cuckold that shall be, if thou be'st wise.

Bel. Away; Who is this Man? thou dalliest with me.

Gay. Why, an old Knight, and Alderman here o'th' City, Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind his Dudgeon to an Edge.

Bel. Fie, what Stuff's here!

Gay. Very excellent Stuff, if you have but the Grace to improve it.

Bel. You banter me—but in plain English, tell me, What made you here thus early, Entring yon House with such Authority?

Gay. Why, your Mistress Leticia, your contracted Wife, is this Morning to be married to old Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, induc'd to't I suppose by the great Jointure he makes her, and the improbability of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel—Do I speak English now, Sir?

Bel. Too well, would I had never heard thee.

Gay. Now I being the Confident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between— the civil Pimp or so—you left her in charge with me at your Departure.

Bel. I did so.

Gay. I saw her every day; and every day she paid the Tribute of a shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows, young Bellmour: Till faith at last, for Reasons manifold, I slackt my daily Visits.

Bel. And left her to Temptation—was that well done?

Gay. Now must I afflict you and my self with a long tale of Causes why; Or be charg'd with want of Friendship.

Bel. You will do well to clear that Point to me.

Gay. I see you're peevish, and you shall be humour'd.—You know my Julia play'd me e'en such another Prank as your false one is going to play you, and married old Sir Cautious Fulbank here i'th' City; at which you know I storm'd, and rav'd, and swore, as thou wo't now, and to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was cuckolding him.

Bel. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon.

Gay. And hotly have pursu'd it: Swore, wept, vow'd, wrote, upbraided, prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high—till, between you and I, Harry, I have presented the best part of Eight hundred a year into her Husband's hands, in Mortgage.

Bel. This is the Course you'd have me steer, I thank you.

Gay. No, no, Pox on't, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke i'th' City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say, Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected—but thine too—and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i'th' Country with a dying Uncle—from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect two thousand a Year.

Bel. But what's all this to being here this Morning?

Gay. Thus have I lain conceal'd like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some blest Sunshine to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid.

Bel. Didst thou?—pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure no Woman, even possest with a new Passion, Grown confident even to Prostitution, But when she sees the Man to whom she's sworn so very—very much, will find Remorse and Shame.

Gay. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us, And I'm undone, if seen—I'll venture in— [Throws his Cloke over.

Enter Sir Feeble Fainwou'd, Sir Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest and Noisey. [Pass over the Stage, and go in.

Hah—see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin'd Cuckold, old Sir Cautious Fulbank.—Hah, what ail'st thou, Man?

Bel. The Bridegroom! Like Gorgon's Head he'as turned me into Stone.

Gay. Gorgon's Head—a Cuckold's Head—'twas made to graft upon.

Bel. By Heaven, I'll seize her even at the Altar, And bear her thence in Triumph.

Gay. Ay, and be borne to Newgate in Triumph, and be hanged in Triumph—'twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the Press-Yard, and be wak'd next Morning, like Mr. Barnardine in the Play—Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir?

Bel. What wouldst thou have me do?

Gay. As many an honest Man has done before thee—Cuckold him— cuckold him.

Bel. What—and let him marry her! She that's mine by sacred Vows already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her!

Gay. She'll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee.

Bel. Oh Heavens! Leticia marry him! and lie with him!— Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman, See if she dares pass by me to this Wickedness.

Gay. Hark ye, Harry—in earnest have a care of betraying your self; and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you.

Bel. You counsel well—but yet to see her married! How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!— But hang it, I'll be resolute and saucy, Despise a Woman who can use me ill, And think my self above her.

Gay. Why, now thou art thy self—a Man again. But see, they're coming forth, now stand your ground.

Enter Sir Feeble, Sir Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia sad, Diana, Phillis. [Pass over the Stage.

Bel. 'Tis she; support me, Charles, or I shall sink to Earth, —Methought in passing by she cast a scornful glance at me; Such charming Pride I've seen upon her Eyes, When our Love-Quarrels arm'd 'em with Disdain— I'll after 'em, if I live she shall not 'scape me. [Offers to go, Gay. holds him.

Gay. Hold, remember you're proscribed, And die if you are taken.

Bel. I've done, and I will live, but he shall ne'er enjoy her. —Who's yonder, Ralph, my trusty Confident?

Enter Ralph.

Now though I perish I must speak to him. —Friend, what Wedding's this?

Ral. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir; 'Tis Alderman Fainwou'd, and Mrs. Leticia Bredwel.

Bel. Bredwel—I have heard of her,—she was Mistress—

Ral. To fine Mr. Bellmour, Sir,—ay, there was a Gentleman —But rest his Soul—he's hang'd, Sir. [Weeps.

Bel. How! hang'd?

Ral. Hang'd, Sir, hang'd—at the Hague in Holland.

Gay. I heard some such News, but did not credit it.

Bel. For what, said they, was he hang'd?

Ral. Why, e'en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings.

Gay. Holland's a Commonwealth, and is not rul'd by Kings.

Ral. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger —they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr. Bellmour cut his Throat, and was hang'd for't, that's all, Sir.

Bel. And did the young Lady believe this?

Ral. Yes, and took on most heavily—the Doctors gave her over—and there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage—but her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at the Spittal Sermon, did the Business—and so your Servant, Sir. [Ex. Ralph.

Bel. So, here's a hopeful Account of my sweet self now.

Enter Post-man with Letters.

Post. Pray, Sir, which is Sir Feeble Fainwou'd's?

Bel. What wou'd you with him, Friend?

Post. I have a Letter here from the Hague for him.

Bel. From the Hague! Now have I a curiosity to see it—I am his Servant—give it me—[Gives it him, and Exit.—Perhaps here may be the second part of my Tragedy, I'm full of Mischief, Charles—and have a mind to see this Fellow's Secrets. For from this hour I'll be his evil Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit: [Opening the Letter. Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief. [Reads.

Dear Brother,

According to your desire I have sent for my Son from St. Omer's, whom I have sent to wait on you in England; he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he's so obliged, and which is so gratefully acknowledged by—Dear Brother, your affectionate Brother, Francis Fainwou'd.

—Hum—hark ye, Charles, do you know who I am now?

Gay. Why, I hope a very honest Friend of mine, Harry Bellmour.

Bel. No, Sir, you are mistaken in your Man.

Gay. It may be so.

Bel. I am, d'ye see, Charles, this very individual, numerical young Mr.—what ye call 'um Fainwou'd, just come from St. Omers into England—to my Uncle the Alderman. I am, Charles, this very Man.

Gay. I know you are, and will swear't upon occasion.

Bel. This lucky Thought has almost calm'd my mind. And if I don't fit you, my dear Uncle, May I never lie with my Aunt.

Gay. Ah, Rogue—but prithee what care have you taken about your Pardon? 'twere good you should secure that.

Bel. There's the Devil, Charles,—had I but that—but I have had a very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet in vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling. But I impatient to see this dear delight of my Soul, and hearing from none of you this six weeks, came from Brussels in this disguise—for the Hague I have not seen, though hang'd there—but come—let's away, and compleat me a right St. Omer's Spark, that I may present my self as soon as they come from Church.

[Exeunt.



SCENE II. Sir Cautious Fulbank's House.

Enter Lady Fulbank, Pert and Bredwel. Bredwel gives her a Letter.

Lady Fulbank reads.

Did my Julia know how I languish in this cruel Separation, she would afford me her pity, and write oftner. If only the Expectation of two thousand a year kept me from you, ah! Julia, how easily would I abandon that Trifle for your more valued sight; but that I know a fortune will render me more agreeable to the charming Julia, I should quit all my Interest here, to throw my self at her Feet, to make her sensible how I am intirely her Adorer. Charles Gayman.

—Faith, Charles, you lie—you are as welcome to me now, Now when I doubt thy Fortune is declining, As if the Universe were thine.

Pert. That, Madam, is a noble Gratitude. For if his Fortune be declining, 'tis sacrificed to his Passion for your Ladyship. —'Tis all laid out on Love.

L. Ful. I prize my Honour more than Life, Yet I had rather have given him all he wish'd of me, Than be guilty of his Undoing.

Pert. And I think the Sin were less.

L. Ful. I must confess, such Jewels, Rings and Presents as he made me, must needs decay his Fortune.

Bred. Ay, Madam, his very Coach at last was turned into a Jewel for your Ladyship. Then, Madam, what Expences his Despair have run him on —As Drinking and Gaming, to divert the Thought of your marrying my old Master.

L. Ful. And put in Wenching too.—

Bred. No, assure your self, Madam—

L. Ful. Of that I would be better satisfied—and you too must assist me, as e'er you hope I should be kind to you in gaining you Diana. [To Bredwel.

Bred. Madam, I'll die to serve you.

Pert. Nor will I be behind in my Duty.

L. Ful. Oh, how fatal are forc'd Marriages! How many Ruins one such Match pulls on! Had I but kept my Sacred Vows to Gayman, How happy had I been—how prosperous he! Whilst now I languish in a loath'd embrace, Pine out my Life with Age—Consumptions, Coughs. —But dost thou fear that Gayman is declining?

Bred. You are my Lady, and the best of Mistresses— Therefore I would not grieve you, for I know You love this best—but most unhappy Man.

L. Ful. You shall not grieve me—prithee on.

Bred. My Master sent me yesterday to Mr. Crap, his Scrivener, to send to one Mr. Wasteall, to tell him his first Mortgage was out, which is two hundred pounds a Year—and who has since ingaged five or six hundred more to my Master; but if this first be not redeem'd, he'll take the Forfeit on't, as he says a wise Man ought.

L. Ful. That is to say, a Knave, according to his Notion of a wise Man.

Bred. Mr. Crap, being busy with a borrowing Lord, sent me to Mr. Wasteall, whose Lodging is in a nasty Place called Alsatia, at a Black-Smith's.

L. Ful. But what's all this to Gayman?

Bred. Madam, this Wasteall was Mr. Gayman.

L. Ful. Gayman! Saw'st thou Gayman?

Bred. Madam, Mr. Gayman, yesterday.

L. Ful. When came he to Town?

Bred. Madam, he has not been out of it.

L. Ful. Not at his Uncle's in Northamptonshire?

Bred. Your Ladyship was wont to credit me.

L. Ful. Forgive me—you went to a Black-Smith's—

Bred. Yes, Madam; and at the door encountred the beastly thing he calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she had been of her own Husband's making, compos'd of moulded Smith's Dust. I ask'd for Mr. Wasteall, and she began to open—and did so rail at him, that what with her Billinsgate, and her Husband's hammers, I was both deaf and dumb—at last the hammers ceas'd, and she grew weary, and call'd down Mr. Wasteall; but he not answering—I was sent up a Ladder rather than a pair of Stairs; at last I scal'd the top, and enter'd the inchanted Castle; there did I find him, spite of the noise below, drowning his Cares in Sleep.

L. Ful. Whom foundst thou? Gayman?

Bred. He, Madam, whom I waked—and seeing me, Heavens, what Confusion seiz'd him! which nothing but my own Surprize could equal. Asham'd—he wou'd have turn'd away; But when he saw, by my dejected Eyes, I knew him, He sigh'd, and blusht, and heard me tell my Business: Then beg'd I wou'd be secret; for he vow'd his whole Repose and Life depended on my silence. Nor had I told it now, But that your Ladyship may find some speedy means to draw him from this desperate Condition.

L. Ful. Heavens, is't possible?

Bred. He's driven to the last degree of Poverty— Had you but seen his Lodgings, Madam!

L. Ful. What were they?

Bred. 'Tis a pretty convenient Tub, Madam. He may lie a long in't, there's just room for an old join'd Stool besides the Bed, which one cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer's Trunk; there had been Dornex Curtains to't in the days of Yore; but they were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light, but my Landlady's Blue Apron, ty'd by the strings before the Window, in which stood a broken six-penny Looking-Glass, that shew'd as many Faces as the Scene in Henry the Eighth, which could but just stand upright, and then the Comb-Case fill'd it.

L. Ful. What a leud Description hast thou made of his Chamber?

Bred. Then for his Equipage, 'tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who (saucy with his Master's Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Footman.

L. Ful. But what said he to the Forfeiture of his Land?

Bred. He sigh'd and cry'd, Why, farewel dirty Acres; It shall not trouble me, since 'twas all but for Love!

L. Ful. How much redeems it?

Bred. Madam, five hundred Pounds.

L. Ful. Enough—you shall in some disguise convey this Money to him, as from an unknown hand: I wou'd not have him think it comes from me, for all the World: That Nicety and Virtue I've profest, I am resolved to keep.

Pert. If I were your Ladyship, I wou'd make use of Sir Cautious's Cash: pay him in his own Coin.

Bred. Your Ladyship wou'd make no Scruple of it, if you knew how this poor Gentleman has been us'd by my unmerciful Master.

L. Ful. I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he had another made, and this I found and kept.

Bred. Madam, this is an excellent time for't, my Master being gone to give my Sister Leticia at Church.

L. Ful. 'Tis so, I'll go and commit the Theft, whilst you prepare to carry it, and then we'll to dinner with your Sister the Bride.

[Exeunt.



SCENE III. The House of Sir Feeble.

Enter Sir Feeble, Leticia, Sir Cautious, Bearjest, Diana, Noisey. Sir Feeble sings and salutes 'em.

Sir Feeb. Welcome, Joan Sanderson, welcome, welcome. [Kisses the Bride. Ods bobs, and so thou art, Sweet-heart. [So to the rest.

Bear. Methinks my Lady Bride is very melancholy.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus upon their Wedding-day.

Sir Feeb. Always by day-light, Sir Cautious.

But when bright Phoebus does retire, To Thetis' Bed to quench his fire. And do the thing we need not name, We Mortals by his influence do the same. Then then the blushing Maid lays by Her simpering, and her Modesty; And round the Lover clasps and twines Like Ivy, or the circling Vines.

Sir Feeb. Here, Ralph, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou'dst have met us at the door with it.—Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health.

Bear. Away with it, to the Bride's Haunce in Kelder.

Sir Feeb. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that shall be the morrow morning; he—ods bobs, we'll do't, Sweet heart; here's to't. [Drinks again.

Let. I die but to imagine it, wou'd I were dead indeed.

Sir Feeb. Hah—hum—how's this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why, why—you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face—away, you Rogue, you're naughty, you're naughty. [Patting and playing, and following her. Look—look—look now,—buss it—buss it—buss it—and Friends; did'ums, did'ums beat its none silly Baby—away, you little Hussey, away, and pledge me— [She drinks a little.

Sir Cau. A wise discreet Lady, I'll warrant her; my Lady would prodigally have took it off all.

Sir Feeb. Dear's its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, away—ods bobs, I long for Night—look, look, Sir Cautious, what an Eye's there!

Sir Cau. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too.

Sir Feeb. Adad, I love her more and more, Ralph—call old Susan hither—come, Mr. Bearjest, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was a young Fellow, I wou'd not let the young Wenches look pale and wan—but would rouse 'em, and touse 'em, and blowze 'em, till I put a colour in their Cheeks, like an Apple John, affacks—Nay, I can make a shift still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous.

Enter Susan, Sir Feeble whispers her, she goes out.

Let. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience.

Sir Cau. A most judicious Lady; would my Julia had a little of her Modesty; but my Lady's a Wit.

Enter Susan with a Box.

Sir Feeb. Look here, my little Puskin, here's fine Playthings for its nown little Coxcomb—go—get you gone—get you gone, and off with this St. Martin's Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace, and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I'll have no Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See—these are right as the Blushes on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl. Go, put'em on, and be fine. [Gives 'em her.

Let. Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness.

Sir Feeb. Go to—More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony—give the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way—he, ye little wanton Tit, I'll steal up—and catch ye and love ye—adod, I will—get ye gone—get ye gone.

Let. Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn'd Lover! [Ex. Leticia and Diana.

Sir Cau. How, steal up, Sir Feeble—I hope not so; I hold it most indecent before the lawful hour.

Sir Feeb. Lawful hour! Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man's own Wife.

Sir Cau. But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons.

Sir Feeb. Wise young Men, Sir Cautious; but wise old Men must nick their Inclinations; for it is not as 'twas wont to be, for it is not as 'twas wont to be— [Singing and Dancing.

Enter Ralph.

Ral. Sir, here's a young Gentleman without wou'd speak with you.

Sir Feeb. Hum—I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the Banes—if it be, he comes too late—therefore bring me first my long Sword, and then the Gentleman. [Exit Ralph.

Bear. Pray, Sir, use mine, it is a travell'd Blade I can assure you, Sir.

Sir Feeb. I thank you, Sir.

Enter Ralph and Bellmour disguised, gives him a Letter, he reads.

How—my Nephew! Francis Fainwou'd! [Embraces him.

Bel. I am glad he has told me my Christian name.

Sir Feeb. Sir Cautious, know my Nephew—'tis a young St. Omers Scholar—but none of the Witnesses.

Sir Cau. Marry, Sir, and the wiser he; for they got nothing by't.

Bea. Sir, I love and honour you, because you are a Traveller.

Sir Feeb. A very proper young Fellow, and as like old Frank Fainwou'd as the Devil to the Collier; but, Francis, you are come into a very leud Town, Francis, for Whoring, and Plotting, and Roaring, and Drinking; but you must go to Church, Francis, and avoid ill Company, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash, Francis, —what, you can keep Merchants Books?

Bel. That's been my study, Sir.

Sir Feeb. And you will not be proud, but will be commanded by me, Francis?

Bel. I desire not to be favour'd as a Kinsman, Sir, but as your humblest Servant.

Sir Feeb. Why, thou'rt an honest Fellow, Francis,—and thou'rt heartily welcome—and I'll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir Cautious, let you and I take a turn i'th' Garden, and get a right understanding between your Nephew Mr. Bearjest, and my Daughter Dye.

Sir Cau. Prudently thought on, Sir, I'll wait on you.—

[Ex. Sir Feeble, and Sir Cautious.

Bea. You are a Traveller, I understand.

Bel. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir.

Bea. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my Travels on Foot, Sir.

Bel. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir?

Bea. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I travell'd into Ireland a-foot, Sir.

Bel. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into Ireland?

Bea. That's all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the Deck.

Bel. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir?

Bea. Farthest—why, that's the End of the World—and sure a Man can go no farther.

Bel. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man's Curiosity?

Bea. No, Sir, I'll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World, Sir: I'll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the King of France was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to land a hundred thousand Men.

Bel. This is a swinging Wonder—but are there store of Mad-men there, Sir?

Bea. That's another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits.

Noi. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say.

Bea. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at St. Omers?

Bel. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful Salamanca Doctor, who was both here and there at the same Instant of time.

Bea. How, Sir? why, that's impossible.

Bel. That was the Wonder, Sir, because 'twas impossible.

Noi. But 'twas a greater, Sir, that 'twas believed.

Enter L. Fulb. and Pert, Sir Cau. and Sir Feeb.

Sir Feeb. Enough, enough, Sir Cautious, we apprehend one another. Mr. Bearjest, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after Death, which your Uncle likes well.

Bea. Does he so, Sir? I'm beholding to him; then 'tis not a Pin matter whether I like or not, Sir.

Sir Feeb. How, Sir, not like my Daughter Dye?

Bea. Oh, Lord, Sir,—die or live, 'tis all one for that, Sir—I'll stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes.

Pert. Will you so, Sir? you'll have very good luck if you do. [Aside.

Bea. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady's Woman.

L. Ful. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church— I knew you wou'd be private.

Enter Let. fine in Jewels.

Sir Feeb. You honour us too highly now, Madam. [Presents his Wife, who salutes her.

L. Ful. Give you Joy, my dear Leticia! I find, Sir, you were resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty.

Sir Feeb. Ay, ay, Madam, to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb: but Lette,—Rogue Lette—thou wo't not make me free o'th' City a second time, wo't thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and the wanton Leer —the amorous Simper that cries, come, kiss me—then the pretty round Lips are pouted out—he, Rogue, how I long to be at 'em!—well, she shall never go to Church more, that she shall not.

L. Ful. How, Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City Lady?

Sir Feeb. That's all one, Madam, that tricking and dressing, and prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young Knaves that are lick'd and comb'd and are minding you more than the Parson—ods bobs, there are more Cuckolds destin'd in the Church, than are made out of it.

Sir Cau. Hah, ha, ha, he tickles ye, i'faith, Ladies. [To his Lady.

Bel. Not one chance look this way—and yet I can forgive her lovely Eyes, Because they look not pleas'd with all this Ceremony; And yet methinks some sympathy in Love Might this way glance their Beams—I cannot hold— Sir, is this fair Lady my Aunt?

Sir Feeb. Oh, Francis! Come hither, Francis. Lette, here's a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee. [Puts them together, she starts back. —Nay, start not, he's my own Flesh and Blood, My Nephew—Baby—look, look how the young Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that.

Let. There's something in his Face so like my Bellmour, it calls my Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless.

Enter Ralph.

Ralph. Sir, Dinner's on the Table.

Sir Feeb. Come, come—let's in then—Gentlemen and Ladies, And share to day my Pleasures and Delight, But— Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night.

[Exeunt.



ACT II.

SCENE I. Gayman's Lodging.

Enter Gayman in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat tied about him, very melancholy.

Gay. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune! Curse on my Stars, and curst be all—but Love! That dear, that charming Sin, though t'have pull'd Innumerable Mischiefs on my head, I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for. Nor let me die despis'd, upbraided, poor: Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me— But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God, Close to my heart while Life continues there. Till the last pantings of my vital Blood, Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love's!

Enter Rag.

—How now, Rag, what's a Clock?

Rag. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue.

Gay. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago.

Rag. Alas, Sir, that's all gone long since.

Gay. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.

Rag. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir.

Gay. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling—but hark ye, Rag,—I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening; now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou'd invent a way to get home my last Suit that was laid in Lavender—with the Appurtenances thereunto belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth.

Rag. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human means will do't—and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power once more with my Landlady.

Gay. Oh! name her not, the thought on't turns my Stomach—a sight of her is a Vomit; but he's a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self—yet there's my last, last Refuge—and I must to this Wedding—I know not what,—but something whispers me,—this Night I shall be happy—and without Julia 'tis impossible!

Rag. Julia, who's that? my Lady Fulbank, Sir?

Gay. Peace, Sirrah—and call—a—no—Pox on't, come back—and yet—yes—call my fulsome Landlady.

[Exit Rag.

Sir Cautious knows me not by Name or Person. And I will to this Wedding, I'm sure of seeing Julia there. And what may come of that—but here's old Nasty coming. I smell her up—hah, my dear Landlady.

Enter Rag and Landlady.

Quite out of breath—a Chair there for my Landlady.

Rag. Here's ne'er a one, Sir.

Land. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. Wasteall.

Gay. Dear Landlady—

Land. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money—Eight Weeks Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses' Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.

Gay. Ay, but your Husband don't; speak softly.

Land. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?— I'd have you to know I'm an honest Woman, and care not this—for my Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching, borrowing and shifting for you; 'twas but last Week I pawn'd my best Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new Norwich Mantua followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only Judas left for my Husband.

Gay. Hear me, good Landlady.

Land. Then I've past my word at the George Tavern, for forty Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour Squabs for Ale, besides seven Shillings to Mother Suds for Washing; and do you fob me off with my Husband?

Gay. Here, Rag, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack—there's no other way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops.

[Exit Rag.

—But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience.

Land. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir—is this a place to trust in? tell me of Patience, that us'd to have my money before hand; come, come, pay me quickly—or old Gregory Grimes house shall be too hot to hold you.

Gay. Is't come to this, can I not be heard?

Land. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign—with tan'd coloured Lining—once red—but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn'd shammy Breeches. Nay, your very Badge of Manhood's gone too.

Gay. How, Landlady! nay then, i'faith, no wonder if you rail so.

Land. Your Silver Sword I mean—transmogrified to this two-handed Basket Hilt—this old Sir Guy of Warwick—which will sell for nothing but old Iron. In fine, I'll have my money, Sir, or i'faith, Alsatia shall not shelter you.

Enter Rag.

Gay. Well, Landlady—if we must part—let's drink at parting; here, Landlady, here's to the Fool—that shall love you better than I have done. [Sighing, drinks.

Land. Rot your Wine—dy'e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir?

[She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws, Rag throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth.

—What, will you force me?—no—give me another Glass, I scorn to be so uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir—this shan't do, Sir.

[She drinks, he, embracing her, sings.

Ah, Cloris, 'tis in vain you scold, Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire. Tour Railing cannot make me cold, So fast as they a Warmth inspire.

Land. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my Tongue neither, if rightly understood. [Weeps.

Gay. I know you are the best of Landladies, As such I drink your Health— [Drinks. But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation—fie—'tis not done like a Woman of Honour, a Man that loves you too.

[She drinks.

Land. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature.

Gay. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be rich again—and then, my dearest Landlady—

Land. Wou'd this Wine might ne'er go through me, if I wou'd not go, as they say, through Fire and Water—by Night or by Day for you. [She drinks.

Gay. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [He drinks.

Land. Well—you have no money in your Pocket now, I'll warrant you— here—here's ten Shillings for you old Greg'ry knows not of. [Opens a great greasy purse.

Gay. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot—besides, the next Quarrel you'll hit me in the Teeth with it.

Land. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to blame—here, Sir, you shall take it.

Gay. Ay,—but what shou'd I do with Money in these damn'd Breeches? —No, put it up—I can't appear abroad thus—no, I'll stay at home, and lose my business.

Land. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?

Gay. None—none—I'll e'en lay me down and die.

Land. Die—marry, Heavens forbid—I would not for the World—let me see—hum—what does it lie for?

Gay. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum—a Sum.

Land. Well, say no more, I'll lay about me.

Gay. By this kiss but you shall not—Assafetida, by this Light.

Land. Shall not? that's a good one, i'faith: shall you rule, or I?

Gay. But shou'd your Husband know it?—

Land. Husband—marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure, the World's not so bad yet—where do your things lie? and for what?

Gay. Five Pounds equips me—Rag can conduct you—but I say you shall not go, I've sworn.

Land. Meddle with your matters—let me see, the Caudle Cup that Molly's Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum—I'll sneak it out—well, Sir, you shall have your things presently—trouble not your head, but expect me.

[Ex. Landlady and Rag.

Gay. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? 'Sdeath, how she stunk— my senses are most luxuriously regal'd—there's my perpetual Musick too—

[Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil.

The ringing of Bells is an Ass to't.

Enter Rag.

Rag. Sir, there's one in a Coach below wou'd speak to you.

Gay. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?

Rag. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.

Gay. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on him up with Ceremony.

Rag. Who, the Devil, Sir?

Gay. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive. [Exit Rag. Who can this be—but see he comes to inform me—withdraw.

Enter Bredwel drest like a Devil.

Bred. I come to bring you this— [Gives him a Letter.

Gayman reads.

Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful and be silent, or 'twill vanish like a dream, and leave you more wretched that it found You. Adieu.

—Hah— [Gives him a bag of Money.

Bred. Nay, view it, Sir, 'tis all substantial Gold.

Gay. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all— [Aside. But I may ask, how 'tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty.

Bred. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy—

Gay. And is this all that is required, Sir?

Bred. No, you're invited to the Shades below.

Gay. Hum, Shades below!—I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir.

Bred. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you'll follow me: When Night's black Curtain's drawn around the World, And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep, [In feign'd Heroick Tone. And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress, Then I'll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss. —Durst thou not trust me?

Gay. Yes, sure, on such substantial security. [Hugs the Bag.

Bred. Just when the Day is vanish'd into Night, And only twinkling Stars inform the World, Near to the Corner of the silent Wall, In Fields of Lincoln's-Inn, thy Spirit shall meet thee. —Farewell. [Goes out.

Gay. Hum—I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp. I could not see this Devil's cloven Foot; Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe, But he was as substantial as his Gold. Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils, I've often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with, Which, once arriv'd to common Sense, they laugh at. —No, I am for things possible and Natural: Some Female Devil, old and damn'd to Ugliness, And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address, Full of another Devil called Desire, Has seen this Face—this Shape—this Youth, And thinks it's worth her Hire. It must be so: I must moil on in the damn'd dirty Road, And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy:

And for the Price of the dull drudging Night, All Day I'll purchase new and fresh Delight.

[Exit.



SCENE II. Sir Feeble's House.

Enter Leticia, pursu'd by Phillis.

Phil. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden, For this retreat to Melancholy?

Let. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour; And even thy Presence wou'd afflict me now.

Phil. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady Fulbank has challeng'd Sir Feeble at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his new Chariot.

Let. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing, But in his Love to me— Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.

[Ex. Phillis.

Enter Bellmour at a distance behind her.

—Blest be this kind Retreat, this 'lone Occasion, That lends a short Cessation to my Torments, And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [Weeps.

Bel. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love, That give me this dear Opportunity.

Let. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love? That once seem'd pleas'd at Bellmour's Flame and mine, And smiling join'd our Hearts, our sacred Vows, And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.

Bel. Oh— [She starts, and pauses.

Let. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from Bellmour; Your Wings were flag'd, your Torches bent to Earth, And all your little Bonnets veil'd your Eyes; You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.

Bel. Oh my Leticia!

Let. Hah, 'tis there again; that very voice was Bellmour's: Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. —What art thou?—speak! [Not looking behind her yet for fear.

Bel. Thy constant true Adorer, Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee To ease his tortur'd Soul. [Approaching nearer.

Let. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. [Speaking with signs of fear.

Bel. Is it because thou'st broken all thy Vows? —Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.

Let. Yes, though the Sight wou'd blast me, I wou'd view it. [Turns. —'Tis he—'tis very Bellmour! or so like— I cannot doubt but thou deserv'st this Welcome. [Embraces him.

Bel. Oh my Leticia!

Let. I'm sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom, But meet a solid Treasure.

Bel. A Treasure thou so easily threw'st away; A Riddle simple Love ne'er understood.

Let. Alas, I heard, my Bellmour, thou wert dead.

Bel. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral?

Let. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon.

[Bellmour weeps.

Bel. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage—did it?

Let. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my Bellmour lives; The Consummation were Adultery. I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me?

Bel. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

Let. But oh my Bellmour, thy sad Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

Bel. Alas!

Let. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

Bel. Is't possible, Leticia, thou wou'dst fly To foreign Shores with me?

Let. Can Bellmour doubt the Soul he knows so well?

Bel. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight.

Let. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

Bel. Thy native Modesty and my Industry Shall well enough secure us. Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day; Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee. —And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new, Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business, It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; Swear—swear, so as if thou break'st— Thou mayst be—any thing—but damn'd, Leticia.

Let. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [Kneels.

Bel. And thus—I'll listen to thee. [Kneels.

Enter Sir Feeble, L. Fulbank, Sir Cautious.

Sir Feeb. Lette, Lette, Lette, where are you, little Rogue, Lette? —Hah—hum—what's here—

Bel. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

Bel. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone!

Sir Feeb. Gone—whither is she gone?—it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her—

[The Women go to her, take her up.

Bel. She's gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir Cau. She was resolv'd to go in a young Fellow's Arms, I see.

Sir Feeb. Go to, Francis—go to.

L. Ful. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.

Bel. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, —Shou'd I have left her so—if I had known your mind—

Sir Feeb. Was it so—was it so?—Got so, by no means, Francis.—

Let. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.

Sir Feeb. Alas, poor Pupsey—was it sick—look here—here's a fine thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it—oh, how I long for Night. Ralph, are the Fidlers ready?

Ral. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.

Sir Feeb. That's well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man's Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a—hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,—with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo— [Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute.

Sir Cau. A prudent Man would reserve himself—Good-facks, I danc'd so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

L. Ful. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir Cautious? But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.

Sir Feeb. Odsbobs, that's Wormwood, that's Wormwood—I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she'll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they'll ha't, adod, they will, Sir Cautious. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

Sir Cau. A wise Man will keep 'em from baudy Christnings then, and Gossipings.

Sir Feeb. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Sir Cau. Ay, when the overjoy'd good Man invites 'em all against that time Twelve-month: Oh, he's a dear Man, cries one—I must marry, cries another, here's a Man indeed—my Husband—God help him—

Sir Feeb. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz'd, and turn'd the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir Feeble; the grave and sober part o'th' Nation are hereby ridicul'd,—Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.

L. Ful. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos'd upon.

Enter Fiddles playing, Mr. Bearjest and Diana dancing; Bredwel, Noisey, &c.

L. Ful. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. Dy's Heart.

Bea. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman's Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a—kind of a—as it were, d'ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other: and Madam—I am, as it were—a bold Adventurer.

Dia. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?

Bea. Sure!—I thank you for that—as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

Dia. How, Sir, scurvily?

Bea. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely—keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like Janus, or a Spread-Eagle.

Dia. And do you expect I shou'd be honest the while?

Bea. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.

L. Ful. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?

Bea. Except my Lady Aunt—Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family—you shall pardon me, here—cuff me, cuff me soundly. [Kneels to her.

Enter Gayman richly drest.

Gay. This Love's a damn'd bewitching thing—Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing Julia to night: hah—there, and with a Fop at her Feet.—Oh Vanity of Woman! [Softly pulls her.

L. Ful. Oh, Sir, you're welcome from Northamptonshire.

Gay. Hum—surely she knows the Cheat. [Aside.

L. Ful. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your Uncle be alive.

Gay. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances! But if she have, Confidence must assist me— [Aside. —And, Madam, you're too gay for me to inquire Whether you are that Julia which I left you?

L. Ful. Oh, doubtless, Sir—

Gay. But why the Devil do I ask—Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter'd, than privately ador'd: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.

L. Ful. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.

Gay. What—I'm not discreet enough; I'll babble all in my next high Debauch, Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms To every wishing Fool.

L. Ful. Or make most filthy Verses of me— Under the name of Cloris—you Philander, Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment; What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night, How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine. Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love, Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World, I'm for the Bargain.

Sir Cau. Hum—what's here, a young Spark at my Wife? [Goes about 'em.

Gay. Unreasonable Julia, is that all, My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope? Set me an Age—say when you will be kind, And I will languish out in starving Wish: But thus to gape for Legacies of Love, Till Youth be past Enjoyment, The Devil I will as soon—farewel. [Offers to go.

L. Ful. Stay, I conjure you stay.

Gay. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [Aside.

Sir Cau. 'Tis so, ay, ay, 'tis so—and wise Men will perceive it; 'tis here—here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.

Sir Feeb. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he'll chain her up—the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum—in Charity I'll relieve him—Come, my Lady Fulbank, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting—Come, shall I lead your Ladyship?

L. Ful. No, Sir, you see I am better provided— [Takes Gayman's hand.

Sir Cau. Ay, no doubt on't, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.

[They dance all.

Sir Feeb. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then—ods bobs, and then—

Dia. And then we'll have t'other Dance.

Sir Feeb. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches —odds bobs, a Man's cozen'd of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then—we'll toss the Stocking.

[Exeunt all but L. Ful. Bred, who are talking, and Gayman.

L. Ful. But dost thou think he'll come?

Bred. I do believe so, Madam—

L. Ful. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.

Bred. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts. [Exit Bredwel, stealing out Gayman.

L. Ful. How now, what, departing?

Gay. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. Ful. No matter, you shall stay—

Gay. I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. Ful. Can you deny me—will you not give me one lone hour i'th' Garden?

Gay. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met—No, Madam; besides, I have business—

L. Ful. Some Assignation—is it so indeed?

Gay. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; 'tis more important business—

L. Ful. Oh, 'tis too late for business—let to morrow serve.

Gay. By no means—the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. Ful. Rise the earlier then—

Gay.—But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously—sick—and should he die—

L. Ful. 'Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

Gay. Hum—

L. Ful. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

Gay. Ay—a—he goes—in a Litter—'tis his Fancy, Madam—Change of Air may recover him.

L. Ful. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir—farewel. [Goes out.

Gay. Stay, Julia—Devil, be damn'd—for you shall tempt no more, I'll love and be undone—but she is gone— And if I stay, the most that I shall gain Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss. No, my kind Goblin—

I'll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil; A tantalizing Woman's worse than Devil.

[Exit.



ACT III.

SCENE I. Sir Feeble's House.

The Second Song before the Entry.

A SONG made by Mr. Cheek.

_No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more To the admiring World those conquering Charms: In vain all day unhappy Men adore, What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms. Their vain Attempts can ne'er successful prove, Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts, Your dazling Beauty you around display, And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts, That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way. Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease, And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.

Enter Ralph with Light, Sir Feeble, and Bellmour

Sir Feeb. So, so, they're gone—Come, Francis, you shall have the Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but 'twill be a sweet one, Francis.

Bel. Hell take him, how he teazes me! [Undressing all the while.

Sir Feeb. But is the young Rogue laid, Francis—is she stoln to Bed? What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man's Appetite?

Bel. Ay, Sir—Pox on him—he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her. [Aside.

Sir Feeb. A pise of those Bandstrings—the more haste the less speed.

Bel. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, Venus.

Sir Feeb. Thy aid a little, Francis—oh, oh—thou choakest me, 'sbobs, what dost mean? [Pinches him by the Throat.

Bel. You had so hamper'd 'em, Sir—the Devil's very mischievous in me. [Aside.

Sir Feeb. Come, come, quick, good Francis, adod, I'm as yare as a Hawk at the young Wanton—nimbly, good Francis, untruss, untruss.

Bel. Cramps seize ye—what shall I do? the near Approach distracts me. [Aside.

Sir Feeb. So, so, my Breeches, good Francis. But well, Francis, how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

Bel. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.

Sir Feeb. No, that wou'd not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with a young Fellow they call Bellmour, a handsome young Rascal he was, they say, that's truth on't; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill a Man he was forced to fly.

Bel. That was great pity, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Pity! hang him, Rogue, 'sbobs, and all the young Fellows in the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst 'em, under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what dost think I did? being damnably in love—I feign'd a Letter as from the Hague, wherein was a Relation of this same Bellmour's being hang'd.

Bel. Is't possible, Sir, you cou'd devise such News?

Sir Feeb. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News, shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she sigh'd and wept, and swore she'd never marry: still I presented; she hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered her Vows were cancell'd, since Bellmour was hang'd.

Bel. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then his Mistress.

Sir Feeb. Cruel! thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our Wives: so, so, my Cap, Francis.

Bel. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir Feeb. Lawful! it shall be when I've had Livery and Seisin of her Body—and that shall be presently Rogue,—quick—besides, this Bellmour dares as well be hang'd as come into England.

Bel. If he gets his Pardon, Sir—

Sir Feeb. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you must know, got his Pardon already.

Bel. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of his Wife.

Sir Feeb. Hold, honest Francis: What, dost think 'twas in kindness to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he's defunct, trust up, hang'd, Francis.

Bel. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir Feeb. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

Bel. But have you got his Pardon?—

Sir Feeb. I've done't, I've done't; Pox on him, it cost me five hundred pounds though: Here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Evening. [Gives it him.

Bel. This was a lucky hit—and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a Trick indeed. [Aside.

Sir Feeb. So, put it into my Cabinet,—safe, Francis, safe.

Bel. Safe, I'll warrant you, Sir.

Sir Feeb. My Gown, quick, quick,—t'other Sleeve, Man—so now my Night-cap; well, I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women, and jump into her Arms. [Exit Sir Feeble.

Bel. He's gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

Enter a Footman.

Foot. Sir, my Master, Sir Cautious Fulbank, left his Watch on the little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for't.

Bel. Hah—the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it shall be sent him in the Morning.

Foot. 'Tis very well, Sir—your Servant— [Exit Footman.

Bel. Let me see—here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him—but his sending has inspir'd me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better than Force, to secure the poor trembling Leticia—who, I am sure, is dying with her Fears.

[Exit Bellmour.



SCENE II. Changes to the Bed-chamber; Leticia in an undressing by the Women at the Table.

Enter to them Sir Feeble Fainwou'd.

Sir Feeb. What's here? what's here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs, what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, Leticia.

Let. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before all this Company.

Sir Feeb. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, 'tis the fashion.

Let. What, with a Man? I wou'd not for the World. Oh, Bellmour, where art thou with all thy promised aid? [Aside.

Dia. Nay, Madam, we shou'd see you laid indeed.

Let. First in my Grave, Diana.

Sir Feeb. Ods bobs, here's a Compact amongst the Women—High Treason against the Bridegroom—therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I'll lock you all in. [Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door.

So, so, now we're alone, Leticia—off with this foolish Modesty, and Night Gown, and slide into my Arms. [She runs from him. H'e', my little Puskin—what, fly me, my coy Daphne, [He pursues her. Knocking. Hah—who's that knocks—who's there?—

Bel. [Within.] 'Tis I, Sir, 'tis I, open the door presently.

Sir Feeb. Why, what's the matter, is the House o-fire?

Bel. [Within.] Worse, Sir, worse—

[He opens the door, Bellmour enters with the Watch in his hand.

Let. 'Tis Bellmour's Voice!

Bel. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch?

Sir Feeb. This Watch!

Bel. Ay, Sir, this Watch?

Sir Feeb. This Watch!—why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? 'tis Sir Cautious Fulbank's Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me with Watches? [Offers to put him out, he returns.

Bel. 'Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for you, to come immediately to his House, Sir.

Sir Feeb. What a Devil, art mad, Francis? or is his Worship mad, or does he think me mad?—go, prithee tell him I'll come to him to morrow. [Goes to put him out.

Bel. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow.

Sir Feeb. What sayst thou, Throat cut?

Bel. Why, the City's up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at Guild-Hall; some damnable Plot, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Hah—Plot—the Aldermen met at Guild-Hall!—hum—why, let 'em meet, I'll not lose this Night to save the Nation.

Let. Wou'd you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require your Presence?

Sir Feeb.—Hum—met at Guild-Hall;—my Clothes, my Gown again, Francis, I'll out—out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No—I'll in. [Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again.

Let. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate without you?

Sir Feeb. Ay, that's true, that's true; come truss again, Francis, truss again—yet now I think on't, Francis, prithee run thee to the Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-night, d'ye see, Francis; and let some body give my Voice for—

Bel. What, Sir?

Sir Feeb. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let 'em fight Dog, fight Bear; mun, I'll to Bed—go—

Let. And shall his Majesty's Service and his Safety lie unregarded for a slight Woman, Sir?

Sir Feeb. Hum, his Majesty!—come, haste, Francis, I'll away, and call Ralph, and the Footmen, and bid 'em arm; each Man shoulder his Musket, and advance his Pike—and bring my Artillery Implements quick—and let's away: Pupsey—b'u'y, Pupsey, I'll bring it a fine thing yet before Morning, it may be—let's away: I shall grow fond, and forget the business of the Nation—Come, follow me, Francis.—

[Exit Sir Feeble, Bellmour runs to Leticia.

Bel. Now, my Leticia, if thou e'er didst Love, If ever thou design'st to make me blest—Without delay fly this adulterous Bed.

Sir Feeb. Why, Francis, where are you, Knave? [Sir Feeb. within.

Bel. I must be gone, lest he suspect us—I'll lose him, and return to thee immediately—get thy self ready.—

Let. I will not fail, my Love.

[Exit Bellmour.

Old Man forgive me—thou the Aggressor art, Who rudely forc'd the Hand without the Heart. She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove, Whose Guide's Religion, and whose End is Love.

[Exit.



SCENE III. Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House.

Enter with a Dark-lanthorn Bredwel disguis'd like a Devil, leading Gayman.

Bred. Stay here till I give notice of your coming. [Exit Bredwel, leaves his Dark-Lanthorn.

Gay. Kind Light, a little of your aid—now must I be peeping, though my Curiosity should lose me all—hah—Zouns, what here—a Hovel or a Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to swear in, but just when I'm in the Devil's Clutches.

Enter Pert, as an old Woman, with a Staff.

Old W. Good Even to you, fair Sir.

Gay. Ha—defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that's certain.

Old W. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?

Gay. He must be as hot as Vesuvius that does—I shall never earn my Morning's Present.

Old W. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?

Gay. The Devil I do—this is a damn'd Preparation to Love.

Old W. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman's Passion is like the Tide, it stays for no man when the hour is come—

Gay. I'm sorry I have took it at its Turning; I'm sure mine's ebbing out as fast.

Old W. Will you not speak, Sir—will you not on?

Gay. I wou'd fain ask—a civil Question or two first.

Old W. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.

Gay. Why, there's it now.

Old W. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.

Gay. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar'd me in vain. Were I but sure she were but human now—for sundry Considerations she might down—but I will on—

[She goes, he follows; both go out.



SCENE IV. A Chamber in the Apartments of L. Fulbank.

Enter Old Woman followed by Gayman in the dark.

[Soft Musick plays, she leaves him.

Gay.—Hah, Musick—and Excellent!

SONG.

_Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine, Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine, Want to be prized above all Wealth, Disease that has more Joys than Health; Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain, And of thy Tyranny complain, We all are bettered by thy Reign.

What Reason never can bestow, We to this useful Passion owe. Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease, And learns a Clown the Art to please: Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold, Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold. 'Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink, And teaches airy Fops to think.

When full brute Appetite is fed, And choak'd the Glutton lies, and dead; Thou new Spirits dost dispense, And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense. Virtue's unconquerable Aid, That against Nature can persuade; And makes a roving Mind retire Within the Bounds of just Desire. Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest, And half the Heaven of the blest_.

Gay. Ah, Julia, Julia! if this soft Preparation Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces; What different Motions wou'd surround my Soul, From what perplex it now.

Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance.

[Then two dance alone. All go out but Pert and a Shepherd.

—If these be Devils, they are obliging ones: I did not care if I ventur'd on that last Female Fiend.

Man sings.

Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess, Whence arrives your happiness. Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain, Human Fancy is in vain.

Chorus.

'Tis enough, you once shall find, Fortune may to Worth be kind; [gives him Gold. And Love can leave off being blind.

Pert sings.

_You, before you enter here On this sacred Ring must swear_, [Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand. _By the Figure which is round, Your Passion constant and profound; By the Adamantine Stone, To be fixt to one alone:

By the Lustre, which is true, Ne'er to break your sacred Vow. Lastly, by the Gold that's try'd, For Love all Dangers to abide_.

They all dance about him, while those same two sing.

Man. Once about him let us move, To confirm him true to Love. [bis.

Pert. Twice with mystick turning Feet, Make him silent and discreet. [bis.

Man. Thrice about him let us tread, To keep him ever young in Bed. [bis.

Gives him another part.

Man. Forget Aminta's proud Disdain; Haste here, and sigh no more in vain, The Joy of Love without the Pain.

Pert. That God repents his former Slights, And Fortune thus your Faith requites.

Both. Forget Aminta's proud Disdain; Then taste, and sigh no more in vain, The Joy of Love without the Pain, The Joy of Love without the Pain.

[Exeunt all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him.

Gay. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the Case—sure I have not liv'd so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?—that cannot be—this Age affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw were Mortal. No—'tis a Woman—I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No—since 'tis resolved, a Woman—she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.

Well—be she young or old, Woman or Devil, She pays, and I'll endeavour to be civil.

[Exit.



SCENE V. In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall.

After a Knocking, enter Bredwel in his masking Habit, with his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t'other, in haste.

Bred. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate— [Opens the door.

Enter Sir Feeble drest, and arm'd Cap-a-pee, with a broad Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat and half Pike.

Sir Feeb. How now, how now, what's the matter here?

Bred. Matter, what, is my Lady's innocent Intrigue found out?— Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

Sir Feeb. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?

Bred. I have been dancing among some of my Friends.

Sir Feeb. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends. Where's Sir Cautious, where's Sir Cautious?

Bred. Sir Cautious—Sir, in Bed.

Sir Feeb. Call him, call him—quickly, good Edward.

Bred. Sure my Lady's Frolick is betray'd, and he comes to make Mischief. However, I'll go and secure Mr. Gayman. [Exit Bredwel.

Enter Sir Cautious and Dick his Boy with Light.

Dick. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here's no Thieves; all's still and well.

Sir Cau. This last Night's misfortune of mine, Dick, has kept me waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at one clap, Dick.—Hah—bless me! what's yonder? Blow the great Horn, Dick—Thieves—Murder, Murder!

Sir Feeb. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? 'Tis I, 'tis I, man.

Sir Cau. I, who am I? Speak—declare—pronounce.

Sir Feeb. Your Friend, old Feeble Fainwou'd.

Sir Cau. How, Sir Feeble! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night —why, what's the matter, Sir—is it Peace or War with you?

Sir Feeb. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother, for time you know is precious.