p. 306, l. 10 Scene V. I have numbered this scene.

p. 306, l. 18 Lover's. 4to 1690 'Love's'.

p. 306, l. 20 more. 1724 omits.

p. 306, l. 32 and the rest. Previous editions 'and officers', but plainly all the characters of the preceding scene assemble.

p. 307, l. 21 What has he, Mistress? 4to 1690 omits.

Epilogue

p. 309, l. 1 Epilogue. It will be noted that with some trifling alterations this is the Prologue to Abdelazar.

NOTES: CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY.

Dedication

p. 221 Madam Welldon. This Dedicatory Epistle only appears in 4to 1690. The lady doubtless belonged to a branch of the famous Weldons, of Swanscombe, Kent, and is probably to be identified with Madam Lucy Weldon, nee Necton, the wife of Colonel George Weldon.

p. 222 G. J. Almost certainly George Jenkins, of whom we have two copies of complimentary verse prefixed to La Montre, or The Lover's Watch. vide Vol. VI, pp. 9-11.

Prologue

p. 223 Prologue. This prologue was first spoken to Shadwell's comedy, The True Widow, produced at the Duke's Theatre, Dorset Garden, 21 March, 1678, and it is printed with all copies of that play. It was, no doubt, used on the present occasion by permission of Dryden. It will be noticed that the Epilogue to The Widow Ranter is the Prologue to Abdelazar.

p. 223 Muss. A scramble. cf. Antony and Cleopatra, iii, 13:—

... of late, when I cried 'Ho!' Like boys unto a muss, Kings would start forth, And cry 'Your will?'

ACT I: Scene i

p. 226 a Cogue of Brandy. 'Cogue' is a Kentish word. Kent Glossary (1887), has 'cogue; a dram of brandy'; and Wright, Eng. Dial. Dic., who gives 'cogue' as exclusively Kentish, assigns precisely the same meaning. D'Urfey, however, Pills to Purge Melancholy (1719), vi, p. 351, has 'a cogue of good ale'.

p. 227 Groom Porter's. The Groom Porter was an officer of the Royal Household. This post was abolished in the reign of George III. From the sixteenth century he regulated all matters connected with card playing, gambling, and dicing within the precincts of the court. He even furnished cards and dice, and settled disputes concerning the game.

p. 227 high and low Flats and Bars. i.e. Doctored dice. cf. Chamber's Cycl. Supp. (1753), 'Barr Dice, a species of false dice so formed that they will not easily lie on certain sides.' This cant term is found as early as 1545. cf. Ascham's Toxophilus. Flats are also cards. —(Grose, and J. H. Vaux, Flash Dic.)

p. 231 shier. Schire = clear; pure. A Gaelic word. cf. Herd, Scotch Songs (2nd ed. 1776), 11, Gloss.—'We call clear liquor shire'.

p. 231 paulter. Mean; worthless. This rare form is perhaps found only here. The N.E.D. does not give it. But we have 'paltering' and 'palterly'.

p. 232 Hoggerds. A rare word, being obsolete for Hogherd. cf. De Parc's Francion, iv, 3 (tr. 1655): 'Our Regent (who had in him no more humanity than a Hoggard).'

p. 233 trusting for old Oliver's Funeral broke. The obsequies of Oliver Cromwell, originally fixed for 9 November, 1658, owing to the extraordinary magnificence of the preparations were not performed until 23 November. For many days his waxen effigy, dressed in robes of state, was exhibited at Somerset House. The expenses totalled L60,000, and it was a public scandal that a great part of this wanton and wasteful extravagance remained unpaid, to the undoing of the undertakers. On 25 August, 1659, in the Kalendar of State Affairs (Domestic), the following occurs: 'Report by the Committee appointed by Parliament to examine what is due for mourning for the late General Cromwell, that on perusal of the bills signed by Cromwell's servants, and of the account of Abr. Barrington, his auditor, it appears that L19,303 0s. 11d. is still due and unpaid for mourning. Also that Nath. Waterhouse, servant to Rich. Cromwell, should be authorized to see the persons in a list [missing] annexed for that mourning. Col. Rich to make this report. Schedule of debts due to 11 mercers and drapers for the funeral of the late General Cromwell. Total L19,303 0s. 11d.'

p. 233 they bear the Bob. i.e. They join in the chorus or refrain.

ACT I: Scene iii

p. 240 shoveing the Tumbler. 'Thieves' cant for being whipped at the cart's tail.' —(Grose). Tumbler, perhaps = tumbril.

p. 240 lifting. Filching. This slang term is very old and common.

p. 240 filing the Cly. 'Thieves' cant for picking a pocket.' —(Grose). 'Cly,' a pocket.

p. 240 Regalio. An obsolete and, indeed, erroneous form of 'regalo', an elegant repast; choice food or drink. The word is very common, and the spelling, 'Regalio', is frequent in the second half of the seventeenth century.

ACT II: Scene i

p. 246 Anticks. Quaint fantastic measures. A favourite word with Mrs. Behn.

p. 248 to knip. To clip. (Dutch 'knippen', to cut, snip.) N.E.D. neglecting this passage, only gives the meaning as to bite or crop (grass) of cattle. It appends two quotations having this sense—the one from Dunbar's Poems (1500-20), the second from Douglas, Aeneis (1513).

ACT II: Scene ii

p. 252 Mundungus. Shag, or rank tobacco. cf. Sir R. Howard, The Committee (folio, 1665), ii: 'A Pipe of the worst Mundungus.' Shadwell, The Humourists (1671), iii, speaks with contempt of 'bottle ale ... and a pipe of Mundungus.' Johnson in his Dictionary (1755) has: 'Mundungus. Stinking tobacco. A cant word.'

ACT II: Scene iv

p. 261 a Bob. cf. Prologue, The False Count (Vol. III, p. 100), 'dry bobs,' and note on that passage, pp. 479-80.

p. 263 barbicu. Better 'barbecu'. An Americanism meaning to broil over live coals. Beverley, Virginia, III, xii (1705), thus explains it: 'Broyling ... at some distance above the live coals [the Indians] & we from them call Barbecuing.' cf. Pope, Imitations of Horace, Sat. ii, 25, 26:—

Oldfield with more than Harpy throat endued Cries, 'Send me, Gods, a whole hog barbecued!'

ACT III: Scene i

p. 264 De-Wit. 'To De-Wit' = to lynch. The word often occurs; it is derived from the deaths of John and Cornelius De Wit, opponents of William III (when stadt-holder). They were murdered by a mob in 1672. cf. 'to godfrey' = to strangle, from the alleged murder of Sir Edmond Bury Godfrey[1] in 1678. Crowne, Sir Courtly Nice (1685), II, ii, has: 'Don't throttle me, don't Godfrey me.' The N.E.D. fails to include 'to godfrey'.

[Footnote 1: It is now pretty certainly established that this melancholist committed suicide.]

p. 265 Dalton's Country-Justice. A well-known work by the celebrated lawyer Michael Dalton (1554-1620). It was long held in great repute and regarded as supremely authoritative. On a page of advertisements (Some Books printed this Year 1677. For John Amery, at the Peacock, against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleet-street) in the Rover I (4to 1677), occurs 'The Country Justice, Containing the practice of the Justices of the Peace, in and out of their Sessions, with an Abridgment of all Statutes relating thereunto to this present Year 1677. By Michael Dalton Esq; Fol. price bound 12s.' cf. The Plain Dealer (4to 1676), III, i:

Widow Blackacre. Let's see Dalton, Hughs, Shepherd, Wingate. Bookseller's Boy. We have no law books.

p. 266 a Cagg. Now corrupted to 'Keg', a small cask. cf. Cotgrave (1611), 'Encacquer' to put in to a little barrell or cag. N.E.D. quotes this present passage.

ACT IV: Scene i

p. 279 Agah Yerkin. The various dictionaries and vocabularies of the Indian languages I have had resource to give none of these words. There is, however, so great a confusion of Indian jargons and dialects that they cannot be pronounced fictitious. Yet Mrs. Behn would hardly, even if she had learned the language, have retained any exact knowledge of such barbaric tongues, and one may almost certainly say that these cries and incantations are her own composition. Amongst other authorities I have consulted The Voyage of Robert Dudley ... to the West Indies, 1594-5, edited by G. F. Warner for the Hakluyt Society (1889). Dr. Brinton's Arawack Language of Guiana, an exhaustive monograph, (Philadelphia, 1871.) M. M. Crevaux, Sagot, L. Adam, Grammaires et Vocabulaires roucouyenne, arrouague, piapoco, et d'autres Langues de la Region des Guyanes (Paris, 1882). Relation des Missions ... dans les Isles et dans la terre ferme de l'Amerique Meridionale ... avec une introduction a la langue des Gabilis Sauvages (Paris, 1655), by Father Pierre Pelleprat, S.J.

p. 279 Quiocto. Mrs. Behn probably meant to spell this word 'Quiyoughcto', the sound being identical. There is in Virginia a river which in the seventeenth century was called the 'Quiyough'. The inhabitants of the banks of this river had mysterious or supernatural properties ascribed to them. In the Voyages & Discoveries of Capt. John Smith (1606), we have: 'They thinke that their Werowanees and Priests, which they also esteeme Quiyoughcosughes, when they are dead, doe goe beyond the mountaines towards the setting of the sun.' No doubt Mrs. Behn knew this passage. I owe the above interesting note to the kindness of my friend Mr. Gosse.

ACT IV: Scene ii

p. 284 Cadees. The original form of 'cadets' from the French pronunciation. N.E.D. cites this passage as the earliest occurence of the word.

ACT V: Scene i

p. 293 Cadeeing. The verb 'to cadee' is only found here and may be a nonce phrase. N.E.D. does not include it.

p. 293 to top Tobacco. i.e. to cultivate our tobacco plantations.

p. 295 Flambeaux. Mrs. Behn (or, haply, George Jenkins, the first editor of The Widow Ranter), here uses the ordinary form 'flambeaux' as a plural. In The Emperor of the Moon (Vol. III, p. 418), she writes 'a Flambeaux'. In addition to the example from Herbert which I give in my note (Vol. III, p. 475), I find a plural 'Flambeaux's' used by Mrs. Manley. cf. Secret Memoirs & Manners of Several Persons of Quality of Both Sexes from the New Atalantis (1709, the Second Edition), Vol. I, p. 88: 'She but thinks of an expensive Funeral, white Flambeaux's, Chariots, Horses, Streamers, and a Train of Mourners.'

ACT V: Scene iii

p. 302 Starters. i.e. cowards. cf. The Double Marriage (Fletcher and Massinger, folio 1647), II, i:—

Master. We'll spare her our main-top-sail; She shall not look us long, we are no starters. Down with the fore-sail too! we'll spoom before her.

cf. also The Lucky Chance, I, i: 'I am no Starter.' (Vol. III, p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485.

p. 302 rubbing off. Very common slang still in use for 'making off', 'clearing out', cf. Shadwell's The Virtuoso (1676), Act V, sc. iii, the Masquerade, where Sir Samuel Harty says: 'Who held my sword while I danc'd? ... A curse on him! he's rubb'd off with it!'

p. 303 Dullman and Timorous. No entrance has been marked for these two characters, and I have not ventured to insert one owing to the fact that this fifth Act has been so cut (e.g. the omission of the Indian King's ghost, as noted by Jenkins in the Dedication) and mutilated that it would be perilous to make any insertion or alteration here as the copy now stands. We may suppose these two coward justices to have rushed on in one of the many melees.

ACT V: Scene iv

p. 304 Hannibal. Hannibal, when betrayed by Prusias, King of Bithynia, at whose court he had taken refuge, poisoned himself rather than fall into the hands of the Romans.

Epilogue

p. 309 Epilogue. This Epilogue is, it will be noted, almost precisely the same as the Prologue to Abdelazer. In line 32 we have 'Basset' in place of the obsolescent game, 'Beasts' (damn'd Beasts). Basset, which resembled Faro, was first played at Venice. cf. Evelyn's Diary, 1645 (Ascension Week at Venice): 'We went to the Chetto de San Felice, to see the noblemen and their ladies at basset, a game at cards which is much used.' It became immensely popular in England. Evelyn, in his famous description of 'the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, gaming, and all dissoluteness' on the Sunday se'nnight before the death of Charles II, specially noted that 'about twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at Basset round a large table, a bank of at least 2000 in gold before them.'

* * * * * * * * *

Cross-References from Critical Notes: The Widow Ranter

p. 261 a Bob. cf. Prologue, The False Count (Vol. III, p. 100), 'dry bobs,' and note on that passage, pp. 479-80.

False Count text:

—who will desert me, Because they find no dry bobs on your Party

False Count note:

dry bobs. A bob was a sarcastic jest or jibe. cf. Sir Giles Goosecappe (1606), Act V, i. 'Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter Bob,' and Buckingham's The Rehearsal (1671), Act III, i, where Bayes cries: 'There's a bob for the Court.' A dry bob (literally = a blow or fillip that does not break the skin) is an intensely bitter taunt, cf. Cotgrave (1611), Ruade seiche, a drie bob, jeast or nip. Bailey (1731) has 'Dry Bob. a Taunt or Scoff'.

p. 302 Starters. .... cf. also The Lucky Chance, I, i: 'I am no Starter.' (Vol. III, p. 193), and note on that passage, p. 485.

Lucky Chance note:

Starter. This slang word usually means a milksop, but here it is equivalent to 'a butterfly', 'a weathercock'—a man of changeable disposition. A rare use.

* * * * * * * * *

Errors and Irregularities: The Widow Ranter

In the Notes, alternation between .' and '. at paragraph-end is as printed. The abbreviation "cf." is always lower-case.

Editor's Introduction

and she sinks into his arms to die [his ams]

The Widow Ranter

[Points to Dull. Whim. Whiff, and Tim. [Dull, Whim,] [correction based on ordinary punctuation of this text] thy Friend that kept thee Company all the while [taht] [Goes in. / [All exeunt. [bracket before "All exeunt" added for consistency in e-text]

Critical Notes

p. 261 a Bob. [p 261]

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE YOUNGER BROTHER;

OR, THE AMOROUS JILT.



ARGUMENT.

Mirtilla, the Amorous Jilt, who had once been attached to George Marteen, the Younger Brother, married for a convenience the clownish Sir Morgan Blunder. Prince Frederick, who had seen and fallen in love with her during a religious ceremony in a Ghent convent, follows her to England. They meet accidentally and she promises him a private interview. George Marteen had recommended a page to Mirtilla, and the lad is his sister Olivia in disguise. Mirtilla, although she falls in love with her 'smooth-chin'd boy', receives Prince Frederick, but the house wherein she lodges catches fire that night, and it is George Marteen who, in spite of the fact that he knows his friend the Prince is with her, procures a ladder and rescues the lady at some danger to himself. The Prince is able to escape by the same way, and he then carries Mirtilla to his own lodgings, where feigning to be ill with fatigue and terror she begs her lover to leave her to repose. This is done with the idea of entertaining her page, and on Frederick's approach she conceals Olivia, who thus creeps off unseen, beneath the train of her gown, whilst she herself retires with the amorous Prince. None the less, Mirtilla still pursues Olivia, and eventually Frederick discovers she is a wanton jilt, as he surprises her leading the page to her bed. He is, however, reconciled when Mirtilla discovering to her amaze that the lad is a woman reveals this fact to the Prince to confound him, but afterwards avowing her frailty, throws herself on Frederick's generosity. Olivia has been promised by her old father, Sir Rowland Marteen, to Welborn, whom she has never seen. On meeting Welborn she falls in love with him, without knowing who he is, and he, also, whilst ignorant of her name, is soon enamoured of her in turn. Prince Frederick lodges in the same house as Welborn and it is hither that after the fire she attends Mirtilla. Welborn, supposing her to be Mirtilla's page, out of kindness offers her half his bed, which for fear of arousing suspicion she is bound to accept. She slips away, however, before daybreak, leaving a letter for her companion, by which he learns that the page is none other than the lady whom he had seen in the Mall. Welborn and Olivia are eventually married. George Marteen's elder brother, Sir Merlin, a boon companion of Sir Morgan Blunder, is a rakehelly dog, who leads a wild town life to the great anger of old Sir Rowland. George, who whilst secretly leading a gay life under the name of Lejere, appears before his father as a demure and sober young prentice, is designed for Lady Youthly, an ancient, toothless crone, palsied and blind with extreme old age, whose grand-daughter, Teresia, is to be married to Sir Rowland himself. George, however, falls in love with Teresia, who is also pursued by Sir Merlin, and finally weds her in despite of his father, brother and the beldame. But Sir Rowland shortly relents and even forgives his eldest son, who has married Diana, the cast off mistress of a gambler, whilst Lady Youthly is left to the tender consolations of her chaplain.



SOURCE.

The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt was written (in great part at least) by Mrs. Behn a good many years before her death, after which it was brought on the stage under the auspices of Gildon, in 1696; and in the Epistle Dedicatory he expressly says 'all the Alterations which I made were in the first Act, in removing that old bustle about Whigg and Tory (which was the subject of most of the Second Scene) and placing the Character of a Rake-hell in its room.' Mrs. Behn probably wrote the first Act sometime about the years 1681-3, when there was a continual 'rout with Whigging and with Torying', and afterwards completed the remainder at her leisure. In his notice of this comedy Langbaine's editor (Gildon), who finds Mirtilla 'genteel', says that Astrea took a portion of the plot 'from a true story of the brother of Col. Henry Martin, and a Lady that must be nameless. See the Novel call'd Hatige.' Hattige: or, the Amours of the King of Tamaran. A Novel, by Gabriel de Bremond, was translated in 1680. (12mo. For Simon the African: Amsterdam, [R. Bentley? London.]) A biting satire on Charles II and Lady Castlemaine, the tale is told with considerable spirit and attained great vogue. Another edition was issued in 1683, and under the title The Beautiful Turk it is to be found in A Select Collection of Novels (1720 and 1729), Vol. III. This novel had first appeared anonymously at Cologne in 1676—Hattige ou la Belle Turque, qui contient ses amours avec le roi Tamaran—and Nodier in his Melanges d'une petite Bibliotheque describes a 'clef'. Hattige is, of course, Lady Castlemaine; Tamaran, Charles II; and the handsome Rajeb with whom the lady deceives the monarch, Jack Churchill. It is a wanton little book, and at the time must have been irresistibly piquant. Beyond the likeness between the characters of Mirtilla and Hattige the novel has, however, little in common with Mrs. Behn's play. Gildon's comment is, of course, founded upon the passage in Oroonoko which says: 'We met on the river with Colonel Martin, a man of great gallantry, wit and goodness, and whom I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy by his own name in memory of so brave a man.'

In D'Urfey's The Royalist, an excellent comedy produced at Dorset Garden, 1682 (4to, 1682), the author introduces a certain damsel Philippa, who, disguised as a page, follows the loyal Sir Charles Kinglove with whom she is enamoured. At the end of the second Act her boy's clothes involve her in the same predicament as befalls Olivia in Act IV of The Younger Brother. Although Genest prefers Mrs. Behn's treatment of the situation, it must, I think, be allowed that D'Urfey has managed the jest with far greater verve and spirit. Honest Tom D'Urfey is in fact one of the least read and most maligned of all our dramatists. He had the merriest comic gifts, and perhaps when the critics and literary historians deign to read his plays he will attain a higher position in our theatrical libraries.

Some critics have suggested that D'Urfey, in his The Intrigues at Versailles, produced at Lincoln's Inn Fields, 1697, may have taken a hint from Mrs. Behn's Mirtilla, and Wycherley's Olivia (The Plain Dealer) for his 'Madame de Vandosme a right jilt in all humours', a role created by Mrs. Barry. There is indeed some resemblance between all these three characters, base heartless coquettes; and D'Urfey, in making his jilt prefer Sir Blunder Bosse, 'a dull sordid brute and mongrel, whose humour is to call everybody by clownish names', to all her other gallants, seems not to have forgotten Mirtilla's marriage with Sir Morgan Blunder. The very names call attention to the plagiarism. The Intrigues at Versailles is none the less a clever and witty comedy, but a little overcrowded with incident and business.



THEATRICAL HISTORY.

As sufficiently explained by Gildon, under whose auspices this posthumous play was produced at Drury Lane in 1696, The Younger Brother; or, The Amorous Jilt met with brutal treatment from the audience. There appears to have been a faction, particularly in evidence at its first performance and on the third day, who were steadfastly resolved to damn the comedy, and in spite of fine acting and every advantage it was hissed from the boards. Gildon attributes the failure to 'the tedious Scenes in Blank Verse betwixt Mirtilla and Prince Frederick' which he thinks demanded 'another more easy Dress,' but, in truth, it can only be attributed to the most verjuiced spite and personal malice. The plot, though somewhat complicated with perhaps a press of crowding incidents, is none the less highly interesting, and the characters are most of them excellently, all well, drawn and sustained. The fact that certain episodes had to be cut in representation in order to bring the comedy within a reasonable time limit, though it may have tended to obscure the connection of the intrigue, could not have insured in spite of its many real merits so absolute a doom for the much maltreated play, a sentence which seems to have wantonly precluded any revival.



THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY

TO

Collonel Codrington.

The unjust Sentence this Play met with before very partial Judges in the Acting, will, I'm pretty sure, be revers'd by the more unprejudiced Readers, and it's evident, Merit will exert itself so far, as to justify my Presumption in Dedicating it, notwithstanding its small success, to you, Sir, for whom I must always profess the highest Esteem and Value, sprung from that Nobleness of your Nature that takes a God-like Delight in redressing the Misfortunes of 'em, more than fly to you for their unhappiness; a generous Soul indeed, never gives a greater Proof of her Excellence, than in her Protection of the Unfortunate; for tho suffering Merit challenges a Regard from all, yet it meets with it from none but such as you, Sir, who are so Eminent for that Vertue, which more than all the rest, commands the Esteem and Veneration of the Thinking World, your Generosity I mean, Sir, which gives the most Perfect Touches of that likeness, man can have to his Almighty Original; for those are but scurvey awkard Copies of Him that want it. 'Tis, I may say, the very Essence of God, Who with our Beings, dispenses the grateful Knowledge of Himself in the Benefits He bestows.

The narrow Virtues of the Old Philosophers, [which] were rather Vices, if winnow'd well, form'd to gratify their Proud, Lazy, Superiority, at the Expence of all the Publick Duties incumbent on mankind, whom they pretend to Purge from his Passions, to make him happy, by that means to amuse our Curiosity with Chymera's, whilst we lost our real Good, will still naturally flow from those Springs of Pleasure, Honour, Glory, and Noble Actions, the Passions given us by Heaven for our common Good. But their own Practice generally shew'd the Vanity of their Emperic Boasts, when they Buried all the Nobler Pleasures of the Mind in Avarice, and Pedantick Pride, as Lucian has pleasantly made out in Hermotimus.

Those Notional Excellencies that divert us from, or weaken a Publick Spirit, are always False and Hypocritical, that under a gaudy out-side conceals a rotten Carcass, full of Infectious Distempers that destroy the noblest end of our Being, The doing good to one another. Vanity has always been the Refuge of little Souls, that place their Value in a False Greatness, Hyppocrisie, and great Titles. What a seeming Holiness does for the Avaritious, Designing Saint; Titles do for the proud Avarice of the meer Man of Quality, cheaply Purchasing a Respect from the many; but 'tis the Generous man only that fixes himself in the Hearts of the most valuable part of mankind, when proper Merit only is esteem'd, and the Man, not his Equipage, and Accidental Appurtenances respected.

The Application of this, I shall leave to all that know you, Sir, who are all sensible what Virtues you make your Darlings, and choice of Virtue shews the Nobleness of our Temper, as much as Choice of Friends, the degrees of our Understandings; and if that be true that most Men choose those Virtues which are nearest a-kin to their Darling Vices, I'm sure 'twill be a strong proof, that ev'n your Failings (for ev'ry Man has his share of them too) are more Beneficial to the world than the Vertues of a numerous part of Mankind. In Collonel Codrington indeed, we find the true Spirit and Bravery of old Rome, that despises all dangers, that in the Race of Glory thou art the Noble Chace. Nor can the manly Roughness of your Martial Temper (Fierce to none but your Countries Foes) destroy that ingaging sweetness your agreeable Conversation abounds with, which heightened with so large a share of Wit, Learning, and Judgment, improves as well as delights; so that to have known you any way, must give us some advantage or other. This it was that encourag'd me to dedicate this Play, Sir, to you, of which I may venture to say more, and with more assurance, than if it had been my own.

Mrs. BEHN was a Woman so Accomplish'd, and of so Established a Fame among the Men of Sense, that I cou'd not suppose a very severe treatment from the Town, which has been very indulgent to the Performances of others; especially when, besides the Reputation of the Author, the Play itself had an Intrinsic Merit; for we find it full of Humour, Wit, and Variety; the Conversation Gay and Genteel, the Love Soft and Pathetic, the incidents Natural, and Easy, and the Conduct of the Plot very Justifiable. So that I may reasonably impute its miscarriage to some Faction that was made against it, which indeed was very Evident on the First day, and more on the endeavours employed, to render the Profits of the Third, as small as could be.

It suffer'd not, I'm sure, in the Action, nor in Mr. Verbruggen's reading of some of his Part, since he lost nothing of the Force of Elocution, nor Gracefulness of Action; nor indeed can I, with Justice to my self, impute it to any part that I ventur'd to add to the Original; for all the Alterations which I made were in the first Act, in removing that old bustle about Whigg and Tory, (which was the Subject of most of the Second Scene) and placing the Character of a Rake-hell in its room, which was so little, that it could not Influence a more Capricious Audience, to the Damning of the whole. There might indeed be some objections about the Plot, but not very Rational, I think; I'm sure, at least, 'tis the first Play, for some Years, could be quarrell'd at for having too much Plot. In the Edition however I have put in a great deal, which the length of the Play oblig'd me to cut out for the Action.

Here, Sir, if the Play had been my own, I should have complain'd that the Town had its favourite Fools, as well as favourite Wits, and that Comedy or Farce from any other hand wou'd no more go down with them, than their favourites will with true Judges that read, not see 'em. I should have had indignation enough, perhaps, to've rail'd at the Criticks of all Degrees, and Denominations of Box and Pit, nay, Galleries too, and told 'em that they were so conceited of their own Wit, that they cou'd take no pleasure in hearing that of another, or that Wit in a Play seeming to affront the Parts of the Audience, they suffer'd their Resentment to destroy their Satisfaction. This, and a great many other Satyrical Reflections, which are natural for a Disappointed Poet to make, I shou'd then have vented; but being satisfy'd, that the Reputation of Mrs. BEHN is not affected by the malicious Endeavours of some of my Enemies, I now present it under your Patronage, Sir, to the more competent Judges; Proud of the Opportunity of Offering you an occasion of so agreeable a Province, as the Protection of the unfortunate, and letting the World know how much I am, Sir,

Your Humble Servant,

CH. GILDON.



THE YOUNGER BROTHER;

or, The Amorous Jilt.



PROLOGUE,

By an unknown Hand.

Spoke by Mr. Powell.

As Rivals of each other jealous prove, And both strive which shall gain the Lady's Love, So we for your Affections daily vie: Not an Intriguer in the Gallery (Who squeezes hand of Phillis mask'd, that stood Ogling for Sale, in Velvet Scarf and Hood) Can with more Passion his dear Nymph pursue, Than we to make Diversion fit for you. Grant we may please, and we've our utmost Aim, 'Tis to your Favour only we lay claim. In what can we oblige? Cou'd we present you With Mistress young, and safe, it wou'd content you; Then Husbands, weary'd out with Spouse alone, And hen-peck'd Keepers that drudge on with one, I fancy hither wou'd in Crouds resort, As thick as Men for Offices to Court: Who'd stay behind? the Beau above Threescore, Wou'd hobble on, and gape for one bit more; Men of all Stations, from the Nobles, down To grave Sir Roger in his Cap and Gown, Wou'd hither come. But we some time must take, E'er we a Project of such moment make; Since that's laid by, for your Diversion then, We do invite the Brothers of the Pen; The Courtier, Lawyer, Soldier, Player too, Wit n'er had more Encouragement than now; Though free, or Aliens to our Stage, we take 'em, Not kick 'em out, but native Subjects make 'em. The Ladies too are always welcome here, Let 'em in Writing or in Box appear. To that fair Sex we are oblig'd to day, Oh! then be kind to a poor Orphan-Play, Whose Parent while she liv'd oblig'd you all; You prais'd her living, and you mourn'd her Fall. Who cou'd, like her, our softer Passions move, The Life of Humour, and the Soul of Love? Wit's eldest Sister; thro-out every Line, You might perceive some Female Graces shine. For poor Astrea's Infant we implore, Let it then live, though she is now no more.



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

MEN.

Prince Frederick, Mr. Verbruggen. Sir Rowland Marteen, Mr. Johnson. George Marteen, Mr. Powell. Mr. Welborn, Mr. Horden. Sir Merlin Marteen, Mr. Pinkethman. Sir Morgan Blunder, Mr. Bullock. Mr. Twang, Mr. Smeaton. Britton, Mr. Kent. Philip.

WOMEN.

Mirtilla, Mrs. Knight. Olivia, Mrs. Verbruggen. Teresia, Mrs. Temple. Lady Blunder, Mrs. Powell. Mrs. Manage, Mrs. Willis. Lady Youthley, Mrs. Harris. Diana.

Constable and Watch, Pages, Footmen, Masqueraders, Servants, Rakehells, &c.



ACT I.

SCENE I. A Chamber.

Enter George Marteen, in a rich Riding Habit, with his Valet Britton.

Geo. Were you with Mrs. Manage, Britton?

Britt. Yes, Sir; and she cries as much for her wanting room for you in her House, as she would have done some forty Years ago for a Disappointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has taken for you, is the best in all Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

Geo. And did you charge her to send Mirtilla's Page to me?

Britt. I did, Sir; and he'll be with you instantly.

Geo. 'Tis well—Then shall I hear some News of my Mirtilla. [Aside. Britton, haste thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach, rich Liveries, and more Footmen: for 'tis Appearance only passes in the World—And d'ye hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that of Lejere.

Britt. I shall, Sir. [Exit.

Geo. I came not from Paris into England, as my old Father thinks, to reform into a dull wretched Life in Wales. No, I'll rather trust my kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than purchase a younger Brother's narrow Stipend, at the expence of my Pleasure and Happiness.

Enter Olivia in a Page's Habit. She runs and embraces George.

Oliv. My ever charming Brother!

Geo. My best, my dear Olivia!

Oliv. The same lovely Man still! Thy Gallantry and Beauty's all thy own; Paris could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into Affectation.

Geo. Spare me, and tell me how Mirtilla fares.

Oliv. I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage concluded betwixt me and Welborn?

Geo. That Letter I receiv'd: but from the dear Mirtilla, not one soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has eas'd my panting Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me notice when my Rivals press'd, and when she waver'd in her Faith to me, even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.

Oliv. Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a Book of Words, of heavy Sighs, dying Languishments, and all that huddle of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.

Geo. Welborn's my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.

Oliv. I never saw him yet; and to be sold unseen, and unsigh'd for, in the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the Match.

Geo. Oh! you'll like him when you see him—But my Mirtilla.—

Oliv. Like him—no, no, I never shall—what, come a Stranger to my Husband's Bed? 'Tis Prostitution in the leudest manner, without the Satisfaction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make a lame excuse for Whores, who change their Cullies, and quit their nauseous Fools—No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow arbitrary, 'tis time we look into our Rights and Privileges; therefore, my dear George, if e'er thou hope for Happiness in Love, assist my Disobedience.

Geo. In any worthy Choice be sure of me; but canst thou wish Happiness in Love, and not inform me something of Mirtilla?

Oliv. I'll tell you better News—our hopeful elder Brother, Sir Merlin, is like to be disinherited; for he is, Heaven be thanked—

Geo. Marry'd to some Town-Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.

Oliv. Not so, my dear George, but sets up for a celebrated Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou'd not have found out a more dextrous way to have made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year.

Geo. What's that without Mirtilla?

Oliv. Prithee no more of her—Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming, Whoring and Fighting may qualify a Man for Conversation; but Love perverts all one's Thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but one's self; for even a Mistress can scarce dispense with a fighting, whining Lover's Company long, though all he says flatters her Pride.

Geo. Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of my Love?

Oliv. I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.

Geo. Mirtilla false! What, my Mirtilla false!

Oliv. Even your Mirtilla's false, and married to another.

Geo. Married! Mirtilla married! 'Tis impossible.

Oliv. Nay, married to that bawling, drinking Fool, Sir Morgan Blunder.

Geo. Married, and married to Sir Morgan Blunder! a Sot, an ill-bred senseless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?

Oliv. No doubt, she had her Aims in't, he's a very convenient Husband, I'll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly enough, and she has Youth and Wantonness enough to match 'em.

Geo. Her Choice gives me some Comfort, and some Hopes; for I'll pursue her, but for Revenge, not Love.

Oliv. Forget her rather, for she's not worth Revenge, and that way 'twill be none; prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in Breeches.

Geo. On thee, her Page? doat on thee, a Youth! she knew thee not as Woman.

Oliv. No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.—At first she said she lov'd me for your sake, because you recommended me; and when I sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou'd kiss my Cheek, and sigh, and often (when alone) wou'd send for me, and smile, and talk, and set my Hair in Curls, to make me saucy and familiar with her. One Day she said, Endimion, thy Name-sake was thus caress'd by Cynthia: A Goddess did not scorn the humble Swain, whom by her Love she equal'd to her Deity. She found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back with equal Ardour.

Geo. Oh, Curse! where learnt she all this Wickedness? [Aside.

Oliv. But she being oblig'd to go for Flanders, to see her Sister take the holy Habit, I feign'd a Sickness to be left behind, hoping that Absence might abate her Flame; yet she return'd more amorous, and fearing the Thefts of Love might wound her Honour, she thought a Husband would secure that Shame; and luckily my Aunt arriv'd from Wales, and brought Sir Morgan with her, who lodging where we did, at Mrs. Manage's, my Aunt (that doats on Quality in either Sex) made up this hasty Match, unknown to me, though for my sake.

Geo. What will not faithless Woman do, when she is raging?

Oliv. And now having so well prepar'd the way, she grows impatient for an Opportunity; and thou art arriv'd, most happily to succour me.

Geo. No, for some days keep this habit on, it may be useful to us; but I must see this faithless perjur'd Woman, which I must contrive with Mrs. Manage.

Oliv. Yet pray resolve to see my Father first; for now's the critical time to make thy Fortune: he came to Town last night, and lodges here at Mrs. Manage's, with my Aunt Blunder.

Geo. What, in the House with thee, and not know thee?

Oliv. No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at Hackney, making Wax Babies, where he intends to visit me within these three days,—But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir Merlin, lodges in this House with you; and shou'd he know you—

Geo. 'Tis impossible—I've not see him, or my Father, these five Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be penetrated by his Capacity.

Oliv. True, he'll never look for his Brother George, in the Gallantry and Person of Monsieur Lejere—My good Father expects you home, like the prodigal Son, all torn and tatter'd, and as penitent too.

Geo. To plod on here, in a laborious Cheating, all my Youth and Vigour, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I'm old; or else go with him into Wales, and there lead a thoughtless Life, hunt, and drink, and make love to none but Chamber-maids. No, my Olivia, I'll use the sprightly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its Dregs.

Oliv. For that, use your Discretion; now equip your self to your present Business; the more simply you are clad and look, the better. I'll home and expect you. [Exit.

Geo. Do so, my good Sister; a little formal Hypocrisy may do, 'twill relish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well tasted, as when it's season'd with some Opposition.

Enter Britton.

Britt. Sir, I've News to tell you, will surprize you; Prince Frederick is arriv'd.

Geo. Is't possible? I left him going for Flanders.

Britt. Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, he enquir'd for you; and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he's here.

Enter Prince Frederick; they meet and embrace.

Geo. My Life's Preserver, welcome to my Arms as Health to sick Men.

Prince. And thou to mine as the kind Mistress to the longing Lover; my Soul's Delight, and Darling of the Fair.

Geo. Ah Prince! you touch my bleeding Wound.

Prince. Ha, Lejere! leave to unhappy Lovers those Sighs, those folded Arms, and down-cast Eyes.

Geo. Then they are fit for me; my Mistress, Sir, that Treasure of my Life, for whom you've heard me sigh, is perjur'd, false, and married to another. Yet what is worse, I find my Prince, my Friend, here in my native Country, and am not able to pay him what his Greatness merits.

Prince. You pain me when you compliment my Friendship. [Embracing.

Geo. Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour, when you shall hear my Story.

Prince. Thou canst say nothing I can value less.

Geo. Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv'd you, being still receiv'd by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and Divertisements; where ev'n you did me the Honour to esteem, and call me Friend.

Prince. Whate'er thou art, I'm sure thy Mind's illustrious.

Geo. My Family, I must confess, is honourable; but, Sir, my Father was the younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin'd to be last: I'm a Cadet, that Out-cast of my Family, and born to that curse of our old English Custom. Whereas in other Countries, younger Brothers are train'd up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the Brave; we basely bind our youngest out to Slavery, to lazy Trades, idly confin'd to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean Cunning, how to cheat and chaffer.

Prince. A Custom insupportable!—

Geo. To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant, Sir—was destin'd by his Parents, and am yet this bound indentur'd Slave.

Prince. Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Virtue is most valu'd when opprest—Are all your Merchants Apprentices thus gay?

Geo. Not all—but, Sir, I could not bow my Mind to this so necessary Drudgery; and yet however, I assum'd my native Temper, when out o'th' Trading City; in it, I forc'd my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity, which well enough deceiv'd the busy Block-heads; my Clothes and Equipage I lodg'd at this End of the Town, where I still pass'd for something better than I was, whene'er I pleas'd to change the Trader for the Gentleman.

Prince. And liv'd thus undiscover'd—

Geo. With Ease, still lov'd and courted by the Great, ever play'd high with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where'er my Fancy lik'd: but sometimes running out my Master's Cash, (which was supply'd still by my Father) they sent me, to reform my expensive Life, a Factor, into France—still I essay'd to be a plodding Thriver, but found my Parts not form'd for dirty Business.

Prince. There's not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not tend to something far more glorious.

Geo. If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life you have so oft preserv'd.

Prince. No more;—Thou hast increas'd my Value for thee.—Oh! take my Heart, and see how't has been us'd by a fair Charmer, since I saw thee last—That sullen day we parted, you for England, you may remember I design'd for Flanders.

Geo. I do, with Melancholy, Sir, remember it.

Prince. Arriv'd at Ghent, I went to see an English Nun initiated, where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver'd up a Victim to foolish Chastity; but among the Relations, then attending the Sacrifice, was a fair Sister of the young Votress, but so surpassing all I'ad seen before, that I neglecting the dull holy Business, paid my Devotion to that kneeling Saint.

Geo. That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.

Prince. Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was heighten'd with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow dwelt upon her Eyes, that taught my new-born-Passion Awe and Reverence.

Geo. This Description of her fires me.— [Aside.

Prince. Her dimpl'd Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Majesty and Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav'd, I burnt, I languish'd with Desire, the holy Place cou'd scarce contain my Madness: with Pain, with Torture, I restrain'd my Passion when she retir'd, led sadly from the Altar. I, mixing with the Croud, enquir'd her Name and Country; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and liv'd in England, nay, in this very Town: this gave me Anguish not to be conceiv'd, till I resolv'd to follow her, which is the cause you find me here so soon. Thy Aid, thy Aid, Lejere, or I am lost.

Geo. I wish to live no longer than to serve your Highness: if she be, Sir, a Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you'll easily conquer. You've all the Youth, and Beauty, that can charm; and what gains most upon a Woman's Heart, you've a powerful Title, Sir, a sort of Philter, that ne'er fails to win. But you've not told me yet the Lady's Name.

Prince. I had forgot that;—'Tis in these Tablets written: [Gives him the Tablets. I'm now in haste, going to receive some Bills: I lodge at Welborn's, who came over with me, being sent for to be marry'd.

Geo. I know the House, 'tis in Southampton-Square: I'll wait upon your Highness— [Exit Prince. Let me see—Daughter to a deceas'd Lord; a Maid, and no Dowry, but Beauty; living in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields. [Opening the Tablets, reads. —Ha!—her Name Mirtilla! Mirtilla! [Pauses. Prince, thou hast paid thyself for all the Favours done me. Mirtilla! [Pauses. Why, yes, Mirtilla! He takes but what she has given away already.—

Oh! damn her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer mine—And thou'rt my Friend. [Pauses again.

Mirtilla's but my Mistress, and has taken all the Repose of my poor Life away—Yes, let him take her, I'll resign her to him; and therefore shut my Eyes against her Charms: fix her Inconstancy about my Heart, and scorn whatever she can give me. [Exit.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Sir Morgan Blunder in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him Manage with a Caudle.

Man. Your Lady Mother has sent you a Caudle, Sir.

Sir Morg. Good Mrs. Manage, remember my kind Love to my Lady Mother, and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but never eat in a Morning after hard drinking over night.

Man. Ah, Sir, but now you're marry'd to a fine Lady, you ought to make much of your self.

Sir Morg. Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Caudle; my Stomach is plaguy squeamish, and a hair of the old Dog's worth both of 'em. Oh! sick! sick!

Enter Sir Merlin, singing a Song in praise of a Rake-hell's Life.

A SONG.

The Town-Rake; written by Mr. Motteux.

I.

What Life can compare with the jolly Town-Rake's, When in Youth his full Swing of all Pleasure he takes? At Noon, he gets up, for a Whet, and to dine, And wings the dull Hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine; Then jogs to the Play-house, and chats with the Masks, And thence to the Rose, where he takes his three Flasks. There, great as a Caesar, he revels, when drunk, And scours all he meets, as he reels to his Punk; Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes. What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's?

II.

He, like the Great Turk, has his Favourite She; But the Town's his Seraglio, and still he lives free. Sometimes she's a Lady; but as he must range, Black-Betty, or Oyster-Doll, serves for a Change. As he varies his Sports, his whole Life is a Feast; He thinks him that's soberest the most like a Beast. At Houses of Pleasure breaks Windows and Doors; Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores. Rare work for the Surgeon, and Midwife he makes. What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's?

III.

Thus in Covent-Garden he makes his Campaign, And no Coffee-house haunts, but to settle his Brain. He laughs at dry Morals, and never does think, Unless 'tis to get the best Wenches and Drink. He dwells in a Tavern, and lies ev'ry where, And improving his hours, lives an Age in a Tear: For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste; And thus he lives longest, because he lives fast: Then a Leap in the dark to the Devil he takes. What Death can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's?

Sir Mer. Why, how now, Sir Morgan, I see you'll make a Husband of the right Town-Mode: What, married but four Days, and at your separate Apartment already?

Sir Morg. A Plague of your what d'ye call ums.

Sir Mer. Rakehells you would say, Cousin, an honourable Appellation for Men of Bravery.

Sir Morg. Ay, ay, your Rakehells—I was never so muddled with Treason, Tierce Claret, Oaths and Dice, all the Days of my Life—Was I in case to do Family duty? S'life, you drank down all my Love, all my Prudence too; Gad forgive me for it.

Sir Mer. Why, how the Devil cam'st thou to bear thy Liquor so ill? Ods my Life, you drunk like a Frenchman new come to the University.

Sir Morg. Pox, I can bear their drinking as well as any Man; but your London way of Bousing and Politics does not agree with my Constitution. Look ye, Cousin, set quietly to't, and I'll stand my ground; but to have screaming Whores, noisy Bullies, rattling Dice, swearing and cursing Gamesters, Couz. turns the Head of a Country-Drinker, more than the Wine.

Sir Mer. Oh! Use, Cousin, will make an able Man.

Sir Morg. Use, Cousin! Use me no Uses; for if ever you catch me at your damn'd Clubs again, I'll give you my Mother for a Maid: Why, you talk downright Treason.

Sir Mer. Treason, ay—

Sir Morg. Ah Cousin, why, we talk'd enough to—hang us all.

Sir Mer. My honest Country-Couz. when wilt thou understand the Guelphs, and the Gibelins, and learn to talk Treason o' this side the Law? bilk a Whore without remorse; break Windows, and not pay for 'em; drink your Bottle without asking Questions; kill your Man without letting him draw; play away your Money without fear of your Spouse, and stop her Mouth by undermining her Nose?

Sir Morg. Come, come, look you, Cousin, one word of Advice now I'm sober; what the Devil should provoke thee and me to put ourselves on our twelve Godfathers for a Frolick? We who have Estates. I shou'd be loth to leave the World with a scurvy Song, composed by the Poet Sternhold.

Enter at the Door Sir Rowland, hearkning.

Or why, d'ye see, shou'd I expose my Noddle to the Billmen in Flannel, and lie in the Roundhouse, when I may go to bed in a whole skin with my Lady Wife?

Sir Mer. Gad, Sir Morgan, thou hast sometimes pretty smart satirical Touches with thee; use but Will's Coffee-house a little, and with thy Estate, and that Talent, thou mayst set up for a Wit.

Sir Morg. Mercy upon me, Sir Merlin, thou art stark mad: What, I a Wit! I had rather be one of your Rakehells: for, look ye, a Man may swear and stare, or so; break Windows, and Drawers Heads, or so; unrig a needy Whore, and yet keep one's Estate: but should I turn Wit, 'twere impossible; for a Wit with an Estate is like a Prisoner among the Cannibals.

Sir Mer. How so, good Sir Morgan?

Sir Morg. Why, the needy Rogues only feed him with Praise, to fatten him for their Palates, and then devour him.

Sir Mer. I applaud your choice, Cousin; for what Man of Bravery wou'd not prefer a Rake to a Wit? The one enjoys the Pleasures the other can only rail at; and that not out of Conscience, but Impotence: for alas! a Wit has no quarrel to Vice in Perfection, but what the Fox had to the Grapes; he can't play away his hundred Pound at sight; his Third Day won't afford it; and therefore he rails at Gamesters; Whores shun him, as much as Noblemen, and for the same cause, Money; those care not to sell their Carcases for a Sonnet, nor these to scatter their Guineas, to be told an old Tale of a Tub, they were so well acquainted with before.

Sir Morg. What's that, Sir Merlin?

Sir Mer. Why, their Praise;—for the Poet's Flattery seldom reaches the Patron's Vanity; and what's too strong season'd for the rest of the World, is too weak for their Palates.

Sir Morg. Why, look ye, Cousin, you're a shreud Fellow: Whence learn'd you this Satire? for I'm sure 'tis none of thy own; for I shou'd as soon suspect thee guilty of good Nature, as Wit.

Sir Mer. I scorn it; and therefore I confess I stole the Observation from a Poet; but the Devil pick his Bones for diverting me from the noble Theme of Rakehells.

Sir Morg. Noble Theme, Sir Merlin! look ye, d'ye see: Don't mistake me, I think 'tis a very scurvy one; and I wou'd not have your Father know that you set up for such a Reprobate; for Sir Rowland would certainly disinherit thee.

Sir Mer. O, keep your musty Morals to your self, good Country Couz; they'll do you service to your Welch Criminals, for stealing an Hen, or breaking up a Wenches Inclosure, or so, Sir Morgan; but for me, I despise 'em: I have not been admitted into the Family of the Rakehellorums for this, Sir: Let my Father drink old Adam, read the Pilgrim's Progress, The Country Justice's Calling, or for a Regale, drink the dull Manufacture of Malt and Water; I defy him; he can't cut off the Entail of what is settled on me: and for the rest, I'l trust Dame Fortune; and pray to the Three Fatal Sisters to cut his rotten Thred in two, before he thinks of any such Wickedness.

Enter Sir Rowland in a great Rage.

Sir Row. Will you so, Sir? Why, how now, Sirrah! get you out of my House, Rogue; get out of my Doors, Rascal. [Beats him.

Enter Lady Blunder.

L. Blun. Upon my Honour now, Brother, what's the matter? Whence this ungenerous Disturbance?

Sir Row. What's the matter! the disturbance! Why, Sister, this Rogue here—this unintelligible graceless Rascal here, will needs set up for a Rakehell, when there's scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an Ale-draper's Son; and chuses to be aukardly out of fashion, merely for the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless, profane, lazy, idle, noisy, groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of spending his Estate like a notorious Blockhead: But I'll take care he shall not have what I can dispose of—You'll be a Rake-hell, will you?

L. Blun. How, Cousin! Sure you'll not be such a filthy beastly thing, will you?

Sir Mer. Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my self in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fine Gentleman.

Sir Row. A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb! [Beats him.

Sir Morg. Hold, hold, good Uncle; my Cousin has been only drawn in, a little or so, d'ye see, being Heir to a good Estate; and that's what his Club wants, to pay off old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for Whores in Fashion.

Sir Row. My Estate sold to pay Tavern-Scores, and keep nasty Whores!

L. Blun. Whores! ay, filthy Creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray, Cousin, what's a Rake-hell?

Sir Row. A Rake-hell is a Man that defies Law and good Manners, nay, and good Sense too; hates both Morality and Religion, and that not for any Reason (for he never thinks) but merely because he don't understand 'em: He's the Whore's Protection and Punishment, the Baud's Tool, the Sharper's Bubble, the Vintner's Property, the Drawer's Terror, the Glasier's Benefactor; in short, a roaring, thoughtless, heedless, ridiculous, universal Coxcomb.

Sir Mer. O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney's like an honest Man. Why, a Rake-hell is—

Sir Row. What, Sirrah! what, you Rebel? [Strikes him.

L. Blun. Nay, good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his Notion.

Sir Mer. Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Bravery; he slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard—plays away his hundred Pounds at sight, pays a Lady's Bill at sight, drinks his Bottle without equivocation, and fights his Man without any Provocation.

Sir Row. Nay then, Mr. Rogue, I'll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir, will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha! [Draws his Sword.

Sir Mer. Fight, Sir! fight, Sir!

Sir Row. Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the three Fatal Sisters, and cut my Thred thy self, thou graceless reprobate Rascal—Come, come on, you Man of Bravery. [Runs at Sir Merlin, who retires before him: Sir Morgan holds Sir Rowland.

Sir Mer. Oh, good Sir, hold: I recant, Sir, I recant.

Sir Row. [Putting up.] Well, I'm satisfy'd thou'lt make no good Rake-hell in this Point, whatever you will in the others. And since Nature has made thee a Coward, Inclination a Coxcomb, I'll take care to make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will, I'll disinherit thee, I will, Villain.

L. Blun. What, disinherit your eldest Son, Brother?

Sir Mer. Ay, Aunt, his very Heir apparent? Aunt, to show you how the old Gentleman has misrepresented us, give me leave to present you a Dance I provided to entertain your Son with, in which is represented all the Beauties of our Lives.

L. Blun. Oh! by all means, Cousin, by all means.

Sir Mer. What hoa! Roger, bring in the Dancers.

Here the Dance, representing Rake-hells, Constable, Watch, &c.

Enter Philip.

Phil. Sir, who do's your Worship think is arriv'd?

Sir Row. My Son George, I hope, come in the Nick.

Phil. Even so, Sir, from Paris— [Exit.

Sir Row. The Prodigal return'd! then kill the fatted Calf.

Enter George drest like a Prentice.

—My own dear Boy, thou art welcome to my Arms, as e'er thy Mother was; for whose dear sake I pardon all thy Follies. [George Kneels.

Sir Mer. Ay, Sir, I had a Mother too, or I'm bely'd— [Weeping. Pox take him that he should come just in the nick, as the old Fellow says— [Aside.

Sir Row. Yes, you had a Mother, whom in my Youth I was compel'd to marry; and, Gad, I think, I got thee with as ill a Will; but George and my Olivia in heat of Love, when my desire was new. But harkye, Boy George, you have cost me a damn'd deal of Money, Sirrah; but you shall marry, and redeem all, George.

Geo. What you please, Sir; to study Virtue, Duty and Allegiance, shall be my future Business.

Sir Row. Well said, George, here's a Boy now.

Sir Mer. Virtue and Allegiance! Lord, Lord, how came so sneaking a fellow to spend five thousand Pounds of his Master's Cash?

Sir Row. She's rich, George, but something homely.

Geo. She'll not be proud then, Sir.

Sir Row. Not much of her Beauty—she's of a good staid Age too, about some fourscore.

Geo. Better still, Sir, I shall not fear Cuckoldom.

Sir Row. For that I cannot answer; but she has two thousand a year. I mean to settle my Family, and then—marry my self, George.

L. Blun. What, to this old Lady's Grand-daughter? Methinks she's more fit for your Son, Sir Rowland, and the old Lady for you.

Sir Row. No, no, the young Rogues can help themselves with Mistresses; but 'tis well if an old Man can keep his Wife to himself—I've invited 'em to Dinner to day, and see, they are come.

Enter Lady Youthly, led by her Chaplain [Mr. Twang], and leaning on a Staff, and Teresia.

L. Youth. Where's Sir Rowland Marteen? Oh, your Servant, Sir, I am come. [Runs against George.

Twang. Your Ladyship is mistaken, this is not Sir Rowland, but a handsome proper young Man.

L. Youth. A young Man! I cry your mercy heartily—Young Man, I alighted in the Sun, and am almost blind.

Geo. With wondrous old Age. [Aside.

L. Youth. Good lack, Sir Rowland, that I should mistake a young Man so!

Sir Row. Ay, Madam, and such a young Man too.

L. Youth. Ay, ay, I see him now. [Puts on her Spectacles.

Geo. S'death, what a Sepulcher is here to bury a Husband in? How came she to escape the Flood? for sure she was not born since. [Aside.

Sir Row. This is the lusty Lad, my Son George, I told your Ladyship of.

L. Youth. Cot so, cot so, is it so, Sir? I ask your Pardon, Sir. Mr. Twang, take a survey of him, and give me your Opinion of his Person and his Parts.

Twang. Truly, Madam, the young Man is of a comely Personage and Lineaments.

L. Youth. Of what, Sir?—Lord, I have such a Cold. [Coughs.

Geo. Which she got when the Picts went naked.

L. Blun. Madam, you have a Power over Sir Rowland; pray intreat him to take his Son, Sir Merlin, into Grace again. [To Teresia.

Ter. That, Sir, you must grant me; pray let me know the Quarrel. [Sir Rowland seems to tell.

Geo. By Heaven, she's fair as the first ruddy Streaks of opening Day. [Looking on Teresia. Young as the budding Rose, soft as a Cupid, but never felt his Dart, she is so full of Life and Gaiety. Pray, Madam, who is that Lady? [To Lady Blun.

L. Blun. The Grandchild of your Mistress, and your Mother that must be.

Geo. Then I shall cuckold my Father, that's certain. [Aside.

Sir Row. For your sake, Madam, once again I re-establish him in my family; but the first Fault cashiers him—Come, let's in—Here, my Lady Youthly, take George by the hand; but have a care of the young Rogue, if he comes once to touch so brisk a Widow, he sets her Heart on fire.

Geo. Which will burn like a snuff of a Candle; no body will be able to endure it. [Aside. —So Fortune, I see, provides for me: On this hand Wealth, on that young Pleasures lie; He ne'er wants these, who has that kind Supply.

[Exeunt.

The End of the First Act.



ACT II.

SCENE I. Sir Rowland's Lodging.

Enter Sir Rowland, Teresia, and Lady Youthly, &c.

L. Youth. Well, Sir Rowland, if I should be inclin'd to cast away my self on your Son George, what wou'd you settle?

Sir Row. Settle! not a Souse, Madam; he carries the best younger Brother's Fortune in Christendom about him.

L. Youth. Why, the young Man's deserving, I confess. But he's your Son, Sir Rowland, and something ought to be settled upon the Heirs of our Bodies, lawfully begotten.

Sir Row. All Hercules his Labours were a Jig to his that shall beget 'em. [Aside. If you like him upon these terms, to make him Master of your Fortune—

L. Youth. For that, let him trust to me, and his own deservings.

Sir Row. No trusting in these fickle Times, Madam—Why, I'll let the young sturdy Rogue out to hire; he'll make a pretty Livelihood at Journey-Work; and shall a Master-Workman, a Husband, deserve nothing?

L. Youth. Ay, these Husbands that know their own Strength, as they say, set so high a value on their conjugal Virtues. And if he be disloyal, again o't'other side he gives a Wife so ill an Example—for we are all liable to Temptations.

Sir Row. Well said; if thou beest so, it must be the old Tempter himself. [Aside. Look ye, Madam, I'll propose a fair Swap; if you'll consent that I shall marry Teresia, I'll consent that you shall marry George.

L. Youth. How, my Grand-daughter? Why, I design'd her for your eldest Son, Sir Merlin; and she has a good Fortune of five hundred a year that I cannot hinder her of; and is too young for you.

Sir Row. So is George for your Ladyship; and as for his Fortune, 'tis more than likely I shall make him my eldest Son.

L. Youth. Say you so, Sir, well, I'll consider, and take Advice of my Friends.

Sir Row. Consider! alas, Madam, my House will be besieged by all the Widows in Town; I shall get more by shewing him, than the Rhinoceros. Gad, I'll sell the young Rogue by Inch of Candle, before he's debauch'd and spoil'd in this leud Town.

L. Youth. Well, suppose—

Sir Row. Nothing under Teresia—Gad, I think some old Dog-Star reigns to Day, that so many old Hearts are burning in their Sockets—I'm in love with this young Tittymouse here, most damnably—Well, what say you, Widow? Speak now, or you know the Proverb.

L. Youth. Well, Sir Rowland, you are too hard for me.

[Ex. all but Teresia.

Enter Olivia, runs to her and embraces her.

Ter. 'Tis as you said, Olivia, I am destin'd to your Father.

Oliv. What, the Sentence is past then?

Ter. Ay, but the Devil is in us, if we stay till Execution Day: Why, this is worse than being mew'd up at Hackney-School—my Fortune's my own, without my Grandmother, and with that Stock I'll set up for my self, and see what Traffick this wide World affords a young beginner.

Oliv. That's well resolv'd; I am of the same mind, rather than marry Mr. Welborn, whom I never saw.—But prithee let's see what we have in Stock, besides ready Money—What Toys and Knick-nacks to invite.

Ter. Faith, my Inventory is but small—Let me see—First, one pretty well made Machine, call'd a Body, of a very good Motion, fit for several uses—one pretty conceited Head-Piece, that will fit any body's Coxcomb,—when 'tis grave and dull, 'twill fit an Alderman; when politick and busy, a Statesman; turn it to Intrigue, 'twill fit a City Wife; and to Invention, it will set up an Evidence.

Oliv. Very well!

Ter. Item, One Tongue, that will prattle Love, if you put the Heart in time (for they are Commodities I resolve shall go together) I have Youth enough to please a Lover, and Wit enough to please my self.

Oliv. Most excellent Trifles all! As for my out-side, I leave to the Discretion of the Chafferer; but I have a rare Device, call'd an Invention, that can do many Feats; a Courage that wou'd stock a Coward; and a pretty Implement, call'd a Heart, that will strike fire with any convenient force: I have eight thousand Pounds to let out on any able Security, but not a Groat unless I like the Man.

Ter. Thus furnish'd, we shall ruin all the Jews, and undo the India Houses—But where shall we show? where meet with the Love-Merchants?

Oliv. What think you of the Gallery at the Play in Masks?

Ter. Shu, a State-Trick, first taken up by Women of Quality, and now run into Ridicule, by all the little common Devils of the Town; and is only a Trap for a Termer, a small new rais'd Officer, or a City Cully, where they baul out their eighteen Pence in Baudy, and filthy Nonsense, to the disturbance of the whole House, and the King's Peace: the Men of Quality have forsaken it.

Oliv. What think you of the Mall?

Ter. As too publick to end an Intrigue; our Affairs require a Conquest as sudden as that of Caesar, who came, saw and overcame.

Oliv. 'Tis true, besides there's so many Cruisers, we shall never board a Prize. What think you of the Church?

Ter. An hypocritical Shift; of all Masks I hate that of Religion; and it shou'd be the last place I'd wish to meet a Lover in, unless to marry him.

Oliv. And, Faith, that's the last thing a Lover shou'd do, but we are compell'd to haste, 'tis our last Refuge; if we cou'd but see and like our Men, the business were soon dispatcht.—Let me see—Faith, e'en put on Breeches too, and thus disguis'd seek our Fortune—I am within these three days to be fetch'd from Hackney School, where my Father believes me still to be, and thou in that time to be marry'd to the old Gentleman; Faith, resolve—and let's in and dress thee—away, here's my Lady—

[They run out.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Mirtilla and Mrs. Manage.

Mir. Ah, let me have that Song again.

A Song by Mr. Gildon.

I.

No, Delia, no: What Man can range From such Seraphic Pleasure? 'Tis want of Charms that make us change, To grasp the Fury, Treasure. What Man of Sense wou'd quit a certain Bliss, For Hopes and empty Possibilities?

II.

Vain Fools! that sure Possessions spend, In hopes of Chymic Treasure, But for their fancy'd Riches find Both want of Gold and Pleasure. Rich in my Delia, I can wish no more; The Wanderer, like the Chymist, must be poor.

Man. Not see him, Madam—I protest he's handsomer, and handsomer, Paris has given him such an Air:—Lord, he's all over Monsieur—Not see him, Madam—Why? I hope you do not, like the foolish sort of Wives, design a strict Obedience to your Husband.

Mir. Away, a Husband!—when Absence, that sure Remedy of Love, had heal'd the bleeding Wound Lejere had made, by Heaven, I thought I ne'er shou'd love again—but since Endymion has inspir'd my Soul, and for that Youth I burn, I pine, I languish.

Enter George richly drest, stands at a distance gazing on Mirtilla.

Man. See, Madam, there's an Object may put out that Flame, and may revive the old one.

Mir. Shame and Confusion.—Lejere. [Turns and walks away.

Geo. Yonder she is, that Mien and Shape I know, though the false Face be turn'd with shame away. [Offers to advance, and stops. —'Sdeath,—I tremble! yet came well fortify'd with Pride and Anger. I see thou'st in thy Eyes a little Modesty. [Goes to her nearer. That wou'd conceal the Treasons of thy Heart.

Mir. Perhaps it is their Scorn that you mistake.

Geo. It may be so; she that sets up for Jilting, shou'd go on; 'Twere mean to find remorse, so young, and soon: Oh, this gay Town has gloriously improv'd you amongst the rest; that taught you Perjury.

Mir. Alas! when was it sworn?

Geo. In the blest Age of Love, When every Power look'd down, and heard thy Vows.

Mir. I was a Lover then; shou'd Heaven concern it self with Lovers Perjuries, 'twould find no leisure to preserve the Universe.

Geo. And was the Woman so strong in thee, thou couldst not wait a little? Were you so raving mad for Fool and Husband, you must take up with the next ready Coxcomb. Death, and the Devil, a dull clumsey Boor!—What was it charm'd you? The beastly quantity of Man about him?

Mir. Faith, a much better thing, five thousand Pounds a Year, his Coach and Six, it shews well in the Park.

Geo. Did I want Coach, or Equipage, and Shew?

Mir. But still there wanted Fool, and Fortune to't; He does not play at the Groom-Porter's for it; nor do the Drudgery of some worn-out Lady.

Geo. If I did this, thou hadst the spoils of all my Nation's Conquests, while all the whole World was wondering whence it came; for Heav'n had left thee nothing but thy Beauty, that dear Reward of my industrious Love.

Mir. I do confess—

Geo. Till time had made me certain of a Fortune, which now was hasting on.—

And is that store of Love and wondrous Joys I had been hoarding up so many tender Hours, all lavish'd on a Brute, who never lusted 'bove my Lady's Woman? for Love he understands no more than Sense.

Mir. Prithee reproach me on— [Sighs.

Geo. 'Sdeath, I cou'd rave! Is this soft tender Bosom to be prest by such a Load of Fool? Damnation on thee—Where got'st thou this coarse Appetite? Take back the Powers, those Charms she's sworn adorn'd me, since a dull, fat-fac'd, noisy, taudry Blockhead, can serve her turn as well. [Offers to go.

Mir. You shall not go away with that Opinion of me.—

Geo. Oh, that false Tongue can now no more deceive—Art thou not marry'd? Tell me that, false Charmer.

Mir. Yes.— [Holding him.

Geo. Curse on that word: wou'd thou hadst never learnt it—it gave thy Heart, and my Repose away.

Mir. Dost think I marry'd with that dull design? Canst thou believe I gave my Heart away, because I gave my Hand?—Fond Ceremony that—A necessary trick, devis'd by wary Age, to traffick 'twixt a Portion and a Jointure; him whom I lov'd, is marry'd to my Soul.

Geo. Art thou then mine? And wilt thou make Atonement, by such a charming way?—Come to my clasping Arms.

Enter Lady Blunder at the Door. Sees 'em, and offers to go out again.

L. Blun. Oh, Heavens! How rude am I?—Cry Mercy, Madam, I protest I thought you'd been alone.

Geo. 'Sdeath! my Aunt Blunder! [Aside.

Mir. Only this Gentleman, Madam—

L. Blun. Sir, I beg your Pardon—and am really sorry—

Geo. That you find me with your Daughter, Madam.

L. Blun. I hope you take me to be better bred, Sir: Nor had I interrupted you, but for an Accident that has happen'd to Sir Morgan, coming out of the City in a beastly Hackney-Coach, he was turn'd over in Cheap-side, and striking the filthy Coach-man, the nasty Mob came out, and had almost kill'd him, but for a young Gentleman, a Stranger, that came to his Rescue, and whom he has brought to kiss your Ladyship's Hands—But I'll instruct him in his Duty, he shall wait till your Ladyship is more at leisure—alas! he's already on the Stairs. [Exit.

Mir. Let him wait there—Lejere, 'tis necessary you depart, sure of my Heart, you cannot fear the rest; the Night is hasting on; trust me but some few Hours, and then, Lejere, I'll pay you back with Interest.

Geo. All Blessings light on thee. But will your Lady Mother make no Discovery of my being here?

Mir. She'd sooner pimp for me, and believe it a part of good Breeding:—away, I hear 'em coming. [She puts him out at a back-Door.

Enter Lady Blunder peeping.

L. Blun. He's gone—Sir Morgan, you may approach.

Enter Sir Morgan, pulling in the Prince, Sir Merlin, and a Page to the Prince.

Sir Morg. Nay, as Gat shall save me, Sir, you shall see my Lady, or so, d'ye see, and receive the Thanks of the House.

Prince. As Gat shall save me, Sir, I am sorry for it—another time, Sir: I have earnest business. Now, I am sure nothing worth seeing can belong to this litter of Fools.

L. Blun. My Daughter is a Person of Quality, I assure you, Sir.

Prince. I doubt it not, Madam—If she be of the same Piece—Send me a fair Deliverance. [Sir Morgan leads him to Mirtilla, he starts. —Ha! What bright Vision's that?

Mir. Heav'n! 'Tis the lovely Prince I saw in Flanders. [Aside.

Sir Mer. Look how he stares—why, what the Devil ails he?

Sir Morg. To her, Sir, or so, d'ye see, what a Pox, are you afraid of her?

L. Blun. He's in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.

Prince. By Heav'n, the very Woman I adore! [Aside.

Sir Morg. How d'ye, see, Sir, how do ye, ha, ha, ha?

Prince. I cannot be mistaken; for Heav'n made nothing but young Angels like her!

Sir Morg. Look ye, Page, is your Master in his right Wits?

Sir Mer. Sure he's in love, and Love's a devilish thing.

Sir Morg. Sa, ho, ho, ho, where are you, Sir, where are you?

Prince. In Heav'n! [Puts him away. Oh! do not rouse me from this charming Slumber, lest I shou'd wake, and find it but a Dream.

Sir Mer. A plaguy dull Fellow this, that can sleep in so good Company as we are.

Sir Morg. Dream—A Fiddle-stick; to her, Man, to her, and kiss her soundly, or so, d'ye see.

Sir Mer. Ay, ay; kiss her, Sir, kiss her—ha, ha, ha, he's very simple.

Prince. Kiss her,—there's universal Ruin in her Lips.

Mir. I never knew 'em guilty of such Mischiefs.

Sir Morg. No, I'll be sworn, I have kist 'em twenty times, and they never did me harm.

Prince. Thou kiss those Lips? impossible, and false; they ne'er were prest but by soft Southern Winds.

Sir Morg. Southern Winds—ha, ha, lookye, d'ye see, Boy, thy Master's mad, or so, d'ye see—why, what a Pox, d'ye think I never kiss my Wife, or so, d'ye see.

Prince. Thy Wife!—

Mir. He will betray his Passion to these Fools: Alas, he's mad—and will undo my Hopes. [Aside.

Prince. Thou mayst as well claim Kindred to the Gods; she's mine, a Kingdom shall not buy her from me.

Sir Morg. Hay day, my Wife yours! look ye, as d'ye see, what, is it Midsummer-moon with you, Sir, or so, d'ye see?

Mir. In pity give him way, he's madder than a Storm.

Prince. Thou know'st thou art, and thy dear Eyes confess it—a numerous Train attended our Nuptials, witness the Priest, witness the sacred Altar where we kneel'd—when the blest silent Ceremony was perform'd.

Mir. Alas! he's mad, past all recovery mad.

Sir Mer. Mad, say, poor Soul—Friend, how long has your Master been thus intoxicated?

Page. He's mad indeed to make this Discovery. [Aside. Alas, Sir, he's thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he lost a Mistress, who dy'd in Flanders to whom he was contracted.

Sir Mer. Good lack—ay, ay, he's distracted, it seems.

Page. See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.

Mir. Rise, Sir,—you'l ruin me—dissemble if you love—or you can ne'er be happy. [In a low Voice, and raising him.

Prince. My Transport is too high for a Disguise—give me some hope, promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I'll pierce a wounded Heart.

Mir. Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints— [She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.

Page. Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he'll recover presently. Stand all away.—

Prince. Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear, lest thou shouldst break—for Women wou'd be Gods, but for Inconstancy.

Page. See, he begins to come to himself again—keep off—

Mir. You have a thousand Charms that may secure you—The Ceremony of my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I'll contrive it so, that you shall speak with me this Night alone.

Prince. So, now let my Soul take Air—

L. Blun. What pity 'tis so fine a Gentleman shou'd be thus.

Mir. You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of it. [As she passes out.

Sir Morg. Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural Cousin here. [Ex. Mir. in Scorn.

Prince. Where am I? [The Page has whispered him.

Sir Mer. Why, here, Sir, here, at Sir Morgan Blunder's Lodging in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

Prince. That's well, he has told me—Where have I been this long half hour, and more?

Sir Mer. Nay, the Lord knows.

Prince. I fancy'd I saw a lovely Woman.

Sir Mer. Fancy'd—why, so you did, Man, my Lady Mirtilla Blunder.

Prince. Methought I slept upon her snowy Bosom, and dreamt I was in Heaven, where I claim'd her.

Sir Mer. Good lack aday—why, so you did, Sir, ha, ha, ha.

Prince. And rav'd on Love; and talk'd abundance of Nonsense.

Sir Morg. Ha, ha, ha, by my Troth, and so you did, Sir.

Prince. I ask your Pardon, Sir, 'tis an infirmity I have that ever takes me at the approach of a fine Woman, which made me so unwilling to see your Lady.

Sir Morg. Lookye, I ask your Pardon heartily, or so, d'ye see—and am sorry you are not in a Condition to visit her often.

Prince. I shall be better when I am us'd to her; 'tis the first time only affects me.

Sir Morg. Pray, Sir, be pleas'd to use your self to her, or so, d'ye see—she's a civil Person, and a Person of Quality before I marry'd her, d'ye see.

L. Blun. My Son tells you Truth, Sir.

Prince. Madam, I doubt it not, pray beg her Pardon, and do you give me yours. [Bows and kisses her Hand and goes out.

L. Blun. A most accomplish'd Person—

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Another Chamber.

Enter Olivia and Teresia, in Mens Clothes.

Oliv. Well, the Ball does not begin these three Hours, and we'll divert our selves at my Aunt's Basset-Table, which you see is preparing; her natural Propensity to oblige both Sexes makes her keep a Bank on purpose to bring 'em together. There we shall see the old and the young, the ugly and the handsome, Fools that have Money, and Wits that have none; and if the Table affords nothing to please the Appetite, we'll abroad for Forage.

Enter Sir Merlin pulling in George, follow'd by Sir Morgan, Page and Footmen to George.

Sir Mer. Nay, Sir, I am resolv'd you shall honour my Aunt's Basset-Table—

Geo. My Aunt's Basset-Table? There may be Money stirring among these Fools, and Fortune may befriend me. [Aside.

Sir Mer. Sir Morgan, pray know this worthy Gentleman, I have the honour to lodge in the House with him. [They salute one another. Sir, this is Sir Morgan Blunder, a Person of Quality in Wales, I assure you.

Geo. I question it not, Sir, and am proud of the Honour of kissing your Hands.

Ter. Yonder's a handsom Gentleman.

Oliv. My Brother George, as I live, 'tis as I cou'd wish. [Aside.

Enter Welborn.

Wel. Lejere!

Geo. Welborn! Welcome from Paris, I heard of your arrival from Prince Frederick.

Wel. Yes, I am come to my Destruction, Friend.

Geo. Ay, thou'rt to be marry'd, I hear, to a Welch Fortune.

Wel. Though Matrimony be a sufficient Curse, yet that's not the worst—I am fall'n most damnably in love, since I arriv'd, with a young Creature I saw in the Mall t'other Night; of Quality she was, I dare swear, by all that was about her; but such a Shape! a Face! a Wit! a Mind, as in a moment quite subdu'd my Heart: she had another Lady with her, whom (dogging her Coach) I found to be a Neighbour of mine, and Grand-Daughter to the Lady Youthly; but who my Conqueror was I never since could learn.

Oliv. 'Slife, Teresia, yonder's the handsom Fellow that entertain'd us with so much Wit, on Thursday last in the Mall.

Ter. What, when you chang'd your Breeches for Petticoats at my Lodgings.

Oliv. That Night, and ever since, I have felt a sort of a Tendre for him.

Ter. As I do for his Friend—Pray Heav'n he be not marry'd! I fear he has laid an Imbargo on my Heart, before it puts out of the Port.

Geo. Are you not for the Basset?

Wel. No, I've business at the Ball to night; besides, my Lady Blunder has a Quarrel to me for last Night's Debauch; I'll wait on you in the Morning. [Exit Welborn.

Geo. Well, you to your Business, and I to mine. [Speaks as the rest go out. Let the dull trading Fool by Business live, Statesmen by Plots; the Courtier cringe to thrive; The Fop of Noise and Wealth be cullied on, And purchase no one Joy by being undone, Whilst I by nobler careless ways advance, Since Love and Fortune are acquir'd by Chance.

[Exeunt Omnes.

The End of the Second Act.

A Song, sung by Sir Rowland in the second Act.

To TERESIA.

Though the Young prize Cupid's Fire, 'Tis more valu'd by the Old; The Sun's Warmth we now admire, More than when the Season's cold.

Dialogues in the Masque, at the beginning of the third Act.

He. Time and Place you see conspire, With tender Wishes, fierce Desire; See the willing Victim stands To be offer'd by your Hands: Ah! Let me on Love's Altars lying, Clasp my Goddess whilst I'm dying.

She. Oh Lord! what hard words, and strange things d'ye say; Your Eyes too seem closing, and just dying away: Ah! pray what d'ye want? Explain but your mind, Which did I but know, perhaps I'd be kind.

He. My pretty soft Maid, full of innocent Charms, I languish to sigh out my Soul in thy Arms; Oh! then, if I'm lov'd, deny not the Bliss, But tell me I'm happy, with a ravishing Kiss.

She. Oh! Fy, Sir, I vow I cannot endure you; Be civil, or else I'll cry out I assure you; I will not be kiss'd so, nor tumbled, not I, I'll tell all your tricks, that I will, if I die.

He. Nay, never dissemble, nor smother that Fire; Your Blushes, and Eyes betray your Desire. The Practis'd, not Innocent, dally with Bliss, Then prithee be kind, and taste what it is.

She. Let me die now, you're grown a strange sort of a Man, To force a young Maid, let her do what she can; I fear now I blush to think what we're doing, And is this the end of all you Men's wooing?

He. At this Pleasure all aim, both Godly and Sinners, And none of 'em blush for't but poor young Beginners. In Pleasure both Sexes, all Ages agree, And those that take most, most happy will be.

Chorus. In Pleasure both Sexes, &c.



ACT III.

SCENE I. A rich Chamber.

Enter Olivia as a Man, Teresia in Masquerade; the Scene opens, and discovers Lady Youthly, Lady Blunder, Mirtilla, Manage, Prince Frederick in a rich Habi, Welborn in one like his, with a Cloke over him, stands aside, and several others of both Sexes.

Oliv. Oh, my dear Teresia, I'm lost in Love! I've seen a Man,—or rather 'tis an Angel! so gay, so soft, so charming, and so witty; so dress'd! so shap'd! and danc'd with such an Air!

Ter. Hey day! Prithee where's this Wonder to be seen?

Oliv. Why dost thou ask? Hast thou not seen a Man of Dress, and Movement of uncommon Fashion?

Ter. A great many, very odd, and fantastick, I'm sure my dear Man is none of 'em. [Sighs.

Oliv. Thy Heart when fir'd burns easily, and soft, but I am all impatient, Darts, and Flames, and all the effects of Love are panting in my Heart, yet never saw his Face: but see, he comes, and I must find a way to let him know the mischiefs he has done.

Mir. Endimion, where's Sir Morgan?

Oliv. At his usual Diversion, Madam, drinking.

Mir. Do you wait near me to Night, I may perhaps have kinder Business for you e'er the Morning.

Oliv. You heap too many Blessings on me, Madam.

Prince. Oh, turn thy lovely Eyes upon thy Slave, that waits and watches for a tender Look.

Mir. Oh, Sir, why do you press a yielding Heart too much, undone by what you've said already?

Oliv. Those soft Addresses must be those of Love. [Aside.

Mir. My Honour was in danger when I promis'd—and yet I blush to tell you I was pleas'd, and blest the dear necessity that forc'd me.

Oliv. Ha! 'tis the Man I love—and courts Mirtilla, and she receives him with inviting Looks. 'Sdeath, she's a common Lover! already I'm arriv'd to Jealousy!

Enter George in Masquerade, with a Paper on his Back and Breast, goes to Mirtilla, sees one courting her.

Geo. What gilded thing is that?—I must disturb 'em—'Tis I, Mirtilla, languishing for the appointed Happiness, while you, perhaps, are taken up with different Thoughts—

Mir. Lejere! How very feeble do old Lovers charm! Only the new and gay have pow'r to warm—How shall I put him off? For now my ambitious Love declares for Frederick; 'tis great to enslave a Prince. [Aside. —Lejere—wait till I give the word—perhaps it may be late—go mix your self i'th' Crowd, you may be else suspected— [Goes from him.

Ter. I have a shreud guess that this should be my Man by his Shape, and Mein. [Looking round about George. Let me see—What's this written on his Back?—To be lett ready furnish'd— [Reading it. A very good hearing: So ho, ho, ho, who's within here? [Claps him on the Back.

Geo. Who's there? [Exit Olivia.

Ter. Love and Fortune.

Geo. Two very good Friends of mine, prithee who art thou that bring'st 'em?

Ter. A wandring Nymph, that has had a swinging Character of your Person and Parts—if thou be'st the Man, prithee, dear Stranger, let me see thy Face; and if I'm not mistaken, 'tis ten to one, but we may go near to strike up some odd Bargain or other.

Geo. And I am as likely a Fellow for some odd Bargain or other, as ever you met with—Look ye, am I the Man?

Ter. Let me see—a very handsome Face, inclining to round; fine wanton Eyes, with a plaguy Roguish Lear; plump, round, red Lips; not tall, nor low, and extremely well fashion'd. [Reads all this in her Tablets. —Ay, ay, you are the Man—

Geo. I am glad on't, and prithee, dear Creature, let me see if thou art not the Woman—

Ter. Heav'n! what Woman, Sir?

Geo. Why, any Woman that's pretty, witty, young, and good-natur'd.

Ter. I had rather shew anything almost than my Face.

Geo. Faith, and that's kind; but every thing in its due time: I love to arrive at Happiness by degrees, there's as much Pleasure in the Journey of Love, as in the Arrival to't, and the first Stage is a handsom Face.

Ter. Where you bait a while, take a short Survey, and away.

Geo. To Wit, and good Humour; where a Man finds Pleasure enough to engage him a long while.

Ter. Then to all the small Villages, call'd little Freedoms, Kissing, Playing, Fooling, Sighing, Dying—and so on to the last Stage, where Whip and Spur laid by, all tir'd and dull, you lazily lie down and sleep.

Geo. No, I'm a more vigorous Lover: And since in the Country of True Love there remains a Terra Incognita, I shall always be making new Discoveries.

Ter. True Love! is there such a thing in the whole Map of Nature?

Geo. Yes, I once discover'd it in my Voyage round the World.

Ter. Sure 'tis some enchanted Place, and vanishes as soon as 'tis approach'd.

Enter Sir Rowland.

Geo. Faith, let's set out for it, and try; if we lose our Labour, we shall, like Searchers for the Philosophers Stone, find something that will recompense our pains.— [Lady Youthly sees her, and sends her Woman to take her from him. Ha, gone—I must not part so with you—I'll have you in my Eye. [The Spanish Dance: Whilst they dance, the Prince talks to Mirtilla.

Mir. This Night gives you an Assignation—I tremble at the thought—Ah, why will you pursue me thus to Ruin? Why with resistless Charms invade my Heart, that cannot stand their Force—alone—without my Woman?—the Enterprize with you would be too dangerous.

Prince. Dangerous to be ador'd! and at your Feet behold your Slave making eternal Vows?

Mir. If I were sure that you would pass no further—

Prince. Let the fond God of Love be my Security—will you not trust a Deity?

Mir. Whom should she trust, that dares not trust her self?

Geo. That is some Lover, whom I must observe. [Aside.

Mir. Alas, the Foe's within that will betray me, Ambition, and our Sex's Vanity—Sir, you must prevail—

Prince. And in return, for ever take my Soul.

Mir. Anon I'll feign an Illness, and retire to my Apartment, whither this faithful Friend shall bring you, Sir. [Pointing to Manage.

Geo. Hum!—that looks like some Love Bargain, and Manage call'd to Witness. By Heav'n, gay Sir, I'll watch you.

Ter. But hark ye, my Fellow-Adventurer, are you not marry'd?

Geo. Marry'd—that's a Bug-word—prithee if thou hast any such Design, keep on thy Mask, lest I be tempted to Wickedness.

Ter. Nay, truth is, 'tis a thousand pities to spoil a handsom man, to make a dull Husband of: I have known an old batter'd Bully of Seventy, unmarry'd, more agreeable for a Gallant, than any scurvy, out-of-humour'd Husband at Eight and Twenty.

Geo. Gad, a thousand times.

Ter. Know, I have Five Hundred Pounds a Year.

Geo. Good.

Ter. And the Devil and all of Expectations from an old Woman.

Geo. Very good.

Ter. And this Youth, and little Beauty to lay out in love. [Pulls off her Mask.

Geo. Teresia! the lovely Maid design'd for my Mother! now, what a Dog am I? that gives me the greater Gust to her, and wou'd fain cuckold my Father. [Talks to her aside. Mirtilla seems to faint.

Man. My Lady faints—help, help.

Mir. Only the Heat oppresses me—but let it not disturb the Company, I'll take the Air a little, and return. [Goes out with Manage.

Geo. Is this design'd or real?—perhaps she is retir'd for me—Mrs. Manage.— [Manage re-enters, he pulls her by the Sleeve.

Man. Hah! Monsieur Lejere! what shall I feign to put him off withal. [Aside.

Geo. Why dost thou start? How does my dear Mirtilla?

Man. Reposing, Sir, awhile, but anon I'll wait on her for your admittance. [Prince Frederick puts on Welborn's Cloke, goes out, and Welborn enters into the Company dress'd like the Prince.

Geo. Ha, she spoke in passing by that gay thing—What means it, but I'll trace the Mystery.

Sir Row. The young People are lazy, and here's nothing but gaping and peeping in one another's Vizards; come, Madam, let you and I shame 'em into Action. [Sir Rowland and Lady Youthly dance. After the Dance, Olivia enters with a Letter, and gives it to Welborn.

Wel. Ha! what's this, Sir, a Challenge?

Oliv. A soft one, Sir.

Wel. A Billet—whoever the Lady be, [Reads. She merits something for but believing I am worth her Mirth.

Oliv. I know not, Sir, how great a Jest you may make of it; but I assure you the Lady is in earnest, and if you be at leisure to hear Reason from her—

Wel. Fair and softly, my dear Love-Messenger, I am for no hasty Bargains; not but I shou'd be glad to hear Reason from any of the Sex—But I have been so damnably jilted—Is she of Quality?

Oliv. Yes.

Wel. Then I'll not hear any thing from her: they are troublesome, and insolent; and if she have a Husband, to hide her Intrigues she has recourse to all the little Arts and Cunnings of her Sex; and she that jilts her Husband, will her Lover.

Oliv. She is not troubled with a Husband, Sir.

Wel. What, she's parted from the Fool! then she's expensive, and for want of Alimony, jilts all the believing Block-heads that she meets with.

Oliv. But this is a Maid, Sir.

Wel. Worse still! At every turn she's raving on her Honour; then if she have a Kinsman, or a Brother, I must be challeng'd.

Oliv. Sir, you mistake, my Lady is for Matrimony.

Wel. How!

Oliv. You have not forsworn it, I hope.

Wel. Not so—but—

Oliv. If a Lady, young and handsom, and Ten Thousand Pounds—

Wel. Nay, I am not positive—

Enter Sir Morgan, and Sir Merlin, drunk, singing.

Wise Coxcombs be damn'd, here's a health to the Man, That since Life is but short, lives as long as he can.

Sir Morg. Where is my Lady Mirtilla, Rogues?

Sir Mer. And my Mistress, Rascals? For we are resolv'd to shew our selves in Triumph to our Wives and Mistresses.

L. Youth. Your Mistress, Sir Merlin? mistake not your Mark.

Sir Mer. Ha! Art thou there, old Cathedral? Why, thou look'st as magnificiently as old Queen Bess in the Westminster-Cupboard.

Sir Morg. Lookye as de see, when Adam wore a Beard, she was in her Prime, or so, de see. [Sings.

L. Youth. Sir, you are a saucy Jack, and your Father shall correct you.

Sir Mer. My Father! my Father's an old Toast, de see; and I hope to see him hang'd.

Sir Row. Here's a Heathen-Christian! see his Father hang'd!

Sir Mer. Ay, hang'd, and all the old Fathers in Christendom. Why, what a Pox shou'd Fathers trouble the World for? when I come to reign in Parliament, I will enact it Felony, for any Father to have so little Grace to live, that has a Son at Years of Discretion.

Sir Row. A damn'd Rogue, I'll disinherit him immediately.

L. Blun. Is it so great a Crime, Brother, for a Gentleman to be drunk?

Sir Mer. You lye like a Son of a Whore—I have been drinking Confusion to all the Fathers and Husbands in England.

Sir Morg. How, Sir, Confusion to Husbands! Look ye, de see, Sir, swallow me that Word, or I'll make you deposit all the conjugal Wine you have drunk.

Sir Mer. I deposit all your Wine! Sirrah, you're a Blunderbuss.

Sir Morg. Sirrah, you are a diminutive Bully.

Sir Mer. Sirrah, you're the Whore of Babylon, and I defy you.

Sir Morg. Lookye, de see, I scorn to draw upon a drunken Man, or so, I being sober; but I boldly challenge you into the Cellar, where thou shalt drink till thou renounce thy Character, or talk Treason enough to hang thee, and that's fair and civil.

Sir Mer. Agreed; and when I'm drunk enough to ravish, I'll cuckold my old Dad, and fight him for his Mistress.

Sir Row. I have no Patience; I'll kill the Dog, because I'll have the Law on my side—Come on, Sir. [Draws, the Ladies run out. Sir Merlin draws. George runs in and parts 'em.

Geo. Villain! Rascal! What, draw upon thy Father!

Sir Row. Pray, Sir, who are you? that I may thank you for my Life.

Geo. One, Sir, whose Duty 'twas. [Pulls off his Vizard.

Sir Row. What, my dear George!—I'll go and cut off the Intail of my Estate presently, and thou shalt have it all, Boy, thou shalt—

[Exeunt all but George.

Geo. Fortune is still my Friend: Had but Mirtilla been so! I wonder that she sends not to me: my Love's impatient, and I cannot wait—while the dull Sot is boozing with his Brother-Fools in the Cellar, I'll softly to the Chamber of my Love—Perhaps she waits me there— [Exit.

SCENE II. A Chamber, and Alcove, discovers Mirtilla and Prince Frederick.

Prince. Oh! I am ravish'd with excess of Joy.

Mir. Enough, my charming Prince! Oh, you have said enough.

Prince. Never, my Mirtilla!

The Sun that views the World, nor the bright Moon, that favours Lovers Stealths, shall ever see that Hour. Vast, as thy Beauties, are my young Desires; and every new Possession kindles new Flames, soft as thy Eyes, soft as thy tender Touches; and e'er the Pantings of my Heart are laid, new Transports, from new Wishes, dance about it, and still remain in Love's harmonious Order. [Kisses and embraces her.

Enter George, softly.

Geo. This House I know, and this should be her Bed-Chamber, because the best; and yet methought I heard another Voice—but I may be mistaken.

Prince. I faint with Pleasure of each tender Clasp; I sigh, and languish, gazing on thy Eyes! and die upon thy Lips, with every Kiss.

Geo. Surely I know that Voice! Torments, and Hell!—but 'tis impossible. [Aside.

Prince. Oh! satisfy my Doubt, my trembling Doubt! Am I belov'd? Have I about me ought engaging to thee, Charmer of my Soul?

Geo. It is the Prince. [Aside.

Mir. Ah, Prince! Can you such needless Questions ask, after the Sacrifice which I have made?

Geo. Hell take thee for that Falshood. [Draws.

Mir. Think not the mighty Present of your Jewels, enough to purchase Provinces, has bought one single Sigh, or Wish: No, my dear Prince, you owe 'em all to Love, and your own Charms.

Geo. Oh, damn'd, dissembling Jilt! [Aside.

Prince. No more, no more, my Soul's opprest with Joy: let me unload it in thy tender Arms, and sigh it out into thy ravishing Bosom.

Geo. Death, and Damnation!—

I shall forget his Quality and Virtue, forget he was my Friend, or sav'd this Life; and like a River, swell'd with angry Tides, o'erflow those Banks that made the Stream so gay.

Mir. Who's there?—I heard a Voice—Manage?

Geo. Yes. [Softly.

Prince. Approach, thou Confident of all my Joys; approach, and be rewarded— [Prince takes his Jewel from his Hat.