The male-coquette: or, seventeen hundred fifty-seven. In two acts. As it is performed at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane.

ACT II.

SCENE, Mrs. DAMPLY'S Lodgings.

Enter ARABELLA and SOPHIA.

SOPHIA.

IN short, his own Declarations, the unexpected Meeting of Mrs. Dotterel, his Usage of my Let∣ter, and twenty Things beside, determin'd me not to go among the Set of 'em—So making the best Ex∣cuse I cou'd, I got quit of him and his Companions.

ARABELLA.

All this may be true, Sophy—Every young Fel∣low has his Vanities; Fashion has made such Irregu∣larities Accomplishments, and the Man may be worth having, for all your Discoveries.

SOPHIA.

What! an abandon'd, rash, profligate Male-Co∣quette; a Wretch, who can assume Passions he never feels, and sport with our Sex's Frailties—Fie, fie, Bell.

ARABELLA.

Well, well, you are too angry to be merciful— If he is such a Monster, I am glad you are out of his Clutches, and that you can so easily resign him to another.

SOPHIA.

To another! there is not that Woman, be she ever so handsome, that I hate enough, to wish her so much

Evil; and happy it is for you, Bell, that you have a Heart to resist his Allurements.

ARABELLA.

Yes, I thank my Stars—I am not so susceptible of Impressions of that Kind—and yet—I won't swear—if an agreeable Man—I—I—

SOPHIA.

No, no, Bell, you are not absolute Stone—you you may be mollified—She is confounded—

[Aside.

ARABELLA.

Surely he has not betray'd me—'Tis impossible, I cannot be deceiv'd.

[Aside.

SOPHIA.

Well, shall we go in to the Ladies and Mr. Tuke∣ly? Were they not surpriz'd when he open'd the Bu∣siness to 'em?

ARABELLA.

'Twas the finest Scene imaginable—You cou'd see, tho' they all endeavour'd to hide their Liking to Daffodil, all were uneasy at Tukely's Discovery. At first, they objected to his Scheme; but they began to listen to his Proposal the Moment I was call'd out to you; what farther he intends, is a Secret to us all; but here he comes, and without the Ladies.

[Enter TUKELY:

TUKELY.

Pray, Miss Bell—Bless me! Miss Sophy return'd! I dare not ask—and yet if my Eyes do not flatter my Heart—your Looks—

SOPHIA.

Don't rely too much upon Looks, Mr. Tukely.

TUKELY.

Madam—why sure—

SOPHIA.

Don't imagine, I say, that you can always see the Mind in the Face.

TUKELY.

I can see, Madam, that your Mind is not dispos'd to wish, or make me happy.

SOPHIA.

Did not I bid you not to rely upon Looks; for do you know now that my Mind is at this Time most absolutely dispos'd—to do every thing that you wou'd have me.

[Curtsys.

TUKELY.

Then I have nothing more to wish or ask of For∣tune.

[Kneels, and kisses her Hand.

ARABELLA.

Come, come, this is no Time to attend to one, when you have so many Ladies to take Care of.

TUKELY.

I will not yet enquire into your Adventures, 'till I have accomplish'd my own. The Ladies within have at last agreed, to attend me this Evening; where, if you have a Mind to finish the Picture you have be∣gun this Morning, an Opportunity may offer.

SOPHIA.

I am contented with my Sketch—However, I'll make one; and if you have an Occasion for a Second in any thing—I am your Man—command me.

TUKELY.

A Match—from this Moment I take you as my Second; nay, my First in every Circumstance of our future Lives.

ARABELLA.

Mighty pretty, truly!—and so I am to stand cool∣ing my Heels here, while you are making yourselves ridiculous.

SOPHIA:

Bell's in the Right—to Business, to Business— Mr. Tukeley, you must introduce me to the Ladies; I can at least make as good a Figure as Mr. Daffodil among 'em.

[Exit Sophia and Tukely.

ARABELLA.

When Daffodil's real Inclinations are known, how those poor Wretches will be disappointed.

[Exit Arab.

SCENE, The Club-Room.

Lord RACKET, Sir TAN-TIVY, Sir WILLIAM WHISTER, SPINNER writing, and DAFFODIL.

[Waiter behind.

DAFFODIL.

What do you say, my Lord, that I don't do it in an Hour?

Lord RACKET.

Not in an Hour and Half, George.

DAFFODIL.

Done with you, my Lord—I'll take your Seven to Five—Seventy Poud to Fifty.

Lord RACKET.

Done—I'll lay the Odds again, with you, Sir William—and with you, Sir Tivy.

Sir WILLIAM.

Not I, faith;—Daffodil has too many fine Wo∣men —he'll never do it.

DAFFODIL.

I'll go into the Country for a Week, and not a Petticoat shal come near me—I'll take the Odds again.

Sir TAN-TIVY.

Done, Daffodil.

Lord RACKET.

You are to hop upon one Leg, without changing, mind that—Set it down, Spinner.

SPINNER.

I have—Shall I read it?

Lord RACKET.

Silence in the Court.

SPINNER.

Reads.]

Lord Racket has betted 70 Pounds to 50, with the Honourable George Daffodil— that the Latter does not walk from Bukingham-Gate, to the Bun-house, at Chelsea—eat a Bun there, run back to the Turnpike, and from thence hop upon one Leg, with the other tied to the Cue of his Wig, to Buckingham-Gate again, in an Hour and Half.

DAFFODIL.

I say, done—

Lord RACKET.

And done.

Sir WILLIAM.

Consider your Women—you'll never do it, George.

DAFFODIL.

Not do it!

[hops]

Why, I'll get a Chelsea Pensio∣ner shall do it in an Hour, with his wooden Leg—What Day shall we fix for it?

Sir WILLIAM.

The first of April, to be sure.

ALL.

Ha, ha, ha.—

Lord RACKET.

Come, Daffodil, read the Betts and Matches of To∣day —then let us finish our Champaigne, and go to the Opera.

DAFFODIL.

Reads.]

March 24, 1757, Sir Tan-Tivy, has pitted Lady Pettitoe, against Dowager Lady Periwinkle, with Sir William Whister, for 500l.—I'll pit my Uncle. Lord Chalkstone, against 'em both.

Sir TAN-TIVY.

Done.

Lord RACKET.

The Odds are against you, Daffodil—my Lord has got to plain Nantz now every Morning.

DAFFODIL.

And the Ladies have been at it to my Knowledge, this half Year.

DAFFODIL.

Good, again, George.

Sir WILLIAM.

The Honourable George Daffodil, has bet∣ted one hundred Pound, with Sir Wil∣liam Whister, that he produces a Gen∣tleman, before the 5th of June next, that shall live for five Days successively, without Eating, Drinking, or Sleep∣ing.—

Sir WILLIAM.

He must have no Books, George.

DAFFODIL.

No, no; the Gentleman I mean can't read.

Sir WILLIAM.

'Tis not yourself, George!

OMNES.

Ha, ha, ha; 'tis impossible, it must kill him.

DAFFODIL.

Why, then I lose my Bet.

Reads.]

Lord Racket has match'd Sir Joslin Jolly against Major Calipash, with Sir Tan-Tivy, to run fifty Yards upon the Mall after Dinner, if either tumbles, the Wa∣ges is lost—for Fifty Pounds.

SPINNER.

I'll lay Fifty more, neither of 'em run the Ground in Half an Hour.

DAFFODIL.

Not in an Hour.

Sir TAN-TIVY.

Done, Daffodil—I'll bet you a Hundred of that.

DAFFODIL.

Done, Baronet; I'll double it, if you will.

Sir TAN-TIVY.

With all my Heart—Book it, Spinner.

[Spinner writes.

Lord RACKET.

You'll certainly lose, George.

DAFFODIL.

Impossible, my Lord; Sir Joslin is damnably out of Wind.

Lord RACKET.

What, Asthmatic?

DAFFODIL.

No, quite cur'd of his Asthma—he dy'd Ye∣sterday Morning—Bite.

ALL.

Bravo, George.

Lord RACKET.

Now you talk of dying—how does your Cousin Dizzy?

DAFFODIL.

Lingers on—better and worse—Lives upon Asses Milk, Panada, and Eringo Root.

Lord RACKET.

You'll have a fine Wind-fall there, George—a good Two Thousand a Year.

DAFFODIL.

'Tis better, my Lord; but I love Dick so well, and have had so many Obligations to him—he sav'd my Life once—that I cou'd wish him better Health.

Sir WILLIAM.

Or in a better Place—there's devilish fine Timber in Staunton Woods.

Sir TAN-TIVY.

Down with 'em, Daffodil.

Lord RACKET.

But let Dizzy drop first—a little Blast will fell him.

Enter DIZZY.

DIZZY.

Not so little as you may imagine, my Lord—hugh, hugh—

[Coughs.

ALL.

Ha, ha, ha.

DAFFODIL.

Angels and Ministers! what Cousin! We were got among your Trees.

DIZZY.

You are heartily welcome to any one of 'em, Gen∣tlemen, for a proper Purpose—hugh, hugh.

Lord RACKET.

Well said, Dick. How quick his Wit, and how youthful the Rogue looks!

DAFFODIL.

Bloomy and plump—the Country Air is a fine Thing, my Lord—

DIZZY.

Well, well, be as jocular as you please; I am not so ill, as you may wish, or imagine;—I can walk to Knightsbridge in an Hour, for a Hundred Pound.

Lord RACKET.

I bet you a Hundred of that, Dizzy.

DAFFODIL.

I'll lay you a Hundred, Dick, that I drive a Sow and Pigs to your Lodgings, before you can get there.

DIZZY.

Done, I say;

[Draws his Purse.]

Done—Two Hundred—done—Three.

Lord RACKET.

I'll take Dizzy, against your Sow and Pigs.

Sir WILLIAM.

I take the Field against Dizzy.

Lord RACKET.

Done.

SPINNER.

Done.

DIZZY.

Damn your Sow and Pigs; I am so sick with the Thoughts of runing with 'em, that I shall certain∣ly faint—

[Smells to a Bottle]

—hugh, hugh—

DAFFODIL.

Cousin Dizzy can't bear the Mention of Pork— he hates it—I knew it would work.

[Aside to the rest.

DIZZY.

I wish you had not mention'd it—I can't stay —Damn your Sow and Pigs—Here, Waiter, call a Chair—Damn your Sow and Pigs!—hugh, hugh.

[Exit Dizzy.

DAFFODIL.

Poor Dizzy—What a Passion he is in!—Ha, ha, ha.

Lord RACKET.

The Woods are yours, George; you may whet the Axe—Dizzy won't live a Month.

DAFFODIL.

Pooh, this is nothing—he was always weakly—

Sir WILLIAM.

'Tis a Family Misfortune, Daffodil.

Enter WAITER.

WAITER.

Mr. Dizzy, Gentlemen, dropp'd down at the Stair Foot, and the Cook has carried him behind the Bar.

DAFFODIL.

Lay him upon a Bed, and he'll come to himself.

[Exit Waiter.

Lord RACKET.

I'll bet Fifty Pound, that he don't live till Morn∣ing.

SIR WILLIAM.

I'll lay Six to Four, he don't live a Week.

DAFFODIL.

I'll take your Fifty Pound.

SPINNER.

I'll take your Lordship again.

Lord RACKET.

Done, with you both.

Sir TAN-TIVY.

I'll take it again.

Lord RACKET.

Done, done, done;—but I bar all Assistance to him—Not a Physician, or Surgeon sent for— or I am off.

DAFFODIL.

No, no; we are upon Honour—There shall be none, else it wou'd be a bubble Bet.—There shall be none.

Sir WILLIAM.

If I were my Lord, now, the Physicians should at∣tend him.

Enter WAITER, with a Letter.

WAITER.

A Letter for his Honour—

[Gives it to Daff.

[Daffodil reads it to himself.

Sir WILLIAM.

Daffodil, remember the First of April—and let the Women alone.

DAFFODIL.

Upon my Soul you have hit it—'tis a Woman, faith—Something very particular, and if you are in Spirits for a Scheme—

Lord RACKET.

Ay, ay; come, come; a Scheme, a Scheme!

DAFFODIL.

There then, have among you.

[Throws the Letter upon the Table.

Lord RACKET.

Reads, all looking on.]

Hum—

If the liking your Person be a Sin, what Woman is not guilty?—hum hum—at the End of the Bird-cage Walk—

about Seven—where the Darkness and Privacy will befriend my Blushes; I will convince you, what Trust I have in your Secrecy and Honour—

Yours, INCOGNITA.

DAFFODIL.

Will you go?

Lord RACKET.

What do you propose?

DAFFODIL.

To go—If after I have been with her half an Hour, you'll come upon us—and have a Blow up.

Sir WILLIAM.

There's a Gallant for you!

DAFFODIL.

Prithee, Sir William, be quiet—must a Man be in Love with every Woman that invites him!

Sir WILLIAM.

No; but he should be honourable to 'em, George— and rather conceal a Woman's Weakness, than ex∣pose it—I hate this Work—so, I'll go to the Coffee-house.

[Exit Sir William.

Lord RACKET.

Let him go—don't mind him, George; he's mar∣ried, and past fifty—this will be a fine Frolic—Devilish high—

DAFFODIL.

Very!—Well, I'll go and prepare myself—put on my Surtout, and take my Chair to Buckingham-Gate —I know the very Spot.

Lord RACKET.

We'll come with Flambeaux—you must be sur∣pris'd, and—

DAFFODIL.

I know what to do—Here, Waiter, Waiter;

Enter WAITER.

How does Cousin Dizzy?

WAITER.

Quite recover'd, Sir;—he is in the Phoenix, with two Ladies, and has order'd a boil'd Chicken and Jellies.

Lord RACKET.

There's a Blood for you!—without a Drop in his Veins.

DAFFODIL.

Do you stay with him, then, till I have secur'd my Lady; and in Half an Hour from this Time come away, and bring Dizzy with you.

Lord RACKET.

If he'll leave the Ladies—Don't the Italian Mar∣quis dine with us To-morrow?

DAFFODIL.

Certainly.

Lord RACKET.

Well, do you mind your Business—and I'll speak to the Cook to shew his Genius—Allons!

[Exit Daff.

Lord RACKET.

Tom, bid the Cook attend me To-morrow Morn∣ing, on special Affairs—

[Exit Lord Racket, &c.

2d WAITER.

I shall, my Lord.

1st WAITER.

I'll lay you, Tom, Five Six-pences to Three, that my Lord wins his Bett with his Honour Daffodil.

2d WAITER.

Done with you Harry—I'll take your Half Crown to Eighteen-pence—

[Bell rings within.

1st WAITER.

Coming, Sir;—I'll make it Shillings, Tom.

2d WAITER.

No, Harry, you've the best on't.

[Bell rings.]

Coming, Sir. I'll take Five Shillings to Two.

[Bell rings]

Coming, Sir.—

1st WAITER.

Coming, Sir.—No, Five to Three.

2d WAITER.

Shillings?—Coming, Sir.

1st WAITER.

No—Sixpences—

2d WAITER.

Done—Sixpences.

[Bell rings.]

Here, Sir.

1st WAITER.

And done.

[Bell rings.]

Coming, Sir.

[Exeunt.

Enter ARABELLA, Mrs. DAMPLY, Lady FAN. PEWIT, Mrs. DOTTEREL, TUKELY in Womens Cloaths, and SOPHIA in Mens.

Ladies ALL.

Ha, ha, ha.

ARABELLA.

What a Figure! And what a Scheme.

TUKELY.

Dear Ladies, be as merry with my Figure as you please—Yet you shall see, this Figure, awkward as it is, shall be preferr'd in its Turn, as well as you have been.

SOPHIA.

Why will you give yourself this unnecessary Trouble, Mr. Tukely, to convince these Ladies, who had rather still be deluded, and will hate your Friendship for breaking the Charm.

ARABELLA.

My dear Cousin, tho' you are satisfied, these La∣dies are not; and if they have their particular Rea∣sons for their Infidelity; pray, let 'em enjoy it, 'till they have other Proofs than your Prejudices.

SOPHIA.

Ay, Bell, we have all our Prejudices.

TUKELY.

What signifies reasoning, when we are going up∣on the Experiment? Dispose of yourselves behind those Trees, and I will repair to the Place of Ap∣pointment, and draw him hither; but you promise to contain yourselves, let what will happen. Hear, and see; but be silent.—

[Exit TUKELY.

SOPHIA.

A severe Injunction, indeed, Ladies—But I must to my Post.

[Exit. SOP.

Widow DAMPLY.

If he's a Villain, I can never hold!

Lady PEWIT.

I shall tear his Eyes out.

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

For my Part, if I was unmarried, I should not think him worth my Anger.

ARABELLA.

But as you are, Madam—

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

I understand your Insinuations, Miss Bell; but my Character and Conduct need no Justification.

ARABELLA.

I beg Pardon, Madam; I intended no Offence.— But haste to your Posts, Ladies; the Enemy's at Hand.

[They retire behind the Trees.

Enter TUKELY and DAFFODIL.

TUKELY.

In a Woman's Voice.]

For Heaven's Sake, let 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be cautious—I am sure I heard a Noise.

DAFFODIL.

'Twas nothing but your Fear, my Angel!— don't be alarm'd—There can be no Danger, while we have Love and Darkness to befriend us.

TUKELY.

Bless me, how my Heart beats!

DAFFODIL.

Poor Soul! what a Fright it is in!—You must not give Way to these Alarms—Were you as well convinc'd of my Honour, as I am of your Charms, you wou'd have nothing to fear—

[Squeezes her Hand.

ARABELLA.

Upon my Word!—

[Aside.

Widow DAMPLY.

So, so, so.

[Aside.

TUKELY.

Hold, Sir, you must take no Liberties—But, if you have the least Feeling for an unhappy Wo∣man, urg'd by her Passion to this imprudent Step, assist me—forgive me—let me go.

DAFFODIL.

Can you doubt my Honour? Can you doubt my Love? What Assurances can I give you to abate your Fears?

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

Very slender Ones, I can assure her.

[Aside.

TUKELY.

I deserve to suffer all I feel—For what, but the most blinded Passion, cou'd induce me to declare myself to one, whose Amours and Infidelities are the common Topic of Conversation.

DAFFODIL.

Flattering Creature!

[Aside.]

—May I never know your dear Name, see your charming Face, touch your soft Hand, or hear your sweet Voice, if I am not more sincere in my Affection for this little Finger, than for all the Sex besides.

[The Ladies seem astonish'd.

TUKELY.

Except the Widow Damply—

DAFFODIL.

She!—Do you know her, Madam;

TUKELY.

I have not that Honour—

DAFFODIL.

I thought so—Did you never see her, Madam, nod∣ling and gogling in her Old-fashion'd heavy Chariot, drawn by a pair of lean hackney Horses, with a fat Blackamoor Footman behind, in a scanty Livery, Red greasy Stockings, and a dirty Turban?

[The Widow seems disorder'd.

TUKELY.

All which may be only a Foil to her Beauty.

[Sighs.

DAFFODIL.

Beauty! Don't sigh, Madam; she is past Forty, wears a Wig, and has lost two of her fore Teeth. —And then, she has so long a Beard upon her upper Lip, and takes so much Spanish Snuff, that she looks, for all the World, like the Great Mogul in Petticoats; ha, ha,—

Widow DAMPLY.

What Falshood and Ingratitude!

[Aside.

TUKELY.

Cou'd I descend to the Slander of the Town, there is a married Lady—

DAFFODIL.

Poor Mrs. Dotterel, you mean—

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

Why am I to be mentioned!—I have nothing to do—

Widow DAMPLY.

Nay, nay; you must have your Share of the Pa∣negyrick.

TUKELY.

She is young, and has Wit.

DAFFODIL.

She's an Ideot, Madam; and as Fools are gene∣rally loving, she has forgot all her Obligations to old Mr. Dotterel, who married her without a Petti∣coat; and now seizes upon every young Fellow she can lay her Hands upon; she has spoil'd me three Suits of Cloaths, with tearing the Flaps and Sleeves. —Ha, ha, ha.

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

Monster of Iniquity!—

DAFFODIL.

She has even storm'd me in my own House; but with all my Faults, Madam, you'll never find me over-fond of Age, or Ignorance.

Widow DAMPLY.

I cou'd tear him to Pieces.—

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

I will tear him to Pieces.

ARABELLA.

Be quiet—and we'll all tear him to Pieces.

TUKELY.

He has swallow'd the Hook, and can't escape.

[Aside.

DAFFODIL.

What do you say, Madam?

TUKELY.

I am only sighing, Sir.

DAFFODIL.

Fond Creature!

[Aside.]

I know there are a thou∣sand Stories about me: You have heard too of Lady Fanny Pewit, I suppose? Don't be alarm'd.

TUKELY.

I can't help it, Sir. She is a fine Woman, and Woman of Quality.

DAFFODIL.

A fine Woman, perhaps, for a Woman of Qua∣lity —but she is an absolute old Maid, Madam, al∣most as thick as she is long—middle-aged, homely and wanton! That's her Character.

Lady PEWIT.

Then there is no Sincerity in Man.

[Going.

ARABELLA.

Positively, you shan't stir.

DAFFODIL.

Upon my Soul, I pity the poor Creature!— She is now upon her last Legs.—If she does not run away with some foolish Gentleman this Win∣ter —She'll return into the Country, and marry her Footman.—Ha, ha, ha.

Lady PEWIT.

My Footman shall break his Bones, I can tell him that.

DAFFODIL.

Hush, Madam! I protest, I thought I heard a Voice—I wonder they don't come.

[Aside.

TUKELY.

'Twas only I, Mr. Daffodil—I was murmuring to you.

[Sighs.

DAFFODIL.

Pretty Murmurer!—Egad, if they don't come soon, the Lady will grow fond.

[Aside.

TUKELY.

But among your Conquests, Mr. Daffodil, you forget Miss Sophy Sprightly.

DAFFODIL.

And her Cousin Arabella.—I was coming to 'em; poor, silly, good-natur'd, loving Fools;— I made my Addresses to one thro' Pique, and the other for Pity—That was all.

TUKELY.

O, that I could believe you.

DAFFODIL.

Don't be uneasy, I'll tell you how it was, Ma∣dam —You must know, there is a silly, self-sufficient Fellow, one Tukely—

TUKELY.

So, so,

[Aside.]

I know him a little.

DAFFODIL.

I am sorry for it—The less you know of him the better; the Fellow pretended to look fierce at me, for which I resolv'd to have his Mistress: So I threw in my Line, and without much Trouble, hook'd her. Her poor Cousin too, nibbled at the Bait, and was caught.—So I have had my Re∣venge upon Tukely, and now I shall willingly resign poor Sophy, and throw him in her Cousin, for a Make-Weight. —Ha, ha, ha!

Lady PEWIT.

This is some Comfort at least.

ARABELLA.

Your Ladyship is better than you was.

[Noise without.

TUKELY.

I vow I hear a Noise.—What shall we do? It comes this Way.

DAFFODIL.

They can't see us, my Dear.—I wish my Friends would come.

[Aside.]

Don't whisper or breath.

Enter SOPHIA, in a Surtout, and slouch'd Hat.

SOPHIA.

If I cou'd but catch her at her Pranks—she certainly must be this Way—for the Chair is

waiting at the End of Rosamond's Pond—I have thrown one of her Chairmen into it—and if I cou'd but catch her—

TUKELY.

O, Sir! My Passion has undone me—I am dis∣cover'd; it is my Husband, Sir George, and he is looking for me—

DAFFODIL.

The Devil it is! Why then, Madam, the best Way will be for you to go to him—and let me sneak off the other Way.

TUKELY.

Go to him, Sir! What can I say to him?

DAFFODIL.

Any Thing, Madam—say you had the Vapours, and wanted Air.

TUKELY.

Lord, Sir!—he is the most passionate of Mor∣tals; and I am afraid is in Liquor too—and then he is mad.

SOPHIA.

If I cou'd but catch her—

[Looking about.

DAFFODIL.

For your Sake, Madam, I'll make the best of my Way Home—

[Going.

TUKELY.

What! wou'd you leave me to the Fury of an enrag'd Husband!—Is that your Affection.

[Holds him.

SOPHIA.

If I cou'd but catch her—Ha! what's that? I saw something move in the Dark—the Point of my Sword shall tickle it out, whatever it is.

[Draws, and goes towards 'em.

TUKELY.

For Heaven's Sake draw, and fight him, while I make my Escape.

DAFFODIL.

Fight him!—'twou'd be cowardly to fight in the Dark, and with a drunken Man—I'll call the Sentery.

TUKELY.

And expose us to the World?

DAFFODIL.

I wou'd to Heav'n we were

[Aside]—

[He comes for∣ward.]

Let me go, Madam, you pinch me to the Bone.

TUKELY.

He won't know us—I have my Masque on.

LADIES.

Ha! ha! ha!

SOPHIA.

What, is the Devil and his Imps playing at Blind∣man's Buff?—Ay, ay, here he is, indeed—Satan himself, dress'd like a fine Gentleman—Come, Mr. Devil, out with your Pitch-fork, and let us take a Thrust or two.

DAFFODIL.

You mistake me, Sir, I am not the Person— indeed, I am not—I know nothing of your Wife, Sir George—and if you know how little I care for the whole Sex, you wou'd not be so furious with an innocent Man.

SOPHIA.

Who are you then?—And what are you doing with that Blackamoor Lady there—dancing a Sa∣raband with a Pair of Castanets? Speak, Sir!

DAFFODIL.

Pray forbear, Sir; here's Company coming that will satisfie you in every Thing—Hallo, hallo—

Here, here, here;

[Hallo's faintly]

my Lord, my my Lord—Spinner, Dizzy—Hallo!

Enter Lord RACKET, Sir TAN-TIVY, SPINNER, and DIZZY, with Torches.

Lord RACKET.

What's the Matter here?—Who calls for Help?

DAFFODIL.

[Running to 'em with his Sword drawn]

O, my Friends, I have been wishing for you this half Hour. I have been set upon by a dozen Fellows—They have all made their Escape, but this—My Arm is quite dead—I have been at Cart and Tierce with 'em all, for near a Quarter of an Hour.

SOPHIA.

In Buckram, my Lord!—He was got with my Property here, and I wou'd have chastis'd him for it, if your Coming had not prevented it.

DAFFODIL.

Let us throw the Rascal into Rosamond's Pond.

Lord RACKET.

Come Sir, can you swim?

[All going up. TUKELY snatches SOPHIA's Sword, and she runs behind him.

TUKELY.

I'll defend you, my Dear—What, wou'd you murder a Man, and lie with his Wife too?—Oh! you are a wicked Gentleman, Mr. Daffodil.

[Attacks DAFF.

DAFFODIL.

Why, the Devil's in the Woman, I think.

[All the Ladies advance from behind.

LADIES.

Ha, ha, ha! your humble Servant, Mr. Daffodil— Ha, ha, ha.

[Courtsying.

DAFFODIL.

This is all Enchantment!

Lady PEWIT.

No, Sir, the Enchantment is broke—and the old Maid, Sir, homely and wanton, before she retires into the Country, has the Satisfaction of knowing that the agreeable Mr. Daffodil is a much more contemptible Mortal, than the Footman which his Goodness has been pleas'd to marry her to.

LADIES.

Ha, ha, ha.

Widow DAMPLY.

Wou'd Mr. Daffodil please to have a Pinch of Spanish Snuff, out of the Great Mogul's Box? 'Tis the best Thing in the World for low Spirits.

[Offers her Box.

LADIES.

Ha, ha, ha.

Mrs. DOTTEREL.

If a Fool may not be permitted to speak, Mr. Daffodil, let her at least be permitted to laugh at so fine a Gentleman—Ha, ha, ha.

ARABELLA.

Were you as sensible of Shame, as you are of Fear, the Sight of me, whom you lov'd for Pity, wou'd be Revenge sufficient—But I can forgive your Base∣ness to me, much easier than I can myself, for my Behaviour to this happy Couple.

DAFFODIL.

Who the Devil are they?

ARABELLA.

The Marquiss and Marchioness of Macaroni, La∣dies —Ha ha.

SOPHIA.

Ha! Mio Carrissimo Amico, il Signior Daffodillo!

DAFFODIL.

How! Tukely and Sophia!—If I don't wake soon, I shall wish never to wake again.

SOPHIA.

Who bids fairest now for Rosamond's Pond?

Lord RACKET.

What, in the Name of Wonder, is all this Busi∣ness? I don't understand it.

DIZZY.

Nor I neither; but 'tis very drole, faith.

TUKELY.

The Mystery will clear in a Moment.

DAFFODIL.

Don't give yourself any Trouble, Mr. Tukely, Things are pretty clear as they are—The Night's cool, and my Cousin Dizzy, here, is an Invalid— If you please, another Time, when there is less Com∣pany,

[Ladies laugh]—

The Ladies are pleas'd to be merry, and you are pleas'd to be a little angry; and so, for the Sake of Tranquility—I'll go to the Opera.

[DAFF. sneaking out by Degrees.

Lord RACKET.

This is a fine blow-up, indeed! Ladies, your humble Servant—Hallo! Daffodil.

[Exit Lord RACK.

DIZZY.

I'll lay you a Hundred, that my Cousin never in∣trigues again—George! George! Don't run—hugh, hugh—

[Exit DIZ.

TUKELY.

As my Satisfaction is compleat, I have none to ask of Mr. Daffodil. I forgive his Behaviour to me, as it has hasten'd and confirm'd my Happiness here;

[to Sophia.]—

But as a Friend to you, Ladies, I shall insist upon his making you ample Satisfaction—However, this Benefit will arise, that you will hereafter equally detest and shun these Destroyers of your Repu∣tation—

In You Coquettry is a Loss of Fame; But in Our Sex, 'tis that detested Name, That marks the Want of Manhood, Virtue, Sense, and Shame.