The city-heiress, or, Sir Timothy Treat-all a comedy : as it is acted at His Royal Highness his theatre / written by Mrs. A. Behn.

SCENE the First. A Room.

Enter Sir Timothy Treat-all and Jervice.

Sir Tim.

HEre, take my Sword, Iervice. What have you inquir'd as I directed you concerning the rich Heiress, Sir Nicholas Gettall's Daugher?

Ier.

Alas, Sir, inquir'd! why 'tis all the City-News, that she's run away with one of the maddest Tories about Town.

Sir Tim.

Good Lord! Aye, aye, 'tis so; the plaguie Rogue my Nephew has got her. That Heaven shou'd drop such Blessings in the mouths of the Wicked! Well' Iervice, what Company have we in the house, Iervice?

Ier.

Why truely, Sir, a fine deal, con••idering there's no Parliament.

Sir Tim.

What Lords have we, Iervice?

Ier.

Lords, Sir! truly none.

Sir Tim.

None! what ne'er a Lord! Some mishap will befal me, some dire mis∣chance: Ne'er a Lord! ominous, ominous! our Party dwindles dayly. What, nor Earl, nor Marquiss, nor Duke, nor ne'er a Lord? Hum, my Wine will lie most vil∣lanously upon my hands to night, Iervice. What, have we store of Knights and Gen∣tlemen?

Ier.

I know not what Gentlemen there be, Sir; but there are Knights, Citizens, their Wives and Daughters.

Sir Tim.

Make us thankful for that; our Meat will not lie upon our hands then, Iervice: I'll say that for our little Londoners, they are as tall fellows at a well-charg'd Board as any in Christendom.

Ier.

Then, Sir, there's Nonconformist-Parsons.

Sir Tim.

Nay, then we shall have a cleer Board: for your true Protestant Appetite in a Lay-Elder, does a mans Table credit.

Ier.

Then, Sir, there's Country-Justices and Grand-Jury-men.

Sir Tim.

Well enough, well enough, Iervice.

Enter Mrs. Sensure.

Sen.

An't like your Worship, Mr. Wilding is come in with a Lady richly drest in Jewels, mask'd, in his hand, and will not be deny'd speaking with your Worship.

Sir Tim.

Hah, rich in Jewels! this must be she. My Sword again, Iervice.— Bring 'em up, Sensure,—Prithee how do I look to night, Iervice?

[Setting himself.

Ier.

Oh, most methodically, Sir.

Enter Wild. and Diana and Betty.

Wild.

Sir, I have brought into your kind protection the richest Jewel all London can afford, fair Mrs. Charlot Gettall.

Sir Tim.

Bless us, she's ravishing fair! Lady, I had the honour of being intimate with your worthy Father. I think he has been dead—

Dian.

If he chastize me much on that point, I shall spoil all. Alas, Sir, name him not; for if you do,

[weeping]

I'm sure I cannot answer you one Question.

[Aside.

Wild.

For Heaven sake, Sir, name not her Father to her; the bare remembrance of him kills her.

[Aside to him.

Sir Tim.

Alas, poor Soul! Lady, I beg your Pardon. How soft-hearted she's! I am in love; I find already a tickling kind of I know not what, run frisking through my Veins.

[Aside.

Betty.

Aye, Sir, the good Alderman has been dead this twelvemonth just, and has lest his Daughter here, my Mistriss, three thousand pound a year.

[Weeping.

Sir Tim.

Three thousand pound a year! Yes, yes, I am in love.

[Aside.

Bet.

Besides Money, Plate, and Jewels.

Sir Tim.

I'll marry her out of hand:

[aside.]

Alas, I cou'd even weep too; but 'tis in vain. Well, Nephew, you may be gone now: for 'tis not necessary you shou'd be seen here, d'ye see.

[Pushing him out.

Wild.

You see, Sir, now, what Heaven has done for me; and you have often told me, Sir, when that was kind, you wou'd be so. Those Writings, Sir, by which you were so good to make me Heir to all your Estate, you said you wou'd put into my possession, whene'er I made it appear to you I cou'd live without 'em, or bring you a Wife of Fortune home.

Sir Tim.

And I will keep my word; 'tis time enough.

[Putting him out.

Wild.

I have, 'tis true, been wicked; but I shall now turn from my evil ways, e∣stablish my self in the religious City, and enter into the Association. There wants but these same Writings, Sir, and your good Character of me.

Sir Tim.

Thou sha't have both; all in good time, man: Go, go thy ways, and I'll warrant thee for a good Character; go.

Wild.

Ay, Sir; but the Writings, because I told her, Sir, I was your Heir; nay, forc'd to swear it too, before she wou'd believe me.

Sir Tim.

Alas, alas, how shrewdly thou wer't put to't!

Wild.

I told her too, you'd buy a Patent for me: for nothing wooes a City-For∣tune like the hopes of a Ladyship.

Sir Tim.

I'm glad of that; that I can settle on her presently.

[Aside.

Wild.

You may please to hint something to her of my Godly Life and Conver∣sation; that I frequent Conventicles, and am drunk nowhere but at your true Pro∣testant Consults and Clubs, and the like.

Sir Tim,

Nay, if these will please her, I have her for certain.

[aside.]

Go, go, fear not my good word.

Wild.

But the Writings, Sir.—

Sir Tim.

Am I a Jew, a Turk? Thou sha't have any thing, now I find thee a Lad of Parts, and one that can provide so well for thy Uncle.

[Aside.

Puts him out, and addresses himself to the Lady.

Wild.

Wou'd they were hang'd that ••••••u••t you, that have but the Art of Lejerde∣main, and can open the Japan-Cabinet in your Bed-chamber, where I know those Writings are kept. Death, what a disappointment's here! I wou'd a'sworn, this Sham had past upon him.—But, Sir, shall I not have the Writings now?

Sir Tim.

What not gone yet! for shame, away: Canst thou distrust thy own na∣tural Uncle? Fie, away, Tom, away.

Wild.

A Plague upon your damn'd Dissimulation, that never-failing 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of all your Party, there's always mischief at the bottom on't; I know ye all; and Fortune be the Word. When next I see you, Uncle, it shall cost you dearer.

Exit.

Enter Jervice.

Ier.

An't please your Worship, Supper's almost over, and you are askt for.

Sir Tim.

They know I never sup: I shall come time enough to bid 'em welcome.

Exit Jer.

Dian.

I keep you, Sir, from Supper and better Company.

Sir Tim.

Lady, were I a Glutton, I cou'd be satisfi'd With feeding on those two bright starry Eyes.

Dian.

You are a Courtier, Sir; we City-maids do seldom hear such Language: in which you shew your kindness to your Nephew, more than your-thoughts of what my Beauty merits.

Sir Tim.

Lord, Lord, how innocent she is!

[aside.]

My Nephew, Madam? yes, yes, I cannot chuse but be wonderous kind upon his score.

Dian.

Nay, he has often told me, you were the best of Uncles, and he deserves your goodness; so hopeful a young Gentleman.

Sir Tim.

Wou'd I cou'd see't.

[Aside.

Dian.

So modest.

[Aside.

Sir Tim.

Yes, ask my Maids.

Dian.

So civil.

Sir Tim.

Yes, to my Neighbours Wives.

[aside.]

But so, Madam, I find by this high Commendations of my Nephew, your Ladyship has a very slender opinion of your devoted Servant the while; or else, Madam, with this not disagreeable face and shape of mine, six thousand pound a year, and other Vertues and Commodities that shall be nameless, I see no reason why I should not beget an Heir of my own Body, had I the helping hand of a certain victorious person in the world, that shall be nameless.

[Bowing and smirking.

Dian.

Meaning me, I am sure: If I shou'd marry him now, and disappoint my dear Inconstant with an Heir of his own begetting, 'twou'd be a most wicked Re∣venge for past Kindnesses.

[Aside.

Sir Tim.

I know your Ladyship is studying now who this victorious person shou'd be, whom I dare not name; but let it suffice she is, Madam, within a mile of an Oak.

Dian.

No, Sir, I was considering, if what you say be true, How unadvisedly I have lov'd your Nephew, Who swore to me he was to be your Heir.

Sir Tim.

My Heir, Madam! am I so visibly old to be so desperate? No, I'm in my years of desires and discretion, And I have thoughts, durst I but utter 'em; But modestly say, Mum—

Dian.

I took him for the hopefullest Gentleman—

Sir Tim.

Let him hope on, so will I; and yet, Madam, in consideration of your love to him, and because he is my Nephew, young, handsome, witty, and soforth, I am content to be so much a Parent to him, as, if Heaven please,—to see him fairly hang'd.

Dian.

How, Sir!

[In a maze.

Sir Tim.

He has deserv'd it, Madam; First, for lampooning the Reverend City, with its noble Government, with the Right Honourable Gown-men; libelling some for Feasting, and some for Fasting, some for Cuckolds, and some for Cuckold-ma∣kers; charging us with all the seven deadly sins, the sins, of our Forefathers, adding seven score more to the number; the sins of Forty One reviv'd again in Eighty One, with Additions and Amendments: for which, though the Writings were drawn by which I made him my whole Executor, I will dis-inherit him. Secondly, Madam, he deserves hanging for seducing and most feloniously bearing away a young City-Heiress.

Dian.

Undone, undone! Oh with what face can I return again! What man of Wealth or Reputation, now Will think me worth the owning!

[Feigns to weep.

Sir Tim.

Yes, yes, Madam, there are honest, discreet, religious and true Protestant Knights in the City, that would be proud to dignifie and distinguish so worthy a Gentlewoman.

[Bowing and smiling.

Bet.

Look to your hits, and take fortune by the forelock, Madam.

[Aside.

—Alas, Madam, no Knight, and poor too!

Sir Tim.

As a Tory-Poet.

Bet.

Well▪ Madam, take comfort; if the worst come to the worst, you have Estate enough for both.

Dian.

Aye, Betty, were he but honest, Betty.

[Weeping.

Sir Tim.

Honest! I think he will not steal; but for his Body, the Lord have mercy upon't, for he has none.

Dian.

'Tis evident I am betray'd, abus'd; H'as lookt, and sigh'd, and talkt away my Heart; H'as sworn and vow'd, and flatter'd me to ruine.

[Weeping.

Sir Tim.

A small fault with him; he has flatter'd and sworn me out of many a fair thousand: Why he has no more Conscience than a Polititian, nor no more Truth than a Narrative (under the Rose.)

Dian.

Is there no Truth nor Honesty i'th' World?

Sir Tim.

Troth, very little, and that lies all i'th' City, amongst us sober Magi∣strates.

Dian.

Were I a man, how wou'd I be reveng'd!

Sir Tim.

Your Ladyship might do it better as you are, were I worthy to advise you.

Dian.

Name it.

Sir Tim.

Why by marrying your Ladyships most assur'd Friend, and most humble Servant, Timothy Treat-all of London, Alderman.

[Bowing.

Bet.

Aye, this is something, Mistriss; here's Reason!

Dian.

But I have given my Faith and Troth to Wilding, Betty.

Sir Tim.

Faith and Troth! We stand upon neither Faith nor Troth in the City, Lady. I have known an Heiress married and bedded, and yet with the advice of the wiser Magistrates, has been unmarried and consummated anew with another, so it stands with our Interest; 'tis Law by Magna Charta. Nay, had you married my un∣gracious Nephew, we might by this our Magna Charta have hang'd him for a Rape.

Dian.

What, though he had my consent?

Sir Tim.

That's nothing, he had not ours.

Dian.

Then shou'd I marry you by stealth, the danger wou'd be the same.

Sir Tim.

No, no, Madam, we never accuse one another; 'tis the poor Rogues, the Tory Rascals, we always hang. Let 'em accuse me if they please, alas, I come off hand-smooth with Ignoramus.

Enter Jervice.

Ier.

Sir, there's such calling for your Worship! They are all very merry, the Glasses go briskly about.

Sir Tim.

Go, go, I'll come when all the Healths are past; I love no Healths.

Ier.

They are all over, Sir, and the Ladies are for dancing; so they are all adjour∣ning from the Dining-room hither, as more commodious for that Exercise. I think they're coming, Sir.

Sir Tim.

Hah, coming! Call Sensure to wait on the Lady to her Apartment.— And, Madam, I do most heartily recommend my most humble Address to your most judicious consideration, hoping you will most vigorously, and with all your might, maintain the Rights and Privil dges of the honourable City; and not suffer the force or perswasion of any Arbitrary Lover whatsoever, to subvert their Ancient and Fundamental Laws, by seducing and forcibly bearing away so rich and so illustrious a Lady: and, Madam, we will unanimously stand by you with our Lives and Fortunes. —This I learnt from a Speech at the Election of a Burgess.

Leads her to the door: she goes out with Betty and Sensure.

Enter Musick playing, Sir Anthony Meriwill dancing with a Lady in his hand, Sir Charles with Lady Galliard, several other women and men.

Sir Auth.

[singing.]

Philander was a jolly Swain, And lov'd by ev'ry Lass; Whom when he met upon the Plain, He laid upon the Grass.

And here he kist, and there he play'd With this, and then the tother, Till every wanton smiling Maid. At last became a Mother.

And to her Swain, and to her Swain, The Nymph begins to yield; Ruffle, and breathe, then to't again, Thou'rt Master of the Field.

Clapping Sir Char. on the back.

Sir Char.

And if I keep it not, say I'm a Coward, Uncle.

Sir Anth.

More Wine there, Boys, I'll keep the Humour up.

[Enter Bottles and Glass••s.

Sir Tim.

How! young Meriwill so close ••o the Widow!—

Madam—

[Addressing himself to her, Sir Char. puts him by.

Sir Char.

Sir Timothy, why what a Pox dost thou bring that damn'd Puritanical, Schismatical, Phanatical, Small beer-face of thine into good Company? Give Him a full Glass to the Widow's Health.

Sir Tim.

O lack, Sir Charles, no Healths for me, I pray.

Sir Char.

Heark ye, leave that couzening, canting, sanctin'd Sneer of yours and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven soon convert from her lewd designes upon my Body.

[Pulling Sir Tim. to kneel.

Sir Anth.

A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.

Sir Tim.

How, the Widow a lewd designe upon his Body! Nay, then I am jea∣lous.

[Aside.

L. Gall.

I a lewd designe upon your Body! for what, I wonder?

Sir Char.

Why, for villanous Matrimony.

L. Gall.

Who, I!

Sir Char.

Who, you? yes, you. Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love? Those soft bewitching Smiles, those rising Breasts, And all those Charms that make you so adorable, Is't not to draw Fools into Matrimony?

Sir Anth.

How's that, how's that! Charles at his Adorables and Charms! He must have t'other Health, he'll fall to his old Dog-trot again else. Come, come, every man his Glass. Sir Timothy, you are six behind. Come, Charles, name 'em all.

[Each take a Glass, and force Sir Tim. on his knees.

Sir Char.

—Not ••ate ye an Ace, Sir: Come, his Majesties Health, and Confusion to his Enemies,

[They go to force his mouth open to drink.

Sir Tim.

Hold, Sir, hold, if I must drink, I must; but this is very Arbitrary, me∣thinks.

[Drinks.

Sir Anth.

And now, Sir, to the Royal Duke of Albany. Musick, play a Scotch Jig.

[Musick plays, they drink.

Sir Tim.

This is meer Tyranny.

Enter Jervice.

Ier.

Sir, there is just alighted at the Gate a Person of Quality, as appears by his Train, who give him the Title of a Lord.

Sir Tim.

How, a strange Lord! Conduct him up with Ceremony, Iervice.— 'Ods so, he's here!

Enter Wilding in disguise, Dresswell, and Footmen and Pages.

Wild.

Sir, by your Reverend Aspect, you shou'd be the Renown'd Mester de Hotell?

Sir Tim.

Meter de Otell! I have not the honour to know any of that name; I am call'd Sir Timothy Treat-all.

[Bowing.

Wild.

The same, Sir: I have been bred abroad, and thought all Persons of Qua∣lity had spoke French.

Sir Tim.

Not City Persons of Quality, my Lord.

Wild.

I'm glad on'••, Sir: for 'tis a Nation I hate, as indeed I do all Monarchies.

Sir Tim.

Hum! hate Monarchy! Your Lordship is most welcome.

[Bows.

Wild.

Unless Elective Monarchies, which so resemble a Commonwealth.

Sir Tim.

Right, my Lord; where every man may hope to take his turn.—Your Lordship is most singularly welcome.

[Bows low.

Wild.

And though I am a stranger to your Person, I am not to your Fame, amongst the sober Party of the Amsterdamians, all the French Hugonots throughout Geneva; even to Hungary and Poland, fames trumpet sounds your praise, making the Pope to fear, the rest admire you.

Sir Tim.

I'm much oblig'd to the Renowned Mobily.

Wild.

So you will say, when you shall hear my Embassie. The ••o••anders by me salute you, Sir, and have in this next new Election, prickt ye down for their succee∣ding King.

Sir Tim.

How, my Lord, prickt me down for a King! Why this is wonderful! Prickt me, unworthy me, down for a King! How cou'd I merit this amazing Glory!

Wild.

They know, he that can be so great a Patriot to his Native Country, where but a private person, what must he be when Power is on his side?

Sir Tim.

Aye, my Lord, my Country, my bleeding Country! there's the stop to all my rising Greatness. Shall I be so ungrateful to disappoint this big expecting Nation? defeat the sober Party, and my Neighbours, for any Polish Crown? But yet, my Lord, I will consider on't: Mean time my House is yours.

Wild.

I've brought you, Sir, the measure of the Crown: Hah, it ••its you to a hair.

[Pulls out a Ribon and measures his head.

You were by Heaven and Nature fram'd that Monarch.

Sir Anth.

Hah, at it again!

[Sir Charles making sober love.]

Come, we grow dull, Charles: where stands the Glass? what, balk my Lady Galliard's Health!

They go to drink.

Wild.

Hah, Galliard—and so sweet on Meriwill!

[Aside.

L. Gall.

If it be your business, Sir, to drink, I'll withdraw.

Sir Char.

Gad, and I'll withdraw with you, Widow. Heark ye, Lady Galliard, I am damnably afraid you cannot bear your Liquor well, you are so forward to leave good Company and a Bottle.

Sir Tim.

Well, Gentlemen, since I have done what I never do, to oblige you, I hope you'll not refuse a Health of my Denomination.

Sir Anth.

We scorn to be so uncivil.

[All take Glasses.

Sir Tim.

Why then here's a conceal'd Health that shall be nameless, to his Grace the King of Poland.

Sir Char.

King of Poland! Lord, Lord, how your thoughts ramble!

Sir Tim.

Not so far as you imagine; I know what I say, Sir.

Sir Char.

Away with it.

[Drink all.

Wild.

I see, Sir, you still keep up that English Hospitality that so renowned our Ancestors in History.

[Looking on L. Gall.

Sir Tim.

Aye, my Lord, my noble Guests are my Wife and Children.

[Aside.

Wild.

Are you not married then? Death, she smiles on him!

Sir Tim.

I had a Wife, but, rest her Soul, she's dead; and I have no Plague left now, but an ungracious Nephew, perverted with Ill Customs, Tantivie-Opinions, and Court-Notions.

Wild.

Cannot your pious Examples convert him?

By Heaven, she's fond of him!

[Aside.

Sir Tim.

Alas, I hav•• ••••y'd all ways, fair and foul; ••ay, had settled t'other day my whole Estate upon him, and just as I had sign'd the Writings, out comes me a damn'd Libel call'd, A Warning to all good Christians against the City-Magistrates; and I doubt he had a hand in Absolon and Achitophel; a Rogue: But some of our sober Party have claw'd him home, i'faith, and given him Rhyme for his Reason.

Wild.

Most visibly in love!—Oh, Sir, Nature, Laws, and Religion, plead for so neer a Kinsman.

Sir Tim.

Laws and Religion! Alas, my Lord, he deserves not the name of a Pa∣triot, who does not for the Publick Good de••ie all Laws and Religion.

Wild.

Death, I must interrupt 'em!—Sir, pray what Lady's that?

[Wild. salutes her.

Sir Tim.

I beseech your Lordship, know her, 'tis my Lady Galliard: 'the rest are all my Friends and Neighbours, true Protestants all—Well, my Lord, how do you like my method of doing the Business of the Nation, and carrying on the Cause with Wine, Women, and soforth.

Wild.

High feeding and smart Drinking, gains more to the Party, than your smart Preaching.

Sir Tim.

Your Lordship has hit it right: A rare man this!

Wild.

But come, Sir, leave we serious affairs, and oblige these fair ones.

Addresses himself to Galliard, Sir Charles puts him by.

Enter Charlot disguised Clacket, and Fopington.

Charl.

Heavens, Clacket, yonders my false one, and that my lovely Rival.

Pointing to Wild. and L. Gall.

Enter Diana and Sensure maskt, and Betty.

Dian.

Dear Mrs. Sensure, this Favour has oblig'd me.

Sen.

I hope you'll not discover it to his Worship, Madam.

Wild.

By her meen, this shou'd be handsome.—

[Goes to Diana.]

Madam, I hope you have not made a Resolution to deny me the honour of your hand.

Dian.

Hah, Wilding! Love can discover thee through all disguise.

Wild.

Hah, Diana! Wou'd 'twere Felony to wear a Vizard. Gad, I'd rather meet it on the Kings Highway with Stand and Deliver, than thus encounter it on the Face of an old Mistriss; and the Cheat were more excusable.—But how—

Talks aside with her.

Sir Char.

Nay, never frown nor chide: for thus do I intend to shew my Autho∣rity, till I have made thee onely fit for me.

Wild.

Is't so, my precious Uncle! are you so great a Devil in Hypocrisie! Thus had I been serv'd, had I brought him the right woman.

[Aside.

Dian.

But do not think, dear Tommy, I wou'd have serv'd thee so; married thy Uncle, and have cozen'd thee of thy Birthright.—But see, we're observ'd!

Charlot listening behind him all this whil••.

Charl.

By all that's good, 'tis he! that Voice is his!

He going from Dian. turns upon Charlot and looks.

Wild.

Hah, what pretty Creature's this, that has so much of Charlot in her face? But sure she durst not venture: 'tis not her dress nor meen. Dear pretty stranger, I must dance with you.

Charl.

Gued deed, and see ye shall, Sir, ••en you please. Tho l's not dance, Sir, I's tell ya that noo.

Wild.

Nor I: so we're well matcht. By Heaven, she's wonderous like her.

Charl.

By th' Mass, not so kind, Sir: 'Twere gued that ene of us shou'd dance to guid the other weel.

Wild.

How young, how innocent, and free she is? And wou'd you, fair one, be guided by me?

Charl.

In any thing that gued is.

Wild.

I love you extreamly, and wou'd teach you to love.

Charl.

Ah, wele aday!

[Sighs and smiles.

Wild.

A thing I know you do not understand.

Charl.

Gued faith, and ya're i'th' right, Sir; yet 'tis a thing I's often hear ya gay men talk of.

Wild.

Yes, and no doubt have been told those pretty Eyes inspired it.

Charl.

Gued deed, and so I have: Ya men make sa mickle ado aboot ens Eyes, ways me, I's ene tir'd with sick-like Compliments.

Wild.

Ah, if you give us Wounds, we must complain.

Charl.

Ya may ene keep out a harms way then.

Wild.

Oh, we cannot; or if we cou'd, we wou'd not.

Char.

Marry and I's have ene a Song tol that tune, Sir.

Wild.

Dear Creature, let me beg it.

Char.

Gued faith, ya shall not, Sir, I's sing without entreaty.

SONG.

Ah, Jenny, gen your Eyes do kill, You'll let me tell my pain; Gued faith, I lov'd against my will, But wad not break my Chain. I ence was call'd a bonny Lad, Till that fair face if yours Betray'd the freedom ence I had, And ad my bleether howers.

But noo ways me, like Winter look••, My gloomy showering Eyne, And on the banks of shaded Brooks, I pass my wearied time. I call the Streem that gleedeth on, To witness if it see, On all the flowry Brink along, A Swain so true as Iee.

Wild.

This very Swain am I, so true and so forlorn, unless you pity me. This is an excellently Charlot wants, at least I never heard her sing.

[Aside.

Sir Anth.

Why Charles, where stands the woman, Charles?

Fop. comes up to Charlot.

Wild.

I must speak to Galliard, though all my Fortunes depend on the discovery of my self.

[Aside.

Sir Anth.

Come, come, a cooling Glass about.

Wild.

Dear Dresswell, entertain Charles Meriwill a little, whilst I speak to Galliard.

The men go all to the Drinking-table.

By Heaven, I die, I languish for a word! —Madam, I hope you have not made a Vow To speak with none but that young Cavalier? They say, the freedom English Ladies use, Is as their Beauty, great.

L. Gall.

Sir, we are none of those of so nice and delicate a Vertue as Conversa∣tion can corrupt; we live in a cold Climate.

Wild.

And think you're not so apt to be in love, As where the Sun shines oftner. But you too much partake of the Inconstancy of this your fickle Chmat••

Maliciously to her.

One day all Sun-shine, and th' encourag'd Lover Decks himself up in glittering Robes of Hope; And in the midst of all their boasted Finery Comes a dark Cloud across his Mistriss Brow, Dashes the Fool, and spoils the gawdy show.

[L. Gall. observing him neerly.

L. Gall.

Hah, do no•• I know that railing Tongue of yours?

Wild.

'Tis from your Guilt, not Judgment then. I was resolv'd to be to night a Witness Of that sworn Love you flatter'd me so often with. By Heaven, I saw you playing with my Rival, Sigh'd, and lookt Babies in his gloating Eyes. When is the Assignation? when the Hours? For he's impatient as the raging Sea, Loose as the Winds, and amorous as the Sun That kisses all the Beauties of the Spring.

L. Gall.

I take him for a soberer person, Sir.

Wild.

Have I been the Companion of his Riots In all the lewd course of our early Youth, Where like unwearied Bees we gather'd Flowers? But no kind Blossome cou'd oblige our stay, We rifled and were gone.

L. Gall.

Your Vertues I perceive are pretty equal; Onely his Love's the honester o'th' two.

Wild.

Honester! that is, he wou'd owe his good fortune to the Parson of the Parish;

And I wou'd be oblig'd to you alone. He wou'd have a License to boast he lies with you, And I wou'd do't with modesty and silence: For Vertue's but a name kept free from Scandal, Which the most base of women best preserve, Since Gilting and Hypocrisie cheat the world best. —But we both love, and who shall blab the secret?

[In a soft tone.

L. Gall.

Oh, why were all the Charms of Speaking given to that false Tongue that makes no better use of 'em?

—I'll hear no more of your inchanting Reasons.

Wild.

You must.

L. Gall.

I will not.

Wild.

Indeed you must.

L. Gall.

By all the Powers above—

Wild.

By all the powers of Love, you'll break your Oath, unless you swear this night to let me see you.

L. Gall.

This night?

Wild.

This very night.

L. Gall.

I'd die first—At what hour?

[First turns away, then ••ighs and looks on him.

Wild.

O••, name it; and if I fail—

[With joy.

L. Gall.

I wou'd not for the World—

Wild.

That I shou'd fail!

L. Gall.

Not name the guilty hour.

Wild.

Then I through eager haste shall come too soon, And do your Honour wrong.

L. Gall.

My Honour! Oh that word!

Wild.

Which the Devil was in me for naming.

[Aside.

—At Twelve!

L. Gall.

My Women and my Servants then are up.

Wild.

At One, or Two.

L. Gall.

So late! 'twill be so quickly day!

Wild.

Aye, so it will: That half our business will be left unfinisht.

L. Gall.

Hah, what do you mean? what business?

Wild.

A thousand tender things I have to say, A thousand Vows of my eternal love.; And now and then we'll kiss and—

L. Gall.

Be extreamly honest.

Wild.

As you can wish.

L. Gall.

Rather as I command: for shou'd he know my wish, I were undone.

Aside.

Wild.

The Signe.—

L. Gall.

Oh, press me not;—yet you may come at midnight under my Chamber-window.

[Sir Char. seas 'em so close, ••omes to 'em.

Sir Char.

Hold, Sir, hold! Whi••st I am listening to the relation of your French Fortifications, Outworks, and Counterscarps, I perceive the Enemy in my Quarters. —My Lord, by your leave.

[Puts him by, growing drunk.

Charl.

Perswade me not; I burst with Jealousie.

[Wild, turns, sees Clacket.

Wild.

Death and the Devil Clacket! then 'tis Charlot, and I'm discover'd to her.

Charl.

Say, are not you a false dissembling thing?

[To Wild, in 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Wild.

What, my little Northern Lass translated into English! This 'tis to practise Art in spight of Nature. ••as, thy Vertue, Youth, and Innocence,

Were never made for Cunning. I found ye out through all your forc'd Disguise.

Charl.

••ah, did you know me then?

Wild.

At the first glance, and found you knew me too, And talkt to yonder Lady in revenge, Whom my Uncle wou'd have me marry. But to avoid all discourses of that nature, I came to night in this disguise you see, to be conceal'd from her; that's all.

Charl.

And is that all, on honour? is it, Dear?

Wild.

What, no Belief, no Faith in villanous women?

Charl.

Yes, when I see the Writings.

Wild.

Go home; I die if you shou'd be discover'd; And credit me, I'll bring you all you ask. Clacket, you and I must have an odde Reckoning about this nights jant of yours.

Aside to Clacket.

Sir Tim.

Well, my Lord, how do you like our English Beauties?

Wild.

Extreamly, Sir; and was pressing ••is young Lady to give us a Song.

Here is an Italian Song in two parts.

Sir Tim.

I never saw this Lady before: pray who may she be, Neighbour?

To Clacket.

Mrs. Clack.

A Niece of mine, newly come out of Scotland, Sir.

Sir Tim.

Nay, then she dances by nature. Gentlemen and Ladies, please you to sit, here's a young Neighbour of mine will honour us with a Dance.

They all sit; Charl. and Fop. dance.

So, so; very well, very well. Gentlemen and ladies, I am for Liberty of Consci∣ence, and Moderation. There's a Banquet waits the Ladies, and my Cellars are open to the men; but for my self, I must retire: first waiting on your Lordship to shew you your Apartment, then leave you to cher entire; and tomorrow, my Lord, you and I will settle the Nation, and resolve on what return we will make to the noble Polanders.

Exeunt all but Wild. Dress. and Fop. Sir Char. leading out L. Gall.

Sir Anth.

Well said, Charles, thou leavest her not, till she's thy own, Boy.—And Philander was a jolly Swain, &c.

Exit singing.

Wild.

All things succeed above my wish, dear Frank; Fortune is kind; and more, Galliard is so: This night crowns all my Wishes. Laboir, are all things ready for our purpose?

To his Footman.

Lab.

Dark Lanthorns, Pistols, Habits and Vizards, Sir.

Fop.

I have provided Portmantles to carry off the Treasure.

Dress.

I perceive you are resolv'd to make a through-stitcht Robbery on't.

Fop.

Faith, if it lie in our way, Sir, we had as good venture a Caper under the Triple Tree for one as well as t'other.

Wild.

We will consider on't. 'tis now just struck Eleven: within this hour is the dear Assignation with Galliard.

Dress.

What, whether our affairs be finisht or not?

Wild.

'Tis but at next door; I shall return time enough for that trivial busi∣ness.

Dress.

A trivial business of some six thousand pound a year?

Wild.

Trivial to a woman, Frank! no more do you make as if you w••nt to bed. —Labo•••• do you feign to be drunk, and lie on the Hall-table; and when I give the signe, let me softly in.

Dress.

Death, Sir, will you venture at such a time!

Wild.

My life and future hope—I am resolv'd, Let Polititians plot, let Rogues go on In the old beaten Path of Forty One, Let City-Knaves delight in Mutiny, The Rabble bow to old Presbytery; Let petty States be to confusion hurl'd, Give me but Woman, I'll despise the World.