The double-dealer a comedy, acted at the Theatre Royal by Their Majesties servants / written by Mr. Congreve.

ACT. V.

SCENE I.

Enter Lady Touchwood and Maskwell.

Lady T.

WAst not Lucky?

Mask.

Lucky! Fortune is your own, and 'tis her interest so to be; By Heaven I believe you can con∣troul her power, and she fears it; though chance brought my Lord, 'twas your own art that turned it to advantage.

Lady T.

'Tis true it might have been my ruine—but yon∣ders my Lord, I believe he's coming to find you, I'le not be seen.

Exit.

Mask.

So; I durst not own my introducing my Lord, though it succeeded well for her, for she would have suspect∣ed a design which I should have been puzled to excuse. My Lord is thoughtful—I'le be so too; yet he shall know my thoughts; or think he does—

Enter Lord Touchwood.

Mask.

What have I done?

Lord T.

Talking to himself!

Mask.

'Twas honest—And shall I be rewarded for it? No, 'twas honest, therefore I shan't;—Nay, rather, therefore I ought not; for it rewards it self.

Lord T.

Unequall'd Virtue!

Aside.

Mask.

But should it be known! then I have lost a Friend! He was an ill Man, and I have gain'd; for half my self I lent him, and that, I have recall'd; so I have served my self, and what is yet better, I have served a worthy Lord to whom I owe my self.

Lord T.

Excellent Man!

Aside.

Mask.

Yet I am wretched—O there is a secret burns within this Breast, which should it once blaze forth, would ruine all, consume my honest Character, and brand me with the name of Villain.

Ld. Touch.

Ha!

Mask.

Why do I love! yet Heaven and my waking Conscience are my Witnesses, I never gave one working thought a vent; which might discover that I lov'd, nor ever must; no, let it prey upon my Heart; for I would rather die, than seem once, barely seem, dishones:—O, should it once be known I love fair Cynthia, all this. that I have done, would look like Rivals Malice, false Friendship to my Lord, and base Self-interest. Let me pe∣rish first, and from this hour avoid all sight and speech, and, if I can, all thought of that pernicious Beauty. Ha! but what is my distraction doing? I am wildly talking to my self, and some ill Chance might have directed malici∣ous Ears this way.

Seems to start, seeing my Lord.

Ld. Touch.

Start not—let guilty and dishonest Souls start at the revelation of their thoughts, but be thou fix'd, as is thy Vertue.

Mask.

I am confounded, and beg your Lordship's pardon for those free discourses which I have had with my self.

Ld. Touch.

Come, I beg your pardon that I over-heard you, and yet it shall not need—Honest Maskwell! thy and my good Genius led me hither—mine, in that I have discovered so much Manly Vertue; thine, in that thou shalt have due reward of all thy worth. Give me thy hand—my Nephew is the alone remaining Branch of all our ancient Family; him I thus blow away, and constitute thee in his room to be my Heir—

Mask.

Now Heaven forbid—

Ld. Touch.

No more—I have resolv'd—The Wri∣tings are ready drawn, and wanted nothing but to be sign'd, and have his name inserted—yours will fill the Blank as well—I will have no reply—Let me command this time; for 'tis the last, in which I will assume Authority—hereafter, you shall rule where I have Power.

Mask.

I humbly would petition—

Ld. Touch.

Is't for your self?—

Mask. pauses.

I'll hear of nought for any body else.

Mask.

Then witness Heaven for me, this Wealth and Honour was not of my seeking, nor would I build my For∣tune on another's ruine: I had but one desire—

Ld. Touch.

Thou shalt enjoy it—if all I'm worth in Wealth or Interest can purchase Cynthia, she is thine.—I'm sure Sir Paul's Consent will follow Fortune; I'll quickly show him which way that is going.

Mask.

You oppress me with Bounty; my Gratitude is weak, and shrinks beneath the weight, and cannot rise to thank you—What, enjoy my Love! Forgive the Tran∣sports of a Blessing so unexpected, so unhop'd for, so un∣thought of!

Ld. Touch.

I will confirm it, and rejoyce with thee.

Exit.

Mask.

This is prosperous indeed—Why let him find me out a Villain, settled in possession of a fair Estate, and full fruition of my Love, I'll bear the railings of a losing Game∣ster—but shou'd he find me out before! 'tis dangerous to de∣lay—let me think—shou'd my Lord proceed to treat openly of my Marriage with Cynthia, all must be discover'd, and Mellefont can be no longer blinded.—It must not be; nay, shou'd my Lady know it—ay, then were fine work indeed! her fury wou'd spare nothing, tho' she involv'd her self in ruine. No, it must be by Stratagem—I must de∣ceive Mellefont once more, and get my Lord to consent to my private management. He comes opportunely—now will I, in my old way, discover the whole and real truth of the matter to him, that he may not suspect one word on't.

No Mask like open Truth to cover Lies, As to go naked is the best disguise.

Enter Mellefont.

Mel.

O Maskwell, what hopes? I am confounded in a maze of thoughts, each leading into one another, and all ending

in perplexity. My Uncle will not see, nor hear me.

Mask.

No matter, Sir, don't trouble your head, all's in my power.

Mel.

How? for Heaven's sake?

Mask.

Little do you think that your Aunt has kept her word,—how the Devil she wrought my Lord into this dotage, I know not; but he's gone to Sir Paul about my Marriage with Cynthia, and has appointed me his Heir.

Mel.

The Devil he has! what's to be done?

Mask.

I have it, it must be by Stratagem; for it's in vain to make Application to him. I think I have that in my head that cannot fail: Where's Cynthia?

Mel.

In the Garden.

Mask.

Let us go and consult her, my life for yours, I cheat my Lord.

Exeunt.

Enter Lord Touchwood, Lady Touchwood.

L. Touch.

Maskwell your Heir, and Marry Cynthia!

Ld. Touch.

I cannot do too much, for so much merit.

L. Touch.

But this is a thing of too great moment, to be so suddenly resolv'd. Why, Cynthia? Why must he be Marri∣ed? Is there not reward enough in raising his low Fortune, but he must mix his Blood with mine, and Wed my Niece? how know you that my Brother will consent, or she? nay, he himself perhaps may have Affections otherwhere.

Ld. Touch.

No, I am convinced he loves her.

L. Touch.

Maskwell love Cynthia, impossible!

Ld. Touch.

I told you, he confess'd it to me.

L. Touch.

Confusion! how's this!

Aside.

Ld. Touch.

His humility long stifled his Passion: And his Love of Mellefont would have made him still conceal it,—but, by Encouragement, I wrung the secret from him; and know he's no way to be rewarded but in her. I'll defer my farther proceedings in it, till you have consider'd it, but remember how we are both indebted to him.

Exit.

L. Touch.

Both indebted to him! yes, we are both in∣debted to him, if you knew all, damn'd Villain! oh, I am

wild with this surprize of Treachery: Hell and Fire, it is impossible, it cannot be,—he Love Cynthia! what have I been Bawd to his designs? his Property only, a baiting place to stay his stomach in the road to her; now I see what made him false to Mellefont,—Shame and Destruction! I cannot bear it, oh! what Woman can bear to be a Pro∣perty? To be kindled to a flame, only to light him to ano∣thers Arms; oh! that I were Fire indeed, that I might burn the vile Traytor to a Hell of Torments,—but he's Damnation proof, a Devil already, and Fire is his Element. What shall I do? how shall I think? I cannot think,—all my designs are lost, my Love unsated, my Revenge unfi∣nished, and fresh cause of fury from unthought of Plagues.

Enter Sir Paul.

Sir P.

Madam, Sister, my Lady Sister, did you see my Lady my Wife?

L. Touch.

Oh! Torture!

Sir P.

Gad'sbud, I can't find her high nor low; where can she be, think you?

L. Touch.

Where she's serving you, as all your Sex ought to be served; making you a Beast. Don't you know that you're a Fool, Brother?

Sir P.

A Fool; he, he, he, you're merry—no, no, not I, I know no such matter.

L. Touch.

Why then you don't know half your happy∣ness?

Sir P.

That's a jest with all my heart, faith and troth,—but hearkee, my Lord told me something of a Revolution of things; I don't know what to make on't,—gad'sbud I must consult my Wife,—he talks of disinheriting his Nephew; and I don't know what,—look you, Sister, I must know what my Girl has to trust to; or not a syllable of a Wedding, gad'sbud—to shew you that I am not a Fool.

L. Touch.

Hear me; consent to the breaking off this Mar∣riage, and the promoting any other, without consulting me,

and I'll renounce all Blood, all relation and concern with you for ever,—nay, I'll be your Enemy, and pursue you to Destruction, I'll tear your Eyes out, and tread you under my feet.—

Sir P.

Why, what's the matter now? Good Lord, what's all this for? Pooh, here's a joke, indeed—why, where's my Wife?

L. Touch.

With Careless, in the close Arbour, he may want you by this time, as much as you want her.

Sir P.

O, if she be with Mr. Careless, 'tis well enough.

L. Touch.

Fool, Sot, insensible Ox! but remember what I said to you, or you had better eat your own Horns, and Pimp for your living; by this light you had.

Exit.

Sir P.

She's a passionate Woman, gad'sbud,—but to say truth, all our Family are Cholerick; I am the only peaceable Person amongst 'em.

Exit.

Enter Mellefont, Maskwell, and Cynthia.

Mel.

I know no other way but this he has proposed; If you have Love enough to run the venture.

Cynt.

I don't know whether I have Love enough,—but I find I have obstinacy enough to pursue whatever I have once resolved; and a true Female courage to oppose any thing that resists my will, tho' 'twere reason it self.

Mask.

That's right,—well, I'll secure the Writ∣ings; and run the hazard along with you.

Cynt.

But how can the Coach and six Horses be got ready without suspicion?

Mask.

Leave it to my care; that shall be so far from be∣ing suspected, that it shall be got ready by my Lord's own order.

Mel.

How?

Mask.

Why, I intend to tell my Lord the whole matter of our Contrivance, that's my way.

Mell.

I don't understand you.

Mask.

Why, I'll tell my Lord, I laid this Plot with you, on purpose to betray you; and that which put me upon it,

was, the finding it impossible to gain the Lady any other way, but in the hopes of her Marrying you.—

Mell.

So.—

Mask.

So, why so, while you are busied in making your self ready, I'll wheedle her into the Coach; and instead of you, Borrow my Lords Chaplain, and so run away with her my self.

Mell.

O I conceive you, you'll tell him so?

Mask.

Tell him so! Ay, why you don't think I mean to do so?

Mell.

No, no; ha, ha, I dare swear thou wilt not.

Mask.

Aside

You may be deceiv'd—Therefore, for our farther Security, I would have you Disguis'd like a Parson, that if my Lord should have Curiosity to peep, he may not discover you in the Coach, but think the Cheat is carried on as he would have it.

Mell.

Excellent Maskwell, thou wer't certainly meant for a Statesman or a Jesuite, but that thou'rt too honest for one, and too pious for the other.

Mask.

Well, get your selves ready, and meet me in half an hour, yonder in my Lady's Dressing-Room; go by the back Stairs, and so we may slip down without being observ'd.—I'll send the Chaplain to you with his Robes; I have made him my own,—and ordered him to meet us to Morrow Morning at St. Albans; there we will Sum up this Account, to all our satisfactions.

Mell.

Should I begin to thank or praise thee, I should waste the little time we have.

Exit.

Mask.

Madam you will be ready?

Cynt.

I will be punctual to the Minute.

going

Mask.

Stay, I have a doubt—upon second thoughts, we had better meet in the Chaplain's Chamber, here the corner Chamber at this end of the Gallery, there is a back way into it, so that you need not come thro' this Door—and a Pair of private Stairs leads down to the Stables—it will be more convenient.

Cynt.

I am guided by you,—but Mellefont will mistake.

Mask.

No, no, I'll after him immediately, and tell him.

Cynt.

I will not fail.

Exit.

Mask.

Why, qui vult decipi decipiatur.—'Tis no fault of mine, I have told 'em in plain terms, how easie 'tis for me to cheat 'em; and if they will not hear the Serpent's hiss, they must be stung into experience, and future caution,—Now to prepare my Lord to consent to this.—But first I must instruct my little Levite, there is no Plot, publick or private, that can expect to prosper without one of 'em have a finger in't, he promised me to be within at this hour,—Mr. Saygrace, Mr. Saygrace.

Goes to the Chamber Door and knocks.

Mr. Saygrace,

looking out

Sweet Sir, I will but pen the last Line of an Acrostick, and be with you in the twinckling of an Ejaculation, in the pronouncing of an Amen, or before you can—

Mask.

Nay, good Mr. Saygrace do not prolong the time, by describing to me the shortness of your stay; rather if you please, defer the finishing of your Wit, and let us talk about our business, it shall be Tithes in your way.

Saygrace

Enters

You shall prevail, I would break off in the middle of a Sermon to do you pleasure.

Mask.

You could not do me a greater,—except—the business in hand—have you provided a Habit for Mellefont?

Sayg.

I have, they are ready in my Chamber, together with a clean starch'd Band and Cuffs.

Mask.

Good, let them be carried to him,—have you stitch'd the Gown Sleeve, that he may be puzzled, and waste time in putting it on?

Sayg.

I have; the Gown will not be indued without per∣plexity.

Mask.

Meet me in half an Hour, here in your own Cham∣ber. When Cynthia comes, let there be no Light, and do not speak, that she may not distinguish you from Mellefont. I'll urge haste, to excuse your silence.

Sayg.

You have no more Commands?

Mask.

None, your Text is short.

Sayg.

But pithy, and I will handle it with Discretion.

Ex.

Mask.

It will be the first you have so serv'd.

Enter Ld. Touchwood.

Ld. Touch.

Sure I was born to be controuled by those I should Command: my very Slaves will shortly give me Rules how I shall govern them.

Mask.

I am concern'd to see your Lordship discomposed—

Ld. Touch.

Have you seen my Wife lately, or disobliged her?

Mask.

No, my Lord. What can this mean?

Aside.

Ld. Touch.

Then Mellefont has urg'd some body to incense her—something she has heard of you which carries her beyond the bounds of Patience.

Mask.

This I fear'd.

aside.

Did not your Lordship tell her of the Honours you designed me?

Ld. Touch.

Yes.

Mask.

'Tis that; you know my Lady has a high Spirit, she thinks I am unworthy.

Ld. Touch.

Unworthy! 'tis an ignorant Pride in her to think so—Honesty to me is true Nobility. However, 'tis my Will it should be so, and that shou'd be convincing to her as much as reason—by Heav'n, I'll not be Wife-ridden; were it possible it shou'd be done this night.

Mask.

By Heav'n, he meets my wishes

Aside.

Few things are impossible to willing minds.

Ld. Touch.

Instruct me how this may be done, you shall see I want no inclination.

Mask.

I had laid a small design for to morrow (as Love will be inventing) which I thought to communicate to your Lordship—but it may be as well done to night.

Ld. Touch.

Here's Company—come this way and tell me.

Exeunt.

Enter Careless and Cynthia.

Care.

Is not that he, now gone out with my Lord?

Cynt.

Yes.

Care.

By Heaven there's Treachery—the Confusion that I saw your Father in, my Lady Touchwood's Passion, with what imperfectly I over-heard between my Lord and her, confirm me in my fears. Where's Mellefont?

Cynt.

Here he comes.

Enter Mellefont.

Did Maskwell tell you any thing of the Chaplain's Cham∣ber?

Mel.

No; my Dear, will you get ready—the things are all in my Chamber; I want nothing but the Habit.

Care.

You are betray'd, and Maskwell is the Villain that I always thought him.

Cynt.

When you were gone, he said his mind was chang'd, and bid me meet him in the Chaplain's Room, pretending immediately to follow you, and give you notice.

Mel.

How!

Care.

There's Saygrace tripping by with a bundle under his Arm—he cannot be ignorant that Maskwell means to use his Chamber; let's follow and examine him.

Mel.

'Tis loss of time—I cannot think him false.

Exeunt Mel. and Care.

Cynt.

My Lord musing!

Enter Ld. Touchwood.

Ld. Touch.

He has a quick invention, if this were suddenly design'd—yet he says he had prepar'd my Chaplain already.

Cynt.

How's this! now I fear indeed.

Ld. Touch.

Cynthia here; alone, fair Cousin, and me∣lancholly?

Cynt.

Your Lordship was thoughtful.

Ld. Touch.

My thoughts were on serious business, not worth your hearing.

Cynt.

Mine were on Treachery concerning you, and may be worth your hearing.

Ld. Touch.

Treachery concerning me! pray be plain—hark! what noise!

Mask.

within.

Will you not hear me?

L. Touch.

within.

No, Monster! H•…•…llish Traitor! no.

Cynt.

My Lady and Maskwell! this may be lucky—My Lord, let me entreat you to stand behind this Skreen, and listen; perhaps this chance may give you proof of what you ne're could have believ'd from my suspicions.

They abscond.

Enter Lady Touchwood with a Dagger, Ma•…•…kwell.

L. Touch.

You want but leasure to invent fresh falshood, and sooth me to a fond belief of all your fictions; but I will stab the Lie that's forming in your heart, and save a Sin, in pity to your Soul.

Mask.

Strike then—Since you will have it so.

L. Touch.

Ha! a steady Villain to the l•…•…st!

Mask.

Come, why do you dally with me thus?

L. Touch.

Thy stubborn temper shocks me, and you knew it would—by Heav'n, this is Cunning all, and not Courage; no, I know thee well: but thou shalt miss thy aim.

Mask.

Ha, ha, ha.

L. Touch.

Had do you mock my Rage? then this shall punish your fond, rash Contempt! Again smile.

Goes to strike.

And such a smile as speaks in Ambiguity!

Ten thousand meanings lurk in each corner of that various face,

O! that they were written in thy heart,

That I, with this, might lay thee open to my sight!

But then 'twill be too late to know—

Thou hast, thou hast found the only way to turn my Rage; Too well thou know'st my jealous Soul cou'd never bear Uncertainty. Speak then, and tell me—yet are you silent? Oh, I am wilder'd in all Passions! but thus my An∣ger melts.

weeps

Here, take this Ponyard, for my very Spirits faint, and I want strength to hold it, thou hast dis∣arm'd my Soul.

Gives the Dagger.

Ld. Touch.

Amazement shakes me—where will this end?

Mask.

So, 'tis well—let your wild fury have a vent; and when you have temper, tell me.

L. Touch.

Now, now, now I am calm, and can hear you.

Mask.

Aside

Thanks, my invention; and now I have it for you.—First tell me what urg'd you to this violence? for your Passion broke in such imperfect terms, that yet I am to learn the cause.

L. Touch.

My Lord himself surpriz'd me with the News, You were to marry Cynthia—that you had own'd your Love to him, and his indulgence would assist you to at∣tain your ends.

Cynt.

How, my Lord.

Ld. Touch.

Pray forbear all Resentments for a while, and let us hear the rest

Mask.

I grant you in appearance all is true; I seem'd consenting to my Lord; nay, transported with the Bles∣sing—bu•…•… could you think that I who had been happy in your lov'd Embraces, could e're be sond of an inferiour Slavery.

L. Touch.

Ha! O poison to my Ears! what do I hear!

Cynt.

Nay, good my Lord, forbear Resentment, let us hear it out.

Ld. Touch.

Yes, I will contain, tho' I cou'd burst.

Mask.

I that had wanton'd in the wide Circle of your World of Love, cou'd be confin'd within the puny Province of a Girl. No—yet tho' I doat on each last Favour more than all the rest; though I would give a Limb for every look you cheaply throw away on any other Object of your Love; yet so far I prize your Pleasures o're my own, that all this seeming Plot that I have •…•…aid, has been to gratifie your taste, and cheat the World, to prove a faith∣ful Rogue to you.

L. Touch.

If this were true—but how can it be?

Mask.

I have so contriv'd, that Mellefont will presently, in the Caplain's habit, wait for Cynthia in your Dressing-Room: but I have put the change upon her, that she may be otherwhere employ'd—do you procure her Night-Gown, and with your Hoods tied over your face, meet him

in her stead, you may go privately by the back Stairs, and, unperceiv'd, there you may propose to reinstate him in his Uncle's favour; if he'll comply with your desires; his Case is desperate, and I believe he'll yield to any Conditions,—if not, here take this; you may employ it better, than in the Death of one who is nothing when not yours.

Gives the Dagger.

L. Touch.

Thou can'st deceive every body,—nay, thou hast deceiv'd me; but 'tis as I would wish,—trusty Villain! I could worship thee.—

Mask.

No more,—there want but a few Minutes of the time; and Mellefont's Love will carry him there before his hour.

L. Touch.

I go, I fly, incomparable, Maskwell!

Exit.

Mask.

So, this was a pinch indeed, my invention was up∣on the Rack; and made discov'ry of her last Plot: I hope Cynthia, and my Chaplain will be ready, I'll prepare for the Expedition.

Exit.

Cynthia, and Lord Touchwood, come forward.

Cynt.

Now, my Lord?

Ld. Touch.

Astonishment binds up my rage! Villany upon Villany! Heavens, what a long track of dark deceit has this discover'd! I am confounded when I look back, and want a Clue to guide me through the various mazes of un∣heard of Treachery. My Wife! Damnation! my Hell.

Cynt.

My Lord, have patience, and be sensible how great our happiness is, that this discovery was not made too late.

Ld. Touch.

I thank you, yet it may be still too late, if we don't presently prevent the Execution of their plots;—ha, I'll do't, where's Mellefont, my poor injured Nephew,—how shall I make him ample satisfaction?—

Cynt.

I dare answer for him.

Ld. Touch.

I do him fresh wrong to question his forgiv∣ness; for I know him to be all goodness,—yet my Wise! Dam her,—she'll think to meet him in that Dressing-Room,—was't not so? And Maskwell will expect you in the Chaplain's Chamber,—for once, I'll add to my Plot too,—let us haste to find out, and inform my Nephew,

and do you quickly as you can, bring all the Company into this Gallery,—I'll expose the Strumpet, and the Vil∣lain.

Exeunt.

Enter Ld. Froth, and Sir Paul.

Ld. Froth.

By Heaven's, I have slept an Age,—Sir Paul, what a Clock is't? past Eight, on my Conscience, my Lady's is the most inviting Couch; and a slumber there, is the prettiest amusement! but where's all the Company?—

Sir P.

The Company, gad'sbud, I don't know, my Lord, but here's the strangest Revolution, all turn'd topsie turvy; as I hope for Providence.

Ld. Froth.

O Heaven's, what's the matter? Where's my Wife?

Sir P.

All turn'd topsie turvy, as sure as a Gun.

Ld. Froth.

How do you mean? My Wife!

Sir P.

The strangest posture of Affairs!

Ld. Froth.

What, my Wife?

Sir P.

No, no, I mean the Family,—your Lady's Af∣fairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her go into the Garden with Mr. Brisk.

Ld. Froth

How? where, when, what to do?

Sir P.

I suppose they have been laying their heads toge∣ther.

Ld. Froth.

How?

Sir P.

Nay, only about Poetry, I suppose, my Lord; making Couplets.

Ld. Froth.

Couplets.

Sir P.

O, here they come.

Enter Lady Froth, Brisk.

Brisk.

My Lord, your humble Servant; Sir Paul yours,—the finest night!

L. Froth.

My dear, Mr. Brisk and I have been Star-gazing, I don't know how long.

Sir P.

Does it not tire your Ladyship? are not you weary with looking up?

L. Froth.

Oh, no, I love it violently,—my dear you're melancholly.

Ld. Froth.

No, my dear; I'm but just awake.—

L. Froth.

Snuff some of my Spirit of Hartshorn.

Ld. Froth.

I've some of my own, thank you, my dear.

L. Froth.

Well, I swear, Mr. Brisk, you understood Astro∣nomy like an old Egyptian.

Brisk.

Not comparable to your Ladyship; you are the very Cynthia of the Skies, and Queen of Stars.

L. Froth.

That's because I've no light, but what's by Re∣flection from you, who are the Sun.

Brisk.

O Jesu! Madam, you have Eclip•…•…'d me quite let me perish.—I can't answer that.

L. Froth.

No matter,—heark'ee, shall you and I make an Almanack together.

Brisk.

With all my Soul,—your Ladyship has made me the Man in't already, I'm •…•… full of the Wounds which you have given.

L. Froth.

O finely taken! I swear, now you are even with me, O Parnassus, you have an infinite deal of Wit.

Sir P.

So he has, gad'sbud, and so has your Ladyship.

Enter Lady Plyant, Careless, Cynthia.

L. P.

You tell me most surprizing things; bless me who would ever trust a man? O my heart akes for fear they should be all deceitful alike.

Care.

You need not fear, Madam, you have Charms to fix Inconstancy it self.

L. P.

O dear, you make me blush.

Ld. Froth.

Come my dear, shall we take leave of my Lord and Lady.

Cynt.

They'll wait upon your Lordship presently.

L. Froth.

Mr. Brisk. my Coach shall set you down.

All.

What's the matter?

A great shrick from the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of the Stage.

Lady Touchwood runs out affrighted, my Lord after 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ like a Parson.

L. Touch.

O I'm betray'd,—save me, help me.

Ld. Touch.

Now what Evasion, Strumpet?

L. Touch.

Stand off, let me go, and Plagues, and Curses seize you all.

Runs out.

Ld. Touch.

Go, and thy own Infamy pursue thee,—you stare as you were all amazed,—I don't wonder at it,—but too soon you'll know mine, and that Woman's shame.

Enter Mellesont lugging in Maskwell from the other side of the Stage, Mellefont like a Parson.

Mel.

Nay, by Heaven you shall be seen,—Careless, your hand;—do you hold down your head? Yes, I am your Chaplain, look in the Face of your injur'd Friend; thou wonder of all Falshood.

Ld. Touch.

Are you silent, Monster?

Mel.

Good Heavens! how I believ'd and Lov'd this Man!—Take him hence, for he's a Disease to my Sight.

Ld. Touch.

Secure that manifold Villain.

Care.

Miracle of Ingratitude!

They carry out Maskwell, who hangs down his head.

〈◊〉〈◊〉

This is all very surprizing, let me perish.

L. 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

You know I told you Saturn look'd a little more angry than usual.

Ld. Touch.

We'll think of punishment at leasure, but let me hasten to do Justice, in rewarding Virtue and wrong'd In∣nocence.—Nephew, I hope I have your pardon, and Cynthia's.

Mel.

We are your Lordships Creatures.

Ld. Touch.

And be each others comfort;—let me joyn your hands.—Unwearied Nights, and wishing Days attend you both; mutual Love, lasting Health, and Circling Joys, tread round each happy Year of your long Lives.

Let secret Villany from hence be warn'd; How e're in private, Mischiefs are conceiv'd, Torture and shame attend their open Birth: Like Vipers in the Womb, base Treach'ry lies, Still gnawing that, whence, first it did arise; No sooner born, but the Vile Parent dies.

Exeunt Omnes.