The fool turn'd critick a comedy : as it was acted at the Theatre-Royall, by His Majesties servants / by T.D. ...

ACT. II.

Scene I. Covent-Garden.

Enter Bernard.

Ber.

TO be in Love, is to be mad, and live a phrase, That rarely sits my present disposition; for Certainly if I had sense; or any reason left, I should have kept my self free, at least from Love, The plague of all mankind. Sure the Devil, when Providence first Quicken'd men with life, mingled this amorous Poyson with their blood, as a continual torment.

Enter Frank Amorous.

Frank.

Dear Frank!—what return'd already? Well! and how go matters? ha! didst speak to her?

Frank.

Yes, I did speak to her, and thanks to my good Tongue, And fluent Rhetorick, a great deal, a great deal To the purpose—hark,—thy business is done,— She's thine, she's thine Rogue.

Ber.

But art thou in earnest? prithee do not flatter me▪ For to fall from these hopes to which thou hast rais'd me, Would be a horrid Torture.

Frank.

Peruse this Paper, and then credit me; 'tis her own Handy-work: Sir, I assure you I could have had A Token for you, a Ring, or a slight Bracelet From her Arm; but that I thought 't was needless.

Ber.

A Letter, and from her? I am transported! My best of Friends! how am I bound to thee? I almost fear to read what's Writ within, least The Excess of my delight should kill me. But I must venture.

Frank.

I prithee come, let's hear it.

Ber.

reads,

I have such a sensible knowledge of your sufferings, That I would willingly, if it could be without prejudice of my Honour, redress e'm; But Mr. Amorous can certifie you; to whom you are infinitely oblig'd for his fidelity.

Frank.

D'e mark that Bernard?

Ber.

reads,

That 'tis not mine, but my Fathers will, that debars your coming; which also can be affirmed by your worthy Friend, sweet Mr. Amorous.

Frank.

Ha! this is more then I expected, well go thy Ways, thou art a kind hearted little Rogue, I'le say that for thee.

Ber.

reads.

But from henceforth I desire you to have patience, and pray for an alteration, and forget not to be grateful to the deserving and noble Mr. Amorous. Your Friend Penelope.

Frank.

Very well! do'st hear What a commendable Character she gives me?

Ber.

I do Sir,—a thousand suspicions gnaw my heart.

reads agen.

Can be affirm'd by your worthy Friend sweet Mr. Amorous,— 'dsdeath, she loves him, 'tis plain—

reads still.

(Still more!) her phrase is passionate, oh dull! Dull Fool! to trust him with a secret to undo thee.

Frank.

Come, prithee what art thou musing on? Methinks this should make thee leap for joy; Sing Catches, Frisk, and know no Earth to tread on: What a Devil ayl'st thou?

Ber.

Nothing Sir, nothing, only a sudden Melancholly.

Frank.

Melancholly, Apox upon't, laugh it away man; Think on thy Mistriss; thou seest I've done thy business.

Ber.

Ha!—

Frank.

Ha! why dost thou stare on me?

Ber.

The business!

Frank.

I the next visit shall finish it.

Ber.

Dares he upbraid me? Sir, you shall answer this.

Frank.

Answer that—d'slight he's jealous; I find it now, and now I consider on my past proceedings, it may be he has cause; he•• commendations in her Letter were somewhat more then Ordinary: She addrest her self to him, but her praises were for me. ('Tis so) what a damn'd dull Rogue was I not to receive it? I'le go visit her straight, and if I find her true, Friend I shall not fear to answer your demand, though with the hazard of my Life and Fortune.

Exeunt.

Scene II. A Tavern.

Enter Old Winelove, Tim, Formall, Smallwit, Drawer.

Old Wine.

Well done Tim, bravely done Boy—Drawer, Sirrah give him t'other glass of Sack for that last action, and my little Minion of the Muses bring him but to't; let me but hear him talkt of in the Play-house, fear'd by the Bullies, and renown'd in Taverns, and I will be a Friend to thee for ever.

Small.

Your bounty Sir, has seal'd me yours: believe he shall with∣in a little space of time be famous, and such a one as you could wish he was; he has already profited extreamly.

Old Wine.

But prithee let me see that Congie over again, and your posture; i'faith 't was very modish: Come Tim, prithee once again.

Small.

Look Sir in Company, take notice your Garniture, fit adjustee, and advantagiously as you can, especially if you are among Ladies; and let your Comb be ready thus for your Perriwig; whether it want or no 'tis a good posture: if you are saluted, make your Congie thus, with a start, your head bowing to your left Shoulder, as if it meant to kiss it. Very well! what think you of that Sir? did he not do that better then the last?

Old Wine.

i'Faith 't was very well, Sir Formall did you see it?

Sir For.

Yes, but to tell you the truth, I am not for this new Fan∣tastick way I like your ancient custom, the old way of saluting grave∣ly, 'tis more manly; these cringing Tumblers postures I like not. Give me your method of fair salutation, a rule to grace behaviour. These new ways approv'd by being o'th' fashion, meet not my appro∣bation.

Old Wine.

Old Formall, still i'faith—but mind him not Boy: I'me pleased to see thee exercise thy parts with Judgement and Discre∣tion, Persevere Boy, Thou hast thy Fathers word for't, go on and prosper.

Tim.

And so I have Sir, never doubt, I have designs here budding in this pate of mine, that cannot chuse but prosper, but methinks my Father in Law there, that must be, gives me small encouragement.

Old Wine.

Oh! 'tis no matter, do not mind what he says: He! alas poor Dotard, only understood the way to purchase wealth, and make his Daughter a Fortune fit to embrace thee, that's his Master∣piece.

Sir For.

Mr. Winelove, I hold it prudence in you first to deck his mind with internal Endowments, before you proceed to external Or∣naments; for the Body, mark me Sir, is but as a Tenement, bare and unfurnisht, till the mind adorns it with her Houshold-stuff.

Old Wine.

Sir, he shall be adorn'd both ways; his mind shall be the business of his Tutor; his body of his Taylor; he shall be perfect, do not doubt Sir Formall.

Tim.

I Sir, never doubt me, I have a spirit I assure you, perhaps a Wit too adorn'd with Endowments, such as you mention; and by my Tutors help I may in time be able to discourse with—I'le say no more—your Daughter—but let that pass.

Old Wine.

Why well said Tim—thy Fathers temper just.

Tim.

Now I have a great mind to carp at some of his words, if I had but confidence enough to pretend to be a Critick.

Old Wine.

Well said again i'faith, why now I like thee; this shows thy ready Wit to apprehend; I'me pleased with this extremely.

Small.

Sir, you shall find great alteration in him within these two days; for take it from me, he has a ripening Genius, a Wit that will be poynant, and Satyrical; and some perhaps will find it.

Enter Fidlers.

1st. Fid.

Will it please you Gentlemen to hear a new Lesson, or a Song A-la-mode.

Sir For.

S'bud you impertinent Raskal get you gone, Or I'le so batter that Musical sconce of yours.

Song A-la-mode

Quotha, I had as lieve hear a Gibb Catt howl, and as much pleasure I take in't.

Old Wine.

Fie Sir Formall, this is plain rashness, beat a poor fellow for offering to divert you.

Sir For.

Divert me with a Pox.—Sirrah do not provoke me, but go.

Old Wine.

Stay friend, stay, this is only a little peevish Blood he has within him—'twill be allay'd presently. Sir Andrew, for my sake have a little patience; why, We came hither to be merry; 'tis a day of Jubilee, I'faith he shall Sing.

Sir For.

Sir, were his Songs moral and edifying, I should dispence with the noise; but this is a lewd Rogue, that gleans up all the frag∣ments of cast Bawdy to make Songs A-la-mode, as he calls 'um: Sirrah can you sing the battle of Mardike?

1st. Fid.

No indeed Sir.

Sir For.

I told you so—not sing the Battel of Mardike? Why thou ignorant Rogue, where hast thou bin bred?

Sings

And hussing, And puffing, And Snuffing, And Cuffing the Spaniard; Whose Brows have bin dy'd in a Tan-yard, Well got Fame, a Warriours Wife.

Old Wine.

O brave Sir Formal.

Sir For.

Ah Sir, there's some matter in this now, an ill bred Raskal, not sing the Battle of Mardike. Here's Near a child in Banbury of 7 years old, but can Sing the Battle of Mardike, and has it readier then His Horn-book.

Tim.

Now have I a jest for my Father in Law there, if I Durst speak it.

Small.

What is it Sir,

Tim.

To have told him, that no body would wonder at his Mettle and testy humour, knowing he was born at Banbury.

Small.

Amongst the Tinkers.

Tim.

Ay i'gad, was not that a good one.

Small.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Old Wine.

How now my little Mercury, what's the matter.

Small. (Whispers Old Winelove.)

Old Wine.

Ha, ha, ha, 'tis a witty Varlet—but come my friend.

Small.

One of thy best Songs now, thy Newest—a Song A-la-mode— No matter what he sayes, I'le reward thee.

Song.

〈♫〉〈♫〉 THe Age is refin'd, and the Vulgar no more are despis'd for their 〈♫〉〈♫〉 Talent of sense. Good Wit, at the best is esteem'd but a jest, A 〈♫〉〈♫〉 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is encourag'd, Desert is supprest: That will flourish a 〈♫〉〈♫〉 hundred years hence. 〈♫〉〈♫〉

2.

Fierce Criticks like Kings, rule over this Isle; As the insolent Iudges of Wit: And though they have none, but what is deer bought, Yet to be judicious, they fain would be thought: By the gleanings they get in the Pit.

3.

Then let the precise, despair to be wise, Let wisedom forsake his abode. Since Wit is made none, by the Fops of the Town, Debauches increas'd, and good fancies o'rethrown. Chorus, By a pleasant Vice Alamode.

Old Wine.

Very well 'ifaith—hold there's an Angel for thy Pains; now Sir Awdrew, what think of this? Is not this better then your Doggril damn'd Rhime, all sound, no sense. This is new, and made By a Wit on Wit, on Critick, ah these Critick Wits are rare Fellows.

Sir For.

To practise Surgery upon: To flout at the Decrees Of Law, or Justice, to burlesque on Religion; To make a Ballad out of Davids Psalms, and Turn old Hopkins Meeter into Nonsense.

Old Wine.

Pish, you mistake me clearly.

Sir. For.

Not a jot Sir,—I've known him carp upon the Canticles, and call 'em Canting Lectures; Laugh at A Pious Pastor that was blind, because he told 'em, He could show a path to lead to happiness: Ah they Are lewd Raskals; Lord, Lord, what will this World come to?

Old Wine.

To dust as it 'twas of old, but believe me Sir, your Judgment gives too harsh a sensure of 'em.

Sir For.

It may be so Sir, but pardon me Sir, I speak My thoughts; I use not to dissemble, I love Plain dealing—Drawer bring to pay.

Old Wine.

There's nothing Sir, Fye Sir Formall—put not That forc'd expression on your Friend—so small A thing as this should not be spoke of.

Sir For.

Well Sir, I know your temper, and will urge it no Further; I'le go home and prepare my Wife and Daughter for your Entertainment, pray be no Stranger to my house, and let your Son come Often, I shall expect him an hour hence, according To your promise.

Old Wine.

Sir, he shall only go home and change his habit,

And wait on you immediatly—

Tim.

a Complement At parting—de'e hear—

Small.

Go Sir—the last I taught you.

Tim.

Sir, when I have imbellish'd my self with external accoutre∣ments, fit to be seen, and received by a person of your merit and gran∣deur, I shall not fail to imploy my internal endowments to deserve the honour to kiss the hand of your fair Daughter.

Sir For.

Very well Sir—I apprehend your meaning, though your phrase be somewhat odd—my welcom shall return my answer to you▪ In the mean time I take my leave.—

Exit Sir Form.

Old Wine.

So now lets home▪ I have commanded my Taylor to make thee a Rich Suit Tim. Nay, thou shalt want for nothing Boy, be but industrious. And Mr. Smallwit, set him but forward in what he is begun; let me but hear that he is thought a Wit, and playes the Cri∣tick handsomly; the Critick, methinks the very word is modish.

Small.

He shall do this, and more I'le warrant you Sir.

Old Wine.

Rail at a Poets lines, and sift the meaning, especially if he be but a dabbler, a novice in the art; then let him raign tyrannically, 'twill procure Fame, whether he's right or no.

Small

He has that knack already Sir, and fear not hee'l persevere.

Old Wine.

Be sure thou dost Boy—but we waste the time, thou wilt be long a dressing: Come let's in.

Exeunt.

Enter Lady Ancient, Mrs. Penelope.

Lady A.

Sir Formal told you right Daughter, you know not the tricks, nor the debauches of the Town: What Plots, what secret Jugglings are abroad, therefore I say take heed: I have, I thank my stars, been ever ac∣counted of an immaculate Life and Conversation, and I would have that Fame descend on you, which with such great discretion I have purchast▪ but then you must deserve it.

Pen.

Madam, I hope I shall, I think you yet ne're saw me guilty of any vice, could give you cause to doubt my future virtue.

Lady A.

Your Virtue—no, I fear not that, 'twere a sin to ima∣gine my blood could e're rebel, Sir Formall too, though I mislike his starcht behaviour and opinion, was once a Virtuoso, and therefore think not I doubt your virtue; no, 'tis your destiny I fear.

Pen.

Your fears are fruitless Madam; I ne're was yet so wedded to my will, to chuse before a tryal had made proof whether he did deserve it: Were I not sure she knows nothing of my Love to Franck Amorous, this would a little startle me▪

Aside.

Lady A.

I do believe thee, yet give me leave to fear: Is it not seen, a Lady whose fame for breeding And descent, is loudly spoken of; gets a toy in her head, Marries her Footman, and gives the Flambeau for her Crest▪

Another, charm'd with the flatteries of some smooth tongu'd seducer, Sells her honour, and whole race, to infamy, Ruines her self; and lastly dies a Beggar.

Pen.

These are sad Moralls Madam.

Lady A.

But most true; when I was young, adorn'd with blooming Beauty, for without vanity I could so term it, I Was admir'd, su'd to oft by many—many With Presents woo'd me, many with Poetry, some Would urge their merits, some their Fortunes: Others would fight; and happy then was he that Could procure a smile to grace his enterprize: For I well knowing the power of my attractions, Kept such a mean of favour 'twixt 'em all, That none could boast his Fortune or dispair: 'Tis true, I sometimes long'd for what they offer'd, But with a trick I had, a cunning trick, I kept it from their knowing; at last your Father, Who then was held a man of rare endowments, Though now they are abused by his Customs: So took me with his 'haviour and good parts, For he had excellent parts—so that for his sake I quitted all the rest.

Pen.

And left them Willowes.

Lady A.

Every man of 'em—Therefore I say look through The man you love: Observe his parts well, Then view his Estate; for some there are have neither.

Pen.

Neither Parts nor Estate, goodness defend me From such a one! by your instructions Madam, I Shall not doubt to guard my self from such Imminent danger: Bless me, neither Parts nor Estate!

Lady A.

Hush, here's your Father.

Enter Sir Formall.

Sir. For.

Sweet heart and Daughter, are you there? That's well, go presently to your Chamber and dress Your self, here's a Gentleman coming to see you, Go I say.

Pen.

Shall I not know his name?

Sir For.

No marry shall you not, let it suffice 'tis a good Catholick name, and I approve of it, No more questions, but obey me.

Pen.

I shall Sir!—this is certainly the new Suiter He talkt of, and heaven knows I am ill provided For an Amour.

Sir For.

Come sweet heart lets go in, for I have A world of news to tell thee.

Lady A.

But little good I fear, If there be a world on't

Sir. For.

Thou'lt find there's a great deal of good in't, I seldom fail to miss of my designes, Come in, and be partaker.

Exeunt.

SCENE III. Chamber-back.

Enter Frank Amorous, and Betty.

Bett.

By ventring to bring you hither, I hope Sir, you Perceive that I am not unwilling to be ungratefull, Especially having tasted your bounty in so liberal a manner.

Fran.

You over-rate▪ the triste I have given you: Pray do Not speak of it;—Is this the Chamber?

Bett.

This leads to hers—have but a little patience, With which I know Sir, I you are still provided. I'le go and prepare her for your visit, In a more Especial manner, because I would appear Grateful to a person I have been so sensibly oblig'd to.

Fran.

You speak what I should say, and make me blush, I am so poor in thanks.

Exit Betty.

This will in time make an excellent Bawd, I find by her pall'd Rhetorick. This profit is a powerful charm, It turns and winds e'm into any form: She's coming up with the Lady, who if I find But loves me, I have a blessing past all recompence.

Enter Penelope and Betty.

Pen.

This is the height of impudence, to bring a man, a young man too into my Chamber without my knowledge.

Bett.

Madam, he told me he must needs speak with you About an important concerne, and knowing your Fathers hasty temper, was afraid to let him see him▪

Pen.

And was there no where to bring him to, but My Chamber? No hole, or by Corner to make Him do pennance in for his insolence, but my Apartment; you had best some other time Shut him up into my Closet, till i'm a Bed.

Fran.

Well thought on i'gad Madam if my rude entrance.

Pen.

Sir, I need no Apologies and excuses, and indeed considering it rightly, although my behaviour has been such, as not to give any one

cause, or licence to intrude into my privacies; you are not so much to be blam'd as she is.

Fran.

Oh, nay it is well enough—

Aside.

Pen.

For you perhaps but followed your own inclination, and pur∣suance of the affair you say you have, but that he shou'd dare to do this.

Fran.

Madam it was at my request.

Pen.

At your request! it seems then she's your acquaintance.

Fran.

No, 'faith Madam, not my acquaintance; for though there are some certain seasons when all women are alike to me, yet for the most part my ambition soars above the fruition of a Chambermaid.

Pen.

Sir, the Character you give your self, I was sufficiently ac∣quainted with in the last visit you made me; I hope you come about the old affair, some love Embassy from Bernard?

Fran.

From Bernard Madam? ha, ha, ha, though once to do him a Curtesie, and as a Friend I sollicited his cause, I am not ty'd to do that Office: I take no fees Madam, besides at present, Heaven be prais'd, I have other business; business of my own, would you but be pleas'd to give me a hearing.

Pen.

I'me glad of that:

aside.

Now if it hit but right—Sir you'l oblige me To impart it quickly, for I'me a little in hast.

Frank.

Venus for me then, now the Tale begins; I saw the Letter you wrote to Bernard.

Pen.

It may be so.

Frank.

I saw also the Commendations you gave me there.

Pen.

Suppose all this.

Frank.

And thereby gather that.—

Pen.

That, what?

Frank.

Command your Woman hence, and I'le declare it.

Pen.

Sure 'tis no secret.

Frank.

Faith but it is—a great one too.

Pen.

Wait in the next room till I call for you.

Exit Betty.

Now Sir be free in your Relation.

Frank.

Why Madam, as I was saying before, I gather by your kind Character of me to Bernard, that you are—most desperately in love with me.

Pen.

I, in love?—what shall I do?—my Blushes will betray me.

Frank.

Yes Madam, and with me. Nay, do not mince the matter. I find it by your Eyes, it must be so; y'are deeply Ingag'd that's certain; but have a good heart Madam, I am not cruel, I'm of a melting nature; You may new mould, and work me even as you please; An easie yielding temper, I, Heaven knows.

Pen.

'Tis very likely Sir,—yet sure 'twill hardly be

my fate to put you to the Test—I'm in Love—and with you.

Frank.

Yes Madam with me, 'dsdeath is that so strange?

Pen.

You had best perswade me to't.

Frank.

Faith I am endeavouring it as fast as I can.

Pen.

Now I perceive the vanity of your Sex; because a Lady per∣haps accidentally smiles upon you, or grants you an occasional Salute, you presently think shee's in love.

Frank.

No; but when a Lady writes to a man she do's not; and sends it by a Gentleman; and in her Letter terms the said Gentleman with the terms of sweet Mr. such a one, Dear Mr. such a one, Worthy Mr. A. and the like; what should a man think, is not this Love? 'Gad 'tis extasie, meer extasie.

Pen.

Common Civility will allow of praises, especially if we think our selves oblig'd.

Frank.

But praises with such attributes Madam, There's the point. Praise is the Friend of Love: And that Woman that praises a mans parts, undoubtedly covets what she commends; as we extol that Beau∣ty most we desire to enjoy.

Pen.

And can you think, if I did ever love you, which assure your self I do not, I could ever be brought to confess it, when you upbraid me thus; no, I look upon you as a man unworthy—base, and ill∣natur'd—and perhaps unmanly—I'le curb him in a little, though my heart akes for't.

Frank.

So, I lookt for this—this fretting has confirm'd my Opi∣nion—'tis certain she loves me above measure; poor Soul! how her heart swells—But Madam:

Pen.

I'le hear nothing—tax me with a light Love Sir—'twas a word that I must tell you ill becomes a stranger, nor can our small acquaintance.

Frank.

Do but hear me.

Pen.

'Tis an affront, almost past all forgiveness; With another 'twould be counted an Insolence, Past hopes of reconciling—but my too easie nature.—

Frank.

So now she melts agen, (this is the very Quintessence of passion)—

aside.

I know your nature Excellent as your self; And Madam, make me not unhappy in your Displeasure, by a few flashy words; Heaven Knows only the Overflows of a glad Tongue, Proud to declare your virtues.

Pen.

Yes by upbraiding me.

Frank.

I upbraid thee! by Heaven I do not, and now, (Since it must out) know that I love you, doat On you, and dye till I enjoy you. Now Have mercy upon me I beseech thee.

Pen.

This passion you pretend to, is so short liv'd, that The next fair object, I doubt not, will Reduce it to somewhat newer, and more easie to your temper.

Frank.

With other men perhaps it might—but Madam, I am the Eternal'st Lover, the most transported Thing, I am like Chaff before a burning Glass, and Every glance from your eye converts me into flame.

Pen.

Your comfort will be, that you have but a short time To be tormented.

Frank.

Oh, to Eternity Madam;—when I am absent from you, in My Dreams, I shall hover over your Idea, and beget Such an innumerable Quantity of Conceipts and Fancies, 'Twould distract another.

Pen.

No, not a Man that flies like a Hawk, at all Games, As you do.

Frank.

I Madam—well, a lye must help me out.

aside.

Enter Betty.

Betty.

O Madam! what shall we do? we are undone.

Pen.

Why! what's the matter.

Betty.

Slipping down Stairs to see what your Father was doing, I saw him at the door receiving from a Foot-man a Letter. Directed Sir, to you.

Frank.

To me!

Betty.

To you Sir; for hearing the Foot man affirm he saw you come in here, and seeing your Father about to open it, I run and snatcht it from him; and came up, leaving him pursuing me with as much hast as his Age or Gout would permit him: but for Heavens sake use some means to hide this Gentleman; for hee'l be here immediately.

Pen.

What shall I do! I'me at my Wits end.

Frank.

And so am I, pox on't how unluckie's this?

Pen.

Stay, I've hit of a device will certainly do, If Betty, you play your part but well.

Betty.

I Madam—doubt not me, I'le do any thing to appear▪ Serviceable to this worthy and bountiful Gentleman.

Frank.

'Gad I will be bountiful to thee indeed, if Thou canst but bring me well off now.

Betty.

What is't good Madam?

Pen.

Why this Sir, you must pretend to be her Brother, Newly come from Travel; to which purpose talk of The Customs of some forreign Countries, And your excuse for snatching the Letter away, Being for your Brother, will be more plausible. I le to my Glass, and seem to be dressing my Head—

Hark, he's coming, be sure you do it handsomly.

Betty.

I'le warrant you Madam; come Sir.

Frank.

This will certainly do; well, thou art a witty Devil, I'le say that for thee: I wonder whence this Letter should come, from some of my Mistresses doubtless that want company: I'le not read it till I have more leisure,—he comes.

Sir For. within.

Why Huswife, where are you? ha, are you crept into some Corner, I'le fetch you out with a vengeance, a young baggage to dare to do this.

Enter Sir Formall.

Ha, what's here? a Man! and in my Daughters Chamber?

Betty.

My Brother Sir, newly return'd from Travel; Well, and are there such rare things in Rome, say you?

Frank.

Beyond expression rare—wou'd I were there For an hour.

aside.

Sir For.

But where's the Letter Mistress you snatcht from me? did your Brother bid you do that? hah!

Betty.

No indeed Sir; but fearing you would look into the secrets of our Family, which you conceive is dear to me, I took it of my own accord.

Sir For.

Was the Letter yours Sir?

Frank.

I must presume to own it.

Sir For.

No presumption Sir, but pray from whence came it?

Frank.

From Italy Sir, from a good Friend of mine; and intending to visit my Sister, I bid the Porter bring it to me here.

Sir For.

The Porter Sir, why I had it from a Foot-man.

Frank.

'dsdeath I shall spoil all.

Betty.

But Sir he has formerly bin a Porter, though now he is pre∣ferr'd.

Sir For.

Umph—like enough.

Frank.

Well said i'Faith—a Guiney more for that.

Betty.

But Brother, you han't told me half enough of the rarities you have seen in your Travels.

Sir For.

I, come Sir, pray let's hear some of the wonders at Rome, and other places, the story must needs be pleasing; pray make a brief description.

Frank.

'Zounds what shall I do now? for I know nothing of Rome but the name; but 'tmay be he's as ignorant as I, and then I am warm enough—Why Sir, as to the Climate, 'tis much about the temper 'twas of old, hottish and dry, the Houses largely built, and uniform; the people o•• divers Complexions, and much given to Ease, more indeed then to Devotion; a pleasant Country Sir, and for the most part fruitful.

Sir For.

It was when I was there; but 'tis so long since, that by my Faith I have almost forgot it; well Sir, and how looks the Vatican? does he stand stoutly still? and do's he still triumph in his Age and Ex∣cellence?

Frank.

The Vatican! what a Devil's that?

Betty.

Now is he a pumping: Madam, 'tis a damn'd hard word, that I cannot help him for my life.

Sir For.

Do's he still hold his Head above the rest? And want no Succour, nor no Aid to help him; He has bin an old Standard, but a brave one.

Frank.

This must certainly be the Pope he means, and calls by some Nick-name.

aside.

Sir For.

Come pray Sir tell me, you're too slow in answer.

Betty.

Now do I sweat for him.

Frank.

I'gad I'le venture on't: why faith he do's very bravely still, and is very much renown'd in Italy; but there has lately happen'd a disaster.

Sir For.

What's that good Sir?

Frank.

Why Sir he has within these few Months bin troubled with a violent—and very damnable Fit of the Stone.

Sir For.

What say you Sir?

Frank.

And hardly scap'd with life Sir, I assure you.

Sir For.

Ha, ha, ha, the Vatican troubled with the Stone: madness i'th height; but hark you Sir, perhaps you mean, there ha's bin a Hur∣ricane of late that has damag'd some of her Turret, and overthrown some superfluous Stones, whose strength, age had decay'd: mean you not so Sir?

Frank.

So Sir, yes Sir, what a Devil should I mean else: well I'le make hast away, least he should ask any more questions. Sir, Your humble Servant: Dear Sister, adieu; I'le wait on you again at my next leisure, Vatican with a Pox, a Curse of my dull pate.

Exit.

Sir For.

A witty understanding man I'le warrant him; how wittily he Joak'd upon me. Come Daughter lets go down, by this the Gen∣tleman is ready to come, who, I'le assure you, is first, accomplish'd with parts to your desire, and not mine; Secondly, with wealth to my de∣sire, though not yours, and I command you to use him well, for believe,

No blessing, but a discontent she owns, Whose want of duty reaps her Fathers frowns.