The virtuous wife, or, Good luck at last a comedy, as it is acted at the Dukes Theater by His Royal Highness his servants / written by Thomas Durfey, Gent.

ACT. II.

SCENE, Lady Beardly's House.

Enter Sir Frollick, and Isabella.

Isab.

NAy, prithee dear go in with me, my Lady Beardly will take it ill that you should come just to the Door, and then away without seeing her.

Sir Froll.

Sweet Heart—my Business is too weighty to be controul'd by your advice. Go get ye in — I'll step over to the Coffee-house to drink a Dish of Tea, and read the Votes, And then tell her, my Nephew, Sir Lubberly, and I, will wait on her; Get you gone, I say, farewell —

Isab.

To read the Votes a very pretty Employment. Well, I will not r••ile much at thee, nor vex my self; but, this I'll say, he that leaves his Wife when she desires his Company, to read the Votes, de∣serves to be Voted a Cuckold as long as he lives, did the news never so nearly concern him—

Enter Beauford and Brainworm.

Beauf.

Hah! Say'st thou so? gad, this must be a Woman of Judg∣ment by that sentence; Sirrah, thou shalt see me board her.

Brain.

What, in your Aunts house; and, the first thing you do? 'shud, Sir, you ruine your self.

Beauf.

Hah—this damn'd Rogue goes alwayes about to hinder my fortune▪ Sirrah, I'll tell thee I'll do't. What a pox thou shalt see me fetch her about Immediately.

Brain.

Sir, tho' I am sensible you do not value a beating, yet, by your favour, I do: It does not agree with my Constitution, and there∣fore I shall make an honourable retreat—

Beauf.

I vow to gad, Madam, there was so much wit and reason in what you said, that it was impossible for me but to be of your opini∣on; and, if you would take my advice, Madam —

Brain.

She should Cuckold her Husband the first thing she did.

Isab.

Oh heaven's, Beauford!

Beauf.

What, my dear sweet charming Isabella — Is it you? a thou∣sand thanks to Fortune for this incounter: What a dull Rogue was I not to know thee sooner? for, Who but she could have spoken so much Wit and Reason in one sentence?

Isab.

I was no doubt inspir'd, by having you so near me; but, you'd say, I have some reason for my sentence, if you knew all —

Beauf.

Knew all—Why faith 'tis a little unreasonable, that I that have known all so often, should now know but a part▪ Come, be free with me—Prithee what is't?

Brainw.

Hah! Why, what so familiar already? 'sbud he has fetcht her about indeed—Well —go thy wayes Bully, thou hast a very dex∣trous way at it, I'll say that for thee.

Isab.

Why then to thy Continual Torment be it spoken, know thou miserable Creature, that I am Marry'd, and h•••••• been so almost these two years.

Beauf.

The Devil thou hast. 'sdeath! What a Thunder-clap was that? Marry'd —

Isabell.

Marry'd, Wedded; nay, (and what's worse, and what I fear, will eternally torture thee,) I have, like an imprudent Creature as I was, strictly bound my self to the Tyrant Con••cience, utter•• to forsake all wild Company, Knit Night-Caps for my Husband, and live honestly—

Beauf.

How! honest too! nay then farewell— Oh fleeting World! but, I hope, thou art in jest, my dear, for all this.

Falls down and counterf••its.

Isabell.

'Tis too true, Sir.

The Fates have so decreed it. But, however, one spark of Com∣fort shall be yours, least you despair; Therefore know, tho I am Mar∣ried, my Husband is old—

Beauf.

Old —oh! that's some amends however.

Rises up.

Brainw.

Oh! is that some amends —ha, ha, ha! — here are more Hornes a making; for, I never knew his e••es twinckle so in a morn∣ing, but some body or other was a Cuckold before night.

Isab.

Ha, ha, ha!—well, Sir, ••ow I have a little reviv'd your drooping spirits—I must take the priviledge of departing — I have a visit to make to my Lady Beardly; besides, 'tis not for my Credit to be seen with such a young wild fellow —for, Who knows what people will think—

Beauf▪

No more than they have occasion to think I dare answer for 'em—but, Madam, you will not be so inhumane, to go away with∣out giving me leasure to express my self a little; 'tis just like giving a Man a strong Cordial to fetch him to a minutes life, that afterwards he may die in more torture.

Isabell.

If Life were concern'd, Sir, perhaps I might be more mer∣ciful; but, yours is but a kind of Mungrel Epilepsie, a Politick Fit, Sir—and you Gallants use it, as Beggars do counterfeit Scars, only to procure pitty, which having, you laugh at us. Wou'd there was order taken that you might be whipt for every such offence.

Brainw.

How, whipt▪ 'sbud, I hope 'tis not come to that; come, good Sir, come away.

Beauf.

Peace, Rascal —but, Madam, do but hear me a little.

Isabell.

Not a word, Sir; the times are alter'd: and, heaven for∣give us what is past: it shall be my endeavor to procure it.

Brainw.

Amen— well, I am glad 'tis no worse—this shows the woman has some Religion in her however.

Isabell.

To which purpose I will go every morning to the Chap∣pel, and desire, in my Devotions, to be free from impertinent lew'd Company: and then return home, and, like a true Wife, spend all the rest of the day in my Melancholy Appartment, and my Nights in the Bed of Honor.

Exit, smiling on Beauford.

Beauf.

To the Chappel —very well; I understand ye faith —the Devil's in't if I do not thrive at this rate—this is the second As∣signation I have made within this hour, and luckily with my two quondam Mistrisses that I was in quest of—Olivia I had design'd to profit by, but, it seems, I have been undermin'd by treachery; but, Sirrah, this last was mine for pleasure—who now is also Married, and, no doubt, a great comfort to her Husband.

Brain.

A very great Comfort—a Whore is a very great Com∣fort to her husband without doubt.

Beauf.

Sirrah, no bug words, there was no Whoredom in the Case; no, faith, I'll say that for her, she never took a penny of Money.

Brainw.

Oh, oh; then 'tis another case if she took no money: 'tis impossible she should be a Whore, if she took no Money; ha, ha —

Beauf.

Ay, Rascal, 'tis unreasonable that terme should be given her: but, a pox, I have forgot one material thing, to know her Hus∣bands Name; but, no matter, I shall know all when I meet her in the Chappel to morrow. I am resolv'd to venture thither, though I am afraid the Dogs will bark me out again; and, by that means, let the Congregation know, how much I am a stranger to the place.

Brainw.

Sir, the truth is, I ever thought your Religion, and the Courage of a Town-Bully, were very like; for, you care no more for the Church, without the design of making an Intrigue there, then he cares to fight with a resolute Fellow, when he h••s the conveni∣ence of running away from him.

Beauford.

Very well; but, What the Devil makes my old Lady Aunt so long a coming? I believe she has taken Phisick to day.

Brainworm.

Phisick? Why, Has she been given to that, and alive still?

Beauford.

Face-Phisick, I mean, Sirrah: Fucus, white Mercury, Fat of Eeles, and Iews Tincture, with which she does so mortifie de∣formity, that her Face in a morning looks like an old Wall new plai∣ster'd; her head is unthatch't, like an old Parsonage, thirteen hairs on one side, and three on t'other, and her eyes like lights at the last snuff: her Chin was long since befriended with a China Beard of comely thickness, but, t'has been so unmercifully us'd with her Pin∣cers, that instead of one dimple, she has made forty: Natures hand shook when she was making, for the white of her skin fell into her eyes, the gray of her eyes into her hair, and the red of her Cheeks upon her Nose.

Brainworm.

A very beautiful Creature in good faith.

Beauford.

Then she is the most Amorous Sibill, that ever spoke waggish Prophesy; entertains all the young Fops in the Town, and to end all, has that unnatural —impudence to think some of 'em are in love with her. Pox on her, were I not to have Money of her, I'de ride the wooden Horse e're be troubled with her imperti∣nence.

A Chair set on.

Enter Lady Beardly, Tisick, Page, holding up Beardly's Train.

L. Beardly.

Dear Coz — wellcome to England, I protest I am as glad to see you as if you were my own Son, born of my own body — thanks good Coz in troth — you kiss comfortably — and pray let me return it — very good in truth, come, you are my own flesh and blood, therefore this is no indecency.

Brainworm.

If one of her teeth had dropt into his mouth, that would have been a small indecency I'me sure.

Beauford.

None, none Madam, you do me a great honour.

L. Beardly.

Why you are grown a handsome Man, in troth, Coz — tall, well-set, and strait-limb'd, your leg too very well— come, I say little, but I have known the time when a good leg has been no detestable object.

Beauford.

Mine is but indifferent— but I am glad your Ladi∣ship likes it.

L. Beardly.

In good faith 'tis well, very well—and good Coz: how does my Brother do? I warrant he's grown an old grave Man by this time. Heaven bless us, I have not seen him this many a year. Tisick, reach me the great Elbow Chair.

Beauford.

Hearty, hearty, but much troubled with the gout.

L. Beard.

Alack-a-day, Is he so? —well, he has been a Wagg in his days — lord bless us! I vow he has lov'd a Wench better then a Psalm-book, Coz: that he has o' my word.

Beauf.

Not unlikely, Madam, but I never heard he kept any

L. Beardly.

Did ye not? well, that's all one if he did, 'twas pri∣vately with discretion, and not like our Gimcracks now-adayes; yes, yes, he had a little itching that way, but, in troth, as godly a Reli∣gious Conscientious Man every one knows.

Beauf.

Faith, I alwayes held him so: but, Madam, I think Na∣ture intends to renew your Lease of Life for ever; methinks you look younger than you did when I saw you last.

L. Beard.

Tisick! give me my Glass — Why truly I think I am not Contemptible for one of my age. 'This face, with a little setting out may serve.

Beauf.

To fright Children into Convulsions—Pray how do your Ladiships Teeth hold out Madam?

L. Beard.

Oh Cozen! there you strike me! nor can I without Teares Remember my affliction, my mouth is almost desolate, Sir— I have but five and a stump —

Weeps.

Beauf.

But five—faith, time has been a little Cruel — but, Ma∣dam, you have this Comfort, your Gums will last Cawdle-proofe a long time.

L. Beard.

Small Comfort, alass, the Marks gone, the Marks gone; 'tis this that ruines the Designes of all Ladies of my age: We can make shift to hide our hair, and our Aches, and our Wrinckles line, But come to your Business, Coz. I warrant you want Mony.

Beauf.

A little, I confess, for the finishing a Design I have, Madam— 50 Guinnies wou'd do my Business.

L. Beard.

50 Guinnies— Well, you shall not want 50 G••in∣nies to further any good design. Tisick, go fetch me the Green Purse in my Cabinet — Ex. Tisick. What a Mistriss I warrant. Come, discover, it may be I may find 50 more if I like it.

Beauf.

D'ee hear that Sirrah? we shall rowle in Money— why then to be free with ye Madam — 'Tis about a Mistriss — There is a Lady here in Chelsey, one Olivia.

L. Beard.

Well — There is so — What of her?

Beauf.

She was formerly my Mistriss: but, since my last Misfor∣tune, was got from me by Treachery. However, I believe I might be receiv'd still, and if I had this Money to set my self out —

L. Beard.

—You could Cuckold her Husband, cou'd you, what and must—I'll be your Bawd about this Business — and to Olivia too my Kinswoman, a near Neighbour—In the name of Vertue! This is a very fine design indeed, must I be your Bawd—No Sir, no; I'll put a stop to this presently— you shall have no Catterwawling Mony of me I assure you—if you'll be content

with the allowance your Father left you—so••mdash;if not—I have no Catterwawling Money for ye, and so your servant—ods-heartlikins, must I be your Bawd —

Exit.

Brainw.

Hark ye Sir—Pray do me the favour to change me a Tester, I know you rowle in Money—

Beauf.

Damn'd Rogue, must you play upon my misfortune too. Well, I see my damn'd Luck is coming to torment me agen — Death that I should be such a Fool to tell her name! and Olivia, who, whatever she really is, was alwayes accompted vertuous — pox on't—Well, I must be very impudent — deny, I meant her, and so bring it about as well as I can — hah — here comes Sir Frollick Whimsy—I'll try him —

Enter Sir Frollick.

Sir Froll.

Mr. Beauford, your Servant—I have been mediating for you within, but my Lady is very angry; pray, What was the mat∣ter? What Lady is that he speaks of?

Beauf.

Ah Sir! onely a small Mistake: My asking for Mony was the Cause of her anger, if the Truth were known. But, she shall find I value as little to receive her kindness, as she does to pay e'm: And, Sir Frollick, since 'tis my good fortune to meet you so opportune∣ly, I will presume to request the favour of you that she has deny'd; onely to lend me 50 Guinnies — for a Design I have Sir— you shal•• have what security you please.

Sir Froll.

Sir, the word of a Gentleman is to me sufficient secu∣rity. I think I have the sum about me, and it shall be the sooner yours—because you say it is upon Design. Pray, What Lady ••s it— I did love an Intrigue my self when I was young — a Cock of the Game I — but now by heaven I can do nothing— No earth∣ly thing upon my Faith; but come, discover, good Mr. Beauford—

Speaks this as he is ••ing the Money.

Brain.

My fit of s••aking is come upon me agen— here's more Mischief hatching— good Sir—have a care, this may be a trick.

Beauf.

Sirra—in stead of Olivia, I'll tell him of Isabella—gad, I'll be cunning enough this time—I warrant thee, Sir Frollick, I am so well satisfy'd with your wisdom, and secresy, that I can hide nothing from you. Therefore know, Sir, that this Lady my Aunt spoke of has been my intimate acquaintance a great while—

Sir Froll.

Very well Sir — a single or a married Woman I beseech you?

Beauf.

By good Fortune marry'd Sir—since my last voyage; which is so much the better for my design; for you know, a Husband is the most nec••ssary thing imaginable in such a case; it mak••s the pleasure

greater by the safety, and the sin more sweet, by being the less easie to be discover'd—

Sir Froll.

It does so introth, it does so; but, her name, good Mr. Beauford, her name?

Beauf.

Faith, Sir Frollick, to tell her Name is not so like a Man of Hono••—but, you are so obliging, that I can keep nothing from you; and, though 'tis true we have been very intimate, very ••xceeding intimate— yet I presume to tell you—my dear Friend, will no way be a blemish to her reputation — Therefore, know Sir — she is call'd by the Name of the Incomparable Isabella—

Sir Froll.

What, Sir—Pray that agen!

Beauf.

Isabella, Sir.

Sir Froll.

The Devil — what, my Wife—give me patience— give me patience.

Beauf.

Now, Sir—the Devil's in't, I am utterly unacquaint∣ed with the old Cuckold her Husband, and am damnably afraid of betraying my self to him—

Sir Froll.

Ah—no fear of that Sir—I warrant he's a very dull Rascally Fellow—hah —

Beauf.

Dull —why she sayes her self, she believes he has not been •• Man this 20 years.

Sir Froll.

O give me patience—

aside.

Beauf.

But, no matter, she revenges her self some way or other, for, if I am not very much mistaken, she's with Child now.

Sir Froll.

With Child—By the pleasure of generation I lay not with her these ten Moneths—O give me patience!

aside.

Beauf.

Now, Sir, as good fortune would have it, meeting her here just now accidentally—she appointed an Assignation with me to morrow Morning in the Chappel—

Sir Froll.

In the Chappel!

Beauf.

Ay, Sir—ha, ha— Is it not a witty Rogue? and this Money that you are pleas'd to lend me, is to Treat her, with a little at first, you know 'tis but civil, for in a little time I expect three times that sum from her; and, to morrow the business is to be concluded: for, there we are to plot how to mee•• undiscover'd by that Jealous, Crazy, Feeble, Impotent Cuckold her Husband— ha, ha, ha —

Sir Froll.

Oh the Devil! this is most insufferable—but by Herou∣les — I'll be so reveng'd — In the first place let me tell you— that you are the Son of a Whore: in the second place, you shall have not a penny of Money — and thirdly, I am resolv'd to have in∣stant satisfaction.

Beauf.

Satisfaction, For what, Sir?— I hope you have no concern with this Lady—she's no Relation of yours.

Sir Froll.

No—no—onely my Wife, Sir, that's all —

Beauf.

His Wife! gad I have made a fine business on't.

Brain.

His Wife? O Lord!

Sir Froll.

Give me patience: Does Sir Frollick Whimsey live to be thus abus'd! no, the Sword ••hall right me—the Sword shall plead my Cause—the feeble impotent Cuckold shall make a feeble impotent Coxcomb of you: Expect it. As for her part I'll spoil her Chap∣pel-meeting. This is her going to Prayers—By this light she shall p••ay no more I am resolv'd on't—and, for you, Sir, I'll be with you instantly.

Exit.

Brainw.

Now does he look like one that's just apprehended for stealing sheep. 'Tis well Fornication is no Felony, if 'twere, o'my Conscience that Countenance wou'd go near to hang him—

Beauf.

Had ever Man such Fortune! such Crowds, such Degrees of damn'd Chance—gad, I believe the Devil is grown Conscienti∣ous, and makes me spoil all my Designs, out of a meer Principle of Kind••ess—if he had let me had the Money, perhaps I might ha' been contented— but now, in spite of him, I'll go on— I'll weary him at his own Weapon Malice. I'll instantly go and meet Olivia in her Walk the back-side of the Bowling-Green, Then make my peace with Isabella by a Letter, and so proceed as occasion serves. Come, Sirrah, you might have hinder'd this if you had not been a dull Rogue— but, come your wayes with a Pox to yee••mdash;

Brainw.

Ay, come— with all my heart— s bud, I am in a cold sweat.

Exeunt.

Re-e••ter Sir Frollick, his Sword drawn, Sir Lubberly following.

Sir Froll.

Come, Sir, come on Sir—sa, sa — Why where are yee? Why don't you appear? Sa, sa

Sir Lub. W.

What a Devil — What's here? my old Uncle Fen∣cing with his own shadow— ha, ha— was there ever such a Co••comb? D'ee hear, Uncle; Don't kill him, 'twill be Murder— Unckle; ha, ha, don't kill him—

Sir Froll.

Where the Devil is this Rogue now?

Sir Lub. W.

Rogue, why hang'd — hang'd — Uncle, hang'd la••t Sessions: But come, if you have a mind to breath your self turn to me— Come, your point— your guard— Come, you shall see what I can do.

Sir Froll.

What you can do?

Sir Lub. W.

Ay, what I can do. What a Pox d'ee think I can do nothing? sa, sa. There was in your Guts Uncle.

Sir Froll.

And there I was on your pate, Sir—

Strikes him.

Sir. L. Widg.

My pate, Sir?

Sir Frol▪

Ay, Sir, on your Back and Shoulders, Sir—

beats him about.

Si•• L. W••dg.

Back and Shoulders, Sir?

Si•• Frol.

And will be all over ye instantly, give me patience. This is fine — What you are his Second are ye? I'll Second ye.

Sir L. Widg.

What Second, I'll have you know, I am First and Second too Sir, if you go to that —what a Devil ails him? why Uncle you should not strike mun, you shou'd push and push, and then go back, and push agen; what a pox you lay on as if you were Thrashing.

Sir Frol.

••hank your self then, for interrupting a man when you see he's in passion —

Sir Lub.

Ay, a man had need be in passion indeed, that fights with his own shadow—ha ha ha!

Sir Frol.

The Rascal is got away— but I'll be reveng'd of him, if he be above ground—and you there Medly of Clown and Fool; What I warrant you, you have left my Lady alone now?

Sir L. Widg.

No but I han't—The Monkey is with her—I left 'em both mumbling of Chesnuts in the great Parlor.

Sir Frol.

Did you so, incorrigible Dunce?

Sir Lub.

Look now—you are the strangest man — what a Devil wou'd you have me do? she can talk of nothing but of White-wash∣ing and Painting — and can talk of nothing but St. George and the Se∣ven Champions; and what a pox, what discourse shall we have?

Sir Frol.

Discourse — Sir, she expects none—Do not vex me; Consent to marry this Widow, and go about it instantly, or look for no favour from me.

Sir L. Widg.

Why, what a damn'd unreasonable thing is this? now that a man must be forc'd to marry a Witch Volens nolens, whether he will or no —pox, I'll hang my self rather, I'll never—nay a wi∣ther'd old Witch—a Bawd too it may be.

Sir Frol.

No matter if she be; she has the more experience, and though her Face is homel••, her Bags Sir are comely; her 1000 l. a year is beautiful — Come, I'll have no more delay—either go and address, stick close to her, and quickly too, or I'll make a better proffit of my guardship then ••ou expect, and so I leave you to consideration —

Sir L. Widg.

Stick close to an old Woman! what an unnatural fool is this —well, this is ever the fate of us young Heirs: let our Fathers, leave us never so much, either by our jilting Wenches, un∣conscionable Tailors, or cheating Guardians; gad we seldom come to possession. If I do marry this old Gipsey now—I shall be a wretch-Roque, and if I do not marry her, I shall be a poor Roque. Let me see this old, and crooked, and monstrous ugly — but then she has Gold that's young, and pretty, and surprizing —but then agen, she has a Tongue will make a man deaf, a Breath that will blast him, and 1000 imperfections more, and that's the Devil — but then agen, she has 1000 l. a year, and that's good—but then a pox, she has Rubies in her face, which shows she drinks Brandy intolerably—but then agen, she has a fine Ruby in her Cabinet that drinks none; but then agen, she's craggy and tough, and can never be a good Bedfellow; but then agen, I may keep a Wench that can — ha

ha ha! I vow that last thought has refresh'd me extreamly—And dear Money, most pow'rful Riches, thou hast overcome me; for thy sake this Hagg shall be Courted—for thy sake will I pass this dangerous Rubicon, and for thy sake, call this decrepid, antiquated Megera, the blooming Miracle of Nature—

Exi.

SCENE II.

Enter Beverley and Jenny Wheadle.

Bever.

By heaven 'tis true; the Rascal fac'd me down, that his man gave me the Ring this morning, and also gave my man his Watch, when neither he nor I saw either of 'em.

Ien Wh.

This must be some strange mistake sure —

Bever.

Mistake her not, if he had staid a little longer, I had paid him in other coin than he expected; as for your part, I may chance to get another for ye—I mean, if my humor hold, and you appear as pleasing to me the next time I see you, as ye do now.

Ien Wh.

I imagin'd some great uncertainty would attend, ••f you were to promise any thing; and the pride you have in thinking ye can judge of Beauty, is always far beyond your good Nature, in bearing with its defects, for you'll sure to be eager in condemn∣ing a Woman, if she does not look well, but are very slow in com∣mending her if she does—

Bever.

No 'faith —I always speak my thoughts freely, 'tis true, I would not willingly have my applause bestow••d on ill subjects; but you I'm sure have no reason to resent it, for I have always been fa∣vourable to you —

I.Whead.

You never rail'd at me in your life I warrant.

Bever.

Never but when I was drunk, and then gad if't had been Treason 'twere all one.

I. Whead

Then since you see the plague and inconvenience of that odious crime, why will you not desert it, why will you venture to drink agen?

Bever.

A pretty question faith, prethee ask a big-belly'd woman that scap'd death narrowly the birth of her last Child, why she would venture agen: why I tell thee 'tis as natural to us as to thee, Lying, Drunkenness is the Souls Carnaval, where the noble Essence has liberty to range and divert it self, uncontroul'd by the severe Rules of Wisdom, Nature, Religion, or Honesty: why would I drink agen, there's a question indeed?

I. Whead.

I wish you could leave it off for all that—but now to our Love affair—be sure to come in disguise, when next you vi∣sit me; for I have often observed a fellow prying up and down near my window, and guess he's a spy that your Wife has hired to watch us▪

Bever.

I believe no less, and will therefore follow thy directions,— How now?

Enter Amble.

Amble.

Sir, my Lady is come back agen I believe, suspecting something, and is just coming into the chamber—

Treading.

hark, you may hear her.

Bever.

The Devil is in her, sirrah! run out and hold her in discourse a little —Come Madam, step into my study here, and be sure make no noise, in in—quickly —

Shuts her in.

Enter Olivia.

Oliv.

A saucy Groom—what—stop my passage—but I am apt to believe it was done by Order. What Sir, are you frighted at my presence, you make such a fumbling about the Lock—pray, if I may presume so far, let me know who it is you have shut in there— That you take such care to conceal —

Bever.

Why a young bashful fellow, a student of my acquaint∣ance, that is gone in to read a little.

Oliv.

But to be lock'd in, by your favour, is a little odd, pray what's his reason for that—

Bever.

Melancholy Madam, he's much given to melancholy ••e∣sides he desir'd that he might not see you.

Oliv.

Not see me!

Bever.

Ay—he says he's ready to swound if he sees any Woman after dinner—and for my part, you know I cou'd do no less than grant his request.

Oliv.

Not see a Woman — he should have little of a Stu∣dent in him by that—but doubtless this is some dull ••••egmatick countrey Clod, whose hard fisted Father, thriftily getting about 200 l. per annum, in hopes to make his successors Gentlemen, has plac'd this stripling in the Inns of Court, where he has learnt to swear modishly, sc••ape a scu••vy Lesson or two on the Violin—wear tawdry Clothes, kiss his Laundress—but never pay her—rail at every thing, and understand nothing —

Bever.

Gad ye are very free methinks Madam, with a person you don't know — but let me tell you (think what you please) the person within inclos'd, is a very ingenious person, ay, and a very handsome person, and though at this time, a Melancholly, Philoso∣phical person —yet a person that is generally as good company, as any person in Christendom—gad I'll say that for her.

Oliv.

For her—what then, this is a she-Student all this while — What her Sir? what her?

Bever.

Her—why him or her—'Tis all one—what a pox, any man may mistake a word —Confound it, I have spoil'd all—

Oliv.

Come Sir, your Artifice is too weak, now the discovery is so plain, and I am resolv'd to see this Philosophical Gentleman e're he goes to secure all —Let me peep in, and if there be a man—

Bever.

If there be, why what a Devil dost think I'd tell a lye? on my honor 'tis a man, a dull poring Melancholly Rogue; a Fellow∣Commoner.

Oliv.

Base man—now I am too sensible of your lewdness and ingratitude, and be confident I'll be reveng'd at full —for from this moment, the duty of a Wife, and the reserved behaviour in∣cident to that name, shall be as far from me, as Constancy from thee. Now by you Sky it shall, I have sworn it.

Bever.

So—I thought 'twould come to this. Well Madam, since you have discovered the business, recall your patience, and wink at it. 'Tis my first offence, and who knows, if you shew good Na∣ture now, but it may work upon me—.

Oliv.

Wink at it—What be your Bawd my self! oh Confusion! have I been bred with such Integrity, taught Virtue from my Cradle, practis'd it, supply'd the office of a Wife with credit, and ne'r did action that could taint my Inno••ence— have I been this, to be at last a Pandress —What, catch my Husband with a whore, and wink at it?

Bever.

S'death! Cease your noise, or by heav'n I shall grow an∣••••••▪

Oliv.

No —from this moment Ill be free as Air; let my self loose to gaiety and pleasure, wanton and wild as Mercenary Creatures— I will Sir, and to give you some reason to believe it, know that there is a Gentleman, one Beauford, ( a name you are acquainted with ) newly return'd ••rom Travel, one who has lov'd me.

Bever.

The devil! Beauford return'd? and you intend Madam to in∣vite him hither, that he and I may be good company together— hah—

Oliv.

Not for your company Sir—whilst I have a Closset in my Apartment to entertain him in; And if he is not as glad to learn Philosophy of my teaching, as your Female Student within there is of yours, the Devil's in't.

Bever.

Is it possible that I can be patient, and hear this Madam? do not presume too much upon my temper; for assure your self, since you have thus far provok'd me; your Insolence has taken away all guilt on my part, for what ever priviledge I take, I am sure you plead by a contrary Charter, and must own bondage.

Oliv.

Bondage—I laugh at it—no Sir, you cancell'd your right in that, when you broke your Marriage vow, and let those frozen fools own it, whose souls are too narrow and spiritless to revenge their injuries, mine shall be free as thought: I'll plot the

manner instantly, and my proceedings shall to after ages, prove a Law for all wrong'd Wives to plague their Husbands with. —

Jenny reads.

Bever.

Excellent! Is there a greater fury than a virtuous Wife? no, not in Hell, I am confirm'd in't.

Oliv.

But▪ why is this Peerl••ss Creature obscur'd all this while? this compound of Impudence, Lust, and sophisticated Beauty, flat∣ter'd by the Devil's Pencil, to please ye for an hour, and created by him to abuse ye for an age. What dare you not let me see her?

Bever.

Yes; gad thou shalt see her, if it be but only to vex thee— Come forth my Love—fear nothing, I'll protect thee.

Enter Jenny Wheadle.

I. Whead.

Oh let me not come out—shel'll kill me!

Bev.

By all that's good, who hurts a finger of thee, had better ne'r been born: now look your fill Madam—and when you have done looking, know I love her.

Oliv.

Oh that we were alone! thou wretch

Runs at Jenny, she runs behind Bever.

I. Whead.

Oh save me! save me!

Oliv.

Death and destruction, he kisses her—who's within there? Mr. Amble —

Enter Amble.

Amble.

Here Madam.

Oliv.

Mr. Amble come hither, I ask you pardon for my late passi∣on — I have observ'd you long, and have believ'd your merits far a∣bove your fortune—pray come hither, nearer yet—here is a Ring I love, I freely give it you▪ start not▪ but take it—

Takes hold of him.

Bever.

How now sirrah; whence springs this Impudence?

Amble.

I beseech you Madam — Oh Lord Sir, I cannot help it.

Oliv.

What a Coward — flinch! come nearer I command ye, there's my hand, kiss it.

Amble.

Oh Lord Madam—

Trembles, and looks on Beverly.

Bev.

Sirrah —be gon, or I'll run my sword in your Guts.

Oliv.

Stay, or I'll cut your Throat—Kiss it I say—

Amble.

Oh I beseech you Madam!

Bev.

Dog, still here?

Amble.

Oh I am gone Sir▪ I am gone—

Runs out,

Bever.

Very well Madam, I see you can find ways to divert your self, without troubling your Modesty—in which pleasant humour I'll leave you to your Coachman▪ if you please, and part from you with as little regret or concern, as I would from the Orange-wench in the Play-house—Come my dear, come —

Exit Bev. and J. Whea.

Oliv.

Well Sir, and I am resolv'd to be reveng'd on thee; and tho

my Virtue will not let me do it the right way, yet I'll make thee as jealous as if I did▪ Beauford shall be the man, I shall find him in the Walk—nor can I doubt my wit upon so fit an occasion.

Husbands such niggards of their Love are grown, That the poor Wife that should have all, has none. But pining sits, with her allowance small▪ Whilst rampant Misses get the Devil and all.