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.

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Isabella, Beauford, Brainworm dressing themselves.

Brainw.

Ha ha ha!

Isabella.

Ha ha ha—a very pleasant M••tamorphosis.

Beauf▪

A Plague, this is more ridiculous than my Blanket, and I behave my selfe worse in this garbe, than an Ambassador of that Countrey does in an English one—a pox of your hanging sleeves and strait hose here. Well, that Nation are certainly the most Clowns of all others, they love no variety, as men of Honor should, nor ever change their damn'd old fashions, because they know not how to behave thems••lves in new.

Brainw.

Ha ha! save ye Don Diego, save ye Don, shall I twirl your Manchatoos, or set your Ruff Signior? ha ha!

Beauf.

Very well sirrah.

Isabel.

Ha ha! he looks more awkerdly than a Countrey Grazier in a la••'d Coat▪

Brainw.

Ay, or a Clumsie Citizen on a Training-day—

Beauf.

So Rascal, pray get you to the door and watch the old Knights coming back, and be careful de'e hear? or I shall spoil this mi••th of yours.

Brainw.

I will Sir— I will —Don — Diego quotha, ha ha ha!

Exit.

Isabel.

I think Sir 'twill be very convenient for you to go too, for I assure you, I cannot secure my Husbands absence long.

Beauf.

I fear him not Madam, he's gone to his Council, to tell him he's a Cuckold, and desire his advice, ha ha —

Isabel.

His jealousie will spur him home again sooner than you imagine, and then how your ••ushia counterfeit company will agree with his rough Italian, is a greater doubt than you have wit to con∣sider on.

Beauf.

Faith Madam, my confidence like my love, is too fierce to be very thoughtful, this only I can say for my self, I have three to one against the ill fortune of his coming, and that is enough to encourage a Gamester. If there do••s a damn'd chance come in by the by, I'll honestly bowl about a curse or two—and patiently suffer under tri∣bulation.

Isabel.

But what amends Love or Reward, must I expect?

Beauf.

Why you shall have all I have Madam, a hearty sigh from the bottom of my heart, that I am able to pay, and no more.

Isabel.

P'sh, I mean from my Husband Sir, but I find this agr••e∣ment you propose, not worth my Signing to▪ and so adieu.

Exit running.

Beauf.

Nay, if I leave thee so, I am a dull rogue ind••ed—I'm resolv'd to have a parting kiss, come what will on't.

Exit.

Enter Sir Lubberly.

Sir Lub.

My rich ol•• Widow, I must not be tardy in chace of her, I think t'other two hours chatt will do the business, for she begins to chatter bawdy, and discover her Writings, and 'tis observ'd, when once a Widow does that, she's your own▪ and faith good Wri∣tings, and full Bags, are the strongest motives to raise passion now-a∣days, That jolly Poet says —

Face of young Miss is best for keeping Pony, But the best part of old Widow is her Money.

But come, a little of my Uncles advice will do well, I heard him go in here.

Exit.

Re-enters running, Beauford and Isabella after him.

Oh monstrum horrendum! oh my poor cuckoldly Uncle! Oh thou art bob'd, thou art bob'd, sure, never was the like seen, felt, heard, or un∣derstood, no never—never

Isab.

Nay, Sir Lubberly—pray stay and hear me speak.

Beauf.

Hoblia Castilliano Signiour.

Sir Lub.

Castilliano Cuckoldiano Signiour— oh horrid! what in this rampant Habit too? this is intolerable, but I'll publish instantly— I'll divulge, I'll be as loud as Thunder; the Stentrophonical Tool shall be nothing to me— my Uncle shall know, I'll inform him im∣mediately

How Beauford like a thief of Foreign Nation, Has ransack'd, rifl'd, robb'd his Wives Plantation.

Isab.

Fye Sir Lubberly, pray have more regard to my Honor, than to have such an opinion, I'll assure you there was no such business in agitation.

Sir Lub.

Agitation — O Lord there she is again — agitation.

Beauf.

Sir, upon my Honor I was only teaching her a new Sar∣••abrand — I borrow'd this Habit for that purpose.

Sir Lub.

What, behind the Bed?

Isa••.

What a malicious accident was this?

aside.

Beauf.

Peace, I've a trick shall bring all off yet—well Sir, what ever constructions you are pleas'd to make of us; yet 'twill be your best way to be silent, I shall ruine your Amours with my Lady Aunt Beardly else. I assure ye that you shall be no Relation of mine, un∣less you can hear, and see, and say nothing Sir.

Sir Lub.

Oh do not talke of making a breach betwixt me and my dear Lady Beardly, I beseech ye Sir.

B••auf.

Shall I trust t'ye then, will you be silent? is your mouth ••hut up?

Sir Lub.

Shut up, ay—as close as a Cockel-shell, not a word of the business: now, though my Mother were concern'd, I'll do any

thing rather than break off with my Lady Beardly: go get in again, goe I say; not a syllable not I—do saith —do—get ye in once more mum—mum.

Beauf.

Oh your servant Sir, I have no business there not I, nor had I spoke of this, only you were pleased to say you saw something.

Sir Lub.

Not I man — I saw nothing, nor can say nothing, I am dumb and blind, a Fool, or a Pimp or any thing, and so fare ye-well, prethee get ye in again — mum —not a syllable, not I.

Exit.

Beauf.

Ha, ha! I knew there was no way like this.

Isab.

'Twas well you had the good luck to find it out, the fool would else have been very troublesome; but see, here he comes again.

Sir Lubberly Re-enters.

Sir Lub.

Oh we are undone, undone—my Uncle is come home, came in by the back door of the Garden, and is just coming up, a pox on him.

Beauf.

So I find I must to my Blanket again. Damn'd chance, What's to be done Madam?

Isab.

I am at my wits ends: Sir Lubberly, run you out and hold him in discourse a little, while I contrive something.

Sir Lub.

Ay ay, any thing, any thing.

Exit.

Isab.

There's no other way Sir for ye, but to counterfeit my Bro∣ther Alexander, new come from travel, this Habit suits you well— one side of his face was blasted, which was the cause of his wry mouth, and loss of an eye; then he's of a strange waspish temper, this you must strive to imitate; and because my Husband never saw him but once, if you take care in doing this, I'm confident 'twill not be easie to discover ye.

Beauf.

'Sdeath I shall never do it right—I shall betray my self.

Isab.

Nay, if you fail in resolution, you are undone—come here's a Temple-patch for your Eye—let's see now, draw your mouth awry and look upon me— very well — now observe to speak petti••h∣ly

Beaufort makes grim faces

and I warrant he knows ye not.

Beauf.

Oh here he comes, now my pennance.

Enter Sir Frollick.

Sir Frol.

This plodding fool is never at home when a man has oc∣casion for him —how now▪ give me patience—who have we here?

Isab.

I imagin'd Sir you would wonder at him — why, 'tis my Brother Alexander, newly arriv'd from Travel.

Sir Frol.

As gad save me, 'twas a wonder to me indeed —hah— why what a monstrous Habit he has on—Brother, you're very

wellcome home— I am glad to ••ee you good Brother.

Beauf.

The like to you, Sir, the like to you: but, by your leave, Sir, I am a Man of few words, you know my humor.

Counterfeits a wry mouth, and speaks petti••hly.

Isabell.

'Tis his way, Sir, you must bear with him.

Sir Frollick.

Ay▪ ay; with all my heart— but, good Brother, How stand your affaires since I saw you last? Do you thrive?

Beauf.

Perhaps I do, perhaps I do not, Sir. I hope I am known to understand my business, Sir; and therefore will take the priviledge not to give you any accompt, Sir.

Sir Frollick sits down.

Sir Frollick.

Any accompt, Sir — as gad save me, he speaks as if he would fright English out of its wits: but, Why so long, good Bro∣ther?

Beauf

I am not hot, Sir; nor cold neither, Sir— What a Pox I know what I am, Sir; and what I do as well as another, if you go to that, Sir.

Sir Frollick.

A pleasant humor.

Enter Brainworm.

Brainw.

Come, Sir, come away; the Devil's in ye, ye can never leave off in a reasonable time; if the old Cuckold comes and finds you here, you'l remember it as long as your name's Beauford; I'le tell y•• that.

Sir Frollick▪

Hah — What's this?

Beauf.

Oh confounded Dog — how now, What Rascall's this?

Brainw.

Hey day — What new Veg••ry's this — What a pox d'ee stand making mouth's for? 'Sbud, Is this a time for Mumme∣ry. Good Sir, come away— my old fit of the Palsie is come, and I'me sure there is a beating not far of.

Sir Froll.

Right, Rascal —If I and my whole Family are suffi∣cient, assure your self ye shall be well furnisht — What, hoa — within there.

Starts up, and draws his Sword, and stands at the door.

Whispers a Servant.

Brainw.

O! gads bud; What, more mischief still— Sir, I vow to gad, Sir, I was not at all accessary — 'twas he that contriv'd all, and drew me in — however, Sir▪ I have a pair of Ears, and a piece of my Nose at you•• Worship's ••ervice; to show that I am a very honest fellow, and so forth, Sir, — Oh! What shall I do?

Sir Froll.

No, Rascal, I'le take no Composition in this Case, Sir. Come away there— Brother, I beg your pardon, they are so tardy—'tis onely a small Entertainment, I have provided by wa•• of Bas••inado or so▪ I know what your Rushia humor loves.

Complements the Spanish way.

Beauf.

Ah plague of your Compliment: 'Sdeath, no way to e∣scape?

Sir Froll.

O now I think they are coming.

Isabell.

I see there's no way to relieve him—therefore 'tis pol∣licy to secure my self—for, whatever he suffers, 'tis requisite I preserve my own honour—

Aside.

Was there ever such monstrous Impudence? by heaven, my Dear, I took him for my Brother, and so Caress'd him accordingly— and that he should prove a Rascal, a Cheat at last, and onely take this Disguise to abuse me—Oh I may thank thy wit and quick ap∣prehension, heaven knows how I had been us'd else.

Beauf.

Oh dam her—was ever such a Jilt— nay, Sir, pray hear me then—this Woman—here, your dam'd Wife—

Enter Servants with Batoons.

Isabella.

But I'le make ye an Example, I'le teach ye to tempt my Integrity — I will ye treacherous Rascals; come, fall on, fall on.

Beats 'um, and she takes a Batoon, and helps to beat 'um out.

Serv.

Make ready the Wheel-barrow there—Sirrah, we'll ham∣per ye.

to Brainworm.

Sir Froll.

Hah, hah, hah — As gad save, this is some revenge how∣ever; So — so—well done Sweet heart; well done in troth—thou hast troubled thy self too much dear Rogue, I'faith thou hast.

Isabell.

A scurvy Impudent Rascal: What, seek to corrupt me?

Sir Froll.

Come, he has his payment—he'le be rampant no more this six months I warrant him—Come, let's go, I'faith I'll kiss thee for this —as gad save I will—come—

Isabell.

A thousand to one but I had been trapan'd. Lord! What a wicked World is this?

Exeunt.