The comical revenge, or, Love in a tub acted at His Highness the Duke of York's Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

ACT. V. SCEN. I.

Scene, The Lord Bevill's House.

Enter Lovis, a Chyrurgion, Servants, carrying Bruce in a Chair.

Chyr.

COurage, brave Sir; do not mistrust my Art.

Bru.

Tell me, didst thou e'er cure a wounded heart? Thy skill, fond man, thou here imploy'st in vain; The ease thou giv'st does but encrease my pain.

Lovis.

Dear Bruce, my life does on your life depend; Though you disdain to live, yet save your Friend.

Bruce.

Do what you please; but are not those unkind That ease the body, to afflict the mind?

The Chirurgion dresses him.

Oh cruel Love! thou shoot'st with such strange skill,

The wounds thou mak'st will neither heal nor kill▪ Thy flaming Arrows kindle such a fire As will not waste thy Victims, nor expire!

Enter Aurelia.

Lovis.

Is the wound mortal? tell me;

To the Chyrurgion.

Or may we cherish hopes of his Recovery?

Chyr.

The danger is not imminent; yet my Prognostick Boads a sad event: For though there be no great Vessel dissected, yet I have cause to fear That the Parenchyma of the right lobe of the lungs, Neer some large branch of the Aspera arteria, Is perforated.

Lovis.

Tell me in English, will he live or die?

Chyr.

Truly I despair of his recovery.

Exit Chyrurgion.

Aurel.

aside.

Forgive me, Ladies, if excess of Love Me beyond rules of Modesty does move, And, against custom, makes me now reveal Those flames my tortur'd breast did long conceal; 'Tis some excuse, that I my Love declare When there's no med'cine left to cure despair.

Weeps by the Chair side.

Bruce.

Oh Heav'n! can fair Aurelia weep for me! This is some comfort to my misery. Kind Maid, those eyes should only pity take Of such as feel no wounds but what they make: Who for another in your sight does mourn, Deserves not your compassion, but your scorn.

Aurel.

I come not here with tears to pity you; I for your pity with this passion sue.

Bruce.

My pity! tell me, what can be the grief, That from the miserable hopes relief!

Aurel.

Before you know this grief, you feel the pain.

Bruce.

You cannot love, and not be lov'd again: Where so much Beauty does with Love conspire, No mortal can resist that double fire.

Aurel.

When proud Graciana wounded your brave heart, On poor Aurelia's you reveng'd the smart: Whilst you in vain did seek those wounds to cure, With patience I their torture did endure.

Bruce.

My happiness has been so long conceal'd, That it becomes my misery reveal'd: That which shou'd prove my joy, now proves my grief; And that brings pain, which, known, had brought relief. Aurelia, why wou'd you not let me know, Whilst I had pow'r to pay, the debt I owe? 'Tis now too late; yet all I can I'le do; I'le sigh away the breath I've left for you.

Aurel.

You yet have pow'r to grant me all I crave; 'Tis not your Love I court, I court your Grave. I with my flame seek not to warm your breast, But beg my ashes in your Urn may rest: For since Graciana's loss you scorn'd t'out-live, I am resolv'd I'le not your death survive.

Bruce.

Hold, you too gen'rous are; yet I may live: Heav'n for your sake may grant me a reprieve.

Aurel.

Oh, no; Heav'n has decree'd, alas, that we Shou'd in our Fates, not in our Loves agree.

Bruce.

Dear Friend, my rashness I too late repent;

To Lovis.

I ne're thought death till now a punishment.

Enter Graciana.

Grac.

Oh, do not talk of death! the very sound Once more will give my heart a mortal wound: Here on my knees I've sinn'd I must confess Against your Love, and my own happiness; I, like the child, whose folly proves his loss, Refus'd the gold, and did accept the dross.

Bruce.

You have in Beaufort made so good a choice, His virtue's such, he has his Rival's voice; Graciana, none but his great Soul cou'd prove Worthy to be the centre of your Love.

Grac.

You to another wou'd such virtue give, Brave Sir, as in your self does only live. If to the most deserving I am due, He must resign his weaker claim to you.

Bruce.

This is but flatt'ry; for I'me sure you can Think none so worthy as that gen'rous man: By honour you are his.

Grac.

Yet, Sir, I know How much I to your gen'rous passion owe; You bleed for me; and if for me you die, Your loss I'le mourn with vow'd Virginity.

Bruce.

Can you be mindful of so small a debt, And that which you to Beaufort owe forget? That will not Honour but Injustice be; Honour with Justice always does agree. This gen'rous pity which for me you shew, Is more then you to my misfortunes owe: These tears, Graciana, which for me you shed, Ore-prize the blood which I for you have bled: But now I can no more— My spirits faint within my wearied breast.

Lovis.

Sister, 'tis fit you give him leave to rest. Who waits?

Enter Servants.

With care convey him to his bed.

Bruce.

Hold— Dearest Aurelia, I will strive to live, If you will but endeavour not to grieve.

Lovis.

Brave man! The wonder of this Age thou'lt prove, For matchless Gratitude, and gen'rous Love.

Exeunt all but Graciana.

Grac.

How strangely is my soul perplex'd by fate! The man I love I must pretend to hate; And with dissembled scorn his presence fly, Whose absence is my greatest misery!

Enter Beaufort.

Beauf.

Hear me, upon my knees I beg you'l hear. She's gone.

Exit Graciana.

There was no need, false woman, to encrease My misery with hopes of happiness. This scorn at first had to my Love and me But Justice been; now it is Cruelty. Was there no way his constancy to prove, But by your own inconstancy in Love? To try anothers Virtue cou'd you be, Graciana, to your own an enemy? Sure 'tis but passion which she thus does vent, Blown up with anger and with discontent, Because my Honour disobey'd her Will, And Bruce for love of her his blood did spill. I once more in her eyes will read my fate; I need no wound to kill me, if she hate.

SCEN. II.

Enter Cully drunk, with a blind Fellow led before him playing on a Cymbal, follow'd by a number of boys hollowing, and persecuting him.

Cul.

Villains, sons of unknown fathers, tempt Me no more.

The boys hout at him, he draws his Sword.

I will make a young generation of Cripples, to Succeed in Lincolns-Inn-Fields and Covent-Garden. The barbarous breeding of these London- boys!

Frights the boys away.

Boy

that leads the Cymbal.

Whither do you intend to go, Sir?

Cul.

To see the wealthy Widow, Mrs. Rich.

Boy.

Where does she dwell, Sir?

Cul.

Hereabouts; enquire; I will Serenade Her at noon-day.

Exeunt.

Enter the Widow and her maid Betty.

Wid.

Where is this poor Frenchman, Girl? h'as done me Good service.

Betty.

The Butler has got him down into the Cellar, Madam, Made him drunk, and laid him to sleep among His empty Cask.

Wid.

Pray, when he wakes let him be releas'd of his Imprisonment; Betty, you use your Servant too severely.

The Cimbal plays without.

Hark, what ridiculous noise is that? it sets my teeth An edge worse then the scraping of Trenchers.

Enter a Servant.

Serv.

Madam, a rude drunken fellow, with a Cimbal before Him, and his sword in his hand, is press'd into your House.

Enter Cully and Cimbal: The women shriek.

Cul.

Sirrah, play me a bawdy Tune, to please the Widow; have at thee, Widow.

Betty.

'Tis one of Oliver's Knights, Madam, Sir Nicholas Cully; his Mother was my Grand-mother's Dairy maid.

Enter Servants; they lay hands on him, and take away his Sword.

Cul.

Let me go; I am not so drunk but I can stand Without your help, Gentlemen. Widow, here is Musique; send for a Parson, And we will dance Barnaby within this Half hour.

Wid.

I will send for a Constable, Sir.

Cul.

Hast a mind to see me beat him? how those Rogues Dread me! Did not Wheadle tell thee upon what Conditions I wou'd condescend to make thee my Bed-fellow, Widow, speak?

Wid.

This is some drunken mistake; away with him, Thrust him out of door.

Enter a Servant: Clashing of Swords and noise without.

Serv.

Help, help, for Sir Frederick.

Wid.

What's the matter?

Serv.

He is fighting, Madam, with a Company of Bayliffs, That wou'd arrest him at the door.

Wid.

Haste every one, and rescue him quickly.

Exeunt all but Cully.

Cul.

Widow, come back, I say, Widow; I will not stir one foot after thee: Come back, I say, Widow.

Falls down and sleeps.

Enter Dufoy.

Dufoy.

Vat de diablé be de matré? here is de ver Strange varké in dis house; de Vemen day do Cry, ha, ha, ha; de men day do run, day do Take de Batton, de dung-vorké, and de vire-vorké: Vat is here, van killé?

Looking on Cully.

Enter Betty.

Betty.

You are a trusty Servant, indeed: here you are lock'd Up, while your poor Master is arrested, and dragg'd Away by unmerciful Bayliffs.

Dufoy.

My Matré? Jernie! Metres Bet, letté me go; Begar I vil kill allé de bogre de Bailié, and recover my Matré. Bogre de Bailié.

Betty.

So, make all the haste you can.

She helps him out of the Tub.

Dufoy.

Morbleu! bogre de Baylié! I vil go prepare to killé a tousand Baylié Begar: Bogre de Baylié.

Exit.

Enter the Widow and Servant severally.

Wid.

Well, what news?

Serv.

Madam, they have arrested him upon an Execution for Two hundred pounds, and carried Him to a Bayliffs house hard by.

Wid.

If that be all, Betty, take my key, and give him The money in Gold; do you content the Bayliffs, But let Sir Frederick know nothing of it; And then let them bring him to my house As their Pris'ner: dispatch.

Exeunt Betty and Servant.

Enter a Foot-boy.

Foot-b.

Pray, Madam, is there not a stray Gentleman Here, misled by drink?

Wid.

There lies the beast you look for; You had best remove him quickly, Or I shall cause him to be put into the Pound.

Exit Widow.

Foot-b.

If I do not get this fool clear off before he Comes to himself, our plot is quite spoil'd: This Summer-Livery may chance to hover over My shivering limbs next Winter. Yonder sits honest Palmer, my poor Master, In a Coach, quaking for fear; all that See him in that reverend disguise, Will swear he has got the Palsie. Ho, Sir Nich'las.

Pulls him.

Cul.

I will drink three Beer-glasses to the Widows health Before I go.

Foot-b.

The Widow stays for you, to wait upon her To the Exchange.

Cully.

Let her go into her Bed-Chamber and meditate; I am not drunk enough to be seen in her company.

Foot-b.

I must carry him away upon my back; but, Since things may go ill, 'tis good to make sure Of somthing; I'le examine his pockets first: So, for this I thank my own ingenuity; in this Way of plain dealing I can live without the Help of my Master.

Enter a Servant.

Pray, Sir, will you help me up with my burden.

Serv.

I am sure your Master has his load already.

They lift him up.

Cul.

Carry me to my Widow, Boy: Where is my Musique?

Enter Sir Frederick with the Bayliffs, who are Fidlers dis∣guis'd, with their Fiddles under their Coats, at one door; and the Widow at another.

Boy.

There is no hopes now; I'le shift for my self.

Exit Boy.

Sir Fred.

Widow, these are old acquaintance of mine, Bid them wellcome: I was coming To wait upon you before; but meeting Them by the way, they press'd me to drink—

Cully reels against Sir Frederick.

Cul.

Sir Frederick! Widow, bid him welcome; he is A very good friend of mine, and as mad a fellow as my self. Kiss, kiss the Widow, man; she has a plump Under-lip, and kisses smartly.

Sir Fr.

What's here? Cully drunk, transform'd into a Gallant, And acquainted with the spring and proportion of the Widows lips!

Cul.

I, I am drunk, Sir; am I not Widow? I Scorn to be Soberer then your self, Sir; I will drink with you, swear With you, break windows with you, and So forth.

Sir Fred.

Widow, is this your Champion?

Wid.

You have no exceptions against him, I hope; He has challeng'd you at your own weapons.

Cul.

Widow, Sir Frederick shall be one of our Bride-men; I will have none but such mad fellows at our Wedding; But before I marry thee I will consider upon it.

He sits down and sleeps.

Sir Fred.

Pray, Widow, how long have you been acquainted With this mirrour of Knighthood?

Wid.

Long enough you hear, Sir, to treat of Marriage.

Sir Fred.

What? You intend me for a reserve then? You will have two strings to your bow, Widow; I perceive your cunning; and faith I think I shall Do the heartier service, if thou imploy'st me by the by.

Wid.

You are an excellent Gallant indeed; shake off These lowsie Companions; come carry your Mistress To the Park, and treat her at the Mulberry-garden This glorious Evening.

Sir Fred.

Widow, I am a man of business, that ceremony's To be performed by idle fellows.

Wid.

What wo'd you give to such a friend as sho'd dispatch This business now, and make you one of those idle Fellows.

Sir Fred.

Faith pick and chuse; I carry all my wealth about Me; do it, and I am all at thy service, Widow.

Wid.

Well, I have done it, Sir; you are at liberty, And a leg now will satisfie me.

Sir Fred.

Good faith, thou art too reasonable, dear Widow; Modesty will wrong thee.

Wid.

Are you satisfi'd?

Fidl.

Yes, Madam.

Enter Dufoy, with a Helmet on his head, and a great Sword in his hand.

Dufoy.

Vare are de bougre de Baylié?

Tetibleu, bougre Rogue.

He falls upon the fidlers.

Fidl.

Help, help, Sir Fred. murder, murder! alas, Sir, we Are not Bayliffs; you may see we are men of an honester Vocation.

They shew their Instruments.

Sir Fred.

Hold, hold, thou mighty man at Arms.

Dufoy.

Morbleu, de Fidler! and is my Matré at liberty? play Me de Trichaté, or Jegg Englishé, quicklie, Or I vil make you all dance Vidout your Fiddle; quiké.

Wid.

I am over-reach'd, I perceive.

Dufoy dances a Iegg.

Sir Fred.

Kind Widow, thank thee for this release.

Shakes his pockets.

Laugh, Widow; ha, ha, ha: where is your counterplot, Widow? Ha, ha, ha. Laugh at her, Dufoy. Come, Be not so melancholly; we'l to the Park: I care not if I spend a piece or two upon thee in Tarts and Cheescakes. Pish, Widow, why so much out of humour? 'Tis no shame to love such a likely Young Fellow.

Wid.

I cou'd almost find in my heart to punish my self, To afflict thee, and marry that drunken Sott I never Saw before.

Sir Fred.

How came he hither?

Wid.

Enquire elsewhere; I will not answer thee one Question; nor let thee see me out of a Mask any more This Fortnight.

Sir Fred.

Go, go into thy Closet, look over thy old Receipts, And talk wantonly now and then with thy Chambermaid: I shall not trouble thee much till this is spent;

Shakes his Pockets.

And by that time thy foolish Vow will be neer over.

Wid.

I want patience to endure this insolence. Is my charity rewarded thus?

Sir Fred.

Pious Widow, call you this Charity? 'twill get Thee little hereafter; thou must answer for ev'ry sin It occasions: Here is Wine and Women In abundance.

Shakes his Pockets.

Wid.

Avoid my house, and never more come neer me.

Sir Fred.

But hark you, hark you, Widow; do you think This can last always?

Wid.

Ungrateful man!

Exit Widow.

Sir Fred.

She's gone; impatience for these two hours Possess her, and then I shall be pretty well Reveng'd.

Dufoy.

Begar, Matré, have you not de ver faithful Serviteur? you do never take notice of my merit.

Sir Fred.

Dufoy, thou art a man of courage, and hast done Bravely; I will cast off this Suit a week sooner then I intended, to reward thy service.

Dufoy.

Begar I have several time given you ver Dangerous testimonié of my affection.

Enter a Servant, and takes up Cully in his arms.

Sir Fred.

Whither do you carry him?

Serv.

Sir, there is an old Gentleman below in a Coach, Very like my Lord Bevill, Who, hearing what a condition Sir Nich'las was in, Desired me to bring him to him in my arms.

Cul.

Let me go; where is the Widow?

Sir Fred.

What Widow?

Cul.

Mistress Rich; she is to be My wife.

Sir Fred.

But do you hear, Sir Nich'las? how long have you Courted this Widow?

Cul.

M^r Wheadle can tell you: trouble me not with idle Questions. Sir Frederick, You shall be welcom at any time; she loves men That will roar, and drink, and Serenade her.

Sir Fr.

This is some strange mistake; Sure Wheadle, intending To chouse him, has shew'd him some counterfeit Widow; And he, being drunk, has been misguided to the true Widow's house. The fellow in the Coach may

Discover all; I will step and see who it is: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him here, Dufoy, till I return: Gentlemen, Come you with me.

Exit Sir Frederick and Fidlers.

Cul.

Where is my Mistress?

Dufay.

Vat Metres?

Cul.

The Widow.

Dufoy.

She be de Metres of my Matré.

Cul.

You lye, Sirrah.

Dufoy.

Begar you be de Jackanape to tellé Me I do lyea.

Cul.

You are a French Rascal, and I will blow Your nose without a handkerchief.

He pulls Dufoy by the nose.

Duf.

Helpé, helpé me; Morbleu! I vil beat you vid my fisté And my footé, tellé you aské me de pardon; take Dat and daté; aské me de pardon.

Cully falls down, and Dufoy beats him.

Cul.

I ask you pardon, Sirrah?

Dufoy.

Sirrah? Tettibleu.

Offers to strike.

Enter Sir Frederick and Fidlers, leading in Palmer trembling.

Sir Fred.

Hold, hold, Dufoy.

Dufoy.

Begar he do merite to be beaté; he swaré he vil Marré youré Metres.

Palm.

I beseech you, Sir Frederick.

Cul.

My Lord Bevill!

Sir Fred.

So, he takes him for my Lord Bevill; Now the Plot will out. 'Tis fit this Rascal shou'd be cheated; But these Rogues will deal too Unmercifully with him: I'le take compassion upon Him, and use him more favourably my self.

Cul.

My Lord, where is the mad Wench your Sister?

Sir Frederick pulls off Palmer's disguise.

Sir Fred.

Look you, Sir Nich'las, where is my Lord Bevill Now?

Cul.

My merry Country-man, M^r Palmer! I thought you had Been in Buckingham-shire.

Sings.

And he took her by the Apron To bring her to his beck.

Never a Catch now, my merry Country-man? Sir Frederick, I owe this Gentleman a thousand pounds.

Sir Fred.

How so?

Cul.

He won it of me at Dice, Wheadle went my halfs; And we have given him a Judgment for it.

Sir Fr.

This was the roguery you had been about the other Night, when I met you in disguise, Palmer: You'l never leave your cheating and your robbing, How many Robberies do I know Of your committing?

Palm.

The truth is, Sir, you know enough to hang me; But you are a worthy Gentleman, and a lover of Ingenuity.

Sir Fred.

This will not pass: Produce The Judgment.

Palm.

Alas, Sir, M^r Wheadle has it.

Sir Fred.

Produce it, or—Fetch the Constable, Boy.

Palm.

Sir Frederick, be merciful to a sorrowful Rascal: Here is a Copy of the Judgment, as it is entred.

Sir Fred.

Well, who is this counterfeit Widow? confess.

Palm.

Truly 'twas Wheadle's contrivance; a Pox on him: Never no good comes on't when men are so unconscionable In their Dealings.

Cul.

What, am I cheated, Sir Frederick? Sirrah, I will have You hang'd.

Sir Fred.

Speak, who is this Widow?

Pal.

'Tis Grace, Sir, Wheadle's Mistress, whom he has plac'd In my Lady Dawbwell's house: I am but a poor Instrument, Abus'd by that Rascal.

Sir Fr.

You See, S^r Nich'las, what Villains these are; they have Cheated you of a thousand pounds, and wou'd have married You to a Wench, had I not discover'd their Villany.

Cul.

I am beholden to you, Sir Frederick; they are Rogues, Villainous Rogues: But where is the Widow?

Sir Fred.

Why, you saw the true Widow here a little while Ago.

Cul.

The truth is, me-thoughts she was something Comlier then my Mistress: But will not this Widow Marry me?

Sir Fred.

She is my Mistress.

Cul.

I Will h••••e none of her then.

Sir Fred.

Well, I have discovered this cheat, kept you from Marrying a Wench, and will save you the thousand pounds too. Now, if you have a mind to marry, what think you of my Sister? She is a plain brown Girl, and has a good Portion; but not out twenty thousand pounds: This offer Proves I have a perfect kindness for you.

Cul.

I have heard she is a very fine Gentlewoman; I will marry her forthwith, and be your Brother-in-Law.

Sir Fred.

Come then, I'le carry you Where you may see her, and ask her consent. Palmer, you must along with us, And by the way assign this Judgment to me. Do you guard him, Gentlemen.

To the Fidlers.

Sir Fred.

Come, Sir Nich'las.

Cul.

How came I hither?

Sir Fred.

Yow will be satisfied in that hereafter.

Palm.

What cursed accident was this? what Mischeivous Stars have the managing Of my Fortune? Here's a turn with all my heart, Like an after-game at Irish!

Dufoy.

Alon marché, Shentelman sheté; Marché: You make de mouthé of De honest Shentelmen: begar you vil make de Wry mouthé ven you be hangé.

Exeunt.

SCEN. III.

Scene, A Garden.

Enter Graciana and Letitia severally; Letitia with a Nosegay in her Hand.

Grac.

Letitia, what hast thou been doing here?

Let.

Cropping the beauty of the youthful year.

Grac.

How innocently dost thouspend thy hours, ••ecting from the crowd the choicest Flowers! Where is thy Mistress?

Let.

Madam, she's with the wounded Colonel.

Grac.

Come then into this Arbour, Girl, and there With thy sweet voice refresh my wearied soul.

They walk into an Arbour.

SONG.

LAdies, though to your Conqu'ring eyes

Let. sings.

Love owes his chiefest Victories, And borrows those bright Arms from you With which he does the world subdue. Yet you your selves are not above The Empire nor the Griefs of Love.

Then wrack not Lovers with disdain, Lest Love on you revenge their Pain; You are not free because y'are fair; The Boy did not his Mother spare. Beauty's but an offensive dart; It is no Armour for the heart.

Grae.

Dear Girl, thou art my little Confident; I oft to thee have breath'd my discontent;

And thy sweet voice as oft has eas'd my care: But now thy breath is like infectious Air;

Enter Beaufort.

It feeds the secret cause of my disease, And does enrage what it did use t' appease.

Beauf.

starting.

Hark, that was Graciana's voice.

Grac.

Oh Beaufort!

Beauf.

She calls on me, and does advance this way; I will conceal my self within this Bower; she may The secret causes of my grief betray.

Beaufort goes into an Arbour, and Graciana and Letitia come upon the Stage.

Grac.

Too rigidly my Honour I pursue; Sure somthing from me to my Love is due: Within these private shades for him I'le mourn, Whom I in Publique am oblig'd to scorn.

Let.

Why shou'd you, Madam, thus indulge your grief? Love never yet in Sorrow found relief: These Sighs, like Northern winds to th' early Spring, Destruction to your blooming Beauty bring.

Grac.

Letitia, peace; my Beauty I despise: Wou'd you have me preserve these fatal eyes?

Let.

Had you less beauteous been, y'ad known less care; Ladies are happiest moderately fair: But now shou'd you your Beauty waste, which way Cou'd you the debt it has contracted pay?

Grac.

Beaufort, didst thou but know I weep for thee, Thou would'st not blame my scorn, but pity me.

Let.

When Honour first made you your Love decline, You from the Centre drew a crooked line; You were to Beaufort too severe, I fear, Lest to your Love you partial might appear.

Grac.

I did what I in honour ought to do;

I yet to Beaufort and my love am true; And if his Rival live, I'le be his Bride, Joy shall unite whom Grief does now divide; But if for love of me brave Bruce does die, I am contracted to his Memory. Oh, Beaufort!

Beauf.

Oh, Graciana! here am I (By what I've heard) fix'd in an extasie.

Grac.

We are surpriz'd; unlucky accident! Fresh Sorrow's added to my discontent.

Exeunt Graciana and Letitia leasurely.

Beaufort Enters.

Beauf.

Graciana, stay, you can no more contend, Since Fortune joyns with Love to be my Friend; There is no fear of Bruce his death; the wound By abler Chyr'gions is not mortal found. She will not stay: My Joys, like waters swell'd into a flood, Bear down whate're their usual streams withstood.

Exit Beaufort.

SCEN. IV.

Scene, My Lady Dawbwell's House.

Enter Wheadle and Grace.

Whead.

I wonder we have yet no tidings of our Knight, Nor Palmer,— Fortune still crosses the industrious, Girl. When we recover him you must begin To lye at a little opener ward; 'Tis dangerous keeping the Fool too long at bay▪

Lest some old Wood-man drop in by chance, And discover th'art but a rascall Deer. I have counterfeited half a dozen Mortgages, A dozen Bonds, and two Scriveners to vouch all; That will satisfie him in thy Estate: He has sent into the Country for his Writings: But see, here he comes.

Enter Sir Nicholas.

Sir Nich'las, I must chide you, indeed I must; You neglect your duty here: Nay, Madam, never Blush; faith I'le reveal all. Y'are the happiest, The luckiest man—

Enter Sir Frederick.

W'are betray'd; death, what makes him here?

To Sir Frederick.

Sir Frederick, your humble Servant; y'are come In the luckiest time for mirth; will you but lend Me your eare? do not you see Sir Nich'las and Grace Yonder? look, look.

Sir Fred.

Yes.

Whead.

I am perswading him to keep her; she's a pretty Deserving Girl; faith let us draw off a while, And laugh among our selves, for fear of spoiling The poor Wenches market; let us, let us.

Sir Fred.

With all my heart.

Bayliffs meet Wheadle at the door, and Arrest him.

Bayliffs.

We arrest you, Sir.

Whead.

Arrest me? Sir Frederick, Sir Nicholas.

Sir Fred.

We are not provided for a Rescue at present, Sir.

Whead.

At whose Suit?

Bayliffs.

At Sir Frederick Frollick's.

Whead.

Sir Frederick Frollick's? I owe him never a farthing.

Sir Fr.

Y'are mistaken, Sir; you owe me a thousand pounds: Look you, do you know M^r Palmer's hand? He has assign'd such a small debt over to me.

Enter Palmer and Jenny.

Whead.

How was I bewitch'd to trust such a villain! Oh Rogue, Dog, Coward, Palmer!

Palm.

Oh thou unconscionable Wheadle; a thousand pounds Was too small a bubble!

S. Fred.

Away with him, away with him.

Whead.

Nay, Sir Frederick, 'tis punishment enough to fall From my expectation: Do not ruine a young man.

Grace.

I beseech you, Sir.

S. Fred.

Thou hast mov'd me, Grace; Do not tremble, Chuck; I love thy profession too well To harm thee. Look you, Sir, what think you of a rich Widow?

Proffering him the Whore.

Was there no Lady to abuse, Wheadle, but my Mistress? No man to bubble but your Friend and Patron, Sir Nich'las? But let this pass; Sir Nich'las is satisfi'd; take Grace Here, marry her, we are all satisfied: She's a pretty deserving Girl, and a Fortune now In earnest; I'le give her a thousand pounds.

Whead.

Pray, Sir, do but consider—

S. Fred.

No consideration; dispatch, or To Limbo.

Whea.

Was there ever such a Dilemma? I shall rot in Prison. Come hither, Grace; I did but make bold, like a young Heir, With his Estate, before it come into his hands: Little did I think, Grace, that this Pasty,

Stroaking her belly.

When we first cut it up, should have been preserv'd For my Wedding Feast.

S. Nich.

You are the happiest, the luckiest man, M^r Wheadle.

Palm.

Much joy, M^r Wheadle, with your rich Widow.

Whead.

Sir Frederick, shall that Rogue Palmer laugh At me?

S. Fr.

No, no; Ienny, come hither; I'le make thee amends, As well as thy Mistress, for the injury I did thee Th' other night: Here is a Husband for thee too: M^r Palmer, where are you?

Palm.

Alas, Sir Frederick, I am not able to Maintain her.

S. Fred.

She shall maintain you, Sir. Do not you understand the mystery of Stiponie, Ienny?

Maid.

I know how to make Democcuana, Sir.

S. Fred.

Thou art richly endow'd, i' faith: Here, here, Palmer; No shall I, shall I; This or that, which You deserve better.

Palm.

This is but a short Reprieve; the Gallows will Be my destiny.

S. Fred.

Sir Nich'las, now we must haste to a better Solemnity; my Sister expects us. Gentlemen, meet us at the Rose; I'le bestow a Wedding Dinner upon you, and there release your Judgment, M^r Wheadle. Bayliffs, wait upon them thither.

S. Nich.

I wish you much joy with your fair Brides, Gentlemen.

Whead.

A pox on your Assignment, Palmer.

Palm.

A pox on your rich Widow, Wheadle: Come, Spouse, Come.

Exeunt.

SCEN. V.

Scene, The Lord Bevill's House.

Enter Lord Bevill, Bruce led in, Lovis, Beaufort, Graciana and Aurelia.

Bruce.

Graciana, I have lost my claim to you, And now my Heart's become Aurelia's due; She all this while within her tender breast The flame of Love has carefully supprest, Courting for me, and striving to destroy Her own Contentment, to advance my Joy.

Aurel.

I did no more then Honour press'd me to; I wish I'de woo'd successfully for you.

Bruce.

You so excel in Honour and in Love, You both my shame and admiration move. Aurelia, here, accept that life from me, Which Heaven so kindly has preserv'd for thee. My Lord, I hope you will my choice allow,

To L. Bevill.

And with your approbation seal our Vow.

Bevill.

In gen'rous minds this to the world will prove That Gratitude has pow'r to conquer Love. It were, brave Man, impiety in me Not to approve that which the Heavens decree.

Bruce.

Graciana, on my gen'rous Rival you▪ Must now bestow what to his Merit's due.

Grac.

Since you recovering, Bruce, your claim decline, To him with honour I my Heart resign.

Beauf.

Such Honour and such Love as you have shown▪ Are not in the Records of Virtue known. My Lord, you must assist us here once more;

To L, Bevill.

The God of Love does your consent implore.

L. Bev.

May Love in you still feed your mutual fire.

Ioyning their hands.

Beauf.

And may that flame but with our breaths expire.

Lovis.

My Lord, our Quarrel now is at an end; You are not Bruces Rival, but his Friend.

Beauf.

In this brave strife your Friendship soar'd above The active flames of our aspiring Love.

Bruce.

Dear Friend, thy merits Fame cannot express.

Lovis.

They are rewarded in your happiness.

Bruce.

Come all into my Arms before I rest; Let's breathe our Joys into each others breast: Thus mariners rejoyce when winds decrease, And falling waves seem wearied into Peace.

Enter Sir Frederick and Dufoy at one door, and the Widow and Betty at another.

S. Fred.

Haste, Dufoy, perform what I commanded You.

Dufoy.

I vil be ver quick begar; I am more den half de Mercurié.

S. Fred.

Ho, Widow! the noise of these Nuptials brought You hither; I perceive your mouth waters.

Wid.

Were I in a longing condition I should be apt Enough to put my self upon you, Sir.

S. Fred.

Nay, I know th'art spiteful, and wou'dst Fain marry me in revenge; but so long as I have These Guardian Angels about me, I defie thee And all thy Charms: Do skilful Faulkners thus Reward their Hawks before they fly the Quarry?

Wid.

When your gorge is empty you'l come to the Lure again.

S. Fred.

After I have had a little more experience of the Vani y of this world, in a melancholy humour I mat be careless of my self.

Wid.

And marry some distressed Lady, that has had

No less experience of that vanity.

S. Fr.

Widow, I prosess the contrary; I wou'd not have the Sin to answer for of debauching any from such Worthy principles: Let me see; if I shou'd be good Natur'd now, and consent to give thee a Title To thy own wealth again, you wou'd be stubborn, And not esteem the favour, Widow.

Wid.

Is it possible you can have thoughts of gratitude? Do you imagine me so foolish as your self, who Often venture all at play, to recover one inconsiderable Parcel.

S. Fr.

I told you how 'twou'd be, Widow: Less providence Attend thee, else I shall do no good upon thee: Fare-well.

Wid.

Stay, Sir; let us shake hands at parting.

S. Fred.

Nay, if thou once art acquainted with my Constitution, thou't never let me go; Widow, here, Examine, examine.

Holding out his hand.

Bevill.

Sister, I long have known your inclinations; Give me leave to serve you. Sir Frederick, here, Take her; and may you make each other happy.

Wid.

Now I have receiv'd you into my Family, I hope you will let my maids go quietly about Their business, Sir.

S. Fred.

Upon condition there be no twits of the good man Departed; no prescription pleaded for evil customs On the Wedding night. Widow, what old doings will be anon! I have coupl'd no less then a pair-royal my self. This day, my Lord, I hope you'l excuse the liberty I have taken to send for them; the sight will much Encrease your mirth this joyful day.

L. Bev.

I shou'd have blam'd you, Sir, if you had restrain'd Your, humour here. These must needs be pleasant Matches that are of his Making.

Enter Dufoy.

Sir Fred.

What, are they come?

Dufoy.

Day be all at de dooré, begar; every man vid his Pret Metres, Brid, Whore. Entré, Jentelmen, vid your Lady, entré vid your great Fortune: Ha, ha, ha.

Enter Sir Nicholas and his Bride, Wheadle and his Bride, Palmer and his Bride.

Sir Nich.

Brother, do you see how sneakingly Wheadle looks Yonder, with his rich Widow?

Wid.

Brother! is this fellow your Brother?

Sir Nich.

Ay, that I am.

Sir Fred.

No, no, Sir Nicholas.

Sir Nich.

Did not I marry your Sister, Sir?

Sir Fred.

Fie, fie, Sir Nich'las; I thought y'ad been A modester man.

Sir Nich.

Is my wife no kin to you, Sir?

Sir Fred.

Not your Wife; but your Son and Heir may, If it prove so.* 1.1 Joy be with thee, old acquaintance. Widow, resolving to lead a virtuous life, And keep house altogether with thee, I have dispos'd of my own houshold-stuff, my Dear Mrs. Lucy, to this Gentleman.

Whead. & Palm.

We wish you joy with your fair Bride, Sir Nich'las.

Sir Nich.

I will go and complain, and have you all clap'd Up for a plot immediately.

Sir Fred.

Hold, hold, Sir Nich'las; there are certain Catch-poles without; you cannot scape, Without y'ave a thousand pounds in your Pocket: Carry her into the Country, come; Your Neighbours Wives will visit her, and vow

She's a virtuous well-bred Lady: And, give her her due, faith she was a very Honest Wench to me, and I believe will make a very Honest Wife to you.

Sir Nich.

If I discover this I am lost; I shall be ridiculous, Even to our own Party.

Sir Fred.

You are in the right: Come, Take her, make much of her, She shall save you a thousand pounds.

Sir Nich.

Well, Lucy, if thou canst but deceive my Old mother, and my neighbours in the Country, I shall bear my fortune patiently.

Sir Fred,

I'le warrant you, Sir, Women so skil'd in Vice can Dissemble Virtue.

Dufoy.

Fy, fy, maké de much of your Lady, Shentelmen; Begar you vil find dem ver civil.

Sir Fred.

Dufoy, I had almost forgot thee.

Dufoy.

Begar my merit is ver seldome in your Memorié.

Sir Fred.

Now I will reward thy services; here, enjoy thy Mistress.

Dufoy.

Ver vel, begar; you will give me two tree oldé Gowné vor all my diligence.

Betty.

Marry come up! Is that a despicable portion For your greafie Pantaloons?

Dufoy.

Peace, peace, Metres Bett; ve vil be ver good Friend upon occasion; but ve vil no marrié: Dat be ver much beter, begar.

Sir Fred.

Did you bring the Bayliffs with you?

Dufoy.

Day be vidout: Begar, Shentelmen, You have bin Made ver sad; and now you shall be made ver mer Vid de Fidler.

Whead.

Ha! cozen'd with Fidlers for Bayliffs! I durst have sworn false Dice might as soon have pass'd Upon me.

Sir Fred.

Bid them strike up; we will have a Dance.

Widow, to divert these melancholy Gentlemen.

They dance.

L. Bev.

Sir Fredrick, you shall command my House this day;

After the Dance.

Make all those welcom that are pleas'd to stay.

Sir Fred.

Sir Nicholas, and M^r Wheadle, I release you both Of your Judgment, and will give it you under My hand at any time. Widow, for all these bloody preparations, there Will be no great massacre of Maiden-heads Among us here. Anon I will make you all laugh with the occasion Of these Weddings. On what small accidents depends our Fate, Whilst Chance, not prudence, makes us fortunate.

Notes

• * 1.1

  To Lucy.