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

THE Comical Revenge; OR, Love in a Tub.

ACT. I. SCEN. I.

The Scene, an Ante-Chamber to Sir Frederick Frollick's Bed-Chamber.

Enter Dufoy, with a Plaister on his head, walking discontentedly; and Clarke immediately after him.

Clark.

GOod-morrow, Monsieur.

Dufoy.

Good-mor',—good-mor'.

Clark.

Is Sir Fred'rick stirring?

Duf.

Pox sturré himé.

Clark.

My Lord has sent me—

Duf.

Begar me vil havé de revengé; me vil no stay two day in Englandé.

Clark.

Good Monsieur, what's the matter?

Dufoy.

De matré! de matié is easie to be perceive; Dis Bedlamé, Mad-cape, diable de matié, vas Drunké de last night, and vor no reason, but dat Me did advisé him go to bed, begar he did Striké, breaké my headé, Jernie.

Clark.

Have patience, he did it unadvisedly.

Dufoy.

Unadvise I didé not me advisé him Justé when he did ité?

Clark.

Yes; but he was in drink you say.

Dufoy.

In drinké! me vishé he had ben over de head And de ear in drinké; Begar in France de Drink dat van mand drinké do's not crack de Noder man's brainé; Hark!—

Sir Fred. knocks.

He is avake, and none of de peeple are To attende himé: Ian Villian day are all gon, run

Knocks again.

To de Diablé; have de patience, I beseech you.

Pointing towards his Masters Chamber.

Clark.

Acquaint Sir Frederick I am here from my Lord.

Dufoy.

I vil, I vil; your ver umble Serviteur.

Exeunt.

SCEN. II.

Scene, Sir Frederick's Bed-Chamber.

Enter Sir Frederick in his night-gown, and after him Dufoy.

Duf.

Good-mor, good-mor to your Vorshippé; me am alvay Ready to attendé your Vorshippé, and your Vorshippe's Alvay ready to beaté and to abusé mé; you vare drunké De lasté nighté, and my head aké to day morningé;

Shewing his head.

Seé you heré if my brayné have no ver good raison To counsel you, and to mindé your bus'nessé.

Sir Fred.

Thou hast a notable brain; Set me down a Crown for a

Plaister; but forbear your rebukes.

Dufoy.

'Tis vercouragious ting to breaké de head of your Serviteur, is it noté? Begar you vil never keepé De good Serviteur, had no me love youever vel.—

Sir Fred.

I know thou lov'st me.

Dufoy.

And darefore you do beaté me, is dat de raison?

Sir Fred.

Prèthee forbear; I am sorry for't.

Dufoy.

Ver good satisfaction! Begar it is me dat am Sorrié for't.

Sir Fred.

Well, well.

Dufoy.

De Serviteur of my Lord your Cousin Be comé speak vid you.

Sir Fred.

Bring him in.

Exit Dufoy.

I am of opinion that drunkenness is not so Damnable a sin to me as 'tis to many; Sorrow And Repentance are sure to be my first Work The next morning: 'Slid, I have known some So lucky at this rècreation, that, whereas 'tis Familiar to forget what we do in drink, have Even lost the memory, after sleep, of being Drunk: Now do I feel more qualms then A young woman in breeding.

Enter Dufoy and Clark.

Dufoy goes out again.

Clark! What news from the God of Love? he's Always at your Master's elbow, h'as jostl'd the Devil out of service; no more! Mrs. Grace! Poor Girl, Mrs. Graciana has flung a Squib into his bosome, where the wild-fire will Huzzéé for a time, and then crack; it Fly's out at's Breeches.

Clark.

Sir, he sent me before with his service; he'l Wait on you himself when he's dress'd.

Sir Fred.

In very good time; there never was a girl More humoursome, nor tedious in the dressing of Her Baby.

Ex. Clark.

Enter Dufoy, and Foot-boy.

Dufoy.

Hayé! heré is de ver vine varké Begar, de ver vine varké!—

Sir Fred.

What's the bus'ness?

Dufoy.

De business! de divil také mé if daré be not De whole Regiment Army de Hackené Cocheman, De Linke-boy, de Fydler, and de Shamber-maydé, Dat havé beseegé de howsé; dis is de consequance Of de drink vid a poxé.

Sir Fred.

Well, the Coach-men and Link-boys must be Satisfi'd, I suppose there's money due to 'em; the Fidlers, for broken heads and Instruments, Must be compounded with; I leave that to your care; But for the Chambèr-maid, I'le deal with her My self; go, go, fetch her up.

Dufoy.

De Pimpé, begar I vil be de pimpé to no man In de Christendomé; do you go vech her up; De Pimpé—

Exit Dufoy.

Sir Fred.

Go Sirrah, direct her.

To the Foot-b.]

Ex. Foot-b.

Now have I most unmanfully fallen foul upon some Woman, I'le warrant you, and wounded her Reputation shrowardly: Oh drink, drink! thou Art a vile enemy to the civillest sort of curteous Ladies.—

Enter Jenny, Wheadle's Wenches maid.

Oh Ienny, next my heart nothing could Be more welcome.

Maid.

Unhand me; Are you a man fit to be trusted with a womans Reputation?

Sir Fred.

Not when I am in a reeling condition; men are Now and then subject to those infirmities In drink, which women have when th'are sober. Drunkenness is no good Secretary, Ienny; you Must not look so angry, good faith you must not.

Maid.

Angry! we always took you for a civil Gentleman.

Sir Fred.

So I am i'troth I think.—

Maid.

A civil Gentleman will Come to a Ladies Lodging at two a clock in The morning, and knock as if it were upon Life and death; a Midwife was never knock'd up With more fury.

Sir Fred.

Well, well, Girl, all's well I hope, all's well.

Maid.

You have made such an Uproar amongst The Neighbours, we must be forc'd to change Our Lodging.

Sir Fred.

And thou art come to tell me whither;— Kind heart!—

Maid.

I'le see you a little better manner'd first. Because we would not let you in at that Unseasonable hour, you and your rude Ranting Companions hoop'd and hollow'd like Mad-men, and roar'd out in the streets, A whore, a whore, a whore; you need not have Knock'd good people out of their Beds, you Might have met with them had been good Enough for your purpose abroad.

Sir Fred.

'Twas ill done Ienny, indeed it was.

Ma.

'Twas a mercy M^r Wheadle was not there, my Mistresses Friend; had he been there sh'ad been quite undone. There's nothing got by your leud doings; you are But scandals to a civil Woman: We had so much The good will of the Neighbours before, we had Credit for what we wo'd; and but this morning the Chandler refus'd to score a quart of Scurvy-grass.

Sir Fred.

Hang Reputation amongst a company of Rascals; Trust me not if thou art not grown most wondrous pretty.

Offers to hug her.

Maid.

Stand off, or I protest I'le make the people In your Lodging know what a manner of Man you are.

Sir Fred.

You and I have been intimate acquaintance;— Why so coy now, Ienny?

Maid.

Pray forbear:—

You'l never leave till I shriek out;—Your

Noise within.

Servants listen, heark—there's some body coming. My Mistress charg'd me to tell you she will

Enter Beaufort.

Never see your eyes again; she never deserv'd This at your hands,—poor Gentlewoman:—You had a Fling at me too, you did not whisper it, I thank You: 'Tis a miserable condition we Women bring our selves too for your sakes.

Weeps.

Beauf.

How now Cousin! what, at wars with the Women?

Sir Fred.

I gave a small alarm to their Quarters Last night, my Lord.

Beauf.

Ienny in tears! what's the occasion, poor Girl?

Maid.

I'le tell you, my Lord.

Sir Fred.

Buzze; Set not her tongue a going agen;

Clapping his hand before her mouth.

Sh'as made more noise then half a dozen Paper-mills: London-bridge at a low water is Silence to her; in a word, rambling last Night, we knock'd at her Mistresses Lodging, They deny'd us entrance, whereupon a harsh Word or two flew out, Whore—I think, or Something to that purpose.

Maid.

These were not all your Heroick actions;

Ent. Dufoy.

Pray tell the Consequence, how you march'd Bravely at the rere of an Army of Link-boys; upon the sudden,: how you gave Defiance, and then wag'd a bloody war with the Constable; and having vanquish'd that Dreadful enemy, how you committed a general Massacre on the glass-windows: Are not these Most honourable atchievements, such as will be Registred to your eternal Fame, by the most Learn'd Historians or Hicks's Hall

Sir Fred.

Good sweet Ienny let's come to a Treaty; Do but hear what Articles I'le propose.

Maid.

A Womans heart's too tender to be an enemy To Peace.

They whisper.

Dufoy.

Your most humble Serviteur, my Lord.

Beauf.

Monsieur, I perceive you are much to blame; You are an excellent Governour indeed.

Dufoy.

Begar do you tinké dat I amé de Bedlamé? No tingè but de Bedlamé can governé himé.

Sir Fred.

Ienny, here's my hand; I'le come and make Amends for all—prety Rogue.—

Dufoy.

Ver pret Rogué, Vid a poxé.

Maid.

What rude French Rascal have you here?

Dufoy.

Rascalé! Begar ver it nod vor De reverence of my Matré I vod cut off your occupation French Rascalé! Whore English—

Sir Fred.

Dufoy, be gone, and leave us.

Dufoy.

I vil, I vil leave you to your recreation; I Vishé you ver good pastimé, and de poxé Begar.

Exit Dufoy.

Maid.

I never heard a ruder Fellow.—Sir Frederick, you Will not fail the time.

Sir Fred.

No, no, Ienny.

Maid.

Your Servant, my Lord.

Beauf.

Farewel Ienny.

Ex. Ienny.

Sir Fred.

Now did all this fury end in a mild Invitation to the Ladies Lodging.

Beauf.

I have known this wenches Mistress Ever since I came from Travel, but never Was acquainted with that Fellow that Keeps her; prethee what is he?

Sir Fred.

Why his name is Wheadle; he's one whose trade is Trechery, To make a Friend, and then deceive him; He's of a ready Wit, pleasant Conversation, Throughly skill'd in men; in a word, he Knows so much of Virtue as makes him Well accomplish'd for all manner of Vice: He has lately insinuated himself into Sir Nich'las Culley, one whom Oliver, for the Transcendent knavery and disloyalty of

His Father, has dishonour'd with Knight-hood; A fellow as poor in experience as in parts, And one that has a vain-glorious humour to gain a Reputation amongst the Gentry, by feigning good nature, and An affection to the King and his Party. I made a little debauch th'other day in their Company, Where I fore-saw this fellow's destiny, his purse must pay For keeping this Wench, and all other Wheadle's extravagances. But pray, my Lord, How thrive you in your more honourable Adventures? Is harvest near? When is the Sickle to be put i'th' Corn?

Beauf.

I have been hitherto so prosperous, My happiness has still out-flown my faith: Nothing remains but Ceremonial Charms, Graciana's fix'd i'th' circle of my Arms.

Sir Fred.

Then y'are a happy man for a season.

Beauf.

For ever.

Sir Fred.

I mistrust your Mistresses Divinity; you'l Find her Attributes but Mortal: Women, like Juglers Tricks, Appear Miracles to the ignorant; but in them- -Selves th' are meer cheats.

Beauf.

Well, well, Cousin; I have engag'd that you this day Shall be my Guest at my Lord Bevill's Table; Pray make me Master of my promise once.

Sir Fred.

Faith I have engag'd to dine with my dear Lucy; poor Girl, I have lately given her Occasion to suspect my kindness; yet for your Sake I'le venture to break my Word, Upon condition you'l excuse My errors; you know my Conversation has not been amongst ceremonious Ladies.

Beauf.

All modest freedom you will find allow'd; Formality is banish'd thence.

Sir Fred.

This Virtue is enough to make me bear

With all the inconveniences of honest Company.

Beauf.

The freeness of your humour is your friend. I have such news to tell thee that I fear Thou'lt find thy breast too narrow for thy joy.

Sir Fred.

Gently, my Lord, lest I find the thing too Little for my expectation.

Beauf.

Know that thy careless carriage has done more Then all the skill and diligence of Love Could e're effect.

Sir Fred.

What? the Widow has some kind thoughts of my body.

Beauf.

She loves you, and dines on purpose at her Brother's house This day, in hopes of seeing you.

Sir Fred.

Some Women like Fishes despise the Bait, or else suspect it, whil'st still it's Bobbing at their mouths; but subtilly wav'd By the Angler's hand, greedily hang themselves upon the hook. There are many so critically wise, they'l suffer None to deceive them but themselves.

Beauf.

Cousin, 'tis time you were preparing for your Mistress.

Sir Fred.

Well, since 'tis my fortune, I'le about it. Widow, thy ruine lie on thy own head: Faith, my Lord, you can witness 'twas none Of my seeking.

Exeunt.

SCEN. III.

Scene, Wheadle's Lodging.

Enter Wheadle and Palmer.

Whe.

Come, bear thy losses patiently.

Palm.

A pox confound all Ordinaries, If ever I play in an Ordinary agen—

Bites his thumb.

Whead.

Thou'lt lose thy money: Thou hast no power to forbear; I will as soon undertake to reclaim A Horse from a hitch he has learn'd in his pace,

Or an old Mastive from worrying of Sheep.

Palm.

Ay, ay, there is nothing can do it but hemp.

Whead.

Want of money may do much.

Palm.

I protest I had rather still be vicious Then owe my Virtue to Necessity. How commendable is chastity in an Eunuch? I am grown more then half virtuous of late: I have laid the dangerous Pad now quite aside; I walk within the Purlieus of the Law. Could I but leave this Ordinary, this Square, I were the most accomplish'd man in Town.

Whead.

'Tis pity thou art Master of thy Art; Such a nimble hand, such neat conveyance.

Palm.

Nay, I should have made an excellent Jugler, 'faith.

Whead.

Come, be chearful, I've lodg'd a Deer shall make amends for all; I lack'd a man to help me set my Toyls, And thou art come most happily.

Palm.

My dear Wheadle, who is it?

Whead.

My new Friend And Patron Sir Nicholas Cully.

Palm.

He's fat, and will say well, I promise you. Well, I'le do his business most dextrously, Else let me ever lose the honour Of serving a Friend in the like nature.

Whead.

No more words, but haste, prepare for the design; Habit your self like a good thrifty Country-man; Get Tools, Dice, and Money for the purpose, And meet me at the Devil about three exactly.

Enter Boy.

Boy.

Sir, S^r Nicholas Cully is without.

Whead.

Desire him to walk in. Here Palmer, the back-way, quickly, and be sure—

Palm.

Enough, enough, I'le warrant thee.

Ex. Palm.

Enter Sir Nicholas Cully.

Whead.

Sir Nicholas, this Visit is too great a favour; I intended one to you; how do you Find your self this morning?

Cul.

Faith much the dryer for the last nights wetting.

Whead.

Like thirsty earth, which gapes the more For a small showre; we'l soak you Throughly to day.

Cul.

Excuse me, faith I am engag'd.

Whead.

I am sorry for't; I meant you a share in my good fortune; But since it cannot be—

Cul.

What? what good fortune?

Whead.

Nay, 'twill but vex you to know it, Since you have not leasure to pursue it.

Cul.

Dear Wheadle, prethee tell me.

Whead.

Now do I want power to keep it from you. Just as you came in at that door, went Out at this a Waiting-Gentlewoman, Sent with a civil Message from her Lady, To desire the happiness of my Company This afternoon, where I should have the Opportunity of seeing another lovely brisk Woman, newly married to a foolish Citizen, who will be apt enough to hear Reason from one that can speak it better then Her Husband: I return'd my humble Thanks for the honour she did me, and that I could not do my self so great an injury To disobey her will; this is Th' adventure; But since y'ave bus'ness—

Cul.

A pox on bus'ness, I'le defer't.

Whead.

By no means for a silly Woman; our Pleasures Must be slaves to our Affairs.

Cul.

Were it to take possession of an

Estate, I'd neglect it. Are the Ladies Cavaliers?

Whea.

Oh, most Loyal-hearted Ladies!

Cul.

How merry will we be then!

Whead.

I say, mind your bus'ness.

Cul.

I'le go and put it off immediately. Where shall I meet you in the afternoon?

Whead.

You'l find me at the Devil about three A clock, where I expect a second summons as She passes toward the City.

Cul.

Thither will I come without fail; be sure You wait for me.

Exit Cully.

Whead.

Wait for thee, as a Cat does for a Mouse She intends to play with, and then prey upon. How eagerly did this half-witted fellow chap Up the bait? like a ravenous Fish, that will Not give the Angler leave to sink his Line, But greedily darts up and meets it half way.

Ex. laughing.

SCEN. IV.

Scene, The Lord Bevill's House.

Enter Graciana, and Aurelia immediately after her, with a Letter in her hand.

Grac.

The Sun's grown lazie; 'tis a tedious space Since he set forth, and yet's not half his race. I wonder Beaufort does not yet appear; Love never loyters, Love sure brings him here.

Aur.

Brought on the wings of Love, here I present

Presenting the Letter.

His Soul, whose Body Prisons yet prevent; The noble Bruce, whose Virtues are his Crimes:

Grac. rejects the Letter.

Are you as false and cruel as the times! Will you not read the story of his grief? But wilfully refuse to give relief?

Grac.

Sister, from you this language makes me start:

Can you suspect such vices in my heart? His Virtues I, as well as you, admire; I never scorn'd, but pity much his fire.

Aur.

If you did pity, you would not reject This Messenger of Love: This is neglect.

Grac. rejects the Letter again.

Grac.

Tis cruelty to gaze on Wounds I'm sure, When we want Balsome to effect their Cure.

Aurel.

'Tis only want of will in you, you have Beauty to kill, and Virtue too to save.

Grac.

We of our selves can neither love nor hate; Heav'n does reserve the pow'r to guid our Fate.

Aurel.

Graciana,—

Enter Lord Bevill, Lovis, and the Widow.

Grac.

Sister, forbear; my Father's here.

L. Bev.

So Girl; what, no news of your Lover yet? Our Dinner's ready, and I am afraid He will go nigh to incur the Cooks anger.

Wid.

I believe h'as undertook a hard task; Sir Frederick, they say, is no easie man To be perswaded to come among us women.

Lovis.

Sir.

Lovis and L. Bevill whisper.

L. Bev.

What now?

Wid.

I am as impatient as thou art, Girl; I long to see Sir Frederick here.

To Graciana.

L. Bev.

Forbear, I charge you on my blessing; Not one word more of Colonel Bruce.

Lovis.

You gave encouragement Sir to his Love; The honour of our House now lies at stake.

L. Bev.

You find by your Sisters Inclinations Heaven has decreed her otherwise.

Lovis.

But Sir,—

L. Bev.

Forbear to speak, or else forbear the Room.

Lovis.

This I can obey, but not the other.

Exit Lovis.

Enter Foot-boy.

Foot-b.

Sir, my Lord Beaufort's come.

L. Bev.

'Tis well.

Wid.

D'hear, are there not two Gentlemen?

Foot-b,

Yes Madam, there is another proper handsom Gentleman.

Exit Foot-boy.

L. Bev.

Come, let us walk in, and give them entertainment.

Wid.

Now Cousin for S^r Frederick, this man of men, There's nothing like him.

Exeunt all but Aurelia.

Aur.

With curious diligence I still have strove

Holding the Letter in her hand.

During your absence, Bruce, to breath your Love Into my Sisters bosom; But the fire Wants force; Fate does against my breath conspire: I have obey'd, though I cannot fulfil, Against my self, the dictates of your Will: My Love to yours do's yield; Since you enjoyn'd, I hourly court my Rival to be kind; With passion too, as great as you can do, Taught by those wounds I have receiv'd from you. Small is the difference that's between our grief; Yours finds no cure, and mine seeks no relief: You unsuccessfully your Love reveal; And I for ever must my Love conceal: Within my bosom I'le your Letter wear,

Putting the Letter in her bosom.

It is a Tombe that's proper for despair.

Exit.

ACT. II. SCEN. I.

Scene, The Lord Bevill's House.

Enter Clark and Dufoy.

Clark.

MEthinks the wound your Master gave you Last night, makes you look very thin and Wan, Monsieur.

Dufoy,

Begar you are mistake, it be de voundé Dat my Metresle did give me long agoe.

Clark.

What? some pretty little English Lady's Crept into your heart?

Dufoy.

No, but damn'd littel English Whore is creepé Into my bone begar, me could vish dat de Diable vould také her vid allé my harté

Clark.

You have manag'd your bus'ness ill, Monsieur.

Dufoy.

It vas de Raskal Cyrugin English dat did Manage de businesse illé; me did putté my Businessé into his haundé; he did stop de Tapé, and de liquor did varké, varké, varké, Up into de headé and de shoulder begar.

Clark.

Like soap clap'd under a Saddle.

Dufoy.

Here come my Matré, holdé your peacé.

Ex. Clark.

Enter Sir Frederick, Widow, and Maid.

Sir Fred.

Whither, whither do you draw me, Widow? What's your design?

Wid.

To walk a turn in the Garden, and then Repose in a cool Arbour.

Sir Fr.

Widow, I dare not venture my self in those amorous Shades; you have a mind to be talking of Love I perceive, and my heart's too tender to be trusted With such conversation.

Wid.

I did not imagine you were so foolishly Conceited; is it your Wit or your Person, Sir, That is so taking?

Sir Fred.

Truly you are much mistaken, I have no Such great thoughts of the young man you See; who ever knew a Woman have so much Reason to build her Love upon merit? Have we not daily experience of great Fortunes, that fling themselves into the arms Of vain idle Fellows? Can you blame me then For standing upon my guard? No, let us

Sit down here, have each on's a Bottle of Wine At our elbows; so prompted, I dare enter into Discourse with you.

Wid.

Wou'd you have me sit And drink hand to fist with you, as if we were In the Fleece, or some other of your beloved Taverns?

Sir Fred.

Faith I wou'd have thee come as neer As possible to something or other I have Been us'd to converse with, that I may The better know how to entertain thèe.

Wid.

Pray which of those Ladies you use to Converse with, could you fancy me to Look like? be merry, and tell me.

Sir Fred.

Twere too great a sin to compare thee To any of them; and yet th'ast so incens'd Me, I can hardly forbear to wish thee one Of'em, Ho, Dufoy! Widow, I stand in awe of this Gentleman; I must have his advice before I dare Keep you company any further.—How do You approve the spending of my time With this Lady?

Dufoy.

Ver vel, Begar; I could vish I had never spendé my time in de Vorsé compaignie.

Wid.

You look but ill, Monsieur; have You been sick lately?

Dufoy.

I havé de ver great affliction in my mindé, Madam.

Wid.

What is't?

Dufoy.

Truly I havé de ver great passion vor dis Jentel-woman, and she havé no compassion At all vor me; she do refusé me all my Amouré and my adresse.

Wid.

Indeed Betty you are to blame.

Maid.

Out upon him for a French dissembler,

He never spake to me in his life, Madam.

Dufoy.

You see, Madam, she scorné me vor Her Serviteur.

Maid.

Pray, when did you make any of your French Lové to mé?

Dufoy.

It vil breké my hearté to remember de Time ven you did refusé mé.

Wid.

Will you permit me to serve you in this Business, Monsieur?

Dufoy.

Madam, it be d'honour vor de King dé Francé.

Wid.

Betty, whither run you?

Maid.

I'le uot stay to be jeer'd by a sneaking Valet-De chambré: I'le be reveng'd If I live, Monsieur.

Ex. Betty.

Wid.

I'le take some other time.

Dufoy.

Van you have de leisuré, Madam.

Sir Fred.

By those lips,—

Wid.

Nay, pray forbear, Sir.

Sir Fred.

Who's conceited now, Widow? cou'd You imagine I was so fond to kiss them?

Wid.

You cannot blame me for standing on My guard so near an Enemy.

Sir Fred.

If you are so good at that, Widow, Let's see, what guard wou'd you chuse to be at Shou'd the Trumpet sound a Charge To this dreadful foe?

Wid.

It is an idle Question amongst experienc'd Souldiers; but if we ever have a War, We'l never trouble the Trumpet; the Bells shall proclaim our Quarrel.

Sir Fred.

It will be most proper; they shall be Rung backwards.

Wid.

Why so, Sir?

Sir Fred.

I'le have all the helps that may be to Allay a dangerous fire; Widows must Needs have furious flames; the bellows

Have been at work, and blown'em up.

Wid.

You grow too rude, Sir: I will have my Humour, a walk i'th' Garden; and afterwards We'l take the Air in the Park.

Sir Fred.

Let us joyn hands then, Widow.

Wid.

Without the dangerous help of a Parson I do not fear it, Sir.

Ex, Sir Fred. and Wid.

Dufoy,

Begar, I do no care two Soulz if de Shamber-maid ver hangé be it not Great deal better pretendé d' affection to Her, dan to tellé de hole Varldé I do take De Medicine vor de clapé; begar it Be de ver great deale better.

Ex. Dufoy.

SCEN. II.

Scene, A Garden belonging to my Lord Bevill's House.

Enter Beaufort and Graciana.

Beauf.

Graciana, why do you condemn your Love? Your Beauty without that, alas! would prove But my destruction, an unlucky Star Prognosticating ruine and despair.

Grac.

Sir, you mistake; 'tis not my Love I blame, But my Discretion; Here the active flame▪ Shou'd yet a longer time have been conceal'd; Too soon, too soon I fear it was reveal'd. Our weaker Sex glories in a Surprize, We boast the sudden Conquests of our Eyes; But men esteem a Foe that dares contend, One that with noble Courage does defend A wounded Heart; the Victories they gain They prize by their own hazard and their pain.

Beauf.

Graciana, can you think we take delight

To have our happiness against us fight; Or that such goodness shou'd us men displease As do's afford us Heav'n with greater ease?

Enter Lovis, walking discontentedly.

See where your Brother comes; his Carr'age has been strange of late to me; I never gave him cause of discontent; He takes no notice of our being here: I will salute him.

Grac.

By no means; Some serious thoughts you see employ his mind.

Beauf.

I must be civil. Your Servant, Sir.

Lov.

You are my Sisters Servant, Sir; go fawn Upon your Mistress; Fare-you-well.

Ex. Lovis.

Beauf.

Fare-you-well, if you are no better Company. Heavens! what is the matter?

Grac. weeps.

What saucy sorrow dares approach your heart? Waste not these precious Tears; Oh, weep no more! Shou'd Heaven frown the world wou'd be too poor, (Rob'd of the sacred Treasure of your eyes) To pay for Mercy one fit Sacrifice.

Grac.

My Brother, Sir, is growing mad, I fear.

Beauf.

Your Brother is a man whose noble Mind Was to severest Virtue still inclin'd; He in the School of Honour has been bred, And all her subtle Laws with heed has read: There is some hidden cause, I fain would know From whence these strange disorders in him flow, Graciana, shall I beg you to dispel These Mists which round my troubl'd Reason dwell.

Grac.

It is a Story I cou'd wish you'd learn From one whom it does not so much concern; I am th' unhappy cause of what y'ave seen; My Brother's passion does proceed from mine.

Beauf.

This does confound me more! it cannot be; You are the joy of all your family: Dares he condemn you for a noble love

Which honour and your duty both approve.

Grac.

My Lord, those errors merit our excuse Which an access of vertue does produce.

Beauf.

I know that envy is too base a guest To have a lodg ng in his gen'rous breast; 'Tis some extream of Honour, or of Love, Or both, that thus his indignation move.

Grac.

Er'e I begin, you my sad story end; You are a Rival to his dearest Friend.

Beauf.

Graciana, though you have so great a share Of Beauty, all that see you Rivals are; Yet during this small space I did proclaim To you, and to the world, my purer flame, I never saw the man that durst draw near, With his ambitious Love t'assault your Ear. What providence has kept us thus asunder?

Grac.

When I have spoke you'l find it is no wonder. He has a Mistress more renown'd then me, Whom he does Court, his dearer Loyalty; He on his legs does now her favours wear; He is confin'd by her foul Ravisher: You may not know his Person; but his Name Is strange to none that have convers'd with Fame. 'Tis Bruce.

Beauf.

The Man indeed I ne're did see, But have heard wonders of his Gallantry.

Grac.

This gallant Man my Brother ever lov'd; But his Heroick Virtues so improv'd In time those seeds of Love which first were sown, That to the highest Friendship they are grown, This Friendship first, and not his Love to me, Sought an Alliance with our Family. My Sister and my self were newly come From learning how to live, to live at home; When barren of Discourse one day, and free With's Friend, my Brother chanc'd to talk of me; Unlucky accident! his Friend reply'd,

He long had wish'd their Blood might be ally'd; Then press'd him that they might my Father move To give an approbation to his Love: His Person and his Merits were so great, He granted faster then they could entreat; He wish'd the Fates which govern hearts wou'd be So kind to him to make our hearts agree; But told them he had made a sacred Vow, Never to force what Love should disallow.

Enter Sir Frederick and Widow.

But see, Sir Frederick and my Aunt. My Lord, some other time I will relate The story of his Love, and of its Fate.

Sir Fred.

How now my Lord? so grave a countenance In the presence of your Mistress? Widow, what wou'd you give Your eyes had power to make me such Another melancholly Gentleman?

Wid.

I have seen e'ne as merry a man as Your self, Sir Frederick, brought to stand With folded arms, and with a tristful look Tell a mournful tale to a Lady.

Enter a Foot-boy, and whispers Sir Frederick.

Sir Fred.

The Divel ows some men a shame; The Coach is ready; Widow, I know You are ambitious to be seen in my Company.

Wid.

My Lord, and Cousin, will you honour Me with yours to the Park; that may take off the Scandal of his?

Enter Aurelia and Leticia.

Beauf.

Madam, we'l wait upon you; But we must not leave this Lady behind us.

Wid.

Cousin Aurelia—

Aurel.

Madam, I beg you will excuse me, and You, my Lord; I feel a little indisposition,

And dare not venture into so sharp an Air.

Beauf.

Your Servant, Madam.

Exeunt all but Aurelia and Leticia.

Aurel.

Retire; I wou'd not have you stay with me, I have too great a train of misery. If virtuous Love in none be cause of shame, Why shou'd it be a crime to own the flame, But we by Custom, not by Nature led, Must in the beaten paths of Honour tread. I love thee, Bruce; but Heav'n, what have I done! Leticia, did I not command you hence?

Letic.

Madam, I hope my care is no offence: I am afflicted thus to see you take Delight to keep your miseries awake.

Aurel.

Since you have heard me, swear you will be true; Leticia, none must know I love but you.

Letic.

If I at any time your Love declare, May I of Heav'n and serving you despair. Though I am young, yet I have felt this smart; Love once was busie with my tender heart;

Aurel.

Wert thou in love?

Letic.

I was.

Aurel.

Prethee, with whom?

Letic.

With one that like my self did newly bloom: Methoughts his Actions were above his Years.

She weeps.

Aurel.

Leticia, you confirm me by your tears; Now I believe you lov'd; did he love you?

Letic.

That had been more then to my Love was due; He was so much above my humble Birth, My Passion had been fitter for his mirth.

Aurel.

And does your Love continue still the same?

Letic.

Some sparks remain, but Time has quench'd the flame; I hope 'twill prove as kind to you, and cure These greater griefs which (Madam) you endure.

Aurel.

Time to my bleeding heart brings no relief; Death there must heal the fatal wounds of grief:

Leticia, come, within this shady Bower Wee'l joyn our mournful voices, and repeat The saddest tales we ever learn'd of Love.

Aurelia and Leticia walk into an Arbour, and sing this Song in Parts.

SONG.

WHen Phillis watch'd her harmless Sheep Not one poor Lamb was made a prey; Yet she had cause enough to weep, Her silly heart did go astray: Then flying to the neighbouring Grove, She left the tender Flock to rove, And to the Winds did breath her Love. She sought in vain To ease her pain; The heedless winds did fan her fire; Venting her grief Gave no relief; But rather did encrease desire. Then sitting with her arms across, Her sorrows streaming from each eye; She fix'd her thoughts upon her loss, And in despair resolv'd to die.

Aur.

Why shou'd you weep, Leticia, whilst we sing?

Walking out of the Arbour.

Tell me from whence those gentle Currents spring. Can yet your faded Love cause such fresh showers? This water is too good for dying flowers.

Letic.

Madam, it is such Love commands this dew As cannot fade; it is my love to you.

Aurel.

Leticia, I am weary of this place; And yet I know not whither I should go.

Letic.

Will you be pleas'd to try if you can sleep? That may deceive you of your cares awhile.

Aurel.

I will: there's nothing here does give me ease, But in the end will nourish my disease.

Exeunt.

SCEN. III.

Scene, A Tavern.

Enter Wheadle, and immediately after him a Foot-boy.

Whead.

The hour is come; Where's your Master, Sirrah?

Foot-b.

He'l be here immediately, Sir.

Whead.

Is he neatly dress'd?

Boy.

In the very suit he won th'other day Of the Buckingham-shire Grasier.

Whead.

Take this Letter, and give it me When you perceive me talking with Sir Nicholas Cully, with recommendations from A Lady; lurk in some secret place till he's Come, that he may not perceive you at his Entrance. Oh, here's Palmer.

Exit Foot-boy.

Thom, what's the price of a score of fat

Enter Palmer.

Weathers?

Palm.

Do they not well become me, boy?

Whead.

Nature doubtless intended thee for a Rogue, She has so well contriv'd thee for Disguises. Here comes Sir Nicholas.

Enter Sir Nicholas.

Sir Nicholas, come, come; This is an honest Friend And Countryman of mine.

Sir Nich.

Your servant, Sir; is not the Lady come by yet?

Whead.

I expect her every moment,—Ho, here's her Boy. Well, what news?

Enter Boy.

Boy.

My Lady presents her service to you, Sir, and has Sent you this.

Delivers a Letter.

Wheadle reads, and seems much displeas'd.

Sir Nich.

What is the matter, man?

Whea.

Read read; I want patience to tell you.

Gives Cully the Letter.

Fortune still jades me in all my expectations.

Sir Nich.

reading the Letter.

The Citizens wife forc'd To go to Greenwitch with her husband; Will meet some time next week. Come, come, Wheadle, another time will do; be not so passionate, man.

Whead.

I must abuse my friend upon an idle Womans words!

Sir Nich.

Pish, 'tis an accident: Come, let us Drink a glass of Wine, to put these Women Out of our heads.

Palm.

Women? ho Boys, Women, where are the Women?

Whead.

Here's your merry Country-man.

Palmer sings.

He took her by the Apron, To bring her to his beck; But as he wound her to him The Apron-strings did break.

Enter Drawer with Wine.

Sir Nich.

A merry man indeed. Sir, my service to you.

Drinks to Palmer.

Palm.

Thank you, Sir. Come M^r Wheadle, remembring My Land-lord, i'faith; wou'd he were e'en among us now. Come, be merry man.† Lend me your hand, Sir; you Look like an honest man; here's a good health To all that are so: Tope—here pledg me.

Drinks.

Gives Sir Nicholas the Glass.

Sir Nich.

M^r Wheadle, to you.

Drinks, and leaves some in the Glass.

Palm.

I'le not abate you an ace. 'Slid, y'are not So honest as I took you for.

Sir Nicholas drinks up the rest.

Palmer Sings.

If any man baulk his Liquor Let him never baulk the Gallows, But sing a Psalm there with' Vicar, Or die in a dirty Ale-house.

Enter Drawer.

Drawer.

There's a Country-man below desires to Speak with his Master Palmer.

Palm.

So, so, thank thee Lad; it is my man, I Appointed him to call here; h'as sold the Cattle I'le warrant you: I'le wait upon you agen Presently, Gentlemen.

Ex. Palmer.

Whead.

Is not this a very pleasant fellow?

Sir Nich.

The pleasant'st I ever met with; What is he?

Whead.

He's a Buckingham-shier Grasier, very Rich; he has the fat Oxen, and fat Acres in the Vale: I met him here by chance, and cou'd not avoid Drinking a glass o' Wine with him. I believe he's Gone down to receive money; 'Twere an excellent design to buble him.

Sir Nich.

How 'twou'd change his merry note; will you Try him?

Whead.

Do you: I cannot appear in't, because he takes me for his Friend.

Sir Nich.

How neatly I cou'd Top upon him!

Whead.

All things will pass upon him; I'le go Your half: Talk of Dice, you'l Perceive if he's coming. What money have you About you?

Sir Nich.

Ten pieces.

Whead.

I have about that quantity too, here, take it. If he should run us out of our ready money Be sure you set him deep upon Tick,

If he'l be at you, that we may recover it; For we'l not pay a farthing of what we lose That way. Hush, here he comes.

Enter Palmer with a bag of Money under his arm, and flings it upon the Table.

Palm.

All my fat Oxen and Sheep are melted To this, Gentlemen.

Whead.

Their grease is well try'd, Sir.

Sir Nich.

Come, Sir, for all your riches, you are in Arrear here.

Offers him a Glass.

Palm.

I'le be soon out of your debts: My hearty Love to you, Sir.

Drinks.]

Wou'd I had you both in Buckingham-shier, and a Pipe of this Canary in my Cellar; we'd Roast an Ox before we parted; shou'd we Not, Boy?

Palmer Sings.

We'd sing, and we'd laugh, and we'd drink all the day; Our Reason we'd banish, our senses shou'd sway; And every Pleasure our Wills shou'd obey.

Palm.

Come, drink to me a brimmer if you Dare now.

Sir Nich.

Nay, if you provoke me you'l find me a Bold man: Give me a bigger glass, Boy: So, this is fit for men of Worship: Hang your Retail Drinkers; have at thee, my brave Country-man.

Drinks.

Palm.

I'le do all I can for my guts to pledg thee. Ho, brave boys! that's he, that's he, i'faith; how I cou'd hug thee now! M^r Wheadle, to you.

Whead.

I protest, Gentlemen, you'l fright me out Of your Company. Sir Nicholas, shall we have Th'other round.

Sir Nich.

Let's pause a while. What say You, Gentlemen, if, to pass away the time, And to refresh us, we should have a box and dice, And fling a merry Mayn among our selves in sport?

Whea.

'Twil spoil good Company; by no means, S^r Nicholas.

Palm.

Hang play among Friends; let's have a Wench:

Sings.

And Jenny was all my Ioy, She had my Heart at her will; But I left her and her toy When once I had got my fill.

What say you, shall we have her?

Sir Nich.

We are not drunk enough for a Wench.

Palm.

Let's sing a Catch then.

Whead.

Cull. Agreed, agreed.

Whead.

Begin, M^r Palmer.

Palmer sings, standing in the middle, with a Glass of Wine in his hand.

Palm.

I have no design here, But drinking good Wine here.

Whea.

Nor I, Boy.

S^r Nic.

Nor I, Boy.

Whea.

Th' art my Boy.

S^r Nic.

Th' art my Boy.

All 3.

Our heads are too airy for Plots: Let us hugg then all three, Since our Virtues agree, We'l hollow and cast up our Hats.

They hollow whilst Palmer drinks, and then change till it has gone round.

Sir Nich.

Enough, enough.

Palm.

Very good boys all, very good boys all. Give

Me a glass of Wine there; fill a Brimmer: Sir Nicholas, your Lady.

Sir Nich.

Pray, Sir, forbear; I must be forc'd to leave Your Company else. Prethee, Wheadle, let's have a Box and Dice.

Whead.

We shall grow dull. M^r Palmer, what say You to the bus'ness?

Palm.

I do not understand Dice: I understand good Pasture and drink.—Hang the Devil's bones.

Wheadle whispers Cully to send for Dice. Cully whispers the Drawer.

Palmer Sings.

He that leaves his Wine for Boxes and Dice, Or his Wench for fear of mishaps, May he beg all his days, cracking of Lice, And die in conclusion of Claps.

Enter Drawer with Dice.

Palm.

Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the harmlesser Sport of the two; a merry glass round.

Sir Nich.

Excuse me, Sir; I'le pledg you here.

Takes Dice.

Come, come, Sir, on Six; Six is the Main.

Palm.

The Main? what's the Main?

Sir Nich.

Do not you understand Hazard?

Palm.

I understand Dice, or hap-hazard!

Sir Nich.

Can you play at Passage?

Palmer.

You pass my understanding: I can fling Most at a throw, for a Shot, or a glass of Wine.

Sir Nich.

Passage is easily learn'd: The Caster wins If he fling above ten with Doublets upon Three Dice.

Palm.

How Doublets?

Sir Nich.

Two of a sort; two Cinques, two Tre's, or the like.

Palm.

Ho, ho; I have you.

Sir Nich.

Come, set then.

Palm.

I set you this Bottle.

Sir Nich.

Nay, nay, set money!

Palm.

Is it a fair play Mr. Wheadle, I trust to you.

Whead.

Upon my word a very fair square play; but This table is so wet, there's no playing upon it.

Drawer.

Will you be pleas'd to remove into the next Room, Gentlemen?

Sir Nich.

I think 'twill not be amiss.

Whead.

Much better. Come M^r Palmer.

Palm.

I'le follow, Sir.

Palmer sings.

If she be not as kind as fair, But peevish and unhandy, Leave her, she's only worth the care Of some spruce Iack-a-dandy. I wou'd not have thee such an Asse, Had'st thou ne're so much leisure. To sigh and whine for such a Lass Whose Pride's above her Pleasure.

Sir Nich.

Ho brave Boy!

Palm.

March on, march on.

SINGS.

Make much of e'ry buxome Girl, Which needs but little Courting; Her value is above the pearl, That takes delight in sporting.

Exeunt Omnes.

ACT. III. SCEN. I.

Scene, A Tavern.

Enter Sir Nicholas Cully, Wheadle, Palmer, and Drawer.

Palm.

NAy, Sir Nich'las, for all your haste, I must Have a Note under your hand for the tho usa Pounds you owe me.

Whead.

This must not be among Friends, M^r Palmer; Sir Nich'las shall not pay the money.

Sir Nich.

I had been a Mad-man to play at such a rate If I had ever intended to pay.

Palm.

Though I am but a poor Country-man I scorn To be chous'd; I have Friends in Town.

Whead.

But hark you, M^r Palmer.

Palm.

Hark me no harks; I'le have my money.

Sir Nich.

Drawer, take you Reck'ning.

Whead.

laughing.

Farewel, Sir; haste into the Country to Mind your Cattle.

Palm.

But hark you, Gentlemen; are you in earnest?

Whead.

Ay indeed; fare you well, Sir.

Palm.

I took you for my Friend, M^r Wheadle; But now I perceive what you are. Your ear, Sir.

Whead.

Never fear him; he dares not to go into the Field, without it be among his sheep.

Cul.

Agreed; to morrow, about eight in the morning, Near Pancridge.

Whead.

I will have the honour to serve you, Sir Nich'las. Provide your self a Second, M^r Palmer.

Exeunt Sir Nich and Whead. laughing.

Palm.

So, laugh: This is the Sheep that I must fleece.

Exit.

SCEN. II.

Scene, COVENT-GARDEN.

Enter Sir Frederick Frollick, with Fidlers before him, and six or eight Link-boys, dancing and singing.

Sir Fred.

Here, here, this is the window; range your Selves here.

Enter the Bell-man,

Bell-m.

Good-morrow, Gentlemen.

Sir Fred.

Honest Bell-man, prethee lend me they Bell.

Bell-m.

Withall my heart, Master.

Sir Fred. rings the Bell, and then repeats these Verses.

Sir Fred.

You Widow, that do sleep dog-sleep, And now for your dead Husband weep, Perceiving well what want you have Of that poor worm has eat in Grave; Rise out of Bed, and ope the door; Here's that will all your joys restore. Good-morrow, my Mistress dear, Good-morrow. Good-morrow, Widow.

He rings the Bell again.

The Chamber-maid comes to the Window unlac'd, hold∣ing her Petticoats in her hand.

Maid.

Who's that that comes at this unseasonable Hour, to disturb my Ladies quiet.

Sir Fred.

An honest Bell-man, to mind her of her frailty.

Maid.

Sir Frederick, I wonder you will offer this; You will loose her favour for ever.

Sir Fred.

Y' are mistaken; now's the time to creep into Her favour.

Maid.

I'm sure y'ave wak'd me out of the sweetest sleep. Hey ho—

Sir Fred.

Poor girl! let me in, I'le rock Thee into a sweeter.

Maid.

I hear a stirring in my Mistresses Chamber; I believe y'ave frighted her.

Exit Maid.

Sir Fred.

Sound a fresh Alarm; the Enemy's at hand.

Fidlers play.

The Widow comes to the Window in her Night-Gown.

Wid.

Whose insolence is this, that dares affront me Thus?

Sir Fred.

in a Canting Tone.

If there be insolence in Love, 'tis I Have done you this unwilling injury.

Wid.

What pitiful rhyming fellow's that? he speaks As if he were prompted by the Fidlers.

Sir Fred.

Alas, what pains I take thus to unclose Those pretty eye-lids which lock'd up my Foes!

Wid.

A godly Buke would become that tone a great Deal better: He might get a pretty living by Reading Mother Shipton's Prophesies, or some Pious Exhortation at the corner of a Street: His mournful voice, I vow, has mov'd my compassion.

Sir Fred.

Ay, ay, we shou'd have a fellow-feeling of one Another indeed, Widow.

Wid.

Sir Frederick, is it you?

Sir Fred.

Yes truly; and can you be angry, Lady? Have not your Quarters been beaten up At these most seasonable hours before now?

Wid.

Yes; but it has been by one that has had a Commission For what he did: I'm afraid shou'd it once become Your Duty, you would soon grow weary of the Employment.

S. Fr.

Widow, I hate this distance; 'tis not the English fashion: Prethee let's come to't hand to fist.

Wid.

I give no entertainment to such lewd persons. Farewell, Sir.

Exit Widow.

S. Fr.

I'le fetch thee again, or conjure the whole Garden up, Sing the Catch I taught you at the Rose.

Fidlers sing.

SONG.

HE that will win a Widows heart Must bear up briskly to her: She loves the Lad that's free and smart, But hates the Formal Wooer.

Widow runs to the Window again, with her Maid.

Wid.

Hold, hold, Sir Frederick; what do you imagine The Neighbours will think?

Sir Fred.

So ill, I hope, of thee, thoul't be forc'd to Think the better of me.

Wid.

I am much beholden to you for the care you have Of my Reputation.

Sir Fred.

Talk no more, but let the door be open'd; Or else Fidlers—

Wid.

Pray hold; what security shall I have for Your good behaviour?

Sir Fred.

My Sobriety.

Wid.

That's pawn'd at the Tavern from whence You came.

Sir Fred.

Thy own Honesty then; is that engag'd?

Wid.

I think that will go nigh to secure me. Give 'em entrance, Betty.

Ex. Widow, and her Maid.

Enter Palmer, with a Link before him.

Sir Fred.

Ha! who goes there?

Palm.

An humble Creature of yours, Sir.

Sir Fred.

Palmer in a disguise! What roguery Hast thou been about?

Palm.

Out of my loyal inclinations doing Service to his Majesty.

Sir Fred.

What? a plotting?

Palm.

How to destroy his enemies, M^r Wheadle

And I are very vigilant.

Sir Fred.

In bubbling of some body, on my life,

Palm.

We do not use to boast our services, Nor do we seek Rewards; good actions Recompense themselves.

Sir Fred.

Ho, the door opens; farewell, Sirrah. Gentlemen, wait you without, and be ready When I call. Honest Bell-man, drink this.

Gives the Bell-man money.

Bell-m.

Thank you, Noble Master.

Exit Bell-man.

Sir Fred.

entring.

Here's something to stop thy mouth too.

The Maid shrieks.

Maid.

Out upon you, Sir Frederick; you'l never leave Your old tricks.

Exeunt.

SCEN. III.

Scene, The Widows House.

Enter Sir Frederick, leading the Widow, follow'd by her Maid.

Sir Fred.

Little did I think I shou'd ever have been brought To this pass: Love never had the power to rob me Of my rest before.

Wid.

Alas, poor Gentleman! he has not been us'd to These late hours.

Sir Fred.

Widow, do not you be peevish now; 'tis dangerous Jesting with my affection; 'tis in its infancy, and Must be humour'd.

Wid.

Pray teach me how, Sir.

Sir Fred.

Why, with kisses, and such pretty little dalliances; Thus, thus.

Kisses her.

Wid.

Hold, hold, Sir; if it be so froward, put it out To Nurse; I am not so fond of it as you imagine; Pray how have you dispos'd of your brave Camerades? Have you left them to the mercy of the Beadle?

Sir Fred.

No, you must be acquainted with their Virtues. Enter, Gentlemen.

Enter the Fidlers, and a Masque of the Link-boys, who are Dancing-masters, disguis'd for the Frollick.

Wid.

These are men of skill.

After the Masque.

Sir Fred.

I disgus'd 'em for your entertainment.

Wid.

Well, Sir, now I hope you'l leave me to my Rest.

Sir Fred.

Can you in conscience turn a young man Out of doors at this time o'th' night, Widow? Fie, fie, the very thought on't will keep you Waking.

Wid.

So pretty, so well-favour'd a young man; One that loves me.

Sir Fred.

Ay, one that loves you.

Wid.

Truly 'tis a very hard-hearted thing.

She sighs.

Sir Fr.

Come, come, be mollifi'd. You may go, Gentlemen, And leave me here; you may go.

To the Masquers.

Wid.

You may stay, Gentlemen; you may stay, And take your Captain along with you: You'l find good Quarters in some warm Hay-loft.

S. Fr.

Merciless Woman! Do but lend me thy Maid; faith I'le Use her very tenderly and lovingly, even as I'd use Thy self, dear Widow, if thou wou'dst but make proof Of my affection.

Wid.

If the Constable carry your suspicious person to the Compter, pray let me have notice of it; I'le send my Taylor to be your Bail.

Sir Fr.

Go, go to bed, and be idle, Widow; that's worse then Any misfortune I can meet with. Strike up, and give Notice of our coming. Farewell, Widow; I pity thy solitary condition.

Exeunt Fidlers playing.

SCEN. IV.

Scene, Sir Frederick's Lodging.

Enter Dufoy, and Clark.

Clark.

I wonder Sir Frederick stays out so late.

Dufoy.

Dis is noting; six, seven a clock in de morning Is ver good houre.

Clark.

I hope he does not use these hours often.

Dufoy.

Some six, seven time a veeke; no oftiner.

Clark.

My Lord commanded me to wait his coming.

Dufoy.

Matré Clark, to divertise you, I vil tell you How I did get be acquainted vid dis bedlam Matre. About two, tree year ago me had for my conveniance

Enter a Foot-boy.

Dischargé my self from attending as Matré D'ostel to A person of Condition in Parie; it hapen after de Dispatch of my littel affairé—

Foot-b.

That is, after h'ad spent his money, Sir.

Dufoy.

Jan foutré de Lacque; me vil have de Vip And de Belle vor your breeck, Rogue.

Foot-b.

Sir, in a word, he was Iack-pudding to a Mountebank, And turn'd off for want of wit; my Master pick'd him Up before a Puppit-show, mumbling a half-penny Custard, to send him with a Letter to the Post.

Dufoy.

Morbleu, see, see de insolance of de Foot-boy English, Bogre Rascale, you lye, begar I vil cutté your troaté.

Exit Foot-boy.

Clark.

He's a Rogue; on with your story, Monsieur.

Dufoy.

Matré Clark, I am your ver humble Serviture; but Begar me have no patience to be abusé. As I did say, After De dispatché of my affa••••é van day being Idelé, vich Does producé de Mellanchollique, I did valké over De new Bridge in Parie, and to devertise de time, And my more serious tough••é, me did look to see

De Marrioneté and de Jack-puddingé, vich Did play hundred pretty triké, time de Collation vas come; and vor I had no companie, I vas Unvilling to go to de Cabareté, but did buy a Darriolé, Little Custardé vich did satisfie my apetite ver vel: In dis time young Mounfieur de Grandvil (a Jentelman Of ver great Quallity, van dat vas my ver good Friendé, And has don me ver great and insignal faveure) Come by in his Caroché, vid dis Sir Frollick, who did Pention at de same Academy, to learn de Language, de bon mine, de great horse, and Many oder triké; Monsieur seeing me did Make de bowé, and did beken, beken me come To him; he did tellé me dat de Englis Jentelman Had de Letré vor de Posté, and did entreaté Me (if I had de oppertunity) to see de Letré Deliver; he did tellé me too, it vold be ver great Obligation: de memory of de faveur I had Receive from his Famelyé, beside de inclination I Naturally have to servé de strangeré, made me Retourné de complemen vid ver great civility, And so I did take de Letré, and see it deliveré. Sir Frollick perceiving (by de managment of dis Affairé) dat I vas man d'esprit, and of vitté, did Entreaté me to be his Serviteur; me did take D'affection to his Personé, and vas contentê to live Vid him, to counsel and to advisé him. You see Now de lye of de Bougre dé Lacque Englishé, Morbleu.

Enter a Foot-man.

Foot-m.

Monsieur, the Apothecary is without.

Dufoy.

Dat news be no ver velcome, begar. Matré Clarke, go and sit you down; I vil but swal My breakface, and be vid you again present. Morbleu L' apothecaré.

Exeunt.

SCEN. V.

Scene, A Field.

Enter Wheadle and Cully.

Cully.

Dear Wheadle, this is too dangerous a testimony Of thy kindness.

Whead.

I shou'd be angry with you if you thought so: What makes you so serious?

Cul.

I am sorry I did not provide for both our safeties.

Whead.

How so?

Cul.

Colonel Hewson is my neighbour, and very good Friend; I might have acquainted him with The business, and got him with a File of Musketiers to secure us all.

Whead.

But this wou'd not secure your Honour. What wou'd the world have judg'd?

Cul.

Let the world have judg'd what it wou'd: Have We not had many presidents of late, and The world knows not what to judge?

Whead.

But you see there was no need to hazard Your Reputation; here's no enemy appears.

Cul.

We have done our duty, let's be going then.

Whea.

We ought to waite a while.

Cul.

The ayre is so bleak, I vow I can no longer Endure it.

Whea.

Have a little patience, methinks I see two Making towards us In the next Close.

Cul.

Where, where? 'tis them.

Whead.

Bear up bravely now like a man.

Cul.

I protest I am the worst dissembler In cases of this nature.

Whead.

Alon; look like a man of resolution. Whither, whither go you?

Cul.

But to the next house to make my Will, For fear of the worst; tell them I'le be here Again presently.

Whead.

By no means; if you give 'em the least occasion To suspect you, they' I appear like Lions.

Cul.

Well, 'tis but giving security for the money; That will bring me off at last.

Enter Palmer and his Second.

Palm.

I see you ride the Fore-horse, Gentlemen.

All strip but Cully, who fumbles with his Doublet.

Whead.

Good-morrow, Sir.

Sec.

Come, Sir, let us match the swords.

To Wheadle.

Whead.

With all my heart.

They match the Swords.

Palmer Sings.

He had and a good right Bilbo blade, Wherewith he us'd to vapour; Full many a stubborn Foe had made To wince and cut a caper.

Sec.

Here's your Sword, Sir.

To Palmer.

Palm.

Come, Sir, are you ready for this sport?

To Cully.

Cul.

By and by, Sir; I will not rend the buttons from my Doublet for no mans pleasure.

Whead.

Death, y'ave spoil'd all; make haste.

Cul.

Hang 'em, the Devil eggs 'em on; they will fight.

Palm.

What, will you never have done fumbling?

Sec.

This is a shame; fight him with his Doublet on; There's no foul play under it.

Palm.

Come, Sir, have at you.

Making to Cully.

Sec.

Here, here, Sir.

To Wheadle.

Whead.

I am for you, Sir.

Wheadle and the Second seem to fight.

Cul.

Hold, hold, I beseech you, M^r Palmer, hear me, Hear me.

Whead.

What's the matter?

Cul.

My Conscience will not let me fight in a wrong Cause; I will pay the money, I have fairly lost it.

Whead.

How contemptible is man, overcome by the worst of Passions, Fear! it makes him as much below Beasts As Reason raises him above them. I will my self Fight you both; Come on, if you dare.—

Cul.

Prethee, dear Wheadle, do but hear me.

Whead.

I disown all the kindness I ever had for you: Where are these men of valour, which owe their Virtue to this man's Vice? let me go, I will chastise Their insolence my self.

Cully holds him.

Cul.

Dear Wheadle, bear with the frailties of Thy Friend.

Whead.

Death, what wou'd you have me do? can I serve You with any thing more dear then my life?

Cul.

Let us give them security.

Whead.

Do you know what it is you wou'd do? have you consider'd What a thousand Pounds is? 'tis a Fortune for any one man.

Cul.

I will pay it all; thou shalt be no loser.

Whead.

Do you hear, Shepherd? how do you expect This money?

Palm.

I expect such security for it as my friend shall advise.

Sec.

A Warrant to confess a Judgment from you both.

Whead.

You shall be damn'd first; you shall Have nothing.

Palm. and Sec.

We'l have your bloods.

They proffer to fight; Cully holds Wheadle.

Whead.

Let me go.

Cul.

Dear Wheadle, let it be so. You shall Have a Judgment, Gentlemen.

Whead.

I will take care hereafter with whom I engage.

The Second pulls papers out of his pocket

What? you have your tackling about you.

Sec.

We have Articles for Peace, as well as Weapons For War.

Whea.

Dispatch, dispatch then, put me to no more Torment with delays.

Sec.

Come S^r Nicholas to the Book; you see we are favourable, We grant you the benefit of your Clergy.—Your

Cully subscribes on Palmer's back, and then Wheadle.

Helping hand, good M^r Wheadle, to finish the work.

Whead.

Take that into the bargain.

Kicks him.

Palm.

You shall have another, if you please, at the price.

Sec.

We seldom quarrel under a thousand pounds.

Palm. and Sec.

We wish you merry, Gentlemen.

Palmer Sings.

Come, let's to the Tavern scape, And drink whilst we can stand; We thirst more for the blood o'th' Grape Then for the blood of man.

Exeunt Palmer and Second.

Whead.

Do you see now what men of mighty prowess These are?

Cul.

I was to blame, indeed.

Whead.

I am in such a passion I know not what To do: Let us not stand gazing here; I wou'd not have this known for a Kingdom.

Cul.

No, nor I neither.

Exeunt.

SCEN. VI.

Scene, The Lord Bevill's House.

Enter my Lord Bevil and Lovis.

Lovis.

'Tis yet within your pow'r, Sir, to maintain Our Honour, and prevent this threatning stain.

L. Bev.

Forbear this wicked insolence: Once more I charge you think on your Obedience.

Exit L. Bevill.

Lovis.

Beauty, what art thou, we so much admire! Thou art no real, but a seeming fire, Which, like the glow-worm, only cast'st a light To them whose Reason Passion does benight. Thou art a Meteor, which but blazing dies, Made of such vapours as from us arise. Within thy guilty beams lurk cruel Fates, To peaceful Families, and warring States. Unhappy Friend, to doat on what we know—

Ent. a Servant.

Serv.

Sir, Colonel Bruce, unexpectedly released from His Imprisonment, is come to wait upon you.

Exit Servant.

Lovis.

What shall I do! Ye Powers above be kind, Some counsel give to my distracted mind: Friendship and shame within me so contend, I know not how to shun or meet my Friend.

Enter Bruce.

Bruce.

Where is my gen'rous Friend? Oh Noble Youth, How long have I been rob'd of this content?

They embrace.

Though deprivation be the greatest pain, When Heav'n restores our happiness again, It makes amends by our encrease of joy, Perfecting that which it did once destroy. Dear Friend, my love does now exact its due; Graciana must divide my heart with you: Conduct me to your Sister, where I may Make this my morn of Joy a glorious day. What means this sad astonishment!

Lovis.

How can we chuse but with confusion greet, When I your Joys with equal Sorrows meet?

Bruce.

O Heav'n! must my afflictions have no end! I scap'd my Foe, to perish by my Friend. What strange disaster can produce this grief!

Is Graciana dead? Speak, speak; be brief.

Lovis.

She lives; but I could wish her dead.

Br.

Rash man! why should your envy swell so high, To wish the world this great calamity? Wish the whole frame of Nature were dissolv'd; That all things to a Chaos were revolv'd. There is more charity in this desire; Since with our loss, our sorrows wou'd expire.

Enter Aurelia.

Lovis.

Here comes Aurelia, sent for my relief; Heav'n knows her tongue can best express this grief: Examine her, and you shall find ere long I can revenge, though not relate your wrong.

Bruce.

For pity haste, Aurelia, and declare

Kisses her hand.

The reasons of your Brothers frighting care: My soul is rack'd with doubts, until I know.

After a pause.

Your silence and your looks, Aurelia, show As if your kindness made you bear a part Of those great sorrows that afflict his heart.

Aurel.

His passion is so noble and so just, No gen'rous Soul can know it but it must Lay claim unto a portion, as its due: He can be thus concern'd for none but you.

Bruce.

Kind Maid, reveal what my misfortunes are; Friendship must not engross them, though it share. I wou'd not willingly my Love suspect; And yet I fear 'tis answer'd with neglect.

Aurel.

My Sister, by unlucky stars misled, From you and from her happiness is fled; Unskilful in the way, by passion press'd, She has took shelter in anothers breast.

Bruce.

Fate, thou hast done thy worst, thy Tryumph sing; Now thou hast stung so home, th'ast lost thy sting. I have not power, Graciana, to exclaim▪

After a pause.

Against your fault; indeed you are to blame.

Lovis.

Tell me, did she her promise plight, or give Your love encouragement enough to live?

Bruce.

It was her pity sure, and not her Love, That made her seem my passion to approve: My story was unpleasant to her ear At first; but time had made her apt to hear My Love: She told me that it grew her grief, As much as mine, my pain found no relief; Then promis'd she'd endeavour the decrease Of that in her which warr'd against my peace. 'Twas in this joyful spring of Love that I Was ravish'd from her by our enemy: My hopes grew strong, I banish'd all despair: These glowing sparks I then left to the care Of this fair maid, thinking she might inspire My passion, and blow up the kindling fire.

Lovis.

Alas! she, to my knowledg, has been true; Sh'as spoke and sigh'd all that she cou'd for you.

Aurel.

When you were forc'd to end, I did proceed, And with success the catching fire did feed; Till Noble Beaufort, one unlucky day, A visit to our Family did pay; Newly arriv'd from Forreign Courts, and Fraught With all those Virtues that in Courts are taught: He with his am'rous Tales so charm'd her ear, That she of Love from none but him wou'd hear.

Bruce.

That heart which I so long with toyl and pain Besieg'd, and us'd all stratagems to gain,

Enter a Servant, and whispers with Lovis.

Is now become within a trice we see The Tryumph of anothers Victory. There is a fate in love, as well as war; Some though less careful more successful are.

Lovis.

Do not this opportunity withstand; These Lovers now are walking hand in hand I'th' Garden; fight him there, and sacrifice His heart to that false Womans cruel eyes: If fate be so unjust to make thee fall,

His blood or mine shall wait thy Funeral.

Bruce.

Young man, this rashness must have my excuse, Since 'tis your friendship does your fault produce; If Powers above did not this passion sway, But that our Love our Reason did obey, Your Sister I with Justice might accuse, Nor wou'd I this occasion then refuse.

Lovis.

Does Bruce resolve thus tamely to decline His int'rest, and like foolish women pine? Can that great heart which in your breast does dwell Let your fond griefs above your courage swell?

Bruce.

My passions grow unruly, and I find Too soon they'l raise a Tempest in my mind. Graciana, like fond Parents, y'are to blame You did not in its youth correct my flame; 'Tis now so head-strong, and so wild a fire, I fear to both our ruines 'twill conspire: I grow impatient, Friend, come lead me where I may to her my injur'd Love declare. Graciana, yet your heart shall be my Prize, Or else my heart shall be your Sacrifice. Despair's the issue of ignoble minds, And but with Cowards entertainment finds.

Exeunt Lovis and Bruce.

Aurel.

Heav'n grant some moderation to this rage, That Reason their swel'd passions may asswage. Oh, Bruce! thou little think'st the Fates in me Have to the full reveng'd thy injury.

Exit.

SCEN. VII.

Scene, A Garden belonging to my Lord Bevill's House.

Enter Beaufort and Graciana.

Beauf.

Madam, what you have told so much must move All that have sence of Honour or of Love, That for my Rival I cou'd shed a Tear, If grief had any pow'r when you are near.

Grac.

Leave this discourse; your Mistress you neglect, And to your Rival all your thoughts direct.

Enter Bruce and Lovis, and stand undiscover'd.

Beauf.

Forgive me, dear Graciana, I have been By my compassion sooth'd into a sin. The holiest man that to the Altar bows With wand'ring thoughts too often stains his Vows.

Bruce.

Graciana, you are alter'd much, I find;

Surprising her by the hand.

Sine I was here y'ave learn'd how to be kind. The god of Love, which subt'ly let you sway, Has stoln your heart, and taught it to obey.

Grac.

Heav'ns! what strange surprise is this!

Bruce.

Hither I'm come to make my lawful claim; You are my Mistress, and must own my flame.

Beau.

Forbear, bold man, and do not tempt thy fate;

Taking her by the other hand.

Thou hast no right, her Love does right create: Thy Claim must to my Title here give place; 'Tis not who loves, but whom she's pleas'd to grace.

Grac.

Hear me but speak; Bruce, you divide my care; Though not my Love, you my Compassion share; My heart does double duty; it does mourn For you brave Bruce; for you brave Beaufort burn.

Bruce.

Your pity but destroys; if you wou'd save, It is your Love, Graciana, I must have.

Beauf.

Her Love is mine, she did it now declare; Name it no more, but vanish and despair.

Bruce.

Death, do you think to conjure me away! I am no Devil that am forc'd t' obey: If y'are so good at that, here are such charms

Laying his hand on his Sword.

Can fright y'into the circle of her arms.

Beauf.

Here is a Sword more fit for my defence; This is not courage, Bruce, but insolence.

Grac. takes Beauf. in her arms.

Graciana, let me go, my heart wants room.

Grac.

My arms till now were ne're thought troublesom.

Bruce.

Beaufort, I hope y'ave courage to appear, Where sacred Sanctuary is not near. I'le leave you now within that happy state Which does provoke my fury and my hate.

Ex. Bru. and Lov.

Grac.

You must not meet him in the field, to prove A doubtful Combate for my certain Love. Beside, your heart is mine; will you expose The heart you gave me to its raging foes? Those men want Honour who stake that at play Which to their Friends their kindness gave away.

Beauf.

Graciana, why did you confine me so Within your arms? you shou'd have let me go: We soon had finish'd this our hot debate, Which now must wait a longer time on Fate.

Grac.

None, in combustions blame such sa desire To save their pretious Goods from raging fire. Banish this passion now, my Lord, and prove Your anger cannot overcloud your Love.

Beauf.

Your glorious presence can this rage controul, And make a calm in my tempestuous soul; But yet there must be time; the Sun does bear A while with the fierce tempests of the Air, Before he make those stormy conflicts cease, And with his conquering beams proclaims a Peace.

Exeunt.

ACT. IV. SCEN. I.

Enter Lord Beaufort and Lovis.

Lovis.

FArewell, my Lord, I'le to my Friend declare How gen'rous you in your acceptance were.

Beauf.

My Honour is as forward as my Love, On equal wings of jealousie they move: I to my Rival will in neither yield; I've won the Chamber, and will win the Field.

Lovis.

Your Emulation, Sir, is swoln so high, You may be worthy of his Victory: You'l meet with Honour blown, not in the bud, Whose Root was fed with vast expense of blood.

Ex. Lovis.

Enter Sir Frederick.

Sir Fred.

What, my Lord, as studious as a Country Vicar on a Saturday in the afternoon? I thought you had been ready for the Pulpit.

Beauf.

I am not studying of speeches for my Mistress; 'Tis action that I now am thinking on, Wherein there's Honour to be gain'd; And you, Cousin, are come luckily to share it.

Sir Fred.

On my life a Prize to be playd for your Mistress: I had notice of your Quarrel, which brought me Hither so early with my Sword to serve you. But dares so zealous a Lover as your Lordship Break the commandment of your Mistress? I heard, Poor Lady, she wept, and charg'd you to sleep In a whole skin; but young men never know When th'are well.

Beau.

Cousin, my love to her cannot make me forget my duty To my Family.

Sir Fred.

Pray whose body must I exercise my skill Upon?

Beauf.

You met the man; Graciana's Brother.

Sir Fred.

An expert Gentleman, and I have not Fenc'd of late, unless it were with my Widows Maids; and they are e'en too hard For me at my own weapon.

Beauf.

Cousin, 'tis time we were preparing for the Field.

Sir Fred.

I wait to serve you, Sir.

Beauf.

But yet with grief, Graciana, I must go, Since I your Brother there shall meet my Foe: My fate too near resembles theirs where he Did wound himself that hurt his Enemy.

Exeunt.

SCEN. II.

Enter Wheadle, and Palmer dress'd like the Lord Bevil.

Whead.

So, my Proteus, exactly dress'd! Dexterous Rogue! Is Grace ready in her Geers, and Settl'd in my Lady Dawbwells house?

Palm.

Every trap is baited.

Whead.

I'le warrant thee then we catch our Cully: He's gone to put himself into a fantastick Garb, in imitation of Sir Frederick Frollick; He's almost frantick with the very conceit Of gaining the rich Widow. But heark, I Hear him coming; slip down the back way, And to your charge.

Exit Palmer.

Enter Cully.

Sir Nich.

Wheadle, and what think you of this Habit? is it not very modish?

Whead.

As any man need wear: How did you

Furnish your self so suddenly?

Sir Nich.

Suddenly? I protest I was at least at Sixteen Broakers, before I cou'd put my self Exactly into the fashion; but now I defie Sir Frederick; I am as fine as he, and will be as mad As he, if that will carry the Widow, I'le warrant Thee.

Whead.

Is it not better pushing thus for a Fortune, Before your Reputation's blasted With the infamous names of Coward and Gamester? And so become able to pay the thousand pounds without noise, Then going into the Country, selling your Land, Making a havock among your Woods, or mortgaging Your Estate to a scrupulous Scrivener, that will Whisper it iuto the ears of the whole Town, By inquiring of your good behaviour?

Sir Nich.

Excellent Wheadle! And will my Lord Bevill speak my commendations to his Sister?

Whead.

She is impatient till she see you, Sir; For in my hearing, upon the account I gave him Of you, he told her you were the prettiest, wirtest, Wildest Gentleman about the Town, and a Cavalier In your heart; The only things that take her.

Sir Nich.

Wheadle, come, I will go to the Tavern, And swallow two whole quarts of Wine Instantly, and when I am drunk Ride on a Drawers back to visit her.

Whead.

Some less Frollick to begin with.

Sir Nich.

I will cut three Drawers over the pate then, And go with a Tavern-Lanthorn before me at noon-day. Come away.

Exeunt, Cully singing.

SCEN. III.

Enter Palmer and Grace.

Palm.

Do not I look like a very Reverend Lord, Grace?

Grace.

And I like a very fine Lady, M^r Palmer?

Palm.

Yes in good faith, Grace; what a rogue is that Wheadle, to have kept such a Treasure to himself, Without communicating a little to his Friends?

Offers to kiss her.

Grace.

Forbear; you'l be out in your Part, My Lord, when Sir Nich'las comes.

Palm.

The truth is, my Lady, I am better Prepar'd at this time to act a Lover then A Relation.

Grace.

That grave dress is very amorous indeed.

Palm.

My Virtues, like those of Plants in the Winter, Are retir'd; your warm Spring Wou'd fetch 'em out with a vengeance.

Enter Jenny in haste.

Ienny.

M^r Wheadle and S^r Nich'las are come.

Palm.

Away, away then, Sister; expect your Kew.

Enter Wheadle, and Sir Nicholas, kicking a Tavern boy before him, who has three Bottles of Wine on a Roap hanging at his back.

Cul.

singing.

Then march along, Boys; valiant and strong, Boys. So, lay down the Bottles here.

Whead.

My Lord, this is the worthy Gentleman That I told you was Ambitious to be your Sisters Servant.

Cul.

Hither I am come, my Lord, to drink Your Sisters Health, without offence, I hope.

Palm.

You are heartily welcome, Sir.

Cul.

Here's a Brimmer then to her, and all the Fleas about her.

Palm.

Sir, I'le call her self to pledg it.

Cul.

Stay, stay, my Lord, that you may Be able to tell her you have drunk it.

Palmer drinks and exit.

Cul.

Wheadle, how do you like this?

Draws his Sword.

Shall I break the Windows?

Whead.

Hold, hold; you are not in a House of evil reputation.

Cul.

Well admonish'd, Sir Frederick Frollick.

Enter Palmer and Grace.

Palm.

This is Sir Nich'las, Sister.

Cul.

I, Madam, I am Sir Nich'las, and how do you like me?

Grace.

A pretty Gentleman. Pray, Sir, are you come a House-warming, That you bring your Wine with you?

Cul.

If you ask such pert Questions, Madam, I can stop your mouth.

Kisses her.

Hither I am come to be drunk, That you may see me drunk; and Here's a Health to your Flanel Petticoat.

Drinks.

Grace.

M^r Wheadle, my service to you; a Health

She drinks part.

To S^r Nich'las's great Grand-father's Beard-brush.

Cul.

Nay, pledg me; ha—

Grace.

You are not quarrelsom in your drink, I hope, Sir.

Cul.

No, faith; I am wond'rous loving.

Huggs her.

Grace.

You are a very bold Lover.

Cul.

Widow, let you and I go upon the ramble To night.

Grace.

Do you take me for a Night-walker, Sir?

Cul.

Thou shalt be witness how many Constables Staves I'le break about the Watchmens ears; How many Bell-men I'le rob of their Verses, To furnish a little Appartment in the back side Of my Lodging.

Grace.

I believe y'are an excellent man at Quarter-staff, Sir.

Cul.

The odds was on my head against any Warrener In all our Country; but I have left it off this Two year. My Lord, what say you, Do you think Your Sister and I shou'd not furnish a Bed-chamber As well as two soberer people? what think you, my Lord?

Grace.

I, and a Nursery too, I hope, Sir.

Cul.

Well said, Widow, i'faith; I will get upon thy body A generation of wild Cats, children that shall Waw, waw, scratch their Nurses, and be drunk With their sucking-bottles.

Whead.

Brave Sir Nich'las.

Cul.

Wheadle, give me a Brimmer; the Widow Shall drink it to our Progeny. Where, where is she gone?

Exit Grace.

Palm.

You have frighted her hence, Sir.

Cul.

I'le fright her worse, if I find her in a corner. Ha, Widow, I'le follow you; I'le follow you, ha.

Whead.

The Wine makes the Rogue witty; he Over-acts the Part I gave him; Sir Fredrick is not half so mad: I will keep Him thus elevated till he has married Grace, And we have the best part of his Estate at our mercy.

Palm.

Most ingenious Wheadle!

Whead.

I was not born to ease nor Acres; Industry is all my stock of living.

The women shriek within.

Palm.

Hark, he puts them to the squeek.

Whead.

We must go and take him off; he's as fierce

As a Bandog that has newly broke his chain.

Exeunt laughing.

SCEN. IV.

Scene, A Field.

Enter Bruce and Lovis, and traverse the Stage.

Then enter four or five men in disguises.

1 Man.

This way they went; besure you kill the Villain; Let pity be a stranger to your breasts.

2 Man.

We have been bred, you know, unacquainted with Compassion.

3 Man.

But why, Colonel, shou'd you so eagerly Pursue his life? he has the report of A gallant Man.

1 Man.

He murder'd my Father.

3 Man.

I have heard he kill'd him fairly in The Field at Nasby.

1 Man.

He kill'd him, that's enough; and I my self. Was witness: I accus'd him to the Protector, and subborn'd Witness To have taken away his life by form Of Law; but my Plot was discover'd, and He yesterday releas'd; since which I've Watch'd an opportunity, without the Help of seeming Justice, for my Revenge. Strike home.—

3 Man.

We are your hired slaves; and since You'l have it so, we'l shed his blood, And never spare our own.

Exeunt, drawing their swords.

Enter Beaufort and Sir Frederick, and traverse the Stage.

Enter Bruce and Lovis at another door.

Bruce.

Your Friendship, noble Youth, 's too prodigal; For one already lost you venture all; Your present happiness, your future joy; You for the hopeless your great hopes destroy.

Lovis.

What can I venture for so brave a friend? I have no hopes but what on you depend. Shou'd I your Friendship and my Honour rate Below the value of a poor Estate, A heap of dirt! Our Family has been To blame, my blood most here atone the sin.

Enter the five Villains with drawn Swords.

Heav'ns! what is there an Ambuscado laid! Draw, dearest Friend, I fear we are betray'd.

I Vill.

Bruce, look on me, and then prepare to die.

Pulling off his Vizard.

Bruce.

O Treacherous Villain!

I Vill.

Fall on, and sacrifice his blood to my Revenge.

Lovis.

More hearts then one shall bleed, if he must die.

They fight.

Enter Beaufort and sir Frederick.

Beauf.

Heav'ns! what's this I see! Sir Fredrick, draw; Their blood's too good to grace such Villains Swords. Courage, brave men; now We can match their Force.

Lovis.

We'l make you, slaves, repent

The Villains run.

This Treachery.

Beauf.

So.

Bruce.

They are not worth pursuit; we'l let them go. Brave men! this action makes it well appear 'Tis Honour and not Envy brings you here.

Beauf.

We come to conquer, Bruce, and not to see Such Villains rob us of our Victory. Your lives our fatal swords claim as their due; W'ad wrong'd our selves had we not righted you.

Bruce.

Your gen'rous courage has oblig'd us so, That to your succour we our safety owe.

Lovis.

Y'ave done what men of Honour ought to do, What in your cause we wou'd have done for you.

Beauf.

You speak the truth, w'ave but our duty done; Prepare: Duty's no obligation.

He strips.

Bruce.

My Honour is dis-satisfi'd; I must,

Lovis and Sir Frederick strip.

My Lord, consider whether it be just To draw my Sword against that life which gave Mine, but e'en now, protection from the grave.

Beauf.

None come into the Field to weigh what's right; This is no place for Councel, but for Fight. Dispatch.

Bruce.

I am resolv'd I will not fight.

Beauf.

Did I come hither then only to fright A company of fearful slaves away; My Courage stoops not at so mean a prey: Know, Bruce, I hither come to shed thy blood.

Bruce.

Open this bosom, and let out a flood.

Beauf.

I come to Conquer bravely in the Field, Not to take poor revenge on such as yield. Has nothing pow'r, too backward man, to move Thy Courage? Think on thy neglected Love: Think on the beauteous Graciana's Eyes; 'Tis I have robb'd thee of that glorious prize.

Br.

There are such charms in Graciana's Name,

Strips hastily.

My scrup'lous Honour must obey my Flame: My lazy Courage I with shame condemn: No thoughts have power streams of blood to stem.

Sir Fred.

Come, Sir, out of kindness to our Friends

You and I must pass a small complement On each other.

They all fight.

Beaufort after many Passes closes with Bruce; they fall; Beaufort disarms him.

Beauf.

Here, live.

Giving Bruce his Sword again.

Bruce.

My Lord, y'ave gain'd a perfect Victory; Y'ave vanquish'd and oblig'd your enemy.

Beauf.

Hold, gallant men.

Bruce and Beaufort part Lovis and Sir Fred.

Lovis.

Before we bleed! Do we here fight a Prize, Where handsom proffers may for Wounds suffice? I am amaz'd! What means this bloodless Field?

Bruce.

The stoutest heart must to his fortune yield. Brave Youth! here Honour did with Courage vie;

To Beauf.

And both agree to grace your Victory. Heave with such a Conquest favours few: 'Tis easier to destroy then to subdue. Our bodies may by bruitish force be kill'd; But noble Minds alone to Virtue yield. My Lord, I've twice receiv'd my life from you; Much is to both those gen'rous actions due: The noble Giver I must highly prize, Though I the Gift, heav'n knows, as much despise. Can I desire to live, when all the Joy Of my poor life its Ransom does destroy! No, no, Graciana's loss I'le ne'r survive; I pay too dear for this unsought Reprieve.

Falls on his Sword, and is desperately wounded.

Beauf.

Hold gallant man! Honour her self does bleed;

Running to him, takes him in his arms.

All gen'rous hearts are wounded by this deed.

Lovis.

He does his blood for a lost Mistress spend; And shall not I bleed for so brave a Friend?

Lovis offers to fall on his Sword, but is hindred by sir Frederick

Sir Fred.

Forbear, Sir; the Frollick's not to go round, as I Take it.

Beauf.

Twere greater Friendship to assist me here: I hope the wound's not mortal, though I fear—

Bruce.

My Sword, I doubt, has fail'd in my relief; 'Thas made a vent for blood, but not for grief.

Bruce strugling, Lovis and S^t Fred▪ help to hold him.

Let me once more the unkind Weapon try. Will you prolong my pain? oh cruelty!

Lovis.

Ah, dearest Bruce, can you thus careless be Of our great friendship, and your Loyalty! Look on your Friend; your drooping Country view; And think how much they both expect from you. You for a Mistress waste that precious blood Which shou'd be spent but for our Masters good.

Sir Fred,

Expence of blood already makes him faint; Let's carry him to the next house, till we can Procure a chair to convey him to my Lord Bevill's, The best place for accommodation.

They all take him up.

Beauf.

Honour has plaid an after-game; this Field The Conq'rour does unto the Conquer'd yield,

Exeunt.

SCEN. V.

Enter Graciana weeping.

Grac.

Farewel all thoughts of happiness, farewell: My fears together with my sorrows swell: Whilst from my eyes there flows this Christal flood, From their brave hearts there flows such streams of blood. Here I am lost, while both for me contend; With what success can this strange Combate end! Honour with Honour fights for Victory, And Love is made the common enemy.

Enter Lord Bevill.

L. Bevill

weeping.

Ah, Child!—

Grac.

Kill me not with expectation, Sir.

L. Bev.

The gen'rous Bruce has kill'd himself For you: Being disarm'd, and at his Rival's mercy, His Life and Sword were given him by the Noble Youth; He made a brave acknowledgment For both; but then considering you were lost, He scorn'd to live; and falling on his Sword, Has giv'n himself a mortal wound.

Exit L. Bevill.

Enter Aurelia weeping.

Aurel.

Cruel Graciana, Go but in and see The fatal Tryumph of your Victory. The Noble Bruce, to your eternal shame, With his own blood has quench'd his raging flame.

Grac.

weeping.

My carriage shall in these misfortunes prove That I have Honour too, as well as Love.

Aurel.

aside.

Thy sorrows, sad Aurelia, will declare At once, I fear, thy Love and thy Despair: These streams of grief straight to a flood will rise; I can command my Tongue, but not my eyes.

Exit Aurel.

Grac.

In what a Maze, Graciana, dost thou tread! Which is the Path that doth to Honour lead? I in this Lab'rynth so resolve to move, That none shall judg I am misled by Love.

Enter Beaufort.

Beauf.

Here Conq'rours must forget their Victories, And homage pay to your victorious Eyes▪ Graciana, hither your poor slave is come, After his Conquest to receive his doom; Smile on his Vict'ry; had he prov'd untrue

To Honour, he had then prov'd false to you.

Grac.

Perfidious man, can you expect from me An approbation of your Treacherie! When I, distracted with prophetick fears, Blasted with sighs, and almost drown'd in tears, Begg'd you to moderate your Rage last night▪ Did you not promise me you wou'd not fight? Go now and triumph in your Victory; Into the Field you went my Enemy, And are return'd the only man I hate, The wicked instrument of my sad fate. My Love has but dissembled been to thee, To try my gen'rous Lover's constancy.

Exit Graciana.

Beauf.

Oh Heav'n! how strange and cruel is my fate! Preserv'd by Love, to be destroy'd by Hate!

Exit Beaufort.

SCEN. VI.

Scene, The Widows House.

Enter Betty and Lettice, the two Chamber-maids, severally.

Betty.

Oh, Lettice, we have staid for you.

Lett.

What hast thou done to the French-man, Girl? he lies yonder neither dead nor drunk; No body knows what to make of him.

Betty.

I sent for thee to help make sport with him; He'l come to himself, never fear him: Have you not observ'd how scurvily h'as look'd Of late?

Lett.

Yes; and he protests it is for love of you.

Betty.

Out upon him, for a dissembling Rascal; H'as got the foul Disease; Our Coachman discover'd it by a Bottle of Diet Drink he brought and hid behind the stairs, into which I infus'd a little Opium.

Lett.

What dost intend to do with him?

Betty.

You shall see.

Enter Coach-man, with a Tub without a bottom, a shut at the top to be lock'd, and a hole to put ones head out at, made easie to be born on ones shoulders.

Coach-m.

Here's the Tub; where's the French-man?

Betty.

He lies behind the stairs; haste and bring him in, That he may take quiet possession of this wooden Tenement; For 'tis neer his time of waking.

The Coach-man and another Servant bring in Dufoy, and put him into the Tub.

Is the Fidler at hand that us'd to ply at the blind Ale-house?

Coach-m.

He's ready.

Enter a Fidler.

Betty.

Well, let's hear now what a horrible noise you Can make to wake this Gentleman.

Fidler plays a Tune.

Lett.

He wants a helping hand; his eye-lids

Dufoy begins to wake.

Are seal'd up; see how the wax sticks upon 'em. Let me help you, Monsieur.

Dufoy.

Vat aré you? Jernie! vat is dis! am I Jack in a boxé? begar, who did putté Me here?

Betty.

Good-morrow, Monsieur; will you be pleas'd To take your Pills this morning?

Dufoy.

Noé; but I vo'd have de diable take youé; It vas youé dat did abusé me duss, vas It noté? begar I vil killé ale de Shamber-maid in Englandé.

Lett.

Will you be pleas'd to drink, Monsieur? There's a Bottle of your Diet-drink within.

Dufoy.

Are youé de littel diable come to tormenté mé? Morbleu! vas ever man afronté in dis naturé!

Betty.

Me-thinks he has ferbon, mine Monsieur, Now if you please to make your little Addressé, And your amouré, you will not find me so coy.

Dufoy.

Begar I vil no marié de cousin Germain Of de diable.

Lett.

What shou'd he do with a Wife? he has not House-room for her.

Betty.

Why do you not keep your head within Doors, Monsieur?

Lett.

Now there's such a storm abroad.

Dufoy.

Why did not youé keep your Maiden-headé Vid in dooré? begar, tellé me daté.

Coach-m.

Have you any fine French Commodities to sell, Gloves and Ribbands? y'ave got A very convenient shop, Monsieur.

Dufoy.

I do hope you vil have de verié Convenient halteré, begar. Jerny, Can I not taré dis tingé in de pieces?

Betty.

You begin to sweat, Monsieur; the Tub is Proper for you.

Dufoy.

I have no more patiencé; I vil breaké dis prison, or I vil breaké My neké, and ye shall alé be hangé.

Struggles to get out.

Lett.

He begins to rave; bless the poor man.

Betty.

Some Musique quickly, to Compose his mind.

The Musique plays; and they Dance about him.

How prettily the snail carries his Tenement

He walks with the Tub on his back.

On his back! I'm sorry I am but his Mistress: If I had been your Wife, Monsieur, I had made You a compleat snail; your horns Shou'd have appear'd.

Dufoy.

I vil have de patiencé, dere is no oder remedé; You be alé de Raskalé Whore; de diable Take you alé; and I vil say no more, begar.

Betty.

This is a very fine Vessel, and wou'd swim well; Let's to the Horse-pond with him.

Lett.

Come, come, he looks as sullenly as a Hare In her Form; let's leave him.

Coachm.

Your Serviteur tres humble, Monsieur.

Exeunt all but Dufoy.

Dufoy.

Bougré, I canno hangé my selfé; begar I canno Drowné my selfé; I vil go hidé my selfé; And starvé to dyé; I vil no be de laughé For every Jackanapé Englishé. Morbleu.

SCEN. VII.

Sir Frederick is brought in upon a Bier, with a mourning Cloth over him, attended by a Gentleman in a mourning Cloak: Four Fidlers carry the Corps, with their Instru∣ments tuck'd under their Cloaks.

Enter the Widow weeping.

Mourner.

Madam, you must expect a bloody consequence When men of such prodigious courage fight. The young Lord Beaufort was the first that fell, After his Sword too deeply had engag'd His Rival not to stay behind him long. Sir Frederick with your Nephew bravely fought; Death long did keep his distance, as if he Had fear'd excess of Valour; but when they, Oreloaded with their wounds, began to faint, He with his terrours did invade their breasts. Fame soon brought many to the Tragick place, Where I found my dearest Friend, Sir Fred'rick, Almost as poor in breath as blood: He took me by the hand, and all the stock h'ad left He spent, Madam, in calling upon you. He first proclaim'd your Virtues, then his Love; And having charg'd me to convey his Corps hither

To wait on you, his latest breath expir'd with The Command.

Wid.

The World's too poor to recompense this loss. Unhappy woman! why shou'd I survive The only man in whom my joys did live? My dreadful grief!

The Fidlers prepare.

Enter Dufoy in his Tub.

Dufoy.

Oh my Matré, my Matré; who has kill my Matré? Morbleu, I vil—

The Widow shrieks, and runs out: All the Fidlers run out in a fright.

Oh, de diablé, de diable!

Sir Frederick starts up, which frights Dufoy.

Sir Fred.

What devilish accident is This? or has the Widow undermin'd me?

Enter the Widow and her Maid laughing.

Sir Fred.

I shall be laugh'd to death now indeed. By Chamber-maids; why have you no Pity, Widow?

Wid.

None at all for the living; Ha, ha, ha. You see w' are provided for your Frollick, Sir; ha, ha.

Sir Fred.

Laugh but one minute longer I will foreswear Thy company, kill thy Tabby Cat, and make thee weep For ever after.

Wid.

Farewell, Sir; expect at night to see the old Man, with his paper Lanthorn and crack'd Spectacles, singing your woful Tragedy To Kitchin-maids and Coblers Prentices.

Widow offers to go, Sir Frederick holds her by the arm.

Sir Fred.

Hark you, hark you, Widow: By all those Devils that have Hitherto possess'd thy Sex—

Wid.

No swearing, good Sir Fred'rick.

Sir Fred.

Set thy face then; let me not see the remains Of one poor smile: So, now I will kiss thee, And be friends.

Widow falls out a laughing.

Not all thy wealth shall hire me to Come within smell of thy breath again. Jealousie, and, which will be worse for thee, Widow, Impotence Light upon me, if I stay one moment longer with thee.

Offers to go.

Wid.

Do you hear, Sir; can you be so angry with one That loves you so passionately she cannot survive You?

Sir Fred.

Widow, May the desire of man keep thee Waking till thou art as mad as I am.

Exit Sir Frederick.

Wid.

How lucky was this accident! How he wou'd have insulted Over my weakness else! Sir Frederick, since I've warning, you shall prove More subtill ways, before I owne my Love.

Exeunt.

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. 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

• Pointing to her breast.
• †

  To S. Nich.
• To Cully▪
• To Lucy.