This is the Page, Love's Link-boy, that must light me the way.—How now, pretty Boy? has your Lady beaten you? ha?—This Lady must be a Venus, for she has got a Cupid in her Family. 'Tis a won∣drous pretty Boy,—

Oh Heav'n's! is the Object real, or are my eyes false? Is that Roebuck, or am I Leantbe? I am afraid he's not the same; and too sure I'm not my self.—

What offence cou'd such pretty Innocence commit, to de∣serve a punishment to make you cry?

Oh Sir! a wondrous offence.

What was it, my Child?

I prick'd my Finger with a Pin, till I made it bleed.

Such little Boys as you, shou'd have a care of sharp things.

Indeed, Sir, we ought; for it prick'd me so deep that the sore went to my very heart.

Poor Boy!—here's a plaister for your sore Finger—

Sir, you had best keep it for a sore Finger.

O' my Conscience the Boy's witty, but not very wise in re∣turning Gold.—Come, come, you shall take it.

That's the fitter cure for my sore Finger.——The same dear Lips still. Oh that the Tongue within them were as true!

By Heavens this Boy has the softest pair of Lips I ever ta∣sted. I ne're found before that Ladys kiss'd their Pages; but now if this Rogue were not too young, I shou'd suspect he were before-hand with me. I gad, I must kiss him again.—Come, you shall take the Money.

Oh how he bribes me into Bribery;—But what must I do whit this Money, Sir?

You must get a little mistress, and treat her with it.

Sir, I have one Mistress already; and they say no man can serve two Masters, much less two Mistresses. How many Mistresses have you, pray?

Umh!—I gad the Boy has pos'd me.—How many, Child?—Why, let me see.—There was Mrs. Mary, Mrs. Margaret, Mrs. Lucy, Mrs. Susan, Mrs. Judy, and so forth; to the number of five and twenty, or thereabouts.

Oh ye Powers! and did you love 'em all?

Yes, desperately.—I wou'd have drank and fought for any one of 'em. I have sworn and ly'd to every one of 'em, and have lain with 'em all That's for your Encouragement, Boy. Learn betimes, Youth; young Plants shou'd be water'd. Your Smock face was made for a Chamber Utensil.

And did not one escape ye?

Yes, one did,—the Devil take her.

What, don't you love her then?

No, faith; but I bear her an amorous grudge still; something between Love and spight.—I cou'd kill her with kindness.

I don't believe it, Sir; you cou'd not be so hard-hearted sure: Her honourable Passion, I think, shou'd please you best.

O Child! Boys of your age are continually reading Roman∣ces, filling your Heads with that old bombast of Love and Honour: But when you come to my years, you'll understand better things.

And must I be a false treacherous Villain, when I come to your years, Sir? Is Falshood and Perjury essential to the perfect state of manhood?

Pshaw, Children and old men always talk thus foolishly.—you understand nothing, Boy.

Yes, Sir, I have been in Love and much more than you, I perceive.

It appears then, that there's no service in the World so e∣ducating to a Boy, as a Ladies.—By Jove, this Spark may be older than I imagin. Hark ye, Sir; do you never pull of your Ladies Shoes and Stockins? Do you never reach her the—Pincushion? Do you never sit on her bed-side, and sing to her? ha!—Come, tell me, that's my good Boy.—

Yes, I do sing her asleep sometimes.

But do you never waken her again?

No, but I constantly wake my self; my rest's always disturb∣ed by Visions of the Devil.

Who wou'd imagin now that this young shaver cou'd dream of a Woman so soon?—But what Songs does your Lady delight in most?

Passionate ones, Sir; I'll sing you one of 'em, if you'll stay.

With all my heart, my little Cherubim. The Rogue is fond of shewing his parts.—Come, begin.

Oh my little Angel in voice and shape—

I cou'd wish my self a Female for thy sake.

You're much better as you are for my sake.—

Or if thou wert a Woman, I wou'd—

What wou'd you? Marry me? wou'd you marry me?

Marry you, Child? No, no; I love you too well for that,. you shou'd not have my hand, but all my Body at once.—But to our bu∣siness. Is your Lady at home.

My Lady! What bus'ness have you with my Lady, pray Sir?

Don't ask Questions. You know Mr. Lovewell?

Yes, very well. He's my great Friend, and one I wou'd serve above all the World—but his Sister.

His Sister!—Ha! that gives me a twinge for my Sin.—Pray, Mr. Page, was Leanthe well when you left her?

No, Sir; but wondrous melancholy, by the departure of a dear Friend of hers to another World.

Oh that was the person mention'd in her Letter, whose de∣parture occasion'd your departure for England.

That was the occasion of my coming, too sure, Sir.—Oh, 'twas a dear Friend to me! the loss makes me weep.

Poor tender-hearted Creature!—But I still find there was not a word of me.—Pray, good Boy, let your Mistress know here's one to wait: on her.

Your business is from Mr. Lovewell, I suppose, Sir?

Yes, yes.

Then I'll go.

I've thrown my cast, and am fairly in for't. But an't I an im∣pudent Dog? Had I as much Gold in my Breeches, as Brass in my Face, I durst attempt a whole Nunnery. This Lady is a reputed Vertue, of Good Fortune and Quality; I am a Rakehelly Rascal not worth a Groat; and without any further Ceremony, am going to De∣bauch her.—But hold.—She does not know that I'm this Rake∣helly Rascal, and I know that she's a Woman, one of eighteen too; Beautiful, Witty.—O' my Conscience upon second thoughts, I am not so very Impudent neither.—Now as to my management, I'll first try the whining Addresses, and see if she'll bleed in the soft Vein.

Have you any business with me, Sir?

Thus look'd the forbidden Fruit, luscious and tempting. 'Tis ripe, and will soon fall, if one will shake the Tree.

Have you any bus'ness with me, Sir?—

Yes, Madam, the bus'ness of mankind; To adore you.—My Love, like my Blood, circulates thro' my Veins, and at every pulse of my heart animates me with a fresh Passion.—Wonder not, Ma∣dam, at the power of your Eyes, whose painted Darts have struck on a young and tender heart which they easily pierced, and which una∣custom'd to such wounds finds the smart more painful.

Oh Traytor! Just such words he spoke to me.

Hey day. I was never so attack'd in all my Life. In love with me, Sir! Did you ever see me before?

Never, by Jove.—

—Oh, ten thousand times, Ma∣dam. Your lovely Idea is always in my view, either asleep or a∣wake, eating or drinking, walking, sitting or standing; alone, or in Company, my fancy wholly feeds upon your dear Image, and every thought is you.—Now have I told about fifteen lies in a Breath.

I suppose, Sir, you are some conceited young Scribler, who has got the benefits of a first Play in your Pocket, and are now going a Fortune hunting.

But why a Scribler, Madam? Are my Cloaths so course, as if they were spun by those lazy Spinsters the Muses? Does the part∣ing of my Fore-top shew so thin, as if it resembled the two wither'd tops of Parnassus? Do you see any thing peculiarly Whimsical or ill-natur'd in my Face? Is my Countenance strain'd, as if my head were distorted by a Stranguary of Thought? Is there any thing proudly, slovenly, or affectedly careless in my Dress? Do my hands look like Paper moths? I think, Madam, I have nothing Poetical about me.

Yes, Sir, you have Wit enough to talk like a Fool; and are Fool enough to talk like a Wit.

You call'd me Peot, Madam, and I know no better way of Revenge, than to convince you that I am one by my Impudence.—

Then make me a Copy of Verses upon that, Sir.

How d'ye like the Subject, Sir?

'Tis a very copious one.

—It has made my Joll Page  29 rhime in my Head. This it is to be thought a Poet; every Minx must be casting his Profession in his Teeth.—What: Gone;

Ay, she knows that making Verses requires Solitude and Re∣tirement.

She certainly was afraid I intended to beg leave to dedicate something.—If ever I make Love like a Poetical fool again, may I never receive any favour but a Subject for a Copy of Verses.

I won't dismiss him thus; for fear he Lampoon me.—Well, Sir, have you done them?

Yes, Madam, will you please to read.

Oh Heav'n I can never bear it.

I must devise some means to part 'em.

Sir, your Verses are too rough and constrain'd. However, be∣cause I gave the occasion, I'll pardons what's past.

By the Lord she was angry only because I did not make the first offer to her Lips.

—Then, Madam, the Peace is concluded?

Yes, and therefore both parties should draw out of the Field.

Not 'till we make Reprizals; I make Peace with Sword in hand, Madam, and till you return my heart, which you have taken, or your own in exchange, I will not put up. And so, Madam, I pro∣claim open War again.—

Oh, Madam! yonder's poor little Crab, your Lap-Dog, has got his head between two of the Window-bals, and is like to be strangl'd.

Oh Lard, my poor Crabby! I must run to the rescue of my poor Dog; I'll wait on you instantly.—Come, come, Page.—Poor Grabby!—

Oh the Devil chock Crabby!—Well, I find there's much more Rhetorick in the Lips than in the Tongue.——Had Buss been the first word of my Courtship, I might have gain'd the Outworks by this. Impudence in Love, is like Courage in War; tho Both blind Chances, because Women and Fortune rule them.

Sir, my Lady begs your pardon; there's something extraordi∣nary happen'd, which prevents her waiting on you, as she promis'd.

What has Monsieur Crabby rubb'd some of the hairs off his Neck? Has he disorder'd his pretty ears? she won't come again then?

No, Sir; you must excuse her.

Then I'll go be Drunk.—Harkye, Sirrah; I have half a dozen delicious Creatures waiting for me at the Sun; you shall along with, me and have your Chocie. I'll enter you into the School of Venus Child. 'Tis time you had lost your Maiden-head, you're too old for Play-things.

Oh Heavens! I had rather he shou'd stay then go there.

But why will you keep such Company, Sir?

Nay, if y're for Advice, farewell: Men of ripe understanding shou'd always despise What Babes only practise, and Dotards advise.

Wild as Winds, and unconfin'd as Air.—Yet I may reclaim him. His follies are weakly founded, upon the Principles of Honour, where the very Foundation helps to undermine the Structure. How charming wou'd Vertue look in him, whose behaviour can add a Grace to the unseem∣liness of Vice!

What is the Gentleman gone?

Yes, Madam. He was instantly taken ill with a violent pain in his Stomach, and was forc'd to hurry away in a Chair to his Lodging.

Oh poor Gentleman! He's one of those conceited fools that think no Female can resist their Temptations. Blockheads, that imagin all Wit to consist in blaspheming Heav'n and Women.—I'll feed his Vanity, but starve his Love.

Two as good Lines as ever were written.—

I gad I shall maull these topping fellows.—Says Mr. Lee,

That's much mended. They're as noble Lines as ever were penn'p. Oh, here comes my damn'd Muse; I'm always in the Humour of writing E∣legy after a little of her Inspiration.

Mr. Lyrick, what do you mean by all this? Here you have lodg'd two years in my house, promised me Eighteen-pence a week for your Lodging, and I have ne're receiv'd eighteen farthings, not the value of that, Mr Lyrick

This living on Love is the dearest Lodging—a Man's eternal∣ly dunn'd, tho perhaps he have less of one ready Coin than t'other.—There's more trouble in a Play than you imagin, Madam.

There's more trouble with a Lodger than you think, Mr. Lyrick.

First there's the decorum of Time.

Which you never observe, for you keep the worst hours of any Lodger in Town.

Then there's the exactness of Characters.—

And you have the most scandalous one I ever heard.

Then there's laying the Drama.—

Then you foul my Napkins and Towels. 〈◊〉

Then there are preparations of Incidents, working the Passions, Beauty of Expression, Closeness of Plot, Justness of Place, Turn of Language, Opening the Catastrophe.—

Then you wear out my Sheets, burn my Fire and Candle, dirty my House, eat my Meat, destroy my Drink, wear out my Furniture—I have lent you Money out of my Pocket.

Was ever poor Rogue so ridden? If ever the Muses had a Horse, I am he.—Faith Madam, poor Pegasus is Jaded.

Come, come, Sir, he shan't slip his Neck out of the Collar for all that. Money I will have, and Money I must have; let your Play and you both be damn'd.

Well, Madam, my Bookseller is to bring me some twenty Gui∣nea's for a few Sheets of mine presently, which I hope will free me from your Sheets.

My Sheets, Mr. Lyrick! Pray what d'ye mean? I'll assure you, Sir, my Sheets are finer than any of your Muses spinning.—Marry come up.

Faith you have spun me so fine, that you have almost crack'd my Thread of Life, as may appear by my Spindle-shanks.

Why sure—Where was your Thalia, and your Melpomene, when the Tayler wou'd have stripp'd you of your Silk Wastcoat, and have clapt you on a Stone-doublet? Wou'd all your Golden Verse have paid the Serjeants Fees?

Truly, you freed me from Gaol, to confine me in a Dugeon; you did not ransom me, but bought me as a slave; So, Madam, I'll purchase my freedom as soon as possible. Flesh and Blood can't bear it.

Take your course, Sir.—There were a couple of Gentlemen just now to enquire for you; and if they come again, they shan't be put off with the old story of your being abroad, I'll promise you that, Sir,

Zoons! if this Bookseller does not bring me Money—

Oh, Mr. Pamphlet, your Servant. Have you perus'd my Poems?

Yes, Sir, and there are some things very well, extraordinary well, Mr. Lyrick: but I don't think'em for my purpose.—Poetry's a meer Drug, Sir.

Is that because I take Physick when I write? Damn this costive fellow, now he does not apprehend the Joke.

No, Sir; but your name does not recommend'em. One must write himself into a Consumption before he gain Reputation.

That's the way to lye abed when his Name's up. Now I lye abed before I can gain Reputation.

Why so ad•…r?

Because I have scarcely any Cloaths to put on.—If ever man did Penance in a White Sheet—

You stand only sometimes in a White Sheet for your offences with your Landlady. Faith, I have often wonder'd how your Muse cou'd take such flights, yoak'd to such a Cartload as she is.

Oh, they are like the Irish Horses, they draw best by the Tail—Have you ever seen any of my Burlesque, Mr. Pamphlet? I have a Pro∣ject of turning three or four of our most topping fellows into Doggrel. As for Example;—

Very well, upon my Soul.

Hurl'd dreadful Fire and Vinegar infus'd.

Ay, Sir, Vinegar! how patly that comes in for the Beef, Mr. Lyrick! 'Tis all wondrous fine indeed.

This is the most ingenious fellow of his Trade that I have seen; he understands a good thing.—

No, Sir, Paper is so excessive dear that I dare not venture upon'em.

Well, because you're a Friend, I'll bestow'em upon you.—Here, take'em all.—There's the hopes of a Dedication still.

I give you a thousand thanks, Sir; but I dare not venture the hazard; they'll ne're quit cost indeed, Sir.

This fellow is one of the greatest Blockheads that ever was Mem∣ber of a Corporation.—How shall I be reveng'd?

Sir, there are two Men below desire to have the Honour of kis∣sing your hand.

They must be Knaves or Fools, By their fulsome Complement. Hark ye—

Since you have got Company, Sir, I'll take my leave.

No, no, Mr. Pamphlet, by no means! we must drink before we part. Boy, a Pint of Sack and a Toast. These are two Gentlemen out of the Country, who will be for all the new things lately published; they'll be good Customers.—Come, sit down.—You have not seen my Play yet?—Here, take the Pen, and if you see any thing amiss, correct it; I'll go bring'em up.——Stay, lend me your Hat and Wig, or I shall take cold going down Stairs.

This is a right Poetical Cap; 'tis Bays the outside, and the Lining Fustian.—

Sir, you're the King's Prisoner.

That's a good Fancy enough, Mr. Lyrick. But pray don't in∣terrupt me, I'm in the best Scene.—I gad the Drama is very well laid.

Come, Sir.

Well, well, Sir, I'll pledge ye. Prithee now good Mr. Lyrick do'nt disturb me.—

That's true Spirit of Poetry.

Zoons, Sir, d'ye banter us?

Gentlemen—I beg you pardon. How d'ye like the City Gentle∣men? If you have any occasion for Books to carry into the Country, I can furnish you as well as any man about Pauls. Where's Mr. Lyrick.

These Wits are damnable Cunning. I always have double Fees for Arresting one of you Wits. All your Evasions won't do; we under∣stand trap, Sir; you must not think to catch old Birds with Chaff, Sir.

Zoons, Gentlemen, I'm not the Person; I'm a Freeman of the City; I have good Effects, Gentlemen, good Effects. D'ye think to make a Fool of me I'm a Bookseller, no Poet.

Ay, Sir, we know what you are by your Fools Cap there.

Yes, one of you Wits wou'd have pass'd upon us for a Corn∣cutter yesterday; and was so like one, we had almost believed him.

Why Gentlemen, Gentlemen, Officers, have a little Patience, and Mr. Lyrick will come up Stairs.

No, no; Mr. Lyrick shall go down Stairs. He wou'd have us wait till some Friends come into rescue him. Ah these Wits are Devi∣lish Cunning.—

Ha, ha, ha. Very Poetical Faith; a good Plot for a Play, Mr. Mockmode; a Bookseller bound in Calves-Leather.—Ha, ha, ha.—How they walk'd along like the three Volumes of the English Rogue squeez'd together on a shelf.

What was it, what was it, Mr. Lyrick?

Why, I am a States man, Sir.—I can't but laugh, to think how they'll spunge the sheet before the Errata be blot∣ted out; and then how he'll hamper the Dogs for false Imprisonment.

But pray what was the matter, Mr. Lyrick!

Nothing, Sir, but a Shurking Bookseller that ow'd me about Forty Guinea's for a few lines. He wou'd have put me off, so I sent for a couple of Bull-Dogs, and Arrested him.

Oh Lord, Mr. Lyrick, Honesty's quite out of doors; 'tis a rare thing to find a man that's a true Friend, a true Friend is a rare thing indeed!—Mr. Lyrick, will you be my Friend? I only want that Ac∣complishment. I have got a Mistress, a Dancing and Fencing-Ma∣ster; and now I want only a Friend, to be a fine Gentleman.

Have you never had a Friend, Sir?

Yes, a very honest fellow; our Friendship commenc'd in the College-Cellar, and we lov'd one another like two Brothers, till we un∣luckily fell out afterwards at a Game at Tables.

I find then that neither of ye lost by the fet.

But my short acquaintance can't recommend me to such a Trust.

Pshaw! Acquaintance?—You must be a man of Honour, as you're a Poet, Sir.

But what use wou'd you make of a Friend, Sir?

Only to tell my Secreets too, and be my Second.—Now, Sir, a Wit must be best to keep a Secret, because what you say to one's prejudice will be thought malice. Then you must have a Devilish deal of Courage by your Heroick Writing.—

But know, that I alone am King of Me.

Heav'ns! sure the Author of that Line must be a plaguy stout fellow; it makes me Valiant as Hector when I read it.

Sir, we stick to what we write as little as Divines to what they preach.—Besides, Sir, there are other qualifications requisite in a Friend, he must lend you Money. Now, Sir, I can't be that Friend, for I want forty Guinea's.

Sir, I can lend you fifty upon good security.—'Twas the last word my Father spoke on his Death-bed, that I shou'd never lend Mo∣ney without security.

Fie, Sir! Security from a Friend, and a Man of Honour by his Profession too!

By the Universe, that's true, you are my Friend. Then I'll tell you a Secret—

Now will this plaguy Wit turn my Nose out of Joynt—I was my Master's Friend before, tho' I never found the knack of borowing Money; tho' I have receiv'd some marks of his Friendship, some sound drubs about the Head and Shoulders, or so. I have been bound for him too, in the Stocks, for his breaking Windows very often.

Mr. Mockmode, you may be impos'd upon. I wou'd see this La∣dy you court. I know Mr. Lovewell has a Mistress nam'd Lucinda; but that she lodges in this house, I much doubt.

Impos'd upon. That's very Comical.—Ha, ha, ha! you shall see, Sir; come.—Pray Sir, you're my Friend.

Nay, pray; Indeed, Sir, I beg your

Pardon; you're a 'Squire, Sir.

Zauns, Sir, you lie, I'm not a Fool; I'll take an affront from no man.—Draw, Sir.

Draw, Sir.—I gad I'll put his Nose out of joynt now.

Unequal numbers, Gentlemen.

I'm only my Master's Friend, his Second, or so, Sir.

What's the matter, noble Squire?

You lie again, Sir. Zauns, draw.—

Ha!—a blow!—Essex, a blow—yet I will be calm.

Zoons, draw, Sir.

Oh patience Heaven!—Thou art my Friend still.

You lie, Sir.

Then thou art a Traytor, Tyant, Monster.

Zauns, Sir, you're a Son of a Whore, and a Rascal.

A Scribler.

Ah, ah,—That stings home.—Scribler!

Ay, Scribler, Ballad-maker.

Nay then—I and the Gods will fight it with ye all.

Zoons Gentlemen, why don't ye fight?—Blood fight. Oblige me so far to fight a little; I long to see a little sport.

Sir, I scorn to shew sport to any man.

And so do I, by the Universe.

And I, by the Universe:

I shall take another time.

Here Rascal, take your Chopping-knife,—gives Club his Sword. and bring me a Joynt of that Coward's flesh for your Masters Supper.—Fly, Dog.—

Auh!—This fellow's likeliest to put my Nose out of joint.

Now, Sir, tell me, how you durst be a Coward?

Coward, Sir? I'm a Man of a great Estate, Sir; I have five thou∣sand Acres of as good fighting ground as any in England, good Terrafirma, Sir, Coward, Sir! Have a care what you say, Sir.—My Father was a Parliament Man, Sir, and I was bred at the College, Sir.

Oh then I know your Genealogy; your Father was a Senior-Fellow, and your Mother was an Air-pump. You were suckl'd by Pla∣tonick Idea's, and you have some of your Mothers Milk in your Nose yet.

Form the Proposition by Mode and Figure, Sir.

I told you so.—Blow your Nose Child, and have a care of dirting your Philosophical slabbering-bib.

What d'ye mean, Sir?

Your starch'd Band, set by Mode and Figure, Sir.

Band Sir?—This fellow's blind, Drunk. I wear a Cra∣vat, Sir?

Then set a good face upon the matter. Throw off Childishness and Folly with your hanging-sleeves. Now you have left the Univer∣sity, learn, learn.

This fellow's an Atheist, by the Universe; I'll take notice of him, and inform against him for being Drunk.—Pray, Sir, what's your Name?

My name? by the Lord I have forgot.—Stay, I shall think on't by and by.

Zauns, forget your own Name! your memory must be very short, Sir.

Ay, so it seems, for I was but, Christen'd this morning, and I have forgot it already.

Was your Worship then Turk or Jew before?—I knew he was some damn'd bloody Dog.—

Sir, I have been Turk, or Jew rather, since; for I have got a plaguy heathenish Name.—Pox on't.—Oh! now I have it.—Mo—Mock—mo—Mockmode.

Mockmode! Mockmode, Sir, Pray how do you spell it?

Go you to your A, B, C. you came last from the University.

Sir, I'm call'd Mockmode.—What Family are you of, Sir?

What Family are you of, Sir?

Of Mockmode-Hall in Shropshire.

Then I'm of the same, I believe.—I fancy, Sir, that you and I are near Relations.

Relations. Sir! There are but two Families; my Fathers, who is now dead, and his Brothers, Colonel Peaceable Mockmode.

Ay, ay, the very same Colonel Peaceable.——Is not he Co∣lonel of Militia?

Yes, Sir.

And was not he High-Sheriff of the County last year?

The very same, Sir.

The very same; I'm of that Family.—And your Father dy'd about—let me see—

About half a year ago.

Exactly. By the same token you got drunk at a Hunting-match that very day seven-night he was buri'd.

This fellow's a Witch.—But it looks very strange that you shou'd be Christen'd this morning. I'm sure your Godfathers had a plaguy deal to answer for.

Oh, Sir, I'm of age to answer for my self.

One wou'd not think so, y're so forgetful. 'Tis two and twen∣ty years since I was Christen'd, and I can remember my name still.

Come, we'll take a Glass of Wine, and that will clear our un∣derstanding. We'll remember our friends.

You must excuse me, Sir.—This is some Sharper.

Nay, prithee Cousin, good Cousin Mockmode, one Glass. I know you are an honest fellow. We must remember our Relations in the Country indeed, Sir.

Oh, Sir, you're so short of memory, you can never call 'em to mind. You have forgot your self, Sir. Mockmode is a Heathenish Name, Sir, and all that, Sir. And so I beg your pardon, Sir.—

Now were I Lawyer enough, by that little enquiry into that fellow's Concerns, I cou'd bring in a false Deed to cheat him of his Estate.

Where the Devil is thy Master? You said I shou'd find him here.

'Tis impossible for you, or me, or any body, to find him.

Why?

Because he has lost himself. The Devil has made a Juglers Ball of him I believe. He's here now; then Presto, pass in an instant. He has got some damn'd bus'ness to day in hand.

Ay, so it seems.—I must be Squire Mockmode, and court an honourable Mistress in the Devils name! Well, let my sober thinking Friend plot on, and lay Traps to catch Futurity; I'm for holding fast the present.—I have got about twenty Guinea's in my Pocket; and whilst they last, the Devil take George if he thinks of Futurity. I'll go hand in hand with Fortune.

HEre, here,-Page; your Lady has sent you some Sweet-meats; but indeed you shan't have 'em till you hire me.

She sent sower Sauce, when she made you the Bearer.

Prithee now what makes you constantly so melancholy? Come you must be merry, and shall be merry, I'll get you some Play-things.

I believe you want Play-things more than I.—But I wou'd be private Pindress.

Well, my Child, I'll be private with you; Boys and Girls shou'd still be private together; and we may be as retir'd as we please; for my Mistress is reading in her Closet, and all the Servants are be∣low.—But what Concerns have you? I'm sure such a little Boy can have no great bus'ness in private.

I will try thee for once

—Yes, Mrs. Pindress, I have great inclination.—

To what? To do what, Sir?—Don't name it:—'Tis all in vain.—you shan't do it, you need not ask it.

Only to kiss you.—

Oh fie, Sir! Indeed I'll none of your kisses. Take it back again

Is it not the taste of the Sweet-meats very pretty about my Lips?

Oh hang your liquorish Chaps; you'd fain be licking your Lips, I find that.

Indeed, Mr. Page, I won't pay you the Kisses you won from me last night at Cross-purposes;—and you shan't think to keep my Pawn neither.—Pray give me my Hungary-bottle.—As I hope to be sav'd I will have my Hungary-bottle—

—I'm stronger than you.—I'll carry you in, and throw you upon the bed, and take it from you.—

Help! help! I shall be ravish'd! Help! help!

What's the matter?—Oh bless me!

Oh dear Madam, this unlucky Boy had almost spoil'd me. Did not your Ladiship hear me cry I shou'd be ravish'd? I was so weak, I cou'd not resist the little strong Rogue; he whipt me up in his arms, like a Baby, and had not your Ladiship come in—

What, Sirrah, wou'd you debauch my Maid? you little Cock-Sparrow, must you be Billing too? I have a great mind to make her whip you Sirrah.

Oh dear, Madam, let me do't. I'll take him into the Room and I will so chastise him.—

But do you think you'll be able, Pindress? I'll send one of the Men to help you.

No, no, Madam; I cou'd manage him with one hand.—See here, Madam.

Hold, hold.—Is this you that the little strong Rogue had al∣most Ravish'd? He snatch'd you up in his arms like a Baby.—Ah Pindress, Pindress! I see y'are very weak indeed.—Are not you asham'd, Girl, to debauch my little Boy?

Your Ladyship gave me orders to make him merry, and divert his melancholy, and I know no better way than to teize him a little. I'm afraid the Boy is troubl'd with the Rickets, and a little shaking, Ma∣dam, wou'd do him some good.

I'm tir'd with impertinence, and have other bus'ness to mind.

I hope your Ladyship entertains no ill opinion of my Virtue.

Truly I don't know what to think on't: but I've so good an opionion of your sense, as to believe you wou'd not play the fool with a Child.

W'ere all subject to playing the fool, if you continue your Resolution in marrying of the first man that asks you the Question.

No, my mind's chang'd; I'll never marry any Man.

I dare swear that resolution breaks sooner, than the former.

What, believe his vain assertations, before the demonstration of my senses? No, no; my Love's not so blind. Did I not see his Miss and his Child? did I not behold him giving her Money? did I not hear him declare he wou'd settle her in a Lodging?

But, Madam, upon serious reflection, where's the great harm in all this? Most Ladies wou'd be over joy'd at such a discovery of their Lovers ability. The Child seem'd a lusty chopping Boy; and let me tell you, Madam, it must be a lusty chopping Boy that got it.

Urge no farther in his defence; he's a Villain, and of all Vil∣lains that I hate most, an hypocritical one. The Ladies give him the E∣pithet of modest, and the Gentlemen that of sober Lovewell. Now me∣thinks such a piece of Debauchery sits so awkwardly on a person of his Character, that it adds an unseemliness to the natural vileness of the Vice; and he that dares be a Hypocrite in Religion, will certain∣ly be one in Love.—Stay, is not that he?

Yes, Madam; I believe he's going to the Park.

Call a couple of Chairs quickly; we'll thither Masqu'd. This day's adventures argue some intended Plot upon me, which I may coun∣termine by only setting a Face upon the matter.

What, in a Rapture, Mr. Lyrick?

A little Poetical fury, that's all.—I'll 'Squire him; I'll draw his Character for the Buffoon of a Farce; he shall be as famous in Ballad as Robin Hood, or Little John; my Muses shall haunt him like De∣mons; they shall make him more ridiculous than Don Quixote.

Because he encounter'd your Windmill-Pate.——Ha, ha, ha.—Come, come, Mr. Lyrick, you must be pacify'd.

Pacify'd, Sir! Zoons, Sir, he's a Fool, has not a grain of sense. Were he an ingenious Fellow, or a Man of Parts, I cou'd bear a kicking from him: But an abuse from a Blockhead! I can never suffer it.

Pray, Sir, let me see it.

This is imperfect, Sir: But if you please to give your Judgment of this Piece.—

Ay, you Poets mount first on the Shoulders of your Predeces∣sors, to see farther in making Discoveries; and having once got the up∣per-hand, you spurn them under-foot. I think you shou'd bear a Vene∣ration to their very Ashes.

Ay, if most of their Writings had been burnt. I declare, Mr. Lovewell, their Fame has only made them the more remarkably faulty: Their great Beauties only illustrate their greating Errors.

Well, you saw the new Tragedy last night; how did it please ye?

Very well; it made me laugh heartily.

What, laugh at a Tragedy!

I laugh to see the Ladies cry. To see so many weep at the Death of the fabulous Hero, who would but laugh if the Poet that made 'em were hang'd? On my Conscience, these Tragedies make the La∣dies vent all their Love and Honour at their Eyes, when the same white Hankerchief that blows their Noses, must be a Winding-Sheet to the deceased Hero.

Then there's something in the Handkerchief to embalm him, Mr. Lyrick, Ha, ha, ha.—But what relish have you of Comedy?

No satisfactory one—My curiosity is fore-stall'd by a fore-know∣ledge of what shall happen. For as the Hero in Tragedy is either a whining cringing Fool that's always a stabbing himself, or a ranting hectoring Bully that's for killing every-body else: so the Hero in Comedy is always the Poet's Character.

What's that?

A Compound' of practical Rake, and speculative Gentleman, who always bears of the great Fortune in the Play, and Shams the Beau and 'Squire with a Whore or Chambermaid; and as the Catastrophe of all Tragedies is Death, so the end of Comedies is Marriage.

And some think that the most Tragical conclusion of the two.

And therefore my eyes are diverted by a better Comedy in the Audience than that upon the Stage.—I have often wonder'd why Men shou'd be found of seeing Fools ill represented, when at the same time and place they may behold the mighty Originals acting their Parts to the Life in the Boxes.—

Oh be favourable to the Ladies, Mr. Lyrick, 'tis your Interest. Beauty is the Deity of Poetry; and if you rebel, you'll certainly run the Fate of your first Parent, the Devil.

You're out, Sir. Beauty is a merciful Deity, and allows us some∣times to be a little Atheistical; and 'tis so indulgent to Wit, that it is pleas'd with it, tho' in the worst habit, that of Satyr. Besides, there can appear no greater Argument of our Esteem, than Raillery, because Page  43 'tis still founded upon Jealousie; occasion'd by their preferring sense∣less Fops and Wealthy Fools to Men of Wit and Merit, the great Up∣holders of the Empire.

Now I think these Favourites of the Ladies are more Witty than you.

How so, pray, Sir?

Because they play the Fool, conscious that it will please; and you're a Wit, when sensible that Coxcombs only are encourag'd. I wonder, Mr. Lyrick, that a man of your sense should turn Poet; you'll hardly ever find a Man that is capable of the Imployment will under∣take it.

The reason of that is, every one that knows not a tittle of the matter pretends to be a judge of it.—By the Lard, Mr. Lovewell, I put the Criticks next to Plague, Pestilence and Famine in my Litany.—Had you seen 'em last night in the Pit, with such demure supercili∣ous Faces—their contemplative Wigs thrust judiciously backwards; their hands rubbing their Temples to chaff ill nature; and with a hissing venomous Tongue pronouncing. Pish! Stuff! Intollerable! Damn him!—Lord have mercy upon us.

Ay, and you shall have others as foolish as they are ill-natur'd; fond of being thought Wits, who shall laugh outragiously at every smutty Jest; cry, Very well, by Gad; that's fine, by Heavens; and if a Dystich of Rhime happens, they clap so damnably loud, that they drown the Jest.

That's the Jest. The Wit lies in their hands; and if you would tell a Poet his Fortune, you must gather it from the Palmist∣ry of the Audience; for as nothing's ill said, but what's ill taken; so nothing's well said, but what's well taken. And betweeen you and I, Mr. Lovewell, Poetry without these laughing Fools, were a Bell without a Clapper; an empty sounding bus'ness, good for nothing; and all we Professors might go hang our selves in the Bell-ropes.

Ha, ha, ha.—But I thought Poetry was instructive.

Oh Gad forgive me, that's true; To Ladies it is morally bene∣ficial; For you must know they are too nice to read Sermons; such Instructions are too gross for their refin'd apprehensions: but any Precepts that may be instill'd by easie Numbers, such as of Rochester, and others, make great Converts. Then they hate to hear a fellow in Church preach methodical Nonsense, with a Firstly, Secondly, and Thirdly: but they take up with some of our modern Plays in their Closet, where the Morallity must be Devilish Instructive.—But I must be gone; here comes the 'Squire. What in the name of wonder has he got with him?

That which shall afford you a more plentiful Revenge than your Lampoon, if you joyn with me in the Plot. To the better ef∣fecting of which, you must be seemingly reconcil'd to him.—

Page  44 Let's step aside, and observe 'em while I give you a hint of the matter.

This is very fine Weather, blessed Weather indeed, Madam; 'twill do abundance of good to the Grass and Corn.

Ay, Sir, the Days are grown a great length; and I think the Weather much better here than in Ireland.

Why, Madam, were you ever there?

Oh no, not I indeed, Sir; but I have heard my first Husband (Rest his Soul) say so; he was an Irish Gentlemen.

I find, Madam, you have lov'd your first Husband mightily, for you affect his tone in discourse.—Pray, Madam, what did that Mourning cost a Yard?

Oh Lard, what shall I say now? 'tis none of mine.

It cost, Sir; let me see—it cost about—but it was my Steward bought it for me, I never buy such small things.

By the Universe she must be plaguy Rich; I will be brisk.

Pray, Madam—I—I pray Madam, will you give us a Song?

A Song! Indeed then I had a good voice before, Mr. Roebuck spoil'd it.

Mr. Roebuck? was that your first Husband's Name, Madam?

She'll spoil all.

No, Sir; Roebuck was a Doctor, that let me blood under the Tongue for the Quinsey, and made me hoarse ever since.

By the Universe she's a Widow, and I will be a little brisk. Madam, will you grant me a small favour, and I will bend upon my knees to receive it.—

What is't, pray?

Only to take off your Garter.

Zoons, her thick Leg will discover all.—By your leave, Sir, have you any pretensions to this Lady?

I don't know whether this be an affront or not.—

No, Sir.

No, Sir! I gad that must be Wit, for it can't be good Man∣ners.—Sir, I respect all men of sense, and wou'd therefore beg to know your Name.

No matter, Sir; I know your Name's Mockmode.

By the Universe, that's very Comical! that a fellow shou'd pretend to tell me my own Name!—Another Question, if you please, Sir.

What is it, Sir?

Pray Sir, what's my Christen'd Name?

Sir, you don't know.

Zauns, Sir, wou'd you perswade me out of my Christen'd Name? I'll lay you a Guinea that I do know, by the Universe.—

Here's Silver, Sir, here's Silver, Sir; I can command as much Money as another, Sir; I am at Age, Sir, and I won't be bantered. Sir.

Sir, you must know, that I baptize you Rival; for your Love to this Lady, is the only sign of Christianity you can boast of.—And now Sir, my name's Lovewell.

Then I say, Sir, that your Love to that Lady is the only sign of a Turk you can brag of.—I wish Club were come.

Sir, I shall certainly Circumcise you, if you make any farther pretensions to Madam Lucinda here.

Circumcise me! Circumcise a Puddings end, Sir.—Zauns, Sir, I'll be judg'd by the Lady who merits Circumcission most, you or I, Sir. These London-Blades are all stark mad;—

I met one about two hours ago, that had forgot his Name, and this fellow wou'd perswade me now that I had forgot mine. Mr. Lyrick is the only man that speaks plain to me. I must be Friends with him, because I find I may have occasion for such a Friend; I'll find him out strait.

Madam, will you walk.—

Now my doubts are remov'd.

Mine are-more puzzling. There must be something in this, more than we imagine. You had best talk to him.

Yes, if my Tongne bore Poyson in it, and that I could spit Death in his face.

If he is lost, your hard usage this morning has occasion'd it.

I'm glad on't; I've gain'd by the loss, I despise him more now than e're I lov'd him. That Passion which can stoop so low as that Blowze, is an Object too mean for any thing but my scorn to level at.

This were a critical minute for your new Lover the 'Squire I fancy; Mr. Lovewell's disgrace wou'd bring him into favour prefently.

It certainly shall, if he be not as great a Fool as t'other's false.

You may be mistaken in your opinion of him, as much as you have been in Mr. Lovewell.

No, Pindress, I shall find what I read in the last Miscellanies very true.

SCENE continues.

'Sdeath! what a Coney-burrough's here! The Trade goes swim∣ingly on. This is the great Empory of Lewdness, as the Change is of Knavery.—The Merchants cheat the World there, and their Wives gull them here.—I begin to think Whoring Scandalous, 'tis grown so Mechanical.—My modesty will do me no good, I fear.——Ma∣dam, are you a Whore?

Yes, Sir.

Short and pitty.—If ever Woman spoke truth, I believe thou hast.

Have you any bus'ness with me, Madam?

Pray, Sir be civil; you're mistaken, Sir.—I have had an Eye upon this fellow all this afternoon.

Very likely, Madam; for I imagin'd you modest.

So I am, for I'm marry'd.

And marry'd to your forrow, I warrant you!

Yes, upon my Honour, Sir.

I knew it. I have met above a dozen this Evening, all marry'd to their Sorrow.—Then I suppose you're a Citizen's Wife; and by the broadness of your bottom, I shou'd geuss you sat very much behind a Counter.

My Husband's no Mercer, he's a Judge.

Zoons! A Judge! I shall be arraign'd at the Bar for keeping on my Hat so long.—'Tis very hard, Madam, he shou'd not do you Justice: Has not he an Estate in Tail, Madam?

I seldom examine his Papers; They are a parcel of old dry shrvel'd Parchments; and this Court-hand is so devilish crabbed, I can't endure it.

Umph!—Then I suppose, Madam, you want a young Law∣yer to put your Case to. But faith, Madam, I'm a Judge too.

Oh Heav'ns forbid! such a young Man?

That's, I'll do nothing without a Bribe.—Pray, Madam, how does that Watch strike?

It never strikes, it only points to the business, as you must do, without telling Tales. Dare you meet me two hours hence?

Ay, Madam, but I shall never hit the time exactly without a Watch.

Well, take it.—At Ten exactly, at the Fountain in the Middle Temple. Cook upon Littleton be the word.

So—If the Law be all such Volumes as thou, Mercy on the poor Students. From Cook upon Littleton in Sheets deliver me.

What! engag'd Mirmydon! I find you'll never quit the Battle till you have crack'd a Pike in the Service.

Oh dear friend! thou'rt critically come to my Relief; for faith I'm almost tir'd.

What a miserable Creature is a Whore! whom every Fool dares pretend to love, and every Wise Man hates.

What, morallizing again! Oh I'll tell thee News, Man; I'm enter'd in the Inns, by the Lard.

Pshaw!

Nay, if you won't believe me, see my Note of admission.

A Gold Watch, boy?

Ay, a Gold Watch, boy,

Whence had you money to buy it?

I took it upon tick, and I design to pay honestly.

I don't like this running o'th' Score.—But what News from Lucinda, boy? Is she kind? ha?

Ha! there's a stately Cruiser; I must give her one chase.—I'll tell you when I return.

I find he has been at a loss there, which occasions his eagerness for the Game here. I begin to repent me of my suspicion; I believe her Vertue so sacred that 'tis a piece of Atheism to distrust its Exi∣stence. But jealousie in Love, like the Devil in Religion, is still raising doubts which without a firm Faith in what we adore, will certainly damn us.

Is your name Mr. Roebuck, Sir?

What wou'd you have with Mr. Roebuck, Sir?

I have a small Note for him, Sir.

Let me see't.

Ay, Sir, if your name be Mr. Roebuck, Sir.

My Name is Roebuck, Blockhead.

God bless you, master.

This is some tawdry Billet, with a scrawling Adieu at the end on't. These strolling Jades know a young wholesome fellow new∣ly come to Town, as well as a Parsons Wife does a fat Goose. 'Tis certainly some secret, and therefore shall be known.

Oh Heavens! certainly it can't be! L, U, C, I, N, D, A; that spells Woman. 'Twas never written so plain before. Roebuck, thou'rt as true an Oracle, as she's a false one. Oh thou damn'd Sybil! I have courted thee these three years, and cou'd never obtain above a Kiss of the hand, and this fellow in an hour or two has obtain'd the back door open. Mr. Roebuck, since I have discover'd some of your Secrets, I'll make bold to open some more of 'em.—But how shall I shake him off?—Oh, I have it; I'll seek him instantly.

Here, you Sir, have you a Note for one Roebuck?

I had, Sir; but I gave it to him just now.

You lie, Sirrah, I am the Man.

I an't positive I gave it to the right person; but I'm very sure I did; for he answer'd the Description the Page gave to a T, Sir.

'Twas well I met that Page, Dog, or now shou'd I cut thy Throat, Rascal.

Bless your Worship, Noble Sir.

At Ten, in the Garden! the back-door open!—Oh the de∣licious place and hour! soft panting breasts! trembling Joynts! melt∣ing Sighs! and eager Embraces!—Oh Extasie!—But how to shake off Lovewell?—This is his nicely Vertuous! Ha, ha, ha.—This is his innate Principle of Vertue? Ha, ha, ha.

How now why so merry?

Merry! why, 'twou'd make a Dog split, Man; Ha, ha, ha.—The Watch Sir, the Watch; Ha, ha, ha.

What of the Watch? you laugh by the hour; you'll be run down by and by sure.

Ay, but I shall be wound up again. This Watch I had for a Fee, Lawyer:—Shou'd I ever be try'd before this Judge, how I shou'd laugh, to see how gravely his Goose-Caps sits upon a pair of Horns. Ha, ha, ha.

Thou'rt Horn-mad. Prithee leave impertinence. I receiv'd a Note just now.

A Note! 'Sdeath, what Note! what d'ye mean? who brought it?

A Gentleman; 'tis a Challenge.

Oh, thanks to the Stars; I'm glad on't.

And you may be signally serviceable to me in this affair. I can give you no greater testimony of my Affection, than by making so free with you.

What needs all this formality? I'll be thy second, without all this impertinence.

There's more than that, Friend. In the first place, I don't understand a Sword; and again, I'm to be call'd to the Bar this Term, and such a business might prejudice me extteamly. So, Sir, you must meet and fight for me.

Faith, Lovewell, I shan't stick to cut a Throat for my Friend at any time, so I may do it fairly, or so.—The hour and place?

This very Evening, in Moorfields.

Umph! How will you employ your self the while?

I'll follow you at a distance, lest you have any foul play.

Which if you do. No, faith Ned, since I'm to answer an appointment for you, you must make good an assignation for me. I'm to meet one of your Ladies at the Fountain in the Temple to night. You may be called to the Bar there, if you will. This Watch will tell you the hour, and shall be your Pass-port. Let me have yours.—

Oh, was that the Jest? Ha, ha, ha.—Well, I will answer an Assignation for you sure enough. Ha, ha, ha.—How read ly does the Fool run to have his Throat cut?

How eagerly now does my moral Friend run to the Devil, ha∣ving hopes of Profit in the Wind! I have shabb'd him off purely.—But prithee, Ned, where had you this fine Jewel?

Pshaw! a Trifle, a Trifle; from a Mistress.—Take care on't tho'. But hark ye, Goerge; don't push too home; have a care of whipping through the Guts.

Gad I'm afraid one or both of us may fall. But d'ye hear, Ned, remember you sent me on this Errant, and are therefore answerable for all mifchief; if I do whip my Adversary through the Lungs, or so re∣member Page  50 your set me upon't.

Well, honest George, you won't believe how much you oblige me in this Courtesie.

You know always I oblige my self by serving my Friend.—I ne∣ver thought this Spark was a Coward before.

I never imagin'd this Fellow was so easie before.—

That you're a Fool.

That you're an Ass.

Mr. Lovewell, a word w'ye.

Let it be short, pray Sir, for my bus'ness is urgent, and 'tis al∣most dark.

I'm reconcil'd to the Squire, and want only the Presentment of a Copy of Verses, to ingratiate my self wholly throughly. Let me have that piece I lent just now.

Ay, ay, with all my heart:—Here,—Farewell.

Now, Sir, here's a Poem, (which according to the way of us Poets) I say was written at fifteen; but between you and I it was made at five and twenty.

Five and twenty!—When is a Poet at Age, pray Sir?

At the third night of his first Play; for he's never a Man till then.

But when at years of discretion?

When they leave Writing, and that's seldom or never.

But who are your Guardians?

The Criticks, who with their good will, wou'd never let us come to Age. But what have you got there?

By the Universe, I don't know; 'tis a Woman's hand; some Billet-deux, I suppose; it justl'd out of Lovewell's Pocket. We'll to the next Light, and read it.

Oh how I reverence a back-dore half open, half shut! 'Tis the narrow Gate to the Lovers Paradice; Cupid stood Centry at the en∣trance; Love was the Word, and he let me pass—Now is my friend pleading for Life; he has a puzzling Case to manage Ten to one he's Nonsuted; I have gull'd him fairly.

I've got in, thanks to my Stars, or •ather the Clouds, whose in∣fluence is my best Friend at present. Now is Rocbuck gazing, or rather groping about for a Fellow with a long sword; and I know his fight∣ing humour will be as mad to be baulk'd by an Enemy, as by a Mistress.

Hark, hark! I hear a Voice; it must be she.—Lucinda!

True to the touch, I find. Is it you, my Dear

Yes, my Dear.

Let me embrace thee, my heart.

Come to my Arms.—

'Slife! a Man!

'Sdeath! a Devil!—And wert thou a Legion, here's a Wand shou'd conjure thee down—

We should find whose Charms is strongest.

Mr. Roebuck? Sir? Mr. Roebuck?

That's a Woman's Voice, I'll swear.—Madam?—

Sir.

Come, my dear Lucinda; I've staid a little too long; but ma∣king an Apology now were only lengthening the offence. Let's into the Arbor, and make up for the moments mispent.

Hold, Sir. Do you love this Lucinda you're so fond of haui∣ing into the Arbor?

Yes, by all that's powerful.

False, false Roebuck!—

Madam, do you love this Roebuck, that you open'd the Garden door to so late?

I'm afraid I do too well.

And did you never own an affection to another?

No, witness all those Powers you just now mention'd.

Revenge your selves, ye Heavens. Behold in me your Accuser and your Judge. Behold Lovewell, injur'd Lovewell.—This darkness, which opportunely hides your blushes, makes your shame more Mon∣strous.

Ha! Lovewell! I'm vex'd 'tis he, but glad to be mistaken.—Now Female Policy assist me.

Yes, Madam, your silence prolaims you Guilty—Farewell Woman.

Ha, ha, ha.

What am I made your scorn?

Ha, ha, ha.—This happens better than I expected.—Ha, ha, ha.—Mr. Lovewell!

No Counter-plotting, Madam, the Mine's sprung already and all your deceit discovered.

Indeed you're a fine fellow at discovering deceits, I must con∣fess, that cou'd not find whether I was a Man or a Woman all this time.

What, the Page!

No Counter-plotting, good Sir, the Mine's sprung already.—Ah, Sir, I fancy Mr. Roebuck is better at discovering a Man from a Woman in the dark, than you.

This discovery is the greatest Riddle!—Prithee, Child, what makes thee disguis'd? But above all, what meant that Letter to Roe∣buck?

Then I find you intercepted it.—Why, Sir, my Lady had a mind to put a trick upon the impudent Fellow, made him an Assig∣nation, and sent me in her stead, to banter him, But when I tell her how you fell into the snare, and how jealous you were.—Ha, ha, ha.

Oh my little dear Rogue! was that the matter?—

A Man! 'Twas certainly Roebuck.—

ON what new happly Climate am I thrown?

This house is Loves Labyrinth; I have stumbled into it by chance.—Ha! an Illusion! Let me look again.—Eyes, if you play me false, (Looking about) I'll pluck ye out.—'Tis she; 'tis Lucinda! alone, undress'd, in a Bed-Chamber, between Eleven and Twelve a Clock.—A blessed opportunity!—Now if her innate Principle of Vertue defend her, then is my innate Principle of Manhood not worth Two-pence.—Hold, she comes forward.—

Ay, and a third too, or I'm mistaken.—I must divert this plaguy Romantick humour.

Ha!—Protect me Heav'ns! what art thou?

A Man, Madam.

What accursed Spirit has driven you hitherto?

The Spirit of Flesh and Blood, Madam.

Sir, what Encouragement have you ever received to prompt you to this Impudence?

Umph! I must not own the reception of a Note from her.

If a Gentleman, my Commands may cause you withdraw; If a Russian, my Footmen shall dispose of you.

Madam, I'm a Gentleman; I know how to oblige a Lady, and how to save her Reputation. My Love and Honour go link'd to∣gether; they are my Principles: and if you'll be my Second, we'll en∣gage immediately.

Stand off, Sir; the name of Love and Honour are burlesqu'd by thy Professing 'em. Thy Love is Impudence, and thy Honour a Cheat. Thy Mien and Habit shew thee a Gentleman? but thy behaviour is Bru∣tal. Thou art a Centaur; only one part Man, and the other Beast.

Philosophy in Peticoats! No wonder Women wear the Breeches;

Honourable Love is the Parent of mankind; but thine is the Corruptor and Debaser of it. The Passion of you Libertines is like your Drunkeness; heat of Lust, as t'other is of Wine, and off with the next Sleep.

No, Madam; an Hair of the same—is my Receipt—Come, come, Madam, all things are laid to rest that will disturb our Pleasure, whole Nature favours us; the kind indulgent Stars that di∣rected me hither, wink at what we are about. 'Twere Jilting of Fortune to be now idle, and she, like a true Woman, once baulk'd, ne∣ver affords a second opportunity.—I'll put out the Candle, the Torch of Love shall light us to Bed.

To Bed, Sir! Thou hast Impudence enough to draw thy Ra∣tionality in Question. Whence proceeds it? From a vain thought of thy own Graces, or an opinion of my Vertue?—If from the lat∣ter, know that I am a Woman, whose modesty dare not doubt my Vertue; yet have so much Pride to support it, that the dying Groans of thy whole Sex at my feet shou'd not extort an immodest thought from me.

Your thoughts may be as modest as you please, Madam.—You shall be as Vertuous to morrow morning as e're a Nun in Europe, the opinion of the World shall proclaim you such, and that's the su∣rest Charter the most rigid Vertue in England is held by. The Night has no Eyes no to see, nor have I a Tongue to tell: One kiss shall seal up my Lips for ever.

That uncharitable Censure of Women, argues the meaness of thy Convertation.

Her superiour Vertue awes me into coldness. 'Slife! it can't be Twelve sure.——Night's a Lyar.

Sir, if you won't be gone, I must fetch those shall Conduct you hence.—! my Eyes are dazled sure,

By Heavens she has a mind to't!—Oh, 'tis at your service with all my Soul.

Wrong not my Vertue by so poor a thought.—But answer directly, as you are a Gentleman, to what I now shall ask: whence had you that Jewel?

I exchanged Watches with a Gentleman, and had this Jewel into the bargain. He valu'd it not, 'twas a Trifle from a Mistress.

A Trifle said he?—Oh Indignation! slighted thus!—I'll put a Jewel out of his power, that he would pawn his Soul to re∣trieve.—If you be a Gentleman, Sir, whom Gratitude can work up to Love, or a Vertuous Wife reclaim, I'll make you a large return for that Trifle.

Hey-day! a Wife said she!

What's your Name, Sir? and of what Country?

My Name's Roebuck, Madam.

Roebuck.

'Sdeath! I forgot my Instructions.—Mockmode, Madam.—Roebuck Mockmode, my Name, and Sir-name.

Mockmode my 'Squire! it can't be! But if it shou'd, I've made the better Exchange.—Of what Family are you, Sir?

Of Mockmode-Hall i•Shropshire, Madam. My Father's lately dead; I came lately from the University; I have fifteen hundred A∣cers of as good fighting Ground as any in England.—'Twas lucky I met that Blockhead to day.

The very same.—And had you any directions to couat a Lady in London.

Umph!—How shou'd I have found the way hither else, Madam. What the Devil will this come to?

My Fool that I dreamt of, I find a pretty Gentleman.—Dreams go by contraries.—Well, Sir, I am the Lady; and if your Designs are Honourable, I'm yours, take a turn in the Garden, till I send for my Chaplain, you must take me immediately, for if I cool, I'm lost for ever.

I think I am become a very sober Shropshire Gentleman in good earnest; I don't start at the name of a Parson.—Oh For∣tune! Fortune! what art thou doing? If thou and my Friend will throw me into the arms of a fine Lady, and great Fortune, how the Devil can I help it! Oh but, Zoons, there's Marriage! Ay, but there's Money.—Oh but there are Children; sqawling Children. Ay but then there are Rickets and Small-Pox, which per∣haps may carry them all away.—Oh but there's Horns! Horns! Page  55 Ay, but then I shall go to Heaven, for 'tis but reasonable, since all Marriages are made in Heaven, that all Cuckolds should go thither.—But then there's Leanthe! That sticks. I love her, witness, Hea∣ven, I love her to that degree.—Pshaw, I shall whine presently. I love her as well as any Woman; and what can she expect more? I can't drag a Lover's Chain a hundred Miles by Land and a hun∣dred Leagues by Water.—Fortune has decreed it otherwise.—So lead on, blind Guide, I follow thee; and when the blind lead the blind, no wonder they both fall into—Matrimony.

Oh my dear auspicious little Mercury! let me kiss thee.—Go tell thy Charming Mistress I obey her Commands.

Her Commands! Oh Heavens! I must follow him.

Page, Page.

Oh my curs'd Fortune! baulk'd again!—Madam.

Call my Chaplain; I'm to be married presently.

Married so suddenly! To whom, pray Madam?

To the Gentleman you met going hence just now.

Oh Heavens! your Ladiship is not in earnest, Madam?

What, is Matrimony to be made a Jest of? don't be imperti∣nent, Boy; call him instantly.

What shall I do?—Oh, Madam, suspend it till the morn∣ing, for Heaven's sake. Mr. Lovewell is in the House; I met him not half an hour ago; and he will certain•• kill the Gentleman, and per∣haps harm your Ladyship.

Lovewell in my house! How came he hither?

I know not, Madam, I saw him and talk'd to him; he had his Sword drawn, and he threatned every body. Pray delay it to night, Madam.

No, I'm resolv'd; and I'll prevent his discovering us; I'll put on a suit of your Cloaths, and order Pindress to carry her Night Gown to the Gentleman in the Garden, and bid him meet me in the lower Arbor, in the West Corner, and send the Chaplain thither instantly.

Oh Lord, Page, what's the matter? Here's old doings, or ra∣ther new doings. Prithee let you and I throw in our Two-pence a piece into this Marriage-Lottery.

You'll draw nothing but Blanks, I'll assure you, from me.—But stay, let me consider o'th' bus'ness.

No consideration; the bus'ness must be done hand over head.

Well, I have one Card to play still; and with you, Pindress.

You expect tho' that I shou'd turn up Trumps?

No, not if I shuffle right.

—Well, Pindross, 'tis a Match. Be gone to the lower Arbor at the West Corner of the Gar∣den, and I'll come to thee immediately with the Chaplain. You must not whisper, for we must pass upon the Chaplain for my Lady and the Gentleman.—Haste.

Shan't I put on my New Gown first?

No, no; you shall have a Green Gown for your Wedding in the Arbor.

A Green Gown?—Well, all Flesh is Grass.

Make haste, my sponse, fly.

And will you come? will you be sure to come?—O my litlte Green Gooseberry, my Teeth waters at ye.—

Now Chance.—No, thou'rt blind.

Mr. Lyrick abroad, saist thou? and Mockmode with him?

All abroad, my Mistress and all.

I don't understand this.—Brush, run to Lucinda's Lodgings, and observe what's a doing there: I spy'd some hasty Lights glancing thro' the Rooms; I'll follow you presently.

—Can't you inform me which way they went:

Perhaps Mr. Mockmodes's man can inform ye.

Pray call him.

Mr. Club, Mr, Club.

What is the follow deaf?

No, Sir; but he's asleep, and in bed.—Mr. Club, Mr. Club.

Augh—

I'm asleep, I'm asleep; don't wake me.—Augh.

Here's a Getleman wants ye.

Pox o' your London-breeding; what makes you waken a Man out of his sleep that way.

Where's your Master, pray Sir?

Augh.—'Tis a sad thing to be broken of ones rest this way.

Can you inform me where your Master's gone?

My Master?—Augh—

Yes, Sir, your Master,

My Master?—Augh—What a Clock is it, Sir? I be∣lieve 'tis past Midnight, for I have gotten my first sleep—Augh.—

Thou'rt asleep still, Blockhead. Answer me, or—where's your Master?

Augh—I had the pleasantest Dream when you call'd me—Augh—I thought my Master's great black Stone-horse, had broke loose among the Mares—Augh—and so, Sir, you call'd me—Augh—and so I waken'd.

Sirrah,

Zauns, Sir! what d'ye mean, Sir? My Master's as good a Man as you, Sir; Dem me, Sir?

Tell me presently, where your Master is, Sirrah, or I'll dust the secret out of your Jacket.

Oh, Sir, your Name's Lovewell, Sir!

What then, Sir?

Why then my Master is—where you are not, Sir.—My Master's in a fine Ladies Arms, and you are—liere, I take it.

Has he got a Whore a Bed with him?

He may be Father to the Son of a Whore by this time, if your Mistress Lucindae be one, Mr. Lyrick did his bus'ness, and my Ma∣ster will do her bus'ness I warrant him, if o'th' right Shropshire breed which I'm sure he is, for my Mother nurs'd him on my Milk.

Two Calves suckl'd on the same Cow—Ha, ha, ha. Gra∣mercy Poete, has he brought the Play to a Catastrophe so soon? A rare Executioner, to clap him in the Female Pillory already! Ha, ha, ha.

Ay, Sir; and a Pillory that you wou'd give your Ears for, I warrant you think my Master's over head and ears in the Irish Quagmire you wou'd have drown'd him in. But, Sir, we have found the bot∣tom on't.

He may pass over the Quagmire, Sirrah, for there were Step∣ping stones laid in his way.

He has got over dry-shod, I'll assure you.—Pray, Sir, did not you receive a Note from Lucinda, the true Lucinda, to meet her at Ten in her Garden to Night.—Why don't you laugh now? Ha, ha, ha.

'Sdeath, Rascal, What Intelligence cou•d you have of that?

Hold, Sir, I have more Intelligence. You threw Mr. Lyrick his Poem in a hurrey in the Park, and justled that sweet Letter out of your Pocket, Sir. This Letter fell into my Master's hands, Sir, and discovered your Sham, Sir, your Trick, Sir. Now Sir, I think you're as deep in the Mud as he is in the Mire.

Curs'd misfortune!—And where are they gone, Sir? Quickly, the Truth, the whole Truth, Dog, or I'll spit you like a Sparrow.

I design to tell you, Sir. Mr. Lyrick, Sir, being my Master's in∣timate Friend, or so, upon a Bribe of a hundred Pounds, or so, has sided with him, taken him to Lucinda's Garden in your stead, and there's a Parson, and all, and so forth.—Now, Sir, I hope the Poet has brought the Play to a very good Cata—Cata—what d'ye call him, Sir?

'Twas he I incounter'd in the Garden.—'Sdeath! Trick'd by the Poet! I'll cut off one of his Limbs, I'll make a Synelepha of him; I'll—

He, he, he!—Two Calves suck'd on the same Cow!—He, he!—

Nay then I begin with you.

Zauns! Murder! Dem me! Zauns! Murder! Zauns!

I have been peeping and crouching about like a Cat a Mousing. Ha! I smell a Rat—A Sword and Hat!—There are certainly a pair of Breeches appertaining to these, and may be lap'd up in my Ladies La∣vender, who knows!—

What, Sir? What are you doing? I'm ruin'd trick'd.—

I believe so too, Sir.—See here.—

By all my hopes, Roebuck's Hat and Sword. This is mischief up∣on mischief. Run you to the Garden, Sirrah; and if you find any bo∣dy, secure 'em; I'll search the House.—I'm ruin'd!—Fly.—Roebuck?—what hoa?—Roebuck?—hoa?

Dear, dear Lovewell, wish me Joy, wish me Joy, my Friend.

Of what, Sir?

Of the dearest, tenderst, whitest, softest Bride, that ever blest Man's Arms. I'm all Air, all a Cupid, all Wings, and must fly again to her embraces. Detain me not, my Friend.

Hold, Sir, I hope you mock me; tho' that it self's unkind.

Mock you!—By Heav'ns no; she's more than sense can bear, or Tongue express.—Oh Lucinda! shou'd Heaven—

Hold, Sir; no more.

Come, come, Roebuck, no more of this Extravagance.—By Heav'n I swear you shan't marry her.

By Heaven I swear so too, for I'm married already.

Then thou'rt a Villain.

A Villain, Man!—Pshaw! that's Nonsence. A poor fel∣low can no sooner get married, than you imagine he may be call'd a Vil∣lain presently.—You may call me a Fool, a Blockhead, or an Ass, by the Authority of Custom: But why a Villain, for God's sake?

Did not you engage to meet and fight a Gentleman for me in Moorfields?

Did not you promise to engage a Lady for me at the Foun∣tain, Sir?

This Lucinda is my Mistress, Sir.

This Lucinda, Sir; is my Wife.

Then this decides the matter.—Draw.

Prithee be quiet, Man, I've other bus'ness to mind on my Wed∣ding-night. I must in to my Bride.

Hold, Sir; move a step, and by Heavens I'll stab thee.

Put up, put up; Pshaw, I an't prepar'd to dye; I an't, De∣vil take me.

Do you dally with me, Sir?

Why you won't be so unconseionable as to kill a Man so sud∣denly; I han't made my Will yet. Perhaps I may leave you a Legacy.

Pardon me Heaven's, if press'd by stinging taunts, my Passion urge my Arm to act what's foul,

Hold.

'Tis safest making Peace, they say, with Sword in hand.—Pll tell thee what, Nod; I wou'd not lose this Nights Pleasure for the honour of fighting and vanquishing the Seven Champions of Christendom. Permit me then but this Night to return to the Arms of my dear Bride, and faith and troth I'll take a fair Thrust with you to morrow morning.

What, beg a poor Reprieve for Life!—Then thou'rt a Coward.

You imagin'd the contrary, when you employ'd me to fight for ye in Moorfields.

Will nothing move thy Gall?—Thou'rt •ase ungrateful.

Ungrateful! I love thee, Ned; by Heavens, my Friend, I love thee. therefore name not that word again, for such a repetition wou'd over-pay all thy favours.

A cheap, a very cheap way of making acknowledgment, and therefore thou hast catch'd, which makes thee more ungratefull

My Friendship even yet does balance Passion; but throw in the least grain more of an affront, and by Heaven you turn the Scale.

(Pausing.) No, I've thought better; my Reason clears: She is not worth my Sword; a Bully only shou'd draw in her defence, for she's false, a Prostitute.

A Prostitute! By Heaven thou ly'st.

—Thou hast blasphem'd. Her Vertue answers the uncorrupted state of Woman, so much above Immodesty, that it mocks Temptation. She has convinc'd me of the bright Honour of her Sex, and I stand Champion now for the fair Female Cause.

Then I have lost what naught on Earth can pay. Curse on all doubts, all Jealousies, that destroy our present happiness, by mistrusting the future. Thus mis-believers making their Heaven uncertain, find a certain Hell.—And is she Vertuous?—sound the bold charge aloud, which does proclaim me Guilty.

By Heavens as Vertuous as thy Sister.

My Sister;—Ha!—I fear, Sir, your Marriage with Lucinda has wrong'd my Sister; for her you courted, and I heard she lov'd you.

I courted her, 'tis true, and lov'd her also; nay, my Love to her, rivall'd my Friendship tow'rds; and had my Fate allow'd me time for thought, her dear remembrance might have stopt the Marriage. But since 'tis past, I must own to you, to her, and all the World, that I cast off all former Passion, and shall henceforth confine my Love to the dear Circle of her Charming Arms from which I just now part∣ed.

I take you at your word. These are the Arms that held you.

Oh Gods and Happiness! Leanthe!

My Sister! Heavens! it cannot be.

By Heavens it can, it shall, it must be so—For none on Earth could give such Joys but she—Who wou'd have thought my Joys cou'd bear increase? Lovewell, my Friend! this is thy Sister! 'tis Leanthe! my Mistress, my Bride, my Wife.

I am your Sister, Sir, as such I beg you to pardon the effects of violent passion, which has driven me into some imprudent Actions; But none such as may blot the honour of my Vertue, or Family. To hold you no longer in suspence, 'twas I brought the Letter from Leanthe; 'twas I manag'd the Intrigue with Lucinda; I sent the Note to Mr. Roe∣buck this afternoon; and I—

That was the Bride of happy me.

Thou art my Sister, and my Guardian-Angel; for thou hast bless'd thy self, and bless'd thy Brother. Lucinda still is safe, and may be mine.

May!—She shall be thine, my Friend.

Where is Lucinda?

Not far off; tho' far enough from you, by the Universe.

You must give me leave not to believe you, Sir.

Oh Madam, I crave you ten thousand pardons by the Uni∣verse, Madam.—Zauns, Madam, Dem me, Madam.

By your leave, Sir—

Ah, Cousin Mockmode!—How do all our Friends in Shrop∣shire?—

Now, Gentlemen, I thank you all for your Trick, your Sham. You imagine I have got your Whore, Cousin, your Crack'. But Gentle∣men, by the assistance of a Poet, your Sheely is Metamorphos'd into the real Lucinda; which your Eyes shall testifie. Bring in the Jury there.—Guilty or not Guilty?

Oh my dear Reobuck! And Faith is it you, dear Joy? and where have you been these seven long years?

Zauns!—

Hold off, stale Iniquity.—Madam, you'll pardon this?—(To Leanthe.

Indeed I won't live with that stranger. You promised to mar∣ry me, so you did.—Ah Sir, Neddy's a brave Boy, God bless him; he's a whole arm full; Lord knows I had a heavy load of him.

Guilty, or Not Guilty, Mr. Mockmode?

'Tis past that; I am condemn'd, I'm hang'd in the Marriage Noose—Hark ye, Madam, was this the Doctor that let you blood un∣der the Tongue for the Quinsey.

Yes, that it was, Sir.

Then he may do so again; for the Devil take me if ever I breath a Vein for ye:—Mr. Lyrick, is this your Poetical Friendship?

I had only a mind to convince you of your 'Squireship.

Now, Sister; my fears are over.—But where's Lucinda? how is she dispos'd of?

The fear she lay under of being discover'd by you, gave me an opportunity of imposing Pindress upon her instead of this Gentleman, whom she expected to wear one of Pindress's Night-Gowns as a Dis∣uise. To make the Cheat more current, she disguis'd her self in my Page  63 Cloaths, which has made her pass on her Maid for me; and I by that opportunity putting on a Suit of hers, past upon this Gentleman for Lucinda, my next business is to find her out, and beg her pardon, endeavour her reconcilement to you, which the discovery of the mistakes between both will easily effect.

Well, Sir, (To Lyrick.) how was Plot your carried on?

Why this 'Squire (will you give me leave to call you so now?) this 'Squire had a mind to personate Lovewell, to catch Lucinda—So I made Trudge to personate Lucinda, and snap him in this very Garden.—Now Sir, you'll give me leave to write your Epithalamiu•?

My Epithalamiu• I my Epitaph, Screech Owl, for I'm Buried a∣live. But I hope you'll return my hundred pound I gave you for mar∣rying me.

No, But for Five hundred more I'll unmarry you. These are hard times, and men of industry must make Money.

Here's the Money, by the Universe, Sir, a Bill of Five hun∣dred pound Sterling upon Mr. Ditto the Mercer in Cheapside. Bring me a Reprieve, and 'tis yours.

Lay it in that Gentleman's hands.

The Executioner, shall cut the Rope.

Here's Revelation for you!—

Oh thou damn'd Whore of Babylon!

What, Pope Joan the second! were you the Priest?

Of the Poet's Ordination.

Ay, ay, before the time of Christianity the Poets were Priests.

No wonder then that all the World were Heathens.

How d'ye like the Plot? wou'd it not do well for a Play?—My Money, Sir.—(To Roebuck.

No, Sir, it belongs to this Gentlewoman.—

You have told me Wonders.

Here are these can testifie the truth. This Gentleman is the real Mr. Mockmode, and much such another person as your dream re∣presented.

I hope, Madam, you'll pardon my dissembling, since only the hopes of so great a purchase cou'd cause it.

Let my wishing you much Joy and Happiness in your Bride testifie my reconciliation; And at the request of your Sister, Mr. Love∣well, I pardon your past Jealousies. You threatned me, Mr. Lovewell, with an Irish, Entertainment at my Wedding. I wish it present now, to assist at your Sisters Nuptials.

Army last going hence, I sent for 'em, and they're ready.

Call 'em in then.

I must reward your Sister, Mr. Lovewell, for the many Services done me as my Page. I therefore settle my Fortune and my self on you, on this Condition, That you make over your Estate in Ireland to your Sister, and that Gentleman.

'Tis done; only with this Proviso, Brother, That you forsake your Extravagancies.

Brother, you know I always slighted Gold;