Love's a lottery and a woman the prize with a new masque call'd Love and riches reconcil'd : as it was acted by His Majesties servants at the theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

ACT III.

SCENE 1. The Town.

Enter Trick-well and Isbell.

Trick.

FAITH, Isbel, I'm afraid I shan't answer my Master's Expectations.

Isbell.

How, Man! Why you have promis'd him so sincerely, And sworn to him so solemnly, that should you Not be as good as your word, you'd perjure your self In the Court of your own Conscience.

Trick.

That's true; But the Court of my Conscience is no Court of Record; And you know, Isbell, 'tis such a delicious thing To be counted a rich Rogue, and be out of the reach of the Law, That I'm in a great quandary.

Isbell.

Thou talk'st like a Runagate from all Christianity.

Trick.

Ay, ay, it may be so— What of that? I find as little Religion Among the Christians as among the Turks, When they act for their own Int'rest.

Isbell.

Who the Devil taught thee this Doctrine?

Trick.

Why when bad Company come once To be pot Companions, they spoil one another— Now as I was speaking one day to my Lady Fortune, In my Masters behalf, she ask'd me Why I did not speak for my self; And at last, in the kindness of her Liquor, Promis'd me the grand Lot.

Isbell.

So far you're in the right, And then to give it your Master.

Trick.

Not so neither— If Amaranta be good for Clitander, Amaranta's as good for me—— I am not the first Serving-man that has had His Master's Daughter by the help of Fortune.

Isbell.

What, and leave thy own dear Isbell?

Trick.

Not so neither——But marry a rich Wise To maintain a poor Mistress as the Fashion is.

Isbell.

By my Troth, Sir, if I cannot be your Wife, I'le ne're be your Whore— So good-buy to you, noble Squire.

Trick.

Hold, Isbell, hold—— These are but the first Temptations of Satan, There's nothing as yet resolv'd on; Therefore prithee be patient— Hold, here come's one of our Customers: Prithee be gone, and leave him to me.

[Exit Isbell.

Enter Mr. Scribble.

Scribble.

Friend, a word with you.

Trick.

Keep your Friendship and your Distance to your self, Sir——you're a little too familiar with one of my gravity.

Scribble.

You're mistaken, Sir, For I make bold with all Mankind.

Trick.

Say you so, Sir? why what are you?

Scribble.

An Author that writes Books.

Trick.

Oh Sir! I know you now, your Name is Scribble—You are one of those serious Triflers, whose Works are very serviceable for every thing else, but what they were intended for; and whose worth is never known 'till they come to the Pastry-Cooks, or Trunk-makers—Good for nothing while living in the Book-sellers Shops, but many ways useful when pull'd to pieces.

Scribble.

But d'you hear, Sir, my Works are more estimable—I am now writing a Book, which I intend to call the Mirror of the Age.

Trick.

Then as a Friend, let me advise you to dedicate it to some Noble, Generous Patron or other, such as my Lord Rattle-brains, Sir Philip Whim∣sey, or that eternal Blockhead of a Beau, Tom Starch. I assure you, Sir, one of these noble Patrons, gave a Friend of mine no less than a whole round Guinea for the Dedication of one of his Plays; therefore you may judge by that, what your Reward will be.

Scribble.

How, Sir! But one Guinea? Sure you're mistaken—— I have been told 'twas Twenty.

Trick.

But one, upon my Honour! And Nineteen lusty Promises.

Scribble.

Well, well, then the rest are in reserve— He must have patience— The same Misfortune happen d to my first Endeavours,

'Twas an Essay of Eatables and Potables.

Trick.

Oh, I remember it— 'Twas a Manual compil'd in Three Volumes, Which treated chiefly of the Original Of sower-Whey, and Black-Puddings.

Scribble.

You're in the right; 'twas so.

Trick.

Sir, I shall be proud to serve you— What are your Commands?

Scribble.

Why, I am come for a Bird That flies where e're you send it, And neither eats nor drinks— I expect it, as coming from this place, To be a Black Swan— Rara Avis in Terris—

Trick.

You have hit it, Sir— Your Black Swan is very well, but at roost at present— You have mistaken the time, Sir, this is no Lottery Day; Therefore pray be pleas'd to come to morrow, And you shall have your Black Swan— So in great haste, I rest your very humble Servant.

Scribble.

Yours intrinsically, And impatiently 'till then—Farewell.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE 2.

Enter Clitander and Isbell: Maggot over-hearing.

Clitander.

My passionate Amour for Amaranta, and the uncertainty of en∣joying her, drives me almost to despair.

Isbell.

Truly, Sir, I am sorry for't—but there's no remedy—My Old Master indeed might have prevented all this, if he had pleas'd—There∣fore I wish the Devil had made Pot-guns of his dry Bones Ten Years ago, for not doing it.

Enter Maggot.

Maggot.

Thank you, Mrs. Isbell, thank you kindly,—I have always your good word, it seems.

Isbell.

No, by my Troth, but you han't; I'de fain know for what—Wou'd any Father—

Maggot.

Nay, but why so angry, Isbell?

Isbell.

Why so inhumane, Master, to expose your only Daughter to some Monster, for ought I know?

Maggot.

Good Mrs. Passionate, no Monsters come to my Lottery.

Isbell.

No Sir? But Men as cruel as Monsters, as ugly as Monsters, nay, and as beastly as Monsters do—And what if such a one shou'd chance to have her?

Maggot.

Why then here's her Perseus to redeem her!

Isbell.

Vile Man! Thus to wrong the poor Gentleman's Love, abuse your only Daughter's Affection, and then laugh at 'em.

Clitander.

I must confess, Sir, Isbell's Zeal has carried her a little too far, thus to provoke you, but yet she speaks nothing but reason.

Maggot.

Nay, then 'tis time to leave you—Two to one is odds.

[Exit. in haste.

Clitander.

What think'st thou now, Isbell? I'me afraid, as things stand, that between an Old Fool, and a young Rogue, I shall be left in Erasmus's Paradise.

Isbell.

I can't tell that, Sir, for I have one Project still in my Head, which is to make the Rogue drunk—Scrape has promis'd to assist me, and then I shall dive into the Secrets of his Heart—Farewell, Sir; I'm in la∣bour to be deliver'd of my Plot.

Clitander.

Good luck attend thee, dear Isbell—So,

[Exit Isbell.

Here's now a Tryal of skill—a Woman's Wit against a Man's; and 'tis a Cock-pit lay oth' Woman's side for an Amorous Intreague—she'l not be the first, I'le warrant her, that will disgrace her Sex at a pinch of ne∣cessity.

Enter Amaranta.

Ama.

Clitander!

Clitander.

Yes, Madam, I was just a coming to wait upon you; and to let you know that I am quite weary of these lingring dependencies upon Chance; therefore what think you, Madam, of descending (like a Goddess in a Machine) from your Window to Night, when your Father's fast asleep; the lawless Churches are always open for a matrimonial Fee.

Ama.

I know, Sir, you'd not desire me to transcend the bounds of modesty so far, to give the World occasion of censuring my Love, as this rash Act wou'd do—No, my Clitander, I hope you value my Reputation more than to expose it thus—Besides, I'me unwilling to give my Father that advantage over us; therefore pray be satisfi'd, for let the Lot fall which way it will, you may be assur'd of my Resolution.

Enter Trick-well drunk.

Clitander.

How now, Trick-well! how goes the World?

Trick-well.

Round—Round, Sir,—Hickup—And the Sun stands still, for I think 'twill ne're be Night—Hickup.

Clitander.

Why so hasty for Night, Trick-well?

Trick-well.

That I may go to Bed with Isbell, that's all.

Clitander.

Are you married then? I wish you Joy!

Trick-well.

No, no, Hickup—Only one of Madam Maintenon's Weddings—A Conscience Marriage, only for brevity's sake.

Enter Isbell.

Isbell.

Where is he? Oh, where shall I find him? I'me ruin'd and undone:

Amaranta.

What's the matter, Isbell?

Isbell.

Why that Rogue Trick-well, Madam, has stole my Gold-Ring from off my Finger—Oh! Are you here, Sirrah? Give me my Ring, you Villain, give me my Ring, I say.

Trick-well.

Hickup—As I'me an honest Man, Isbell, I ha' none of thy Ring, not I.

Isbell.

Sirrah, Let me feel your Pockets then—Slife I wou'd not lose my Ring for a Hundred Pounds; twas given me by my Grandmother, with a Charm in't—I never fell backward since I had it; therefore give it me quietly, or I'le call the Constable.

Trick-well

Why you silly drunken Jade, I tell you, I ha' none on't; if you won't believe me, you may try—

Isbell.

Ay, ay, come, let's try.

[She feels his Pockets, and pulls out the tip of a Neats-Tongue, a great piece of Bread and Cheese, and a Bottle of Brandy.

Hey day! What's here, a tip of a Neats-Tongue, Bread and Cheese, and a Brandy-Bottle! The Rogue's mortally afraid of Hunger I find—Here's Provision for another Siege of Vienna!

Trick-well.

Help, help, good Folks: Murder, Murder! Bear witness, Gentlemen and Ladies, how she ravishes me!

[Isbell at last finds a Ticket-Box, and whips it into her Pocket, then slips her Ring into Trick-well's Pocket, and pulls it out a∣gain.

Isbell.

Look ye here, Gentlemen, here 'tis; and yet this Rogue had the confidence to out-face me, and say he had it not.

Trick-well

Well, well, Isbell, come, 'tis almost dark; will you be as good as your word, hickup—and go to Bed?

Isbell.

Ay ay, do you go first——When People are lawfully Married, then indeed the Woman goes to Bed first, but when they only take one ano∣thers Word, then, you know, the Man goes first.

Trick-well.

Well, well, then I'le go——

You'l be sure to come?

Isbell.

I will, I will Man; never fear.

[Exit. Trick-well.

Clitander.

Incomparable Isbell! 'Twas dexterously done, upon my word.

Isbell.

I believe the Rogue wou'd live i'th' water, he drinks so like a Fish—I assure you, if we had not ply'd him briskly with Wine, we had never conquer'd him.

Clitander,

Well, well, but where's the Ticket, Isbell, the Ticket, Child?

Isbel.

Oh, here 'tis—Take it, Sir, and may ye both for ever live, and love like Angels.

Clitander.

Dear Isbell, thou hast brought me the Indies: I would not part with this Treasure, for all the Great Mogul's Territories.

Isbell.

Let me advise you now, to let my Master be at the op'ning of it.

Amaranta.

Yes, and I think it very requisite too, that he shou'd open it himself

Isbell

Right, Madam, and see yonder he comes.

Enter Mr. Maggot.

Oh Sir! Clitander has got the grand Lot!

Maggot.

Well then; now I hope you're both pleas'd—you blam'd me for taking this course, but I look'd upon it the best way—I consider'd how few people married for Love, how many in a frolick and humour, how ma∣ny by accident; and all to their continual plague and discomfort—so that I was willing Fortune should dispose of my Daughter, believing that if she had a hand in t, that she'd be kind to a Match of her own making.

Isbell.

But i'faith, Sir, had I not been too cunning for Fortune and you too; I'me afraid your Daughter wou'd have had but a bad Bargain—Come, come Sir, I tell you there were Rogues abroad, that—

Maggot.

The Devil's in these Appendixes to the Dressing Box—If any thing be well design'd for their Mistresses, they'l be sure to assume the praise of it—But I say, and say't again, that if Clitander's Uncle had not dy'd, and left him his Estate, I know Fortune's Mind so well, she wou'd have been hang'd before she wou'd have given the grand Lot to him.

Isbell.

By my Troth, I believe you—

No doubt but Fortune and you were agreed upon the Smith-field Maxim, you wou d have made an excellent No penny, no Pater-Noster Man.

Maggot.

Well Mrs. Manners, you will have the last word, I find, and so take it—But come, where's this good luck in a Box, let me see't?

Clitander.

Here, Sir, here s the end of all my Troubles.

[Gives him the Box.

Maggot.

Why faith, as you say, Clitander, it wou'd have troubl'd any

young Man to have lost Five Thousand Pounds, and a handsome Bed-fellow to boot—Well, but who must open it?

Clitander.

'Tis in very good handsalready, Sir; therefore if you please—

Maggot.

No, no, here Isbell, thou lov'st Employment; prithee do thou open it.

Isbell.

Not I, by my Maiden-head, Sir; Men were always better at it than Women, therefore pray excuse me.

Maggot.

Come then, to end all contention, I'le open it—So, now let me pull out my Spectacles and read—

Hold, hold, let me see, what's here? A Pouch full of—of—of— Here, Clitander, prithee do you read it, for I believe my Eyes dazle.

Clitander.

'Sdeath, this is the wrong Ticket—Oh, Sir! it is Pandora's Box, for it has let loose upon me, all the Plagues and Miseries upon Earth.

Isbell.

How! Trickt thus, in the Devil's Name? No, it shall n'ere be said a Woman was out-witted—

Come, Sir, let you and I go instantly and find the Villain out, and if I catch him, I'le pound him to an Electuary in a Drugsters Mortar, but I'le be reveng'd.

[Exeunt Maggot and Isbell.

Amaranta.

How are my Hopes deceiv'd, that am thus fall'n from a high imagin'd happiness, into a Gulph of endless sorrow!

Clitander.

Come, my Love, forbear to grieve or mourn.— Fate may yet be kind, and give thee to these longing Arms— If not, I have a Sword, and then let Fortune do her pleasure—

[Exeunt.

Enter Trick-well, solus.

Trick.

I over-hear'd them as hot as Bell-Founders; but I did'nt think it safe to make my personal appearance, out of the tender Affection I bear to my Bones—Hold, yonder comes sweet Mrs. Isbell—Had a Man Gyges's Ring, he cou'd ne're be invisible, I believe, from a Chamber-Maid—Now will this my Iuno Elect, raise a most strange and hideous storm about my Ears, for I see soul weather gathering from her Looks.

Enter Isbell, who runs and catches him by the Ears, he crying out, help, help, murder, murder.

Isbell.

Now Sirrah, give me the right Box and Ticket, or I'le pull your Ears off, you Impostor, Cheating Rogue.

Trick.

Hold, hold, dear Isbell, let me go, and I will.

Isbell.

Swear then, swear lustily.

Trick.

By all my hopes of Paradise I will—

[She lets him go.

Now art not thou a Fool, Isbell—

Here am I studying to make thee a great Lady, and for the blood of me, I can't make thy mean Soul mount higher than a Chandler's Shop.

Isbell.

What, woud'st thou have me turn an Insidel, as thou art?

Trick.

I'de have the turn with the Weather-Cock of the World, Interest; and steer thy Course as the general Magnet of all Mankind; thy own Profit directs thee.

Isbell.

How's that?

Trick.

Why l'de have thee Cozen, Lye, Swear, and Forswear; betray thy Friend, only keep out of the Clutches of the Law—The Law in∣deed pinches a little too close, and like another Hercules, choaks a Man, as he did the Gyant, by lifting too high from his Mother Earth.

Isbell.

Oh, this is rare Doctrine!

Trick.

No Doctrine, Child, but the daily practice of all Professions, even from the zealous Sect without Hat-bands, to the unbounded Atheistical Li∣bertine.

Isbell.

But will you make me a Lady, d'ye say?

Trick.

I tell thee I will; I know where a Barronet's Patent lies to be bought at second hand—'Tis no matter for Merit, bought Honour will serve our turn well enough.

Isbell.

I tell thee what, Trick-well, thou art such a Faithless Politician, that one knows not how to Article with thee—

How many Maids shall I have?

Trick.

Four at least; it may be the whole Parish-stock for ought I know.

Isbell.

But will you make me a Lady indeed, and indeed now?

Trick.

Pugh! here's my Hand upon't—

Thou shalt be a Lady with all thy appurtenances, a Waiting-Woman, a lit∣tle Black, a Parrot, and a Monkey—Thou sha't have a leetle, leetle Dog too, if thou wilt, to play with while the Child's at Nurse.

Isbell.

Swear all this.

Trick.

'Tis no matter for Swearing— They that swear most, are the least Performers:

Isbell.

Well! what are poor Women? Now do I begin to give already, like Linnen in wet weather.

Trick-well.

That's well said, now I like thee— There, there's a Kiss in earnest—

But leave me, my dear, at present, for I have business: My Head's as full as a General's before a Battel—So, there's one Convert quickly made; and truly I find no difference; for Men will go to the

[Exit Isbell.

Devil himself for Preferment and Honour, and Women to his Damm for their pleasure and satisfaction—However, the Jade will serve for a help∣meet, and that's all I care for—

Now Trickwell, briskly play thy part and thrive, The tender-Conscienc'd ne're deserve to live.

[Exit.

Enter Mr. Maggot, Clitander, and Amaranta: Isbell meeting them.

Isbell.

I can't find him high nor low—I have visited all his Haunts, but the Villain's under a total Eclipse. Had I met him, I had certainly put him to the charge of a Dog and a Bell.

Maggot.

In truth, Clitander, I'm very sorry for this Misfortune, but—

Clitander.

Nay, Sir, you might have prevented all this, if you had pleas'd, but you wou'd trust to Fortune, and see what comes on't.

Amaranta.

Dear Isbell, what shall we do? Can'st thou contrive no means? Methinks thou shoud'st make thy last effort, to repair the scandal of such a gross disappointment.

Isbell.

Truly, Madam, I wou'd willingly try another Experiment, but that I believe the Rogue has made a solemn League and Covenant with the Devil, to keep him out of the way; it must be some Negromancer or other, that must break the Charm—Now what a Jade am I

[Aside.

to betray this poor, loving and unfortunate Couple—But the Hopes and Title of being a Lady, strangely allures—

Enter Trickwell like a Beggar.

Trick-well.

Good your good Worships give a poor Cripple a farthing, or a halfpenny, and the Laud to bless ye, and restore it ye in Heaven!

Maggot.

How now! What more torments to perplex us? Prithee be gone, poor fellow, we have crosses enow of our own.

Trick-well.

Alas, Master, I am but a young Beggar! my Father was as eminent a Merchant as any in all London, that dealt and traded for Scotch-Eggs, Irish Potatoes, and Spanish- Chess-nuts—But Losses, and his own good nature, ruin'd both himself and all his Children.

Maggot.

Then why don't you keep to your Parish?

Trick-well.

An't like your Worship, the Church-Wardens, and Over∣seers of the Poor, have so many natural Children of their own at Nurse, that there's no room for us.

Maggot.

Then prithee be gone, and make the best of thy Calling some∣where else—I tell thee here's nothing for thee.

Trick-well.

An't please your Worship, I hope otherwise, or I'm an undone Beggar.

Maggot.

An undone Beggar! how can that be?

Trick-well.

Why an't please you, Sir, I laid out a whole Week's Earnings at your Lottery, and here I have got a Ticket—They say 'tis worth some∣thing, but I must confess, I can't read very well.

Maggot.

How, Friend, can'st thou get Three Guinea's a Week by beg∣ging?

Trick well.

Oh! yes, Sir, that's nothing; for Charity, since she's turn d Chri∣stian, is like a Birch-Tree, especially to the Poor—'Twill bleed freely, if it be well tapp'd.

Maggot.

Well, Friend, come, let me see your Ticket—Here, Isbell, do you read it.

[Isbell takes the Box, and opens it, and after reading a little, lets it fall, and speaks.

Isbell.

Oh! Oh! unlace me—unlace me, I say, or I shall swoon—quickly, Oh! quickly—The Vapours begin to rise already—My Head swims, and my Eyes grow dim—Oh! Oh!

Maggot.

How now! what ails the Wench? I'm sure there's ne're a Gor∣gon's Head in the Ticket.

Isbell

I know not what you mean by a Gorgon's Head, but I'm sure there's an Ass's Head in the Ticket, to dispose of your only Daughter to a Beggar.

Omnes.

How!

Isbell.

Nay, 'tis too true—This—Oh, I saint—This—Oh my heart! How it beats and pants—This Raw head and Bloody∣bones, has got the Grand Lott.

Maggot.

Impossible!

Clitander.

Curst be my Stars, and doubly curst those Fools that trust to Fortune!

Maggot.

Come, Isbell, advance thy doleful Countenance, and read it out:

Isbell.

Yes, yes, Sir: I'le but wipe my Eyes, that I may see the better—Hem! Hem!

[Reads.

Benefit by the Wheel of Fortune, the Lady Amaranta, and five Thou∣sand Pound.

Maggot.

Well, Clitander, you must have patience, there's no resisting the Decrees of Fate! And for you, my dearest Daughter, you must now learn to make a good Nurse, as well as a good Wife—Come, come, leave off crying, Mony hides all deformities.

Clitander.

Hold, Sir, you may submit to Fortune, if you please, I never made her my Umpress; therefore touch her Villain, if you dare.

Better ten Thousand such Miscreants shou'd suffer, than she perish—

Amaranta.

Hold, hold, Clitander.

[Amaranta holds him: Clitander, Maggot, and Amaranta talk a part.

Trick-well.

Hist, hist, Isbell—'Tis I— Remember thou art to be a Lady.

Isbell.

Enough, enough—Let me alone, I'le warrant thee.

Clitander.

All Reason's vain, when Love prevails—I le hear no more.

Isbell.

Hold, Sir, let not Folly and Passion over sway you thus—The poor Man has done you no wrong—Had he drawn a meaner Trifle, he must have been contented.

Trick-well.

Ay indeed, Mistress, and so I wou'd.

Isbell.

Besides, Sir, 'tis ungenerous to kill a poor Cripple—The Law will certainly revenge his quarrel every way.

Clitander.

As how?

Isbell.

Why first, if you kill him, you'l undoubtedly be hang'd—Or if you force my Mistress from him, being his Wife, then he admits himself pre∣sently in Forma Pauperis—And I know so much of the Matter, that y'are gone both at Common Law, and Doctors Commons, if it comes to, that—Therefore pray be rul'd by me; I have thought of an expedient.

Clitander.

No terms of peace, without the resignation of Amaranta.

Isbell.

That's it that I was about to propose—You shall have Amaranta, and let him have the Five Thousand Pounds—He does not care a half-penny for Amaranta, not he; 'tis Money he wants—Now this is the best way that I can think of, to divide the Spoil equally between ye.

Clitander.

With all my heart—I am content.

[He puts up his Sword.

Isbell.

Come then, Friend, you see I have sav'd your Life, therefore pray do something more than ordinary for my sake, and remember the gratitude of the Blind Beggar of Bednal Green.

Trick well.

Well then, for your sake, Mistress, let the Gentleman take the Young Lady, and let me have the Mony—Agreed, i'faith, let it be so.

Maggot.

Well said, and so thou sha't—Here's my hand upon't.

Trick-well.

Nay, nay Sir, I must have my whole Lott one way or other, a Wise, I mean, as well as Mony.

Maggot.

And so thou sha't—What think'st thou then of this Girl; I'le warrant thee, she'l serve a Cripple well enough—Or if she chance to be too many for thee, thou may'st call in thy Neighbours to help thee.

Amaranta.

Dear Isbell, thou hast always made high protestations of thy Love to me—Show it now, by laying hold of this opportunity.

Isbell.

Lord, Madam, what d'you mean? Wou d you have me marry a Beggar, and disgrace my Parentage?

Amaranta.

A Beggar, Isbell! Thou'rt mistaken—He's no Beggar, that has Five Thousand Pounds by him—I'le warrant thee in a little time, this Beggar, as thou call'st him, when 'tis known how rich he is, will be made a Justice of Peace in Quorum.

Isbell.

Say you so? Well then, Madam, for your good, and to oblige you, Sir, I'le venture on him—What say you, Friend, is it a Match or no?

Trick-well.

Why yes truly, I think thou mayst serve my turn—I desire but one lawfully begotten Son to inherit my Estate, and keep up my Family?

as for the rest, I hope thou hast wit enough to contract beforehand, that their several Fathers shall keep them, or else thou art no true Chambermaid—And thus I have got the first and worst part of my Lot—But how shall I come by my Mony, Gentlemen, let me know that?

Maggot.

Why, we'l give thee a Note upon a Gold-smith, to be paid upon demand.

Trick-well.

Pray let him be a very sufficient Man then; for since the late general Reformation of our Coin, we are as much plagu'd with clipt Credit, as we were before with Clipt Mony: Besides, I hate to go a Hunting in the Mint, of all the Parks in England.

Maggot.

Thou sha't have thy Mony paid down upon thy Marriage-day.

Trick-well.

And both of ye promise me all this upon your Words, and Honours, and as ye are Gentlemen, and Sons of Gentlemen.

Mag. & Clit.

We do, upon our Words and Honours!

[Trick-well pulls off his Plaisters, throws away his Crutches, and dis∣covers himself.

Trick-well.

Why then, I'm your humble Servant— Thus you see what Mony can do, Gentlemen— It can transform Trick-well into a Beggar, And a Beggar into Trick well!

Omnes.

How, Trickwell!

Trick-well.

Even so, Master— Your quondam Honest Servant, poor Trick well; But now, thanks to my Dexterity, as good a Man as your Worship.

Clitander.

The World may now see, what all Lotteries are— They are Bawds to Fools; Decoys to catch Gulls; The sport of Knaves, and the Loosers tryal of Patience!— Well, since we had no more Wit, than to let Thee out-reach us in all our Politicks, I think thou deserv'st what thou hast, And so much good may it do thee.

Maggot.

Nay, nay, take my good Wishes too— May'st thou live to cheat all the World, As thou hast fool'd us; and may Fortune prosper thee in all thy Tricks and Villany, As it has favour'd thee in this Day's Adventure.

Trick-well.

I thank ye both, good Gentlemen.—

Therefore do'st hear, Isbell, sweet Spouse that art to be, prithee step in and fetch me my Gown, that I may appear like a Man of Gravity, and Honour—Come, come, my Girl, a Doctor's Wife may take place of a Squire's at any time.

[Isbell goes to the Door, and brings the Gown; as he is putting it on, a noise within of several People, crying, where is he, where is he?

Ha! 'sdeath, what noise is that—Quickly, dear Isbell, quickly, or I shall be torn in pieces.

Enter Noisy, Mrs. Proud love, Bullsinch, Lack-wit; Ninny, and seve∣ral others, as cheated of their Money.

Noisy.

Where is he, I say, where is he?—Oh, here he is—seize him Neighbour Lack-wit, and Master Ninny—we'll Lottery him, i'faith, as he was never so Lottery'd in all his Life—We'll teach him to put Tricks upon Travellers, and honest Tradesmen, I'le warrant ye.

Maggot.

Why, what's the matter, Gentlemen?

Noisy.

The matter, say you? Why the matter's plain enough—We have all been trick't and cheated most abominably, as a Man may say; but now we have found him, we'll either make him pay us our Mony again, or we'll sirk him up up with a Ciserari.

Maggot.

Alas, good Gentlemen, I pity ye—But what wou'd you have of a poor Snake, why he's not worth a groat.

Bullfinch.

Then we'll have his Bones—Come, Gentlemen, fall on—Mrs Proud-Love, let his Nose be your Province, his Guts and Garbage yours, Brother Pinch-belly; and his Eyes and Ears yours, Goodman Dash-well.

Maggot.

Hold, hold, honest People—pray be pacifi'd a little, and let's hear what he has done

Bullfinch.

Why, Sir, you-must know that I'm troubled with a Wife (the Lord help me) that makes more noise with the Clapper of her Tongue, than Bow-Bells do on my Lord-Mayor's day or London-Bridge at low Water—Now, Sir, I bought a House of this Villain, which he told me had that pe∣culiar Vertue belonging to it, that Women never scolded in it, so that I was in hopes to have spent the rest of my days in peace and quiet—Now, what did me this impudent Rogue, think you, but bring me a Cossin, which made my Wife ten times madder than before.

Enter Gammar Whiteing.

Whiting.

Ay, ay, let me come at him— I'le clapper-claw him, I'le warrant ye.

Maggot.

What has he done to you, good Woman?

Whiting.

Why, Sir, you must know my Name is Whiting; I am a Fish-woman, I sold my only Daughter Into Pensilvania, for Five Pounds, to buy Me a Cure for all Diseases; hoping to have rid In my Sedan; and what did me this Villain, But bring me a Halter for my Money.

Noisy.

Ay, ay, come—We'll hear no more— Away with him—away with him.

Trick-well.

I'ray, Gentlemen—Good, Gentlemen—

For Heaven's sake, do but hear me.

Noisy.

No, Sir, we have hear'd too much already— Come, come, away with him, away with him.

Trick well.

Sir, worthy Sir, you seem to have The chief command of these other Noble Persons— Therefore, if you please, a word or two with you in private— Here, Sir, here's something for you in particular.

Noisy.

How! Bribe a Man of Honour! The Rogue takes me for a Sollicitor of the City Orphans— I le have nothing to say to you.

Lack-wit.

No, no, we'll have no Bribes— We are no Jury-Men.

Clltander.

Come, Sir, I think 'tis best for us to make off, lest we be brought in as Accessaries.

[Exeunt Maggot, Clitander, Amaranta and Isbell.

Trick well.

Oh, good Sirs as ye are Men, And lawfully begotten by your Fathers, Have pity upon the Son of an unfortunate Woman.

Noisy.

Yes, yes, all the pity we intend to show you, Sweet Sir, is fairly to send you to Heaven in a string— What say you, Gentlemen, is not hanging too good for him?

Omnes.

Ay, ay, hang him, hang him!

Whiting.

Here, Neighbour Bull-finch, here's the very Halter he sold me, to cure all Diseases.

[They throw the Halter over his Head.

Trick-well.

Hold, Gentlemen, hold, have but A moments patience— I have but one short Prayer to make, of an Hour or two long, And then you may do as your compassion shall direct you.

Noisy.

How, Gentlemen, Does this Rogue look as if he e're said his Prayers?— Come, come, hang him up, up with him, I say.

Omnes.

Ay, ay, hang him, hang him!

[As they are going to hang him up, he slips the Halter, and runs away.

Trick-well.

Help, help, Murder, Murder!

[Exit.]

Omnes.

Stop him, stop him, stop him.

[Exeunt after him.

SCENE the Last.

Enter: Maggot, Clitander, Amaranta, and Isbell: Trick-well meeting them, as running, and out of Breath.

Maggot.

How now Trickwell! How dost do, man? Prithee tell me, how dost like the Roman Sport Of fighting with Wild Beasts?

Trick-well.

Gad, I'le get a Warrant, and bind 'em all over— I'le Crown-Office the Dogs; And if they don't find it worse, than being buffeted by Satan, I'le be their Bond Slave.

Isbell.

Oh, my Dear, I am glad to see thee In the Land of the Living— I was horribly afraid, my Love, That my Ladyship had been spoil'd, and That I must have put on the Garments of Widdow-hood, Before thou had'st made me a Jointure.

Trick-well.

Ay, ay, That was my greatest grief, too, Isbell; For 'twould have vexed any Saint alive, To have been hurried out of his Matrimony, And Five Thousand Pounds to boot— But come, they have had their ends, and all's well— So that now, if you please, Gentlemen, We'll have a Song and a Dance or two, And then every Man to his own Wedlock.

Clitander.

With all my Heart!

Maggot.

Come then, sit down, and let the Musick strike up.

[They sit.

A NEW MASQUE, CALL'D Love and Riches Reconcil'd.

A Symphony begins.

Then Enters Plutus on one side of the Stage, attended by Em∣pire, Labour and Industry; and Cupid on the other, attended by the Graces; they range themselves on each side of the Stage, and after a while, Plutus and Cupid advance towards one another.

Plutus.

POOR silly Diminutive Chit— What fancy bewitches, Thy little fantastical Wit, Now to compare with the great God of Riches?

Cupid.

Blind Idol of the World, produc'd from dirt, Thou, that neither Temple hast, nor Court: Whilst I both Gods, and Men controul, Enshrin'd in every Humane Soul.

Plutus.

Sure Heav'n and Earth did a Governour lack, When they made a young Fowler, Their Lord Controller, That never was worth a rag to his Back.

Cupid.

Pride and Envy; makes thee bear me a grudge; But Plutus, know, I scorn to be my own Judge.

Plutus.

How wilt thou avoid it?

Cupid.

Let Momus decide it.

Plutus.

Momus!

Cupid.

Momus!

Both. Come, come, away.

Chorus.

Come, come away, Make no delay; Why, why d'you stay? Come, come away.

Enter Momus, attended by Hymen, Hebe, Peace, and Reason.

A Symphony of Haut-Boys.

Momus.

Ha! ha! ha! What do I see, The aged God of Wealth, With this young little Elf? Well, and how d'ye both agree?

Cup.

'Tis thee we call—

Plu.

'Tis thee we call.

Cup.

By whom the Gods—

Plut.

By whom the Gods,

Cup.

Are quitted——

Plu.

Or condemn'd.

Both.

When they're at odds.

Plutus.

Be just, and end the strife, Who bears the greatest sway in humane life; This little Dandy-prat, Or I, that am so glorious, plump, and fat?

Momus.

I am prepar'd to hear both sides, And then to judge as Reason guides.

[Here follows a Dance; then the Graces Address themselves to Momus.]

Euphro∣sine.

Daughters of Jove, and Themis, we Keep the bright Gates of Heav'n, and see What passes in the Seats above, Where all the Gods give way to Love.

Thalia.

His uncontroul'd Commands, Forc'd Neptune's Trident from his Hands; Phoebus his Quiver durst not own, And Hercules his Club laid down: Mavors he made his Helmet quit, Tore Hermes's Wings from off his Feet; And which was yet a greater wonder, Great Jove disarm'd of all his Thunder.

Aglaia.

No wonder then, That Mortal Men, So feebly shou'd resist his Charms, To whom the Gods surrender up their Arms.

Chorus of Cupid's Party.

No wonder then, That mortal Men, So feebly shou'd resist his Charms, To whom the Gods surrender up their Arms.

[Here follows a Dance of a little Boy dress'd like a Cupid.]

After the Dance, Hebe and Hymen sing the following seven Lines in two Parts.

Hebe and Hymen.

Short is what we have to say: In the Circle of Mankind, At Cupid's heels you'l surely find Us, always merry, blithe and gay; None, none can tell, His steps so well, For we trace him ev'ry day:

Heb.

From sporting,

Hym.

To Courting;

Hebe.

From Courting

Hym.

To Billing;

Hebe.

From Billing

Hym.

To Willing;

Hebe.

From Willing,

Hym.

To Wedding;

Hebe.

From Wedding

Hym.

To Bedding.

Chorus of Cupid's Party.

Thus round, round, around, in a circle whirl'd, 'Tis our little God Cupid, sustains the World.

[Here follows a Dance of two Girls.]

Momus comes forward and sings.

Momus.

Come, I have something to propose, Will bring ye quickly to a close. Cupid and Plutus together. Then to the point, and set us right.

Momus.

Two Matches are confirm'd this Night; Love makes the One, the other Gold, Now which is longest like to hold.

Cupid.

The Dowry'd Wife imperious grows, And fills the House with noise:

Plutus.

As loud the Monyless too crows, For want of my brave yellow Boys.

Momus.

Then Plutus, take the Day thy self, The Night I give this little Elf: Thus reconcil'd, shake hands—'Tis more Then ever Momus did before— So with a Jolly Dance, dismiss, The Brides and Bridegrooms to their Bliss.

A general Chorus, with a Dance.

So with with a jolly Dance dismiss, The Brides and Bridegrooms to their Bliss.

After the Masque, Maggot rises and speaks.

Maggot.

Well, Clitander, since I find you take your bad Bargain so con∣tentedly, I'le give thee a brace of Thousands to make thee amends—My Daughter shall never be upbraided for a Portionless Wife, I'le tell thee that, Boy.

Clitander, Kind Sir, I humbly thank you; Young Men in heat of Blood, their Flames approve, But when all's done, 'tis Money binds our Love.

Trick.

And for my part, I often have been told, There's nothing like dancing to the Musick of Gold.

FINIS.