The devil of a wife, or, A comical transformation as it is acted by Their Majesties servants at the Queens theatre in Dorset Garden.

SCENE I.

Enter Jobson the Cobler and Nell his Wife.

Nell.

GOOD Husband stay with me to Night and make an end of the Holiday at home.

Iobson.

Peace, peace, and go Spin, for if I want any Thread for my stitching, I will punish you by virtue of my Sovereign Authority.

Nell.

I warrant you: But you'l go to the Ale-house, spend your Money, and get drunk, and come home like Old Nick, and use one like a Dog.

Iobson.

How now Brazen-Face do you speak ill of the Govern∣ment? I am King in my own House, and this is Treason against my Majesty.

Nell.

I don't understand your stuff, but prithee don't go to the Ale-house.

Iobson.

Well then, I will not go to the Ale-house, I have made an appointment with Sir Richard Lovemore's Butler, and am to be Princely drunk in Punch at the Hall Place; we shall have a Bowl big enough to swim in.

Nell.

O Lord Husband, the new Lady they say will not suffer a Stranger to come into her House, she grudges a draught of Small Beer, and several of this Town have come Home with broken Heads from her Ladiships own hands for but smelling Strong Beer in her House.

Iobson.

A Pox on her for a Fanatick Jade, she has almost dis∣tracted the good Knight, but she's abroad feasting with her Relati∣ons, and will scarce come home to night, and we are to have much Drink, a Fiddle and Gambals.

Nell.

But her Fanatick Parson will disturb you.

Iobson.

If he does we will toss the Hypocrite in a Blanket, or kick the sanctified Coxcomb to a Jelly.

Nell.

O dear Husband let me go with you, wee'l be as merry as the night's long.

Iobson.

Why how now you bold Bettress, what wou'd you be carried to a company of Smooth-faced, Eating, Drinking, Lazy Ser∣vingmen; Rogues whose nourishment runs all into Lechery? No, you Jade, I will be no Cuckold.

Nell.

I'm sure they wou'd make me welcom, you promised me I shou'd see the House: Sir Richard and the Family have not been there since you married and brought me to Town.

Iobson.

Why thou most audacious Strumpet, darst thou Dispute with me? go home and Spin, or else my Strap will wind about thy Ribs.

Iobson

Sings.

He that has the best Wife, She's the Burthen of his Life, But for her that will Scold and will Quarrel; Let him cut her short Of her Meat and her Sport, And ten times a day hoop her Barrel.

Nell.

We poor Women must be Slaves and never have any joy, but you men run and ramble and take your swing.

Iobson.

Why you most Pestilent Baggage will you be hoopt? be gone.

Nell.

Well I must go.

Iobson.

Here now I think of it, here's six pence for you, get Ale and Apples, stretch and puff thy self up with Lambs Wool, re∣joyce and revel by thy self, be drunk and wallow in thy own Stye like a Sow as thou art.

Iobson

Sings.

He that has a Wife, &c.

[Exit Nell and Jobson.

Enter Sir Richard Lovemore's Butler, Cook, Servingmen, Chamber∣maid, and other Women Servants.

Butler.

I wou'd our blind Minstrel and our dancing Neighbours were here that we may rejoyce a little while, our Termagant Lady is abroad, I have made a most Sovereign Bowl of Punch, and I have a good hoard of Wine and March Beer.

Iane.

We had need rejoyce sometimes, but our devilish new La∣dy will never suffer it when she knows it.

Butler.

I will maintain it there's more mirth in a Gally than in our Family, our Master Sir Richard is the worthiest Gentleman, nothing but Goodness, Sweetness and Liberality.

Serv. Man.

But here's a House turn'd topsie turvy, from Heaven to Hell since her coming hither.

Maid.

We are all alike, none of us can scape her rage and fury.

Iane.

His former Lady is a Saint in Heaven, and liv'd so on Earth, all Mildness and Gentleness.

Butler.

Ay, Rest her Soul, she was, but this is inspired with a Legion of Devils, and one plaguy Non-Con Parson worse than all, that makes her lay about her like a Fury.

Iane.

I'm sure I always feel her in my Bones, she has an Instru∣ment of Correction made of Whale-bone, and for fear I shou'd forget her good usage, she refreshes my Memory every quarter of an hour: if her Complexion don't please her, or she look yellow in a morning, I'm sure to be laid on and look black and blue for't.

Cook.

Pox on her, when I carry up her Breakfast I dare not come within reach of her: I have some six broken Heads already. A Lady

quoth a! a Shee-Bear is a civiller Animal: she has robb'd me of my Cunny-Skins, my Kitchin-Stuff, and all my Vails; and brought a damn'd eating godly Fellow with her, that scarce will be content with five Meals a day.

Butler.

None of you have been used as I have.

Iane.

That's because none of us had a Spade-Beard of a Foot long.

Butler.

I that have lived five and forty year in the House, and had for twenty years preserv'd a reverent Beard, which made me noted for Wisedom and Discretion through all the Countrey, and she to demolish this poor Beard in an instant.

Cook.

I beseech you, by what means did she depopulate and waste your Fruitfull Chin?

Butler.

Why it was ruin'd by Fire, with her own cursed hands she sing'd it off; she said it always smelt of Brewis, and was a Spunge that soak'd up more March Beer in a month than any six the ablest Drunkards in the Hundred cou'd in a year: I sav'd nothing but this same one Sprig that grew upon a Wart, and that by my Naile.

Iane.

What pity 'twas to lose such an emblem of Gravity and Wisdome.

Butler.

Ay, I am become a shame to my Neighbours and dare not show my Chin before 'em: Oh that Beard, that poor Beard, what Authority it had amongst 'em! I had e'ne as live she had gelt me.

Serv. Man.

I believe thou had'st, thy Beard was of as much use as any Implement about thee.

Iane.

Methoughts he look'd like one of the old Patriarchs, in the Arras I have seen an old Eastern King, in a Mortlack hanging very much resembling his Phisnomy.

Butler.

Oh Mrs. Iane you do my poor Beard too much honour, but farewell dear Beard, I shall never see the like of Thee.

Cook.

No, a man may as well hope to have two crops of Oak Timber from the same place, as two such Beards from one Chin in an Age.

Maid.

Pish, what hurt does the loss of a Beard doe? I was ma∣king a Shift for her, and she did not like my Lacing it down; she turns the wrong end of her Fan, strikes me on the Mouth so hard, that she beat out 2 of my Butter Teeth: A shame on her light Fin∣gers.

Iane.

She makes the Coachman chain the Footmen to Posts, whip 'em with Dog-whips, and stands by to see the Execution.

Butler.

Heaven have mercy upon my poor Master, this devilish Termagant Scolding Religious Woman will be the death of him, I never saw a man so alter'd all the days of my Life.

Cook.

There's a Perpetual motion in that Tongue of hers, and a damn'd shrill Pipe enough to break the Drum of a man's Ear, I wonder my Master does not kick her and her Parson out of doors.

Butler.

Her Parson, her Weaver; I believe he never had any Orders, but an inward motion from his Stomach, which inclines him to eat more than a Wolf, and this motion is an inward Call.

Noddy,

(within.) Why, Cook Iohn, Cook, where art thou?

Cook.

I'm here, this is his outward Call; now is he almost fa∣misht for his second Afternoons Luncheon.

Noddy.

Why, Iohn, why dost thou neglect me? my Spirits are exhaled, evaporated in Study and Labour; I feel as it were a strange kind of emptifulness, I have not eat this two hours,

Butler.

A Pox on him, set him fast by the Teeth or else hee'l disturb us.

Cook.

I have a couple of cold Chickens, some Westphalia Bacon, and Christmas Pyes.

Nod.

For your Christmas Pyes I defie them, they are abominable Scandalous, and Idolatrous, they savour of Rome, they are so ma∣ny Fortifications wherein the Whore of Babylon intrenches her self, I will down with them, I will beat them down, my zeal will not suffer such Popery in this House; ye are my Flock, I will see that that Wolf the Whore does not prey upon you and devour you: down, down I say with all her Outworks and High-places, her Superstitious and Idolatrous Structures and Buildings, whether in Minc'd Pyes or otherwise: Your Christmas is an Idol, a very Idol truly, have I not seen him in a Profane Mask, in the Habit of an old Man with a long Spade-beard, and the deluded Rout have worshipped and fallen down before him? your Bagpipes are as Pa∣gan Organs, and your Wassalers lewd and filthy Choristers unto Satan, I may not bear these Rags of the Smock of that Scarlet Whore, my Spirit rises, my Zeal boileth and bubbleth up as it were within me, I am transported with a holy Fury: But do you hear Iohn Cook send up those Chickens.

Cook.

What both?

Noddy.

Yea both with some Westphalia Bacon, and do you hear, Iohn? a Tart; and you Mr. Chipp let me have a Bottle of Sack, a Bottle of Ale and a Bottle of March Beer, by help of this refresh∣ment I shall be able to hold out till Supper. Fare ye well till that time.

[Ex. with Cook and Butler.

Iane.

What shall we do with this base sniveling Hypocrite? he'll spoil our merry meeting.

Serv. Man.

'Ill warrant you 'tis but putting out the Candles and we'll make him weary of his Canting, when e're he comes a∣mong us.

Re-Enter Butler and Cook.

Butler.

So his Provision's gone up.

Cook.

He's fast by the teeth for one hour.

Enter the Blind Fidler, Jobson and others, Men and Women, and Neighbours.

Butler.

O welcome, welcome, here's to our wish, the Minstrel and our Neighbour! Oh old Acquaintance, Goodman Iobson, how dost thou?

Iobson.

By my troth I am sharp set towards the Punch, and am now come with a firm Resolution though a Poor Cobler to be as drunk as a Lord, I am a true English heart, and look upon Drunkenness as the best part of the Liberty of the Subject.

Iane.

Why did you not bring your Wife with you?

Iobson.

Because here are Waggs, young Rogues, and a Man may be a Cuckold before the King's Health can go round.

Butler.

Iobson we'll have a Catch, strike up Blind Will: Ah Iobson I have heard thee outsing the Lark or Nightingal, thou art heard above all the Church, let there be never so many Voices, thine will still be predominant.

Cook.

Ay and he holds out the Note of one Verse till the Clark begins to sing the next, he has a pure Wind.

Iobson.

Ay I'm pretty good at a Psalm, I have some reason for it, I have stich'd Soles this thirty years to those Psalms you spake of.

Butler.

Come, let us fetch out our Bowl of Punch in solemn Procession. Now let us have a Catch in honour of Punch.

They bring out the Bowl of Punch singing a Catch, and dan∣cing about it, after which they sit down and drink.

I.

While you Court a damn'd Vintner for such nasty Liquor, As worse was ne're swallow'd by dull Countrey Vicar, And the insolent Rascal will draw what he pleases, While Boys you may kick 'em when Masters y'intreat 'em, And from Drawers you up into Aldermen beat 'em; But they get your Money and you get Diseases.

II.

Stumme Brimstone, Lime, Arsnick, fond Drunkards bewitch, While the villanous Host not content to be rich, By Brewing and Poyson sells that by false measure, No Liquor like Punch gives delight to the Soul, When we drown all our Cares ith' bottom' oth' Bowl, Sincere are our Ioys and immortal our pleasure.

III.

We brew for our selves and we know each ingredient, As well for our health as our mirth is expedient, And who ever drinks Punch shall live merry and long, It spurs up Iade nature and quickens the blood, Which if it finds bad it ne're fails to leave good; And while we drink Punch we shall ever be young.

Cook.

And after that I'le bring up the Rear with a swinging Tur∣key-pye, and a mighty Gammon, besides much Pyes and other Appurtenances belonging to our Office.

Butler.

Here's our Master's Health in a Bumper. Huzzah.

Cook.

Our Ladies Confusion in another. Huzzah.

Enter Noddy, knawing the Legg of a Chicken.

Noddy.

What meaneth this Lewd, Profane, and Babylonish noise, ye Popish Locusts, ye Idolatrous Vipers, this sanctified Place is be∣come a Denn of Wicked ones. Thou Blind misleader of the blind, with thy Lewd Anti-Christian Squeaks, avant, avant, I say Belze∣bub, avant.

He kicks and beats the blind Fidler. They put out the Can∣dles and toss Noddy one from another and beat him.

Hold, hold, what do ye mean? Ye Sons of Darkness I defy you, I can suffer for the truth, I am a witness.

Butler.

Blind him and gagg him.

Cook.

Bind him hand and foot.

Noddy.

I will flee away from farther Persecution, Vipers my Lady will come, she will to your Confusion.

Serv. Man.

And as you like this do you come again.

Butler.

A Pox on him; to our Business now he is gone. The King and all the Royal Family in a Bumper. Huzzah.

[Noddy steals out, they light the Candles.

Cook.

Are you ready for your Collation?

Iane.

No, no, we'll have a bout at Blindmans-buff and a Dance first.

Iobson.

Ay, ay, come I'm old Dogg at that, blind me, perhaps I'm as great a Master at Blindmans-Buff as any one in Europe, no dispraise to any man.

[They blind him and dance a dance.

Enter Sir Richard Lovemore and my Lady.

Lady.

O Heaven and Earth! what's here within my House! is Hell broke loose! what Troops of Friends is here, sirrha you im∣pudent Rascal?

Sir Richard.

My dear be patient 'tis Christmas, a time of Mirth, of Jollity, it has always been the Custome of my House to give my Servants Liberty in this Season, and all my Country Neigh∣bours

used to meet, and with their innocent Sports divert themselves.

Lady.

Prithee hold thy prating, meddle with your own mat∣ters, can't I tell how to govern my own house without your put∣ting in an Oar? shall I ask you leave to correct my own Servants?

Sir Richard.

Good Lady, I thought this had been my House, and those my Servants, and those my Tennants.

Lady.

Did I bring a Fortune to be thus abused, and snub'd be∣fore my Servants, do you call my Authority in Question you inhu∣mane Monster? Look you to your Doggs, your Kites and filthy Cattel, your Faulconers, Huntsmen, and your nasty Grooms a∣broad, I'll make you know 'tis my Province to govern here, nor will I be controul'd by e're a Hunting, Hauking, unthinking Knight in Christendome.

Sir Richard.

A Pox upon all Fools that shall marry for money, I am married to a continual Tempest, Strife and Noise, Canting and Hypocrysie are the daily Portion I have with her; but I'll not bear this long, if I by force oppose her, she falls into fits, and raves worse than any one Bedlam.

Lady.

You stinking Scoundrels, and you filthy Jades, I'll teach you to Junkit thus and steal my Provision, I shall be devoured by you.

Butler.

I thought Madam we might be merry once upon a Holyday.

Lady.

Holyday, you Popish Curr, is one Day more Holy than another? and if it be you'l be drunk upon't, you Rogue, that by your late Demolish'd Beard, thought your self an Example to the Family, is this your Example?

[She beats him o're the Head.

Come you Minx, you impudent Flurt are you gigging after an a∣bominable Fiddle? all Dancing is whorish, Huswife.

[Jane is sneeking to get away, she catches her and lugs her.

Iane.

O Murder, murder, she has pull'd off both my Ears.

Sir Richard.

Madam, for shame, remember your Sex and Quality.

Lady.

Remember your own fools head, shall you instruct me?

Enter Noddy.

Noddy.

Madam, I rejoyce that your Ladyship is return'd.

Lady.

Oh good and holy man, how came my Family in my ab∣sence thus Debauch'd, Drunken, Profane and Superstitious?

Noddy.

When my Ears were first offended with these Lewd Noises, I came down grieved in Spirit, and rebuked them, com∣manding them to surcease from these Superstitious and Idolatrous Rites, which they Sacrifice to that Idol, that beastly Idol, old Father Christmas, and while my Spirit was full of Godly Cha∣stisement, they did extinguish the Lights, surrounded and hemm'd me in, and these Instruments of Satan did buffet me even unto great anguish, and I am sore bruised in Body.

Lady.

Alack good man! Oh ye Spawn of Belial the Fry of the bottomless Pitt, how now sirrah, who, are you in the Bumble you Buzzard?

[To Jobson.

She takes the Parson's Cane and beats all the Company, Jobson is stealing by.

Iobson.

I am an honest Psalm-singing Cobler, Madam; if your Ladyship wou'd go to Church, you wou'd hear me above 'em all there.

Lady.

I'll try thy Voice now.

[She strikes him o're the Pate.

Iobson.

Nounz what a Pox, what a Devil ails you?

Lady.

O Prosane Wretch, wicked Varlet.

Noddy.

Thou Son of the old Serpent, avant thou Frog of the Lake of Darkness.

Iobson.

Avant thou Coxcombly Son of a Whore of the new Light.

Noddy.

Be gone, Avant, Be gone from within these Walls.

[They justle one another.

Iobson.

What will you wrestle a Fall with me? Come on. Take that Lusty Lug you Rogue of a Saint, with a pound of Ear of each side.

Jobson gives Noddy a Fall, and lugs him by the Ears.

Lady.

Impudent Villain, has he not hurt the Good man?

Noddy.

He hath very much disorder'd my two Ears, and bruised me exceedingly.

Sir Richard.

You deserve it for a medling Coxcomb, go to your Book you ignorant Fop and roade, and rely more upon good Sense, and less upon your new Light.

Lady.

Oh wicked vile wretch, was ever poor Lady so miserable so horridly miserable in a Brute to her Husband as I am, I that am so Pious, so Good and Religious a Woman?

Noddy.

She is an holy, a sanctified Vessel truly.

[Jobson peeps in and sings.

Iobson

Sings.

He that has the best Wife, She's the Burthen of, &c.

And some ten times a day hoop her Barrel.

Lady.

O Rogue, Scoundrel, Villain.

Sir Richard.

Remember Modesty.

Lady.

Are you gone, Sirrah? I'll rout the rest of you: I'll spoil your squeaking Trebble.

She lays about her, they all run, she breaks the blind Fidler's Fiddle about his Head.

Fidler.

O Murder, murder, I am a dark man, which way shall I get hence? Oh Heaven! She has broken my Fiddle, and undone me, my Wife and Children.

Sir Richard.

Here Poor Fellow come this way, take your Staff, there, there's money to buy two such Fiddles; go, there's your way.

Fidler.

Heaven preserve your Worship, bless you sweet Master, here's a Change indeed, little did I think to live to find such Do∣ings at this Hall-Place.

[Exit Fidler.

Two Wassalers come to the Door singing a Wassal Song.

Lady.

You are very Liberal, must my Estate maintain you in your Profuseness?

Sir Richard.

Go up to your Closet, Pray and compose your mind.

Lady.

Oh wicked Fellow to bid me pray.

Sir Richard.

A Man cannot be compleatly curs'd without a Wedding, but there is such a thing as separate maintenance and a Joynter-House, which she to morrow shall try, by the help of Hea∣ven, I will no longer bear this nusance in my House. Here, where

are my Servants, what must they be frighted from me? within there, Chipp, come here and see who knocks there.

[A knocking at the Door.

Lady.

Within there, where are my Sluts, ye Drabs, ye Queans: Lights there.

[Enter Boy with Candle.]

[Two Maids come sneeking in with Candles.

Enter Butler again.

Butler.

Sir it is a Doctour that lives ten mile off with his man, he practises Physick, and is an Astronomer and a Cunning-man, your Worship knows him, he can make Almanacks, and help men to their Goods again.

Enter Doctor and his Man.

Doctor.

Sir I am benighted, 'tis so dark I cannot see my hand, I cannot possibly reach home, and therefore knowing the Bounty of your Worships Hospitality, I desire the favour to be harbour'd un∣der your Roof this night.

Lady.

Out of my house you lewd Conjurer, you Witch, you Ma∣gician.

Noddy.

Avant thou Instrument of Satan, I defie thee and all thy Works, thou wicked Sorcerer avant.

Lady.

If you stay in my house, you shall be worse used here, than your Predecessour Dr. Lamb was in the City.

Doctor.

Here's a turn, here's a change, which if I have any Art she shall smart for.

Sir Richard.

You see Friend the Case is alter'd with me, I am not Master of my House, but e're to morrow this time I'll be Mo∣narch here: go down the Lane friend, and about half a Quarter of a mile off, you'l see a Coblers house, stay there some little time, and I'll send my Man that shall conduct you to a Tennants house, who shall take care of you.

Doctor.

Thanks good Sir, I'm your humble Servant, but you Noncon with your surious She Disciple there, shall have some proofs of my Magick Art this Night.

[Ex. Dr. and his Man.

Sir Richard.

Come Lady you and I must have some Conference.

Lady.

Yes I will have Conference and Reformation too in this house, or else I'll turn thee inside outwards.

[Ex. Sir Richard and Lady.

Noddy.

My mind misgiveth me, these Varlets have left some good thing in the Bowl there, but hold, is it not a Wassaling Super∣stitious Spice-Bowl, let me see, hah! it is very comfortable and edifieth, there's a huge Island of Tost, Nutmeg and Sugar, I will attack it, it is Chearing, I have a Paper with some Parmazan in my Pocket, which will eat very well with it, this is also a pleasing Liquor, I will drink plentifully of it and eat Tost exceedingly: ah my Spirits are cheared as it were, and are excited unto Joy and Gladness.

Enter Butler and Cook.

Cook.

Oh that sweet tooth'd Lickerish Hypocrite who is always eating, and looks as if he had never eaten.

Butler.

His meat does himself no more good than his Doctrine does others, stand close, you'l see him devour that Punch-Tost, hee'l never be contented without all in the Bowl.

Cook.

It will disguise him most wickedly, and make him as drunk as one of the Profane.

Noddy.

It doth begin to invade my upper Region, my Pericra∣nium doth seem to be somewhat inclined unto Giddiness, hah the Room appeareth to turn round.

[He hekops, belches and sneezes, and is drunk.

Butler.

He is overtaken.

Cook.

'Tis a very seasonable time, I'm just going to knock to Supper, and my Lady won't eat without his Grace.

Butler.

Go quickly, he's in a sweet Pickle for a Grace of a quarter of an hour long as he used to make 'em.

[The Cook knocks to supper within, it goes up.

Noddy.

Where am I? am I in the Buttery or my own Closet, a most excellent Spice I'll promise you.

Enter Jane.

Iane.

Where are you Mr. Noddy? Supper is on the Table, and my Lady stays for your Grace.

Noddy.

Is it Supper time say you, now I think of it I begin to be hungry.

Butler.

Pray Sir make hast my Lady stays for you?

Noddy.

What is the matter with me? I think my Feet are asleep, I cannot use them, my Eyes are somewhat dim too, which is the way?

Butler.

Ay the Rogue hears my Master intends to turn over a new Leaf, and he has a mind to wind about, but this shan't serve his turn, he's a Fanatick Rogue still.

[Noddy staggers, they lead him out.

[Ex. omnes.

Scene the Cobler's House. Nell, the Dr. and his Man.

Nell.

Pray Sir mend your Draught if you please, you are very welcome Sir.

Doct.

Thank you heartily good Woman, come I'll give you some requital, I'll tell you your fortune?

Nell.

Oh! Pray do Sir, I never had my Fortune told me in my Life.

Doct.

Let me behold the Lines of your Face?

Nell.

I'm afraid 'tis none of the cleanest Sir, I have been about dirty work Sir all this day.

Doct.

Come, 'tis a good Face be not asham'd of it, you shall show it in greater Places suddenly.

Nell.

Oh dear, I Sir? I shall be asham'd mightily, I want Da∣city when I come before great Folks.

Doct.

You must be confident I charge you, and fear nothing, there is much happiness attends you.

Nell.

Oh me, this is a rare man Heaven be thanked.

Doct.

To morrow before Sun Rise you shall be the happiest Woman in this County.

Nell.

How, by to morrow? Alack a day, how can this be?

Doct.

No more shall you be troubled with a Surly Husband, that shall Rail, call you names and strap you.

Nell.

Lord how came he to know that? he has a Familiar: in∣deed my Husband is somewhat rugged, and in his Cupps will beat me but it is not much, He's an honest painfull Man and I let him have his way, pray Sir take the tother Cup of Ale.

Doctor.

Thank you, to morrow you shall be the richest Woman in the Hundred, and ride in your own Coach.

Nell.

O Father now you jeer me.

Doctor.

By Heaven I do not, but mark my words, be confident and bear all out, or worse will follow.

Enter Jobson.

Iobson.

Where is this Queane, here Nell, what a Pox are you drunk with your Lambs-wool?

Nell.

Oh Husband! here's the rarest man, he has told me my Fortune.

Iobson.

Pox on you, and has planted my Fortune too, a Lusty pair of horns upon my head, has he?

Doctor.

Thy Wife's a vertuous Woman, and thoul't be happy.

Iobson.

Come out ye hang Doggs, ye Juglers, ye cheating Vil∣layns, must I be Cuckolded by such Rogues as you are, Mackma∣ticians and Almnack-makers?

Nell.

Prithee peace Husband, we shall be rich, and have a Coach of our own.

Iobson.

A Coach! a Cart, a Wheele-Barrow you Jade, by 'th mackin She's drunk, bloody drunk, get you to bed you Strumpet.

[He beats her.

Nell.

Oh mercy on us, is this a taste of my good Fortune?

Doctor.

You had better not have touch'd her you surly Rogue.

Iobson.

Out of my House you Rogues, or I'll run my Nall up to the handle in your Buttocks?

Doctor.

Farewell you Paltry Slave?

Iobson.

Get you out you Rogues?

[Scene changes to the open Countrey.

[She shuts the door and goes in.

Doctor.

What? Hoh my Spirits, Nadir and Abishog, hoh!

Enter Nadir and Abishog flying down.

Nadir. Abishog.

Here, we're here.

Doctor.

Praesto, all my Charms attend: 'Ere this Night shall have an End, You shall this Cobler's Wife transform, And to the Knights the like perform; This bed the Cobler's Wife I ll charm, The Knight's into the Cobler's Arm; Let the Delusion be so strong, That none shall know the Right from wrong. The Non-con Parson so affright, That he may ever Rue this Night; Scare him from his Little Wits, And his Hypocritick Fits.

Nadir. Abishog.

All this, this Night we will perform, In a Whirl-wind, in a Storm. In Lightning and in Thunder fly,

Doctor.

And muster all the Clouds i'th Sky; Attend me till the Dawn of Day, And then you may go sport and play.

Hold, here comes Sir Richard's Man: he'll guide us to our Lod∣ging, let us meet him to Horse.

[Ex. omnes.

Scene Sir Richard's House, the Dining Room, Sir Richard, Mr. Rowland, Mr. Longmore.

Sir Richard.

Well my dear Friends, though you have found my House in some disorder, I cannot but rejoyce to see you, the sight of Friends will lighten great afflictions.

Rowl.

Some years have past, since we have been merry toge∣ther.

Long.

We have not met these five years: Marriage, Travel, Busi∣ness, and your Retirement, Sir Richard, have thus separated us.

Sir Richard.

Us that for several years, of pleasant Frolique Youth were ne're asunder.

Rowl.

I call methinks a pleasant Season back, here's a brimmer to our old Acquaintance.

Sir Richard.

About with it.

Long.

But now 'tis late, we keep you out of Bed from your new Wife.

Sir Richard.

A Wife! Oh Friends take warning, marry not, I say, do not marry.

Rowl.

Why? you have a handsome Lady and a rich one.

Sir Richard.

Oh Gentlemen, I would be glad to have the Witch of Endor, were she alive instead of her; I am link'd to an Amo∣zonian Devil, such a Thalestris, such a perpetual Fixen, and a Shrew, such a Tongue, that 'twould be a Blessing to be lodged in London, with a Silver-Smith under me, a Brazier over head, a Trunk-maker and a Peuterer on either side of me, and all of 'em Industrious Rogues to boot; a Blessing I say in Comparison of her continual Clamour, all those Noises in consort are soft and gentle Harmony to her one single Voice.

Long.

Methought she looked somewhat proudly, her Counte∣nance between Scorn and Anger.

Sir Richard.

She wish'd crooked Pins in every bit of meat you eat, and Poyson in every Glass of Wine you swallow'd.

Rowl.

Say you so, 'tis time for us to leave you then.

Sir Richard.

No, fear not, this Night is the last of her short Reign, I have sent for her Father to dine with me to morrow, and after dinner I will pack her away with her separate maintenance, and then we'll spend the Christmas in Freedom, Mirth and Jollity, and I am overjoy'd you are here to be Witnesses of my Procee∣dings.

Enter Jane.

Iane.

Sir, my Lady commanded me to tell you, She'l rout you and your Lewd Companions, if you come not away presently, I hope you'l pardon me.

[Ex. Jane.

Sir Richard.

Tell her I come, I am sent for. But here's the o∣ther Brimmer to my Deliverance.

Long.

Away with it.

Sir Richard.

I lay my whole misfortune now before you, I have not onely married an Indefatigable Scold, but a Phanatick into bargain; nay, I have married her Chaplain too, who was, I take a Weaver, and ordain'd himself by virtue of outward Grace and inward Knavery, have a care I warn you of a Bigot or Zealous

Woman, for be she never so wicked, she will be always so full of spiritual Pride, She'll think you a Limb of Satan.

Rowl.

'Tis a just observation.

Long.

And for a Chaplain, I would as soon have a Russian in my House, for he must Govern or the Wife will Rage.

Sir Richard.

Right, Then, my Friends, I conjure ye have a care of separate maintenance, a damn'd invention to make Whores and cursed Wives as bad, I wou'd not marry the Queen of Sheba were she alive, upon those Conditions.

Rowl.

All this daily Experience tells us.

Sir Richard.

A Curse of an Owle that must try and would not trust Experience; but at his own cost another Point is, for I am bound in Charity to warn you, have a care of an ill born or ill bred Woman, there is as much in the Straine, as in Horses or Doggs, we all take after our kind.

Long.

You are in the Right of it, I have not heard a better Preaching.

Sir Richard.

And for breeding, though almost all Women are Fools, yet those that are well bred, by the help of that will behave themselves with some Discretion and Good manners at least, and now in what a Case am I, that am under all these Curses which I warn you from? how irksome must it be to me, who with my first dear Wife, that St. in Heaven, had all the happiness that man on Earth was capable of?

Rowl.

'Tis hard, but like to be as short.

Sir Richard.

One more to the memory of my former Wife, a Brimmer to help to dround my sorrow for this.

Long.

Let it go round: we knew her.

Rowl.

She deserv'd all honour.

Enter Lady.

Lady.

Now shame upon you and your filthy Companions, I'll make your Glasses and your Bottles fly, and that Lewd Minister of your Debauchery, your Butler I'll rout him, for not bringing me the Key of the Cellar a Rascal.

Sir Richard Whistles. Enter Servants.

Rowl.

Your Pardon, we are going.

Lady.

Going? yes, to make one another drunk and sott all Night about it, ye may be ashamed ye Beasts, why do I call you Beasts, Beasts, I scorn to be drunk like you.

Sir Richard.

This Gentlemen is my sweet Lady.

Lady.

Gentlemen! your fellow Scotts, your guzling Drunkards, get you to bed ye Spunges?

Sir Richard.

Light the Gentlemen, your Fires are ready, you see I am under Correction sweet Princess.

If you in one, would summe up every Curse, Take such a Spowse for better and for worse.

The End of the first Act.