Pausanias, the betrayer of his country a tragedy, acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesties servants / written by a person of quality.

SCENE I. A Garden.

Enter Argilius, Lysander with Demetria, and Mawkine with a Baby.

Arg.

YOU have a very fine Garden here Madam, and very well understood, as every thing else is a∣bout you.

Dem.

Oh good Sir I have no fancy at all indeed, if we are but clean, 'tis the most we can pretend to; how∣ever this little out-let is a convenience in the City, I walk here every morning before dinner, for a little fresh air.

Arg.

'Tis very agreeable Madam and it gives Health and Appetite.

Dem.

Oh dear Sir I never want Appetite, I wish Maukine had as much poor Child, she is so over-run with the green-sickness, I don't know what to do with her, I make her get up every morning early, when I do, and stir a∣bout,

we were up this morning by nine a clock I protest, and were drest in two hours time, as you may guess by the hanging of our Cloaths.

Lys.

Nothing can be more exact Madam, I'me in a∣maze it cou'd be done in so short a time, pray Madam don't hurry your self so, let me alone to cure my pretty Jewel here.

Dem.

Truly Lysander I am a little out of order with it that's the truth on't, but I don't care how I look so I do my poor Girl good; but cou'd you cure her think you, umph —I don't know but you might, if you made her stir Soundly, a warming Exercise is the only way—but she's fit indeed for a Husband, that plays with Babies, have you brought that along with you too? I have told you a hundred times I'de burn it—give me't I say.

Maw.

O Save me, Save me, I will play with't that I will so.

Runs to Lysander.

Dem.

How dare you say such words, Baggage, ha?

Maw.

I won't then, I won't Oh Dear Mother—I will play with it then.

Dem.

Indeed Gentlewoman I shall order you I shall.

Shakes her by the Arm.

Maw.

O Mother—you've hurt my Issue, oh Gods! oh Gods! oh Gods!

Dem.

Hold your Tongue you nasty Slut, but I'le throw this away for you.

Throws out the baby.

Lys.

O dear Madam don't be angry with pretty Miss, poor creature how she Sobs!

Arg.

Pray Madam, she'l do so no more, I dare pro∣mise for her, she was only practising how to dandle a living Baby of her own.

They laugh.

Dem.

Oh Sir I'me so troubled with her sometimes, I dont know what in the world to do; yet the Girl has a great deal of good nature in her, and I hope will come off from these Childish things.

Arg.

Ay Madam a good Husband will make her a Woman.

Dem.

Some Husbands will go a great way that's the truth on't, I had a good one once, that wou'd have made a Woman of any thing, I am sure I was very Young

and Foolish then, but he made a Women of me presently, while you cou'd say what's this; but I grow old now and must leave that to my Daughter.

Arg.

No body wou'd take her for your Daughter Madam, you must call her Sister indeed, so youthful and bloom∣ing as you are.

Dem.

Oh dear Sir it can't be indeed, O good, I dont know truly—I vow I can't be so vain to think it.—but do you speak seriously now?

Arg.

Madam I'le leave the World to Judg;

Dem.

No no, I can't belive it, tho' I was young and beauty∣ful once, your Unkle (Lysander) and I were very well together, he was a fine man as I may say, for he always kept great Equipage about him, how I lov'd play in those days, there wou'd be such Squabling, such a pother sometimes, and tho' we were out for a little time, yet we were quickly in again, I was never weary of playing—it makes me laugh ha ha ha, and now to have such a fine young Spark as this say such things to me—does really as it were— I don't know how methinks—but it obliges me to you strangely— I'le Swear I'me out of Countenance. O Iuno! what has she put in her Mouth

Squeezes her mouth out drops an apple.

there? Huzzy let it out— by Venus a green Apple— Oh this intolerable girl, this 'tis is her Bane, I am quite weary of my Life with her—'tis to no purpose, all this Charge and Care I have been at to give her Phisick and Openings, the Mischei∣vous Creature gets her self Stop't again, do what I can.

Maw.

Why Mother 'twas only a little Apple my Cousen Memnon gave me, when we were at play together on the Bed in the Damsen Coulor'd Chamber.

Dem.

Ay thou art a Tom-rigs, fy at this Age? it makes me quit wild, Huzzy have you got nothing else in your Pockets?

Maw.

No Mother indeed, and indeed now.

Mawkine Riggling about.

Dem.

I won't believe you, I will see, there∣fore stand still —look here a great peice of Chalk—a Scrap of Parchmin—a great peice of Allum, —an Apple Scoop, and a raw Turnip—are not you a lying Girl? speak—a peice of Plaister-lime and hair, meer Poison—are not you a Vexatious Child? speak

—why do you Plague me thus? speak I say.

Maw.

I won't.

Dem.

Come let see what's in t'other Pocket—full of Oatmeal—why wou'd'nt this make any Flesh Mad? but I'le—

Runs after her Arg. Stops her.

Arg.

Hold Madam hold, let me entreat you.

Dem.

Oh Sir I am the unfortunat'st Woman in Greece, she breaks her poor Mothers heart that she does, for me this is the daily Life I have with her or worse, I have tri'd all the fair means in the World, but it signifies no∣thing, a great Hoiden as she is, you shall have a Husband indeed, you shall, Ah if Lysander were not your true Lo∣ver, and blind to all your faults you might stay long e∣nough, e're any other wou'd be troubled with you, Oh I'me past Patience.

Maw.

Maw, waw here's a rout indeed—but I'le be re∣veng'd on you for this and that soon too.

Lys.

'Tis all nothing Madam, these little things are in∣cident to Youth, she'l make never the worse Wife, this is all Innocent, you may thank the Gods she's Virtuous Madam, and that's the Charm that wins my Heart.

Dem.

Oh Sir you are a good discreet Young man, as you say, 'tis a great Comfort to me to think she's Virtu∣ous, all the Mischief she do's is to her self poor Child, but when you have her, she'l be Wean'd from every thing of this kind, and I hope I shall have Comfort in her and hers.

Arg.

No doubt on't Madam, she must be good that comes from you, she must have Beauty, Sense and Virtue if she's your Ladyships Daughter.

Dem.

Oh sweet Sir you oblige me Eternally to you, and when you and I are better Acquainted, I hope you will speak your Mind freely to me, I love Flat and Plain doings Sir, I am for downright dealing.

Lys.

Your Ladyship says very true, and I'le promise you, you cou'd not meet with a more upright Man than my Friend here, I'le Answer for him.

Arg.

Lysander has done me great honour Madam in making me known to your Ladyship, and I shall use all the means Possible to requit him so great a Kindness, and

endeavour always to shew my self deserving of the fa∣vours I receive.

Dem.

Well I vow I can't choose but look upon you— I Dream't last Night of just such a Face and Person,— well really ones Fancy works very odly when ones a sleep sometimes—Oh Iuno! Oh the Gods! she has run a Pin into me Iove knows how far—where is she—

[Lysan. steps between 'em]

Nay I will come at her—I'le never forgive it Huzzy—I shall meet with you,—

Lys.

for Heavens sake Madam be pacifi'd.

Dem.

Pray Sir meddle with that which belongs to you, you are no Master here. Gods! how it Smarts?

Lys.

Why so outrageous Madam?

Dem.

You're a Sawcy Coxcomb Sir, what do you mean? do you know who I am?

Lis.

Yes Madam you han't conceal'd your self at all, I hope you don't think I or my Friend here, have any design upon you.

Dem.

Why this is intollerable, to be Affronted thus at my own house, my Daughter! my Scullion's too good for you.

Lys.

She may be the better Choice for ought I know.

Dem.

Had your Father the wealth of Persia, he nor you shou'd ever come within my doors, you have your answer Sir.

Lis.

I am Proud you employ me Madam, my Father shall have your Message.

Dem.

The sooner the better Sir, there's your way. I shall have a reckoning with you Mistress.

[to Mawkine who runs off]

Exit.

Arg.

O the sweet Conversation we have had Poor Miss has brought us both off, but She'l pay for't, come let's be gone.

Lys.

Nothing ever happen'd better, you have had the diversion I promis't you, and I have my Liberty secur'd, much sooner, then I expected. I'le tell my Father how she despis'd him, I know his temper, 'twill put a cer∣tain end to this business, and then the world's my own again.

Thanks to the Gods our Matrimony's done,

Which ne're begins too late, nor ends too soon.

Exeunt.