The Spanish wives a farce, as it was acted by His Majesty's servants at the theatre in Dorset-Garden.
Pix, Mary, 1666-1720., Brémond, Gabriel de. Pelerin.

SCENE, a Hall.

Enter the Marquess.
Marq.

Where's this plaguy Governor? I must have him with me, because 'tis about the King's Business; tho' I hate him for breaking our Spanish Customs, in letting his Jilting Wife have such Liberty. — Ha! here she comes, — and a Spark with her; — I'll abscond, and see how virtu∣ously she carries her self.

Enter Collonel Peregrine, and the Governor's Lady.
Lady.

I dare not stay, — my Husband thinks I am gone into my Chamber; if by any chance he should come this way, all our Hopes are ruin'd.

Coll.

Were he by, I'd seal my Vows upon thy melting Lips —Oh! receive my Heart; it flutters near thee, and struggles for passage.

Lady.

I am cover'd o'er with Blushes!

Marq.

(aside, peeping)
Confound your Modesty! were you mine, you should be cover'c o'er with Blood.

Coll.

My Life! can't ye contrive some way to bless me? Your Sex were ever most ingenious lucky at Invention.

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Lady.

Suppose you pretended a Quarrel in England, — for which you were pursu'd, and begg'd Leave to hide here. — If you were in the House, I might get an Opportunity to vi∣sit ye, — But sure you would not be such a naughty man to ruine me, if I did.

Col.

Not for the World!

Lady.

I wou'd fain love ye, and preserve my Honour.

Col.

That is preserv'd whilst 'tis conceal'd: The Roses in your Cheeks will only wear a fresher Die, — and those dear Eyes are no Tell-tales, Love will make 'em shine and sparkle more. — I'll put your Advice in execution.

Lady.

I must not venture on another moment. —Farewell.

Exeunt severally.
Col.

Farewell, my Blessing.

Enter Marquess.
Marq.

Oh Women! Women! Women! —They are Cro∣codiles, they are painted Serpents, gilded Toys, disguis'd Fiends, —But why name I these? They are Women— Just such another is my Damsel of Darkness; if Fortune wou'd but throw a handsom Fellow in her way. — Here comes the Governor, singing, I warrant ye,— poor Credulous Fool, —I cannot but laugh — ha, ha, he!

Enter the Governor singing: Let her have her will, &c.

—Hey da! I am glad to find you so merry. 'Tis as great a wonder to see you laugh, as 'twou'd be to see me cry — And that I han't done these Fifty Years, old Boy.

Marq.

My Lord, which is best, for a mans Wife to Cuckold him in Imagination or Reality?

Gov.

Lord! Lord! your Head is always upon Cuckolding, All the Cuckolds may be hang'd, for what I care.

Marq.

Oh fie, no! Hanging wou'd be a scurvy Death for a man of your Quality.

Gov.

Why — what d'ye mean by that, now, ha? —Don't provoke me, I say — do not — I shall make old ToledoPage  17 walk if you do, for all 'tis in my own House.

Marq.

I must not tell him now,— It will put him so out of Humor, he won't go with me, — 'Twas only a Jest, my Lord, — I wou'd beg the Honour of your Company to the Duke of Sidonia's.

Gov.

With all my Heart — come, come:

Sings.

Tormented still's the Iealous Fool,
Himself, nor Bosom Wife can never rest:
Yet he often proves the Woman's Tool,
Whilst the Contented Man is ever blest.
Exeunt.