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 changes to an Orchard.

Count Camillus and Friar Andrew come down the Wall by a Ladder of Ropes.
Friar.

—So! —We are got well in; Heaven send us safe out agen!

Cam.

Father, Father! don't trouble Heaven in this Affair, you'l never prosper.

Friar.

Bless me, my Lord! Prayers are natural to me: if you are so wicked to neglect 'em, I can't help that.

Cam.

Come, mind your Bus'ness: where's the Whistle?

Friar.

Here, here, — now for a delicious Vision, Of a peeping Angel!

Whistles.

(The Marquess above.)
Marq.

The Signal's given, and here's the Answer.

Shoots off a Pistol.

(Friar Andrew falls flat.)
Cam.

We are discover'd; and if I stay, all other Opportunities are left for ever. —

A Cry within of Thieves! Thieves!

—Why Friar! Friar! Father! You are not hurt, the Bul∣lets went over our Heads.

Friar.

Are ye sure I am not hurt? — I did conceive I was kill'd.

Cam.

No, no; but I know not what you may be if you stay — Follow me, with speed.

Cam. gets over the Ladder.

Friar.

Oh Pox! the Devil of all ill Luck! ruin'd, hang'd,* drawn, and quarter'd! No possibility of esca∣ping without a Miracle, — and I can't have the Im∣pudence to expect a Miracle.—

Page  24Noise within, Where! Where! Thieves follow.
—Oh! they come! they come! — and now at my greatest Extremity I cannot pray. — God so! here's a Tree! — I'll try to mount it.
Gets up the Tree.

Enter the Marquess, and several Servants.
Marq.

Search well, Boys! leave not a Shrub or Tuft of Grass unexamin'd — Five Pistoles to him who finds One.

1 Serv.

I warrant ye, my Lord! let us alone for ferreting 'em! — Soho! what have we here —A Pox, 'tis a Stub of a dead Tree — 'thas broke my Nose.

(Another Servant looking up in the Tree, where the Friar is.)
2 Serv.

Oh Rogue! Are ye there? I'll be with ye presently.

(Friar Andrew, as the Fellow gets up, throws his Bottle of Holy-water full in his Eyes, and pulls his Cowl over his Face, and roars out: They bot fall from the Tree toge∣ther.)
— The Devil, the Devil! oh, my Eyes are out!
The rest cry, The Devil!
They drive the Marquess in, who often turns, and cries:
Let me see him! let me see him!

The Friar follows 'em roaring.