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'Twere all the Heaven I'd ask.
But we are clad in Black Mortality, and the dark Curtain of Eternal Night, at last must drop between us.
COme, pay the Waterman, and take the Port∣mantle.
Faith Sir, I think the Waterman had as good take the Portmantle and pay himself.
VVhy shure there's something left in't!
But a solitary old VVastcoat, upon Honour, Sir.
Why, what's become of the Blue Coat, Sirrah?
Sir, 'Twas eaten at Gravesend, the Reckoning came to Thirty Shillings, and your Privy Purse was worth but two Halfe Crowns.
'Tis very well.
Pray Master will you please to dispatch me?
Ay, here, a— Canst thou change me a Guinea?
Change a Guinea, Master; ha, ha, your Honor's Pleas'd to Compliment.
I'gad I don't know how I shall pay thee then, for I have nothing but Gold about me.
What dost thou expect, Friend?
Why Master, so far against Wind and Tide, is rich∣ly worth Half a Piece.
Ha! God bless your Honour; I shou'd be as wil∣ling to trust you, Master, but that you are, as a Man may say, a stranger to me, and these are nimble Times.
Very well; I'll send for't to Morrow,
So'—Now Sir, I hope you'll own your self a Happy Man,
You have out-liv'd all your Cares,
How so, Sir?
Why, you have nothing left to take care of.
Yes Sirrah, I have my self and you to take care of still.
Sir, if you cou'd but prevail with some body else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't.
Why if thou canst tell me where to apply my self I have at present so little Money and so much Humility about me, I don't know but I may follow a fool's advice.
Why then, Sir, your Fool advises you to lay aside all Animosity, and apply to Sir Novelty your Elder Brother.
Damn my Elder Brother.
With all my Heart, but get him to redeem your Annuity however.
My Annuity? S'death he's such a Dog, he wou'd not give his Powder Puff to redeem my Soul.—
Look you, Sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve.
Look you, Sir, I will neither wheedle him, nor starve.
Why? What will you do then?
I'll go into the Army.
You can't take the Oaths; you are a Iacobite.
Thou may'st as well say I can't take Orders because I'm an Atheist.
Sir, I ask your Pardon, I find I did not know the strength of your Conscience, so well as I did the weakness of your Purse.
Methinks, Sir, a person of your Experience should have known that the strength of the Conscience proceeds from the weakness of the Purse.
Sir, I am very glad to find you have a Conscience, able to take care of us, let it proceed from what it will; but I desire you'l please to consider, that the Army alone will be but a scanty maintenance for a Person of your Generosity, (at least. as Rents now are paid) I shall see you stand in damnable need of some Auxiliary Guineas, for you Menu Plaisirs, I will therefore turn fool once more for your ser∣vice, and advise you to go directly to your Brother.
Art thou then so impregnable a Blockhead, to be∣lieve he'l help me with a Farthing?
Why, how wou'dst have me treat him?
Like a Trout, Tickle him.
I cann't Flatter.—
Can you starve?
Yes. —
I cann't; Good by t'ye Sir —
Say nothing to him, apply your self to his Favou∣rites, speak to his Periwig, his Cravat, his Feather, his Snuff-Box, and when you are well with them,— desire him to lend you a Thousand Pounds.
I'll ingage you prosper.
S'death and Furys, why was that Coxcomb thrust into the World before me? O Fortune—Fortune—Thou art a Bitch by Gad—
PAge.—
Sir.
Sir, Pray Sir do me the Favour to teach your Tongue the Title the King has thought fit to honour me with.
I ask your Lordships Pardon, my Lord.
My Lord.
Call La Verole, I wou'd Dress —
Well, 'tis an unspeakable pleasure to be a Man of Quality— Strike me dumb—My Lord—your Lordship —My Lord Foppington—Ah c'est quelque Chose de beau, que le Diable m'emporte.—
Why the Ladys were ready to pewk at me, whilst I had nothing but Sir Navelty to recommend me to 'em — Sure whilst I was but a Knight, I was a very nauseous Fellow—
Well, 'tis Ten Thousand Pawnd well given—stap my Vitals—
Me Lord, de Shoomaker, de Taylor, de Hosier, de Sem∣stress, de Barber, be all ready, if your Lordship please to be Dress.
'Tis well, admit 'em.
Hey, Messieurs, Entrez.
So Gentlemen, I hope you have all taken pains to shew your selves Masters in your Professions.
I think I may presume to say, Sir,—
My Lord—You Clawn you.
Why, is he made a Lord—My Lord, I ask your Lordships Pardon my Lord; I hope my Lord, your Lord∣ship will please to own, I have brought your Lordship as accomplisht a Suit of Cloaths, as ever Peer of England trode the Stage in; my Lord; will your Lordship please to try 'em now.
Ay, but let my People dispose the Glasses so, that I may see my self before and behind, for I love to see my self all ra••nd. —
Hey-day, what the Devil have we here? Sure my Gentleman's grown a Favourite at Court, he has got so ma∣ny People at his Levee.
Sir, these People come in order to make him a Fa∣vorite at Court, they are ro establish him with the Ladys.
Good God, to what an ebb of Tast, are Women
fallen, that it shou'd be in the power of a Lace't Coat to re∣commend a Gallant to 'em.—
Sir, Taylors and Periwigmakers are now become the Bawds of the Nation, 'tis they debauch all the Women.
Thou say'st true, for there's that Fop now, has not by Nature wherewithal to move a Cook-Maid, and by that time these Fellows have done with him, 'I gad he shall melt down a Countess.—
But now for my Reception, I'll ingage it shall be as cold a one, as a Courtiers to his Friend, Who comes to put him in mind of his Promise.
Death and Eternal Tartures, Sir, I say the Packet's too high by a Foot.
My Lord, if it had been an Inch lower, it would not have held your Lordships Pocket-Handkerchief.
Rat my Pocket-Handkerchief, have not I a Page to carry it? you may make him a Packet up to his Chin a purpose for it: But I will not have mine come so near my Face.
Respect, Damn him for a Coxcomb; now has he ruin'd his Estate to buy a Title, that he may be a Fool of the First Rate:
But let's accost him.—
Brother, I'm your humble Servant.
O Lard Tam, I did not expect you in England; Brother, I am glad to see you. —
another Suit with all manner of Expedition, for this is my Eternal Aversion; Mrs. Callicoe, Are not you of my Mind?
O, directly my Lord, it can never be too low.—
You are positively in the right on't, for the Packet becomes no part of the Body but the Knee.
I hope your Lordship is pleas'd with your Stinkirk.
In love with it, stap my Vitals; Bring your Bill, you shall be paid to Marrow.—
I humbly thank your Honour—
Hark thee, Shooemaker, these Shooes an't ugly but they don't fit me.
My Lord, my thinks they fit you very well.
They hurt me just below the Instep.
I tell thee they pinch me execrably.
My Lord, if they pinch you, I'll be bound to be hang'd, that's all.
Why wilt thou undertake to perswade me I can∣not feel.
Your Lordship may please to feel what you think fit; but that Shooe does not hurt you; I think I understand my Trade.—
Now by all that's Great and Powerful, thou art an in∣comprehensible Coxcomb; but thou makest good Shooes, and so I'll bear with thee.
My Lord, I have workt for half the People of Qua∣lity in Town, these Twenty Years, and 'twere very hard I should not know when a Shooe hurts, and when it don't.
Well, prithee begone about thy Business.—
My Lord, my thinks they look mighty well.
Ay, but you are not so good a Judge of these Things as I am, I have study'd 'em all my Life; there∣fore pray let the next be the thickness of a Crawn-piece less —
If the Town takes notice my Legs are fallen away, 'twil be attributed to the Violence of some new Intrigue.
Come, Mr. Foretop, let me see what you have done, and then the Fatigue of the Marning will be over.
My Lord, I have done what I defie any Prince in Europe t'outdo; I have made you a Periwig so long, and so full of Hair, it will serve you for Hat and Cloak in all Weathers.
Then thou hast made me thy Friend to Eternity; Come, comb it out.
Well, Lory, what dost think on't? A very Friendly Reception from a Brother after 3 Years absence.
Why, Sir, it's your own fault, we seldom care for those that don't love what we love; if you would creep in∣to his Heart, you must enter into his Pleasures — Here have you stood ever since you came in, and have not commended any one Thing that belongs to him.
Nor never shall, whilst they belong to a Cox∣comb.
Then, Sir, you must be content to pick a hungry Bone.
No, Sir, I'll crack it, and get to the Marrow be∣fore I have done.
Gad's curse; Mr. Foretop, you don't intend to put this upon me for a full Periwig?
Not a full one, my Lord? I don't know what your Lordship may please to call a full one, but I have cram'd 20 Ounces of Hair into it.
What it may be by Weight, Sir, I shall not dis∣pute, but by Tale, there are not 9 Hairs of a side.
O Lord! O Lord! O Lord! why, as Gad shall judge me, your Honour's Side-Face is reduc'd to the tip of your Nose.
My Side-Face may be in Eclipse for aught I know; But I'm sure, my Full-Face is like the Full-Moon.
Heavens bless my Eye-sight —
If it did, it wou'd be just two inches too broad; Far a Periwig to a Man, shou'd be like a Mask to a Woman, nothing shou'd be seen but his Eyes —
My Lord, I have done; if you please to have more Hair in your Wig, I'll put it in.
Paslitively, yes.
Shall I take it back now, my Lord?
Noh: I'll wear it to day, thô it shew such a manstrous pair of Cheeks: Stap my Vitals, I shall be taken for a Trumpeter.
Now your People of Business are gone, Brother, I hope I may obtain a quarter of an Hour's Audience of you.
Faith, Tam; I must beg you'l excuse me at this time, for I must away to the House of Lards immediately; My Lady Teaser's Case is to come on to day, and I would not be absent for the Salvation of Mankind. Hey Page, is the Coach at the Door?
Yes, my Lord.
You'l excuse me, Brother.
Shall you be back at Dinner?
As Gad shall jidge me, I can't tell; for 'tis passible I may dine with some of aur House at Lackets.
Shall I meet you there? For I must needs talk with you.
That I'm afraid mayn't be so praper; far the Lards I commonly eat with, are People of a nice Conversation, and you know, Tam, your Education has been a little at large; but if you'l stay here, you'l find a Family-Dinner. Hey Fellow! what is there for Dinner? There's Beef; I sup∣pose, my Brother will eat Beef. Dear Tam, I'm glad to see thee in England, stap my Vitals.
Hell and Furies, is this to be borne?
Faith, Sir, I cou'd almost have given him a knock o'th' Pate my self.
'Tis enough; I will now shew thee the Excess of my Passion by being very calm: Come, Lory, lay your Loggerhead to mine, and in cool Blood let us contrive his Destruction.
Here comes a Head, Sir, would contrive it better than us both, if he wou'd but joyn in the Confede∣racy.
By this Light, old Coupler alive still; why, how now, Match-maker, art thou here still to plague the World with Matrimony? You old Bawd, how have you the Impu∣dence
to be hobling out of your Grave 20 Years after you are rotten!
Stand off, old Sodom.
Nay, prithee now don't be so coy.
Keep your Hands to your self, you old Dog you, or I'll wring your Nose off.
Hast thou then been a Year in Italy, and brought home a Fool at last? By my Conscience, the Young Fellows of this Age profit no more by their going abroad, than they do by their going to Church. Sirrah, Sirrah, if you are not hang'd before you come to my Years, you'l know a Cock from a Hen. But come, I'm still a Friend to thy Person, thô I have a Contempt of thy Understanding; and therefore I wou'd willingly know thy Condition, that I may see whe∣ther thou stand'st in need of my Assistance, for Widows swarm, my Boy, the Town's infected with 'em.
I stand in need of any Body's Assistance, that will help me to cut my elder Brother's Throat, without the Risque of being hang'd for him.
Igad, Sirrah, I cou'd help thee to do him almost as good a turn, without the danger of being burnt in the hand for't.
Sayest thou so, old Satan? Shew me but that, and my Soul is thine.
Pox o'thy Soul, give me thy warm Body, Sirrah; I shall have a substantial Title to't when I tell thee my Project.
Out with it then, dear Dad, and take Possession as soon as thou wilt.
Say'st thou so my Hephestion? why then thus lies the Scene, but hold; who's that? if we are heard we are undone.
What have you forgot, Lory?
Who, trusty Lory, is it thee?
At your service, Sir.
Give me thy hand, Old Boy, I'gad I did not know thee again, but I remember thy Honesty, thô I did not thy Face; I think thou had'st like to have been hang'd once or twice for thy Master.
Sir, I was very near once having that Honour.
Well, Live and Hope, don't be discourag'd, Eat with him, and Drink with him, and do what he bids thee, and it may be thy Reward at last, as well as anothers.
Sir, I am very much beholding to you, truly.
You may be, Sirrah, before the Wedding-day yet, the Lady is a great Heiress; Fifteen hundred Pound a year, and a great Bag of Money; the Match is concluded, the Writings are drawn, and the Pipkin's to be crack'd in a fortnight—Now you must know, Stripling, (with Re∣spect to your Mother. Your Brother's the Son of a Whore.
Good.
He has given me a Bond of a Thousand Pounds for helping him to this Fortune, and has promis'd me as
much more in ready Money upon the day of Marriage, which I understand by a Friend, he ne'r designs to pay me; if therefore you will be a generous young Dog, and secure me Five thousand Pounds, I'll be a covetous old Rogue, and help you to the Lady.
I'gad, if thou canst bring this about, I'll have thy Statue cast in Brass.
But don't you doat, you old Pandor, you? when you talk at this rate?
That your youthful Parts shall judge of; This plump Patridge that I tell you of, lives in the Country, Fifty Miles off, with her Honoured Parents, in a lonely old House which no body comes near; she never goes abroad, nor sees company at home: to prevent all misfortunes, she has her breeding within doors, the Parson of the Parish teaches her to Play upon the Base-Viol, the Clerk to sing, her Nurse to Dress, and her Father to Dance: In short, no body can give you admittance there but I, nor can I do it any other way, than by making you pass for your Brother.
And how the Devil wilt thou do that?
Without the Devil's aid, I warrant thee.
Thy Brother's Face, not one of the Family ever saw, the whole Business has been manag'd by me, and all the Let∣ters go through my Hands: the last that was writ to Sir Tunbelly Clumsey (for that's the old Gentleman's Name,) was to tell him, his Lordship wou'd be down in a Forth∣night to Consummate.
Now you shall go away immediately, pretend you writ that Letter only to have the Romantick pleasure of surpri∣zing your Mistriss; fall desperately in Love, as soon as
you see her; make that your Plea, for Marrying her im∣mediately, and when the Fatigue of the Wedding-Night's over, you shall send me a swinging Purse of Gold, you Dog you.
I'Gad, Old Dad, I'll put my hand in thy Bosom now. —
Ah, you young hot lusty Thief, let me Muzzle you —
P'sha, the Old Letcher—
Well, I'll warrant thou hast not a Farthing of Mo∣ney in thy Pocket now, no; one may see it in thy Face —
Not a Souse, by Iupiter.
Must I advance then—well Sirrah, be at my Lodgings in halfe an hour, and I'll see what may be done; we'll Sign and Seal, and eat a Pullet, and when I have given thee some farther Instructions, thou sha't hoyst Sail and begone. —
U'm, P'sha.
Ah, you young warm Dog you, what a delicious Night will the Bride have on't.
So Lory. Providence thou see'st at last, takes care of Men of Merit we are in a fair way to be great Peo∣ple.
Ay Sir, if the Devil don't step between the Cup and the Lip, as he uses to do.
Why faith he has play'd me many a damn'd trick to spoil my Fortune, and I'gad I'm almost afraid he's at work about it again now, but if I shou'd tell thee how, thou'dst wonder at me.
Indeed, Sir, I shou'd not.
How dost know.—
Because, Sir, I have wondred at you so often, I can wonder at you no more.
No; What wou'dst thou say, if a Qualm of Conscience shou'd spoil my design.
I wou'd eat my words, and wonder more than ever.
Why faith Lory, thô I am a young Rake-hell, and have plaid many a Roguish trick; this is so full grown a Cheat, I find I must take pains to come up to't, I have scruples.—
They are strong symptoms of death; if you find they increase, pray Sir make your Will.
No, my Conscience shan't starve me neither. But thus far I will hearken to it; before I execute this Project.
I'll try my Brother to the bottom, I'll speak to him with the temper of a Philosopher, my Reasons, (thô they press him home,) shall yet be cloath'd with so much Modesty, not one of all the Truths they urge, shall be so naked to offend his Sight; if he has yet so much Humanity about him, as to assist me, (thô with a moderate aid,) I'll drop my Project at his Feet, and
shew him I can—do for him, much more than what I ask, he'd do for me; This one Conclusive Tryal of him I resolve to make.—
Succeed or no, still Victory's my Lot, If I subdue his Heart, 'tis well; if not I shall subdue my Conscience to my Plot.HOW do you like these Lodgings, my Dear? For my part I am so well pleas'd with 'em, I shall hardly remove whilst we stay in Town, if you are satisfy'd.
I am satisfy'd with every thing that pleases you; else I had not come to Town at all.
O, a little of the noise and bussle of the World, sweetens the Pleasures of Retreat: We shall find the Charms of our Retirement doubled, when we return to it.
That pleasing prospect, will be my chiefest Entertainment, whilst (much against my Will) I am oblig'd to stand surrounded with these empty Pleasures, which 'tis so much the fashion to be fond of.
Lown most of 'em are indeed but empty; nay, so empty, that one wou'd wonder by what Magick Power they act, when they induce us to be vicious for their sakes.
Yet some there are we may speak kindlier of; There are Delights, (of which a private Life is destitute) which may divert an honest Man, and be a harmless En∣tertainment to a virtuous Woman. The Conversation of the Town is one; and truly, (with some small al∣lowances)
the Plays, I think, may be esteem'd ano∣ther.
The Plays, I must confess, have some small Charms, and wou'd have more, wou'd they restrain that loose obscene encouragement to Vice, which shocks, if not the Virtue of some Women, at least the Modesty of all.
But till that Reformation can be made, I wou'd not leave the wholsome Corn, for some intruding Tar••s that grow amongst it Doubtless, the Moral of a well-wrought Scene, is of prevailing Force. — Last night there happen'd one, that mov'd me strangely.
Pray, what was that?
Why 'twas about — but 'tis not worth re∣peating.
Yes, pray let me know it.
No, I think 'tis as well let alone.
Nay, now you make me have a mind to know.
'Twas a foolish thing: you'd perhaps grow jea∣lous, shou'd I tell it you, thô without cause Heaven knows.
I shall begin to think I have Cause, if you per∣sist in making it a secret.
I'll then convince you; you have none, by ma∣king it no longer so. Know then, I happen'd in the Play to find my very Character, only with the addition of a Relapse; which struck me so, I put a suddain stop to a most harmless Entertainment, which till then, diverted me be∣tween the Acts. 'Twas to admire the workmanship of Nature, in the Face of a young Lady, that sate some di∣stance from me, she was so exquisitely handsome.
So exquisitely handsome?
Why do you repeat my words, my Dear?
Because you seem'd to speak 'em with such plea∣sure, I thought I might oblige you with their Eccho.
Then you are allarm'd, Amanda?
It is my Duty to be so, when you are in dan∣ger.
You are too quick in apprehending for me; all will be well when you have heard me out.
I do confess I gaz'd upon her; nay, eagerly I gaz'd upon her.
Eagerly? that's with desire.
No, I desir'd her not; I view'd her with a world of admiration, but not one glance of Love.
Take heed of trusting to such nice Distinctions.
I did take heed; for observing in the Play. That he who seem'd to represent me there, was by an accident like this, unwarily surpriz'd into a Net, in which he lay a poor intangl'd Slave, and brought a Train of mischiefs on his Head; I snatcht my Eyes away: they pleaded hard for leave to look again, but I grew absolute, and they obey'd.
Were they the only things that were Inquisi∣tive? had I been in your place, my Tongue, I fancy, had been curious too; I shou'd have ask'd her Name, and where she liv'd, (yet still without Design: — Who was she pray?
Indeed I cannot tell.
You will not tell.
By all that's Sacred then, I did not ask.
Nor do you know what company was with her?
I do not.
Then I am calm again.
Why were you disturb'd?
Had I then no Cause?
None certainly.
I thought I had.
But you thought wrong, Amanda: For turn the Case, and let it be your Story; shou'd you come home and tell me you had seen a handsome Man, shou'd I grow jealous, because you had Eyes?
But shou'd I tell you, he were exquisitely so: That I had gaz'd on him with Admiration: That I had look'd with eager Eyes upon him, shou'd you not think 'twere possible I might go one step farther, and enquire his Name?
Those flights of Flattery, Sir, are to our Faces only: When Women once are out of hearing, you are as modest in your Commendations as we are. But I shan't put you to the trouble of farther Excuses, if you please this business shall rest here. Only give me leave to wish both for your Peace and mine, that you may never meet this Miracle of Beauty more.
I am content.
Madam, there's a young Lady at the Door in a Chair, desires to know whether your Ladyship sees Company. I think her Name is Berinthia.
O Dear! 'tis a Relation I have not seen these five Years. Pray her to walk in.
Don't you be jealous now; for I shall gaze upon her too.
Sweet Cousin, I'm over joy'd to see you.
Joy! Upon what?
Upon your Marriage: You were a Widow when I saw you last.
You ought rather, Madam, to wish me Joy upon that, since I am the only Gainer.
If she has got so good a Husband as the World reports, she has gain'd enough to expect the Complements of her Friends upon it.
I the World is so favourable to me, to allow I deserve that Title, I hope 'tis so just to my Wife to own I derive it from her.
Sir, it is so just to you both, to own you are, (and derserve to be,) the happiest Pair that live in it.
I'm afraid we shall lose that Character, Madam, when∣ever you happen to change your Condition.
Sir, my Lord Foppington presents his humble Service to you, and desires to know how you do. He but just now heard you were in Town. He's at the next door; and if it be not inconvenient, he'll come and wait upon you.
Lord Foppington! — I know him not.
Not his Dignity, perhaps, but you do his Person. 'Tis Sir Novelty; he has bought a Barony in order to marry a great Fortune: His Patent has not been past eight and forty hours, and he has already sent how do'ye's to all the Town, to make 'em acquainted with his Title.
Give my Service to his Lordship, and let him know, I am proud of the Honour he intends me.
Sure this Addition of Quality, must have so improv'd his Cox∣comb, he can't but be very good Company for a quarter of an hour.
Now it moves my Pity more than my Mirth, to see a Man whom Nature has made no Fool, be so very industrious to pass for an Ass.
No, there you are wrong, Amanda; you shou'd never bestow your pity upon those who take pains for your Contempt. Pity those whom Nature abuses, but never those who abuse Nature.
Besides, the Town wou'd be robb'd of one of its chief Diversions, if it shou'd become a Crime to laugh at a Fool.
I cou'd never yet perceive the Town inclin'd to part with any of its diversions, for the sake of their being Crimes; but I have seen it very fond of some, I think had little else to recommend 'em.
I doubt, Amanda, you are grown its Enemy, you speak with so much warmth against it.
I must confess I am not much its Friend.
Then give me leave to make you mine, by not enga∣ging in its Quarrel.
You have many stronger Claims than that, Berinthia, whenever you think fit to plead your Title.
You have done well to engage a Second, my Dear; for here comes one will be apt to call you to an account for your Country-Principles.
I wish you Joy, my Lord.
O Lard, Sir—Madam, your Ladyship's welcome to Tawn.
I wish your Lordship Joy.
O Heavens, Madam—
My Lord this young Lady is a Relation of my Wives.
able to subsist thus long, under the fatigue of a Country Life?
My Life has been very far from that, my Lord; it has been a very quiet one.
Why, that's the Fatigue I speak of Madam: For 'tis impossible to be quiet, without thinking: Now thinking is to me, the greatest Fatigue in the World.
Does not your Lordship love reading then?
Oh, passionately, Madam —But I never think of what I read.
Why, can your Lordship read without thinking?
O Lard—Can your Ladyship pray without De∣votion — Madam?
Well, I must own I think Books the best Entertain∣ment in the World.
I am so much of your Ladyship's mind, Madam; That I have a private Gallery (where I walk sometimes) is furnish'd with nothing but Books and Looking-glasses. Madam, I have guilded 'em, and rang'd 'em so prettily, before Gad, it is the most entertaining thing in the World to walk and look upon 'em.
Nay, I love a neat Library too; but 'tis I think the Inside of the Book, shou'd recommend it most to us.
That I must confess I am nat altogether so fand of. Far to mind the inside of a Book, is to entertain ones self with the forc'd Product of another Man's Brain. Naw I think a Man of Quality and Breeding, may be much better diverted with the Natural Sprauts of his own. But to say the Truth, Madam, let a Man love reading never so well, when once he comes to know this Tawn, he finds so many better ways of passing the Four and twenty hours, that 'twere Ten thousand pities he shou'd consume his time in that. Far Example, Madam, my Life: My Life, Madam, is a perpetual Stream of Pleasure, that glides through such a Variety of Entertainments, I believe the wisest of our Ancestors never had the least Conception of any of 'em.
I rise, Madam, about Ten a-Clock. I don't rise sooner, be∣cause 'tis the worst thing in the World for the Complexion; nat that I pretend to be a Beau: But a Man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he make so nauseous a Figure in the
Side-Bax, the Ladies shou'd be compell'd to turn their Eyes upon the Play. So at Ten a-Clack I say I rise. Naw if I find 'tis a good day, I resalve to take a turn in the Park, and see the Fine Women: So huddle on my Cloaths, and get drest by One. If it be nasty Weather, I take a turn in the Chocolate-hause; where, as you walk Madam, you have the prettiest Prospect in the World; you have Looking-glasses all round you.—But I'm afraid I tire the Company?
Not at all. Pray go on.
Why then, Ladies, from thence I go to Dinner at Lacket's; where you are so nicely and delicately serv'd, that, stap my Vitals, they shall compose you a Dish no bigger than a Saucer, shall come to Fifty shillings.
Between eating my Dinner, (and washing my Mauth, La∣dies) I spend my time, 'till I go to the Play; where, 'till Nine a-Clack, I entertain my self with looking upon the Company; and usually dispose of One hour more in leading 'em aut. So there's Twelve of the Four and twenty pretty well over.
The other Twelve, Madam, are dispos'd of in Two Articles: In the first Four, I toast my self drunk, and in t'other Eight, I sleep my self sober again. Thus, Ladies, you see my Life is an eternal raund O of Delights.
'Tis a heavenly one, indeed.
But I thought, my Lord, you, Beaux, spent a great deal of your time in Intrigues: You have given us no Account of them yet.
But your Lordship is now become a Pillar of the State: You must attend the weighty Affairs of the Nation.
Sir — as to weighty Affairs.—I leave them to weighty Heads. I never intend mine shall be a Burthen to my Body.
O but you'll find the House will expect your Atten∣dance.
Sir you'll find the House will Compound for my Appearance.
But your Friends will take it ill if you don't attend their particular Causes.
Not, Sir, if I come time enough, to give 'em my particular Vote.
But pray, my Lord, how do you dispose of your self on Sundays; for that, methinks, is a day shou'd hang wretch∣edly upon your hands.
Why Faith, Madam,—Sunday— is a vile Day I must confess. I intend to move for leave to bring in a Bill, That the Players may Work upon it, as well as the Hackney-Coaches. Tho' this I must say for the Government, it leaves us the Churches to entertain us — But then again, they be∣gin so abominable early, a Man must rise by Candle-light to get drest by the Psalm.
Pray which Church does your Lordship most oblige with your Presence?
Oh, Saint Iames's, Madam,—There's much the best Company.
Is there good Preaching too?
Why Faith, Madam,— I can't tell.
A Man must have very little to do there, that can give an account of the Sermon.
You can give us an account of the Ladies at least?
Or I deserve to be Excommunicated.— There is my Lady Tattle, my Lady Prate, my Lady Titter, my Lady Leer, my Lady Giggle, and my Lady Grin. These sit in the Front of the Boxes, and all Church time, are the prettiest Company in the the World, Stap my Vitals.
Alas, my Lord, I am the worst Company in the World at Church: I'm apt to mind the Prayers or the Sermon, or—
One is indeed strangely apt at Church, to mind what one should not do. But I hope, Madam, at one time or other, I shall have the Honour to lead your Ladyship to your Coach there.
Ladies I'll take my leave, I'm afraid I begin to grow trou∣blesome with the length of my Visit.
Your Lordship's too entertaining to grow trouble∣some any where.
Not I, my Lord, I am too fashionable a Husband to pry into the Secrets of my Wife.
Gads Curse Madam, I'm a Peer of the Realm.
Hay, What the Devil do you affront my Wife, Sir, nay then —
Ah! what has my Folly done?
Just through the Guts.
Call a Surgeon there: Unbutton him quickly.
Ay pray make haste.
This Mischief you may thank your self for.
I may so — Love's the Devil indeed, Ned.
Here's Mr. Seringe, Sir, was just going by the Door.
He's the welcom'st Man alive.
Stand by, stand by, stand by. Pray Gentlemen stand by. Lord have Mercy upon us, did you never see a Man run through the Body before? Pray stand by.
Ah Mr. Seringe—I'm a dead Man.
A dead Man and I by—I shou'd laugh to see that, I gad.
Prithee don't stand prating, but look upon his Wound▪
Why, what if I won't look upon his Wound this hour Sir?
Why then he'll bleed to Death, Sir.
Why, then I'll fetch him to Life again, Sir.
'Slife he's run through the Guts I tell thee.
Wou'd he were run through the Heart, I shou'd get the more Credit by his Cure. Now I hope you're satisfy'd?— Come, now let me come at him; now let me come at him.
Ho—
Why, what the Devil, have you run the Gentleman through with a Sythe.—
Let me see his Wound.
Then you shall dress it, Sir, for if any body looks up∣on it, I won't.
Why, thou art the veriest Coxcomb I ever saw.
Sir, I am not Master of my Trade for nothing.
Surgeon.
Well, Sir.
Is there any hopes?
Hopes?—I can't tell.—What are you willing to give for your Cure?
Five hundred Paunds with pleasure.
Why then perhaps there may be hopes, But we must avoid farther delay. Here: help the Gentleman into a Chair, and carry him to my House presently, that's the properest place,
Come, a Chair, a Chair quickly —there, in with him.
Dear Loveless,—Adieu. If I dye—I forgive thee, and if I live—I hope thou'lt do as much by me. I'm very sorry you and I shou'd Quarrel; but I hope here's an end on't, for if you are satisfy'd—I am.
I shall hardly think it worth my Prosecuting any far∣ther, so you may be at rest, Sir,
Thou art a Generous Fellow, strike me Dumb.
So, carry him off, carry him off, we shall have him prate himself into a Fever by and by, carry him off.
Now on my Knees, my Dear, let me ask your Par∣don for my Indiscretion, my own I never shall obtain.
O! there's no harm done: You serv'd him well.
He did indeed deserve it. But I tremble to think how dear my indiscreet resentment might have cost you.
O no matter, never trouble your self about that.
For Heaven's sake, what was't he did to you?
O nothing; he only squeez'd me kindly by the Hand, and frankly offer'd me a Coxcombs Heart. I know I was too blame to resent it as I did; since nothing but a Quar∣rel cou'd ensue. But the Fool so surpris'd me with his Inso∣lence, I was not Mistress of my Fingers.
Now I dare Swear, he thinks you had 'em at great Command, they obey'd you so readily.
Save you, save you good People: I'm glad to find you all alive; I met a Wounded Peer carrying off: For Hea∣vens sake what was the matter?
O a Trifle: He wou'd have lain with my Wife before my Face, so she oblig'd him with a Box o'th' Ear, and I run him through the Body: That was all.
Bagatelle on all sides. But, pray Madam, how long has this noble Lord been an humble Servant of yours?
This is the first I have heard on't. So I suppose 'tis his Quality more than his Love, has brought him into this Adventure. He thinks his Title an authentick Passport to every Woman's Heart, below the degree of a Peeress.
He's Coxcomb enough to think any thing. But I wou'd not have you brought into trouble for him: I hope there's no danger of his Life?
None at all: He's fallen into the hands of a Roguish Surgeon, I perceive designs to frighten a little Money out of him. But I saw his Wound, 'tis nothing; he may go to the Play to Night if he pleases.
I am glad you have Corrected him without farther Mischief. And now, Sir, if these Ladies have no farther Ser∣vice for you, you'll oblige me if you can go to the place, I spoke to you of t'other day.
With all my Heart.
Ladies your Servant.
Mr. Loveless, pray one word with you before you go.
Jealous already, Amanda?
Not at all; I ask you for another reason.
I'm satisfi'd.
Now tell me why you ask'd?
At Night I will. Adieu.
I'm yours
You formerly have given me such proofs on't, I shou'd be very much to blame to doubt it. I am sorry I have no Se∣crets to trust you with, that I might convince you how entire a Confidence I durst repose in you.
Why is it possible, that one so Young and Beautiful as you shou'd live and have no Secrets?
What Secrets do you mean?
Lovers.
O Twenty; but not one secret one amongst 'em. Lo∣vers in this Age have too much Honour to do any thing un∣derhand; they do all above board.
That now methinks wou'd make me hate a Man.
But the Women of the Town are of another Mind: For by this means a Lady may (with the Expence of a few Coquet Glances) lead twenty Fools about in a String, for two or three Years together. Whereas, if she shou'd allow 'em greater Favours, and oblige 'em to Secresie, she wou'd not keep one of 'em a Fortnight.
There's something indeed in that to satisfie the va∣nity of a Woman, but I can't comprehend how the Men find their account in it.
Their entertainment I must confess is a Riddle to me. For there's very few of 'em ever get farther, than a Bow and an Ogle. I have half a Score for my share, who follow me all over the Town; and at the Play, the Park, and the Church, do (with their Eyes) say the violent'st things to me—But I never hear any more of 'em.
What can be the reason of that?
One reason is, they don't know how to go farther. They have had so little Practice they don't understand the Trade. But besides their Ignorance, you must know there is not one of my half Score Lovers but what follows half a Score Mistresses. Now their Affections being divided amongst so
many, are not strong enough for any one to make 'em pursue her to the purpose. Like a young Puppy in a Warren, they have a Flirt at all, and catch none.
Yet they seem to have a torrent of Love to dispose of.
They have so: But 'tis like the Rivers of a Modern Philosopher (whose Works, tho' a Woman, I have read) it sets out with a violent Stream, splits in a thousand Branches, and is all lost in the Sands.
But do you think this River of Love runs all its course without doing any Mischief? Do you think it overflows nothing.
O yes, 'tis true it never breaks into any bodies Ground that has the least Fence about it; but it overflows all the Com∣mons that lye in its way. And this is the utmost Atchieve∣ment of those dreadful Champions in the Field of Love— ••••th Beaux.
But prithee, Berinthia, instruct me a little farther, for I'm so great a Novice, I am almost asham'd on't. My Hus∣band's leaving me whilst I was Young and Fond, threw me into that depth of Discontent, that ever since I have led so private and recluse a Life, my Ignorance is scarce conceivable. I therefore fain wou'd be Instructed: Not (Heaven knows) that what you call Intriegues have any Charms for me; my Love and Principles are too well fixt. The Practick part of all unlawful Love is—
O 'tis abominable: But for the Speculative; that we must all confess is entertaining. The Conversation of all the Vertuous Women in the Town, turns upon that and new Cloaths.
Pray be so just then to me, to believe, 'tis with a World of Innocency I wou'd enquire, Whether you think those Women we call Women of Reputation, do really 'scape all other Men, as they do those shadows of 'em, the Beaux.
O no Amanda; there are a sort of Men make dread∣ful work amongst 'em: Men that may be call'd, the Beaux Antipathy, for they agree in nothing but walking upon two Legs.
If this be their Character, I fancy we had here e'en now a Pattern of 'em both.
His Lordship and Mr. Worthy?
The same.
As for the Lord, he's eminently so: And for the other I can assure you, there's not a Man in Town who has a better Interest with the Women, that are worth having an Interest with. But 'tis all private: He's like a Back-stair Minister at Court, who, whilst the reputed Favorites are sauntering in the Bed-Chamber, is ruling the roast in the Closet.
He answers then the Opinion I had ever of him. Heavens! what a difference there is between a Man like him, and that vain nauseous Fop, Sir Novelty.
I find I did not start at his Proposal; as when it came from one whom I contemn'd. I therefore mention his Attempt, that I may learn from you, whence it proceeds; That Vice (which cannot change its Nature) shou'd so far change at least its shape, as that the self-same Crime propos'd from one shall seem a Monster gaping at your ruine; when from ano∣ther it shall look so kind; as tho' it were your Friend, and never meant to harm you.
Whence think you can this difference proceed, for 'tis not Love, Heaven knows.
O no; I wou'd not for the World believe it were. But possibly, shou'd there a dreadful Sentence pass upon you, to undergo the Rage of both their Passions; the Pain you'd apprehend from one, might seem so trivial to the other; the danger wou'd not quite so much alarm you.
Fy, fy, Berinthia, you wou'd indeed alarm me, cou'd you incline me to a thought, that all the Merit of Man∣kind combin'd, cou'd shake that tender Love I bear my Hus∣band: No! he sits triumphant in my Heart, and nothing can dethrone him.
But shou'd he Abdicate again, do you think you shou'd preserve the vacant Throne ten tedious Winters more in hopes of his return?
Indeed I think I shou'd. Tho I confess, after those Obligations he has to me, shou'd he abandon me once more, my Heart wou'd grow extreamly urgent with me to root him thence, and cast him out for ever.
Were I that thing they call a slighted Wife, somebody shou'd run the risque of being that thing they call— a Husband.
O fy, Berinthia, no Revenge shou'd ever be taken a∣gainst a Husband: But to wrong his Bed is a Vengeance which of all Vengeance—
Is the sweetest, ha, ha, ha. Don't I talk madly?
Madly indeed.
Yet I'm very Innocent.
That I dare swear you are. I know how to make Allowances for your Humour: You were always very enter∣taining Company; but I find since Marriage and Widowhood have shewn you the World a little, you are very much improv'd.
For Heavens sake, Berinthia, tell me what way I shall take to perswade you to come and live with me?
Why▪ one way in the World there is; — and but one.
Pray which is that?
It is, to assure me—I shall be very welcome.
If that be all, you shall e'en lye here to Night.
To Night?
Yes, to-night.
Why, the People where I lodge will think me mad.
Let 'em think what they please.
Say you so, Amanda? Why, then they shall think what they please: For I'm a young Widow, and I care not what any body thinks. Ah, Amanda, it's a delicious thing to be a young Widow.
You'll hardly make me think so.
Phu, because you are in Love with your Husband: but that is not every Woman's Case.
I hope 'twas yours, at least.
Mine, say ye?—Now have I a great mind to tell you a Lye, but I shou'd do it so awkardly, you'd find me out.
Then e'en speak the Truth.
Shall I? —Then after all I did love him, Amanda — as a Nun does Penance.
Why did not you refuse to marry him then?
Because my Mother wou'd have whipt me.
How did you live together?
But tell me one thing, tr••••y and sincerely,
What's that?
Notwithstanding all these Jars, did not his Death at last—extremely trouble you?
O yes: Not that my present Pangs were so very vio∣lent, but the after-pains were intollerable▪ I was forc'd to wear a Beastly Widow's Band a Twelve month for't.
Women I find have different Inclinations.
Women I find keep different Company. When your Husband ran away from you, if you had fallen into some of my Acquaintance, 'twou'd have sav'd you many a Tear. But
you go and live with a Grandmother, a Bishop, and an old Nurse; which was enough to make any Woman break her heart for her Husband. Pray, Amanda, if ever you are a Widow again, keep your self so as I do.
Why do you then resolve you'll never marry?
O, no; I resolve I will.
How so?
That I never may.
You banter me.
Indeed I don't. But I consider I'm a Woman, and form my Resolutions accordingly.
Well, my Opinion is, form what Resolution you will, Matrimony will be the end on't.
Faith it won't.
How do you know?
I'm sure on't.
Why, do you think 'tis impossible for you to fall in Love?
No.
Nay, but to grow so passionately fond, that nothing but the Man you love can give you rest?
Well, what then?
Why, then you'll marry him.
How do you know that?
Why what can you do else?
Nothing—but sit and cry.
Psha.
Ah, poor Amanda; you have led a Country Life: But if you'll consult the Widows of this Town, they'll tell you, you shou'd never take a Lease of a House you can hire for a Quarter's Warning.
HEY, Fellow, let the Coach come to the Door.
Will your Lordship Venture so soon to expose your self to the Weather?
Sir, I will venture as soon as I can, to expose my self to the Ladies, tho' give me my Cloak however; for in that Side-Box, what between the Air that comes in at the Door on one side, and the intollerable warmth of the Masks on t'other: A Man gets so many Heats and Colds, 'twou'd destroy the Canstitution of a Harse.
My Wound?—I wou'd not be in Eclipse ano∣ther Day, tho' I had as many Wounds in my Guts as I have had in my Heart.
Brother, your Servant, How do you find your self to day?
So well, that I have arder'd my Coach to the Door: So there's no great danger of Death this baut Tam.
I'm very glad of it.
Prithee, Tam, tell me one thing. Did nat your Heart cut a Caper up to your Mauth, when you heard I was run through the Bady?
Why do you think it shou'd?
Because I remember mine did so, when I heard my Father was shat through the Head.
It then did very ill.
Prithee, why so?
Because he us'd you very well.
Well? — naw strike me dumb he starv'd me. He has let me want a Thausand Women, for want of a Thau∣sand Pound.
Then he hindred you from making a great many ill Bargains, for I think no Woman is worth Money, that will take Money.
If I were a younger Brother, I shou'd think so too.
Why, is it possible you can value a Woman that's to be bought.
Prithee, why not as well as a Pad-Nag?
Because a Woman has a Heart to dispose of; a Horse has none.
Look you Tam, of all things that belang to a Wo∣man, I have an Aversion to her Heart: Far when once a Wo∣man has given you her Heart—you can never get rid of the rest of her Body.
This is strange Doctrine: But pray in your Amours how is it with your own Heart?
Why, my Heart in my Amours— is like my Heart aut of my Amours: à la glace.
My Bady Tam is a Watch; and my Heart is the Pendulum to it; whilst the Finger runs raund to every Hour in the Circle, that still beats the same time.
Then you are seldom much in Love?
Never, stap my Vitals.
Why then did you make all this bustle about Amanda?
Because she was a Woman of an Insolent Vertue, and I thought my self pickt in Honour to debauch her.
Very well.
The greatness of your Necessities Tam, is the worst argument in the World for your being patiently heard. I do believe you are going to make me a very good Speech, but, strike me Dumb, it has the worst beginning of any Speech I have heard this Twelve-month.
I'm very sorry you think so.
I do believe thau art. But come, let's know thy Affair quickly, far 'tis a new Play, and I shall be so rumpled and squeez'd with pressing through the Crawd, to get to my Servant, the Women will think I have lain all Night in my Cloaths.
Why then (that I may not be the Author of so great a Misfortune) my Case in a Word is this.
The necessary Expences of my Travels have so much ex∣ceeded the wretched Income of my Annuity, that I have been forc'd to Mortgage it for Five Hundred Pounds, which is spent; so that unless you are so kind to assist me in redeeming it, I know no Remedy, but to go take a Purse.
Why, Faith Tam —to give you my sence of the thing, I do think taking a Purse the best Remedy in the World; for if you succeed, you are reliev'd that way; if you are taken — you are reliev'd t'other.
I'm glad to see you are in so pleasant a Humour, I hope I shall find the effects on't.
Why, do you then really think it a reasonable thing I shou'd give you Five Hundred Paunds?
I do not ask it as a due, Brother, I am willing to re∣ceive it as a Favour.
Thau art willing to receive it any haw, strike me speechless. But these are damn'd times to give Money in, Taxes are so great, Repairs so exorbitant, Tenants such Rogues, and Periwigs so dear, that the Devil take me I am reduc'd to that extremity in my Cash, I have been forc'd to retrench in that one Article of sweet Pawder, till I have braught it dawn to Five Guineas a Manth. Naw judge, Tam, whether I can spare you Five Hundred Paunds.
If you can't, I must starve, that's all.
All I can say is, you shou'd have been a better Husband.
Oons if you can't live upon Five Thousand a Year, how do you think I shou'd do't upon Two Hundred?
Don't be in a Passion Tam, far Passion is the most unbecoming thing in the World—to the Face.
Look you, I don't love to say any thing to you to make you Melancholy; but upon this occasion I must take leave to put you in mind, that a Running Horse does require more Atten∣dance than a Coach-Horse. Nature has made some difference 'twixt you and I.
Yes, she has made you older.
That is nat all, Tam.
Why, what is there else?
— Ask the Ladies.
Why, thou Essence-Bottle, thou Musk-Cat, dost thou then think thou hast any advantage over me, but what Fortune has given thee.
I do— stap my Vitals.
Now, by all that's Great and Powerful, thou art the Prince of Coxcombs.
Sir, —I am praud of being at the Head of so prevailing a Party.
Will nothing then provoke thee?—Draw Coward.
Look you, Tam, you know I have always taken you for a mighty dull Fellow, and here is one of the foolishest Plats broke out, that I have seen a long time. Your Paverty makes your Life so burthensome to you, you wou'd provoke me to a Quarrel, in hopes either to slip through my Lungs into my Estate, or to get your self run through the Guts, to put an end to your Pain: But I will disappoint you in both your Designs; lar with the Temper of a Philasapher, and the Discretion of a Statesman,—I will go to the Play with my Sword in my Scabbard.
Sir.
Here's rare News, Lory: His Lordship has given me a Pill has purg'd off all my Scruples.
Then my Heart's at ease again: For I have been in a lamentable fright, Sir, ever since your Conscience had the Impudence to intrude into your Company.
Be at peace; it will come there no more: My Bro∣ther has given it a wring by the Nose, and I have kick'd it down Stairs. So run away to the Inn; get the Horses ready quickly, and bring 'em to Old Coupler's, without a moment's delay.
Then, Sir, you are going strait about the Fortune?
I am; away; Fly, Lory.
The happiest Day I ever saw. I'm upon the Wing al∣ready.
IS my Wife within?
No, Sir, she has been gone out this half hour.
'Tis well; leave me.
And if I'd do as much for t'other: If there is Demonstration of my Friendship —Ay—it must be so. I find I'm very much her Friend.
Now Friendship's said to be a Plant of tedious growth; its Root compos'd of tender Fibers, nice in their Taste, cautious in spreading, check'd with the least Corruption in the Soil; long e'er it take, and longer still e'er it appear to do so: Whilst mine is in a moment shot so high, and fix'd so fast, it seems beyond the Power of Storms to shake it. I doubt it thrives too fast.
—Ha, she here!—Nay, then take heed my heart, for there are dangers towards.
What makes you look so thoughtful Sir? I hope you are not ill?
I was debating, Madam, whether I was so or not; and that was it which made me look so thoughtful.
Is it then so hard a Matter to decide? I thought all people had been acquainted with their own Bodies, though few People know their own minds.
What, if the Distemper, I suspect, be in the Mind?
Why, then I'll undertake to prescribe you a Cure.
Alas, you undertake you know not what.
So far at least then allow me to be a Physician.
Nay, I'll allow you so yet farther: For I have reason to believe, shou'd I put my self into your hands, you wou'd increase my Distemper.
Perhaps I might have Reasons from the Colledge not to be too quick in your Cure; but 'tis possible I might find ways to give you often ease, Sir.
Were I but sure of that, I'd quickly lay my Case be∣fore you.
Whither you are sure of it or no, what risque do you run in trying?
O, a very great one.
How?
You might betray my Distemper to my Wife.
And so lose all my Practice.
Will you then keep my Secret?
I will, if it don't burst me.
Swear.
I do.
By what?
By Woman.
That's swearing by my Deity. Do it by your own, or I shan't believe you.
By Man, then.
I'm satisfy'd. Now hear my Symptoms, and give me your Advice. The first were these:
When 'twas my Chance to see you at the Play, A randome Glance you threw, at first alarm'd me, I cou'd not turn my eyes from whence the danger came: I gaz'd upon you, 'till you shot again, And then my Fears came on me. My heart began to pant, my limbs to tremble, My Blood grew thin; my Pulse beat quick, My Eyes grew hot and dim, and all the frame of Nature Shook with Apprehension. 'Tis true, some small Recruits of Resolution, My Manhood brought to my Assistance, And by their help I made a stand a while, But found at last your Arrows flew so thick, They cou'd not fail to pierce me; So left the Field, And fled for Shelter to Amanda's Arms. What think you of these Symptoms, pray.Why, instantly she let me blood; which for the pre∣sent much asswag'd my Flame. But when I saw you, out it burst again, and rag'd with greater fury than before. Nay, since you now appear, 'tis so encreas'd, that in a mo∣ment if you do not help me, I shall, whilst you look on, con∣sume to Ashes.
Sir, my Lady's come home, and desires to speak with you: She's in her Chamber.
Tell her I'm coming.
Stand off, or I shall hate you, by Heavens.
Um —
Ha! What's here? my old Mistress, and so close, I faith? I wou'd not spoil her sport for the Universe
That Gentlewoman there is no Fool; so I shall be able to make her understand her Interest.
No better than I us'd to have I suppose?
A little more Blood in your Cheeks.
The Weather's hot.
If it were not, a Woman may have a Colour.
What do you mean by that?
Nothing.
Why do you Smile then?
Because the Weather's hot.
You'll never leave Roguing, I see that.
Do you tell me it's the same thing?
I can't.
Guess!
I shall guess wrong.
Indeed you wont.
••••shall either tell, or let it alone.
Nay, rather than let it alone, I will tell.
But first I must put you in mind, That after what has past 'twixt you and I, very few things ought to be Secrets be∣tween us.
Why what Secrets do we hide? I know of none.
Yes, there are two; one I have hid from you, and t'other you wou'd hide from me. You are fond of Loveless, which I have discover'd: And I am fond of his Wife—
Which I have discover'd.
Very well, now I confess your discovery to be true: What do you say to mine?
Why, I confess—I wou'd swear 'twere false, if I thought you were Fool enough to believe me.
Now am I almost in Love with you again. Nay, I don't know but I might be quite so, had I made one short Campaign with Amanda. Therefore if you find 'twou'd tickle your Vanity, to bring me down once more to your Lure, e'en help me quickly to dispatch her business, that I may have no∣thing else to do, but to apply my self to yours.
Do you then think, Sir, I am old enough to be a Bawd?
No, But I think you are wise enough to —
To do what?
To hoodwink Amanda with a Gallant, that she mayn't see who is her Husband's Mistress.
Well, Madam, What think you on't?
I think you are so much a deeper Politician in these Affairs than I am; that I ought to have a very great regard to your Advice.
Then give me leave to put you in mind, that the most easie, safe, and pleasant Situation for your own Amour, is the House in which you now are; provided you keep Aman∣da from any sort of Suspicion.
That the way to do that is to engage her in an Intrigue of her own, making your self her Confident.
And the way to bring her to Intrigue, is to make her Jea∣lous of her Husband in a wrong place; which the more you foment, the less you'll be suspected.
This is my Scheme, in short; which if you follow as you shou'd do (my dear Berinthia) we may all four pass the Win∣ter very pleasantly.
Well, I cou'd be glad to have no body's Sins to answer for but my own. But where there is a necessity —
Right as you say, where there is a necessity, a Chri∣stian is bound to help his Neighbour. So good Berinthia, lose no time, but let us begin the Dance as fast as we can.
Not till the Fiddles are in Tune, pray Sir.
Your Ladies strings will be very apt to fly, I can tell you that, if they are wound up too hastily. But if you'll have patience to screw 'em to their pitch by degrees, I don't doubt but she may endure to be play'd upon.
Ay, and will make admirable Musick too, or I'm mi∣staken; but have you had no private Closet Discourse with her yet about Males and Females, and so forth, which may give you hopes in her Constitution; for I know her Morals are the Devil against us.
I have had so much Discourse with her, that I be∣lieve were she once cur'd of her Fondness to her Husband, the Fortress of her Vertue wou'd not be so impregnable as she Fancies.
What? She runs I'll warrant you into that common mistake of Fond Wives, who conclude themselves Vertuous, because they can refuse a Man they don't like, when they have got one they do.
True, and therefore I think 'tis a presumptuous thing in a Woman, to assume the Name of Vertuous; till she has heartily hated her Husband, and been soundly in Love with somebody else. Whom, if she has withstood —then— much good may it do her.
Well, so much for her Vertue. Now, one word of her Inclinations, and every one to their Post. What Opinion do you find she has of me?
What you cou'd wish; she thinks you handsome and discreet.
Good, that's thinking half Seas over. One Tide more brings us into Port.
Perhaps it may, tho' still remember, there's a difficult B••r to pass.
I know there is, but I don't question I shall get well over it, by the help of such a Pilot.
You may depend upon your Pilot, she'll do the best she can; so weigh Anchor and be gone as soon as you please.
I'm under Sail already. Adieu.
Bon Voyage.
So, here's fine Work. What a business have I undertaken, I'm a very pretty Gentlewoman truly; but there was no a∣voiding it: He'd have ruin'd me if I had refus'd him. Besides, Faith, I begin to fancy there may be as much pleasure in car∣rying on another Bodies Intriegue, as ones own. This at least is certain, It exercises almost all the entertaining Facul∣ties of a Woman. For there's employment for Hypocrisie, Invention, Deceit, Flattery, Mischief, and Lying.
If you please, Madam, only to say, whither you'll have me buy 'em or not?
Yes, no, go fiddle; I care not what you do: Prithee leave me.
I have done.
What in the Name of Iove's the matter with you?
The matter Berinthia, I'm almost Mad, I'm plagu'd to Death.
Who is it that plagues you?
Who do you think shou'd plague a Wife, but her Husband?
O ho, is it come to that? We shall have you wish your self a Widow by and by.
Wou'd I were any thing but what I am; a base un∣grateful Man, after what I have done for him, to use me thus!
What, he has been Ogling now I'll warrant you?
Yes, he has been Ogling.
And so you are Jealous? Is that all?
That all! Is Jealousie then nothing?
It shou'd be nothing, if I were in your Case.
Why, what wou'd you do?
I'd cure my self.
How?
Let Blood in the Fond Vein: Care as little for my Husband, as he did for me.
That wou'd not stop his course.
Nor nothing else, when the Wind's in the warm Cor∣ner. Look you, Amanda, you may build Castles in the Air, and Fume, and Fret, and grow Thin and Lean, and Pale and Ugly, if you please. But I tell you, no Man worth ha∣ving, is true to his Wife, or can be true to his Wife, or ever was, or ever will be so.
Do you then really think he's false to me? for I did but suspect him.
Think so? I know he's so.
Is it possible? Pray tell me what you know?
Don't press me then to name Names; for that I have sworn I won't do.
Well I won't; but let me know all you can without Perjury.
I'll let you know enough to prevent any wise Woman's dying of the Pip; and I hope you'll pluck up your Spirits, and shew upon occasion, you can be as good a Wife as the best of 'em.
Well, what a Woman can do I'll endeavour.
O, a Woman can do a great deal, if once she sets her mind to it. Therefore pray don't stand trifling any longer, and teasing your self with this and that, and your Love and your Vertue, and I know not what. But resolve to hold up your Head, get a Tiptoe, and look over 'em all; for to my certain knowledge your Husband is a Pickering elsewhere.
You are sure on't?
Positively; he fell in Love at the Play.
Right, the very same; do you know the ugly thing?
Yes, I know her well enough; but she's no such an ugly thing neither.
Is she very handsome?
Truly I think so.
Hey ho.
What do you Sigh for now?
Oh my Heart.
I'm very ill, I must go to my Chamber. Dear Be∣rinthia, don't leave me a moment.
No, don't fear.
SO, here's our Inheritance, Lory, if we can but get in∣to Possession. But methinks the Seat of our Family looks like Noah's Ark, as if the chief part on't were design'd for the Fowls of the Air, and the Beasts of the Field.
Pray, Sir, don't let your Head run upon the Orders of Building here; get but the Heiress, let the Devil take the House.
I gad, Sir, this will prove some Inchanted Castle; we shall have the Gyant come out by and by with his Club, and beat our Brains out.
Open the Door and see: Is that your Country breeding?
Oons give 'em good words, Lory, we shall be shot here a Fortune catching.
Nothing, Sir, but to wait upon Sir Tunbelly, with your leave.
To weat upon Sir Tunbelly? Why, you'll find that's just as Sir Tunbelly pleases.
But will you do me the favour, Sir, to know whe∣the Sir Tunbelly pleases or not?
Why, look you, do you see, with good words much may be done. Ralph, go thy weas, and ask Sir Tunbelly if he pleases to be waited upon. And do'st hear.
Call to Nurse, that she may lock up Miss Hoyden before the Geats open.
D'ye hear that Lory?
Ay, Sir, I'm afraid we shall find a difficult Job on't. Pray Heaven that Old Rogue Coupler han't sent us to fetch Milk out of the Gunroom.
I'll warrant thee all will go well: See, the Door opens.
Take heed, Fool, thy Fear will ruine us.
Who is it here has any business with me?
Sir, 'tis I, if your Name be Sir Tunbelly Clumsey.
Sir, my Name is Sir Tunbelly Clumsey, whither you have any business with me or not. So you see I am not a∣sham'd of my Name;—nor my Face neither.
Sir, you have no Cause, that I know of.
Sir, if you have no cause neither, I desire to know who you are; for till I know your Name, I shall not ask you to come into my House; and when I know your Name; — 'tis six to four I don't ask you neither.
Cod's my Life, I ask your Lordship's Pardon ten Thousand times.
Sir, that I might give you and your fair Daughter a proof how impatient I am to be nearer a kin to you, I left my Equipage to follow me, and came away Post, with only one Servant.
Your Lordship does me too much honour, it was exposing your Person to too much Fatigue and Danger, I pro∣test it was, but my Daughter shall endeavour to make you what amends she can; and tho' I say it, that shou'd not say it—Hoyden has Charms.
Sir, I am not a stranger to them, tho' I am to her, Common Fame has done her Justice.
My Lord, I am Common Fame's very grateful humble Servant. My Lord—my Girl's young, Hoyden is young, my Lord; but this I must say for her, what she wants in Art, she has by Nature; what she wants in Experience, she has in Breeding; and what's wanting in her Age, is made good in her Constitution. So pray, my Lord, walk in; pray my Lord, walk in.
Sir, I wait upon you.
Sure never no body was us'd as I am. I know well enough what other Girls do, for all they think to make a Fool of me; It's well I have a Husband a coming, or I cod I'de Mar∣ry the Baker, I wou'd so. No body can knock at the gate, but presently I must be lockt up, and here's the young Grey∣hound Bitch can run loose about the house all day long she can, 'tis very well.
Well, what do you make such a noise for, ha? What do you din a Bodies Ears for? Can't one be at quiet for you?
What do I din your Ears for? here's one come will din your Ears for you.
What care I who's come; I care not a Fig who comes, nor who goes, as long as I must be lock'd up like the Ale-Cellar.
That, Miss, is for fear you shou'd be drank, be∣fore you are Ripe.
O don't you trouble your head about that, I'm as Ripe as you, tho' not so Mellow.
Very well; now have I a good mind to lock you up again, and not let you see my Lord to Night.
My Lord? Why is my Husband come?
Yes marry is he, and a goodly Person too.
Ah the poor thing, see how it melts, it's as full of good Nature, as an Egg's full of Meat.
But, my dear Nurse, don't lie now, is he come by your troth?
Yes, by my truly, is he.
O Lord! I'll go put on my Lac'd Smock, tho' I'm whipt 'till the blood run down my heels for't.
Eh—the Lord succour thee, how thou art de∣lighted.
My Lord, I am proud of the honour to see your Lordship within my Doors; and I humbly crave leave to bid you wellcome, in a Cup of Sack Wine.
Sir, to your Daughters health.
Ah poor Girl, she'll be scar'd out of her wits on her Wedding Night; for, honestly speaking, she does not know a Man from a Woman, but by his Beard, and his Britches.
Sir, I don't doubt but she has a Virtuous Education, which with the rest of her Merit, makes me long to see her mine. I wish you wou'd dispence with the Canonical hour, and let it be this very Night.
O not so soon neither, that's shooting my Girl be∣fore you bid her stand. No, give her fair warning, we'll Sign and Seal to Night, if you please; and this Day seven-night—let the Jade look to her Quarters.
This Day Sennight?—Why, what do you take me for a Ghost, Sir?
'Slife, Sir, I'm made of Flesh and Blood, and Bones and Si∣news, and can no more live a week without your Daughter— Than I can live a Month with her.
Oh, I'll warrant you my Hero, young Men are hot I know, but they don't boyl over at that rate, neither, besides, my Wenches Wedding Gown is not come home yet.
O, no matter Sir, I'll take her in her shift.
A Pox of this Old Fellow, he'll delay the business 'till my damn'd star finds me out, and discovers me.
Money?—Save Money when Hoyden's to be Married? Udswoons I'll give my Wench a Wedding-Din∣ner, tho' I go to grass with the King of Assyria for't; and such a Dinner it shall be, as is not to be Cook'd in the Poaching of an Egg. Therefore, my Noble Lord, have a
little Patience, we'll go and look over our Deeds and Set∣tlements immediately; and as for your Bride, tho' you may be sharp set before she's quite ready, I'll engage for my Girl, she stays your stomach at last.
WELL Miss, how do you like your Husband that is to be?
O Lord, Nurse, I'm so overjoy'd, I can scarce con∣tain my self.
O but you must have a care of being too fond, for Men now a days, hate a Woman that loves 'em.
Love him? why do you think I love him, Nurse?
I Cod I wou'd not care if he were hang'd, so I were but once Married to him—No—that which pleases me, is to think what work I'll make when I get to London; for when I am a Wife and a Lady both Nurse, I Cod I'll flant it with the best of 'em.
Look, look, if his Honour be not coming again to you; now if I were sure you would behave your self hand∣somly, and not disgrace me that have brought you up, I'd leave you alone together.
That's my best Nurse, do as you wou'd be done by; trust us together this once, and if I don't shew my Breeding from the head to the foot of me, may I be twice Married, and die a Maid.
Well, this once I'll venture you, but if you dispa∣rage me—
Never fear, I'll shew him my parts I'll warrant him.
These Old Women are so wise when they get a poor Girl in their Clutches▪ but e'er it be long, I shall know what's what, as well as the best of 'em.
Your Servant, Madam, I'm glad to find you alone, for I have something of importance to speak to you about.
Sir, (my Lord, I meant,) you may speak to me a∣bout what you please, I shall give you a Civil Answer.
You give me so obliging a one, it encourages me to tell you in few words, what I think both for your inte∣rest, and mine.
Your Father, I suppose you know, has resolv'd to make me happy in being your Husband, and I hope I may depend upon your Consent, to perform what he desires.
Sir, I never disobey my Father in any thing, but eating of green Goosberries.
So good a Daughter must needs make an admirable Wife, I am therefore impatient 'till you are mine; and hope you will so far consider the violence of my Love, that you won't have the Cruelty to deferr my Happiness, so long as your Father designs it.
Pray, my Lord, how long is that?
Madam, a thousand year—a whole week.
A week—why I shall be an old Woman by that time.
And I an old Man, which you'll find a greater mis∣fortune than t'other.
Why I thought 'twas to be to morrow morning, as soon as I was up; I'm sure Nurse told me so.
And it shall be to morrow morning still, if you'll consent?
If I'll consent? why I thought I was to obey you as my Husband?
That's when we are Married, 'till then, I am to obey you.
Why then if we are to take it by turns, it's the same thing, I'll obey you now, and when we are Married, you shall obey me.
With all my heart, but I doubt we must get Nurse on our side, or we shall hardly prevail with the Chaplain.
No more we shan't indeed, for he Loves her better than he loves his Pulpit, and wou'd always be a Preaching to her by his good will.
Why then my dear little Bedfellow, if you'll call her hither, we'll try to perswade her presently.
O Lord, I can tell you a way how to perswade her to any thing.
How's that?
Why tell her she's a wholsom Comely Woman— and give her half a Crown.
Nay, if that will do, she shall have half a score of 'em.
O Gemmini, for half that, she'd Marry you her self; I'll run and call her.
So, Matters go swimmingly, this is a rare Girl, I faith, I shall have a fine time on't with her at London; I'm much mistaken, if she don't prove a March Hare all the year round; what a scampring Chase will she make on't, when she finds the whole Kennel of Beaux at her tail; hey to the Park, and the Play, and the Church, and the Devil; she'll shew 'em sport I'll warrant 'em. But no matter, she brings an Estate will afford me a separate maintenance.
How do you do, good Mistress Nurse; I desir'd your young Lady would give me leave to see you, that I might thank you for your extraordinary Care and Conduct in her Education; pray accept of this small Acknowledgment
for it at present, and depend upon my farther kindness, when I shall be that happy thing her Husband.
Pray one word with you; prithee Nurse don't stand rip∣ping up Old Stories, to make one asham'd before one's Love; do you think such a fine proper Gentleman as he, cares for a fiddlecome Tale of a draggle-tail'd Girl; if you have a mind to make him have a good Opinion of a Woman; don't tell him what one did then, tell him what one can do now.
O every thing, Madam, is to give way to Busi∣ness; besides, good Housewifry is a very commendable Qua∣lity in a young Lady.
Pray Sir, are the young Ladies good House-wives at London Town, do they darn their own Linnen?
O no, they study how to spend Money, not to save it.
I Cod I don't know but that may be better sport than t'other, ha, Nurse.
Well, you shall have your Choice when you come there.
Shall I?—then by my troth I'll get there as fast as I can.
To Morrow, my dear Madam?
Yes, to Morrow sweet Nurse; privately; young Folks you know are impatient, and Sir Tunbelly wou'd make us stay a Week for a Wedding-Dinner. Now all things being
Sign'd, and Seal'd, and Agreed, I fancy there cou'd be no great harm in practising a Scene or two of Matrimony in private, if it were only to give us the better assurance when we come to play it in publick.
Nay, I must confess stoln pleasures are sweet, but if you shou'd be Married now, what will you do when Sir Tunbelly calls for you to be Wedd?
Why then we'll be Married again.
What, twice my Child?
I Cod I don't care how often I'm Married, not I.
Pray Nurse don't you be against your young Lady's good, for by this means she'll have the pleasure of two Wed∣ding-Days.
And of two Wedding-Nights too, Nurse.
Well, I'm such a tender hearted Fool, I find I can refuse nothing; so you shall e'en follow your own In∣ventions.
Dear Nurse, this goodness of yours shan't go unre∣warded; but now you must imploy your power with Mr. Bull the Chaplain, that he may do us his Friendly Office too, and then we shall all be happy; do you think you can prevail with him?
Prevail with him?—or he shall never prevail with me, I can tell him that.
My Lord, she has had him upon the hip this seven year.
I'm glad to hear it; however, to strengthen your interest with him, you may let him know I have several fat Livings in my Gift, and that the first that falls shall be in your disposal.
Nay, then I'll make him Marry more Folks than one, I'll promise him.
Faith do Nurse, make him Marry you too, I'm sure he'll do't for a fat Living, for he loves Eating, more than he
loves his Bible; and I have often heard him say, a fat Living was the best Meat in the World.
Ay, and I'll make him commend the Sauce too, or I'll bring his Gown to a Cassock, I will so.
Well Nurse, whilst you go and settle Matters with him, then your Lady and I will go take a walk in the Garden.
I'll do your Honour's business in the catching up of a Garter.
Come, Madam, dare you venture your self alone with me?
O dear, yes, Sir, I don't think you'll do any thing to me I need be afraid on.
A SONG.
I.I Smile at Love, and all its Arts, The Charming Cynthia cry'd; Take heed, for Love has Piercing Darts, A wounded Swain Reply'd. Once free and blest as you are now, I trifl'd with his Charms, I pointed at his Little Bow, And sported with his Arms: 'Till urg'd too far, Revenge he crys, A Fatal Shaft he drew, It took its passage thro' your Eyes, And to my Heart it flew.
Well, now Berinthia I'm at leisure to hear what 'twas you had to say to me.
What I had to say, was only to Eccho the sighs and groans of a dying Lover.
Phu, will you never learn to talk in earnest of any thing?
Why this shall be in earnest, if you please; for my part, I only tell you matter of fact, you may take it which way you like best, but if you'll follow the Women of the Town, you'll take it both ways; for when a Man offers himself to one of them, first she takes him in j••st, and then she takes him in earnest.
I'm sure there's so much jest and earnest in what you say to me, I scarce know how to take it; but I think you have bewitched me, for I don't find it possible to be angry with you, say what you will.
I'm very glad to hear it, for I have no mind to quar∣rel with you, for more Reasons than I'll brag of; but quar∣rel
or not, smile or frown, I must tell you what I have suf∣fer'd upon your account.
upon my account?
Yes, upon yours; I have been forc'd to sit still and hear you commended for two hours together, without one Compliment to my self; now don't you think a Woman had a blessed time of that?
Alas! I shou'd have been unconcern'd at it, I never knew where the pleasure lay of being prais'd by the Men; but pray who was this that commended me so?
One you have a mortal aversion to, Mr. Worthy, he us'd you like a Text, he took you all to pieces, but spoke so Learnedly upon every Point, one might see the Spirit of the Church was in him; if you are a Woman, you'd have been in an Extasie to have hear'd how feelingly he handled your Hair, your Eyes, your Nose, your Mouth, your Teeth, your Tongue, your Chin, your Neck, and so forth. Thus he Preach'd for an hour, but when he came to use an Applica∣tion, he observ'd that all these without a Gallant were no∣thing—Now consider of what has been said, and Heaven give you grace to put it in practice.
Alas! Berinthia, did I incline to a Gallant, (which you know I do not) do you think a Man so nice as he, cou'd have the least concern for such a plain unpolisht thing as I am? it is impossible!
Now have you a great mind to put me upon commend∣ing you.
Indeed that was not my design.
Nay, if it were, it's all one, for I won't do't, I'll leave that to your Looking-glass. But to shew you I have some good Nature left, I'll commend him, and may be that may do as well.
You have a great mind to perswade me I am in Love with him.
I have a great mind to perswade you, you don't know what you are in love with.
I am sure I am not in love with him; nor never shall
be, so let that pass; but you were saying something you wou'd commend him for.
O you'd be glad to hear a good Character of him however.
Psha.
Psha,—Well 'tis a foolish undertaking for Women in these kind of Matters, to pretend to deceive one another— have not I been bred a Woman as well as you?
What then?
Why then I understand my Trade so well, that when ever I am told of a Man I like, I cry psha; but that I may spare you the pains of putting me a second time in mind to commend him, I'll proceed, and give you this account of him; that though 'tis possible he may have had Women with as good faces as your Ladyship's (no discredit to it nei∣ther) yet you must know your cautious Behaviour, with that reserve in your Humour, has given him his Death's wound; he mortally hates a Coquett, he says 'tis impossible to Love where we cannot esteem; and that no Woman can be esteem'd by a Man who has sense, if she makes her self cheap in the eye of a Fool. That Pride to a Woman, is as necessary as Humility to a Divine; and that far fetch'd, and dear bought, is meat for Gentlemen, as well as for Ladies—in short, that every Woman who has Beauty, may set a price upon her self, and that by under-selling the Market, they ruine the Trade. This is his Doctrine, how do you like it?
So well, that since I never intend to have a Gallant for my self, if I were to recommend one to a Friend, he shou'd be the Man.
Bless me! he's here, pray Heaven he did not hear me.
If he did, it won't hurt your Reputation; your thoughts are as safe in his Heart, as in your own.
I venture in at an unseasonable time of Night, Ladys; I hope if I'm troublesom, you'll use the same freedom in turn∣ing me out again.
I believe it can't be late, for Mr. Lovelace is not come home yet, and he usually keeps good hours.
Madam, I'm afraid he'll transgress a little to Night, for he told me about half an hour ago, he was going to Sup with some Company, he doubted would keep him out 'till three or four a Clock in the morning, and desir'd I wou'd let my Servant acquaint you with it, that you might not ex∣pect him; but my Fellow's a Blunder-head, so lest he shou'd make some mistake, I thought it my duty to deliver the message my self.
I'm very sorry he shou'd give you that trouble, Sir, But—
But since he has, will you give me leave, Madam, to keep him to play at Ombre with us?
Cousin, you know you command my House.
O you play well enough to lose your Money, and that's all the Lady's require, so without any more Ceremony, let us go into the next Room, and call for the Cards.
With all my heart.
So, thus far all's well, I'm got into her Bed-Chamber, and I think no body has perceiv'd me steal into the House; my Wife don't expect me home 'till four a Clock, so if Berinthia comes to Bed by Eleven, I shall have a Chase of five hours; let me see, where shall I hide my self? under her Bed? No; we shall have her Maid searching there for something or other, her Closet's a better place, and I have a Master Key will open
it, I'll e'en in there, and attack her just when she comes to her Prayers, that's the most likely to prove her Critical Mi∣nute, for then the Devil will be there to assist me.
Well, sure I am the best Natur'd Woman in the World, I that love Cards so well (there is but one thing upon Earth I love better,) have pretended Letters to write, to give my Friends—à Tate à Tate; however, I'm innocent, for Picquet is the Game I set 'em to; at her own peril be it, if she ven∣tures to play with him at any other. But now what shall I do with my self, I don't know how in the world to pass my time, wou'd Lovelace were here to badiner a little; well, he's a Charming Fellow, I don't wonder his Wife's so fond of him; what if I shou'd sit down and think of him 'till I fall asleep, and dream of the Lord knows what; O but then if I shou'd dream we were Married, I shou'd be frightned out of my Wits.
What's this Book? I think I had best go Read. O Splenatique! it's a Sermon; well, I'll go into my Closet, and Read the Plotting-Sisters.
O Lord, a Ghost, a Ghost, a Ghost, a Ghost.
Peace, my Dear, it's no Ghost, take it in your Arms, you'll find 'tis worth a hundred of 'em.
Run in again, here's some body coming.
Lord, Madam, what's the matter?
O Heav'ns! I'm almost frighted out of my wits, I thought verily I had seen a Ghost, and 'twas nothing but the white Curtain, with a black Hood pinn'd up against it; you may be gone again, I am the fearful'st Fool.
Is the Coast clear?
The Coast clear! I suppose you are clear, you'd ne∣ver play such a trick as this else.
I'm very well pleas'd with my trick thus far, and shall be so 'till I have play'd it out, if it be'nt your fault; where's my Wife?
At Cards.
With whom?
With Worthy.
Then we are safe enough.
Are you so? some Husbands wou'd be of another mind, if he were at Cards with their Wives.
And they'd be in the right on't too. But I dare trust mine—Besides, I know he's in Love in another place, and he's not one of those who Court half a dozen at a time.
Nay, the truth on't is, you'd pity him if you saw how uneasie he is at being engag'd with us, but 'twas my malice, I fancy'd he was to meet his Mistress somewhere else, so did it to have the pleasure of seeing him fret.
What says Amanda to my staying abroad so late?
Why she's as much out of humour as he, I believe they wish one another at the Devil.
Then I'm afraid they'll quarrel at Play, and soon throw up the Cards;
Heavens, what do you mean?
Pray what do you think I mean.
I don't know.
I'll shew you.
You may as well tell me.
No, that wou'd make you blush worse than t'other.
Why, do you intend to make me blush?
Faith I can't tell that, but if I do, it shall be in the dark.
O Heavens! I wou'd not be in the Dark with you for all the World.
I'll try that.
O Lord! are you mad, what shall I do for Light?
You'll do as well without it.
Why, one can't find a Chair to sit down?
Come into the Closet, Madam, there's Moon-shine upon the Couch.
Nay, never pull, for I will not go.
Then you must be carryed.
Help, help, I'm Ravish'd, ruin'd, undone. O Lord, I shall never be able to bear it.
This quick dispatch of yours, Mr. Bull, I take so kindly, it shall give you a claim to my Favour as long as I live, I do assure you.
And to mine too, I promise you.
I most humbly thank your Honours, and I hope, since it has been my Lott, to join you in the Holy Bands of Wedlock, you will so well Cultivate the Soil, which I have crav'd a Blessing on, That your Children may swarm a∣bout you, like Bees about a Honey Comb.
I Cod with all my Heart, the more the merrier, I say; ha, Nurse?
One word with you for Heaven's sake.
What the Devil's the matter?
Sir, your Fortune's ruin'd; and I don't think your Life's worth a quarter of an Hours Purchase: Yonder's your Brother arriv'd with two Coaches and six Horses, Twenty Footmen and Pages, a Coat worth Fourscore Pound, and
a Perriwig down to his Knees, so judge what will become of your Lady's Heart.
Death and Furyes, 'tis impossible.
Fiends and Spectres, Sir, 'tis true.
Is he in the House yet?
No, they are Capitulating with him at the Gate; the Porter tells him, he's come to run away with Miss Hoyden, and has Cock'd the Blunderbuss at him; your Brother Swears Gad Damme, they are a parcel of Clawns, and he has a good mind to break off the Match; but they have given the Word for Sir Tunbelly, so I doubt all will come out presently. Pray Sir resolve what you'l do this moment, for I Gad they'l maul you.
Stay a little.
O the Brazen fac'd Varlet, it's well we are Married, or may be we might never a been so.
I fly, my good Lord—
An't please your Honour, my Lady and I had best lock our selves up 'till the danger be over.
Ay, by all means.
Not so fast, I won't be lock'd up any more. I'm Marry'd.
Yes, pray my Dear do, 'till we have seiz'd this Rascal.
Nay, if you pray me, I'll do any thing.
O! here's Sir Tunbelly coming.
The Devil it is, Sir.
Not a word, all's safe: But Sir Tunbelly don't know it, nor must not yet; so I am resolv'd to brazen the Business out, and have the Pleasure of turning the Impostor upon his Lordship, which I believe may easily be done.
Did you ever hear, Sir, of so impudent an undertaking?
Never, by the Mass, but we'll tickle him I'll war∣rant him.
They tell me, Sir, he has a great many People with him disguis'd like Servants.
Ay, ay, Rogues, enough; but I'll soon raise the Posse upon 'em.
Sir, If you'll take my advice, we'll go a shorter way to work; I find who ever this Spark is, he knows nothing of my being privately here; so if you pretend to receive him ci∣villy, he'll enter without Suspicion; and as soon as he is with∣in the Gate, we'll whip up the Draw-bridge upon his Back, let fly the Blunderbuss to disperse his Crew, and so commit him to Goal.
I Gad, your Lordship is an ingenious Person, and a very great General; but shall we kill any of 'em or not?
No, no, fire over their Heads only to fright 'em, I'll warrant the Regiment scours when the Collonel's a Prisoner.
Then come along my Boys, and let your Courage be great—for your Danger is but small.
A Pax of these Bumkinly People, will they open the Gate, or do they desire I should grow at their Mote side like a Willow?
Here's my Master himself now at hand; he's of Age, he'll give you his Answer.
My most noble Lord, I crave your Pardon, for making your Honour wait so long, but my Orders to my Ser∣vants have been to admit no body, without my knowledge; for fear of some attempt upon my Daughter, the Times be∣ing full of Plots and Roguery.
Much Caution, I must confess, is a sign of great Wisdom: But stop my Vitals, I have got a Cold enough to destroy a Porter,—he, hem—
I am very sorry for't, indeed, my Lord; but if your Lordship please to walk in, we'll help you to some Brown Sugar-Candy. My Lord, I'll shew you the way.
Sir, I follow you with Pleasure.
Jernie die, qu'estce que veut dire ça?
Ah Je suis mort—
Not one Souldier left, by the Mass.
Come, bring him along, bring him along.
What the Pax do you mean, Gentlemen, is it Fair time, that you are all drunk before Dinner?
Drunk, Sirrah? here's an Impudent Rogue
for you; Drunk or Sober, Bully, I'm a Justice of the Peace, and know how to deal with Strolers.
Strolers!
Ay, Strolers; come give an account of your self, what's your Name, where do you live? Do you pay Scott and Lott? Are you a Williamite, or a Iacobite? Come.
And why dost thou ask me so many impertinent Questions?
Because I'll make you answer 'em before I have done with you, you Rascal you.
Before Gad, all the Answer I can make thee to 'em, is, that thou art a very extraordinary old Fellow; stop my Vitals—
Nay, if you are for Joking with Deputy Lieu∣tenants, we'st know how to deal with you: Here, draw a Warrant for him immediately.
A Warrant— what the Devil is't thou would'st be at, Old Gentleman?
I wou'd be at you, Sirrah, (if my Hands were not ty'd as a Magistrate) and with these two double Fists, beat your Teeth down your Throat, you Dog you.
And why would'st thou spoil my Face at that rate?
For your design to Rob me of my Daughter, Villain.
Rab thee of thy Daughter — Now do I be∣gin to believe I am a Bed and a-sleep, and that all this is but a Dream, — If it be, 'twill be an agreeable surprise enough, to waken by and by; and instead of the impertinent Company of a Nasty Country Justice, find my self, perhaps, in the Arms of a Woman of Qua∣lity.
I can't tell whether I will or not, 'till I know what it is.
Why, then it is, whether thou didst not write to my Lord Foppington to come down and Marry thy Daugh∣ter?
Yes Marry did I; and my Lord Foppington is come down, and shall Marry my Daughter before she's a Day older.
Now give me thy Hand, dear Dad, I thought we should understand one another at last.
This Fellow's mad— here, bind him Hand and Foot.
Nay, prithee, Knight, leave fooling, thy Jeast begins to grow dull.
Bind him, I say, he's mad — Bread and Water, a Dark Room and a Whip, may bring him to his Senses again.
Is this he that would have run away with me? fough, how he stinks of Sweets: Pray, Father, let him be drag'd through the Horse Pond.
Pray, Father, what do you intend to do with him, hang him?
That, at least, Child.
Ay, and its e'en too good for him too.
What's become of my Lord, Daughter?
He's just coming, Sir.
Is this the Fellow, Sir, that design'd to trick me of your Daughter?
This is he, my Lord, how do you like him? Is not he a pretty Fellow to get a Fortune?
I find by his Dress, he thought your Daughter might be taken with a Beau.
O gimmeni! Is this a Beau? let me see him again, —ha! I find a Beau's no such an ugly thing neither.
I gad, she'll be in love with him presently; I'll e'en have him sent away to Goal.
Strike me dumb, Tam. thou art a very impudent Fellow.
Look if the Varlet has not the Frontery to call his Lordship plain Thomas.
The business is, he would feign himself Mad, to avoid going to Goal.
Come, is the Warrant writ?
Yes, Sir.
Give me the Pen, I'll sign it—So, now Con∣stable away with him.
Hold one moment.—Pray, Gentlemen; my Lord Foppington, shall I beg one Word with your Lord∣ship?
O ho, it's my Lord with him now; see how Af∣flictions will humble Folks.
Pray, my Lord, don't let him whisper too close, lest he bite your Ear off.
I am not altogether so Hungry, as your Lady∣ship is pleas'd to imagine.
It's a much easier matter to prevent a Disease than to Cure it; a quarter of that Sum would have secur'd your Mistress; twice as much won't redeem her.
Well, what says he?
Only the Rascal offer'd me a Bribe to let him go.
Ay, he shall go with a Pox to him: Lead on, Constable.
One word more, and I have done.
Before Gad, thou art an impudent Fellow, to trouble the Court at this Rate, after thou art Condemn'd; but speak once for all.
Why then once for all, I have at last luckily call'd to mind, that there is a Gentleman of this Country, who, I believe cannot live far from this place▪ (if he were here) would satisfie you, I am Navelty, Baron of Foppington, with Five Thousand Pounds a Year, and that Fellow there, a Rascal not worth a Groat.
Very well; now who is this honest Gentleman you are so well acquainted with.
'Tis Sir Iohn Friendly.
So; he lives within half a Mile, and came down into the Country but last Night; this bold-fac'd Fellow thought he had been at London still, and so quoted him; now we shall display him in his Colours: I'll send for Sir Iohn immediately: Here, Fellow, away presently, and desire my Neighbour he'll do me the favour to step over, upon an extraordinary occasion; and in the mean while you had best secure this Sharper in the Gate-House.
An't please your Worship, he may chance to give us the slip thence: If I were worthy to advise, I think the Dog-kennel's a surer place.
With all my Heart, any where.
Nay, for Heaven's sake, Sir, do me the fa∣vour to put me in a clean Room, that I mayn't daub my Cloaths.
O when you have Married my Daughter, her Estate will afford you new ones: Away with him.
A Dirty Country Justice, is a barbarous Magi∣strate; stap my Vitals.—
Nay, with all my heart; for to be sure he thought he was far enough off, or the Rogue wou'd never have nam'd him.
Sir, I met Sir Iohn just lighting at the Gate, he's come to wait upon you.
Nay, then it happens as one cou'd wish.
What, and leave your Lady, Sir?
There's no Danger in that, as long as I have taken Possession, I shall know how to treat with 'em well enough, if once I am out of their Reach: Away, I'll steal after thee.
Sir Iohn, you are the welcom'st Man alive, I had just sent a Messenger to desire you'd step over, upon a very ex∣traordinary occasion—we are all in Arms here.
How so?
Why you must know—a sinical sort of a tawdry Fellow here (I don't know who the Devil he is, not I) hearing I suppose, that the Match was concluded between my Lord Foppington, and my Girl Hoyden, comes impudently to the Gate, with a whole pack of Rogues in Liveries, and wou'd have past upon me for his Lordship; but what does I? I comes up to him boldly at the head of his Guards, takes him by the throat, strikes up his heels, binds him hand and foot, dispatches a Warrant, and Commits him Prisoner to the Dog-kennel.
So, but how do you know but this was my Lord? for I was told he set out from London the Day before me, with a very fine Retinue, and intended to come directly hither.
Why now to shew you how many Lyes People raise in that damn'd Town, he came two Nights ago Post, with only one Servant, and is now in the House with me, but you don't know the Cream of the Jest yet; this same Rogue (that lies yonder neck and Heels among the Hounds) tkink∣ing you were out of the Country, quotes you for his Acquaint∣ance, and said if you were here, you'd justifie him to be Lord Foppington, and I know not what.
Pray will you let me see him?
Ay, that you shall presently—here, fetch the Prisoner.
I wish there be'nt some mistake in this business, where's my Lord, I know him very well?
He was here just now; see for him, Doctor, tell him Sir Iohn is here to wait upon him.
I hope, Sir Tunbelly, the young Lady is not Married yet.
No, things won't be ready this week, but why do you say you hope she is not Married?
Some foolish fancies only, perhaps I'm mistaken.
Sir, his Lordship is just Rid out to take the air.
To take the air! is that his London Breeding to go take the air, when Gentlemen come to visit him?
'Tis possible he might want it, he might not be well, some sudden qualm perhaps.
Dear Friendly thou art come in the Critical Minute, strike me dumb.
Why, I little thought I shou'd have found you in Fetters.
Why truly the World must do me the justice to confess I do use to appear a little more degage; but this Old Gentleman, not liking the freedom of my air, has been pleas'd to Skewer down my Arms like a Rabbit.
Is it then possible that this shou'd be the true Lord Foppington at last?
Why what do you see in his face to make you doubt of it? Sir, without presuming to have any extraordinary O∣pinion of my Figure, give me leave to tell you, if you had seen as many Lords as I have done, you wou'd not think it impossible a Person of a worse Taille than mine, might be a modern Man of Quality.
Unbind him, Slaves: my Lord, I'm struck dumb, I can only beg pardon by Signs, but if a Sacrifice will ap∣pease you, you shall have it? here, pursue this Tartar, bring him back—Away, I say, a Dog-oons—I'll cut off his Ears, and his Tail, I'll draw out all his Teeth, pull his Skin over his Head—and—and what shall I do more?
He does indeed deserve to be made an Example of.
He does deserve to be Chartre, stap my Vitals.
May I then hope I have your Honour's Pardon?
Sir, we Courtiers do nothing without a Bribe, that fair young Lady might do Miracles.
Hoyden, come hither Hoyden.
Hoyden is her Name, Sir?
Yes, my Lord.
The prettiest Name for a Song I ever heard.
My Lord—here's my Girl, she's yours, she has a wholsom Body, and a Virtuous Mind, she's a Woman compleat, both in Flesh and in Spirit; she has a Bag of Mill'd Crowns, as scarce as they are, and fifteen hundred a year stitch'd fast to her tail, so go thy ways Hoyden.
Sir, I do receive her like a Gentleman.
Then I'm a happy Man, I bless Heaven, and if your Lordship will give me leave, I will like a good Christian at Christmass, be very drunk by way of thanksgiving; come, my Noble Peer, I believe Dinner's ready, if your Honour plea∣ses to follow me, I'll lead you on to the attack of a Venison Pasty.
Sir, I wait upon you, will your Ladyship do me the favour of your Little Finger, Madam?
My Lord, I'll follow you presently, I have a little business with my Nurse.
Your Ladyship's most humble Servant; come Sir Iohn, the Ladies have des affaires.
So Nurse, we are finely brought to Bed, what shall we do now?
Ah dear Miss, we are all undone; Mr. Bull, you were us'd to help a Woman to a Remedy.
A lack a day, but it's past my Skill now, I can do nothing.
Who wou'd have thought that ever your Invention shou'd have been drain'd so dry.
Well, I have often thought old folks fools, and now I'm sure they are so; I have found a way my self to secure us all.
Dear Lady what's that?
Why, if you two will be sure to hold your tongues, and not say a word of what's past, I'll e'en Marry this Lord too.
What! two Husbands, my Dear?
Why you have had three, good Nurse, you may hold your tongue.
Ay, but not altogether, sweet Child.
Psha, if you had, you'd ne'er a thought much on't.
O but 'tis a Sin—sweeting.
Nay that's my business to speak to, Nurse; I do confess, to take two Husbands for the satisfaction of the Flesh, is to commit the Sin of Exorbitancy, but to do it for the Peace of the Spirit, is no more than to be drunk by way of Phy∣sick; besides, to prevent a Parent's wrath, is to avoid the Sin of Disobedience; for when the Parent's angry, the Child is froward. So that upon the whole Matter, I do think, tho' Miss shou'd Marry again, she may be sav'd.
I Cod and I will Marry again then, and so there's an end of the Story.
WELL, and so Sir Iohn coming in—
And so Sir Iohn coming in, I thought it might be manners in me to go out, which I did, and getting on Horseback as fast as I cou'd, rid away as if the Devil had been at the Reer of me; what has happen'd since, Heav'n knows.
I gad Sirrah, I know as well as Heaven.
What do you know?
That you are a Cuckold.
The Devil I am? by who?
By your Brother.
My Brother! which way?
The old way, he has layn with your Wife.
Hell and Furies, what dost thou mean?
I mean plainly, I speak no Parable.
Plainly! thou do'st not speak common sense, I can∣not understand one word thou say'st.
You will do soon, youngster. In short, you left your Wife a Widow, and she Married again.
It's a Lye.
—I Cod if I were a young Fellow, I'de break your head, Sirrah.
Dear Dad don't be angry, for I'm as Mad as Tom of Bedlam.
Then I had fitted you with a Wife, you shou'd have kept her.
But is it possible the young Strumpet cou'd play me such a Trick?
A young Strumpet, Sir—can play twenty tricks.
But prithee instruct me a little farther, whence comes thy Intelligence?
From your Brother, in this Letter, there you may Read it.
Dear Coupler,
Pulling off his Hat.I Have only time to tell thee in three Lines, or thereabouts, that here has been the Devil, that Rascall Tam having stole the Letter thou hadst formerly writ for me to bring to Sir Tunbelly, form'd a damnable design upon my Mistress, and was in a fair way of success when I arriv'd. But after having suffer'd some Indignities, (in which I have all daub'd my Embroider'd Coat) I put him to flight. I sent out a Party of Horse after him, in hopes to have made him my Prisoner, which if I had done, I wou'd have qualify'd him for the Seraglio, stap my Vitals.The danger I have thus narrowly 'scapt, has made me fortifie my self against further attempts, by entring immediately into an Association with the young Lady, by which we engage to stand by one another, as long as we both shall live.
In short, the Papers are Seal'd, and the Contract is Sign'd, so the business of the Lawyer is Achevé, but I defer the Divine part of the thing 'till I arrive at London; not being willing to Consummate in any other Bed but my own. Postscript.'Tis possible I may be in Tawne as soon as this Letter, far I find the Lady is so violently in love with me, I have determin'd to make her happy with all the dispatch that is practicable, with∣out disardering my Coach-Harses.
So, here's rare work, I saith.
I gad Miss Hoyden has lay'd about her bravely.
I think my Country Girl has play'd her part as well, as if she had been born and bred in St. Iames's Parish.
—That Rogue the Chaplain.
And then that Jade the Nurse, Sir.
And then that drunken Sot Lory, Sir, that cou'd not keep himself sober, to be a witness to the Marriage.
Sir—with respect—I know very few drunken Sots that do keep themselves sober.
Hold your prating Sirrah, or I'll break your head; dear Coupler what's to be done?
Nothing's to be done, 'till the Bride and Bridegroom come to Town.
Bride, and Bridegroom? Death and Furies, I can't bear that thou should'st call 'em so.
Why what shall I call 'em, Dog and Cat?
Not for the World, that sounds more like Man and Wife than t'other.
Well, if you'll hear of 'em in no Language, we'll leave 'em for the Nurse and the Chaplain.
The Devil and the Witch.
When they come to Town—
We shall have stormy weather.
Will you hold your tongues Gentlemen, or not?
Mum.
I say when they come, we must find what stuff they are made of, whether the Church-Man be chiefly compos'd
of the Flesh, or the Spirit; I presume the former—For as Chaplains now go, 'tis probable he eats three pound of Beef to the reading of one Chapter—This gives him Carnal desires, he wants Money, Preferment, Wine, a Whore; therefore we must Invite him to Supper, give him fat Capons, Sack and Su∣gar, a Purse of Gold, and a plump Sister. Let this be done, and I'll warrant thee, my Boy, he speaks Truth like an Oracle.
Thou art a profound Statesman I allow it, but how shall we gain the Nurse?
O never fear the Nurse, if once you have got the Priest, for the Devil always Rides the Hag.
Well, there's nothing more to be said of the Matter at this time, that I know of; so let us go and enquire, if there's any news of our People yet, perhaps they may be come.
But let me tell you one thing by the way, Sirrah, I doubt you have been an idle Fellow, if thou had'st behav'd thy self as thou should'st have done, the Girl wou'd never have left thee.
Hem, Mrs. Abigall, is your Mistress to be spoken with?
By you, Sir, I believe she may.
Why 'tis by me I wou'd have her spoken with.
I'll acquaint her, Sir.
One lift more I must perswade her to give me, and then I'm mounted.
Well, a young Bawd and a handsome one for my Money, 'tis they do the Execution; I'll never go to an old one, but when I have occasion for a Witch.
Lewdness looks Heavenly to a Woman, when an Angel ap∣pears in its Cause; but when a Hag is Advocate, she thinks it comes from the Devil.
An Old Woman has something so terrible in her looks, that whilst she is perswading your Mistress to forget she has a Soul, she stares Hell and Damnation full in her face.
Well Sir, what News bring you?
No News, Madam, there's a Woman going to Cuckold her Husband.
Amanda?
I hope so.
Speed her well.
Ay, but there must be more than a God speed, or your Charity won't be worth a farthing.
Why han't I done enough already?
Not quite.
What's the matter?
The Lady has a scruple still, which you must remove.
What's that?
Her Virtue—she says.
And do you believe her?
No, but I believe it's what she takes for her Virtue, it's some Relicks of lawful Love; she is not yet fully satisfy'd her Husband has got another Mistress, which unless I can convince her of, I have open'd the Trenches in vain, for the Breach must be wider, before I dare storm the Town.
And so I'm to be your Engineer?
I'm sure you know best how to mannage the Bat∣tery.
What think you of springing a Mine? I have a thought just now come into my head, how to blow her up at once.
That wou'd be a thought indeed.
—Faith I'll do't, and thus the Execution of it shall be. We are all Invited to my Lord Foppington's to Night to Supper, he's come to Town with his Bride, and makes a Ball with an Entertainment of Musick. Now you must know, my undoer here, Lovelace, says he must needs meet me about some private business (I don't know what 'tis) before we go
to the Company. To which end, he has told his Wife one Lye, and I have told her another. But to make her amends, I'll go immedi∣ately, and tell her a solemn Truth.
What's that?
Why, I'll tell her; that to my certain knowledge, her Hus∣band has a Rendez-vous with his Mistress this Afternoon; and that if she'll give me her word, she'll be satisfied with the discovery, without making any violent Inquiry after the Woman, I'll direct her to a place, where she shall see 'em meet.
Now, Friend; this I fancy may help you to a Critical Minute. For Home she must go again to dress. You (with your good breeding) come to wait upon us to the Ball. Find her all alone: Her Spirit en∣flam'd against her Husband for his Treason; and her Flesh in a heat from some Contemplations upon the Treachery: Her Blood on a Fire; her Conscience in Ice; a Lover to draw, and the Devil to drive— Ah poor Amanda.
Thou Minister of darkness, get up again, for I hate to see the Devil at his Devotions.
Well, my incomparable Berinthia—How I shall requite you—
O ne'er trouble your self about that: Virtue is its own Reward: There's a pleasure in doing good, which sufficiently pays it self. Adieu.
Farewell, thou best of Women.
Who was that went from you?
A Friend of yours.
What does he want?
Something you might spare him, and be ne'er the poorer.
I can spare him nothing but my Friendship; my Love al∣ready's all dispos'd of. Tho', I confess, to one ungrateful to my Bounty.
Why there's the Mystery: You have been so bountiful, you have cloy'd him. Fond Wives do by their Husbands, as Barren Wives do by their Lap-Dogs; Cram 'em with sweet Meats 'till they spoil their Stomachs.
Alas! Had you but seen how passionately fond he has been since our last Reconciliation; you wou'd have thought it were im∣possible, he ever shou'd have breath'd an Hour without me.
Ay, but there you thought wrong again Amanda, you shou'd consider, that in matters of Love, Mens Eyes are always bigger than their Bellies. They have violent Appetites, 'tis true: But they have soon din'd.
Well; there's nothing upon Earth astonishes me more, than Mens Inconstancy.
Now there's nothing upon Earth astonishes me less, when I
consider what they and we are compos'd of. For Nature has made them Children, and us Babies. Now, Amanda; how we us'd our Babyes, you may remember. We were mad to have 'em, as soon as we saw 'em; kist 'em to pieces, as soon as we got 'em. Then pull'd off their Cloaths, saw 'em naked, and so threw 'em away.
But do you think all Men are of this temper?
All but one.
Who is that?
Worthy.
Why he's weary of his Wife too, you see.
Ay, that's no proof.
What can be a greater?
Being weary of his Mistress.
Don't you think 'twere possible he might give you that too?
Perhaps he might, if he were my Gallant; not if he were yours.
Why do you think he shou'd be more Constant to me, than he wou'd to you? I'm sure I'm not so handsome.
Kissing goes by favour; he likes you best.
Suppose he does? That's no demonstration he wou'd be Constant to me.
No, that I'll grant you: But there are other Reasons to expect it: For you must know after all, Amanda; the Inconstancy we com∣monly see in Men of Brains, does not so much proceed from the un∣certainty of their temper, as from the Misfortunes of their Love. A Man sees perhaps a hundred Women he likes well enough for an In∣trigue, and away. But possibly, through the whole Course of his Life, does not find above one, who is exactly what he could wish her; now her, 'tis a thousand to one, he never gets. Either she is not to be had at all, (tho' that seldom happens you'l say) or he wants those oppor∣tunities that are necessary to gain her. Either she likes some body else much better than him, or uses him like a Dog, because he likes no bo∣dy so well as her: Still something or other Fate claps in the way be∣tween them and the Woman they are capable of being fond of: And this makes them wander about, from Mistress to Mistress, like a Pil∣grim from Town to Town, who every Night must have a fresh Lodg∣ing, and's in haste to be gone in the Morning.
'Tis possible there may be something in what you say; but what do you infer from it, as to the Man we were talking of?
Why, I infer; that you being the Woman in the World, the most to his Humour; 'tis not likely he would quit you for one that is less.
That is not to be depended upon, for you see▪ Mr. Loveless does so.
What does Mr. Loveless do?
Why? he runs after something for variety; I'm sure he does not like so well as he he does me.
That's more than you know, Madam.
No, I'm sure on't: I••m not very vain, Berinthia; and yet I'd lay my life, if I cou'd look into his Heart, he thinks I deserve to be preferr'd to a thousand of her.
Don't be too positive in that neither; a Million to one, but she has the same Opinion of you. What wou'd you give to see her?
Hang her, dirty Trull; tho' I really believe She's so ugly, she'd cure me of my Jealousie.
All the Men of Sense about Town, say she's handsome.
They are as often out in those things as any People.
Then I'll give you farther proof— All the Women about Town, say, she's a Fool: Now I hope you're convinc'd?
What e're she be, I'm satisfi'd he does not like her well e∣nough, to bestow any thing more, than a little outward Gallantry up∣on her.
Outward Gallantry? —
If you can do this, Berinthia; He's a Villain.
I can't help that, Men will be so.
Well! I'll follow your directions; for I shall never rest 'till I know the worst of this matter.
Pray, go immediately, and get your self ready then. Put on some of your Woman's Cloaths, a great Scarf and a Mask, and you shall presently receive Orders.
There are Chairs at the Door, Madam.
'Tis well, I'm coming.
But pray, Berinthia, before you go; tell me how I may
know this filthy thing, if she should be so forward, (as I suppose she will) to come to the Rendezvous first, for methinks I would fain view her a little.
Why she's about my height; and very well shap'd.
I thought she had been a little Crooked?
O no, she's as strait as I am. But we lose time, come away.
Well, will the Doctor come?
Sir I sent a Porter to him as you order'd me. He found him with a Pipe of Tobacco and a great Tankard of Ale, which he said he wou'd dispatch while I cou'd tell three, and be here.
He does not suspect 'twas I that sent for him?
Not, a jott Sir; he Divines as little for himself, as he does for o∣ther Folks.
Will he bring Nurse with him?
Yes.
That's well; where's Coupler?
He's half way up the Stairs taking breath; he must play his Bellows a little, before he can get to the top.
O here he is. Well Old Phtysick? The Doctor's coming.
Wou'd the Pox had the Doctor—I'm quite out of Wind.
Because I love to lye as near Heaven as I can.
Prithee let Heaven alone; neer affect tending that way: Thy Center's downwards.
That's impossible. I have too much ill luck in this World, to be damn'd in the next.
Thou art out in thy Logick. Thy major is true, but thy mi∣nor is false; for thou art the luckiest fellow in the Universe.
Make out that.
I'll do't: Last Night the Devil ran away with the Parson of Fat-goose Living.
If he had run away with the Parish too, what's that to me?
I'll tell thee what it's to thee. This Living is worth five hun∣dred pound a Year, and the Presentation of it is thine, if thou can'st prove they self a lawful Husband to Miss Hoyden?
Say'st thou so, my Protector? Then I Cad I shall have a Brace of Evidences here presently.
The Nurse and the Doctor?
The same: The Devil himself won't have interest enough to make 'em withstand it.
That we shall see presently: Here they come?
Ah goodness, Roger, we are betray'd.
I hope, Sir, my Years will move your pity, I am an aged Woman.
That is a moving Argument indeed.
I hope, Sir, my Character will be consider'd; I am Heaven's Ambassador.
Sir, (with respect to my Function) I do wear a Gown.
Did not you Marry this Vigorous young Fellow, to a plump young Buxom Wench?
Don't confess, Roger, unless you are hard put to it indeed.
Come, out with't—Now is he chewing the Cud of his Ro∣guery, and grinding a Lye between his Teeth.
Sir — I cannot positively say—I say, Sir — positively I cannot say—
Come, no equivocations; no Roman turns upon us. Consi∣der thou standest upon Protestant ground, which will slip from under thee, like a Tyburn Cart; for in this Country, we have always ten hang∣men for one Jesuit.
Pray, Sir, then will you but permit me to speak one word in private with Nurse.
Thou art always for doing something in private with Nurse.
But pray let his betters be serv'd before him for once. I would do something in private with her my self: Lory Take care of this Reverend Gown-man in the next Room a little. Retire Priest.
Now, Virgin, I must put the matter home to you a little: Do you think it might not be possible to make you speak truth.
Alas! Sir, I don't know what you mean by Truth.
Nay, 'tis possible thou may'st be a stranger to it.
Come, Nurse, you and I were better Friends when we saw one another last; and I still believe, you are a very good Woman in the Bottom. I did deceive you and your young Lady, 'tis true, but I always design'd to make a very good Husband to her, and to be a ve∣ry good Friend to you. And 'tis possible in the end, she might have found her self happier, and you richer, than ever my Brother will make you.
Brother! Why is your Worship then his Lordship's Brother?
I am, which you should have known, If I durst have staid to have told you; but I was forc'd to take Horse a little in haste you know.
You were indeed, Sir, poor young Man, how he was bound to scaure for't. Now won't your Worship be angry, if I confess the truth to you, when I found you were a Cheat (with respect be it spo∣ken) I verily believ'd, Miss had got some pitiful Skip-jack Varlet or other to her Husband; or I had ne'er let her think of Marrying again.
But where was your Conscience all this while, Woman? Did not that stair in your Face, with huge Saucer Eyes, and a great Horn upon the Fore-head? Did not you think you shou'd be damn'd for such a sin? Ha?
Well said, Divinity, pass that home upon her.
Why, in good truly Sir, I had some fearful thoughts on't, and cou'd never be brought to consent, 'till Mr. Bull said it was a Pec∣kadilla, and he'd secure my Soul, for a Tythe Pigg.
There was a Rogue for you.
And he shall thrive accordingly: He shall have a good Living. Come, honest Nurse, I see you have Butter in your Compound; you can melt. Some compassion you can have of this handsome young Fellow.
I have indeed, Sir.
Why then I'll tell you, what you shall do for me. You know what a warm Living here is fallen; and that it must be in the disposal of him, who has the disposal of Miss. Now if you and the Doctor will agree to prove my Marriage, I'll present him to it, upon Condition he makes you his Bride.
Naw the Blessing of the Lord follow your good Worship both by Night and by Day. Let him be fetch'd in by the Ears; I'll soon bring his Nose to the Grind-stone.
Come, advance holy Man: Here's your Duck, does not think fit to retire with you into the Chancel at this time: But she has a proposal to make to you, in the face of the Congregation. Come, Nurse, speak for your self; you are of Age.
Roger, are not you a wicked Man, Roger, to set your strength against a weak Woman; and perswade her it was no sin to conceal Miss's Nuptials? My Conscience flies in my Face for it, thou Priest of Bale; and I find by woful experience, thy Absolution, is not worth an old Cassock. Therefore I am resolv'd to Confess the Truth to the whole World, tho' I die a Beggar for it. But his Worship overflows with his Mercy and his Bounty: He is not only pleas'd to forgive us our sins, but designs thou sha't squat thee down in Fat-goose Living, and
which is more than all; has prevail'd with me, to become the Wife of thy Bosom.
All this I intend for you, Doctor. What you are to do for me; I need not tell you.
Your Worships goodness is unspeakable: Yet there is one thing, seems a point of Conscience: And Conscience is a tender Babe. If I shou'd bind my self, for the sake of this living, to Marry Nurse, and maintain her afterwards, I doubt it might be look'd on as a kind of Symony.
Well, Sir, if it must be so, I shan't contend: What Provi∣dence Orders, I submit to.
And so do I, with all Humility.
Why, that now was spoke like good People: come my Turtle Doves, let us go help this poor Pidgeon to his Wandring Mate again; and after Institution and Induction, you shall all go a Cooing together.
Prithee what care I who has been here.
Madam, 'twas my Lady Bridle, and my Lady Tiptoe.
My Lady Fiddle, and my Lady Faddle. What do'st stand troubling me with the Visits of a parcel of impertinent Women, when they are well seam'd with the small Pox, they won't be so fond of shewing their Faces—There are more Cocquets about this Town.
Madam, I suppose they only came to return your Ladiship's Visit, according to the Custom of the World.
Wou'd the World were on Fire, and you in the Middle on't. Be gone; leave me.
You seem disorder'd, Madam; I hope there's no Misfortune happen'd to you?
None that will long disorder me, I hope.
What e're it be disturbs you; I wou'd to Heaven 'twere in my Power to bear the pain, 'till I were able to remove the Cause.
I hope e'er long it will remove it self. At least, I have gi∣ven it warning to be gone.
Some few preparatives wou'd make it easie, cou'd I per∣swade you to apply 'em. Make home Reflections, Madam, on your slighted Love. Weigh well, the strength and beauty of your Charms: Ronze up that Spirit Women ought to bear, and slight your God; if he neglects his Angel. With Arms of Ice, receive his cold Embraces, and keep your Fire, for those who come in Flames: Behold a burn∣ing Lover at your Feet, his Feaver raging in his Veins. See how he trembles, how he pants; see how he glows, how he Consumes: Ex∣tend the Arms of Mercy to his aid; his Zeal may give him Title to your Pity, altho' his Merit cannot claim your Love.
Of all my feeble Sex, sure I must be the weakest, shou'd I again presume to think on Love.
'Twill find the greater Bliss, in softer usage.
But where's that Usage to be found?
'Tis here, within this faithful Breast; which if you doubt, I'll rip it up before your Eyes; lay all its Secrets open to your view: and then, you'll see 'twas sound.
With just such honest words as these: The worst of Men deceiv'd me.
He therefore merits, all Revenge can do; his fault is such, the extent and stretch of Vengeance, cannot reach it. O make me but your Instrument of Justice: You'll find me execute it with such Zeal, as shall convince you, I abhor the Crime.
The Rigour of an Executioner, has more the Face of Cruel∣ty than Justice: And he who puts the Gord about the Wretches Neck, is seldom known to exceed him in his Morals.
What proof then can I give you of my Truth?
There is on Earth, but one.
And is that in my Power?
It is: And one that wou'd so thoroughly convince me, I shou'd be apt, to rate your Heart so high; I possibly might purchas't with a part of mine.
Then Heav'n thou art my Friend, and I am blest; for if 'tis in my power, my Will I'm sure will reach it. No matter what the Terms may be, when such a Recompence is offer'd. O tell me quick∣ly what this Proof must be: What is it, will convince you of my Love?
I shall believe you love me as you ought; if, from this mo∣ment, you forbear to ask whatever is unfit for me to grant — You pause upon it, Sir— I doubt, on such hard terms, a Woman's Heart is scarcely worth the having▪
A Heart like yours, on any terms is worth it; 'Twas not on that I paus'd. But I was thinking,
Hand, I fancy, may be of the number: O pardon me, if I commit a Rape upon it,
O Heavens! let me go.
Never whilst I have strength to hold you here.
O whither am I going? Help, Heaven, or I am lost.
Stand Neuter, Gods, this once I do invoke you.
Then save me, Virtue, and the Glory's thine.
Nay, never strive.
I will; and Conquer too. My Forces rally bravely to my aid,
Then mine as bravely double their Attacque;
and so am I.
Repent, and never more offend.
Repentance for past Crimes, is just and easie; but sin no more's a Task too hard for Mortals.
Yet those who hope for Heaven, must use their best endea∣vours to perform it.
Endeavours we may use, but Flesh and Blood are got in t'other Scale; and they are pondrous things.
What e'er they are; there is a weight in Resolution suffici∣ent for their Ballance. The Soul, I do confess, is usually so careless of its Charge, so soft, and so indulgent to desire, it leaves the Reins in the wild Hand of Nature, who like a Phaeton, drives the fiery Chariot, and sets the World on Flame. Yet still the Soveraignty is in the Mind, when e're it pleases to exert its Force. Perhaps you may not think it worth your while, to take such mighty pains for my esteem, but that I leave to you.
Sure there's Divinity about her; and sh'as dispenc'd some portion on't to me. For what but now was the wild flame of Love, or (to dissect that specious term) The Vile, the gross desires of Flesh and Blood, is in a moment turn'd to Adoration. The Coarser Appetite of Nature's gone, and 'tis methinks the Food of Angels I require, how
long this influence may last, Heaven knows. But in this moment of my purity, I cou'd on her own terms, accept her Heart. Yes, love∣ly Woman; I can accept it. For now 'tis doubly worth my Care. Your Charms are much encreas'd, since thus adorn'd. When Truth's extorted from us, then we own the Robe of Virtue is a graceful Habit.
But is it sure and certain, say you, he's my Lords own Brother?
As sure, as he's your Lawful Husband.
I Cod if I had known that in time, I don't know but I might have kept him: for between you and I Nurse, he'd have made a Hus∣band worth two of this I have. But which do you think you shou'd fancy most, Nurse?
Why truly, in my poor Fancy, Madam, your first Husband is the prettyer Gentleman.
I don't like my Lord's shapes, Nurse.
Why in good truly, as a Body may say, he is but a slam.
What do you think now he puts me in mind of? Don't you Remember, a long, loose, shambling sort of a Horse my Father call'd VVashy?
As like as two Twin Brothers.
I Cod, I have thought so a hundred times; Faith I'm tir'd of him.
Indeed, Madam, I think you had e'en as good stand to your first Bargain.
O but, Nurse, we han't consider'd the main thing yet. If I leave my Lord, I must leave my Lady too; and when I rattle about the Streets in my Coach, they'll only say, there goes Mistress — Mistress—Mistress what? What's this Mans Name, I have Married, Nurse?
Squire Fashion.
Squire Fashion is it? — Well Squire, that's better than nothing: Do you think one cou'd not get him made a Knight, Nurse?
I don't know but one might, Madam, when the King's in a good Humour.
I Cod, that wou'd do rarely. For then he'd be as good a Man as my Father, you know?
Birlady, and that's as good as the best of 'em.
So 'tis, Faith; for then I shall be my Lady, and your Ladi∣ship at every word, and that's all I have to care for. Ha, Nurse, but hark you me; one thing more, and then I have done. I'm affraid, if
I change my Husband again, I shan't have so much Money to throw about, Nurse?
O, enough's as good as a Feast: Besides, Madam, one don't know, but as much may fall to your share with the Younger Brother as with the Elder. For tho' these Lords have a power of Wealth indeed: Yet, as I have heard say, they give it all to their S•••••••• and their Trulls, who joggle it about in their Coaches, with a Murrain to 'em, whilst poor Madam, sits sighing and wishing, and anotting and Crying, and has not a spare half Crown, to buy her a Practice of Piety.
O, but for that, don't deceive your self, Nurse. For this I must
A, my dearest, he deceives thee faully; and he's no better than a Rogue for his pains. These Londoners have got a Gibberidge with 'em, wou'd confound a Gypsey. That which they call Pin-money, is to buy their Wives every thing in the varsal World, dawn to their very Shoe-tyes: Nay, I have heard Folks say, That some Ladies, if they will have Gallants, as they call 'um; are forc't to find them out of their Pin-money too.
Has he serv'd me so, say ye?— Then I'll be his Wife no longer, so that's fixt. Look, here he comes, with all the fine Folk at's heels. I Cod, Nurse, these London Ladies will laugh 'till they Crack again, to see me slip my Collar, and run away from my Hus∣band. But d'ye hear? Pray take care of one thing: When the busi∣ness comes to break out; be sure you get between me and my Father, for you know his tricks; he'll knock me down.
I'll mind him, ne'er fear, Madam.
Ladies and Gentlemen, you are all welcome
You need not fear, Sir, I'm too fond of my own Wife, to have the least Inclination to yours.
Come; come in, good People, come in, come tune your Fiddles, tune your Fiddles.
Ha! there's my Wench I Faith: Touch and take, I'll warrant her: Shee'l breed like a tame Rabbet.
Oons, Sir,—I'm the happiest Man on this side the Ganges.
Sit? —With all my heart: Come, take your places, Ladies, take your places, Gentlemen: come sit down, sit down; a Pox of Ceremony, take your Places.
So, very fine, very fine I faith, this is something like a Wedding, now if Supper were but ready, I'de say a short Grace, and if I had such a Bedfellow as Hoyden to Night—I'd say as short prayers.
Stap my Vitals, Tam again.
My Lord, will you cut his throat? or shall I?
Leave him to me, Sir, if you please. Prithee Tam be so in∣genuous now, as to tell me what thy Business is here?
'Tis with your Bride.
Thau art the impudent'st Fellow that Nature has yet spawn'd into the Warld, strike me speechless.
Why you know my Modesty wou'd have starv'd me, I sent it a begging to you, and you wou'd not give it a Groat.
And dost thau expect by an excess of assurance, to extart a maintenance fram me?
I ever thaught Newgate or Bedlam wou'd be his Fartune, and naw his Fate's decided. Prithee Loveless dost know of ever a Mad Doctor hard by?
There's one at your Elbow will Cure you presently.
Prithee Doctor take him in hand quickly.
Shall I beg the favour of you, Sir, to pull your Fingers out of my Wife's Hand.
His Wife! Look you there, now I hope you are all sa∣tisfy'd he's Mad?
Naw is it nat passible far me to penetrate what species of fally it is that art driving at.
Here, here, here, let me beat out his brains, and that will decide all.
No, pray Sir hold, we'll destray him presently, accarding to Law.
Since the Truth must out, I did.
Nurse, sweet Nurse, were not you a Witness to it?
Since my Conscience bids me speak—I was.
Truly I cann't tell, but you Married me first.
Now I hope you are all satisfy'd?
Oons and Thunder you Lye.
Pray Sir be calm, the Battel is in disarder, but requires more Canduct than Courage to rally our Forces. Pray Dactar one word with you.
Alas! my Lord, I have no Worldly ends, I speak the truth, Heaven knows.
Nay Prithee never engage Heaven in the Matter, for by all I can see, 'tis like to prove a business for the Devil.
Come, pray Sir, all above-board, no corrupting of Evi∣dences, if you please, this young Lady is my Lawful Wife, and I'll ju∣stifie it in all the Courts of England; so your Lordship (who always had a passion for variety) may go seek a new Mistress if you think fit.
I am struck dumb with his impudence, and cannot passitive∣ly tell whether ever I shall speak again or not.
Then let me come and examine the business a little, I'll jerk the truth out of 'em presently; here, give me my Dog-whip.
Look you, Old Gentleman, 'tis in vain to make a noise, if you grow mutinous, I have some Friends within call, have Swords by their sides, above four foot long, therefore be calm, hear the Evidence patiently, and when the Jury have given their Verdict, pass Sentence according to Law; here's honest Coupler shall be Foreman, and ask as many questions as he pleases.
All I have to ask is, whether Nurse persists in her Evidence? the Person I dare swear will never flinch from his.
But how durst you do this, without acquainting of me?
Alas! if your Worship had seen how the poor thing beg'd, and pray'd, and clung and twin'd about me, like Ivy to an old Wall, you wou'd say, I who had suckled it, and swadled it, and Nurst it both wet and dry, must have had a heart of Adamant to refuse it.
Very well.
Foreman, I expect your Verdict.
Ladies, and Gentlemen, what's your Opinions?
A clear Case, a clear Case.
Then my young Folks, I wish you joy.
Sir, the best of my Condition is, I am your Son-in-Law; and the worst of it is, I am Brother to that Noble Peer there.
Art thou Brother to that Noble Peer?—Why then that Noble Peer, and thee, and thy Wife, and the Nurse, and the Priest—may all go and be damn'd together.
Your Lordship may keep up your Spirits with your Grimace if you please, I shall support mine with this Lady, and two Thousand Pound a year.