Five nevv playes, viz. The English moor, or the mock-marriage. The love-sick court, or the ambitious politique: Covent Garden weeded. The nevv academy, or the nevv exchange. The queen and concubine. / By Richard Brome.

THE NEW ACADEMY, OR, THE NEW EXCHANGE.

Act. I.

Valentine, Erasmus.

IS this the entertainment you promis'd me in the Jovial Mer∣chants house? Is this the great interest you have in his huge hos∣pitality? when by half an hours attendance and intreats, we can∣not obtain the sight of him.

Er.

I wonder at it; Sure some strange disaster has suddenly befallen him. He was, last night the merriest man alive, drank healthes; told tales; sung Catches; Trowle the Bowle; Tosse the Cannykin; and what not! and all for joy, that his sonne, he said, was upon his returne, whom he has not seen these dozen years, since he sent him a little Lad into France, to be bred there.

Val.

I heard he did so; and that in lieu, by way of

Exchange, he brings up the daughter of the Parisien that breeds his sonne.

Er.

Right.

Val.

But is that daughter so exquisite a creature, as is this Merchant Matchills own whom you so much extoll?

Er.

They are both so equally handsome, and ver∣tuous, that, be their dowries so, and their consents alike, I'll take my choice of crosse and pile for either, with such a friend as thou art.

Val.

Troth, and that's friendly spoken, Mus.

Er.

It is so Val. yet not with some policie do I wish thee a fortune: for, insooth. young Gentleman, though I like your person, and some of your qualities, yet by reason of your wants, I finde you something heavy on my purse-strings; and my selfe scarce able to supply you. And, if we faile of good matches, I must even turne you over shortly to the hopes you hoast of in your City-Mystresses and Tradesmens wives—.

Val.

Peace, prythee hold thy peace.

Enter Cash.

Friend Cash! Is your Master, Mr. Matchill yet at leisure 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be seen?

Cast.

He much desires, sir, to be held excus'd. 'Tis true that he invited you. His dinner's ready; and his heart welcomes you. But he has met with an unhap∣py newes to day.—

Val.

I feard some ill. What is the mat∣ter?

Cash.

His only sonne, whom he of late expect∣ed home out of France, we hear, is dead.

Val.

His daughter will prove a bouncing match then.

Cash.

That's the impression the heavy newes makes in you, Gentlemen.

Er.

Come, let's go.

Cash.

Nay, Gentlemen, although my Masters sud∣den sadnesse shuts him from you. His meat and wine are ready. There are some good company in his Par∣lour too, Pray stay.

Val.

Are his faire daughter, and the French-borne Damsel there to be seen?

Cash.

Both. Pray be pleas'd to enter.

I hope his passionate fit e're you have din'd will be past over. He is not wont to suffer long under the hand of sorrow.

'Tis like that you shall see him ere you go.

Er.

In that faire hope we'll enter and fall to.

Ex. Val. Er.

Cash.

'Tis like you shall fall short though of your aim At my young Mystresse, who by this black newes, Becomes my Masters heire, and so the white That all the gallant suiters of the City And Court will level their keen shafts at. Where Are mine own hopes then, that stood as faire In competition for her, love as any, When the great noise of her inheritance, Shall drown each Lovers tongue, that cannot say, It is a Lords at least, I rather wish The young man had not did.

Enter Strigood.

Stri.

Where's my Boykin? my Friskoe? my De∣light? my Cash? by what better name can I call thee?

Cash.

O me! Master Strigood, what make you here?

Stri.

I come to comfort my brother in his sor∣row.

His sonne is dead, they say. Ha! Is't not so?

Cash.

And he is almost dead with sorrow: Back sir. The sight of you, that are his sole vexation, will make him mad.

Str.

That is my way to cure him. Madnesse drowns grief in any man.—Probatum.

Cash.

Good Mr. Strigood depart.

Str.

Good Mr. Cash, and Mr. Matchils man. I'll see your Master. What! deny his brother? His nowne natural brother? By the surer side too We tumbled in one Pannier; though we had Two Rippiers, Sweet sir, I am the elder too Strigood was in my mother before Matchill Therefore, because I have spent an estate And he has got-one, must not I maintain My self the better man?

Cash.

Yes: if you had the wherewithal.

Str.

Sir, you had been as good ha' held your tongue. Lend me some money Cash.

Cash.

I have no money, sir, but what's my Ma∣sters.

Str.

Whose money, sir, was that you played last night. Among the Knights and Braveries at the ordinary? Gold by the handfuls, Cash! Lend me two pieces.

Cash.

Speak lower, sir.

Str.

Lend me three pieces, Cash. Before I speak too loud, whose money's that You use to weare abroad at Feasts and Revels In silver lace and satten; though you wait At home in simple Serge, or broad-cloth, sir.

Cash.

Be not so loud, I pray.

Str.

Lend me five pieces. I shall grow louder else. Who payes your Barber?

I mean not for your Prentice pig-hair'd cut Your weare at home here; but your Periwigs; Your locks and Lady-ware that dangle in 'em, Like straws in the bush natural of a Bedlem?

Cash.

What mean you Mr. Strygood.

Stri.

I mean ten pieces now; I'll go no lesse. Do not I know your haunts?—

Cash.

You may; you train'd one to 'em

Str.

Do not I know your our leaps, and vagaries? Your tiring houses, where you shift your self, Your privy lodgings, for your trunks and punks? Your midnight walks and meetings? Come, the money. And, heark thee, though thou modest my brother by't. I'll keep thy councel: thou shalt finde me yertuous. I want, he gives me nothing; and thou canst not Do him better service, then relieve his brother.

Cash:

I am in; and must, to hide my old faults, do

—Aside.

Like an ill Painter, lawbe 'em o're with new.

Str.

Quickly. I shall grow loud again else Cash.

Cash.

Sir, I am in your hands, here are ten pieces. I hope you will not think my Master for▪••••.

Str.

No; no for all he has that comes through thy hands. My nimble Cash; and from his I am sure, Though I were starving, I should finger nothing.

Cash.

Will you go now?

Str.

I'll see him e're I go, And dine, if there be meat i'th' house. What eate's Are there within ••'ll draw a knife amon•• 'em.

Ex.

Cash.

This desperate old Russian, would undo me, But he hopes to waste his brother by me. He has spent himself to beggery; and would fall so, But that he has pernicious fire in's brain,

That raging spreads to ruine others with him. I must beware of him,

Enter Lady Nestlecock, Ephraim.

Is she come too? Then 'tis deereed, my Master must, from sorrow, suffer in madnesse.

La.

Go home Ephraim. And have a care you suffer not my boy To Straggle forth 'mong his unhappy play-mates, For fear of mischief.

Eph.

It shall be my care.

—Ex.

La.

What do you lock up my brother, ha?—

Cash.

H' has lock't himself up, Madam; and will suffer None to come at him, till his sorrowful fit Be somewhat over.

La.

Not's own Sister, ha?—

Cash.

Nor his half brother neither: yet he's here.

La.

Is he here, ha? That Strygood? Is he here? Hang him old reprobate. And beshrew thy heart, For a young varlet, to call him our brother. It is no marvel, if my brother Matchil Lock up himself, and such a wickednesse Be in his house, as is that Strygood, ha— Let him take heed, he comes not in my Nayl reach, And call me Sister, or my Brother, brother, Like a debaush'd old Villain, as he is. O that my husband Nestlecock were alive, But for three minutes, to send him to Newgate, if he presume to call me Sister But I command you in my husbands name, Who was a Justice, when he liv'd, to thrust him Out of your Masters doors, my brothers house.

Lest I be sick with the loath'd sight of him. You will not disobey this, will you, ha?— If not, why stir you not? ha.—

Cash.

I must remove This fit of hers. There's but one way to do it; And thats to talk of her white boy, she's fond on.

La.

Will you not send him packing, ha?—

Cash,

First, Madam. (By your good Ladiships leave) how does your sonne Sweet Master Nehemiah Nestlecock?

La.

I thank you courteous friend. In truth, last night, One of my Coach-gueldings fell lame, and I, By that constrain'd to come afoot, Was forc'd to leave my boy at home; or else He had come with me, to have been a comfort To his sad Uncle: But I would not now For twice my Gueldings price, my childe were here; And that foule fiend i'th' house, whose very looks Would fright him into sicknesse.

Cash.

O good Lady!

La.

I can't so soon forget the fright he took At seeing the roguish Jugler once eat tow, And blow it out of's mouth in fire and smoke, He lay a fourtnight by't.

Cash.

That's two yeares since. And he was then but young, he's now a man.

La.

Alack a childe; but going in's nineteenth year. Where's my Neece Joyce?

Cash.

Within there Madam; so is Gabriella The French young Gentlewoman to attend you.

La.

I'll stay with them till I may see my brother.

—Ex.

Cash.

I hope old Strygood, who now on the sudden Hath slipt her memory, meets her by the eares first.

Enter Matchil, an opeu letter in his hands.

But the good minute's come, before I look't for't. My Master now appears. He looks most sourely Expressing more of anger then of grief. I feare, old Strygood was so loud with me, That he hath over-heard us, and I shall break Before I am a Freeman.

Mat.

Sorrow be gone And puleing grief away, whilest I take in A nobler and more manly Passion; Anger, that may instruct me to revenge. My childe is lost by treacherous neglect In that false Frenchman, to whose seeming care I trusted the chief comfort of my life;

Matchil reades.

My boy. Nay, read again. 'Tis written, here, He was grown man:

Cash.

His man, I think, he said.

Cash listens to Match∣il, and speaks aside.

Does your man trouble you. I do not like that

Mat.

And here he writes that in his youthful spring And heat of spirit, he began to grow Intemperate and wilde—

Cash.

Wilde! Are you there?

Mat.

Which drew him on to riotous expence—

Cash.

And there again, to riotous expence! 'Tis I directly that he's troubled with.

Mat.

And sometimes into quarrels. What o' that? In all this he was still mine own. Oboy—

Mat. kisses the paper.

Cash.

Some slave has writ some fearful information. Against me, and he hugs and kisses it.

Mat.

And had his Guardian had a feeling care (Hang his French friendship) over my dear childe,

As I had over his, these youthful follies Might have been temper'd into manly vertues.

Cash.

I hear not that.

Mat.

But I fall back agen From my revenge to grief. Away; I will not.

He reads again.

Here's the death-doing point. These slight disorders. In my young forward sonne (I finde it here) Were, by his churlish and perfidious Guardian, Interpreted no lesse then Reptobation, And, by his ignorant cruelty, so punish'd. For, here he shuts his eare and door against him: When suddenly the loose licentious world Soothes on his youthful, in judicious courage To imminent destruction; so being engag'd In a rash quarrel, he in duel fell. Th' Opponents sword was instrument; yet I inferre. Lafoy, his Guarcian was his murderer. Farewel, my boy; and this is the last teare Thou shalt wring from me. Something I'll do, Shall shew a fathers love, and valour too. I'm young enough to draw a sword in France, yet. But first—Come hither, Sirrah.

Cash.

Now it comes.

Mrt.

I purpose streight to order my estate Look that you forthwith perfect my Accompts; And bring me all my books of debtor and creditor, Receipts and payments, what you have in wares, And what in cash, let me inform my self.

Cash.

'Tis as I fear'd.

Mat.

I'll set all right and streight, All statutes, bonds, bills, and seal'd instruments That do concern me, I have in my Closet Or at my Councels, or my Scriveners. I'll call in them my selfe. Why doest thou look so amaz'dly?

Would'st have me yield a reason? why, I'll tell thee I mean to make a voyage; and, perhaps, To settle and proportion out my estate By Will, before I go. Do you as I command you.

Cash.

Whatever he pretends, I know his drift: And, e'te I'll be discover'd by my stay; Being run out, I'll choose to run away.—

Ex.

Mat.

My daughter in the first place must be car'd for. I'll make her a good match. My next in blood then, My Knave-half-brother, and my whole fool-Sister. But the best is, her Ladiship has enough; And all I have, in Strygoods hands, were nothing. Therefore I'll purpose nothing to him. Oh.

Enter Joyce and Gabriella.

The Joy and Torment of my life, at once Appear to me. I must divide them, thus.

He thrusts off Gabriella.

Hence hated issue of my mortal foe VVhom I have foster'd with a Parents Piety As carefully and dearly as mine own. VVhile the inhumane cruelty of thy Sire Has to untimely death expos'd my sonne. Thank me I kill not thee; so leave my house. There's French enough in town, that may befriend you. To pack you o're to Paris; what's your own

To Joyce.

Take w'ye, and go. VVhy cleave you to her so? Forsake her, cast her off. Are not my words Of force, but I must use my hands to part ye?

Jo.

Deare, honour'd father, I beseech you hear me. In parting us you separate life from me,

And therein act a real crueltie On me your only childe, sharper then that, Which you can but pretend done by her father.

Mat.

Durst thou speak so?

Joy.

I cannot live from her.

Mat.

O monstrous. Pray, your reason. Why not live?

Joy.

You know, Sir, from our Infancie we have been, Bred up together, by your tender care As we had been twin-borne, and equally Your own; and by a self-same education, We have grown hitherto, in one affection, We are hoth but one body, and one mind, What Gabriella was, I was, what I, was she. And, till this haplesse houre, you have enjoyn'd me, Nay, charg'd me on your blessing, not to arrogate More of your love unto my self, then her,

Mat.

That was, 'cause I presum'd her father lov'd, Or should have lov'd my sonne, your brother.

Joy.

I never knew brother, or sister, I; Nor my poor self, but in my Gabrella. Then blame me not to love her, I beseech you —Upon me knees.

Mat.

Th' art knee-deep in rebellion. Unnatural Gipsie, since thou prov'st my torment In being the same with her; and hast declar'd Thy self no more my childe, then she, whom now I do abhorre, avoid, with her, my sight. Rise, and be gone, lest thou pull curfes on thee Shall sink thee into earth.

Gab.

O rather, Sir. Let me, 'gainst whom your fury first was bent Suffer alone the sharpnesse of your vengeance: And let it not be said, 'cause you surmise, My father lost your son, that, therefore, you

Have cast away your daughter. Hurl me, rather, Into the ruthless waves to seek my way; Or do but take her, hold her in the armes Of your paternal love, and I'll take flight To weane her to you.

Joy.

She cannot, may not leave me.

Mat.

Out of my doors then, with her.—

Enter Lady Nestlecock.

La.

What's the matter? ha—

Mat.

Such as you cannot mend, deare Lady Sister. What come you hither with your Ha—for? Ha—

La.

To comfort you, dear brother, if you'll heare me. Your sonne is dead, they say; and here I finde Your daughter is rebellious 'gainst; our will.

Mat.

You speak much comfort, do you not, think you.

La.

But is it so Joyce? ha!—I thought you, Joyce, Would have rejoyc'd your father in obedience, Joyce; And not afflict him with your stubbornnesse.

Mat.

O this impertinent woman!

La.

But my brother, Let me advise you, rather then suffer her To be an eye-sore to you, put her out, Where she may learne more duty. If you please I'll take her home, and shew her how it should be

Mat.

Yes, as you have shewen your Nestlecock, your sonne.

La.

I, there's a childe! Brother, you'l pardon me, If I aspire in hope, that he shallbe

Your heire, if Joyce miscarry in rebellion.

Mat.

And therefore you would breed her. How the devil Works in a covetous woman! Though a foole too. Your sonne's an Asse; an Ideot; and your self No better, that have bred him so. Do you tell me Of your sweet sugar-chop't Nestle cockscombe?

La.

Ha—

Mat.

He's fit t' inherit nothing but a place I'th' Spittle-house, Fools Colledge, yond, at Knights∣bridge.

La.

And did I come to bring thee consolation? Now let me tell thee, I rejoyce in thy Just punishment, thy scourge of crosses. Thou, That for these six years space▪ until this day, Hast kept continual feast and jollitie For thy wives death, who was too good for thee.

Mat.

Right, for she was my Master, a perpe••••••l Vexation to me, while she was above-ground Your Ladiship could not have spoke more comfort to me Then the remembrance of that shook-off Shackle, Which now, in my affliction makes me smile, And were I on her grave, I could cut capers.

La.

A further punishment, I pr••••hecie Grows in the neck of thy leud insolence

Mat.

I could e'ne finde in heart to marry again, In spight, now, of thy witchcraft, my son dead! My daughter disobedient! and your childe A very chilblaine. What have I to do But marry again: all women are not devil••, I may yet get an heire unto my minde.

Enter Strigood.

Mat.

Art thou here too—

Stri.

Stay, you forget your brother, Mr. Matchil. You have match'd ill once already; and take heed You match not worse, your children, though un∣toward. And taking of the devillish Shrew, their mother, Were likely of your own begetting; Yet Your second wife may bring you a supply Of heires, but who must get them, first is doubtful.

Mat.

Thy impudence amazes me.

Str.

Ha, ha.

La.

I'm sick at sight of the leud Reprobate.

Stri.

Dee cast about for heirs; and have besides Your daughter here, a brother and a sister?

La.

Call not thy self our brother. He appears U••••••nde to me, but thou insufferable, I loath to look upon thee.

Stri.

He has spoke

Against her Aunt, her Moon-calf sonne. I'll make her love me best, and presently.

Brother, I say.

Mat.

I cannot look upon thee. Provoke me not to ••••eech, I charge thee.

Str.

Give me leave to speak; Hold you your peace; Hear but my brotherly advice; and when Give your consent in silence.

(Mat.)

hum hum, &c.

La.

Hear him not.

(Mat.)

Nor you neither, hum—hum—hum.

La.

I am not angry with you now; and therefore I charge you, hear him not.

(Mat.)

hum hum—

Stri.

My advice is thus, that for your daughters good. For mine own good, and for your Sisters good. And for her sonne, your Nephew's good.

La.

How's that? ha!

Stri.

And chiefly for your own good, and the credit A wise man would desire to hold i'th' world, Think not of marrying, nor of buying hornes At the whole value of your whole estate, But match your daughter while you have the meanes In your own hands; give her a good round portion, Here are deserving Gentlemen i'th' house. Next, think of me your brother, that has spent In down-right fellowship (heaven knows what All fraudulent purposes to make any man A miser or a gainer by't) a faire estate. And now do want a brotherly supply. A hundred a year or so: but above all Fasten your land unto yout Sisters sonne. That hopeful Gentleman, sweet Nehemiah.

(Mat)

hum.

La.

Now brother you may hear him.

Stri.

What though it straggle from the name of Matchil. Remember yet he is your mothers Grandchilde.

La.

Why dee not hear him, brother?—

(Mat.)

hum.

Stri.

As I hope To be a landed man my self, Had I a thousand yearly, I would leav't him.

La.

Trulie, I thank you. Now I'll call you brother. Y'are a good natur'd Gentleman if you had it. Come home, and see my sonne.—VVill you not hear him? ha

Mat.

I need not, nor your selfe. I see you gape Like monsters that would swallow me alive. I know your mindes; and I will do mine own. And, thus it is. Stay, let me stay a little.

La.

Look you how wilde he looks.

Stri.

He's falling mad. Stark staring mad,

La.

I would he had a wife then, For nothing else can tame him.

Mat.

So it shall be. First, I'll be Master of mine own estate. Next—

Stri.

Take a wife to master that, and you.

Mat.

Next, you Madamoiselle, (on whom with pa∣tience I cannot look) forsake my house, and suddenly; Linger not for a man to wait upon you, But let your black bag guard you, 'tis a fashion Begun amongst us here by your own Nation. And if I longer must call you my daughter, Forsake you her.

Joy.

VVhat mine own heart? dear Sir.

Mat.

At your own choice. I can force her depar∣ture, Though not perswade your stay, determine quickly Either to leave her, and enjoy a father, Or never more expect a fathers blessing.

Gab.

Dear, mine own heart, leave me, obey your father.

Joy.

It must be to my death then.

[Weepes

Mat.

I'll be sudden. Therefore be you as brief in your resolve.

La.

Alas, poor hearts. Just so loth To part was I and my sonne Nehemiah Today when I came forth.

Stri.

Neece Joyce, let me Advise you.—

Mat.

Pray, Sir, none of your advices. Let her advise her self; whilest I impart To you my next intention; which is thus.

To end your strife for shares in mine estate I'll venter on a wife: indeed I'll marry

La.

Will you so? ha!

Mat.

Yes indeed La,—

Stri.

If then You'l estate nothing on me for my life Give me a see to help you to a wife, I can, a good one.

Mat.

I'll none, Sir, of your good ones. Besides, Sir, I'm provided.

La.

You are not, are you? ha

Mat.

Let it suffice, I say't, so quit my house.

Stri.

Shall I expect then nothing?

Mat.

Pray sir, do. 'Tis all I can afford you. You have wit, Yes, you can daunce, tread money out of rushes, Slight and activity to live upon. A nimble braine, quick hands and airie heels To get a living.

Stri.

Hah.

Mat.

Pray fall to practice.

Stri.

I may, sir, to your cost, if you put off Your daughter with her Sweet-heart, her Mon Coeur There, as she calls her. Dear, my Lady Sister; You see how churlishly this Merchant uses us. He has forgot, sure, he was borne a Gentleman. Will you be pleas'd, I speak to you in your eare.

La.

Any way, brother Strigood, Hang him, Nabal, To warn me out o's house; and not alone, To turne a stranger from within his gates, But offer to cast out his childe too, ha!

Stri.

'Tis about that I'd speak, pray Madam heark you.

Enter Erasmus, Valentine.

Er.

Noble Mr. Matchil, though we are your meat

Before we saw you you will give us leave To take our leaves, and thank you ere we part.

Mat.

O Gentlemen.

Val.

W'have heard your cause of sorrow.

Mat.

But I have over-past it. Heark ye Gentlemen

Eras.

You'l give us leave first to salute the Ladies.

Mat.

Nay, if you love me, heare me first.

Er. Val.

Your will, Sir.

Talk a∣side.

La.

Neece, you shall no way disobey your father In being rul'd by me.

Stri.

So, so, it takes.

La.

You and your second selfe shall home with me Until his furious humour be blown over. To which the first meanes is to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 his fight, And then let me alone to make your peace.

Joy. Gab.

We thank your Ladiship.

La.

So let us slip. Home to my house together.

La.

Hist brother, lead the way.

Stri.

As glad as ever Fox was of his prey

Exit. ••om. Pet. Mat. Er. Vab.

Mat.

'Tis even so, Gentlemen, sorrow findes no lodging. In my light heart sometimes she knocks at door, And takes a drink, but here she must not sit by't.

Val.

Y' are happy Sir.

Er.

Yet I have heard you say You never tasted joy for divers yeares Till your wife died: since when, a King of mirth, And now to marry agen is such a thing.

Mat.

Yes sir, tis such a thing that I will marry That I fore know can never disobey me And I'll defie the devil to dishonest her.

Er.

Is she so ougly?

Val.

No, he means so vertuous.

Mat.

Well-said, sir, you shall drink before me. Ra∣chel, Mawdlin.

'Protest you shall though't be in my own house.

Er.

Now he resumes his humour.

Mat.

Ratchel I say, Bring me a kan o' sack.

Er.

But how can you Presume before the dangerous marriage-trial That she whom y'have chosen will be obedient.

Val.

D' ye think he has not tried her? There's a question

Mat.

Well-said agen. I was about to say so. Rachel, some sack, I say. Yes, I have tried her, sir, Tri'd her, and tri'd her again; all over and over These five yeares day and night; and still obedient.

Er.

Then you are sure to her.

Mat.

No, I never us'd A marriage-question, not a woing word, But do all by command, she is so obedient.

Val.

And yet she's chaste and vertuous withal.

Mat.

Well-said again, sir, so I was a saying.

Er.

But we have talk't away the Gentlewomen.

Mat.

No matter, let'hem go. Would they were far enough.

Ent. Rach.

Enter Rachel, silver Kan and Napkin.

Come, the sack, the sack.—Who taught you that courtesie maid.

Pray try a better to the Gentleman. Protest you shall begin.

Val.

In your own house, sir?

Mat.

••'ll rather g' ye my house, then break my word in't.

Val.

Y' are Lord here, and may command me, sir. And so my service to you.

Mat.

I'll do you reason, sir.

—Val. drink.

Be ready with your Napkin, and a lower douke maid.

I'll hang dead weight at your buttocks else. So. Is not this obedience, Gentlemen, Mr. Erasmus? Mus, I will call thee Mus, I love to be Familiar, where I love; and Godamercy For your friend here; you both shall see my daugh∣ter. But my French Damosel and I are parted I hope by this time. So here's to you Mus.

Er.

To me, to me, to me.

[M. drinks.

Mat.

Ha boy, art there? dispatch Your court'sie quickly, and go cal my daughter.

[Er. drinks

Rach.

She is gone forth, forsooth.

Mat.

Forth, ha? when? whither? La ye, she thinks I'm angry, and the finger Is in the eye already. Is not this Feare and obedience, Gentlemen? who went with her.

Rach.

She went with my Lady Nestlecock, to bring Gabriella on her way they said.

Mat.

I would They were all in France together.

Er.

What, your daughter?

Mat.

She comes again, I doubt not. Dry your eyes. And drink that sack, without a court'sie, drink it. You do not know my meaning, Gentlemen. Stay: now gi' me't agen.—Now go and dry Your face within—without a court'sie? ha!

Ex. Rach.

Now is not this obedience, Gentlemen?

Val.

But this is not the rare obedient peece That you will marry?

Mat.

You do not hear me say so. But I presume, as much obedience In her I have made choice of.

Er.

Marrie a maid.

And we will be her Hench-boyes, if you please.

Mat.

No, I'll have no such blades 'bout my wives hanches. But come, to end this tedious Scene, in which I ha' past the Purgatorie of my Passions Of sorrow, anger, feare, and hope at last. I am refin'd, sublim'd, exalted, fixt In my true Sphere of mirth; where love's my object. And bloodie thought of black revenge cast by.

Val.

Could your faire breast harbour a bloody thought?

Mat.

For some few minutes, in which extasie I meant t' ha' gone, as other Gallants do. To fight in France, forsooth, and charg'd my man To draw up his Accompts, call in my moneys, Thought to have made my Will—.

Er.

I saw your Cashier Go forth e'ne now with a sttong lusty Porter Loaden with money: I will not say my teeth Water'd at it.

Val.

But 'twas enough to make A very true mans fingers itch.

Mat.

I cannot Think he is run away; but yet I like not His carrying forth, when I say, fetch in money. But this is from my purpose. Love ye mirth? Let's in, and drink, and talk. That gives it birth.

ACT. II.

SCENE 1.

Camelion. Hannah.

Cam.

I prithee now, I prithee, prithie now Urge me no more in this case; for I cannot,

Nor I wo' not so I wo' not, I be jealous Os mine own wife, mine own deat flesh and blood? That's such a thing! I pidee speak no more on't.

Han.

You shew you love Rafe.

Cam.

So I hope I do Nan. My cock, my pity nittle nansie cocksie, Do I not shew my love when I deny thee Vnreasonable requests? I never heard Of woman that desir'd a loving husband To be a jealous Master over her. Especially a City-Shopkeeper. The best part of whose trade runs through the hands Of his faire wife too! 'Tis unreasonable. And thou the sirst that e're take up the humour.

Han.

And you the sirst that e're I knew besotted Into a wilful confidence, which renders Me to a vile construction; and your selfe By leaving me to all assaults and hazards Have got the reputation of a Wittal. Or one that seems contented to become so.

Cam.

Hon soit qui maly ponse. My Cock, my Nansie Cock, my Cocksie Nansie, Kisse me, and use thine own conscience: I scorn The yellow sicknesse, I, let 'hem all say what they will. D'einty, come thou to me. I will not lose An haires bredth o' my humour, nor retain An ill thought o' my Cocks honestie For all the wealth i' the Exchange, not I

Han.

I not desire you should, but only that You will not seem so carelesse of my credit, Exposing me to all temptations Of the wilde Gallantry of the wanton time. By whom (although my chastity remaines Untouch't) my name and your discretion suffers.

Cam.

Pish, Honi soit again: Cock, I defie Calumniation and detraction I.

When I am jealous, let the horne-curse take me; And let me be with hornets stung to death.

Han.

Still you flie from the point, I would not have You vex your self with causelesse jealousie Over my constant love; but only seem A little watchful o're my reputation. Whereby you may decline mens leud attempts. And not to throw me upon opportunities To draw them on; as if I were a thing S•••• out, as in your shop, for common sale.

Cam.

Cock, Thou shalt never tie me to't: not I. I must not lose my harmlesse recreations Abroad to snook over my wife at home. Thought'st ha' me like the hair-brain'd Point-tagger, That us'd to hammer his fingers at one end O'th' shop, while's wife was bargaining at the other? Not I; sweet Cock, pidee lets heare no more on't.

Enter Foot-post.

Now friend! Is your businesse to me or my wife?

Post.

This Superscription will inform you, sir.

Cam.

To my deare daughter Mrs. Hannah Camelion, at her shop or house in or near the New Ex∣change.

Cock.

Take it quickly, what a Knave art thou to put a letter in my hands, that is directed to my wife. Sbobs I would not ha' open'd it for fonrty pound.

Post.

If all husbands in the City were of his minde, it were a Forrest of fooles indeed.

Cam.

Cock, I must leave thee.

Han.

Pray stay a little. This letter's from my fa∣ther.

Cam.

I hope the good Captaine's well.

Han.

Yes, very well, pray read his Letter here.

Cam.

Cock, you shall pardon me. Not I. I have a match to play at the ducking-pond. Prithee fore-slow not my occasions, Cock, As I forbear to pry into thy secrets.

Han.

Here's nothing but what I would have you see.

There's for your postage, friend. It needs no an∣swer.

Post.

I thank you, Mystris.

Ex.

Han.

But if you will not stay to reade this Let∣ter. You shall not deny me one thing.

Cam.

What is it, quickly? my sweet Nanny Cock.

Han.

Here, take this pen: write here a word or sentence. What you please. But keep it well in minde, And look that you be sure to know't agen When I shall shew't you.

Cam.

'Tis done, there: I defie, and dare the de∣vil and all his Clerks to counterfeit my hand. So, my sweet Cock, a kisse and adieu.

Han.

Well Rafe, remember that you won't be jea∣lous.

Cam.

Not I, Sbobs yonder comes one of the Blades, That thou would'st have me have an eye to; He That lives by his wits, and yet is seldom sober: That goes so gallantly, and has no credit, Nor ever buyes with ready money; But Barters commodity for commodity. (Such as it is) with Tradesmens wives, they say. What call you him, oh Askal; there's another Comes with him too. Into thy shop, good Cock. I wo' not stay, not I. So, farewel Cock.

Ex.

Han.

And farewel Coxscombe, some wife would say now. I am much troubled at his sillinesse. And would to right me, straine a womans wit, Knew I with modesty how to answer it. Something I'le do.

Enter Erasmus, Valentine.

Er.

Was ever such a humour in a man, as this mad Merchant Matchil is possest with. To marry so, to spight his childe and kindred.

Val.

He has made his daughter by't a match worth nothing. And there your hope is gone.

Er.

And yours in me. For as I said before, good Valentine. I must returne you to your City wives. By the old trade to pick your maintenance Out of em, as you boast you can.

Val.

'Tis well, sir. And now to let you know that I can live Without the helps of such cool friends as you. I'le shew you a present probability.

Val.

Doest see yond pretty mumping peece i'th' shop there?

Er.

Yes, is that one—?

Val

One o'th' fourty, boy, That renders tribute in to my Exchecquer.

Er.

Didst ever lie with her?

Val.

How plain you are. Not I, not I. That▪s her fool-husbands word. Let it sussice that I have seen her thrice. And that I lay with, drink, and weare her money. O 'tis the sweetest Rogue.

Er.

How got you acquainted.

Val.

I'le tell you that, walking by chance as now, Before her shop, where a young Gentleman Was bargaining, he call'd me by my name,

Val Askall.

Instantly her eye was fixt, And streight ran over my delineaments, Which I set to her view; and took occasion To ask her how the object pleas'd her.

Er.

Bold-face.

Val.

I never lost by that. She then demands, Is your name Askall, sir? I answer, Yes. Pray of what countrey, sir? I told her; when a sudden flaming blush Did in her face betray the fire of love, That was at th' instant raging in her breast, She look't me through and through. Sigh'd, turn'd away. Then look't again under her hat-brims thus. And thus I nimbly catch't her with mine eye.

Er.

I, thou hast a devillish catch i'that same eye.

Val.

Sir, what I have, I have. I gave a leere With that same eye that made her turne her whitesup.

Er.

But to the point.

Val.

Why do you think a woman's so quickly brought to th' point?

Er.

VVhat follow'd then?

Val.

I saw she was struck, and thus I gave her line To play withal. I whisper'd in her eare, The way to finde my lodging and my service. Next morning early comes a message to me, Inviting me to dinner: Chear and welcome Plenteously flowed; and sir, before we parted Upon some private conference, twenty pieces Were clutch't into this hand, but with a caution To be discreet and thrifty of her purse, And keep a friend in store. I have been modest, And have not struck her since, but for ten more.

Er.

And that's your last.

Val.

I le hold you ten o that See she has spied me.

Han.

VVhat lack ye, Gentlemen; faire cut-work bands, boot-hoose, or boot-hoose tops, shirts, wast-coats, night-caps, what will you buy?

Val.

I come not now to buy. But in plain termes to borrow. Do you not know me?

Han.

Not on these termes.

Er.

Sure thou mistak'st the woman. This is not she, thou talk'st fo freely on Bounce.

Val.

She's cautious before thee. Walk off a little. Now you may hear me, Lady.

Han.

Give me leave A little, first to wonder at your rashnesse, To talk so openly before a stranger.

Val.

My intimate friend: I'le trust him with my life.

Han.

What's that to my unblemish't reputation? 'Tis not your life can salve that, being wounded. But thus it is, when women out of goodnesse Hazard their fortunes to relieve the wants Of such as you, that carry no respect, But to your own licentious Appetites. And think no favour's sweet, unlesse you may Have priviledge to boast 'hem to our shame.

Val.

I do not boast of yours.

Han.

Pray, boast no more Then you have found, and much good may they do you. 'Tis not poor thirty pieces can undo me.

Val.

No, nor ten more I hope; and that's the summe I would entreat: all makes but fourty pound. I'll pay thee like a Gentleman, as I am one, Either in money; or doest hear me, Rogue, In what shall please thee better. Come, be wise,

Thy husband's a dull ducking Gamester. And Kennels his water-dog in Turnbull-street. We'll answer his delights with better sport.

Han.

There's your presumption.

Val.

No, 'tis my ambition. When shall we walk to Totnam? or crosse o're The water, or take Coach to Kengington Or Padington; or to some one or other O'th' City out-leaps for an afternoon, And hear the Cuckow sing to th' purpose? when?

Had.

A woman were a wise one that would trust Her selfe in such wilde hands as yours; to have Her name made Tavern-talk among your blade, And thrust i'th 'list of your loose-hilted Mystresses:

Val.

O no; fie no: you cannot think how close And careful I will be. Heark in thine eare.

Er.

I cannot blame this fellow now so much For using of his wits to get his living, Though in an idle way; as for traducing People of worth and vertue, as this woman Who I am credibly inform'd is vertuous And too discreet for him to shark upon. Therefore to grace himself, he slanders her. I have alwayes lik't his company till now, And shall hereafter be more wary of him.

Han.

Well sir, upon pour faithful protestation, And vow of secresie, liere's ten pieces more. You have found a tender-hearted woman of me Over your wants; and all the satisfaction That I desire, is, that I may not suffer Under a lavish tongue; 'tis easie payment.

Val.

Yes, but I'le pay thee better. Therefore tell me, when we shall meet and have a spirta∣broad.

Han.

Your friend stayes for you, sir.

Val.

Pish, let him stay.

Han.

You slight him now, but he knows all your Councels.

Val.

By this good tongue, no more then the un∣begotten Hans that I mean to clap into thy Kel∣der.

Nor ever shall: doest think I am so foolish To talk away my hopes? No, thou art my Faery, Pinch me to death when I discover thee.

Han,

Go to, avoid suspition then, besides I have occasions that do call me hence.

Ex.

Er.

Your stay was somewhat long.

Val.

Yet 'twas to purpose. As here you may behold, but I must make no words on't.

[1. 2, 3, 4, &c.

She has enjoyn'd me that. O'tis a cunning Gypsie.

Er.

So't seems, by trusting thee that hast no pow∣er to keep a secret.

Val.

Troth, to tell you true. My conscience will not beare't, I cannot be So ungrateful to receive a courtesie, But to acknowledge it.

Er.

Yet thou hast the conscience To work a mans estate out of his hands By his wives frailty, even to break his back.

Val.

'Tis rather to be fear'd she may break mine. She's a tight strong dock't Tit.

Er.

O Tradesmen, why do you marry?

Val.

Why? to make Tradeswomen. For Gentlemen that want money and commodity. You know the thing that I call father in 〈◊〉〈◊〉, That had my mothers whole estate, and butied her, Allowes me nothing.

Er.

Thank your own sweet courses.

Val.

My courses are sweet courses, they serve me to live upon.

Er.

But I shall put you off

O'one of your sweet courses, or at least I'le strain a point of friendship to be satisfied Touching this woman, 'twill be worth discovery.

Val.

But why these cloudy looks? do not you like my courses? ha▪

Er.

I cry thee mercy, Val. I was upon our former subject Matchil.

Val.

I there's a hasty match clap't up. You ask't Why Tradesmen marry, there's a marriage now! A humorous Coxscombe that could never laugh In all his last wives dayes; and since her death Could ne're be sad. For him to marry his Malkin For poor and course obedience. Well. I hope To take my course in his house yet for all. Her boasted chastity and obedience.

Er.

Wouldest thou touch such a thing?

Val.

What, not for money? She can pay well and her uglinesse cannot fright me I can do that work winking.

Er.

She can be no such woman.

Val.

Tell not me What any woman can or cannot be, You'll give me leave to try my fortune with her,

Er.

Yes, and walk with you towards it.

Ex. Ambo.

Scoen. 2.

Enter Lady Nestlecock, Ephraim.

La.

No newes, no tidings of 'em, Ephraim, ha! Was even sucg a scape?

Eph.

Not since the Rape Of H••llon•• I'm perswaded. I have search't With narrow eyes (as I may say) with care, And diligence in most secret places. And can no way inform my self, what is Betide of the young Damosels, or old Squire. Your Neece, and the French Virgin, and the man

Unworthy to be call'd your brother Strigood.

La.

O hang him Villain.

Eph.

Doubtlesse 'twas his plot To work upon your Ladiships good nature To harbour them, that he might take th' advantage Of stealing them away.

La.

What to do, ha?

Eph.

To do? much may be done by his seducements, On two such tender Virgins, though he should But plant them in our suburbs: but my feare Is that he has transported them beyond seas Into some Nunnery. Your Ladiship Knows he is adverse in Religion.

La.

I know he is of none.

Eph.

Satan will work. The stronger in him, then to their subversion.

La.

How shall I answer now my brother Matchil? But he is justly serv'd to marry so. The thought of it torments me. Where's my comfort? Where's Nehemiah, ha?

Eph.

He's busie, Madam.

La.

What, at his book? or at his musick, ha?

Eph.

That is, his Ballet, or his Jewes Trump. No, Madam. He is busie at his exercise of Armes With a new Casting top, a Cat and Catstick, I bought and brought him home.

La.

I thank you for 'hem, My careful discreet Ephraim. I like His harmlesse exercises well.

Eph.

I hope, Your Ladiship can say since I have had The Government of him under your Ladiship, I have been careful of the Gentleman, And have his love withal so much, that I Dare say (I hope you'll pardon the comparison) That had you married me (which was as likely

As that your brother would have ta'ne his Maid. I think that Mr. Nehemiah would not Have run away in hatred of our Match, As Mrs. Joyce. it seems, hath done of theirs. I hope your Ladiships pardon, I understand My duty.

La.

And you speak but reason Ephraim.

Eph.

I have given her there a touch of my affection. Who knowes how it may work?

La.

Go call him in. I would not have him over heat himself.

Eph.

'Tis a good care. And Madam, by the way, Let me advise, that since his riper yeares Require, and that faire Propositions Of marriage are tender'd for him, that We gently by degrees, do take him off From childish exercise, indeed plaine boyes play. More manly would become him.

La.

You would have him Do worse then, would you? and be nought, you var∣let? What! would you have him play at Mans-game, ha? Fore he be married, ha! what, what! how now! Is it but up and ride w'ye, ha!

Eph.

I humbly Beseech your Ladiships pardon, I will call Sweet Mr. Nehemiah to your worship.

La.

Go, th'art an honest man. I know thou lov'st him.

Ex. Ep••.

Indeed he's all my comfort and my care And I must naturally respect all those That do partake with me my care of him.

Enter Nehemiah, looking down and eating.

Neh.

my boy Negh, Sonne Nehemiah.

Neh.

F'sooth.

La.

That's my good Lamb. Hold up thy head; and thou. Shalt have a wife.

Neh.

But mother f sooth, when I have her, Will she play with me at peg-top?

La.

At any thing, my boy.

Neh.

And she ha' not good box and steel, I shall so grull her. And then at Mumbledepeg I will so firk her.

La.

But when y'are married, you••ll finde other pa∣stime.

Neh.

Whate're I say, I have a meaning though. But yet, I doubt, I shall not forsake all My old fagaries in a yeare or two.

La.

I know thy will is good to leave thy wag-tricks. And I commend your understanding in it. It shewes you man, and ready for a wife.

Neh.

Amardla, f'sooth, I think so; I Amardla. For I did beat a boy as high as my selfe Yesterday, with one hand.

La.

Where was thy tother.

Neh.

The boy had but one hand f'sooth. I us'd both.

La.

Well th'art too witty to live long, I feare. But as I was saying, sonne, I do expect Sir Swithen Whimtby to bring his Neece.

Neh.

Who f••sooth, the crying Knight, he that has wept E're since his Lady di'd; and mournes in colours; Speaks nothing but in verse, and gives me Ballats; The old Knight Powel, that pronounces what dee call 'hem?

La.

Odes childe and Elegies. He has been in∣spir'd. With the infection of Poetry, E're since his wives departure: and 'tis thought

Nothing can put him out, or cure him of it But a new wife to kill the furious itch of't,

Neh.

But is not his Neece too big for me? I would be loth To be over-match'd.

La.

O witty, witry, still. But when she comes Nehemiah, What'll you say to her?

Neh.

I'll give her the time of the day or the night I warrant her, come at what houre she will. Why if I eat not all before she come. (And she must try her, if I do'nt) I'll ask her If she can speak with plums in her mouth; and then I'll offer her a long one and two round ones, And nod at her.

La.

You will not, will you, ha?

Neh.

Mother, I know both what to say and do I trust I am not to be taught to wooe.

La.

Too witty still, I say, to be long-liv'd.

Neh.

But heark you mother f'sooth; I am told that you Beare a moneths minde to that Sir Whimlby, And a crosse match is talk't on betwixt you And the old Knight, and me and his young Neece. O ho—is't so?

La.

This is no crafty childe.

Neh.

Let me but see how you will handle him now And mark how I'le come over her with small Jerks.

La.

O th'art a witty wag. A blessing on it.

Enter Ephraim, ushering Whimlby and Blith.

Eph.

Madam, Sir Swithen Whimlby and his Neece, Mrs. Blith Tripshort.

La.

They are very welcome, Noble Sir Swithen.

[Kisse.

Neh.

Noble Mrs. Blith.

[Kisse.

La.

Sweet Knight, y'are welcome.

Neh.

Welcome, sweet Lady.

La.

Still weeping.

Whi.

O good Madam.

Neh.

Still weeping for a husband.

Bli.

Ha, ha, ha.

Neh.

Mother, she puts me on't, She laughes.

La.

Laugh with her then.

Neh.

Amardla, so I will, and if you laugh At me, I'll laugh at you again, so I will.

Bli.

Ha, ha.

Neh.

Are you there with me? I'le be here with you then. Will you eat any Sugar-plums? no, I'le eat 'em for you. There's ha, ha, ha, ha, for you now.

La.

Do you note, Sir Swithin, what a wag it is. Walk into the next room Nehemiah. Did you note him?

Ex. Neh. Blith.

Whi.

Madam, to tell you true. My love to you Springs from the joy, I take in your sweet boy

—Eph. And that's the way to win her.

I can take no delight But in his sight, Nor any pride Since my dear Grissel di'd, In all, I see on earth or finde in books, But that which overcomes me in his lookes.

La.

O sweet Sir Swithen, you have all woo'd and won me.

Eph.

Then all my hopes are frustrate.

La.

My sonne shall have your Neece, and for mine own part. You loving him so well, of what's in me.

I can deny you nothing.

Whi.

Gentle Madam.

Eph.

She offers up her selfe; now may the proverb Of proffer'd service light upon her.

La.

Nay, Sir Swithen. Let me entreat you to leave weeping now.

Whi.

Madam, I cannot so Forego my woe. For while I strive My solace to revive, I do but still restore My grief, before That did beti'd When my dear Grissel did. And when your Ladiship appears in sight. (Pardon) I cannot chuse but cry out-right.

La.

Alas, good Knight. He weeps pure Helicon. He has not wherewithal to quench his love, But his own teares. A wife would cool him better. Why sir, does sight of me renew your grief?

Whi.

O Madam, Madam, yes; In you the blisse, That I do misse, I finde inshrined is. And till, to ease my paine, I shall regain In you the Bride, That in my Grissel di'd. So oft as she in you to me appears My numbers cannot cease to flow in tears.

La.

Good sir, collect your self, and be assur'd I am your own, so Neh. may have your Neece, With her full Dowry of foure thousand pounds. My personal estate is full as much. That and my self are yours on the crosse marriage, You making me an answerable Joincture.

Eph.

Is't come so near; I'le crosse it, or my star▪ Drop crosses on my head. O vain, vain woman, To doat on Poetry in an old man. Ladies may love it in the young and bold, And when they are sick give gally-pots of gold, For cordial Electuaries to chear Their crop-sick Muses; but to an old and sere Man that out-lives his labours, who can be So vain to give her self away but she. I had been sitter for her, and I'le watch Occasion yet, perhaps, to crosse the match, I can tu••n Poet too.

Ex.

La.

Dry now your eyes, and answer me in prose, Are you content to yield to those conditions I have propounded, ha!

VVhim.

I am content. And now for joy could weep, Finding my Grissel in your Ladiship.

La.

I hope the young ones do accord as well.

Enter Nehemiah, Blith.

Bli.

Protest, I cannot abide you.

Neh.

Nor I you. Amardla, that I cannot.

Whim.

They'r agreed. Madam, it seems they both are of one minde.

La

I do not like it. What's the matter Nehemiah?

Neh.

She is no wife for me, she has broke my Jewes-trump; look you here else. And almost broke my head with one of my bounding stones.

La.

Blesse my boy; she has not, has she, ha!

Neh.

And yet after all that, and for all I offered to teach her to shoot in my Trunk and my Stone-bowe, do you think she would play with me at Trou, Ma∣dam? no, nor at any thing else. I'll none of her.

And yet I'le have her too. If she will promise to do as I would have her hereafter.

La.

There, do you note him there, Sir Swithen? This childe has no childish meaning in't, I war∣rant you.

Whim.

No Madam, no, I know him inwardly He is my joy, and she shall be conformable, Or fare the worse.

La

She will, I know she will. Will you not have my son, sweet Mrs. Blith?

Bli

Sweet Madam, what to do? ha, ha, I shall be quickly weary with laughing at him. His fooling will soon be stale and ••edious; and then to beat him would be as toilsome to me; and lastly, to be tied to nothing but to cuckold him, is such a common Town-trick, that I scorne to follow the fashion.

La

Can she talk thus? ha!

Whim.

A merry harmlesse Girle. Fear not, good Madam, she will come about.

Bli.

A thousand mile about rather then meet him.

La.

I much desire she would; for now my sonne Is set a marrying, I warrant it pure thing It is in paine, till it be at it: ha! Pray bring her on, Sir Swithen, let him kisse her. Poor heart, he licks his lips; and look how arseward she is.

Whi.

Fie Blith, be courteous, Blith.

Neh.

Mother,—she has spit Amard just in my mouth.

Bli.

Amard, what's that? if you speak French you wrong me.

La.

Gip, Mrs. Tripshort. Is this the manners your Mother left you?

Bli.

Speak not you of Mothers, Madam.

La.

Sir ••w••then, will you s••e my childe abus'd so, ha?

Whim.

I can but grieve for't, Madam.

Neh.

My mother is as good as your mother, so she is, for all she's dead.

La.

I, well-said Neh.

Bli.

Yes, it appears in your good breeding Your fine qualities expresse her vertues sussiciently.

La.

How dare you Huswife talk thus to my son, of me, and before my face too? ha! Sir Swithen, can you think well of me, and suffer this, ha?

Whim.

Alas, good Madam, I am down again I know not what to think of living woman now.

La▪

Do you bring your Neece to abuse me?

Whim.

I am so drown'd in teares, that I cannot ••ee what to say to't.

Neh.

Mother, Amardla, the more I look on her, the better I like her.

La.

Sayest so, my boy. Besides, I have a conceit she can out-scold you▪ and that's more then ever woman did, I think f'sooth.

La.

For thee, I do forbear her.

Enter Matchil, Rachel.

Mat.

By your leave, my Lady Nestlecock, I have brought a sister of yours here to salute you.

La.

Though unworthy to be of your Counsel, or at the Ceremony, I heard you were married brother. And by a Sisters name you are welcome.

Rac.

I thank your Ladiship.

Mat.

Sir Swithen Whimlby! and your pretty Neece! well met, what affairs have you in hand here? what do you cry for your old wife still or for a new one? But heark, you Lady Sister, where's my daugh∣ter?

La.

Now for a tempest. Truly sir, I know not.

Mat.

Is shenot with you, ha?

La.

No truly, sir. She's slipt from me with her good Uncle Strigood.

Mat.

That Thief has sold her then into some Baw∣dihouse Was this your project for her education, To steal my childe to make a whore of her? Are you turn'd Lady b••ud now for your Neece Because you have no daughter? O the devil! If there be Law, I'll trounce your Lady Hagship.

La.

VVhat, what? how now? do you taunt me, sirrah, ha?

Mat.

I'll make thee an example.

La.

Thou hast made thy self an example, and the scorne of thine own childe in marrying of thy drudge there; and thats the cause of her running away thou mayest think, because she hates to live where she must call her mother that was thy droile.

Ra.

Droile, I think, she said.

Mat.

Speak to her, I charge thee, on thy obedience to speak to her.

Ra.

The droile is now your brothers wife, Madam, and in that setting your Ladiships lavish tongue aside, as good a woman as your selfe, none disprais'd, ha.

Mat.

Well-said Rachel, hold thine own Rachel. And so to you, sir Sw then.

Neh.

Mother, come away, mother.

La.

By and by, my boy.

Rac.

Do you presume to call me drudge and droile, that am a Ladies Sister every day in the week; and have been any time these three dayes, ha.

Bli.

That's not every day in a whole week yet.

La.

Thou shalt not dare to call me sister Hus∣wife.

Ra.

Cods so, and why troe? because a Lady scornes to be a huswife, ha. If you be no huswife, I sc••rn to call

you Sister, I; though my husband be your brother. From whence came you troe, ha?

La.

I know not what to say to the bold-face.

Neh.

Pray f'sooth come away, I am afear'd she'l beat you.

La.

Thanks, my good childe, but do not be afraid my Lamb.

Ra.

Boldface, ha! Her brothers wife▪s a bold-face, but her face is not varnish't over, yet like his Lady∣sisters face, but it may be in time when she learnes the trick on't, and have as many flies upon't, though not so troubled with 'hem, as a bald mare at Midsummer, hah.

La.

I know not what to say to her, she has charm'd the vertue of my tongue.

Mat.

I never heard her speak so much in all her life, Sir Swithin, nor half so loud. hank heaven, she has a voice yet on a good occasion. And so farre I'll maintain her in it. Nephew Nehemiah, when saw you your Cousin Joyce.

Neh.

O Lud, O mother f'sooth, look you, mine Uncle holds me.

Mat.

Ah, naughty man, did a so gi▪me a stroke, and I'll beat it, ••h—.

La.

Your wife has taught you to play the rude companion, has she? Pray take her home sir, and let her discipline your owne childe if you have one, and let mine alone. You know the way you came, sir; or if you have a minde to stay here, Come Sir Swithen, come away children; I hope I shall finde some other room in mine own house, free from your assaults, if not, I'm sure there's Law against Riots. Come Sir Swithen.

Mat.

Not yet good Madam Nestlecock, you shall hear me. You have entic'd away, then lost my daughter.

And now y'are a jugling with your widow wit, And your small worme here, to catch up for Gudge∣ons. Sir Swithen and his Neece, I know your plot.. She's not fit match for you Sir Swithen; and her son Much lesse for your faire Neece. Come dry your eyes, And look upon him, and not only look, But laugh at him, I charge you.

Bli.

I could now for him heartily.

Mat.

Mark how his mothers milk drops at his nose, while I shew you the mother and the childe.

He was her youngest sonne, and all that's left of seven, and dreaming that he needs must prove a Prophet, she has bred him up a fool.

Neh.

F'sooth mother he mocks me, oh.—

La.

O prophane wretch, worse then thy brother Strigood.

Do not cry, Nehemiah, peace, good boy, peace. So so.

Mat.

A tender mother I must say she has been. For till he was fifteen, none but her selfe Must look his head, or wash his pretty face For making of it cry. Laugh at her good Sir Swithen. And before that, till he was twelve yeares old She would dance him on her knee, and play with's Cock.

Wh••m.

Ah ah ah ah.—

Mat.

So well-said, Sir Swithen.

Whim.

Just so efac my mother would serve me, ha, ha. Is not this better then whining. Yes, or perhaps then wiving either.

Rac.

Do you say so.

Wh.

Ha, ha.

Mat.

Well said, Sir Swithen, laugh on. I hope I ha' done a cure on him, by shewing him a

more ridiculous object then himselfe, to turne the tide of's tears.

Wh.

Ha, ha.

Mat.

Laugh still, defie the fiends, women, and all their works.

Wh.

Ha, ha, ha, let the dead go, and the quick care for themselves. You buri'd your wife, and cri'd, and I buried mine.

And laugh; which is the manlier Passion.

Ra.

He knows not that he is married agen.

Whi.

You are the merriest Merchant, ha, ha, ha. I think I shall not marry again in haste, ha, ha.

Mat.

Well-said, hold there. And for your Neece Let me alone. I'le fit her with a match. I know a Lad that's worthy of her.

Whi.

Ha, ha, ha.—

Mat.

He••ll laugh too much, I feare.

Ra.

He may at you, For your officiousnesse.

Mat.

How's that?

Whi.

Ha, ha.—

Ra.

To thrust your self into unthankful offices. In things concerne you not. Will you turne Matchmaker For others un-intreated, 'tis enough. For you, I hope, that you have match't your selfe, ha.

Mat.

Hah! Do you hab, or talk to me?

Ra.

Who else Should talk or give you counsel but your wife?

La.

VVell-said Rachel, hold thine own Rachel.

Mat.

I am match't again.

Whi.

Ha, ha, ha.

Mat.

Pax, cry again, or burst thy self with laugh∣ing.

Whi.

La. Ha, ha, ha. Laugh son Nehemiah.

Neh.

Ha, ha. ha.

Mat.

What am I? what do you make of me?

La.

Nay, what ha' you made your self? best ask the Chimney piece that you have married there.

Mat.

Durst thou advance a voice against me, ha?

Ra.

You did commend it in me against your Si∣ster. And I may better be familiar with you; Hah, are you not my husband? I am sure 'Tis not so long since we were married, that You can forget it, or ••epent so soon. I am not now your slave, to have my face Wash't with your snuffes, nor to be kick't and trod on VVithout resistance, nor to make you answers Meerly with silent court'sies, run when you bid go To fetch and carry like your Spaniel, In which condition I liv••d long enough, And was content until ••ou freed me out on't. Now free I am, and will be a free woman, As you are a free-man, ha.

Whi.

Ha, ha, ha.

Mat.

O base-borne begger.

Ra.

You wrong your wife in that.

Mat.

How she holds up the wife.

Ra.

I never beg'd Nor mov'd a lip to be your wife, not I, You held my service portion good enough, And for my blood 'tis no more base then yours, Since both are mixt in marriage.

Mat.

Come your way. And let me hear you speak so much at home.

Ra.

I hope I may be bolder in mine own house. So Madam, for the love I have found in yours, You shall be welcome thither, when y' are sent for.

La.

What a bold piece of Kitchin-stuffe is this? Brothery' are match't.

Whi.

And catch't ifacla, ha, ha, ha.

La.

He has not a word to speak.

Mat.

Follow me home and durst.

Ex.

Ra.

Yes sir, I dare without more leave taking, ha.

Ex.

La.

Was ever combe so cut.

Whi.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Neh.

There's a new Aunt indeed! she brought me nothing.

Whi.

I have not laught so much I know not when, H'has made me laugh until I cry agen.

La.

Again, you are welcom, Sir, Mrs. Blith Now the unwelcome guests are gone, lets in And dine, then will we after meat

Whi.

Of Joinctures, Madam, and of Nuptials treat.

La.

Right sir.

Bli.

Love, as I shall adore thee for a deity. Rid me of this ridiculous society.

Act. III.

Scoen. 1.

Enter Matchil, Rachel, between Erasmus and Valentine.

Eras.

GOod Mr. Matchil.

Val.

Mystris, be not so violent.

Ra.

Ha.

Mat.

I'll rather run my Countrey, Gentlemen, then endure her.

Ra.

You were best to kill her then, and then you'll have no other course to take, unlesse you stay and be∣hang'd.

Mat.

I'le make thee glad to flie first.

Ra.

From my house and husband shall I? from my possessions shall I? And leave you all to spend in riot shall I? No sir, I'le stay and spend my share if you go to that, that will I. And make all flie as well as you, and you go to that, that will I, ha.

Mat.

Whoop, whow.

Er.

Nay, fle be not so loud.

Mat.

What didst thou bring thou drudge thou.

Ra.

That which you were content to drudge withal, I am too sure o' that. The drudge you speak of is no worse then your own wife, I am too sure o'that.

Mat.

I know not what to say to her.

Ra.

Did you not fay for better, for worse? And if 'twere worse then 'tis, 'twere all too good for you. And that I hope I shall finde some good Friend to know.

Val.

That I like well, I'le be her first man.

Ra.

I trust you have found the drudge to be a woman fit to content a man, and if you grant not that, some better man perhaps shall be a Judge, betwixt you and the drudge.

Val.

Better still.

Mat.

She threatens hornes. I think.

Ra.

Hornes. I think, you said. If 'twere so 'twere too good for you. Cannot your own wife content you, ha?

Val.

She holds up that point stoutly.

Ra.

That shall be tri'd.

Mat.

O for an expert Chyrurgion now to cast her in a dead sleep, and geld her.

Er.

Introth you will be both sorry, when your passion gives but least way to your understandings. Mr. Matchil, let me perswade with you.

Mat.

Never uniesse you bring her on her knees, to crave forgivenesse at my foot.

Val.

If you but yield an inch he treads upon your neck, I will not give an under spur-leather for you. But bear it out bravely, and I'll be your servant.

Er.

Mrs. Matchil.

Ra.

Mrs. Match-ill indeed, to be so match't.

Mat.

So match't▪ how match't? what from the hur∣den sinock with lockram upper-bodies, and hempen sheets, to weare and sleep in Holland, and from the dripping-pan to eat in silver, ••ha. Do you repine at your Match, ha. Is wealth contemptible to you?

Ra.

I was better content in my povertie. I have not been my selfe, Gentlemen, since he marri∣ed me.

Mas.

You may be poor again as soon as you please, the door is open, depart at your pleasure; you know the way to your old Aunt the Apple-woman, at Hock∣ly-hole. Take your knitting Needles again, and live with her, go.

Ra.

No sir, I'll stay with you, and make you as poor before I have done wi' ye, as I was before you had me Gent. I shall not be my self till then.

Mat.

The devil you shall. Was ever such a crook∣ed condition crept into a thing like woman?

Val.

Yet this sir, is the rare piece of obedience You boasted of, and said you would defie The devil to dishonest her, I am sorry Your judgement led you into such an errour, Already she's my Mystresse.

Mat.

Is she so?

Ra.

Yes, and I••le call him servant, Gentlewomen use it.

Val.

Do so, Mystresse.

Mat.

If she, sir, be your Mystresse, Then am I Your Master-in-law, out of my house I charge you.

Er.

Doest thou conspire to grieve him?

Val.

Troth, sir, I did but jest. You have my pity.

Er.

All are not times for Jest, friend Valentine.

Mat

O my affliction!

[She looks in her Watch.

Er.

Have a little patience, sir.

While I talk calmly with her.

Mat.

Leave me then A while unto my thoughts. Go into the house.

Ra.

Pray servant help me here a little. Do so much As winde up my Jack for me, my Watch I would say.

Val.

Her Jack▪ she's in the Kitchin still. A pretty Watch this, Mystresse, what did you pay for't.

Ra.

Nothing, my husband ga't me.

Val.

Pity the Spring is broke, but I can get it mended.

Ra.

Good servant take it with you then to the Jack-makers, I would say, the Watch-makers. Come Gentlemen, shall we have a crash at cards?

Er.

With all my heart. What is your game?

Ra.

I can play a many old games. One and thirty bone-ace, Tickle me quicklie, and my Ladies hole, and sichie. But you shall teach me new ones, though I lose money for my learning, Gleek and Primero, Gresco saut, primofistula, I know all by hear-say. Come let us have a bout at somewhat. I have money e∣nough.

Val.

And I'le make shift to ease you of some on't.

Ex. three.

Mat.

Affliction on affliction hourely findes me, And layes me on the Rack, tearing my heart Like greedie vultures, O my heart, this heart That I so long suppos'd impenetrable By all the darts of sorrow, is now transfixt, Shot through and through with torments, and by this.

This last made sensible of all the rest. My sons untimely death, my daughters losse. My Sisters follies, and my Brothers vices. My servants falshood, and the jeers of strangers Now wound me all at once; and all through this Predominant blow, pull'd on me by mine own Impetuous rashnesse. Let me here consider, While my hearts torture keeps my soule awake, The moving cause of all these ill effects. Mine own unbridled wilde affections. Scorne of example, and contempt of counsel. I cannot but observe withal, how just, A judgement follows mine own wilful acts, In the same kinde of doing ills for ills. For my lost sonne, I rashly wrought revenge Upon an innocent Girle; and with her Have lost mine own; and for th'unmanly joy I took in one wives death, because a Shrew. (Though otherwise vertuous) I am in another Trebly tormented; not alone with noise, But with a feare of unchaste purposes, Which if they come to act, my purse must pay for. I see my faults, and feel the punishments. And rather then stand out in my defence T'enjoy some peace, I will endure some sorrow And beare it civilly. Within there.

Enter Servant.

Ser.

Sir.

Mat.

Go call your Mystresse, pray her to come a∣lone.

Ex. Ser▪

My resolution brings me yet some ease: Men that are borne to serve, must seek to please.

Enter Rachel.

Mat.

Rachel.

Ra

Your pleasure quickly, I have left My company, my servant, and my friend yond, Sawing against one another at Corne the Caster; till I come to 'hem.

Mat.

And then all three to In and In, is't so?

Ra.

My servant, and my friend and I are e'ne all one. They are the goodest Gentlemen, the best com∣pany.

Mat.

Your servant and your friend.

Ra.

Yes, and my servant playes for me now in my absence, as farre as ten pieces go that I left him. My plow goes there, though I am here.

Mat.

Your plow makes vile baulkes of my money the while.

Ra.

I am not so ill a huswife as you imagine. And my friend, and my servant have promis'd to carry me abroad, to this town, and to that town, and tother town, and whow, I know not whither. And my ser∣vant will have me to Hide-Park he sayes, to see and to shew all, as well as the brave Gallants.

Mat.

This is gallant indeed.

Ra.

And my friend will carry me to a whatdeecall, a new Academy, where I shall see the rarest musick and dancing, he sayes, and learn the finest Complements. and other courtly qualities that are to be had for mo∣ney, and such instructions for the newest fashions

Mat.

She will flie to the devil for fashions sake. Pray stay a little, and let me talk calmely with you. You have almost broke my heart.

Ra.

But not altogether, I hope. I would not win so great a game, without some sport in playing it.

Mat.

Hear me.

I know you put on this affected carriage, But to try masterie, and the disease Being so general among all women, Is in you therefore more excusable.

Ra.

O, are you coming?

Mat.

Hear what I will say to you. And finde in that a husbands good affection. I love my peace, and would preserve my honour, Both which are in your breasts to save or spoil.

Ra.

And can you think the way to purchase peace Is by a war with me? hah, you are cozen'd. Do you think your domineering looks, or noise, Or blowes, can fright me into quietnesse, Or that you shall have honour by abasing Your wife?

Mat.

You will not understand me.

Ra.

Hah.

Mat.

Though I love peace, and would preserve my honour. I'le yield in both to you, and can, (I have been So us••d to thraldome) But the world, the world Is such a Talker.—

Ra.

I have found the man.

Mat.

There I would save a reputation.

Ra.

He's loth to bring it out; I'le close w'ye. You'll be content so, I will suffer you To bear a loud command o're me in publick, That I shall carrie it in private. Is't not so?

Mat.

Truly wife, yes.

Ra.

You'll give me leave to beat you In private then.

Mat.

Nay, we'll bar blowes at all times.

Ra.

But if I chance to give you a rap or two, Or now and then a nip, and you strike me Again, I'le strike you some way else, as you Would not be struck. And so observe my carriage.

The Gentlemen are coming.

Enter Erasmus, Valentine.

Er.

O, here they are.

Val.

And not by the eares: that's wonderful.

Ra.

Sir, I perceive my errour, and repent it. Promising you in all my after life, To be a faithful and obedient wife.

Val.

He has fetch't her about, it seems.

Mat.

Grammercy Rachel, binde it with a kisse.

[Kisse.

Er.

And thus it should be.

Mat.

Gentlemen, have ye found us?

Er.

With joy to see this reconciliation.

Mat.

Thus shall ye see it ever, Gentlemen. I knew she would yield, or I should make her heart ake. What were a husband, if he were not Master?

Val.

You have wonne the sield, it seems, yet I may hope I have not lost a Mystresse.

Er.

Nor I a friend.

Mat.

In a faire way, Gentlemen, I shall Abridge her of no courtly priviledge. But no more haytie twaytie tricks, I charge you. She shall not jaunt to this nor that town with you. (I thank you for your care) nor to Hide-Park. Nor to the Academy you tell her of, without my leave.

Val.

And do you say so Mystresse?

Ra.

Truly yes. I am no such woman as you took me for, With Mr. Matchils leave you may be welcome Home to his house in good and seemly sort. Put pray expect no further entertainment Then he shall well allow of.

Val.

I have lost her.

Er.

This change is admirable.

Mat.

Why do you admire it. Is she not mine? how could you think she durst Stand out in her rebellion? although the devil Who soothes all Upstarts dispositions Into an over-weening of themselves. Possest her for a time, had not I power And vertue do you think to conjure him out? What have I studied for, think you, e're since My last wife di'd, but how to rule the next? Go get you in, there's something in the house Worth looking after.

Er.

I be sworn, he frights her.

Ra.

Would I had you within to perform covenants.

Mat.

What do you grow rebellious again. Why stir you not else, ha? prithee Sweetheart Respect my dignity, or only seem to do it.

Ra.

Yes, I will only seem to do it.

Val.

He makes her tremble.

Ra.

Gentlemen, I must about my house-••ffaires. So, I take my leave.

Er. Val.

Good Mrs. Matchil.

Mat.

Aha.

Ra.

And Mr. Matchil, at your own good pleasure.

[Curt'sie.

Having in private something to impart to you, I would entreat your presence.

Mat.

Well, Anon, anon.

Ra.

Your eare before I go good Mr. Matchil.

[Curt'sie, Pinch.

Val.

H'has brought her to her servile old obedi∣ence.

Mat.

O—oh.

Ra.

That is a private touch, sir, of the businesse.

Mat.

Pox of your Lobster claws. There waanip▪

Ra.

It will be worth consideration, sir.

Mat.

Well, Ile come to you presently.

Ra.

I humbly take my leave.

Ex.

Er.

Any ill newes that you change colour so?

Mat.

No, nothing, nothing but a womanish feare.

Val.

Well, you are a happy man that have o' recom her.

Mat.

You know not me yet Gentlemen, I know a word in private would do it.

Val.

Yet she desires to have you again in pri∣vate.

Mat.

'Tis her abundant love, and pure obedience.

Er.

She comes again.

Enter Rachel.

Ra.

Since y'are not yet dispos'd to cnter, sir. One word more, Mr. Matchil, if you please.

[curt'sie.

Mat.

Oh,—I understand you. Go, I'le follow you.

Ra.

Again, I take my leave.

Ex.

Mat.

I must weare Lantern-hornes upon mine arms, If she use this. Well, Gentlemen, at your own time Lets see yee. My Rach. shall make you welcome, And for me, you know me, I will still be Master.—

Enter Rachel.

I come, I come, I come. So, farewel Gentlemen.

Ex.

Val.

Ha, do you run?

Er.

What doest thou think of this?

Val.

I'le lay all the tricks I have against his brags. She masters him in private, and that all This shew of her obedience is dissembled. My hope revives again; we must abroad with her.

But tell me, what new Academy's that You told her of, I understand not that yet.

Er.

Nor have I seen it, but we both will shortlie. 'Tis but of two or three dayes standing yet.

Val.

Where is it? who are the Professours, And what the Arts?

Er.

I'le tell thee all know. It carries a love-sound; but I am told It is but private lodgings kept by Both men and women, as I am inform'd, after the French manner. That professe Musick, Dancing, Fashion, Comple∣ment.—

Val.

And no drabbing?

Er.

A little perhaps in private. But guesse now in whose house all this.

Val.

I cannot.

Er.

Even in your City-Mystresses, that lends you Money so freely.

Val.

Who Camelion?

Er.

Yes sir, I doubt, your borrowing of the wife Has broke the husband, put'hem off their trade, And now they seek new wayes to live by projects.

Val.

And could you keep this from me all this while, Till I am there, each step's a tedious mile.

Er.

But not without me, good Val. We'll finde a time. Together, and our Mrs. Matchil with us.

Ex.

Scoen. 2.

Enter Camelion and Hannah.

Cam.

Cock, I protest Cock, I commend thy course Thou hast taken in brave Lodgers, gallant Guests, Guests o'th' Game Cock; and my house is counted A house of quality and recreation, Cock,

In civil sort and gentle fashion, Cock, Sbobs Cock, I know thou wouldest not have it other∣wise For all the wealth i'th' Exchange.

Han.

But Rafe you care not What people say, so I bring you in profit.

Cam.

Not I, not I, my little Cocksie Nansie, Not I, pish, Hony soit qui maly pense.

Han.

Some do not stick to say, I know what's what, And that our house is no better then it should be.

Cam.

Pish, Hony soit agen, i'th' very teeth of 'hem, Let 'hem all say what they will. Dainty come thou to me.

Han.

But I know what I know, and that our house is Better then it should be, if some of them Had but the keeping of it, that speak so ill on't. And that the Gentlewomen in our house Are well-condition'd, and as chaste as courteous. And if you saw, (as they desire I should See all betwixt their great Resorts and them) You'd be in love with their sweet way of living. Then for their dancing, 'tis so neat and graceful. See 'hem anon at practice.

Cam.

Not I, Cock, I'le see nothing. I will not leave one ducking pond, for ten dancing schooles. Yet I can dance, and love it: you know that Cock. And though you are a Gentlewoman borne, You took me for my legs, not ••or my armes. Is not that a good Jest, Cock. Sbobs 'twas out before I was aware. Here comes their father.

Enter Strigood, Cash, disguiz'd in bravery.

Cam.

It seems he has brought in some new scholar.

Stri.

Where are my daughters, Landlady.

Han.

Close in their chamber, sir.

Stri.

Are none of our Academicks come yet?

Han.

Not any, sir.

Stri.

I look for some anon Pray bid the Girles come down To practise.

Han.

Yes, sir.

Ex.

Cam.

Sir, when I was a Batchelour, I practis'd, Dauncing sometimes.

Stri.

Indeed, good Landlord?

Cam.

And maugre wedloek, I have something left Yet in these legs, that can expresse at least Love to the quality.

Stri.

That shall not be lost, If I can further it.

Cam.

I saw last night Your new French daunce of three, what call you it?

Stri.

O the Tresboun.

Cam.

I think I could make one in't.

Stri.

This Gentleman's another, call the Musick. I'le try what you can do.

Ex. Cam.

Cash, Thou art welcom, I am glad I met thee.

Cash.

But that you had foreknowledge of my habit, And seen it in my out-leaps, as you call 'hem, I might ha' past. But you in this disguise, None but the devil himself that is your Inmate, And lodges with you in it, could have known you. Sure he devis'd it.

Stri.

No, you are short. I learn't it of a Jesuite. And 'twas but easie: shaving of my old Gray haire and beard off; clapping on this perrule After the fashion; having but few wrinkles. (For which I thank my Batchelourship, I passe For a brisk youth. But for my Hannibal eye here. And by my brothers

Courteous advice I have ta'ne a course to live Vpon my stock of wit, slight and activity, With nimble braine, quick hands, and aery heels, as he told me, ha!

Cash.

He could not think you would have stolne his daughter to ha' set up withal.

Stri.

But now I care not What the wretch thinks, so he discovers nothing, I dare trust thee Cash, partly on thy Oath Which I have ta'ne you know: but more respectively Upon your fourty pieces here, friend Cash, Which I have also ta'ne: but most of all For that I know you dare not make discovery, For feare of Little-ease. That were a prison Too fearful for such bravery to stoop into.

Cash.

That keeps me still in awe. 'Tis well you know it. But it is better, he has no suspition That I am run away.

Enter Camelion.

Cam.

The Musick's ready, sir.

Stri.

Play then,—the Tresboun.

Daunce.

Stri.

'Twas very well done, Landlord, I protest I love your house the better for your quality.

Cam.

But if you saw me at the ducking pond, Me and my Trull.

Stri.

Your Trull?

Cam.

I mean, my bitch, sir. O she would ravish you.

Enter Hannah.

Stri.

Some other time. Here comes your wife. The newes good Landlady?

Han.

Newes out of France, your fame is spread a∣broad.

Stri.

How out of France?

Han.

Two young French Gentlemen. New come ashore, the daintiest sweetest Gentlemen That e're I saw (now you'll be jealous Rafe)

Cam.

Not I.

Han.

Are come to lodge here, having heard It seems, that you professe French qualities. And instantly desire to be acquainted With you and your sweet company.

Stri.

Can they speak English?

Han.

One very well: and the tother can say Tree Fransh crown for two English kisse already, Now be jealous Rafe.

Cam.

Pish, Hony soit qui maly pense.

Stri.

You can speak French, Landlord.

Cam.

So much as you have heard, not one word more. I assure you but this, Adieu Monsieur and so I leave you.

Han.

Will you not see the Gallants Rafe?

Cam.

Not I, I wo'nt be jealous Cock, and so▪ By the Back-door to the ducking pond. I go.

Ex.

Stri.

Enter then Landlady, where be these Girles?

Han.

Here they are come.

Ex.

Enter Joyce, Gabriella.

Stri.

Stand aside Cash, and be not yet discovered. Now Ladies, how do y'like your way of living?

Joy.

I do not like it Uncle.

Gab.

Troth, nor I sir.

Joy.

We eat and lodge well; and we weare good cloathes. And keep our credit in the house we live in, But what we suffer in our reputation Abroad, is dangerously doubtful.

Stri.

So, so.

Gab.

Here we are view'd and review'd by all com∣ers. Courted and tempted too, and though w'are safe In our chaste thoughts, the impious world may say, We are set out to common sale.

Stri.

So, so.

Cash.

And so you are to th' utmost of his power I dare be sworue;

Joy.

But Uncle, for the time that you intend To stay, I pray admit no new acquaintance, Nor any more, lest I for my escape Venture a leap two stories deep.

Stri.

Ha! you said? You know I have disclos'd you to no eye That could take knowledge who or whence you are, And for the forrein strangers, and such Townsfolks As knew us not; what need we weigh their thoughts. Their gold is weight; let that be all we look to. While our deserving arts and qualities Require it from 'hem. If they think us wicked, And hope to get Virginities for salary, And pay for their deluded hopes before-hand. What is our act bnt Justice on their follies, In taking of their prodigal coine?

Gab.

I hope, You deal not that way for us.

Stri.

Never fear it.

Joy.

But Uncle, though you have taught us courtly Gypsie tricks.

That somewhat trench upon our modesties. Pray let it not be thought we'll sell our honesties.

Stri.

Trust to my care.

Cash.

And thats the way to do it.

Stri.

And in that care be confidently seen, By a deserving Gentleman, whom I Present to kisse your hands.

Joy.

I will see none.

Cash.

You need not feare me, Lady; for I can But tell your father, if you slight his servant.

Gab.

Blesse us! what Metamorphosis is this? 'Tis Cash your fathers man.

Joy.

Is this the habit of a Merchants Prentice?

Cash.

Is this the lodging of a Merchants daugh∣ter?

Joy.

Has his great marriage turn'd my fathers house Into a sumptuous Palace, that he keeps Such costly men. Or doth the bravery Of his late beauteous Bride require such gorgeous Attendants? Pray what office may you fill About her person.

Cash.

Will you home and see?

Gab.

We are betray'd?

Stri.

Ha, ha, ha. Be not afraid of Cash. I know him, and he knows us. He is our friend And we'll be his. As for his bravery 'Tis no new thing with him. I know him of old. This sute's his worst of foure. And he's one Of the foure famous Prentices o'th' time. None of the Cream and Cake-boyes, nor of those, That gall their hands with stool-balls, or their Cat∣sticks, For white-pots, pudding-pies, stew'd prunes, and Tansies. To feast their Titts at Islington or Hogsden.

But haunts the famous Ordinaries o'th' time, Where the best chear, best game, best company are fre∣quent. Lords call him Cousin at the Bowling Green; And the great Tennis-Court. Thy fathers money Would rust else, Girle. Keep thou our Councel Cash. And we'll keep thine, though't be to the undoing Of him and all the wretches of his brotherhood, That love their money, and their base desires, Better then blood or name.

Gab.

But can you hold It good in any servant so to hazard His Masters livelihood.

Stri.

Can you hold your peace? He's wise, and saves by't all this while: He knows His friends are bound in full two thousand pounds, For's truth, and his true service, and perhaps, He is not out above one thousand yet, Where's your wit now?

Cash.

Mystresse, I'le do you service, and be true to you. I'd not have mist of this discovery.—

Stri.

You see she hearkens to him. Talk aside Cash. And touch her boldly.

Cash.

I would not have mist it. For all the wealth your father has: and at Convenient privacy. Ple give you reasons, That shall gaine your belief to't.

Stri.

The French Gallants.

Enter Papillion, Galliard.

I had almost forgot them. They are a paire Of delicate young Monsieurs. If they have But crownes enough, they are the likelicst

Merchants for my new Mart that I can choose. She said they can speak English, that's a help. For devil of French have I to entertain 'hem.

[Salutes.

Gab.

See mine own heart, here's more temptation still.

Joy.

I'le not endure the onset.

Cash.

I le defend you.

Joy.

Yet there are graces in their looks methinks, That do invite my stay.

Pap.

N' entendes vous, la langue francois Mon∣sieur dittez.

Stri.

I would be glad to heare you speak the lan∣guage I better understand, and that is English. In which you are most welcome.

Pap.

Your faire courtesie Merits our greatest thanks.

Gali.

I tanck you, sir. I have bid Fraunce adieu to come and learn De English very well; I speak a lietel, But de English Mesteresse can teach de best. I shall be glad to take my commencements, Or my first Lessons from these Ladies lips.

[Salute.

Stri.

A fine forward spark?

Gali

O sweet, O delicate. Ladies, if you will breath into me English, I shall, if you please, put Fransh into you. Ʋne pour l'antre, dat is one for anoder.

Cash.

So they might make a hot bargain on't.

Joy.

Are these your Civil Gentlemen, Landlady?

Han.

He seems a little waggish: but the other Is wondrous civil. He comes blushingly.

Pap.

You are before me in the Salutation Of these faire Ladies, Monsieur Galiard:

Gal.

Il E'vray Monsieur Papilion, I kisse before, then you mose kisse behind.

But let me pray my tardinesse be excus'd

[Salute.

Joy.

You pronounce English well sir.

Pap.

I am glad You like it Lady.

Gab.

I like the others as well.

Pap.

I have before spent many monethes in Eng∣land: And my great love unto the Nation, Especially to the beauties of your Sexe, Retracts me hither, where my friend was never. Till now that my perfwasion wonne his company; And happily, I suppose, we are arriv'd: That, to the sight and knowledge we have had Of Musick, Daunces, Courtships, and Behaviour. Through all parts of our Countrey, France, with an Addition of all Italy affords. Where (by all best opinions) even the choicest Of such court qualities, and active graces, Have had their Spring, we now, as Fame suggests, Shall in this faire Society, discerne More then by all our former observation.

Stri.

Report, sir, speaks too loud on our behalfe, And let me pray ye, that it not beget Too great an expectation on our weaknesse, By your too gentle suffrage. What we can, We'll do.

Gali.

O wee dats de best. Doe is de ting De Fransh man loves: If all your both two daugh∣ters Shew all; all makes but more desire to do. Speak I no good English, Madamoiselle?

Joy.

I understand you not.

Gali.

You no understand me, Because you tinck I lie. But if you lie With me, I make you understand me presently.

Cash.

This hot-rein'd Mousieur takes 'em for the same.

Strigood would have 'em be I came in time.

Stri.

At afternoon we'll have an exercise Of courtship, Gentlemen. In the Interim, If you will have to stir the appetite, A dance before our Ordinary we are for you.

Gali.

And we for you Alloun al Egremant Alloun Monsieur Papillion pour l' honour de France.

Pap.

VVhat are your dances chiefly in request.

Stri.

Good Landlady, bid the Musick be in r••adinesse. And then see dinner set upon the table.

Ex. Han.

We have Sir for Corants,—La Miniard, La Vemimde, Le Marquesse, Le Holland, La Brittaine, Le Roy, Le Prince, Le Montague, The Saraband; the Canaries, La Reverree. For Galliards, the Sellibrand, the Dolphine, The new Galliard, the Valette Galliard and lepees,

Gali.

'Tis all very good Monsieur Papillica Essontes Mon Amy.

Cash.

And heark you, Monsieur Strigood, you will be put to't.

Stri.

I feare no French flashes. Beare up Cash. If we cannot daunce 'hem of o' their legs, our wenches can, I warrant thee. Musick be ready. Gallants, what are you pleased to daunce?

Phil.

tells what, &c.

After the Daunces, Enter Hannah.

Han.

Gentlemen, your dinner stays meat will be cold.

Fran.

And we are hot, 'tis better that take cold then we. But come, one table for us all.

Phil.

Stri. Agreed, agreed, agreed.

Cash.

I say so too. But to my self reserve what I will do.

Ex. omnes.

Act. IV.

Scoen. 1.

Nehemiah, Ephraim.

Neh.

EPhraim, thou hast made me a man, both without, witnesse this sword and within, witnesse this precious book, which I have gotten al∣most by heart already.

Eph.

But sir, beware you fall not back again Into your childish follies: but go forwards In manly actions: for non progredi est regredi.

Neh.

I know the meaning of that too, Ephraim. That's once a man and twice a childe. But if I turne childe again, while I have teeth in my head, ••'le give Mrs. Blithe leave to dig 'hem out with Sugar∣plums, as she almost did these two of 'hem yesterday, with her knuckles. I would they stuck both in her bum for't, till I we••e married to her, and that shall be shortly, they say, I wo' not turne boy again for that trick.

Eph.

I hope you will not.

Neh.

Thou mayest be sure on't Ephraim: for if I would turne boy again, I ha' not wherewithal to set up again. Thou sawest that, assoon as I had tasted the sweetnesse of this delic••ous book here, I tore and burnt all my ballats, as well the godly as the ungodly. In my conscience as many as might have furnish't three Bartholomew Faires, and then for love of this sword, I broke and did away all my storehouse of tops, gigs, b••l••s, cat and catsticks, pot-guns, key-guns, trunks, tillers, and all; and will I turne boy again canst think? ye•• I am half sorry, being towards a wife, that I did

not keep 'hem for my children: some money might have been sav'd by't. And that is a manly and a good husbandly consideration, I take it. But hang covetous∣nesse: There comes not a mouth into the world, but there's meat for t; and if I finde 'em not play games, their mother will finde friends, that shall, for them and her selfe too

Eph.

I'm glad to heare such good things to come from you,

And hope that now your judgment's strong e∣nough

To manage my affair. You know my minde, sir.

Neh.

Amardla Ephraim, 'twill be hard to compasse. For the old Knight will never let me have his Neece, unlesse he have my mother. He meanes to truck for her, though, I confesse, I had rather call thee father then any man, I know, yet I know not how to bring it about, unlesse he marry her first; and then she be weary of him, and take thee afterwards to mend her match. I think it must be so, Amardla Ephraim.

Eph.

Now you flie out again, that's as impos∣sible, as 'tis unlawful.

La.

Within. Negh. Negh.

Neh.

Peace, my mother comes.

La.

Where are you childe? Neh.

Neh.

I hear her neighing after me, I'le do all I can for thee, Amardla Ephraim.

Enter Lady.

La.

Look you ••onne, what kinde Sir Swithin has sent you. A dancing frog, you would think it were a∣live, and a ballet of burning the false prophets before they be tried. And another fearful one of the new Antichrist.

Neh.

Hang bawbles, burn ballets, I am a man, and defie boyes tricks.

La.

A sudden change, I pray it be good.

Neh.

Tell me of toyes? I have a sword: offer me ballets? I have a book. Speak to me of Sir Swithin, I'le talk to you of Ephraim that gave me these bles∣sings; and is fitter to be my father, (so he is) then the foolishest Knight of 'em all.

[Reades,

La.

Blesse my sonne from too much learning. That book has done him no good, I doubt. He talks and looks so wildly o'the sudden.

Neh.

A ha!

La.

What book is't. Let me see it.

Neh.

I'le tell you first. It is a book all of Bulls, Jests and Lies Collected by an A. S. Gent. Mother f'sooth, there be such things in it! If you never reade it, it is the rarest book that ever you read in your life. Open it where you will, and you shall learn something. As here now. One refusing to eat Cheese∣cakes, was ask't his reason. He told them he lov'd the flesh well, but was afeard of the bones. Then here's the next to't. One asking whence Lobsters were brought: his fellow repli'd, one might easily know their countrey by their coat. They are fetch't from the red sea. Now would I might never eat more of 'hem, as well as I love 'hem, if I know what Cheese-cakes were made of, or from whence Lobsters came be∣fore.

La.

Is this your book-learning? In troth thou mak'st me laugh.

Neh.

Laugh on, good Mother. And while you are in the merry mood, let me speak a good word for E∣phraim. I have a minde f'sooth, because he has made me a man, to make him my father, f'sooth.

La.

What, what! How now.

How durst you firrah, move my sonne in this? ha.

Eph.

Madam.

La.

Is it but so? ha!

Neh.

Pray f'sooth hear him speak. He can speak Po∣etry (he sayes) as well as Knight Whimlbie. Speak Ephraim.

Eph.

Madam, Fa••re truth h••ve told That Queens of old Have now and then Married with private men. A Countesse was no Blusher, To wed her Ʋsher. Without remorse A Lady took her Horse- Keeper in wedlock. These did wisely know, Inferiour men best could their work below.

Neh.

Mother f'sooth, Is it not fine?

Eph.

Nay, Madam, more then so, I'le further go

La.

But you shall not, Sirrah. What, what! how now! Is't but up and ride? ha! Out of my doors thou varlet.

Neh.

I must out too then, mother I am afraid, oh.—

La.

Good Neh. be pacified, I'le give him a better answer.

But not a word on't now, sweet childe, I pray thee. Here comes Sir Swithin.

Enter Whimlbie, Blithe.

Whi.

Ha, ha, ha, Madam, ha, ha, ha.

[Kisse.

La.

I marry Sir Swithin. This is better then O Ma∣dam, O—, when you wash't your handkerchiefs in the suds, and then to wring hem out in Poetry.

Whi.

My tears with the memory of the dead are all fallen into Lethe; and nothing but joy left in me, sinc my hopes are confirm'd in your lap. And hang

Poetry: I study profit now. Therefore, look you, Madam, here is a draught of my marriage-instrument to your lap.

Eph.

His instrument being drawn, I must put up my pipe and be gone.

Ex.

VVhi.

And here is another draught for sweet Master Nehemiah, for my Neece Blithes Joincture.

Neh.

O but she sayes she will not have me.

VVhi.

When did she say so?

Neh.

Now, now, she spat the word out of her mouth. And I say, if she ha' not me, you shall whine both your eyes out before you have my mother; and see ne're the worse, I warrant you.

Neh.

A crosse marriage, or no marriage, I say still.

La.

I say so too, sonne, Sweet boy, be content.

Whi. Blithe.

You spoke well of him behinde his back: and made me think you lov'd him, and would marry him.

Bli.

Behinde his back, I may do much to please you. But when I look upon him, he turnes my stomack worse then a fool made of soure wilk.

La.

Marry Gip, Mrs Queasie, my sonne's as sweet as you, I hope, and as wise as you. And suck't as sweet milk as ever the good Cow your mother gave.

Bli.

Ha, ha, ha.

Whi.

Patience, good Madam.

Eph.

I hope the crosse marriage is crost. This is untoward wooing.

La.

Uds so! do you flirt out your unsavoury com∣parisons upon my sonne?

Bli.

Flirt not you at me, Madam, lest I flirt your milk-sop under the snotty nose here.

Neh.

Yes, and I have a sword, and you ha' got ne're a one.

La.

You wo' not will you, ha! Do you flie at him, ha!

Whi.

Fear not, good Madam.

La.

Ephraim, save my boy.

Bli.

Ha, ha, ha.—

Whi

She shall not hurt him. Leave her to me, good Madam.

La.

I ever fear'd he was not long-liv'd he was so witty. And now I feare, she will be the death of him. I would not he should marry her for a million.

Neh

Say not so, mother. I love her better and better still.

I never had play-fellow i my life, but we fell out and in agen.

And I must and will marry her, I take my death on't a∣forehand.

La.

O me! he is bewitch't to her.

Whi.

Leave all to me, dear Madam.

La.

As I am to you, I think, Sir Swithin.

Whi.

Let me alone with her: I'le win her, and he shall wear her▪ feare not. As •• was saying, Madam, she speaks as well of him behinde his back, as your owne heart can wish. And told me she was content to mar∣ry him.

La.

Behinde his back? did she so?

Whi.

Yes truly, Madam.

Neh.

Loe you there, mother, Let her marry me behind my back then: And when we are marri'd, I'le make her stick to't before my face, I warrant you; or if she will make back-play. I'le play at nothing but back∣gammons with her.

La.

Well, Heaven blesse thee, thou art but too good for her.

Whi.

Speak gently, Neece, I charge you.

Bli

Madam, I hope your Ladiship shall finde me too good for him. If e're he has me.

La.

Ha! say you so?

Whi.

She meanes in well-doing, Madam.

La.

Nay then, I thank you Mrs. Blithe. Assuring you that you shall be no way so good to him, but I will be as good to you.

Neh.

Agreed again of all hands. But look how she turnes and keeps cut like my Sparrow. She will be my back Sweet-heart still I see, and love me behind.

Whi.

She is yet raw, and has not much been abroad to see the manners of the time. In which my melan∣choly has been her main hinderance. But Madam, there is now that is worth all our sight and observation; A new Academy, where they say, the newest and most courtly carriage and behaviour is taught and pra∣ctised both for young Gentlemen and women. Have you not heard on t?

La.

Yes Sir Swithin; and that the French tongue is taught there with great alacrity; and my sonne is wish't thither, but soft I warrant you.

Whi.

But let him see it: at least in our company it will embolden him; I mean to carry my Neece thither. I have been a Lover of Arts and Exercises; and know somewhat since my youth. Pray let us spend one houre of this afternoon there.

La.

Pardon me good sir Swithin.

Neh.

But he shall not mother if you love me: for I mean to perfect my dancing there; and to learn French there; For I mean when I am married to travel into France. But I will first be perfect in the tongue I shall learne it the sooner when I am there you know. Pray let us go to th' Acomedy, what dee call it?

Whi.

The Academy.

La.

Say you so sonne? then come sir Swithin. Come Mrs. Blithe, we will all go.

Bli.

I'le wait upon you, though my heart sayes no.

Ex.

Scoen. 2.

Enter Joyce, Gabriella.

Joy.

O mine own heart! how near were we both fallen Into the Gulf of Ruine?

Gab.

Thanks for our delivery! We were upon the brink of main destruction.

Joy.

Was ever such a Fr••end as this mine Vncle? Pretending us his children too, and call'd us daugh∣ters To those he bargain'd with to se••l our Maide head?

Gab.

'Twas a most damnable practise sie upon him.

Joy.

And had the Monsieurs been as capable Of our Virginities, as he was of. Their moneys, how had we then resisted.

Gab.

By Venus (mine own heart) my Gentleman Came up so close to me, that if my voice Had not been stronger then mine armes (O me! I tremble fon it yet) I had been vanquish't,

Joy.

But did you note the vertue of the Gentle∣men? When they were sensible of our feares and tears, How gently they desisted and with what humanity, When they perceiv'd how we had heen betrayd, They pitied our conditions; and woo'd homditly Our loves in way of marriage. Provided that Our births and fortunes might no way disparage Theirs, being free and generous

Gab.

I confesse I love 'hem both so well, that if they prove (As they pretend they are not) our inferiours In blood and worth, I would take either of'em.

Joy.

Troth (mine own heart) 'tis just the same with me.

I care not which I have. And mark a sympathy, How equally all our ••ffections strike. We both love them, they both love us alike. But peace. Cash, though he has done us good service, Must not know all. How goes it within Cash?

Enter Cash.

Cash.

And why Cash pray. Ha' not you chang'd your names From Joyce and Gabriella to Jane and Frances. And is not your Uncle Strigood now become Your father, by the name of Mr. Lightfoot The nimble dancing Master? And must I still Carry the name of Cash? and having lost My nature too, in having no cash left? (Pox o'the dice) call me Mr. Outlash.

Joy.

My father will fetch you home with an Inlash, One o'these dayes.

Cash.

But after you, faire Mistris, Now to your question for the squares within.

Joy.

I with the Frenchmen, and my Uncle Stri∣good.

Cash.

Your father Lightfoot, you forget agen. There's a drawn match made: For the Monsieurs Have ta'ne their money again: And you have still Your Maidenheads, I hope. But to have heard The coi••e they kept, the wrangle, and the stir; And how the young Blades put the old one to't; Would ha perplext you more then keeping of Your Maidenheads from men you love.

Gab.

You cannot tell that.

Cash.

O how the old man chafes that you would offer To make your mone to ••hem to move their pity, And not to make his bargain good; and then

How they put home his basenesse to him; to make sale Of his own blood and honour in his children. (They knew they said some parents in their coun∣trey, After their children were turn'd whores, would share To live upon the profits, but to sell Their soules before they were damned, fie; fie, fie, fie). Till he confest indeed you were none of his. But children of some friends of his deceast, Left to his care sor breeding; which he had Plenteously given, and thought it might seem reason∣able To raise his money out of you agen.

Joy.

What an old devil is this?

Cash.

Baser and baser still. The Monsieurs cri'd, and swore if they could sinde Your Parents were Gentle and vertuous, Being their first Loves, they would marry you, To free you from this miserable thraldome.

Gab.

Brave honest Gentlemen.

Gab.

Be advis'd though, Mistresse.

Joy.

I hope I shall.

Cash.

Beware of Travellers, many passe abroad For gallant fellowes that have run their countrey, For picking pockets.

Joy.

And some you know at home For cozening their Masters.

Cash.

You are pleas'd. But you have known my love; for Gabriella Let'hem share her betwixt 'hem. You and I Made one, may soon make peace with the old man At home.

Joy.

O Rogue! I'le tell you more anon Cash.

Enter Strigood, Pap. Galliard.

Stri.

Come Gentlemen, Monsieur Papillion. And Monsieur Galliard, all friends, all friends.

Pap.

A greed, agreed, sir.

Gall.

And agree for me. Agree poor tout.

Stri.

Chear up your faces Girles. 'Twas but my trial of your chastity. And since you have stood firme, I am proud of you. Trust me, 'twas but to try you.

Gall.

Wee wee All, but for try. Trimount, tri∣mount. No more, but all for try: no man can tinck, But'twas too very moshe to take two hundred Crowns for two pusillages, no, no was but For try: but and she had not squeek and scrash too Like to do leetel chat, I had Trimount One, two, tree, five time, for all your try.

Stri.

VVhat's past let be forgot. According to Agreement, Gentlemen, y'are now content To joyne with us in Academick fellowship, And for your pastime professe Art and Science, As we do for our profit: y'are expert, I finde; and shall winne wonder of our Nation, To your own much delight out of their follies.

Cash.

And then for Gamesters, Gentlemen. If you••ll play. I'le bring ye those shall venture money enough.

Pap.

VVe are planted to our wish.

Gall.

All very good. All very good; but I would see thee first. VVhat Ladies will come here to practise complement.

Stri.

You are still hot upon the female Monsieur Galliard Monsieur Papillion here flies over ••hem.

Enter Hannah.

Han.

Ha, ha, ha, what will this world come to?

Stri.

Landlady, the newes?

Han.

The old will to't. As well as the young I see.

Stri.

To what Landlady?

He takes her aside. And that while the young men and maids court and confer at tother side.

Han.

To fashion following; A Reverend Lady Of fifty five; and a Knight of threescore And upwards, are come hither to learn fashion.

Stri.

Do you know their names?

Han.

Yes, yes: and them; 'tis that Begets my wonder. 'Tis the Lady Nestlecock, and one Sir Swithin VVhimlby.

Stri.

VVit be merciful unto us.

Enter Hannah, Cash.

Han.

The Ladies man's without: who came to know if the house were ready to entertain 'hem; do you know 'em Mr. Lightfoot?

Stri.

I have heard o'th' Lady. Cash, see if it be E∣phraim. He cannot know thee. Let him not away,

[He looks out.

By any meanes, his not return to them may keep 'hem back.

Cash.

'Tis he, I see him hither.

Stri.

Landlady, is your husband come from duck∣ing.

Han.

Yes, overjoy'd with the good sport he has had. He'll play th' good fellow then. Entreat him Cash.

To help thee, put a cup or two upon That fellow; and hear••st me, spice his cup, I mean, grave Ephraims cup with this same powder, 'Twill lay him asleep, and quickly.

Cash.

I know the trick on't.

Ex.

Stri.

And Landlady, when the Knight and Lady come, Say we are ready for 'em.

Han.

That I shall sir.

Pap.

'Tis then an absolute contract. I am yours.

Joy.

And I am yours as firme as faith can binde.

Gall.

To which we are de witnesse. Be so for us, I am her husband, And she is my wife, Speak you.

Gab.

'Fore Heaven, I do acknowledge it, But sir, the Church must be observ'd,

Gall.

For that. We'll send for one Minister that shall marry Us all at once. One kisse till then shall serve.

[Kisse.

Stri.

'Tis well done Monsieurs, I no sooner turn My back, but you are on the Damosels lips.

Gall.

A leetel in de honest way will serve, But he shall know no-ting.

Stri.

On with your Masques-Maids, And take especial heed you blush not through 'hem. For here are some at hand will put us to't.

Joy.

'Tis not my father, nor my Lady Aunt?

Stri.

I cannot promise you. Be bold and safe. Beare it out bravely, or our school breaks up Immediately: and we are broke forever, Besides, there is no startiug.

Gab.

That's enough To make a coward fight, and mine own heart; We must stand stoutly to't, we lose our loves else.

Joy.

Well, I am arm'd.

Gab.

And I.

Stri.

Fall into complement.

Masques on.

Enter Whimlby, Lady, Neh. Blithe.

La.

I muse we lost my man thus.

Neh.

By your leave, sir. Are you the Regent of this Academy?

Stri.

I am sir.

Whim.

And are those of your Assistants.

Stri.

Yes sir, and all Professors of Court-discipline, By the most accurate, yet more familiar Rules, then have ever yet been taught by any, For quick instruction both of young and old.

Whim.

You promise very fairly. For us old ones, We know and could have done things in our youth, Which still we have a minde to: but we leave The practice to our young ones: Here's a paire Would faine be at it. We'll pay their admittance.

La.

But I'd be glad to see first by your leave, Some probability of what they shall learn.

Stri.

And reason good, good Madam. Pray observe there.

Pap.

Fair star of courtship, my unworthy humble self, a Profest servant to the integrity of beauty, makes this

Clear testimony of your merits, that every eye that sees you,

Owes you his heart for tribute, and that unjustly your beholders live, that live not in your service.

Neh.

Mother f'sooth, is not this French?

La.

Peace ch••lde. Hear more on't.

Joy.

Noble sir, you are so exactly deserving in the opinion of all righteous judgements, that the least syl∣lable of your faire testimony, is able to re-edifie the ru∣ines of a decayed commendation.

Whim.

The best that ever I heard, since I woo'd my Grissel.

Stri,

Was not that a sweet bout, sir?

Whim.

Yes, yes, it puts me in minde of some sweet bouts I had with one before I married her.

Stri.

••as he married my Sister troe?

Pap.

I am forc't to give you over, Madam, you have such a preventing and preoccupying wit in all things.

Neh.

That goes like English Mrs. Blithe. I could learn some of that me thinks.

Bli.

Best tell your mother so; she may rejoyce at it.

Stri.

There, Lady, was a taste of sweet comple∣ment between persons equally affected. May it please you now to let your sonne passe upon this demosel. Who being to her a stranger, and raw (as I imagine) in courtship, shall meet with reprehension, that may be for his instruction.

La.

Do Neh. speak to her.

Whim.

Put of your hat and say—.

Neh.

What! and her masque on?

La.

That was well-said. Why are they mask'd, I pray sir?

Stri.

We are commanded it by the policy of wise authority; for feare young heires might fall in love with 'em, and sink their fortunes.

La.

You have well satisfied me.

Neh.

What should I say to one I never saw.

Whim.

When I was young and bold, I would have said, Lady, you are most auspiciously encountred. And speak it boldly.

Neh.

Lady, you are most suspiciously accoutred, I speak it boldly.

Whim.

Auspiciously encountred man.

Neh.

Auspicously encountred woman, I say.

Gab.

I commiserate your encounter. 'Tis a most hungry, verminous, impoverish't word sir. It seems you are a stranger by't, to the Innovation of courtship.

Neh.

What should I say to that now?

La.

He's a weak scholar forsooth, and would be glad to learn.

Gab.

The acknowledgement of his weaknesse is the first greece of gradation to perfection, and his glad∣nesse the scaling-ladder of resolution.

Neh.

Pray f'sooth, can you teach me a complement to offer you sugar-plums, and eat 'hem my selfe: to save my manners and my plums too?

La.

What a wag it is?

Gab.

What walking dunghil is this? made of the dust swept from the house of ignorance.

La.

What, what! how now, ha? you are a Flapse to terme my sonne so, ha!

Stri.

O good Madam. This is but school play.

La.

I'le put her by her school-tricks and no only ••nmask, but unskin her face too, and she come over my heire apparent with such Billingsgate Comple∣ments.

Pap.

Sweet Madam, no harm was meant, and no∣thing said in earnest: 'Twas meerly but school pra∣ctice, but to shew the sweet young Gentleman how he might be subject to the scorne of Court, before he be seen in Complement.

La.

Say you so?

Pap.

'Twas told your Ladiship before, that by repre∣hension he might finde instructiou.

Whim.

Right Madam; For no Fencer learnes his Science before he receive some hits and knocks too: Oh, I have had many.

La.

Nay, I am satisfied, and pray, that my rash er∣rour may prove pardonable Lady

Gab.

Rather let me implore your mercy, Ma∣dam—.

Stri.

'Tis well, 'tis well Lets hear an Interchange or two now, of complemental acknowledgement of

courtesies past betwixt Ladies, for the edification of ••his faire one, who seems not yet to have ta'ne notice of us, but looks o' the ground still.

Bli.

'Tis not to finde a fescue, sir, among the Rushes.

To pick out a lesson in your crisse-crosse-row of comple∣ment.

Stri.

Sharp and sudden. She has a good wit I see.

Whim.

Ob erve, good Blithe, observe.

Gab.

Can your poor servant expresse acknowledge∣ment enough, Lady, for favonrs so incessantly heap't upon her, besides the accumulation of many secret be∣nefits?

Joy.

I cannot but admire, Madam, your noble and illustrious Gratitude, that can give beauty to benefits of so low a birth and condition.

Whim.

O my Grissel comes to my minde agen, she was the gratefullest woman.

Gab.

If such favours, Madam, should passe under an humble name, Honour would grow idle, and a thankful Nature beguil'd of her emploiment.

Joy.

You'••l make my zeale hereafter, too bashful to serve your most curious acknowledgement.

Bli.

Curious acknowledgement! There was a thrid drawn out.

Gab.

I am hound by many kindnesses, Madam, to ce∣lebrate the faire memory of you; as the trouble of your Coach twice in one day, besides those inestimable Jewels, the Monkey and Dormouse your Ladiship sent me.

Neh.

I would you could lend me a sight of 'hem for∣sooth, I love such things devoutly.

Joy.

You do but open a privie door to my thankful temembrance, Madam, for the bounty of your Squirrel and Paraquitoe.

Bli.

Fagh, shut that privie-door.

Neh.

And shut in the Squirrel and the Paraquitoe to be stifled, shall she? O that I could see hem!

Stri.

Now Madam, and Sir Knight, Is not this neat and handsom?

Whim.

Truly, truly, 'tis most admirable pretty.

Stri.

Nay, if you heard our Lectures, saw our Daunces. Relish't our Musick and harmonious voices, Observ'd our Rules for fashion and attire, Our many exact postures and dimensions, Fit to be us'd by way of Salutation, Of courtesie, of honour, of obeisance, To all degrees of man or womankind, From the low bent of vassalage, to the head Of towring Majesty, you should admire.

La.

But do you reade and teach all these to your scholars?

Stri.

Stand forth, Monfieur Galliard. Stay w'are interrupted.

Enter Eras. Val. Rachel.

Up maids, and quickly; or 'tis not your Masques Can keep you undiscover'd. Go, be ready, With Musick and your voices, when I call to yee.

Ex. Joy. Gab.

La.

Why are we interrupted? pray proceed.

Neh.

Mother, it is my naughty Aunt, so 'tis▪

La.

No matter, sonne, we'll take no notice of her.

I wonder at the boldnesse of the drudge though.

Ra.

I can turne taile too, as well as the great La∣dy. Hab.

Val.

And do so, Mystresse, give her a broad∣side.

Well-said, we'll make our partie good, I warrant you.

Er.

Sir, we have heard your Fame; and love your Arts. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 pray that our ambition be excus'd, Which drew on our Intrusion.

Stri.

To me and to the place you are all welcom.

Val.

And so to all I hope, chiefly to you, Good Madam Dowager, hoping in good time I may get good, by doing much good upon you How likes your L••p••my complement.

La.

Do you bring your rude companions to affront me? Are you so hot? you stir up your cinders before they be cak't.

Val.

Still in the Kitchin-dialect.

Ra.

No ruder then your self, hah.

Val.

I brought her, Madam,

〈◊〉〈◊〉 advance my suit to you.

La.

Will you see me abus'd

••ir 〈◊〉〈◊〉, look to your Neece, the t'other talks to her.

Whi.

Kinde merry Gentlemen, Madam, when I was young I would have done the like. Their com∣ing hither, was as ours was to note th' instructi∣ons

That are taught here. Pray sir proceed. On with your exercise, that we may all be edified.

Stri.

We shall do so, sir.

Val.

But sir, your Gentlewomen,

That past upon our entrance where are they?

〈◊〉〈◊〉

Sir, they were call'd in haste to private pra∣ctice

With some great Ladies in an upper room.

Val.

Umh—private practice. Well, I shall know all.

Stri.

And they being absent, we shall for the pre∣sent

Only deliver by these Gentlemen, ••••me heads of Sciences.

A Song, a Daunce, and then Entreat you take a taste of a collation. And all most fairly welcome.

Speak M••nsieur Galli∣ard,

The heads of our chief Arts. Your silence, pray you.

Gal.

The first is the due carriage of the body, The proper motion of the head, hand, leg, To every several degree of person, From the Peasant unto the Potentate; To your ••nferiours how and when to use the Nod, The Hum, the Ha, the Frown, the Smile, Upon the fit occassion; and to your equals, The exactest, newest, and familiar motions Of eye, of hand, of knee, of arme and shoulder, That are in Garbe, in Congee, Crindge, or Shrug, In common Courtesie, or Complement, Lastly, for your Addresses to Superiours. The Honours, Reverence, or Obeysances, Proper unto the quality or estate Of person whatsoever. And so much For carriage and behaviour. In the next place You shall have rules for the more graceful wearing Of your Apparel, with the natural Reasons, Why some mans hat does better in his hand Then on his head, and why his coat hangs neater Upon his elbow, then upon his back, As also Reasons for Tunes bringing up. And marriages, together of the fashions Of man and woman, how his Caller, and her Black-bag, came on together; how his pocket-comb To spru••e his Perrule, and her Girdle-glasse, To order her black pashes, came together; How his walking in the streets without a cloak And her, without a man came up together, Of these, and of a hundred more the like. We shall demonstrate reasons and instructions.

Shall render you most graceful in each fashion. The next are skills in instruments, song and dancing

Stri.

Enough, those shall be made familiar to you By voice and action instantly. A Song there.

SONG.

Whim.

Admirable pretty still.

Er.

Are these your Gentlewomens voices, sir?

Stri.

They are

Val.

What do you keep 'hem up like Nuns, To sing and not be seen?

Stri.

Not alwayes sir. But may it please yee Gentlemen and Ladies, Now to observe the practice of our feet In active dancing.

Neh.

That came I to learn, And to speak French, do you think sir, you can bring My mouth to handle the French tongue handsomly.

La.

He's apt to learn, sir, I can tell you that.

Gal.

Yes. I shall bring his Mout to it. But his Mont is yet a leetel too wide. But he shall have some of de wa∣ter datde woman use for anoderting, to bring it bet∣ter together, and he shall speak like de Fransh Lady.

Neh.

Pray sir, if you can like the Ladies daughter of Paris properlie.

Er.

Now Val. thou knowest the way.

Val.

I wonder sir, 'Mongst all your Arts and Sci∣ences You have so little judgement in a face, Does his mouth appear wide to you? what false glasse Are your eyes made of?

Gab.

What you mean?

Er.

Nay, friend.

Stri.

Pray sir take no offence. Here was none meant.

Val.

Slander is no offence then. He has injur'd, By breathing an aspersion on that face, The life of beauty, and the soule of sweetnesse. Wide mouth Y—.

Gal.

Begar Monsieur, you shall no point out mouth, No, nor out-face the Frensh man with your great Bull-beef, and Mustard English looks.

Er.

Nay, gentle Val. forbear.

Val.

I'le stop. This mouth that knowingly sayes he dares except Against a tittle of his face or person. But as he is an ignorant stranger, and I must respect the company. I forbear.

La.

However sir, I can but thank your love in 't.

Er.

Now it works in her.

Val.

Pardon my plainnesse, Madam. I never was so ta'ne with Masculine beauty. And till I winne a woman that is like him, Or has been like him, I can but languish.

La.

They told me I was like him, when I was younger.

[Aside.

And let me tell you y' are a comely Gentleman. And be you but as honest as y' are handsom, you de∣serve well.

Val.

Ʋmh, 'tis a hard matter to bring those ends to∣gether.

Neh.

Mother f'sooth. Here's a man now for you to make my father! Beyond the Knight or Ephraim!

La.

Were I free from the old Knight, I could look well upon him.

Ra.

Come servant, come away.

Val.

By no meanes, Mystresse, I do but sooth her up to jeare her for vou. If you out-stay her not, you lose your honour. She'll brag she has out-look't you. If you start.

Ra.

Nay, and she go to that, I hope I can, Look as ill favouredly as her selfe, or a better Woman then she, and stay in spight of her, hah.

Val.

'Tis well done, Mystris, Madam shall I tell you. But I would pray you not to storme, but laugh at it. She sayes you are no match for me.

La.

Ha, ha, ha.

Val.

And knowing I aim at none but some great wi∣dow. Tells me she knows her husband's but short-liv'd. I fear she means to break his heart.

La.

Say you so?

Val.

No words, good Madam.

Whim.

••et more whispering. Pray Madam let us go. Neece come away, For I fear Madam, as you wisely doubted, This is no companie for us.

La.

Sir, I hope. I am not yet so tied, but I may safelie Use my own ••reedom, I'le go when I please.

Whim.

O Grissel, Grissel, when would'st thou have said so?

Bli.

Loves power, I hope, hath wonne on destinie, T' appoint this day for my delivery.

Er.

Nay, good Sir Swithin,—Ladies—we have yet Dauncing to come, and a Collation promis'd.

Enter Camelion.

Stri.

Yes Gallants, now w' are readie, we but stayed for this fourth man here.

Val.

O Camelion. Where is your wife? I hope your je lousie.

Locks her not up.

Cam.

Pish Honi soit. I hate it. No, she has been preparing of a banquet, Which now is ready for you, worthy Mr. Lightfoot, And your faire company; jealousie I defie The ba••e horne A gue, Mr. Askal I.

La.

What does he call you? Rascal?

Val.

Askal Madam. My name is Askal. But the R in Master Runs in••o't so, that sometimes it sounds doubtful. I must be Knighted, Euphoniae gratia. Sir Valentine Askal will come fairly off.

Cam.

Now note me Mr. Askal, and tell me if ever jealous man came so lightly off.

Enter Hannah.

Daunce.

Han.

Sir, your collation stayes.

Stri.

'Tis well, Gallants and Ladies Wilt please you enter.

Omn.

Agreed, agreed, of all sides.

Ex. Omn.

Act. V.

Scoen. 1.

Enter Lafoy, Hardy, Matchil.

Laf.

INhospitable! 'tis inhumane, past The cruelty of infidels.

Mat.

Thou speak'st But thine own barbarous cruelty, hollow Frenchman.

Laf.

Abominable hypocrite.

Mat.

Cunning Villain.

Har.

Fie Gentlemen, forbear this unknown lan∣guage.

And either speak to others understanding, If you speak Justice:

Mat.

Give me then my sonne.

Laf.

Thou hast thy sonne, give me my sonne and daughter.

Har.

Pray Gentlemen, if you'll not hear each o∣ther, yet both hear me.

Mat.

I pray Captain speak.

Har.

You had his sonne to foster; he your daughter. You faithfully affirme you sent his sonne For England a moneth since.

Laf.

And mine own with him.

Har.

You have confest you put away his daughter.

Mat.

And mine own with her, through her disobe∣ence. But 'twas upon advertisement by letter, That he had first cast off my sonne to an Untimely death.

Har.

Some Villain forg'd that letter, And let me tell you sir, though in your house, Lafoy's an honest and a temperate man. You are rash and unadvis'd, what Lafoy speaks I will maintain for truth: what you have done I wish you could make good; But I may fear You are mark't out by your own wilfulnesse, The subject of much woe and sad misfortune.

Mat.

I know not what I am; but did you know The number, and the weight of my afflictions, You could not chide me thus without some pity.

Har.

Indeed I pity you, and now y'are calme, Know that Lafoy sent his sonne over with yours, And but for some affaires he had with me, I'th Isle of Wight he had embarqu'd himself With them, and brought hem to you.

Mat.

There's hope then yet That my boy lives.

Hard.

And is come over feare not.

Mat.

You comfort me, and now Lafoy y' are wel∣come.

Laf.

But to what comfort, having lost my daugh∣ter.

Mat.

Lost or lost not, mine's with her. And I purpose now to be sad no longer. For I think I ha' lost my wife too, there's a second comfort.

Har.

Take an example here Monsieur Lafoy, And shake of sadnesse; mirth may come unlook't for.

Har.

I ha' lost a sonne too, a wilde roaring Lad, About this town. And if I finde not him, I doubt not I shall finde, that he has spent me A hundred pound since I last heard of him. By the way sir, I sent you a bill of change Last moneth, to pay a hundred pieces for me.

Mat.

'Twas paid. I have your bill for my discharge. How now? Ha' you found your Mystresse.

Enter Servant.

Ser.

Nor tidings of her, sir.

Mat.

She has found then some good exercise, I doubt not. That holds her so.

Ser.

Sir, there's a Gentleman Craves instant speech with you.

Mat.

Who? or whence comes he?

Ser.

He will be known to none before he sees you. And, when you see him, he sayes he thinks you'll know him. He's a brave gallant, one o'the Alamodes, Nothing but French all over.

Mat.

Fetch him me quickly,

It is my sonne. Grammercie mine own heart, That wast not light so suddenlie for nothing, Pray Gentlemen, who e're you see, name no man To me, unlesse I ask you. He comes, he comes.

Enter Cash.

I'm grown a proper man. Heaven make me thank∣ful. Just such a spark was I at two and twenty, Set cloathes and fashion by. He thinks to try If I can know him now. But there I'le fit him. With me sir is your businesse?

Cash.

I presume You do not know me, sir.

Mat.

As well as he that got him. Pray Gentlemen keep your countenances. Not know you sir? 'Tis like I may have known you here to fore, But cannot readily collect; perhaps You are much chang'd by Travel, Time, and Bra∣very, Since I last saw you. There he may finde. I partly guesse, but will not know him yet. Good Geutlemen say nothing.

Har.

What ailes he troe.

Cash.

He knowes me, I feare, too soon. If now my plot faile, and he have a Counterplot upon me. I am laid up.

Cash.

Do you not know me yet sir.

Mat.

Know you, or know you not sir, what's your businesse.

Cash.

You sometimes had a sonne sir.

Mat.

Now he comes to me. I had sir. But I hear he's slain in France.

And farewel he. Mark how I handle him. And what sir of my fonne?

Cash.

He's dead you say.

Mat.

I mufe the Knave askes me not blessing though.

Cash.

But to supplie his losse you have a daugh∣ter That may endear a sonne, sir, to your comfort.

Mat.

Whither now flies he trow! Sir, do you know her. Or where to finde her?

Cash.

First upon my knees Let me implore your pardon.

Mat.

Now he comes home: And I can hold no longer. My blessing boy, thou meanest. Take it, and wel∣come To a glad father. Rise, and let my teares, If joy confirm thy welcom.

Cash.

I may not rise yet sir.

Mat.

No? why? what hast thou done? where's young Lafoy? My true friends sonne here? whom I now must lock Up in these armes, amidst a thousand welcomes. Where's the young man?

Cash.

I know not who you mean sir.

Mat.

Distract me not.

Laf.

I feare you are destraught. I know not him. How should he know my son.

Mat.

Let me look nearer.

Cash.

Sir, I am your Prentice.

Mat.

Whow—whow, whow, who—my Thiese and Runaway.

Cash.

Prav sir afford me hearing.

Mat.

Sir, your cause Requires a Judges hearing.

Cash.

I have put me Into your hands, and not without much hope, To gaine your pardon, and your daughters love.

Mat.

'Tis roundly spoken. Gentlemen, I'le tell you. This gallant youth, has gallanted away A thousand pound of mine.

Cash.

For your advantage sir: For By this way Of Gallantry, as you call it, I have travell'd Through the Resorts and Haunts publike and pri∣vate Of all the Gallants in the Town. In brief I have found your daughter, where she had been lost For evet in your brother Strigoods hands.

Mat.

Canst bring me thither?

Laf.

Is my daughter with her?

Cash.

Madam Gabriella, the French Damsel's there. And others, men and women, whom you'll know when you come there.

Laf.

Good sir, lets hasten thither.

Mat.

You'll aid me, sirs?

Har.

Yes, with our lives and fortune.

Ex. omnes.

Scoen. 2.

Enter Erasmus, Blithe, Camelion.

Er.

Be fearlesse Lady, and upon my life, Honour, and faith; you are secure from danger.

Bli.

Sir, I have put me in your hands you see So liberally that I may feare to suffer, If not a censure, yet a supposition Of too much easinesse, in being led So suddenly so farre towards your desire. But my opinion of your noblenesse Joyn'd with your Protestation, pleads my pardon

At least it may, the wretchednesse considered, To which I was enthrall'd.

Er.

It is not more my love Unto your vertue, and your faire endowments. Then pity in me labours your release. Nor is it rather to enrich my self. Then to save you from so immense a danger, As you had fallen into by yielding under Your Uncles weaknesse in so fond a match.

Bli.

Blesse me from being fool-clog'd.

Er.

Now you are free. If you can think your self so, and but yield Unto my present Counsel.

Cam.

Do so Lady Before you are mist within. Here is the Closet, And here's the Key in your own hands, And pre∣sently I'le fetch a Priest.

Er.

You see I still deal fairlie w'ye; and give you power To keep guard on your self.

Bli.

And yet I yield My self your prisoner.

Cam.

In: some body comes. She will be yours. And let me tell you, sir, I wish you as much joy with her, as I Have with my Cock.

Er.

You have befriended me In this good enterprise: And one good turne Requires another. And now for that I told you, Touching your wife, your Cock you so rejoyce in.

Cam.

Alas. alas, good Gentlemen, you would fain Ha' me be jealous. Honi soit, y'are short.

Enter Val. Hannah.

Er.

Stand by and observe.

Val.

Do you begin to boggle, And when I send for twenty pieces, do you Send me but ten?

Cam.

What's that?

Er.

Nay mark.

Val.

I pray, What have I had in all by your account.

Han.

At several times, you have had fifty pounds of my poor husbands money.

Val.

What's that to the free pleasure of my body Which must afford you sweet and lustie payment? You froward Monkey. But perhaps you ha' got Some new-found Horn-maker, that you may think, Deserves your husbands money better, for Doing his Journey-work, one o'the Monsieurs, Or both perhaps i'th' house here under's Antlers, It must be so, why else of all the town, Must I be one o'th' last that must take notice Of your new College here, your brazen face Col∣lege Of feates and fine fagaries? do you grow weary of me?

Han.

Do you grow wilde? speak lower, do you mean to undo me?

Val.

Will tother fifty pound undo thee, I have lost All that I had within among your Monsieurs. And you must yield supply, or lose a friend Of me.

Cam.

What a way would so much money have gone In betts at the ducking pond?

Han.

Will no lesse serve your turn then fifty?

Val.

No lesse. All makes (you know) but a just hun∣dred. And there I'le stick; and stick close to thee too, Else all flies open. What care I who knows

Your credits breach, when you respect not mine.

Cam.

'Tis too well known already; All••s too open. My house, my purse, my wife, and all's too open.

Han.

O me, undone.

Cam.

Was ever loving husband So much abusd?

Val.

Enquire among your neighbours.

Er.

Be patient man.

Cam.

O thou close whore.

Val.

Take heed, sir, what you say. Eene now you said she was too open, sir. Y'are in two tales already.

Han.

I feare he's mad Or jealous, which is worse.

Val.

Pish, Honi soit. He jealous, he defies it.

Cam.

Do you deride me? Sir, you can witnesse with me, he confest Receipt of fifty pounds my wife has lent him, (False woman that she is) for Horn-making, Job Journey-work.

Han.

You are deceiv'd.

Cam.

I know. (At least I think) I am deceiv'd in both. My money and thy honesty, but the Lawes In both shall do me right, or all shall flie for't. I'le instantly to councel.

Han.

Hear me first.

Er.

By all meanes hear her first. Pray grant her that.

Cam.

I dare not look on her, lest I be tempted To yield unto my shame and my undoing.

Val.

Will you not heare your Cock, your Nansie, Nanny Cock.

Han.

Time was you would not ha' denied me that.

Cam.

Nor any thing, if my Cock had but stood upon't. Such was my love, but now,

Han.

But now y'are jealous.

Cam.

Have I not cause?

Han.

Here's tother fifty pieces, take 'hem sir. They are full weight, and truly told.

Val.

Brave wench.

Han.

If you will law, sir, you shall law for some∣thing.

Cam.

What dost thou mean?

Val.

I hope she'll humble him so, That he shall keep our chamber-door for us, While we get boyes for him. A dainty Rogue, She tempts me strongly now. Would she would call me About it presently.

Han.

That money sir May serve to countenance you among the Gamesters Within, that blew you up. The Lady widow May think the better of your credit too, Being so good i'th' house.

Val.

I'le streight amongst 'em.

Cam.

Councel me not sir. All my joyes are gone. I cannot think now what a ducking pond Can be good for, except to d••own me in't.

Er.

Alas, poor man, I was in this too busie.

Han.

Stay, you shall promise me before my hus∣band, That you will never more attempt my chastity.

Val.

That bargaine's yet to make. Though before him I may say much, I will not stand to that For all the wealth he has.

Han.

You shall protest Then, fairly, as you are a Gentleman

You never have enjoy'd me.

Cam.

I like that.

Val.

No, no, I cannot safely, for in that I shall surrender up my interest In's house; and he may warne me out on't. No, Take heed o' that. 'Tis not his tother hundred Shall make me slip that hold.

Cam.

I am lost again.

Han.

What a bold thief is this! Pray heare me, sir. You may remember that I ask't you once What Countreyman you were.

Val.

Yes, when you first cast your good liking on me, and I told you.

O'th' Isle of Wight: And what o' that?

Han.

And you Call Captain Hardyman, their father-in-law.

Val.

You wrong me basely, to say I call him any thing; for he gives me nothing.

Han.

You wrong him basely. Look you, Can you reade.

Val.

I had done ill to venter (as I ha' done) On Salisbury plain else. Hah, what's here

That daughter, I sent you order to receive for me an hundred pounds. If you finde that your brother the Spendthrift Val. Askal, (Zookes that I) be in any want, furnish him according to your own discretion.

I am Val. Askal, where's the money? My hundred pound, ha' you't.

Han.

It seems a Sister of yours had it. Ha' you a sister?

Val,

He had a daughter by my mother, but He plac••d her out a childe, I know not where Where's that young whore trow? Hannah I think her name was. Hang me if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 know directly.

Cam.

My wives name's Hannah, sir.

Han.

I am that sister, brother, but no whore.

Er.

Now Val. your brags to make men think you lay with her.

Han.

You have your hundred pound sir. Look you, husband. This is my fathers letter which you wrote on. That which you dar'd the devil and Clerks to coun∣terfeit, reade your own hand.

Cam.

Honi soit qui maly pense.

Er.

I must admire this woman.

Val.

Do'st think I did not know thee.

Han.

No sir, nor would I that you should, Till I had foil'd you in your course, And had my will to make my husband jealous.

Cam.

My Cock, my Cock again, my Nanny cock, Cock-all my Cock-a-hoop, I am overjoy'd, See, see thy father too.

Enter Matchil, Hardy, Lafoy, Cash.

Mat.

This is the woman. To whom I paid your money.

Hard.

'Tis my daughter—. My blessing on you.—What are you here too.

Val.

And ask you blessing too. Your hundred pound Has bound me to't. Heaven blesse you, Here's halfe one still, yes, and the better halfe, for tother's spent.

Hard.

O y'are a great good husband.

Val.

I would be one. And here's a good rich wi∣dow Now in the house, your countenance may help me, My Sister and my Brother both can tell you, How orderly and civilly I live.

Cam.

O wag.

Hard.

'Tis like sir, I shall prove your Furtherer. What is she?

Val.

That Merchants Sister, and a Lady sir. I would not have him heare.

Hard.

Well talk aside then.

[talk aside.

Mat.

In that I'm partly satisfied.

Er.

I love you sir, And waited on your wife but as your Sp••e, For feare he might have led her to more folly.

Mat:

But saw you not two such Damsels here?

Er.

Here are Some in the house that would not be seen by us.

Cash.

Because they thought you'd know 'hem.

Er.

And if that Old fellow be your brother Strigood, tis most strange

Mat.

You know not him here do you?

Er.

No not I.

Mat.

'Tis my man Cash.

Er.

Most wonderful.

Mat.

We shall know more anon.

Laf.

Pray haste sir, to discovery: I would f••ine Once see my daughter.

Mat.

I would see a little The fashions o'the house first.

Cash.

Pray obscure Your selves in that by room there, where you may See and hear all that passes, nor can any Passe out o'th' house without your notice. The Gentlemen and I will mix again With the Society, if they please.

Er.

Agreed. Within Strigood. Where are you Gent'emen?

Er.

Come away Val.

Mat.

Is not that the Hell-hounds voice?

Cash

Yes, 'tis your brother.

Mat.

Good Captain go with us upon discovery.

Han.

I'le seat you to see all, and be unseen.

Cam.

Do so good Cock. Do so now sir, I'le fetch the Priest.

Ex. Han. Hard. Mat. Lafoy.

Enter Strigood.

Stri.

O Gentlemen, you have lost such sport, the Lady And Merchants wife have been by th' eares.

Cash

Could not The old Knight part 'hem?

Stri

He has done his best, And almost lost his eyes in the adventure Betwixt the Furies tallons▪

Er.

But are they friends agen?

Stri.

And deep in complement. Our school affords no such in act or language.

Enter Lady, Rach.

La.

Sister, Indeed I am too much your trouble.

Ra.

Pray Madam let me serve you truly truly. I'le be your servant for a yeare and a day

La.

Indeed, indeed you wrong your self, I am yours.

Ra.

I am your servants servant, and will serve Under your Ladiships Cook to do you service.

La.

Indeed you may not.

La.

If I may not be Accepted for your houshold servant, let me Become your Chare-woman▪ in any office From Cupboard to (lose-stool, I can do all To do your Ladiship service.

Val,

This now savours of Complement indeed.

Ra.

In sooth, 'tis sooth, forsooth the tale I tell you.

Enter Neh.

Neh.

Well acted mother.

La.

Y' are too obsequious Good gentle Sister.

Ra.

I am short of good. Gentle I grant I am, for I bite no body, Command me then sweet Madam.

Neh.

And very well acted Nant.

La.

O you shall pardon me▪

Ra.

I am no Pope, for your sake would I were.

La.

Your courtesie o'recomes me.

Ra.

O not so. I wish it could forsooth, would it were better for you.

Neh.

Exceeding well acted o'both sides. Mother and Aunt f'sooth, Amardla you have done't Better then the two School-Mystresses to d••y Could do their Whatshicomes, their Complements I think you call 'hem. But I ha' lost my Mystresse To complement withal. Mrs. Bli••he Tripshort Has out-strip't me, Amardla that she has.

La.

Where's he•• wise Uncle should ha' look't to her.

Neh.

He's crying all about the house for her, But cannot finde her. How shall I have her now?

La.

Thou shalt not have her boy, she's naught.

Neh.

Then he's Naught too. You sha'nt have him.

La.

Nor will, I feare not.

Neh.

Think of the Gentleman, mother that out-fac'd The Frenchman for me. I would you had a thousand such in France now.

Val.

God-a-mercy boy.

Er.

Peace, hear a little more.

Enter Camelion.

Cam.

Sir; come away.

I have found a carelesse Curate, that has nothing but a bare Coat too loose shall chopt't up presently. And give him but a piece, he'll fear no Cannon.

Er.

I am bound to thee for ever.

Ex. Cam. Er.

Stri.

Whither goes he?

Val.

No matter, let him go t'untrusse perhaps.

Enter Whimlby, Ephraim.

Eph.

I say she is i'th house.

Whim.

She's gone, she's gone.

Whim.

She's flowen out of a window, or chimney-top then. I'm sure I wrtch't the door with epen eyes E're since you entred, as my Lady charg'd me, Lest her childe might slip out to play i th' street.

Neh.

And I am here you see. He cannot see He has no more eyes then a sucking pig, And yet he weeps like a roasted one.

Whim.

I am abus'd, And r••nder me my Neece, You have stolne her for your sonne.

La.

My sonne defies her, As I do you, old whining wither'd fellow, That has no moisture in him but for teares.

Val.

That is my Cue. A young well govern'd man Were fitter, Madam.

Ra.

Where have you been servant?

Val.

I speak to my Lady.

Ra.

My Lady, I think you said. Are you so stout sir▪ hah?

La.

I rather think he playes the cunning hypocrite

With his false teares, and packt her hence himself

Ra.

My Lady mindes you not, and I can learn To give you a broad side too.

Eph.

Madam, that cannot be, for I have seen All that went out, or came into the house▪ Since you. Here came a Church man in ere while.

Whim.

A Churchman! then I feare she's clbsely mar∣ried unto her wo and mine.

Neh.

Perhaps to me. Behinde my back you said she would do so. And before him came in your brother Matchil.

La.

My brother, who her husband?

Eph.

Yes, with others.

Ra.

My husband, I think you ••aid What a foule house these washing dayes make?

Val.

Nay, 'tis no Jest Now ••••dies let me tell you, And sad Sir Swithin; pray lend all your eares.

Stri.

Cash, we are betray•••• Cash if we be not nimble. I smell a Fox. Hy thee up quickly Cash, And hurry down the wenches We'll make bold with My Ladies Coach to hurry us away.

Enter Matchil, Hardy, Lafoy, Hannah.

Mat.

But not too fast, Go sir, fetch down the wenches. Thou shamelesse Reprobate. Doest thou hang thy head now? I'le take a course to hang the rest o'thee. Your Ladiships well met at the new school. So is your Chare-woman. Ha' you profited By the devils doctrine here? you weep sin Swithin For the iniquity of the times.

Neh.

You mean His Neece, pray Vncle did you meet her, She's gone away too, after my Cousin Joyce,

And the French maid, I think, she is here agen.

Enter Eras. Blithe, Camelion.

Amardla, wipe your eyes, and look Sir Swithin, The tother honest Gentleman has found her. And let him take her for his paines for me.

Er.

I thank your love. But sir, 'tis your consent We only seek.

Mat.

Sir Swithin, let 'em have it,

Mat.

This is the Gentleman I would have spoke for: In birth, in meanes, in person every way Deserving her. Take him upon my word.

Hard.

And Madam, since you stick but upon Joyn∣cture, Having heard lately well of his husbandry.

Han.

Thank a good sister, sir.

Hard.

I will secure you Three hundred pounds a year, your brother knows me.

Mat.

With make good his word. Agree by your selves.

Lad.

Upon these termes, 'tis like we shall agree. Sir Swithin are you pleas'd.

Whim.

Pleas'd or displeas'd. It seems they are married.

Cam.

Yes, I assure you, I saw their hands joyn'd, and I heard 'hem both Answer the Priest.

Whim.

I will no longer whine. Heaven give you joy, As y'are your owne, y' are mine.

Cam.

There are more weddings i'th' house, your daughters, Are linck't by this time to the two young Frenchmen.

Mat.

His daughters? ours I fear? what French? where are they?

Enter Cash, two sonne's, Joy, Gab.

Cash.

Here sir, undone I feare.

Mat,

What are you married.

Mat.

Jun: Sir, she is mine, I must and will main∣tain it.

Laf.

Jun. And she is mine.

Laf.

This is your sonne. And this Is mine.

Mat.

This is your daughter. And this mine. Each married to her brother.

Laf.

Jun. Mon Pere Je desire vestre Benediction Jour pour moy & ma fennue.

Laf.

You are lost children all, was ever thread By fate so crossely sp••n, so crossely wed?

Mat.

I know not how to Blesse you, or to look On your incestuous eyes.

Laf.

Jun. What is dat Incest, We have commit noting, we have no time, Since we were marry for so much as kisse, Begar no point so much as but one kisse.

Har.

Be not dismay'd. These marriages are none. The errour of the persons nullifies The verbal ceremony; and 'tis well They past not unto further rites: I'le finde A lawful way to clear all this. And then As you and they consent, they shall exchange And marry in due order.

Laf.

Jun. Sir I tanck you. You'ave speak very well. And we shall make. De exshange presently. A new exchange, De new Exshange indeed, for de husbands To shange the wifes before they can be wearie. Prenez mon frere, la voici la' une pour lautre. Dere, is one for anoder:

Har.

Is each party Agreed, and so content?

Ma.

J. Gab. We are.

Jo.

And we.

Laf. Ju.

Wee wee, I ensuis tresbien contult.

Mat. Ja.

Provided that we have our fathers leaves and councels.

Mat.

Can you seek fathers leaves or councels now, That have run from 'hem in your disobedience, Into the snares of hell: too farre I fear To be releast. O hell-bred Villain.

Stri.

Your brother o' one side.

Mat. Ju.

Lend but a patient care. And by my hopes of your desired pardon I'le quit you of your feare. 'Tis true, my duty At my Arrival should have wing'd me to you. But hearing of your late, ill talk't on marriage.

Mat.

O that root of mischief, And of my Sisters flight as ••oth to appear to you, As to presume a welcom; I was curious First to observe the Town, and taste the newes; When more by Providence then accident, Here we made choice of lodging, saw and lik't The practices of the Society, Until this wicked man; (who still presumes To call you brother,) finding us youthful strangers, And (as he might suppose) wanton—

Mat.

He made A bargain with you for their Maiden heads.

Cash

told me that, and how that hellish purpose Was vertuously declin'd.

Stri.

O counterfeit Cash.

Mat.

But must you therefore, knowing whose sons you were. Marry you knew not whom.

Mat. Ju.

Pardon me, sir.

Our loves were noble, and by due enquirie, Fetch't from each others faithful breast, the knowledge Of each other.

Mat.

VVhat! and marry then Each his own Sister? Riddle me not to death.

Mat. Ju.

Sir, I have done. And now that I have said The worst that might have hapned by his practice, To make his shame or his repentance greater, VVho only was my aim. VVe are not married, None of us all are married one to other.

Cam.

No, I assure you sir. Howere I li'd At their request, (small matter for a friend) I saw all the hurt the Priest did here to day. That was upon them two there.

Er.

Thank you sir.

Mat.

You shall be then: And so take hands in earnest. Is't not a double Match Lafoy?

Laf.

VVithout All manner of condition I consent.

Mat.

I am full of joy.

Cash.

O can you pardon me sir.

Mat.

Good boy, good boy. I know not how a City Could stand without such Prentices. And hope This wants few such. But what canst thou now say Brother, o' one side for thy felfe. Speak quickly▪ VVhile the good humour holds me to be friends VVith all the world: yet yonder's one lies heavy Athwart my stomack.

Stri.

Y'are full of joy you say. And I say had it been within my power, To have broke your heart, I had don't. Therefore in me Be comforted and love me; for I finde I have no power to hurt you, and will therefore Attempt no further.

Mat.

Brotherly spoke in troth.

And worthily worth an hundred mark a month, Shall ha't.

Stri.

Know then into the bargain, that I forg'd the letter that suggeited to you My Nephews death, in hope of means that way.

Mat.

Honestly said agaiu. Now what say you?

Ra.

I say that I am humbled on my knees. I beg your pardon.

Mat.

All's too well me thinks. But heark, before you break up school, lets have Oue frisk, one fling now, one cariering dance, And then pack up.

Omn.

Agreed, Agreed, Agreed.

Stri.

Play then Les tous ensembles.

Neh.

That's the French name on't, Uncle, 'tis in Dutch call'd All-to-mall; and I call it in English. Omnium Gatherum, 'tis the daintiest daunce. We had it here to day: I and my mother, My Aunt and all can daunce in't, as well as the best. With every one in their own footing. Now observe.

Daunce.

Mat.

You have done well. Now pray lets break up school.

Hard.

But yet not break up house. My sonne and daughter. Have given me power to call their Supper mine. To which I'le give you welcome, Ale and VVine.

Deus dedit his quoque finem, laus Deo.

FINIS.