The younger brother, or, The amorous jilt a comedy : acted at the Theatre Royal by His Majesty's servants / written by the late ingenious Mrs. A. Behn ; with some account of her life.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE A Chamber.

Enter George Marteen, in a Rich Riding Habit, with his Valet Britton.

Geo.

WEre you with Mrs. Manage, Britton?

Britt.

Yes Sir; And she cries as much for her wanting Room for you in her House, as she would have done some Forty Years ago for a Disapointment of her Lover. But she assures me, the Lodging she has taken for you, is the best in all Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

Geo.

And did you charge her to send Mirtilla's Page to me?

Britt.

I did Sir; and he'll be with you instantly.

Geo.

'Tis well— Then shall I hear some News of my Mirtilla.

aside.

Britton, hast thee, and get my Equipage in order; a handsome Coach, rich Liveries, and more Footmen; for 'tis Appearance only passes in the

World.— And de you hear, take care none know me by any other Name than that of Lejere.

Britt.

I shall Sir.

(Exit.)

Geo.

I came not from Paris into England, as my Old Father thinks to reform into a Dull wretched Life in Wales. No, I'll rather trust my kind Mistress Fortune, that has still kept me like her Darling, than pur∣chase a Younger Brother's narrow Stipend, at the Expence of my Pleasure and Happiness.

Enter Olivia in a Pages Habit. She runs and Embraces George.

Oliv.

My ever charming Brother!

Geo.

My best, my dear Olivia!

Oliv.

The same lovely man still!

Thy Gallantry and Beauty's are all thy own, Paris could add no Graces to thy Air; nor yet pervert it into Affectation.

Geo.

Spare me, and tell me how Mirtilla fares.

Oliv.

I think, Brother, I writ you word to Paris, of a Marriage ••••n∣cluded betwixt me, and VVelborn?

Geo.

That Letter I receiv'd, but from the Dear Mirtilla, not one soft word; not one tender Line has blest my Eyes, has Eas'd my panting Heart this tedious three Months space; and thou with whom I left the weighty Charge of her dear Heart, to watch her lovely Eyes, to give me notice when my Rivals press'd, and when she waver'd in her Faith to me, even thou wert silent to me, cruel Sister.

Oliv.

Thou wilt be like a Lover presently, and tire the Hearer with a Book of words, of heavy Sighs, Dying Languishments, and all that hud∣die of Nonsense; and not tell me how you like my Marriage.

Geo.

Welborn's my Friend, and worthy of thy Heart.

Oliv.

I never saw him yet, and to be sold unseen, and unsigh'd for in the Flower of my Youth and Beauty, gives me a strange aversion to the Match.

Geo.

Oh! you'l like him when you see him—But my Mirtilla.

Oliv.

Like him—no, no, I never shall—what, come a stranger to my Hu••bands Bed? 'Tis Prostitution in the lewdest manner, without the ••••••••ction; the Pleasure of Variety, and the Bait of Profit, may make ••ame E••••••sse for Whores, who change their Cullies, and quit their Nau∣•••••• ••oo••••—No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow Arbitrary, 'tis ••••ne we lo•••• into our Rights and Priviledges; therefore, my dear George, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou hope for Happiness in Love, Assist my Disobedience.

••e••.

In any worthy Choi••e be sure of me, but canst thou wish happiness 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Lov•• and not inform me something of Mirtilla.

Oliv.

I'll tell you better ••ews— Our hopeful Elder Brother, Sir Mer∣•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to be disinherited, for he is, Heaven bethanked—

Geo.

M••••••••d to some Town Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.

O••••••.

N••, so, my dear George, but sets up for a Celebrated Rake-hell, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 we••l as G••me••••er; ••e could not have found out a more dextrous way to ••••ve made thee H•••••• to four Thousand Pounds a Year.

Ge••.

What's th•••• without Martilla?

Oliv.

Prithee no more of her—Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming, Whoring and Fighting, may qualify a man for Conversation; but Love perverts all ones thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but ones self, for even a Mistriss can scarce dispence with a sighing, whin∣ing Lovers Company long, tho' all he says flatters her Pride.

Geo.

Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of my Love?

Oliv.

I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her I would not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.

Geo.

Mirtilla False? What my Mirtilla False?

Oliv.

Even your Mirtilla's False, and Married to another.

Geo.

Married! Mirtilla Married? 'Tis impossible.

Oliv.

Nay Married to that Bawling, Drinking Fool, Sir Morgan Blunde••.

Geo.

Married, and Married to Sir Morgan Blunder, a sot, an ill-bred senceless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?

Oliv.

No doubt, she had her Aims in't, he's a very Convenient Husband I'll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly enough, and she has Youth, and wantonness enough to match 'em.

Geo.

Her choice gives me some Comfort and some Hopes; for I'll per∣sue her, but for Revenge, not Love.

Oliv.

Forget her rather, for she's not worth Revenge, and that way 'twill be none; Prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in Breeches.

Geo.

On thee, her Page; doat on thee, a Youth; she knew thee not as Woman.

Oliv.

No that Secret I have kept to do you Service.— At first she said she lov'd me for your sake, because you recommended me, and when I Sung, or plaid upon my Flute, would kiss my Cheek, and Sigh, and often,

(when alone)

wou'd send for me, and Smile, and Talk, and set my Hair in Curles, to make me Sa••••y and Familiar with her. On•• Day she said, Endimi••n, thy Name-sake, was t••••s C••ressd by Cynthia. A Goddess did not scorn the humble Sw••in whom by her Love she equall'd to her Deity; she found that I had Sense to understand her, and paid her Advances back with equal Ardour.

Geo.

Oh! Curse, where learnt she all this wickedness?

Aside.

Oliv.

But she being oblig'd to go for Ilande••s, to see her Sister ••ak•• the Holy Habit, I feign'd a Sickness to be l•••••• behind, hoping that Ab¦sence might abate her Flame; yet she return'd more Amorous, and fear¦ing the Thefts of Love might wound her Honour, she thought 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Husband would secure that shame; and luckily my Aunt arriv'd s••om W••••••••, and brought Sir Morgan with her, who Lodging where w•• did at Mr••. Manages; My Aunt (that doats on Quality in either S•••• made up this hasty Match, unknown to me, though for my sake.

Geo.

What will not Faithless Woman do when she is raging.

Oliv.

And now having so well prepar'd the way, she grows impa∣tient for an Opportunity, and thou art Arriv'd most happily to succour me.

Geo.

No, for some Days keep this Habit on, it may be useful to us, but I must see this Faithless Perjur'd Woman, which I must contrive with Mrs. Manage.

Oliv.

Yet pray resolve to see my Father first; for now's the Critical Time to make thy Fortune; he came to Town last Night, and lodges here at Mrs. Manages, with my Aunt Blunder.

Geo.

What in the House with thee, and not know thee?

Oliv.

No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at Hackney, making wax Babies, where he intends to visit me within these three days. — But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir Merlin Lodges in this House with you, and shou'd he know you—

Geo.

'Tis impossible — I've not seen him, or my Father, these five Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be pene∣trated by his Capacity.

Oliv.

True, he'll never look for his Brother George, in the Galantry and Person of Monsieur Lejere— My good Father Expects you Home, like the Prodigal Son, all Torn and Tatter'd, and as Penitent too,

Geo.

To Plod on here in a Laborious Cheating all my Youth and Vig∣our, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I'm old: Or else go with him into Wales, and there lead a thoughtless Life, Hunt, and Drink, and make Love to none but Chambermaids. No, my Olivia, I'le Use the Spright∣ly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its dregs.

Oliv.

For that, use your Discretion; now Equip your self to your pre∣sent business, the more simply you are clad and look, the better. I'll home, and Expect you.

Exit.

Geo.

Do so, my good Sister, a little formal Hipocrisy may do, 'twill re∣lish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well Tasted, as when it's sea∣son'd with some opposition.

Enter Britton.

Britt.

Sir, I've News to tell you, will surprize you, Prince ••redrick is Arriv'd.

Geo.

Is't Possible? I left him going for Flanders.

Britt.

Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, enquir'd for you, and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he's here.

Enter Prince Fredrick; they meet and Embrace.

Geo.

My Life's preserver, welcome to my Arms, as health to sick men.

Fred.

And thou to mine, as the kind Mistress to the longing Lover; My Soul's Delight, and Darling of the Fair.

Geo.

Ah! Prince, you touch my bleeding Wound.

Fred.

Ha! Lejere, leave to unhappy Lovers, those sighs, those folded Arms, and down cast Eyes.

Geo.

Then they are fit for me: my Mistress, Sir, that Treasure of my Life, for whom you've heard me sigh, is perjur'd, false, and married to an other. Yet what is worse, I find my Prince, my Friend, here in my Na∣tive Country, and am not able to pay him what his Greatness merits.

Fred.

You pain me when you compliment my Friendship.

(Embracing.)

Geo.

Perhaps you will not think me worth this Honour when you shall hear my Story.

Prince.

Thou canst say nothing I can value less.

Geo.

Perhaps too my way of Living has deceiv'd you, being still receiv'd by Princes, as Companions in all their Riots, Loves, and Divertisements, where ev'n you, did me the Honour to Esteem, and call me Friend.

Prince.

What e're thou art, I'm sure thy Mind's illustrious.

Geo.

My Family, I must confess, is Honourable; but, Sir, my Father was the Younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin'd to be last: I'm a Cadet, that out-cast of my Family, and born to that Curse of our Old Eng∣lish Custom: Whereas in other Countries, Younger Brothers are train'd up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the Brave: we basely bind our Youngest out to Slavery, to Lazy Trades, idly con∣fin'd to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean Cunning, how to Cheat and Chasser.

Prince.

A Custom insupportable.—

Geo.

To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant Sir— was destin'd by his Parents, and am yet this Bound Indentur'd Slave.

Prince.

Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Vertue is most Vallu'd when Opprest—Are all your Merchants Apprentices, thus Gay.

Geo.

Not all—But, Sir, I could not bow my mind to this so necessary Drudgery, and yet however, I assum'd my Native Temper, when out o'th' Trading City; in it, I forc'd my Nature to a dull s••o••enly Gravity, which well enough deceiv'd the busy Block-heads; my Cloaths and Equipage I ledg'd at this End of the Town, where I still pa••••'d for something better than I was, when e're I Pleas'd to change the Trader for the Gentleman.

Prince.

And liv'd thus undiscover'd—

Geo.

With Ease, still Lov'd and Courted by the Great, ever Play'd high with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where're my fancy lik'd, but sometimes running out my Masters Cash, (which was supply'd still by my Father) they sent me, to Reform my Expensive Life, a Factor, in∣to ••rance— still I Essay'd to be a Plodding Thriver, but found my Parts not form'd for Dirty business.

Prince.

There's not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not tend to something far more Glorious.

Geo.

If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life, you have so oft preserv'd.

Prince.

No more;—Thou hast encreast my Value for thee.—Oh! take my Heart, and see how't has been us'd by a Fair Charmer, since I saw thee last— that sullen day we Parted, you for England, you may remember, I design'd for Flanders.

Geo.

I do with Malancholly, Sir, remember it,

Prince.

Arriv'd at Ghent, I went to see an English Nun Initiated, where I beheld the pretty Innocent, deliver'd up a Victim to Foolish Chastity; but among the Relation; then attending the Sacrifice, was a Fair Sister of the Young Votress, but so surpassing all I'd seen before, that I neglecting the Dull Holy Business, Pay'd my Devotion to that Kneeling Saint.

Geo.

That was the nearest way to Heaven, my Lord.

Prince.

Her Face, that had a thousand Charms of Youth, was height'n'd with an Air of Languishment; a lovely Sorrow, dwelt upon her Eyes, that Taught my New born-Passion Awe and Reverence.

Geo.

This Description of her, Fires me.—

(aside)

Prince.

Her Dimpl'd Mouth, her Neck, her Hand, her Hair, a Maje∣sty, and Grace in every Motion, compleated my Undoing; I rav'd, I burnt, I languish'd with desire, the Holy Place cou'd scarce contain my madness, with Pain, with Torture, I restrain'd my Passion when she retir'd, ••ed sadly from the Alter; I, mixing with the Crowd, enquir'd her Name, and Count••y; her Servant told me, that she was of Quality, and liv'd in England, nay, in this very Town, this gave me Anguish not to be con∣••••••d, till I resolv'd to follow her, which is the cause you find me here so soon•• thy Aid, thy Aid, Lejere, or I am lost.

Geo.

I wish to live no longer, then to serve your Highness, if she be Sir 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Maid of Quality, I shall soon find her out, and then you'l easily Conquer.

You've all the Youth, and Beauty, that can Charm, and what gains most ••pon a womans heart, you've powerful Title Sir, a sort of Philter, that ••r sails to win. But you've not told me yet the Ladies name.

Prince.

I had forgot that;— 'Tis in these Tablets write: I'm now in hast, going to receive same Bills: I

Gives him the Tablets.

••odg at Wilborns, who came over with me, being sent for to be Marry'd.

Geo.

I know the House, 'tis in Southampton-S••••tare. I'll wait upon your ••••••••se—

(Exit Prince.)

Geo

Let me see— Daughter to a Dece••••'d Lord, a Maid,

Opening the tablets, reads.

and no Dowry, but Beauty, Living in L••••••lns-Inn-Fields,— Ha••— her Name Mirtilla! Mirtilla.

(Pauses)

Prince,

thou hast paid thy self, for all the Favours done me. Mir∣tilla!—

(Pauses.)

Why yes, Mirtilla! He takes but what she has given away already.—

Oh! Damn her, she has broke her Faith, her Vows, and is no longer mine— And thou'rt my Friend.

(Pauses again.)

Mirtilla's but my Mistriss, and has taken all the Repose of my poor Life away— Yes, let him take her, I'll reisign her to him; and therefore shut

my Eyes against her Charms; Fix her inconstancy about my Heart, and scorn whatever she can give me.

(Exit.)

SCENE II. A Chamber.

Enter Sir Morgan Blunder in a Night-Gown and Cap; to him Manage with a Candle.

Man.

Your Lady mother has sent you a Candle, Sir.

Sir Morg.

Good Mrs. Manage, remember my kind Love to my Lady mo∣ther, and tell her, I thank her for her Posset, but never eat in a morning after hard drinking over night.

Man.

Ah, Sir, but now you're marry'd to a fine Lady, you ought to make much of your self.

Sir Mor.

Good Madam, as little of your Matrimony as of your Candle, my stomach is plaguy squemish, and a hair of the Old Dog's worth both of 'em. Oh! sick! sick!

Enter Sir Merlin, singing a Song in braise of a Rake hell's Life.

A Song. The Town-Rake.

Written by Mr. Motteux.

I.

WHat Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's, When in Youth his full Swing of all pleasure he takes! At Noon be get up, for a Whet, and to dine, And wings the d••ll hours with Mirth, Musick and Wine, Then Jogs to the Play-house, and chats with the Masks, And thence to The Rose, where he takes his Three Flasks There, great as a Caesar, he revels, when drunk, And scours all he meets, as he reels to his Punk; Then finds the dear Girl in his Arms when he wakes. What Life can compare with tue folly Town-Rake's!

II.

He, like the Great Turk, has his Favourite She; But the Town's his Seraglio, and still he lives free. Sometimes she's a Lady; but as he must range, Black Betty, or Oyster-Doll, serves for a Change. As he varies his Sports, his whole Life is a Feast; He thinks him that's soberest the most like a Beast.

At Houses of Pleasure breaks Windows and Doors; Kicks Bullies and Cullies, then lies with their Whores. Rare work for the Surgeon, and Midwife he makes. What Life can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's!

III.

Thus in Covent-Garden he makes his Campaign, And no Coffee-house haunts, but to settle his Brain. He laughs at dry Morals, and never does think, Ʋnless 'tis to get the best Wenches and Drink. He dwells in a Tavern, and lies ev'ry where, And improving his hours, lives an Age in a Year: For as Life is uncertain, he loves to make haste; And thus he lives longest, because he lives fast. Then a Leap in the Dark to the Devil he takes. What Death can compare with the Jolly Town-Rake's!

Sir Mer.

Why, how now, Sir Morgan, I see you'l make a Husband of the Right Town Mode: What, married but four days, and at your sepa∣rate Appartment already?

Sir Morg.

A Plague of your what de call ums.

Sir Merl.

Rakhells you would say, Cousin, an honourable Appellation for men of Bravery.

Sir Morg.

Ay, ay, your Rakehells— I was never so mudl'd with Trea∣son. Tierce Claret, Oaths and Dice all the Days of my Life— Was I in case to do Family duty; S'life you drank down all my Love, all my Prudence too; Gad forgive me for it.

Sir Merl.

Why, how the Devil cam'st thou to bear thy Liquor so ill? Ods my Life, you Drunk like a French man new come to the University;

Sir Morg.

Pox, I can bear their Drinking as well as any Man, but your London way of Boming and Politics does not agree with my Constitution; look ye, Cousen, set quietly to't, and I'll stand my Ground, but to have Screaming Whores, Noisy Bullies, Rattling Dice, Swearing and Cursing Gamsters, Cous. turns the Head of a Country Drinker, more than the Wine.

Sir Merl.

Oh! Use Cousen, will make an able Man.

Sir Morg.

Use, Cousen, Use me no Uses, for if ever you catch me at your Damn'd Clubs again, I'll give you my Mother for a Maid; why you talk down right Treason.

Sir Merl.

Treason, ay—

Sir Morg.

Ah Cousen, why we talk't enough to—, Hang us all.

Sir Merl.

My Honest Country Couz. when wilt thou understand the Cuelphs, and the Gibelins; and learn to talk Treason o' this side the Law? Bilk a Whore, without Remorse, break Windows, and not pay for 'em; Drink your Bottle without asking Questions; Kill your Man without let∣ting him Draw; Play away your Mony, without fear of your Spouse, and stop her Mouth by Undermining her Nose?

Sir Mor.

Come, come, look you Cousin, one word of Advice now I'm so∣ber; what the Devil should provoke thee and me to put our selves, on our Twelve Godfathers for a Frolick? We who have Estates, I shou'd be loth to leave the World with a scurvy Song, composed by the Poet Sternold.

Enter at the Door Sir Rowland, hearkning.

Or why, de see, shou'd I expose my Noddle to the Billmen in Flannel, and lie in the Roundhouse, when I may go to bed in a whole skin with my Lady Wife.

Sir Merl.

Gad, Sir Morgan, thou hast sometimes pretty smart Satyrical Touches with thee; Use but Will's Coffee a little, and with thy Estate, and that Talent, thou maist set up for a Wit.

Sir Morg.

Mercy upon me, Sir Merlin, thou art stark mad: What, I a Wit! I had rather be one of your Rakehells; for, look ye a man may sweat and stare, or so, break Windows, and Drawers Heads, or so; un••••g a Nee∣dy Whore, and yet keep ones Estate; but shou'd I turn Wit, 'twere im∣possible; for a Wit with an Estate, is like a Prisoner among the Canibal••.

Sir Merl.

How so, good Sir Morgan?

Sir Morg.

Why, the Needy Rogues only feed him with praise, to fatten him for their Palates, and then devour him.

Sir Merl.

I applaud your Choice, Cousin; for what man of 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wou'd not prefer a Rake to a Wit? The one enioys the pleasures, the o∣ther can only Rail at; and that not out of Conscience, but Impotence; for alas! a Wit has no quarrel to Vice in perfection, but what the Fox had to the Grapes; He can't play away his Hundred Pound at sight; his Third Day won't afford it; and therefore he Rails at Ca••••e••••e••s, Whores si•••••• him, as much as Noblemen, and for the same cause, mony; These care not to sell their Carcasses for a Sonnet, nor these to scatter their 〈…〉〈…〉 be told an Old Tale of a Tub, they were so well acquainted with before.

Sir Morg.

What's that, Sir Merlin?

Sir Merl.

Why, their Praise;— For the Poets Flattery seldom reaches the Patron's Vanity; And what's too strong season'd for the rest of the World, is too weak for their Palates

Sir Morg.

Why, look ye, Cousin, you're a shrewd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Whence learn'd you this Satyr; for I'm sure 'tis none of thy own; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 should as soon suspect thee guilty of Good Nature, as Wit.

Sir Merl.

I scorn it; and therefore I confess I stole the Observation from a Poet; but the Devil pick his Bones for diverting me from the Noble Theam of Rakehells.

Sir Morg.

Noble Theam, Sir Merlin! look yee, de see: Don't mistake me; I think 'tis a very scurvy one; and I wou'd not have your Father know that you set up for such a Reprobate; for Sir Rowland would cer∣tainly disinherit thee.

Sir Merl.

O keep your musty morals to your self, good Country Couz; They'll do you service to your Welch Criminals, for stealing an Hen, or

breaking up a Wenches inclosure, or so, Sir Morgan; but for me, I despise 'em: I have not been admitted into the Family of the Rakehellorums for this, Sir: Let my Father drink Old Adam, read the Pilgrim's Progress, The Country Justices Calling, or for a Regale, drink the dull manufacture or Malt and Water; I des••e him; he can't cut off the Entail, of what is set∣led on me; and for the rest, I'le trust Dame ••ortune; and pray to the Three Fatal Sisters to cut his Rotten Th••••d in Two, before he thinks of any such Wickedness.

Enter Sir Rowland in a great Rage.

Sir Rowl.

Will you so, Sir? Why how now Sirrah! get you out of my House, Rogue; get out of my Doors, Rascal.

(beats him.)

Enter Lady Blunder.

Lady Blund.

Upon my Honour now, Brother, what's the matter? Whence this Ungenerous Disturbance?

Sir Rowl.

What's the matter? the Disturbance! Why, sister, this Rogue here — this unintelligible graceless Rascal, here, will needs 〈◊〉〈◊〉 up for a Rakehell, when there's scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an Ale-draper's Son, and chuses to be awkerdly out of Fashion, meerly for the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless, profane, lazy, idle, Noisie, Groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of spending his Estate like a Notorious Blockhead: But I'le take care he shall not have what I can dispose of: You'l be a Rake-hell, will you?

Lady Blun.

How Cousin! Sure you'l not be such a filthy beastly thing, will you?

Sir Me••l.

Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my ••••lf in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fiue Gentleman.

Sir ••ow.

A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb.

(beats him.)

Sir M••rg.

Hold, hold, good Unkle, my Cousin has been only drawn in, a ••••••ie, or s••, do see, be••••, Heir to a good Estate; and that's what his Club 〈…〉〈…〉 to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 off Old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for Whores in Fa∣••••••••.

Sir R••••

My Estate sold to pay Tavern Scores, and keep Nasty Whores?

〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••••••n.

Whores ••ay filthy creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what's a R••••e-hell?

Sir I••••••.

A Rake-hell is a man that de••ies Law and good manners, nay and good ••e••••e too; ha•••• both Morality and Religion, and that not for any Reason (for he never thinks), but meerly because he don't understand 'em, ••••••'s the Whore's pro••e••tion and punishment, the Bawds Tool, the Sharp∣ers Bubble, the Vi••••••r•• Property, the Drawers Terror, the Glasiers Bene∣••••tor: in short, a ••ea••ing thoughtless, heedless, ridiculous, universal Cox∣••••o.

Sir Merl.

O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney's like an honest man. Why a Rake-hell is—

Sir Row.

What siraah! what you rebel?

(strikes him.)

La. Blun.

Nay, Good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his No∣tion.

Sir Merl.

Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Beavery; he slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard — Plays a∣way his hundred pounds at sight, pays a Ladies Bill at sight, drinks his Bottle without Equivocation, and sights his Man without any provoca∣tion.

Sir Row.

Nay then Mr. Rogue, I'll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir, will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha!

(Draws his Sword.)

Sir Merl.

Fight, Sir! fight Sir?

Sir Row.

Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the Three Fata! sisters, and cut my Thread thy self, thou Graceless, Reprobate Rascal — Come, come on, you Man of Bravery.

(Runs at Sir Merlin, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 retires before him. Sir Morgan holds Sir Rowland.)

Sir Merl.

Oh, good Sir, hold; I recant, Sir, I recant.

Sir Rowl.

(putting up)

Well, I'm satisfied thou' It make no good ••••••e hell, in this Point, whatever you will in the others; And since N••t••••e ha•• made thee a Coward, Inclination a Coxcomb, I'le take care to make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will. I'le disinherit thee, I will, Villain.

La. Blun.

What, disinherit your Eldest Son, Brother?

Sir Merl.

Ay, Aunt, his very Heir Apparent? Aunt to show you h•••• the Old Gentleman has mis-represented us. Give me leave to present y•••• a Dance.—I provided to Entertain your Son with, in which is represent•••• all the Beauties of our Lives.

D. Blun.

Oh! by all means, Cousen, by all means.

Sir Mark.

What hoa? Roger bring in the Dancers.

Here the Dance, representing Rake-hells Constable watch, &c.

Enter Phillip

Phil.

Sir, who do's your Worship think is a••ri••'d.

Sir Row.

My Son George, I hope, come in the Nick.

Phil.

Even so, Sir, from Paris—

Exit.

Sir Rowl.

The Prodigal Return'd, then Kill the ••••tt••d Calf?

Enter George Drest like a Prentice.

—My own dear Boy, thou art welcome to my

(Kneels)

Arms, as e••••e thy Mother was; for whose dear sake I pardon all thy Follies.

Sir Merl.

(aside)

Ay, Sir, I had a Mother too, or I'm bely'd—

(weeping)

Pox take him that he should come just in the Nick, as the Old Fellow says—

(aside.)

Sir Row.

Yes, you had a Mother.

Whom in my Youth I was compel'd to Marry; and Gad, I think, I got thee with as ill a will, but George and my Olivia? In heart of Love, when my desire was Now. But hark ye Boy George, you have cost me a damn'd deal of Mony, Surrah; but you shall Marry, and Redeem all George.

Geo.

What you please, Sir, to study Virtue, Duty, and Allegience, shall be my future business.

••••r ••••w.

Well said George! Here's a Boy now.

Sir Merl.

Vertue and Allegiance, Lord, Lord, how came so sneaking I follow to spend Five Thousand Pounds of his Masters Cash?

Sir Row.

She's Rich, George, but something homely.

Geo.

She'll not be Proud then, Sir.

Sir Row.

Not much of her Beauty— she's of a good staid Age too, about same fourscore.

Geo.

Better still, Sir, I shall not fear Cuckoldom.

Sir ••ow.

For that I cannot Answer; but she has two Thousand a year. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to settle my Family, and then— Marry my self George.

〈◊〉〈◊〉. Blun.

What to this old Ladies Grand-daughter? Methinks she's 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••it for your Son, Sir Merlin, and the Old Lady for you.

Sir Row.

No, no, the Young Rogues can help themselves with Mi∣stresses; but 'tis well if an old man can keep his Wife to himself— I've invited 'em to Dinner to day, and see, they are come.

Enter Lady Youthly, led by her Chaplin, and leaning on a Staff, and Terelia.

La. Youth.

Where's Sir Rowland Marteen? Oh, your Servant, Sir, I am come.

Runs against George.

Ch••p.

Your Ladyship is mistaken, this is not Sir Rowland, but a Handsome proper Young Man.

La. Youth.

A young man! I cry you mercy heartily— young man, I a lighted in the Sun, and am almost Blind.

Geo.

With wonderous Old Age.

(a side.)

La. You.

Good lack, Sir Rowland, that I shou'd mistaken young man so!

Sir Row.

Ay, Madam, and such a young man too.

La. ••••uth.

Ay, ay, I see him now.

(Puts on her Specticles.)

Geo.

S••d••••th, what a Sepulcher is here, to bury a Husband in? How came she to escape the Hood? for sure she was not born since.

(aside.)

Sir Row.

This is the lusty lad, my Son George, I told your Ladyship of.

La. Youth.

Got so, cot so, is it so Sir, I ask your Pardon, Sir. Mr. Twang, take a survey of him, and give me your Opinion of his Person, and his Parts.

Twang.

Truly Madam, the young Man is of a comly Personage and Lineaments.

La. Youth.

Of what Sir—Lord, I have such a Cold.

(Cough's)

Geo.

Which she got when the ••ick••s went Naked.

L. Blun.

Madam, you have a Power over Sir Rowland; Pray intreat him ••o take his Son, Sir Merlin, into Grace again.

(To Teresia.)

Tere.

That, Sir, you must grant me, pray let me know the Quarrel.

(Sir Rowland seems to tell.)

Geo.

By Heaven she's Fair as the first Ruddy Streakes of Opening Day.

(Looking on Teresia.)

Young as the Budding Rose, soft as a Cupid, but never felt his Dart, she is so full of Life and Gayity. Pray, Madam, who is that Lady.

(To La. Blun.)

La. Blun.

The Grand Child of your Mistress, and your Mother that must be.

Geo.

Then I shall Cuckhold my Father, that's certain.

(aside.)

Sir Rowl.

For your sake, Madam, once again I re-establish him in my Family, but the first fault Cashier's him— Come let's in— here my Lady Youthly, take George by the Hand, but have a care of the young Rogue, if he comes once to touch so Brisk a Widow, he sets her Heart on Fire.

Geo.

Which will burn like a snuff of a Candle. No Body will be able to endure it.

(aside.)

—So Fortune, I see, provides for me.

On this Hand Wealth, on that young Pleasures Lye. He ne're wants these, who has that Kind Supply.

The End of the First Act.