THE DAMOISELLE, OR THE NEW ORDINARY.  
A COMEDY.  
LONDON, Printed by T. R. for Richard Marriot, and Thomas Dring, and are to be sold at their Shops in Fleetstreet, 1653.   

Prologue.  

our Playmaker (for yet he won't be called  
Author, or Poet) nor beg to be installed  
Sir laureate) has sent me out t'invite  
Your fancies to a full and clean delight:  
And bids me tell you, That though he be none  
Of those, whose towering Muses scale the Throne  
Of Kings, yet his familiar mirth's as good,  
When 'tis by you approved and understood.  
As if h' had writ strong lines, and had the fate,  
Of other Fools for meddling with the State.  
Readers and Audients make good Plays or Books,  
'tis appetite makes Dishes, 'tis not Cooks.  
But let me tell you, though you have the power,  
To kill or save; They're Tyrants that devour,  
And Princes that preserve: He does not aim,  
So much at praise, as pardon; nor does claim  
Laurel, but Money; bays will buy no Sack,  
And Honour fills no belly, clothes no back.  
And therefore you may see his main intent  
Is his own welfare, and your merriment.  
Then often come, 'twill make us and him the wetter,  
we'll drown the faults of this, in one that's better.    

Dramatis Personae.  

vermin, an old Usurer.  
Dryground, an old decayed Knight.  
Sir Amphilus, a Cornish Knight.  
Bumpsey, an old Justice.  
Brookeall, a Gentleman, undone by Vermin.  
Valentine, Dryground's Son.  
Wat, Vermins Son.  
Friendly, a templar.  


Two Gallants  
Oliver,  
Ambrose,    
Trebasco. Sir Amphilus his Footman.  
Attorney.  
Mrs. Magdalen, Bumpsey's Wife.  
Jane, his Daughter.  
Alice, Vermins Daughter:  
Frances, a young Gentlewoman:  
Phillis, a poor Wench.  
Elianor.  
Lawyers.  
Sergeants.  
Servants.  
Rabble:   
The Scene LONDON.   

THE DAMOISELLE, OR, The New Ordinary.  


ACT. I. Scene I.  Vermine, Dryground. Ver. 
YOu have your Money; full a thousand pound,  
Sir Humphrey Dryground.  Dry. 
And you have my Mortgage.  Ver. 
All well and good; all well and good. But, now,  
Sir Humphrey Dryground, let me counsel you.  
You have already spent a fair Estate;  
A goodly, great estate: I do not taunt,  
Nor tax you for't.  Dry. 
Because its pumped into  
The purses of such wretches as thyself.  Ver. 
But give me leave, now, fairly to admonish  
You, to a care, how you do part with this.  
You spirited men call Money Dirt and Mud.  
I say it is the Eel.  Dry. 
And you the Mud  
That foster it.  Ver. 
It is an Eel, I say,  
In such sleek hands, as yours; from whence it glides—  Dry. 
Into the Mud, ofttimes, from whence it came.  Ver. 
I know you do conceive me. Therefore, Sir,  
(As I before was saying) Hold it fast.  Dry. 
According to the Ballad. [He sings.]  

Youth keep thy Money fast,  
And tie it in thy Purse:  
For that must be thine only Friend,  
For better and for worse.   Ver. 
So so, I see it going already.  Dry. 
ay, to thy comfort. This is the usurer's Scripture;  
And all that they pretend Salvation by:  
To give good admonition with their Money;  
Though, in their hearts they wish the quick subversion  
Of all they deal with. This is all they plead  
Against the curses of oppressed souls:  
Did not I warn you? Did not I say, take heed?  
And so, and so forth. I must thank you Sir.  Ver 
You say, you'll make a venture of this Money.  Dry. 
Yes Mr. Vermin, in a Project, that—  Ver. 
Out upon Projects. Fie fie, out out out.  Dry. 
I 'em confident shall set me out of debt,  
With you and all the World; and reap, again,  
All, that I formerly have sown, with profit.  Ver. 
Sowed! There's a word! Prodigal waste is sowing.  
We shall call Shipwreck, shortly, sowing too.  
Hark you Sir Humphrey Dryground, may not I  
Be privy to your Project? Will you tell me,  
If I guess on it?  Dry. 
That I will in sooth.  Ver. 
Is 't not to drain the Goodwins? To be Lord  
Of all the Treasure, buried in the Sands there?  
And have a Million yearly, from the Merchants  
To clear the passage.  Dry. 
You have had your blow.  
No Sir, my Project is in the behalf  
Of the poor Gentleman, you overthrew  
By the strong hand of Law, Bribes, and oppression;  
Brookall: Do you know him Sir? whose state you sucked▪  
That wrought him to a poverty that cries  
Your sinful Covetise up to the height;  
And renders you the Monster of our time,  
For avarice and cruelty.  Ver. 
No more of that.  Dry. 
You should do well to add a sum, like this  
To his relief: To wave the bitter curse  
That will in time fall on you and your house.  Ver. 
O ho! I now remember, you have reason.  
That Brookall had a Sister, whom you vitiated  
In your wild heat of blood, and then denied  
Her promised Marriage; turned her off with Child  
A dozen years since, and since that, never heard of  
Ha! Is't not so? Pray, did you know her Sir?  Dry. 
I wish I could redeem that ruthful fault,  
By all expiatory means: But thy  
inhuman cruelty is inexpiable:  
Unless (it comes from Heaven into my heart  
To move thee to't) thou tak'st a speedy course  
To give him threefold restitution.  
I'll put thee in the way. He has a Son,  
A hopeful Youth, a Student in the Law,  
If his poor Father's want of means have not  
Declined his course: Give him thy only Daughter,  
And make his Fathers own Inheritance  
(By thee unrighteously usurped) her Dowry;  
And pray a blessing may go with it; And than  
Thou mayst regain a Christian reputation,  
Till age shall lead thee to a quiet Grave.  
Come, is't a match? Will you bestow your Daughter  
On Brookall's Son, and make your way to Heaven by't?  Ver. 
You have your Money.  Dry. 
And thou hast Adders ears  
To all such Counsels.  Ver. 
If you break your day  
I shall think of your counsel.  Dry. 
Farewell Vermin. Exit.  Ver. 
And farewéll Dryground.  
This parcel of thy Land, I'll keep from wetting: The Mortgage.  
'tis not in thee to turn an Acre of it  
Into pure liquour, for a twelvemonth's day.  
And break that day thy payment, and the Sun  
Sets not more sure, than all this Land is mine.  
My Daughter! ha! Can't be in thought of man  
To dream of such a Match? A wretch, a Beggar?  
Within there! Where s my Girl? What Ally? Ally? Enter Alice.  Ali. 
Here Sir—  Vir. 
My blessing, and good morn: Now hear me Girl.  Ali. 
Now for a Speech—  Ver. 
The care of Children's such a startle-brain,  
That had I more than one, I should run Wild-cat,  
(Than one I mean, to care for) that's thyself,  
My sober discreet Daughter. Note my care,  
Piled up for thee in massy sums of wealth;  
Too weighty for thy weak consideration  
To guess from whence it came, or how together  
So laid in mountainous heaps.  Ali. 
It is indeed  
As strange to me, as are the stony wonders  
On Salisbury Plain to others. But my duty  
Persuades me 'twas your thrift, and that great blessing  
That gives increase to honest Industry,  
Drawn on it by your prayers and upright life,  
That wrought these heaps together.  Ver. 
O, Ally Ally,  
'tis well if thine with all thy Housewifry  
Can keep 'em so. I thank thee for thy judgement  
And charitable thoughts. But—  Ali. 
You had other ways.  Ver. 
I say, thou art the only Child I care for.  
Thy Brother (though I loathe to call him so)  
Is, now, an utter stranger to my blood;  
Not to be named but with my curse, a Wolf  
That tears my very bowels out.  Ali. 
Your Money.  Ver. 
A riotous Reprobate, that hath consumed  
His last, already, of my means and blessing.  Ali. 
But he yet may be turned Sir.  Ver. 
Out o'th' Compter!  
May he be so, dost think? Could I but dream  
His Creditors, that have him fast, could be  
So idly merciful, or that his youthful Ghing  
Could stretch, to get him out, I'll lay, myself,  
An Action on him weightier, than the strength  
Of all their poor abilities could lift:  
His Jacks, his Toms, his Nams, Nolls, Gills, and Nuns,  
The roaring fry of his Blade-brandishing mates  
Should not release his Carcase: If they did,  
I'd force him to a trial for his life,  
For the two hundred Pieces that he pilfered.  
Out of my Countinghouse. He shall up.  Ali. 
I will not forfeit my obedience Sir,  
To urge against your Justice, only I crave  
Your leave to grieve, that I have such a Brother.  Ver. 
Thou shalt defy the name of Brother in him,  
My only, only Child; and but in one command  
Obey me further, all my estate is thine,  
'tis that I called thee for.  Ali. 
I do not crave  
More, than your daily blessing; but desire  
To know what you'll impose upon my duty.  Ver. 
Thou shalt, and style thyself a Lady by't.  Ali. 
Now Love defend me from the man I fear.  Ver. 
This day I'll match thee to a matchless Knight.  Ali. 
The Western Kite Sir, that was here last Term?  Ver. 
Even he, this day he comes to Town.  Ali. 
Would I  
Were out on't first. A matchless Knight [Aside.]  
Indeed, and shall be matchless still for me.  Ver. 
I like those blushes well: I read his welcome  
Upon her cheeks.  Ali. 
Sir, I have heard, he has  
But little Land.  Ver. 
But he has Money Girl  
Enough to buy the best Knights Land, that is  
A selling Knight, in the West part of England.  Ali. 
He's well in years.  Ver. 
A lusty Bachelor of two and fifty,  
With, O, the husbandry that's in him.  Ali. 
How came he by his Knighthood? Cost it nothing?  Ver. 
No: He was one o'th' cob-knights in the throng,  
When they were dubbed in Clusters. Enter Servant.  Ser. 
Sir, the Knight,  
That you expect this day, is come to Town.  
His man has brought's portmanteau.  Ver. 
Fetch the Man.  
The welcom'st man alive is come to Town.  
Ally, my Girl, my Daughter, Lady Bride!  
What title shall I give thee? Now bestir you,  
I know his thrift, he has rid hard today  
To save his Dinner Enter What disguised like a Country Servingman.  
Welcome honest friend.  
And how does the right worshipful Sir Amphilus?  Wat. 
My Master is in health Sir, praised be Go—  
A little weary, or so, as I am of my carriage,  
Which I must not lay down, but in the hands  
Of your own Worship.  Ver. 
'tis of weight and locked: I guess the worth;  
And warrant him the safety under these Keys.  
But where's thy Master?  Wat. 
At his Inn in Holborn  
Telling a little with the Host, till I  
Bring word from you.  Ver. 
No, I will run to him  
myself: you shall stay here. his Chamber  
Fitted against he comes, Ally, bestir you,  
And think no pains your trouble on this day,  
To morrows Sun shall light your Wedding way. Exit.  Ali. 
Unless some unexpected Fate relieve me,  
I shall be hurried to my endless ruin.  Wat. 
You are sad, methinks, young Mistress, I can tell you,  
My Master, when he comes, will make you merry.  Ali. 
How? As he is a Fool?  Wat. 
No: But as he has  
The soul of mirth and Music at command;  
Money, the all-rejoicing spirit, that  
he'll make you merry with: Not that alone,  
But Dignity, which Women prize 'bove money,  
You are a Lady by't: Mark that. And if  
He has a weakness, which you reckon folly;  
It lays you open way to Sovereignty;  
The thing which is of most esteem. You'll be  
His Lady Regent; rule all his, and him.  Ali. 
This Fellow talks not like a Servingman:  
A forty shilling wages Creature, but  
Some disguised spokesman. What may be the trick o''nt?  Wat. 
You cannot, in the state you are, imagine  
What 'tis to be a Wife to such a man.  Ali. 
No more than you perceive the pains you lose  
In fooling for him thus. But spare your breath,  
And take this brief taste of his Entertainment.  
First know, that I do know the man you speak of,  
To be a covetous Miser; old and foolish.  
Not worth in my estimation the worst Meal  
That ever he himself paid three pence for.  Wat. 
Who do you mean? Sir Amphilus my Knight.  Ali. 
Yes Squire, I know him and his qualities;  
The ways he got his Wealth by, casual Matches;  
Of forty, fifty, and sometimes a hundred  
For one. When bounteous Fortune (seldom failing  
Men of his Brain) cast all into his mouth,  
The Gudgeon gap d for. And how slight a thing  
It is, for such base Worldlings to be rich?  
That study nothing but to scrape and save.  
That have no Faith, but in their ready money,  
Nor love to Worldly pleasures above those  
Poor cobbler's use.  Wat. 
Cheap Whores, and Duck-hunting:  
There's his delight indeed.  Ali. 
I hate to think of of such a Dunghill Scarab.  
A water-Dog Knight!  Wat. 
But Wedlock, to his age, will bring him home  
To choicer pleasures, and abandon such.  Ali. 
His Age is fit for nothing, but to rock  
Another's Child; and to rejoice through Spectacles,  
At the strong Guess he has, it is his own.  Wat. 
You slight him strangely yet: but when you see  
Him, and his weighty reasons to confute you.—  Ali. 
I will nor weigh, nor see him, or his reasons.  
And if thou ow'st him so much Service, tell him;  
Go back and tell him straight: save him the end  
Of his intended Journey. For to come  
Hither, will be to drive me hence. And tell  
My Father, ere he shall enforce me, take him;  
I'll fly into the Arms of one he hates.  Wat. 
Are you in earnest?  Ali. 
Yes, by all my hopes.  Wat. 
These are the arms that must receive thee then.  
Nay, be not frighted Sister; look, 'tis J. Off his Beard, etc.  Ali. 
Beshrew me but I am. How got you hither?  
Could not the Compter hold you?  Wat. 
So it seems,  
My Virtue was not to be so obscured.  
Noble Sir Humphrey Dryground, Sister, was  
My Frank Infranchiser. O, I have wonders  
To tell thee Sister. Thou must go with me.  
But first, lend me some money. Borrow some;  
(And let it be a good Sum) of my Father,  
Now in his absence. Come, supply, supply  
My Pockets and thine own. For we must hence.  
thouart made for ever, Sister. Quick, dispatch.  Ali. 
What's the meaning of all this?  Wat. 
'twill be too long to tell it here.  
The Rascal fool, to whom my Father gives thee,  
Is come to Town: And should he now surprise thee,  
Here in my Father's power, thy strength might fail thee.  
Be therefore at a sure Guard, O, Sir Humphrey,  
How are my Sister and myself bound to thee,  
That plottest this escape. Dispatch good Ally,  
And hear thee rest by th' way.  Ali. 
Why? whither? What s the matter?  Wat. 
Say thou will have that Coxcomb, I'll but kill thee,  
And leave the here: And all my care is over.  Ali. 
I'll sooner die then have him.  Wat. 
Why do you not shun him then? O, sweet Sir Humphrey,  
Is thy care slighted thus, in my delivery?  
In my disguise? In sending out my Father  
On tom-fool's Errant? While a Coach is sent  
To the backdoor here; All to save my Sister,  
My thankless Sister here, from worse than Rape.  Ali. 
Why, whither would you have me?  Wat. 
But hard-by.  
But till the Wildfire of my Father's Passion  
Shall be run out. Slid, I had e'en forgot.  
Bear money with us, Sister; pretty store.  
Who knows occasions? Let him keep in pawn  
My rich portmanteau for't 't.  Ali. 
There's some good stuff in't 't.  Wat. 
More than he ll thank me for. we'll talk i'th' Coach  
In, in, and furnish; & so through the Garden,  
And, whirr, we are gone. If we should be prevented;  
By this good steel, if I but hear one knock,  
I'll make sure work o' thee. I can but truss for' t.  
There's a fair end on's both. And what will he  
Do with his money then? Look how thou standst.  
if you respect your Father, or the Dog-Master,  
To be your Husband, better than me, then take  
You your own course: Mine shall be known next Sessions.  Ali. 
Better then you, don't you respect your Father  
Better than me?  Wat. 
No, if I do, let me be hanged for nothing:  
And that would anger any man I think.  
Slid, thou and I had one Mother, (which  
We both take after) so had not he and we.  
And he takes after nobody, that I know.  
He loves a stranger better then's own Child:  
And that man's money, better than that man,  
The Devil 'bove all I think. Thou dost not know  
What Coals we stand on.  Ali. 
Who shall look toth' house?  Wat. 
Wilt lose thyself with keeping that? Is that  
All now? Away, away.  Ali. 
You're a precious Brother.— Exeunt.   

ACT. I. Scene II.  Bumpsey, Dryground, Valentine, Magdalen, Jane. Bum. 
ALL this needs not Sir Humphrey.  Dry. 
Do but hear patiently, and do your pleasure.  
I go not about to stop your course, Mr. Bumpsey.  Bum. 
Nor I yours, Sir Humphrey; Nor your Sons here; Nor his Wives there: Only this Gentlewoman, in mine own right I may be bold withal, while you depart my house, if you may be entreated, so. Is not this right? Is not this plain?  Mag. 
Yet hear his Worship speak, good Bump.  Bum. 
Good Whirly, what can his Worship speak? Or your wisdom twattle for him, in this Cause; that I do not understand already? Has not his son wedded our Daughter? How directly, or indirectly, who meddles with his match? Nay more, has he not bedded her? How, directly or indirectly, who meddles with that either? Let him have and hold, possess (Hmh.) and enjoy; do his worst, and make his best of her, though she be an Heir, I will not sue him out of her: No, I protest; were it Ante Copulam, as it is post, I would not cross 'em. Is not this right and plain enough.  Dry. 
But good Mr. Bumpsey, Brother Bumpsey, I would call you—  Bum. 
Keep your Brothers and your Goods to yourself, Sir, I have no need of 'em.  
You are a Knight, and a man of Worship—  Val. 
He will speak all himself.  Bum. 
I am a plain Fellow, and out of debt.  Mag. 
I, let him run on.  Bum. 
I sought none of your Alliance, I—  Val. 
Has he the speed to run beyond himself?  Ja. 
Yes, and bring himself about, I warrant you.  Bum. 
Nor to be joined with houses of great sound,  
Whose noise grows from their hollow emptiness.  
I could have matched my Daughter here, that was,  
But now a baronetess in Reversion,  
To a substantial Heir of two fair Lordships.  Dry. 
Perhaps no Gentleman.  Bum. 
Yet honourable, Land-Lordship's real honour,  
Though in a Tradesman Son: when your fair Titles  
Are but the shadows of your Ancestry;  
And you walk in'em, when your Land is gone:  
Like the pale Ghosts of dead Nobility.  
Ha! Is't not so? Is not this right and plain?  Dry. 
Yes like the privilege you use in your own house here.  Bum. 
Nay I come up to you now Sir Humphrey Dryground;  
Up in a point of Chivalry. You are a Knight,  
A Baronet to boot: Your son is like  
T'inherit that dear paid-for title, but  
(You'll give me leave to use my plainness)  Dry. 
Freely.  Bum. 
Your son (I say) is Heir to your bought honour.  
Which may hereafter ladify my Daughter:  
But where's the Land you once were Lord of? Ha!  
The goodly Cornfields, Meadows, Woods, and Pastures,  
That must maintain the House, the Gowns, the Coach,  
With all by compliments of Horses, Hawks, and Hounds.  Val. 
Now he's in.  Bum. 
Where be the Parks, the Warrens, Herds, and Flocks?  
Besides the Gardens, Orchards, Walks, and Fishponds?  Dry. 
For that hear me.  Bum. 
Ods pity, give me leave,  
You, that had all these once, in three fair Lordships,  
To be wrought on, and tonyed out of all,  
But a small pittance of Trois Cents per Annum,  
By Providence entailed upon the Heir,  
(Or thad had wasted too) which now maintains you,  
In a proportion of Smoke, and Sack,  
To wash your mouth with after, where you live  
Confined in Milford Lane, or Fullers Rents,  
Or who knows where, it skills not—  Dry. 
Must I hear this too.  Mag. 
Now he has almost done.  Bum. 
Can you (I say) think your good husbandry  
A lawful Precedent for your Gamesome son  
To make my Daughter happy in a Marriage,  
Though he had twice my Fortunes?  Ja. 
Now he's coming:  
Bear but with this; and if he offer not  
More than you would request, I'll lose your love  Bum. 
But here's the substance of't, you have my Daughter,  
Your Son, sir, has my Daughter, that must have,  
And shall, my whole Estate at my Decease;  
(No Law exacts it sooner) This Estate  
You safely may suppose ten thousand pounds,  
Which I have got by thrifty Industry.  
Only one thousand, I confess, my Wife  
Improved my Fortune with, Here's the just sum.  
I give her leave to give it to her Daughter:  
She may endow her Husband with it. So,  
Is not this plain? Now note me further, sir;  
What I have left is my own; and you, sir, may  
Which what is theirs take hence your Son & Daughter,  
Till you shall hear old Bumpsey is deceased.  
Then let him come, and challenge all— that's left;  
Mean time I know my course.  Ja. 
Now chop in with him, Mother, you know how apt  
He is to cross you in these Moods.  Val. 
Dear, worthy, honoured, sir,  Bum. 
sh't, sh't, sh't; Woman come you with me.  Mag. 
I Bump. Let us go our way, and let them take their's a-gods name.  Val. 
Pray hear me, sir.  Mag. 
At this time, sir, he shall not.  Bum. 
Shall not! He shall sure: Ods pity! shall not: Are you pleased to speak, sir.  Val. 
not to offend—  Bum. 
Not to a Fiddlestick. Shall not! Can you speak or not?  
If not, pray yell me so.  Val. 
I married, sir, your Daughter.  Bum. 
You may thank her Mother for't, not me.  
Well, will you speak?  Val. 
I married her in a firm hope to win  
Your Love and favour.  Bum. 
Well.  Val. 
Which, since I have not yet; and time must work it,  
I would make this my suit.  Bum. 
Would I could hear it once.  Val. 
That you would take  
With reacceptance of this thousand pound  
Your Daughter and me into your Family.  Bum. 
And why the thousand pound; does't burn your Fingers?  
Give us but meat and lodging for t: My Father,  
Out of his little left Estate will give us  
A hundred yearly for other necessaries.  Bump. 
With all my heart.  Val. 
And as you find my regular life deserve  
Your future favour, so extend your bounty,  
When Age shall call upon you to dispose  
Of all your fair Possessions.  Bum. 
Humh! A pretty odd speech this! I would I knew  
The meaning on't.  Val. 
I mean, Sir, as I speak; that till you find  
Strong probability in me to manage  
A good estate, you trust me not with any.  Bum. 
Ha! Is it so? Then I come to a point with you.  Mag. 
Mark him now, Sir Humphrey.  Bum. 
You look, Sir, in my daughter's right, to have,  
After my death, my whole Estate, by showing  
Me, in my life time, your good husbandry, by husbanding of nothing:  
Y' have ta'en off half my purpose; for I meant  
To have kept it in my power, whether to leave her  
Any, or nothing: And, perhaps (d'ye hear)  
By an odd course, that I was thinking on  
To ha' made all nothing ere I died: But now  
Half of that power I'll put into your hands,  
I'll try what you can do with something.  Mag. 
Half? What mean you half?  Bum. 
Even half of all I have.  Mag. 
I hope you will not deal so.  Bum. 
And as he deals with that, I'll use the rest.  Mag. 
Pray be advised.  Bum. 
Never by you 'gainst this:  
I'll give him instantly the free possession  
Of half I have: Now mark; if you increase,  
Or keep that half, then, doubtless, I shall do,  
As well with t'other for you: If you diminish  
Or waste it all, I'll do the like with my part.  Mag. 
Husband.  Bum. 
I'll do't: Together we will live:  
And I'll along with you in your own course,  
And, as you play your game, you win or lose all:  
Thrive and I'll thrive: Spend you, and I will spend:  
Save, and I'll save; scatter, and I'll scatter.  Mag. 
You won't be mad.  Bum. 
I'll do't: Let him throw Money  
Into the Thames, make Ducks and Drakes with Pieces,  
I'll do the like: till he has made a match  
Or no match of my Daughter: There's the point  
And the whole substance on't.  Dry. 
Will you do so?  Bum. 
Will I? 'tis done. I'll make him a good husband,  
Or be no husband for him: And so see  
What's mine, out of the danger of his waste,  
And have some sport too for my Money: Ha!  
I love to do these things.  Mag. 
Nay, but in one thing, Bump. let me advise you.  Bump. 
In nothing 'gainst this course, good whirly: no,  
'tis so set down. I know I shall be counted  
An odd old humorous Coxcomb for't by some:  
But the truth is, I love to do these things:  
And so God gi' ye joy.  Dry. 
I'll take my leave Sir.  Bum. 
Not so I hope, Sir Humphrey.  Dry. 
I have business,  
And go well satisfied with this agreement:  
And, Val. take briefly this my Charge: You are now  
A Husband, be a good one: Y' have my blessing.  
But (hark you) do you remember 'gainst the evening?  Val. 
All Sir, all: I have spread my Nets already.  Dry. 
Sir, fare you well.  Bum. 
At your pleasure Sir.  Dry. 
I'll shortly visit you.  Bum. 
At your own good time Sir- Exit Drygr.  
These shall stay here, I'll blindfold them with Money,  
And by a new way try, if they can grope  
The right way into th' World. Come your way.    


ACT. II. Scene I.  Oliver. Ambrose. Ol. 
ANd why this Gullery to me, good Ambrose?  Am. 
I swear I am serious, and you may may believe it.  Ol. 
What, that there can be in the World an Ass  
(Wert thou a fool to credit it) that would keep  
A House, by way of public Ordinary,  
For fashionable Guests, and curious stomachs;  
The daintiest Palates, with rich Wine and Cheer;  
And all for nothing, but all's paid and welcome?  Am. 
Vall Dryground told it me, whose truth deserves  
So well my credit, that, prove you it false,  
I'll pay all Ordinaries and Tavern reckonings  
You shall be at this twelvemonth.  Ol. 
I have heard  
Of all the Mockeries, the Ape, the Ram, the horns,  
The Goat, and such tame Monsters, whom poor wits  
Have sent wise Tradesmen to, as to a Knight,  
A Lord, or foreign Prince; to be his Mercer,  
His tailor, sempster, milliner, or Barber:  
When those, that have been mocked, still sent their Neighbours,  
Till half the City have be fool-found. Ha!  
Is't not some such poor trick?  Am. 
Here comes my Author. Enter Valentine.  Ol. 
O Mr. Bridegroom, that stole the wealthy match! How got you lose so soon? I thought you had been tied up by the Loins, like a Monkey to the Bedpost, for a fortnight at the least. How does old Bumpsey, that Freecost Drunkard, thy mad Father-in-Law, take thy stolen Marriage? I am sure he knows on't.  Val. 
He found's a-bed last night i'th' nick, as we say.  
But we are pieced this morning.  Am. 
Then he wrangled it out, of himself. I know his singular humour.  Ol. 
What has he gi'n thee?  Val. 
Half, of all he has.  Am. 
How?  Val. 
On this Condition, that, if I save  
That half until he dies, the rest is mine too.  Ol. 
What if thou spendst thy half?  Val. 
he'll spend the t'other; and the same way, he swears.  Ol. 
he'll ne'er keep Covenant.  Val. 
I'll tell you how he runs at waste already,  
This morning the French tailor brought a Gown home,  
Of the fashion, for my Wife. He bought one  
straight, ready made, for his old Gentlewoman,  
That never wore so rich in all her life.  Am. 
O brave old woman! How will she carry it?  Val. 
I spoke but of a Coach, and he bespoke one.  Ol. 
Wonder upon wonder! Nam was telling one  
Before thou cam'st.  Val. 
What the new ordinary?  Ol. 
Dost know the man that keeps it?  Val. 
They call him Osbright.  
A brave old Blade. He was the President  
Of the can-quarreling Fraternity,  
Now called the Roaring Brotherhood, thirty years since,  
But now grown wondrous civil, free, and hospitable,  
Having had something fallen to him, as it seems.  Ol. 
That Osbright has been dead these many years.  Val. 
It was given out so: But he lived beyond Sea.  Ol. 
There's some strange plot in't.  Val. 
O thou politic noll..  Ol. 
Judge thyself, Val, what can the mystery be?  
He tells me there's no Gaming, so no Cheating;  
Nor any other by-way of expense,  
By Bawdry, or so, for privy profit.  Val. 
Such a suspicion were a sin. But now  
I will unfold the Riddle to you. This feasting  
Has been but for three days, and for great persons,  
That are invited, and to be prepared  
To venture for a prize. This very night  
There will be some great Rifling for some Jewel,  
Or other rare Commodity they say.  
I cannot name't: 'tis twenty pound a man.  Ol. 
Is not that gaming prithee?  Val. 
That's to come:  
But, hitherto, nor Dice, nor Cards nor Wench,  
Is seen i'th' house, but his own only Daughter.  Ol. 
O! has he Daughter there? Mark that Nam.  
No gaming sayst thou? Ods me, and they play not  
At the old Game of old there, I dare—  Val. 
I dare be sworn thou dost 'em wrong.  Ol. 
she's too stale, is she?  
'tis above twenty years since he went over,  
And was reported dead (they say) soon after,  
In France, I take it: But, then, it seems, he lived,  
And got this Damsel there? Is she French borne?  Val. 
Yes, she was born and bred there: And can speak  
English but brokenly. But, for French behaviour,  
she's a most complete Damoiselle, and able  
To give instructions to our Courtliest Dames.  Ol. 
She must be seen.  Am. 
But see who here comes first. Enter Vermine. Servant.  Ver. 
Thou hast undone me Villain.  Ser. 
Out alas!  
I was as ignorant of the deceit,  
As your own innocent worship ever was  
Of cozening any man of Land or Living.  Ver. 
Was ever man so cursed in his Children!  Val. 
'tis the wretch Vermin.  Ol. 
What makes he here, trow, in the Temple Walks?  Val. 
What should he do elsewhere, when Law's his Lechery.  
The Devils itch dry up his marrow for't.  
He undid a worthy Gentleman I know.  Ol. 
ay, Brookall, thrusting him out of his Land.  Am. 
he's fitted with an Heir for't; one that can  
Justly inherit nothing but the Gallows.  Ol. 
Where's Brookall's son? He had a hopeful one;  
And, at sixteen, a Student here i'th' Temple.  Val. 
Alas his Fathers fall has ruined him.  
Mere want of maintenance forced him to service,  
In which he's lately traveled into France.  Ver. 
Go back to the Recorders: Fetch the Warrant,  
I'll search the City and the Suburbs for her. Exit Servant.  Amp. 
But Vermin has a daughter may prove good,  Val. 
A good one like enough: I'll lay a wager  
he's poaching 'mong the trees here, for a Broker,  
To match his daughter to a landed husband.  
This is their walk.  Ol. 
Let's try if we can fit him.  Val. 
Thou'lt ne'er endure his breath, it stinks of brimstone.  Ol. 
I'll take the wind of him: You are well met, Sir.  
They say you have a daughter you would match, Sir.  Ver. 
It may be I have; it may be not; How then?  
What's that to you?  Ol. 
Pray be not angry Sir.  
The worst of us has land, and may deserve her.  Ver. 
Pray let me ask you first, if you be not  
The knaves confederates that stole her from me?  Val. 
Is she stolen from you Sir? In troth I am glad on't.  Amp. 
'tis the first news we heard on't.  Ol. 
Though I assure you  
We heard none ill today: But very good,  
As that of the New Ordinary.—  Amp. 
Then the good success  
This Gentleman had lately with a wife—  Val. 
And lastly, this you tell us; which, but that  
It comes from your own mouth, were e'en too good  
For our belief, methinks.  Ol. 
Pray, is it true Sir?  
That your daughter's gone, lost, or stolen, as you say?  Amp. 
May we report it after you, good Sir?  Ver. 
What are you? I would know.  Val. 
Gentlemen, Sir,  
That cannot but rejoice at your affliction,  
And therefore blameless, that desire to hear it.  Ver. 
Cannot this place, where Law is chiefly studied,  
Relieve me with so much, as may revenge  
Me on these scorners? How my Slave stays too!  
Yet I may find a time.— Exit:  All. 
Ha ha ha.—  Ol. 
Look, look, what thing is this?—  Enter Amphilus, Trebasco. Amb. 
Trebasco, Skip-kennel.  Tre. 
....  Amp. 
It speaks, methinks.  Ol. 
Yes, and its shadow answers it in Cornish.  Val. 
I know him; 'tis the wise Western Knight, that should  
Have married Vermins daughter.  Amp. 
Skipkennell, you shall turn Footman, now, Skipkennell.  
I'll ne'er keep horse more—  Tre. 
You must be Footman than yourself Sir.  Amp. 
No nor Mare neither.  Tre. 
You need not Sir, now you be determined to marry, and live here i'the City altogether. And truly, Sir, she could never ha' died better, nor been taken from you (as they say) in a better time, so near her journey's end.  Amb. 
His mere's dead it seems.  Amp. 
Was it well done of her, dost think, to die today upon the way, when she had been i'my purse tomorrow in Smithfield: Poor fool, I think she died for grief I would ha' sold her.  Tre. 
'twas unlucky to refuse Reynold Pengutlings money for her.  Amp. 
Would I had taken't now: and she had not died mine own, 'twould ne'er have grieved me.  Tre. 
Pray bear it Sir, as they say— We are all mortal you know, and her time was come, we must think.  Amp. 
an't had not been the first loss that ere I had in my life, I could ha' born it.  Tre. 
And grace og (as they say) it shall not be the last.  Amp. 
I would thou couldst ascertain me that; but mischiefs are tailed to one another, and I must grieve as well for the what's to come, as the departed.  Ol. 
We will have a bout with him: Who is departed, Sir?  Amp. 
My Mare, my Mare Sir: 'Twas the prettiest  
Tit— But she is gone—  Ol. 
How, is she gone Sir?  Tre. 
You will not talk to 'em.  Val. 
How is she gone, I pray Sir?  Tre. 
Sir, as it were, because she could go no further.  Val. 
Good angry man give us leave to talk with thy Master.  Ol. 
Good Sir, a little more of your Mare.  Tre. 
I would you had her all to do you good Sir:  
she lies but a quarter of a mile beyond Brainford.  Val. 
Did you leave skin and shoes, and all behind Sir?  Tre. 
Shoes all behind? I thought how wise you were: Come away Master. No, while she lived, she never wore but two behind Sir.  Ol. 
Gramercy honest fellow, thou hast wit in thy anger.  Amp. 
Sirrah, answer not the Gentleman so snappishly.  Tre. 
How can I choose, when they do nothing but make a fool of your Worship before your worship's face, and your Worship perceives it not.  Val. 
Good Sir, fall from your man to your beast again.  Tre. 
There again, another main mock: He would have him fall from a man to a beast.  Amp. 
Give me the shoes; let 'em go I say, I will have 'em.  Tre. 
Pray take 'em then, he'll ne'er be wiser.  Amp. 
These were her shoes Gentlemen, I'll keep 'em for her sake, that little Tit, my little poor Gonhelly, that would have carried me on this little iron from Pensans to S. Columb on a day. And that's a way would try a stumbler you'll say, if you know it.  Val. 
'Tis enough, I know you Sir Amphilus, and have fooled enough with you. Adieu; my business calls me. Gentlemen, will you meet me tonight at the Ordinary.— Exit.  Ol. 
Yes, and perhaps, be there before you too.  
Come Ambrose— Exeunt.  Amp. 
Odd Gentlemen, methinks  Tre. 
Why did you talk with 'em?  
What had you to make with 'em?  Amp. 
True, we have other matters to think on: Your first course Trebasco, after we come to our lodging, shall be to Turnbull-street, to the Cobbler,  Tre. 
Your Dog-tutor.  Amp. 
Yes, and see how my whelp proves, I put to him last Term.  Tre. 
Yes, Sir.  Amp. 
And know of him what Gamesters came to the Ponds now adays, and what good dogs.  Tre. 
Yes Sir.  Amp. 
And ask him— Dost thou hear? If he ha' not done away his own dog yet, Blackswan with the white foot? If I can but purchase him, and my own whelp prove right, I will be Duke of the Duckingpond.  Tre. 
Never misdoubt, your whelp's right I warrant you; for why, he could lap before he could well go: And at ten weeks old he could piss under leg.  Amp. 
He was a fine forward Puppy, true enough: But and that be a sign of short life, and he should peak away after my Mare now— Here, prithee take her shoes again: What should I keep 'em for? They put me too much in mind of mortality, do 'em away, make money of 'em, and I'll convert it into a Dog-Collar—  Enter Vermine. Servant. Tre. 
I'll try the Market with 'em.  Ver. 
the frumping Jacks are gone.—  Amp. 
See my Aldermanical Father-in-Law! How d'ye do Sir? I am come. I keep my day you see before I am a citiner among you. How does my best beloved I pray, your daughter? You do not speak methinks.  Ver. 
Ask you for my daughter? Let me ask you first what was your plot to put me in this fright, to make me trudge to your Inn, whilst knave your man here.— Is not this he?  Ser. 
I doubt Sir he was taller.  Ver. 
Having first left a bag of Trumpery with me, stones, and old iron, steals away the baggage.  Amp. 
This is abomination! What Inn? and what old iron? I came at no Inn today, nor touch old Iron, but that with sorrow enough, my poor mare's shoes, she left me at her sad decease to Brainford. I had rather ha' lost the best part of five Mark I wiss: From whence I came by water, landed here at the Temple, to leave a Letter to a kinsman's chamber, now right as sure as can be. Say Trebasco.  Tre. 
He tells you true.  Amp. 
But is your daughter gone?  Ver. 
Gone, gone.  Amp. 
All ill go with her: Did not I say I should hear of more mischief, and that one was ever tailed to another?  Tre. 
You said so indeed: but if she had been tailed to your Mare, I should have seen her sure, when I stripped her.  Ver. 
This is the day of my affliction,  
This day I'll cross out of my Almanac  
For ever having any thing to do on't.  Amp. 
Why then, you will not seek her out today?  
Although methinks the day might serve as well  
To find her, as to lose her, if luck serve.  Ser. 
What else did you intend Sir by the warrant?  
Best lose no time Sir.  
No, no, we'll go.  Enter Brookeall. Broo. 
First take my execration with thee, Monster.  Ver 
Hell vomits all her malice this day on me.  Broo. 
Hell sends by me this commendation to thee,  
That thou hast there a most deserved Possession,  
That gapes to entertain thee.  Amp. 
Who's this, a Conjurer that knows hell so?  Ser. 
No, but a certain Spirit, that my Master  
Conjured out of his Land.  Amp. 
If you can conjure,  
Here's money to be got Sir, but to tell us  
What may be now betided of this man's daughter?  Broo. 
Himself, and his Posterity must all  
Sink avoidable to hell.  Amp. 
You are most deeply read! May not a Son-in-Law—  Ver. 
Why talk you to that Railer?  Amp. 
Pray Sir, may not  
A Son-in-Law escape in your opinion?  Broo. 
No Sir: it was by Law he made the purchase.  
And by his Son-in-Law, or outlawed, down he must:  
If he set venturous foot, as his Inheritor,  
Upon the mould, was got by his oppression.  Amp. 
Pretty mad reason methinks; where's that  
Land?  Ver. 
Sirrah, I'll tame thy tongue.  Broo. 
No, wretch, thou canst not,  
Nor fly out of the reach of my fell curses,  
That freedom (being all that thou hast left me)  
Thou canst not rob me of.  Ver. 
I shall find means  
Then to confine it, and yourself in Bedlam.  Broo. 
Thou canst not be so just sure, to exchange  
Thine own inheritance for mine.  Amp. 
Have you made  
A purchase there too, Father-Law that should be?  Ver. 
How am I tortured! I will fly this place.  Enter Phillis, a box in her hand. Phil. 
Nay prithee stay a little, good old man,  
Give something to my box.  Ver. 
Out on thee Baggage.  Phil. 
A little something, prithee; but a tester.  Ver. 
Out, out.  Phil. 
Thou look'st like a good Penny-father,  
A little of thy money would so thrive here,  
'Twould grow, by that I were ready for a husband,  
Up to a pretty portion. Pray thee now—  Ver. 
What canst thou be?  Phil. 
Insooth a Gentlewoman, but a byblow,  
My Father is a Knight, but must be nameless.  Ver. 
Can Knights get Beggars?  Phil. 
Why not? when such as thou get Knights.  
Nay, prithee, prithee now gi' me a tester.  
I ne'er ask less: My mother's a poor Gentlewoman,  
And has no means, but what comes through my fingers.  
And this is all my work: Come, wring it out.  
Oh how I love a hard-bound Money-master,  
Whose countenance shows how loath he is to part with't!  
It comes so sweetly from him, when it comes:  
Nay, when? I pray thee when? Pish, make an end.  Amp. 
It is the prettiest merry Beggar.  Ver. 
housewife I'll ha' you whipped.  Phil. 
I, when I beg i'th' streets.  
I have allowance here, as well as any  
Brokers, Projectors, Common Bail, or Bankrupts,  
Panders, and Cheaters of all sorts, that mix here  
'mongst men of honour, worship, lands and money.  Amp. 
O rare Beggar-wench! Lawyers and others pass over the Stage as conferring by two and two.  Phil. 
I come not hither to entrap or cozen.  
My work lies plain before me as my way.  
With, will you give me? prithee, hard old man.  Ver. 
Away, away.  Phil. 
What though thou com'st to deal  
For this man's Land, or sell another's right,  
Or else to match thy daughter, if thou hast one  
To this young Gentleman— Thou wilt give me something.  Ver. 
The Devil haunts me.  Amp. 
she makes a youth of me.  Phil. 
Yet I prithee make not  
Thy money such an Idol, as to think  
Thou shalt dishonour't, or impair this bargain,  
That match, or whatsoever thou hast in traffic,  
By parting with a silly silver sixpence.  
Shalt not i'fecks la, shalt not; I'll strike luck to it,  
Thy match shall thrive the better. Look, I have got  
Here, four and sixpence, Prithee make it a Crown,  
'twill ne'er be missed in thy dear daughter's Dowry,  
If (as I said) thou hast one.  Ver. 
Hellish baggage!  Phil. 
he'll gi't me by and by. I prithee find  
Thy money out the while. Come out with it man▪  Ver. 
Pull her away,  
I fly thee, as I would the Devil that sent thee:  Amp. 
Yes, let's away, 'tis time, she begs of me now.  Phil. 
The Devil is not surer to o'ertake thee.— Exeunt omnes preter Brookeall.  Broo. 
Good child I thank thee: Thou hast somewhat eased  
My pensive heart by his vexation:  
She spoke as Divination had inspired her  
With knowledge of my wrongs, and his oppression,  
To take my part: Take thou a blessing for't  
Who ere thou art, whilst I recalculate  
The miseries of a distressed man,  
Cast out of all. Unhappy chance of Law!  
More false and merciless than Dice or Strumpets;  
That hast into thy Hydra-throated maw  
Gulped up my life's supportance; left me nothing;  
Not means for one day's sustenance, for breath  
To cry thy cruelty before my death.  
That Law, once called sacred, and ordained  
For safety and relief to innocence,  
Should live to be accursed in her succession,  
And now be styled Supportress of oppression;  
Ruin of Families, past the bloody rage  
Of Rape or Murder: All the crying sins  
Negotiating for Hell in her wild practice.  Enter Attorney. At. 
A man I hope for my purpose, and save me a going to the Church for one: Will you make an Oath Sir?  Broo. 
An Oath? for what?  At. 
For two shillings; and it be half a Crown, my Client shall not stand w'ye; the Judge is at leisure, and the other of our Bail is there already. Come, go along.  Broo. 
I guess you some Attorney: Do you know me?  At. 
No, nor any man we employ in these cases.  Broo. 
He takes me for a common Bail; a Knight o'th' Post,  
Thou art a villain, and crop-eared I doubt not:  
What, dar'st thou say, thou seest upon me, that—  At. 
I cry you mercy: I must up (I see)  
To the old Synagogue, there I shall be fitted— Exit.  Broo. 
Can I appear so wretched? or can grief  
So soil the face of poverty, which is virtue,  
To make it seem that Monster Perjury?  
Rather let sorrow end me all at once,  
Than virtue be misconstrued in my looks,  
Which I will hide from such interpretation. He lies on his face.  Enter Frendly. Frend. 
Alas he's sore afflicted, and my news,  
I fear, will strike him dead; yet I must speak.  
Sir, give not misery that advantage on you,  
To make yourself the less, by shrinking under  
The buffetings of fortune.  Broo. 
I desired you  
To seek my son. Ha' you found him at his Chamber?  
Or has not want of fatherly supplies  
(Which heaven knows I am robbed of) thrust him out  
Of Commons, to the Common World for succour?  
Where is he, have you found him?  Fren. 
No, not him.  
But I have found what may be comfort to you,  
If you receive it like a man of courage.  Broo. 
he's dead then, farewell my tender boy!  Fren. 
Indeed, Sir, he's not dead.  Broo. 
Phew—  Fren. 
Pray, sir, hear me.  Broo. 
You'll tell me, man ne'er dies; But changeth Life,  
And happily for a better. He is happiest  
That goes the right way soonest: Nature sent us  
All naked hither; and all the Goods we had  
We only took on Credit with the World.  
And that the best of men are but mere borrowers:  
Though some take longer day. Sir, I know all  
Your Arguments of Consolation—  Fren. 
Indeed he is not dead; but lives—  Broo. 
In Heaven.  
I am the surer on't; for that he lived  
Not to learn Law enough, to— hush. No more.  Fren. 
Substantially he lives in flesh, as we do.  Broo. 
Speak that again.  Fren. 
A Gentleman of the next Chamber told me so.  
Only, sir, this; if you can brook his absence  
Without fear, or mistrust; then he is well.  Broo. 
How thou playest with me!  Fren. 
He's gone to travel, sir. Here comes the Gentleman.  Enter Valentine. Val. 
I am sure he does not know me. If he could,  
I were as sure this Charity would be rejected.  
So much I know his Spirit. Is your name Brookeall, sir?  Brook. 
My losses, wrongs, and sorrows, speak my name.  Val. 
You had a Son late of this house.  Broo. 
And do not you infer by that he's dead?  
Good, do not mock me, sir.  Val. 
If this be gold,  
He lives and sent it to you; forty pieces?  Broo. 
Pray, sir, from whence, or where might he achieve  
So great a Sum? Not in this World, I fear.  
A handsome possibility he had once,  
Could I ha' kept it for him.  Val. 
He's in a way,  
Now to a hopeful fortune. A Noble Gentleman,  
Late gone to travel, ta'en with good affection  
Towards your Son, has ta'en him to his care:  
And like a Father, not a Master, keeps him.  
From whose free bounty he received this means.  Broo. 
Do you think the Boy did well to send it me then:  
When 'twas intended for his Master's honour,  
To fly in Silks and Feathers? 'tis not Servant like  
To wave a Master's meaning so.  Val. 
I had a Letter too;  
Though most unhappily mislaid.  Broo. 
What from my Boy?  Val. 
In his own hand.  Broo. 
Ha!— but mislaid, you say. Ha, ha, ha,—  
What is the Gentleman? Or whither traveled?  Val. 
That's all I crave excuse for.  Broo. 
Keep your money.  
If you can render me my Son, I'll thank you.  Val. 
You speak not like a Father: wanting means  
yourself for his advancement, would you bar him  
The bounty of another's full ability?  Broo. 
I speak more like a Father, than a Beggar:  
Although no Beggar poorer. And I fear,  
I am no Father: for I would not give  
My Son to gain a Province, nor except  
This Coin to save my life: If he be lost,  
Let me look nearer on you, sir.  Fren. 
I hope  
He will accept the Money. Poverty  
Was ne'er so coy else.  Broo. 
I cannot remember,  
I ever saw this face: But I have seen  
(Many years since) one, that it so resembles,  
As I could spit defiance on't—  Val. 
What mean you?  Broo. 
And charge thee with the Murder of my Son  Val. 
Pray, sir, collect yourself.  Broo. 
Your name is Valentine.  Val. 
Right, sir.  Broo. 
Sir Humphrey Dryground's Son:  Val. 
Most true.  Broo. 
Even so thy Father looked, when, at like years  
He was my Rival: For young man, I tell thee  
Thou hadst a virtuous, well deserving Mother.  
He won her without loss of my known Friendship:  
But, since her death, you cannot but have heard,  
He basely wronged my Sister, and, in her,  
Me, and my Family: Whored her, and cast her off,  
On the appointed Marriage day.  Val. 
O, sir.  Broo. 
You cannot but have heard on't. Nay, it seems,  
My Boy has charged thee with't, before his years  
Could warrant his ability in Combat,  
And so is fallen; Or thou, not daring stand  
Trial in such a cause, by treachery  
Hast cut him off; And com'st to make thy peace:  
Presuming on my Poverty, with money.  
Worse than the base attorney's Project this!  Val. 
This is mere madness. In an Act so foul,  
As your wild Fancy gathers this to be;  
Who could escape the Law?  Broo. 
The Law; Ha, ha, ha.  
Talk not to me of Law, Law's not my Friend.  
Law is a Fatal to me, as your house.  
I have enough of Law; pray stand you off.  
Will you, sir, furnish me, but with a Sword;  
And bring me to fit ground to end this difference?  
Will you do so, and like a Gentleman?  Val. 
What shall I do for pity?— Now I have it.  Broo. 
Talk not to me of Law. [He fenceth.]  Val. 
Pray hear me, sir.  Broo. 
Now sir, your will before your end Be brief.  Val. 
You know me for a Gentleman, though an Enemy.  
(I must speak in his phrase) and by that honour  
A Gentleman should keep sacred, two hours hence  
I'll meet you in this place—  Broo. 
Pray stand you off— to Friendly.  Val. 
From whence we'll walk—  Broo. 
Silent, as nothing were—  Val. 
As nothing were betwixt us— to some other Fit ground, (as you propounded) where we'll end the difference.  Broo. 
By the Sword, no otherwise.  
No whinnelling satisfaction.  Val. 
You shall see, sir.  Broo. 
Go set thy house in order. Here I'll meet thee, Exit.    


ACT. III. Scene I.  Francis— Wat. Fra. 
I Shall repent me, sir, that ere I yielded,  
In that fair Noble way, if you express  
yourself in this regardless of my honour.  Wat. 
I like a Whore, with all my heart, that talks  
So like an honest woman.  Fra. 
Can you expect  
A Chaste and constant Wife of her, Whom you  
Have wrought to Lewdness before Marriage?  
Or may I not as well deserve as well in bringing  
A Maidenhead into your Marriage-bed,  
As a polluted Body?  Wat. 
Here's a coil,  
For a poor bit aforehand! Is it so?  
'Heart, if a man bespeak a Tavern Feast  
For next day Dinner; and give earnest for't  
To half the value, (as my Faith and Troth  
I think, is somewhat towards your Marriage payment  
To be tomorrow) Will not the Hostess give him  
A Modicum o'er night to stay his stomach?  
Your Father comes: I'll whisper yet more reason.  Enter Dryground disguised. Alice. Dry. 
Now pretty Mr. Alice, you see the end  
I had upon you: All the scope thereof  
Tending to your contentment. Are you pleased?  Ali. 
So well, that could I but shake off the fear  
(Which is most dangerous) of a Father's curse,  
I durst pronounce; nay, boast my happiness,  
To be above my Virgin hopes, or wishes.  Dry. 
Let your fear vanish then: And, if this night,  
The happiness you are ambitious of,  
Together with your Father's leave and blessing  
Crown not your Bed, let all the Infamy  
Due to all perjured Wretches, that have wronged  
Beauty and Chastity be branded here.  Ali. 
The fair respect I have, sir, to your Noblesse;  
For what you have already shown me, bars  
Mine ears 'gainst protestation. I dare trust you.  Dry. 
As I have trusted you with my whole project,  
My discreet Alice, further than I dare trust  
My Instrument your Brother; though he thinks  
He understands it all. Yonder he is,  
Profoundly Love-struck too, I make no doubt.  Fry. 
Fie! Can you be so lewd? Is that your reason?  Wat. 
Yes; can the Parish Parson give you better?  Fra. 
His Parish Bull's as civil.  Wat. 
Well no more.  
I'll talk with your Father about it.  Fra. 
I with your Sister, and to better purpose.  Dry. 
Now Wat, what think you of my course, and habit?  Wat. 
As I love mischief, and desire to live by't;  
It is the daintiest course.— O, brave sir Humphrey,  
How I am taken with your Shape! Old Osbright,  
The Father of the Swindgers; so much talked on  
Could ne'er ha' borne it up so. Nor his Daughter,  
That was French born indeed, could ere have clipped,  
And Frenchified our English better, than  
She counterfeits to Coxcombs that do Court her:  
With her fine Fee-fees, and her Laisse-moys;  
Her Prea-awayes; Intrat a you make a me blusha.  
O, I am tickled with it.  Dry. 
A, ha, my Lad.  Wat. 
slid I could dote upon you. Had I been  
Your Son now, how I could have honoured you!  
Though I had kept a Precept by t, I care not.  Dry. 
Notable Reprobate.  Wat. 
The Devil sure  
Ought me a mischief, when he enabled that  
Old Wretch, my Father to beget me. Oh,  
'tis in my bones; I feel it in my Youth:  
I know from whence the Pocks is now descended.  
The Gout begets it. There's no usurer's Son,  
But's born with an hereditary spice on't.  Dry. 
Had I raked Limbo, as I did the Compter,  
I were not better fitted with a Copesmate.  Wat. 
'slight, I could ask you blessing.  Dry. 
And I think,  
That courtesy you have seldom done your Father.  Wat. 
ne'er since I grew to any understanding:  
Nor (as I know) before, but whipped and held to't.  Dry. 
Well Wat. You see how far I have trusted you,  
To have the second hand in our great work;  
Our Project here. Though you must seem my Servant,  
You are like to have the better share, if you agree.  
Upon the Match, and make yourself my Son.  
How like you your new Mistress, sir, my Daughter;  
The Maidenhead here, the new Ordinary—  
The Damoiselle, or what you please to call her?  
What is't a Match Wat? Condescendeth she?  Wat. 
No man shall be her Husband, but myself;  
Who ere she lies withal, before or after.  
That she has roundly promised. But she balks,  
And Boggles with me in a less request.  Dry. 
She shall deny thee nothing. What is't Wat?  Wat. 
You may command her duty, if you please.  Dry. 
What is it man?  Wat. 
'Troth, sir, but one night's knowledge  
Of her aforehand. One word of your mouth,  
I know would do it, sir.  Dry. 
O Devilish Rascal,  
That can imagine this a Father's Office!  
Patience good Wat.  Wat. 
But that I am afeard  
My Father would be pleased with't, I'd take home  
My Sister else, and presently.  Dry. 
In Maids about your work. And hear you Frank  
Discharge the Butchers, and the chandler's Bills.  
They wait below. The Baker and the Brewer,  
I have made even with.  Fra. 
And the Vintner too.  Dry. 
The Bottleman too, and Tobacco Merchant.  
Do as I bid you, go. Now Wat Observe me:  
As an ingenious Critic would observe  
The first Scene of a comedy, for fear  
He lose the Plot.  Wat. 
I do observe you, sir.  Dry. 
I have, you know, released from your thraldom.  
Upon condition you should steal your Sister,  
To be at my dispose. You have performed it:  Wat. 
Honestly, sir.  Dry. 
Yes▪ honestly, as you say.  
And though it be for her own absolute good;  
Yet was your Act so grateful to me, that  
I promised you my Daughter.  Wat. 
Right sir, on.  Dry. 
I shall be brief: you know my Fortune, What  
Are sunk, and you have heard, I make no doubt,  
'Mongst other of my follies, of a Child  
I got on Brookeall's sister, on the by, Wat.  Wat. 
And this is she, I love a bastard naturally,  
Ah thy are bouncing spirits: Now I love her  
More than I did Sir.  Dry. 
You come fairly on.  
But now, my poverty affords no portion.  
Now, Wat, to raise a portion!  Wat. 
I, now, now.  Dry. 
Now I come to it, Wat: I took this house,  
And in this habit here, turned pimping Host,  
To make the most of her, and find a Husband  
To take her with all faults.  Wat. 
That's I, that's I Sir: this has music in't.  Dry. 
You will be secret Wat.  Wat. 
No dumb Bawd like me.  Dry. 
Nay in a plot of villainy I dare trust thee.  Wat. 
In troth you cannot think how much I love it;  
How I am tickled with it! Good Sir, on.  Dry. 
This I have designed to put her off  
(I mean her Maidenhead) at such a rate  
Shall purchase Land.  Wat. 
How, good Sir Humphrey, how?  Dry. 
She shall be rifled for.  Wat. 
How! Rifled Sir?  Dry. 
Yes, rifled Wat; the most at three fair throws,  
With three fair Dice, must win and wear her, Wat.  
You'll take her with all faults?  Wat. 
Can you suspect me?  
It is the rarest invention, if the Gamesters  
Be stiff and straight, that ever was projected!  
What is't a man?  Dry. 
But twenty Pieces, boy.  Wat. 
I vow too little, less their number help us.  
How many Gamesters have you?  Dry. 
A full hundred.  Wat. 
Two thousand pound! A merry portion,  
And worth as many Maidenheads in the sport  
A man shall find in spending it! Methinks  
I feel myself even flying with't already.  Dry. 
What art thou thinking, What?  Wat. 
That here may grow  
A danger Sir, the Gamesters being so many.  Dry. 
Why, there's but one must use her.  Wat. 
Phew, for that  
I were indifferent, if 'twere all or more  
(As it is possible a wench might bear it)  
If they come single, and in civil sort,  
Allow her breathing-whiles—  Dry. 
Here's a ripe Rascal!  Wat. 
But my doubt is, that such a multitude  
May fly into combustion, blow up all  
The business and our hopes.  Dry. 
Now your doubt  
Reflects upon my judgement: didst thou note  
How quietly those Gallants here today  
Parted with their gold?  Wat. 
Yes, very gallantly.  Dry. 
They shall agree as well for the Commodity,  
As I have cast it, Wat; so well my boy,  
That no distaste shall be or ta'en, or given,  
Anon you'll see.  Wat. 
She knows not on't you say,  Dry. 
Nor shall she Wat, till at the push I charge her  
To be obedient in the undertaking.  Wat. 
And that's a sweet obedience: I could kneel  
Before my wretched Sire in such commands.  Enter Francis. Dry. 
Anon I'll make't all plain to you. How now Frank?  Fran. 
There are two Gentlemen in the next room,  
That by all means would speak with you: I have had  
The foulest coil with one of 'em, that persuades  
Himself you keep a Bawdy-house, by somewhat  
He gathered eavesdropping, by your discourse here,  
While tother held me talking; who is civil,  
And loves me with a modest fair affection.  Dry. 
Where is his sister, Alice?  Fran. 
Unseen I warrant you.  Dry. 
Then let them enter. Whip into your disguise Wat— Exit Fran.  
And be at call.  Wat. 
Presto, Anon, anon Sir. Ex. Wat Stands aside.  Dry. 
Did they Eavesdrop me? I will Eavesdrop too.—  Enter Oliver, Ambrose. Ol. 
Did not I tell thee't was a Bawdy-house?  Am 
I cannot think so yet: there is some other  
Trick in it; the Maid you see is very modest.  Ol. 
That is the trick on it man, she must seem so.  
Her Father deals for her.  Am. 
Fie! Can there be such Fathers?  Ol. 
Yes, and such Mothers too: The town's too full of 'em.  
Come, she's a juggling whore I warrant thee,  
For all her Fee-fees, and her Laisse-moys.  
Pox of her counterfeit Gibberish I'll make her speak  
In plainer English, ere I ha' done with her.  Dry. 
I have enough. You are welcome Gentlemen.  Ol. 
He looks like such a Blade. Are you the Master here Sir?  Dry. 
I am the man that's much rejoiced to see  
Such sparkling Spirits underneath this Roof,  
Where all you find is yours. Sirrah Varlet.  Ol. 
Each syllable he speaks bewrays him.  Dry. 
Varlet I say.  Wat. 
Here Sir.  Enter Wat with Wine. Dry. 
Give me the Compliment. Gallants,  
willit please you taste your welcome in a Cup,  
The spirit of whose never dying liquour,  
Speaks o'er the brim in this high Language to you.  
Full six and thirty times hath Luna waned  
The strength she got in six and thirty growths  
From Phoebus virtuous beams, into this Juice,  
To make it Nectar for Phoebean wits.  
'tis this inspires their brains with fire Divine,  
By which to write high strains; and herein lurks,  
The gift, One has to bounce up his own works.  Ol. 
Your meaning is good Sack, and three years old.  
To put you by your Beverage and your Bombast,  
I will nor drink, nor talk of other thing,  
But the choice thing of things, your Daughter Sir.  Dry. 
Thou shalt not woo my Daughter, nor ne man for thy sake, Sing.  
unless thou come until her by her Daddy naked.  
Her Mammy's gone to Heaven Sir. And I pray,  
Let Fathers poor breed Daughters as they may.  Ol. 
Your care, no doubt, is great what will it hold?  
The Rifling Sir, I mean. Is your number full?  
May not a man put in Sir for a chance?  Dry. 
What do you mean Sir?  Ol. 
May not we  
Come it adventurers? Here are twenty pieces.  Dry. 
I find you have overheard me. Call my Daughter. Exit Wat.  
Now I'll disclose a secret to you. But Gentlemen,  
As you love wit and mirth, censure me mildly.  
I am a Gentleman decayed in Fortune.  Ol. 
And canst thou be so base to sell thy Child  
To Lust and Impudence?  Dry. 
Be not too rash.  
My Child's as dear in my respect, as you  
Were ever to your Father.  Am. 
Devil thou liest— Draw.  Ol. 
Nay, hold, good Ambrose; you e'en now were angry  
With me, that did oppose your fair Construction  
Of this good Gentleman and his virtuous Daughter.  Am. 
My ignorance wronged us both.  Ol. 
Good modest Ambrose,  
What do you think of this discovery?  Dry. 
You had discovered more, if his impatience  
Had not prevented me: But now I am dumb to you  
In all, but this. If you'll be pleased to sup here,  
I shall afford you welcome. I have business. Exit.  Ol. 
What can we make of this?  Am. 
I know what to do.  
If City Justice, grave Authority  
Protect it not, I'll surely spoil the sport.  Ol. 
Canst thou be so malicious, that, but now  
Didst love this Wench so dearly, as to run her  
Into the hazard of Correction?  
Stay: Here she comes, and the Pimp whiskin with her.  Enter Wat. Fran. 
Do thou take him in hand. I'll handle her.  
Now Madam, twenty pound a man! Nay do not  
Coy it too much? Your provident Father left us,  
To make ourselves more known to you; as your price  
Is known to us already: Look upon us.  Fra. 
Pray ye Sir, have you been ever in France?  Ol. 
In France? No surely, nor in Doctors hands  
Since I was Placket high. Why ask you Lady?  Fra. 
For, if you could speak Fransh, I could the better  
Find what you say. I can no understand  
What 'tis you mean by price. What is that Price,  
If it be no Welsh Gentleman?  Ol. 
I mean  
The price of three throws for your Maidenhead,  
'tis twenty pieces. If I win it (Hark you)  
What will you give me out of your gross sum  
To take it neatly off; and like an Operator,  
Put you to no pain?  Fra. 
Parle Françoy Monsieur, Je vou prie.  Ol. 
Thou art a handsome hypocrite: And this  
Cunning becomes thee well. I'll kiss thee for't.  Fra. 
Fee fee Monsieur. O fee! 'tis no good fashion,  
For the young Man and Maid to no ting but kiss!  Ol. 
'tis not so good indeed; nothing but kiss.  
A little of tone with tother will do well.  Fra. 
Fee fee, you no understand. That Gentleman,  
Speaks he no Fransh?  Ol. 
Yes yes. He speaks no French.  Fra. 
He Monsieur vou mocque de Moy.  Ol. 
Owie par ma foy.  Fra. 
Ha Monsieur vou parle francoy. Je sui 'bien aisie.  Ol. 
Easy! Yes yes, I think you would be easy  
To one that knew but how to manage you,  
For all the boast of your Virginity.  Fra. 
Excuse me Sir, I can no understand.  Ol. 
methinks you should. Come prithee leave this fooling,  
I know you can good English, if you list.  Fra. 
Indeed I can. But, in my best, and all  
I cannot understand you Sir, nor frame  
An answer to your rudeness. When you know me  
Better, you'll speak in better phrase, and then  
'tis like you may find better language from me:  
Till when, pray give me leave to leave you Sir.  Ol. 
Nay hark you Lady, hark you (still more mystical!)  
Nay since you can speak English, I must talk w'ye.  Fra. 
So you'll be civil.  Ol. 
Civil I swear, and private. They go aside.  Am. 
Does she not know on't, sayst thou?  Wat. 
No Sir, no:  
Not the least inkling of it: The old man  
Carries it so discreetly.  Am. 
Bless me Heaven?  
Discreetly sayst thou. To betray his Child,  
To sale of her Virginity.  Wat. 
Yes, discreetly.  
She dreams of no such business; such intent:  
No more than the Cud-chewing Heifer knows  
The Butcher, that must knock her down i'faith.  
O, 'twill be bravely carried! I myself  
Knew nothing till this hour: though I saw  
Money put in his hand by divers Gallants:  
Men of great place and worship; which I gather  
Are to be of the Riflers.  Amb. 
Prithee who?  Wat. 
All must be nameless. There are Lords among 'em.  
And some of civil Coat, that love to draw  
New stakes at the old Game, as well as they;  
Truckle-breeched Justices, and bustling Lawyers,  
That thrust in with their Motions; Muffled Citizens;  
Old Money-Masters some, that seek the Purchase:  
And Merchant Venturers that bid for the  
Foreign Commodity, as fair, as any.  Amb. 
Was ever such an outrage! Hark thee fellow— They aside.  Fra. 
Sir, I have heard you with that patience  
(And with no better) as the troubled Pilot  
Endures a Tempest, or contrary winds:  
Who, finding ne'ertheless his Tackling sure,  
His Vessel tight, and Sea-room round about him,  
Plays with the waves, and vies his confidence  
Above the blasts of Fortune, till he wins  
His way, through all her threatenings, to his Port.  
You may apply this.  Ol. 
And you may be plainer.  
Is there not such a project for your Maidenhead?  Fra. 
It deserves no answer.  
But to be rid of you, together with  
The Devil, that inflamed you to that question;  
Know, that knew I of such a plot or project;  
Or, that I had a Father (as injuriously  
You have suggested) could be so inhuman,  
To prostitute my spotless Virgin honour  
To Lust for Salary, I would as sure prevent it,  
As there is force in poison, Cord, or Steel,  
At price of both our lives. Sir, I have said— Exit.  Ol. 
This Wench amazes me. Could I believe now  
There could be truth in Woman, I could love her.  Amb. 
Well, I'll make one: Meet me there two hours hence,  
And fetch my twenty Pieces.  Wat. 
I will not fail you. In the Temple Walks— Exit.  Amb. 
Where, if I fit you not—  Ol. 
Nam! What discovery?  Amb. 
A villainy enough to blow the house up.  Ol. 
And I have found (I think) a virtue, that  
Might save a City: But let's hence. We may  
Confer our notes together by the way. Exeunt.   

ACT. III. Scene II.  Bumpsey, Magdalen, Jane, all in brave Clothes. Bum. 
NAy, nay, I know he is flown out, and I  
Am prettily provided for like flight:  
And if I do not pitch as high, and souse  
As deep, as he, while there is Game to fly at—  
Five hundred Pieces he took out you say?  Ja. 
And said he would venture't at the Ordinary.  Bum. 
That's he, that's he! Why this is excellent.  Mag. 
This was your folly Bump. He was content  
To have walked moneyless you saw, but you  
Would force him. At a word you did la 'Bump.  Bum. 
I force him, ha?  Mag. 
ay, at a word, you put it in his head,  
And put the Sword into the madman's hand,  
As one would say.  Bum. 
Good Mrs. At-a-word.  
Let not your fine French Frippery, which I bought,  
Turned o'th' tailor's hands (as one would say)  
Huffle you up to Sovereignty: Nor your Coach,  
Which I have but bespoke, whirl you away,  
Before 'tis finished) from obedience.  Mag. 
Good lack fine Gentleman, that wears the Purchase  
Of a pawned forfeiture. Must I not speak trow?  Bum. 
Excellent Magdalen!  Mag. 
Sir, I will speak; and be allowed to speak.  Bum. 
And speak allowed too; will you Magdalen?  Mag. 
I, at a word; Since you have put me to't,  
I will uphold the Fashion; Learn, and practise  
Behaviour and carriage above my ''parel.  
I at a word, I will la, that I will.  Bum. 
This is most excellent! My old Beast is  
Infected with the Fashions; Fashion-sick!  
Pray madam take your course, uphold your Fashion:  
And learn and practise Carriage to your Clothes:  
I will maintain my humour, though all split by't.—  Enter Servant. Ser. 
Mr. vermin desires to speak with you.  Bum. 
i'faith I will madam.— [Exit with Servant.]  Ja. 
My Husband, Mother,  
Reports of a rare Creature come to Town,  
Of a French breed; a Damosel, that professeth  
The teaching of Court-carriage and behaviour:  
The rarest he says—  Mag. 
Can she teach the elder sort?  Ja. 
All ages from six years to sixty six.  
Unless they be indocible he says.  Mag. 
Indocible! What's that?  Ja. 
Stift i' the hams, I think.  Mag. 
Nay, then we'll to her.  
I can yet bow my Haunches, come and go  
With them, as nimbly as the barren do.  
My gimbals don't complain for want of Oil yet.  
we'll have this madam; and we will be Madames  
Ourselves, or it shall cost us each a Crown  
A month the teaching. In a Month we may,  
Practising but one hour in a day,  
Be Madames, may we not?  Ja. 
Yes, if we give our minds to't; and but steal  
Fit times to practise.  Mag. 
we'll find Lecture times:  
Or balk St. Antlins for't the while. But mum.  Enter Bumpsey, Vermine. Bum. 
Do you wonder at my bravery? Look you here:  
This is my Wife; and this my Daughter, sir.  
You have lost yours, you say: Perhaps for want  
Of Husty-lusties, and of Gorgets gay.  
Ha! is't not so?  Ver. 
The World's turned prodigal.  
You do not well to mock me, when I come  
For comfort and advise.  Bum. 
Shall I be plain w'ye;  
My best advice is, since your Daughters gone,  
To turn your Son after her. He lies not in  
For much above a hundred pound. Pay it,  
And let him take his course: If he be not  
Got loose already. Then (observe my Counsel)  
Spend you the rest of your Estate yourself;  
And save your Heirs the sin. It is the course  
I have in hand, and mean to follow it.  
You like it not (it seems) but thus it is,  
When men advise for nothing. Had your Lawyer  
Now for his fee, given Counsel, might have damned you:  
You would have thought it worth your Gold, and followed it.  
will you go with me to an Ordinary?  
Venture five hundred or a thousand Pieces,  
To begin a new World with.  Ver. 
Mrs. Bumpsey, I take it you are she.  Mag. 
An old Ape has an old eye.  
He knows me through all my cuts and slashes.  Ver. 
How long I pray, has my good friend your Husband  
Been thus distracted?  Mag. 
But when I am perfect  
In the quaint Courtly carriages, that belong  
Unto this habit: in which, I confess,  
I am yet but raw; how will you know me then?  Ver. 
She is as mad as he.  Bum. 
How Ladylike she talks!  Mag. 
Or, now my black Bag's on, I hold a penny  
You do not know me. Bogh-who am I now?  Ver. 
Most unrecoverably mad! young Gentlewoman:  
Nay, I entreat your favour for an answer?  
As you can pity a wronged man's distress.  
Give me what light you can of my lost Daughter.  
You have been inward always, and partook  
The nearest of her Counsels. Tell me fairly  
I do beseech you in this gentle way.  
Though I profess I have a strong presumption  
Against your Husband, and his young Associates  
I met today; and bore their mocks and taunts:  
On which I have good ground for a strict course  
To force 'em to examination.  
Yet I entreat you see.  Ja. 
The World is turned  
Quite upside down: Else I should wonder  
How you could make requests, that have got all  
You have (too much) by Rapine and Oppression.  Ver. 
Do you upbraid me?  Bum. 
What's the matter Jane?  Ja. 
The Fox here learns to sing.  Mag. 
I'll fox him out o'th' hole if he sing here.  
Will no Prey serve you but new married wives, Fox?  Ver. 
Why do you abuse me thus?  Ja. 
I heard you, sir, with too much patience,  
Abuse my Husband with your foul Suspicion.  
Who is as clear, I know, from wronging you,  
As your own Son.  Ver. 
Your mocks are monstrous.  
Were not he fast enough, I would resolve  
No other friend had robbed me.  Mag. 
Is your son a friend? At a word, he's like you.  Enter Sir Amphilus, Servant. Amp. 
I pray, if my man ask for me, send him to me, by your Master's leave. By your leave Sir, I made bold to follow a Father-in-Law of mine that should have been, into your house here, with much ado to find it. Any good news Sir yet? Ha' you heard of her? I cry these Ladies mercy; though you may take me for a Clown, I must not forget I am a Knight, and give you the courtesy of my lips—  Bum. 
In the name of Peasantry, what Knight art thou,  
If not the Knight of the Ploughshare?  Mag. 
A fine spoken, and a well-bred man, at a word: He called us Ladies. To see what Apparel can do! How long might I have trudged about in my old coats before I had been a Lady? And then he would do us the courtesy to kiss us: Sure, sure, as courtesy makes a Knight, so clothes makes a Lady.  Amp. 
It seems she's lost then. All ill go with her.  Bum. 
What old youth can this be?  Amp. 
Your warrant, perhaps, may find her though.  
And I tell you what.  
I ha' sent my man to lay the Ducking Ponds for her.  Bum. 
Do you think she would drown herself?  Amp. 
Who knows what toy might take her? Is she not a woman, as other flesh and blood is? I had another occasion to one that belongs to the Ponds. I tell you as a Friend, I had not sent else: Come Father-in-Law that should have been; hang sorrow. You have had but one Loss today. I have had two. I'll gi't you in rhyme.  
My Mare and my Mistress I lost on a day,  
T'one of 'em died, and tother ran away.  Ja. 
You are acquainted among the Poets it seems, sir?  Amp. 
Truly but one that's a Gamester amongst us at the ducking Pond; a Cobbler, but the neatest Fellow at Poetry, that ever was handicraftsman; & no Scholar, to enable him by learning, to borrow of the Ancients: Yet he is a Translator too. And he makes the sweetest Posies for Privy-houses.  Ja. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Bum. 
What a youth's this for a Knight!  Enter Trebasco. Amp. 
I'll tell ye Ladies— O Trebasco. Good news at last I hope.  Tre. 
I can never find you anywhere, but jeered and laughed at, and are fooled, (as I have often told you) to your worship's face, and your Worship perceives it not.  Amp. 
To the point, man. How does my Whelp? He is grown a tall Dog by this I hope: resolve me quickly.  Tre. 
Why, to put you out of your pain; your Whelp's grown a tall Dog.  Amp. 
Good  Ja. 
You said you would tell us, sir; What will you tell us?  Tre. 
And a handsome Dog.  Amp. 
Good again.  Ja. 
What a Dog-trick's is this?  Tre. 
And h'as learned, besides the main Game, all the rare tricks and qualities his Tutor could teach.  Amp. 
Excellent.  Ja. 
Will you not tell us, sir, about your Poet?  Amp. 
Hang him, my dog's worth 'em all, in ready money.  Mag. 
I pray, sir.  Amp. 
I will not give his ears for the swolnst headful of wit among 'em.  
Are not his Ears finely curled Trebasco? Like his Dam Flapses.  Tres 
Yes, and his Coat all over, sir, they told me.  Amp. 
Told thee! Didst thou not see him? My heart misgives me.  Tre. 
See him? No indeed, sir; but I pray bear it as well as you may:  
And set not your heart too much upon transportable things.  Amp. 
Ha!  Tre. 
The Dog is gone, sir.  Amp. 
How!  Tre. 
Stolen from School, sir; and sold to a great Monsieur,  
And Shipped away four days ago.  Amp. 
O my heart will break.  J. a 
Do not faint Knight; Cheer up your heart with your Muse.  Amp. 
My vein is yet too dull; But I will offer at it.  
Three Losses I have had; gone, past all help.  
My Mare, my Mistress, And (which grieves me most of all) my whelp.  Ia. 
That line is long enough to reach him.  Amp. 
I would it were else.— o—  Bum. 
Od's pity. Look you, sir, your Son-in-Law, that should ha' been, is in much passion too. But you'll be ruled by me, you say. And if I lead you not to comfort, never trust neighbour's counsel while you live. Is not this plain enough? My own case at this time is as dangerous as yours.  Ver. 
That's all that comforts me.  Bum. 
Neighbourly said. I thank you. Come, Sir, will you join with your father-in-law that should ha' been, and me in a Cup of Wine to order a design.  Tre. 
There's a reckoning towards.  Bum. 
It shall cost you nothing.  Am. 
To the next Tavern then. Ladies adieu.  
To part with such as you to some are crosses.  
Yet I'll not put you down among my Losses. Exeunt.  Mag. 
Daughter while they are gone, let us fall on our project.  Ja: 
For Courtly carriage and behaviour.  Mag. 
I long to see this French young schoolmistress.  
The Damasin do you call her?  Ja. 
The Damoiselle, I'll wait on you.— Exit.    


ACT. IV. Scene I.  A Rabble of rude Follows pulling in Wat after them, Valentine, Oliver, Ambrose, Phillis. Wat. 
You Rogues, Slaves, Villains, will you murder me?  Rab. 
To the Pump with him: To the Pump, to the Pump.  Val. 
Prithee beat off the Curs.  Rab. 
No, to the Thames, the Thames.  Phil. 
Why do you use the man so? Is he not a Christian▪  
Or is he not Christened enough think you, that you would dip him?  Ol. 
Pray Gentlemen forbear: It is thought fit,  
Upon request made by a Noble Friend,  
Favouring his Person, not his quality;  
That for this time the Pandar be dismissed,  
So all depart in peace.  Enter Rabble. Rab. 
Away, away, let's go then.  
1. A Noble Friend! Pox of his Noble Friendship.  
He has spoiled our sport. O! how we would a soused him?  Ol. 
Now, Mr. Hackneyman, if you have so much grace,  
Render due thanks,  Wat. 
I thank you Gentlemen.  Phil. 
I thank you for him too.  Ol. 
On both your Knees; unless you hold it better  
To kneel yet to the Pump: which you had done,  
My most officious Pimp, had not his pity  
Prevailed against our Justice.  Val. 
So, arise; enough, enough.  Amb. 
Troth 'tis a shame be should get off so easily;  
Let him be yet but ducked, or showed the way  
Over the Garden Wall into the Thames.  Val. 
Good Ambrose, be not so severe, who knows  
What need we may of him? We are all  
Flesh and blood Ambrose.  Phil. 
Thou art a Wag I warrant thee.  Amb. 
Are not you married?  Val. 
Mass, 'twas so late, I had almost forgotten it.  Amb. 
No, 'tis so late you ha' not yet forgot  
Some Office he has done you in his way.  Ol. 
Didst ever pimp for him? Protest by what thou feared most.  Wat. 
No, as I hope to escape this Gentleman's fury.  Amb. 
Go, get the hence, insufferable Villain.  
I could e'en kick thee into twenty pieces, [He kicks Wat.]  
Soon, at his Rifling.  
Think whilst thou liv'st what 'tis to be Pandar.—  
A Pandar,— Pandar— there's for your remembrance.  [He kicks him] Val. 
Enough. Amb. This touch, & I have done—  Val. 
Away  Phil. 
Pray let him go, I'll school him [Exeunt Wat Phillis.]  Val. 
This may work good upon the Rascal, if he  
Have but humanity, although no grace.  Ol. 
We have discovered the great Rifling Val.  
We know the Jewel now; the rich Commodity.  Val. 
And think you have done wondrous wisely; do you not?  
To sneak before me thither. I know all  
You have discovered; and how far you are  
Mistaken in the old man and his Daughter.  
All shall be plain to you soon. Walk off a little.  Ol. 
We'll leave you till anon we meet at the Ordinary. [Exit. Ol. Amb.]  Enter Vermine— Amphilus Bumpsey. Amp. 
I protest, Gentlemen, I have not drowned sorrow  
With so much merry go-down, these three half years.  Bump. 
As with your part of three half pints of Sack.  
We had no more amongst us.  Amp. 
How much was that a piece think you?  Ver. 
It was enough to show his Prodigality.  
In over-wastful Cost. You were not wont  
To be a Boordsend-King; a pay-all in a Tavern.  Bum. 
But now I love to do these things.  Amp. 
Now if you could be drawn to the ducking-pond,  
To join your Groat sometimes with me; or twopence▪  
There were a Recreation indeed:  
That Peerless Princely sport, that undoes no man:  
Though cheating there; and rooking be as free  
As there is square play at the Ordinaries.  Bum. 
Well the point is: My swaggering Son-in-Law,  
Appointed to be here among the Trees.  
My Daughter told me so. Walk hereabout.  
If he can give light of your light, he'd chide.  
Well try what may be done. I'll but step up  
Into Ram-Alley-Sanctuary, to Debtor,  
That prays and watches there for a Protection;  
And presently return to you.— Exit.  Amp. 
Let it be so; slid the old angry man!  
Enter Brookeall .He'll cross us if he see us walk this [Exit Amp. Vermine.]  Broo. 
These walks afford to miserable man,  
Undone by Suits, leave, yet, to sit, or go,  
Though in a ragged one; and look upon  
The Giants, that overthrew him: Though they strut [Lawyers and others pass over the Stage.]  
And are swollen bigger by his emptiness.  
'twas here, that we appointed, further meeting.  
The two hours respited are almost run:  
And he engaged his honour in such terms,  
As I presume he'll come. Honour! From whence  
Can he derive that Princely attribute,  
Whose Father has descended to a Villainy?  
His house was Noble though: and this young man  
Had a right virtuous Mother, whom I loved,  
Entirely loved: and was in Competition  
For marriage with her; when high Providence  
Allotted her to him; who since her Death,  
Defamed my Sister, and disgraced our house.  
My quarrel is not good against his Son  
For that: But for my Boy! His doubtful talk  
Of him distracts me.  Enter Vermine, and Amphilus. 

See the Vermin,  
That hath devoured me living, His Aspect  
Adds to my Passion such a bitterness,  
That turns me all to gall. I must avoid him, Exit.   Amb. 
Introth Father-in-Law that should ha' been, or that  
May be yet (come, who knows what luck we may have,  
Though the dancing Planets have cut cross Capers over  
Our heads.) I like this old fellows humour of cheering up  
The heart well! And would I were lost too, after my Mare,  
My Dog and your Daughter: If this warm Sack has not  
Kindled a desire in me to play the good fellow, so it might  
Be of free cost, to drown these dry remembrances.  Enter Valentine. 
See; one of the jeerers. Is this he, that stole the marriage?  Ver. 
Yes, and perhaps my Daughter too. His Father's gone  
Now, and I know not how to question him.  Amp. 
Let me alone to question him. Did you see this Gentleman's  
Daughter, sir, my Wife, that should have been?  Val. 
Since when, sir.  Amp. 
Since she was stolen away, sir. It were good  
You would let us have her again; and quickly too,  
Ere she be worse for wearing, as we say.  Val. 
Old Brookall is not come yet.  Amp. 
will you answer me?  Val. 
You are a busy fool.  Amp. 
I am satisfied. He knows nothing.  Val. 
You lie, Sir.  Amp. 
I think I do, You know nothing of her I mean, Sir.  Val. 
You lie again, Sir.  Amp. 
I think I do again, Sir. Pray be not so terrible;  
Examine him yourself, if it please you.  Enter Brookall. Broo. 
Were his eyes Basilisks; or did he bear  
Upon his hellish Countenance the faces  
Of all the Furies (that no doubt attend him)  
I'll shun no place for him. Are they acquainted?  
O most prodigious!  Ver. 
What do you know, Sir, of my Daughter, I beseech you?  Val. 
That she has a wretch, a miserable Caitiff  
Unto her Father.  Broo. 
How is that?— [aside.]  Val. 
A villain that has scraped up by oppression  
Law-strife and Perjury, a Dowry for her,  
So mixed with curses, that it would consume  
An Earls Estate to match with it and her.  
And leave him cursed in his Posterity.  Amp. 
How blessed was I to miss her!  Broo. 
Can he speak thus to him? [aside.]  Ver. 
Dar'st thou confront me thus?  Val. 
Dar'st thou yet keep a Groat of thine extorted Wealth,  
And seest what Judgements fall one thee already?  
Can all thy Gold redeem thy good opinion,  
To thine own Son? And though thou wouldst no give  
(In case he wanted it) to save his life,  
A hangman's Fee, much less a Judge's thanks,  
Or price of a lord's Letter to reprieve him;  
Yet may this Son survive thee; and hourly he  
Unto thy last hour, thine Affliction be.  Amp. 
O happy condition of a Bachelor!  Broo. 
I like this well in the young man▪— [aside.]  Ver. 
How can you say you know this?  Val. 
Prithee how can't be otherwise?  
Hadst thou a virtuous Child (as here and there,  
Some Mothers win a soul) it would be taken  
Dead or alive from thee, unto thy grief too,  
To scape the curse might come with a Child's part  
Of thine ill-got estate: that's thy daughter's case.  Ver. 
Oh—  Brro. 
Brave young fellow!  Val. 
But show me where an evil Offspring has not  
Survived to spurn the dust of such a Father;  
And lewdly waste in one or two descents  
(Unto their own destruction) what was purchased  
At price of souls departed?  Ver. 
Will you vouchsafe to leave me?  Amp. 
Pretty odd Doctrine, this!  Val. 
I have not done wi'ye yet.  
What corrupt Lawyer, or usurious Citizen,  
Oppressing Landlord, or unrighteous Judge,  
But leaves the World with horror? and their wealth,  
(By rapine forced from the oppressed Poor)  
To Heirs, that (having turned their Sires to th' Devil)  
Turn Idiots, Lunatics, Prodigals, or Strumpets?  
All wanting either wit, or will, to save  
Their fatal Portions from the Gulf of Law.  
Pride, Riot, Surfeits, Dice, and Luxury,  
Till Beggary, or diseases turns them after?  Ver. 
Ha' you done yet?  Val. 
A word or two for use; and so an end.  Broo. 
Not so: It must be amplified a little further.  Ver. 
Torment and death! Is he come? Let me go;  Amp. 
Nay pray Sir hear them; though you profit not;  
I may perhaps. Methinks it edifies.  Broo. 
You said, and you said well; His tainted wealth,  
Got by corruption, kept by nigardise,  
Must fly as ill, through Luxury and Riot:  
I add, that they who get it so, shall leave it,  
To run at the like waste, through their succession  
Even to the World's end: 'tis not one age,  
Though spent in prayers, can expiate the wrong  
Such an estate was gotten by, though the estate  
Be, to a doit, spent with it: But it shall  
Fly like a fatal scourge, through hand to hand;  
Through Age to Age, frighted by orphan's cries,  
And widow's tears, the groans and Lamentations,  
Of oppressed Prisoners, mingled with the curses  
Of hunger-bitten Labourers, whose very sweat  
Thou robbest them of: this charming noise is up  
Of many sad, some mad afflicted wretches,  
Whose marrow thou hast sucked; and from whose bowels,  
The nourishment was crushed that fed thee, and  
That ravenous Wolf, thy conscience.  Ver. 
I shall trounce you.  Enter Bumpsey. Bum. 
What's here? Worrying of Vermin?  Broo. 
This noise, I say, of hideous cries and curses,  
That follows thine estate, will not be laid  
In thy dear life time; nor in theirs, the strangers,  
That must be cursed with the division  
Of it, when thou art gone: But, still, it shall  
Pursue, to all succeeding times, all those,  
That entertain least parcels of thy money,  
When they shall find at best, it can but buy  
Disgrace, diseases, overthrows at Law,  
And such dear punishments; until, at last,  
All hands, affrighted with the touch of it,  
Shall let it fall to earth; where it shall sink  
And run into a vein of Ore, shall reach—  
To Hell. And they, that shall, hereafter, dig it,  
Hundreds of Ages hence, must all compound  
With the grand Lord o'th' Soil, the Devil, for't.  Amp. 
So they make hot Purchases!  Broo. 
Now Sir, you may instruct the Usurer, to make use  
Of all he has heard, while I avoid his sight;  
Heaven knows I am sick on't: you forget me Sir.  Val. 
Fear not: I will not fail you.  Bum. 
No: I'll deliver him the use of all.  Ver. 
Oh the variety of my vexation—  Bum. 
And all is this (as I advised before.)  
Spend all your self, and save your Heirs the sin;  
The shame, the sorrows, and the punishments,  
That are join-heritable with your wealth:  
As very learnedly hath been related.  
And there's the point, and the whole substance on't.  Ver. 
Bestow your Substance so Sir, if you like it.  Bump. 
Sir, my condition runs another way.  
To the same end perhaps; following my Leader, here.  Amp. 
Your Son in Law? Trust me, a most fine man:  
And, if his life be answerable to his Doctrine,  
'tis like he'll lead you to a fair end of all.  
Doubtless he is a fine young Man indeed.  
A proper teacher and an edifying.  Bump. 
Come Sir, lead on, I hear you are provided  
Five hundred thick for this free nights adventure.  Val. 
I am Sir, here it is.  Bump. 
I am so too Sir.  
And here it is: And here it is, and here and there, and here it is.  Amp. 
O brave old man.  Bump. 
I'll make one w'ye at your new Ordinary,  
They lay 'tis excellent.  Val. 
For rarity and plenty,  
There's no such Pension in all this City.  Amp. 
And all for nothing?  Val. 
For less than kiss your Hostess.  Amp. 
And is there delicate Wine too? I must thither.  Val. 
The flower of France, and quintessence of Spain  
Flow like a Springtide through the House.  Amp. 
O rare!  
And all for nothing?  Bump. 
Hang nothing. Be it as 'twill,  
I am for any thing; and as well provided,  
As you, or any the best Gamester there.  Ver. 
Sir.  Bum. 
I love to do these things. But first, pray tell me  
Can you tell tale or tidings of his Daughter here?  Val. 
Not of his Daughter: But I heard his Son  
Was freed, this day, from Prison.  Ver. 
How, how, how?  Enter Brookall, Phillis: Broo. 
Yonder he is, still, busy.  Phil. 
I'll among 'em. Walk you back a little,  
And, get I any money, I'll lend thee some.  Val. 
I'll tell you how. Some friend has paid his debt,  
The Action is discharged; and he's release d.  Ver. 
You practise my abuse. 'tis not in man,  
To do me such a mischief.  Amp. 
Away Girl.  Phil. 
Thou art as hard, as this dry crust, here, was.  
But he is better minded now, I hope:  
Now, old man I am sure thou art for me,  
Thou cursedst me before, but now thou wilt  
Bless me, I hope, and not without a Cross  
Of a fair Silver Sixpence.  Ver. 
Hence you Harlot.  Phil. 
Nay look you, if I could afford it, think you  
I'd make two words w'ye: 'tis but a sixpenny matter  
Between us; why will you be so hard: 'tis but  
So little less left among all thy Children;  
And I'll bate it them in their prayers for thee,  
Though I be at the trouble, myself, to do it.  Val. 
Troth, she begs prettily. I must give her something.  
Here Wench.  Bum. 
What is it, I will see it.  Phil. 
'tis a good Shilling, and a vie; will you see't Sir?  Bam. 
Look you, 'tis covered.  Phil 
Gentlemen, will you come in? will you vie it?  Amp. 
No we deny it.  Phil. 
You may revy it then, if you please. They come not in to bind it.  Val. 
Will you come in again Sir?  Bum. 
Sir, after you, an't be to my last sixpence.  
I will keep Covenant w'ye.  Val. 
A shilling more on that.  Bum. 
Done Sir: there 'tis.  Phil. 
Why, these are Lads of bounty! Have you any mind yet Gentlemen?  Ver. 
What, to be Bankrupts?  Phil. 
Troth, thou wouldst fear as much, shouldst thou but break  
Thy Porridge Pipkin.  Val. 
Prithee what's thy name?  Phil. 
Nell, my Mother calls me. I ne'er knew Sire, nor Godsire.  Val. 
Nell?  Phil. 
Yes: And 'tis as bonny a beggar's name, as ever came from beyond Trent.  Val. 
This Girl, methinks, howe'er necessitated  
Into this course, declares she has a spirit  
Of no gross air: And I dare think her Blood,  
Although, perhaps, of some unlawful mixture,  
Derived from Noble veins. One may perceive  
Much in her Language, in her Looks, and Gesture,  
That pleads, methinks, a duty above pity,  
To take her from this way, wherein she wanders  
So far from the intent of her Creation.  Bump. 
Your meaning is, you would buy her out of her Calling.  
Is it not so?  Val. 
Ten Pieces I would give  
Towards a new one for her.  Bump. 
Here's ten more  
To bind you quite from begging. Can you afford it?  
If yes, accept it. And let's see your back.  Phil. 
I make no Curtsies, nor send thanks that way.  
No, I'll be forwards in them. May my thanks and prayers  
Multiply years and blessings on your heads.  
And when I beg again, may Beadles take  
Advantage on my back, and lash the skin off,  
So Heaven be ever with you—  Val. 
Stay. Who would not have given this Money? Gentlemen,  
Dost not move you to give a packing penny?  Phil. 
Nor move you them for me. I should, now, fear  
One of their ill-got pence, here mingled, would  
Corrupt and overthrow my righteous Fortune.  Exit Phil. Amp. 
O villainous Vixen.  Ver. 
Each minute of this day augments my torment,  
Yet I have cooled it with some patience;  
Attending Sir your answer.  Val. 
For your son.  Ver. 
I have no Son. I ask you for my Daughter.  Val. 
Be this your penance for your misbelief,  
High you to the Compter: if you find not there  
Your son; meet me an hour hence at my Fathers,  
I'll tell you news of him; and he perhaps  
May tell you of his Sister. This deserves  
A fee. Your absence pays it me. Go quickly,  
We have some business: And your stay will but  
Make the Scene tedious.  Ver. 
we'll go. will't please you?  Amp. 
Yes: we will off in rhyme. There is no doubt,  
if Wats be not the Compter, he is out.  Exit Ver. Amp. Bump. 
Now, what's the next vagary?  Val. 
Only this Sir.  
You have played at small Game with me. Now there is  
A greater try all of my Love and Bounty,  
Instantly to be made. A Gentleman,  
(I stay too long) an intimate friend's arrested,  
But for two hundred pound on execution:  
Will you join Charity to fetch him off?  Bump. 
I would 't had been thine own case two days since.  
One of your fine Companions, some poor Shark?  
Ha, is't not so?  Val. 
Will you be pleased to see him?  Bump. 
I am half sick of this Condition!  
I do begin, not altogether, now,  
To love these things so well methinks. Humh ha!  Val. 
Nay, if you go not cheerfully—  Bump. 
Yes: I go. Exeunt ambo.   

ACT. IV. Scene II.  Brookall, Phillis: Broo. 
GOod Child, thy tale is pitiful; yet it sorts  
So with the fell condition of my Fortune,  
That I crave more of it.  Phil. 
I came not to  
Discourse of sorrow, but to bring you comfort:  
Will you yet have a Crown?  Broo. 
I prithee keep  
Thy Money Child; and forwards with thy story.  
Thou saidst thy Mother was a Gentlewoman.  Phil. 
I'll give you reason. Since I can remember,  
She never did a wrong, though suffered much;  
Nor the least unjust thing: No, though her poverty  
And care of me have pinched her very bowels,  
She knew not how to seek another's good,  
So much as by request. she never durst borrow,  
For fear to come so near the danger of  
A promise-breach: And, for base ends, to lie  
She holds it sacrilege. i'faith she jerked  
That humour out of me; for I was given  
(I tell you as a Friend) a little to't.  
It came sure by the Father. God forgive him.  Broo. 
Thou saidst, thou thoughtst, thy Father was a Knight.  
How thinkst thou he could lie then, so abuse  
A Virgin of that goodness, as it seems  
She, that by him became thy Mother, was.  Phil. 
The Devil, sure, was powerful with him, then.  
Nor do you hear me say▪ all Gentlefolks  
Are of one mind. Alas they could not live  
One by another then.  Broo. 
Peace, stay a little:  
How came thy Mother to decline her spirit  
So low, as thus to suffer thee to beg?  Phil. 
Virtue goes often wetshod, and is fain  
To cobble itself up to hold out water  
And cold necessity: But sure, the quality  
Came to me by the Father's side too: For  
'tis a more commendable, and Courtly practice  
To beg, then steal. He was perhaps, a Courtier.  
I rather would be robbed of all I have,  
Then steal one farthing.  Broo. 
Thou sayst thy Mother never would reveal  
To thee, or any one, her Birth, or Fortune.  
Answer me, prithee, how dost thou collect  
Th' hadst such a Father? Or that he has thus  
Wronged thy poor Mother, by not marrying her?  Phil. 
Now you come to me indeed old man: How now,  
What do you weep?  Broo. 
The sharpness of the Air  
Strikes on mine eyes a little. Prithee say.  Phil. 
I first, as fain would know the hidden cause  
That works this aptness in me, to discover  
My Mother and myself to you. I know not  
How to look off o'you. i'faith you weep.  
I have heard some talk of natural instinct,  
But know not what it is. Pray can you tell me?  
Or any like reason, why I should  
Thus dote, and hang about you? Or tell me this,  
Have you not been of better Fortune? Are not you  
Some decayed Knight? Be not ashamed, but tell me.  
They cannot all be rich, there are so many.  Broo. 
Oh my heart!  Phil. 
Yea, are your Conscience struck?  
Have at you for a father then: And yet  
Methinks you are more old in goodness, than  
To be, so late, so wicked, as to wrong  
A woman of her sweetness. Yet I'll try you.  
Here is a long-kept Paper. This is all  
That ere I gathered of my Mother's wrong,  
And of my Father's cruelty, and condition.  
It seems this was his hand, and ruthful farewell,  
He turned her off withal. See, if you know it.  
More than a thousand times I have observed her  
Weep o'er that Paper; ever careful, though,  
Her tears might not deface it. If by chance,  
As when those tears prevented had her sight,  
Some soft ones did on that hard Sentence light,  
Her Lips took off the Trespass of her Eye;  
And her hot Sighs restored the Paper dry.  Broo. 
This comes so near a Miracle; that my faith  
I fear is staggering. How got'st, thou this paper?  Phil. 
I stole it from my Mother, (and in Troth  
'tis all that ere I stole) because she should not  
Weep out her eyes upon't. I do not love,  
Although I am a beggar, to lead blind folks.  
Do you not find there, that he is a Knight,  
Though he subscribes no name? He tells her there,  
And tauntingly, he knows she is more sorry  
For the lost Ladyship he promised her,  
Then for her Maidenhead. Let me hear you read it.  Broo. 
Mine eyes, are now, too full indeed; I cannot.  Phil. 
Are you the man then, whom I must ask blessing?  
If you be, speak. I'll have you to my Mother,  
Though, I dare swear, she had rather die, than you,  
Or any of your Race, or hers, should see her,  
Whilst she has breath. Yet I will undertake  
To prattle you both good friends.  
And you shall have my Mammy,  
And she shall have her Nell (that's J.)  
The man shall have his Mare again,  
And all shall be well. How do you?  Broo. 
Prithee forbear me good wench but a little.  Enter Valentine. Val. 
I have kept my time you see; and shall not fail  
In any Circumstance. Here are two Swords,  
Pray take your choice. I have bespoke a Boat  
Shall land us o'er the water, where you please;  
Though, I Protest, I yet would beg your Love,  
Next to my Natural Fathers.  Broo. 
This I feared,  
And charged the plain way. But't shall not serve.  Val. 
You took my part of late, against old Vermin  Broo. 
Prithee who would not? This is another case  Val. 
Why, if there be no remedy, pray accept  
Your forty pounds. The money, Sir, may stead you  
For your escape, when you have ta'en my Life.  Broo. 
Your money 'would hang me, Sir. Your life's not worth it.  Val. 
'tis your own money; sent you by your Son.  Broo. 
How know I that? Or that I have a Son  
By thee unmurdered.  Val. 
I told you of a Letter I had mislaid:  
Look you. Do you know his hand?  Broo. 
If it be not,  
Much changed, and lately, here is that will match.  Val. 
Was ever given Gold so weighed, and tried?  
What Lawyer, Nay, what Judge would be so scrupulous?  
No want corrupts good Conscience: Nor excess  
Alleys in bad, the thirst of Covetousness.  Phil. 
What do you think, Sir?  Val. 
I think you beg again, and would be whipped.  Phil. 
I fecks, I do not beg; but came to offer  
This grieved old man some of my infinite fortune  
Found in your lucky money: Lucky indeed;  
For I have found a Father by't. I vow  
I think my Father. is't not a fine old man?  
I shall know more anon.  Val. 
Her money, sure,  
Has made her Mad: How do you find it, Sir?  Broo. 
My wonder now, is, how thou canst be Son  
Of such a Father! Thou art honest sure.  
Here is your Sword, I will accept the money.  Val. 
Then I shall live, and so may want the money.  
Will you forbear it for a day or two?  Broo. 
Your Sword again.  
Now, I profess to you, I have present need on't,  
And am as strict, Sir, for my right, as I  
Before was to decline it.  Val. 
Pray, Sir, take it;  
And give me leave to beg your charitable  
Construction of my Father.  Broo. 
How is that?  Val. 
Did you but know the care, the cost, and travel  
He has been at a thousand ways, to find  
Your injured Sister, to make good his fault,  
If possibly he might—  Broo. 
O fie, O fie!  Val. 
Till all Opinion gave her dead; and then  
The means he has sought to do you Offices  
Against your knowledge. For he knew your Spirit  
Would not except of his benevolence.—  Broo. 
Read that, and guess whose deed 'tis. Stand off Girl.  Phil. 
Yes forsooth Father, I shall learn in time,  
I'll call him Father till he finds me another.  
I know he could not shed those tears for nothing.  Val. 
But does she live, to whom this was directed?  Broo. 
Speak low: is that your Father's hand?  Val. 
It is.  Broo. 
Along with me then. Girl, lead you the way.  Phil. 
Anan forsooth Father,  Broo. 
Show us to your Mother.  Phil. 
Shall he go too? What will the Neighbours think?  
There's none but Beggars all about us. Ods so,  
There'll be a show indeed.  Val. 
No matter. Will you go?  Phil. 
Sir, they will hale you to pieces.  Val. 
Will you deny me?  Phil. 
How shall I answer't to my Mother? She  
Never saw man, nor has been seen by man,  
That I know, in my life.  Val. 
No matter: Will you on?  Broo. 
I'll save thee blameless.  Phil. 
Troth I'll venture.— Exeunt Oes.    


ACT. V. Scene I.  Frances, Magdalen, Jane, Alice. Wine on a Table. Fra. 
TRes bien venue Madames.  
You are very welcome.  Mag. 
Good lack! And is it you, Mrs. Alice? is't possible: Are you come to learn Carriage too? I will make bold with t'other Glass of Wine. At a word, I like your French Carriage the better, that it allows elder Women to drink Wine.  Ali. 
They have no other drink, except water. And Maids are allowed but that.  Ja. 
And young wives (they say) wine with their water.  Mag. 
Mingle your Glass, then, Daughter. This for me. Your father has so sought you Mrs. Alice.  Ja. 
My Father has missed us too, by this time.  Mag. 
But neither of 'em can dream French enough, to direct'em hither, I warrant you. And does she learn the Carriages very well, Madamsilly?  Fra. 
Madamoyselle, si vous playst.  Mag. 
What do ye call't? I shall never hit it. How do you find your Scholar?  Fra. 
O, she is very good. She learn very well.  Mag. 
But how much carriage hath she learned? Hark you Mrs. Alice. Have you not learned to carry a man? Has not a good Husband stolen you hither?  
I can think waggishly I tell you: And an old Ape has an old eye. Go to.  Ali. 
No such matter, Mrs. Bumpsey.  Fra. 
What is that you say?  Mag. 
I ask you how much carriage she has learned?  Fra. 
She come but dis day; And she carry both the hands already.  Mag. 
How say by that. is't possible? Can she carry both her hands in one day?  Fra. 
Yes, and before tomorrow, she shall carry the foot as well.  Mag. 
It seems, then, you teach handling before footing in your French way.  Fra. 
You may learn dat of de little Shield. De little Shield you see will handle de ting, before it can set one foot to de ground. Come, let me see you make a reverence.  Mag. 
reverence! what's that?  Fra. 
'tis dat you call a Curtsy. Let me see you make Curtsy.  Mag. 
Look you hear then.  Fra. 
O fee, fee— dat is de gross english Douck, for de swagbuttocked-wife of de Peasant.  Mag. 
How like you this then? There's a Reverence I warrant you.  Fra. 
Fee, dat is worse. See how you carry de hands like de Comedien dat act de shangling.  Mag. 
Shall I ever hit on't trow? I must take t'other Glass.  Ali. 
Take heed she does not take too much.  Ja. 
I hope she will not. But there's no crossing her.  Fra. 
Let me see your hands.  Mag. 
There they be. They have been a little too familiar with Seacoal fires, and much other course housewifry, which I shall utterly abhor, and wash off, when I have learned to carry them Courtly.  
But shall I ever do it, think you?  Fra. 
Yes, yes, and all your other parts and members.  Mag. 
I may win my Husband to love me Courtly then.  Fra. 
To love, and lie with you Courtly.  Mag. 
That's but seldom, I doubt.  Fra. 
You shall know all de ways to win his Love,  
Or any man's, to multiply your honour.—  Mag. 
I will so multiply then.  Fra. 
Not only in your looks, your smiles and sweet Caresses.  
(Besides the help of Painting) that adorn  
The face; But with the motion of each Lineament,  
Of the whole frame of your well ordered body.  
An Eye, a Lip, a finger shall not move;  
A Toe trip unregarded. But your gait  
And your whole graceful Presence shall attract,  
(Beyond affection) admiration:  
As I'll artifice you.  Mag. 
I'll be a Nymph. Diana and her Darlings, dear, dear, dear, etc. [sing.]  
But may I paint, say you?  Fra. 
O most allowably; nay, commendably.  Mag. 
Tother Glass for that.  Fra. 
Then for the Art of dressing, setting forth Head, Face, Neck, Breast,; with which I will inspire you.  
To cover, or discover any part—  
Unto de best advantage.  Mag. 
That is to say,  
To hide shame, or show all: that's her meaning.  Fra. 
You shall have no defect perceived, no grace concealed.  Mag. 
I am for the naked Neck and Shoulders, then.  
For (I tell you Mistress) I have a white Skin,  
And a round straight Neck: smooth and plump Shoulders,  
Free from French flea-bite, and never a wrinkle  
Near'em, though I say't.  Fra. 
'Thas been suggested by invective men,  
Women, to justify themselves that way,  
Began that Fashion. As one t'other side,  
The fashion of men's Brow-locks was perhaps  
Devised out of necessity, to hide  
All ill-graced forehead; Or besprinkled with  
The outward Symptoms of some inward grief.  
As, formerly the Saffron-steeped Linen,  
By some great man found useful against Vermin,  
Was ta'en up for a fashionable wearing.  
Some Lord that was no Niggard of his Beauty,  
Might bring up narrow brims to publish it.  
Another, to obscure his, or perhaps  
To hide defects thereof, might bring up broad ones.  
As questionless, the straight, neat timbered Leg,  
First wore the trunks, and long Silk-hole: As likely  
The Baker-knees, or some strange shamble shanks,  
Begat the Ancle-breeches.  Mag. 
Sure the men  
Took that conceit from us. What woman shows  
A Leg, that's not a good one?— [She shows 'a swaddled leg.]  Fra. 
These among men, are followed for the fashions,  
That were invented for the better grace.  
(As our Attires) to set off Limb, or face.  Mag. 
Good lack! What knowledge comes from foreign parts?  Enter Dryground, Wat. Dry. 
I prithee Wat, have patience for an hour.  Wat. 
Not for a minute, Sir, I'll not be kicked,  
And called base Pandar for your baseness.  Dry. 
Nay, look you Wat.  Wat. 
And had almost been pumped,  
And made a sport for Watermen i'th' Thames.  Dry. 
But Hear me, Wat.  Wat. 
I'll hear my Father sooner. (Give me hence  
My Sister) were he a ravenous Beast, a Wolf,  
I would obey him rather than trudge afoot  
Further in your base way. Heart I am hipshot.  Dry. 
Now, would his Bodies pains convert his Soul,  
'twere a good work.  Wat. 
I am in desperate fear  
O'th' Mourning of the Chine too with the kicks,  
And hunches they o'ersaid me with. O base!  
Without resistance. Give me hence my Sister.  Dry. 
But how was it my fault?  Wat. 
Was't not your project?  Ja. 
What may this mean?  Ali. 
No harm I warrant you.  Wat. 
Nay, it shall out. Your base inhuman Project,  
To sell your daughter's Maidenhead. (I care not  
Who hears me, J.) And cunningly to make me  
Your Hackney-jade to fetch your Chapmen in.  Mag. 
Where are we now?  Ja. 
What did my Husband mean to wish us hither?  Wat. 
Baseness! I cannot call it bad enough.  Dry. 
You were as forward in it as myself,  
And wooed me you might have her without all faults.  Wat. 
Mine eyes are opened now.  Dry. 
But I believe,  
They were almost beaten out first.  Wat. 
And I vow  
Ere I will marry so, I'll take a Beggar,  
And join in trade with her, though I get nothing  
But— My name is Vermin already, I  
Thank a good Father for't.  Dry. 
A Beggar-wenches breed would propagate  
Your name most numerously.  Wat. 
Much better than your Sale-ware, and more lasting.  
I think I saw her today must be the woman,  
Good madam Polecat, the trim schoolmistress.  
I'll make bold with your Scholar. What! you have more.  
I'll carry her and her Virginity  
Unto some fitter place of Execution.  Ali. 
You brought me hither, Sir, and here I'll stay.  Wat. 
What! in a Bawdy-house?  Mag. 
O dear! and is it so? What are we then?  
Is this your boun fashion? Is this the carriage of the Body, that you would teach us? What, to be Whores? We could learn that at home, and there were need, without your teaching,  Ja. 
Mother; what do you mean?  Ali. 
Mrs Bumpsey; pray fear no harm.  Mag. 
O good lack! what will become of us? where are we now, Jane?  
Betrayed! betrayed! Our honours are betrayed. O my poor Bump. how will thou take this at my hands, though I carry them never so Courtly?  Dry. 
'Sfoot, she's in her Maudlin fit: All her wine showers out in tears.  Mag. 
Oh, oh, oh,— [She falls]  Dry. 
Pray have her in. Look carefully to her,  Mag. 
ay, ay, I.  Dry. 
In all to the next Room.— Exeunt Fra. Jane leading out Magdalen.  Wat. 
Sir, she shall with me. I'll leave her where I found her.  Dry. 
Sir, no such matter.  Wat. 
'Sfoot, Gentlewoman, must I kick you out o' doors?  Dry. 
No, nor depart yourself, but by Authority.  
I am provided for you. Friends come in. Enter two Sergeants.  
And do your Office.  Ser. 
We arrest you, Sir; Nay, we shall rule you.  Wat. 
Ha, ha, ha. Why, this is well, and very hospitably done.  
Would any man but an old Bawd ha' done this?  Dry. 
Sir, I mistrusted your Apostasy.  
Since you revolt, I must recall my money;  
Or lay you where I found you, as you threatened your Sister here.  Wat. 
Baser, and baser still. Are you a Knight?  
A Knight, a Post-Knight. A postilion,  
That rides a fore-horse, o'er the Ears in dirt,  
Three fingers thick, is not so base. You Varlets,  
Do you arrest folks in a bawdy-house?  Ser. 
We do not find it so; Or, if it be,  
The place may be as honest as our Office.  
will you walk, Sir?  Wat. 
Stay; Let me consider,  
If now my Father (as some in like cases  
Have done) would take a fine submission.  
I could afford to kneel and whine, methinks,  
Rather than back to my old Ward again.  
'twill ne'er be handsome though.  Enter Valentine. Val. 
The business Gentlemen.  Wat. 
My lucky friend.  
Sir, you relieved me lately. Could you now  
But add another Favour, it might teach  
One, that ne'er learned to pray, to pray for you.  
Do you not know me, Sir? 'twas I you saved  
Out of the Temple suds.  Val. 
Hast thou been shaved since?  Wat. 
No, Sir, I was disguised.  Val. 
Disguised!  Wat. 
Disguised in villainy, which I recant.  Val. 
Who knows but he may prove an honest man?  
Pray, Sir, a word.  Ser. 
We do not use to wait dry-fisted; nor dry throated.  Wat. 
I would you were as wet all over, as I was like to have been: Or, as you are Catchpoles, I would you had been but in those hands I escaped from.  Dry. 
You have prevailed, Sir.  Val. 
Sergeants you shall not out of the House. Here's for half an hour's attendance. Go into that Room with your Prisoner. You shall have Wine, and Smoke too.  
Be of good cheer friend; if thou canst be honest,  
I can relieve thee: fear not.  Wat. 
Sir, get my Father but to say as much,  
And you shall be Coheir with me. I vow you shall have half. [Exeunt Wat, Sergeants]  Val. 
we'll talk anon. The Youth appears converted.  Dry. 
There was no other means to work it by,  
But that I used; to urged him past his Nature.  
He was so free in's Villainy, that I  
Giving the Spurs, ran him beyond his speed;  
Quite off his Legs, and glad to be led home.  Val. 
His Father comes on fairly: I have followed  
All your Instructions concerning him,  
And my fantastic Father 'Law. Both whom  
Are hard at hand, with the wise western Knight.  
He too's content to go to the best Ordinary,  
While 'tis best cheap he says. Where are the women?  Dry. 
Your mother-in-law, after she had got  
As much French Carriage, as might serve to furnish  
A petty Court; is fallen into a fit,  
To overthrow it all again.  Val. 
The better.  
But is the house clear, Sir, of all your Riflers?  Dry. 
As I could wish; And well satisfied.  
For, when they understood the honest end,  
My Project aimed at; which, by an Oration  
Well charged with virtuous Sentences, I forced  
Into the nobler Breasts: they all recanted  
The barbarous purpose; and as freely left  
Their money for that Charitable use,  
To which I pre-intended it. The rest  
Pursed theirs again. But yet I have collected  
In this odd uncouth way, five hundred Pounds,  
That was laid down at stake for a Virginity,  
To make an honest stock for Frank.  Val. 
'tis good.  
I may fetch in my Guests In the mean time  
You may be pleased, Sir, to peruse this Baper.— Exit.  Dry. 
How now! what's here? How might he come by this?  
It is the scorn I sent my injured Love;  
My abused Elynor: The hand, that threw  
Her from me. O, that at the price of it  
I could receive her.  Enter Oliver. Ambrose. Ol. 
Sir, by your leave,  
We come to sup wi'ye. Does your Rifling hold?  Amb. 
What, you are off o'the hooks, methinks.  Ol. 
If there be no such thing, tell us the Riddle?  Dry. 
You shall know all, and briefly. Frank, come in. Enter Frank.  
Now Gentlemen—  Ol. 
Let us salute her first.— Salute, then whisper.  Dry. 
She does not taste of sin. Fair Chastity  
Sits crowned upon her Brow, with an aspect,  
May beat down Lust to Hell, from whence it rose.  Fra. 
You profess Nobly, sir.  Ol. 
I vow, and do not lie to you: If I find  
Your Father so inhuman, you against it:  
we'll be your Rescue, if forty able swordmen  
Which we have, at the signal of a finger,  
Planted in readiness, can fetch you off:  
Do you approve?  Fran. 
Yes, and admire your goodness.  Ol. 
Now we are for you, sir:  Dry. 
Then hear the story; which your late Impatience would not permit.  Amb. 
You speak not now  
In that high Phrase, or tone, as you did then. Enter Valentine. Bumpsey, Vermine, Amphilus, Brookall, Elynor, Phillis.  Val. 
Stand here, unseen; and hear attentively.  Dry. 
I am a Gentleman, that by foul misdeed  
(Heaven, Heaven I ask thee pardon) once did wrong  
To an unfortunate Family, by rejecting,  
After affiance, and her love abused,  
A Gentlewoman—  Ol. 
You got with child, and then denied her Marriage.  Dry. 
'twas so.  Ely. 
Ay me!  Val. 
No passion, gentle Soul.  Phil. 
If this should prove my Father now!—  Ol. 
Well Sir, your Gentlewoman!  Dry. 
she, on the discontent, (poor hapless Soul)  
Now fourteen Winters since though sadly burdened,  
Fled, and no more is heard of: at the first  
My wildness took no sense of this dear Loss;  
But drew me through the ways of careless pleasure,  
By riotous expense, that mine estate  
And Credit ran at waste, and was nigh spent,  
Until my trespass cried against my Conscience  
To render satisfaction: but in vain  
We offer to the dead. My Genius therefore  
Prompts me to grateful deeds unto her Blood.  Amb. 
What can this come to?  Dry. 
she had a Brother, that lost his estate  
By Law—  Br. 
Means he not me?  Dry. 
To a Corrupt Oppressor—  Ver. 
Ha! How's that?  Dry. 
Was stripped out of the very Coat he wore,  
Had nothing left him, but a Son—  Ol. 
What's all this to your Daughter?  Dry. 
Even all that may be; (see) His son's my Daughter. Discover Franc.  
Now do you find my project Gentlemen?  
It has at Charge of three days Housekeeping  
Put half a thousand pounds in's purse; Besides  
A fair pull for his Father's Land again:  
For he has, by a lawful Churchman, married  
The Daughter of his Father's Adversary.  Ol. 
Why, here are wonders!  Amb. 
Bravely, nobly done  Dry. 
Come Mrs. Alice; and justify your Act. Enter Alice  Ver. 
My Daughter, ha!  Amp. 
My sweetheart, hoe!  Fra. 
Your haes and ho's can not draw her from me, she is my Wife.  Ver. 
By what witchcraft?  Dry. 
By stronger Charms, than your Art can dissolve. You know me now, Sir— And my Project, do you not? Discovers himself.  Ol. 
Amb. Sir Humphrey Dryground.  Ver. 
I am struck dumb with wonder.  Elin. 
O 'tis he, 'tis he.  Val. 
Alas she swoons, Sir cheer you up this Lady,  
While I appease the rest. A word with you Sir.  Amp. 
I will not be appeased.  Dry. 
My love! my Elynor!  Bump. 
So, cheer her up Sir Humphrey. To her again Sir Humphrey; your Son and mine in Law has told me all your story, and reconciled your Brother Brookall to you before your interview. I know all, the full point and the whole substance; the flat and plain of the business; and now I love these things again. How now Sir Amphilus Drowned in Melancholy?  Amp. 
No: But and I were at the Duckingpond, I know what I know. But when I drown myself, I'll give you leave to hang me.  Ali. 
Your pardon, and your blessing, I beseech you.  Ver. 
Hence. Exit Valentine.  Broo. 
Was this thy Journey into France my Boy?  
High Providence hath made it good. But tell me,  
Was Love your chief Instructor to this Marriage?  Fran. 
Indeed it was equal in her and me.  Ali. 
Pray Sir your blessing.  Ver. 
Away.  Broo. 
Turn this way for a blessing then my Daughter,  Bump. 
Shall I tell you Neighbour? Law has no relief for you; And Conscience and you have a long time been strangers. Could you be friends and embrace Conscience now, all would be well. And there's the substance. Is it plain?  Ver. 
Conscience! do you know where she is?  Enter Val. Wat. Magdalen, Jane. Val. 
here's one has brought her in his true Conversion.  Wat. 
Sir, If you can forgive, and can obey you—  
I now can better kneel, then speak He weeps  Val. 
Do you note those tears, Sir? Had you lost your Daughter,  
My Father had in this made you amends,  
In finding you a Son. His Art converted him.  Ver. 
Sure, all's but Apparition, or a dream.  Bump. 
Ha! Think you so? 'tis your own flesh and blood: And by your leave and liking, may prove as honest a Man, as his Father. Is not this plain now? Forgive and bless 'em all over, and so kiss'em too. They are your Children.  Mag. 
O my dear Bump! Art thou there? Thou mayst kiss, and forgive me all over too, for any harm, or dishonesty; though the place be as they say-at a word, Bump. Thou mayst believe me, I came but to learn Carriage of the Body, nor to carry nobody's body, but my own body, Bump. No truly, truly Bump. o— o— that ever I did that.  Bump. 
Peace, peace: All's well. At least I know your Disease.  Mag. 
Think me not drunk, good Bump, a little fashion-sick, or so.  Amp. 
Fashion-sick! a fine civil word. To be drunk, is fashion-sick.  Ver. 
I am awaked out of the Lethargy  
Of Avarice: Blessed may our Friendship be.  Dry. 
I will not sleep, before the holy Priest  
Has done the Office. Blessing on my Girl.  Val, 
Thou hast made me young again: the best  
Occurrents in this Project have been thine.  
Thy Accidents exceeded my design.  Val. 
They do not yet cease here: For see, the strife  
Betwixt these long continued Adversaries  
Perfectly reconciled; and both have given  
The young and hopeful married pair their Blessings.  Amp. 
To which I have given my Consent most freely.  
For it was Nolens volens as they say.  Val. 
They are beholden to you. Mr. Vermin  
Restores unto the Son the Father's Land,  
For Dowry with his Daughter: And is taken  
So with the good you wrought upon his Son,  
The Convertite here; that if he stand firm  
Till 'the determination of your Mortgage,  
he'll cancel it, and send it Gratis to you.  Wat. 
That's sure enough. But Sir, the other business.  Dry. 
What's that?  Val. 
The most to be admired of all;  
He loves my Sister here; and has done long:  
But, now, that he perceives her worth (being yours)  
And, since you promised him your Daughter too,  
He makes it his fair suit.  Dry. 
I'll talk with his Father.  
And What stand you but firm, and live reformed,  
Winning my daughter's love, you shall have mine.  Phil. 
That Fortune is not blind, that showed me way  
To Father, Friends, and Husband in one day.  Dry. 
This binds us all into a Brotherhood.  Bro. 
And with a Brother's Love I now salute you.  Dry. 
So may we with a general embrace,  
Create the Heart of Friendship, not the Face.  
Come Gentlemen, your Ordinary stays,  
'twill prove good fare (I hope) though no rich Feast;  
And acceptable to each welcome Guest.     

Epilogue.  

NO way ambitious yet of vulgar praise,  
The writer of these Scenes desires to know,  
By your fair leave, though he assume no bays,  
Whether he pulled fair for a leaf or no.  
If yes, then let your hands assistant be,  
T'encourage him to climb Apollo's tree.   
FJNJS.