THE Fortune-Hunters: OR, Two Fools well met. A COMEDY, As it is ACTED by His Majesty's Servants.  
Written By JAMES CARLISLE, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1689.   

dramatis Personae.  

Sir William Wealthy, an Old Country Gentleman, Guardian to Maria, and in Love with her. Mr. Leigh.  
Tom Wealthy, his Eldest Son, in Love with Sophia, and brought to Town to Marry her. Mr. Kynaston.  
Young Wealthy his Brother, a Gentleman of the Town, kept by the Widow Sly. Mr. Mountfort.  
Mr. Spruce, an Exchange-man. Mr. noke's.  
Mr. Shamtown, a Beau, in Love with Sophia. Mr. Baker.  
Mr. Littlegad, his Brother Beau, in Love with Maria. Mr. Bowman.  
The Lady Sly, a Widow, a formal Hypocritical Lady, and in Love with young Wealthy. Mrs. Leigh.  
Sophia, a Lady, under the care of Sir William Wealthy, and to be Married to his Eldest Son. Mrs. Butler.  
Maria, her Cousin, in Love with Young Wealthy. Mrs. Mountfort.  
Mrs. Spruce, the Exchange-man's Wife. Mrs. Knight.  
Footmen, Waiting-women, Constables, Watch, etc.   
SCENE COVENT-GARDEN.   

Prologue.  

AS Cowards would the Name of Cowards shun,  
With Blustering Words, all said, and nothing done,  
So Bully Poet I have known to scape  
Such a hard Censure, would a Hero Ape,  
And Paint Almanzor in a Monsters Shape.  
Our Poet too, by such a Trick drawn in,  
Too late repents the Self-deceiving sin:  
For he forsooth,  
In this ripe Age, where every Man's a Wit:  
Lest he should be the only Blot was hit,  
To save his Credit, as he thought, has writ,  
Supposing that malicious Men might say,  
Pox on't, he's Dull— he Dull— and writ a Play;  
Why, I writ one, you know, but t'other day.  
But, since the Folly did so far deceive him,  
Faith, he's ashamed to ask you to forgive him:  
For here he swears, if you look out for Wit,  
You may as reasonably expect to meet  
Wit or good Manners in a dull Lampoon,  
Or Christian Quarter from a French Dragoon.  
Humility in Prelates, Truth in Priests,  
Or in an Irish Coffee-house good Jests.  
(Where, with our fancied Ruins, they make merry,  
And from Mouths charged with smoke, Bomb London-Derry.)  
No, Faith, our Author Imitates Ragoo,  
For as without a shirt he was a Beau;  
So without Wit he sets up for a Poet,  
And thinks himself no more obliged to show it.  
For if like Bays, all Poets should take pains  
In letting Blood, and Physicking their Brains,  
The Doctor's Bill would sweep the third days gains.  
Sure then, 'twas more Judicious Bays designed,  
Than Purging of his Body; ay, 'twas his mind,  
To temper it to bear with every Wind.  
Thus to the change of Times, he changes Rhimes,  
Whilst to the face of things his fancy Chimes,  
And moulds his Soul and Body with the Times.    

THE FORTUNE-HUNTERS: OR, Two Fools well met.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Enter at two several Doors, two Wealthies, Brothers. Elder Brother. 
WHat Frank alive! mad Frank alive!  Young. Brother. 
Even so, sober Tom, and glad to see you here in Town, which cannot have been long: Pray when?  Elder. 
Not yet a full week: But Frank, I should chide thee; for though thou'rt a Rakehelly Nonresident fellow to any particular place, our Father old Sir William's House stands where it did; and a slight direction would have secured a Letter to your Loving Brother. Tho the old man has forsaken thee, I never did Frank.  Young. 
Brother, I never write, 'tis my aversion: A man that writes must think and be serious, which I never was, nor never will be. Talk as much as you will, but Writings my Abomination.  Elder. 
Why Frank, 'tis the only way of Conversation with absent Friends.  Young. 
Ay, but there's great charge in Paper, and one Letter begets another; besides the expense of saying fine things. And then end with a damned Hypocritical Conclusion, of your Faithful Friend and Servant, to a Rogue it may be you wish hanged.  Elder. 
Well, I find thou keep'st thy humour still, never to constrain thyself to please thy friends. But why have you not asked how my Father does? What brought us to Town, or where you might see us?  Young. 
Why first, I supposed he was well, or dead or alive, there's nothing to be got by him. Next, I suppose you came to Town for the same reason I stay in Town, to Whore and Drink. Lastly, I thought I might meet you in a Bawdy-house.  Elder. 
Well judged, dear Frank, but I'll inform you better; my Father is well, and we came to Town upon the Condition of a match between the Beautiful Daughter of my Lord Lovewit deceased, and your then happy Brother Tom Wealthy.  Young. 
Joy, Sir.  Elder. 
Abate a little, Sir; for though the Lady's Consent and Inclination entitle me the man, even since we came to Town, in that short time, a brace of Fops at Covent-Garden Church, have so far insinuated themselves, upon a slight acquaintance with my Father, that every hour almost in every day they are paying their Devoirs. I'll not disturb my Soul so far to think I am wronged, but one, and to my face, she so far favours, as would provoke a man of a less Jealous temper than myself: If this be the effects of going to Church, they Church it by themselves for her or Tom.  Young. 
Nay, nay, Tom, rail not against the Church, but down on thy knees, and thank Heaven thou brought'st her safe off: Why man, they are the very Heart-hunters in Christendom: if thy Lady be not proof against Eye-shot and Ear-shot, thou'rt undone: Such nice surprises, at so sweet a Face, such amorous glances of half Zeal half Love, such cocking of Cravat-strings and of Noses, with Perriwiggs so exquisitely set, that happy is the Woman looks and lives.  Elder. 
This is terrible News for a poor Country Gentleman: but I'll dispatch my Marriage instantly, or cut the Throat of him that hinders it. And Frank, she has a Cousin worth 10000 l. And faith, thou'rt a young fellow Worthy, wouldst thou but leave these Courses—  Young. 
Thus speaks the Elder Brother. Leave these Courses! Pox Course you; what wouldst thou have me do? You have the Estate, and yet I wear as good clothes as you do; Eat and Drink as well as you do; keep as good Company as you do; and you'll allow I'm the better Gentleman, by being the Younger Brother. Well, prithee tell me where you lodge, for I'm resolved to make a visit to my Father, not forgetting this 10000 l. you speak of.  Elder. 
Why, at this very House.  Young. 
What, the Widow Sly's?  Elder. 
The same.  Young. 
'Sdeath, my Widow! I had a Note from her but just now, which was not unwelcome; for I had damned ill luck at the Groom-Porters last night. Well, my Duty to my Father, and tell him I must pay him a visit; I have some small acquaintance with the Widow, and I shall gain Admittance.  Elder. 
By the way, Frank, I doubt you have a Rival of the old Gentleman: But more of that when I see you next; I'll find that out. You are in haste, and I a truant to my Mistress. Adieu: Don't fail Frank, for she is so much of thy temper, I dare almost promise thee success. Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  Enter Lady Sophia and Maria. Mar. 
Well Cousin, this London's a delicate place; oh foh upon Sir William's old nasty House in the Country: If e'er you catch me there again! I did penance enough in my Dad's days: I'll no more of your Baing, Cackling and Crowing in a morning; if I must be waked out of my sleep, it shall be with the dear Rattling of Coaches, that, if I look out, I may see some gay thing fit to divert my eyes; without that eternal prospect of Beasts, and bare Fields.  Soph. 
Thou art a mad Girl, and this mad fancy will soon be cloyed; but if you are resolved to stay after our return to the Country, with what Reputation will you live here, a single young Woman exposed to the malice of this Rascally Town.  Mar. 
Not so fast good Cousin: A single young Woman may be otherwise if she please; and I am under no Vows that I know, unless this now; That the first young Gentleman that I like, (if he has good manners enough to like me) shall have the spending of this ten thousand pounds of mine, rather than I'll die of the Pip, to leave it to you and your Heirs.  Soph. 
Well then, if you are upon choice, what think you of the two fine dressed Gentlemen we came acquainted with at Church. There's danger indeed in looking on them.  Mar. 
Oh foh! filthy old Effeminate Fools. Danger in them? none on my Conscience, I dare swear it, if they were to be tried; though indeed, my dear x, I observed you a little over civil to Mr. Shamtown, who received it with all the good manners in the World.  Soph. 
Well Girl, since you are resolved to Marry, I'll give you some advice; this Gentleman, this Mr. Wealthy, is the man on Earth, bait but his sin of Jealousy I'd choose, which I am resolved to cure (if possible) ere I resign myself to what I wish: For after that Maria, the Salic Law's in force against us all, and then adieu to Government for ever: Our frowns no more can kill, nor smiles revive: The humblest Lover makes a Lordlike Husband.  Mar. 
I apprehend you, than you mean to write the folly of his Jealousy so plain, in the two faces of these Amorous fools, that he may Read it there.  Soph. 
Right Girl, but you must join in this great Plot; for sure you must discern what Love and Languishment my Lover's friend expressed to you.  Mar. 
To me! upon my life he hardly ever spoke, and then so softly, I could hardly hear; he looked indeed and sight, and set his Cravat-string, and sight again, and Combed his Periwig: sight a third time, and then took snuff, I guess to show the whiteness of his Hand. And all the speech he made to all this Action, was, Renounce me, Madam, but you are very handsome; expecting, I suppose, the same return.  Soph. 
Well, this is making Love, the very newest way of making Love, and yet that Wealthy can so slightly weigh my Judgement, or my Love; to think me fond of such a nauseous Fop; but I'll Revenge myself this very way; I'll point my whole discourse to him, like every thing he does, praise him to Wealthy's face, and ask his Judgement of him; and as I find the ill-natured Fit work in him, I'll treat my new acquaintance.  Mar. 
And I must sigh, I judge too with my Lover: Well, I do hate a sneaking, whining, crying, lying, dying Fellow, of all things in Nature: Give me the airy, sprightly free Gallant, such a one as they report young Wealthy to be. I long to see him, but this old Sir William will not suffer him, they say, to come into the House; yet as ill-natured as he is to his own flesh, he has a great inclination for mine, for he can hardly ever keep his hands from my bosom. And what way should he take to make love to me, but by railing at youth, especially his Son Frank, who shall starve he says, ere he get a Groat from him.  Soph. 
And you may believe him, for he's the gripingst old Jew living: Frank too made bold with five hundred pounds of his, which he can never forgive. But see here comes my Lord and Master. Ah Tom, wouldst thou but quit that Jealous humour, though 'tis bred of Love, 'tis nursed by Folly; Love, Honour and Obey, should be my Song for ever.  Enter Elder Wealthy. Weal. 
Ladies, good day to you; what, not for Church this morning, Ladies? Methinks, though your Zeal may be somewhat allayed, so much good Company as meet there might invite you to Prayers.  Soph. 
O, goes it there? tease him x.  Mar. 
Well, Mr. Wealthy, I'll swear you are in the Right, there is the finest Company, the finest Ladies, and the finest Gentlemen! 'twould do a body's heart good to look upon them. Upon my life they spoiled all my Devotion; 'twas well for you, my x made her choice before she saw these fine things, had you been in Love with me you had been undone.  Soph. 
You speak but your own Opinion on that Maria, though truly Mr. Shamtown, and Mr. Littlegad, are the civilest, best bred men I ever saw; especially Mr. Shamtown, he is the pleasantest Creature, so good humoured, and so Witty, he is three in Company at any time.  Weal. 
Nay, Madam, I will allow him a fine Person, and a pleasant Creature, and three in Company; but for Wit, indeed Madam, 'tis much more your goodness than his desert.  Mar. 
Well, I won't answer for Mr. Shamtown, but I'll swear Mr. Littlegad has Wit, and more than that he is in Love with me.  Weal. 
I doubt not that Madam; but has he told you so?  Mar. 
No, but he has sigh't, and that's all one; besides he set his Periwig and Cravat-string, for fear I should not like them. Pho, I know he is in Love with me, and for aught I know, I am in Love with him too.  Weal. 
Very fortunate fellows these, a poor Country Lover shall ride you twenty miles a day, only to play a Game at Lantrelew, and go every Night home in the dirt and the dark, and shall hardly be believed to be in Love, though he break a Limb by the way; whilst one of these pleasant Creatures, by a new fancied Dress, or nice tied Knot, shall conquer a young Lady in a trice.  Soph. 
But than you must consider Invention is the labour of the brain, and exceeds that of the body.  Mar. 
And what signifies your Country Fools twenty mile a day to please his Mistress, when one of these shall sit you twenty hours together, almost distracting his dear Head, to find new fashions out, to delight us Ladies.  Soph. 
And should not we be grateful, Mr. Wealthy, to these, who as if they were of a Religious Order, abandoning and renouncing all your lewd Debaucheries of Wine, wholly devote themselves to us, and our diversion.  Enter Old Sir William. Sir Will. 
Present his Duty to me, wait upon me, he's a Bastard, no Son of mine, and if he comes here I'll send him to Newgate, a Rogue!  Mar. 
Nay, good Sir William, who has offended you?  Soph. 
What makes you so angry, good Sir William?  Weal. 
Pray be pacified, Sir.  Sir Will. 
No, Sir, I'll not be pacified, Sir, with you, nor your Brother Rogue neither; he'll visit me to rob me again, ha! What have you seen him, and advised him to it, ha? The other five hundred pounds. I'll lay him close an I catch him, a Thief.  Weal. 
Nay, good Sir, consider, he's my Brother, and your Son.  Old Sir. 
Sirrah, you lie.  Weal. 
I have done, e'er long you'll say the same by me.  Old Sir. 
No, no, Tom, never; thou art my Son, my eldest Son, my best Son, I have no Son but thee, Tom.  Weal. 
Nay, Sir, you must pardon me, my Mother was Virtuous. You must forgive poor Frank, he is your Son.  Old Sir. 
Sirrah.  Soph. 
Your own flesh and blood, Sir William.  Old Sir. 
My flesh and blood, no Madam, but he robbed me of my flesh and blood, my money.  Mar. 
Egad, and I am glad on't with all my heart.  Old Sir. 
Fie, fie, you little Thief you, glad that a Son should rob his Father. But I'll tell you that you may judge the grief of a Parent, against you have Children, Tom or you, you little Rogue, for you will have Children; egad, I could get you with Child myself. But as I was saying, I bred him at School, and it was a forward dirty Boy; from thence I sent him to the University; from the University to the Inns of Court, where in two years' time, from a sober, grave, discreet youth, he grew the Debauch of the Town; roaring, drinking, whoring, fighting, were his daily Diversions: and because I would not supply the Rogue with Moneys to maintain his Villainies, he comes down with a formal Recantation to me in the Country, where like a Rogue, a Cutthroat Thief in the Night, he robbed me of five hundred pounds, and now he sends me word, he'll make such an other Visit.  Mar. 
Why, Sir William, methinks he has not wronged you in the least, you have saved Money by him, for sure 500 l. is but a small portion for a young Gentleman, and your Son.  Weal. 
And would still deserve the name, would my Father but forgive him as a Son.  Old Sir. 
Sirrah, Son me no Sons, he was my Son, but is not, nor any that plead for him.  Mar. 
Come, come, Sir William, you were young once, and no doubt had your frolics, and your share of that whoring, roaring and fighting you speak of, I warrant you.  Old Sir. 
Fie, fie, or if I had, I never robbed my Father of five hundred pounds at a time, Girl, Girl: Consider the sum of five hundred pounds, before you plead for such a Rogue.  Soph. 
Good x leave off, for the thoughts of five hundred pounds will put him so out of humour, we shall have no peace with him.  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Sir, Mr. Puzlecause the Lawyer is without, and desires to speak with you.  Old Sir. 
Cod's so, ay, Tom, Tom, you must go with me, 'tis about drawing them Writings, about your Lady's Jointure. Well, God bless you both, and give you happiness.  Weal. 
The man she likes needs not mistrust the blessing.  Soph. 
The man she likes must not mistrust at all.  Mar. 
I cannot imagine what I have to do among all these sober, busy people; would I could find this mad young Wealthy, I fancy he and I should be better Company than all these. Well, if this Town of London will not afford me one young Fellow, after my own heart, 'tis very hard. (aside.)  
Sir William, when must the Wedding be, you keep me in expectation, I long to see the manner, though my x by her gravity, I see, does not wish for it at all.  Old Sir. 
O very suddenly, you little wag you; what think you now of your own Wedding; what think you of an old fellow of sixty now; hold, hold, I mean fifty: a good hearty old fellow with abundance of Love and Money?  Mar. 
What think I of him! I had rather Marry your roaring, whoring Son with never a farthing, though I never saw him yet.  Old Sir. 
O fie, fie Child; why there's no safety with such lewd young fellows, you must think better; but come Tom, come Tom, Mr. Puzlecause will think it long. Good morrow Children, good morrow.  Weal. 
Adieu, dear Madam. Exeunt.  Mar. 
Come Cousin, shall we visit the Widow this morning? and engage her to the Exchange this afternoon. We'll have all our Fancies in your dress. Bless us, you deserve a Husband indeed, to be married within these two days, and not a Ribbond bought.  Soph. 
Upon my life Maria, I begin to be afraid: The beginning, and your Courtship indeed is diverting enough, but this Marriage I'll swear when it draws so nigh is a terrible thing. I pretend not to that ridiculous over-affected Modesty of being afraid of a man-bedfellow I like, but seriously it shocks me, when I consider I stake upon one cast, my good or my ill fortune for my life.  Mar. 
Well Cousin, there is a hazard you know in all Games, and since we must be playing, faith I had as lief lose at this as any Game.  Mar. 
But to the Widow, she'll instruct you how  
To steer your course under your Marriage Vow.  
Tell you how far it must your Conscience bind,  
And how far not, if Spouse should prove unkind.  
And as you pay your duty, how to know  
When he fails in some matters due to you.  
With these Instructions, never talk of fear,  
The Widow will make all things plain and clear.  
And Faith Sophia, I dare swear for each,  
We are as fit to learn, as she to teach. Exeunt.   

SCENE III.  The Widow dressing herself. Betty. 
I just received a message by Mr. Wealthy's man, Madam, that he will answer the Contents of your Letter, for he has earnest business with your Ladyship, and begs you not to fail at three exactly, at Mr. Spruce's Shop in the Exchange.  Widd. 
I don't approve of his so often being there, though certainly had he any Intrigue with her, he would not have the Impudence to appoint to meet me there. Well, 'tis a barbarous case that a Lady can't secure one man to herself, though she pay a very good price for him, and maintain him as her own Goods and Chattels; which is a great misfortune to us Widows. For upon my life, your young fellows now a days, are scare-crowed with the name of a Widow, that we must either marry old musty Bachelors, or secure some younger Brother by the magnetic Virtue of our Money. Betty, are the young Ladies up, think you?  Betty. 
Yes Madam, and I believe I hear 'em coming to visit you this morning.  Widd. 
Run, run, and wait 'em up stairs: Upon my life I had forgot my Complexion this morning; but they are Country Ladies, and may not miss it. Enter Sophia and Maria.  
O dear, Ladies, I designed this kindness to you, as soon as I could possibly have dressed myself.  Soph. 
Madam, your humble Servant; we made bold to wait on you; I hope we have not hindered your Devotions.  Widd. 
O good Madam, I have been up these five hours. Betty, some Chairs; Ladies, pray sit down.  Mar. 
Madam, we came to desire your good Company to the Exchange this afternoon, to buy two or three suits of Ribbond for my Cousin's Wedding. Your good Fancy will much improve her dress. Alas, we Country Ladies that so seldom come to Town, are the awkward'st Creatures: Dear Madam, you must assist us.  Widd. 
Alas Madam, since my unfortunate Widowhood, dress has been the least of my thoughts: Nor could I indeed ever boast of more than being clean, in the height of my prosperity; for the gaudy part of Dressing was still my Aversion: And I hope Ladies you will pardon me, if I must deny myself the satisfaction of waiting on you to a place that will so ill become my Condition to appear in, as the Exchange. Where I must meet my Wealthy, and with them 'twill be impossible. [aside.  Mar. 
aside. Learn Sister, learn to Cant against you are a Widow. If this be'nt a Hypocrite I'll be hanged.  Soph. 
Madam, you are Mistress of yourself and time; but I thought the Exchange had been one of the innocent diversions of the Town, and might as well help out an afternoon, as the Playhouse, or the Park, without incurring the danger of Censure in the least.  Widd. 
Ah Madam! 'tis a base malicious Town, and whoever will live with Reputation in it, must as nigh as possible avoid all those places.  Mar. 
If all these are to be avoided, what difference is there between the Town and a Nunnery? Or what diversion does your Ladyship propose in Living.  Widd. 
In Visits, Madam. 'Tis the grand affair of all Ladies of Quality, to be exact in their days of giving and receiving Visits; high days of State; your Lady's Choler days as 'twere.— Betty, bring my Table-book, where you shall see how exact we are in our method, Madam, which is a mighty satisfaction to know every Ladies particular day of giving or receiving; so that consulting your Tables, you can never err. Let me see, Thursday last was my day of State; I think I had a great Court, Betty.  Betty. 
Twenty at least, Madam.  Mar. 
O Ridiculous! But certainly, Madam, so much Company should rather be uneasy than diverting.  Widd. 
O Madam, the Grandeur of the thing takes off all sort of uneasiness, though you hated every one in the Company; nor are you obliged to talk to every one, no more than your rising acknowledgements at first. Now Madam, as thus, Alphabetically: Madam Attall on Monday; Madam Bareman on Tuesday; and so in the round, Madam Willdrink, Madam Wilful, Madam Wouldhaveit, Madam Wellenough, and my Lady Worstofall.  Mar. 
Your method, Madam, is extraordinary fine, but for my part, I'd sooner choose to walk by myself in the Fields, than be troubled with all this Company in their finest Apartments.  Widd. 
Is your Ladyship for one in the Garden this morning?  Soph. 
We'll wait upon you, Madam.  Widd. 
No, pray Madam, indeed the Morning is inviting. [Exeunt.  Enter Mr. Spruce, and young Wealthy. Spruce. 
Ah, Mr. Wealthy!  Weal. 
Well met, my dear Cuckold, and particular Friend.  Spr. 
Good Mr. Wealthy, if I may be so bold, whether intent you?  Weal. 
Why, faith, to the Ordinary to Dinner.  Spr. 
Shall I prevent you, and perhaps to your satisfaction. If you will Dine with me and my Wife at home, I will entertain you with the Oddest and Idlest Resentment of a Brother Shopkeeper of mine, about his Wise, that can be.  Weal. 
With all my heart.  
(Aside.) This fellow is the happiest Cuckold living, so satisfied with himself, that he cannot believe there lives that Woman would condescend to touch an other man, after the taste of his dear person. Aside.)  
Well, I am contented to Dine with you, Mr. Spruce, but if you design not to take off the edge of my Appetite by suspense, let me know the business immediately.  Spr. 
You know, Mr. Topknot, in the same row with me, you must know the blockhead, ha, ha, ha. When Mr. Horner was the other day at his Shop, he heard him talk of a Journey he designed on Sunday to Epsom, upon this Mr. Horner, as you or any man might do in my absence to my Wife, appointed a Visit to his Wife; as you, I say, might do to mine, a Gentleman and Customer to the Shop, to comfort her. I cannot tell you the occasion well, but this Blockhead coming home late a Sunday night, goes up directly to his Wife's Chamber, where finding Mr. Horner laughing and playing with his Wife, no matter how, takes a ridiculous freak of Jealousy in his Noddle, falls into the violentest passion that could be, calling his Wife Whore; and Heaven knows what. The Gentleman seeing this, thought the fellow mad, and putting out the Candle, made his escape down Stairs, leaving the Blockhead railing and cursing, ha, ha, ha.  Weal. 
But pray, Mr. Spruce, how has he dealt by his Wife?  Spr. 
How! By my Conscience and Soul, Sir, he has turned her out of doors, like a Jealous Coxcomb as he is.  Weal. 
O Barbarous!  Spr. 
Now, Mr. Wealthy, this is amazement to me, I can't but believe these fellows have some Imperfection they are sensible of in themselves; Lord, if I were such a Coxcomb, how often must you and I have fallen out; though really, when I met my Wife and you, the other day, in a Coach alone, it did at first surprise me.  Weal. 
Faith, and so did you us; but I satisfied you that was an accident.  Spr. 
No more words, dear Mr. wealthy, I don't mistrust my Wife's Virtue, or my own Merit; but we are just at the door: Nan, is my Wife come home from the Change?  Enter Nanny. Nan. 
Yes, Sir, she expects you at Dinner, but not so good Company with you.  Weal. 
Pretty Mrs. Nanny.  Spr. 
Sir, shall I lead you in? [Exeunt.  Scene changes to a Parlour. Mrs. Spr. 
Your Servant Spruce. I have waited for you this half Hour: Mr. Wealthy, your humble Servant; you are a Stranger indeed.  Spr. 
Child, entertain Mr. Wealthy, till I go wash my Hands, and send up Dinner. [Exit.  Mrs. Spr. 
Must we attribute this Visit to Chance, or good Nature? I doubt, if to good Nature, 'tis my Husbands.  Weal. 
Faith, my Dear, you are in the right; but I designed to have pleased myself at least with seeing you at three a Clock this Afternoon in the Change.  Mrs. Spr. 
If Mr. Spruce were as jealous as Mr. Topknot, indeed you might avoid seeing me any where, but there; But Heaven be praised he is of another Mould, and much more fit for my use.  Weal. 
O he told me that Story. Shall I see you then to Night at home?  Mrs. Spr. 
With all my heart; but you'll fail, this is his Club Night, and ten to one but he's fuddled, but how open soever his Eyes are, I cast a Mist before 'em as easily as his understanding. At Nine the Garden gate shall be open, but don't fail; let me believe you think on me sometimes, by your not forgetting this.  Weal. 
By this, and this, I will not. [Kisses Enter Spruce.  Spr. 
Ha, ha, ha, My Friend Topknot would have been at the Top of the House with half this. Jealous Coxcomb. Come, my Dear, will you come to Dinner. Another Fool would have been Jealous of this now, I warrant; a civil Salute, ha, ha, ha.  Weal. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Mrs. Spr. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Spr. 
But what makes you laugh so, Prithee tell me?  Weal. 
Why, this was your Wives own Contrivance to try to make you Jealous; you railed so at Mr. Topknot: We have been Kissing ever since you went out, for fear we should not be Kissing as you came in.  Spr. 
Have you so? ha, ha, ha.  Mrs. Spr. 
'Tis true Spouse, faith.  Spr. 
Well, do if you can; but the Dinner cools: Mr. Wealthy—  Weal. 
Lead on, Sir.  
May all thy Follies on thy Tribe attend,  
And every Whoremaster have such a Friend. [Exeunt.    

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  Enter the Lady Sly, Sophia, and Maria. Soph. 
'TIs vain, I fear, to urge you further for your good Compapany to the Exchange, Madam, since your Reasons as well as Inclinations seem so averse to it.  Widd. 
Alas, Madam, I hope you'll excuse my incivility in not waiting on you; since really, Madam, I am so terrified at any thing may touch my Reputation, and the gravity of my Habit, I dare not appear there, though in so very good Company.  Mar. 
Well, Heaven forgive me, I can't think Charitably of thee. Cousin, since we must venture by ourselves into this bugbear place among Men, Monsters, and Scandals: If we must suffer, Heaven have Mercy on our better part, I hope we shall have your Ladyship's Prayers; and for Mr. Wealthy, I declare, if we are Ravished he deserves no better: a Lover, and go about Business with an old doting fellow of a Father, rather than wait upon his Mistress. Were he to be mine, I would not Marry him this Fortnight, tho' I gnawed my Sheets to pieces.  Widd. 
Indeed, Madam, I doubt you would relent, for Mr. Wealthy is really a very fine Gentleman, and the better he settles his Affairs now, tho' he robs himself of the Satisfaction of his Lady's Conversation, the more Enjoyment he proposes to himself afterwards; as all wise men do in so grand an Affair as Marriage.  Mar, 
Indeed Madam, I am not come to those years of Discretion to like a wise man; for on the contrary, he is naturally my Aversion: and I dare avow for young Mr. wealthy, whom I never yet saw, has more Wit in one of his Mad Frolics, than his Brother's Spanish Gravity can be capable of.  Soph. 
Heaven send you may meet, for if what be true I have heard of him, by what I know of you, you might be excellent Company, and very fit for each others humours. Pray have you never heard of him, Madam.  Widd. 
Yes, Madam, and seen him at a distance; a handsome young Gentleman indeed he is, but very Debauched, or very much wronged.  Enter a Servant. Boy. 
Madam, the Coach is at the Door.  Soph. 
Madam, your humble Servant, we'll try our Fancies by your Judgement, when we come back.  Widd. 
Ladies, your Servant.  Mar. 
Your Ladyship's humble Servant; no farther, adieu Madam. [Exeunt.  Widd. 
Betty, make haste, and lay me out the Mantua and Petticoat I wore the other day, and take care to get a Hackney Coach to the Door when the Ladies are gone.  Betty. 
Yes, Madam.  Widd. 
Certainly if I should meet them in the Change; they can never know me, my greatest fear is lest young Wealthy, who is fond of every new face, should meet them, and then I am undone, for 'twill be hard to lure him from so tempting a quarry, to a game I fear he is already cloyed with: yet he knows the sign, and in good manners must obey it, though against his Inclination.   

SCENE II. The Exchange.  Discovers Mrs. Spruce in her Shop. Enter Young Wealthy. Jun. Weal. 
I doubt I have over-stayed my time; 'tis past Three, and the Widow is not here, or else gone, which would be a cursed misfortune at this time: For to morrow I must make a visit to the old Gentleman, whatever comes of it: And his house of late has always been to me like a Tavern or a Bawdy-house, bring but Ready Money, and you shall be well looked after: Besides, the 10000 l. runs strangely in my head. There sits this night's diversion; a Cordial of the Widows will make it much more agreeable. Ha! she's here. I think, by this light a brace of handsome Women. Enter Sophia and Maria.  Mrs. Spr. 
Ribbons or Gloves, Madam; Gloves or Ribbons.  Jun. Weal. 
Ha! they go to Mrs. Spruce's? have among you I faith Ladies: If the Widow catch me, these are Cousins, nigh Relations.  Mar. 
Show us some of your newest fashion Ribbons.  Jan. Weal. 
Mrs. Spruce your Servant; are the things I bespoke done Madam.  Mrs. Spr. 
What things does he mean? O the Devil fetch him! [Aside. No Sir, not yet, but if you'll send your man in the morning, or to night, to my house, he shall have 'em. Here Ladies, do you like this Ribbond, or this?  Soph. 
Cousin what say you? you don't mind 'em.  Mar. 
Cousin, what's the matter with my heart? Certainly the Devil's in that young fellow, or in me.  Soph. 
Ha, ha, ha, have you met with your man think you?  Jun. Weal. 
I have a strange Romantic thought in my head; what if I should fall in love with this young Creature at first sight, a pretty account I should give of myself to my Friends: I must find some opportunity to speak to her.  Mar. 
O fie, these are too grave for our occasion, they must be for a young Lady's Wedding favours, the gayest thing you have.  Jun. Weal. 
If a stranger may so far presume, not for your own I hope, Madam.  Mar. 
Why Sir, would you forbid the Banes?  Jun. Weal. 
Had I the same Interest as Inclination to it, Madam, you would be in danger of it indeed.  Mar. 
O Lord, Sir, why are you in Love with me already?  Jun. Weal. 
Quick as her eyes egad: Why look you, Madam, plain deal's a Jewel: Let me first know what hopes my heart may have to build upon; whether you are a Predestinated Wife or not; and accordingly expect an answer from your humble Servant.  Mar. 
No, no, no; Demonstration's no direct answer to any thing. I am resolved to be a Riddle to all my Lovers. They that can find the meaning of me take me. I must talk with this young fellow: Cousin take your own Fancy, as you have done already: I like none of 'em.  Jun. Weal. 
As you have done already, O then she's the Bride, your Servant for that; 'tis kind and cunningly told, ha! egad these may be the two Ladies my Brother spoke of; I'll try. Well, Madam, to show you that I have an art that goes beyond unriddling any thing, I do positively know by the Stars, those Propitious Stars to me, that you are not Married nor engaged: That you have not been in Town above six days: That the Gentleman's Name, your Cousin is to Marry, begins with a W. and that you lodge now—  Mar. 
Tell me that, and you're a Conjurer.  Jun. Weal. 
That you lodge now— Let me fee— At the Lady Sly's in Covent Garden; ha! do you start, egad I am right.  Mar. 
And pray Sir, how came you to know this?  Jun. Weal. 
Art, Black Art, Madam, therefore at your own Proposals I claim you; or at least, the honour of being further acquainted.  Mar. 
Why Sir, if you are Master of your Art, 'twill be in vain to deny you that, after having seen me, when you were so well acquainted with me, before I saw you.  Jun. Weal. 
That's true, indeed Madam, but granted favours are much sweeter than stolen Fruits. Besides, Madam, there is really a necessity I should see you again, for should I at the first sight tell you a Romantic Tale of Flames and Darts, (though you may well suspect your eyes,) yet you would not be apt to believe me.  Mar. 
You are in the right, indeed Sir; ha, ha, ha.  Jun. Weal. 
Therefore Madam, since you are prejudiced against my first Essay, you ought in honour to allow a second, unless you mistrust the Justice of my Cause may prevail upon you.  Mar. 
Nay, if you grow serious upon business, adieu.  Jun. Weal. 
And dare you venture to leave me thus, after avowing this passion, than I declare open War against you, and all those little dancing Cupids in your eyes. Assisted by the Spirits I command, those that informed me where you live, when you came, shall dance eternally Attendance; and wheresoever among the numerous train of Fops your fancy settles, him they shall Plague. By one of these the nice shaped youth that dances with you at Balls, shall have his Legs broke. The Sonniteer that chants his Amorous Notes, shall have his pretty mouth drawn to his Ears, whilst every Fop that levels dressing at you, shall certainly be tumbled in the Mire.  Mar. 
Till at the last, for want of better choice, I must take up with you. Bless us! a Conjurer! certainly I am a most unfortunate Creature, though London I was told was a lewd place, to light upon the Devil at the first dash.  Jun. Weal. 
Therefore keep friends with him whilst you may.  Enter the Widow, spies him, and pulls out her Handkerchief. 
'Sdeath the Widow. I know the sign, that cursed Handkerchief; a plague on the Flag of Truce. When I was just giving Battle to the dear little Creature. Ay, ay, shake on; I can't see it yet.  Soph. 
Cousin will you go? I have bought what I design.  Mar. 
I wait you. Sir, your Servant.  Jun. Weal. 
The honour, Madam, to wait you to your Coach.  The Widow crosses'em, and drops her Handkerchief, Wealthy takes it up. 
Madam, your Handkerchief.  Widd. 
Not to trouble you Sir.  Soph. 
Jack, here take these things, and put 'em in the Coach.  Mar. 
Upon my life this is an Appointment; she's jealous by her answer: O that I were alone with her, I might disappoint her. Sir, the Lady's going.  Jun. Weal. 
Not whilst you are here Madam, or till I see you in the Coach.  Soph. 
'Twill be a trouble Sir, and our Coach is just at the Door.  Jun. Weal. 
You shall be obeyed; when I see you next, I may challenge the honour of your acquaintance on other terms. Till then, fair one, Cross yourself every Night, or my Spirits will play tricks with you.  Mar. 
None that can fright me, I'll watrant you. Exeunt.  Jun. Weal. 
Now for my Widow, by that time I have appeased her, it will be time to meet Mrs. Spruce, and by that time I have appeared Mrs. Spruce, it will be time to take a Bottle, and by that time I have that in my head, I shall think I have managed my time very well. For though on my Conscience I could forsake Whoring to gain that dear little Creature, 'tis not like a wise man to leave off one Trade, without a certainty of living better on another. Your Servant Mrs. Spruce. Exit.   

SCENE III.  Mr. Shamtown is discovered sitting by his Bed in his Nightgown. Sham. 
Jack, has it Rung at Convent-Garden yet?  Jack. 
Sir, 'tis past five.  Sham. 
Pox on this Drinking! 'tis no matter tho, for I look so filthily puddled, I durst not have gone out. Lord, I am extravagantly hot; Jack, step where you know, tell 'em I keep my Chamber this afternoon, and should be glad to see 'em.  Jack. 
This is one of my masters high Intrigues; if Don Quixot's Dulcinea did not come of a better Family, I'll be hanged.  Sham. 
I should be very loath the Town should know half what I am forced to trust this Rascal with: I have been now these 25 years (a damned long time to own) the chief Intreaguer of the Town, made such a figure, raised such emulation, I have been still the peak of every Poet, down from Sir Foplin to Sir Nice the Beau: There's not one Beauty famed in all the Town, to whom I have not paid some Gallantry; and thus much I must own, I never made address in all my life, where I was yet refused, to make the address indeed, but that was all. The speculative part has still been mine, and my misfortunes have been gaily dressed; Celia indeed no sooner broke her Vow, but Cloe entertained me as her own, and married with my Rival in a month. Yet still I kept my Reputation up, and wheresoever I came, fresh Billett Deux on Billet Deux received; sent by myself, Heaven knows, unto myself, on my own Charges: yet now my Fate gives me a fairer prospect, and beautiful Sophia will be kind. I have been well received, and will go on: And though I fight for once, once and no more, I'll venture Mr. Wealthy's surly temper. But would my man would come, for this is all but Speculative too, and I must Practise. Enter a Boy.  Boy. 
Sir, Mr. Littlegad's below, and bid me tell you he is come to wait on your Coushee.  Sham. 
'Sdeath, my Brother Beau, and in the Intrigue with me, I must speak with him, though he must not stay to see my Paramour. Wait on him up, I must maintain my Character with him.  Enter Mr. Littlegad. Littl. 
Sir, your Servant; good Night to you, were now the properest. What, reading of a Secret?  Sham. 
No, a Trifle; you may read it if you please, I just received it from a teazing poor Romantic Girl I promised Marriage to. I pity her, she writes a pretty stile.  Littleg. 
Reads. Dear faithless man, Poor fool! For still you must be dear, dear to my Eyes, dear to my longing Heart; ah, why would you betray me into Love? Why would you promise me a Heaven in you, and take that Heaven away? Curse of her Eyes who have estranged your Heart! but O in vain, in vain I Curse the happiest Woman living. Pardon this trouble, Sir, it is the last. Boast you have broke a fond young Woman's heart, that loved too well to live, and live without you. Adieu. A very sad story. What no Superscription, no Direction?  Sham. 
'Sdeath, I had forgot to write it.  
Aside. No, it came enclosed; I am pestered strangely with these idle things. I'm glad you're come, for though I must beg your leave to receive a visit from a Lady of Quality that will be here presently, I must acquaint you with my design: I can prevail easily with the Widow (who loves Dancing) to have a Ball at her House to morrow: 'Twill give us fresh opportunity to talk with the Ladies; and no small occasion to please them in our Dancing. You'll pardon, if I beg your leave a while: at night I'll meet at Wills, and order all. I'm much ashamed of this, but—  Littleg. 
O Sir, the reason's Irresistible, no Compliment, at Will's.  Sham. 
At eight.  Enter Jack. Jack. 
Sir, she—  Sham. 
Rascal—  Jack. 
Sir, she says 'tis Washing day, and she can't come.  Sham. 
Damn her, go down.  Mr. Littl. 
What, disappointed?  Sham. 
She begs my pardon, 'tis her day of receiving Visits. A Pox of all Quality, 'sdeath I'll Marry and oblige no more, Sophia shall engross my heart for ever; and now we have time, Mr. Littlegad, tell me your mind, our time is short, our Reception has been extraordinary. Will you resolve at this Ball to slip Notes into their hands, that shall declare our honourable intentions.  Mr. Littl. 
I would do much for beautiful Maria, but Love has so much awe upon my Soul; besides, if they refuse we're undone, if they betray us worse, a Quarrel follows.  Sham. 
Sir, you're my friend, I'll trust you with my temper. By others want of manners in the Town, I have suffered in my Reputation, and therefore would prevail upon myself to venture once: The Cause I'm sure deserves it, and Mr. Wealthy, I have oft discerned, forces his temper to be Civil to me.  Mr. Littl. 
Well Sir, you've been open with your friend: show me the Note you write, I'll show you mine.  

For why should she ashamed or angry be,  
To be beloved by me. [Exeunt.    

SCENE the Back-Garden.  Enter young Wealthy. Jun. Weal. 
My matters go swimmingly faith, I have appeased my Widow, made myself half drunk, and filled my Pockets with money. To morrow will I rise with the Sun, and outshine the Sun, wait on my Father like a Son; and if I can but set like the Sun in that dear little Thetis' lap, I should make a very good day on't. However, since I am resolved to make honourable Love, I'll take my leave of Whoring to Night. This is Mrs. Spruce's backdoor, and the fatal hour draws on, in which I must graft a fresh Branch on my friend's Forehead. Ha! the Door shut! It used always to be open upon such occasions: I'll venture three gentle taps however, there may be a Scout nigh.  Enter Mrs. Nanny. Nanny. 
Who's that, Mr. Wealthy?  Jun. Weal. 
Dear Mrs. Nanny: A Maidenhead egad; a pox of her mistress.  Nanny. 
My mistress has expected you this half hour; she's alone in the Parlour.  Jun. Weal. 
With all my heart: But have you waited all this while in the Cold.  Nanny. 
Indeed I thought it long before you came.  Jun. Weal. 
But you'd have thought it longer, had you stayed for one you Love.  Nanny. 
Yes, if they came on purpose to see me.  Jun. Weal. 
Pretty little Rogue. The Child comes rarely on.  Nanny. 
O fie Sir, what do you mean? Nay, pray Sir.  Jun. Weal. 
What do I mean? To kiss those pretty little lips.  Nanny. 
O dear Sir, my mistress. Enter Mrs. Spruce.  Jun. Weal. 
O Madam, now I hope you'll own I am as good as my word.  Mrs. Spruce. 
Somewhat better methinks. Nanny go in. So Termagant, Mr. Wealthy, that you could not have patience to walk in; I suppose my Maid told you I expected you in the Parlour.  Jun. Weal. 
Yes, yes, you'll cool my Courage: Fie, Madam, I was only Coaxing her for fear when you vexed her at any time, she should tell your Husband.  Mrs. Sp. 
You know, Mr. Wealthy, my Husband is not so easily persuaded; but however, you boast of being as good as your word, I find, without a Bottle, you durst not have ventured.  Jun. Weal. 
Durst not; that word was never spoke to Spaniard yet, but forfeited a kiss that gave him it. Now Madam, since our time is short, and consequently very precious, pray let me have the honour to lead you into your own House.  Mrs. Spr. 
No, I'll swear you'll be Rude.  Jun. Weal. 
No, I'll Swear I wont, but I'll be very Civil; when do you expect your Husband?  Mrs. Spr. 
Not these two hours. O Lord, indeed I am afraid I shall catch cold, the Night's very raw.  Jun. Weal. 
egad you're in the right. Come along my dear. [Exeunt.  Enter Old Sir William and his Son. Sir William 
Whereabouts are we Tom? 'tis somewhat dark.  Eld. Weal. 
Very nigh Covent Garden, Sir; we shall be at home presently.  Sir William 
This Lawyer is a smart fellow, Tom, he has drawn up these Writings concisely, and full. Ah, that Rogue Frank, he might have done this, if he had followed his Studies, an idle Rogue, and saved me this Charge: But he must be fine, he must be a Wit, a Beau, Pox on him.  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, I believe it is yet in your power to reclaim him; he has seen the Vices of the Town, and no doubt is sick of them: Could he but get a Competence to live.  Sir William 
Well Sir, and you'll have me settle an Estate upon him; I'll settle him in Newgate first, a Vagabond.  Eld. Weal. 
Nay, pray Sir, hear me.  Sir William 
No, Sir, thank God I've taken care of you. I've settled you, I'll part with no more money.  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, you shall not part with a Groat.  Sir William 
How's that?  Eld. Weal. 
Upon my word you shan't, and yet make him happy.  Sir William 
He has been a Rebellious Boy, but the tenderness of a Father— Well, tell me how, for I would do him all the kindness I could without Charges.  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, give him the liberty of your House, Countenance him as your Son, and let him address himself to young Maria.  Sir William 
Here's a Snake in my bosom; what, throw away my little pretty Maria with 10000 l. too. No, thank you Sir, I'll find a better match; what, betray my trust: Marry her to a Ranting, Roaring Bully. What, give her the Pox? Ah, Sirrah! What if I have a mind to marry her myself?  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, you'll pardon me if I say, methinks you are too old to think of marriage.  Sir William 
No, Sirrah, not so old as the young debauched Rascals of the Town, rotten before they are ripe. Sirrah, provoke me any more, speak of this match any more, I'll Marry, get a Child, and disinherit you both; and so come along.  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, I'll follow you, and shall watch you too, for should he marry, a Child may be got without his help.  Sir William 
What Sirrah, do you mutter?  Eld. Weal. 
Mutter, no Sir.  Sir William 
No Sir, come along. [Exeunt.  The Scene draws, and discovers the Garden-door. Enter young Wealthy and Mrs. Spruce. Jun. Weal. 
Adieu, dear Mrs. Spruce, you'll send that Linen I bespoke, to morrow early.  Mrs. Spr. 
Yes, but not by my Maid. [Enter Mr. Spruce Drunk.  
My Husband, if ever he is Jealous 'tis in his Drink. Dear Mr. Wealthy adieu, how will you escape him?  Jun. Weal. 
How the Devil do I know: 'Sdeath, I'll stand against this Pump.  Mr. Spr. 
Whereabouts am I? Is not this my back door? I am somewhat Drunk; 'tis a beastly thing above once a month, and that's my stint; but I'll please her with the Song I learned: Tell me no more of Glory or Story. She loves a soft Song. Tell me no more of Glory. No Canary, pox of that slip; I have all dirted my face.  Jun. Weal. 
'Sdeath I think I had best run for it now. Pox of his Agility, he's up already: if he comes to the Pump, i'm undone.  Mr. Spr. 
Let me see, here's a Pump hereabouts.  Jun. Weal. 
Would it were in your Guts.  Mr. Spr. 
I must clean myself, that I may not disgust my Wife, and make her think indifferently of my Person. Pox on't, they have taken away the handle: O here it is.  Gropes up and down, and takes hold of Mr. Wealthy's hand instead of the Pump. Jun. Weal. 
If he discovers me I'll knock him down, and then I shall pass for a Thief. The Dog will pull my Arm off.  Mr. Spr. 
Zounds the Pump's dry.  Jun. Weal. 
'Sdeath I have a Bottle of Orange Flower Water his Wife presented me. Spirits the Orange Flower Water in his face.  Mr. Spr. 
O does it come; delicate Water faith: So now for my Wife: Let me see, where's the Key. Tell me no more of Glory, too to Court— Exit.  Jun. Weal. 
A senseless drunken Dog, not know a man from a Pump; this was a good 'scape, I should have been loath to have Convinced him that he was a Cuckold. Let him dote on, 'tis late; shall I go home so sober, I shall Dream of the Devil all Night? no, the other Bottle.  

Good Wine does all our Satisfaction bring.  
But t'other Bottle is a Glorious thing. [Exit.     

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  Enter Maria alone in the Garden. Mar. 
WHat would I give to know whether I am really in Love with that young fellow or not; let me examine myself. I am very angry with that Woman that came to meet him; methinks I could beat her, yet I could not beat him. I long to see him again too; and I am afraid I should be loath to part with him. Mercy upon me, these are very ill Signs.  Enter Sophia. Sop. 
What Musing Maria? Good morning to your serious Meditations: Pray your Thought?  Mar. 
If you'll promise not to laugh at me.  Sop. 
What, the pretty young fellow reigns still in your fancy: What, four and twenty hours together? On my Conscience you are constant; ha! ha!  Mar. 
Laugh on, laugh on! Who was caught first?  Sop. 
But fie upon you, I thought you would have reserved your heart for young Mr. Wealthy; and this Gentleman you saw was engaged.  Mar. 
Would I knew where, I'd plague her however; but if he should be in Love with her I'm undone.  Sop. 
To clear that doubt Girl, I'll tell thee News shall make thee bless me for it: That Lady your Rival, Madam, is our Individual, Grave, Formal, Hippocritical Widow.  Mar. 
Impossible, or how should you know it?  Sop. 
Walking last Night in the Balcony-room, somewhat impatient of Mr. Wealthys' return, I heard a Hackney-Coach stop, whence bolted out the very Figure we saw in the Change, and my Curiosity found afterwards to be the Widow.  Mar. 
O this Ephesian Dame, shall she devour my Soldier; no, I'll vex every vein of her Heart. I'll Dog her every day, that when she meets him next, I'll meet him too, and turn her to her proper use, Procuring; I'll trace the old Fox till I find out her Young ones.  Sop. 
Poor Girl, she's sar gone.  Mar. 
A Witch: Pardon me Ladies, if I dare not go to a place that so ill becomes the Gravity of my Habit. [Music within the Garden.  
What Serenading Fools are these?  Sop. 
You're strangely out of humour, what if it should be a morning Serenade from our two Churchmen, in order to the Ball we are to have this Evening? You remember the Part you are to Act.  Mar. 
judeed you must pardon me, I shall be out.  Sop. 
I grow sick of mine too; but hark, a Song. [Song after it.  Enter Elder wealthy. Sophia. 
Mr. Wealthy do we owe our thanks to you.  Eld. Weal. 
This Madam, as the gentlest way I could, I chose to let you know my bold request; Music and Beauty seem so nigh a kin; such equal charmers sure what one desires, the other can't deny; to morrow be the day; join to that natural goodness of your Soul; your kind endearing Promises and Vows, put on the Deity you are to me, descend and perfect all my hopes to morrow.  Soph. 
Sir, I confess it is a fault to blush, in answering what I have so often promised; but you must pardon both, since I must confess, so soon you have surprised me, I own you Conqueror o'er all my heart, but beg as yet you would not use your power; allow my Virgin fears some time to fly, I shall in honour yield without surprise.  Eld. Weal. 
Allow for all my Wracks of Passion; for all my broken hours and nights of rest. Allow for the Impatience of my Love, that counts all hours Ages till to morrow, and put this in the balance with your fears: If it be yet too light, I'll kneel to beg a blessing great as this.  [Kneels. Enter Sir William Wealthy. Sop. 
Sir—  Sir Will. 
What a Pox, is the fellow going to Prayers, or to say Grace to to morrows Feast? Child, Child, time is short, all things settled, and London's a Wicked Place, therefore prepare to look the Parson boldly in the face, and in grace of peace, I'll see you married, and then—  Soph. 
But Sir William.  Sir Will. 
Stop her mouth Boy, she'll cry 'tis too soon, or some mischief or other: Where's my little Maggot this morning? she'd put off such a business I warrant you; uh 'tis a perilous Quean.  Mar. 
Well, I will plague the Widow and this old fellow. Good morning to you Sir William, you see they're got together with a villainous design to make you a Grandfather, and then you'll look so old, Sir William, 'tis a pity; for now you look brisk enough for the youngest Maid in Town; methinks I could fall in Love with you myself.  Sir Will. 
Think you so, my little Maggot, not so old but I can play at creep Mouse yet; creep Mouse, creep, catch her, catch her.  Mar. 
Nay, nay, nay, Sir William.  Sir Will. 
Why, you little Eyes, you little Nose, you little Mouth, you little— No, no, you're for young Rogues; we old wholesome fellows, with good Hearts, sound Lungs, hum, hum: no, no, we can't pass now a days. Tom, I heard Music here just now, was it yours Tom? Prithee, let's have a Song there; gad, I'm very merry this morning. Adsbodkins, I'll sing thee a Song myself, Girl. Now you shall hear, now Huswife, an old fellow; adslid, hum, hum.  After several ridiculous Grimaces, Sir William Sings. Mar. 
O brave, Sir William.  Sir Will. 
Ah, you little Rogue! Creep Mouse creep, catch her.  Mar. 
Fie, fie, Sir William, you'll make me angry.  Sir Will. 
Why then be pleased again, you little baggage, ah.  Mar. 
Come, Sir William, let's see if you're as good at Dancing as you are at Singing; come Sir, I'll Dance with you.  Sir Will. 
Art thou for a Hoy tight Rogue? Come, strike up then.  Mar. 
Margery Crey.  Sir Will. 
Oh, fie, fie.  Mar. 
Come, come. [They Dance.  Sop. 
O this unmerciful Jade.  Eld. Weal. 
No matter, Madam, he likes it.  Mar. 
About, about, Sir William.  Sir Will. 
Hold, hold, Merry and Wise; Wise Child, Merry and Wise Puh.  Sop. 
Sir William, you grow young again; you trip it like any Fairy.  Mar. 
Oh fie upon him, he has put me so out of breath, I shan't be able to Dance this Evening.  Sir Will. 
And yet I am old, I warrant you, ha? You had rather marry my Wicked Debauched Son Frank, you little Eyes, you little Nose, creep Mouse creep.  Mar. 
No, I yield Sir William now, but I'll try your Courage at the Ball.  Sir Will. 
But what the Devils the meaning of these Balls? What a Pox do these fellows do here? Here they tell me a Story of the Honour of my former acquaintance, when I never saw them but once, when I was last in Town, at a Coffee-house, and now at Church.  Eld. Weal. 
And think you not that enough, Sir, to take hold of, when it will introduce them into so good Company as these fair Ladies?  Sop. 
Still there Tom?— Cousin.  Mar. 
Good Sir William, and you Mr. Wealthy, do not quarrel at our good Fortune what e'er you think; if I were sure of meeting such good Company, I'd go to Church every hour in the day; besides they're the Widows acquaintance; we are obliged to her as well as you for their Company and the Ball we are to have; where, for all this, you must Dance to night.  Sir Will. 
Dance! you little Eyes you; ay, and Dance forty such Limberhammed fellows as these dead still: What, because this great fellow here makes me look a little old, and the Cares of the World makes me look somewhat grey before my time, do you think I'll be laid aside; adsbodikins if you will Dance, Dance me a good round Country frisk: Pox o your Minutes and Bore's (what d'ye call'em) Dances only invented for your smooth paced pocky French fellows: 'Ounds, a good round Country Jig would shake 'em all to pieces.  Eld. Weal. 
True Sir; but as brittle ware as they are, they crack many a Lady's reputation, without ever hazarding their own; and ought no more to be suffered in Families than Eunuchs, who, however unmanned, can both divert and disgrace their Ladies if they please.  Soph. 
Nay, sure Mr. Wealthy now you're too severe.  Sir Will. 
Not a bit, faith Tom, I hate these young old fellows mortally.  Mar. 
On my Conscience 'tis Scandalum Magnatum, were I a man so wronged, I'd Cuckold you to disprove you; but here comes the Widow, I'll swear I'll tell.  Enter Widow. 
Oh Madam, would you believe it? This Mr. wealthy is the vilest man, he says he believes Mr. Shamtown and Mr. Littlegad are Eunuchs, as if that your Ladyship, that has known what a real man is, would keep such Company, or suffer them to come into your House.  Sir William 
Ha, ha, why you little eyes you, what spare no body? She's a Wag Madam, she's a Wag  Widd. 
I like her humour the better; but Mr. wealthy, indeed you must give me leave to take the part of this young Lady, in behalf of the young Gentlemen who are men of extraordinary Parts, upon my word.  Eld. Weal. 
I doubt it not Madam, since your Ladyship is so well acquainted with them and their Parts.  Sir William 
Nay, nay, the men may pass; but what a Pox is that young old fellow, that peeps out of his Periwig like an Owl out of a Bush.  Eld. Weal. 
O Damn him, an Antiquated Beau, aiming to be, but never in the fashion; saucy enough to Ape the Noblest man, but wrongs him as much as a damned Country sign did King Charles the Second; would make you believe he is a Linguist, but really picked up the bits of Languages, by begging his way home when he was abroad. In short, to be Pawn Broker to a Basset Table, is the Top of his Pretensions.  Widd. 
Upon my word, Mr. wealthy, 'tis malice, for I received just now a very pretty Epistle from them, and am in Love with the design of changing our Ball, among ourselves, into a harmless Masquerade, where every one may please their fancy in expressing either their humours or desires, by their dress; and so, though we know our full Company, be puzzled to find out each other.  Mar. 
Troth, that's pretty indeed.  Sop. 
'Twill help the merriment, no doubt; I like the humour.  Eld. Weal. 
This is a Trick by Heaven! I beg your Pardon, Madam; I confess, since we are so few, and we know all the Company, I cant find out the Jest of Masquerading; to drive on an Intrigue or so, I grant you.  Sop. 
Or to express our humours, by our dress, is full as well.  Eld. Weal. 
Nay, Madam, I have done.  Mar. 
Sir William, what say you?  Sir William 
With all my heart, i'faith, I'll Masquerade you; and if I find you out, you little eyes you, I will so creep mouse you. But what a Pox, we an't enough, we shall want Company.  Widd. 
If you are all agreed, I'll send them word; and by the way, desire Mr. Spruce and his fair Lady's Company, and so please you.  Sir William 
Agreed, agreed; come, be brisk Tom, let us be merry to Night, and please Heaven, to morrow I'll settle the best part of my Estate upon thee, and thee upon her, i'faith Tom; and the rest my little eyes shall have if she will, and there's my care over.  Sop. 
Indeed Sir William, I must—  Sir William 
I know it my dear Child, I know it, all Women must; take her aside Tom, and walk with her in the Garden, and tell her some fine things. Tell her she must, and where she must, and when she must, and how she must; go, go Tom, tell her all. What are you running away, you little eyes you? What, you must too, ha?  Mar. 
So must you too, Sir William, when you can; I must go to my Chamber and study my dress for the Masquerade, and some mischief against that black Devil, for I hate the sight of her. [Exit.  Sir Will. 
Get you gone you little Maggot, you little; 'em I could. The Devil's in her I think, I never come nigh her but I fancy, myself twenty again.  Widd. 
I have observed this old fellow is in Love with her; I'll try him, and help too if I can, for if young Wealthy should as he has threatened, their humours will so hit, I shall certainly lose him. Sir William, if you'll pardon me, I'll tell you something I have observed; and I believe I may serve you in it with that young Lady.  Sir Will. 
What says my Widow, with that young Lady, ha?  Widd. 
What think you Sir? would she not be a comfort to your Age? would not a Bedfellow so sweet, so free, so gay, so witty, lovely, and so young, renew your life, and give you a fresh Lease? What think you Sir, be ye open?  Sir Will. 
Think Widow? Gad, I know not what to think, what her little Eyes mine, her little Nose mine, her little Mouth mine, nay, her little all mine. Ah, Widow, I'll give thee five hundred pound let me live to see that day, I'll Article immediately Widow; there, there's my hand on't; by the Lord Harry— but the Money's returnable if not.  Widd. 
Agreed, and I accept your Generosity. But then, unless you follow my advice, you ruin all my measures. In the first place, you must resolve to stay in Town; in the next, your youngest Son, whom every body Loves, they say that sees him, must be banished, if e'er he pays his Duty as he threatened.—  Sir Will. 
Banished! 'Ounds, I'll hang him Widow, a Rogue. I have enough to hang him when e'er I please: Why, he robbed me of five hundred pounds, Widow.  Widd. 
What then, you would not hang your Son.  Sir Will. 
Let him keep off then, let him keep off then, a Dog; but my dear Widow, at her, my dear Widow, tell her fine things, my dear Widow. What a fine thing it is to have a great Estate, my dear Widow, and to reign Mistress of a House and Family, my dear Widow: Tickle her my dear Widow, and I'll tickle her, my dear Widow; hum. Methinks I have got her already; but Widow, Widow, rail damnably at all young fellows.  Widd. 
I'll warrant you Sir; how his old bones dance. Well, Sir William, I'll sound her presently, she's gone to her Chamber, and I'll to her instantly, and after Dinner I'll tell you more.  Sir Will. 
Go, go, go, five hundred pound Widow go; go Widow, rail at all young Rogues. [Exit Widd.]  
Pox on them rotten Rogues, that can neither Drink nor Whore, and yet set up for both, with weak Hams, slackened Nerves, shaking Hands, and flannel Shirts, before they're five and twenty. I'll show them what an old fellow can do. [Exit.   

SCENE II.  Maria in her Chamber Writing. Mar. 
So, this Letter will I show or drop before the Widow: No, I'll show it her, make her my Confident, as if it came from the Gentleman I met in the Exchange. There needs no Name; and though she knows his Hand, if she be Jealous, she'll believe that Counterseit for fear of her. It begs I'd meet him there: I'll ask her Counsel, and observe her looks; if she be moved, my Cousin's in the right. Then if she goes to meet him in my stead, I'll Masque myself, and dog her to the place, and let him Judge whatever he thinks fit. I'll tell him that I came to vex them both.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Madam, the Widow.  Mar. 
Wait upon her up, she leaps into my Net; I'll plague her very Heart.  Enter Widow. Widd. 
Your Servant, Madam, still thinking on your Dress? I see you'll surprise us all with your fancy.  Mar. 
No Madam, I was otherwise employed; for being a perfect stranger to this Town, I was something troubled in myself to know whether I have met with a Civility or an Affront.  Widd. 
Explain yourself, good Madam; not from me I hope, nor any of my Servants.  Mar. 
Not in the least; so far from that, dear Madam, you are the only person in the World I'll trust, or ask advice of.  Widd. 
You make me wonder.  Mar. 
You know how earnestly my Cousin and I entreated your good Company last night, till you convinced us how unfit it was for one so much afflicted, to be seen in naughty places, like the New Exchange.  Widd. 
What means she? aside.  
Well Madam.  Mar. 
However after begging of your Prayers, and saying of our own, with aching hearts, you know we went; nay, and are come off alive.  Widd. 
Good Madam on.  Mar. 
Indeed there was much Company and fine, and had your Ladyship been there, I'm sure you'd say the same.  Widd. 
I doubt it not Madam. The Devil, what does she mean?  Mar. 
But grief you know Madam, however it may lull itself at home with Balls, or harmless Music to divert, ought not to appear in public, but in tears; that robbed us of your company, dear Madam.  Widd. 
And is it that disturbs her?— 'Tis that I fear's the incivility which you suspect.  Mar. 
No, on my Life; swear to be secret and I'll tell you all.  Widd. 
I vow: I would she would begin.  Mar. 
There was a young and really handsome Gentleman.  Widd. 
Ha, goes it there?  Mar. 
What says your Ladyship?  Widd. 
Nothing Madam, a handsome Gentleman you said.  Mar. 
Nay, Madam, you'd have said so had you seen him.  Widd. 
Very likely; but what of him?  Mar. 
Waiting, as afterwards, I found too plain, for better company, to pass the time, began to talk with me.  Widd. 
Not rudely, I hope— This Devil could not know me.  Mar. 
She's stirred— so far from that, even at first sight, nay, the first words he spoke, were Raptures, Flames and Darts; I know not what, but mixed with much Civility and Wit.  Widd. 
These are the common Gallantries you meet; the young and beautiful must bear with this.  Mar. 
More Madam, he told me where I lodged, when I came hither, my Cousin's Marriage, and the first letter of her Husband's Name.  Widd. 
And not his own.  Mar. 
No, but he'd wait on me he said, and I believe him, for I just received this Letter by his Servant to my Maid, which I can construe nothing but affront; for sure he thinks me such another Prize as the Lewd Minx he met.  Widd. 
Impossible; pray let me see it. By heavens', this is none of his Hand! But that was Jealousy of me, a trick I scorn him for.  Mar. 
She srets: Nay, Madam, let not your Zeal for me disorder you so much, it is not worth your Anger, nor my Notice.  Widd. 
But Madam, such a Villain, at the first sight, without the least acquaintance, to offer to request a second meeting of a young Lady in that open place, is so much impudence, such an affront, it shocks a modest Woman but to think it.  Mar. 
And then so basely too, to rail at her; I know he came tomeet, and curse her too. If you read on Madam, you'll find he curses; curses her, the occasion of our parting, and rails at her impertinence and love.  Widd. 
Oh base, base, Madam, monstrous base. This they are all, but he the basest living.  Mar. 
Nay, dear Madam.  Widd. 
Indeed I am too blame to wonder at it; I'll curb the just resentments of my heart, and strike at this to speak for old Sir William.  Mar. 
Hang her, I'm vexed to see her fret so much, for I shall love him more now out of spite; but if I ne'er should see him— oh that's sad, would he would write indeed.  Widd. 
Madam, you asked advice, if you'll accept it, judge but of this; you are young, and in a place so pestered with Intrigues, may unawares your inclination, fix on one may seem deserving in your eye: But, believe me Madam, among the vain young flatterers o'th' Age  

The Monsters, we fond Women Lovers call,  
There's not one grain of truth.   Maria. 
Among them all.  Widd. 
She mocks me certainly, but I'll observe her. No, for their Folly, Vanity and Pride, exceed the most ridioulous of us; and for their Vows, their Conscience, or their Honour, a man on this side forty, is marked a fool, that ever meant a true word to a Woman.  Mar. 
Indeed.  Widd. 
By Sympathy the young affect the young, and she's the happy Woman whose kind Lot directs her where those Vanities are past, and Marries with the Anoient and Discreet. Were I to choose, I beg your Cousin's pardon, I should prefer Sir William 'fore the Son.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Madam, I sent your Letters, and had answer they will be here.  Widd. 
I come, Madam, you'll be ready immediately.  Mar. 
I'll wait on you, you have the Letter.  Widd. 
Yes, Madam, at your Service.  Mar. 
No, pray, keep it Madam; I fear I shall be troubled still with more; if it be so, I'll beg your Ladyship so far as in a Mask, to venture with me, and find out who it is, you can't deny me.  Widd. 
You shall command me Madam, to my wish. I'll ruin this and him. Your Servant Madam.  Mar. 
So, 'twas her he met, her folly and her jealousy betrayed it; by her grave counsel and railing at young men surely Sir William taught her, I'll find that out: Would I as easily could find a way to meet with him; he talked of visiting, which with a formal show as to the Widow, if he has good nature, may be meant to me; I'd thank him for't: However, since I am resolved to see him, I'll trace and haunt the Widow every hour, bribe every Maid she has, know all she does, read all her Notes, if Gold will break the Seals.  

Not slip the least of any likely hint,  
And then if all should fail, the Devil's in't.    

SCENE a Chamber.  Discovers Mr. Shamtown Dressing. Enter Mr. Littlegad. Littl. 
How, Mr. Shamtown not yet equipt? Impossible your fancy should be palled: I never yet in my whole half years travel, met an Italian could for humour match you. What can it mean, the Product must be wonderful.  Sham. 
A trifle Sir to yours, Judge when you see it; 'tis odd indeed, but strikes upon a string, that will declare my Love and Sufferings. You're for the Camp, methinks 'tis very fine, and I believe will take Maria's humour.  Littleg. 
Do you sincerely think 'twill please the Ladies? Sir, 'tis the composition of my Travels, more than three Kingdoms claim a right to it: My Periwig I bought in Paris, my Cravat at Venice, my other Linen in Flanders, my Gloves at Rome, my Waistcoat at Naples, and my Sword is a Milanese.  Sham. 
You give a good account, Sir, of your Travels.  Littleg. 
If you'll believe me Sir, I went on purpose, that being at each place, what was their Pride, I might compare with the most nicely dressed.  Enter Boy. Boy. 
Sir, the Tailor is come with your Habit.  Sham. 
Bid him wait without.  Littleg. 
What, shan't I see you dressed; how shall I know you at the Ball?  Sham. 
O never fear, by the description I gave you'll know me. We must not go together; pray for our Success; I'll meet you there immediately.  Littleg. 
Adieu. Exit.  Sham. 
Upon my life I go with an aching heart, for should I be embarassed with a confounded accident as I was at the last Ball, concerning that damned China Jar, I do not believe I should be able to sustain it. Pox on't, I've renounced back Capers ever since. [Exit.   

SCENE Covent-Garden.  Enter Young Wealthy finely dressed. Jun. Weal. 
So, now for my Mistress and my Father, methinks I am a very pretty fellow; certainly this old fellow wont have the heart to turn me out of doors, and disgrace a Gentleman in his new clothes. But plague of his Country breeding, he'll swear I stole them, or at least come to steal money of him to pay for them, and then sans ceremony out goes the Reprobate Son, if not tossed in a Blanket; and egad if he does, I have often promised the Widow, I'll marry her, make the House my own, and turn him out in the dead of a damned thundering Rainy Night, and nothing but Lightning to guide him to another Lodging; or deliver him to the Watch for a House-breaker; and there's trick for tricks. What a Pox is it to him. Ha, what's here Fiddles? [Flourish Music.  
Gad, I believe they are married to day; that's well, the Devils in him if he be'nt civil at such a time. Well, since I must have a pluck at the Golden Fruit, I must venture waking the Old Dragon. [Knocks, enter a Boy.  
Is Sir William Wealthy within Sir?  Boy. 
Yes Sir, but there's a great deal of Company, I believe he's not to be spoke with.  Jun. Weal. 
What means the Music I heard, is his Son married?  Boy. 
No, Sir, 'tis 'a Ball.  Jun. Weal. 
Well Sir, I know them all, if you please to show me up—  Boy. 
Sir, they are all in Masquerade.  Jun. Weal. 
So much the better; canst thou lend me a Masque, here's a Crown for thee good Lad.  Boy. 
Yes Sir, please to walk in, I believe I can. [Exeunt.   

SCENE a Hall.  Discovers the Masquers, Wealthy, Shamtown, Littlegad, Maria, Sophia, Spruce, Mrs. Spruce. Mr. Spr. 
Methinks faith, this is a pretty Frolic, my Wise came in one Coach and I in another, and egad, among all this good Company, I know not which is she. Ah, there's many a Jealous fool in our Change, would be hanged before he'd trust his Wife thus, for fear of being a Cuckold, forsooth: However, I'll look out for her, sure this is she, pray Madam, What is your inclination by your Dress.  Mrs. Spr. 
This must be my Husband, by that ingenious fancy; he would be an Alderman I find; if he were Knighted 'twould be well enough, for I would be a Lady, ride in an Alderman's great Iron-workt rattling guilt Coach, and laugh at every body on foot.  Sham. 
Which of these three's Sophia? I can't guests but that in the Nun's Habit, by her Stature, must be Maria; on and prosper, my dress may plead for me. Oh my sad heart.  Eld. Weal. 
Which of the Coxcombs is this? a pretty way to tell his Passion, and I must witness to't. Pox of all their Masking to this dumb piece of Courtship, and may be to my Mistress. I shall make that heart bleed afresh, if it aim there; and he goes right, for that I'm sure is she.  Sop. 
Was ever so ridiculous a sight? this must be my Lover, and sure that Jealous Spaniard must be Tom. Good Sir, how many hearts have you left whole, if a young Country Virgin should unfortunately Love you? Or is your Mistress Cruel, you look so pale on it?  Sham. 
Ah! Fair one! Let this Emblem of grief speak what I dare but think.  Eld. Weal. 
Madam, the man's in Love, can you not guests.  Sop. 
Good, churlish Sir, who are you? And why in this Spanish Habit.  Eld. Weal. 
It suits my temper best, Madam; I hate ridiculous Fops that change their fashions, to Court their Mistress, in variety: I am still the same, constant and ever loving; but if provoked, as Jealous as Usurpers. I'd stab more hearts than Cupid has of his, and lay them bleeding at my Mistress Feet. Nor is't unjust, to think the man that Loves like me beyond a man, should, if once wronged, do things beyond his reason. This Madam, whosoever you are's my Character, and yet there lives not such a Slave as I am.  Sop. 
'Tis a good one, less Jealousy tho' were better, for I would choose a life wholly retired from all the World, but that dear man I loved, where there were left no room for Jealousy, or groundless fears to interrupt our Love, but live long and happy days, and die together.  Sham. 
Ah, Fair one! Would the Goddess I adore  
Speak but such words, my Wounds would bleed no more.  Eld. Weal. 
Good bloody Bones keep off.  Sop. 
Fie, Spaniard, do not over Act your Part.  Sham. 
This must be wealthy, I'll take a fitter time.  Littleg. 
Cruel Devotress, will you rob the World of the but one sweet Angel they have left, to add to those vast Millions are above? Let me prevail, throw off this Garb of sorrow; shine out the Glorious Princess of the Earth; in every Prince's Court I'll sing your Praise, and with my Sword immortalize your Name: The stubbornest Knight alive shall own your Beauty, Transcendent o'er the Mistress of his heart.  Mar. 
Oh Vanity! Be gone, you Court that Honour which your Sword must win, more than the Mistress you pretend to fight for; and I have bid adieu to all the World.  Widd. 
That Nun must be Maria, and she, I'll swear, belys her inclinations; that Villain wealthy knows it. That Fantastic thing must be Mr. Shamtown, but which of them is wealthy, which Mr. Littlegad, I cannot guests; that must be Spruce, but where is Old Sir William?  Enter Sir William like a Huntsman. Sir Will. 
Ye, lafoy, ho, ho, hay, Jouler, oux ther, oux hay, Ranter hay.  Mar. 
Sir William, Sir William.  All. 
Ha ha ha.  Sir Will. 
Who are you? what my little eyes, little Nose, little mouth. What a Pox a Nun, is that thy Choice then, I'll build Churches.  Sham. 
How came it your Dogs are not in Masquerade too?  Sir Will. 
What a Pox is here with all these bloody hearts? Oux, oux, there, ye lafoy ho.  Littleg. 
I wonder a man of your years should Hunt in ladies' Chambers.  Sir Will. 
Ye lafoy ho oux, there oux too.  Mar. 
He may follow the scent, but can never keep up with his Game.  Sir Will. 
What, all upon me, nay then, take off your Dogs.  Enter Young Wealthy masked. Jun. Weal. 
What the Devil's the meaning of this, are they all mad, Nuns, Aldermen, Huntsmen, Heroes, Milkmaids, Ladies? And what a Pox, the man in the Almanac? I'll mix in the Crowd, and look out for my little one.  Eld. Weal. 
Ladies, if you'll be pleased to seat yourselves, here's one will entertain you with a Song.  Sop. Mar. Widd. 
With all our Hearts.  SONG. Every now and then Sir William hollows and Interrupts them. Eld. Weal. 
Nay, Sir, Sir, you spoil the Song.  Sir Will. 
Pox o'th' Song, there's more Music in this; let us Dance.  Widd. 
Agreed, agreed; but what Dance?  Sir Will. 
Why, the Friar upon the Nun: Where's my little Nun? Who are you Sir?  Jun. Weal. 
Your Servant Sir.  Sir William 
My Servant, Sir?  Mar. 
Bless me, who is it?— I never saw him before. Let us reckon our number, how many should we be?  Widd. 
Mind.  Sir William 
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.— The Devil, the Devil; this fellow will run away with half the House. 'Ounds, Sir, who are you? If you are the Devil tell us so, that we may open the Doors and Windows, and give you free passage; it must needs be the Devil, I have heard of such a business. Ay, ay, 'tis the Devil.  Jun. Weal. 
No Sir, I am no Devil, but your Son.  Sir William 
You lie you Dog, you're worse than the Devil. Thiefs, Murder, Rogues, I am undone, Lock up my Doors, call a Constable, I am undone.  Eld Weal. 
Nay, nay, Father, for shame; before all this Company.  Widd. 
Sir William, fie, consider.  Sir Will. 
A Rogue, he's come to rob me; what the Devil does he here else?  Jun. Weal. 
With your leave you do me wrong, I am neither come to beg, borrow, nor steal, as you may see; for your five hundred pounds I'm able to pay you, and then I owe you nothing but your begetting me, and may be I repent that as much as you; and so Sir good b'y. I came to have asked your blessing had you pleased.— Now will he call me back.  Sir Will. 
Who's that, my Son Frank?  Jun. Weal. 
Yes, yes, this is your Son Frank.  Sir Will. 
Frank, why come hither you Rascal you.  Jun. Weal. 
O the blessing of a kind Father.— Your blessing Sir.  Sir William 
Ah, thou hast been a Rogue Frank, but I forgive thee.  Jun. Weal. 
Then the Debts paid.  Sir William 
What say you?  Jun. Weal. 
I thank you Sir.  Sir Weal. 
But where didst thou get this money Frank, is it all Current? Let's see Frank.  Jun. Weal. 
Brother, I am heartily glad to see you, I hear you are to be married. Pray which of all these fair Ladies will honour me with the Name of Brother?  Eld. Weal. 
This; and she does indeed.  Jun. Weal. 
Joy to you both.  Eld. Weal. 
This is her Cousin Brother.  Jun. Weal. 
All lovely kindred, faith, with your leave, sweet one.  Mar. 
Cousin.  Soph. 
Nay, I pity you.  Jun. Weal. 
Madam, I hope you'll pardon this Intrusion.  Widd. 
On any account but this.  Jun. Weal. 
Your Servant Mrs. Spruce.  Spr. 
Ah smack her Mr. wealthy.  Sir William 
Ay, ay, smack; he'll smack her; ah 'tis a Dog, a handsome Dog, and a strong Dog. But he's a Rogue, a damned Rogue, I must look to him, he'll rob me again else when his money's gone.  Jun. Weal. 
An extraordinary fancy this of yours Sir.  Sham. 
To Divert the Ladies Sir.  Jun. Weal. 
A Hero too. Mr. Littlegad you've wondrous fancy; Ladies, you were talking of a Dance, let me not hinder you.— By your leave Mr. Hero, if I beg this Lady as a Relation for my Partner.  Littleg. 
Damn him, I shall miss my opportunity.  Sir William 
Why Sirrah, Sirrah, robbing me already, ha.  Mar. 
No, no, Sir William, I danced with you in the morning.  Sir Will. 
Gad a mercy Nun's flesh, I'll creep mouse you for this; and for that I'll send my Rogue Frank packing, well I'll sit by and see you. Tom, Tom, to the Widow: Strike up there, who leads?  All. 
Mr. Spruce, sure none but Mr. Spruce.  Mr. Spr. 
Your Servant Ladies.  Dance: All the Dance Sir William sits upon the ground, and every time Maria comes by him, catches at her Petticoat. Sham. 
This must be the time.  Offers to slip a Note into Sophia's hand, she strikes it down, Sir William snatches it up and looks on it. Sop. 
What Insolence is this.  Sham. 
Death and Hell.  Sir Will. 
Treason Tom, Treason! 'Ounds, a Plot upon your Mistress; a Plague of these bleeding Hearts.  [Dance breaks off, Eldest Wealthy takes the Note. Eld. Weal. 
Do you own this? [To Shamtown.  Sham. 
What if I did Sir?  Eld. Weal. 
I'd pay the Postage. [Strikes him.  Sir Will. 
God a mercy Tom: Sir, you are a Son of a Whore; well said Tom. [All shriek and run out but the Widow.  Widd. 
For heavens' sake, Gentlemen, consider where you are; you have frighted all the Ladies.  Sham. 
Monsieur.  Eld. Weal. 
Damn you, speak English.  Jun. Weal. 
Monsieur.  Eld. Weal. 
What said he Frank, [Frank whispers him.  
Very well. Madam, I beg your pardon if I have gone beyond the Rules of Civility, impute it to the ill manners of your friends.  Sir Will. 
Yes faith, Widow, I beg your Pardon, but that fellow is a Son of a Whore, that's certain. But where's my little Nun? 'sbud, they han't run away with her too?  Widd. 
They are within Sir William, but half dead with the fright.  Sir Will. 
I'll go comfort her, but that fellow, Widow, is a Son of a Whore. Let us in, let us in, a damned Son of a Whore. [Exeunt Widow and Sir William.  Eld. Weal. 
Behind Southampton-house you say, at six exactly.  Jun. Weal. 
So their fury tells us if it hold.  Eld. Weal. 
Brother, you must not be engaged in this, but of that more anon. I'll not stay here to Night, we shall be prevented. Boy, call a Coach to the back door; make haste and fetch my Cloak and other clothes immediately. This business gives me double satisfaction. Pardon me, dear Sophia, for the mean mistrust I had of thee, and if this insolence go unrewarded, debar me of the blessing of thy Love; come Frank.  Jun. Weal. 
Gad a mercy Tom; now if this surly Country fellow should give this Beau a cursed uncouth thrust in the Guts, 'twill disgrace his Shape most damnably. [Exeunt.  Enter Sir William, speaking as he comes. Sir Will. 
Gad's me, Tom, Tom, your Mistress is in a swoon there. Tom, Tom, what a Pox is he gone? the Devil, where is he gone? Horse, Horse there, 'Ounds, Murder, where is he gone? [shriek within, all the women run in.  All. 
what's the matter Sir William, the matter?  Sir William 
Nothing at all Child; but where are they all gone?  Boy. 
Sir, they took Coach, and drove away as fast as the Horses could lay Legs to ground.  Sop. 
So! ['Swounds.  Widd. 
Look to the Lady, carry her in. [Exeunt women.  Mrs. Spr. 
Ah me; and poor Mr. Spruce too gone?  Spr. 
No, my dear, I am safe enough, but damnably frighted.  [Creeps from under the Table. Sir William 
What, under the Table? The Devil haunt you; come out here, and run along with me to the Constable, and to my Lord Chief Justices, and the King's Guards. Oh Lord, I shall have my Son Tom killed; kill my Son Frank no great matter, but my Son Tom killed would break my heart. Come along, you Cowardly, Sneaking.— Oh my Son Tom. [Exeunt.    

ACT IU.  

SCENE the Fields.  Enter Elder wealthy, and young Wealthy. E. Weal. 
BRother, your extraordinary Generosity has drawn you into a business, in which, of all Mankind you ought to have been the last I should have chosen; if I would have followed the barbarous custom of our Country, in making use of a Second, and under that abused phrase bring in a Friend, as if that were sit business to employ a real friend in: Therefore, Frank, however high your blood may work you, unless I am unequally opposed, draw not your Sword, but let me right myself.  Jun. Weal. 
Faith Tom, I shall not much uphold that custom, but as you are a Brother and a Friend, a Stranger too, in all these Noble Feats, I must exchange a Thrust or two to back you: besides, I sancy I am a Principal; for when these nice-chaped Greyhounds hunt in couples, 'tis no single Booty that they aim at: My pretty one was marked for Slaughter too. And Faith Sir, he shall win her e'er he wear her, with your good leave.  E. Weal. 
Make that appear, curse him that bars your hand: A Mistress is a glorious Cause to fight for. Pray Heavens the Villain be but brave enough to meet, and Rival me with equal fury, and not disgrace the beauty of my Cause.  Jun. Weal. 
Faith if he does he's strangely altered Sir: For I have heard of him in several Quarrels, where he would trust his Honour with a man that never yet gave him a good account of't: But such a Cause may work a Miracle. And mine I judge just such a noble person.  Eld. Weal. 
I'm sorry for't: But certainly they'll come. And Brother, since you will be your own Master, I beg you be not rash, think what you do.  Jun Weal. 
Faith Tom, and that's well thought on; so I will. Let me consider, I am going now to sight for my Mistress: That is, She must be my Mistress: Poor Soul, she knows nothing of the matter yet. And I am to Fight with a Gentleman, that for aught I know, knows nothing of the matter neither. Now I know I love her with all my heart, and perhaps against her will. And I'd fight for her with all my heart, but should she love me, that's against her will too: Then I'd marry her with all my Soul too. But pox on't, if she don't love me, that's against her will again; so the Lords will be done. I venture my Carcase upon an ill lay, there's an end on't. Brother, I have settled my Conscience; would they would come.  Eld. Weal. 
However Fate designs you Frank, your Treasure must not be exhausted upon this account; there's Fifty Guineas, put them up safely, they'll prove good Friends, howe'er the matter goes.  Jun. Weal. 
What, Smart-money, Tom! Well, if I light upon a Surgeon that has any grace, a man may get a small Clap cured into the bargain.  Eld. Weal. 
You'll find if I should fall a hundred more in this Right Fob. Don't let those Rascals plunder me: For should they lay my Money out in Periwigs and Cravat-strings 'twould grieve my Ghost worse than my Death. I have ordered Horses for us not far off. Damn 'em, the morning wastes, what mean these Loiterers; prithee look out.  Jun. Weal. 
Stand to your Arms Tom, your Enemy draws on.  Enter Mr. Shamtown and Mr. Littlegad. Eld. Weal. 
Sir, you're something late in doing yourself Justice; unless you're sensible you deserved the blow I gave you. But this is no place for Parley. Draw.  Jun. Weal. 
By your leave, but 'tis Dear Tom; a moment's Temper. Sir, since these Gentlemen know what they fight for, 'twere something fit that you and I did too; for I suppose, if you dare own it, Sir, that you were charged with a damned white-powdered Bullet-Deux, to have shot the other Lady, without any Report.  Littleg. 
I scorn to disavow a passion, Sir, for beautiful Maria: But—  Jun. Weal. 
But your Servant Sir. Draw: Draw, both Traitors: Tom, fall on. They Fight.  

Thrust lower Tom, my Gentleman Dances. They fall, the two Brothers upon them.  
St. George I'faith Tom. Your Sword, Sir.   Eld. Weal 
Your Life.  Sham. 
I own it.  Jun. Weal. 
Your Sword Sir.  Littleg. 
Take it. [Rises.  Eld. Weal. 
Then take it as my gift. whenever I see you where this Quarrel arose, I'll take the forfeiture.  Jun. Weal. 
Art thou hurt Tom.  Eld. Weal. 
No Frank, nor in danger of it.  Jun. Weal. 
There Sir, your Sword again. The Lady's mine. Your Servant Gentlemen. You know on what conditions you live. Farewell. Exeunt.  Sham. 
Come let's be dressed. Pox on the Ladies: We have done enough to talk of in the Coffee-house this month, and there's some comfort still. I'm glad 'tis over.  Enter Sir William, Mr. Spruce, Guards, Constable and Watch. Mr. Spruce. 
Ha, who's here! 'tis they: One of them bleed.  Sir William 
Bloody too: Son Tom's blood: Zounds Son Tom's blood: Draw Dog, draw; where's my Son Tom, you Son of a Whore. Fall on, fall on.  Sham. 
For Heaven's sake, Gentlemen, he's just there; just yonder unhurt: just gave us both our lives.  Sir William 
Say you so: Hold them fast tho. Runs to the side of the Stage. So ho Tomme, Son Tomme. They move further.  
My Dear Tomme. There's Frank: Was Frank hurt at all.  Littleg. 
No Sir.  Sir Will. 
No, Pox on him, he fights every day.  Re-enter both the Wealthy's. 
Ah, my dear Son Tom: [Runs and falls upon his Neck.  
Here they come, here they come: Oh my dear Son Tommy. Ah my poor Tommy.  Eld. Weal. 
Good Sir, how came you hither with all this Rabble and Guards about you.  Jun. Weal. 
'Sdeath Brother, the Old fellow has seized upon the Gentlemen.  Eld. Weal. 
Gentlemen, you may go, we are sorry for this mistake.  Sir Will. 
Ay, ay, you may go, and the Devil go with you.  Eld. Weal. 
But good Sir, how came you hither?  Sir Will. 
O Pox Tom, I could not sleep a wink— I have been at all the Slaughtering Fields I could name about the Town, at Barn-Elms, and at Putney-Common, and Chelsey-Fields, and Red-Lyon-Fields; at all the Golgatha's about the Town. And Mr. Spruce, I thank him, went along with me before it was quite Day; he's a damned Coward, but he's a very Honest Man.  Mr. Spr. 
Indeed, Mr. Wealthy, my heart ached for you. And if my young Mr. Wealthy had been killed, 'twould have broke my Molly's Heart, she has such a tenderness for him.  Sir Will. 
Faith, he speaks true, I dare swear his heart ached, for he started at every Bush he came nigh; but I am glad to see thee my dear Tom and Frank; Frank's a good Boy too.  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, I thank you for your Tenderness, but would not for a thousand Worlds you had prevented us. Frank! Sir, this is your Son, my Brother and my Friend. I beg you would entertain him in your Heart.  Sir Will. 
Who, Frank? Frank's one' I always loved till he played the Rogue and Robbed me. Frank, Frank, that was a filthy business: But no matter, I'm so o'erjoyed, I will give thee— let me see, what shall I give thee?  Jun. Weal. 
Ay, would I could see it.  Sir Will. 
I will give thee now, I will give thee. I will forgive thee now Frank; and there's a Gift for thee.  Jun. Weal. 
That all: I thank you Sir, I thought to have paid you now.  Sir Will. 
What sayst thou Boy?  Jun. Weal. 
I thank you Sir.  Sir Will. 
O Tom, my joy to see thee has been so great, I forget to tell thee sad News; your Mistress Tom.  Eld. Weal. 
What of her Sir?  Sir William 
O she's blind by this time.  Eld. Weal. 
What mean you Sir?  Sir William 
She has cried her Eyes out Man. The little naughty Girl too, that never cried but just when she was born, has been shuffling ever since.  Jun. Weal. 
Now if that were for me, agad I'd cry too. No, no, it must be for me.  Eld. Weal. 
I'll fly to comfort her, my dear Sophia.  Sir Will. 
Fly? Yes Tom you may fly; fly your Country if you please. 'Ounds, she swears she'll never see you more: You have betrayed her Honour, lost her Reputation, undone her quite, and fixed her in the Rank of loose-tailed Ladies, whose good Name must be fought for, or be lost.  Eld. Weal. 
Could she say this?  Sir Will. 
More, more man; she'll go into the Country too night, but if you were killed, she swore she'd not outlive you.  Eld. Weal. 
There's love and life in that: Curse on my Temper, what wrong could such a Dog have done to me? What Honour too to fight so poor a Creature? Did she not slight and scorn him to my face? O my Sophia, Pardon this last ill-natured Tempest here: Receive me with the Arms of Tenderness, and there becalm my Soul and thine for ever. Come, Sir Brother.  Jun. Weal. 
I wait on you.  Sir Will. 
There, there's Money for you; thank you Friends, thank you. My dear Tomme.  Servants. 
Thank you Sir. Exeunt all but Mr. Spruce and Jun. Weal.  Spruce. 
Well, I'll tell her what a kindness you have for her: And I'll assure you, Mr. Wealthy, there's no Love lost; I have heard her speak as kind things of you as of any body except me, and me you know—  Jun. Weal. 
O 'tis impossible she should love, that is love so far as to lie with any body but you.  Spruce. 
Indeed Mr. Wealthy, I must say I believe I have been no small satisfaction to her since I married her: she knows when she's well: I warrant you she would not change me for any man. I won't keep you, Sir, I'll tell her how you love her.  Jun. Weal. 
So do, Mr. Spruce: You need not fear Rivals.  Spruce. 
Adieu.  Jun. Weal. 
Now for my Prize, I think I won her fairly. Exit.  Spruce. 
Rival! ha, ha. No faith, I have not sold Perfumes, Ribbons, Gloves, White-washes, and other sorts so long, but I know how to make myself agreeable as well as any of my Customers: Nor have I followed Tunbridge and Epsom, and sometimes Islington Wells so long, but that I know how to gain more hearts, as well as secure a perfect inclination, even I believe to the loathing of any other person. Therefore, when I am persuaded, like my Friend Topknot, into that ridiculous Opinion of being a Cuckold; the Lord have mercy upon my Head, my Wits are far gone indeed. [Exit.   

SCENE II.  Enter Widow. Widd. 
We have a sad distracted House: All our Servants are run after Sir William; all the Maids are crying o'er their Mistress.— I pity poor Sophia, but that young Devil, however she seems moved with her Cousin's grief, mourns her feared loss of my perfidious Wretch. They must be gone to fight, would he were killed.— I had rather see him dead than see him hers. She knows I love him, I'm sure she must; and by that Letter tried me unprovided; knows that I met him there, but I'll watch her, and try her to the quick: Betty.  Betty. 
Madam.  Widd. 
I charge you when Sir William returns, call me immediately; let me first see him on your life; take heed be not from the way. I know the Old fool loves her, he told me so himself, and asked my judgement, as being a Grave Person fit to advise. I'll tell him how she dotes upon his Son, and if he's suffered here he must not hope. And to convince him more, however the business goes, he shall report him dead, to try her, and if she stands that test, she does outwit me. At least, Sir William's Jealousy I know will soon forbid the Rebrobate his House. And 'tis some pleasure to remove the Scene, and not be Nosed by a Girl in my own House.  Betty. 
O Madam, Madam, Sir William.  Widd. 
What ails my Woman's Heart, sure I can't pity him. Well, what News?  Betty. 
Sir William and his two Sons are below: I am sure by Sir William's talk, they have been fighting, but neither of them seem hurt.  Widd. 
Away, I'll meet with him. [Exit.   

SCENE III.  Discovers Mrs. Sophia and Mrs. Maria in Tears, their Maids waiting on them; one comes in. Soph. 
No Answer yet? No News?  Maid. 
None Madam.  Soph. 
Is not Sir William come neither,' sure 'tis almost Noon. They must have fought, and the dear rash Man's killed. O Grief, O Insupportable Misfortune. Is't not enough my Reputation's stained, my Honour questioned, my Fame, that stood as fair as Day disputed, but must my Love die in so ill a Cause? Was't not enough I swore to quit him ever, punish his Faults with everlasting absence, but must he die, die, upon my Account? die in my Quarrel?  Maria. 
Patience, dear Cousin, Patience, we shall hear better News than Death; I hope they're both together wheresoever they are; Brothers, and Valiant both, ne'er doubt their safety, those fellows dare not look them in the Face.  Soph. 
Is't not still worse, engage a Family at once? Nay, I've wronged thee Maria, for though his Brother has been counted loose, he looks a Noble Gentleman; and now perhaps I have robbed thee of thy choice.  Maria. 
Indeed, I should be loath to hear his Death, though he is a perfect Stranger yet to me; but would I had never seen him, I know not what I feel; fear of the Widow, fear of losing him, has made me love too soon, before I know whether he has the least good thought of me.  Maid. 
Madam, I hear some body:  Soph. 
Run to the Door immediately; see who 'tis.  Maid. 
Sir William Madam, and the Widow.  Mar. 
She weeps; oh speak, Sir William speak, where's your Sons?  Sir William 
Sons? Son Tom's very well, but there has been the Devil to do; I have been forty mile about to find them, though Tom, he'll be with you presently.  Mar. 
But where's that other Son, Sir William? My heart aches.  Sir William 
Who, Frank?  Soph. 
Yes, Sir.  Sir Will. 
Who Pop he was always Disobedient; there never comes better of Disobedience.  Mar. 
He's Dead, and I could tear her Eyes out for crying; I'll weep it all myself.  Soph. 
What mean you Sir, he is not killed?  Widd. 
So Sir William told me; Mark, Mark, Sir William, a fresh Flood.  Soph. 
Then as I hope ever to die in Peace, I'll never see or Wed to Mr. Wealthy.  Sir Will. 
So, so, Widow, there's fine work— How shall we get off this business?  Widd. 
Have Patience, time enough.  Sir Will. 
Not see him Child, he's just at the Door almost, how could he help it, he loves thee Child, and is sorry he has angered you. [Exit Soph.  Sir Will. 
Whether is she going? Zounds, here will be more mischief. But how now little Eyes, what makes you cry? Look up.  Mar. 
Look up and Curse such a remorseless Father. [Exit.  Widd. 
Now Sir be judge, is't fit that he stay here? if he goes, you yet might hope to win upon her.  Sir William 
No, no, stay, Pox on him, I'll send him packing: But here comes Tom. [Enter Tom.  Eld. Weal. 
What News Sir? How does my angry Love? Have you informed her all? Will she forgive?  Sir Will. 
Yes: I told her thou wert well. But on her Knees, she vowed she'd never see you; have but a little patience she'll forget it.  Eld. Weal. 
Which way went she?  Sir William 
She's locked herself into that Room within; but where's your Brother?  Eld. Weal. 
I left him in the Garden; he's a coming.  Widd. 
'Sdeath, he'll meet Maria; I'll go watch them.  Sir Will. 
Run, run, he follows you. [Exit. Manet, Eld. Weal. and Sir Will.  Sir Will. 
Take Heart Tom, take Heart, I warrant we bring matters about again, have but patience. Pox on this young Dog, he's met her and spoiled all the Plot. To her Tom, to her; beg her Pardon, and all will be well. [Exit.  Eld. Weal. 
Yes, on my knees. Nay, and she must forgive me.  
For tho' the humblest way my Love will choose,  
And all the Arts to tempt good Nature use,  
Should she at last my Penitence refuse.  
I know my stubborn Temper will return,  
And then too late she will her anger Mourn;  
When I have seized the Rascal Author of my Pain,  
Killed, Stabbed, Destroyed, and ruined all again.   

SCENE discovers Maria on a Bank, in Tears.  Enter young Wealthy. Jun. Well. 
A Pretty Garden this; ha, whose that, the purchase of my Sword? My Love in Tears? Mistrust of my Sickness! I'll Court her in Heroics. So, when the God of War sets out for Fights and Ranges through the Fields in Blood and Dust, the sweet-eyed Venus takes a lonely flight, and in some soft Retirement of Heaven, bemoans the vast Fatigues the Hero bears. So, so, this will do in Tears. My Goddess.  Mar. 
Bless me!  Jun. Weal. 
'Sdeath, I han't washed my face to Day, and she takes me for Vulcan. Mars, by the Gods, come flushed with Honour from the Bloody Field, ready to lay them all beneath your seet.  Mar. 
Alive!  Jun. Well. 
Yes, live to tell you how I fought; to tell you how I'd die for my Delight, so that you'd let me taste this lovely Fruit, and make live again. [Kiss.  Mar. 
By Heaven no Ghost; true solid Flesh and Blood.  Jun. Weal. 
Such as it is Madam; 'tis blood that flutters now about my Heart, and Dances to the Music of your Eyes. Oh, Fair one, since I saw you Fate has been abroad, and angry Rivals threatened in the Fields, yet nought could take that Object from my mind.  

I kept your lovely form still in my view,  
And as I fought, I looked, and fought for you.   Mar. 
'Twas frankly fought; and Sir, I give welcome from your Wars, but grieve I cannot recompense your Valour.  

A Heart's a trifle to so great a Hero,  
And that is all we Virgins can bestow.   Jun. Weal. 
That and a little more is all I ask, and Virgins have them both.  Mar. 
But sure you would not rob me of my All, my most Uncourteous Knight?  Jun. Weal. 
No, I'd be thy All, thy All in All; thy All in every part. And you shall have all me with all my heart. And know now I've begun, I'll fight Mankind to keep thee to myself.  Mar. 
Whether I give encouragement or no?  Jun. Weal. 
I'll win you as a Hero should his Mistress, kill Monsters, Dragons, do Herculean Labours; I hate a sniuling, tedious, seven years' Courtship, losing our Youth and time: Put me to Action, let me convince you early of my Love, that I may neither lose my time nor you.  Mar. 
For a small Trial; answer me quick; tell me. Know I the Lady which you went to meet in the Exchange. Do you boggle? Good b'y Sir.  Jun. Weal. 
'Tis a Rascally Trick; but in short, it was my Lady Sly, and there's quirk for your quirk. Now, Madam, will you stand me a question?  Mar. 
With all my heart.  Jun. Weal. 
What made your Ladyship in Tears just now?  Mar. 
I'll give you leave to guests it was for you.  Jun. Weal. 
And give me leave thus then to pay my thanks, since I have owned this early kindness for you; you must expect I'll be convinced of yours.  

Therefore prepare, and as I find  
You constant, I'll be kind.   Enter Sir William. Sir William 
Rogue, Dog, Traitor; I'll fight with him myself.  Jun. Weal. 
I shall be turned out of Doors, and lose my opportunities with my dear one; gad, I've a Trick left for that still.  Sir Will. 
Draw Rival draw, I—  Jun. Weal. 
Good Dad put up, O See Defendendo's a Damned business.  Sir William 
Why look you now! The Rogue would murder me; I'll swear the Peace against him.  Mar. 
Are you mad Sir William? Nay then fight it out.  Jun. Weal. 
Sir William, hear me.  Sir William 
Hear you? No you Dog, but I'll hang you.  Jun. Weal. 
Then Sir I resign myself to you, will you yet hear me?  Enter Elder Wealthy. Eld. Weal. 
What's the matter, Madam?  Mar. 
Only Sir William is bewitched. I'll watch him if he turns him out of Doors, I have a Game to play, for I must plague him; and if I find he loves me, let him take me. [Aside.  Eld. Weal. 
Good Sir, what is't that disorders you?  Sir Will. 
What's that to you Sir; and now I think on't, you advised me to it; you were the Matchmaker.  Jan. Weal. 
Sir you mistake, why wont you hear me?  Eld. Weal. 
'Sdeath, you undo my Brother; he has no thoughts of Maria.  Sir Will. 
What made him with her then?  Eld. Weal. 
Mere accident; he's promised to the Widow, Sir, to my knowledge, tho' she will not own it.  Sir Will. 
How! she's Rich; she's a Miserable Woman then: The Dog will undo her. Come hither Sirrah, do you make love to the Widow here?  Jun. Weal. 
Sir, here are Letters under her Hand, that would have convinced you as much, would you have been patient; yet should she ever know I owned it Sir, 'twould break the Match, and ruin my Designs.  Sir Will. 
This may be true, the widow's Jealous of him with Maria; so much the better, 'twill make her earnester in my Affair. Well Sir, if she be fool enough, go on, I'll keep your Counsel. [Exit Sir William.  Jun. Weal. 
Faith Tom, thou cam'st in a lucky hour, we were just a going to take a fair Tilt, the old Gentleman's Jealousy was up; how fairs your Mistress? When is your happy day?  Eld. Weal. 
She utterly at first denied me seeing her, and so Resents the Rashness of my Quarrel, such an Affront done to her Reputation, by Heaven, I feared she'd never pardon it. But so far I have prospered, only pardoned.  Jun. Weal. 
That's all the effect of love; a day or two will soften her again, write to her first; Maria will attend and plead thy cause.  Eld. Weal. 
How goes the Cause with her?  Jun. Weal. 
It thrives; she gives me a free Stage, and if I can convince her of my Love, which must be done, she gives me reasonable hopes of hers, but swears she'll try me first.  Eld. Weal. 
Success to you in all: My task is hard, but I'll about it.  Jun. Weal. 
Never fear Tom; she's born to be thy Wife: And as sure  

As after Marriage they must all be Ruled,  
So Tom, before it they may all be Fooled. Exeunt severally.     

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  Discovers Young Wealthy in Prison. Jun. Weal. 
A Comfortable Being this! Snapped last Night like a Dog by a parcel of Rascally Bailiffs, and Mewed up here for 500 l. Lost my Mistress, lost my Liberty, lost my Widow too, I fear, for I can get no answer of my Letter. The Devil! This must be malice: I owe 500 l. but to no one, and how the Devil they should all agree to confound me, I can't tell. Enter Eld. Wealthy.  
Tom, this is kind indeed, to visit a Brother in affliction.  Eld. Weal. 
Dear Frank, I come to beg thou'lt let me know which is the best and readiest way to serve you? What's the Action?  Jun. Weal. 
Five hundred Pound. I owe the Town indeed 500 l. and I believe the whole Town is the Plaintiff: Therefore the readiest way, dear Tom, will be to search the Offices, that I may know at whose suit I am here; my Father knows of it, I guess he's strangely troubled.  Eld. Weal. 
Strangely indeed, for he would let thee starve; but I'll away and search the Offices.— Be not dejected Frank, for shortly I shall have command of Money, and if no way but paying of the Debt will give you freedom, I'll lay down the Money, and thou shalt laugh at the Old Man's ill Nature.  Jun. Weal. 
Does Maria know it?  Eld. Weal. 
Yes, and pities you extremely, rails at my Father for his Cruelty, and speaks most tenderly of your Misfortune.  Jun. Weal. 
There's some comfort still; if I can get out no other way, tell her I'll break through the Stone Walls to thank her.  Eld. Weal. 
Never fear, I'll bring you News immediately. [Exit.  Jun. Weal. 
I wonder how this Old Rogue my Father, could get two such honest fellows for his Sons; this is a Brother. But would my Widow would come, she's Rich, and I'm engaged to her already, an't 'twould be even a pain to be obliged so much by one who is to me a stranger, though my Brother. How like a Counter-Rat I look.— I'll lay me down to sleep, and dream of Liberty.  Enter Widow. A Letter. 
My dear Widow! This is kind indeed.  Widd. 
Good Sir, why did you send for me?  Jun. Weal. 
For the same Reason which I hope you came. Why all this Coldness? What have you learned this lesson of my Father, and come to preach, or practise it upon me? My Constancy and Love's but ill repaid, if this must be the time you choose for parting.  Widd. 
Constancy! Thou Devil!  Jun. Weal. 
In Hell, Madam, you might have said, but no Devil.  Widd. 
Yes Devil, to wrong the woman, that ne'er yet wronged you, but sacrificed my Fortunes and my Honour to make you easy, and maintain your Pride.  Jun. Weal. 
Did I e'er yet disown it, Madam?  Widd. 
Most basely in your Actions, though your Words (that natural deceit in all your Sex) flattered me still to keep me still your Fool; but I'm convinced; and now 'tis all the pleasure I have left, that I came here in scorn, to let you know I've seen your baseness punished. So farewell. Offers to go.  Jun. Weal. 
Madam, though I can meet your scorn with scorn, and Perish as indifferently as you wish it, you shall in Justice let me know what grounds for this; or is it a Pretence? Own it true Woman, own it, find out a Lustier Fellow for your use, you've nicked your time; laugh at your Quondam Servant, and be Damned.  Widd. 
This won't do, your Pride won't carry't off, or make me think of you in any terms, but as the most ungrateful of Mankind.  Jun. Weal. 
For what? 'Sdeath, how? Be plain.  Widd. 
You cannot guests: O Impudence!  Jun. Weal. 
You Scold well, indeed Madam; but I remember a bit of a Song very proper; I'll Sing it if you please, Madam.  Widd. 
Sing! The Devil choke him.  He Sings. 

Love and true Merit do seldom prevail.  
For always you hold a wet Eel by the Tail.   Widd. 
Good Mr. True Merit; thou Monster, look upon this Letter, you don't know it, though the hand be Counterfeit; a shallow Cheat.  Jun. Weal. 
Then Witness for me all you Powers Divine,  
If this be any Word, or Hand of mine.  Widd. 
O Impudence!  Jun. Weal. 
Perdition seize me if I ever saw it.  Widd. 
Monstrous!  Jun. Weal. 
If I did Madam, may I never be blessed with the Light of the Sun.  Widd. 
Cursed Lye.  Jun. Weal. 
But be shut up in Eternal Darkness in this Dungeon.  Widd. 
Unparellelled Villainy!  Jun. Weal. 
May I be Rooted here a Spectacle to your Ladyship.  Widd. 
Wouldst thou go to the Devil directly?  Jun. Weal. 
Nor be ever more in your good Grace.  Widd. 
Be Hanged.  Jun. Weal. 
If I know one word of the matter; therefore, good Madam, tell me how you came by this.  Widd. 
You did not write this to Mrs. Maria?  Jun. Weal. 
Why, did she give it you?  Widd. 
What's that to you: By Heaven! I ne'er thought of this: Upon my Soul it was a Trick; but by his haste to know I find his Thoughts, yet he is better than I thought of him, and I must use him better.  Jun. Weal. 
'Twas my pretty little Rogues Letter; dull Dog, she's Jealous of me. Ah, would I were out.  Widd. 
Shall I believe you did not write this Letter?  Jun. Weal. 
Shall I curse any more?  Widd. 
No.  Jun. Weal. 
How came you by it?  Widd. 
'Twas sent me as a Copy stole from you of one you, writ.  Jun. Weal. 
A likely Story; and you soon believed it, to shake me off, just now starving in Goal; I thank you Madam.  Widd. 
No, my dear wealthy, never, would you love me.  Jun. Weal. 
Could I have spoke such barbarous things to you?  Widd. 
No, but you'd do worse should you ever leave me.  Jun. Weal. 
Leave you, Child! I can neither leave you, nor be with you while I am here.  Widd. 
What is your Debt?  Jun. Weal. 
Only five hundred Pound.  Widd. 
A good round Sum! By times he'll certainly have all I have; I'll break a right Widows Rule for once, and Marry him, he has osten proffered at it. Mr. Wealthy, the Summ's no Trifle to the best Estate; you have oft proposed, take me and all I have, I'll give you Liberty to Night.  Jun. Weal. 
I must lie to get out; agreed— but in the mean time, my dear, 'tis no Novelty to you and I, we'll Seal this business in the other Room.  Widd. 
Fie, Mr. Wealthy, not till I'm all your own.  Jun. Weal. 
She's been all my own these two years. Nay, Childish, why so unwilling?  Widd. 
Lord! What do you mean? Fie, in a Prison?  Jun. Weal. 
In a Palace Child, with good Company; the place indeed is homely, but the Entertainment shall be the heartier. Nay, come.  Widd. 
Lord, I'll swear there is no dealing with you. [Exeunt.  Enter Maria in Boys clothes, and the Gaoler. Mar. 
How bears the Gentleman his Confinement Jailer?  Goal. 
Very well.  Mar. 
You know by the Bailiffs on what account he is here, they told you, I suppose; there's Money for you, when I release him ask him for no Fees, he must go with me. There's no Company with him, is there?  Goal. 
Yes, a Lady.  Mar. 
What, in the inner Room? Run, run, run in immediately, tell him a Gentleman would speak with him: No, stay, here he comes— how like a Rogue he looks.  Re-enter young Wealthy and the Widow. Jun. Weal. 
Madam, your Servant, you'll not forget; adieu. [Exit. Widow.  
I have seen this Youth somewhere; Sir, would you speak with me?  Mar. 
Yes Sir, I come from the Gentleman my Brother, you fought with t'other day, upon a Lady's account.  Jun. Weal. 
Well, Sir.  Mar. 
I am to tell you 'tis in his Power, and only his, to take this Action off, and give you Enlargement.  Jun. Weal. 
In his?  Mar. 
Wonder not Sir; you are Rivals, and he took this way, this surer than his Sword, to Ruin you. He had a Catalogue of all your Debts, and from each Creditor, whom he has paid, full force to lay his Action, which he'll take off upon no other Terms than a perfect Resignation of your Mistress.  Jun. Weal. 
Child, you may go, I'll bring my Answers back myself, and tell him next time I have his Sword, I'll spoil his neat Proposals. Go, Lad, go.  Mar. 
But Sir, she loves him.  Jun. Weal. 
Therefore I'll cut his Throat.  Mar. 
She'll hate and curse you for't.  Jun. Weal. 
Not when he's dead Child, she may like me then.  Mar. 
But how will you get out Sir?  Jun. Weal. 
What's that to thee Impertinence; prithee go tell thy Brother, I'd Perish if I were within his Power, rather than yield him up a thought of her.  Mar. 
But why are you so stubborn, when to my Face I see you were engaged to cross his just desires?  Jun. Weal. 
Why, how now Child, though that pretty face does plead for thee, be gone, or I shall use the scurvily.  Mar. 
You'll not Resign her then?  Jun. Weal. 
I'll rip his heart, thine and my own too, up first: therefore be gone.  Mar. 
Then Sir, to show he does as much deserve her as yourself, I have Orders here to give you Liberty; if you dare meet him behind Southampton-House, within this half hour alone, where he declares no Quarter must be given, but one of you must die upon the Spot.  [Takes his Sword from the Gaoler, gives him his Sword. Jun. Weal. 
Sir, this obligation's great, and I'll return it to your Brother's heart.  Mar. 
Guard your own Sir— If you please— [Points to the door.  Jun. Weal. 
Sans Ceremony, faith Sir; from a Prison. [Exeunt.  Enter Mr. Shamtown, with a black Scarf at one Door, and Mr. Littlegad at the other. Sham. 
Mr. Littlegad, my Friend and Champion, how do you?  Littleg. 
Wholly Devoted still to Mr. Shamtown, and if there be no dangerous Death's Wound lies beneath that Noble Escutheon of your Honour, I wish you Joy of such a Manly mark; and by my faith, I could have wished the like to have signalised myself. You are for the Coffee-house no doubt, I'm sorry I am engaged: The first surprises, the many questions, how, when, and with whom, where; at Southampton-house.  Sham. 
With this short Sword.  Littleg. 
And how bravely t'other fought you too; be sure mark that, that adds to you, you know; than you disarmed him.  Sham. 
Accident in fight, where the brave draw their Swords, the Combat's doubtful.  Littleg. 
If they ask who were Seconds?  Sham. 
Fester my Wound Sir, if I do you wrong; will you go with me?  Littleg. 
Damn it, how Love and Honour wrack my mind: Why for a Woman should I rob myself of all I fought for? Pox of Visiting, and yet I must. Said each, there's no danger now to second you, and yet there's real Honour to be got. But early in the morning I'll be there; farewell Sir.  

I envy you the Honour you must meet,  
But go to lay mine at my Coelia's feet. [Exeunt severally.    

SCENE the Fields.  Enter young Wealthy. Jun. Weal. 
Not come yet? this is the place; surely this Villain does design to Murder me, or else fought booty with me the last time. No Seconds to so furious a Challenge; I shall have my Throat Cut here in the Woods, and be Buried, like the Children in the Ballad, by the Robin Redbreasts.  Enter Maria in Man's clothes. Mar. 
Sir, your Servant, you're as good as your word.  Jun. Weal. 
That's more than your Brother dare; why is he not here? And why are you, Sir?  Mar. 
Sir, the hurt he received in his Arm, has unexpectedly disabled him, but he has sent his Sword by me.  Jun. Weal. 
Give it me Child; indeed I should have took it had he come.  Mar. 
What mean you Sir? I came to do him Justice, maintain his Merit, is to be preferred to yours.  Jun. Weal. 
'Sdeath, does he take my Mistress for a Prize for Boys to Box for?  Mar. 
Boy's Sir? Draw.  Jun. Weal. 
Ha, ha.  Mar. 
Flout not Sir, we'll try who is the strongest.  Enter two like Russians. Jun. Weal. 
Ay, this is something, you young White-livered Dog.  Mar. 
Will you resign your Mistress, or die upon the Spot?  Jun. Weal. 
Not till I've ripped thy little Guts up. Fight me but one by one.  The 1st. 
No, thank you Sir, we can Murder you a better way.  Mar. 
Speak, or we strike.  Jun. Weal. 
Hold.  Mar. 
Stand this, and take me quick.  Jun. Weal. 
Smooth-face stand off, though thou'rt the veriest Rascal I e'er saw, methinks I'd save thy Life to tell my Story. Thou'st such a lying, wheedling face, thou canst not fail to work upon a Woman, when at this time methinks I could forgive thee.  Mar. 
I speak for you.  Jun. Weal. 
Yes, tell her how I fought, or if I perish, tell her how I fell; tell her how much beyond my life I loved her, without the least security of hers. The Name, the Pride, the Honour of my Love, thou shalt in softening Eloquence relate; and though thou art a very Villain, look as thou dost speak as thou wouldst for him, and win her to my Bed, or to my Grave.  Mar. 
I must try him further yet, though my heart aches with love and tenderness. Am I so much obliged to Nature, Sir? Look then, despair and die: 'Twas my own Jealousy that drew me here, the other was a mere Pretention. I love Maria too above my life, and therefore dare not, at an equal hazard, expose my life. I followed her to Town, abandoning my Family and Friends: Mad with my Love, and Resolute to win her. Tho' for your Generosity, which thus far in a Rival I can pity, since you believe I could prevail for you, with looking, speaking, flattering, any thing. You cannot doubt the Conqnest, for myself, yet still Renounce her and I'll spare thy life.  Jun. Weal. 
I'll not return that Compliment to you, there is no safety if I let you live; therefore prepare, and if thou hast one grain of Honour left, venture me one fair thrust among the Crowd, and I'll forgive thee yet.  Mar. 
Hold, for I'll Rival you in Honour too. Be gone, there's your Reward. You'll bate the Murder. I'll thrust my single Arm in such a Cause, and die or else deserve her. [The two Ruffians go off.  Jun. Weal. 
die or deserve her; 'Sdeath, thou'lt win her from me. Prithee contrive some way we may be friends, I would not nip such Honour in the bud; thou art too young to think of Marrying— Gad thou shalt be her Page: I'll give thee leave to own thy Passion, Ogle thy Heart out, tell her pretty Tales, she'll listen to the Music of thy Voice, and give thee sigh for sigh. Put up thy Sword, 'Sdeath thou holds it like a Girl.  Mar. 
Ha! ha!  Jun. Weal. 
By Heaven! and look'st like one— Where were my Eyes?  Mar. 
Pox on your Eyes Sir: Dam, will you fight?  Jun. Weal. 
Yes, Dam, thus, thus, and thus.  Mar. 
Now where's that cruel Creature upon Earth, that could deny so Generous a Lover?  Jun. Weal. 
If there be such, she lives among the Bears, and never came in Christian Company. She never said her Prayers, sighed, shed a Tear, or played with Boys, or babies, in her Life.  Mar. 
Then I am won.  Jun. Weal. 
By Heaven, and fairly too.  Mar. 
What will you do with me now?  Jun. Weal. 
E'en Marry thee, my Dear.  Mar. 
And beat me?  Jun. Weal. 
No, live and die with thee, by Jove. Put up thy Sword, and trust thy Eyes alone.  

To those bright Planets, I my Trophies yield;  
By them thou'rt always Mistress of the Field.   Enter Mr. Spruce and his Wife. Mrs. Spr. 
Nay, but you shall my dear, or I'll swear I won't let you go.  Mr. Spr. 
Indeed Molly but I wont; I must go Child, there's no body at the Shop this Morning.  Mrs. Spr. 
Nay, but consider he's your Friend, a fine young Gentleman, and one you love:  Mr. Spr. 
Very well; Madam, and what am I?  Mrs. Spr. 
Oh, thou art the sweetest Creature Living, but you don't love me.  Mr. Spr. 
Yes, Molly, but I do, and myself too; and therefore, tho' I love Mr. wealthy as well as you do, I'll be bound for no body.  Mrs. Spr. 
Then I'm sure you don't love him half so well as I do, for I'd be bound Body for Body for him. Poor Gentleman, so I would; but you don't love him because I do.  Mr. Spr. 
Not if you love him better than me, Molly.  Mrs. Spr. 
Yes, yes, very likely, as if I did not know when I was well; but you know how handsome you are, and that makes you as Proud as the Devil. This is like all the rest, your running to Epsom and Tunbridge; so it is.  Mr. Spr. 
Poor Rogue, now I have vexed her. Why, my dear, I always take you with me.  Mrs. Spr. 
Yes, yes, to show me I don't deserve you, to see a hundred Women Dancing after you, and pulling you as if they'd eat you from me.  Spruce. 
Poor Fool, nay, I must confess they do reaze me: But how can I help all this, Molly.  Mrs. Spruce. 
You might stay at home, like an honest man: Would I had married the ugliest fellow in England, than I might have had him to myself; or at least I might have rhelished another after him; but to be Married as I am; I shall be poisoned one of these days, and then you'll be rid of me.  Spruce. 
Nay, prithee Molly.  Mrs. Spruce. 
Don't I see it; han't we a hundred Ladies for one Gentleman, that comes to our Shop?  Spruce. 
Gad, and that's true, and I never minded it.  Mrs. Spruce. 
Lord Mistress you're the happiest Woman, says one; you must certainly have delicate Children, says another; pray how long have you been Married, says a third.  Spruce. 
womens' talk Child: prithee Molly, I love thee, let 'em say what they will.  Mrs. Spruce. 
Yes, I know 'tis womens' talk: Lord, says another, that can never be his own Hair: Bless me, he has delicate Teeth; how strangely that French's Beard becomes some sort of Faces: Nay more, I'll swear, I've heard them say they believed you were Painted, you had such a delicate Complexion.  Spruce. 
Nay, prithee Molly, you make me smile; for the Devil take me, if I han't been told the same a thousand times.  Mrs. Spr. 
Have you so? Very well, who should I love better than you then? And but that you have a mind to be cross, I have heard you say a thousand times, you would do any thing to serve Mr. Wealthy, and yet refuse me to bail him out of Prison only for five hundred pounds.  Spruce. 
I tell thee Moll, I forswore it when I was Apprentice, or I vow thou wouldst tempt me to Ruin myself; his Father and Brother will take care of him.  Mrs. Spruce. 
But they must not know it; and I'm sure if they do, we shall so oblige that Family, we shall get thrice as much by it.  Spruce. 
Gad Molly do not tempt me; I love you so, I shall play the Fool, I'll run away from you.  Mrs. Spr. 
I'll swear I'll follow you to the Change.  Spruce. 
Wife keep the House, remember your Lord commands you; I must be gone. [Exit.  Mrs. Spr. 
And I'll be with you, for my dear wealthy must be freed to Night; 'tis a great blessing to know a Husband's blind side; what a good humour he's run away with for my praising his Beauty. Bless me! how unreasonably we are accused for Cuckolding our Husbands, when certainly, either by Vanity, Folly, Pride, or ill Nature, they draw it upon themselves, and yet they have the impudence to believe we must love all these faults, honour all these faults, and obey all these faults, that obeys the Devil, and yet without this, we are the Vipers that defile your Beds, Plant Hieroglyphic Figures on their Heads, when alas,  

No Woman does her Lawful Prince dethrone,  
But you're so Proud you will so Rule alone;  
We must be Slaves, or Cuckold every one.  
If therefore you will not this Crime repent,  
And we must still obey your Government,  
Exalted be your Horns, by my Consent. Exit.    

SOPHIA alone.  Enter Elder Wealthy; she is going off. Eld. Weal. 
Nay, Madam, stay and hear me first; why so unjust? Will you not let me plead in such a Cause, where Love and Life, my Heaven to come, and here, which all's at stake?  Soph. 
What would you Plead for, Sir? Have I not pardoned you at the first word? Even in the midst of Tears, believing your offence the effect of Love? And yet you will not grant me one Request.  Eld. Weal. 
Not grant it: What Madam?  Soph 
Me to myself; you grudge me sure my Grief, or else have very little of your own, that can at this time covet Company.  Eld. Weal. 
Why, Madam, am I your aversion grown?  
So altered in a day! What have I done?  
That Tears and Prayers, Pity and Love in you, (which once I did expect) cannot wipe off▪  Soph. 
Bless me! that you can ask what you have done: Are you as Merciless as your Father, Sir? Pray give me way, you'd make me hate you, to see you Master of no more Compassion; pray give me way.  Eld. Weal. 
Not till you're torn from me. Dear Madam, do but hear me speak.  Soph. 
No, you've already made me break my Oath, which was so strict, never to have seen you more; I must be gone.  Enter young Wealthy and Maria. Jun. Weal. 
Dear Tom; what, flying of him, Madam?  Soph. 
Alive! Blessed be my Eyes, blessed be the day, and be for ever blessed thou best of Men.  Eld. Weal. 
What means this Ecstasy?  Soph. 
Thy Father told me he was killed.; killed in thy Quarrel, upon my account. Or think you I could e'er have parted with you, but Tears of Joy flow on so fast upon me, I cannot speak the fullness of my Soul.  Eld. Weal. 
By Heaven, nor I, but thus.  Mar. 
My dear Cousin, let me but recover the fright you put me in. Dear Cousin and Sir, I beg your Pardons, for indeed I might have prevented this mistake, but that my head ran too much upon this Gentleman; for in short, the Report of it at first, was a Plot of the Old Fool your Father, Sir, and that Exquisite Hypocrite my Lady Sly: For as I went down into the Garden, as he has the Impudence since to believe, to lament his loss, I met this living thing there, who has since, upon some small trials of his Faith, owned his Intrigue with the Widow, confessed himself a Rogue, and I have forgiven him.  Jun. Weal. 
Surely, your Ladyship would sum up an Evidence well: But Madam, should I begin the Story, which shortly you will hear, how like a Rogue she has used me, how like a Gaol-Bird she has treated me, and all, as she terms it, for a small trial of my Faith. You would wonder how I could ever forgive her, yet, like a good natured fool, I have done it, and she has the Grace to thank me for't.  Eld. Weal. 
And must we wish you Joy, Frank? You play sure.  Jun. Weal. 
Faith, Tom, I'm in a Whimsical Dilemma, for I have oft forswore the Marriage-knot, and yet it is some way we must be joined, for we have made an Oath we'll never part.  Mar. 
'Tis a sad Truth; but yet Mr. Wealthy, who knows, a good Example may prevail upon the Churl.  Jun Weal. 
Say you so? Then Tom, I Challenge you; first, to join with us in a Plot we have laid, for the two Fools, my Father and the Widow; next, you must meet no Denials. Now, Madam, with your fair Lady in your hand to morrow, at the dread hour which we call Canonical. Whereas you came into the World before me, so quit it, Sir; die to your Lady first, and though my heart aches even to think upon it, since this young Niggard will be paid her price before she parts with any of her Goods, let the black fellow thunder in my Ears.  

For thee such wounding Words I will endure,  
No Surgeon (Child) on Earth can ever cure.   Eld. Weal. 
I take your silence for consent, my dear; and Frank I'll meet you; as to your Plot, we leave it wholly to you, act as you please, and we'll obey your Orders; here comes the Widow, Frank.  Jun. Weal. 
Be gone every one.  Mar. 
What, must I trust you with her?  Jun. Weal. 
Go, go, you Fool, I must make love a little to help the Plot; mind yours too with my Father.  Mar. 
I'll to Sir William for my part, and be with you in a minute.  Exit all but young Wealthy. Enter to him the Widow. Widd. 
My dear wealthy at Liberty, and here; what can this mean?  Jun. Weal. 
Two Miracles, my dear.  Widd. 
As how, my Love?  Jun. Weal. 
My Delivery and my Constancy; I'll swear I was delivered by Miracle; and for my Constancy, you may judge of that, who railed against me so lately without Reason. But Widow, thy Generosity has so prevailed upon me, and so much I esteem you my Deliverer:  

I come my newborn Freedom to resign,  
And make you Matrimonially mine.   Widd. 
No, Mr. Wealthy, though I own your kindnesses, on second thoughts I dare not be so rash.  Jun. Weal. 
Why, how now Widow, what repent your bargain?  Widd. 
Only for fear you should.  Jun. Weal. 
Ridiculous!  Widd. 
Ah Wealthy, thou'rt too much a Libertine to use a Woman well thou hast enjoyed; Maria, that untainted fruit, may please. A Marriage-Bed requires a Maidenhead.  Jun. Weal. 
Why Widow, dost thou think I'll be a Cuckold, at least, to any Man but to myself? Marry a Girl! No, faith Madam, I leave her to Sir William, and but that thou art an Infidel, I could tell thee such a Story of my Constancy, such a Trial of my Faith, such a Miraculous Preservation of thy Honour, that would I were choked if I thought I had been half so honest; you saw that young Gentleman that came to speak with me just as we parted.  Widd. 
Yes, what then?  Jun. Weal. 
Only he dogged you thither.  Widd. 
Me, by whose Orders?  Jun. Weal. 
He said he was the Brother of my Rival; and that unless I would resign Maria, I should lie there and rot, but if I would, he had orders to release me.  Jun. Weal. 
On this I begged he'd show me to the door, Maria might be his Wife with all my heart; the Lady that he saw was my first choice, and for her sake, no threatening of his Brother, I did accept my freedom at his hands.  Widd. 
I own 'twas more than I can e'er deserve. But why dog me, did he take me for her?  Jun. Weal. 
No Child, but I took her for him.  Widd. 
Her sore him! Bless me, Sir, what mean you?  Jun. Weal. 
Maria, by the Gods, that Devil herself, was sole contriver of that hellish Plot; in that disguise discovered our intrigues, owned some small kindness formerly for me, bid me repent my folly, and my loss, swore that to morrow morning she'd be Married, and ruin me for ever with my Father; then with a Curse she wished me Joy with you, and bid me hug my Monumental Widow.  Widd. 
A Curse for her again. But my Dear Wealthy:  Jun. Weal. 
My dear Widow.  Widd. 
How can I requite you?  Jun. Weal. 
We'll be married to Night.  Widd. 
Impossible!  Jun. Weal. 
Then with my Brother Tom, in your private little Chapel, at the end of the Hall, by six in the Morning; by Heaven I'll stay no longer. Here comes my Father and she with him, i'm sure this Match must please him, and I'll scorn her: Besides, I have already laid a Scene of mirth, which you must join in; Shamtown and Littlegad shall pay the Fiddlers; the Old Fool hates them, and will join in it. Be gone, I'll meet you presently i'th' Garden, and then inform you all.  Widd. 
Adieu, my dear. [Exit Widow.  Enter Sir William and Maria: Jun. Weal. 
She smiles and winks, it thrives; Gads so, the Old fellow Dances as he goes: Yes, yes, you shall be married.  Sir Will. 
Who's that? Why, Sirrah, who are you? Why, how now Frank, and my Boy Frank: And a Franky, Franky, Franky, Frank; Sirrah, down on your knees.  Jun. Weal. 
Sir.  Sir Will. 
Down on your knees, Sirrah.  Jun. Weal. 
Yes, Sir.  Sir William 
And a Franky, Franky, etc.  Jun. Weal. 
What the Devil ails the Old Fellow?  Sir William 
Sirrah, you are to be Married, I hear.  Jun. Weal. 
Yes, Sir.  Sir Will. 
To whom, Sir.  Jun. Weal. 
To the discreet Lady of the House.  Sir Weal. 
To the discreet Lady of the House; i'm glad on't you Dog.  Jun. Weal. 
Yes Sir, and beg your blessing in't.  Sir Will. 
Yes, Sirrah, I have blessed you Sirrah; rise up and say i've set you upon your Legs, Sirrah. I have, given you three hundred a year, Sirrah. Franky, you Dog, and a Franky, Franky, etc.  Jun. Weal. 
Sir, I thank you, and am doubly obliged that you are so over joyed at my good Fortune.  Sir Will. 
No, Sirrah, not altogether so neither, I have Joy of my own too, and Joy for other people, as time shall try, as old as I am: Sirrah, there's your Mother-in-law.  Jun. Weal. 
Possible!  Sir Will. 
Ay, you Dog, it e'nt impossible, is it?  Jun. Weal. 
No, Sir.  Sir Will. 
No, Sir? What then, Sir?  Jun. Weal. 
Nay, Sir, I wish you Joy, I was just going to ask the Lady Blessing.  Sir Will. 
No, Sir, you shan't ask her Blessing, she shall have enough of her own to ask her Blessing, Sirrah; I will get upon her Body such a parcel of Gray-headed Cupid's, it shall be the World's Wonder.  Mar. 
Nay, faith, Sir William, we'll do our best, for since Mr. Wealthy is engaged to the Widow, and his Brother to my Cousin, I swear I will not be out of the Family; and let me alone to make you young again.  Sir Will. 
Why, Sirrah, why don't you rejoice to see your Old Dad so happy.  Jun. Weal. 
Sir, I do so much rejoice, that if the Lady will be ruled by me, we'll make this the Merriest pair Royal of Weddings, as e'er were heard of.  Mar. 
As how, dear Mr. wealthy; if there be any mischief in it, I am for you.  Jun. Weal. 
I must own, Madam, I have an implacable malice to the two Fools, that occasioned the mistake between Tom and his Mistress. I have prevailed with my Sister that shall be, who has writ a Note inviting them hither in a disguise; Mr. Shamtown, who expects to carry off the Prize, to morrow morning, no less than to be Married here, even in this House: And Madam, if you'd join, and write to Mr. Littlegad as I told you.—  Sir William 
We'll toss 'em in a Blanket, Fops, Fools.  Mar. 
Agreed, I write this minute. Exit.  Sir William 
Go, go, you Rogue: I shall so tickle you: Sirrah, am not I a lucky old Toad: But you don't rejoice, Pox on you don't rejoice at your Father's fortune. Pish you an't overjoyed, for my own part Frank, it comes upon me so of a sudden, I have such a perturbation of Spirit, and such a consternation of joy, on my conscience, I can hardly tell where I am.  Jun. Weal. 
Upon my life, if the surprise be so great, you had best let blood.  Sir William 
No, thank you Sirrah, an old fellow to be Married to a a young Woman and let blood, would I had as much as when I got your Brother Tom, than I would so rumble her, and so tumble her, and so jumble her, and so fumble her Frank; and a Frank, etc. But Sirrah, I'll to my Daughter-in-law, and manage her to the last penny for you: She's a perilous Slut, and Franky, Frank, etc. Exit.  Jun. Weal. 
Not so very close, but now our Plot is sure, I'm satisfied our Letters took the effect;  

The Fools bit at it rarely as I hear,  
And early shall be welcome to the snare. Exit.   Enter Sir William and Maria with Lights, Young Wealthy meets 'em. Sir William 
Are they come, are the Fools come?  Jun. Weal. 
'Sdeath out with the Lights, they're just got into the little Chapel, their Ladies wait 'em impatiently; be sure Sir, you do not speak till you see 'em fast bound, and then—  Sir Will. 
Ay, and then my little Eyes. The Lights are carried off.  Mar. 
Hist.  Jun. Weal. 
Your hand, your hand, I hear the Widow; that's just where I appointed her. They steal off. Then enter the Widow.  Widd. 
So, I see the Unfortunate Lovers are come, my dear.  Enter Shamtown like a Chairman, and another. Sir Will. 
Hist, they are at it: This is the Hall: This happy darkness doubles my Disguise. Friend, did you see any of the Family to day?  Chairman. 
No, Sir, but I saw a Chair go in about half an hour ago.  Shamt. 
Punctual Creature; for fear I should not bring one. In the Passage, from the surther corner of the Hall, we shall find that Chair, and in it the Treasure of my Soul, which we must carry off; such are my kind directions; and then I think I have conquered you Mr. Wealthy. Follow me close, and now the coast is clear, be sure you mind the charge. This is the only secret I ever kept from Littlegad: ah would he were as happy. Exit.  Sir Will. 
Ha, ha, ha; wish you joy, Gentlemen, wish you joy; you are met with I'faith; Lights there Lights: Now for me, my Dear, Pox of their hugger mugger work: we'll be married in state.  Widd. 
The Devil, is this Sir William! that was just where Wealthy appointed me. You mistake Sir William.  Sir Will. 
Widow, where's my little Devil? What ho?  Maria. 
Coming, coming Sir William (Within.  Sir Will. 
Gad they have it, Fops, Fools, Cuckolds, Rogues, didst thou see 'em? Enter Maria.  Mar. 
See 'em! I think I provided well for my Maids.  Sir Will. 
Come, come, I'll Maid you: Where's Frank? why Sirrah.  Enter Young Wealthy. Jun. Weal. 
Here Sir.  Sir Will. 
Sirrah, to your Wife, you ill-natured Dog, this was your contrivance. Where's Tom?  Jun. Weal. 
Just coming Sir, our turn's next: Where's this Parson; if he be not out of breath, he may do our work too.  Sir Will. 
Pox on him, and his sneaking bit of Wax Candle; I could hardly discern a Man from a Post; and the two Sluts stood with their backs to us.  Widd. 
I swear Mr. Wealthy, you're an unmerciful man; I am sorry to see you have so much ill nature; what have you done with the poor Gentleman?  Jun. Weal. 
When they have served our mirth a little further, we'll dispatch 'em with their Ladies. Pox where's this Parson, we'll fetch him by the Ears. Exit Sir William and Young Wealthy.  Mar. 
I suppose, Madam, I need not wish your Ladyship Joy, since you have made choice of a young man so able to give it as Mr. Wealthy; for my part, I confess you may wonder at this Match, but upon my word, Madam, I am altogether satisfied with these poor Remains of Sir William, since he will put me in a way to return your many obligations upon your dear Mr. Wealthy.  Widd. 
I understand her, but since Wealthy is mine, can laugh at her. aside.)  
Your Ladyship is highly obliging, and though indeed, Madam, I may seem to have the better of you in this business, yet I cannot tell how wild Mr: Wealthy may prove; and at least, you may live at quiet with Sir William, an old Gentleman that is tamed to your hands.  Mar. 
Now could I fall out with her in earnest, for her impudence, though I am sure of my Man aside.)  
If I may be so bold, pray Madam, how long was handsome Mr. Wealthy an admirer of you, before he gained the mighty Conquest over you?  Widd. 
If Madam, without blushing I might tell you, I think too long. However, since to Night he must be mine, I'll reap that lost years Harvest in this Night; sure of my bliss, I'll seize my Vigorous Swain, free from the Curse of disappointing Age: Blind with my Love, give loose to my desires, and in continued Trances cheat the Night.  Mar. 
Oh, Impudence: By Heaven, she's lying with him to my face, I can hold no longer. aside.)  
And is your Gravity come to this? Sure, Madam, you will not ravish Mr. Wealthy.  Widd. 
Sure, Madam, but I may, before Sir William can your Ladyship.  Mar. 
Poor cheated Fool.  Widd. 
Poor angry Girl.  Mar. 
Yes, Madam, value yourself upon your Age, Wealthy admires it, Madam; an Old Lady, and a Cast Widow, must be Honourable.  Widd. 
Ha, ha, ha, have you lost your longing, Madam?  Mar 
Nay then, take the Reverse of all thy promised Joys, which in malicious eagerness you dressed. On Wealthy's breast you'll find but poor support; upon thy buried Honour lean thy head; Bath in the tears shed for that satal loss; Curse my dear Wealthy's Eyes; cry out thy own. Blind with thy miseries, renounce the Day, and in eternal howlings waste the Night. By Heaven, thou art betrayed, Wealthy's my Husband; Married just now, before thy cheated Eyes. Poor fool, thou art a witness to the Match, and hall Contriver of thy own Destruction.  Enter young Wealthy. Jun. Weal. 
So, so, the Rival Queens have been at it, i'faith.  Widd. 
Speak wealthy, ere my heart breaks with my wrongs: Have you betrayed me? Are you such a Villain?  Jun. Weal. 
Faith, Widow, not to keep you in suspense, on second thoughts I could not be so rash; therefore to save your Reputation still, own you were in th' design, and laugh with us. Here comes the old Man and the Parson; now the Plot thick'ns, or the Devils in't.  Enter Sir William and the Parson. Sir Will. 
Come my Girl, answer before this man of God. Wilt thou be my Lawful Wife?  Mar. 
As Lawsul as that Gentleman can make me.  Sir Will. 
God a mercy: Come, Sir, to work, to work.  Pars. 
Indeed, and that's not very Lawful, Madam.  Sir Will. 
What a Pox ails the Fellow? Why, what Sir, 'tis not against the Law, for an Old Man to marry a young Woman, is it?  Pars. 
No, Sir, but sure 'tis to Marry your Daughter.  Sir Will. 
He's mad: My Daughter, Sir.  Pars. 
Yes, if that Gentleman's your Son.  Jun. Weal. 
Good faith, Sir, even so.  Sir Will. 
I'll hang you, I'll drown you, I'll murder you, I'll poison you, I'll blow you up, I'll bury you alive; I'll Cuckold you, you Dog.  Jun. Weal. 
I'll hold you a Guinea on't.  Sir Will. 
Ah, you Devil.  Mar. 
I should have Cuckolded you, Sir William; 'tis better as 'tis, I shall love now my none dear Daddy.  Widd. 
Come, come, be patient, Sir William, you're happy in your Son's match, though I am cursed; and though I burst must bear it.  Sir William 
My Son, he's a Son of a Whore, I'll prove it, and I'll fight him.  Jun. Weal. 
Hark you Sir, if I am not your Son, it follows naturally you're not my Father: And gad, Sir, if you abuse my Mother, I shall—  Sir William 
Murder me: Very well, I'll have you hanged.  Mar. 
Think better, Sir William: How could you think that I, with that disparity of years, could ever love you? I do love your Son, and in your Son love you.  Sir William 
Come, you're a baggage. [Shakes his Head at her.  Mar. 
I'm your Daughter, Sir William; I'll be tender of you.  Jun. Weal. 
I'm your Son, and Dutiful: I'll renounce the follies of the Town; i've tasted them, and weigh them all at this. We will forsake this hole of Sin and Sea-coal, and make you merry in a better Air. Come Spouse. Your blessing, Sir.  Sir William 
Pox take him, he talks as if he had some Grace; he made a long Speech too without swearing, but I can't say Amen to it.  Widd. 
Indeed Sir William, I think you're Happy, if you knew when.  Sir Will. 
Zounds, but I've lost a Wife.  Mar. 
No, no, Sir William, if we had been married, you'd have made no more on't.  Widd. 
There's your Obligation of five hundred pound to me, and truly, I think, Wisely saved.  Sir Will. 
Five hundred pound on second thoughts is a round sum: Hum! you're a Rogue; but rise, rise, and take my blessing, since I can't help it. But pox on't, where's Tom? Has no body stole his Wife? And where are these fellows, that I may see if any thing can make me laugh?  Jun. Weal. 
O Sir, I warrant you.  Sir William 
What a Pox, it was not you and your Brother Tom I saw Married, was it?  Jun. Weal. 
Even so, faith Sir; but here comes our Fortune-Hunters:  Enter Mr. Shamtown as a Chairman, bringing in Mr. Littlegad in womens' Habit. Sir Will. 
hay day, what's here? Who's in this Chair? Another damned Plot.  Jun. Weal. 
Set down the Chair, friends; who would you speak with, ha?  Sham. 
We were called Sir, to carry this Lady; she lives in this house.  Jun. Weal. 
Ha! Should not I know that Face: Mr. Shamtown. Indeed, I always mistrusted your Shapes, but never yet really knew you were a Chairman. This, I suppose, is a Plot for my Brother's Lady; pray Heaven it be not her, Sir.  Sir Will. 
So, so, more Plots here; Tom shall deal with you.  Sham. 
Gentlemen, I beg you would not Murder me; and Madam, I hope you'll stand to your Note, and own me, and my love.  Littleg. 
Ay, me, i'm undone, and shall be laughed to Death.  Enter Elder Wealthy and Sophia. Sham. 
'Sdeath, who is this? Betrayed, oh Hell and the Devil; where shall I run?  Jun. Weal. 
hay day; what, here and there too? Tom, you're obliged to this Gentleman, he only came to steal your Lady.  Eld. Weal. 
I shan't be backward in my thanks.  Sham. 
I shall be kicked to Death.  Jun. Weal. 
But, who are you? Come, unmask Lady; nay, by Heaven you must, pretty Mrs. Littlegad.  Omnes. 
Mr. Littlegad.  Sir William 
Two Fools well met, i'faith.  Littleg. 
Upon my Faith, I meant it purely for your diversion; pray Pardon me. I would give a hundred Pound for a Whirlwind to remove me.  Eld. Weal. 
Sir, this is a base return for giving you your life; but here, call up my Footmen.  Sham. 
Gentlemen, do not mistake, I am a Gentleman, and since I am betrayed into your House defenceless, which was cruel of the Ladies, I beg I may be safe, when next I am in my Primitive Equipments.  Jun. Weal. 
What, Sir, without a Shirt?  Sham. 
No, Sir, I'll give your Brother satisfaction.  Jun. Weal. 
Shut up the Doors: Poor Fool, he Pardon's any thing he scorns, and you shall share the Graces. And Gentlemen, if you loved these Ladies, you cannot but stay Dinner, and after Dance at their Weddings, I am sure, Mr. Spruce.  Enter Mr. Spruce and Mrs. Spruce. 
Name but a Dance, and up starts Mr. Spruce.  Mr. Spr. 
Mr. wealthy, I am glad you are enlarged; and faith; Sir, I came only to have served you.  Jun. Weal. 
I must thank your Lady for that, I presume.  Mr. Spr. 
Gad, she loves you dearly.  Mrs. Spr. 
I can't deny't, indeed, Mr. wealthy, though before my Husband's face.  Jun. Weal. 
I thank you, Madam.  Sir Will. 
Frank, I begin to love you already. Sirrah, you are a lucky Dog, make much of her and I forgive you: and God bless you all four.  Soph. 
Fairly spoken, Sir William.  Jun. Weal. 
We'll deserve it; but come, I have provided an Entertainment. A Dance.  

Come Gentlemen, you are the only dejected here, but bear up:  
And don't too much the Accident Regret,  
For two, by two, we're all but Fools well met.      

Epilogue.  

WHat would our Author give, you'd go away  
Half so well pleased as you came here to day.  
That he meant well is all he has to plead;  
Faith then be kind, and let his Play succeed,  
And take for once the good Will for the Deed.  
He don't presume to justify his Play,  
Vouch it for good, or if you liked you may.  
A humbler way for your good word he takes;  
You're welcome, would 'twere better for your sakes,  
Therefore to damn him were very hard;  
Two Fools well met's the Play, and in a word,  
Forgive him, for he owns himself the third.    

SONG.  

HOw shall I my Rivals meet?  
They are too Mighty, Rich and Great:  
How can I my Celia win,  
A Shepherd I, and she Divine?  
Or how can such a World of Charms  
Be Circled in these humble Arms?  
Ah Celia, If the Man that Loves thee most  
Cannot deserve thee by it, I am lost.  
I am lost, I am lost, Ah Celia, etc.   

Propose me Wonders for my Task,  
To be thy Slave is all I ask, is all I ask, etc.  
The Rich may afterwards Ropine,  
They would have thee; I would be thine:  
Nor scorn me that I am not great,  
Since then canst with a Smile create.  
Let not, Oh let not then the Man be lost,  
For what a Smile can give, who loves thee most.  
Let not, Oh let not then the Man be lost; etc.    

SONG.  

MY Amarillis scorns the Man  
That does her Eyes adore;  
Though I immortalised her Name,  
And Sainted her with Power:  
But now the Goddess to that height is grown,  
Sh'as quite forgot 'twas I that made her One.  
Sh'as quite forgot, etc.    

Books Newly Printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in St. Paul's Churchyard.  
A Congratulatory Poem on His Highness the Prince of Orange's coming into England. By Tho. Shadwell.  
A Congratulatory Poem to the Most Illustrious Queen Mary, upon Her Arrival into England. By Tho. Shadwell.  
The Squire of Alsatia. A Comedy Acted by their Majesty's Servants. Written by Tho. Shadwell.  
The True Widow. A Comedy Acted by their Majesty's Servants. Written by Tho. Shadwell.  
Bury-Fair. A Comedy, Acted by Their Majesty's Servants. Written by Tho. Shadwell.  
The Forced Marriage, or, The Jealous Bridegroom; As it is Acted by His Majesty's Servants. Written by A. Behn.  
The Female Prelate: Being a History of the Life, and Death of Pope Joan, A Tragedy; As it is Acted at the Theatre Royal.  
The Wanton Friar, or, The Irish Amour: A Novel in Twelves.  
The History of the Inquisition, as it is Exercised at Goa; Written in French by the Ingenious Monsieur Dellon, who laboured five years under those Severities, with an Account of his Deliverance; Translated into English. Quarto. Price 1 s.  
Some Observations concerning the Regulating of Elections for Parliament, found among the Earl of Shaftsbury's Papers after his Death, and now recommended to the Consideration of this Present Parliament. In Quarto, price 3 d.  
Quadriennium Jacobi, or the History of the Reign of King James II. from his first coming to the Crown to his Desertion.  
FINIS: