THE Mistaken Beauty, OR THE LIAR A COMEDY. ACTED By their MAJESTY'S Servants At The ROYAL THEATRE  
LONDON Printed for Simon Neale, at the three Pigeons in Bedford-street in Covent-Garden, over against the New Exchange MDCLXXXV.   

PROLOGUE.  

WE had rather have you Auditors to day,  
Than only bare spectators of our Play,  
And exercise your Wits as well as Eyes,  
The properest entertainment of the wise.  
Mean time our Prologue to our Play to fit,  
We'll say, it's dull, insipid, void of wit;  
Lame, and deficient much, in every part,  
Writ without judgement, plotted without art;  
In fine, stark naught: but stay I lie, and they,  
Must do so to, who discommend the Play.    

The ACTORS Names  

Geronte Father to Dorant.  
Dorant his Son and Lucretia's Gallant.  
Argante, Geronte's Friend.  
Alcippe, Friend to Dorant, and Lucretia's Lover.  
Philist, Dorant's and Alcippe's Friend.  
Clyton, Dorant's Man.  
Lycus, Alcippe's Valet.   

The WOMEN.  
Clarissa, Alcippe's Mistress.  
Lucretia, her Friend.  
Isabel, Clarissa's Woman.  
Sabina, Lucretia's Chambermaid.   The Scene Paris.  
THE LIAR  


Actus Primus. Scena Prima.  Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
IN fine, I'm turned Gallant, and according to my desire my Father is content I should throw off the gown and leave the Law with al● its Quirks and Quillits: and now we're in the Thuilleries here, th● Land o'th' better World and Gallantry; tell me Clyton, how dost thou like this Metamorphosis, have I not quite put off the Scholar? who come from the Kingdom of the Codes like me have seldom the Mien and Air of Gallantry.  Cly. 
That General Rule Sir was not made for you,  nothing of the Scholar in you, nor was Bartolus ever painted a this fashion; you look as you would make a Thousand jealous, and I foresee a grand misfortune hanging over the heads of many a married Man; and how d'ye like Paris?  Dor. 
The Air is pleasant and agreeable; and now methinks that Law was too severe, under pretence of study, banished me so long from hence. But tell me thou who hast had the happiness to have lived here all this while, and knowest all their Divertisments, How should one gain the Lady's favours?  Cly. 
I marry Sir! I like you, That, as the Poet sings, is the Gentle Care of every Noble breast. But leaving Poets and Poetry, your stomach's up betimes I see, and your humour can't away with idleness, you long to be doing, you came to Town but yester night and to day y''re seeking a Mistress; but I'm in a good posture and fine Reputation with ye am I not? that you should ask instructions of me, as if I were superintendent of the Lady's quarters, and professed Master of the Faculty.  Dor. 
Mistake not Clyton I mean honesty and would only be acquainted with some of them to talk and be merry for my divertisement, and pleasantly pass away an hour or two sometimes.  Cly. 
I understand, and know y''re not ways given to Debosherie,  
And would scorn those Who'd follow you,  
At sound or tinkling of a Crown or two;  
nor do you much care; for those sage Cocquetts confine their secret favours all to Talk, and all your pleasure to the eyes, the pastime's not worth the Candle— 'tis not to pass, but cast on's Time away for Gallants to converse with such as they— no, no— you're of another Complexion I know; and would be glad with all your heart to meet with some of those Good virtuous Ladies; whose virtues, upon a good occasion, are not Incompatible with a little Vice, and you shall find of all sorts here— mean Time what need you ask instructions of me! If I be'nt deceived in Physognomy, you are no Novice, nor did the Law regulate your time so wholly to be always found with a Law-Book in your hand.  Dor. 
To confess the Truth Clyton I lived at Poitiers as other young Students do and had my share of all their pleasure too, but Paris and Poitiers are quite different, and as their Climate, so their manner of living is quite different too, I have known some there counted great Wits for admiring things, which here they would be laughed at for, and counted men o'th' other World for their admiring them. I'th' Country on's glad of any thing and Fools pass muster for want of wiser men: but here, where their eyes are not dazzled with those false lights, 'tis requisite they have other qualities; and 'midst the number of so many eminent men on's ill looked on, if he don't resemble them.  Cly. 
You don't know Paris' yet I see, that's a great Mart or Fair, where you shall find installed all sorts of Ware, and there is such deceit in them, as one may be as easily cozened here, as in any part of France: 'tis a great World where 'midst the confusion of all sorts who come from all parts hither, amongst your choice, as you have every where so  at Paris here, your Refuse Ware, which, being hard to be distinguished, most commonly every on's esteemed according to the rate he sets on himself, and so no doubt but they will esteem you too. But touching your Demand are you Liberal?  Dor. 
I'm not ways avaricious.  Cly. 
I ask because 'tis a great secret in Love, to know how to bestow on's gifts with discretion, otherwise you shall lose rather than gain; by it and oblige none by your liberality: the manner of giving's more than the Gift itself, here one in Gaming cunningly▪ disguises his presents under the name of loss, another there forgets a Jewel behind him, he knows would ne'er have been accepted had it been presented; a liberal Fool gives presents to his Mistress as he were giving Alms; and so in doing every thing out of time he disobliges instead of obliging them.  Dor. 
Leaving those Fools thou declaim'st against, who are these Ladies canst tell?  Cly. 
Alas Sir Ideal in no such costly ware, they're too high game for such as I to fly at; but I shall easily learn of their Coachmen.  Dor. 
Dost think he'll tell thee?  Cly. 
I, all he knows. And more than you desire to know to, if he be a right Coachman.   

Scena 2.  Clarissa, Lucretia, Isabel, Dorant. Cla. 
Ah, She stumbles and Dorant lends her his hand  Dor. 
Lady this mischance of yours has been a happy chance for me in affording me the occasion of rendering you this little service.  Cla. 
Sir the happiness this occasion has afforded you is so small,  just reason to count it none at all.  Dor. 
True Lady, I own it wholly unto chance, nor has your desires nor my deserts any part in it, which make me esteem myself not much more happier than I was before, since all the Favour  granted me (in fine) had been denied to any desert of mine.  Cla. 
I'm of opinion one should esteem a benefit the more, the less th've deserved it, since a gift is more than a recompense, & consequently our obligation▪  
Favour that's merited is in a manner bought,,  
Whilst that we ne'er deserved does cost us nought:  
And the greatest happiness merit can pretend unto,  
Is just like Hirelings to be paid for what they do,  
besides this way we obtain with ease, what we cannot without much labour and difficulty, the other.  Dor. 
Think me not Lady so presumptuous to imagine by any merit or desert of mine to deserve your least of Favours; I better know to set the right value and esteem on them than so, and the less I deserve them count my happiness the more I know too, how without injury you might have denied them me; if then my heart repine 'tis only for being so unhappy in my happiness you should oblige me without design— it is the intention, sets value on the Act and a kind of undervaluing things  
To do them without it, the favour than is but small,  
To give me y'r hand, ' less you give me your Heart withal;  
and judge how little nourishment that fire receives,  
That Amorous fire enkindled in my breast,  
By giving me your hand and denying me the rest.  Cla. 
That fire you speak off sirs so new to me as now I only see the fire-sparks of it; and though your heart perhaps may burn so soon, yet know Sir mine requires a longer Time: but now I see your flame, mine perhaps may burn hereafter too by sympathy; mean time you can't in justice blame me not to know what I was wholly ignorant off till now.   

Scena 3.  Clyton, Dorant, Clariana, Lucretia, Isabel, Dor. 
That's the eflect of the misfortune every where persecutes me, that I should be here e'er since I left the Germane Wars almost a year, Night and Day seeking the occasion to make my Love known t'ye now in promenades, and now in Balls, and giving ye serenades, and never find that happiness till now.  Cla. 
And have you been in the Germane Wars then?  Dor. 
I have Lady, nor was lightning more impetuous, nor Thunder there more formidable than I  Cly, 
What's all this?  Dor, 
In all which time no Battle e'er was fought, nor Siege e'er laid to any place, but all the Glory of the Victory was principally attributed to me, witness the Gazzette—  Cly. 
Why Mr. what mean you? are you mad?  Dor. 
Hold your peace, or—  Cly. 
You came but yesterday from Poitiers, the Devil take me else.  Dor. 
Go to, I say— Yes Lady, for that short time I followed the Wars I well may glory without vanity, none ere acquired a greater name than I  Cla. 
And how came you to relinquish so Noble, so Gallant an exercise?  Dor. 
That's the effect only of your fair Eyes, when returning the last Winter from the Campania to make my Court at Paris here, seeing you Lady, you soon made me (in fine) your Prisoner, who had mad many mine, since when abanddoning all those noble cares, I formerly employed in the Wars, Commanding Armies, Conquering Enemies,  
With Thousand famous exploits, the Wars now done  
I employed them all in serving you alone.  Isa. 
Madam yonder's Alcippe, he'll be jealous.  Cla. 
Well Sir, another time we shall have leisure to hear more, now I must take my leave,  Dor. 
And will you so soon deprive me of all my happiness?  Cla. 
Excuse me Sir, notwithstanding the pleasure I take to hear myself flattered; I must needs be gone and make a turn or two in the Walks alone.  Dor. 
Grant me permission at least before you go to be your servant and always to love you.  Cla. 
Who are resolved to Love and know  
What belongs to loving too,  
need ask leave of no body else for that beside themselves.   

Scena 4.  Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
Do you follow 'em Clyton?  Cly. 
That needs not Sir; for the Coachman has told me all, the handsomer of the two is his Mistress, she's called Lucretia, she lodges in the place.  Dor. 
What place?  Cly. 
The place Royal.  Dor. 
Oh!  Cly, 
The other whose name he does not know is lodged there too; I shall easily find her out.  Dor. 
No matter, suffices I know the fair Lucretia, the handsomer of the two, she whom I had the happiness to entertain.  Cly. 
By Your favour Sir I rather think the other's she.  Dor. 
What she who stood mute all the while and never spoke a word?  Cly. 
Oh Sir, that's so rare a quality and perfection in a Woman to hold her peace, such a miracle in nature▪ such a prodgy in Earth, and such a particular grace in Heaven, especially in this Age we live in, as for me who was never married, nor ever am like to be, I should prefer one with that quality only, though as ugly and deformed as an old Baboon, to all the perfections of Womenkind; wherefore Master seek another name for your Mistress if you please; for infallibility t'others Lucretia, and the handsomer of the two, or I'm an arrant Dunce and blockhead.  Dor. 
That I easily believe for all thy boutades and flashes; but see Alcippe my old acquaintance here, by their looks and Actions they seem to wonder at somewhat.   

Scena 5.  Alcippe, Philist, Dorant, Clyton. Phil. 
How! Music and Collation upon the Water?  Alc. 
Collation and Music.  Phi. 
Yester night▪  Alc. 
Yester night!  Phi. 
And how?  Al. 
Magnificent enough.  Phi. 
And who should give it?  Al. 
Nay that I do not know.  Dor. 
Dear Friend! how happy am I in this encounter?  Al. 
And my happiness is no less to encounter you.  Dor. 
But I've been unmannerly to interupt your Discourse: pardon my joy in seeing you.  Al. 
You have all power over your Friends Sir.  Dor. 
And of what were you discoursing I pray? may I not partake of it?  Al. 
Only of a certain Gallantry.  Dor. 
Some Love matter I warrant!  Al. 
I presume so.  Dor. 
What was't? the name of Love and Gallantry has awaked my longing and curiosity to know it.  Al. 
Why we were talking of a Collation and Music given to a Lady on the Water.  Dor. 
Good— oft times the Water makes the Fire burn more.  Al. 
Sometimes it does.  Dor. 
And when was this?  Al. 
Yester night.  Dor. 
Proper— fires always shine brightest in the Night; they knew well how to choose their time it seems: and was the Lady handsome?  Al. 
Many think her so▪  Dor. 
And the Music!  Al. 
None of the worst.  Dor. 
And Collation!  Al. 
Excellent well ordered▪  Dor. 
And don't you know all this while who gave it? Ha', ha', ha'.  Al. 
Why d'ye laugh?  Dor. 
To see you so admire a sorry divertisement of mine.  Al, 
Of yours? Why did you give it?  Dor. 
Even I myself.  Al. 
And have you got a Mistress already then?  Dor. 
I had but small address else having been a month or more in Town, though for certain reasons I seldom stirred abroad by Day, and only made my visits Incognito by night, not to have got a Mistress all this time.  Cly. 
Why Master d'ye know what you say?  Dor. 
Hold your peace, and if ever I catch you interupting me again—  Cly. 
It makes me mad to hold my peace and hear him lie a this manner.  Phi. 
What luck have You. To have your Rival himself, discover himself unto you.  Dor. 
As to my dear Friends, now I'll tell you all, of five Barges expressly I had prepared, I disposed four Consorts of Music, in four of them; Violins in the first, Lutes and Voices in the second, Flutes in the third, and Hoboy's in the last;  
Who playing by turns so Ravished our Ears,  
It seemed the very Harmony of the Spheres:  
The first, and most capacious of all,  
Served us for our Banqueting House, or Hall.  
Contrived so with interlaced Boughs,  
For freshness sake it seemed a Summer House:  
At each corner were Festons of Jessamine,  
With other verdurs, Orange-flowers and Granadine:  
Thither I led the Lady I adore;  
Attended on, by some five Beauties more,  
and presently in all pompous manner the Collation was served in— it were long to tell you the several Services, Number of the Dishes, and order of every Mess: suffices it, In this delicious Room, there were six services, twelve Dishes at every one:  
While the Air, the Water, and adjoining shore,  
Echoed the Music which the Barges bore;  
Risen from Table suddenly did appear  
Fireworks o'th' Bankside darted in the Air,  
And Thousand Thousands flying now upright,  
And now across did make a day of Night▪  
In which Deluge of flames you would admire▪  
To see th' Element of water turned to fire;  
This past, and done we danced the rest o'th' Night,  
Passing the time with infinite delight  
Till Day, when I waited on the Lady's home,  
And so we finished our Collation.  Al. 
I must needs say Sir, you have an admirable faculty in recounting wonders; And Paris as great as 'tis has seldom seen a Banquet like 〈◊〉 this.  Dor. 
Alas, I was surprised, and had only an hour or two's warning to prepare it, else that had been far more splendous and magnificent.  Phi. 
The order was rare and exquisite, and the expense must needs have been Excessive and Immense.  Dor. 
A slight Toy not worth the speaking off.  Al. 
Well, far ye well sir, we shall meet another time at more liesure.  Dor. 
I am your Servan● sir, and I beseech you count me so.  Al. 
I even die with jealousy Philist.  Phi. 
Faith and  small reason; for the particulars of this Collation agree but ill with the particulars of the Page.  Al. 
The hour and place agree at least, the rest is nothing.   

Scena 6.  Dorant, Clyton. Cly. 
Now Sir, may I freely speak to you, without offence?  Dor. 
Thou mayest, and thou mayest choose too whether thou wilt or no: but look, before company you be less saucy hereafter.  Cly. 
Is it your Custom to Reve thus when you talk?  Dor. 
How Reve?  Cly. 
Nay Sir I speak with respect unto you; in any other but yourself I should call it plain lying.  Dor. 
Fool thou hast no wit.  Cly. 
Faith Sir, for that little I have you'd make me lose it to hear you talk a this manner, of Wars and Banquets, and consorts of Music, and I know not what: I like you, you fight without any danger yet, and make Feasts without any Cost; but why I wonder should you fain you'd been in Town so long?  Dor. 
Why but the more to endear my affection?  Cly. 
And what had the Wars to do with that?  Dor. 
Simple! 'twou'd have been a fine Compliment would it not? to say Ladies I am lately come from the University, and if  any need of the Laws, or of the Rubriques, I know the whole Codex, and Authenticks too; the Old and New digest, the infortiat Baldus Jason, Accursius and Aleiat; this brave discourse now would render one very considerable in Lady's company and mollify the Hearts of the most inexorable, would it not? and a Paragraph-man would make a fine Gallant for Ladies! no the Title of the Valiant is that introduces us into their favour, straight, and makes them admire us too; they love Soldiers, and love to hear them talk of Angles, Lines, Fortifications, strange names of Men, Cities and Nations; which the less they understand more it amazes 'em: All the Art is in setting a good Face upon't, Lying handsomely and Swearing with a good Grace.  Cly. 
But when they know all this is but a Lie?  Dor. 
When once I've gained access by't, what care I; and for any other misfortune, if any importunately come to trouble me, 'tis but saying we speak by Intelligence, this 'tis to make Love a la Mode now.  Cly. 
These are Mysteries too high for me, I understand them not; but touching your Feast, you'd prove an excellent maker of Romances (without doubt) and never Vrganda nor Melusin with all their enchantments could furnish a Kitchen half so soon, nor half so well as you have done: I perceive these lofty Fictions are natural unto you.  Dor. 
I profess I take delight when your great Talkers and Tellers of Wonders think to amaze me with Stories they Tell, to make them presently more wonder at Stories I Tell 'em again thou canst not imagine the pleasure I take  
To turn their own Wonders home  
Unto themselves and strike these Talkers dumb.  Cly. 
I doubt not but that ye take great pleasure in't; but won't this engage you in quarrels sometime or other?  Dor. 
If't do I must disengage myself as well as I can again, but this idle discourse, has retarded me from seeking the Lady:  
Come Clyton follow me and I'll teach thee more  
Art how to live, than e'er thou knewest before.   
Finis Actus Primi   


Actus 2. Scena 1.  Geronte, Clarina, Isabel. Cla. 
I doubt not of his worth Sir, nor needs there farther commendation; it is sufficient he is your Son; but yet I should appear too greedy and avidous of marriage, (however worthy he were) to take a Husband on credit whom I ne'er had seen before: On the other side, to admit his Visits and Courtship in quality of a Suitor; suppose the marriage went not on it would but expose me to affronts and derision.  
Wherefore I desire to see him first, and see him so,  
As whether the marriage go on or no,  
It may be no prejudice to my Fame and me.  Ger. 
It is but just and reasonable, and you declare  
yourself Clarina, as discreet as fair,  
In your demand, I'll go fetch Dorant then,  
And within this hour return with him again,  
and take occasion to make a stand just under your window, that you may throughly survey him; mark but his Person, Port and Presence, and you shall see, though he came but yesterday a Scholar from the University few Courtiers have better Air and Mien than he; but of this yourself be judge (after common Fame) for me his Father I may be partial in his Commendations, for the desire I have  
To see him wedded, being my only Son,  
And wish him Married unto you alone.  Cla. 
You much honour me Sir, in making so worthy a choice for so unworthy a person, and I in confidence of your commendations; have a longing desire to see him.   

Scena, 2.  Clarina, Isabel, Isa. 
So, without engageing yourself you are resolved to see him then.  Cla. 
I am Isabel; but alas! what can I judge of him by seeing of him so?  
I shall see his outward form 'tis true,  
But that is nothing lest I see his interior too.  
our eyes are but flattering glasses, to make things appear far fairer than they are; but pleasing impostures that show them without, far contrary to what they are within; and oftentimes we find a noble Presence with an ignoble mind: Our eyes then are to have the first choice still, but not the last; and we are not to displease them, on pain of our disquiet, nor to please 'em so again to be wholly ruled by 'em; finally 'tis more safe  
To believe them when they refuse,  
Then ofTimes when they choose;  
especially in choice of this marriage chain,  
(May bind us all our lives perhaps to one,  
From whom we may have horror and aversion)  
(which well considered Isabel should make us more fear, than desire it,) we had need of more faithful Councillors than our Eyes; as for me, being to choose a Master, I'm resolved to see him before I make choice of him; and see him so that I may behold both his exterior and interior.  Isa. 
Best speak with him than.  Cla. 
But Alcippe would be jealous.  Isa. 
What matter, so you have Dorant, whether he be or no?  Cla. 
No, I have not yet so great an indifferency for him to set so light by his jealousy, 'tis now a year since we were contracted, and's Father's presence only expected here for final conclusion of our marriage; who makes so many delays, pretending now business, now danger of the Ways, from Tours hither; now indisposition, and now unseasonableness of the time: as I begin, in fine to suspect the delays, and take them for neglect, mean while I'm not in humour to die for constancy:  
Virginity is a commodity will hardly off, if it be kept too long, each hour it abates and diminishes of its price; Time won't be dallied with, Maids are contemned when they grow old; and though  
Nothing's more glorious than a Virgin's name,  
(Grown stale yet) nothing's more a Virgin's shame.  Isa. 
And would you forsake Alcippe for another then?  Cla. 
Yes if I liked that other better than him; but e'er I forsook him I'd be sure of one, That should supply his plaec when he were gone; and one who'd instantly marry me:  
Else Alcippe (what ever may befall)  
Would make a better husband than none at all.  Isa. 
I'll tell you how you shall do then, Lucretia's your friend, and will do any thing for you, get her to send a Letter to Dorant to come and speak with her to night, at her window, so you may speak with him, under her name, and none be jealous, nor he ever suspect 'tis any one but she.  Cla. 
I like th' Invention well, and Lucretia I'm sure at the first word will do't, so by this stratagem I may see Dorant and freely converse with him.  Isa. 
Now I think on't, you freely enough to day conversed with that strange Gentleman; and if I bened deceived, liked his Conversation▪ too well enough.  Cla. 
And if Dorant's do like me but as well, I should have but small difficulty to leave Alcippe for him.  Isa. 
Peace don't name him, he comes here.  Cla. 
His coming troubles me— but go you to Lucretia's and as you have advised; I'll leave the manngement of all to you.   

Scena, 3.  Alcippe, Clarina. Al. 
Ah Clarina, Clarina!  Cla. 
What's the matter?  Al. 
False, inconstant Clarina!  Cla. 
Has he over heard me? or heard of this intended marriage? what ail you? you sigh so.  Al. 
You make as if you did not know! ask of your own Conscience and that will inform you.  Cla. 
Speak softly, my Father comes.  Al. 
Your Father comes! falsehearted dissembling Woman, you fear your Father now I am here; but all Night on the River you had no fear at all of him,  Cla. 
What all night on the River? I understand you not.  Al. 
Can you ask me without blushing?  Cla. 
What should I blush for?  Al, 
Methinks you should even die for shame to hear me name these two words t'ye.  Cla. 
What deadly Charm have these two words I pray? that I should die with hearing them?  Al. 
Can you hear them and desire to hear more, or can't you blush unless I tell you all?  Cla. 
What all?  Al. 
Why all your Revels last Night.  Cla. 
What Revels? hang me if I know what you mean.  Al. 
When I'm with ye, your Father comes, an excellent excuse! but you can be with others all night and he ne'er thought upon,  Cla. 
Why Alcippe are you mad?  Al. 
Knowing what I know you were enough (I confess) to make me so; yes all night, until Morning, I speak of no longer agone, than Yester night.  Cla. 
D'ye Reve? or Rail? or what's the Mystery?  Al. 
The mystery is somewhat new and strange, (I grant you) but not so secret as you imagine it; for in fine your Gallant has told me all; you see what discreet Gallants you make choice of.  Cla. 
What Gallant?  Al. 
Dorant.  Cla. 
Dorant!  Al. 
'Tis very good! fain yourself ignorant still, do.  Cla. 
If ever I saw him—  Al. 
And was not his Father here just now with you? 'tis well, go on and pass the Day with the Father, and the Night with the Son, 'tis very well▪  Cla. 
His Father and mine are Old Acquaintance.  Al, 
And was't for that I pray, that he was here? I, now you blush, when you know not what to say; needs there any more yet to convince you?  Cla. 
As for his Son, protest I never saw his Face.  Al. 
Very likely, but yet however it was night you could not but see him by the Fireworks light; or had you no liesure perchance to look on him for admiring his sumptuous Feast, of six Services, and twelve Dishes at least at every one? Or did the Dancing and Music so wholly take up your Attention? you could not mind him! yet you might have seen him by day at least; for▪ 'twas bright day ere you broke up your Feast: have I told you enough yet? to make you understand my meaning, and blush, and die for shame.  Cla. 
What at a feigned Story?  Al. 
Belike I am a Liar then! a humorous Coxscomb! a jealous Ass?  Cla. 
Somebody infallibly has abused you— Alcippe credit me,  Al. 
Come, come ne'er seek excuses, I know your tricks well enough, but 'twill not serve your turn; farewell, enjoy Dorant, Love him, Adore him, let me alone, and ne'er think of Alcippe more.  Cla. 
But ●…ar me a word or two before you go.  Al. 
No, no, your Father comes.  Cla. 
He does not, I did but jest, but stay till I've disabused you at least.  Al. 
Well on condition you instantly marry me and give me your hand, and faith, and two Kisses to boot, I care not if I do.  Cla. 
And will no less do't?  Al. 
Two kisses, no less, and those of your kindest ones; nay quickly dispatch.  Cla. 
I cannot, My Father comes.   

Scena, 4.  Alcippe. Al 
Go then, and mock my Anger, do,  
Make sport at my rage and me, till with indignity  
Thou break my bands and chains, and settest me free;  
turn my deluded fires to Ice; and in their stead, let my just Anger burn; mean while  
I'll seek your Gallant out, and make him feel  
The dire effects of my revengful steel;  
short shall be your joy of him, his blood and mine both in one stream shall run; e'er he shall glory in possession of any thing was mine— but see he comes here, and's Father with him; my gall rises at sight of him, and all my friendship turns to hate, but this is not a time nor place.   

Scena, 5.  Geronte, Dorant, Clyton. The Ladies at the Window most part of this Scene. Ger. 
Stay Dorant, and let's rest a while, I'm weary and out of breath with walking; and what think you of  
these buildings? are they not fair?  
and the Architecture excellent and rare?  Al. 
Paris appears to me  
A City of some Romance, or Enchanted Isle  
I left a Desert and find so built the while,  
As if some Amphion without Mason's Aid,  
Had all its Palaces out o'th' quarries made.  Ger. 
Paris every day beholds as strange Metamorphoses as these, to see whose Temples and Palaces you'd swear that Kings and Gods, did only inhabit here: but leaving this Discourse— you know Dorant how much I love you?  Dor. 
I do, and am most happy in the knowledge of it.  Ger. 
In a word then— Considering the danger that youth and honour may daily expose you to, i'th' perilous course you have taken having no other Son but you to give some allay unto your youthful heat, and to prevent that honourable danger I am resolved to marry you.  Dor. 
Oh dear Lucretia.  Ger. 
And have chosen a Wife for you, both Noble, Rich and Handsome.  Dor. 
I beseech you Sir take some longer Time to consider on't.  Ger. 
There needs no further consideration; all Paris affords not a better nor fit choice than the fair and virtuous Clarissa; whose Father (my Ancient friend) and I have already concluded the marriage— why d'ye look so strangely?  Dor. 
Alas Sir you make me tremble to think o'th' heavy weight I'm to under-go, ●'re my youthful years have force and strength enough to support the burden.  Ger. 
Go to, leave these excuses for I'll have it so.  Dor. 
No ways to prevent it— Aside. what Sir would you have me marry now  I've gained an honourable Fame by Warlike deeds, unto our House and Name?  Ger. 
I marry will I Sir, e'er by your Warlike deeds you come fairly to be knocked o'th' head, I'd have you marry and get an Heir to inherit in your stead when you are gone and be a comfort unto me, and support unto our House and Name, d'ye see? come ne'er dispute of't, for I'll have it so.  Dor. 
But what if't be impossible Sir?  Ger. 
How impossible!  Dor. 
I humbly at your feet Sir demand your pardon, for I'm—  Ger. 
What?  Dor. 
Being at Poitiers—  Ger. 
What?  Dor. 
Since you'll needs have it Sir, I'm— married already!  Ger. 
How! without my consent?  Dor. 
You may do what you please Sir— but I could not help it, I was forced unto't by the strangest accident, the fa●… chance— oh did you but know Sir!—  Ger. 
Tell me and conceal nothing from me.  Dor. 
This I can assure you Sir, the Gentlewoman is very well descended, though not altogether so rich as you may desire perhaps.  Ger. 
For that we shall talk more hereafter; what's her Name?  Dor. 
Orphisia Sir, and her Father's Armedon.  Ger. 
Orphisia and Armedon! they're names I never heard of— well, on.  Dor. 
At my first arrival Sir I chanced to see this conquering Beauty, who had soon reduced me to that sweet Thraldom and amiable Servitude, from which I neither would, nor could be free,  
Having then no other thought or care  
But only of serving her,  
Six months were scarcely gone and passed,  
But by my assidual services at last,  
I gained her affection, and was so happy to be,  
As much beloved by her as she by me:  
in which happy state I long continued, till one Night late ('twas the second day of September, I shall never forget the day)  
Harmlessly discoursing with her in her Chamber all alone,  
Her Father having Supped that night abroad came home.  
And knocked at her chamber door; when she  
All surprised at his coming, having first hidden me  
Behind the Bed, ran and opened him the door,  
Who sitting down began to discourse with her  
of Marriage, and said he had provided a husband for her; (imagine what ill News this was for me?) In fine, she answered him so discreetly as for that Time he was satisfied, and just bidding her good night, when my Watch struck; at which starting, What Watch is that (quoth he,) or who gave it you? quoth she, my Cousin Acaste has sent it me out of the Country to get it mended; quoth he again Let's see't, when straight she ran to me behind the Bed to fetch it; when behold the string of it being entangled in the Cock of my Pistol (I carried ready bent,) off went the Pistol: when imagine the amazement and astonishment of all: she all a●…righted 〈◊〉 a sound, he no less frighted ran out, crying Thieves, and Murder, and presently returned again and three or four with him, all withdrawn Swords, when instantly drawing mine, I soon had made my way through the midst of them, had not my Sword unfortunatly broke in three pieces; after which seeing no other way, I retired back again into her Chamber, when she (recovered by this time) out of her care of me, just as I entered, clapped to the Door, and shut them out; when they more furious grown, straight went about to break the door open, and we as fast within to Barricado it, with Tables, Chairs and Chests, and all we could heap against it: In fine, this Siege we held out long to gain Time, and respite Danger, till at 〈◊〉 breaking down the Wall upon us, I was ta'en all unarmed and defenceless, and fain to come to composition with them for my life.  Ger. 
Which was, in plain English, to marry her.  Dor. 
True ●ir— and how could I do less taken as I was alone with her by night? The scandal great, the danger of her honour and my life most evident, and they the stronger; but above all, her beauty made more lovely by her Tears;  
And Love chief in that occasion shown  
More caref●… of my safety than her own,  
was that which chief conquered me, and made me yield, willingly to do that I'd else bee● forced unto and ma●…ry her straight;  
So ' voiding danger, and rendering all parts content,  
To which I humbly here beg your consent,  
My Love and Affection being to her so great,  
And she so every ways deserving it,  
You must resolve to see me married  
Unto 〈…〉 or else to see me dead▪  Ger. 
Heaven forbidden I should be so hardhearted and unnatural, especially thou having done nothing but what I should have done myself in thy Estate●— all that I blame in thee is only t'have so long concealed from me your Marriage▪  Dor. 
Alas, I durst not tell you Sir, by reason she was no richer.  Ger. 
Suffices she loves you, and you love her; and if she be so well born, discreet and fair, as you report her, and have such store of other perfections, she's rich enough and I desire no more, Farewell▪ I'll to Clarissa's Father straight and disengage my promise of marrying you unto his Daughter.   

Scena 5  Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
Now Clyton, have I not finely gulled and cozened the Old man, with astory of mine own Invention?— some fools now, in my Case would not have known what to have done, but whyned and cried and suffered themselves to be married against their wills; thou seest now how necessary it is to lie sometimes to purpose.  Cly. 
And was all this but a Lie then?  Dor. 
Not a word of it true, but all invented purposely to prevent my Marriage with Clarissa.  Cly. 
The Watch! the Sword! and Pistol!  Dor. 
All, feigned and only a Masterpiece of mine own invention.  Cly. 
For Heaven's Love Mr. Then, if ever you'd oblige your poor servant, give me some sign hereafter when you go about to lie and play any of these Masterpieces any more; for though, I know you pretty well, protest yet I was deceived.  Dor. 
Well never fear, thou shalt be so no more, I'll make thee hereafter, the Secretary of all my Thoughts, and Cabinet of all my Secrets.  Cly. 
And with all these qualities I fear I shall hardly keep myself from being deceived by you again; but touching your Amours Master— this Lady.   

Scena 6.  Sabina, Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
With me fair Maid?  Sab. 
Please you read that Sir.  Dor. 
From whom?  Sab. 
From Lucretia.  Dor. 
Ha!— Kiss her fair Hand Reads. and say I shall not fail to wait on her.  Sab. 
I shall.  Dor. 
Now Clyton! what think you! you had best say, the Lady I spoke withal to day was not Lucretia; behold her Letter here, inviting me this Night to come to speak with her, at her Window, and what has the other to do to write to me, to whom I ne'er spoke word?  Cly. 
I know not what to say, but without more dispute, have patience only till Night, and you will know by her voice (at least) whether't be she or no.  Dor. 
Mean time▪ go thou as secretly as thou canst and inform thyself of her Birth and Parentage, and what fortune she has.  Cly. 
I will.   

Scena 7.  Lycus, Dorant. Lyc. 
Sir. gives him a Note.  Dor. 
What more Letters?  Reads. 
Sir,  
Having received an Injury from you I should desire to meet you in the Mail with Sword in Hand.  
Alcippe.  
Tell him I shall not fail; why this is pretty! I arrived here but yester Night, and to day's the first sight of me, yet I've got a Mistress, a Marriage, and a Quarrel already; I want but a Process to make an end of me: Am! I'd forbidden any in so short a Time, to have more business on their backs at once, or more difficult and dangerous on's; send me good luck with them— but let's go see what my old Friend Alcippe would have with me.   
Finis Actus Secundi.   


Actus tertius. Scena prima.  Dorant, Alcippe, Philist. Phil. 
 both done as befits valiant men, and I'm most glad it was my happy chance to arrive here in time to part you, and make you friends, whilst you were on equal terms, and no advantage on either side— somewhat a rare Adventure.  Dor. 
To me I'm sure it was, who fought with as much Phlegm, as he with Choler all this while, not knowing the reason why, which pray Alcippe now declare, that if you have conceived any causeless jealousy, or any by false reports has injured me, I, before him may clear my innocence.  Al. 
You know it well enough—  Dor. 
May I perish if I do, or ever (as I know of) said, or did any thing that might offend you.  Al. 
Since you'll needs have it, d'ye think it was no offence, to have given Ball, Music, and Collation, to Night, to a Lady I long had loved, and now was just on terms to make my wife?—  
And more to increase the injury and disgrace,  
To have boasted of it too before my face;  
and how you had lain privately in Town this month, upon design only to do me this sensible affront: d'ye think all this (now) was no offence?  Dor. 
See how y'are deceived? and how little reason you have for your jealousy? She I gave a Treat to, is married, and one I'm sure you never saw, lately come to Town on some affairs.— Does this satisfy you?  Al. 
How was I deceived?  Dor. 
And if I had not given you sufficient proof of my valour already, and how I fear you not, I should not give you this satisfaction now.  Al. 
If this be so I am most glad, our quarels ended, and the atonement made.  Dor. 
And so am I But let me entreat you Alcippe, hereafter to give less credit to your jealousy, and consider better what you do before you challenge any one, lest you begin there where you ought to end; and so I leave you, and am your Friend and servant.   

Scena 2.  Alcippe, Philist. Phi. 
What, sad still?  Al. 
Alas, I'm but recovered from one trouble, to fall into a greater; for who should have given this Music and Collation to Clarissa, if he did not? or who should I call to account for it?  Phi. 
Whosoever gave it, assure yourself, Clarissa was not she 'twas given unto, (as I'm credibly informed) but Daphne and Hippolita; and 'twas only your Page's Error, who seeing Clarissa enter Lucretia's, and straight two Ladies masked come out again, take Coach, drive to the River side, light and take Barge there, a Collation brought and Music too, imagined it was she and Lucretia; which being so, no wonder your Page, being first deceived himself, should afterwards (as he did) deceive you too.  Al. 
D'ye think it was not otherwise?  Phi. 
I'm certain of't; nay more, am sure all night she ne'er stirred out of door.  Al. 
This more and more troubles me. What a wretch was I then, to quarrel and wrangle with her, as I did, for nothing?  Phi, 
For that I'll make your peace; as for Dorant the Author of all this trouble, who told us so many stories of his being in Town this month, and visiting incognito, an incognita, with all the particulars of his sumptuous feast, know he only yesterday came to Town, and all night too never stirred from home.  Al. 
And what the Collation?  Phi. 
All a mere fiction; Or if he gave any 'twas only in a dream.  Al. 
It cannot be— Dorant is valiant, as by his brisk answer of my challenge in this last Encounter, I've experienced, and i'th' School of Valour men do not learn to lie; o'th' contrary a valiant man had rather die▪ than suffer so foul aspersion and stain to be fixed upon his Name— wherefore I can't believe it.  Phi. 
Dorant it seems is Valiant by Nature, and only a Liar by Custom; however pray hereafter cast this jealousy away, and let us admire our own simplicity, could believe a story so incredible, that a Collation of six Services, twelve Dishes at every one, four consorts of Music, with Fireworks, and I know not what, could all be provided in an hour or two's time, as if the Collation had been given in some of our Theatres, and with machines let down from Heaven. Those who could credit it, had far more faith than wit. I saw this Fiction agreed but ill with the Relation of the Page, how the Music was but so so, and the Collation only a Dish or two: wherefore think no more on't.  Al. 
This was my blind jealousy now, that only sees with the Eyes of false imagination, and believes all true that it imagines: but leaving Dorant with his bold Fictions, I'll to Clarissa's and ask her pardon.  Phi. 
Better stay till to morrow, when I may have made your way, by telling her all this story, and making her laugh again to see how finely we were deceived by him. The first heat of choler's always most vehement, and 'tis not fit you incur her full anger, till I beforehand have dissipated it.  Al. 
And if the uncertain light of the Evening deceive me not, I perceive her coming with Isabel there. I'll follow your advice then and avoid her sight till she may have laughed at my jealousy, and pardon it and me.   

Scena, 3.  Clarissa, Isabel. Cla. 
Come Isabel let's go to Lucretia's.  Is. 
There's time enough, it is not yet so late,— Y'are much obliged to her; for no sooner I had told her what you desired, but instantly she dispatched Sabina with the Letter.  Cla. 
And I shall be as ready to serve her another time. But didst observe how this Dorant Geronte's Son, whom he commended so much, is the selfsame Gentleman we saw in the Garden to day?  Is. 
I did, and was much surprised at it, and so was Lucretia, who marked it as well as I▪ And do you continue your resolution still of speaking with him?  Cla. 
I know not— he does so lie.  Isa. 
And is that so strange? Dorant is not the first young Scholar, who boasts himself a Soldier, and tells you of Battles h'as fought, Sieges he's been at, though never heard of 'em, but i'th' Gazzette;  
And foreign Countries he had travelled in,  
Which (but i'th' Map too) he had never seen▪  
to ingratiate himself with Ladies; knowing they love men o'th' Sword, and love to hear them talk of wars and dangers they had passed, and like them, when they see 'em, make themselves not what they are, but what they'd have 'em be.  Cla. 
I know not what others are, but I'm sure he's a Master i'th' art of lying, and has made Alcippe quite mad with stories h'as told him, of music and collation given me yesternight upon the water; judge you what likelihood, or where a word of it is true?  Isa. 
By this you may perceive how Dorant loves you, and how cunning a Lover he is, who knowing you loved Alcippe, first did set you two at variance, then presently did get his father, to speak to yours for you; so at once gaining the father, and in jealousing for the nonce your other Lover, to gain you, which he has done in fine, and your marriage is concluded on.  Cla. 
I, as much as ever 'tis like to be.  Isa. 
Won't you obey your father then?  Cla. 
Alas thou art quite wide, and understand'st nothing I see, of what is lately done; he's married unknown unto his father, who poor man came to mine with tears in his eyes, to break off the match betwixt us: now what say you of him?  Isa. 
If this be so, I'll say in my turn too, Dorant is an arrant Liar, and needs must take delight in lying, who'd make such a lie as this without design? For more I think on't less I comprehend what should be his end in it;— but if this be so why will you go and speak with him? is't to chide him, or else to laugh at him?  Cla. 
'Tis to tell him sound of it, an't does me good to think how 'sham'd I shall make him.  Isa. 
Faith 'twould do me more good to make him starve i'th'cold, and never go.  Cla. 
No,— I'll go only for curiosity— but soft I hear some coming, perhaps 'tis he, and through the obscurity of the Evening he may chance to know me.  
I'll to Lucretia's then, and there I may freely speak with him, without all fear of being known, whilst he'll take me for her,— Alcippe I perceive is like to be the man must marry me at last, (do what I can) when once he's well cured of his jealousy, which he'll so on be when he knows as much as I.   

Scena 4.  Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
This is the time and place mentioned in the Letter.  Cly. 
Well, I have told you how her Father's one of the long Robe, and she his only Daughter, as also what fortune she has, an ancient Servant of the house has told me all; and now Master, if Lucretia had but a Talon of Lying as wellas you, I should of have excellent sport, to hear you two strive to deceive one another, tell story for story, and pay you in your own Coin, and give you as good as you brought again, how I should laugh?  Dor. 
No Clyton, I'd have thee know  
Heaven grants that favour but to few  
to lie as I do; they must have good memories,  
good wits, great care and industry;  
And finally when they're put unto the push  
Indeed, come readily off, and never blush—  
but soft the window opens— let's draw nigh.   

Scena 5.  Clarissa, Lucretia, Isabel above, Dorant, Clyton below. Cla. 
Isabella stand you centinal whilst I speak with Dorant.  Isa. 
I shall, and advertise you when any comes.  Luc. 
Yes, he recounted all your story to my Father— but speak with him under my Name, and I'll be silent the while.  Cla. 
Who's there Dorant?  Dor. 
Yes, Lady, it is I, your humble servant, and so I'll live and die.  Luc. 
He goes on in making love to ye.  Cla. 
He goes on, with dissembling I'm sure on't— I fear he'll know me by my voice.  Cly. 
Well, Master, I confess y'are in the right this once, 'tis she I'm certain now.  Dor. 
'Tis I Lady who willingly would efface out of my lives account, all other days I might have lived, without loving you,  
Who find living, without seeing you, such a pain,  
As 'tis not life but rather death again,  
And such a lingering torment finally,  
As whosoever suffers, needs must say,  
There's no life but in loving fair Lucretia.  Cla. 
hay day! now h'as about with you too; he makes love by turns it seems to every one,  Luc. 
He loves to lie to every one by turns I'm sure.  Dor. 
In obedience then to your Commandment,  
I'm come to offer my life here at your feet,  
And should die most content so you'd accept of it.  
Tell me Lady what you please to command me now?  Cla. 
I thought to speak with you about a certain business, but now I find it impossible— 'tis to no purpose.  Dor. 
How impossible? nothing Lady that you command, can be impossible for me to do.  Cla. 
Excepting only to marry, for that you can't being married already.  Dor. 
How, I married? Ha', ha', ha'! they only jested w'ye that told you so.  Cla. 
Was ever greater impostor?  Luc. 
He can do nothing else but lie.  Dor. 
No, far be it from me, and if any—  Cla. 
You think I believe you now?  Do,. 
May Thunder strike me dead, if ever I was—  Cla. 
Nay, I know all liars are prodigal of their oaths.  Dor. 
No Lady, if  any thought of me that may be balanced by this false report, let it no longer hold you in suspense, of what I can easily justify to be true.  Luc. 
To hear how seriously, and with what asseveration he advances a lie, you'd think 'twere true.  Dor. 
To rid you of your doubt Lady, so you be pleased Ill marry you instantly.  Cla. 
And so you'd a Thousand more if they'd believe you.  Dor. 
Make but your words good and I should be in such reputation here I should have thousands to envy me.  Cla. 
In such reputation (no doubt of it) as he deserved should boast himself such a thunderbolt of War yet ne'er was there, should tell us he had been in Paris almost a year a courting Ladies, yet came but yesterday from Poitiers, who gives Music, Collation, and Ball a nights to Lady's onth ' water, yet all night at home sleeps quietly in his bed; and who finally says he's married, and presently unsayes it again: this is a fine way now to get you credit and reputation! and tell me what's lying I pray, if this be none?  Cly. 
Now Master, I'll say y'are your crafts-master indeed if you come well off here.  Dor. 
Fear not Clyton, every thing in its time.— Touching all these particulars, Lady I shall give you such reasons hereafter as I doubt not but will fully satisfy you. Now to come to the most important,— I feigned this marriage, (for why should I make difficulty to confess that to you, you must needs commend in me) I feigned it I say, and you blame me for't; but what if you were the only occasion of't?  Cla 
I!  Dor. 
Pray hear me out; the love I bear to you—  Cly. 
Pray master tell me if y'are going about to lie or no?  Dor. 
Hold your peace, Sirrah, or Ill pluck that saucy tongue of yours out of your head— The love I bear to you, I say, not permitting my father should marry me to any one but you alone—  Luc 
Now he gins to tell a new lie,— hark.  Dor. 
I feigned this marriage purposely to keep myself free from marrying any one but you: now go— and call me Liar, and Impostor, and what you will, so you call me your faithful Lover too; and blame me if you please for this feigned marriage, so by this Fiction I may conserve me constant to you alone.  Cla. 
I have reason to suspect this love Sir, 'tis so hot and vehement at first; for how could my eyes enkindle in you so great a flame?  seen but once and do not know me yet?  D●r. 
How, not know you! Is not your Mother dead? Is not your Father's Name Pariander, a grave and sober Counsellor? was not your Brother slain i'th' Wars of Italy? Had you not a Sister called Julia? Now go, and doubt I pray whether I know you yet or no.  Cla. 
Now Cozen I see plainly 'tis you he means, and you he makes love to.  Luc. 
I would it were. aside  Cla. 
But I'll know all before I've done.— Well, Sir, at importunity of some Friends I thought to speak with you concerning Clarissa, and pray tell me, is't true you intent to marry her?  Dor. 
How, I to marry her? beseech you no more of this; I've discovered t'ye the very bottom of my heart, where you must needs see I feigned this marriage only for love of you, for whom I've nothing but affection, as I've nothing but aversion for Clarissa.  Cla. 
Yet let me tell you, Sir, she's not so contemptible as you make her, and there are others done't despise her, though Lucretia seems the fairer in your eyes.  Dor. 
I, sh'as one main fault though—  Cla. 
What's that?  Dor. 
Why, I can't abide her, that's enough,— and for my part I swear, I'll be married in Turkey rather than marry her.  Cla. 
And yet they say you gave her your hand, and courted her very amorously to day.  Dor. 
Who I? no such matter I protest.  Cla. 
D'ye hear the impostor? 'tis a wonder he does not swear.  Dor. 
May Heaven—  Cla. 
Did I not tell you?  Dor. 
May Heaven I say, ne'er prosper me, if I spoke to any one but you to day.  Cla. 
I can no longer endure his impudence—  
How dare you deny that and forswear it too,  
Which I myself to day did see you do?  
Hence avoid my sight, and pray know, I sent for you only to make sport with you; who love to laugh and make me sport sometimes with better wits than yours, I'd have you know.   

Scena 6  Dorant, Clyton. Cly. 
Well, you see now all's discovered.  Dor. 
I, and I'm almost at my wits end with it too.  Cly. 
Mean time you may glory in your good success, and how you have gained a notable access  
Unto your Mistress by't; and if I be ●…e  
importunately with my presence troubles ye,  
and makes you say all this by intelligence now.—  Dor. 
Perhaps 'tis only so— what thinkest thou?  Cly. 
I think 'tis a pretty perhaps.  Dor. 
Well, don't think for all this I'll quit my part of her.  Cly. 
Faith Master, if your part of her were to be sold, and ye chanced to meet with a good Chapman for it, I'd counsel you to let him have a good pennyworth of this hidden treasure by any means, however your hopes flatter you to the contrary.  Dor. 
Wonder! she should give no more credit to my Words yet?  Cly. 
Why, you Lie so abominably, who can believe you?  Dor. 
But I told her nothing but the very truth.  Cly. 
I, but when a Liar says it, only passing through his mouth, it loses all its credit.  Dor. 
I'll try then if from another's mouth she will believe it better, and treat me with less rigour hereafter.— Their humours are as variable as the moon, and sometimes they follow who fly 'em; sometimes again. fly those who follow 'em.— Well, I'll to Bed, and take counsel of my Pillow;  
To morrow 'twill be day.  
And nights the best counsellor,— let's away.   
Finis Actus tertii.   


Actus quartus. Scena prima.  Dorant, Clyton. Cly. 
WHy Master, what mean you to rise so soon? they are not up at Lucretia's, it is too early day.  Dor. 
No matter, I've chose this place as most proper to reve in, where beholding her window, I may entertain my amorous thoughts, and wholly possess my mind with her dear Idea▪  Cly. 
Now you talk of reving Master, have you bethought you of a remedy for your last disgrace yet?  Dor. 
I have, and 'tis the same thou taughtest me yesterday for so sovereign and approved one, to be liberal enough—  Cly. 
Right, provided you rightly apply your liberality to some Coquett or other.—  Dor. 
I understand, and know Lucretia is too noble and generous to take, or to be ta'en with gifts and presents: but her Maids have hands and tongues too, that may be untied with Bribes. And howsoever she diaspprove it, she has Ears too, to hear 'em when they speak; and it shall go hard, but I'll gain some of 'em, and she who brought me the Letter yesterday I think the fittest; whom I do not doubt to gain if I pay her well for her pains, as I intent.  Cly. 
I'll warrant ye master, for 'tis my own humour right, to be always most kind and complacent to those who give most, and count them my chiefest friends.  Dor. 
There are enough of thy humour.  Cly. 
But master, in attending Sabina and the operation of our remedy, have you heard the Rumour of Alcippe's Duel?  Dor. 
No, with whom?  Cly. 
Some say with you; and but I can be answerable for you all this day, I should believe it else.  Dor. 
And did not I send thee to Lucretia's?  Cly. 
Umh— and wast for that you sent me? I begin to smell somewhat.  Dor. 
Yes faith 'twas I that fought with him, though I resolved to keep it secret; but from thee, the only Secretary of my thoughts, and Cabinet of all my secrets, I can conceal nothing. Know then, about some five or six months since we had a quarrel at Poitiers, where though we were seemingly reconciled, there past a secret Engagement 'twixt us two to fight next time we met; and feigning to embrace we whispered a Challenge into each others ears; when sending thee away, away we went without any Seconds; and in a pass or two I quickly dispatched my Gentleman, running him twice through the body and leaving him out of all danger of ever being sick again, and weltering in's gore.  Cly. 
And did you kill him then?  Dor. 
Dead, dead, and so I left him.  Cly. 
Introth I'm sorry for't, he was a very honest Gentleman. Alack! alack!   

Scena 2.  Alcippe, Dorant, Clyton. Al. 
Dear friend! happily met, I come to make thee partaker of my joy; my father—  Dor. 
What of him?  Al. 
Is newly arrived.  Dor. 
I thought he had been dead I, thou wert so glad; this is a new and extraordinary kind of joy in a son like thee, for a Father's arrival.  Al. 
I should have told thee (but that a mind wholly preoccupied with joy, imagines every one knows it as well as they) that my marriage with Clarissa only attended his arrival for its final accomplishment, and now at last he's happily arrived.  Dor. 
How could I imagine this? but I'm most glad, and congratulate your happiness.  Cly. 
This place is proper for you to Reve in, Sir.  Dor. 
And you're going thither now?  Al. 
I am. and could not but make you participate of the good news by the way.  Dor. 
 much obliged me in't.  Cly. 
All those you killed, Sir, are alive and well you see.  Dor. 
So than you fear no farther impediments in your Amours?  Al. 
How can I? All parties being so well agreed.—. Dear friend, pardon the impatience of a Lover; I've left my father reposing himself after his Voyage, and have ta'en the occasion to visit my Mistress the while: farewell.  Dor. 
Farewell and may your marriage prove as happy and fortunate as you desire.   

Scena 3.  Dorant, Clyton. Cly. 
And is this he that's dead? well, Master, I did not think you'd have used me thus, the only Secretary of your thoughts, and Cabinet of all your secrets: but I perceive with all these qualities, one should have much ado not to be deceiveed by you.  Dor. 
Dost think this combat than was nothing? and only a story of mine own invention?  Cly. 
I can't tell, I should be glad to believe any thing rather than displease you, Sir, but you invent so many every day, and every where, as 'tis a particular grace of heaven if any escape being deceived by you: You spare none, Turk, Jew, nor Christian, all's one to you.  Dor. 
Why shouldst thou think it so strange Alcippe should be recovered so soon o'th' dangerous wounds I gave him? Didst never hear of that source of life called by us Warriors the Sympathetique Powder, that every day works such strange and miraculous effects?  Cly. 
But none so strange and miraculous as this, that a man twice run through the body, and left in the field for dead, should next day appear abroad, all whole, and sound.  Dor. 
I grant you, your ordinary Sympathetique Powder works none of these strange effects? but Clyton, I have the Receipt of making one with Promethian fire, shall recall a man from death to life again, in the twinkling of an Eye.  Cly. 
Teach me the Receipt Sir, and I'll promise you to serve you gratis hereafter.  Dor. 
Why, I will, and make thee rich for ever; but now I think on't the secret consists in certain Hebrew Words so hard, and difficult to pronounce, as 'twould be a treasure wholly cast away upon thee.  Cly. 
And can you speak Hebrew then?  Dor. 
That I can, and nine or ten other languages besides.  Cly. 
Faith, and so you'd need, and good sound ones too, to tell so many Lies: You mince them as small as Herbs to the Pot, and must needs be full of verity within, for I never saw any yet come out of you.  Dor. 
Pity thy ignorance, but see my Father here.   

Scena 4.  Geronte, Dorant, Clyton. Ger. 
O Dorant, I have been looking for you!  Dor. 
But I looked not for you, what mischievous luck had I to meet with him aside.  Ger. 
Considering the straight union of marriage, methinks I have not consented at all to thine, to suffer thee to live so long from thy wife, and be th' occasion of separating those Heaven has conjoined; I m thinking then to write to your Father-in-Law, how glad I am to understand you're married to so fair and virtuous a Gentlewoman as his Daughter; and how I count our Family highly honoured, with the alliance it has with his.  Dor. 
Your Civilities sir, will much surprise him.  Ger. 
And signify withal the longing desire I have to see her here; and how I intent to send you for her; for to send a servant would have no grace, and show a want of respect and esteem of her.  Dor. 
You may do your pleasure, sir, and I'm ready to undertake the Voyage; but 'twill be to no purpose, for I'm sure he want let her come.  Ger. 
How so?  Dor. 
Why— she's with Child sir,  Ger. 
How? with Child!  Dor. 
Yes, sir, and at least six months gone.  Ger. 
This is news rejoices my very heart.  Dor. 
And I'm sure you would not hazard her miscarrying, sir.  Ger. 
By no means, my patience rather shall contend with my joy which should be greatest, ha'! with child! Heaven than I see has heard my prayer, and I'm most happy in't, I'll instantly go change my Letter then, and after a few compliments, desire her father to have a special care of her delivery, as that on which all my happiness depends.  Dor. 
Poor Man! how glad he is?  Cly. 
Hist▪  Ger. 
And do you write too, d'ye hear? to the same effect.  Dor. 
I shall Sir.— Good simple soul.  Cly. 
'Slid peace, he comes again.  Ger. 
I have forgot your Father in Law's Name now, how d'ye call him?  Dor. 
No matter, Sir, without giving yourself that trouble, when you have writ your Letter give it me, and I will write the Superscription.  Ger. 
'Twere better 'twere all of a hand though.  Dor. 
Your hand or mine, all's one.  Ger. 
But these Country Gentlemen will easily take exceptions,  Dor. 
As for him he has been bred in Court.  Ger. 
Come, come what need all these excuses & delays tell me his name  Dor. 
I have forgot now. aside.  Ger. 
When I say?  Dor. 
Pyrander, Sir.  Ger. 
Pyrander! you told me another name yesterday, and 'twas Armedon now I remember me.  Dor. 
Right, Sir, that is his proper name, t'other only of a Signory he has, by which he was called when he followed the Wars, but now, they call him by one and tother, promiscuously, now Pyrander, now Armedon.  Ger. 
Very likely, 'tis a common abuse▪ warranted by custom that, and I did so myself in my younger days: but I'll about my Letter.   

Scena 5  Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
Well, now, am I not come handsomely off?  Cly. 
I, but you see, a Liar had need of a good memory.  Dor. 
Tush, when that fails a good wit supplies the want of it.  Cly. 
But the truth of this cannot be long kept hid, and having taken you tripping once, they'll suspect you at every turn, and Lucretia and Clarissa know already how  served them, who offended at so sensible an affront, in just resentment of the injury, will cover you all over with shame and confusion in time assure, yourself.  Dor. 
thoust reason for thy fears, and time putting me to my straits, I'll seek presently to engage myself with Lucretia, and see, in good time, her Woman here.   

Scena 6.  Sabina, Dorant. Clyton. Dor. 
Dear Sabina, I was so transported yesternight with joy o'th' good news thou brought'st me, I had no leisure to reward thee for't; but thou shalt lose nothing, by my deferring it: hold thee.  Sab. 
O Lord Sir,  Dor. 
Hold I say.  Sab. 
Indeed, you do me wrong, Sir, I am none of those.—  Dor. 
Come.  Sab. 
Beseech you, Sir.  Dor. 
I say you must, and done't think me ingrateful unto those who do me courtesies: there.  Cly. 
What adoes here with her? out of mere pity I must give her some few instructions—  
Hark ye, Sweetheart, 'twixt you and I,  
One of your occupation should fly  
This impertinent mincing, mumping, and simpering,  
These cringes, reverences, and curtesing.  
Take what they give you without more ado,  
And if one hand suffice not stretch out two.  
For me, when any o'these golden showers do fall,  
I use to stretch out hands, and heart and all;  
They take on all hands in this age weare in,  
And only to refuse is counted sin.  
Care not for foolish honour then a rush,  
One Bird i'th' hand's more worth than two i'th' bush.—  
Remember this d'ye hear, and to conclude,  
To make a friendship betwixt thee and me,  
If thou art content now I'll go halves with thee.  Sab. 
Soft, Sir, that bargain's yet to make.  Dor. 
Look here Sabina, assure thy self what I do for thee at present is nothing in comparison of what I will do hereafter, if (as thou'st done me the courtesy to bring this letter) thou'lt but return me this answer back again.  Sab. 
That I shall Sir, most willingly; but whether she'll deign to receive it and read it or no, I cannot promise you, but I'll do my best.  Cly. 
See! she's supple as a glove now, and as kind as a young simple country Bride.  Dor. 
No matter, give it her, and I'll stand to my venture for the rest; the Ice is broke, and I hope she has no such great aversion from me,— within this hour I shall return to know what success thou'st had.  Sab. 
And by that time, I shall be able to resolve you.   

Scena 7.  Clyton, Sabina. Cly. 
Thou seest now my Master is a Man, whose deeds outgo his promises; and who makes no more of Gold, than Horses of Litter which they trample under foot: and I'd have thee know, I can do any thing with him.  Sab. 
Why, then, make it rain but more of these golden showers, and I'd have you know, I can do any thing with my Mistress too.  Cly. 
Ah Sirrah! thou beginst to have a feeling of these things I see.  Sab. 
Would you should well know, for all my mincing, mumping, and simpering, my cringing reverences, and curtesying, I am not so simple as you imagine me; but understand my office, and with my Mumpsimus know to play my Game as well as you with your Sumpsimus, I'll warrant you.  Cly. 
And if thou understandest thy office so well, tell me prithee what hope for my Master to obtain his Suit? is thy Mistress so insensible of his love as she makes show of?  Sab. 
Since your Master is so honest a Gentleman, and so liberal withal, I'll tell you, whatever show she makes, she's not ways insensible of his affection; and could hardly sleep to night for thinking on him, and is half in love with him already, if I be not deceived.  Cly. 
What the Devil then made her use him so scurvily as she did to Night? or what privilege has she to use her Lovers so, more than other women? I like not this love by halves, and would have you know, my Master's worth your Mistress at any time; and if he'd follow my Counsel, rather than be used a this manner, he should even fairly leave her.  Sab. 
Let him not be too hasty though, for I tell ye assuredly she loves him.  Cly. 
She has but a harsh way of expressing it, though; and for my part, I understand not the method of it.  Sab. 
You must know, she holds a Wolf by the Ears of him (as they say) and would fain love him, but dares not for her life, he's such a horrible Liar; and but yesterday in the Garden, he told her so many Lies, and to two or three others since, as 'tis a shame again.  Cly. 
But your greatest Liars tell truth sometimes.  Sab. 
But she's reason to suspect him, knowing him as she does.  Cly. 
Let her believe him but this once, and believe me, he hath nothing but sighed for her all this Night.  Sab. 
But don't you lie now as well as your Master?  Cly. 
Fie, that you should think so?  
I'm none of those I would have you to know.  Sab. 
Tell me true then, does he not love Clarissa?  Cly. 
I tell thee he never did.  Sab. 
Art sure on't?  Cly. 
Most certain.  Sab. 
Well then, let him not fear to sigh for her in vain: for no sooner Lucrctia saw him, but she sent me presently to try what I could screw out of him; and if he love her indeed, all will go well enough.— Go then and let me alone, I need no farther instruction how to handle the business.  Cly. 
Farewell then, and take but pains in the business, and I assure thee another golden shower shall rain again.   

Scena, 8.  Lucretia, Sabina. Sab. 
I shall make my Mistress a glad Woman with the news I bring; and see her here already, she is impatient to know it, and what this Letter says here.  Luc. 
Well, and what says the Man and Master?  Sab. 
Why, they both say like honest men, Madam, and agree in a Tale. As for the Master, you may see what he says by this Letter.  Luc. 
Let's see't,— Reads  
Dorant plays the passionate Lover here, but he's so great a Liar, I'm not so simple to believe a word he saith.  Sab. 
I believe him forsooth, no more than you, but I believe his Pistols though.  Luc. 
Why, has he given thee any?  Sab. 
Ecce signum.  Luc. 
And how durst you take 'em?  Sab. 
I took 'em Madam, to free you from your solicitude, and let you see he truly loves you; for without loving the Mistress, you may be sure he would not have been so liberal to the maid; and so great a liberality besides does show, he is a Gentleman of a noble spirit too.  Luc. 
Well, I'll be no hindrance to your good fortune; but hereafter when you exceed your duty, look you let not me know of it ..  Sab. 
But what return to him for his liberality?  Luc. 
Why, tell him I tore his Letter without vouchsafing to read it; nothing else.  Sab. 
Ay me! there's an end of my good fortune then.  Luc. 
Only (of your▪ self) you may add a word or two of comfort, and tell him, 'tis the nature of us Women to be soon offended, and soon pleased again: and above all advertise him, when and where he may meet with me; for more assurance 'tis necessary I see him often.  Sab. 
If you did but know forsooth, how much he suffers for you, you'd never doubt of his affection; all this livelong Night he did nothing but sigh for you.  Luc, 
To qualify his sighing, give him a little hope mingled with much fear; and moderate it so I may not be engaged, nor he despair.   

Scena 9  Clarissa, Lucretia, Sabina. Cla. 
Well, now I can assure you Dorant is wholly yours, and I have lost him quite: but that which comforts me in the loss of him is, Alcippe's Father's arrived, and the match concluded betwixt him and I.  Luc. 
Y'are rid of a great solicitude and trouble then.  Cla. 
I am so, and you like to under go it— mean time you'll have a fine catch of him▪ for d'ye know what he said?  Sab. 
Whatsoever he said, I dare be bound for him, body for body now he only says the truth.  Cla. 
Perchance he may, but 'tis a great perchance.  Luc. 
Dorant is a Liar, I know that well enough, but one may continue telling a Lie so long, to make one doubt of the truth of it, at last.  Cla. 
Well, if you love him, look well unto him, be sure, and make your bargain wisely, or he'll deceive you else.  Luc. 
Nay I may believe him without loving him.  Cla. 
But theyare so near a kin, as who makes us believe they love us makes us believe them worthy of our love, and believing weare loved, and loving is so nigh, one passes from the one to the other presently.  Luc. 
But curiosity of▪ time's produces the same effect as love.  Cla. 
I'll believe you this once to do you a courtesy.  Sab. 
Come, come, you make me mad to hear you talk so, leave your fiddle faddles and fall roundly to work, or you'll get Husbands as fast as old wives crack Nuts.  Luc. 
Mind her not, the wench is foolish,— but pray tell me when you encount'red him in the Garden yesterday, and gave such willing ear to his compliments, was it love in you, or curiosity?  Cla. 
Curiosity: mere curiosity, with intent to laugh afterwards, and make me sport at all he said.  Luc. 
Why, and I did the like by this Letter here. which I received and read on Curiosity, mere Curiosity; with intent to laugh afterwards, and make me sport at all he writes.  Cla. 
I, but there's great difference though betwixt reading one's Letter, and giving ear to 'em; for the one's favour, the other but a civility: but I shall be glad if you find your count in him, who in the state I am, have no cause to envy you.  Luc. 
Besides know, I've given Sabina order to tell him I tore it▪ without ever reading it.  Cla. 
And what needed that? if you read it only out of curiosity?  Luc. 
I, but such a curiosity as yours was, you must add that too.  Cla. 
Well, be it so; but 'tis time to go to the Temple.  Luc. 
Let's go then.— And do you hear? do you as I command you.  Sab. 
Ne'er fear, this is not the first time I've been employed in these affairs: I know both your Majesty's ladies, an't shall go hard but I'll apply to either a convenient remedy; but know he's not a man to be delayed & dallied with.  Luc. 
I'm instructed.  Sab. 
For you my Friends, come you along with me, speaking to her money  
I hope shortly to get you more company.   
Finis Actus quarti.   


Actus quintus. Scena prima.  Geronte, Argante. Ar. 
THis following the Law is a troublesome business.  Ger. 
And why then did you not write to me to dispatch it for you? I know, besides the trouble, one of your years must needs expose his health, as well as ease, to much inconveniency, in so long a voyage as from Poitiers hither.  
But since y'are here, I hope to let you see, I want not friends, nor power to serve you; mean time, tell me I pray of what Fortune and Condition is Pyrander there?  Ar. 
Pyrander, who's that?  Ger. 
One of the principal'st quality in Poitiers (they say) though none of the wealthiest.  Ar. 
I know none such in all the Town.  Ger. 
You may know him better perhaps by his other name of Armedon.  Ar. 
I know neither the one, nor the other.  Ger. 
Perchance you may know him better yet by being Father to Orphisia, so celebrated for her rare perfections, and the only admired Beauty in all those parts.  Ar. 
Believe me, Pyrander, Armedon, and Orphisia too, are Names unheard of, and wholly unknown to us; and if you'll not believe me, I'll bring hundreds more besides myself, to witness it.  Ger. 
Come, come, I know you dissemble with me now, and feign yourself ignorant, thinking to do my son a courtesy: but I know all, how he loved Orphisia, how he wooed her long, and at last by occasion of's Pistols going off, was taken in the Chamber with her, and forced to marry her; I know all this, and have forgiven him, and given my consent to his marriage too, wherefore you need not make it a Secret to me any longer.  Ar. 
I'll lay my life now, some body, to do ill offices betwixt you, has invented this Chimerical story, names and all: I know Dorant more valiant and more advised than to be ta'en so tamely in such a Trap as this; wherefore I pray, believe not these false Reports.  Ger. 
I can hardly yet believe 'em false, being told of't by one assured me it was true, and knew it was indifferent unto me. But pray in what Reputation was Dorant whilst he lived with you?  Ar. 
Why, he had always the repute of one who had both courage and wit enough; and both ingenious, bold, and resolute; and one (in fine) could easily be Artificer of his own Fame, and make it what he would only one fault he had.—  Ger. 
Pray what was that?  Ar. 
Why, 'twas a little unsafe to believe him on his word, he took such delight to deceive the world, but 'twas a fault imputed to his youth, and custom of such young Scholars as himself, but I hope he would leave that vicious craft, and unhandsome divertisement, by your example and advice, when he came to riper years, which lest he does, I can assure you 'twill much blemish his Fame and Reputation.  
But I must take my leave, my business calls me.  Ger. 
And may you find that success in it which you desire.   

Scena 2.  Geronte. Ger. 
Was there ever a more unfortunate Father than I? who now plainly see my Son's a ●ourbe and Liar: And with his Lies has not only deceived me, but made me his instrument of deceiving others.  
O shame of my too easy credulity, and my grey hairs! as if 'twere not enough for me to live with my own shame, but I must die guilty of his infamy? he abuses my goodness with a feigned story of his Adventures, & Marriage with not a word of truth in't.  
Can I but meet with him, I'd make him know,  
What 'tis to abuse his aged Father so.  
O Sir, are you here!   

Scena 3.  Dorant, Clyton, Geronte. Dor. 
What ill luck had I to meet him?  Ger. 
Come hither, and pray tell me, are you a Gentleman?  Dor 
I hope, Sir, none doubts it, being born of you.  Ger. 
And d'ye think that sufficient?  Dor. 
I do sir, and so does all France too.  Ger. 
And don't you know with all France, from whence this Title of Honour takes its origin? And that 'tis Virtue only enables us with that Nobility is afterwards derived unto our Blood?  Dor. 
I am not ignorant of that which all the world knows, that 'tis Virtue first acquires it.  Ger. 
And if't be so, and contraries always work contrary effects, it clearly follows that as Virtue gives Nobility, so Vice does take't away.  
Which being so, howe'er thou art my son,  
yet doing as thou dost, thou art no Gentleman.  Dor. 
How?  Ger. 
Peace, and hear me. Whosoever does any dishonourable Action, and after calls himseif a Gentleman, lies when he says it, and is no longer one; especially lying as thou dost. Can therebe any Vice more dishonourable for a Gentleman, born unto Honour, than to tell a Lie? The very name and mention of which sets such a lasting blot and ignominious stain upon his Honour, as but in's life-blood can ne'er be washed out again, and thou be imputed abase infamous Liar?  Dor. 
I! who told you so?  Ger. 
Who told me? tell me if thou canst thy wives name now, with the whole story of your marriage, you told me yesterday.  Cly. 
Tell him you have forgot it in your sleep.  Ger. 
Or else your Fathers-in-law name, and's Signory, and add to your impudence and effrontery some other stories else to cozen me.  Cly. 
Now Master or never make use of your memory and invention.  Ger. 
Mean time I (old as I am) was so foolish to believe you (I speak it to my shame) and am become the fable and mockery of every one, for my credulity. But tell me now, thou impudent Liar, did I use any violence or force thee to't? did I set a Dagger to thy Heart to make thee wed Clarissa? If thou hadst no mind to her, why didst not tell me so?  
Con'dst think I would deny thee my consent  
To marry any might be to thy content?  
I denied thee not (thou seest) to marry a mere stranger? when truth (then) each might have prevailed with me, what necessity was there to abuse me with a Lie?  
Methinks this excessive goodness of mine at least  
Should have a little touch, and move thy Breast,  
Ungrateful as thou art? but now I see  
Thou hast no reverence, love, nor fear of me;  
Hence, avoid my sight— I here disclaim thee.  Dor. 
Good Father hear me.  Ger. 
What! more Lies and new deceits?  Dor. 
No, but perfect truth.  Ger. 
Was ever any in thy mouth?  Cly. 
Beshrew me, there he touches you home Master, how you'll defend yourself I know not.  Dor. 
happening to see the fair Lucretia, (I'm sure you know her) at first sight of her,  
I was so taken, 'twas impossible for me  
Ever to get lose from that sweet Captivity.  Ger. 
On— I know her well, and her Father is my Friend,— but look you do not lie.  Cly. 
And that will be very hard for him to do.  Dor. 
After which the very name of Clarissa, and all women too besides becoming odious to me, I feigned this marriage only to avoid the marrying her; (not knowing that feigning in Love was any Crime) nor durst I tell you of it, till I might know whether Lucretra's Birth and Fortunes were answerable to your desire: which now finding both noble and competent I dare, with more confidence beseech you, Sir, by all the ties of Love and Consanguinity may bind a Father and a Son, you'd second my desire, and give your consent that I may marry her.  Ger. 
You'll deceive me once again?  Dor. 
If you won't believe me, believe Clyton here, who knows all my secrets.  Ger. 
Methinks thou shouldst even die for shame,  
That I thy Father should more credit one  
That's but his servant, than thee his son.  
But that thou mayst see my paternal love to thee, and how good I am, once more (spite of my anger) I'll try thee, and hazard again the being once more deceived. I know Lucretia well, and will demand her of her Father; but if afterwards I find the least impediment on thy part—  Dor. 
For more assurance I'll go along with yond.  Ger. 
No, do not; do not follow me; once more I'll try thee, though I misdoubt thee still: and if thou dost deceive me, look thou fly my presence, for by this heavenly light,  
(Remember my Oath) and yond bright sun that shines,  
Thou ne'er shalt die by other hands than mine.  
Remember.   

Scena 5  Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
Ha', ha', ha'! these threatenings fright me not.  Cly. 
Faith Master, you yielded too soon then, and should have stood out a little longer, if you had any courage in you, and deceived him the third time; there's good luck in odd numbers, they say.  Dor. 
Peace and leave your fooling or you'll anger me. I'm not i'th' humour now, but am troubled in mind.  Cly. 
Perhaps 'tis for having told Truth this once. If this of your love to Lucretia bened a Lie too; for I begin now to suspect every thing you say, and know you so well, I understand you by contraries.  Dor. 
No, no, thy suspicions are vain, for I love Lucretia; love her hearty; but that which troubles me, is to think of the hazard I run by declaring my love so soon? for if her father should deny her I'm utterly lost, and shipwrackt in the port; beside, who knows where she'll continue constant.? But that which chief troubles me (to tell thee true) is to have seen one with her so charming fair, as now I better consider her, it grieves me to have given my heart away before; and if 'twere to do again, I should not know whether o'th' two yet I should give it to.  Cly. 
Why then were you so earnest to have your Father demand Lucretia for you?  Dor. 
Pho, he would not have believed me else.  Cly. 
So, upon the matter you told him a Lie, even when you thought you told him true.  Dor. 
There was no other way to appease his anger. But mischief on him for me that disabused him, I might have had time and leisure enough to have considered who t'have chosen of the two.  Cly. 
And you know that other (Lucretia's bosom friend and inseparable companion) is no other than Clarissa?  Dor. 
Why then I have done myself a good office, though it troubles me, and I envy Alcippe's happiness; but my comfort is he has but my leave, and so I'll leave the thought of her.  Cly. 
As easily it seems as you did Orphisia's.  Dor. 
Let's go then and restore Lucretia the same inviolable faith she had before, and in good time behold Sabina.   

Scena 5,  Sabina, Dorant, Clyton. Dor. 
What hast done with my Letter? hast thou delivered it to her fair hands?  Sab. 
I have Sir, but—  Dor. 
What but?  Sab. 
She tore it all to pieces.  Dor. 
What, without reading it?  Sab. 
I Sir,  Dor. 
And wou'dst thou let her?  Sab. 
Alas, Sir, I could not help it; she has so rated me for't, 'twould have pi●…ied ye to hear it: and has turned me away upon't; I'm quite undone.  Dor. 
She'll take thee again ne'er fear it, mean time there's somewhat to comfort thee.  Sab. 
O Lord, Sir—  Cly. 
See! she's at her Reverences again, and hovy soon she's comforted?  Dor. 
Thou shalt to her again, go, I've not lost all my hopes yet, and did she tear my Letter sayest thou?  Sab. 
Indeed Sir, she bid me tell you so; but to deal ingenuously with you—  Cly. 
This is no cunning Quean!  Sab. 
She did not, but read it all over, why should I hold so brave a Gentleman longer in suspense?  Cly. 
If there be a Cunninger betwixt this and Rome, I'll go thither barefoot.  Dor. 
Why then by this account she does not hate me?  Sab. 
O Lord, Sir, no!  Dor. 
But does she love me?  Sab. 
Neither.  Dor. 
That's strange? does she love any other;  Sab. 
Much less.  Dor. 
What then may I hope for from her?  Sab. 
Nay, I know not.  Dor. 
Come prithee tell me.  Sab. 
What should I tell you?  Dor. 
Why, the truth.  Sab. 
I have told it you already.  Dor. 
Dost think she'll ever love me?  Sab. 
Perhaps.  Dor. 
But when?  Sab. 
When she believes you, not before.  Dor. 
Thou makest me happy; for by this time, she loves me then, and can no longer doubt of my affection; for my Father—  Sab. 
Peace. Here she comes, and Clarissa with her.   

Scena 6.  Clarissa, Lucretia, Sabina, Dorant, Clyton. Cla. 
Well, perchance he may have told you true; but he is not often guilty of that fault; wherefore knowing him as you do, precipitate nothing; let me advise you.  Dor. 
Admirable Beauty, who only can dispose of all my happiness and unhappiness.  Cla. 
One would think he spoke to me, his Eyes are fixed upon me.  Luc. 
He glanced them on you by chance (perhaps) or so, but his words were directed unto me: let's observe him farther.  Dor. 
Alas! in your absence, in what a mighty pain was I, and how by dear experience now I find to be but a moment absent from those we love, is an age of torment to a lover's mind.  Cla. 
Still he continues!  Luc. 
But see what he writes.  Cla. 
But hark what he says.  Luc. 
You take what he says to me, as said unto yourself.  Cla. 
We shall see that.— Do you love me then Dorant?  Dor. 
Alas, is my love become then so indifferent a thing t'ye, since I was wholly yours, you should question that now?  Cla. 
D'ye mark? What think you now? Is this discourse directed unto you or me?  Luc. 
I know not what to think.  Cla. 
But let's hear out the whole imposture.  Luc. 
Indeed 'tis a little gross, considering what we know.  Dor. 
I do not like this whispering,— beseech you Lady, whatever she says unto you believe her not; consulting of my Life and Happiness, admit more favourable Councillors than she, who has some reason I grant to have a pique against me.  Luc. 
I have but too much indeed, and if I don't revenge me—  Cla. 
'Tis somewhat strange indeed, what she has told me.  Dor. 
Believe her not I beseech you, 'tis only some invention of her jealous thoughts.  Cla. 
I believe so,— but in fine, are you sure you know me?  Dor. 
Know you! pray no more of this Railerie. Are not you she, I had the Honour yesterday to entertain in the T●…uilleries, and who since I've made the absolute Mistress of my Heart?  Cla. 
Which  since given away to another, if I may believe her.  Dor. 
I given it away unto another! rather let me die here at your feet, your anger's sacrifice.  Cla. 
Nay more, she says y'are married to another too.  Dor. 
Ha', ha', ha'! nay, now I see, you say all this (indeed) in Railerie to make you sport, and here me often repeat again, and again, that I am only yours.  Cla. 
And that you said, before you'd be married to me, you'd be married in Turkey.  Dor. 
I, and if they please in Argier's too, before I'll marry any one but you.  Cla. 
And that you'd nothing but Aversion for Clarissa.  Dor. 
Come, come, what need this? you, know the whole Mystery of it? and that I do all I can to marry you.  Cla. 
I can't tell what to think of it now myself.— Hark ye Lucretia?  Dor. 
How! she Lucretia?  Cly. 
Oh! are you advised of that now? did I not tell you so? and you'd not believe me.  Dor. 
It cannot be, I'm sure I knew her by her voice to Night.  Cly. 
You were deceived; 'twas Clarissa spoke t'ye under Lucretia's Name, Sabina has told me all.  Dor. 
I! was't so, well, say no more, keep my Counsel, and thou shalt see how handsomely I'll come off; and without changing discourse, only change battery, and in a quick turn make all good again. I began to find her handsome before, and had a secret inclination to love her, which now I'm fully resolved to do; and so that was my Error, shall be my Judgement too.  Luc. 
Now put him to his last Test of his impudence, and see how confounded, and ashamed he'll be.  Cla. 
Well, Sir, in a word, she, as my Friend, has told me, how you courted her to Night, and how you slighted me. Pray who is't of us two that is deceived? for one it needs must be; and you spoke to her so lovingly and amorously to Night it makes me think 'tis I  Dor. 
Who I! protest I ne'er spoke to any one but you.  Cla. 
And did you not speak to Lucretia then to Night?  Dor. 
Ha', ha', ha'! as if I did not know you by your voice▪  Cla. 
I think at last he will begin to tell truth indeed.  Dor. 
You would fain put a trick upon me, and I let you go on to be revenged of you, and feigned I did not know you. But alas, alas, d'ye think I was so simple? the deceit was too gross, and pray learn against another time to choose better by their Physiognomies, those you'd put tricks on, for I am none of them.— You thought to deceive me, and I deceived you; only my ●lightings of you were feigned to be revenged on you. For in fine I love you, and should hate my life if any moment of it were spent in any thing, but only in serving you.  Cla. 
And if this be true, why did you feign yourself married when you should have married me? I do not see what end you could have in that?  Luc. 
Or why would you w●ite me this Letter if 'twere not for love of me?  Dor. 
How I love the hidden cause of this anger now? that needs must be the love of me, since y'are displeased at my loving her; wherefore having enough dissembled, I here declare, fairest Lucretia, 'tis you I love, not her.  Cla. 
Was there ever a greater Impostor? how can you endure to hear him?  Dor. 
Stay, and when  heard me out, you can no ways doubt of the truth of that I say. Understanding of Clarissa's intent to Night, under your Name to deceive me; and how you were consenting to it too: to revenge me gently on you, I said something I grant that might have offended you.  Luc. 
But what said you yesterday in the Thuilleries?  Dor. 
My Compliments 'tis true, were to Clarissa, but my heart to you.  Cla. 
Out upon him! can you have any patience to endure him longer?  Dor. 
And there 'twas your fair eyes kindled that fire in me; I durst not let appear, till I might see whether my Father would approve my flame or no: And as all the rest of my discourse to her was only feigned, so that I told her of my being so long in Town, and coming from the Wars, was a mere Fiction too.  Cla. 
D'ye mark how he goes heaping Lies upon Lies, and does nothing but juggle with us?  Dor. 
In fine, dear, dear Lucretia, you are she alone to whom I have dedicated all my affection.  Lu●… 
Your actions so little confirm your words as I ca●●carce believe 'em.  Dor. 
But if my Father be gone to demand you of your Father, will you believe me then?  Luc. 
After so clear a Testimony as that, I should consult my seriouser thoughts perhaps whether I should or no.  Dor. 
I doubt not then, but shortly you-will see these clouds of doubt all dispersed and dissipated by the light o'th' verity. Mean time Clarissa, betwixt you and I, love your Alcippe, who had had no part in ye, but for my feigned marriage. But this he shall never know for me; and see where he comes here.   

Scena 8.  Alcippe and Geronte several ways, Lueretia, Clarissa, Sabina, Dorent, Clyton. Al. 
Our Parents are agreed, and Clarissa you are mine.  Ger. 
And as for yours fair Lucretia he has consented Dorant should marry you.  Al. 
Lest sign of your hands then, the business is done.  Ger. 
And as for you, least words of your mouth, will do the business too.  Dor. 
Sweetest, deny me not that happiness.  Al. 
What are they both dumb? that they hold their peace.  Cla. 
My Father, in fine, may absolutely dispose of me.  Lue. 
And I am all obedience unto mine.  Ger. 
Come then and prove the sweet effects of his Commandments.  Al. 
And you, that of yours,  Sab. 
Now y'are married, farewell my golden days. You have no need of my office any more.  Dor. 
Fear not, I'll be more liberal than e'er I was before.  Exeunt. manet Clyton.   

The Epilogue spoken by Clyton.  

To Lie is nothing, but do it so dextrously,  
As not to be entangled in a lie,  
There's the Art of it; and I'll forbid any ●ne,  
To do it so dextrously as Dorant has done.  
And those who will not fail in the dexterity,  
Let them come often here, and learn to lie.   
FINIS