A Fond Husband: OR, The Plotting Sisters.  
A COMEDY: As it is Acted at His Royal Highness THE DUKE's Theatre.  Haec, dum incipias, gravia sunt, dumque ignores, ubi cognôris, facilia, Terent. 
Written by THO. DURFEY Gent.  
Licenced june 15. 1676.  
ROGER L'ESTRANGE.  
LONDON: Printed by T. N. for james Magnes and Rich. Bentley, in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, near the Piazza's. 1677.   

To His GRACE, The Duke of Ormond, Lord Steward of His Majesty's Household, Knight of the Noble Order of the Garter, One of His MAJESTY'S most Honourable Privy Council, etc.  
May it please your GRACE,  
THE Arrogance a Poet may be guilty of in a Dedication, often brings him more terror, than his fear for the success of his Play; and I always thought the Frowns of an offended Patron a greater Punishment than the Censures of the Partial Critics. But the Sin of Confidence is so natural to a young Poet, and so suitable to his Character and Business, that an Excuse, or Reproof (as it would be extremely unnecessary, so it) might perhaps be a hindrance to his Fortune. My sense of this, has encouraged me to present this Comedy to your Grace; with this humble Suit, That as it has indifferently passed in the Opinion of the Town, it may have the Honour to stand as Neuter in your Grace's Favour: The greatest Confidence of a Poet can ask no more; nor can you, (My Lord) Governed by your Excellent Temper, grant less. This I know I need not repeat, nor urge a second time: For who ever yet made an Humble Address to your Grace, that went away unsatisfied? You are so far from Singularity, so Nobly Just, and so unwearied in doing good, that to Pen your Applause, were as impossible a work, as to Pen the Actions of your Life, every hour producing some memorable thing as an Addition to the Volume. My Lord, 'Tis not only my particular Grief, but every ones for your Grace's departure from England: And though the great Place of Trust conferred upon you by His Sacred Majesty, (and which none can be more worthy of) gives us proof as well of your Pious Loyalty, as Unequalled Grandeur; Yet such an Influence you have gained on all Hearts, that they had rather the Kingdom of Ireland should lose its Preserver, than they so good a Patron. This I confess I am most sensible of, perhaps having as much cause as any; which Relation I'll smother, lest it is thought Interest more than Gratitude makes me resent it.  
If I have presumed too much, I have this Excuse, That a Dedication to such a Person cannot be writ without it; and 'tis the only Honour a Poet is ambitious of, to have a great Name before his Play. I confess I was guilty of this; and have only this Excuse for the Arrogance of a Dedication, That your Grace was pleased to favour my Last, and that this was writ with the same Integrity. For the Play I can say nothing; only that it was my own, though some are pleased to doubt the contrary, (the Scotch Song excepted, a part of which was not mine; nor do I desire any Reputation from it.) Be pleased, My Lord, to forgive this Prolixity; and believe my sense of the Honour I have in Addressing to your Grace, almost equal the Ambition I shall ever own, in Styling myself,  
My LORD, Your GRACES most Humble and most Obedient Servant, THO. DURFEY.   

dramatis Personae.  
RAshley, a Gentleman, Friend to Emillia. Mr. Smith. Ranger, his Rival. Mr. Harris. Perrgrine Bubble, A credulous fond Cuckold, Husband to Emillia. Mr. james noke's. Old Fumble, a superannuated Alderman, that dotes on Black Women: He's very deaf, and almost blind; and seeking to cover his imperfection of not hearing what is said to him, answers quite contrary. Mr. Anth. Leigh. Sir Roger Petulant, a jolly old Knight of the last Age. Mr. Sandford. Sneak, Nephew to Sir Roger, a young raw Student. Mr. jevan. Spatterdash, Servant to Fumble. Mr. Richards. jeremy, Servant to Rashley. Apothecary. Mr. Percival. Emillia, Wife to Bubble. Mr. Barrer. Maria, Sister to Bubble. Mrs. Marshal. Cordelia, Niece to Bubble. Mrs. Hughes. Betty, Woman to Emillia. Mrs. Napper. Governess. Mrs. Norrice. Servants and Attendants.   

Some Books Printed for James Magnes and Richard Bentley.  

PLato's Apology of Socrates, or Phedo: Two Dialogues concerning the Immortality of Man's Soul.  
A Natural History of the Passions.  
Country Wit..  
Sophonisba.  
Nero.  
Augustus' Caesar.  
Abdellazar.  
Sir Timothy Tawdery.  
Madam Fickle.  
All Mistaken.  
English Monsieur.  
Tartuff.  
Andromache.  
Calist●●.  
Forced Marriage.  
The Fool turned Critic. In the Press.  
The second Part of the Happy Slave. In the Press.  
Moral Essays, the second Part. In the Press.   

English Novels New.  
Zelinda.  
Count Brion.  
Happy Slave.   

French Novels.  
Princess Monferat.  
L' Heureux Esclave.  
L' Heureux Esclave, Second Part.  
L' Heureux Esclave, troisieme Part. In the Press.  
A French Play Acted at Whitehall, Entitled, Rare-en-tout.  
The Disorders of Love. In the Press.  
The Destruction of jerusalem by Titus Vespasian, in two Parts.  
The Rival Queens, or the Death of Alexander the Great.  
The Plain-Dealer, by Mr. Wicherley.  
Madam Fickle, or the Witty False One.  
A Fond Husband, or the Plotting Sisters.  
All these six last have been Printed these two last Terms.  
The Education of a Prince, being the second Volume of the Moral Essays, is now in the Press.    

Prologue.  
IF Plot and Business Comical and New,  
Could please the Critics that sit here to view,  
The Poet might have thought this Play would do.  
But in this Age Design no praise can get:  
You cry it Conversation wants, and Wit;  
As if the Obvious Rules of Comedy,  
Were only dull Grimace and Repartée.  
Such, Sirs, have been your Darlings proved of late:  
The Author therefore careless of his Fate,—  
And knowing Wit a Chattel hardly got,  
Has ventured his whole Stock upon a Plot:  
He says a Mock-Song, or a Smutty Tale,—  
Can please the Town; and why not this prevail?—  
I friendly told him, all that I could say,  
Was, that your Fancies leaned the other way;  
And you loved Wenching better than his Play.  
For th' Body still you Luxury prepare;  
But let the Mind be desolate and bare:  
Thus lose yourselves in the World's prudent thought,—  
Then strive to get Reprieve by finding fault.  
A Critic is a Monster that can sway  
Only o'er Ignorance, and yet dares prey  
Upon that Power that formed him out of Clay.—  
Adulterate Age, where Prudence is a Vice,—  
And Wit's as scandalous as Avarice:—  
Yet in despite of this,— you're Poets too;  
And what two Fops rail at, a third shall do.  
Upon our Privileges you encroach,  
And with dull Rhimes the Noble Art debauch.  
For Writing Plays you scorn a Poet's Name;  
A Bawdy Song's enough to get you fame:  
Where midst the Reputation that is due,  
You will be sure no man shall censure you.  
Yet though your Faction does infest the Town,  
There is a wise Cabal dares judge and own  
Desert and Wit, and our Endeavours Crown:  
To these we humbly Dedicate our Plays,  
Whilst at their Feet our Poets throw their Bays.   

THE FOND-HUSBAND: OR, The PLOTTING SISTERS.  

ACT I.  

Scene 1.  A Dining-Room, a Table, Shuttlecock and Battle-Dor's. Rashley and Emilia sitting. Betty sings. 

IN vain, Cruel Nymph, you my Passion despise,  
And slight a Poor Lover that languishing dies:  
Though Fortune my Name with no Titles endowed;  
Yet fierce is my Passion, and warm is my Blood.  
Delay in Affection exalts an Amour;  
For he that loves often will soonest give o'er.   

2.  
But Vigorous and Young I'll flee to thy Arms,  
Infusing my Soul in Elysium of Charms.  
A Monarch I'll be when I lie by thy side,  
And thy pretty Hand my Sceptre shall guide;  
Till cloyed with delight you confess with a joy,  
No Monarch so happy, so pleasant as I.   Rashley. 
BY Heaven, There's nothing so dear to a free and generous Spirit, as this roving and uncontrolled way of Love: Me thinks we live like Angels, and every Kiss brings a new life of pleasure.  Emilia. 
You have reason to believe I think so, for suffering this early Visit from you in my Husband's absence; who, poor Man, went from me by break of day to see a Horse-Race a Mile beyond Highgate.  Rashley. 
Nay, I confess, 'tis a sign of your kind resentment of my passion: Oh Heaven! that happy thought has made me all rapture: I'll cherish it, Madam, as I would my Youth, or the best of all my Senses, the Sense of Feeling.  Emilia. 
Cherish it rather as the means of keeping our love from my Husband's knowledge. Well! I swear the thought of my indirect plot sometimes makes me very melancholy.  Rashley. 
Melancholy?— Fie, Madam, banish such thoughts for ever from your breast: If you are melancholy now, what would you have done, if I had not known you, when the Clog of your Conscience (I mean your Husband) would have been your perpetual plague, and given you cause for more melancholy than the contrivance of the plots you speak of?—  Emil. 
Ay; but to break a Vow, Sir, a Vow: Little do you think what 'tis to break a Vow.  Rashley. 
Little do I think? Madam, I thought you had known me so much a Gentleman, to imagine I know what belongs to the breaking a Vow as well as another man. To undeceive you, I have broke twenty Vows, that is, unnecessary Vows, (such as yours are!) nay, and without a scruple of Conscience: I thank my Stars, I'm of a tougher Constitution.  Emil. 
Besides, you consider not the other inconveniences; you know my Husband's Sister Maria loves you, and is of that untamed, malicious nature, that she'll revenge my invading her propriety in your heart by discovering our love to my Husband: I know she plots it hourly; and tho' her pretence is the Honour of our Family, her real design is through her love to you.  Rashley 
Never doubt your Husband, Madam, he has so strange a confidence in my fidelity, that to possess him otherwise, were utterly to take away the little sense is left him. You know he brought me to lodge in his house, which prudently I refused at first, and seemingly fled from the Heaven I desired, to make him more importunate: Since I came here, you know how he has carrest me; and to colour my design, and divert you, have feigned a Mistress in this quarter of the Town; and then, as if I spoke of her, have told him all that has passed betwixt myself and you, at which the good-natured Creature has laughed extremely, and wished me good luck a thousand times; and can we now doubt further success? By Heaven, we cannot Madam.  Emilia. 
Then you know there's another great obstacle; Ned Ranger has long professed a passion for me, and doubtless is not ignorant that my love for you is the cause of his no better success: A jealous man sees more than twenty others; and 'twill be very necessary for us to be careful of so dangerous an Enemy.  Rashley. 
Dangerous?— not at all, Madam,— never think him so; success, which animates the Hero, and leads him on to greater erterprises than before he durst attempt, has cherished hopes in me: Let me alone with him; and for thy part, Igad I'll turn thee lose to any Female-Devil on this side Lapland, either for plot or repartée.  Emilia. 
Yet still I fear the worst.  Rashley. 
Fear nothing, Madam: Fear is the worst of passions, and incident to base, not noble Hearts; besides, our love, considered rightly, is a second-rate Innocence, where affection, not duty, bears prerogative; 'tis the great and primitive business of our Souls, suspicion and fear came in by the by.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Madam, Mr. Ranger, in spite of my resistance, has rudely pressed into the House, and is just coming hither.  Emilia. 
Call up the Footmen: Lock the door.—  Enter Ranger. Ranger. 
Stand still, Mrs. Jilt, or I shall spoil your door-keeping hereafter. jack Rashley, here— Hell and the Devil—  To Betty. Emilia. 
What insolence is this? pray, Sir, your business?  Ranger. 
Only my zeal, Madam, to give you notice of an approaching danger: Your Husband has so entangled his Horns yonder in a Hawthorn-Bush, that 'tis to be feared without immediate help he will lose the decent and commodious ornament of his Forehead.  Emilia. 
Most impudent of men! how dare you talk thus?  Ranger. 
Most infamous of women! how dare you do thus?  Rashley. 
Do what, Sir?  Emilia. 
Hold, and as you love me, move no farther. Basest of men! have you the folly to believe this way can prove beneficial to your love? No, I hate thee mortally, nor shall thy malice from henceforth be successful; I'll disarm it; and when thou thinkest thy plots are surest laid, be sure of a surprise.—  Ranger. 
O infamy!— 'Sdeath, is your Forehead Steel? and is your Skin of that obdurate temper you cannot force a Blush into your Cheeks at the confession of your obscene Crime?— How great a Friend to Hell is Impudence!  Emilia. 
Pray, Sir,— forgive him, 'tis an insipid Fellow that I am often troubled with, and believe his insolence for the future shall be prevented: in the mean time to express my gratitude, give me leave to present you with this Necklace; this Ring too will fit your Finger;— nay, and swear you shan't refuse 'em, my Husband gives me often such as these, 'tis all the good I get by him.  Ranger. 
Very well;— the blessing of a wife let all men judge. What envious Fiend to plague me makes me love this Creature?  Rash. 
I will preserve your favours as my life; your memory shall possess my Soul, and all your charms live ever in my sight.— My kindest, sweetest— dearest—  Kisses her hand. Rang. 
Death and Damnation, must I stay and see this? Madam,— this modest carriage before a jealous Lover makes—  Emil. 
Little for your contentment I doubt not, Sir.— But 'tis a fate proper enough for such busy and inquisitive persons.—  Rash. 
Fa, lafoy, lafoy, lafoy, la.— Sings.  Rang. 
Go— you are a Devil; so far from being a Woman, that I begin to doubt whether Nature had any hand in your Creation. Is't not enough, Vile Creature, that I know you abuse your Husband, but that you dare give me an ocular proof? Dispense your favours to the man that horns him before my face? Oh unparalleled impudence!—  Emil. 
Incorrigible Fool, think'st thou to daunt my will? the little ill I do can raise no infamy, nor will I ever doubt it.  Rash. 
Fa, lafoy, lafoy, la.  
The joys of a Lover in passion remains,  
In passion that's fervent and free, etc.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Oh Madam, my Master's just come home and coming up.  Rang. 
Blessed minute! now I hope his eyes will be unsealed, and through the right end of the Perspective see you: Madam, assure yourself there shall want nothing in me.  Emil. 
I know, Sir, and am prepared for the worst of thy malice. Here, take this Battle-dor, and let us play.  They play. Rash. 
Out, out, Madam— you're out.  Enter Bubble. Bubb. 
Ha, ha, ha.— Chicken; Good morrow, Chicken.— Morrow Tom.— Chick, prithee let me kiss thee: What, in the mumps?— This morning, pop— no more of that— hoh— What my old Friend Ranger too! Morrow Ned. Faith! would you had been with me this morning, I have had the rarest sport yonder at Highgate with two or three Country-fellows— Harkee, Chick, I have invited 'em all to Dinner one day this week, good blunt course Fellows Faith, but damnable rich:— as Gad jidge me, I passed for a brave Fellow amongst 'em.—  Emil. 
You need boast of applause from such Clowns.  Bubb. 
Clowns? What, honest, tough, hard-fisted, plain-dealing Farmers, Clowns?— Pop— I say, you are an inconsiderable Varlet, Chicken,— and know not what belongs to such good company.  Rang. 
She is so well diverted at home, Sir, that all Rural society is distasteful to her.—  Emil. 
I guess 'em to be much of your humour, Sir, Owners of a great deal of dull, insipid noise, and very little or no sense.—  Bubb. 
Well said, Chicken.— Ned. To her.— To her again, Ned; 'Tis a raging Turk at Repartée.— Invent, invent; strike her home; prithee try her wit.— Thou art a Scholar,— for my part I dare not: (As Gad jidge me!) she's always too hard for me.—  Rang. 
And me too, I assure you, Sir.— But there's a Gentleman that has the good fortune to be more intimate:— his address is far more pleasing than mine.—  Bubb. 
Who, Tom! Come, I'll hold a Guiney she's too hard for him too; why, 'tis the readiest, witti'st, jeering'st, flearing'st Quean— 'Sbud she's one of the pearls of Eloquence.— And Pop,— by the way let me tell you, there's ne'er an Orator in Christendom has more Tropes and Figures, take her when her hands in—  Rang. 
Nor knows the Art of Wheadling better, I'll say that for her.—  Bubb. 
Gad, thou art in the right, she's a Non Parelio at it: but now you talk of Wheadling, prithee, Tom, how goes thy Love-affairs? Thou look'st but ill upon't?— Any plots? adventures of late? Ha!  Rash. 
None that can make me frown, Sir:— My Stars have allotted me so mild a destiny, that I can caress my Friend with my wonted Air, without being discouraged by my success in Love-affairs.  Bubb. 
I'm glad on't, Faith: Come, prithee let me be partaker of thy good fortune;— when wert thou with her?  Emil. 
Tell him, tell him, Sir: Lord, you never used to be so cautious in these matters:— pray tell him and tremble:— Now observe.  To Ranger aside. Rash. 
Why, Sir,— I was with her this morning.  Bubb. 
So! and what success prithee?  Rash. 
Why at my first coming she entertained me with a Song, softly expressing the delights of Love in an excellent Air, and added to it a thousand kind words and kisses: I had all the privilege imaginable, and 'twas my good luck to come at a very happy hour, for her Husband went out early i'th' morning a Fowling as far as Holloway.  Bubb. 
Holloway?— a Pox on't,— what damned luck had I? if it had been Highgate I should have met the Fool; for I have been there all this morning.  Rash. 
Ah! 'tis no matter, Sir his company can add little to anyones credit; for he is but a kind of a soft-headed, a half-witted Fellow.—  Bubb. 
A Ninnie, a Fool.— Ha, ha, ha.  Rash. 
Ay, and the most credulous of all the Cuckolds I ever met with.  Bubb. 
Poor Animal! Faith I pity him, but there's a number of 'em about Town i'faith,— we men of wit should want diversion else.  Rang. 
We men of wit, quoth a! Damn him, he's duller than a Justices Clark.— To be made a property all this while, and not discern it, Oh insufferable stupidity!  Emil. 
Observe, Sir, observe.  Rang. 
Yes, Devil, I do observe; I doubt not but my observation shall add little to your quiet. Oh curse of—  Bubb. 
Why how now, Ned? what, grinning like a Monkey eating of Chestnuts?— prithee what art thou thinking on? As Gad jidge me, I think thou art grown insipid, as my Wife says; How dost like Tom's Intrigue? Ha,— is it not pleasant?  Rang. 
Very pleasant, Sir, and faith in my judgement represents as nearly as any character I ever saw.—  Bubb. 
Represents?— who pox you're at your Quirks and Quiddits, your Cambridge-Puns and Westminster-Quibbles are you?  Emil. 
Pray forward, Sir, me thinks 'tis very divertive.  Rang. 
Very divertive! Damn her, she was sure the Offspring of Belzebub.  Rash. 
After a thousand other caresses intermixed with kisses and smiles, and a world of happy thoughts and fancies extravagantly rendered upon so happy an occasion, she obliged me in a new and most sensible way, presenting me, with a sweet and incomparable grace, this Gold-Watch, and this Diamond Ring.  Ranger looks amazedly. Bubb. 
Prithee observe Ned there, he's grown a strange whimsical Fellow;— Ha, ha, ha, look how he stares.  Rang. 
Was ever such an Impudence? sure I dream! and this is all delusion.— Harkee, Sir, are you irrecoverably blind?  Bubb. 
Blind? what I blind?  Rang. 
Methinks that Watch looks very like one I have seen your Wife wear often.  Bubb. 
Ha! as Gad jidge me, and so it does; but much good do thy heart, Tom, I'll warrant it right.  Rang. 
Me thinks that Ring too much resembles yours.  Bubb. 
The square is right,— but I think my Stones were a little bigger.  Rang. 
Now the Devil take thee for a dull Rogue.  Aside. Rash. 
But the best jest was, before she gave me these, there happened to come rudely into the Room a wild, young Fellow, that I found afterwards to be my Rival, and one she hated for his ill nature and impertinence; but to see how pitiful he looked to see me so presented before his face, would have made you die with laughing.— Ha, ha, ha.  Bubb. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Emil. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Rang. 
Hell and Furies, what's this I hear? am I made a property too? If I bear this, may I be posted for a Coward, and my infamy known to all Nations.— Harkee, Sir.  Rash. 
Well, Sir.  Rang. 
By your ridiculous fleering behaviour, I guess I was concerned in your last description, an affront that requires instant satisfaction; and believe, Sir, you shall not carry it off so clearly as you imagined: Tho' he is such a fool to be bubbled out of his reason,— I am not—; follow me, Sir, if you dare.  Rash. 
Dare! Lead on, Sir,— you shall see how much I dare.  Emil. 
Hold, Sir, you shall not go.  Rash. 
Dare follow you?  Rang. 
Ay, Sir, 'twould be a doubtful question if your protection there were out of the way.  Points to Emil. Rash. 
What's that? protection?  Bubb. 
How now?— what Jokes? hard words? what's the matter, Tom?— I must have no quarrels here.  Emil. 
'Tis Mr. Ranger's ill humour; prithee, Love, speak to him, he's always disturbing good company; tell him, he's Impertinent.  Bubb. 
Gad, and so I will.— What a pox, a man cannot be a little jocose in his own house but he must disturb him; you shall see me go and huff him.  Rang. 
His Horns I am sure are large enough;— Horns of sufficient growth, substantial Horns; Horns visible, large, craggy-brancht, rough Horns, and yet he may not believe it.  Bubb. 
Believe what, Ned? Ha, ha, ha,— He's mad.— Downright out of his Wits: 'Tis a thick sculled Fellow, God knows,— but we were not all born to be Wits.— What dost believe, Ned?  Rang. 
Why, Sir, I believe you are mad.  Bubb. 
I mad?— Damn Ned, you're an impertinent Fellow. Now observe, Chicken.  Rang. 
How, Sir?  Bubb. 
I say, Sir, an impertinent Fellow, Sir, and deserve to be crammed into a Powdering-Tub.—  Rang. 
Damn this Fool, how he tortures me! but my revenge lies another way; I'll instantly go to his Sister Maria, who I know loves Rashley, and will willingly join with me in my revenge. This must do, and I'll about it instantly.  Exit. Bubb. 
Ah— he's gone; I thought when I began to roar once he would quickly vanish: I warrant I have frighted him into an Ague.— Poor Fool, he'll hardly trouble us again this good while.  Rash. 
An uncivil person, first to intrude into our company, and then to hinder our discourse, especially of so pleasant a Narration: Gad! 'twas too much.—  Bubb. 
Too much?— Why 'twas the Devil and all; and as Gad jidge me,— he's the Son of a Whore, and I'll make him an example.  Enter Footman. Footm. 
Sir Roger Petulant with his Nephew, and old Mr. Fumble are come to visit you.  Bubb 
Gad's so!— Sirrah! wait on 'em up, and call my Niece down. This is the man, Chicken, I told thee that I intent for Cordelia's Husband: He's very Rich, I am told, and his Father's a Knight, and Sheriff of the County.  Emil. 
But who is the other, Sir?  Bubb. 
Why, dost not know him? 'Tis old Alderman Fumble: He's a little deaf, but i'faith very good company, and will so fumble about the Women.— You shall see he's a very jolly Fellow, and repartées, and talks, and chats at all rates;— but the Devil a word he hears, for he always answers quite contrary:— He ll make us all laugh i'faith.—  Emil. 
I've heard he dotes on all the Women he sees, and is as passionate and inconstant at his age of Seventy Three, as the brisk Sparks of our times are at Five and Twenty.  Rash. 
He says (the Devil take him that believes him) nothing fails him but his Eyes, which defect he has lately amended by a pair of Venetian Spectacles.  Bubb. 
Ha, ha; 'tis a pleasant old Fellow.— But here they come.  Enter Sir Roger, Sneak, Fumble. Sir Rog. 
Cob! come, Cob, come! along, I say, and hold up thy head.— Fie, fie,— be not so bashful, Child.— Nay, Cob,— what dost think I'll forsake Thee?— Pish, in verity I will not: Wipe thy Eyes, I say.  Enter Cordelia. Bubb. 
He's a little moody-hearted, that's the worst on't:— But the young man will show his parts by and by, I warrant ye.— Come hither, Niece: Sir Roger, Your most humble Servant.  Old Fumble pulls out his Spectacles, and looks on Cordelia. Sir Rog. 
Yours, good Mr. Peregrine. You see, Sir, I am as good as my word: I have brought my Nephew, Cob, here's your Mrs. Cob.— Look, look up,— and go and salute her. I'll show thee the way. Nay, Cob, still in thy dumps?— Look upon me, Man! I'll do't first.  Sneak. 
Well, well! I'll follow you, Uncle: I am a little bashful at present, but I shall come to't anon.  Sir Rog. 
Well said, Madam! I am your humble Servant.—  Kisses her. Sneak. 
And I likewise, Madam!  Fumble. 
I'fack, i'fack! a pretty well-favoured Woman that there! A good Eye, good Hair, and i'fack I think every thing good— ha— Hem, Mr. Peregrine, prithee who is that there? that Woman there?  Bubb. 
Who, she yonder?  Fumb. 
Ha!  Bubb. 
Why, she's a near Friend of mine, Sir.—  Aloud. 
What an ignorant old Fellow 'tis, not to know my Niece?  Fumb. 
A Friend? Well I could have heard you, I could have heard you without this exclamation: What i'fack, I am not deaf, I could have heard you: but if she be a Friend, I hope an old Friend may salute her; 'tis a civility well paid. By your leave, sweet Lady.  Goes to kiss Cordelia, and kisses Sneak. Sneak. 
What the Devil does this old Fellow mean? Uncle! did you ever see the like?  Sir Rog. 
Ha, ha, ha! a pleasant mistake i'faith.  Fumb. 
Ha! i'fack I think I was mistaken, was I not, Gentlemen? was I not? I doubt my false light guided me to the wrong person;— Ha! But come, no matter, I meant it right, Madam, I meant it right: Never the older for a mistake I'fack! I meant it right.  Cord. 
I am glad I missed it for all that.  Sir Rog. 
Mr. Rashley, you are not merry; in troth I fear I have disturbed you,— Ha!  Rash. 
Not at all, Sir; 'tis impossible your free humour can be troublesome to any one.  Sir Rog. 
You know my old way, Sir, jovial and inoffensive.— Pray let me commend my Nephew to you. Cob, come hither:—. He's a little too modest, Sir;— but else I think I may say,— a youth of notable parts: Come hither, Cob.  Rash. 
I can believe no less: Sir, your humble Servant.  Sneak. 
With all my heart, Sir; and I am your Servant in like manner.  Cord. 
Bless me! what a Figure of a Husband shall I have?  Sir Rog. 
You know, Sir, when I was a Bachelor I delighted much in merry Songs and Catches.— ' Ah! Sawny Broome rare Fellow; and when a dozen of us Royalists were met at the Mitre under the Rose there, the Leveller went round, round, i'faith.— I hold out still, Sir, as well as I can; and tho' I cannot sing myself, I keep those that can.—  Bubb. 
Ay, and so do I.— My Wife's Maid shall sing you a Scotch Song:— Come, sing it Betty.—  Betty sings. 

A Scotch SONG.  

IN January last on Munnonday at Morn,  
As along the Fields I passed to view the Winter Corn,  
I leaked me behind, and saw come o'er the Knough,  
Then glenting in an Apron with a bonny brent brow.   

2.  
I bid Gud Morrow, Fair Maid, and she right courteously,  
Bekt lieu and Sine kind Sir, she said, Gud Day again to ye.  
I speard o her, Fair Maid quo I, how far intent you now?  
Quo she, I mean a Mile or twa to yonder bonny borough.   

3.  
Fair Maid, I'm we'll contented to ha' sike Company;  
For I am ganging out the Gate that you intent to be.  
When we had walked a Mile or twa, I said to her, My Dow,  
May I not light your Apron sine kiss your bonny brow?   

4.  
Nea, Gud Sir, you are far mistean, for I am nean o those,  
I hope you ha' more breeding than to light a Woman's clothes;  
For I've a better chosen than any sike as you,  
Who boldly may my Apron light, and kiss your bonny brow.   

5.  
Nay, give you are contracted, I have no more to say;  
Rather than be rejected, I will give o'er the Play:  
And I will choose then o my own that shall not on me rue,  
Will boldly let me light her Apron, kiss her bonny brow.   

6.  
Sir, I see you are proud-hearted, and loath to be said Nay;  
You need not tall ha' started for eaght that I did say:  
You knaw Wemun for modesty no at the first time Boo;  
But give we like your Company we are as kind as you.    Bubb. 
How d'ee like it?  Sir Rog. 
Oh! I have hundred such as this, Sir.  Fumb. 
A pretty matter i'fack, a very pretty matter.  Rash. 
I doubt, Sir, you heard it not.  Fumb. 
Ay, is it not, Mr. Rashley, is it not? I'fack I like it well.  Rash. 
With all my heart, Sir.  Fumb. 
Right i'fack, it was sung well indeed.  Omn. 
Ha, ha, ha!  Bubb. 
Well said, Grandfire Fumble.— Come, Sir Roger, now let's in, and toss a Bumper about.  Sir Rog. 
I wait upon you, Sir. Cob, lead in your Mistress.—  Exeunt. Manent, Rashley, and Emilia. Rash. 
So! thus far all is well.— But what's next to be done? for I know Ranger and Maria are plotting mischief.  Emilia. 
To prevent 'em we must counterfeit a falling out by railing at you to my Husband. I'll soon confirm it in his opinion; but be sure you are melancholy enough; and by this means their designs are frustrated, and we still safe in our Intrigue.  Rash. 
Excellent!— And I'll warrant you, Sweet, I'll play my part well.  Emilia. 
The better will be the success: but let's go in for fear we are seen.  Rash. 
Thus whilst we're equally involved in thought,  
That side fares best that lays the wisest plot.—  Exeunt.   

The Second ACT.  
Enter Ranger and Maria. Rang. 
NEver was an Intrigue carried with so much confidence; every word they spoke retained a double meaning; but so evident, that any Animal, but a dull Husband, could not fail to understand it: for they were so far from hiding their Amour, that they openly confessed all; only speaking in a third person for a slender security. He stood and heard it, and often would laugh heartily to hear himself notoriously abused.  Mar. 
An insipid Fool! Oh that I had been there to have changed the Scene a little! But, Sir, could you be idle on such an occasion? Why did not you play your part cunningly, and discover 'em?—  Rang. 
Faith, I did what I could: but the cunning Devil your Sister, still as I was speaking something towards the discovery, would interrupt me, and in a minute dash all my hopes by turning what was said into raillery.  Mar. 
Is she so politic? 'tis very well: I once imagined I could best design, and thought my Talon of Wit equal with any. But are they so intimate, say ye, Sir?  Rang. 
As Man and Wife.  Mar. 
Impudent Fellow! dares he insult over my Love? Baffle my passion with a sly pretence? I am not fair enough; but he shall find my Brain has Wit enough to ruin his design, Fool as I am.  Rang. 
Now the Devil in her is working hard for me; we shall have it anon.—  Aside. Mar. 
Fooled by a Brother's Wife! A Creature that the Law makes kin to me! No, 'twas tamely thought, and I as tamely now should suffer wrongs had I a Dastard Spirit. But in me Nature has shown her Masterpiece, and to a Masculine person Providence has bestowed an Active Soul so sensible of wrongs, that to forgive would argue me as base as is their treachery.  Rang. 
Now she thunders; the Devil has been priming her all this while, and now she scatters like a Hand-Granado.  Aside. Mar. 
My love refused! 'Tis Death to the dull Fool; Death, double Death; Damnation too 'tis likely.— But why did I name it Love? there's no such word; for with this breath I banish it for ever, and in my breast receive obscure revenge, my Hearts delightful Darling! Oh the pleasure in that slender word Revenge!— I'll plague the Fool her Husband with a story shall make his Gall flow upwards.  Rang. 
Plague him with doubts, and make his jealousy break into violent fits of rage and passion: I'll further all, Madam; by Heaven I will not fail you.  Mar. 
Enough; and doubt not we'll soon turn the Current.  Rang. 
We'll catch 'em in his Lodging.  Mar. 
Entrap 'em there, and bring him in to see it.  Rang. 
Right: What else? We'll shame 'em.—  Mar. 
'Slight 'em.—  Rang. 
Laugh at 'em.—  Mar. 
Vex 'em.—  Rang. 
Ruin 'em.—  Mar. 
Dam 'em.—  Rang. 
hay! By Heaven 'tis excellent; and now I see the sense of wrongs can arm a Female Spirit, and make it vigorous.— Oh I adore thy temper!  Mar. 
I'll instantly go to her, and first charge her with the fact, then upbraid her: for I am resolved never to let her rest till she deserts his passion.—  
And whilst she suffers that base Wretch to woo her,  
I'll plot, and counterplot, but I'll undo her.  Exit. Rang. 
I am glad I met with her; for of all the persons I am acquainted with, she only has enough of the Devil to follow such a business closely: for she'll never rest till she has betrayed 'em, which still will further my revenge; and I am resolved to enjoy her Sister, if it be but only for the dear pleasure of boasting it hereafter. I'll straight to Bubble, and once more infect him with my poison: Maria is my Pilot▪ and her being thus slighted by Rashley, will still augment her desire of revenge; 'tis natural to the Sex:  
For balk a Woman once, and love rebate,  
Not all the Devils shall reclaim her hate.  Ex.  

Scene 2.  Enter Rashley, Emilia. Emil. 
MAnage it but carefully, you need not doubt the consequence: I have already possessed my Husband with a belief of our variance, and I know he's coming up with an intent to reconcile us. I'll not be seen; the rest is your part, carry it but handsomely, and Ranger's plots are fruitless. Maria has sent also to speak with him; I guess the business, and I am accordingly provided.— But remember you are not tardy.  Rash. 
Never doubt me, Madam; I am more a Lover than to be idle in a business that so nearly concerns us: besides, 'tis so well contrived, and so easy to be followed, that to fail now would demonstrate me as defective in sense as your Husband is. But what business can your Sister have with you? The Devil and She have been plotting together about this Intrigue.  Emil. 
Let 'em plot:— I am so much her Sister, that my part shall never be wanting to furnish the Comedy. I'll go to her straight: in the mean time be you sure to play your part with him.— Hark! I hear him coming.  Naise within. Exit. Rash 
Well! I never thought a Woman till now so necessary a Creature: Intrigues are their Masterpieces, and as readily they undertake 'em as a Country-Lawyer a bad Cause from a half-witted Client: 'twould be excellent sport to hear the two She-Wolves bark one at another: but since I cannot be there, I'll divert myself with entertaining the Fool her Husband.— Here he comes! Now to my studied posture.  Enter Bubble. Bubb. 
Why how now, Tom? What, allamort? In verity this is Foppery, as Sir Roger says. Come, cheer up, cheer up, Man, and hold up thy head; in troth thou makest me sad to see the look so like— so like a— Gammon of Bacon. There I was sharp upon him:— Ha, ha! a good jest i'faith.  Rash. 
Damn him, what a simile the Fool has found out!  Aside. 
Sir, it lies not in any man's power to banish serious thoughts at all times:— Besides, I have some cause for my present melancholy.  Bubb. 
The cause?— Come, come, Tom,— I know the cause, ha, ha.— You thought I warrant to have carried matters so privately; but if I once go about such a business, there's ne'er a man in Christendom (tho' I say it) can find out a cause sooner than I  Rash. 
You may be mistaken in mine, Sir, for all that.  Bubb. 
Mistaken? ha, ha!— I see, Tom, thou knowest not what 'tis to be ingenious: I tell thee once more, I do know the cause, the very cause; I, and more than that, the cause of that cause;— 'Sbud there's ne'er an Attorney in the Inns of Court knows more causes than I do.  Rash. 
I doubt not but in the end you'll be brought to confess yourself too positive in this particular: but since you have such an excellent faculty, and imagine yourself so well skilled in finding out secrets,— come, what is't? what is't?  Bubb. 
What is't? Why, ha, ha, ha!— My Wife— my Wife, Tom, and you're fallen out, ha, ha, ha!— have I mumped you now i'faith?—  Rash. 
I must confess you are in the right, Sir.  Bubb. 
O must you so, Sir? What a pox I warrant you thought we Husbands had no wit but what our Wives lend us? But I would have you to know, Tom, that I am a Leviathan at these matters: to be plain, that is as much as to say, a Whale.—  Rash. 
I am sufficiently convinced of your excellent judgement, Sir; and as I have confessed to you freely the cause of my sadness, to be your Wives ill usage of me, so I am continually tortured to guests the reason: for I am confident, Sir, you know I always honoured her, and loved her.  Bubb. 
Faith! so thou didst! I'll say that for thee; and by the Lord Harry she shall love and honour thee too, or I'll be very sharp upon her; I'll pinch her severely faith, for all she's my Chicken: nay, if she▪ ll be still refractory, rather than fail thou shalt pinch her too, Tom. I am not like your surly-burly-waspish-cross-grained Fellows, that fall out and fight about their Wives: 'Sbud I'll give my friend leave at any time to chastise my Wife if she don't behave herself civilly.  Rash. 
You ever load me with your kind expressions, Dear Friend!—  Bubb. 
Dear Dom, Faith thou'rt an honest Fellow.  Embrace. Rash. 
This ever is the fate of Cuckolds.—  Aside. Bubb. 
Never doubt;— I'll bring you together again with a vengeance: nay, I can tell you the reason of her anger too, if I thought 'twere convenient.  Rash. 
Convenient! Why, Sir, 'tis the only thing that conduces to my contentment; for I have long studied in vain, and could never yet so much as guests at it: Let me beg it of you, Sir; come, I'm sure you cannot deny so near a Friend.  Bubb. 
I'faith I cannot,— that's the truth on't, and thou shalt have it.— Why, you must know, Tom, one night (when I was examining her about you) she told me very seriously that the cause of her anger was, that you promised to give her a Squirrel that night, and never kept your word; and she loves Squirrels passionately.  Rash. 
'Tis true, I confess I did promise her;— but as the Devil would have it, I was disappointed utterly of my Squirrel that night myself; for I got very drunk, and from thence sprung this fatal consequence  Bubb. 
Pugh!— no matter; I'll warrant thee I'll bring all about again.—  Rash. 
Oh 'tis impossible;— I am sure she'll near be brought to't,  Bubb. 
Not brought to't? Yes, I'll lay my commands upon her, and I'll have you know she shall be brought to't: I'll lay a Wager I'll reconcile you both before night.—  Rash. 
Done: any Wager.—  Bubb. 
What shall it be?  Rash. 
Why, Five Guinneys to be spent in a Treat of Venison and Champain.  Bubb. 
Agreed i'faith; and we'll drink and sing Tory-Rory. Not reconcile you! You shall be all one before to morrow-morning.— I have a spell for that; I'll do't, I say; come along, Boy.—  Rash. 
A petty Friend for pimping we applaud:  
But of all Men a Husband's the best Bawd.—  Exit.  

Scene 3.  Enter Sir Roger, Cordelia, Sneak. Sir Rog. 
MAdam, You, as being the Niece to Mr. Peregrine, truly deserve the favour I intent you by this Alliance: You are a handsome Woman, and in verity were I a young Man, none should be more forward than I for a place in your affection. I like your Air well; and upon my Faith you have the right way on't. Ah!— Madam, I once saw the days when such an Eye as yours— Well, I say no more on't,— 'tis for my Nephew now I make addresses;— you see what he is, Madam;— His Face is none of the worst, nor his Person I think any way defective.— In brief, Madam, I present him to you, nor shall he want an Estate to make him worthy.  Cord. 
'Tis well he named an Estate to Candy over his bitter Pill, my squeamish Stomach would else have hardly digested it.— Lord! how he looks?—  Sir Rog: 
Cob! go;— prithee go and make your address to the Lady. He's newly come from the College, Madam, and is as the rest of 'em are, a little bashful at first; but by that time h'as seen a Play or two—  Cord. 
Me thinks this silence becomes him very well, Sir: A Student should always be contemplative; 'tis a great sign of Learning.—  Sir Rog. 
'Tis a sign he thinks the more: But, Madam, Ladies of this Age are not to be won with Imaginary Courtship, 'tis the practic part they love; and he that can sing well, dance well, talk well, rhyme modishly, swear decently, and lie confoundedly,— is certainly the happy man, whilst others pass unregarded.—  Cord. 
I see, Sir, you are well skilled in Modish Address; but give me leave to tell ye, perhaps few other Ladies are of my humour:— I love words considerately spoken.—  Sir Rog. 
And I too, Faith Madam. Cob, D'ee hear that, Cob?—  Sneak. 
Ay, ay! 'tis a fine Woman, by Ierico, and now I begin to be a little in heart: I shall put up well enough anon, Uncle.—  Sir Rog. 
Well said! Why now I love thee: And, Madam, as to his Interiour Virtues, I dare speak for 'em; His Wit is hereditary; Ah! his Father, old Sir jeremy Sneak, had a notable Head-piece, and troth Cob comes very near him; you'll find it, Madam, when he talks with you.  Cord. 
Your Character of him, Sir, gives me the satisfaction I should receive in his discourse: I imagine him to be one of those that hoard up Wit for Plato's great Year, and are very shy of using their Talon for fear of diminishing the value in making it too common.—  Sir Rog. 
In verity, Madam, I always held him so.— Cob!—  Sneak. 
Ay, Madam, you may say of me what you please; I am your Slave,— your Vassal,— your Pig, Madam: But as for Wit, as my Nuncle says, I think I may compare with another, take the Court-Cabal away.— 'Tis a blessing thrown upon me: Besides, mine is none of your Wheadling Wits, that cheat for a Livelihood: I am no Parasite, Madam;— I am a Scholar, I!  Sir Rog. 
In troth he's in the right:— Did not I tell you, Madam, he would speak notably?— Ah, 'tis a Wag  Cord. 
His Disputes in the College have added extremely to his Rhetoric; he speaks with good Emphasis, and gives a delightful period to every Jest, of which I see he has many. But I would fain have the Gentleman speak himself, a little talk I am sure would become him.  Sir Rog. 
He shall do't, Madam.— Cob, now's your time;— she's wrought finely.— Madam,— I'll take my leave for a minute;— I know his temper, Madam;— he'll speak the better for my absence.—  Exit. Cord. 
Pray, Sir, what University was blessed with your presence?  Sneak. 
Cambridge, Madam.—  Cord. 
Will you not be angry if I ask you one Question more?  Sneak. 
O Lord, Angry, Madam? You do not know me. Angry! You mistake me clearly: We of the Round Cap are not given to't; 'tis your Graduates are the angry people.  Cord. 
Pray, what have you learned at Cambridge?  Sneak. 
Learned! what a Plaguy Question's that?— where's my Uncle now?— Learned, Madam?  Cord. 
Yes, Sir, Learned!  Sneak. 
Why, Madam,— I learned Nothing.  Cord. 
Nothing, Sir!  Sneak. 
No,— but to wear a Daggled Gown, as the rest do, and eat dry Chops of Rotten Mutton: We Fellow-Commoners don't go thither to learn;— Madam, we go for Diversion, we.—  Cord. 
I thought you had gone to learn the Sciences.—  Sneak. 
Right, Madam;— but not Gentlemen: Your green half-witted Pupils, I confess, come thither for some such business; that is, Madam, your Priggs that would be Parsons. But the Sciences of your Persons of Quality;— I ll give you a description;— Hum?— 'Tis to Wench immoderately;— To be Drunk hourly;— To wear their clothes slovenly;— To abuse the Proctor damnably;— And so be expelled the College triumphantly:— There are seven,— but I contented myself with these.  Cord. 
This is ever found,— Your sly Fool is in his nature more impudent than the greatest Professors of Debauchery.— I must shift him off.—  Enter Fumble. Fumb. 
Oh!— here she is;— and i'fack I'll put up to her now I have found her. How dost thou do, Girl?— Ha! how dost thou do? Give me thy hand. Ah, little Rogue!— Well, I have been with my Goldsmith about the Ring I promised thee; Thou shalt have it, Bird, thou shalt have it.— How now, who is that there?—  Sneak. 
O the Devil!— Now will the old doting Fellow disturb us before I have told her half my mind. Who am I, Sir? Why, Sir, I am one that cares as little—  Fumb. 
Thank you heartily, Sir, I'fack;— I am very well; only cold weather, cold weather.— 'Tis Sir Roger's Nephew! A pretty Fellow,— a very pretty Fellow.  Sneak. 
Very well, Sir; would you were very sick, Sir. 'Ounds, I must beat this Fellow.—  Cord. 
Here's like to be rare sport.  Sneak. 
Pray, Old Philosopher, depart in silence for fear of further damage; this Lady and I have business.  Fumb. 
I'fack, and so she is, Sir, very pretty, very pretty, bona fide. Ah that black o'th' top there! Well, I'll say no more. But, i'fack, Black Hair, Black Eyes, and a Black— (Gad forgive me, what was I going to say?)— Patch or two further Generation more than Tissues and Embroideries.  Sneak. 
Generation? O Lord! was ever such an Impudence? An old doting impotent Fellow, one that was rotten in his Minority, and now has lost three of his five Senses, to talk of Generation! I am impatient: Will you begone, Sir? 'Sbud I will so swinge you else.  Cord. 
Held, Sir, and pray forbear this rudeness; I like his Company very well.—  Sneak. 
How! like him? Why, he has Nothing, Madam: A Lady can like no Hearing, no Smelling, no Tasting, no Teeth, no Strength, no— nothing I say that a man should have? Besides, he's above fourscore; and by being a Stallion in his Youth, has acquired to be a Baboon in his Age, by Ierico.— 'Sbud, like him, quoth a?  Fumb. 
What does the Wag say? Ha! What does he fay? He's a pretty spruce Fellow, Madam, and i'fack knows a Hawk from a Handsaw, as the saying is.— But here are those not far off that i'fack know as much as he, if that were all; what think'st thou, Bird? do they not? do they not, Rogue? Well, still I say that Hair of thine. Ah, Rascal!  Cord. 
I am glad it pleases you, Sir.  Sneak. 
But, Madam, when shall I begin? 'Sbud me thinks we lose time.  Cord. 
Begin! what, Sir?  Sneak. 
Why, my Courtship. Pox o''is old chattering Fellow; if he had not come, I had been out of my pain before now:— Hark ye, Reverend Sir, ' Bud! what d''ee do prating here? why don't you go and chat to your Granddaughter at home, if you love Women so well?—  Fumb. 
Ha!— what does the Wag say, Madam?  Cord. 
He says, Sir, he's extremely in love with your Granddaughter.  Fumb. 
My Grand— daughter? and i'fack she deserves it, Madam: She's a juicy, sprightly Girl; she'll make a Pottle of Water of a Pint of Ale; a Chip o' the Old Block, bona fide, and shall turn her Back to ne'er a one in Christendom of her Inches, I'll say that for her.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Sir, there's one Mrs. Snare below desires to speak with you.  Sneak. 
Snare! O Lord, what shall I do? how the Devil came she to know I was here? Hark,— prithee, Sweetheart, tell her I am gone: Oh! I would not see her for the World.  Betty. 
Sir, she says she dogged you hither, and swears and rants yonder strangely.  Sneak. 
O damned Quean! what shall I do?  Betty. 
And vows if you come not instantly, she'll go into the Parlour to Sir Roger, and discover something to him, I know not what; but I saw she was a bigbellied Woman, and I was loath to discourage her.  Ex. Betty. Sneak. 
Well, well,— tell her I'll come; why how the Devil could she get from Cambridge already?  Cord. 
What's the matter, Sir? Not well?  Sneak. 
Yes, I thank you, Madam, very well, only thinking of a little business I have; I must about it presently: Madam, Your Servant, I'll wait on you some other time. I must go and pacify this Quean▪ This comes of Learning the Sciences with a Pox▪—  Exit Sneak▪ Cord. 
Come, Sir, shall we go in?  Fumb. 
I'fack,— and so he is, Madam: but the Fellow has some pretty parts, and will grow better in time: But come, let's go in and see Sir Roger.  Cord. 
'Twas that I asked you.  Fumb. 
Ha! dost like me, sayst thou, i'fack? I'm glad on't. Shall we not have a word or two in private, my little Queen of Fairies? We must, I say, we must.— Ah Rogue!— I'll warrant thou art a Swinger:— But come, let's go.—  Ex.  

Scene 4.  Emilia's Bedchamber. Enter Maria and Emilia severally. Emil. 
NOw for my Talon of Women! I see by her looks I shall have occasion for it.  Mar. 
Sister!  Emil. 
Sister!  Mar. 
The natural love I bear you, and my desire to prevent your growing Infamy, has brought me hither to give you counsel.  Emil. 
The sense I have of your ill nature, and my knowledge of the little good it will do you, has brought me hither to give you advice.  Mar. 
Your Reputation is loudly branded by all tongues, and I only as a Sister have power to speak indifferently of your Life in hopes of your Reformation.  Emil. 
Your Malice and unexampled Envy is mortally hated by all people; I only as a Sister retaining so much pity as to desire its utter Dissolution.—  Mar. 
Why do you echo me?  Emil. 
Why do you question me? What have I done deserves it?  Mar. 
Done! Recollect your thoughts, and then confess; for my part, shame ties up my tongue I dare not speak it.  Emil. 
Dare not! Nay, that I am sure is false, you dare speak any thing: Come, prithee don't fright me, what is't you mean?  Mar. 
Excellent cunning! she has fitted me.—  Aside. 
Why would you seem ignorant? I confess to a stranger you might be cautious of a nice Confession: But this artifioe to your Sister, fie, Emilia.  Emil. 
Now I'll lay my life your design is to wheadle something out of me to make yourself merry withal.  Mar. 
Rare still!— No, Madam, this is no such merry matter; the Infamy of a Family is not so to be jested with.  Emil. 
Infamy! Nay, than I see 'tis time to be serious: Come, express it; I suppose 'tis the Invention of your Envy, some new stratagem to affront me with; I am no stranger to your temper.  Mar. 
This is an impudence beyond a prostitute: Do I not know you are false?  Emil. 
False! How?  Mar. 
False to your Husband; False with Rashley: I need not tell you how, you best know that.  Emil. 
I know you love him! and am sensible of the Intrigues and Assignations which you have had, which makes your meaning visible. But me thinks this is so strange a design.  Mar. 
Design! What is't she means? I hope you can tax me with no such crime with him.  Emil. 
Not I; 'tis not my business; I have only liberty to guests: yet indeed your often private meetings were a little suspicious, and I suppose your late raillery was only a design; but you might have took a better way with your Sister:— I am not so talkative.  Mar. 
Exquisite Devil!— Death, I am incensed beyond all bounds of reason: I private with him! An Intrigue with me! Fury! thou know'st—  Emil. 
I do;— and to exasperate thy rage, will now confess all. I do love Rashley more than I love Fame: Nay, more than you could do, could you die for him.— But why should that offend you?  Mar. 
Oh Confusion! I am all o'er Fire: Dare you be such a Devil? dare you love him?  Emil. 
Yes; and to vex you more, dare make you of my counsel?  Mar. 
Can I endure this? Oh for a look now of a Basilisk that I might kill thee.  Emil. 
Thou art worse.—  Mar. 
Expect to find me so; for if there be a stratagem of Malice in all Hell, I'll have it thence: Ah, I'll be a tender Sister to thee.  Emil. 
As ever Woman yet was blessed withal.  Mar. 
Not all the Infernals clad in the secret darkest Robes of Malice, did ever watch a Soul they meant to ruin, as I will thee: Thy very sleeps shall be discovered to me, and every dream I'll trace with so much care, that if thou scapest thou art the wiser Sister, and I a poor unthinking Creature good for nothing.  Emil. 
I slight thy threats, and dare thee to persevere: Manage thy hate with such dexterity, the World may wonder at thee, and confess thou hadst the practic part of Policy: Design thy plots so subtly, that the Devil should own himself out done in his own Mystery; yet in the Arms of him I love, I'd laugh to see my Wit outdo 'em.  Mar. 
Thy Wit! thy Wit compare with mine, insipid Fool?  Emil. 
Yes; and my prosperous Fate shall mount me far above thy shallow Stratagems.  Mar. 
I'll pull thee down from that ambitious height, and trample thee in Ashes.—  Emil. 
Do.  Mar. 
Expect it.  Emil. 
And from that low recess I'll forge a plot shall blow thee into Air.—  
I'll make that Devil in thy Envy tame.  Mar. 
And if I fail thee may I sink and dam.  Ex.   

The Third ACT.  Enter Sneak and Mrs. Snare. Sneak. 
NAy! prithee, Pegg, have patience.  Snare. 
Tell not me of patience, Sir, for my part I can stay no longer; you see my condition; if you will consider, so; if not, Sir Roger shall know that the abuse of so innocent a person as I was, deserves better satisfaction.  Sneak. 
Innocent!— 'Sbud, she was a Strumpet to the whole College before I knew her: Innocent, with a pox!  Snare. 
Sir, do not grumble, nor say your Devils Pater Noster to me, but give me money; Fifty Pounds I demand, which I think is reasonable enough considering the charge of my journey.  Sneak 
You might have stayed till I came back again, I was not running away.  Snare. 
But I was, Sir, and so might you for any thing I know: Come, come, Sir, I am to be baffled no more; I am grown older now, make me thankful.  Sneak. 
Ay, in impudence, by Ierico: she has been snapped it seems formerly,— but has now learned cunning. Ah, plague o' these Sciences, I say still!— Come wilt thou be civil? wilt thou take Twenty Pounds? Pox, use a little Conscience in thy dealings; thou wilt thrive the better for't.  Snare. 
I'll abate not a Farthing, Sir; Don't tell me of Conscience.  Sneak. 
'Sbud, would she were i'th' Sea, and a Millstone about her neck: I must give it; for if my Uncle comes and sees her, I am undone.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
O Sir, what shall we do? Sir Roger and my Master are just coming.  Sneak. 
Oh unhappy minute! if he sees me I am lost for ever: No hole nor corner to hide us in, my little Rogue? 'Sbud here's a Guiney for thee do but contrive handsomely.  Betty. 
Well, Sir,— I see you are a Gentleman; therefore I'll help you: this door opens to my Ladies chamber; there you may hide yourselves;— and at night when it begins to grow dark, I'll come and let you out.  Sneak. 
With all my heart! Oh I've an Ague on me.—  Exeunt. Enter Ranger and Emilia. Rang. 
Are you still resolved?  Emil. 
Assure yourself I am and shall be ever.  Rang. 
Give me but hopes, and I'll forget all injuries, and ask your pardon.  Emil. 
Fie, this from a Man of Wit, one that can plot so well? 'tis impossible: what would you have me do?  Rang. 
Desert young Rashley: Come, I beg thee do it.  Emil. 
Not for the World! Oh Heaven! desert him! I love him, Sir.  Rang. 
Go on then, Devil, and if I don't plague thee!—  Enter Bubble, Sir Roger, Rashley, Fumble. Bubb. 
Now for the Venison, Tom! you'll stand to your Bargain?  Rash. 
Firmly, Sir, win it, and 'tis yours.— Ha!— what a Devil makes Ranger here?  Sir Rog. 
Madam, I hope you'll excuse my last abrupt departure: my nature, Madam, is merry, and in verity careless sometimes. I have not since I came to England achieved the Polite Method of Courtship and Address; but if blunt Actions, kind Behaviour, and merry Songs can do it, I think I have shown an example, have I not, old Signior!  Fumb. 
I'fack, Sir, and 'tis right, let who will say the contrary; what does he say now? Madam, you may believe him.  Emil. 
Any thing, Sir, rather than put you to the trouble of an Apology.  Emil. frowns on Rashley. Rash. 
What think you now, Sir? do you observe her angry Look? do but see what an Eye of indignation she casts upon me!  Bubb. 
Ay, ay,— I'll put out her Eye of indignation presently; I'll fetch her down with her haughty looks in a moment; I'll make her look as I'd have her, or I'll put her head into a Pudding Bag.  Rang. 
'Sdeath, how she looks! here's another plot a hatching.  Bubb. 
Wife! I have brought honest Tom here to be reconciled to thee; and to take away all manner of distastes, he says he will give thee a Squirrel at any time, wilt thou not, Tom?  Rash. 
Sir, and my heart into the bargain, if she please to pardon me.  Bubb. 
Why, look ye now;— he's as honest a Fellow as lives, I'll say that for him.  Emil. 
Sir, the affront he offered me was so contrary to my nature, and his behaviour so opposite to his Duty and Character, that to forgive him, would argue my Spirit as mean as by his late deportment one might guests his breeding.  Bubb. 
What! dare you be refractory?— Hoh!— do it, or by the Lord Harry I shall be very sharp upon you, that's in short.—  Rang. 
Now all the Fiends that dwell beneath the Centre,  
And hourly study deeds subtle and horrid,  
To sooth and snare the Souls ye mean to dam,  
In favour of your Commonwealth appear,  
And to be still more Devilish, copy her.  Bubb. 
Still refrectory? Then thus, I break the Truce, and fally out with my full power.  Rang. 
Sir, do you not see her artifice? This is nothing what she intends; 'tis all feigned, and you are abused, by Heaven: Sir, there's nothing of this real.  Bubb. 
Ah! would it were not. But Ned, thou canst talk well, prithee go and try if thou canst reconcile 'em; Faith I'll do as much for thee; prithee try.—  Rang. 
Insufferable ignorance! No Brains! No sense of feeling! Sir, this is all dissimulation, and to carry on their design of abusing you.  Bubb. 
Why, peace, I say, not a word of this; 'sbud I shall lose my Venison by this Fools prating, if I let him alone a little longer. Wife, I command you once more; and instantly obey upon this Summons, or I'll turn you away like a Vagabond for contempt of my Government. Sir Roger! try you to persuade her; 'sbud this Ned here had liked to have spoiled all; but what says Scoggen?  Emil. 
'Tis hard to force lost friendship to the blood when once 'tis banished.  Rang. 
Had she been bred a Witch she had lost half her Character.  Sir Rog. 
Come, Madam! forget and forgive; 'tis necessary your Husband should be obeyed. Mr. Rashley, I am sorry to see you so deserted by the Ladies you used to be most in favour withal.  Rash. 
Not I: but you weigh my Merits in your own Scale, Sir Roger.  Sir Rog. 
No faith; I am old now; but about some thirty years ago I could have said something; I could have fetched 'em about with a Horsepox i'faith; I never flinched, I was a true Knight-Errant, I.  Fumb. 
What is the meaning of all this? I'fack I cannot guests the matter: but mum, I must not discover my failing.  Emil. 
Well, Sir, rather than be thought disobedient I will submit; but Heaven knows with what an ill will—  Bubb. 
Why so, now all's well, and the Venison's mine,— ha, ha, ha— I thought I should have it: Faith, Tom, be civil, and kiss her, 'tis no confirmation else.  Rang. 
Oh damn him, damn him! was ever such a Coxcomb?  Rash. 
'Tis now about Five; at Seven I will not fail ye: Madam,— you have given me new life with this favour.  Aside. Rang. 
At Seven? (Good!) Thanks to my Ear for that discovery: I shall go near to spoil your assignation.  Aside. Bubb. 
Go now, get you in, and begin a Set at Ombre, and I'll come and make one presently. By the Lord Harry I am glad they are friends with all my heart.  Ex. Sir Roger, Fumble, Rashley, Emilia smiling. Enter Maria. Rang. 
So Paris stole the Wife of Menelaus, and Troy grew bright with Fire.—  Bubb. 
hay day!— Troy! why what hast thou to do with Troy? Ned, prithee let us talk of our own affairs.  Mar. 
And wisely too; for your Reputation suspended one hour will grow nauseous; the Rabble will shout at ye, and point their fingers, and by your Name you will grow infamous.  Enter Betty at door. Bubb. 
My Name, Sister! what dost mean? what name?  Mar. 
A Cuckold: Can you bear it, Sir? A Cuckold-Buz.  Bubb. 
By the Lord Harry 'tis but a scurvy Name for a Man of Honour, that's the truth on't; but what is't to me?  Rang. 
Nothing, Sir, nothing; only you are the Man, that's all.  Bubb. 
That's all, quotha? what a pox does he mean?  Mar. 
Dull Man! I blush to call ye Brother, that kind name, your want of sense taken from you: Can you see the guilty Love 'twixt Rashley and your Wife, the melting Touches, and the glancing Eyes? the often Press, Sighs, and kind Caresses, and all the signs of shame and burning Lust, and yet be patient? Oh the insipid dulness of a Husband! A Husband.  Bubb. 
Rashley and my Wife! Pish,— why, I reconciled 'em but just now; she has been angry with him this week for not giving her a Squirrel he promised her.  Rang. 
A Squirrel?— Ha! a very fine present that, if you understood all.  Betty. 
Happy discovery! this shall to my Lady immediately.  Ex. Mar. 
That anger was designed: You are abused, and I that have a share in all your ignominy, have now resolved prevention. Oh that ever I should live to be a Witness of this shame!  Weeps. 
Heaven knows how I have loved her, instructed her, and told her the Duty of a Wife was to obey and be constant; yet all would not do: therefore I am resolved to right myself and you in the discovery; nor shall our race in future times be branded with any Spurious Offspring.  Rang. 
I could not be believed, I was impertinent; but if you knew what I have seen, Sir.  Bubb. 
Seen! why prithee what hast thou seen, Ned?  Rang. 
Faith, 'twill be no secret long, therefore I'll tell you: I have seen her lie in Rashley's Arms and kiss him; play with his Nose, and clap his Cheeks, and laugh till her whole Frame was shook with Titulation; I guess, Sir, 'twas at you, but will not swear it.— She'd sing, and breathe upon him, and with her Hand locked fast in his, and Eyes with rapture gazing on his Face, she'd tell him wanton Stories of her love, and of her easy Husband. He, to requite her, would display her Charms, and betwixt every word imprint a Kiss to prove his amorous Argument.  Bubb. 
And you have seen this?  Rang. 
More than this, Sir, I have seen (but to tell you is to be called Impertinent!) such things, such monstrous things.  Bubb. 
My Head begins to ache;— all is not well; prithee, Ned, out with 'em; come, I am thy Friend; and 'sbud, if I thought any thing were done in Hugger Mugger.  Mar. 
What would you do then?  Bubb. 
Do!— Why, I'd ask him civilly whether his meaning were good or no.  Rang. 
His meaning?—  Bubb. 
Ay:— you know 'tis best to begin mildly, that afterwards, if occasion be, a man may cut his Throat with greater assurance.  Mar. 
Stare on your Infamy with Eagle-aspect! Behold the evidence of Shame writ in her Eyes and Actions! See every Glance, each Touch, each kind Embrace; and when you have seen 'em in the very fact, stand coldly unconcerned, and ask the meaning. Ah! Curse upon all dulness.—  Rang. 
Let Rashley smile and point his Fingers at ye, tell you a Story of a Quondam Mistress, (which is indeed your Wife) how oft he has lain with her, and pleasantly deceived the easy Cuckold;— yet as a Precedent of excellent Nature, I could advise you still to ask his meaning,— his meaning.—  Mar. 
Watch all his Actions; and when some kind Genius has, to undeceive you, made you a Spectator of Rashley, full of hopes, and all undressed, entering your Bed with a glad Lovers haste, step in, and pull him back; and ask his meaning, his meaning!  Bubb. 
My Bed! my Bed is my Castle; and, by the Lord Harry, he that violates it but with a look, my First shall crush him into Mummy.  Rang. 
So! now he begins to take fire.—  Aside. Bubb. 
He's a Son of a Whore, a Dog, a Bitch, a Succubus; and if I find this true, I'll cut him piecemeal though he were Sword-proof, and had a Witch to his Mother.  Mar. 
Ay, this is meaning now! Go on and prosper.  Rang. 
These words display a revived sense of Honour, nor shall you want encouragement to forward it; and since I see your Eyes and Understanding are opened, I, as your Friend, will give this secret to you: 'Twas my good fortune to hear an Assignation appointed between 'em this night at seven a Clock; I guess 'tis now very near the hour; you have a Key to the Chamber, go thither at the time appointed, and then never trust your Friend if you find her not the falsest of Women.  Bubb. 
If I do, I'll make her the ugliest in Christendom: for I'll cut off her Nose, and send her to the Devil for a New-Years-Gift.  Mar. 
Here she comes, we must not be seen, 'twill spoil all: talk of going abroad, and carry it handsomely, for fear she mistrusts.  Bubb. 
But where shall we meet?  Rang. 
At my lodging in the Strand, about half an hour hence.  Exeunt. Enter Emilia. Emil. 
What, studying, my Dear? Come, come, indeed you must not be so thoughtful: Did you not promise to come and make one at Ombre.  Bubb. 
Now if I might be hanged, cannot I speak an angry word, no:— I won't play, I am busy, I am going abroad for two or three hours.— Farewell.  Ex: Emil. 
'Tis so; our Intrigue to night is discovered to him, I find by his actions; the Infernal Colleagues, Ranger and Maria, have been possessing him with some strange resolutions: But since 'tis but what I expected, it gives me the less trouble, and 'tis ten to one but I have a Counterplot left that shall undo their policies, 〈◊〉 the Devil made one in the Invention. Did you meet my Husband?  Enter Rashley. Rash. 
Yes, but in a strange humour: He looked with so dull an aspect, and returned my salute so coldly, and so far from his usual manner, that I more than half fear— our Intrigue is discovered.  Emil. 
Without doubt it is:— They have played their parts to discover, and it now belongs to us to study to repel. Come, summon your Wits together, and advise what's to be done in so Critical a Conjuncture; you had a contriving Genius once.  Rash. 
Ay, 'tis true, Madam, I had once: but this damned Champagne has so dulled it, that Igad 'tis now worth little or nothing: Madam, you know my Talon in plot is insignificant; but if a Rancounter, or cutting Ranger's Throat may do the business, I'll thrust my hand as far as any man. I'll spoil his plotting by Heaven, say you but the word.  Emil. 
No! fight will do in any other business better than this: for in stead of defending, it blasts my reputation.  Rash. 
The Devil take me, if I had not like to have forgot that too: well, I am a dull Rogue, Madam, that's the truth on't.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Oh Madam, you are betrayed! Mr. Ranger, by what means Heaven knows, has been informed of your Assignation, I accidentally overheard him telling it to my Master, and Madam Maria coming in, seconded his Story with an extravagant fury; and in conclusion 'twas designed that he should pretend business abroad, but privately return home and surprise ye.  Emil. 
'Tis as I imagined, and I am glad of this caution: Now we may take breath again.  Rash. 
Gad and so am I.— But is there no way to keep on the plot, and deceive 'em still?—  Emil. 
'Tis in my head, and will have birth presently.— Betty, you have Sneak still fast in my Chamber?  Betty. 
Yes, Madam, he's securely locked in, and here's the Key.  Emil. 
Follow me then, and do as I directed you: In the mean time, Sir, go you to your Chamber, and put on your Gown and Nightcap as if you had been in Bed; and when you hear me stamp come out, and wonder: Let me alone for the rest,— I'll plague 'em with an after-plot. Away, the minute's near.—  Ex. Emil. and Betty. Rash. 
What she intends I know not, but am certain of the success by the assurance she does it with.— Ha! 'Tis a rare Creature, and by Heaven is Mistress of the sweetest Nature, and noblest Trust, and most substantial good English Principles of any Woman in Europe. Well,— if Cuckolding be a Crime, 'tis the sweetest Crime in Christendom, and has certainly the most Practisers. But let that pass; now to my Gown and Nightcap.  Exit. Enter Sir Roger, Fumble, Cordelia, and Servant. Sir Rog. 
'Sdeath! I have had confounded luck to night;— not a good chance since I begun; nor no Mirth neither, there's the plague on't.— Had I had the liberty to have sung two or three merry Catches, and have lost my Money with a Trolly Lolly— Lo,— it had been nothing.— Here;— hay;— where's Cob, call him hither quickly, and let us go.  Servant. 
Sir! I have not seen him these two hours; I believe he's gone home.  Sir Rog. 
How! what without taking leave of his Mistress? 'tis impossible.  Fumb. 
Sir Roger, you are disturbed me thinks; what is the matter? Ha! your behaviour seems to publish that—  Sir Rog. 
No great matter, Sir: Pox o' this old Fool.  Cord. 
Sir, it ill becomes a person of your gravity to be angry on so small an occasion.—  Sir Rog. 
Small! By Heaven, Madam,— 'tis a matter of moment: What, run away without taking leave? In verity 'tis barbarous, and derogates from his Birth and Breeding; nor can I, though his Kinsman, excuse—  Fumb. 
What does Sir Roger say, Madam? does he rally. Ha! he's a merry Man, and a good Fellow, and i'fack I love mirth: for my part I hate your drowsy, insipid, phlegmatic Fellows, that sleep over a Glass, and talk of nothing but State-Politicks:— But Sir Roger is a man for the purpose, a merry jolly-man, Herald  Sir Rog. 
Sir, you may spare your Commendations for them that delight in 'em. What an impertinent old Fellow 'tis?— Pray, Sir, no more of this, I am not pleased with it.—  Fumb. 
Your Song of Sir Thomas Fairfax, and the rest of the brave old Fellows, was very fine, Sir Roger.— Well! I'll not be positive, but there was certainly a great deal of Judgement and sheer Wit in some of those Rump-Songs.  Sir Rog. 
'Sdeath! this is the most insufferable old Fellows: Pox, tell not me of Rump Songs: Sir in Verity, would you had been hanged up in stead of the Rump,— that I might have been free from the noise.— But, Madam, as I was saying— upon my Honour I never knew Cob▪ in such an error.  Fumb. 
Then, Sir Roger, Chevy-Chace, and the Hunting of the Hare, is finely penned! finely penned! I'fack it was—  Sir Rog. 
Oh the Devil, is there no riddance of this Clack? because he can hear nothing, he would speak all.  Fumb. 
Ay, so it was, Sir, so it was.— But I'fack that Hunting was most excellently contriyed: Ah! he makes the Dogs speak notably. jeod and the Hare repartées again very well for an Animal of her Magnitude.—  Sir Rog. 
'Sbud. I shall grow as deaf as he if I stay longer: I must go seek my Nephew: Come, Madam, le's go away and leave him; I am sure his Eyes are so defective he can't miss us presently.—  Exeunt. Fumb. solus. 
And tho' some petulant, insignificant, and disaffected persons have raised Calumnies by calling it Doggrel and fustian, and such like; yet I'fack the thing is really a witty, sacetious, (nay, and as some think) a Moral satire: for mark me, Sir Roger, and Madam pray give your attention, for the Dogs were Hieroglyphick-Characters of fanatics, as the Hare was of the Quakers, and i'fack I have often heard the Sisters sing it in stead of an Hymn or an Anthem, for the Conversion of Unbelievers; and nay, and as a greater rarity I have heard it acted to the life betwixt a Dog-Phanatick and a coney-quaker.— But i'fack,— I think you mind me not.— Ha, Sir Roger,— Madam,— Sir Roger, Madam,— what, a vacuity?— Gone? well.—  Pulls out Spectacles. 
I'll after, and redeem all; but jeod, this was a little uncivil.  Exit. Enter Ranger, Betty with a Candle sets it on the Table. Betty. 
Come, Sir, and with as little noise as you can for fear of discovery. I swear were you not a man, to whom I am sensibly obliged, I should not be drawn to this Infidelity.  Rang. 
I will reward thy care; are they together?  Betty. 
Yes, Sir, in that Room there.  Pointing to the little door. Rang. 
Take this, and begone, I have no further service for thee, and I would have her ignorant that this is thy discovery: Away.—  Betty. 
The discovery will add little to your content: but since I have the profit, I care not.  Aside. Exit. Enter Bubble and Maria. Bubb. 
Ned! what says she? are they met?  Rang. 
Securely, and with a great deal of content, they are in that Room in the dark; (met!) Ah, Sir! they are both better practised than ever to be tardy in a Love-Intrigue.  Mar. 
Now I think I have trapped her finely.— Oh my Joy!— I shall not be able to contain myself.—  Aside. Bubb. 
A Man of Wit and Honour thus abused! 'Tis horrible! A Cuckold! 'Sbud, 'tis a worse Name than a Conjurer,— and has more of the Devil in't:— but I'll be so revenged, the World shall tremble at it: I'll first cut off her Hair, to affront her Family; then the want of a Nose shall proclaim her Bawd, and the Penny-Pot-Poets shall make Ballads on her.—  Exit. Rang. 
So! this thrives as I would have it, and we have snapped 'em finely in the nick! just when the Intrigue was at its best perfection! Oh Revenge!—  Mar. 
Ha, ha, ha! Nay, and at such a time when all help is denied 'em; when her Blushes, Sighs and Entreaties are all fruitless; when her exasperated Husband's rage flows high, and best of all when Rashley is defenceless. O Wit! I love thee for this Stratagem!  Rang. 
She dared us to persevere; slighted our plots, and had the confidence to make descriptions of her kind Intrigue before her Husband's face, then laughed at us.  Mar. 
'Tis now our time; Ha, ha, ha! I thought I could not fail.  Rang. 
No; and this happy Minute brings me more perfect pleasure, and more true delight, than pristine Ages: For she's one whom Hell designed for its chief Instrument; She will out-lye a Siren, cheat the Devil, and dam more Souls to further her Intrigue than Charon's Boat has room for; yet I own a kind of Mongrel love, and must enjoy her tho' Legions were her guard.  Aside. Mar. 
Hark!—  A shriek within. 
He's as good as his word: Now I hope she'll own her Sister's Wit above her.— Well!— this was rarely plotted.—  Rang. 
By Heaven it was,— and fit to be Chronicled, Madam:— Your Wit surpasses humane thought, and should be spoken of with wonder: You plot with such assurance, that—  Enter Emilia. 
Hell! Death! and Confusion! Can I believe my Eyes? She here!  Mar. 
I am confounded, and have lost my senses. Sure, Sir, we dream: Are we awake, think you?  Emil. 
No! nor shall never wake when I design to raise my Wit above the poor weak Creatures. I could laugh now, but I swear I pity ye. Wear out your tedious Nights in dull design, and then i'th' Morning hatch the Abortive Brood which ere Night turns to nothing; slender Encouragement, Heaven knows, for Wit: And you, Sir, plot and sweat, and plot again for Moonshine in the Water: Poor reward, Sir, for one so well skilled in Intrigue as you are!—  Mar. 
Oh that I had thy heart here in my hand! How pleasant were the Diet?— Fate and Death! was ever such a Devil?  Rang. 
No! never! Therefore since thou art a Devil, as I now am sure thou art, have mercy on me, and do not take my Soul for my first Crime,— and I will plot no more. my Conqueror; I'll honour thee;— Good Devil, do not hurt me.  Kneels. Shreiking within. Enter Bubble dragging in Snare. Bubb. 
Strumpet! Whore! Witch! I'll spoil your Curls by the Lord: Harry. O Lord! my Wife;— and she that I have beaten a stranger.—  Snare. 
Oh Heaven! was ever poor sinner so abused?—  Weeps. Bubb. 
Madam, I beg your pardon, and am ashamed of my fault; but I'll make you amends presently.—  Bubb. Looks amazedly at his Wife, then at Snare, then at a lock of black hair in his hand. Rang. 
Well, nothing but the greatest Devil could have brought this Woman hither for this Intrigue, and therefore once more I acknowledge thy power.—  To Emilia kneeling. Bubb. 
Ay! you had need ask her pardon; 'tis you have betrayed us. Chicken! dear Chicken,— don't frown so:— I confess I was a Fool;— but forgive me but this once, and if ever I offend again, I'll give thee leave to Cuckold me indeed.  Emil. 
Indeed, Sir, your jealousy is a little severe, I wonder what I have done to deserve it.  Bubb. 
Nothing, I know thou hast not; prithee forgive me.  Emil. 
But to be disturbed thus when I was at my Devotion.  Bubb. 
Prithee forget it: Come, Tom, you may come out now, here's none but Friends.  Emil. 
Who do you mean, Sir?  Stamps with her foot. Bubb. 
Tom Rashley:— Poor Fellow, I warrant now he'll be so bashful.  Rang. 
So, that's something yet, and I'll fetch him out or bleed for't.—  Ex. Enter Rashley at the other side. Emil. 
Look, yonder he is!  Mar. 
I find it now,— and this is all designed: O Devil! Devil!  Enter Sir Roger after Rashley. Sir Rog. 
What's the matter, Mr. Rashley? what's the matter.  Bubb. 
Rashley here? hay day! who the Devil is that yonder then?  Enter Ranger dragging out Sneak. Rang. 
Come, Sir, appear; I find you are now no Hercules. Ha!— Death more Miracles, Sneak!  Sir Rog. 
'Sdeath, my Gob!— and taken with a Wench: Why how now, Sirrah?  Emil. 
Now it works to my wish: prithee observe how they look.  Rash. 
Hush,— I do.  Sneak. 
O Lord, Uncle, your mercy;— I was betrayed, seduced, as a man may say.— Go, go,— begone, I'll speak with you to morrow.—  To Snare. 
I say, Uncle, I was seduced, chowsed, cheated.  Sir Rog. 
catched with a Wench?— Come, Sir, I'll talk with you.— Oh disgrace to the Family.— With a Wench? a lewd Wench? Come along, Sir;— I'll watch you henceforth.—  Ex. Sir Rog. Sneak. Rash. 
Ha, ha! Why, here has been a great deal of Intrigue to night I see, Ha, Sir?— I am sorry now I went to Bed so soon:— But I have been in the sweetest Dream yonder.—  Gapes. Bubb. 
Here has introth been a great deal of Intrigue, as thou sayst, Tom: But no matter; now all's well: And since it has happened so well, a Day of Jubilee shall Crown it. To morrow is my Wedding-Day, and in memory of that happy hour that conjoined me and my sweet Chicken there together, we'll have a Feast;— and I'll sing, and roar, and drink cum privilegio. Go, wait on her in, Tom:— Chicken, remember we are Friends; Go,— I'll be with you presently.—  Ex. Rashley bowing scornfully to Ranger and Maria. Rang. 
Never was such a day, nor such a deed.  Bubb. 
Ned! let me have no more of your doubts nor counsels. D''ee hear! 'Sbud, I say once more my Wife is the honestest Woman in Christendom, and you shall hear from me.  Ex. Bubble. Mar. 
Was ever the like known?  Rang. 
Never since Adam; but she was a Devil before the Creation.  Mar. 
I'll not give over thus.—  Rang. 
Nor I.—  Mar. 
Your hand on't—  Rang. 
Here! and may all the Demons that have power  
In subtle plots help now, tho' never more.  Mar. 
I'll die but I'll perform it.—  
My Slights shall with Immortal Wit be wrought:  
And all my Senses shall convert to Thought.  Ex. Ambe.  

The Fourth ACT.  
Enter Sir Roger and Sneak. Sir Rog. 
SIrrah! haunt me no more, I know thee not.  Sneak. 
Nay, Uncle.  Sir Rog. 
Go to your Wench, and let her entertain you; then stock Sir Ieremy's Manor-house at home with Bastards,— Birds of night, and teach 'em all to know their Father when you ha' done.—  Sneak. 
Good Uncle, let me speak.—  Sir Rog. 
No place to bring your cattle to but thither, under your mistress's Nose, thou most notorious Ass? Mercy o'me, what will this World come to? who could imagine that Sheep's Face of thine; that Mouth, whence ne'er came any thing that had sense; that Person that has as oft been thought a Puritan as thou hast been a Fool? Then that hanging Dog-look. I'll say no more, but the Devil is subtle.  Sneak. 
Uncle, you know 'tis an old saying, We cannot appoint our own Destinies; nor did I foresee this: besides, Sir, if you knew her as well as I do, you'd find the Woman has some parts that are not contemptible.— 'Sbud, I know what's what; I am not such a Fool.  Sir Rog. 
Not such a Fool! In verity if thou wert but a grain nearer to a Natural, I'd beg thee of the King, and adopt another to inherit thy Estate. Not such a Fool!  Sneak. 
No, so I say, Sir, since you go to that: Whoop! what a Pox you have forgot since you were young yourself?  Sir Rog. 
I young! why, Sir, I hope I got no Bastards.  Sneak. 
No:— But you kept Whores that you did, and that's all one, bona fide.  Sir Rog. 
This Rogue has heard all; I must stop his mouth. How, Sirrah, I kept Whores?  Sneak. 
It has been thought so, Sir, since you go to that: Nay, 'tis no such Miracle now adays; there's many an old Badger about Town does the like; 'tis grown a custom now.  Sir Rog. 
But 'tis not so customary with your Uncle, Sir: but come, pray express yourself; what Women do the infamous World lay to my charge?  Sneak. 
What Women! ' Bud are you ignorant? Hum, Nan, Pegg, joan of the Dairy, Sara, jenny, Dorothy, Mary, Bridget.  Sir Rog. 
Hold! hold, I say; 'Sdeath he'll reckon the whole Country presently: I must quiet him, the Rogue has me upon the hip; Harkee, Cob.  Sneak 
Then the Parson's Wife, Sir, and the old Hostess at the Townsend: You see the Fool has a good memory.  Sir Rog. 
A waggish one I see thou hast: Ha, if thou couldst remember Lawcases as well, thou wouldst be a brave Fellow. Why, Cob, thou think'st thou hast paid me off now, dost not?  Sneak. 
I know not, if my Wit flow too fast, Sir, I cannot help it; 'tis a good that's thrown upon me, 'tis not my seeking: 'tis true, I have an unhappy way with me sometimes, but 'tis over presently, it never lasts long, that's one comfort.  Sir Rog. 
In verity I see thou hast Wit, and now I'll cherish it. Why, Cob, my instruction is for thy good, Child, what will thy Mistress think when she hears of it?— Come, come, in verity, Cob, 'twas ill done, 'twas i'faith.— But mum, no more words on't, I'll make all well again.  Sneak. 
So, so, I have brought him about finely; 'Sbud I did not think I had so much Wit, but I see a man may be mistaken in his own parts.  Sir Rog. 
But d''ee hear, Cob, not a word more of these Wenches, let the foolish World say what it will.— Thou art a good Boy in verity, I like thy Wit well: Thou know'st I have no Heir, and when I die, Cob, I will not say I'll give thee any thing, lest I should make thee proud; but expect, expect wonders may fall, who knows?—  Sneak. 
By Ierico I would not have spoke on't now, but that I had nothing else to say, and you know 'tis a disgrace to a Scholar to be silent in company.  Sir Rog. 
'Tis no matter, 'tis no matter: prithee how cam'st thou to know that Pegg and I were so intimate?  Sneak. 
Ah, you'll be angry if I should tell you.  Sir Rog. 
In verity not I:— Angry?— Come, come, out with it, Cob, out with't.  Sneak. 
Why, the truth is, I lay with her one night, and the Quean told me all.  Sir Rog. 
Didst thou! God a mercy. (Damn him! what a Snake have I fostered?) Done like a Cock o'th' Game in verity. Ah, when I was of thy years I could have done as much myself.  Sneak. 
Yes, she told me you had done as much: but mum, Sir, not a word more, I know my Kew.  Sir Rog. 
'Sdeath, I shall be a byword to th' Town.— How now?  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Sir Roger, I was just coming to your House for you; my Master desires yours and Mr. Sneak's company immediately.  Sir Rog. 
What, the Solemnity holds? this is his Wedding-Day?  Seru. 
Yes, Sir.  Sir Rog. 
Tell him I am coming.—  Ex. Servant. 
Come, Cob, let us go; and mum, d''ee hear? you understand me?  Sneak. 
I warrant you, Sir.—  Exeunt.  

Scene 2.  Bubble, Emilia, Maria, Rashley, Ranger, Cordelia, Fumble sitting at a Table. Bubb. 
COme, come, another Bumper about; my Chickens Health: Here, I am not wet through yet; Tom, what sayst thou?  Rash. 
With all my heart, Sir! Oh here comes Sir Roger and his Nephew.  Enter Sir Roger and Sneak. Sir Rog. 
Mr. Bubble and Gentlemen, your most humble Servant.  Bubb. 
Yours, good Sir Roger; I am glad to see you i'faith; and you, sweet Mr. Sneak. Well, Faith, Sir Roger, we have been Bumping it about here, we have been dipped, as the saying is: Tom Rashley, send it round; come, Sir Roger's a Freshman, he'll drink an Ocean.  Rash. 
Fill every Man's Glass there: Mr. Ranger, you want it, 'tis Madam Emilia's health.  Rang. 
I'll do you reason, Sir;—  All drink. 
And ten to one but I have a stratagem shall dash this mirth.  Aside. 
Are they ready?  Mar. 
Hush! we are observed; they are—  Bubb. 
So, so! Come, now the Song, and then the Dance. Look ye, Gentlemen, you must know.  Fumb. 
Come, come, Mr. Bubble, let's have t'other Soop, I say; i'fack we loose time. Ah Sirrah, are you there? Gad I'll be with you presently; dust it about once more, I say; the Wine has a pretty smack with't;— it cherishes, I like it well: come, another Soop, and then do what you will.  Bubb. 
Fill Wine there!— Gentlemen, (as I was saying) I got this Song made purposely, 'tis in praise of Marriage, and there was not one ready made of 'em in Town; I searched it all over.  Rang. 
Were you at the Poet's Lodging?  Bubb. 
Yes, but they had none; for they told me 'twas a Song would not take: besides, they were so busy getting Plays up for the next Term, that I could hardly get one made.  Sir Rog. 
Sir, you needed not have troubled 'em; you once had a very good Vein that way yourself.—  Bubb. 
Yes, I was mightily given to rapture and flame once: I writ Tom Farthing:— I had a hand too in Colly my Cow, a Song that took well I can assure you: but this is of another kind in praise of marriage, Sir; and they told me the Town loved nothing but Satyrs against Marriage, and the reason was because they were afraid of being Cuckolded:— When, alas, poor silly Rogues, there's no such thing in Nature.  Rang. 
Well, of all stupid Animals a drowsy Husband is the most notorious:—— but I shall change your note presently I doubt not, Sir.——  Aside. Bubb. 
You shall hear, Gentlemen: hay, the Song there and the Dance?  

SONG.  

UNder the Branches of a spreading Tree,  
Silvander sat, from care and danger free,  
And his inconstant roving humour shows  
To his dear Nymph, that sung of Marriage-Vows:  
But she with flowing Graces charming Air,  
Cried, Fie, fie, my Dear, give o'er,  
Ah, tempt the gods no more!  
But thy offence with penitence repair:  
For though Vice in a Beauty seem sweet in thy Arms,  
An Innocent Virtue has always more Charms.   

2.  
Ah Phillida! the angry Swain replied,  
Is not a Mistress better than a Bride?  
What Man that Universal Yoke retains,  
But meets an hour to sigh and curse his chains?  
She smiling cried, Change, change that impious Mind;  
Without it we could prove not half the joys of Love.  
'Tis Marriage makes the feeling joys Divine:  
For all our Life long we from scandal remove,  
And at last fall the Trophies of Honour and Love.    Bubb. 
Well sung i'faith: Look'ee, Gentlemen, is it not as I told you?  Sir Rog. 
In verity very well, very well, Sir.  Bubb. 
Come, now the Dance.—  Dance. Enter Servant. Seru. 
Sir, here's a Letter for you; it was left by a Porter, who said it required no answer, and is gone.  Rang. 
So, now for a change of Countenance.— I think this will do.  Mar. 
If not, I've writ a Letter that will: but let's observe.—  A DANCE. Bubb. 
What the Devil has this Fellow given me here? A Letter? Pray Heaven it be no challenge.— How?— What's here?  Reads. 
Sir, That you are blind, I have heard; that you are a Fool, I know; and that you are a Cuckold, I believe.— However, as a Friend, tho' unknown, I am bound in Conscience to give you this Information; Your Wife is false; You are abused; The Author of your wrong you know as well as yourself, if you know yourself as well as you know Rashley.  
Oh Heaven! was ever such fate?— But hush, I'll smother my resentment till they are gone.— Come, Sir Roger and Gentlemen, there's a Tongue in the next Room, pray go and eat;— I'll be with you presently.—  Ex. all but Bubble, Ranger and Maria. Rang. 
So, I see by this behaviour it takes, and I'll away, lest he should suspect me.— Now for my t'other plot.  Exit. Bubb. 
O Sister, here's a new discovery; the Devil is come abroad again.  Mar. 
How? the Devil?  Bubb. 
Ay, in the likeness of a Letter: Here, prithee read it; 'tis his Character; I am sure it looks as if 'twere writ with a Cloven Hoof.— Ha!— what think'st thou?  Mar. 
Sir, he calls you Fool here.  Bubb. 
Ay, he's a little uncivil, that's the truth on't: but what's to be done, Sister?  Mar. 
A Cuckold too.  Bubb. 
Ay;— was ever such an impudence?  Mar. 
I never heard of any: but 'tis no more, Sir, than I expected: Alas! 'tis nothing to be a Cuckold now.  Bubb. 
Oh unfortunate estate of Marriage! by the Lord Harry, if this be true, I have praised it to fine purpose. But, Sister, thou wert wont to be kind; prithee advise me.  Mar. 
'Tis to no purpose, Sir, you know I am envious, my words have double meaning: I did my Sister wrong in my last Story, pray let me offend no more.  Bubb. 
Well, I confess I was to blame; but who the Devil could have mistrusted her when the plot was carried so handsomely?  Mar. 
Oh you will find, Sir, she has still more plots, and I find you so credulous and so wedded to your infamy, that for my part I am afraid to have any thing to do with it.  Bubb. 
Help me but this once, and if I fail thee again, may I be proved a Cuckold to the whole County, and my Case tried in Westminster-Hall.  Mar. 
Well! once more than I'll assist you, and to confirm what that Letter has informed,— know, Sir, she is false; and tho' she frustrated our last plot by her Waiting-woman's means, she certainly met Rashley that night.— I am glad you credit a Stranger's Letter; for my part I love her so well, I should have hardly caused a second breach between ye else: but since 'tis out, and you desire my assistance, follow me, and ere night I doubt not but to give you sufficient proof of your misfortune  Bubb. 
With all my heart, dear Sister.— 'Sbud, a Cuckold?— 'Tis impossible, I ha' no Cuckolds face;— but I'll be resolved immediately.—  Exeunt. Enter Ranger and Governess. Rang. 
Do this, thou shalt command me.  Gou. 
In truth, Sir, I am afraid 'twill be discovered, and I would not have my Lady know it for the World.  Rang. 
I swear she never shall. What, dost thou doubt me? Besides, I'll be so grateful to thee, thou shalt never have cause to repent this Courtesy.—  Gou. 
Sir, you know you always might command me in any reasonable thing: pray speak it again, Sir, what would you have me do?  Rang. 
Why only plant me in or near her Chamber for a design I have, she shall be ignorant why,— or by what means I got thither; I'll still be careful of thy reputation: Come, take this Purse, and prithee do it willingly.  Gou. 
Well, Sir, what you mean I know not; but Heaven direct all for the best: I can deny you nothing, Sir; I lie in a Closet that joins to her Chamber, where you may both overhear and speak to her.—  Rang. 
That above all things! prithee let's go.  Gou. 
But for heavens' sake take care she knows not that I brought ye thither; I would not be seen in such a business for the World.—  Rang. 
Ne'er doubt, I warrant thee I'll be careful.  Gou. 
Follow me then, Sir.—  Exeunt.  

Scene 3.  Enter Fumble and Spatterdash. Fumb. 
SPat. Sirrah!  Spat. 
Here, Sir, here.  Fumb. 
Whither is this Rascal gone? Well, i'fack, I am too full of clemency; I must swinge this Rogue, or he'll never be good for any thing; he's at Nine-holes now, I'll lay my life: A damned Villain, that spends me Threepences a day I know not how.  Spat. 
O Lord, who I, Sir?  Fumb. 
Who's within there? what, will no body hear me? Am I left desolate? I have not the plague I think.— Ha!  Spat. 
Why, here am I, Sir; I have been here all this while.—  Fumb. 
Oh Sirrah, are you come? where have you been, ha? I say, where have you been, Rogue?  Spat. 
No where, Sir, not I  Fumb. 
Sirrah! I must be left alone! must ay! and when I have a message to send, go myself.— Ha!— Sirrah, Mr. Little-Pox has a Boy, that tho' he was stinted at Nurse, and is not above pockethigh, can run, and frisk, and jump upon occasion, Sirrah, know a Bailie by his Nose, and a Wench by her Buttocks, ye Rogue, and a good Linguist, and a pretty Pimp, Sirrah, and can hold the Door with a steady hand, ye Rogue: but thou, a Rascal, a Drone, art good for nothing.  Spat. 
Any thing, Sir, I warrant you: try me, and you shall find I can hold a Door as well as he.  Fumb. 
Why, how now, Sirrah? what, make mouths at me? is your Master grown your mirth? Ha, this will teach you better; this will new-mold you; I'll fetch you out of your damned looks i'fack: French Grimaces, Rogue, French Grimaces?  Beats him. Spat. 
O Lord, what shall I do? Because he's deaf, and cannot hear me, he thinks I mock him.— Hold, Sir,— for heavens' sake; upon my Faith I don't mock you;  Aloud. 
'Tis all a mistake; and, Sir, you have beaten me for nothing.  Fumb. 
What a noise the Rogue makes! Why, Sirrah, cannot you speak temperately, but you must roar thus? I am not so deaf, but I can hear without this Thunderclap. But you do it in contempt, do you, Sirrah? Bless us, to what an impudence this Age is grown! But I'll fetch the Devil out, lest he should grow in ye,— thus.—  Beats him. 
I should be loath to see thee hanged till you come to years of discretion.  Spat. 
Mercy o'me, what a Master have I? If I stay long here I shall be beaten into Mummy.  Fumb. 
Come, Sir, now I have performed the part of a Master and a Friend in your Castigation, I have now a word or two by way of Instruction. Mark me, Sirrah,— nothing exasperates more than scorn, nor nothing pleases more than observance; a Master should be strict in finding occasion to beat his Servant, and a Servant should be careful in avoiding the beatings of his Master.  Spat. 
So, he has taught me, now I shall be careful of avoiding it hereafter if my legs will carry me.  Fumb. 
What, mouths again, Sirrah, mouths again?  Spat. 
Umph.—  Makes a low Congee,— says nothing. Fumb. 
Oh this submission pacifies: Come hither, I have a message for ye, and let me see how you can behave yourself; 'tis a matter of moment.  Spat. 
I'll do my best to please ye, Sir.  Fumb. 
What dost thou say now?— Look, look!— was ever such a Rascal as this? This Rogue knows well enough that I cannot hear him. Sirrah, come and lay your mouth to my ear, and then speak, if you would have me understand ye.  Spat. 
Yes, Sir, I shall be very careful to remember it hereafter.  Fumb. 
Rafters?— what Rafters, Rogue?  Spat. 
Sir, I shall be careful to remember it hereafter.—  Aloud. Fumb. 
O shall you so, Sir? and 'twill become you i'fack: for look'ee, Sirrah, 'tis my humour as long as I am healthy and jovial, to cover failings and imperfections in Nature as well as I can; 'tis a Wiseman's virtue, and I have patterns for't every day. Ah! here are a sort of jolly, brisk, ingenious, old Signiors about Town, that with false Calves, false Bellies, false Teeth, false Noses, and a false fleering Face, upon the matter fill up Society as well as ere a Masquerading Fop of 'em all.— But to the matter: Sirrah, you must carry this Ring to Cordelia, and possess her with my love in an elegant manner: Stand there, and let me see how you can carry yourself in such a business.  Spat. 
Thus, Sir: I had my Honours from the Dancing-School.—  Fumb. 
O damned Rogue! what a Bow's there? 'tis worse than a Country Counsellors to a Client that has no money. Sirrah,— pull me your Hat off thus,— with a Grace:— Ah! I could have done it rarely twenty years ago;— but i'fack Time and Gravity defaces all things.— Come, Sirrah.—  Spat. 
Madam! my Master too well knowing the Charms of your Wit and Beauty are too sharp at all times to be opposed, has by me sent this Ring, and humbly desires—  Fumb. 
Well, that last Honour was pretty well:— but come now, let's hear what you can say?  Spat. 
'Sdeath! he has not heard me all this while;— what shall I do?  Knocking. 
Oh somebody knocks; this was happy: Sir, there's somebody at door to speak with you.—  Aloud. Fumb. 
Go see who 'tis, I'll follow.— This is a plaguy dull Rogue, but I must have patience, and take pains with him.— Nor should he do any thing in this business had I not a design in't; and i'fack I like the Woman well;— she's young, and plump, free in her Nature, and of a Sanguine Complexion, and bona fide, I never see her but some secret motions in my blood seem to imply that she is the cause.— What? I am not Bedrid;— I can dance yet, ay, and run and jump too if occasion be, and why not the t'other thing?— Come, come,— it must, it must;— mine was ever a stirring Family:— it must, I say, and she shall know it suddenly.—  Ex. Fumble.  

Scene 4.  Enter Maria and Bubble. Mar. 
COme softly, Sir, and plant yourself here at this backdoor, I have already made a discovery.  Bubb. 
Are they together?  Mar. 
I believe so; they seldom miss such an opportunity, especially when they think you absent.  Bubb. 
No; they are politic with a Pox to 'em: Sister, what revenge, ha? I am resolved to be a Tyrant: 'Sbud I'll pinch her to death with a pair of Tongues.  Mar. 
O fie, that will be too cruel.—  Bubb. 
Cruel! by the Lord Harry 'tis Justice,— palpable Justice! Why, should she live, she'd Cuckold the whole Nation.  Mar. 
Consider better on't, 'tis but a venial Crime, and deserves not such rigour.— But come,— meditate of no revenge till you are certain of the fault:— keep close at that door, be sure you discover not yourself till I come to you; I'll go and observe.  Bubb. 
I'll try my patience;— but 'tis a damned Cause.—  Exeunt. Enter Rashley and Emilia, Scene a Bedchamber. Emil. 
Our Intrigue as yet goes well.  Rash. 
I swear to admiration; and had I not seen each passage, I should have thought 't had been impossible. Oh my Dearest! how shall I gratify thee? My love's too poor, and my desert too mean ever to equal it.—  Kisses her hand. Enter Ranger. Rang. 
I am glad I've got air again; this damned old Gib-Cat has mewed me this half hour into such a hole, that had I stayed a minute longer I had certainly been smothered: it stinks worse than a Apothecary's Shop, and is furnished with nothing but Galley-pots full of nasty Oil, into which groping about I often thrust my Fingers:— Fough!— Assafoetida, as I live!— a most intolerable stink!—— Ah! the Devil grind her old Chops.— Stay;— this is sure Emilia's Chamber, and if I am not mistaken, I heard a whispering here;— it may be they're together;— I'll be still and listen.  Rash. 
Our love shall last whole Ages, and each Kiss add new and fierce desires: Death shall want power to separate us, and Envy droop and pine itself away to see its bromagem succeed no better.  Rang. 
By Heaven 'tis so;— They are here:— Blessed minute! now I shall make a rare discovery.  Emil. 
I am confirmed, and will proceed in loving. A Husband is a dull insipid thing, palled and grown stale within a week: But a Lover appears still new and gay, and is to perpetuity the same he was at first,— all mirth,— all pleasure.  Rang. 
A most excellent Theme:— Oh that that Property, that Fool her Husband, stood now to hear this Devil of a Wife make out this free Confession!—  Rash. 
He, dull Creature, Heaven knows, is blind to all your Charms. Marriage acts only the Decrees of Duty, Love has the least share in 't. In this Age a Husband with a Wife is like a Bully in a Church;— the only pleasure he takes is to sleep away the hours should be employed in Conjugal Duty.  Emil. 
Well! I am very glad our plots succeed so well: I swear I was half frighted t'other day when my Sister-in-Law Maria discovered us. Was it not done subtly? Did I not fetch all off again with an excellent Invention?  Rang. 
Good! rarely good! This Devil cannot sure have so much impudence to deny this again.  Rash 
Ha, ha, ha! By Heaven I'm ready to die with laughing when I think what Asses we made of 'em.— Ranger too, that busy Coxcomb,— what a fretting, and plotting, and sweating did he make for nothing!— Alas, poor Fool!— Ha, ha, ha!  Emil. 
Ha, ha, ha!  Rang. 
O the Devil fleer you.— 'Sdeath, am I still their Property? I shall have a slice at your Nose ere long: I doubt not, my young Gallant,— I shall dash your Mummery.—  Rash. 
Come, we lose time:— Let talk be our diversion when we are old and can reap nothing else; our minutes now should all be spent in rapture.—— Thus, thus, my Sweet!— Oh that we could live thus ever!— How now, what noise is that?  Bubble within. 
Bawds! Strumpets! Whores! Witches! Break open the door there, break open the door.—  Mar. 
Fetch a Leaver, or call the Smith over the way presently.  Emil. 
Oh Heaven, my Husband and Maria! we are undone.  Rang. 
'tis Bubble's voice sure! this completes my joy. Now let Belzebub, if he owes her any kindness, fetch her from hence, I'll guard this passage.  Rash. 
What! what shall I do, Madam?  Emil. 
Here quickly, run into this Closet, Sir, and jump out of the Window into the Garden; if you were gone, let me alone for the rest.  Rang. 
Who steps a foot this way, steps on his death; his Soul shall not be his a minute.  Emil. 
Ha! Ranger here? I am lost in my amazement.  Rang. 
Death! and Hell and I defenceless too! O cursed Minute!  Rang. 
No, Madam, I'll secure you from this stratagem: This Window shall be no Bawd to th' Intrigue now, that I'll be sure on.—  Ex into the Closet. Bubble within. 
Quickly, quickly! a Leaver, a Leaver!  Rash. 
No way t' escape? Can I not climb the Chimney? Any thing to get free this once.— Oh fate, taken i'th' midst of our security, when we least thought of it! what shall we do?  Emil. 
I have it: Come hither, get ye under this Table, and diligently listen to what I say: 'Tis ten to one he never searches here. Come, in, in, quickly, and pray the rest may prosper.  Rash. 
I never had more need of prayers:— I'll try.—  Goes under Table. Enter Ranger from the Closet. Rang. 
So! that conveyance is fast enough. Now, Madam, what think'ee of a fleering Jest upon the Fool Ranger, the Coxcomb, the Ass Ranger, and your jolly spleen to laugh, Ha, ha? I think the Dice are mine now: Now, Devil, I have trapped ye.—  Knock within. Emil. 
This Key may add to my design.—  Takes out the Key o'th' door. Bubble within. 
Down, down with it, break it open there.  Rang. 
What think you of that, Madam? Does your Husband's voice refresh you extremely?—  Emil. 
Now help me, Wit, or I am lost.  She goes and puts the Key into his Coat-Pocket, and then lays hold of him, and cries out.— 
Help, help there, for heavens' sake, I am undone, ruined for ever: A Rape, a Rape!— Help, help!—  Rang. 
Hell and the Devil, what does she mean?  Emil. 
Ah, cruel Man, cannot these Tears prevail? will nothing stop Barbarity? what have I done that could deserve this usage? O most unfortunate of Women.  Rang. 
Damn her, I shall be finely catched if this hold; I must get away.—  Struggles, she holds him. Emil. 
A Rape, a Rape! Help there, for heavens' sake, help.—  Enter Bubble and Maria with a Light. They stand amazed. Rang. 
By Heaven, I am snapped again, catched in my own snare.  Emil. 
Has my Husband been so much thy Friend, and wouldst abuse him thus, (thou base man?) but Heaven forgive thee.  Bubb. 
'Sbud, what's this I see? Ranger?  Mar. 
Ranger here, and Rashley absent: I have plotted finely. 'Tis plain now that Traitor loves her, and has only made me an Engine to work his design with more facility.  Rang. 
Rashly gone too? Now has the Devil to spite me conveyed him away in a Mist: Here's like to be fine work towards; but I must stand the brunt now I am entered.—  Bubb. 
Now, Sir, what a Pox make you here with my Wife? Ha?—  Rang. 
So, it begins rarely! O this subtle Devil! Why, Sir, as I am a Gentleman, and upon my Honour.  Emil. 
O my Dear, a thousand thanks for this deliverance; and by all our love I charge thee, by our Marriage-Vows, by all our Pleasures since, and Joys to come, I charge you revenge me upon that Traitor there:— He would have Ravished me!— Oh Heaven, that ever I should live to be so put to't!—  Bubb. 
'Sbud! Ravish my Chicken? Ranger, you are the Son of a Whore, and I shall presume to cut your Throat.  Rang. 
Sir, do but hear me, upon my Honour all this is false.—  Mar. 
It must be true! what should he come hither for, but upon some ill intent? I am resolved I'll be revenged on him however.—  Aside. Rang. 
'Sdeath! she against me too? this is worse and worse.  Bubb. 
Discover the matter, that I may do Justice on both sides.  Emil. 
Sir, know then,— Ranger long has loved me; often solicited me unlawfully:— but finding something in my Virtue that shook his designs, his recourse was to make you jealous of me and Rashley;- who, poor man, has often told me with sighs how deeply he has resented your unkind suspicions.—  Bubb. 
Alas, poor Fellow!  Rang. 
O confusion! he begins to believe her again.—  Emil. 
At last, Sir, finding his suit to be too troublesome for me to bear, and being loath to vex you with such fooleries,— I told Rashley, who promised all assistance imaginable:— I desired him also to be careful, and watch lest I should be surprised; as to night (Heaven knows) I was.  Rang. 
Damn her, what a Lie is this! Pray, Sir, let me speak.  Bubb. 
Not in my House, Sir, you have talked too much already; and by the Lord Harry I'll talk with you anon: but let that pass, go on, Chicken.—  Emil. 
At last, Sir, this unhappy night coming hither as I used to do to my Devotions,— He it seems having corrupted some of my Servants, got into the Closet, and thence came and surprised me;— first locking the door, and putting the Key into his Pocket.  Rang. 
I a Key? Sir, as I live I saw none: This is the most notorious Lie—  Emil. 
Oh wretched man! was it not Crime enough to make such an attempt, but you must persist in falsehood? Sir, he has it now about him there in that Pocket, I saw him put it in.  Rang. 
This Pocket?— Why, thou Devil! hah!—  Puts his hand in's Pocket, pulls out a Key. 
'Sdeath, how came it here? Magic, Witchcraft,— the Devil and all,— combine against me! would I were well out,— if ever I plot again,—  Mar. 
'Tis evident now he would have Ravished her! Locked her in for the purpose.— Perfidious Traitor, see me no more.  Rang. 
A very fine business this!  Bubb. 
Is it so, Sir? I'll do your business for you.—  Goes to run at Ranger, and overthrows the Table. Emil. 
Discovered? I am lost again.  Bubb. 
'Sbud, Rashley!  Rash. 
'Sdeath and Hell, what will become of me now?  Rang. 
How! Rashley under the Table? Then Fate is mine again. Now, Sir, do you perceive any thing yet.  Mar. 
Stranger and stranger! what can this mean? or what could they both do here?  Bubb. 
'Sdeath! how came he here?— Hoh!—  To Emil. Rang. 
Ay,— examine that point closely; sure this will make for me.  Bubb. 
As Gad jidge me, and so I will: speak, I say, how came he here?  Emil. 
Nay, Heaven knows, not I; I believe for the same design with Ranger.  Rash. 
'Sdeath, she'll betray me too.  Emil. 
Tell him, tell him, Sir:— speak for yourself;— say any thing.  Softly. Rash. 
Speak? why,— 'Sbud, Madam, have I not done as you commanded me? Have I not watched here this two hours to frustrate Ranger's design? What, d''ee think to make an Ass of me?  Rang. 
How, Sir,— my design? Damn me this must not pass upon me, Sir.  Rash. 
Nor you shall not pass upon my Friend here neither, Sir; I heard you this evening when you corrupted one of the Women to get you into that Closet, that you might accomplish with more ease, Sir. But, Madam, this is a little unnatural, to make me suspected as his Colleague, when my design was so far different.  Bubb. 
'Sbud I cannot find the meaning of this.  Rash. 
The meaning! Why, Sir,— she hid me under the Table as a defence against Ranger's insolence: but when she heard you at the door, and knew you were coming in, she conjured me by all the love I bore her to sit still, and not discover myself;— and all her excuse was your jealousy; (Jealousy with a Pox!) a very fine slight for the abuse she intended to me:— 'Sdeath, Madam, my service deserved a better reward if you consider it.— (Pray Heaven this Lie prosper.)  Emil. 
Ha, ha, ha!— I knew I should vex him; but I confess 'tis all true:— For (my poor dear Rogue!) I am so hourly tormented with fear of thy naughty jealousy, that I dare not tell thee any thing.— Prithee desert it, do, my dear Sweet;— Ifads thou wouldst be the best Husband in the World if thou wouldst but leave it.—  Kisses him. Bubb. 
Well! it must be so; this cannot be feigned:— Come hither to me,— I will forsake it:— By the Lord Harry thou art the best Wife in Christendom,— and I the most ungrateful Husband; but forgive, my Dear, forgive.—  Kisses her. 
We have all failings thou knowest, prithee forgive me.  Rang. 
So! now may I hang myself. 'Sdeath! all the Fiends are Asses to her.— I'll begone for shame, lest worse befall me:  
—— Succubus, Farewell;—  
There is not such a Sorceress in Hell.—  Exit. Bubb. 
Come! hast thou sealed my pardon?  Emil. 
You know the softness of my temper; but your unkind jealousy will kill me one day.—  Bubb. 
Igad I'll kill myself first. Come, prithee no more. Tom, thy hand too;— come, I know thou canst bear with my frailty.—  Rash. 
I Sir, I can bear well enough! but me thought 'twas a little strange to tax me.  Bubb. 
Come, come, all shall be well;— Faith, we'll go in and frolic. Oh my Dear, suspect thee;— Well, I am a Fool, that's the truth on't.—  Ex. Bubble and Emilia. Mar. 
The Devil helps her sure; for this was certainly an Assignation: I'll after Ranger and know the truth on't.  Exit. Rash. 
Ha, ha, ha!— Was ever plot carried thus? Sure never! Her Wit has more supplies than I have thoughts, and happily they end still; and Gad for my own part I shall love lying the better as long as I live for the success of this— Once more all is well, and he the Cuckold still, Ha, ha, ha! I must go in and laugh with her.  
Intrigue's her Masterpiece; and all may see,  
A Woman's Wit's best in extremity.—  Ex.   

The Fifth ACT.  
Enter Cordelia. Cord. 
Well, of all Creatures that vex Mortality, a superannuated Lover is certainly the most troublesome, especially to one of my years: our inequality is so preposterous, and his address so unnatural, that I always entertain rather hate for his person, than compliance for his love: From Fourscore and five, Heaven deliver me; 'tis an Age of doting.— Here he comes, I knew I could not be quiet one hour.  Enter Fumble. Fumb. 
Sirrah, Sirrah! Rogue, Rogue! and how and how! Ha! art thou jolly, blithe, like a Bird in a Tree? I'fack I was impatient till I came to see thee: well, and how sits the Ring? does it shine? does it glitter? Ha, little black Rogue!— I'fack I bought it of the best Goldsmith in Cheapside, a Man of good Reputation; A Cuckold too, and they are always the honestest Fellows.—  Cord. 
From henceforth let me desire you, Sir, to bestow your presents on some body else:— I sent your Ring back by your Man, he can best give you an account of it.—  Fumb. 
Ha!— what sayst thou? Counterfeit? I'fack thou art mistaken, Bird;— thou art, bona fide, they are as well cut as any in Christendom, and of the right Blackwater: What, dost thou think I'll put any false Stones upon thee i'fack?— I am more civil, jeod, there I was waggish;— But she's a witty Rogue, she'll apprehend the jest.  Cord. 
Was ever such an insipid piece of Antiquity? Pray, Sir, forbear these impertinences, and assure yourself I hate an old Fellow for a Husband, as much as an old Gown, or an old piece of Wit, that after forty years' Oblivion, with a new name, is published for a new Lenten Play.—  Fumb. 
What does she say now? But no matter, I'll go on. Well said, Bird, well said: Bona fide, thou hast Wit in abundance; that Colour, and such a sort of Nose, never fail. But come, we lose time, I know 'tis ordained I must marry thee: I am the Man that must gather the Rosebuds.— Ah Rogue!— I'll warrant thou'rt a swinger, and I'fack that black a top there fires me strangely, I am all flame, and bona fide, me thinks as youthful and Mercurial as any Spark of 'em all. 

SONG.  
ANd he took her by the middle small,  
And laid her on the Plain;  
With a hey down derry down, come diddle,  
With a ho down derry, etc.    
What think you, Madam? am I old?  Cord. 
So old, that your presence is more terrible than a Deaths-Head at Supper: for my part I tremble all over. There's a kind of horror in all your antic gestures; 'specially those that you think become you,— that fright worse than the Devil; than the Devil, Sir.—  Aloud. Fumb. 
The Devil! what of him, Bird? Pish, the Devil's an Ass, I ha' seen't in a Play;— and i'fack we lose time in talking about so worthless a matter. Lover's should ne'er be slow in their affairs:— For, as my good Friend Randolph tells me, Nothing is like opportunity taken in the nick; in the nick, Sweetheart!— Icod, I was waggish again, I was waggish again i'fack.— Come, Bird, come.  Cord. 
What will you do, Sir? Heaven, how he tortures me!  Fumb. 
Come along then;— I have got a Priest ready, and paid for the Licence and all:— Prithee let me kiss thee; I long to practise something that might please thee: Never was man so altered! never! Come, prithee Bird,— come, i'fack I have not patience.  Enter Governess and Sir Roger. Gou. 
Here's Sir Roger Petulant! my dear Mouse desires to speak a word or two with you.  Cord. 
Oh here's some hope of deliverance! Sir Roger, your humble Servant. Come hither, Lettuce, and stand just in my place: I am so tortured with this old Fellow,— prithee be kind to him, and follow him whither he'd have thee; it may be a Husband in thy way, and a good Estate.  Gou. 
A Husband! marry that's fine! I warrant you, sweet Mouse, I ll be very punctual.  Cord. 
So, now let us slip aside and observe; 'twould be an excellent revenge if he should marry her.— He's coming to her already, and his eyes are so old and dim that he perceives not his mistake.  They step aside. Fumb. 
Delays, Sweetheart, are dangerous i'fack; I have considered it: The time I have lived in the World has given me the benefit of knowing more than another of fewer minutes.— Along, along,— I say, thou shalt be my Queen, my Paramour, my Cleopatra,— and I will live another Age in Love, and then farewell old Simon i'fack. Come, come along.  Gou. 
Oh sadness! what happy fortune's this? Well, I'll go with him, pray Heaven he be blind enough, that's all I fear.  Fumb. 
She seems kinder than usual;— i'fack I have wrought her finely. Come, poor Rogue, come.—  Gou. 
I am ready, Sir;— this was a happy hour;  
And if it hit but right, I'm made for ever.—  Exeunt.  
Sir Roger and Cordelia re-enter. Cord. 
Ha, ha, I am glad I am rid of him any way: but now, Sir Roger, to your business.— I hear your Nephew is sick.  Sir Rog. 
In verity, Madam, most dangerously sick, and the cause of my giving you this trouble was in verity to give you information of it; for by his melancholy I find love is the cause. Ah, Madam, your last indifference was very prejudicial to him: 'Tis true, he denies it;— but I am old enough to judge of the contrary, and therefore have found out 'tis Passion, nay Passion for you has laid him thus low, and nothing but your smiles can raise him, 'tis gone so far in verity.—  Cord. 
I am sorry, Sir, I have the misfortune to be th' occasion of such a disaster:— but is there any remedy? what would you have me do?  Sir Rog. 
Madam, my suit to you is, that you would be pleased to go with me and give him a visit; the surprise of your presence I am confident will dissipate his melancholy, and perhaps totally banish his distemper.  Enter Maria. 
But I see we are interrupted; let's retire, Madam, and if you please now will be a very good time to visit him.  Cord. 
Softly, Sir, I would not have my Cousin Maria know any thing of it; but if that can do him any good, I'll not be so cruel to deny it,— 'tis an act of charity.— Come, Sir, I'll go with you.  Sir Rog. 
Madam, you oblige us both—  Exeunt. Mar. 
Still baffled! sure this cannot last long; the Devil will be weary of obliging her in a little time. I have been yonder sifting Ranger about the last plot, and by all circumstances find what he said was true, and shall I leave off thus poorly? Pish, I cannot for shame:— I have Truth and Honesty on my side;— she's only cunning, and 'tis impossible that should last ever.— Once more than have at 'em:— I have by several false messages buzzed it again into my Brother's ears; he believes, and will once more follow my counsel: besides, I have here a false Key to her Chamber, and can surprise 'em when they least suspect: this, if Ranger be at all diligent, must needs effect it;— for I am resolved not to rest till 'tis done, for the satisfaction of my revenge on that false man.—  Ex. Maria.  
Enter Apothecary and Sneak in a Nightgown. Sneak. 
Uh! Uh!  Apoth. 
Nay, Sir, if you would have the effects answer your expectation, you must suffer, Sir, and be patient.  Sneak. 
'Ounds! I cannot have patience:— Sure a civil Clap might be cured without all this stir. 'Tis not a Miracle in this age.— Oh Lord!  Enter Sir Roger and Cordelia. Sir Rog. 
O horrible! what's this I see?  Sneak. 
My Uncle! Oh I am undone, lost for ever.  Apoth. 
But, Sir, your civil Clap might ha' been an uncivil Pox in time.  Cord. 
How, Sir Roger? was it fit to make me Spectator of this object?  Sir Rog. 
The Pox? In verity I have brought his Mistress to fine purpose: Ah damned Rascal! The Pox? what shall I do? I am disgraced for ever.—  Aside. Cord. 
Hark ye, Sir, pray what is that there?  Pointing to a Sweating-Chair within. Sir Rog. 
What shall I say? (Death, she has found out his Sweating-Chair!) Why, Madam, 'tis— umph— 'tis a Mathematical Engine they use at Cambridge.— Cob was always addicted to study.  Cord. 
'Twere a fault to hinder him then, Sir, being so well employed.— Farewell.—  Ex. Cord. Sir Rog. 
She has found it out.— Sirrah, see my face no more: from this hour I abhor thee, a damned Rascal!  Sneak. 
Good Uncle!—  Sir Rog. 
The Pox! A sneaking, snivelling Rogue! heavens', was ever the like seen?— But 'tis now a general Maxim, and your Sandy, Sheeps-face, unthinking Villain, is always the greatest Whoremaster.  Sneak. 
Why, by Ierico, it was by chance, Uncle; Hab-nab as a man may say: As I hope to be saved 'twas against my will.  Apoth. 
Sir, your anger makes an addition to his distemper.  Sir Rog. 
What, you are his Pander, Sir, are you? but I think you may be the Devil for your honesty;— so may ye all;— such as you soothe 'em in Vices;— I warrant you are tired with such Customers,— Ha, Sir,— are you not?  Apoth. 
In troth, Sir, my rotten Patients are so loath to die, and my sound ones, which for my Art's improvement I would make rotten,— so hasty to recover, that I confess I am often weary, but not tired, Sir.  Sir Rog. 
So, Sir, in verity you are all a company of Rascals;— and as for his part, I'll instantly write to his Father to disinherit him, that I may revenge my disgrace, and punish his folly.— The Pox! a Son of a Whore! the Pox!  Exit. Apoth. 
A mad old Fellow, but your penitence will recover all.  Sneak. 
Would you were hanged, by Ierico, for leaving the door open.— Oh what shall I do? This comes of learning the Sciences in the Devil's name.—  Apoth. 
Patience, Sir, have patience.—  Scene shuts. Ex. Enter Rashley, Emilia and Betty. Rash. 
A Trap-door, say you, Madam?  Emil. 
Yes, we happily discovered it yesterday looking for a Ring accidentally dropped;— it opens upon the Stairs the backside of the Kitchen;— I am sure 'twill be very necessary in our Intrigue:— Here, take the Candle you, and go and watch;— and when I give the sign, be sure be ready.  Betty. 
I'll not fail, Madam.  Emil. 
'Tis good to be secure, for I know Maria has still an eye over us, and my Husbands new jealousy gives me fresh cause of doubt.—  Rash. 
Igad, 'tis unnecessary:— This Trap-door must needs be very useful;— I see Fortune is ours still, and will not leave us.— Let us doubt when we see danger; there is none now, nor can be whilst our love continues.—  Emil. 
Which I fear will be but a short time: for what is indirect is seldom permanent; therefore let us consider on't.  Rash. 
Damn Consideration; 'Tis a worse Enemy to Mankind than Malice: Let impotent Age consider, that is fit for nothing but dull tame thoughts of what he has been formerly: Let the Lawyer and Physician consider, what Quibbles, and what Potions are most necessary: And let the fly Fanatic think his time out, and consider how to be securely factious: But let the Lover love on, still transported, whilst all his thoughts and senses are employed in the dear Joys of rapture, endless passion, without a grain of dull Consideration.  Emil. 
I swear the softness of our Tempers abuses half our Sex, we should not else be won so easily:— But we are such kind Fools!  Rash. 
Ay, we are all Fools, Madam, that's the truth on't; but how shall we help it?  Emil. 
Resolve upon a remedy;— Love no more.—  Rash. 
Resolve upon the contrary; Love for ever: Gad the World would be at a fine pass if all were of your mind. How now?  Noise of a Lock. Enter Maria with a Light. Mar. 
Stand there till I fetch you in; I'm sure they're here.  Emil. 
My Sister as I live! Malicious accident!  Rash. 
Ha,— with a Light too! How the Devil got she in?  Emil. 
Heaven knows, unless with a false Key.  Mar. 
Nay, You're caught, and finely too, I'm cozened else. What plot now, Madam, to convey you hence?— Now show your mighty skill; and if there is a Devil at your service employ him now, you never had more cause.— Me thinks you are melancholy, why d''ee not laugh? smile at your Wit and great security? You, I know, have a thousand ways to get off still; or if you want, that Gentleman can supply you.  Rash. 
I supply! A plague o' your damned jest!  Emil. 
Hush,— and leave me to her.— Nay, Sister, this is barbarous to triumph o'er our misfortunes; You know yourself what Love is, and what inconveniences it brings poor Women too.  Mar. 
You can confess now;— and here's a Gentleman not far off,— your Husband, Madam; I know this cannot choose but be grateful to him, I'll call him to hear it.  Emil. 
Ah, be not so cruel to undo me quite!— I'll confess all to thee, and from this minute be converted.— Ah, had I taken thy counsel before I had been happy.  Mar. 
Ay;— but you would persist, and now see what comes on't.  Emil. 
Oh! I am miserable! Forgive me, dear Maria!  Weeps. Mar. 
Nay, Heaven forgive you:— but come, will you confess? I have her at a rare advantage.—  Aside. Emil. 
Most faithfully;— but let me do't i'th' dark;— let no light see my guilty blushes;— it is enough my tongue dares utter it:— Dear Sister, let me not be too much ashamed:— Oh misery! misery!—  Weeps. Mar. 
Well, here is a Light not far off, and thus much I'll comply with you.— Now begin.—  Puts out the Light. Rash. 
By Heaven I grow cheerful;— we shall 'scape, I am sure, we shall.— Oh this dear Devil!—  Emil. 
My grief ties up my tongue.—  Mar. 
'Tis time to grieve: But come, when d''ee begin?  Emil. 
This cruel man seduced me: Cruel Rashley.— Where are you, Sir?  Aside. Rash. 
Here, Sweet, here!—  Softly. Emil. 
First won upon me with his comely presence, handsome demeanour:— every several Grace my Soul admired— Give me your hand.—  To Rashley. 
But when he came to speak, his Tongue, his Charming Tongue, Oh Heaven, that I shall live to utter it! so ensnared me, that I no longer knew my liberty,— but as his Victim gloried in my passion.—  Mar. 
With shame you live to speak it.  Rash. 
'Twas my misfortune too:— but Heaven forgive me, I shall laugh out,— I am not able to hold.—  Emil. 
Down, quickly down.—  Both sink in the Trap. Mar. 
Now could I laugh till my heart ached again to think how I have caught 'em.— I knew 'twas impossible she should 'scape always,— and I will tyrannize more than a Turk over his Slave:— For my part I am sorry for your infamy, and were it not that by the Laws of Nature I have a great concern in any of my Brother's injuries, you might love on for me; but since my Blood runs in his Veins, I dare not see his infamy and let it pass unquestioned: Therefore either swear from this hour to desert Rashley, and never see him more; or your disgrace I will this instant publish, or call your Husband to be Spectator of his shame and yours.— What, are ye dumb? Not answer me! It seems you dislike this Proposal; but do not provoke me.— Not yet? Nay then— within there?— Brother,— here they are, a light, a light,— quickly.  Enter Bubble with a light and long Sword. Bubb. 
Where? where is this Traitor? this Strumpet? by Scanderbag,— I am ready for a Charge: I'll push him with a Vengeance;— Where is he?  Mar. 
Here, here! How now? What, are you got under the Table again? or into a corner?— Give me the Candle, Brother,— I am sure have 'em fast.—  Looks about. Bubb. 
Here's nothing; another mistake, as Gad jidge me.  Mar. 
She is a Devil, and I lose my labour. Gone! what both gone? Oh I could tear myself: Which way?— How! by what means could they escape?  Bubb. 
‛ Escape?— 'Sbud! 'tis impossible they should escape if they were here.— Pish,— this is only one of your Maggots, Sister, you do but fancy you saw 'em.—  Mar. 
Fancy?— Eternal Light forsake me, if I did not both see and speak to 'em two minutes since; heard her confess the Crime, and vow repentance; here, in this very place: but by what means they 'scapt, I only can admire, not imagine.—  Bubb. 
Prithee hold thy peace; I say once more 'tis only a Maggot:— Sleep, Fool, and purge thy head from fancies. How now, Ned?  Enter Ranger and Betty behind. Rang. 
Sir, I know not whether the News I bring may please you; but I have made a strange discovery yonder.  Bubb. 
Discovery! of what prithee?—  Rang. 
Sir, I saw Rashley and your Wife— going laughing Arm in Arm through the Entry— the Backside of the Kitchen into the Parlour,— where, if you please to give yourself the trouble, you may find 'em.—  Betty. 
This is as my Mistress suspected, and I'll inform her immediately.  Bubb. 
hay day! My Wife and Rashley? Art sure on't, Ned?  Rang. 
As sure, Sir, as I live, I saw 'em there:— nay, what's more, my curiosity inducing me to peep through the Keyhole, I saw his Head lie in her Lap,— whilst she with a fond passion stroked his Cheeks, and dallied with his Hair: Faith, Sir, I could not see this and be silent; but you I fear will think the worse of me for it.—  Bubb. 
In the Parlour, sayst thou? 'Sbud, was ever such a confusion? Why, my Sister says that within these two minutes she saw and spoke to 'em here in this Chamber. They are here, and there, and every where, and yet I can find 'em no where; what a Pox should a man think of this?  Rang. 
They are there this instant, Sir, upon my Honour.  Mar. 
Sure, I have not dreamt all this while! Did I not see here ●● by Heaven I saw the Devil in her likeness then.  Bubb. 
Why, peace, I say,— if you are mad, offend no one but yourself with it.— What a Pox shall I not believe my eyes? The House is not haunted that I know of, unless it be with Fools:— There's a Bob for you by way of Conclusion.  Mar. 
Yes, Cuckolds too! There's a Bob for you by way of Repartée.  Bubb. 
Cuckold?— I'd have you to know I scorn your words;— and were you not my Sister, I'd fetch you out with your Repartées. What, because you are a Fool, you guess all persons are alike?— Do you but conceive me, Mrs. juniper? I am a Turk at matter of fact when I see occasion.—  Rang. 
Good Sir,— no more of this,— but go down and satisfy yourself in the truth of my Story:— if I tell you a Lie, call me Fool,— Horse,— any thing,— do but go and see.  Bubb. 
'Sbud, I know not what to do: One brings me up, another carries me down; one jilts me, another abuses me; a third laughs at me;— and yet I find nothing, nor see nothing,— nor know nothing,— and you are nothing but Fools to make all this stir about nothing. But come, I'll go with thee, Ned.  Mar. 
And I, that I may say once in my life I saw a Miracle.  Rang. 
I have her once more in the Noose of the slip; now the Devil hold her fast in th' other World:— 'Tis above mortal power! Come, Sir.—  Exeunt.  

Scene 4.  Enter Rashley and Emilia in Night-Gowns, Betty, Jeremy. Emil. 
HEre, here, quickly take my Nightgown, and put it on, you are sure they are coming.  Betty. 
Very sure, Madam;— I stood at the door and heard all.  Rash. 
What must I do, Sweet?— Prithee do not let us be surprised again.  Emil. 
Uncase, uncase, Sir;— and let your Man represent you as Betty does me: jeremy, be sure you play your part well, and Court her to the life.—  Put on the Gowns. Rash. 
D''ee hear, Sirrah!  jer. 
I'll warrant you, Sir. Come, Mrs. Betty.  Emil. 
Stay, a word more in thy ear:— I see this Fellow is but a Blockhead, and therefore am afraid of trusting him too far:— Keep him as ignorant of our Intrigue as thou canst; and if my Husband ask where I am, tell him I am gone to visit my Lady Courtly:— I'll be in my Chamber;— and when they are all gone, bring me word what Ranger and Maria are doing.  Betty. 
Yes, Madam, I'll be very careful.  Rash. 
I will reward thy care, my pretty little—  Emil. 
Hark! I hear 'em coming;— now to your postures.—  Noise. Ex. Rashley and Emilia. jer. 
Now, Mrs. Betty, we having so fit an occasion, let us make Love in some Heroic Vein.  Betty. 
No, I am for the plain-dealing way.—  jer. 
Pish! t'others a great deal better, as thus:  
Your Eyes with so bright Charms are decked about,  
That I could kiss 'em till I kissed 'em out.  Betty. 
Oh I hate that;— I vow 'tis very silly.  Enter Ranger, Bubble and Maria. Rang. 
There, there, Sir;— D''ee see 'em now? will you believe next time?  Bubb. 
O dismal Object!— I am a Cuckold then.  Mar. 
This is miraculous; how was it possible they could get hither? But I am glad they are here however.  Bubb. 
Now for a good full blow at his head before he sees me: 'tis a Cuckold's way of revenge I'm sure; Have at him!—  Offers to strike. jer. 
Oh Lord, what mean you, Sir, what mean you?  Bubb. 
Traitor! Rogue! Rascal! I'll— Ha, jeremy?  jer. 
Ay, Sir, 'tis I, poor jeremy, Sir.  Mar. 
And Betty in her mistress's Nightgown.—  Ranger's amazed. Rang. 
Their old Friend the Devil has fetched 'em away again.  Bubb. 
What make you here in their Night-Gowns?  Betty. 
Only, Sir, through an ambition to make Love as Gently as we could.  Bubb. 
Go, go, and find your Mistress out, and tell her, Her humble Servant and Husband desires to speak with her.— Look ye, Ned, you are a Fool, I see.  Rang. 
I am so, Sir, I acknowledge it.  Bubb. 
And you, Madam, are a little leaning that way, are ye not?  Mar. 
I can say nothing for myself, Sir.  Bubb. 
Then I can say you're a Couple of Fools: Did I not tell you what all this would come to? Ha, ha, ha! It makes me laugh to think how busy you two Asses have been about nothing; and I am no better than a third Fool for believing you: But from henceforth, he that speaks against my Chickens Virtue, is the Son of a Whore; for 'Uds Bood she's the honestest Woman in Christendom, and he that denies it, I will immediately invade him with Battle-Ax, Poinard and Pistol.  Rang. 
She is a very Saint, Sir.  Mar. 
A very Devil, Sir! O Death, is there no remedy?  Bubb. 
I'll go instantly and reconcile myself to her, with a strict Vow never to doubt her more.— Oh Sir Roger! welcome.  Enter Sir Roger and Cordelia. 
Faith! I was wishing for some good Company to be Witness of my Reconcilement to my dear Chicken. You are melancholy, Sir,— I heard your Nephew was sick, I suppose that's the cause.  Sir Rog. 
If he has heard of what, I am disgraced for ever.  Bubb. 
Come, Sir, cheer up, cheer up, he will be well again, doubt not.  Sir Rog. 
I hope so, Sir. Madam, this Generous Act of concealing the infamy of our Family, has so wrought upon me, that if I could requite—  Cord. 
No more, Sir:— Your Nephew's forbearance is all I desire: You are sensible now that I have some reason to request that.  Sir Rog. 
I am, Madam, and am extremely bound to your Generosity; and Gad I have another Nephew whom I'll make better by 200 l. a year to make you amends.— Well, Mr. Bubble, I am glad to come at so good a time, when mirth is going forward: you are a merry man, Sir,— and in verity I like your company.  Bubb. 
And I yours, Sir Roger;— for I am very merry for some private reason best known to myself:— We'll toss a Bumper about by and by, Faith!  Enter Fumble pushing in Governess. Fumb. 
An old Cronee, a Sorceress;— What i'fack, and in the Devil's Name, am I to be popped in the mouth with Fourscore and Twelve? A Beldame, a Witch, that expects next Winter to be turned into a Gib-Cat,— thought fit to be yoked with me! No, no, some wiser than some; and I'll have her know within this week that I am as fit for Two and Twenty, as Two and Twenty is for me:— In the mean time avaunt jezabel,— I like thee not, Icod; thou hast no black o' Top, i'fack, thou art not for my turn.  Bubb. 
What, old Signior Fumble? what's the matter, Man?  Fumb. 
Yes marry am I, Sir, and chowsed damnably too, and some shall know't when I can find 'em.  Cord. 
He's groping for his Spectacles; now I expect to be rated.  Fumb. 
Ah,— are you there, Rogue, are you there! Why, you very Wag, would you offer to serve me so? But hang thee, thou'rt a Rogue, and come i'fack tho' 'twas a Knavish Trick, I am pleased with the Wit on't:— Give me thy hand, and come and kiss me, and all shall be well again.—  Cord. 
Upon condition you never trouble me more,— there 'tis.—  Fumb. 
Icod, she has a pretty Touch with her, she has i'fack; I forgive thee with all my heart.— Well, old Woman, depart in peace; old Woman, I say, departed, and trouble me no more:— I am busy, and can't dispense with the Fopperies of Age now.  Gou. 
Well, this comes of eating Sweet-meets when I was young: He had never found out the trick, if my want of Teeth had not discovered me.  Bubb. 
Ha, ha!— Here had like to have been fine sport i'faith:— but would I knew where my Wife is, that we might all go and address, now I am in this good humour.  Gou. 
Sir, just as I came in, I saw her go up into her Chamber.  Bubb. 
Didst thou? I am glad on't i'faith: Come, let's all go.  Enter Betty. Betty. 
Sir, I cannot find her; but I heard her say about an hour since, she intended to go and visit my Lady Courtly.  Bubb. 
No, no;— I know where she is now:— Poor Creature! I warrant she sits so melancholy above now.— Well,— I dare proudly say I have the best Wife in Christendom: for i'faith I have been very jealous of her, but I was wrought upon,— when o' my Conscience the innocent Wretch would not hurt a Worm:— But come, we'll all go to her, and be sure, Sir Roger, you plead for me;— in troth my heart aches to think how I have used her.  Betty. 
I must prevent their going up, or we are undone.  Is running, Maria stops her. Mar. 
Whither are you running? I have some business with you.  Betty. 
Good Madam, I'll wait on you immediately.  Mar. 
Ye shall not stir till I have spoke to you:— Here must be something in this I find by her eagerness to be gone.  Sir Rog. 
Well, Mr. Bubble,— in verity I'll do my best in your behalf; my Tongue is at your service at any time.  Bubb. 
Sir Roger, you will oblige me in't.— She is the most innocent, sweetest, and most virtuous Person in the whole World, and I shall never be able to make her amends.— Come, let us go.  Rang. 
Now will I see how she behaves herself, and wonder at the prosperous Impudence Hell has endowed her with, tho' it lies not in my power to repel it.  Mar. 
Now I think better on't, I'll defer my business till another time:— You may go where you please.  Exeunt. Betty. 
This cunning Devil has undone 'em;— nor lies it now in my power to hinder it.— Oh I could Curse—  Exit.  

Scena ultima.  Enter Rashley and Emilia. Emil. 
THe Plague of living with such a Husband you must imagine is very disagreeable to my Temper;— and were it not for the happy hours I have the good fortune to enjoy in thy society, my Life would be wholly uncomfortable:— But, my Dear, thou wilt forget me, one day I shall grow cheap to thee, shall I not?  Rash. 
No, never,— never, my Sweet!— Thou hast more Charms each hour added to thee, rather than one diminished.— Forget thee! I sooner shall forget to feed myself, or that the Sun ere shone in midst of Summer, than thy more precious Favours. Thou bring'st each hour new Sweets, and every minute a thousand thousand Graces throng about thee, my Dear,— Dear, Charming, Sweet,— Precious!—  Kisses her. Enter Bubble, Sir Roger, Fumble, Ranger, Maria, Cordelia. Bubble entering. 
Softly, softly, Sir Roger: Poor Soul,— I warrant she's at Prayers.— Ha! what's this I see?— Gad jidge me—  Rang. 
By Heaven, they're here a Kissing!— Oh happy minute!  Emil. 
Ah, who could have the heart to leave thy Blisses for such a Fool, such a Beast, such a dull, sordid, filthy, insipid Creature as my Husband?  Bubb. 
How's that? Oh Devil!  Rash. 
I am smothered with thy Charms; Oh for some Air! Ha!— Oh horror, cursed minute! taken thus?  Starts. Emil. 
My Husband! Nay then I am lost for ever.—  Bubb. 
Ah cursed Creature! is this thy Virtue?— But I'll—  Goes to wound her. Sir Rog. 
Hold, Sir, in verity that must not be; No Swords against Women in my Company.  Bubb. 
Then here let my Vengeance light. Traitor! have I obliged thee so often for this?— Have at thee!  Rang. 
Your pardon, Sir, I must hinder dishonourable proceedings; in the Field you may do what you please.  Bubb. 
Speak, Witch, speak! what reason hadst thou to use me thus? Thou Limb of the Devil,— speak, I say.  Emil. 
Use you thus?— Why,— Sir, your Rage makes you suggest strange thoughts without cause. My kindness to Mr. Rashley was only because— he promised to be my Friend in urging my Reconcilement with you;— and because I knew he was your Friend, I therefore— I say, because I knew you loved him, I desired him to— to— I was very urgent with him— about— about— No I mistake! 'twas he was urgent with me to entreat you to do me the favour— no— to do him the favour: I mean, hum— to— to—  Bubb. 
Pox! what a Story's here? Oh Strumpet! Witch!—  Mar. 
To Cuckold him, was that it, Sister?  Rang. 
Madam, me thinks your speech fails you exceedingly.  Emil. 
All will not do; O spiteful minute! Taken thus at last? Shame ties my Tongue, and absence is most necessary.  Exit. Bubb. 
Oh farewell in the Devil Name! Oh Horns! Horns! found a Cuckold at last! I have spun a fair Thread, by the Lord Harry; A Cuckold at last!—  Rash. 
A Cuckold! Why, Sir,— have I done any thing but by your directions?— Why do you suggest such things to yourself?— Well, Sir, if I have injured you, I wear a Sword, Sir,— and so— Farewell.—  Ex. Rashley. Sir Rog. 
In verity his was a strange discovery;— but such things will happen— sometimes.—  Cord. 
So it seems; yet this me thinks is wonderful.  Bubb. 
Oh unfortunate Husband! Well,— I'll go instantly and get a Divorce, and spend the remainder of my Life in penning a satire against Women;— I'll call it, A CAUTION FOR CUCKOLDS; where I will deplorably set down my own Case, and as a Warning-piece for rash young men, and for the benefit of my Country.  
Felix quem faciunt aliena Cornua Cautum.  Exit. Fumb. 
Something is the matter now, if I could guests: But mum! I must not yet discover my failing.  Rang. 
Now the mighty Sophistress is o'erthrown!  Mar. 
Thank Chance for that;— but no Wit of our own.—  Rang. 
Right, Madam; and by this a Man may see how unnecessary a thing it is,— to strive to turn the current of a Woman's fancy, when it is bent to another. 'Tis a damned thing this Wenching, if a Man considers seriously on it; and yet 'tis such a damnable Age we live in, that, Gad, he that does not follow it is either accounted sordidly unnatural, or ridiculously impotent.— Well, for my part henceforward this shall be my Resolution:  
I'll Love for Interest, Court for Recreation;  
Change still a Mistress to be still in fashion:  
I'll aid all Women in an Amorous League;  
But from this hour ne'er balk a Love-Intrigue.  Ex. omnes.    

EPILOGUE  spoken by FUMBLE. 
WEll, Gentlemen, how d''ee?— Icod you sit,  
As if you had no Souls, no Brains, no Wit.  
What, not a word now in the Poet's praise?  
Ha!— Faith, I was a Spark in my young days.—  
I Clapped, and Clapped;— nay, sometimes to my cost:  
I Clapped so long,— Gad, I (was) Clapped at last.  
There I was waggish;— You know what I mean;—  
The Devil was in't, a Plaguy Yorkshire Quean.—  
But 'tis no matter,— 'twas but thought a jest,  
And, Gad, I was as brisk then as the best.  
So I am now; for I'fack I'd have you know,  
Your Old Man, though he only serve for show,  
Yet give him a Young Wench with Black o' Top,—  
And you shall see him Frisk, and jump, and Hop;—  
Icod, and Wriggle!— Ha!— th' old Bell will sound,  
Though there is ne'er a Clapper to be found.  
But let that pass: Now your Applause disburse;  
Why,— what the Devil makes you silent thus?—  
What say ye,— The Play does not deserve it?— Ha!—  
Icod, you are mistaken:— for I'll tell ye,  
I once could Write and judge,— and ' Fack did do  
Very strange things;— but I've forgot 'em now:—  
But I remember what a Wag— I was:—  
I had so many Smutty jests those days,  
I could get none but Women to my Plays.  
But that's all one;— Icod, the Youth that Writ,  
Does well;— and who knows,— may do better yet:  
Therefore you should encourage him, D''ee hear?  
And he that fails, I wish this Curse may bear,  
That he be really my Character,—  
Lascivious, Deaf, and Impotent as I;  
And Gad that's Plague enough,— and so God bye.  
FINIS.