THE FOOL Turned Critic: A COMEDY:  
As it was Acted at the Theatre-Royall. By His Majesty's Servants.  
By T. D. Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for james Magnes and Richard Bentley, at the Post-Office in Russel-Street in Covent-Garden, 1678.   

PROLOGUE.  
HE who comes hither with design to hiss,  
And with a bum reversed, to whisper Miss,  
To comb a Periwig, or to show gay clothes,  
Or to vent Antique nonsense with new oaths,  
Our Poet welcomes as the Muse's friend;  
For he'll by irony each Play commend.  
Next these we welcome such as briskly dine,  
At Locket's, at Gissord's, or with Shataline.  
Swelled with Pottage, and the Burgundian Grape,  
They hither come to take a kindly nap.  
In these our Poet don't conceive much harm;  
For they pay well, and keep our benches warm.  
And though scarce half awake, some Plays they damn,  
They do't by Whole-sail; not by Ounce, and Dram.  
But when fierce Critics get them in their clutch,  
They're crueler than the Tirannick Dutch.  
And with more Art, do dislocate each Scene,  
Then in Amboyna they the limbs of men.  
They wrack each line, and every word unknit,  
As if they'd find away to cramp all Wit.  
They are the terror of all adventurers here,  
The very objects of their hate and fear,  
And like rude Commonwealths they still are knit  
'Gainst English Plays, the Monarchies of wit,  
They invade Poetic Licence, and still rail  
At Plays, to which in duty they should veil.  
Yet still the infest this Coast to fish for jests,  
To supplement their Wits at City feasts.  
Thus much for Critics: to the more generous Wit,  
Our Poet Frankly, does each Scene submit;  
And begs your kind Allience to engage  
Those Hogen interlopers of the Stage.   

The Fool turned CRITIC.  

ACT. I.  

Scene I. Covent-Garden.  Enter Frank Amorous, and Bernard. Frank. 
PIsh, never doubt it man, thou shalt enjoy her;  
Give me thy hand, I say thou shalt: a man of thy  
Perfections, and despair of gaining a slight woman?  
Come, come, no more, Thou shalt possess her Bernard.  Ber. 
Prithee Frank,  
Leave off thy Raillery, thy mirth's unseasonable;  
I am not pleased to hear thee flatter me  
With hopes of what thou never canst perform,  
Especially this way.  Frank. 
I last thou a Faith?  
Canst thou believe the thing thou seest achieved?  
Give credit to an act is done and finished before thy Eyes?  Ber. 
Yes sure, I could do that.  Frank. 
Why then I say once more aloud to thee,  
Thou shalt enjoy this woman▪ I will, to do thee  
A kindness, be an honourable Procurer.  Ber. 
Ha! Procurer!  Frank. 
Nay, nay, mistake me not, I mean I'll get her for thee.  
Procurer, or Matchmaker, it's all one,  
The word has several meanings.  Ber. 
Though I know thy vanity to be such, that in  
Thy thoughts thou couldst do wonders, but  
Thy power, barren as Earth on Rocks of  
Unknown height; yet in thy words lies something  
that is pleasing, though far from my belief,  
Thou canst perform it.  Frank. 
Try me, and if I do not.—  Ber. 
How canst thou think to do't, Thou know'st her not,  
Art unacquainted with her Family, Friends and Relations.  Frank. 
I grant I am Sir— But Heaven be praised I'm  
Owner of a certain confidence, that never fails  
To usher my acquaintance with any of that Sex.  
The least thing that of a thousand.  Ber. 
But thou art wild, and wavering in thy Temper,  
Apt to run out into Extravagancies, unfit for her  
To hear, much less commend. Canst thou be serious Frank.  Frank. 
Canst thou be wise— serious—  
Ud's death, dost take her for an Abbess?  
Or one o'th' Zealots at Amsterdam?  
That thou dost School me thus— hark, hark,  
Bernard, Were she a Widow zealously devout,  
One doting on some brawny suburb Parson,  
That preaches, following him the way to Heaven;  
A mess of phrases, serious, loud and chiming, might  
Work upon her Spirit: But a Girl who is as  
Thou describest her, free and airy, sanguine of her  
Complexion, young and healthy, a serious speech  
To her, is like a long Grace to one of an eager  
Appetite, fruitless, as 'tis distasteful.  Ber. 
But prithee how— what wilt thou say to her?  Frank. 
I know not yet— but do not doubt me, I'll do  
Thy business; never fear it Bernard: Thou hast,  
I thank thee, supplied me with money, and thereby crossed  
My miserable Father's purpose of marrying me  
To an old Widow here i'th' City.— And to gratify  
Thee, this Woman shall be thine— and by my means.  Ber. 
A strange confidence!  
But perhaps— he knows something of her— That  
Makes him thus presume— I am resolved to try—  
Well Frank, this once I'll trust Thee— I am to  
Night invited by her Father to Supper; Thou shalt  
Go with me; and if thou canst perform this,  
Thou art my Friend indeed.  Frank. 
And thou shalt find me so, Come le's away.  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Old Winelove, Tim, Smallwit. Old Wine. 
Is your name Smallwit?  Small. 
jervas' Smallwit, Sir. the meanest of your Worship's  
Humble Servants, One that shall prouder be to kiss  
Your hand, then to be crowned with Laurel by Apollo.  Old Wine. 
Good Mr. Smallwit!  
No Flowers of Rhetoric to me, your stock I fear  
Will be exhausted soon enough,— by him there,  
Without ●is loss on me, you are commended to me  
By a good Friend of mine, Old Sir Formal Ancient.  Small. 
He is my Patron Sir.  Old Wine. 
He sends me word, you have your Tropes and Figures,  
Your Syllogisms, Epithets and Phrases, I could  
Have named 'em right in my young days, ready by heart,  
And that you can accost, Repartee, come on, draw off,  
Retreat, and hold discourse even with the best of  
Our Tongue Combatants.  Small. 
I should do something Sir, I've studied long for't.  Old Wine. 
And that you can with fair becoming Grace,  
And modish cringes vouch your gallantry  
'Gainst any Squire of the Pantofle  
Within the King's Dominion.  Small. 
I hope I can Sir.  Old Wine. 
Very well— I'm glad on't.  
I'm very glad your skill is so unquestioned,  
There's one will want it all— and more I doubt not.  
Come hither Sir.  Small. 
Is this the Gentleman?  Old Wine. 
The same Sir,— 'tis my Heir, the only he  
That ever called me Father;  
And though he seems to have but a course outside,  
He has a cunning Headpiece— a shrewd pate;  
His inner Rooms are furnished well Sir,  
Take my word; besides, he keeps good Company  
That edify him much, good Singing, Dancing, Swearing,  
Jovial Company; Then has seen all the new Plays;  
And you'll find him a Proficient.  Small. 
It were a sin to doubt it Sir.  Old Wine. 
Yet though he be well furnished thus by nature,  
He has not the Town virtues, Talk and Impudence;  
No modish Gallantry to gloss his parts, and make 'em shine,  Small. 
Sir fear not, he'll soon learn.  Old Wine. 
I should be grieved else, troth I should Sir.  
Now I would have you Sir as you are styled  
The Mercury, nay the Apollo of this age  
To teach him these endowments— I would have him  
Learn how to Court his Mistress, huff a Rival  
That crosses his designs, quarrel with Bullies,  
And pick a Wench up with alacrity.  
Then to see Plays, and how to firut i'th' Pit,  
Manage his Comb, swear modishly Gad dam;  
Talk aloud, to make his parts be noted.  Small. 
Never doubt Sir,  
He shall be soon instructed with these Rules.  Old Wine. 
And when the Play's begun, I'd have him sit  
In the Wit's Corner, play the Critic, hiss  
At any thing he does not understand:  
Be the Scene ne'er so witty— That's no matter,  
'Tis Modish and Gentile.  Small. 
He shall not fail Sir:  
Nay he shall hold a parley with the Wits:  
Propound and answer things beyond his knowledge,  
And yet come off with credit.  Old Wine. 
Shall he faith?  
Shall he come off with credit?— do but that Sir,  
Bring him but off with credit, and you bless me;  
And I'll not be ungrateful— see here's 50 Guineas;  
This as an Earnest of my future Bounty:  
And if he come off, and as thou sayst, with credit,  
A hundred more shall pay obeisance to Thee!  
Tim, come hither Tim, how dost Thou like this Gentleman?  
Ha, prithee tell me,— Come be not so bashful.  
You two must be acquainted.  Tim. 
Faith Sir,— I like him very well— But—  Old Wine. 
But— pish no Butts— he'll make a Courtier Tim.  Small. 
Ah, do not fear it Sir, The Squire and I  
Shall soon be intimate, we'll be Chamber-fellows,  
Be Drunk together, Sing and Roar together,  
Ramble till two i'th' Morning, and then Slip  
Into some private Lodging in the Park,  
And get a Wench or two.  Tim. 
Withal my heart:  
A very pleasant fellow; I like him Sir extremely.  Old Wine. 
Nay, doubt him not Sir, he is cock o'th' game,  
I told you, you should find him a true Winelove:  
He had it from his Father,— ay in my capering days:  
I would have Wrestled, Leapt, Run, pitched the Bar;  
And kissed a sound Wench in a frosty morning,  
With any Squire in Northamptonshire:  
But now, I must confess my Age's Autumn,  
Bafflles my weak endeavours.  Small. 
Oh, not so Sir.  Old Wine. 
Faith 'tis very true— but 'tis no matter,  
Be you but careful to instruct my Son;  
'Tis all I wish— in him my youth shall flourish:  
And be you sure Tim, to observe his Doctrine,  
Follow his Precepts with a greedy Ear;  
And let me see you strut it in the Streets,  
Display thy Garniture, Hat, Curled Shaddrew  
With my bully Gamester, in whitefriars.  
ne'er doubt the means, Thou shalt have Money store,  
I have been scraping it this 50 year:  
And thou shalt never want that my Boy.  Tim. 
I will do what you please Sir.  Old Wine. 
Why, I would have you Tim, to be a Fine Courtier,  
A Jauntee, Modish follower of the times,  
Ha wilt thou strive?  Tim. 
Yes Sir, I will strive;  
I'll be as Impudent as you please to have me.  Old Wine. 
Wilt thou?— why, well said- ha, what think you now Sir▪  Small. 
A pregnant Wit, believe me Sir.  Tim. 
And Sir, to show my duty more— I will be drunk  
Very often, lie a Bed all day, and rise at midnight;  
I'll get a Wench Sir, and if you think good a Clap,  
And then I shall be sure to be o'th' fashion.  Old Wine. 
Now by Honour rarely thought upon,  
A Clap indeed is Modish.  Tim. 
I Sir, 'tis so,  Old Wine. 
we'll talk further of this point within:  
I must entreat you Sir to dine with me,  
Pray let us be Familiar.  Small. 
I am in troth too bold Sir.  Old Wine. 
Fie not a jot— come le's in— Tim follow your T●●●●.  Tim. 
Yes Sir.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III. Hall.  Enter Sir Formal Ancient, and Penelope. Sir For. 
Daughter I say, be wise; these are ill times,  
And we should therefore be more provident:  
I do not like this Bernard, that frequents  
My house, and your company; Daughter I say,  
I do not like him.  Pen. 
Why Sir?  Sir For. 
Nay, nay, I know not that; yet to satisfy you,  
His Father was a roaring Cavalier,  
Apeaching Rascal, that betrayed our Faction:  
H' had like to hanged my Uncle; and for that trick  
I hate the generation: Yet to say truth,  
It is a Courteous Varlet, and a my conscience,  
Would stake his Life for his Friend: but what then,  
His Lineage all were Knaves, conforming Rogue's;  
Fellows that strained their throats for a free state,  
And for that cause I hate 'em.  Pen. 
You are my▪ Father Sir, and 'twould be thought  
Great folly in me to question your Commands,  
Much less deny 'em.  Sir For. 
How, deny 'em!  
Dare you deny my commmands.  Pen. 
Sir, you mistake, I always meant to obey  
What you and Heaven should impose upon me.  Sir For. 
Didst thou not say at first,  
Thou wouldst deny my just Commands.  Pen. 
No Sir, I said 'twas folly in me to deny 'em.  Sir For. 
And dost no doubt dissemble with me,  Pen. 
Believe me Sir, I do not, I am now  
As I was ever, ready to obey you,  
In any just Command.  Sir For. 
Thou art my Daughter, and shouldst practise duty;  
Therefore I say once more, and with a parent like authority,  
I do not like this Bernard, therefore Discard him;  
See that my doors close locked oppose his entrance:  
I have no houseroom for him, tell him so,  
How now!  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Sir, there's one Sir Peter Winelove at the three Crane Tavern, desires your Company about Earnest Business.  Sir For. 
Go tell him I come— I guess his Business, Exit Servant  
He has a Son lately come out o'th' Country;  
And wants a Wife— Daughter go you to your Closet,  
Fall on your knees, and pray my hopes may be successful:  
There is a Blessing coming, and I'll work for't  Exit. Pen. 
Such Blessings I expect not, nor desire:  
— when 'ere I marry, or intent it, my Father  
I see, by this Carriage to Bernard, will oppose it,  
If it suits not with his liking, I'm vexed;  
Extremely vexed at my ill Fortune, and though  
I have no passion for this Bernard, he does  
Deserve it: And it might have been my Fate, as  
Well as now 'tis his: Well— I'll leave all to  
Time; the Dice may turn, and I may yet be happy.  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Madam, there's a Lady, accompanied with a Gentleman  
Below is come to visit you.  Pen. 
Wait on 'em in. Exit Servant. Enter Frank Amorous and Lucia  
Dearest Madam, a thousand, thousand Welcomes;  
To what happy accident am I obliged,  
That obliged me with your presence.  Lue. 
To no accident; I came to Sat and talk with you:  
Or if thou like the Wether, le's take a turn in  
The Park: I have been so melancholy since  
My Brother went out of the Town.  Pen. 
Is not that Frank Amorous? Heavens! 'tis he,  
— how came he with her Aside.  
Madam, what Gentleman is that?  Lue. 
Why, don't you know him?  Pen. 
Not I  Luc. 
No, that's strange, I met him at the door▪  
And hearing me ask for you, pretended business,  
And desired the favour to conduct me to you.  Pen. 
Business with me? What this should mean I know not.  Fran. 
Madam, although ' it's my unhappiness to be a stranger  
To you, and consequently to be destitute of what  
Would make me blessed, could I obtain it— your  
Acquaintance, yet emboldened by the Cause, I  
Presume to tell you that I have Business.  Pen. 
With me?  Fran. 
Madam, with you.  Pen. 
Heaven grant it be toth' purpose: Madam I beg▪  
Your excuse for a Minute's Conference— pray  
Declare it Sir.  Fran. 
I have a Friend that Loves you▪  Pen. 
Well Sir.  Fran. 
That dies for you.  Pen. 
Not unlikely.  Fran. 
And to this Friend, have I engaged my honour,  
That you shall.  Pen. 
What I  Fran. 
Receive his Love— permit him to enjoy you,  
The only Cure I know.  Pen. 
But whence Sir springs your Confidence in my consent,  
That you durst promise this?  Fran. 
Why, Faith no Confidence in you, but in my own  
Ability, made me do't: Besides, the knowledge  
I have that a woman of honour, as you are, or  
Would at least be thought, could not refuse so  
Fervent an address, when offered by so brave  
A Gentleman; especially when urged by persuasions.  Pen. 
I will not trouble myself with reproving your vanity;  
That were a fruitless work, but I desire to know,  
Who 'tis that is thus pained— pray Sir, what is he?  Fran. 
Why, Faith a man, that were a Non Parelio,  
But that he dotes on women— a general fault.  
Ye have the Ascendant over us.  
This Paper will make all plain;  
There you may read his name.  Pen. 
Well I am strangely taken with this Fellow; Aside.  
How many Bernard's live in him.  Reads. Fran. 
I cannot much blame Bernard for his choice;  
This is no ordinary woman, and therefore not  
To be despised: But yonder's a Lady, through whose  
Vizard— I met an eye that darted fire into me—  
What a presence she has: Now would I give a  
Million for an invisible hand to snatch away that Mask.  Pen. 
Well Sir, I've read the Letter— and to let you  
See, I neither flight the message nor the Bearer:  
I'll Write an Answer to it; he may hope  
Still, assure him I will do't: In the mean time  
I will not fail to commend your fidelity.  
Madam, I'll wait upon you instantly, please you to  
Permit this Gentleman to keep you Company; I know  
Him now, and can assure the general voice of  
Fame denotes him Noble.  Exit. Fran. 
So, this has introduced me, and I'll forward:  
This must be a rare woman: Bows to her. She le's fall her Mask, he snatches it up:  
How great a reason have I to bliss  
Fortune, that by an accident permits my eye,  
The view of so much Excellence.  Luc. 
No Excellence Sir.  Fran. 
‛ I faith it is— O cast away that cloud,  
That shuts up so much Beauty.  Luc. 
Pray spare your Rhetoric, and let me tell you Sir,  
I hate a flatterer,  
As I hate the Devil, and would as soon avoid him.  Fran. 
A flatterer Madam, damn him— I hope  
You have heard nothing in my words,  
That you should take me for flatterer;  
I know too much of honour to dissemble.  Luc. 
Pardon me Sir, If I make doubt of that,  
You are a man I hope.  Fran. 
I was this morning.  Luc. 
And are yet, doubt not,— if so you may dissemble  
By th' charter of your Sex.  Fran. 
But your known beauty, by all so much admired,  
Deserves, nor needs no flattery, besides I  
Applaud a truth, and that is still allowed.  Luc. 
By some I grant it is— and since your searching wit  
Has thrust me on Discourse against my will;  
I'll let you know my temper.  
I hate a man that flatters worse than death;  
He that should fawn, and soothe me in my Error;  
I'd shun him, as I would the Pestilence—  
I am not made perhaps of the same mould,  
That other women are; I do not love to hear  
A Fop cry Madam, I vow to gad that smile  
Became you sweetly.  
No'tis a careless, blunt, and  
Manly Carriage that likes me best— Besides  
Sir, I think 'tis newer, and more modish.  Fran. 
'Tis a witty Wanton—  
There's no way but to wheel about; and begin with  
Her in her own Style— Madam I must confess,  
I did mistake your temper; but from henceforth,  
You shall perceive I am more given to satirize,  
Then flatter or dissemble.  Luc. 
I am glad on't.  Fran. 
Fortune in this hath been most kind to me, to make  
Me worthy of your joy.  Luc. 
Still in that vein— take heed.  Fran. 
I have done Madam— the Devils in me;  
I cannot out of my road, though I am punished for't.  Luc. 
I doubt not but I am meanly prized in your thoughts,  
For being thus free.  Fran. 
No, no, not much for that;— I know your Sex's frailty.  Luc. 
Our frailty.  Fran. 
I your ambition, or call it worse, your pride.  Luc. 
But pray refresh your memory Sir,  
Did not you first accost me, did not you long  
To break the Ice, and speak to me? come confess.  Fran. 
I long to speak to you, ha, ha, ha, that's fine;  
Pray Madam, recollect, peruse yourself,  
What is there in that face that I should long for?  
I think I fit her now. Aside.  
— long to speak to you.— That's a good jest i'faith.  Luc. 
If I mistake, and am indeed so indifferent in your eye,  
As you declare I am; you will oblige yourself  
To remove from me to some more taking object.  Fran. 
No Madam, you may do what you please— I have business.  Luc. 
I shall not want entreaty.  Is going away▪ Fran. 
'Ds death she's going indeed— Madam, sweet Madam,  
What do you mean? Now have I like a Puppy,  
Overdone my part, and made her angry— you  
Will not go in earnest?  Luc 
I use not Sir to jest with strangers.  Fran. 
You know I did this but in obedience to your  
Command, far from my own good Temper, Heaven  
Knows, and if your mind be changed, and you affect  
Another Courtship better— 'tis but wheeling a little  
Way about again▪ Madam, I'll be with you presently.  Luc. 
No Sir, 'tis needless, I am very well satisfied in  
The knowledge of your Temper, as I hope you are  
Of mine, and am at present very unwilling to  
Urge a further trial.  Fran. 
Then make me so happy to know your Lodging,  
That I may have liberty to pay my duty to you,  
In requital of this favour.  Luc. 
That I cannot neither, he that Loves me must seek me;  
Perhaps the reward will not be worth the search:  
But 'tis my humour Sir.  Fran. 
Nay, now you are cruel Madam—▪ dsdeath do  
You make a Beagle of me, and think I can  
Hunt you out, upon the scent? I'faith you  
Are too rigorous.  Luc. 
My words are irrevocable, and 'twill be discretion  
In you not to urge me further.  Fran. 
I've done, and will be patient— but if I do  
Meet you again, as it shall go very hard if I  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I will— but no matter, let this suffice  
At present, I love you beyond thought, and will  
Find a time to let you know't at large.  Enter Penelope with a Letter written. Pen. 
Here Sir, 'tis done; I have in this discovered  
My mind to him: And besides, have given him to  
Understand how much he is engaged to you:  
But let him for a time forbear our house,  
It is my father's pleasure; his mind may alter  
And set all right again. Pray tell him so.  Fran. 
Madam, you have obliged us both, and I shall be  
Most happy in an employment to gratify  
This favour; in the mean time, all I can do is to  
Acknowledge it, and live your humble servant.  
Fair Madam yours— 'dsdeath she'll perceive my  
Extafie— Ladies— your servant—  Exit. Turns back and sighs. Pen. 
Well I do love this Fellow, and will  
Devise some means that he shall know it;  
Come Madam le's abroad.  Luc. 
I am ready to wait on you.  Pen. 
He has a cunning Tongue, but that I value little: No,  
The choice of prudent Judgements I approve;  
Honour and virtue, must obtain my Love.  Exeunt.  
The End of the first Act.   

ACT. II.  

Scene I. Covent-Garden.  Enter Bernard. Ber. 
TO be in Love, is to be mad, and live a phrase,  
That rarely sits my present disposition; for  
Certainly if I had sense; or any reason left,  
I should have kept myself free, at least from Love,  
The plague of all mankind.  
Sure the Devil, when Providence first  
Quickened men with life, mingled this amorous  
Poison with their blood, as a continual torment.  Enter Frank Amorous. Frank. 
Dear Frank!— what returned already?  
Well! and how go matters? ha! didst speak to her?  Frank. 
Yes, I did speak to her, and thanks to my good Tongue,  
And fluent Rhetoric, a great deal, a great deal  
To the purpose— hark,— thy business is done,—  
She's thine, she's thine Rogue.  Ber. 
But art thou in earnest? prithee do not flatter me▪  
For to fall from these hopes to which thou hast raised me,  
Would be a horrid Torture.  Frank. 
Peruse this Paper, and then credit me; 'tis her own  
Handiwork: Sir, I assure you I could have had  
A Token for you, a Ring, or a slight Bracelet  
From her Arm; but that I thought 't was needless.  Ber. 
A Letter, and from her? I am transported!  
My best of Friends! how am I bound to thee?  
I almost fear to read what's Writ within, lest  
The Excess of my delight should kill me.  
But I must venture.  Frank. 
I prithee come, let's hear it.  Ber. reads, 
I have such a sensible knowledge of your sufferings, That I would willingly, if it could be without prejudice of my Honour, redress 'em; But Mr. Amorous can certify you; to whom you are infinitely obliged for his fidelity.  Frank. 
D'ye mark that Bernard?  Ber. reads, 
That 'tis not mine, but my Father's will, that debars your coming; which also can be affirmed by your worthy Friend, sweet Mr. Amorous.  Frank. 
Ha! this is more than I expected, well go thy  
Ways, thou art a kind hearted little Rogue,  
I'll say that for thee.  Ber. reads. 
But from henceforth I desire you to have patience, and pray for an alteration, and forget not to be grateful to the deserving and noble Mr. Amorous. Your Friend Penelope.  Frank. 
Very well! dost hear  
What a commendable Character she gives me?  Ber. 
I do Sir,— a thousand suspicions gnaw my heart. reads again.  
Can be affirmed by your worthy Friend sweet Mr. Amorous,—  
'dsdeath, she loves him, 'tis plain— reads still.  
(Still more!) her phrase is passionate, oh dull!  
Dull Fool! to trust him with a secret to undo thee.  Frank. 
Come, prithee what art thou musing on?  
Methinks this should make thee leap for joy;  
Sing Catches, Frisk, and know no Earth to tread on:  
What a Devil ail'st thou?  Ber. 
Nothing Sir, nothing, only a sudden Melancholy.  Frank. 
Melancholy, Apox upon't, laugh it away man;  
Think on thy Mistress; thou seest I've done thy business.  Ber. 
Ha!—  Frank. 
Ha! why dost thou stare on me?  Ber. 
The business!  Frank. 
I the next visit shall finish it.  Ber. 
Dares he upbraid me? Sir, you shall answer this.  Frank. 
Answer that— d'slight he's jealous; I find it now, and now I consider on my past proceedings, it may be he has cause; he● commendations in her Letter were somewhat more than Ordinary: She addressed herself to him, but her praises were for me. ('Tis so) what a damned dull Rogue was I not to receive it? I'll go visit her straight, and if I find her true, Friend I shall not fear to answer your demand, though with the hazard of my Life and Fortune.  Exeunt.  

Scene II. A Tavern.  Enter Old Winelove, Tim, Formal, Smallwit, Drawer. Old Wine. 
Well done Tim, bravely done Boy— Drawer, Sirrah give him t'other glass of Sack for that last action, and my little Minion of the Muses bring him but to't; let me but hear him talked of in the Playhouse, feared by the Bullies, and renowned in Taverns, and I will be a Friend to thee for ever.  Small. 
Your bounty Sir, has sealed me yours: believe he shall within a little space of time be famous, and such a one as you could wish he was; he has already profited extremely.  Old Wine. 
But prithee let me see that Congee over again, and your posture; i'faith 't was very modish: Come Tim, prithee once again.  Small. 
Look Sir in Company, take notice your Garniture, fit adjustee, and advantageously as you can, especially if you are among Ladies; and let your Comb be ready thus for your Periwig; whether it want or no 'tis a good posture: if you are saluted, make your Congee thus, with a start, your head bowing to your left Shoulder, as if it meant to kiss it. Very well! what think you of that Sir? did he not do that better than the last?  Old Wine. 
i'Faith 't was very well, Sir Formal did you see it?  Sir For. 
Yes, but to tell you the truth, I am not for this new Fantastic way I like your ancient custom, the old way of saluting gravely, 'tis more manly; these cringing Tumblers postures I like not. Give me your method of fair salutation, a rule to grace behaviour. These new ways approved by being o'th' fashion, meet not my approbation.  Old Wine. 
Old Formal, still i'faith— but mind him not Boy: I'm pleased to see thee exercise thy parts with Judgement and Discretion, Persevere Boy, Thou hast thy Father's word for't, go on and prosper.  Tim. 
And so I have Sir, never doubt, I have designs here budding in this pate of mine, that cannot choose but prosper, but methinks my Father in Law there, that must be, gives me small encouragement.  Old Wine. 
Oh! 'tis no matter, do not mind what he says: He! alas poor Dotard, only understood the way to purchase wealth, and make his Daughter a Fortune fit to embrace thee, that's his Masterpiece.  Sir For. 
Mr. Winelove, I hold it prudence in you first to deck his mind with internal Endowments, before you proceed to external Ornaments; for the Body, mark me Sir, is but as a Tenement, bare and unfurnished, till the mind adorns it with her Householdstuff.  Old Wine. 
Sir, he shall be adorned both ways; his mind shall be the business of his Tutor; his body of his Tailor; he shall be perfect, do not doubt Sir Formal.  Tim. 
I Sir, never doubt me, I have a spirit I assure you, perhaps a Wit too adorned with Endowments, such as you mention; and by my Tutors help I may in time be able to discourse with— I'll say no more— your Daughter— but let that pass.  Old Wine. 
Why well said Tim— thy Father's temper just.  Tim. 
Now I have a great mind to carp at some of his words, if I had but confidence enough to pretend to be a Critic.  Old Wine. 
Well said again i'faith, why now I like thee; this shows thy ready Wit to apprehend; I'm pleased with this extremely.  Small. 
Sir, you shall find great alteration in him within these two days; for take it from me, he has a ripening Genius, a Wit that will be poignant, and Satyrical; and some perhaps will find it.  Enter Fiddlers. 1st. Fid. 
Will it please you Gentlemen to hear a new Lesson, or a Song alamode.  Sir For. 
S'bud you impertinent Rascal get you gone,  
Or I'll so batter that Musical sconce of yours.  
Song alamode Quotha, I had as lief hear a  
Gibb Catt howl, and as much pleasure I take in't.  Old Wine. 
Fie Sir Formal, this is plain rashness, beat a poor fellow for offering to divert you.  Sir For. 
Divert me with a Pox.— Sirrah do not provoke me, but go.  Old Wine. 
Stay friend, stay, this is only a little peevish  
Blood he has within him— 'twill be allayed presently.  
Sir Andrew, for my sake have a little patience; why,  
We came hither to be merry; 'tis a day of Jubilee,  
I'faith he shall Sing.  Sir For. 
Sir, were his Songs moral and edifying, I should dispense with the noise; but this is a lewd Rogue, that gleans up all the fragments of cast Bawdy to make Songs alamode, as he calls 'em: Sirrah can you sing the battle of Mardike?  1st. Fid. 
No indeed Sir.  Sir For. 
I told you so— not sing the Battle of Mardike?  
Why thou ignorant Rogue, where hast thou been bred?  Sings 
And hussing, And puffing,  
And Snuffing, And Cuffing the Spaniard;  
Whose Brows have been died in a Tan-yard,  
Well got Fame, a Warriors Wife.  Old Wine. 
O brave Sir Formal.  Sir For. 
Ah Sir, there's some matter in this now, an ill bred  
Rascal, not sing the Battle of Mardike. Here's  
Near a child in Banbury of 7 years old, but can  
Sing the Battle of Mardike, and has it readier than  
His Hornbook.  Tim. 
Now have I a jest for my Father in Law there, if I  
Durst speak it.  Small. 
What is it Sir,  Tim. 
To have told him, that no body would wonder at his  
Mettle and testy humour, knowing he was born at Banbury.  Small. 
Amongst the Tinkers.  Tim. 
Ay egad, was not that a good one.  Small. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Old Wine. 
How now my little Mercury, what's the matter.  Small. (Whispers Old Winelove.) Old Wine. 
Ha, ha, ha, 'tis a witty Varlet— but come my friend.  Small. 
One of thy best Songs now, thy Newest— a Song alamode—  
No matter what he says, I'll reward thee.  

Song.  

THe Age is refined, and the Vulgar no more are despised for their Talent of sense.  
Good Wit, at the best is esteemed but a jest,  
A 〈◊〉 is encouraged, Desert is suppressed:  
That will flourish a hundred years hence.   

2.  
Fierce Critics like Kings, rule over this Isle;  
As the insolent judges of Wit:  
And though they have none, but what is deer bought,  
Yet to be judicious, they fain would be thought:  
By the gleanings they get in the Pit.   

3.  
Then let the precise, despair to be wise,  
Let wisdom forsake his abode.  
Since Wit is made none, by the Fops of the Town,  
Debauches increased, and good fancies o'erthrown.  
Chorus, By a pleasant Vice Alamode.    Old Wine. 
Very well i'faith— hold there's an Angel for thy  
Pains; now Sir Awdrew, what think of this?  
Is not this better than your Doggril damned  
Rhyme, all sound, no sense. This is new, and made  
By a Wit on Wit, on Critic, ah these Critic  
Wits are rare Fellows.  Sir For. 
To practise Surgery upon: To flout at the Decrees  
Of Law, or Justice, to burlesque on Religion;  
To make a Ballad out of David's Psalms, and  
Turn old Hopkins Meeter into Nonsense.  Old Wine. 
Pish, you mistake me clearly.  Sir. For. 
Not a jot Sir,— I've known him carp upon the  
Canticles, and call 'em Canting Lectures; Laugh at  
A Pious Pastor that was blind, because he told 'em,  
He could show a path to lead to happiness: Ah they  
Are lewd Rascals; Lord, Lord, what will this  
World come to?  Old Wine. 
To dust as it 'twas of old, but believe me Sir, your  
Judgement gives too harsh a censure of 'em.  Sir For. 
It may be so Sir, but pardon me Sir, I speak  
My thoughts; I use not to dissemble, I love  
Plain dealing— Drawer bring to pay.  Old Wine. 
There's nothing Sir, Fie Sir Formal— put not  
That forced expression on your Friend— so small  
A thing as this should not be spoke of.  Sir For. 
Well Sir, I know your temper, and will urge it no  
Further; I'll go home and prepare my Wife and  
Daughter for your Entertainment, pray be no  
Stranger to my house, and let your Son come  
Often, I shall expect him an hour hence, according  
To your promise.  Old Wine. 
Sir, he shall only go home and change his habit,  
And wait on you immediately—  Tim. 
a Compliment  
At parting— d'ye hear—  Small. 
Go Sir— the last I taught you.  Tim. 
Sir, when I have embellished myself with external accoutrements, fit to be seen, and received by a person of your merit and grandeur, I shall not fail to employ my internal endowments to deserve the honour to kiss the hand of your fair Daughter.  Sir For. 
Very well Sir— I apprehend your meaning, though your phrase be somewhat odd— my welcome shall return my answer to you▪ In the mean time I take my leave.—  Exit Sir Form. Old Wine. 
So now lets home▪ I have commanded my Tailor to make thee a Rich Suit Tim. Nay, thou shalt want for nothing Boy, be but industrious. And Mr. Smallwit, set him but forward in what he is begun; let me but hear that he is thought a Wit, and plays the Critic handsomely; the Critic, methinks the very word is modish.  Small. 
He shall do this, and more I'll warrant you Sir.  Old Wine. 
Rail at a Poet's lines, and sift the meaning, especially if he be but a dabbler, a novice in the art; then let him reign tyrannically, 'twill procure Fame, whether he's right or no.  Small 
He has that knack already Sir, and fear not he'll persevere.  Old Wine. 
Be sure thou dost Boy— but we waste the time, thou wilt be long a dressing: Come let's in.  Exeunt. Enter Lady Ancient, Mrs. Penelope. Lady A. 
Sir Formal told you right Daughter, you know not the tricks, nor the debauches of the Town: What Plots, what secret Juggle are abroad, therefore I say take heed: I have, I thank my stars, been ever accounted of an immaculate Life and Conversation, and I would have that Fame descend on you, which with such great discretion I have purchased▪ but than you must deserve it.  Pen. 
Madam, I hope I shall, I think you yet ne'er saw me guilty of any vice, could give you cause to doubt my future virtue.  Lady A. 
Your Virtue— no, I fear not that, 'twere a sin to imagine my blood could e'er rebel, Sir Formal too, though I mislike his starched behaviour and opinion, was once a Virtuoso, and therefore think not I doubt your virtue; no, 'tis your destiny I fear.  Pen. 
Your fears are fruitless Madam; I ne'er was yet so wedded to my will, to choose before a trial had made proof whether he did deserve it: Were I not sure she knows nothing of my Love to Frank Amorous, this would a little startle me▪  Aside. Lady A. 
I do believe thee, yet give me leave to fear:  
Is it not seen, a Lady whose fame for breeding  
And descent, is loudly spoken of; gets a toy in her head,  
Marries her Footman, and gives the Flambeau for her Crest▪  
Another, charmed with the flatteries of some smooth tongued seducer,  
Sells her honour, and whole race, to infamy,  
Ruins herself; and lastly dies a Beggar.  Pen. 
These are sad Morals Madam.  Lady A. 
But most true; when I was young, adorned with blooming  
Beauty, for without vanity I could so term it, I  
Was admired, sued to oft by many— many  
With Presents wooed me, many with Poetry, some  
Would urge their merits, some their Fortunes:  
Others would fight; and happy then was he that  
Could procure a smile to grace his enterprise:  
For I well knowing the power of my attractions,  
Kept such a mean of favour 'twixt 'em all,  
That none could boast his Fortune or despair:  
'Tis true, I sometimes longed for what they offered,  
But with a trick I had, a cunning trick,  
I kept it from their knowing; at last your Father,  
Who then was held a man of rare endowments,  
Though now they are abused by his Customs:  
So took me with his ' 'haviour and good parts,  
For he had excellent parts— so that for his sake  
I quitted all the rest.  Pen. 
And left them Willows.  Lady A. 
Every man of 'em— Therefore I say look through  
The man you love: Observe his parts well,  
Then view his Estate; for some there are have neither.  Pen. 
Neither Parts nor Estate, goodness defend me  
From such a one! by your instructions Madam, I  
Shall not doubt to guard myself from such  
Imminent danger: Bless me, neither Parts nor Estate!  Lady A. 
Hush, here's your Father.  Enter Sir Formal. Sir. For. 
Sweet heart and Daughter, are you there?  
That's well, go presently to your Chamber and dress  
Yourself, here's a Gentleman coming to see you,  
Go I say.  Pen. 
Shall I not know his name?  Sir For. 
No marry shall you not, let it suffice 'tis a good  
Catholic name, and I approve of it,  
No more questions, but obey me.  Pen. 
I shall Sir!— this is certainly the new Suitor  
He talked of, and heaven knows I am ill provided  
For an Amour.  Sir For. 
Come sweet heart le's go in, for I have  
A world of news to tell thee.  Lady A. 
But little good I fear, If there be a world on't  Sir. For. 
Thou'lt find there's a great deal of good in't,  
I seldom fail to miss of my designs,  
Come in, and be partaker.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III. Chamber-back.  Enter Frank Amorous, and Betty. Bett. 
By venturing to bring you hither, I hope Sir, you  
Perceive that I am not unwilling to be ungrateful,  
Especially having tasted your bounty in so liberal a manner.  Fran. 
You over-rate▪ the triste I have given you: Pray do  
Not speak of it;— Is this the Chamber?  Bett. 
This leads to hers— have but a little patience,  
With which I know Sir, I you are still provided.  
I'll go and prepare her for your visit, In a more  
Especial manner, because I would appear  
Grateful to a person I have been so sensibly obliged to.  Fran. 
You speak what I should say, and make me blush,  
I am so poor in thanks. Exit Betty.  
This will in time make an excellent Bawd,  
I find by her palled Rhetoric.  
This profit is a powerful charm,  
It turns and winds 'em into any form:  
She's coming up with the Lady, who if I find  
But loves me, I have a blessing past all recompense.  Enter Penelope and Betty. Pen. 
This is the height of impudence, to bring a man, a young man too into my Chamber without my knowledge.  Bett. 
Madam, he told me he must needs speak with you  
About an important concern, and knowing your  
Father's hasty temper, was afraid to let him see him▪  Pen. 
And was there no where to bring him to, but  
My Chamber? No hole, or by Corner to make  
Him do penance in for his insolence, but my  
Apartment; you had best some other time  
Shut him up into my Closet, till i'm a Bed.  Fran. 
Well thought on egad Madam if my rude entrance.  Pen. 
Sir, I need no Apologies and excuses, and indeed considering it rightly, although my behaviour has been such, as not to give any one cause, or licence to intrude into my privacies; you are not so much to be blamed as she is.  Fran. 
Oh, nay it is well enough—  Aside. Pen. 
For you perhaps but followed your own inclination, and pursuance of the affair you say you have, but that he should dare to do this.  Fran. 
Madam it was at my request.  Pen. 
At your request! it seems then she's your acquaintance.  Fran. 
No, 'faith Madam, not my acquaintance; for though there are some certain seasons when all women are alike to me, yet for the most part my ambition soars above the fruition of a Chambermaid.  Pen. 
Sir, the Character you give yourself, I was sufficiently acquainted with in the last visit you made me; I hope you come about the old affair, some love Embassy from Bernard?  Fran. 
From Bernard Madam? ha, ha, ha, though once to do him a Courtesy, and as a Friend I solicited his cause, I am not tied to do that Office: I take no fees Madam, besides at present, Heaven be praised, I have other business; business of my own, would you but be pleased to give me a hearing.  Pen. 
I'm glad of that: aside.  
Now if it hit but right— Sir you'll oblige me  
To impart it quickly, for I'm a little in haste.  Frank. 
Venus for me then, now the Tale begins;  
I saw the Letter you wrote to Bernard.  Pen. 
It may be so.  Frank. 
I saw also the Commendations you gave me there.  Pen. 
Suppose all this.  Frank. 
And thereby gather that.—  Pen. 
That, what?  Frank. 
Command your Woman hence, and I'll declare it.  Pen. 
Sure 'tis no secret.  Frank. 
Faith but it is— a great one too.  Pen. 
Wait in the next room till I call for you. Exit Betty.  
Now Sir be free in your Relation.  Frank. 
Why Madam, as I was saying before, I gather by your kind Character of me to Bernard, that you are— most desperately in love with me.  Pen. 
ay, in love?— what shall I do?— my Blushes will betray me.  Frank. 
Yes Madam, and with me. Nay, do not mince the matter.  
I find it by your Eyes, it must be so; you're deeply  
Engaged that's certain; but have a good heart  
Madam, I am not cruel, I'm of a melting nature;  
You may new mould, and work me even as you please;  
An easy yielding temper, I, Heaven knows.  Pen. 
'Tis very likely Sir,— yet sure 'twill hardly be my fate to put you to the Test— I'm in Love— and with you.  Frank. 
Yes Madam with me, 'dsdeath is that so strange?  Pen. 
You had best persuade me to't.  Frank. 
Faith I am endeavouring it as fast as I can.  Pen. 
Now I perceive the vanity of your Sex; because a Lady perhaps accidentally smiles upon you, or grants you an occasional Salute, you presently think she's in love.  Frank. 
No; but when a Lady writes to a man she does not; and sends it by a Gentleman; and in her Letter terms the said Gentleman with the terms of sweet Mr. such a one, Dear Mr. such a one, Worthy Mr. A. and the like; what should a man think, is not this Love? 'Gad 'tis ecstasy, mere ecstasy.  Pen. 
Common Civility will allow of praises, especially if we think ourselves obliged.  Frank. 
But praises with such attributes Madam, There's the point. Praise is the Friend of Love: And that Woman that praises a man's parts, undoubtedly covets what she commends; as we extol that Beauty most we desire to enjoy.  Pen. 
And can you think, if I did ever love you, which assure yourself I do not, I could ever be brought to confess it, when you upbraid me thus; no, I look upon you as a man unworthy— base, and ill-natured— and perhaps unmanly— I'll curb him in a little, though my heart aches for't.  Frank. 
So, I looked for this— this fretting has confirmed my Opinion— 'tis certain she loves me above measure; poor Soul! how her heart swells— But Madam:  Pen. 
I'll hear nothing— tax me with a light Love Sir— 'twas a word that I must tell you ill becomes a stranger, nor can our small acquaintance.  Frank. 
Do but hear me.  Pen. 
'Tis an affront, almost past all forgiveness;  
With another 'twould be counted an Insolence,  
Past hopes of reconciling— but my too easy nature.—  Frank. 
So now she melts again, (this is the very  
Quintessence of passion)— aside.  
I know your nature Excellent as yourself;  
And Madam, make me not unhappy in your  
Displeasure, by a few flashy words; Heaven  
Knows only the Overflows of a glad Tongue,  
Proud to declare your virtues.  Pen. 
Yes by upbraiding me.  Frank. 
I upbraid thee! by Heaven I do not, and now,  
(Since it must out) know that I love you, dote  
On you, and die till I enjoy you. Now  
Have mercy upon me I beseech thee.  Pen. 
This passion you pretend to, is so short lived, that  
The next fair object, I doubt not, will  
Reduce it to somewhat newer, and more easy to your temper.  Frank. 
With other men perhaps it might— but Madam,  
I am the Eternal'st Lover, the most transported  
Thing, I am like Chaff before a burning Glass, and  
Every glance from your eye converts me into flame.  Pen. 
Your comfort will be, that you have but a short time  
To be tormented.  Frank. 
Oh, to Eternity Madam;— when I am absent from you, in  
My Dreams, I shall hover over your Idea, and beget  
Such an innumerable Quantity of Conceits and Fancies,  
'Twould distract another.  Pen. 
No, not a Man that flies like a Hawk, at all Games,  
As you do.  Frank. 
I Madam— well, a lie must help me out.  aside. Enter Betty. Betty. 
O Madam! what shall we do? we are undone.  Pen. 
Why! what's the matter.  Betty. 
Slipping down Stairs to see what your Father was doing,  
I saw him at the door receiving from a Footman a Letter.  
Directed Sir, to you.  Frank. 
To me!  Betty. 
To you Sir; for hearing the Foot man affirm he saw you come in here, and seeing your Father about to open it, I run and snatched it from him; and came up, leaving him pursuing me with as much haste as his Age or Gout would permit him: but for Heaven's sake use some means to hide this Gentleman; for he'll be here immediately.  Pen. 
What shall I do! I'm at my Wit's end.  Frank. 
And so am I, pox on't how unluckie's this?  Pen. 
Stay, I've hit of a device will certainly do,  
If Betty, you play your part but well.  Betty. 
I Madam— doubt not me, I'll do any thing to appear▪  
Serviceable to this worthy and bountiful Gentleman.  Frank. 
'Gad I will be bountiful to thee indeed, if  
Thou canst but bring me well off now.  Betty. 
What is't good Madam?  Pen. 
Why this Sir, you must pretend to be her Brother,  
Newly come from Travel; to which purpose talk of  
The Customs of some foreign Countries,  
And your excuse for snatching the Letter away,  
Being for your Brother, will be more plausible.  
I le to my Glass, and seem to be dressing my Head—  
Hark, he's coming, be sure you do it handsomely.  Betty. 
I'll warrant you Madam; come Sir.  Frank. 
This will certainly do; well, thou art a witty Devil, I'll say that for thee: I wonder whence this Letter should come, from some of my Mistresses doubtless that want company: I'll not read it till I have more leisure,— he comes.  Sir For. within. 
Why Huswife, where are you? ha, are you crept into some Corner, I'll fetch you out with a vengeance, a young baggage to dare to do this.  Enter Sir Formal. 
Ha, what's here? a Man! and in my Daughter's Chamber?  Betty. 
My Brother Sir, newly returned from Travel;  
Well, and are there such rare things in Rome, say you?  Frank. 
Beyond expression rare— would I were there  
For an hour.  aside. Sir For. 
But where's the Letter Mistress you snatched from me? did your Brother bid you do that? hah!  Betty. 
No indeed Sir; but fearing you would look into the secrets of our Family, which you conceive is dear to me, I took it of my own accord.  Sir For. 
Was the Letter yours Sir?  Frank. 
I must presume to own it.  Sir For. 
No presumption Sir, but pray from whence came it?  Frank. 
From Italy Sir, from a good Friend of mine; and intending to visit my Sister, I bid the Porter bring it to me here.  Sir For. 
The Porter Sir, why I had it from a Footman.  Frank. 
'dsdeath I shall spoil all.  Betty. 
But Sir he has formerly been a Porter, though now he is preferred.  Sir For. 
Umph— like enough.  Frank. 
Well said i'Faith— a Guiney more for that.  Betty. 
But Brother, you han't told me half enough of the rarities you have seen in your Travels.  Sir For. 
ay, come Sir, pray let's hear some of the wonders at Rome, and other places, the story must needs be pleasing; pray make a brief description.  Frank. 
'Zounds what shall I do now? for I know nothing of Rome but the name; but 'tmay be he's as ignorant as I, and then I am warm enough— Why Sir, as to the Climate, 'tis much about the temper 'twas of old, hottish and dry, the Houses largely built, and uniform; the people of divers Complexions, and much given to Ease, more indeed then to Devotion; a pleasant Country Sir, and for the most part fruitful.  Sir For. 
It was when I was there; but 'tis so long since, that by my Faith I have almost forgot it; well Sir, and how looks the Vatican? does he stand stoutly still? and does he still triumph in his Age and Excellence?  Frank. 
The Vatican! what a Devil's that?  Betty. 
Now is he a pumping: Madam, 'tis a damned hard word, that I cannot help him for my life.  Sir For. 
Does he still hold his Head above the rest?  
And want no Succour, nor no Aid to help him;  
He has been an old Standard, but a brave one.  Frank. 
This must certainly be the Pope he means, and calls by some  
Nickname.  aside. Sir For. 
Come pray Sir tell me, you're too slow in answer.  Betty. 
Now do I sweat for him.  Frank. 
egad I'll venture on't: why faith he does very bravely still, and is very much renowned in Italy; but there has lately happened a disaster.  Sir For. 
What's that good Sir?  Frank. 
Why Sir he has within these few Months been troubled with a violent— and very damnable Fit of the Stone.  Sir For. 
What say you Sir?  Frank. 
And hardly scaped with life Sir, I assure you.  Sir For. 
Ha, ha, ha, the Vatican troubled with the Stone: madness i'th' height; but hark you Sir, perhaps you mean, there has been a Hurricane of late that has damaged some of her Turret, and overthrown some superfluous Stones, whose strength, age had decayed: mean you not so Sir?  Frank. 
So Sir, yes Sir, what a Devil should I mean else: well I'll make haste away, lest he should ask any more questions. Sir, Your humble Servant: Dear Sister, adieu; I'll wait on you again at my next leisure, Vatican with a Pox, a Curse of my dull pate.  Exit. Sir For. 
A witty understanding man I'll warrant him; how wittily he Joaked upon me. Come Daughter le's go down, by this the Gentleman is ready to come, who, I'll assure you, is first, accomplished with parts to your desire, and not mine; Secondly, with wealth to my desire, though not yours, and I command you to use him well, for believe,  
No blessing, but a discontent she owns,  
Whose want of duty reaps her Father's frowns.    

ACT. III.  

Scene I. Covent-Garden.  Enter Frank Amorous. Frank. 
SO, I have got away with much ado; Impudence was, I must needs confess, my great Friend, or else I had never been able to hold out against that Eternal old Fellow, who would have plied me with new questions; but now to my Letter, I hope 'tis from some new rare Creature in Love with me, and sent this to point an assignation. reads.  
Since you have been base and treacherous, you ought in reason to expect the reward of baseness and falsehood; know therefore, that being betrayed, me and my injury's insupportable, till revenged: I desire you to meet me in the plain Field below Lambs-Conduit, about 6 this Afternoon, without a second, to render satisfaction; and assure yourself, though your treachery has made me miserable, my action shall speak me brave and generous,  
Bernard.  
Was ever hopes so frustrated? this is a Challenge, and o' my Conscience if I should survey myself throughly, I am not provided for't. This damned Custom of Wenching has made me as damned a Coward, as a Bully that fights for hire, (meet me in the plain Field below Lambs-Conduit) and 'gad I will meet thee there, come what will, since I am invited. I had Courage once, and have yet I hope some grains: if I am killed I have the fewer sins to answer for; and if I live, I've the longer time to repent; at 6 a Clock, and now it wants of 5, well, I'll first go dispatch a small affair, and then have at him.  
Men only live to further fate's design,  
'Twas Plato's moral once, but now 'tis mine.  Exit  

Scene II.  Enter Sir Formal, Lady Ancient, Tim, Smallwit, Betty, Mrs. Penelope Sir For. 
Once more you're welcome Sir; and pray excuse me if I am not altogether Ceremonious as some, that love the mode, and cherish vanity: my humour is my Law Sir, therefore pray excuse me. But where's your Father?  Tim. 
Sir, he's gone to walk in the Fields, the old Gentleman loves Air.  Lady An. 
Sir, though Sir Formal hold it unnecessary to express the welcome of a person of merit in descent, and modish phrases; yet there are some who understand the behaviour fit to be used on such Occasions: Sir! your presence is an honour to our House.  Tim. 
Madam, Sir Formal knows that I desire to appear no stranger; I have, I thank my Fortune, so much knowledge of the Town, not to let modesty obscure good meaning; I know what's Courtly Madam, and approve it.  Enter a Lawyer with a Deed. Law. 
Sir, here's the Deed: wilt please you to peruse it?  Sir For. 
I come, Sweetheart, prithee thy Ear a little.  Pen. 
Indeed Sir I think it very fine.  They read. Tim. 
Madam, it would have been so, had it been well ordered; but this damned Son of a Whore Taylor had made it too narrow in the Breast; the Buttons are not half big enough neither.  Pen. 
Methinks they're very well Sir; however, your grateful person, were they ill made, would make 'em Comely.  Tim. 
Why 'faith Madam as you say, a graceful person does much, very much, the well spreading of the Shoulders, and straightness, adds much to the shape; and yet without the posture, the modish August Garb, and Courtly mean, the shape is nothing.  Pen. 
What an Idol does this fellow make of himself?  Tim. 
Madam take it from me, 'tis a hard matter to see a man demean himself with Judgement, the Town's a strenger to't— how do I do this? ha—  aside. Small. 
Exceeding well Sir, but forward.  Tim. 
There are indeed a sort of empty fellows, that have pretences that would seem to know the Essence of good Carriage▪ but search 'em throughly,— far, far short on't.  Pen. 
Some such there are indeed Sir, but others that though they have not that Modish mean you speak of, may have Wit which may supply the other's want.  Tim. 
Wit, Madam,— why there's a famine on't; but now alas the times are Metamorphosed, there's no wit stirring.  Pen. 
Sir, methinks there has been a great many very witty Plays come out lately.  Tim. 
Ah,— dull, dull, Madam,— dull to the tenth degree, nothing but prolix phrases, and bombast, hardly a word of sense, or fancy in 'em; our Poets now take it from me Madam, have nothing of conceit: One writes of Rural Wit bubbled by Carmen, another of Enchantments, Bears and Monsters, and such a coil they keep with their new fancies, that wit and sense are lost, quite lost, abolished; nothing remains but the mere dregs of fancy; you may believe me Madam.  Pen. 
Sir, I'll not presume to question it, or doubt the truth of what you say, though I confess it seems a little strange.  Tim. 
I grant it may Madam, and by the way let me tell you, another would not have found it out; I have I thank my stars, some certain gifts which others want; 'tis as Providence decree's, every one has his Talon.  Pen. 
But not alike, I hope Sir.  Tim. 
No Madam, I hope to see that: the truth is, I love to be free, and perhaps sityrical in my opinion, and I doubt not but you are acquainted with the mode, and know what becomes a Gentleman; for faith should we not sometimes dive into the secrets of Wit, and reprove mistakes, these Rascally Poets would grow insolent, there would be no living for 'em, we should be so perpetually tormented with Lampoons; but 'gad I cramp the Rascals.  Pen. 
Would thou wert cramped and gauged, so I were rid of thee.  Tim. 
You'd laugh to see how afraid they are of me, tother day Madam, I went to see a Play, and sitting 'mongst the rest in the Wit's Corner; I know not what, but somewhat I misliked, and raised a hiss, which presently was seconded by all the Wits: But to see the poor fellow the Poet, peep out between the Scenes, and shake his empty head, to see his Ten months' labour so rewarded, would have made you die with Laughter, ha, ha, ha.  Small. 
In this Madam, you rather condemn my Judgement, then excuse your want of merit. But give me leave to tell you, if I have any Wit, you are a woman of great parts. Do you see that Gentleman?  Bett. 
Yes Sir, methinks a man of Excellent good Parts.  Small. 
He is so, yet this— this Modish Gallant that's now so brisk and airy, did I within these three days draw out of a lump of ignorance, a wretched lump, a thing of nothing mould, stamped and framed him as you see, and of a Coxcomb, changded him to a Courtier, a Modish fellow, and the Son of Fortune— Sir, your Verses, you forget that—  Tim. 
Hush, I warrant thee— Madam, to let you see, that what I speak is Reason, you shall yourself be judge; I have a Copy of Verses here, given me by one of the Poets, who desired my opinion of 'em— ah, here they are Madam— I'll read 'em to you— hum, 'tis an Encomium on his Mistress. 
Best of thy Sex, and brighter than the Moon  
At her full Glory, or the Sun at Noon:  
Sweet as a bed of Roses, far above▪  
All that ever yet pretend to Love.  
For thou appear'st, as if thou would persuade  
Men to believe, for thee, Love first was made.  
Or that the bliss of nature should contest  
With the delightful Lodging of thy breast.  
Zealots release the blessings heaped above  
Of lasting Raptures, and immortal Love.  
But jove, and all his Crowd of joys should be  
Despised and slighted for a taste of thee.   
This and a great deal more such stuff is here, such— much— 'gad I am e'en sick to read it.  Pen. 
Methinks they are very well Sir, only a little too full of rapture, and flattery— but that may be born withal.  Tim. 
Well Madam, I see your design, ha, ha, ha, to bantor the poor fellow:— but— 'tdo, what answer do you think I made,— what d'ye think I did with'em?  Pen. 
Why, I suppose Sir, you spoke indifferently, and the less critically because you intended to encourage him.  Tim. 
Encourage him? 'dsdeath encourage a Poet, I'd sooner do't to a Cutpurse, and more good I shall get by him— no Madam, I damned it— damned it to the Centre.  Pen. 
But Sir, you had no reason for't, the verses did not deserve it.  Tim. 
Pish— that's no matter, it quelled the Rascal's hopes, why should I have encouraged him, and praised what he had writ, 'tis ten to one within this twelve months, he would have writ a Play, and made a Character of me, but 'gad I dashed his hopes, his Muse, and he will hardly be reconciled this month through the fright I put him in.  Pen. 
Well, this is the most intolerable Fop, that ever I saw, there's no enduring him.  Aside. Sir For. 
And let me have that Manor too inserted as a Covenant for repairs, and fail not on't tomorrow.  Exit Lawyer: 
Pray Sir, give your excuse, 'tis only a little parcel of Land which I determine for my Daughter's Jointure— but come le's in to Dinner, by this time 'tis ready— and once more welcome to my house.  Small. 
I am too poor in thanks.  Whispers Tim. Tim. 
I am too poor in thanks Sir; softly you Rogue—  Sir For. 
Ah not poor in any thing, good Mr. Winelove, 'faith I do not like it— but come, no Ceremony I beseech you, but to Dinner.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III. Landscape.  Enter Bernard and Frank to Fight. Ber. 
The cause of my quarrel Sir, you cannot be ignorant of, knowing who I am, and how you have betrayed me.  Fran. 
My answer lies in this, not in my words, come, come, you are too tedious.  Ber. 
O this shows your courage Sir, but believe you shall have sighting work enough ere I kill ye, as certainly I shall before we part.  Frank. 
Why, then the Surgeon's paid Sir, come we lose time; then once more at you Sir.  Enter Winelove Senior. Old Wine. 
How now what's here, Swords drawn and Fighting; ah, that my Tim. were here now, to put in for a third man, but I'll try what I can do to part 'em— Gentlemen hold, hold, you've fought enough, hold, hold, I say.  Draws and goes to part 'em. Fran. 
Hark Reverend Sir, 'twill become your gravity to retire a while, and not disturb us, lest that portly shape of yours be discommoded— pox on him, h'as given me another thinking while.  Old Wine. 
Faith he says true, I was too rash, well Gentlemen, since you will have it so, fight it out bravely, and I'll stand by, and see fair play on both sides.  Fran. 
You see your fortune Sir.  Ber. is disarmed. Ber. 
Yes, and contemned it, and my life too, seeing 'tis at thy mercy.  Fran. 
You will do well to cherish it, for all that Sir.  Old Wine. 
A brave fellow this, and I'll warrant a right Courtier, he has the true way on't, now would I give twenty pound my Tim. were here.  Ber. 
Ah Sir, to insult I know, is Customary.  Fran. 
To insult?— to let thee see how far I am from it, there, there's thy Sword again, and give me thy hand, I could wish I could as easily give back thy Mistress; but our Stars would have it otherwise; thou knowest we can't appoint our own destinies; besides thou hast another Mistress, and two at once is too much in reason for any one man.  Ber. 
'Tis true, I have another Mistress perhaps fairer than another's, whom I intent to visit as soon as this hurt Arm is dressed; but what excuses can you bring from that?  Fran. 
Why, 'faith not many— but dost hear, shall I carry commendations from thee to her too, hah?— Prithee let me.  Ber. 
No, no, Sir, my own Rhetoric henceforth shall serve, but to let you see I have a sense of generosity, as well as baseness, I'll quit the place, and henceforth do as my honour shall direct me, and not passion, and if there be a way for friendship left, I'll find it, if not, 'tis but adventring another skirmish, and then perhaps I shall be as loath to take a Wife, as you to give it.  Exeunt. Old Wine. 
By juno, that's a brave fellow too— ah, he's gone Sir, you have sent him packing— 'faith you fought it bravely, I never saw a Duel fought with better Judgement; are you not hurt Sir?  Fran. 
I think not, I feel nothing.  Old Wine. 
Your Antagonist, believe me, was a shrewd fellow, and saith once I thought would have damaged you, your point being born too low, but you recovered it.  Fran. 
I Sir, I did so.  Old Wine. 
And bravely Sir, you did in doing so; when I was of your years I had some fame myself for Duelling— ah, I have seen the time when I have come into the field with Courage, traversed my ground, fought and passadoed briskly, and as simply as I now stand here, been victor.  Fran. 
'Tis very likely Sir, this is the most impertinent old fellow I ever saw, he will enter into discourse whether I will or no— Sir, your Servant, I am a little in haste.  Old Wine. 
Pray Sir, a word more, I have a little business with you.  Fran. 
Umph— I am of late grown a man of more business than ever I designed myself. Pray Sir, what is it quickly? for some present Occasions call me hence.  Old Wine. 
Shall I then Sir, desire the favour of you.  Fran. 
Sir, Any favour, be but brief, and tell it.  Old Wine. 
I shall Sir, 'tis a small matter, a very small matter, only to know whether you are indebted to any one, or to be more plain, whether you owe any money?  Fran. 
Money Sir? Sir, that's a strange question, nor know I at present how to resolve it.  Old Wine. 
Doubt not my meaning good, nor conceit I question this to draw you into danger, 'faith I do not.  Fran. 
Why then Sir, know I am a Gentleman, and have means large enough to pay my debts if they were ten times doubled, methinks you might have guessed that by my outside without questioning. What is't.  Old Wine. 
Now I come to you Sir— I have a Son my Heir, for whom I have these 5 and 50 years been scraping an Estate, he now is grown up to maturity, and 'faith to speak freely of him, is a youth of rare endowments, and pregnant Wit Sir, and admired Fancy.  Frank. 
Sir, being your Son, it were a sin to doubt it.  Old Wine. 
Now Sir, I see you are a man of parts, one that the Town takes notice of; you can talk well, fight well, sing well, Court your Miss in Rhyme, with any Modish Bully of 'em all.  Franck. 
Ah, your servant Sir, not I 'faith.  Old Wine. 
Sir, I have heard you famed— talked of, and wondered at, Constable's fear you, Bailiffs creep into Corners, and our witty dabbling Poets of the time, cry, yonder's Amorous, plague of his Criticisms.  Frank. 
You are pleased to lay this on me Sir,— what a devil will this come to?  Old Wine. 
All this confessed, than he that has the honour to keep you company, must needs be very happy; and Sir, as my Son is the happiness of my Life, and his well doing my chief comfort, it is my earnest request to you.  Frank. 
To be his Tutor, and teach him the Town Virtues.  Old Wine. 
No Sir, not his Tutor, far be that dishonour from you, besides, he has a Tutor already, a pretty quibbling Fellow that has taught him very well: But Sir, to be of your acquaintance, would make him for ever— and Sir, to gratify you, command my Estate. You are a youngman, and perhaps by extraordinary Expenses, are sometimes out of Money, I have some Bags to spare Sir, pray make use of 'em: My Money, Houses, Land, Estate is at your Service, be but acquainted with my Son Sir.  Frank. 
This is unlooked for Fortune— But 'tis such a good natured old Fool, that methinks 'tis pity to bubble him. Sir, for your proffers, I return you thanks, and assure yourself what lies in me to serve you, or your Son, shall be done without further Ceremony.  Old Wine. 
Why, I thank you— heartily thank you.— Tim. thou art made for ever. Sir, he is hard by at a Friend's house of mine, whose Daughter he is to marry.  Frank. 
Hard by, say you Sir? pray who is't.  Old Wine. 
An old acquaintance Sir, one Sir Formal Ancient.  Frank. 
Sir Formal Ancient.  Old Wine. 
Ay Sir, and his Daughter my Stripling is to marry, 'tis already concluded on.  Frank. 
My Mistress by Heaven, and I consider on't, this must needs be the Suitor she told me of: This was a happy discovery, for I question not but I shall go near to forbid the banes. Sir, I'll wait on you thither.  Old Wine. 
With all my heart Sir, I was just going to request it of you. So I shall work him rarely.  Exit Frank. 
He is certainly the fittest Companionin the world for Tim; he knows the Town tricks, all the humours, fashions, has all new Songs by heart, knows with a grace how to accost a Wench, Strut and talk Bawdy, and then he looks with so composed a shape, as he were only made to be a Wencher.— Old Peter rest contented, all's now finished, thy Son shall be aspark, and thou be happy, happy as thou couldst wish: well, I'll follow him, and once more refresh his memory, repeat his promise.  
Then triumph in my Fate; this being done,  
And boast the best of Critics was my Son.    

ACT. IU.  

Scene I. Another Chamber.  Enter Bernard, Lucretia. Luc. 
WIll you not tell me who you fought with; methinks if you had any Love for me, you should not let me ask so often, prithee tell.  Ber. 
Why, I tell thee I do not know him, he's one that belongs to the Town; a wretched Fellow that hardly knows himself, and I suppose was one hired to challenge me.  Luc. 
In some Lady's Quarrel, I'll lay my life.  Ber. 
Pish, What Lady? I know no Lady, nor like none but thee; Come, Come, this fruitless jealousy's still to be avoided, assure thyself I Love thee, only thee.  Luc. 
Why, are you then so hasty to be gone? You never come to Visit me, but as if your minutes came too fast upon you.  Ber. 
You rack yourself with doubts, and think I slight you, when 'tis my chief endeavour how to please you; but for my absence at present, 'tis required on earnest business, and believe nothing but earnest business, great and profitable could take me from thee; but have a little Patience, and I'll be with thee instantly.  Exit. Luc. 
Well, there must be something more in the wind than he is willing to acknowledge; but at leisure I will wheedle the secret from him, and then provide for myself as occasion serves.  Exit.  

Scene II. Hall.  Enter Tim, Lady Ancient, Penelope, Betty. Lady A. 
Sir, though I see in your Phrases a great deal of Wit and Gallantry; yet if I may presume, you are too poignant, your fancy flows to so extreme a deluge, as 'twould overwhelm the Age: You look Sir, too sharply into the nature of things, and are, I doubt not, a great Philosopher; but Sir—  Tim. 
A Philosopher— what a pox is that?— Now this Rogue my Tutor hath left me alone, and I shall be mired immediately— but what Madam?  Lady A. 
But in truth Sir I think you are a little too Satirical in your Opinion, and though 'tis probable you have read Alexander Ross: Who let me tell you was a great Wit, as any in his time, according to my simple Judgement, a very Excellent Fellow,— What think you of him Sir?  Tim. 
Of who Madam?  Lady A. 
Alexander Ross.  Tim. 
Alexander Ross, the Devil Ross him, I'm sure he broke my head once at School— a very Shrewd Fellow indeed, and to my knowledge a great Scholar, I have tried him often.  Pen. 
The Fool has come off a great deal better than I expected.  Lady A. 
Yet though he was a Critic, and a Scholar, he gave all public notice, Printed his Books Cum Privilegio, and gave convincing Reasons for what he did: And Sir, would you do so?  Tim. 
Reason's Madam, alas you wrong your Judgement; you talk at the old rate of fifty three, when the World flourished in its ignorance, when Wealthy Blades with Velvet Cloaks through lined, Booted and Spurred, and almost hid in Ruff; would Argue out whole hours with Sense and Reasons, and in Discourse pretend to expound it too: But now the Worlds grown wise, it's grown out of fashion, few men give Reasons for what they do, at least few Witty men.  Lady A. 
Then Sir, since you have no Reasons for your Criticisms, good Nature should oblige you to be favourable.  Tim. 
Who I!— 'faith Madam, I am,— for were I not favourable, many a poor Fellow about Town would be undone.  Pen. 
'Tis well Impudence is Modish, thou wert else to my knowledge a very miserable Fellow. Prithee Betty, what think'st thou of him.  Bett. 
Truly Madam, he suffers in my Censure equal with your Ladyships, and I think him to be a bundle of Vanity; otherwise called a Fop in Extraordinary.  Tim. 
Does your Ladyship delight in Songs? I'll sing you one or two of mine own Penning.  Lady A. 
Oh! extremely Sir, and now I think on't, I had a Song given me yesterday of a Kinsman of mine's Penning, Betty can sing it; you shall hear it Sir, and I pray you give me your Opinion of it.  Tim. 
With all my heart Madam, and afterwards you shall hear mine.  Lady A. 
The Tune was Set Sir, by a very good Friend of his, one Mr. Smith, and late Composer to the King's Playhouse.  Tim. 
Who Bob! a very Excellent Fellow Madam, believe me, and one the Town Misses very much to my knowledge; for now a days what ever is the matter with 'em, I know not, but we have such Tunes, such lousy lamentable Tunes, that 'twould make one forswear all Music, Maiden Fair, or the the King's Delight, are incomparable to some of these we have now. 'Tis true the Theatre Music is something tolerable, because 'tis for their Credit; but otherwise—  Lady A. 
Sir, I see you are a great Judge;— Come Betty the Song: Pray observe Sir, 'tis a little wanton, that's all the fault I know in it.  

SONG.  

I found my Caelia one night undressed,  
a precious Banquet for languishing Love,  
the charming object a flame increased,  
which never, ah never, till then I proved;  
her delicate skin, and starry eye,  
made me a secret bliss pursue,  
but with her soft hand she still put it by, and cried,  
Fie Amintor what would you do?   

2.  
Her words and blushes so fired my heart,  
I pulled her to me and clasped her around,  
And though with Cunning she played her part:  
Yet fainter, and fainter, her threats I found.  
But when I least thought on her, lest I desired,  
My Love a forbearance should allow,  
A touch of her hand, my heart so inspired:  
My Passion was melted I know not how.   

3.  
Which when fair Caelia's quick eye perceived,  
And found by my calmness my passions decay,  
Her Fate she inwardly seemed to grieve:  
That Fooled her, and Cooled her so base away.  
She sighed and looked pale to see me dull,  
And in her heart, this oath she swore,  
She never again would slight an address:  
Nor the Critical minute refuse no more.    Lady A. 
Now Sir, how d'ye like it?  Tim. 
I'faith a pretty Song, and a great deal of Wit in't, but I am confident it won't take.  Lady A. 
Why Sir?  Tim. 
It wants a little more of that same in it: Those wrappings in Clean Linen, it should have appeared naked as 'twas meant; To be plain with you Madam, nothing but Bawdy— downright,— rank Bawdy will do now, nor hardly that neither, if it have not some new meaning.  Lady A. 
Fie Sir, this is too Satyrical.  Tim. 
Not at all Madam— 'tis a lewd Age, a very Pocky, Pitiful, Age, and must be abused, or know no Reformation.  Enter Sir Formal, Old Wine, Frank. Sir For. 
Here he is Sir, my Wife and Daughter with him, close at the business Sir you see he loses no time.  Old Wine. 
This Sir is he,— Tim, pray know this Gentleman, a worthy person, and one has done me great Honour.  The Congee. Frank. 
'Dsheart this is the Fool I bubbled one day at Spearings, I must smooth him with a Compliment for fear of discovery.  Aside. Tim. 
Sir, if I mistake not, I had the honour to see you once before, but now am proud that Fortune has been so kind as to grace me with this second interview.  Frank. 
Sir, 'twas a Happiness I confess unexpected that brought me into your Company, and this second chance has confirmed the Obligation, and made me infinitely a debtor.  Pen. 
Frank Amorous! and in the Company of my Father! this amazes me: Betty, you must follow still the old humour, and call him Brother, Last my Father should discover our last Plot.  Bett. 
O Madam never fear his discovery, I'll warrant you I'll secure him— dear Brother—  Frank. 
Sister, how dost thou? I ha' not seen thee a good while,— but business must excuse all.  Tim. 
Is she your Sister Sir?  Frank. 
Yes Sir, and the best of 'em I'll assure you— but mum, more of that hereafter.  Tim. 
Well Sir, I come indifferent near you, for this Lady here is to be my Wife.  Frank. 
Say you so Sir? nay then on your account I may presume to Salute her, without further Ceremony;  Kisses her. 
Your Wife say you Sir?  Tim. 
Faith even so Sir, the Sisters have decreed it.  Frank. 
You're happy Sir, but pray, how many Month's Courtship was your purchase?  Tim. 
Though this seems to be a Modish Fellow, yet by his Discourse, he seems to know little of the Town Courtship. Sir,— Why I never Courted her in my life, Dam, methinks a man's Parts and Perfections may do it without Courtship: But Sir, I see you are ignorant of the new way of address.  Frank. 
I am in troth Sir.  Old Wine. 
Tim, come hither.  They Whisper. Frank. 
Did I not know your Judgement, and this Fellows Vanity▪ I should fear him as a Rival, but so much Foppery has cleared my doubts, and given me cause, rather to pity then hate him.  Pen. 
I know not what it is to pity him, but I am sure I hate him; his Impertinence has made me sick,— these two hours have I been in Purgatory.  Frank. 
Nay, 'tis the verriest Puppy— Madam, shall I?—  Pen. 
No, no, hang him, he's below a beating.  Old Wine. 
See, he points at thee.  Tim. 
Who, pox, he's entering into Commendation of me, or one mischief or other, now 'tis ten to one but I shall suffer by his Bedrid Genius.  Small. 
Oh! oh! oh!  Within. Sir For. 
How now! what voice is that?  Enter Smallwit, his head bound— Oh, oh. Tim. 
Ha— my Tutor— abused thus— 'Zounds, who has done this? I'll be the death of him, a Dog, Rascal, Villain, Son of a Whore, I'll murder him, he shall not live, abuse my Tutor thus, a Rogue, a Dog; 'dsdeath I'll cut him to Pieces; let me go.  Lady A, 
Good Sir, be patient till we know the Accident.  Tim. 
Father, hold me fast, for by Heaven your ignorance had like to have dishonoured me.  Sir For. 
The Pericranium's safe, there's no great harm done; but by what Accident came it? pray be brief.  Tim. 
No matter how Sir, 'dsdeath let me find the Rogue.  Old Wine. 
Nay Son, Son— good Son—  Small. 
Why Sir, coming through Long-Acre, I chanced to see a very handsome Lady stand in a Bellcony, at which object my Faculties being alarmed, I stood an indifferent while to view her; when presently comes out of the house a Gentleman, and asked me what I stared at— I told him at the Lady: Sirrah says he, (and swore) who are you— I thinking that would be pleasing, told who I was; and further, informed him I belonged to you, and what Office I was employed in: when he heard this, he called me Son of a Whore, drew upon me, and with the Hilt of his Sword, broke my head a cross, and so surrounded by a crowd of people left me.  Frank. 
A very barbarous thing i'faith, broke thy head a Cross, 'twas too much a Conscience.  Sir For. 
I'll warrant some Papish, or other that owed him a Spite: Dost thou not know his name?  Small. 
Yes, I understood by some that stood by, that his name was Bernard.  Sir For. 
Bernard, was't he? I know him Sir, a Rascal, a Cavaliering Vagabond that hates our party: he was once a Suitor to my Daughter, but I cashiered him quickly; alas a broken head, 'tis nothing with him, 'tis a wonder he had not killed thee; had I been there he had peppered me; o' my conscience ' has maimed a Regiment of Roundheads.  Tim. 
No one to affront thus, but my Tutor— talk no more on't, he shall not live— I'll instantly go and challenge him.  Old Wine. 
And so thou shalt Boy, and I'll be thy second rather than fail: Let this Pass!  Sir For. 
Fie, fie, consider better first.  Lady A. 
Come Sir, go in with me, I've an excellent Balsam of my own making, which I'm sure in few hours will heal up the Orisice.  Exit Small. Lady A. Pen. 
Yonder has Amorous been this quarter of an hour musing and muttering to himself— Prithee get behind him, and listen what he says.  Frank. 
Bernard did he say! The Lady he talked of in the Balcony, is undoubtedly Bernard's Mistress, whom with such care he concealed over against the Rose. egad the hopes of beguiling him of this second Mistress is so sweet, that I am not able to resist it, I must see her.  Bett. 
Oh happy discovery— who would ha' thought this had been in him— well, the whole race of men are deceivers, exemplary in this inconstant wretch: But my Lady shall know it instantly.  Tim. 
You may let me go now; I begin to cool— Pox on't, I've considered now, 'tis beneath me to fight him on this quarrel; had it been my own quarrel, and about a Wench, though 'twere an Orange Wench, I would ha' pinked the Rascal, but seeing 'tis as 'tis, my Tutor shall Lampoon him, and there's an end on't.  Frank. 
Sir, leave the sequel of this affair to me, I know the man better than you imagine; and assure yourself he shall render satisfaction as shall countervail the Affront, for the pursuance of which, I take my leave. And hark a word more, forbear addresses to that Lady till I see you next. There's Plots, Juggle abroad; I'll tell you more anon: My Sister neither is not as she seems, but time will discover all, six thousand pound is Money Sir: See they observe us; I'll take my leave, the humblest of your Servants— So this I see has so amazed him, that he'll be fearful to proceed further, till he speak with me: but now to my new adventure— I'm almost mad to see her.  Tim. 
Umh— there's something more in this then I well understand, but at night I shall know all.  Sir For. 
Come Mr. Winelove, pray walk in with me, accept a Glass of my March-Beer, old hearty Liquor Sir, and good to nourish, pray walk in.  Old Wine. 
With all my heart Sir Formal, Tim, come follow me.  Exeunt Omnes praeter Penelope and Betty. Bett. 
No Madam, 'tis infallibly so; you may see by his hasty going away how constant he is.  Pen. 
This Action of his has vexed me extremely, for if he ramble thus already, what would he do if I should ever happen to marry him.  Bett. 
Ay Madam, when as they say he is the Husband of your bosom, the firm supplier of your Necessities, when you are bone of his bone, and for ever one flesh, then— to have what so deeply you loved snatched from you by a Suburb sinner that sues for hire, in truth Madam is intolerable, and were it myself I could never endure it.  Pen. 
Didst thou hear him distinctly? Methinks I am very loath to believe it, I always thought him constant, and Betty thou hadst a good opinion of him once too.  Bett. 
In truth I had Madam, I thought him exquisite, and a man of good Parts; but since I find him false, I assure you I hate an inconstant Fellow: O fie, indeed he's very odious to me.  Pen. 
But Prithee tell me, what said he?  Bett. 
Why Madam, amongst a Crowd of words, which muttringly expressed his Joy, I heard him say aloud, that the hopes of beguiling Bernard of this second Mistress was so sweet, that he was not able to resist it.  Pen. 
'Tis so— he is false, nay what is worse, he triumphs in his falsehood, but I am resolved to ●it him, though my poor heart suffers for it: 'Tis well my love is not so passionate, as some who six their thoughts on such base wretches. If it were, I see my destiny— inconstant Frank adieu— I'm now myself again— Betty, get me Ink and Paper in my Closet.  Exit Betty. 
I'll presently write to Bernard, who perhaps despairs of regaining my affection, but the kind expressions in my Letter shall thaw his frozen hopes, and make him once more mine,— appoint him to meet me in the Park, whither Amorous I'm sure will bring Lucia, if he designs an assignation: If I find him false, my choice is Bernard; if not, my doubt will augment my future Love, and make my Fate more happy—  Exit. Enter Betty. Bett. 
She's gone to Write, and now I am alone, let me consider a little of my own affairs: Frank Amorous's last words, if well understood, and quaintly managed, may prove greatly to my advantage; for I heard him tell the young Squire, I was his Sister, and the best of of 'em; talked of 6000 l and the Lord knows what, as if I were some vast unbounded Fortune, that lived disguised for my security: This Plot followed closely, must needs prove advantageous: For as I passed by the door, I saw the Fop Leer at me, and make a Congee, as if he had already marked me out for his Addresses: Well, if I am by the Nick name of Sister▪ cheated into fifteen hundred a year, 'tis the only way to make me a Lady, that I know; and Heaven knows how agreeable that Title is to me, here he comes— he has followed me hither to speak in private,— and I am resolved to be prepared for him.  Enter Tim. Tim. 
Yonder she is, it must be as he told me— her very looks too stately for a Chambermaid— ha, have they tricks? I find I shall out trick 'em— I'll accost her, and try if she'll discover.  Bett. 
He's coming, now for a studied speech—  Fim. 
A very pretty Room this Madam— good Hangings, and well contrived.  Bett. 
Madam, that very word is comfortable, it is indeed Sir, now very happy in Lustre, receiving from your presence its greatest Ornament, but else a very poor apartment, and far unworthy your notice.  Tim. 
Ah Madam, you do me too much honour,— Lustre from me, alas no— I'm clouded, I make no show in the World, blemitht, disguised, I love no noise nor tumult, and some there are, who shall be nameless, that follow my example.▪ This touches her.  Bett. 
What, walk disguised? pray who are they?  Tim. 
Persons of Quality, who think it sit to shade their Birth and Fortunes, but let that pass— your Brother Madam, by Heaven is a very brave Fellow, and one that has done me many signal favours, and whoso'er defames him, lies in's throat, is a Son of a Whore, a Dog, and Poultroon, and shall be Carbonadoed for your sake; next for his own.  Bett. 
For mine, alas Sir, indeed you degrade yourself.  Tim. 
Secrets will out at last Madam, the Sun cannot be long clouded.  Bett. 
Sir, this is too mystical for so barren an apprehension as mine is.  Tim. 
Madam, you may conceal it how you please; but your Brother has done me the honour to impart a Secret to me.  Bett. 
A Secret Sir!— for Heaven's sake, of me, or my Lady?  Tim. 
Your Lady— ha, ha, ha,— who's that— no, no, that won't pass: I have a piercing eye, it may be a foreseeing one.  Bett. 
What do ye foresee Sir?  Tim. 
Where a great Fortune lies: Nay I can tell too whether 5000 l. or 15 Groats— your Lady— ha, ha, ha, hark Madam, deal freely with me— is she not your Chambermaid? I suppose 'twill come to that at last.  Bett. 
O sye, no indeed Sir, but I see my Brother has been too talkative of my concerns: Yet this committing it to the bosom of a person of so much merit and worth, as your actions sufficiently demonstrate you to be, has in some measure released my doubt, I well knowing the extraordinary Perfections Heaven has bestowed on you, especially in concealing the secret of a person extremely sensible of Fortune's bounty, in permitting the honour to be enroled among the the number of your admirers.  Tim. 
Madam, your commands can make me dumb, if this had come from a man now: what a rare speech was here to have criticised upon, but I am glad I have discovered her Quality.  Pen. 
within, Betty, where are you?  Tim. 
Who's that?  Bet 
Sir Formall's Daughter Sir.  Tim. 
Methinks Sir Formall's Daughter's a little too familiar, though with one of your Quality.  Bett. 
'Tis as I please to have it Sir, for a time: Hark she's coming, and 'tis not fit she sees this Interview; therefore▪ Sir▪ I must beg you to retire, and leave the pursuance of this affair to a fitter opportunity, always remembering that your secrecy will oblige me; for were my Qualities published, I could never rest free from the impertinent Addresses of the Town Fops, and that was indeed the reason.  Tim. 
Of your disguising yourself into a Chambermaid, nay never blush, it must be so.  Bett. 
Well indeed Sir, you have the winningst way with you.  Pen. 
Within, Why Betty, what are you doing of?  Tim. 
Again, a very impudent woman, this Madam, as ever I saw; but the truth is, I ever thought her a woman of slender Discretion, but least as you say, she should come and disturb us, I'll take my leave, and be only happy in contemplating your perfection, being deprived of the Blessing of your Society.  Exit. Bett. 
The Blessing of my Society— ha, ha, ha, was ever such a Fop seen, he runs faster into the snare than I would have him; I played my partrarely well, there's but a step more between me and my wishes, if I can get that my race is finished, if not, 'tis but so many hopes lost, and the odd Compliments: I'll go and disclose all to my Lady, she I am sure will further it; the next is, to appoint an Assignation, get a Parson and Marry, and the next, to take State upon me as befits my Fortune.  Exit.  

SCENE III. Second Chamber.  Enter Bernard and Lucia. A Letter. Ber. 
Nay, prithee trouble not thyself about this, 'tis a concern of a friends of mine i'th' Country; but to our own affair, I saw Frank Amorous coming in the Street, I know he's coming hither: Put yourself into a fit posture, it may be a Husband, and a 1000 l. a year in your way, if well managed.  Luc. 
Pray let me alone to manage it.  Ber. 
I'll go into my Closet, and overhear and in the middle of his Courtship surprise him, hark he's coming— you know your part,— I'll obscure myself.  Enter Frank Amorous, She offers to run away, he Catches and holds her. Franck. 
Nay, do not fly me Madam, you are found, I thank my Stars they have lighted me the way, the right way now— I have rambled long enough.  Luc. 
And now you have found me, what are you the better? what Propositions can you make yourself?  Franck. 
Why all Madam, all that man could wish for; I have youth enough, strength enough, Love enough, and Money enough, and what a Pox should bauk my Propositions: I do propound to myself that I am the man that must—  Luc. 
— What?  Franck. 
Why do a certain affair for you which shall be namless. But before I proceed any further in Discourse, oblige me so far, as to tell me in what manner of Phrase I shall accost you? whether in your old way of Raillery and Affront, or my old of Love and Insinuation?  Luc. 
Neither Sir, I am not prepared for an Address.  Franck. 
But I am— do but try me— I'll warrant I'll fit your humour.  Luc. 
You'll find it somewhat troublesome— mine's a continued Temper.  Fronck. 
So that's my Cue, it must be the old way— 'Tis the strangest humour I ever met with, nothing will win her but flat abuses.  Luc. 
Sir, you will oblige me to be brief in declaring your business.  Franck. 
Why, then to be plain with you Madam, the world takes notice of your retired life, and has been bold to pass ungrounded Censures upon your reputation: There is a Gentleman is seen to Visit you often, one I could name, if occasion were, and to my knowledge— has above three and twenty Wives, besides some thirteen Mistresses, conveniently Lodged for each particular Ramble.  Ber. 
Impudent Rascal.  Behind. Luc. 
Certainly not so many as you mention, but if he had, I could forgive him: Besides Sir, methinks you have little reason to speak of this, having yourself by this Character of you been sixteen times under the Surgeon's hands, and as often Cited into the Court for getting of Bastards.  Franck. 
Pugh— a lie— a notorious lie— I Cited to the Court Madam, he only told you this, for fear of being too much interested in your favour.  Luc. 
Sir, he needs not fear that, for both he and all others are alike to me, I seldom fawn on any one.  Franck. 
That fawns on you, you mean, one that will Court you, Serve you, Sing to you, Play with you, Love ye, Kiss ye, Marry you, Lie with you, Honour you, and keep you to the end of the Chapter.  Luc. 
The truth is, 'tis a great deal better than another's, and I'm pleased to see your endeavours.  Franck. 
Art thou pretty sweet Creature? and 'igad I will endeavour most extremely— most vehemently, but I will please thee at last.  Ber. 
So now I'll upon him, he's ripe now for the Plot.  Luc. 
I'm sure now you insult over my weakness, if I should be kind.  Franck. 
Insult, banish me for ever thy presence, which is the greatest Curse I can think of, if I do not adore every inch of thee, and think this the happiest minute I ever saw, my deer, sweet, pretty excellent.  Kisses her hand, Bernard pulls him. Ber. 
Sir.  Luc. 
Oh Heavens! Bernard here!  Franck. 
Ay, I knew the Devil would send him— well, since it is so, I will be impudent, and get out as well as I can. Your pleasure Sir— you see 'tis I, make your best on't.  Ber. 
Then Sir, let me tell you— you are a Villain.  Franck. 
And Sir, let me tell you, you lie, there's a Rowland for your Oliver.  Ber. 
'Dsdeath can I be patient?  He offers to draw. Luc. 
Hold Sir, do you know where you are, and what I am, that you dare do this; must I be affronted with your unseasonable Quarrels? And must my Chamber be your field to tilt in: call you this Love to me? I grow enraged at the Affront.  Ber. 
Madam, can you then take part with my enemy, the Ravisher of my delights, and continued foe to virtue.  Franck. 
And fools— pray put that in too.  Ber. 
Hadst thou not Impudence beyond example, and wert a liar on record, how couldst thou say I had three and twenty Wives, and so many Mistresses, always knowing the sincerity of my Life and Conversation.  Franck. 
And wert thou not immediate contriver of falsehood under Luciser, and owner of an impudence surpassing his, how couldst thou say I had been sixteen times under the Surgeon's hands, and as often Cited for getting Bastards? knowing my immaculate temper and strange aversion to Unchastity.  Ber. 
Ha— thy aversion— 'dsheart do not I know.  Luc. 
Sir, what you please, but this is no fit place for you to declare your knowledge in; and since your nature is so turbulent, think it not strange if I desire your absence: Pray leave us.  Ber. 
Madam, I know too much of duty to dispute your commands. But Sir— you shall dearly pay for this— believe't you shall, an Heiress, and ten thousand Pounds is not so easily won as you imagine: but we shall meet again.  Exit. Franck. 
An Heiress, and ten thousand pound, I am ravished at my Fortune— meet again ah— egad— I would meet thee in the Quarrel, were it in Hell, and our Weapons were to be Firebrands— 'tis a rare Creature, and I am certain Loves him entirely— Madam, he's gone, ha, ha, ha, the poor Fellow is retired; and now since you have half blessed me already, take pity and complete it, I am a Gentleman, my Estate a thousand per annum, raise me from death and take me for your Husband: I love you above life, and 'twill be Charity in you to keep him from despair, that lives but to adore you.  Luc. 
You are too hasty Sir, let me consider a while, the cause requires it; however meet me in Grays-Inn-Walks this Evening, and my answer shall be as satisfactory, as my honour will permit, or decency allow of.  Franck. 
I'll be as punctual as the hour, till when, adieu sweet stealer of my heart; thou precious, melting, charming, snairing— 'dsdeath I am transported.  Exit. Enter Bernard. Ber. 
Ha, ha, ha, rarely performed, thou hast fired him so, that he'll certainly marry thee, though it were only in hopes to beguile me, and when 'tis done, no matter for his frown; I'll be at hand to see thou art not wronged, go, go in, prepare for the assignation, so it works rare. Now my young Roving Gallant, I think I've met wi'ye, 'tis the 〈…〉. Exit. For he's so heedless, that he certainly marries her. But now for another affair, Sir Formall's Daughter I find by this Letter, has cast him off, and reestablisht me, I'll instantly to her; if occasion serve get a Priest and Marry her, and by that time I suppose, his business will be done: This once completed, I am sufficiently revenged on his infidelity, and shall have no cause to complain on my own ill Fortune.  
Friendship and Love, a lofty Fabric raise,  
Which when once cracked, immediately decays.    

ACT. V.  

Scene I. Covent-Garden.  Enter Bernard and Penelope. Ber. 
MAdam, this assurance of your affection has banished my former doubts, your past displeasure looks but as a Dream, that now I am awake troubles my Bliss to find the contrary.  Pen 
Take heed the Dream Sir, is not seconded with one to fright you more, you have small reason to hope otherwise, if I should look severely into your Life.  Ber. 
My Life! I warrant you think me Inconstant; Fie Madam; discard such mean suppositions: But if I were false, how can you complain, knowing how you have tortured me, by your favouring Frank Amorous.  Pen. 
I'll not dispute it now, though I know something, something perhaps you did intend to hide; your Lucia's discovered Sir— Lord how you men are deceived, when imagining to hide your Mistresses, you most disclose 'em.  Ber. 
Well, I do confess. But consider Madam, it was your severity was the Cause, together with my Constitution, which cannot subsist without a Helper.  Pen. 
I have considered on't, and because you shall not say I am too rigorous, I am content to take that for an excuse, more especially because you say you have laid a Plot to ensnare that inconstant Fellow; but are you sure he will marry her?  Ber. 
I am sure the Plot is well laid, and he is of that rashy heedless nature, that 'tis a thousand to one he 'scape it not.  Pen. 
As for the other Fop, the Fool turned Critic, his Game lies another way, and perhaps at last neither of 'em will have cause to boast of too good Fortune. But let us go in, and be sure you seek to please my Father, who is now at a great difference with old Winelove, about the Estate he means to give his Son; lose no time, it may be this minute was ordained to make us happy.  Ber. 
Madam, you have turtored me.  Exeunt.  

Scene II.  Enter Smallwit Solus. Small. 
I am scarce recovered of my Bruises yet, this Iron-Fisted Rascal has so mauled me. If I but think of a Battoon, I tremble, and a Sword is more dreadful to me then an Execution to a Bankrupt: 'Tis very hard yet each man has his destiny,; why may not a beating be as natural to me as to another Man, I was once a Servitor in a College, and was beaten through my office very often. But that Bernard; now I stand on the brinck of preferment, should do this to me is insufferable, and I will be revenged: I heard of an appointment betwixt him and Penelope, which I will straight disclose to her Father, and by that means frustrate his designs, this is one way to plague him, and I'll about it presently.  Exit.  

Scene III. Hall.  Enter Old Wine and Sir Formal. Sir For. 
Not a Cross more Sir, I have told you the utmost, you know my way, and how fixed my resolves are, my Daughters my Daughter but my money's my Wife Sir, two thousand Pounds I'll give her, if you expect more, you are deceived, I never did intend it.  Old Win. 
Then let me tell you Sir, I scorn your offer, two thousand Pounds, a Portion for a Pedlar; my Son Sir, shall be Landed 500 Pound a year, it may be more, besides his Breeding, which put into Balance makes a thousand, a Fortune not to be bestowed upon so Mean a person as your Daughter, but only my good nature.  Sir For. 
How Sir? Mean?  Old Wine. 
I said it Sir, and once propound, that if it be a Match, you shall bestow three thousand Pounds at the day of Marriage, and your Manor of Broughton in Essex at the Birth of her first Child.  Sir For. 
But suppose Sir, she has no Children?  Old Wine. 
How Sir! no Children! ha, ha, ha, my Tim no Children! was ever such a doubt made? why Sir, he has stocked all the Parishes about us with his offspring already, there's never a Mumper in Essex but has one of 'em at her back, nay, they are so numerous, that you may 'em at four pence halfpenny a piece, and a good penny worth too: No Children quoth he, alas Sir, he has been tried in that long ago.  Sir For. 
ay, I Sir, so has my Daughter been tried too Sir, but you'll find it not so easy to propagate here, as in the Country.  Old Win. 
No, your reason Sir?  Sir For. 
Why Sir, our Air is not so nourishing: Besides, take this from me, one that has known the City Complexions as well as the Country; you spoiled your Son when you permitted him to be a man of the Town.  Old Win. 
Pish.  Sir For. 
Believe me you did; pray tell me when did you ever know a Critic, a man of Mode as they call 'em, get Children, never, Odds Bobs Sir, they cannot do't; why all the Spirit they have is infused with Pottag, Langoone and Lobsters, no natural Causes to produce Effects, a sort of dry, unsound wretched Fellows, that can get nothing but Claps, nor that neither, but that 'tis hereditary, and entailed from one Generation to another.  Old Win. 
Sir Formal, think not by this Ribble Rabble, this discourse of nothing, to put me out of conceit with my Son; I know Sir, he is Young, Airy and Lusty, and as I said before Sir, a true Winelove, one that can choose a Doxy with Discretion: what doubt my own Flesh and Blood, not I 'igad, when I was a young man, I durst have looked a woman in the Face myself, as well as some that were fatter; but let that pass, my Tim get no Children! ha, ha, ha!  Sir For. 
I'll stand to what I've said Sir.  Old Win. 
Sir, you must not Sir, I shall grow angry then, troth I shall, very angry, and 'twill be dangerous to urge it farther.  Sir For. 
I slight your anger Sir, and to persevere, I tell you once more, what I said is true.  Old Win. 
What, that my Son can get no Children!  Sir For. 
No Sir, that deserves that name, since you provoke me, he,— a thing made up of Froth and Vanity.  Old Wine. 
Old man, do not provoke me— I say do not— for by the Reverend Beard of john a Gaunt, I have knocked down as tall a Fellow in my time— but no more, I say do not provoke me.  Sir For. 
Provoke thee Dotard, I defy thee and thy Son too; his Cringes and his Tricks, let him from henceforth forbear my house, a Critic, a Fool.  Old Win. 
Fool in your Face Sir, Coxcomb, s'bud were it in another place, I'd cram that notion down your throat again, call the greatest Wit i'th' Nation Fool, ha, ha, ha.  Sir For. 
A Wit, why didst ever know a right Critic a Wit, no they are Fools originally, and usurp the name of Critic, only to get reputation among some few pretenders; this is in brief my opinion of 'em.  Old Win. 
I shall refine your opinion presently, for I can forbear no longer, take that Sir, and the Lye.  Strikes him. Sir For. 
That Sir, 'twas home I confess, but I'll not be behind hand with you.  They Cuff one another, and pull off both Hats and Periwigs. Enter Smallwit. Small. 
hay day! what work's here? Sir Formal, Mr. Winelove; for Heaven's sake, what do you mean, old Friends and quarrel thus, come, come, forbear.  parts'em. Sir For. 
A Drunken Dotard.  Old Win. 
A Testy Cuckold.  Sir For. 
Ha!  Old Win. 
'Tis true Sir.  Small. 
Nay Mr. Winelove, for Heaven's sake be pacified, I have a World of News to tell you. News that concerns you too, good Sir be reconciled.  Old Win. 
Keep him but off, I have done— I am for peace.  Small. 
Sir Formal, come forget petty Differences, you little think what News I have to tell you.  Sir For. 
What is't prithee? Sir, I shall think on you another time.  Old Win. 
At your leisure Sir, I seldom walk disguised, my Jim get no Children; ha, ha, ha,: But come my little Mercury, what News is this thou hast to tell me?  Small. 
Give your Attention, for it equally concerns you both.  Ambo. 
Say on.  Small. 
Why then Sir— your Daughter has to my knowledge, this afternoon made an Assignation with Bernard to meet him in the Mulbery-Garden, and if you make not great haste, will be married ere you can get thither, for I saw a little Black man like one of the Clergy in the Coach with 'em.  Sir. For. 
Ha! with Bernard? If this be true I am undone.  Small. 
'Tis Certainly true Sir, for I knew him very well, though she pretended he was her Kinsman.  Sir For. 
Kinsman! ah cunning Jilt, but I'll take a Coach, and forbid the Banes immediately.  Exit. Small. 
And Sir, your Son my Pupil, has instead of Penelope, married as I hear a vast Fortune, a near Kinsman of Frank Amorous, one that fell in Love with him, and he taking time by the forelock this morning married her.  Old Win. 
A Fortune say you?  Small. 
Some six or ten thousand Sir, 'tis reported diversely, but for certain a vast Fortune.  Old Win. 
There's for thy News, I'm o'rjoyed at this: But where are they? dost thou know that?  Small. 
Gone to the Mulbery-Garden, to keep their Wedding Dinner.  Old Wine. 
I'll make one amongst 'em instantly, six thousand Pounds, and got so handsomely: This News has made me young again, I could Dance: Methinks I am so Jocund! Ah 'tis a Witty Rascal, how cunningly has he carried his business!  Small. 
He has indeed been very private in it.  Old Wine. 
Nay he has a Politic Pate on my word; he's as I told Sir Formal, a true Winelove— run Mr. Smallwit and call the next Coach, I'll thither presently; he has outwitted me; but I rejoice at his Fortune; and now a fig for Sir Formal and his Proposals, I'm resolved to be extremely Merry, and Crown this Marriage with my Love and Approbation.  Exeunt.  

SCENE III. Mulberry Garden.  Enter Frank Amorous and Lucia. A Letter Franck. 
Madam, till this moment I ne'er was happy, but in your Company lies such Crowds of Joys, that my soul's too narrow to receive 'em.  Luc. 
I'm afraid you do but mock, and you men are such Deceivers that it imposes a general scandal upon the Sex. Sure you cannot be so, can you?  Franck. 
No by Heavens, I can sooner be false to my own soul, then think of deceiving thee; I love thee with so much Zeal, and my Passion is so violent, that I fear I shall never have Patience till the Parson have Married us.  Luc. 
Indeed you must, Lord what will become of me if you want Patience, I shall never be able to endure a man that wants patience.  Franck. 
Well I'll endeavour, but defer my Bliss as little as you can.  Luc. 
You are as eager as if you were going to take possession of a Happiness conducing to your Life.  Franck. 
My life, ay Gad, my dearest life; my soul is at stake if I miss thee, for I will certainly hang myself, and wilfully lose a second Heaven, being deprived of my first: Come, prithee let's go.  Luc. 
What man's this that's come to us?  Franck. 
'Sheart 'tis young Winelove, I promised to meet him here, and now he has seen me, 'tis but vain to avoid him. Dear Madam▪ step but into the next Arbour whilst I exchange a word or two with him, and I'll be with you instantly.  Luc. 
So I think I have him fast enough,, would the Parson were come, that I might be out of pain. Lord what fools these men are!  Exit, and going out drops a Paper. Franck. 
What's this she has dropped?  Reads. 
To my dear Lucia— from he Guardian I'll warrant about her Estate; when Winelove's gone I'll read it.  Enter Tim. Tim. sings. 
How happy is he that is free  
From the Troubles and Cares of the Wise:  
That Banquets his sense  
With a world of expense,  
And hates the dull life of the sordid precise.  
Ha! Brother.  Franck. 
Sir▪ I see you are a man of your word, but more Merry and Jocund then usual.  Tim. 
Why faith I am Sir; the Stars have been kind, and I have been kind, and I have cause to be so; for I have Married a Lady this morning that is a non parelio: And I that formerly Criticised upon the whole Sex, now confess myself foiled in my own Argument.  Franck. 
Married Sir! may I not beg the favour to know whom?  Tim. 
Faith I must desire your pardon at present, time will discover all, but assure yourself 'tis not to Penelope; Fate I thank it, has seated me a little higher. In the mean time I have Brotherly affection for thee, which shall continue in spite of Death and Destiny.  Sings. 
How Happy is he that is free, etc.  
I am so Airy I could fly methinks.  Franck. 
You are the spark of our Age Sir,— but prithee forward with the, methinks it begins well.  Tim. 
Ah Pox no, there's nothing in't, 'twas writ by a Fellow that writes your Elegies, your News from Rumford, your Murders, Characters of Baleys, and the like. A damned Tune too, set by a Novice in the Science; but if thou wilt hear a Song, I le sing thee one of my own, a new thing; and I think you'll say a good one; that has had the honour to be styled so by some persons of Honour, that love such things, and sometimes love to write 'em.  Franck. 
Come prithee le's hear it.  Tim. 
Stay I'll go call three of my Friends here Drinking in the next  
Arbour to bear the Chorus, and I'll be with you instantly.  Exit. Franck. 
I wonder who the Devil he has Married, but I am glad 'tis not Penelope; for though I have her not myself; I should be sorry to have her enjoyed by such a Fop as this.  Enter Tim and Musicians. Tim. 
Come Friends, keep your Time, pray observe Sir.  

SONG.  

No more dull Reason, seek no more  
To feed me to thy slender food:  
Thy sober precepts have no power,  
To keep me from my chiefest good.  
In Love and Wine my Bliss relies,  
And he that e'er would happy be,  
His growing Appetite must prize▪  
Defy all Cares, and live like me.   

To ramble from Taverns is nightly our task,  
To roar through the streets, and debateh the next Mask;  
to baffle the Watch, in despite of their Bills,  
get home; and next morning to Breakfast with P●ls;  
Till cramped with the Pox, we aspire to renown,  
take State, and are called brisk Men of the Town.   

2.  
We know no Rapture, own no Wit,  
But what Impertinence is known;  
At Plays we range ourselves i'th' Pit.  
And hate all Fancies but our own.  
We rail and hiss, that men may see  
We men of Sense and judgement are;  
But if examined seriously:  
The Devil a grain we have to spare.   

Chorus  
To Ramble, etc.    
Well what thinkest thou, is it not Modish?  Franck. 
Faith 'tis extremely modish, and more Wit than I expected. But you may thank a Friend for't to my knowledge.  aside▪ Tim. 
The truth is, the world is somewhat ignorant of my Gifts; but Modesty you know is a Virtue; Besides Wit in a Song is now worth nothing, your Fighting Songs, your Bawdy Songs, your Drunken Songs, and your Mock Songs, are the things that take now; and faith I must confess, my Genius has been so Capricious, that I could never yet allow of 'em, though composed by persons of Quality.  Franck. 
Sir, I am so little a Judge in it, that my defence will be worse than you say the Songs are.  Tim. 
You may say of yourself what you please, but give me leave to think otherwise; but come pass this Discourse, and now to the Business that you are to disclose to me, prithee what is't? hah!  Franck. 
Why something that I know concerns you, but at present I have no time to declare it; for I have a Friend within waits my presence with impatience, but by that time you have Dined, I shall be ready for you.  Tim. 
Well Sir, I will not hinder business, being a man that naturally loves it, especially the affair I suppose you are engaged in. Sir, your most Humble Servant, I shall wait with patience, and think it an honour to enjoy your Company at your own Leisure.  Franck. 
Sir, I am no stranger to your Rhetoric.  Exit Tim. Opens the Letter. Reads. 
Dear heart, though I was so unfortunate to miss your Company last night, and thereby was destitute of that Elysium in your embraces, which jused to enjoy—  
Hell and the Devil! what's here?  
Yet assure yourself to night, no Business shall keep me from you: I hope to see you Married, and then my Revenge will be Completed. Be sure you carry it cunningly, that he may not perceive our design, when the business is done, we'll meet at the old place, and Laugh; till than I must be a stranger.  
Your assured Friend Bernard.  
I had rather it had been from the Devil, and less fright 'twould have put me in: what a dreadful Precipice have I escaped▪ Certainly there's some great Blessing Providence has in store, it takes such care of me. For this Plot had certainly took with another; this woman I find now is Bernard's Hireling; a thing that's his, or any man's for half a Guiny, 'sdeath I sweat to think how modishly we too should have lived together; well 'twas I confess, very well contrived, and had it took I had sufficiently paid for my Infidelity. But now for a Counterplot to work backward on them, that would be rare. Ha! who's this? 'tis Certainly Bernard; 'tis the same disguise he used to wear upon an Intrigue.  Enter Smallwit in a Cloak and Disguise. Small. 
'Tis he, this was lucky to meet him so opportunely; Sir a word with you.  Franck. 
With me Sir?  Small. 
I Sir, do not start, d'ye know me.  Franck. 
Smallwit?  Small. 
The same Sir, one that to complete his revenge, for the ill usage he received of Bernard, and to do you a favour will show you the broad path to your content; you did love Penelope.  Franck. 
And do still by Heaven, above all other women Breathing.  Small. 
Then follow but my Directions, and she's yours; this is his Cloak and false Beard, the Disguise he came hither in to obscure himself from knowledge of her Father, who by my appointment intends to come and frustrate his design, he will be here within half an hour: Bernard now is gone to buy a Ring; now Sir, follow but your Fortunes and make use of this Disguise, and you may Marry her before either of 'em come.  Franck. 
This is the utmost extent of Fortune's Bounty: Dear Rogue let me Kiss thee, thou art my Esculapius, my Preserver; my every thing, come, come, the Cloak, if this hit right I will adore the Invention.  Small. 
Sir, it must certainly hit, if you make haste, for she can never distinguish through that disguise one from tother.  Franck. 
'Sdeath I am rapt with the thought on't; but hark Dear Smallwit, I have one thing more to tell thee; which if thou canst but bring about, thy name shall flourish in our Chronicle: In the next Alley is walking one of Bernard's Wenches: If thou canst now but instead of Penelope get him to marry her in a disguise, 'twill be thy Masterpiece; some thing has passed betwixt her and me, but tell her, my eyes are now open; to convince her, show her this Letter, and then lay your Plot as you find her Humour.  Small. 
Well Sir, perfect your design, and let me alone with this; away you lose time.  Exit Franck. 
This will be an excellnt revenge if it but take, yonder she walks; I'm confident that must be she, and I'll accost her instantly  Exit. Enter Penelope. Pen. 
I wonder he stays so long, being to finish so weighty an Affair as Matrimony, for I am resolved to marry him in spite of all Opposers; I have had sufficient proofs of Frank Amorous's falsehood and of Bernard's fidelity, and therefore think it but Justice to choose the most deserving, 'twas basely done of him at first to betray his Friend, and to persevere in it, is worse, but I hope he will pay for all, for I saw him come along the to her Walk with Lucia, whose Company, now I know her, I shall shun, though heretofore I ignorantly thinking she had been Bernard's Kinswoman▪ gave her place in my Affections. But see here he comes, I knew he would not stay long.  Enter Frank Amorous. 
Oh are you come, you frighted me sufficiently with your stay, you know I am nothing without your Company.  Franck. 
Let's in then, lest we are discovered— it takes rarely  Aside. Exit. Enter Bernard and Ralph. Dra. 
Upon my word I saw neither of 'em.  Ber. 
Very strange, I left her above in the Balcony Room, and the Parson with my Cloak below in the Kitchen Drinking with the Waterman, and now I can find neither my Mistress, the Parson, nor my Cloak.  Dra. 
Perhaps Sir, my Master has laid it up, and the Lady no doubt is somewhere walking in the Garden; but as to the Parson, I suppose he's otherwise engaged▪ for here's another Company in the house, that to my knowledge have occasion to make use of him.  Ber. 
'Sdeath how unlucky's this, the Canonical hour will be past if I stay half an hour longer, and my design's frustrate for this day, hark you Friend; will you do me a favour.  Dra. 
Any thing Sir, in my power.  Ber. 
Well said, and there's a Guiney for thy willingness; run then and get the Mourning Cloak thy Master wore last Sunday and a High-crowned Hat, I'll procure a false Beard and a little black Periwig, and thou shalt Act the Parson, and Marry us instead of t'other.  Dra. 
Shall I, with all my heart Sir, you may command what you please.  Ber. 
Thou canst Read, canst not?  Dra. 
Yes Sir, we have a large Common-Prayer. Book within that I can read perfectly; and let me alone to act Sir Domine, I have their Starched Grimace, the Hum, their Ha, and twirling of the Band strings as right Sir, as if I were Bred to it.  Ber. 
Canst thou? precious Rogue; come then let's make haste: Do it but well, and I have another broad Piece to Crown thy Service, read but perfectly, and 'tis well enough; for that's as much as the best of 'em can do.  Dra. 
Do not doubt me Sir, I'll warrant you I'll Mimic a Parson rarely.  Ber. 
Away then, we loose time, I'll get a Witness or two, and we'll about it instantly.  Exeunt. Enter Smallwit and Lucia with the Letter. Small. 
Madam, you see your Intrigue's discovered, therefore I think it to be a great deal of prudence, to make the best use of your Fortune: Mr. Amorous is irrevocably lost, but if you'll take my Council, Bernard shall be yours, which I suppose in some part will make amends, consider on't, and think, to fret now will little avail you.  Luc. 
The Devil was in't that I should drop that Letter so unfortunately; But are you sure you can contrive that Bernard may Marry me? for so I have one of 'em I care not much which it is and to deal freely with you, I stand at present in great necessity of Marriage, for some private Reasons best known to myself.  Small. 
It will infallibly be as I told you, so you take Care but to Counterfeit Penelope's Voice a little: For look here's the Gown she wore this morning, which Mr. Amorous has got from her by Wile, and 'tis the Garment Bernard knows her by, and then your Mask for your Face will disguse you absolutely like her.  Luc. 
Well this may do, if Fortune do but aid a little.  Small. 
Doubt not that Fortune always favours the afflicted: come on with it.  puts on the Gown. 
So now carry the Plot but handsomely and be happy.  Exeunt.  

Scena Ultima.  Enter Old winelove and Tim and Betty. Tim. 
hay Sirrah, Drawer, bring some more Wine, and d'ye hear; bid the Music Strike up: 'tis a day of Triumph, and shall be so accounted.  Old Wine. 
And so it shall Boy, hay Boys, strike us there, toll, loll, loll; a day of Jubilee Tim, give me thy hand, thou art an Arch Wag, a dad thou art, and I did not think it had been in thee— toll, loll, loll, thou hast made me young again; methinks I could dance a Jig. Madam, I faith you are too melancholy. Tim, to her Tim, to her I say, 'tis a rare plump Girl: prithee sweetheart be Merry, toll, loll, loll.  Bett. 
In truth Sir, I'm exceeding Merry. Oh Dear how is't possible for me to be otherwise in such excellent Company; but shall I have a Coach my Dear?  Tim. 
A Coach, ay that thou shalt; and six Flanders Mares too, and a Coachman, and six Footmen, and three postilions, doubt that? why thou shalt have any thing, thou shalt have me: A Pox on't, how came that damned old end of a Song into my head.  Old Wine. 
And Madam, if you like not these Proposals, I'll go and purchase the Elephant yonder in Fleet street for you, I suppose a man may have him now at a reasonable rate, and thou shalt ride in state like the Mogul in the Indies, and be seen by the wondering Spectators Gratis toll, loll, loll.  Bett. 
The Elephant! ha, ha, ha, Sir; your Father's a very merry man, and the best company I ever met with.  Old Wine. 
Who I, I faith no, I have lost my merry humour, Age has outworn it, how old Madam d'ye think I am, pray guests.  Bett. 
Sir, I guess you to be about five and forty.  Old Wine. 
Ha, ha, ha, five and forty, I faith you are out, though I am above threescore and ten, by this good light, and yet I have my Health sweet Lady, and I can Talk sweet Lady, and I can Sing and Dance sweet Lady, and Drink with the best Roarer of 'em all sweet Lady, and by the help of a good Estate do intend to do so above this 20 years sweet Lady, hem— I'm found at heart, and as Brisk as another man, no disparagement to my Tim there.  Tim. 
Madam, you must excuse, the Old Gentleman's a little given to vanity, a Vice I could not suffer in 'em were he not my Father.  Enter a Vintner. Vin. 
Sir, a Gentleman and a Lady hearing your Music, desire to be of your Company, if it may be without prejudice.  Old Wine. 
If they come to be merry with us, they are welcome, and so let 'em understand.  Exit Vintner. Enter Frank, Penelope, Sir Formal like a Parson. Franck. 
Gentlemen pray let us not appear rude to desire this Favour.  Tim. 
Sir, assure yourself, we know so well good Manners, as not to deny a Gentleman of so worthy a presence, so small a Courtesy, you're welcome— Damn him, that I should lose such an Expression on such a Scrub: Methinks he looks like a Baillss.  Aside. Old Wine. 
Well said Tim.  Franck. 
I'm glad they know me not, but I'll stay here as little as I can, ha.  Aside. Enter Vintner, Bernard, Smallwitt, Lucia and Ralph like a Parson. Vin. 
There Sir, that Gentleman wears the Cloak you brought; I suppose he's of your Acquaintance.  Franck. 
'Tis Bernard, but since the Business is done, I value not his threats.  Bern. 
Sir, I did not expect such an Action from a Gentleman, this Cloak's mine.  Franck. 
It is so Sir, at your Service, the Beard likewise; be pleased to pardon the Borrower.  Ber. 
Amorous! I am amazed.  Pen. 
Heavens! I am betrayed?  Pulls off her Mask. Franck. 
But this Lady Sir, is mine now, my Friend here can affirm it.  pointing to Sir Formal. Bern. 
'Sdeath Penelope! and he married to her: who the Devil have I got then?  Luc. 
A good Friend of yours, assure yourself.  Luc. discovers herself. Small. 
So, so, now it works.  Ber. 
Why sure we all dream, Are you awake old Gentleman?  Old Wine. 
By my faith I think so.  Tim. 
Ha, ha, ha, Plots, Plots, by Gad I love Plots dearly, as I am a sinner.  Frank. 
You see my good Fortune in spite of all oppositions has made you mine; love me for your own sake, as you expect me to be hereafter kind to you.  Bern. 
Base Treacherous wretch!  Offers to Draw. Old Wine. 
Hold, hold, Gentlemen, we must have no Fighting.  Franck. 
I understand you not Sir, you see your Plots have failed you.  Bern. 
You shall understand Sir, when next I meet with you: Assure yourself, though you have married her, you shall not long enjoy your happiness; you sha'not Sir.  Frank. 
No Sir? why who shall hinder it?  Sir For. 
That will I.  Ber. 
Who are you?  Sir For. 
One that will cut your Matrimonial knot Sir; look d'ye know me yet?  Om. 
Sir Formal!  Pen. 
Dear Father—  kneels. Sir For. 
Go too, you Baggage— but no matter, wipe your eyes, I'll talk with you hereafter.  Tim. 
Ha, ha, ha, more Plots, more Plots? by Gad I like this extremely.  Small. 
'Sheart here's a great deal more Plot in this then I designed: the old Fox was Cunninger than I imagined.  Sir For. 
Sir, I am no Priest d'ye see, I hired my Habit of the man of God that I suppose you designed for the business, nor shall my Daughter be married without my approbation.  Franck. 
Why then Sir, your Humble Servant; pox on't 'tis but a design lost, and I'll content myself that he's tied to his good behaviour with his Lucia there.  Bern. 
Sir, I am not so fast bound as you imagine, and to let you see▪ I have sometimes as good luck as others, Know that I am no more married than you are; witness honest Ralph here.  Ralph. 
Even so, I can assure you Gentlemen.  Old Wine. 
Heyday! what more Miracles?  Small. 
Here has been damnable Counterplots I see, a Devil on't, who would thought to have found so much Wit in the Spring-Garden.  Tim. 
A Clergy man▪ turned Drawer! a Pox on me if ever I saw the like of this.  Luc. 
Will you not Marry me? the Devil take you if you done't; you know how matters stand, prithee my dear do.  Ber. 
Fie, in Faith you must excuse me, how unreasonable's that?  Luc. 
Well, if ever I believe a Parson more?—  Tim. 
So will I, I faith, for I am sure he did me right: Come hither Sweetheart▪ Gentlemen this Lady is my Wife▪ and one to my knowledge not unknown to you; and I desire before she show her Face, my good Fortune may purchase no man's Envy; she's a great Fortune, and shall when the King comes from Newmarket, and I am a Knight, be a Lady: But pray let me offend none.  Om. 
None, none, Sir.  pulls off Bett. Mask▪ Tim. 
Why then behold a wonder; dear Brother, I kiss your Feet▪  Om. 
Betty!  Bett. 
The very same, one shuffled into a Fortune by very strange means in truth.  Sir For. 
Married to my Daughter's Chambermaid! ha, ha, ha, this makes amends for all; I thought what would become of this Modish Gallant, this Fool turned Critic; ha, ha, ha.  Old Wine. 
Ha— what's all this? no more Plots I hope.  Tim. 
Now are all they such Fools they don't understand me yet; well 'tis the dullest Age this.  Franck. 
Hark you Sir, this Wench is not my Sister: But as I hope to be saved I done't envy you at all, I know not what they do▪  Tim. 
Come prithee Sweethearo, undeceive 'em, undeceive 'em, tell 'em what thou art.  Bett. 
Why then really Sir, I am a necessary Implement to that Lady there.  Tim. 
Well, suppose this, the ten thousand Pound I hope is yours; what Portion have you?  Bett. 
Not a Groat in truth, as I hope to be a Lady Sir.  Old Wine. 
A Lady Sir! O the Devil! what luck's this Tim? thou art cheated Tim, thou art, I would give a hundred Pounds to prevent the infamy will follow a Critic.  Bett. 
But shall I have a Gilt Coach my Dear?  Sir For. 
Faith this is better than I thought of; now Sir, what think you of two thousand Pounds with my Daughter, ha, ha, ha.  Old Wine. 
Oh pray spare your Gibes. Come Tim, be not disheartened, this has been many a Gallants Fortune, and I'll get a Divorce for thee, if five hundred Pounds will fetch one; be merry I say. A pox on't, all that vexes me is, that it has put me out of my good humour.  Frank 
Oh sye by no means Sir, we'll have a Song and a Dance a man's ill Fortune is not to be avoided sometimes, pray let's be merry there.  Old Wine. 
So now I begin to feel my former Temper, Tim cheer up.  Tim. 
Had she been a degree above a Chambermaid, I had been patient; but since 'tis as 'tis, I Gad I will Lampoon the whole world, Criticise upon all sorts of Persons and Things; be very envious▪ proud, foolish, and ill natured, and then I shall be sure to outwear my disgraces and be famous.  Fra. 
Bernard, give me thy hand, since our Fortunes have been much alike, let's now forget past Injuries, and unite a firmer Friendship than ever: I have done thee wrong I confess, but my amends shall be equally to it. For both Sword and Heart shall henceforth be devoted to thy service.  Bern. 
This Cancels all distastes, and therefore know as I desire not to be thought Treacherous, so I have a perfect value for the generous, which your Action in this demonstrates you to be. Be but my Friend, I shall ne'er wish other, nor shall a Mistress make us Jarre again: Thy Temper made thee false, and I well know  
As too much Zeal can oft distract the Wise,  
So Love has power to break what Friendship ties,    
FINIS.   

EPILOGUE.  
OLd Plays, like Mistresses long since enjoyed,  
Long after please whom they before had cloyed;  
For Fancy chews the Cud on past Delight,  
And cheats itself to a new Appetiet.  
But then the Second Fit comes not so strong,  
Like second Agues, neither fierce nor long:  
What you have known before, grows sooner stale,  
And less provokes you, than an untold tale.  
That but refreshes what before you knew,  
But this discovers something that is new;  
Hence'tis, that at new Plays you come so soon,  
Like Bridegrooms, hot, to go to Bed ere noon!  
Or, if you are detained some little space,  
The stinking Footman's sent to keep your place.  
But, when a Play's revived, you stay and dine,  
And drink till three, and then come dropping in;  
As Husband after absence, wait all day,  
And decently for Spouse till bed time stay,  
So, ere the Brethren's liberal fit was spent,  
The first wise Nonconformists underwent  
With ease, and battened in imprisonment.  
For greater gains, his zeal refused the less;  
Each day to him was worth a Diocese.  
But he who now, in hopes of equal gain,  
Will needs be Prisoner, tries the trick in vain;  
He melts in durance half his Grease away,  
To get, like us, poor thirteen Pounds a day.