THE Richmond Heiress: OR, A Woman Once in the Right. A COMEDY, ACTED At the THEATRE ROAYL, By Their MAJESTY'S Servants. Written by THO. D'URFEY, Gent.  
LONDON, Printed for Samuel Briscoe, over-against Will's Coffeehouse in Covent-Garden. 1693.   

To the Honourable and my very much esteemed Friend, Sir NICHOLAS GARRARD, Bar. i  
SIR,  
GReat Courtesies, which are in their value beyond gratifying, grant the receiver this Excuse however; that he may expect a Pardon, if his Endeavour be answerable to his real Will and natural Ability.  
I am extremely Sensible of the many Favours I have had from you, and I am as sensible of the very few ways my ill Stars make me capable of returning 'em this little flourish, Sir, is only to Introduce a common Truth, which your judgement can inform yourself very well without my telling; which is that a Poet has no better way of paying his Gratitude, than by an offering of the Fruits of his Brain, to the generous Person he is obliged to.  
Sir, if I had not known you to be one that has made it some part of your business as well as diversion, to encourage things of this Nature, I should not have troubled you with this, but the Conversation which for some years I have had the honour to enjoy with you, has given me this boldness, asuring myself, that as you have the same good Humour as formerly, so you have a Gusto and Relish to taste with the same Appetite now, as you did at other times, when I have been so Happy to entertain you with the like sort of Treat.  
Sir the Comedy I now present to you is in the best judgement of my most judicious Friends one of the best of mine, and till I see more and better Matter and Humour in a scription of this kind, I shall not be uneasy when I think on the little poor abuses and disturbances of a malcontented Party, that like the Devil have for some late Years owed me an ill turn, and I have reason to fear now will never have done paying me.  
The entertainment of Songs and Dances in it, as they gave more diversion than is usually seen in Comedy's, so they were performed with general Applause, and I think my Enemies have cause to say with greater than is ordinary; and though this had its Inconvenience by lenghtning the whole Piece a little beyond the common time of Action, which at this time o'th' Year I am sensible is a very great Fault, yet the worst of malice has granted me this, that there appeared no defect of Genius, whatever there might of judgement.  
The Perusal therefore, Sir, most humbly I commit to yours, and dedicate both myself and it to you, whom I know to be a Man of honour and sense, in which attributes, I think all others are comprehended, and since I know your temper too well, to enlarge much upon Compliment, or trouble you with impertinent Praise, I will only think of you as all the sensible World does that know ye, and make an humble Suit to ye to accept this Trifle as a mark of Gratitude from,  
SIR, Your most obliged, And most humble Servant, T. D'URFEY. London, May 6. 1693.   

The Actors Names and Characters.  

Sir Charles Romance,] A traveled old Knight, grave and sententious, Guardian to the Heiress and Father-in-Law, yet contriving her for his Son. Acted by Mr. Freeman.  
Sir Quibble Quere,] A soft, easy, half-witted Knight, credulous to an extravagant degree, perpetually asking Questions about the Playhouse and Town Intrigues, tho' always bantered and kept in Ignorance. By Mr. Bright.  
Tom Romance,] Son to Sir Charles; a young, vain, fluttering, lying Fellow, always bragging of his mistress's Favours, and showing their Presents, perpetually intriguing, and never constant to any. By Mr. Powel.  
Dr. Guiacum,] An opinionated Chemical Doctor, a great pretender to cure Lunatics and Claps. By Mr. Sandford.  
Frederick,] Half-Brother to Sir Quibble; a witty, young, Town-Spark, who through the Vice and Inconstancy of his Humour, tho' he were contracted to Sophronia, breaks off with her upon a slight occasion, to pursue an Intrigue with the Heiress, who has much the greater Fortune. By Mr. Williams.  
Rice ap Shinkin,] A young, whimsical, Welsh Fop, that imitates Tom Romance in Intriguing, his Kinsman too and Companion. By Mr. Bowman.  
Dick Stockjobb,] An opinionated impertinent Citizen, a great Stock-jobber, and always laying Wagers, and against the Government. By Mr. Underhill.  
Hotspur,] A rash, hot headed, quarrelsome Fellow, Friend to Frederick, and intrigued with Mrs. Stockjobb. By Mr. Hudson.  
Quickwit,] A witty, but poor Scholar, that being hired by Frederick to steal the Heiress, feigns himself mad, and takes upon him the Name of the Lord de la Fool. By Mr. Dogget.  
Cunnington,] Subtle and mischievous, and Antagonist to Quickwit in his Design upon the Heiress. By Mr. Bowen.  
Christopher,] Servant to Dr. Guiacum.  
Numps,] A Country-Fellow, employed as Servant to my Lord de la Fool.   

WOMEN.  
Fulvia,] The Heiress, a witty, generous, and virtuous young Lady, who being privately in love with Frederick, feigns herself lunatic to trick her Guardian, and avoid impertinent Suitors. Acted by Mrs. Bracegirdle.  
Sophronia,] A Female plain-dealer, passionate and high-spirited, very satirical upon the Town Humours, and particularly severe upon Frederick for deserting her. By Mrs. Barry.  
Mrs. Stockjobb, alias Pogry,] Stockjobb's Wife, formerly a Frenchman's Widow in Picardy; but coming over as a Refugee, is married to Stockjobb, a trim, gay Coquette, yet pretending to Religion and Good-breeding. By Mrs. Bowman.  
Madam Squeamish,] A young fantastical Creature of Richmond, horribly afraid of being Lampooned, and yet perpetually doing something or other to deserve it. By Mrs. Knight.  
Marmalade,] An old ridiculous Waiting-Woman of Fulvia's very desirous of a Husband, and contriving all she can to get one. By Mrs. Lee.  
Ponade.] A Waiting-Maid.  
Mad men, Clown, Musicians, Singers, Dancers, Constable and Watch, Footmen and Attendants.    

PROLOGUE.  Spoken by Mr. Dogget, with a Fool's Cap with Bells on his Head. 

Fools are the Chief Support of Stage Affairs;  
Were there no Fools, there then would be no Players.  
From the Country Caf, the Citt, the Man of Law,  
The Courtier, and the Coffee house jackdaw,  
To th' Clergyman, that Vice so slowly quells,  
All have strong Titles to the Cap with Bells:  
And I (Curse on't,) am fixed here like a Glass,  
For every John a noke's to see his Face.  
Had my kind Stars designed me for a Shop,  
Made me some young, pert, lucky, thriving Fop,  
I might with Credit all the Town deceive,  
And cheat so long till I could fine for Shrieve:  
At least in Furs, the City Livery wear,  
And come to eat a Custard with the Mayor.  
Or had my Fate, but that's too fine a Thing,  
Designed me some Court Pest to cheat the King,  
Conscience would stretch as I had changed condition,  
I should have made a swinging Politician.  
Or had I been some Canting Babe of Grace,  
As for the Pulpit I've a lovely Face,  
How could I thump the Cushion! With what Zeal  
Have trimmed between a Crown and Commonweal?  
I could have drawn the Sisters in by Shoals,  
Smugled My Gossipps, soaked the Christening Bowls,  
Caress'd their Bodies, and refreshed their Souls.  
In every several Station and Affair  
I had been happy: But by being a Player,  
I'm now obliged t' expose your Faults in vain,  
Uncertain my Applause, uncertain too my Gain.  
Sometimes, 'tis true, you laugh, and then I'm famed;  
But oftener some young Spark, whose Vice is shamed,  
Cries, Rot the mimic Rogue, would he were damned.  
Diseases by ill Appetites are nursed,  
The Physic gripes, and the Physician's cursed.  
And Players, like Bailiffs, are esteemed by you,  
Rogues for Arresting, tho' the Debt be due.  
Some of this Hot-brained Tribe, I'm told to Day,  
Have led a Potent Power against this Play:  
Armed with Resolve, in spite of justice, throng  
To Storm the Muse's Fortress right or wrong.  
What Pity 'tis, waving that mean Intent,  
That so much Wit and Conduct was not bent  
Against our Foes, to farther the Descent.  
Such Hands, such Hearts, nay, and such Heads beside,  
‛ Oons we had Conquered France by Whitsuntide.  
The Author therefore, thus besieged, does sue  
For timely Succour to the Generous few,  
To his old Friends, that always came in Season,  
And never failed to laugh when they had Reason,  
I'll promise some Diversion in my way,  
I am to Act a Madman in the Play,  
A Part well timed, Sirs, at this time of day,  
All are crazed now— Beaus, Warriors, Citts, Projectors;  
The World's the Stage, and all Mankind are Actors.    

BOOKS newly Printed for Samuel Briscoe.  
THE History of Polybius the Megalapolitan, containing a General Account of the Transactions of the World, and principally of the Roman People, during the first and second Punic Wars, and with Maps, describing the Places where the most wonderful Engagements and Battles of the Ancient Romans, were fought both by Sea and Land: Also an Account of their Policies and Stratagems of War in conquering the greatest Part of the then known World in Fifty three Years: Translated by Sir H. S. To which is added, A Character of Polybius and his Writings, by Mr Dryden: In Two Vol. 8o.  
The Lives of the Twelve Caesars, Emperors of Rome: Written in Latin by C. Suetonius Tranquillus: Translated into English by several Eminent Hands; with the Life of the Author, and Notes upon those Passages which relate to the Roman Customs: Also the Effigies of the Caesars on Copper Plates. 8o.  
There is in the Press, and will speedily be Published, A Collection of Letters of Love and Gallantry, etc. All written by Ladies. Vol. I. Price 2s. 6d.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
THat Famous Powder, called Arcanum Magnum, formerly prepared by the Learned Riverius, Physician Regent to the French King; and approved by most Persons of Quality in Christendom, for Preserving and Beautifying the Face, even to old Age: It cures Red Faces; it takes away all Heat, Pimples, Sun-burn and Morphew; it prevents, and takes away Superfluous Hair growing on the Face: In short, it adds more Lustre and Beauty than any Powder or Wash known, as many Persons of Quality can testify, who daily use it with the greatest Approbation. It is Prepared only by I. H. Doctor of Physic, in Knight-rider-street near Doctors-Commons Gate, a Blue Ball being over the Door; where it may be had for 2 s. 6 d. the Paper, with Directions for its Use.   

SONG, by way of Dialogue between a Madman and a Madwoman. In ACT II.  
Herald 
BEhold the Man that with Gigantic might  
Dares Combat Heaven again;  
Storm Jove's bright Palace, put the Gods to flight,  
Chaos renew, and make perpetual Night.  
Come on ye fighting Fools, that petty Jars maintain  
I've all the War of Europe in my Brain.  She. 
Who's he that talks of War,  
When Charming Beauty comes:  
Within whose Face divinely fair,  
Eternal Pleasure blooms  
When I appear the Martial God,  
A Conquered Victim lies,  
Obeys each Glance, each awful Nod,  
And fears the Lightning of my killing Eyes,  
More than the fiercest Thunder in the Skies.  Herald 
Now, now, we mount up high,  
The Sun's bright God and I,  
Charge on the Azure downs of ample Sky.  
See, see, how the Immortal Cowards run:  
Pursue, pursue, drive o'er the Burning Zone;  
From thence come rolling down,  
And search the Globe below with all the gulphy Main,  
To find my lost, my wandering Sense again.   

Second Movement.  

I.  She. 
By this disjointed matter  
That crowds thy Pericranion,  
I nicely have found, that thy Brain is not sound,  
And thou shalt be my Companion.   

II.  Herald 
Come let us plague the World then,  
I embrace the blessed occasion;  
For by Instinct, I find, thou art one of the kind  
That first brought in Damnation.   

III.  She. 
My Face has Heaven Enchanted,  
With all the Sky-born Fellows.  
jove pressed to my Breast, and my Bosom he kissed,  
Which made old juno jealous.   

IV.  Herald 
I challenged Grisly Pluto,  
But the God of Fire did shun me.  
Witty Hermes I drubbed, round the Pole with my Club,  
For breaking Jokes upon me.   
Chorus of both. 
Then Mad, very Mad, very Mad, let us be,  
For Europe does now with our Frenzy agree,  
And all things in Nature are Mad too as 〈◊〉.   

V.  She. 
I found Apollo Singing,  
The Tune my Rage Increases;  
I made him so blind, with a look that was kind,  
That he broke his Lyre to pieces.   

VI  Herald 
I drank a Health to Venus,  
And the Mole on her white Shoulder.  
Mars flinched at the Glass, and I threw't in his Face.  
Was ever Hero bolder?   

VII.  She. 
'Tis true, my dear Alcides,  
Things tend to dissolution,  
The Charms of a Crown, and the Crafts of the Gown,  
Have brought all to Confusion.   

VIII.  Herald 
The haughty French begun it,  
The English Wits pursue it.  She. 
The German and Turk still go on with the Work,  Herald 
And all in time will rue it.  Chorus. 
Then Mad, very Mad, etc.     

SHINKEN's Song to the Harp. In the Fourth ACT.  

OF Noble Race was Shinken, trum tery, tery, tery; trum trum,  
The Line of Owen Tudor, trum, trum, trum;  
But her Renown was fled and gone,  
Since cruel Love pursued her: trum, trum, etc.   

II.  
Fair Winny's Eyes bright shining, trum, etc.  
And Lily Breasts alluring, trum, etc.  
Poor Shinkin's heart, with fatal Dart,  
Have Wounded past all Curing: trum, etc.   

III.  
Her was the prettiest Fellows, trum, trum, etc.  
At Bandy once and Cricket, trum, etc.  
At Hunting-Chace, or High-foot Race,  
Gadsplut, how her could Prick it: trum, etc.   

IV.  
But now all Joys defying, trum, etc.  
All pale and wan her Cheeks too, trum, etc.  
Her heart so aches, her quite forsakes  
Her Herrings and her Leeks too: trum, etc.   

V.  
No more must dear Metheglins, trum, etc.  
be topped at good Mountgomery, trum, etc.  
And if Loves sore, smart one Week more,  
Adieu Creen Sheefe and Flummery: trum, etc.    

SONG. In the Last ACT.  

ALL Europe is now in Confusion,  
Then Friends, let's think it no Crime,  
(Since all things do bided Dissolution)  
To make the best use of short time.   

II.  
Tho' Nations do rise against Nations,  
And Peace is frighted from home;  
The Planets remove from their stations,  
And seem to portend our sad doom.   

III.  
Strange Earthquakes make War against Nature,  
And Ruin circle's us round;  
There is something more in the matter  
Than e'er yet Philosophers found.   

IV.  
Sound Reason no longer convinces,  
So Potent Discord is grown;  
For some of the Brave fight for Princes,  
And Crop-eared Prigs fight for none.   

V.  
The Church, that should teach us true Morals,  
And prove Devotion great gain,  
Foment in the Pulpit odd Quarrels,  
And then leave 'em us to maintain.   

VI  
Then fill up the Glass a Health Royal,  
No Stars nor Omens we'll fear;  
A Health to the Fair and the Loyal,  
Tho' Doomsday be never so near.    
THE Richmond Heiress, etc.  

ACT I.  

SGENE I. Richmond- Hill.  Enter Cunnington disguised, meeting Quickwit dressed fantastically in gay Clothes. Cunning. 
BLess my Eyes from an Apparition! What art thou? Thou canst not be Tom Quickwit!  Quick. 
As sure as thou art Ned Cunnington the Ungodly, my Brother in Iniquity, and Fellow-Collegian.  Cunning. 
Thou seem'st my Brother-Collegian indeed by thy Voice and Grimace; but then again thou may'st be Brother to some Prince by thy Habit. Prithee let me look on thee and wonder!  Quick. 
Do, do, Ned, wonder on, whilst I slouch my Hat, and practise the Air of a Country-Booby of Quality to improve thy Admiration.  Cunning. 
Harkee; prithee let me ask thee a civil Question: Hast not made some noke's of Quality here about Richmond drunk, and stole his Clothes, hah?  Quick. 
No, ye Rogue; tho' I am your Brother in Wit, I am no kin to ye in Mischief. I love to give occasion for mens' Wonders; and there's a Mystery in this Habit, Ned, surpasses all your Cunning to find out. But come, to examine now in my turn: Prithee, what Project hast thou now afoot here at Richmond? For by this comical Disguise, there must be something more than ordinary. What staunch Fool hast thou to Cully out of his Money? Or, what half-Fool out of Meat, Drink, and Lodging, hah?  Cunning. 
Why to tell thee the Truth, I am intrigued here with a Son of a Whore, who is also the Son of a Knight, and have (thus equipped as I am) been with him to Night upon a Frolic.  Quick. 
Intrigued was an admirable Word there; for thy Bubbles are all used like common Whores; when thou hast had thy Pleasure of 'em, they are left to their Fortune. Well, and this Compound makes up one substantial Fool; hah?  Cunning. 
Yea, verily; Fools, half Fools, and such like, are Cunnington's Real Estate; and sometimes I've the luck to have a Wit to provide my Personal. I am a true Terrae Filius, and flourish by the Abuse of Mankind, wanting seldom or never Matter to work upon: But if some malignant Planet should reign, whenever you hear that I am out of Fool, you may reasonably conclude too that I am out at Elbows.  Quick. 
A little Hardship is a good Whetstone to make Wit sharp; and we poor Fellows, Ned, that live by 'em, like Black birds, thrive best in hard Wether: For not being born to Estates for ourselves, Fortune has disposed 'em to others with weaker Brains for us to manage. Now I improve my Talon by Love, Compliance, Insinuation, etc. I love every body, and every body loves me: I oblige all People; I mimic this or that Sot in Company, to humour perhaps one that's a worse himself. I flatter and sing to the Women, to get their Tongues on my side too: And now and then when I am desired by some rich Booby that's worth the managing, I can turn my Face into a Changeling Grimace, and act like Solon in the Play; when, as I hope to be saved, I'm all the while bant'ring him, and thinking him the more comical Solon of the two, as a Man may say.  Cunning. 
Why this is an artful Method, I confess; but, for my part, if I should practise it, I should starve: For to tell thee the truth, I love no body; nay, what's worse, can hardly counterfeit common Courtesy to the World. The reason is, I hate all People that I think happier than myself: If that Man has a fine Coach, I wish his Horses may founder; if this has a pretty Wife, I wish him a plaguy fit of the Stone, and myself a bed with her: If a third has a rich Cargo in a Ship, or a fourth a delicate House, I wish one may be sunk to the bottom, and t'other burnt to the ground.  Quick. 
Ha, ha, ha; an incomparable Humour ' faith.  Enter Marmalet, and whispers Quickwit, and Exit. 
Well, Ned, I see thou art now about some new Project, and 'twould do thee an injury to keep thee longer from thy Vocation, therefore I'll leave thee.  Cunning. 
Ah, Brother, I smell your drift; my Grannum there must be Harbinger to some notable Intrigue. Come 'faith, impart, I'll assist thee; I'm good at it thou know'st.  Quick. 
Ay, but this is a secret only proper for my Sphere of Activity; besides, I have had this Advice formerly, Keep Cunnington from thy Secret and thy Mistress, or he'll certainly endeavour to betray the one, and debauch the other; and so no more wheedling, good Brother. Ha, ha, farewell, farewell.  Exit. Cunning. 
This Rogue has some profitable Design on foot, that's most certain; and now I think on't, it may be as profitable to me to overreach him in it. 'Gad, I'm a strange odd sort of a Fellow; I do not only envy a Man that's richer than I am, but that's wittier too; and would by my goodwill engross all the Money in the World, and all the Sense too. New is my Head as full of mischievous Contrivance, as a young Thief that is just going to do his Probation Exploit; and from my Brain I have present information, That the Old Woman that was here just now, is wove in Quickwit's Design: I'll after, and dog her; these old Runts are as leaky as Sieves: And if I can, by speaking French giberish pretending to be a German ginger, get to tell her her Fortune, all the rest of her Secrets shall quickly be laid open. Humph, this may turn to good advantage of my side too, and be more valued, as flowing from the Fountain of my own Wit: I hate the poor Satisfaction of being obliged to Fortune for a Benefit.  

That still appears to me the sweetest Gain,  
That Springs from the rich Soil of my own Brain.   Exit. Enter Frederick with Quickwit. Fred. 
My Noble Lord de la Fool, your Lordship's most Obedient— Ha, ha, ha! Why 'faith, Tom, I think we have equipped thee with as decent a Garb as any Whimsical Peer of 'em all need to wear. Prithee cock thy Hat, and strut a little more.  Quick. 
Oh, Pox, I can do that well enough: But how to act the Madman right, and bubble the Doctor, therè will be the difficulty.  Fred. 
Oh, prithee, affront not thy own Abilities: Thou wert a rare Mimicker at the University, I remember, and I'm sure canst not lose thy Talon so soon: Besides, this is a Doctor for the purpose; Positive, Ignorant, and easy to be imposed on; one that having a long Worm in his own Pate, solidly believes he can cure it in other mens'. He was first Apothecary of a Physick-Garden; but happening to cure the Son of a great Statesman that had cracked his Brains with studying to outdo his Father, in out-witting the French Councils, got himself into Money and Reputation, and is now, forsooth, Precedent of the Insanery.  Quick. 
And are you sure the young Lady will help me out at a pinch, and that she only counterfeits herself mad for your sake?  Fred. 
Most certainly. I have told thee nothing but Truth, upon my Honour. Oh, she's the Soul, the Miracle of her Sex:  

Young, yet discreet, without Ill-nature witty,  
Rich without Pride, and without Art is pretty.   
Besides, I have often, as a Lesson, told thee, That Sir Charles, her Father-in-Law and Guardian, being always an inveterate Enemy to our Family; and designing her for his own Son, has forced me to this Artifice of thy Assistance, and that sweet Angel to frustrate all other Pretensions, to act a witty Scene of Lunacy.  Quick. 
Your Brother Sir Quibble Quere, you tell me, is to be bubbled too; so that I find I'm to divide my Brains into three several Projects: First, to disappoint the Guardian: Secondly, to banter the Doctor: And, thirdly, to make a mere Ass of your Brother, to pay a friendly Tribute to your Wit. As I take it, Sir, this is my Charge.  Fred. 
Thou hast hit it, dear Tom; 'tis so. He's but my half-Brother thou know'st, and can claim but little Obligation upon the score of Affinity. Besides, he's a Blockhead, and I have only hedged him into this Business to stand buff with his Purse upon occasion, and pay the Expense of it. My Mother did me manifest wrong by crossing the strain. Her last Husband, old Sir Quibble Quere, was, for above thirty Years together, an old Court-Follower; but of so harmless a Character, that tho' he never bettered himself, he hindered no one else, being always like a Turn stile, standing in every body's way, and hindering no body. He was also called here, The Teizer of Richmond, and would ask you more foolish Questions in a quarter of an Hour, than a hundred wise Men could answer in a Year: And this Brother of mine is his own, by this Light. See, yonder he comes. I have told him I've employed thee, and prepared him aptly for the Business— Now if thou canst but answer silly Questions briskly, thou winnest him for ever.  Enter Sir Quibble. Sir Quib. 
Brother, good Morrow t'ee.  Fred. 
Oh, Brother, your humble Servant, you're well met, we have been contriving here for ye; this is the honest Gentleman I told ye of.  Sir Quib. 
Is this Mr. Quickwit, Brother, that I saw when I was at London, he that mimicked the Madman so comically.  Fred. 
This is that very ingenious Person, Brother.  Salute here. Sir Quib. 
Oh dear! Well, I'll say't, he did it purely. Sir, your humble Servant.  Quick. 
Sir, I am yours extremely.  Sir Quib. 
Ha, ha, ha, you have dressed him to a T, I see, Brother.  Fred. 
As the Noble Family of the De-la Fools aught, Brother.  Sir Quib. 
Ha, ha, ha: And pray, Sir, when did you come to Town? Who was your Bedfellow last Night? Which is your Inn? And what have you for Dinner to Day, Sir?  Fred. 
Four as pretty pertinent Questions as a Man could wish to answer.  Quick. 
Why, Sir, I came to Town yesterday, half an Hour, half a Quarter, and seven Seconds past Five in the Afternoon: I lodge at Boddycotts, at the Red Lion: I have a good Rump of Beef and Carrots for my Dinner: I lay with one Nick Fiery face, an honest Attorney of Staple-Inn, and had like to have lain with a pretty Black-eyed Cookmaid, belonging to the House: And there's an Answer overplus for once to oblige ye, Sir.  Sir Quib. 
Why merry be thy Heart, thou'rt a pure Fellow, I'll say't. And prithee who hast left behind thee in London now?  Fred. 
There's another very pretty Question.  Quick. 
Why faith, about three or four Millions I believe, Sir; I could not well spare time enough to take all their Particulars.  Sir Quib. 
And prithee how does the Playhouse? How does Mr. Betterton, and my old Friend, Mr. noke's? Prithee when did he play Sir Martin last, hah? Does Mr. Sandford Act the Villain still, prithee? And jolly Cave Underhill in Epsom Wells? How does my Comical Justice do, hah?  Quick. 
Hold, hold, Sir, you're to fast upon me; be pleased to couple your Questions, and I'm at your Service; but for so many of 'em together, 'Gad I ha'n't half Memory enough, Sir.  Fred. 
Ds'life, thou flagg'st already; hold out briskly, Man.  Aside. Quick. 
Dam him, I begin to be in a Sweat.  Aside to Fred. Sir Quib. 
And how does Mrs. Barry Act now, hah?  Quick. 
Oh to a Miracle Sir— There he was pretty reasonable.  Aside. Sir Quib. 
She plays the Queen in the Spanish Friar better than any Woman in England: I'll say't, I had rather see her wag after the fiddlers in the Procession there, than see another Coronation ad'sdiggers. And Mr. Powel, what's he doing prithee, hah?  Quick. 
Ha; the Devil hah ye— 'Sdeath, here will be no end of this doing: Why how the Devil should I know, unless I could conjure.  Sir Quib. 
I mean, what new Part is he studying? Ad'snigs, that Powel's a very pretty Fellow. Where lies the Scene I wonder? what's the Humour on't? and how does he contrive?  Quick. 
hay day, Where? What? and How? nay faith, Sir, if you don't stand to your Article of coupling your Questions, I can be no longer your Interpreter; and so your Servant. Oh—  Fans himself. Fred. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, there's one Bowen too, a notable Joker, hah?  Sir Quib. 
Prithee excuse me now, 'tis so long since I was in Town, that I even long to hear of all the new things.  Quick. 
Not all at a time, I beseech ye, Sir; the rest will be a new Diversion for you to morrow.  Sir Quib. 
No, faith, I must have 'em now. And Mrs. Bracegirdle, prithee where is she now?  Fred. 
Ay, ay, Mrs. Bracegirdle: Come, Tom, your Answer quickly.  Quick. 
So, he has set me a conjuring again.  Sir Quib. 

Well, I'll say't she Acts Statira curiously.  
From every Poor of him a Perfume falls. Speaks this affectedly.  
He kisses softer than a Southern Wind:  
Curls like a Vine; and touches like a God.   
When I was last at the Play, and she was saying of this, my Mouth, I'll say't, went to-and-agen, to-and-agen, as fast as hers, and repeated, it after her so loud, that all the People in the Pit thought I was bewitched.  Quick. 
Ay, and the Devil take me if I don't think thee bewitched now.  Sir Quib. 
Then there's Mr. Dogget, that Acted Solon so purely, O Lord, what's become of him, prithee?  
And then, I'll say't, there's Mr. Bowman, and Mr. Bright, and Mr. Hudson, and Mr. Hains; and tho' last, not least in Love, the only remaining Branch of the old Stock, honest Mr. Kinaston.  

So Men in Thunder quit the open Air,  
Because the angry Gods are then abroad.   
Oh, he has a rare way with him, I'll say't, and a number besides these, that I have forgot; Prithee, How, and Which, and What, and Where, and Why, and When,—  Quick. 
Whew! Nay then your Servant i'faith.  Fred. 
'Sdeath, come away immediately, here's Sir Charles and the Doctor coming down the Hill; away Tom, I have some more Instructions to give you yet.  Quick. 
Ay, with all my Heart, I shall be blunderbussed with Where's, and What's, and Whence else— A Plague of his Epileptic Visage, he's gaping for another Quere I see.  Exeunt Fred. and Quick. Sir Quib. 
Pox take him, I had above Twenty Questions more ready, but especially about Hains, and his Fortune-telling; 'gad I will know something about that I'm resolved, for that's a Material Point.  Exit. Enter Sir Charles, Guiacum, and Christopher. Sir Char. 
Therefore, as I was saying, Doctor, look well to your Patient, she is not only my Daughter-in-Law and Ward, but the Darling Jewel of my Life, the Treasury of my Son's Hopes too, an Heiress worth Fifty thousand Pounds, who, had not this delirious Accident happened, should have been this Hour happy in his Embraces by Marriage.  Guiac. 
Fear not, Sir, my Care and Medicines will work the desired Effect.  Sir. Char. 
Madness, Doctor, is but a more extravagant sort of Wit, caused by the excessive Heat in the Brain: I studied the very Point many Years ago, in the College at Barcelona; 'tis but the Skill of cooling the Part, and the Patient presently recovers.  Guiac. 
Ay, but, Sir, this is a new Case, and I must do it specifically; for she is very obstinate, and will take no Medicines; nor do I resolve to make her Blood ferment, by putting her into a Rage about it, she has Fire enough already; for about the Age of Eighteen the Heat predominates extremely in her Sex; and then, if ever they are infected, they become strongly delirious.  Sir Char. 
Your Reason, Doctor?  Guiac. 
Why, Sir, at that Age the warm Quality of their Blood, fermented by the force and vigour of the Animal Spirits, naturally make 'em half mad: To remedy which there are but Two ways, which are either to get them Husbands just in the Nick, or for want of such Provision to send 'em to me.  Sir Char. 
Why, God-a-mercy Doctor, this old Fellow is too Lepid to be a Whoremaster sure: If this hoary Elder should be a Rogue now, and make use of a natural Recipe to cure my Daughter's Madness, my Son and I were finely served.  Guiac. 
Farewell, Sir; I'll make as quick a Cure of your Daughter as I can, because I very suddenly expect a Noble Lord under my Custody. Adieu.  Sir Char. 
This jealous Humour of mine is a great Fault: Here's a poor old Fellow, that is so much a Cripple, he can scarce drag his Legs after him, and yet I must suspect him for a Whoremaster. Well, I must go after and humour him, lest when he has cured my Daughter, he should, in revenge, Introduce new Suitors to her, and so baffle my Son's Designs; who, I think, I see coming down the Hill yonder,— Ay, 'tis he, and two more with him; they seem in hot Dispute; I'll stay a little while longer to observe.  Stands aside. Enter Tom Romance, Hotspur, Rice ap Shinken, and Boy. T. Rom. 
But prithee, a Pox on thee Will, what a Devil ails thee that thou art so averse to my way of intriguing, when I tell thee, womans, dear Women, are the only Comforts of my Life, I can neither eat, drink, nor sleep well without 'em? And my Welsh Cousin Rice ap Shinken here is of my own Humour to a Hair; he chuckles at a White Petticoat like a Turkeycock at a Red one; he's the very Devil at a Wench; Cat after kind, as the Proverb has it, the Britain's were all Whoremasters from the beginning.  Rice. 
The Shinkins was pear as crete Lovers to the pretty Omans, that is ferry true; the plack Eyes, with the plack Eyebrows, was good; and when her sees the Red Lip, the White Skin, and the soft Pubby, than Shinkin's Heart was peat, peat, peat, like a Drum, by Cadwallader.  Hotsp. 
Peat, peat, peat! What a Plague can any one above the Degree of a Kitchen, love a Fellow that makes Fritters of English, as Falstaff says? A Welsh Beau, with a Head as barren as the Mountains in his own Country. Ha, ha, ha, I'll ne'er believe it; I'm resolved to abuse these Puppies for dear Frederick's sake, whom I know they hate.  Aside. Rice. 
The Muntains in her Country was ferry good Muntains, and breed ferry good Sheep and Coats, look you, and if Williams is Cholericks, that is not much, her will laugh and be merry, look you, if Williams is Choleric, he, he, he ha.  T. Rom. 
Ay, ay, Will, you must not think to beat us out of conceit with ourselves with drolling: 'Gad I know a Lord's Wife near St. James' thats ready to die for me; she says, of all charming things in the Universe she admires my Nose.  Hotsp. 
Ridiculous! I'll near believe such a satire upon the Sex: Why there's not a Negro in Town but can fit her with a better.  Sir Char. 
Oh, I know him now, this is Hotspur, one of Frederick's Friends, and the Enemy of our Family.  Aside. Rice. 
There is likewise, look you, William's, the young, sweet, sharming, pretty Daughter to a crete Shudge yonder, that is in love with Shinkin for his Leg, look you; here is the Symmetry, here is the Shape, here is the Calf, look you, and here is the Small, ferry good.  Hotsp. 
Leg! ' Oons, I have seen a handsomer upon a Gate for High Treason, after it has stuck parching in the Sun above a Twelvemonth.  Sir Char. 
Why does not that Welsh Runt give him three or four Kicks now with that Leg the Lady is so in Love with? Sure this will come to something anon; now I shall see what Mettle the Boy has.  Aside. Rice. 
Now Williams is Cholericks again, ha, ha, ha, ha. Harkee, do you know me, Williams?  Hotsp. 
Know thee? oh yes, thou art his Ape, both things so contemptible with the Women, that—  Rice. 
Look you, William's, if Apes be Signals of Affronts and Disparagements, splut her shall not find Shinkin so tame.  T. Rom. 
Phoo, prithee don't mind what he says, Cousin Rice: Come here's that shall undeceive him presently— Look Will, to prove to thee what a Favourite I am with that dear, dear Sex, I will show thee some Favours from 'em; for, to say Truth, I never took any true Pleasure in an Intrigue with a Woman, if I had not the Satisfaction of Exposing her to my Friend.  Hots. 
Well said, trusty Knight, the Woman has blessed herself with a true Friend of thee in the mean time.  T. Rom. 
Why, I enjoy n 'em to secrecy, Man, so that she's secure enough in Conscience, as I will thee now; therefore be sure you don't tell any Body: D'ye hear?  Hots. 
'Faith, but I will, Sir, if you tell me any thing.  Sir Char. 
'Sdeath, not draw yet! What a Plague does he mean?  Aside. T. Rom. 
Pshaw, pshaw, that's all one, I'll trust thee for all that, Faith; why, I've a thousand things to divert thee with, Man; and, 'Gad take me, have the greatest Pleasure in the World in telling 'em: First then here's a Billet Deux, from my Lord Awekings' Daughter, a great Man at Court, and a swinging Politician, who, having more Business in his Head than to mind his Daughters, gave me opportunity at the Musick-meeting at London, to make an Intrigue; and the Creature is now grown so fond, that my Father was fain to design a Wife for me, here at Richmond, to divert me. Thou shalt hear what she writes: Sweet, sweet, sweet Tomme, canst thou find in thy Heart to be so long away from thy dear, dear, dear Betty? Ah, sweet Creature!— 'Gad, I believe I shall wear the Paper to a Cobweb with kissing it.  Reads the Letter. Hots. 
'Sdeath, can there be so simple a Creature in Nature?  T. Rom. 
Prithee mind me. I swear I never go to Bed but I dream of thee, nor ever rise without crying: My dear, sweet, heavenly Tomme is always in my Thoughts: And if his poor Betty were half so much in his, I'm sure he would come this Night through the Board's of the little House in the Garden to see her, as he used to do. That was our way of meeting, you must know; and, 'Gad, I have been plaguely incommoded sometimes to get cleanlily to her. But didst ever hear any thing so Soft and Tender? hah!  Hots. 
Never any thing so Silly before, the Devil take me.  Sir Char. 
Again an Affront! Now where's the first Pass, now Tom?  Aside. Rice. 
There is crete deal of Doubts, and Jealousies, and Pribbles, and Prabbles, which show Loves and Affections, look you.  T. Rom. 
Then, in the second place, here is a Garter of Sir Thomas Wittal's Lady's, here at Cue, taken from above her Knee with my own Hand I'll swear; a Locket, from pretty Peggy, Daughter to one Quicksilver a Goldsmith, at the Caudle Cup in Lombardstreet; a Picture, from dear jenny Flippant, a rich Widow's Niece in the old Pall-Mall; a Roman Glove, from sweet Lady Susanna Simple, in St. James'- Square. And more, to show ye that I deal with all degrees of Females, come hither, Sirrah, there's a piece of delicate Point, from Moll a Sempstress in the New-Exchange, to make me a cravat; and a Head of curious bright Hair, from my Lady Freckles Chambermaid, to make me a Peruke.  Sir Char. 
This is so like these young Rogues, to brag of their mistress's Favours.  Hots. 
Red and rank as a Fox by jove: Pox on thee, Bright, dost call it?  Rice. 
And, to show ye that the Prittains' are admired too, look you here was delicate creen Leeks, sent by young Widows of her Cousin Tomas ap Evan, ap Rice, ap Shones, ap Davy, ap Shinken, as a Token of her Love, and to wear in her Cap upon St. Davy's Day.  Pulls out a great Leek. Hots. 
Death, ye brace of Buffoons, what d'ye tease me with all this Stuff for?  Sir Char. 
How, Boffoon, 'Sdeath, and near a hole in his Guts yet? Oh, cowardly Villain!  T. Rom. 
Stay, stay, I have two things more in my Fob here better than all; first here's a Bracelet of witty Sophronia's; and, above all, a Seal, with a wounded Heart engraved upon Coral, of my dear, dear Fulvia's.  Hots. 
Nay, then I'll no longer have Patience, therefore draw, for ye Lye.  Sir Char. 
The Lie; so, 'Gad I'll whip him through the Midriff myself, if he takes that.  Hots. 
For, first, Sophronia is a Woman of too much Sense to give a Bracelet to such an Insect: And, secondly, Fulvia is my Friend's Mistress, and has no Heart but for him. Come on, Pox, come both of ye.  Rice. 
Stand to her, Cousin; splut, her will show her a Welsh Thrust.  T. Rom. loiters back. T. Rom. 
The Truth is, that last was a Lie; but since the Welsh-man's Blood's up, I'm resolved to vindicate it: Come, Sir.  Sir. Char. 
Hold, hold Tom, and Cousin come you back; though, his Insolence deserves Chastisement, he shall not have it to the dishonour of our Family; I'll take it upon myself: Come on Sir, you that were so hot.  Offers to Fight. Hots. 
Ay, Sir, with all my Heart.  Rice. 
Pray Uncle let her go, her has killed no Rascals since her came from Wales.  T. Rom. 
Prithee, old Gentleman, get you out o'th' way, I'm in the humour of killing him.  Sir Char. 
Son Tom, it must not be: What's your Name, Sir? you are like to scape this time.  Hots. 
Why then a Pox on ye all, my Name's Hotspur, and you may see me at the Wells every Morning; and more, to provoke ye to take Satisfaction, know that I am Friend to Frederick, and will espouse his Interest in the Heiress to the last; and so adieu.  Exit. Sir Char. 
Ay, 'tis so, 'tis this rich Heiress is the cause of all these Brawls; but come Son, since thou hast me of thy side, be confident, Policy as well as the Sword shall secure her to thee: For above all the World's great Benefits, a Wife is best in her good Circumstances.  

To follow Wars abroad may Honour bring,  
'Tis brave Preferment there, to serve the King.   T. Rom. 
But a rich Heiress here's, a Heavenly thing.  Exeunt.   

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  Enter Frederick, Hotspur, Quickwit, and Numps. Sophronia discovered at a distance, reading. Fred. 
A true Friend is the most solid Good a Man can possess in this World: And tho', dear Will, I ought extremely to thank thee for abusing those two Fools for my sake, yet I could wish Sir Charles had been absent, lest this new occasion of distaste may cause him to be more vigilant, and so hinder our Plot upon the Heiress.  Hotsp. 
Faith, dear Ferd, I beg thy Pardon with all my Heart if I did amiss; but the Devil take me if I could contain myself after hearing such a Preposterous deal of Impudence and Folly: I could have beaten them with a better Will than a Turk would a Christian Slave that he found had an Intrigue with his Wife or Daughter.  Quick. 
Well, well, let's to the Proof, I long, methinks, to be acting my Madman: And as for Numps here, he'll do his part to a Miracle, I have taught him his Lesson perfectly.  Fred. 
What, my Lord de la Fool's old Servingman, he has hit the Family Beard to a Hair I see, and 'tis impossible he should miscarry; for I am privately informed the Doctor knows neither of them by sight, and has only heard of a Son of the Countesses that was mad, and suddenly to be brought to him as a Patient.  Quick. 
The Letter I have given him there expresses all that. But be sure to remember your Canting West-Country Tone, Numps, and your byword, 'Odswokers.  Numps. 
Well, well, Why thou canst not think, must, i can forget as zoon as chave learned it: Why zure chant a been a Schollard so long but that i can con my Lesson, 'Odswokers: What, does the Mon take me for a Vool? Umph.  Fred. 
Admirably well, Numps, and there's a Guinea to encourage thee.  Hotsp. 
The Rogue mouths it as if he had been bred at Taunton-Dean indeed.  Fred. 
Well then, away both to your Tasks: Oh, I long to have the Event answer the Expectation; get her but off, Tom, and the promised Five hundred Pounds shall be as ready as the joyful Minute.  Quick. 
I used to be successful in these Matters: But if I should return now, like a maimed Tarpawling from a Sea-Fight, with a Leg or an Arm lost in your Service, you can't do less than procure me a Place in the Hospital.  Fred. 
Ah, never fear, there's no such danger.  Hotsp. 
No, no, the worst on't can be but a dozen or two of Kicks, a Cudgel, a Rib or two broke, or so, that's all.  Quick. 
Ay, ay, that's a small Matter, you know. Well, what e'er comes on't, I'm resolved to venture; and so Fortune for us: Come along Numps.  Exeunt. Fred. 
Ha, ha, ha: Now shall I be as impatient till I have an Account of this Rogue's Proceedings, as a young Heir that hears his niggardly Father is sick, is, till he hears he's dead.  Hotsp. 
If my Eyes dazzle not, yonder's a Subject very proper to improve your Patience, a Lady, Ferd, a reading.  Fred. 
Sophronia, as I live; ay, Will, this is a Lady indeed, the Wonder of her time: Dost know her?  Hotsp. 
Not to Intimacy, and yet enough to hear of your Worship's former Intrigue with her. What a strange Fellow wert thou to desert so fine a Lady? I've heard there was a Contract between ye.  Fred. 
Some slight Papers, I think, which I know her Pride is too great ever to expose, or call me to an account for. Besides, what's a Promise, when put in Competition with Fifty thousand Pounds, Will? No, no, she was too wise for me, her Wit was always too Satyrical; a Quality I could never suffer in a Woman: She'd conjure me with Morals out of Seneca; and run me down an hour or two together in Argument on the Towns Common Vices; nay, and what I hated worse than all the rest, tho' all her Friends knew well enough she loved me, her Pride, that was too great to let her own it, would make her always use me ill before 'em.  Hotsp. 
They call her here in Richmond, The Female Plain Dealer.  Fred. 
They do so, and justly too, for she takes as much Pride in speaking blunt Truths, as the rest of her Sex do in studying quaint Lies. But see, the Walk begins to fill, here's more of the Tribe coming.  Enter Squeamish, and Mrs. Stockjobb with a Lampoon. 
And if I am not mistaken, Will, there's one of your Acquaintance, if you ha'n't forgot your little French Pinnace you used to brag of so, Mrs. Stockjobb.  Hotsp. 
Forget her! ' D'sdeath, I should as soon forget my Sex; why she's my All, Man, my Estate Real and Personal: She came hither first as a Protestant Refugee, and full of seeming Sanctity, but betwixt thee and I, Ferd, a very Cheat: She's Dick Stockjobb's Wife, 'tis true, but a Meet-help to me alone, Fred.  Fred. 
I have heard of that City-Fool, they say he got all his Estate by drawing in worse Fools than himself to lay Wagers, this Siege, or that Battle, this Fight at Sea, or that on Shore; and for the late City Crimp of Stockjobbing, a very Dragon, tho' in other Matters poor, sneaking, and uxorious; and the French Woman, I hear, manages him rarely. But, prithee, who is t'other, by her fantastical Behaviour that must be some extraordinary Creature too?  Hotsp. 
Oh, she's a Rarety of another kind, one Madam Squeamish, she's a Native of Richmond here, very fantastic and impertinent, as thou sayst; for which she has every Summer a new Lampoon made of her, that does so tease her, that she grows lean upon't, and can't forbear expressing her Resentments in all Companies.  Fred. 
Well, Sir, I'll leave you to their Management, and the rather, because I see yonder Philosophical Lady is turning this way, and I am not at present armed for a Rencounter. Farewell; we'll meet at Night at the Red lion.  Exit Frederick. Hotsp. 
What Paper's that they are so busy upon? I'll stand aside and listen.  Squeam. 
Was there ever so barbarous a Disappointment, Cousin! Expecting a Letter this Morning from the dear, dear Man I admire beyond all earthly Joy, my Maid brings me this, with the fold and visage of a Billet deux; but, oh horrid! I had no sooner opened it, and prepared to feast my longing Eyes with what they expected, but, faugh! what does it prove to be, but an odious Lampoon, and the most nauseous filthy thing that ever was heard, as I'm a Virgin!  Mrs. Stock. 
Dis is now de Barbarity of your Nation: In France we have no Scandal, no Affront, noting mal à propos: You may sing, you may dance, you may keep de bon Company, vid dis great Lord, or toder Gentleman; and yet dear is no dam Lampoon. Diable! if de Author had dare abuse me so, by does Hand I vowed find him out, and murder him.  Squeam. 
Why then you must find him out, and murder him, Cousin; for hear you are for your Comfort, and swingly.  Mrs. Stock. 
By my Faite de Fellow dat did say does, is the very dam Rascal in the whole Varle; I vill poison him, I vill hang, I vill have his Troth cut, by does Hand.  Squeam. 
But prithee, Cousin, who is this Hotspur that they slander you with?  Hotsp. 
‛ D'sdeath, I can forbear no longer! Why, Madam, this Hotspur is forth▪ coming, if your Ladyship has any use for him. By your leave, good Madam: Pray let me inspect this Paper a little.  Rushes out, and snatches the Paper. 
Dam, if any Rascal has abused us, I'll maul him.  Mrs. Stock. 
He here; vat sall me do now! Us! vat you mean, Sir? I know you not; you are de Stranger to me.  Squeam. 
Oh fie, Cousin; pray don't let my Company cause a breach of Acquaintance. Come, you must own him a little.  Hotsp. 
Pox! prithee don't stand upon puntilioes now, Fubbs, but help me to find out this damned Poet. I'll teach him to Lampoon me: I'll slaughter him, by Heaven.  Squeam. 
Why really, Sir, 'tis a horrid brutal Trick these Fellows have got: A Woman can't enjoy her Youth in a degree a little above the Vulgar, but, oh horrid! she's presently popped into a Lampoon. I did but innocently regale myself t'other day, amongst other choice Female Friends, at my Lady Goodfellow's, with a Glass or two of Hockamore, and if the beastly Poet, in his next Paper, did not say I was drunk there, I'm no Christian! O filthy!  Here Sophronia comes between 'em. Soph. 
Your Servant, Mrs. Squeamish; nay, I have heard all, and as a Friend to Justice and Morality, although unasked, must give you my Opinion too.  Squeam. 
She hear! oh horrid! nay, than we shall be teized to death. She has more Tongue than twenty Lawyers, and rails with more Malice than a Terrae Filius at Oxford, that has been just expelled the University.  Mrs. Stock. 
Dis is ver Deevil of a Woman; I must wheedle her, dear is no oder way. Your most humble and obedient Slave, dear Madam.  Sophr. 
Oh no Ceremony, good Mrs. Stockjobb: But, Mrs. Squeamish, prithee why art thou so mortally offended at this Lampoon? Methinks the Poet speaks very honestly.  Squeam. 
Honestly, Madam! What, to say I was drunk? Oh filthy!  Sophr. 
Drunk indeed was a little too uncourtly: Mellow had been a good Word there; for to my knowledge there were six Quarts drunk in two hours' time between four of ye, besides my Lady's farewel-Bottel of Aqua-mirabilis. Her fat Ladyship I hear set a great while before the Sun; and for the rest of ye, your Tongues were all as glib as a Consort of Midwives at a City-Christ'ning.  Mrs. Stock. 
Well, dis I must say of the French, Dey are the most temperate People in the whole World; l'Homme du Cour delights in noting but de cool Mead, de Tizzan, or de Sherbet vid Ice.  Sophr. 
Yes, the comfortable Usquebagh, the refreshing Spirit of Clary, or sometime the cool Brandy and Burrage, good Mrs. Stockjobb.  Mrs. Stock. 
Oh fie, fie, fie, Madam; de Brandy is the Regale for de Dutch, not the French: Here is the strange difference, De Brandy vill make de Frenchman as dull as the Dog, and de Dutch man to fight like de Deevil: Beside, our Native are given to make Love much, vich is great Enemy to Drink. De Englishman vill come drunk to his Metress, break her Vindow, tear, her Commode, and kick her Lap-Dog, uhen the French man dare no toush one Hair of his Tail, but look like the Fool, and sigh. Dere is the difference again, all is Cringe, all Obeisance; dear is no Huff, no mal Visage, no Pesantry in France, ma Foy.  Squeam. 
But will you vindicate a Lampoon, Madam? oh horrid!  Mrs. Stock. 
A filthy Libel dat sall sawzily affront le Femme du Quality, and have de impudence to expose—  Sophr. 
To expose the good Man your Husband's Cuckoldom, and your close Intrigue with this Hotspur that is mentioned there; that indeed is very saucy, Mrs. Stockjobb.  Hotsp. 
So there's a Bob for me again. Nay, nay, good Madam, turn the Tide of your satirical Vein another way, I don't like this kind of Raillery.  Sophr. 
Oh, cry ye mercy, Sir, you need not tell me your Sentiments; I know an honest Reflection must needs be Rhubarb to a Man of your Kidney and Character.  Hotsp. 
My Character! why what's my Character, Madam?  Sophr. 
Why troth, Sir, no very good one; and since you'll have it told, 'tis— let me see, A lewd, vain, noisy, impertinent, drunken, roaring, debauched Character.  Hotsp. 
So, so, she has fitted me for asking Questions.  Sophr. 
Come, Sir, for once I'll be a little satirical, and venture to describe the course of life of all you Men of the Town: In the Morning the first thing you do is, to reflect on the debauch of the Day before; and instead of saying your Prayers as you ought, relate the lewd Folly to some other young rakehelly Fellow, that happens to come to your leave: The next thing is to dine, where instead of using some witty or moral Discourse that should tend to improvement, you finish your Desert with a Jargon of senseless Oaths, a relish of ridiculous Bawdy, and strive to get drunk before ye come to the Play.  Hotsp. 
The Devil's in her; she has nicked us to a Hair.  Sophr. 
Then at the Playhouse ye ogle the Boxes, and dop and bow to those you do not know, as well as those you do. Lord! what a world of sheer Wit too is wasted upon the Vizard-Masks! who return it likewise back in as wonderful a manner. You nuzzle your Noses into their Hoods and Commodes, just for all the world like the Picture of Mahomet's Pigeon, when he gave the false Prophet his ghostly Instructions. Fogh how many fine things are said there, perfumed with the Air of sour Claret! which the well-bred Nymph as odoriferously returns in the scent of Lambeth-Ale and Aquavitae  Hotsp. 
‛ D's heart, what shall I do! I shall ne'er have patience to hear this.  Sophr. 
Then at Night ye graze with the hard-driven cattle you have made a purchase of at the Play, and strut and hum up and down the Tavern with a swashy Mien, and a terrible hoarse Voice, which the Lady (to engage your liking) returns with some awkward Frisks, instead of Dancing, and a Song in a squeaking Voice, as untunable as a broken Bagpipe. Then supper coming in, the Glasses go about briskly. The Fools think the Wenches heavenly Company, and they tell them they are extreme fine Gentlemen; till at last few Words are best; the Bargain's made, the Pox is cheaply purchased at the price of a Guinea, and no repentance on neither side. What think ye, Sir, am I not a rare Picture drawer?  Hotsp. 
'Faith yes, Madam, and must sure have been a Practiser you self, you have done it so exactly. ' D's death! no Help yet! Oh, here comes Stockjobb; this was lucky: I shall be relieved now, sure.  Enter Stockjobb and Sir Quibble. Stock. 
Hoh, honest Will, good morrow to thee; good morrow, Cousin Siss, and Madam your Servant, and so forth. What, and Pegry here too! Why how now, little Pogry! how does my Deery! how does my Fawn, my Pricket, my Duck, my Dove, and so forth. Well; does Richmond-Air agree with thee? Does little Hans-in-kelder kick yet? Ha, Pogry? Prithee how dost like the Prospect? Is't not a sweet Place, and so forth.  Mrs. Stock. 
any, par ma Foy is it de ver fine Place. Dicky, we have valk dis morning as far as de Mount; dear is de Grove just by the River tout charmant, vere is de most rare place to lie and sleep in, Dicky.  Sophr. 
And to make ye a Cuckold in, Dicky.  Mimicking her. Stockj. 
Ha, ha, ha! Oh your Servant, Madam, Sophronia; are you so brisk already with your Jokes, and so forth? D'ye hear, Pogry? Madam Sophronia is at her Jokes slap-dash this morning.  Squeam. 
Ay, Cousin, she has been breathing herself upon us.  Hotsp. 
Her ladyship's out of danger of a Phthisic for this Season, I'll warrant her.  Sir Quib. 
They talk as if she had been beating 'em all, I'll say't. Pray, Madam, why do they talk at this rate? Where lies the Jest on 't? What is the meaning of your high Discourse? And when will you Raffle at the Wells again, Madam?  Sophr. 
Fool—  Sir Quib. 
Fool! that's nonsense I'll say't. And why Fool, pray, Madam? What, and which, and where, and when, and—  Stock. 
Hold, hold, prithee, Sir Quibble, let me attack her; she called me Cuckold you know. Come, Madam, I'll stand ye fair, ' saith: Your Reason, your Reason; come, slap dash away with it, and so forth.  Sophr. 
Why I have skill in Physiognomy, and see't in thy Face: All Humans are allotted to some Fate or other, and thine is to be a Cuckold. The dimpled Slit there upon the Tip of thy Nose, and shaggy meeting of thy Penthouse Eyebrows, show it plain, To be brief, a Lampoon upon ye all were a meritorious Work: First you, Mrs. Squeamish, for always railing at it; and yet by your ridiculous Behaviour perpetually giving cause. Secondly, thee Knight, for being Friends with Fortune, that allots thee to be bubbled by thy younger Brother. Next you, Sir, for the intolerable Town Vices of Drinking, Wenching, Gaming, cum multis aliis, as I told you before. Then you, good Protestant Refugee, for wheedling and cornuting your Dicky there: And last poor Dicky for running about the Town, Wagering and Stockjobbing, when Pogry has a more proper Job for him to look after; and so farewell t'ye. Look Sharp, if thou'dst be free from future Scorns; The less thy Heed; the larger still thy Horns.  Pats him on the Pate, and Exit. Stock. 
hay, Slap dash, why she's as sharp as Vinegar this Morning, and so forth.  Sir Quib. 
Zooks, so she is, I'll say't: But why the Devil does she rail so: And where the Devil has she all her Wit I wonder?  Mrs. Stock. 
This Raillery is too morose, she wants the French breeding extremely.  Squeam. 
To vindicate a Lampoon? O filthy!  Hotsp. 
Faith, Dick, Thou'rt a Fool if thou mindest what she says, she uses her Father, Brothers and Sisters in this manner.  Stock. 
Not I, slap dash, she may talk what she will, and so forth, I believe nothing against Pogry. Come Cousin, Siss, and Gentlemen, I invite ye all to Dinner to Day, for little Pogry and I here, intent to have the Fiddles, and be merry. hay, slap dash, I vow my Heart's as light as a Feather; for I have laid a World of good Wagers this Morning, I shall get five hundred Pounds by 'em I'm sure; besides Stock rises to a Miracle: And I've invented two such rare Projects for the improvement of Tabby Cats Skins for ladies' Muffs, and Spirit of Acorns to cure Agues, that the whole Exchange rings of it. Come, there you shall know my Wagers too, and say of me, as that Eminent Common Council-man, some Years since, did to the then Lord Mayor, Oh how great a Grace from Heaven is a Wise Citizen!  Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Cunnington and Marmalet. Marm. 
Well, as I'm a Christian, Sir, if what you have promised me prove to be true, you have made me the happiest Woman in the whole World.  Cun. 
Hold a your Tongue, and take care you no cross your Star: Come vere sall we be private?  Marm. 
Have but Patience a Minute, Sir, I'll only go and see what the Doctor is doing, and come and conduct ye immediately.  Cun. 
Make haste; vat you think de Star vill stay for you.  Marm. 
I go, Sir, I go.  Exit Marm. Cuning. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, I find this is some old Waiting-woman belonging to this place, whom I have already turned the wrong side outward, with promising her a Husband: I have engaged to tell her Fortune, upon Condition she discovers all her Secrets to me: The first of which shall be, the Discovery of Quickwit's Design, which I am resolved to ruin, only for the dear sake of the Mischief that will come of it: I have frighted her damnably already; I have made her believe I am the Son of the Devil upon a Lapland-Witch; and that if she obeys me, she shall live to be a Countess; but if not, she shall be brought to sell Saveall's and Card-matches, old Rags, and Small coal in her old Age, and, at last, die upon a Dunghill near Fleet-ditch. Here she comes, now to my Grimace again.  Re-enter Marmalet. Marm. 
Come, Sir, the Coast is clear now: Softly for Heaven's sake; for the Doctor is just coming up.  Cun. 
If he dare come in my presence, I will conjure him—  Marm. 
Bless me!  Cun. 
Vat you pray! Zoon, Let me no hear you pray— go, get you gone.  Exeunt. Enter Guiacum with a Letter, Sir Charles, T. Romance, Shinken, and Numps. Guiac. 
Well, Friend, the Countess has done me the Honour to inform me in her Letter here, that she relies upon my Skill and Experience to cure her Son, nor shall my diligence be wanting; but she writes me no Word here, whence the Delirium sprung: Prithee how came his Brain distempered first; what Accident, what Cause, hah?  Numps. 
Odswokers, an't like your Worship, all that I know is, they zay Master Toomas was hugely in Love with one of his Lady-Countesses Dairy Maids; and becase they crossed him, he dissolved with himself to fall stark mad upon't: Her Name was Mopsee, an't like ye, you was perilous Jade, you had a Skin an 'twere any Milk-pan, and a Face as bright as a Pewter-dish; you was vengenable handsome, Odswokers—  T. Rom. 
Odswoker, ha, ha, ha, damn him, What silly Clownish Booby have we got here?  Shink. 
He was come of the ancient Stock of the Pritains', I believe by his Peard: And look you, Cousin, if he is Pritains', he is Shentleman acourse, and Shinken will findicate his Honour.  T. Rom. 
His Honour, ha, ha, ha, why, hark'e, Cousin, the Beggars have long Beards, are they all Gentlemen too?  Shink. 
Look you, Cousin, if they are Pritains', they are.  Sir Char. 
A Man of Quality! supposed to be well bred too, and run mad for a Dunghil-Drab, a Dairy-Wench! This is very odd. The Name of this unhappy Gentleman, good Doctor?  Guiac. 
Why, Sir, his Name is De la Fool, he's of the ancient Family of the De la Fool's of the South; their great Ancestor was a famous Officer under King Harold, who being routed by William the Conqueror, fell mad, and the Disease has more or less run in the Blood ever since: There is near them another Family of the De la Wit's too, that are crazed at one time of the Moon; and indeed, it may be properly said, they divide her between 'em, one being mad in the Wax, and t'other in the Wane.  Sir Char. 
Nay, nay, 'tis a mad Age here too as well as in the South, and therefore I the less wonder at it; but my Daughter, Doctor, my Daughter, how does she recover?  Guiac. 
More of that, Sir, presently— Go, Friend, and try if you can decoy my Lord hither: And go you, Christopher, and bid Marmalet bring her Lady too; there is no better Cure of Lunacy than by reflection, Sir Charles your Daughter's Distemper proceeding from disordered Love, makes her still vent the Effects upon the imaginary Persons; particularly I have observed four, of different Qualities, which are a Courtier, an Alderman, a Politician, and a Divine.  Sir Char. 
There were four that did formerly tease her for her Estate indeed; but proceed, good Doctor.  Guiac. 
To soothe her Malady therefore, and that I may the better time my Medicines, I have ordered four Persons always to stand ready to represent'em, which you and this Gentleman may now as naturally supply; for she distinguishes very little as yet. Pray stand in order; and, by the Life of Galen, 'twill make ye laugh heartily to see what Freaks she'll perform. Well, Christopher, is she coming?  Enter Christopher. Christ. 
Yes, Sir.  T. Rom. 
Why then may I never make a good Intrigue more, if this plaguy Doctor instead of a Cure upon me, would not make me run mad in a Week's time, if I were with him.  Shink. 
By his Prabbles and his Prating, I think his Brains in as pad Conditions as his Patients, by St. Davy.  Guiac. 
This new Madman, now being possessed with a Frenzy somewhat near his own, will very much assist her; therefore I resolve they shall be much together; for I have some reason to hope the worst is past, because she inclines to Music, and will often sing very sensibly. Oh, here she comes, pray observe now.  Enter Fulvia madly dressed, and Marmalet. Fulu. 
Give me fresh Air, the Place is hot and sultry; the Rooms are warmed with Lovers scorching Sighs that glow and breath upon me. Is there no remedy? Must I be crowded thus— Ha! Who's here? My cringing, complementing, comical, coxcombly Courtier again, my perpetual Teizer, Sir Thomas Spindle: What Impudence is this? He has nothing but a silly Place at Court, 250l. a Year, it won't buy me Pins: he can't settle four Groats upon me, and yet plagues me Four thousand times in an hour. Lord! how he looks too like a Death's-head in an Apothecary's Shop, his Lips pale, his Eyes sunk, and his Cheeks as thin as an Anatomy: A Cordial, a Cordial, Doctor, the Man's dying; did ye ever see a thing look so?  Guiac. 
Lean, lean, Madam, as Lovers generally use to be: I'll advise him to get a pair of Plumpers against he comes next. She takes your Welsh Cousin for the Courtier, Sir Charles.  Marm. 
So now she's safe, I'll back again to my Fortune-Teller. I was born to be a Countess, as I'm a Christian.  Aside and Exit. Sir Char. 
She has been horribly mad I find.  Shink. 
As March-Hairs; look you, Uncle, that is the ferry plain truth of Matters.  T. Rom. 
Pox on't, would she would get her Senses quickly, or give me leave to make Love to some body else: I am like a Fish out of the Water all this while, I can't live nor breath without intriguing; I've above forty Billet deux now ready sealed that all stick upon my hands, 'Gad take me.  Fulu. 
Ha! Sure my Eyes dazzle, who comes next here, what the honourable and famous Politician, Mr. Votewell?  Guiac. 
Pray observe, Sir, she takes your Son for a Politician.  Fulu. 
Indeed, Sir, you wrong yourself and the Nation, to leave the Affairs of State for my sake, the French will certainly outwit us in your absence; nay, you shan't stay a minute longer, indeed you shan't. Go, go, Sir, you must go, the Committee wants you— Fie! Fie! A Senator waste his Time in teizing one single Woman, when he may have the Opportunity of plaguing a whole Nation! Faith it shall never be said— Doctor, pray help me, we'll thrust him out.  Changing Tone. T. Rom. 
Ay, 'Gad, would ye would, I shall lose a rare Intrigue else.  Aside Guiac. 
Not so, good Madam, he's troubled with the Gout, and too quick a Motion may injure him; we'll send for a Chair: hay, within there, fetch Mr. Votewell a Chair.  pushes him away. Fulu. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, Oh! the intolerable Machinations of a conceited Statesman; but stay, what more solid Mischief is this approaches me, Ha! sure 'tis impossible; what, Mr. Alderman Niggle? Nay, then I'm surprised indeed.  Guiac. 
Good! you are taken for the Alderman, Sir Charles, look grave and feed the Humour.  To Sir Charles. Fulu. 
See how he has powdered his Peruke, and smugged his old Face up with a pernicious Design to ruin me. Look how he frisks and hops about to show me what heat and vigour remains in Sixty five: Ah!  Shrieks 
Hands off, I'm resolved you shan't touch me; Fie, Fie, Fie, an old Fellow, and thus rampant: Ah— ah— help, help, Doctor quickly, this Devil of an Alderman will ravish me.  Guiac. 
Oh! Fie, Fie, Madam, by the Life of Galen, there's no danger, the Alderman's too old.  Fulu. 
Look, he frisks, he dances, he jumps; hark'e d'ye hear him too, he says he stews his Gold-Chain in Heart's horn Jelly, and drinks it every morning to make him lusty— Ah— he comes upon me again, he will ravish me, He can ravish me, help, help.  Guiac. 
Oons, 'tis impossible, Madam, when did you ever hear of an Alderman that ravished any Body— If she were in her right Wits now, i should think she meant this as a satire upon the City, by the Life of Galen.  Sir Char. 
This is, indeed, the most fantastical Frenzy that ever I read or heard of: How long does it usually hold her.  Guiac. 
Forty minutes together, sometimes more; I have weakened it to forty minutes by my skill, it formerly held her an hour.  T. Rom. 
To the dear, soft, white, pretty hand of that superexcellent Lady Mrs. Gillian Gingerbread; ah, 'gad take me this billet should have been dispatched away this very minute, and here am I playing the fool in a Mad-house.  Shink. 
Nay, pray you Cousins, have patience, she is engaged now with the Fellow in the placs, look you, pray you let's hear.  Fulu. 
Oh,— Mr. Tickletext—  groans and weeps. Guiac. 
Observe now how the humour turns, now she is come to her Melancholy sit, and taketh Christopher for a Parson.  Fulvia. 
Reverend Mr. Tickletext, Wise Mr. Tickletext, that ever I should live to see you thus overtaken, to leave your Flock in the Wilderness, to follow me upon the Mountains, to fall from your zealous and instructive Principles, carnally to fall in Love, and change the strong motions of the Spirit for those of the Flesh— O, Mr. Tickletext—  weeps! 
What will become of your poor Soul?  Guiac. 
I've observed she's always extremely troubled about the Parson's Soul, 'tis a thing worthy observation.  Fulu. 
Doctor—  mournfully. Guiac. 
What say you, Madam?  Fulu. 
Does Mr. Tickletext drink hard think you?  Guiac. 
No, sure Madam, not hard.  Fulu. 
Nor Swear, nor Game, Doctor?  Guiac. 
Neither Madam, unless it be a Game at Put now and then, for a Bowl of Lambswool.  Fulu. 
For a Bowl of Punch rather, I fear Doctor; ay, 'tis so, I know it by the red tip of his Nose; the Parson hates Lambswool, he loves the Bowl, the Bowl, the lusty Bowl; and there alas his poor Soul will be drowned.  Guiac. 
His Soul again, pray observe.  Fulu. 
Yet, what care I, I'm Mrs. of my own fate, let 'em drink, let 'em roar, let 'em sing, what is't to me I'll do the same.  Sings. 

How vile are the sordid Intrigues of the Town,  
Cheating and lying, perpetually sway  
From Bully and Punk to the Politic Gown,  
In plotting and sotting they wast the whole day.   
Let me have Music, and bring in Orpheus there, O, my hard fortune!  Guiac. 
So now the Fit's almost spent, let'em come in there, she sits down, these are Lunatics by me appointed on purpose to indulge the Humour, the one was a Young hot blooded Officer that being balked in a Battle, against the French in Flanders, fell mad upon't, the Woman cracked her Brain with Pride and Malice, hearing her Lover say, another was handsomer and better dressed at a medeawart Ball.  There's a Song in parts, between a mad Man, and a mad Woman, than two other mad Men, who sit down, then enter Numps and Quickwit, like a mad Man with a Paper. Guiac. 
You may perceive by this, Sir Charles', the Frenzy will wear off by degrees,— but see, here comes my Lord.  Quick. 

Though Cerberus bark, the Catamountain howl,  
Though Winds do roar, and Waves do roll,  
Mopsa's my Life, Mopsa's my Soul.   grins. Numps. 
Worse and worse, ah, lack-a-day, ah, lack-a-day, O my poor Master!  Guiac. 
His Distemper vents itself much in scraps of Poetry, which shows it to be the more violent and dangerous.  Sir Char. 
Why so, good Doctor.  Guiac. 
Why Sir, Poetry is a kind of Madness in itself, and must consequently make a very ill addition to the Patient's Distemper. I'll speak to him, what have you there, my Lord?  Quick. 
Treason, in black and white,— Though Cerberus bark, the Cat-a-mountain howl, I'll conjure for her, I'll go down below into the Devil's dairy, there I shall find her licking the Cream-bowls, or pressing Curds to make Beelzebub a Cheese,— Hark, ye Patron, are you the Devil?  Guiac. 
The Devil! not I my Lord, bless me, what a question's there.  Quick. 
Nor yet his Dam?  Guiac. 
Nor his Dam neither, I'm your Doctor, my Lord.  Quick. 
Bring Mopsa then, I'll drown myself in Tears else,  falls down. Numps. 
O, worse and worse! O that chave lived to zee this day, odswokers, he had as notable a Pate, a Fortnight ago as e'er a one in our Shire; our Minister at home was a Bottlehead town, and now to zee the Case so changed, and hear un talk so like a Vool, odswoker i can't forbear weeping for the heart o' me.  howls out T. Rom. 
O prithee, Pox take thee for a Bumpkin, what a howling dost thou make; ah, my dear sweet Miss Gingerbread, 'gad take me, I shall grow as mad as they, if I am kept here much longer  kisses the Letter. Shink. 
There is ferry good moralities and observations to be made in this place, look you Cousins, therefore pray you have patience.  Quick. 
Hast brought her? that's my Boy, ay there she is, I know her now.  Starting up. Sings. 

By those Pignies, that Stars do seem,  
Those Breasts as white as Curds and Cream,  
Those Cherry Lips and dimpled Chin,  
'tis Mopsa that shall be my Queen.   Guiac. 
She makes up to him now, the Distemper works now, they are curing one another, the two mad Men rise and dance with 'em.  Dance. Fulvia Sings. 
Art thou the Crack-brained Fool thou seem'st to be?  Quick. 

Art thou a white-faced Ape as mad as he?  
A foolish Female nice and shy,  
That never yet trod shoe awry,  
Nor suffered youngster by the by,  
To have a singer in the Pie?   Fulvia. 

In spite of Rings and Bracelets gay,  
Sweet junkets on a Holiday,  
Or all that silly Men can say  
I'm still of Vesta's Train a Maid.   Quick. 
'Tis then for want of Humane Aid.  Fulu. 
No, no.  Quick. 
Ay, ay.  Fulu. 
No, no.  Quick. 
Ay, ay.  Fulu. 
I'm still a Maid.  Quick. 
O fie, O fie!  Fulu. 
In thought and deed, and so will die.  Quick. 
You are a Fool, or else you lie,— but if thou art, go to the Queen and beg me, for I must hang to Morrow for a Rape, committed upon fifteen Richmond Virgins, thirty years old and upwards, that have stood the shock of Mankind most miraculously, there's my Petition, read it and away.  gives her a Letter Fulu. 
By Heaven 'tis Frederick's Hand, and I find now, this is all feigned madness, and a Plot of his to bring me off, O ye dear witty Creature,  aside. Quick. 
Cry ye mercy Sir, by that shaggy Eyebrow, and that pulls Guiac. away grizzled Phiz, I know ye now, you are the Recorder.  Guiac. 
Variety of Madness, he said I was the Devil just now, and now he takes me for the Recorder.  Quick. 
There, there's your Fee, and pray defer my Sentence, I must not come to th' Gallows, I have Money, let friendless Felons, Fools, and Beggars dangle; I'll bribe thee well, I must not hang, I've Money.  Sir Char. 
The mad Fool speaks now methodically, Money indeed will do any thing.  Quick. 
What do I see, a guard to bear me off, and before Sentence, nay then have at ye, avaunt ye Slaves, ye Pultroons, scour ye Vipers, a rescue, a rescue, fall on my Friends, down with 'em.  snatches a Sword from T. Romance and beats 'em. Sir Char. 
Ah, Plague of our heedless folly to come Armed amongst mad Men, there's no contending with him.  Quickwit drives 'em about the Stage. T. Rom. 
My Lord, my Lord, 'odsdeath what d'ye mean?  Shink. 
Mean to a mad Man, that is ferry simple by St. Davy, good her Lord have patience, Shinken was her friend and ferry humble Servant look you.  Guiac. 
My Lord, my Lord, I am the Recorder you know.  Quick. beats 'em. Quick. 
The Devil thou art, down with 'em there, a rescue, a rescue.  Guiac. 
Am I a Devil again, nay then there's no fence against a flail, I must give way too.  Exit Guiacum and Quickwit locks the Door. Quick. 
Ha, ha, ha, so, if this was not well played, I'll ne'er Act part again.  Fulu. 
Thou art the best of Actors, and shalt be rewarded accordingly, nor shall honest Numps be forgotten neither.  Numps. 
Odswokers, i can make a Vool of forty such Doctors as this is.  Quick. 
Your Ladyship would make an admirable Actress, faith Madam, to outwit the Doctor so artificially— 'tis a Masterpiece.  Fulu. 
Ha, ha, ha, and before the grave Knight and young Fool's face too.  Quick. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha, and but reasonable Madam, what should a Fool do with so fine a Lady.  Fulu. 
O, Sir your Compliment some other time, come whilst we have this opportunity let's into my Closet, and consult about the manner of my escape.  Quick. 
Which is contrived methodically in that Letter there, by your Lover, who I hope suddenly shall be happy in his reward too.  Fulu. 
If faithful Love, and an obedient Wife can make him happy, he may assure himself of me, I know his Merit, and have a Soul to prize it.  

Nor shall the wretched Customs of the World,  
That change the sweets of Love t' a sordid Bargain,  
Ever corrupt my Nature, wealth is a good addition,  
And shall be given by me a Slave to virtue,  
And wait upon the kind brave Man I love,  
Who Weds a Fool, affronts her humane Nature;  
Who can be kind to such a Brutal Creature,  
'Tis Wit with Love improves the Marriage Charms,  
And such a Man is welcome to my Arms.   Exeunt.  
The End of the Second Act.   

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  Enter Cunnington and Marmalet. Cunn. 
VEL now, as you hope to be de Countess, and keep your six Footmen and your Page, does is all true vat you tell me.  Marm. 
Every syllable in troth Sir, O fie, upon my Integrity I would not tell ye a Lie for the versal World.  Cunn. 
Ver good, vel den I will tell you the rest of your fortune, but first fesh me the Almanac, dat I may tell the good day from the bad, dat is material point.  Marm. 
Yes Sir, I'll bring it presently— a Countess, why, well fare thy heart old jenny, six Footmen and a Page, odsme I'm overjoyed.  Exit Cunn. 
So, I have squeezed her as dry as a sponge already, the Heiress in this House, that Sir Charles Romance designs for his Son, only feigns herself mad, and Quickwit is by a Trick to get her away for young Frederick, ha, ha, ha, ha, I warrant he thinks himself as secure of her now, as a Cat is of a Mouse that he has between his Paw, ha, ha, ha, alas poor Fool, but if I aim right, he shall find himself damnably mistaken, for what will I do now, but privately go and discover all to Sir Charles, so get myself a swinging Reward, and Quickwit a Plaguy beating, that shall stick by him this Month, ha, ha, ha, 'gad I love such a mischief with all my heart, how it tickles me, I grow even fat at the conceit on't. O here comes my Countess, I must dispatch this old Fool first, and then away— Mum, now for fortune-telling.  Re-enter Marmalet with an Almanac. Marm. 
Here's an Almanac and 't please ye.  Cunn. 
O let me see, june, june, june, july. Vere be the  changing his voice 
Dog-day, dat he de ver good time to make de Intrigue, let me see, you say you ver born in july.  Marm. 
The fourteenth and shall please ye.  Cunn. 
Oh, Ver good, ver good, now shake your left Arm and your right Leg both together, vich we call in Astrology de simple motion.  Marm. 
Is that right, pray Sir.  Shakes her Arm and Leg awkardly. Cunn. 
Yes, yes, dat vill do ver well, dat I must needs say is de ver simple motion indeed.  Marm. 
But Sir, you tell me nothing all this while, pray Sir, what good fortune shall I have? and particularly, I beseech ye Sir, to give me leave to ask that question, that we Maids most desire to know, which is, when shall I be married, and please ye?  Cunn. 
Cry Hymen vid a sigh, one, two, tre time so, now sit crosslegged, and turn de Gnomon of your face, dat is your nose; pulls her Nose to de North East, dat's right, now smile a little, smile foolishly like, right, now let me feel your pulse; awe ver well, I see now you shall have for your Husband de ver Gentleman dat vas to steal away your Lady.  She makes silly grimaces Marm. 
What Mr. Quickwit, and shall I be no Countess after all this.  Cunn. 
Zoon Metresse have de patience and understand your good Fortune, he shall live to be, let me see, Baron of Barn-elms, and if de Planet, dat I see dear say right, he shall be Duke of Twitnam, Mortlack, and Brainford, go, go presently, find him out, and make de Love to him, for I see by my Art, dat dis is de Critical minute, and ver fit for your purpose— go.  Marm. 
Well, I vow Sir, you have ravished me with your Words Duchess of Twitnam, Mortlack, and Brainford; why, this is prodigious, Lord to see! how preferment will puff up a body, methinks a Countess is too small a title now.  Cunn. 
Hark you, one word more, if he refuse you, take two, tre more of your Female Friend vid good Cudgel, and beat him, vor de Star do appoint dat way to make soft his Heart and Inclination, fear noting, beat him but soundly, and he shall love you for ever after— Adieu. I must get out and laugh somewhere, or I shall burst.  Aside, Exit. Marm. 
Duchess of Twitnam, Mortlack, and Brainford,— O Lord, methinks I done't feel the ground I go on! Well, this is a most admirable Person, as I'm a Christian, and of most profound skill, for he told me some marks about me, as right, as if he had been by when I was brought into the World. Well, if cudgeling my Lover will make me noble, I'll get them that shall lay it on with a good will In troth, for methinks, I long to be called your Grace, your Grace. Lord, how it tickles me, pray Heaven my Brain stand firm, for I've heard these new honours are very intoxicating.  Exit. Enter Quickwit, Fulvia, and Numps. Quick. 
You'll be sure to be ready, Madam, against twelve at Night.  Fulu. 
As punctual as the Minute, get you but the door open that can let us into the Garden, and for the rest let me alone.  Quick. 
For that, let me alone, and d'ye hear, Numps, be sure you take your opportunity to slip out and acquaint Mr. Frederick, that the Coach may be ready at the time, 'dsheart if we should fail in our business to Night, I should be poisoned before noon to Morrow, with Pills, Powders, and confounded Potions, which I see are preparing for me yonder: for Heaven's sake, how came you to 'scape, Madam.  Fulu. 
Why, my being obstinate at first, has made the Fool take an opinion, that he can cure me with specifics. 'Tis such a positive Coxcomb, that if he once gets a notion into his Head, there's no removing it, though never so absurd or ridiculous. Come, Numps, come you along with me, you must carry a Letter for me.  Numps. 
A Letter for ye, ah, would you were to be folded up into a Letter yourself, and I were to carry ye to Mr. Frederick, I'd trudge for ye heartily— I would odswokers, there's my word still.  Fulu. 
Well, Numps, he shall know the good service you would do him, but for the present let's part, for fear the Doctor should be prying about my Lord de la Fool— your Lordship's most humble— ha, ha.  Exit. Numps. 
Oh, my poor Master, O, O! odswokers the job goes on rarely.  Exit. Quickwit Solus. Quick. 
So, I think I'm in as pretty a way now to get five hundred pounds, as heart can wish, nothing but the very Devil or my Friend Cunnington can hinder the happy conclusion now, and I think I have been cunning enough to keep it out of his reach, I know the Rogue will envy my good fortune, but that will breed occasion for more mirth hereafter, and when the Guinneas are in my hand once, I shall have the better gust to rally and laugh at him— O Mrs. Marmalet, your humble Servant.  Enter Marmalet, who curtsies to him and smiles affectedly. Marm. 
Yours, sweet Mr. Quickwit, or rather, sweet my Lord, I mean not as in the former counterfeit strain, but in very good truth and reality, I give you your title as it is to be.  Quick. 
Say ye so, Mrs. Marmalet, I would I were to give you a new Gown upon that condition.  Marm. 
Ah my Lord, your Grace must give me more than a new Gown before that comes to pass,— yet it shall happen.  Curtsies still. Quick 
My Grace, what a Plague does she mean, why hark'e, godd mouldy conserve of Quinces, I thought you had been more busy in packing up your Lady's things, than to stand bant'ring here my Grace, what a Devil art thou Mad?  Marm. 
No, no, my Lord, I am not Mad my Lord, you should find me perfect in every part, if your Grace would please to try me.  Quick 
Zounds my Grace again.  Marm. 
In brief, great Duke it is your Love I seek, on which depends your fortune, on which depends, my making or my marring, behold I stand here suing for your liking, a spotless Maid, a Virgin Cabinet, that fifty years has kept its treasure close, from Spiders, Moths, and from all other Vermin, till now kind fate has given a key to you.  Quick. 
Cracked, downright Crazed as I live, this comes of living to be an old-Maid.  Marm. 
Ah, dear my Lord, do not deceive yourself, I have my senses right and all things else thank Heaven.  Quick. 
Why, what a Plague dost Lord me at this rate then? and talk to me of Treasures, and Cabinets, and Spiders, and Moths, and making, and marring; why ye Queen Elizabeth's Old Farthingale, ye dirty wrinkled wormeaten Ruff without Starch, ye tarnished old fashioned Picture of mad Hecuba in the Hangings, what dost cant of Love to me for?  Marm. 
Does not my Person nor my Merits move ye, know then, the Stars appoint ye honours, if you Marry me, you shall become a Duke.  Quick. 
Become a Dog, Pox on ye for an old Carrion, is this a time for whimsies.  Marm. 
It is the time my Lord, the only time, I am told by Art, that if we Marry, we shall both be Noble, I do beseech your Grace believe my Tears, there are great Honours budding.  Quick. 
Honours and budding, what a Devil can this plaguy Hag mean by all this?  Marm. 
Good my Lord, Marry me I do beseech your Grace, rolent.  Quick. 
I wont ye old Fool, pox take ye, I wont I tell ye, and get ye gone, and play your Oafs tricks somewhere else, or I'll kick ye. Marry her, I'd as soon Marry a Lancashire Witch, that was sick of the Plague.  Marm. 
How, nay then since my hard fate, since no fair means will do, the Stars must have their way.  Exit, and re enter presently with two other female Servants armed with Cudgels. Quick. 
My Grace and my Lordship, and Marry, ha, ha, ha, 'gad I believe the old Sibil has been regaling herself, with a gill or two of Brandy after Dinner, and her frigid veins having gotten a little warmth, provoke her to think of Marriage, Marriage with a Pox to her.  He turns his back, and she strikes him over the Shoulders. Marm. 
Dear Sir excuse me.  Quick. 
Excuse ye, what a Plague's the matter now.  Seru. 
'Tis all for your good, indeed my Lord.  Strikes him. Quick. 
'Dsheart ye damned jezabel, be quiet you had best.  Marm. 
'Tis much against my good nature, but  Strikes him ages. Quick. 
But, what, ye Devil, but what— are ye bewitched  gubs himself. Seru. 
The Stars will have it so.  strikes him. Quick. 
— Oons the Stars.  Marm. 
Do but consent to Marry me, and be a Duke.  Quick. 
Ye Crackbrained Idiot.  Serve 
Of— Twitnam.  strikes him. Quick. 
Very well, Witch.  Seru. 
Mortlack.  strikes him. Quick. 
Fiends and Furies.  Marm. 
And Brainford upon my Honour, 'tis pity Love puts on so rough a visage, but 'tis the fate's decree; and I must,  beats him still. Quick. 
The Devil brain ye, 'dsdeath, stand off, for if I get into ye, I will so rattle your bones, ye mouldy, mischievous, withered, wormeaten—  Enter Fulvia and Numps in haste. Fulu. 
Lost, lost, ruined undown, we are all betrayed and discovered— how now, what's the matter here.  Maid Servants run out. Quick. 
A Sibil, a Succubus. 'Gad 'tis well you came in Madam, I would have tried what power that Witch would have, when I had drawn blood of her.  Fulu. 
What Witch, what does he talk of, the Witchcraft is within yonder— I tell ye, you're all betrayed, Sir Charles has discovered us.  Quick. 
A Hag, a Nightmare,— What's that you say Madam, discovered, what's discovered.  changing his tone. Fulu. 
We, we, all of us, some Devil or other has betrayed us, and discovered all our design to Sir Charles, and the Doctor whom I overheard just now, threatening such unmerciful punishments to you and poor Numps there, that it almost distracted me to hear 'em.  Numps. 
Ralph, Tom, and Christopher, and all the Servants of the House are called up for no good I fear, odswokers, look, look, see if that plaguy word will leave me now,— would I had never learned it.  Quick. 
So, I find that I have had yet, only a sample of cudgeling, the main payment is behind hand, I'm in a very pretty condition faith, but how could this be Madam, 'dsdeath, who is this Devil of a discoverer, what's his name.  Fulu. 
That, Sir Charles would not inform the Doctor, being as it seems enjoined him as a secret, yet thus far told him, that it was an old Comrade of yours, and one of your own society.  Quick. 
Cunnington, as I live I find it now, it can be no Devil else— O, Son of a Whore! O, malicious Dog!  Fulv 
But how he came to know it, that's Witchcraft again.  Marm 
God's bodikins, my heart misgives me, that I can best tell that, my Conjurers name was Cunnington, who promised me a Dukedom for the secret 〈…〉 with a hundred Oaths to keep it, and sure a Conjurer has 〈…〉 to break his Oath, I must go and be better 〈…〉 as I'm a Christian.  Exit. 〈◊〉 
〈…〉 mere jest, a Fool to all the Town and Country, 〈…〉 know, thrown into the Horsepond.  
〈…〉 some such thing, that's the 〈◊〉 on't.  Quick. 
They do; nay, ten to one, or some worse punishment. Numps, prithee contrive something to help at a Pinch; what shall we do, hah?  Numps. 
Why, truly my Lord de la Fool, if I might advise your good Lordship.  Quick. 
Nay, nay, Pox on't, no jokes now, thou know'st 'tis honourable enough to assist Lovers, Numps.  Numps. 
Numps, Numps, what Numps, I'll be Numps no more not I, my Name's Gregory Golding an Alehousekeeper here at Twitnam; 'oons, I shall have my Bones broke here about your Numps, and your honourable Lovers, would I were well out on't, 'odswokers, plague take that word too, would 'twere hanged.  Fulu. 
I find Numps would hardly undertake me now folded up in a Letter.  Quick. 
'Sdeath here they come, all contrivance is in vain too, I find I must bear it.  Fulu. 
Nay, I am almost in as bad a Case, for I shall be tiezed out of my Life, by Sir Charles and the young Blockhead now; but come, let's Act it to the last, my Lord, let's play our parts well however.  Numps. 
A vengeance on't, I shall make a hopeful part of mine I believe.  Enter Sir Charles, Guiacum, and Christopher. Guiac. 
Manage you your Daughter Sir Charles, whilst I confront this Rascal. Your Servant, my noble Lord.  to Quickwit. Quick. Staring madly 
Is Mopsa come from the Black Stygian Fields, where yearly range the Cows of Proserpina, Tib, Whitehorn, Colly, Redrose, Smut, and Blincko; see where she sits stroking the swelling Teats, and takes Infernal Cream in Pails of Agate.  Guiac. 
Rare counterfeiting Rascal.  Aside. Sir Char. 
How does my Daughter, do the Lovers tieze her still, where's the Reve end Mr. Tickletext, and the Worshipful Mr. Alderman Niggle, ha?  Fulu. Staring too 
There, there he is, he shakes his Gold Chain at me, and pulls out his hair purse with fifty pieces, thinking to bribe my virtue, ah * I'll have none on't, ah * y' are an old Fellow, avaunt, avaunt, ah * ah *  shrieks out. Sir Charl. 
Oh strange! why Doctor, she grows worse and worse.  Guiac. 
Extremely. ill Sir, I have been very much deceived in her, I see now I must be forced to tie her in her Bed, and give her a Purge or two of Sand and Snow-water to abate this heat,— she shall take it to Night.  Fulu. 
The Devil shall have you first.  Aside. Guiac. 
And as for my Lord there, I see his fit Increases too, and I must be severe with him. Go, Christopher, get the Gives and Fetters ready, and call the rest of your Fellows as I ordered, tell the Surgeon too, I'll have the Skin of my Lord's Head flayed off, and rubbed with Salt and Vinegar.  Quick. 
Oh, Lord—  Aside. Guiac. 
His Lordship has a wondrous hot Pate; I'll cool it with a Vengeance. You, Friend,  to Numps 
I think are somewhat crazed too; but 'tis but slight. A good sound whipping three times round the Orchard will set you right, Numps.  Numps. 
Ah, no Numps, an't like your Worship, no Numps, I'm a poor, Twickenham Man, merely drawn in as I hope to be saved.  Guiac. 
How does your Pulse beat now, my Lord, humph— d'ye know me yet; am I a Devil, or a Recorder— Speak, I know your Cure is perfect.  Quick. 
Why then, Faith, Doctor, I thank ye, I'm as well as ever I was in all my Life.  Briskly. Numps. 
And I too, Odswokers— again— would the Devil had that word—  Sir Char. 
But Fulvia there says nothing, her Distemper reigns still.  Fulu. 
No, Faith, now I think on't, I'm perfectly cured too;  in a brisk Tone. 
Come, Sir Charles', and Doctor, 'tis but a Frolic, a Trial of Wit you see; hang't, pass it by for once, and give 'em their Liberty.  Guiac. 
Not too fast, good Madam. Within there ho,  Enter Servants. 
See these two well beaten, pumped, and tossed in a Blanket, for fear of a Relapse, and then discharge 'em.  Sir Char. 
Let 'em be swinged to purpose— go get you in, I'll speak with you anon.  Exit Fulvia. Quick. 
Nay, nay, Sir Charles, what for a Trick of Wit? 'Twas but a Trick of Wit, Faith, Doctor.  Guiac. 
Oh, Sir, your Wit is out of its Sphere now; and to set it right, I am obliged to cudgel ye by my Profession. Away with 'em.  Numps. 
This comes of Acting Numps, a Plague o'your Acting  They are pulled out. Sir Char. 
Ha, ha, ha, Farewell my good Lord de la Fool, Ha, ha ha—  Guiac. 
'Twas cunningly acted of the Rogues; but now, Sir Charles, what's to be done with the Lady.  Sir Char. 
Keep her close up till you hear further from me: Take heed of Visitants, and more mad Lords, Doctor; I'll go and prepare her once more for my Son, and put the Case home to her, and her Ingratitude; it may be the Discovery of this Plot, and her small hopes of serving her own Humour, may make her yield to mine: But if she be stubborn,  

She shall have Cause to curse each tedious hour,  
And know too late by me a Guardian's Power.   Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Sir Quibble, Stockjobb, and Cunnington. Stock. 
COme, come, 'twas but a Joke, 'twas no more, Faith. Squire Thomas seems to be a very honest Gentleman, and a Lover of Business. Prithee Sir Quibble come in again, and take t'other Glass, and so forth.  Sir Quib. 
A scandalous Fellow to say I was an Hermaphrodite, to make a Monster, a Devil, I can't tell what of me, to disgrace me before the Ladies: But this shan't get the Heiress from me; I know his drift well enough, it shan't do I'll say't.  Stock. 
Come, come, prithee, come in again.  Sir Quib. 
Pray excuse me, Sir, I promised my Mother to come home to Supper; and I know her heart goes a pit a pat, if I'm never so little out of her sight, for fear I should be stole or come to any harm; besides I must tell ye plainly, I don't like the Company. I'll drink a Glass here with this honest Gentleman, if you please, but I would not come in again for a 1000 l.  Stock. 
Well, my Comical Friend, do you entertain the Knight then, I must go mind my Guests within: hay, bring some Wine there—  Exit Stockjobb. Cunn. 
This is one of the silly Heiress stealers, of t'other side, I'll banter the Fool.  Sir Quib. 
Your Servant, Sir, by your Discourse within, Sir, I perceive that you are a great Traveller.  Cunn. 
I have seen I think does Globe, I mean Europe, Asie, afric, Americk, or so; dat is all.  Sir Quib. 
That is all indeed, Sir, you must ride upon the Dogs-star, as the mad Song says, if you would see more.  Cunn. 
Sire, I have seen much more, I have observe too de Globe Celestial; I have been so high as to hang my Hat upon one Horn of the Moon, and have toush de North-Pole vid min Finger.  Sir Quib. 
With your Finger, Sir, your Servant again, Sir: Why that's very strange I'll say't.  Cunn. 
Sir, I have live in the Moon-world some time, the Emperor is de ver proud Monarch, and keep de subject in great awe; the people dear are like de Pigmy, the man's and woman's not half yard high, but generally wise and ver great Politicians.  Sir Quib. 
God's diggers, this is a most excellent Fellow; and pray, Sir, don't those Politicians of the Moon take us English-Politicians for mad Fellows, hah?  Cun. 
Yes, truly, they do tink dat you be all mad indeed.  Sir Quib. 
Prithee what Women are there? Do they dress their Heads as our Cocking Ladies do here, I wonder.  Cunn. 
No, no, the woman's deer have no head at all, de face stand vere de Breast should, and de Mouth is de Navel.  Sir Quib. 
Oh, Lord, there must be strange kissing I'll say't.  Cunn. 
De Creation was ver wise in dat, no woman's is suffer to have head dear, for fear she should plot Mischief.  Sir Quib. 
Ha, ha, ha, I'll say't an admirable Reason too. But pray, Sir, now le's get down from the Moon a little; and since you have observed all the People and Cities in the World, pray, Sir, when was you last at London?  Cunn. 
Venus de Sun came last Post from de Antipodi dis morning, does morning.  Sir Quib. 
Ha, ha, ha, very pretty again, I'll say't: Why then, ten to one, but you have all the passages of the Town at your Finger's-ends; and, I'll say't, I long to hear 'em. Prithee what do they do at Court now, hah?  Cunn. 
Why de come, scrape, and look ver sharp, den whisper de friend in de corner, and talk politic one half hour, den oagle Repas du Roy, and make ver low Bow, den comb de Peruke, take Snuff, and scrape out again; dat is all.  Sir Quib. 
Ha, ha, ha— that's very like a Courtier I'll say't, Come, come, now for the City, what are our Men of Gravity doing?  Cun. 
Why fait they follow still dear old Custom— dat is, contrive to sheate one another; they dat have no stock for Trade, make use of the stock of Impudence, and sign Policy to lay Wager, so make four, five sheating Bargain over night, and ver fairly break, and run away next morning.  Sir Quib. 
Well said again i'fackins; 'gad this is a plaguy sharp Fellow: But come now, for our Places of Diversion; Prithee how go Humours at the Musick-Meeting and Playhouse?  Cun. 
As for de humour amongst all the rest, I only observe tre sort, dat is, de Beau de Coquet, and the fiddler: de Beau dear make the fine Song, to show his 〈…〉 s●… she admire de Beau, but laugh behind his back; the Fiddler 〈…〉 Music, take the Money, and begar laugh at dem both.  Sir Q—. 
Ha, ha, ha,— Well I'll say't I'll give my Mother the slip some time or other, and go and see the Humours there I'm resolved; but come now, for the Playhouse.  Cun. 
Noting, noting; dear is noting dear pour Raillery, but the Whore and the Critic, and two tre dozen of old musty Orange-Wench dat ride upon your Back while de Musiick play.  Sir Q—. 
Odsdiggers, so they used to serve me, I'll say't: Well, but hark'e now, let's be a little serious;— I must know one thing more; heark'e, Do you ever go to Church— pray Friend?  Cun. 
Umph, Church!  Sir Q—. 
Ay, ay, Does Devotion thrive?— I know you must observe something of that too.  Cun. 
No fait, dear you pose me; for to speak truth, like good Christian, I have not see de inside of one Shurch dis— sixteen year, and begar I find de Town ver much of my humour; the People and the Priest make de grand difference; he can say ver little or noting dat they believe, and they, Begar, vill do noting vat he advise; so I never trouble de Shurch at all.  Sir Q—. 
I'll say't, an Admirable Persontoo! Well, dear Signior, you have so much obliged me, that if you please to come to my House, you shall find every day a Welcome that—  Enter Tom Romance, hastily. T. Rom. 
Why Cunnington, Cunnington, what a Devil art Speaks entering. thou doing?  Sir Quib. 
Is your Name Cunnington, Sir?  Cun. 
Yes ' saith, Sir; But I know I shall be welcome to your House for all that Ha, ha, ha.  T. Rom. 
Ha, ha, ha,! What has the Hermaphrodite been bantered again? Ha, ha, ha.  Sir Quib. 
'Slid there's some Trick in this; Odsdiggers, come near my house, and I'll set my Dogs at ye: A Plague, here comes more of 'em; I shall be laughed to Death if I stay. I'll say, 'oons Cunnington, I should bave been robbed or ravished in a weeks' time.  Exit Sir Quibble. Enter Stockjob. Cun. 
You came a little too soon; for I was just going to pump him about the Heiress.  T. Rom. 
Phoo, Pox she's secure enough Boy, but I have some fresh play in my head; now Stockjob's Wife, ye Rogue.  T. Rom. 
Here she comes, 'gad take me I'll give her my Billet deux presently.  Enter Squeamish and Hotspur, and Mrs. Stockjob. Squeam. 
Oh horrid! Cousin, why d'ye bring me into all this Company, especially where that Fellow is, for I am certainly informed, 'twas that horrid Fellow that writ the last Lampoon upon the Wells.  Mrs. Stock. 
Have de patience Cousin, me shall find out dat presently, hark'e Sir, you dam English Pultroon, dare you abuse de Lady, dare you make de dam Lampoon ha?  Cunn. 
Not I Madam, you are the most mistaken in the World.  Squeam. 
Not that I value the little malice, but to see the bestiality of the Fellow; I kept myself so reserved, Cousin, all this Summer to avoid censure, that I refused to receive visits from any Man under the Age of sixty nine, nor ever went any whither but to Church, and if they did not Lampoon me for that too, I'm no Christian.  T. Rom. 
I must get the Rogue off,— 'Gad take me, Madam, I have to Mrs. Stock job such a value for your Wit and Beauty, that upon my Honour, I would not deceive you in any thing, and I assure you he is innocent of the matter, therefore let me desire you to turn the discourse, I'll inform you more hereafter.  Mrs. Stock. 
Ah Monsieur, 'tis impossible for me to doubt a Person of such merit, and so well accomplished as yourself. Cousin, I am too Squeamish inform, by does Gentleman, dat we are under de grand mistake.  Hotsp. 
She informed by that Puppy, than they 're familiar I find.  Aside. Mrs. Stock. 
Sir, I beg your pardon vid all mine heart, I understand you are de ver ingenious Person, and understand the Lady's affair.  Squeam. 
Nay, I can't positively affirm he was the Person I confess; I only grounded my suspicion the more solidly, because of his Satirical Phiz; O horrid! methinks his Face is a mere Lampoon itself.  Stock. 
Come, come, slapdash, and so forth, let's reconcile all mistakes with a Glass of Wine and a Song, I've a Bowl of Punch ready within too.  T. Rom. 
There spoke the Soul of the City and so forth, That was done now like a Man of intrigue.  Puts a Note into Mrs. Stock jobs bosom. T. Rom. 
My dear, dear Charmer, 'gad take me I've had a passion for ye above this six Months, and if you don't answer my Billet deux there, I shall die that's certain.  Mrs. Stock. 
Dis is de ver agreeable Fellow, but I must show de cunning, and not yield too soon,  Aside. 
— O, fie, fie, Monsieur, I am sure you mistake me I am not the Person, 'tis impossible dat I—  T. Rom. 
Not the Person, by this dear hand, there's no Person in the World but you, has the power to charm my heart, your Eyes have made me a very.—  Hotsp. 
A very fop, Rascal, Dogbolt,— come, draw, draw, Buffoon, I'll teach you to be saucy with Women in my Company.  Stock. 
hay, slapdash, what a Plague's the matter now? keep the Peace there, hay day, is the Devil in ye all, and so forth.  Exit. Fight here, and Tom Romance, and Shinken are beaten off, the Women shriek and run out.  

SCENE III.  Enter Sir Quibble, Frederick and Quick wit. Fred. 
Death, and Consusion, Cunnington, discover the Plot: Why how was it possible he should come to know it?  Quick. 
Nay that piece of Witchcraft I am yet to Conjure for, but I can assure you the beating was substantial, and so had the Blanket been too, if some of Sir Quibbles Gold, had not bribed off two of the Grooms: but come Sir, take Heart, for though my Brains have taken occasion hitherto to disoblige my Bones a little; I have another Plot left yet, not only to make my revenge perfect upon Cunnington not; but to secure you the Lady, for since I have undertaken it, you shall have her, though the great Devil, and all his little Imps conspired against me.  Fred. 
Pox, what vexes me most is, 'tis grown the Common Town talk already, they have it at the Coffee-house as familiar as the Gazette.  Sir Quib. 
Prithee how didst do to Act the Madman? I'll say't, I'd have given a hundred Guineas to have seen thee a little; Prithee how didst look? and what didst say, I wonder? and when did the Lady come in with her Story? and which way, and upon what account? and wherefore?  Quick. 
And wherefore good Sir come away quickly, and fetch the Guineas you promised, for I shall have occasion for a Bribe or too, to carrion the Affair: Farewell Sir, I see Company coming, stay.  Exit Sir Quib. and Dog. Enter Sophronia with a Book. Fred. 
Ha, am I fallen into this Satirical Devils Clutches too, then I'm like to have a rare Breathing, for I perceive by that malicious Smile with which she mocks herself, that she has heard of this late business; and is as pleased I warrant, as prosperous Malice can make a Woman, when she has an opportunity of being revenged: Well, I am resolved to stand the brunt now, come what will on 't, I see she's prepared for the Assault, and to beat her out of her Guard, I'll begin first. What always reading, Madam, still affronting Mankind, by Invading their Province of  To Her. 
Knowledge, fie, this is unnatural; a Lady should no more pretend to a Book, than a Sword, neither of 'em are proper for haet Sphere of Activity.  Soph. 
This, only excepted Sir, this is a Treatise proper for all degrees of People, 'tis called, Sir, an Hospital for Fools, where the most distempered of that sort shall be cured, or at least put into a good way. What think ye Sir, shall I send it ye, you may chance to have some apish humour in your Brain, or some foolish act in your Body, that may want a good remedy.  Fred. 
Oh I thank ye, Madam, but must beg your Excuse, to take a Recipe from a Female Physician, to cure a defect in the Brain, that's a good one Faith: Why that's the way to make a Man stark Mad indeed: And as for my Body, I had as lief take an old Purblind Country Nurse, if I had a mortal Bruise, or Palsy, and I were certain to have the scandal of a Cripple upon me all the days of my life after.  Sophr. 
I don't know what you mean by your Bruise, or Palsy; but considering your general distemper of Body, '●would be a greater scandal to the Nurse, to take ye in hand.  Fred. 
Very fine, well certainly there is not another so vain a thing in Nature, as a Woman that supposes herself a Wit; she fancies all the World must truckle to her Wit, and admire her Person, and Wit; though the Wit's as Envious as a Witch, and often as Ugly.  Soph. 
That might be a fault indeed in the last Age; but in this I never met with any of your Town Crew, that have Wit enough to cause Envy.  Fred. 
If there's any one, Fool enough to Love her, she'll make him a mere Changeling, and like a little sullen Chit, of five years old, deny herself the Morsel she Loves; only to Tease and Vex another, when at the same time her mouth waters, and she's ready to starve for Hunger; this I think touches your Ladyship's Copyhold a little; but much good may't do ye with your sullen fit, I know you'll get a Husband, and a vast fortune by't.  Soph. 
Well Sir, not to be behind hand with ye, in your Frumps, much good may do you with your Rich Heriess, you'll get a Wife, and a prodigious fortune by her, I hear too.  Fred. 
Ah Curse on her, I find she knows all.  Aside. Soph. 
For my part, it were unreasonable for me, to expect you to be constant to my small merit, when you had such a tempting Lump as Fifty thousand Pounds to cherish your hopes withal; Fifty thousand Pounds, d'slife, there's ne'er a Beau from Covent-Garden Church to the Tower of London, but shall give his little Corpse to the Devil, every hour of the Day for't.  Fred. 
Nor ne'er a Lady that frequents the Park, Playhouse, or the Musick-meeting; but shall marry a thing one degree removed from a Baboon for half as much.  Soph. 
By which I find Sir, you are not out of hopes, I dare swear you think yourself above one degree removed, though your last Mad Plot upon the Heiress has given the world some strange suspicions to the Contrary: on my Conscience you'll return to me again Sir, you'll have some qualm or other come over ye shortly; then yet drunk, and with a kind of maudlin Repentance, come to beg my pardon,  Fred. 
So far from it, that I rather fear I shall have ye at my Levee every morning shortly, with a pitiful Petition, imploring my Charity, to bestow on ye the remains of Matrimony.  Sophr. 
The remains, Sir, I have Arithmetic enough to know, that take nothing from nothing, and there remains nothing: Besides a Married Town Beau keeps always a Miser's Table, there is so little for his own Family, that he'll never get thanks, or a blessing from any one that shall expect his remains, take that from me Sir.  Fred. 
Very well Madam, rally on, rally on, and enjoy your Wit. You have my free leave, whilst I Enjoy Fulvia, and fifty thousand Pounds, and so farewell; and, d'sdeath, such another full thrust and I were gone to all Intents and Purposes.  Exit. Fred. Soph. 

He's gone, and tears my Heartstrings as he goes.  
Whilst I have only the poor Consolation  
Of a feigned Mirth, to hide my real Sorrow;  
For still I Love this base ingrateful Wretch,  
False as he is, and full of all the Mischiefs of his Sex.  
I love him still, and have no Peace without Him;  
But can I Love a Man that scorns my Love;  
That poorly offers up Wit, Beauty, Merit,  
A Trophy to the Sordid Idol, Money;  
Can I Love such a Man, and own it too;  
No, I will rather Poison, Stab, or Drown;  
Revenge myself, on my unlucky self:  
Do a thing Barbarous beyond my Sex.  
Rather than this base Man shall know I Love him.   

Eyes dry, dry your Tears, and keep the Secret in,  
Whatever grief I feel, let none be seen,  
Tho the strong Passion ne'er so powerful grow,  
I'll Choke with Love, rather than let him know.   Exit.  
End of the Third Act.   

ACT. IU.  

Scene 1st.  Enter Mrs. Sockjobb and Squeamish. Squeam. 
COme, Come Cousin, you must give me leave to tell ye, I understand an Intrigue as well as an older Person, to let a young Hectorly Fellow, show he ha' so much command over ye, as to dare to quarrel, and expose ye in Company. Oh filthy, it shows a familiarity too saucy for Civil Conversation; I hope Cousin you have not been particular with the Fellow.  Mrs. Stock. 
Vat you mean by dat Cousin, vat is particular.  Squeam. 
Oh horrid, I hope you wont put me to the Fatigue of a Blush, by telling the Nauseous meaning, that were to deserve to be Lampooned indeed; when a Man is particular with a Woman, I think there is no great nead of a Sophister to explain the meaning.  Mrs. Stock. 
Vel, Vel, Pox take the particular, dat is all one, I assure you I have done vid him now, and vill encourage that fine young Gentleman, dat talk and bow, and rally so vel en Francois; me no endure de Huff de Bounce, de brutal way of Love no longer. Dear Monsieur Romance, is all French, all Talk, all Air, all Gallantry, and de oder Gentleman dat speak de Welch is ver fine person too, who I presume Cousin has de extreme inclination to have de Intrigue vid you.  Squeam. 
An Intrigue with me, Oh filthy Fellow, that's a worser abuse than any has been yet put upon me, for he's the veriest Fop in Nature.  Mrs. Stock. 
Fop, Oh Mon deu! vat and worth twenty thousand Pounds, dats impossible! Oh, he is de ver fine Person, and has the greatest tender for you Cousin.  Squeam. 
Oh faugh, I shall be Lampooned about him in a Weeks time, I'll lay my Life on't: Oh horrid, I'll go and lock myself up; But are you sure he's worth twenty thousand pounds' Cousin.  Changing Tone. Mrs. Stock. 
Assurement, and vill make good settlement, vich is ver much as times go.  Squeam. 
See here they come vid Monsieur Stockjobb, who I have wheedle so, and make such great Fool, that he vill believe nothing against me vich my oder cast of Coxcomb say.  Enter Stockjobb, Holspurr, T. Romance, Shinkin, and Singers with a Bowl of Punch. Stockj. 
Come, Come, Let's have no brawling nor quarrelling, but sit down lovingly together, and help off with the Bowl, and so forth; what Pogry, my Dear, my Fawn, my Pricket,— and my Cousin Sisse too; hay, slap-dash, we'll all sit down too't Faith.  Mrs. Stockj. 
— Vat you please Dicky, ven de Husband Command the Wife must always be Obedient, dat is but Reason.  Hotsp. 
Ah subtle Witch.  Stock. 
— Come Squire Thomas, and my Welsh Friend, Pray sit round. Here's some Honest Friends of mine will give us a Catch in three Parts; Cousin Sisse, Prithee sit down, and so forth.  Squeam. 
Oh horrid! Cousin, would you have me give such occasion to be Lampooned, as to sit drinking filthy Brandy amongst Men?  Stock. 
Filthy Brandy; Twelve Shillings a Gallon, by this Hand, and will certainly be the best Commodity in the whole Kingdom shortly,— Harkee, Sisse, such another Word, and if there be a Lampoon to be got in Christendom, and so forth, I'll get one for thee.  Shink. 
According to Shinkins Observations, this is not Prandy, look you, but Punch, which is ferry good to raise Ploods, and cause Plushes, and Pewtys in fair Ladies, look you, therefore pray you sit down, I pray you now.  Squeam. 
Nay, Pray Sir,— Oh Lord,— Nay, if you will force me, What shall I do? I am so ashamed, well if I do, I'll swear I'll drink in my own Cup then,— Go, Ponade, and fetch it, it holds three quarters of a Spoonful just.  T. Rom. 
Dear Madam, Let me be happy with your sweet Hand  To Mrs. Stock. Hotsp. 
You,— 〈◊〉,  Takes her from him. Mrs. Stock. 
Vat ail de Ruffian,—  To Holspurr. 
— Monsieur, I am your most devoted.  To T. Romance. Hotsp. 
His most devoted, Oh rare Jilt, dee fleer Dog bold, I shall have your Nose anon.  Enter Ponade, with a very little Cup. Stock. 
Come, Come, Slap-dash, No more grumbling Will, but take your Cup, and then let's have the Catch, and so forth.  They sit down. 
Why, Cousin Sisse, What hast got there, an Acorn Cup? why a Flea may drink off that, prithee take one of ours, and so forth.  Strikes the Cup out of her Hand. Squeam. 
Oh horrid, not for the World, the quantity of this is enough to suffocate my Spirits, as I am a Virgin.  Hear a Catch, in three parts, in praise of Punch. Stock. 
By the Lord Mayor, very well performed Boys, Tholl, Loll, Loll, ah dickens take it, it won't do now, yet I could have Sung my Solemnising, Fa, when I was a Bachelor purely Faith,— but these Wives, these Wives▪ spoil all our Parts; Come, Here's Prosperity to the City and Trade.  Holspur rises up, and goes behind Mrs. Stockjobb. T. Rom. 
And as I was saying Madam.  To Mrs. Stockjob. Hotsp. 
And as I was saying before Madam.  Pulling her from him. Mrs. Stook. 
Sir, I have nothing to say to you, you are strangely troublesome, To Hotspur. Dat last again, I beseech you Monsieur.  To T. Romance. Stock. 
Who leaves his Place there, Will. Hotspur, What a Plague dost stand brooding upon my Wife there for, prithee come and take thy Cup, and let the Squire alone, he has business with her, and so forth.  Hotsp. 
Business with her, Here's a damned Cuckoldly Son of a Whore, and so forth.  To Squeamish. Shink. 
When her is in Wales, look you, her could drink very good Metheglins with her Cousin Cadwallader, at the Three Red Herrings and Green Leeks in Monmouth; but now since her saw you, her Heart has done nothing but thump, thump, and then her does sigh so sadly, hay hoh, sighs. so that if her is obdurates and cruels, and will not love Shinkin, why then, alas, there is now way for her, look you, but hay ho!  Hotspur teizes Mrs. Stockjobb, she rises, and call out her Husband. Squeam. 
Love, Oh horrid! the very word is enough to fright me into an Apoplexy, would he would marry me, though— as I'm a Virgin.  aside. Mrs. Stock. 
By this Hand, I believe I could make Monsieur lay forty Wager, and buy Stock every hour, if it were not for dat rude Fellow dat come and disturb us.  Stock. 
Sayst thou so, Slapdash, Gad if I had known that, he should have found this way to the Door before now, an uncivil Person to come to a Citizen's Table and be well entertained, and yet ungratefully endeavour to hinder Business,— An idle Scoundrel, to stop the Source, the Life-blood of the City, Trade,— Gad I'll complain to my Lord Mayor immediately.  Hotsp. 
Now has that French Devil told some Lie or other of me, I'll lay my Life, Harkee Dick, art thou so very blind, as not to see thyself abused.  Stock. 
Yes, Yes, Sir, I do see myself abused,— and so forth,— Squire Thomas, prithee come hither, Look, Pogry has informed me, ye are a very ingenious Person, and love Business, Look, what she does I'll stand to, therefore pray go and Discourse her, she's at your Service.  Hotsp. 
Oh Wittol Coxcomb, what does he mean.  Hotspur goes to hinder 'em, and Stockjobb interposes. Stock. 
Pray, Sir, no interruption.  Hotsp. 
'Dsdeath, to say publicly thy Wife's at his Service.  Stock. 
Upon the Score of Trade Sir, and so forth, I know what I do, I warrant you.  Hotsp. 
The Devils grin at me, I have no Patience, Scoundrel, hands off.  hinders him again. Stock. 
Slapdash, hold her fast Squire Thomas, I give my Authority, why this is a breach both of our Charter and Customs; that a Citizen of London shan't have the Privilege to dispose of his own Wife, for a Hectorly Fellow of t'other end of Town; Gad I'll complain to my Lord Mayor, the first thing I do.  Shink. 
To take the Wife from the Husband, before his Face, is more than you can justify, Williams, that is very true.  Hotsp. 
Thou art a fery Ass, Pox on thee for a cracked Welsh Harp, Hold your jarring, or—  Stock. 
No, No, I'll take a Course for this hereafter; In the mean time Pegry, since this rude Masterless Companion disturbs us here, my Chamber within is private, there you may settle Affairs, and so forth; Go, go in with her Squire Thomas, and because no body shall disturb ye, I'll lock ye up do see, and keep the Key myself.  Hotsp. 
'Dsheart, I shall run mad, why dolt, Madman, wilt thou lock her up with him too.  Stock. locks 'em in. Stock. 
Upon the Score of Trade, and so forth, I'll show for once the Husband's Privilege, without your leave Sir.  Hotsp. 
Trade, Ay there is a rare Trade going forward; Oh intolerable Cuckold!  Stock. 
Come Sir, you are a Scandalous t'other end of Town Fellow, and my Lord Mayor shall know it; you shall know that a Citizen of London understands what's proper for Business: Cousin Sisse, take you your Gentleman into another Room; nay, nay, no Squeamish trick now, but go, since ye are molested here, I will have Business go forward in a place that's proper.— Go, go you after Sir, I'll be with ye anon.  pushes 'em in. Hotsp. 
Ay, ay, There's the Trade going forward too, this is Stockjobbing with a Vengeance.  Stock. 
Pogry will draw her Fool into some device or other, I am sure, and now I have finished this Affair so discreetly, I'll leave this Hector to chew the Cud by himself, and go and drink a Dish of Coffee with a good Neighbour, a Common Council-man, and Brother Stockjobber.  Exit. looking scornfully on Hotspur. Hotsp. Solus. 
A Curse on your City Understanding, and Destruction seize that Jilt, that tortures me with Love, though I resolve to hate her,— damned infamous Creature, that Yesterday, as common as a Hireling, would have met my Appetite half way, and cherished it, now taken with a young pert noisy Coxcomb, deserts me without Blushing; but this senseless Wittol, her Husband, shall know, what a Snake he Fosters, before I have done with him.  

And whilst his City jobbing he's pursuing,  
I'll show him where▪ s another jobb a doing.   Enter Quickwitt dressed like a Quaker, and Marmalet after him. Quick. 
So, I think there's none of the Quaking Fraternity but will own I have mimicked their Dress well, and play but thy part right Child, that we may revenge ourselves upon this Cunnington that has so abused us, and though I may chance to be no Duke, I'll be a King to thee in my good will, my Love Child shall be beyond all Titles and Preferment.  Marm. 
Ah sweet Mr. Quickwit, the Rascal has asked my Pardon since, but I shall never forgive him for it; for, will you believe me, I have cried about that Business till I have been as wet as if I had been dipped in a Pail of Water, to think that I should lift up my Hand against—  Quick. 
Well, well, 'tis all forgot.  Marm. 
To dare Cudgel the Man that—  Weeps. Quick. 
Well, well, 'twas all Accident, prithee no Tears.  Marm. 
The Man I love so tenderly—  Weeps Quick. 
Enough, prithee enough,— I believe thee.  Marm. 
So tenderly, so very tenderly—  howling out. Quick. 
A Pox o'your Tenderness, There is no Plague under Heaven so tormenting as one of these old Cats, when she pretends to make Love; come, prithee no more of this Foolery Child, but let us go on with our Plot upon Cunnington; Let me see what's the Quakers Name that I'm to Act.  Marm. 
Zechiel, an't please ye Sir, my old Lord Fullworths' Steward, my mistress's Father.  Quick. 
Zechiel, very good, and one that you say has been trusted with all the Writings of her Estate.  Marm. 
He has indeed, at whose House, Sir Charles' (having found her as he thinks a little more pliant to his Sons Address) intends to meet her this Afternoon, to discourse about the Marriage, and to that purpose has given that Letter you have there to Cunnington to show the Doctor, who upon sight of it is to deliver my Lady to him, and a Note for fifty Guineas, which Sir Charles has ordered him.  Quick. 
Then you are sure Cunningman has seen this Letter.  Marm. 
Yes, An't please ye, and is merry beyond measure about his success of out witting you, he left it with me only whilst he is gone to disguise himself like a Quaker, for in no other Habit will Zechiel admit any one into his House, I expect him every Minute.  Quick. 
Ay, ay Child, Let him come now as soon as he pleases, we are prepared for him; and I think I am as much a Quaker as himself, or the Devil's in Iron Grace, the rest remains in thee to follow my Instructions, do but this Business neatly, and as for the other Business, thou worst of.  Marm. 
Ah Dear Sir, I swear you bring my Heart up to my very Mouth, I vow you do now, and I warrant ye Sir, for my part I▪ ve my Cue perfectly.  Quick. 
First then, instead of this Letter of Sir Charles, give him this of mine Child, to carry to the Doctor, 'tis sealed with a Wafer like it, and the Hand is Counterfeited, I'm sure, so exactly, 'tis impossible for him to discover that, then for the Contents let them operate at leisure.  Marm. 
With all my Heart Sir, and I rejoice from my very Soul that I can do any thing to pleasure you, and be revenged of him; Hark, here he comes; away Sir to your Closet, and when we go, be pleased to follow us, and you shall find me punctual to the least particular.  Quick. 
Do it but Cunningly, and if thou art a Maid by to Morrow Night, why then say,—  Marm. 
Ah sweet Sir, I understand ye to a Scruple, and Heaven bless ye; well I swear,— now my Hearts at my Mouth again.  Exit Dogget and Marm. Enter Quick. 
Ha, hah ha ha. I have been laughing at myself above this half hour, to see what a Figure I am; I have been Agent in a great many Intrigues in my life time, but never had any yet like this; this is a Masterpiece, a piece of Wit like Hains; for here have I insinuated myself so far into this grave Fool, Sr. Charles, by my subtle discovery of the late Affair; that he has trusted me in this Habit, to prepare the Old Quaker about the Writings, and aferwards to bring the Heiress herself to him— to him! Ha ha ha ha, there's the Jest now; and to receive as a Reward fifty Guinea's, ha' ha ha! Alas poor shallow Knight! little does he think what's hatching in this Brain of mine: for, what will I do now? but instead of carrying her to him, keep her myself, and make her Marry me, or Compound swingeingly, which is all one; there's Wit now! ha ha ha, there's Mischief! Gad I love Mischief dearly: And when I have had her three or four Nights, let her hang me afterwards if she can, or any one else for me.  Call Quick wit. Enter Marmalett. Marm. 
Come Sir, are ye ready? the Doctor's just gone home,— bless me, to see how Clothes will disguise one! Why? you look like a mere Ananias.  Cunning. 
Ha, ha, ha, don't I? Methinks I am filled with the out-going of the over-flowings, of the Bowel-yernings, and for the humh, and hah!  in a Cant. 
Let me alone. Come give me the Letter, and be assured, tho' I Joked a little the last time, yet I'll not fail to bring a better Business about, e'er long for thee.  Marm. 
Well, well Sir; go and dispatch your own first.  Cunning. 
An Heiress, and fifty thousand Pounds! Gad I'm a lucky Dog, ha, ha, ha.  Exeunt. Reenter Quickwitt. Quick. 
Here's a rare Rogue for ye; had not I discovered the Plot, he had betrayed his Trust, and got the Heiress for himself; but as things go, will miss of his aim damnably: Now for my Quaking Faculty I must make one amongst 'em.  Exit.  

SCENE 2.  Enter Fulvia and Christopher. Fulu. 

Oh Love! How many strange, and different ways  
Dost thou disturb the Quiet of our Minds?  
If amongst all the Race of Male Deceivers,  
With Curious search we chance to find out one,  
That we can fancy Honest; some cross Doubt  
Straight fills us, with a fear he may prove Haggard,  
And then, Alas! we split against a Rock.  
That ruins us for ever: I dreamt last Night,  
Frederick was False, Sordid and Mercenary:  
And that he only loved me for my Fortune;  
I give no credit to sleeps Idle Whimsies:  
But yet it strangely troubles me— now Christopher.  
What Noise is that within?   Christo. 
And 't please ye, some new Lunatics last Night brought hither.  Fulvia. 
Prithee what are they.  Christo. 
A spindle-legged French Tailor; That ever since the Wars, being at a loss how to get New Fashions for his whimsical Customers, Fatigued his Brain so much, that he grew crazed upon it.  Fulu. 
What, others'?  Christo. 
A superannuated Maid of threescore and three; who being promised Marriage by a young Fellow of one and twenty, at the very Conceit on't ran Mad for Joy.  Fulvia 
Alas for her well who else?  Christo. 
A Covent-Garden Beau, who being obliged to make a Song upon his Mistresses Paraquite, and sitting up three Days and three Nights, not being able to produce one tolerable Thought at the Conceit of losing her Favour, lost the small remainder of his own Senses.  Fulvia. 
So, what more?  Christo. 
A kept Miss, who being discarded by her resenting Lord, fell distracted, not for the loss of my Lord, but for her five pound a Week.  Fulvia. 
Go on.—  Christo. 
A Vintner whom his Customers had poisonned with making him taste his own Wine— besides a Quaker who is now coming in hear with my Master, of whom he'll give a better account himself.  Enter Guiacum, with a Letter, Cunnington and Marmalett. Cun. 
I hope Dr. you need no further satisfaction in the truth of my Commission; be pleased therefore to let the Lady get ready with all possible speed, and the Note too for the fifty Guinea's; I shall have present occasion for  Guiac. 
Very well, Sir, I understand ye— Christopher—  whispers. Cunning. 
Christopher! what has Christopher to do in the Business? This is a strange, Old Formal Coxcomb: He cannot blow his Nose without his Man— Doctor, I must desire you to be as speedy as you can; for I've another part to act, as you may perceive by my Habit: And what a Character Sir Charles gives me, I suppose you find in the Letter.  Guiac. 
Yes, Sir; yes; he has given ye a notable Character: here indeed, Christopher, go presently, and bid the Barber come hither to shave his Head.  Cunning. 
Your Servant Doctor; no Faith; that will be a Courtesy a little unseasonnable at present, by reason of my haste.  Guiac. 
Alas, Poor Fellow! yet stay a little Christopher, where is his Master? Let him be called in First.  Cunning. 
My Master—  Marm. 
He is at the door an't please you; I'll go and fetch him; alas! I'll run Ten Miles on my bare Feet, to do the poor fellow any good.  Cun. 
hay day! is she bewitched too? what a Plague do they mean? come, come Doctor, the Note quickly; and Madam Pray dispatch, I've a world of business to do, before Night yet.  Fulu. 
'Dslife! this is the most comical fellow, I ever saw.  Guiac. 
Oh! the dellirium is very strong upon him; d'ye hear Christopher? bid your fellows make haste to strip him, and get ready the Canvas Shape, that he may have nothing to tear; and a pair of the strongest Fetters for his Legs; d'ye hear? For Sir Charles informs me here, he is by fits very outrageous.  Cun. 
Fits, and outrageous? the Devil's in 'em all, sure: I know what's in the Letter well enough— come, come, this is no time for Jokes; Sir Charles will be impatient till the Lady comes, ye trifle, ye trifle, 'dsdeath! I should have been with him by this time.  Guiac. 
This is a very Rogue, but I'll manage him presently.  aside. Fulv. 
Here's like to be good sport if it holds.  Guiac. 
The Letter says too, he will be very Mischievous towards the Change o'th' Moon, which is this Evening, but that's no great matter, I can disable him from that by a good Whipping: He shall have 300 lashes upon the Belly.  Cunning. 
The Devil, I shall,— 'dsheart how I tremble— nay, nay, if you pursue the Banter, and intent to affront Sir Charles, there's no more to be said, I must Inform him, and there's an end on't; But that Letter to my knowledge says otherwise: I'm sure I read it this Morning, the most sweet, Civil Complimental thing on my side that ever was penned.  Guiac. 
No doubt on't, Sir, no doubt on't: Can you read?  gives him the Letter Cunning. 
Read; Ha, ha, ha! what a Pox does he take me for one of the Blackguard? This Coxcombly Doctor's crazed himself, I'll be hanged else— read! yes, yes, you shall find I can read,  Guiac. 
Proceed then.  Cunning. 
Doctor, 'tis proper that I let you know, I have made another discovery of a Plot, to carry off the Lady you have in Custody. This Rogue, that I send here with this Letter.  Reads the Letter aloud. Guiac. 
Go on, Sir, go on: I perceive you can read admirably, (being one of the Principal Contrivers,— this is Witchcraft. I cannot believe my own Eyes.  * Reads. Fulvia. 
Really as you say, Doctor; for a Crazed Person, the Man reads to a miracle.  Cunning. 
What Crazed Person, Madam? 'dsdeath! I shall run Mad indeed, if this trade hold.  Guiac. 
Come Sir, to the next Paragraph.  Cunning. 
He was formerly a Sharper, and whither he be mad or no; I desire you to use him as such, for he's one of the greatest Rascals in the whole World,— as his Master will better inform thee:— 〈◊〉 my Mr. again.  Reads. Guiac. 
Sir Charles gives ye a notable Character, you see Sir.  Cunning. 
'Dsheart Doctor! 'tis all Villainy, Witchcraft, Cunjuration; I'm abused.  Guiac. 
The Fetters quickly, Christopher, he begins to Rave, oh! here's his Master.  Enter Quickquit Mimicking, a Quaker and Marmalett. Cunning. 
Death, and Hell! what Son of a Whore's this— I'm at my Wit's end.  Guiac. 
Come Friend, you must inform the Nature of his Madness, that I may Minister accordingly.  Quick. 
Plainly, since that ungodly season, that I first perceived that the Spirit of truth was departed from him, I relinquished him, often seriously pondering upon his State of Reprobation, which plainly I find is worthy be Comiserted by all the Brethren and Sisters of the faithful.  Cunning. 
Oh! Rogue, I know him now,— Doctor you're abused, Imposed upon, tricked, this is no more a Quaker than I am. This is an Arch Cheat this is—  Quick. 
Aw Satan, Satan! great, great, is thy power.  Bawls in a loud Canting Tone. Guiac. 
He Raves again, take hold of him, and stop his mouth there.  Quick. 
The Tempter is very powerful in him, he turneth and windeth him which way he listeth, he goeth into his mouth like a Rat, with a great Head and a long Tail, and exalteth his voice within, in Curses and Exclamations hum! give me the Engine Woman with which we used to resist the Tempter.  Marm. 
Here 'tis an't please ye; put this into his mouth— and Satan can have no Power.  they gag him here. Quick. 
Plainly, I have been informed he hath been trained up in the School of Sin vulgarly called the Play House, where the Devil Adorneth himself with toys and trappings, where the Ears are misinformed and the Eyes misled, where the frail Son of Man caresieth the Woman inordinately, where he tempteth her to Midnight Gluttony; and whispereth into her unhallowed things.  Marmalett whispers Fulvia. Fulvia 
My Heart is ready to leap out to thee for Joy, for he does it so Naturally 'tis impossible he should be discovered,— how the Fool the Doctor looks too?  aside. Quick. 
Moreover, observe, how outrageously the old Dragon teareth him.  Struggles. Guiac. 
Ay, ay, 'tis time to begin,— away with him, and give him the Lashes I ordered.  Quick. 
Plainly it behooveth thee Well, that the Spirit of Truth may once more return; and the old Man be rooted out,— now Rogue I think I'm even with thee——  aside to— who kicks and strives to speak Quick. 
Aw— Satan, Satan, great is thy Power.  Bawls out aloud and is hurried out. 
But now, to the remaining part of my Charge, I am to Conduct a Woman from hence, a sinful Woman as it appeareth to me, who causeth with her transitory Wealth and Beauty, strange Appetites, Boiling and Fermenting in the Heart of Man.  Guiac. 
Well Friend, no more enlarging upon that Subject; here is Sir Charles's Order in this Letter, who it seems is at a Garden-House here hard by; therefore Madam— you had best make haste; you need no disguise but your Masque, for he says there is a private back way to't which this honest Man has only knowledge of.  Quick. 
Plainly, thou sayest it.  Fulvia. 
Was there ever so admirable a Fellow? I'm scarce able to contain myself from laughing out.  Aside. Quick. 
Come, young Woman, and let thy steps be guided soberly: Give me thy Carnal hand; hah! verily it is exceeding white, and hath an alluringness in the Palm thereof, which is, as it were, provoking: Ha! this is it now, which stroaketh the Forehead of Transgression till it become Masterless, and girdeth us into the Labyrinth of Misconstruction, from whence we seldom or never come forth ourselves.  Exit, leading Fulvia. Guiac. 
What an odd sort of a Canting Rascall's this? and what a does here with one Woman that has Money? gad I've a Daughter of my own at home has sat pricking upon a clout at home this Seven Years, and no one has come to her, but an Attorny's Clerk, and City Groser; when this here is beset with all degrees, Ages and Religions— well, 'twill be always so; and where the Honey is, there will the Gnatts, Hyes, and Infects be buzzing together,— Christopher— my Cloak,— I'll take a little Air, and then see how— the Wedding goes forward.  Exit.  

SCENE 3.  Enter T. Romance and Shinkin. T, Rom. 
Gad take me, this was the most Comical adventure that ever the City was famous for, to lock us up with his Wife, and Niece upon the score of Trade: why? 'tis an Action ought to be known to Posterity and worthy to be Chronicled in the City Annals.  Shink. 
Her Cousin Siss, was ferry familiar too when her was alone; there was no pish, nor fie, nor pray be quiet, look you— only some little frowns and repukes, put ferry kind looks for all that St. Davy.  T. Rom. 
If I had not been obliged to meet my Father here, I would not have left my little French woman this two hours, but he is so hot upon't to make me Marry this Heiress, that he spoils my humour of Intreaguing quite, gad take me.  Shink. 
Pray you see, where he comes yonder with the Lady that they call the crete Wit of Richmond, she that talks, and discourses, and Jeers, and laughs, and makes Fools of all the Town by Cadwallader.  Enter Sir. Charles and Sophronia. T. Rom. 
By this Light, she's a rare Creature: 'dsheart I'm in Love with her up to the Ears already; why? she's finer than my little French Woman by half: ay Gad or my Lord's Daughter either, or my Wife that is to be; or my Knight's Lady at Cue; or Jenny in Lombard Street; or my Widows Daughter; or my Sempstress, my Chambermaid or any of 'em: I'll write her a Bilet deux immediately, Gad take me.  Shink. 
hay Gadsplutt! her will have more Women than the crete Turk has at this Rate, look you.  Sr. Char. 
Yonder's my Son, Madam; and I am very glad to find you so well disposed, to the Marriage between him and your Kinswoman; for though she has lately entertained some volatile Humours, which Youth may very well Excuse: Yet the Principal Verbs, her Wit and Virtue, so far counterpoise that.  Soph. 
Her Estate you mean, Sir Charles does so far Counterpoise that—  S. Char. 
That the Candour of my Nature obliges me to dislike all other offers for him that are not possessed with her—  Soph. 
With her— Land and Houses.  Sr. Char. 
Good Qualities, Madam, having been since my Noble Lords Death, her Father, a true honourer of her for her Extraction, merit and—  Soph. 
And Money; is not that a Principal Verb too, Sir Charles?  T. Rom. 
A delicate Rogue; what an Air and Shape she has? Cousin, Rise prithee turn about a little.  takes out Pen, Ink and Paper, and writes on Shinkin's Back Sir. Char. 
Money, Madam! What the dirty Slave of our Conveniency? She has hit it to a hair, gad for all that; aside. can any Moral Man that has his Reason, build his Content on such a Trifle.  Soph. 
Oh Sir, take this from me, since the Golden Age, the World has lost those Moral Men you speak of: Money is now the Soul o'th' Universe: The Statesman, Commoner, and Countryman, Physician, Lawyer, Citizen, Priest, greedily damn their own for't every day; the man that's Rich must be accomplished too, his Apish Tricks are Gentleman like Carriage, his silly speeches called refined and Witty, if he be Prodigal they style him generous, if Covetous, a close, wise wary fellow, if he detracts or Lies, he's a fine Courtier, if Blasphemous, a Wit, if finnical a Beau, if drunk, he's then a merry Jolly Fellow, or if unmanly Lewd, a Rare Companion.  T. Rom. 
Ah that dear Sweet little Honey prating Tongue,— would I had it a little here, and if a stranger may have privilege to affirm his passion; very good, gad take me.  Read's his Paper, and writes again. Shink. 
I pray you now Cousins make haste, for her has an Intrigue too, look you, her has promised to meet her Cousin Siss, at seven Precisely.  Sir Char. 
If Money has these flourishing attributes Madam, what then must virtue have the chiefest good.  Soph. 
Faith, just, quite contrary, for virtue Sir is generally poor, and Poverty can give no Bribe for Praise, the virtuous Man that's poor, must be a Fool, a wretched sort of an uncurrant Coin, that few or none will deal with; Tho he be wise, his best opinion is thought ignorance, his talk ridiculous, his Person hated, he still fares worst, yet pays the dearest for it; has he a cause at Law? it shall be lost, has he a Claim in Love? he shall be Jilted, his Ingenuity is worse than Witchcraft, and every venial Error past forgiveness.  Reads. T. Rom. 
And if I Love ye not better than both my Eyes, may I be poisoned like a Rat at your Chamber door and be accounted the verriest Son of Whore in the World, instead of your most passionately devoted most humble, and most obsequious Slave, Thomas Romance▪ gad take me, there I came off like an Angel.  Sir Char. 
What a Devil is he making mouths at yonder, how now Tom what are you doing there?  T. Rom. 
'D●…life if he sees it I'm ruined; nothing Sr. I'm only casting up a Tailor's Bill a little, that the Rogue mayn't cheat me.  aside. Sir Char. 
A tailor's Bill, prithee leave of those trifles and prepare to entertain your Mistress whom I expect here instantly; with all you ought to thank this Lady too, her kinswoman, who gives ye her good liking.  T. Rom. 
Her good liking, gad, would I had it upon her own score; now what would I give that it were sealed? this were A Rare time to clap it into her hand.——  aside. Soph. 
That he has Sir. Charles, he may assure himself, or any one else so that Traitor Frederick be disappointed,— let me but frustrate his design and let the rest fall of't, as fortune pleases.  aside. Enter Guiacum. Guiac. 
Sir Charles here? they have dispatched their business very quickly I see.  Sir. Char. 
Oh Doctor! welcome; you're come in Admirable time, but where's my Daughter?  Guiac. 
I hope she's not far of Sir, you are a better guardian than to trust her in ill hands.  Sir Char. 
Therefore, I recommended her to yours— where, where, is she?  Guiac. 
Ha, ha, ha, this is fine merriment, why Sir? I desire to know, and whether she seems pleased since I sent— her to ye?  Sir Char. 
Sent her to me! 'dsdeath, what does he mean.  Guiac. 
Nay, what do you mean then? sye, sye, Sir Charles; am I a subject fit to make a Jest on?  Sir. Char. 
Thou makest me Mad, to hear thy Riddling; I sent for her by Cunnington, dressed like a Quaker, who was to bring her to Old Zechiell, her Father's Steward, where we have waited long, but no one came.  Guiac. 
Why Sir? I gave her to that Quaker, and obeyed the orders in your Letter here, for Punishing the Impostor, that had contrived to Steal her.  Gives him the Letter. Sir Char. 
Impostor, what Impostor? here's some Trick by Heaven.  Soph. 
Read, Read the Letter, oh Confusion! how my Heart beats?  Sir Char. 
Tricked, Ruined, Cheated, abused; this is none of my Letter, nor any of my orders; some subtle Devil has Counter-feited Cunnington, and on my life carried her off to Frederick.  Soph. 
Destruction seize the World; to Frederick did ye say, to Frederick?  Sir Char. 
It must be so, he has doubtless given her to that other Cunning Rogue, and punished him: I sent for a feigned mischief.  Guiac. 
What e'er has chanced is Fortune's fault not mine; that Quickwit is the Devil, and can Act in such variety of Shapes, Hell cannot balk his Cunning.  T. Rom. 
Very fine; so I perceive I am like to lose my Heiress again; but 'tis no great matter, for I've another new Intrigue, and that's all one to me, gad take me.  Shink. 
Here is such Cousining, and Cheats, and Tricks, that Shinkin knows not what to make on't by St. Davy.  Soph. 
Torture and Death; this is the greatest Plague, the fiends could e'er Invent to vex my Soul: he has her now and without doubt laughs at me.  T. Rom. 
hay, mettle to the back too,— gad take me, I'll warrant her.  Guiac. 
The Fifty Guineas too, no doubt are paid by this time: this was a damned subtle Rogue.  Soph. 
Nay never hide thyself, take one good wish first; may thy dull resty Age increase diseases, the Palsy, Gout, Snattica, and Stone, and have no better Doctor than thyself, as for the Attributes of Fool and Cuckold, I need not grace thee with 'em; those thou hast already, but mayst thou have none but Sailor's Wives for Patients, and those so Raving Mad that in their Fits each one may long to have a piece of thee, and Tear thee as the Thracians, once did Orpheus, or I could now, thou Paralytic insect.  to Guiacum, shakes him by the Collar. Enter Cunnington with a Quarterstaff, his Face all smutty, and he dressed in Canvas. Cunning. 
O Villain! Dog, Doctor, are you there? I'll knock his Head off.  Guiac. 
More Mischief yet! I shall be murdered now, that's certain.  Sir Char. 
How, this! is't possible? What, my Friend Cunnington? nay if he were not an old Coxcomb, thou shouldest have thy pennyworths out of him; that's certain, for we perceive he deserves it richly; but prithee how got'st thou off; I was just sending to thee.  Cunning. 
Why, as good luck would have it, just before they had time to Chain me, I made shift to climb up the Chimney; what kicks and Buffets I've endured for— you shall know at more leisure: I have only now Breath and time to tell ye, that if you follow me quickly, you may recover the Heiress again.  Speaks as out of Breath. Sir Char. 
Ha,— what sayst thou?  Soph. 
Oh thou blessed Angel of a Fellow, go on.  Cunning. 
From the top of the Chimney, as I was trying to get down, casting my Eyes to a little Garden house, not far off, who should I see? but that Rogue in a Quakers habit, with Sir Quibble and Frederick leading your Daughter cross a Gravel Walk into an Arbour.  Soph. 
And hast thou marked the place, thou Charming Creature?  Cun. 
Most carefully.  Soph. 
Ha! and shall we get her? speak, speak, thou precious.  Cunning. 
I tell ye, ye shall.  Soph. 
What from Frederick? hah! what sayst thou? speak quickly thou Cherubin.  Cunning. 
Oons from Frederick? from all 'em: ye little Brisk pretty Black-eyed— what a pox, will she Ravish me?  Sir Char. 
Thanks Fortune, that was unexpected.  Cunn. 
Which you should never have known if I could have carried her off myself.  aside. Sir Char. 
Let's away instantly and fetch the Constable and Watch; come, Tom, and Cousin.  Soph, 
Oh Heaven! this is the happiest turn.  Exeunt. Guiac. 

For me it is upon a double Score,  
I else had lost one Member, if no more.   Exit.  

SCENE. 4.  Enter Sir Quibble, Fulvia, Dogget and Marmalett Fred. 
This is the happiest moment of my Life.  Embracing Fulvia. Sir Quib. 
And mine too, I'll say't.  Embracing her too. Fulvia 
That was a very close hug; the Knight out does ye Sir Extremely in his Carresses.  to Fred. Fred. 
Is not the Parson come yet? dull heavy fellow, how can he loiter so.  Sir. Quib. 
Ay, what's his Name, pray Brother when is he to come, and what is he doing all this while.  Fred. 
Ridiculous questions! what shall I do with him Tom?  Quick. 
I don't know the Fool begins to smell the Trick and grows Impertinent upon't.  Fulvia 
You must discover the truth to him, for he's so brisk upon me, there's no enduring him.  Sir Quib. 
Why then, Madam? I'll say't, I believe you mistake your Man, this Gentleman is my Brother; Madam, 'tis I am your Knight; Madam, 'tis, I am he that is to do the favour.  Fulvia 
My Knight, ha, ha, ha.  Fred. 
Ha, ha, ha— her Knight! Oh fie Brother, you know yourself and the Lady better sure.  Marm. 
Sir Quibble expresses himself very Comical in troth, ha, ha, ha, ha.  Sir Quibb. 
hay damn, why what d''ee laugh at all so, and where's the Joak? I'll say't I can find none: Why, am not I to marry the Lady Mrs. Quickwit? and must not I be then her Knight?  Quick. 
No, no, Sir Quibble there was another Design in't from the beginning.  Fulvia. 
Alas Sir, what should you do with a Wife? when d'ye think you should get her to be of your side? where would you find an Humour that would be suitable to ye? and why would you prove the Fatal Consequence of disagreeable Marriage, Sir; there's four questions, now answer me quickly.  Fred. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha—  Sir Charles. T. Romance, Shink. Guiac. Constable. Sir Quibb. 
Pray, Madam, hold yourself contented a little; harkee Brother, han't I laid out a hundred and fifty Pounds about this business?  Fred. 
Within a small matter, I think; why sure you don't grudge to do a small kindness for your Brother?  Sir Quibb. 
No, but to part with ones Mistress to ones Brother, is a little too much, tho' I'll say't; therefore I must tell ye plainly, Brother, I won't do't.  Quick. 
You see the Lady is uneasy, Sir Quibble.  Sir Quibb. 
Ay, 'tis all one for that, keep you your distance too, or I'll say't I shall so tan your Quakers hide, I shall make ye act your Play but ill when you come to't again else; why sure? tho' I have been led by the Nose a little, and laid out my Money, I can't tell how, I won't lose my Mrs.— ye Lobrocks what a Plague I am not such a Fool neither?  Quick. 
If this blunt Fool should beat us both now, 'twould be a pretty jest?  Fred. 
Nay then, there's no time for delays; let go her hand and presently, or I'll run my Sword into your Heart.  Sir Quibb. 
Why then, I'll run mine into your guts; let go my Mistress: No I an't such a Fool neither I tell ye: Odzooks I'll keep her in spite of ye, hoh hoh.  He prepares to fight awkerdly, then Enter Sir Charles, T. Romance, Shinkin Guiacum— Sophronia with Constable and Watch. Sir Char. 
Will ye so, Sir? that's more than you can promise long, and so have at ye.  Sir Quibb. 
Nay then, stand to't Brother; I'm of thy side again now, I'll say 't.  Fight here, and frederick's Party is beaten off then. Reenter Sir Charles, T. Rom. Shinkin with his Head broke; Guiac. Cunnington, Sophronia, Constable and Watch with Fulvia retaken. Sir Charles. 
So, you are ours once again, in spite of Fortune. How now Cousin, what Wounded?  Shink 
A Plague take your Confounded English Customs, look you, that you cannot get your Wives and your Marriages, but a Shentleman must have his Pate and his Brains beaten out about it? well fare her own Country I say, the Prittains' have not such Pribbles and Prabbles, and broken Pates by Cadwallader.  

When any Prittain pargains for his Spouse;  
He brings so many Seep, so many Cows:  
The Bridegroom tells the Pride his Love's intent,  
And she kind Fool as quickly gives Consent.  
No Swords, Cads plutt, nor Cudgels there prevails;  
But kiss and Couple, that's the Way in Wales.     

ACT. V.  

Scene. 1.  Enter Frederick, Quickwitt, and Marmalett. Fred. 
HAD ever Man such Cause to Curse his Fortune? to be so near the longed for happiness, and then to lose it, doubles the vexation: Oh I could outrail now a losing Gamester; a cashiered Captain; or a Grumbler double Taxed.  Quick. 
And I, a Suburb Bawd just come from Garting: A Plague of my Quakers shape here; if I had not looked so like a Rogue, on my Conscience I had thriven better.  Marm. 
I'm sure my loss is irrecoverable, for I must ne'er hope to come into Favour with Sir Charles again, but then the Consolation I have in your sweet promise, Sir, does I confess allay—  to Doggett. Quick. 
O prithee good Spouse that must be; no more Love now, my Bones smart a little too much at present, to let me entertain any Amorous Motions— Ah Plague of their Rusty Bills; that Rogue Cunningman took care they should all fall on me still; but what's most Comical? As I was running off after you, he comes up to me and with a grave Face, as if he had known nothing of the matter, invites me to drink a stand of Ale with him this Evening at Numpses.  Fred. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha— and wilt thou go?  Quick. 
Ay by this Light will I; and if I can mould that dull headed Fellow once more rightly, my Witty Antagonist shall have but little cause to boast his late success— come Courage, Sir; they shall make Paste of my Bones with their Battoons ere I give up a Cause I've undertaken, whilst my Brains lie in their right place: This Evening will prove all, till then farewell— If I get the Dice once on my side— the Golds my own yet; I've Art enough to manage them I'm sure.  Exit. Marm. 
I must follow him and put him once more in mind.  Fred. 
If Fulvia were Heiress apparent to the Universe, there could not be more Wit nor diligence used obout her. This is the third time our Confederate Forces have been repulsed: And Faith were I not sensible the Castle were stored: with the best sort of Ammunition, tempting Gold? I think I should have long since raised the Siege: I must confess myself to be of that Pagan Opinion, that there is no one Quality belonging to a Woman, unless it be her Money that can countervail a Man's playing the Fool in Courting her a Month for: This was my Plea with Sophronia once, who has some simple passionate Papers of mine still, that I wish I had out of her hands; my deserting was not so very just its true, but than 'twas very profitable, and this damned Money has power to make a Rogue of a Man, often times Constancy, that's most certain?  Exit.  

SCENE 2.  Enter Sophronia and Fulvia. Soph. 
Nay if you're in a Passion, I'll desist, but if you'll hear, I'll prove it?  Fulvia. 
What, that Frederick's false! Oh 'tis ridiculous Malice, and I'll not believe it: I know she loved him herself once, and this is now the product of her Poph.  Aside. Soph. 
False as Brieno to Olimpia in the Story, base, Mercenary, the worst degree of Falsehood.  Fulvia. 
Ha ha, ha, ha! you rave, you rave, Cousin; I pity ye; pray go home and let blood, you are dangerously distempered take my word.  Soph. 
Not with thy Disease, Child, I'm sure; I swear I would not have it for the World.  Fulvia. 
You talk as if I had the Gout or Palsy, or a long Family Rhumatism, that distinguished the Blood of my Relations for ten Ages: What Diseease is't you mean— take heed of Scandel Cousin?  Soph. 
Nay, do you take heed on't Cousin? for the Disease that I mean, has generally some Infection that way, 'tis called a Masculine Calenture, or the Plague of Man-loving; it often seizes upon. Creatures of thy Age, and is of that strange Nature, that it dulls and Numbs the Brains as if they were froze, which must be chased and warmed a long time by Reason and Argument, or else the Patient will never return to her right Senses.  Fulvia. 
Lord, that's a terrible Disease indeed, but yet for all its violence, I have Brains enough left to see a distemper in you too, Cousin; 'tis the Plague of Greediness, and you use me as the great Sister in a Country Cottage does the lesser; you would pack me to Bed without any Supper, because you have a mind to my Bread and Butter.  Soph. 
No, no, Child, the Case differs between us extremely, some may feast with a Rasher upon the Coals, whilst others keck at the very smell: And I must have thy Stomach before I can be greedy of thy Diet.  Fulvia. 
Come, come, Cousin, you have stomach enough, nay indeed so much that you grow sullen with it, and like a little Child, won't eat your Meal till you see the Plate ready to be given away to another; for as homely a bit as you make of that Rasher, if I am mot mistaken in the Morsel, you would be glad of it to relish your Morning's Draught, and for all your Course Name of Rasher, tartly think it a Gnatt or a Wheat-ear.  Soph. 
If Frederick be the Wheat-Ear you mean? I had rather have an Old Caoon at the latter end of july.  Fulvia. 
Ah, you shall never banter me with that— you'd think him a young Pheasant at the latter end of October, if you had him, to my knowledge?  Soph. 
I think him, prithee if his Spesies were chnaged, and he were turned into a Cormorant, a Buzzard, or an Owl, 'twere all one to me.  Fulvia 
Any thing but the Capon, Cousin, you were speaking of, I dare swear for all your Anger, you have too much Charity, to wish him turned into that.  Sophr. 
It does so little concern my Charity, that I should like my Hen with Eggs very well without any trouble, to know they should never come to be Chickens, and consequently Cocks of the Game. Besides there is so much ill Blood begot now a days, and so many Strains Crossed, that if, for the Future, the Sex were all Capons, I question whether the King would lose e'er a good Subject by't.  Fulvia 
This is your Satirical Vein now. Oh! how you Fatten yourself with this humour, just like a Noncon, that rails at Episcopacy, not or any just reason, but through self willed Opinion, and ridiculous Envy; else why is Frederick still the Theme of Railing?  Soph. 
Oh! thou ungrateful Creature, have I not told thee? 'tis through kindness to thee.  Fulvia 
To me, rather say through Hatred to him, because he Loves me.  Soph. 
He Loves thee not, his baseness does deceive thee; Mercenary Soul Covets thy Fortune; thy Person is the least of all his wishes.  Fulvia 
Just so I dreamt indeed aside but 'tis Barbarity to doubt a Lover for an Idle dream; I'll not be so unjust, come, come, 'tis all Envy; and to deal freely with ye, I now must tell ye, I take it as an affront, not as a kindness.  Soph. 
That's always a Fool's humour, when they have not Brains enough to know the Courtesy, they term it an Affront.  Fulvia 
Well, for all your mighty Wit, this shall not get your Ends; I see your Hatred and your Envy to him, and consequently judge his Love to me: I'll Marry him in spite of all the World.  Soph. 
Thou shalt not Marry him, though all the World assist thee.  Fulvia 
How poor is this, and mean, because my merit appears above those in his deserving Eyes; thy Heart breeds venom, and thy Slanderous Tongue, dissension between Lovers.  Soph. 
Lovers! Damnation, how She Tortures me? I tell thee once more thou deceived poor Creature; he does not Love thee, nor cannot Marry thee if he would, which is a secret; nothing but sweet revenge could e'er draw from me.  Fulvia 
What, will you Cunjure? shall your plain dealing Faculty Convert itself to Magic? or d''ee carry a little Familiar under your Girdle, to Enchant us upon occasion; which way will you do this?  Soph. 
That e'er the Clock sound Midnight thou shalt know; in the mean time, let thy Young Hotbrained wild unthinking Head remember this from me.  

Love may seem great, that in its self is small;  
Looks cover thoughts and interest governs all:  
When Damon to an Heiress speaks kind things,  
'Tis not for what she is, but what she brings.   Exit. Fulvia 
She has so much moved the passion in my Soul, my Eyes can scarce contain it? what discovery she can make, I know not, but long to be resolved; 'tis true, we have had so many lets and troubles in this business; as if Providence itself disliked the proceedings; but still this is no proof; besides he has Sworn his faithful Love so often, 'twere infamous and dishonourable to doubt it.  Enter Sir Charles and Stockjobb. Sir Charles. 
Madam, I need not tell you my resentments, nor how I relish your ungenerous dealings; you have reason enough to guests, and after guessing, have wit enough to make me satisfaction.  Fulvia 
Well, Sir Charles, consideration you know, ne'er comes too late.  Sir Charles. 
Right, Madam, and to show you that I practise it myself, I will forget your late Discoveries, and once more address myself, an humble Suitor on my Son's behalf.  Fulvia 
I will consider of it, mean time, believe this fairness of your Temper wins me more, than all your plots and Stratagems before.  Stock. 
Come, come; Slapdash, 'twill be a Match faith, and so forth; gad I'll say this for Squire Thomas, he's a Notable person, as my wife informs me; she says he pushes forward into business mighty well; he'll be a great incourager of Trade, and so forth.  Sir Charles. 
I hope my Cander and my Love at last, will force ye to be grateful, and to show how much I prize a Reconcilement; this Night we will have Revels and a Ball, and I myself will drink one Glass the more, in honour of the Marriage.  Fulvia 
Marriage, Sir, is a thing of weight; but as I told ye, Sir, I will consider of it, and to that purpose beg the favour to retire a little.  Exit. Sir Charles. 
Do so, and rest yourself against the Evening, for Tom intends to lead ye a brisk measure i'faith— so I hope all will be right now, she seems considerative, which is one great step to Sentiment and Knowledge  Exit Sir Charles. Stock. 
Pugh! Slapdash, the woman has it in her head; now Sir Charles, all will go well I see't.  Enter Hotspur in haste. Hots. 
Now Sir, if you have any regard to your Honour, or the Reputation of a Citizen of London, as you have formerly flourished upon, come along with me, and you shall see what a Snake you have fostered up; or to speak in plainer Terms, you shall see what a Cuckold you are.  Stock. 
Come, you're a rude Hectorly tother end of Town fellow, I tell ye pray keep from my House: I a Cuckold because I promote business, and Manage my Wife wisely for the honour of the City; Sir, I scorn your words, for Gadzookes, I had rather be an Elephant.  Hotsp. 
But in the mean time, you are a Beast of another kind, which come but along with me, shall appear; I will show thee such things, such Monstrous things.  Stock. 
What you have seen Squire Thomas I warrant, go into my Wife's Chamber privately, or so; well what then? 'tis about business and so forth, she knows what she does I warrant her.  Hotsp. 
Ay, but you don't know what she does to my knowledge; come, come▪ you shall go, I have lodged 'em all yonder, the Welsh Fop, and his Skittish Devil too; your Rooms are all taken up and managed for the honour of the City, and so forth.  Stock. 
Why then they are managed according to my desire, and so forth. I defy any Citizen's Wife within the Wails, to have a better head for business than herself; for I'll hold a Hundred Pounds, she has drawn one of 'em into some lucky wager or other; nay, nay, prithee hold thy tongue; gad, if thou were't one of the Apostles, I'd believe nothing against Pogry and Squire Thomas, not I  Hots. 
Why then like an unbelieving Sotas thou art, come and use thy Eyes; nay, nay, no drawing back— by Heaven thou shalt go.  Stock. 
To laugh at thee, which I know I shall do and Damnably too, I a Cuckold,— as I said before I shall soon be an Elephant I'm sure.  Exeunt.  

SCENE. 3.  Enter T. Romance and Shinkin. T. Rom. 
Well, I believe I am an Orginal about Intrigue; I don't think there's the fellow of me in Europe; gad take me, for now is my Father thumping his Brains, and plotting to get this Heress for me, and here am I hunting about for Sophronia, upon another Intrigue: I conveyed a Letter to her just now, by putting it into the Service Book at Church, than dogged her home hither,— I must find her out, for I long to know the success on't.  Shink. 
Well, Shinkins was not much behind her in Intrigues, neither look you, for her Cousin Siss, was hide herself hereabouts too, who I find love's Corners and by places extremely, where gadsplut if Shinkin can find her, her will put her too't, for corners and by places are ferry full of temptation; but for all her putting too't, there shall be no Marriages in the Case by St. Davy, there her will peg her Pardon.  T. Rom. 
Why, that's spoke like a Man of Intrigue, gad take me, would I had my dear Angel here, that I am looking for in a Corner.  Enter Hotspurr and Stockjob listening. Hotsp. 
Softly, softly, take care they don't see ye, she's gone I find at present, but I know will soon return; in the mean time, pray observe the Dialogue between these two Coxcombs.  Stock. 
I shall observe to laugh at you Egregiously, that I shall and so forth.  T. Rom. 
Pogry stays so long that I see I must leave her, and go and seek out my new Charmer.  Hotsp. 
Pogry— de'e 'e hear, Sir, he begins already.  a part to Stock. Stock. 
Well Tom Fool, what o' that?  Shink. 
Fie, fie, to desert your intrigue so soon, was to show falsehoods and inconstancies, which is not like Man of honours, look you.  Hotsp. 
'Tis intrigue, pray mind that Hint too, Sir.  Stock. 
Jackanapes, what hint, ye Ass you, what Hint?  T. Rom. 
Pox on't, her over fondness every day tries me more than a Match at Tennis; here's a Locket she gave me this Morning, which it seems the Fool her Husband gave her Yesterday.  Stock. 
Humph,— humph.  T. Rom. 
A trifle worth about Fifty Pounds I believe, she teizes me with such Follies as these every minute almost.  Hosp. 
Look, Sir, so much for the encouragement of Trade, and so forth.  Stock. 
By the Lord Major, the very Lockett that I had of Sir Paul Poundage, the Goldsmith, to let him have share in my Project of the Catskin, oh! I am confounded, I cannot believe my Eyes.  Hotsp. 
Nay, pray Sir don't laugh too extravagantly, Squire Tomas is but opening the Jest yet.  T. Rom. 
But the jest best is, the Cuckold admits me into his Wife's Chamber every day, in hopes she will draw me in to lay wagers; when, gad take, me, the only one that ever laid or intent to lay, was a Brass Shilling against a good one, that her next Kid will be a Boy.  Hotsp. 
There Sir, what think, e of that wager too, has she not drawn him in rarely?  Stock. 
Oh Villian! tother End of Town Bully to ruin business too, that's worse than all; gad I'll speak to my Cousin Touchhole, a Captain of the Train-bands, to lend me a File of Musquetteers to Shoot the Rampant Dog through the Belly.  Hotsp. 
Nay, nay, have patience Dick, and done't hinder Trade I say.  Stock. 
Trade, gadzooks, this is the Devil of a Trade.  T. Rom. 
There's a light in the next Room, and ten to one Sophronia's there a lone, gad I'll go and see, Cloak and Hat lie you there; if Pogry comes in the mean time, let her stay, I have her so much at command, she dares not be angry with me.  Exit. Shinkin. 
Flimms and Flams, and put her too't,— hay Slapdash, why, this is Bawdy-house fashion right, the Welch-man's gone to tickle my Cousin Siss in the next Room too.  Hotsp. 
Ay that's all one, 'tis all to promote Trade you know, and for the honour of the City.  Stock. 
Oh Confusion to the City and all Trade, if this be the Fruits of wagering and stockjobbing, I have no Patience: I'll go to my Cousin Touchhole, immediately: I'll have a dozen Muskets at least.  Hotsp. 
Nay Faith, stay and see all now, for here's the good Wife coming through the Garden, and here's the Eopps Cloak and Hat left as opportunely to disguise thee, as if we had contrived it; here, here, on with it quickly and Practise his affected Gate, I warrant, you make some strange Discovery.  Stock. puts on his Cloak and Hat. Stock. 
nam, like enough, but gad I'll send her home again; if I do, she shall ship for Piccardy with the Next Wind— A Cuckold, Oons I had rather be an Elephant by half; but this comes of succouring French Refugees, with a Pox to 'em.  Enter Mrs. Stockjobb with jewels. Mrs. Stock. 
Ah dear Monsieur, I beg your Pardon vid all min Heart, dat I stay so long, but now I speak of mine Heart dat has been vid you all dis while, and I only stay to take de Convenience of the Fool my Husbands being out of the way, to bring off some small trifles of Gold and Jewels, which are dedicated to de Joy of my Soul, my Heart's Blood, my Treasure.  gives him the jewels. Stock. 
Slap dash, here's a French Devil for ye and so forth.  Mr. Stock. 
I am so fatigued vid dat Brute, dat I can have patience no longer, and derefore come to trow myself upon you, vid whom I will henceforth live and die, and whom I will follow all de World over.  Stock. 
Why? well said Pogry, rarely done, Pogry, go and be hanged Pogry, good Protestant Refugee, to Piccardy go, but the Gold and Jewels shall stay in England, ye Jade.  Uncloaks. Mrs. Stock. 
Oh Diable, vat dam misfortune is this?  Hots. 
Nothing, nothing, Madam, I know your Interest with Dicky, will turn the Scale immediately; this is all upon the score of Trade.  Stock. 
Oh Confound all Trade, Burn the Exchange, hang up all Wagerers and Stockjobbers, and the Devil take all business out of my doors, ye Whore; you are a Protestant, are ye?  Reenter T. Romance. T. Rom. 
Gad take me, I had like to have made a damn'n mistake yonder, for instead of Sophronia, who should I meet within there, but my Father and the Heiress, whom he has just carried to his own House, and Commanded me to follow— Ha, Dicky! how dost thou?  Stock. 
Why Dicky does wondrous well, Sir, as well as a Cuckold can Sir, that had rather be an Elephant there; there's Pogry too, go, go, manage your Trade together, lay another brass Shilling to a Copper one; Stockjob lay Wagers and be damned together, honest Squire Thomas, and I'll go to my Cousin Touchhole and get you mawled, Dogbolt, if I can, for all that, and so farewell t'e.  Exit. Hotsp. 
So now you may launch to Piccardy again, and follow your old Trade of Basket-making, Jilt; I think I have spoiled your Market pretty well here; for your part Coxcomb, I'll go and inform your Father of your design upon Sophronia, that I think will do your business too.  Exit. T. Rom. 
'Dsdeath if he does that, I'm undone for ever, I must after and prevent it.  Exit. Mrs. Stock. 
Ah! dear Monsieur will you leave me then?  T. Rom. 
Leave thee, ay gad if thou wert a Cherubin, and I think that's a Station remote enough for a French Refuge  Exit T. Rom. Mrs. Stock. 
Vas ever hopeful Intrigue so spoiled— diable must me go Weeps to France again too, by does hand me vill deny dat, me vill Rob, me vill Pick the Pocket, me vill drown, me vill hang before ever me leave Sweet England, to go into France again, dat is certain.  Exit weeping.  

SCENE 4th.  Cunningman and Quickwit Smoking at a Table, with a Stand of Ale. Cunning. 
Come all malice apart, prithee le's be grave no longer, but drown Animosities in the bottom of the Pitcher; thou'rt an Ingenious Fellow, and I've a mind to be reconciled to thee, and therefore contrived to meet at this Little Cottage out of the way, where we may speak our minds freely,— Come give me thy hand, shall we be friends?  Quick. 
Prithee, thou canst not be a friend to any Body.  Cunning. 
Ha, ha, ha, I know thou'rt angry, but faith Tom I could not help it, thou knowest 'tis natural to me to Love Mischief.  Quick. 
Come pull away then.  Drinks. Cunning. 
Come Faith the Heiress health, let's remember her that we have had all this bustle about; ye witty Rogue you, I'm damnably afraid you'll get her from us again, for all her Guardian has her so fast.  Quick. 
Very well Sir, insult, insult; you have the Dice, you may do what you please, ha, ha, ha, gad I should lose another Brace of Fifties if thou shouldst, but I think I may venture her this once.  Quick. 
Ay, Pox on ye for a Witty Rogue, you have the better of me clearly, my Brains are quite dulled.  Cunn. 
Than not to banter any longer, the Match betwixt young Romance is made up, and we are to have a Ball at Sir Charles's House immediately: I wait here for some Masquerading Habits, that I have sent a Messenger to borrow at Twickenham; there's to be a little Ataque too of Pluto, Orpheus, and Eurydice, of my Composing, and the Music of Mr. Purcels— here's the Design, I'll show it thee.  Quickwitt. 
Ay hang ye, you used to be Ingenious enough at these things.  Enter Numps. Numps. 
There's a Man without, with a Bundle, desires to speak with ye, and 't shall please ye.—  To Cunington. Cun. 
Oh! that's well, 'tis the Fellow with the Habits, I must go and take 'em.  Exit. Numps. 
Ah Master Quickwit, Numps was a damned sour part for me, it was adswowkers, but d'ye hear, when am I to be paid for't, I was only thrashed confoundedly for acting so well,— that's all I have got yet.  Quick. 
Why now the happy Minute's come to make ample satisfaction to us both, and do but as I advise thee, thou shalt get thy Twenty Pounds presently, and Mr. Frederick shall have the Heiress into the bargain.  Numps. 
Odswowkers, how can that be, Master Quickwit?  Quick. 
Dost know this Fellow that went out?  Numps. 
Not I, I never saw him in my life.  Quick. 
This is that very Rogue that betrayed us to Sir Charles, and the Doctor, that procured thy beating, and has ever since frustrated our Plots upon the Heiress.  Numps. 
'Sbud, my Bones ache at the very thought on't; oh Dog Villain, is this he?  Quick. 
This is the very Rascal, who is now gone out for some disguises to make some Dancing Entertainment there this Evening; now if thou canst but get two or three of thy honest Neighbours to seize him, I'll contrive the Heiress for Frederick and he shall have the Guinnies ready for thee.  Numps. 
'Odzookes Master Quickwit, I'll do it immediately, for it never could happen in a better time, for I have three or four Neighbours here drinking in the next Room, that will do't for Mr. Frederick at a words speaking.—  Quick. 
Away then dear Numps, and call 'em instantly,— now Fortune favour this once, and be my Goddess for ever after.  Exit Numps. Re-enter Cunington with a bundle. Cun. 
Well, prithee tell me now, how dost like the contrivance, you must know I am to do Pluto there myself.  Quick. 
Nay, thou art the fittest Person to act the Devil, of any one I know, that I'll say for thee.  Cun. 
Ha, ha, ha, prithee leave off thy frumps, thou canst not forgive me heartily yet, I see, come faith, give me thy Hand, I'll contract a Friendship with thee.  Quick. 
Ay, that's likely to prove well, why, thou never yet couldst be a Friend to thyself, much less to any one else.  Cun. 
Faith, the Heiress and I will drink thy health presently, but you shall promise me, you won't get her from me again, you witty Rascal— you shall faith, ha, ha, ha.—  Enter Numps, and 3 or 4 Countrymen. Quick. 
W''re Catchpoled joe— I'll promise nothing.  Cun. 
How now, what a Devil's the matter now?  They seize him. Numps. 
Come, Sir, you must go along with us.  Cun. 
With you, whither, forwhat— 'Oons are the Men mad?  Quick. 
Alas, good Sir, why d'ye pull and haul the Gentleman so, 'Dshart, what's the matter I say, what have I done?  1 Count. 
What has he done Brother? By the Maskins I can't tell.  Quick. 
Tell him he has spoke Treasonable words against the Government.  Numps. 
Secure him as a Traitor, he has spoke some vengenable words— against the Government.  Cun. 
Who I, 'dsdeath, ay?  Omn. 
Oh, Rogue, Villain, has he so, we'll hamper ye.  Quick. 
A Traitor, nay then there may be Treason in this bundle for aught I know, I'll secure that.  Takes away the bundle. Cun. 
'Sbud I have said nothing, ye are all mad sure, I tell ye you mistake your Man,— Brother, prithee put in a word for me.  Quick. 
No, Brother, no, Treason's a dangerous thing, I dare not meddle in't.  Numps. 
Come, come, away with him to Mr. Soaks the Constables, and then let him deal with him.  2 Count. 
Ay, ay, away with him, away with him.  Quick. 
Pray remember to drink my Health with the Heiress, good Brother.  Count. 
Away with him, Gentlemen, away with him, ha, ha, ha.—  Cun. 
Ah, plague upon ye, help, help, Murder, Murder.  They haul him out. Quick. 
So, now I'll to Frederick immediately— the Dice are now on my side— and if I don't thrive now by my Hand, I shall despair hereafter.  Exit.  

SCENE Ultima.  Enter Sir Charles and Guiasum, Hotspurr, and T. Romance. Hotsp. 
You'll be sure to keep your promise.  Rom. 
Punctually, keep but my Counsel, and Five Hundred Pounds are thine at the day of Marriage.  Hotsp. 
Well, Sir, upon that condition my Mouth is sealed up, and your Father shall know nothing, but if you abuse my trust, Bilbo's the word, you know what I mean.  T. Rom. 
Well, well, not a word more, this plaguy hot-headed Fellow,— may do me mischief now, but when I'm once Married, I'll manage him as I see occasion.—  Aside. Hotsp. 
Since frederick's ill fortune has made him lose the Heiress, 'tis some part of Revenge, to make this Fool pay soundly for it.  Sir Char. 
Come, where are the Music and the Dancers,— Son Tom, why methinks thou art lazy in the business.  T. Rom. 
Mr. Cunnington is not come yet, Sir, with the Habits, but we expect him every Minute; gad take me, my head runs so much upon Sophronia, that I can get nothing else into't for the heart o'me.  Guias. 
Well, I am glad to see things in so good a posture at last, by the life of Galen, all great advantages are acquired with great trouble— she's an Heiress and Rich, the more difficult still to be obtained, but— Patience and Industry make all things easy; I forgive her trick upon me with all my Heart, and shall be well pleased to Tope a Bumper at her Wedding.  Sir Char. 
Oh, Mr. Hotspurr, you're welcome, I see my Son and you are reconciled, and honourably I make no question, therefore shall be glad to appear your Friend.  Hotsp. 
Friend, ay, just as the Friendship of the World is, he cares not Threepences if I were Strapadoed; nor I three Farthings if he were Hanged.—  Apart. Enter Shinkin, and Squeamish with a Paper. Squeam. 
Oh horrid! to infringe your Word and Honour, is a baseness not proper for a Gentleman, and I'll discover it to your Uncle, as I'm a Virgin.—  Weeps. Shink. 
And Gadsplut, to Marry Wild-cats, and Harridans, and her knows not what, is like Fools by St. Davy, and her will discover that too.  Sir Char. 
How now, what's the matter, Cousin Rice, what is't occasion the Lady's tears.  Squeam. 
I'll tell you, Sir Charles, tho' I confess the odious story ought to be concealed, but since my Honour is concerned, it must out.  T. Rom. 
For now we shall hear a Welsh Intrigue, gad take me, I shall bring a new method on't by degrees, in all the Counties about England.  Squeam. 
You all know my detestation of Lampoons, and the care I have always taken, to prevent 'em, but you must know, this Gentleman, having long made an honourable Address of Love to me, upon condition that he defended me against scandal by Marriage,— at last I consented.  Shink. 
Gadsplut her only talked of Marriages, look you to keep her from squeaking and squawling, her intentions were quite other things by Cadway.  T. Rom. 
Ay, ay,— Madam, to my knowledge, my Cousin Rice hates Marriage, as much as you do a Lampoon, you are mistaken in your Man— gad take me.  Squeam. 
The more reprobate Person he, for Heaven knows, Sir Charles, how loath I was to Intriegue with any Man, and to that purpose, have often ran up into my Chamber, got into dark Closets, Cellars, Larders, and such by-places, where I thought the mischief of Man, could not overtake me, as I'm a Virgin.  T. Rom. 
Where you thought the mischief of Man would soon overtake ye, as I'm a Virgin.  Sir Char. 
Son Tom, Tace, proceed Madam.  Squeam. 
But in spite of all my industry, this wild Welsh Creature has still found me out, and has published himself and me, in so particular a manner, that here I am in a Lampoon again, and in so filthy a stile, that I vow I'm ashamed to read it.  Weeps. Shink. 
What signifies running into Closets, and Cellars, and Larders, was not all her Doors left open, can her deny that?  Squeam. 
Alas, I had not presence of mind enough, to shut the Door upon him, this is my deplorable case, Sir Charles', and if he does not Marry me, I must never show my Face in the World again, I am utterly undone, as I'm a Virgin.  Shink 
Her has been as much undone; look you in Cellars, and Closets, ferry often before Shinkin's found her there, as report goes, and to be brief, her shan't marry Harridans and Wild-cats, and there's, there's the resolution of a true Prittain, look you.  Exit Shinkin. Squeam. 
Never particular with any Person, since I was born before, as I'm a Virgin.  Sir Char. 
Well, well, go after and tease him, this business must be debated at a more convenient hour, for I see the Entertainment is going forward, here comes my Daughter,— now Tom mind your business.  Exit Squeam. Enter Fulvia, and Sophronia. Fulvia. 
Cousin, no more, the proofs are clear and manifest, and as you relish my proceedings, second me.  Soph. 
Against the World, in such a generous action.  Enter Mummers, and Sir Quibble, disguised amongst 'em. Guiac. 
Pray, what are these, Sir Charles'?  Sir Char. 
Oh, these are Mummers, some of the young fry of the Neighbourhood that having a frolic this Evening, desire to give us a share on't, the Subject is the stealing an Heiress, and the Figures are Love, Desire, Youth, and Avarice, that all Court the Lady Pecunia, the design is pretty enough, come let 'em begin.  They Dance. SONG here. Then enter Frederick and Quickwit disguised like Pluto and Orpheus, Marmalet following. Guiac. 
Here's more, what are these?  Sir Char. 
Oh, this is Cunnington's contrivance, a little mask of Pluto, Orpheus, and Eurydice, pray let's observe.  Marm. 
They desire to practise with Eurydice a little in the next room, and then you shall see 'em do it perfectly. Come, Madam, this is the rarest contrivance to escape that ever you had.  Aside to Fulvia. Fred. takes one of Fulvia's hands, Quickwit the other, and as they are leading her off she turns back Fulvia. 
Hold, hold, are ye mad? why, Sir Charles, and you Squire Small-brains, you will not suffer me to be carried off thus before your faces, will ye?  Sir Char. 
But into the next room to practise a little, Madam.  T. Rom. 
You are to act Eurydice, you know, Madam, and they will only see if you are perfect in your cue; Mr. Cunnington there, has shown me the whole design.  Fulvia. 
And Mr. Quickwit, the witty Player here, has shown it me, Sir. Come, Pluto, you must unmask.  Unmasks Quickwit. Quick. 
'Dsdeath, Madam, what d'ye mean, you won't discover us, and undo all?  Fulvia. 
Yes faith, Sir, I've a fancy in my head that 'tis not lucky to be stolen to day; therefore you Orpheus, otherwise called Frederick the constant, you must uncover too, your singing will hardly get ye a Mistress to night, I can assure ye.  Fred. 
She discovers us— Death and Confusion! what new turn's this?  Soph. 
Methinks, Mr. Heiress-stealer, you look very blank o'th' sudden.  Fred. 
Ay, 'tis so— this is the Female Devil that has done me this admirable good turn, I find it now, and my disgrace approaching: Oh! damned! damned Fortune!  Fulvia. 
What think ye now, Sir Charles? am I not very just to my Guardian?  Sir Char. 
This is such an affront, as nothing but my Sword can do me justice in.  Draws. T. Rom. 
Gad take me, the Devil's in 'em for plotting, I think; will they never let us alone?  Guiac. 
That Devil Quickwit in the Plot again! I hope you'll give him one good thrust for my sake.  Fulvia. 
Nay, no fighting, good Gentlemen: Well, well, Sir, I understand ye, but you are so hasty—  Sir Quibble endeavours to pull her aside, and she refuses. To Sir Quibble 
Look, Sir Charles, here's another part of the Jest remains still, which this Gentleman Mu●…er is wittily concerned in too, who having no ill opinion of himself, and consequently believing I had a very good one of him, sent me word he was bailed, and his present design of mumming, bribing some of his Tenants to act it, and help carry me off; and is really, and in specie, the very numerical and amorous Knight, Sir Quibble Quere.  Guiac. 
Sir Quibble Quere too? why, here are all the Fools in the Nation sure, concerned in this Plot.  Sir Quib. 
'Dsheart, why will you discover me now, Madam? I'll say't, 'twas the purest design that ever was laid, but I hope you'll marry me for all this, for you know I have laid out a pour of Money upon't, and have now a Coach and six Horses ready at the Garden-gate for ye, I'll say't, you ought to consider now, Madam; what a dickens, Conscience is Conscience all the World over.  Fulvia. 
Learnedly argued, Sir Quibble, and you shall see what Justice I'll do you all presently; first you, Sir, that through the To Fred. baseness of your sordid nature, and mercenary thirst of gain, abused me, take that as a reward for your Ingratitude and my Eternal hatred for the future.  Gives him his promise of Marriage to Sophronia. Fred. 
My contract of Marriage to Sophronia!— this is the Thunderbolt I always dreaded, and 'tis fallen with a vengeance.  Fulvia. 
Read there a base Deceiver's Character, and for thy sake may never generous Maid, trust thy false Sex to be again betrayed.  Soph. 
Instead of Heiresses and blooming Brides with fifty thousand Pounds, Stick to your old Doll Commons of the Town,  
And cater as you used for half a Crown.  Scornfully. Fred. 
Peace, Witch, Fury, now could I eat that Satirical Devil without Salt for my Breakfast! Torture and Death! to stay here too, and be baited, is worse than breaking upon the Wheel!— Hell take all Heiresses, and all the Sex besides.  Exit Fred. Sir Quib. 
Ha, ha, ha, alas poor Brother, I see now I am to be the happy Man.  Fulvia. 
Troth no, Sir, I must beg your pardon too— your Estate is wasted with disbursing Sums to go a Fortune-hunting; nor have you Brains enough to get another, and to marry a Ninny, a Bankrupt, no, as you used to say, Sir, I ain't such a Fool neither.  T. Rom. 
You may send home your Coach, Sir Quibble, you will have no use for it here, Gad take me.  Sir Quib. 
Why then a Plague of all Intrigues: I'll go and get drunk, and despise all Womankind, for I'll say't, I'll ne'er hang myself about the matter, but I'll have my Money again if there be Law in England, let the Women go to the Devil, I'll not be choosed out of that; what a Pox, I ain't such a Fool neither.  Exit Sir Quibble. Fulvia. 
Ha, ha, ha,— thus far, Sir Charles, you see how far I have discharged your Trust, do ye resolve therefore to deliver up your Guardianship freely, that I may have generous liberty to pursue my Inclinations.  Sir Char. 
Madam, with all my heart, before this Company I declare you free to choose a new Guardian where you please, and to confirm it, take there the Keys where all your Writings are, and the Power left me by your Father,— I see she intends to give herself generously to my Son, and therefore to confine her, were ungenerous.  Aside to the Doctor. Guiac. 
There stands the Gentleman, Madam, if you design him happy, the quicker work the better.  Fulvia. 
That might have been done, indeed, Doctor, to oblige Sir Charles, but the Gentleman you speak of, has made a better choice, as this can witness.  Gives Sir Charles a Letter. Sir Char. 
How's this! a Letter of Courtship to Sophronia!  Fulvia. 
Oh! and so full of Passion, Flame, and Darts, that it almost scorched me when I read it.  Sir Char. 
Oh Villain! Dolt! Town-Fop! have I been racking my Brains all this while to get an Heiress to thy purpose! what's the meaning of this, Sirrah?  T. Rom. 
Why the meaning is, that I love all the Sex, gad take me, and can no more confine myself to one Woman, than to one Suit of clothes; if you done't like the humour you might have got me a better, that's all I know of the matter.  Sir Char. 
Insupportable Coxcomb! I'll disinherit thee immediately.  Guiac. 
More turns and Plots, this is a very Comedy, by the life of Galen.  Hotsp. 
So, I find I am like to Cudgel my five hundred Pounds out of my Spark, for the Devil a penny he 's like to get by the Heiress— but stay, who the Devil will she choose,— if I should be the Man at last.  Fulvia. 
Since such a general defect of honesty corrupts the Age, I'll no more trust Mankind, but lay my Fortune out upon myself, and flourish in contempt of humane Falsehood: as for thy part that hast been a main Actor in this business, and with contriving wit well managed it, to let thee see th' Ingenious still gets Friends, I will with Gold reward thy Industry, nor shall honest Numps, may, nor your Comrade, be either of them forgotten,— but be instantly brought hither, and share a part of Bounty.  To Quickwit. Quick. 
'Tis my Glory, Madam, to be outwitted by you, and if my Brain did any thing uncommon, it was by you inspired.  Marm. 
Well, since Fortune has contrived the business, so I hope, Sir, you think it time to remember me.  Quick. 
Oh, prithee, dear venerability, have patience a little, thou seest all the Marriages are frustrated at present, and 'tis not fit we should be singular, my dear Antiquity.  Marm. 
Alas, sweet Sir, but delays you know are dangerous, and if I should be balked in my Expectation, my heart is so set upon 't that I should annihilate that very moment, I should die, as I'm a Christian.  Fulvia. 
Well, Cousin, what think we now of my Resolution, have I not done Justice?  Soph. 
Most generous Maid, thou art a dear Example for all thy Sex to copy out thy Virtue, for that a kind and tender heart like thine, moulded for Love, and softened with Endearments, should generously on the account of honour, resist a Traitor, that with strong Enchantments of Vows and Oaths, had long time made Impression, is a performance heightened to a wonder, and will be reverenced in succeeding ages.  Fulvia. 
My eyes in contradiction to the World, have ever (scorning Interest) fixed on Merit, and led by Love and Generous inclination, have striven to make that Sentiment appear by a free present of my Heart and Fortune to one I thought as nobly had deserved 'em. But, oh! the Race of Men are all Deceivers, and my relief, is my resolve to shun 'em; 'tis, my dear Friend, as thou hast lately told me, which for instruction I will still repeat.  

Love may seem great that in itself is small,  
Looks cover thoughts, and Interest governs all;  
When Damon to an Heiress speaks kind things,  
'Tis not for what she is, but what she brings.   Exeunt.   

EPILOGUE  

OF all the Critics met to judge this Play,  
The Fortune-Hunters most are feared to day;  
Who must be vexed that they've a Brother found  
So oddly balked of fifty thousand Pound:  
And I confess they have some cause to rage;  
The Spark has lost a tempting Equipage,  
A Coach, a set of Barbs, such dazzling things,  
Nay, six laced Footmen finer than the Kings;  
Besides a fine bred Miss embroidered round  
With a Rump Croshe●… worth five hundred Pound.  
These Gem●… to lose of deep concern must be;  
But yet considering the equality,  
How oft ye chouce poor Women, is't not fit  
Once in an age the Biter should be bit;  
To be so often fool'd I think is civil,  
But to be Changelings always is the Devil.  
Besides, the truth is, we find out your Arts.  
Love guilds your Tongues, but Money guides your Hearts;  
In Songs you term our Faces Charming fair;  
But 'tis the gilt Charming face our Gold 〈◊〉 ●…ar,  
That treats us with your Poetry and Air.  
If (she's a swinging Fortune he the cry)  
Then gad there's no such Angel in the Sky:  
But should Smallpox, or Poverty invade,  
Then, who would visit such a Polecat jade,  
And Plague upon her is your Serenade,  
Of moderate Worth, or Wealth you'll ne'er allow;  
She must be still the Eagle or the Crow:  
This The●…m occasions our new Scenes to Night,  
To show a Woman 〈◊〉 was in the right▪  
The Satyr's gentle, and I think 'tis 〈◊〉,  
And only meant to teach y●… to be true.  
You should with patience bear the ●…ling smart,  
Kiss the kind Rod, and take it in good part▪  
But if you swell, and o'erthrow a stubborn Heart,  
If in your Breasts ungrateful Passions sway.  
And you should 〈◊〉 at me, and at the Play;  
May the●… 〈◊〉 dire Revenge pursue ye round;  
M●… 〈◊〉 one that has such an Heiress found;  
Lose her at last, and fifty thousand Pound.   
FINIS.