THE Comical Revenge; OR, LOVE IN A TUB.  
Acted at His Highness the Duke of YORK's Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.  

LICENCED,  
july 8. 1664▪ Roger L' Estrange.   
LONDON, Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Blue-anchor, in the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange. 1664.   

To the Honourable CHARLES Lord BUCKHURST.  
My Lord,  
I Could not have wished myself more fortunate than I have been in the success of this Poem: The Writing of it was a means to make me known to your Lordship; The Acting of it has lost me no Reputation; And the Printing of it has now given me an opportunity to show how much I honour you.  
I here dedicate it, as I have long since dedicated myself, to your Lordship: Let the humble Love of the Giver make you set some value upon the worthless Gift: I hope it may have some esteem with others, because the Author knows how to esteem you, whose Knowledge moves admiration, and Goodness love, in all that know you. But I design this a Dedication, not a Panegyrics; not to proclaim your Virtues to the World, but to show your Lordship how firmly they have obliged me to be,  
My Lord, Your most humble and faithful Servant, GEO. ETHEREGE.   


Personae Dramatis.  
The Lord Bevill, Father to Lovis, Graciana, & Aurelia.  
The Lord Beaufort, Servant to Graciana.  
Colonel Bruce, A Cavalier, Friend to Lovis, in love with Graciana.  
Lovis, Friend to Bruce.  
Sir Frederick Frolic, Cousin to the Lord Beaufort.  
Graciana, A young Lady, in love with the Lord Beaufort.  
Aurelia, Her Sister, in love with Col. Bruce.  
Mrs. Rich, A wealthy Widow, Sister to the Lord Bevill, in love with Sir Frederick.  
Letitia, A Girl, waiting upon Aurelia.  
Betty, Waiting-woman to the Widow.  
Dufoy, A saucy impertinent Frenchman, Servant to Sir Frederick.  
Clark, Servant to the Lord Beaufort.  
Sir Nicholas Cully. Knighted by Oliver.  
Wheadle & Palmer, Gamesters.  
Mrs. Grace, A Wench kept by Wheadle.  
Jenny, Her Maid.  
Mrs. Lucy. A Wench kept by Sir Frederick.  
A Coachman belonging to the Widow.  
A Bellman.  
Footmen, Link-boys, Drawers, and other Attendants.    

THE PROLOGUE.  
WHo could expect such crowding here to day,  
Merely on the report of a new Play?  
A man would think you've been so often bit  
By us of late, you should have learned more wit,  
And first have sent a Forlorne-hope to spy  
The Plot and Language of our Comedy,  
Expecting till some desperate Critics had  
Resolved you whether it were good or bad:  
But yet we hope you'll never grow so wise;  
For if you should, we and our Comedies  
Must trip to Norwich, or for Ireland go,  
And never fix, but, like a Puppit-show,  
Remove from Town to Town, from Fair to Fair,  
Seeking fit Chapmen to put off our Ware.  
For such our Fortune is this barren Age,  
That Faction now, not Wit, supports the Stage:  
Wit has, like Painting, had her happy flights,  
And in peculiar Ages reached her heights,  
Though now declined; yet could some able Pen  
Match Fletcher's Nature, or the Art of Ben,  
The Old and Graver sort would scarce allow  
Those Plays were good, because we writ them now.  
Our Author therefore begs you would forget,  
Most Reverend judges, the Records of Wit,  
And only think upon the modern way  
Of writing, whilst you're Censuring his Play.  
And Gallants, as for you, talk loud i'th' Pit,  
Divert yourselves and Friends with your own Wit;  
Observe the Ladies, and neglect the Play;  
Or else 'tis feared we are undone to day.   

THE Comical Revenge; OR, Love in a Tub.  


ACT. I. SCEN. I.  The Scene, an Ante-Chamber to Sir Frederick Frollick's Bedchamber. Enter Dufoy, with a Plaster on his head, walking discontentedly; and Clerk immediately after him. Clark. 
GOod-morrow, Monsieur.  Dufoy. 
Good-mor',— good-mor'.  Clark. 
Is Sir Fred'rick stirring?  Duf. 
Pox sturré himé.  Clark. 
My Lord has sent me—  Duf. 
Begar me vil haué de revengé; me vil no stay two day in Englandé.  Clark. 
Good Monsieur, what's the matter?  Dufoy. 
De matré! de matié is easy to be perceive;  
This Bedlamés, Mad-cape, diable de matié, vas  
Drunké de last night, and warrant no reason, but dat  
Me did advisé him go to bed, begar he did  
Striké, breaké my headé, Jernie.  Clark. 
Have patience, he did it unadvisedly.  Dufoy. 
Unadvise I didé not me advisé him  
Justé when he did ité?  Clark. 
Yes; but he was in drink you say.  Dufoy. 
In drinké! me vishé he had been over de head  
And de ear in drinké; Begar in France de  
Drink dat van manned drinké does not crack de  
Noder man's brainé; Hark!—  Sir Fred. knocks. 
He is avake, and none of the people are  
To attend himé: jan Villian day are all gone, run  Knocks again. 
To de Diablé; have the patience, I beseech you.  Pointing towards his Master's Chamber. Clark. 
Acquaint Sir Frederick I am here from my Lord.  Dufoy. 
I vil, I vil; your ver umble Serviteur.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. II.  Scene, Sir Frederick's Bedchamber. Enter Sir Frederick in his nightgown, and after him Dufoy. Duf. 
Good-mor, good-mor to your Vorshippé; me am alvay  
Ready to attendé your Vorshippé, and your Vorshippe's  
Alvay ready to beaté and to abusé mé; you vare drunké  
De lasté nighté, and my head aké to day morningé;  Showing his head. 
See you heré if my brayné have no ver good raisin  
To counsel you, and to mindé your bus'nessé.  Sir Fred. 
Thou hast a notable brain;  
Set me down a Crown for a  
Plaster; but forbear your rebukes.  Dufoy. 
'Tis vercouragious ting to breaké the head of your  
Serviteur, is it noté? Begar you vil never keepé  
De good Serviteur, had no me love yovever vel.—  Sir Fred. 
I know thou lov'st me.  Dufoy. 
And darefore you do beaté me, is dat de raison?  Sir Fred. 
Prèthee forbear; I am sorry for't.  Dufoy. 
Ver good satisfaction! Begar it is me dat am  
Sorrié fort.  Sir Fred. 
Well, well.  Dufoy. 
De Serviteur of my Lord your Cousin  
Be comés speak vid you.  Sir Fred. 
Bring him in.  Exit Dufoy. 
I am of opinion that drunkenness is not so  
Damnable a sin to me as 'tis to many; Sorrow  
And Repentance are sure to be my first Work  
The next morning: 'Slid, I have known some  
So lucky at this rècreation, that, whereas 'tis  
Familiar to forget what we do in drink, have  
Even lost the memory, after sleep, of being  
Drunk: Now do I feel more qualms than  
A young woman in breeding.  Enter Dufoy and Clark. Dufoy goes out again. 
Clark! What news from the God of Love? he's  
Always at your Master's elbow, h'as jostled the  
Devil out of service; no more!  
Mrs. Grace! Poor Girl, Mrs. Graciana has flung a  
Squib into his bosom, where the wildfire will  
Huzzéé for a time, and then crack; it  
Fly's out at's Breeches.  Clark. 
Sir, he sent me before with his service; he'll  
Wait on you himself when he's dressed.  Sir Fred. 
In very good time; there never was a girl  
More humoursome, nor tedious in the dressing of  
Her Baby.  Ex. Clark. Enter Dufoy, and Footboy. Dufoy. 
Hayé! heré is de ver vine varké  
Begar, de ver vine varké!—  Sir Fred. 
What's the business?  Dufoy. 
De business! de devil také més if daré be not  
De whole Regiment Army de Hackené Cocheman,  
De Linke-boy, the Fydler, and the Shamber-maydé,  
Dat haué beseegé de howsé; dis is de consequance  
Of the drink vid a poxé.  Sir Fred. 
Well, the Coachmen and Link-boys must be  
Satisfied, I suppose there's money due to 'em; the  
Fiddlers, for broken heads and Instruments,  
Must be compounded with; I leave that to your care;  
But for the Chambèr-maid, I'll deal with her  
Myself; go, go, fetch her up.  Dufoy. 
De Pimpé, begar I vil be de pimpé to no man  
In the Christendomés; do you go vech her up;  
De Pimpé—  Exit Dufoy. Sir Fred. 
Go Sirrah, direct her.  To the Foot-b.] Ex. Foot-b. 
Now have I most unmanfully fallen foul upon some  
Woman, I'll warrant you, and wounded her  
Reputation shrowardly: Oh drink, drink! thou  
Art a vile enemy to the civilest sort of courteous  
Ladies.—  Enter Jenny, Wheadle's Wenches maid. 
Oh jenny, next my heart nothing could  
Be more welcome.  Maid. 
Unhand me;  
Are you a man fit to be trusted with a woman's  
Reputation?  Sir Fred. 
Not when I am in a reeling condition; men are  
Now and then subject to those infirmities  
In drink, which women have when theyare sober.  
Drunkenness is no good Secretary, jenny; you  
Must not look so angry, good faith you must not.  Maid. 
Angry! we always took you for a civil Gentleman.  Sir Fred. 
So I am i'troth I think.—  Maid. 
A civil Gentleman will  
Come to a Lady's Lodging at two a clock in  
The morning, and knock as if it were upon  
Life and death; a Midwife was never knocked up  
With more fury.  Sir Fred. 
Well, well, Girl, all's well I hope, all's well.  Maid. 
You have made such an Uproar amongst  
The Neighbours, we must be forced to change  
Our Lodging.  Sir Fred. 
And thou art come to tell me whither;—  
Kind heart!—  Maid. 
I'll see you a little better mannered first.  
Because we would not let you in at that  
Unseasonable hour, you and your rude  
Ranting Companions hooped and hollowed like  
Madmen, and roared out in the streets,  
A whore, a whore, a whore; you need not have  
Knocked good people out of their Beds, you  
Might have met with them had been good  
Enough for your purpose abroad.  Sir Fred. 
'Twas ill done jenny, indeed it was.  Ma. 
'Twas a mercy Mr Wheadle was not there, my mistress's  
Friend; had he been there she'd been quite undone.  
There's nothing got by your lewd doings; you are  
But scandals to a civil Woman: We had so much  
The good will of the Neighbours before, we had  
Credit for what we would; and but this morning the  
Chandler refused to score a quart of Scurvygrass.  Sir Fred. 
Hang Reputation amongst a company of Rascals;  
Trust me not if thou art not grown most wondrous pretty.  Offers to hug her. Maid. 
Stand off, or I protest I'll make the people  
In your Lodging know what a manner of  
Man you are.  Sir Fred. 
You and I have been intimate acquaintance;—  
Why so coy now, jenny?  Maid. 
Pray forbear:—  
You'll never leave till I shriek out;— Your  Noise within. 
Servants listen, hark— there's some body coming.  
My Mistress charged me to tell you she will  Enter Beaufort. 
Never see your eyes again; she never deserved  
This at your hands,— poor Gentlewoman:— You had a  
Fling at me too, you did not whisper it, I thank  
You: 'Tis a miserable condition we  
Women bring ourselves too for your sakes.  Weeps. Beauf. 
How now Cousin! what, at wars with the Women?  Sir Fred. 
I gave a small alarm to their Quarters  
Last night, my Lord.  Beauf. 
jenny in tears! what's the occasion, poor Girl?  Maid. 
I'll tell you, my Lord.  Sir Fred. 
Buzz; Set not her tongue a going again;  Clapping his hand before her mouth. 
Sh'as made more noise then half a dozen  
Paper-mills: London-bridge at a low water is  
Silence to her; in a word, rambling last  
Night, we knocked at her mistress's Lodging,  
They denied us entrance, whereupon a harsh  
Word or two flew out, Whore— I think, or  
Something to that purpose.  Maid. 
These were not all your Heroic actions;  Ent. Dufoy. 
Pray tell the Consequence, how you marched  
Bravely at the rear of an Army of  
Link-boys; upon the sudden,: how you gave  
Defiance, and then waged a bloody war with the  
Constable; and having vanquished that  
Dreadful enemy, how you committed a general  
Massacre on the glass-windows: Are not these  
Most honourable achievements, such as will be  
Registered to your eternal Fame, by the most  
Learned Historians or Hicks' Hall  Sir Fred. 
Good sweet jenny let's come to a Treaty;  
Do but hear what Articles I'll propose.  Maid. 
A Woman's heart's too tender to be an enemy  
To Peace.  They whisper. Dufoy. 
Your most humble Serviteur, my Lord.  Beauf. 
Monsieur, I perceive you are much to blame;  
You are an excellent Governor indeed.  Dufoy. 
Begar do you tinké dat I amé de Bedlamé?  
No tingè but de Bedlamé can governé himé.  Sir Fred. 
jenny, here's my hand; I'll come and make  
Amends for all— pretty Rogue.—  Dufoy. 
Ver pret Rogué,  
Vid a poxé.  Maid. 
What rude French Rascal have you here?  Dufoy. 
Rascalé! Begar ver it nod vor  
De reverence of my Matré I vod cut off your occupation  
French Rascalé! Whore English—  Sir Fred. 
Dufoy, be gone, and leave us.  Dufoy. 
I vil, I vil leave you to your recreation; I  
Vishé you ver good pastimé, and de poxé  
Begar.  Exit Dufoy. Maid. 
I never heard a ruder Fellow.— Sir Frederick, you  
Will not fail the time.  Sir Fred. 
No, no, jenny.  Maid. 
Your Servant, my Lord.  Beauf. 
Farewell jenny.  Ex. jenny. Sir Fred. 
Now did all this fury end in a mild  
Invitation to the Lady's Lodging.  Beauf. 
I have known this wench's Mistress  
Ever since I came from Travel, but never  
Was acquainted with that Fellow that  
Keeps her; prithee what is he?  Sir Fred. 
Why his name is Wheadle; he's one whose trade is Treachery,  
To make a Friend, and then deceive him;  
He's of a ready Wit, pleasant Conversation,  
Throughly skilled in men; in a word, he  
Knows so much of Virtue as makes him  
Well accomplished for all manner of Vice:  
He has lately insinuated himself into  
Sir nicholas Culley, one whom Oliver, for the  
Transcendent knavery and disloyalty of  
His Father, has dishonoured with Knighthood;  
A fellow as poor in experience as in parts,  
And one that has a vainglorious humour to gain a  
Reputation amongst the Gentry, by feigning good nature, and  
An affection to the King and his Party.  
I made a little debauch th'other day in their Company,  
Where I foresaw this fellow's destiny, his purse must pay  
For keeping this Wench, and all other Wheadle's extravagances.  
But pray, my Lord,  
How thrive you in your more honourable  
Adventures? Is harvest near? When is the  
Sickle to be put i'th' Corn?  Beauf. 
I have been hitherto so prosperous,  
My happiness has still out-flown my faith:  
Nothing remains but Ceremonial Charms,  
Graciana's fixed i'th' circle of my Arms.  Sir Fred. 
Then you're a happy man for a season.  Beauf. 
For ever.  Sir Fred. 
I mistrust your mistress's Divinity; you'll  
Find her Attributes but Mortal:  
Women, like Juggler's Tricks,  
Appear Miracles to the ignorant; but in them-  
- Selves th' are mere cheats.  Beauf. 
Well, well, Cousin; I have engaged that you this day  
Shall be my Guest at my Lord bevil's Table;  
Pray make me Master of my promise once.  Sir Fred. 
Faith I have engaged to dine with my dear  
Lucy; poor Girl, I have lately given her  
Occasion to suspect my kindness; yet for your  
Sake I'll venture to break my Word,  
Upon condition you'll excuse  
My errors; you know my  
Conversation has not been amongst ceremonious  
Ladies.  Beauf. 
All modest freedom you will find allowed;  
Formality is banished thence.  Sir Fred. 
This Virtue is enough to make me bear  
With all the inconveniences of honest Company.  Beauf. 
The freeness of your humour is your friend.  
I have such news to tell thee that I fear  
Thou'lt find thy breast too narrow for thy joy.  Sir Fred. 
Gently, my Lord, lest I find the thing too  
Little for my expectation.  Beauf. 
Know that thy careless carriage has done more  
Than all the skill and diligence of Love  
Could e'er effect.  Sir Fred. 
What? the Widow has some kind thoughts of my body.  Beauf. 
She loves you, and dines on purpose at her Brother's house  
This day, in hopes of seeing you.  Sir Fred. 
Some Women like Fishes despise the  
Bait, or else suspect it, whilst still it's  
Bobbing at their mouths; but subtly waved  
By the Angler's hand, greedily hang themselves upon the hook.  
There are many so critically wise, they'll suffer  
None to deceive them but themselves.  Beauf. 
Cousin, 'tis time you were preparing for your Mistress.  Sir Fred. 
Well, since 'tis my fortune, I'll about it.  
Widow, thy ruin lie on thy own head:  
Faith, my Lord, you can witness 'twas none  
Of my seeking.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. III.  Scene, Wheadle's Lodging. Enter Wheadle and Palmer. Whe. 
Come, bear thy losses patiently.  Palm. 
A pox confound all Ordinaries,  
If ever I play in an Ordinary again—  Bites his thumb. Whead. 
Thou'lt lose thy money:  
Thou hast no power to forbear;  
I will as soon undertake to reclaim  
A Horse from a hitch he has learned in his pace,  
Or an old Mastiff from worrying of Sheep.  Palm. 
Ay, ay, there is nothing can do it but hemp.  Whead. 
Want of money may do much.  Palm. 
I protest I had rather still be vicious  
Then owe my Virtue to Necessity.  
How commendable is chastity in an Eunuch?  
I am grown more than half virtuous of late:  
I have laid the dangerous Pad now quite aside;  
I walk within the Purlieus of the Law.  
Could I but leave this Ordinary, this Square,  
I were the most accomplished man in Town.  Whead. 
'Tis pity thou art Master of thy Art;  
Such a nimble hand, such neat conveyance.  Palm. 
Nay, I should have made an excellent Juggler, 'faith.  Whead. 
Come, be cheerful,  
I've lodged a Deer shall make amends for all;  
I lacked a man to help me set my Toils,  
And thou art come most happily.  Palm. 
My dear Wheadle, who is it?  Whead. 
My new Friend  
And Patron Sir Nicholas Cully.  Palm. 
He's fat, and will say well, I promise you.  
Well, I'll do his business most dextrously,  
Else let me ever lose the honour  
Of serving a Friend in the like nature.  Whead. 
No more words, but haste, prepare for the design;  
Habit yourself like a good thrifty Countryman;  
Get Tools, Dice, and Money for the purpose,  
And meet me at the Devil about three exactly.  Enter Boy. Boy. 
Sir, Sr Nicholas Cully is without.  Whead. 
Desire him to walk in.  
Here Palmer, the backway, quickly, and be sure—  Palm. 
Enough, enough, I'll warrant thee.  Ex. Palm. Enter Sir Nicholas Cully. Whead. 
Sir Nicholas, this Visit is too great a favour;  
I intended one to you; how do you  
Find yourself this morning?  Cul. 
Faith much the drier for the last night's wetting.  Whead. 
Like thirsty earth, which gapes the more  
For a small shower; we'll soak you  
Throughly to day.  Cul. 
Excuse me, faith I am engaged.  Whead. 
I am sorry for't;  
I meant you a share in my good fortune;  
But since it cannot be—  Cul. 
What? what good fortune?  Whead. 
Nay, 'twill but vex you to know it,  
Since you have not leisure to pursue it.  Cul. 
Dear Wheadle, prithee tell me.  Whead. 
Now do I want power to keep it from you.  
Just as you came in at that door, went  
Out at this a Waiting-Gentlewoman,  
Sent with a civil Message from her Lady,  
To desire the happiness of my Company  
This afternoon, where I should have the  
Opportunity of seeing another lovely brisk  
Woman, newly married to a foolish  
Citizen, who will be apt enough to hear  
Reason from one that can speak it better than  
Her Husband: I returned my humble  
Thanks for the honour she did me, and that  
I could not do myself so great an injury  
To disobey her will; this is  
Th' adventure; But since you've business—  Cul. 
A pox on business, I'll deferr't.  Whead. 
By no means for a silly Woman; our Pleasures  
Must be slaves to our Affairs.  Cul. 
Were it to take possession of an  
Estate, I'd neglect it.  
Are the Lady's Cavaliers?  Whea. 
Oh, most Loyal-hearted Ladies!  Cul. 
How merry will we be then!  Whead. 
I say, mind your business.  Cul. 
I'll go and put it off immediately.  
Where shall I meet you in the afternoon?  Whead. 
You'll find me at the Devil about three  
A clock, where I expect a second summons as  
She passes toward the City.  Cul. 
Thither will I come without fail; be sure  
You wait for me.  Exit Cully. Whead. 
Wait for thee, as a Cat does for a Mouse  
She intends to play with, and then prey upon.  
How eagerly did this half-witted fellow chap  
Up the bait? like a ravenous Fish, that will  
Not give the Angler leave to sink his Line,  
But greedily darts up and meets it half way.  Ex. laughing.  

SCEN. IU.  Scene, The Lord bevil's House. Enter Graciana, and Aurelia immediately after her, with a Letter in her hand. Grac. 
The Sun's grown lazy; 'tis a tedious space  
Since he set forth, and yet's not half his race.  
I wonder Beaufort does not yet appear;  
Love never loiters, Love sure brings him here.  Aur. 
Brought on the wings of Love, here I present  Presenting the Letter. 
His Soul, whose Body Prisons yet prevent;  
The noble Bruce, whose Virtues are his Crimes:  Grac. rejects the Letter. 
Are you as false and cruel as the times!  
Will you not read the story of his grief?  
But wilfully refuse to give relief?  Grac. 
Sister, from you this language makes me start:  
Can you suspect such vices in my heart?  
His Virtues I, as well as you, admire;  
I never scorned, but pity much his fire.  Aur. 
If you did pity, you would not reject  
This Messenger of Love: This is neglect.  Grac. rejects the Letter again. Grac. 
'tis cruelty to gaze on Wounds I'm sure,  
When we want Balsam to effect their Cure.  Aurel. 
'Tis only want of will in you, you have  
Beauty to kill, and Virtue too to save.  Grac. 
We of ourselves can neither love nor hate;  
Heaven does reserve the power to guide our Fate.  Aurel. 
Graciana,—  Enter Lord Bevill, Lovis, and the Widow. Grac. 
Sister, forbear; my Father's here.  L. beu. 
So Girl; what, no news of your Lover yet?  
Our Dinner's ready, and I am afraid  
He will go nigh to incur the Cook's anger.  Wid. 
I believe h'as undertaken a hard task;  
Sir Frederick, they say, is no easy man  
To be persuaded to come among us women.  Lovis. 
Sir.  Lovis and L. Bevill whisper. L. beu. 
What now?  Wid. 
I am as impatient as thou art, Girl;  
I long to see Sir Frederick here.  To Graciana. L. beu. 
Forbear, I charge you on my blessing;  
Not one word more of Colonel Bruce.  Lovis. 
You gave encouragement Sir to his Love;  
The honour of our House now lies at stake.  L. beu. 
You find by your Sister's Inclinations  
Heaven has decreed her otherwise.  Lovis. 
But Sir,—  L. beu. 
Forbear to speak, or else forbear the Room.  Lovis. 
This I can obey, but not the other.  Exit Lovis. Enter Footboy. Foot-b. 
Sir, my Lord Beaufort's come.  L. beu. 
'Tis well.  Wid. 
D'hear, are there not two Gentlemen?  Foot-b, 
Yes Madam, there is another proper handsome Gentleman.  Exit Footboy. L. beu. 
Come, let us walk in, and give them entertainment.  Wid. 
Now Cousin for Sr Frederick, this man of men,  
There's nothing like him.  Exeunt all but Aurelia. Aur. 
With curious diligence I still have strove  Holding the Letter in her hand. 
During your absence, Bruce, to breathe your Love  
Into my Sister's bosom; But the fire  
Wants force; Fate does against my breath conspire:  
I have obeyed, though I cannot fulfil,  
Against myself, the dictates of your Will:  
My Love to yours does yield; Since you enjoined,  
I hourly court my Rival to be kind;  
With passion too, as great as you can do,  
Taught by those wounds I have received from you.  
Small is the difference that's between our grief;  
Yours finds no cure, and mine seeks no relief:  
You unsuccessfully your Love reveal;  
And I for ever must my Love conceal:  
Within my bosom I'll your Letter wear,  Putting the Letter in her bosom. 
It is a Tomb that's proper for despair.  Exit.   


ACT. II. SCEN. I.  Scene, The Lord bevil's House. Enter Clark and Dufoy. Clark. 
MEthinks the wound your Master gave you Last night, makes you look very thin and Wan, Monsieur.  Dufoy, 
Begar you are mistake, it be de voundé  
Dat my Metresle did give me long ago.  Clark. 
What? some pretty little English Lady's  
Crept into your heart?  Dufoy. 
No, but damned little English Whore is creepé  
Into my bone begar, me could vish dat de  
Diable vould také her vid allé my harté  Clark. 
You have managed your business ill, Monsieur.  Dufoy. 
It vas de Rascal Cyrugin English dat did  
Manage the business illé; me did putté my  
Businessé into his haundé; he did stop the  
Tapé, and de liquour did varké, varké, varké,  
Up into the headé and the shoulder begar.  Clark. 
Like soap clapped under a Saddle.  Dufoy. 
Here come my Matré, holdé your peacé.  Ex. Clark. Enter Sir Frederick, Widow, and Maid. Sir Fred. 
Whither, whither do you draw me, Widow?  
What's your design?  Wid. 
To walk a turn in the Garden, and then  
Repose in a cool Arbour.  Sir Fr. 
Widow, I dare not venture myself in those amorous  
Shades; you have a mind to be talking of Love  
I perceive, and my heart's too tender to be trusted  
With such conversation.  Wid. 
I did not imagine you were so foolishly  
Conceited; is it your Wit or your Person, Sir,  
That is so taking?  Sir Fred. 
Truly you are much mistaken, I have no  
Such great thoughts of the young man you  
See; who ever knew a Woman have so much  
Reason to build her Love upon merit?  
Have we not daily experience of great  
Fortunes, that fling themselves into the arms  
Of vain idle Fellows? Can you blame me then  
For standing upon my guard? No, let us  
Sit down here, have each on's a Bottle of Wine  
At our elbows; so prompted, I dare enter into  
Discourse with you.  Wid. 
Would you have me sit  
And drink hand to fist with you, as if we were  
In the Fleece, or some other of your beloved  
Taverns?  Sir Fred. 
Faith I would have thee come as near  
As possible to something or other I have  
Been used to converse with, that I may  
The better know how to entertain thèe.  Wid. 
Pray which of those Ladies you use to  
Converse with, could you fancy me to  
Look like? be merry, and tell me.  Sir Fred. 
'twere too great a sin to compare thee  
To any of them; and yet thoust so incensed  
Me, I can hardly forbear to wish thee one  
Of'em, Ho, Dufoy!  
Widow, I stand in awe of this Gentleman;  
I must have his advice before I dare  
Keep you company any further.— How do  
You approve the spending of my time  
With this Lady?  Dufoy. 
Ver vel, Begar;  
I could vish I had never spendé my time in de  
Vorsé company.  Wid. 
You look but ill, Monsieur; have  
You been sick lately?  Dufoy. 
I haué de ver great affliction in my mindé,  
Madam.  Wid. 
What is't?  Dufoy. 
Truly I haué de ver great passion vor dis  
Jentel-woman, and she haué no compassion  
At all vor me; she do refusé me all my  
Amouré and my address.  Wid. 
Indeed Betty you are to blame.  Maid. 
Out upon him for a French dissembler,  
He never spoke to me in his life, Madam.  Dufoy. 
You see, Madam, she scorné me vor  
Her Serviteur.  Maid. 
Pray, when did you make any of your French  
Loué to mé?  Dufoy. 
It vil breké my hearté to remember the  
Time ven you did refusé mé.  Wid. 
Will you permit me to serve you in this  
Business, Monsieur?  Dufoy. 
Madam, it be d'honour vor de King dé Francé.  Wid. 
Betty, whither run you?  Maid. 
I'll vot stay to be jeered by a sneaking  
Valet-De chambré: I'll be revenged  
If I live, Monsieur.  Ex. Betty. Wid. 
I'll take some other time.  Dufoy. 
Van you have de leisuré, Madam.  Sir Fred. 
By those lips,—  Wid. 
Nay, pray forbear, Sir.  Sir Fred. 
Who's conceited now, Widow? could  
You imagine I was so fond to kiss them?  Wid. 
You cannot blame me for standing on  
My guard so near an Enemy.  Sir Fred. 
If you are so good at that, Widow,  
Let's see, what guard would you choose to be at  
Should the Trumpet sound a Charge  
To this dreadful foe?  Wid. 
It is an idle Question amongst experienced  
Soldiers; but if we ever have a War,  
We'll never trouble the Trumpet; the  
Bells shall proclaim our Quarrel.  Sir Fred. 
It will be most proper; they shall be  
Rung backwards.  Wid. 
Why so, Sir?  Sir Fred. 
I'll have all the helps that may be to  
Allay a dangerous fire; Widows must  
Needs have furious flames; the bellows  
Have been at work, and blown'em up.  Wid. 
You grow too rude, Sir: I will have my  
Humour, a walk i'th' Garden; and afterwards  
We'll take the Air in the Park.  Sir Fred. 
Let us join hands then, Widow.  Wid. 
Without the dangerous help of a Parson  
I do not fear it, Sir.  Ex, Sir Fred. and Wid. Dufoy, 
Begar, I do no care two Sou if the  
Chambermaid ver hangé be it not  
Great deal better pretendé d' affection to  
Her, dan to tellé de hole Varldé I do take  
De Medicine vor de clapé; begar it  
Be de ver great deal better.  Ex. Dufoy.  

SCEN. II.  Scene, A Garden belonging to my Lord bevil's House. Enter Beaufort and Graciana. Beauf. 
Graciana, why do you condemn your Love?  
Your Beauty without that, alas! would prove  
But my destruction, an unlucky Star  
Prognosticating ruin and despair.  Grac. 
Sir, you mistake; 'tis not my Love I blame,  
But my Discretion; 
* Pointing to her breast.  Here the active flame▪  
Should yet a longer time have been concealed;  
Too soon, too soon I fear it was revealed.  
Our weaker Sex glories in a Surprise,  
We boast the sudden Conquests of our Eyes;  
But men esteem a Foe that dares contend,  
One that with noble Courage does defend  
A wounded Heart; the Victories they gain  
They prize by their own hazard and their pain.  Beauf. 
Graciana, can you think we take delight  
To have our happiness against us fight;  
Or that such goodness should us men displease  
As does afford us Heaven with greater ease?  Enter Lovis, walking discontentedly. 
See where your Brother comes; his  
carriage has been strange of late to me;  
I never gave him cause of discontent;  
He takes no notice of our being here:  
I will salute him.  Grac. 
By no means;  
Some serious thoughts you see employ his mind.  Beauf. 
I must be civil. Your Servant, Sir.  Lov. 
You are my Sister's Servant, Sir; go fawn  
Upon your Mistress; Fare-you-well.  Ex. Lovis. Beauf. 
Fare-you-well, if you are no better Company.  
Heavens! what is the matter?  Grac. weeps. 
What saucy sorrow dares approach your heart?  
Waste not these precious Tears; Oh, weep no more!  
Should Heaven frown the world would be too poor,  
(robbed of the sacred Treasure of your eyes)  
To pay for Mercy one fit Sacrifice.  Grac. 
My Brother, Sir, is growing mad, I fear.  Beauf. 
Your Brother is a man whose noble Mind  
Was to severest Virtue still inclined;  
He in the School of Honour has been bred,  
And all her subtle Laws with heed has read:  
There is some hidden cause, I fain would know  
From whence these strange disorders in him flow,  
Graciana, shall I beg you to dispel  
These Mists which round my troubled Reason dwell.  Grac. 
It is a Story I could wish you'd learn  
From one whom it does not so much concern;  
I am th' unhappy cause of what you've seen;  
My Brother's passion does proceed from mine.  Beauf. 
This does confound me more! it cannot be;  
You are the joy of all your family:  
Dares he condemn you for a noble love  
Which honour and your duty both approve.  Grac. 
My Lord, those errors merit our excuse  
Which an access of virtue does produce.  Beauf. 
I know that envy is too base a guest  
To have a lodge ng in his generous breast;  
'Tis some extreme of Honour, or of Love,  
Or both, that thus his indignation move.  Grac. 
Ere I begin, you my sad story end;  
You are a Rival to his dearest Friend.  Beauf. 
Graciana, though you have so great a share  
Of Beauty, all that see you Rivals are;  
Yet during this small space I did proclaim  
To you, and to the world, my purer flame,  
I never saw the man that durst draw near,  
With his ambitious Love t'assault your Ear.  
What providence has kept us thus asunder?  Grac. 
When I have spoke you'll find it is no wonder.  
He has a Mistress more renowned then me,  
Whom he does Court, his dearer Loyalty;  
He on his legs does now her favours wear;  
He is confined by her foul Ravisher:  
You may not know his Person; but his Name  
Is strange to none that have conversed with Fame.  
'Tis Bruce.  Beauf. 
The Man indeed I ne'er did see,  
But have heard wonders of his Gallantry.  Grac. 
This gallant Man my Brother ever loved;  
But his Heroic Virtues so improved  
In time those seeds of Love which first were sown,  
That to the highest Friendship they are grown,  
This Friendship first, and not his Love to me,  
Sought an Alliance with our Family.  
My Sister and myself were newly come  
From learning how to live, to live at home;  
When barren of Discourse one day, and free  
With's Friend, my Brother chanced to talk of me;  
Unlucky accident! his Friend replied,  
He long had wished their Blood might be allied;  
Then pressed him that they might my Father move  
To give an approbation to his Love:  
His Person and his Merits were so great,  
He granted faster than they could entreat;  
He wished the Fates which govern hearts would be  
So kind to him to make our hearts agree;  
But told them he had made a sacred Vow,  
Never to force what Love should disallow.  Enter Sir Frederick and Widow. 
But see, Sir Frederick and my Aunt.  
My Lord, some other time I will relate  
The story of his Love, and of its Fate.  Sir Fred. 
How now my Lord? so grave a countenance  
In the presence of your Mistress?  
Widow, what would you give  
Your eyes had power to make me such  
Another melancholy Gentleman?  Wid. 
I have seen e'en as merry a man as  
Yourself, Sir Frederick, brought to stand  
With folded arms, and with a tristful look  
Tell a mournful tale to a Lady.  Enter a Footboy, and whispers Sir Frederick. Sir Fred. 
The Devil owes some men a shame;  
The Coach is ready; Widow, I know  
You are ambitious to be seen in my Company.  Wid. 
My Lord, and Cousin, will you honour  
Me with yours to the Park; that may take off the  
Scandal of his?  Enter Aurelia and Leticia. Beauf. 
Madam, we'll wait upon you;  
But we must not leave this Lady behind us.  Wid. 
Cousin Aurelia—  Aurel. 
Madam, I beg you will excuse me, and  
You, my Lord; I feel a little indisposition,  
And dare not venture into so sharp an  
Air.  Beauf. 
Your Servant, Madam.  Exeunt all but Aurelia and Leticia. Aurel. 
Retire; I would not have you stay with me,  
I have too great a train of misery.  
If virtuous Love in none be cause of shame,  
Why should it be a crime to own the flame,  
But we by Custom, not by Nature led,  
Must in the beaten paths of Honour tread.  
I love thee, Bruce; but Heaven, what have I done!  
Leticia, did I not command you hence?  Letic. 
Madam, I hope my care is no offence:  
I am afflicted thus to see you take  
Delight to keep your miseries awake.  Aurel. 
Since you have heard me, swear you will be true;  
Leticia, none must know I love but you.  Letic. 
If I at any time your Love declare,  
May I of Heaven and serving you despair.  
Though I am young, yet I have felt this smart;  
Love once was busy with my tender heart;  Aurel. 
Wert thou in love?  Letic. 
I was.  Aurel. 
Prithee, with whom?  Letic. 
With one that like myself did newly bloom:  
Methoughts his Actions were above his Years.  She weeps. Aurel. 
Leticia, you confirm me by your tears;  
Now I believe you loved; did he love you?  Letic. 
That had been more then to my Love was due;  
He was so much above my humble Birth,  
My Passion had been fitter for his mirth.  Aurel. 
And does your Love continue still the same?  Letic. 
Some sparks remain, but Time has quenched the flame;  
I hope 'twill prove as kind to you, and cure  
These greater griefs which (Madam) you endure.  Aurel. 
Time to my bleeding heart brings no relief;  
Death there must heal the fatal wounds of grief:  
Leticia, come, within this shady Bower  
we'll join our mournful voices, and repeat  
The saddest tales we ever learned of Love.  Aurelia and Leticia walk into an Arbour, and sing this Song in Parts. 

SONG.  
WHen Phillis watched her harmless Sheep  
Not one poor Lamb was made a prey;  
Yet she had cause enough to weep,  
Her silly heart did go astray:  
Then flying to the neighbouring Grove,  
She left the tender Flock to rove,  
And to the Winds did breathe her Love.  
She sought in vain  
To ease her pain;  
The heedless winds did fan her fire;  
Venting her grief  
Gave no relief;  
But rather did increase desire.  
Then sitting with her arms across,  
Her sorrows streaming from each eye;  
She fixed her thoughts upon her loss,  
And in despair resolved to die.   Aur. 
Why should you weep, Leticia, whilst we sing?  Walking out of the Arbour. 
Tell me from whence those gentle Currents spring.  
Can yet your faded Love cause such fresh showers?  
This water is too good for dying flowers.  Letic. 
Madam, it is such Love commands this dew  
As cannot fade; it is my love to you.  Aurel. 
Leticia, I am weary of this place;  
And yet I know not whither I should go.  Letic. 
Will you be pleased to try if you can sleep?  
That may deceive you of your cares awhile.  Aurel. 
I will: there's nothing here does give me ease,  
But in the end will nourish my disease.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. III.  Scene, A Tavern. Enter Wheadle, and immediately after him a Footboy. Whead. 
The hour is come;  
Where's your Master, Sirrah?  Foot-b. 
He'll be here immediately, Sir.  Whead. 
Is he neatly dressed?  Boy. 
In the very suit he won th'other day  
Of the Buckingham-shire Grazier.  Whead. 
Take this Letter, and give it me  
When you perceive me talking with  
Sir Nicholas Cully, with recommendations from  
A Lady; lurk in some secret place till he's  
Come, that he may not perceive you at his  
Entrance. Oh, here's Palmer.  Exit Footboy. 
Thom, what's the price of a score of fat  Enter Palmer. 
Wethers?  Palm. 
Do they not well become me, boy?  Whead. 
Nature doubtless intended thee for a Rogue,  
She has so well contrived thee for  
Disguises. Here comes Sir Nicholas.  Enter Sir Nicholas. 
Sir Nicholas, come, come; This is an honest Friend  
And Countryman of mine.  Sir Nich. 
Your servant, Sir; is not the Lady come by yet?  Whead. 
I expect her every moment,— Ho, here's her Boy.  
Well, what news?  Enter Boy. Boy. 
My Lady presents her service to you, Sir, and has  
Sent you this.  Delivers a Letter. Wheadle reads, and seems much displeased. Sir Nich. 
What is the matter, man?  Whea. 
Read read; I want patience to tell you.  Gives Cully the Letter. 
Fortune still jade's me in all my expectations.  Sir Nich. reading the Letter. 
The Citizen's wife forced  
To go to Greenwich with her husband;  
Will meet some time next week.  
Come, come, Wheadle, another time will do;  
be not so passionate, man.  Whead. 
I must abuse my friend upon an idle  
Woman's words!  Sir Nich. 
Pish, 'tis an accident: Come, let us  
Drink a glass of Wine, to put these Women  
Out of our heads.  Palm. 
Women? ho Boys, Women, where are the Women?  Whead. 
Here's your merry Countryman.  

Palmer sings.  
He took her by the Apron,  
To bring her to his beck;  
But as he wound her to him  
The Apron-strings did break.   Enter Drawer with Wine. Sir Nich. 
A merry man indeed. Sir, my service to you.  Drinks to Palmer. Palm. 
Thank you, Sir. Come Mr Wheadle, remembering  
My Landlord, i'faith; would he were e'en among us now.  
Come, be merry man. 
† To S. Nich.  Lend me your hand, Sir; you  
Look like an honest man; here's a good health  
To all that are so: Tope— here pledge me.  Drinks. Gives Sir Nicholas the Glass. Sir Nich. 
Mr Wheadle, to you.  Drinks, and leaves some in the Glass. Palm. 
I'll not abate you an ace. 'Slid, you're not  
So honest as I took you for.  Sir Nicholas drinks up the rest. 

Palmer Sings.  
If any man balk his liquour  
Let him never balk the Gallows,  
But sing a Psalm there with ' Vicar,  
Or die in a dirty Alehouse.   Enter Drawer. Drawer. 
There's a Countryman below desires to  
Speak with his Master Palmer.  Palm. 
So, so, thank thee Lad; it is my man, I  
Appointed him to call here; h'as sold the Cattle  
I'll warrant you: I'll wait upon you again  
Presently, Gentlemen.  Ex. Palmer. Whead. 
Is not this a very pleasant fellow?  Sir Nich. 
The pleasantest I ever met with; What is he?  Whead. 
He's a Buckinghamshier Grazier, very  
Rich; he has the fat Oxen, and fat Acres in the Vale:  
I met him here by chance, and could not avoid  
Drinking a glass o' Wine with him. I believe he's  
Gone down to receive money;  
'Twere an excellent design to bubble him.  Sir Nich. 
How 'twould change his merry note; will you  
Try him?  Whead. 
Do you:  
I cannot appear in't, because he takes me for his Friend.  Sir Nich. 
How neatly I could Top upon him!  Whead. 
All things will pass upon him; I'll go  
Your half: Talk of Dice, you'll  
Perceive if he's coming. What money have you  
About you?  Sir Nich. 
Ten pieces.  Whead. 
I have about that quantity too, here, take it.  
If he should run us out of our ready money  
Be sure you set him deep upon Tick,  
If he'll be at you, that we may recover it;  
For we'll not pay a farthing of what we lose  
That way. Hush, here he comes.  Enter Palmer with a bag of Money under his arm, and flings it upon the Table. Palm. 
All my fat Oxen and Sheep are melted  
To this, Gentlemen.  Whead. 
Their grease is well tried, Sir.  Sir Nich. 
Come, Sir, for all your riches, you are in  
Arrear here.  Offers him a Glass. Palm. 
I'll be soon out of your debts: My hearty  
Love to you, Sir. Drinks.] Would  
I had you both in Buckinghamshier, and a  
Pipe of this Canary in my Cellar; we'd  
Roast an Ox before we parted; should we  
Not, Boy?  

Palmer Sings.  
we'd sing, and we'd laugh, and we'd drink all the day;  
Our Reason we'd banish, our senses should sway;  
And every Pleasure our Wills should obey.   Palm. 
Come, drink to me a brimmer if you  
Dare now.  Sir Nich. 
Nay, if you provoke me you'll find me a  
Bold man: Give me a bigger glass, Boy:  
So, this is fit for men of Worship: Hang your  
Retail Drinkers; have at thee, my brave Countryman.  Drinks. Palm. 
I'll do all I can for my guts to pledge thee.  
Ho, brave boys! that's he, that's he, i'faith; how  
I could hug thee now! Mr Wheadle, to you.  Whead. 
I protest, Gentlemen, you'll fright me out  
Of your Company. Sir Nicholas, shall we have  
Th'other round.  Sir Nich. 
Let's pause a while. What say  
You, Gentlemen, if, to pass away the time,  
And to refresh us, we should have a box and dice,  
And fling a merry Main among ourselves in sport?  Whea. 
'Twill spoil good Company; by no means, Sr Nicholas.  Palm. 
Hang play among Friends; let's have a Wench:  

Sings.  
And Jenny was all my joy,  
She had my Heart at her will;  
But I left her and her toy  
When once I had got my fill.   
What say you, shall we have her?  Sir Nich. 
We are not drunk enough for a Wench.  Palm. 
Let's sing a Catch then.  Whead. 
Cull. Agreed, agreed.  Whead. 
Begin, Mr Palmer.  Palmer sings, standing in the middle, with a Glass of Wine in his hand. Palm. 
I have no design here,  
But drinking good Wine here.  Whea. 
Nor I, Boy.  Sr Nic. 
Nor I, Boy.  Whea. 
The art my Boy.  Sr Nic. 
The art my Boy.  All 3. 
Our heads are too airy for Plots:  
Let us hug then all three,  
Since our Virtues agree,  
We'll hollow and cast up our Hats.  They hollow whilst Palmer drinks, and then change till it has gone round. Sir Nich. 
Enough, enough.  Palm. 
Very good boys all, very good boys all. Give  
Me a glass of Wine there; fill a Brimmer: Sir  
Nicholas, your Lady.  Sir Nich. 
Pray, Sir, forbear; I must be forced to leave  
Your Company else.  
Prithee, Wheadle, let's have a Box and Dice.  Whead. 
We shall grow dull. Mr Palmer, what say  
You to the business?  Palm. 
I do not understand Dice: I understand good  
Pasture and drink.— Hang the Devil's bones.  Wheadle whispers Cully to send for Dice. Cully whispers the Drawer. 

Palmer Sings.  
He that leaves his Wine for Boxes and Dice,  
Or his Wench for fear of mishaps,  
May he beg all his days, cracking of Lice,  
And die in conclusion of Claps.   Enter Drawer with Dice. Palm. 
Come, come, Gentlemen, this is the harmlesser  
Sport of the two; a merry glass round.  Sir Nich. 
Excuse me, Sir; I'll pledge you here.  Takes Dice. 
Come, come, Sir, on Six; Six is the Main.  Palm. 
The Main? what's the Main?  Sir Nich. 
Do not you understand Hazard?  Palm. 
I understand Dice, or haphazard!  Sir Nich. 
Can you play at Passage?  Palmer. 
You pass my understanding: I can fling  
Most at a throw, for a Shot, or a glass of Wine.  Sir Nich. 
Passage is easily learned: The Caster wins  
If he fling above ten with Doublets upon  
Three Dice.  Palm. 
How Doublets?  Sir Nich. 
Two of a sort; two Cinques, two Tre's, or the like.  Palm. 
Ho, ho; I have you.  Sir Nich. 
Come, set then.  Palm. 
I set you this Bottle.  Sir Nich. 
Nay, nay, set money!  Palm. 
Is it a fair play Mr. Wheadle, I trust to you.  Whead. 
Upon my word a very fair square play; but  
This table is so wet, there's no playing upon it.  Drawer. 
Will you be pleased to remove into the next Room,  
Gentlemen?  Sir Nich. 
I think 'twill not be amiss.  Whead. 
Much better. Come Mr Palmer.  Palm. 
I'll follow, Sir.  

Palmer sings.  
If she be not as kind as fair,  
But peevish and unhandy,  
Leave her, she's only worth the care  
Of some spruce jackadandy.  
I would not have thee such an Ass,  
Hadst thou ne'er so much leisure.  
To sigh and whine for such a Lass  
Whose Pride's above her Pleasure.   Sir Nich. 
Ho brave Boy!  Palm. 
March on, march on.  

SINGS.  
Make much of ev'ry buxom Girl,  
Which needs but little Courting;  
Her value is above the pearl,  
That takes delight in sporting.   Exeunt Omnes.   


ACT. III. SCEN. I.  Scene, A Tavern. Enter Sir Nicholas Cully, Wheadle, Palmer, and Drawer. Palm. 
NAy, Sir Nich'las, for all your haste, I must  
Have a Note under your hand for the though usa  
Pounds you owe me.  Whead. 
This must not be among Friends, Mr Palmer;  
Sir Nich'las shall not pay the money.  Sir Nich. 
I had been a Madman to play at such a rate  
If I had ever intended to pay.  Palm. 
Though I am but a poor Countryman I scorn  
To be choosed; I have Friends in Town.  Whead. 
But hark you, Mr Palmer.  Palm. 
Hark me no harks; I'll have my money.  Sir Nich. 
Drawer, take you Reckoning.  Whead. laughing. 
Farewell, Sir; haste into the Country to  
Mind your Cattle.  Palm. 
But hark you, Gentlemen; are you in earnest?  Whead. 
Ay indeed; fare you well, Sir.  Palm. 
I took you for my Friend, Mr Wheadle;  
But now I perceive what you are.  

* To Cully▪  Your ear, Sir.  Whead. 
Never fear him; he dares not to go into the  
Field, without it be among his sheep.  Cul. 
Agreed; to morrow, about eight in the morning,  
Near Pancridge.  Whead. 
I will have the honour to serve you, Sir nicholas.  
Provide yourself a Second, Mr Palmer.  Exeunt Sir Nich and Whead. laughing. Palm. 
So, laugh:  
This is the Sheep that I must fleece.  Exit.  

SCEN. II.  Scene, COVENT-GARDEN. Enter Sir Frederick Frolic, with Fiddlers before him, and six or eight Link-boys, dancing and singing. Sir Fred. 
Here, here, this is the window; range your  
Selves here.  Enter the Bellman, Bell-m. 
Good-morrow, Gentlemen.  Sir Fred. 
Honest Bellman, prithee lend me they Bell.  Bell-m. 
Withal my heart, Master.  Sir Fred. rings the Bell, and then repeats these Verses. Sir Fred. 
You Widow, that do sleep dogsleep,  
And now for your dead Husband weep,  
Perceiving well what want you have  
Of that poor worm has eat in Grave;  
Rise out of Bed, and ope the door;  
Here's that will all your joys restore.  
Good-morrow, my Mistress dear, Good-morrow.  
Good-morrow, Widow.  He rings the Bell again. The Chambermaid comes to the Window unlaced, holding her Petticoats in her hand. Maid. 
Who's that that comes at this unseasonable  
Hour, to disturb my Ladies quiet.  Sir Fred. 
An honest Bellman, to mind her of her frailty.  Maid. 
Sir Frederick, I wonder you will offer this;  
You will lose her favour for ever.  Sir Fred. 
Y' are mistaken; now's the time to creep into  
Her favour.  Maid. 
I'm sure you've waked me out of the sweetest sleep.  
hay ho—  Sir Fred. 
Poor girl! let me in, I'll rock  
Thee into a sweeter.  Maid. 
I hear a stirring in my mistress's Chamber;  
I believe you've frighted her.  Exit Maid. Sir Fred. 
Sound a fresh Alarm; the Enemy's at hand.  Fiddler's play. The Widow comes to the Window in her Nightgown. Wid. 
Whose insolence is this, that dares affront me Thus?  Sir Fred. in a Canting Tone. 
If there be insolence in Love, 'tis I  
Have done you this unwilling injury.  Wid. 
What pitiful rhyming fellow's that? he speaks  
As if he were prompted by the Fiddlers.  Sir Fred. 
Alas, what pains I take thus to unclose  
Those pretty eyelids which locked up my Foes!  Wid. 
A godly Book would become that tone a great  
Deal better: He might get a pretty living by  
Reading Mother Shipton's Prophecies, or some  
Pious Exhortation at the corner of a Street:  
His mournful voice, I vow, has moved my compassion.  Sir Fred. 
Ay, ay, we should have a fellow-feeling of one  
Another indeed, Widow.  Wid. 
Sir Frederick, is it you?  Sir Fred. 
Yes truly; and can you be angry, Lady?  
Have not your Quarters been beaten up  
At these most seasonable hours before now?  Wid. 
Yes; but it has been by one that has had a Commission  
For what he did: I'm afraid should it once become  
Your Duty, you would soon grow weary of the Employment.  S. Fr. 
Widow, I hate this distance; 'tis not the English fashion:  
Prithee let's come to't hand to fist.  Wid. 
I give no entertainment to such lewd persons.  
Farewell, Sir.  Exit Widow. S. Fr. 
I'll fetch thee again, or conjure the whole Garden up,  
Sing the Catch I taught you at the Rose.  Fiddlers sing. 

SONG.  
HE that will win a Widow's heart  
Must bear up briskly to her:  
She loves the Lad that's free and smart,  
But hates the Formal Wooer.   Widow runs to the Window again, with her Maid. Wid. 
Hold, hold, Sir Frederick; what do you imagine  
The Neighbours will think?  Sir Fred. 
So ill, I hope, of thee, thou'lt be forced to  
Think the better of me.  Wid. 
I am much beholden to you for the care you have  
Of my Reputation.  Sir Fred. 
Talk no more, but let the door be opened;  
Or else Fiddlers—  Wid. 
Pray hold; what security shall I have for  
Your good behaviour?  Sir Fred. 
My Sobriety.  Wid. 
That's pawned at the Tavern from whence  
You came.  Sir Fred. 
Thy own Honesty then; is that engaged?  Wid. 
I think that will go nigh to secure me.  
Give 'em entrance, Betty.  Ex. Widow, and her Maid. Enter Palmer, with a Link before him. Sir Fred. 
Ha! who goes there?  Palm. 
An humble Creature of yours, Sir.  Sir Fred. 
Palmer in a disguise! What roguery  
Hast thou been about?  Palm. 
Out of my loyal inclinations doing  
Service to his Majesty.  Sir Fred. 
What? a plotting?  Palm. 
How to destroy his enemies, Mr Wheadle  
And I are very vigilant.  Sir Fred. 
In bubbling of some body, on my life,  Palm. 
We do not use to boast our services,  
Nor do we seek Rewards; good actions  
Recompense themselves.  Sir Fred. 
Ho, the door opens; farewell, Sirrah.  
Gentlemen, wait you without, and be ready  
When I call.  
Honest Bellman, drink this.  Gives the Bellman money. Bell-m. 
Thank you, Noble Master.  Exit Bellman. Sir Fred. entering. 
Here's something to stop thy mouth too.  The Maid shrieks. Maid. 
Out upon you, Sir Frederick; you'll never leave  
Your old tricks.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. III.  Scene, The Widow's House. Enter Sir Frederick, leading the Widow, followed by her Maid. Sir Fred. 
Little did I think I should ever have been brought  
To this pass: Love never had the power to rob me  
Of my rest before.  Wid. 
Alas, poor Gentleman! he has not been used to  
These late hours.  Sir Fred. 
Widow, do not you be peevish now; 'tis dangerous  
Jesting with my affection; 'tis in its infancy, and  
Must be humoured.  Wid. 
Pray teach me how, Sir.  Sir Fred. 
Why, with kisses, and such pretty little dalliances;  
Thus, thus.  Kisses her. Wid. 
Hold, hold, Sir; if it be so froward, put it out  
To Nurse; I am not so fond of it as you imagine;  
Pray how have you disposed of your brave Comrades?  
Have you left them to the mercy of the Beadle?  Sir Fred. 
No, you must be acquainted with their Virtues.  
Enter, Gentlemen.  Enter the Fiddlers, and a Masque of the Link-boys, who are Dancing-masters, disguised for the Frolic. Wid. 
These are men of skill.  After the Masque. Sir Fred. 
I disgused 'em for your entertainment.  Wid. 
Well, Sir, now I hope you'll leave me to my  
Rest.  Sir Fred. 
Can you in conscience turn a young man  
Out of doors at this time o'th' night, Widow?  
Fie, fie, the very thought on't will keep you  
Waking.  Wid. 
So pretty, so well-favoured a young man;  
One that loves me.  Sir Fred. 
Ay, one that loves you.  Wid. 
Truly 'tis a very hard-hearted thing.  She sighs. Sir Fr. 
Come, come, be mollified. You may go, Gentlemen,  
And leave me here; you may go.  To the Masquers. Wid. 
You may stay, Gentlemen; you may stay,  
And take your Captain along with you:  
You'll find good Quarters in some warm Hayloft.  S. Fr. 
Merciless Woman! Do but lend me thy Maid; faith I'll  
Use her very tenderly and lovingly, even as I'd use  
Thyself, dear Widow, if thou wouldst but make proof  
Of my affection.  Wid. 
If the Constable carry your suspicious person to the  
Compter, pray let me have notice of it; I'll send my  
Tailor to be your Bail.  Sir Fr. 
Go, go to bed, and be idle, Widow; that's worse than  
Any misfortune I can meet with. Strike up, and give  
Notice of our coming. Farewell, Widow;  
I pity thy solitary condition.  Exeunt Fiddlers playing.  

SCEN. IU.  Scene, Sir Frederick's Lodging. Enter Dufoy, and Clark. Clark. 
I wonder Sir Frederick stays out so late.  Dufoy. 
Dis is noting; six, seven a clock in the morning  
Is ver good hour.  Clark. 
I hope he does not use these hours often.  Dufoy. 
Some six, seven time a veeke; no oftiner.  Clark. 
My Lord commanded me to wait his coming.  Dufoy. 
Matré Clark, to divertise you, I vil tell you  
How I did get be acquainted vid dis bedlam Matre.  
About two, tree year ago me had for my conveniance  Enter a Footboy. 
Dischargé myself from attending as Matré D'ostel to  
A person of Condition in Parie; it happen after the  
Dispatch of my little affairé—  Foot-b. 
That is, after he'd spent his money, Sir.  Dufoy. 
Jan foutré de Lacque; me vil have de Vip  
And de Belle vor your breeck, Rogue.  Foot-b. 
Sir, in a word, he was jack-pudding to a Mountebank,  
And turned off for want of wit; my Master picked him  
Up before a Puppit-show, mumbling a halfpenny  
Custard, to send him with a Letter to the Post.  Dufoy. 
Morbleu, see, see de insolance of the Footboy English,  
Bogre Rascale, you lie, begar I vil cutté your troaté.  Exit Footboy. Clark. 
He's a Rogue; on with your story, Monsieur.  Dufoy. 
Matré Clark, I am your ver humble Serviture; but  
Begar me have no patience to be abusé. As I did say, After  
De dispatché of my affairé van day being Idelé, vich  
Does producé de Mellanchollique, I did valké over  
De new Bridge in Parie, and to devertise the time,  
And my more serious tough●é, me did look to see  
De Marrioneté and de Jack-puddingé, vich  
Did play hundred pretty triké, time de  
Collation vas come; and warrant I had no company, I vas  
Unvilling to go to de Cabareté, but did buy a Darriolé,  
Little Custardé vich did satisfy my appetite ver vel:  
In does time young Mounfieur de Grandvil (a Gentleman  
Of ver great Quality, van dat vas my ver good Friendé,  
And has done me ver great and insignal faveure)  
Come by in his Caroché, vid dis Sir Frollick, who did  
Pension at the same Academy, to learn the  
Language, de bon mine, the great horse, and  
Many oder triké; Monsieur seeing me did  
Make de bowé, and did beken, beken me come  
To him; he did tellé me dat de Englis Gentleman  
Had de Letré vor de Posté, and did entreaté  
Me (if I had de opportunity) to see de Letré  
Deliver; he did tellé me too, it vold be ver great  
Obligation: de memory of de faveur I had  
Receive from his Famelyé, beside de inclination I  
Naturally have to serué de strangeré, made me  
Retourné de complemen vid ver great civility,  
And so I did take the Letré, and see it deliveré.  
Sir Frolic perceiving (by the managment of dis  
Affairé) dat I vas man d'esprit, and of vitté, did  
Entreaté me to be his Serviteur; me did take  
D'affection to his Personé, and vas contentê to live  
Vid him, to counsel and to advisé him. You see  
Now de lie of de Bougre dé Lacque Englishé, Morbleu.  Enter a Footman. Footm. 
Monsieur, the Apothecary is without.  Dufoy. 
Dat news be no ver velcome, begar.  
Matré Clarke, go and sit you down; I vil but swal  
My breakface, and be vid you again present.  
Morbleu L' apothecaré.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. V.  Scene, A Field. Enter Wheadle and Cully. Cully. 
Dear Wheadle, this is too dangerous a testimony  
Of thy kindness.  Whead. 
I should be angry with you if you thought so:  
What makes you so serious?  Cul. 
I am sorry I did not provide for both our safeties.  Whead. 
How so?  Cul. 
Colonel Hewson is my neighbour, and very good  
Friend; I might have acquainted him with  
The business, and got him with a File of  
Musketeers to secure us all.  Whead. 
But this would not secure your Honour.  
What would the world have judged?  Cul. 
Let the world have judged what it would: Have  
We not had many precedents of late, and  
The world knows not what to judge?  Whead. 
But you see there was no need to hazard  
Your Reputation; here's no enemy appears.  Cul. 
We have done our duty, let's be going then.  Whea. 
We ought to wait a while.  Cul. 
The air is so bleak, I vow I can no longer  
Endure it.  Whea. 
Have a little patience, methinks I see two  
Making towards us  
In the next Close.  Cul. 
Where, where? 'tis them.  Whead. 
Bear up bravely now like a man.  Cul. 
I protest I am the worst dissembler  
In cases of this nature.  Whead. 
Alon; look like a man of resolution.  
Whither, whither go you?  Cul. 
But to the next house to make my Will,  
For fear of the worst; tell them I'll be here  
Again presently.  Whead. 
By no means; if you give 'em the least occasion  
To suspect you, they ' I appear like Lions.  Cul. 
Well, 'tis but giving security for the money;  
That will bring me off at last.  Enter Palmer and his Second. Palm. 
I see you ride the Fore-horse, Gentlemen.  All strip but Cully, who fumbles with his Doublet. Whead. 
Good-morrow, Sir.  Sec. 
Come, Sir, let us match the swords.  To Wheadle. Whead. 
With all my heart.  They match the Swords. 

Palmer Sings.  
He had and a good right Bilbo blade,  
Wherewith he used to vapour;  
Full many a stubborn Foe had made  
To wince and cut a caper.   Sec. 
Here's your Sword, Sir.  To Palmer. Palm. 
Come, Sir, are you ready for this sport?  To Cully. Cul. 
By and by, Sir; I will not rend the buttons from my  
Doublet for no man's pleasure.  Whead. 
Death, you've spoiled all; make haste.  Cul. 
Hang 'em, the Devil eggs 'em on; they will fight.  Palm. 
What, will you never have done fumbling?  Sec. 
This is a shame; fight him with his Doublet on;  
There's no foul play under it.  Palm. 
Come, Sir, have at you.  Making to Cully. Sec. 
Here, here, Sir.  To Wheadle. Whead. 
I am for you, Sir.  Wheadle and the Second seem to fight. Cul. 
Hold, hold, I beseech you, Mr Palmer, hear me,  
Hear me.  Whead. 
What's the matter?  Cul. 
My Conscience will not let me fight in a wrong  
Cause; I will pay the money, I have fairly lost it.  Whead. 
How contemptible is man, overcome by the worst of  
Passions, Fear! it makes him as much below Beasts  
As Reason raises him above them. I will myself  
Fight you both; Come on, if you dare.—  Cul. 
Prithee, dear Wheadle, do but hear me.  Whead. 
I disown all the kindness I ever had for you:  
Where are these men of valour, which owe their  
Virtue to this man's Vice? let me go, I will chastise  
Their insolence myself.  Cully holds him. Cul. 
Dear Wheadle, bear with the frailties of  
Thy Friend.  Whead. 
Death, what would you have me do? can I serve  
You with any thing more dear than my life?  Cul. 
Let us give them security.  Whead. 
Do you know what it is you would do? have you considered  
What a thousand Pounds is? 'tis a Fortune for any one man.  Cul. 
I will pay it all; thou shalt be no loser.  Whead. 
Do you hear, Shepherd? how do you expect  
This money?  Palm. 
I expect such security for it as my friend shall advise.  Sec. 
A Warrant to confess a Judgement from you both.  Whead. 
You shall be damned first; you shall  
Have nothing.  Palm. and Sec. 
We'll have your bloods.  They proffer to fight; Cully holds Wheadle. Whead. 
Let me go.  Cul. 
Dear Wheadle, let it be so. You shall  
Have a Judgement, Gentlemen.  Whead. 
I will take care hereafter with whom I engage.  The Second pulls papers out of his pocket 
What? you have your tackling about you.  Sec. 
We have Articles for Peace, as well as Weapons  
For War.  Whea. 
Dispatch, dispatch then, put me to no more  
Torment with delays.  Sec. 
Come Sr Nicholas to the Book; you see we are favourable,  
We grant you the benefit of your Clergy.— Your  Cully subscribes on Palmer 's back, and then Wheadle. 
Helping hand, good Mr Wheadle, to finish the work.  Whead. 
Take that into the bargain.  Kicks him. Palm. 
You shall have another, if you please, at the price.  Sec. 
We seldom quarrel under a thousand pounds.  Palm. and Sec. 
We wish you merry, Gentlemen.  

Palmer Sings.  
Come, let's to the Tavern scape,  
And drink whilst we can stand;  
We thirst more for the blood o'th' Grape  
Then for the blood of man.   Exeunt Palmer and Second. Whead. 
Do you see now what men of mighty prowess  
These are?  Cul. 
I was to blame, indeed.  Whead. 
I am in such a passion I know not what  
To do: Let us not stand gazing here;  
I would not have this known for a Kingdom.  Cul. 
No, nor I neither.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. VI  Scene, The Lord bevil's House. Enter my Lord Bevil and Lovis. Lovis. 
'Tis yet within your power, Sir, to maintain  
Our Honour, and prevent this threatning stain.  L. beu. 
Forbear this wicked insolence: Once more  
I charge you think on your Obedience.  Exit L. Bevill. Lovis. 
Beauty, what art thou, we so much admire!  
Thou art no real, but a seeming fire,  
Which, like the glow-worm, only cast'st a light  
To them whose Reason Passion does benight.  
Thou art a Meteor, which but blazing dies,  
Made of such vapours as from us arise.  
Within thy guilty beams lurk cruel Fates,  
To peaceful Families, and warring States.  
Unhappy Friend, to dote on what we know—  Ent. a Servant. Seru. 
Sir, Colonel Bruce, unexpectedly released from  
His Imprisonment, is come to wait upon you.  Exit Servant. Lovis. 
What shall I do! Ye Powers above be kind,  
Some counsel give to my distracted mind:  
Friendship and shame within me so contend,  
I know not how to shun or meet my Friend.  Enter Bruce. Bruce. 
Where is my generous Friend? Oh Noble Youth,  
How long have I been robbed of this content?  They embrace. 
Though deprivation be the greatest pain,  
When Heaven restores our happiness again,  
It makes amends by our increase of joy,  
Perfecting that which it did once destroy.  
Dear Friend, my love does now exact its due;  
Graciana must divide my heart with you:  
Conduct me to your Sister, where I may  
Make this my morn of Joy a glorious day.  
What means this sad astonishment!  Lovis. 
How can we choose but with confusion greet,  
When I your Joys with equal Sorrows meet?  Bruce. 
O Heaven! must my afflictions have no end!  
I scaped my Foe, to perish by my Friend.  
What strange disaster can produce this grief!  
Is Graciana dead? Speak, speak; be brief.  Lovis. 
She lives; but I could wish her dead.  Br. 
Rash man! why should your envy swell so high,  
To wish the world this great calamity?  
Wish the whole frame of Nature were dissolved;  
That all things to a Chaos were revolved.  
There is more charity in this desire;  
Since with our loss, our sorrows would expire.  Enter Aurelia. Lovis. 
Here comes Aurelia, sent for my relief;  
Heaven knows her tongue can best express this grief:  
Examine her, and you shall find ere long  
I can revenge, though not relate your wrong.  Bruce. 
For pity haste, Aurelia, and declare  Kisses her hand. 
The reasons of your Brothers frighting care:  
My soul is racked with doubts, until I know.  After a pause. 
Your silence and your looks, Aurelia, show  
As if your kindness made you bear a part  
Of those great sorrows that afflict his heart.  Aurel. 
His passion is so noble and so just,  
No generous Soul can know it but it must  
Lay claim unto a portion, as its due:  
He can be thus concerned for none but you.  Bruce. 
Kind Maid, reveal what my misfortunes are;  
Friendship must not engross them, though it share.  
I would not willingly my Love suspect;  
And yet I fear 'tis answered with neglect.  Aurel. 
My Sister, by unlucky stars misled,  
From you and from her happiness is fled;  
Unskilful in the way, by passion pressed,  
She has took shelter in another's breast.  Bruce. 
Fate, thou hast done thy worst, thy Triumph sing;  
Now thou hast stung so home, thoust lost thy sting.  
I have not power, Graciana, to exclaim▪  After a pause. 
Against your fault; indeed you are to blame.  Lovis. 
Tell me, did she her promise plight, or give  
Your love encouragement enough to live?  Bruce. 
It was her pity sure, and not her Love,  
That made her seem my passion to approve:  
My story was unpleasant to her ear  
At first; but time had made her apt to hear  
My Love: She told me that it grew her grief,  
As much as mine, my pain found no relief;  
Then promised she'd endeavour the decrease  
Of that in her which warred against my peace.  
'Twas in this joyful spring of Love that I  
Was ravished from her by our enemy:  
My hopes grew strong, I banished all despair:  
These glowing sparks I then left to the care  
Of this fair maid, thinking she might inspire  
My passion, and blow up the kindling fire.  Lovis. 
Alas! she, to my knowledge, has been true;  
Sh'as spoke and sighed all that she could for you.  Aurel. 
When you were forced to end, I did proceed,  
And with success the catching fire did feed;  
Till Noble Beaufort, one unlucky day,  
A visit to our Family did pay;  
Newly arrived from Foreign Courts, and Fraught  
With all those Virtues that in Courts are taught:  
He with his amorous Tales so charmed her ear,  
That she of Love from none but him would hear.  Bruce. 
That heart which I so long with toil and pain  
Besieged, and used all stratagems to gain,  Enter a Servant, and whispers with Lovis. 
Is now become within a trice we see  
The Triumph of another's Victory.  
There is a fate in love, as well as war;  
Some though less careful more successful are.  Lovis. 
Do not this opportunity withstand;  
These Lovers now are walking hand in hand  
I'th' Garden; fight him there, and sacrifice  
His heart to that false Woman's cruel eyes:  
If fate be so unjust to make thee fall,  
His blood or mine shall wait thy Funeral.  Bruce. 
Young man, this rashness must have my excuse,  
Since 'tis your friendship does your fault produce;  
If Powers above did not this passion sway,  
But that our Love our Reason did obey,  
Your Sister I with Justice might accuse,  
Nor would I this occasion then refuse.  Lovis. 
Does Bruce resolve thus tamely to decline  
His interest, and like foolish women pine?  
Can that great heart which in your breast does dwell  
Let your fond griefs above your courage swell?  Bruce. 
My passions grow unruly, and I find  
Too soon they'll raise a Tempest in my mind.  
Graciana, like fond Parents, you're to blame  
You did not in its youth correct my flame;  
'Tis now so headstrong, and so wild a fire,  
I fear to both our ruins 'twill conspire:  
I grow impatient, Friend, come lead me where  
I may to her my injured Love declare.  
Graciana, yet your heart shall be my Prize,  
Or else my heart shall be your Sacrifice.  
Despair's the issue of ignoble minds,  
And but with Coward's entertainment finds.  Exeunt Lovis and Bruce. Aurel. 
Heaven grant some moderation to this rage,  
That Reason their swelled passions may assuage.  
Oh, Bruce! thou little think'st the Fates in me  
Have to the full revenged thy injury.  Exit.  

SCEN. VII.  Scene, A Garden belonging to my Lord bevil's House. Enter Beaufort and Graciana. Beauf. 
Madam, what you have told so much must move  
All that have sense of Honour or of Love,  
That for my Rival I could shed a Tear,  
If grief had any power when you are near.  Grac. 
Leave this discourse; your Mistress you neglect,  
And to your Rival all your thoughts direct.  Enter Bruce and Lovis, and stand undiscovered. Beauf. 
Forgive me, dear Graciana, I have been  
By my compassion soothed into a sin.  
The holiest man that to the Altar bows  
With wandering thoughts too often stains his Vows.  Bruce. 
Graciana, you are altered much, I find;  Surprising her by the hand. 
Sine I was here you've learned how to be kind.  
The god of Love, which subtly let you sway,  
Has stolen your heart, and taught it to obey.  Grac. 
heavens'! what strange surprise is this!  Bruce. 
Hither I'm come to make my lawful claim;  
You are my Mistress, and must own my flame.  Beau. 
Forbear, bold man, and do not tempt thy fate;  Taking her by the other hand. 
Thou hast no right, her Love does right create:  
Thy Claim must to my Title here give place;  
'Tis not who loves, but whom she's pleased to grace.  Grac. 
Hear me but speak; Bruce, you divide my care;  
Though not my Love, you my Compassion share;  
My heart does double duty; it does mourn  
For you brave Bruce; for you brave Beaufort burn.  Bruce. 
Your pity but destroys; if you would save,  
It is your Love, Graciana, I must have.  Beauf. 
Her Love is mine, she did it now declare;  
Name it no more, but vanish and despair.  Bruce. 
Death, do you think to conjure me away!  
I am no Devil that am forced t' obey:  
If you're so good at that, here are such charms  Laying his hand on his Sword. 
Can fright y'into the circle of her arms.  Beauf. 
Here is a Sword more fit for my defence;  
This is not courage, Bruce, but insolence.  Grac. takes Beauf. in her arms. 
Graciana, let me go, my heart wants room.  Grac. 
My arms till now were ne'er thought troublesome.  Bruce. 
Beaufort, I hope you've courage to appear,  
Where sacred Sanctuary is not near.  
I'll leave you now within that happy state  
Which does provoke my fury and my hate.  Ex. Bru. and Lov. Grac. 
You must not meet him in the field, to prove  
A doubtful Combat for my certain Love.  
Beside, your heart is mine; will you expose  
The heart you gave me to its raging foes?  
Those men want Honour who stake that at play  
Which to their Friends their kindness gave away.  Beauf. 
Graciana, why did you confine me so  
Within your arms? you should have let me go:  
We soon had finished this our hot debate,  
Which now must wait a longer time on Fate.  Grac. 
None, in combustions blame such sa desire  
To save their precious Goods from raging fire.  
Banish this passion now, my Lord, and prove  
Your anger cannot overcloud your Love.  Beauf. 
Your glorious presence can this rage control,  
And make a calm in my tempestuous soul;  
But yet there must be time; the Sun does bear  
A while with the fierce tempests of the Air,  
Before he make those stormy conflicts cease,  
And with his conquering beams proclaims a Peace.  Exeunt.   


ACT. IU. SCEN. I.  Enter Lord Beaufort and Lovis. Lovis. 
FArewell, my Lord, I'll to my Friend declare  
How generous you in your acceptance were.  Beauf. 
My Honour is as forward as my Love,  
On equal wings of jealousy they move:  
I to my Rival will in neither yield;  
I've won the Chamber, and will win the Field.  Lovis. 
Your Emulation, Sir, is swollen so high,  
You may be worthy of his Victory:  
You'll meet with Honour blown, not in the bud,  
Whose Root was fed with vast expense of blood.  Ex. Lovis. Enter Sir Frederick. Sir Frederick. Sir Fred. 
What, my Lord, as studious as a Country  
Vicar on a Saturday in the afternoon?  
I thought you had been ready for the Pulpit.  Beauf. 
I am not studying of speeches for my Mistress;  
'Tis action that I now am thinking on,  
Wherein there's Honour to be gained;  
And you, Cousin, are come luckily to share it.  Sir Fred. 
On my life a Prize to be played for your Mistress:  
I had notice of your Quarrel, which brought me  
Hither so early with my Sword to serve you.  
But dares so zealous a Lover as your Lordship  
Break the commandment of your Mistress? I heard,  
Poor Lady, she wept, and charged you to sleep  
In a whole skin; but young men never know  
When theyare well.  Beau. 
Cousin, my love to her cannot make me forget my duty  
To my Family.  Sir Fred. 
Pray whose's body must I exercise my skill Upon?  Beauf. 
You met the man; Graciana's Brother.  Sir Fred. 
An expert Gentleman, and I have not  
Fenced of late, unless it were with my  
Widow's Maids; and they are e'en too hard  
For me at my own weapon.  Beauf. 
Cousin, 'tis time we were preparing for the Field.  Sir Fred. 
I wait to serve you, Sir.  Beauf. 
But yet with grief, Graciana, I must go,  
Since I your Brother there shall meet my Foe:  
My fate too near resembles theirs where he  
Did wound himself that hurt his Enemy.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. II.  Enter Wheadle, and Palmer dressed like the Lord Bevil. Whead. 
So, my Proteus, exactly dressed!  
Dexterous Rogue! Is Grace ready in her Jeers, and  
Settled in my Lady Dawbwells house?  Palm. 
Every trap is baited.  Whead. 
I'll warrant thee then we catch our Cully:  
He's gone to put himself into a fantastic  
Garb, in imitation of Sir Frederick Frolic;  
He's almost frantic with the very conceit  
Of gaining the rich Widow. But hark, I  
Hear him coming; slip down the back way,  
And to your charge.  Exit Palmer. Enter Cully. Sir Nich. 
Wheadle, and what think you of this  
Habit? is it not very modish?  Whead. 
As any man need wear: How did you  
Furnish yourself so suddenly?  Sir Nich. 
Suddenly? I protest I was at least at  
Sixteen Brokers, before I could put myself  
Exactly into the fashion; but now I defy  
Sir Frederick; I am as fine as he, and will be as mad  
As he, if that will carry the Widow, I'll warrant  
Thee.  Whead. 
Is it not better pushing thus for a Fortune,  
Before your Reputation's blasted  
With the infamous names of Coward and Gamester?  
And so become able to pay the thousand pounds without noise,  
Then going into the Country, selling your Land,  
Making a havoc among your Woods, or mortgaging  
Your Estate to a scrupulous Scrivener, that will  
Whisper it iuto the ears of the whole Town,  
By inquiring of your good behaviour?  Sir Nich. 
Excellent Wheadle! And will my Lord  
Bevill speak my commendations to his Sister?  Whead. 
She is impatient till she see you, Sir;  
For in my hearing, upon the account I gave him  
Of you, he told her you were the prettiest, wirtest,  
Wildest Gentleman about the Town, and a Cavalier  
In your heart; The only things that take her.  Sir Nich. 
Wheadle, come, I will go to the Tavern,  
And swallow two whole quarts of Wine  
Instantly, and when I am drunk  
Ride on a Drawers back to visit her.  Whead. 
Some less Frolic to begin with.  Sir Nich. 
I will cut three Drawers over the pate then,  
And go with a Tavern-Lanthorn before me at noonday.  
Come away.  Exeunt, Cully singing.  

SCEN. III.  Enter Palmer and Grace. Palm. 
Do not I look like a very Reverend Lord, Grace?  Grace. 
And I like a very fine Lady, Mr Palmer?  Palm. 
Yes in good faith, Grace; what a rogue is that  
Wheadle, to have kept such a Treasure to himself,  
Without communicating a little to his Friends?  Offers to kiss her. Grace. 
Forbear; you'll be out in your Part,  
My Lord, when Sir Nich'las comes.  Palm. 
The truth is, my Lady, I am better  
Prepared at this time to act a Lover then  
A Relation.  Grace. 
That grave dress is very amorous indeed.  Palm. 
My Virtues, like those of Plants in the Winter,  
Are retired; your warm Spring  
Would fetch 'em out with a vengeance.  Enter Jenny in haste. jenny. 
Mr Wheadle and Sr Nich'las are come.  Palm. 
Away, away then, Sister; expect your Kew.  Enter Wheadle, and Sir Nicholas, kicking a Tavern boy before him, who has three Bottles of Wine on a Roap hanging at his back. Cul. singing. 
Then march along, Boys; valiant and strong, Boys.  
So, lay down the Bottles here.  Whead. 
My Lord, this is the worthy Gentleman  
That I told you was  
Ambitious to be your Sister's Servant.  Cul. 
Hither I am come, my Lord, to drink  
Your Sister's Health, without offence, I hope.  Palm. 
You are heartily welcome, Sir.  Cul. 
Here's a Brimmer then to her, and all the  
Fleas about her.  Palm. 
Sir, I'll call herself to pledge it.  Cul. 
Stay, stay, my Lord, that you may  
Be able to tell her you have drunk it.  Palmer drinks and exit. Cul. 
Wheadle, how do you like this?  Draws his Sword. 
Shall I break the Windows?  Whead. 
Hold, hold; you are not in a  
House of evil reputation.  Cul. 
Well admonished, Sir Frederick Frolic.  Enter Palmer and Grace. Palm. 
This is Sir nicholas, Sister.  Cul. 
ay, Madam, I am Sir nicholas, and how do you like me?  Grace. 
A pretty Gentleman.  
Pray, Sir, are you come a House-warming,  
That you bring your Wine with you?  Cul. 
If you ask such pert Questions,  
Madam, I can stop your mouth.  Kisses her. 
Hither I am come to be drunk,  
That you may see me drunk; and  
Here's a Health to your Flanel Petticoat.  Drinks. Grace. 
Mr Wheadle, my service to you; a Health  She drinks part. 
To Sr Nich'las' great Grand-father's Beard-brush.  Cul. 
Nay, pledge me; ha—  Grace. 
You are not quarrelsome in your drink,  
I hope, Sir.  Cul. 
No, faith; I am wondrous loving.  Hugs her. Grace. 
You are a very bold Lover.  Cul. 
Widow, let you and I go upon the ramble  
To night.  Grace. 
Do you take me for a Nightwalker, Sir?  Cul. 
Thou shalt be witness how many Constable's  
Staves I'll break about the Watchman's ears;  
How many Bellmen I'll rob of their Verses,  
To furnish a little Apartment in the back side  
Of my Lodging.  Grace. 
I believe you're an excellent man at  
Quarterstaff, Sir.  Cul. 
The odds was on my head against any Warrener  
In all our Country; but I have left it off this  
Two year. My Lord, what say you, Do you think  
Your Sister and I should not furnish a Bedchamber  
As well as two soberer people? what think you, my Lord?  Grace. 
ay, and a Nursery too, I hope, Sir.  Cul. 
Well said, Widow, i'faith; I will get upon thy body  
A generation of wild Cats, children that shall  
Waw, waw, scratch their Nurses, and be drunk  
With their sucking-bottles.  Whead. 
Brave Sir Nich'las.  Cul. 
Wheadle, give me a Brimmer; the Widow  
Shall drink it to our Progeny.  
Where, where is she gone?  Exit Grace. Palm. 
You have frighted her hence, Sir.  Cul. 
I'll fright her worse, if I find her in a corner.  
Ha, Widow, I'll follow you; I'll follow you, ha.  Whead. 
The Wine makes the Rogue witty; he  
Overacts the Part I gave him;  
Sir Fredrick is not half so mad: I will keep  
Him thus elevated till he has married Grace,  
And we have the best part of his Estate at our mercy.  Palm. 
Most ingenious Wheadle!  Whead. 
I was not born to ease nor Acres;  
Industry is all my stock of living.  The women shriek within. Palm. 
Hark, he puts them to the squeak.  Whead. 
We must go and take him off; he's as fierce  
As a Bandog that has newly broke his chain.  Exeunt laughing.  

SCEN. IU.  Scene, A Field. Enter Bruce and Lovis, and traverse the Stage. Then enter four or five men in disguises. 1 Man. 
This way they went; besure you kill the Villain;  
Let pity be a stranger to your breasts.  2 Man. 
We have been bred, you know, unacquainted with Compassion.  3 Man. 
But why, Colonel, should you so eagerly  
Pursue his life? he has the report of  
A gallant Man.  1 Man. 
He murdered my Father.  3 Man. 
I have heard he killed him fairly in  
The Field at Nasby.  1 Man. 
He killed him, that's enough; and I myself.  
Was witness: I accused him to the  
Protector, and suborned Witness  
To have taken away his life by form  
Of Law; but my Plot was discovered, and  
He yesterday released; since which I've  
Watched an opportunity, without the  
Help of seeming Justice, for my Revenge.  
Strike home.—  3 Man. 
We are your hired slaves; and since  
You'll have it so, we'll shed his blood,  
And never spare our own.  Exeunt, drawing their swords. Enter Beaufort and Sir Frederick, and traverse the Stage. Enter Bruce and Lovis at another door. Bruce. 
Your Friendship, noble Youth, 's too prodigal;  
For one already lost you venture all;  
Your present happiness, your future joy;  
You for the hopeless your great hopes destroy.  Lovis. 
What can I venture for so brave a friend?  
I have no hopes but what on you depend.  
Should I your Friendship and my Honour rate  
Below the value of a poor Estate,  
A heap of dirt! Our Family has been  
To blame, my blood most here atone the sin.  Enter the five Villains with drawn Swords. 
heavens'! what is there an Ambuscado laid!  
Draw, dearest Friend, I fear we are betrayed.  I Vill. 
Bruce, look on me, and then prepare to die.  Pulling off his Vizard. Bruce. 
O Treacherous Villain!  I Vill. 
Fall on, and sacrifice his blood to my Revenge.  Lovis. 
More hearts than one shall bleed, if he must die.  They fight. Enter Beaufort and sir Frederick. Beauf. 
heavens'! what's this I see! Sir Fredrick, draw;  
Their blood's too good to grace such  
Villains Swords. Courage, brave men; now  
We can match their Force.  Lovis. 
We'll make you, slaves, repent  The Villains run. 
This Treachery.  Beauf. 
So.  Bruce. 
They are not worth pursuit; we'll let them go.  
Brave men! this action makes it well appear  
'Tis Honour and not Envy brings you here.  Beauf. 
We come to conquer, Bruce, and not to see  
Such Villains rob us of our Victory.  
Your lives our fatal swords claim as their due;  
W'ad wronged ourselves had we not righted you.  Bruce. 
Your generous courage has obliged us so,  
That to your succour we our safety owe.  Lovis. 
Y'ave done what men of Honour ought to do,  
What in your cause we would have done for you.  Beauf. 
You speak the truth, we've but our duty done;  
Prepare: Duty's no obligation.  He strips. Bruce. 
My Honour is dissatisfied; I must,  Lovis and Sir Frederick strip. 
My Lord, consider whether it be just  
To draw my Sword against that life which gave  
Mine, but e'en now, protection from the grave.  Beauf. 
None come into the Field to weigh what's right;  
This is no place for Council, but for Fight.  
Dispatch.  Bruce. 
I am resolved I will not fight.  Beauf. 
Did I come hither then only to fright  
A company of fearful slaves away;  
My Courage stoops not at so mean a prey:  
Know, Bruce, I hither come to shed thy blood.  Bruce. 
Open this bosom, and let out a flood.  Beauf. 
I come to Conquer bravely in the Field,  
Not to take poor revenge on such as yield.  
Has nothing power, too backward man, to move  
Thy Courage? Think on thy neglected Love:  
Think on the beauteous Graciana's Eyes;  
'Tis I have robbed thee of that glorious prize.  Br. 
There are such charms in Graciana's Name,  Strips hastily. 
My scrup'lous Honour must obey my Flame:  
My lazy Courage I with shame condemn:  
No thoughts have power streams of blood to stem.  Sir Fred. 
Come, Sir, out of kindness to our Friends  
You and I must pass a small compliment  
On each other.  They all fight. Beaufort after many Passes closes with Bruce; they fall; Beaufort disarms him. Beauf. 
Here, live.  Giving Bruce his Sword again. Bruce. 
My Lord, you've gained a perfect Victory;  
Y'ave vanquished and obliged your enemy.  Beauf. 
Hold, gallant men.  Bruce and Beaufort part Lovis and Sir Fred. Lovis. 
Before we bleed! Do we here fight a Prize,  
Where handsome proffers may for Wounds suffice?  
I am amazed! What means this bloodless Field?  Bruce. 
The stoutest heart must to his fortune yield.  
Brave Youth! here Honour did with Courage vie;  To Beauf. 
And both agree to grace your Victory.  
Heave with such a Conquest favours few:  
'Tis easier to destroy then to subdue.  
Our bodies may by brutish force be killed;  
But noble Minds alone to Virtue yield.  
My Lord, I've twice received my life from you;  
Much is to both those generous actions due:  
The noble Giver I must highly prize,  
Though I the Gift, heaven knows, as much despise.  
Can I desire to live, when all the Joy  
Of my poor life its Ransom does destroy!  
No, no, Graciana's loss I'll ne'er survive;  
I pay too dear for this unsought Reprieve.  Falls on his Sword, and is desperately wounded. Beauf. 
Hold gallant man! Honour herself does bleed;  Running to him, takes him in his arms. 
All generous hearts are wounded by this deed.  Lovis. 
He does his blood for a lost Mistress spend;  
And shall not I bleed for so brave a Friend?  Lovis offers to fall on his Sword, but is hindered by sir Frederick Sir Fred. 
Forbear, Sir; the Frollick's not to go round, as I  
Take it.  Beauf. 
'twere greater Friendship to assist me here:  
I hope the wound's not mortal, though I fear—  Bruce. 
My Sword, I doubt, has failed in my relief;  
'thas made a vent for blood, but not for grief.  Bruce struggling, Lovis and St Ferd▪ help to hold him. 
Let me once more the unkind Weapon try.  
Will you prolong my pain? oh cruelty!  Lovis. 
Ah, dearest Bruce, can you thus careless be  
Of our great friendship, and your Loyalty!  
Look on your Friend; your drooping Country view;  
And think how much they both expect from you.  
You for a Mistress waste that precious blood  
Which should be spent but for our Master's good.  Sir Ferd, 
Expense of blood already makes him faint;  
Let's carry him to the next house, till we can  
Procure a chair to convey him to my Lord Bevill's,  
The best place for accommodation.  They all take him up. Beauf. 
Honour has played an aftergame; this Field  
The conqueror does unto the Conquered yield,  Exeunt.  

SCEN. V.  Enter Graciana weeping. Grac. 
Farewell all thoughts of happiness, farewell:  
My fears together with my sorrows swell:  
Whilst from my eyes there flows this Crystal flood,  
From their brave hearts there flows such streams of blood.  
Here I am lost, while both for me contend;  
With what success can this strange Combat end!  
Honour with Honour fights for Victory,  
And Love is made the common enemy.  Enter Lord Bevill. L. Bevill weeping. 
Ah, Child!—  Grac. 
Kill me not with expectation, Sir.  L. beu. 
The generous Bruce has killed himself  
For you: Being disarmed, and at his Rival's mercy,  
His Life and Sword were given him by the  
Noble Youth; He made a brave acknowledgement  
For both; but then considering you were lost,  
He scorned to live; and falling on his Sword,  
Has given himself a mortal wound.  Exit L. Bevill. Enter Aurelia weeping. Aurel. 
Cruel Graciana, Go but in and see  
The fatal Triumph of your Victory.  
The Noble Bruce, to your eternal shame,  
With his own blood has quenched his raging flame.  Grac. weeping. 
My carriage shall in these misfortunes prove  
That I have Honour too, as well as Love.  Aurel. aside. 
Thy sorrows, sad Aurelia, will declare  
At once, I fear, thy Love and thy Despair:  
These streams of grief straight to a flood will rise;  
I can command my Tongue, but not my eyes.  Exit Aurel. Grac. 
In what a Maze, Graciana, dost thou tread!  
Which is the Path that doth to Honour lead?  
I in this Lab'rynth so resolve to move,  
That none shall judge I am misled by Love.  Enter Beaufort. Beauf. 
Here Conq'rours must forget their Victories,  
And homage pay to your victorious Eyes▪  
Graciana, hither your poor slave is come,  
After his Conquest to receive his doom;  
Smile on his victory; had he proved untrue  
To Honour, he had then proved false to you.  Grac. 
Perfidious man, can you expect from me  
An approbation of your Treachery!  
When I, distracted with prophetic fears,  
Blasted with sighs, and almost drowned in tears,  
Begged you to moderate your Rage last night▪  
Did you not promise me you would not fight?  
Go now and triumph in your Victory;  
Into the Field you went my Enemy,  
And are returned the only man I hate,  
The wicked instrument of my sad fate.  
My Love has but dissembled been to thee,  
To try my generous Lover's constancy.  Exit Graciana. Beauf. 
Oh Heaven! how strange and cruel is my fate!  
Preserved by Love, to be destroyed by Hate!  Exit Beaufort.  

SCEN. VI  Scene, The Widow's House. Enter Betty and Lettuce, the two Chambermaids, severally. Betty. 
Oh, Lettuce, we have stayed for you.  Lett. 
What hast thou done to the Frenchman,  
Girl? he lies yonder neither dead nor drunk;  
No body knows what to make of him.  Betty. 
I sent for thee to help make sport with him;  
He'll come to himself, never fear him:  
Have you not observed how scurvily h'as looked  
Of late?  Lett. 
Yes; and he protests it is for love of you.  Betty. 
Out upon him, for a dissembling Rascal;  
H'as got the foul Disease;  
Our Coachman discovered it by a Bottle of Diet  
Drink he brought and hid behind the stairs, into which  
I infused a little Opium.  Lett. 
What dost intend to do with him?  Betty. 
You shall see.  Enter Coachman, with a Tub without a bottom, a shut at the top to be locked, and a hole to put one's head out at, made easy to be born on one's shoulders. Coach-m. 
Here's the Tub; where's the Frenchman?  Betty. 
He lies behind the stairs; haste and bring him in,  
That he may take quiet possession of this wooden Tenement;  
For 'tis near his time of waking.  The Coachman and another Servant bring in Dufoy, and put him into the Tub. 
Is the Fiddler at hand that used to ply at the blind  
Alehouse?  Coach-m. 
He's ready.  Enter a Fiddler. Betty. 
Well, let's hear now what a horrible noise you  
Can make to wake this Gentleman.  Fidler plays a Tune. Lett. 
He wants a helping hand; his eyelids  Dufoy begins to wake. 
Are sealed up; see how the wax sticks upon 'em.  
Let me help you, Monsieur.  Dufoy. 
Vat aré you? Jernie! vat is does! am I  
Jack in a boxé? begar, who did putté  
Me here?  Betty. 
Good-morrow, Monsieur; will you be pleased  
To take your Pills this morning?  Dufoy. 
Noé; but I voed have de diable take youé;  
It vas youé dat did abusé me duss, vas  
It noté? begar I vil killé ale de  
Chambermaid in Englandé.  Lett. 
Will you be pleased to drink, Monsieur?  
There's a Bottle of your Diet-drink within.  Dufoy. 
Are youé de littel diable come to tormenté mé?  
Morbleu! vas ever manasses afronté in dis naturé!  Betty. 
Methinks he has ferbon, mine Monsieur,  
Now if you please to make your little Addressé,  
And your amouré, you will not find me so coy.  Dufoy. 
Begar I vil no marié de cousin german  
Of de diable.  Lett. 
What should he do with a Wife? he has not  
Houseroom for her.  Betty. 
Why do you not keep your head within  
Doors, Monsieur?  Lett. 
Now there's such a storm abroad.  Dufoy. 
Why did not youé keep your Maiden-headé  
Vid in dooré? begar, tellé me daté.  Coach-m. 
Have you any fine French Commodities to sell,  
Gloves and Ribbons? you've got  
A very convenient shop, Monsieur.  Dufoy. 
I do hope you vil have de verié  
Convenient halteré, begar.  
Jerny, Can I not taré dis tingé in de pieces?  Betty. 
You begin to sweat, Monsieur; the Tub is  
Proper for you.  Dufoy. 
I have no more patiencé;  
I vil breaké dis prison, or I vil breaké  
My neké, and ye shall alé be hangé.  Struggles to get out. Lett. 
He begins to rave; bless the poor man.  Betty. 
Some Music quickly, to  
Compose his mind.  The Music plays; and they Dance about him. 
How prettily the snail carries his Tenement  He walks with the Tub on his back. 
On his back! I'm sorry I am but his Mistress:  
If I had been your Wife, Monsieur, I had made  
You a complete snail; your horns  
Should have appeared.  Dufoy. 
I vil have de patiencé, dear is no oder remedé;  
You be alé de Raskalé Whore; de diable  
Take you alé; and I vil say no more, begar.  Betty. 
This is a very fine Vessel, and would swim well;  
Let's to the Horse-pond with him.  Lett. 
Come, come, he looks as sullenly as a Hare  
In her Form; let's leave him.  Coachm. 
Your Serviteur tres humble, Monsieur.  Exeunt all but Dufoy. Dufoy. 
Bougré, I canno hangé myself; begar I canno  
Drowné myself; I vil go hidé myself;  
And starué to dyé; I vil no be de laughé  
For every Jackanapé Englishé. Morbleu.   

SCEN. VII.  Sir Frederick is brought in upon a Bier, with a mourning Cloth over him, attended by a Gentleman in a mourning Cloak: Four Fiddlers carry the Corpse, with their Instruments tucked under their Cloaks. Enter the Widow weeping. Mourner. 
Madam, you must expect a bloody consequence  
When men of such prodigious courage fight.  
The young Lord Beaufort was the first that fell,  
After his Sword too deeply had engaged  
His Rival not to stay behind him long.  
Sir Frederick with your Nephew bravely fought;  
Death long did keep his distance, as if he  
Had feared excess of Valour; but when they,  
Oreloaded with their wounds, began to faint,  
He with his terrors did invade their breasts.  
Fame soon brought many to the Tragic place,  
Where I found my dearest Friend, Sir Fred'rick,  
Almost as poor in breath as blood:  
He took me by the hand, and all the stock he'd left  
He spent, Madam, in calling upon you.  
He first proclaimed your Virtues, than his Love;  
And having charged me to convey his Corpse hither  
To wait on you, his latest breath expired with  
The Command.  Wid. 
The World's too poor to recompense this loss.  
Unhappy woman! why should I survive  
The only man in whom my joys did live?  
My dreadful grief!  The Fiddlers prepare. Enter Dufoy in his Tub. Dufoy. 
Oh my Matré, my Matré; who has kill my  
Matré? Morbleu, I vil—  The Widow shrieks, and runs out: All the Fiddlers run out in a fright. 
Oh, de diablé, de diable!  Sir Frederick starts up, which frights Dufoy. Sir Fred. 
What devilish accident is  
This? or has the Widow undermined me?  Enter the Widow and her Maid laughing. Sir Fred. 
I shall be laughed to death now indeed.  
By Chambermaids; why have you no  
Pity, Widow?  Wid. 
None at all for the living; Ha, ha, ha.  
You see w' are provided for your Frolic, Sir; ha, ha.  Sir Fred. 
Laugh but one minute longer I will foreswear  
Thy company, kill thy Tabby Cat, and make thee weep  
For ever after.  Wid. 
Farewell, Sir; expect at night to see the old  
Man, with his paper Lantern and cracked  
Spectacles, singing your woeful Tragedy  
To Kitchenmaids and Cobblers Prentices.  Widow offers to go, Sir Frederick holds her by the arm. Sir Fred. 
Hark you, hark you, Widow:  
By all those Devils that have  
Hitherto possessed thy Sex—  Wid. 
No swearing, good Sir Fred'rick.  Sir Fred. 
Set thy face then; let me not see the remains  
Of one poor smile: So, now I will kiss thee,  
And be friends.  Widow falls out a laughing. 
Not all thy wealth shall hire me to  
Come within smell of thy breath again.  
Jealousy, and, which will be worse for thee, Widow, Impotence  
Light upon me, if I stay one moment longer with thee.  Offers to go. Wid. 
Do you hear, Sir; can you be so angry with one  
That loves you so passionately she cannot survive  
You?  Sir Fred. 
Widow, May the desire of man keep thee  
Waking till thou art as mad as I am.  Exit Sir Frederick. Wid. 
How lucky was this accident!  
How he would have insulted  
Over my weakness else!  
Sir Frederick, since I've warning, you shall prove  
More subtle ways, before I own my Love.  Exeunt.   


ACT. V. SCEN. I.  Scene, The Lord bevil's House. Enter Lovis, a Chirurgeon, Servants, carrying Bruce in a Chair. Chyr. 
COurage, brave Sir; do not mistrust my Art.  Bru. 
Tell me, didst thou e'er cure a wounded heart?  
Thy skill, fond man, thou here imploy'st in vain;  
The ease thou giv'st does but increase my pain.  Lovis. 
Dear Bruce, my life does on your life depend;  
Though you disdain to live, yet save your Friend.  Bruce. 
Do what you please; but are not those unkind  
That ease the body, to afflict the mind?  The Chirurgeon dresses him. 
Oh cruel Love! thou shootest with such strange skill,  
The wounds thou mak'st will neither heal nor kill▪  
Thy flaming Arrows kindle such a fire  
As will not waste thy Victims, nor expire!  Enter Aurelia. Lovis. 
Is the wound mortal? tell me;  To the Chirurgeon. 
Or may we cherish hopes of his Recovery?  Chyr. 
The danger is not imminent; yet my Prognostic  
Bodes a sad event: For though there be no great  
Vessel dissected, yet I have cause to fear  
That the Parenchyma of the right lobe of the lungs,  
Near some large branch of the Aspera arteria,  
Is perforated.  Lovis. 
Tell me in English, will he live or die?  Chyr. 
Truly I despair of his recovery.  Exit Chirurgeon. Aurel. aside. 
Forgive me, Ladies, if excess of Love  
Me beyond rules of Modesty does move,  
And, against custom, makes me now reveal  
Those flames my tortured breast did long conceal;  
'Tis some excuse, that I my Love declare  
When there's no medicine left to cure despair.  Weeps by the Chair side. Bruce. 
Oh Heaven! can fair Aurelia weep for me!  
This is some comfort to my misery.  
Kind Maid, those eyes should only pity take  
Of such as feel no wounds but what they make:  
Who for another in your sight does mourn,  
Deserves not your compassion, but your scorn.  Aurel. 
I come not here with tears to pity you;  
I for your pity with this passion sue.  Bruce. 
My pity! tell me, what can be the grief,  
That from the miserable hopes relief!  Aurel. 
Before you know this grief, you feel the pain.  Bruce. 
You cannot love, and not be loved again:  
Where so much Beauty does with Love conspire,  
No mortal can resist that double fire.  Aurel. 
When proud Graciana wounded your brave heart,  
On poor Aurelia's you revenged the smart:  
Whilst you in vain did seek those wounds to cure,  
With patience I their torture did endure.  Bruce. 
My happiness has been so long concealed,  
That it becomes my misery revealed:  
That which should prove my joy, now proves my grief;  
And that brings pain, which, known, had brought relief.  
Aurelia, why would you not let me know,  
Whilst I had power to pay, the debt I owe?  
'Tis now too late; yet all I can I'll do;  
I'll sigh away the breath I've left for you.  Aurel. 
You yet have power to grant me all I crave;  
'Tis not your Love I court, I court your Grave.  
I with my flame seek not to warm your breast,  
But beg my ashes in your Urn may rest:  
For since Graciana's loss you scorned t'outlive,  
I am resolved I'll not your death survive.  Bruce. 
Hold, you too generous are; yet I may live:  
Heaven for your sake may grant me a reprieve.  Aurel. 
Oh, no; Heaven has decreed, alas, that we  
Should in our Fates, not in our Loves agree.  Bruce. 
Dear Friend, my rashness I too late repent;  To Lovis. 
I ne'er thought death till now a punishment.  Enter Graciana. Grac. 
Oh, do not talk of death! the very sound  
Once more will give my heart a mortal wound:  
Here on my knees I've sinned I must confess  
Against your Love, and my own happiness;  
I, like the child, whose folly proves his loss,  
Refused the gold, and did accept the dross.  Bruce. 
You have in Beaufort made so good a choice,  
His virtue's such, he has his Rival's voice;  
Graciana, none but his great Soul could prove  
Worthy to be the centre of your Love.  Grac. 
You to another would such virtue give,  
Brave Sir, as in yourself does only live.  
If to the most deserving I am due,  
He must resign his weaker claim to you.  Bruce. 
This is but flattery; for I'm sure you can  
Think none so worthy as that generous man:  
By honour you are his.  Grac. 
Yet, Sir, I know  
How much I to your generous passion owe;  
You bleed for me; and if for me you die,  
Your loss I'll mourn with vowed Virginity.  Bruce. 
Can you be mindful of so small a debt,  
And that which you to Beaufort owe forget?  
That will not Honour but Injustice be;  
Honour with Justice always does agree.  
This generous pity which for me you show,  
Is more than you to my misfortunes owe:  
These tears, Graciana, which for me you shed,  
Ore-prize the blood which I for you have bled:  
But now I can no more—  
My spirits faint within my wearied breast.  Lovis. 
Sister, 'tis fit you give him leave to rest.  
Who waits?  Enter Servants. 
With care convey him to his bed.  Bruce. 
Hold—  
Dearest Aurelia, I will strive to live,  
If you will but endeavour not to grieve.  Lovis. 
Brave man! The wonder of this Age thou'lt prove,  
For matchless Gratitude, and generous Love.  Exeunt all but Graciana. Grac. 
How strangely is my soul perplexed by fate!  
The man I love I must pretend to hate;  
And with dissembled scorn his presence fly,  
Whose absence is my greatest misery!  Enter Beaufort. Beauf. 
Hear me, upon my knees I beg you'll hear.  
She's gone.  Exit Graciana. 
There was no need, false woman, to increase  
My misery with hopes of happiness.  
This scorn at first had to my Love and me  
But Justice been; now it is Cruelty.  
Was there no way his constancy to prove,  
But by your own inconstancy in Love?  
To try another's Virtue could you be,  
Graciana, to your own an enemy?  
Sure 'tis but passion which she thus does vent,  
Blown up with anger and with discontent,  
Because my Honour disobeyed her Will,  
And Bruce for love of her his blood did spill.  
I once more in her eyes will read my fate;  
I need no wound to kill me, if she hate.   

SCEN. II.  Enter Cully drunk, with a blind Fellow led before him playing on a Cymbal, followed by a number of boys hollowing, and persecuting him. Cul. 
Villains, sons of unknown fathers, tempt  
Me no more.  The boys hout at him, he draws his Sword. 
I will make a young generation of Cripples, to  
Succeed in Lincolns-Inn-Fields and Covent-Garden.  
The barbarous breeding of these London- boys!  Frights the boys away. Boy that leads the Cymbal. 
Whither do you intent to go, Sir?  Cul. 
To see the wealthy Widow,  
Mrs. Rich.  Boy. 
Where does she dwell, Sir?  Cul. 
Hereabouts; inquire; I will Serenade  
Her at noonday.  Exeunt. Enter the Widow and her maid Betty. Wid. 
Where is this poor Frenchman, Girl? h'as done me  
Good service.  Betty. 
The Butler has got him down into the Cellar, Madam,  
Made him drunk, and laid him to sleep among  
His empty Cask.  Wid. 
Pray, when he wakes let him be released of his  
Imprisonment; Betty, you use your Servant too severely.  The Cimbal plays without. 
Hark, what ridiculous noise is that? it sets my teeth  
An edge worse than the scraping of Trenchers.  Enter a Servant. Seru. 
Madam, a rude drunken fellow, with a Cimbal before  
Him, and his sword in his hand, is pressed into your House.  Enter Cully and Cimbal: The women shriek. Cul. 
Sirrah, play me a bawdy Tune, to please the  
Widow; have at thee, Widow.  Betty. 
'Tis one of Oliver's Knights, Madam,  
Sir Nicholas Cully; his Mother was my Grand-mother's  
Dairy maid.  Enter Servants; they lay hands on him, and take away his Sword. Cul. 
Let me go; I am not so drunk but I can stand  
Without your help, Gentlemen.  
Widow, here is Music; send for a Parson,  
And we will dance Barnaby within this  
Half hour.  Wid. 
I will send for a Constable, Sir.  Cul. 
Hast a mind to see me beat him? how those Rogues  
Dread me! Did not Wheadle tell thee upon what  
Conditions I would condescend to make thee my  
Bed-fellow, Widow, speak?  Wid. 
This is some drunken mistake; away with him,  
Thrust him out of door.  Enter a Servant: Clashing of Swords and noise without. Seru. 
Help, help, for Sir Frederick.  Wid. 
What's the matter?  Seru. 
He is fighting, Madam, with a Company of Bailiffs,  
That would arrest him at the door.  Wid. 
Haste every one, and rescue him quickly.  Exeunt all but Cully. Cul. 
Widow, come back, I say, Widow;  
I will not stir one foot after thee:  
Come back, I say, Widow.  Falls down and sleeps. Enter Dufoy. Dufoy. 
Vat de diablé be de matré? here is de ver  
Strange varké in does house; the Vemen day do  
Cry, ha, ha, ha; the men day do run, day do  
Take de Batton, de dung-vorké, and de vire-vorké:  
Vat is here, van killé?  Looking on Cully. Enter Betty. Betty. 
You are a trusty Servant, indeed: here you are locked  
Up, while your poor Master is arrested, and dragged  
Away by unmerciful Bailiffs.  Dufoy. 
My Matré? Jernie! Metres Bet, letté me go;  
Begar I vil kill allé de bogre de  
Bailié, and recover my Matré. Bogre de Bailié.  Betty. 
So, make all the haste you can.  She helps him out of the Tub. Dufoy. 
Morbleu! bogre de Baylié!  
I vil go prepare to killé a thousand Baylié  
Begar: Bogre de Baylié.  Exit. Enter the Widow and Servant severally. Wid. 
Well, what news?  Seru. 
Madam, they have arrested him upon an  
Execution for Two hundred pounds, and carried  
Him to a Bailiffs house hard by.  Wid. 
If that be all, Betty, take my key, and give him  
The money in Gold; do you content the Bailiffs,  
But let Sir Frederick know nothing of it;  
And then let them bring him to my house  
As their Prisoner: dispatch.  Exeunt Betty and Servant. Enter a Footboy. Foot-b. 
Pray, Madam, is there not a stray Gentleman  
Here, misled by drink?  Wid. 
There lies the beast you look for;  
You had best remove him quickly,  
Or I shall cause him to be put into the Pound.  Exit Widow. Foot-b. 
If I do not get this fool clear off before he  
Comes to himself, our plot is quite spoiled:  
This Summer-Livery may chance to hover over  
My shivering limbs next Winter.  
Yonder sits honest Palmer, my poor Master,  
In a Coach, quaking for fear; all that  
See him in that reverend disguise,  
Will swear he has got the Palsy.  
Ho, Sir Nich'las.  Pulls him. Cul. 
I will drink three Beer-glasses to the Widow's health  
Before I go.  Foot-b. 
The Widow stays for you, to wait upon her  
To the Exchange.  Cully. 
Let her go into her Bedchamber and meditate;  
I am not drunk enough to be seen in her company.  Foot-b. 
I must carry him away upon my back; but,  
Since things may go ill, 'tis good to make sure  
Of something; I'll examine his pockets first:  
So, for this I thank my own ingenuity; in this  
Way of plain dealing I can live without the  
Help of my Master.  Enter a Servant. 
Pray, Sir, will you help me up with my burden.  Seru. 
I am sure your Master has his load already.  They lift him up. Cul. 
Carry me to my Widow, Boy: Where is my  
Music?  Enter Sir Frederick with the Bailiffs, who are Fiddlers disguised, with their Fiddles under their Coats, at one door; and the Widow at another. Boy. 
There is no hopes now;  
I'll shift for myself.  Exit Boy. Sir Fred. 
Widow, these are old acquaintance of mine,  
Bid them welcome: I was coming  
To wait upon you before; but meeting  
Them by the way, they pressed me to drink—  Cully reels against Sir Frederick. Cul. 
Sir Frederick! Widow, bid him welcome; he is  
A very good friend of mine, and as mad a fellow as myself.  
Kiss, kiss the Widow, man; she has a plump  
Under-lip, and kisses smartly.  Sir Fr. 
What's here? Cully drunk, transformed into a Gallant,  
And acquainted with the spring and proportion of the  
Widow's lips!  Cul. 
ay, I am drunk, Sir; am I not Widow? I Scorn to be  
Soberer than yourself, Sir; I will drink with you, swear  
With you, break windows with you, and  
So forth.  Sir Fred. 
Widow, is this your Champion?  Wid. 
You have no exceptions against him, I hope;  
He has challenged you at your own weapons.  Cul. 
Widow, Sir Frederick shall be one of our Bridemen;  
I will have none but such mad fellows at our Wedding;  
But before I marry thee I will consider upon it.  He sits down and sleeps. Sir Fred. 
Pray, Widow, how long have you been acquainted  
With this mirror of Knighthood?  Wid. 
Long enough you hear, Sir, to treat of Marriage.  Sir Fred. 
What? You intent me for a reserve then?  
You will have two strings to your bow, Widow;  
I perceive your cunning; and faith I think I shall  
Do the heartier service, if thou imploy'st me by the by.  Wid. 
You are an excellent Gallant indeed; shake off  
These lousy Companions; come carry your Mistress  
To the Park, and treat her at the Mulberry-garden  
This glorious Evening.  Sir Fred. 
Widow, I am a man of business, that ceremonies  
To be performed by idle fellows.  Wid. 
What would you give to such a friend as should dispatch  
This business now, and make you one of those idle  
Fellows.  Sir Fred. 
Faith pick and choose; I carry all my wealth about  
Me; do it, and I am all at thy service, Widow.  Wid. 
Well, I have done it, Sir; you are at liberty,  
And a leg now will satisfy me.  Sir Fred. 
Good faith, thou art too reasonable, dear Widow;  
Modesty will wrong thee.  Wid. 
Are you satisfied?  Fidl. 
Yes, Madam.  Enter Dufoy, with a Helmet on his head, and a great Sword in his hand. Dufoy. 
Vare are de bougre de Baylié?  
Tetibleu, bougre Rogue.  He falls upon the fiddlers. Fidl. 
Help, help, Sir Fred. murder, murder! alas, Sir, we  
Are not Bailiffs; you may see we are men of an honester  
Vocation.  They show their Instruments. Sir Fred. 
Hold, hold, thou mighty man at Arms.  Dufoy. 
Morbleu, de Fidler! and is my Matré at liberty? play  
Me de Trichaté, or Jegg Englishé, quickly,  
Or I vil make you all dance  
Vidout your Fiddle; quiké.  Wid. 
I am overreached, I perceive.  Dufoy dances a jegg. Sir Fred. 
Kind Widow, thank thee for this release.  Shakes his pockets. 
Laugh, Widow; ha, ha, ha: where is your counterplot, Widow?  
Ha, ha, ha. Laugh at her, Dufoy. Come,  
Be not so melancholy; we'll to the Park:  
I care not if I spend a piece or two upon thee in Tarts and  
Cheesecakes. Pish, Widow, why so much out of humour?  
'Tis no shame to love such a likely  
Young Fellow.  Wid. 
I could almost find in my heart to punish myself,  
To afflict thee, and marry that drunken Sot I never  
Saw before.  Sir Fred. 
How came he hither?  Wid. 
Inquire elsewhere; I will not answer thee one  
Question; nor let thee see me out of a Mask any more  
This Fortnight.  Sir Fred. 
Go, go into thy Closet, look over thy old Receipts,  
And talk wantonly now and then with thy Chambermaid:  
I shall not trouble thee much till this is spent;  Shakes his Pockets. 
And by that time thy foolish Vow will be near over.  Wid. 
I want patience to endure this insolence.  
Is my charity rewarded thus?  Sir Fred. 
Pious Widow, call you this Charity? 'twill get  
Thee little hereafter; thou must answer for every sin  
It occasions: Here is Wine and Women  
In abundance.  Shakes his Pockets. Wid. 
Avoid my house, and never more come near me.  Sir Fred. 
But hark you, hark you, Widow; do you think  
This can last always?  Wid. 
Ungrateful man!  Exit Widow. Sir Fred. 
She's gone; impatience for these two hours  
Possess her, and then I shall be pretty well  
Revenged.  Dufoy. 
Begar, Matré, have you not de ver faithful  
Serviteur? you do never take notice of my merit.  Sir Fred. 
Dufoy, thou art a man of courage, and hast done  
Bravely; I will cast off this Suit a week sooner than  
I intended, to reward thy service.  Dufoy. 
Begar I have several time given you ver  
Dangerous testimonié of my affection.  Enter a Servant, and takes up Cully in his arms. Sir Fred. 
Whither do you carry him?  Seru. 
Sir, there is an old Gentleman below in a Coach,  
Very like my Lord Bevill,  
Who, hearing what a condition Sir Nich'las was in,  
Desired me to bring him to him in my arms.  Cul. 
Let me go; where is the Widow?  Sir Fred. 
What Widow?  Cul. 
Mistress Rich; she is to be  
My wife.  Sir Fred. 
But do you hear, Sir nicholas? how long have you  
Courted this Widow?  Cul. 
Mr Wheadle can tell you: trouble me not with idle  
Questions. Sir Frederick,  
You shall be welcome at any time; she loves men  
That will roar, and drink, and Serenade her.  Sir Fr. 
This is some strange mistake; Sure Wheadle, intending  
To chouse him, has showed him some counterfeit Widow;  
And he, being drunk, has been misguided to the true  
Widow's house. The fellow in the Coach may  
Discover all; I will step and see who it is:  
〈◊〉 him here, Dufoy, till I return: Gentlemen,  
Come you with me.  Exit Sir Frederick and Fiddlers. Cul. 
Where is my Mistress?  Dufay. 
Vat Metres?  Cul. 
The Widow.  Dufoy. 
She be de Metres of my Matré.  Cul. 
You lie, Sirrah.  Dufoy. 
Begar you be de Jackanapes to tellé  
Me I do lyea.  Cul. 
You are a French Rascal, and I will blow  
Your nose without a handkerchief.  He pulls Dufoy by the nose. Duf. 
Helpé, helpé me; Morbleu! I vil beat you vid my fisté  
And my footé, tellé you aské me de pardon; take  
Dat and daté; aské me de pardon.  Cully falls down, and Dufoy beats him. Cul. 
I ask you pardon, Sirrah?  Dufoy. 
Sirrah? Tettibleu.  Offers to strike. Enter Sir Frederick and Fiddlers, leading in Palmer trembling. Sir Fred. 
Hold, hold, Dufoy.  Dufoy. 
Begar he do merit to be beaté; he swaré he vil  
Marré youré Metres.  Palm. 
I beseech you, Sir Frederick.  Cul. 
My Lord Bevill!  Sir Fred. 
So, he takes him for my Lord Bevill;  
Now the Plot will out.  
'Tis fit this Rascal should be cheated;  
But these Rogues will deal too  
Unmercifully with him: I'll take compassion upon  
Him, and use him more favourably myself.  Cul. 
My Lord, where is the mad Wench your Sister?  Sir Frederick pulls off Palmer' s disguise. Sir Fred. 
Look you, Sir nicholas, where is my Lord Bevill Now?  Cul. 
My merry Countryman, Mr Palmer! I thought you had  
Been in Buckingham-shire.  Sings. 

And he took her by the Apron  
To bring her to his beck.   
Never a Catch now, my merry Countryman?  
Sir Frederick, I owe this Gentleman a thousand pounds.  Sir Fred. 
How so?  Cul. 
He won it of me at Dice, Wheadle went my halfs;  
And we have given him a Judgement for it.  Sir Fr. 
This was the roguery you had been about the other  
Night, when I met you in disguise, Palmer:  
You'll never leave your cheating and your robbing,  
How many Robberies do I know  
Of your committing?  Palm. 
The truth is, Sir, you know enough to hang me;  
But you are a worthy Gentleman, and a lover of Ingenuity.  Sir Fred. 
This will not pass: Produce  
The Judgement.  Palm. 
Alas, Sir, Mr Wheadle has it.  Sir Fred. 
Produce it, or— Fetch the Constable, Boy.  Palm. 
Sir Frederick, be merciful to a sorrowful Rascal:  
Here is a Copy of the Judgement, as it is entered.  Sir Fred. 
Well, who is this counterfeit Widow? confess.  Palm. 
Truly 'twas Wheadle's contrivance; a Pox on him:  
Never no good comes on't when men are so unconscionable  
In their Dealings.  Cul. 
What, am I cheated, Sir Frederick? Sirrah, I will have  
You hanged.  Sir Fred. 
Speak, who is this Widow?  Pal. 
'Tis Grace, Sir, Wheadle's Mistress, whom he has placed  
In my Lady Dawbwell's house: I am but a poor Instrument,  
Abused by that Rascal.  Sir Fr. 
You See, Sr Nich'las, what Villains these are; they have  
Cheated you of a thousand pounds, and would have married  
You to a Wench, had I not discovered their Villainy.  Cul. 
I am beholden to you, Sir Frederick; they are Rogues,  
Villainous Rogues: But where is the Widow?  Sir Fred. 
Why, you saw the true Widow here a little while Ago.  Cul. 
The truth is, methoughts she was something  
Comelier than my Mistress: But will not this Widow  
Marry me?  Sir Fred. 
She is my Mistress.  Cul. 
I Will have none of her then.  Sir Fred. 
Well, I have discovered this cheat, kept you from  
Marrying a Wench, and will save you the thousand pounds too.  
Now, if you have a mind to marry, what think you of my  
Sister? She is a plain brown Girl, and has a good  
Portion; but not out twenty thousand pounds: This offer  
Proves I have a perfect kindness for you.  Cul. 
I have heard she is a very fine Gentlewoman;  
I will marry her forthwith, and be your Brother-in-Law.  Sir Fred. 
Come then, I'll carry you  
Where you may see her, and ask her consent.  
Palmer, you must along with us,  
And by the way assign this Judgement to me.  
Do you guard him, Gentlemen.  To the Fiddlers. Sir Fred. 
Come, Sir nicholas.  Cul. 
How came I hither?  Sir Fred. 
You will be satisfied in that hereafter.  Palm. 
What cursed accident was this? what  
Mischievous Stars have the managing  
Of my Fortune? Here's a turn with all my heart,  
Like an aftergame at Irish!  Dufoy. 
Alon marché, Shentelman sheté;  
Marché: You make de mouthé of  
De honest Shentelmen: begar you vil make de  
Wry mouthé ven you be hangé.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. III.  Scene, A Garden. Enter Graciana and Letitia severally; Letitia with a Nosegay in her Hand. Grac. 
Letitia, what hast thou been doing here?  Let. 
Cropping the beauty of the youthful year.  Grac. 
How innocently dost thouspend thy hours,  
secting from the crowd the choicest Flowers!  
Where is thy Mistress?  Let. 
Madam, she's with the wounded Colonel.  Grac. 
Come then into this Arbour, Girl, and there  
With thy sweet voice refresh my wearied soul.  They walk into an Arbour. 

SONG.  
LAdies, though to your Conquering eyes Let. sings.  
Love owes his chiefest Victories,  
And borrows those bright Arms from you  
With which he does the world subdue.  
Yet you yourselves are not above  
The Empire nor the Griefs of Love.   

Then wrack not Lovers with disdain,  
Lest Love on you revenge their Pain;  
You are not free because you're fair;  
The Boy did not his Mother spare.  
Beauty's but an offensive dart;  
It is no Armour for the heart.   Grae. 
Dear Girl, thou art my little Confident;  
I oft to thee have breathed my discontent;  
And thy sweet voice as oft has eased my care:  
But now thy breath is like infectious Air;  Enter Beaufort. 
It feeds the secret cause of my disease,  
And does enrage what it did use t' appease.  Beauf. starting. 
Hark, that was Graciana's voice.  Grac. 
Oh Beaufort!  Beauf. 
She calls on me, and does advance this way;  
I will conceal myself within this Bower; she may  
The secret causes of my grief betray.  Beaufort goes into an Arbour, and Graciana and Letitia come upon the Stage. Grac. 
Too rigidly my Honour I pursue;  
Sure something from me to my Love is due:  
Within these private shades for him I'll mourn,  
Whom I in Public am obliged to scorn.  Let. 
Why should you, Madam, thus indulge your grief?  
Love never yet in Sorrow found relief:  
These Sighs, like Northern winds to th' early Spring,  
Destruction to your blooming Beauty bring.  Grac. 
Letitia, peace; my Beauty I despise:  
Would you have me preserve these fatal eyes?  Let. 
Had you less beauteous been, you'd known less care;  
Ladies are happiest moderately fair:  
But now should you your Beauty waste, which way  
Could you the debt it has contracted pay?  Grac. 
Beaufort, didst thou but know I weep for thee,  
Thou wouldst not blame my scorn, but pity me.  Let. 
When Honour first made you your Love decline,  
You from the Centre drew a crooked line;  
You were to Beaufort too severe, I fear,  
Lest to your Love you partial might appear.  Grac. 
I did what I in honour ought to do;  
I yet to Beaufort and my love am true;  
And if his Rival live, I'll be his Bride,  
Joy shall unite whom Grief does now divide;  
But if for love of me brave Bruce does die,  
I am contracted to his Memory.  
Oh, Beaufort!  Beauf. 
Oh, Graciana! here am I  
(By what I've heard) fixed in an ecstasy.  Grac. 
We are surprised; unlucky accident!  
Fresh Sorrow's added to my discontent.  Exeunt Graciana and Letitia leisurely. Beaufort Enters. Beauf. 
Graciana, stay, you can no more contend,  
Since Fortune joins with Love to be my Friend;  
There is no fear of Bruce his death; the wound  
By abler Chyr'gions is not mortal found.  
She will not stay:  
My Joys, like waters swelled into a flood,  
Bear down whate'er their usual streams withstood.  Exit Beaufort.  

SCEN. IU.  Scene, My Lady Dawbwell's House. Enter Wheadle and Grace. Whead. 
I wonder we have yet no tidings of our Knight,  
Nor Palmer,—  
Fortune still crosses the industrious, Girl.  
When we recover him you must begin  
To lie at a little opener ward;  
'Tis dangerous keeping the Fool too long at bay▪  
Lest some old Woodman drop in by chance,  
And discover th'u'rt but a rascal Deer.  
I have counterfeited half a dozen Mortgages,  
A dozen Bonds, and two Scriveners to vouch all;  
That will satisfy him in thy Estate:  
He has sent into the Country for his  
Writings:  
But see, here he comes.  Enter Sir Nicholas. 
Sir nicholas, I must chide you, indeed I must;  
You neglect your duty here: Nay, Madam, never  
Blush; faith I'll reveal all. You're the happiest,  
The luckiest man—  Enter Sir Frederick. 
We're betrayed; death, what makes him here?  To Sir Frederick. 
Sir Frederick, your humble Servant; you're come  
In the luckiest time for mirth; will you but lend  
Me your ear? do not you see Sir Nich'las and Grace  
Yonder? look, look.  Sir Fred. 
Yes.  Whead. 
I am persuading him to keep her; she's a pretty  
Deserving Girl; faith let us draw off a while,  
And laugh among ourselves, for fear of spoiling  
The poor Wenches market; let us, let us.  Sir Fred. 
With all my heart.  Bailiffs meet Wheadle at the door, and Arrest him. Bailiffs. 
We arrest you, Sir.  Whead. 
Arrest me? Sir Frederick, Sir Nicholas.  Sir Fred. 
We are not provided for a Rescue at present, Sir.  Whead. 
At whose Suit?  Bailiffs. 
At Sir Frederick Frollick's.  Whead. 
Sir Frederick Frollick's? I owe him never a farthing.  Sir Fr. 
You're mistaken, Sir; you owe me a thousand pounds:  
Look you, do you know Mr Palmer's hand?  
He has assigned such a small debt over to me.  Enter Palmer and Jenny. Whead. 
How was I bewitched to trust such a villain!  
Oh Rogue, Dog, Coward, Palmer!  Palm. 
Oh thou unconscionable Wheadle; a thousand pounds  
Was too small a bubble!  S. Fred. 
Away with him, away with him.  Whead. 
Nay, Sir Frederick, 'tis punishment enough to fall  
From my expectation:  
Do not ruin a young man.  Grace. 
I beseech you, Sir.  S. Fred. 
Thou hast moved me, Grace;  
Do not tremble, Chuck; I love thy profession too well  
To harm thee.  
Look you, Sir, what think you of a rich Widow?  Proffering him the Whore. 
Was there no Lady to abuse, Wheadle, but my Mistress?  
No man to bubble but your Friend and Patron, Sir Nich'las?  
But let this pass; Sir Nich'las is satisfied; take Grace  
Here, marry her, we are all satisfied:  
She's a pretty deserving Girl, and a Fortune now  
In earnest; I'll give her a thousand pounds.  Whead. 
Pray, Sir, do but consider—  S. Fred. 
No consideration; dispatch, or  
To Limbo.  Whea. 
Was there ever such a Dilemma? I shall rot in Prison.  
Come hither, Grace; I did but make bold, like a young Heir,  
With his Estate, before it come into his hands:  
Little did I think, Grace, that this Pastry,  Stroking her belly. 
When we first cut it up, should have been preserved  
For my Wedding Feast.  S. Nich. 
You are the happiest, the luckiest man, Mr Wheadle.  Palm. 
Much joy, Mr Wheadle, with your rich Widow.  Whead. 
Sir Frederick, shall that Rogue Palmer laugh  
At me?  S. Fr. 
No, no; jenny, come hither; I'll make thee amends,  
As well as thy Mistress, for the injury I did thee  
Th' other night:  
Here is a Husband for thee too:  
Mr Palmer, where are you?  Palm. 
Alas, Sir Frederick, I am not able to  
Maintain her.  S. Fred. 
She shall maintain you, Sir.  
Do not you understand the mystery of Stiponie,  
jenny?  Maid. 
I know how to make Democcuana, Sir.  S. Fred. 
Thou art richly endowed, i' faith: Here, here, Palmer;  
No shall I, shall I; This or that, which  
You deserve better.  Palm. 
This is but a short Reprieve; the Gallows will  
Be my destiny.  S. Fred. 
Sir nicholas, now we must haste to a better  
Solemnity; my Sister expects us.  
Gentlemen, meet us at the Rose; I'll bestow a Wedding  
Dinner upon you, and there release your Judgement,  
Mr Wheadle.  
Bailiffs, wait upon them thither.  S. Nich. 
I wish you much joy with your fair Brides,  
Gentlemen.  Whead. 
A pox on your Assignment, Palmer.  Palm. 
A pox on your rich Widow, Wheadle: Come, Spouse,  
Come.  Exeunt.  

SCEN. V.  Scene, The Lord bevil's House. Enter Lord Bevill, Bruce led in, Lovis, Beaufort, Graciana and Aurelia. Bruce. 
Graciana, I have lost my claim to you,  
And now my Heart's become Aurelia's due;  
She all this while within her tender breast  
The flame of Love has carefully suppressed,  
Courting for me, and striving to destroy  
Her own Contentment, to advance my Joy.  Aurel. 
I did no more than Honour pressed me to;  
I wish I'd wooed successfully for you.  Bruce. 
You so excel in Honour and in Love,  
You both my shame and admiration move.  
Aurelia, here, accept that life from me,  
Which Heaven so kindly has preserved for thee.  
My Lord, I hope you will my choice allow,  To L. Bevill. 
And with your approbation seal our Vow.  Bevill. 
In generous minds this to the world will prove  
That Gratitude has power to conquer Love.  
It were, brave Man, impiety in me  
Not to approve that which the Heaven's decree.  Bruce. 
Graciana, on my generous Rival you▪  
Mu now bestow what to his Merit's due.  Grac. 
Since you recovering, Bruce, your claim decline,  
To him with honour I my Heart resign.  Beauf. 
Such Honour and such Love as you have shown▪  
Are not in the Records of Virtue known.  
My Lord, you must assist us here once more;  To L, Bevill. 
The God of Love does your consent implore.  L. beu. 
May Love in you still feed your mutual fire.  joining their hands. Beauf. 
And may that flame but with our breaths expire.  Lovis. 
My Lord, our Quarrel now is at an end;  
You are not Bruces Rival, but his Friend.  Beauf. 
In this brave strife your Friendship soared above  
The active flames of our aspiring Love.  Bruce. 
Dear Friend, thy merits Fame cannot express.  Lovis. 
They are rewarded in your happiness.  Bruce. 
Come all into my Arms before I rest;  
Let's breathe our Joys into each other's breast:  
Thus mariners rejoice when winds decrease,  
And falling waves seem wearied into Peace.  Enter Sir Frederick and Dufoy at one door, and the Widow and Betty at another. S. Fred. 
Haste, Dufoy, perform what I commanded  
You.  Dufoy. 
I vil be ver quick begar; I am more den half de Mercurié.  S. Fred. 
Ho, Widow! the noise of these Nuptials brought  
You hither; I perceive your mouth waters.  Wid. 
Were I in a longing condition I should be apt  
Enough to put myself upon you, Sir.  S. Fred. 
Nay, I know thouart spiteful, and wouldst  
Feign marry me in revenge; but so long as I have  
These Guardian Angels about me, I defy thee  
And all thy Charms: Do skilful Falconers thus  
Reward their Hawks before they fly the Quarry?  Wid. 
When your gorge is empty you'll come to the  
Lure again.  S. Fred. 
After I have had a little more experience of the  
Vani y of this world, in a melancholy humour  
I mat be careless of myself.  Wid. 
And marry some distressed Lady, that has had  
No less experience of that vanity.  S. Fr. 
Widow, I prosess the contrary; I would not have the  
Sin to answer for of debauching any from such  
Worthy principles: Let me see; if I should be good  
Natured now, and consent to give thee a Title  
To thy own wealth again, you would be stubborn,  
And not esteem the favour, Widow.  Wid. 
Is it possible you can have thoughts of gratitude?  
Do you imagine me so foolish as yourself, who  
Often venture all at play, to recover one inconsiderable  
Parcel.  S. Fr. 
I told you how 'twould be, Widow: Less providence  
Attend thee, else I shall do no good upon thee:  
Farewell.  Wid. 
Stay, Sir; let us shake hands at parting.  S. Fred. 
Nay, if thou once art acquainted with my  
Constitution, thou'lt never let me go; Widow, here,  
Examine, examine.  Holding out his hand. Bevill. 
Sister, I long have known your inclinations;  
Give me leave to serve you. Sir Frederick, here,  
Take her; and may you make each other happy.  Wid. 
Now I have received you into my Family,  
I hope you will let my maids go quietly about  
Their business, Sir.  S. Fred. 
Upon condition there be no twits of the good man  
Departed; no prescription pleaded for evil customs  
On the Wedding night.  
Widow, what old doings will be anon!  
I have coupled no less than a pair-royal myself.  
This day, my Lord, I hope you'll excuse the liberty  
I have taken to send for them; the sight will much  
Increase your mirth this joyful day.  L. beu. 
I should have blamed you, Sir, if you had restrained  
Your, humour here.  
These must needs be pleasant Matches that are of his  
Making.  Enter Dufoy. Sir Fred. 
What, are they come?  Dufoy. 
Day be all at de dooré, begar; every man vid his  
Pret Metres, Brid, Whore.  
Entré, Jentelmen, vid your Lady, entré vid your great  
Fortune: Ha, ha, ha.  Enter Sir Nicholas and his Bride, Wheadle and his Bride, Palmer and his Bride. Sir Nich. 
Brother, do you see how sneakingly Wheadle looks  
Yonder, with his rich Widow?  Wid. 
Brother! is this fellow your Brother?  Sir Nich. 
Ay, that I am.  Sir Fred. 
No, no, Sir Nicholas.  Sir Nich. 
Did not I marry your Sister, Sir?  Sir Fred. 
Fie, fie, Sir Nich'las; I thought you'd been  
A modester man.  Sir Nich. 
Is my wife no kin to you, Sir?  Sir Fred. 
Not your Wife; but your Son and Heir may,  
If it prove so. 
* To Lucy.  Joy be with thee, old acquaintance.  
Widow, resolving to lead a virtuous life,  
And keep house altogether with thee,  
I have disposed of my own householdstuff, my  
Dear Mrs. Lucy, to this Gentleman.  Whead. & Palm. 
We wish you joy with your fair Bride,  
Sir Nich'las.  Sir Nich. 
I will go and complain, and have you all clapped  
Up for a plot immediately.  Sir Fred. 
Hold, hold, Sir nicholas; there are certain  
Catchpoles without; you cannot scape,  
Without you've a thousand pounds in your  
Pocket: Carry her into the Country, come;  
Your Neighbour's Wives will visit her, and vow  
She's a virtuous well-bred Lady:  
And, give her her due, faith she was a very  
Honest Wench to me, and I believe will make a very  
Honest Wife to you.  Sir Nich. 
If I discover this I am lost; I shall be ridiculous,  
Even to our own Party.  Sir Fred. 
You are in the right: Come,  
Take her, make much of her,  
She shall save you a thousand pounds.  Sir Nich. 
Well, Lucy, if thou canst but deceive my  
Old mother, and my neighbours in the Country,  
I shall bear my fortune patiently.  Sir Ferd, 
I'll warrant you, Sir, womans so skilled in Vice can  
Dissemble Virtue.  Dufoy. 
Fie, fie, maké the much of your Lady, Shentelmen;  
Begar you vil find dem ver civil.  Sir Fred. 
Dufoy, I had almost forgot thee.  Dufoy. 
Begar my merit is ver seldom in your  
Memorié.  Sir Fred. 
Now I will reward thy services; here, enjoy thy  
Mistress.  Dufoy. 
Ver vel, begar; you will give me two tree oldé  
Gowné vor all my diligence.  Betty. 
Marry come up! Is that a despicable portion  
For your greafie Pantaloons?  Dufoy. 
Peace, peace, Metres Bet; ve vil be ver good  
Friend upon occasion; but ve vil no marrié:  
Dat be ver much better, begar.  Sir Fred. 
Did you bring the Bailiffs with you?  Dufoy. 
Day be vidout: Begar, Shentelmen, You have been  
Made ver sad; and now you shall be made ver mer  
Vid de Fiddler.  Whead. 
Ha! cozened with Fiddlers for Bailiffs!  
I durst have sworn false Dice might as soon have passed  
Upon me.  Sir Fred. 
Bid them strike up; we will have a Dance.  
Widow, to divert these melancholy Gentlemen.  They dance. L. beu. 
Sir Fredrick, you shall command my House this day;  After the Dance. 
Make all those welcome that are pleased to stay.  Sir Fred. 
Sir Nicholas, and Mr Wheadle, I release you both  
Of your Judgement, and will give it you under  
My hand at any time.  
Widow, for all these bloody preparations, there  
Will be no great massacre of Maidenheads  
Among us here.  
Anon I will make you all laugh with the occasion  
Of these Weddings.  
On what small accidents depends our Fate,  
Whilst Chance, not prudence, makes us fortunate.     

EPILOGUE.  Spoke by the Widow. 

SIr Frederick, now I am revenged on you;  
For all your Frolic Wit, you're cozened too  
I have made over all my Wealth to these  
Honest Gentlemen; they are my trusties.  
Yet, Gentlemen, if you are pleased, you may  
Supply his wants, and not your Trust betray.   Spoke by Wheadle. 

Poor Wheadle hopes h'as gi'n you all content;  
Here he protests 'tis that he only meant:  
If you're displeased we're all cross-bit to day,  
And he has wheadled us that writ the Play.    

THE EPILOGUE.  
LIke Prisoners, conscious of th' offended Law,  
When juries after th' Evidence withdraw;  
So waits our Author between hope and fear,  
Until he does your doubtful Verdict hear.  
Men are more civil then in former days;  
Few now in Public hiss or rail at Plays;  
He bid me therefore mind your looks with care,  
And told me I should read your Sentence there;  
But I, unskilled in Faces, cannot guests  
By this first view, what is the Plays success;  
Nor shall I ease the Author of his fear,  
Till twice or thrice, at least, I've seen you here.  
FINIS.