Love's a Lottery, AND A WOMAN the PRIZE. WITH A NEW MASQUE, CALLED Love and Riches Reconciled. As it was Acted by His Majesty's Servants at the Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields. Sors & Amor simili pugnant certamine, vincit Unus uterque Viros, unus uterque Deos. LONDON, Printed for Daniel Brown, at the Black-Swan and Bible without Temple-Bar, and Edmund Rumball at the Posthouse in Russel-street in Covent-Garden. 1699. THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY, To the RIGHT HONOURABLE, the Countess of Burlington. MADAM, THE Noble Character your Ladyship is deserservedly Mistress of, and the continued Favours you have shown to that STAGE, which I have the Honour to share your Ladyship's Patronage on, has occasioned the trouble I am now giving you. And tho' the Decscription of your Ladyship's Virtues should be the Employment of an abler Pen, I could not but rejoice in the opportunity of being the first who should acquaint the Public, with those Excellencies which your Ladyship is so communicative of, and yet so industrious in concealing. To do GOOD, Madam, is the Property of several Ladies: But to do GOOD, and be unwilling to hear of it; to give Assistance and Relief to those that are in Distress, and withhold the knowledge of their Benefactress from 'em, is a Character few Persons of Quality can lay the same claim to, as the COUNTESS of BURLINGTON. But I forget those Virtues I was just now commending in your Ladyship, and at the same time that I am telling the World of the reservedness of your Temper, in your Desires to have your WORTH concealed, I am committing a fault against it, by giving your Ladyship the knowledge, that I am Partaker of that Secret, which 'tis your Ladyship's Pleasure should have no sharer but yourself, I shall therefore, Madam, forbear doing any farther violence to your Modesty, and only beg your Ladyship's Protection for a Play which stands ranked amongst the Unfortunate; and whose Author will have all imaginable reason to rejoice for its want of success, could its misfortunes endear it to your Ladyship's compassionate Reception. LOVE is the LOTTERY, Madam, which begs your Acceptance; and your Ladyship that has drawn its CHIEFEST PRIZE, in the NOBLE LORD, your Ladyship's most EXCELLENT HUSBAND, will make amends for the Blanks which its Author has drawn in it, by giving it the Honour of your Ladyship's perusal. And tho' the judgement your Ladyship shall make of it, will not (I'm afraid) run Counter with what has been already given, yet it will be enough to take off from its Censure with the Public, that it is read by a Lady, whose very perusal is a recommendation to that of others, and whose Judgement has that accuracy in it, as to permit Her to read nothing almost, but what deserves the employment of Her leisure. This, Madam, cannot but lead me into the notice of your Excellent Endowments, and force me to speak of those Acquisitions of Mind, which are as uncommon to Persons of your Sex and Quality, as they are particular to yourself. To be skilled in History, Madam; to be an Accomplished Lady, and an excellent Christian: To be a Pattern of Behaviour at the COURT, and an Example of Devotion at the CHURCH, is as much beyond my Expression, as it is beyond other Lady's Imitation. I shall therefore have said all that my Wonder will permit me, and more than your Modesty would willingly suffer, by concluding your Character with the Addition of that of an INCOMPARABLE WIFE, an AFFECEIONATE MOTHER, an INDULGENT MISTRESS, and an UNWEARIED BENEFACTRESS; and I shall join with the Prayers of your Noble Lord, the tenderest of Husbands; the Wishes of your Children, the living Instances of the BEST of MOTHER's Perfections, the Desires of your Servants, and the Entreaties of the many numbers which would not be living, but by YOUR GOODNESS: If I shall pray that your Ladyship may long continue to be the GLORY of this Age, as you will be the Admiration of the next. But that I may not detain your Ladyship any longer from those obliging Offices which are so little practised by others, and so much by yourself, I shall only ask leave to subscribe, Madam, Your Ladyship's Most Humble, and most Obedient Servant. JOSEPH HARRIS. Dramatis Personae. MEN. Mr. Maggot, Master of the Lottery. Clytander, A Gentleman in Love with Amaranta. Mr. Flash, and Mr. Finical, Two Beaus. Trickwell, Clytander's Man. Brush-beard, A Philosopher. Dr. Non-such, A Mountebank. Mr. Scribble, An Author. WOMEN. Amaranta, Maggot's Daughter, in Love with Clitander. Isbell, Her Maid. Four Adventurers. bulfinch. Lack-wit. Noisy. Ninnie. Gammer Whiteing. A Servant: and several others, as Mob. The SCENE, London. THE PROLOGUE, Writ by a Person of Quality. FAITH, Gentlemen, to lay aside all Flattery, I needs must tell ye, the whole World's a Lottery: And Fortune with her Tickets plays such pranks, Y'ave for One Fortunate, a Million Blanks. But what's all this to th' purpose? Yes, for why, This Farce to Night is called a Lottery: And 'tis a Pound to a Penny if it hit, 'Cause Men of Fortune are to judge of it; And they'll ne'er mind your Poet's Wit or Art, Men of no Fortune for the greatest part. 'Tis strange, methinks, to see how some will roar Against Fortune, still calling her damned confounded Whore! We have no reason for't, what Lady coyer? Tho' all Men court her, very few enjoy her. Why is our Author then that Fool to venture? That's not the Point— The Stars themselves oft wander from their Centre: And to be plain, he is in hopes to find The Favourites of Fortune obliging kind. Nothing Profane nor yet immodest here, Shall dare to wound a Chaste and Virtuous Ear; Ill mannered Bawdry shall not here intrude, The Stage Reformed, shall nothing bear that's rude. So will triumphant Folly be defaced, And Vice no longer shine, but be disgraced: The Fair, and Virtuous then may safely sit, And, without blushing, judge of Sense and Wit. LOVE's a LOTTERY, AND A WOMAN the PRIZE. ACT. I. SCENE I. The Town. Enter Mr. Maggot, and several others, as Venturers in the Lottery. Maggot. INDEED, Gentlemen, I have been a long time ruminating upon this Matter; but at last an Ingenious Lady put it into my Head, to set up this Lottery for Wives. 1. Man. It should therefore, methinks, have been called, the Lady's Invention. 2. Man. Right; for 'tis an excellent Contrivance indeed, especially, at such a time as this, when Lotteries are Al-a-mode. Maggot. Al-a-mode d'ye call it? Ay, and an Old Mode too: For I'm sure Marriage has been a Lottery ever since I can remember. 1. Man. And what's the Reason of that, Sir, but because the Law does not allow a Month's trial before hand? So that we are forced to take Pigs in Pokes, contrary to the Custom of all Markets. Maggot. Well, to the point.— I knew there were a World of poor Gentlemen in and about this City, who had Daughters that stuck upon their Hands for want of Portions. 2. Man. Very true, Sir. Maggot. So, I sent for a good many of 'em, and told 'em, That I had a great number of extraordinary Rarities, which I intended to put off by way of Lottery, (as many others do, now a days, Books and Cakes) and if they would venture their Daughters, I'd venture my Goods; for I intended that every Female should have a Lot of Price and Value to carry her off, for Male encouragement. 1. Man. I'll assure you, Sir, you may be justly called, The distressed Damsel's Patron: For I never knew Self-Interest, and public Charity so carnally coupled before. Maggot. Nay, more than this, Gentlemen, I'll have no Blanks— But a Lot and a Woman; a Woman and a Lot quite through; till all be drawn. 2. Man. By the Temptation of Womankind, this Contrivance must take, Gentlemen. Omnes. Ay, ay— This Lottery must hit; it must, it must! 3. Man. But hold a little— How shall we know, Master of mine, whether these same Rarities of yours are worth the ready Money we are to lay down? Maggot. There's a Question indeed— Worth, quoth a? Why, I'll tell you what, Friend, there's one Woman will have a strange Fish, with no less than Twenty Feet between the Head and Tail. As I hope to be Knighted, Gentlemen, I fetched it myself out of the Zodiac, not many Leagues from the North Pole, where 'tis well known, That the Sun stands still a whole Fortnight together. 1. Man. And that's the Reason, I believe, that we have wanted one Month in the Summer these several Years past. 2. Man. Not unlikely, truly— But, Sir, there's one thing more— I desire you, if you have any Woman fairer than the rest, pray let me have her— for I don't care how simple she is. 1. Man. And let me have the blackest in the whole Pack, for I have heard, That a Woman's Pride is many times the Guardian of her Honour. 3. Man. I gad, Sir, if I have a Redhaired Woman, I'll turn her upon your Hands again; for I hate to have Fire in the upper Tire. 4. Man. Pray, Sir, let me have a very genteel Woman; That will sit and simper in the Bar, and draw Customers. Maggot. A Genteel Woman, say you! Why, what are you, Friend? 4: Man. A Tapster, Sir, at the Colchester-Inn in Bishop's-gate-street; I am very well known, Sir, all about that end of the Town; and a pretty Woman will be the making of me. Maggot. Look you, gentlemans, As for the Complexions and Conditions of your Women, Ye must be contented with your Lots— Fortune and Destiny will have their Course— And so farewell, till I see you again. [Exit Maggot.] 1. Man. Well, Gentlemen, what d'ye think on't? 2. Man. Why? very well for my part; but then d'ye hear, gentlemans, we must be sure to take the right way, or we are all spoiled. 3. Man. And how's that? 2. Man. Why if we have to do with Fortune, we must renounce our Senses and Understandings, and turn mere Fools. 3. Man. And what then? 2. Why then if we han't good luck, I'll ne'er trust Proverb more. [Exeunt Omnes.] SCENE 2. Enter Maggot and Isbell. Maggot. I tell thee, Fool, I don't wonder to see thee look with scorn on all those noble Pieces I have shown thee; for thou art young, and consequently, the contempt of every thing that bears the resemblance of Antiquity, is natural to thee. Isbell. Not always, Sir, for I have known a handsome young Lady of Sixteen, throw herself into the gouty Arms of Threescore and Ten, when his Medals have been of the right stamp— But, Sir, that which vexes me, is to see you ruin your Estate and Fortune, by purchasing the rubbish of sacked Cities, and so disable yourself of providing for a Figure of your own erecting, a young handsome Daughter; yet not so young neither, but, I promise you, 'tis more than time she were well disposed of. Maggot. What a walking Statue of Ignorance thou art! Why I tell thee, that any one of those exquisite Pieces which I have shown thee, is of worth sufficient to Marry her to an Earl. Isbell. Yes, if she wanted only a gilded Frame for a Husband: But, alas! the Custom now a-days is, no Money, no Matrimony— You may talk of Cupid, and his Quiver, but 'tis the God of Riches makes the Match. Maggot. Go to then, Hearken to me with attention, and I'll tell thee a Secret. Isbell. Lord, Sir! done't burden me with your Secrets— I tell you before hand I can't keep 'em. Maggot. I'll put no constraint upon thee, Child, yet 'tis something that will please thee, and thou may'st tell it to all the World if thou wilt. Isbell. Well, well, what is't? Maggot. Why you must know, that I have set up a Lottery. Isbell. How! a Lottery! why I hope you are not mad, that you are going thus to expose all that you're worth, to the figgaries of Fortune. Maggot. No, no, Child, only a few Trifles that lie dead upon my Hands, that's all. Isbell. And what's your highest Lot? Maggot Thy Mistress and my Daughter, with Five Thousand Pounds in ready Money, which I will raise by some hundreds of other Curiosities which I have, at Three Guinea's a Lot— Nay, and I intent to tack a Woman for a Wife to every one of my Lots; some Handsome, and some so so; some Wise, and some otherwise— 'Tis no matter for their Conditions, nor their Honesty, for that's Hab-nab, as if the Choice were their own— ay le take care indeed, that they be Water-tite, and Wind-tite, and able of Body, and that's all I need to care for. Isbell Now the Devil take you for putting my Mistress among your Old Trumpery— By this means, the next Scoundrel of a Drawer, or Footman that ventures his Three Guinea's, shall run away with her— Od'sflesh! would any Cannibal of a Father but you, commit the well-being of an only Daughter, to be broke upon the Wheel of Fortune? Maggot. ne'er trouble thy Head, Girl; I have taken that care, and given such Power to Clitander's Man Trickwell, that I have made all cocksure, I warrant thee— but I lose time, bid thy Mistress, since she has such a mind to marry, prepare to be a Bride, while I go in and get every thing ready for drawing the Lottery. [Exit. Maggot] Isbell. Hold, yonder comes Trickwell; I'll hear what he says— Enter Trickwell like a Doctor, in a black Gown. Trickwell, well met— Whither away so fast, Man? prithee stay, And tell me what thou think'st of the grand Affair, Between thy Master and my Mistress; Will it fadge or no? Trickwell. Why faith, Isbell, I can't tell, for Love without Money is like a Summer Pippin, 'twill never last. Isbell. Oh, but Mr. Maggot's Lottery will soon supply all those Defects. Trickwell. I tell thee, once again, Isbell, That Love is hot in the Fourth Degree, but cold in the Fifti'th; so that 'tis rank Poison, take it which way you will. Isbell. Well, but what dost think of the Lottery itself, I hear thou art to be the chief Manager of it? Trickwell. Why truly, Isbell, I am contriving all things for the best. Isbell. That is to say, thou art plotting some cursed piece of Knavery and Roguery or other. Trickwell. Alas, Isbell! Roguery and Knavery reigned powerfully in the World before I came into it; but indeed I got a terrible itch of it when I was young; and then as I grew up in Years, I became so desperately infected with it, that I was all over like a Leper, by that time I was One-and-Twenty. Isbell. Methinks a Quicksilver Girdle might have cured thee. Trickwell. Alas! I tried, but egad it wrought a contrary effect in me, for the Mercury got into my Head, and made me ten times worse. Isbell. But hast thou no sense of Reputation or Conscience, when Trust and Confidence rely on thy Engagements? Trick well. Why truly, Isbell, now I think on't, I left my Conscience, one Night drunk, behind me in a Hackney Coach, and could never hear of it since. Isbell. Well, but I hope you don't intent to shark any of your Tricks upon me; thou knowst I'm to be flesh of thy flesh, and bone of thy bone, Man. Trickwell. No, no, Isbell, never fear: We Servingmen have all our lucid intervals of Honesty. Isbell. Pray then have a care of the grand Lot, that it may fall right without Coz ning and Deceit. Trick well. Set thy Heart at rest, Girl, and bid thy Mistress depend upon me. In the mean time, I'll read thee a List of some of my Lots, for I foresee that we shall tumble in Gold, Child. Isbell. Come on— Let's hear a little. [Trickwell Reads] A general List of Mr. Maggot's Lottery, carried on, and managed by Squire Trickwell. Isbell. Squire Trickwell! Marry come up. Trick well. Yes, why not, as well as the Hangman— Well, but to the purpose— [Reads] Here is first, and Imprimis, a Camphire Shirt, with a Woman's Shift of the same; the one to mortify rampant Lust in young Fops and Fluttering Beau's, and the other to keep poor Maids honest whether they will or no. Isbell. Thou shouldst have a Million of the hirts, but make Tinder of the Shift; for a Woman has no thanks that's Honest against her will. But come, go on. [Trickwell Reads] Trick. An Enchanted Crystal, which, if looked into by a pure Virgin, or a Woman with Child, will resolve all Questions touching either Physic, Love, or News. Isbell. As for the Women with Child, they may look in your Crystal as long as they please, but let the Maids have a care what they do, for I warrant you here are a great many that pass muster in the Rolls of Honesty, but I'm afraid your Crystal wou d put some of 'em to the blush. [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. Next, here's a Pint of that singular Lady's Milk, that never knew any Man but her own Husband, which perfectly Cured an Egyptian King of his Blindness, when all the Women besides, in his Kingdom could not do it. Isbell. Pray send some of that Milk to those Princes that can't see their own Interest, that they may Wash and clear their Eyes— Well, what's next? [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. Why another Venetian Looking-glass, made by the only Artist of the World. Isbell. What's the Rarity of it? [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. I'll tell you— In the first place, if a debauched Chambermaid dresses herself by this Looking-glass, she'll dream the Night following of Kissing her Lord, and making her Lady a She Cuckold; then to sodder her cracked Virginity, her kind Lord shall Marry her to his Chaplain, and he have the next Living that falls. Isbell. Very good. [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. If a stale antiquated Court Lady looks on this Reflection, she'll see her Old Face through her new Complexion. Isbell. Better still. [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. An Usurer can't see his Conscience in't, nor a Scrivener his Ears. Isbell. That I believe. [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. If a Citizen chance to peep into't, his Brow-Antlers will spread and fill the Glass— And lastly, if a Blindman see his Face in't, 'tis a sign he'll recover his sight again. Isbell. What more, good Trickwell? [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. Why an indifferent large Viol of the Quintessence of Skull, Chi mically drawn from Aristotle's Pericranium. Isbell. Prithee what is't good for? Trickwell. Oh! it has admirable Virtues, and very strange Operations, assure you. Isbell. What are they? [Trickwell Reads] Trick. Why if you pour but four drops into a Country Attorny's Ear, they'll make him write true Latin— Three drops will fill the Capital of an University Gander— Indeed half a Drams enough for the terrestrial Head of a High Constable; and three Scruples and a half will more than fill the empty Numscull of a Biggotted- Banbury Brother. Isbell. Hast ' any more? [Trickwell Reads.] Trick. Yes, several sorts of Nonparelio Italian Gloves— There is one pair that will almost sit any Lawyer— They are made of an entire Loadstone, and have a very strange and powerful Virtue to draw Gold unto 'em— They were perfumed with the Lavender Conscience of a damned Usurer, and will keep their Scent till wrangling and bawling have left Westwinster-Hall; they are seamed with Indentures, by the Needlework of Mortgage, and both topped and stiffened with a Noverint Universi, & caetera— I would willingly describe the Virtues of several other pair, but that 'tis against the Statute— Besides, few or none now a days need Gloves, by reason all our Beau's have Cordivant Hands— But dost hear, Isbell, I dare not be too busy, for Truth oftentimes offends. Isbell. I wonder where Mr. Maggot picked up all these Antiquities and Rarities? In my mind he had better have laid out his Money upon new Gowns for my Mistress. Trickwell. Virtue, Isbell, virtue's the best Ornament for a young Lady. Isbell. How like a Fool you talk now— Will Virtue glitter at the Playhouse? Will Virtue distinguish her at Church? Or Cloth her Nakedness? Trickwell. As good go naked behind as before, the Temptation's the same, and a Woman's never more acceptable to us Men, than when she's out of her clothes— But here comes my Master with Joy in his Eyes. Enter Clitander with a Letter. Clitander. News, good News, Trickwell; good News, Isbell. Trickwell. Has your Worship found either the Philosopher's Stone, or a Phoenix's Nest? Clitander. Yes, both. Trickwell. Nay, then good News say I— I have been a long time starving upon single Tiff, and mouldy Cheese, but now I hope I shall revel in Frycassees and Marrow-Puddings— Troth, Master, when you have got your Estate, take my Advice; don't spend it in Whoring and Gaming, as most of our young Sparks do now a-days, but keep a good House, Master; let the Chimney's smoke. Clitander. Thou art too hasty, Trickwell— Tho' the Treasure is found, yet 'tis all contained in this Letter. Trickwell. Oh Sir! an Estate in a Letter, is like a Marchant's Cargo floating upon some distant Sea— I wish no Pirate of a new forged Will may meet with it. Clitander Oh, but I am Heir at Law. Trickwell. That's nothing; if another sets up a new Title, and gives but double Fees, there are those that will toss your Estate in a Noncupative Blanket from the Common-Pleas to the King's Bench, and thence to the Chancery, till they have shaken it into a Consumption. Clitander. No fear of that, Trickwell—— Moreover, this Letter assures me, that my Uncle Lies drawing on, past hopes, quite given over, as they call it; And that my Aunt is almost in the same condition. Trickwell. Send 'em a good Deliverance! I mean from the Cares and Troubles of this World— I long to be weeping for 'em in Sack and Sugar— Five Hundred a Year will do very well, Sir. Clitander. Besides, there's sufficient lying by 'em, That will serve for the present— And I tell thee again and again, That My Uncle is surely going to Heaven. Trickwell. Or somewhere else— But that's no matter to you: I'm sure you young Heirs do so rejoice at the death of your Parents, and Rich Relations, that 'tis no wonder your Estates are no better blessed when you have 'em. Clitander. Prithee, good Trickwell, no more of thy Morality— I say that being thus assured as I am of my Uncle's Death, I am going to show Mr. Maggot my Letter, and demand Amaranta for my Lot. Trickwell. You cannot make use of a more persuasive Argument— Mammon is the World's Idol— Old and Young— Ugly and Handsome— Prince and Peasant— nay, Spiritual and Temporal— All lie prostrate before it— But here's the mischief on't, you know Your Mistress is put among the other Lots, and Another may chance to have her as soon as you. Clitander. Then I'm undone! Oh Trickwell, where is that Name of Faithful Servant, thou hast so oft protested to me in this days Adventure? Trickwell. Why faith, Sir, I found it worn so thread bore in the Subscriptions of damned complementing nonsensical Letters, that for my part, I was quite ashamed on't, and therefore flung it in the Fire— However I may chance to prove a Man of Honour for all this, still. Clitander. But didst thou not assure both Isbell and me, that Amaranta should depend upon thee? Oh, most unfortunate of Men! or rather, most accursed of Fools, to trust the happiness of my Life with such a Bulrush of Iniquity as this! Trickwell. Pray, Sir, lay not too much upon your poor Servant neither— Am I Lord of the Stars, that hardly understand an Almanac? You know, Sir, Wedlock and Hanging go by Destiny— How then can I prevent the Influences of the Seven Planets? Clitander. Oh Trickwell! Thy mean Soul was never yet acquainted with the noble Passion of Love. Trickwell. Yes, yes, I have been in Love up to the Ears; but my wooing (thanks to Heaven!) ne'er cost me so much as one single blast; no, nor a Pearl of Salt-Water— She was as coming, as I was forward. Isbell. Was she so, Mr. Malapert? But she's quite off of you now again, I assure you— No fleshpots of Egypt, unless you prove as good as your word. Trickwell. Nay, than it shall ne'er be said, That Trickwell is not a Man of Honour— Thou shalt see me lead Destiny in a string, As Old Maids do Apes in Hell— But harkee me, Sir, Destiny's an honest Old Gentleman, That love's a Cup of good Conversation. Clitander. Oh, I understand thee— Thou wouldst have something to drink With thy Friend Destiny, as thou call'st him— There, there's Gold for thee, go and treat him handsomely. [gives him Money.] Trickwell. Ay marry, Sir! This will do— These are the little Circumferences, that Encircle all the Temptations of Satan. Could a Man but wean himself from these Provocations, There might be some probability, of his Forsaking the Devil and all his Works— But then again, Why is the hunger of Gold called sacred?— The Devil and Sacred, are two incompatible opposites— And yet I'm sure 'tis sacred, because Priests of all Religions love it, And they are my Guides—— Well, Sir, I'll go drink your health, And then consider what's to be done. [Exit Trickwell. Isbell. And I'll to my Mistress, and Tell her the good News of your Uncle's dying. [Exit Isbell.] Clitander. I'll be with you instantly. [Exit. Clitander. The End of the First ACT. ACT II. SCENE 1. Enter Amaranta and Isbell. Ama. WILL Clitander be here, sayest thou? Isbell. Yes, Madam, immediately— Lord! what makes you so melancholy? Come, I'll sing you a new Song of my own making, To divert you till he comes. Ama. Prithee, Isbell, how long hast thou been a Poetess? Isbell. Oh, Madam, I love to be in the Mode— Female Poets are now in Fashion. Ama. Come, then, let's hear thy Song. Isbell. You shall. A New SONG, set by Mr. Akeroyde, and Sung by Mrs. Willis. LOving, and beloved again! How terrible are our pains, To live under the Roof, Of a Father's Reproof, Like so many Slaves in Chains? Yet Parent Nature, well we know, Freedom in Love allows to every Creature; What Duty then do we to Parents owe, Who break the Laws of their grand Parent, Nature. ' ' They all forget, ' ' Their youthful Heat; ' ' And when grown old, ' ' Think us as cold: ' ' But let 'em forget, and dote on, ' ' By their senseless Morals betrayed, ' ' For when all their Tittle-tattle is done, ' ' 'Tis Nature must be obeyed. Enter Clitander. Clitander. So, Madam, I'm glad to hear you so merry. Ama. Alas! I was afraid it had been some body else. Isabel. No, no; You're safe enough from being surprised, As long as Love is your Guard. Ama. But dost thou not consider, Isbell, That Love is blind; So that there is no trusting to his Watch— However I'll trust in Heaven, I or they say, all Marriages are made there. Isbell. Yes, all but a Thousand for one that the Devil makes. Ama. But is there no Faith in Man? Has not my Father and Trickwell both assured us— Isbell. Troth, Madam, you are like the Man that believed himself no Cuckold, because his Wife said so— But were my Case as yours, I'd trust neither Father nor Mother, Brother nor Sister, Uncle nor Aunt; no, nor ne'er a Trickwell, or Lottery in the World— I'd make sure of the main chance, Mary the Man I like, and take my pleasure, and then trust Fortune, as Usurers do their Debtors— Poor Souls! 'tis a hard case when two Lovers lie Parent-bound— But I'll even leave 'em together; perhaps, when they're alone they may take one another's Word. [Exit. Isbell.] Ama. Well, Clitander, I have discoursed my Father since I saw you, and he's mightily pleased to hear your Uncle lies a dying. Clitander. Ay, ay: Your Father's like all the rest of the World; now he smells an Estate, he's willing I should have his Daughter— As if 'twere not better to Marry his Daughter to an honest reclaimed Gentleman with a small Estate, rather than to a Wild extravagant Spark with a great one; that is resolved to sell all he has; and so the poor Wife comes home again to earn her living by stitching to the Sempstresses' shops. The remembrance of a short plenty, is but a light weight to balance the suffering of a long Life in penury and want. Enter a Servant. Seru. Madam, Mr. Flash is come to wait upon you. Amaranta. Say, I'm not within. Clitander. Oh, he'll divert your Melancholy— Pray admit him. [Exit. Servant.] Enter Mr. Flash and his Boy. Flash. Madam, your most humble Servant! The Learned say, that all our Words, are to Our Thoughts, but as the Cork is to the Bottle— As the Wine can't be filled out, till the Cork Is pulled out, so neither can our Thoughts, Till the Mouth opens— And so, as if a Man should say, with a whip And a jerk, and so forth; I'm come to give you the honour of my Company, And to chat a while of things of profundity— By the way, Madam, you must know, That I slept bolt upright in my Bed Last Night, for fear of the Fleas. Amaranta. Bid him strew his Sheets with Bay-Salt. [Aside to Clitander. Flash. D'ye talk of me, Madam? Amaranta. By no means, Sir, The incivility would be unparallelled. Flash. I'm sorry for't, for I love to be talked of— I'm more plagued to make myself talked of, Than I am to speak like Cicero, or Demosthenes— I'gad, I'd be contented to be hanged for a Plotter, So I might but be talked of. Amaranta. 'Tis your modesty, Sir, to say so; for I assure you, the whole Town rings of you, as if you were the unknown Author of the whole Duty of Man. Flash. Pshaw, Pshaw, Madam, naw, naw, 'tis your pleasure to say so, Madam, but let that pass— Troth this is a very pretty House— I swear I saw just such another, when I was at Rome— Was it built in this City, Madam? Amaranta. No, sure, I believe 'twas sent by the Post. Flash. I'll warrant it made the Courier sweat to bring it— But what Man would not sweat to serve Such a Lady as you are, Madam! Amaranta. Oh, Mr. Flash! I find you're a Courtier. Flash. a Courtier, Madam, Yes, to my very Sword Knot—— This Ribbond I bespoke, Madam, and I defy both The Universities to invent me such another Motto— Imperial, Aerial, and Aethereal—— Only three Words, Madam, comprehending all The Perfections of the Female Sex— Imperial, to show the grandeur of their Authority— Aerial, to denote the variety and sublimity of their Inclinations; and Aetherial, to signify the Beauty and Graces, both of their Minds and Bodies. Clitander. Most superlative indeed, Sir! Flash. Ay, Sir, you have Fancy, For I find you apprehend me— And so do you too, Madam, don't you? Amaranta. Yes, yes, Sir. Flash. I thought so; but let that pass— Pray, Madam, was not that your Picture I saw in one of the Rooms, as I passed along? Amaranta. Not unlikely, Sir. Flash. By all the Honour of my Ancestors, The Painter has outdone Apelles. I should have known you in the dark, Tho' I had ne'er seen you before— I'll send for him, he shall draw me reading with a loud voice, And my Footman standing within call, At a Corner of the Room, where he mayn't be seen— Your Painters now a-days have no Invention. Amaranta. Alas, poor Fellows! they mind Nothing, Sir, but the strokes of their Pencils. Flash. Now you talk of Pencils, Madam, Pray, what think you of the times? Amaranta. I never mind 'em, Sir; Pray, what are your Sentiments of 'em? Flash. Why Faith, Madam, the World's turned Topsy-turvy— The Women wear the Breeches, and the Men the Muffs— And then in the State— All things off the Hinges— The great Thiefs, and the rich Rogues, they escape, But the little and poor ones, they are surely hanged— Candles rise, and Soap rises— I find that by my Landladies Bill— Were I at the Helm— But enough of this World, I'm almost weary of it—— Pray, what think you of the other World, Madam? Amaranta. Which of 'em, Sir, there are two? Flash. I mean the lower World, Madam, To which most Men now a-days pay their greatest Devotion. Clitander. How, Sir! Flash. No such wonder, Sir, For where one Man desires Heaven to bless him, You shall hear a Thousand cry, the Devil setch 'em— But here comes a Friend of mine, I must needs go and salute him. Clitander. Uncivil Blockhead! Enter Mr. Finical, and his Boy. Flash. Dear Mr. Finical! Your most obsequious, very humble Servant! What are you come to augment the number of the Virtuosos? Finical. I am come, Sir, but as your shadow, To make the lustre of your worth appear more glorious. Flash. Lord, Sir! what d'ye mean? My Worth! is it for me to pretend To Worth, or Gallantry, in your presence? Finical. Nay, pray Sir! Flash. I beseech you, Sir! Finical. By no means, Sir. Flash. I protest, you make me blush. [After these ridiculous strive to give each other the upperhand, Finical addresses himself to Amaranta. Finical. Madam, this Gentleman's kindness and civility, Had like to have made me forget my Duty, which now I pay to your Perfections with a prostrate Devotion. Amaranta. Oh Sir, you soar too high a Flight for me. Finical. Madam, 'tis more than I dare attempt, Lest the Rays of your Beauty should melt the Wings of my Fancy, And drop me into an utter oblivion of myself. Ama. I shall think the better of myself, Sir, For the value which you put upon me. Finical. Madam, your humble Servant— I am just come, Madam, from a rich Farmer's House in the Country, who had No reason to repent of my company—— He told me, that one of the choicest pieces Of Ground which he had, was so infested With Moles, that 'twas almost spoiled— Presently, out of the quickness of my apprehension, I bid him pave it with Freestone. Ama. How, Sir! so young, and so sharp-witted! Surely, Sir, you must have been a great reader of Books. Fini. A reader of Books, Madam? Yes Madam, I have read a hundred Thousand in my time— But very few pleased me— A man must have a great Genius that reads Books— But, Madam, I study Men as well as Books. Ama. And Moles too— Fini. Moles and Men, Madam, are the same thing— They both work underground; And truly Men of late, have cast up so many Hillocks of Disputes and Controversies, As have almost defaced the surface of the Earth. Ama. Why then, I think 'twould be the best way, To pave the whole World with Freestone. Fini Madam, I swear you are so ingenious, And take a man up so quick at the first rebound, that— Flash. Lord, Madam, I find you don't know this Gentleman— Why he's a large Folio of himself, bound up in Calf's Leather, and gilt o'th' edges. Fini. This Mr. Flash, Madam, will have his Jests— But I never take any exceptions at what he says, By reason he gives such an admirable Tour to all his Expressions. Flash. Sir, you do me too much honour, I protest— But let that pass—— That Copy of Verses you made upon your Mistress' Needle-case, Was so sharp, and so well sown together, That I never heard any thing like it— But here comes Mr. Brush-beard the Philosopher—— Bless me! What a strange Figure he is? Enter Brush-beard. By the Ghost of Solon, I'll embrace him, Were he as ugly as Socrates. Worthy Sir— Brush-beard Friend, when you salute a Philosopher, You ought to do it in form, as thus— Every Learned Philosopher merits Honour, there's the major; Now, you Mr. Brush-beard are a Learned Philosopher, There's the minor; therefore you deserved To be honoured, there's the Conclusion. Flash. I don't mind your Majors nor Minors— I only say that—— Brush. You only say, Sir— Flash. Lord, Sir, Won't you give me leave to speak my speech out? Brush. No, Sir, not till your turn comes. Flash. Then, venerable Sir, I beg your pardon For this interruption; therefore pray proceed, And enrich us with the Treasures of your profound Knowledge. Brush. You doubt mind Majors nor Minors— Go to then, you're a Fool— Your true Philosopher's mind little or nothing else. Fini. Nay, 'tis most certain, that you Philosophers Led the most delicious lives in the World, for You are always handling the Secrets of Nature. Brush. Right—— And was it not a most stupendious Invention, to make a Saddle amble upon the back of a trotting Horse? And was it not, moreover, most transcendently found out, to tap both sides of a Man's Ribs, and whilst his own Blood spun out of one side, to infuse a Rivulet of sheep's Blood into the other? A miraculous supply of Nature's vacuum! And all this, that a Man might never want any other Clothing, than the Wool of his own growth. Clitander. Miraculous indeed, Sir! Brush. Pshaw, This is nothing— I myself, by computing the Mites in the Liver of a Codfish, found out the full number of all the Men, Women, and Children, alive at one time in the World. Flash. Prodigious! Brush. Then again, I never measure things by Inches and Feet as the vulgar, but by something extraordinary! as the skips of a Flea— As for Example, instead of saying England is so many Miles long or broad, I only say, England is so many skips of a Flea broad or long. Fini. With submission to your profound Learning, How may a Man know how far a Flea skips? Brush. thouart a mere Boy— I'll tell you, roll but a quantity of soft Wax, As thin as a sheet of Paper, and as large as a Beau's Cravat, then let a Flea lose upon't, And your Compasses will tell you. Flash. Oh, the sublimities of Philosophical Contemplations! Brush. Then there's Cheese— Some Men love it, and some Men hate it— Now I have dived into the nature of Cheese Clitander. And, pray Sir, what are your sentiments of it? Brush. Why they that hate it, sucked four Milk from Their Nurses; that's the Philosophical reason of it— They that love it— Let me see— They that love it— But stay, who's this coming to disturb us? Ama. A Friend of my Fathers, Sir, as you are, That comes to look after his Lot. Enter Doctor Non-such. Dr. Non. Madam, and Gentlemen, I am yours most obsequiously— May the Fortune of this Days Adventure, Prove as propiticus to ye all, as the humblest Of your Admirers, and Servants does heartily wish. Ama. Ch Doctor, you exceed in Gallantry, As far as you transcend in Learning and Eminency, The rest of your wise Metaphysical College. Doctor. Madam, I am yours eternally. Clitander. Who is this, I pray, Madam? Ama. Don't you know him?— He's the wonder of our Age, I assure you— He's called Dr. Non-such— He sets up, and pretends to be a Licenced Physician, but is, at the best, but an Impudent Mountebank— You'll hear presently by his Rodomontades, what he is. Doctor. Gentlemen, I find you don't know me— 'Tis very strange ye should not have heard of the Never born Doctor— Nay, 'tis very true, I assure ye; for I was dissected from my Mother's Womb, and commenced Doctor before I came into the World— My Art and Experience, since that, has stretched my Fame throughout the wide Universe, especially in China, where I performed a very strange and wonderful Operation indeed— Which was this, a certain Emperor that was newly dead when I came there— What d'ye call him? Let me see—. Pugh, I can't think of his Name now—. He that I did the great Cure on that I told you of just now— Ye have all heard on't I'm sure. Clitander. Well, Sir, and what of him? Doctor. Why I took his Head that had been severed from his Body, and buried a whole Fortnight, and set it on his Shoulders again, and made him as brisk and lively, as e'er I saw him in all my life— And yet to think that I should ned remember his Name— Oh, I have it now— Prester John: Ay, ay, a Pox on't, Prester John, 'twas he i'faith— I might have had his Daughter, if I had not been a Fool, and have liv d like a Prince all the Days of my Life— Nay, perhaps I might have inherited the Crown after his Death— But a pox on't, her Lips were too thick for me— And that I should ned think of Prester John! Omnes. Most Prodigious! Doctor. Ay, ay, Gentlemen, I have done Cures beyond Sea that won't be believed in England. Clitander. Very likely, Sir, and Cures in England that won't be believed beyond Sea, nor here perhaps neither; for, in this respect, half the World are Insidels. Doctor. The Great Turk can witness the truth of what I say, tho'; for I'm sure the Eyes that he has in his Head, are of my making. Clitander. Then he was an Eye witness— But I hope he wears Spectacles. Doctor. Why, you won't believe it, but I'll tell you, gentlemans, and 'tis matter of fact, I cured the late King of Poland's Uncle of a Wart on his Nose, as big as a Turky-Egg; and Bethlem Gaber of a Ring-worm. Flash. The one with raw Beef, and the other with some of Harbins' Royal shining Ink, I suppose. Doctor. Pox of your Old Wives Receipts and Medicines; the worst of my Ingredients is an Unicorn's Horn, or a Bezar's stone— Raw Beef and Harbins' Ink, quotha. Finical. No, no, such a wonderful, a wonderful Cure, could not have been done without Green sauce, or an Oatmeal Poultice at least. Doctor. In the last Siege of Namur, I gave a certain French Lady that the Governor had a particular kindness for, an admirable Receipt, to keep her Linen from being Animated, tho' she didn't shift herself for a whole Twelvemonth. Brush. Believe me, Sir, And that was beyond Scoggin's Fleas. Doctor. Why, Sir, there was never a Man in all the Kingdom of Fez, or Morocco, either French, Spanish, or Italian Doctors, but myself, that would, or durst undertake to cure that Emperor of his Corns; but I did, and after that, I drank a Health to him. Ama. Oh happy Man! That has conferred Notes with the King of Morocco. Doctor. Alas, Madam, this is nothing— I have eat and drank with the Pope and all his Cardinals. Ama. Indeed, Sir? Doctor. Yes, indeed; And they have been very fond and proud of my Company, And so have many Kings and Princes besides. Ama. No doubt on't, Sir! Doctor. Why I'll tell you, gentlemans, what I did, A far greater Wonder than any of these— As I was travelling with a dear Friend of mine in the Canibal's Country, unfortunately one Day we lost Company— Well, a while after I happened to fall into the hands of about Threescore or Fourscore devouring Monsters, that were feeding on my Friend's Body; in short, they had eaten the better half of him— Well, you must needs imagine that I was not a little concerned at his misfortune (or rather mine) having lost so dear and worthy a Companion— Now, what did me I, but immediately bethought me of a Powder that I had about me— I put it into their Wine, which they had no sooner drunk of, but they presently disgorged their Stomaches, and fell asleep— I watched my opportunity, and with all dexterity, gathered up the miserable morsels of my Friend, and placed 'em together— And upon my word, in less than half an hour, I restored him to as perfect Life, Health and Strength, as e'er I saw him since I was born, and if he were here now, he'd tell ye the same. Omnes. Most amazing! Clitander. Unheard of Prodigy! Doctor. Ay, ay, I can tell you a thousand times more than all this. Clitander. That you can, I dare swear, And all as much Truth as what we have heard already. Doctor. You're in the right, 'tis so— But another time shall serve; Sufficit quod super est, say the Learned, that is to say, Enough's as good as a Feast. Enter a Servant. Servant. Madam, my Master desires the Company to come into the Hall, where they are beginning to draw the Lottery. Ama. Come, gentlemans, I'll show ye the way. Omnes. We'll wait on you, Madam. [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE 1. The Town. Enter Trickwell and Isbell. Trick. FAITH, Isabel, I'm afraid I shan't answer my Master's Expectations. Isbell. How, Man! Why you have promised him so sincerely, And sworn to him so solemnly, that should you Not be as good as your word, you'd perjure yourself In the Court of your own Conscience. Trick. That's true; But the Court of my Conscience is no Court of Record; And you know, Isbell, 'tis such a delicious thing To be counted a rich Rogue, and be out of the reach of the Law, That I'm in a great quandary. Isbell. Thou talk'st like a Runagate from all Christianity. Trick. Ay, ay, it may be so— What of that? I find as little Religion Among the Christians as among the Turks, When they act for their own Interest. Isbell. Who the Devil taught thee this Doctrine? Trick. Why when bad Company come once To be pot Companions, they spoil one another— Now as I was speaking one day to my Lady Fortune, In my Master's behalf, she asked me Why I did not speak for myself; And at last, in the kindness of her Liquor, Promised me the grand Lot. Isbell. So far you're in the right, And then to give it your Master. Trick. Not so neither— If Amaranta be good for Clitander, Amaranta's as good for me—— I am not the first Servingman that has had His Master's Daughter by the help of Fortune. Isbell. What, and leave thy own dear Isbell? Trick. Not so neither—— But marry a rich Wise To maintain a poor Mistress as the Fashion is. Isbell. By my Troth, Sir, if I cannot be your Wife, I'll ne'er be your Whore— So good-buy to you, noble Squire. Trick. Hold, Isbell, hold—— These are but the first Temptations of Satan, There's nothing as yet resolved on; Therefore prithee be patient— Hold, here comes one of our Customers: Prithee be gone, and leave him to me. [Exit Isbell. Enter Mr. Scribble. Scribble. Friend, a word with you. Trick. Keep your Friendship and your Distance to yourself, Sir—— you're a little too familiar with one of my gravity. Scribble. You're mistaken, Sir, For I make bold with all Mankind. Trick. Say you so, Sir? why what are you? Scribble. An Author that writes Books. Trick. Oh Sir! I know you now, your Name is Scribble— You are one of those serious Triflers, whose Works are very serviceable for every thing else, but what they were intended for; and whose worth is never known till they come to the Pastry-Cooks, or Trunk-makers— Good for nothing while living in the Booksellers Shops, but many ways useful when pulled to pieces. Scribble. But d'ye hear, Sir, my Works are more estimable— I am now writing a Book, which I intent to call the Mirror of the Age. Trick. Then as a Friend, let me advise you to dedicate it to some Noble, Generous Patron or other, such as my Lord Rattle-brains, Sir Philip Whimsy, or that eternal Blockhead of a Beau, Tom Starch. I assure you, Sir, one of these noble Patrons, gave a Friend of mine no less than a whole round Guinea for the Dedication of one of his Plays; therefore you may judge by that, what your Reward will be. Scribble. How, Sir! But one Guinea? Sure you're mistaken—— I have been told 'twas Twenty. Trick. But one, upon my Honour! And Nineteen lusty Promises. Scribble. Well, well, than the rest are in reserve— He must have patience— The same Misfortune happen d to my first Endeavours, 'Twas an Essay of Eatables and Potables. Trick. Oh, I remember it— 'Twas a Manual compiled in Three Volumes, Which treated chiefly of the Original Of sower-Whey, and Black-Puddings. Scribble. You're in the right; 'twas so. Trick. Sir, I shall be proud to serve you— What are your Commands? Scribble. Why, I am come for a Bird That flies where ere you send it, And neither eats nor drinks— I expect it, as coming from this place, To be a Black Swan— Rara Avis in Terris— Trick. You have hit it, Sir— Your Black Swan is very well, but at roost at present— You have mistaken the time, Sir, this is no Lottery Day; Therefore pray be pleased to come to morrow, And you shall have your Black Swan— So in great haste, I rest your very humble Servant. Scribble. Yours intrinsically, And impatiently till then— Farewell. [Exeunt severally. SCENE 2. Enter Clitander and Isbell: Maggot overhearing. Clitander. My passionate Amour for Amaranta, and the uncertainty of enjoying her, drives me almost to despair. Isbell. Truly, Sir, I am sorry for't— but there's no remedy— My Old Master indeed might have prevented all this, if he had pleased— Therefore I wish the Devil had made Potguns of his dry Bones Ten Years ago, for not doing it. Enter Maggot. Maggot. Thank you, Mrs. Isbell, thank you kindly,— I have always your good word, it seems. Isbell. No, by my Troth, but you han't; I'd feign know for what— Would any Father— Maggot. Nay, but why so angry, Isbell? Isbell. Why so inhuman, Master, to expose your only Daughter to some Monster, for aught I know? Maggot. Good Mrs. Passionate, no Monsters come to my Lottery. Isbell. No Sir? But Men as cruel as Monsters, as ugly as Monsters, nay, and as beastly as Monsters do— And what if such a one should chance to have her? Maggot. Why then here's her Perseus to redeem her! Isbell. Vile Man! Thus to wrong the poor Gentleman's Love, abuse your only Daughter's Affection, and then laugh at 'em. Clitander. I must confess, Sir, Isbell's Zeal has carried her a little too far, thus to provoke you, but yet she speaks nothing but reason. Maggot. Nay, then 'tis time to leave you— Two to one is odds. [Exit. in haste. Clitander. What think'st thou now, Isbell? I'm afraid, as things stand, that between an Old Fool, and a young Rogue, I shall be left in Erasmus' Paradise. Isbell. I can't tell that, Sir, for I have one Project still in my Head, which is to make the Rogue drunk— Scrape has promised to assist me, and then I shall dive into the Secrets of his Heart— Farewell, Sir; I'm in labour to be delivered of my Plot. Clitander. Good luck attend thee, dear Isbell— So, [Exit Isbell. Here's now a Trial of skill— a Woman's Wit against a Man's; and 'tis a Cockpit lay o'th' Woman's side for an Amorous Intrigue— she'll not be the first, I'll warrant her, that will disgrace her Sex at a pinch of necessity. Enter Amaranta. Ama. Clitander! Clitander. Yes, Madam, I was just a coming to wait upon you; and to let you know that I am quite weary of these lingering dependencies upon Chance; therefore what think you, Madam, of descending (like a Goddess in a Machine) from your Window to Night, when your Father's fast asleep; the lawless Churches are always open for a matrimonial Fee. Ama. I know, Sir, you'd not desire me to transcend the bounds of modesty so far, to give the World occasion of censuring my Love, as this rash Act would do— No, my Clitander, I hope you value my Reputation more than to expose it thus— Besides, I'm unwilling to give my Father that advantage over us; therefore pray be satisfied, for let the Lot fall which way it will, you may be assured of my Resolution. Enter Trickwell drunk. Clitander. How now, Trickwell! how goes the World? Trickwell. Round— Round, Sir,— Hickup— And the Sun stands still, for I think 'twill ne'er be Night— Hickup. Clitander. Why so hasty for Night, Trickwell? Trickwell. That I may go to Bed with Isbell, that's all. Clitander. Are you married then? I wish you Joy! Trickwell. No, no, Hickup— Only one of Madam Maintenon's Weddings— A Conscience Marriage, only for brevity's sake. Enter Isbell. Isbell. Where is he? Oh, where shall I find him? I'm ruined and undone: Amaranta. What's the matter, Isbell? Isbell. Why that Rogue Trickwell, Madam, has stole my Gold-Ring from off my Finger— Oh! Are you here, Sirrah? Give me my Ring, you Villain, give me my Ring, I say. Trickwell. Hickup— As I'm an honest Man, Isbell, I ha' none of thy Ring, not I Isbell. Sirrah, Let me feel your Pockets then— 'Slife I would not lose my Ring for a Hundred Pounds; 'twas given me by my Grandmother, with a Charm in't— I never fell backward since I had it; therefore give it me quietly, or I'll call the Constable. Trickwell Why you silly drunken Jade, I tell you, I ha' none on't; if you won't believe me, you may try— Isbell. Ay, ay, come, let's try. [She feels his Pockets, and pulls out the tip of a Neats-Tongue, a great piece of Bread and Cheese, and a Bottle of Brandy. hay day! What's here, a tip of a Neats-Tongue, Bread and Cheese, and a Brandy-Bottle! The Rogue's mortally afraid of Hunger I find— Here's Provision for another Siege of Vienna! Trickwell. Help, help, good Folks: Murder, Murder! Bear witness, Gentlemen and Ladies, how she ravishes me! [Isbell at last finds a Ticket-Box, and whips it into her Pocket, then slips her Ring into Trick-well's Pocket, and pulls it out again. Isbell. Look ye here, gentlemans, here 'tis; and yet this Rogue had the confidence to outface me, and say he had it not. Trickwell Well, well, Isbell, come, 'tis almost dark; will you be as good as your word, hickup— and go to Bed? Isbell. Ay ay, do you go first—— When People are lawfully Married, then indeed the Woman goes to Bed first, but when they only take one another's Word, then, you know, the Man goes first. Trickwell. Well, well, then I'll go—— You'll be sure to come? Isbell. I will, I will Man; never fear. [Exit. Trickwell. Clitander. Incomparable Isbell! 'Twas dexterously done, upon my word. Isbell. I believe the Rogue would live i'th' water, he drinks so like a Fish— I assure you, if we had not plied him briskly with Wine, we had never conquered him. Clitander, Well, well, but where's the Ticket, Isbell, the Ticket, Child? Isabel. Oh, here 'tis— Take it, Sir, and may ye both for ever live, and love like Angels. Clitander. Dear Isbell, thou hast brought me the Indies: I would not part with this Treasure, for all the Great Mogul's Territories. Isbell. Let me advise you now, to let my Master be at the opening of it. Amaranta. Yes, and I think it very requisite too, that he should open it himself Isbell Right, Madam, and see yonder he comes. Enter Mr. Maggot. Oh Sir! Clitander has got the grand Lot! Maggot. Well then; now I hope you're both pleased— you blamed me for taking this course, but I looked upon it the best way— I considered how few people married for Love, how many in a frolic and humour, how many by accident; and all to their continual plague and discomfort— so that I was willing Fortune should dispose of my Daughter, believing that if she had a hand in 't, that she'd be kind to a Match of her own making. Isbell. But i'faith, Sir, had I not been too cunning for Fortune and you too; I'm afraid your Daughter would have had but a bad Bargain— Come, come Sir, I tell you there were Rogues abroad, that— Maggot. The Devil's in these Appendices to the Dressing Box— If any thing be well designed for their Mistresses, they'll be sure to assume the praise of it— But I say, and say't again, that if Clitander's Uncle had not died, and left him his Estate, I know Fortune's Mind so well, she would have been hanged before she would have given the grand Lot to him. Isbell. By my Troth, I believe you— No doubt but Fortune and you were agreed upon the Smithfield Maxim, you wou d have made an excellent No penny, no Paternoster Man. Maggot. Well Mrs. Manners, you will have the last word, I find, and so take it— But come, where's this good luck in a Box, let me see't? Clitander. Here, Sir, here s the end of all my Troubles. [Gives him the Box. Maggot. Why faith, as you say, Clitander, it would have troubled any young Man to have lost Five Thousand Pounds, and a handsome Bed-fellow to boot— Well, but who must open it? Clitander. 'Tis in very good handsalready, Sir; therefore if you please— Maggot. No, no, here Isbell, thou lov'st Employment; prithee do thou open it. Isbell. Not I, by my Maidenhead, Sir; Men were always better at it than Women, therefore pray excuse me. Maggot. Come then, to end all contention, I'll open it— So, now let me pull out my Spectacles and read— Hold, hold, let me see, what's here? A Pouch full of— of— of— Here, Clitander, prithee do you read it, for I believe my Eyes dazzle. Clitander. 'Sdeath, this is the wrong Ticket— Oh, Sir! it is Pandora's Box, for it has let loose upon me, all the Plagues and Miseries upon Earth. Isbell. How! Tricked thus, in the Devil's Name? No, it shall ne'er be said a Woman was out-witted— Come, Sir, let you and I go instantly and find the Villain out, and if I catch him, I'll pound him to an Electuary in a Drugster's Mortar, but I'll be revenged. [Exeunt Maggot and Isbell. Amaranta. How are my Hope's deceived, that am thus fallen from a high imagined happiness, into a Gulf of endless sorrow! Clitander. Come, my Love, forbear to grieve or mourn.— Fate may yet be kind, and give thee to these longing Arms— If not, I have a Sword, and then let Fortune do her pleasure— [Exeunt. Enter Trickwell, solus. Trick. I over-heared them as hot as Bell-Founders; but I did'nt think it safe to make my personal appearance, out of the tender Affection I bear to my Bones— Hold, yonder comes sweet Mrs. Isbell— Had a Man Gyges' Ring, he could ne'er be invisible, I believe, from a Chambermaid— Now will this my juno Elect, raise a most strange and hideous storm about my Ears, for I see soul weather gathering from her Looks. Enter Isbell, who runs and catches him by the Ears, he crying out, help, help, murder, murder. Isbell. Now Sirrah, give me the right Box and Ticket, or I'll pull your Ears off, you Impostor, Cheating Rogue. Trick. Hold, hold, dear Isbell, let me go, and I will. Isbell. Swear then, swear lustily. Trick. By all my hopes of Paradise I will— [She lets him go. Now art not thou a Fool, Isbell— Here am I studying to make thee a great Lady, and for the blood of me, I can't make thy mean Soul mount higher than a Chandler's Shop. Isbell. What, wouldst thou have me turn an Insidel, as thou art? Trick. I'd have the turn with the Weathercock of the World, Interest; and steer thy Course as the general Magnet of all Mankind; thy own Profit directs thee. Isbell. How's that? Trick. Why I'd have thee Cousin, Lie, Swear, and Forswear; betray thy Friend, only keep out of the Clutches of the Law— The Law indeed pinches a little too close, and like another Hercules, chokes a Man, as he did the Giant, by lifting too high from his Mother Earth. Isbell. Oh, this is rare Doctrine! Trick. No Doctrine, Child, but the daily practice of all Professions, even from the zealous Sect without Hatbands, to the unbounded Atheistical Libertine. Isbell. But will you make me a Lady, d'ye say? Trick. I tell thee I will; I know where a Barronet's Patent lies to be bought at second hand— 'Tis no matter for Merit, bought Honour will serve our turn well enough. Isbell. I tell thee what, Trickwell, thou art such a Faithless Politician, that one knows not how to Article with thee— How many Maids shall I have? Trick. Four at least; it may be the whole Parish-stock for aught I know. Isbell. But will you make me a Lady indeed, and indeed now? Trick. Pugh! here's my Hand upon't— Thou shalt be a Lady with all thy appurtenances, a Waiting-Woman, a little Black, a Parrot, and a Monkey— Thou shalt have a little, little Dog too, if thou wilt, to play with while the Child's at Nurse. Isbell. Swear all this. Trick. 'Tis no matter for Swearing— They that swear most, are the least Performers: Isbell. Well! what are poor Women? Now do I begin to give already, like Linen in wet weather. Trickwell. That's well said, now I like thee— There, there's a Kiss in earnest— But leave me, my dear, at present, for I have business: My Head's as full as a General's before a Battle— So, there's one Convert quickly made; and truly I find no difference; for Men will go to the [Exit Isbell. Devil himself for Preferment and Honour, and Women to his Dam for their pleasure and satisfaction— However, the Jade will serve for a helpmeet, and that's all I care for— Now Trickwell, briskly play thy part and thrive, The tender-conscienced ne'er deserve to live. [Exit. Enter Mr. Maggot, Clitander, and Amaranta: Isbell meeting them. Isbell. I can't find him high nor low— I have visited all his Haunts, but the Villain's under a total Eclipse. Had I met him, I had certainly put him to the charge of a Dog and a Bell. Maggot. In truth, Clitander, I'm very sorry for this Misfortune, but— Clitander. Nay, Sir, you might have prevented all this, if you had pleased, but you would trust to Fortune, and see what comes on't. Amaranta. Dear Isbell, what shall we do? Canst thou contrive no means? Methinks thou shouldst make thy last effort, to repair the scandal of such a gross disappointment. Isbell. Truly, Madam, I would willingly try another Experiment, but that I believe the Rogue has made a solemn League and Covenant with the Devil, to keep him out of the way; it must be some Necromancer or other, that must break the Charm— Now what a Jade am I [Aside. to betray this poor, loving and unfortunate Couple— But the Hopes and Title of being a Lady, strangely allures— Enter Trickwell like a Beggar. Trickwell. Good your good Worships give a poor Cripple a farthing, or a halfpenny, and the Laud to bless ye, and restore it ye in Heaven! Maggot. How now! What more torments to perplex us? Prithee be gone, poor fellow, we have crosses enough of our own. Trickwell. Alas, Master, I am but a young Beggar! my Father was as eminent a Merchant as any in all London, that dealt and traded for Scotch-Eggs, Irish Potatoes, and Spanish- Chess-nuts— But Losses, and his own good nature, ruined both himself and all his Children. Maggot. Then why don't you keep to your Parish? Trickwell. An't like your Worship, the Churchwardens, and Overseers of the Poor, have so many natural Children of their own at Nurse, that there's no room for us. Maggot. Then prithee be gone, and make the best of thy Calling somewhere else— I tell thee here's nothing for thee. Trickwell. An't please your Worship, I hope otherwise, or I'm an undone Beggar. Maggot. An undone Beggar! how can that be? Trickwell. Why an't please you, Sir, I laid out a whole Week's Earnings at your Lottery, and here I have got a Ticket— They say 'tis worth something, but I must confess, I can't read very well. Maggot. How, Friend, canst thou get Three Guinea's a Week by begging? Trick well. Oh! yes, Sir, that's nothing; for Charity, since she's turn d Christian, is like a Birch-Tree, especially to the Poor— 'Twill bleed freely, if it be well tapped. Maggot. Well, Friend, come, let me see your Ticket— Here, Isbell, do you read it. [Isbell takes the Box, and opens it, and after reading a little, lets it fall, and speaks. Isbell. Oh! Oh! unlace me— unlace me, I say, or I shall swoon— quickly, Oh! quickly— The Vapours begin to rise already— My Head swims, and my Eyes grow dim— Oh! Oh! Maggot. How now! what ails the Wench? I'm sure there's ne'er a Gorgon's Head in the Ticket. Isbell I know not what you mean by a Gorgon's Head, but I'm sure there's an Ass' Head in the Ticket, to dispose of your only Daughter to a Beggar. Omnes. How! Isbell. Nay, 'tis too true— This— Oh, I saint— This— Oh my heart! How it beats and pants— This Raw head and Bloody-bones, has got the Grand Lott. Maggot. Impossible! Clitander. Cursed be my Stars, and doubly cursed those Fools that trust to Fortune! Maggot. Come, Isbell, advance thy doleful Countenance, and read it out: Isbell. Yes, yes, Sir: I'll but wipe my Eyes, that I may see the better— Him! Him! [Reads. Benefit by the Wheel of Fortune, the Lady Amaranta, and five Thousand Pound. Maggot. Well, Clitander, you must have patience, there's no resisting the Decrees of Fate! And for you, my dearest Daughter, you must now learn to make a good Nurse, as well as a good Wife— Come, come, leave off crying, Money hides all deformities. Clitander. Hold, Sir, you may submit to Fortune, if you please, I never made her my Umpress; therefore touch her Villain, if you dare. Better ten Thousand such Miscreants should suffer, than she perish— Amaranta. Hold, hold, Clitander. [Amaranta holds him: Clitander, Maggot, and Amaranta talk a part. Trickwell. Hist, hist, Isbell— 'Tis I— Remember thou art to be a Lady. Isbell. Enough, enough— Let me alone, I'll warrant thee. Clitander. All Reason's vain, when Love prevails— ay le hear no more. Isbell. Hold, Sir, let not Folly and Passion over sway you thus— The poor Man has done you no wrong— Had he drawn a meaner Trifle, he must have been contented. Trickwell. Ay indeed, Mistress, and so I would. Isbell. Besides, Sir, 'tis ungenerous to kill a poor Cripple— The Law will certainly revenge his quarrel every way. Clitander. As how? Isbell. Why first, if you kill him, you'll undoubtedly be hanged— Or if you force my Mistress from him, being his Wife, than he admits himself presently in Forma Pauperis— And I know so much of the Matter, that you're gone both at Common Law, and Doctors Commons, if it comes to, that— Therefore pray be ruled by me; I have thought of an expedient. Clitander. No terms of peace, without the resignation of Amaranta. Isbell. That's it that I was about to propose— You shall have Amaranta, and let him have the Five Thousand Pounds— He does not care a halfpenny for Amaranta, not he; 'tis Money he wants— Now this is the best way that I can think of, to divide the Spoil equally between ye. Clitander. With all my heart— I am content. [He puts up his Sword. Isbell. Come then, Friend, you see I have saved your Life, therefore pray do something more than ordinary for my sake, and remember the gratitude of the Blind Beggar of Bednal Green. Trick well. Well then, for your sake, Mistress, let the Gentleman take the Young Lady, and let me have the Money— Agreed, i'faith, let it be so. Maggot. Well said, and so thou shalt— Here's my hand upon't. Trickwell. Nay, nay Sir, I must have my whole Lott one way or other, a Wise, I mean, as well as Mony. Maggot. And so thou shalt— What think'st thou then of this Girl; I'll warrant thee, she'll serve a Cripple well enough— Or if she chance to be too many for thee, thou may'st call in thy Neighbours to help thee. Amaranta. Dear Isbell, thou hast always made high protestations of thy Love to me— Show it now, by laying hold of this opportunity. Isbell. Lord, Madam, what d'ye mean? Wou d you have me marry a Beggar, and disgrace my Parentage? Amaranta. A Beggar, Isbell! Thou'rt mistaken— He's no Beggar, that has Five Thousand Pounds by him— I'll warrant thee in a little time, this Beggar, as thou call'st him, when 'tis known how rich he is, will be made a Justice of Peace in Quorum. Isbell. Say you so? Well then, Madam, for your good, and to oblige you, Sir, I'll venture on him— What say you, Friend, is it a Match or no? Trickwell. Why yes truly, I think thou mayst serve my turn— I desire but one lawfully begotten Son to inherit my Estate, and keep up my Family? as for the rest, I hope thou hast wit enough to contract beforehand, that their several Fathers shall keep them, or else thou art no true Chambermaid— And thus I have got the first and worst part of my Lot— But how shall I come by my Money, Gentlemen, let me know that? Maggot. Why, we'll give thee a Note upon a Goldsmith, to be paid upon demand. Trickwell. Pray let him be a very sufficient Man then; for since the late general Reformation of our Coin, we are as much plagued with clipped Credit, as we were before with Clipped Money: Besides, I hate to go a Hunting in the Mint, of all the Parks in England. Maggot. Thou shalt have thy Money paid down upon thy Marriage-day. Trickwell. And both of ye promise me all this upon your Words, and Honours, and as ye are Gentlemen, and Sons of Gentlemen. Mag. & Clit. We do, upon our Words and Honours! [Trickwell pulls off his Plasters, throws away his Crutches, and discovers himself. Trickwell. Why then, I'm your humble Servant— Thus you see what Money can do, Gentlemen— It can transform Trickwell into a Beggar, And a Beggar into Trick well! Omnes. How, Trickwell! Trickwell. Even so, Master— Your quondam Honest Servant, poor Trick well; But now, thanks to my Dexterity, as good a Man as your Worship. Clitander. The World may now see, what all Lotteries are— They are Bawds to Fools; Decoys to catch Gulls; The sport of Knaves, and the Loser's trial of Patience!— Well, since we had no more Wit, than to let Thee outreach us in all our Politics, I think thou deserv'st what thou hast, And so much good may it do thee. Maggot. Nay, nay, take my good Wishes too— May'st thou live to cheat all the World, As thou hast fooled us; and may Fortune prosper thee in all thy Tricks and Villainy, As it has favoured thee in this Day's Adventure. Trickwell. I thank ye both, good Gentlemen.— Therefore dost hear, Isbell, sweet Spouse that art to be, prithee step in and fetch me my Gown, that I may appear like a Man of Gravity, and Honour— Come, come, my Girl, a Doctor's Wife may take place of a Squire's at any time. [Isbell goes to the Door, and brings the Gown; as he is putting it on, a noise within of several People, crying, where is he, where is he? Ha! 'sdeath, what noise is that— Quickly, dear Isbell, quickly, or I shall be torn in pieces. Enter Noisy, Mrs. Proud love, Bullsinch, Lack-wit; Ninnie, and several others, as cheated of their Money. Noisy. Where is he, I say, where is he?— Oh, here he is— seize him Neighbour Lack-wit, and Master Ninnie— we'll Lottery him, i'faith, as he was never so Lotteryed in all his Life— We'll teach him to put Tricks upon Travellers, and honest Tradesmen, I'll warrant ye. Maggot. Why, what's the matter, Gentlemen? Noisy. The matter, say you? Why the matter's plain enough— We have all been tricked and cheated most abominably, as a Man may say; but now we have found him, we'll either make him pay us our Money again, or we'll sirk him up up with a Ciserari. Maggot. Alas, good Gentlemen, I pity ye— But what would you have of a poor Snake, why he's not worth a groat. bulfinch. Then we'll have his Bones— Come, gentlemans, fall on— M Proudlove, let his Nose be your Province, his Guts and Garbage yours, Brother Pinch-belly; and his Eyes and Ears yours, Goodman Dash-well. Maggot. Hold, hold, honest People— pray be pacified a little, and let's hear what he has done bulfinch. Why, Sir, you-must know that I'm troubled with a Wife (the Lord help me) that makes more noise with the Clapper of her Tongue, than Bow-Bells do on my Lord-Mayor's day or London-Bridge at low Water— Now, Sir, I bought a House of this Villain, which he told me had that peculiar Virtue belonging to it, that Women never scolded in it, so that I was in hopes to have spent the rest of my days in peace and quiet— Now, what did me this impudent Rogue, think you, but bring me a Cousin, which made my Wife ten times madder than before. Enter Gammer Whiteing. Whiteing. Ay, ay, let me come at him— I'll clapperclaw him, I'll warrant ye. Maggot. What has he done to you, good Woman? Whiteing. Why, Sir, you must know my Name is Whiting; I am a Fishwoman, I sold my only Daughter Into Pensilvania, for Five Pounds, to buy Me a Cure for all Diseases; hoping to have rid In my Sedan; and what did me this Villain, But bring me a Halter for my Money. Noisy. Ay, ay, come— We'll hear no more— Away with him— away with him. Trickwell. I'ray, Gentlemen— Good, Gentlemen— For Heaven's sake, do but hear me. Noisy. No, Sir, we have heard too much already— Come, come, away with him, away with him. Trick well. Sir, worthy Sir, you seem to have The chief command of these other Noble Persons— Therefore, if you please, a word or two with you in private— Here, Sir, here's something for you in particular. Noisy. How! Bribe a Man of Honour! The Rogue takes me for a Solicitor of the City Orphans— ay le have nothing to say to you. Lack-wit. No, no, we'll have no Bribes— We are no Jurymen. Clltander. Come, Sir, I think 'tis best for us to make off, lest we be brought in as Accessaries. [Exeunt Maggot, Clitander, Amaranta and Isbell. Trick well. Oh, good Sirs as ye are Men, And lawfully begotten by your Fathers, Have pity upon the Son of an unfortunate Woman. Noisy. Yes, yes, all the pity we intent to show you, Sweet Sir, is fairly to send you to Heaven in a string— What say you, gentlemans, is not hanging too good for him? Omnes. Ay, ay, hang him, hang him! Whiteing. Here, Neighbour Bull-finch, here's the very Halter he sold me, to cure all Diseases. [They throw the Halter over his Head. Trickwell. Hold, Gentlemen, hold, have but A moment's patience— I have but one short Prayer to make, of an Hour or two long, And then you may do as your compassion shall direct you. Noisy. How, Gentlemen, Does this Rogue look as if he e'er said his Prayers?— Come, come, hang him up, up with him, I say. Omnes. Ay, ay, hang him, hang him! [As they are going to hang him up, he slips the Halter, and runs away. Trickwell. Help, help, Murder, Murder! [Exit.] Omnes. Stop him, stop him, stop him. [Exeunt after him. SCENE the Last. Enter: Maggot, Clitander, Amaranta, and Isbell: Trickwell meeting them, as running, and out of Breath. Maggot. How now Trickwell! How dost do, man? Prithee tell me, how dost like the Roman Sport Of fight with Wild Beasts? Trickwell. Gad, I'll get a Warrant, and bind 'em all over— I'll Crown-Office the Dogs; And if they don't find it worse, than being buffeted by Satan, I'll be their Bond Slave. Isbell. Oh, my Dear, I am glad to see thee In the Land of the Living— I was horribly afraid, my Love, That my Ladyship had been spoiled, and That I must have put on the Garments of Widowhood, Before thou hadst made me a Jointure. Trickwell. Ay, ay, That was my greatest grief, too, Isbell; For 'twould have vexed any Saint alive, To have been hurried out of his Matrimony, And Five Thousand Pounds to boot— But come, they have had their ends, and all's well— So that now, if you please, Gentlemen, We'll have a Song and a Dance or two, And then every Man to his own Wedlock. Clitander. With all my Heart! Maggot. Come then, sit down, and let the Music strike up. [They sit. A NEW MASQUE, CALLED Love and Riches Reconciled. A Symphony begins. Then Enters Plutus on one side of the Stage, attended by Empire, Labour and Industry; and Cupid on the other, attended by the Graces; they range themselves on each side of the Stage, and after a while, Plutus and Cupid advance towards one another. Plutus. POOR silly Diminutive Chit— What fancy bewitches, Thy little fantastical Wit, Now to compare with the great God of Riches? Cupid. Blind Idol of the World, produced from dirt, Thou, that neither Temple haste, nor Court: Whilst I both Gods, and Men control, Enshrined in every Humane Soul. Plutus. Sure Heaven and Earth did a Governor lack, When they made a young Fowler, Their Lord Controller, That never was worth a rag to his Back. Cupid. Pride and Envy; makes thee bear me a grudge; But Plutus, know, I scorn to be my own Judge. Plutus. How wilt thou avoid it? Cupid. Let Momus decide it. Plutus. Momus! Cupid. Momus! Both. Come, come, away. Chorus. Come, come away, Make no delay; Why, why d'ye stay? Come, come away. Enter Momus, attended by Hymen, Hebe, Peace, and Reason. A Symphony of Hautbois. Momus. Ha! ha! ha! What do I see, The aged God of Wealth, With this young little Elf? Well, and how d'ye both agree? Cup. 'Tis thee we call— Plu. 'Tis thee we call. Cup. By whom the Gods— Plut. By whom the Gods, Cup. Are quitted—— Plu. Or condemned. Both. When they're at odds. Plutus. Be just, and end the strife, Who bears the greatest sway in humane life; This little Dandy-prat, Or I, that am so glorious, plump, and fat? Momus. I am prepared to hear both sides, And then to judge as Reason guides. [Here follows a Dance; then the Graces Address themselves to Momus.] Euphrosyne. Daughters of Jove, and Themis, we Keep the bright Gates of Heaven, and see What passes in the Seats above, Where all the Gods give way to Love. Thalia. His uncontrolled Commands, Forced Neptune's Trident from his Hands; Phoebus his Quiver durst not own, And Hercules his Club laid down: Mavors he made his Helmet quit, Tore Hermes' Wings from off his Feet; And which was yet a greater wonder, Great Jove disarmed of all his Thunder. Aglaia. No wonder then, That Mortal Men, So feebly should resist his Charms, To whom the Gods surrender up their Arms. Chorus of Cupid's Party. No wonder then, That mortal Men, So feebly should resist his Charms, To whom the Gods surrender up their Arms. [Here follows a Dance of a little Boy dressed like a Cupid.] After the Dance, Hebe and Hymen sing the following seven Lines in two Parts. Hebe and Hymen. Short is what we have to say: In the Circle of Mankind, At Cupid's heels you'll surely find Us, always merry, blithe and gay; None, none can tell, His steps so well, For we trace him every day: Heb. From sporting, Hym. To Courting; Hebe. From Courting Hym. To Billing; Hebe. From Billing Hym. To Willing; Hebe. From Willing, Hym. To Wedding; Hebe. From Wedding Hym. To Bedding. Chorus of Cupid's Party. Thus round, round, around, in a circle whirled, 'Tis our little God Cupid, sustains the World. [Here follows a Dance of two Girls.] Momus comes forward and sings. Momus. Come, I have something to propose, Will bring ye quickly to a close. Cupid and Plutus together. Then to the point, and set us right. Momus. Two Matches are confirmed this Night; Love makes the One, the other Gold, Now which is longest like to hold. Cupid. The Dowryed Wife imperious grows, And fills the House with noise: Plutus. As loud the Monyless too crows, For want of my brave yellow Boys. Momus. Then Plutus, take the Day thyself, The Night I give this little Elf: Thus reconciled, shake hands— 'Tis more Than ever Momus did before— So with a Jolly Dance, dismiss, The Brides and Bridegrooms to their Bliss. A general Chorus, with a Dance. So with with a jolly Dance dismiss, The Brides and Bridegrooms to their Bliss. After the Masque, Maggot rises and speaks. Maggot. Well, Clitander, since I find you take your bad Bargain so contentedly, I'll give thee a brace of Thousands to make thee amends— My Daughter shall never be upbraided for a Portionless Wife, I'll tell thee that, Boy. Clitander, Kind Sir, I humbly thank you; Young Men in heat of Blood, their Flames approve, But when all's done, 'tis Money binds our Love. Trick. And for my part, I often have been told, There's nothing like dancing to the Music of Gold. FINIS.