THE parson's Wedding, A COMEDY. The Scene LONDON.  
WRITTEN AT Basil in Switzerland: BY THOMAS KILLIGREW.  
DEDICATED TO THE LADY URSULA BARTU, WIDOW.  
LONDON: Printed by J. M. for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at his Shop at the sign of the Blue Anchor, in the lower Walk of the New-Exchange. 1663.   


Dramatis Personae.  
Mr Careless, A Gentleman, and a Wit.  
Mr Wild, A Gentleman, Nephew to the Widow.  
Mr Jolly, An Humorous Gentleman, and a Courtier.  
Captain, A Leading Wit, full of Designs.  
Parson, A Wit also, but overreached by the Captain, and his Wanton.  
Mr Constant, Two dull Suitors to the Lady Widow, and Mrs. Pleasant. Mr Sad.  
Lady Wild, A rich (and somewhat youthful) Widow.  
Mrs. Pleasant, A Handsome young Gentlewoman, of a good Fortune.  
Mr Secret, Her (Indifferent honest) Woman.  
Lady Loveall, An old Stallion Hunting Widow.  
Faithful, Her (errant honest) Woman.  
Mrs. Wanton, The captain's Livery Punk, Married to the Parson by Confederacy.  
bawd.  
Servants.  
Drawers.  
fiddlers.    

THE parson's Wedding A COMEDY.  

ACT. I. SCEN. I.  Enter the Captain in Choler, and Wanton. Capt. 
No more, I'll sooner be reconciled to want, or sickness, than that Rascal; A thing, that my Charity made sociable; one, that when I smiled would fawn upon me, and wag his stern, like starved Dogs; so nasty, the Company cried foh upon him; He stunk so of Poverty, Ale, and Bawdry. So poor and despicable, when I relieved him, he could not avow his calling, for want of a Cassock, but stood at Corners of Streets, and whispered Gentlemen in the Ear, as they passed, and so delivered his Wants like a Message which being done, the Rogue vanished, and would dive at Westminster like a Dabchick, and rise again at Temple-gate; The ingenuity of the Rascal, his Wit being snuffed by want, burned clear then, and furnished him with a bawdy Jest or two, to take the Company; But now the Rogue shall find he has lost a Patron.  Want. 
As I live, if I had thought you would have been in such a fury, you should never have known it.  Capt. 
Treacherous Rogue, he has always railed against thee to me, as a danger his Friendship ought to give me warning of; and nightly cried, yet look back, and hunt not, with good Nature and the beauties of thy Youth, that false Woman; But hear thy Friend, that speaks from sad Experience.  Want. 
Did he say this?  Capt. 
Yes, and swears ye are as unsatiate as the Sea, as Covetous, and as ungrateful: that you have your Tempest too; and calms, more dangerous than it.  Want. 
Was the slave so Eloquent in his malice?  Capt. 
Yes, faith, and urged, you (for your part) were never particular, and seldom sound.  Want. 
Not sound? Why, he offered to marry me, and swore he thought I was chaste, I was so particular; and proved it, that consent was full marriage, by the first Institution, and those that love, and lie together, and tell, have fulfilled all Ceremonies now.  Capt. 
Did he offer to marry thee?  Want. 
Yes, yes.  Capt. 
If ever then I deserved from thee, or if thou be'st dear to thyself, as thou hast any thing thou hop'st shall be safe or sound about thee, I conjure thee, take my Counsel; Marry him, to afflict him.  Want. 
Marry him?  Capt. 
If I have any power I shall prevail; thou know'st he has a fat Benefice, and leave me to plague him, till he give it me to be rid of thee.  Want. 
Will you not keep me then?  Capt. 
I keep thee? prithee, wilt thou keep me? I know not why men are such Fools to pay? We bring as much to the sport, as Women; Keep thee? I'd marry thee as soon; Why? that's Wedding sin; No, no keeping I, that you are not your own, is all that prefers you before Wives.  Want. 
I hope this is not real.  Capt. 
Art thou such a stranger to my humour? Why I tell thee, I should hate thee if I could call thee mine, for I loathe all Women within my knowledge, and 'tis six to four if I knew thy sign I'd come there no more; A strange Mistress makes every night anew, and these are your pleasing sins; I had as live be good, as sin by course.  Want. 
Then I am miserable.  Capt. 
Not so, if you'll be instructed, and let me pass like a stranger when you meet me.  Want. 
But have you these humours?  Capt. 
Yes faith; yet if you will observe them, though you Marry him, I may perchance be your Friend; But you must be sure to be coy; for to me the hunting is more pleasure than the Quarry.  Want. 
But if I observe this, will you be my Friend hereafter?  Capt. 
Firm as the day; Hark, I hear him; I knew he would The Parson calls within. follow me, I gave him a small touch that wakened his guilt; Resolve to endear yourself to him, which you may easily do, by taking his part when I have vexed him; No dispute, Resolve it, or as I live here I disclaim thee for ever.  Want. 
'Tis well, something I'll do.  [Exit Wanton. Capt. 
Open the door, I say, and let me in; your favourite and his Tithes, shall come no more here.  [Enter Parson. Pars. 
Yes, but he shall; 'tis not you, nor your braced Drum, shall fright me hence, who can command the souls of men; I have read Divine Seneca; thou know'st nothing but the earthly part, and canst cry to that, Faces about.  Capt. 
Thou read Seneca? thou steal his Cover, to clothe thee, naked and wicked, That for money wouldst sell thy share of the Twelve, and art allowed by all that know thee, fitter to have been Judas, than Judas was for his treachery.  Pars. 
Rail, do Rail, my illiterate Captain, that can only abuse by memory; and should I live thou couldst read my Sentence, I should never die.  Capt. 
No ingrateful, live till I destroy thee; and thankless Wretch, Did all my care of thee deserve nothing but thy malice, and treacherous speaking darkly still? with thy fine, No, not he, when any malicious discourse was made of me, and by thy false faint, No, Faith; Confess, in thy denials, whilst thy smiling Excuses stood a greater and more dangerous Evidence against me, than my enemy's Affidavits could have done.  Pars. 
I'll lie for never a lean Soldier of you all.  Capt. 
I have, for thee, slave, when I have been wondered at for keeping Company with such a face; But they were such as know thee not; all which thy looks deceived, as they did me; They are so simple they'd Cozen a Jury, and a Judge that had Wit would swear thou liedst, shouldst thou confess what I know to be true, and award Bedlam for thee; 'tis so strange and so new a thing, to find so much Rogue lodge at the sign of the Fool.  Pars. 
Leave this injurious language, or I'll lay off my Cassock, for nothing shall privilege your bragger's tongue, to abuse me, a Gentleman, and a Soldier ancienter than thyself.  Capt. 
Yes, thou were't so; and now I think on't, I'll recount the Cause, which, it may be, thou hast forgot, through the variety of sins; It was a Hue and Cry that followed thee a Scholar, and found thee a Soldier.  Pars. 
Thou liest; thou, and scandal have but one tongue, hers dwells with thy coward's teeth.  Capt. 
Oh! do you rage? nay, I'll put the cause in Print too, I am but a scurvy Poet, yet I'll make a Ballad shall tell how like a faithful disciple you followed your poor Whore, till her Martyrdom in the Suburbs.  Pars. 
I'll be revenged for this scandal.  Capt. 
Then shall succeed, thy flight from the University, disguised into Captain only the outside was worse Buff, and the inside more Atheist, than they furnished with an Insolent Faith, uncharitable heart, envious, as old Women, cruel and bloody as Cowards; thus armed at all points, thou went'st out, Threatening God, and trembling at men.  Pars. 
I'll be revenged, thou poor man of War, I'll be revenged.  [Enter Wanton. Want. 
And why so bitter? whose house is this? who dares tell this story?  Capt. 
Why sweet? hath he not treacherously broke into our Cabinet, and would have stolen thee thence? By these hilts, I'll hang him; and than I can conclude my Ballad with, Take warning all Christian People by the same: I will, you lean Slave; I'll prosecute thee, till thou art fain to hide in a servitor's gown again, and live upon Crumbs with the Robin Redbreasts that haunt the Hall, your old Mess-Mates; Do you snarl? I'll do't, I will, and put thee to fight with the Dogs for the Bones that but smell of meat; those that your hungry Students have polished with their teeth.  Want. 
If you do this, good Captain, Lieutenant, and Company (for all your Command, I think, is within your reach) I say, if you dare do this, I shall sing a song of one that bade stand, and made a Carrier pay a dear Rent for a little ground, upon his Majesty's highway.  Capt. 
How now, Mistress Wanton? What's this? What's this?  Pars. 
This? 'Tis matter for a Jury, I'll swear, and positively, I'll hang thee, I'll do't, by this hand, let me alone to swear the Jury out of doubt.  Capt. 
But you are in Jest, Mistress Wanton, and will confess (I hope) this is no truth.  Want. 
Yes Sir, as great a truth, as that you are in your unpaid-for Scarlet; Fool! didst think, I'd quit such a Friend, and his staid fortune, to rely upon thy dead pay, and hopes of a second Covenant?  Capt. 
His fortune? what is't? Th'Advowson of Tyburn Deanery?  Pars. 
No, nor Rents brought in by long staff-speeches, that asks Alms with frowns, till thy looks and speech have laid violent hands upon men's Charity.  Want. 
Let him alone, I'll warrant, he'll never be indicted for drawing any thing but his tongue, against a man.  Capt. 
Very good.  Pars. 
Dear Mrs Wanton, you have won my heart, and I shall live to dote upon you for abusing this impetuous Captain; will you listen to my old suit? will you marry me, and vex him? say, dare you do't, without more dispute?  Capt. 
'Twas a good Question; she that dares marry thee dares do any thing; she may as safely lie with the great Bell upon her, and his Clapper is less dangerous than thine.  Want. 
Why, I pray?  Capt. 
What a miserable condition wilt thou come to? his wife cannot be an honest Woman; and if thou shouldst turn honest, would it not vex thee to be chaste and Paxat, a Saint without a Nose? what Calendar will admit thee, by an incurable slave that's made of rogue's flesh, consider that.  Want. 
Why, that's something yet; Thou hast nothing but a few scars, and a little old Fame to trust to, and that scarce thatches your head.  Capt. 
Nay then I see thou'rt base, and this Plot (not Accident,) and now I'do not grudge him thee; go together, 'tis pity to part you, Whore and Parson, as consonant.  Want. 
As Whore and Captain.  Capt. 
Take her, I'll warrant her a breeder, I'll prophesy she shall lie with thy whole Congregation, and bring an Heir to thy Parish, one that thou mayst enclose the Common by his Title, and recover it by Common Law.  Pars. 
That's more than thy dear Dam could do for thee, thou Son of a thousand Fathers, all poor Soldiers, Rogues, that ought mischiefs, no Midwives for their Birth; But I cry thee Mercy, my Patron has an Estate of old Iron by his side, with the Farm of old Ladies he scrapes a dirty living from.  Want. 
He earn from an old Lady? hang him, he's only wicked in his desires; and for Adultery he cannot be condemned, though he should have the vanity to betray himself; God forgive me for belying him so often as I have done; the weak-chinned slave hired me once to say, I was with Child by him.  Capt. 
This is pretty, Farewell; and may the next Pig thou farrow'st have a promising face, without the Dad's fool or Gallows in't, that all may swear, at first sight, That's a Bastard; and it shall go hard but I'll have it called mine; I have the way, 'tis but praising thee, and swearing thou art honest before I am asked: You taught me the trick.  Pars. 
Next Levy I'll preach against thee, and tell them what a piece you are; your Drum and borrowed scarf shall not prevail, nor shall you win with Charms half-ell-long, (hight ferret Ribbon) the youth of our Parish, as you have done.  Capt. 
No, lose no time, prithee study and learn to preach, and leave railing against the Surplice, now thou hast preached thyself into Linen; Adieu, Abigal, Adieu, Heir apparent to Sir Oliver Martext; To Church, go, I'll send a Beadle shall sing your Epithalamium.  Pars. 
Adieu, my Captain of a tame band, I'll tell your old Lady how you abused her breath, and swore you earned your money harder than those that dig in the Mines for't. Exit Captain. A fart, fill thy sail, Captain of a Galley Foist. He's gone, come sweet, let's to Church immediately, that I may go and take my Revenge; I'll make him wear thin Breeches.  Want. 
But if you should be such a Man as he says you are, what would my Friends say, when they hear I have cast myself away?  Pars. 
He says? Hang him, lean, mercenary, provant Rogue; I knew his beginning when he made the stocks lousy, and swarmed so with vermin we were afraid he would have brought that Curse upon the County; He says? but what's matter what he says? a Rogue, by Sire and dam; his Father was a broad fat Pedlar, a what do you lack, Sir, that haunted good houses, and stole more than he bought; His dam was a gipsy, a pilfering canting Sibyl in her youth, and she suffered in her old age for a Witch; Poor Stromwell, the Rogue was a perpetual Burden to her, she carried him longer at her back then in her belly; he dwelled there, till she lost him one night in the great Frost upon our Common, and there he was found in the morning candid in Ice: a pox of their Charity that thawed him, you might smell a Rogue then in the bud, he is now run away from his wife.  Want. 
His Wife?  Pars. 
Yes, his Wife; Why, do you not know he's married according to the rogue's Liturgy? a Left-handed Bridegroom; I saw him take the Ring from a tinker's Dowager.  Want. 
Is this possible?  Pars. 
Yes, most possible, and you shall see how I'll be revenged on him; I will immediately go seek the Ordinance against Reformadoes.  Want. 
What Ordinance?  Pars. 
Why, they do so swarm about the Town, and are so destructive to Trade and all Civil Government, that the State has declared, No person shall keep above two Colonels and four Captains, (of what Trade soever) in his Family; For now the War is done, Broken breech, Woodmonger, Ragman, Butcher, and Linkboy, (Comrades that made up the ragged Regiment in this holy War) think to return and be admitted to serve out their times again.  Want. 
Your Ordinance will not touch the Captain, for he is a known Soldier.  Pars. 
He a Captain? an Apocryphal Modern one, that went Convoy once to Brainford with those Troops that conducted the Contribution-Puddings in the late holy War, when the City ran mad after their Russet Levites, Apron-Rogues, with horn hands; Hang him, he's but the sign of a Soldier; and I hope to see him hanged for that Commission, when the King comes to his Place again.  Want. 
You abuse him, now he's gone; But,—  Pars. 
Why? dost thou think I fear him? No Wench, I know him too well for a Cowardly slave, that dares as soon eat his Fox, as draw it in earnest; the slave's noted to make a Conscience of nothing but fighting.  Vant. 
Well, if you be not a good Man, and a kind Husband—  Pars. 
Thou know'st the Proverb, as happy as the parson's Wife, during her husband's life.   

ACT. I. SCEN. II.  Enter Mistress Pleasant, Widow Wild her Aunt, and Secret, her Woman, above in the Music Room, as dressing her, A Glass, a Table, and she in her night clothes. Pleas. 
SEcret, give me the Glass, and see who knocks.  Wid. 
Niece, what, shut the Door? as I live this Music was meant to you, I know my nephew's voice.  Pleas. 
Yes, but you think his friends has more Music in't.  Wid. 
No Faith, I can laugh with him, or so, but he comes no nearer than my lace.  Pleas. 
You do well to keep your smock betwixt.  Wid. 
Faith, Wench, so wilt thou and thou be'st wise, from him and all of them, and be ruled by me, we'll abuse all the Sex, till they put a true value upon us.  Pleas. 
But dare you forbid the travelled Gentlemen, and abuse them and your servant, and swear, with me, not to marry in a twelvemonth, though a Lord bait the hook, and hang out the sign of a Court Cupid, whipped by a Country Widow; then I believe we may have mirth cheaper than at the price of ourselves, and some sport with the wits that went to lose themselves in France.  Wid. 
Come, no dissembling, lest I tell your servant, when he returns, how much you're taken with the last new fashion.  Secret. 
Madam, 'tis almost Noon, will you not dress yourself today?  Wid. 
She speaks as if we were Boarders; Prithee, Wench, is not the dinner our own, sure my Cook shall lay by my own Roast till my stomach be up.  Pleas. 
But there may be Company, and they will say, we take too long time to trim. Secret. Give me the flowers my servant sent me, he swore 'twas the first the Wench made of the kind.  Wid. 
But when he shall hear you had Music sent you today, 'twill make him appear in his old clothes.  Pleas. 
Marry, I would he would take exception, he should not want ill usage to rid me of his trouble; as I live, custom has made me so acquainted with him, that I now begin to think him not so displeasing, as at first; and if he fall not out with me, I must with him, to secure myself. Sure (Aunt) he must find Sense and Reason absent, for when a Question knocks at his head, the Answer tells that there is nobody at home; I asked him, th'other day, if he did not find a blemish in his understanding, and he swore a great Oath, Not he; I told him 'twas very strange, for Fool was so visible an eyesore, that neither Birth nor Fortune could reconcile to me.  Wid. 
Faith, methinks his humour is good, and his purse will buy good company, and I can laugh and be merry with him sometimes.  Pleas. 
Why, pray, Aunt, take him to yourself, and see how merry we will be; I can laugh at anybody's Fool, but mine own.  Wid. 
By my troth, but that I have married one Fool already, you should not have him. Consider, he asks no portion, and yet will make a great jointure; a Fool with these conveniences, a kind loving Fool, and one that you may govern, makes no ill husband; Niece, there are other Arguments too, to bid a Fool welcome, which you will find without teaching; think of it, Niece; you may lay out your affection to purchase some dear wit, or judgement of the City, and repent, at leisure a good bargain, in this Fool.  Pleas. 
Faith, Aunt, Fools are cheap in the Butchery, and dear in the Kitchen; they are such unsavoury insipid things that there goes more charge to the sauce then the Fool is worth, ere a woman can confidently serve him, either to her bed or board; then if he be a loving Fool, he troubles all the world a days, and me all night.  Secret. 
Friendship-love, Madam, has a remedy for that.  Pleas. 
See if the air of this place has not inclined Secret to be a bawd already. No, Secret, you get no Gowns that way, Upon my word; if I marry, it shall be a Gentleman that has wit and honour, though he has nothing but a sword by his side; such a one naked is better than a Fool with all his Trappings, Bells and Baubles.  Wid. 
Why, as I live, he's a handsome fellow, and merry; mine is such a sad soul, and tells me stories of Lovers that died in despair, and of the lamentable end of their Mistresses (according to the Ballad) and thinks to win me by Example.  Pleas. 
Faith mine talks of nothing but how long he has loved me; and those that know me not, think I am old, and still finds new causes, (as he calls them) for his love; I asked him the other day if I changed so fast or no.  Wid. 
But what think'st thou, Secret; my Nephew dances well, and has a handsome house in the Piazza.  Pleas. 
Your Nephew? not I, As I live; he looks as if he would be wooed; I'll warrant you, he'll never begin with a woman till he has lost the opinion of himself; But since you are so courteous, I'll speak to his friend, and let him know how you suffer for him.  Wid. 
Him! marry God bless all good women from him; why, he talks as if the Dairy-maid and all her cow's could not serve his turn; then they wear such bawdy-breeches, 'twould startle an honest woman to come in their company, for fear they should break, and put her to count from the fall of them; for I'll warrant, the year of the Lord would sooner out of her head then such a sight.  Pleas. 
I am not such an enemy now to his humour as to your Nephews, he rails against our sex, and thinks by beating down the price of women to make us despair of Merchants; But if I had his heartstrings tied on a True-lovers-knot, I would so firk him till he found physic in a Rope.  Secret. 
He's a scurvy tongued fellow, I'm sure of that; and if I could have got a staff, I had marked him.  Wid. 
What did he do to thee, Secret?  Pleas. 
Why, he swore, he had a better opinion of her then to think she had her Maidenhead; but if she were that Fool, and had preserved the toy, he swore he would not take the pains of fetching it, to have it; I confess, I would fain be revenged on them, because they are so blown up with opinion of their wit.  Wid. 
As I live, my Nephew travels still; the sober honest Ned Wild will not be at home this month.  Pleas. 
What say you? will you abuse them and all the rest, and stand to my first Proposition?  Wid. 
Yes, faith, if it be but to bury my servant, Sad; for he cannot last above another Fall, and how, think you, will your servant take it?  Pleas. 
Mine! oh God help me, mine's a healthy Fool, I would he were subject to pine and take things unkindly; there were some hope to be rid of him; for I'll undertake to use him as ill as anybody.  Wid. 
As I live, I am easily resolved; for if I would marry, I know neither who nor what humour to choose.  Secret. 
By my troth, Madam, you are hard to please; else the Courtier might have served turn.  Wid. 
Serve turn! Prithee what haste, Secret? that I should put myself to bed with one I might make a shift with; when I marry, thou shalt cry, ay, marry, Madam; this is a husband without blushing wench, and none of your so-so husbands; yet he might half overcome my aversion, I confess.  Pleas. 
Overcome! I think so, he might have won a City his way; for when he saw you were resolved he should not eat with you, he would set himself down as if he meant to besiege us, and had vowed never to rise till he had taken us in; and because our sex forbade force, he meant to do it by famine; yet you may stay, and miss a better market; for hang me, I am of Secrets opinion; he had but two faults, a handsome fellow, and too soon denied.  Wid. 
'Tis true, he was a handsome fellow, and a civil, that I shall report him; for as soon as it was given him to understand; I desired he would come no more, I never saw him since, but by chance.  Pleas. 
Why did you forbid him?  Wid. 
There were divers exceptions; But that which angered me then, was, he came with the king's Letters Patents, as if he had been to take up a wife for his Majesty's use.  Pleas. 
Alas! was that all? why, 'tis their way at Court, a common course among them, and was it not one the King had a great care of? when my mother was alive, I had such a packet from the Court directed unto me, I bid them pay the Post, and make the fellow drink, which he took as ill as I could wish, and has been ever since such a friendly enemy.  Wid. 
Nay, as I live, she was for the Captain too; his Scarf and Feather won her heart.  Secret. 
Truly, Madam, never flatter yourself; for the Gentleman did not like you so well as to put you to the trouble of saying, no.  Pleas. 
Lord, how I hated and dreaded that Scarf and Buffcoat?  Secret. 
Why, Mistress Pleasant, a Captain is an honourable Charge.  Wid. 
Prithee, Secret, name them no more, Colonel and Captain, Commissioner, Free-quarters, ordnance and Contribution; When Buff utters these words, I tremble and dread the sound; it frights me still when I do but think on them; Cuds body, they're twigs of the old Rod (Wench) that whipped us so lately.  Pleas. 
ay, ay, and they were happy days, Wench, when the Captain was a lean, poor, humble thing, and the Soldier tame, and durst not come within the City, for fear of a Constable and a Whipping-post; they know the penal Statutes give no Quarter; Then Buff was out of countenance, and skulked from Alehouse to Alehouse, and the City had no Militia but the Sheriffs-men; In those merry days, a Bailiff trod the streets with terror, when all the Chains in the City were rusty, but Mr. Sheriffs, when the people knew no evil but the Constable and his Watch; Now every Committee has as much power, and as little manners, and examines with as much ignorance, impertinence and authority, as a Constable in the king's key.  Wid. 
See, who's that so loud? People talking without.  Secret. 
The men you talked of, newly come to Town.—  [Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. I. SCEN. III.  Enter Jack Constant, Will. Sadd, Jolly, and a Footman, they comb their heads, and talk. Joll. 
Remember our covenants, get them that can, all friends; and be sure to dispatch the Plot, to carry them into the Country, lest the brace of new-come Monsieurs get them.  Const. 
Those flesh-flies? I'll warrant thee from them, yet 'twas foolishly done of me to put on this gravity; I shall break out, and return to myself if you put me to a winter's wooing.  Sadd. 
A little patience does it; and I am content to suffer any thing till they're out of Town: Secret says, they think my pale face proceeds from my love.  Joll. 
does she? that shall be one hint to advance your designs, and my revenge; for so she be cozened I care not who does it, for scorning me, who (by this hand) loved her parlously.  Footm. 
Sir, what shall I do with the horses?  Sadd. 
Carry them to Brumsted's.  Footman 
What shall I do with your worships.  Joll. 
Mine? take him, hamstring him, kill him, any thing to make him away, lest having such a conveniency I be betrayed to another journey into the Country. Gentlemen, you are all welcome to my countryhouse; Charingcross, I am glad to see thee, with all my heart.  Const. 
What? not reconciled to the Country yet?  Sadd. 
He was not long enough there to see the pleasure of it.  Joll. 
Pleasure? what is't called? walking or hawking, or shooting at Butts?  Const. 
You found other pleasures, or else the story of the Meadow is no Gospel.  Joll. 
Yes, a pox upon the necessity. Here I could as soon have taken the Cow, as such a Milkmaid.  Sadd. 
The wine and meat's good, and the company.  Joll. 
When, at a Tuesday-meeting the Country comes in to a match at two shillings Rubbers, where they conclude at dinner what shall be done this Parliament, railing against the Court and Pope, after the old Elizabeth-way of preaching, till they are drunk with zeal; and then the old Knight of the Shire from the board's end, in his Coronation breeches, vies clinches with a silenced Minister, a Rogue that railed against the Reformation merely to be eased of the trouble of preaching.  Const. 
Nay, As I live, now you are to blame, and wrong him, the man's a very able man.  Joll. 
You'll be able to say so, one day, upon your wife's report; I would he were gelt, and all that hold his opinion: By this good day, they get more souls than they save.  Sadd. 
And what think you of the knight's Son? I hope he's a fine Gentleman, when his green Suit, and his blue stockings are on; and the welcomest thing alive to Mrs. Abigail, but Tib and Tom in the Stock.  Joll. 
Who, Mr. Jeoffry? Hobinol the second; By this life, 'tis a very Veal, and he licks his Nose like one of them; By his discourse you'd guess he had eaten nothing but Hay; I wonder he doth not go on all four too, and hold up his leg when he stales; he talks of nothing but the stable. The cobbler's Blackbird at the corner has more discourse; he has not so much as the family-jest, which these Coridon's use to inherit; I posed him in Booker's prophecies, till he confessed he had not mastered his Almanac yet.  Const. 
But what was that you whispered to him in the Hall?  Joll. 
Why, the Butler and I, by the intercession of March beer, had newly reconciled him to his Dad's old Codpiece Corslet, in the Hall; which, when his zeal was up, he would needs throw down, because it hung upon a Cross.  Const. 
But what think you of my neighbour? I hope her charity takes you.  Joll. 
Yes, and her old Waiting-woman's devotion; she sighed in the Pew behind me; A Dutch Skipper belches not so loud, or so sour; my lady's miserable sinner, with the white eyes, she does so squeeze out her prayers; and so wring out, Have mercy upon us; I warrant her, she has a waiting-woman's sting in her conscience; she looks like a dirty souled bawd.  Const. 
Who is this, my Lady Freedom's woman that he describes?  Joll. 
The same, the Independent Lady, I have promised to send her a Cripple or two by the next Carrier; her subject husband would needs show me his house one morning; I never visited such an Hospital, it stunk like Bedlam, and all the servants were carrying poultices, Julips, and Glisters, and several Remedies for all Diseases, but his; The man sighed to see his Estate crumbling away; I counselled him either to give or take a ounce of Ratsbane, to cure his mind.  Const. 
She is my cousin; but he made such a complaint to me, I thought he had married the Company of surgeon's Hall; for his directions to me for several things for his wife's use, were fitter for an pothecaries-shop than a Lady's Closet.  Joll. 
I advised him to settle no Jointure, but her old Stills, and a Box of Instruments upon her; she hates a man with all his Limbs; a Wooden-leg, a Crutch and Fistula in Ano, wins her heart; her Gentleman-usher broke his leg last Dog-days, merely to have the honour to have her set it, a foul rank Rogue, and so full of salt humours, that he posed a whole College of old Women with a Gangrene; which spoiled the jest, and his ambling before my Lady, by applying a handsaw to his gartering place; and now the Rogue wears booted bedstaves, and destroys all the young ashes to make him legs.  Sadd. 
I never saw such a nasty affection; she would ha' done well in the incurable; a Handmaid to have waited on the Cripples.  Jolly. 
She converses with naked men, and handles all their members though never so ill affected, and calls the Fornication Charity; all her discourse to me was flat bawdry, which I could not chide, but spoke as flat as she, till she rebuked me, calling mine beastliness, and hers, Natural Philosophy; By this day, if I were to marry, I would as soon have chosen a drawn whore out of mine own Hospital, and cure the sins of her youth, as marry a she-surgeon; one that for her sins in her first husband's days cures all the crimes of her Sex in my time. I would have him call her Chiron, the Centaur's own Daughter; a Chirurgeon by Sire and dam, Apollo's own Colt, she's redhaired too, like that bonny beast with the golden Mane and flaming tail.  Sadd. 
You had a long discourse with her, Jolly; what wa''t about?  Jolly. 
I was advising her to be divorced, and marry the Man in the Almanac; 'twould be fine pastime for her to lick him whole.  Sadd. 
By this day, I never saw such a Mule as her Husband is, to bear with her madness; the house is a good house, and well furnished.  Jolly. 
Yes, but 'tis such a sight to see great French Beds full of found Children, sons of Bachelors, Priests Heirs, Bridewell Orphans; there they lie by dozens in a Bed, like sucking rabbits in a dish, or a row of pins; and than they keep a whole Dairy of milch Whores to suckle them.  Sadd. 
She is successful, and that spoils her, and makes her deaf to counsel; I bade him poison two or three, to disgrace her; for the Vanity and Pride of their remedies make those Women more diligent than their Charity.  Jolly. 
I asked him why he married her; and he confessed, if he had been sound he had never had her.  Const. 
He confessed, she cured him of three Claps before he married her.  Jolly. 
Yes, and I believe some other member (though then ill affected) pleaded more than his tongue; and the Rogue is like to find her business still, for he flies at all; My God, I owe thee thanks for many things; but 'tis not the least, I am not her Husband, nor a Country Gentleman, whither I believe you cannot easily seduce me again, unless you can persuade London to stand in the Country; To Hide Park, or so, I may venture upon your Lady-fair days, when the Filly Foals of fifteen come kicking in, with their manes and tails tied up in Ribbons, to see their eyes roll and neigh, when the Spring makes their blood prick them; so far I am with you by the way of a Country Gentleman and a Beer-drinker.  Sadd. 
For all this dislike, Master Jolly; your greatest acquaintance lies amongst Country Gentlemen.  Jolly. 
ay, at London, there your Country Gentlemen are good Company, where to be seen with them is a kind of credit; I come to a mercer's shop in your Coach; Boy, call your Master; he comes bare, I whisper him, Do you know the Constants and the Sadds of Norfolk? yes, yes, he replies, and stroke his beard; they are good Men cry I, yes, yes; No more, cut me off three suits of Satin, he does it, and in the delivery whispers, Will these be bound? pish, drive on Coachman, speak with me tomorrow.  Const. 
And what then?  Jolly. 
What then? why, come again next day.  Sadd. 
And what if the Country Gentleman will not be bound?  Jolly. 
Then he must fight.  Sadd. 
I would I had known that before I had signed your Bond, I would have set my sword sooner than my Seal to it.  Jolly. 
Why, if thou repent there's no harm done, fight rather than pay it.  Sadd. 
Why, do you think I dare not fight?  Jolly. 
Yes, but I think thou hast more wit than to fight with me; for if I kill thee, 'tis a fortune to me, and others will sign in fear; and if thou shouldst kill me, anybody that knows us would swear 'twere very strange, and cry, there's Gods just judgement now upon that lewd youth, and thou procurest his hangman's place at the rate of thy Estate.  Const. 
By this hand, he is in the right; and for mine I meant to pay when I signed; hang it, never put good fellows to say, prithee give me a hundred pounds.  Sadd. 
'Tis true, 'tis a good ganty way of begging; yet, for being killed, if I refuse it, would there were no more danger in the widow's unkindness, then in your fighting; I would not mistrust my design.  Jolly. 
Why I, there's a point now in nicety of Honour, I should kill you for her; for, you know I pretended first; and it may be if I had writ sad lines to her, and hid myself in my Cloak, and haunted her Coach, it may be in time she would have sought me; not I, by this hand, I'll not trouble myself for a Wench, and married Widows are but Customary authorised Wenches.  Const. 
Being of that Opinion, how canst thou to think of marrying one?  Jolly. 
Why, faith, I know not, I thought to rest me, for I was run out of breath with pleasure, and grew so acquainted with sin, I would have been good (for variety;) in these thoughts, 'twas my fortune to meet with this Widow, handsome, and of a clear Fame.  Const. 
Didst love her?  Jolly. 
Yes, faith? I had Love, but not to the disease that makes men sick; and I could have loved her still, but that I was angry to have her refuse me for a fault I told her of myself, so I went no more.  Sadd. 
Did she forbid you but once?  Joll. 
Faith, I think I slipped a fair Opportunity, a handsome wench, and three thousand pounds per annum in certainty, besides the possibility of being saved.  Const. 
Which now you think desperate? Widow and Pleasant looking out at a window.  Pleas. 
That is you; Cross or Pile, will you have him yet or no?  Wid. 
Peace, observe them.  Joll. 
Faith no, I do not despair, but I cannot resolve.  Enter Wild, Careless, and the Captain, going in haste, he comes in at the middle Door. Wid. 
Who are those?  Carel. 
Captain, whither in such haste? what defeated? call you this a retreat, or a flight from your friends?  Pleas. 
Your Nephew, and his Governor, and his Friend! here will be a Scene, sit close, and we may know the secret of their hearts.  Wid. 
They have not met yet since they returned, I shall love this bay window.  Capt. 
Prithee let me go, there's mischief a Boiling; and if thou shak'st me once more thou wilt Jumble a lie together I have been hammering this hour.  Carel. 
A pox upon you, a studying lies?  Capt. 
Why, than they are no lies, but something in the praise of an old Ladies Beauty, what do you call that?  Joll. 
Who are those?  Sadd. 
is't not the Captain, and my Friend? They spy each other.  Jolly salutes them, then he goes to the Captain to embrace him, the Captain stands in a French posture, and slides from his old way of embracing. Joll. 
Ned Wild? Tom Careless? What ail'st thou, dost thou scorn my embraces?  Capt. 
I see you have never been abroad, else you would know how to put a value upon those whose careful observation brought home the most Exquisite Garb and Courtship that Paris could sell us.  Joll. 
A pox on this fooling, and leave off Ceremony.  Capt. 
Why then agreed, off with our masks, and let's embrace They embrace .like the old knot.  Joll. 
Faith, say, where have you spent these three years' time? in Our Neighbour France? or have you ventured o'er the Alps, to see the seat of the Caesars?  Sadd. 
And can tell us (Ignorant, doomed to walk upon our own Land) how large a seat the Goddess fixed her flying Trojans in.  Const. 
Yes, yes, and have seen, and drunk (perhaps) of Tiber's famous stream.  Jolly. 
And have been where Aeneas buried his Trumpeter, and his Nurse; Tom looks as if he had sucked the one, and had a Battle sounded by the other, for Joy to see our Nation ambitious not to be understood or known when they come home.  Capt. 
So, now I'm welcome home, this is freedom, and these are Friends, and with these I can be merry; for Gentlemen, you must give me leave to be free to.  Jolly. 
So you will spare us miserable men, condemned to London, and the Company of a Michaelmas Term, and never travelled those Countries that set Mountains on fire a purpose to light us to our lodging.  Wild. 
Why this is better than to stay at home, and lie by hearsay, wearing out yourselves and Fortunes like your clothes, to see her that hates you for being so fine, then appearing at a Play dressed like some part of it, while the Company admire the Mercers and the tailor's work, and swear they have done their parts to make you fine Gentlemen.  Carl. 
Then leap out of your Coach, and throw your Cloak over your shoulder, the Casting Nets to catch a Widow, while we have seen the world, and learned her Customs.  Capt. 
Yes, Sir, and returned perfect Mounsieurs.  Sadd. 
Yes, even to their diseases; I confess my Ignorance; I cannot amble, nor ride like S. George at Waltham. The Captain has a patch over his Nose.  Jolly. 
Yet, upon my Conscience, he may be as welcome with a trot, as the other with his pace; and faith, Jack, (to be a little free) tell me, dost thou not think thou hadst been as well to pass here, with that English Nose thou carryedst hence, as with the French tongue thou hast brought home?  Capt. 
It is an Accident, and to a Soldier 'tis but a scar; 'tis true, such a sign upon Mr. Jolly's face had been as ill as a Red Cross, and Lord have mercy upon us, at his lodging door, to have kept women out of Court.  Jolly. 
For aught you know of the Court.  Capt. 
I know the Court, and thee, and thy use, and how you serve but as the handsomest movables, a kind of Implement above stairs, and look much like one of the old Court Servants in the hangings.  Wild. 
But that they move, and look fresher, and your Apparel more Modern.  Carl. 
Yet, faith, their Office is the same, to adorn the Room, and be gazed on: Alas! he's sad, Courage man, these riding clothes will serve thee at the latter day.  Capt. 
Which is one of their grievances, for nothing troubles them more than to think they must appear in a foul winding sheet, and come undressed.  Jolly. 
Gentlemen, I am glad to find you know the Court; we know a Traveller too, especially when he is thus changed and Exchanged, as your Worships, both in Purse and Person, and have brought home foreign visages and Inscriptions.  Const. 
Why that's their perfection, their ambition to have it said, there go those that have profitably observed the vices of other Countries', and made them their own; and the faults of several Nations, at their return, are their Parts.  Jolly. 
Why there's Jack Careless, he carried out as good stable manners as any was in Suffolk, and now he is returned with a shrug, and a trick to stand crooked, like a scurvy Bow unbent, and looks as if he would maintain Oil and Salads against a Chine of Beef; I knew a great Beast of this kind, it haunted the Court much, and would scarcely allow us (fully reduced to Civility) for serving up Mutton in whole joints.  Const. 
What, silent?  Sadd. 
Faith, the Captain is in a study.  Jolly. 
Do, do, con the Rivers and Towns perfectly, Captain; thou may'st become Intelligencer to the People, and lie thy two sheets a week in corantoes too.  Const. 
And could you not make Friends at Court, to get their Pictures cut ugly, in the Corner of a Map, like the old Navigators.  Jolly. 
we'll see, we'll see.  [Enter Widow and Pleasant above. Wid. 
I'll interrupt them; Servant, you're welcome to Town; how now, Nephew? what, dumb? where are all our travelled tongues?  Joll. 
Servant! who doth she mean? By this hand, I disclaim the Title.  Pleas. 
Captain, Secret has taken Notes, and desires you would instruct her in what concerns a waiting Woman, and an Old Lady.  Capt. 
Very good, yet this shall not save your Dinner.  Wid. 
Nay, while you are in this humour I'll not sell your Companies; and though Master Jolly be incensed, I hope he will do me the favour to dine with me.  Jolly. 
Faith, Lady, you mistake me if you think I am afraid of a widow; for I would have the world know I dare meet her anywhere, but at Bed.  [Exit Jolly. Wild. 
No more Aunt, we'll come; and if you will give us good meat, we'll bring good humours, and good stomachs. Widow shuts the Curtain.  Carel. 
By this day I'll not dine there, they take a pleasure to raise a spirit that they will not lay, I'll to Bank's.  Capt. 
A Pox forbid it, you shall not break Company, now you know what we are to do after Dinner.  Carel. 
I will consent, upon condition you forbid the spiritual Nonsense the age calls Platonic Love.  Capt. 
I must away too; But I'll be there at Dinner, you will join in a Plot after dinner.  Wild. 
Any thing, Good, Bad, or Indifferent, for a Friend and Mirth.  [Exeunt all but the Captain. Capt. 
I must go and prevent the rogue's mischief, with the Old Lady.  Exit Captain.   


ACT. II. SCEN. I.  Enter Jolly, and the old Lady Loveall. Loveall. 
AWay, unworthy, false, ingrateful; with what Brow dar'st thou come again into my sight, knowing how unworthy you have been, and how false to love?  Jolly. 
No, 'tis you are unworthy, and deserve not those truths of Love I have paid here; else you would not believe every report that Envy brings, and condemn, without hearing me, whom you have so often tried and found faithful.  Love. 
Yes, till I too credulous had pity on your tears; till I had mercy you durst not be false.  Joil. 
Nor am not yet.  Love. 
What dost thou call False? is there a treachery beyond what thou hast done; when I had given my Fame, my Fortune, myself, and my husband's honour, all in one Obligation, a sacrifice to that Passion; which thou seem'st to labour with despair of, to tell and Brag of a conquest o'er a Woman, fooled by her Passion, and lost in her love to thee, unworthy;—  (she turns away her head. Joll. 
By this Day, 'tis as false as he that said it; hang him, son of a Bachelor; a slave that envying my Fortune in such a happiness as your love, and chaste embraces, took this way to ruin it; Come, dry your Eyes, and let the guilty weep; if I were guilty I durst as soon approach a Constable drunk, as come here; you know I am your slave.  Love. 
You swore so, and honour made me leave to triumph over your miseries.  Joll. 
Do you repent that I am happy? if you do, command my death.  Love. 
Nay, never weep, nor sit sadly, I am Friends, so you will only talk and discourse; for 'tis your company I only covet.  Joll. 
No, you cannot forgive, because you have injured me; 'tis right woman's Justice; Accuse first, and harder to reconcile when they are guilty, then when they are Innocent, or else you would not turn from me thus.  Love. 
You know your youth hath a strong power over me; Turn those bewitching Eyes away; I cannot see them with safety of mine honour.  Joll. 
Come you shall not hide your Face, there's a Charm in it against those that come burnt with unchaste fires; for let but your Eyes or Nose drop upon his heart it would burn it up, or quench it straight.  Love. 
No Cogging, you have injured me; and now though my Jolly kisses her, and she shoves him away with her mouth. love plead, I must be deaf, my honour bids me; for you will not fear again to prove unworthy when you find I am so easy to forgive— Why, you will not be uncivil.  Joll. 
So, the storm is laid, I must have those Pearls— she shoved me away with her mouth, I'll to her again.  Love. 
Where are you? what do you take me for? why you Still as he offers to touch her, she starts as if he plucked up her coats .will not be uncivil?  Joll. 
Uncivil! By thy chaste self, I cannot, Chick; thou hast such a terror, such a guard in those eyes, I dare not approach thee, nor can I gaze upon so much fire; Prithee, Sirrah, let me hide me from their power here.  Love. 
You presume upon the weakness of our sex; what shall I say or do? Tyrant Love!  Joll. 
There's a charm in those Pearls; pull them off; if they have a Frost in them, let me wear them, and then we are both safe.  Loveall. 
I would you had taken them sooner, I had then been innocent, and might with whiteness have worn my love which I shall ne'er outlive.  Joll. 
Dear, do not too fast pour in my joys, lest I too soon reach my heaven.  Loveall. 
Be gone then, lest we prove (having gained that height) this sad truth in Love; The first minute after noon is night.  Joll. 
Part now? The Gods forbid; take from me first this load of joys you have thrown upon me; for 'tis a burden harder to bear then sadness; I was not born till now, this my first night in which I reap true bliss.  Loveall. 
No, no; I would it had been your first night, than your falsehood had not given argument for these tears; and I hate myself to think I should be such a foolish fly, thus again to approach your dangerous flame.  Joll. 
Come, divert these thoughts; I'll go see your Closet.  Loveall. 
No, no, I swear you shall not.  Joll. 
You know, I am going out of Town for two days.  Loveall. 
When you return, I'll show it you; you will forget me else when you are gone, and at Court.  Joll. 
Can your love endure delays? or shall business thee from hence remove? these were your own Arguments; come, you shall show it me.  Loveall. 
Nay, than I perceive what unworthy way your love would find; Ye Gods, are all men false?  Joll. 
As I live, you shall stay; come, you ought to make me 
He pulls her Bodkin, that is tied in a piece of black Bobbin.  
He pulls her, and says this . amends for slandering of me; Hang me, if ever I told; and he that reports it is the damn'dst Rogue in a Country, Come, I say.—  Loveall. 
Ah! As I live, I will not, I have sworn; do not pull me, I will not be damned, I have sworn.—  Joll. 
As I live, I'll break your Bodkin then, a weeping Tyrant! Come; by this good day, you shall be merciful.  Loveall. 
Why, you will not be uncivil; you will not force me, will you? As I live, I will not.  Joll. 
Nay, and you be wilful, I can be stubborn too. He pulls still.  Loveall. 
Hang me, I'll call aloud, why Nan! nay, you may force me; But, As I live, I'll do nothing.  [Exeunt ambo.  

ACT. II. SCEN. II.  Enter Captain. Capt. 
A Pox upon you, are you earthed? The Rogue has got her Necklace of Pearl; but I hope he will leave the Rope to hang me in, how the pox came they so great? I must have some trick to break his neck, else the young Rogue will work me out; 'tis an excellent old Lady, but I dare not call her so; yet would she were young enough to bear, we might do some good for our heirs, by leaving such a charitable brood behind; she's a woman after the first kind; 'tis but going in to her and you may know her; then she'll oblige so readily, and gives with greater thanks than others receive, takes it so kindly to be courted. I am now to oblige her (as she calls it) by professing young Wild's love, and desiring an assurance; she's sensible of his sufferings, which though it be false, and beyond my Commission, yet the hopes of such a new young thing that has the vogue of the Town, for handsomest, 'twill so tickle her age, and so blow up her vanity, to have it said, He is in love with her, and so endear her to me for being the means that the parson's malice will be able to take no root;— She comes, I must not be seen.—  [Enter Loveall, and Jolly. Loveall. 
Give me that Letter I'll swear, you shall not read it.  Joll. 
Take it, I'll away, What time shall I call you, in the evening? there's a Play at Court tonight.  Loveall. 
I would willingly be there, but your Ladies are so censorious, and malicious to us young Ladies, in the Town, especially to me, because the Wits are pleased to afford me a visit, or so; I could be content else to be seen at Court; Pray what humour is the Queen of? the Captain of her Guard I know.  Joll. 
The Queen? Who's that knocks at the backdoor.— The Captain Knocks.  Loveall. 
Smooth my Band, I know not, go down that way, and look you be not false; if you should be false, I'll swear, I should spoil myself with weeping.  Joll. 
Farewell, in the evening I'll call you.  [Exit Jolly. Loveall. 
Who's there? Captain? Where have you been all this while; I might sit alone, I see, for you, if I could not find conversation in Books. She takes a book in her hand and sits down.  Capt. 
Faith, Madam, friends newly come to Town engaged me, and my stay was civility rather than desire, what Book's that?  Loveall. 
I'll swear he was a Witch that writ it; for he speaks my thoughts as if he had been within me; the Original, they say, was French.  Capt. 
Oh, I know it, 'tis the accomplished Woman, yourself, he means by this, while you are yourself.  Loveall. 
Indeed, I confess, I am a great friend to conversation, if we could have it without suspicion; But the world's so apt to judge, that 'tis a prejudice to our honour now to salute a man.  Capt. 
Innocence, Madam, is above opinion, and your fame's too great to be shook with whispers.  Loveall. 
You are ever civil, and therefore welcome; pray, what news is there now in Town? for I am reclused here; unless it be yours, I receive no visits; and I'll swear, I charged the Wench today not to let you in; I wonder she let you come.  Capt. 
Faith, Madam, if it had been my own business I should not have ventured so boldly; But the necessity that forces me to come concerns my friend, against whom if your mercy be now bounded with those strict ties of honour, and cold thoughts which I have ever found guard your heart, My friend, a young and handsome man, is lost, is lost in his prime, and falls like early blossoms; But methinks you should not prove the envious frost to destroy this young man, this delicate young man, that has whole bundles of Boys in his Breeches; yet if you be cruel, he and they die, as useless as open Arses gathered green. She must be earnest in her looks all the time he speaks; desirous to know who he speaks of.  Loveall. 
Good Captain, out with the particular, what way can my charity assist him; you know by experience I cannot be cruel, remember how I fetched you out of a swoon, and laid you in my own bed.  Capt. 
That act preserved a life, that has always been laboured in your service; and I dare say, your charity here will find as fruitful a gratitude.  Loveall, 
But, I hope, he will not be so uncivil as you were; I'll swear, I could have hanged you for that Rape, if I would have followed the Law; but I forgave you upon condition you would do so again; but what's this young man you speak of?  Captain 
Such is my love to you and him, that I cannot prefer mine own particular before your contents; else I'd have poisoned him ere I'd have brought him to your house.  Loveall. 
Why, I pray?  Capt. 
Because, he's young, handsome, and sound parts; that I'm sure will ruin me here.  Loveall. 
His love may make all these beauties, else I have an honour will defend me against him, were he as handsome as young Wild.  Capt. 
Why I, there it is; that one word has removed all my fears and jealousies with a despair; for that's the man whose Love, Life and Fortune, lies at your feet; and if you were single, by lawful ways he would hope to reach what now he despairs of.  Loveall. 
Let him not despair, Love is a powerful pleader, and youth and beauty will assist him; and if his love be noble I can meet it; for there's none that sacrifices more to friendship-love, than I.  Capt. 
My friend's interest makes me rejoice at this; dare you trust me to say this to him, though it be not usual, pray speak; Nay, you are so long still a resolving to be kind: Remember, charity is as great a virtue as chastity, and greater, if we will hear nature plead; for the one may make many Maids, the other can but preserve one: But I know you will be persuaded, let be my importunity that prevailed, shall I bring him hither one evening?  Loveall. 
Why do you plead thus? pray be silent, and when you see him, tell him he has a seat here, and I— She turns away,  Capt. 
Out with it, what is't? shall he call you Mistress? and his Platonic?  Loveall. 
Away, away; Me?  Capt. 
No niceness, is't a match?  Loveall. 
Lord, would I were as worthy as willing (pray tell him so) he shall find me one of the humblest Mistresses that ever he was pleased to honour with his affections.  Captain 
Dare you write this to him, and honour me with bearing it? I confess, I am such a friend to friendship-love too that I would even bring him on my back to a midnight's meeting.  Loveall. 
If you will stay here, I'll go in and write it.— She's going out and he calls her.  Capt. 
Madam, I forgot to ask your Ladyship one Question.  Loveall. 
What was't?  Capt. 
There happened a business last night betwixt Mr. Wild and one Jolly, a Courtier that brags extremely of your favour; I swear, if it had not been for friends that interposed themselves there had been mischief, for Mr. Wild was extreme zealous in your cause.  Loveall. 
Such a Rascal I know; Villain, to bring my name upon the Stage, for a subject of his quarrels, I'll have him cudgeled.  Capt. 
And I'll swear, he deserved it; for the quarrel ended in a Bet of a Buck-hunting-nag, that sometime today he would bring a Necklace and chain of Pearl of yours (not stolen, but freely given) to witness his power.  Loveall. 
Did the vain Rascal promise that?  Capt. 
Yes, but we laughed at it.  Loveall. 
So you might; and, as I live, if the Necklace were come from stringing I'd send them both to Mr. Wild, to wear as a favour, to assure him I am his, and to put the vain slave out of countenance.  Capt. 
I marry, such a timely favour were worth a dozen Letters, to assure him of your Love, and remove all the doubts the other's discourse may put into his head; and faith I'd send him the chain now, and in my Letter promise him the Necklace, he'll deserve such a favour.  Loveall. 
I'll go in and fetch it immediately, will you favour me to deliver it?  Capt. 
I'll wait upon your Ladyship.  Loveall. 
I'll swear you shall not go in, you know I forswore She goes and he follow's her, she turns and bids him stay .being alone with you.  Capt. 
Hang me, I'll go in; does my Message deserve to wait an Answer at the Door?  Loveall. 
ay, but you'll be nought.  Capt. 
O, ne'er trust me if I break.  Loveall. 
If you break some such forfeit you'll lose; Well, come in for once.  Capt. 
You are so suspicious.  Loveall. 
I'll swear, I have reason for't, you are such another man.  [Exeunt.  

ACT. II. SCEN. III.  Enter Wanton and Baud. Want. 
IS he gone?  Baud. 
Yes, he's gone to the old Ladies, high with mischief.  Want. 
Fare him well, easy Fool, how the Trout strove to be tickled, and how does this Ring become me? Ha! they are She plays with a Wedding Ring upon her finger .fine kind of things these Wedding Rings.  Baud. 
Besides the good custom of putting so much Gold in 'em, they bring such conveniencies along.  Want. 
Why I, now I have but one to please; and if I please him, who dares offend me? and that Wife's a fool that cannot make her Husband one.  Baud. 
Nay, I am absolutely of Opinion, it was fit for you to marry; but whether he be a good Husband or no.  Want. 
A pox of a good Husband, give me a wise one; they only make the secure Cuckolds, the Cuckold in grain; for die a Husband that has wit but with an Opinion thou art honest, and see who dares wash the colour out; Now your fool changes with every drop, dotes with confidence in the Morning and at Night, jealous even to Murder, and his Love (Lord help us) fades like my napkin Petticoat.  Baud. 
This is a new Doctrine.  Want. 
'Tis a truth, Wench, I have gained from my own Observations, and the Paradox will be maintained. Take wise Men from Cuckolds, and fools to make them; for your wise Man draws eyes and suspicion with his visit, and begets jealous thoughts in the Husband, that his Wife may be overcome with his parts; when the fool is welcome to both, pleaseth both, laughs with the one, and lies with the other, and all without suspicion; I tell thee, a fool that has money is the Man. The wits and the we's, which is a distinct Parreal of Wit bound by itself, and to be sold at Wit-hall, or at the sign of the Kings-head in the Butchery; these wise things will make twenty jealous, ere one Man a Cuckold; when the family of fools will head a Parish ere they are suspected.  Baud. 
Well, I see one may live and learn; and if he be but as good at it now, you are his own; as he was, when he was your friend's Friend, (as they call it) you have got one of the best hiders of such a business in the Town; Lord, how he would Sister you at a Play!  Want. 
Faith, 'tis as he is used at first; if he get the bridle in's teeth he'll ride to the Devil; but if thou be'st true, we'll make him amble ere we have done; the Plot is here, and if it thrive I'll alter the Proverb, The Parson gets the Children, to, the Parson Fathers them.  Baud. 
Any thing that may get Rule; I love to wear the Breeches.  Want. 
So do we all, Wench; Empire? 'tis all our aim; and I'll put my ranting Roger in a Cage but I'll tame him; he loves already, which is an excellent Ring in a fool's nose, and thou shalt hear him sing.—  
Happy only is that Family, that shows  
A Cock that's silent, and a Hen that crows.  Baud. 
Do this, I'll serve you for nothing; the impetuous slave had wont to taunt me for beating of my Husband, and would sing that song in mockery of me.  Want. 
In Revenge of which, thou (if thou wilt be faithful) shalt make him sing.  
Happy is that Family that shows  
A Cock that's silent, and a Hen that crows.  [Exeunt  

ACT. II. SCEN. IV.  Enter Parson, Loveall, and Faithfull. Loveall. 
GO, you are a naughty Man; do you come hither to rail against an honest Gentleman? I have heard how you fell out, you may be ashamed on't, a Man of your Coat.  Pars. 
What? to speak Truth and perform my Duty? the world cries out you are a scabbed sheep, and I come to tar you, that is, give you notice how your Fame suffers i'th' opinion of the world.  Loveall. 
My Fame, Sirrah? 'tis purer than thy Doctrine, get thee out of my house.  Faithf. 
You uncivil fellow, do you come hither to tell my Lady of her faults, as if her own Levite could not discern 'em?  Loveall. 
My own Levite? I hope he's better bred then to tell me of my faults.  Faithf. 
He finds work enough to correct his dearly beloved sinners.  Pars. 
And the Right Worshipful my Lady, and yourself, they mend at leisure.  Loveall. 
You are a saucy fellow, Sirrah, to call me Sinner in my own house; get you gone with— your Madam, I hear, and (Madam) I could advise, but I am loath to speak; take heed, the world talks, and thus with dark sentences put my Innocence into a fright, with you know what you know good Mistress Faithful; so do I, and the world shall know too thou hast married a Whore.  Pars. 
Madam, a Whore?  Faith. 
No, Sir, 'tis not so well as a Madam-whore, 'tis a poor Whore, a captain's cast Whore.  Loveall. 
Now bless me, marry a Whore? I wonder any Man can endure those things, what kind of Creatures are they?  Pars. 
They're like Ladies, but that they are handsomer; and though you take a privilege to injure me, yet I would advise your Woman to tie up her Tongue, and not abuse my Wife.  Loveall. 
Fie, art thou not ashamed to call a Whore, Wife? Lord blessons, what will not these men do when God leaves them! But for a Man of your Coat to cast himself away upon a Whore, come Wench, let's go and leave him! I'll swear, 'tis strange, the State doth not provide to have all Whores hanged or drowned.  Faithf. 
ay, and 'tis time they look into it, for they begin to spread so, that a man can scarce find an honest woman in a Country; they say, they're voted down now, 'twas moved by that charitable Member that got an Order to have it but five miles to Croyden, for ease of the Market-women.  Loveall. 
ay, ay, 'tis a blessed Parliament.  [Exit Loveall and Faithful. Pars. 
That I have played the fool, is visible; this comes of rashness; something I must do to set this right, or else she'll hate, and he'll laugh at me, I must not lose him, and my revenge too, something that's mischief, I am resolved to do.  [Exit Pars.  

ACT. II. SCEN. V.  Enter Wild and Careless. Wild. 
NOW is the parson's Wife so contemptible?  Carel. 
No, but I'm so full of that resolution to dislike the sex, that I will allow none honest, none handsome; I tell thee, we must beat down the price with ourselves, court none of 'em; but let their Maidenheads and their Faces lie upon their hands, till they're weary of the commodity, than they'll haunt us to find proper Chapmen to deal for their ware.  Wild. 
I like this, but 'twill be long a doing, and it may be ere they be forced to sell, our bank will be exhausted, and we shall not be able to purchase.  Carel. 
ay, but we'll keep a credit, and at three six months, thou and the Captain shall be my Factors.  Wild. 
You had best have a partner, else such an undertaking would break a better back than yours.  Carel. 
No partners in such commodities, your Factor that takes up Maidenheads, 'tis upon his own account still.  Wild. 
But what course will you take to purchase this trade with women?  Carel. 
I am resolved to put on their own silence and modesty, answer forsooth, swear nothing but God's nigs, and hold Arguments of their own cold Tenants, as if I believed there were no true love below the line, then sigh when 'tis proper, and with forced studies betray the enemy, who seeing my eye fixed on her, her vanity thinks I am lost in admiration, calls and shakes me ere I wake out of my design, and being collected, answer out of purpose. Love, divinest? yes, who is it that is mortal and does not, or which amongst all the Senate of the Gods, can gaze upon those eyes, and carry thence the power he brought? This will start her.  Wild. 
Yes, and make her think thee mad.  Carel. 
Why that's my design; for then I start too, and rub my eyes, as if I waked, then sigh and strangle a yawn, till I have wrung it into tears, with which I rise, as if o'ercome with grief; then kiss her hands, and let fall those witnesses of faith and love, bribed for my design. This takes; for who would suspect such a Devil as Craft and Youth to live together?  Wild. 
But what kind of women do you think this will take?  Carel. 
All kind of women, those that think themselves handsome; it being probable, concludes it real; and those that are handsome in their opinion, that small number will believe it, because it agrees with their wishes.  Wild. 
And when you are gone, it may be they sigh, and their Love breaks out into Paper, and what then?  Carel. 
What then? why then I'll laugh, and show thee their Letters, and teach the world how easy 'tis to win any woman.  Wild. 
This is the way, and be sure to dislike all, but her you design for; be scarce civil to any of the sex besides.  Carel. 
That's my meaning, But to her that I mean my prey, all her slave; she shall be my Deity; and her opinion my religion.  Wild. 
And while you sad it thus to one, I'll talk freer than a privileged fool, and swear as unreasonably as losing Gamesters, and abuse thee for thinking to reclaim a woman by thy love, call them all bowls thrown that will run where they will run, and Lovers like fools run after them, Crying, Rub, and fly, for me; I believe none fair, none handsome, none honest, but the kind.  Carel. 
We must make the Captain of our Plot, lest he betray us; this will gain us some revenge upon the Lovers to whom I grudge the Wenches, not that I believe they're worth half the cost they pay for them; and we may talk, but 'tis not our opinion can make them happier, or miserable.  [Enter Jolly. Wild. 
Jolly, Will, where hast thou been? We had such sport with the Parson of our Town, he's married this morning to Wanton.  Joll. 
Who? the captain's Wench? he's in a good humour then; as you love mirth, let's find him, I have news to blow his rage with, and 'twill be mirth to us, to see him divided betwixt the several causes of his anger, and lose himself in his rage while he disputes, which is the greater; your opinion, Gentlemen; is this, or his Wench, the greater loss? Here he pulls out the Pearl.  Carel. 
What hast thou there? Pearl! they're false, I hope.  Joll. 
Why do you hope so?  Carel. 
Because I am thy friend, and would be loath to have thee hanged for stealing.  Joll. 
I will not swear they are honestly come by; but I'll be sworn, there's neither force nor theft in't.  Wild. 
Prithee, speak out of Riddles, here's none but your Friends.  Joll. 
Faith, take it, you have heard the Captain brag of an old Lady, which he thinks he keeps close in a Box; but I know where hangs a key can let a friend in, or so: From her, my brace of worthies, whose wits are dulled with plenty, this morning, with three good words, and four good deeds, I earned this toy.  Carel. 
The mirth yet, we will all share; I am in pain till we find him, that we may vex his wit that he presumes so much on.  Wild. 
Let's go, let's go, I will desire him to let me see his Wench; I will not understand him if he says she's gone.  Carel. 
I'll beg of him, for old acquaintance' sake, to let me see his old Lady.  Joll. 
Hark, I hear his voice.—  Capt. 
Which way?  Carel. 
The Game plays itself; begin with him, Ned, while we talk, as if we were busy, we'll take our Q.  Wild. 
When I put off my hat.  [Enter Capt. Capt. 
'sBlood, I thought you had been sunk, I have been hunting you these four hours. Death, you might ha' left word where you went; and not put me to hunt like Tom Fool, 'tis well you are at London, where you know the way home.  Wild. 
Why in choler? We have been all this while searching you; come, this is put on to divert me for claiming your promise, I must see the Wench.  Capt. 
You cannot a dad, a dad you cannot.  Wild. 
I did not think you would have refused such a kindness.  Carel. 
What's that?  Wild. 
Nothing, a toy, he refuses to show me his Wench.  Carel. 
The Devil he does; what have we been thus long Comrades, and had all things in common, and must we now come to have common Wenches particular? I say, thou shalt see her, and lie with her too, if thou wilt.  Joll. 
What? in thy dumps, Brother, call to thy aid thy two edged wit; the Captain sad? 'tis prophetic, I'd as live have dreamt of Pearl, or the loss of my teeth; yet if he be musty, I'll warrant thee, Ned, I'll help thee to a bout; I know his Cloak, his long Cloak that hides her; I am acquainted with the Parson, he shall befriend thee.  Capt. 
'Tis very well, Gentlemen; but none of you have seen her yet?  Wild. 
Yes, but we have, By thyself, by thy anger, which is now bigger than thou; By chance we crossed her, coming from Church, leading in her hand the Parson, to whom she swore she was this day married.  Joll. 
And our friendships were now guiding us to find thee out, to comfort thee after the treachery of thy Levite.  Capt. 
Come, bear it like a man, there are more Wenches, What hast thou spied?— He gives no answer, but peeps in Jollies hat.  Wild. 
His Pearl, I believe.  Capt. 
Gentlemen, I see you are merry; I'll leave you; I must go a little way, to inquire about a business.  Wild. 
Has got a sore-eye, I think.  Capt. 
I will only ask one Question, and return.  Carel. 
No faith, stay, and be satisfied.  Joll. 
Do, good Brother, for I believe there is no question that you now would ask, but here's an Oracle can resolve you.  Capt. 
Are those Pearl true?  Joll. 
Yes?  Capt. 
And did not you steal them?  Joll. 
No.  Carel. 
Nor he did not buy them with ready money; But took them upon Mortgage of himself to an old Lady.  Joll. 
Dwelling at the sign of the Buck in Broad-street; are you satisfied, or must I play the Oracle still?  Capt. 
No, no, I am satisfied.  Joll. 
Like Jealous men, that take their wives at it, are you not?  Capt. 
Well, very well, 'tis visible, I am abused on all hands; But Gentlemen, why all against me?  Carl. 
To let you see your Wit's mortal, and not proof against all.  Wild. 
The Parson hath shot it through with a Jest.  Capt. 
Gentlemen, which of you, faith, had a hand in that?  Joll. 
Faith, none; only a general Joy, to find the Captain over reached.  Capt. 
But do you go sharers in the Profit, as well as in the Jest?  Joll. 
No faith, the Toy's mine own.  Capt. 
They are very fine, and you may afford a good penny worth, will you sell them?  Joll. 
Sell them? ay, where's a Chapman?  Capt. 
Here, I'll purchase them.  Joll. 
Thou? No, no, I have barred thee, By and Main, for I am resolved not to fight for them; that excludes thy purchase by the sword; and thy wench has proved such a loss, in thy last Adventure of Wit, that I'm afraid, it will spoil thy credit that way too.  Capt. 
Gentlemen, as a Friend, let me have the refusal, set your price.  Wild. 
he's serious.  Carel. 
Leave fooling.  Joll. 
Why if thou couldst buy them, what wouldst thou do with them.  Capt. 
They're very fair Ones, let me see them, methinks they should match very well with these.  Joll. 
These, which?  Omnes. 
Which?  Carel. 
They are true.  Capt. 
Yes, But not earned with a pair of stolen verses, of, I was not born till now, this my first night, and so forsooth; nor given as a Charm against lust.  Carl. 
What means all this?  Joll. 
What? why 'tis truth, and it means to shame the Devil; by this good day, he repeats the same words with which I gathered these Pearls.  Wild. 
Why then we have two to laugh at.  Carel. 
And all Friends hereafter, let's fool altogether.  Capt. 
Gentlemen with the fine Wits, and my very good Friends do you, or you, or he think I'll keep you Company, to make you laugh, but that I draw my honey from you too?  Carel. 
Come, come, the Captain's in the right.  Capt. 
Yes, yes, the Captain knows it, and dares tell you, your Wit, your Fortune, and his Face, are but my Ploughs; and I would have my fine monsieur know, who, in spite of my Counsel, will be finer than his Mistress, and appears before her so curiously built she dares not play with him for fear of spoiling him; and to let him know the truth I speak, To his fair hands I present this letter, but withal give him to understand, the Contents belong to me. He reads the Letter.  Wild. 
The Pearl are sent to me.  Capt. 
I deny that, unless you prove you sent me; for the Letter begins, Sir, this noble Gentleman, the bearer, whom you are pleased to make the messenger of your love, and so forth; And now you should do well to inquire for that noble Gentleman, and take an Account of him how he has laid out your Love, and it may be he'll return you Pearl for it; and now Gentlemen, I dare propose a peace, at least a Cessation of Wit (but what is defensive) till such time as the Plot which is now in my head be effected, in which you have all your shares.  Wild. 
So she knows I have not the Pearl, I am content.  Capt. 
she'll quickly find that, when she see's you come not tonight, according to my appointment, and hears I have sold the Pearl.  Joll. 
Here then ceaseth our Offensive War.  Capt. 
I'll give you Counsel worth two Ropes of Pearl.  Carel. 
But the Wench, how came the Parson to get her?  Capt. 
Faith 'tis hard to say which laboured most, he, or I, to make that Match, but the knave did well; There it is (if you assist) I mean to lay the Scene of your mirth tonight, for I am not yet fully revenged upon the Rogue; for that I know him miserable is nothing, till he believe so too; Wanton and I have laid the Plot.  Joll. 
Do you hold Correspondence?  Capt. 
Correspondence? I tell thee the plots we laid to draw him on would make a Comedy.  [Enter a Servant. Serv. 
Sir, the Ladies stay Dinner.  Joll. 
And as we go I'll tell you all the story, and after Dinner, be free from all Engagements, as we promised thee; and follow but your directions, I'll warrant you mirth and a pretty Wench.  Omnes. 
Agreed, any thing that breeds mirth is welcome.  Joll. 
Not a word at the Widows, let them go on quietly, and steal their Wedding too.  Capt. 
I heard a Bird sing, as if it were concluded amongst the Couples.  Wild. 
They have been long about it; my coz is a girl deserves more haste to her Bed, he has arrived there by carrier's Journeys.  Carel. 
But that I hate wooing, by this good day, I like your Aunt so well and her humour she should scarce be thrown away upon Paleface, that has sighed her into a Wedding Ring, and will but double her Jointure.  Capt. 
Why I, thus it should be, pray let us make them the Seat of the war all Dinner, and continue united and true among ourselves, than we may defy all foreign danger.  Joll. 
And with full Bowls let us crown this peace, and sing, Wit, without war, no Mirth doth bring.  Exeunt.  

ACT. II. SCEN. VI.  Enter Parson and Wanton. Want. 
WAs she deaf to your report?  Pars. 
Yes, yes. The Parson walks troubled up and down.  Want. 
And ugly, her Abigail, she had her say too?  Pars. 
Yes, yes.  Want. 
And do you walk here biting your Nails: do you think I'll be satisfied with such a way of righting me?  Pars. 
What wouldst have me do?  Want. 
Have you no Gall? be abused and laughed at by a dull Captain, that a strict Muster would turn Fool? you had Wit, and could rail, when I offended you, and none so sudden, none so terrible, none so sure in his Revenge, when I displease you.  Pars. 
Something I'll do.  Want. 
Do it then, or I shall curse that e'er I saw you Death, let the sign of my Lady, an out of fashion whore, that has paid for sin, ever since yellow starch and wheel Farthingales were cried down, let her Abuse me, and say nothing? if this passes.  Pars. 
As Christ bless me, but I did (sweet heart:) and if it were not Church livings are mortal, and they are always hitting me in the teeth with a man of your Coat, she should find I am no Church man within, nor Mr. Parson but in my Coat; Come to Dinner, and after Dinner I'll do something.  Want. 
I shall do something will vex somebody.  [Enter Baud. Baud. 
Will you please to come to Dinner? the Company stays.  Pars. 
Come, let's go in.  Want. 
No, I must walk a little to digest this breakfast, the guests else will wonder to see I am troubled.  Pars. 
Come, let this day pass in Mirth, spite of mischief, for lucks sake.  [Exit Parson. Want. 
I'll follow you, and do what I can to be merry.  Baud. 
Why, he stands already.  Want. 
Peace, let me alone, I'll make him Jostle, like the miller's Mare, and stand like the Dun Cow, till thou may'st milk him.  Baud. 
Pray break him of his miserableness, it is one of the chief Exceptions I have against him; he reared a puppy once, till it was ten days old, with three hap 'worth of milk, and then with his own Dagger slew it, and made me dress it: blessed myself to see him eat it, and he bid me beg the Litter, and swore it was sweeter and wholesomer than sucking rabbits, or London Pigs, which he called Belmen's issue.  Want. 
Hark, he calls me, we must humour him a little, he'll Parson calls within. Why sweet heart. rebel else.   

ACT. II. SCEN. VII.  Enter (at the windows) the Widow and Master Careless, Mistress Pleasant and Master Wild, Captain, Master Sad, Constant, Jolly, Secret, a Table and Knives ready for Oysters. Wid. 
YOu re welcome all, but especially Master Jolly; no reply, with I thank your Ladyship.  Pleas. 
I beseech you, Sir, let us never be better acquainted.  Jolly. 
I shall endeavour, Lady, and fail in nothing that is in my She speaks to Master Jolly power to disoblige you; for there is none more ambitious of your ill Opinion than I.  Pleas. 
I rejoice at it, for the less Love, the better welcome still.  Wid. 
And as ever you had an ounce of Love for the Widow, be not Friends among yourselves.  Wild. 
Aunt, though we were at strife when we were alone, yet now we unite like a Politic State against the common Enemy.  Pleas. 
The common Enemy, what is that?  Wild. 
Women, and Lovers in general.  Wid. 
Nay, than we have a party Niece, claim; quickly, now is the time, according to the Proverb; Keep a thing seven years, and then if thou hast no use on't throw't away.  Pleas. 
Agreed, let's challenge our Servants; by the Love they have professed, they cannot in honour refuse to join with us; and see where they come.—  Enter Sadd and Constant, and meet Secret, she whispers this to Sadd. Secret. 
Sir, 'tis done.  Sadd. 
Be secret and grave, I'll warrant our design will take as we can wish.  Const. 
Sweet Mistress Pleasant.  Wid. 
Servant Sad.  Sadd. 
Madam.  Wid. 
We are threatened to have a War waged against us, will you not second us?  Sadd. 
With these youths we'll do enough, Madam.  Widd. 
I'll swear my Servant gave hit for hit this morning, as if he had been a Master in the Noble Science of Wit.  Pleas. 
Mine laid about him with spick and span new Arguments, not like the same Man, his old sayings and precedents laid by.  Wid. 
Thus armed, then, we'll stand and defy them.  Wild. 
Where's your Points, sure Aunt, this should be your Wedding day, for you have taken the Man for better for worse.  Wid. 
No, Nephew, this will not prove the day that we shall either give or take a Ring.  Carel. 
Hang me, if I know you can go back again with your Honour.  Wild. 
Or in Justice refuse him Liberty, that has served out his time; either marry him or provide for him, for he is maimed in your service.  Wid. 
Why Servant Sad? you'll arm; my Nephew has thrown the first dart at you.  Capt. 
Hast hit, hast hit?  Wild. 
No, Captain, 'twas too wide.  Capt. 
Too wide? Marry he's an ill Marksman that shoots wider than a Widow.  Jolly. 
We are both in one hole, Captain; but I was loath to venture my Opinion, lest her Ladyship should think I was angry; for I have a good mind to fall upon the Widow.  Pleas. 
You're a constant Man, Master Jolly; you have been in that mind this twelvemonth's day.  Const. 
You are in the right, Madam; she has it to show under his hand, but she will not come in the List with him again; she threw him the last year.  Wid. 
Come, shall we eat Oysters? Who's there? call for some Wine, Master Jolly; you are not warm yet, pray be free, you are at home.  Jolly. 
Your Ladyship is merry.  Wid. 
You do not take it ill, to have me assure you you are at home here?  Wild. 
Such another invitation (though in jest) will take away Master Sadd's stomach. Oysters net brought in yet.  Sad. 
No, faith, Ned, though she should take him, it will not take away my stomach; my Love is so fixed I may wish my wishes, but she shall never want them to wait upon hers.  Pleas. 
A Traitor, bind him, has pulled down aside; profess your Love thus public?  Jolly. 
I by my faith, continue Master Sad, give it out you Love, and call it a new Love, a Love never seen before, we'll all come to it as your Friends.  Sadd. 
Gentlemen, still I Love; and if she to whom I thus sacrifice will not reward it, yet the worst Malice can say, is, I was unfortunate and misfortunate; not false made me so.  Jolly. 
In what Chapter shall we find this written, and what verse? you should preach with a Method, Master Sad.  Wid. 
Gentlemen, if ever he spoke so much dangerous sense before (either of Love or Reason) hang me.  Sad. 
Madam, my Love is no news where you are; Know, your scorn has made it public; and though it could gain no return from you; yet others have esteemed me for the Faith and Constancy I have paid here.  Pleas. 
Did not I foretell you of his Love? I foresaw this danger, shall I never live to see Wit and Love dwell together?  Capt. 
I am but a poor Soldier, and yet never reached to the Honour of being a Lover; yet from my own observations, Master Sad, take a Truth; 'tis a folly to believe any Woman loves a Man for being constant to another, they dissemble their hearts only; and hate a Man in Love worse than a Wencher.  Jolly. 
And they have Reason; for if they have the grace to be kind, he that loves the Sex may be theirs.  Carel. 
When your constant Lover, if a Woman have a mind to him, and be blessed with so much grace to discover it; He, out of the noble mistake of Honour hates her for it, and tells it perchance, and preaches Reason to her Passion, and cries, miserable Beauty, to be so unfortunate as to inhabit in so much frailty.  Capt. 
This counsel makes her hate him more than she loved before; These are troubles, those that love are subject to, while we look on and laugh, to see both thus slaved while we are free.  Carl. 
My prayers still shall be, Lord deliver me from Love.  Capt. 
'Tis Plague, Pestilence, Famine, Sword, and sometimes sudden death.  Sadd. 
Yet I love, I must love, I will love, and I do love.  Capt. 
In the present tense.  Wid. 
No more of this Argument, for love's sake.  Capt. 
By any means, Madam, give him leave to love, and you are resolved to walk tied up in your own Arms, with your Love as visible in your Face, as your Mistress's colours in your Hat; that any Porter at Charingcross may take you like a Letter at the Carriers, and having read the superscription, deliver Master Sad to the fair hands of Mistress or my Lady such a one, lying at the sign of the hard heart.  Pleas. 
And she, if she has wit (as I believe she hath) will scarce pay the Post for the packet.  Wid. 
Treason, how now Niece, join with the Enemy?  Capt. 
A health, Ned, what shall I call it? They give the Captain Wine.  Carel. 
To Master Sad, he needs it that avows himself a Lover.  Sadd. 
Gentlemen, you have the Advantage, the Time, the Place, the Company; But we may meet when your wits shall not have such advantage as my Love.  Pleas. 
No more of Love, I am so sick on't.  Const. 
By your Pardon, Mistress, I must not leave Love thus unguarded, I vow myself his follower.  Jolly. 
Much good may Love do him, give me a Glass of Wine here; Will, let them keep company with the blind Boy, give us his Mother, and let them preach again; hear that will, he has good luck, persuades me 'tis an ugly sin to lie with a handsome Woman.  Capt. 
A pox upon my Nurse, she frighted me so when I was young with stories of the Devil, I was almost fourteen ere I could prevail with Reasons to unbind my Reason, it was so slaved to Faith and Conscience; she made me believe Wine was an evil spirit, and Fornication was like the Whore of Babylon, a fine face, but a Dragon under her petticoats; and that made me have a mind to peep under all I met since.  Wid. 
Fie, fie, for shame, do not talk so; are you not ashamed to glory in sin, as if variety of women were none.  Joll. 
Madam, we do not glory in Fornication; and yet I thank God, I cannot live without a woman.  Capt. 
Why, does your Ladyship think it a sin to lie with variety of handsome women? if it be, would I were the wickedest man in the company.  Pleas. 
You have been marked for an indifferent sinner; that way Captain.  Capt. 
Who I? No faith, I was a fool, but and I were to begin again, I would not do as I have done, I kept one; but if ever I keep another, Hang me; nor would I advise any friend of mine to do it.  Joll. 
Why, I am sure 'tis a provident and safe way; a man may always be provided and sound.  Pleas. 
Fie upon this discourse.  Capt. 
Those considerations betrayed me, A pox; it is a dull sin to travel, like a Carriers-horse, always one Road.  Wid. 
Fie, Captain, repent for shame, and Marry.  Capt. 
Your Ladyship would have said, Marry, and repent; No, though it be not the greatest pleasure, yet it is better than marrying; for when I am weary of her, my unconstancy is termed virtue, and I shall be said to turn to grace. Beware of women, for better for worse; for our wicked nature, when her sport is lawful, cloys straight; therefore, rather than Marry keep a Wench.  Joll. 
Faith, he is in the right, for 'tis the same thing in number and kind; and then the sport is quickened, and made poignant with sin.  Capt. 
Yet 'tis a fault, faith, and I'll persuade all my friends from it; especially here where any innovation is dangerous; 'twas the newness of the sin that made me suffer in the opinion of my friends; and I was condemned by all sorts of people; not that I sinned, but that I sinned no more.  Carel. 
Why I, hadst thou been wicked in fashion, and privily lain with every body, their guilt would have made them protect thee; so that to be more wicked is to be innocent at lest safe; A wicked world, Lord help us.  Capt. 
But being particular to her, and not in love, nor subject to it, taking an Antidote every morning, before I venture into those infectious places where Love Beauty dwells; this enraged the Maiden, Beauties of the Time, who thought it a prejudice to their Beauties to see me careless, and securely pass by their conquering eyes; my name being found amongst none of those that decked their Triumphs. But from this 'tis easy to be safe, for their Pride will not let them love, nor my leisure me. Then the old Ladies that pay for their pleasures; they, upon the news, beheld me with their natural frowns, despairing when their money could not prevail; and hated me when they heard that I for my pleasure would pay as large as they.  Joll. 
Gentlemen, take warning; a Fee from every man; For by this day, there's strange counsel in this confession.  Wid. 
Captain, you forget to pledge Mr. Careless; here, will you not drink a cup of wine, who's there? Bring the Oysters.  Capt. 
Yes, Madam, if you please.  Wild. 
Proceed, Captain.  Pleas. 
Fie, Mr. Wild, are you not ashamed to encourage him to this filthy discourse.  Capt. 
A glass of wine then; and I'll drink to all the new married Wives that grieve to think, at what rate their Fathers purchase a little husband. These when they lie thirsting for the thing they paid so dear for.  [Enter a Servant with Oysters. Carel. 
These, methinks, should be thy friends, and point thee out as a man for them.  Capt. 
Yes, till the faithful Nurse cries; Alas, Madam, he keeps such a one, he has enough at home; than she swells with envy and rage against us both, calls my Mistress ugly, common, unsafe; and me, a weak secure fool.  Joll. 
These are strange truths, Madam.  Wid. 
ay, ay, but these Oysters are a better jest.  Capt. 
But she's abused that will let such reason tame her desire, and a fool in love's School; else she would not be ignorant that variety is such a friend to love, that he which rises a sunk coward from the Lady's bed would find new fires at her Maids; nor ever yet did the man want fire, if the woman would bring the fuel.  Pleas. 
For God's sake, leave this discourse.  Wid. 
The Captain has a mind we should eat no Oysters.  Wild. 
Aunt, we came to be merry, and we will be merry, and you shall stay it out; Proceed Captain.  Wid. 
Fie Captain, I'm ashamed to hear you talk thus: Marry, than you will have a better opinion of women.  Capt. 
Marry! yes, this knowledge will invite me, it is a good encouragement, is it not think you? What is your opinion? were not these Marriages made in Heaven? By this good day, all the world is mad, and makes haste to be fooled, but we four: And I hope there's none of us believes there has any Marriages been made in Heaven, since Adam.  Joll. 
By my faith, 'tis thought the Devil gave the Ring there to.  Wid. 
Nephew, I'll swear I'll be gone.  Capt. 
Hold her, Ned, she goes not yet; there's a fourth kind of women that concerns her more than all the rest, Ecce signum— She is He points to Sadd. one of those who, clothed in Purple, triumph over their dead husbands; these will be caught at first sight, and at first sight must be catched; 'tis a Bird that must be shot flying, for they never sit; if a man delay they cool, and fall into considerations of Jointure, and friend's opinion; in which time, if she hears thou keep'st a Wench, thou hadst better be a Beggar in her opinion; for then her Pride, it may be, would betray her to the vanity of setting up a proper man; (as they call it) but for a Wencher no Argument prevails with your Widow; for she believes they have spent too much that way, to be able to pay her due benevolence.  Wid. 
As I live, I'll be gone if you speak one word more of this uncivil subject.  Joll. 
Captain, let me kiss thy cheek, for that Widow; you understand this, Widow? I say no more; Here Captain, here's to thee; as it goes down, A pox of care.  Wid. 
Jesus! Mr. Jolly, have you no observations of the Court, that are so affected with this of the Town?  Const. 
Faith, they say, there's good sport there, sometimes.  Pleas. 
Mr. Jolly is afraid to let us partake of his knowledge.  Joll. 
No faith, Madam.  Capt. 
By this drink, if he stay till I have eaten a few more, I'll describe it.  Joll. 
What should I say, 'tis certain the Court is the bravest place in the Kingdom, for sport, if it were well looked to, and the Game preserved fair; But as 'tis, a man may sooner make a set in the Strand. And it will never be better, whilst your divine Lovers inhabit there.  Carel. 
Let the King make me Master of the Game.  Capt. 
And admit us Laiety-lovers.  Joll. 
I would he would; for as 'tis, there's no hopes amongst the Ladies; besides, 'tis such an example to see a King and Queen good, Husband and Wife, that to be kind will grow out of fashion.  Capt. 
Nay, that's not all, for the women grow malicious, because they are not courted; nay, they bred all the last mischiefs, and called the king's chastity a neglect of them.  Joll. 
Thou art in the right; An Edward, or a Harry, with seven Queens in Buckram, that Haught among the men, and Stroked the women, are the Monarchs they wish to bow to; they love no tame Princes, but lions in the Forest.  Capt. 
Why, and those were properly called the Fathers of their People, that were indeed akin to their Nobility; now they wear out their youth and beauty, without hope of a monumental Ballad, or Trophy of a Lie-bell that shall hereafter point at such a Lord, and cry that is the royal Son of such a one.  Joll. 
And these were the ways that made them powerful at home; for the City is a kind of tame Beast; you may lead her by the horns any whither, if you but tickle them in the ear sometimes. Queen Bess, of famous memory, had the trick on't; and I have heard them say, In Eighty eighty, ere I was born, as well I can remember, she rode to Tilbury on that bonny Beast, the Mayor.  Capt. 
I would I might counsel him; I'd so reform the Court.  Carel. 
Never too soon; for now, when a stranger comes in, and spies a Covey of a beauty's, would make a falconer unhood, before he can draw his Leash he is warned that's a markt Partridge; and that, and every he, has by their example a particular she.  Wild. 
By this light, the six fair Maids stand like the Working-days in the Almanac; one with A scored upon her breast, that is as much to say, I belong to such a Lord; the next with B for an elder Brother; C for such a Knight; D possessed with melancholy, and at her breast you may knock an hour ere you get an answer, and then she'll tell you there's no lodging there; she has a constant fellow Courtier that has taken up all her heart to his own use: in short, All are disposed of, but the good Mother; and she comes in like the Sabbath, at the weeks end; and I warrant her make any one rest that comes at her.  Carel. 
I marry; but if she were like the Jews Sabbath, it were somewhat; but this looks like a Broken Commandment, that has had more work done upon her, than all the week besides.  Capt. 
And what think you, is not this finely carried? you that are about the King, counsel him, if he will have his sport fair, he must let the Game be free, as it has been in former Ages; then a stranger that has wit, good means, and handsome clothes, no sooner enters the privy Chamber, and beat about with three graceful legs, but he spring a Mistress that danced as well as he, Sung better, as free as fair; those at first sight could speak, for wit is always acquainted: These fools must be akin ere they can speak; and now the friends make the bargain, and they go to Bed ere they know why.  Joll. 
Faith, he's in the right, you shall have a Buzzard now hover and beat after a pretty Wench, till she is so weary of him she's forced to take her Bed for covert, and find less danger in being trussed then in flying.  Capt. 
And what becomes of all this pother, after he has made them sport for one night, to see him touse the Quarry, he carries her into the Country, and there they two fly at one another till they are weary.  Carel. 
And all this mischief comes of Love and Constancy; we shall never see better days till there be an Act of Parliament against it; Enjoining Husband not to Till their Wives, but change and lay them fallow.  Joll. 
A pox, the women will never consent to it; they'll be tilled to death first.  Wid. 
Gentlemen, you are very bold with the sex.  Capt. 
Faith, Madam, it is our care of them; why you see they are married at fourteen, yield a Crop and a half, and then die, 'tis merely their love that destroy'em; for if they get a good husbandman, the poor things yield their very hearts.  Pleas. 
And do you blame their loves, Gentlemen?  Joll. 
No, not their love, but their discretion; let them love, and do, a God's name; but let them do with discretion.  Wild. 
But how will you amend this?  Joll. 
Instead of two Beds and a Physician; I'd have the State prescribe two Wives and a Mistress.  Wild. 
Ho! it will never be granted; the State is made up of old men, and they find work enough with one.  Joll. 
We will petition the lower House, there are young men, and (if it were but to be factious) would pass it, if they thought the upper house would Cross it; Besides, they ought to do it, Death! they provide against cutting down old Trees, and preserving highways and Post-horses, and let pretty Wenches run to decay?  Carel. 
Why may it not come within the Statute of Depopulation? As I live, the State ought to take care of those Pretty creatures; Be you Judge, Madam; Is't not a sad sight to see a rich young Beauty, with all her Innocence and Blossoms on, subject to some rough rude Fellow, that ploughs her; and esteems and uses her as a chattel, till she is so lean, a man may find as good Grass upon the Common, where it may be she'll sit coughing with sunk Eyes, so weak that a Boy (with a Dog) that can but whistle, may keep a score of them?  Wid. 
You are strangely charitable to Our Sex, on a sudden.  Capt. 
I know not what they are; but for my part, I'll be a Traitor ere I'll look on, and see Beauty go thus to wrack; it is enough, custom has made us suffer them to be enclosed; I am sure, they were created common, and for the use of Man, and not intended to be subject to jealousy and choler, or to be bought or sold, or let for term of lives or years, as they are now, or else sold at Outcries; Oh! Yes; who'll give most take her.  Wid. 
Why do not some of you, Excellent men, Marry, and mend all these Errors, by your good Example?  Joll. 
Because we want Fortunes, to buy rich wives, or keep poor ones, and be loath to get Beggars, or whores, as well as I love 'em.  Pleas. 
Why, are all their Children so that have no fortune think you?  Joll. 
No, not all; I have heard of Whittington and his Cat, and others, that have made Fortunes by strange means; But I scarce believe my Son would rise from Hope, a half penny, and a Lambskin; And the Wenches commonly having more Wit & Beauty then Money, foreseeing small Portions, grow sad, and read Romances, till their Wit spy some unfortunate merit like their own, without money too, and they two sigh after one another, till they grow mysterious in Colours, and become a Proverb for their constancy; and when their Love has worn out the cause, marry in the end a new Couple, then grown ashamed of the knowledge they so long hunted, at length part, by consent, and vanish into Abigail and Governor.  Wid. 
Well Gentlemen, Excuse me for this One time; and if ever I invite you to Dinner again, punish me with such another discourse, in the mean time let's go in and dine, meat stays for us.  [Exe. Omnes. Capt. 
Faith Madam, we were resolved to be merry; We have not met these three years till today, and at the Bear we meant to have dined; and since your Ladyship would have Our Company, you must pardon Our humour; here Mistress Sad, here's the widow's health to you.    


ACT. III. SCEN. I.  Enter all from Dinner. Wid. 
NEphew, how do you dispose of yourself this afternoon?  Wild. 
We have a design we must pursue, which will rid you of all this troublesome Company; and we'll make no Excuse, because you peeped into our privacies today.  Carel. 
Your humble servant, Ladies; Gentlemen, we'll leave you to pursue your fortunes.  [Exit Carel. Joll. 
Farewell Widow, may'st thou live unmarried till thou runnest away with thyself.  [Exit Jolly. Capt. 
No, no, When that day comes, Command the humblest of your Servants.  [Exit Captain. Wild. 
Farewell Aunt; sweet Mistress Pleasant, I wish you good fortune.  [Exit Wild. Wid. 
Farewell, farewell Gentlemen; Niece, now if we could be rid of these troublesome Lovers too, we would go see a Play.  Pleas. 
Rid of them? Why, they are but now in season; as I live, She speaks aside .I would do as little to give mine content as any she in Town, and yet I do not grudge him the happiness of carrying me to a Play.  Wid. 
ay, but the world will talk, because they pretend; and than we shall be sure to meet my Nephew there, and his wild Company, and they will laugh to see us together.  Pleas. 
Who will you have? Tim the Butler, or Formal your Gentleman Usher? I would take Philip the foreman of the shop as soon.  Wid. 
Let's mask ourselves, and take Secret, and go alone by water.  Pleas. 
Yes, and follow her like one of my Ants of the Suburbs; it is a good way to know what you may yield in a Market; for I'll undertake, there are those shall bid for you before the play will be done.  Secret. 
As I live, Madam, Mistress Pleasant is in the right; I had such a kindness offered me once, and I came to a price with him in knavery; and hang me, if the Rogue was not putting the earnest of his affection into my hand.  Wid. 
Let's go to the Glass-house then.  Pleas. 
I'll go to a Play with my Servant, and so shall you; hang Opinion, and we'll go to the Glass-house afterwards; it is too hot to Sup early.  Secret. 
Pray Madam go, they say 'tis a fine Play, and a Knight writ it.  Pleas. 
Pray let Secret prevail, I'll propose it to the Lovers; in the mean time go you, and bid the Coachman make ready the Coach.  (Secret whispers Sadd, 'twill take.) Secret. 
Alas, Madam, he's sick, poor fellow, and gone to bed, he could not wait at Dinner.  Wid. 
Sick?  Pleas. 
Why, see how all things work for the young men, either their Coach, or a Foot; Mr. Constant, what think you of seeing a Play this afternoon? is it not too hot to venture, this Infectious time?  Const. 
Fie, Madam, there's no danger, the Bill decreased Twenty last week.  Sad. 
I swear, they say, 'tis a very good Play today.  Wid. 
Shall we go, Niece?  Pleas. 
Faith 'tis hot, and there's nobody but we.  Sadd. 
does that hinder? pray Madam, grudge us not the favour of venturing yourself in Our company.  Wid. 
Come, leave this Ceremony, I'll go in, and put on my Mask; Secret shall bring you yours;  Pleas. 
No, I'll go, and put it on within.  [Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. III. SCEN. II.  Enter Wild, Careless, Captain and Jolly. Carel. 
BY this day, you have nettled the Widow.  Wild. 
The Captain neglected his dinner for his mirth, as if he had forgot to eat.  Joll. 
When did he oversee his drinking so?  Capt. 
Gentlemen, still it is my fortune to make your worships Merry.  Wild. 
As I live, Captain, I subscribe, and am content to hold my wit as Tenant to thee; and tonight I'll invite you to Supper, where it shall not be lawful to speak till thou has victualled thy Man of War.  Capt. 
Shall's be merry? what shall we have?  Wild. 
Half a score dishes of meat, choose them yourself.  Capt. 
Provide me then the Chines fried, and the Salmon Calvered, a Carp, and black sauce, red-deer in the blood, and an Assembly of Woodcocks, and Jack-snipes, so fat you would think they had their winding Sheets on; And upon these, as their Pages, let me have wait your Sussex Wheat-Ear, with a Feather in his Cap; Over all which let our Countryman, General Chine of Beef, Command: I hate your French pottage, that looks as the Cook maid had more hand in it then the Cook.  Wild. 
I'll promise you all this.  Carel. 
And let me alone to Cook the Fish.  Capt. 
You Cook it? No, no, I left an honest fellow in Town, when I went into Italy, signior Ricardo Ligones, one of the ancient house of the Armenian Ambassadors; if he be alive he shall be our Cook.  Wild. 
Is he so Excellent at it?  Capt. 
Excellent? You shall try, you shall try; Why, I tell you, I saw him once dress a shooing-horn, and a joiner's apron, that the Company left Pheasant for it.  Wild. 
A Shooing-horn?  Capt. 
Yes, a shooing-horn; marry, there was Garlic in the Sauce.  Wild. 
Is this all you would have?  Capt. 
This, and a Bird of Paradise, to entertain the rest of the night, and let me alone to Cook her.  Wild. 
A Bird of Paradise, what's that?  Capt. 
A Girl of Fifteen, smooth as Satin, White as her Sunday Apron, Plump, and of the first down: I'll take her with her guts in her Belly, and warm her with a Country dance or two, then pluck her, and lay her dry betwixt a couple of sheets; There pour into her so much oil of Wit as will make her turn to a man, & stick into her heart three corns of whole love, to make her taste of what she is doing, then having strewed a man all over her, shut the door, and leave us, we'll work ourselves into such a Sauce as you can never surfeit on, so Poignant and yet no Hogough; Take heed of a hogo, your Onion and woman make the worst sauce; This shook together by an English Cook (for your French seasoning spoils many a woman) and there's a Dish for a King.  Wild. 
For the first Part, I'll undertake.  Capt. 
But this for Supper; Capt. No more of this now; This afternoon, as you are true to the Pettycoat, observe your Instructions, and meet at Ned's house in the Evening.  Omnes. 
We will not fail.  Capt. 
I must write to Wanton, to know how things stand at home, and to acquaint her how we have thrived with the Old Lady today.  Wild. 
Whither will you go to write?  Capt. 
To thy house, 'tis hard by, there's the Fleece.  Joll. 
Do, and in the mean time I'll go home and dispatch a little business, and meet you.  Wild. 
Make haste then.  Joll. 
Where shall I meet you?  Wild. 
Whither shall we go till it be time to attend the design.  Carel. 
Let's go to Court for an hour.  Joll. 
Do, I'll meet you at the Queen's side.  Wild. 
No, prithee, we are the Mounsieurs new come Over; and if we go fine they will laugh at Us, and think we believe ourselves so; if not, than they will abuse our clothes, and swear we went into France only to have our cloaks cut shorter.  Carel. 
Will you go see a Play?  Capt. 
Do, and thither I'll come to you, if it be none of our Gentlemen Poets, that excuse their writings with a Prologue that professes they are no Scholars.  Joll. 
On my word this is held the best penned of the time, and he has writ a very good Play; By this Day, it was extremely applauded.  Capt. 
does he write Plays by the day; Indeed a man would ha' judged him a labouring Poet.  Joll. 
A Labouring Poet? by this hand he's a Knight; upon my recommendation venture to see it; hang me if you be not extremely well satisfied.  Carel. 
A Knight and write Plays? it may be, but 'tis strange to us; so they say there are other Gentlemen Poets without Land or Latin; this was not ordinary; prithee when was he knighted?  Jolly. 
In the North; the last great knighting, when 'twas God's great Mercy we were not all Knights.  VVild. 
I'll swear, they say, there are Poets that have more Men in Liveries, than Books in their studies.  Capt. 
And what think you, Gentlemen, are not these things to start a Man? I believe 'tis the first time you have found them lie at the sign of the Page, Footmen and gilded Coaches; They were wont to lodge at the thin Cloak, they and their Muses made up the Family; And thence sent Scenes to their Patrons, like Boys in at windows, and one would return with a Doublet, another with a pair of Breeches, a third with a little ready Money; which, together with their credit with a company, in three Terms you rarely saw a Poet repaired.  Jolly. 
This truth nobody denies.  VVild. 
Prithee let us resolve what we shall do, lest we meet with some of them: for it seems they swarm, and I fear nothing like a Dedication, though it be but of himself; For I must hear him say more than either I deserve or he believes; I hate that in a Poet, they must be dull, or all upon all Subjects; so that they can oblige none but their Muse.  Jolly. 
I perceive by this you will not see the Play; what think you of going to Sims, to Bowls, till I come?  Carel. 
Yes, if you will go to see that Comedy; but there is no reason we should pay for our coming in, and Act too; like some whose interest in the Timber robs them of their Reason, and they run as if they had stolen a Bias.  Wild. 
Resolve what you will do, I am contented.  Carel. 
Let's go walk in the Spring-garden.  VVild. 
I'll do it for Company, but I had as live be rid in the Horse-market, as walk in that fools fair; where neither wit nor money is, nor sure to take up a Wench; there's none but honest Women.  Capt. 
A pox on't, what should we do there? let's go and cross the Field to Pikes, her kitchen is cool Winter and Summer.  Carel. 
I like that motion well, but we have no time, and I hate to do that business by half; after Supper, if you will, we'll go and make a night on't.  Capt. 
Well, I must go write, therefore resolve of somewhat; shall I propose an indifferent place where 'tis probable we shall all meet.  Omnes. 
Yes.  Capt. 
Go you before to the Devil, and I'll make haste after.  Carel. 
Agreed, we shall be sure of good Wine there and in Fresco, for he is never without Patent snow.  VVild. 
Patent snow, what doth that project hold?  Jolly. 
Yes, faith, and now there is a Commission appointed for Toasts against the next Winter.  Wild. 
Marry, they are wise, and foresaw the Parliament, and were resolved their Monopolies should be no grievance to the People.  Capt. 
Farewell, you will be sure to meet.  Omnes. 
Yes, yes.  [Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. III. SCEN. III.  Enter Wanton and her Maid, with her lap full of things. VVant. 
BId them ply him close and flatter him, and rail upon the old Lady and the Captain; and, do you hear, give him some hints to begin the story of his life, do it handsomely, and you shall see how the Sack will clip his tongue.  Maid. 
I warrant you, I'll fit him.  VVant. 
When he is in his discourse, leave him and come down into the Parlour, and steal away his box with the false Rings that stands by his bedside; I have all his little Plate here already.  Maid. 
Make you haste, I'll warrant you I'll dress him.  [Exeunt.  

ACT. III. SCEN. IV.  Enter the Captain with a Letter in his hand, and his Boy to him with a Candle, his going to write the superscription. Boy. 
SIR, the Lady Loveall passed by even now.  Capt. 
The Lady Loveall? which way went she.  Boy. 
To the rich Lady the Widow, where your Worship dined.  Capt. 
'Tis no matter; here, carry this Letter, and bring an answer to the Devil quickly; and tell her we'll stay there till the time be fit for the design.  [Exeunt.  

ACT. III. SCEN. V.  Enter Careless, Wild, and a Drawer, at the Devil. Careless. 
JAck, How goes the world? Bring us some bottles of the best Wine.  Drawer. 
You shall, Sir; your Worship is welcome into England.  Carel. 
Why look you, who says a Drawer can say nothing, but anon, anon, Sir? score a quart of Sack in the half-moon.  Draw. 
Your Worship is merry; but I'll fetch you that, Sir, shall speak Greek, and make your Worship prophesy, you drank none such in your journey.  VVild. 
Do it then, and make a hole in this Angel thou mayst creep through; who is't that peeps, a Fiddler? Bring him by the Gives him an Angel .Ears.  [Enter the tailor that pipes. Taylor. 
A tailor, an't like your Worship.  Carel. 
A tailor? hast thou a stout Faith?  Taylor. 
I have had, an't like your Worship; But now I am in despair.  Carl. 
Why then thou art damned; go, go home, and throw thyself into thine own Hell, it is the next way to the other.  Taylor. 
I hope your Worship is not displeased.  Carel. 
What dost do here? a tailor without faith, dost come to take measure of ours?  Taylor. 
No, I come to speak with one Master Jolly, a Courtier, a very fine spoken Gentleman, and a just Compter, but one of the worst paymasters in the world.  VVild. 
As thou lov'st me, let's keep him here till he comes, and make him valiant with Sack that he may urge him till he beats Aside .him; we shall have the sport, and be revenged upon the Rogue for dunning a Gentleman in a Tavern.  Carel. 
I'll charge him: Here drink, poor fellow, and stay in the next room till he comes.  Taylor. 
I thank your Worship, but I am fasting; and if it please your Worship to call for a dozen of Manchets that I may eat a crust first, then I'll make bold with a glass of your Sack.  VVild. 
Here, here, drink in the mean time, fetch him some bread.  Taylor. 
Will your Worship have me drink all this vessel of Sack?  Carel. 
Yes, yes, off with't, 'twill do you no harm. The Taylor drinks.  VVild. 
Why do you not take some Order with that Jolly to make him pay thee?  Taylor. 
I have petitioned him often, but can do no good.  Carel. 
A pox upon him, petition him, his heart is hardened to ill, threaten to arrest him; nothing but Sergeant can touch his Conscience.  Taylor. 
Truly, Gentlemen, I have reason to be angry, for he uses me ill, when I ask him for my money. Jolly speaks within.  Jolly. 
Where is Master Wild, and Master Careless?  Taylor. 
I hear his voice.  Jolly. 
Let the Coach stay. How now, who would he speak with?  [Enter Jolly. VVild. 
Do not you know?  Jolly. 
Yes, and be you Judge if the Rogue does not suffer deservedly; I have bid him any time this twelvemonth but send his wife, and I'll pay her, and the Rogue replies, nobody shall lie with his wife but himself.  Carel. 
Nay, if you be such a one.  Taylor. 
No more they shall not, I am but a poor man.  Jolly. 
By this hand, he's drunk.  Taylor. 
Nay then, I arrest you in mine own Name at his Majesty's Suit.  VVild. 
As I live, thou shalt not beat him.  Jolly. 
Beat him? I'll kiss him, I'll pay him, and carry him about with me, and be at the charge of Sack to keep him in the humour.  Taylor. 
Help, rescue, I'll have his body, no Bail shall serve. He hugs the quart pot.  Enter Drawer. Draw. 
Sir, yonder is a Gentleman would speak with you; I do not like his followers.  Joll. 
What are they, Bailiffs?  Drawer. 
Little better.  Joll. 
Send him up alone, and stand you ready at the Stairs feet.  Carel. 
How can that be?  Joll. 
It is the Scrivener at the Corner, pick a Quarrel with him for coming into our Company; the Drawers will be armed behind them, and we will so rout the Rascals; take your swords, and let him sleep.  Carel. 
What Scrivener?  Joll. 
Cropp the Brownist, he that the Ballad was made on.  Carel. 
What Ballad?  Joll. 
Have not you heard of the scrivener's Wife that brought the Blackamoor from the holy Land, and made him a Brownist; and in pure charity lay with him, and was delivered of a magpie; a pied Prophet; which when the elect saw, they prophesied, if it lived, 'twould prove a great enemy to their Sect; for the Midwife cried out, 'twas born a Bishop, with Tippet and white-sleeves; at which the zealous Mother cried, Down with the Idol; so the Midwife and she in pure devotion killed it.  Wild. 
Killed it? what became of them?  Joll. 
Why, they were taken and condemned, and suffered under a Catholic Sheriff, that afflicted them with the litany all the way from Newgate to the Gallows, which in roguery he made to be set up Altarwise too, and hanged them without a Psalm.  Wild. 
But how took they that breach of Privilege?  Joll. 
I know not, Gregory turned them off, and so they descended, and became Brown-martyrs.  Wild. 
And is the husband at door now?  Joll. 
Yes, yes, but he's married again to a rich Widow at Wapping, a Wench of another temper, one that you cannot please better than by abusing him; I always pick quarrels with him, that she may reconcile us, the peace is always worth a dinner, at least. Hark, I hear him.— Save you Mr. Cropp, you are come in the nick to pledge a health.  Crop. 
No, Sir, I have other business, shall I be paid my money, or no?  Joll. 
Yes. Jolly drinks.  Crop. 
Sir?  Joll. 
You asked whether you should be paid your money, or no, and I said, Yes.  Crop. 
Pray, Sir, be plain.  Carel. 
And be you so, Sir; how durst you come into this Room, and company, without leave?  Crop. 
Sir, I have come into good Lords company, ere now.  Carel. 
It may be so, but you shall either fall upon your knees, and pledge this health, or you come no more into Lords companies, no, By these hilts.  Crop. 
'Tis Idolatry; Do, martyr me, I will not kneel, nor join They tug him and make him kneel .in sin with the wicked.  Joll. 
Either kneel, or I'll tear thy Cloak, which by the age and looks, may be that which was writ for in the time of the Primitive Church.  Crop. 
Pay me, and I'll wear a better; it would be honestlier done, than to abuse this, and profane the Text; a Text that shows your Bishops in those days wore no Lawn-sleeves; and you may be ashamed to protect him that will not pay his debts; The cries of the Widow will come against you for it.  Joll. 
Remember, Sirrah, the dinners and suppers, fat Venison and good words, I was fain to give you, Christening your Children still, by the way of brokage; count that charge, and how often I have kept you from fining for Sheriff, and thou art in my debt; then I am damned for speaking well of thee so often against my conscience, which you never consider.  Crop. 
I am an honest man, Sir.  Joll. 
Then ushering your wife, and Mistress Ugly her daughter, to Plays and Masques at Court; you think these courtesies deserve nothing in the hundred; 'tis true, they made room for themselves with their dagger Elbows; and when Spider your daughter laid about her with her breath, the Devil would not have sat near her.  Crop. 
You did not borrow my money with this language.  Joll. 
No, Sirrah; then I was fain to flatter you, and endure the familiarity of your family, and hear (nay fain sometimes to join in) the lying praises of the holy Sister that expired at Tyburn.  Crop. 
Do, abuse her, and be cursed; 'tis well known she died a He offers to go, and Jolly stays him. martyr; and her blood will be upon some of you, 'tis her orphan's money I require; and this is the last time I'll ask it, I'll find a way to get it.  Joll. 
Art serious? By that light, I'll consent, and take it for an infinite Obligation if thou wilt teach the rest of my Creditors that trick; 'twill save me a world of labour; For, hang me if I know how to do't.  Crop. 
Well, Sir, since I see your resolution, I shall make it my business.  Carel. 
Prithee, let's be rid of this fool.  Crop. 
Fool? let him pay the fool his money, and he'll be gone.  Joll. 
No, Sir, not a farthing; 'twas my business to borrow it, and it shall be yours to get it in again; nay, By this hand, I'll be feasted too, and have good words; nay, thou shalt lend me more ere thou get'st this again.  Crop. 
I'll lay my Action upon you.  Joll. 
Your Action you Rogue, lay two. They kick him and thrust him out the room.  Carel. 
Lay three for Battery; What have we here? a she Creditor too? who would she speak with?  Enter Faithful, Wild and Careless return and meet her. Wild. 
She looks as if she had trusted in her time.  Carel. 
Would you speak with any here, old Gentlewoman?  Faithf. 
My business is to Mr. Jolly.  Carel. 
From yourself, or are you but a Messenger?  Faithf. 
My business, Sir, is from a Lady.  Carel. 
From a Lady? from what Lady, pray? Why so coy?  Faithf. 
From a Lady in the Town.  Carel. 
Hoh! hoh! from a Lady in the Town; Is it possible I should have guessed you came from a Lady in the Suburbs, or some Country-madam, by your riding face?  [Enter Jolly again. Joll. 
I think we have routed the Rascals. Faithful? what makes thy gravity in a Tavern?  Faithf. 
Sport, it seems, for your saucy companions.  Joll. 
Ho, ho, Mull, ho; No Fury, Faithful.  Faithf. 
'Tis well, Sir; my Lady presents her service to you, and hath sent you a Letter, there's my business.  Carel. 
Prithee, who is her Lady?  Joll. 
The Lady Loveall.  Carel. 
Oh, oh, does she serve that old Lady? God help her.  Faithf. 
God help her: Pray for yourself, Sir, my Lady scorns your prayers.  Joll. 
Faithful, come hither; Prithee is thy Lady drunk?  Faithf. 
Drunk, Sir?  Joll. 
ay, drunk, or mad, she'd never writ this else; she requires me, here, to send back by you the Pearl she gave me this morning; which sure she'd never do if she were sober; for you know, I earned them hard.  Faithf. 
I know? What do I know? you will not defame my Lady, will you?  Carel. 
By no means, this is by way of counsel; fie, give a thing, and take a thing; if he did not perform, he shall come at night, and pay his scores.  Faithf. 
'Tis well, Sir; is this your return for my lady's Favours? shall I have the Pearl, Sir?  Joll. 
No; and tell her 'tis the opinion of us all, he that opens her stinking Oyster is worthy of the Pearl.  Faithf. 
You are a foul-mouthed fellow, Sirrah; and I shall live to see you load a Gallows, when my Lady shall find the way to her own again.  Joll. 
If she miss, there are divers can direct her, you know; adieu, Faithful, do you hear? steal privately down by the backdoor, lest some knavish Boy spy thee, and call thine age, bawd.  [Exit Faithful. Carel. 
Prithee, who is this thing?  Joll. 
'Tis my Lady's Waiting-woman, her bawd, her she confessor, herself at second hand; her beginning was simple and below stairs, till her Lady finding her to be a likely promising bawd; secret as the Key at her Girdle, obedient as her thoughts, those virtues raised her from the flat Petticoat, and Kercher, to the Gorget and Bum-roll; and I remember 'twas good; sport at first, to see the Wench perplexed with her Metamorphosis; she since has been in love with all the Family, and now sighs after the Levite; and if he forsake her too, I prophesy, a Waiting-woman's curse will fall upon her, to die old, despised, poor, and out of fashion.  [Enter Capt. Capt. 
Why do you not hang out a painted cloth? and take two pence a piece, and let in all the tame fools at door, those sons of wonder that now gape, and think you mad.  Carel. 
'Tis no matter what they think, madness is proper here; are not Taverns Bacchus his Temples, the place of madness, does not the sign of madness hang out at the door?  Joll. 
While we within possess our joys and cups, as full of pleasure as weeping Niobe's afflicted eyes were swelled with grief and tears; Blessing on the cause that made our joys thus complete; for see Plutus in our Pockets, Mars by our sides, Bacchus in our head, self-love in our hearts, and change of Virgins in our Arms, Beauties whose eyes and hearts speak love and welcome; No rigid thinkers, no niggard beauties that maliciously rake up their fire in green sickness to preserve a spark that shall flame only in some dull day of Marriage; let such swear and forswear, till (of the whole Parish) they love each other least, whilst we wisely set out our cobwebs in the most perspicuous places to catch these foolish flies.  Carel. 
He's in the right; dost think we retreated hither to beat a bargain for a score of Sheep, or dispute the legality of Votes, and weigh the power of Prerogative and Parliament, and club for concluding Sack, or read the Fathers here, till we grow costive, like those that have worn their suffering Elbows bare, to find a knowledge to perplex'em? A pox on such brain-breaking thoughts; avoid them, and take with me into thy hand a glass of eternal Sack, and prophesy the restauration of senses, and the fall of a Lover from grace, which our dear friend, Mr. Jolly, will prove to whom the Lady Loveall (by Faithful lately departed) sent for the Pearl you wot of.  Capt. 
But, I hope, he had the grace to keep them.  Joll. 
No, no; I'm a fool, I.  Capt. 
Was not my Boy here?  Joll. 
No, we saw him not.  Capt. 
A pox of the Rogue, he's grown so lazy.  Wild. 
Your Boy is come in just now, and called for the key of the backdoor, there's women with him.  Capt. 
Oh! that's well, 'tis Wanton; I sent for her, to laugh over the story of the old Lady and her Pearl; where have you been all this while, Sirrah?  [Enter Boy. Boy. 
I could overtake the Coach, Sir, no sooner.  Capt. 
The Coach? what Coach?  Boy. 
The Lady Love-all's.  Capt. 
The Lady Love-all's? why what had you to do with her Coach?  Boy. 
I went to give her the Letter your worship sent her.  Capt. 
The Letter? what Letter?  Boy. 
That your worship gave me.  Capt. 
That I writ, at Ned's house, to Wanton?  Boy. 
The Letter you gave me, Sir, was directed to the Lady Loveall, and she stormed like a madwoman at the reading of it.  Carel. 
Why, thou wilt not beat the Boy for thy own fault? what Letter was it?  Capt. 
'Twas enough, only a relation of the Pearl, wherein she finds herself sufficiently abused to Wanton.  Joll. 
Now, Gentlemen, you have two to laugh at.  Capt. 
A pox of fooling, let's resolve what to do, there's no denying, for she has all the particulars under my hand.  Boy. 
You must resolve of something, for she's coming, and stayed only till the backdoor was opened.  Capt. 
How did she know I was here?  Boy. 
Your worship bade me tell her, you would stay here for her.  Carel. 
How came this mistake?  Capt. 
Why, the Devil ought us a shame it seems. You know I went home to give Wanton an account how we advanced in our design; and when I was writing the superscription, I remember the Boy came in and told me the Lady Loveall passed by.  Joll. 
And so, it seems, you in pure mistake directed your Letter to her.  Carel. 
Well, resolve what you'll do with her, when she comes.  Capt. 
Faith, bear it like men, 'tis but an old Lady lost; let's resolve to defy her, we are sure of our Pearl; but lest we prolong the war, take the first occasion you can all to avoid the room; when she's alone, I'll try whether she'll listen to a composition.  Joll. 
Have you no friends in the close Committee?  Capt. 
Yes, yes, I am an Essex man.  Carel. 
Then get some of them to move, it may be voted no Letter.  Joll. 
ay, I; and after 'tis voted no Letter, then vote it false, scandalous and illegal, and that is in it; they have a precedent for it in the Danish packet, which they took from a foolish fellow, who presuming upon the Law of Nations, came upon an Embassy to the King without an Order, or Pass from both houses.  Capt. 
Hark, I hear her coming.  [Enter Loveall and Faithf. Love. 
Sir, I received a Letter, but by what accident I know not; for I believe it was not intended me, though the contents concern me.  Capt. 
Madam, 'tis too late to deny it; is it peace or war you bring? without dispute, if war, I hang out my defiance; if peace, I yield my weapon into your hands.  Love. 
Are you all unworthy? your whole sex falsehood? is it not possible to oblige a man to be loyal? this is such a treachery no age can match; apply yourself with youth and wit to gain a lady's love and friendship only to betray it? was it not enough you commanded my fortune, but you must wrack my honour too, and instead of being grateful for that charity which still assisted your wants, strive to pay men with injuries, and attempt to make the world believe I pay to lose my fame? and then make me the He smiles .scorned subject of your whore's mirth; Base and unworthy, do you smile, false one? I shall find a time for you too, and my vengeance shall find you all.  Faithf. 
Yea, Sir; and you that had such a ready wit to proclaim my Lady, Whore and me bawd, I hope to see you load a Gallows for it.  Capt. 
Once again, is it peace or war?  Love. 
Peace? I'll have thy blood first, Dog; where's my Pearl?— You ought to right me, Sir, in this particular; it was to you I She speaks to Wild .sent them.  Wild. 
Madam, I sent not for them.  Capt. 
No more words; I have them, I earned them, and you paid them.  Faithf. 
You are a foul-mouthed fellow, Sirrah.  Love. 
Peace, Wench, I scorn their slander, it cannot shake my honour; 'tis too weighty and too fixed for their calumny.  Joll. 
I'll be sworn for my part on't, I think it is a great honour; I am sure I had as much as I could carry away in ten nights, and yet there was no miss on't.  Capt. 
You? I think so; there's no mark of my work, you see, and yet I came after thee, and brought away loads would have sunk a Sedan-man.  Wild. 
By this relation she should be a woman of a great fame.  Carel. 
Let that consideration, with her condition, and her age, move some reverence, at least to what she was; Madam, I am sorry I cannot serve you in this particular.  [Exe. Joll. and Carel. Love. 
I see all your mean baseness, pursue your scorn; Come, let's go, Wench, I shall find some to right my fame; and though I have lost my opinion, I have gained a knowledge how to distinguish of Love hereafter; and I shall scorn you and all your Sex, that have not Soul enough to value a noble Friendship.  Wild. 
Pray, Madam, let me speak with you.  Capt. 
We'll have no whispering; I said it, and I'll maintain it with my sword.  [Enter Drawer. Drawer. 
Sir, there's one without would speak with you?  Capt. 
With me?  Drawer. 
No, Sir, with Master Wild.  Wild. 
Madam, I'll wait upon you presently.  [Exit Wild. Capt. 
Madam, I know my Company is displeasing to you, therefore I'll take my leave; Drawer, show me another Room? The Capt. makes a turn or two, they look at each other, then be goes out.  [Exit Captain. Loveall. 
Oh Faithful, Faithful; I am most miserably abused, and can find no way to my Revenge.  Faithf. 
Madam, I'll give them Ratsbane, and speedily too, ere they can tell; for that Rascal the Captain has a Tongue else, will proclaim you, and undo your Fame for ever.  Loveall. 
ay, ay, my Fame, my Fame, Faithful; and if it were not for mine Honour, (which I have kept unstained to this minute) I would not care.  Faithf. 
This it is; you will still set your affection upon every young thing; I could but tell you on't.  Loveall. 
Who could have suspected they would have been so false in their Loves to me that have been so faithful to them.— Honest Friend, where is Master Wild?  [Enter Drawer. Drawer. 
The other Gentlemen carried him away with them?  Loveall. 
Are they all gone then?  Drawer. 
Yes, by this hand; These Gentlemen are quickly satisfied; what an ugly Whore they have got! how she states it! Aside.  Loveall. 
Come, let's go Wench. She offers to go.  Drawer. 
Mistress, who pays the reckoning?  Loveall. 
What says he?  Faithf. 
He asks me, who pays the reckoning?  Loveall. 
Who pays the reckoning? why, what have we to do with the reckoning?  Drawer. 
Shut the door, Dick, we'll have the reckoning before you go.  Faithf. 
Why, goodman saucebox, you will not make my Lady pay for their reckoning, will you?  Drawer. 
My Lady? a pox of her Title, she'd need of something to make her pass.  Faithf. 
What do you say, Sirrah?  Drawer. 
I say, the Gentlemen paid well for their sport; and I know no reason why we should lose our reckoning.  Loveall. 
What do you take me for, my Friend?  Drawer. 
In troth, I take you for nothing; but I would be loath to take you for that use I think they made shift with you for.  Faith. 
Madam, this is that Rascally captain's plot.  Loveall. 
Patience, Patience, oh for a bite at the slave's heart. Friend, mistake me not, my name is Loveall, a Lady; send one along with me and you shall have your money.  Drawer. 
You must pardon me, Madam, I am but a Servant; if you be a Lady pray sit in an Inner Room, and send home your Woman for the money; The sum is six pounds, and be pleased to remember the Waiters.  Loveall. 
Go Faithful, go fetch the money; Oh Revenge, Revenge: shall I lose my Honour, and have no Revenge.  [Exeunt omn.   


ACT. IV. SCEN. I.  Enter Wanton, Captain, Careless and Wild. Want. 
BY all that a longing Bride hopes for, which I am not, I am better pleased with this Revenge then mine own plot, which takes as I could wish; I have so anointed my high Priests with Sack, that he would have confuted Baal's Priest; and now he does so slumber in his Ale, and calls to bed already, swears the Sun is set.  Capt. 
Faith, Wench, her abusing of me made me leave her for the Reckoning.  Carel. 
Yes, faith, they have treated her upsey Whore lain with her, told, and then pawned her.  Want. 
Yes, yes, you are fine things; I wonder Women, can endure you; for me, I expect you worse, and am armed for't.  VVild. 
Faith let's send and release her, the jest is gone far enough; as I live, I pity her.  VVant. 
Pity her? hang her, and rid the Country of her, she is a thing wears out her limbs as fast as her clothes, one that never goes to bed at all, nor sleeps in a whole skin, but is taken to pieces like a Motion, as if she were too long; she should be hanged for offering to be a Whore.  Capt. 
As I live, she is in the right; I peeped once to see what she did before she went to bed; By this light, her Maids were dissecting her; and when they had done, they brought some of her to bed, and the rest they either pined or hung up, and so she lay dismembered till Morning; in which time, her Chamber was strewed all over, like an Anatomy School.  VVant. 
And when she travels anywhere she is transported with as great a care, and fear of spoiling, as a juggler's Motion, when he removes from Fair to Fair.  Carel. 
She is a right broken Gamester, who, though she lacks wherewithal to play, yet loves to be looking on.  Enter Wantons Maid. Baud. 
He is awake, and calls for you impatiently, he would fain be in Bed, the Company is all gone.  VVant. 
Are you instructed?  Baud. 
Let me alone, I'll warrant you for my part.  VVant. 
Farewell then, you are all ready; who plays Master Constable?  Capt. 
ay, I; and Ned Jolly the sumner.  Want. 
Farewell, farewell then.  Exit Wanton and Baud. Wild. 
It is a delicate wench.  Carel. 
She has excellent flesh, and a fine face; by this light, we They whisper this .must depose the Captain from his reign here.  Wild. 
I like her shrewdly; I hate a wench that is all Whore and no Company; This is a Comedy all day, and a Fair at night.  Carel. 
I hope to exalt the parson's horn here.  Capt. 
And what think you? is it not a sweet sin, this lying with another man's Wife? Wanton above.  Want. 
Is Jolly come  Capt. 
No, but he'll be here instantly.  Wild. 
Is he a-bed?  Want. 
Yes, yes, and he sleeps as if he had been put to bed by his Sexton, with dust to dust, and ashes to ashes.  Capt. 
And we'll wake him with that shall be as terrible to him as the latter day.  Want. 
Let him sleep a while that he may be fresh, else the Jest is spoiled; for it is his sense of his disgrace must work my Ends.  Wild. 
I'll go home then, and get supper ready, and expect you.  [Enter Jolly. Capt. 
Do, Our Scene lies here; Who's there, Jolly?  Joll. 
Yes.  Capt. 
Are you fitted?  Joll. 
Yes, I have got the Blackfriars Music; I was fain to stay till the last Act; and who do you think I saw there?  Wild. 
I know not.  Joll. 
Guess.  Wild. 
Prithee, I cannot guess.  Joll. 
Your Aunt and Mistress Pleasant, and trusty Secret.  Wild. 
What man?  Joll. 
The Lovers only, so close in a Box!  Capt. 
It will be a match, and there's an End; prithee let them go to't; what is't to Us, let's mind our business now, and think on them hereafter.  Want. 
A pox upon them for a couple of stalkhounds; have they killed at last? Why, this is fool's fortune; it would be long enough ere one that has wit got such a wife.  Capt. 
No more of this now; have you borrowed the watchmen's Coats?  Joll. 
Yes, and Bills, Beards, and Constable's staff, and Lantern; and let me alone to fit him, for the Summer; But when this is done I expect my Fee, a Tithe Night at least; Wanton, I will lie with thee for thy Roguery; what are you dumb, you will not refuse me, I hope?  Want. 
Not, if I thought thou desiredst it; but I hate to have it desired indifferently, and but so so done neither when 'tis done.  Joll. 
I hope you will not disgrace my work, will you?  Want. 
Faith, they say thy pleasure lies in thy Tongue; and therefore, Though I do not give thee leave to lie with me, yet I will give thee as good a thing that will please thee as well.  Joll. 
Some Roguery I expected.  Want. 
No Faith, I am serious; and because I will please you both, Master Wild shall lie here, and you shall have leave to say you do, which will please you as well.  Joll. 
Faith, and my part is some pleasure, else, I have loved, enjoyed, and told, is mistook.  Want. 
ay, but never to love, seldom enjoy, and always tell? Faugh, it stinks, and stains worse than Shoreditch dirt, and women hate and dread men for't; Why, I that am a whore professed cannot see you, he digest it, though it be my Profit and Interest. For to be a private whore in this Town starves in the nest like young Birds when the old one's killed.  Carel. 
Excellent Girl, 'tis too true Jolly; your tongue has kept, many a woman honest.  Want. 
Faith, 'tis a truth, this I shall say, you may all better your pleasures by, if you will observe it; I dare say, the fear of telling keeps more women honest than Bridewell Hemp; And were you wise men, and true Lovers of liberty, now were the time to bring wenching to that perfection no age could ever have hoped; now you may sow such seed of pleasure, you may be prayed for hereafter; Now, in this Age of zeal and Ignorance, would I have you four, in old clothes, and demure looks, present a Petition to both Houses, and say, you are men touched in Conscience for your share in that wickendess which is known to their worships by the pleasure of Adultery, and desire it may be death, and that a Law may be passed to that purpose; How the women will pray for you, and at their own charges rear statues in memory of their Benefactors; the young and kind would then haunt your Chambers, Pray, and present you, and Court the Sanguine youth, for the sweet sin secured by such a Law; None would lose an Occasion, nor churlishly oppose kind Nature, nor refuse to listen to her summons, when youth and Passion calls for those forbidden sweets; when such security as your lives are at stake, who would fear to trust; with this Law all Oaths and Protestations are canceled; Letters and Bawds would grow useless too; By instinct the Kind will find the Kind; and having one nature become of one mind; Now we lose an Age, to observe and know a man's humour, ere we dare trust him; But get this Law, then 'tis, like and enjoy; and whereas now, with expense of time and Fortune, you may glean some one Mistress amongst your neighbour's wives, you shall reap women whole armfuls as in the Common field; there is one small Town, wise only in this Law; and I have heard them say, that know it well, There has been but one Execution this hundred years; yet the same party searched seven years, and could not find an honest woman in the Town.  Carel. 
An Excellent Plot, let us about it; Ink and Paper, dear Wanton, we will draw the Petition presently.  Want. 
Will Master Jolly consent too? You must not then, as soon as a handsome woman is named, smile, and stroke your Beard, tell him that is next you, you have lain with her; such a lie is as dangerous as a truth, and 'twere but Justice to have thee hanged for a sin thou never committedst, for having defamed so many women.  Joll. 
If all those Liars were hanged, I believe the scale would weigh down the guilty.  Want. 
One Rogue hanged, for Example, would make a thousand kind Girls: If it take it shall be called my Law, Wanton's Law; Then we may go in Petticoats again, for women grew imperious and wore the Breeches, only to fright the poor cuckolds, & make the Fools digest their Horns— Are you all ready, shall I open the door?  Capt. 
Yes.  Wild. 
I'll expect you at my house.  [Exit Wild one way, and the rest of the Company another. Omnes. 
we'll come, we'll come.  Capt. 
So, knock louder. They knock within, and the Parson discovered in his Bed and the bawd with him.  Pars. 
Who's there? what would you have?  Capt. 
Here's his Majesty's Watch, and Master Constable's Worship must come in; We have a warrant from the Lords to search for a Delinquent.  Pars. 
You come not here, I'll answer your warrant tomorrow.  Joll. 
Break open the door.  Pars. 
I would you durst.  Baud. 
Lord! Dear what shall we do?  Pars. 
Why, sweet, I'll warrant you, art thou not my wife, my Rib, bone of my bone? I'll suffer any thing ere one hair of thee shall be touched.  Baud. 
Hark, they break open the door.  Pars. 
They dare not; why dost thou tremble so? alas, sweet Innocence, how it shakes?  Capt. 
Break open the door.  Pars. 
I'll complain to the Bishop of this Insolence.  Baud. 
They come, they come, Lamb.  Pars. 
No matter sweet; They dare not touch thee; what would He delivers the Warrant .you have Mr. Constable? you are very rude.  Capt. 
Read our Warrant, and our business will excuse us? do you know any such person as you find there?  Pars. 
Yes, Sir, but not by this name; such a woman is my wife, and no Lindabrides; we were married today, and I'll justify her my wife the next Court day; you have your answer, and may be gone.  Joll. 
We must take no notice of such Excuses now; if she be your wife, make it appear in Court, and she will be delivered unto you.  Pars. 
If she be my wife Sir? I have wedded her and Bedded her, what other Ceremonies would you have? Be not afraid, sweet heart.  Joll. 
Sir, We can do no less than Execute our Warrant; we are but Servants; And, Master Constable, I charge you in the king's Name to do your Duty; behold the body of the Delinquent.  Pars. 
Touch her that dares; I'll put my Dagger in him, fear 
He takes his Dagger..  
Here they strive to take her out . nothing, sweet heart; Master Constable you'll repent this Insolence offered to a man of my Coat.  Baud. 
Help, my dearest, will you let me be haled thus?  Pars. 
Villains, what will you do? Murder, Rape.  Capt. 
Yes, yes, 'tis likely; I look like a Ravisher.  Joll. 
Hold him, and we'll do well enough with her.  Capt. 
What have we here, an old woman? As they go to pull her out of the Bed, they discover the Baud. When they let him go he turns to her, and holds her in his amrs  Pars. 
Let me go, slaves and Murderers.  Capt. 
Let him go.  Joll. 
Do any of you know this woman? this is not she we looked for.  Pars. 
No? Rascal, that mistake shall not excuse you.  Joll. 
It is old Goodman what d'ye call him? his wife.  Capt. 
Hold the Candle, and let's see her face.  When they hold the Candle, she lies in his bosom and his Arms about her; She must be as nastily dressed as they can dress her; when he sees her he falls into a maze, and shoves her from him. Joll. 
What have were here, Adultery? take them both, here will be new matter.  Pars. 
Master Constable, a little Argument will persuade you to believe I am grossly abused; sure this does not look like a piece that a man would sin to enjoy, let that then move your Pity, and care of my Reputation; consider my calling, and do not bring me to a public shame for what you're sure I am not guilty of, but by plot of some Villains.  Baud. 
Dear, will you disclaim me now?  Pars. 
Oh, Impudence!  Joll. 
Master Constable, do your duty; take them both away, as you will answer it.  Capt. 
Give him his Cassock, to cover him. They put on his Cassock and her coat, and lead them away.  Pars. 
Why Gentlemen, whither will you carry me?  Capt. 
To the next Justice, I think it is Master Wild, he is newly come from travel, it will be a good way, Neighbours, to express our Respects to him.  Pars. 
No faith, Gentlemen, e'en go the next way to Tyburn, and dispatch the business without Ceremony, for ye'll utterly disgrace me; this is that damned Captain; My wife is abroad too, I fear she is of the Plot.  Joll. 
Come, away with'em.  Baud. 
Whither will they lead us, Dear?  Pars. 
Oh, oh, Impudence! Gentlemen, do not lead us together I beseech you.  Capt. 
Come, come, lead them together, no ceremonies; your faults are both alike.  [Exeunt Omnes.  

ACT. IV. SCEN. II.  Enter Wanton and Wild. Want. 
YOu had best brag now, and use me like my Lady whatest ye call; But if you do I care not.  Wild. 
Come, you're a Fool, I'll be a faithful Friend, and make good conditions for thee before thy husband be quit.  Want. 
You must do it now or never.  Wild. 
Hark, hark, I hear them— What's the news? Wild sits down with Wanton in his Lap.  Enter Captain, Jolly, Watch, bawd and Parson. Capt. 
We have brought a Couple of Delinquents before your Worship, they have committed a very foul fault.  Joll. 
And we have brought the fault along too, that your Worship may see it, you will be the better able to judge of the offenders.  Pars. 
Ha! What do I see? my wife in Master Justice's Lap?  Want. 
What has the poor fellow done?  Capt. 
Why Madam, he has been taken a-bed with this woman, another's man's wife.  Want. 
In bed with her? and do you raise him to punish him? Master Constable, if you would afflict him, Command them to lie together again; Is not the man mad?  Pars. 
This is fine Roguery, I find who rules the roast.  VVild. 
Well, to the business; you say, he was taken in bed with another man's wife.  Capt. 
Yes, an't like your Worship.  VVild. 
Make his Mittimus to the Hole at Newgate.  VVant. 
Sure I have seen this Fellows face.— Friend, have I never seen your face before?  Pars. 
If I mistake not, I have seen one very like your Ladyships too, she was a captain's cast-whore in the Town. I shall have a time to be revenged.  Wild. 
How now, Sirrah? are you threatening? away with him.  Capt. 
I'll fetch a stronger Watch, Sir, and return presently.  Wild. 
Do, Master Constable, and give the poor Woman something, and set her free; for I dare say 'twas his wickedness, she looks like one that ne'er thought on such a thing.  Baud. 
God bless your Worship, I am innocent; he never left making Love till I consented.  [Enter Captain in his own shape. Pars. 
Oh miserable! miserable!  Capt. 
How now, what's the news here? my honoured Friend, and Master Parson, what makes you here at this time of night? Why I should have thought this a time to have envied you for your fair Bride's embraces, do you give these favours? are these your Bride-laces? It's a new way. Plays with the cord that binds his Arms.  Pars. 
Is it new to you?  Want. 
How now Captain?  Capt. 
Wanton, is this your plot to endear your Husband to you?  Pars. 
No, 'tis thy plot, poor beaten Captain, but I shall be revenged.  Capt. 
Yes, faith, it was my plot, and I glory in't, to undermine my Machiavell, which so greedily swallowed that sweet bait that had this hook.  Pars. 
'Tis well.  Capt. 
But my anger ends not here. Remember the base language you gave me, Son of a thousand Fathers, Captain of a tame band, and one that got my living by the long staff-speeches; for which, and thy former Treacheries, I'll ruin thee, Slave; I'll have no more Mercy on thee, then old women on blind puppies; I'll bring you to your Commendations in Latin Epistles again, nor leave thee any thing to live on, no, not Bread, but what thou earn'st by raking Gentlewomen's names in Anagrams; and Master Justice, if ever you'll oblige me, stand to me now, that I may procure the whipping of him from the Reverend Bench.  Pars. 
I am undone.  Wild. 
I can do nothing but Justice, you must excuse me; I shall only make it appear how fit it is to punish this kind of sin in that Coat in time, and to crush such serpents in the shells.  Pars. 
Mercy, Oh Mercy! They pull him away.  Wild. 
Officers, away with him.  Pars. 
No Mercy?  Want. 
Yes, upon Conditions there may be some Mercy. The Parson looks very dejected.  Wild. 
And these they are— let the watch stay in the tother Room.— First, your Wife shall have her liberty, and you yours, as she reports of you; and when you bring her with you, you shall be welcome; than you shall not be jealous, that's another point.  [Exit Watch. Capt. 
That he shall have a Cure for—  Want. 
Yes, yes, I'll apply something to his Eyes shall cure him of his doubt.  VVild. 
Then you shall ask the Captain pardon and your Wife; to him you shall allow half your Parsonage to maintain her; The Deeds are ready within; if you'll sign them, and deliver your Wife to our use, she shall discharge you.  Pars. 
I submit, Sir, But I hope your Worship will desire no witness to the use of my Wife; The Sumner and the Watch too; I hope your Worship will enjoin them silence.  VVant. 
You shall not need to fear, I'll have a Care of your Credit; She discovers them .call in the Watch; Do you know these Faces?  Pars. 
Ha! abused?  Jolly. 
Nay, no flinching, if you do, I betake me to Master Sumner again.  Capt. 
And I become severe Master Constable in a trice.  Pars. 
No, no, I submit, and I hope we are all Friends; I'm sure I have the hardest part, to forgive.  VVant. 
And I, before all this Company, promise to forget and forgive thee, and am content to take thee again for my dear and mortal Husband, now you are tame; but you must see you do so no more, and give yourself to be blind; when it is not fit for you to see; and practise to be deaf; and learn to sleep in time, and find business to call you away when Gentlemen come that would be private.  Capt. 
Why so, now things are as they should be; and when you will obey, you shall command: But when you would be imperious, than I betake me to my Constable's Staff till you subscribe. Cedunt Armis Togae; and if it be false Latin, Parson, you must pardon that too.  Jolly. 
By this hand, I must have my Tithe-night with thee; thou art such a wag; say, when? when wilt thou give me leave? ha!  VVant. 
Never.  Jolly. 
Never?  VVant. 
No, never.  Jolly. 
D' ye hear, I am none of them that work for Charity; either resolve to pay, or I kick down all my Milk again.  VVant. 
What would you have?  Jolly. 
Give me leave to lie with you.  VVant. 
No indeed.  Jolly. 
No?  VVant. 
No; but rather than quarrel, as I said before, I will give you leave to say you have lain with me.  Wild. 
I am of opinion she owes you nothing now, so Mistress Wanton, take your Husband; and to remove all doubts, this night I'll be at the charge of a Wedding supper.  Pars. 
This is better than Newgate hole yet, Bridewell Hemp, brown bread and whipcord.  [Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. IV. SCEN. III.  Enter the Widow and Mistress Pleasant, Master Sad, and Master Constant. VVid. 
BY my troth, is was a good Play.  Pleas. 
And I am glad I am come home, for I am e'en as weary with this walking; For God's sake whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie? I swear, I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I could ne'er find it. A watch at the widow's door.  Sadd. 
What do these Halberds at your door?  Wid. 
Halberds, where?  Sadd. 
There, at your Lodging.  Const. 
Friend, what would those Watchmen have?  VVatchm. 
The house is shut up for the sickness this afternoon.  Pleas. 
The sickness?  VVatchm. 
Yes forsooth, there's a Coachman dead full of the Tokens.  Sadd. 
Where is the Officer?  VVatchm. 
He is gone to seek the Lady of the House, and some other Company that dined here yesterday, to bring her in, or carry her to the Pest-house.  VVid. 
Ha! What shall we do, Niece?  Sadd. 
If you please to command our Lodging.  Pleas. 
It will be too much trouble.  VVid. 
Let's go to Loveall's.  Pleas. 
Not I, by my Faith; it is scarce for our Credits to let her come to us.  VVid. 
Why? is she nought?  Const. 
Faith, Madam, her Reputation is not good.  VVid. 
But what shall we do then?  Const. 
Dare you adventure to oblige us?  Wid. 
Thank you Sir, We'll go to my Nephews at Covent-Garden; he may shift among his acquaintance.  Pleas. 
It was well thought on, the Piazza is hard by too.  VVid. 
We'll borrow your Coach thither, and we'll send it you back again straight.  Const. 
We'll wait upon you, Madam.  VVid. 
This accident troubles me; I am heartily sorry for the poor Fellow.  Pleas. 
I am sorry too; but pray, Aunt, let us not forget ourselves in our grief; I am not ambitious of a Red-cross upon the door.  Const. 
Mistress Pleasant is in the right; for if you stay the Officers will put you in.  Wid. 
We shall trouble you, Sir, for your Coach.  [Exe. omnes.  

ACT. IV. SCEN. IV.  Enter Parson, Captain, Wild, Wanton, Careless and Jolly. Pars. 
I Am reconciled; and will no longer be an uncharitable Churchman; I think this sack is a cooler.  Capt. 
What? does it make you to see your error?  Pars. 
Yes, and consider my man of war; nor will I again dispute his Letters of Mart, nor call them Passes for Pirates; I am free.  Capt. 
And welcome, any thing but anger is sufferable, and all is jest when you laugh; and I will hug thee for abusing me with thy eyes in their scabbards; but when you rail with drawn eyes, red and naked, threatening a Levites second revenge to all that touches your Concubine, than I betake me to a darklanthorn, and a Constables-staff, and by help of these Fathers whom I cite I prove my Text, women that are kind aught to be free.  Pars. 
But Captain, is it not lawful for us Shepherds to reclaim them?  Capt. 
A mere mistake; for sin like the Sea may be turned out, but will ne'er grow less; and though you should drain this Mistress Doll, yet the Whore will find a place, and perhaps overflow some Maid, till then honest; and so you prove the author of a new sin, and the defiler of a pure Temple; therefore I say, while you live, let the Whore alone till she wears out; nor is it safe to vamp them, as you shall find, read Ball the first and the second.  Wild. 
No more discourse. Strike up Fiddlers.  Capt. 
See, who's that knocks?  A Country-dance. When they are merry, singing Catches and drinking healths, the Wid. Mrs. Pleas. and the two Lovers knock at the door. Serv. 
Sir, 'tis Mistress Pleasant, and the two Gentlemen that dined there today.  Wild. 
My Aunt, and Mistress Pleasant.  Joll. 
What a pox makes them abroad at this time of night?  Capt. 
It may be, they have been a wenching.  Serv. 
Sir, they were upon alighting out of the Coach when I came up.  Wild. 
Quickly, Mrs. Wanton, you and your husband to bed, there's the Key; Mr. Parson, you know the way to the old Chamber, and to it quickly, all is friends now.  Pars. 
Sweet heart, we'll steal away.  Want. 
The Devil on them, they have spoilt our mirth.  [Exit Parson. Wild. 
Jack, get you and your company down the backway into the Kitchen, and stay there till we see what this Visit means.  [Exeunt Fiddlers. Capt. 
Means! What should it mean? it is nothing but the mischievous Nature all honest Women are endued with, and naturally given to spoil sport: I wonder what Fart blew them hither tonight.  Wild. 
Nay, have a little patience, Captain; you and Mr. Jolly must sit quietly a while within, till we know the cause.  Capt. 
It is but deferring our mirth for an hour, or so. Servant. Sir, here's my Lady.  Wild. 
Quickly remove those things there: Captain, step in there.—  [Enter Widow, Pleasant, Sad and Constant. Wid. 
Nephew, do you not wonder to see me here, at this time of night?  Wild. 
I know it is not ordinary, therefore I believe 'tis some design: what is it, Mrs. Pleasant? Shall I make one?  Pleasant. 
As I live, Sir, pure necessity; neither mirth nor kindness hath begot this Visit.  Careless. 
What, is your Coach broke?  Widow. 
Faith, Nephew, the truth is, the Sickness is in my house, and my Coachman died since Dinner.  Wild. 
The Sickness?  Pleasant. 
ay, as I live, we have been walking since the Play; and when we came home we found the Watch at the door, and the house shut up.  Sadd. 
And a Constable gone in search of all those that dined there today, with order to furnish us lodgings in the Pest-house.  Wid. 
Are you not afraid to receive us?  Wild. 
As I live, the accident troubles me; and I am sorry such a misfortune should beget me this favour; and I could wish myself free from the honour, if the cause were removed too.  Pleas. 
As I live, Mr. Wild, I must have been forced to have lain with my servant tonight, if you had not received me.  Wild. 
If I thought so, I would carry you out in my arms, I am so much Mr. Constant's friend.  Pleas. 
But are you more his friend than mine, Mr. Wild?  Wild. 
No, but I presume by this he has gained so much interest as he would not be very displeasing to you.  Const. 
Oh! your humble servant, Sir.  Pleas. 
If I had had a mind to that lodging, I had ne'er come hither; for when I have a mind to it, I'll marry without dispute; for I fear nobody so much as a husband; and when I can conquer that doubt, I'll marry at a minute's warning.  Wid. 
No dispute now, can you furnish us with a couple of Beds?  Wild. 
Yes, yes.  Wid. 
And have you ere a woman in the house?  Wild. 
My sister's Maid is here.  Carel. 
Madam, if you resolve to do us this honour, you shall find clean linen, and your Beds quickly ready.  Wid. 
But where will my Nephew and you, Sir, lie tonight?  Carel. 
Oh, Madam, we have acquaintance enough in the Town.  Wid. 
Well, Sir, we'll accept this courtesy; and when you come into Suffolk you shall command my house.  Wild. 
Prithee call Bess, and bid her bring sheets to make the Bed; I'll go and fetch in a Pallet, 'tis as good a Bed as the other, and if you will stay the removing, we'll set up a Bedstead.  Pleas. 
No, a Pallet, pray; but what shall we do for night clothes, Aunt?  Wild. 
Why, what are those you bought my Sisters?  Wid. 
Is not that Linen gone yet?  Carel. 
No faith, Madam, his man forgot it, till the Carriers were gone last week.  Wild. 
Will that serve?  Pleas. 
Yes, yes, pray do us the favour to let us have it, 'tis but washing of't again.  Wild. 
Nay, if it will serve, discourse no more; I'll fetch the bundle; and prithee fetch the Combs and Looking glasses I bought the other day; for other necessaries that want a name the wench shall furnish you with.  Wid. 
Nay, but where is she, Nephew?  Wild. 
I'll call her, if she be not gone to Bed; it is an ignorant young thing, I am to send her to my Sisters in the Country; I have had such ado to put her in the Fashion.  Pleas. 
What Country is she? Prithee, Mr. Wild, let's see her.  Wild. 
I'll call her down.  [Exit Wild. Sadd. 
Madam, now we see you're safe we'll kiss your hands, and wait upon you tomorrow.  Wid. 
It must be early then, Sir; for I shall borrow my nephew's Coach, and be gone betimes into the Country to take a little fresh Air, and prevent the search.  Const. 
Pray, Madam, be pleased to command ours.  Wid. 
No, Sir, I humbly thank you; my Nephew's will hold our company.  Const. 
Your humble servant, Mistress Pleasant.  Sadd. 
Your servant, Madam.  Pleas. 
Good night, Mr. Constant.  Wid. 
Sir, you'll excuse us, we have nobody here to light you down.  Carel. 
Madam, I am here your servant as much as those that wear your Livery; and this house holds no other; we can be civil, Madam, as well as extravagant.  Wid. 
Your humble servant, Mr. Careless.  Carel. 
Gentlemen, if you'll wait on my Lady to her Chamber, then I'll wait upon you down.  Sadd. 
You oblige us, Sir.  [Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. IV. SCEN. V.  Enter Wild, Captain, Wanton, Parson and Jolly. Capt. 
THe Plague?  Wild. 
The Plague; As I live, and all my relation is truth, every syllable; But, Mrs. Wanton, now must you play your masterpiece; be sure to blush, and appear but simple enough, and all is well; thou wilt pass for as arrant a Chambermaid as any is in the Parish.  Pars. 
Hum! new Plots?  Capt. 
Let me put on a Petticoat and a Muffler, and I'll so Chambermaid it, and be so diligent with the clean Smock and the Chamber-pot: now would I give all the Shoes in my Shop to lie with 'em both.  Want. 
Let me alone to fit them, I can make a scurvy Curtsy naturally; remember, I am an Essex woman, if they ask.  Wild. 
Come, come quickly, take those Sweetmeats; bring the great Cake and Knife, and Napkins, for they have not supped; and Captain, make some Lemonade, and send it by the Boy to my Chamber; and do you hear, Jolly, you must stay till we come, for we must lie with you tonight.  Joll. 
We'll stay, but make haste then.  Capt. 
And bring our Cloaks and Swords out with you.  Wild. 
I will, I will; but be quiet all.  Pars. 
Mr. Wild, I hope there is no Plot in this.  Capt. 
There's no jealousy, Mr. Parson; 'tis all serious upon my life.  [Exeunt omnes, Come away with us.  

ACT. IV. SCEN. VI.  The Tyring-Room, Curtains drawn, and they discourse, his Chamber, two Beds, two Tables, Looking-glasses, Night-clothes, waistcoats, Sweet-bags, Sweetmeats and Wine, Wanton dressed like a Chambermaid; all above if the Scene can be so ordered. Enter Widow and Mrs. Pleasant, Wild and Careless; the Widow and Mrs. Pleasant Salute Wanton. Wild. 
FAith, Aunt, 'tis the first time I have had the honour to see you in my house; and as a stranger I must salute you.  Wid. 
As I live, Nephew, I'm ashamed to put you to this trouble.  Wild. 
It is an obligation.— Mrs. Pleasant, I know you have not supped; I pray you be pleased to taste these Sweetmeats, they are of Sall's doing; but I understand not Sweetmeats, the wine I'll answer for; and, in a word, you are welcome: You are Patrona, and we your slaves.  Carel. 
Good rest, and a pleasing dream, your humble servant wishes you.  Wid. 
Good night, Nephew; good night, Mr. Careless.  Pleas. 
Good night, Mr. Careless; your humble servant, Mr. Wild.  [Exeunt Wild and Careless. Wid. 
Why I, here are men have some wit; By this good night, had we lain at my servants, we should have found the laced Cap and Slippers that have been entailed upon the Family these five descents, advanced upon the Cup-boards-head instead of Plate. They sit down to undress them.  Pleas. 
They are a couple of the readiest youths too; how they run and do all things with a thought! I love him for sending his Sister, a pretty wench.  Wid. 
Pray, let's go to bed; I am weary.  Pleas. 
You will not go to bed with all those windows open; sweet heart, prithee shut them, and bring me hither;— Dost understand me? As I live, 'tis a great while since I went to the Play.  Wid. 
It has been one of the longest days; a year of them would be an Age.  Pleas. 
Oh, do you grow weary; you'll break your Covenant ere the year go out.  VVid. 
Prithee, shut the windows, and come pin up my hair. The Curtains are closed.   

ACT. IV. SCEN. VII.  Enter Wild, Jolly, Careless, Captain and Parson, and Fiddlers, and one with a Torch, with their Cloaks and their Swords, putting them on. Enter wild's man. Wild. 
SEE you wait diligently, and let them want nothing they call for; come shall we go? 'tis very late.  Capt. 
But how does Wanton carry it?  Wild. 
They saluted her; and Mrs. Pleasant swore you might see the Country-simplicity in her Face.  Pars. 
A pox upon her, crafty gipsy.  Capt. 
Why, art not thou glad to see she can be honest when she will?  Pars. 
I'll show you all a Trick, for her, within these few days, or I'll miss my aim.  Joll. 
Come, let's go. They all offer to go.  Capt. 
I have a mind to stay till Wanton comes.  Wild. 
Stay a little then, for 'twill not be long ere they be a-bed.  Capt. 
I hear Wanton's voice.  [Enter Wanton. VVild. 
Are they a-bed?  VVant. 
Yes, and have so admired you, and Mr. Careless, and abused the Lovers; well, Gentlemen, you are the wits of the time; but if I might counsel, well they might lie alone this night; but it should go hard if I lay not with one of them within a month.  Carel. 
Were they so taken with their lodging?  VVant. 
All that can be said they said, you are the friendliest men, the readiest men, the handsom'st men that had wit; and could tell when to be civil, and when to be wild; and Mrs. (what's her name) the Younger, asked why Mr. Wild did not go a-wooing to some rich Heir; upon her conscience, she said, you would speed.  Carel. 
Well, well, there's a time for all things; come let's go.  Wild. 
Take a light.— Good night, Wanton. They offer to depart.  Capt. 
D'ye hear, d'ye hear; let me speak with you.  Wild. 
What's the business? They all come back again.  Capt. 
I cannot get hence this night: but your good angels hang at my heels; and if I can prevail, you shall stay.  Wild. 
What to do?  Capt. 
What to do? why I'll be hanged if all this Company do not guess.  Joll. 
Prithee, what should we stay for?  Capt. 
For the widow, and her Niece; are they worth the watching for a night?  VVild. 
Yes, certainly.  Capt. 
Then take my counsel, and let me give it out you're married, you have new clothes come home this morning, and there's that you spoke of I'll fetch from the Tailors, and here's a Parson shall rather give them his living, then stay for a Licence; the Fiddlers too are ready to salute 'em.  Carel. 
But if they refuse?  Joll. 
Which, upon my conscience, they will.  Capt. 
As you hope, else you are laughed at for missing the widow: Ned, follow my counsel, appear at her Chamber window in thy Shirt, and salute all that passes by; let me alone to give it out, and invite Company and provide dinner; then when the business is known, and I have presented all your friends at Court with Ribbons, she must consent, or her honour is lost, if you have but the grace to swear it, and keep your own counsel.  Carel. 
By this hand, he has reason; and I'll undertake the widow.  VVild. 
It will incense them, and precipitate the business which is in a fair way now; and if they have wit, they must hate us for such a treachery.  Capt. 
If they have wit they will love you; beside, if it come to that, we two will swear we saw you married, and the Parson shall be sworn he did it:— Priest, will you not swear?  Pars. 
Yes, any thing; what is't, Captain?  VVild. 
If this jest could do it, yet 'tis base to gain a wife so poorly; she came hither too for sanctuary; it would be an uncivil and an unhospitable thing, and look as if I had not merit enough to get a wife without stealing her from herself; then, 'tis in mine own house.  Capt. 
The better; nay, now I think on't, why came she hither? how do you know the Plague is there? all was well at dinner; I'll be hanged if it be not a Plot; the Lovers too whom you abused at dinner, are joined with them; a trick, a mere trick of wit to abuse us; and tomorrow when the Birds are flown, they'll laugh at you, and say, Two Country Ladies put themselves naked into the hands of three travelled City-wits, and they durst not lay hold on them.  Carel. 
A pox upon these Niceties.  Want. 
If they have not some design upon you hang me, why did they talk so freely before me else?  Carel. 
Let's but try, we are not now to begin to make the world talk; nor is it a new thing to them to hear we are mad fellows.  Capt. 
If you get them, are they worth having?  Wild. 
Having? yes.  Capt. 
If you miss them the Jest is good; Prithee, Ned, let me prevail, 'tis but a mad trick.  Wild. 
If we would, how shall we get into the Chamber?  Want. 
Let me alone for that; I'll put on my country simplicity, and carry in a Chamber pot; then under Pretence of bolting the back door I'll open it, and yet I grudge them the sport so honestly; for you wenchers make the best husbands; after you are once married, one never see's you.  Capt. 
I warrant thee wench.  Want. 
No faith, I have observed it, they are still the doting'st husbands, and then retreat and become Justices of the Peace, and none so violent upon the Bench, as they, against us poor sinners; yet I'll do it, for upon my Conscience the young Gentlewoman will fall upon her back, and thank me.  [Exit Wanton. Capt. 
Away, go then, and leave your fooling, and in the Morning, Ned, get in, and plead naked with your hands in the bed.  Pars. 
And if they cry, put your lips in their mouths, and stop them.  Capt. 
Why look you, you have the Authority of the Church too.  Wild. 
Well, I am now resolved; go you about your part, and make the Report strong.  Carel. 
And d'ye here? be sure you set the Cook at work, that if we miss we may have a good Dinner, and good wine, to drink down our grief.  Capt. 
Miss? I warrant thee thrive.  [Exit Captain. Carel. 
Nay, if I knock not down the Widow, geld me, and come out tomorrow complete Uncle, and salute the Company, with, you are welcome Gentlemen, and good morrow Nephew Ned.  VVild. 
Uncle Tom, good morrow, Uncle Tom.  [Enter Wanton. VVant. 
All's done, the door is open, and they're as still as Children's thoughts; 'tis time you made you ready, which is, to put off your breeches, for 'tis almost day; and take my Council, be sure to offer force enough, the less reason will serve; Especially you, Master Wild, do not put a maid to the pain of saying, I.  VVild. 
I warrant thee, wench; let me alone.  Carel. 
we'll in, and undress us, and come again; for we must go in at the back door.  VVild. 
I'll meet you, is the Captain gone?  [Exe. Wild and Carel. VVant. 
Yes, yes, he's gone.  Joll. 
Come Master Parson, let us see the Cook in Readiness, where are the Fiddlers? what will become of our Plot? for the Coachman; Master Sad and his friend will stink of their jest if this thrive.  Pars. 
They have slept all night, on purpose, to play all day.  Joll. 
When the Ribbons and Points come from the Exchange, pray see the Fiddlers have some, the Rogues will play so out of tune all day else, they will spoil the dancing if the plot do take.  Enter Wild, and Careless, in their Shirts, with drawers under; Night-gowns on, and in Slippers. Want. 
Let's see them in the Chamber first, and then I shall go with some heart about the business; so, so, creep close and quietly; you know the way, the widow lies in the high bed, and the Pallet is next the door.  Wild. 
Must we creep? 
They kneel at the door to go in.  
She shakes her Coats over 'em.   Want. 
Yes, Yes, down upon your knees, always, till you get a woman, and then stand up for the Cause; stay let me shake my smock over you for luck's sake.  Joll. 
Why so, I warrant you thrive.  Pars. 
A pox take you, I'll pare your nails when I get you from this place once.  Want. 
Sweet heart, sweet heart, off with your shoe.  Pars. 
ay, with all my heart, there's an old shoe after you; would I gave all in my shop the rest were furnished with wives too.  Joll. 
Parson, the Sun is rising, go send in the Fiddlers, and set the Cook on work, let him chap soundly.  Pars. 
I have a tithe Pig at home, I'll e'en sacrifice it to the Wedding.  [Exit Parson. Want. 
They will find them in good Posture, they may take Privy marks if they please; for they said it was so hot they could endure no clothes, and my simplicity was so diligent to lay them naked, and with such 'twists and turns fastened them to the feet, I'll answer for't, they find not the way into them in an hour.  [Enter a Servant and Parson. Joll. 
Why then they may pull up their Smocks, and hide their faces?  Serv. 
Master Jolly, there was one without would speak with you.  Joll. 
Who was it?  Serv. 
It is the Lady that talks so well.  Joll. 
They say indeed she has an Excellent Tongue, I would she had changed it for a face; 'tis she that has been handsome.  Pars. 
Who? not the Poetess we met at Master Sadd's?  Joll. 
Yes, the same.  Pars. 
Sure she's mad.  Joll. 
Prithee tell her I am gone to bed.  Serv. 
I have done as well Sir; I told her Mistress Wanton was here, at which discreetly, being touched with the guilt of her Face, she threw out a Curse or two and retreated.  Want. 
Who is this you speak of, I will know who 'tis.  Pars. 
Why 'tis she that married the genoese Merchant; they cozened one another.  Want. 
Who? Pegg Driver, bugle Eyes?  Joll. 
The same, the same.  Want. 
Why she is ugly now?  Pars. 
Yes, but I have known her, by this hand, as fine a wench as ever sinned in Town or Suburbs; when I knew her first, she was the Original of all the wainscot Chambermaids, with Brooms, and barefoot Madams, you see sold at Temple-Bar, and the Exchange.  Want. 
Ah! thouart a Devil; how couldst thou find in thy heart to abuse her so? Thou lov'st Antiquities too; The very memory that she had been handsome should have pleaded something.  Joll. 
Was handsome signifies nothing to me.  Want. 
But she's a wit, and a wench of an Excellent Discourse.  Pars. 
And as good company as any's i'th' Town.  Joll. 
Company? for whom? Leather-Ears, his Majesty of Newgate watch? There her story will do well, while they louse themselves.  Pars. 
Well, you are curious now, but the time was, when you have skipped for a kiss.  Joll. 
Prithee, Parson, no more of wit, and was handsome, but He kisses Wanton .let us keep to this Text— and with joy think upon thy little Wanton here, that's kind, soft, sweet and sound; These are Epithets for a Mistress; Nor is there any Elegancy in a woman like it; give me such a naked Scence, to study Night and Day; I care not for her Tongue, so her face be good; A whore dressed in verse, and set speeches, tempts me no more to that sweet sin, than the Statute of whipping can keep me from it; This thing we talked on, which retains nothing but the name of what she was, is not only Poetical in her discourse, but her Tears and her Love, her health, nay her Pleasure, were all Fictions, and had scarce any live-flesh about her till I administered.  Pars. 
Indeed 'tis time she sat out, and gave others' leave to play; for a dramatic whore is an unseemly sight; besides it makes the sin malicious, which is but venial else.  Want. 
Sure, he'll make a case of Conscience on't; you should do well (sweet heart) to recommend her Case to your Brethren that attend the Committee of Affection, that they may order her to be sound and young again, for the good of the Commonwealth.    


ACT. V. SCEN. I.  Enter Fiddlers, Jolly and Wanton. Jolly. 
OH, are you ready? are you ready?  Fidlers. 
Yes, an't like your worship.  Joll. 
And did you bid the Cook chop Lustily, and make a Noise?  Fidlers. 
Yes, Sir, he's at it.  Want. 
I hear the Captain.  [Enter Captain. Joll. 
Have you brought Clothes and Ribbons?  Capt. 
Yes, yes, all is ready; did you hear them squeak yet?  VVant. 
No, by this light; I think, 'tis an appointment, and we have been all abused.  Capt. 
Give the Fiddlers their Ribbons, and carry the rest in; Mistress Wanton, you must play my lady's Woman today, and Mince it to all that come, and hold up your head finely when they kiss you, and take heed of swearing when you are angry, and pledging whole cups when they drink to you.  Want. 
I'll warrant you, for my part.  Captain. 
Go get you in then, and let your husband dip the Rosemary.  Jolly. 
Is all ready?  Captain. 
All, all, some of the Company are below already, I have so blown it about, one Porter is gone to the Exchange, to invite Master Wild's Merchant to his Wedding, and, by the way to bid two or three Fruiterers to send in Fruit for such a Wedding, another in my Lady's name to Sall's, for sweet meats; I swore at Bradborn in his Shop myself, that I wondered he would disappoint Master Wild for his Points, and having so long warning; He protested 'twas not his fault, but they were ready, and he would send John with them presently; One of the Watermen is gone to the melon Garden, the other to Cooks at the Bear, for some Bottles of his best Wine, and thence to Gracious-street, to the Poulterers, and all with directions to send in Provisions for Master Wild's Wedding; and who should I meet at Door, but Apricock Tom, and Mary, waiting to speak with her young Master; they came to beg that they might serve the Feast; I promised them they should, if they would cry it up and down the Town, to bring Company; for Master Wild was resolved to keep open house.  Joll. 
Why then here will be witnesses enough.  Capt. 
But who should I meet at the corner of the Piazza, but Joseph tailor; he tells me, there's a new Play at the Friars today, and I have bespoke a Box for Master Wild and his Bride.  Joll. 
And did not he wonder to hear he was married?  Capt. 
Yes; but I told him, 'twas a Match his Aunt made for him, when he was abroad.  Joll. 
And I have spread it sufficiently at Court, by sending to borrow Plate for such a Wedding.  [Enter a Servant. Serv. 
There's half a dozen coach-fulls of Company lighted; they call for the Bride-Laces and Points.  Capt. 
Let the Fiddlers play then, and bid God give them joy, by the name of my Lady Careless and Mistress Wild.  Fid. 
Where shall we play, Sir?  Joll. 
Come with us, we'll show you the window.   

ACT. V. SCEN. II.  The Fiddlers play in the tiring Room, and the Stage Curtains are Drawn, and discover a Chamber, as it was, with two Beds and the Ladies asleep in them; Master Wild being at Mistress Pleasant's Bedside, and Master Careless at the Widow's; The Music awakes the Widow. Wid. 
NIece, Niece, Niece Pleasant.  Pleas. 
Ha! I hear you, I hear you, what would you have? She opens the Curtain and calls her, she is under a Canopy.  Wid. 
Do you not hear the Fiddlers?  Pleas. 
Yes, yes, but you have waked me from the finest dream.  Wid. 
A dream, what was't? some knavery.  Pleas. 
Why, I know not, but 'twas merry, e'en as pleasing as some sins; well, I'll lie no more in a man's bed, for fear I lose more than I get.  Wid. 
Hark, that's a new Tune.  Pleas. 
Yes, and they play it well; This is your Jaunty Nephew; I would he had less of the Father in him, I'd venture to dream out my dream with him; In my conscience he's worth a dozen of my dull Servant, that's such a troublesome visitant, without any kind of conveniency.  Wid. 
ay, ay, so are all of that kind; give me your Subject Lover; Those you call Servants are but troubles, I confess.  Pleas. 
What is the Difference, pray, betwixt a Subject, and a Servant Lover?  Wid. 
Why, one I have absolute Power over, the other's at large; Your Servant Lovers are those take Mistresses upon trial, scarce give them a quarter's warning before they are gone.  Pleas. 
Why, what do your Subject Lovers do? I am so sleepy.  Wid. 
Do? All things for nothing; than they are the diligentest and the humblest things a Woman can employ; Nay, I ha' seen of them tame, and run loose about a house; I had one once, by this light, he would fetch and Carry, go back, seek out, he would do any thing; I think some falconer bred him.  Pleas. 
By my Troth, I am of your mind.  Wid. 
He would come over, for all my Friends; but it was the dogged'st thing to my enemies, he would sit upon's tail before them, and frown, like John a Napes when the Pope is named; he heard me once praise my little spaniel Bitch Smut for waiting, and hang me if I stirred for seven years after, but I found him lying at my door.  Pleas. 
And what became of him?  Wid. 
Faith, when I married he forsook me; I was advised since, that if I would ha' spit in's mouth sometimes he would have stayed.  Pleas. 
That was cheap, But 'tis no certain way; for 'tis a general opinion, that marriage is one of the certainest cures for Love that one can apply to a man that is sick of the sighings; yet if you were to live about this Town still, such a Fool would do you a world of service; I'm sure Secret will miss him, and would always take such a care of her has saved her a hundred walks for Hoods and Masques.  VVid. 
Yes, and I was certain of the earliest Fruits and Flowers that the Spring afforded.  Pleas. 
By my troth, 'twas foolishly done to part with him; a few crumbs of your affection would have satisfied him, poor thing.  Wid. 
Thou art in the right; in this Town there's no living without 'em; they do more service in a house for nothing, than a pair of those, what-d'ye-call'ems', those he waiting-women, Beasts, that Custom impose upon Ladies.  Pleas. 
Is there none of them to be had now, think you? I'd feign get a tame one, to carry down into the Country.  Wid. 
Faith, I know but one breed of them about the Town that's right, and that's at the Court; The Lady that has them brings 'em all up by hand; she breeds some of them from very puppies; there's another wit too in the Town that has of them; but hers will not do so many tricks; good sullen diligent waiters those are which she breeds, but not half so serviceable.  Pleas. 
How does she do it? is there not a trick in't?  VVid. 
Only patience, but she has a heavy hand with 'em (they say) at first, and many of them miscarry; she governs them with signs, and by the Eye, as Bank's breeds his Horse; there are some too that arrive at writing, and those are the right breed, for they commonly betake themselves to Poetry; and if you could light on one of them, 'twere worth your money; for 'tis but using of him ill, and praising his verses sometimes, and you are sure of him for ever.  Pleas. 
But do they never grow surly, Aunt?  VVid. 
Not, if you keep them from raw flesh, for they are a kind of Lion-lovers; and if they once taste the sweet of it, they'll turn to their kind.  Pleas. 
Lord, Aunt, there will be no going without one this Summer into the Country; pray let's inquire for one; either a he one to entertain us, or a she one to tell us the story of her Love; 'tis excellent to bedward, and makes one as drowsy as Prayers.  VVid. 
Faith, Niece, this Parliament has so destroyed 'em, and the Platonic Humour, that 'tis uncertain whether we shall get one or no; your leading Members in the lower House have so cowed the Ladies, that they have no leisure to breed any of late; Their whole endeavours are spent now in feasting, and winning close Committee-men, a rugged kind of sullen Fellows, with implacable stomachs and hard hearts, that make the gay things court and observe them, as much as the foolish Lovers use to do; Yet I think I know one she-Lover, but she is smitten in years o'th' wrong side of forty; I am certain she is poor too; and in this lean Age for Courtiers, she perhaps would be glad to run this Summer in our Park.  Pleas. 
Dear Aunt, let us have her; has she been famous? has she good Tales, think you, of Knights? such as have been false or true to Love, no matter which.  VVid. 
She cannot want cause to curse the Sex; handsome, witty, well born, and poor in Court, cannot want the experience how false young men can be; Her Beauty has had the highest fame; and those Eyes that weep now unpitied have had their Envy, and a dazling Power.  Pleas. 
And that Tongue, I warrant you, which now grows hoarse with flattering the great Law-breakers, once gave Law to Princes; was it not so Aunt? Lord, shall I die without begetting one story?  VVid. 
Penthesilea, nor all the cloven Knights the Poets treat of, clad in mightiest Petticoats, did her excel for gallant deeds; and, with her Honour, still preserved her Freedom; My Brother loved her; and I have heard him swear, Minerva might have owned her Language; An Eye like Pallas, Juno's wrists, a Venus for shape, and a Mind chaste as Diana, but not so rough; never uncivilly Cruel, nor faulty kind to any; no vanity, that sees more than Lovers pay, nor blind to a gallant Passion; Her Maxim was, he that could Love, and tell her so handsomely, was better Company, but not a better Lover than a silent Man; Thus, all Passions found her Civility, and she a value from all her Lovers. But alas, Niece, this was (which is a sad word) was handsome, and was beloved, are abhorred sounds in Women's ears. The Fiddlers play again.  Pleas. 
Hark, the Fiddlers are merry still; will not Secret have the wit to find us this morning, think you?  Fidlers. 
God give you joy, Master Careless; God give your Ladyship joy, my Lady Wild.  VVid. 
What did the Fellow say? God give me joy?  Pleas. 
As I live, I think so.  Fidlers. 
God give you joy, Mistress Pleasant Wild.  VVid. 
This is my Nephew, I smell him in this knavery.  Pleas. 
Why did they give me joy by the name of Mistress Wild? I shall pay dear for a night's lodging if that be so, especially lying All the company confused without, and bid God give them joy .alone; By this light, there is some knavery afoot.  Jolly. 
Rise, rise, for shame, the year's afore you.  Capt. 
Why, Ned Wild, why Tom, will you not rise and let's in? what, is it not enough to steal your wedding over night, but lock yourselves up in the morning too? All your Friends stay for points here, and kisses from the Brides.  Wild. 
A little Patience, you'll give us leave to dress us? The Women squeak when they speak.  Carel. 
Why, what's o'clock, Captain?  Capt. 
It's late.  Carel. 
Faith, so it was before we slept.  Wid. 
Why, Nephew, what means this rudeness? As I live, I'll fall out with you. This is no jest.  Wild. 
No, as I live, Aunt. We are in earnest; but my part lies here, and there's a Gentleman will do his best to satisfy you; They catch the Women in their Arms .and sweet Mistress Pleasant, I know you have so much wit as to perceive this business cannot be remedied by denials; here we are, as you see, naked, and thus have saluted hundreds at the window that passed by, and gave us joy this morning.  Pleas. 
Joy, of what? what do you mean?  Carel. 
Madam, this is visible, and you may coy it, and refuse to call me Husband; But I am resolved to call you Wise, and such Careless kisses the Widow .proofs I'll bring as shall not be denied.  Wid. 
Promise yourself that; see whether your fine wits can make it good; you will not be uncivil?  Carel. 
Not a hair but what you give, and that was in the Contract before we undertook it; for any Man may force a Woman's Body, but we have laid we will force your Mind.  Wild. 
But that needs not, for we know by your discourse last night and this morning, we are Men you have no aversion to; and I believe, if we had taken time and wooed hard, this would have come a course; but we had rather win you by wit, because you defied us.  VVid. 
'Tis very well, if it succeed.  Carel. 
And, for my part, but for the jest of winning you, and this way, not ten jointures should have made me marry?  VVid, 
This is a new way of wooing.  Carel. 
'Tis so, Madam; but we have not laid our plot so weakly (though it were sudden) to leave it in anybody's power but our own to hinder it.  Pleas. 
Do you think so?  Wild. 
We are secure enough, if we can be true to ourselves.  Carel. 
Yet we submit in the midst of our strength, and beg you will not wilfully spoil a good jest by refusing us. By this hand, we are both sound, and we'll be strangely honest, and never in ill humours, but live as merry as the Maids, and divide the year between the Town and the Country; What say you, is't a Match? Your bed is big enough for two, and my meat will not cost you much; I'll promise nothing but one heart, one purse betwixt us, and a whole dozen of boys, is't a bargain?  VVid. 
Not, if I can hinder it, as I live.  Wild. 
Faith, Mistress Pleasant, he hath spoken nothing but reason, and I'll do my best to make it good; Come faith, teach my Aunt what to do, and let me strike the bargain upon your Lips.  Pleas. 
No, Sir, not to be half a Queen; if we should yield now your wit would domineer for ever; and still in all disputes (though never so much reason on our side) this shall be urged as an Argument of your Master wit to confute us; I am of your aunt's mind, Sir; and if I can hinder it, it shall be no match.  Wild. 
Why then know, it is not in your Powers to prevent it.  Wid. 
Why, we are not married yet.  Carel. 
No, 'tis true.  Wid. 
By this good light then I'll be dumb for ever hereafter, lest I light upon the words of Marriage by chance.  Pleas. 
'Tis hard, when our own Acts cannot be in our own power, Gentlemen.  Wild. 
The plot is only known to four, the Minister and two that stood for Fathers, and a simple Country Maid that waited upon you last night, which plays your Chambermaid's part.  Pleas. 
And what will all these do?  Wild. 
Why, the two friends will swear, they gave you; the Parson will swear, he married you; and the wench will swear, she put us to bed.  Wid. 
Have you men to swear we are married?  Pleas. 
And a Parson to swear he did it?  Both. 
Yes.  Wid. 
And a wench that will swear, she put us to Bed?  Both. 
Yes, By this good light, and witness of reputation.  Pleas. 
Dare they or you look us in the face, and swear this?  Carel. 
Yes faith, and all but those four know no other but really it is so; and you may deny it, but I'll make Mr. Constable put you to bed, with this proof, at night.  Wid. 
Pray, let's see these witnesses.  VVild. 
Call in the four only.  [Exit Careless. Pleas. 
Well, this shall be a warning to me; I say nothing, but if ever I lie from home again.  Wild. 
I'll lie with you.  Pleas. 
'Tis well; I dare say, we are the first women (if this take) that ever were stolen against their wills.  Wild. 
I'll go call the Gentlemen.  [Exit Wild. VVid. 
I that have refused a fellow that loved me these seven years, and would have put off his hat, and thanked me to come to bed, to be beaten with watchmen's staves into another's; For by this good light, for aught that I perceive, there's no keeping these out at night.  Pleas. 
And unless we consent to be their wives, today, M. Justice will make us their whores at night: oh, oh, what would not I give to come off! not that I mislike them, but I hate they should get us thus.  Enter Wild, Jolly, Captain, Careless, Parson, Wanton, with Rosemary in their hands, and Points in their Hats. Carel. 
Follow.— Will not you two swear we were married last night?  Joll. 
Capt. Yes, By this light, will we.  VVild. 
Will not you swear you married us?  Pars. 
Yea, verily.  Carel. 
And come hither, pretty one, will not you swear you left us all a-bed last night, and pleased?  Want. 
Yes forsooth; I'll swear any thing your worship shall appoint me.  Wid. 
But, Gentlemen, have you no shame, no conscience; will you swear false, for sport?  Joll. 
By this light, I'll swear, if it be but to vex you: Remember you refused me, [That is contrary to Covenants though with my brace of Lovers; what will they do with their Coach-mans Speaks these words, aside .plot? but 'tis no matter, I have my ends; and so they are cozened I care not who does it.]  Capt. 
And, faith, Madam, I have sworn many times false, to no purpose; and I should take it ill, if it were mine own case, to have a friend refuse me an Oath upon such an occasion.  Pleas. 
And are you all of one mind?  Pars. 
Verily we will all swear.  Pleas. 
Will you verily? what shall we do, Aunt? Pleas. laughs.  Wid. 
Do you laugh? By this light, I am heartily angry.  Pleas. 
Why, As I live, let's marry them, Aunt, and be revenged.  Wid. 
Marry, where's the Parson?  Capt. 
Here, here, M. Parson, come and do your Office.  Pleas. 
That fellow? No, by my troth, let's be honestly joined, for lucks sake, we know not how soon we may part.  Wild. 
What shall she do for a Parson? Captain, you must run and fetch one.  Capt. 
Yes, yes; but methinks this might serve turn; By this hand, he's a Marshal, and a Case, by Sire and Dam; pray try him, By this light, he comes of the best preaching kind in Essex.  Wid. 
Not I, As I live, that were a blessing in the devil's name.  Pars. 
A pox on your wedding; give me my wife and let me be gone.  Capt. 
Nay, nay, no choler, Parson; the Ladies do not like the colour of your Beard.  Pars. 
No, no, fetch another, and let them escape with that trick, than they'll jeer your beards blue, i'faith.  Carel. 
By this hand, he's in the right; either this Parson, or take one another's words; to Bed now, and marry when we rise.  Pleas. 
As I live, you come not here till you are married; I have been nobody's whore yet, and I will not begin with my husband.  Wild. 
Will you kiss upon the bargain, and promise before these witnesses not to spoil our jest, but rise and go to Church.  Pleas. 
And what will M. Constant and M. Sad say?  Capt. 
Why, I'll run and invite them to the wedding; and you shall see them expire in their own Garters.  Jolly 
No, no, ne'er fear't, their jest is only spoiled.  Capt. 
Their jest, what jest?  Joll. 
Faith, now you shall know it, and the whole Plot: In the first place, your Coachman is well, whose death, we, by the help of Secret, contrived, thinking by that trick to prevent this danger, and carry you out of Town.  Capt. 
But had they this Plot?  Joll. 
Yes faith, and see how it thrives; they'll fret like carted Bawds when they hear this news.  Pleas. 
Why, Aunt; would you have thought M. Sad a Plotter? well, 'tis some comfort we have them to laugh at.  Wid. 
Nay faith, then, Gentlemen, give us leave to rise, and I'll take my venture, if it be but for a revenge on them.  Carel. 
Gentlemen, bear witness.  Capt. 
Come, come away, I'll get the points; I'm glad the coachman's well, the Rogue had like to have spoilt our Comedy.  [Exeunt omnes.  

ACT. V. SCEN. III.  Enter the Lady Loveall, Master Sadd, and Constant, undressed and buttoning themselves as they go. Sadd. 
MArried?  Const. 
And to them?  Love. 
ay, married, if you prevent it not; catched with a trick, an old stale trick; I have seen a Ballad on't.  Sadd. 
We shall go near to prevent 'em.— Boy, My Sword.  Enter Captain. Capt. 
Whither so fast?  Sadd. 
You guess.  Capt. 
If you mean the wedding, you come too late.  Const. 
Why, are they married?  Capt. 
No, but lustily promised.  Sadd. 
We may come time enough to be revenged though.—  Capt. 
Upon whom? yourselves, for you are only guilty: who carried them thither last night? who laid the Plot for the Coachman?  Sadd. 
Why, do they know it?  Love. 
Well, you'll find the Poet a Rogue, 'tis he that has betrayed you; and if you'll take my counsel, be revenged upon him.  Const. 
Nay, we were told he did not love us.  Capt. 
By my life, you wrong him; upon my knowledge the Poet meant you should have them.  Sadd. 
Why, who had the power to hinder then?  Capt. 
I know not where the fault lies directly; they say, the wits of the Town would not consent to't, they claim a right in the Ladies, as Orphan-wits.  Const. 
The wits! hang 'em in their strong lines.  Capt. 
Why I, such a clinch as that has undone you; and upon my knowledge 'twere enough to hinder your next match.  Sadd. 
Why, what have they to do with us?  Capt. 
I know not what you have done to disoblige them; but they crossed it; there was amongst 'em too a pair of she-wits, something stricken in years; they grew in fury at the mention of it, and concluded you both with an authority out of a modern Author; besides 'tis said, you run naturally into the sixpenny Room and steal sayings, and a discourse more than your pennyworth of jests, every Term; why, just now, you spit out one jest stolen from a poor Play, that has but two more in five Acts; what conscience is there in't, knowing how dear we pay Poets for our Plays?  Const. 
'Twas, Madam, with the ill face, one of those whom you refused to salute the other day, at Chip's house; a cheesecake had saved all this.  Love. 
Why do you not make haste about your business, but lose time with this Babbler?  Sadd. 
Madam, will you give us leave to make use of your Coach?  Love. 
You may command it, Sir; when you have done, send him to the Exchange, where I'll dispatch a little business, and be with you immediately.  [Exeunt all but the Captain. Capt. 
So, this fire's kindled; put it out that can. What would not I give for a peeper's place at the meeting; I'll make haste, and it shall go hard but I'll bear my part of the mirth too.  [Exit.  

ACT. V. SCEN. IV.  Enter Widow, Pleasant, Careless, Wild, Parson, Jolly, Wanton and Secret: the Fiddlers play as they come in. Pars. 
MAster Jolly, I find I am naturally inclined to mirth this day, and methinks my Corns ache more than my Horns; and to a man that has read Seneca a Cuckold ought to be no grief; especially in this Parish where I see such droves of St. Luke's clothing; there's little Secret too, th'allay of waiting-woman, makes me hope, she may prove metal of the parson's standard. Find a way to rid me of Wanton, and I'll put in to be Chaplain to this merry family; if I did not inveigle formal Secret, you should hang me; I know the trick on't; 'tis but praying too, and preaching of the waiting-woman, then carefully seeing her cushion laid, with her book and leaf turned down, does it, with a few Anagrams, Acrostics, and her name in the Register of my Bible: these charm the soft-souled sinner; then sometimes to read a piece of my Sermon, and tell her, a Saturday, where my Text shall be, spells that work more than Philtres.  Joll. 
If you can be serious, we'll think of this at leisure.— See how they eye Wanton.  Carel. 
What? consulting Parson? let us be judges betwixt you; d'ye hear, Jack, if he offers ready money, I counsel, as a friend, take it; for, By this light, if you refuse it, your wife will not; d'ye see those gay Petticoats?  Pars. 
Yes, if you mean my wife's.  Carel. 
You know theyare his, and she only wears 'em for his pleasure; and 'tis dangerous to have a wife under another man's Petticoats; what if you should find his breeches upon hers?  Pars. 
Are not you married too? take care that yours does not wear the Breeches, another kind of danger, but as troublesome as that, or sore-eyes; and if she get but a trick of taking as readily as she's persuaded to give, you may find a horn at home; I have seen a Cuckold of your complexion; if he had had as much hoof as horn, you might have hunted the beast by his slat.  Pleas. 
How fine she is! and, By this light, a handsome wench, Mr. Jolly, I am easier persuaded to be reconciled to your fault, than any man's; I have seen, of this kind; her eyes have more Arguments in 'em then a thousand of those that seduce the world; hang me if those Quivers be not full of Darts; I could kiss that mouth, myself, is this she my Aunt quarrelled with you for?  Joll. 
The same, selfsame. And by this hand, I was barbarous to her, for your aunt's sake; and had I not scaped that mischief of matrimony, By this light, I had had never seen her again; but I was resolved not to quit her, till I was sure of a wife, for fear of what has followed; had I been such an Ass as to have left her upon the Airy hopes of a widow's Oaths; what a case had I been in now? You see, your Aunt's provided of a man. Bless him, and send him patience, 'twould have been fine to have seen me walking, and sighing upon cold hunting, seeking my whore again, or forced to make use of some common mercenary thing that sells sin and diseases, crimes, penance and sad repentance together; here's consolation and satisfaction, in Wanton, though a man lose his meal with the widow. And, faith, be free, how do you like my Girl; rid thee of her; what does she want now, pray, but a jointure, to satisfy any honest man? speak your conscience; Ladies don't you think a little repentance, hereafter, will serve, for all the small sins that good nature can act with such a sinner?  Pars. 
Pray, Sir, remember she's my wife; and be so civil to us both, as to forget these things.  Joll. 
For that, Jack, we'll understand hereafter, 'tis but a trick of youth, man, and her jest ill make us both merry, I warrant thee.  Pars. 
Pray, Sir, no more of your jests, nor your Jack; remember my Coat and Calling. This familiarity both with my wife and myself, is not decent; your Clergy with Christen names are scarce held good Christians.  [Enter Wid. Wid. 
I wonder at nothing so much as M. Jollies mirth, today; where lies his part of the jest? cozened or refused by all, not a fish that stays in's Net. Joll. bugs Wanton.  Joll. 
No, what's this? show me a fairer in all your streams; nor is this my single joy, who am pleased to find you may be cozened; rejoice to see you may be brought to lie with a man for a jest; let me alone to fit you with a trick too.  Carel. 
Faith, it must be some new trick; for thou art so beaten at the old one, 'twill neither please thee nor her; besides, I mean to teach her that myself.  Pleas. 
I shall never be perfectly quiet in my mind, till I see somebody as angry as myself; yet I have some consolation when I think on the wise plot that killed the Coachman, how the Plague, Red-cross and Halberd has cut their fingers that designed it, their anger will be perfect. Secret says they are coming, and that the Lady Loveall has given 'em the Alarm.  [Enter Sadd and Const. Wild. 
And see where the parties come,— Storms and tempests in their minds, their looks are Daggers.  Pleas. 
Servant, what? you're melancholy and full of wonder; I see you have met the news.  Sadd. 
Yes Madam, we have heard a report that will concern both your judgement and your honour.  Pleas. 
Alas, Sir, we're innocent; 'tis mere predestination.  Const. 
All weddings, Mr. Sad, you know go by chance, like hanging.  Pleas. 
And, I thank my Stars, I have scaped hanging; to ha' been his Bride had been both.  Const. 
This is not like the promise you made us yesterday.  Wid. 
Why truly, Servant, I scarce know what I do yet; the fright of the Plague had so possessed my mind with fear that I could think and dream of nothing, last night, but of a tall black man, that came and kissed me in my sleep, and slapped his whip in mine Ears, 'twas a saucy Ghost, (not unlike my Coachman that's dead) and accused you of having a hand in his murder, and vowed to haunt me till I was married, I told my niece the dream.  Pleas. 
Nay, the Ghost sighed, and accused Secret and Master Sad; of making him away confess, faith, had you a hand in that bloody jest?  Wid. 
Fie, Servant; could you be so cruel as to join with my woman against me?  Const. 
'Tis well, ladies; why a Pox do you look at me, this was your subtle plot; a Pox on your Clarks wit; you said the jest would beget a Comedy when 'twas known, and so I believe 'twill.  Sad. 
Madam, I find you have discovered our design, whose chief end was, to prevent this mischief which I doubt not, but you'll both live to repent your share of, before you have done travelling to the Epsams, Bourbon's, and the spas, to cure those travelled diseases these Knights errant have, with Curiosity, sought out for you; 'Tis true, th' are mischiefs that dwell in pleasant Countries, yet those Roses have their thorns; and I doubt not, but these gentlemen's wit may sting as well as please, sometime; and you may find it harder to satisfy their travailed Experience, than to have suffered our homebred ignorance.  Carel. 
Hark, if he be not fallen into a fit of his cousin; These names of Places he has stolen out of her Receipt-book; amongst all whose diseases, find me any so dangerous, troublesome or incurable, as a fool, a lean, pale, sighing, coughing fool, that's rich and poor both, being born to an estate, without a mind or heart capable to use it, of a nature so miserable he grudges himself meat; nay, they say, he eats his meals twice, a fellow whose breath smells of yesterdays dinner, and stinks as if he had eat all our Suppers over again; I would advise you Mr. Sad to sleep with your mouth open, to air it, or get the Brewer to Tun it; Faugh, an empty Justice, that stinks of the Lees and Casks, and belches Littleton and Ployden's Cases; dost thou think any woman that has wit, or honour, would kiss that Bunghole; by this light, his head and belly look as blue and lank as French rabbits, or stale Poultry; Alas, Sir, my Lady would have a husband to rejoice with, no green-tailed Lecturer, to stand sentry at his bed's side, while his nasty soul scours through him, sneaking out at the back door.— These, Sir, are diseases which neither the spa, or Bath, can cure your Garters and Willow are a more certain remedy.  Constant. 
Well, Sir, I find our plot's betrayed, and we have patience left; 'Tis that damned Captain has informed.  Sadd. 
Yet 'tis one comfort, Madam, that you have missed that man of war, that Knight of Finsbury; His Dowager, with Ale and Switches, would ha' bred a Ballad.  Pleas. 
Faith, Sir, you see what a difficulty it is, in this Age, for a woman to live honest, though she have a proper man to her husband; therefore it behooves us to consider, who we choose.  Joll. 
The Lady has Reason; for being allowed but one, who would choose such weasels as we see daily married, that are all head and Tail, crooked, dirty, sold Vermin, predestined for Cuckolds, painted Snails, with houses on their backs, and horns as big as Dutch Cows; would any woman marry such? nay, can any woman be honest, that lets such Hod-man-dods crawl o'er her Virgin breast, and Belly, or suffer 'em to leave their slimy paths upon their bodies only for Jointures? Out, 'tis Mercenary and base; The generous heart has only the Laws of Nature and kindness in her view; and when she will oblige, Friend is all the ties that nature seeks, who can both bear and excuse those kind crimes; And I believe, one as poor as the despised Captain, and neglected Courtier, may make a woman as happy in a Friendship as Master Sad, who has as many faults as we have debts; one, whose Father had no more credit with Nature, than ours had with Fortune; whose soul wears Rags as well as the captain's body.  Sadd. 
Nay then, I'll laugh; for I perceive, you're angrier than we; Alas, has lost both ventures, Wanton, and the Widow.  Joll. 
Both, and neither so unlucky as to be thy wife; thy face is hanged with blacks already, we may see the Bells toll in thy Eyes; A Bride and a Wedding Shirt? a Sexton and a winding sheet? a Scrivener to draw up Jointures? A Parson to make thy will, man; by this light he's as Chap-fallen as if he had lain under the Table all night.  Carel. 
Faith, Master Sad, he's parlously in the right; ne'er think of marrying in this dull clime, wedlock's a trade you'll ne'er go through with; wives draw-bills upon sight, an't will not be for your credit to protest 'em; rather follow my counsel, and Marry la Venetiano for a night and away; a Pistol Jointure does it; then 'tis but repenting in the morning, and leave your woman, and the sin both, i'th' Bed; But if you play the fool, like your friends, and Marry in serious earnest, you may repent it too, as they do; but where's the remedy?  Wid. 
What was't you said, Sir, do you repent?  Carel. 
By this hand, Widow, I don't know; but we have pursued a jest a great way. Parson, are you sure we're married.  Pars. 
Yes, I warrant you, for their escaping.  Carel. 
Their escaping? fool, thou mistak'st me, there's no fear of that; but I would fain know, if there be no way for me to get out of this noose; No hole to hide a man's head in from this Wedlock?  Pars. 
Not any, but what I presume she'll show you anon.  Carel. 
Hum! Now do I feel all my fears flowing in upon me; Wanton and Mistress Pleasant both grow dangerously handsome, a Thousand Graces in each, I never observed before, now, just now, when I must not taste, I begin to long for some of their Plums.  Wid. 
Is this serious, Sir?  Carel. 
Yes truly, Widow, sadly serious; Is there no way to get three or four mouthfuls of Kisses from the parson's wife?  VVid. 
This is sad, Sir, upon my Wedding day, to despise me, for such a Common thing.  Sadd. 
As sad, as I could wish; This is a jest makes me laugh.— Common? no Madam, that's two bitter, she's forest only, where the Royal Chase is as free as Fair.  Want. 
Were not you a Widow today?  Sadd. 
Yes faith, Girl, and as foolish a one as ever Coach jumbled out of joint.  Want. 
Stay then till tomorrow, and tell me the difference betwixt us.  Sadd. 
I hope, thou'lt prove a She-prophet; could I live to see thee turn honest wife, and she the Wanton Widow.  VVant. 
I cannot but laugh, to see how easy it is, to lose or win the opinion of the world; a little custom heals all, or else what's the difference betwixt a Married Widow and one of us? can any woman be pure, or worth the serious sighing of a Generous heart, that has had above one hand laid upon her? is there place to write above one Lovers name, with honour, in her heart; 'tis indeed for one a Royal Palace; but if it admits of more, an Hospital, or an Inn, at best, as well as ours; only off from the Road, and less frequented.  Pleas. 
Shrewdly urged.  Want. 
And though the sins of my Family threw me into want, and made me subject to the treachery of that broken faith, to whose perjury I owe all my Crimes, yet still I can distinguish betwixt that folly and this honour, which must tell you; He or she that would be thought twice so, was never once a Lover.  Const. 
Parson, thou art fitted; A whore, and Apothegms! what sport will she make us under a Tree, with a Salad, and sayings, in the Summer?  Wild. 
Come, Wanton, no fury; you see my Aunt's angry.  Want. 
So am I, Sir, and yet can calmly reason this truth; Married Widows, though chaste to the Law and Custom, yet their second Hymens make that which was but dying in the first husband's Bed, a stain in the second sheets, where all their kindness and repeated embraces want their value, because they're sullied and have lost their Lustre.  Sadd. 
By this light, I'll go to School to Wanton, she has opened my Eyes, and I begin to believe I have scaped miraculously; By this hand, wench, I was within an inch of being married to this Danger; for what can we call these second submissions, but a tolerated lawful mercenariness, which though it be a rude and harsh expression, yet your Carriage deserves it.  Pleas. 
Fie, Master Sad, pray leave being witty; I fear, 'tis a mortal sin, to begin in the fifth Act of your Days upon an old subject too, abusing of Widows, because they despise you.  Wid. 
Alas, Niece, let him alone, he may come in, for his share; the Parson, that has so oft received 'em, will not refuse him Tithes, there, in Charity.  Want. 
That, or Conveniency, Interest, or Importunity, may, by your Example prevail; But 'tis not fair play, Madam, to turn your Lover to the Common, as you call it, now he's rid lean in your service; take heed, Mr. Careless, and warning Mr. Sad; you see how fit for the scavenger's team your Lady leaves her Lovers.  Carel. 
Such a Lecture before I had Married would ha' made me have considered of this matter. dost thou hear Wanton, let us forgive one another, being Married, for that folly has made us guilty alike.  VVant. 
And I would fain know the difference betwixt ours, and a wedding crime, which is worst; to let love, youth and good humour betray us to a kindness, or to be gravely seduced by some aunt or uncle, without consideration of the disparity of Age, Birth, or Persons, to lie down before a Jointure; Ladies, you may flatter yourselves, but the ingenuous part of the world cannot deny, but such minds, had they been born where our faults are not only tolerated but protected, would have listened to the same things, Interest counsel thereto.  Carel. 
Parson, what Boot betwixt Our Wives? either come to a Price, or draw off your Doxy.  Pars. 
Propose, propose, here will be mirth anon.  Sad. 
Yes, yes, propose, while I break it to your Lady; Madam, you see, here's a proper man to be had, and money to boot— what, dumb?  VVant. 
No, she's only thinking; faith, Madam, try 'em both tonight, and choose tomorrow.  Wild. 
Come, no more of this; Aunt, take my word for your husband, that have had more experience of him then all these; 'tis true, he will long for these Girls, as children do for plums; and when h'as done, make a meal upon cheese; and you must not wonder, nor quarrel at what he says in his humour, but Judge him by his Actions; and when he is in his fit, and raves most, put him into your bed, and fold him close in your Arms, Aunt; if he does not rise as kind and as good a husband as he that sings Psalms best, hang me; why, you're a fool, aunt; a widow, & dislike a longing Bridegroom! I thought you had known better; do you love a spurred horse, rather than a Duker, that neighs, and scrapes? I would not say this, but that I know him; let him not go out of your sight, for he's now in season, a Ripe mature husband; No delays; if you let him hang longer upon hope his fruit will fall alone.  Wid. 
You are merry, Sir; But if I had known this humour. She kisses Carl. and he kisses her twice  Wild. 
You'd ha' kissed him first; but being ignorant, let me make you blush; come, a kiss, and all's Friends.— how now, Sir, again, again, Aunt, look to yourself.  Carel. 
'em! By this light, sweet heart, and I thank thee; Nay widow, there's no jesting with these things— Nay, I am a Lion, in my Kisses her again .Love: Aware, Puss, if you flatter me, for I shall deceive you.  Pars. 
Since all are cozened, why should I be troubled at my fortune; faith Gentlemen, what will you two give me for a wife, betwixt you?  Const. 
Faith, they're mischiefs dear bought, though a man get 'em for nothing.  Pars. 
I'm almost of his mind; and if other people find no more pleasure in a married life than I, upon my wedding day, I'd pass my time in the Piazza, with the Mountebank, and let him practise upon my Teeth, and draw'em too ere he persuades the words of matrimony out of my mouth again. ay, ay, M. Constant, you may laugh, you ha' missed a wife; would I were in your case, the world should see how cheerfully I should bear such an affliction.  Const. 
Jack, I ha' made my peace at home, and by seeing others shipwrecked will avoid the danger, and here resolve, never to sigh again for any woman; theyare weeds grow in every hedge; and transplanting of'em thus to our Beds gives certain trouble, seldom pleasure, never profit.  [Enter Capt. Pars. 
See where the enemy comes; now if you be wise, arm, and unite against him, as a common foe; he's come from his old Lady, designing a reconciliation; the Rogue's provident, and would fain have a Nest for his Age to rest in; Buff and Feathers do well in the youth and heat of thirty; but in the winter of old age, Captain at threescore, lame and lean, may lie with the Almanac out of date.  Capt. 
The Parson's grown witty, and prophesy upon the strength of bridecake; if I guess aright, thou'lt be hanged; for 'tis a truth, I have been endeavouring to make it appear, her fears were mistaken in me: but I find the witch more implacable than the Devil; the waiting-woman is harder to forgive her part, than my Lady. Faithful will not be reconciled, the merciless bawd is all fire and sword, no quarter; Bless me from an old waiting-woman's wrath; she'll never forgive me the disappointing her of a promise when I was drunk; her Lady and she are coming, but in such a fury, I would not have the storm find you in the street; therefore. I counsel you to avoid the boys, and take shelter in the next house.  Wild. 
No, let's home, and with all diligence get our dinner, to defend us; and let the Porter dispute it at the wicket, till she signs Articles of peace.  Omnes. 
Agreed.—  Careless is kind to the Widow; as he goes out, Wild and Pleasant go together, Jolly and the parson's wife go together. Wild. 
See how they pair now, 'tis not threescore year will part 'em now he has tasted a kiss or two.  Joll. 
Parson, I'll be your brideman.  Pars. 
'Tis well, Sir, I shall ha' my time too.  Joll. 
I by this hand; nay, we'll share fairly.  Capt. 
That's but reason, Wanton; and since he grows tame, use him kindly for my sake.  Pars. 
Can any of you digest Sponge and Arsenic?  Capt. 
Arsenic? what's that?  Pars. 
An Italian Salad, which I'll dress for you, By Jove, ere I'll walk in my Canonical-coat lined with horn; Death, if I suffer this, we shall have that damned Courtier pluck on his shoes with the parson's Musons; fine i'faith, none but the small Levites brow to plant your shoeing-horn-feed in?— How now? As he is going off the Capt. Stays him.  Capt. 
Prithee, Jack, stay, and say something to the Gentlemen, by way of Epilogue. Thou art a piece of a scurvy Poet thyself, prithee oblige the Author, and give us a line or two in praise of his Play.  Pars. 
I oblige him? hang him and all his friends, and hurt nobody; yes, I'm likely to speak for him; you see how i'ha been used today betwixt you, I shall find a time to be revenged, let go my cloak; I have a Province, within, of mine own to govern, let me go.  Capt. 
Who, thy wife? faith stay, and give them an opportunity; thy pain will be the sooner over: you see 'tis a thing resolved betwixt 'em, and now thou'rt satisfied in the matter, be wise and silent; who knows what good she may do thee another time; I dare say, if she had as many souls in her as she had men, she'd bring thee a cure of herself.  Pars. 
Let me go, or I shall be as troublesome as you are injurious, for all your Titles, Sir.  Capt. 
Lend me your cloak then, to appear more decent; you'd not ha' me present Epilogue in Buff, whoreson Dunce, with a red nose.  Pars. 
Sir, my business is praying, not Epilogues.  Capt. 
With that face? By this light, 'tis a scandal to see it flaming so near the altar; thou look'st as if thou'dst cry tope, in the face of the Congregation, instead of Amen.  Pars. 
Thou'rt an Ass, 'tis proper there, 'thas zeal and fervour in't, and burns before the Altar like the primitive Lamps.  Capt. 
I cry thee mercy; By this light, he'll make it sacrilege anon to steal his nose; thou'lt entitle the Altar to that Coal; was't not kindled Ex voto? nay, I will have your cloak.  Pars. 
Take it; would 'twere Nessus his shirt, for you and your poet's sake.  [Exit Parson. Capt. 
What, does the Rogue wish 'twere made of Nettles?  Captain puts on his Cloak, and addresses himself to speak the Epilogue, and is interrupted by the Lady Loveall and Faithfull her woman, who in haste and full of anger pull him by the Cloak. Love. 
By your favour, Sir; did you see any company pass this way? The Music plays.  Capt. 
None, but the three Brides, and they are gone just before you.— Hark, the Music will guide you.  Love. 
Is it certain then they re married?  Capt. 
Yes, Lady, I saw the church's rights performed.  Faithf. 
Why does your Ladyship lose time in talking with this fellow; don't you know him, Madam? 'tis the rascally Captain, hid in a black cloak; I know you, Sirrah.  Love. 
She has reason; now I mark him better, I should know that false face too; see Faithful, there are those treacherous eyes still.  Capt. 
Alas, you mistake me, Madam, I am Epilogue now; the Captain's within; and as a friend I counsel you, not to incense the Gentlemen against the Poet, for he knows all your story; and if you anger him he'll put it in a Play; but if you'll do friendly offices, I'll undertake, instead of your Pearl you lost, to help you to the Jewel, the Scotch Dictionary will tell you the value of it; let them go alone, and fret not at their loss; stay, and take my counsel, it shall be worth three revenges.  Love. 
Well, what is't, Sir?  Capt. 
They say, you have a great power over the Parson; if you can prevail with him to express his anger in some satiric Comedy (for the knave has wit, and they say his genius lies that way,) tell him, 'tis expected he should be revenged upon the illiterate Courtier that made this Play; if you can bring this business about, I may find a way, as Epilogue, to be thankful, though the Captain abused you today. Think on't, Stephen is as handsome, when the Play is done, as Mr. Wild was in the Scene.  Love. 
There's something of reason in what he says.— But my friend, how shall one believe you; you that were such a Rascal today, in Buff, is it to be hoped you can be honest only with putting on a black cloak? well, I'll venture once again; and if I have any power, he shall sting the malicious Rascal; and I think he is fit for such a business. I'm sure he has the worst tongue; and a conscience that neither honour nor truth binds; and therefore 'tis to be believed, if he will rail in public he may be even with your Poet; I will clothe and feed him and his Muse this seven years, but I will plague him: Secret tells me, 'twas your Poet too that pawned me, today, in the Tavern.  Capt. 
By my faith, did he; nay 'twas he that told me of your friendship with Jolly.  Love. 
I wonder the Parson has been so long silent; a man of his coat and parts, to be beaten with a pen, by one that speaks sense by rote, like parrots; one that knows not why sense is sense, but by the sound; one that can scarce read, nay, not his own hand; well, remember your promise.  Capt. 
Leave it to me, he is yours; and if our Plot take, you shall all have your shares in the mirth; but not the profit of the Play; and the Parson, more than his Tithe, a second day.  Love. 
We will discourse of this some other time; and pray dispatch what 'tis you have to say to this noble company, that I may be gone; for those Gentlemen will be in such fury, if I stay; and think, because we are alone, God knows what.  Capt. 
'Tis no matter what they think, 'tis not them we are to study now; but these guests, to whom pray address yourself civilly, and beg that they would please to become Fathers, and give those Brides within; what say you, Gentlemen, will you lend your hands to join them; the Match you see is made; if you refuse, Stephen misses the Wench, and than you cannot justly blame the Poet. For you know, they say, that alone is enough to spoil the Play.   
FINIS.