THE Generous Choice. A COMEDY. As it is Acted at the New Theatre IN Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields. BY His MAJESTY's SERVANTS.  
Written by Mr. MANNING.  
Lectori credere mallem.  Hor. 
LONDON, Printed for R. Wellington at the Dolphin and Crown, the West-end of St. Paul's Churchyard: And A. Bettesworth, at the Red Lion on London-Bridge, 1700.  
Newly Published, The History of the Reign of Lewis XIII. King of France and Navarre; containing the most Remarkable Occurrences in France and Europe during the Minority of that Prince. By Mr. Michael le Vassor. Price 〈◊〉.  
A Collection of Novels, in 2 Vol. viz. The Secret History of the E. of Essex and Q. Elizabeth. The Happy Slave, in Three Parts. And The Double Cuckold. To which is added, The Art of ●easing in Conversation. By Cardinal Richlieu. Vol. II. contains, The Heroine Musqueteer, in 4 Parts. Incognita, or love and Duty Reconciled. By Mr. Congreve. The Pilgrim, in 2 parts. Price 10 s. Each Volume may be had singly.  
The Tragical History of Richard the Third, as it is Acted at the Theatre Royal: Written by Mr. Cibber. Price 1 s. is this Day published; where Gentlemen may have all sorts of Plays and Novels.   

TO Christopher Codrington, Esq  
SIR,  
I Must own the first and chiefest Advantage I proposed to myself in this Play, was, To gain the only Opportunity, perhaps I shall ever have, of acknowledging to the World how very much I am bound to be Yours, not only out of Gratitude but Inclination.  
From hence it might be expected, according to the Course of Dedications, that I should forget both You and myself in tiring you with your own Praises. No, Sir, I consider to whom I writ; nor need you blush at what I am going to say, tho' I know you are more afraid of your Friends on such an Occasion as this, than your Enemies on any other.  
Were it possible for me to think of but attempting your Character, I should esteem myself very Happy, if I could reach so far as the Out-lines of the Original. To proceed any further, were to draw upon myself a harder Task than ever any Painter yet had. 'Twere todwell upon Lights altogether without even the Mixture of a Shade.  
But if I had Strength to support the Undertaking, I should beg leave to mention your Affability of Temper, your Perfection in Learning, a Delicacy in your Thoughts, a noble Vivacity in your Expressions, a matchless Fire in your Fancy, and a great Exactness of Judgement: To change the Scene your Personal Bravery in the Camp, your Gallantry at Court, your Zeal to serve your Friends, your Humanity to all the World, and your easy Dispatch in Business.  
Thus consummate in Merit, no wonder your Great Master's Favour should shine upon you with such Distinction as to send so Gallant a Son to succeed so Renowned a Father in his Commands and Governments Abroad.  
Permit me, Sir, on this occasion to wish you a Prosperous Voyage, and all the Happiness that ever Man enjoyed  
I cannot end better than with such a Wish; nor can it be sent to you with greater Fervency by any one, than  
SIR, Your much Obliged, Humble Servant, F. M.   

PROLOGUE.  

AS Orange-Plants that by the Gard'ner's Care  
T' rive by degrees, and spread abroad in Air,  
Expand their Branches, and extend their Roots,  
As through their Veins prolific moisture shoots:  
Not growing fertile gratefully produce  
Blossoms and Fruit for their Preserver's Use.  
So the young Writer of the following Scenes,  
To his good Friends, on whose Support he leans,  
Presents his very Blossom of a Play,  
Which if you'll have the Patience but to stay,  
May ripen the generous Fruit one Day.  
His humble Muse a tender Plant is found,  
Which the first Year with Buds alone is crowned.  
But if mild Seasons nurse its spreading Root,  
Succeeding years may bring forth grateful Fruit.  
Would to kind Heaven That Harvest were in view,  
For at our Lung's Expense We daily show,  
There ne'er was such a Dearth of Wit as now.   

Yet were it so that Plenty at this time  
With her full Horn enriched our peaceful Clime,  
Now to produce our Stores would be a Crime.  
For our Wise Stage-Reclaimers would resent  
Th' Offence and bid us mortify in Lent.  
Thus might we hope there's Colour to excuse  
This Author's first Attempt, and dawning Muse.  
Sooth then his Pain and make his Sentence easy,  
Methinks in Lent some Charity should seize you;  
If you Judge nicely, he despairs to Please you.    

EPILOGUE.  Spoken by Miss Porter. 

OUR Author thinks Himself Arraigned to Day,  
You are his Jury, and his Crime the Play.  
Me He retains a Counsel in his Case,  
What Fee He gave me I leave You to guests.  
I come to plead before you vent your Spite,  
And by your Verdict Fine Him the Third Night.   

First then as Criminals are wont, He chooses  
Out of his Jury such, and such refuses.  
The Critic He excepts, nor is it fit,  
One should be thought for tother's Faults, a Wit.  
Those Ladies next, that shroud in Masks their Graces,  
And dare show any thing, except their Faces.  
This Plot He to their Judgements won't Submit,  
For They're contriving how Their own may hit,  
The Sing han't half so many as the Pit.  
And lest their Favours should at last entrap him,  
He'd rather have the Vizards Hiss, than Clap Him.  
For want of Mercy Wits are banished hence,  
And most of Those who Writ, for want of Sense.  
To close the Rear, He challenges by Crowds  
Brushed Beavers, Natural Bobs, and Velvet Hoods,  
And all behind the Scenes, and all above the 
* Alluding to the Upper Gallery above the Ceiling.  Clouds.   

To the Few left He lays This Maxim down,  
That each should make the Poet's Case his own.  
whoever Themselves of Ruin are afraid,  
All Those should Him their Fellow-suff'rer Aid:  
Soldiers Disbanded should their Pity show,  
And India-Merchants, either Old or New.   

You City-Dames, that from your Husbands fly  
With borrowed Looks to Please the players Eye,  
And grace with Patch and Paint the Gallery.  
When blush on blush, and Charms Inch thick you lay,  
If He your Arts should Damn as you his Play,  
Would it not grieve you? Yet the same the Case is,  
How many here are Authors of their Faces!   

To the sweet Beaux We make our next Complaint,  
Both you that Ugly are, and you that Paint.  
How, Sirs, shall we for what He feels prepare you?  
Let's see— What is't would next to Fight scare you?  
Suppose you should in some Lampoon appear,  
Psha, What is that? 've been too often there.  
Were you confined by Surgeon or by Jailer,  
Or, what is worse Deserted by your Tailor?  
No: 'Tis the greatest Penance we can find,  
To leave you Combed and Powdered to the Wind,  
As you fear This, be to the Poet kind.   

We hope at last we may good Luck divine  
From those Bright Stars that in the Boxes Shine.  
Such Beauteous Eyes should smiling Favours grant;  
Nor Pity be the only Charm they Want.  
You ne'er should Blame, to whom all Praise is Due,  
Think but of Him as all Mankind of You.  
Come, you must all, 'tis his first Fault forgive Him;  
Or if not that, for poor Three Days Reprieve Him.    

Dramatis Personae.  

MEN.  
Don Sebastian, A Gentleman of Valencia.  
Don Philip, His Friend, newly come to Valencia.  
Don Frederick, Just arrived at Valencia from their Travels.  
Don Bernardo, Just arrived at Valencia from their Travels.  
1 Anthony, Don Philip's Man.  
2 Anthony, Don Frederick's Man.   

WOMEN.  
Donna Cornelia, Sister to Don Bernardo, contracted to Don Philip, just come to Valencia in Disguise in pursuit of him.  
Donna Olivia, Sister to Don Frederick, enjoyed by Don Philip newly arrived at Valencia too in Disguise in Search of Philip.  
Eleonora, A Woman of Intrigue.  
Dorila, Her Maid.   
Constable, watchmans, Footmen, Ruffians, etc.  
SCENE, The City of Valencia in Spain.   


ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Enter Don Bernardo, and Don Frederick. Fred. 
WEll, Bernardo, thou wilt never leave thy old courses, I see, till Age or Distempers have made thee Impotent. The good old Count at home might, indeed, expect more Sobriety from the Tour thou hast made abroad. But alas! poor Gentleman, he'll be as much deceived in thy Manners, as thou art in following the wickedness of the Flesh.  Ber. 
Prithee, Frederick, no more of this Gravity: I am not so keen a sportsman as you make me. Indeed, if a very handsome Woman bolts out upon me unawares, I may, perhaps, course her now and then for a breathing: But I don't love beating the bushes for game.  Fred. 
Well, I see, thou art incorrigible, therefore I have done. Methinks, Bernardo, the Air grows cool: Sure the night must be far advanced.  Ber. 
No matter; e'en let us ramble for once, we shall find some Adventure or other that is diverting I warrant thee.  Fred. 
What, you are again at your old Trade: No, no, I'll home, I assure you. I have no mind to be mistaken for another in the dark, and so have my Throat cut, or, if I escape that way, to be seized upon by the Watch for a Nightwalker, that has some ill design on foot.  Ber. 
You'll excuse me then, for not going with you, since I have some Commands to obey to night, of one that expects a readier Compliance than any Grandee of Spain: 'Tis one Don Cupid, Seignor, if you have heard of him.  Fred. 
Don Lucifer, you mean.  Ber. 
Call him what you will. But, Frederick, to be plain with you, the business is this; you must know, Sir, I have had a private Intrigue upon my hands with a very lovely Woman almost ever since we arrived at Valencia, and this very hour am I to meet her, by Assignation in the mean time you are brawling with our old Host at home, 'tis the better Engagement of the two.  Fred. 
'Tis less dangerous, that's certain; besides, you say your Intrigue is private.  Ber. 
It is so, indeed: But I'll tell you what I'll do for you, if I succeed in my Amour to night, and taste of this Circe's Cup, I'll undertake you shall be made the next Swine, Frederick.  Fred. 
A pox of your Swine's Jest: Farewell.  Exit Fred. Ber. 
Ha', ha', ha'! good night Don Frederick. When I had told him of my Amour, I had no other way to be rid of him, for whatsoever he pretends, I know he's staunch, tho' a sly Gamester.  
Now for the Coast of Love, on wings I'm born  
To reach that Axis, on which all things turn.  Exit.  

SCENE II. Donna Eleonora's Long.  Enter Eleonora and her Maid. Eleon. 
Come, Dorila, let us take a walk before the door, this cool Evening.  Dor. 
I'll wait upon you, Madam.  Eleon. 
I wonder Don Sebastian is not come yet: Sure somewhat of importance keeps him away, for he doth not use to be so tardy.  Dor. 
He is a Man, Madam, and may forget that he has been kindly used by a fair Lady.  Eleon. 
I would not willingly believe any such Ingratitude of him, because I have long entertained an opinion of his faithfulness; and tho' the expectation he has given me of being his Wife after the death of his Mother (if the solemnest Oaths and Protestations avail any thing) makes me a little uneasy under a disappointment: yet he has so much Goodness in his Nature, and such Charms about his Person, that I can't soon give way to interpret any thing amiss of him.  Dor. 
And so had Don Philip, when you were first acquainted with him at Madrid. He had such another Art of Charming too, that he soon gained a passage into your yielding heart, and when he had made the Conquest, left and despised you.  Eleon. 
And now he shall pay for his Villainy; for know, Dorila, that he no sooner left me to night, but I sent some Ruffians after him to dispatch him, lest he should hinder my design upon Sabastian, as well as to punish him for his Ingratitude. I wonder he could have the Impudence to inquire me out here, after the Contempt he used me with at Madrid. How do I long to hear the Fact is committed!  Dor. 
For my part I can't pity him.  Eleon. 
Pity him, no; but I'll be revenged on him, Wench. He goes to Hell this night: There let him scorn a poor deluded Maid, that sacrificed her Honour to oblige him; trusted to all his flattering promises, and saw herself forsaken, blasted, ruined. O Woman! Woman! How eager hast thou always been to know what brings ruin as soon as known! Couldst thou but spare thy Curiosity, and give no Ear to the alluring Tongues of Men, how mightst thou live in Triumph, and see proud Man beneath thee!  Dor. 
But, Madam, you'd soon have the World dispeopled at this rate.  Eleon. 
Were it a drowning a second time, 'twere no matter. 'Tis a vile World that is not worth keeping above Water. What is there to be found in it, but specious promises and certain falsehood. Two such Contagions, like North-East Winds in the Spring, are enough to blast Mankind, as those do the Fruits of the Earth.  Dor. 
Alas, poor World, what a condition art thou in!  Eleon. 
Never in a worse: But however, my meaning at first was, that I would have our Sex hold out, till they could obtain Men by Lawful means; but even then, how much discontent doth often follow!  Dor. 
Why there's the business: You would deprive poor Women of their pleasure every way. Come, come, Madam, Venus has been more indulgent to you, than you imagine, for, tho' one Lover has forsaken you, yet, thanks to fortune, you have found a Friend here that may hereafter be your Husband. Or, if you mistrust him there's the handsome stranger Don Bernardo, who has made some Addresses of Love to you.  Eleon. 
' Dslife, Dorila, he was to be here to night, this very hour, by appointment, when I did not think of Sebastian's coming. As I live I had quite forgot it. Dorila, come, let us go and contrive some way to avoid meeting both.  Dor. 
Why, this it is, not to Communicate your Affairs to me. I hope by this time you see how necessary a Confidente is in your Affairs; you may have undone yourself now, for aught I know.  Eleon. 
Come, for Venus' sake, let us go. Hark! some body's coming  Don Bernardo Enters. 
Ha! Bernardo, as I live. Dorila, make haste in, and after a little while call me, and I'll pretend 'tis my Aunt that calls, and so get away; for I would not be observed to shun him neither.  Ber. [running to them.] 
By your leave, Ladies', I hope to find an Acquaintance here. Nay, never strive to conceal yourself, Madam. Can the fair Eleonora think to be so disguised, that a Lover should not be able to distinguish her?  Dor. slips. in. Eleon. 
I might have expected some assistance from the darkness of the night, if I had not been inclined to disclose myself to you.  Ber. 
Were the night much darker than it is, and you had kept back the goodness you show me, yet those Eyes would have dispersed the darkness, and left me certain of my happiness.  Eleon. 
You are skilled in Compliments, I see; but let me entreat you to speak lower, for my Aunt is yet awake, and is apt to hear the least noise.  Ber. 
Let us walk further off then, that it mayn't be in her power either to hear us, or see us.  Eleon. 
O no, not for the World: If I should not be within call, she'd certainly rise, and suspect I was away upon some bad account. 'Twould ruin me, Sir, for she's very passionate, and would surely make another Will, and give away Forty Thousand Crowns from me.  Ber. 
Ha! Forty Thousand Crowns: Can it be true?  Aside. 
But, Madam, when will you grant some pity to a Man that so infinitely adores you? Were we not by Appointment to meet to night?  Eleon. 
Are we not met, Sir?  Ber. 
But not as I could wish: I would convince you of my unspeakable Affection.  Eleon. 
O, Sir, than you and I must meet no more. Is it possible you should entertain any such unlawful hopes?  Ber. 
'Sdeath, she'd hook me into Marriage!  Aside. Eleonora, within. Eleon. 
Pray let me go: My Aunt calls within, and I shall be undone for staying.  Eleonora again. Ber. 
A pox of this Aunt for me.  Aside. 
Madam, give me leave to assure you, that I have no ill design: All that I intended was to give you most undeniable proofs of my Love. I entreat you to believe my sincerity.  Eleon. 
You talked just now at such a mad rate, that 'twill be some difficulty to retrieve the good opinion I had of you.  Eleonora. 
O I shall be ruined, if I stay longer.  Ber. 
When shall I have an opportunity to bring you to a better understanding?  Eleon. 
O never, never. You shan't catch me here again to morrow night, I warrant you.  Runs in. Ber. 
A Pox of all Aunts, I say: You shan't catch me here again to morrow night I warrant you. A good direction however for to morrow; but what have I to do with to morrow? I may be less inclined for a Woman then, and less at leisure. A Curse on this Accident! Well, I'll take t'other walk, and if the Stars decree me no Adventure to night, I'll even home, and take Counsel of my Pillow about this last Affair.  Exit. Enter Done Sebastian muffled in his Cloak. Seb. 
Let me see; this must be the House. Well, this Love has a strange power: 'Tis so diffused through the Composition of Man, that all his other Faculties are like so many useless Wheels, till that spring be put in motion. What is there agreeable in Life, without Love? That Poet had a true taste of the World, who said, Let me die, ye Powers, when I am no longer able to relish the Blessings of Love. But I amuse myself too long.  (Knocks.) Dorila in the Balcony. Dor. 
Who is't that knocks at this late hour?  Seb. 
'Tis I; good Dorila, make no noise, but let me in.  Dor. 
I fly, Seignor, to obey you.  Retires. Seb. 
I'm glad they are so cautions whom to admit, tho' it may be nothing but disguise to cheat me, for Women have their Arts, I know.  Dorila opens the door. Dor. 
O Seignor, we have expected you so long, that we began to despair of seeing you to night.  Seb. 
I hope I am not come too soon. Where's my Eleonora?  Dor. 
In her Chamber, impatient for your arrival, to be sure.  Seb. 
Did you not tell her I was at the door?  Dor. 
I thought 'twould be more agreeable for you to surprise her with your coming.  Seb. 
You have obliged me. Come, let us go in.  They go in.  

SCENE Changes. The street.  Enter Don Bernardo. Ber. 
A Plague upon that Sreech-owl that called in my Eleonora from me: For besides my ill fortune in losing her, she has presaged me no luck all this night, I am afraid. Well, if I must go home without any Adventure to boast of, or to justify my absence to Don Frederick, I must even be content to bear with his dull Encomiums on Regularity and Example; tho' he, like the rest of the Men of Zeal for severity of Manners, is better pleased with the formality of advising, than the difficulty of the practice.  A Song without, at some distance. 

Custom, alas! doth partial prove,  
Nor gives us even measure:  
To Maids it is a Pain to Love,  
But 'tis to Men a pleasure.   

They freely can their Thoughts explain,  
Whilst ours must burn within:  
We have got Eyes and Tongues in vain,  
And Truth from us is sin.   

Men to new Joys and Conquests fly,  
And yet no hazard run:  
Poor we are left, if we deny,  
Or if we yield, undone.   

Then equal Laws let Custom find,  
Nor either Sex oppress:  
More freedom give to Womankind,  
Or give to Mankind less.   Ber. 
By your leave, whoever you are, I mean to interrupt your Singing, tho' I like it well. This may prove some lucky check to my rising inclination to go home. I'll follow the voice, whatever may ensue.  Ex.  

SCENE changes to Don Frederick's Lodgings.  Enter Don Frederick and his Man Anthony. Fred. 
From Alcantara, did he say?  2 Ant. 
I tell you, Sir, from Alcantara, and when he knew that, I had the Honour to be your Valet de Chambre.  Fred. 
You are pleasant, Sirrah.  2 Ant. 
Why, Sir, I hope 'tis not an Employment above me, for the Heralds have distinguished us in France.  Fred. 
So they will a Fiddler, if he has money to purchase a Coat of Arms.  2 Ant. 
I hope, Sir, you don't speak of that Profession by way of Contempt.  Fred. 
What doth it deserve else?  2 Ant. 
I am sorry for your Judgement, for we were always esteemed in our Country.  Fred. 
O, I find you were yourself an Instrument Scraper there once: But no more of this. What request did this stranger make to you?  2 Ant. 
That I should let you know, upon your coming home, that he was very earnest to speak with you alone.  Fred. 
So privately: Who can it be? Come, lead me to him; I long to know who ' 'tis.  Exeunt. A Bedchamber. Donna Cornelia in Man's , sitting by a Table in a thoughtful posture. Corn. 
What a Capricious Deity is Love, and how repugnant often to Nature itself! So true are those Lines of the Divine English Poet.  
In Love the Victors from the Vanquished fly,  
They fly that wound, and they pursue that die.  Enter 2 Anthony. 2 Ant. 
Seignor, my Master, Done Frederick, if you are disposed to receive his visit, would wait on you.  Corn. 
With all my heart; I shall esteem his Company as a favour.  Exit 2 Ant. 
Now must I unfold myself to him, and if he has that Generosity the World gives him, he will both secure me from my Brother's indignation, and assist me towards the success of my design.  Enter Don Frederick. Fred. 
Sir, I was made believe upon my coming home, that you had some Commands for me. I should be glad to have it in my power to obey a Stranger, especially one whose Aspect can even so soon prevail on my Inclinations.  Corn. 
Sir, your Language and Behaviour speak you Generous: I did indeed make it my request to your Servant, who had informed me of yours and Don Bernardo's Loding here, to give you private notice that a Stranger was earnest to speak with you. Be not surprised, Sir, but oblige me so far as to sit down, and hear my Story.  They sit. Fred. 
Sir, I am ready to give all attention.  Corn. 
I presume, Sir, by the Description you may have had of me, and the Garb you see me in, you take me for one of your own Sex.  he starts. 
Be not amazed, Sir, for I am but a Woman, a most unhappy Woman, no other than the Sister of your Friend Don Bernardo.  Fred. 
You astonish me, Donna Gornelia!  Corn. 
The same: Pray how long is it since you and my Brother arrived here from Italy?  Fred. 
We have been in Spain about four days, and only wait for the passing of to morrow's Festival, before we go for Alcantara. 'Tis the great Feast of St. Jago, at whose Church to morrow is to be seen all the Magnificence of this Place.  Corn. 
'Tis possible than you may have seen Don Philip de Monasco, in this Town.  Fred. 
I have only heard of him, Madam, I never had the honour to know him.  Corn. 
Alas, Sir, 'tis he that is the cause of this disguise, this Journey to Valencia, and of all the misfortunes that have yet befallen me. Not to detain you, you must know that Don Philip making use of the Acquaintance of our Friends, came frequently to our House, and was always entertained with that welcome that was due to the Son of a Man of Quality, and a particular Friend. I must confess, that from the first moment I saw him, I had a more than ordinary Joy to think we were under the same Roof, and an unusual heaviness when he went away. How soon doth Love find entrance into a weak Woman's heart! I fancied whenever he appeared before me, that there was not a Man in Spain of such Beauty, Grace, and Proportion; but when he spoke, sure Music hung upon his Tongue, and all he said I thought Oraculous.  Fred. 
Nay, now you are far gone indeed.  Corn. 
You'll excuse my weakness, Sir. After many discourses we had together full of Complaisance and Gallantry, He at last made some advances of Love. You may imagine I was not displeased to find a mutual concern. This humour he continued for many days, and at last after a Thousand Solicitations attended with Oaths and Promises of Marriage: I was Fool enough to yield.  Fred. 
Heavens! Can it be?  Corn. 
To an agreement to meet him such a day.  Fred. 
Your discretion may be yet safe. But pray, Madam, why did you not give your Father notice of your mutual Inclinations, that he might have procured Don Philip for your Husband?  Corn. 
Because I knew he had given his word to another Gentleman, and had commanded me to prepare to accept him for my Husband, tho' I told him I could never love him.  Fred. 
Well, Madam, when the day came?  Corn. 
I met him at the appointed place, but had the prudence to resolve beforehand not to yield till he should actually have Married me. He used many importunities to persuade me, but, I thank Heaven, I had so much reason left, as to consider, that he who refused to send for a Priest, when I gave him an opportunity, by being absent from my Father's House, would scarce agree to do it when he had once enjoyed me.  Fred. 
'Twas wisely reasoned, Madam; so you broke off.  Corn. 
We did from what he proposed, but not from a Contract we had made before.  Fred. 
Ha! Contracted?  Corn. 
A Solemn Contract had passed between us.  Fred. 
I am sorry for't. Pray, what has induced you to come hither in disguise?  Corn. 
Two days after our Adventure, I was informed that Don Philip was privately gone to this Place, in order to take Shipping for Naples, and had carried with him a beautiful young Lady, whom he had newly married, or designed to marry. This News put me into such a fit of melancholy, that I could not conceal it from the Family, which was very earnest to know the Cause, but in vain. After a day or two I took a resolution to disguise myself, and to come directly to Valencia to find out this ungrateful Philip, who is my Husband before Heaven, tho' another has the happiness to live with him. If I can find them, I'll either pull her by force out of his Arms, and let the World know the claim I have to him, or if he refuses to own me for his Wife, he shall experience the Revenge of a Neglected Woman.  Fred. 
Madam, if I might advise you, things being not yet gone so far as to necessitate your pursuit of him at this rate, you should even despise him in your turn, and make choice of another that should be more worthy of your Love.  Corn. 
Alas, Sir, if we could Love whom we would, your Counsel might be chosen: But Love, you know, has Fate in it, and therefore cannot be withstood.  Fred. 
You may be Wedded to a false opinion of Love; there's no such Astrology in the matter.  Corn. 
However, 'tis impossible I can ever forget Don Philip.  Fred. 
Few things are impossible, Madam, they only appear so to us for want of putting them in practice: However, let us refer this business, if you please, till the morning; you must needs want rest after the fatigue of a Journey. To morrow you may Command me as far as I have any Power.  Corn. 
But, Sir, I must entreat one Favour of you, which is, that you give my Brother no Intelligence of my being here, for I fear his Anger as much as the neglect of Philip.  Fred. 
Madam, I shall be careful to obey your Commands. Good rest to the fair Cornelia.  Exit. Corn. 
Alas! I can have no rest: This ungrateful Man will keep me for ever waking. To go to Bed is only to toss from side to side, to be tormented with Sighs, and inflamed with Jealousy.  
O Love, in Notion so transporting Fair,  
Once Felt, what Wreks and Tortures dost Thou bear  
Between the Flames of Hope and Coldness of Despair.   
She End of the First Act.   

ACT the Second.  

SCENE the First: The street.  Enter Don Bernardo, with Donna Olivia in Man's . Ber. 
THe relation you have made me, Madam, of this ungrateful Philip, as it makes me look upon you with the tenderest Compassion, so it gives me reason to detest the Author of your misfortune. You say he promised you Marriage first with all the marks of sincerity.  Ol. 
He wished a thousand times that Heaven might pour down Vengeance on his head, if he proved false.  Ber. 
What a Villain is he then for leaving you thus!  Ol. 
He is so, and yet I love this Villain. O! Bernardo, do but frame to yourself the softest delights that ever any Loved Woman has yet raised in your Soul: Fancy how transported you should be with the full possession of her Charms: Think what a pain 'twould be to live deprived of such a happiness; and then conclude what I have lost in Philip.  Ber. 
Amazement! Can there be so much felicity in our Sex? I thought all we had on Earth was to be found in yours.  Ol. 
I find you think me vain, Sir, in giving such a Character of a Man, with whom I have had some understanding: But 'tis my infirmity, pray pass it by.  Ber. 
Pardon me, Madam, I am well pleased than any of our Sex can be so very acceptable. I'll recant the name of Villain I called him too, if 'twould oblige you.  Ol. 
His leaving me looks unkind enough, indeed, but could I meet him here, I should not doubt the recovery of his heart, I know it was nothing but a youthful sally to make me sensible of the want of his dear Company, that I might receive him at his return with more than usual Ardour.  Ber. 
How ready the fond thing is to excuse this treacherous Fellow!  Aside. Ol. 
But whatever be the cause, I must entreat you, since the Accident of my voice brought you to discover my passion, that you would give me your assistance, as soon as 'tis day, to find out this Rambler, if he be in Valencia; if not, O misfortune! Whither shall I go to seek him?  Ber. 
You may command my faithfulest service.  Ol. 
Another Request I have to make to you, which is, that you conceal my being here from Don Frederick's knowledge for the present.  Ber. 
I shall obey you. You'll give me leave to wait on you to your Lodging, and, as soon as 'tis day, I shall not fail to send to know your Commands.  Ol. 
You maintain the Character the World is full of.  Exeunt. Don Philip and his Man. Phil. 
Sure I must be near Don Sebastian's: Anthony, don't you know the Street?  1 Ant. 
If 'twere not quite so dark, possibly I might, Sir.  Phil. 
As far as I remember, we should pass by this Church.  1 Ant. 
Ay, Sir, you were always for passing by the Church, I'll say that for you; but if you live at this rate, the Church won't pass You by very long.  Phil. 
Why how now, Sirrah, you are Witty to night: What, you have been punning in Donna Eleonora's Kitchen, servile Rogue!  1 Ant. 
Faith, Sir, 'tis a mistake, with your pardon; for there was Mrs. Pert, her Maid, who has so unreasonable a Tongue, that set it once a going, 'tis a very Laram for an hour together, so that no body can be heard but she. Will you give me leave, Sir, to tell you something she said?  Phil. 
Barring all Smut, and so forth, which thou canst no more forbear interlarding in thy discourse, than an Old Maid when she is past hopes of Matrimony.  1 Ant. 
Smut, Sir, I scorn your Words; I'll have you to know we Frenchmen have more good Breeding.  Phil. 
Nay, your Nation has the Character for good Manners.  1 Ant. 
Ay, and for good Courage, good Politics, and good Subjects, Begar.  Phil. 
How do you make your Courage out, pray, my Understanding Valet?  1 Ant. 
Why, we always get the better of our Enemies by our Numbers, and so our Courage is not disputed. Then as for Politics, don't you know a Nation, Sir, that has had cunning enough to get a Peace concluded, when 'twas Six to four that it had been undone in another Campagne.  Phil. 
I'm afraid that condition regarded more than one Nation. Well, and how are you good Subjects?  1 Ant. 
In troth, I think we are very good, easy Subjects, to suffer all to be restored in one Day that we had been getting for half an Age.  Phil. 
Admirable Pasquil! Well, but thou hast rambled all this while from thy Theme: Thou art a true Frenchman in thy Tongue at least, which is ever running a swift Course without any Goal before it. I thought I was to have had a decent Account of your late Conversation.  1 Ant. 
Sir, I beg your Pardon, with all my heart: Why, Sir, what do you think this wicked Jade told me?  Phil. 
Come, out with it.  1 Ant. 
Why, Sir, as sure as you're alive, this Water-wagtail told me, that the whole business of this wicked Town was Love.  Phil. 
Sayest thou so, my little Anthony?  1 Ant. 
Nay, I knew 'twould please you, for you are such a Hawk at the Sex, that the very name of an Intrigue, tho' you were to cross the Sea for't, would be a Lure to you. But, pray, Sir, let me entreat you to set me a better Example, that we may both leave this pernicious way; for, to tell you the truth, I have so great a respect for you, that I can no more forbear following all your steps like a true Serving man, than an old Sharper can those of a young Heir.  Phil. 
Leave off your Canting, Sirrah, for thou lov'st. Woman's flesh as naturally as Spaniards love Constancy, or Englishmen Change.  1 Ant. 
But, Sir, how can you so soon forget the Beautiful Cornelia? I dare swear she's pining and languishing for her Contracted Husband.  Phil. 
Let her languish on: A foolish Wench, she might have had what she languished for, but Virtue, forsooth, flew in her face, and made her resolve to starve her Love. Now for a Woman, commend me to Olivia, that no sooner loved but nourished her desire, leaving the dull fantastic notion of Fame and Honour, for the lively substantial Enjoyment of Man and Happiness.  1 Ant. 
And yet you could forsake her too.  Phil. 
Yes, because she began to trouble me, like the other, with my promise of Marriage: They would have had me worn a very straight Shoe that galls and pinches one even to Lameness. To marry is to open Pandora's Box, which is no sooner done, but all kinds of miseries flutter about your Ears.  1 Ant. 
And have you no qualms of Conscience for these things?  Phil. 
Not I, fool; Pleasure is my Employment, and my Conscience is subservient to it.  Ruffians peep in. 1 Ruf. 
It must be he by what we have heard: Courage, Friends, prepare.  2 Ruf. 
I'll have his head at the first stroke, an ungrateful Villain.  Four or five enter and come forward. 1 Ant. 
I hear a noise, Sir: Let us jog on and find the House, if it be possible.  Phil. 
Stay. Who's there? What's your business?  1 Ruf. 
We come to send a Villain to the Devil.  1 Ant. 
I am Thunderstruck, I'm Dead; did not I tell you, Sir, that the injuries you have done to those Gentlewomen would come home to you, and now you have involved me too?  softly. Phil. 
Anthony, stand up close to me, d'ye hear, or, by the Mass, I'll give you into their hands, whoever they are.  Aside to him. Ant. (trembling.) 
I will stand close, Sir. A pox confound them for me.  Phil. 
Well, who is this Villain you talk of? If you expect to find him here, you are deceived.  1 Ruf. 
We know you are a Villain, as sure as you are Don Philip, therefore fall on, Friends.  Phil. 
Nay, then 'tis time to defend ourselves: Anthony, keep close to me, or d'ye hear, I shall thrust you before me to be first slain.  Ant. 
Poor Anthony! how hard it is that other men's sins should fall upon thy head!  They draw. Phil. 
Will you hear me? I am not the Man you take me for: I am a stranger here.  2 Ruf. 
No, no; fall on, fall on.  1 Ruf. 
Courage, Lads, remember the Reward: 'Tis to kill a Villain, so 'tis no murder.  2 Ruf. 
If he were an honest Man 'twere all one to me. What, every Man must live in his way.  Ant. 
O bloody-minded Rogues! I wish I do not swoon before the fight gins.  Trembling. Phil. 
Since no entreaties will prevail, come on: I shall send some of you, blood hounds, to Hell, before you murder me, I shall.  They fight, Don Bernardo by the clashing of Swords is brought that way, and joins with Philip. Ber. 
Take Courage, Sir; you have one by your side that would stand by you, were the number of your Adversaries double.  Phil. 
Whoever you are, you are very generous.  Ant. 
Nay, then I'll even steal away, and save myself.  sneaks off. They fight still, at last the noise of the Watch makes the Ruffians retire. 1 Ruf. 
The Watch! The Watch! Let us shift for ourselves!  They scour off several ways, Phil. 
Sir, I am extremely in your debt for your timely assistance and should be glad to know of whom I have received so important a service.  Ber. 
I have done no more, Sir, than the duty of a Gentleman obliged me to; you were overpowered by Numbers, and Humanity forced me to take your part. My name is of little moment to you, since I am a stranger in this Place.  Phil. 
You are my preserver, however: Let me entreat you then to be seen to morrow. The Watch, I find, is alarmed, and will be every where; Their rudeness is to be avoided.  Ber. 
You may Command me any where in the morning.  Phil. 
Let it be then near the great Church, at Ten.  Ber. 
You'll please to give me Your name.  Phil. 
You must excuse me, Sir, for some private reasons, but if you'll please to wear this Sword, whose Hilt is of a remarkable Frame, and of no ordinary Value, I shall have the pleasure of knowing you again at the time and place.  Ber. 
The satisfaction you promise me, makes me willing to exchange Swords, which I should otherwise be ashamed to do, since mine is of no value.  They change Swords. Watch without, cry, This way, this way. 
Good night, Sir.  Phil. 
Fortune ever attend you. Anthony: Where the Devil is he? Sure he is not dropped in the Fray: I ne'er missed him till now; but let him be where he will I must avoid this Watch.  Exit. Enter three of four Watchmen. 1 Watch. 
Here this way they went. Let's after them.  2 Watch. 
Fellow, follow!  All follow. Re-enter Don Bernardo. Ber. 
I can go no way but these damned Constables, and their guard of Watchmen are upon the hunt. How to escape them, I don't well know.  A noise without, This way, this way. 
The dogs are upon full scent, and I shall be finely mumbled if I stay here. Ha! a door open; nay, then there needs no pausing for a resolution what to do.  Goes in, and shuts the door fast. Enter Constable and Watchmen, with 1st. Anthony. 1 Wat. 
Here's one of the Rogues.  2 Watch. 
Come, bring him before our Prince of Darkness here, to be examined.  1 Ant. 
Prince of Darkness, hum! then am I in Hell it seems.  aside. Const. (in his Chair.) 
Come, Sir, in the first place, Who are you, that has had the Impudence to disturb the King's Peace, and the Quiet of our Government?  1 Ant. 
Truly, Sir, the King's Peace, and your Government put together, have made me forget myself in the Wonder.  Const. 
Sir, I'll have you to know, I am the King's Image, and Viceroy of his Nocturnal hours in Valencia.  1 Ant. 
Nay, Sir, I beg your pardon now you have explained yourself, and to give you no further trouble, my name is honest Anthony.  1 Watch. 
Honest Anthony! here's a Rogue now, when, as I am an Assistant to his Majesty's Image here, I found him crammed in a Cellar Window.  Con. 
Nay, 'tis very suspicions, let me tell you, Friends; for if he had not been upon some Wicked Design he would ne'er have hid himself.  All. 
Plain, plain: Some House-breaker.  2 Watch. 
I warrant he's a Cendary in his heart, and came to set fire to the City.  Con. 
Like enough, truly, for tho' we have a Peace d'ye see, we ought to be upon our guard; else what our Enemies could not bring to pass by the Sword, they may try to do by Fire.  1 Ant. 
Pavure Antoine!  1 Watch. 
D'ye hear, Mr. Constable, what Gibberish the Rogue speaks: I warrant that's Treason, if we knew what ' 'twas. I say, let him be hanged without any more ado.  2 Watch. 
What, d'ye talk of hanging only: I humbly move, Mr. Constable, that he may be first hanged and then drowned.  Con. 
Nay, hold a little, my hearts of Steel: The Law takes notice of Life and Death, d'ye see. Let us proceed regular, d'ye mind. If upon further Examination, that is— we find him a Vagabond— That is to say— a Fellow, that— you know my meaning.  1 Watch. 
Ay, ay: One that can't answer for himself.  Con. 
Ay, that's it, Tom, the very thing I would have said: But as I was saying, if he can give no ' count of himself, that is— We'll put him in the Stocks till morning, d'ye mind, and then carry him before a Magistrate. This is a Constable's duty.  2 Watch. 
Ay, ay, 'tis so, Mr. Constable: I had forgot myself.  Con. 
Well, Friend, since the Question of Who are you is answered, the next is always, What are you?  1 Watch. 
Ay, Sir, what are you? ha'!  1 Ant. 
Why truly, Sir, I am a stranger here, I must own. But—  Con. 
He has Condemned himself: A mischievous Rogue, I warrant him. What say you, gentlemans, shall we proceed to Sentence?  All. 
Ay, ay, to Sentence, to Sentence.  1 Watch. 
And then to Execution with him.  1 Ant. 
Nay, good Gentlemen, do but hear me: I am not—  2 Watch. 
Stop his mouth for him; he's Convicted.  1 Watch. 
Ay, ay; 'tis not the custom for a Criminal to speak after Conviction. Be silent, you had best, and hearken to your Sentence.  Con. 
Well then, since we have, upon a full Hearing and a clear Evidence, found him to be a Rogue, the next thing is, to proceed to Sentence, which I pronounce thus. You are, Sirrah, to sit in the Stocks till morning, and then you must expect to go to Prison, and from thence to be hanged at least, if not impaled alive.  1 Ant. 
O malheureux que Je suis!  1 Watch. 
Come, away with him; away with him.  All. 
Away! Away!  Exeunt. Scene changes to Dan Frederick 's Lodgings. Enter Don Frederick alone, with a Candle. Fred. 
What, in the name of wonder, ail'st thou, Frederick, that thou canst not go to sleep? Is it not the time when Men forget their daily cares, and lay themselves to rest? All are at Peace within these Walls, but Thou. As I passed by Cornelia's Room, methought I could have craved admittance there, but that I recollected she was tired with her Journey, and 'twould be barbarous to wake her. Ha! wake her! What pretence have I to wake her? Wake whom, Cornelia, for what? Have a care, Frederick, this Woman runs in thy head so much, that there is no reason either in thy actions, or thy talk. Why then I am in Love, it seems: Speed you, Sir. In Love! with whom? Why, Cornelia. There 'tis again: With one, that has left a kind Father, to run a gadding after an Ungrateful Lover. O well placed Affection!  
If I must feel your power, cruel Cupid,  
Why have you made me fix my thoughts on one  
From whom I can expect no kind return?  
But the blind Boy delights in Tyranny.  
Well, since I can't sleep, I'll even walk out, and try if I can meet Don Bernardo.  Goes to the door, and calls Anthony. 
How fast the Rascal is! Stretched upon the Floor he sleeps as heavenly as if he had taken Opium. Thou hast no cares to keep thee waking, much happier than thy Master. Why Anthony?  He answers without, Sir, Sir. 
Make no noise, but come hither.  Enter 2 Anthony, yawning, and rubbing his Eyes. 2 Ant. 
What would your Worship have, Sir? you waked me out of the most extraordinary Dream.  yawning. Fred. 
What was your Dream, you sleepy sot? here, take the Candle.  2 Ant. 
Why, Sir, methought the World was turned Topsy-turvy; Integrity was come in fashion at Court, and Modesty the road to Preferment there. Great Ministers no longer wracked Attendance, and advanced Men of Worth, without putting them to the blush to ask. Lawyers forbore taking Fees on both sides, and Physicians after their Patients were dead. The Clergy were in esteem for not going from their Text, and Tradesmen were grown Conscientious. Right and Wrong were no more the Subjects of Dispute, and Men of Sense valued Things more than Words. Envy and Ostentation were no longer known among Wits and Critics, nor Controversies among Divines.  Fred. 
Why, this was a Golden Age.  2 Ant. 
Ay, Sir, would it were more than a Dream. But to pursue it, methought all Women were grown Virtuous; Balls and Masquerades were quite laid aside; Vails and Vizards were out of doors, they were not suffered even at the Playhouses; City Ladies no longer affected to outshine Quality, nor Court Lords joined issue with the City. In a Word, Sir, Honesty, Discretion and good Breeding went hand in hand together.  Fred. 
But how will you Interpret this Dream?  2 Ant. 
Nay, Sir, if once you come to that, I know what 'twill come to—  Fred. 
What?  2 Ant. 
Even nothing, Sir; for the rule of interpreting dreams is by their contraries.  Fred. 
Therefore you're out, for if you pursue that rule, you have the very World we live in. But no more; I have a mind to walk out to try if I can meet Don Bernardo. Make no answer, but follow me.  Exeunt.  

SCENE the Street.  Enter Don Philip, with two of Don Sebastian 's Servants, with Lanterns Phil. 
Hold, let me see; It must be hereabouts that I was set upon by Ruffians, and relieved by a strange Gentleman, when I missed my Man Anthony. Pray let us look about for him: 'Tis possible he may have fain in the Encounter; if he did, he shall have a decent Funeral for the Service he has done me. Yet I would not lose the Rogue neither, if I could help it, because he used to divert me often with his Country raillery.  The Servants are looking about all this time. 
You say Don Sebastian is not at home to night.  1 Ser. 
No, Seignor, begs you would excuse him till morning.  Phil. 
With all my heart.  Enter Don Frederick, and his Man. 
Ha! who are these that come this way? One of your Lights, that I may view them.  Fred. 
Good Evening, Seignor.  Phil. 
Seignor, the like to you.  Fred. passes by, and his Man comes after. 
Ha! is not that Anthony?  1 Ser. 
As I live, Anthony risen from the dead.  2 Ant. 
Yes, Sirs, my name is Anthony, but I was never dead yet, I thank Heaven: If you will not believe me, my Master, who is gone before, will confirm, that I have been alive at least these two years.  Phil. 
How, Slave! have you forsaken me then, and, not only so soon found another Master, but do you banter me too?  Fred. turns back. 
Ha! what mean you, Friends? Forsaken whom? Whom has he bantered? Pray give him leave to do his duty in following me.  Phil. 
hay day! Pray do you give your opinions of him?  To Don Sebastian 's Servants. 
Is not this Anthony, that came with me to your Master's House; and has been with me ever since, till within this half hour?  Both view him. 1 Ser. 
Why, what a Rogue are you, Anthony, to deny yourself to your Master?  2 Ser. 
'Tis either Anthony, or the Devil in his shape, that's certain.  Phil. 
Now, Sir, are you convinced yet?  Fred. 
Of your mistake, I am sure you are all bewitched to talk thus. I tell you, he has lived with me these two years in Italy, and we are newly arrived here from thence.  Phil. 
Nay, Sir, since you are so positive, and he's such a Rascal to deny me, I have done: You shall keep your Man, and much good may he do you; only spare me one word, which is this, 'tis very certain, that one and the selfsame Person, could not have lived with me in Spain, and with you in Italy, at the same time; tho' one of our Modern Virtuosos has boldly undertaken to prove the possibility of such a thing. But, Sir, 'tis as certain, that this very individual Fellow that you have taken into your Service, has been my Man every day for these six months, or it must be the Devil in his Person.  Fred. 
Sir, we are all subject to be deceived; 'tis likely your Man might bear some resemblance to him; that you are mistaken in him, I'll wager my Estate; for, I repeat it to you again, he has lived with me these two years.  2 Ant. 
Truly, Sir, I should be sorry to offend you, or any Gentleman, but, upon my honest Word, Sir, I never saw your Face before.  Phil. 
Be damned, Sir. Come, let us go: I'm weary of this illusion.  1 Ser. 
Ay, Sir, pray let us go, for fear it should be the Devil in good earnest.  Phil. 
Speed you, Sir, with your new servant.  Exeunt Don Philip and Don Sebastian 's Men. Fred. 
What a Whimsical Adventure have I met with? I wonder what time of the Moon ' 'tis? Sure these Men have lost their Wits, they could ne'er have been so mistaken else. Well, the morning may discover more of this. I'll take t'other walk, and see what I can meet with next.  Exeunt.  
The End of the Second Act.   

ACT the Third.  

SCENE the First.  Eleonora 's Lodgings. Enter Don Bernardo, and Dorila. Ber. 
I Believe I surprised you, but I had no other way to escape the rude Watch, neither did I know whose door it was I so seasonably found open, tho' at an unseasonable hour.  Dor. 
My Lady was horribly frighted, when I told her first of it, but when she was a little recovered, she called me to her Bedside, and whispering, lest her Aunt, whom she lay with, should hear her, charged me to beg your Excuse for her not seeing you; and that you might be convinced, 'twas nothing but the fear of her Aunt, if she should attempt to rise, that hindered it: She commanded me to present you with this Ring, as a Testimony of her Favour.  Ber. 
Nay then, Mrs. Dorila, you must oblige me so far as to accept of this.  Gives her Money. 
Pray tell your Lady, I'll ever wear it for her sake, and to morrow I hope to acknowledge to her in Person, this generous Favour. In the mean time, pray do you make my Excuse to her for this Accident, and the disturbance I have unhappily caused her. Good morrow, Mrs. Dorila.  Dor. 
I shall obey your Commands, Seignor.  Exit Ber. 
I am glad he's gone, for if Don Sebastian and he should have met here, there would have been fine Work. Now doth this Amourist believe he has received a signal favour from his Mistress, when in truth she knows nothing of the matter. The Ring's but a Trifle, and was given her formerly by Don Philip, and she gave it me: However, as soon as her Lover Sebastian goes, I must acquaint her with it to prepare her against the next time she sees Bernardo. Well, let the Men say what they will, our Wits are quickest, that's certain.  Exit.  

SCENE the Street.  Don Philip 's man Anthony in the Stocks. 1 Ant. 
Poor Anthony! This Punishment is certainly a Judgement upon thee for serving so debauched a Master. Well, Don Philip, you have been met with too: If you are slain by those Ruffians I left you engaged with, why then my Cowardice has got the advantage of your Courage. If you have escaped them, I hope the danger will be a warming for you to reform your Life. O my Legs, my Legs! Now am I just for all the World as if I were Married. Ha! who comes here?  Don Bernardo passing that way. Ber. 
'Tis yet too early to go home for one of my wakeful Constitution. I'll even saunter about, and if nothing happens worthy my humble attention here below, I'll erect my face, and please myself with the observation of the growing day: Nor is't an unprofitable Amusement to view the separation of Light and Darkness, to see day and night struggle for Empire. For by this reflection may one learn the nature of humane passions, that at first make wild contention with our Reason, which rising by degrees like the Lights force, disperses all their gloom, and brings forth Day to the Understanding.  1 Ant. 
This must be some Philosopher, or Stargazer.  Ber. 
Ha! One so near me. Who are you, speak?  1 Ant. 
No Dancing-master— for I want Legs.  Ber. 
Sure 'tis Anthony's voice.  Approaches him. 
Why, how now, Anthony, how came you here, and in this humility?  1 Ant. 
Sir, if you'll vouchsafe to let me know how you came so well acquainted with me, I'll soon answer you.  Ber. 
What, is your Preferment so great, that you have forgot me? I could hardly have expected to have found the Quality of a Great Man in the Stocks.  1 Ant. 
You are a very pleasant Gentleman. But, Sir, 'tis an unseasonable time for mirth; and take this from me, I never saw you in my Life before.  Ber. 
Sure he's distracted. Pray, who are you, Friend?  1 Ant. 
I am a Native of that Country that you scorn, tho' it has made you tremble. I have the honour to be a Subject of the Grand Monarque, who, in time of War, knew how to turn a Skirmish into a great Fight; the reduction of a Village into that of an invincible Castle, and the loss of a Battle into an absolute Victory, and sung Te Deum for them all.  All this in a big voice. Ber. 
A very Politic Person! And where do you live, my notable Statesman?  1 Ant. 
In the Stocks.  Ber. 
Good. But where, before you were thus exalted?  1 Ant. 
I served a Spaniard.  Ber. 
All this agrees mighty well. Pray, what's his name?  1 Ant. 
Personne. Il u'en a point.  Ber. 
Now his fit returns; poor fellow.  1 Ant. 
Was it not enough I told you that I served a Spaniard. By all my wrongs 'twas too much; 'twas adding to the disgrace I am under. Those of our Country should Command, not Serve; at least not serve a thing so stupid as a Spaniard: One that prefers a lazy Luxury before an active Frugality, and would not lose a formal Ceremony, or part with an Inch of his Grandeur to save his Country from Ruin.  Ber. 
This is notorious Truth, though it come from the mouth of a Madman. Farewell, Anthony. I'll send you relief in the morning.  Exit. 1 Ant. 
You'll do more than I expect then.  
Who should this Man be? I never saw him in my Life before, and yet he will needs be acquainted with me. Well, if he should send to release me, according to his promise, I shall be obliged to him, that's certain. So I were out of this noose, I should not care if I were to be converted into a Spaniard, or an Englishman, though they are as much extremes as Fire and Water: For as one by his Violence always shoots beyond the Mark, so the other by his Laziness ever falls short of his Distance.  Scene shuts him in. Enter Don Bernardo. Ber. 
Ha! I done't like these Fellows. still as I go on, they follow me. I turned down this Street on purpose to avoid them, and yet they are here. I'll make what hast I can homewards, or try to lose them by the way.  Eenter three Ruffians. 1 R. 
It must be Don Philip by the glittering of his Sword-hilt. I took particular notice of that before.  2. R. 
So did I. Sure it must be set with Diamonds.  1. R. 
So much the better still, Boy's, 'tis lucky we have found him again. Come, we may dispatch him yet.  2. R. 
Away, away. We lose time.  Exeunt after him. Re-enter Don Bernardo. Ber. 
Nay, if you follow me still, I may well suspect your design. So, I am met with for my Curiosity. But hold, sure I am come round again to Eleonora's. By my surprise I am. I'll strive to get in here before they come up to me. St. Eleonora, Dorila, Hem.  Eleonora in her Nightgown at the Window. El. softly, 
Who calls Eleonora at this early hour?  Ber. 
'Tis I, Bernardo. For Heaven's sake, dear Creature, let me in this moment, for I am pursued by Ruffians. Use no delay or objection, for if you do I am a Dead Man.  El. 
Pho, this is one of the Artifices of you young Fellows, to seduce a tender Maid. You must excuse me, Seignor. Besides, if I had an inclination, my Aunt is yet stirring, and it concerns my Honour, and Wellbeing with her not to admit you.  Ber. 
Come you are designed to preserve me, for let me go which way I will to night, still I meet with your House. 'Twill be now the second time my shelter this night from imminent Danger.  El. 
Indeed, Sir! you talk strangely. My doors are never opened at late hours to any one.  Ber. 
'Sdeath, Madam, what do you mean? the Ring, the Ring.  El. 
What of a Ring? I don't know your sign, Sir, 'Tis plain you are mistaken in the House, therefore Adieu.  She retires. Ber. 
Mistaken in the House, that's impossible. Neither can I be in that deluding Voice. Is it not cruel to trifle with me thus at such a time? Alas! she's gone indeed. Discourteous Eleonora! Well, if they do assault me, I must even defend myself as well as I can.  1. Ruf. 
There he is like a Rat caught in a Trap. He can retire no further.  2. Ruf. 
But hold, hold. Let us be sure 'tis he before we send him to Lucifer's Dominions. I would not kill a wrong man neither.  1. Ruf. 
What d'ye talk of a wrong man? done't you see how his Sword glitters? it must be he by that.  2. Ruf. 
Ay, but if I thought he were not the right-man I would not be concerned.  1. Ruf. 
Why 'tis he, what a pox d'ye ail? I'll swear it upon any Mass-book in Spain. What do you flinch now? you have forgot the Reward sure.  2. Ruf. 
The reward, let me see. Mass, and so I had. A hundred Crowns, Mass, 'tis enough to slay an Emperor. Come, he dies.  1. Ruf. 
Come on then, let us move towards him.  2. Ruf. 
Ay, ay, it must be he: 'Tis the very Sword he had before.  They come up to him. Ber. 
What's your design, Friends, in following me thus?  1. Ruf. 
Nay, you are mistaken, we are none of your friends, and for our design, that you may guests at by your own Villanies.  Ber. 
Villanys? you amaze me. I am a Stranger here, and have done wrong to none.  2. Ruf. 
We'll soon try if we are mistaken. Know we are resolute, and will trifle no longer.  Ber. 
Nay, if you are so bend to murder me, I'll sell my Life as dear as I can.  They fight. 
The noise of Swords brings Don Frederick that way.  Fred. 
Ha! three against one, Cowardly Villains! 'tis Bernardo, as I live.  He joins with Bernardo. 
Courage, my Friend.  Ber. 
You were never more welcome.  2. Ant. Peeps in.) 
Nay, if you are there abouts, I'll wait here for the Issue of the Engagement.  The Ruffians are beat back. Berinthia 
Dogs, Villains.  1 Ant. Comes in and pursues. 
Bloodsucking Sons of Whores.  The 2. Ruffian falls, the other two run away. Fred. 
So, here's one of them rewarded.  2. Ruf. 
O spare my Life, and I'll confess all.  Ber. 
Ha! not dead: then we may learn this Mystery.  2. Ruf. 
O Seignor, is not your name Don Philip de Monasco?  Ber. 
No, you are deceived.  2. Ruf. 
Truly, Sir, I was in some doubt of it before, but my Companions said they knew you by the glittering of your Sword.  Ber. 
Ha! Don Philip, by the glittering of my Sword! but suppose it had been Philip, how were you induced to commit violence upon him.  2. Ruf. 
We were hired to it by one Donna Eleonora that lives hard by.  Ber. 
My barbarous Mistress, as I live!  
Well, what was it for, come, out with all, or the Watch shall have you.  Ruf. 
She only told us he had wronged her so heinously, that it was not to be forgiven, and we were to have a hundred Crowns for our Reward.  Ber. 
Well, you may go. But, do you hear, if you are wise, This mercy that I show to you, will be a means to make you change your Life.  Ruf. 
Seignor, you have so worked upon me with your generosity, that I here make a solemn protestation to become another Man.  Ber. 
'Twill be the better for you.  Exit Ruffian bowing: 
Come to my Arms, my much loved Frederick. You have preserved me. who is that with you, Anthony?  2. Ant. 
What, my service was taken no notice of. I am sure you had not been alive but for me. My Arm aches plaguely with hacking and hewing your enemies.  Fred. 
Yes, you make vast havoc always, when you are half a mile from the Battle.  2. Ant. 
I have ever your good word. O my Arm!  Ber. 
Don't your Legs ache too, Anthony?  2. Ant. 
Nay my Legs are mauled too, that's the truth on't, by thrusting in among you.  Ber. 
But I mean by the Fetters I found you in but now.  2. Ant. 
Fetters, Sir!  Ber. 
How the Devil came he in the Stocks to night, Frederick?  Fred. 
In the Stocks, you amaze me.  2. Ant. 
I in the Stocks! sure the Danger you have been in has distracted you, Sir.  Ber. 
Sure you are both in a Conspiracy to banter me.  Fred. 
Can you be serious, Bernardo? prithee no more of this.  Ber. 
Nay, by St. Jago I saw him there, fixed to the Stocks like any Vagabond within this half hour.  Fred. 
Mere Banter. We are but newly come from the Lodging to seek you.  Ber. 
Why then I have seen the Devil to night, that's all. 'Twas one so like him in Voice, Person, and Raillery after his way, that I am amazed to hear you thus deny 'twas Herald  Fred. 
Sure the Devil doth walk to night, for since I came out I have met with much such another accident, which you shall hear anon. But prithee what else has thy curiosity discovered?  Ber. 
This night has been lavish of her Adventures, I'll assure you, For besides this Mystery of Anthony, I have rescued a man from Villains, who, I have reason to believe was Don Philip de Monasco, and he has appointed to meet me this morning near the Great Church. Some other things I have met with too, but they are secrets.  Fred. 
Well, Sir, I have a secret for your secret. This night has indeed been lavish of her Adventures.  Ber. 
Keep it close, Don Frederick.  Fred. 
That you may depend on.  
Nothing can Wrist it from me, but the obligation of being trusted with yours first.  Ber. 
O Devil, are you thereabouts? but this insinuation will ne'er prevail to extort a secret, that I am enjoined to keep particularly from thee.  Fred. 
Ha! that I must own, whetts my curiosity. Prithee, Don Bernardo, come, you shall have a secret for your secret. In good faith, I have one in my keeping.  Ber. 
That you are impatient to get rid of, I thank you, Sir. no, no, hold there. I can be trusted with a secret even among the Women. I have not the vanity of most young Fellows of the Town, who think the Pleasure of Telling the principal part of their Happiness with Ladies.  Fred. 
Then 'tis with a Lady, it seems.  Ber. 
Nay that doth not directly follow: But, faith, to be ingenuous with you, there is a Lady in the Case.  Fred. 
Then there are two Ladies in the case, Boy. And One of such a matchless form, so Graceful, so surprising Fair, so infinitely Charming, that as she can have no equal upon Earth, so she is above all Human Description.  Ber. 
Ha! Where is this Goddess to be seen? wilt thou not tell me, Frederick? shan't your dear friend have a sight of her?  Fred. 
Oh, I knew I should be even with you. A Sight of her! You must excuse me, Sir. Goddesses are invisible to Mortal Eyes.  Ber. 
Well, I see when once a Man has indulged the Humour of bantering, 'tis as hard for him to leave it, as 'tis for a Poet to cease Writing, when he has once begun.  Fred. 
Or as 'tis for you to avoid wishing to go to Bed to every Description of a fine Woman that you hear.  Ber. 
Well, you have surprised me. But prithee, put me in Mind, as we Walk, and I'll disclose something to you that was a Secret, but is no longer worthy to be so.  Fred. 
I knew he could not hold.  
Come on then, let us Walk.  Ber. 
First give me leave, Frederick, for my Satisfaction, to order your Man Anthony to place himself near those Lodgings, to bring me Word if any Man comes out, when it grows Lighter.  Fred. 
Heyday, what's to do now!  Ber. 
You shall know as we Walk.  Fred. 
This is some Jealousy about a Wench, I'll lay my Life.  Ber. 
She's a handsome one at least then, and you know Venus is predominant over me.  Fred. 
Yes, yes. 'Tis a Superstition much in fashion with young Fellows. You will be wiser, Don Bernardo.  Ber. 
You shall know presently that I have begun at least already, by throwing off this Woman, near whose Lodgings your Man is to watch. And the Wise say, That a Good Beginning is half a Cure. But come, let us walk homewards. Anthony, be sure you place yourself somewhere about that Door, that you may discover who comes out this Morning, and bring an exact account home to us.  2. Ant. 
I shall do my best, Sir, to satisfy you.  Ber. 
Now, let us walk.  Fred. 
Come on, my trusty Adventurer.  Exeunt.   

ACT. IU.  

Scene I. The Street near Eleonora ' s.  Don Frederick 's Man. 2. Ant. 
WAS there ever such a Cormorant at Whoring as this Don Bernardo? no Place, no Time, nor no Woman almost can be free from his Persecutions. A Pox of these Night-doing, and what else can be the end of them! Hark, the Door opens.  Done Sebastian muffled in his Cloak comes out. Eleonora in her Nightgown. El. 
Well, and must Nelly part with her dear Don then?  Seb. 
'Tis for your Service I go so soon, my Dear.  2. Ant. 
For your own rather.  El. 
You might have stayed with me all day, my Love, for once.  2. Ant. 
How unreasonable a Creature is Woman!  El. 
And tho' I have been nicely careful of my Reputation, yet for your Company I could venture all things.  2 Ant. 
A very civil Person!  Seb. 
Thou knowst, my Eleonora, there is no Ingratitude on my side. Thou knowst the Promises I have made thee, and may'st rely on the Performance of them. Nor should I now want Entreaties to stay with thee, but that I have a Guest at home, whose Goodness, tho' a Friend, I must not trespass on too far. Besides, to leave him any longer would not only seem like forgetfulness, but ill manners.  El. 
I hope the Ruffians too have remembered him before this time.  aside. Seb. 
Madam, good morrow. We may be seen, if I stay longer.  El. 
Well, if you must go, Done Sebastian.  In a soft Voice. 2 Ant. 
Don Sebastian, good!  El. 
You are unkind not to understand me.  Seb. 
What dost thou mean, Child?  El. 
Psha, you can't tell a Woman's meaning, I warrant you.  2 Ant. 
What can she drive at?  Seb. 
You keep me in the Dark, my Dear.  El. 
I swear I could chide you, you are so dull.  Kisses him. Seb. 
My Angel, thou shalt have twenty of them presently.  Kisses her. 2 Ant. 
A Pox on them, how they make my Chaps Water!  El. 
Nay now you take my Breath away.  Seb. 
Good morrow to my Joy.  Is going. El. 
Adieu.  
But stay, I had forgot one thing.  
When will you come and see poor Nelly again?  In a soft tone. Seb. 
You'll send me your Commands.  El. 
Well, adieu.  Rans in. Don. 
Sebastian goes cross the Stage muffled, and meets Anthony passing.  Seb. 
There goes Anthony Don Philip's Man, but I must not discover myself to him.  Exit. 2 Ant. 
Don Sebastian, your Servant. Now will I go home and disclose what I have seen to Don Bernardo. Let me see, their names are Eleonora and Sebastian, and the Scene between them at parting will make Bernardo cursedly jealous, I know. Well, he shall have it all, that's certain; who knows but it may cure him of his frenzy? Especially when 'tis improved with some of my heightening Colours. Et bien, allez Monsieur Antoine.  Exit Anthony.  

SCENE Eleonora's Lodgings.  Enter Eleonora and Dorila. Dor. 
Won't you go and lie down, Madam? you must needs want rest, for 'twas morning when Don Sebastian came.  El. 
No, no. I have other things to mind, before I can take any true rest. we'll Sleep hereafter, Dorila, when we have brought our Designs about.  Dor. 
How stand affairs with him? doth he hold kind?  El. 
In all appearance he doth. The same endearments passed between us as usual, and when he parted, he gave me more assurances of his Resolution to marry me. But still to be in expectation only is not to be so easy as I could wish: I hope Bernardo got off safe, for if the Men I hired to dispatch Philip should have mistaken him in the Dark for the other, there's a part of my Design confounded.  Dor. 
Or grant he be come off, your denying to admit him at such a dangerous time may provoke him to think no more of you.  El. 
'Twas very unlucky that he should call again before you had acquainted me with the business of the Ring. But since such an Accident has happened, I confess I don't disapprove of the Stratagem you devised to get him away. Well, Dorila, you shall be no Loser by the Ring.  Dor. 
I thank you, Madam. We never want invention at a Shift, you know. But how will you do to excuse yourself to him?  El. 
I'll go and write to him this minute, and endeavour that way to make him forget the usage of last Night, and if I can but insinuate myself into his forgiveness, and find him so much a Lover as I think him, who knows what it may end in?  Dor. 
Articles of Matrimony perchance, if you hold the Fort out well.  El. 
I warrant thee, girl. 'Tis not all the Artillery of his Arguments, that can persuade me to another surrender without honourable Terms. I was always averse to this way of Living, and am now resolved to take up with the first likely Husband I can get, with Schastian, or Bernarde, or any Body else, I am indifferent who 'tis, so 'tis a Husband. But come, I'll go and Write.  Exeunt.  

SCENE Don Frederick's Lodgings. A Bedchamber.  Frederick, and Cornelia in Man's . Fred. 
I had not presumed to disturb you, Madam, but that I heard you were stirring. This Philip, whom you ought to forger, won't let you Sleep, I find.  Corn. 
You rally me, Sir, perhaps justly enough. But alas! when 'tis our Fate, we can no more help. Loving, than we can Dying.  Fred. 
Ay, but when a Man abuses Love, and counterfeits a Passion to delude a Woman, methinks the force of Reason should make her despise him after the Discovery of the Cheat.  Corn. 
You argue very well, Sir, and according to reason: But done't you know that Love and Reason are inconsistent?  
But, Sir, is there any News of him in Valencia? your obliging promise makes me hope you have made some enquiry after him.  Fred. 
Madam, I have: and can inform you that I hope to find him in this Town.  Corn. 
Where, Where? O tell me quickly, that I may fly to see him.  Fred. 
Amazement! That so ungrateful a Wretch should be loved by so beautiful a Creature, whom he has abused beyond all patience!  Aside. Corn. 
Don Frederick, my Friend, for I dare call you so. Where is this Rambler to be found?  Fred. 
Madam, you honour me very much, but I had rather be thought to deserve another Name.  Corn. 
What other Name? are not you called Don Frederick? Or is Friend too little for you? I thought it comprehended the utmost Esteem.  Fred. 
Esteem alone's a trifle, Madam, to that which I would merit. 'Tis your Love, fair Excellence, that I aspire to raise. You have so wounded me with your resistless Beauty, that nothing but the Possession of those Charms that made the mischief, can effect the Cure.  Corn. 
Sir, I took you to be more generous than to triumph over a distressed Maid.  Fred. 
By all that's sacred I am sincere. Don Philip may abuse you, but not Frederick. I have a Heart unpractised in Deceit: A Heart that ne'er was tortured with the pangs of Love, till now.  Corn. 
I do confess I thought you very honest.  Fred. 
I thank my Stars I can boast of it. O do not refuse so passionate, and yet so true a Lover.  Corn. 
I do entreat you, Sir, forbear. You know I am engaged to one I love.  Fred. 
But to one you ought to loathe. A Man that has scorned and abused you.  Corn. 
And yet I love him, Frederick.  Fred. 
The more's the Pity. What can you propose by following such a treacherous Fellow?  Corn. 
To reclaim him, or to be revenged.  Fred. 
The first you'll find impracticable. 'Tis like besieging a very strong Town with a small Force. You will but expose yourself to Contempt and Ruin.  Corn. 
Why then I'll be revenged.  Fred. 
That you may by indulging my Suit. Come, let it not be said that the heavenly Cornelia was inexorable. Give me but Hopes, and you set me in the way to Paradise.  Corn. 
Revenge is so sweet, that upon Condition you let me see Philip, and he denies to own me for his Wife, I could almost be persuaded to believe you.  Fred. 
I accept the Condition with as much Transport of Bliss, as e'er Condemned Criminal received his pardon. Now will I go and search my Doom. Life or Death depends on a few hours. But, Madam, I must entreat you to consent that I may acquaint your Brother with your Circumstance, that we may be the Stronger for the Execution of our Design.  Corn. 
I resign myself to your Conduct.  Fred. 
I'll wait on you again, when I have prepared Don Bernardo.  Exit.  

SCENE Changes to another Room.  Enter Don Bernardo. Ber. (Looking upon a Ring.) 
If I can trust my Eyes, the more I look the more I am amazed. This very Ring, or my Sight is not my own, I gave my Sister Cornelia, when I departed last from Alcamara. That it should be found in Valencia gives me Wonder, but that it should be sent me from Donna Eleonora pats me into Confusion. Well, things have been strangely carried to night in Valencia.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
Seignor, a Young Gentleman without desires to be admitted.  Ber. 
Admit him. This Ring won't out of my Head. When I consider the Accident by which I obtained it, and the succeeding one, wherein the same Eleonora that sent it, seemed to know nothing of the matter, I must own I can't but fancy 'tis all a Dream.  Enter Donna Olivia in Man's . Ol. 
Am I not bold, Sir, to venture within the Roof where an angry Brother might be found, that would kill me if he knew me.  Ber. 
You are both safe and welcome here.  Runs to the Door and shuts it fast. 
I have fastened the Door, lest Don Frederick should chance to fall in.  Ol. 
Well, Sir, have you heard any thing of Don Philip, since I saw you?  Ber. 
O, I find I am obliged to your Impatience to hear of Him for this Visit.  Ol. 
Good Sir, Torture me not with Supence: If you have not, I am come to claim your Promise to assist me in searching after him.  Ber. 
Sure there is Enchantment in Love, that it can make People thus eager to pursue their Ruin!  Ol. 
Alas! your Reflections are now out of Season. I beseech you answer me to the purpose.  Ber. 
I am deceived, or I saved his Life last Night, when he was encountered by Ruffians.  Ol. 
A thousand Blessings attend you for it. But are you sure 'twas he.  Ber. 
By several Circumstances I am almost assured. But this Morning at Ten I am to meet the Man I rescued. He would not give me his Name, but desired me to exchange Swords with him, that he might know me again by that. Here's that I had of him.  Ol. (Viewing it.) 
O, 'tis he. 'Tis Don Philip. 'Tis the very Sword I have seen him wear. I know it from a thousand.  Ber. 
Well, since 'tis so, if you please, we'll go together to the Great Church, where I have appointed to meet him.  Ol. 
With all my Heart. O lucky Discovery!  Ber. 
But one thing will be necessary first. 'Tis fit Don Frederick should be acquainted with your affairs.  Ol. 
Be it as you please. I trust to you.  Ber. 
In the mean time pray use my Apartment. You'll see no Body to disturb you.  Exit Bernardo. Olivia alone. Ol. 
Thanks, Fortune, that this Dear, false Man is found.  
Oh, how I long to chide him for his Absence!  
Sure when he sees me thus disguised, thus bold  
In my pursuit of him, he will recant  
His Sex's Levity, and fix his Soul  
On me, on virtuous Love, and mutual Vows.  2 Anthony comes in, and would go through to another Room. 
Ha! either my Eyes deceive me, or there's his Servant Anthony. Hold, Friend, be not in such haste. Where's thy Master?  2 Ant. 
Seignor, I want to find him.  Cornelia comes in behind from another Room. Ol. 
What, did you expect to find him in this House.  2 Ant. 
'Tis most likely to find him at home, for He's no Gadder abroad. I'll assure you.  Ol. 
What, doth Don Philip then lie in this House?  2 Ant. 
No, Sir, who said he did?  Ol. 
Why, didst not thou this moment?  2 Ant. 
Not I, by St. Jago.  Ol. 
Prithee leave off thy old fooling.  2 Ant. 
It seems you know me then.  Ol. 
Alas! but too well.  2 Ant. 
Truly, Sir, I have not the good Fortune to remember you.  Ol. 
That may very well be. But prithee tell me, how long has Don Philip lodge▪ d here?  2 Ant. 
Why, Sir, he doth not lodge here; nor ever did, that I know of; and more than that, Sir, I know no such Person. Now, Sir▪ I must beg your leave to go through to that Apartment, to see if my Master be there, that I may discharge my Errand.  Ant. goes in. Ol. 
What▪ s the meaning of this?  Corn. 
You seem, Sir, to have been moved to some Surprise about that Fellow. Pray, Who do you take him for?  Ol. 
Have I not Reason, Sir, if I'm alive 'tis he.  Corn. 
Pray, who?  Ol. 
Why Don Philip de Monas●o's Man.  Corn. 
Do you know that Don Philip, Sir?  Ol. 
I have some Cause, Sir.  Corn. 
Then you know a Villain.  Ol. 
You shock me, Sir; for he's my Friend, and I must not hear him wronged.  Corn. 
How long has he been your Friend?  Ol. 
A great while. He is my Bosom-Friend.  Corn. 
Those Bosom-Friends prove often our worst Foes.  Ol. 
But I have tried him.  Corn. 
He may deeeive you still. If you were a Woman, he would certainly.  Ol. 
Ha! Sure he doth not know me.  [aside.] 
Why do you think so?  Corn. 
Because he is a Man.  Ol. 
Your Satyr's too extensive. We are not all false.  Corn. 
I fear all.  Ol. 
You have accused yourself.  Corn. 
No, I accused the Men.  Ol. 
Are not you one?  Corn. 
Yes, yes, Sir; but I meant such Men as Don Philip. Alas! I had like to have discovered myself.  aside. 
Sir, I beg you would excuse me. I am a little thoughtful, and know not what I say. If you lodge here, I shall be glad of your Acquaintance.  Ol. 
I do but visit here, Sir. But if you have any Justice to demand of Philip, I'll let him know it.  Corn. 
The World shall know it soon. This Morning I expect myself to see him.  Ol. 
Pray how long has he he been in Valencia?  Corn. 
That I know not; but that he is here, I have had some Information. Good morrow, Sir.  Goes in. Ol. 
Who can this be? He seems to have some Resentment against Don Philip, therefore it must be my Care to prevent its bursting out into a Flame. I'll inquire about him.  
Strange Power of Love, that makes us court even Pain,  
To fly true Passion, and pursue Disdain.  Scene shuts her in.  

Another Room.  Enter Don Frederick with a Letter. Fred. 
For Don Bernardio. 'Tis a Woman's Hand by the over-spelling.  Enter Don Bernardo. 
Sure not Jesuit ever confessed more Women, than thou hast brought to the Altar of Venus. See here  Gives him the Letter. Ber. opens and reads it. 
Oh 'tis from Eleonora. She would excuse her Behaviour to me lastnight. But I despise her now as much as e'er I loved her. I hope her Barbarity will make me forget the whole Sex.  Fred. 
A wholesome Resolution, if you could keep it. I suppose I may read the Letter.  Ber. 
Yes, and visit the Lady if you please.  Fred. 
Nay then you are indifferent indeed.  Reads. 
I Am sorry my Circumstances with my Aunt obliged me to use you as I did last Night, but my Wellbeing so depends upon her Opinion of me, that I am sometimes forced to do things against my inclination. I hope this will find you safe, and enjoying the same good Humour, that has so often engaged my Thoughts in your behalf. Assure yourself I am impatient to hear of your Welfare, and should not be displeased to see you come in the Afternoon, not so much to give me a Relation of the Affair of the Ring, as to convince me that you are well, and inclined to forgive the seeming fault of  
Eleonora.  Fred. 
A Jilt! with what a face she carries it on! Well, you'll Visit her in the Afternoon, I suppose.  Ber. 
No, Frederick, but you shall in my Room, if you think good. For my part, her usage last night has so provoked me, that I have not so much as Indifference left for her. Besides, this fawning trick of a Letter persuades me that she's a Jilt.  Fred. 
I am glad you are of my mind. That she is so, I'll venture the reversion of my Father's Estate. What, don't I know their subtle, coy, dissembling, fond, alluring, false Designs? Proteus himself had fewer Shapes, than one of these jilting Whores. They are like Aristotle's first matter, capable of any Form.  Ber. 
Let her be what she will, I'll send her an answer, but it shall be an honester Letter: For I'll tell her in plain Terms 'tis my Inclination to forget her.  2 Anthony comes in. 
But hold, here's Anthony returned, whom we left upon the Watch.  Fred. 
Well, Sir, what has your Curiosity discovered?  2 Ant. 
No miracle, Seignor, for I have seen a Fornicator come out of a Whore's Lodgings.  Fred. 
Have a care whom you asperse, Sirrah.  2 Ant. 
I hope I may trust my sight; but if that alone won't do, I have another sense to back it. I heard as well as saw.  Fred. 
Well, what was it you heard?  2 Ant. 
I heard one Eleonora take her leave of one Sebastian.  Ber. 
Sebastian! Are you sure 'twas such a Name?  2 Ant. 
I think I am not deaf. And when he was going, she came out with him, and there was such Ceremony at parting, such Unwillingness to let him go, so many soft things, such Kissing and such Dying on her side, and such a cold Civility and Backwardness to understand her on his, that for my part—  Ber. 
You wondered he could leave the Banquet so soon, and wished yourself in his Place.  2 Ant. 
What, when the Soup was palled, and had lost its Gusto. No, I thank you.  Ber. 
Why could not you have had prtience till it had been cooked up again?  2 Ant. 
'Tis somewhat a la Francoise indeed. But truly I have more Nicety. 'Tis not a mon gout.  Fred. 
Enough, enough; leave us.  [Exit Ant.] 
What, think you now, my Amourist?  Ber. 
That Women are no more to be believed than Courtiers. They differ only in this, Women deceive us by Nature, Courtiers by Art.  Fred. 
Nay, this imposition doth not want Art, I'll assure you.  Ber. 
Ay, but I mean Women▪ s Inclinations to deceive us are born with them Are they not continually forging Plots to make some Traffic or other of us? Sure they are our evil Genius', for there is scarce a false Path in Life that we are not led into by their foolish Conduct. And yet we follow on, as if they were the Leading-strings of Fate, and we were doomed in this World to the punishment of being miguised by the weaker Sex.  Fred. 
Nay, now you are unreasonably severe, but 'tis too much an Extremity to last long. This is only the hot Fit of the Ague.  Ber. 
But you know the Cold one succeeds it, and that is still a greater Mark of Contempt.  Fred. 
'Tis granted. But for my part, I can't commend Extremes in any thing. And yet I am grown since last Night, wilt thou believe it, my Friend? A most passionate Lover.  Ber. 
Prithee know thyself a little better.  Fred. 
All other knowledge but that of the unparalleled Cornelia, is like the Comparison of the Stars with the Sun.  Ber. 
You amaze me, what Cornelia. do you mean!  Fred. 
Don Bernardo, prepare yourself for something that will furprize you.  Ber. 
Speak out. I am ready.  Fred. 
Should you not wonder to find your Sister in this Place?  Ber. 
Very much, Sir. Pray, what mean you?  Fred. 
Disguised too in Man's , I saw her.  Ber. 
Are you distracted, Frederick?  Fred. 
No, Don Bernardo, unless it be with Joy. I have hopes, my Friend if Don Philip prove but false.  Ber. 
Don Philip too! What is all this?  Fred. 
I knew you would be surprised. But pray compose yourself, and I'll disclose a Secret, which 'tis convenient you should know.  Ber. 
Speak it aloud, if it concern my Honour.  Fred. 
It doth indeed. And to let you know it in a Word, Don Philip, whom you so lately rescued, once made pretensions to your Sister, but they were such as Virtue could not hear, and yet she loved him.  Ber. 
That is, she had a Mind to be undone, but a little of her Sex's Pride saved her.  Fred. 
You shall hear. He soon perceived her seeming Weakness, and laid his Batteries against that part, but bravely she repulsed him. In short they both engaged again, till having made Trial of each others Force, they drew off and parred. Some Articles, it seems, had been agreed to on both sides, but he refusing to perform his part your Sister grew incensed, and in disguise pursued him to this Place.  Ber. 
You would imply they were contracted, and after he refused to marry her, but sought only to abuse her.  Fred. 
You have it. Yet she loves him.  Ber. 
Base Villain! but you shall do her Justice, you shall, or by Heaven I'll root out your perfidious Tongue. Now Ring, your Mystery is out. An unlicked Brute, to throw away a Lady's Favour, which any one else would have esteemed invaluable.  Aside. 
But hold. Don Frederick, you gave me Caution to be prep ared to hear what has indeed astonished me.  Fred. 
I believe so.  Ber. 
Now do you guard yourself against a worse Event  Fred. 
Ha! speak out.  Ber. 
Are you prepared against surprise?  Fred. 
Speak. I defy surprise.  Ber. 
Why then the same perfidious Dog has whored thy Sister, and forsaken her.  Fred. 
Have a care, I charge thee. My Sister, and a Whore by the same Don Philip. Sure you want sleep, Bernardo.  Ber. 
I wonder not at your Amazement, but so it is.  Fred. 
'Tis a rank Falsehood. Bernardo, you have suggested this to abuse me. Now by the untainted Honour of our House, Olivia must be honest.  Lays hold of his Sword. Ber. 
The Contradiction was unmannerly. But Thou art Angry, and I consider Rashness is the Birth of Anger, or by the King of Spain I would not bear it.  Fred. 
I do confess my Fault, and ask your Pardon. But, prithee tell me, What dost thou mean about Olivia?  Ber. 
That I have met with her to Night in Valencia, and have heard her Story, which acquainted me with his villainous Desertion after he had obtained her.  Fred. 
If this be so, by all that's Great and Powerful, this Day's his Last, if he refuse to Wed her.  Ber. 
Nay there I am for you. But hold, let me see! How shall I do Justice then for Cornelia?  Fred. 
'Tis true; Cornelia must be righted, tho' Olivia suffer.  Ber. 
Not so neither. Let Justice have its Course. It seems, you know her Story.  Fred. 
I do, which you shall have anon.  Ber. 
Which done, we'll refer all to Philip at the time of Appointment this Morning; and if he refuse to marry Her whom it shall appear he has most wronged, he must have speedy Punishment.  Fred. 
Agreed; and tho' I love your Sister most passionately, if she appears most wronged, I'll force him to receive her for his Wife, or Die in the Attempt.  Ber. 
'Tis generously resolved. Tho' for your sake I wish it on Olivia's side, that we may be more than Friends, Brothers.  Fred. 
If Providence so order it, I shall be supremely blessed on Earth. Such a Wife and such a Brother would set me above a Throne.  Ber. 
We must leave all to Fate. But come, I'll go write to this barbarous Eleonora, and then for our meeting with Don Philip at the Church.  Fred. 
With all my Heart.  
Now, Love, if for a God thou wouldst be known,  
And art determined to support thy Throne:  
Display thy Power, and vindicate thy Fame,  
Reward true Love, Revenge thy injured Name.  Exeunt.   

ACT V.  

Scene I. The Street.  Enter Don Sebastian and Don Philip with a Servant. Phil. 
ARe you sure you saw him so early, and alone?  Seb. 
'Twas he, or my Eyes deceived me much. But I am amazed to hear how you lost him; sure he is distracted.  Phil. 
Hang him, to deny me to my Face, and to follow another Master without any cause of Disgust— I know not what to think.  Seb. 
'Tis a Riddle indeed beyond my Ability to solve.  Phil. 
And beneath your Care. 'Tis but a Fool lost.  Seb. 
I wonder who 'twas came to your assistance last Night.  Phil. 
'Twas then too dark to distinguish him, but I promised to meet him at Ten this Morning near the Great Church. Let me see.  [Looks upon his Watch.] 
'Tis within half an hour on't.  Seb. 
I believe it may.  Dorila crosses the Stage in haste, and drops a Letter. 
Ha! What's that she has dropped?  [Runs and takes it up.] 
Methought 'twas Dorila, that went into her Mistress'. For Donna Eleonora. Unsealed too, than 'twill be no ill Manners to open it.  [Opens it.] 
Now who art thou from? Bernardo. 'Tis from a Man it seems. Let me see.  Walks about and Reads to himself. Phil. 
Nay, nay, you'll let me share in the Accident, I hope.  Seb. 
I beg you would excuse me. It happens to be a Secret wherein I am more than ordinarily concerned.  Phil. 
Then I am no longer curious.  Walks from him. Sebastian Reads as to himself in a low Voice. 
WHat Satisfaction soever you could take in not shelt'ring me last Night from almost inevitable Destruction: Yet know, Cruel. Woman, that I have escaped, nay doubly escaped both from the Villains you yourself employed for Murder, and from the Sanres of a Designing and perfidrous Jili. Neither am I ignorant who it was that hindered my admittance; and to give you a just Correction for your Treachery, I shall find a Way to let Don Sebastian know how false you are to him. Alas! Your invitations have now lost their Force. I despise you and your Letters. Your trifling Present too, which is not worth returning. And to finish your mortification, know, that the Inclinations I had for you are turned into Revenge,  
Bernardo.  Seb. 
Now I have a very fair occasion to get rid of an old Mistress, that I have long suspected to play me false. This Letter is convincing▪ The Obligation I was under of my promise to marry her, joined with the Charms I still found in her, kept me to my usual Complaisance, and Heaven knows how far two such powerful Advocates as Honour and Beauty might have prevailed but for this fortunate Accident. Marry her! Forbidden it all ye Powers. Now by St. Jago, I'd sooner Wed Infection. Hateful Eleonora! I'll go to her this Moment, and declare my Resolution  [All this in a low Voice to avoid being heard by Philip.] 
My dear Friend, I beg your Excuse. I have found somewhat of much Import to me, that requires my immediate absence for a few Moment's. I'll meet you near the Church forthwith; do you wait upon Don Philip.  Exit Seb. Phil. 
Some Amour of his at bottom, I'll lay my Life. This Love is as infectious as the Plague, and diffuses itself as hastily, but is not quite so mortal, Heaven be praised. Whatever Darts and Flames some People find in it, I thank my Stars I am yet Heartwhole Languishing and Dying for a Woman's Toy is such a Jest with all my Heat. Sir, pray sing the Song I so much admire.  

SONG.  

1.  
BEauty is not what I pray,  
I ask no shining Graces;  
Celia has another way,  
Without the Tricks of Faces.  
So our Humours still agree,  
Kind Heaven, it is enough for me.   

2.  
Mere Fruition is a Joy  
But of a Moment's lasting:  
Fruit, that doth so quickly Cloy,  
It surfeits but with Tasting.  
No true Bliss in Love we find,  
Unless two Bodies share one Mind.    
Here's something for your Trouble. Now towards the Church.  Exeunt. Eleonora's Lodgings. Don Sebastian and Dorila. Seb. 
Dorila, where's your Mistress?  Dor. 
She's in her Chamber, Seignor.  Seb. 
Let her know I am here.  Dor. 
I shall, Sir, and she'll be overjoyed to see you here again so soon.  
I done't like this sudden return tho'. I wish it doth not presage some extraordinary event.  Exit. Seb. 
Her Joy will be soon abated, when she sees me departed again so soon, at least upon such an Occasion. Now must I resolve to be Flint, or she with her damned, alluring, female Wiles will melt me to forgiveness. But— I have thought on a Way to countermine her.  Enter Eleonora and Dorila. El. 
O my Dear Sebastian.  Running to embrace him. 
This is unexpectedly kind to return so soon. Believe me, I am so full of Joy, I want Words to express it.  Seb. 
Avaunt, thou fawning Strumpet. Thou Spirit of Delusion. See here this Letter. Have I not fostered thee in my Bosom most tenderly, and Thou, like an ungrateful Viper, hast set thy Teeth against thy Preserver?  El. 
You are soon offended, Seignor, at nothing. 'Tis true, I did receive this Letter. But pray, Sir, how am I to blame if Men will be so impertinent as to write to me. Besides, you see he confesses that I used him ill.  Seb. 
Yes, you have your Arts to show your seeming Frowns sometimes, to provoke Men to study how to reconcile you. This is your Sex's Method to draw us on to our Ruin. Go, you are perfidious, and remember 'twas your own inconstancy not mine, that caused our Separation.  El. 
Shall it then be said that Don Sebastian did but seem to be a Man of Honour, and good Nature, not easily possessed with Fancies, slow of Belief, a Lover of his Friend, soon provoked, but soon returning to himself? you see, this is the trick of a malicious Fellow to ruin me. For that's the Consequence, when my Sebastian thinks me false.  Crying. Seb. 
So. This I expected.  
Madam, You need not be so much concerned. The World is wide enough, and Fools are plenty.  Is going. El. 
What, will you go without hearing me? The vilest Criminal is allowed his Defence. I am not guilty, do but hear me.  Seb. 
No, that's playing at hazard. Why should I attempt to throw again, when I have nicked you already? Farewell.  El. 
and Dorila hold him.] Do but hear us, let us both entreat you.  Seb. 
You are both as false as Hell.  Struggling gets away. 
So. Farewell. I▪ ll never fee you more.  Exit. Seb. El (walks about in a passionate manner) 
Devil, you are the cause of all this. Now may I go and hang myself.  Dor. 
I am as much concerned, Madam, as 'tis possible. You can't believe I dropped the Letter on purpose.  El. 
How do I know but you did! I believe you and Bernardo are in a Conspiracy to undo me.  Dor. 
You reward me liberally for all my Services. I thought I had given you sufficient Proofs of my Fidelity.  El. 
How couldst thou drop that Letter so unhappily? Or what had you to do to meddle with it?  Dor. 
I thought I had taken more than ordinary Care of it; for I put it into my Bosom when I went to make Enquiry after the Ruffians, and how I dropped it by the way, or where, I can't imagine.  El. 
A greater Misfortune sure could not have happened to me: For now my Expectations are all crossed, my springing Hopes are blasted in the Bud, and nought remains but withered Disappointment, and a fruitless Wast of Despair.  Dor. 
Have Patience, Madam, they have but served you like Men, which may be a Warning to you hereafter not to trust any of the Sex.  El. 
Trusted! No; they shall be despised by me for ever. Certainly there is not in the Creation so vile a Monster as Man, and yet we Women are such Fools to liken him to an Angel.  Der. 
That's before we know him. As soon as Curiosity has brought us acquainted with him, we see the Devil lurking under that Angels Form.  El. 
O that I could recover my stolen Honour, and those Golden days of innocence which I enjoyed, but knew not how to prise, before I listened to false Man. Curse upon the Sex, they are all dissembling Villains, Curse on my Ears for harkening to their Arguments, and doubly cursed be my Credulity for trusting them beyond the bounds of Virtue.  Walks about in a Rage. Dor. 
Restrain your passion, Madam.  El. 
Yes, I will, you shall see I will.  
Trust them no more, forget them, there lies your happiness. Ha! But how forget them to be happy. I have it. I thank you, friendly Powers, that have so soon spread forth your Providence. I'll turn Nun, and spend the remainder of my Days in penitence for my past Offences.  Dor. 
Are you in your Wits? good Venus, how you talk?  El. 
Somewhat disagreeably to your Taste, it seems. But, know, I am determined, and most fortunately this very Day is the great Festival of St. Jago, a proper Day to enter into my year of Probation.  Dor. 
Why then you are another Magdalen. But truly if I might advise you, you are now in the Flower of your Age, and may propose to spend many a happy Year in the enjoyment of the World: Why should you seek Death, when Life is yet so well worth preserving?  El. 
Thou art deceived in Life. What is it but a Succession of Troubles? A mere Quotidian Ague, which by the constant supply of Hopes and Fears, knows little intermission as long as Nature lasts.  Dor. 
Use your Pleasure, Madam. I thank my Stars, I am not yet weary of the World.  El. 
However, let us retire together, that I may take my last leave of you, when I am prepared for my Heavenly Journey.  Dor. 
I'll wait on you, Madam, to the Threshold of Death, but you must excuse me from going over it.  El. 
I wish your happiness, but can't compel it.  Exeunt.  

SCENE the Street, near the great Church.  Enter Constable and Watch, with 1 Anthony; Don Philip meets them. 1 Wat: 
Come, this way with him. This way leads to Don Sebastian's  Con, 
Hold, Friends, don't be so very hasty, d'ye see. Pray, let us consider a little, d'ye mind me, what we shall say to the Magistrate.  2 Wat. 
Why, that's very true, Neighbour. We ought to lay our story well, d'ye see me?  Phil. 
My Man Anthony, as I live! How the Devil came he among that fry of Leaches? But 'tis what he deserves: Yet I'll ask them, to amuse myself, till Don Sebastian's return.  Con. 
Enough, enough; come away with him.  Phil. 
Hold, Gentlemen. Pray, whither are you conducting that Fellow?  Con. 
But that you promise for a Person of Note, we should not have time to answer any Man's questions: We are carrying him to Don Sebastian's to be committed for a House-breaker.  1 Ant. 
O Sir, I'm glad I have found you again. I have been baited, Sir, no Tiger was ever so baited, as I have been by these Spanish Dogs.  Enter Done Sebastian. Phil. 
You are come in good time, Signior, to do a piece of justice  Seb. 
What's the matter, Mr. Constable?  Con. 
Matter, Signior? An please your Worship, we have brought a Stranger here, that we found hid to Night in a Cellar Window, just ready to set the City a Fire about our Ears, I warrant him.  Seb. 
Is not this your Man, Don Philip?  Phil. 
If I have Eyes 'tis he, pray examine him.  Seb. 
How now, Anthony? How come you under the guard of the Constable and the Watch?  1 Am. 
Your Worship knows as well as I. One thing I know, which is, that I have been abused most disgracefully.  Phil. 
'Tis no more than you deserve, ungrateful Villain! Did you not forsake me last Night when I was assaulted in the Street, and did I not meet you afterwards following another Master? And more than that, when I claimed you for my Servant, did you not utterly disown that you knew me, or had ever seen me before.  1 Ant. 
Sure, this is but a Dream, Sir: For this Lifeguard of mine here, (Pox choke them) can answer to my disgrace, that I have sat in the Stocks all Night.  Con. 
That he has indeed, I'll witness it, for he was put in by my order.  Phil. 
Heyday! Sure I Dream still, or I'll be sworn I met him Early to Day.  1 Wat. 
He was safe locked down from one a Clock till within this half hour, I'll pass my Word.  Seb. 
Nay now I can disprove you; for if I have Eyes, I saw him pass by me very early to Day.  Con. 
An'please your Worship, what the Watchman said must needs be true, for he stood near him all the time till he was released  Seb. 
Then will I be Sacrificed: Go, you are all a pack of Rascals, Release him, I'll answer for him.  Exeunt Con. and Wat. hastily. Enter Don Bernardo and Don Frederick with Cornelia and Olivia in men's . Ber. 
There's Don Sebastian, and he with him should be Don Philip.  Fred. 
Bernardo, 'twere fit they withdraw a while, till we have prepared him for the Interview.  Ber. 
By all means. Ladies, will you oblige us by retiring a step or two, till we have had some conference with those Gentlemen?  Corn. 
Another Woman disguised?  Both. 
We will.  Exeunt Ladies. Bern. and Fred. walk by them and view them. Phil, 
Sir, by that Sword you wear, I should be much your Debtor, sure you relieved me last Night, when I was assaulted by Villains.  Ber. 
I did indeed attempt a Gentleman's relief last Night, who exchanged Swords with me, and 'tis very likely you are he.  Phil. 
The same. And believe, Sir, that as I am bound to you for my preservation, so shall I be always ready to serve you with my Life.  Ber. 
Serve yourself first, Don Philip, and be honest.  Phil. 
Ha! what means this odd, familiar Counsel?  Ber. 
Have you not abused Cornelia, my Sister? Now if thou art a Man, speak truth.  Fred. 
Olivia's wronged too, Philip, think of that, and know her Brother's here to do her justice.  Phil. 
You have somewhat surprised me, gentlemans, with your accusations.  Fred. 
Do you deny the facts?  Phil. 
What if I do?  Fred. 
Then we must try the cause this way, Draw,  Phil. 
You may be sure of that.  all Draw. Seb. 
Hold, Gentlemen, Don Philip is my Friend, and I must take his part.  Ber. 
With all my Heart. We are two and two.  Fred. 
Come on thou Poison to our Families  Seb. 
Nay then at you, Sir.  They tilt Phil. disarms Fred. and Bern. Sebastian. Phil. 
Now, Sir, I hope You're satisfied.  Giving Fred. his Sword. Ber. 
But not I, Sir, I have the same advantage o'er your Friend, and you have wronged my Sister.  Phil. 
Take Your satisfaction too, whilst my Sword holds, it shall deny none that ask it.  They tilt. Bern. is disarmed. Ber. 
Your fortune is Superior, whatever your Justice be.  Phil. 
You own me both your Lives. And now what I have to beg of you is, that you would stifle your Resentments: And if you'll favour me with your company's to Don Sebastian's, I here give you my Honour to do you Justice too, as far as in me lies before we part.  Fred. 
Nay now you're truly brave.  as they are going Enter 2 Anthony. Phil. 
Ha! What art thou, that in the very shape of Anthony, comest hither to perplex us!  2 Antony's Staring] 
Why I think my Name is Anthony, by the singular favour of chance both Frenchman and Spaniard, that is to say, a mixture of all the Contrarieties in Nature.  The company staring first at one, then at the other. Seb. 
His very Voice, Person, and Raillery.  Fred. 
The Seal and the Print are not more perfectly alike.  2 Ant. Staring at the other 
'Tis something marvellous, I must own: if this should prove my own Apparition now, which they say People often see a little before their Death, how many Sins hast thou to answer for, pavure Antoine! What art thou that here usurpest my Name and Shape?  1 Ant. Trembling 
O Gentlemen. shield me, shield me from this Fiend,— 'tis certainly— the Devil, he could ne'er be so like me else.  Ber. 
This is surprising. From hence came the mistakes of last Night, Don Frederick.  Phil. 
And ours, Don Sebastian.  2 Ant. 
If 'twere not for one cursed Objection, that is not to be got over without a Miracle, I could-soon resolve this Riddle.  Fred. 
Try what you can do.  2. Ant. 
'Tis impossible Signior, for the Man I should take him for was drowned many Years ago.  Fred. 
Examine him however.  2 Ant. 
Pray, Monsieur Antoine, are you a native of Caen in Normandy?  1 Ant. 
Yes,— indeed, Signior Devil.  2 Ant. 
The Devil you are. Was not Monsieur your Father called Pierre le Menetrier, that is to be understood, Peter the Fiddler?  1 Ant. 
He was indeed Sir.  2 Ant. 
Ha! Sure I Dream.  [In a surprise] 
What will this come to? Did not you follow his Trade after his Death?  1 Ant. 
I commenced Joüeur de Violon that Year the great Turn in England happened in 88  2 Ant. 
Impossible! Thou art some Magician, and art resolved to deceive me into madness.— One thing more. Were not you pressed aboard Monsieur Tourville with a Twin-Brother, that was so perfectly your likeness, that you were the Amazement of all that saw you?  1 Ant. 
I was, and should have taken you for him but that he was blown up in one of those Twenty Ships that were Burnt by the English, after the Sea-Fight between the French and the English Fleets.  2 Ant. 
Then art thou my Brother, Anthony? How I was preserved and where, after my misfortune you shall know another time.  1. Ant. 
My Brother restored from the Dead! This is such excess of joy to me. Come to my Arms, I will embrace thee, as I would a Woman.  Ber. 
So let them embrace. Now the Mystery is over, and you have your Mares again.  Seb. 
Tho' they are Brothers, so exact a likeness was surely never seen.  Fred. 
'Tis very strange. But come, let us walk. Don Bernardo; we forget our Friends hard by.  Ber. 
With Don Philip's and this Gentleman's leave well ' call for them, and take them with us.  Phil. 
With all our Hearts.  Seb. 
With all our Hearts.  Seb. 
Your Friends too are welcome, Gentlemen, to such poor entertainment as my House can afford.  Fred. 
You are very obliging.  Exeunt.  

SCENE Shifts.  Olivia and Cornelia, Ol. 
I scorn to deny myself upon such an occasion. I own I am a Woman, and Married to Don Philip before Heaven, tho' he has left me: Yet will I pursue him, till I have either found the faithless wanderer, or spent my Days in the vain Search.  Corn. 
You will, you say. Alas! I pity thee, for Thy search will be vain indeed. Know, fond Woman, that he's mine by legal contract, not to be revoked but by mutal consent: So much he's mine, that I'll not spare him a look to throw away upon thee.  Ol. 
Impotent Avarice! I pity thee, undone as thou art, as well as deserted; for he is mine by yet a stronger tie than any contract  Corn. 
It's false: He never was, nor shall be. If thou dost offer any farther claim, thy Life's in danger.  Ol. 
I Laugh at thy rage, unthinking Creature, and to let you see how much I value Philip, I here renounce the weakness of my Sex, and dare you to the combat for his Love.  Corn. 
Now by great Hymen's Torch, 'twas nobly offered, and tho' a Rival spoke it, I applaud it.  Both draw 
Come on. Now for Don Philip.  Oli. 
She who survives is happy.  Fight awkerdly. Don. Philip, Frederick, Sebastian, and Bernardo come in, followed by the Anthony's Fred. 
Ha! at Wars? What new adventure's this? We left you but now unaccquainted with each other, as we thought.  parts them. Ol. 
And are returned too soon. You have hindered the effect of a noble contention. Don Philip there! Then am I satisfied, for sure he'll do me justice.  Runs to him. Corn. 
Ha! Do I see my Love again? But hold, fond Heart, keep up thy usual Pride, lest the false wretch insult and scorn thy weakness.  Phil. 
Sir, I am yet a stranger to you: How can I do you justice?  Ol. 
'Tis but acknowledging Olivia for your Wife.  Phil. [In amazement] 
Olivia herself. This is beyond my hopes. I will acknowledge thee, thou Miracle of Love.  Corn. 
Villain, hold. See Cornelia too, disguised as she is. See your contracted Wife.  Phil. 
Ha!  Corn. 
What, doth he demur upon it?  Draws. 
Die then, ungrateful wretch.  Ol. [Draws] 
Stop thy mad Hand, or sheathe thy Blade within this Breast, so it may save Don Philip.  Corn. is held Phil. [too Ol.] 
My dear Olivia, I Blush to see this kindness from thee.  [too Corn.] 
Madam, you might have been less outrageous. I must own I have been to blame, but am now resolved—  Corn. 
To marry Olivia, I suppose.  Phil. 
I was a going to say Madam—  Corn. 
That thou art perjured. Enough, thou hast my consent to be so. Be thy Perjury thy Punishment: For my part I freely discharge thee.  Phil. 
I am obliged to your Passion then, for it has made you consent to clear me of such an imputation. You have revoked your contract, and so do I before these witnesses. Donna Olivia, here is my Hand, take it, and my Heart along with it, I doubt not but this Action will restore me to my true happiness. Gentlemen, I hope you own my justice.  Ber. 
I cannot deny your obligation here to be superior.  Oli. 
This fortunate Event transports me beyond expression.  Fred. 
May I presume, Madam, to remind you of your late conditions?  Corn. 
Are you not a Man, Sir?  Fred. 
I hope so, Madam.  Corn. 
How then are you to be trusted? The only one I ever yet confided in has deceived me. But [sighing] you have my promise, even dispose of me as you will  Fred. 
Madam, you have made me entirely happy. You have not only blessed me with yourself, but made a worthy Friend my Brother.  Ber. 
But hold, one thing more. Cornelia, do you know this Ring?  Corn. 
Yes, sure. 'Twas your gift, which I could have parted with to no one, but Don Philip.  Phil. 
I know it too and Blush. But how came you by it?  Ber. 
Think where you disposed of it, then ask no more.  Phil. 
I was mad when I parted with it, but I find where you have been.  Ber. 
I fell in my accident, as you shall know another time. In the mean while we are all satisfied. Joy to you all. I could almost wish myself in the same condition, but not with Eleonora, Don Fredrick.  Fred. 
You once wished it with her, Don Bernardo.  Seb. 
Eleonora, and Bernardo! This must be he who writ that Letter.  
Sir, I believe we are both delivered from the same perfidious Woman. Did not you write lately to one Eleonora?  Ber. 
I dare confess it. She used me ill, and I let her know it. Possibly your understanding with her brought you to know it.  Seb. 
That she has been of my acquaintance, I don't disown: But 'twas pure accident made me see the Letter. It served to confirm me in what I before suspected, and I have since broke of all correspondence with her.  Ber. 
I am glad on't, for she is a very Jilt. But what had Don Philip done to her, that she should hire Ruffians to Murder him?  Phil. 
Was it she than that set those Villains on to Murder me, when I was so seasonably relieved by you?  Ber. 
So I afterwards discovered by one of the same Ruffians, whom I had wounded and seized, after they had attacked me by mistake of the Sword you gave me at parting, and it seems Eleonora had hired them for a hundred Crowns to Murder you.  Phil. 
What a She-Devil is this! I knew her formerly at Madrid, a Woman of a light Character, who would fain have persuaded me to marry her. When she could not prevail, she removed from thence hither as I had been informed. Wherefore when I came to this Town, I recollected what I had heard, and enquiring her out, I last Night made a visit to her, and it seems by the story, when I went from her, she sent Villains after me to dispatch me.  Seb. 
What, did she entertain You too?  Phil. 
O, she was my old acquaintance, and I suppose would have been revenged on me for the slight I had put upon her.  Seb. 
What a rare Wife I should have had! Fortune thou deserv'st all things from me.  Fred. 
Well she is going to be revenged upon you all. For I was told but now, that she is resolved to leave the seducing World, and end her Days in a Nunnery.  Ber. 
That would be strange.  Phil. 
But the best Action of her Life.  Seb. 
Ay, ay, to a Nunnery let her go. In the mean time let Us think a little of this World, and since you are all agreed, let the Ladies retire, and shift themselves into their own habits, and we'll see you joined together, before Noon is past.  Fred. 
With all my Soul. Come, my Cornelia, hast to make me happy.  Corn. 
Be it as you please.  Phil. 
Tho' Marriage is accounted by some a kind of servitude, yet I hope, my Olivia, we shall have no repenting before the Year is out at least.  Ol. 
I shall make it my endeavour to give no cause on my side.  Phil. 
Come on then, let us hasten to the Trial: One pleasure at least I am before hand sure of, and that is in the thought of making satisfaction for the wrong I have done.  
For whatsoe'er delight Bad Men can find  
In doing wrong, 'tis the unblemished mind,  
That makes our Lives most sweet, our Pleasure's most refined.     

ADVERTISEMENT.  
THere is newly Published the History of Lewis XII. King of France and Navarre, containing the most remarkable Occurrences in France and Europe, during the Minority of that Prince. By Monsieur Michelle Vasser, Price 5 s.  
A Collection of Novels, in two Volumes, viz. The secret History of the Earl of Essex and Queen Elizabeth. The Happy Slave, and the Double Cuckold. To which is added the Art of Pleasing in Conversation. By Cardinal Richlieu. Vol. II. The Heroine Musqueteer. In Four parts: Or, Love and Duty Reconciled. By Mr. Congreve. The Pilgrim in two parts. Price of the two Volumes 10 s. Each Volumes may be had singly.  
There is in the Press the Elements of History, from the Creation of the World to the Monarchy of Constantine the Great; being an Abridgement of Howel's History of the World. Done by himself Containing the affairs of the Empires, in a new order and method: With a description of the Kingdoms and Republics Contempory with them: And a brief account of their Magistrates and Political Governments: Written Originally in Latin. By William Howel, L L. D. for the use of the Universities, and now Translated into English. Price 5 s.  
Where Gentlemen and Ladies may be furnished with all sorts of Novels and Plays.  
This Day is Published the last New Tragedy called, Richard the Third. Written by Mr. Cibber.  
FINIS.